Title: Angry Dreams
Word Count: ~1095
Summary: Monica comes up with an unusual solution to a problem.
Spoilers/Time Line: Set post series.
Archive: Only with permission
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to C.C. and 1013 Productions. Not copyright infringement intended and no money being made.
A/N1: Written for ariestess from her first line prompt.
Monica always knew those years spent in New Orleans would come in handy one day; what she didn't realize was that her knowledge of Voodoo would be required when living with one Dana Scully.
Dana had woken up in the middle of the night from a disturbing dream. It wasn’t one her usual nightmares that occasionally invaded her sleep. However, the dream did leave Dana angry and unable to go back to sleep. She quietly slipped out of bed so she wouldn’t disturb Monica.
When Monica got up in the morning, she found her lover in the kitchen nursing the last cup of what had obviously been a full pot of coffee.
“How long have you been up?” she asked.
“Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?”
“It wasn’t really a nightmare.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Dana replied curtly as she stood and left the kitchen.
Dana’s foul mood lasted all day. Even when she got home and found the nice candlelit dinner Monica had set out, she was still cranky. Monica, ever considerate, simply let her lover’s mood pass without comment. She knew Dana well enough to not push when she wasn’t in the mood to talk.
Dana awoke angry in the middle of the night again.
As well as the next night... and the next... and the next.
Finally, Monica felt it was necessary to get to the bottom of the problem. Dana was obviously tired and upset, and things weren’t improving.
She handed Dana a mug of chamomile tea and sat next to her on the couch. “Talk to me, Dana.”
“About what’s been keeping you up at night; about what’s upsetting you so much.”
Her first instinct was to deny there was anything wrong, but Dana closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. “It’s...” A heavier sigh as she opened her eyes. “It’s stupid, really.”
“No, it’s not. Whatever it is, it’s been disrupting your sleep for almost a week. I don’t want to push, but maybe talking about it will help.”
Monica was tempted to roll her eyes and say, ‘Of course, it’s Mulder.’ But she took a steadying breath instead. “Have you heard from him?”
Part of Monica feared she’d lose Dana if Mulder ever tired of life on the run. It had been bad enough when Dana took off with Mulder following his conviction for murder. She had feared she would never see her lover again, but, fortunately, Dana had only helped Mulder get a head start from the law before returning to DC... and to her.
Dana’s quiet response pulled Monica out of her thoughts. “Then what is it?”
“I keep dreaming about... everything that’s happened over the last nine years. All the times he lied to me; all the times he ditched me; his total disregard for his safety, for my safety; everything his damn quest cost me – my sister, my health, my son–” Dana couldn’t continue as the anger and sorrow overwhelmed her.
Monica took Dana in her arms and held her close as she cried.
“I just feel so angry... and I can’t seem to let go of it,” Dana said a couple of minutes later, as she wiped her tears away.
Monica kissed Dana’s forehead, then stood up and walked over to the desk. She took out a notepad and pen and returned to sit next to Dana again. She held them out to her lover. “Here. Write down everything that you’re angry about.”
“Trust me. Write it all down.”
Dana took the proffered items and did as Monica suggested. She quickly filled up half a dozen pages. She looked up when she finished. “Now what?”
Monica got up and went into the kitchen. She returned with a metal bowl and matches. “Now burn them.”
“Monica, that’s not going to change anything.”
“Then what will it hurt?” she countered.
Dana took the box of matches and dropped the pages into the bowl. She lit one of the matches and held it to the edge of the pages which easily caught fire. The paper burned swiftly.
Just as Dana had predicted, burning the pages she’d written didn’t change anything. Monica couldn’t sit by and not do anything to try to help. So after another four nights of her lover not getting any restful sleep, she decided more drastic measures were called for.
It was Friday. Monica did some special shopping after work, but she still got home before her lover since Dana had to drive home from Quantico. She was waiting for Dana in the living room, with her purchases on the coffee table. Exhausted, Dana didn’t even notice Monica sitting on the couch as she passed through the living room on her way to the bedroom. She came back out of the bedroom, after changing into jeans and a t-shirt, and tiredly dropped onto the couch.
“What’s all of that?” Dana asked.
“A good night’s sleep for you.”
A fine, auburn eyebrow arched. “A Voodoo doll and pins?”
“I know you’ve worked X-Files that included Voodoo before. You’ve seen the power it can have.”
“If you believe in it,” Dana countered, but then sighed. “You know what? I’m so sick of these damn dreams and am so exhausted that I’m willing to try anything at this point.”
Monica handed Dana a slip of paper and a pen. “Name what it is you want control over.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to name something to have power over it.”
Dana wrote down ‘dreams.’ If not for her dreams, getting some restful sleep wouldn’t be a problem. Monica then instructed her to pin the slip of paper to the doll. Dana watched as her lover lit some incense and some candles before pouring various liquids into a bowl as she recited something in Creole.
Before Monica was even finished with the ceremony, Dana’s eyes closed and her head dropped to the back of the couch. Monica smiled as she gently moved her lover’s body into a more comfortable position and slipped a pillow under Dana’s head. She placed a gentle kiss on Dana’s forehead after covering her with the light blanket from the back of the couch.
Dana slept for 16 very peaceful hours that night.
Even though the ‘angry’ dreams never plagued Dana’s sleep like that again, she would never admit that it was because of a Voodoo ceremony. But then Monica never told her about the gris-gris she’d placed under their bed either.
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