Disclaimer/Author's Notes: Pretty short chapter here, but there is another shorter. This fanfic is definitely going to conclude, because I've already written the end. Another five or so chaps to go. Oh, and I've just realised I don't own the x files, or the Twilight Zone.
The small apartment inhabited by Miss D K Scully and Mr. F W Mulder was modest but still large enough to accommodate both their sets of needs. Already it displayed various personal touches, such as a couple of dog-eared UFO books spread out on the charming living room coffee table, or the compilation CD of classical music sitting upright on the CD player.
Despite these signs of life, Scully remained confident that Iowa would not be their home for very much longer than six months. She solemnly believed that if Mulder chose a place to spend the rest of his life, it would have to have a suitable climate for growing sunflowers, and would have to be at least somewhere near New Mexico.
Mulder shared this unvoiced opinion, but didn't ponder it very much. Instead, he preferred to put his feet up and speculate over the local news, and enjoy a pleasingly greasy burger in the local fast food restaurant.
However, the pair were considerably happy in this alien state, and secure in the knowledge that they had shook off the enemies they had made during their work. The days were bright and warm, and there was plenty of time to lie about and watch TV, if they so wished.
Now it was ominously dark, the middle of the night. The corpse of the finally expired day had long since sunk into the cooling concrete. The seed of the morning, already planted but yet to bloom, germinated silently as the insomniac world waited for it. This, surely, thought those relatively few who were still awake and still in a fit state to philosophize, this must be the true essence of the Twilight Zone.
Dana Scully was not one of those few. She was buried under the illusory safety of her quilt, dreaming the dream again. The horrific violence, amplified this time by the unfamiliarity of the new bed, caused her to toss and turn restlessly as she tried to escape the dream before its conclusion. She failed, but was this time saved the cold isolation of crying alone into the night. With a voice clogged with emotion, but undertoned with delight at having broken through the dream to the real world, Scully screamed, still half asleep, "MULDER!"
She lay awake on her own a moment longer, on her back, naked skin clammy, hair plastered to her skull. She pumped oxygen harshly down her throat, stealing greedily from the crisp, numbing air, and choked carbon dioxide back out. For a few terrible moments she was alone again, then Mulder fought off his own fatigue and reached for her in the dark. She let herself be held and comforted until sure she was not going to cry over what had surely been nothing more than an unpleasant dream. As he played almost absently with her thick red hair, waiting for her to be calm, she drew deep, cleansing breaths, as slowly as she could. An unguessable amount of time passed before she felt she could speak to him, but he spoke before she had a chance to, in a low, soothing voice.
"You had a dream."
She could only look at him, pretty pale eyes staring into his brilliant green, and incline her head slightly, but he evidently understood. It hadn't been much of a question anyway.
"You had a terrible dream, didn't you? A nightmare. And it felt real."
She still couldn't answer, and, afraid of her silence, he said her name quietly. Her first name. She shifted her weight slightly and pressed her cheekbone against his shoulder. He held her more tightly, and Scully was glad of the comforting strength in his arms. Although she didn't cry, she hugged him back, almost desperately.
"Dana, can you tell me about your dream?"
Finally, she found her voice and told him, flatly, emotionlessly. Scully told Mulder about his own blood-soaked demise and he closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder. Without opening his eyes or otherwise moving, he said rather hesitantly, "Dana, have you thought that maybe... You've been having precognitions, of some kind?"
She pushed him away so she could look at him, and so he could see her expression. "Mulder, how can you want to believe in your own death?"
"I'm fine, I'm gonna die of autoerotic asphyxiation, not being attacked by some psycho," he joked, but she clearly didn't want him to joke about this. "It's a forewarning," he insisted.
"Even if it was, I couldn't stop the future from happening! Look, Fox, if I was abducted..."
"Abducted?"
"Or kidnapped, OK, I were kidnapped, you'd just come after me anyway! I know you will, because you're just sort of person! In fact... in fact..." She was getting dangerously emotional, but she finished the thought anyway. "I'm lucky to have you."
He shook his head fiercely, and she could see how moved he was by her emotional tribute in the glitter of his eyes. "We deserve each other," he smiled, and kissed her gently.
As daylight at last began to tremble into existence, Mulder and Scully were just re-embarking on the slow descent to sleep, comfortable in each other's arms, and almost peaceful. Almost.
Because although Mulder dreamt a bizarre dream about dancing French fries and elusive, mysteriously sentient candy bars, Scully dreamt of a tall, denim clad stranger. Despite his silence, and the fact he did nothing to cause her alarm, his presence was unsettling and ominous. While Mulder slept through the morning with a smooth brow and the ghost of a smile curling his lips, Scully, in the protective embrace of her contented partner, rested perfectly still, apart from her lips, which were constantly forming and reforming the words 'Who are you?'
The small apartment inhabited by Miss D K Scully and Mr. F W Mulder was modest but still large enough to accommodate both their sets of needs. Already it displayed various personal touches, such as a couple of dog-eared UFO books spread out on the charming living room coffee table, or the compilation CD of classical music sitting upright on the CD player.
Despite these signs of life, Scully remained confident that Iowa would not be their home for very much longer than six months. She solemnly believed that if Mulder chose a place to spend the rest of his life, it would have to have a suitable climate for growing sunflowers, and would have to be at least somewhere near New Mexico.
Mulder shared this unvoiced opinion, but didn't ponder it very much. Instead, he preferred to put his feet up and speculate over the local news, and enjoy a pleasingly greasy burger in the local fast food restaurant.
However, the pair were considerably happy in this alien state, and secure in the knowledge that they had shook off the enemies they had made during their work. The days were bright and warm, and there was plenty of time to lie about and watch TV, if they so wished.
Now it was ominously dark, the middle of the night. The corpse of the finally expired day had long since sunk into the cooling concrete. The seed of the morning, already planted but yet to bloom, germinated silently as the insomniac world waited for it. This, surely, thought those relatively few who were still awake and still in a fit state to philosophize, this must be the true essence of the Twilight Zone.
Dana Scully was not one of those few. She was buried under the illusory safety of her quilt, dreaming the dream again. The horrific violence, amplified this time by the unfamiliarity of the new bed, caused her to toss and turn restlessly as she tried to escape the dream before its conclusion. She failed, but was this time saved the cold isolation of crying alone into the night. With a voice clogged with emotion, but undertoned with delight at having broken through the dream to the real world, Scully screamed, still half asleep, "MULDER!"
She lay awake on her own a moment longer, on her back, naked skin clammy, hair plastered to her skull. She pumped oxygen harshly down her throat, stealing greedily from the crisp, numbing air, and choked carbon dioxide back out. For a few terrible moments she was alone again, then Mulder fought off his own fatigue and reached for her in the dark. She let herself be held and comforted until sure she was not going to cry over what had surely been nothing more than an unpleasant dream. As he played almost absently with her thick red hair, waiting for her to be calm, she drew deep, cleansing breaths, as slowly as she could. An unguessable amount of time passed before she felt she could speak to him, but he spoke before she had a chance to, in a low, soothing voice.
"You had a dream."
She could only look at him, pretty pale eyes staring into his brilliant green, and incline her head slightly, but he evidently understood. It hadn't been much of a question anyway.
"You had a terrible dream, didn't you? A nightmare. And it felt real."
She still couldn't answer, and, afraid of her silence, he said her name quietly. Her first name. She shifted her weight slightly and pressed her cheekbone against his shoulder. He held her more tightly, and Scully was glad of the comforting strength in his arms. Although she didn't cry, she hugged him back, almost desperately.
"Dana, can you tell me about your dream?"
Finally, she found her voice and told him, flatly, emotionlessly. Scully told Mulder about his own blood-soaked demise and he closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder. Without opening his eyes or otherwise moving, he said rather hesitantly, "Dana, have you thought that maybe... You've been having precognitions, of some kind?"
She pushed him away so she could look at him, and so he could see her expression. "Mulder, how can you want to believe in your own death?"
"I'm fine, I'm gonna die of autoerotic asphyxiation, not being attacked by some psycho," he joked, but she clearly didn't want him to joke about this. "It's a forewarning," he insisted.
"Even if it was, I couldn't stop the future from happening! Look, Fox, if I was abducted..."
"Abducted?"
"Or kidnapped, OK, I were kidnapped, you'd just come after me anyway! I know you will, because you're just sort of person! In fact... in fact..." She was getting dangerously emotional, but she finished the thought anyway. "I'm lucky to have you."
He shook his head fiercely, and she could see how moved he was by her emotional tribute in the glitter of his eyes. "We deserve each other," he smiled, and kissed her gently.
As daylight at last began to tremble into existence, Mulder and Scully were just re-embarking on the slow descent to sleep, comfortable in each other's arms, and almost peaceful. Almost.
Because although Mulder dreamt a bizarre dream about dancing French fries and elusive, mysteriously sentient candy bars, Scully dreamt of a tall, denim clad stranger. Despite his silence, and the fact he did nothing to cause her alarm, his presence was unsettling and ominous. While Mulder slept through the morning with a smooth brow and the ghost of a smile curling his lips, Scully, in the protective embrace of her contented partner, rested perfectly still, apart from her lips, which were constantly forming and reforming the words 'Who are you?'
