Dreamboat 7/?

TITLE: Dreamboat (7/?)
FEEDBACK (please tell me where you saw this story!):
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: You honor me, just tell me where.
RATING: R (bad words, for shame!)
SUMMARY: “Now…about the bucking bronco dream.”
AUTHOR NOTES: ACK! When will it end…tee hee.
DISCLAIMER: Property of 1013 productions and Chris Carter. If Chris
Carter sued me, you think he’d give me his autograph? Don’t sue me!

Dreamboat Part 7

Somewhere, 33,000 above sea level…


Mulder turned to look at Scully. “What what?”

“What about baseball?” Mulder opened his mouth to say something when
suddenly he stopped. He was looking past Scully and out the airplane
window. Scully’s eyes followed Mulder’s line of vision. She looked
out of the window, into the dark night.

‘Its nighttime,’ Mulder thought to himself. “But,” he started.

“But what, Mulder?”

“I thought it was morning already.”

Scully blinked at him. She turned and stared at the seat in front of
her for the rest of the flight.

Scully’s Apartment

“How is that significant? I don’t understand.” Catherine settled onto
Scully’s couch with a wine glass in her hand.

“I was miserable on that flight.”

Catherine shook her head, “Again you have lost me.”

“I was so hung over. The only thing I wanted to do was drink a beer
and I couldn’t do that.” Scully took a sip of wine. “So…”

“So what?”

“I took a nap.”

Catherine turned to look behind her. “Just what I thought, that last
statement just went flying over my head. Enough doublespeak, give,

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right.”

“During my nap I distinctly remember riding the horse backwards, so to

“Riding the what? Not only are we not on the same page here, we’re not
even in the same time zone. What horse?”

Scully smiled sheepishly, “I had another dream, this time I was
straddled across him, but backwards.”

“Oh.” Scully’s neighbor gave her a sly wink. “Giddy-yup, huh? So
what’s the weird catch?”

“The point is, in my dream it was morning.”

With a snort Catherine laughed, “You are sharing dreams.”

Scully scoffed at her statement. “All he did was jump up from his deep

“Right after you woke from yours. Did he see you sleeping?”

“No, I don’t think so. But its just too fantastic, it’s not possible.
It can’t be scientifically explained.”

Rolling her eyes, Catherine started into her, “Here we go again, Agent
Scully the skeptic.”

“I have been right half the time, you know.”

“And the other half?” Scully denied to comment. “Half the time he’s
right, Dana, or at least pretty damn close. You work with the
paranormal, the unsolvable cases. Dead guys, aliens, and global
conspiracies, but mostly you deal with the really weird, UNEXPLAINABLE
shit! What? Did you think that after almost 8 years, a little of it
isn’t going to wear off?”

“It is impossible.”

“No, nothing is impossible, Dana. Just improbable.” Catherine shook
her head, “Smalls, you’re driving me crazy. You got to open up to the
possibility that you both are sharing dreams.”

“I don’t know that Mulder is sharing the same dreams.”

“You’ve all but said you are. I’m only drawing conclusions from what
you’re telling me. The only way to find out if you two really are
sharing dreams, is to ask him.”

“Right, ‘Hey Mulder, remember those erotic dreams I was having about
you? Well, are you having them to?’ Just ask him something like that.”

“Ok, now you’re playing angry.” Catherine pointed to her with a
smile. “Just, drop a couple hints, see what happens.”

“See what happens, she says.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don’t know…him saying its could be true?”

“The only thing bad I can see with that is that you’ve been wasting
your time screwing each other senseless in dreams, when you could have
been doing it in real life. All. This. Time.” Catherine leaned in
closer and murmured, “Now…about the bucking bronco dream.”

Later that night…

Scully stood staring down at the offensive object as it dared her to
cross its path when the phone rang. She looked down at the still
packed suitcase from the New Mexico trip and sneered. “Later you
fiend.” Crawling over the case, across her bed, she reached for the


“Hey, its me.”

“Me who?”

“Me me.”

“That narrows it down.”

“How many other Me’s do you know?”

She smiled, “Yes, Mulder?”

“I think…I hope you packed something of mine, Scully.”


“A T-Shirt.”

“Oh god, not the one.”

“Yes, the Annual Roswell one.”

“God, Mulder. I don’t want to open my suitcase.”

“I’m shocked, you haven’t unpacked. How ‘unscullylike’ of you.”

“Ha ha. One sec.” Mulder could hear her unzipping the 26-inch Pullman
and huffing as she unpacked unseen clothes. With a ‘ah ha!’ Scully
returned to the phone. “One extra large, ridiculously overpriced,
white, pre-shrunk Hanes t-shirt, with block lettering of a saying I
wish not to repeat is laying right in front of me, on my bed, Mulder.”

“What a lucky shirt.”

Scully smiled. “Right.” Then she paused. Phone conversations had
always been interesting with Mulder. Granted most were made in haste
and with total disregard for time, and one’s sleep, but there have been
a few that revealed a side to Mulder that she never knew, and she
suspects Mulder would think the same about her. Plus she felt like
fishing. “Mulder?”

Muffling noises and a gulping sound. “Yeah?”

“God you’re drinking from the carton, aren’t you?”

“Of course. What’s on your mind, Scully?”

“Do you ever dream about me?”

Mulder paused. “I have dreamt about you,” he started. With a softer
voice he added, “I did when you were taken.”

Scully’s heart broke and soared at the same time. “Oh. Mulder I’m
sorry I brought it up.”

“No, don’t be. Is that all, Scully?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s it, Mulder. Good night.”

“Good night, Scully.”

Scully waited for Mulder to hang up, and then she did the same. She
puckered her lips and thought, ‘That’s not what I meant, Mulder, but
you do know what strings to pull, don’t you.’ Still holding the
cordless phone, she put it close to her heart and closed her eyes with
a small, sad smile.

Much later that night, into the wee hours of the next morning…

The knock on the door shouldn’t have startled her, at least not by
now. It was undoubtedly Mulder, with undoubtedly another midnight
mission. Pulling herself out of bed, she didn’t bother with her robe
as she trudged across the cold floors of her apartment, to the front
door. Out of habit she peeked through the peephole and saw him
standing there. She let the door swing open.

With a monotone voice she asked, “How does this part go again? Do you
tell me to get dressed, or do I ask first what you’re doing here. I

Mulder reached out and softly pushed her away from the door as he
entered. The drab expression on her face slowly disappeared as he
locked eyes with her as he swung the door closed behind him. He backed
her up against the couch, and softly spoke to her.

He leaned close and whispered in her right ear, “Which dreams were you
talking about? The ones of your abduction or the ones where we fuck
till dawn?”

End of Part 7. Part 8 of 62 coming soon. hehe