From: akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
      
   TITLE:  Losing Sleep   
      
   AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan   
      
   EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
      
   DISTRIBUTION:  Wherever.  Just let me know.   
      
   RATING:  PG-13 for language and mild drug reference   
      
   CATEGORIES:  VR   
      
   KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance, UST   
      
   SPOILERS:  None   
      
   SUMMARY:  There are conversations you can have at two in the morning   
   that you can't have any other time.   
      
      
   Disclaimer:  Everybody in this belongs to somebody else.   
      
   *********************   
      
      
      
      
   It started on their very first case together, when she lay on the bed in   
   his hotel room, propped on one elbow, and listened to him talk for   
   hours. Since then there have been dozens of times, one of them knocking   
   softly on the other's door, seeking some escape from another sleepless   
   night. In motels across the country they have engaged in this ritual:   
   someone knocks, someone answers, they curl up in a chair or stretch out   
   on the floor or flop down on the bed, and watch bad late night movies   
   until someone falls asleep.   
      
      
      
   Most often it is Scully who knocks. His sleeping habits are so poor he   
   doesn't dare seek her company every time, and she can always be fairly   
   certain that he will be awake when she is. She knocks, or pushes open   
   the connecting door, and waits for the smile of invitation. The next   
   hour or so follows an almost invariable pattern. They may chat, but more   
   likely they watch TV quietly, until she steals a pillow and finally   
   drifts off to sleep. When he realizes she is out he sits and watches   
   her, sometimes for a minute or two, sometimes nearly until dawn breaks,   
   and then softly slips into her room to catch as much sleep as he can in   
   her bed. He's not sure he could handle waking up next to her, and he   
   sleeps best when he can burrow down into cool sheets that are brushed   
   with her scent.   
      
      
      
   Mulder knocks less often, because there aren't nearly as many times when   
   he can be sure she is awake. He knows that her insomnia is tied to her   
   body's natural cycles, and he has learned these rhythms by heart. He   
   knows that for about a week before her cycle begins, she is filled with   
   nervous energy and hardly sleeps at all, and he knows that for a couple   
   of days after it starts nothing short of a sonic boom directly in her   
   ear will wake her. He knows, too, that about halfway through there is a   
   subtle shift in her body chemistry that leaves them both keenly aware of   
   each other, stealing heated glances, although he tries not to think   
   about that too much. When he knocks she greets him with an expression of   
   sympathy, affection, and relief that makes his chest hurt, and he   
   settles onto the bed next to her and generates some excuse to touch her.   
   He likes it even better when she touches him, when he curls up with his   
   head in her lap and feels her fingers gently brush through his hair, or   
   even when they lean up against the headboard together and she nudges his   
   shoulder with hers at something funny on television.   
      
      
      
   They talk sometimes on those nights, because there are conversations you   
   can have at two in the morning that you can't have any other time. Many   
   of the little secrets they know about each other they have learned in   
   half-lit motel rooms a long way from home. They both hide them away   
   carefully to be looked at later, like shiny treasures. They have told   
   each other about first loves and first heartbreaks, summer camp   
   adventures, childhood fears, college roommates. They know each other's   
   favorite ice creams (Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond for her,   
   whatever has the highest chocolate content for him) because Mulder likes   
   to snack during their late night talks and she indulges him, although   
   she inevitably wakes up with a stomach ache.   
      
      
      
   Gradually as time has gone by they have edged toward more personal   
   topics. For the first few years, their conversations stayed strictly in   
   the past, as if by tacit agreement they would never mention anything   
   that had happened since they had met. After Modell things began to   
   change, albeit at a glacial pace. They inched toward each other, willing   
   to talk around the edges of the intersection of their lives. A couple of   
   years, some false starts, more near-misses, a reprieve from cancer, and   
   they had reached the point where they could relate to each other in the   
   present tense. Certainly no one could accuse them of rushing into   
   anything.   
      
      
      
   Some nights still involved microwave popcorn and reruns of Gunsmoke, but   
   more and more often the reruns were accompanied by quiet, aimless talk.   
   At least, they told themselves it was aimless, even as they both   
   realized that it made them more dependent on each other than ever. They   
   were aware that neither of them really had anyone else they talked to.   
   Who else was there to understand?   
      
      
      
   This night it was Lebanon, Ohio, in the midst of an investigation into   
   an allegedly malicious haunting at the old Shaker village. Mulder was   
   prepared to believe it was the ghost of a sexually frustrated Shaker,   
   but it looked like it was likely to be a nurse at the retirement home   
   that now used the facilities. He had suggested the sexual frustration   
   angle might still hold, but she had pointed out that didn't   
   automatically make someone malevolent and then arched an amused eyebrow   
   in his direction. He had blinked, and then grinned in spite of himself.   
      
      
      
   When the clock glowed 12:01 at her, Scully gave up. Midnight was her   
   personal capitulation time. If she wasn't asleep by then, she knew the   
   chances were slim for at least a couple of hours. She glanced over at   
   the connecting door between their rooms. It was cracked just a little.   
   Mulder preferred it that way since the cancer. She suspected it made it   
   easier for him to slip into her room and watch her sleep, make sure she   
   was still breathing, without disturbing her. He didn't know that she   
   knew he did that, and she wasn't prepared to take it away from him yet.   
   She could see the bluish flicker of his TV around the edge of the door.   
   It didn't necessarily mean he was awake, but the chances were good.   
      
      
      
   She slid out of bed and walked over to pull open the door. The one on   
   his side stood wide open, as always, and he was stretched out on the   
   bed, his feet crossed at the ankles, one arm stuck behind his head. "You   
   asleep?" she asked softly.   
      
      
      
   He let out a small snort of laughter, and she smiled. "C'mon in," he   
   said, his voice warm and low. "BYO pillow, though, Scully. I dropped the   
   extra one in the tub."   
      
      
      
   "How -"   
      
      
      
   "Don't ask."   
      
      
      
   She decided that was probably a good idea and retrieved her own pillow   
   before crossing back to his room and joining him on the bed. "What are   
   we watching?" she asked as she settled herself cross-legged next to him.   
      
      
      
   "The Bad News Bears Go To Japan."   
      
      
      
   Scully winced but made herself comfortable.  She leaned forward with her   
   elbows on her knees and watched intently, determined to find at least a   
   cure for insomnia in the television screen.  Mulder had given up on the   
   movie right about the time the team decided to go to Japan, so he   
   watched her, instead.  At least she made him smile.  She was so focused.   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)