He Dreams As She Sleeps DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, The X-Files and all its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Network. We are NOT making any money out of this experience. In summary, no copyright infringiment is intended. These characters I've written about also belong to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, who gave them life, who gave them soul. AUTHOR: P.Daza EMAIL ADDRESS: xfile@skyinet.net DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: SPOILER WARNING: None RATING: PG DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, The X-Files and all its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Network. We are NOT making any money out of this experience. In summary, no copyright infringiment is intended. These characters I've written about also belong to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, who gave them life, who gave them soul. ----------------------------------------------- Never has he appreciated her so much. Never has he realized how much he valued and cherished her friendship as he does now. Coming back from Florida, as they rode at the back of Agent Twiddle Dum and Twiddle Dee's car, she fell asleep on his good and uninjured shoulder and he felt a tenderness for the trusting woman slumbering at his side who, just a few hours before that, had kept him safe from the evils that lurked in the darkness of the forest. When they get back to Washington, he brings her bag up to her apartment, instead of dropping her off at the front of her building like he usually does. Not since her cancer went into full remission has he wanted, NEEDED to show affection, chivalry, tactility, tenderness and all the mushy stuff he so often avoided. Because he wants her to know without him having to say that he's glad she's back at his side. Up at her apartment, she says nothing of his uncommon chivalry. Perhaps months before she would have reprimanded him for treating her not as an equal, or bluntly told him his pity wasn't necessary or welcome. That in spite of her cancer, she was still capable of functioning. That she didn't need to be treated like an invalid. But she says nothing, instead gracing him with a smile of thanks, and an invitation to dinner. Normally, he would have said no thanks. Normally, he would assume that it was pity that instigated the invitation. He says yes of course, because things are different. But being who he is, his yes must be iced with humor, sexual innuendo and a charm exclusive only to him. She chuckles delicately just as she shoves a Tupperware full of food into his arms and orders him to heat it in the microwave. In a span of two weeks, he has come to crave that smile. It's the same smile she graced him when they were in the car on their way to the convention. It's the smile that says I-find-your-wit-so-damn-charming, we're-in-this-together, and just-a-little-more-partner. It's a look that placates the impatient little boy in him, and the look that assures and comforts as well. They set the table in companionable silence. She observes him through the corner of her eye, noting that he knows where all her things are, and that he works with efficiency and diligence. From time to time, their hands brush against each other. Sometimes, his chest grazes her back, or their shoulders bump, ever so slightly. Neither feels violated at the close contact. Their personal space is as much the other's as it is theirs. But lately, she has noted, he has been venturing in much more often now. Not that she's complaining. Why should she, when she enjoys it and relishes it. It's yet another benefit she would have missed if she had slipped away into the darkness. Just as she would miss his smile full of quirk and mischief, and his never-ending brilliance. The microwave pings and interrupts her reverie. He strides to it and pulls out their food and sets it on the table, bending low and sniffing at the aromas before he sits down - only to jump up again and pull out her chair. She raises an eyebrow at him inquisitively, expecting a snappy comeback but all he does is shrug and grin before sitting down again. He wolfs down the food as any man would, but she suspects nothing of what scurries across his mind. How he feels honored that he shares this meal with her, and that so many more meals can be shared again because she is here, in front of him, alive. Alive, well, strong and still a part of his life. A reminder to him of how precious she has become to him, and that nothing, as long as his heart still beats and his soul exists will take her away. They talk about life and death, their childhood, their beliefs and convictions over a soda, and then wine when the soda runs out. It is nothing they don't already know. But there is something exhilarating about being able to do it AGAIN, after what they've been through. Something magical. Something cosmic. They wash the dishes together, she soaps, he dries. Playfully, she flicks soap suds at him, and he cracks his dishtowel within centimeters of her. They laugh like children but stop before they explode into fits of giggles and decide to watch TV. Side by side they sit on her sofa. She offers him the remote, he politely declines. She flips through the channels and settles on the Discovery Channel, knowing that his restless mind would enjoy it. Sure enough, his eyes glaze over and he becomes entranced with the site of elephants mating in Africa. She, on the other hand, although interested, is just too tired from all the travelling and hullabaloo to keep her eyes open. It never occurs to her to send him home. She leans her head back against the sofa, but it nods off to his shoulder. He looks down at her, eyes closing, and unhesitatingly extends his arm and gently pulls her head into his lap. He thanks his genes that his arms are long as he manages to pull a small blanket from behind the sofa and spreads it out on her sleeping form. His hand covers hers that is over her belly and decides it would be more comfortable between her palm and waist. When her breathing becomes deeper, he will rise quietly and gently, like a thief in the night, and carry her to her bed. He will pull the covers under her chin, making sure she's nice and toasty under there, and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Next, he will stand by the side of her bed and watch her sleeping form, then scan the room for anything else he can do to insure a comfortable repose. The curtains will leave their bindings, so that not a ray of sunlight can come in, and the alarm clock will be switched off. Lastly, he will kneel by the side of her bed and watch her porcelain-white skin, now flushed with a tinge of pink because she is healthy for a full minute, before kissing her gently on her forehead. His large hand will be cupping her chin, and he will smile when she smiles as her subconscious feels his warm breath on her skin. He will leave the room because he must. He is not her lover, just her partner. There will be a little reluctance - he wishes he had the right to feel more - and shut the door behind him, then switch off the TV and a few of her lights. When he gets back to his own apartment, he will remove his shirt and jeans and lies down in his couch and say a little prayer. He will ask the forces above to give him sweet dreams tonight, and the forces, albeit a little prankish, bequeath him with monsters, mobs and mad scientists before bestowing him with her in his arms, in a dance with Dana Scully. -------------- The End The X-Files & Millenium Banner Exchange Fan fiction | Wallpaper | Collages & Icons | Banner & Dust Jacket Design | Other Authors | e-mail, Disclaimers, Guest Book | Links, Thanks and Credit Info Enter your e-mail to WIN $5000: . . Email will not be collected without your approval...click GO for details.