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Mulder sat on the sofa and pulled off his shoes. What did she mean by ‘deepest inhibitions’? He had been thinking about their conversation all the way home in the taxi. What started as a whimsical foray into the absurd was suddenly becoming more serious. He felt a little nervous. Anxious, even.
They had arrived back in DC late afternoon, and darkness was sauntering into his apartment. He stretched out on the sofa and took off his tie. He was wired. No way he was going to sleep any better than on the plane.
He realised that, while the idea of controlling the events of his dreams was exciting, he didn’t want to do that on his own. He wanted her to be there. His constant. Just like in real life, he needed that safeguard, that pace setter. He knew that without her he might spiral out of control.
Night closed in and his eyes grew heavy.
**********
He was standing in front of the warehouse again. But no Scully.
The wind blew fiercely, throwing a flurry of dust into his face. His hands shot to his cheeks and he wiped at his eyes. When he opened them again, patches of the warehouse were missing, like bits of a painting that had been washed away. The more he rubbed, the more it erased, until there was nothing left and he found himself standing in the corridors of the J Edgar Hoover building.
He heard footsteps. Scully?
Then came a squeaking noise. God no, not Kryqueg.
But this was closer to a mechanical sound. Like something turning on an axis.
In the dim distance, as the noise grew louder, something small and red appeared, with a wash of blonde hair above it.
It was Marita Covarrubias on a tricycle.
“Marita?”
Her face was deadly serious, true to form. Even as the tiny wheels squeaked under her and her knees kissed her cheeks, she remained stoic. Her feet pedalled furiously and she appeared not to notice Mulder who, silent and dismayed, watched her race past.
“Agent Mulder.” Skinner poked his head out of a nearby office door.
Mulder walked over. “What you got? A unicycle?”
Skinner looked stern. “Agent Mulder, you’re late.”
Mulder obediently walked into the office.
Skinner closed the door. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and fished out a packet of yellow powder. “Sherbet?”
Mulder shook his head. Probably another weird potion.
“I thought you liked flying saucers,” retorted Skinner. A ginormous pencil fell from the ceiling and Skinner caught it, crashing it down on a nearby cymbal.
Mulder blinked.
“Sir, does this situation strike you as odd at all?”
He inhaled sharply. “Mulder have I told you about when I was in Vietnam?”
Oh no, not this story.
“Yes, Sir…”
Skinner put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling in earnest.
“I enlisted in the Marine Corps the day of my eighteenth birthday. I did it on blind faith.”
Mulder sank into a nearby chair.
Skinner paced the floor. “I did it because I believed it was the right thing to do.” He sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I still do.” He took another sharp breath and spun on his heels. “Three weeks into my tour, a hula hoop rolled into our camp.”
Mulder frowned. “A what?”
“A hula hoop, Mulder. I couldn’t believe it either.” He cursed under his breath. “That damn hoop.” Mulder could see the veins engorged in his face. He reached the desk and did another about-turn. “It chose me, Mulder. What could I do?” He looked at Mulder and held up his hands.
Mulder held up his own hands, eyes wide and pursing his lips in consensus.
“I tried day and night to tame that beast.”
“The hoop?”
“Yes. But it couldn’t be tamed. She was a wild stallion. My coordination was no match. My hips were too stubborn.” He slapped his hands down on his sides. “DAMN IT!”
Mulder stood up. “Sir, I really should be-”
Skinner made fists and let out a wail.
“I think you might need therapy, Sir. But I have to go.”
**********
Scully lay in bed, struggling to sleep. It had been a weird day. She wondered if Mulder was asleep yet. She reached for some water, checking the glass for any rubber bits first. Who knew what was real and what was a dream at this point.
She glanced at her bedside table, and her eyes fell on a recent impulse buy - a bright pink book by some fancy celeb. It was full of anonymous fantasies and she had found it a little crude for her palate. But hey, if it helped her sleep.
**********
She was at the warehouse. There was no park this time.
She walked towards the door. It was padlocked shut, and the cat flap was boarded up. Probably for the best. Her knees tingled from the memory.
“Mulder,” she called. “Are you here?”
She heard someone shout, “DAMN IT!” But it didn’t sound like Mulder.
She ran round to the side, looking for another entrance.
It was icy cold. Steam bounced off the wall of the warehouse - it must have been warm inside. Her face was freezing and her jaw ached.
Actually, it was really starting to hurt.
She noticed then that something felt strange in her mouth. She tentatively poked a finger inside, roaming her teeth. As she pulled her finger back out, a tooth caught on it, bending forward.
She cringed, letting go. She gently probed the tooth with her tongue, and it bent again.
She’d had dreams like this before. A classic anxiety dream. What did it mean again? That she was afraid of losing people, or treasured things. Makes sense - she had already misplaced Mulder.
Freud thought teeth falling out represented repressed wishes.
Right now, it represented a pain in the ass when she needed to get going.
She gripped with all her might and yanked at the tooth. But rather than coming out, it grew a little longer.
What is it with my appendages, she thought.
She pulled again. The tooth extended upwards some more, now tall enough to reach the roof of her mouth, holding it open. Scully felt a rising panic.
Suddenly something entered her peripheral vision, and she looked round to see a man in sheriff’s uniform.
He tipped his hat. “Howdy,” he drawled in a Southern accent.
Sheriff Hartwell. WITH the buck teeth. Didn’t look so bad now, in this new context.
“GYAWWL!” said Scully, struggling to form words.
Sheriff Hartwell squinted. “I think there’s something in your um…” he tailed off.
“MULYER.” she said. “WHERE ISH MULYER?”
“I missed you,” he said quietly. He extended a leg, dusting the floor with his toes.
“NOW’SH NOT THE CHIME!”
His goofy grin drooped. He looked a bit upset, and then a little angry.
It’s okay, thought Scully. This is just a dream, remember.
But Hartwell was starting to look really pissed. His eyes glowed green, green like the night that she sat in the car with him in Chaney, Texas. This couldn’t be good.
He reached into his holster and a second later was pointing a gun at Scully.
Scully tried to respond quickly but felt like she was moving in slow motion.
The bullet struck her in the teeth - or rather, the tooth. It shattered, and the shards fell to the floor. She gingerly tongued the inside of her mouth, feeling all around, and realised to her relief that it was back to normal again.
Sheriff Hartwell had vanished.
Scully breathed hard and sank to the floor.
Her head pounded. She felt dizzy and nauseous. To make matters worse, the tinny sound of a zany carnival song filtered into her surroundings, getting louder and louder. She recognised it as the classic circus theme, Entry of the Gladiators.
In the distance she saw a small, yellow clown car heading towards her, and she realised the music was coming from its speakers.
Who was that bald man at the wheel?
She strained her eyes to get a better look, but the image turned blurry, and the music started slowing down until, at last, it became the rhythmic chant of her alarm clock.
**********
The office door swung open and Mulder stood in the frame, looking dishevelled.
“Mulder?” she looked up
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Me neither. I had a strange dream again,” said Scully, slowly resting her head back on the desk.
Mulder walked in and tripped over the wastebin, landing on one leg and balancing there for a moment. “Me too. So much for the excitement of testing our inhibitions,” he sighed. He pulled up a chair opposite Scully, slid out of his jacket and rested his head on his hand. “Was I there?” he mumbled.
“No, I couldn’t find you.” She lifted her head from the desk and rested her chin on her hands, looking at Mulder. “I tried.”
“I couldn’t find you either. But I sensed you were there. I got stuck with Skinner spouting a monologue about being in the Marines.”
“That old chestnut.”
Mulder smirked. “With a few tweaks.”
Scully smiled, then looked thoughtful. “Skinner was in your dream? I think I saw him in mine, too. Right at the end. In a tiny clown car.”
Mulder sat up straight. “He was raving about a hula hoop in my dream. Don’t you think that’s a coincidence? And what with Marita Covarrubias on a trike…” he muttered.
“Who on a what?”
“Maybe we were in the same dream after all, Scully. We just missed each other.” He leaned back in his chair, ruminating some more. “You know, this has all been happening since we’ve been working on this case, spending time together.”
“Isn’t that natural?” asked Scully.
“But we haven’t been dreaming in the same place. Maybe that’s why we never meet in the dream world. Maybe it’s because we’re too far apart in the real world. Like bad cell phone reception.”
Scully looked sceptical. She was tired.
Mulder’s eyes widened excitedly. “Maybe we need to sleep together!”
“I don’t think we need to be that close!”
Mulder enjoyed her exasperation and made a mental note of it.
He smiled. “No, I mean, in the same room. Maybe if we dream in the same room we’ll meet in the dream.” He absent-mindedly made an ‘O’ with his hand and placed a finger in the hole.
Scully raised her eyebrows.
Mulder sat on his hands.
“Mulder, how about we just go back to being normal people and wait for these dreams to stop?”
“Scully, you were the one who suggested taking advantage of this lucidity.”
Scully went to speak, then stopped.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t know, Mulder… I’m not good at relinquishing control. I tried that last night and ended up having a textbook anxiety dream instead.”
“I’ll be there with you.”
“That might increase my anxiety.”
Mulder grinned. “Come try it with me. Just once. If all your teeth fall out we can get you dentures.”
Scully sighed.