Bon Voyage
with an Open Book

THANKS TO

Redwyne and MaybeAmanda, betas with twin ginsu knives slicing up my raw veggies to create an elegant salad. Any bugs in the dressing are mine.

But at the first tentative flicker of a dream, Mulder jerks himself awake. He has no desire to sink into sleep tonight. Or any night in the near future. No desire to revisit a red fairy light as it dances towards answers to questions his conscious mind hasn't learned how to ask.

He rubs gritty eyes, then shifts his view to the page. He's lost his taste for Alice, but Hunting of the Snark has the power to amuse him still. The parallels between his quest and the Bellman's is obvious. He chuckles as the ill- assorted crew search for the fabulous creature. Clever language buoys him to the surface of consciousness.

The phone rings, and Mulder stretches his arm over his head. He reaches behind him to grasp the receiver.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, should I come over?"

"You don't have to, Scully. I'm lying here reading."

Silence.

"I'm okay, Scully."

Scully sighs. He doesn't have to see her face to know the concerned look she's wearing. It's the same look she's worn for the last three days. He remembers her hand stroking his hair. When his head leans against her, his ache to be comforted is eased.

"Have you been able to get some sleep?"

He manages a weak smile.

"Not yet. I've been thinking about sleeping though. And dreams. Do you ever wonder about the first dreams, Scully?"

"Do you mean dreams in infancy? It's generally held that babies dream about nursing, because it's reflexive for a newborn's lips to make a suckling motion when he's asleep. It's similar to how a sleeping dog's legs will move to mimic running."

"No, I'm thinking about early humans. It must have been confusing for the first people to dream - to go somewhere without going."

"I never thought of that before."

Mulder throws his arm over his eyes and murmurs. "I don't want to go somewhere anymore, Scully. It's too hard."

"Mulder, I'm coming over."

He hears the definitive click of the receiver, and knows that Scully is on her way. Now that he has no choice, he welcomes her decision.

I beg you to listen
You are already listening

It has shut itself out
And in doing so shut us accidentally in

He can hear the rush and sweep of fallen leaves outside while he waits for Scully. Encircled by light, surrounded by dark, he feels his universe contract. To distract himself, he snags another book from the pile. He smiles, and his fatigue ebbs a fraction. It's his spine-broken copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover - his mother's secret reading and his first forbidden glimpse of erotica.

He sees himself as a ten-year-old, searching the closet for his birthday present and discovering this unexpected treasure. The pages fall easily to his favourite section - Lady Chatterly is undressing. The complexity of undergarments is a revelation, and easier to understand than turgid prose which describes a womb as open and softly clamouring as a sea-anemone under the tide.

Scully would smell like the sea, he knows. He wishes he could spend a lifetime exploring her undergarments and what lies beneath. He imagines creamy skin, two perfect mounds with dusky nipples, and a vee of auburn curls. Mulder's eyes drift half-closed in contemplation. He starts as Scully raps on his door.

As she lets herself in, he closes the book and replaces it on the pile. She sits in his desk chair.

"You didn't need to come, Scully."

"I wanted to."

He shrugs. He knows it's true.

"Anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No."

"When I was a teenager, my mom and I went on a week long retreat sponsored by our diocese. I didn't want to go. I was going through a tough time, feeling angry and confused, and my mother insisted."

"Did it help?"

"I was surprised by how much it helped. Not talking was a blessing. I was able to work towards a better understanding of what was important, and let the rest fall away. I was able to believe I could be forgiven for my past mistakes, and move on ...you said you were reading, so I'm lending you this."

Scully reaches into her bag, and takes out a book.

"It's The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton. Why don't you try it and see what you think? Merton has some interesting things to say."

Mulder nods. Scully rises and bends over, kissing his brow, before softly closing the door behind her. Her brief touch lingers.

He opens Scully's gift.

It has no taste
And though it refreshes absolutely It is a cup that must also pass

He reads words of light and forgiveness. Words of hope. Thoughts, which pass behind his eyes like shadows, dissipate in the warmth.

Mulder can feel himself dissolving, drifting into a story that will never be written. He slips into the dark waters beyond language, where the world lies unconscious.

The book slides to the floor. He'll find it in the morning when he surfaces, wet and streaked with daylight.