Hi. This story is my first real attempt at this kind of thing.
Unfortunately, I kind of  forgot to really make it have a plot. I
encourage you to e-mail me and tell me exactly what you think. Feel
absolutely free to rip me to shreds, but tell me *why* I suck. Don't
forget to tell me what you like too.
The X-Files and every wonderful aspect thereof belong to the brilliant
Chris Carter, FOX Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions. I am using
all this stuff without permission and apologize sincerely. 

"Dream" (formerly known as "In and Out") by JMM5122@aol.com 

Tuesday, 4:43 a.m.
     Without warning, he bolted straight up, sweat trickling down his
brow, breath disturbing the night silence with heavy gasps. He tried to
relax. For the fourth night in a row, the dream had returned. He kicked
away at the blanket that had become twisted around his feet in the midst
of the nightmare and sighed. He had never really expected emancipation
from them; the dreams were as much a part of him as his big toe. But
tonight they were even more haunting than usual.
     They had been playing Stratego. Samantha wanted to watch a movie on
TV, but Fox had been looking forward to watching "The Magician", and  his
parents had put him in charge while they were over at the neighbors'. Fox
and Sam were arguing when the lights went out, covering them in darkness.
Without warning, the house began to shudder from floor to ceiling,
convulsing with movement as if in the throws of an earthquake. Fox tried
to steady himself against the tremors as he looked around in desperation,
searching for an explanation. Something exploded upon impact with the
floor, but he was too afraid to look over and see which of his mother's
collectibles had fallen to the floor. An indescribably intense, cold white
light shot into the house as the door was slowly opened, blinding him. Fox
couldn't tell what was up or down, in front or behind. Samantha screamed.
Samantha! She was suddenly suspended in midair, floating away. Fox wanted
to help her; he wanted to reach out and pull her back into the safety of
the living room, but all security and safety had been burned away by the
brilliant light. He wanted to awake from the nightmare boiling around him,
but all Fox could do was scream her name and frantically grope for his
father's gun as *they* drew her away, into the navel of the light. In a
voice he couldn't distinguish as his own, Fox called out to his sister.
Through eyes that couldn't have belonged to him, he saw a thin,
disproportionate creature standing stiffly in the doorway. He couldn't see
it clearly through the piercing light, but could *feel* it looking back at
him with deep black eyes. Behind the terrible creature--the alien--stood
*them*. Newcomers to his nightmare world. Faceless old men in suits,
casually watching with cold, almost businesslike glares. They were
stealing her, ripping her from Fox's grasp, destroying his family, but
they had no reservations. If anything, they were relieved. Relieved!
Gnashing his teeth, he stared back at them, trying to carve every last
uncaring face into his mind, but each was a blank slab of flesh but one.
In the middle of the group, head bowed lower, shoulders bent forward,
stood his father. He began to look up, to face his son, but Fox wouldn't
meet his eyes.

     Now, sitting on his couch in the darkness, Fox Mulder tried to forget
for the night what drove him by day, so he could fall back asleep. Once the
images had come back to haunt him, he couldn't just brush them away. His
father's face among *them*, in the light kept flashing across the back of
his mind, causing chills to rip down his spine. He stood and stretched the
muscles in his shoulders and arms that sleep had stiffened and stumbled
over to the open window. The cool fall air drifted in through the screen
and brushed across his damp face . Mulder sighed, tasting the scent of
rain on his lips. Clouds hung low in streaks across the moon, congregating
for a service of rainfall. Fox tried to peer past the gathering clouds,
strained to see the stars. The veil of haze was  thick, but Mulder
continued to stare, searching for even the faintest glimmer of light. 

Pine Hill, North Dakota
 4:07 p.m.
     Crimson and gold brilliantly stood against the blue fall sky. Mulder
and Scully stood on the edge of a patch of forest, in the view of a small,
decaying cottage. Above the trees, to her left, Scully watched a huge black
crow swoop down, across the path and back among the trees. "It's absolutely
beautiful out here," Scully commented. Mulder yawned and nodded. The Indian
Summer sun's warmth and the sweet smell of dead leaves increased his
fatigue. He saw Scully looking at him out of the corner of his eye and cut
the yawn short, continuing towards the small cabin along the small dirt
path. 
     "It beats the rain in Washington," he said. That morning when they'd
left, the sky had been shedding sheets of cold stinging rain. When Scully
learned they were off to North Dakota to do some bigfoot hunting, she'd
been less than thrilled, but the difference in weather made it better,
almost worth it. She walked behind Mulder, headed for the home of the
mother of their victim. The teenager had been out in the woods with his
friends when they were attacked by what was supposedly a bigfoot.
      The way Mulder's feet dragged along the gravel path made Scully
wonder if he was feeling all right. She knew about his frequent insomnia.
Sometimes she looked into his tired eyes and saw nothing but pain. She
always wished there was something she could do, but knew Samantha was the
only one who could truly bring him peace.
 
     Mulder, Scully, and Mrs. Patty Selma sat in the sun-filled dining
room, around the Selmas' dinner table. Scully sat across from Mulder, and
Mrs. Selma sat between them, at the head of the table.
     "My Randy wasn't a bad boy," Mrs. Selma contended, "I loved him so
much. He was just hanging out with the wrong crowd, that's all." The
plump, middle-aged woman sighed and tugged impatiently at her dress that
was unfortunately a little small. "I told him I didn't want him to go out
in the woods with that scum, but they convinced him to go anyway. I told
him it wasn't safe back there. . ." she sighed.  
     "Why wasn't it safe?" Scully asked in a gentle voice. The woman
clenched her fists and bit her lower lip.
     "My neighbors thought I was crazy," she then smiled a devilish smile,
one that revealed more than it meant to about her thoughts. "But I told
them anyway, about that bigfoot and how he ain't too friendly. They listen
now, now that my Randy is gone." Patty sighed and tapped her fingers on the
table. Scully nodded to Mrs. Selma, then looked to her partner.  Mulder sat
forward in his chair, his head resting on his hand, his elbow resting on
the tabletop. Scully thought he looked as if he might fall asleep right
there in this poor woman's house.  Hopefully, Mrs. Selma didn't notice how
close he was to crashing. To keep Patty's attention from him, Scully
continued. 
     "What makes you sure it was a "bigfoot?" she asked as her foot found
Mulder's leg and she gave a small but sharp kick. He looked up almost with
a jolt, and lay his arm down across the table. 
     "Are you okay, sir?" Mrs. Selma asked. Mulder nodded. His face turned
a nice shade of fire-engine red as he straightened up. Mrs. Selma turned
back to Scully. "I saw it," Mrs. Selma said plainly. That was that. In her
mind, Scully was diagnosing the woman as a possible paranoid schizophrenic
whose kid was attacked by a bear, or a wolf, or maybe even a mountain
lion. Mulder, on the other hand, became intrigued.
     "What exactly did the creature look like?" he asked, his tired eyes
coming alive with the sparkle of discovery. Mrs. Selma sighed and looked
up at the ceiling. Scully nodded slightly to herself. The poor woman was
mixing fantasy with reality to make her son's death easier in her own
strange way.  Mrs. Selma pondered over the question at hand for a few more
seconds, and then continued. 
     "It was tall, taller than any man I've ever seen. It had yellow eyes
and long, sharp teeth, like a tiger. It walked like a human, but it was
black and furry, like an ape. I saw it for just a few seconds, when I was
out back chopping wood. I didn't stick around too long."
     "What makes you think this was the same creature that killed your
son?" Mulder asked.
     "The other boys said that's what it was. I've seen it. It's horrible.
I have no reason not to trust their judgment," Mrs. Selma said, her voice
starting to get thick with the pain that rose in her throat every time she
spoke of her deceased son. 
     "Mrs. Selma," Scully said tenderly, "I'm very sorry about your son.
If you think of anything else that might help us, please feel free to
contact us through the police department." Scully stood, Mulder followed
her motion, Mrs. Selma did as well.
     "Thank you so much," she said. Scully nod and followed Mrs. Selma to
the door. She walked down the dirt road a bit before stopping and turning
to Mulder. 
     "Mulder, what were you doing in there? You looked as if you were late
for your nap." Her green eyes stabbed at him.
     "I'm sorry," he sighed. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Scully's look changed from condemning to inquisitive.
     "How long have you been going without sleep?" she asked. Mulder
started walking toward the car.
     "A few days."
     "Are you gonna be okay?" she asked. 
     "I'm fine," he said, climbing into the passenger seat of their blue
rented Ford Taurus. "So, what do you think about our bigfoot?" Mulder
asked Scully as she pulled the seatbelt across her body.
     "I think my autopsy tomorrow will prove Randy Selma was mauled by a
bear. Does it look like a bigfoot case to you?"
     "Honestly, I'd have to say no. So far there really isn't anything to
indicate a bigfoot sighting. For one thing, they haven't been known to go
around killing people, and the other thing is that our only witnesses are
some drunken teenagers and a crazy woman."

8:21 p.m.
     "We reserved two rooms," Mulder said. The young man behind the
counter in Pine Hill's single hotel shifted his weight uneasily to his
other foot. 
     "I'm sorry but we only have a single room left. We made a mistake and
overbooked. There's a big fishing contest going on and most places 'round
here are booked solid. I'm real sorry." Mulder turned to Scully and said, 
     "It's okay, I don't bite," 
     "I guess we'll take the room." She grumbled, too tired to go looking
for a different hotel when it was really no big deal anyway.
     Mulder stood dead on his feet behind Scully as she opened the door
and switched on the light. The room was even smaller than Scully imagined.
The one queen-sized bed swallowed most of the room, leaving little space
for a small dresser with a TV on top, a card sized table and a small,
stiff chair. 
     "Here we are," Scully said, pulling off her overcoat and tossing it
over the chair. 
     "I wonder if we get cable," Mulder said. He tossed his small suitcase
atop the dresser, removed his overcoat and jacket and laid them on top.
Then, tugging at his interestingly patterned tie, he switched on the TV.
He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed. Scully took her time
unpacking, and left half of the drawers for Mulder, although she had a
feeling he wouldn't use them. Grabbing a pair of sweats, she left for the
bathroom to take a shower and change. 
     Half an hour later, when Scully came out into the small room, Mulder
lay sprawled across the bed, his feet at the end where his head was
supposed to be, still wearing his dress shirt and suit pants. "Mulder?"
Scully asked quietly. He was asleep. Scully stood and looked at him for a
moment, watching his chest rise and fall with shallow, relaxed breathing,
and noticing a trickle of drool at the corner of his open mouth. Oh, how
cute, thought Scully. She reached over and switched off the TV, then took
out her laptop. Scully took care to be quiet as she began writing her
report, hoping that Mulder could catch a good night's sleep so he wouldn't
collapse tomorrow.

3:41 a.m.
     The loud, drawn-out moan shattered the still silence. Scully shifted
her position. Another uncontrolled moan echoed through the small, hot
room. Through the haze of sleep fading slowly around her, Scully sat up.
For a few seconds, she didn't recognize her surroundings, but that changed
slowly. Blinking to the darkness, she could see Mulder's dark silhouette on
the bed, writhing restlessly with slight, quick, twitchy movements. With
great groaning effort, Scully lifted herself off the floor where she'd
been sleeping. She didn't know whether to wake him, or let him ride it
out. Either way, while he was moaning, she couldn't sleep. As her eyes
slowly got used to the darkness, she was able to see Mulder's face. His
fearful expression told her all too much. It hurt to see him there,
sweaty, distraught, tortured. She concluded that the onset of this attack
of nightmares was probably attributed to their recent discoveries, about
Mulder's father's involvement the project that led to Samantha's
abduction. Another unsettled cry escaped Mulder's lips, bringing Scully
out of her tired haze. She decided to wake him, and reached out, gently
grasping his warm, sweaty shoulder. "Mulder," she said, softly, "Mulder."
He didn't respond; she gently shook him and said, louder, "Mulder, wake
up," He only moaned, quite loudly, startling her. She exhaled, through the
rush of adrenaline that caused her hands to suddenly tremble. "Mulder, come
on, wake up," she said, impatiently. She shook him harder. "Hey, Fox," 
     "NO!" he screamed, bolting up, almost knocking Scully over backwards.
The loud, resonant yell hung and echoed off of the cool thin walls of the
little motel room. 
     "Mulder!" Said Scully, her body alive and throbbing with adrenaline.
"Mulder, it's okay. You were dreaming."
     "Scully," he panted. His fast, deep breathing stood out like a beacon
amidst the quietness. He brought his hand across his face, wiping away
sweat and clearing his eyes. 
     "I'm sorry I woke you," said Scully, "but you were yelling." Mulder
blinked away the sheet of fuzziness that skewed his vision.
     "I'm sorry," he said in a rough, weary voice. 
     "It's all right," she said, tenderly placing her hand on his
shoulder. He was shaking violently. Scully could almost taste the
intensity of the nightmares. The two of them stood in silence for a while,
as Mulder relaxed and let the dreams fall behind him. He then looked around
and asked,
     "Where were you sleeping?"
     "On the floor."
     "You should have woke me up; I didn't mean to fall asleep." A huge
yawn escaped him, and he pat the still-made bed beside him. "We can both
fit; as long as you promise not to hog the covers." He unbuttoned his
dress shirt, pulled it off, tossed it towards the dresser, and stretched
his tired muscles. He stood up and stumbled over to his suitcase. As he
shuffled off to the bathroom, Scully grabbed the pillow and blanket she'd
requested from the front desk and slipped into the bed, taking care to
leave Mulder plenty of room. The floor was hell compared to the
comfortable bed, but Scully hadn't the heart to disturb Mulder when he
really needed the sleep. Five minutes later, Scully was close to drifting
off when Mulder came back from the bathroom, wearing a blue tank top and
grey sweats. His expression was haggard as he dragged himself across the
floor; he looked like a zombie. 
     "Mulder, are you okay?"
     "Yeah," he sighed and fell into bed beside her. Scully wanted to ask
what the dreams that were tormenting him tonight were exactly about, but
something held her back. "good night, Scully."
     "Good night." she said. Mulder's breathing was still quite labored,
and soon, concentrating on its rhythm, Scully fell asleep. Mulder was
awake a while longer than she was, but having her there next to him was
somewhat reassuring, and soon, his breath again was shallow and relaxed,
and he was able to forget the dream and fall back asleep.

9:28 a.m.
     Cold grey clouds had come overnight and blocked away the autumn sun.
Mulder couldn't believe how fast the weather changed from a beautiful fall
day into a cold, rain-threatened one. He walked among the dead leaves under
the trees, behind an old abandoned farmhouse. If he was going to see the
bigfoot, really observe it, he was going to have to spend some time in the
woods quietly waiting and watching. The idyllic forest was hardly the place
you'd expect to see the yellow crime tape, but there it was, wrapped around
some sturdy trees, marking off the square area where the attack had
occurred. Mulder, alone, ducked under it to take a look around. When he
awoke that morning, Scully was long gone, to the nearest police lab in a
little town nearby to do her autopsy. Mulder decided to do a little
investigating without her. Scully had taken the car, but the crime scene
wasn't far from their motel, so Mulder jogged.
     He didn't even know if the sighting was legitimate yet, but one way
to find out was to see for himself. First, he looked to the dirt around
the trees for footprints. There wasn't much. The ground was already hard
from the cold fall weather and it hadn't taken well to footprints. All
Mulder found were a few empty beer cans among the blood spattered leaves.
No more than the police had found. No footprints, no stray brown fur, no
evidence. It was probably just a bear. Mulder kicked at some twigs as he
left the crime scene and headed out farther into the woods. As he started
back, three rabbits bound across his path, startling him. They disappeared
into the underbrush before he could even react.
     He walked for a little while, not going too far from the road, and
sat atop a great fallen tree. It was cold out, but not too cold to just
sit, think and hope to see something. He couldn't remember what he'd
dreamed of the night before, and it bothered him. He didn't think it was
his usual flashback to Samantha's abduction. It seemed more complicated.
He shifted his weight upon the big tree. His butt was getting sore. He
tried to concentrate, and remember the dream. Nothing. 
     Sighing, Mulder stood and glanced at his watch. He'd been sitting
there too long, almost two hours. How had he let that much time just slip
away? Just thinking? Scully would be wondering where he was. He stood and
reached for his cell phone. 
     In the corner of his eye, he caught a slight, quick movement amongst
the trees. He looked up and scanned the forest for activity. Far off,
about 200 yards, amidst the foliage stood a tall, dark, heavyset figure.
Half-hidden by the trees, the shaggy, dark animal was examining it's
surroundings. It saw Mulder and wheeled around.
     Mulder launched into a run, flying through the trees, trying to keep
it in his view. It ran on its hind legs, faster even than Mulder had
imagined. Filled with excitement and amazement, he struggled to get a look
at the creature as he whipped through the trees. He had just begun to gain
ground on it when Mulder's foot caught on an exposed tree root, next to a
damp ravine bed. He tumbled into the waterless creek, his hands sliding in
the soft, cold mud as he skid to a stop. He jumped up and looked around,
searched for even a single trace of movement with his receptive brown
eyes. Nothing; he'd lost it.
     "Damn," spat Mulder. He brushed himself off, scowling at the mud
caked on the knees of his grey pants. He reached for his cell phone.
     Scully had been waiting at the hotel fifteen minutes. The autopsy had
gone as she'd known it would. Not the slightest trace of evidence of
anything non conventional. She'd just sent a few pictures of the wounds
back to Washington to be confirmed as bear-inflicted when her phone rang.
     "Hello?"
     "I saw it," Mulder panted on the other end of the line. 
     "Mulder, where are you?"
     "I'm in the woods, Scully. I saw it, and it isn't a bear."
     "Are you sure? Mulder, the autopsy showed nothing out of the
ordinary. I'll know for sure in about ten minutes."
     "It was running on its hind legs, fast," Mulder said between heavy
breaths, "you have to get a search team out here, Scully."
     "Where exactly in the woods are you?"
     "Not far from the crime scene. I was taking a look around when I saw
it."
     "Alright, stay where you are, I'll be there as soon as I can." Scully
hung up and looked to her computer screen. The results weren't in yet.
She'd have to wait a few minutes.
     Mulder was leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods behind the
abandoned barn when Scully pulled up. His hair was a mess and his pants
were all but covered in mud.
     "What happened to you?" she asked as she stepped out into the chilly
fall air.
     "I went mud wrestling before I came here. Where are the police?
Someone has to go looking for this thing." The look in Mulder's eyes was
one of uncontained excitement. He really believes he saw it, thought
Scully. It usually meant he had, yet Scully couldn't be sure. The autopsy
photo analysis had come back to her, confirming the cause of death had
been wounds inflicted by both the claws and teeth of a North American
black bear, not a bigfoot.
     "Mulder, the autopsy showed that it was definitely a bear attack. The
police are going to call the DNR to get it taken care of. There's a plane
leaving North Dakota at seven. Case closed." 
     "Scully, I saw it. It was no bear."
     "How can you be sure? How far away were you?"
     "I was close enough to see it running on it's hind legs, almost
faster than me,"
     "Did you two relay or something?" 
     "It was fast, and it looked more like an ape, slimmer than a bear,"
Mulder said, his voice becoming lower and more forceful. Scully looked him
in the eye.
     "Isn't it at all possible you made a mistake? You yourself said that
it isn't likely this is a bigfoot sighting." Her eyes searched for
agreement. Mulder sighed and walked to the car. Scully followed.
Wordlessly, they drove back to the hotel.

4:38 p.m.
      Mulder hadn't said much after his little morning jaunt in the woods.
He now sat on the bed, staring blankly at the TV, trying to remember his
dream. It was bothering him. Scully was carefully packing her things. She
was personally glad that it was all over. She liked her work on the
X-files, but sometimes it felt as if she were getting too much of a good
thing. 
     "I'm getting so sick of this, Scully." Mulder mumbled, staring
blankly at the TV screen.
     "What?"
     "Somehow I thought that now, with those Defense Department files
exposed, our work would be less of a joke." he sighed. Scully stopped her
packing and sat on the end of the bed.
     "I know it's frustrating, Mulder, but not all of it has been a joke.
I--" Scully was interrupted by the shrill ring of Mulder's cell phone. He
fished it out of his jacket pocket and answered.
     "Mulder," he answered, his tone less than friendly. "Yes," he said,
raising his eyebrows, "thank you."
     "What is it?"
     "The DNR has our perpetrator in custody." Mulder said flatly. He
looked angry and disappointed as he shut off the phone and tossed it on
the bed.

1:21 a.m.
Washington DC

 So he had been wrong. So it was only a bear, not  a bigfoot. So a lot of
people just got caught up in the hype and saw things that weren't there.
No biggie. For every false alarm there were a million X-Files waiting to
be tackled. For every normal everyday occurrence, there was an event that
teetered on the edge of implausibility. Mulder switched off the TV. It was
getting late, and he was beginning to really feel the effects of inadequate
amounts of sleep.  Mulder sighed. It had been a very draining day. He was
glad to be back, alone in his own apartment. He couldn't be keeping Scully
awake every night with his moaning.  He reached over and shut off the
light, wandered over to his familiar old couch and flopped down. He closed
his eyes and tried hard not to think of certain things, not to let images
into his mind that might pave the way for another night of dreams.

      He suddenly remembered the dream that had been plaguing him
throughout the day. The images flooded back to him in vivid full-color. It
began under the brilliant supernatural light in his childhood home, but he
was not a twelve-year-old boy. He was his present age, dressed in a grey
suit. He could feel a plastic Stratego game piece underneath his foot. He
stood over the game, watching his young sister being stolen from him. To
his amazement, he was able to move freely. He ran for Samantha; thrust
himself forward with all the intensity he could muster. He leaped into the
light, reaching out with one trembling hand. His fingertips brushed against
hers, their soft, young, innocent flesh. He felt relieved for a moment, but
when he looked up, Samantha was gone. Her hand was no longer there. The
light faded quickly and Mulder found himself extremely tired, his actions
reduced to slow motion. He was now outdoors, under a multitude of evening
stars. Steam rose and played gently in the wind, heat rising from the
earth's warm chest. Urgency tugged at Mulder. He had a mission to
complete. He looked around quickly, drinking in his surroundings.  
     A car sat behind him, it's doors open and the radio on. The strong
and undeniable need to find her, (and he was perplexed to find that her
had changed from Samantha to Scully), overtook all of his senses that had
been dulled by lack of sleep and the demanding ascension. He continued
forward, slowly and deliberately, with his hand ready to pull his gun.
Without warning, the light came back for a few seconds. He felt somewhat
like a deer, caught between the headlights of an oncoming car, temporarily
blinded and filled with apprehension. 
     Darkness filled his world for a moment after the light had faded, and
was broken with an outburst of shrill, maniacal laughter. Mulder ran
towards it's source desperately. Duane Barry, his arms outstretched to the
cold black sky, stood laughing on the side of the hill. Mulder grabbed the
man from behind, struggling to hold him against the twitchy movements of
his sick victory dance. To Mulder's horror, Duane was alone. Mulder
searched the trees, the ground, the sky, every nerve on edge, desperate to
just see her. But she was gone.
     "Where is she, what did you do to her?" Mulder demanded, not ready to
lose anyone else who meant so much to him. Forcefully, he turned the
irrational man to face him. He could feel his hands digging angrily into
the madman's shoulders. Duane looked at him with a thousand faces. His
father, the faceless men who stood indifferently in the light in his
previous dream, Cancer Man, Mr. X, Krycek, all of the mocking faces of the
people who didn't accept his beliefs, all stared back at him tauntingly.
     "They took her," Duane growled. He struggled against the hold,
barking relieved, crazy laughter into Mulder's ear.
     And then someone called out, "Fox!" and he awoke screaming.
     Scenes from the nightmare still fresh in his mind, Mulder reached
over and switched on the light.

     "Hello?" She answered, her voice rough and thick with sleepiness.
Nothing but deep breaths answered back. "Hello?" 
     "Scully?" Mulder asked, not sure what to say. To hear her voice,
however tired, was all he needed. 
     "Mulder, what is it?"
     "I--I was just wondering if you made it home okay," he said, scowling
at himself. It was the best thing he could think of at the moment, although
they'd arrived back in Washington hours ago.
     "Mulder, is everything all right?" Scully asked.
     "Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Scully."
     "Goodnight, Mulder," she said wearily and hung up. Mulder put his
phone away and shut off the light. He slid back onto his couch and almost
instantly fell asleep. He did not dream.


end