Date: Sun, 08 Mar 1998 13:21:00 -0500 From: Agent J Subject: Red II: The Visitor Rating: PG Spoilers: Third Season Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: A continuation of the events in Red. Fearing more miscommunications, Mulder turns to Scully when she's sleeping to help fix their relationship. comments to jzyvarek@udel.edu The Visitor Jessica Zyvarek Taylor (jzyvarek@udel.edu) He awoke from a sound sleep gradually. He hadn't been jarred awake by a nightmare or anything else. After the night he'd had, he was too tired to think and a good night's rest would have been the perfect cure. But right now, he was too lonely to sleep. Somehow just knowing that there was someone to call made him feel better. But right now, neither Karen nor Scully would want to hear from him in the middle of the night. Neither of them probably ever wanted to hear from him again period. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, hoping to get some revelation from it. Unfortunately, all he could think of was how badly he'd screwed things up. Very badly, indeed. He'd even managed to make himself look like an ass in front of Margaret Scully-something that he'd never been able to do before. He couldn't understand what he'd done or why he'd done it. At some level, he must have realized that dating someone that looked like Scully was playing with fire, but he'd successfully ignored the voice of reason once again and chose to do something stupid. He was upset that Karen would probably never speak to him again, but he wasn't nearly as upset as he should have been. On the other hand, it disturbed him a great deal to know that he'd just about completely destroyed his relationship with Scully. And deciding that he wasn't going to get anymore sleep right then, he got up and got dressed. Then, stupid as it may have been, he drove to Scully's apartment and knocked on the door. He'd come to several conclusions on his drive over there, the most important being that he was in love with Scully. That would explain why he'd dated her twin- because he knew that he didn't stand a chance with the real thing. And because no matter what, whether it was caused by him or someone else, every single person he cared about ended up getting hurt. Including Karen. He would have to apologize to her. But even he had to accept that the relationship was definitely over. So even if he ended up getting the phone and door slammed in his face, he had to try. He loved Scully and he wanted, at the very least, to say he was sorry. Knowing that it was almost one am, and that she was probably asleep, he did not knock too hard. She was already mad enough, he didn't think waking her up in the middle of the night would help things any. But he desperately wanted to talk to her. So after knocking twice, he slid his key in the lock and let himself in. When the door swung open, he was greeted with a sight that he had never before seen. Scully's apartment was not immaculate. Her purse, shoes, and keys were strewn haphazardly next to the door. It looked like she had attempted to toss her coat on the couch, but had missed, so the coat was hanging half over the couch and half on the floor. There was a mug knocked over on the kitchen counter and a dog eagerly lapping the sticky brown substance up. Without even thinking, Mulder picked up the coat and hung it the closet. He wiped up the mess in the kitchen and gave the dog some water to drink instead. Then he turned out all but one of the lights and carried her shoes back to her bedroom. He gently pushed open the door, knowing it would scare her half to death to see someone in her apartment in the middle of the night. He put her shoes next to the closet and looked at her. She was curled up in a little ball, with her knees pulled all the way up to her chest. She was still fully dressed and he knew that she never slept in her clothes. She wasn't even under the blanket. He walked around to her side of the bed and gently pulled the covers out from under her. He'd been intending to cover her up and leave, but he saw that there were still streaks from the tears on her face. He wanted to cry himself seeing her like that and knowing that it was all his fault. He carefully pulled the barrette out of her hair and watched as it spilled across her face. Once he'd covered her up, she stretched out a little, but remained asleep. He pushed the hair out of her face and just stared at her. She stirred suddenly and Mulder was so afraid that she was going to wake up that he stood completely still, unable to move. There was no way he could explain why he'd come into her apartment and cleaned up in the middle of the night. She turned to him, but her eyes remained closed. He switched off the light and prepared himself to slip out and pretend that he'd never been there. When he heard her voice, his heart stopped. But when he listened to what she was saying, he realized that she was still sound asleep. "Daddy?" She waited a minute for a response. "Good night, Daddy." She smiled to herself when she felt his hand brush her hair off her face. Then she slipped back asleep. Mulder smiled to himself as well. At least she wasn't cursing his name in her sleep. Or having nightmares. As long as she thought her father was there, she was happy and content. He'd made it all the way back to the front door when something stopped him. He was in love with her and she'd never know it. He walked back to her room before he had a chance to think about what he was doing. Then he slipped off his shoes and climbed under the covers with her. She tensed for just a moment when he first put his arms around her, but then she turned towards him and put her arm across his chest. Mulder laced his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head. Maybe she was asleep, but there was no way that she'd do that if she hated him. She probably thought she was dreaming the whole thing. He waited until he was sure that her breathing was completely even before he whispered back to her. "Good night, sweetheart." In her sleep, a smile formed on Dana's face. For once she was having a nice dream. So when morning came, she was too refreshed and relaxed to notice the rumpled pillow on the other side of the bed. And she didn't remember tripping over the dog and spilling her hot chocolate. And she assumed that she'd put her own shoes away and hung up her own coat. Never in her wildest dreams did it occur to her that Mulder had come in, cleaned up, snuggled with her, and then left before she woke up. Never. And even if it had occurred to her, she never would have believed it anyway. ************************************************************************ Part Two Scully had taken a few days off. She needed the space from Mulder. She needed time to think. And in the time she had, she managed to not think of anything important. So she gave up and decided to return to work. She couldn't hide from him forever. And she wasn't ready to quit her job. She didn't want a transfer. She was going to try and let things go back to normal. Maybe without Karen, things would go back to the way they had been. She was sure that he would never bring up that night and she certainly had no intention of bringing it up herself. He'd sat in their office staring at the door and the phone. He hadn't expected her to not show up at work and not even call out. He hadn't really expected her to call out either. And he didn't expect her to just show back up without an explanation and pretend that everything was fine. So when she did, he had no idea how to respond. He had been afraid that she'd known about his visit that night. But she seemed content to drop that entire 24 hour period and go on with her life. And as long as she never figured out that it had been real, that she had not dreamt his being there, his life might just continue as well. He was more concerned about her reaction to him being there than he was about the whole reason why he had been there. So he was in love with his partner. He did not think that there was any problem at all with that. There was no reason to mention to her that he was in love with her because, as far as he could see, he'd felt that way for a long time and it hadn't changed anything. And no one knew about it. Not Scully, not Skinner, not Margaret. Sure, they might have their suspicions, but no one was absolutely positive. And he figured that it had probably been affecting his judgment in certain situations as long as he had felt it. So after he had given the feeling a label, it shouldn't affect him anymore than it already had. *Yeah, right.* He said nothing when she walked in. His heart was caught in his throat. Maybe he had been in love with her for a long time, but he hadn't known it. He'd never noticed exactly how beautiful she was. And then he remembered exactly how good she was at ignoring things that bothered her when there wasn't a fancy label and a big word to slap on it. And Mulder couldn't really complain because he didn't have any explanation at all for his behavior. He knew that he would have been flattered if he'd discovered that she was dating someone who looked like him. But he still could see how easy it would be to get offended at the very same action. The silence that stretched between them was not comfortable. It was incredibly painful for Scully because it pointed out how strained their relationship had become and for Mulder because he figured that he was the one who had to break the silence. She didn't act like she had planned to say anything at all. That left him. And somehow saying 'I didn't realize the woman I was sleeping with could have been your double.' Even to him, it just seemed like the kind of thing that should have been excruciatingly obvious to everyone, especially him. Ok, Karen was not a good topic right then. Weather? No, that was never a good topic. Coffee. Now that was always a peace offering with them. She watched him get up from his desk without saying a word. Maybe he just couldn't stand to be in the same room with her anymore. It hurt. After the dream she'd had the night before, she was hoping that things would work out. She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and stared at it. Inexplicably filled with intense loathing for it, she was sure that if she had to look at it one more second she'd explode. Or get violently ill. She went into the bathroom and poured it down the sink. Maybe if she cut down on caffeine, she'd stop feeling jumpy and upset. *Like caffeine has anything to do with how I'm feeling.* She slammed the mug down on her desk and turned on her computer. If she stared at the screen long enough, her headache would get a lot worse and then she could go home without feeling too guilty. She felt like a specimen under a microscope. And even though the few times she'd actually looked at him that morning, he'd been reading something, she was sure tha! t the rest of the time he was staring at her. He was probably wishing that Karen was there. Or just plain wishing that Dana Scully was not. So maybe she could leave without feeling guilty... Seeing a coffee cup levitating in front of her face brought her back into reality. A very queasy reality, but reality all the same. When she grabbed at the cup, she realized that it wasn't actually levitating, but that a hand was holding it in front of her. She knew that he'd probably brought it out of force of habit, but she wanted something else. She wanted it to be magic coffee that would make everything better. Or, at least, she wanted it to be a peace offering. Possibly even a you-can-talk-to-me-and-I'll-talk-back offering. But that was a lot to hope for. She was too lost in her thoughts to notice that he had not pulled his hand away when she reached for the coffee. He had, in fact, left his hand on the cup, half of his hand directly under her, for longer than necessary. Much longer than necessary. He was actually just standing there, staring at her, frozen by the contact. He knew he should have pulled his hand back and brushed it off, but he couldn't. It was like a bolt of electricity had shot through him and he was frozen with her hand over his. And he'd noticed that she hadn't pulled away either. And when she looked up and met his eyes, he realized that she was as affected as he was. They just stayed there, motionless. Neither wanted to break the contact. Neither knew what it meant. And the minute one of them stepped back, the surrounding mist of misery would envelope them once again. Scully knew that she should move or look away, but she couldn't. She couldn't think. She felt her feelings come bubbling back to the surface and no matter how hard she tried, they kept coming back. All she could hear was the thoughts rolling around in her head. *I love this man and he's touching my hand and I simply cannot move. I could stay like this forever. * She was afraid that she'd accidentally spoken aloud when he unexpectedly pulled his hand back and retreated to 'his' side of the office. She dropped her hand, but otherwise remained still. *How long were we just standing there?* She had no idea, but she was well aware that it had been too long. Too long for people who couldn't even string two words together around each other anymore. A blush crept into her cheeks when it occurred to her that she shouldn't have reached for the coffee until he'd put it down. And now she looked like an idiot. A bright red idiot. But Mulder would have been the last to see her. He buried his face in a file and stopped just short of standing it up on his desk so that he wouldn't be able to see her anymore. He was thinking of how nice it would be if the floor spontaneously opened, swallowed him whole, and then closed back up again. And while he was gone, Scully could investigate on the grounds that spontaneous carnivorous floor attacks were an X File. Or at least they ought to be. The floor, however, was decidedly passive and chose not to turn homicidal at that particular moment. And Mulder was left to ponder what an idiot he was. He didn't think it would be more obvious to her if he was to write 'I'm in love with you' on his forehead. He should have moved his hand. But no, he had to stand there like the fool he was. And she had to know at that point. It wasn't like she'd reached out to hold his hand. She'd been reaching for the coffee that he had held directly in front of her face. *But if ! she had looked up when I held it out to her the first time, I wouldn't have had to shove it in her face.* He hadn't been aware of Scully's introspection until he was completely ignored while standing there with her coffee. It wasn't like she'd been ignoring him to make a point. It was more like she just hadn't seen him, even though he was standing right in her line of sight. He wanted to know if he was the reason she was so distracted or if something else was wrong. Normally she was every bit as attentive as he was. Once he walked away, she had nothing to stare at except for the computer or the coffee. And since the monitor was on the side of the desk that faced Mulder's desk, she couldn't look at the computer. She didn't want to see him staring at her and she was afraid if he wasn't staring at her then she might end up staring at him. So she gazed at the coffee. Not the same coffee that had made her sick before, but all the same ingredients were there. And she felt her stomach start to turn. She understood, somewhere in her completely logical mind, that the coffee was not the reason behind her nausea. Most likely, it was the emotional stress she had so recently thrown at herself. But still, it was choosing to present itself as an indescribable fear of coffee. The longer she looked at the coffee, the worse she felt. And she tried looking at the floor, but she still knew the coffee was there. And somehow, it had reached the point where she was too sick to move. Her face had turned from bright red to slightly pale, to positively green. And Mulder had missed the rainbow of colors crossing over his partner's face because he was too busy not looking at her, in the interest of not staring at her. And so, it came as a completely surprise when she abruptly gathered her strength and went running out of the room. Assuming that she was running away from him because he'd touched her, he didn't bother to follow her. It was at that point that he altogether made up his mind to never , ever tell her that he had been in her apartment that night. Never. Not even if the world was ending. If he had known exactly how much she had wished that her dream had been real, then he might not have made up his mind so quickly. Once she had reached the bathroom, she felt much better. She was still feeling weak though. She knelt down on the floor in front of the sink and splashed water on her face. When the door opened and two fellow agents walked in, she didn't bother to move. They saw her, not realizing who she was and offered help. "Hey- are you all right?" The first one knelt down on the floor beside her and put her arm on Scully's shoulders. The second one stood behind the first and leaned down. "Can we call someone for you? Or do you need a doctor or something?" They both seemed genuinely concerned. Either that, or they were bored and needed something to worry about for a little while. Scully looked up and shook her head no. But they wouldn't have noticed if she had grown another head right then. The first one pulled her arm away and stood up so fast that she tripped over the other one. They both stared at her for a minute. "You're Dana Scully, right?" The first one had regained her ability to think. And again, Dana nodded, all the while looking at the two of them. She watched as they exchanged a glance and then started walking out of the room. She heard the door open and then the second woman's voice echoed back into the bathroom. "Looks like she finally got cooties from Spooky." She had always known that people talked about and made fun of Mulder. When she had been in the academy, she had listened to the stories and laughed with everyone. But she'd stopped when she met him. And she had figured that people would talk about her once she and Mulder started working together, but she'd never actually heard anyone talking about her. And she'd certainly never been talked to like that after she started high school. She started to cry when she realized that she'd finally discovered firsthand the pain that Mulder had to endure. And she didn't understand how he could just brush it off like he did. If she hadn't felt so sick, she would have told those two exactly what she thought of them and their rumors. But she didn't have the energy right then to argue. And there was no way that she would be able to pretend that she was fine with treatment like that. Even if she had been feeling well, she wouldn't have felt so fine after a confrontation like that. ! At that moment, her heart went out to Mulder for being able to hold his head up in front of people who were so consistently cruel. She'd never thought about how much strength it took to do that. And once again, she was filled with admiration for him. Yes, he had his faults. But there were so many other areas where he just seemed to run circles around every other man she'd ever met. She stood up and decided that all she needed was some space. She'd take the afternoon off and come back in tomorrow and she would make sure that everything was fine between them. Maybe he wasn't in love with her. But he was still the only person she'd ever really admired, other than her father. And if she had to spend the rest of her life suffering because of unrequited love, it was worth it, just to spend every day working with her favorite person on earth. ************************************************************************ Part Three That afternoon, Dana returned home and tried to relax. She wanted to get her mind off everything that was going wrong in her life, but that seemed to be her life period. She turned on the TV and tried to watch other people's lives that seemed to be every bit as messed up as her own, but all that did was depress her. Especially when she realized that her life was not going to be all better at the end of the half hour. She gave up on watching any one particular thing and chose to channel surf instead. Somehow, she ended up watching Lifetime. While it was billed as television for women, it may as well have been called television for women who enjoy male bashing. The longer she watched it, the more she hated every man she'd ever come in contact with. And after three hours, she felt like a miserable housewife. She desperately wanted to get up and turn off the TV, or at least watch the news, but she felt inexplicably drawn to the utter crap she was watching. So, she con! tinued to stare at the TV and absorb the cancer-causing electromagnetic waves. In another hour, Dana was sound asleep. And between the stress of the day and the mind-numbing shows, she didn't wake up when the door creaked open later that night. This time, he didn't know what had prompted him to come. He already felt bad enough for making her run out of the office earlier. He didn't really have a good reason to go to see her. Certainly not at midnight, but sure enough, he found himself knocking on the door. And this time, he didn't knock a second time. He unlocked the door and almost panicked when he saw her lying on the couch. For a moment, he was afraid that she had been awake, and that she had just chosen to ignore the knock. He stood frozen to the spot while he waited for her to turn around. It was then that he realized that she was sleeping. And once again, he was sure that it was his fault that she had fallen asleep watching TV instead of in her bed. At least, she had changed out of her work clothes. He didn't know why he'd gone there in the first place, but he recognized somehow that her being asleep on the couch was not a part of the plan. He wanted to talk to her. There were so many things that he wanted to tell her. But he couldn't tell her when she was asleep. And he couldn't tell her when she was awake. He refused to accept that he couldn't tell her at all. He was certain that there would eventually be the perfect time and they would be in a perfect place and he would be able to tell her that he loved her. As he sat down on the floor next to the couch and stared at her sleeping face, he had to admit that this was not that time. Ignoring the fact that she was usually a very light sleeper and that she could wake up at any time, he pulled one of her hands out from where it was nestled under her head. Then he laced his fingers through hers and promised himself that someday, he would tell her. Then he rested his head back on the couch and allowed himself to drift off to sleep for a few hours, silently praying that she would not wake up before he did. She did wake up. But she didn't think that she was really awake. She was dreaming. Again. She had already admitted to herself that she was in love with Mulder, but now, she was dreaming about him regularly. it bothered her, even in the sleepy haze she was in right then. What had happened that caused her to think that he was in her apartment at night? Surely he had better things to do than sneak into her place and spend the night and then be gone before she woke up. It just didn't make any sense to her. It wasn't possible that he felt the same way she did. She could not accept that he was in love with her. And no matter how real it looked, Mulder was not sitting on the floor, leaning on the couch. And no matter how real it felt, he was not holding her hand. The same dream had come to her the night before and she'd almost believed that Mulder had been in her bed, holding her. That should have told her how ridiculous the whole line of thought was. If nothing e! lse, she could convince herself that if Mulder really did have the same feelings she did, then he would definitely tell her. Mulder was not shy. he would never keep something that important secret. She was sure that he could see right through her and know how she felt. And if he did love her, and he knew that she felt the same, he wouldn't waste his time doing this. This was definitely the type of thing that Dana would dream up and still truly believe it was happening. So she closed her eyes and decided she was going to enjoy the dream. It was one of the few dreams that she didn't wake up from screaming in terror. And as long as he never found out that she was having these dreams about him, then she didn't see the harm. She pulled the quilt off the back of the couch and covered herself up with it. Then she felt guilty that he was sitting on the floor, likely to have back pain the next day and she was about to wake him up and make him lay on the couch with her. It also occurred to her that she wanted him on the couch for entirely selfish reasons as well. And she was amused by the fact that even in her dreams she wanted to take care of him. But this was her dream. And she wanted him on the couch. She gently untangled her hand from his and pushed his shoulder forward. She knew that it never took much to wake him in real life. Why should it in a dream? His eyes blinked open for a second before sliding closed again. *Typical. I have a dream about the hottest guy I've ever seen being in my apartment at night and he's sleeping.* If she kept trying, he would listen to her. He always listened to her, usually after a fight, but he listened nonetheless. She tapped him again and spoke. "Mulder, you can't sit on the floor all night." She paused and waited for a response. He mumbled something and reached out for her hand again. When he found it, she watched him entwine his fingers around hers. Ok, so this was a really realistic dream. Then she tried again. "Mulder, come on, there's enough room up here for both of us." He was still asleep, but he complied with her request. And while there was enough room for both of them on the couch in theory, it was a rather tight fit. Not that either of them really minded... Once he was settled behind her, with his arms locked around her waist clasping both of her hands in his, she drifted back to sleep. Maybe it was a rather pointless dream, but it was certainly pleasant. Through everything, he'd never really woken up. Yes, he may have gotten up and moved, but it had been while he was in that groggy state where everything you say makes perfect sense to you, but the person you're talking to doesn't understand what the closet has to do with your blue notebook. And when you wake up, you remember that whatever you had said made perfect sense, but you forget that your notebook had anything to do with it. If he had been awake, he never would have gotten himself trapped in that situation. Luckily, at four, he did actually wake up. He knew that there was always that off chance that he might remain asleep until the morning and be faced with an irate Dana Scully wanting to know what the hell he was doing there. And that was a frightening thought. There was no explaining this. Somehow, he had to get out from behind her and get out of the apartment without waking her up. She might snuggle up to him while she was sleeping, but he had a strong feel! ing that she would be slightly miffed if she was to wake up and find that he'd invited himself to spend the night, especially in light of that morning at work. He vaguely remembered climbing onto the couch behind her, but he didn't know how it had come about. He had told himself that he had to stay on the floor for a reason- the reason being that she might wake up if he did anything else. But he couldn't be sure whether this had been his brilliant idea or hers. Whoever had thought it up must have been completely out of their mind at the time. And he acknowledged that it must have been his because there was no way that she would have come up with a thought quite that stupid. Stupid ideas were his forte, not hers. He knew that he had to get up but he just didn't want to. She might *not* kill him if she found him there. But she probably would. He leaned down and buried his face in her hair, promising himself that he'd only close his eyes for a minute. And the next thing he was aware of, an alarm clock was ringing. And before he could even think to react, he felt a slap fall across his face. ************************************************************************ Part Four The alarm clock was absolutely evil. She was sure that it was actually out to get her. Otherwise, it would not have woken her up in the midst of such a pleasant dream. She decided that she didn't really need to get up right then. Fifteen more minutes. Then she'd get up and go to work and face Mulder and pretend that she didn't dream of him holding her all night long. She shifted towards the annoyingly incessant beeping. It wasn't as loud as it usually was and it didn't seem to be coming from the night stand. She decided that it might have fallen under the bed. Even so, she was tired of listening to it. So she reached out like she did every morning and slapped it. She'd expected it to stop beeping. She had not expected it to say ouch. She squeezed her eyes shut and decided that she was hallucinating. Then she tried again. This time, it told her to stop hitting it. She was definitely having auditory hallucinations. She rolled back over and pulled a pillow over ! her head. Maybe it didn't feel like her pillow. Maybe it felt remarkably like an arm. But she wasn't really trusting her senses at this point. She closed her eyes and was asleep before the alarm clock pulled itself over the back of the couch, tucked in its shirt and practically ran out the door. He wasn't sure why she'd slapped him twice and then gone back to sleep, but he wasn't sticking around to find out. So he got up and got out as fast as he could, just hoping that she hadn't actually been awake. Or that she just didn't understand. And in ten minutes, when Dana woke up again, still rather upset that the alarm clock was ringing, she noticed that she'd fallen asleep on the couch. And she managed to blame everything that she could recall from the night before and that morning on the fact that she'd fallen asleep watching some ridiculous movie on the couch. That was enough of an explanation for her. And it would have worked. If only Mulder hadn't been acting like his back hurt all day. When she asked him if he was ok, he looked at her, with a frightened and guilty expression on his face that she was sure had gotten him out of a lot of trouble when he was younger. He'd acted nonchalant when he lied and said that his back was bothering because he'd slept on it funny. But it hadn't been a lie. He'd been completely truthful. He didn't normally sleep sitting on the floor in front of the couch. She just shook her head and laughed at the irony. Maybe she had some strange psychic power over him and whatever happened to him in her dreams would affect him in reality. She smiled as her mind began to list possibilities. Maybe being telekinetic had some advantages. He'd been ready for her to scream. He hadn't yet come up with anything to say when she did, but he assumed that when the time came around, something would find it's way out of his mouth. And all he could do was hope that it wasn't a cry for mercy. And then she'd asked him if he was feeling all right. He figured she was trying to trick him into saying something that would give him away, so he'd been honest. He hadn't expected her to sit down at her desk and smile obnoxiously to herself. Maybe it was a part of some sick plan for revenge she had. He couldn't see why she'd be so mad that she'd want him to be in physical pain. Maybe he'd done something he shouldn't have done, but he hadn't hurt her. He just wanted to be close to her. He wanted to be as close to her as he'd been in the past, before an invisible wall had built up between them. And he couldn't see how he could fix it. If he couldn't understand what had caused the rift, there was no way he could repair it.! Maybe he could tell her the truth. That he'd gone there to see if she was all right after the scene they'd just made (that would cover him for both times) and he'd stayed because he was hopelessly in love with her. No, he couldn't say that. Of course, if he did, if would dumbfound her. Then the conversation would be effectively over and he could pretend he hadn't said it and she could pretend she hadn't heard it and it wouldn't be any worse than it was right then. Except she might fasten the safety chain before she went to bed in the future... The guilt for invading her privacy would not leave him. He could rationalize it any way he wanted, but he still felt horrible for doing it. He had almost completely convinced himself that he was a worm and ought to go slithering out the door right then when her shaky voice broke the silence. For some bizarre reason, she felt the urge to tell him about her dream. Maybe it was like when she had thought he was dead and she'd dreamt about him. Maybe he was trying to make her think that everything was still ok with them, no matter what troubles they were dealing with. She knew that it was a stretch, but she'd worked with him for almost four years and had never dreamed *that* type of thing before. And her dreams had never seemed quite so real. Maybe she was just losing her mind. But she had to try. "I had a really weird dream last night." She was looking at the gooey remnants of the coffee he'd brought her the previous day. She wasn't nearly as repulsed by it now, and it was much more disgusting than she remembered. She was too busy looking at the coffee to notice the horrified look on Mulder's face. She didn't notice how all the color drained out of his face, nor that his mouth was hanging open. She continued to talk, without even expecting a response. "I guess I shouldn't fall asleep with the TV on anymore. Come to think of it, I guess I didn't since the TV wasn't even on when I woke up." She stopped to regroup her thoughts. And Mulder silently debated the pros and cons of mentioning that he'd turned off the TV. "It struck me as weird because I had the same type of dream the night before, although it wasn't exactly the same." This time she did look up to see Mulder's face and was thoroughly confused by the distraught look on his face. His eyes were shifting back and forth and he was biting his lower lip. And he didn't seem to be listening to what she was saying. Slightly perturbed, but not entirely dissuaded, she continued her monologue, changing the format. "Have you ever dreamed about me?" He looked at her, suddenly very, very afraid that she was going to walk out of the office and never speak to him again. But he wasn't sure that he could prevent it. He had to answer her. But what should he say? Honesty might work. Yes, I dream about you every night, except for the nights I sneak into you apartment and sit there and stare at you. So he couldn't be completely honest. How about a little white lie? No, I never dream about you. That didn't seem like a real good idea either. He hoped that she had forgotten that she'd asked him something. He looked back up at her and found that her eyes were still trained on him. So he would have to answer. He found himself shrugging, "Yeah, sometimes. I think it happens when you work with someone a lot?" That wasn't supposed to be a question. But she might let it pass. Maybe. She nodded, not even sure that he was looking at her. "I guess you're right." Then she turned her attention back to her computer. He waited a few minutes, thinking that she was going to finish telling him what she'd 'dreamed.' Then he heard her start typing something. Was she just going to let it drop? "So you were dreaming about me, were you?" He had to act normal. And normally, he never would let a question like hers slip past. He ignored the disoriented look that passed over her face. Had she really been expecting him to drop that? "It was nothing." Her voice trailed off as she felt a blush rising to her cheeks. What had possessed her to bring this up? Things were already strained enough between them. He pushed his chair back and propped his feet up on his desk. Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What exactly did you dream about me?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her face turning crimson. She refused to meet his eyes. She was already embarrassed enough. This was an insane topic of conversation. But it was their first conversation since the whole Karen incident and she didn't really want to go back to the oppressive silence. "I just thought--I guess I was dreaming-- that you were in my apartment last night." She glanced back at him, and immediately ducked her head back down. She couldn't stand it when he stared at her like that. It felt like she was under a microscope. He was pushing it. He knew it. But he couldn't stop. " Really... And what was I doing in your apartment?" Oh, like he didn't already know the answer... He let the insinuation hang in the air before noting that it was possible to make her face even brighter than her hair. "Mulder!" She couldn't believe that he was playing this up like he was. Actually, this was definitely something Mulder would do. She cursed herself for not having thought of that before she'd said anything. She watched a grin form on his face. She couldn't keep looking at him, not when he looked that gorgeous. She twisted her fingers together in her lap. She could get this over with quite quickly, but she didn't know if she had the nerve. "Well, I dreamt that you were in my apartment and we were asleep on the couch." There, she'd said it. There was no need to be explicit. And she was still breathing. He bit his lip so hard that it started to bleed. She had been awake. Now he had a lot of explaining to do. And she probably wasn't going to like it very much. He watched her, obviously embarrassed by what she'd confessed. And it occurred to him that she truly believed that she'd dreamed it. If he dropped it now, she'd know something was up. "Your couch is kind of small, Scully.... Must have been a tight squeeze." He couldn't help but smile when he heard her exasperated sigh. "Never mind. Just drop it, ok?" She went back to her work and he dropped it, thankfully. The rest of the day went quietly, the only words they exchanged were when they needed the other's signature or another file. And at the end of the day, when Scully was walking out the door, and the discussion seemingly forgotten, Mulder got in the last word. He waited until she was closing the door behind her before he spoke. "Hey, Scully--" He continued when her head peered back around the door frame. "Maybe it wasn't a dream." Then he went back to the work that he'd been doing, ignoring the expression on her face. Understanding that she wasn't going to get another word out of him, she continued walking out of the building. She didn't understand what he meant. Of course it had been a dream. It must have been. It definitely wasn't real. Could it possibly have been real? No, it must have been a dream and he was just screwing with her mind. Either that or she was going insane... ************************************************************************ Part Five She sat down at her dining room table with a mug of hot chocolate clutched between her hands. Trying to decipher Mulder's convoluted responses was usually difficult. But this was damn near impossible. "Maybe it wasn't a dream." She muttered his words over to herself, hoping that understanding would soon dawn upon her. She knew, however, that it likely would not. Most of the time, he meant for her to think about it and then eventually discern the meaning. Sometimes, like now she was sure, his words had little meaning, if any at all, and that he'd only said it to keep her guessing. She sighed and rested her chin in her hands. He might have wanted her to wonder, but she knew he hadn't meant to really upset her. He had just been teasing her. When had she gotten so uptight that it took her an hour and a half of analysis to comprehend a joke? She needed a break. A vacation might help. But a week sitting alone in her apartment would not help. So a vacation was out. She'd just taken three days off anyway and it hadn't helped at all. She wanted to laugh at herself. She was completely stressed out over a joke. After four years of his jokes, she should have learned by now to just let them go. But still, she couldn't get it out of her mind. If it wasn't a dream, that meant that he *had* actually been there. And if he had been there, she thought that he would have acted guilty or embarrassed. For the life of her, though, she couldn't remember what his face had looked like when she'd mentioned it. Then she remember that she hadn't been looking at him. She decided that she was going to figure out whether or not she was dreaming this up. And she could only think of one way that didn't involve asking him directly. By 3 A.M., she was bored. Six cups of coffee in the last hour hadn't affected her at all. She couldn't find anything on TV to watch and if she turned it off, she knew she'd be asleep in minutes. She needed to stay awake. If he showed up, she'd know this was real. Of course, if he did show, she'd still doubt that she wasn't just hallucinating. If he didn't show up, then she'd know she had dreamt the whole thing up. It was a science experiment. And a very boring one at that. Somehow, she ended up with her head hanging off the front of the couch and her legs hanging over the back. Her apartment was much more interesting from upside down. She was wide awake for a little while because of all the blood that had rushed to her head, but the rush wore off and she couldn't stop herself from falling asleep. And when she fell asleep, her body shifted and she slid off the couch, head first, into the coffee table. After her mention of the 'dreams,' he'd starting feeling really uncomfortable. He wasn't sure of why he'd said what he'd said when she was leaving, but he was pretty sure that he shouldn't have said it. She had been willing to let it go- even after he'd teased her. He hadn't been able to drop it, though. He had to push his luck continually. He couldn't go see her tonight. The odds were against him this time. After the suggestion he'd made, and knowing Dana Scully as well as he did, he knew that she'd be sitting up all night to make sure that it was a dream. There was no chance in hell he was going over there, knowing full well that she'd be sitting there waiting for him. He started to think that maybe he should go talk to her. Maybe he wouldn't be in as much trouble with her if he just admitted it now. At least they'd both be sitting awake all night together, instead of sitting awake all night all alone. He was tired and there was nothing he wanted more than to go to sleep. Except his conscience wouldn't let him. He shouldn't have stayed with her when she was sleeping. She'd had no choice in the matter. He hadn't caused her any physical harm, but he felt like he had. And he knew that it was bothering her. He wanted to confess. Unfortunately, he was truly afraid of what she would do. He didn't want to alienate her even further. She probably didn't want their friendship to be this tenuous either. He had no idea how to repair the damage. So he'd dated a woman who looked like her. There had to be millions of blue- eyed redheads in the world. And it should have occurred to her that it was a compliment anyway. However, she had chosen to be upset over the whole thing. Perhaps if he apologized he would have a chance. He didn't have to mention that he loved her. He could say that he cared about her and he was concerned about her after the fight they'd had and after she! 'd run out of the office. It would be completely true. Not the complete truth, but completely true. And for good measure, he could promise never to do it again. Possibly even give her extra key back. He had his hand on the doorknob before he stopped. 3:30 in the morning was not a good time to talk to people when you wanted them to act rationally. He threw himself down on the couch and stared at the clock. He could talk to her at work. But she wouldn't be at work until 7:30 at the earliest. He doubted he could wait that long. At 4:15, Dana woke up with a headache. And a very good view of the underside of her coffee table. She was also rather upset to discover that she'd slid off the couch and knocked over the cup of coffee sitting there. But the thing she was the most upset over was the lack of dreams she'd had. She hadn't really understood them or why she was having them, but she liked them. She'd grown accustomed to them in the two nights she'd had them. And they were a pleasant change of pace from the ones she'd been having recently. The dreams that caused her to wake up screaming weren't missed at all. Somehow, the absence of the dreams she did like left her feeling extremely let down. Knowing that she wasn't going to get anymore sleep, she stood up, cleaned up the spilled coffee, and got ready for work. Slowly. No sense in being there at five in the morning. Mulder probably wasn't even there yet. And since she'd only gotten 45 minutes of sleep, it took a lot of concentration to f! igure out that she probably shouldn't wear one blue shoe and one black shoe. Especially not when she was wearing a tan suit. Little did she know, Mulder was actually at work at five. And he'd been there for a little over a half hour, too. He was planning on ambushing her the minute she walked through the door. He still had no idea what he was going to say, but he didn't care anymore. Maybe he could just say that it hadn't been a dream and if it ever happened again, then she could rest assured that she was dreaming. He knew that this had to be dealt with before both of them went completely nuts. He had every intention of ending the situation as soon as she came in. But when she walked through the door at 5:45, he froze. The only thing that would form in his mind was that she was not supposed to be there that early. He was worried that something was wrong. Something *else.* And he was distracted enough by her attempt to pretend that she went to work every day before the sun came up that he all together forgot what he'd just sworn to confess to her. She was a little unnerved by his presence, but she chose to ignore it rather than question it. If she were to point out that he was unusually early, he in turn would point out how much more unusually early she was. And she could see the conversation very easily going downhill from there. It was not worth arguing about. She was too tired to stand up straight. And she hoped that he hadn't noticed when she zoned out pouring her coffee and ended up pouring about two and a half cups into her mug, allowing the extraneous fluid to run down her arm. He had noticed, of course, because he'd been staring at her the entire time. She looked positively dead on her feet. And he knew that she had in fact sat up all night waiting for him. He decided that it was best not to mention that she was there so early because he was there rather early himself and he didn't really want to explain why. Instead of saying anything, he buried his head in a file and looked for something, anything that would distract him. He'd decided to put off his plan to talk to her right then. After she'd gone home, he could call her. No, he'd go to her apartment and talk to her. This was not something he should bring up in the office. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? Because he was stupid. And scared. And more nervous than he'd been since the afternoon he'd asked Angela Pierson to the senior prom. That was a bad comparison. Angela Pierson had laughed at him. Scully would not laugh at him. She might yell and scream and rant and rave and hold him at gun point, but she would not laugh at him. At least not to his face. And if she laughed at him after he left, he wouldn't mind, well, ok, he would, but if he didn't know about it... She dabbed at her sleeve with a napkin. Coffee was not one of her best colors. And coffee colored stripes on a tan suit just didn't look right on anyone she knew. She took off the jacket and threw it on her desk. The stain had managed to spread through to the white blouse she was wearing. She was not at all pleased with that. And the fact that somehow her day had become unbearable just because she hadn't dreamt of Mulder pissed her off. How had she become so connected to these dreams of him holding her in the two measly nights she'd had them? *Because you've been hoping and wishing and praying for that the entire time you've known him and you were happy when it actually happened, even if it was just a dream.* Mulder stared silently, not quite understanding why she'd thrown her blazer on the desk with such obvious disdain, nor why she was staring at her sleeve like it was Satan himself. So she'd spilled coffee on herself. Worse things had happened. At least it wasn't some mysterious goo that would make the entire shirt disintegrate before their eyes... He tried not to laugh as he thought about what she would do if that happened. But there was no way to communicate why he was laughing and he caught the look on her face when she assumed he was laughing at her. It was worse than her patented if looks can kill look. He was laughing too hard to explain that he wasn't laughing at her. He tried to stop and the longer it took him to stop, the more upset she got. He watched as she stood up, stalked across the room, and practically ripped the drawer out of the filing cabinet. He couldn't help but notice how much she looked like a little kid when she was pouting and stomping her f! eet. And he had to laugh harder. She couldn't believe that he was laughing at her. So she'd spilled coffee. He'd done the same thing in the past, she was sure, and she was certain she'd never laughed at him. She fumed as she met his gaze. What was so funny about her ruining her shirt? Maybe he really didn't have a life. She felt like throwing a full fledged temper tantrum. She suddenly really wanted to throw herself on the floor and kick and scream until he stopped laughing. Or until he had her hauled away to the local looney bin. She settled instead on stomping, yes, something she hadn't done since she was six, across the room the filing cabinets. She was too busy hoping that he was thoroughly confused by her behavior to notice that her thumb was blocking the drawer. And she slammed the drawer too hard to prevent the yelp from escaping when the drawer introduced itself to her thumb. And in that second, the time it took her to cry out and stick her thumb in her mouth, he was behind her. She was facing away from him, so he looked over her shoulder to assess the damage. But she was stubbornly refusing to take her thumb out of her mouth. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to get him to back off. He was way way way too close. She needed air desperately. And when he saw that she wasn't going to react to his presence, he tried speaking. "Come on, Scully, let me see it." He stepped even closer to her. If that was actually possible. She felt herself start to panic. This was not a dream. He was definitely breathing down her neck *literally.* She started to speak, but discovered that her thumb was still lodged there. *I'm sucking my thumb in front of him!* She started to sniffle when she thought about how incredibly stupid she had to look at that moment. Then she realized that this situation would be a lot different, but just as uncomfortable if she had been sucking *his* thumb. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and tried again to speak. "I'm a big girl. I think I'll live." Again, she attempted to step forward. She was really beginning to get to know the abusive filing cabinet. His hands on her shoulders stopped her in her tracks. "You don't scream often, Scully. Let me see it." With that, he took advantage of the fact that her finger was no longer in her mouth and reached around her. He had been planning on grabbing her hand and assessing the damage for himself, but without warning, she let out a terrified whine and jumped about six inches in the air. He immediately withdrew to the other side of the room. She'd made it quite obvious how she felt about him putting his arms around her. She hadn't meant to hurt him, and she could see that she had. But it was just too much for her to handle when he really did put his arms around her. It had felt so much like it had in her dreams, even though the contact had been very brief. It had actually felt way too much like her dreams. And all she'd wanted to do was lean back into his arms and let him hold her. But he hadn't been trying to hold her. He had just wanted to see if she was really hurt. She looked at her thumb, which was red and swollen, but not exactly destroyed. She was mad at her thumb. If it hadn't been in the way, the drawer wouldn't have closed on it and Mulder wouldn't have put his arms around her and she wouldn't have screamed and it was all her thumb's fault. She felt like punishing her thumb. But what could she do? Hold it behind her back for a while? Feeling ridiculously stupid and very embarrassed, she slowly edged her way back to her desk. Mulder had buried his head so far in a file! that his head was practically sitting on his desk. She wanted to say she was sorry, but for some reason, she was fairly certain that 'I'm sorry I jumped across the room and screamed when you touched me, it's just that I have these wonderful dreams of you doing that and I'm hopelessly in love with you,' just wasn't going to cut it. She reverted to the same tactic he was using, but she was so tired and bored and upset that when her head finally did rest on her desk, she didn't even bother trying to wake up. Mulder said nothing. He didn't even dare look at her. He was rather pleased with himself for not telling her the truth earlier. He now knew exactly how she felt. He didn't even need to ask. Her response had hurt. It had hurt him so much that he hadn't even tried to hide it. It wasn't often that someone was so uncomfortable around him that they screamed when he touched them. In fact, it had never happened before and he was in the midst of reciting a vow to never let it happen again. If that entailed never touching another living being, he could deal with it. But he didn't know if he could deal with spending the rest of the day in the office with her. Yes, he'd questioned that she had felt anything more for him than friendship. But he had never questioned that she felt anything less. He pretended not to notice when she walked back to her desk. He pretended that his heart was not laying shattered on the floor in front of him. And apparently, she hadn't even notice! d. He felt the urge to look a her. Just to see what she was doing. Was she sitting there, smug over the fact that she'd just completely annihilated his hopes of a relationship with her, or was she just pretending that nothing had happened? He didn't know which was worse. He heard a soft thump and had to look up. She was sitting at her desk, with her head resting in her arms. She looked like a school girl who had been told to put her head down for punishment and fell asleep by accident. He felt all ability to reason walk away from him as her stood up and approached her. What had happened that he only felt comfortable around his best friend when she was sound asleep? Was there any hope of fixing it? He lowered himself to his knees and looked at her. She'd hurt him so badly, but he wasn't mad at her. He couldn't be mad at her. And how could he blame her for her reaction. They were friends, and barely that anymore, there was no reason why she should have been comfortab! le with his actions. Actions which he understood could have easily been interpreted as a come on. He couldn't be mad at her, nor could he blame her, but he could still hurt. And he did. It hurt to know that she felt nothing towards him outside of friendship. He didn't even try to stop himself from running a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. He noticed the single tear that made it's way down her face. And he panicked. She was awake. He wanted to sink through the floor. After what had just happened, she had to wonder what had possessed him to touch her. Especially while she was asleep. For just a second, he wondered exactly how stupid he was. And then, it was his turn. He fled the office, without stopping to grab his jacket or his coat or his keys. He had to leave. The poor thing was so repulsed by him that she screamed when he touched her. And he had the nerve to ambush her while she was asleep and had no choice but to fall victim to his twist! ed mind. Walking around among the crowds of people outside the building at lunch time, he realized that he'd never felt so alone in his life. A single tear broke free and fell down his face. He sat down on a bench and made no move to wipe it away. And when others followed, he sat there, unmoving, blaming himself for getting his hopes up. She hadn't been entirely asleep when she'd lowered her head. Not that she was awake either. She was just in some in between stage where everything seemed so much more confusing and feelings were twice as strong. She'd heard him get up and walk over to her, but she hadn't had the slightest desire to move. Then she'd felt, rather than seen, him kneel down next to her. She couldn't see him through her hair and she wondered what the hell he could possibly be doing. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was imagining it. Then she'd felt his hand caress her hair. She'd hurt him so much. And he wasn't even mad. He cared for her. She knew that now. But after the way she'd reacted, he'd never approach her again. She couldn't approach him either. And between the sorrow she felt for knowing that it could have been real- everything- all the feelings she was never sure of- and he gentle way he touched her, she couldn't stop the tear from sliding down her face. A! nd then he'd pulled away and run from her. There was nothing she could do. She was sure that there was nothing in the world that could repair all the destruction she'd caused that day. And then she looked at her thumb and absurdly wanted to cut it off. Blaming her finger just seemed easier than blaming herself. And it didn't hurt quite as much. For a while, he just sat there and cried. He didn't try to duck his head and pretend that his heart wasn't broken. He just stared at the people who stared at him and shook their heads in disgust. This was a free country. What was wrong with him sitting on a bench in the middle of the day crying his eyes out? Nothing. At least nothing that he could think of. But the thing that scared him the most was when he realized that he'd been right the first time. He didn't deserve her. And she wasn't even interested anyway. ************************************************************************ Part Six Scully sat at her desk well into the evening hoping that he would return. She thought that he was just waiting until he could be reasonably sure that she'd left before he came back. Or he was just not coming back. She knew that there was nothing pressing going on, he didn't really need to be back in until the morning. If he was coming back then. Knowing him, he'd hide from her until long after they'd both forgotten why and then reemerge and pretend that nothing had happened. She was almost hoping that he would show up and do that anyway. There wasn't any easy way to breech what had happened, or even to bring the subject up. It might just make more sense to drop it and possibly remain friends. But possibly remaining friends was not what Dana Scully wanted. She knew that he cared for her. He wasn't in love with her, she was sure, but he did care. And she loved him. The friendship they'd shared for almost four years was, in her opinion, worth the trouble to save. The bond between them was stronger than anything she'd ever experienced with anyone else. And just when she'd begun to take it for granted, it vanished. It was well after ten p.m. when she accepted that he wasn't coming back. At least not until the morning. She gathered up her things and headed home. As she unlocked her car door, a sardonic smile crossed her face. What kind of twisted relationship did they have when they could only come in contact when one, or both, of them was asleep without arguing. Or having one of them run out of the room. The thing she cherished the most about their relationship, their ability to communicate without words, was useless when they couldn't look each other in the eye. She shook her head, wiped the smile off her face and then got in the car. She had a plan. She was going to go home, take a long bath, and in the morning, she would gather her strength and approach him. She didn't need to mention that she loved him. She would just be honest about how much the tension was bothering her and let him know that she wanted to make things better. If she was calm and rational, then he would have to listen to her. Ok. So he didn't. But it seemed like a good enough plan to bank all of her energy on throughout the ride home. She had parked the car and was ready to get out when she noticed where she was. She had no conscious memory of driving there, and she'd had absolutely no intentions of going there. And he probably did not want her there. If he'd wanted to see her, he would have come back to the office. She felt every bit of her resolve slip away as she got out of the car. She didn't want to talk to him in the morning. She wanted to talk to him now. She wanted everything to be better, back the way it had been. And she wanted it better right then. Besides, it might be more comfortable for him if she brought up a touchy subject while he was in his apartment and relaxed. He might not run away from her if there was no place for him to run to. She stood in front of his door, pathetically trying to convince herself that she was ready for this. She knocked softly on the door. She had decided that if he heard the knock and opened the door that it was an omen and it meant she was supposed to talk to him. If he didn't, then she'd leave. A good ten minutes later she concluded that regardless of omens, she was not going through this particular ordeal ever again and she was going to talk to him. Carefully unlocking the door, she hoped that he wouldn't be mad at her for just inviting herself in. Her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit apartment fairly quickly. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She'd been expecting to find him sitting on the couch, possibly sleeping, with the TV blaring. When she didn't see him there, horror crept into her. Maybe he'd patched things up with Karen and he was there right then as she snuck around his apartment. The bedroom door was not closed all the way and there was no light coming from inside. She stopped dead in the hallway when she considered that he might have patched things up with Karen and they were *both* here. In *there.* She'd actually started walking back to the door when she felt the overwhelming urge just to know for sure. If it was dark and quiet, then maybe they were asleep. And she managed to ignore the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she pushed the door open a little farther to let the light in from the hall. Once she saw that he was in fact alone, and apparently asleep, she let out the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. So now she knew he was asleep. Alone. She was not going to wake him up and demand to discuss their relationship. Then she might have to explain exactly what she was doing there. Immobilized with indecision, she stared into the dark bedroom. Was she just going to turn around and go home? Could she live with herself if she did? Could she stand right where she was all night and be lucky enough for him not to wake up? She couldn't just stand there. He was a light sleeper. And if he woke up and saw someone standing in the doorway, he would shoot first. And she was sure that with all the trouble they managed to get into that his gun was beside him on the table, ready to fire. Suddenly, she felt like she was back in high school. Desperately wanting to talk to the boy who sat behind her in history, but not trusting her vocal chords to actually form a coherent thought. Much more likely to proclaim her undying love than ask him what chapter the test was on. She was shaking. And she didn't even know it. She slowly crept into the room, closing the door almost entirely behind her. She didn't want to see his face when he woke up and saw her. But she didn't want to trip and fall and wake him up. That was just not good at all. By the time she had crossed the room, she was shaking too hard to stay standing. That was her excuse for sitting down on the bed. For some reason, it occurred to her right then that her shoes were hurting her feet and that served as her excuse for taking them off. Then, she realized that she was cold. That was as good a reason for any to slip under the covers. And she stubbornly refused to acknowledge that she had absolutely no compelling reason to snuggle up to him and bury her face in his neck. But it didn't matter to her. Not as long as he wasn't pushing her away. She told herself that he was dreaming and certainly not about her when he pulled her into his arms and mumbled something into her hair. And as nervous as she was that he was going to wake up, she still had to admit that being in his arms felt every bit as good as she had dreamed. And it felt more *right* than anything she'd ever experienced before. She felt so happy, so safe and content, that she wouldn't care if he woke up and threw her out. Just feeling his arms around her and knowing they were really there would make everything worth it. She smiled into his neck and pushed herself slightly away from him, purposely hoping that he would pull her back. And he didn't let her down. But when she'd settled comfortably against him once again, exactly what she feared happened. She felt his arms tense up and then she heard his voice. She felt her blood run cold. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe it hadn't been worth it. Definitely hadn't been worth it, not if she had to endure the pain of him telling her to leave. His voice was slightly muffled because he was talking into her hair and his thoughts were groggy. Things weren't making a lot of sense right then. Still, he had to know. "Are you really here, Dana?" Terrified beyond words, she was surprised to hear her own voice. "No. It's just a dream." She remained still, hoping that he wasn't awake enough to make any sense. If he was half asleep, then he probably wouldn't remember anything in the morning. "Best dream I've ever had." He didn't say another thing as he drifted back to sleep. She had been right thinking that he was half asleep, but she was wrong thinking he'd forget. Luckily for her, he assumed, like she had, that it really was a dream. Unfortunately for her, she was so relaxed that she slept more soundly than she had in years. And when the morning came, she was lost in her own dream when Mulder woke up and realized that his dream had been real. And that she had come to him, the same way he'd gone to her. He was so relaxed for once that he didn't get up immediately and jump in the shower. He was in absolutely no rush to get to work. Everything he liked about work was sleeping quietly in his arms. If he'd been a cat, he would have been purring. And he wished that he could purr. Because then she would have understood how happy he was. But when she did wake up, and find him staring at her with a completely unreadable expression on his face, she panicked and started shaking once again. Surely she hadn't been this embarrassed before in her life. She didn't think that she would be able to live this down. And she wasn't really sure that she wanted to. She reluctantly pulled away from him and tried to get up. "Where exactly do you think you're going?" There was a hint of playfulness in his voice. But she misunderstood it. She thought that he was making fun of her. Instead of bothering to make an excuse, not like there was an excuse imaginable for this, she sat up and discovered that the monster under the bed had eaten one of her shoes. She was so embarrassed at that moment that she was relatively sure that she would die if she had to look under his bed for her shoe. She was too busy concentrating on the shoe conundrum to notice when he sat up behind her. This time, his voice was not even the slightest bit teasing. It was so soft that she had to question that she wasn't imagining it. And it was so close to her ear that she could feel his breath on her neck. "Please don't leave." She attempted to form a thought. She really did. But somehow, her brain had turned to complete and total mush. All she could do was look at her shoe and accept that brown shoes didn't go with tan suits any better than black ones did. And when she heard him speak again, her limbs were rendered dysfunctional. She couldn't move. "Please, Dana. Sweetheart." He could barely hear his own voice at that point. But he was sure that if she left him right then, his heart would break. And he didn't even want to survive it. He was close to tears. All of his hopes were riding on her not leaving. He didn't even care how ridiculous he was acting. And the second she heard him call her sweetheart, she was fully aware of the fact that she'd begun having auditory hallucinations again. But she didn't mind, not as long as they were pleasant ones. Not knowing any of it was real, not believing that it could be real, she closed her eyes and gave in to the delusion. She relaxed and leaned back against him until she was resting entirely on him. She felt his arms wrap around her again, somehow feeling completely familiar. She covered his hands with her own. Then she listened while he told her the only thing in the world that she'd wanted to hear from him at that moment. And she knew that he was truly honest when he told her that he loved her more than his own life and he'd do anything to keep her safe. And then he listened when she promised him that she was never, ever going to leave him. And that she would never, ever stop loving him. ******************************************************************************** ***************************************** Part Seven It would have been so simple. It would have been so easy. But she had to know. Anyone would have had to know right then. "Was it a dream?" Her voice had once again slipped into a whisper. He thought about what she'd asked for a minute before giving up, completely confused. "Are you asking if you were sleep-walking last night?" Was he teasing her? She couldn't tell because she couldn't see his face. She was suddenly very sorry that her back was to him. "Mulder, I was talking about the other night." *Oh, ok. So she was talking about that.* He still wasn't sure if he wanted to admit to that or not.. "Which night?" She was getting mad. He was playing games with her and she didn't think it was very funny. "What do you mean which night?" Whoops. He'd given himself away. "Are you talking about that night after you met Karen or the night on the couch?" Ok, so now he'd really given himself away. She turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. "How many nights did you sneak into my apartment?" He smiled at her. He couldn't help it. She wasn't mad. He couldn't believe he was that lucky. "How many nights did you dream about me being there?" She felt her cheeks turn red and she looked away from him. "Don't you mean how many nights did I feel relatively sure that you were really there?" He loved watching her try and talk her way out of things. Especially when she was doing a really bad job of it. "No, I asked how many nights you dreamt about me being there." He had her. He knew he had her. He watched her face blush even deeper red. She met his glance, determined not to get any more embarrassed than she already was. This man was purposely being even more exasperating than normal. But this was the man she loved and she was *almost* willing to put up with it. Almost. "Have you ever heard of the Fifth Amendment?" "You just don't want to answer me." He raised his eyebrow back at her, challenging her to answer. But when she kissed him, he completely forgot what the question was. "No, Mulder, it's just that I can think of better things to do than play twenty questions." Then she smiled at him and he knew that he'd never find out the answer to the question he couldn't remember.