Yesterday's a Dream

By donnah
donnah@donnas-stories.com


URL - http://www.donnas-stories.com/
Rating - R
Category - MSR, angst
Spoilers - None
Keywords - MSR, angst
Summary - He needs her.  Thanks to Rod Serling for this
one.
Feedback - Please
Archive - Anywhere, just let me know so I can visit

Disclaimer - Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunmen and Skinner
all belong to Chris, 10-13, and Fox - Bless them for it!!  No
infringement intended.


Yesterday's a Dream


He woke slowly, stretching.  He'd slept well.  He finally
opened his eyes and realized this wasn't his bedroom.  But
when the hell had he fallen asleep in Scully's bedroom?  For
that matter, when had he come over to Scully's apartment?  

He glanced down, he was only wearing his boxers, but he
saw his jeans and t-shirt over the chair.  The last time he'd
woken in her bed he'd been sick, drugged by the water in his
apartment building.  And he'd assaulted Skinner.  He didn't
remember doing that again.  But why was he here?

He rose from the bed, testing himself.  He wasn't dizzy, or
sick.  He couldn't hear Scully in the next room, but he was
pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate him wandering around
undressed.  He slipped on his jeans and headed for the
kitchen.  

There was no sign of her.  Had she gone to get some
breakfast?  Gone to work without him?  She hadn't taken his
gun this time; he'd seen it on her dresser.  The bathroom
door had been open and the light out.  Okay, she wasn't in
the apartment, but she had been here, right?

Well, she'd probably be right back.  In the meantime she
wouldn't mind if he took a shower.  He didn't want to leave
and miss her.  He really wanted to know why he was here
and what was going on.  A shower should help him wake up.

He took a long, hot shower, using her shampoo and towels.  
That felt very good, and the scent was . . . stimulating, but
once he was out he hurried to dress again.  Maybe she was
back.

The apartment was still empty except for him.  He pulled out
his cell phone and pressed number one on the speed dial.  
He heard the phone ring in her briefcase beside the desk.  
Great, now what?  He wasn't exactly dressed for work, but
he decided to head there anyway.  Why hadn't she left a
damn note?

He stepped outside and stopped instantly.  Her car was
there, so was everyone else's - parked or stopped in the
middle of the street.  Not a single car was moving on the
road.  There was no sound either, no bird or insects, not
even a squirrel.  

What the hell?  He hadn't heard this much silence since . . .
Hell, he'd never heard this much silence.  He didn't like it
nearly as much as he'd always thought he would.

So what was going on?  He decided to move ahead with his
plan to check out the office, if the car worked.  It turned over
immediately and he eased out onto the semi-deserted street.

Maybe it was the 'rapture', he smiled grimly to himself.  It
would make sense that Scully was gone, but surely he
wasn't the only one left . . .

At least equipment was still working.  He had no trouble
entering the parking deck.  The elevator came at his
summons, but he sent it on down empty.  If he was the last
man on earth, he didn't want to spend his final hours in a
stuck elevator.

No sound or movement on any floor, though the elevator
waited for him in the basement.

He booted up his computer and was pleased to see emails
waiting for him.  Then he saw that there were none after
midnight.  The last one was from Frohike at 11:42, reminding
him that he had promised to bring over a video.

Maybe he was asleep and this was his most elaborate
nightmare yet.  Yeah, that had to be it, so he could just sit
and wait to wake up.  There was no way this was reality.  So
what should he do in the meantime?

He sent a couple of emails.  They didn't bounce back, but of
course he had no way of knowing if they were received by
anyone.  He rose from the desk and headed upstairs, again
taking the steps.

All of the offices were empty and most were locked.  He
stood in the outer office of Skinner's suite.  Kim's area was
neat and Skinner's door was locked.  Hell, it was a dream,
right?  He quickly picked the lock on the door and let himself
in.

There were files on Skinner's desk, in a neat pile.  Mulder
sat and looked through them.  They were cases he'd heard
about for the most part, not ones that involved him or Scully.  
Some of them were interesting, so he leaned back and read
the files, making notes in the margin of several of them.

Hunger caught his attention.  Should he be hungry in a
dream?  Whatever, he was going with it.  He headed down
to where the cart was stored and grabbed a bag of chips and
a canned drink.  Strange, he could taste the chips and the
diet Coke was cool in his throat.

After a second bag of chips, he wandered back upstairs.  For
the fun of it, he ducked into a few cubicles of some of his
more vocal detractors and decided to mess with their minds.  
It didn't take long to get into their files and rearrange a few
notes.  Nothing that would compromise a case, but . . .  the
face of Tom Colton appeared to him.  Now that could be fun.

He was careful, but he screwed with the Tom's files, just
enough so that man would wonder.  He smiled as he started
to leave the cubicle, then his shin connected with the
trashcan and pain flared.

He limped to a chair.  It probably served him right, but . . .
Hey, that hurt.  He wasn't supposed to hurt in dreams.  He
pulled his pants leg up to expose his wound.  He'd broken
the skin, but it wasn't bleeding.  He was probably going to
get a pretty good bruise out of it though.

He leaned back in the chair.  What the hell was going on?  
Where was everyone?  The humor of the situation was
fading fast.

He wanted Scully.  Hell, he'd been in her bed when he woke
up.  Scully's bed but she was no where to be found.  No one
was anywhere to be found.  That would please him if she
weren't included.

Okay, he'd wasted enough time.  He needed to find out what
the hell was going on.  

He began on the top floor and searched every office,
breaking into the ones that were locked.  He did no further
mischief, but he checked every room, even the ladies' room
on each floor.  He was completely and totally alone in the
building.

To be honest, the quiet was getting to him.  There was more
than one person he didn't ever want to see again, but some
of them weren't total wastes of skin.  Skinner, where was
he?

Mulder pulled out his cell phone and tried Skinner's home
number.  It was unlisted and there was no reason to let the
man know how he had obtained it.  It rang five times before
the machine picked up.  Mulder didn't leave a message.

Okay, where was someone most likely to be?  He headed
out of the building and turned west toward the White House.  
The quiet was eerie, he had never realized how much he
took things like traffic for granted.  He startled visibly and
actually reached for his gun at the sound of a bird chirping.  
It took him a moment to realize it was the crossing signal for
the handicapped.

Taking a deep breath, but keeping his gun in his hand now,
he moved on at a faster pace.  The White House looked as
deserted as everywhere else.  He walked up the driveway
without anyone stopping him.

He entered through a side door, where the tours had been
held in previous, safer times and began wandering through.  
He didn't call out or announce his presence; getting shot
didn't seem like a good idea.

The door upstairs to the living quarters was unlocked and he
hesitated, but then continued on.  The entire house was
empty as far as he could find.  He didn't pick any locks here,
but no one appeared to challenge him even though the lights
shown red on the surveillance cameras.

He'd always wanted to see the Lincoln bedroom.  With a
slight grin he headed in that direction.  Once there he sat
gingerly on the bed, still expecting someone to come in with
either April Fool on their lips or a gun aimed at his heart.  
When neither happened, he bounced slightly on the bed,
and then stretched out on it.  It was long enough for his
frame, but not nearly as comfortable as the bed he'd awoken
in this morning.  His smile disappeared.  Why was he playing
when he needed to be finding Scully?

He left the bedroom and hurried toward the exit.  He jogged
back to the Bureau and took his car.  He headed
immediately toward the Gunmen's apartment.  He should
have done this sooner, but the very bizarre-ness of the
situation had clouded his judgment.  And he'd rarely had this
much freedom of movement in a dream.  

He parked right outside the building and knocked on the
door.  Now this would be a challenge.  With all of those locks
and security measures, if the guys weren't inside . . .

There was no answer.  After a few minutes he moved
around to the loading dock.  It too was locked securely, but .
. .   Looking around the alley he spotted a garbage truck and
moved in that direction.  He hoisted himself up into the cab
and looked around.  The keys were in the ignition.

Okay, now could he figure out these gears?  The truck
lurched forward and he grabbed the seatbelt.  He cinched it
around himself and pressed on the gas.  Even braced for
impact, the collision stunned him.

He shook his head to clear it and after a moment shoved the
door open.  Good thing this was a dream, otherwise he'd be
damn sore tomorrow.  

Climbing through the ruined door of the loading dock, Mulder
jerked away as metal sliced through his slacks.  He saw
blood seep through the rip.  Okay, that wasn't exactly dream
like.  Damn it!

Fortunately the door from the dock wasn't as formidable as
the outside door and he was able to break through it fairly
quickly.  He hurried to their bath to check out his wound.  

The cut wasn't terribly deep.  In the real world he might need
stitches; here butterfly bandages would have to do.  He used
their first aid kit to disinfect the area and bandaged it.  His
jeans were ruined as well, but in this dream he could just
stop by and pick up a new pair of 34/34's at the nearest
store.

For now he wanted to see what kind of information he might
be able to glean from here.

An hour later, he shoved back from the desk.  He was more
than willing to cede that his 'kung fu' didn't compare with that
of his friends.  It didn't help that he didn't have a clue what to
look for.  However he was aware that he was hungry again
and that his leg hurt.

He limped out the front door, leaving it unlocked but shut, for
easier access next time.  He turned toward his apartment
then.  It was dark now and even though the street lights were
on, it felt very dark.

At his apartment he treated his leg again; wouldn't do to get
an infection now and changed into sweats.  He ate his left
over Chinese and flipped on the television.  Static greeted
him on all networks.  There were a few stations running
movies but they were obviously on tape and as he watched
one of them ended and static took over that station as well.

He took a deep breath, this was seeming less like a dream
and more nightmarish with each occurrence and damn it, his
leg hurt!  Just in case he returned to his medicine cabinet
and swallowed a couple of antibiotics left over from some
previous injury.

He slept in fits and starts that night.  By morning's light the
hope that he'd wake to a normal world with Scully in it was
pretty much gone.  Nothing had changed except he needed
a shave and all channels now showed static.  The radio
stations as well.  The power was on, his computer still
worked, but nothing had been updated since midnight of the
night before.  Where the hell was everyone?

He wasn't hungry, but he needed to do something.  How
long would food last if there was no replacement?  The fresh
stuff wouldn't last long, but with only him, the canned and dry
food would last forever.  Now that was a pleasant thought.  
He could grow old alone, but be well fed.  He shuddered at
the thought.

Was this really real?  Was he really the only person on the
planet?  He dressed and packed a few things.  Today he
was going to do a grid search, starting in her building.  He
probably should have stayed there last night but he hadn't
been thinking clearly.  

He checked her building quickly.  No one had appeared and
all of the apartments were empty.  With a growing
depression, he moved to the next building and then to the
next.  After that he returned to his car.  There were other
people; damn it, all of this made no sense!

Mrs. Scully's house was his next stop.  He had no relatives
of his own, so looking for hers seemed the obvious thing to
do.  As with the buildings downtown, there was no sign of
life.  The neighboring houses were empty as well.

He returned to Mrs. Scully's house and collapsed onto her
couch.  His anger was leaving him again and fear was
growing.  The cycles between were getting shorter each time
and fear lasted longer.  How far would he have to go to find
someone?  Could he live alone?  He'd always thought that
would be for the best; no one around to ridicule him, ride his
ass . . . but not this.  He'd never dreamed of something like
this.  The real question that kept coming back was, could he
live without Scully?

His mind wouldn't shut off.  He thought about returning to
Scully's apartment, but finally decided to stay where he was.  
He raided Mrs. Scully's refrigerator.  He was hungry now and
her leftovers were good, but there was a tasteless quality to
everything.  He'd never eaten alone here; there had always
been conversation and warmth . . . and Scully.

That's what it all kept coming back to, lack of Scully.

He took off the next morning.  He headed west, stopping
periodically to search for signs of life.  He'd never missed
bugs before, he'd hated them.  Now he craved the sound of
a cricket, even a damn bee.

He'd traded his car for a Mercedes SUV he'd found in
Brunswick, Maryland.  The keys had been in it.  It had been
sitting on I-70 and had a full tank of gas, not that he was
worried about that.  Now when he had to go off road to get
around stalled traffic he could do it in style.  That joy lasted
nearly 15 minutes before the quiet, the absolute aloneness
got to him again.

He took his time, swinging up into Pennsylvania.  He
alternated between the country roads and the highways.  It
didn't matter, nothing else ever moved.  He stopped
occasionally to check out a filling station or a restaurant.  
After breaking into one house, he found that too difficult.  
The family pictures of the people who had lived there,
apparently happily at one time, haunted him from their dusty
frames.

He slept in a Super 8 near the Gettysburg battlefield that
night, more shaken then tired.  He just felt the need to have
walls around him.  After a less than restful night he was up
again and continued his trek west.

He followed Route 30 for a little while, then turned south into
West Virginia at Salem.  Nothing changed, but he dutifully
checked out several places and forced himself to eat and
stretch.  In several places the road was blocked so that he
had to turn around and go another way.  He stayed on I-68
after that, he could drive in the median then and finally called
it a day at Morgantown.  He chose the Radisson that night,
but avoided the elevators again.  He raided the mini-bar that
night to try to get some sleep and drown out the quiet.  
Between that and the sound of the movie playing on the
VCR in the background, he got most of a night's sleep.

What he remembered, what he knew about his life was
beginning to feel like the dream.  There had been other
people, he had looked for his sister and worked in the X-
Files, there had been Scully.  He would never have been
able to imagine someone like her.

When he woke that morning, a destination had settled in his
mind.

*****

Columbus, Ohio was as empty as everywhere else.  He had
chosen it in his sleep, basically on the way to nowhere.  But
Charlie lived here, or used to.  He'd never met this brother,
but Scully had assured him on more than one occasion that
he was totally different from Bill.  Hell at this point, he'd have
thrown his arm around Bill and maybe plastered a big old
wet one on his lips.

He'd started out talking to himself, out loud, just to hear
something.  Now he usually addressed his comments to
Scully.  If he didn't look to the right as he drove he could
sometimes pretend.  He had all the CDs he wanted but his
craving for a live human voice was overwhelming at times.  
When he daydreamed before sleeping, she was there - they
no longer spoke of cases, but of what she meant to him, that
she was his life.  

He found Charlie's address in the phone book at the student
center at Ohio State and headed that way.  He wasn't
surprised to find the house empty, the contents already
accumulating dust.  What did surprise him was the depth of
his depression that this man, this family he had never known
was gone.

He wandered around this comfortable home.  There were
bikes in the garage, a basketball hoop over the door.  The
family pictures on the wall held his attention for a long time.  
He could see his Scully in Charlie's face.  Mary had dark hair
and looked warm and happy.  He had no trouble imagining
them interacting with their sons.

The boys were obviously brothers, but the older one, Will,
was a perfect mix of his parents with darker hair and eyes.  
Sam had a lighter complexion and hair, more touches of red
and Scully's blue eyes.  For the longest time he couldn't drag
his eyes from the boy.  Would Scully's son look like Sam or
more of a mix of the two of them?  He blinked as that
thought processed.  They would never have a child together.  
Then he spotted her picture, taken with her mother at some
holiday, sitting on a nearby table.

He wanted to touch Scully so much he ached.  It took him a
moment to realize tears were streaming down his face.  He
sank to the floor, all of his hopes collapsing completely.  He
had no concept of time, but he was stiff when he finally
attempted to rise to his feet.

Wearily he made his way to the kitchen.  Some things had
gone bad in the refrigerator, so he cleaned it out, finally
finding a frozen dinner and popping it in the microwave.  He
ate because his body demanded it, but he didn't taste it.  
Afterwards he trudged upstairs and eventually fell asleep in
Charlie and Mary's bed.

When he woke, he showered and then stood looking at
himself for a long moment in front of the mirror.  He reached
for Charlie's razor.  He hadn't bothered to unpack his small
bag of essentials last night, but stopped.  There was no
need, no one would see if he had a beard, or needed a
haircut or clean clothes.

There was no reason to do anything.  No reason to continue
looking.  The only person he wanted to find wasn't out here,
she wasn't anywhere.  He could crawl back in Charlie's bed
and never get up again.  

No, no if he was going to do that, it should be in Scully's bed.

*****

He stood in the doorway of her bedroom.  He'd returned,
driving until his eyes closed.  On one occasion stopping only
when he'd fallen asleep and driven off the road.  He would
sleep until he woke, then drive some more.  He didn't
remember his last meal or bath for that matter.  This was the
only place he felt even partially sane.  The memories of her
drew him; he could almost feel close to her.  Her scent had
faded with time and there was thick dust over everything
here as well.  He'd woken up here that morning.  He still had
no memory of coming over, but it made sense to be here, as
much as anything made sense in the world he lived in now.  

His beard, his shaggy hair, his weight loss; all of these
showed him the true passage of time.  This was beyond
nightmare.  It had blown away his carefully constructed
facade as loner.  Loner, hell he'd welcome Kersh's company
right now.  But Scully . . . He knew now that living without her
was not just undesirable, it was unbearable.

He'd come here to finish this existence, or rather non-
existence.  He wasn't going to be close to her, he knew that
even if he didn't understand anything else.  That had finally
penetrated his feeble grasp on reality.  Scully was gone as
surely as Samantha.  Okay, everyone was gone, but Scully
mattered.

He wasn't strong, not anymore, not without her.  He never
really had been, but the act had been well practiced.  There
was no reason to wait any longer.  This was where he had
awakened in this strange reality.  Now it was as close as he
could get to her.

It was the best place to do this.  He didn't believe in heaven
or an afterlife as she had, but if there was one and he could
be close to her . . .

He pulled his gun out of the holster and examined it again.  It
was clean, in good order.  It was the one thing he had
maintained with this always somewhere in the back of his
mind.  It was time, she wasn't coming back.

He took a seat on the side of the bed and brought the gun to
his temple.  "Scully, I'm sorry, but it's the only way.  I don't
know where else to look for you.  Please, help me to find you
now."

He closed his eyes the better to see her in his mind.  
"Please."

He squeezed the trigger gently.

The pressure of a hand against his almost didn't register.  
But the sound of the shot echoed loudly in his ear.  

Was he dead?  There was no pain, but . . . He slowly
opened his eyes to see the horrified, panic stricken face of
Dana Scully.  Heaven?  Was he in heaven?  She was here,
finally here.  The world went dark.

*****

She'd woken from another nightmare, but just lay there
getting her breath under control, her eyes still closed.  As
always her first thought was of him.  Wherever he was she
had to find him.  He'd been missing for weeks now.  The lack
of clues was the worst part.  No one had seen him leave his
apartment.  He wouldn't have just walked away, not from his
work, his life . . . not from her.  They were more than
partners, more than friends, and the lack of him in her life
had taken a toll that she had never dreamed it could.  She
couldn't eat, she hadn't had a full night's sleep since he left.

Someone had taken him from her, as she had been taken
from him.  She could understand why he had never given up
on finding Samantha.  She would never quit looking for him.

She was jolted from her thoughts as she felt someone sit on
the bed beside her.  What the hell!  Her eyes flew open.  
There was a homeless man on her bed, how the hell had a
stranger gotten into . . . "Scully, I'm sorry, but it's the only
way.  I don't know where else to look for you.  Please, help
me to find you now.  Please."

Scully?  That was Mulder's voice!  That honey rasp sounded
unused somehow but it was him.  She spotted the gun then.  
Oh god!  She jerked in that direction knocking his hand
away.  The bullet splintered the doorframe of her bedroom
and she was standing in front of him as the gun slipped from
his hand and onto the floor.  

He opened his eyes and locked on her face.  He went limp
then, losing conscious as he crumpled into her bed.

She froze for an instant.  What had so nearly happened
paralyzing her mind as well as her body.  Mulder?  Where
the hell had he been?  He was emaciated, his hair was long
and dirty and he had a full beard.  If he hadn't spoken she
would never have recognized him in time.  That caused a
bone-deep shudder and she forced herself into doctor mode.
 
He had passed out.  His heart beat was rapid and his
breathing shallow.  What had been done to him?  What had
he endured?  She should call for an ambulance, but
something stopped her.  He had come here, when he had
escaped, here was where he wanted to be.

She was able to get him more comfortably on the bed and
stripped his worn and dirty jeans from him.  He'd been
commando, but in her relief to have him here, she hadn't
even blushed.  His t-shirt came off as well.  She knew he
hadn't bathed recently, but the scent of him was more than
welcome.  She covered him with a sheet.

She left his side then, to get juice and a washcloth.  His
pulse was stronger now, slower and he seemed to have
slipped into sleep.  She sat beside him on the bed and
bathed his face, talking softly to him.  It took a moment to
realize his eyes were open.

"Mulder."  She managed a trembling smile.  "I want you to
drink some juice."  She lifted his head and held the glass to
his lips.  He drank a few sips silently, his eyes never leaving
her.

When she eased him back against the pillows and started to
rise, his hand shot out and grasped her forearm tightly.  "Are
you here?"

His voice was rusty from disuse, and the question frightened
her, but she let her free hand caress his face and beard.  
"Yes.  I'm here.  So are you, Mulder."

He closed his eyes for an instant, though he didn't release
his grip on her arm.  They flew open when she shifted, and
his hand tightened.  "It's okay.  I'm not going anywhere.  Just
relax."  He didn't acknowledge that, watching her.

She had a million questions, but it was his state of mind that
was scaring her.  Too much, too soon and it looked like he'd
snap.  "It's late.  May I sleep here, with you?"

His eyes widened, then he nodded.  She didn't hesitate,
slipping under the covers.  She was wearing pajamas, but
even if she had been nude she would have done this.  He
pulled her against him, holding her in a fierce grip.  She
cuddled into his side, a little startled at how well she fit and
how right this felt.  Her plan was to watch him as he slept,
but the countless sleepless nights, the untold hours of
searching had taken their toll.  She was asleep in minutes,
her arm over his chest, anchoring him to her.

He lasted little longer, resting his chin on her hair, holding
her close.

*****

There was no scientific explanation that she could come up
with that matched the facts as she knew them.  He was
finally able to let her out of his sight for more than a couple
of minutes, though she didn't push it.  She was just as
anxious to keep him within arms length.  He had stayed at
her apartment, though he had accompanied her to his place
to pick up some clothes.  He no longer jerked violently when
he heard other people, and he had yet to completely fill out
his jeans, but he was doing better.

This vacation was his idea and if she found the destination
strange, she kept it to herself.  He drove unerringly to the
house, asking no directions from the airport.  She kept quiet,
watching but not questioning him.

When he parked in front of the house she turned in the seat.  
He held out his hand and she took it, squeezing it slightly.  
"Come on, Scully.  Introduce me to this brother Charlie."

She smiled, nodding and they got out of the car.




Happy Birthday and Thank you, David!