SPOILERS: Chinga, Triangle. (Post-ep for Triangle; sequel to my story "Sweet Dreams.")

SUMMARY: "What do you want, Scully?" / "What I can't have."

DATE POSTED: 05/18/00

FEEDBACK: Encouraged and welcomed at darknesslight@aol.com

DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" is copyright Twentieth Century Fox Television and Ten Thirteen Productions. The show, its premise and characters were created by Chris Carter and are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be realized. (I've also borrowed the name of a character from Carter's "Millennium" as a pseudonym. Same disclaimer applies.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hadn't intended to write a sequel to "Sweet Dreams" -- it was just a little stand-alone post-ep story. But several people mentioned that they'd like to see one, and I figured that Scully might not be able to get to sleep right away, so... enjoy.

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DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

by Lara Means

I can't sleep.

And it wasn't just the lumpy cot in the doctors' on-call room. That had something to do with it, of course, but that wasn't the real reason.

I couldn't get that kiss out of my mind.

Mulder's kiss.

I could still feel his lips on mine, his tongue caressing mine...

Damn him.

He had to say it. He had to go and say he loves me.

If he hadn't said it, everything would've been fine. But no, he had to say it. He had to tell me.

Damn him.

And then *I* had to complicate matters and ask him about his dream.

His *erotic* dream.

About me.

Well... the 1939 me.

I care about Mulder. I really do. I suppose one could say that I love him. As my partner, my best friend, I do love him. That's only natural. We've been together for six years now, I trust him with my life. He's saved my life more times than I can count, and I've saved his. Partners should care about each other like that.

And I'm very, um... attracted to him. Sexually. Which is decidedly *not* how partners should care about each other.

So I fight how I feel about him. Emotionally, physically. It isn't easy, but I do it. I have to.

Because he said he loves me.

Because he kissed me.

Because he dreamed about making love to me.

God, I'm tired.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He stands in front of me, a goofy grin on his face. I didn't realize it before, but he's a very good-looking man.

"You did it. You saved the world."

"I guess I did." I take a step closer, crossing my arms beneath my breasts. Partly because it's breezy out here on deck. Partly so he'll notice them. I smile. It worked. "So. I suppose that means you'll exist in the future after all. Right?"

"Yeah." He moves closer this time, tentatively reaches out to me. He traces his fingertips along my upper arms, feels the goosebumps. Causes a few more.

"And me? Will I exist in the future? In nineteen...?"

"Ninety-eight."

My eyebrow arches, and he smiles. I'm not sure why such a simple gesture gets me that smile, but I like it. "Sixty years from now?"

He nods and I close the gap between us. His fingers grip my arms as I uncross them. My own hands find his biceps, my thumbs slipping under the sleeves of his snug-fitting tee-shirt. Dear God in Heaven. I don't even know this man, and I have to touch him.

"What's her name?"

"Scully. Dana."

"What's she like?"

He smiles again. "You. Strong and smart, brave... never takes any crap from anybody..."

"Including you?"

"Especially me."

I step closer, backing him up against the rail. I have to feel him, to touch him. I shift a bit, sliding my hands from his arms to his chest. He releases my arms, moves his hands to my back, encountering bare skin. I shiver involuntarily -- how can a total stranger arouse me like this? He traces his fingertips up my spine, and I scratch my nails down his muscular chest.

"You kiss your Dana the way you kissed me?"

"I've never kissed my Dana."

I'm confused. He obviously cares about this woman. "Why the hell not?"

He shrugs. I can feel him quiver as my nails trace absent patterns around his nipples. He pulls me closer, kneading my back, my shoulder blades. His thumbs caress my shoulders, my collarbones.

"You scared?" I reach up to stroke his cheek, where I hit him before. After he kissed me. I would gladly volunteer to be Hitler's love slave if only this beautiful man would kiss me again. "Afraid she'll hit you too?"

He shakes his head, and I thread my fingers through his silky hair. "Afraid she doesn't love me... not like I love her."

His confession makes me unbearably sad. I pull him to me, stand on tiptoe, touch my lips to his. "Tell her." I give him another gentle kiss, growing bolder.

"Tried." I feel his fingers at my back, playing at the buttons on my dress.

This man, this remarkable man, is here in my arms, telling me how much he loves another woman. I want to comfort him, to make him feel loved in return. All I can do is offer myself to him, a substitute for his Dana. I nip at his full, sensuous lower lip and press my body against him. "Show her, then." My tongue darts out and he opens his mouth to me. I'm yours, my love. "Show me."

He tugs me closer, and I can feel his arousal, hot and hard against me. My tongue explores his mouth, his explores mine.

Suddenly, inexplicably, we're no longer on deck. I'm lying beneath him, both of us naked, sinking into the softest down and the finest linen. He's above me, holding me, poised to enter me.

We're still kissing, our hands roaming. He pulls his lips from mine and rains kisses down my neck. My nails rake up his back -- I think I've drawn blood. I gasp when he captures my breast with those luscious lips. His tongue swirls around the nipple and it hardens immediately.

I let out a moan as his hand moves between my legs, stroking my already slick folds. I gasp again when he pushes his fingers inside me. How can I be this excited, this wet, from the touch of this man? I realize I don't care how or why when his thumb brushes against me -- dear lord, that's incredible. My hips have a mind of their own, and I thrust against his hand.

I have to have more. I must feel him inside me. I nudge his hand away and reach for him. I stroke him once, twice, then guide him to me. But I need to hear it.

"Tell me..."

"Love you."

"Tell me."

"I love you."

I take his face in my hands, willing him to see her, to see his Dana in my eyes. "Show me."

I wrap my legs around him and feel him enter me -- I shudder at the sensation of being filled by him. He plunges into me, and I thrust up to meet him. We find a rhythm, our strokes in sync. I tighten my legs around his waist, tighten my inner walls around his erection, shivering in anticipation of our shared release.

"Scully... I love you..."

Scully. His Dana. Yes, angel. She loves you, too...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I've never really believed it when people in the movies sit bolt upright in bed after a dream. Until it happened to me.

I snapped awake, sweating, breathing hard -- at the instant we came. Mulder. And me. Her. Whoever.

Jesus, I haven't had a wet dream in years.

Well... months. When I was in Maine.

That one was about him, too.

I stood up too quickly and swayed a little, dizzy. I leaned against the wall to steady myself, shoving my feet into my shoes.

I had to see him.

I practically ran down the hall, slowing as I neared his room. He'd been injured, he needed his rest. He was probably sedated, sound asleep by now. My heart pounding, I pushed the door open anyway.

He was lying on his back now. The lights were dimmed, casting the room in shadows. I took a few steps inside, let the door drift shut behind me.

I moved closer to him and studied my sleeping partner. His face looked so serene. In sleep, the lines on his forehead, around his mouth... they just disappeared.

I walked slowly, quietly, to the far side of the bed and lowered the railing there. I sat down, my hips near his, my hand on the other side of his waist, bracing me. His arm was across his stomach, fingers splayed. His hair was sweaty and unruly -- I couldn't stop myself, I reached out and brushed it off his forehead. He jerked awake, eyes searching.

"What..."

"Shh... it's just me, go back to sleep."

His eyes found mine, but he was still mostly asleep. "Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder, it's me. I'm sorry I woke you, go back to sleep." My fingers still ran through his hair, stroked his forehead, hoping to soothe him. Instead, he came slowly awake.

"That feels nice..." He looked up at me then, smiled. "It's late. Thought you left."

"I did. I came back."

"How come?"

I shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

He laughed a little. "Should try some of this." He jiggled his other arm, the one with the IV in it.

I smiled at him, took his other hand in mine. "Actually, I did sleep a little. Then I woke up. Wanted to see you." He raised his eyebrows in question. I just squeezed his hand and smiled gently. "I, uh... I had a dream."

His eyes grew wide and his voice became a whisper. "About what?"

"You. And me." I paused, let that sink in. "We were on the ship, on deck. I was wearing a long, dark red gown... and my hair was done up in finger waves." We laughed a little at that, then I looked into his eyes and my voice got soft again. "You told me about Dana. About how much you love her. And I kissed you... and touched you... and held you..." My eyes drifted closed as I continued. "I made love to you on a big feather bed in a first-class cabin on board the Queen Anne." My eyes still shut, I felt his hand -- the one I didn't have a death-grip on -- caress my face. I leaned into his touch and whispered again. "Did we have the same dream, Mulder?"

"Sounds like it."

I opened my eyes then -- a sleepy grin graced his lips. "How is that possible?"

He just continued to stroke my face. "I think, Scully, that you and I have a... a connection. I can't explain it, but it's there. I think maybe this happens a lot, we just don't realize it. We don't talk about it."

The touch of his hand on my cheek was soothing... comforting... arousing. Like I needed any more arousing tonight. I shivered when his thumb lightly grazed my lips.

"There's so much we don't talk about, Scully. Too much."

True to form, neither of us said anything for a moment. We stared into each other's eyes, touched each other's faces. I smiled weakly. "Well, there's that connection we have..."

Mulder let out an almost sad little laugh. He dropped his eyes, let his hand fall away from my face. I couldn't look at him, either -- I just squeezed the hand I was holding. "Mulder... what I said before..."

"I understand, Scully."

"No, please -- just let me say it." I took a deep breath, ran my fingers through his hair again. "Mulder... I care about you so much." He pursed his lips and nodded once, still not looking at me. "And God knows I want you..." He glanced up then -- that seemed to surprise him, despite the fact that I'd just confessed to having an erotic dream about him. "But Mulder, our jobs... they're hanging by a thread as it is. And even though it isn't against policy, if you and I were to become... involved..."

"It'd be the perfect excuse."

I nodded, felt tears threatening. I willed them not to fall and went on. "Our work is too important, Mulder. We can't afford the risk, not now."

"You're right, Scully."

I laughed, shook my head. "Wait, let me get my tape recorder."

"Always gotta have proof, don't you?"

We shared an easy smile, still holding hands. Mulder reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear... let his fingers trail down my cheek, my throat.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft, with a touch of sadness. "So we wait. Until our jobs are more secure. Until we can get back on the X-files. Until... until it's safer."

"It isn't what I want -- what either of us wants."

"What do you want, Scully?" The sadness in his voice was gone, a hint of smoldering sensuality in its place.

"What I can't have."

When his lips touched mine, it was as if the rest of the world faded away, until Mulder and I were the only people left.

I shivered, let my eyes drift shut, threaded my fingers through his hair. I opened my mouth to him, my tongue caressing his. He pulled me close, deepened the kiss. My hand found his chest, and I could feel his heart racing, keeping time with my own. His hand cupped my breast, his thumb circling my taut nipple -- even through three layers of clothing, his touch was electric.

I moaned into his mouth... which made him realize what he was doing. I didn't want him to stop -- God, I didn't want him to *ever* stop -- but he broke the kiss and pulled his hand away. Eyes closed, foreheads touching, breathing hard, neither of us said anything for a moment. Then he kissed me gently on the cheek and laid back against the pillows. He didn't look at me.

"You should go, Scully. Get some rest."

I smiled. We'd had this conversation before. "That's my line."

He glanced at his IV again, laughed softly. "I've got good drugs, I'll be fine." I turned his face toward me, and for the first time since I've known him, I couldn't read what was in his eyes. There were too many emotions there -- a little sadness, a remnant of desire, a touch of regret.

The regret bothered me the most. I didn't want him to regret telling me he loves me, or kissing me, or touching me -- I wanted that, all of it. Even if we couldn't have everything right now.

I caressed his cheek -- the bruise was already forming. The bruise where I hit him in 1939. I still had trouble wrapping my mind around that.

I leaned down and placed a soft kiss there. I stayed close, made him look into my eyes. "It won't be easy, Mulder. Waiting. But it'll be worth it."

He smiled then, and his eyes were clear. No regret, no sadness. Just love. Well... love and desire.

"The best things usually are, Scully." He smoothed my hair back, stared at me for a long moment, then he nodded toward the door. "Go on. I'll see you in the morning."

Suddenly I remembered why I needed to see him so desperately after I woke up from the dream. I hesitated, glanced away from him. "Mulder... could I stay with you?"

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"I can't sleep in the on-call room, and I don't want to go back to the motel. I just... I need to know you're safe."

I met his eyes again, silently pleading, hoping he wouldn't send me away. Then he smiled.

I returned his smile and stood up. Mulder started to pull the covers back, but I shook my head. "Uh-uh." I motioned for him to roll onto his side, facing the door. He quirked an eyebrow in question, but did it anyway. Kicking off my shoes, I climbed onto the bed, on top of the covers. I pulled the extra blanket over us as I tucked myself in behind him, spooning up against him. Molding my body to his, nuzzling my face into his neck, I slipped my arm around his waist. He twined our fingers together, cradled my hand to his chest.

After a long moment, I felt his breathing slow. I knew he was on the edge of sleep -- so was I, but there was something else I had to say. That I needed for him to know.

"I was so scared," I whispered. "I was terrified I wouldn't be able to find you. That I couldn't get to you in time. That you would..." I blinked back tears, drew in a shaky breath. "That you would die before I had a chance..."

I couldn't tell if he was asleep or not, if he could hear me or not. I didn't care. I had to tell him.

"I love you, Mulder."

I pressed my lips to the back of his neck... and he squeezed my hand.

"Sweet dreams, Scully."

I smiled, tightened my arm around him. Maybe I'd dream about him again. Maybe he'd dream about me.

Sweet dreams, indeed.

END

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END NOTES (which I don't do that often): The title of this little tale was inspired by a song called "Dream a Little Dream Of Me," which was recorded by Mama Cass Elliott in the late 60's. The title of its predecessor, "Sweet Dreams," was inspired by the song "Sweet Dreams (Of You)," recorded by Patsy Cline in the early 60's.

I don't think that qualifies them as 'song-fic,' which I'm not really certain what that is anyway. I just like the titles and thought they fit.

Lara Means