From amanda@actjbs.demon.co.uk Mon May 19 12:04:58 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Sleeping With Scully I (1/2) by Amanda C.Tyrrell From: Amanda Tyrrell -------- Title : Sleeping with Scully I 1/1 Author : Amanda C.Tyrrell E-mail : amanda@actjbs.demon.co.uk Category : S Rating : PG-13 for a couple of words. Summary : Mulder has trouble sleeping & Scully helps out. Timespan : Fourth season Spoilers : None really Disclaimer: The characters of the X-Files do not belong to me, they are the rightful property of CC, 1013 & Fox, and are used entirely without permission and not for profit. Archive : Go ahead, but keep my name & e-mail address on it. Feedback : Yes please, a possible sequel depends on it. ********************************************************************* * Sleeping with Scully I by Amanda C.Tyrrell May 1997 * ********************************************************************* Pegasus International Hotel Duval Street, Key West April 21st 12:15 am, room 1013 "Mulder, just how long has it been ?" A sigh, then ... "It seems like forever, Scully" "Why didn't you say something before, I would have helped you, I do know a bit about these things, remember ?" "I don't know, I guess I'm kind of used to it now and I sort of handle it myself. It's never been this long before, though, and God it's so frustrating" "You dont have to handle it yourself, Mulder, let me help you, I know how hard it can get. You just need some relief, trust me" Earlier that week Mulders apartment 2:30 am He paced, back and forth, over and over, treading the same path, time and again, he had been pacing for a little over two hours. He stopped by the window and looked out on to the street below. It was never completely dark, and never completely silent in the city, light always seemed to come from somewhere, flashing sparks of the local homies zippo, living room illuminations bleeding through not quite closed curtains. The yellow haze of neon that clutched the skyline, the raking of headlights past his window, illuminating some small corner of the neighbourhood, where even the innocent shadow of a lone cat scouring the trash for something to eat, became somehow more sinister, threatening, malevolent. There was always sound, too. The distant rumble of trucks, hauling goods and chattels to God knows where, the clattering of skittled garbage cans, the gentle din of jousting lovers, the wail of a police siren. By day these sounds went unnoticed, unremarked. At night, they provided a sound track to his anguish. The city at night was like Fox Mulders mind, never resting, never completely quiet, never at peace. Even when he slept, which was rarely, some small part of him was always active, always ready to remind him of some half-forgotten pain or madness. Often he would awake, drenched in sweat, fingers clutching at the fabric of his T-shirt, sometimes he would find his face wet with tears or his jaw aching as if he had been screaming for hours. Perhaps he had. He would get up and walk around his apartment, take a shower, drink a glass of water and eventually the horror would dim, and he would try for sleep again. Those were the good days. On the bad days, like today, like for the past two weeks, he would barely sleep at all. The torment would start before even one small part of his mind had had the chance to switch off and he would be allowed no rest at all. Past failures and small indignities would nag at him, meaningless conversations from the day, yesterday, years ago would whirl around his head, never completed, always segueing into something else, something trivial, something his mind would not let go. Later the real horrors would come. Memories of his sister, his parents, the torture he had been forced to witness as man and boy, broken families, broken bodies, half-lives, Scully. All brought to him in glorious technicolour, courtesy of his fucking eidetic memory. As a seasoned insomniac, Mulder knew that it was useless to fret about the lack of sleep, worrying about it simply made it worse. He knew that on nights like these, he should simply accept that sleep would not come, and use the time for something else. He could read, either for recreation or information, if his eyes got too tired, he could listen to music, or the lousy dialogue of the crappy movies that they showed on the idiot box this time of night. Actually, he rather liked the rotten movies. Inevitably, maybe just because he was a man, Mulders thoughts would turn to sex. Once upon a time, he would simply shove a tape into the VCR and watch, or listen to, platinum blondes with pneumatic breasts fake orgasms with some guy who had apparently popped round to fix the central heating, or clean the windows, or some other lame excuse. He wondered idly why the "handyman" always seemed to have a moustache. He was tired of those films now, tired of the same old faces and bodies. He had become tired of them when he noticed that he recognised the faces of the actors. Well, actually he noticed that he had noticed their *faces* and that was enough. Lately, he had stopped watching the movies, contenting himself instead with imagining himself having sex with various women. Secretaries from the typing pool, a woman he spotted at the local mart, Major Kira from Deep Space 9, a certain redhead of his acquaintance. For some reason he felt a little guilty about imagining Scully in *that* way. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was completely normal to think about sex with his partner, it's just what guys do. People did that, every day, just ... imagine. No harm, no foul. Still, there was something about Scully, a purity, perhaps ?, that made him feel just a little dirty. Not that the Scully of his imaginings was particularly pure, exactly. He didn't know what it was about her that affected him so, possibly it was just because she had the sort of mouth that made him think of blow-jobs. In his fantasies, Scully invariably wore nothing but a wicked smile, she was accomplished, athletic, proficient, energetic, wild. She was a mixture of Mary-Lou Retton, Doctor Quinn and, well, Lassie. When he allowed himself to think about it, he thought that he probably wasnt too far off base as far as the enigmatic Dr Scully was concerned. It was his fervent wish that one day he would find out for sure. Tonight, though, sex was far from his mind. Tonight he could not help but realise that he had not had anything that could be recognised as a good nights sleep in ages. Tonight he simply paced, pausing once in a while to open a cupboard, or the refrigerator, or to move some papers around on his desk, as if he had misplaced the will to sleep, and had simply to open the right drawer, at the right time, and he would find it. One day, he thought, the noise in his head would cease and he would finally get some quality sleep. What worried him though, was he thought that would also be the day he died. Sometime, in the dim light of early morning, Special Agent Fox Mulder found a fitful sleep. The next day - April 19th 9:30am, the basement of the Hoover building. Special Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I. was neither early, nor was she late. She was, as ever, precisely on time. The same could not be said for her partner. Her partner. Scully allowed herself a wry twitch of her lips, partner was a funny world for what he really was. Friend, co-worker, confidant, foil, crutch. She was all these things to him too, and more, or less, depending on how you looked on it. She was the Ice Queen, Mrs Spooky, the enigmatic Doctor Scully even, the yin to his yang. This morning she was coffee maker, since Agent Mulder was not in his office, to meet her, at their appointed time, with coffee ready-brewed. This was not an unusual occurrence, but not usual either. Actually, if she thought about it, his tardiness had become more regular lately. If he was anyone else, Scully would have been annoyed. He was not anyone else, he was Fox Mulder, her .... what ? Twenty five minutes later, two cups of coffee later, all her mail and half a crossword later, the door opened and Agent Mulder slouched in, waving his fingers absently, apologetically in her general direction. With a sigh, he heaved his overcoat off and made his way towards his desk. Scully gave herself a moment to regard him as he weaved past her, allowing herself to watch him from behind, watch his hands as he failed to drape his coat over the back of his chair. "Hey Scully, sorry Im late, traffic was a bitch". He sat, and almost slumped over his desk, fingers gliding idly over the detritus piled thereon. He picked up a pencil and gazed at it, as if he knew what it was, but could not quite remember what it was for, or how it had got there. Scully rook pity on him, as she had before, and strode to the coffee pot, poured him an unhealthy measure, and walked back toward him. Carefully, she placed the brimming cup within his reach, then stepped back and rested her hip against the edge of his desk. "Drink deeply, Mulder, we have a meeting with Skinner in ten minutes" He raised his head, and looked at her gratefully. "Thanks Scully, if I told you how much I needed this .." His eyes caught hers, and he was puzzled by the sudden look of concern that flashed across them. "Good grief, Mulder, you look like something the cat dragged in, and wouldnt eat" "Thanks Scully, I would hate to feel this bad and look good" Her hand, cool, smooth and comforting, was suddenly resting on his brow, he felt both better and worse. "Whats the matter Mulder, are you coming down with something ?". "No, Im fine, really". She smiled slightly, that was her line. "Just having a little trouble sleeping". "Can I give you something, a sleeping pill, muscle relaxant .." He cut her off. "No thanks Scully, those things just put you out, they dont stop the dreams, and they dont make you feel better in the morning. They just give you a short dose of death, and I don't need that right now". She knew about the dreams, of course, with all the time they spent on the road, how could she not ?. Still he must have been really tired to mention them, and this did not afford her any comfort, she withdrew her hand and fixed him with a sympathetic gaze. Her voice was gentle, "Dont worry Mulder, I wont let your dreams come true". He nodded and smiled tightly, , he thought ruefully, . What he said was "Not even the really good ones ?" and was rewarded by a patented Scully smile. Later that day, he returned to the scene of the crime, his apartment, to pack a bag and call a cab to take him to the airport. He and Scully were off to the Florida Keys to interview a guy who claimed to have witnessed an alien abduction. Privately, he had his doubts about the whole thing. Publicly he had argued the necessity of getting a first hand account. He needed to get away, as he often did, from anyplace that could be called home. The psychologist in him proclaimed that he couldnt run away from his problems. The Mulder in him told the psychologist to shut the fuck up. A couple of days in the sunshine with Agent Scully could do nothing but good. Or harm. Whatever. At the very least he could get to watch her sleep on the plane. Pegasus International Hotel Duval Street, Key West April 20th 10:03 PM, room 1011 As she had suspected, the case had turned out to be a complete bust, honestly she didnt know why Mulder insisted on following up every damn case where extra terrestrial activity was claimed. Still, in a way she was glad to be there, the trip hadn't been a total waste of time. She had had the opportunity to keep an eye on Mulder. She was really worried about him. If it was possible, he had looked even worse this morning than he had the previous day. He had obviously not slept again last night. They had booked their return flight to Washington for the 22nd, flying from what was laughingly called "Key West International Airport", in reality a small concrete bunker of a building, that actually had a surprisingly good bar. They had been unable to secure an earlier flight, American Eagle being fully booked, and Sunshine Air (known locally as Sometimes Air) were now defunct. Scully had suggested renting a car and driving up to Miami, or Fort Lauderdale and catching a flight from there, but Mulder had vetoed the idea, claiming his expense reports where complex enough without having to justify another hire car. Scully was quietly pleased, it meant that she and Mulder had an entire day off in a town that, admittedly, was not designed for rest, but was designed for relaxation. She hoped that she could persuade Mulder to take it easy for a day, maybe to stroll up to the beach at Fort Zachary Taylor and at least lie down on a deck chair and close his eyes for a while, if not actually sleep. He had certainly seemed bone-weary this evening, as he had listlessly pushed an exquisite steak around his plate at the Pier House, and even declined her offer of a beer and a game of pool at Captain Tonys bar. And so they had decided to simply head back to their hotel, a modest but surprisingly comfortable place close to "Ripleys Believe it or Not", that seemed to be mainly staffed by somewhat camp Hispanic men, one of whom wore trousers so tight, Scully *swore* that she could read the washing instructions on his underwear. On second thoughts, he probably wasn't wearing any. The rainbow flag on the door had proclaimed the hotel as "Gay-friendly", Scully had decided that it was friendly, full stop. The complimentary fresh brewed coffee that seemed to be provided at all times of the day and night hadn't hurt either. Mulder had practically sleep walked back to their hotel. Scully was certain that he had been totally unaware of the people spilling out of pub doorways, the thumping beat of disco, reggae, salsa, new wave music, the icy blast of air conditioning from open shop doors. He was oblivious of the colourful folk who oozed onto the sidewalks at that time of night, the waspish tourists, the handsome young men and their handsome young boyfriends, itinerant Australians, street vendors, beggars, the fit, the healthy, the old, the dying. He even failed to notice the strong young women plying their bicycle cab trade, their firmly muscled bodies poured into spandex and lycra, all was obviously not well in Mulders world. When they reached their hotel, Mulder, as was his custom, opened the door for her, and she had allowed him to guide her through, his hand a familiar and welcome warmth at the small of her back. As they neared their adjacent, though not connecting, rooms, Mulders grip on the land of the living seemed to deteriorate yet further, as his groping fingers failed to find the jacket pocket that contained his room key. "Mulder, let me", she brushed his hands aside and patted the left, then right hand side of his suit. Two slim fingers invaded his breast pocket and emerged with the missing key. Somehow she managed to both prop him up and operate the lock to his door, pushing gently, she eased him through it. Mulder weaved his way to the bed and fell, rather than sat, on the edge of it. Scully moved to the window and opened it just a crack, then opened the small fridge and removed a bottle of mineral water, setting it on the bedside table. When she looked at him, he had not moved, though his head lolled forward as if his neck was no longer strong enough to support it. She kneeled before him. "Mulder, you really need to get undressed, do you want me to help you ?" She took his lack of response as an affirmative, and an indication that he was really dead on his feet. An even semiconscious Mulder would have asked if she was coming on to him. Sheundid his laces and removed his shoes and socks. The cool air on hisfeet roused him a little, and as she loosened his tie and slipped hisjacket off, his fingers moved to the button of his trousers. "That's it, Mulder, lets see a little skin", she was gratified when he managed a small chuckle. Together they stripped him down to his boxers and totally inappropriate undershirt. Mulders body obviously decided that this was enough, as his hands dropped to his sides once more. She eased him back into the bed and covered him lightly with a sheet, then deactivated the alarm on his travel clock. "Good night Mulder" she whispered and left, switching the light off as she went. Back in her own room, Scully realised that she still had both their room keys and toyed briefly with returning to his room and leaving his on the dresser. She decided against it, he seemed to be sleeping and she wasn't about to risk waking him up. She wandered aimlessly around her own room, picking up and then tossing aside the latest medical journal. She glanced at her watch, 10:11. Switching on the television as she passed, she sat on the edge of her bed and started channel surfing. Ten years later she looked at her watch again, 10:15, only four minutes had passed. Scully sighed, allowed that she was bored and contemplated firing up her lap-top for an invigorating game of minesweeper. "Sad, sad, sad Dana, you really do have no life at all, and you can't remember how to get one." She paused. "You talk to yourself as well, which is sadder still.". She silently agreed with herself. "Hey, you're in Key West with time to kill, why don't you go out and have a couple of beers, make new friends, show off your tattoo, have fun, get drunk, have unsafe sex with a hard-bodied young man, or his sister, or both ?". She laughed out loud at the absurdity of the idea, threw herself back onto the bed and contemplated the ceiling for a few minutes. "Well, I could start with a beer and see how I go ...." . .... continued in part 2 .... explained and disclaimed in part 1, on with the show ... Club International 10:45pm Special Agent Dana Scully, now comfortably clad in deck shoes, loose denim jeans and a long cotton shirt over a cropped tee, strode through the doors of Club-I, where her new friend Toni the bike-cab woman, had assured her of a beer, good times and no hassle. The bike-cab woman had neglected to mention that Club-I was a predominately lesbian bar, not that Scully, who was far more broad-minded and experienced than that limp dicked bastard Colton (Ice Queen, indeed !) gave her credit for, cared. As they passed a clutch of women at the pool table, Scully turned a little toward Toni. "Not thinking of curing my heterosexuality, are you ?" "Why, do you want to be cured ?". The taller woman had reached the bar first and was attempting to attract the attention of the bartender by waving a ten dollar bill in the air. "Not tonight, no ...", Scully regarded the bar stools with a gimlet eye, they really were incredibly high. " ... you don't happen to have a step ladder about your person, do you ?" "Don't worry, Dana, your virtue is safe with me, I'm only looking for conversation, I wont be urging you to get your leg over anything, not even that stool ... though be warned - I intend to flirt ruthlessly with you all night". Toni picked up the two bottled beers they had ordered and motioned Scully towards a table in the corner. An hour and several beers later found Scully, Toni and a few of her friends deep in the kind of debate that only alcohol lubricated minds indulged in, namely a discussion about the gay subtext in various Star Trek episodes, as in the background Alannis vented her spleen on the juke-box. "Im telling you, Tasha Yar is a complete dyke, I mean even from day one she wore trouser suits and suspiciously comfortable boots. When all the other Enterprise women wore cap sleeved mini dresses and bouffant hairdos, there was Tasha with her butch crop, no make-up and a healthy interest in phasers. She was head of security for crissake !" "Just a minute ...", Scully interjected, "... didnt she have sex with Data in an early episode ?" "Doesnt count" was the overwhelming response from the other women on the table. "Data is a machine" . "I know that, but he was, well, a man, at least technically, wasnt he ?" Scully persisted. "Yeah, but when it comes down to it, Data was simply a very highly sophisticated vibrator" Toni replied, and the conversation turned to great women tennis players of recent years. Just before midnight Scully hugged and reluctantly said goodbye to her new found drinking buddies and made her way back to her hotel, humming the kind of tune the moderately inebriated are so fond of. The balmy night air had a further mellowing effect on her psyche, for a few short hours that evening, Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully of the F.B.I. forgot about the x-files, conspiracies and an impending premature death, and was simply Dana, the somewhat serious, but still fun loving and excitable young woman of four years ago. When she pushed open the door of the Pegasus, Dana was genuinely closer to fine than she had been for ages. As she neared her door she heard low, tortured, moans from a neighbouring room. Her spirit fell slightly as she realised that Mulder was undoubtedly not sleeping well again. As she pressed her key into the lock, she caught a half swallowed scream from Mulders room, shortly followed by several curses her fathers Navy buddies would have been proud of, and what sounded like a travel alarm clock being forcibly hurled against a wall. She let herself into her room, quickly stripped, showered and changed into a loose T-shirt and a pair of mens boxers, the front of which she had securely sewn shut. As she exited the bathroom, she could just make out muffled sobs from the room next door. With a sigh, she gathered up both her and Mulders keys, padded out of her room and let herself into his. Pegasus International Hotel Duval Street, Key West April 21st 12:10 am, room 1013 He was sitting on the edge of the disarray that was his bed, elbows on knees, hands clutched in the hair of his bowed head, rocking slightly. "Mulder, are you o.k. ?". He shook his head in resignation. "Scary dreams, huh ?". Her voice was so soft and gentle, like a mother soothing a frightened child, though not like any mother he remembered, that he felt strangely undone. She stood in front of him and touched his hand and as he had once before, he gave into the urge to throw his arms around her waist and bury his face in her stomach. "Very scary dreams Scully", he murmured, "I didnt mean to wake you, Im sorry ...". Instead of patting him on the head as she did the last time, she laced her fingers in his hair, ruffled it slightly and then smoothed it down. "Do you want to talk about it?" She felt him shake his head against her. "Not really" he said a moment later, "Ive just had such a hard time sleeping lately". He relaxed his death grip on her and she moved slightly away from him, then crouched down and tilted his head until he was looking her in the eye. "Mulder, just how long has it been ?" A sigh, then ... "It seems like forever, Scully" "Why didn't you say something before, I would have helped you, I do know a bit about these things, remember ?" "I don't know, I guess I'm kind of used to it now and I sort of handle it myself. It's never been this long before, though, and God it's so frustrating" "You dont have to handle it yourself, Mulder, let me help you, I know how hard it can get. You just need some relief, trust me" "Youre the only one I trust, Scully". She smiled at him, both in recognition of their mutual understanding that was so rarely verbalised, and also because she knew he believed it, when she did not. "Then trust me now, Mulder, Im going to use a time-honoured method to help you relax, and maybe sleep." An expression that comprised of fear, excitement and hope crossed his troubled eyes and he started to open his mouth to say something, when he felt her fingers touch his lips. "Down boy .." there was a gentle laugh in her voice " ... this is a strictly non-energetic therapy". He made as if to protest, and she silenced him again with a mock ferocious expression and a narrowing of her eyes. Her fingers moved to the collar of his undershirt and he shivered slightly while her nose wrinkled a little. "First, you are going to have a quick wash while I change these sheets, o.k. ?", he nodded mutely. "Im going to tell you a story, Mulder, you are going to lie back and listen, with no interruptions, just close your eyes and listen, can you do that ?". He nodded again, stood up and made his way to the bathroom, pausing briefly to run his fingertips over her shoulder and whisper his thanks. When he returned, the bed was freshly made and Scully was lying, propped up by several pillows on one side of it. She patted the mattress to her right and urged him to lie down, with a little trepidation he did so and she drew the sheet over him. "Close your eyes, Mulder, and just listen." Once she was satisfied that he had complied, she began. "When I was much younger, we had a family holiday, my Mom, Dad, Missy, my brothers and I, in Canada. We were going to stay with one of my Uncles near Lake Louise, Alberta. The first clear memory I have of that trip was on the road out of Calgary. Although the naval bases that I was brought up in were occasionally in exotic locations, not one of them, as you would imagine, were in or near the mountains. I was totally unprepared, therefore, for the reaction I had to seeing the Rockies rise and rise out of the horizon. As we approached, they just got bigger and bigger until I was deathly afraid that they would completely fill the sky. Im not sure that there are really words that would describe how I felt that day Mulder, how small and insignificant I felt, how utterly powerless, and enraptured I felt with the beauty around me." "We stopped that evening, just a little short of our final destination, in Banff. I can remember opening the car door and just wandering down the main street, looking up. For that day, I did not need my faith, that day I *knew* that God existed. How else could these wonderful and terrifying natural monuments reach up to the heavens. How could they not crumble and fall on me, if there was not a divine force supporting them. I barely slept that night." She glanced at Mulders face, his eyes were heavy and half closed, he seemed to be unwinding a little, she placed her right hand gently on his forearm and he relaxed a little more. Leaving her hand where it was, she continued. "The next day we drove a little then stopped for a walk in Johnstons Canyon, a narrow ravine with enormous cliffs above and what I remember as a raging torrent of a river below. For the most part we could follow a trail through the surrounding vegetation, but here and there the trail disappeared to be replaced with a cat walk that was riveted into the cliff face. All along the hike we saw wildlife, birds, butterflies and cheeky chipmunks greedily begging for scraps from the passing tourists. It both saddened and delighted me to get so close to them. A fine misty rain fell the whole way, and when we reached the top of the trail, we stopped so that Daddy could take a photograph. Unfortunately it was so cold up there that his old-fashioned, even for the time, camera froze up, and the resultant picture was faded, lacking both colour and depth. A photograph could not have adequately captured the beauty of the environment anyway." He dozed on and off, Scullys voice was the only constant of his night, it was level and calm, and he could almost visualise the scenery her words described, it was enormously comforting, As he drifted in and out of sleep, he caught the odd phrase here and there. Her hand never moved from its comfortable, natural, position on his arm. "... the water was so blue Mulder, I really couldnt tell where the sky stopped and the lake began ..." "... we had a cookout that night, frying steaks on a barbecue provided by the parks authority, by a stream as the sun glided down the mountain side ..." "... on the way home we stopped as a baby, maybe one year old, grizzly bear cub grazed by the roadside. I wanted to get out and cuddle it but Daddy persuaded me that its mother would be somewhere nearby, looking out for it ..." "... I couldnt believe it, when I looked out of my window that morning as the horses an ponies were being herded into the corral, just outside my bedroom window ..." "... that puppy was the cutest thing, he would get so excited when we got back each day, he would practically wet himself on the porch ..." At about 1:45, Scully decided that Mulder was fastly asleep, as she withdrew her hand and started to get up, he started to jerk fitfully. She replaced her hand and he calmed. He no longer seemed to need to hear her voice, but he seemed unwilling to relinquish her touch. Ten minutes or so later she tried to return to her room again, with the same result. Scully was pretty tired herself, and was more than a little uncomfortable with the position she had adopted in his bed. With a sigh she slid a little down the bed, tugged slightly at the sheet, so that she was covered from the waist down, then softly placed her left arm across his gently rising chest and rested her forehead against his shoulder. "Goodnight Mulder" she whispered for the second time that evening, fully intending to leave in maybe half an hours time. But she didnt, and Fox William Mulder slept peacefully for probably the first time in twenty years. END Comments and creative criticism welcomed at: amanda@actjbs.demon.co.uk Thanks for reading.