TITLE: "Mondayitis" BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: Post ep, MSR, XF, A RATING: PG-13 for non-descriptive mentions of adult situations and nudity SUMMARY: Chickens have a habit of coming home to roost, and so do memories.... TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set after the events of "Monday", large mention of "Dreamland I and II". ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: I love to know who is out there in the ether! THANKS TO: Mac, Gerry, Debbie, Suzanne, Sally and Judie. My website for all my X-Files fanfiction, thanks to the wonderful Arria, is at: http://bitter-moon.com/tenxffic/index2.html DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter and his team of writers, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised from the show are mine. The X-Files: "Mondayitis" By Ten, 20 April 2003 - 18 June 2003 Set in early March 1999: xXx I am inside the bank. Kneeling on the floor. I have Mulder's head in my lap, and my hand is pressed over the wound in his chest. His blood is...everywhere.... Half my mind is screaming in denial, the other half is praying and begging my partner to hold on. The bank robber, Bernard, is staring down at me, breathing heavily. He is holding a gun, but even more dangerous are the explosives strapped to his torso. And the fact that his thumb is hovering over the switch. This is the man I have to somehow convince to let us all go. Or at least to get help for Mulder. "You're in charge here, you know. It doesn't have to end like this," I tell Bernard. He looks up, hearing a noise. There is a SWAT team entering the front doors. "Yeah, it does." With that, Bernard hits the switch. xXx Once again I wake up screaming "Noooo!" and feeling like I have been engulfed in a wall of flame. I sit up in bed, trembling violently. I hug my knees. My heart is thumping against my ribcage like a basketball being thrown over and over against a wall. I haven't been blown up. Mulder is not lying in my arms - dying or otherwise. But, God, it felt so real.... Again. Hopefully I didn't wake my neighbours up. It's Wednesday night and the same thing has happened each night since the attempted robbery on Monday. I collapse back against the mattress and pillow. Deep breaths. Trying to collect myself. I've got to stop this. On Monday Bernard's girlfriend Pam died saving my partner. Mulder is still alive. Bernard did not detonate the bomb and blow up the bank. But I'm not dreaming of what did happen. For some reason I'm dreaming of a lot of things that *could* have happened, but didn't. Perhaps it's some form of post traumatic stress syndrome. God, I hope not.... It's more likely that I'm subconsciously going over the situation, trying to work out what I could have or 'should have' done differently to prevent Pam from dying. But why is this incident causing dreams like that, out of so many other events in my past? Not that Pam in any way deserved to die. Unless it is the straw that broke the camel's back. Mulder and I have had quite a 'shower of straw' lately. Bales of it - haystacks even - have been dropped on us. Or perhaps my dreams are subconsciously remembering what Mulder said to Bernard in the bank when I brought Pam in. "You're dooming her. You're making her live this day over and over again - her, you, me, all of us. Every day you die in here and every day it starts all over again. You can't want this for her. It's Hell!" When Mulder said that, I thought it was something he had made up to try to talk Bernard out of what he was doing. Or to keep him distracted until help came. But it is also the gist of what my partner told Skinner by way of explanation for how he knew that Bernard was about to rob the bank, that he had explosives, and that his girlfriend was outside in their car. Skinner stared at Mulder, then asked me to please wait outside. I did so, having already given my account of what transpired in the bank. I didn't hear any yelling coming from within the A.D.'s office. When we were back in the basement office, Mulder said that his explanation made Skinner concerned that he was suffering from stress due to the incident. But Mulder was able to somehow reassure him enough to avoid being ordered to take time off. And we helped prevent a robbery that could have led to the entire building and everyone in it being blown up, so I think that was another factor in Skinner not digging too deep. Especially not with the mayor on the phone, wanting to commend us - his niece was one of the tellers. I haven't pressed Mulder about his explanation either, because I can see he is trying to deal with what happened to Pam, and what nearly happened to him. If Pam hadn't leapt in front of him and taken that bullet.... Countless times in my dreams he *does* take a bullet. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to do something. I'm not getting enough sleep. Fortunately we're not on a case at the moment. I wonder how long it is going to take me to get back to sleep. And whether I'll end up back in the bank in what's left of tonight. xXx Bernard has made no move to stop me reaching Mulder's side. I have my partner's limp head in my lap and remove his tie. Then I rip his shirt open. In other circumstances.... Mulder would be the first one to see the irony and humour, but at the moment his eyes are only partly open and unfocused, not glazed with desire. I can't tell if he even knows I'm here. I press one hand onto the wound in his chest and cup his cheek with my other. It is like the time Pendrell was shot, but my horror is a thousand times worse now, because this is Mulder. I feel like crying, but I have to get words out, not tears. My partner is counting on me. "Bernard, I have to get my partner out of here." "I am blowing this whole freaking place right off the map if they come in here." They do. And he does. I can feel my breath being scorched out of my lungs.... xXx I am cradling Mulder's head and trying to stop his bleeding and trying to negotiate with Bernard when Mulder's heart stops. Frantically I get him into position and begin CPR. "Stop doing that or I'll kill you!" Bernard threatens, looming in. I only stop long enough to fire off: "Without him I'm dead anyway!" with a 'so go ahead' look before bending back to my task. I am still performing the CPR when the bomb is detonated. xXx It is late on Friday night and a lot of people would be on their way to being well and truly plastered. As for me, I'm a wreck and I haven't even had any alcohol to achieve that state. No drink, just the dreams. Yet another one has torn me apart and I'm sitting here sobbing in the dark. I've managed to hold things together at work up to now, making a huge effort not to let Mulder see that something is bothering me, and he has been wrapped up in his own thoughts too. But I can't go on like this. Another week of more of the same will give me a nervous breakdown. I pick up the phone and am about to call Mulder, but then I change my mind and dial a cab company instead. I doubt I'd be very coherent over the phone to my partner in trying to explain what the problem is, and I need to see him. It doesn't matter that it is so late at night. I'm 'together' enough to know that driving myself over is a bad idea, and hopefully I'll have pulled myself even more together by the time I get there. On the ride over I huddle in the seat. I am shaking and the cabbie asks me if I want the heater turned up. He probably thinks I'm on drugs or in withdrawal or something. I try to stop from thinking about Mulder being shot, falling, the blood and the life bleeding out of him in my arms.... The cab deposits me outside Mulder's apartment. I can't see a light on in any of his windows. The elevator seems to take forever. I think by now evidence of my crying jag would have faded from my face. If only those images and dreams of Mulder struggling for breath in my arms would fade as easily. Finally I am at his door. At this hour, my knock sounds thunderous. Faint light appears under the doorway and there is the sound of movement inside the apartment. Another light. More noises, coming closer, halting at the door. A pause - I know that Mulder is looking through his peephole. Then once he can see it is me, the door is hastily opened. I have just enough time to register that he looks tired and worried before the door is open enough for me to launch myself at him. He only has time to get out: "Scully, what's -" before I do so. He staggers back under the unexpected 'attack' with an 'oomph!' and I cling to him, my arms around him. My face is pressed to his gloriously whole and non-bleeding chest, feeling his heart beating and his breathing. Even if both are somewhat fast with alarm and surprise. Much better than hovering by a thread.... "Scully -" Mulder's arms are around me now, both to balance us and to embrace in return. "Scully, what's wrong? What's happened?" I can't speak. I know I should, to reassure him, but nothing will come out. I just shake my head and try to burrow even closer into him, through his t-shirt and into his ribcage. I just want to be held and know that it is him and that he is all right and real. He shuffles us backwards a little, enough for him to reach out and shut the door, cutting us off from the world. The arm that he uses is then immediately returned to holding me. "Scully, whatever it is, whatever's happened, we'll be all right. Please tell me. Is it the cancer?" I know that I'm really scaring him, so I manage to say, "No. It's not cancer." "But what's wrong?" "I'm all right. *You're* all right. It's okay." My chin is probably going to leave a bruise in his skin. Or a permanent dent in his ribcage. Somehow I am managing not to break down in tears again, so after a minute I raise my head to look at him and try to explain further. "Every night since Monday night, I've been having dreams. Nightmares. Of us being in the Cradock Marine bank, but different to what happened. In most I dream that you were...dying, shot by Bernard. They vary in some details or aspects each time, but all of them end with us being blown up. I guess I was worried at how close you did come to being shot, how close we came to really being blown up, and tonight I just had to get a cab and see you and...." The second that I mention my dreams, Mulder gets his 'fox on the scent' look on his face. But he curbs it and further questions with an effort as I stumble through my explanation. I guess I look so tired and on edge that he doesn't want to risk pushing me any further just now, or give any comments about how he's sure such dreams were reality. "We're okay, Scully," he says reassuringly. I nod and begin to panic about my actions and confession. "I'm sorry. The lack of sleep and the nightmares and the stress just got to me." The thought of being 'on edge' and of having raced to my partner in fear would normally worry me a lot more and make me feel unprofessional. But the main thing I care about tonight is that I can feel Mulder's heart and it is beating strongly. Not so much fear for myself drove me here tonight, but fear for him. "Don't apologise," Mulder says, still holding me close. I haven't exactly let go of him either. He continues, "We need to have a talk, but first we both need a good night's sleep. This week hasn't been nightmare-free for either of us." He can see that I'm nearly out on my feet. The race to his side and my explanation have depleted my already-low energy reserves. Mulder continues, "Trouble is, I don't think we're going to get that sleep here. I've only got the one couch, no sleeping bag, and the waterbed is totalled." That makes me pull back a little. And wake up somewhat. "I'm sorry, I must be hearing things - I thought you said 'waterbed'." "I did," he confirms. "You have a waterbed? Since when?" But even as I say that, I *know* that he has one. But that's ridiculous. He's never mentioned having a waterbed before. It is certainly a subject that I would remember. I must be really teetering on the edge.... Mulder steps away enough to gesture towards his bedroom, inviting me to look. His other arm is around my waist, partly to keep up the hold and connection, partly to do his gallant 'hand on her back to escort her through the doorway' move. Mulder's bedroom does indeed have a waterbed. A rather ruined, gutted one, completely devoid of any water. He sighs and says, "The damn thing sprung a leak on Monday morning - quite a way to wake up, I'll tell you. The mattress is going to be taken away early next week. I'll put a normal mattress there instead, because I kind of got used to sleeping in bed instead of on the couch." I stare at the bed in amazement, but even as I do, something strange is niggling in my brain. Yeah, serious lack of sleep, I think. "I repeat: since when have you had a waterbed?" "Several months - since late November. I don't know how it got there. I got back from our dead-end trip to Area 51 and suddenly there it was. And my apartment was all tidied up and dust-free. I think the Gunmen did it as a prank, but they deny it. Such a thing is not really the Consortium's style or MO. Unless they've decided to mess with my mind again - without using drugs in the water system this time." "The mirrored ceiling is a nice touch," I comment in amusement, looking above the bed. He smiles. "Well, you should have seen what was here when I first found it. Black satin sheets, but the real standout was the quilt cover and pillows. They were -" "Leopard print," I find myself saying. "Yeah. How did you know? Hey, did you set this up?" "No. I have no idea why I said that...." However as I speak, an image comes to me of Mulder and I lying side by side, clothed, on this bed, on top of the aforementioned leopard quilt, the both of us looking up at our reflections. 'So maybe I like to read the New York Times backwards,' he says to my reflection. I internally shake off the image. Mulder and I in a waterbed is certainly something to store away in my mental 'fantasy file' for another time. I look at the baby blue sheets, which are the only things left on the bed, albeit haphazardly. Trust Mulder to have left them there, considering the bed 'died' on Monday. "Are the black satin sheets in the laundry basket at the moment? And the leopard print?" "In a drawer somewhere, actually. They're not really my style." I'd beg to differ, but decide to leave that unsaid. "They do sound right up Frohike's alley. If it was him setting this up as a prank, it's too bad that Byers didn't have more of a dampening effect on his enthusiasm for his task. But since you're not into leopard, I take it I should look for some fox print ones for your next birthday?" Mulder replies, "Very funny. But since the waterbed was there, I decided to try it out. I found I liked sleeping on it. But then it started leaking." "Something must have poked it," I manage to suggest with a very straight face. Boy, lack of sleep is *really* getting to me. He gives me a look of exaggerated dignity. "Well, it turned out to be a real wet dream.... The water damaged the apartment below mine and cut out my alarm clock and shorted my cell phone. That's why I was late Monday morning and why I had to deposit my check." So now the whole truth comes out. During this week when pressed about why he went to the Cradock Marine Bank instead of the meeting, he just said that he had 'urgent expenses so I needed to bank a check' and didn't elaborate. "The landlord is getting repairs done. I think he started with the apartment below first." Mulder then says, "Anyway, this isn't helping us. We've got to get some sleep." "We... we could both sleep on the couch," I dare to suggest. That earns me a surprised look, which then deepens into serious consideration. "It would be a pretty uncomfortable fit for two," he points out. "Did you say you got a cab over here?" "Yes. I was so tired that I didn't think driving was a good idea." He nods and says, "Let's find a motel. I don't think me driving is a good idea either. I feel half-asleep too." Mulder then grabs his brand new cellphone and calls for a cab. While waiting, he puts his sneakers on. He's already wearing sweatpants as well as a t-shirt, and just adds his leather jacket to his attire, making sure that he has his wallet and phone. I want to hold him again, but restrain myself. Just being able to see him is enough at the moment. I would suggest that we go back to my apartment, but it is just too damn far and we'd most likely fall asleep during the trip. When the cab arrives, my partner asks the driver to take us to the nearest motel. On the way Mulder asks me about the vividness and frequency of my nightmares, both out of curiosity and in an attempt to keep me awake until we get to the motel. The first one we reach ends up having no vacancies, but the second one is the charm - a Holiday Inn. At this point I'm so tired I wouldn't have cared if it turned out to be a pay-by-the-hour place. We approach the admittance desk. Mulder exchanges hellos with the middle-aged man on duty and says, "We'd like connecting rooms pl-" I interrupt. "We'll only require one room, thank you." Mulder looks more surprised than the motel staffer does, but my partner doesn't comment on my actions, even as we make our way to our room and open it up. I don't feel any embarrassment. Tonight, I'll feel better with him in the same room as me. And I won't care if that room turns out to only have one king-sized bed in it. It has two queen-sized beds. Mulder puts the 'do not disturb' sign up on the outer door handle, then shuts us in. And promptly gives himself a light smack on the head with his palm, realising something. "I'm an idiot. I should have grabbed my overnight bag and brought it along with us. Then you could have slept in one of my t-shirts or something." The thought of sleeping in Mulder's t-shirt.... Someone please hose me down. Unaware of my thoughts, he looks at me in apologetic amusement and says, "Instead, we've got nothing but the clothes we're standing in." "We've got each other. And I'm so tired that I won't care that I'm not in my pajamas." Mulder's eyes travel over me. I unbuttoned my jacket when we got here, and my short t-shirt is visible. It is untucked and clearly not 'cover the panties' in length. Sitting down on the edge of the bed that is further away from the bathroom, Mulder points to the facilities, then starts untying his sneakers. "Ladies first." I know he won't look when I tell him that I'm about to come out. In the times on cases that we've had to share a room, we worked out a few 'routines' to cover any potential awkwardness. Once I'm safely undercover he'll go to the bathroom. But this time I'm feeling a little mischievous. "You've seen me in my panties and bra before. In even less than that, in fact," I remind him with a grin and get moving before he has a chance to respond. xXx This time Bernard detonates the bomb so fast I don't have time to start yelling: "Noooooo".... I stumble up, out of bed, and towards Mulder. My partner half sits up. "Scully?" His voice is groggy. "Dreamt again. You shot. Bank blown up." We were sleeping on the sides of our queen beds that were closest to each other, so it is easy for me to climb into his bed before he can even begin to raise the bedclothes in invitation. Our arms interlock perfectly around each other; our bodies embrace. "I'm here. We're alive. We didn't die," Mulder tells me softly. I nod, trying to control my breathing. Without exchanging another word, we lie down together, still holding, knowing that this is how we will spend the rest of the night. When my breathing has calmed down, Mulder whispers, "Go back to sleep, Scully," into my hair. He is gently stroking my back. "I won't be able to for a while. You dying always leaves me very wide awake," I say with irony. There is a pause. The room has some illumination from the lights out in the parking lot, and I think only a few hours have passed since we first bedded down. If even that. Then Mulder says thoughtfully, "Scully, did you ever have one of those days you wish you could rewind and start all over again from the beginning?" "Yes. Frequently. All the days of this week, for a start." I have a feeling that the talk he mentioned earlier is starting. Or he's warming up to it. "But, I mean, who's to say that if you did rewind it and start over again that it wouldn't end up exactly the same way?" "So you think it's all just fate? We have no free will?" he asks. I shake my head against his chest. "No, I think that we're free to be the people that we are - good, bad or indifferent. I think that it's our character that determines our fate." "And all the rest is just preordained? I don't buy that. There are too many variables. Too many forks in the road." His voice is wide-awake now as he warms to his subject. "I meant to be on time to work Monday morning but my waterbed sprang that leak, flooding my apartment and the apartment below me, so that made me late for the meeting. And then I realised I needed to write a check to cover the damages to my landlord, but as I was going to work, I realised it would bounce unless I deposited my pay. So then I had to go to the bank, which made me even later, and I walked right into that bank robbery." "So the waterbed provided the fork that put you in that time and place?" "I might just as easily not have had a waterbed then I'd have been on time for the meeting. You might just as easily have stayed in medicine and not gone into the FBI, and then we would never have met. Blah, blah, blah...." "Fate." "Free will," he counters. "With every choice, you change your fate. And I think we changed ours." "How so?" "On Monday morning I kept having the weirdest sensation of deja vu. About the bed leaking, all the problems it set off, then seeing Pam sitting in the car as I was on the way to the bank." "Well, deja vu is fairly common," I point out. "Mulder, I don't see why it has to mean anything. When your bed leaked you were probably stumbling around half-awake and susceptible to thinking it seemed familiar. When you saw Pam, she might have been acting suspiciously, but it wasn't until you got into the bank and saw Bernard acting suspiciously as well that you were able to realise what was going on and connect them in your mind." That still doesn't explain how Mulder knew that Bernard had a bomb on him or his name, but this is the best I can do at this hour. And Mulder does have a lot of experience with criminals and their behaviour. His insights aren't called 'spooky' for nothing. Mulder says, "Some Freudians believe the deja vu phenomenon to be repressed memories escaping the unconscious. That it represents a desire to, uh, have a second chance to set things right." "Set what kind of things right?" "Whatever's wrong." Of course. "Mulder, it's more likely that we're talking about simple neurochemistry - a glitch in the brain's ability to process recognition and memory. Doesn't mean that the memory's authentic. My dreams just feel authentic, and there are many possible reasons for that. My fear of you dying is enough to make them very realistic." But even as I say that, deep inside me, I have doubts, no matter how much I am trying to bury them. Something about these dreams is different. They are so vivid, so different to the nightmares I have had over the years after other cases. "But what if it were authentic?" Mulder insists, unaware of my thoughts. "That you'd lived a moment before? The bank robbery?" I reply, meeting his eyes in the dimness. "We lived it." He doesn't say it as a possibility, he states it as a certainty. "That's how I knew that Bernard was wired up with a bomb. That Pam was out in the car. Why you're having those slightly different dreams." "Mulder -" "Scully, on Monday we were there at the bank when Pam threw herself in front of me when Bernard tried to shoot me. Pam was the only one shot, and she died. The bank did not get blown up. Yet you're experiencing memories or visions of me being shot - a number of variations thereon by the sound of it - and the bank being reduced to rubble. That really happened. You're not experiencing stress or post traumatic stress syndrome. I think your psychic ability is coming out and letting you remember." "Mulder, I don't have any psychic ability," I say uncomfortably. "Your mother appears to. And Melissa did." "And haven't you noticed over the last six years that I take after the more logical side of my family instead?" "I think your ability comes out here and there - but you don't always realise. Or admit it. It just kind of gets... buried under your science and logic most of the time." I suppress a sigh. This is not a subject that I want to be grappling with in the wee hours of the morning. But I can't help remembering the dream I had several years ago about Mulder that convinced me he was alive, despite all evidence pointing to him dying in that blazing boxcar in the desert. I was so sure of it that I ended up telling his mother he was all right. And other times.... Mulder presses on. "Those events in the bank really happened. All of them. Remember what I told Bernard - that he was condemning Pam to live the same day over and over - condemning all of us? You and I are both experiencing memories or visions of me being shot and the bank being blown up. What are the odds on that? When I get shot, the times I remember don't have Pam in the bank with us. Is that the same for you?" "Pam isn't there," I say quietly. I know what he's getting at - why aren't we dreaming of Pam being there and simply not leaping in front of Mulder when Bernard pulls the trigger? Because she was only in the bank that one time, I find myself thinking. Not before. Mulder says, "The bank blowing up was a likely possibility on Monday, so us dreaming about that could be explained away fairly easily. But not so easily those times when I get shot, especially with us both sharing them. And I can show you my journal entries from Monday night onwards to prove it. My recall doesn't sound like it's happening as ferociously as yours - in the nightmare department anyway - but I think that's your natural ability coming out." He pauses, then continues, "And perhaps because in the 'traumatic bits' of that day I was lying in the bank semi- conscious and not as 'aware' as you were. That journal is proof that we've both being experiencing the same thing that 'didn't happen', just in case you're thinking that you've subconsciously influenced me by telling me about your dreams. For some reason, Monday was occurring over and over. Like on that movie - 'Groundhog Day'." "Our minds could have been tampered with. Rewired. It's happened before," I point out, but I can't muster my usual skepticism. The weight of those visions and six years of seeing what I've seen - I think I've finally run out of nooks and crannies in which to hide the things that don't match my science, pretending they don't exist. And as Mulder said, how else did he know that Bernard had a bomb and someone waiting for him out in a car? And their names? It's true. I can feel it. And I know it. Monday did repeat over and over. Oh God. We stare at each other. Mulder is unaware of my... well, 'epiphany' isn't the right word, because I think I had it a while ago but kept ignoring it, therefore 'acceptance' would be a better word. So he looks tempted to launch off on another grand explanation, but then sighs and says, "We can discuss it more tomorrow. I guess we'd better try to get some sleep." Hopefully nightmare-free too. But even if I do, at least I am in Mulder's arms and vice versa. xXx When I wake up next it is a normal, natural awakening. Even Mulder moving around in his sleep mustn't have been enough to disturb me in the between-time. A few minutes later he wakes up too. It is dawn. "We don't have to get up early today anyway," he says. My bare legs are in intermingled contrast with his sweatpant-encased ones. I briefly allow myself to wonder what it would feel like if his legs were bare too. My partner is being a gentleman - his arms have not strayed below my waistline or around to my front. Do I feel like being a lady? Before I can give that question consideration, Mulder tells me that Pam's funeral is on Monday and that he wants to attend it. "Do you want to come too?" "Yes, of course I will." "I'll let Skinner know today." Then Mulder sighs, lost in thought. "I shouldn't have given Bernard my gun. But with him having the bomb, I thought - hoped - that I could talk him out of going through with the robbery. Instead Pam died." I try to find a way to reach into my partner's head, into his guilt. "Mulder, if it is true that we were reliving the same day, there were many times that you were shot in trying to prevent Bernard from hurting people. But the day only 'continued' when it was Pam who was shot instead. Perhaps you weren't fated to die." From the look on Mulder's face, he can't tell if I'm just humouring him about our Groundhog Day or not. I will tell him, but I can see he's got something to say, and he does. "Fate again.... I can remember Pam telling me that the day was repeating over and over but that she was the only one who knew. She kept trying to stop it - drugging Bernard's coffee, calling the police on him, but somehow he'd always get to the bank." "Mulder, you say I'm recalling it all because I have some psychic ability. Let's say that was true, then how are you remembering what went on? Are you psychic too?" "No, just more open." I give him a gentle whack on the back. He laughs, then says, "I'm open to extreme possibilities and over the years I guess I've developed a feel for them, an instinct. So I was able to sense that something odd was occurring and I pursued it. And I think the weight of all those repeats of the same events finally hit me. I had a pretty memorable wake-up each morning - you had that meeting instead, which I can remember you coming down from to 'fetch' me plenty of times. Or trying to." "Yes, the meeting that you were supposed to be at. One that was already a boring, endless meeting from Hell on ONE go round! Talk about brain numbing." Though for me the memories of being in the bank are stronger than the preceding events on those repeated Mondays. Mulder says, "Another possibility is that I might have had more contact with Pam and Bernard than you did. More sightings of them, so I was able to remember them more readily. Once Pam said something about it being the fiftieth time I'd asked her why she was the only one who was aware that time was repeating, and I don't think she was exaggerating by much. That's a lot of interaction. At some stage I guess you and I have to compare the Mondays that we can remember to see if that theory pans out." We take in turns to go have a bathroom break, then return to bed. Considering the fractured sleep I had during the week and the time when Mulder and I finally got to bed down at this motel, I'm playing catch-up now. The same with my partner - he's showing no sign of wanting to go for his usual morning run. He might need more sleep, or he might just want to remain holding. Either way, I don't mind. xXx My dreams are not bathed with Mulder's blood. Or full of explosions. They aren't even other variations on the bank. But I do dream about something else, and when I wake up I feel unsettled. Mulder sleeps on next to and against me. I realise this dream is a repeat of one that I have had several times before. It isn't to do with Monday, so I guess that is what could be called 'progress' on a psychological front. In one way it is quite a funny dream, but in another way frightening. But the details rarely stay with me once I've woken up properly. Just bits and images. This time however, I can remember the whole thing. It starts off with a real event, during the time when Mulder and I were still off the X-Files and chaffing under Kersh's thumb. One night we took an unauthorised trip to Nevada to meet a source that had contacted Mulder. It ended up being a waste of time in reality, but in my dream there was a bizarre accident that caused Mulder to swap bodies with a man in black called Morris Fletcher. They both ended up living each other's lives for several days, before time 'snapped back' and it was like nothing had happened. Perhaps the dream is my brain coming up with a rather wild explanation for that strange double coin. The one I found in my desk at work after coming back from that wasted trip to Area 51 - a merging of a dime and a penny, like someone had welded them together. When I showed the four-sided coin to Mulder, he had no idea where it had come from. Then I realise. Mulder has no idea where the waterbed came from, but says it was there when he returned from none other than Area 51. And this dream of mine features the waterbed! I was having it *before* I even knew about Mulder having one.... Oh God - does this mean there's another alternate reality out there apart from countless variations of that Monday? Isn't accepting them enough for one day? My brain races, but I tell myself over and over that whatever happened, things went back to normal. I have Mulder back. That is what matters. I concentrate on that and on his comforting warmth, and manage to calm down. xXx Mid-morning: We have slept in - or at least dozed contentedly for quite a while. We needed to. It feels so good here, holding each other. I move closer and Mulder shifts so we can snuggle even better, but then I can feel him subtly edging the lower half of his body away from me. Oh. I'm half-tempted to capture his fleeing legs with my own bare ones and entwine them and feel.... But not yet. Not quite yet. "It's nice to have you in my arms and you not being shot," I comment. He chuckles, then says reflectively, "This isn't the way that I pictured we'd get to spend the night in each other's arms." "No, but it's a start." He nods. A long look passes between us, an acknowledgement that as much as we'd like to progress into a physical relationship right now, there are some things that we have to deal with first. To discuss together. Especially some of the events that have happened in the last few years and months, big things we've just swept under the carpet. Like our last tango with the conspiracy - the investigation into those incinerated bodies at the air base is still going. Our partnership went over some rocky ground there. Now Mulder is still keeping the lower half of his body away from me, probably not wanting to embarrass or 'pressure' me. "Now it's your turn to go to the bathroom while I don't look," I tell him with a grin, and earn a laugh. xXx We get room service and each eat a decent brunch. Our plan so far is that we will get a cab back to Mulder's place so he can shower and change clothes, then he'll drive me to my apartment. The fuzzy, unstated and undecided area is what will happen at that point. Goodbyes and Mulder going off to do shopping or whatever Saturday errands he had planned? Or stay together and spend time with each other and perhaps even start dealing with those issues we've been skirting around? Managing to get a decent night's (or into-the-morning's) sleep has helped me. Especially since the last half of it was nightmare-free. Perhaps now that I've mentally accepted the realness of those Mondays, they won't bother me again.... And as I told myself before, at least if time did repeat, it finally kept going on from a reality where my partner was physically unscathed. Mentally is always another matter, of course. But then there is this other dream. "You've gone very quiet," Mulder remarks as I reach for my final slice of toast. "Ladies do not talk with their mouths full," I reply loftily. But after chewing under his intense gaze, I swallow my mouthful and admit, "I had another dream last night.... But not of the bank." He is looking at me closely. "But the way that you say 'dream' is just like when you describe the bank ones - a dream that deep inside you think may have really happened, but you're having trouble accepting that consciously. Am I right?" He knows me too well. "Yes. But in a way no. Because -" I tell him that I believe about the Mondays, and nearly have to give him CPR as a result. I explain my reasons and he nods in a daze. "And I believe that this other dream I had really happened too," I confess. He looks happy, but.... "Wow. I'm a little...overwhelmed by this." I retort, "That's ironic coming from a man who recently claimed to have ended up in 1939 with a woman who looked just like me!" "Okay, okay." Recovering somewhat, he asks about this other dream. "I've had it before. A few times. Over the last few months. But I never remembered it properly until now." "I'd like to hear it." "Remember when we went to Area 51 to try to meet with that supposed source who contacted you?" "Yeah," Mulder replies. "Then we were pulled up by that man whom we first thought was the cigarette smoking man until we saw his face - the one who wanted to see our IDs and told us there was no such thing as UFOs." Mulder nods. "The man in black." "His name was Morris Fletcher." I explain about us seeing the light in the sky, like a UFO, which then seemed to wobble and disappear, and how we got going while that man and his cohorts watched. "What I didn't know was that you and Morris Fletcher had swapped bodies due to a sort of time distortion, caused by some strange technology on the 'craft', which had crashed." I explain more about the dream as Mulder stares at me in fascination. Then I get to the next morning after our trip. "'You' were calling me Dana and wanting cigarettes, grovelling to Kersh, flirting with his secretary, and you gave me a pat on the behind." "So you latched on quickly that it wasn't me." I give him a shamefaced look. "Oh. Go on...." "Then when I was at our desks in the bullpen and 'you' were still acting weird, I got a phonecall from a man claiming to be you, but sounding nothing like you. This man also told me that the man I came back with was not him, but someone else." "Sounds like a normal day to me!" I say, "I decided to trace the call, thinking it was your source. Soon I discovered that 'you' had gone home for lunch and I went over to tell you the results of the phone trace, and I found Kersh's secretary exiting your apartment. Ummm, how do I put this? Mulder, Morris Fletcher treated your body less like a temple and more like an amusement park...." "You mean.... If those events really did happen, that means the first time my body gets laid in a zillion years, I'm not even in it! And they found time in the lunchbreak to get all the way to my apartment and do the wild thing then get back? Geez, I'm not usually THAT fast!" Mulder shakes his head. "And you say he was smoking too? Well, at least I didn't start craving cigarettes when I got my body back." I tell him, "Telling 'you' about the phone trace didn't get the reaction I expected. I couldn't understand how you were so disinterested in pursuing an X-File lead. Even though I had told you often enough that it would be good to play by the book. I guess I was thinking that you had become despondent and disillusioned since the X-Files were closed, and perhaps were playing along with Kersh for now." I shrug, then continue, "You wouldn't pursue the lead, so I did. I hoped that if I could find out something that it would spark your interest again. I went back to Nevada to try to meet the source, without telling 'you'. But somehow Morris found out and tattled to Kersh. Kersh phoned me up and ordered that I see the meeting through with the source - so whoever it was could be arrested." I explained how 'my partner' and I watched 'Morris Fletcher' - in 'reality' Mulder - be apprehended as the leak. How the man who looked like Morris had yelled at me over and over, "He's not me! Would I do this?" And how Kersh gave me two weeks suspension without pay. "And you still believed that Morris was me, despite how he was acting?" Mulder asks now. "Up until that point, I had really hoped that you were just putting up a convincing front for Kersh and the conspiracy. Or, as I said, that you were depressed due to the X-Files being out of our reach. I listened to what my eyes and science were telling me instead of my heart and instincts. I should have known better, especially after so many years." "You are now. So when did you finally accept that it wasn't me walking around as your partner?" I explain about the dinner in Mulder's apartment, complete with champagne and waterbed. As soon as I mention the waterbed, Mulder nearly bellows: "Ah-HA!" When he calms down somewhat I continue, though my recounting of how I was able to get Morris Fletcher to handcuff himself to the bed nearly provokes just as strong a reaction. "When someone or thing impersonates me, they always try to seduce you! Perhaps I should learn something from that!" Mulder says. "Or they smash me through a glass topped table!" "Ah. That too. And he called you 'baby'? It's a wonder you let him live!" "I was holding my gun on him and did threaten that he would be peeing through a catheter, but the hitch with carrying out that threat was him being in your body. It would have been such a waste...." Then I recall how Kersh fired me because of my insubordination and how Mulder - my real Mulder, still in Morris' body, had protested upon hearing the news. "You said I could get my job back. I remember thinking that I didn't want it back if it wasn't with you. I told you that I'd kiss you if you weren't so damn ugly." Mulder smiles. I haven't told him how in one point of that particular conversation I told Mulder that Morris confessed to Kersh more often than I did to my priest. I remember how when I said that, a brief but familiar Mulder-look passed through my partner's eyes, even if it was being expressed through someone else's face. His regret and disappointment that there are things that I share with others instead of him, or not at all. So now I am doing my best to rectify that. My tale is coming to an end. How the general of Area 51 was the actual source and leak - he had tried to disable the stealth module on the 'UFO' that his people were flying, so that Mulder could see it. Instead it crashed and caused all manner of weird time distortions, some I saw for myself, others I heard from Mulder during the time that he was in Morris Fletcher's body, when he witnessed them at Area 51. The distortions and anomalies occurred because they were in the path of the warp - Mulder and Morris had to be back in its path for the switch to work. "And then time 'snapped back' and fortunately you were now in your own body again. But we were back at the point in time where it had begun, so we couldn't remember it." "You did," Mulder insists. "Subconsciously at first. Perhaps all those Mondays rattled it loose enough so that your psyche couldn't ignore it any longer and let it fade." "You come up with the best explanations." "The only thing that I can remember is that when we walked away from that guy and went to get in our car, I felt a little odd. Nothing of the rest. Those events explain the waterbed and that double coin," Mulder points out, as I did to myself earlier. "How you knew about the leopard print quilt. We have solid evidence for once! And you had the dream before I even told you about the waterbed!" And I'm wishing that bed hadn't been totalled, because now there is the potential to put it to great use. xXx We are back in Mulder's apartment. He has showered and changed and is almost ready to drive me to my apartment. Neither of us have said anything about what the plan is after that. "I have a theory," my partner remarks as he sits down to tie his shoelaces. "What is it?" "The waterbed may have started leaking because it was breaking up on a molecular level. It wasn't from this reality - so whether it was disintegrating because it couldn't keep existing here or it was 'phasing back' into its proper reality, the result was that it was breaking down and leaking. Time was hacking on it like a hairball, trying to spit it out. Or back into the right place." It's lucky that I am no longer in the process of eating. I tell him, "My physics teacher would have loved you. Only you could come up with a waterbed being a hairball in the throat of time!" "Or that of the universe itself." "You'd have a great time explaining quantum physics. How the cat in the box may be alive but is dead at the same time! And if that bed is breaking up molecularly, then I suggest you ditch your plans for keeping the frame and getting another mattress for it, because one night you might wake up and find yourself on the floor with no bed left. Or have a shower of mirror tiles as the glue holding them in place heads back to the correct dimension." Mulder looks like he is considering poking his tongue out at me. I continue, "But, seriously, would inanimate objects be affected in such a way? The waterbed wasn't in the path of the anomaly. It shouldn't be affected. In Nevada some people certainly changed, but not everyone. I didn't. So does this theory hold water - pardon the pun." "Who's to say that inanimate objects wouldn't be affected by something like that?" he counters. "Some inanimate objects changed - those coins, the gas station the coins came from, the things you told me that I told you about when I was in Morris' body, like a rock that ended up merged with a lizard." He gets up and starts pacing around the room, really into his theory now. "But most of those things were righted again by time snapping back. Scully, you said that we had to be in the path of the warp, the anomaly, when that happened. But the coin and the waterbed were in D.C. instead. Take the waterbed. It's in a place it isn't supposed to be - my apartment - due to time erasing the act of Morris Fletcher actually buying it. He didn't get to D.C. to pose as me and try to seduce you. The bed should be still in the showroom or wherever or have been bought by someone else. Instead it's just hanging like a thread or glitch and I think the universe would take umbrage at that!" "Perhaps," I allow, mentally picturing the timeline of those now-vanished events and considering the possibilities. Mulder says, "The water leaking was what led me to be late for work and was why I had to go to the bank. Perhaps the bed not being from this reality was a factor as to why time kept repeating on Monday." "Because it was trying to get rid of that pesky 'hairball'?" I ask. "But then it stopped when Pam was shot. All of the times that I can remember, we got blown up. When she was shot, she said that this had never happened before. Then it stopped. So, if that is the case, then it can't just have been the waterbed." "It could have been a significant contributing factor though. And if time kept repeating just because Pam did the 'wrong thing' up until that point where she was shot.... Well, heaps of other people do the wrong thing each and every day." "We could spend years analysing this and not get anywhere," I point out gently. "I know. I'm just glad you accept that it did happen. But now I can't sleep on the waterbed, so I'm back out on my couch, as usual. A balance has been restored. Though my landlord is very close to evicting me." Mulder smiles, then sees that I am looking serious. I tell him, "I can...sense... that there were other scenarios where you didn't get shot. Where someone else did or whatever, with the end result still being the same: the bank being blown up. But the ones where you were shot are the ones that I keep dreaming about. Being haunted by. At least in the scenarios we died together. I didn't have to be trapped in an existence without you." There is a pause as he stares at me. "I still believe in fate to a degree," I tell him. "To what degree?" "That you and I were fated to meet. I am absolutely certain of that. And if time really was repeating, then perhaps another reason for it doing so was that we weren't fated to die then. We still have so much to do together. And not just professionally...." He smiles, looking like he wants to hold me. "We will. I'm glad you came and told me about your dreams." "If we lived through the same day hundreds of times - well, we didn't manage to 'live' through the whole day until the final one.... If that really happened, then we've been given a second chance. Countless times over. It's about time we made the most of having a second chance," I reply. Time repeated over and over on that Monday - then the nightmares repeated it again, until they drove me into Mulder's arms. My dream about Morris Fletcher underscored how close we came to losing each other. "Come on, let's go to my apartment so I can freshen up, then we can have a talk - not about exploding banks or body swaps, but other things that have happened in the last few years," I tell my partner. Mulder nods. "It's time." xXx We cover a lot of ground before dinner - cleaning out a lot of 'clutter', it could be said. I offer to cook and we call a halt to the heavy stuff to enjoy our meal. And at least the discussion has not made either of us walk out on the other. It has helped us understand each other's reactions and feelings from some difficult times. And get beyond them. We are finishing the dishes when I ask, "Mulder, is your overnight bag in your trunk?" "Yeah it is." "Then stay here overnight." "You're sure?" "Your bed is wrecked and your couch is really not all that comfortable, despite how used to it you are. I'd like you to stay." He can see from my expression that I am not going to make him sleep out on the sofa. It's too small for him anyway. "And being with you, holding you, seemed to keep the nightmares at bay last night." Instead of being happy at that news, he looks hurt. "Is that the only reason you came to me last night? Because you thought that with me there the nightmares wouldn't come?" "The main reason that I came to you was that I wanted to be with you. And that's a reason that has been around way before the events of Monday. Like I said, all those second chances. I haven't got black satin sheets, but...." "It's a deal." First we go into the living room and watch TV comfortably for a while, very close together on my sofa. About as close as we were in bed, actually, with Mulder's arm around my shoulders. After watching a news program, we stumble over a sitcom - the family from hell. I laugh at the onscreen exploits, then say, "From the behaviour of Morris Fletcher when he was 'in' you, his poor wife - what she must have to put up with from him! Perhaps she's left him by now." Mulder's voice is quiet. "The same could be said for you, for what you have to put up with. And you didn't even get the nice house and kids along with the deal." "Mulder -" "That normal life. You talked about stopping the car instead of keeping on going, chasing after proof that we never seem to catch." "I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty," I tell him firmly. "I was just in a melancholy mood, I guess. I've seen enough over the last six years to know that us staying in the car and not giving up is enabling those other families and people to have their normal lives, now and hopefully in the future too. I have to believe that. But that doesn't mean that we can't have *some* aspects of normality along the way. Together. *That's* what I want. The day will come when it will be safe for us to stop driving, but I'm tired of total deprivation." A sparkle appears in his eyes. "Let's discuss what aspects you had in mind...." xXx Mulder is lying in my arms - and he's not dying. In fact, I can feel just how alive he is. And it definitely has me all a-tingle. I'm going to rip that pajama top off him in a minute. I've had enough practice, both in that repeated Monday and in real life since we became lovers. Holding Mulder or letting myself be held now does not require a nightmare or trauma. And I know what his bare legs feel like against mine. Ditto with completely bare Mulder against me. My offer for him to stay overnight has turned into...well, he hasn't moved out. And he's not going to. He moved in - in several interpretations of the term! You don't need a waterbed in order to make waves. THE END.