TITLE: To Sleep? Perchance to Dream? (Part 1 of 1)
NAME: frogdoggie
E-MAIL: frogdoggie@mcafeemail.com
CATEGORY: VRA
RATING: NC-17. M/SK. This story contains SLASH. Graphic 
sexual activity between two men. So, if you don't like that type 
of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with 
caution.
SUMMARY: Skinner contemplates a variation on the idea that 
the sleep of reason produces monsters. Angst ahead - so 
beware. 
FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, MAY I 
HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy 
debate are always welcome. Flames? Thanks! I need to build a 
bonfire so I can roast a few weenies!
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This season. SR819. Slight 
foreshadowing for Biogenesis.
KEYWORDS: vignette angst slash Skinner Mulder NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully and all 
other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen 
Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright 
infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their 
use.
 
*Author's Note: Seriously, this is an angst fest folks. I promise 
something lighter next time. Promise. Really.
 
To Sleep? Perchance to Dream? by frogdoggie
 
It's 3 AM. I watch Mulder's fitful tossing and turning. I watch his 
eyes rolling around in their sockets in troubled REM sleep. I see 
his eyes open slightly showing hazel filled, unseeing slits. I 
watch his eyes roll up in his head and then back down. I watch 
his lids slip shut again. I watch his breathing pick up a little. I 
watch his lips part, his mouth open ever so slightly. I hear his 
whimper. 
He made a similar sound at 10 PM, under me, when I was in 
him. He whimpered and we both moaned loud as I drove 
against his ass, fucking him. He laughed with enjoyment too, as 
I cranked his hard cock in time with my grunting thrusts. I bent 
and kissed him, told him I loved him. He shut his eyes and 
arched up, begging me to do him hard.
He looked very much as he does now when he came. His hazel 
eyes rolled back in his skull, looking inward during his orgasm. 
But I know he was whimpering with satisfaction, and a hell of a 
lot more aware of this world at 10 PM. He gasped 'I love you' 
after that whimper. Gripped my arms tight and thrust his hips 
against mine calling out "Walter! God!" as we rocked together in 
pleasure. I felt so alive, coming inside him with a roaring, joyous 
shout of "FOX!" that was ripped right out of my chest. So alive 
afterwards, smiling into his eyes as we held each other, and I 
basked in his satiated grin and languid kisses. 
Now I feel...I'm not sure what I feel...except a deep chill 
somewhere in my guts as I watch him and ask myself...
What does he dream? 
I mean, what does he really see? I can make some educated 
guesses. I've heard him call for his sister, his mother, his father. 
I've heard him curse his parents, his father more than once - 
both of his fathers actually - because he's still not sure who 
really fathered him even now. I've heard him call for Dana 
Scully many times, over and over. Sometimes the Scully 
dreams rival those he has about Samantha in their sound and 
fury.
There's something rather nightmarish in seeing a fine, brilliant 
mind like Mulder's reduced to gibbering mindlessness. There's 
something infinitely sad about seeing the body I so lovingly 
touch in ecstasy...the body I feel privileged that he shares with 
me so readily, writhing in extremis. It's agonizing for me. All I 
can do is hold him until he comes back to himself and then 
watch him roll over in shame when he realizes he acted out in 
front of me yet again. As if his actions were shameful to me? 
That idea hurts. It's not like I wouldn't understand. I have my 
own nightmares. The idea he thinks I won't understand hurts as 
well. 
Mulder's cries are pitiful. I cringe every time I hear the utter 
terror, longing and guilt that those shrieks contain. I know he 
doesn't want my pity. He'd hate it if I showed pity towards him 
as a matter of fact. But I can't help it. I do pity him. I can only 
swallow my sympathy and hide it from him. But...it's hard to 
listen to his shouting. 
I've heard men, myself among them, scream horribly in battle, 
the screams of the wounded and dying. But none of those long 
ago screams compares with Fox Mulder in the throes of a 
nightmare. None of them comes close to the depth of suffering 
that must be contained in Mulder's soul. They don't come close 
because...I didn't love those other men...not even myself...as 
much as I love this man. So, I love him and his screams wound 
me, adding invisible scars to the visible ones I've accumulated 
over the years.
We don't talk about the nightmares. He either can't or won't, and 
I have to respect his wishes to remain mute about them...for the 
time being. There isn't much I can do about his closed mouth 
attitude at the moment. He's much too stubborn to let me in 
completely, even now. It's a trait I admire but truly despise in 
this instance. He won't unburden and I can't make him. I'd be a 
hypocrite if I did. After all, how much haven't I told him yet, I 
ask myself? That question's too painful to answer.
Besides, we're manly men anyway - right? We don't...unburden 
to our partners as a rule, do we? Well, fuck that idea. I already 
had one marriage ruined over that piece of gender stereotyping. 
I'm pretty much determined not to let this one go down the 
tubes the same way. I just have to be patient and hope Mulder 
feels he can trust me enough to talk. Or trust himself enough is 
more to the point perhaps. I know he feels that by telling me 
about the dreams he'll endanger me in some way - or add to my 
stress or burden or some other bullshit. We have to talk about 
that too - his guilt is something I can more than understand. I 
think I can help him with that issue as well. And Christ all 
mighty, I have to tell him the truth too. Soon. How can I expect 
him to trust in me if I won't trust in him?
But in the meantime, I watch. I watch and wait. I watch and 
wonder what he'll dream about tonight to make the screaming 
start.
I see his breath pick up again. I can't help but observe, strangely 
fascinated despite my revulsion, as his body marshals the fight 
or flight response. His actions are almost hypnotic. His eyes roll 
ffaster, his legs jerk and then move spastically. He starts to pant 
and his arms, and then his graceful hands, twitch. His hands ball 
into fists. 
I can't stand it for long however. Not this time. I just can't take it 
tonight, not after our earlier lovemaking. I lean close to shake 
him so that he'll wake up before the worst terrors begin. When I 
touch him he speaks and the words rush out, rising towards that 
keening cry I know will come at the end.
"You prick. Krycek... oh... Jesus..."
"Mulder?" I whisper, trying to grab his arm. He plunges on.
"I'll kill you mutherfucker. If you touch him again you're dead 
meat you SON OF A BITCH!" he wails.
"Mulder?" I shake him and he bats my hand away.
"BASTARD!" he screams, hitting me in the jaw. It's only a 
glancing blow but it hurts all the way down to my heart.
"Hey, wake, up. Mulder, come on. It's ok... it's ok babe," I croon 
to him, moving his arm aside.
"You're a dead man if you touch Sk... Sk... Walter again," he 
cries out, flailing his arms against my chest.
I let out a shuddering breath and finally get hold of him. I pull 
him into my embrace as I've done so many nights in the past. 
Tonight tears are starting to dribble down his face and his cries 
die out into quiet pleas and threats. He curses a man I certainly 
think of as a low life, fucking, son of a whore. A snake I'd like to 
throttle with my bare hands. He needs to be brought to some 
kind of justice for what he did to Mulder and Scully. That I hate 
what he did to me goes without saying. What he did? God...I live 
in...I dread what he may yet make me do. Mulder's next words 
echo my thoughts as I gather him close.
"You hear me, Alex? I could kill you for what you've done. Kill 
you... you fucker."
I rock him and he whispers into my chest.
"Please, don't hurt him... don't make him... ddddon't... please..."
"Mulder, I'm here, come on man, wake up...please..." I beg him 
now too...just like he begs Alex Krycek for my life, for...my 
integrity. I stroke his hair. Tears spring into my eyes as well. My 
vision blurs as I bend and kiss the top of his head.
I feel reason overtake him at last. I sigh as his next whispered 
words tell me he's once again, for better or worse, in the land of 
the living.
"Oh, God. Walter...I...I thought you'd...Walter don't go. Be...be 
here...please don't leave me."
"I'm here lover, I'm here. I love you. I won't go. I'm here for 
you...always, Fox. Always."
Even as I murmur those words in utmost sincerity...I curse 
myself as a liar. Mulder's words should bring me the relief of 
knowledge. The knowledge that, instead of turning away, he 
might be willing to share his fears with me at last. The relief that 
at last I've found my opening to unburden to him as well. But 
instead of relief...I'm dying inside. I'm dying because, as 
tonight's nightmare only serves to show...Fox Mulder can never 
be sure about 'Always'. And neither can I.
 
-THE END-