From: jennyann@ix.netcom.com (Jennifer Lyon) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: "Safe Haven" 1/5 Date: 28 May 1995 18:56:56 GMT "Safe Haven" An X-Files Story by Jennifer Lyon Jenni10647@aol.com JennyAnn@ix.netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: The X-Files, and all rights thereto, are the property of FOX network, 1013Productions, and Chris Carter. The remainder of this story is the property of the author. I do not pretend to any knowledge regarding the Navajo culture and religion. I am simply using the locale David Duchovny and Chris Carter left us in at the end of "Anasazi." Basically, my Navajo scenes have absolutely NO relationship to anything real, as far as I know, and I mean no disrespect. I'm just too lazy to go the library and look it up. :-) This story starts right at the end of "Anasazi": ----------------------------------------------------------- Farmington, New Mexico The words blurred. Agent Dana Scully leaned back in her chair and sighed. Even in an air conditioned motel, the New Mexico sunlight was a force to be reckoned with. It beat mercilessly through the windows, weaved its way through the drapes, glared off the papers and drew beads of moisture on her skin. Getting up from her chair, she headed to the bathroom to seek the relief of some cold water. She was still worried about the way Mulder's transmission had cut off, but all she could do was wait until help arrived. Only the ones who had taken Mulder out there could bring her as well - as hard as it was to wait, she had no choice. Venturing out into the desert without a guide was certain disaster. She swallowed the fear and anguish, reaching out for the bathroom door. But before she could step inside, the door opened and the old Navaho translator burst in. "Come quickly," Albert told her in a hard-edged voice, his aged features set in stone. Without question, she changed directions instantly, racing after him out into the parking lot, barely slowing down an instant as she was bathed in the direct heat of the midday sun. The trip out to the quarry was spent in silence, Scully was breathless, her heart racing. Something had happened to Mulder, he was in danger, and she felt frustrated and scared. They had been through so much, he had suffered things no one should have to deal with, and now he was alone and hurt, maybe dead - she thrust that thought away fiercely, instead sending up a fervent prayer that she would get there fast enough. The truck bumped its way over rocks and sparse vegetation, Albert gripping the wheel with tense determination. Scully held on for dear life, as each jolt threatened to crash her skull against the roof, or throw her aching shoulder against the door. Finally, finally, they came skidding to a halt on the edge of an old quarry. Racing out of the door, she came to the edge, only to see the black edges of smoke filtering up from the canyon below. Without waiting for her companion, she slipped and slid down, running up to the source of the fire. She could see the dust-covered top of a buried metal object - the boxcar Mulder had mentioned over the phone. "Mulder, Mulder!!!!!" she cried out, hearing her voice echo back from the walls of the quarry. But nothing answered but the wind and the sound of the fire burning below in the darkened car. She leaned forward to try to see in, but was met a blast of heat and smoke, causing her to cough and shield her face. Trying to figure her next move, Scully was startled when Albert came up behind her. The look on his face was full of sorrow and sympathy. "What happened!" she demanded. "Where is Mulder?" His mouth tightened and he shook his head. "No, DAMN YOU!" she shouted, following his eyes to the burning hole and back. "NO!" She leapt to her feet and hollered at the sky, "MULDER!!!!!!!!!!!!" There was nothing but the echoes and the wind. - - - - - The crevices in the rocks were tight, dipping at odd angles, making him bend himself through them, twisting and turning to seize the next handhold. Sometimes, the space was so small, that he felt the very air being squeezed from his lungs, but inch-by-inch he pushed himself onward. There was air here, so there must be a way out. Images, nightmares, kept flashing in front of his mind - but he forced them down deep inside, focusing only on moving forward. Keep going, he just had to keep going. Concentrate on nothing else, except the need to keep crawling through the dark. It seemed ages, but at last he felt a brush of fresh air across his sweat and dirt encrusted face, and he bent upwards towards, blinking at the increased light. Tears mixed with grime, causing muddy streaks to form along his raw and scraped cheeks, and he extended a swollen and bleeding hand towards the sun. With renewed determination, he pushed himself onward, at long last closing his hand around the rim, and crawling out into the afternoon sun. The hole he came out of was on a hill-side, and the world tipped dangerously as he tried to stand up. A cry escaping from his chapped lips, he tumbled down the rocky slope, head over heels, his scream torn away by the wind. - - - - - Kneeling by the edge of the car, the old Indian silent and respectful of her grief, Scully let the last of her tears drip down her cheeks. Suddenly feeling an exhaustion so deep it penetrated her bones, she stumbled to her feet. Her companion reached out to take her arm, then froze as an abrupt scream split the air. Both spun, only to watch an object roll down the hillside, spitting loose boulders and dust to fall with it, until it came to a halt on the quarry floor and lay still. Scully raced over to it, drawing her gun out of pure reflex. but as she came up beside the unconscious form, the weapon fell from her hand and she dropped to her knees. Under the torn clothes, dirt, ashes and streaks of blood, was the battered body of a very familiar man. "Mulder?" her voice was soft and questioning, then again, "Mulder!" this time demanding. His only response was a slight groan and shift, but it was enough to make her eyes blink in search of more tears. Her emptied tear ducts squeezed out a couple of drops, but they were ignored as she reached out to gather him up in her arms. Turning her head, she yelled at Albert, who standing behind her. "He's alive, get help!" Then she gave all her attention back to her wounded partner, sweeping the heavy black bangs back of his forehead, then caressing his cheek gently. "He's alive." - - - - - Scully would never remember much of the trip back to the motel. A couple of unknown faces, strong men with long black braids and embroidered shirts had lifted Mulder's body out of her arms and carried him up to the truck. The another pair lifted her, and half-carried, half-dragged her up the quarry wall. Then there was the return trip, a haze of jolting over rocks, feeling her heart constrict as each bump caused Mulder to cry out in barely conscious pain. She had soothed him as best she could, holding him tight against her until they finally came to a stop. They had assisted her in getting him into the motel, then had faded into the background as she forced herself into medical mode, giving her silent assistance as she demanded it. Soon, but not fast enough for her, Mulder was stripped and cleaned, towels and water turning black with filth. But once it was cleared from his skin, she felt a sudden rush of relief. Most of his injuries were surface, scrapes and bruises, cuts, and gouges, but nothing deep. Soon the oozing blood was cleared away too, and bandages were carefully applied to the worst of the wounds. He sighed and shifted but did not awaken, which began to worry her. Anxiously, she checked every inch of his scalp, threading her hands through his still-soft hair, but was unable to find any sign of injury. Leaning back she watched him with bloodshot eyes, as he stirred and moaned, then lay still again. "Let him sleep now," came a voice and she pivoted in surprise. The old Indian's eyes were gentle as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "The Truth Seeker is simply exhausted, as are you. You both must rest now." "No, I...he..." Scully tried to speak the thoughts that raced through her mind, but she couldn't form the words, her tongue slipping in her mouth. "Sleep now," Albert told. "You'll be safe here." She shook her head at that, they weren't safe here or anywhere, but the strain of the past few days was taking its toll, and she could feel herself slipping downward. Her eyes slid shut, and she barely noticed as she was lifted up and set down on the bed beside Mulder. - - - - - The room was lit by a small lamp as Scully awoke, her head nestled against something warm. Memory flooded her, and she pulled to a sitting position, then reached to check on Mulder. He was sleeping peacefully, his breath coming evenly. In the shadowed light, his face looked young and peaceful, the lines smoothed out, the pain gone, taking years with it. Movement just outside the edge of her vision caught her attention, and she turned with a gasp, then smiled at the now familiar face. "Here," Albert offered her a cup and she took it gratefully, sliding off the bed. As she sipped at the hot coffee, feeling it warm her throat and belly, she stepped over to the window. Looking out at the bright, moonlit night sky, she closed her eyes for a moment, then stared up at the old Indian. "What happened?" "My grandson was the one who guided your partner out to the quarry. He was picked up by some men in uniform. US Army. They were looking for Mulder, who had gone into the boxcar. But they couldn't find him in there. They forced Eric to go with them in their helicopter, then tossed a bomb into the car. They held him for several hours, then let him go." "But if Mulder was in the car, then how did he survive?" "There was an earthquake recently, which brought the car to the surface." He gestured widely, "The hills around here are honeycombed with passageways. Some too thin for a child to get through, others wide enough for a man to stand upright. He must have found a way out though them." "Thank God," she breathed. He nodded. "Your grandson, he's okay?" "Yes, he is fine. He simply played the dumb Indian," Albert's face creased into a smile of amusement. "Told them he had paid by the strange man to bring him here, and he didn't know more than that. They gave him a warning to keep his mouth shut, and let him go." He shrugged. "Who'd believe a teenage boy anyway, especially a Navajo." 'Who'd believe a pair of fugitive FBI agents,' Scully thought wearily. The question was what to do now, but before she could even open her mouth to speak, her friend interrupted with the air of someone who knows that he is yet again the bearer of bad-tidings. "There is something you should see." She gritted her teeth and nodded, accepting the newspaper he handed out to her. Moving over to stand under the lamp, she spread out the front page. "Oh my God," she gasped as she came face to face with her own picture, and that of her partner. Her eyes fled upwards to the banner headline, "MISSING FBI AGENTS SOUGHT IN KILLINGS." Her stomach began to flip in her belly, sending waves of nausea through her as she began to read. "FBI Agent Fox Mulder...wanted for questioning in connection with the shooting death of his father, William Mulder...Body of FBI Agent Alex Krycek found beaten to death...Mulder and partner, Dana Scully missing...Agent Mulder showing signs of emotional breakdown...all federal and state agencies alerted...believed to be armed and dangerous..." She thrust the text away from her, clenching her fists. "It's not true." Her voice was low, but clear. "Lies, always more lies." She looked up at the man who had so recently been a stranger, and now held their lives in his hand. He reassured her with a nod. "No one frightens those with secrets more than one who is willing to sacrifice himself for the truth." They both turned to gaze at the sleeping man on the bed. "I don't know what to do anymore," she admitted, barely holding onto control of her voice. "Up until now, I thought that there was a way to find justice, to prove the truth by the book. That there was still a place for the Bureau in my life." She bent her head back, staring at the ceiling. "I could go back. Tell them it was a mistake, try to tell them the truth. But they wouldn't believe me. I know that now. At best, they wouldn't believe, at worst they would kill me. They will kill him if they get the chance. And there's no place left for us to go." Life was tumbling down around her, and she felt empty. The last of her beliefs were crumbling, and she was left without a center, without guidance or understanding, "I have a place you can go. You both need time to rest and recover. Decisions can be made later, once you are both well and safe." Albert offered firmly, causing Scully to turn to him in surprise. "Why are you helping us?" she asked, not necessarily out of suspicion, but rather out of pure confusion. He was silent for a moment, then answered seriously, "Because he is a Truth Seeker, and that is rare and to be valued. Because, you need the help. Because I know enough of the truth to realize how important both of you - and your work is - how important THAT is." He pointed to the pile of translated Defense Department files on the desk. Then he grinned, "and perhaps, because I never thought I'd meet a par of feds who were decent people." He winked at her. "Figures they'd be out to get you." With that he turned and headed for the door. Just as he was closing the door behind him, he met her eyes again. "Rest, but be ready. We will move you as soon as it is safe." - - - - - Mulder was burning up with another fever, and she spent several long hours by his side, wiping his brow with cold cloth, trying to force water-solubilized antibiotics down his throat, dozing when she got the chance. Just as she was falling into another fitful slumber, a hand shook her shoulder while another closed down on her mouth. "Shhh," a voice sounded in her ear. "The government men are coming. We have to move you now." She looked up into the bronzed Navajo face, unfamiliar, but welcome, and nodded. He released her, then offered her a hand to help her to her feet. Together, they picked Mulder up and hauled him out to the waiting truck, laying him on the flat bed, then covering him with a heavy woolen blanket against the desert night chills. The she raced back in and threw all of their stuff together, making certain she had picked up every piece of the DOD document, and tossing it into her briefcase. Then tossing it all into the truck beside Mulder, she climbed in and lay down next to him. A heavy blanket was tossed over her, and she drew it around both of them, pressing herself close to her unconscious partner as the engine burst into life and the truck jolted to a start. - - - - - The ride though the night was another long nightmare, the sounds of the sirens blaring, as the police cars rolled past them on the street, almost giving her a heart-attack. Once that sound had been familiar and comforting, meaning help and safety, now it was menacing and frightening. It meant certain death for Mulder, and maybe for her as well. She knew that she already knew too much. They'd never let her go free. Though, in fact, THEY were probably sitting back and relaxing, happy to let the FBI and police do their dirty work for them. Watching the news on the small TV in the motel room had become an exercise in frustration and irritation. As they broke Mulder's life apart, all she could think was that there was easily enough agony there to make any newshound grin from ear- to-ear. The brilliant eccentric, gifted and admittedly idiosyncratic, obsessed and driven; his extraordinary talent for getting into the mind of serial killers only helped make him an easy target for their slander. Throw in the loss of his sister, rumors of child- abuse, and his preoccupation with the UFO phenomena, and you had the perfect picture of a man who's sanity had finally slipped over the edge. The Bureau was playing it safe, speaking in dulcet tones about the stress of the job, the effect of steady delving into the minds of psychotics on a 'sensitive intellect.' Refusing to state more than that the missing agents were 'wanted for questioning,' the Bureau touted Mulder's accomplishments loudly, while psychiatrists battled over their chance to speak to the multitude. She had almost broken the TV when one white-haired 'expert' began expounded on the connection between genius and insanity. All she could hope for now was a chance to get somewhere safe and bring Mulder back to health. She needed him; despite his obsessions, he was all she had. And she trusted him more than anyone else... No, she corrected herself. He was the only one she trusted at all. Out of the influence of the drugs they had pumped into him in the recent days, he was smart and capable, able to face his own weaknesses and mistakes; mostly when she forced him to look, but he DID listen. Together, they were a powerful team: an equal balance of skills, training, styles, and abilities. Together, they might stand a chance of getting out of this alive. - - - - - Just as dawn began to send steaks of red through the sky, the truck pulled to a stop. Pushing bright strands of hair out of her eyes, Scully peeked out from under the blanket. The driver was already coming around the truck to help her up and out. Her legs felt unsteady on the rocky ground, but it felt good to be standing on her own two feet. Looking around her in the soft dawn light, she drew in a deep breath. Wherever they were, it was wild and beautiful in its natural splendor. A small trickle of water ran in a small riverbed beside the truck, which was parked at the bottom of a long canyon. Huge walls of red stone rose on either side, dotted here and there with sparse vegetation, mostly the prickly odd-shaped cactuses. A small building made of fitted rocks and dried mud was to her right, next to a small corral that held several horses, their smell filling the air. The door opened and two people stepped out, both wearing that odd mixture of modern American and traditional native clothing that she was beginning to find characteristic of these people. One was a young woman with long black hair flowing around her, the other was an ancient man, with a face so full of wrinkles and folds, that she could barely make out his eyes. But he moved nimbly on his cane, and his mouth was bent upwards in a smile of welcome. They broke into conversation with the driver in the musical Navajo language, each gesturing vividly. Scully knew they were talking about her and Mulder, and felt frustrated at not being able to understand. Unable to do anything else, she got back up onto the back of the truck and sat down beside Mulder, automatically reaching out to check his pulse and temperature. The former was steady, the latter a little warm - but definitely improved, and that knowledge gave her a slight uplift. The truck creaked behind her and she turned to see the ancient scramble toward her on his knees. She tensed slightly, feeling suddenly protective of Mulder, but she could sense no threat from the old man. He came to a stop beside her, then stared down at her sleeping partner. Lifting a gnarled hand, the ancient Navajo reached out and touched the sleeping man's face, then closed his eyes and began to chant. Taken aback, she sat there, watching and listening, far beyond her ability to protest or argue. After several long moments of the sing-song chant, the ancient sat back and smiled. Turning his head to the other two standing at the end of the truck, he issued a couple of commands in Navajo, then scrambled back to be helped down. The woman then reached out to Scully and finally spoke in clear English. "Ms. Scully, would you like to come in and have something to eat, you must be starving." Scully began to shake her head, her thoughts still focused on Mulder, but her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. Placing her hand over the offending organ, she found herself slowly mirroring the other woman's smile. And suddenly, for the first time in several long days and nights, she began to feel like maybe - just maybe - they were safe. For now. - - - - - Somewhere on the Navajo Reservation New Mexico Mulder stirred, turned over onto his side, and took a deep breath. Something was scratching the side of his face, and he brushed at it, feeling it gather under his fingers. His eyes still closed tightly, he drew in another breath, letting the smell of wool, dirt and smoke drift into his nose. Sudden memories flooded him, and he jerked to a sitting position, squinting in the dim light. He was in some kind of small cabin, except that it appeared to be made of mud and stone rather than wood. The floor was packed dirt, with brightly patterned rugs spread out over it. The furniture was simple, a small wooden table and two chairs, a large tub, a small counter and shelf along one wall. The bed he was laying on was huge, taking up half the room, sitting low to the floor. He lifted the scratchy wool blankets up, finding that he was dressed in an embroidered robe that fell almost to his knees, the top open almost to his navel, several ties loose in their holes across his chest. Placing his bare feet on the floor, he looked again for some sign of life, relieved to see that he was at least alive, and not too badly hurt. There was just enough pain behind his eyes, and lancing the still-raw areas in his skin, to convince him he was not yet dead. But if he wasn't in the afterlife, then where was he? "You're awake," a warm-toned female voice sounded from his left. He lifted his head and peered at the silhouette framed by bright sunlight in the doorway. It was small and slender, the head surrounded by a brilliant red halo. "Scully," he said, feeling the muscles of his face complain as he stretched them into a wide smile. A sudden jolt of pain stabbed behind his eyes, and he buried his head in his hands with a groan. Instantly, she was beside him, reaching out to steady him. "Easy," she scolded, pushing him downwards towards the bed. He went willingly, and once he was stretched back out on the bed, she pulled the covers back up over him. "Where are we?" he whispered, drinking in the sight of her, feeling her presence warm his entire body. More memories came back, and he shuddered slightly, how could he have said and done the things he had, after all they had been through. She meant so much to him, and even the knowledge that it had been the drugs he had unknowingly been fed, he still felt ashamed of himself. Scully saw a flood of emotions wash across his mobile features, and she tried to reassure him. "We're safe," she said gently, pressing her palm into his forehead, relieved to feel the coolness of it. "The Navajo's brought us here, I'm not sure where exactly, but it's isolated and secure. No one will find us here. Do you remember what happened?" She eyed him anxiously. He swallowed then nodded. "I think so. The boy took me out to the quarry. I was speaking to you on the phone when suddenly the door slammed shut on me. I could hear loud noises outside, and figured I was in trouble. I buried myself in the skeletons," he shook visibly at the horror of that memory, then forced himself to continue. "Someone poked around a bit, but didn't mess with the pile I was under. Then I heard the order to burn the place, and figured I needed to get out fast. But there wasn't time to get out the way I'd come in, but I did find hole in the far wall that led into some kind of crevice. There was an explosion behind me, and I pushed myself thought the rocks as fast as I could. For a few minutes there I thought I was dead, but most of the fire burned up towards the open air, rather than into the rocks , so I was able to get away deeper into the crevices. I don't know how long I spent crawling around in there, but finally I got out. I remember falling, then...waking up here." Scully nodded. "The army showed up, took the boy away." At Mulder's worried look, she reassured him with a brief smile, "He's fine. They released him. I went to the quarry to find you," Her face tightened. "For a while I thought you were dead, then all of a sudden you came tumbling down the quarry wall. Scared the hell out of me," she added, softening the words with another smile. He smiled in return, then his face settled again. "How'd we end up here?" "The Navajos helped me get you back to the motel and clean you up. You were in pretty rough shape." She frowned again, this part was not going to be easy to tell. He saw the grimness of her expression and frowned, while his eyes urged her on. "Krycek is dead," she said bluntly. "Someone beat him to death in your apartment." "What?" he exclaimed, " but..." "He was alive and well, when we left Washington. I had enough on my hands getting you into the car, so I wasn't paying attention to where he went. They must have grabbed him pretty quickly." "But if they..." Mulder's face took on a look of concentration, trying to fight the drug-induced haze that shaded those days. "If they killed him, then who...do you think...?" "Do I think he killed your father?" She shook her head. "I don't know, Mulder, I just don't know." He accepted that silently, then waved his hand, gesturing for her to continue. "Of course, they think you did it, after you killed your father. There is a country-wide manhunt out for you right now, well...for us." She told him as gently as she could. "Oh God," he leaned back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he opened his eyes, letting his dark hazel gaze close on her face. Reaching out to take her hand, he spoke with utter sincerity. "I'm sorry, Dana. I'm sorry I got you into this." "It's not your fault." She told him, squeezing his hand. "I'm a grown woman, and I got myself into this. I'm the one who shot you, remember." she grinned at him, and he couldn't help grinning back. "I'm not likely to forget." he replied. Then he sighed and releasing her hand, rubbed at his face wearily. "So how did we escape?" he asked. "The locals apparently have little liking for the US government, and the spectacle of two feds on the run from their own people appears to have sparked their sympathy. That and the fact they know full well something is going on. Several of them saw what you did in that railway car, so they are quite willing to believe. Anyway, they trucked us out into the middle of nowhere, then loaded us on horseback, you in a litter, and brought us out to the *end* of nowhere. That was yesterday. We have enough supplies to last us a couple of months if we're careful, and a well that should keep us in water. They will visit us with news in a couple of weeks." That caused him to sit upright. "A couple of WEEKS! Scully, we can't stay here for that long." "We may have to stay here longer, Mulder," she insisted. "Our faces are all over the news, they're playing this to the hilt. You are considered armed and dangerous; they're not certain if I'm a hostage or a willing accomplice - but they are leaning towards the latter. We take one step into a public place and we're as good as dead. They'll make sure of that." He didn't like it at all, but he saw the sense in her words. and he was tired. Like it or not, he did need time to rest and to think. Leaning back he let her see his surrender in his face, and she responded by helping him settle down. "Get some rest, Mulder. I'll fix us something to eat, okay. We'll have plenty of time to talk." - - - - - Waking up slowly, Mulder turned and blinked at the stream of light coming through the open door and windows. Sliding his legs onto the floor he tested his bare feet on the rug, then pushed himself upwards. His shoulder protested the movement, but his legs held. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around for his clothes, but nothing was there in the tidy little room. Feeling the heat of the desert sun on him as he walked to the doorway, he decided that the cool linen robe wasn't all that bad, even if he felt like it was a native form of a hospital gown. Stepping out into the open air, he squinted, shielding his eyes with his hand. The cabin was in a small canyon, a barely trickling stream nearby, lined with a few trees and hardy grasses. There was a fence nearby, within which he could see a couple of horses grazes along the water's edge, and to his left was a small well with a hand-pump and bucket. "How are you feeling?" Scully's voice sounded behind him, and he turned towards her. She was dressed in a pair of cut- off jeans, sneakers, and a loose white, brightly embroidered top. Her shining copper hair was bound up a pony-tail, a few strands curling around her chin. She looked fresh and relaxed, and he suddenly felt rather conspicuous in the nightshirt. Pulling slightly at the hem, he reminded himself that she was a doctor, that she was in effect HIS doctor, and had been since they had become partners. He usually avoided doctors at all costs, so she had taken over that role, just as she had taken over so much of his life. Not that he wasn't happy and grateful to have her, on the contrary, he didn't know what he would do without. 'You'd be dead,' a small inner voice reminded him, as he cleared his throat and quietly assured her that he felt okay. "Uhn, Scully, do you happen to know where..." He asked, still fumbling with the robe. She grinned with amusement at his embarrassment, but soon took pity on him. "I didn't have a chance to bring much with us, but the Navajo's loaned us some things. They're in a box under the bed. Soon she was handing him a pair of jeans and a loose blue shirt, rather similar to the one she was wearing. Figuring there really wasn't much of him she probably hadn't seen already, he simply abandoned the robe and pulled the new clothes on as quickly as he could. The waist of the jeans was a little loose, but otherwise, it wasn't too bad, and a thin leather belt with a silver buckle solved that problem. "Hmmm," she said, watching him adjust the shirt sleeves. "You won't win any fashion prizes, but it'll do." "Hey, I'm the model of a modern cowboy. All I need are the boots." He placed his hands on his hips and posed at her. She laughed, gave him a poke in the belly, and went over to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm afraid you'll have to use your sneakers or go barefoot for now. When Albert and the others come to visit, maybe you can ask them for the boots." He sat down beside her, his expression settling into a slight frown. "Have you heard anything at all while I was sleeping?" "No," she replied. "And the less contact we have with the world right now the better. Give them, and us a chance to cool off." They sat in a companionable, but still thoughtful silence for a few minutes. "We have some decisions to make, Scully." Mulder finally broke in. "I know," she concurred. "I read the translated files over and over. Some of it I understand, other parts don't make sense. Codes within codes, I guess." Mulder nodded. "I need to read them too." Scully got up and walked over the table. "They're all here," she said. "You've got plenty of time." "Yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck. "and nothing better to do." His eyes darkened, as he leapt up to prowl the room. "Damn it Scully, I hate sitting here, unable to DO anything." "I know," she replied. "But this time we need to think before we act." He paused and faced her, the slight edge in her voice not escaping him. "I'm sorry, Scully. I know this mess is all my fault. You know, you CAN go back. Tell them I kidnapped you or something. There's no reason you have to sacrifice your career..." "NO!" She interrupted him fiercely. She stepped up closer to him, her blue eyes blazing. "I'm in this because I want to be, because I HAVE to be. I need to know the truth, too." She angled her head to stare down at the pile of documents. "I have to know what they did to me." Her voice turned deadly serious. "Mulder, I've had a lot of time to think over the last few days. During the drive out here, tending you in the motel and here, reading those files. And I started to ask myself, when does refusing to believe stop becoming sensible and scientific, and start becoming outright denial." "Scully," he said, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. "How much do I have to see, how much do they have to do to us, before I can admit that you might be right? That there IS something out there, and the government knows about it? I can't keep telling myself that it can't be real, that science says that aliens aren't possible. They did things to me I can't remember except in nightmares, I saw that hit man change shape from you to someone else, saw the woman's body melt into green mush..." She ran out of words, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "They killed your father, tried to kill you, almost killed me, they've framed you for two murders - all to stop you from exposing the truth. If they are willing to do all that, then you must HAVE the truth. I can't deny that anymore, I can't..." Her voice finally broke into a sob, and his frozen stance shattered in response. In an instant, he was next to her, gathering her up into his arms. He held her close, and let her cry against his shoulder, gently stroking her hair. He knew how much that admission had taken from her, knew how much weight had been put on her shoulders over the last week, and felt terribly ashamed that he had been more of a burden than a help. "Dana, Dana," he whispered against the top of her head. "We'll figure a way out of this, I promise. I'll make sure you're safe." And even though he knew that was easier said and done, it was a promise that he meant to keep. - - - - - The days and nights settled into a routine as Mulder's strength returned. He would start the day by hauling in buckets of water to fill the tub and cook breakfast. They would take turns in the tub, while the other boiled corn, or made pancakes from their dwindling supply of flour. After feeding and watering the horses, Mulder would go peruse the documents while Scully worked on writing up their experiences, trying to get enough evidence together to convince someone they were telling the truth. A midday nap was the best way to deal with the noon heat, and the early evenings hours were spent in quiet conversation. In the relaxed atmosphere, they found themselves sharing the details of their lives in a way they'd never quite had the time for until now. There was surprisingly little discomfort at the thought of sharing the bed, and they found great comfort in sleeping in each other's arms. In fact, Scully could almost convince herself that they were just on a vacation, and that the dangers facing them in the outside world were simply an imagined nightmare. Almost, but not quite. One day, towards the end of the first week, Scully awoke from the midday nap to find Mulder busily piling bread, meat, and bottles of water into saddlebags. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she questioned, "What's going on?" He turned at the sound of her voice and gave her his most engaging smile. "We may be stuck here, but there's no reason we can't do a little exploring. We've got the horses, and I've been itching to take a ride. I haven't had the chance to do much riding since college, and I miss it. So how do you feel about a picnic?" "A picnic sounds wonderful," she admitted. "But we'd better not go to far. If we get lost out there, we could really be in trouble." "So we leave trail markers or stay within the canyon. Come on, Scully. It'll be fun to take a good gallop," he urged. She smiled at his enthusiasm. "YOU can take a gallop, I'll be happy with a slow trot. My horseback riding experience is limited to pony-rides at the zoo." "I'll teach you," he offered, closing the packs and shouldering them. "Uh huh," she murmured, giving his back a suspicious look as he loped out the door, leaving her some privacy to get dressed. She wasn't in the least bit certain she trusted his riding ability. As it turned out, however, he was an excellent rider, and the lack of saddles didn't hamper him at all. She watched with some amazement, as he led them out along the stream bed, sitting on his horse as easily as if he had been born on a horse. Seeing the surprise written on her face, he grinned. "Guess it's like riding a bike, you never forget how." "How did you learn to ride," she asked, holding on tight to the horse's mane and the reins of the rope bridle, relieved that her horse seemed content to follow his without complaint. "Polo," he answered, guiding his horse with one hand, the other resting on his knee. "What?" she asked, squinting into the sun. "At Oxford I was on the polo team. Eight years of it, graduate and undergraduate. We actually won occasionally, and I made the all England-collegiate team my senior year." He laughed, an open unguarded sound she hadn't heard from him in far too long. "I loved it. It was even better than track, moved so much faster. It requires a lot more skill than you would think. Most people think its a joke, a rich-kids game - but it can get really hairy out there. A lot of horses moving fast, riders swinging sticks, and the ball rolling under the hooves. I was lucky, never got seriously hurt, but I had a friend nearly lose a leg when a horse came down on top of him." He frowned at the memory. "I'm sorry," she said softly. He took his eyes off the empty air, and refocused them back on her face. "That's okay. He recovered, though he had to give up playing. And things like that didn't happen too often. Most of the players were excellent riders, and I learned a lot. Even some pretty neat tricks." He grinned again. She smiled back, and they rode along in silence for a while, breathing in the fresh air, admiring the scenery, watching for the lizards sunning themselves among the rocks. After an hour or so, Mulder pulled his horse to a halt, waiting for Scully to unevenly pull alongside. He gestured at a small grassy area next to the stream they had been tracing as a landmark. A couple trees provided some slight shelter, and the stream widened into what could almost be considered a small pool. On the other side of the stream-bed, the cliff rose straight up, blocking out some of the direct sunlight. "How does that look?" "It looks wonderful," she said, delighted for any excuse to get off the horse. She had just gotten over the soreness from the first ride out here, and the muscles were already beginning to complain. Her only satisfaction came from his soft groan as he slid off his horse and rubbed the back of his thighs. Catching her watching him, he shrugged. "I'm a little out of shape." "Me, too," she answered, deciding this was too nice a day to spoil by teasing him, as much fun as that could be. Tethering the horses to one of the trees, leaving them enough rope to reach the water, they settled down on the grass. Mulder handed her one of the canteens, then pulled the cork from other and took a gulp, then sprawled down on the grass, closing his eyes. Smiling warmly, Scully followed suit, drinking the tepid water with more enjoyment than she would have thought, then wriggling around to rest the back of her head against his chest. He didn't move, except to bring an arm down to wrap around her waist. Dozing in the shelter of the trees, the only sounds those of the wind, the water, and the occasional snort from the horses, Scully felt utterly at peace. Now, finally, she could shut it all out, no documents, no bullets, no threats, nothing but her and Mulder and the quiet, sweet-smelling earth beneath them. It would be easy to want to stay here, to not go back. A half-conscious daydream overtook her, and her mind flowed with the images. Brushing over the source of income, perhaps she could act as a doctor for the Indians - yes, she liked that idea. But they make a home here, grow old here, raise a family here... What was she thinking!? Scully stirred, lifting her head up from the warmth of his chest and sat up, brushing strands of auburn hair out of her sleepy eyes. Twisting around to look at her partner's face as he remained recumbent on the grass, she traced every familiar line of his face with her eyes. His own eyes were closed, the thick, black eyelashes resting on his already suntanned cheeks, the dark shadows that had been so prominent beginning to fade. The slight breeze picked up and dropped the dark tendrils of hair on his forehead, his brow was clear and straight, the lines smoothed out. His mouth, sometimes generous and even pouting, other times drawn tight and grim, was relaxed, slightly parted to give a glimpse of white teeth. Almost of their own accord, her fingers reached out to softly trace the high arch of his cheekbone, thinking with some amusement that there were women who would trade their souls for his bone structure. But Mulder didn't care, showed nothing more than some slight embarrassment at any comment regarding his looks. She knew he regarded himself as ordinary, maybe plain, when he even bothered to think about it. And his tendency to prefer well-cut and expensive suits was more an appreciation of quality and comfort than a consideration towards his appearance. In fact, the only way he seemed to express himself in his looks were those god-awful ties, and it amazed her just how much he enjoyed them, and the reaction to them. Mulder liked to play with people's heads sometimes, though mostly out of boredom. The frustration of a man whose mind was usually several jumps ahead of everyone around him, and got irritated when they refused to even try to catch up. What would it be like to see things that no-one else did, to sense the world through his penetrating, yet often child-like, eyes, she wondered as she continued to stroke the side of his face absentmindedly. "Ahhh," she gasped, as his hand suddenly seized hers, and his eyes blinked open to catch her studying him. She felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks, and mentally cursed her give- away coloring. His eyes were dark and piercing, the hazel far more brown than green in the shade, but his mouth was already curving up into a smile. "Find what you were looking for?" he asked her lazily, not bothering to move from his supine position. "Maybe," she replied rather tersely, arching a copper eyebrow at him, though she returned his smile and left her hand resting between his hand and his cheek. His smile broke into a wide grin and he moved her palm down to his mouth so that he could press a quick kiss into it. Then he let her go, and moved his hands back to support his head. She sat leaning over him quietly, waiting for him to say the words that were obviously lingering on the edge of his mouth. It took him a few moments, and the words were nearly a whisper. "Out here, I feel a little like Adam, the first man, alone in the world. Just us and the water and the earth and the animals. It's so peaceful, I could almost believe that there is nothing else, no FBI, no government, no men trying to kill us, no..." He didn't say the word 'aliens,' but it hovered between them in the air, unspoken but understood. Until she broke the contact between their eyes just long enough to reach into one of the saddlebags and pull out a small, red apple. Turning back to him, her red lips curved upwards in a smile that created large dimples along the edges of her mouth, she held it out on the palm of her hand just above his chest. He looked at it, up at her, and then started to laugh, the sound one of pure and simple joy. It was infectious, and she joined in, her mirth harmonizing with the deeper sound of his. Then he lifted the small fruit from her hand and waving it in a salute, he took a bite, his eyes never leaving hers. Still smiling, she wiped a small trickle of juice from the corner of his mouth while he chewed and swallowed. "Actually, it's pretty good," he mumbled through the mouthful. "Want some?" "Sure," she said, and not bothering to take the apple from him, she just leaned down and seized it with her teeth. "Hey, watch my fingers," he protested lightly. She chewed and swallowed, then gave him a teasing look. "I'm not that hungry...yet." He chuckled, then sat up facing her. He placed the partially eaten apple on top of the open saddlebag, then took hold of her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. She settled against him without protest, though her face remained calm, and somewhat amused, and her lips parted as she drew in a deep breath. He stared down into her wide, clear blue eyes for a moment, then drew one hand through her hair, watching intently as the shining red strands twined over his fingers. "Dana?" The one word was a question and a demand, a warning and a promise all at once. She hesitated for the briefest of seconds, knowing they were about to take another big leap, again throwing all caution to the winds. But even though they WOULD have to face the outside world again, and all its strictures and rules, problems, and dangers, she wanted - oh how much she wanted - to forget it all, even just for one sunlit afternoon in the middle of the New Mexico desert. He saw a variety of emotions flash across her face, holding his breath deep in his lungs. He knew all the questions and all the answers. All the reasons to stop, to keep their partnership the carefully platonic friendship it had been for the past two years. But it was getting harder and harder to deny his own feelings. He'd known for months just how much in love with this woman he was, how much he needed her strength and courage, her rock solid faith in this world and its reality, her logic and scientific acumen, her smile and her unwavering support. But right now he needed, wanted MORE, so desperately that the ache was a physical presence in both his groin and his chest, emotional and physical love deeply intertwined. Then she smiled, slowly, slowly, and his abdomen tightened, his breath released in a rush, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and guided his mouth down to hers. ***** Her breath was warm on the bare skin of his chest. Leaning down to kiss the top of her head, Mulder tasted her hair, then nuzzled her forehead. With a murmur of pleasure, Scully moved across him just enough to offer him her mouth, her breasts pressed into his side, her naked hips draped across his. He kissed her gently, but thoroughly, then pulled up to a sitting position, keeping her cradled in his embrace. She sighed and snuggled into his lap, feeling the throb of a growing erection against her bottom. With satisfaction she licked at the skin of his jaw, then took a nibble at his throat. He laughed deep in his throat, then took her chin in the palm of his hand and lifted her face to his. She let her eyelids fall almost shut, and parted her mouth for his kiss. He brushed her lips gently, then hugged her close, ignoring her moan of protest as he stared up at the sky. "Dana, love, I think we'd better start back. I don't want to get caught out here after dark." His voice was regretful, but resolute. Enjoying a sunny afternoon out here was one thing, wandering in the dark was another. Scully sighed against his shoulder, then rubbed her nod of agreement against his chest. Reluctant as she was to give up the magic of this day, she too was terrified of the idea of getting lost out in this wilderness. The small cabin with its rough bed was beginning to seem very appealing to them both, and they hurried into their clothes. Mulder helped her up into her horse, then mounted his in fluid motion. Side-by-side, they turned the horses back they way they had come, leaving behind no more than an indentation in the grass where their bodies had lain. - - - - - =========================================================================== Still somewhere on the Navaho Reservation New Mexico Taking full advantage of the chance to renew his riding skills, Mulder got into the habit of riding a couple hours a day. Scully was less interested, but as she got more confident, she spent more time with him on his rides. They explored the length of the canyon, always returning to their cabin well before nightfall. The nights were spent talking and making love, opening up to each other totally. Thus the week passed quickly, the days blending into each other, making Albert Hosteen's arrival something of a surprise. At the sound of a horse's hooves outside, Mulder rushed outside, motioning to Scully to stay behind him, but she refused to be anywhere but by his side. Both relaxed visibly at the sight of their visitor, as he dismounted his horse with surprising ease for a man his age. Glancing at their faces, he grinned. "I was nearly born in the saddle, and always loved riding more than anything." Mulder smiled. "I know what you mean. It gives you a real sense of freedom." He took the reins from Albert and led the horse into the corral, then released it next to the water trough. It neighed at the other two horses, then buried its long nose in the welcoming water. "Please, come in and sit down," Scully offered, holding the door open. Once all three were inside, she poured water into three earthenware mugs and handed the men one each. Albert saluted them both, then drank deeply. "Unfortunately," he said, shaking his head. "what the mind still enjoys, doesn't always please the body." He sank down into the chair Mulder was proffering and rubbed at his back. Mulder and Scully grinned at each other, then sat together on the edge of the bed facing their guest, Mulder's long legs pulled up against his chest, so that he was almost leaning his chin on his knees. Albert took another swallow, then met their anxious eyes. "You two have certainly stirred up a buzzard's nest. We've been flooded with feds, all wandering in their heavy black suits and sweating under their sunglasses." He took in the appearance of the couple facing him, the lovely, flame-haired woman dressed in an embroidered white linen man's shirt that easily covered her knees, and the slender, already sun-bronzed man in jeans and sleeveless T-shirt. Not what you expected another pair of FBI agents to look like, but then from the beginning he'd known there was nothing ordinary about these two. Mulder grinned slightly at the images of his 'colleagues' sweating in the hot sun, then his mouth settled into a frown. "What are they saying?" "Mostly, they are just asking questions about you. Where are you, where did you go, what did you do while you were here..." Albert leaned back in his chair and smirked. "And of course, getting a completely different answer from everyone they ask." He chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "My people are having the time of their lives watching the feds chase their own tails." Mulder and Scully shared a smile, but couldn't maintain the amusement. "They still think I did it, that I..." Mulder just couldn't say 'killed my father.' It still hurt deeply. He and his father had not had a good relationship, to put it mildly. There was so much pain between them, but at the end his father had tried - to reach out, to ask forgiveness - and that was something Mulder couldn't forget. He owed his father something for that, though he wasn't sure what. Scully knew the thoughts running through his mind, without needing to hear him say a word. She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. Albert simply sighed. "They are not saying much, just that they want to 'TALK' to you. Other than that, they do not say much. But the one you mentioned, Dr. Scully, the one called 'Skinner' - he is here." "Here, in New Mexico!" Mulder exclaimed. Albert nodded. "Seems quite determined to find you. I think some of the others are ready to give up, or have decided you left here, but he seems certain that you are here, and he keeps pushing." "He's probably just dreaming about the idea of chewing me out personally." Mulder commented dryly. Albert grinned. "That one reminds me of a marine sergeant I knew in the war. No one could deliver a kick in the butt better." "That's Skinner." Mulder replied. "Though, I wonder." He rubbed at his chin. "If 'anyone' will listen it will be Skinner, though he's probably pretty mad at me right now." "He has good reason, Mulder." Scully told him, arching an eyebrow at him. He resisted the temptation to touch, then taste, that small, copper arch, and instead grimaced. "I know. But he might listen to you and if we can get some of the evidence to him, the dialysis filter from the water tank in my building, and the bullet you pulled from the wall of my apartment..." He shrugged. "I'm still not sure if I trust him, or if I know whose side he's really on, but I think he's our best shot." Scully had to agree, but she also wanted to hedge their bets. "Before we do that, Albert, I'd like to ask you one more favor." She stood up and walked over to the table. Fingering the heavy pile of documents, now frayed along the edge by constant use. "I'd like to get copies of these placed in safe places. One to my father's lawyer, maybe one to one of your contacts, Mulder...the Lone Gunmen or NICAP. If we send them in a sealed envelope, with instructions not to open unless something happens to us... I know it sounds cliched, but it would make me feel better. This is the only insurance we have right now." "Clichés become clichés because they're usually good sense." Mulder said. "Don't take any risks, Albert, but if your people can do this for us, we'll be even more in your debt." "Consider it done," Albert replied. "We can take them with us tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" Scully questioned. "Where are we going?" "An important ceremony is being held in three days not far from here." Albert explained. "We need to cleanse the land, purge the spirits of the dead, ease the suffering of the souls of those who lay buried for so long hidden in the earth. And we would be honored if you - both - would join us." Scully saw the instantaneous light of interest in Mulder's hazel eyes, he was fascinated, and didn't bother to hide his excitement. "We'd love to," he blurted out, then glanced up at Scully's amused face. She smiled tenderly at him, then tucking strands of hair behind her ear, she turned to Albert. "After all you've done for us, how could we refuse. We'd be honored." - - - - - "Thank you," Scully closed the door to the room the Navajo had given to her and Mulder during their stay at the ceremonial gathering place. It was a sign of respect and understanding that she was deeply grateful for, especially since the nights were the only time she and Mulder had together here. In traditional style, the men were segregated from the women, each performing their own rites and dances, praying and singing, in separate, adjacent buildings. Though the very modern Dana Scully had balked at the tradition at first, she had come to appreciate her time with the women. Most of her life had been spent in male-dominated fields, medical school, pathology residency, the FBI, so the chance to spend a couple days almost solely in the company of these women, with their earthy practicality, strength, and often surprising humor, was a pleasure. They had welcomed her with open friendship, and once she got over her initial embarrassment, she joined in wholeheartedly. In fact, she quickly got the impression that while they might take their religion seriously, this retreat was often more of a girl's gossip session than anything else, ranging from tribal politics, to families, and - of course - men. The detailed nature of some of those conversations brought up a blush under her already sun-reddened cheeks. Scully smiled softly to herself as stretched out on the bed, wriggling her bare toes of the end of the bed. Going barefoot had been far harder to adjust to than the ceremonies. She didn't know the language, but the beauty of the music didn't suffer for that lack, nor did their determination to quiz her about every aspect of her relationship with the man they all called "The Truth Seeker." She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by her partner's ability to win these people's friendship. He could be incredibly charming when he decided to put out the effort, though she had to admit it was his child-like fascination with their beliefs that finally won their respect. Mulder was truly willing to open his heart and mind to their culture, ecstatic to learn anything they could teach him, and the simple honesty of his acceptance was the final bridge to those who had been doubtful of bringing white strangers, especially two FBI agents, onto sacred ground. Of course, the fact that Mulder was probably close to fluent in their language by now, since his eidetic memory absorbed languages the way a sponge absorbed water, was icing on the cake. Or another 'omen.,' she thought with a chuckle. "What's so funny?" Mulder closed the door behind him and came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. He looked completely at ease in the native dress, and with the suntan, he could - almost - pass for one of the Navajo. That was until you looked into his green-tinged hazel eyes, which were presently dancing with barely contained excitement. "Just thinking what my Mom would say if she could see me now," Scully replied semi-truthfully, rolling onto her side, and supporting her head with her hand. Her bright auburn hair was bound into two short braids behind her ears, which combined with her sunburnt, freckled complexion to make her resemble a Raggedy-Ann doll in Indian dress: a style that Mulder found irresistible. And eminently teasable. Mulder's grin widened. "Or Skinner," he countered dryly. They both laughed. Then, more seriously, "Albert says that the documents are copied and mailed with our cover letters. The originals are buried behind the men's sweat lodge." "Good," Scully said with relief. The cassette was hidden in the bottom of her eyeglasses case in her purse, a place that hardly gave her any feeling of security. But they had traveled very light by necessity, and Mulder had arrived here with no more than the clothes on his back. "Any progress with the letter to Skinner?" Mulder asked. "Yes." She wriggled to a sitting position beside him. "It's mostly done." Her blue eyes widened. "I just hope the dialysis filter and the bullet from your wall are enough to get his attention." She shook her head. "I doubt there will be any traces left at your building by now." "Mmmm, depends upon how thorough they are, and how arrogant." Mulder commented without much hope. "Still, there ought to be enough of a trail of behavior in the other residents in my building. I know there was one shooting, and I doubt that she and I were the only ones affected." "I know," Scully replied, her mouth tightening. "I wish I had had time to alert health authorities. I removed the one filter, I don't know if there were others." Mulder winced slightly, he still felt badly about his behavior, even if it had been drug induced. "You did the best you could Scully. You had a wounded man, already strung out on god-knows-what on your hands, and people trying to kill us both. It isn't your fault." She nodded, then threw him a knowing glance. "And it isn't yours either, Mulder," she said acutely. He almost argued that he'd never thought such a thing, then gave up and shrugged his shoulders. She knew him far too well. So he changed the subject instead. "The final ceremony is tomorrow morning. Albert thinks they can smuggle us back into Farmington and hide us long enough to get your letter and the evidence to Skinner. He will try to arrange a safe meeting for us with him." He sighed, brushing the dark bangs off his forehead. "As much as I've enjoyed our 'vacation' here, we need to get back. There's so much to do..." And not just finding who had spiked the water or killed Krycek, or even who killed his father. There was still the aftermath of his father's death to deal with, he felt more than a little guilty about not having the chance to at least call his mother, much less arrange a funeral. The shock of this, her ex- husband dead, her son accused of the crime, he was afraid that it might be more than she could tolerate. Scully saw his face harden, and the color shift in his eyes from the sparkling hazel to ebony, and she instinctively reached out to reassure him. Clasping his hand, she angled her face towards his. "We'll convince Skinner. He will believe the truth once he'd heard it, I know he will." Even as he silently accepted her attempt to comfort him, leaning down to kiss her tenderly, he knew full well that there was no guarantee Skinner would believe a word of it. And he also knew that Scully was just as aware of the risks as he was. - - - - - FBI Assistant Director Skinner wiped the sweat off his nose and forehead with an already stained shirt-sleeve. Even in the supposedly air-conditioned police station in Farmington, the desert heat seemed to permeate everything. He wondered for the thousandth time why he had bothered to come out here to handle this case personally, though he was fully aware of the reasons why. Fox Mulder was a lot of things, impossible, difficult, and rebellious came instantly to mind, as did brilliant and gifted. But it was a recognition of the agent's bone-deep integrity and honesty that was driving his supervisor to lead the search. Mulder might throw the FBI's rules and regulations to the wind, but he operated under a set of principles that were, in an utterly idiosyncratic manner, even more set and defining. And that was what worried Skinner. Mulder's attack on him was foolish, but not necessarily out of character. Murder was. Bottom line, Skinner didn't believe that Mulder had shot his own father. Krycek, maybe, if he felt his own life was in danger, or to revenge his father's death. But Scully wouldn't have tolerated that, and the fact that she had willingly gone with him created even more doubt in the A.D.'s mind. Scully might lie to protect Mulder, if she thought he was threatened, and she might put her own life on the line for him, but she would never play accomplice to deliberate murder. Add to that the fact that the trail that had led the FBI to Farmington indicated that Mulder was seriously ill, and Skinner was feeling an intense inner conflict. "Damn you Mulder," he thought, reaching for the already lukewarm glass of milk on the desk. His ulcer was acting up, his jaw remembered Mulder's punch and all he really wanted was a chance to kick his most talented, most frustrating agent from here to Alaska. At least it was COLD in Alaska. "Sir," came a tentative voice from the doorway. "What is it, Jordan?" Skinner barked. "I think we may have a lead on Agents Mulder and Scully's whereabouts." The young FBI agent spoke apologetically, the A.D. had been on a rampage the last couple of weeks, and no one wanted to be in the line of fire when he let loose. "What? Don't stand there like an idiot, Jordan, what have you got" Skinner put down the glass and sat upright in his chair. It was long past time they got some useful information. Even though several of his staff were convinced Mulder and Scully had fled New Mexico, Skinner could FEEL they were still here. The Navajo had blocked the investigation at every turn, and they were far too amused by watching the FBI bumble around. No, the Indians were hiding the renegade pair, and having a great deal of fun doing so. Jordan hurried into the appropriated office and sat down nervously. Skinner sat back, drumming his fingers against the desk, letting his attitude demand a response. "The local police picked up an old Navajo. Drunk and disorderly. He was mumbling about a big ceremony. Something about cleansing the land and pacifying the spirits of the dead. No one would have paid any attention, except apparently this guy used to be one of their shamans before he started hitting the bottle. He's an outcast now, but still has contacts on the reservation. One of the cops thought we might be interested, so he called and we sent Bowser and Harris down just in case." The spread of Jordan's hands spoke without words of the level of frustration the agents here were feeling in the face of the Navajo's blank resistance. "They...unh..." Skinner knew immediately that the men had plied the drunk with alcohol, and he waved it off. Jordan nearly sighed with relief and continued. "Anyway, the old guy said that there had been much debate over letting two whites into an important ceremony taking place on sacred ground, though the decision was finally made in their favor. He doesn't know for sure that the two strangers are Mulder and Scully, but there was talk of a man they call "The Truth Seeker" and a flame-haired woman." Skinner felt the first jolt of satisfaction he'd felt in far too long. He had no doubt of that description, no one knowing those two agents would. "Where and when is the ceremony taking place?" he asked urgently. Delighted at the chance to get on his demanding boss' good side, Jordan grinned. "Tomorrow morning, somewhere out in the desert. It is sacred tribal ground, forbidden to outsiders, but our informant knows the territory well. Bowser and Harris are working on convincing him to guide us there right now." "I don't care if it costs us all the vodka in Russia, get that location!" Skinner ordered, reaching for the telephone. Realizing he'd been dismissed, and delighted to get out without being flayed, Jordan got quickly to his feet and escaped the room. Skinner hardly noticed his subordinate's exit, he was already shouting instructions into the phone as the door closed. - - - - - The day of the final ceremony dawned bright and clear. Mulder and Scully were awakened just as dawn sent the first rays of light over the cliffs. Taking no more time than was necessary to snatch a quick kiss, they separated. Mulder joined the men in the sweat lodge, while Scully joined the women in their bath house. Sinking down into the heated water, she sighed with pleasure, inwardly laughing at Mulder, who had made his opinion of the sauna the men preferred quite clear, if only to her. He hated it. The next couple of hours were spent in cleansing rituals, mostly a thorough scrubbing combined with sing-song chants. Then the ritual costumes were donned, one of Scully's new found friends loaning her a dress that fell nearly to her ankle. It was heavy with beads and metalwork in the front, drawn tight around her waist with a brightly-dyed leather belt. Her feet remained bare, though painted with swirls of color, red and blue and orange. The same colors were streaked across her face and hands, causing her to feel rather like a little girl playing in her mother's make-up. She was hesitant to step outside of the women's building, knowing that this time the men and women would meet and dance together. But curiosity, and her desire to see what Mulder would look like in his war-paint won, and she let the women pull her out into the bright sunlight. They formed a circle around a huge circle of multi-hued sand drawings, and joined hands. The men were not ready to join them yet, except for a pair of ancients who stood amid the sacred drawings with eyes closed, singing to the sky. The women circled round and round, first one way, then the other, until he world swung around Scully at dizzying speed and she could concentrate on no more than staying on her feet and continuing to move. Focused completely on the dance, no one noticed the intruders until the roar of truck engines and the spit of rocks under wheels came close. The dancers didn't open their eyes, or hear the invasion, until the men flooding out to join the ceremony began to yell. Their shouts of outrage in guttural Navajo were mixed with the sound of screeching tires and shouts of "FBI - Freeze!" Of course, no one froze, and pandemonium broke loose. Nearly a dozen federal agents, led by skinner himself came charging up, guns in hand, only to be met by about two dozen screaming Indians in full ritual regalia. One startled agent went down under a pair of women, one biting deeply into his gun hand, causing his weapon to clatter to the ground as he fell. Elsewhere, a pair of agents seized one of the Navajo elders, trying to handcuff him while he cursed them in a fluent mixture of Navajo and English for violating sacred ground. Skinner fired a shot into the air in the hope of gaining some control, but it was a useless effort. But then his eyes were caught by a flash of brilliant red, and he shouted Scully's name even as his eyes widened in shock. She looked utterly savage, dressed in the native clothes with bright streaks of paint across the bare skin of her face, hands and feet. In response to his call, she turned, gave him a furious glare, then spun to strike out at the pair of agents closing in on her from the sides. She gave one a good hit to the stomach, but the other grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. Enraged, she kicked wildly, clawing at his hands and angling her head to spit in his face. Skinner shoved his way through the melee to get closer to her, but just as the second agent reached out to help restrain her (getting a swift kick in the groin from her as a result), a series of high-pitched screeches and the pounding of horse's hooves on the rocky ground caught the A.D's attention. Three Indian men came riding around the corner of the building, yelling at the top of their lungs, the two in front brandishing knives. All were riding bareback, expertly guiding the horses with their knees and feet, leaving their hand free to hit out at the few agents not quick enough to get out of the way. The two in front split, each herding a few of the agents sideways, the horse's flying hooves more threatening than the men's flashing knives. But it was the third rider, breaking through the middle that caused the federal agents in front of him to gasp in shock. Fox Mulder may have been barely recognizable at first glance under the war paint, but no one who had ever met him could miss those pitch-black eyes, the shock of disarrayed raven hair, or the fiercely determined, stone-carved face under the bright streaks of color, as he urged the horse at breakneck speed straight for his still-struggling partner. "My God," Skinner breathed, as the ground seemed to sway under his feet, causing him to sink to his knees, his gun still clasped in a trembling hand. "MULDER!!!!" Scully's voice rose in a shriek as she saw him, and taking full advantage of the confusion of her would- be captor, she broke free and raced straight for him, her loose hair flowing behind her like a red banner in the wind. "Scully!" Skinner tried to call out in warning, as it looked for a moment that she would be trampled by the oncoming horse, but abruptly it swung to the side and its rider slipped sideways on its back. Everything seemed to go into slow motion to the stunned onlookers. Scully didn't pause, went smoothly from running at full speed into a flying leap upwards. Mulder swept downwards, his legs tightly gripping the horse, reaching out for her with both hands at the instant she reached for him. And a second later, he was bringing her up with him onto the horse's back, as it galloped forward without slowing or missing a single step. When he recovered his seat, upright on the horse's back, she was sitting sideways in front of him, legs dangling off to one side, clinging to him with all of her strength. He tightened his arms around her and urged the horse onward, out into the desert. A couple of agents recovered their wits in time to raise their guns to shoot after the escaping fugitives, but the Navajo's were ready, and thrust themselves in front of the guns. The agents might have shot anyway, if the ringing voice of the Assistant Director hadn't commanded them to hold their fire. They hesitated, then gave in, even in the heat of the moment, they were not about to risk his ire. Especially after this disaster. With a curt wave of his hand, Skinner directed his men back to the cars, ignoring the outpourings of mixed outrage and triumph from the Indians, as he walked to his car. When all of his men were settled in their seats, he opened his door, and got inside... ...with only one last, half-shocked, half-amazed look out at the desert and the already lost image of his renegade agents. - - - - - =========================================================================== The horse's hooves pounded on the sand and rocks in a steady cadence. Nestled into Mulder's arms, the muscles of his shoulders flexed under her hands, Scully watched the gathering site disappear into the distance. Once they were fully out of sight, angled behind a towering column of red stone, Mulder pulled the snorting, sweating horse to a halt and slid to the ground, taking Scully with him. She laughed out of sheer exuberance, twining her arms around his neck. He gave her a brilliant grin as she came down across the length of his body, her laughter swallowed into his throat as their mouths met and clung. He held her dangling above the ground for a moment, then set her feet down square on the earth. "Oh God, Mulder, that was incredible!" She whispered, her glowing face tilted up towards him, her sapphire eyes sparkling. His expression was calmer, but his green-tinged eyes danced, and his breath came fast. Cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand, he tenderly admired her face. "Just an old polo trick." He laughed. "Never thought I'd use it again. I wasn't even sure I could pull it off." He looked back over his shoulder in the direction from which they had come. "I just wish I could have seen Skinner's face." Scully grinned, then sobered at the reminder, the flush of their escape fading rapidly. "What are we going to do now?" Mulder gazed around them, his hands never leaving her shoulders. "I...We're going to need shelter and water." He grimaced tightly. "Especially water." "Maybe we should have stayed. Talked to Skinner." Scully suggested. "If we could have gotten him to listen..." "No," Mulder shook his head. "Too much was happening too fast. Skinner should have known better than to invade the Navajo's sacred ground without permission. He's likely to have a full-scale battle on his hands right now. Damn it, Scully! Skinner is smarter than this. And far too good a politician. He must have been desperate to pull such a stunt." "Or was forced into it," Scully suggested grimly. Their eyes met. "If *they* are behind this..." Mulder was thinking furiously, his brow knit in concentration. "If *they* are behind this," Scully echoed. "Then maybe you did the right thing getting us out of there. I wouldn't put much stock in our survival in their hands." Her voice was uncertain, grudging, they seemed to be caught in a trap no matter what they did. "I don't know, Scully." Mulder admitted. "You could be right. It would be hard to make us disappear in front of a dozen federal agents. Though I wouldn't put anything past them, I think that would be too much even for Skinner. No, we'd just end up mired in federal red-tape and endless disciplinary hearings. They will probably try to pin my father and Krycek's deaths on me." He bit at his lower lip. "I don't have an easy answer, love, but I would much prefer to meet up with Skinner on more neutral territory. To have at least some control over the situation." Scully both understood and shared his feelings, but right now they had more pressing problems. The heat of the midday desert sun was beating down on them without mercy, and after the round of dancing and the burst of adrenaline from the fight and their reckless ride, she was already feeling thirsty. Dehydration would catch them soon, as would sunstroke if they didn't find some shade. "Right now I'd settle for some water and a roof over our heads," she said, shielding her eyes as she peered around them. "Yeah, it might be a good idea to backtrack to the stream. If we go at an angle, maybe we can meet up with it far enough from the gathering ground to miss Skinner's goon squad." Scully frowned. She had only the slightest idea of where they were, even in relationship to the ritual site. And Mulder's sense of direction was horrible. She didn't like the idea of wandering around in this heat in unfamiliar territory. If they got lost, they could be swallowed up by the desert, to die of dehydration and starvation. Mulder caught the look of fear on her face and felt his stomach sink. She didn't have to say it, he knew as well as she did how vulnerable they were to elements without even a single canteen of water. It was humiliating to turn around and give themselves up, especially after their exhilarating escape. But, in the end, the decision was made for them, there was no place to go. They'd simply have to take their chances with the powers- that-be. Anything was better than ending up a pair of bleached white skeletons picked clean by the buzzards, abandoned and alone among the rocks. So when Mulder spoke aloud, it wasn't a question, it was a simple statement. "We have to go back." - - - - - Skinner spent the long, bumpy ride back to Farmington silently cursing himself with every invective he knew, an impressive array gathered over his years in government service. He should have known better, HAD known better, than to raid a Navajo religious ceremony. He had let his frustration get out of control, instead of staking out the ceremony and picking up his two fugitive agents as they left, he had gone charging in recklessly, guns blazing. He had gotten tired of sitting and waiting, tired of going in circles, hitting a dead end on all sides. No one was answering his questions - not the Navajo, not his superiors, not the other government 'agencies' involved, and especially not Mulder and Scully. Now all he could do was damage control. Hope that the Indians didn't make a federal case out of this mess. Hope that Mulder and Scully would decide to come in of their own accord. Hope that he still had a job left when the dust cleared. Fat chance. - - - - - Mulder gave the horse his head, pointed it back in the direction from which they had come, and urged the beast to go home. He hoped that given the chance it would head for the nearest source of water, the stream along which the Navajo had placed their gathering site. The horse seemed to go in the right direction, though the distance seemed to stretch out to twice the length it had been on their break-neck ride away. But finally, they saw the squat, round forms of the buildings, both breathing in deep sighs of relief. As they got closer, Mulder glanced around anxiously, wishing for some kind of cover. Still half a mile away, he stopped the horse and dismounted. "What are you doing?" Scully asked, sliding to the ground beside him. "I don't like the idea of just trotting in there and saying, Hi! We're back, Come shoot us!" Mulder answered. "I don't like it much myself, but I don't see much of an alternative." She glanced around at the empty landscape. "It's not like there are trees and bushes we can hide under." "I know. But I refuse to make it that easy for them." With that he released the horse and gave it a loud slap on its rear end. It jolted, then broke into a run towards the buildings. "Mulder!" Scully exclaimed in protest as the animal quickly left them behind. "It's not that long of a walk, Scully. I want to scout the place out a little if we can. We'll be less conspicuous on foot." Scully gave him a doubtful look, but fell in step beside him. She might have argued if she had a better plan, but she didn't. So she might as well go along with him for now. 'As always,' a small voice whispered in her head, but she ignored it. She was getting good at ignoring that little voice. - - - - - Skinner didn't know how they did it, but there were already protesters outside the Farmington police station by the time they arrived. A small crowd of Navajo, decked out in traditional costumes, were milling on the sidewalk outside the station, watched over by a weary, sweat-soaked contingent of police. How had they gotten there so fast? Maybe this was something else, he thought hopefully as he exited the car. No such luck, he realized grimly, as he caught the angry shouts about desecration of sacred rites, and the vividly expressed, always boiling hatred for the federal interlopers. As he and his men tried to push their way into the building, a rising chant took over the street, "FBI go home, FBI go home, FBI go home..." Not particularly intellectual, but simple and effective. The rush of cold air and the quiet within the station was a welcome relief. Skinner mopped at his brow, stalking briskly towards his appropriated office. The phone call he was about to make was not going to be easy. - - - - - Mulder inched across the ground behind the squat, reddish-brown hut. The skin of his hands quickly reddened and burnt on the hot, sharp-edged rocks, and even through the cloth, his knees were already bruised. But if he could just get close enough to the building without being seen, then... "Fall of your horse?" Albert Hosteen's words were bland, but there was no mistaking the amusement on his craggy features. Mulder jerked, then rolled over onto his side, abruptly aware of the shadow looming over his legs. He opened his mouth, then shut it, then groaned slightly and sat up. So much for the stealthy approach. Rubbing the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand, streaking dust and paint across his face, he decided to settle for a simple question. "Are they gone?" Albert nodded, finally stirring himself to offer a hand to the man sitting at his feet. Mulder took it gratefully, levering himself to his feet. Once he was standing Mulder had a few inches on the older Navajo, which made him a tiny bit less embarrassed. Height had its advantages, if only to steal some self- esteem. "They took off as soon as the two of you were gone," Albert explained, while Mulder attempted to brush himself off. "That was some riding!" Albert grinned. "You should have seen the faces of your colleagues, they looked like they had seen a ghost." Mulder flashed a smile, then his expression sobered as together they turned to walk around the building. "They may yet HAVE seen a ghost. After this fiasco, Scully and I may never be able to go back. Skinner is going to be furious." The mention of Scully's name instantly reminded him that he had left her on the other side of the site. "Scully...I left her..." "Don't worry," Albert reassured. "She came back a few minutes ago." His expression was admiring as he thought about the small red-haired agent. "Just walked right into the middle of everything. That is some woman you have there." Mulder shook his head, though he couldn't help letting the corners of his mouth curl upward. So much for his attempt at stealth. Leave it to Scully to march straight in. He ought to be furious, but as always, he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride in the woman who was both his partner and his love. They rounded the corner, and quickly joined a small crowd of men and women, sitting in a circle around the now-damaged sand drawings. Scully was seated across the circle, sipping at a canteen of water. Her blue eyes twinkled as she leaned back to stare up at her tall partner. "What took you so long, Mulder?" she asked innocently. "I decided to commune with the earth for a while." He commented wryly, as he slid to the ground beside her, the woman next to her scuttling sideways to make room for him. "You should try it sometime." Somewhat relieved he wasn't annoyed, though she would NEVER have admitted it, Scully rewarded him with her warmest smile. "Another time," she said, offering him the canteen as a peace offering. He took it, saluting her with it before he took a deep gulp of the soothing water. It was an incredible relief to wash away the grit that had managed to permeate his mouth and throat, as well as every other part of his body. It was difficult to restrain himself from pouring it on top of his head, but he knew better than to waste to precious water. Instead, he took one more smaller sip, then handed the half-empty waterbag back to Scully. Albert had seated himself nearby. The circle sat soundless for a few moments, then one of the leaders began to speak in Navajo. Another answered him, until there was a roaring discussion, shooting back and forth, words accompanied by vigorous hand gestures. Scully frowned, able to catch no more than an occasional word. The look of fierce, taut concentration on Mulder's face, indicated that he was catching more, though not enough to satisfy him. Finally, he leaned forward and caught Albert's attention. He had something to say. Albert indicated that he understood, and quietly raised his hand in the air, palm facing the interior of the circle. Slowly, the debate died down, until he had everyone's attention. Then he pointed towards Mulder, who began to speak in halting Navajo. <"We apologize for what has happened. We did not meant to bring desecration upon your sacred place. We will leave, if you wish, and give ourselves to the FBI.> "No," Albert spoke in English, recognizing the growing frustration in Scully's expression. "You can not blame yourselves for the actions of others. You were our chosen guests, and it is we as your hosts, who should be apologizing for the endangering your lives here." Scully was delighted to have some understanding of what was happening, and she protested quickly. "You have nothing to apologize for. We knew that they would be coming after us, and should have been more careful of your lives." That won several nods of approval, though mostly out of respect. Albert continued to speak for the assembly. "It is over, assigning blame is useless, especially since it belongs to the FBI agents who violated our sacred ground. Protests are already being lodged by others. Our duties here are to cleanse this place of the violence that occurred today, and to decide what you should do next, Truth Seeker." Mulder jolted slightly, he was still not used to that nickname. He wished someone would call him something normal for a change. He was definitely beginning to consider changing his name to Harry, and Scully's grin didn't help. "Unh...I think it might be best if we left," Mulder replied. "We've put you in enough danger already. You could face federal charges for hiding us." He turned towards Scully, his hazel eyes glittering like diamonds as they reflected the bright sunshine. "And we'll never find who killed my father by staying here." Scully had to agree, although she couldn't help feeling terrified at leaving their safe-haven. They knew there were men out there who had tried to destroy them both, not to mention the law enforcement machine that considered them both renegades at best. Murderers at worst. Running away was not the answer, however, and her gaze was determined as she met Mulder's eyes. He easily read her agreement, and a rush of pleasure flooded him at her support. Their eyes locked, the space between suddenly not there, they felt connected, bound to each other. The instant of understanding faded quickly, as Albert spoke out. "I doubt we are in much danger. The FBI is going to be too embarrassed by today to bother trying to arrest anyone here." There was no small satisfaction in his voice. "Already our people are speaking out. You do not need to go for that reason. However, we do understand your need to find the truth about your father's death, and avenge his spirit so that it can rest peacefully. If it is your wish to leave us, we will help you in anyway we can." This statement won nods of support from the others. "We do need to go, but maybe not right away." Scully said. Mulder looked at her in surprise. "You said you wanted to meet with Skinner on safe ground," she explained. "I think we should do just what we had planned." She gazed over at Albert. "If you could get my letter and the evidence to Skinner somehow, we may be able to convince him to meet with us alone. I'd rather get him out here, than try to talk to him where he is under pressure from the rest of the Bureau - and other places - to take us down." Mulder bit at his lower lip, she was right. "I know its a lot to ask of you, Albert, but..." Albert smiled. "It is no problem at all. We would be glad to help." His grin widened. "Watching you steal Dana out from under their noses the way you did this morning..." He chuckled. "It is was a great gift to see the feds so utterly confounded. I think a couple of them pissed in their pants." His amusement was infectious, several of the Navajo started laughing uproariously. Mulder chuckled under his breath. "Glad you enjoyed it." - - - - - "Yes, Sir....I'm sorry, sir...Yes, I'm certain that it was Mulder and Scully." The image of Mulder, clad in Navajo dress, face angry and determined under the bright streaks of paint, flashed in front of Skinner's eyes, and he shook his head as though clearing away cobwebs. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes... but why be surprised at anything Fox Mulder did? Or to put it more correctly, everything Mulder did was a surprise, so why bother expecting anything else? Skinner played with the moisture beading the rim of the glass of iced-water in front of him, and forced himself to concentrate on the FBI Director's words. "No, sir, yes, sir," he responded. Then he could finally get a word in edgewise. "No, I do not believe that Agent Mulder killed his father...Yes, I know the evidence is damning, but it is all circumstantial. The bullet that killed William Mulder did not come from Agent Mulder's gun, which the bureau still has in its possession...Yes, I know he could have had another weapon, but I know Agent Mulder. He may be reckless, rebellious, intransigent, but he's no killer...Yes, I know he attacked me." Skinner rubbed his jaw in memory of that punch "But I think that was frustration," he continued. "Mulder quieted down quickly...uh huh...I think that its more likely someone tried to kill Agent Mulder, and his father got in the way...Agent Krycek, Yes, he may have been involved in Agent Scully's kidnapping...We didn't find a gun on Krycek, perhaps Mulder took it...I have no proof of this, sir, I'm only theorizing...I think its possible that Krycek tried to kill Mulder, Mulder's father got in the way, then Mulder killed Krycek to avenge his father...Yes, its also possible it was self-defense...We don't know, sir, Mulder and Scully have not contacted anyone...Yes, except the Navajo...We are doing everything we can to calm these people down...I don't know, sir, but Mulder can be good with people. He is a trained psychologist, and can be very persuasive...Yes, they are calling him "The Truth Seeker.he appears to have become a hero to the Navajo. They don't like the FBI much...Yes, I know Mulder is an FBI agent, but he's different. We wouldn't be in this mess if he was an ordinary agent...We're doing everything we can to find him and his partner, but they're out in the desert somewhere. Without Navajo cooperation, it will be nearly impossible...Yes, sir...Yes, we will keep looking...Yes...Yes, sir,...Good-bye, Sir." Skinner hung up the receiver and buried his face in his hands with a deep long sigh. A quick staccato beat sounded on the door. "Come in," Skinner called out sharply. "Sir," Jordan stuck his head in the door. "One of the Navajo leaders would like to speak with you." What now, Skinner thought. "Alright, Jordan, send him in." Jordan backed out the door briefly, then re-entered followed by a gray-haired Navajo with craggy features, large nose, and solemn black eyes. He was in good-shape for his age, despite the slight bulge around his middle, and his face was alert and intelligent. "Shaman Albert Hosteen, Assistant Director Skinner," Jordan introduced them, then left the room in response to a dismissive wave from his boss. "What can I do for you, Mr. Hosteen?" Skinner asked, indicating the chair on the other side of the desk. Before seating himself in the chair, Albert put a small, newspaper-wrapped package on the desk. "A friend asked me to give this to you," Leaning back in the chair, he carefully studied the FBI chief. A balding middle-aged man with penetrating brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, Walter Skinner had the body of a weight-lifter and the straight-backed, authoritative demeanor of a military officer. "What is it?" Skinner reached out towards it, then pulled his hand back. Distrust came easily. Albert grinned. "It's not a bomb, Director. I'd hardly still be here if it was." "I didn't..." Skinner shook his head, trying to ignore the Navajo's amusement. He felt like they had been having far too much fun at his expense lately. Feeling Albert's eyes on him, he finally picked up the package and weighed it in his hands. It was light, and lumpy, a couple of objects loose inside. A questioning look on his face, he ripped the newsprint open, then spread the contents out onto the desk. A small plastic bag held the recognizably smashed metal lump that constituted a discharged bullet. Beside it lay the cool, hard shape of a handgun, also plastic-wrapped. There was a small, unsealed envelope with folded paper inside, and a bagged object that Skinner didn't recognize. Pointing at it, he asked, "What is this?" Albert shrugged. "Read the letter. It's some kind of filter, I think. It's the stuff in it that you will probably be interested in." "Which is..." Skinner opened the letter, his voice dropping off as he recognized the scrawled signature on the bottom of the short, hand-written missive: the signature of Special Agent Dana Scully. - - - - - =========================================================================== Shifting uncomfortably in the saddle, Skinner wished he had insisted on four-wheel transportation. It was not that he couldn't handle physical hardship, after all he'd spent five years as a marine in Vietnam. But it had been a while since his work had been outside an office, and despite rigorous habitual exercise, the desk-work was taking its toll along with the ravages of age. Add the fact that he had never been on a horse before in his life, and he was soon praying that he never got on one of the damned animals again. Albert managed not to smile too broadly at the FBI man's obvious discomfort as they rode side-by-side below the cliffs. As Dana had hoped, their boss had been willing to listen - skeptical, innately cautious and distrustful - but he had read her letter and considered the evidence. The bullet, gun and filter had been shipped off to some lab in Washington, while Skinner did his best to interrogate Albert. The Navajo shaman had responded to the questioning with patient amusement, but little information. Even now, Albert had told Skinner no more than that he would guide him to his missing agents. Thus, they were on horseback, riding for long hours into the desert. Skinner had traded his suit for jeans, polo shirt, and a windbreaker that was tied around his waist, in the hope of gaining some increased comfort. It hadn't worked, the heavy rays of the sun making him long for a cold beer and his air- conditioned office. Just as he was beginning to think that he'd just been led on another wildgoose-chase by the Navajo, Skinner saw the faint shape of a building on the horizon. As he squinted, eyes sun- struck even behind prescription sunglasses, Albert pointed at the squat round shape just around the bend of the stream-bed. "There," he said simply. - - - - - Dana Scully heard the sound of horse's hooves clattering on the rocks, and rocked back onto her heels by the stream bed. Eyes shielded by a dripping hand, she could just make out the two horseman, one sitting solid on the brown animal, the other shifting as he rode, the sun glinting off his bare head. Damn, Albert and Skinner were early, she hadn't expected them for another couple of hours. Now, instead of being neatly dressed and groomed in her Western clothes, clean and hair in place, she was a mess. Washing clothes in the stream, while convenient, had left her sweaty and dirty. She was dressed in the white Navajo robe that had functioned as a bedrobe for Mulder while he was ill, but now it was dirty and wet, clinging to her naked body underneath. As she stood up wearily, feeling the ache in her lower back from spending too long bent over, she tugged at the hem. At least on her it fell well below the knees, she smiled, it a good thing Mulder wasn't wearing the robe. Tucking loose copper strands of hair behind her eyes, she sighed and cast around for her partner. Mulder was several feet away, facing away from their arriving guests. He was pumping at the hand-crank on the well, drawing buckets of water for the bath they had planned to take. Even as flustered as she felt, she couldn't help admiring the way the trim muscles in his back and shoulders flexed and the sheen of his sweaty skin in the midday sun. Her fingers itched to explore his spine, then run up through the soft black hair that curled against the back of his neck. Enough, Dana, she told herself sharply, though there was a knot of disappointment in her belly regarding the bath they were going to miss, a regret that had little to do with being prepared to meet with their boss. A sigh whistled through her teeth, as she decided that there was little she could do. Calling out Mulder's name to give him some warning, she leaned over to pick up the small pile of clothes she had been cleaning, then rose to her feet just as the riders came up close and halted. Albert inclined his head at her gravely, though his eyes were bright obsidian as he dismounted. Skinner sat on his horse, suddenly grateful the sunglasses hid his eyes. He'd seen a number of sides to the Dana Scully, but nothing like this. Even the struggling savage he'd seen several days before had been...a part of her he could expect. She was, as always, a tough, determined professional. A strong, courageous woman, who never lost her femininity, though it was never overt. Until now. Now he was staring at a woman who was ALL woman, from her muddy bare feet, to the wind-caught strands of her brilliant hair. She was clutching a pile of wet clothes just under her breasts, whose nipples showed as dark points against the thin white, soaked, fabric of her knee-length dress. Her face was sunburnt and waiting, her blue eyes calm as the long-distant sea. She was lovely, no beyond lovely...breathtaking. And he found himself gasping as he released the air held for too long in his lungs. Using the need to dismount from the horse to cover his embarrassing response, he slid to the ground. A small groan forced its way through his lips as the cramped muscles complained vigorously. He handed the reins over to Albert willingly, rubbing at his backside, and trying to ignore the screams from his sore thighs. By the time he looked over at the waiting Scully, Mulder had walked up behind her, a sloshing water bucket dangled from each hand. Skinner watched as the agent put down both buckets, his bare and arms and shoulders working, the muscles standing out in sharp relief under bare, sweat-coated skin. At least the paint and native costumes were gone, but Mulder still managed to look primitive. His jeans sat low on his hips, baring this tight stomach and navel, hugging his legs tightly. He was less dusty than his partner, but it was obvious he had been active in the sun, his skin was deeply, evenly bronzed, highlighting the green-tint of his hazel eyes. Together, they looked more like a pair of American pioneers than modern federal agents, and the surroundings only strengthened that impression. They could have been a married couple, struggling to make a living from the frontier wilderness, living in the small, angular cabin in the desert. But they weren't, he reminded himself sharply, as they returned his stare, studying him silently in return. The tall, dark man was an Oxford-educated behavioral psychologist, with a brilliant, ranging intellect. The woman was a medical doctor, an expert forensic pathologist just as much at home in a laboratory as she was in this godforsaken corner of an Indian reservation. And he was their boss. And they had a lot of explaining to do. Straightening his back, Skinner drew himself back into control, easily asserting his natural, and well-trained, authority. Ignoring the slight sense of the ridiculous at the words, he said their names as through they were standing in front of his desk in Washington. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." Mulder and Scully exchanged a quick glance, then Scully spoke first. "Assistant Director Skinner, I'm glad you were able to come on such short notice." Instantly, she managed to assume her professional demeanor, Skinner could almost see her in one of her navy suits, imagine that the loose cloud of hair was pinned into a neat bun, that the bare feet were encased in sensible pumps; the transformation inherent in the sound of her voice. "Perhaps we should go inside and sit down," she continued. "You must be thirsty after the long ride." She stepped forward, then turned to walk by him towards the cabin, treading easily on the ground, her back held straight and proud. Mulder waved Skinner before him, their eyes clashing for a moment, Skinner's hidden by the dark glasses, Mulder's dark and indecipherable. Skinner nodded and proceeded him into the shelter, Mulder picking up the buckets of water, Albert falling into step with Mulder when he was through settling the horses. Giving Skinner the one chair, Mulder placed the buckets on the counter. Dipping a cloth into one, he rubbed some of the sweat off his body, then reached for the tee-shirt laying on the edge of the unmade bed. While he slipped the blue cloth over his shoulders, Scully was pouring water from a jug kept in a small hollow in the ground in the darkest corner of the hut. It was luke- warm, the heat of the sun penetrating everywhere, but it was enough to refresh. She handed out the glasses, then sat down beside Mulder on the side of the bed, primly adjusting the hem of her dress over her knees. Albert perched himself against the counter, effacing himself. This was their business, not his, and he ready to be patient. The three federal agents sat eyeing each other nervously for a moment, no one quite ready to be the first to speak. Finally, Mulder cleared his throat and spoke his first words since Skinner had arrived. "Did you find out what was in the dialysis filter?" he asked. That question had dogged his mind since Scully had first told him about it, feeling the need to know what they had pumped into his unknowing system. Skinner grimaced and nodded. "I don't remember the exact chemical name for it, but it was a recombinant hormone that would stimulate aggressive behavior, as well as intense paranoia. It should cause an inability to sleep, feelings of restlessness and unease, and sudden outbursts of emotion. You, and the woman Scully wrote to me about, weren't the only ones affected. Since you left Washington, there were two beatings and one more killing in your building. Not to mention a rash of domestic disturbance. We found one more filter like the one you took, Scully, still in place. The health authorities have shut down the water supply to the building while a thorough investigation of the entire system is being done." "Those bastards!" Mulder swore under his breath, shaking his head. His eyes glittered as he turned his gaze in Skinner. "I don't suppose there's any trace of who did it." This was a statement, and Skinner didn't bother to reply. "What about Krycek? He was alive and unharmed when we left." Scully broke in, even as she placed a reassuring, restraining hand on Mulder's arm. The gesture did not go unnoticed by their boss' sharp blue eyes. "There was an anonymous phone call to the police, alerting them to a murder in your apartment. They arrived, found the door wide open and Krycek dead on your floor. He had been beaten up, then his neck broken in a professional manner, though any law enforcement officer with training, or any medical doctor could easily duplicate it. Which made you two the most likely suspects, especially when you disappeared." Skinner's temper finally broke. "What the HELL did you think you were doing, running off to New Mexico without a word. Of all the stupid..." "We were running for our lives!" Scully interrupted, her voice knife-edged. "They had already killed Mulder's father, almost killed me, drugged Mulder. He was sick and wounded, and there was no one I could trust." "You could have trusted me," Skinner said angrily. "Why should I have? Half the time you're with them, we never know where you stand." Scully was too angry to bother with being politic. "Besides, you were furious with Mulder for attacking you. And even if you were willing to listen, there might not have been much you could do if they really wanted us dead." "I've done everything I can to protect you," Skinner was equally furious. "But YOU make it impossible." He glared at Mulder. "I've never met anyone with more talent for getting into trouble. And YOU never listen. I tell you to sit quiet on surveillance duty, and you run off to Puerto Rico and nearly get yourself killed. I warn you that you are in danger, and you mess around with stolen DOD documents. Do you have a death-wish or something, Agent Mulder!" "I have a wish for the truth!" Mulder bit off the words, his gut twisting. Skinner's words had hit deep. He didn't WANT to die, he didn't...did he. The memories of the time when Scully had been gone rocked him, along with the knowledge that he had indeed wanted to die then. Life without her was too painful to bear. But she WAS with him now, so he did want to live. He seized on that desire and held tightly to it. There were things he was willing to die for, but not without a fight. He had reasons to live, two of them at least: the warm vibrant woman by his side, and his promise to his sister. I'll find you Samantha, he thought fiercely. I will find you. "There are times for the truth, and times to wait." Skinner responded. "You can't expose anything if you're buried six-feet underground. Or in jail. Or drugged out on exotic chemicals," he pointed out stringently. "If you don't start using the brains God gave you, you're going to fall flat on your face." His next sentence was enunciated slowly and distinctly. "And I will not always be able to pick you up." Mulder's face was grim, his cheekbones standing out in high relief, his mouth set, jaw thrust forward. He said nothing. "You almost lost it all this time. Do you know how close you came to spending the rest of your life in prison. There are still questions to be answered about the deaths of your father and Krycek by other authorities. Even now, I may not be able to get you off the hook for it, either of you." He looked from Mulder's gritted features, to Scully's no-less determined face. "You have the proof that Mulder was drugged, and Krycek's gun. It matched the bullet from Mulder's father, doesn't it." Scully argued. "Yes," Skinner nodded. "But the gun was in YOUR possession, and it had no fingerprints on it at all." He looked at her suspiciously, and she felt a slight blush redden her cheeks. For the first time, she felt grateful for the sunburn that effectively hid her rising color. She hadn't felt right about wiping the gun, but Mulder's fingerprints had been all over it. "Want to tell me again what happened that night, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, watching her closely. She drew in a breath, then told him. "I went to pull the bullet from Mulder's wall. As I was about to leave, I saw an unmarked van delivering and removing water tanks. Mulder's behavior had been...erratic...I got suspicious. So I went down to the basement and found that the water had been tampered with. I took the filter and went outside." She turned to Mulder, waiting for his approval before finishing. He bit at his lower lip, then gave her silent agreement. She read his eyes, then turned back to Skinner. "When I came out the back door, I found Mulder holding Krycek's gun on him. I knew it wasn't Mulder's gun because I had turned his over to the bureau crime lab earlier to prove it wasn't the one used to kill his father. Mulder was upset, certain that Krycek had murdered his father. I pulled my gun on Krycek and attempted to talk Mulder into turning Krycek over to me. He refused, and started to pull the trigger." She took a deep breath and swallowed. "I didn't know what else to do. I shot Mulder in the shoulder." "What?!" Skinner jolted in his seat. This had not been in her letter. Mulder rubbed at his left shoulder with a grimace. "Knocked me flat. I was pretty zoned out, so its not too clear. I remember pain, and hitting the concrete. Then not much else." "Krycek took off immediately, not bothering to pick up his weapon." Scully explained. "I checked to make sure Mulder was not seriously hurt, then heard a woman screaming about calling the police. I was certain Mulder's life was in danger, so I did my best to get him into the car. He woke up enough to help me move him, then fell unconscious again in the car. I stopped at my apartment long enough to get some antibiotic ointment, sedative, and bandages, then took off. I had a line on a Navajo translator," she gestured at Albert who was listening in the corner. "So I decided New Mexico was as good a place to go as any other. Mulder needed the time to flush the drug out of his system, and I needed the time to think. So we came here." "Then what?" Skinner prompted, getting drawn into her tale despite himself. "Albert translated as much as he could, while Mulder recovered. The Navajo had found something in the desert that would supply physical proof, so Mulder went out to look at it." Mulder took over here. "I found a mostly buried wreck of a train that contained hundreds of bodies, skeletons." "What?" Skinner was uncomfortably aware that he was repeating himself. "They were misshapen, had the appearance of being alien at first glance." Skinner was about to make a scathing comment, when the sense of the last words struck him. "But they weren't alien...?" Mulder shook his head. "Don't know. They had enlarged eye sockets and arms, and tiny bodies. But they also had smallpox vaccination scars. I don't know what they were and I never got the time to find out more." His voice turned bitter. "Your friend, Cancerman, came bursting in with a helicopter full of armed soldiers. They blew up the boxcar, and almost got me as well. Luckily the earthquake had created fault lines in the cliffs, I was able to escape through the rocks. I think they must have thought I was dead." Skinner shrugged. "I haven't heard a word from him, or his...people. I wondered why he never showed up. I guessed he was pleased enough with the mess you had gotten yourself into that he didn't feel the need to interfere." "More likely, he thought you were chasing a dead man." Mulder commented wryly. Then he grinned wryly. "I'm glad to disappoint them." "Me, too." Scully said. She brushed the hair of her face, then said thoughtfully. "Though I'm beginning to think that they weren't planning to kill you." At both men's looks of surprise, she flashed a smile, then settled her face into grim lines. "Why go to all the trouble to drug you? They wanted you to destroy yourself. If they kill you, it gives credence to your work. If you self- destruct, it makes your ideas the ramblings of the insane. They killed your father, tried to kill me in order to help isolate you from anyone who would care enough to help." Mulder and Skinner both considered, and accepted the sense of her words. Responding seriously, Mulder asked, "What now? Even if we clear me of the two murders, that still leaves THEM. I can't watch everything I eat and drink, everyone who comes near me. I know people consider me paranoid already," he gave his mischievous grin with that thought. "But I can't live like that. I refuse to live like that." His features stilled. "I don't think they will try anything now," Skinner said slowly. "You are far too public. Front-page news right now, especially with the...the Indian complication." His careful choice of words won a snicker of amusement from the previously silent Albert. Skinner shot him a look of irritation, that did not phase the Navajo Shaman at all. Scully tightened her fingers on Mulder's arm as she spoke the obvious. "We just have to go on with our lives. If someone is going to try to kill us, there's no way to stop them. No one is totally safe, ever." Mulder frowned, he knew that, but he hated hearing her say it. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from all harm. And yet, he needed her. She had saved his life more than once, and he knew she would be furious if he tried to be protective. So he accepted the truth of her words with resignation. "Scully's right. We'll just have to take our chances and hope they decide to pull back in the face of the publicity." Skinner nodded. There was little else to do. Then Skinner lifted his head, giving Mulder his best marine look. "Where on earth did you learn to ride like that?" "Oxford," Mulder replied. At Skinner's disbelieving look, he explained further. "You are looking at an All-England Polo champ, 1982." Skinner shook his head slightly. Mulder grinned, Scully chuckled. "I have a trophy somewhere, if you want to see it when we get back." Skinner sighed, breathing the word like a curse. "Polo." ***** Their conversation lasted long into evening. Skinner took them through every moment of that week in exacting detail, over and over. They returned the favor, drinking in news of the outside world. The final decisions were not hard to make, it was time for them to leave the safe haven of the reservation and return to the fray. They would have some tough days ahead, but for the first time in a couple weeks, they felt they had a chance. Scully had been relieved to hear that her family had stood up to this well, and had laughed openly at Skinner's description of her mother storming into his office, demanding to know what had happened to her daughter. Margaret Scully was a quiet, gentle woman, except where the welfare of her children was concerned. And since Dana's abduction, her mother had come to consider her daughter's partner as one of her own. Margaret had simply adopted Mulder in her own mind and heart, and that was that. Scully women were not easy to argue with once they got an idea fixed in their heads, as Skinner had found out the hard way. It had taken every bit of his persuasive ability to keep her from coming to New Mexico to track her missing children; he had finally resorted to using her concern against her, convincing her she needed to be home in case they tried to contact her. Mulder and Scully were both amazed by the furor occurring in Farmington over the aborted raid on the Navajo ceremony. Albert had told them his people were protesting, but neither agent had thought this would extend to the street rallies and sit-downs in federal buildings that were now occurring across the country. Native American activists had seized on the situation, turning it into a free-for-all. And that, in the end, was the best security Mulder and Scully had. The FBI director and the Attorney General were both desperate to clean things up and soothe the angry tempers. It wouldn't protect them forever, but it would give them a bargaining advantage for the moment. Something they desperately needed right now. Finally, they all settled down for sleep, deciding to postpone the return ride to the next day. Albert setting his sleeping bag outside, Mulder and Scully politely handing the bed over to their boss before spreading out blankets on the floor. In return, Skinner held his tongue about the two of them curling up in each other's arms to sleep together. They had enough to worry about already, a minor violation of FBI protocol could wait - for now. In the dark of the night, Scully pressed her head against Mulder's shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her. She could feel his anxiety even as she felt her own. Leaving this place would not be easy, it had been a refuge, a place of peace and joy for them. But the outside world was waiting to entangle them, to push and pull them into its dangers. They were ready for it, but still there was regret. But at least she had the memories to bring with her, the few fleeting, precious moments of safety in a troubled world. And so she smiled against her partner's chest as his sleepy voice whispered against her hair, so softly that only she could hear. "...Love you..." - - - - - Martha's Vineyard Three Days later The cemetery was cool and still in the dawn, the grass wet with dew, a slight chill lingering in the sea-fresh air. Mulder knelt by his father's grave, letting the bundle of flowers fall from his hand to scatter across the freshly packed earth. The gravestone was clean and new, the name carved into the hard marble: William Fox Mulder. 1931-1995. Plain and simple, the way Bill Mulder would have wanted it to be. He had always been a taciturn, closed man, holding his feelings tightly within, only letting them out in sudden violent fits, most of which had fallen on his only son. The loss of Samantha had only aggravated that tendency, turning a quiet man into combination of distant stone and raging thunder. Fox felt the sharp pang of regret he knew he would carry with him though the rest of his life. Despite the pain, the rage, the hurt that ran so deeply in him, this had been his father, and he had never failed to carry the hope that sometime, somehow, he would win his father's approval if not his love. Perhaps it was crazy to still feel that need, but it was there, biting at his insides. Recent events had carried them closer than they had ever gotten, but an assassin's bullet had abruptly robbed them of the future. Robbed Fox of any chance of fulfilling his most hidden, precious dream. To walk into his father's house with his long-lost sister, and be able to say, I found her. To just once see respect and approval on his father's face. That would never happen now, and his family was even more split than it had been, though he'd have doubted before that such was possible. His mother was a wreck, hysterically blaming Fox for his father's death. She had screamed at the sight of him, and was presently in a private sanitarium. Fox had no need for his father's money, he had placed it all in a fund to support his mother's medical bills. Fox rose to his feet and stood motionless over the grave, a tall, slender, dark man in a tailored black suit. His tie was the only splash of color, and only someone who knew him well would realize how somber it was - for him. The breeze played with tendrils of straight black hair above a pair of inwardly focused dark eyes of an unusual color usually termed hazel for lack of a better word. His feet were planted squarely on the sweet-smelling grass, but his attention was far, far away. So distant, that he did not notice the woman's approach until she was standing by his side, bright auburn hair sliding over her shoulders as she gazed anxiously up at him. Dana Scully held back the words on the tip of her tongue, instantly sensing his mood. So she silently put a hand on his arm and waited until he looked down at her. She twined her fingers through his and inclined her head towards the car sitting just beyond the gates. His fingers convulsed around hers, holding onto her hand with all of his strength. Then they turned and walked towards away from the graveside, footsteps swallowed by the grass, her shoulder nearly brushing his, their hands clasped together. The End