***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

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Answers: The Dream
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Vignette, Scully angst, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated PG

Spoilers through "The Red and the Black"

Summary: Scully thinks about her changing relationship with
her partner. Companion piece to "Answers: The Choice"

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Answers: The Dream
by shannono


She was standing on ... something, high up in the air, suspended
above ... water, she thought; she wasn't quite sure and didn't
want to investigate far enough to find out. There were other
people around, brushing past her, in no hurry.

She was waiting. But she didn't know for what.

Then, light. Bright in her eyes, and she squinted against it,
trying to see where it came from.

It split into multiples. A pattern of lights against blackness,
spotlighting her and the others.

It remained, as if studying them, then was gone.

Silence.

Then, a scream.

Light again, flickering this time, and she turned to see the
flames. They were burning. On either side, the people were
burning.

She was next.

Instinctively, she reached out, stretching her hand as far as it
would reach. He would be there. He would help her ...

He wasn't.

She was alone.

And they were coming for her ...

**********

Scully sat up with a gasp, tearing her brain away from the dream
that had held her so tightly. Sweat soaked the hair around her
face, and she shivered in the cold, dark room.

Wherever she was.

Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings. Another slightly
seedy motel room in another small rural town. As the roaring in
her ears began to clear, she could hear the low noise coming
through the wall from the room next door, indicating the
television was still on.

That didn't surprise her.

Slowly, she slid her legs toward the floor, turning toward the
table between her bed and the window. They'd been lucky to find
two rooms in the same motel, much less next door to each other,
and so they'd ended up with the two tiniest singles in town.
Barely enough room to turn around.

Much less the pacing Mulder had seemed inclined to do a lot of
for the past couple of weeks.

Scully sighed once, the sound coming out louder than she'd
expected. She pushed herself to her feet and headed into the
small bathroom. Grabbing one of the rough washcloths, she
dampened it with cool water and wiped her face and neck to
remove the sticky residue of sweat.

She remembered the nightmare. She just wished she knew which
parts of it had really happened.

She sighed again. She'd been doing a lot of that lately. Ever
since the day nearly a month before when she'd woken up in a
hospital bed, burns on her hands and face, but no memory of
how they got there or what exactly had happened to her.

She didn't like not knowing.

Her mind froze on the thought. She didn't like not knowing.

Could it possibly be that simple?

She realized she'd stopped breathing and willed herself to
inhale. Her heart was pounding again, almost painfully.

Why was it that the most important revelations always came in
the middle of the night?

She didn't like not knowing. Was that the real driving force
behind her search for "the truth"? Just because she didn't
like not knowing?

It was.

And it was the same for Mulder.

She considered, while drying off her face. She had chosen
forensic medicine because it gave her a prime opportunity to
dig out the answers. By studying and dissecting, she could
uncover the reasons for the person's death. 

She liked finding the answers. She'd said as much to Mulder on
the day they met. "The answers are there," she'd said. "*You*
just have to know where to look."

And she'd told him she wanted the answers, three years ago.
After Missy died. She'd seen the truth, she said.

He was still searching for the truth.

How was her search any different from his search?

He could believe in his "truth," when he found it.

For her "answers," she needed proof.

She moved slowly back to the bed and slipped beneath the covers
again, propping herself up on her side with the pillows and
staring into the darkness. She thought about that difference
between them, how he could believe and she needed proof, and
she realized things had changed.

She wasn't sure exactly *when* it had changed. But it had.

Mulder was having trouble believing without proof. She was
having trouble *not* believing.

They were starting to meet in the middle.

And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

She rolled onto her back, tired of her view of the wall, and
considered the ceiling for a while.

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