Perchance to Dream Author: Agent L Classification: S, post-ep Rating: Nothing objectionable Spoilers: DeadAlive Distribution: Archive anywhere, but keep my name and e-mail attached please! Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, Robert Patrick, Fox, et al.: I know they're not mine, and no money, gifts or even chocolate would be expected or accepted for this. Summary: Mulder has a bad dream after leaving the hospital. Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com Perchance to Dream "Mulder, I don't think this is a good idea." "I heard you the first ten times, Scully. Just help me out of the car, will you?" Scully bit back a grin at hearing a hint of her old impatient partner in Mulder's voice. She couldn't quite get used to the fact that he was sitting in the car beside her when she had watched his coffin being lowered into the ground only three months ago, and he'd been clinging to life with the aid of machines, against all probability and laws of nature, a little more than five days before. Not that he hadn't "died" in the past. But this had been much too close. She shuddered a little to think of what might have happened if... "Scully. Are you okay?" He was looking at her a bit worriedly now and she realized she'd drifted off. She had less focus lately, probably due to the hormones from the pregnancy. Oh yes, and the fact that her partner had just come back from the dead. "Scully?" She shook her head to clear away the lingering fear. He was here. He was alive. "Sorry, Mulder." She got out and walked around to his side of the car. He already had the door open and was struggling to get out. The experience had left him incredibly weak -- he had done little more than sleep for the first two days after he'd been revived, and wasn't up to much more activity than that even now. But when he'd asked for a cheese dog on the third day, she'd known everything was going to be all right. Although she would have preferred that he remain in the hospital for observation, Mulder and the doctors both insisted that all he needed was proper rest and nutrition, which he could get just as well in the more comfortable surroundings of home. Scully sensed, however, that the doctors just didn't want a reminder of something they couldn't explain or understand staring them in the face, walking and talking and teasing the nurses. She grasped Mulder's arms and helped him out of the car. He had refused her suggestion of a wheelchair or walker, but had at least grudgingly accepted the cane. He leaned on it and Scully heavily as they trudged up the sidewalk to her apartment. He had wanted to go home, of course, but she didn't have the heart to tell him he didn't have a home anymore. There had already been too many surprises for him to deal with: her pregnancy, Agent Doggett, Billy Miles...Instead, she had pointed out that her refrigerator was fully stocked with healthy food and her medicine cabinet contained more than a two-year old bottle of aspirin and some band-aids. She hated to lie to him, especially when he looked at her with such trust and gratitude in his eyes, but she couldn't bear to destroy his illusion that she was his savior... not yet. They got him inside and she took him into her bedroom despite his protest that the couch was fine. She had fallen asleep on the couch so often over the past few months that she wasn't sure she'd be comfortable in the bed anymore, anyway. . Scully had managed to change that subject when it had come up, as well. It had seemed so logical at the time, to get rid of everything he'd left behind. Everything that reminded her of him. She had had so little faith... He lay down on top of the covers, wearing the sweats they'd borrowed from Byers, since most of his clothes had been given to charity and wouldn't have fit him anyway. Another truth that would have to be revealed at some point, like exhuming the grave all over again. "Do you need a blanket?" she asked, chilled at the memory. "No, it's warm in here." Like a cat, he scooted over until he found a patch of sun and turned his face toward the brightness, closing his eyes with a little smile of pure pleasure. She almost expected to hear him purr. "Call if you need anything." "Mmm hmm," he replied, already half-asleep. As she pulled the door partway closed, she marveled that this was the same man who had previously existed on two hours of rest a night. But he wasn't the same man. No matter how desperately she wanted him to be, his experience had profoundly changed him physically and she would no doubt see other, more subtle changes in his personality as he recovered. No one had talked much about what had happened, all of them just overwhelmed and relieved to have him back, still struggling to assimilate the bizarre circumstances. No one had asked Mulder about how much he remembered, and he seemed content not to talk about it -- this man, her partner who questioned everything, who examined every detail of life, both the beautiful and the ugly. Scully suspected that right now he was simply focused on survival, on getting through the next moment, grateful to simply be alive. She knew that feeling. She would not press him as he had once pressed her. She didn't want to know the truth. Scully sat down on the couch, found her own little patch of sun, and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cushion. It felt like forever since she had truly rested, truly been at peace. For so long there had been the nagging pain, like a splinter under her finger -- the absence of him, like the absence of a limb -- and despite the life growing in her, she had felt empty and restless. There would be problems ahead, more sleepless nights for both of them. She would have to tell him about the apartment, his clothes... He would want to retrieve his memories when he got a little stronger. But for now, she only needed to know that he was in the next room, safe and sound. The scream woke her sometime later. The sun had vanished, leaving chilly shadows in the room. At first she was disoriented, her neck stiff, legs asleep, but then she heard it again. He had screamed her name. Scully bolted off the couch and ran into the bedroom. Mulder had apparently gotten cold as the sun set and had slipped under the blanket. Somehow in his sleep he'd gotten tangled in the folds and his struggles were just wrapping the material around him more tightly. His eyes were still closed, and he didn't awaken even when she turned on the light. His cries had become whimpers now as he fought to free himself from his imaginary captor, and he was fighting for each breath in shallow pants. "Mulder." Scully approached carefully and shook his shoulder. She'd had to dodge his fist more than once when she'd awakened him from nightmares in the past. He usually came up swinging. He flinched at her touch, his body trembling violently. "Mulder, it's me, Scully. Can you hear me?" His eyelids fluttered as he responded to the sound of her voice. The pillow was damp from sweat. "It's all right, Mulder, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you here." She reached down gingerly to try to loosen the blanket, hoping that a little more physical freedom would convince his subconscious that he was safe. He woke abruptly, his eyes dark with terror, and sat bolt upright, gasping for breath and clawing at his throat, then shoving away the blanket. He batted her hands away as she tried to help, still half in the grip of his nightmare, until his jerky movements subsided and his breathing settled back to a more normal rate, although Scully could see his pulse still pounded in his throat. She moved into his line of vision. "Mulder...? Are you all right?" He looked up at the sound of her voice and she was relieved to see recognition in his eyes. The scars stood out like fresh wounds on his white face, and his hair clung damply to his forehead. She reassured him that he was all right, that nothing would hurt him, as he fought to regain his composure, to come fully back to her. Finally, he relaxed back against the pillow with a shaky sigh. "I - I had a bad dream," he whispered, then gave her a shadow of his old grin. "Guess that's an understatement." She nodded, her own heart still pounding. "Let me get you some water." She left the room to allow them both a few moments to gain their composure. He had slipped back under the covers when she returned, probably chilled as the sweat dried on his body. He drained the glass and closed his eyes. "Do you remember any of it?" she asked, sitting down next to him. He shook his head. "No." Then he opened his eyes. "I mean yes. I...I don't know." He pulled the blanket up around his neck and shivered. "It was dark -- pitch black. And cold....so cold. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move." His eyes drifted closed as his physical exhaustion smothered the fear, and his voice faded to a murmur. "...buried alive..." He didn't see her shocked face or the tears that pooled in her eyes. "I called for you..." he went on drowsily. "Then you came..." He quickly slipped back into a deep sleep, unaware of the silent grief of the woman beside him. How would she ever be able to tell him that that hadn't been a dream? The End