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Tempest, part 8


*  *  *  *  *  *  *


Mulder watched Scully wobble into the heavily wooded area,
waiting until she was well in front of him before he began to
follow.  He'd known something was wrong for a long time, but
he had hoped she would confide in him what it was.  From the way
she'd shoved his hand away when he tried to help her up, he felt
pretty sure that the admission was not forthcoming.

Watching her limp away from him with agonizing deliberation, he
was equally sure he'd finally put all the pieces together.  She'd
been hurt in the crash.  God, it was so obvious now.  She'd been
hurt and she'd hidden it from him and he'd been a fucking asshole
for not figuring it out sooner.  Well he was going to know all
about it now, or they wouldn't take another step.  Dana Scully
wasn't the only one who knew how to issue an ultimatum.  

Without a sound, he followed the path she had taken, closing the
gap between them.  

He found her half-dressed, leaning against the trunk of a large
tree as she tried to unwind a makeshift bandage from around her
left leg.  Her face was drawn and pale, streaked with dirt where
her tears had rolled down her cheeks.  She'd been crying?  He
could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Scully in
tears.  If she'd been crying, it was worse than he'd anticipated.
He cursed himself for every kind of fool that he hadn't called
her on her erratic behavior earlier.  He should have known she
was covering.

He should have, but he hadn't.

In silence, he stood behind her, watching in amazement as she
unraveled more and more of the bloody bandage from her thigh. 
Her shuddery breath caught in a muffled sob, and his heart
twisted at the sound; she didn't want him to hear her cry.  He
shook his head, dumbfounded by what he was seeing.  She was still
trying to keep it from him, still trying to keep the pace that he
had set for them both -- a pace that he had complained more than
once was too slow.  Now he knew why.

God, he was an jerk sometimes.

He walked toward her quietly, not drawing her attention until he
was standing almost beside her.  A twig snapped underfoot as he
approached her and she jumped as if she'd been shot, looking at
him with a guilty expression that quickly transformed into one of
irritation. 

"Don't you ever knock, Mulder?"

Hostile.  She was definitely hostile.

He was unfazed by her attitude.  "The door was open," he replied
quietly.  His eyes were fixed on the bandage she held loosely in
her hands.  There was blood.  A lot of blood.  "Jesus, Scully,"
he breathed.  "Why didn't you say something?"

"It's nothing, Mulder," she told him, trying to rewrap her leg
before he could see otherwise.  "I just need a few minutes,
that's all."

He closed the rest of the distance between them, fully taking in
for the first time the pallor on her face.  She was almost grey. 
"Nothing, huh?  Is that why you fell back there?  Because it's
nothing?"  His voice rose in anger.  "Is that why you look like
you're about to pass out now?  Because it's nothing?"  The words
sounded angrier than he meant for them to.

"For God's sake, Mulder, I'm a doctor.  I've looked at it -- it's
nothing.  And I'm not about to faint."  She glared at him, but
the attitude didn't disguise the pain in her eyes.  

He didn't bite.  "Sit down," he ordered.  "I want to look at it."
He gave her a look that dared her to argue, and she complied
without comment, awkwardly easing herself down beneath the tree,
leaning against it with a tired sigh as she stretched her legs
out in front of her.  

He crouched down, untying and removing her shoes, tugging lightly
on the legs of her jeans to pull them off completely.  They slid
easily from her shapely legs and he tossed them aside absently as
she shifted her weight onto her right hip, giving him access to
her left leg.  There was not a hint of self-consciousness in her
actions, no misplaced modesty for the fact that she sat before
him clad only in a T-shirt and bikini panties.  She looked
resigned.  Tired.  Sick.  

He felt ill himself.

He began to unwrap the bandage from her upper leg.  Layer by
layer the thin cloth came away from the wound, until at last he
had revealed the entire length of the fiendish cut that ran down
her thigh.  He looked at it closely, steeling himself to maintain
a scientifically-detached scrutiny. 

He wanted to throw up.

The deep, jagged cut was crusted with dried blood around the
edges, but the center of the wound oozed freely, a combination of
blood and dirt that Mulder knew was a haven for infection. 
Already, the skin around the cut was red and puffy, making the
edges of the wound pucker upward, widening the gash.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Scully whispered.  

Her head was turned away, her gaze averted.  She could easily
have twisted far enough to see the cut herself, but she didn't
try and he was glad.  However it might have looked when she
dressed it, he didn't think she had the stomach to see it now. 
He certainly didn't.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it infected?"

He considered lying to her, but it would have been pointless. 
She would know.  She *did* know.  She was only asking for
confirmation.

He ran a hand tiredly across his stubbled cheek.  "Yeah.  It's
infected."

She nodded silently, and began to stand, groaning softly as she
shifted her weight onto a leg he knew she had no business
standing on, but he couldn't think of a rational argument for
telling her that, so he said nothing.  She moved slowly,
unsteadily reaching for her discarded jeans.

"Wait," he told her, stopping her with an upraised hand.

"What?"

"I think we ought to put a clean dressing on that before we do
anything else." 

"I don't have anything to dress it with, Mulder."

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. "Here.  We'll use
this.  I still have my T-shirt."

She looked doubtful.

"Don't argue," he warned.  "Sit."

She shrugged her compliance and sat back down.

Mulder ripped the shirt into strips, his mind racing.  Bad.  This
was more than bad.  Why hadn't she said something.  Goddammit,
she should have said something.  And he was mad as hell about the
fact that she hadn't, but that conversation would have to wait. 
He dug the antibiotic cream and last bottle of water from the bag
and crouched behind her.

"I'm gonna pour some water on it, Scully, and see if I can wipe
some of the dirt away.  Then I'll put some cream on it."

She sniffed and nodded resolutely, gasping audibly when he
touched the tender skin around the cut.  But she didn't cry out. 
Not once.  Not when he dabbed at it with the corner of the
shirt, and not when he touched the jagged edges of the wound with
the thick ointment from the tube.  He would have felt better if
she'd cried or screamed.  Her stoicism only made him feel like a
heel for hurting her -- like she'd just resigned herself to the
torture.  When he tied the last section of the meager thin
bandage, he didn't know who was more relieved.

"So what do we do now?"  He helped her to her feet.  She looked
completely out of it.

"Well, nothing's changed since this morning, Mulder."  Her words
were slow, but lucid.  She stepped into her jeans with his help
and slowly eased them up over her hips, wincing as the thick
denim touched the bandage.  "My leg was hurt then; it's hurt now. 
I can keep going."  She zipped her jeans and stepped into her
tennis shoes, walking slowly toward him.  "I can make it to the
watch tower.  Surely we're getting close by now."
  
"Scully you're not in any condition to be hiking down a
mountainside!"  His voice was loud and rough.

"Well I wasn't in any condition to be hiking down a mountainside
this morning either, but it didn't kill me, did it?"

"Not yet, it didn't," he growled.  "But it sure as hell didn't do
you any good!" 

"Well then you tell me what the alternative is, Mulder," Scully
shot back.  "because I'm sure as hell not gonna sit here and do
nothing while you wander around out here by yourself under the
guise of being chivalrous and going for help."  She crossed her
arms and glared at him.  

"You know damn well I wouldn't be chivalrous and go for help!" he
snapped.

Her eyebrows rose and the corners of her mouth twitched.

"You know what I mean," he corrected in a softer tone.

"Yes, I know what you mean, Mulder," she told him with a small
smile.  But she didn't let him off the hook.  "I'm serious,
Mulder.  We're not splitting up.  I'm not going to perish alone
out here from hunger or wolves or infection..."

"Don't forget hitmen," he added helpfully.

"...or hitmen," she amended without skipping a beat, "because you
felt the need to play hero to my damsel in distress.  Staying put
won't help anything at this point.  We've both seen the cut --
obviously I can't afford to wait around.  I have nothing to lose
and hopefully something to gain by continuing to walk down this
mountain, injured leg or not.  So the only question is why we're
standing here wasting time."  

He sighed.  "Okay.  You win."  He picked up the shoulder bag and
looked around them, getting his bearings.  "We'll take it slow,
and we'll stop whenever you need to, okay?"

She nodded.  "As long as I don't have to bend over or jog, I'll
be fine.  I've come this far; another half a day isn't going to
faze me."  She smiled at him.  "Hey, I've survived giant
flukeworms, satanic cults, pyromaniacs, liver-eating mutants, my
own abduction, and a plane crash.  I think I can walk a few more
hours on a cut leg."

And he almost believed her.  He might have believed her, if she
hadn't walked around to face him and placed her hand on his arm
in a gentle, if hesitant gesture.

"Mulder?"  Her voice was soft.

"What?"  He answered her just as quietly.

"Will you do something for me before we go?"

He looked down at her, hating the stress and pain that showed on
her face.  Hating the evidence of anxiety that had become far too
familiar when he looked at her.  He was suddenly overwhelmed by
the need to offer her some modicum of comfort or reassurance.
Lend her his strength.  Whatever she wanted from him, at that
moment, he would have moved heaven and earth to make it so.
"Sure."

She lifted one leg toward him and smiled tentatively.  "Tie my
shoes?" 

Wordlessly, Mulder bent down and fumbled with her laces,
complying with her request in what seemed no longer than a
heartbeat.  Unexpected tears blurred his vision; he blinked them
away.  Tying her shoes was such a simple gesture, so easily
given, and yet the act itself seemed unbelievably intimate.  And
kneeling in the woods, with Dana Scully's foot on his thigh, Fox
Mulder was startled to realize just how much of his life -- his
world, in fact -- could fit into something as small as a size six
tennis shoe.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

5:47 p.m.

The watchtower sat high on the hillside, supported by a knotty
wooden frame that showed significant signs of weathering and old
age.  Sixty six rungs of rough-hewed pine stretched upward in a
mock salute, taunting both agents with the promise of a much
deserved rest.  But the journey to the top was a test of
endurance.  They climbed for ten minutes, slowly and carefully
inching up the sturdy wooden ladder with Scully setting the pace. 
Mulder followed below, spotting her shaky steps -- steadying her
when the vertigo kicked in about halfway up.  Finally, Scully
pulled herself painfully onto the small deck and scrambled
away from the ladder, making room as Mulder stepped over the last
rung to join her.   He pulled his weapon and fired one quick
round into the cheap padlock on the door, pushing it open and
waiting as Scully limped inside ahead of him.

She knew within five seconds that it hadn't been worth the trip. 
She'd cataloged the contents in an instant:  two short shelves
containing less than a dozen dusty books, one small cabinet
directly underneath the room's single multi-paned window, one gas
lantern on a hook by the door, a hot plate left sitting on a
small folding card table, some rolled up papers leaning in the
corner, and a small dirty generator peeking out from behind the
one tiny cot on the far wall.

There was no radio.

Fatigue and disappointment claimed the last of her strength and
she swayed, showing no reaction at all when Mulder's hands
encircled her upper arms to steady her.  

There was no radio.

He nudged her toward the cot.  "Sit down before you fall down,
Scully."  

She sat.

There was no radio.

"There has to be something here.  There *has* to be."  Mulder 
voice faded in and out as he stuck his head into corners and
crevices.  "How the hell can you have a watchtower in the middle
of a national park and not have a radio?  What would a ranger do
if there was a fire out here?  Send smoke signals?"

Scully leaned back on the dusty cot, melting into a puddle of
benign acceptance.  Her eyes closed instantly.  She didn't care
that there was no radio.  She was too tired to worry about what
would happen tomorrow.  She couldn't feel her leg anymore, and
the temporary respite from the pain was quickly leading her
toward subconscious oblivion.  The small dirty cot with the thin
lumpy mattress felt like a king-sized therapeutic massage bed
from a suite at the Ritz.  It was heaven -- heaven in a dirty
little wooden sardine can.  

She could live with that.  She could live with anything as long
as she didn't have to ever open her eyes again...

"Scully."  

The voice invaded her solitude, tempting her with a wonderful
aroma that made her mouth water.  Food...there was food.  Wait --
that wasn't right.  There was no food.  She was dreaming.

"Scully, open your eyes."

Go away go away go away.  Don't take away my food...I'm not done
smelling it.

"Scully!" A gentle hand on her shoulder roused her, finally.  She
stared at the figure in front of her, unable to blink it into
focus.  Where was she?  

"You okay?"

Mulder.

"Um hmmm."   She stretched her arms up over her head and tried to
push away the persistent sleepiness.  Her stomach turned over
with a loud groan, and she patted it softly, her disappointment
mixing with hunger.  "I dreamed there was food," she mumbled. 
"It smelled so good I didn't want to wake up."

He raised his hands, and for first time, she realized he was
holding a blue ceramic bowl.  Steam wafted over the edges,
curling and dancing into the air. "Cafe Muldaire is open for
business."

Her eyes flew open wide, all remnants of sleep gone instantly. 
"You found food?" she gaped.  "Real food?"

He grinned.  "Five cans of Woodhouse Smoked Baked Beans.  Dinner
of champions."

Her mouth was watering.  Oh God.  Food.  Real honest to goodness
food.  She wanted to tackle him and wrest the bowl away from him,
but she only grinned back.  "When do we eat?"

Mulder pushed a strand of hair from her forehead and looked into
her eyes, concern showing on his face.  "Can you sit up?"

"With food at stake?" she snorted.  "Of course I can sit up." 
With a heavy sigh, she leveraged herself upward and swung her
legs over the side of the cot, yelling in spite of herself when
the back of her left leg made contact with the cot.  "Shit!"  She
pulled her legs back onto the cot and curled them toward the wall
as she shifted onto her side.  "And then again, maybe not," she
said, more to herself than to Mulder.

She could see the concern on his face, but thankfully, he didn't
pass judgment on her condition.  "Okay," he told her
matter-of-factly.  "Dinner in bed it is."  He simply waited 
while she adjusted herself into a more upright position, propping
herself on one arm, then he handed her a worn, bent spoon and
moved to sit on the floor beside her.  They wound up almost eye
to eye.

Scully looked around the room as Mulder situated himself.  The
colorful haze of twilight had long since been left behind,
replaced by unadorned, unrelieved blackness.  The gas lantern
was burning brightly from its hook, casting a surprisingly warm
glow around the small interior.  The room fared much better in
dim light, Scully thought.  In the daytime it was cramped and
dirty.  But through the warm glow of gaslight, it took on an
almost cozy feeling.  Safe.  

She looked at the quiet generator in the corner.  "Does that
work?" she asked.

"Nope," Mulder replied, crossing his long legs underneath him. 
He inched himself closer to the bed.  "It had enough gas to run
the hot plate for approximately seven minutes.   Then it quit
completely.  Lukewarm will have to be good enough."

Scully's stomach rolled over again, the sound unbelievably loud
in the small room.  "Mulder," she smiled, "right now it could be
a baked bean popsicle and I wouldn't complain."

He set the bowl on the edge of the bed between them.  "That's
good to know," he told her.  "Because there's only one bowl and
one spoon."  He held the small tin utensil out to her.  "We'll
have to share."

She fixed him with a pointed stare.  "You don't have cooties, do
you?"

He laughed.  "Not last time I checked.  Dig in." 

Scully didn't need a second invitation.  She took the spoon and
dug into the bowl with gusto, popping a spoonful of the warm
substance into her mouth.  Nothing on the planet had ever tasted
so good.  She moaned her appreciation.  "Mmmm, ese are goo,
Muller."  

She handed him the spoon, swallowing hard as she watched him
savor his first bite.  His eyes closed slowly and sensually as he
savored the taste.  Muscles moved continuously beneath the shadow
of stubble on his jaw, and Scully imagined she could see his
tongue rolling over the spicy concoction in his mouth.  Just as
she had done, he moaned his appreciation.  The sound sent a
shiver down her spine.  Mulder in ecstasy, she thought.  So this
is what it looks like.  Good Lord, it ought to be illegal to look
tha...

"Your turn."

She snapped back to reality, heat flooding her cheeks.  She took
the spoon he offered and dug into the bowl again.  Eat, Scully,
she told herself.  Don't think about Mulder, and for God's sake,
don't think about Mulder's tongue.  Just eat.

In fifteen minutes, the bowl was empty.  Scully dropped the spoon
into the empty bowl and sighed, raising her head to look at the
man sitting in front of her.  "Well I guess that's it," she told
Mulder, surprised to find he was staring at her.

"Not quite," he murmured, reaching his hand toward her.

"Wha..?"  Her question cut off abruptly when she felt his fingers
upon her.  His index finger slowly traced a path upward from her
chin to the corner of her mouth.  When he pulled it away, she
could see the barbecue sauce running down his finger.  She
dragged the back of her hand across her mouth automatically,
watching entranced as he placed his index finger in his mouth and
withdrew it, turning his hand to lap at the small remnants of
sauce clinging to his knuckle.  

When his eyes met hers again, he smiled and she felt her heart
drop to her toes.  "Anyone ever tell you you're a messy barbecue
eater?" 

She just stared at him.  For the life of her, she couldn't think
of a single thing to say.

"Mind you, I'm not complaining," he continued, pinning her again
under the most intense gaze she had ever imagined.  "It's part of
your charm."

She shook herself free from the sexual tension that she knew was
close to overwhelming her.  This was a baaaaaaaad place to be
right now.  Just back away from it, she told herself.  "Part of
my charm?  *Part* of my charm?  Ha!," she scoffed in mock
irritation.  "You're delusional, Mulder.  We both know the fact
that I'm a messy barbecue eater is at least a good three quarters
of my charm."

He laughed and rose from the floor, carrying their single dish
and utensil to the tiny sink.  He paused at the window, his back
to her as he looked out the glass panes into nothingness. 
Automatically, her own eyes followed the path of his.

The blackness of night covered every pane of the window like a
blanket of black velvet hung on the outside of the cabin. 
Crickets whirred outside, their song filling the night with
memories of childhood.  Trips to the country, nights spent with
Missy under her grandmother's handmade quilts, snuggling together
and telling ghost stories, marveling at the darkness of true
country nights in comparison to their street lamp filled twilight
that served as darkness back home.

"We have to talk about what we're going to do."  He didn't turn
around.  "We only have a few options, and we need to talk about
them Scully."

The warm feeling she had nurtured since awakening was yanked away
from her without warning.  Mulder's voice was firm, all business. 
Whatever spell they had been under moments ago was broken.    She
was utterly confused, hopelessly frustrated.  Her relationship
with Mulder was one big roller coaster ride these days -- rising
and falling in senseless abandon, changing directions
constantly...she kept waiting for the bottom to drop out from
under her, wondering every time it did if the ride was over.  

She took a deep breath and forced her mind into focus.  Back to
business.  This was all about the business of survival -- hers
and Mulder's.  If that wasn't serious enough to pull her mind
away from Mulder's body and into some semblance of cognizance for
ten minutes then she deserved to meet her demise out here among
the wild things.

Wild thing, I think I love you...I wanna know for sure...

Focus, damn it!  She could do this.  She could.  She forced
herself to stand and limped over toward the window.  He watched
her approach in the window.  "Okay, Mulder.  Let's talk.  We
need a game plan." 

He nodded, and motioned for her to follow as he walked to the
card table.  Maps were spread across the entire surface, held in
place by various makeshift paperweights to keep the corners from
curling.  Scully looked at the maps.  Aerial, mostly...a few
geographic.  One geological.  Lines and colors and levels and
symbols danced in front of her, a jumble of moving string art. 
She had no idea what she was looking at. 

"Okay... as near as I can figure..." Mulder's voice trailed off
as he ran his finger over the lines of one of the maps.  "We are
somewhere right around...damn.  Where did we go?"  He looked
around the surface of the table, and gave a satisfied sigh,
picking up the object he sought.  "Ah, okay," he continued. 
"Now..." 

Scully stared at him, agape.

"We are...*here.*"  He motioned to a point on the map.

"You bastard."

"Huh?"  He looked at her blankly.

"You bastard!  I can't believe you didn't say...I mean, you let
me think...I just...I thought..."

Mulder straightened and turned to face her, a look of total
incomprehension on his face.  She'd never wanted to hit him so
much in her life.  Never wanted to hit *anyone* so much in
her life.  And the only thing that kept her from punching his
lights out was the fact that she just didn't have it in her to do
anything that would put his once-lost-but-now-found glasses in
jeopardy.  

She kicked him instead.


End of part 8



Tempest, part 9

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"OW!  Goddammit, Scully!  What did you do *that* for?"  Mulder
grabbed his shin and stared at his partner as she'd just grown
another head.

"You're wearing your glasses!" she bellowed.

"And so you felt the need to kick me?" he yelled back.  "Jesus
Christ!  What the hell's the matter with you?"

Her eyes flashed fire.  "I thought I lost them!  I pulled them
out of that plane, climbed up the side of a mountain with them,
and then suddenly found them missing yesterday morning.  I
thought I lost them, and you didn't say a word.  How could you
not say a word?"

He was completely lost.  Uncharted territory.  Clueless.  What in
God's name was she getting hysterical about?  His glasses? "I...I
found them in the...in the bag," he stammered.  "I'm sorry if I didn't
sa--"

"This isn't about being sorry!" she hissed.  "This is about a lot more
than a stupid pair of glasses."

She was feverish, he told himself.  She wasn't herself.  He
reached a hand toward her.  "Scully, calm down."

She pushed his hand away.  "Don't tell me to calm down!"  

"Fine!" he snapped.  "Then tell me what the hell you want me to
say!  I'm sorry I found my glasses?  I'm sorry I put them on? 
What?  I don't understand you, Scully!  What's going on here?"

To his absolute horror, she dissolved into tears.  Her face
crumpled before his eyes, her chin quivering, tears streaming
down her cheeks.  She hobbled away from him, swiping angrily at
the tears as she moved to sit down on the cot.  Like a flash of
fire, she jumped up as soon as the mattress made contact with the back
of her thigh.  Arms swinging, fists flailing the air, she let loose
her anger in a long creative string of invectives, cursing with an air
of fluency that amazed Mulder.  She was completely transformed as she
vented -- a feral creature lashing out with fury.  

His mind was racing.  What should he do?  What *could* he do?  Go to
her?  Try to comfort her?  Hell, she almost bit his head off last time
he tried to calm her down.  He had no idea at all what was the right
course of action...and so he did nothing.  He just stood quietly and
waited for her rage to play itself out.

When she finally began to regain control, she fixed him with a
glare that cut straight to his heart.  "I can't believe you're
just going to stand there, you self-absorbed son of a bitch! 
You're just going to stand there and watch me fall apart and not
say a word.  Just...go away, Mulder."

He stared at her.  "What?"

"Go away.   From me.  Leave me alone.  Oooh!  *There's* an idea! Why
don't you go look outside -- I'm sure you could find a nice bright
light to go chase.  God knows you haven't DITCHED me in at LEAST 8
hours, Mulder.  You must be needing a fix."

His patience snapped.  "Okay, stop right there."  He held up one
hand in a motion to halt her words.  "I've had enough of this
crap -- you're driving me crazy!  Either tell me what's the
matter or take the goddamn chip off your shoulder, Scully.  I
can't read your mind."

She crossed her arms defiantly.  "Well, thank you very much,
Agent Mulder, for bothering to remember that I even HAVE mind." 
Her words were lower now.  Controlled.  But still full of venom.

He was stung by the sarcasm.  "What the hell is *that* supposed
to mean?" 

"For the best fuckin' profiler the FBI ever had, you're not real
perceptive sometimes."  She laughed harshly.  "God, Mulder--you
honestly don't see it, do you?"

He raised his hands toward the ceiling in frustration.  "NO!  I
don't see it!  How many times do you want me to say it?  I don't
get it!    I mean...I'm trying, Scully -- I am.  But you've
been walking around for weeks -- long before this fiasco ever
started -- with a little black storm cloud over your head.  You
won't talk about it.  You hardly speak at all anymore when
we're in the office.  I don't know what I can do that I haven't
already done!  I'm tired of walking on eggshells here.  You think I'm
dense?  Fine.  Whatever.  Spell it out for me and let's get past it
but stop treating me like the bad guy for not being able to fix what
you won't tell me is broken.  What do you WANT from me?"

Blue eyes met his with electric fire, boring their way into his
conscience.  "What do I want?  What do I WANT?  What I *want,*
Mulder, is to know that I'm more than a fucking footnote stamped
on every case report that passes through our office!"  

His jaw dropped open in surprise.  "I've never treated you like a
foo--"

"You *have*," she snapped, effectively cutting off his denial. 
"You come up with these bizarre UFO theories and elaborate,
Byzantine conspiracy plots, and I'm supposed to drop everything
to come play Tonto to your Lone Ranger."

She was in a total fury as she turned on him, breathing rapidly,
her cheeks flushed -- with anger or fever or both, he didn't
know. 

"Well, I'm not your sidekick, damn it."  She pointed her finger
and tapped his chest to emphasize her words.  "I'm a doctor with
as much -- if not more -- education than you, I have a damned
good record the Bureau, which is a HELL of a lot more than you
can say---and if *I* come up with a theory, you can be damned
sure I can back it up with some hard evidence---and God knows,
you certainly can't say that. So what I WANT, Mulder, is for you
to stop treating me like your secretary, you selfish sack of
shit!"

He started to reply, but her tirade wasn't over, and he fell
silent again under the harshness of her words.

"What I WANT, is for you to stop telling me what to do and who to
interrogate and what to ask.  Just once, I want you to ask me nicely
what I think about your suggestion, and maybe, just MAYBE, if I think
it's the best thing for the case, I'll take it under advisement!"

Her anger began to dissipate, and she turned away from him,
limping back toward the cot on the far wall.  Her words
continued, but they were softer now, speaking more of hurt than
of vindication.  He didn't miss the slight catch of her breath
before she continued.  "What I want is for you to acknowledge
that I contribute something to this partnership -- that I'm
not some annoying afterthought you got stuck with."   Carefully,
she sat down on the edge of the cot, her tears spilling anew. 
She swiped a hand across her upper lip, wiping her nose and the
wetness from her cheeks. "I want to know where I stand with you,
Mulder, or else I want you to acknowledge that I don't stand
anywhere at all."  Her chin began to quiver again.  "I want you
to stop confusing me." 

His heart wrenched at the sight of her tears.  He had no bigger
weakness in the world.  "I'm sorry," he told her.  "I'm sorry.  I
never meant to hurt you, Scully.  I don't ever mean to do that."

She didn't meet his eyes.  "Then why do you keep doing it?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly.  "I guess I'm just not
aware of what it is that hurts you so much.  Tell me what it is
that bothers you, Scully.  I need specifics."

"Stop ditching me and going off on your own."  The words spilled
forth without hesitation.  "We can be in the middle of a case,
working together, and the first time you have one of your
psychological profiler hunches or supernatural phenomenon
theories, you run off by yourself and leave me alone to clean up
the details you can't be bothered with -- like proof and
evidence.  I might not always agree with your ideas, Mulder, but
I'm part of the X-Files full time -- it's not a hobby for me any
more than it is for you.  And I don't appreciate being treated
like a whore you call up every once in awhile when you have a
professional itch that needs to be scratched."

He winced at the metaphor.  "I didn't realize I was ditching
you," he said quietly.  "I just always assumed we each worked
better in our own comfort level.  You in the lab and me in hot
pursuit.  I never meant for that to seem like a slight of your
contribution to the X-Files." 

"Well, after four years, that's how it feels," she told him.

He nodded.  "What else?"

She looked away from him.  "I just need you to stop taking me for
granted."  

"Taking you for granted?"  He couldn't keep the incredulity from
his voice.  "Scully, there's not a day that goes by that I'm not
thankful you're on my side."  He crossed the room and knelt in
front of her, placing his hands on top of hers in her lap.  "The
fact that I know I can trust you...the fact that I know you trust
me...that's a gift to me.  That I know I can call you night or day and
you'll listen to my outrageous theories and my ridiculous conclusions
and reel me back in when I need for you to."  He reached up and
crooked his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.  "The
fact that I can stumble onto your doorstep from a crime scene at two
in the morning, sick and bloody, and know that you'll take care of me
first and ask questions later...those are things I will *never* take
for granted.  And if I've ever once made you think otherwise, then you
have every right to call me on it."

A crystalline tear spilled from her eye and he brushed it away
with his thumb.  "I'm sorry I made you feel that way, Scully." 
His words were a hoarse whisper in the stillness of the wooden
tower.  "I would never knowingly hurt you.  Okay?"

Her eyes searched his for the honesty of his words before she
nodded.  "Okay."

He wasn't quite convinced. He tilted his head to make eye contact with
her again.  "You sure?"

She smiled the smallest of smiles.  "I'm sure."

"All right."  He stood and held out his hand to her.  "Come back
and look at the maps and let me show you where we are.  We have a
decision to make, and then we need to get some sleep."

She made one last swipe at her damp cheeks and took the hand he
offered, wincing as he pulled her onto her feet.  She was
obviously in constant pain, stubbornly refusing to give in to the urge
to cry out.  He supported her weight with an arm around her waist,
walking slowly beside her as she hopped to the table.

"Okay.  We're here," he told her, indicating an area in the
bottom right corner of the map.  "As near as I can figure, our
point of impact must have been somewhere around --" his finger
circled the air as he looked for the position he had pinpointed
earlier while she slept --"right around here somewhere.  This is
the only place I see with a ridge high enough to be the one you
climbed."

She nodded.  "Okay.  So what's the rest of the news?"

He sighed.  "Well it's not good.  If my estimates are correct,
then really it comes down to choosing one of two options."  She
didn't answer, and he bent to look in her eyes.  "Are you
following this, Scully?  I need you to be coherent for about
another 10 minutes, then I promise I'll let you rest."

She attempted a smile.  "I'm here.  Two options," she repeated as
proof that she'd heard him.  "What's the first one?"

"The first one is that we retrace our path and head back to the
crash site like you suggested yesterday.  It would be the safest
bet to ensure our being found."

"Yeah, but we discussed that yesterday," she stated.  "And I 
agreed you were right.  Lindsey Carrol has a better chance if we
stay away from the wreckage." 

"I'm not concerned about Lindsey Carol at this point, and I don't
think you ought to be either," he told her slowly.  "I don't want to
put her in danger, Scully, but right now our first priority has to be
to get you to a hospital."

"Point taken," Scully agreed.  "What's the second option?"

Mulder turned back to the papers on the table.  "The second
option is that we head north west over this little hill right
here.  If I'm reading this correctly at all, I think this is a
main highway."  He indicated a black line that intersected the
mountain in a winding path.  "It's a shorter distance to the
highway, but it's a gamble as to whether or not it's active. 
Plus we'll have to cross a river."

Scully rubbed her temples.  He was struck by the pallor of her
complexion.  She wasn't well at all, and he knew it.  Time was
going to run out on them if they guessed wrong.  They couldn't
afford to miss.  "It's your call," he told her.  "I know you're
in pain and not thinking real clearly right now, but I also know
you're the doctor -- and you know what the prognosis is for your
leg if we don't get the help we need in the time we have left. 
So I need for you to make the decision.  I'll abide by whatever
you say."

She looked at the map, blinking hard, and he could tell she was
trying desperately to comprehend the maze of lines and numbers. 
Finally, she looked up.  The plane is the better bet for rescue,
but the highway is closer.  I say we head for the road at sun-up. I
don't have more than one day that I'll even be able to walk, and the
crash site is two days back now."

His heart skipped a beat at the grim prediction.  "Are you sure?"

"No," she said.  "But I'm willing to risk it at this point.  I
can't stand the pain much longer and I'll be sick with fever by
morning.  I say we take a leap of faith.  The highway's closer."

He nodded.  "Okay.  Highway it is."  

Scully shuffled toward the cot.  "Can I leave a wake up call?"

He took in the warped frame of the old metal cot.  "Do you really
think that'll be necessary?" he asked.  "I can't imagine either of us
will sleep too soundly in these luxurious conditions."

She rummaged through the travel bag and pulled something from the side
pocket.  "Ahhh," she breathed.  "On the contrary, Mulder..." she
turned to face him.  "You're about to ensure that I sleep like a baby
tonight."

He took a step backward.  "Um...I am?"

She smiled and held out a small syringe to him.  "Uh huh.  You're
going to give me a shot."

"I can't give you a shot," he protested.  "I'll...I'll hurt you. I've
never done it."

She walked back to the table and stopped.  "Well, it's you or me,
Mulder, and I can't effectively reach the area where it needs to be
given." 

He swallowed.  "Which is where?"  he asked, his voice shaky.

She smiled at him, a genuine, if tired smile that lightened the
load on his heart just a bit.  "Don't be such a baby."  She
unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, hooking her thumbs in the
waistband and pulling them down, exposing her buttocks to him.

His mouth went completely dry.  His hands were shaking.  He could only
stare at the image she presented standing there with her pants half
lowered, her eyes sparkling with mischief, even through the haze of
fever.

"C'mon, Mulder.  It's not that bad.  I'll walk you through it."

Slowly he approached the table, trying not to stare at the creamy
curves of her bottom.  It was a shot.  An injection.  He could
maintain detachment.  He could.  He took the cap off the needle and
swallowed hard one more time.  "Okay," he managed to choke out.  "What
do I do?"

"Jab the needle in the fleshy part of my hip, slightly closer to
my butt than my side.  Don't try to do it slowly, that'll hurt
more.  Just stick it in there.  And then after you do, press the
plunger halfway down.  That's 100 milligrams of Demerol, but I
want to save half of it in case I need it more later."

His eyes were fixated on her body.  

"Mulder?" 

"Huh?"

"You ready?"

"Um, yeah."

He was as ready as he could be, he told himself.  He could handle
this.  Professional detachment.  Medical decorum, he told himself.  He
could survive the moment without embarrassment.  And he almost did --
until Dana Scully bent over the small table and bared her bottom to
him completely, giving him the most instantaneous erection he'd ever
experienced.

The seconds ticked away.

"Enjoying the view, Mulder?"

"Sorry," he mumbled.  "You're sure you trust me to do this?"

"Mulder," she sighed.  "I'm in a fairly submissive position at
the moment.  I think the matter of my trust has been
established."

"Just...just anywhere over...here?"  He indicated an area close
to her hip.

"That's as good a place as any.  Just do it and put us both out
of our misery."

He jabbed the needle into her flesh, wincing more than she did
when it slid into her body effortlessly.  He pressed the plunger
halfway, then withdrew the needle completely.  "There," he told
her, immensely pleased with himself.  "Home free."

His relief was short lived.

Scully stood and pulled up her panties, wiggling out of her jeans
completely and leaving them in a heap on the floor as she hobbled back
to the cot. "That's what you think, Mulder," she called over her
shoulder.

"Huh?"

She smiled at him as she curled onto her side on the cot. 
"You've never seen me on Demerol before.  I might be home free
for the rest of the night, but trust me -- your  ride is just
beginning."

End of part 9


Tempest, part 10

10:13 PM

She'd been out like a light within ten minutes, though whether
from the drug or fatigue he couldn't tell.  Not that it mattered.
She was resting -- oblivious to the pain in her leg and the
memories of the crash -- and for that, Mulder was thankful.  The
sleep would do her good and give him a chance to study the maps
and determine the best route toward the highway.  Thank God her
dire predictions about her behavior had been a false alarm.  He'd
had enough trouble communicating with Scully lately when she was
coherent; the prospect of spending a night with Scully and the
Three Faces of Eve was more than a little unsettling.

He walked to the cot and pulled the thin cotton sheet up over
her.  She hadn't moved in an hour.  Not a sound, not a whimper. 
Her mouth was slightly open, her beautiful lips soft and
inviting.  Her brow was wrinkled slightly, as if puzzling over
something just barely beyond her grasp as she dreamed.  He'd
never wanted to kiss anyone so much in his life.

He stared at her, entranced by the picture she presented.  Even
after two days of hiking,  even exhausted and injured, uncombed
and unwashed, she was the most magnetic woman he'd ever known. 
Whatever was there between them, it was mutual.  Of that, he was
certain.  If he'd had any doubt at all lingering in the back of
his mind, it had been obliterated the second Dana Scully bent
over that table.  Sure, he was giving her a shot at the time, but
he hadn't missed the unspoken challenge sparkling in her eyes
when she did it.  And the mock sensor in her when she accused him
of lingering spoke more of amusement than irritation.  She'd been
flirting with him -- testing the boundaries.  But he couldn't
help wondering if she was prepared for him to call her on it. 
What would she have done if he'd accepted her mischievous
impromptu invitation?  That was the question he still couldn't
answer, and it was driving him crazy.

He couldn't afford to be wrong.  Not with Scully.  There had to
be nothing to chance, no room for the slightest doubt before they
crossed that line, because once they crossed it, there was no
turning back.  And if her flagrantly provocative behavior tonight
was all he'd had to go on, he would have played along in a
heartbeat.  But her hesitancy when they'd awakened this morning
was still fresh in his mind, not to mention the argument they'd
had only an hour ago.  

No, he couldn't risk it yet.  Not until he was positive.  And
when he *was* positive, he was going to insist they replay this
little scene again with a different ending.  The ending he'd
denied himself tonight.  The ending where he walked slowly up to
the table behind her and pressed his hands flat against the small
of her bare back, slowly kneading the muscles there, allowing his
hands to trail their way down her body until they traced the
curve of her bottom and came to rest on her bare hips.  One small
tug and she would slide back toward him, her bare cheeks pressing
tightly against his erection, and she would gasp that breathy
little gasp that drove him crazy.  Then slowly, like a gift laid
out before him, she would turn over sit up, smiling as her hands
reached for the fabric of his shirt.  He could feel the softness
of her fingers upon his chest. He could feel.....

His eyes snapped open.  What the hell was he doing?  He looked
down at his sleeping partner, relieved to find she was still
oblivious to his erotic musings.  "This is what it's come to," he
chuckled.  "Fantasies about a feverish, dirty, unconscious
woman."

He looked at her quiet pale face, expressive even in sleep and
wondered if she ever fantasized about him.  Did he ever haunt her
dreams like she haunted his?  He shook his head sadly.  Her
dreams tonight were fever dreams -- vivid, probably disturbing. 
He could only hope if he was a part of them that he was bringing
her some comfort.  His hand reached out and softly brushed the
hair from her forehead, lingering briefly on her clammy skin,
gauging the advancement of her fever.  It didn't seem any worse.

She sighed at the touch of his hand, and turned her face toward
him, as if seeking to get closer.  He couldn't resist the
unspoken invitation of her beautiful lips.  He knelt beside her,
leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss upon her mouth.  Like a
princess in a fairy tale, her eyes fluttered open as he pulled
back from her.  She was dazed and glassy, completely unfocused,
but she smiled at him sleepily.

"Hullo."

"Hi," he whispered back.  "How ya doin' over here?

Her brow furrowed as she contemplated the question.  Her head
rolled to the side.  "I feel FUNky," she slurred.

"I'll bet you do," he smiled.  "Do you need anything?"

Her head rolled from side to side in time to a song only she
could hear.  "Nope," she told him dreamily.  "I'm jus'
peeeeachy."  She giggled then, the uncharacteristic sound making
him grin.  

"Go back to sleep.  I'm sorry I woke you."

"S'okay."  She waved dismissively.  "M'not seepy anyway."  She
giggled again.  "I said seepy.  Did you hear me, Muller?  What I
*meant* was, I'm not seepy."  She gave into woozy, sporadic
chuckles.

He shook his head in bemusement.  A giggling Scully?  Years of
working amid the unexpected and unexplainable hadn't prepared him
for that one.  He started to stand up, but she grabbed his hand.

"Muller?"  She looked distressed.

"What is it, Scully?"

She squinted up at him.  "You're not wear'n your glassiss."

"No, I took them off."

"Well that jus' sucks," she admonished.  "Put `em back on."

He sighed.  "Scully.  You should go back to sleep.  You need to
rest."

"Put `em on," she commanded.  "I'm not gonna rest 'nless you wear
your glassiss."

Mulder ran a tired hand over his forehead.  "Okay.  I'll put on
my glasses, and then you go to sleep, okay?"

She nodded woozily.  "Ooooooookay, fine."

He walked to the table and retrieved his glasses and put them on.

"There," he said, turning to Scully.  "Better?"

She nodded, concentrating hard to move her head in the right
direction.

"Okay," he smiled, walking back to the cot.  "Now can you go back
to sleep?"

She nodded again.  "Mulder?" she whispered loudly.

"What?" he whispered back, just as loud.

"C'mere...I gotta tell you somethin'."

He looked down at her.  "What?"

"Come 'ere," she insisted.  "S'important."

He bent down.  "Okay, Scully.  What?"

"Okay...shhhhhhh.  It's a secret."  She looked up at him
adoringly.  "I jus' looooove your glassiss."

He patted her hand condescendingly.  "I'm glad, Scully.  I love
your glasses too."  He began to pull his hand away but she
grabbed it with surprising quickness and held tight.

"You're not lissning," she accused.  She tugged on his hand until
he bent close to her once more.  "I mean I reallyrillywillyweely
love your glassiss."  She stared at him.  "Are you gettin' this?"

He choked back a laugh.  "Yeah, Scully.  I got it."

She didn't let go of his shirt.  "I don't think you're followin'
me, Mulder."   She pulled him even closer until they were nose to
nose.  "I mean like sometimes at work when you're wearin' 'em, I
jus' wanna go lock the door an' lay across your desk like
Michelle Whasername in that movie...wha's that movie?  You know
the one where she lays across the piano an' sings...."   She let
go of his shirt and made a dismissive gesture in the air.  "Well,
anyway...tha's how I feel sometimes."

What was he supposed to say to that?  Please do?  Feel free? 
Mulder stared at her.  "Um...thank you?"

She released his hand.  "S'okay.  I jus' thought you oughta
know."

He watched her close her eyes and fall still on the tiny cot once
again, feeling immensely relieved that the five minute twilight
zone episode was over.  He hadn't taken two steps away from her
side when a startled gasp made him stop in his tracks.

"Muller!"

His heart began to pound harder.  "What is it, Scully?  What's
wrong?"

She looked up at him through glassy, unfocused eyes.  "My knees
are gone!"  

She struggled to sit up, but Mulder put his hands on her
shoulders, pressing her back to the thin mattress.  "No, Scully,"
he sighed.  "You're knees are right where they're supposed to be.

I promise."

"Don't patternize me, Mulder -- I'm a doctor an' I *know* when my
knees are gone!"  She pointed toward her feet.  "See?  They're
NOT where they're s'posed to be!" she wailed.  "They're gone!" 
She sat up and looked forlornly at her straight legs.  "Bye," she
sniffed, waving limply.

Torn between laughter and sympathy, Mulder picked up one of her
legs under the knee and bent  it.  "See Scully?  You're knee's
right here.  Now go to sleep."

She looked at him gratefully.  "You FOUND it!.  Muller you're the
best.  You're susha good friend..."  She struggled for the words.

"You're susha a good friend that I'd...I'd give you my only knee
f'you needed it."  She looked at him solemnly.  "I would."

"Thaaaaat's nice, Scully," he said, stretching out his arms
toward her.  "Here -- hug me."

"Huh?"  She looked confused, but she reached up for him anyway.

"Okay, Scully, heeeeeere we go."  He linked his arms under hers
and tried to ease her back down on the mattress.

"She pulled her arms away and cupped his face in her hands.  "You
b'lieve me, don't you Mulder?  That I'd give you my knee?"

"Sure I do, Scully.  I'd give you my knee too."

"I know you would," she sniffed.

He started to stand, but she clung to his hand.  "Wayda
minute...wha'm I gon' do with only one knee?" she asked.  "I
can't walk with only one knee."  The look of distress on her face
nearly did him in, but he kept a straight face.

"It'll be okay, Scully.  You sleep and I promise I'll find your
other one." 

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.  "My other what?"

"Your other knee," he told her pointedly.

"Wha's wrong with my knee?" she cried in alarm.

"Nothing!" he protested quickly.  "You're knees are fine."  

She looked unconvinced.  "You're not tellin' me the tooth."

"Really," he assured her.  "You're knees are fine.  Great knees. 
Wonderful knees."

She flipped her hands toward him in an exaggeratedly modest
gesture.  "G'wan.. really?  I always thought they're kinda
knobby."

"GoodNIGHT, Scully," he told her tiredly.

She closed her eyes.  "Night, Muller."

He walked away shaking his head.  What the hell just happened
here, he wondered.  And more important -- was it going to happen
again?  It was a damn good thing he'd only given her half the
Demerol in the syringe, he marveled.  If he'd given her the whole
100 milligrams, she wouldn't come back to earth for a week.  He
chuckled at the image she presented, glazed-over and
half-dressed, laughing at her own jokes.  If she remembered any
of this tomorrow morning, she was going to be mortified, he
thought.  But she probably wouldn't remember; she was too far
gone.  

On the other hand...she had warned him about the possible side
effects before he'd given her the shot.  So obviously, she'd had
the happy drugs before, he realized.  He grinned broadly and made
a mental note to save that discussion for a later time.

He bent over the short wobbly table and unrolled one of the more
detailed area maps, shoving the others off the table into the
floor.  He had to map out a route for them to take tomorrow, and
he had to do it before Scully woke up aga--

"Oh, Muuuuuuuller...."  

He hung his head in defeat, laughing in spite of himself at the
singsong tone of her words. This night was a goner.  The map
would have to wait until morning.  Scully, obviously, was not
going to sleep like a baby after all.

"Oh Scuuuuuuuully," he answered back affectionately. He might as
well sit and talk to her, he realized.  He couldn't get anything
done with her in this condition, and despite her out of character
behavior, he was glad for the easy rapport that had settled over
them again.  He stood up and grabbed the top rung of the chair
back, dragging it toward the cot.  He set it up against the edge
of the mattress and straddled it backwards, crossing his arms
over the back of the chair, resting his chin on his forearms.

Scully smiled up at him.  "Hullo," she said again, waving her
fingers at him. She stretched her uninjured leg straight up
toward the ceiling underneath the sheet, pulling the thin
covering from her upper body.  When she lowered her limb, the
sheet clung to her toes, pooling finally at the foot of the cot,
leaving her completely uncovered.  The navy blue bikini panties
she wore made a startling contrast to her pale skin, emphasizing
the fact that she lay before him in only her underwear and a
T-shirt.  And what amazed him more than her current state of
undress was the fact that she was completely unconcerned with it.

He smiled down at his scantily-clad, uninhibited partner. 
"What's up, Red?"

She turned to her side and propped her head into her hand,
assuming a more conversational position.  Her brow wrinkled. 
"You gave me a shot."

"Yeah." he agreed.

"I dropped my pants right there in the middle of the room, and
you gave me a shot in the butt."

"Yes I did," he confirmed.  "Right in the butt."  

"Oh."  She lowered her lashes, a sad look descending upon her
features.

He frowned.  "What's on your mind, Scully?"

"Well, I was jus' thinkin' -- I do that sometimes you know ."

He grinned.  "What?  Drop your pants in the middle of the room?"

"No!"  She made a lazy swipe at his leg, missing him completely. 
"I *think* sometimes."  She rolled her eyes up to look at him. 
"You with me?"

 "Yeah, I'm with you.  You think sometimes.  What were you
thinking?"

"Well," she continued, "I was just thinkin'... "  Her voice got
low, and he had to lean in to hear her words.  "You saw my butt."

She looked up at him, a woozy mixture of hurt and accusation. 

Her vulnerable expression cut through his joking mood.  He hated
the sight of vulnerability on Scully; it didn't suit her at all. 
Crumbling under the worried look on her face, Mulder couldn't
bring himself to make jokes at her expense, even if she wouldn't
remember them tomorrow.  "Scully, I had to see you to give you
that shot, that's all," he assured her.  "I didn't even look, I
promise."

"I know!" she wailed.  "You didn't say a thing!"  She pinned him
under a drug-induced stare.  "Tha's kinda *harsh* Muller...I
mean, iss not every day I jus' bare my ass to you."

Three words echoed in his head, like a warning:  No.  Win. 
Situation.   He stared at her, taken aback by the indignant
expression on her face.  Pick a response, Mulder.  Any response. 
"Um..." he started.

Her words slurred into one another as her hands made exaggerated
gestures to emphasize them.  "I mean, you could've said 'Wow!' or
'Hey Scully, nice ass' or *something* but you just stuck that
damn needle in me and went 'bout your business."  She leveraged
herself up on her arm until she was almost eye to eye with him. 
"Be straight w'me, Mulder.  I can take it. You don't like my ass,
do you?" she asked him blatantly.  

Heads or tails, Mulder thought.  Deny you enjoyed the view, and
hurt her feelings, or admit you enjoyed it and set yourself up as
Special Agent Clarence Thomas.  "Scully, I only sa--"

"You thought it was flabby 'cause I haven't been workin' out like
I used to."  She sighed and laid back down on the bed, continuing
her accusation without pause.  "Well s'cause I been so tired
lately.  An, s'cuse the hell out of me Mr. Buns of Steel -- we
can't all have an ass as great as yours--"  She slapped a hand
across her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.  "Did I say that out
loud?" she asked, with a look of wonder on her face.  

He should have gone with his conscience, and he knew it.  But he
was having too much fun to be a gentleman at the moment.  He
rarely got the upper hand with Scully.  He opened his mouth and
heard the words come out before he could stop them.  "No no,
Scully, you're not talking out loud -- you're thinking all of
this.  I'm not hearing a thing. What were you saying about
Mulder's ass?"

"Oh," she said.  "Well it's okay then.  'Cause what I was *gonna*
say was..." She looked around conspiratorially, looking for
eavesdroppers before continuing.  "...I've seen his butt too."

He tried not to laugh at her seriousness.  "No!" he cried in mock
horror.  "Scully, you *haven't!"

She nodded quickly.  "Have too!"  She held up three fingers. 
"Twice!"

Okay, he chastised himself.  He'd asked for this.  Any
embarrassment he was feeling here was his own damn fault.  He'd
asked for it, and she'd delivered in spades.  So now he knew. 
Dana Scully liked his ass.  Now what was he supposed to do with
this newfound information?

Her next words solved the problem for him.  "But don't tell
Mulder, okay?"

God, she didn't know what she was saying, and she sure as hell
didn't have a clue who she was saying it to.  Feeling guilty now
for pressing the conversation, he decided to end it.  He traced
an x on his chest.  "Cross my heart," he promised.  "We don't
have to mention this conversation to anyone."

Unfortunately, Scully was beginning to warm to the subject. 
"Yep," she murmured, babbling more to herself now than to him. 
"I've seen Fox Muller naked as a jaybird.  Bare as the day he was
born."  She looked up at him, totally serious.  "And you know
what?"

Mulder rubbed his forehead with a weary hand.  He was afraid to
ask, suddenly reluctant to continue this talk, but curiosity got
the better of him.  "What," he asked softly.

She smiled the smallest of smiles, her eyes glazing over in a
dream-like haze.  "He's beautiful," she whispered.

End of part 10


Tempest, part 11

Mulder's heart clenched at Scully's open, uninhibited words. 
This was total honesty, handed to him at face value, and it
touched him profoundly.  He felt a lump in his throat, and
swallowed hard.  "I'm sure..." he started, then stopped and
cleared his throat.  "I'm sure Mulder thinks you're beautiful
too," he whispered back.  He brushed a stray lock of hair from
her cheek.

"He doesn't," she told him sadly.  "I'm not his type."

He had a type? That surprised the hell out of him.  "Why do you
think that?" he asked gently.

She shook her head.  "I'm too short.  I've got little legs."  To
emphasize her statement, she stretched her uninjured leg up high
in a scissor spilt, running her hand along the top of her thigh.
"They're not bad little legs, but they're not what Mulder goes for." 
She crooked her arm under her knee and pulled her leg over her until
her foot came to rest on the cot by her stomach.   

Mulder watched her distort her body into what seemed like an
impossible position, and shifted uncomfortably in the chair.  His eyes
were transfixed on her hand as it made short stroking motions along
her thigh in an unconsciously sensual motion.  He forced him mind away
from her body.  "Um...not...not what he goes for?" he stammered.

She shook her head.  "Nope.  Mulder likes women with those long
Barbie legs, like Fleabie."

He nearly choked.  "Who?"

"Fleabie.  She was his girlfrin once, but there was a fire inna
hotel and I hate her."

Mulder stared in amazement.  One case with an ex-girlfriend three
years ago, and Scully had concluded that she couldn't possibly be his
type because he went for long legs?  Good Lord, the woman had NO idea
how many nights he'd fantasized about her small, beautiful body lying
naked in his arms.  

Enough.  He'd heard enough.  This flirting and double talk was
going to end, he resolved.  As soon as she was better, they were
going to have a serious talk about all the things they'd
obviously been hiding from each other.  If they both felt this
strongly about it, they'd been stupid to deny it for this long. 
One way or another, the end of this platonic farce was coming --
Fox Mulder had decreed it.

Oblivious to Mulder's mental resolve, Scully was still engrossed
in her Phoebe musings.  "Yep," she continued.  "Hate the bitch. 
Haaaaate her.  In fact..."  She placed her hand on the back of
his chair and half pulled herself up to be closer to him.  "...I
wanna see the bitch DOWN!" she ground out.  Having had her say,
she released the back of the chair and flopped back down on the
cot, giggling at herself.  "I just looooooove Deremol," she told
him.

"I can't imagine why," Mulder laughed.  He stood up and stretched his
legs, giving the chair a gentle kick to move it out of his way.  He
tapped her raised knee and motioned for her to scoot over so he could
sit on the cot.  When she complied, he sank down beside her and placed
a hand on her forehead.  It was hot--hotter than it had been last time
he checked.

She must have read his expression, because she looked up at him,
visibly struggling to appear coherent.  "Is my fever rising?" she
asked.

He nodded, moving a damp strand of hair off her moist forehead. 
"Don't worry about anything, Scully," he assured her.  "You'll be
okay."

"I can't feel my leg," she told him.  

"It's the Demerol," he reassured her.  "That's what it's supposed to
do."

She shook her head.  "No -- Deremol is jus' supposed to make you
not care if you feel it."

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, choosing instead
to take her hand in his.

"Muller, you do know I could die out here, don't you?  You haff
to know that it *could* happen."

He bent close to her face.  "You're not going to die out here,
Scully," he told her.  "It's not an option."

She tried to smile at him, but failed miserably.  For a long
moment they stayed quiet, until Scully broke the silence.  "Well
shit!"  She slapped the mattress vehemently.  "I shoulda paid
better attention."

Mulder looked at her quizzically.  "Paid better attention?  To
what?"

"Sex," she told him bluntly.  "If I'd known the last time I had
sex was gonna be the last time I had sex, I'd have paid more
attention."

He laughed out loud in spite of himself.

"Sure, laugh it up," she groused.  "You're not the one who's
gonna perish out here after an embarrassingly long dry spell."

You'd be surprised, he almost blurted out.

"Neither are you," he argued.  "You'll have sex again, Scully. 
We're going to get out of here."

Her eyes closed wearily.  "Promise?"

"Absolutely."  He stroked her hair.  "Tomorrow we'll head toward
the highway and I'm sure we'll find a --"

Her eyes came open.  "No, I mean do you promise I'll have sex
again before I die?"

He didn't laugh this time.  Instead, he bent his head to hers
until mere centimeters stood between them.  "I personally
guarantee it."

It was Scully who bridged the tiny distance between them, lifting her
head to capture his lips with her own.  The moment her mouth touched
his, he was lost, engulfed in flames of want that had been too-long
denied.  His arms snaked under hers, closing around her shoulder
blades and pulling her closer to him as he slanted his mouth over
hers, deepening the kiss.  His tongue met hers hungrily, the contact
sending a shiver down his spine.  His heart hammered in his chest.  

He threaded his hands through her hair and clasped her to him as
though he could keep her anchored to him forever.  She made a
soft mewling sound in response, her tongue tracing lightly over
his teeth before she pulled away from him, her breathing heavy,
her eyes cloudy with passion.  She crossed her arms in front of
her and grabbed the fabric of her T-shirt, pulling it over her
head and tossing it to the floor in a single fluid motion.  

Like a Roman Goddess poised on the altar, she offered herself to
him silently, sitting before him in her bra and panties, her
chest rising and falling rapidly.  He could see her nipples
pressing hard through the soft cups of her bra, and he ached to
reach out and free them from the silk prison.  He wanted to see
her.  All of her.

He wanted to see her and touch her and make love to her so much
it hurt.

His body was painfully erect, his cock hot and throbbing.  It was all
he could to not to rip his own clothing off just so he could feel her
hot skin against his.  

But it was wrong.  The hateful words blared in his head like a
foghorn at close range.  He couldn't take what wasn't offered
with complete coherence.  He wouldn't risk the repercussions of
morning remorse.  And though he knew there would be no regret on
his part, he also knew Scully deserved to be fully present the
first time they made love.

As much as he wanted her, it couldn't be here.  It certainly
couldn't be now.  No matter how much he ached for her.

No matter how longingly she was gazing at him.

No matter how many baby soft kisses she trailed down his neck and
shoulder...

Mayday, mayday!  The warning sirens began to blare in his head. 
He pulled away again.  Not here.  Not like this.  She was feeling the
effects of the Demerol, and he had to protect her from her actions. 
Christ, he thought, looking at her almost nude body. He had to protect
her from HIS actions.

"Wha's wrong?" Scully asked slowly, her breath warm on his neck.

"You're not up to this right now, Scully," he told her pointedly. "And
as much as I'd like to keep following this path, we both need to get
some sleep.  We'll have time for....this...later. After we're back in
civilization."

Her eyes darkened.  "You're not attracted to me," she stated.

"Jesus, Scully," he ground out.  "I'm hard as a fucking rock
right now."  He stood up, allowing her to see the evidence of his
body's reaction to her.  "So I don't think your attractiveness is in
question."

She smiled at him, blatantly pleased with his admission.  "That's
because of me?" she asked.

He chuckled at the self-satisfaction he heard in her voice. 
"Well it's certainly not because of me," he whispered, bending
down for one last sound kiss.

He pulled the chair back toward the table and spread a tiny worn
blanket on the floor beside the cot.  Pulling his jacket from the
canvas bag, he sat down on the fuzzy plaid pallet and began to remove
his shoes, pausing from his task when he realized Scully was watching
every move he made with rapt attention.

"Mulder?" she said.

"What?"

Her mouth split into a devilish grin, dulled only by the evidence of
haze in her sleepy eyes.  "I'm definitely going to make it out of
here."   She paused to give emphasis to her words.  "We've got
unfinished business."

He shook his head at her brazenness, wondering again how much of
this night she would actually remember.  It was going to stay
with *him* for a very long time.  "Goodnight, Scully."

"Night, Muller," she answered dreamily.

He stretched out on the floor in the dim light of the lantern,
shoving his jacket  under his head as a makeshift pillow.  He was
about to close his eyes, when a sudden movement close to his face sent
him careening off the floor.

"ARGH!"

"AGHH!" Scully answered.

"Son of a *bitch*!" Mulder yelled.

"What!" Scully squealed.

"Something moved right past my head when I lay down."  He began
walking slowly around the rug on the floor.  As he neared his
jacket, the culprit gave another surprise leap.

"Jesus!" Mulder yelped.

"Oh fer goodness sakes, Muller," Scully said.  "It's just a
little frog."

He snorted.  "Yeah, well see how much you like it in your face
when you're about to nod off to sleep." 

"It jus' wanted to sleep with you Mulder," Scully told him with a
sleepy smile.  "Why don't we call it Fleabie?"

He bent to scoop the small creature into his hands, grimacing as
he walked to the door with it.  "This couldn't be Phoebe,
Scully," he called over his shoulder.  "Its mouth isn't big
enough.".

Surely he scored big points for that one, he thought.  United in
Phoebe bashing.  The cement of all good relationships.  Mulder
threw the frog onto the deck and closed the door, waiting for
Scully's reply.  

Surprised at the silence, he walked to the cot and pulled the
sheet away from her face.  She was sound asleep.

He sighed, a mixed reaction of regret and relief.  The ride was
over.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Wednesday, May 2
6:58 a.m.

The thickness of morning clung heavily to Scully,  weighing down
upon her like a sodden wool blanket.  Her body was heavy and
unresponsive, resisting her efforts to slough off the fever
dreams that had plagued her all night.  Water dreams.  Drowning.
Trying to draw a breath of air amid the fluid weightlessness of death
and suffocation.  The images clung to her as she began making her way
slowly back to reality, stretching tired arms outward, calling for
Mulder, and knowing he would never be able to reach her through the
myriad of phantom creatures that held him at bay.  Was this real?  She
couldn't tell anymore.

Fighting her way out of the drug induced stupor, she woke slowly
at last, to the sound of strong wind and creaking wood, and the
unsettling sensation of movement all around her.  The watchtower
swung to and fro like a metronome, groaning its protest to the
relentless gales that assaulted it.  Scully's stomach roiled at
the unwelcome movement and the pain in her leg.  She lay quietly
on the cot, eyes closed, and tried not to move until the nausea
passed.  She wondered if a drink of water would help.

"Mulder?"  Her voice was thin and hoarse, not much more than a
whisper.

When silence was her only answer, she forced her eyes open,
squinting against the glare of overcast daylight that invaded the room
through small dirty windows.  Her head was throbbing, and every
movement she made was a struggle.  Feeling as though she was fighting
her way through quicksand, she forced herself halfway up on the cot
and looked down, expecting to see Mulder stretched out on the floor.

He was nowhere in sight.

"Mulder?"

The high pitched tone of her voice hurt her head, causing the
throbbing to intensify.  He was gone.  How long had he been gone? How
long had she slept?  She felt hot and cold at the same time, her face
flushed with fever, her skin hypersensitive to the cool air of the
mountain morning.  Everything was blurry as she looked around the room
for some sign of her partner.

"Mulder, where are you?" she called louder, unable to keep the
panic from her voice.  He had left her.  He had gotten up while
she slept and he had left her.  Angry tears welled up in
unfocused eyes as she inched her legs over the side of the cot
and pushed herself into a sitting position.

Fire shot up her leg and seared its impression on her dazed
brain.  She tried to scream as the pain engulfed her, but the
sound came out a choked sob as she stumbled off the cot and fell
in a heap to the empty floor.  She had no balance, no equilibrium in
the swaying tower, and the nausea that had assaulted her earlier
returned full force.  She lost the battle of wills a moment later and
vomited.

He'd ditched her, the bastard.  

She was going to kill him.

Scully wiped her mouth and dragged herself on hands and knees to
the small table on the other side of the room, using it to
leverage herself to her feet.  She could walk out the stiffness,
she promised herself.  She would have too.  She wouldn't stay
here alone and wait for Mulder.  

Fucking bastard.

Her partner's voice silently taunted her.  Of *course* I trust
you, Scully...Yes of *course* we'll stay together, Scully...that
is, until you're asleep and I can leave you here safe and sound
and go for help on my own.  Obviously their talk last night had
gone in one ear and out the other for Mulder.  After standing
there and telling her with a straight face that he would make a
conscious effort to stop ditching her, he had crept out of the
tower this morning without waking her and set out on his own.  He
didn't want *her* taking risks, oh no -- but he could take them
without reservation, and knowing Mulder, he'd get up to his ass in
alligators or a rock slide or wind up shivering outside in the middle
of a sudden freak snowstorm...

She shivered with cold and realized for the first time that she
was wearing only her bra and panties.  Her jeans were still on
the floor beside the table, she realized; she had no idea where
her T-shirt was.  How the hell had that happened?  She looked
over toward the cot and spotted the light blue garment in a small pile
on the floor.  Obviously she'd gotten hot during the night and pulled
it off.

Gingerly, Scully stepped into her jeans without bothering to
unwrap and look at her leg.  She couldn't clean or dress it by
herself and she had a feeling looking at it would only make her
throw up again.  Forcing herself to focus, she donned her shirt
and shoes, and began searching the room for any supplies she
could take with her.  Mulder had left her the bag -- for that she was
grateful.  It was the least the asshole could do after sneaking away
while she slept.

She found precious little in the small abandoned shelter.  No
food at all; they had taken care of that last night.  But she did find
a small used bar of soap under the tiny sink, and an unopened box of
baking soda.  She didn't know how old it was or if such things
expired, but she was willing to take her chances for the opportunity
to brush her teeth.  She ran her tongue across the front of her top
teeth, grimacing at the feeling of velvet in her mouth.  She was
*definitely* going to risk it.

Finding nothing else useful, she turned and hobbled back to the
bed to claim the bag she had set there.  She would take the maps
and what little she had, and head toward the main road.  Maybe
she could manage to track Mulder's progress.  He couldn't have
left too long ago -- even Mulder wouldn't have set out in total
darkness.

She pulled her gun from the bag and tucked into the back of her
waistband, repacking the remaining supplies.  She would have to
travel as light as possible in her weakened condition.  Anything
that wasn't absolutely imperative would have to go.  There wasn't
really much to leave -- a couple pairs of socks, a hairbrush, a can of
hairspray she'd brought for it's flammability, and Mulder's gun.

Mulder's gun?

Scully's eyes widened.  He'd left his gun?  That wasn't right.  

She looked around the room, trying to piece together a puzzle
that suddenly seemed unsettling.  There was no sign of him in the
room.  But something still wasn't right.

Then it hit her.

There was no note.

Mulder would never have left without a note.  Even if he had
decided to leave her, he would never have gone without telling
her why.  There was plenty of paper lying around.  

Plenty of paper....plenty of paper...

Scully stared at the table.  The maps were still here.  He hadn't
taken them.  He'd left the maps, and he'd left his gun.  He hadn't
left *her*.  At least, he hadn't left her voluntarily.

"Mulder!" she yelled.

The wind howled back.

She limped to the door and pushed hard against it until it was
caught by the strong current and thrown back against the side of
the building.  She looked left and right on the small deck.  No
Mulder.  Just a small, disgruntled-looking frog that hopped
quickly across the open doorway into the shelter.

Scully walked to the railing and looked down, gripping the wooden slab
when dizziness assaulted her.  She saw no sign of him down below, but
he was there somewhere.  He had to be.

"Scully."  His voice was a whisper almost lost amidst the wind.

"Mulder!"  She looked all around the ground level of the tower

"I need you."

"I'm coming," she yelled, heart pounding ferociously in her
chest.

"Bring your gun."  The words sounded tight, uttered through
clenched teeth, and they sent a chill down her spine.

She felt for her gun in the back waistband of her jeans and moved to
the ladder.  Tamping down the fear and dizziness she felt, she swung
her good leg over the railing and laboriously inched her sore leg down
after it.  She couldn't bend her injured leg well enough to climb down
so she allowed it to hang limply to the side of the ladder as she
began hopping slowly down on one leg.  It took all of her
concentration and almost all of her strength.

"I'm...coming, Muh..Mulder," she panted.

He didn't answer.

She saw him as soon as her head cleared the bottom of the
shelter.  He was standing directly underneath the watchtower,
unmoving and pale...directly in front of a rattlesnake, poised
and ready to strike.


End of part 11


Tempest, part 12


"Oh my God," Scully whispered.

The snake was huge, at least six feet.  Its body was coiled into
a cylindrical tube, capped by the wavering rattle that signaled
its irritability.  Its head undulated slowly from side to side in
front of Mulder, its tongue darting out at regular intervals to sniff
the intruder before it.  Mulder stood still as a statue, his forehead
glistening with nervous perspiration.

Oh God.  Oh God.

A rattlesnake can kill you in 20 minutes if it bites you more
than once.  Charlie's voice invaded her mind again.  Snakes. 
Charlie and Billy had loved them.  She'd always hated them. 
She'd killed one once when she was young, a little sister's
hopeless attempt to gain her brothers' approval.  It had been a
tiny garden snake, totally harmless, and as much as she hated the
creatures, she'd felt enough remorse over killing it that she never
hunted another one.  

Scully stared down at the poisonous monster in front of Mulder
and felt her blood run cold.  This was different.  This one
wasn't harmless.  She could kill this one and not feel a thing.

She eased one hand behind her and pulled her weapon from its
makeshift holster, blinking hard to clear her still blurry
vision.  She aimed the gun down toward the snake, then hesitated,
bringing her hand back up to rub her eyes.  She was so tired and
groggy and fuzzy and blurry...

"Scully?"  

"S'okay, Mulder," she mumbled.  "I'm just a little blurry."  She
aimed the gun again.

Mulder's voice was thick with tension.  "Are you sure you can..."

"Shut up, Mulder."

Concentrate.  She had to concentrate.

Two snakes and two Mulders swam before her eyes.  She only had
one chance to make the right decision.  If she missed, the
startled snake would strike instantly in reaction.  If it struck
more than once, Mulder had no chance.

Her finger tightened on the trigger, and Mulder's eyes widened. 
"Trust me, Mulder?" she asked softly.

He swallowed, but nodded, almost imperceptibly.

The gun discharged in a fraction of a second, the bullet sending
the snake 2 feet into the air before it crumpled in a scaly pile
at Mulder's feet.  Scully too, went flying, too weak to withstand the
recoil of the gunfire.  She landed with a heavy thud at the bottom of
the ladder, not having uttered a single sound on the way down.  Mulder
was at her side instantly.

"God, Scully, are you okay?" he cried, brushing the hair from her face
and gently feeling underneath her head for cuts or bumps.

She had the breath knocked out of her, but she nodded at him,
openmouthed, gasping for air.  He sat there with her until she
recovered enough to sit up.

She couldn't get over the sight he presented in the soft overcast
light of the morning.  He was wearing his glasses, and as usual, the
sight of them quickened her heart just a bit.  After only 2 days, his
face and arms had a healthy tan to them, evidence of his outdoor
nature.  She could feel the sunburn on the bridge of her nose, and
knew her cheeks were almost as red.  Scullys didn't tan...ever.

His beard was thicker today, no longer just a covering of heavy
five o'clock shadow.  She'd never given much thought to Mulder
with a beard, but the sight he presented made a fantastic
argument for the banishment of razors.  Rugged Mulder was damned
appealing, she thought.  Hell, *every* Mulder was damned
appealing.  Rugged, unkempt, formal, professional, casual,
outdoor, indoor, who the hell cared?  Mulder was like brownie
batter -- every state was equally appealing.  You might crave the
final product, but licking the bowl was just as much fun.  She shook
her head, trying to clear the erotic images that were beginning to
form.

"How long were you down here with that thing," she asked, hoping
she sounded casual and conversational.

"I don't know.  It felt like two hours, but it was probably only
fifteen or twenty minutes."

She looked up at him.  "When I woke up I thought...I thought...."

His forehead wrinkled.  "You thought what?"

She leaned forward against his chest, her arms encircling his
neck as she buried her face against his neck.  "Nothing.  It
doesn't matter.  I'm just glad you're okay."

He returned the embrace wholly, his arms encircling her and
holding tight, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. 
"Quite a wake-up call, don't you think?" he asked with a smile
she could hear.

She nodded.  "Oh yeah.  I'm awake.  Who needs coffee?"

He pulled back from her.  "There's no need for you to try to
climb those steps again.  Why don't you wait here, and I'll go
get our stuff."

"Okay," she agreed.  "I need to go to the bathroom anyway."  She
smiled up at him.  "Although I gotta admit, Mulder, I came damn
close to going as soon as I saw that snake."

He chuckled.  "Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm sure I
*would* have gone, except I was just on my way back from going
when I found the snake."

She laughed at his admission and began to hobble into the trees.

"Watch yourself in those bushes," he warned.

"S'okay, Mulder.  I'm armed," she assured him.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't thinking about your arms."

She turned to look at him, raising one eyebrow.  "And do you
think about these things often?"

He grinned at her and stepped onto the ladder.  "Only lately."

Smiling, she turned and walked out of sight of the watchtower. 

He hadn't ditched her.


*  *  *  *  *  *  *

7:40 a.m.

"You didn't tell me you'd were sick."

The statement was reproachful enough to make Scully feel guilty.

Mulder jumped the last three steps of the ladder, landing lightly
beside her.  "Why didn't you say something?"  He shouldered their bag
and stared at her, scrutinizing every inch of her face.

She tried to shrug it off.  "What should I have said, Mulder? 
Good morning, nice snake you got there...by the way, I threw up?"

His hand reached out toward her face and she ducked away from him with
impatience.  "Yes, Mulder, I have a fever.  Yes, I threw up in the
tower -- if you have to know, I threw up again before you came back
down.  I feel like shit and I'm seeing two of everything.  But
standing here isn't helping.  Can we just go?"  

He waited until she finished ranting, then calmly reached his
hand toward her again.  

Fuck it, she thought.  Go ahead.  Play doctor.  Knock yourself
out.  She looked up at him tiredly, presenting her forehead for
his perusal.  His palm felt like ice against her skin.

"You're burning up, Scully."

She was angry in an instant.  "No shit, Mulder.  My leg's
infected, and I've been walking on it for two days -- I'm sick. 
Of *course* I have a fever."  Her head bobbed randomly with every
emphatic sentence -- a motion she couldn't control -- and she started
to laugh.  Once she started, she couldn't stop.  The laughter became
hysterical, until tears were streaming down her face.  Was she crying
now?  She couldn't tell.  She couldn't tell anything anymore.

Mulder's hands came up to capture her head, holding it steady as
he bent to look directly into her unfocused eyes.

"Scully!" he barked.  "Listen to me!"

She blinked hard, once, twice.  Suddenly he came into focus.  Had they
been standing here long?  The wetness of tears registered on her
cheeks beneath his hands, and she was totally confused.  Was she
crying?  Why was she crying?

"Scully," Mulder said more softly, "I can't leave you out here
alone in this condition, but you're going to have to fight this
fever with every bit of strength you have left if we're going to
get out of here today.  Do you understand?"  

She nodded her head, still held captive by his hands.  Amazing
how familiar his touch was to her now.  She blinked sluggishly,
regretting the automatic blurring of his features.  She never
tired of looking at him.   

He moved his face closer to her own until they were centimeters
apart.  "You're going to have to fight hard," he  told her, his
voice husky.

"I'll try, Mulder."  She searched his eyes, taking advantage of
her momentary lucidity.  "I can do this."

"I know you can."  

He stunned her by leaning in and kissing her softly as he
released her face.  There was no hesitation in the action, no
second guessing -- just the sound promise of honest emotion. 
Scully felt as if her heart stopped completely. She hadn't
totally forgotten their encounter last night, although she had
only a vague recollection of what transpired.  But those kisses
had been initiated by her -- the result of an uninhibited
Demerol-induced stupor.  This kiss had been real and lucid.  This kiss
had been all Mulder.

This small soft kiss had shattered her heart and soul.

Mulder took her hand pulling her gently in the right direction. 
"Let's get started," he sighed.

Her lips still tingled from the contact with his as she turned to
begin limping beside him, silently chanting her single itinerary for
the day.

She had to fight it.  She had to fight hard.  She had to fight
it.  She had to fight hard.

Throughout the course of the morning, the landscape of the
mountain began to blur, then change completely as she
concentrated only on her progress.  She had managed to separate
herself from the fog of delirium and fever that had hampered her
earlier, but it hovered close by, following her every step of the way.
 

Scully knew it was only a matter of time before it overtook her
again.

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

10:27 a.m.

The river was bigger than they'd anticipated.  It was colder and
faster, more imposing than they'd expected to find it.  Mulder
and Scully stood along the bank, transfixed by the sight of the
clear blue water running endlessly over silt and sand, driftwood
and plants.  Strong currents raced over smooth grey stones in a
constant rush of cold water that seemed to come from nowhere and
disappear into the other side of nothing.  If they hadn't had to
cross it, Mulder would have welcomed the sight.  Fresh water --
all they could drink -- cool and cleansing, beckoning them into
its quiet, shallow reserves with a promise of rejuvenation.  They
could have enjoyed the discovery, allowed themselves to revel in
washing away the dirt and grime of three days spent hiking.

But they did have to cross it, Mulder thought grimly.  He looked
across the wide expanse of fast-moving water that separated them
from the opposite bank.  It looked imposing and treacherous,
emphasizing the fact that standing quietly beside him, swaying
with fatigue, Dana Scully looked small and fragile.  

She'd never make it across.  She wouldn't even come close.

"What now?" Scully posed.  "Think we can make it?"  Her voice was
strained and thin, belying the bravery of her words.

Mulder looked at her in amazement, almost laughing at the
absurdity of her question.  He choked on the humor as soon as he
saw the thin straw of desperation that she was clinging to.  Her
solemn, determined face exacted an honest answer, and he gave 
her one.  

"I think *I* could make it...," he began.  "But you'd be three
miles downstream before you got halfway across."  

She nodded mutely, her eyes still fixed on the swift water.

Mulder put his arm around Scully's back and guided her a few
steps away from the bank.  He knew with certainty how bad she was
feeling when she made no pretense of shunning his help.  In fact, she
seemed to welcome it without reservation -- a fact that made him even
more nervous about her rapid state of decline.  "Here," he told her. 
"Come back here and sit down for a few minutes." She agreed without
protest, and he gently supported her weight as she lowered herself to
the ground in a half reclining position.

"Scully?"

He had to call her three times before his voice seemed to
register with her.  Finally she looked at him blankly.

"I'm going to walk around this bend over here and see if I can
spot any point in the river that looks narrower or calmer. 
Someplace we might have an easier time crossing.  Okay?"   He
waited, but received no response.  "Scully?  Will you be okay?"

She shook her head sluggishly, as if trying to throw off a cloudy veil
that covered her.  "I want to clean up," she whispered.

He crouched down beside her.  "Scully?" he said softly, capturing her
cheeks with his palms and tilting her head up to look at him. "Scully,
look at me."  When she didn't comply right away he shook her lightly. 
"Scully, *look* at me!" he commanded.

She turned dull, tired eyes up to meet his.

"Don't bug out on me now, Scully," he told her.  "You hear me?"

"M'not," she mumbled, blinking in slow motion.

"I'm going to look for a place to cross the river," he repeated. "You
stay right here until I get back, okay?"

God, he sounded like a parent, Mulder thought.  A healthy,
opinionated argumentative Scully would have called him on it in a
heartbeat, and God he wished that more-familiar Scully would show up
now.  The Scully in front of him merely nodded.  He was getting more
worried with each passing second.  He had to revive her somehow, even
if it was momentary, or they wouldn't be able to take another step.

"Scully," he asked loudly, hoping the increased volume of his
voice would register with her.  "You said you wanted to clean up,
right?"

She nodded at once.

He released her face and placed his hands on her shoulders. 
"Okay.  Listen to me."  He shook her lightly again to make sure
he had her attention.  "I'm going around this bend and then I'm
coming right back, okay?  As soon as we get across the river,
we'll both take a short break and clean up a little bit, okay? 
How's that sound?"

She smiled at him, or rather, she tried to, and the sight cut
through his very soul.  He couldn't lose this woman.  He couldn't even
begin to consider the possibility.  Life without Scully wasn't worth
contemplating.

He stood up, reluctant to leave her.  "Well...good.  You stay
here and think about enjoying that water, and I'll be back in
just a couple minutes.  I'm not going far."

"All right."  She didn't look at him this time, nodding her head
absently as she said the words and continued to gaze longingly at the
cool river.  But she had answered him without prodding, and he felt
confident enough in her response to walk away from her, down around
the sharp outcropped piece of land that obscured the river from their
view to the east side.  Not wanting to leave her alone any longer than
he had to, he walked quickly with purpose, his eyes fixed on the
variations of distance between the east and west sides of the river. 
He didn't take his eyes off the shorelines.

He didn't look back.

And because he didn't look back, he was oblivious to the fact
that behind him, a small redhead crawled slowly and unsteadily on
hands and knees, toward the rapidly moving water of the Watauga River.

End of part 12


Tempest, part 13


*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Standing waist deep in the river, Scully jumped visibly as the
sharp sound of his voice destroyed the quiet tranquillity of the
mountains.  She wearing her T-shirt; her jeans were lying in a
small pile of leaves under the tree where he'd left her.

Sinking lower into the water until only her head was visible, she
stared at him -- a lucid, alert gaze that he hadn't seen in two days. 
"Well, let's see...there's water...there's me *in* the water...there's
soap -- which thank God you didn't make me drop just now when you
screamed at me...if memory serves, I believe most people would call
this a bath, Mulder."  She dipped her head back into the water,
wetting her hair completely.  "You should try it yourself," she told
him, her voice hoarse and throaty. "You're not exactly fresh as a
daisy yourself these days."

Her eyes widened as he plowed into the water fully clothed, his
fury evident.

"What's wrong with y---"

Her words cut off sharply as he bent down and placed his hands on her
hips underneath the water, lifting her effortlessly in the buoyancy of
the water until she was bent over his shoulder, her bikini clad bottom
arched toward the sky.  The bandage he'd placed around her leg was
still in place, the heavy stains of blood a dark brown blemish against
the soaked white cotton that had been his work shirt.  Careful not to
hurt her, he anchored her in place with one hand on her hip, the other
tightly gripping her uninjured leg.

He knew she was angry, but there was no question he was angrier.

He didn't trust himself to speak.  Not as he carried her out onto the
river bank, not as he set her unceremoniously on her unsteady
feet...not even as she stared at him, openmouthed by his actions.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his heart pounded
relentlessly in his chest.  He wanted to throttle her.

"I leave you for ten minutes, Scully!" he yelled.  "Ten minutes! And
all I ask you to do is sit there and wait for me for ten lousy
minutes!  So where are you when I come back?"

"I was taking a bath," she snapped, reaching down for her jeans,
wincing at the sharpness of her own movement.  "Why is that such
a--"

"You were up to your goddamned neck in a river that could have
swept you downstream in less than a minute!  Jesus Christ, Scully --
you don't have the strength of a Chihuahua right now.  What in the
hell made you think you could just waltz into a river -- one that
scares the shit out of *me* by the way -- and have yourself an
Elizabeth Arden moment out here in the middle of the fucking
wilderness?"

"I was doing just *fine* thank you very much!"   She stepped into her
jeans and began tugging, inching the material up over wet legs as she
emphasized her argument.  "Excuse the *hell* out of *me* if I made a
*decision* without *consulting* you."  She left her jeans unbuttoned
and stepped into her tennis shoes.  "You're not my keeper, Mulder." 
Her eyes flashed with indignation.  "So save the caveman routine for
someone who'll appreciate it."

He couldn't help the slow smile that spread across his face.

"Am I amusing you now?" she challenged.

"You're back."  His words were full of quiet emotion.

Scully looked puzzled.

"Look at you," Mulder told her.  "You're wide awake, mad as hell,
ready to take my head off..."  He paused, giving his words time to
sink in.  "Welcome back."

She shook her head, chuckling softly.  "Why can't you just let me stay
mad at you, Mulder?" she asked.  "I was on a roll."

He shook his arms and legs, sending drops of water flying. 
"Because right now it's not in your best interest to be mad at
me."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, and shoved a limp strand of hair
from her eyes.  "Oh?"

"C'mon," he told her, extending his hand toward her.  "I found a
place we can cross.  It's only waist deep and it seems a little
calmer."

Scully hauled the dirty nylon bag into her arms and handed it to
him, allowing him to lead her slowly around the curved bank of
the river.

"This is it?" she asked, eyeing the distance.

"This is it," he confirmed.  "I don't see anyplace narrower, and
those rocks down there seem to pull some of the current away from the
center where it's deepest."  He looked down at her, his heart catching
slightly at the familiar glint in her eyes.  Maybe they would make it
after all.  "You ready?"

She nodded, and made a move toward the edge, but he stopped her
with a hand on her shoulder.  "Hold the bag," he told her,
thrusting it into her surprised hands.  He swept her easily into
his arms, bouncing her lightly a couple of times to test her
weight.

"Mulder," she sighed.  "This isn't necessary.  Really.  I can
pull my weight -- you said it was only waist deep."

He stepped into the water, testing the slipperiness of the rocks
underneath his feet.  "It's not a matter of pulling your weight,
Scully," he told her.  "I'm glad you're feeling better for the
moment, but if you exhaust yourself crossing this river then what good
has it done?"  He stepped off an invisible plateau on the river
bottom, sinking a good foot lower than he'd expected. Scully's bottom
dipped into the water and she held the bag aloft as they made slow
progress toward the other side.

"Besides," he panted, struggling against the rushing water, "when I
said it was waist deep, I meant *my* waist.  You'd be in up to your
neck."  He took a fraction of a second to flash her a sexy smile. 
"And as good as you look in wet, clingy clothes, I'm just not willing
to risk it."

He plowed through the river with slow, deliberate steps, pausing
a few times to readjust the weight of the woman in his arms.  His
muscles were aching, but the precious cargo he carried was his first
priority.  Finally, he felt the surface of the bottom begin to ascend,
and knew he had made it across.  He set her down in water that came to
her hips, taking her hand as they trudged the last few steps onto the
muddy bank and collapsed into the dirt and leaves, breathing heavily.

For the first time since the crash, Mulder felt optimistic.  The
cold water had revived Scully somewhat, and they had to be
getting close to the highway.  They'd cleared the air that had
festered between them, confronted some problems that they'd been
avoiding too long.  And little by little, they walls that kept
them apart at the end of the business day were beginning to
crumble.  He'd kissed her this morning, and although he was
fairly certain she didn't remember their encounter last night,
she hadn't pulled away from him.  It was a step in the right
direction.

It was a beginning.

He closed his eyes against the brightness of the clearing sky,
and allowed his breathing to settle back to a normal rate.  They
would rest a few minutes and head straight through the woods. 
With any luck, he'd have Scully tucked into a hospital bed and
receiving antibiotics before nightfall.  After that, he had no
clue.  But they'd made some promises that he was going to move
heaven and earth to keep.

"Mulder?"

He didn't open his eyes.  "Uh huh?"

"Get up."

"Do I have to?" he sighed.  He hadn't expected her to be so eager to
move on.  She'd been so listless only half an hour ago.

"No," she answered slowly.  "You don't have to, but it won't be
nearly as pleasant if you don't help out a little."

He opened his eyes, squinting up at her in confusion.  "What
won't?"

She moved over him, blocking the sun from his eyes, and smiled
down at him, the smile of everything good that he'd ever known in his
life.  Her tongue darted out and slowly licked her chapped lips,
making him ache to retrace the path with his own tongue.

Don't torture yourself, Mulder, he thought.  "What won't?" he
repeated.

She pushed something wet and slippery into his hand and bent low
to whisper in his ear.  Her throaty laugh promised more than he
knew she could deliver, but he didn't care.  Her words were
enough to make his pulse leap instantly.

"Cleaning up, Mulder," she breathed against his neck.  "You and I are
going to take a bath."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

She hadn't been skinnydipping in years.  Not since her sophomore
year of college when she and Wendy Bealer had sneaked away to
meet their boyfriends at Lake Laremont.  They'd spent hours in
the water, playing, flirting, splashing, kissing, petting.  She'd
finally let Kurt Eyremore get to third base, and if they hadn't been
interrupted by the ill-timed arrival of a group of lost campers, she
would have let him make love to her.  At the time, she'd thought she
loved him.

"You done with the soap yet?"  

Mulder's question broke into her thoughts, startling her out of
her nostalgic daydream.  "Just a minute, Mulder," she called over her
shoulder.  "I'm almost done."  She passed the small white bar over her
arms in small circles and up around her neck, working the slippery
residue into lather as much as she could.  Even though there was no
fragrance, she felt positively decadent.  She dipped lower under the
surface to rinse herself off, and began side-stroking through the
heavy water to Mulder, who waited patiently some distance away.

They'd separated instinctively when they entered the water,
allowing each other their privacy.  Now, closing the distance
between them, Scully regretted their unfailing civility to one
another.  Fox Mulder stood tall and steady in the crystal clear
water that reached only to the middle of his hips.  He stood
completely still, waiting for her to approach him with the humble
delivery.  Tiny rivulets of water ran in slow patterns down his
muscled body, and for a moment, Scully imagined herself as that water,
running free over his skin, his entire body her playground.  Did he
have any idea how much she wanted that?  To explore his body?  To
familiarize herself with every inch of it?

She couldn't breathe.  He was Poseidon come to life.  A god
standing firm amid the watery world that surrounded him. Surely
no human had ever affected her so strongly, no mere mortal had
ever achieved this level of effortless sexuality.  She stopped
her progression in mid-stroke about five feet away from him and
indulged an unabashed stare at his beauty.  She'd never wanted a
man so much in her life.  Fox Mulder was living, breathing proof
of the artistry of the very God he sometimes questioned. 
Perfection didn't happen without help.

"Scully?"

She blinked, suddenly aware she was treading water.  "What?"

"You okay?"  He began moving toward her.

She put her feet down to the muddy floor of the river and
crouched down neck deep into its depths.  "I'm fine, Mulder," she told
him.  Her voice sounded low, husky.  "Just taking a breather."

He began swimming sideways as he drew close to her in the
shallower water, obscuring his nudity from her eyes.  She could
see the worry in his eyes, and felt a pang of guilt.  She'd been
fantasizing about his body, and he was worried sick about her
health.  He reached her easily, almost kneeling in calm water
closer to the bank.  Mulder reached a hand toward her forehead,
but she captured his wrist and lowered it to just above the
surface of the water, placing the small sliver of soap into it
and closing his fingers over it tightly.

"I'm fine, Mulder.  I just got tired, that's all."  She looked up at
him.  "Really.  Go wash."

He nodded his agreement.  "Why don't you go ahead and get
dressed.  That'll give you a little time to rest before we hit
the trail again."  His other hand came out of the water to cup
her cheek.  "I won't be long.  Can you make it out?"

His concern was touching.  It was also irritating as hell.  

They were never going to get anywhere at this rate, she thought,
thoroughly disgruntled.  The game was wearing thin.  She knew he
wanted her; she'd seen -- hell she'd *felt* -- the proof of that. But
for some reason he refused to take advantage of her almost blatent
invitation.  What the hell did he want?  A trail of breadcrumbs? 
Scully stared at the handsome man in front of her with a mixture of
desire and exasperation.  He couldn't kiss her soundly one minute and
play big brother the next.  And if that was what he was feeling at the
moment, he could get over it, she decided.  She wasn't about to step
into little sister's shoes.

"Yeah, I can make it out," she told him, slowly standing up in
the thigh-deep water.  His eyes widened as she bared her body to
him completely before turning slowly and walking toward the
shore, allowing him the lingering view of her naked bottom.

Scully smiled wickedly as she stepped onto the bank, knowing full well
that his eyes were riveted upon her.  Without a look back, she bent
over to retrieve her clothes from the ground, laughing to herself when
Mulder's intake of breath reached her over the distance between them.

"I'll be over on the other side, Mulder," she called over her
shoulder to him.  

He didn't answer.  Scully looked back just in time to see the
surface of the cold water close completely over her partner's
head as he immersed himself completely in Mother Nature's version of a
cold shower.

"Gotcha," she whispered, smiling.


End of part 13


Tempest, part 14


*   *   *   *   *   *   * 

Finally clean from toes to teeth, she was sitting straight legged on
the ground, finger-combing her hair when Mulder joined her on the
bank.  Her leg throbbed dully underneath the soaked cotton bandage,
numbed from its prolonged submersion in the cold water. The river had
acted as an ice pack, momentarily relieving the most intense stabs of
pain, but Scully could feel the heat radiating from the wound.  The
respite would be undoubtedly brief, and then the nauseating agony
would begin again.  

Mulder stood beside her, watching quietly.  He was clad only in
his torn, dirty work pants, the blue fabric turned nearly black
from three days in the mountain wilderness.  His bare chest was
still wet, small trails of water running down from the wet
strands of his hair.

"Need a hand?" he asked her, his voice a soft caress.

She looked at him wistfully.  "Need a brush.  I left it behind."

"I didn't."  He held up her brush, smiling as her face registered her
delight and surprise.  "I saw what you took out of the bag when I went
back into the tower.  I repacked."

She smiled a silent invitation and Mulder lowered himself to the
ground behind her, situating her between his legs as he stretched his
own limbs out beside hers.  She went still, concentrating wholly on
the sensation as he began to stroke her hair.

It was a measure of patience as he worked the soft bristles of
the brush through hair too long neglected.  Little by little, the
snarls began to disappear as Mulder painstakingly drew the brush over
and over and over her hair, following its progress with his hands,
combing the ends around his hand to simulate the soft curl she so
often wore.  Scully sat still beneath his ministrations, her heart
shattering at this, his small simple act of selfless caring.  It was
the most touching thing he'd ever done for her.

She was almost unaware when he stopped the soothing stroking
motion of the brush, and began to knead the tired, sore muscles
of her shoulders.  One sensual pleasure melted into another as
she allowed him to massage away days of anxiety and stress.  His
hand pushed her hair aside and bared her neck to him, and her
mind flashed back to the last time he had made this same exact
move.  Back then, standing alone in a freezing storage unit, it
had been a measure of suspicion; an act of fear and retaliation. This
time, there was nothing but the gentle feel of his skin upon hers. 
His fingers, his breath against her neck.

His breath?  Oh God.  

Scully bit her bottom lip as she felt Mulder's hot breath against the
sensitive nape of her neck.  When his lips touched her there, all
coherent thought left completely.  He grazed soft kisses across her
shoulder and down her upper arm. There was no mistaking the intention.
 She was being seduced.  Awkwardly, trying not to hurt her leg, she
moved to her knees and turned to face him, her eyes searching his.  

It was all there.  

Finally.  

Everything she'd longed to see in him was there for the taking.

Their lips met hungrily, his mouth capturing hers in wordless
passion that set her very soul on fire.  She felt the slow soft
heat beginning to spread throughout her lower body and moaned
against his mouth.  Everything.  This was everything.

The touch of his tongue against the roof of her mouth, the
feeling of his breath mixing with hers. She wanted all of it. 
She wanted more.  Scully captured Mulder's full lower lip softly
between her teeth and suckled lightly, his groan of pleasure
giving her confidence, spurring her on.  Kissing a trail down his jaw
and neck, she let her exploring hands stroke a path across his bare
chest, the last remnants of water spreading out across his muscles
underneath her palms.

"Scully," he groaned, his voice a harsh whisper.

"Shhhhh."  Her mouth continued its journey as she sensuously
worked her way back to his jaw, his cheek.  His beard was
surprisingly soft to her touch, and more arousing than she'd ever
imagined.  Everything about Mulder was arousing, she realized,
wondrously.  She trailed her tongue across his jawbone toward his ear.
 When she found it, she sucked lightly on his earlobe.

His breathless moan excited her even more.  She pulled back,
releasing him just long enough to cross her arms over herself and pull
the constricting T-shirt over her head.  This time, she wasn't wearing
her bra.  She felt the heat of Mulder's eyes upon her and resisted the
urge to cover herself again.  She was so pale and thin -- thinner than
she'd ever been.  She lowered her lashes, afraid to look at him,
knowing she wasn't prepared to see what he might not be able to
disguise.

"God, you're so beautiful," he whispered.  When she didn't
answer, he crooked a finger under her chin and raised her face to look
at him.  "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known, Dana
Scully."  His face moved closer to hers.  "Don't ever doubt it."  His
mouth descended upon hers before she could reply, driving away any
doubt of his sincerity.  

His tongue ravaged the softness of her mouth, as he leaned her
back to lie on the ground, covering her carefully with his own
body without ever breaking their kiss.  His hand moved to cover
her breast, gently cupping the soft flesh as his palm made soft
passing strokes across her hardened nipple.  An involuntary
whimper escaped her and she closed her eyes, opening herself to
him completely, drinking in the feel of his hands against her
fevered skin.  His mouth began a downward exploration, kissing a
trail down her throat, stopping as his tongue flicked out to lap
the small hollow of her clavicle.  She shivered and threaded her
hands through his hair.  She was dissolving right beneath him,
unable to believe this was actually happening.

Mulder followed the path of his hands to her breasts, nuzzling
one softly against his cheek before his mouth closed over her
nipple.  When he suckled her, she cried out, breathless, overcome by
the combined sensation of his lips and tongue and beard against her
sensitive flesh.  Her hands tightened in his hair, holding him to her,
and when she felt the moisture beginning between her legs, she parted
them instinctively.  Smiling against her breast, Mulder widened them
further, settling himself finally between her thighs.

He moved up to capture her mouth again, the sound of his wordless
murmurs leading her to the brink of her own self-control.  "I want
you, Mulder," she breathed against his mouth.

His elbows were on the ground on either side of her head, and he
supported his weight on them as he pulled back to look at her.

"I want you, Mulder," she repeated, her honest whisper surprising both
of them.

"Scully, your leg..."

She reached up and pulled his head back down to hers, her mouth
slanting across his in wanton passion.  "My leg wants you,
Mulder."

He chuckled at her brazenness.  "Your leg only wants me for my
knee," he joked, kissing her cheekbone.

"Shut up, Mulder."  She pulled his mouth to hers again,
effectively stopping their extraneous conversation.  She was
overdressed.  They were both so damn overdressed.  Without
breaking the kiss, her hands moved down to the waistband of her
jeans and she fumbled with the button and zipper, finally
releasing them both.  She lifted her hips and began to push the
jeans downward.  A short stabbing pain went through her leg as
the heavy denim scraped across the bandage, but she gritted her
teeth and forced herself to ignore it.  Some things were worth a
little discomfort.  And at the moment, Fox Mulder was all of
them.  

Mulder slid lower down her body, his mouth blazing a trail of
fire down her stomach until his chin rested just below her navel. He
slid his hands into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down
until they met the fabric of her jeans, then pushed both further down.
 

His breath was hot against her stomach, and she felt the tight
coil of desire building hotter within her.  The tension was
unbearable.

"God Mulder," she gasped, "I need...I need..."

His tongue darted out to flick her navel and she whimpered.  "You need
what?"  His voice sounded thick and rough.

"You."  The word was a cry.  A plea.  Eyes closed, she turned her head
to the side as he covered her body with his once more, the already
familiar weight of him a welcome sensation.  Her breasts ached for his
touch, her nipples hypersensitive from the heady feeling of his mouth
upon them.  He buried his face in her neck and she felt the aching
wetness between her thighs.  When finally, his hand moved between her
legs, she gasped, a combination of relief and uncontrolled passion.

He kissed her deeply as his fingers parted her, his tongue
mimicking the motions of his fingers as they deftly stroked her. When
he moved one finger inside her, she moaned loudly against his mouth. 
His assault was unrelenting, first one finger, finally two, pulsing in
and out of her body.  When his thumb moved upward to stroke her
simultaneously, her hips began to thrust against him as she fought for
release.  The tension was unbearable.  Unbearable and magnificent. 
She never wanted it to end.

"Let it go, Scully," he whispered, coaxing her toward the
brilliant light.  "Just let go."

His words pushed her over the edge into the beautiful void she'd
been seeking.  The world exploded around her in a thousand pieces of
dazzling light, settling over her in a cohesive veil of sunlight and
promise.  Her body felt like thick hot liquid pooled beneath him. 
Shapeless.  Formless.

Opening her eyes, she looked into Mulder's fathomless hazel ones,
feeling a surprising wetness clinging to her lashes.  Mulder bent his
head low to her, silently kissing away the moisture. Scully's thoughts
were a jumbled blur.  She couldn't think.  She didn't want to think.
She didn't even want to go home anymore. She didn't want anything but
for Mulder to stay here with her.

"Make love to me, Mulder," she whispered, her voice thick with
emotion.  She reached for the waistband of his pants and began to
fumble with the button.  His erection was huge, straining against the
worn fabric of the pants and she knew the measure of self-control he
had exercised to put her own pleasure first.

He didn't move or say a word as she released the button and
slowly pulled the zipper down.  Only their ragged breathing
measured the intensity of the scene as they played it out in
wondrous solitude.  She slid her hands inside the fabric of his
boxers and pushed them down over his hips.  She needed him.  She
wanted him.  All of him.

Taking up the cause when her arms had reached as far as they
could, Mulder half-turned and removed them completely, his eyes
searching hers endlessly, as if he expected her to change her
mind.  She allowed herself an appreciative look at his body and
felt her mouth go completely dry.  He was beautiful.  Every inch
of him was beautiful.

"Scully," he breathed, lowering himself over her body.  "Are you
sure?"

She reached between their bodies and took him in her hand, amazed by
the silken hardness of him.  "Oh yeah," she breathed against his neck.
 "I'm sure."  She stroked him softly and he groaned.

He kissed her deeply, then without warning or explanation, he
pulled away suddenly, his body still poised above hers.

"Mulder?"

He didn't answer.

"Mulder, what is it?"

"Do you hear that?" he asked, still breathless with passion.

"Do I hear wha --"

"Shhhh..."  he commanded abruptly.

Scully fell silent, listening intently,  hearing only the sound
of her own blood rushing through her veins.  Then there was
something else.  The unmistakable sound of a vehicle.  Not a
plane or a helicopter or something far away.  This was small.  A
car, possibly a truck.  And it was close.  God, it was close.

"Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?" he groaned, closing his
eyes.  When he opened them, he seemed to be in total control. "Wait
here.  I'll be right back," Mulder rasped, rolling away from her and
grabbing for his pants.

The weight of his body pushed her leg into the rocky ground, and
she couldn't stop the cry of pain that escaped her lips.

"Scully!"  He scrambled back, kneeling beside her as he cupped
her cheek in his hand.  "God, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to hurt
you."

She bit her bottom lip and nodded, her eyes closed against the
pain.  "It's okay, Mulder," she said, gritting her teeth.  When
at last the fiery pain subsided, she opened her eyes to look into his
worried ones.  His hand was softly caressing her cheek. "Really.  I'm
fine."  She attempted a smile to back up her words. "Are you?"

He helped her to her feet.  "Am I what?"

Her eyes lowered to his barely concealed erection, bulging hard
against the fabric of his pants.  "Fine."  With a mischievous
glint in her eye, she reached her hand down to cup him softly
through the material.  "It looks like *you're* the one in pain to me,"
she told him wryly.

"God, Scully..."  Mulder's eyes closed as he fought for control.

Taking pity on him, she removed her hand, trailing her nails
across his chest lightly.  He captured her hand easily and
pressed it against his bare skin.  "Scully," he began.

"Yes?"

He gazed meaningfully into her eyes, the small twitch of his jaw
the only indication of his humor.  "Promise me I'll have sex
again before I die."

His teasing words sparked a glimmer of rememberance.  Uninhibited
kissing, her own spontaneous laughter...oh dear lord.  She'd actually
told him...

She was momentarily embarrassed, then gave herself over to good
humor.  Her laughter eased the tension in her body, as she began
to realize that their rescue truly was at hand after their three
day ordeal.  She looked at him seriously, an imitation of what
she vaguely remembered as his own response to her plea.  "I
personally guarantee it, Mulder" she promised hoarsely, pulling
his head down to hers for one last kiss, lightly teasing his
tongue with her own. Drawing away from him at last, she reached
down and pulled his jacket from the ground behind her, shaking it
forcefully to remove the leaves and dirt that clung to it. "Here's
your chance, Mulder," she told him, handing him the jacket and giving
him a gentle shove toward the trees.  "Go be a manly man."  When he
raised his eyebrows in a puzzled expression, she chuckled.  "Go be a
hero and find the highway," she instructed,  "I'm ready to be
rescued."

He grinned and turned without a word, maneuvering through the
underbrush that surrounded the river, fastening his pants even as he
made his way toward the sound of civilization.

Scully watched him go, her heart racing.  She couldn't even
absorb what had just happened here, and she didn't have time to
sort it out.  They'd found the highway.  What they would find
*on* the highway was yet to be determined.

She pulled on her T-shirt and stumbled to her feet, her legs
still shaky in the aftermath of orgasm.  Every nerve in her body
was on full-alert, screaming for a conclusion that wasn't going
to happen.  She couldn't imagine the frustration that Mulder was
feeling.

Sense of humor indeed, she thought wryly.  God was probably
headlining at the Pearly Gates Comedy Club.

She stepped into her shoes, waiting anxiously for some sign of
Mulder through the thick covering of trees.  Gradually, her
breathing returned to normal, even as her thoughts began to pick
up speed.  The trial was tomorrow.  In all probability, if
Escabedo hadn't found Lindsey Carroll by now, she would surely
make it to her court date.  And that was suddenly more important
to Scully than it had been before the crash.  If Escabedo was to
blame for their plane going down, if he was responsible for the
death of Daniel Davis and for what had happened to her and
Mulder, it was suddenly vitally important to Scully that Lindsey
Carroll be present in that court room to nail his ass to the
wall.  She could only hope her own reemergence into the land of
the living didn't jeopardize that.

Scully stared into the trees where Mulder had disappeared and
fought the urge to call him back.  They had to get to a hospital,
trial or no trial.  She couldn't risk losing her leg, no matter what
the cost to the DEA's case.  They'd run out of time.

"Ready or not, Lindsey," she whispered.  "Here we come."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The four lane highway was a welcome sight, winding its way across the
uneven terrain of Cherokee National Park.  It cut across the mountain
like an endless grey ribbon, an adornment of civilization upon the
endless expanse of wildlife.

Mulder and Scully cleared the last piece of overgrown brush that
separated them from salvation and stood quietly, hand in hand,
gazing at the quiet road.  They'd made it to the highway.  They
hadn't made it to safety.

Tightening his grip on her hand, Mulder looked down at his
partner, resisting the urge to lead her back to the river and
finish what they had started.  The images of Dana Scully lying
soft and pliant beneath his exploring hands and mouth was still
fresh in his mind.  It was forever imprinted in his memory...the
soft flush of excitement on her pale cheeks, her parted lips
swollen from his kisses, her breath ragged and labored as she
looked up at him with four years' worth of passion coupled with a
measure of trust he'd never expected to know in his lifetime.  He
could still feel the silk of her skin.  He could still taste her.

Dana Scully was a gift he hadn't earned, his fondest wish come to
life.  She was everything.  

And he was about to step onto this highway and shatter any peace
of mind he ever hoped to have.  He was going to flag down a car
and make her a target again, this time in public view.

He was going to risk her life in order to save it.

"I think something's coming."  Her voice seemed suddenly shaky,
as if she wasn't sure about what they were doing.

He put his arm around her shoulder.  "Scully, we're going to have to
take this chance."

"I know."  She nodded her agreement.  "I just keep thinking that
with our luck, we'll flag down the only car on this highway
that's full of Escabedo's flunkies."

Mulder looked over her shoulder at the approaching vehicle, and
couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.  "Well, I
think you can stop worrying," he grinned.

Scully turned to look behind her.

"Unless Escabedo's suffered a major financial setback in the last
three days, I don't think he drives a '76 Pinto."

Buoyed by the welcome sound of her genuine laughter, Mulder
smiled and stepped out onto the highway, waving his arms to slow
the sputtering car.  The driver pulled to the shoulder and rolled down
the window.  He was young, college-aged, and more than willing to give
them a lift.

Opening the door and helping Scully into the back seat, Mulder
allowed himself the first deep breath he'd taken in nearly a
week.  Finally, after going to hell and back, they'd come out on
top.  They were going to have the last word.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

End of Part 14


Tempest, epilogue


St. Francis Hospital
Johnson City, Tennessee
5:17 p.m.

The third floor lounge area of St. Francis Hospital was small and
dark, tucked away in the far corner of the hallway across from the
nurses' station.  Rows of vinyl chairs connected by their armrests
formed a yellow and blue chain around the walls.  The room was
uncomfortable and stale, and smelled of old magazines and various
spilled drinks.  Mulder stood alone in the corner of the room, his
hand resting lightly on the wooden privacy carrel that housed the pay
phone.  

Through the glass that served as the top half of the walls, he 
scrutinized the nursing staff as they went about their duties.  Scully
was one of their duties now, tucked away at the end of the hall behind
door 309.  He'd hesitated to leave her even long enough to call
Skinner, but she'd insisted he take care of business and stop
hovering.

Stop hovering.  What a fucking joke.  

He wasn't her salvation.  He could never be her protector.  He was
nothing but a liability to Dana Scully, and this time it had nearly
cost her her life.  The voice on the other end of the phone gave him
instructions, drawing their conversation to a close.

Mulder blinked tiredly, watching the lazy activity across the hall. 
"Yes, Sir.  I'll be in touch tomorrow."  He paused.  "Thank you, Sir."

He hung up the phone and moved wearily toward the door, his feet
carrying him automatically back toward Scully.  He paused only long
enough to retrieve the daily newspaper from the small plastic table
where he had tossed it, folding it inward to obscure the headline from
his sight as he began making his way to Scully's room.

Suddenly, three days in the wilderness seemed like nothing compared to
the length of that hallway. Knowing what he did and anticipating
Scully's reaction to what he was about to tell her, the walk to her
room was the longest solitary journey of his life -- and over much too
quickly.

He paused and took a deep breath, rapping the door with his knuckle. 
Was it too much to hope she wasn't home?

"Come in."

Mulder leaned his head against the smooth surface of the wide entry,
collecting himself before making a move to enter. He couldn't gloss it
over, not this time; Scully had to know the truth.

And in all the years he'd spent chasing it, the truth had never been
uglier.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Scully looked up as Mulder pushed open the heavy door and walked into
the her standard issue, sparsely furnished hospital sanctuary.

"Everybody decent?"

Her heart caught when she saw him.  He'd showered and shaved, 
somehow managed a change of clothes.  Jeans.  God, she loved him in
jeans.  After three days of bearded Mulder, she'd also been unprepared
for her reaction to his familiar clean-shaven visage.  He'd lost
weight, as had she, and the bruise on his forehead was fading to dark
yellow, but she'd never seen him look better.  Her body was on instant
alert.

She smiled at his casual question and pulled back the sheet to reveal
her blue and white hospital gown.  "I think that's a matter of
opinion.  I'm covered, but I'm not sure this classifies as decent." 
When he didn't comment, she quirked an eyebrow at him.  "What answer
were you hoping for?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.  In Scully's experience,
Mulder's eyes always told the tale.  He was so easy to read. 
Sometimes he was *too* damn easy to read.  One good look at his face
and it registered loud and clear.  Guilt...a *lot* of guilt.

There was a small beige chair against the wall by her bed and he
dragged it over to sit beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. 
He was holding a folded newspaper.  "How are you feeling?"

Polite conversation, she noted.  This was going to be bad.  "I'm
okay," she hedged.  Her leg hurt like hell, but she wasn't going to
lose it gangrene.  And until she knew exactly what was on Mulder's
mind, she wouldn't risk adding another load to his overburdened
conscience.  "What's on your mind, Mulder?"

He looked down at his hands.  "I've been trying to come up with a good
way to tell you..."

Her heart began to thud heavily, her mind whirling.  Let's forget what
happened by the river?  I've decided I'm not really that attracted to
you after all?  There's someone else?  She steeled herself for the
horrible possibilities.  "What?  Just tell me, Mulder."

Wordlessly, he handed her the newspaper, and she took it, confused by
the act, but relieved that he hadn't confirmed her fears.  The
headline sent her heart plummeting.  "GRAND JURY CLAIMS INSUFFICIENT
EVIDENCE."  The picture showed Hector Escabedo leaving the courthouse
surrounded by a legion of bodyguards.

She looked up at him, stunned.  "He killed her, didn't he?  He found
her and killed her."

Mulder's jaw tightened.  "He didn't find her."

Her mind raced.  "She decided not to testify?"

"Scully..." Mulder began.  "It's not that simple.  The truth is that
the--"

"I don't understand," she interrupted.  "She had enough to get a
conviction.  Agent Westbrook said Lindsey Carrol's testimony would be
the nail in Escab--"

"She doesn't exist."

That stopped her cold.  "What do you mean she doesn't exist?"  A
feeling of dread spread slowly throughout her body like ice water
running through her veins.  Her heart rate quickened even more.

"There is no Lindsey Carrol."  He closed his eyes briefly and took a
deep breath.  When he opened them, he sprang from the chair and turned
away from her, running a hand through his hair.  "There never was a
Lindsey Carrol.  There was no girlfriend.  There was no testimony. 
The whole thing was a set up, Scully."  He turned back to face her,
his eyes pain-filled.  "We were set up."

She couldn't fathom what he was telling her.  "But..." she fingered
the rough edges of the newspaper struggling to find the words. 
"...the picture -- and the file."

He shook his head.  "The file was fabricated, start to finish.  I can
only assume the picture was an altered photo of you."

She shook her head.  "No.  That can't be right.  Mulder, we checked
all this out.  We did the paperwork.  That file checked out --
Westbrook's whole story checked out."

Mulder ran a tired hand over his face.  "The DEA's official statement,
Agent Mulder, is that we have no record of any Agent Raymond Westbrook
ever having worked for this agency," he quoted sarcastically.  "If you
have any further questions, please submit them in writing to the
office of inter-departmental resources."

"Mulder, that's INSANE!" she yelled.  "What could anyone possibly hope
to accomplish with that kind of elaborate scheme?  What would be the
point?"

He stared at her, the guilt flooding his eyes once again.

"You think they did all this to get rid of US?  Mulder that's crazy! 
Who would go to all this trouble just to...just...just for us?"  Her
voice trailed off.

"All this trouble, Scully?  Like the trouble of killing my father? 
Your sister?  The trouble of abducting you and holding you for months?
 Or the trouble of erasing people's memories, burning boxcars full of
their inconvenient reminders, blowing up entire jets full of innocent
people..."

Her head snapped up at his statement.  "What about Daniel?" she 
asked.

His lips thinned.  "If he ever existed, as far as the DEA's concerned,
he's been erased." 

She put her hands to her temples.  This was too much.  She couldn't
absorb it.  "Mulder, Skinner signed those case transfer orders.  He
okayed our involvement."

He shook his head.  "Skinner started calling around day before 
yesterday when we hadn't contacted him from New Jersey.  As soon as he
realized they'd cut us loose he started searching."  He laughed
harshly.  "You and I have been quite a topic of conversation around
the old J. Edgar Hoover Building," he told her.  "We've been listed
MIA for the last two days."

Silence settled over them as they struggled for a mental hold on the
circumstances.  Scully looked at her partner, her friend, her -- what
exactly were they now?  It didn't matter, she realized.  She was
suddenly overcome with her own guilt.  "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He spun around.  "What?"

She bit her bottom lip.  "It's my fault."

"No."

"Yes.  It is."  She stared at him pointedly.  "Don't try to play the
`My Fault' game with me on this one, Mulder.  I'll win.  It's my fault
because I'm the one who accepted this assignment in the first place."

He walked to the foot of her bed.  "No, it's my fault.  I'm the reason
why you wanted to accept that assignment, Scully.  I made you feel
your work on the X-Files wasn't important or valid."

She responded instantly.  "It's my fault because I was the one 
they approached and I made the decision."

Mulder turned his face toward the window, breaking eye contact.  "It's
my fault, because they never would have approached you if you weren't
involved with me to begin with."  

His pained whisper pierced her to the core.  Game over, she 
realized.  She couldn't compete with that kind of guilt.  She couldn't
begin to imagine the burden he felt.  She held her hand out for him,
craving the feeling of him close to her.  "Mulder..."

He turned toward her and, seeing her outstretched hand, moved to take
it, sitting carefully on the side of her bed.  He looked at her with
the saddest eyes she'd ever seen, and she was overcome with the urge
to protect him.  This was a man who'd taken the blame for the loss of
every person close to him.  She had no doubt he was mentally adding
her to that list with a footnote of  "almost."

She squeezed his hand, looking at their intertwined fingers.  "Mulder,
you have *got* to stop feeling guilty that I'm a part of your life. 
You're not the final say in where my life goes or doesn't go, and I am
exactly where I want to be right now."

He looked away.

"Mulder, I don't blame you.  Not for Missy's death, not for my 
abduction.  You spend a lot of time thinking that you're the reason I
should leave the X-Files.  You don't seem to understand that in my
mind, you're the only reason to stay."

That got him.  He turned to look at her, his eyes glistening with
unshed tears.  Her heart ached for his vulnerability.  She reached her
free hand outward to cup his cheek, and he turned his head into it,
his eyes fathomless as they searched hers, taking the comfort she
offered.  "Mulder, I told you once that even if I had known everything
that would happen, I wouldn't change a day.  Did you think I was
lying?"

He didn't answer, closing his eyes finally against the blatant 
honesty of hers. 

She dropped her hand from his face.  "I have to believe everything
happens for a reason, Mulder.  And even if we don't know what they are
right now, we'll find them if we keep looking."

He swallowed, and opened his eyes.  "I don't know how much 
longer we can keep looking, Scully.  They keep upping the ante."

"Noooo," she said slowly.  "I don't think so."  At his puzzled 
expression, she continued.  "We're not any worse off than we've 
ever been, Mulder.  We're just back on the same old familiar 
ground...trust no one."

He snorted.  "Well obviously we need to be a little more careful about
who we don't trust."

She smiled at him, grateful for the reappearance of his sardonic
humor.  He was gaining perspective...rededicating himself.  In short,
he was coming back to her.

On cue, he leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to her 
forehead.  "Get some sleep, Scully.  I'm gonna go make a few 
more calls and grab some dinner, which I'll smuggle up to you in a
little bit.  I won't be long."

The kiss was perfunctory at best.  When he made a move to 
stand, she didn't release his hand.  "Is that the best you can 
do?" she asked wryly, arching her brow in feigned annoyance.  
"If it is, I'm afraid I have to tell you that you do your best work in
the field, Agent Mulder."

His eyes widened at her bold statement, but he laughed 
appreciatively, bending to kiss the lips she turned up toward him. 
The kiss was soft but lingering, full of promise -- an unspoken
acknowledgement of things to come.  They pulled away from each other
breathless.  "You gonna be okay?" he asked, stroking her hair from her
forehead.

She nodded.  "Weren't you listening?  I'm always okay."  

He moved toward the door, his hand resting on the door handle.  
When he looked at her this time, he was utterly serious.  "Watch your
back, Scully," he said quietly.

"Uh uh," she told him shaking her head.

He looked confused.

"That's your job, Mulder.  Mine is to watch yours."

Their eyes held for a moment, then without another word, Mulder 
nodded once and disappeared through the open doorway.  

Scully sighed, leaning back into her pillow, closing her eyes. 
Slowly, she gave herself over to relaxation, letting the mild pain
medication carry her off toward slumber.  For Scully, sleep came
easily for the first time in days, finally secure in the knowledge
that she and Mulder were safe, that they had survived and become
stronger.  They'd managed to walk away from this whole thing with time
on their side, and for now, that was enough.  Scully's breathing
became deep and even and she stumbled into the now comforting
darkness, still feeling the warmth of Mulder's promise on her lips.

<END>

Well, there it is.  The finished product of WAY too many months of
work.  :) 
 It would be an understatement to say I'd love to hear your comments. 
 Please let me know if you enjoyed it.

Missy (josiechung@aol.com)

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