Title: Nightmares Author: Vickie Moseley Spoilers: Plenty and all for the 8th season. Category: I've invented a new one just for this. It's called DAB for Doggett Abuse. If you do like Agent Doggett, you'll want to avoid this story. If you don't like him, you'll probably find this to your liking. Beyond that, it's Scully Angst. Some humor Rating: PG Disclaimer: Carter, you use this and I'll sue you! Archive: yes, if you can figure out where to put it Author's notes: I don't like him, doubt if I ever will. I had to fix that fiasco last night somehow. Hope this gives comfort to some of the more deeply wounded. I know I'm one of them. Nightmares By Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com It was a nightmare. She stared at her face in the mirror. So much had happened, so much had changed. Images flashed in her head. Their unborn child. Mulder being tortured at the hands of beings unknown. A task force leader she could never trust with her secrets. Skinner under the thumb of Deputy Director Kersh, yet still attempting to stay true to what he saw when Mulder disappeared. It was all too much for her to take in at one time. She kept looking for her partner. Anywhere, any time. On cases that took her far and wide. In the desert of Arizona, she'd felt him nearby. It made her weep to be so close to him, feel his very spirit invading her senses, and yet not be able to see him. She'd felt that way once before, when he'd been lost in a New Mexico desert. She hadn't found him to four days. This time it had been closer to four months. And every day was another day in hell. Dealing with a tag along (she would never consider him a partner) who had obviously sat on a long straight rod at some point in his life because he had it still stuck up his ass. The man was so 'by the book' when it suited his purpose, so deceitful and untrustworthy when her eyes were diverted. He didn't treat her with respect as Mulder always had, he barely tolerated her presence. She had kept her pregnancy a secret from him for months already, knowing full well that the moment he discovered her condition, he would have her pulled from field status, and thus Mulder's continued search, before she would have a chance to object. She didn't think it was possible to hate a man more. And where in the city of New York did they speak with a southern accent? But the cases were so much darker now. Not the mystery of the early years of their partnership, hers and Mulder's, but a more ominous shadow of fear and foreboding. She now dreaded walking into the office in the morning, afraid of what new terror awaited her. She was growing tired, just as the child inside her was growing larger with each passing day. She wondered wearily how much longer she could go on. She remembered guiltily all the times she'd rejected Mulder. All the times she'd blown off his enthusiasm, took pleasure in poking holes in his well thought out theories. She remembered with tears all the time she'd spent trying to prove him wrong when what she should have been doing was cherishing their partnership, their moments spent together. It had taken her far too long to come around to realizing how much he meant to her, how no one would ever be able to take his place in her life. How there would never be anyone else for her. And just when she finally admitted it, not just to herself, but to him, he was ripped away from her. The conspiracy loomed larger in her life than ever before. Forces were at work, not just to thwart her efforts, but also to try and make her question Mulder's motives and objectives. The fact that they'd tried to make her believe that he was dying of some condition of the brain was too cruel to think about. She'd seen him through so many life-threatening illness and injuries in the last 12 months that it was ludicrous for anyone to think she could so easily be deceived. Another nail in the coffin of any working relationship with that asshole Doggett. He was all too ready to believe whatever evidence they could find without any knowledge of Mulder at all. She pushed herself away from the mirror and slowly left the bathroom. Mulder's bed was cold and empty, but it still held memories of their time together. She pulled back the comforter, and slipped under the sheets. More than anything else, she wanted to feel his arms around her, feel his breath on her hair and hear his heart beating under her ear. If she closed her eyes, she could almost make herself believe. With that thought, she started to sob. "Scully?" Something was shaking her, even as she clutched at her pillow. "Scully, honey, wake up. You're crying." Of course she was crying! Even in her dreams, he haunted her. How dare her body lie to her, make her feel his warm body lying spoon against her back. She gripped the covers tighter and refused to open her eyes to the emptiness that was now her world. "Scully, c'mon, you have to wake up. We have an ultrasound this morning and I don't think they'll let me stand in for you and junior. They let Dads do a lot these days, but the medical community still draws some lines." She could hear his voice, so clear and strong in her mind. Was this the end? Had she finally stepped over into insanity? What would happen to the baby if she was found insane? "That's it! The covers are off! And Scully, why are you still crying?" Suddenly, the warmth left her, as the blankets she'd cowered under were ripped from her grasp. Her eyes flew open and she reached for her gun, only to come face to face with the hazel eyes she loved so dearly. "Mulder!" she exclaimed, and wrapped her arms around his neck so tight she caught off his breath. "HUMPTH!" he struggled and finally worked her arms down around his shoulders, where his windpipe wasn't obstructed. When air was moving into his lungs again, he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "That dream again?" he asked tenderly. She nodded, tears sliding down his bare chest to catch in the light hairs there. "Scully, what did I tell you about Baja Gorditas with extra Fire sauce?" Mulder admonished gently, then pulled her away so he could wipe at the tears still coursing down her face. "But it was so real," she cried. "I know, those kinds of dreams do feel real. That's why we call them nightmares," he teased and poked her nose. "So, I was lost and you couldn't find me?" She nodded, starting to tear up again. "And all the cases I had were horrible, Mulder!" He had to bite back a grin. "You mean, relatively speaking, right?" he joked. She wasn't to be dissuaded so easily. "I mean it, Mulder. And there was a headstone with your name on it and the years 1961 to 2000," she added, finally wiping at her own eyes. He handed her a tissue from the box next to the bed and she took it greedily. "Well, then, they got the year wrong. I was born in 1960," he pointed out reasonably. "And the worst part was that asshole I had to work with. Claimed to be an ex-cop from New York, but the guy talked like he just walked out of the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville! I hated him, I couldn't stand to be in the same room with him! He was such an ugly son of a bitch and he had ears like Dumbo!" she seethed through gritted teeth. This time Mulder couldn't help but laugh. "Sounds like that new kid they have delivering the interoffice mail. What's his name? Dogbert?" "Ohmigod, Mulder!" she exclaimed. "You're right! It was that kid. And his name is Doggett, Johnny Doggett. But in my dream he was older and didn't have the pimples all over his face." Now, finally, she started to laugh. She reached over and hugged him more gently. "The doctor said my emotional state would be in the hands of my hormones, but this is getting ridiculous." Mulder disentangled himself from her arms and shifted around behind her. He nuzzled her neck and rubbed his hand over her bulging stomach. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could do something to take those nightmares away." She took his hand up to her lips to place a gentle kiss on his palm. "It doesn't matter, love. As long as you're here to wake me up." "Always, Scully. Always." The end. If you're a Doggerel, you probably hate me now, but if not, let me know if this helped.