TITLE: Swamp, Swmp, Swamp, Swamp Music AUTHOR: Sneakers RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: VHR KEYWORDS: Mudler/Scully Romance, Lynyrd Skynyrd series SUMMARY: Mulder's talking in his sleep, and he's being *quite* revealing. Mulder and Scully are property of ten-thirteen productions / Twentieth Century Fox TV, and used without permission, but also without intent of malice, misuse, or copyright infringement. "Swamp Music" belongs to Lynyrd Skynyrd, and it too is used without permission or intent of copyright infringement. This piece is dedicated to Dani "Gumby" Vargas, who once tried to teach a horseback riding lesson in her sleep. SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP MUSIC by Sneakers <jhadden@willamette.edu> Dana Scully knew that something was wrong as soon as she heard the music blasting out of her office. Well, it was *partially* her office. And she would have to assume that the music was coming from the part of that wasn't hers. Because *she* would never play Lynyrd Skynyrd so loud that the walls vibrated. At least, she thought it was Lynyrd Skynyrd. It certainly wasn't any of their classic-rock radio standards; not "Sweet Home Alabama", or "Free Bird", or "Gimme Three Steps", but it sure as heck sounded like them. She opened the door; unfortunately, that just made the music louder. She couldn't make out a conscious melody, rhythm, or rhyme. Just two words, repeated over and over again, pounding into her head. SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP MUSIC. SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP MUSIC. SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP, SWAMP . . . Plugging her ears, though she knew it wouldn't help, she dashed towards the boom box sitting on top of a file cabinet, next to (obviously) . . . Fox Mulder's desk. Unable to stand the pounding long enough to find the power switch, she yanked the plug out of the wall. A blessed silence filled the room. It was then that she noticed her partner sprawled in his office chair, one foot brushing the floor, the other resting on the desk top, leaned back so far he was in danger of falling over. Sound asleep and snoring to prove it. "How in the world could anyone sleep through *that*?" she wondered out loud, searching through her desk for some acetaminophen that she knew was in there, somewhere. "My thoughts exactly, Agent Scully." She looked up, hand clutched around the finally located Tylenol bottle. Walter Skinner was standing in the doorway. "From what I hear, this has been going on all night. Nobody wanted to risk confronting ol' Spooky here while he was in one of his moods." She blinked in surprise, Tylenol forgotten. "You don't mean to say he stayed here all night?" She mentally smacked herself for her stupidity. <Of course he stayed here all night, Dana! What, he comes in early, just to listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd and fall asleep?> She looked back at her partner. He was, indeed, wearing the same clothes he had been when she left him puzzling over a case and promising to leave within the next ten minutes. His fashion sense may have been bad, but he wasn't tacky enough to wear the same garish tie two days in a row. Skinner said nothing, watching at the snoring agent. "Sure looks harmless that way, doesn't he?" he finally commented. "Knock some sense into the boy, will you? And tell him to leavthe stereo at home." Without waiting for an answer, Skinner turned and left down the hall. "Mulder, Mulder, what am I going to do with you?" she mused, extracting two Tylenol from the bottle, and, lacking anything to take them with, swallowing them dry. "Ohh . . . don't do that." Mulder's slightly groggy voice reached her ears a split second after she finally managed to swallow the bitter tablets. She spun around, wondering how Mulder had woken up so fast and what he had done to her Tylenol. A look of confusion flashed across her face at seeing him still sprawled and snoring, then vanished as quickly as it came. <This could get interesting! They say people are more honest when they talk in their sleep . . .> Work forgotten, <Are you sure this is a good idea, Dana?>, she searched out a cup of coffee and settled back in her chair. The first ten minutes were as boring as surveillance on a sleeping subject usually was. She listened to him hold one-sided conversations with unknown people. He sang a little. (Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music. Swamp, swamp, swamp . . .) She went to get another cup of coffee. "Frohike . . . I don't think. . ." He was mumbling more clearly as Scully came back in with the coffee. She set it down on the desk, and leaned back again. At least she knew who he had dreams about . . . <Something I don't *know* about, Mulder? Something I don't *want* to know about?> Of all the crazy things, he was smiling. "No . . ." (mumble, mumble) "No . . . now it's my turn . . ." His voice faded out, and he was silent for a few minutes. Well, it had been amusing. She walked over to his desk, her hand above his shoulder, ready to shake him, when he said her name. She stopped cold, listening, astonished. "Ohhh . . . Dana . . . come on, baby, please . . ." <He's *got* to be talking about some other Dana, pull yourself together, Scully!> Her hand falling to her side, she leaned quickly on his desk, sending stacks of papers cascading to the floor. He continued, clearing any doubts in Scully's mind who he might be referring to. "Mmmm . . . Scully . . . God, you look good in green . . .you know what they say about good things coming in small packages . . . hey, don't hit me!" <At least he got *that* part right . . . he's going to hear about this!> "Ohh . . . swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music . . . Mmmm . . . Dana . . . feels so good, come on, baby, don't stop . . ." Scully was blushing and silently cracking up at the same time, unsure of which emotion, embarrassment or amusement, was going to come out on top. Both were postponed when Mulder began speaking again. " . . . Dana . . . Dana Scully . . . what a name . . . love ya, Dana . . ." The embarrassment definitely won. " . . . swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music . . . ohhh, Scully, don't go . . ." <Well . . . this has gone on long enough!> Her hand came down on his shoulder. "Wake up, Mulder!" She shook him. "Mulder, were you here all night?" <My best Quantico instructor voice . . . come on, Dana, don't let him know you know!> "Huh . . . D - Scully? What are you doing here?" Mulder shook his head around. He blushed, faintly. "Shit . . . I fell asleep, didn't I? Was I talking in my sleep?" Scully smiled inwardly. "You were holding a conversation with Frohike." <Among other things . . .> "You also left the stereo on . . . you may have to be nice to Skinner for the next few days. Apparently the entire building heard your . . . uh, music, all night." He ran a hand through his hair, the relief at what she supposedly didn't hear becoming clearly visible on his face. "Uhh . . . Scully, let me get a cup of coffee, then I'll be ready to go, okay?" She nodded, filing the memories of his dreams in the depths of her mind. Some time in the future . . . Dana Scully peered around the edge of her living room curtains, watching Fox Mulder lock his car. He began climbing the stairs to her apartment. She turned on the "Skynyrd's Innyrds" CD, borrowed from her brother, an adjusted her new green dress, bought just this afternoon. She smiled as she waited for him tring the doorbell . . . THE END ThanX! . . . sneakers . . . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ . . . sneakers . . . "The Spirit is the Truth." <jhadden@willamette.edu> 1 John 5.07, RSV ------------------------------------------------------------------------------