Dreaming Omega 
Spookey247 (spookey247@msn.com) 
 
7/7
To Bear and Not to Own: Two
NATIONAL SEASHORE, HATTERAS ISLAND 1:53 PM
"Hey, hand me that. I'm going to ruin the leather." My jeans are completely soaked. She 
slings the sleeping bag in my direction and I throw it over the seat.
"You can ride naked if you want." She shoots me a sly sidelong glance. It's almost more 
than I can take.
"Ride naked, swim naked, pose naked...I think I'm sensing some deep issues, here, Joy. 
Why won't you let people keep their clothes on?"
"Don't go getting all Sigmund Freud with me, Mister. Do the math. In your case it's not 
real complicated."
Joy pops a CD into the player. We pull out of the empty parking lot and head for 
Buxton. Her hand snakes toward my thigh. I reach out to stroke her arm. My god, we 
can't seem to keep our hands off each other.
There is something oddly fitting about the grayness of this day with its constant drizzle 
and forlorn ocean breeze. The music she is playing is lush, languid, a wash of guitars 
with a slow bass that shakes the floor of the car. It's so new, this feeling, riding beside 
her, carried aloft by sound, transported and transformed by sensation. Only this moment 
is real. I don't want to know any other.
We're too sad for conversation. We have already agreed that I'll check out of the Surf 
Motel and leave for Washington when we return to town.
My body still hums from our last coupling. Our photo session on the deserted beach 
overwhelmed our resolve and we found ourselves entangled once more, wrapped in a 
sleeping bag amongst the dunes where we first met, the rain falling unheeded on naked 
flesh.
It was slow this time, so, so slow. When I pushed into her, it was not so much about 
pleasure as a need to know the deepest part of her, to find some purchase there, a way to 
anchor myself so that I would not have to leave. She moaned with delight, feeling me 
that way, lifting her long legs to make it deeper, moving against me almost 
imperceptibly, lapping at my throat and breathing soft obscenities into my ear, begging 
me to hold on, make it even deeper before I let go.
It was indescribable. I wish we were still there, locked together, just like that. I felt the 
truth of things in that moment, dizzy from holding back my orgasm. It's simple. The 
truth is passion, the feeling of soul touching soul.
We held each other for a long time when we were through. After a few minutes I 
realized she was crying. I felt like crying, too. "Hey, are we doing the right thing? I don't 
know if I can go back."
"It's the only thing to do. I know she's really worried about you." She wiped her eyes 
and began pulling on clothes that were far too damp to bother with.
Okay, I thought. If she can be this selfless, then dammit, so can I. I began to dress, 
shivering as my skin contacted wet denim. "She doesn't want me. I only cause trouble 
for her...you don't know the half of it."
"That's true. I don't know anything about her at all. But I think I'm uniquely qualified to 
speak for her. She wants you, Fox. Trust me on that one."
"Okay, since you're so highly qualified, why do you think she wants me?"
She thought for a moment and then her answer came with a shy grin. "You know how 
they say life is a journey? I think she thinks you're one hell of a guy to travel with." She 
reached up to wipe a raindrop from my cheek. "God, Fox, I feel like I've known you 
forever."
"I don't have to leave, Joy. You're kicking me out of your life just because things might 
get messy."
Joy's eyes filled with tears. God, I didn't mean to make her cry again. "Shit, they're 
messy already. I have to try to keep things neat, though, for Gabe's sake." She shook her 
head, getting control of herself. "Goddammit. I try not to ever feel sorry for myself."
"That's one of the things I love about you."
She did not acknowledge my words. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. It was 
asking too much.
So now we ride along without talking, touch our only form of communication.
We are coming into Buxton. Joy stops the car at a traffic light. "Your friend, Dana. It's 
going to be good between you two. What we've had together... you'll have this with her, 
and better."
It's easy to envision staying here. A big part of me wants to do just that. Joy knows, 
though, what I haven't been willing to admit to her or myself: that the most fundamental 
parts of me belong to Scully. As much as I am dreading leaving Joy, I am looking 
forward to going home, because I have discovered that I am a fully functioning human 
being. I *can* love Scully, I *do* love Scully, just as I love Joy. If I am supremely 
lucky, Scully will love me in return, just as Joy loves me.
And if Scully chooses not to love me, I will grieve the loss and move on with my life. 
My eyes are open now. It's worth staying on earth just to learn to see clearly.
The drizzle intensifies as we pull into the parking lot of the Surf Motel. We both get out 
of the car and stand in the rain.
"I guess this is my stop."
Suddenly I am in ruins, shattered and defenseless, terrified to be ripped from my safe 
haven and thrust back into the world. This is what it feels like to love someone and need 
someone and to have to say good-bye. This is what it is to be alive. I catch Joy's hands in 
my own, aching for her.
"I'd like to call you when I get back home. Is that okay?"
She stares at the ground. "Give me your address. I don't know where I'll be."
I reach into my wallet for a business card. "What do you mean?"
"I think I might go on the road for a while. I need a change of scene."
I take her in my arms, feeling disturbed and unspeakably sad. Nothing about this is right. 
"But you have to keep up your end of the deal, Joy. Start on the restraining order today."
She rests her cheek against mine. "Don't worry about me, Fox. I'll be okay."
"You think you're so tough."
"Yeah, I'm a real bitch."
"But don't take chances. People can surprise you. Please, follow through on this. For me, 
okay?"
"Will you just kiss me good-bye? I hate this and I want to get it over with."
We hug each other so tightly it hurts, but for the first time in my life I don't fear the 
pain. It is part of me and I welcome it. She lifts her face to gaze at me and I am lost, cast 
adrift in a sea of jasmine. Her lips are warm, so very warm...
...and I am crossing the parking lot alone, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone.
 
SURF MOTEL, ROOM 109 2:41 PM
When I lay dying of cancer not quite three years ago, my brother Bill vented his anxiety 
and grief by talking incessantly about all the ways he was going to repay Fox Mulder for 
the trouble he had caused me and my family. This kind of thing was, of course, the last 
thing I needed to hear. On several occasions my mother sent Bill away from my bedside 
because he was upsetting me so badly. In retrospect I almost have to laugh about those 
moments - it was like we were kids again and he was being disciplined for teasing me 
too much. It's funny how even the most dire situations can fail to change the sibling 
dynamic.
I am sitting in an uncomfortable chair by the sliding glass doors that lead to the terrace. 
The manager of the motel gave me a key to Mulder's room last night, to help me with my 
search. When I finally admitted defeat early this morning, I came back here to sleep. 
This was in part so that I would not miss Mulder should he return, but another part of me 
simply wanted to be in the last place on earth I knew for sure he had been alive. I am 
cursing myself now for being so sentimental. I know those feelings were completely 
unjustified.
Bill's words of three years ago echo in my head and, for once in my life, I am relishing 
them. "I can't understand why you continue to defend him, Dana. What's the attraction 
here? It was just an assignment, you know, and you have friends who could have helped 
you get out of it. All he's ever done is use you and cause you pain. The next time I see 
him, I swear I'm going to kick his ass."
God, Bill, I hate to admit it, but you may have been right. I have never felt more used 
and manipulated than I do right now and yes, yes, yes, I would love it if you were here 
to kick Fox Mulder's ass.
He's been jerking me around for years. He pretends to want me but then at the least 
provocation he shuts down, shuts me out, ditches me with no compunction. He says he 
loves me, but I know better. To him I'm just another part of the darkness.
I've allowed myself to fall for him, even though I know the truth. Mulder is incapable of 
loving me in return.
I rise from the chair and stare out at the dunes behind the motel. I should really go home. 
I don't even know why I'm still here. What am I, some sort of masochist?
There is a click at the door and I hear the lock turn. I am desperate to flee, but my body 
won't comply. For the second time in as many days I find that I am on autopilot, but this 
time my hormones aren't doing the driving. You're right about one thing, Mulder, this is 
coming to an end. It's going to end right now.
Mulder trudges listlessly into the room, gaze cast downward, unaware of my presence. 
He is dripping wet, a green flannel shirt clinging to his body and water trickling slowly 
from sandy hair and two days growth of beard. He jerks his gun from the back of his 
jeans and flings it carelessly on the bed with his keys. Standing quietly on the other side 
of the room, I watch as he moves toward the bed, stiff as an old dog after a fight.
I am weak with relief. He is here. He's alive.
He draws a deep breath and sighs heavily, passing his hand across scrapes and bruises to 
wipe the rain from his face. He looks up. Now he knows that I am here.
Mulder's complexion fades from pale to white, his eyes widening with amazement. I am 
trembling, moving towards him as his expression transforms inexplicably from 
bewilderment to sheer, unmitigated delight. He steps forward, reaching for me, "Oh my 
god, Scully...how did you..."
Now it hits me, the heady aroma of alcohol and sea water, of sweat and sex and another 
woman's perfume.
I strike him so hard he nearly falls.
Words are a hailstorm inside my head. I'd love to fire the storm his way, to pummel him 
without mercy until he comprehends the fear and desperation, the unrequited hours and 
miles, the years of loyalty that he ground under his heel when he went into that woman's 
bed.
But I can't speak. I can't.
If I speak he'll know everything and I refuse to expose my soul to him. I won't, not now, 
not ever again.
Mute, I watch him catch himself, regaining his balance and touching the spot where my 
hand contacted his jaw. He is stunned, expressionless. I am all rage. We stare at each 
other for what seems like forever.
He is the first one to look away. His eyes travel wildly around the room and he begins to 
pace, chest rising and falling, hands clenching and pulling at his clothing as if the heat in 
the room is more than he can bear. In this state he draws near, his tortured gaze returning 
to my face.
Doubts are overpowering my mind like a swarm of ants: Oh god, Mulder, it used to be 
so easy between us and now I don't even recognize you. Who the hell are you? What do 
you want from me?
How can I have known you so long and loved you so much, and have it all end so 
disastrously?
I can't stand the way Mulder is looking at me, contrite and accepting, quietly asking 
forgiveness. Slowly, silently, he tears the green flannel shirt from his body and lets it fall 
to the floor. "Okay," he whispers raggedly. "Yeah, Scully. I know."
He lifts a hand to touch my cheek. Then he goes to the bed and sits down with his back 
to me, dropping his head into his hands.
Oh god, what was I expecting when I left that apartment on Buxton Cove Drive, 
convinced that Mulder had come here deliberately to manipulate me, to make sure I was 
good and worried while he indulged himself with alcohol and one night stands like some 
pampered frat boy? What was I expecting when I returned to this room, spoiling for a 
fight, ready to make him pay for the pain he had caused me? Who did I think was going 
to walk through that door? A monster? A creature of darkness whose express purpose in 
life is to make me suffer?
Is that who is sitting over there on the bed? That's not a monster. That's Mulder.
It's Mulder, my partner, my best friend, breathing and warm.
All of a sudden I feel sick to my stomach. I sit on the opposite bed and reach toward 
him, coming back to myself.
Remembering.
Only one thing is real.
Mulder's hands are normally fine and precise, as neat and smooth as a woman's. Those 
hands have held me when I have been injured or afraid and they have touched me with 
love when emotion drowns his ability to speak. I am looking at Mulder's hands, now 
swollen and discolored, split and battered and bruised. They are shaking violently. My 
god, his whole body is shaking. His arms and chest are a patchwork of red slash marks 
and blue-black bruises and my head fills up with images: the shredded sofa in his 
apartment, the shattered windows, the holes in the walls, the blood...
This isn't about me. It never has been. I thought you had betrayed me and I forgot why 
we both came here. But now I remember. You weren't trying to hurt me. You were 
trying to hurt yourself.
My heart is breaking as he slides off the bed, sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms 
around my waist, laying his head in my lap like a little boy.
Oh my god, Mulder. I wanted to believe that you were superhuman, but you're not. 
You're not larger than life and neither am I.
You have limits. I have limits.
We're not above the quagmire, are we? We're right down in it. Right where we belong.
I am flowing towards Mulder, gliding steady as a tear, overpowered by the smoothness 
of his body and the richness of his scent. Where once I was lost in doubts and fears, I 
now feel myself opening, ready to find the answers I have sought so long. I'm ready to 
face the truth.
Drenched in profligate tears, Mulder takes my face in his hands, shaking his head in 
wonder. "I love you *so much*," he gasps softly.
I cannot hide this from him any more. I am weeping, clinging to him, his shattered hands 
stroking and soothing me as I spill my guts, gulping for air, my voice strangled and 
unrecognizable.
"Dammit, Mulder, what good does it do for you to love me? Where has it ever gotten 
us? You're such a bastard. All you do is ditch me...how do you think that makes me 
feel?"
"Never again. I promise, Scully. I promise."
"All I've ever wanted was to be part of the solution for you, not part of the problem. I've 
never deserted you, Mulder, I've always been there when you needed me."
"I know, I know..."
"I love you. You're...you're all I want, and I... god, Mulder, why don't you trust me?"
Overcome, Mulder stares at me, lips moving soundlessly. When he speaks the anguish in 
his face is terrible to behold and his voice is so low I can hardly hear him.
"If you love me, Scully, then why won't you let me be close to you?"
I raise my hands to his face.
Unanswered questions lose their power in the face of our reverence for each other. We 
are all eyes and thoughts, reliving this moment that has fallen flat so many times before.
I can feel that we're going to get it right this time.
I am weightless, diaphanous, so much a part of him that my body has ceased to exist.
We've become like Siamese twins. We share dreams like vital organs. I don't know why, 
but I don't fear this anymore...it's so easy and honest it can't be wrong.
"It doesn't matter anymore," I whisper, brushing his ear with my lips. "I want to be close 
to you. Let's give it a chance, Mulder. All we can do is try."
I twine my fingers in his hair, lightly kissing the scrapes on his face, moving slowly 
toward his mouth. He moans faintly, pulls me closer, and in one sweeping move 
consumes me, lips, mouth, heart, soul.
I rise out of myself and into him, and oh my god, the truth is here.
Having dreamed this moment, we are making it real, creating it, living it, right now, in 
this instant.
I never knew it could be this simple.
End of Part Seven
 
End of Story, For Now!
Author's Note: This is my first fic and it took forever forever forever to write! I'd love to 
get feedback so please feel free!
Spookey247@msn.com