TITLE: Butterfly Dreams (5/?)

RATED PG (Chapter 4) | | X-files MRS Angst

Author: Darshann 

Repost?: After complete definitely, just keep it intact with all 
installments and with my name on it,please! 

Spoilers: Everything up to mid-Season 7 is fair game

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and the X-files are not mine, thank you 
so much CC for creating them. The rest of this story and it's 
characters belong to me However, if the people of the X-files 
should ever stumble upon this story and like it, take it and use 
it. Just let me bring GA some coffee between takes :)

Summary: M and S explore the world of dreams both individually and 
in reference to a case involving a series of strange deaths and 
discover some things about themselves they may not be ready to 
know.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

[Chapter 4]

The view that dreams are merely the imaginary fulfillments of 
repressed wishes is hopelessly out of date. There are, it is true, 
dreams which manifestly represent wishes or fears, but what about 
all the other things? Dreams may contain ineluctable truths, 
philosophical pronouncements, illusions, wild fantasies, memories, 
plans, anticipations, irrational experiences, even telepathic 
visions, and heaven knows what besides. 

"The Practical Use of Dream Analysis" (1934)
Carl G. Jung

In sleep, fantasy takes the form of dreams. But in waking life, 
too, we continue to dream beneath the threshold of consciousness, 
especially when under the influence of repressed or other 
unconscious complexes. 

"Problems of Modern Psychotherapy" (1929). 
Carl G. Jung
_____________________________________________________________

 
I make my way down the dark hallway to the nearby FBI courtyard 
doorway. Light pours in through the glass doors, reflecting off 
the slick floor. Fresh air will do me some good. 

The small courtyard is empty of people. Very few people ever seem 
to be here. I wonder sometimes if anybody else is aware it exists. 
The FBI Path-lab is really the only thing down here other than 
Admin storage. The only people who ever seem to use it are the 
Path personnel and myself. Sometimes I eat lunch here, it's a good 
place to escape Mulder when the need strikes. It is a nice little 
sanctuary, a few small trees, birds, benches. The fact that it is 
pretty unknown is part of it's appeal. 

I stretch my arms over my head and then roll my shoulders, 
hearing my spine pop and crunch with the tension in my muscles. 
Five hours. It went by pretty fast, but tell that to my 
shoulders. What a good masseuse could do for me right now. I went 
to a good one once. I wonder if I still have her number in my 
computer. Or I could just ask Mulder. Occasionally he has given 
me backrubs and he is quite good at it...too good sometimes.

Funny, this morning all I wanted was to get away from Mulder. But 
now I just want to get the hell out of here and I don't care if 
that means facing the beast head on. I close my eyes and take a 
deep breath and then let it slide out slowly. 

I can't believe how much that silly dream has affected me. I can't 
get it out of my head. I keep thinking about what Mulder said. 
His theory on these deaths. That they entered the dream. Became 
the butterfly. Sounds so poetic. If only that were possible. I 
certainly wouldn't blame them...

That's the thing. If that were possible, I'm not so sure I 
wouldn't want to do just what they did. Not that I'm miserable in 
my life or anything. Well, sometimes. But. Images from the dream 
flash inside my head. It was so real. I can still remember... Oh, 
God, I'm acting like some whimpy, love-lorn idiot. 

It was just a dream. It was all just a representation of 
something. It has been bothering me that I'm about to turn 36, and 
I'm not married or with anyone and that I can't have children. 
That's all. It's just a manifestation of my desire to have all 
that. Nothing else. You do have a life. As strange as it may be, 
it certainly is NOT boring. Be thankful for what you have and stop 
feeling sorry for yourself. 

Now get back to work, Dana. God, I hope he has a lead. 'Cause I 
sure don't. Better get it over with.

I pull the slim cell phone out of my pocket and push the speed 
dial button for Mulder. He picks up on the second ring. I hear 
loud music in the background. Someone screeching at the top of 
their lungs. How can he listen to that?

"Mulder." His familiar voice fills my ear. It always seems to have 
a relaxing effect on me. Knowing he is within my reach. I guess 
deep down there's this worry he won't be there. That something 
could have happened to him. Considering the times just that has 
happened, it's not such an unreasonable fear.

"Mulder, it's me. Where are you? What is that music?"

"I'm in the car on the way to the fourth victim's house over in 
Manassas, Virginia. I just left the house of the other Virginian 
victim." I hear the music fade and I know he's turned it down.

"Did you find anything yet?" I ask hopefully. 

I look up at the sound of a squirrel chattering in one of the 
trees. Tiny little thing. It's black shiny eyes look at me, 
strangely wise and knowing.

"A lot of people with pretty boring, lonely lives and pretty 
interesting fantasy worlds." I hear Mulder cracking sunflower 
seeds in his mouth. 

"What do you mean?" That doesn't sound like he has a lead. I 
know him, when he has a lead, he usually spouts it off right 
away.

"I don't know how to explain it, but you walk into the place 
where they lived and it just feels like they were there a 
lot, but not really THERE. You know?" 

"Okay." I sigh. He's got nothing. 

The squirrel has come down the tree and is sitting on the ground 
watching me. Behind him, his tail vibrates as he nibbles at an 
acorn, held in his tiny hands. I smile at the tiny creature. Too 
bad I don't have some bread to feed the little guy.

Mulder's voice drones in my ear as he recounts his findings. "The 
only areas that felt used in each place were the bedroom, the 
computer area, and the TV area. You should see some of the 
entertainment systems. I didn't know a TV could sound THAT good."

"You watched TV?"

"Well, they had these tapes. So I had to see what they were, (his 
voice gets that defensive edge like he thinks I'm accusing him of 
something) there could have been a lead in the tapes. You know 
that one time... (pause) Anyway, just movies. But it is 
interesting because they all seemed to like similar movies. Books 
too. They all had a lot of books. Fantasy, Sci-fi, romance. A few 
had movie posters on the walls, but nothing else. No family 
photos."

"Any leads?" I sit on the bench under a tree and gaze up into the 
branches. Hoping like hell that I have read him wrong, but knowing 
exactly what he's going to say.

"Nothing yet, that's why I'm in Virginia. But I did find one thing 
that looks promising, though I'm not sure what it means."

I hear a loud noise through the phone. "What was that?" 

"Angry motorist. I cut some guy off because I was talking on a 
cell phone and not paying attention. You know they are trying to 
outlaw this activity? God, Scully, how will we do our jobs?"

I smile at the thought of Mulder swerving off the road to answer a 
cell phone call so as not to break a law. Yeah, like we never 
break the law in the carrying out of our duties. "I think we'll 
figure out a way to manage, if they get away with it."

"Mmmmm. Anyway, I looked through their computer files too. Some of 
them wrote a lot. I found a few dream logs, pretty interesting 
dreams. That was another similarity. They all displayed a great 
deal of interest in dreams. Some of them belonged to the internet 
dream community, but not the same lists. So that can't be the 
connection. 

However, the interesting thing is they all had made a notation in 
their calendar programs for something called 'Dreamtime' at 6pm. 
The DC victim had it on a date that was about a week before he was 
found. The two West Virginia victims had the same thing, but 
exactly one week earlier. This last one had it marked down in his 
planner for a date three weeks back. So I am hoping the next 
location has something that will tell me what this 'Dreamtime' is."

He pauses for a moment. His excitement is evident, now that he's 
had a chance to voice his thoughts. I can hear the soft wind of 
his breath in my ear. It sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine 
that surprises me so much I sit straight up. "Oh."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing." Unbidden, I suddenly recall the sensation of 
Mulder's arms around me, his body against mine. As if my mind is 
not my own anymore, it seeps in and I feel myself shiver again. 
Shaking my head, I push it away, thankful he can't see me. What 
the hell is wrong with me? 

"So what did you find? Any indication of foul play?" I can tell in 
his voice he already expects the answer I'm about to give.

"Not that I can tell. I did notice some strange hormone levels in 
the blood work, which would generally indicate they were in an REM 
sleep for about eighty hours."

"That's almost 4 solid days. You can tell that from the 
blood?"

"Science is an amazing thing, Mulder, you should try it some 
time." I let myself smile when I hear him laugh. It feels almost 
too good.

"So, that isn't normal, right? I mean without sleeping pills or 
something?"

"No, definitely not normal."

A breeze rustles the leaves above me. Red-orange enters my vision 
as my hair blows across my eyes. I scrape my fingers along my 
forehead, and tuck the stray strands behind my ears. The eight 
bodies still fresh in my mind, my voice fills the empty courtyard 
with the cold clinical words of my medical report. 

"I couldn't find a definite cause for the abnormal hormone levels. 
There was no trace of sleeping medication. However, there was 
an abundance of Melatonin, which some scientists seem to think 
triggers our natural clock for waking in the morning, and 
sleeping at night. We use it up throughout the night and wake 
when it reaches a certain level. Then, it is produced during the 
day, and when it reaches a certain level we feel sleepy and go to 
bed. For some reason, the subjects' bodies either weren't 
absorbing it or they continued to produce it while sleeping. Or 
they could have taken a really high amount of the synthetic 
version."

"Oh?" I can tell he's impressed just from that one word. He rarely 
expresses more than a passing appreciation for my knowledge and 
expertise. But after all this time I can read him pretty well.

The squirrel skitters closer to the bench as if listening 
attentively. "You can get Melatonin in a health food store these 
days. People think it is supposed to cure insomnia and jet lag, 
but scientists studying it aren't really sure if that is true or 
what it does at all, beyond theorizing. Still, I don't think that 
could account for being in REM sleep for so long. Usually a person 
only dreams a few hours a night or less, no matter how long they 
sleep."

Mulder is quiet on the other end, except for the occasional sound 
of a seed cracking. 

"I think they may not have been able to wake up, and simply slept 
until their bodies died from dehydration. The physical 
examinations seem to bear this out, but it still doesn't explain, 
why this occurred." 

Of course, I know Mulder's theory on how things occurred. And as 
if on cue, he begins to voice his own version of events. "I 
didn't find any Melatonin pills in any of the locations. "I 
didn't find any Melatonin pills or anything in any of the places. 
Maybe they didn't WANT to wake up. Their bedrooms did seem to be 
geared towards undisturbed sleep. White noise machines, black 
curtains or shades closing off the windows. These people liked to 
sleep, but they also liked to dream. In my experience with 
sleeping pills you don't dream when you are on them. Course maybe 
Melatonin is different."

I know he's speaking from recent experience. Just after his 
mother died he had trouble sleeping for a while, so I had gotten 
him a mild prescription to help him sleep. He hadn't even had to 
tell me about it his sleeping problem, I just knew. I just 
slipped them in his coat pocket one afternoon and the next day he 
came in looking much more rested. We do that a lot. Anticipating 
each other's needs like that. Not talking about things, but 
communicating on another level just the same. Sometimes it's a 
little creepy, but it feels nice to have that connection with him 
too. 

Suddenly, I am aware of my eagerness to join him in the field.  
"Well, I'm almost done with the victims. Do you want me to meet 
you at the next site when I finish?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, the two exhumed bodies should be there 
in an hour. I got a call just before you that they were on their 
way. Maybe, you'll be able to find something in them since they 
haven't been touched yet."

Damn him. How does he do that? Just as I start feeling comfortable 
with him again, he goes and pulls Mr. Boss Mulder on me. "Mulder, 
I just spent five hours up to my elbows in organ mush. You think I 
don't know what I'm doing? You think I could miss something in 
eight bodies because someone else had done part of the work?" 

I can't believe he wants me to do two more. That's going to keep 
me here the rest of the day, maybe tonight. There isn't anything 
else to find that I couldn't have found already. His disregard for 
my evening confirms my suspicions that he's forgotten that my 
birthday is tomorrow. Not that I'd expected anything else from 
him. Men.

"I thought you liked playing doctor."

Jerk. I clench my teeth and feel my blood pressure rising. The 
urge to hang up on him is almost over-powering. I gaze at the 
squirrel as if sharing my rage with the creature. Imagining 
sympathy in the shiny eyes. 

"Oh, come on, Scully, just two more. You never know. (pause) For 
me?"

He used that voice. The one I can't say 'no' to and he knows it. 
"Dammit, Mulder, you owe me for this one."

I click the phone off before he can respond, repressing the 
impulse to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter. It's an 
expensive phone. And it would scare the squirrel. 

Damn him! Sometimes I just want to kick Mulder. Hard.

The squirrel chatters loudly and stands up on his hind legs. I 
know he's just begging for food, but I swear that sounded like, 
"Kick his ass! Kick his ass!"

Laughter explodes out of me and bounces off the walls of the 
courtyard. From years of holding it in, it pours out with all the 
force of a volcano eruption. 

If anyone were to walk in right now, they'd be sure I had just 
lost my mind. Course, they might be right. 

[End of Chapter 4] 

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