From: fsuct@csv.warwick.ac.uk (Mr C King) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Dreamscapes Date: 19 Nov 1995 19:12:14 -0000 alrighty, this is my first posting so i'd appreciate any feedback, positive or negative . . . first a little disclaimer: dana scully, fox mulder and their families belong solely to the mighty triumvirate that is chris carter, 10-13 and fox, a mighty 3some indeed . . . think of these stories and the ones that will follow as separate parts of the same whole . . . finally, thanks to caroline for suggestions and third season titbits . . . happy birthday, little sister . . . DREAMSCAPES "I've often felt that dreams were answers to questions that we haven't yet figured out how to ask." - Fox Mulder in 'Aubrey'. Dana Dana stands in the doorway of the church, overwhelmed and alone. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open with the fascination of a young girl, she stares upwards at the vast ceiling and its painted surfaces, its kaleidoscopic colours. She does not want to but she takes an excited, tentative step forward, then another unable to stop herself, being willed on by . . . something. The thick oak door thunders shut behind her and the sound rumbles through the emptiness of the church, the fear inside her head and chest rising relentlessly. She feels the terror spread to every limb, every nerve inside her small body, feels it deep inside her heart as it pounds against her chest, shaking with every beat, but she continues to walk on, she has no control. In front of her lies nothing but horror, waiting within the darkness, waiting for her, but she can't stop, oh God, she wishes she could but she can't, she can't . . . Then she sees the window, with its myriad colours, light pouring through, illuminating the red, blue, green, brown, white, so vivid they almost seem to merge into the other, as if they are alive, as if the colours breathe. So wonderful, thinks Dana, so very, very, beautiful. Through the colours she sees faces that fill her with a sensation of overwhelming peace, security, her father smiles down through the swirl, her mother's eyes, her brothers, she sees herself playing with Missy in the wood, laughing at the tops of their voices, not caring who heard, shouting each others names, and she sees a man, smiling down, in a robe, filling her with wonder, nothing but wonder, and in his eyes only strength . . . Dana's small blue eyes dance with colour as the light radiates down, on her face, on her flame red hair. This was the way her mother said it would be, the way the priest with the bald head and the nice smile described it, the feeling of peace. Dana smiles, the fear gone, the darkness that hides the horror shrinking away into the corner and her small body untenses, relaxes, until she closes her eyes and feels the church and window dissolve around her into a warm darkness that is full of absolute safety and she floats, floats, floats . . . motionless . . . until, with a smile, the warmth of the darkness washes over her, into her, making her forget it all . . . "Dana!" Her eyes struggled open, fighting the urge to fall back into sleep. "Wh . . . m'up," was all she could manage. The door was quickly opened, revealing a woman's face, mildly annoyed. Dana opened her eyes and looked at her mother. "Dana Scully get out of bed this minute!" "Morning mommy." Her mother's eyes softened. "Good morning, Dana," her face quickly hardening in mock severity, "now get out of bed young lady or I'l tell your father . . . Bill, will you tell your daughter please?" The round face of Dana's father poked itself round the door, his face surpressing a smile, showing only comical seriousness. "Out of bed this minute, Starbuck." Dana saluted her father with glee. "Yes sir, Ahab." William Scully smiled at his daughter and walked away, down the hall, while her mother walked into the bedroom to get ready for work. Dana threw back her covers and swung her feet down onto the carpeted floor to get ready for school. She made a mental note to ask her father about that question in her Biology homework she was stuck on, the one about the frogs. She didn't quite get the bit about the hatching of the eggs. How did they know it was time to come out, she thought to herself. There's no rush, she thought with a small smile, staring at her reflection in the mirror on her dressing table. "He'll always be here," said Dana Scully to her reflection, with the absolute confidence of a six year old child. Fox . . . and the wind blows hard into Fox's face and pours around him, his body feeling like he's inside a cushioned coccoon of air as he soars, arms by his side, over houses and fields, uncontrollably fast, carlights streaming together as he tears over the freeway, white lines blurring into one perpetual streak, the pin pricked starlight piercing the clouds above, dazzling as they merge into beautifully soft slashes of energy . . . . . . and Fox isn't afraid, oh no, but a smile splits his face, as he flies, flies, flies over his hometown at an amazing speed, doesn't understand how, doesn't care why, all he knows is that he is flying, the wind rushing, roaring, through his head, he feels it on his face, his arms bare up to the shoulder of his Nicks t-shirt he wears and with a delighted, rapturous cry he wills himself higher, up through the dark clouds towards the starlight, away from the ground, from Earth, into space, into infinity . . . . . .and suddenly the wind stops its roaring as the thunder ceases inside his head, leaving the clouds below, their moisture still on his skin, starlight reflected in every drop, yet he feels nothing but warmth, sees nothing but the vastness above him, around him, his joy rising to new levels, heights he has never dreamed he could ever reach, oh if only Samantha was here he thinks, if she was only here to see this, feel this, the silence of being above it all, she would forget the argument they had last night, and she would feel the same way that he feels now, oh if only Samantha was here, thinks Fox, if only Samantha was here . . . . . . and Fox's young, tall body slows down until he is poised in the air, he turns himself around, around, looks up at the fierce balls of gas so very far away, feels infinitessimaly small yet so full of meaning, understands the future ahead, life without his parents, without his sister, ready for the burden of whatever lay ahead, looking forward to it, relishing it, of no longer being a child . . . . . . and as the lights grow in strength they bathe his arms, his face, he feels their warmth and suddenly he knows that there is something up here, not a God, he thinks, not a God, but others, like him, like us, and he feels their knowledge in his head and in his body, thinks to himself he may leave, but his parents, his sister, will always be here, across a phone line, but always here . . . . . . and Fox Mulder smiles with joy. "Fox! Time for school, your sister is up and so should you be. Up, young man." He opened his eyes and felt a strange mood of contentment. "Yeah, Dad," he shouted through the door, struggling out of bed. Strange, thought Fox to himself, It's Monday, I hate Mondays and I have to be at school in half an hour, so why am in such a good mood? Hearing the logic of a schoolboy, his mind began to mull over the dreary day ahead. Mondays, I hate 'em, thought Fox to himself, over and over in his head. Suddenly he smiled to himself in glee, remembering something crucial. It was a Monday, school may be hell during the day, but as for the night, well, that was something completely different. It's a Monday, thought Fox Mulder, smiling at his reflection in the mirror, and school may be tedious but The Magician is on tonight.