Bonnie Gayle Hood
[email protected]
http://members.tripod.com/xtrordinaryxfiles/index.html
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CLASSIFICATION: UST, Fluff (if that's a classification. I forget), Scully POV
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RATING: G
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SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully can't sleep, so they spoon, and Scully talks about her childhood. It's just a sweet little standalone fluff piece.
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DISCLAIMER: (Most writers try to have fun with this but I personally just skip it when I'm reading, so...) Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Fox, 1013, David, and Gillian, various others, and the BIG BAD WOLVES...umm lawyers! I don't own em, I just steal, but I will return them and I'll try to return them in better shape then I got 'em:>) If I did own 'em, not only would I be richer than I deserve to be, the UST mumbo jumbo would be a bad memory!
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SPOILERS: There's one spoiler from the whole Scully myth arc, I can't remember which episode it's from.
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ARCHIVE: Sure just keep my name, e-mail address, and website. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FEEDBACK: Yes please.
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Past, Present, and Future

I roll over in bed, and squint my eyes to ward off the unaccustomed glare from the bedside clock: 1:21 it rudely reports. 1:21 and not a single wink of sleep.

"Mulder's the one with insomnia, not me," I grumble. "You've got the wrong room."

No good though. My mind is still running in delirious, sleep deprived circles, and Mulder, in the next room, keeps right on snoring. Not the buzz-saw type of snore that my father did, and my mother, still to this day, can't explain how she slept through. His is the gentle 'I'm here' kind of snore. The one that *usually* helps me sleep like a baby, reassured by the knowledge that Mulder is right there in the next room if there's ever any trouble.

I lay there, frowning at the ceiling for another half-hour before giving up entirely on sleep. Just as I'm about to switch on the TV, I hear Mulder's breathing patterns change. Just a hitch in his chest, but I'm fully alert. The snoring stops and a single, pitifully moaned "Samantha" comes out. It's so sad sounding that my eyes prick with the hidden tears that I just keep recycling, but never let come out.

He cries out louder this time, and I rise to my feet. As I reach the unlocked door between our rooms, I remember the first time we had adjoining rooms. 'Just in case' he had said, with a twinkle in his eyes. I smiled and blushed and unlocked my side. I thought he had other reasons in mind, and wore my most slinky nightgown. He didn't come to me that night, or any other night, so I just chalked it up to paranoia, and packed my flannel pajamas from then on. But many, many times that unlocked door has saved our lives; so many times that I don't even think as I unlock my side, first thing after I get my key.

As the door swings open, I see that he's writhing about on the bed. I walk over and watch him for a second to see if he'll quiet down on his own. Sometimes he will, and I wonder in awe if it's just my presence in the room that is calming to him. Not this time though. His cries are getting louder, and I reach down and grab his hand.

"Mulder. Mulder it's okay."

His eyes snap open, and he sits straight up in the bed. After his breathing slows, and the panic clears from his eyes, he looks at me in embarrassment.

"Was I screaming?"

"No Mulder," I reassure him quickly.

One time I couldn't wake him from his nightmare, and the screams made the person in the next room call the cops. The banging on the door woke him, and I could tell Mulder practically died on the inside as I explained to the cops that there was no problem, he was just screaming in his sleep. The cop turned away, and with a cruel laugh said to his partner, "Get that guy a nightlight!"

"I'm sorry I woke you."

I shrug. "I wasn't asleep."

"But it's..." he glances at his own clock, "1:46."

"No rest for the wicked," I say with a grin, as I turn to go back to my room.

But, for some reason, he doesn't let go of my hand. I walk as far away as I can, before turning around and giving him a glance.

He doesn't speak; he just gives me one of those unreadable looks, and pats the space next to him on the bed.

"Okay," I say, and he releases my hand. Wouldn't be the first time we slept in the same bed, and definitely not the last: the road gets lonely at night.

I climb in, and curl up facing away from him. I press my head into the pillow and secretly breathe in his scent. I feel like I can actually sleep now.

"Good night Mul--" But I'm cut off when he rolls over, and I'm completely surrounded by him. Now *this* is a first. I think they call it spooning, but with Mulder being so huge compared to me, it's like he's engulfing me, swallowing me up into him. I tense for a second before I realize that I like it...okay, I like it a lot. Too bad Mulder isn't usually like this.

I glance over my shoulder, and see a flash of white teeth before he says, "Goodnight Scully."

Okay, it's been twenty minutes, and the feeling of his steady breathing on the back of my neck, and his arm wrapped around my stomach, just below my breasts, is making me slowly but surely crazy. I move around in a futile attempt at getting comfortable, and get Mulder's attention. Apparently he hasn't fallen back to sleep either.

"Okay Miss Wiggly. Since *neither* of us can sleep now, how about we talk."

I sigh. "Mulder, we solved the case. We already agreed to disagree about the cause of the cows' disappearances."

Mulder laughs, but it contains no humor. "Is it really that bad? Scully, are we friends?" He asks meekly.

I twist around in shock, but I can't see his face. "Of course we are Mulder!"

Mulder nods, and runs his fingers through my hair contemplatively. "Friends talk about real things. We should talk Scully."

I frown in confusion. "We do talk, Mulder."

"No. Not just talk, *talk*."

I laugh softly. "Mulder, we say that, and then never do it. I've figured that it's just one of those things you say but never mean--like, I'll call you."

"Well, I mean it this time."

"Okay." We lay together in awkward silence.

"Tell me about your childhood," he finally blurts out.

"Oh, so *I* have to do this?" I say angrily.

"You don't want to hear about my childhood," he says softly.

I think for a second before asking, "What should I say?"

He shrugs as much as is possible while you are wrapped around someone. "What do you remember the clearest?"

"Well, we moved around a lot."

"How much?" He says this into my hair, and I have the weirdest sensation that my brain is talking to me.

"Mm. One, two, three...six...eight...it was 12 times from the time I was born 'til I went to college."

"Mm hmm."

I realize that I like it better when all I have to do is answer specific questions. Now I'm on my own here. Okay Dana, talk about your childhood.

"Ahab...I mean-."

"I know who you mean, Scully." What a comforting voice this man has. Why haven't I noticed that fact before?

"Well, Ahab didn't like planes. He said that was why he joined the Navy. He joked that he could just go in the sub to get wherever he had to. But when you move in the military, they pay for movers and a plane ticket. But, because of Dad, we would drive from house to house. We would make a trip out of it, and catch all the tourist traps along the way. I remember the best thing was, when we reached the new house, the first night we would eat off of cardboard box tables. You couldn't beat the ambiance. I can still remember the echoing sound of empty rooms, and the citrus smell of cleaners, if the people before us were good, and actually cleaned before they left."

Okay, so this isn't that bad. "Military housing is all the same, base to base. Practically the same floor plans even. The only thing that would change would be the faces, and even they've blurred together, so now I can't tell my friend Kelly's face in California, from Veronica's face in Hawaii."

This isn't bad at all. "As soon as we would arrive, all the kids would come to look over the fresh meat. See if there was anyone in their age group. Missy and Bill would pair off easy enough, but I was the silent, shy one. I would never go to the door when there was a knock. Instead, I would learn the ins-and-outs of the new house. Choose which room would be mine. Charlie was always addicted to the TV. He didn't make many friends other than Big Bird. It would always take me longer to make friends, and instead of a big group of lukewarm friends, I would have a small group of very good friends. I still prefer it that way. It did make it more difficult for me to move on than my brothers and sister, though. Good-byes were always filled with tears and the exchange of addresses. I still write a lot of them. They're sort of my measuring sticks for what a normal life is supposed to be: the obligatory husband, kids, and a white-picket fence."

Mulder's arms tighten around me for a second. I had almost forgotten I had an audience.

"What you don't have." Not a question.

"True. That doesn't mean it's what I want." I say, cautiously.

"Not ever?" He sounds really curious.

"If it fits, then sure. Of course, my life never can be completely that already." *Emily*, I cry inside. Recycle them tears Dana.

I can tell that an, 'I'm sorry,' is poised on Mulder's tongue, so I rush on. "My Mom didn't necessarily like base life, so every summer, without fail, we would go and visit my mother's family, who all live within a block of each other in the Midwest. Those summers were my constant in a life that was constantly changing. I had many cousins, and some were around my age, so we were all friends. We would stay at my grandparents' house. They lived on a farm. Complete with a barn and horses and chickens and the whole 9 yards. In fact, we traced the history back to the early 1800s. There's even a hitching post outside."

This catches Mulder's attention. "I bet there's some ghosts in a place with such a long history. Frohike just e-mailed me about this machinery that shows heat waves, and you can see if there's a ghost in the room."

"I wouldn't doubt it. In the 1840's a man hung himself in the attic, and I always felt creepy up there."

"Ooh. Scully believes in ghosts?"

"Of course," I say cautiously, "I was 16 the last time I was there. It could have just been my imagination...."

I smile as I hear Mulder's sigh. "Continue with your story Scully," he says resignedly.

"I thought we were conversing Mulder? Anyway, another of my happiest memories is running around in the evening on my grandparents' lawn with all my cousins. Barefoot and trying to catch lightning bugs in a jar. I only did that once because I felt horrible the next morning when I looked in the jar and saw something that had seemed so mysterious and majestic the night before, lying dead in the light of the sun, without it's glow. It just wasn't the same after that. The funny thing is, because we moved around so much I couldn't put my yearly height on the wall where I lived, so I'd do it in my grandparent's house...in fact the lines are probably still there. My grandparents don't live there anymore though. They moved to Florida," I'm feeling tired now, and my voice is fading. "I wonder if the new owners painted over it."

There's a comfortable pause as we lay there half asleep.

"I'd like to go with you some time." Mulder mutters, encroaching sleep making his voice sluggish.

"Huh?" I think I must have briefly fallen asleep, because I can't remember what he's referring to.

"Your measurements...I'd like to see if they're still there...see the farm."

"Oh. And that isn't something you just say Mulder?" I joke sleepily.

"No Scully. I mean it."

I imagine for a second, going to the farm that held such an important place in my past, with the man that holds such an important place in my present...and hopefully my future. Past, present, and future colliding on a farm. I smile, even though I know he can't see it.

"I'd like that too Mulder. Of course, you'd just want to go to test out the new machinery, but...." I expect to hear a denial, and when I don't, I peek over my shoulder: Mulder's fast asleep. I smile, and within the comfort of his arms, I'm asleep within seconds.