From: slyseng@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca (Susan)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW > "These Dreams" < 1/1
Date: Thu, 12 Oct 1995 10:22:10 GMT


More from Summer--all comments can be directed to her at
summer@camelot.bradley.edu--thanks :)
**************************************************************************

NOTES: As you might guess from the title, this is based on an X-Files 
dream I had. It takes place shortly after "Paper Clip" (**3rd season
spoilers**). 


			    These Dreams
			  An X-Files Story
			     by Summer

	
	"Fox! Look out the window!"

	He gazes past the steam on the glass. A yellow square of
light from the kitchen is cast on the snowy ground; far off down the
dirt road are sinister shapes, black blots against the horizon. "No,"
he murmurs in terror. "Where are they hidden?"

	"The Jewish families are in the back bedroom," Dana
answers. "We can't put them in the cellar, it's the first place the
searchers will look. I've seen those shades before, Fox. Men on
horseback. The Nazi troops are on their way."

 	"I'll go out front and distract them," Fox says. "Lead the
Jews out of the house through the coal tunnel... keep them in the
tunnel until the Nazis have checked the shed, then move them
inside it. We can only hope they don't find the hidden trapdoor."

	"How will you distract them? Let me call on my brothers,"
Dana proposes. "They have faced this evil before."

	"I fight my own battles," Fox replies.

	"Even knowing you can't win? Rely on me. I will help you,"
she tells him.

	He looks again to the dark shadows on the road and nods to
her. "Very well. I'll lead the families to safety. Call your
warriors."

	Fox takes his leave of her there and goes to the back room
where the Jewish families are huddled fearfully. They are small,
strangely formed men and women and children; their eyes are so
large, their fingers so long. Each time he and Dana take in a new 
family, Fox looks for a strange face that haunts him; but he has yet
to find the little girl he seeks. He has forgotten over the long years
of the war who she was to him; a daughter, a sister, a friend? It
doesn't matter. His search goes on.

	"They're coming," he tells the people now. "We must hide in
the coal tunnel. I'll lead you there. Come with me."

	With reluctant eerie movements they uncurl from their
places and follow him. Fox leads them through the darkness of the
coal tunnel. He hears the Nazi knights ransacking the shed, and
motions for the people to be quiet. He hears the cries of the dark
soldiers as the brothers of the sea daughter begin their attack.

	"There is another way out," Fox says, "though we know not
where it leads. If they should find this tunnel, move through this
passage." He shows them a strange door set into the earth; he dusts
away the crumbling sandy dirt to reveal the portal. "It leads into a
boxcar, this much we know," he tells them. "Beyond that, the way
out differs for everyone. This is the magic they wished to steal from
us."

	A crash resounds through the tunnel. "They've found us,"
Fox knows. "Go through."

	The families go into the boxcar; they tug at his hands, trying
to pull him along. He shakes his head.

	"I have gone this way before," he says. "It only allows safe
passage once. And I cannot leave Dana behind."

	The Jewish families clang the door shut after them. Fox
hears the soldier's boots coming down the tunnel, and despairs.

	Out in the snow by the swingset, Dana watches her brothers
fall in battle against the Nazis. She takes up her father's sword from
where it falls.

	A leader in the Nazi ranks steps forward to face Dana. This
woman's clothes are heavy, ornate with sewn symbols of power; her
dark hair waves wildly to her waist, swinging in elaborate braids
and tresses. This woman has honor enough to allow Dana time to
draw her weapon from the scabbard. A parchment flutters from the 
sheath as Dana bares the blue metal of the blessed blade Tcyr
Tcyrin.

	The Nazi warrior readies her own sword, the broad arc of
bronze held with loose confidence. Her eyes meet Dana's and Dana
is swept by a vision and a rememberance.

	"Your name," Dana calls, "give me the name of she I face this
day in battle."
	
	"I am Tigana," the woman replies. "Your rebellion against the
righteous cause of the Reich will never succeed."

	"I know my cause is just," Dana challenges. "Can you say
the same? For my father ruled this land well and kindly, and I his
child will take my place as his heir or die in trying."
	
	Tigana shakes her head, the beads of her corona clicking.
"Ours is the right and the will of the gods."

	"Is it the will of the gods that you slaughter innocent 
people?" Dana answers, compelled to reach this warrior Tigana,
who stirs a strange familiarity in her heart.

	A shadow of doubt falls over Tigana's face. In this moment
Dana sees truth shine from the depths of her own memory: this is
the face Fox has drawn again and again, the face he has searched
for and wept over in dreams. This woman was once the child he
lost, long ago; now she stands herself lost, fear and disillusionment
playing over the features that Fox has prayed for years to see.

	"Samantha," Dana says, knowing this is Tigana's true name.

	The warrior woman's dark eyes lock with Dana's blue, and
for a moment she is the child who bears that name. Then the cry of
the Nazi Knights echoes in the distance and the spell is shattered.
	
	The snow sprays as Tigana charges, her blade held high;
Dana meets the attack surely, with faith in the strength of her
family's power and her father's sword.

	"Samantha," she repeats breathlessly. "Remember yourself, 
who you truly are. This is wrong. Think, Samantha."

	"Stop!" her opponent screams, unable to face the lies of her
life. "My name is Tigana--" she strikes out desperately, again and
again, but every blow is parried and every curse met by Dana's
measured defense.

	Dana wishes for another way, but Tigana will not yield. The
sea daughter murmurs a blessing, knowing that she has other
battles to fight beyond this struggle; she raises Tcyr Tcyrin and
deals the warrior woman a blow with the wrought hilt, striking
Tigana unconcious.
	
	The woman's body crumples into the snow; Dana moves her
to the trunk of a nearby oak tree, hoping she will be able to recover
Samantha from the soldier `Tigana' that the Nazi Knights have made
of this stolen child.

	For now, though, the fighting continues to the east. Dana
returns to the field. Tigana, she thinks, I will fight to avenge you.
Her bound feet break through the crust of snow as she lets fly her 
sword and stains the white with crimson.
	
	The battle rages until Dana can no longer remember a time
when she was not fighting, hardly recalls the person she once was;
now she is merely an instrument of war, her hands locked in a
permanent circle around the hilt of her blade.

	At last she has fought her way to face the Nazi King, the 
lord of them all. He and his few remaining men face her with quiet
scorn.

	Dana stands before them, her furs and armor bloodied, the
long blue blade of Tcyr Tcyrin angled and ready. But the fighting
is over; this is a trial, convened in the cold field to prosecute
and punish. 
	
	"We have a prisoner who harbored Jews," they tell her.
"Suspicion of treason. He will be executed. But you can save him if
you will surrender your blade, cure our sick. And assist us in our
work."

	"No, never. Not Tcyr Tcyrin, not my father's sword," Dana
says. "I will never join you."

	"Bring him forth," commands the Nazi King.

	Fox is pushed forward onto his knees in the bitter cold
snow. His eye is blackened, his nose bleeding, but his head is
unbowed. "Keep fighting, Dana," he whispers. "Don't give in to
them."

	She holds back a sob as the Nazi King lights a cigarette and
offers it to Fox with a grim smile. Fox ignores him, his eyes locked
with Dana's. He is not afraid.

	Dana stares at her helpless hands. She cannot surrender
and she cannot fight. The laws of the sword's magic forbid that it be
raised except in battle.

	The King raises his gun to Fox's temple. "NO," Dana
screams, and charges him, her sword singing in the air as she cuts
him down. The other Nazis scatter at the sight, but the gun has
fired. She drops her sword.

	"No, no," Dana chants, kneeling beside Fox, cradling him in
her arms. She deflected the shot when she killed the King; it has 
struck his shoulder, a scarce few inches above his heart.

	"I'm responsible for this," she cries. "If I had thought of the
other way. Not merely to cast down my father's sword or to use it in
battle, but to strike out against their leader with Tcyr Tcyrin in
hand, to use this sacred weapon against the very one who would
have me give it up."

	"But you won. You realized that there are no laws we must
follow, save those of truth and conscience." Fox smiled through the
pain. "Imagine how crippled they will be now, without their carrion
king."

	"They will find another king," Dana sobbed. "This war will
never end. I love you, Fox."

	He reached up to touch her face gently. "And does it take
this to make us see each other at last?" he asked. "I have loved you
with all my heart and soul from the moment we met. Dana Katherine, 
daughter of the sea, this dream is far from over. And one of 
us will die to leave the other to go on alone. Can you bear to 
continue without me?"

	"I must," she says through her tears. "Til death do us part,
Fox."

	"Then I can go into this sleep knowing that all has not been
in vain," he tells her. "But not yet. I will not leave you yet. This
dream is far from over. Take my hand."

	Blindly she reaches for his hand. She feels his cold fingers
warm, feels the life come back to him. Fox sits up and puts his
arms around her.

	"Take up your sword," he whispers. "Fight the monsters
within and without. I will be with you. Do you believe me?"

	Now her tears are of happiness. "I want to believe," she says,
and lifts her head to meet his tender kiss.

	*		*		*		*

	Scully bolted upright in bed with a sudden jerk. "Wha," she
said to the empty bedroom as sobs jerked her throat, feeling the
tears streaming down her face.

	The phone rang.

	She stared at it, still lost in confusion. The telephone
seemed exotic and foreign for a moment, then something shifted
and it was normal again. She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

	"Scully, it's me. I, ah-- are you okay?" Mulder asked.

	"I'm fine. I woke up right before you called, though. Must
have been dreaming."

	"Do you remember what about?"

	"No," she said, trying to piece it together. Oilcloth on a
tabletop, a warm kitchen, a burst of fear, an eternal struggle in the
snow... "Whatever it was, it was really strange."

	"Well, I had an odd dream, and I just-- it felt like I wasn't
alone in it."

	"What do you mean?"

	"I could have sworn we had the same dream just now,
Scully, at the same time. Are you sure you don't remember
anything about it?"

	"Mulder, are you suggesting that we were in each others'
dreams?"

	He paused; the silence sounded a little embarrassed. "Why
not? We've just been through a lot, Scully. Strange things happen
when people face what we've come up against these past weeks."

	"I think the things we've seen are strange enough," Scully
replied sensibly, "without the added mystery of synchronistic
dreams. What did you dream about?"

	Mulder sighed. "I don't know, it's slipping away so fast. 
Something about these people we were trying to keep safe, and an
army that wanted to take them from us. And we split up and I got
caught, and they shot me."

	"Did you die?" she asked anxiously, unsure why the outcome 
of his dream was so important to her.

	"I thought I would," he said meditatively. "But I didn't. 
You had something to do with that, but..." Mulder shrugged. "I don't
remember now. Something about a sword. Tss-something. Tseer
tseeren."

	"My father's sword," Scully blurted. "I even remember how to
spell it: T-c-y-r, T-c-y-r-i-n."

	"Yeah," Mulder said wonderingly. "Was that real?"

	"You mean, did my father really have a magical sword
named Tcyr Tcyrin?" Scully asked, laughing. "Of course not!"

	"But we both dreamed about it, Scully. That must mean 
something."

	"It means that we probably both saw those words in a file
somewhere or something, and it happened to pop up in both our
dreams tonight."

	"As a sword, in both cases?" Mulder challenged. "Why can't
you admit that we seem to have shared something tonight?"

	Scully shook her head. "We may have had similar dreams,
Mulder, but there's no possible way we had the same dream."

	Mulder stared at the ceiling in frusration. "I don't know
why you think it's impossible. No one understands for certain how
dreams work." 

	"Until I get some kind of explanation as to how two people
can share a dream, I'm going to assume that we didn't," Scully said.
A moment later she added more gently, "How are you feeling?"

	"I'm okay." He reached for the glass of water on his coffee
table, frowned at it, and put it back without taking a drink. "How
'bout you?"

	"I'm fine," she assured him.

	"I, uh... I guess I'll let you get back to sleep, then."

	"Okay. 'Night, Mulder."

	"G'night." He hung up the phone and linked his hands 
behind his head. "Dana Katherine, daughter of the sea," he
remembered, with a melancholy smile.

	Scully put the phone away and lay back against the pillows.
She wondered as she recalled another fragment, and said it aloud. 

	"This dream is far from over..."


	*		*		*		*
		The				End


   ________________Summer@camelot.bradley.edu_________________