From: Dreamshpr@aol.com Date: Fri, 26 Mar 1999 02:51:47 EST Subject: NEW: Random (1/1) by Dreamshaper TITLE:Random AUTHOR:Dreamshaper CLASSIFICATION:MSR, A (Scully pov) RATING: R,a strong one SUMMARY: A sleepless night and a discovery about love... DISCLAIMER: I lend out my characters, but turn them in please when the bell rings... Ok, damnit, they're not mine! I stole them from CC--but I'll give 'em back, I promise. ARCHIVING: Please, go ahead if you want to. But if I haven't talked to you about it before, drop me a line. FEEDBACK: Is *begged* for...more on that after the story ;) NOTES: This one might be something of a songfic, though no lyrics are mentioned and the music is incidental. It was written with song lyrics in mind... "It's this dream not you that's bound to go away...hold on, hold on the night will soon be by. Hold on, until there's nothing left to try." from the Secret Garden "If my silence made you leave than that would be my worst mistake. So I will share this room with you, and you can have this heart to break." Billy Joel, And So it Goes--the acapella choral arrangement of it and "Sing me a song with not a note of sandess, when the pain of love has driven me to madness. Sing me a song with a sweet serenading...oh so gently, oh so gently. From sound to silence fading." (english translaton of another acapella choral song, Fa Una Canzona) Ok, I think that's enough of a pre-story sing along...you can go read now. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` I'm laying in my bed, sleepless and uneasy...not a typical problem of mine. Under general circumstances, I sleep deeply and with relative ease, able to slip into dreams within seconds. But tonight...tonight is different. Tonight, I stare at my ceiling and watch the shadows interact--were I more imaginative I would make up little stories about my shadows and use them like sheep to sleep, but I see only angry monsters in the shifting shapes when I try, and they leave me wide-eyed like a child afraid of the dark...no fluffy little lambs for me. Tonight, I rest on my side, hands curled by my face and breathing shallowly as I watch the gentle spring breeze rock the limbs of the old tree outside my window, and know that if I looked hard enough I'd see tender new buds, nearly ready to spring open...but all I see are the thin black lines of a skeletal structure. Tonight I lay on my stomach, eyes closed and mouth open, trying desperately hard to empty my mind and just become unconcious, wanting intensely just to not be aware for a few hours...but when I close my eyes, there is an abyss waiting behind them for me, and I can not look into it without wanting to climb out of my bed and shower of it's grime. I want to call Mulder...he knows about sleepless nights, more so than I--but I can't call him, not now. Not while there is still so much *anger* between us. We have hurt each other--I see his pain in my abyss, I feel my own weighing me down, pressing me in...I am haunted by his tense shoulders and slumped posture in the shadows of my room, and I am dazed by te lethargy that sweeps over me with the contemplation of my mistakes... It seems so hopeless--working with him day in, day out, and being unable to let go of this solid little core of ice that is spreading through me... Like the cancer... I turn from that train of thought, flip back onto my back to watch the macabre shadow puppets dance above my head...oh yes, see there? The flukeman...a monster perfectly designed for nights such as this... And that shape, there? The shadow from the tree branches, you think? No...that looks more like the thin, flexible fingers of Tooms, easing heir way into my room... And that...yes that looks like the demon I saw when I looked into Donnie Pfaster's eyes...oops, the demon has mutated now, into Luther Lee Boggs, I believe, eyes of a maniac and voice like my father... Oh...yes, I see now--Mr. Duane Barry, haunted and hunted, ready to sacrifice anyone for his release from his tormentors...I hope he's happy now... I sob quietly and don't even realize that tears are streaming down my cold cheeks until one trickles into my mouth. Tears...I haven't cried in a long time. Not since Emily... I turn my eyes from the shadows...I don't want to see my daughter dance with my demons, not tonight. But there is no refuge now in sleep--were I too dream, I'd probably be in worse shape than I am now...so I rise shakily from the warm nest of my bed and drag my grandmother's afghans with me into my living room, and drop onto my couch with the remote in hand. TV will help...there's enough mindless chitchat, I'm sure, to keep me unfocused but awake for hours now...mmm, talk show--too much violence, I have enough of that. MTV--too much sex, I don't have *enough* of that... Psychic phone line infomercials--too much inane praise for something I have come to believe tentatively might maybe exist but is too serious a matter for 900 numbers... TV isn't going to work, so I rise and head for the cd player...perhaps Bach tonight--he's good for the haunted. Or maybe just a random selection of whatever is in there--yes, that will do. Random. Like my life, which is a random series of coincidences contrived to look like conspiracy and random acts of tradgedy masquerading as tests of strength. I lay back on the couch and watch the green lights on the cd player blink and flash as it decides what to choose, what to do, and I envy it it's programming. It's inability to have to make decisions that will affect the fate of it's world, if not *the* world... Sad when you begin to envy the inanimate... I am still crying. The first song begins...I don't know it, don't know the cd, but the music grabs my attention, sad and sweet, celtic sounding...an assumption confirmed when a gentle soprano begins to sing in Gaelic...which my grandfather Scully taught me enough of that I can make out the meaning to this song... It's a love song...wistful and pure in tone, the soprano sings a song about wandering far from home and far from love...returning ony to find Love is dead. I have wandered far from home, and Love has most likely died a frozen death inside that insidious ice core of me...Trust and Compassion seem to have died with her... I laugh, surprising myself with a harsh bust of sound and a sudden flood of tears. So metaphysical tonight, so philosipical, and all because Love has died. That's what this new mood is about, I know. Love. I have always had a hard time with that particular emotion, since I was a child and it seemed everything disappeared. I loved only my family, had a hard time loving friends as a child...a harder time still loving men as I grew into that age...and it was a godawful trial to love myself... Loving Mulder--and I do, did, whichever--that took more time and more care than anything I have ever done, and it was *hard*. And then Love began to die. My father--that harsh, gentle, terrifying man who shaped me... Missy, full of tenderness, humor and a sense of what and who she was that was both intimidating and reassuring... killed in my place. Jack--my first true love...who I thought was going to kill me...who very nearly did... And Emily...so young...so unaware of her place in the grand scheme of plans, so easily admitted to my heart...so ill it was a blessing when she died and left me behind to remember... I laugh again, choking on it now in my sorrow. And now Mulder...it seems he is as dead to me, sometimes, as my daughter is. But he breaths, I have not been left behind... I have been cast aside. Tossed away...discarded after six years of hard use. Like one of the innumerable tissues I went through during the Time Of Nose Bleeds... My laughter takes a near hysterical turn a the old phrase--ridden hard and put away wet--passes through my mind... But then the phone rings, and I freeze. Again...it rings... Till finally the machine picks up, and my partner's voice fills my ears, frantic but somehow tender, and I shudder beneath it's lash. "Scully? Scully...pick up the phone..." a pause a deep breath..."Scully, I know somethings wrong with you now--I can feel it, it woke me up." I snort--I'm telling you...I believe more in psychics everyday... "Scully...I know we've been--I know I've been...I'm coming over." A click, and he's gone. I close my eyes again and lay back. Let him come. Love is dead after all. And maybe he can keep the demons away for a bit... ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` He enters quietly, perhaps thinking that I am asleep, and he tiptoes to my room. I lay on the couch in silence and contemplate those whirling green number on the lucky piece of machinery till I hear him call my name softly, urgently, when he doesn't find me in my room. I wouldn't want him to worry about yet another abduction, would I? So I call his name back to him, in a mocking echo of himself, of Diana--of myself--and then sink back into the delicious chill of myself. But he is kneeling before me with wide eyes, and I find myself hypnotized by the whirling shadows in his glossy pupils...till he puts one hand onto my cheek and traces the shape of it with trembling fingers and a sweet smile. Then I close my eyes abruptly, and take a deep breath...I don't want to be fooled again by his tender touch when I know that all along I was perhaps no more than a means to an end. But he, being Mulder, chooses that moment to press a kiss to my lips, wet and hot--a direct hit on my shaky self control. Love might be dead, but the body is alive. And suddenly aroused. I respond ferociously, shocking Mulder and delighting myself, kissing him with an intensity he was, I'm sure, certain did not exist within me--not in this act...not like he'd know... Well, now he does... He responds to my intensity by seemingly releasing some kind of internal self control. With a harsh chuckle, he pins my mouth firmly beneath his and slides rough hands over my body, pinching my nipples with just the right pressure, tickling across my rib cage, dragging up my legs, and I find myself as aroused in two minutes as I have ever been. I read somewhere once, in an old classic, about the highs and lows of human nature--a charactermade a point of disussing how human nature was to reach out for comfort in whatever form it was most easily attainable during the lows of despair... I reach out for him with that thought in my mind, determined to banish it. I run my own hands across his chest, tweaking his nipple as he did mine, and delighting grimly in his pause, in his held breath before moving on. I slide my questing hands down his belly as he breaks off our kiss and rests his mouth on my neck, breathing choppily onto my skin and raising the flesh there into little bumps...then running his tongue across those bumps, making them tingle... With a grunt, he pushes himself of his knees and gathers me into arms taut with desire, and shaking with something else...he carries me into the room I so recently fled, and I am glad to go. We make love in my shadows, before my tree--and I feel like I'm dancing suddenly on the edge of the abyss. Discovering the feel of his body when it is not limp with exhaustion, pain or illness is a new and exciting journey...being discovered is as well... Gentle hands soothe me and I realize that perhaps this is the course to take...sweetness and gentle care to heal us both... Then we are sliding mouths and tongues over skin warm with passion and sensitive, both of us so into our explorations that the world seems to exist only in the play of flesh upon flesh...and I wonder if this isn't the right way, all heat and fire to cauterize long bleeding wounds... And when he slides into me, I close my eyes and empty my mind, and wait to be swallowed by the abyss... Only to find it disappeared. Gone. Filled. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` I sleep, finally, but not for long, only a very brief and probably unnoticeable loss of conciousness... Not long enough to escape Mulder's gentle hands grasping my face and turning it to his...not long enough to escape the tender pledge in his eyes, the gentle murmur of his voice when he tells me he loves me...not long enough for the shadows to disappear. But he sleeps, certain, I suppose, of my love, and I have to smile as I run my hands up and down his strong back as I stare again at the shadows on the ceiling... I slept just long enough for my heart to tell me that Love wasn't dead after all. THE END ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Ok..it is now 2:20 am and I am *exhausted!* Hope you enjoyed this one...send me some feedback kids or I'll cry... I have a really long weekend coming up--that's why I'm gonna post this tonight--this morning rather. I'm not going to have time till Monday to do it otherwise, and I don't want to leave it sitting on my hard drive--If I do, I might not post it at all! Just so you all know--tonight I'm assistant vocal director for our Junior High Showchoir weekend, teaching the vocals of 3 different songs to a group of about 100 sixth through ninth graders...that goes till 10 pm. Then tomorrow I do that again, from 7 am to 7pm, then I have to perform some stuff...then Sunday, *I* have rehearsal from 8 am till 1pm and a competiton at 3, which will last till around 11... So, when you send FEEDBACK--know it's appreciated, but don't be surprised if I don't respond till Monday! (ps--please send feedback!!! please! I am so totally relying on it with this story! puhleeeeeease!) ((am I pathetic enough to make you roll your eyes, or is it just me who thinks I am? ))