Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I still don't own the x files, shock horror. I was originally gonna have the kid from schizogeny getting married, but I eventually chose Lissy because I just like Maine. Plus I got to reference Mulder's pencil sticking antics. The name Lortz is the name of the evil librarian in a King story.
Lucid Dreamer by The Quiet Brunette
CATERGORY: Drama, i guess...
RATING: PG-13
SETTING (TIME): Some time after 'the truth', who knows when.
Scully woke to an empty but still warm bed, and the enticing aroma of fresh bacon coming from the kitchen. Pulling on what looked suspiciously like Mulder's frayed sweater in the haze of sleep still dogging her footsteps, she didn't wake up fully until she had sat down at the kitchen table and had begun to devour her second bacon sandwich. Even then, she had some trouble remembering where she was and what she was doing there. She was definitely in the kitchen of a smallish apartment, but the view through the window was a lot greener than Washington DC had been even fifty years ago. And was that the sea?
"Sleep well?" Mulder asked over the sizzle of the frying meat, his back to her as he reached up to turn over the toast on the grill. He swore as he caught a finger on the hot metal.
"Like a baby," she lied, taking a hurried bite from her breakfast.
His face still hidden from her, he frowned. He knew she'd been up at some point during the night, although he was unaware that she had wept, and he also knew that it had been for more than five minutes. He had no idea why she would lie to him. Trying to dismiss the thought with the dubious hope she would tell him when she was ready to, he turned to look at her and asked whether she was ready for the wedding.
"What wedding?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said seriously. "Some woman called Melissa Turner." He gave her a quizzical glance. "Don't you remember?"
Now she did indeed. The invitation had come in the post, instructing her to bring a friend if she so wished. God alone knew how hard it must have been to acquire the address. Scully would have expected the woman to want to forget the whole evil doll episode, entirely disregard her encounter with Scully, FBI, but psychology was more Mulder's forte than her own anyway.
Interior motives aside, Melissa Turner's wedding was something Scully felt obliged, now invited, to attend, and that was exactly why she and the most paranoid man in North America had blessed Vacationland with a visit.
"Dana? Hellooo? Am I missing something here?" Mulder interrupted, momentarily returning her to the land of the living.
Half a brain, she thought, a smile twisting her lips, but she didn't voice her conclusion. Instead she gave him an innocent, "What?"
"Turner told me you saved her and her daughter's lives on your 'vacation' in Maine." He raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was kinda strange I didn't know about that."
"If my memory is in full working order, and I believe it to be, you were too busy sticking pencils to the ceiling," she chided gently, unable to miss the chance to affectionately mock him.
"You're not laughing at me, are you Scully? Because I'm sure a reputable medical student like yourself wouldn't do such a thing."
"I'm not, Mulder, really. What I'm doing is cleverly yet silently ridiculing you."
"Well, that's very different, isn't it?"
"You bet."
He laughed and kissed her, but when he pulled away he saw she was troubled.
"Fox, don't ever change," she whispered, their faces maybe an inch apart.
"I'll work on it," he whispered back, and he kissed her again. This time she pulled away.
"Is the wedding soon?"
"Not too soon, but I'm driving."
"I'd better get ready then."
As Scully left the table, Mulder watched her and wondered what the lies meant.
Mulder's partner coughed into her handkerchief. Neither of them were crying, although Scully seemed on the verge, but both were smiling. Mulder found himself glancing surreptitiously, now and then, from the bride to the woman beside him, mentally calculating just how good she'd look in that wedding gown. Automatically, each time, he dismissed the image. Marriage just didn't seem imminent. Scully coughed again and looked up at him, smiling sheepishly. She leaned against him, still apparently trying not to cry.
Miss Melissa Turner, soon to be Mrs. Melissa Lortz, stood patiently through her own partner's vows and prepared to recite them herself while Mulder admired the stained glass windows. It wasn't that he was bored, simply distracted. Something was either already wrong or about to go wrong. To him, the air just didn't fall right.
When the gunfire began, he was vaguely surprised, only slightly horrified, and largely delighted that he wasn't going mad after all.
Scully had been dropping off. Mulder's broad shoulder made a more than serviceable cushion, and with the drowsy summer sun that sprayed through the handsome windows plus last night's broken sleep, she wasn't entirely certain she could hold the sandman on the doorstep for very much longer. The gunfire woke her up instantly, and she was on her feet in a second.
"Everyone get down, careful now!" she demanded, instinctively readopting the tone of controlled authority that the vast majority of civilians she had dealt with in her law enforcing past felt it desirable to obey. Mulder got to his feet next to her, and a second shot made the hollow building's walls sing. Thankfully it missed causing another casualty, chewing up the carpet in a spot far too close for reasonable comfort. Scully shook her hair out of her eyes and saw the bullet-wounded man in the pew to her right for the first time.
"Fox, the man..."
"Go do it, I'm fine," he told her briefly, raising a pistol (she realised with dismay that she hadn't even been aware that he was carrying one) at the ceiling. There was no time to worry about the concealed firearm, however; she didn't yet know the severity of the shooting victim's injuries. She scuttled over to the crumpled, almost shrunken human form with little more than a worried glance over her shoulder.
All muscles tensed, Mulder slowly swung the handgun from side to side, gazing up the barrel. He couldn't see the gunman in the rafters, but the two shots had definitely originated above them. Thinking this, he quickly reholstered the gun and left the hall as quietly as he could, in search of the stairs.
The civilians were terrified. Despite Scully's previous command, she had an uncomfortable intuition that they weren't the real targets. The shooter was obviously a woefully incompetent aim, which he proved seconds later by planting a third bullet in the organist's vacated stool and providing a neatly rounded bullet hole. The motives of a potentially insane attacker were currently not her priority, though. She was nursing a fallen civilian, balding, male, Caucasian, and nursing something himself: a hangover. After patiently withstanding five minutes of abuse, she informed him quietly and rather icily that she was a federal agent, and if he didn't shut the hell up, she was going to ensure the appropriate authorities were made aware of his contempt for the law. He made a dark mutter that sounded suspiciously like 'crooked cops', then went to an alcohol-induced state of semi consciousness, leaving Scully in peace to analyze tissue damage.
Mulder pounded up the last of the steps, flung open the door and nearly screamed when Death brushed by a little close for his personal liking and he found himself stumbling on the edge of fifty feet of nothing. Panting, despite being in too good a shape to have been exerted by his uphill marathon, he hugged the wall until he trusted his own legs not to bring on his demise. Emboldened, he sidestepped down the narrow beam, searching fervently for the person that was so blatantly trying to kill him.
The church was pretty big for a town this size in a place like Maine, which the locals probably thought was peachy. Mulder vehemently disagreed. He paused in the corner, looking back and wondering at how far he had managed to shuffle. He was just preparing to continue the epic journey of death defiance on which he had embarked, when the corner of his eye caught a brief flicker of movement. Near nonexistent, but unquestionably there. Slow in his caution and in his fear, Mulder turned to face it fully, and emitted a strangled yelp.
Scully heard the yelp of shock from the floor as she attempted to usher the fifty or so guests out of the emergency doors, having found the main exit locked. She squinted into the shadows above, but could see nothing.
"Mul..." she began, then stopped abruptly as she realised Melissa Turner- still not quite Melissa Lortz- was standing in front of her.
"I'm so sorry about your wedding," she apologized nakedly, blue eyes wide with honesty.
"Oh, ayuh, course you are," Melissa admitted, unable to hide her tears nonetheless, "But I gotta thank you, Miss Scully. Don't know what we all woulda done if you hadn't been here. Thanks to you, and your fella." She gave the rafters her own concerned look.
Scully didn't really want to tell this poor woman that the shooter was probably there because of them, and she had no idea what else she could say to comfort her, so she simply waited for Melissa to leave. Eventually, she did, following the example of her family and friends, and Scully called, "Mulder?"
There was an answering shot.
Standing on the center beam, rifle leveled, was a certain cigarette smoking man. Mulder felt the pumping adrenaline flood his system and fought it for control over his brain.
'How could it be him?' common sense demanded indignantly. 'He's dead, you saw him die!' But he was sure it was him...
Only it wasn't, and he saw that after a few bewildered seconds. It was too late, unfortunately, and he was rattled. Scully's call came at the worst time possible, further distracting him, and the assassin took the opportunity, taking a shot at the vulnerable man. It missed, and Mulder whipped out his pistol to fire the second hollow bullet in this bizarre ballet. The other man, the bad guy, ducked easily and grabbed back onto the pole he'd been keeping balance with.
He missed.
The gunner, sharply suited but average looking, plummeted to his doom, imitating Mulder's flirt with Death and taking it a little too far. He landed a few meters to Scully's right.
Silence fell, and the two remaining living people in the church listened to it.
Then:
"Mulder?"
"Scully?"
Lucid Dreamer by The Quiet Brunette
CATERGORY: Drama, i guess...
RATING: PG-13
SETTING (TIME): Some time after 'the truth', who knows when.
Scully woke to an empty but still warm bed, and the enticing aroma of fresh bacon coming from the kitchen. Pulling on what looked suspiciously like Mulder's frayed sweater in the haze of sleep still dogging her footsteps, she didn't wake up fully until she had sat down at the kitchen table and had begun to devour her second bacon sandwich. Even then, she had some trouble remembering where she was and what she was doing there. She was definitely in the kitchen of a smallish apartment, but the view through the window was a lot greener than Washington DC had been even fifty years ago. And was that the sea?
"Sleep well?" Mulder asked over the sizzle of the frying meat, his back to her as he reached up to turn over the toast on the grill. He swore as he caught a finger on the hot metal.
"Like a baby," she lied, taking a hurried bite from her breakfast.
His face still hidden from her, he frowned. He knew she'd been up at some point during the night, although he was unaware that she had wept, and he also knew that it had been for more than five minutes. He had no idea why she would lie to him. Trying to dismiss the thought with the dubious hope she would tell him when she was ready to, he turned to look at her and asked whether she was ready for the wedding.
"What wedding?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said seriously. "Some woman called Melissa Turner." He gave her a quizzical glance. "Don't you remember?"
Now she did indeed. The invitation had come in the post, instructing her to bring a friend if she so wished. God alone knew how hard it must have been to acquire the address. Scully would have expected the woman to want to forget the whole evil doll episode, entirely disregard her encounter with Scully, FBI, but psychology was more Mulder's forte than her own anyway.
Interior motives aside, Melissa Turner's wedding was something Scully felt obliged, now invited, to attend, and that was exactly why she and the most paranoid man in North America had blessed Vacationland with a visit.
"Dana? Hellooo? Am I missing something here?" Mulder interrupted, momentarily returning her to the land of the living.
Half a brain, she thought, a smile twisting her lips, but she didn't voice her conclusion. Instead she gave him an innocent, "What?"
"Turner told me you saved her and her daughter's lives on your 'vacation' in Maine." He raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was kinda strange I didn't know about that."
"If my memory is in full working order, and I believe it to be, you were too busy sticking pencils to the ceiling," she chided gently, unable to miss the chance to affectionately mock him.
"You're not laughing at me, are you Scully? Because I'm sure a reputable medical student like yourself wouldn't do such a thing."
"I'm not, Mulder, really. What I'm doing is cleverly yet silently ridiculing you."
"Well, that's very different, isn't it?"
"You bet."
He laughed and kissed her, but when he pulled away he saw she was troubled.
"Fox, don't ever change," she whispered, their faces maybe an inch apart.
"I'll work on it," he whispered back, and he kissed her again. This time she pulled away.
"Is the wedding soon?"
"Not too soon, but I'm driving."
"I'd better get ready then."
As Scully left the table, Mulder watched her and wondered what the lies meant.
Mulder's partner coughed into her handkerchief. Neither of them were crying, although Scully seemed on the verge, but both were smiling. Mulder found himself glancing surreptitiously, now and then, from the bride to the woman beside him, mentally calculating just how good she'd look in that wedding gown. Automatically, each time, he dismissed the image. Marriage just didn't seem imminent. Scully coughed again and looked up at him, smiling sheepishly. She leaned against him, still apparently trying not to cry.
Miss Melissa Turner, soon to be Mrs. Melissa Lortz, stood patiently through her own partner's vows and prepared to recite them herself while Mulder admired the stained glass windows. It wasn't that he was bored, simply distracted. Something was either already wrong or about to go wrong. To him, the air just didn't fall right.
When the gunfire began, he was vaguely surprised, only slightly horrified, and largely delighted that he wasn't going mad after all.
Scully had been dropping off. Mulder's broad shoulder made a more than serviceable cushion, and with the drowsy summer sun that sprayed through the handsome windows plus last night's broken sleep, she wasn't entirely certain she could hold the sandman on the doorstep for very much longer. The gunfire woke her up instantly, and she was on her feet in a second.
"Everyone get down, careful now!" she demanded, instinctively readopting the tone of controlled authority that the vast majority of civilians she had dealt with in her law enforcing past felt it desirable to obey. Mulder got to his feet next to her, and a second shot made the hollow building's walls sing. Thankfully it missed causing another casualty, chewing up the carpet in a spot far too close for reasonable comfort. Scully shook her hair out of her eyes and saw the bullet-wounded man in the pew to her right for the first time.
"Fox, the man..."
"Go do it, I'm fine," he told her briefly, raising a pistol (she realised with dismay that she hadn't even been aware that he was carrying one) at the ceiling. There was no time to worry about the concealed firearm, however; she didn't yet know the severity of the shooting victim's injuries. She scuttled over to the crumpled, almost shrunken human form with little more than a worried glance over her shoulder.
All muscles tensed, Mulder slowly swung the handgun from side to side, gazing up the barrel. He couldn't see the gunman in the rafters, but the two shots had definitely originated above them. Thinking this, he quickly reholstered the gun and left the hall as quietly as he could, in search of the stairs.
The civilians were terrified. Despite Scully's previous command, she had an uncomfortable intuition that they weren't the real targets. The shooter was obviously a woefully incompetent aim, which he proved seconds later by planting a third bullet in the organist's vacated stool and providing a neatly rounded bullet hole. The motives of a potentially insane attacker were currently not her priority, though. She was nursing a fallen civilian, balding, male, Caucasian, and nursing something himself: a hangover. After patiently withstanding five minutes of abuse, she informed him quietly and rather icily that she was a federal agent, and if he didn't shut the hell up, she was going to ensure the appropriate authorities were made aware of his contempt for the law. He made a dark mutter that sounded suspiciously like 'crooked cops', then went to an alcohol-induced state of semi consciousness, leaving Scully in peace to analyze tissue damage.
Mulder pounded up the last of the steps, flung open the door and nearly screamed when Death brushed by a little close for his personal liking and he found himself stumbling on the edge of fifty feet of nothing. Panting, despite being in too good a shape to have been exerted by his uphill marathon, he hugged the wall until he trusted his own legs not to bring on his demise. Emboldened, he sidestepped down the narrow beam, searching fervently for the person that was so blatantly trying to kill him.
The church was pretty big for a town this size in a place like Maine, which the locals probably thought was peachy. Mulder vehemently disagreed. He paused in the corner, looking back and wondering at how far he had managed to shuffle. He was just preparing to continue the epic journey of death defiance on which he had embarked, when the corner of his eye caught a brief flicker of movement. Near nonexistent, but unquestionably there. Slow in his caution and in his fear, Mulder turned to face it fully, and emitted a strangled yelp.
Scully heard the yelp of shock from the floor as she attempted to usher the fifty or so guests out of the emergency doors, having found the main exit locked. She squinted into the shadows above, but could see nothing.
"Mul..." she began, then stopped abruptly as she realised Melissa Turner- still not quite Melissa Lortz- was standing in front of her.
"I'm so sorry about your wedding," she apologized nakedly, blue eyes wide with honesty.
"Oh, ayuh, course you are," Melissa admitted, unable to hide her tears nonetheless, "But I gotta thank you, Miss Scully. Don't know what we all woulda done if you hadn't been here. Thanks to you, and your fella." She gave the rafters her own concerned look.
Scully didn't really want to tell this poor woman that the shooter was probably there because of them, and she had no idea what else she could say to comfort her, so she simply waited for Melissa to leave. Eventually, she did, following the example of her family and friends, and Scully called, "Mulder?"
There was an answering shot.
Standing on the center beam, rifle leveled, was a certain cigarette smoking man. Mulder felt the pumping adrenaline flood his system and fought it for control over his brain.
'How could it be him?' common sense demanded indignantly. 'He's dead, you saw him die!' But he was sure it was him...
Only it wasn't, and he saw that after a few bewildered seconds. It was too late, unfortunately, and he was rattled. Scully's call came at the worst time possible, further distracting him, and the assassin took the opportunity, taking a shot at the vulnerable man. It missed, and Mulder whipped out his pistol to fire the second hollow bullet in this bizarre ballet. The other man, the bad guy, ducked easily and grabbed back onto the pole he'd been keeping balance with.
He missed.
The gunner, sharply suited but average looking, plummeted to his doom, imitating Mulder's flirt with Death and taking it a little too far. He landed a few meters to Scully's right.
Silence fell, and the two remaining living people in the church listened to it.
Then:
"Mulder?"
"Scully?"
