Title: In Sleep I Come To You, In Dreams We Meet Author: Gina Rain Category: MSR, UST, MA, SA Rating: PG Spoilers: Sein und Zeit/ Closure Feedback: ginarain@aol.com Archive: Would be lovely Summary: Scully provides Mulder with the type of support that even he would find difficult explaining. Disclaimer: They belong to CC and 1013. Thank you: To my beta, Christina, who helped in the translation of my strange idea. Liar. He couldn't believe she would lie to him like that. She hated his work. She hated his mother. She never believed him. Never. He trusted her and she was stabbing him in the back. She had to be. His mother would not kill herself. Not now. Not ever. He took his rage out on his desk. It was too dangerous to even look at her at this point. He rattled it and half-lifted it and still--it was there. Very little damage done. It made him feel foolish. Weak. The anger of a lifetime couldn't even wreck a piece of furniture. He turned to look at her. She would be smiling. Some superior smile telling him what a fool she took him for. Only the look she gave him was not smug. It was patient. It was patient expectation. Someone who was waiting to be looked at. Really looked at. He couldn't help himself. He took a good look. She wasn't lying. Not at all. He'd have to deal with the truth he insisted upon but never wanted to hear. Suddenly, it was too much. Way too much. She wrapped her arms around him as he melted against her shoulder. God, make the pain go away. Scully, make the pain go away. She had shifted them both over to the couch. He had not been aware of it until his knees no longer felt the intense pressure they had begun to feel a few moments (minutes? hours?) before. Time had no meaning, yet creaking bones and joints came into his consciousness like an unwelcome houseguest. An unwelcome houseguest with extremely bad timing. He didn't feel Scully while she was holding him. He didn't hear her words. He knew she was there. She was holding him. She never let him go. She was speaking to him, in soothing tones and soft whispers. He didn't have to answer. She understood. She always, always understood. He poured out the contents of his heart in garbled words and tears that he should have tried to control. He didn't have to. Not with her. He only became fully aware of her presence when she tried to move him over to his bed. "I hate that room, Scully." "It's your bedroom, Mulder. It's more comfortable than the couch." "I hate that fucking room, Scully." She didn't listen. She sat him down on the edge of his bed. He gripped her hands. "It's lonely and cold. I hate this room. It's as dead as she is." New tears sprang to his eyes. Scully lifted a hand to his brow and smoothed back his hair. Softly, she pushed him back against the pillows. "Do you want to undress, Mulder?" "I don't want anything." She checked to see if he was wearing a belt with his jeans. He wasn't. She pulled the covers over him and went around to the other side and got in with him. He could barely wait for her to cover herself with the blanket before he was wrapping himself around her again. "Shhh, it will be all right, Mulder. I promise you." He buried his face against her breast and snaked both arms tightly around her middle. Her fingers softly stroking his back calmed him somewhat. Time passed. He didn't sleep. She didn't sleep. He knew she was listening as his breath hitched in uneven little sobs. Too much crying. Nothing left inside but dried up bits of emotion trying to expel themselves. But those were the kind that never liked to leave. He breathed deeply and smelled the soft fabric softener scent of her blouse. His head was still on her breast. His mouth was touching part of it. Touching Scully. He moved back a bit, then forward. . .nuzzling against her. He heard her breathing change, but didn't feel her stiffen in his hold. He opened his mouth and sucked part of her fabric covered softness in his mouth...tasting. She put her hands in his hair. . .holding tightly. He wondered briefly--why? To pull him roughly back if he wanted more, or to pull him toward her if he moved away? "Your blouse is salty, Scully." "Mmmmm. . ." He leaned away from her. He had read her wrong. Both times. She wouldn't have stopped him. She would deny him nothing. But she wouldn't have encouraged him, either. This was the wrong time. The feelings were there, as always, but of all the times to come together, this would have been the worst. His mother deserved more respect. Scully deserved more--everything. "You shouldn't have let me cry all over you. Your blouse is wet. Do you want to take it off?" "Do you want me to, Mulder?" He looked up at her. Apologizing was not necessary or wanted. He just had to confirm that he was all right. "If you get uncomfortable, I have plenty of tee-shirts in the third drawer of my dresser. I'm going to turn and face toward the wall, Scully. I'll only end up staring at you all night, and there's no need for both of us to lose sleep." "Mulder. . .can't you try to sleep a little? You need the rest." "I don't rest. I don't sleep. At most, I doze. And only when I'm on the couch and the TV is blaring away. Don't worry about it. I'm used to it." She wrapped herself around him from behind. One hand resumed its rhythmic stroking of his hair. "It's a terrible thing to be used to, Mulder." Her hand smoothed over his forehead and into his hair. . . over and over. So soft, so gentle. "I'm all alone, Scully." He said in a small voice. He felt as if a small drill was slowly piercing a tiny, painful hole in his gut--one that was forever destined to bleed. "I'm here." He looked over his shoulder. Shit. He couldn't even get grieving right. In the midst of it all, he would offend the person he cared for above all others. She smiled a mirthless smile at him. She would not let him add this to his burden. "Don't. I know that's not what you meant. What I meant was. . .I'm not going anywhere. Ever. And, you are never really alone because even if we're not together physically--you are almost always in my mind. I want so much for you, Mulder. I want peace for you. You can feel that, can't you?" He squeezed his eyes shut. She had said nice things to him before. But this was almost painful. It was his wish, too. He wanted peace. He wanted closure. Whatever the cost. A few days later, he was back on the other side of the country. He was gently closing what was once Samantha's diary. Beginning to close the book on his sister. The cost was going to be high. The cost of a dream. The dream. The dream that dictated nearly every moment of his life since he was a child. He didn't know what happened yet. Not all of it. But, he had a feeling it was coming to a conclusion. And, he pretty much knew now, since the small book was found, no happy ending was in store. He looked out into the sky while she paid their bill. What is up there? Is she up there? He turned and said something to Scully as she came out. He had no idea what he was saying. He could only register how old and tired his voice sounded--even to his own ears. She gave him a strange look and told him to get some sleep. He laughed automatically. She looked after his waking moments for so long and now, she was beginning to guard his sleep. Scully had talked him into slumber during those long hours of mourning his mother on the night she had ended her life. He didn't know how she had done it, but she had. She thought she could do it now with just a look and a phrase. Maybe she could. He had always believed in extreme possibilities. He said goodnight and let her leave him. He walked into his room and quickly shed his shoes and outer clothing. His shower could wait for the morning. He didn't anticipate falling asleep at all but he was weary. Bone-weary. He just wanted to lie down and think. . .about nothing and everything. He lay on the bed and felt her hand reach across and lightly touch his forehead. . .running her fingertips over the lines that multiplied with the years. Scully had said she was always with him, even when they were physically apart. He barely opened his eyes. He knew he would see her if he did. It didn't concern him. The fact that she physically lay in her own room while he was now feeling her snugly pressed up to him didn't need explanation. He needed her and she was there. "Tell me what you're thinking," he heard her ask. "I'm thinking of just how much I'm willing to trade for that peace we were talking about the other day." "I don't think the decision is necessarily yours to make, Mulder." "If I stopped looking. . .I would never know. I could go away just. . .not knowing." He looked into blue depths as honest and constant as any sea. "Could you?" "No." He felt her kiss his forehead. "I don't know what I've been thinking, Scully. What I even wanted. Isn't that kind of strange? Spent nearly 30 years of my life searching for my sister and never even letting myself define what, exactly, I expected to happen when I found her." "It was probably just too painful, Mulder." "Maybe. Maybe I just couldn't get past the fact that I would never see that pigtailed little girl again. Not ever. She would have grown. She would have lost her innocence. And that's not what I wanted. I wanted her in that living room. . .in her pajamas. . .annoying me, just as any good little sister would do." He felt one hand stroking his hair, as the other traveled in soft, warm, loving strokes all over his face, neck and shoulders. It was strangely hypnotic. "Scully?" He was beginning to feel a warmth slowly overtake him. "Hmmmm?" "Why didn't you really come to my room with me tonight?" "I couldn't." "You stayed with me after my mother. . ." He trailed off, unable to say the words just yet. "When your mother died, I knew what you must be feeling and it tore me up inside.But my main--my only--concern was for you. With Samantha. . ." "Yes?" He saw her shaking her head softly. "You can tell me, Scully. . ." "Samantha is strangely personal. While I've never met her, I know what it's like to have a sister. I can imagine what it's like to--not know. She's become my quest, too. Tonight,listening to her words--having this personal contact. . .is just overwhelming. The last thing you needed was to worry about my feelings in addition to your own." "And yet, you're with me." "Yes. My thoughts and feelings. . .are all with you." He felt her warm breath against his ear. "Do you really feel it, Mulder?" He did. He felt her--behind him, around him, inside him. He heard her voice and saw her. It was remarkably easy. "Always, Scully." "Then sleep." A breath. A whisper. A prayer. Tomorrow. He was almost certain it would all end tomorrow. The seemingly endless, unbelievable quest would end with an answer. He knew she felt it, too. Tonight, she brought him peace. He was safe. He was guarded. He let go of the reality of the day and slipped into a dreamless slumber. In her room, Scully continued to sleep. While conscious or unconscious, part of her was always reaching out. ..and connecting. . .to Mulder. The End Two quick notes: I liked Closure, but hated one moment with a passion ("Get some sleep, Mulder." Get some sleep, Mulder? No, no, no, no, no.) In the middle of writing something pretty light, I kept coming up against a wall of angst that stemmed from this moment until I "fixed" it. I woke up one morning with this entire scenario fully formed in my mind. Now, I can sleep well and complete my work with a clear conscience. And the title? Well, I thought it was original...but it turns out to be a butchering of Andrew Lloyd Weber's Phantom of The Opera. Sorry bout that!