Summer Dreams by Jori

Can Mulder give Scully everything that she wants and does she really want it in the end? NC-17

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

July 2, 1999
9:10 p.m.
Somewhere in New Jersey

"Perfect. This is just . . . perfect," Scully says, as she throws her hands up in the air in disgust.

"It isn't my fault," I say, as I dig through the trunk for something to wipe the filth off of my hands. "How was I supposed to know that the spare would be missing?"

I turn to look at her standing behind me. Her arms are crossed tightly against her chest, and she taps one little foot, rocks and then taps the other. From what scant light we have, I can see that the furrow on her brow line is nearing the size of the Grand Canyon. Or the Marianas Trench. Suddenly, a wave of heat lightning courses across the dark clouds behind her, and she is lit up like something from some late night horror show.

"Mulder . . ." she starts, and I know I'm in for it now. I'm tempted to hit the dirt and search for cover, but instead I put my hands on my hips, stick my chest out and take it like a man.

"Yes?" I ask, and for some reason that pisses her off even more. Of course, I should already know every reason she is mad. I shouldn't need to have it spelled out for me.

"First of all, you drag me all the way to New Jersey on a Friday before a holiday weekend to search for . . . what was it you called it again?" she asks, and I'm afraid to answer. "Oh, now I remember. The 'large barge of trash monster' --"

"That wasn't its name --"

"Second of all, I spend my whole day standing on said large barge of trash, digging through what might possibly be every single ounce of waste product created by the whole eastern seaboard only to find what?" she asks, her foot still crunch-crunch-crunching against the gravel on the side of the road.

"Nothing yet, but that --"

"To find nothing but several tons of trash, two dead puppies and one severed human arm," she says sharply, throwing her arm out to the side in demonstration of what we discovered. "A human arm that took up the remainder of our day as the police fought over who was stuck investigating where it came from."

"That doesn't mean --"

"Mulder, damn it, there is no monster killing the crew members of those barges. It is another human. And God knows if I was stuck navigating one of those around in this blistering heat, I might kill someone, too," she says, and from the look in her eyes, I think that person might be me.

"Are you about done?" I ask. Her eyes flare with another bolt of anger, and more lightning flashes through the hot sky.

"No. One more thing. Considering your cell phone is somewhere under all that trash back there, what in the hell are we going to do now?" she asks.

I look both directions. Not a single car has passed us since the tire blew. It is still and quiet out here, the only noise being the rumbling sky and the chirping crickets. Not even Scully's tirade quieted their symphony down.

"We just passed an off ramp a few minutes ago. I say we walk that way, get some help at the nearest town, and I will get you home so you can see your precious fireworks yet this weekend," I say, as I begin to lock the car up. I walk past her through the gravel and go several yards before I hear her crunching behind me down the side of the road.

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

Summerton, New Jersey
July 2, 1999
10:15 p.m.

"Summerton, New Jersey, population 402," Scully says, as we stand in front of the hand painted sign that looks like it is straight out of 1953. The '2' at the end of 402 is a recent addition. She has only said a few words to me in the hour it took us to walk here. Mostly those words were 'slow down' and 'damn it.'

"Let's just hope one of those 402 people has a spare tire to fit a Crown Victoria," I say, as I walk away from her towards the lights of the town. Once again, she follows behind me, mumbling something. The closer we get to the town, the cooler the air becomes. It is as if the heat wave gripping the rest of the East somehow skipped this little town.

Although it is only 10 o'clock, Summerton looks as if it has rolled up its sidewalks for the night. The town is beyond quaint, with a main street that has a diner and coffee shop, a barber shop with a pole rotating out front, a five and dime store, a service station and a small inn. There are some other establishments, their signs reading such things as 'Gloria's House of Beauty' and 'Allen A. Mickelson, Esquire.'

Scully and I look at each other, and she shrugs before pointing to the coffee shop. It appears to be the only place open at this hour, so we walk in. Everything is done in chrome and Formica, and I'm surprised a business in such a small town would go to the trouble of making everything look like a diner from the '50s. The woman behind the counter looks at us and pops the bubble hanging out of her mouth. She was refilling the sugar dispensers. They are the old fashioned kind, where the sugar pours out of the top. Not a teaspoon of sugar in its own sanitary little packet.

"What can I do for you?" she asks, acting as if strangers wander into here all the time. They aren't that far off the highway. Maybe they do.

"I'm Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully," I say, as I show her my ID. Her eyes widen slightly and she makes a humming sound. "Our car blew a tire just a little way from this exit back on the highway, and we don't have a spare. Do you know of anyone who could help?"

"That would be George," she says, not adding anything else.

"And we would find George where?" Scully asks her. Scully's tone has not changed yet, and I must remember this for the next holiday. Leave her behind. No matter how much I treasure our holiday time together, she doesn't appear to share the same sentiment. Perhaps it was just all the garbage.

"You aren't going to find George tonight," she says. Her name tag indicates that she is Barbara. It is pinned to her uniform on top of a white hankie folded into a perfect triangle.

"Why won't we find George tonight?" Scully asks, her patience being pushed to the limit.

"Oh, old George is probably drunker than a priest at an Irish wake by now. I don't think you want him to touch your car until morning at the earliest. Best would be mid-afternoon," Barbara says, with a chuckle. Scully is not so amused. I don't know whether it is because of the Irish Catholic crack or because we are doomed to spend part of the Fourth of July weekend in Summerton.

"So we can find George at the garage in the morning?" I ask, and Barbara laughs once again.

"Usually, but since tomorrow is almost a holiday, George might be taking the day off to go on an all day drinking binge. I wouldn't count on finding him until Monday," she says. She picks up another sugar dispenser and begins filling it.

"Is there a phone we could use to call for some help?" I ask, and Barbara looks at me strangely. I'm guessing that even a town this size would have telephone service and perhaps even basic cable.

"There isn't one here. I think Marjorie might be able to help you. She runs the guest house across the street. I imagine that is where you will be spending the night," Barbara says, nodding her head towards the window.

"Thank you. If you happen to see George . . ." I start to say.

"I'll let him know you are looking or him," Barbara says with another chuckle.

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

Satin Rose Inn
Summerton, New Jersey
11:35 p.m.

"Hi, I'm Marjorie Hamilton. How are you folks this evening?" an older woman says as she comes out of the back room and makes her way to the counter.

"Actually, our car is disabled on the highway. Barbara at the diner said you might have a phone we could use to call for some help considering George is otherwise occupied right now," I say, and go on to explain that we are FBI agents and need to get back to DC.

"I'm sorry but the phones have been out all afternoon. If you ask me, it is due to Eddie MacDougal's little fireworks escapade from earlier today, but nobody will fess up to that. Now if you need a room for the night . . ."

"Two rooms," Scully says, interrupting the woman. I look at her, wondering why she was so fast to jump on the two rooms thing.

"Oh, dear. I only have one room left. But there is a couch in there, and I'm sure this fine gentleman is willing to sleep on that and let you have the bed," Marjorie says. Scully damn near rolls her eyes at the one room idea. I know she is angry about the whole day, but does she have to make such a scene?

"Fine. We will take it," Scully says, and she begins to pull out her credit card.

"Once again, I have to apologize, but we only take cash. That will be $17 dollars for the night," Marjorie says, and Scully looks at her as if she is off her rocker. She shoves her credit card back into her wallet and tells me to come up with the cash.

I hand Marjorie one of those new twenties and she looks at it oddly, shakes her head and hands me my change. She gives Scully the key and directs us on how to work the faucets so we don't get scalded. Then she points us in the direction of the stairs and our room.

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

"This is just too quaint," I say, as I throw myself across the bed. I'll be damned if she thinks I'm actually going to sleep on that couch just because she's mad. We've shared a bed most every weekend and holiday since the end of December. Why should this one be different?

"Quaint? I think the word you are looking for is bizarre. We should have thought to bring at least one of our bags with us, Mulder," Scully says, as she looks around the room.

There is no phone. No color television or any television for that matter. And worst of all, there is no air conditioner humming away. Instead, all the windows are open, and the breeze is gently sending the sheer drapes floating into the room as if they are ghosts.

"You are right. Bizarre is a perfectly good word for this town," I say. She is standing there, staring at me. Her hands are on her hips and she looks like she is actually going to throw me over to the couch. "Scully, I'm sorry about today. I'm sorry about this whole weekend."

She just sighs and before she can say anything, there is a knock at the door. I climb off the bed, and open it to find Marjorie standing there with a pile of items in her arms and some clothes tossed over her shoulder.

"I noticed that you didn't have any bags when you came in, and I guessed that you left your stuff in your car on the highway. I brought you a few things to get you through the night and tomorrow," she says. She walks into the room, and deposits some of the items on the bed. She then hangs the clothes up in the closet before standing in front of us with a pleasant smile on her face before telling us all the events going on tomorrow if we are still in town. "Miss Scully, if you would like me to press your suit, just leave it hanging on the door before you go to bed."

With that she walks out of the room. I turn to Scully, whose eyes are opened wide as she stares at the closed door.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I never told her my name," Scully says, her voice barely audible.

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

Scully and I go through the items Marjorie left on the bed. We each got a new toothbrush, some kind of toothpaste I never heard of, and pajamas. The nightgown she left for Scully is made of a sheer white cotton, and the whole thing is embroidered with tiny rose buds. For me, she left a pair of traditional pajamas, with long sleeves and long bottoms. It is too damn hot for those, even though it is cooler here in Summerton. I give Scully a glance before I put them back down and go to look at what is hanging in the closet. She is behind me, and we both stare at the clothes neatly pressed and hanging up with an equal distance between them.

There is a dress on a hanger and it is quite nice, actually. Marjorie has good taste. Now how she ended up with a petite size three dress, I will never know.

"Red," Scully says as she picks up a shoe from the floor, and I nod.

On the other hangers, we find a pair of pants and a shirt for me. Also, we find undergarments tucked in a satin bag decorated with a big rose. I get the pinstriped boxers, I imagine. For Scully, there is a pair of panties and a garter belt with stockings, all brand new, of course.

"Looks like Marjorie suspects something about our relationship, Miss Two Rooms," I say, as I touch the satiny fabric of the panties.

"Mulder, we are getting out of here tomorrow," she says.

"Not before we figure out what is going on."

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

Summerton, New Jersey
July 3, 1999
9:58 a.m.

Scully dresses first in the morning, putting on the red dress. She did hang her suit on the doorknob before we went to bed last night, like Marjorie instructed and it is gone now. Off to be pressed.

"You look great," I say, as she steps into the matching pumps. Marjorie must have figured my shoes would do for the day, but I did get a clean pair of socks.

"Thanks," Scully says as she looks at herself in the mirror. A hairdryer was not one of the items left in the room, so her natural wave is starting to show as her hair dries. She did have some makeup in her purse, though. I don't know why she thinks she has to. She is beautiful without it.

She turns to look at the back of the dress. It isn't like anything she would ever own. It is fitted at the waist, and has what she called a scooped neck and cap sleeves. I think it is perfect. Scully said it looks like something her mother wore as a teenager in the '50s. I can't even describe what I'm wearing.

"You ready to go find George? Or to at least get a bite to eat at the diner?" I ask, and we both make our way down the stairs. Marjorie is at the desk, looking at some papers.

"You two have a nice day, now," she calls as we go out the door. She acts as if we are on a planned vacation here. Except we forgot our clothes.

The first place we go to is the garage. It is not open yet, and it doesn't look like it is going to be open at all today. There is an old, yellowed 'gone fishing' sign on the front door, and I'm guessing George went fishing for a couple of long-neck beers.

"Damn it. Maybe the phones will be working soon," Scully says, looking quite disappointed.

"If you don't mind me asking, what is your hurry to get home? We're together. What more did you want?" I ask her as we walk toward the diner.

"I don't know. I guess I just imagined watching the fireworks with you, on a blanket somewhere. And then we'd take those blankets. . ." she says, stopping when we enter the restaurant. My imagination begins to take over with the 'and then' part of her wish for today.

"Whose to say we won't see any fireworks before the day is through," I whisper in her ear as we wait to be seated.

A man named Gene, who resembles Barbara, shows us to a table and automatically brings us coffee. We place our breakfast order and begin scanning the crowd. Everyone is engaged in neighborly conversation, chatting about the weather or when they are showing up for the big picnic this afternoon. No one seems to notice us, or even mind that there are a couple of strangers in town.

"So, without George around to help us, and no way to call out to civilization, what exactly do you plan for us to do, Mulder?" Scully asks as she stirs the creamer into her coffee. She looks around for some artificial sweetener, but has to settle for sugar.

"I hear there is a great picnic going on this today. And then tomorrow there are fireworks down by the river at the park. Do you suppose Marjorie would have some blankets we could borrow?" I say with a grin, and she smiles back at me.

"I guess we just have to make the best of it until either George or the telephone repairman shows up," she says. Gene arrives with our breakfasts in a few minutes and leaves us a bill for exactly five dollars.

"Is it just me, or does Summerton seem to have not raised their prices to keep up with the current rate of inflation?" I ask.

"Mulder, I don't know what it is, but there this town just isn't 'right' and part of the reason it isn't right is that it is just too perfect. Nice people. Low cost of living. Everybody seems to know each other. They have town picnics on holidays, and I bet they even have a band to play 'Stars and Stripes Forever' when the fireworks begin," Scully says.

"What do you want to do, Scully? Investigate them for excessive niceness?" I ask. I still don't know what to do about this situation. I don't even know where to begin with these people and can't think of any nice way of asking them how they missed the bus into the late twentieth century.

"I just want to know why they seem to know us. Why they aren't surprised that there is someone new in there town of 402. Any why do they have a service garage but not a single car?" she asks as she picks at her pancakes.

"We could start at the library, but I don't think they will be open today. Or we could just do what the natives are doing. We will head down to the park this afternoon for the picnic," I say.

"I don't think I can take wearing Mrs. Cleaver's wardrobe for much longer," Scully says, as she tugs at the sleeves on her dress.

"In that outfit, I would say Donna Reed and not Mrs. Cleaver. Only you are far more beautiful than either of them and I would never expect you to cook dinner while wearing pearls and a pair of pumps," I say, taking the last bite of my breakfast. "Unless you were wearing *only* pearls and a pair of pumps."

"Thank you, Ward. Are you ready to get going?" she asks, sliding out of the booth.

I hand Gene the check and a ten dollar bill. I give him a three dollar tip just to see what he would say, and his eyes widen.

"Thank you, Agent Mulder," he says as we turn to leave. Startled, both of us turn back to face him.

"How did you know my name?" I ask. He hesitates for a moment, and then tells his story.

"My sister Barbara told me a couple of FBI agents were in town and she told me your name. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. We just don't get that many strangers here in Summerton, so I figured you must be Agent Mulder."

"Have a nice holiday, Gene," I say, before we walk out the door.

"That was strange," Scully says. "I'm amazed that Barbara could remember your name so well."

"So am I."

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

We walk down to the park right off of the main street. It is nestled between a river and a wooded area, and comes complete with a bandstand decorated in red, white and blue buntings. Balloons are tied everywhere, and I notice some young boys being admonished for trying to pop them all. A little girl is crying over her balloon that one of the boys popped, and her father is trying to console her.

It isn't only a town picnic, but the a church carnival complete with clowns and food and even a dunk tank. I can't quite figure out who the poor man is that keeps getting submerged into water, but I think it might be the town mayor. Scully and I arrived late, not wanting to be conspicuous standing there with nothing to do and no food to offer while the rest of the town chows down. All the food has been gathered up and all the plates have been stashed away to be washed later. I would have used those plastic compartmentalized ones myself, but this isn't my town.

The women are all dressed like Scully, in a dress and pumps. They all have perfectly coifed hair, and most of them even have hats on. They sit in groups, chatting and laughing away. Occasionally, one calls out the name of a child, and tells them to stop whatever offense they are in the middle of doing.

The men are all gathered in small groups, laughing and talking about baseball, I think. I don't recognize most of the names they mention. More men are playing horseshoes behind the bandstand, and there is often a metal clanking sound followed by some whooping and hollering.

Not a single person is in shorts and a t-shirt, even though the air is warm and sticky. The kids are even dressed nice and no one seems to be worried about them dripping ice cream on their summer clothes.

"Did you notice something strange about all the families?" Scully asks, and I examine the crowd more closely. "Every couple with children has one boy and one girl. There are no families of two or three boys. There aren't any couples with all girls. Just one of each. Not only do they have one of each, but they appear to all be twins."

"There have been studies done on towns where twins and triplets seem to be the norm," I say. We are standing in the shade of a large oak tree, away from the festivities. No one even casts us a passing glance.

"But even then you would get some where both were girls or both were boys. Eventually, somewhere there has to be identical twins," she says. She watches as two young girls of about the same age run by, both laughing and holding on tight to white balloons.

"See, two girls . . ." I start to say, and stop as their male counterparts go zooming by behind them.

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

Marjorie finally catches up to us, and begins to introduce us around. Most of the people smile brightly, and ask us about what we do, where we live and how long we have been together. In a strange way, they act as if they already know us, and are just asking questions to put us at ease. A few assume we are married, and we don't correct their mistake. When we ask what they do for a living, all the men answer that they work at 'the plant'. That is all they say. The women all stay home with their brood. There are very few older couples. It is as if they get shipped off to a geriatric version of this town somewhere else.

A band starts to set up in the bandstand and they even have a few 'modern' instruments like an electric guitar. I was expecting a night of Sousa.

"Soon, there will be dancing," Marjorie says, excitedly. "You two must dance. This band is the best. When Arthur was alive, we always looked forward to the Fourth of July dances."

Scully and I both look at each other and mumble something. In all these years, we have never had to dance in public. Sure, we have done all sorts of tangos in private since Christmas, but this will be a first.

"That would be nice," I say, holding Scully's gaze. She smiles slightly and looks down. I'm just glad she isn't still mad at me for yesterday. She spent the night with her back to me, but at least she didn't make me sleep on the couch.

"Marjorie, can I ask you something?" Scully asks the older woman.

"Anything, dear," she says with a smile. She's always smiling, always happy. Just like the rest of the town.

"Can you tell me about the children here in Summerton," Scully says, and the smile vanishes from Marjorie's face.

"What about them?" she asks, her voice growing distant. All that warmth she seems to exude just disappeared into the early evening air. She acts as if she is afraid we will find out too much just by knowing about the children.

"I was just curious about the prevalence of twins in your town. It is amazing how many there are," Scully says, trying not to sound too much like either a scientist or an investigator. She watches as two twins go running after lightning bugs, laughing as they catch a few, watching them glow between their fingers.

"Each and every one of them is a blessing. I would expect *you* to understand that, considering everything," Marjorie says, before turning on her heel and walking away.

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

Scully has been sulking since Marjorie left us here. No one in this town should know that she is infertile. No one even knows us, and she certainly didn't tell anyone. She is leaning against a tree trunk, her arms crossed protectively in front of her. The sun going down has brought a chill to the night air, and Scully's dress isn't exactly warm.

"Scully, she just guessed. I don't know how . . ." I start to say to her. I wrap my arms around her, and try to warm her up.

"Damn good guess, don't you think?" she asks, her voice sounding hollow. Her body is tense and I can tell she is angry. At least it isn't directed at me anymore. "Mulder, these people are hiding something."

"No . . . really?" I ask, trying to appear shocked that she would suggest such a thing, and she finally smiles just a little.

"Really. I just want to know what it is that they are protecting by pretending that it is the Eishenhower era," Scully says, as she peers around me toward the bandstand. Small children are sleeping everywhere, tired after a day of running around and eating ice cream. There are couples dancing on the temporary dance floor. The music is a mixture of tempos, some fast and rocking, others slow and easy.

I pull her to me, and hold her close. She sighs against my chest, ever so softly. I know she is tired of this inexplicable circumstance we are in, but I can't get out of it yet. Not unless we walk away and head towards the highway and our broken down car. I decide that tomorrow we will do that.

"Next song, no matter what it is, we are going to dance. I've wanted to dance with you for years. Tonight's the night," I say to her and she nods yes.

We walk down to the dance floor, her hand in mine. The night is dark with only a quarter moon and the floor is barely lit by a few overhead lights. Chinese lanterns are strung up between poles, and they cast a dim glow. The band finishes the song they were playing and start another one. Luckily it is slow, and I take her hand in mine as we begin to dance. The rest of this damn outlandish world we are temporarily stuck in can just vanish for all I care. She is looking up at me with those soft, beautiful eyes, and perhaps the rest of the world has vanished because she *is* the only person here as far as I am concerned.

The band plays 'Sleep Walk' and I pull her closer to me. She rests her head against my chest, and I'm sure my heart is beating in double time from just dancing with her. I feel like I am dancing for the first time with a girl in the junior high gym. Except I'm far more comfortable now than I was all those years ago. Scully pushes up against me, and I am thankful for the darkness. Her body moves next to mine, in time with the music, and she is so close and so familiar. My hand sinks past the small of her back, lower and lower. I pull her even closer to me and she sighs. This time with contentment.

I take a peek outside of our own little world, and notice that everyone else is dancing with a proper distance between them. The couples all look like they love each other, but they aren't necessarily in love anymore. Perhaps because of the stage of life they are in, the honeymoon is over. I appear to be the only one groping my dance partner. But no one else even seems to care.

The song ends and we stop swaying, but continue to hold each other there on our tiny corner of the dark dance floor.

"Will you come with me?" Scully whispers, her voice raspy and unsettled.

"Anywhere," I say, as she pulls me along behind her. It is my turn to follow.

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

Her legs are wrapped around my hips as I thrust into her, harder and harder. I swear the damn tree behind us is shaking from our combined efforts. Summer leaves come swirling down around us, damp from the night air, and they stick to our remaining clothes and our hair. If we keep this up, we might just uproot this poor tree.

"Mulder. . ." she says against my neck, her breath coming out in jagged little spikes of air.

"Ummh?" is all I can manage to say. This is all the farther we could go before we had to have each other. The need was too great.

"Yes, oh," she breathes, the words warm against my skin, and saying more is unnecessary.

Her nails dig into my back as she struggles to hold on while we take this ride together. They clutch at the material of this shirt that isn't mine, trying to pull me in closer. We can't possibly get much closer and still remain two people. Maybe that is the idea. We are meant to be one. Always have been.

"Got to . . . down," is all I say, and I fall to my knees taking her with me. I couldn't stand on my shaky legs anymore. I lie her down in the damp grass, and we don't separate. I am over her and in her. Music continues playing at the park, and I'm sure people are still dancing. But not like this. That was only the start of this. Dancing is foreplay that can be done in public.

Her mouth moves across my neck, and she teases her way across my jawline. We kiss and our tongues explore what is now familiar territory. She tastes of the fruit punch someone offered her and it tastes of the innocence of youth. Red fruit punch on a hot summer day.

"Don't stop moving," Scully says, pulling away from my mouth, and I didn't even notice that I had stopped moving.

I thrust into her again, and her hips rise to thrust back. The feeling of the cool night air and the damp grass just heighten the experience. This is so different from when we did it in that Florida greenhouse. We rarely ever attempt to do this outside, and the risk of doing this in this unfamiliar town makes it more exciting.

Scully's eyes are filled with her own fire and they spark with emotion. To watch them while I make love to her is better than any fireworks show could ever be. They say everything. They are filled with promises we are too afraid to voice. Here is where we can share them silently. This is where we have each other and nothing else matters.

I move until we are both on our sides, her legs wrapping around me tight. I move my hand in between our bodies, and find her clit. She makes a soft huffing noise as I touch her and her eyes go shut. I move in and out of her warm body and make those slow, circling motions with my hand that she likes so much.

"Scully?" I ask and her eyes open and look into mine again.

"Go ahead," she says, already knowing the question.

I plunge into her wet, warm depths harder and faster. She counters each thrust I make, her body grinding against mine. I can't help it. She is too much and I come inside of her, groaning her name. The woods disappear around me for a few seconds, and my head spins. When I finally return to this place, she is watching me, a smile dancing across her lips.

"I'm not done with you quite yet," I say, and I pull out of her warm folds. My fingers continue their play, tugging and rolling just right, making her moan from the sensations.

The skirt of her dress is around her waist, and her underclothing are long forgotten. Scully is exposed to the night, and I watch as the moon shadows play across her body. I delve my fingers into her body. She is wet from both mine and her fluids, and I continue to caress her. Her body finally quakes and quivers under my hand, and her back arches slightly. I feel her muscles tighten and relax around my fingers and she breathes heavily.

I pull her skirt down around her, and put my clothing back on. We both lie together in a little grass clearing and watch the star-painted sky.

"I think this would be a perfect place to watch fireworks from," she says, her voice finally returning to normal.

"And apparently we don't need those blankets," I say as I prop myself up on one elbow to watch her. She blushes from my comment. We stay in a comfortable silence, just listening to the night noises. The music has stopped and the festivities are coming to an end for today.

"Mulder, could you ever live in a place like this?" she asks me. I have to think about it. After everything I have seen, this town is just too good to be real. Everybody is too friendly. Everything is too picturesque. Happy families. Nice white picket houses. Something has to give sooner or later. Maybe they all have dead bodies in their basements.

"I don't think so," I say. "It would be a nice place to visit, but I don't think I could live here forever."

"There is something nice about it . . ." she starts to say, and I realize this place would fit perfectly into her normal life ideals. Well, if normal life doesn't include cars, televisions and packets of Equal at the local diner.

"Yes, there is," I say. I lie down in the damp grass and pull her close.

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

Summerton, New Jersey
July 4, 1999

"Are we getting out of this town today?" Scully asks, as we lie curled up in bed together. This place is so still in the morning. No cars. Barely any people moving about. Just a few morning birds singing from the trees. Perhaps it is quiet because it is a holiday. Perhaps because we stepped into the Twilight Zone.

"I want to do a little exploring," I say. Her hand moves up and down my chest slowly and she doesn't even know she is doing it. I can hardly remember the days when all I could do was touch her casually, putting my hand on her shoulder or back when going through doors and up steps. Soon I didn't even notice that I was doing that, either.

"I thought we saw the whole town and all of its residents. What is it you are going to explore?" she asks. The curtains flutter into the room, suspended on a breeze and I can see that the sky is cloudless today. It is going to be a beautiful Independence Day.

"We could take a tour of the library," I say, and she stops moving her hand across me.

"The library is closed," she reminds me. Like that has ever stopped me before.

"I think we can get in, for the purpose of our investigation . . ."

"What investigation?" she asks, and I can tell she doesn't like the idea of breaking in to a public building in a strange town where everybody now knows us.

"I would like to know more about this town, in case I want to retire here someday," I lie and she swats me lightly.

"Retirees don't seem to congregate here, Mulder. Just young families," she says. She climbs out of the bed and walks into the bathroom. I hear her turn on the water to fill the tub, and I get out of the bed.

"What did she leave for you to wear today?" I ask as I open the closet door. Scully's suit is back, but there is also a summer dress there, too. It is light and looks cool and comfortable. It has a large sailor collar and a piece that ties in the front. She walks naked out of the bathroom, and looks at it.

"I will look like a five year old," Scully says, her fingers feeling the cotton material. A new pair of pumps sit on the closet floor.

"Most five year olds don't have a figure like that," I say, looking at her naked body. I draw a slow, teasing line with my index finger from her neck down between her breasts and down further. Just being here in this town has made me want her constantly. Or maybe it has nothing to do with the town. I've wanted her constantly for years.

"Mulder, we have to get dressed . . . the tub is filling," she says, yet she still settles down upon my hand as I touch her clit. I want her. I don't care about the tub filling.

"We can make it fast or we can do it in the bathtub. . . like we always do at your place," I say. Her eyes are closed, and I can tell she is struggling to decide what to do.

"Fast," she says, pushing me backwards to the bed. She pulls my boxers down as I walk backwards, being propelled towards the bed. I step out of them and now we are both naked. "We have to do this before the tub fills and goes over."

She pushes me down on the bed and is on top of me quickly, taking my already hard cock into her body in one swift motion. Scully does all the work this time, and the old bed creaks under us. She moves up and down my cock with rapid ease, her breasts bouncing from her pace. I reach up and take them in my hands, stroking her hard nipples. Her eyes are focused on mine, and they are filled with an incredible amount of passion.

"That feels good," she says as she continues her bouncing above me. Her hand moves to her clit and she begins touching herself with a wild intensity, trying to bring herself to orgasm quickly. We have to beat the water. The bed is crying out beneath us, its metal springs moving right along with her. Anybody in this building has got to be able to hear this.

"Can you come for me?" I ask and she just nods yes. She sinks down on me one last time, allowing me to enter as deep as I can, and we are both coming together, before falling into a hot, sweaty mess on the bed.

"What was that all about?" she asks with a smile.

"That was about how I can make love to you under extreme time constraints. Now go get in the tub," I say, and she leaves me to go into the bathroom. I roll over to look out the window and at the cloudless sky. Yes, this town can be nice.

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

Summerton Public Library
11:42 a.m.

"Scully, come look at this," I say, and she appears from behind one of the library stacks. For such a small town, I'm surprised they have a library at all. And they keep quite a record of the history of Summerton. The library is located in the basement under City Hall, and I think it serves as a hall of records, too.

She looks to the passage I'm pointing to. I have a book opened on the table in front of me, and it has that library smell to it, a combination of dust and old paper. It always reminds me of Oxford and Phoebe and the things we did in between the old books. It isn't a pleasant memory.

"So, this town was founded by Marjorie and her late husband Arthur in 1949. Arthur was born in Germany and came to America in 1945, changing his last name to Hamilton," Scully says, and gives me a quick glance. "Arthur opened the 'plant' in 1950, whatever the plant may be, and the town has grown slowly yet steadily ever since."

"Now look at this," I say and open a record book to the year 1952. "One year after Arthur opened that mysterious plant of his, Marge and Artie had twins. A boy and a girl. No one else in this small town had twins or any babies for that matter for five years after Carson and Cathy were born.

"So, what happened to them?" Scully asks.

"On the Fourth of July in 1957, both children died in a house fire. From what I can tell, they never had any more children. But, the long series of twins, a boy and a girl each time, started in 1958. No one here has ever had just one child. No one has ever had two children of the same gender," I say, and she cocks her head and looks at me quizzically.

"Time to visit the plant?" she asks, after a few moments.

"How far can you walk in those heels?"

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

Summerton Dynamics is the name on the large sign out front. No one appears to be here, probably because of the holiday. There is no guard booth out front like there are at most large, modern facilities. Not that this place isn't modern. It is the only building that is not anachronistic in this whole town.

Scully and I enter through a shipping and receiving door undetected. There are no places for magnetic swipe cards and keypads that demand codes before entering the next room. Surveillance cameras aren't mounted in every corner.

It is dark in here, yet there is a continual humming noise, low and faint. We walk down several hallways before we find what looks like a laboratory but it isn't clearly evident what they are researching in here. Scully examines the vials and tubes.

"What are they?" I ask her.

"I don't know," she answers as she continues to examine everything.

The overhead lights suddenly pop on and the two of us turn towards the door, reaching for our absent weapons in a reflexive action.

"Find what you are looking for?" Marjorie Hamilton asks from the door. "Because here in Summerton, I can give you everything you are looking for."

"What is that supposed to mean? And what in the hell is going on this town?" Scully asks her sharply.

"Summerton is a unique place. We are form our community on traditional family values, where everybody joins in for family picnics and everybody goes to church on Sunday. Even today. I noticed you weren't there," Marjorie says, as she walks closer to us.

"I didn't know it was required of stranded motorists," I say.

"We have a clean park with an unpolluted river. We have a good school, a fantastic diner and one heck of a mechanic if he ever sobers up. We also have a very controlled population growth," she says. She picks up one of the test tubes Scully had just examined and swirls the liquid around.

"I noticed that your population only grows by twos," Scully says and Marjorie turns to look at her, test tube forgotten.

"And I was hoping the two of you might be our newest residents. Every year, on the Fourth of July we invite one new couple into our fold. We don't ask for much, and we give so much in return," Marjorie says, her eyes focusing on Scully. "I gather from the ruckus the two of you made this morning, you are in love?"

Scully lowers her head, breaking her staring contest with Marjorie. I'm sure she knows the answer to that one, but is just embarrassed over being heard.

"Yes," we both answer simultaneously and Marjorie smiles at us.

"The two of you are both instinctively curious. Most couples never went this far to figure out what was going on here in Summerton. They were just happy with the offer I made to them. So, to prevent any further trespasses, let me tell you about our work here," she says, and she walks towards the door, indicating for us to follow.

"You do something with the study of twins and fertility," Scully says.

"Yes, we do. Arthur had to put all that knowledge he gained in Nazi Germany to use, and to make it beneficial to mankind. He did not agree with the atrocities that went on there, but he was a scientist and was forced to do what they wanted. They wanted to increase their Aryan population by twos, and Arthur was enlisted to help them figure out how," she says as she opens another door, and we enter another lab that looks just like the last.

"Then why keep it limited to this town?" I ask. "Why keep this town stuck in the 1950s?"

"Life was so much better than," Marjorie says, as she slips into some memory. She doesn't even notice we are there for a few moments, before returning to 1999. "We were safe then. And we are safe here in Summerton now. Didn't you notice the change in your relationship already? The two of you went from asking for two rooms to trying to knock the plaster off the walls in just one day. This town is like that for everybody. For some reason, it is just conducive to that kind of . . . behavior. Consider it one of the perks of living in Summerton. People are very happy here."

"What does any of this have to do with us?" Scully asks. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest again, as if she knows what is coming next.

"This has to do with giving you everything you want, Miss Scully. A house with a yard and a dog. And children. Two of them. A boy and a girl. Every year I present this opportunity to just one new couple. This year, I'm presenting it to the two of you," she says, sounding proud of herself and her ability to do this.

"Why us? How did you pick us out?" I ask. No one forced us to come to Summerton. It just happened.

"I don't know how it happens, but every year on the Fourth of July another couple wanders in here, lost or stranded. And they always need what I can give them," she says. I have my doubts it is as simple as that, but she doesn't share any more of that story.

"But you don't understand. I'm not infertile because of scarred fallopian tubes or anything like that. I have no ova. None. No way to ever have a child that will be biologically my own," Scully says, her voice sounding challenging.

"Oh, that is an easy one to get around. I know you still have all the equipment in there. And science has come so far these days . . ."

"Cloning?" I ask.

"That is always an option," Marjorie says. I can barely focus on what she is saying. They are cloning human beings here? And she does this out of the kindness of her heart? I hardly think so.

"And in return we stay here? In Summerton? Forever?" Scully asks. I turn to look at her. She has that furrow back between her brow. She is actually considering this.

"Yes. The two of you would be beneficial to our community. We might even lift our rule about women not working in the laboratories in the plant in order to have you join us, *Doctor* Scully," Marjorie says, dropping her Miss title for Scully for the first time. "And you, Agent Mulder, could work here, too. I'm sure you will fit in somewhere, with your educational background."

Scully and I stare at each other now. They appeared to know everything about us over the last day because they *did* know everything about us.

"What about when the children grow up? Are they forced to stay here, to be part of your project? Or can they go on to normal lives?" I ask her.

"I'm curious as to how you define normal, Agent Mulder. Many of the children stay here. They marry, have their two children and are quite happy. Some prefer to leave this place and go off to college. But you would be surprised how many come back. Yes, once the children are born here, they are always allowed to return," Marjorie says.

"And you consider this normal?" I ask.

"I will give you the afternoon to think about it. The offer only stands until the last fireworks goes off tonight. After that, you will return to your life out there and quite possibly never have the things you want," Marjorie says, still focusing on Scully. "Now, would you kindly see yourselves out?"

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

We walk silently down the dirt road back to town. Neither of us has exchanged a word since leaving Marjorie's presence and now we are standing by the park. The small carnival is still going on, and kids are running around everywhere.

"Scully," I finally say, breaking the silence hanging in the warm summer air. "We can't do this."

She says nothing, but instead stops walking. She kicks some gravel with the toe of her shoe, scuffing them. She can't be serious. I can't give everything up for this. All those years I've spent trying to find the truth behind my sister's disappearance can't just be traded in the course of an afternoon.

"What is important to you, Mulder? What do you want out of this?" she asks.

"Out of what?" I ask.

"Out of this relationship. Where in the hell is it going? So, I love you and you love me. We fuck on the weekends and on various holiday vacations. Then we drag our asses back to work on Monday, keeping this a secret, though apparently, someone knows," she says, looking around. Judging from her lady-like language, I'm guessing she is pissed.

"There are other ways," I say. We have discussed this before. This has to wait until we are safe. Until we find what we are looking for and can provide a family the security it needs. Until we can devote our time to it, not to work.

"What if there aren't any other options, Mulder," she says, once again hiding behind those crossed arms of hers. I then notice that I am standing in my response posture, hands on hips. This is how it always goes.

"What about me? I'm supposed to go work at the 'plant' at some job suitable for an Oxford graduate with a degree in psychology and years of experience in law enforcement? What in the hell kind of job would that be? Janitor?" I say to her, my voice filled with more ire than I wanted it to be.

"Always about you," she mumbles.

"Always about me. *Me?* I don't think this one is about me at all, Scully. You expect me to just give it all up so you can play house . . . in one afternoon, I'm supposed to give up my life for this?"

"I thought it was our life. I'm expected to give up what could be our life for your life."

"And I was under the impression that what we did together, what we have searched for now for so long was our life," I say. I know she wants all these other things. I'm not blind. I just didn't realize how much she wanted them.

"So, when we get to the end of that life, what are we going to say we accomplished? We went to work? We tried to defeat a worldwide conspiracy? Yet, we never took the time to do what is important. What will last forever," she says.

"Scully, I can't. We can't. This isn't right . . . I can't give up everything out there to live in some fantasy land straight out of Disney World. A little clapboard house and a dog in the yard just isn't enough," I tell her.

"I'm not enough," she says, and she looks toward the ground.

"I never said that," I say.

"In a way, you just did," she says as she walks away from me.

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

I sit in the diner, stirring cream into my coffee, watching the Inn across the street. I was hoping Scully would come back, so I could explain myself better. But she hasn't. I can't find her anywhere and now the sun is beginning to set. The fireworks start in half an hour.

Everyone comes up to me, asking me if I will be moving to Summerton, and singing its praises. No place can be that good. There has to be some deep, dark secret living under the ground or in the basement of every house. There just has to be.

And what if there isn't? What if this place is exactly what it seems. A nice place to live where the whole economy revolves around a fertility treatment center. Right. Just too damn peculiar to be believed. And I am too damned jaded to be believed.

How can they even guarantee that two perfect little babies with be ready to go for a stroller ride in nine months? I wish I could have found out more about those labs. And about Arthur. How in the hell did he get in this country, anyway? And if he was so damn brilliant, why wasn't he working for the government and creating little human-alien hybrid clones? Maybe that is what all of this is. That could be why they know everything about us. And this is what Marjorie does on the side, to amuse herself.

This town is the vision of that one woman. She plays god here, giving and taking as she pleases. She gives them children, she takes away the rest of their lives. I'm not even sure why yet. In this alternate world she has created, everybody is safe. Or so she thinks. Her children died in this world years ago. No one is really safe.

I want to give Scully what she wants. A part of me just wants to make her happy. I'm responsible for her not being able to have children. I should give her this. Two children and a white picket fence. And don't forget the dog. If that is what she wants, then I will stay here with her. I have got to make this more important than anything out there. But it is so damn hard.

"You want some more? I'm going to be closing up in a minute to go watch the fireworks, but I think I have time to get you one more cup of coffee," Barbara says.

"No, thank you. Barbara, is there really a George?" I ask, pointing to the garage.

"Yes, there really is a George," she says, chuckling again. I still don't believe that he exists.

I pay for an afternoon's worth of coffee and walk out the door. I have to find Scully before the fireworks are over.

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

She is by the river, sitting quietly with her arms wrapped around her knees. The fireworks show has been going for twenty minutes already. I don't know how much time we have. Another one booms in the sky right when I put my hands on Scully's shoulders. She doesn't look at me, but rather looks at the lights flutter through the sky before they extinguish themselves into nothingness.

I sit next to her, and she glances at me for a second before turning her gaze back up to the lights in the sky. The sky bursts with explosion after explosion and they must almost be done.

"Scully, I will stay. I will do that for you. And for me," I say to her, taking her hand in mine.

"And I will leave. That is what I will do for you and for me," she says.

"So, which one will it be?" I ask, confused now. I thought I was giving her what she wants. There isn't any time to play these games.

"Mulder, it isn't that I necessarily want to stay here and live this strange life. For once, I wanted to hear you say that you would be willing to give up everything for me -- for something I find important. For you not to roll your eyes when I mention having a normal life."

The sky is still exploding overhead, as if waiting on us. Our lives have to be decided in the next few moments.

"I'll give it all up if it makes you happy," I say. "I will give it all up to make up for what I've . . ."

She puts a finger over my lips and shushes me. "No guilt. I don't want it because you think you have to. I want it because you think you want to."

"I want it," I say and the sky falls silent. A crowd on the other side of the river applauds loudly, offering up competition for even the loudest firecracker. We just sit in silence.

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

Somewhere in New Jersey
7:25 a.m.
July 5, 1999

Scully and I trek back up the highway towards our car. A note was slipped under our door stating that George repaired the tire and it is ready to roll. The note went on to read that they hope we enjoyed our stay and that the whole town was sad to see us go.

As we walk away in the early morning mist, I swear that Summerton is disappearing bit by bit behind us. Like a traveling show that only comes to town on the Fourth of July, it is gone now with the morning light. It must just be my imagination. Or maybe the whole town was in my imagination. Or in Marjorie's imagination. Perhaps she was trying to recreate the time when she had her children. Maybe that was the last time she was ever truly happy.

I turn back one more time, and the town is gone from my sight. It is a dream that we left behind. Someday we will find a place where both of our dreams can reside. Summerton isn't that place. We walked away from those dreams. But just for today.

I have no explanations as to how this place could exist. I don't think any are possible. It is someone's ideal and that someone is in control. Marjorie Hamilton trades on the strongest desires of others. She offers them hope and they must live in her world. She fulfills their dreams. It is a small price to pay for a family. It is a price we weren't willing to pay.

Scully is behind me, crunching through the gravel on the side of the road again. This time I turn around, and put my hand out to hers, waiting for her to catch up. We walk hand in hand down this highway. It is just the two of us. But we are in our world. And that will be enough for right now.

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

The End of Summer Dreams

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