TITLE:  Vigil

AUTHOR:  Leslie Sholly

E-MAIL:  PennySyc@aol.com

DISTRIBUTION:  Anywhere, with my name

and address attached.  And please let me know!

SPOILER WARNING:  Detour

RATING:  PG

CLASSIFICATION:  VR

KEYWORDS:  MSR

SUMMARY:  Fill in the blank for Detour.

What Scully did while Mulder slept.

DISCLAIMER:   Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox

own the character of Dana Scully.  I mean no

infringement or disrespect.

FEEDBACK:  Would be very much appreciated

at PennySyc@aol.com (Leslie).  

********************************

"I will not give sleep to mine eyes,

or slumber to my eyelids."

     - Psalms 132:4

*********************************

Vigil

by Leslie Sholly

*********************************

     "You get tired, you wake me,"  Mulder insists.

     "I'm not gonna get tired," I reassure him, and I gather him closer into 

my arms.

     Oh, no.  I'm not gonna get tired. Not tonight. And it's not because I 

suffer from the insomnia or nightmares that sometimes plague my partner.  No, 

despite the horrors I have seen, I sleep the sleep of the innocent, deep and 

dreamless.

  

     And it's not because I fear the invisible predators lurking, I know, 

somewhere in these woods.  We've faced worse--much worse--and survived.  I 

have my weapon, and the creatures' M.0. suggests they will not attack so long 

as Mulder and I are together.

     And it's not that I'm superhuman and don't need rest.  We've hiked a 

long way today.  My body aches and I'm weak from hunger besides.  Alone in my 

room I would no doubt be asleep as soon as head met pillow.

     But I'm *not* alone.  And that's why I'm not gonna get tired.

     No, I'm not alone.  Mulder is with me, his head cradled against me as I 

look down at him, his face only inches from my own.  And although my motive 

in taking hims into my arms truly was to keep him warm, that isn't going to 

stop me from enjoying the experience.

     I'm taken aback when Mulder asks me to sing.  It's not that I really 

can't carry a tune.  I'm not Broadway material, but I did all right in the 

choir in grade school.  I just feel self-conscious singing in front of him.  

Singing comes from a different part of my personality; it's more Dana than 

Scully.

     But then this is a different sort of situation, isn't it?  We've already 

had one of our rare serious conversations, briefly touching on the meaning of 

life and death.  Why do we have to be stranded in the wilderness to have 

these conversations?

     So I oblige Mulder.  I think for a minute and then begin, "Jeremiah was 

a bullfrog . . ."

     Why that song? I ask myself in my typical analytical fashion as I sing.  

Why not any of the songs I customarily think of as Mulder songs, the ones 

that start me daydreaming when they come on the radio, the ones I sometimes 

sing to myself, thinking of Mulder as I sit in my lonely apartment.  "Save 

the Best for Last," for example, or "The Search Is Over," or "I Can't Fight 

This Feeling Any Longer."  Even "You're the One That I Want"--although I'd 

have to ask Mulder to sing along.  So many songs seem to reflect our 

relationship that I could make several cassettes of them.  In my more 

pathetic moments, I've considered doing so.

     Then I realize the part about "Making sweet love" is approaching and I 

stop abruptly.  Perhaps my choice has Freudian undertones after all.  I steel 

myself for the inevitable Mulder quip about the missing line.  When none is 

forthcoming, I look down and realize that despite my off-key lullaby, he has 

already fallen asleep.

     I check his pulse and find it close to normal; he isn't bleeding and his 

respiration seems even--but mine is speeding up.  It's chilly out here in the 

woods but I feel decidedly warm as I gaze at my sleeping partner.

     Oh, I am definitely not gonna get tired.

     I know that were I in Mulder's place, I could never have fallen asleep 

so quickly.  Worry about our situation and my own helplessness would have 

kept me wide awake.  Mulder's quickness is a testament to his trust in me.  

He knows--not just intellectually but viscerally--that I will protect him.  

And like an innocent child with no idea of the dangers of a wicked world, he 

sleeps.

     Sleep is another great equalizer, I muse to myself. Everyone does 

it--everyone must.  No matter how driven the person or vital his cause, at 

some point the body takes over and sleep must come.  The last time I watched 

"Sesame Street" with Charlie's kids they played a song about that.  

"Everybody sleeps," it goes, all the while showing a variety of 

sleepers--babies, the elderly, men nodding off on the job.  Even the members 

of the Consortium have to sleep.  I wonder if the evil evaporates from their 

countenances when they rest as completely as worry and pain have vanished 

from Mulder's?

     For his face in repose is so unlined and peaceful. No trace of cynicism 

mars his features.  Glad my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I bend down 

to admire his long lashes against his skin.  He is perfect.  He may joke 

about his nose, but I wouldn't change a thing.  Tentatively, I run my fingers 

through his hair and he doesn't stir.

     I'm not gonna get tired.  Why should I sleep, when one of my favorite 

dreams is happening while I'm awake?

     When I was a freshman in high school, we read "Summer of My German 

Soldier"  A scene that made a big impression on my 14-year-old heart was when 

the girl in the story was watching the soldier sleep.  I remember thinking it 

would be wonderful to have someone you loved near you, to be able to watch 

him while he slumbered.  And I longed, as romantic adolescent girls do, for 

someone of my own to love.

     If I had known how long it would be until I found him, I would have 

despaired.

    But he's here now, and I'm here, and no matter what words have or haven't 

passed between us, I do love him. When we're in danger, I always remember 

this--but when the danger has passed, that knowledge seems to sink under the 

minutiae of our daily existence.

     But right now I remember and I hold him closer, and if a sleeping bag 

fell from the sky right now we'd both get lucky.  I'd get naked in a sleeping 

bag with anyone or anything from the cigarette guy right on down the food 

chain if it would protect Mulder from harm, but I'd prefer Mulder.

     And I look down at him and see how deeply asleep he is.  I ponder his 

full lips--really there is no other word for them than kissable--and I bend 

down slowly to touch them with my own.

     It's an earth-shattering moment for me.  Mulder doesn't respond or even 

move, but just the feel of his soft lips will be enough to keep my fantasy 

life going until I'm brave enough to kiss him while he's awake.

     Then I think how long this night will be, and how much of it Mulder will 

spend so deeply asleep that he won't be aware of me or anything I might do.  

I smile and bend to kiss each eyelid.

     I'm not gonna get tired.

THE END

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