From: msnsc21@yahoo.com   
      
   OK to send to newsgroup; I'll send to Gossamer and Ephemeral.   
      
   Land of the Living I   
   by ML   
   ~Headers and notes in Prologue.  This is all story.~   
      
   ~x~   
      
   Chapter Two   
      
   "Maybe dreams are the answers to questions we haven't yet   
   learned to ask."    -Fox Mulder   
      
   Coward. Idiot.   
      
   He lies on the sofa, staring at nothing.  All talk and   
   no action.  Not even much talk, really.  When it comes   
   right down to it, he choked.  Everything he wants, sitting   
   right there next to him, and he is too petrified to make a   
   move.   
      
   Maybe he should just drive them back to the airport in the   
   morning.  If the whole week is going to be like this, there   
   is no point in continuing.   
      
   After he heard Scully's bedroom door close he'd taken their   
   nearly untouched food back to the kitchen and cleaned up. He   
   came back out to the living room and flopped down on the sofa.   
   He thinks of all the things he'd wanted to say and do, and how   
   differently he thought this evening would end.  Instead, here   
   he is, camped out on the couch, alone as usual, dreaming of   
   Scully, instead of kissing and touching her.   
      
   Now that she's here, he's not sure how to deal with the reality   
   that things are changing between them.  He has been afraid all   
   along that Scully will convince herself that getting closer is   
   a bad idea.  She will rationalize herself out of it, and then   
   do her best to make him do the same.  That's her usual MO with   
   an X-File she can't believe in.  He wonders if all this talk   
   about his "feelings" are a cover for her reluctance.   
      
   And he's afraid that if he makes a move to touch her, he will   
   lose all control.  He scared her in Victorville, he thinks,   
   and he doesn't want to do that again.  He is still, first and   
   foremost, her friend.   
      
   He doesn't want to think about this right now.  The silence   
   in the room oppresses him.  He flips on the television, hoping   
   to dull his senses with whatever mindless drivel there is.  The   
   sound is very low, but it helps drown out the roar in his ears.   
   Eventually the remote falls from his loosened grip and he dozes   
   off.   
      
   x-x-x   
      
   Scully brushes her teeth, washes her face, and tries not to   
   think about the man she left in the living room.  It doesn't   
   do any good.  She can't think of anything else.  Despite her   
   best intentions, they've almost fought, after only a few hours   
   together.  Is this what the week is going to be like?   
      
   She hadn't really expected him to behave as he had in   
   Victorville.  She isn't quite sure what she expects, though.   
   She thought about it on the plane, has been thinking about it   
   nearly every moment the week they were apart.  What does she   
   want?  Mulder asked her, and it seems only fair to give him   
   an answer.  She will, however, insist he's clear about what   
   he wants, too.  This "I want what you want" crap is not going   
   to cut it.   
      
   She can hear the mumbling of the television from the living   
   room.  She imagines Mulder sprawled on the sofa, watching   
   whatever with half-shuttered eyes.   
      
   Maybe she should just go out there, forget the words, just   
   love him and let it be enough.   
      
   Why does it always have to be so difficult for them?  Both   
   professionally and personally, everything is a struggle.  She   
   supposes that it's partly due to their own natures.  They are   
   both driven, though Mulder is much more single-minded that   
   she is.   
      
   Maybe this is still too soon.  His mother has been dead such   
   a short time, and the mystery of Samantha's disappearance   
   revealed -- not solved, exactly, but an answer that Mulder   
   seems to be able to live with has been achieved.  Still, to   
   plunge directly into any change in their relationship could   
   be a big mistake.  Maybe he's realizing this, too.   
      
   She sighs again.  It's useless to conjecture.  She thought   
   she understood in Victorville, that his actions had been born   
   of reaction and maybe panic.  Her suggestion that he take some   
   personal time had evidently been taken as a sort of challenge   
   by him.  *I will if you will*, each daring the other to make   
   the first move.  Well, they have--Mulder in asking her to come   
   out to California, and she in actually coming out.  They are   
   equals; equal in risk, equal in emotional investment.   
      
   It's time to admit, once and for all, how they feel about each   
   other and what they want to do about it.  Maybe they both do   
   want the same thing.  But they both have to admit it.  She is   
   willing to admit it first, if that's what it will take.   
   Having decided at least that much, Scully turns out her light   
   and tries to sleep.   
      
   x-x-x   
      
   She dreams of Teena Mulder, of seeing her at Bill Mulder's   
   funeral.  So stoic, so patrician-looking.  She'd accepted the   
   flag from the coffin as her due but without emotion.   
      
   Mrs. Mulder turns as she approaches, listening to what Scully   
   has to say without comment.  How can she be so calm with her   
   ex-husband dead and her son missing?  Has she put two and two   
   together?  Does she know what her husband was involved in?   
   What her son has been doing?  Mrs. Mulder says all the right   
   words, but in this dream-state Scully feels that she's hiding   
   something.  This is not something that occurred to her at the   
   time, and Mrs. Mulder had flown right out of her mind once the   
   Englishman approached her with his warning.   
      
   The dream changes abruptly and now it's only Mrs. Mulder, her   
   hand out to Scully, asking, almost beseeching...   
      
   Scully rouses herself, her heart pounding.  She must have been   
   whimpering in her sleep; she can still hear the echo of it in   
   her ears.  But no, she still hears it, coming from the other   
   room.  It's Mulder, not so much whimpering now as shouting   
   incoherently.  Scully hesitates only a moment before opening   
   her door and going out to the living room.   
      
   Approaching Mulder quietly, she lays a hand first on his arm,   
   then on his forehead, smoothing the hair away.  She says his   
   name softly.  "Mulder.  Mulder, it's me, wake up."   
      
   "Scully," he says urgently, not quite awake yet.   
      
   "Mulder, it's okay.  I'm here, I'm okay."  He realizes it's   
   Scully, patting his arm, stroking his forehead.  Her hands   
   are cool and he struggles to sit upright, as though the action   
   will loosen the last grip the dream has on him.   
      
   He reaches blindly for her and she allows him to, opening her   
   arms, crooning soothing nonsense to him.  Eventually his   
   breathing slows and he rests his head on her shoulder.   
      
   "You okay?" she asks, stroking his hair.   
      
   He nods.  He can't help thinking that this is so much better   
   than comfort over the phone.  "I'm sorry I woke you," he says   
   in a gravelly voice.  "Did I wake you?"   
      
   "I was awake anyway."  She starts to add more, but thinks   
   better of it.  He has his own bad dreams.  He doesn't need   
   to be burdened with hers, too.   
      
   They sit together on the sofa, arms around each other.  It   
   feels so comfortable.  The harsh words they traded earlier   
   might never have been spoken.   
      
   Mulder, however, feels compelled to mention them, taking the   
   blame in typical fashion.  "I'm sorry for how I behaved   
   earlier."   
      
   "I'm sorry too," she says.  "It was the jet-lag talking, I   
   guess."   
      
   "You have nothing to be sorry for," he says.  He shifts   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)