From: ANGELA WARD Date: Mon, 15 Nov 1999 06:58:01 -0800 (PST) Subject: Fanfic submission Source: direct Title: "Mind Games" Author: Angela W. Category: MSR/Humor Rating: PG-13 Timespan/Spoilers: Set early in Season Seven. Takes place between the time Mulder gets out of the hospital and the "One Week Later" epilogue during "The Sixth Extinction II". Spoilers for both "The Sixth Extinction" and "The Sixth Extinction II" and a tiny, non-spoiler reference to the events of "Colony/End Game". Summary: Mulder, still able to read minds, spends the night at Scully's apartment. First person, Mulder's POV. Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Feedback: If it's nice or contains *constructive* criticism. If you're just not a shipper, don't read this story! Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere! I'm tired, but it's a good tired. Not the artificially induced exhaustion of the drugs I was being fed at the hospital. "Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asks gently. I watch closely to make sure her lips are moving. The telepathy is begining to fade somewhat, but several times today she has already caught me answering questions she hasn't yet asked. She doesn't particularly care for it. Telepathy, I'm learning, can't be turned on and off like a faucet. It's pretty much like the sense of hearing. You have to make an effort to tune things out. Sort of like working in a crowded office where you have to concentrate on your own computer screen and ignore the conversations eddying around you. Which I can do, pretty well, except that every once in a while Scully emits the psychic equivalent of a scream. First, while I was in the hospital, it was "Are you okay? Please be okay! Mulder, I'm here. We can fight this, but I need you to help me." Later, when I first began to recover, it was "You're okay! I'm so happy!" This was accompanied by that radiant smile I have to nearly die to get from her. The one I first saw all those years ago in an Alaskan hospital. Today, it's just been the same four words over and over at frequent intervals. Four words I didn't think I'd ever hear from and, techically speaking, still haven't. "I love you, Mulder." Except sometimes she varies it slightly by thinking, "I love you, Fox." "I'm just tired, Scully." She nods and we walk into her apartment. "Come on, Mulder," she says, tugging gently on my hand. We enter the bedroom and she pulls down the covers. I strip down to my boxer-briefs and tumble gladly into bed. "You know, Scully, sometime we're going to have to try sharing this bedroom when neither of us is near death," I quip. "Mulder, shut up," she says vocally. But that's not what her thoughts are saying. It's like trying to watch TV and listen to the radio at the same time. Her voice tells me to shut up, but her mind answers, "Yes, Mulder. Sometime soon. But not tonight. We're both too tired. All I want to do is lie beside you, hold you, know that you're safe in my arms." "Okay," I answer. Scully strips down to a tank top and panties, then climbs in beside me. "Go to sleep, Mulder," she says, and this time there is no dissonance. Mentally, as well as vocally, she expresses her desire for me to rest. I relax my breathing, calmed by her presence. I try not to listen to her thoughts, I really do. It's an invasion of privacy. But as we both grow sleepy, my control slips and her thoughts come tumbling into my mind. "Good. He's asleep. Now I can snuggle up to him." This thought is followed immediately by action. Scully moves closer, slides one arm up across my back and over my chest and slips one of her legs between both of mine. She buries her nose in the hair at the nape of my neck and nuzzles me with a contented sigh. I fight the urge to entwine my fingers with the ones now gently caressing my chest. If I do that, she'll know I'm still awake. Through the thin cotton of her top, I can feel her breasts pressing against my back. I'm enjoying this immensely, but Scully's right. We are too tired to take things any further. Later, we share a dream. It's her dream; it originates deep within her subconscious, but flows effortlessly into my mind as we sleep. We're at the beach with our children. A little girl about five or six, who looks almost exactly like Samantha did at that age. Thank you, Scully, I mentally murmur. Thank you for dreaming us a daughter who looks like the little sister I lost so long ago. Then - and I swear I can almost hear Scully laughing at this - we have a little boy about two. He looks like nothing so much as miniature version of Bill Junior. I wake up when Scully does. Her thoughts are murmuring softly into my mind. "He looks younger when he sleeps. More like the man I first met all those years ago. I love you so much, Mulder. I wish you'd wake up and kiss me." I roll over so that we are facing each other, then put one of my hands to her face. I kiss her lips gently then say, "I love you so much, too, Scully." Suddenly, I find myself flat on my back and Scully sitting up on the other side of the bed, clutching a pillow, her blue eyes sparking flames. "WHAT did you say?" she demands. "I said I love you, Scully," I repeat, refusing to back down. "No you didn't! ," she hollers. "You said "I love you so much, too, Scully!" You were ANSWERING me! Damn it, Mulder, you were reading my mind, weren't you? You promised you wouldn't!" Sheesh! Guess I've just been caught redhanded. "I'm not doing it on purpose, Scully. Sometimes it's hard to control. Especially when we're both half-asleep." "What else?" she demands. "Huh?" "What other thoughts of mine have you been eavesdropping on?" "Um, in the hospital, you kept telling me to get well. To come out of the coma and help you fight. That you were there for me. Scully, I think you WANTED me to hear you! You were. . .it's like the telepathic equivalent of screaming." She nods slowly. "I did want you to hear me. I was saying the same things verbally." "Afterwards, when I finally came out, you were. . .I can't even explain it, Scully. You were too happy to form coherent sentences. It's like there were stars exploding inside your mind." She nods again. "I was happy you were better. Very happy." Okay, good. Hold onto that thought, Scully. Remember, you're *HAPPY* that I'm alive! You don't want to shoot me. "What else?" she repeats, but her voice is softer this time. "Um, most of yesterday. . .honestly, Scully, I was trying not to listen in on your thoughts. But it's like trying not to eavesdrop on somebody else's conversation in the bullpen. You can do it, but not when the other person starts screaming." "What was I quote screaming unquote?" "Er, what you just said, I mean thought, a minute ago. Except sometimes you were calling me Fox. I didn't know you ever did that, Scully." "They're *MY* thoughts, Mulder! I can call you whatever I want!" "I know. It's okay." "Anything else?" she inquires. "Okay, this one is really, REALLY not my fault, Scully. Because I was asleep and had no control over it. But, um, I got to share your dream last night." "What dream?" "You don't remember?" "Not really. I mean sort of, vaguely. It was a happy dream. Your memory's better than mine, though. What was it about?" "Scully, I'm not sure. . ." "Mulder, if the dream was mine, I have a right to know about it!" "We were at the beach with the kids." "What kids?" I take a deep breath and hope she continues to remember that she's happy I'm alive. "OUR kids, Scully. A little girl who looked like Samantha and a little boy who - and this is not a nice thing to do to me, Scully - a little boy who looks like Bill Junior!" She laughs softly at that . "Well, I can't help the images my subconscious comes up with, Mulder. She looks like Samantha because I'm used to looking at that picture you have in the office of you and Samantha when you were kids. And he looks like Bill because the only little boy I know really well is my nephew Matthew." Scully's not sitting up on the other side of the bed, clutching a pillow for dear life anymore. During the course of the conversation, she gradually loosened her hold on the pillow and eventually put it back in its place. Now she's lying down again, with one arm curved up over her head. "Scully, you're doing it again," I inform her. "Doing what, Mulder?" she asks. She's not mad anymore. She's smiling at me. "The psychic version of yelling at the top of your lungs." "Really?" she asks, lifting her eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "What am I thinking?" I scoot closer, so that I am leaning over her. Our noses are almost touching as I gaze into her eyes. "You're thinking," I whisper, "that you want," I move my face lower, "me to do," I brush her lips lightly with mine, "this." As our lips meet there are stars exploding in Scully's mind again. Or maybe they're in my mind this time. Or maybe - probably - in both of ours. Author's e-mail address: tapw63@yahoo.com =====