From gravespa2@aol.com Sat Apr 26 16:07:25 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: SONNET: "Lone Dreams" 1/1 From: gravespa2@aol.com (GravesPA2) -------- DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten- Thirteen Productions and the FOX Network. I mean no infringement. This is a SONNET Story, post "Small Potatoes" and contains spoilers. I think that this episode, which I ADORED, fits better in the 3rd Season, possibly right before "Piper Maru/ Apocrypha." The time shift explains the lack of cancer references and the "we don't ever talk" business, which I feel several third and fourth season episodes disprove. So, if you will, let's go back to 1996 and a basement office in the J. Edgar Hoover building in Washington, D.C. For Juliettt---thanks for all the help! {{{ }}} SONNET: "Lone Dreams" by Paula Graves GravesPA2@aol.com Where the red wine-cup floweth, there art thou! Where luxury curtains out the evening sky;-- Triumphant Mirth sits flush'd upon thy brow, And ready laughter lurks within thine eye. Where the long day declineth, lone I sit, In idle thought, my listless hands entwined, And, faintly smiling at remember'd wit, Act the scene over to my musing mind. In my lone dreams I hear thy eloquent voice, I see the pleased attention of the throng, And bid my spirit in thy joy rejoice, Lest in love's selfishness I do thee wrong. Ah! midst that proud and mirthful company, Send'st thou no wondering thought to love and me? -- Caroline Norton AD Skinner's Office April 1996 "One hundred and twenty dollars at The Foot Zone." "I thought I saw a new pair of Reeboks in my closet." Fox Mulder's dry comment interrupted Assistant Director Walter Skinner's terse litany. Dana Scully looked anywhere but at her partner or her boss. Her eyes settled on the name plate at the front of the assistant director's desk. It was trim and dark, with "Walter S. Skinner" in a neat sanserif type. She wondered what the "S" stood for. "Fifty dollars at Mandarin Inn?" "Agent Scully theorizes that van Blundht expends an enormous amount of caloric energy to be able to maintain his altered musculature for long periods of time." Mulder's voice was slightly bemused. "And since there's no buffet at the Mandarin Inn...." Scully clenched her jaw. She didn't need to look at Skinner's face to know how that statement had gone over. The A.D.'s beefy fist clenched around the pen he held, bending the casing. There was a long pause in which she felt Skinner's gaze fall upon her. She avoided making eye contact and braced herself for what she knew had to be there on that list somewhere. "Twenty-two dollars at Capital Spirits." She felt her whole body running hot and cold. Breath trapped in her lungs, she waited for Mulder's explanation. She knew that he hadn't told Skinner what he had burst in upon that night over a month ago. She supposed she could be grateful for small favors, but the reprieve was over. "That's my purchase," Mulder replied. "I didn't have my personal card with me. I'll cover that." Scully fought the urge to turn and gape at him. As it was, she gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles ached and turned pasty white. Why the hell did he say THAT? Was he taking pity on her? God, how humiliating. Suddenly, being in this office with her partner and her boss was more than she could take. "Sir?" Skinner's dark eyes met hers, his brow crinkling slightly. "I have a consultation at Quantico this afternoon, and I haven't been able to properly prepare. I believe Agent Mulder can handle your questions on the rest of the expense report. May I be excused?" Skinner stared at her for a long, thick moment. Then he gave her a curt nod. She rose swiftly and left the room without looking at her partner. Her heart thudded wildly in her breast as she headed blindly out the door of the assistant director's outer office. She had just under two hours before she was due at Quantico; she headed straight to her small cubicle office on the fourth floor, ignoring the other agents she passed on the way. She dropped gratefully into her chair and buried her head in her hands. Since that Friday night a month ago, she had been telling herself that things were back to normal between her and Mulder. Back to the usual pattern of 60 hour work weeks and machine-like efficiency as a team. And that was all true-- their work hadn't suffered at all, much to her surprise. But nothing was easy between them anymore. Mulder hardly touched her now--not fingers against the small of her back, not a hand cupped beneath her elbow. No wisecracks about picking out china patterns. He kept his distance, physically and emotionally, as if he were afraid to cross some invisible line between them. He even stayed out of her personal space, and he'd NEVER done that before. And God knows, she'd been keeping her distance from him, afraid that the slightest touch or smile or look might lead him to a wrong conclusion. Maybe she should talk to Karen Kosseff about this. The social worker had helped her before, back during the Donnie Pfaster case. But Scully nixed that idea quickly. She could NOT tell Karen Kosseff that she was harboring unpartnerlike curiosity about Mulder. If that kind of information were to get around.... She shook her head. She'd learned to trust no one these days. No one but Mulder. And wasn't THAT ironic? * * * * * Scully wasn't in the basement office when Mulder returned there after discussing the expense report with Skinner. He wasn't surprised--she seemed to be looking for reasons to get as far away from him as possible these days. He was surprised by how much her sudden distance hurt. She had always been something of an enigma, but time to time she'd let him in, let him see her funny bone or her vulnerable heart. But these days, she was utterly inscrutable. Nothing like the Dana Scully he'd burst in on that Friday night a month earlier. That Dana Scully had been soft and open and glowing with excitement, her eyes liquid with the first flicker of desire. For him. Or what she thought was him. He'd always figured that she'd never drop the professional wall between them and explore the attraction he sometimes felt simmering between them. Earlier that day the month before, he'd tried to bridge that chasm of professionalism and tease her into revealing something new and exciting about herself, but she'd more or less rebuffed him. As always. So why hadn't she rebuffed Eddie when he'd showed up at her doorstep with wine and a stupid story? "Live a little." Eddie van Blundht's voice still rang in his ears. "Treat yourself." Maybe one day he might have tried to explore a few of the possibilities between him and Scully. But not now. Eddie had closed that door in his face forever. Loser by choice. Rage pushed through him with surprising force, like an electrical surge. His arm shot out and swept across his desk, sending pencils and papers and the desk blotter flying. Coward. * * * * * Scully hurried through the darkened living room into her bedroom. She hardly ever spent time in the living room anymore. Not since Eddie had invaded her home and turned everything upside down. Of course, he hadn't done it alone, had he? He'd tricked her, but she'd responded to his seduction. Apparently she was so lonely that she'd been willing to throw out every ground rule she'd set since her relationship with Jack Willis had gone sour. No more dating colleagues had been the rule at the top of the list. Especially someone like Mulder, who wouldn't exactly be a great catch even if he weren't her partner. Scully sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. Well, that wasn't completely fair. Somewhere inside him was a really great guy. She'd told Eddie that she was seeing a whole new side of Mulder, but that wasn't really true, was it? She'd seen glimpses of Mulder's tender side--with Kevin Morris on that abduction case in Iowa, with Lucy Householder in Seattle.... With herself. After her father died. After her own missing time. After the Pfaster case. After Melissa's death. But that was the problem. It always took a damned crisis to bring out that side of Mulder, and she had no intention of playing danger monkey just to get Mulder to be nice to her. She kicked off her shoes, flinging them across the room with a burst of irritation. She knew the reasons why he was the way he was. She knew all the arguments against pursuing any sort of personal relationship with him. But damn it, she'd LIKED it. Really liked it--even if it HAD been Eddie, not Mulder. It had been a long time since she'd felt so attractive and desirable. Damn Eddie van Blundht. Damn Mulder. A soft rapping sound on her door surprised her. For a second, she froze, remembering who had been on the other side of the door the last time she'd answered someone's knock. She forced herself to relax. Eddie van Blundht was tucked away safely in the reformatory, pumped so full of muscle relaxers he could barely venture a grin, much less mold himself into another man's form. She turned on a lamp on her way to the front door, bathing the living room in golden light. She stood on tiptoes and looked through the peephole. She froze again. Mulder's face, distorted by the fisheye lense, looked back at her. He looked grim. Yeah, she thought, relaxing slightly. That's the real one. Her jaw tightening, she opened the door. "I should've called first." He stood there, his hands in his pockets, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. She stayed in the doorway, blocking his entry. "Is something the matter?" "I, uh--" He pulled one hand from his jacket pocket and held it out toward her. In his fist was a crumpled piece of paper. "You didn't sign the expense report before you left." She arched her eyebrow. "And it couldn't wait until morning?" "You know how I feel about getting paper work right." He thrust the crumpled form toward her. She took the paper from his grasp. "I'll sign it and bring it with me in the morning." His lips thinned to a line. "I can wait while you sign it." Scully felt her ears burning with irritation. She sighed and crossed to the desk near the window, where her computer sat. She grabbed a pen from the lap drawer and signed the form, then turned back to Mulder. He was no longer in the doorway. He was sitting on the couch. Right where Eddie had sat. She could tell by the way he was sitting, rigid and uncomfortable, that he was well aware of what he was doing. He was here for a reason, and it had nothing to do with the expense report. Well, she wasn't up for it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. She drew a swift breath through her nose, crossed to the sofa and held out the paper. "There you go." He looked up at her, not making a move to take the form from her outstretched hand. His eyes were dark in the low light. Suddenly, her irritation bloomed into full anger. She dropped the form in her lap and walked away from him, headed for the door. She opened it. "See you in the morning, Mulder." He didn't move from the couch. She closed her eyes. "Mulder, why the hell are you really here?" He didn't answer. She slammed the door shut and strode to the couch. Mulder sat there, his eyes focused intently on some point in the general vicinity of her fireplace. His fingers were clasped tightly in front of him, the crumpled expense report teetering precariously on his knee. The slight stir of air from her swift, angry approach sent the form floating down to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin and strangled. "What did he say to you, Scully?" She stared at him, at a loss as to how to answer. Mulder tore his gaze away from the fireplace and looked up at her. "What did he say? What got through to you?" She shook her head slightly, her stomach knotting. "I don't want to talk about this with you, Mulder." "You wanted to talk to me that night, Scully. You sat there and talked to me through a whole bottle of wine. What did you tell me? He bent forward, looking down at his clasped hands. "What happened here, Scully? How far did it go before I burst in here?" Was that an accusatory tone she heard in his voice? She felt the fierce urge to slap him. "Go to hell, Mulder." He looked up at her again. "You thought it was me, Scully. What happened here, you thought was happening between you and me. Don't I have a right to know what that was?" "No, you don't." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You have no right." He rose and towered over her, his body invading her space for the first time in a month. "I need to know, Scully." He was close enough that she could smell a faint whiff of liquor on his breath, along with the tang of oranges. A screwdriver, she thought. Like he'd been drinking in Comity. She frowned. "Did you drive here?" He stepped back. "I'm not drunk, Scully." "You should go." His face darkened. "What do you think, I got drunk and came here to score with a sure thing?" "Bastard." Her jaw tightened. He stiffened. "Sure you don't mean 'loser'?" "I think you should go home now, before this gets any worse, Mulder." He stared at her for a long, thick moment. Then, like a wind-filled sail collapsing in a sudden calm, he drooped and slumped to the couch. His long, lanky body seemed to fold up on itself. "Why don't we ever talk, Scully?" The words were so close to those spoken by Eddie van Blundht a month earlier that Scully flinched. Feeling a little wobbly, she dropped onto the couch beside Mulder, not unaware as she did so that she was helping recreate the scene of earlier disaster. "We do talk." She looked down at her feet and realized she was barefoot. Had she been barefoot that night? No. She'd been wearing her soft black flats. She felt absurdly relieved. "Eddie must have told you something about me. Something that made you...." Mulder stopped in mid-sentence, his lips moving soundlessly as if searching for the right words. He pressed his lips together finally and started again. "I don't know why it's so important to me to know what he told you, Scully, but it is." She cocked her head slightly, studying his face for any sign of deceit. But Mulder merely stared back at her, his expression somewhere between pleading and terrified. She didn't know if it was the screwdriver bolstering his courage, but God love him, he was trying to be honest with her. The least she could do was be honest with him, too. "He wanted to know why we never talked." He lifted his chin slightly. "What did you say?" She nibbled her bottom lip before answering. "I don't remember. I don't think it was important." "What did he say then?" She shook her head, a bemused smile curving her lips. "I don't remember. I guess it wasn't important, either." His eyes narrowed in confusion. "I don't--" He sighed, perplexed. No, she thought, you don't. You don't understand, and neither did I. Until now. "Eddie really didn't say much of anything, Mulder. What could he say? He knew nothing about you. Just the bare essentials. He pulled the oldest con in the world. He let me tell him all he needed to know." It was like watching a light come on in Mulder's head. His eyes glowed for a brief instant. "He listened." She nodded. "He listened." She grimaced and looked down at her clasped hands. It might as well have been a chapter in a text book on what women want from men, she realized. Would she have responded to any man who took the time to sit and make her the focus of his attention? Or was she looking for that kind of attention from one man in particular? From this man? "I guess the burning question, then, is what did you tell him?" Mulder commented. She tried to remember what she'd said that night a month ago, not so much to tell Mulder as to remind herself. But she couldn't recall how they had gotten started. She barely remembered what she and Eddie had been talking about before Mulder burst in. "I don't think it matters what I said, Mulder." "Just who you said it to?" His voice was tinged with bitterness. She looked up. His face was a slightly sneering mask, his best and favorite defense against people who hurt him. "Do you think it was Eddie I was telling those things to?" "It WAS Eddie." "I didn't know that." "Why didn't you? Why didn't you know it wasn't me?" His mouth thinned to a dark line. "God knows, I'm not the kind of guy who sits around, drinking wine and listening to a woman pour out her heart, am I?" "No? Then why are you here now, Mulder?" He stared at her, wordless. "Do you remember Bellefleur, Oregon, Mulder? That rat trap motel room, with the power out? You told me what drives you that night, even though you didn't really know me at all. You took a chance on trusting me, and that's something I'll never forget as long as I live." She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her silk pants. "I guess I finally realized that I'd never done the same." "No, you haven't." He sighed. "Not until Eddie." She tried again, wondering if this time he would hear what she was trying to tell him. "Mulder, I thought it was you." He met her gaze, the mask slipping just a bit so that she could see the vulnerable man beneath. "I want you to know that you can tell me anything. Not just about the job, but about you. About what you want and what you like." To her utter dismay, tears stung the backs of her eyes. He had told her something like that before. *I don't want you to think you have to hide things from me, Scully.* During the Pfaster case. But she hadn't really listened to him. Not then. Not until now. Fact was--she'd always rebuffed his efforts to get to know the REAL Scully. Maybe because she knew just how easy it would be to succumb to this kind of Mulder. Eddie van Blundht had proved that, hadn't he? She pushed herself up from the sofa and crossed into the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea. Do you plan to be around long enough to have a cup?" He stood as well. "Do you want me to stay?" She stopped in the middle of filling the tea kettle. Was it a good idea? Or was she playing with fire again, the way she had been with Eddie? He read her indecision. "I should go, I think." He was right. He should. But she followed him to the door, not ready to let him just walk away. "I'm glad you came here tonight. It means a lot to me that you took the trouble." His mouth crooked. "I wish I had answers for us, Scully." She gave a little shrug as she opened the door. "Answers don't come out of thin air, Mulder. They have to be discovered, one at a time." He paused in the doorway. "We've always been pretty good at that, haven't we?" She allowed herself a smile. "Yes, we have." He smiled back, just a little. Then he turned and walked out the door. The End. Paula G ___________________________________________________________ "Reputation? I have a reputation?" Fox Mulder - "Squeeze"