Title: Mileage
Author: Scullysfan
Rated: NC-17    
Classification: SRAH
Spoilers: Nisei, Never Again, Post-Modern Prometheus, tiny ones 
for Dreamland
Distribution:  Do not archive at Gossamer.  I'll take care of ATXC 
myself.  Anyone else, *please do not archive without asking first.*  
Thanks. : )
Disclaimer:  The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property 
of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.  They are not mine and no 
copyright infringement is intended. All other characters in this 
story belongs to me.

Summary:  "And miles to go before I sleep..."


Note:  This story is set in the same universe as my "Tearing 
Down Walls."  I don't think it's necessary to read it before reading 
this one, but there *is* brief mention made here of an incident in 
TDW.  That story can be found at Chronicle X.  Author's thanks 
and additional notes at the end.


Feedback:  Any and all comments longed for at:  
Scullysfan@aol.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost

~~~~~~~~~~~~


She never felt the slow, wet tickle.  In retrospect, it didn't surprise 
her. Not when her nerve endings crackled like live wires, sparks 
racing along them as they rushed to her body's epicenter of 
sensation.  The heaviness of him slid from her, only to fill her 
again as she pressed her groin to his.  She clasped her knees to 
the sides of his ribcage and burrowed her fingers into his shoulders. 
Leaning low over him to increase her speed, as any good jockey 
would do, she ground the knot of nerves against his pelvic bone 
with each downward thrust.  Waves of tremors began to flow 
down her limbs. 

How could she feel anything else?

It was no wonder she didn't catch the sudden, sickening sweet 
odor.  Her olfactory senses were too enamored of the tartness of 
his sweat, tempered by the occasional whiff of day-old deodorant 
as he raised his arms to grab the spindles in her headboard.  
Anchored there, he dug his heels into the mattress and bucked 
up to meet her.  With each frantic separation and reunion of their 
bodies, she smelled them -- the fragrance she could never 
describe or categorize.  She knew it only as them. 

What scent could overpower that?

Anyone in her position would understand why she didn't see the 
dark splashes of thick red landing on his chest.  They melted 
through the scattering of hair, mixing with the sheen of perspiration.  
She never noticed them -- not with her eyes clamped shut in 
concentration and pleasure.  Bright flashes played against the 
twin screens of her eyelids.  

Why should she open her eyes and interrupt the light show?

"Scully!"  His vice-like grip latched onto her shoulders and pulled 
her to a halt. 

Breaths came in quick gasps as she lifted her weighted eyelids to 
look down on him.  Thin, dim shafts of light peeking through cracks 
in the blinds crossed his face.  Even in near darkness, even 
half-blinded by unsatisfied desire, she recognized the look on his 
face.  

Bone-chilling fear.   

As if to prove her assessment correct, his hands lost their fierce 
hold on her and trembled against her arms.  "Scully," he repeated, 
his voice hoarse.  

"Mulder, wha -- "

"You... you're bleeding." The words were a choked whisper. 

Scully's eyes went wide.  She followed his gaze as it dropped to 
his chest and there they were.  Three ugly splotches of blood.  

Four. 

Pulling her arm from his hand, she swiped at her nose in a 
practiced gesture.  A smear of crimson confirmed her suspicions.  
With a sigh, she pulled away from him, feeling his softening penis 
slide from her. 

Nothing like a nosebleed to kill the mood, she thought as she 
settled back against a pile of pillows and reached for the box of 
Kleenex on her nightstand.  Tissue stuffed up her nose to help 
staunch the flow, head tilted back... it was a routine she knew all 
too well.  She felt Mulder sit up and settle next to her, pulling the 
comforter up to cover them before he turned to her. 

"Where did that come from, Scully?"

"I don't know, Mulder." She pulled the tissue away from her nose 
before she answered, checking to see if the bleeding had begun 
to slow.  "It could have been any number of factors.  Excessively 
dry weather often causes bleeding."  Slipping into the familiarity of 
differential diagnosis allowed her the impersonal distance she 
needed.  "Some small capillaries might have burst due to my 
elevated heart rate and vigorous activity... just now.  Nosebleeds 
aren't unheard of for adults in their mi--"

"Or," he interrupted her with a convulsive grip on her knee. "Or it 
could signal a relapse."  His voice trailed off at the end of his 
tentative suggestion.  "In the..."

She'd noticed not long after her cancer diagnosis that Mulder 
seemed to find it difficult to say the word at all.  He even stopped 
referring to their cigarette-smoking friend by the Cancerman 
moniker he'd once used.  Apparently, almost two years into her 
remission, he still couldn't bring himself to voice that hated word.  

Avoiding his gaze, she admitted, "It could.  Remission isn't a cure, 
Mulder."  She dabbed at her nose again, and this time the Kleenex 
came away clean.  Tossing it onto the bedside table, she finally 
turned to look at him.  "See, it stopped already."

He stared at her, his eyes determined.  "Have you had a 
nosebleed since the chip was implanted in your neck?  Since 
the cancer went into remission?"

"No, I haven't, but... Mulder, it's too early to make assumptions."  
She tried to reason with him, hoping by calming his fears she 
could convince herself at the same time.  Even to her own ears, 
babblings about dry weather and middle-aged nosebleeds 
sounded pathetically weak.  And since when was she 
middle-aged anyway?

He nodded his head, agreeable but insistent.  "You make it all 
sound reasonable, Scully.  But you need to see the doctor 
tomorrow, anyway, just to make sure.  If it's discovered early 
enough, we can --"

"We can what?"  Suddenly the fear that had a stranglehold on her 
heart morphed into anger. It was early all right.  Too damn early.  
Scant months into an expanded relationship with her partner, a 
relationship six years in the making that had managed to bring 
some semblance of joy and even the barest measure of peace 
into both their lives, and she was finding herself forced to face its 
possible end.  "Did a warranty come with this chip in case of 
malfunction?"

He winced at the reminder. "Scully... we can... we'll do something -- 
if it has returned, we'll find a way."  

She didn't realize her hands were tightly clenched until he gently 
pried them apart and took one hand in his. "But one way or the 
other," he continued, "we have to know for sure -- so we can 
either begin searching for another answer or..."  He bent his head 
to hers and nuzzled against her cheek.  "...so we can pick up 
where we were so rudely interrupted tonight."

She followed a sound that might have been a chuckle under better 
circumstances with a barely imperceptible nod.  "Okay.  I'll call 
Dr. Zuckerman in the morning and see if he can squeeze me in 
tomorrow."  

"Okay."  He tugged her down with him until she lay flush against 
his side. "C'mon -- if I'm not going to get laid tonight, I need my 
beauty sleep."  This time she laughed outright as she settled her 
head on his shoulder.  He gathered her close with one arm 
wrapped around her back, his other hand beginning a slow, light 
tracing of invisible lines up and down the arm she had lying 
across his chest.  

It was going to be okay.  This was nothing.  Lying in Mulder's 
arms, she could almost convince herself, until his fingers fluttered 
soft as a bird's wing against the tender, raised skin on the back 
of her neck. Suddenly the darkness once again seemed on the 
verge of swallowing her whole.  


~~~~~~~~~~


Mulder's eyes tracked from his watch to Scully for the umpteenth 
time since she'd returned from the hospital that afternoon.  Dr. 
Zuckerman's first patient of the day had canceled, so Scully 
slipped into the available spot.  She'd been gone no more than an 
hour before Mulder's cell phone rang. It was her, of course, calling 
to let Mulder know she was on her way to Holy Cross Memorial 
Hospital for tests, having been sent there by her doctor after his 
initial examination. 

He had pleaded to go with her.  Her gentle but firm refusal 
accompanied a reminder that the waiting room never had any 
good magazines, and that the hospital staff frowned on the sort he 
brought with him. 

Grudgingly, he gave in and spent the next five hours shuffling 
papers from one side of his desk to the other, not to mention 
flipping every pencil in his drawer into the ceiling tiles.  He'd 
started on Scully's pencils until he remembered her reaction the 
last time he'd done that.  

Six cups of coffee and two rushed trips to the bathroom later, he 
was  about to put the trash can on the filing cabinet for a little 
hoop action when she walked in.  Flashing her "don't even think 
about it" face at him, it was the last time she'd looked him in the 
eye.  

As she stood by his desk, her wandering gaze and the set of her 
shoulders betrayed the uneasy fear he suspected lurked behind 
her cool recitation. Dr. Zuckerman had ordered the standard 
battery of bloodwork, in addition to a PET scan to determine if the 
tumor had begun to grow again.  He had reminded her that 
remission didn't preclude the reappearance of her previous 
symptoms, though, he expressed some concern about what a 
nosebleed indicated after all this time.  He hoped to have the test 
results back in a few days, though the weekend would likely 
delay them a bit.  

With a quick nod and a "So, we'll just wait and see," Scully had 
concluded what sounded like an autopsy report for all the emotion 
she exhibited.  She'd deflected all his subsequent questions with 
the briefest possible answers, including the one he most needed 
answered at the moment -- how was she feeling about all this?

She'd answered with an "I'm okay" and a carefully controlled 
smile.  Then with a furtive glance in his general direction she'd 
busied herself at the table she used when working downstairs 
instead of up in her own rarely inhabited office.  

Nearly two hours later she still sat there, her eyes trained on the 
same file folder she'd first opened, having looked at exactly three 
pages of a case report -- an old case at that.  Mulder knew it was 
three because he hadn't stopped watching her since she'd 
entered the office.  He was waiting -- yearning for a sign she was 
ready to talk to him, to let him share the fearful anxiety he knew 
she was hiding.  A frightened Scully was usually a quiet Scully.  
Withdrawn.  Carefully enclosing herself behind high, stone walls 
to keep the boogyman out and her emotions from betraying her 
command.  

Just a few months ago, after a horrific child murder case and a 
round of self-recrimination and depression, he had helped her 
begin dismantling her self-made fortress.  It had given him enough 
room to slip through and join in her sorrow over Emily's death and 
the loss of what the little girl represented.  Together they had 
huddled in bed and whispered of memories and wishes.  

But from all appearances, Scully was busy slapping together brick 
and mortar even as she sat staring with unfocused eyes at the 
Craddock, Maine Bank police report.  Mulder sighed and leaned 
back, preparing to plunk his feet onto his desk and spend the rest 
of the workday puzzling his way over, under, or around her 
protective barriers.  Accustomed to being lost in silent thought, he 
scrambled to regain his chair's balance when the voice he'd longed 
to hear sliced the stillness.  It both startled him and gave him 
hope that perhaps Scully was going to leave a Mulder-door in the 
wall after all. 

"It's too quiet in here, Mulder."  She flipped the folder shut and 
tossed it onto a teetering stack of files.  "No mutants, alien 
abductions, or time travel to investigate," she continued, "not 
much left to do but think.  It's a hell of a time to be stuck in the 
city without a case."  Swiveling her chair around to face him, she 
smiled and further convinced him she was laying a path just for 
him.  "Don't you have something odd and unexplained up your 
sleeve, Mulder?"

He grinned and began unbuttoning his left shirt sleeve.  "Just that 
mole you once said looked like a cow's udder."

"Mulder," Scully shook her head and sternly clarified, "you're the 
one who said it looked like a cow's udder.  I pointed out you had 
milked that particular piece of pigmented skin for all the laughs it 
was worth."  

Her no-nonsense mask melted as she stood.  He remained still, 
watching as she approached him.  As much as he wanted to hold 
her, to listen as she admitted last night's scare had sent her 
rocketing back to the days of living with a ticking time bomb in her 
head, he knew it had to be her choice.  

"All of this inactivity...feels..." she paused, "it feels... like dead 
calm.  Remember?"  Slow, measured steps found her beside his 
desk, and she leaned against it. "Stopped at a standstill with the 
fog surrounding us -- smothering us."  

Feeling a bit more confident in his ability to traverse the uneven 
terrain in front of him, he ventured, "That's how you're feeling 
now?"

She didn't answer for a moment, and then gave a solemn nod. 
"Yeah.  I guess... I feel like the walls are closing in."  His 
stomach roiled and clenched when she crossed her arms over her 
chest as though seeking protection.  He had to lean forward to 
catch her next words, she spoke them so softly.  "Like I'm going 
nowhere."  

He knew the feeling well.  Sitting in hospital waiting rooms and 
hallways from one medical center to another, he had wished for 
something to do.  Once in a while, an alternative presented itself -- 
the chance to shove a gun in Old Smokey's face, to take the boys 
for a little late night breaking and entering, to skulk through the 
underbelly of the Department of Defense -- but it was rare that the 
opportunity garnered a worthy prize.  Most of the time, 
helplessness hung like a mantle around his neck.  

That a similar weight would burden the woman standing before him 
became suddenly unacceptable.  If he couldn't force lab 
technicians to hurry the hell up, he could at least make certain 
Scully wasn't standing still.  She started when he swung his feet 
off the desk and planted them on the floor.  "Then let's blow this 
pop stand," he exclaimed.  "Let's go somewhere."

"What?"  Her brow furrowed. 

In possession of a plan, though he'd be damned if he knew exactly 
what it was, he began shutting down the computer.  "You said you 
feel like you're going nowhere.  You have too much time to consider 
all the what ifs," he reminded her while digging a couple of fresh 
cell phone batteries out of a drawer.  "So go home.  Pack.  We're 
going away for a few days." 

"Mulder!  We can't --"

"We're not on a case right now, Scully," he interrupted.  "We've 
both got so many vacation hours, if we don't use them, that idiot 
Tom Blythe in Accounting will cut them."  The matter settled in his 
mind, he crossed the office to gather her briefcase. 

She stammered even as she took her briefcase from him.  "But... 
but... where are we going?  And what about the test results?  They 
should be back in three or four days, and --"  

Her protests died in her throat as he faced her and gave in to the 
urge to touch her.  With the barest caress, he stroked his hands 
up and down her arms before they settled on her shoulders.  "And 
you can leave your cell phone number with the doctor's office."  
Stooping a bit to meet her eye to eye, he thought he saw a 
glimmer of acceptance forming.  

"Now go, Scully.  I'll work my magic and make all the 
arrangements -- including clearing this with Skinner, for which 
I'm sure you'll find some... suitable way to repay me later."  Relief 
coursed through him as she met his leering grin with an 
affectionate rolling of her eyes.  She would go along with his 
spur-of-the-moment scheme.  God, he thought, let me get this 
right.  Pressing his lips to her forehead, he concluded, "You need 
this, Scully.  We both do." 

As he pulled away from her, she looked up at him, searching his 
face for something.  Whatever it was, she must have found it.  
Rising on her tip-toes, she laid her cheek against his for the space 
of three or four galloping heartbeats, and then backed away, 
hefting her briefcase from the desk.  "I'll go pack."  

He stood rooted in the same spot until the staccato clicking of her 
heels faded.  Then with renewed determination, he began flipping 
through the Rolodex with one hand and dialing Skinner's extension 
with the other.  "Kimberly, is the Assistant Director in?"


~~~~~~~~~


Scully burrowed further beneath the covers, seeking warmth even 
as she inhaled the cool, biting air that came from jacking up the 
air conditioning to near Arctic levels.  Not for the first time since 
she crawled into bed, she mentally reviewed the contents of her 
suitcase.  Traveling out of town for something other than a case 
eliminated the business suit factor, but unfortunately it appeared 
all other attire was fair game.  

She had been peering into the not-so-vast reaches of her closet 
when Mulder called a few hours after she left the office.  Hoping 
his answer might prevent her from packing one of everything she 
owned, "just in case," she'd inquired as to their destination while 
pulling shirts from their hangers, gauging their suitability.  

"Well, we're not leaving the country," he quipped.

"Mulder..."

"It's a surprise, Scully." An undercurrent of excitement flowed 
through his voice as he helpfully suggested, "Just pack as if you 
have no idea where you're going."

Exasperated, she threw up her hands, sending a dusky pink shell 
flying.  "I don't have any idea, Mulder!"

"Then your problem's solved."  

Apparently sensing a few choices words were headed in his 
direction, he had hung up, leaving her in no less of a clothing 
quandary than before.  Finally, she decided that if this getaway 
was meant to keep their minds and bodies occupied, she was at 
least going to be comfortable.  Well-worn jeans, t-shirts and a 
couple of pullovers, a light blue tank dress, and the Yankees 
jersey she'd pilfered from Mulder's chest of drawers all went 
neatly into her bag.  Uncertain of the ground they'd be covering, 
she had included a pair of sandals, her thick-soled, brown Doc 
Martens, and her favorite tennis shoes. 

Lying in the inky blackness, the room flooded now and then by 
the headlights of a passing car, she decided she was as prepared 
as possible for whatever adventure Mulder was concocting for 
them.  

This seemed so important to him. Her first inclination had been to 
hole up in the false security of her home and wait out the weekend.  
But she knew that it would mean tensing at every sharp trill of the 
phone until Dr. Zuckerman called, either to pronounce sentence 
or pardon her for a little while longer.  But while sitting in the 
basement office that afternoon, she'd done more than read the 
same police report thirty-six times.  She'd remembered autopsying 
a little girl named Audrey Akins and how the fine, blonde hair and 
big, blue eyes forever closed in slumber almost mirrored Emily's.  

That case had renewed sorrow and feelings of futility and sent 
her retreating behind painstakingly constructed walls, where she
 had resolved to mourn alone.  Little by little, Mulder chisled 
away chunks of stone until he'd made a path into her world.  
Recognizing her need for privacy and her animalistic tendency to 
hide when wounded, he hadn't insisted she abandon her shelter, 
only offered to share it with her.  From that point on, they'd bared 
their emotions -- not as often as their bodies, but it had been a 
turning point.  

And then a few droplets of blood had stained Mulder's chest, 
possibly setting her back in more ways than one.  She'd realized 
this, sitting lost in thought over the police file that afternoon, as 
she sensed his eyes imploring her to turn around and talk to him.  
Ignoring for the moment that he hadn't always been so eager to 
listen, she'd done them both a favor and made the first overtures. 

Scully craned her neck to read the dim, red clock display.  12:23 
am.  Mulder was late.  Before they'd gotten on the subject of what 
the well-dressed FBI agent on a vacation of unknown destination 
would pack, he'd told her to expect him around midnight.  Prattling 
about rentals and reservations, he'd promised their accomodations 
would be interesting.  

Interesting.  The cracker box quality motels they'd slept in across 
the country were all interesting, but she'd be damned if she was 
going to spend a vacation in one.  And she told him as much. 
Invoking his customary "trust me, Scully," he'd left her to her own 
arrangements. 

Next, she made a quick, uninformative call to her mother -- Scully 
had found from previous experience that it was simpler to tell her 
as little as possible.  She suspected any news idled in Margaret 
Scully's mind for no longer than it took to dial Bill and Tara's 
number, and would just as soon not give her brother any more 
ammunition against Mulder.  If the test results weren't good, she'd 
face them then. 

Dr. Zuckerman had already gone home for the day, so she left her 
cell phone number with his service, along with a message she'd 
be gone for several days.  She knew all too well what the 
prognosis would be if the cancer had recurred, and given the 
treatment options, it wouldn't matter if she and Mulder took their 
time returning to D.C. 

Rolling over onto her stomach, she bunched her pillow into a big, 
downy mound, wrapping her arms around it and propping up her 
chin.  The swoosh of the air conditioner cut off just in time for her 
to hear the clinking of keys in her front door.  Scully turned her 
head to call a warning for Mulder to look out for the bags sitting 
in the middle of the living room.  She was cut short by a thud, 
followed closely by an "Oomph" and then "Shit!"

She snickered over her shoulder at him as he stumbled into the 
room. "Drop in again sometime, Mulder." 

"I think I broke my toe, Scully," he winced. Falling onto the bed, 
he tugged his shoes off, and grabbing the back of the ragged, 
gray sweatshirt, yanked it over his head.

"Want me to kiss it?"  She shifted over, flipping back the covers 
for him to crawl under.  

"Oooo, kinky," he teased.  With a groan, he swung his legs up 
and slipped them under the bedding.  Turning on his side to face 
her, his arm fell heavily across her back.  "Did you get everything 
taken care of?"

She wiggled out from under him.  It was like sleeping with a dead 
man when he came to her exhausted.  She rolled over and 
scooted back against him, reaching back to wrap his arm around 
her waist.  Now they fit.  "Yes," she answered. "What time are we 
leaving? 

"Hmm... 'bout four."  Mulder rubbed his chin on the top of her 
head, either nuzzling her or scratching an itch, she couldn't tell. 

Hoping his drowsy state would loosen his tongue, she persisted, 
"Mulder, are you sure you don't want to tell me where we're 
going?"

"Doesn't matter, Scully."  Capturing her hand in his, he held her 
closer.  "Getting there's half the fun."

At that, she gave up, stretching to set the alarm.  Not an easy 
task with an octopus hugging you, she thought.  At last able to 
relax, she allowed weariness and Mulder's deep breaths to carry 
her into sleep. 


Four hours later, they were heading West on I-70, the early 
morning hour leaving the highway sparsely dotted with cars.  
Promising her the wheel as soon as he needed a break, Mulder 
suggested she finish her night's sleep.  Not quite awake enough 
to argue, Scully let the seat back as far as it would go and 
curled up on her left side.  She dozed off and on at first, wispy 
dreams of childhood vacations playing in her subconscious.

Billy, Missy, Charlie, and she... all huddled in the back of the 
station wagon, their mother having hustled them into the car, still 
in their pajamas.  William Scully believed in getting an early start, 
and the first day of any car trip -- to the beach, the amusement 
park with the rickety wooden roller coaster, Uncle Alfred's house 
in the mountains --  all began in the dead of night.  Usually they 
were barely out of town before the younger Scullys had drifted off, 
the sway of the car and their parents' murmured whispers from 
the front seat as effective as any lullaby. 

Lying in the car now, her lullaby was the aroma of Mulder's coffee 
and the soothing rhythm of the tires rolling over the highway's 
bumpy reflectors. The combination finally rocking her to sleep, 
she hardly registered the gentle weight coming to rest on her 
thigh. 

~~~~~~~~~~




~~~~~~~

The long hours of driving in complete silence, save for the pleasant 
hum of the car's motor and the gentle sighing snore of the woman 
next to him, were starting to make his eyes cross.  Scully needed 
her sleep, and he hated to chance waking her, but driving the car 
into a tree wouldn't do much for her either.  Mind made up, he 
reached for the radio dial.

He was on his third pass through the radio's frequencies, 
searching in vain for music that didn't make his skin crawl, when 
she busted him.

"Mulder?"

"Yesssss?"  He recognized just from her tone that the next few 
miles were going to be rocky. 

"Mulder, what are you doing?"  Scully shifted in her seat, bringing 
her feet down from the dashboard.  She rotated them back and 
forth at the ankles as if they were stiff.  

Setting the car on cruise control, he reached for the channel 
select button.  "I'm trying to find a radio station that's playing 
something other than 'Coal Miner's Daughter'."

"Good luck."  Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair and 
attempted to restore order.  "We still in West Virginia?"

Mulder glanced down at the odometer.  "Yep.  Sixty more miles 
or so and we'll hit Kentucky."

"And then?"

"Then we'll keep driving down the highways and by-ways, seeing 
the Bluegrass State -- home of Abe Lincoln, mint juleps, and the 
Kentucky Wildcats."  He settled more comfortably into place, 
eager to discuss the finer points of college basketball.  "You 
know, they never should have let Rick Pitino escape to the pros... 
might ha--"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her look of impatience just 
before she interrupted him.  "Mulder... are we ever going to stop 
and get out of the damn car for any length of time?"

"Oooh, deja vu, Scully."  He grinned and winked at her, hoping to 
tease her out of the "woke up on the wrong side of the car" mood 
she seemed to be in.  They'd certainly been driving a long time -- 
eight hours since leaving Georgetown, and he was feeling the 
need to stretch his legs, too.  But somehow, he suspected there 
was more to her grouchy disposition.  

"What?"  She turned to stare at him.

"You asked me almost the same question," he reminded her.  
"...on our way to Area 51 last year."

Her stare shifted from his face to focus for a few moments on the 
horizon ahead.  When she finally spoke, her voice was weary and 
carried a trace of resentment.  "I didn't get a straight answer then 
either, as I recall." 

"You got the only one I knew to give you at the time."  Mulder 
reflexively clenched his jaw and gripped the steering wheel tighter.  
Sometimes he thought walking through an unmapped minefield 
would be easier than talking to Scully.  "It's not like you've always 
been forthcoming with answers yourself, Scully."  He shot a look 
in her direction, trying to gauge her reaction, realizing his own 
frustration was about to get the better of him.  "Do you know how 
infuriating it is to hear 'I'm fine'  every damn time I ask how you 
are?  When it's obvious you're nowhere near fine?"

If her seatbelt and the moving car hadn't prevented it, Mulder was 
sure she would have gotten out and stormed off seething.  "If 
you're already so certain of my feelings, then why the hell do 
you ask, Mulder?!" 

"Because I love you!"  The endearment uttered on the rarest of 
intimate occasions tore from the depths of his chest.  Then, as if 
his voice was spent, he whispered, "Because... until lately it was 
the only way I stood a chance of maybe learning the truth."  
Realizing the car's speed had risen along with his voice, he eased 
up on the gas as he added with a glance in her direction, "It's not 
like you volunteer the information."

"I tried that once before, Mulder."  The gaze she'd pinned on him 
turned to her thumbnail as she used it to scrape at a non-existent 
stain on her jeans.  Resentfulness faded into sadness.  "It didn't 
get me very far."

"What are you talking about?"

Taking a long breath, she released it in a sigh.  "A few years ago... 
when I returned from meeting Penny Northern the first time, from 
seeing Betsy Hagopian in the hospital and learning she had 
cancer," she paused before continuing, her voice hollow. "I 
couldn't grasp what I heard, what it meant for me.  I was scared, 
Mulder... and I... I tried to tell you that."  She looked at him then, 
her eyes wet.  "Do you remember what you said?"

"I...I think I...said something about you being fine as far as we 
knew."

She met his glance with a raised eyebrow.  "Guess I'm not the 
only one fixated on that word." 

A speeding eighteen-wheeler bore down on them from behind, so 
Mulder slowed to let the driver go around him.  The few moments 
of silence as the two vehicles manuevered past each other 
allowed him time to consider her words.  "So what are you 
saying, Scully?  That the reason you barricade yourself behind 
closed doors, the reason you hide your feelings from me is 
because I didn't take you seriously enough then?"

"No...Mulder.  I'm not saying that."  The gentleness that normally 
imbued her voice when the two of them were alone began to creep 
back into her words.  "But if I were to be perfectly honest with 
myself, and with you," she paused, picking at a torn fingernail.  
"I'd have to admit to personal issues involving a loss of control, a 
fear of making myself vulnerable... factors that combine to make 
me feel as though I have to protect myself."  

She turned to look at him. "But I tried to let you know I was afraid, 
Mulder, and it burned when you dismissed me." 

His heart constricted at her admission.  That she might have ever 
considered him callous where her health or safety were concerned 
threatened to pull him apart.  Especially when it couldn't be further 
from the truth.  Although he wasn't sure she understood that. 
"Scully, what was it like up in the Arctic when you were waiting 
for me to regain consciousness?"

She considered his question before offering a halting answer.  
"Terrifying.  Frustrating.. having done all I could, but not knowing 
if it was enough.  Painful... to... to see you lying there."  He 
glanced at her when she finished speaking and found her gaze 
fixed intently on him. 

He further offered, "A waking nightmare you pray you never 
experience again."

"God, yes."  As though to clear her mind of images she'd rather 
not recall, Scully shook her head and then leaned wearily against 
the car door. 

"That's how I feel... how I felt then."  His voice filled with 
admiration, he continued, "You're so strong, Scully... even then 
you were.  Knock you down and somehow... you always hauled 
yourself back up."  Allowing himself the barest of contact, he 
slowly stroked his index finger over the back of her hand as it 
rested in her lap. "I'd already lived my waking nightmare, and 
guess what -- you had top billing."  Withdrawing from her space, 
he returned his hand to the wheel.  "When the possibility of 
cancer entered the picture, I didn't want to believe I'd ever 
that sort of nightmare again."

"Fox Mulder?  Not want to believe?" she asked, a waver in her 
voice and a fleeting smile on her face.

"What can I say, Scully?  I'm chickenshit when it comes to you."  
His self-deprecating admission was solemn.  "It was easier to 
pretend the danger wasn't there." 

She nodded, apparently recognizing the sentiment.  "I can 
understand that now, Mulder, but it still hurt at the time."  

Exchanging a look that spoke of having weathered an assault on 
their shared stronghold and emerging battered but alive, Mulder 
traced the side of her face and cupped her jaw in his hand.  She 
nuzzled him and said, "We've traveled a long way, haven't we?"  
Her eyes held promises as she drew away from him.  "Not that 
we don't have further to go." 

Mulder smiled at her and then turned his attention back to the 
highway.  Now that his heart was no longer in his throat, he 
thought it time to silence the gnawing sound in his stomach.  "I'm 
not planning to go any further than the next exit right now.  Sign 
back there promised food and gas." 

"Sounds like your kind of restaurant, Mulder." 

Taking the exit for East Pea Ridge, they found themselves 
following signs down winding mountain roads.  It was hard to see 
how the little community could be classified as a town.  There 
was the odd ramshackled house backed up against the side of 
the mountain, or perched on a "one step and you're a goner" cliff, 
accessible only by the narrowest of dirt and coal-stained gravel 
lanes.  Not until they passed a monsterous hulk of a building, the 
site of Love's Surface Mining, Co. according to the sign, did they 
find any sign of life.  

Coming to a halt at the stop light, the only one in town as far as 
they could see, they watched a crowd of miners cross the street.  
The workers were so blackened with coal dust, it was impossible 
to tell whether equal opportunity had made it to East Pea Ridge.  
One by one they entered a small Mom and Pop style diner, the 
type that had seen its hey-day a good forty years earlier.  
Outside of which, a sign proclaimed: "Salisbury steak and fries 
-- $7.95.  Next restaurant -- 53 miles."

"Well... at least we don't have to worry about making a choice."  
Mulder eased the car into a spot beside a two table outdoor 
dining area.  Somehow he suspected Scully would want to make 
a quick getaway once they finished their meal.  They locked the 
doors and began walking toward the little white building that was 
about as wide as it was tall.  

She slipped her hand in his and gave him the look she saved 
especially for those "you've got to be kidding" occasions.  "The 
Kountry Kettle?"  

"Bet we can get a great chicken-fried steak here."  Mulder grinned 
down at her when she planted her feet, dragging him to stop. 

"You expect me to trust they'll cook my steak well enough to 
eliminate all traces of E.coli, when they can't even correctly spell 
'country'?"

Before the words were barely out of her mouth, he muttered, "I'm 
starving, Scully," then wrapped one long, finely muscled arm low 
around her waist.  He snatched her up until she leaned fully on 
his chest, her arms circling his neck to help support her weight.  
Mulder's mouth took hers with no preamble, sucking and nipping 
at each lip, his tongue chasing hers in a frantic game of tag.  
Finally lifting his head from hers with a deceptively chaste peck, 
he asked, "How 'bout you?"

"Famished." 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The Kountry Kettle boasted a wide selection of chicken-fried 
meats, as Mulder had suspected. Opting to take their basket of 
chicken strips, on which Scully insisted on performing autopsies 
before consumption, and fries to the outdoor seating, they ate 
with little discussion.  Until he filched the last of her fries while 
she watched the group of miners heading back to work.

"Mulder, I was going to eat those."

"I' buy 'ou an i'cream," he promised, smiling around a mouthful of 
fries.  Taking the napkin she held out, he swallowed and brushed 
at his mouth before attempting to speak again.  "Probably never 
heard of tofutti dreamsicles around here."

She scooted her plastic chair with the wiggly seat until she sat 
thigh to thigh with him.  Draping her arm across his shoulders, 
she whispered into his ear.  "I'd rather you told me where we're 
going."

"I'll put it to you this way, Scully."  He waggled his eyebrows 
before continuing.  "You've probably never been anywhere like it 
before." 


~~~~~~~~


With a surreptitious glance at the sleeping man to her right, 
Scully eased her arm back and behind Mulder's seat, straining to 
keep her foot on the accelerator while her fingertips inched toward 
the box of doughnuts on the floorboard.  

As their vacation was of the hastily-arranged variety, neither of 
them had remembered to load the car with the essential travel 
snacks.  So, when they'd pulled into a service station just after 
leaving the Kountry Kettle, she had suggested she purchase 
something for dessert.  She knew Mulder expected her to return 
with the closest approximation to pollinated yogurt or fake ice 
cream, as he called it, that a convenience store could offer.  
She'd taken satisfaction in the way his eyes had widened at the 
sight of that white and green polka-dotted box.  

He'd helpfully offered to hold the box while she drove, a suspicious 
offer if she'd ever heard one.  She gave in, provided he kept 
handing over the gooey, fried concoctions of yeast and sugar.  
They covered several miles through one of the narrow 
Appalachian valleys mumbling around bites of heaven and licking 
sticky fingers clean.  

For purely altruistic reasons, Mulder had directed her to stop 
alongside a fenced-in field, so he could divest her of the flaky 
glaze clinging to the corners of her mouth.  Apparently finding a 
sweetness foreign to the Krispy Kreme manufacturers, he'd 
continued searching for the stray fallen crumb.  He must have 
thought her to be an astonishingly messy eater as his clean-up 
forced him to tug aside the neck of her shirt, sucking and nibbling 
mightily along the delicate ridge of her collarbone in order to 
remove the most stubborn doughnut bits.  

Despite squirming in her seat and making soft, yet impatient 
sounding moans for a more thorough tongue bath, Scully 
managed to spot an invisible wandering morsel stuck to the curve 
of his ear. She was attacking it with enthusiasm when something 
wet met the car window with a slurp.  They turned in unison to find 
a twelve hundred pound dairy cow leaning over the fence with her 
tongue plastered to the glass. Laughing, they'd separated and 
eased back onto the roadway, leaving their bovine disruption to 
her fence. 

They'd spent the next couple of hours mostly in companionable 
silence.  Crossing the Big Sandy River had ushered them into 
Eastern Kentucky, and Scully continued to guide them over 
winding, two lane strips of gray, over sharp ridges and down into 
green valleys dotted with small farms.  Mulder's hand caressed 
her thigh, the slow back and forth motion creating a steady buzz 
running through her body.  She'd begun considering, not for the 
first time, if the more expansive rear seating Ford promised in 
their new models would be expansive enough for what she had 
in mind, when she realized the hand stimulating such thoughts 
had fallen still. 

Having successfully plucked the last doughnut from the box, she 
looked over at him and smiled.  Still dead to the world.  His head 
was turned toward her, his body slumped in the car seat in 
exhaustion.  He must be worn out, she thought.  Neither of them 
had slept more than three hours before hitting the road, and she 
suspected his sleep had been as fitful as hers in the hours 
immediately following the nosebleed.  

The mere thought sent a shuddering chill through her body, an icy 
grip on her heart.  Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled, 
trying to recapture her fugitive serenity.  She had done all the 
right things.  At the first hint of relapse, she'd seen her doctor, 
had the tests performed which would give her a clear picture of 
what they were dealing with...as she'd told Mulder, it was too 
early to make assumptions.  The best thing she could do for 
herself -- that they could do for each other -- was relax. 

Eating the lone surviving doughtnut with as much care as the 
sinfully delicious creation required, she considered their current 
adventure.  Though still very much in the dark as to all the wheres 
and whats -- when she took the wheel, he'd instructed her, "Drive 
until you come to a pig." -- the why had become increasingly 
clear.  

In the months since they'd become lovers, their time spent 
together had come in snatches:  the odd evening in front of the 
television, lunches during the week when they refused to discuss 
cases, nights devoted to slow, lazy lovemaking.  It was enough to 
sustain them, but the status quo couldn't last forever.  Apparently 
Mulder saw the newest upheaval in their lives as an opportunity to 
raise the bar in their relationship, to isolate themselves, and if 
their earlier discussion was any indication, to heal old wounds.  

In many ways, that frightened her.  She'd told him the truth -- 
losing control left her stripped naked, vulnerable, not only to those 
who sought to destroy their lives, but even to the one who simply 
wanted to love her.  By opening herself to Mulder and allowing 
him to know her thoughts and her fears, she would hand him the 
instrument which could cause her the most pain.  If she didn't let 
him in, then she stood to hurt him, even as she protected herself.

She'd had to decide long ago if the benefits out-numbered 
potential suffering.  Turning her head to steal a glance at the man 
sleeping beside her, she knew she'd made the only right choice.  

Facing the road again, she followed it through yet another rural 
community.  White, paint-chipped, wood frame houses sporting 
sprawling front porches, often with an elderly man or two sitting in 
rocking chairs on them, lined the shady main street.  The most 
modern looking building was the box shaped, brick city hall and 
post office.  A Family Dollar store shared space with Big Star 
Grocery and what appeared to be Lesley's Boutique of Fine 
Apparel, at least according to the calligraphy sign standing up 
in the window. Obviously not a fan of alliteration, Scully thought.  

They'd just passed the tiny Calvary Baptist Church, its sign 
inviting all to their monthly Sunday dinner on the grounds, when 
she felt the hand on her leg flex.  

"Have you found the pig, Scully?"

She grinned and continued watching the road, instead of the man 
who was straightening up beside her.  "There was a slab of bacon 
hanging in the window of the Big Star back there, but I don't think 
that's what you had in mind." 

He chuckled.  "Don't worry, you'll know it when you see it."

"Mmm, okay."  Stopped for a light beside a low, metal building, 
painted in bright colors befitting the site of Miss Marianne's 
Happy Day Preschool, Scully searched Mulder's face.  "Did you 
sleep well?"

"Like a log.  I had a disturbing dream though... dreamed you ate 
the last doughnut without offering me any."  He tilted his head 
toward her as his voice dropped a register.  "You wouldn't know 
anything about that, would you, Scully?"

Composing her expression into what she hoped was a guilt-free 
one, she casually brushed her fingers across her mouth. 
"Mulder, you should know that not every dream has a significant 
basis in reality.  That sometimes what a person dreams is simply 
an illusion... a... an hallucin--"

"Scully, pull over!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Scully, pull over!"

"Mulder, wha--"

"Just pull over!  In front of that building."

Thinking he'd seen something questionable, she brought the car 
to a stop in front of a building that had seen better days.  It was 
once a school, judging by the flag pole standing naked in front 
and the rusting monkey bars and warped slide just to the side.  
Mulder was out of the car and headed behind the building at a 
slow jog before the vehicle had barely stopped.   

He called to her over his shoulder as he disappeared around a 
corner.  "C'mon, Scully!"

Deciding his response was not that of an FBI agent after all, and 
more that of an overgrown kid, she shook her head and started 
after him.  

The school's windows were boarded up.  The writing on the 
plywood was the scribbles of bored-with-summer children, not the 
gang-related grafitti she was so used to seeing in D.C.  Tall grass 
mixed liberally with weeds had Scully watching her step, hoping 
to avoid landing in the hospital with a snake bite.  As she rounded 
the corner of the building, she saw that the ground dropped in a 
steep incline before leveling off.  A dense stand of pine trees grew 
opposite the back of the school.  Down in the hollow between the 
edge of the woods and the hill, Mulder stood on a black-top 
basketball court with a single basketball goal at one end.

"Look, Scully!"  He spread his arms almost as wide as the grin 
on his face.  "A basketball court!" 

She stood at the top of the hill, her hands on her hips, and slowly 
nodded her head. "I can see that, Mulder.  What are you doing 
standing on it?"

"We need some exercise -- been cooped up in the car too long."  
He offered.  "Care to join me in a little hoop action, Scully?" 

"We don't have a ball, Mulder."

"Well, you may not have one, Scully, but I've got --"  He stopped 
at the look on her face.  "What?  I was just going to say that I 
carry one in my trunk for just such emergencies."

"Emergencies," she repeated.  "Heaven forbid you should have a 
first aid kit in there."  The man below her put on his most soulful 
expression, leaning his head to one side and staring up at her 
until she folded.  "Okay, okay.  I'll get the ball." 


Once he had the ball in his hands, Mulder was in his element.  
Behaving for all the world like a teenager showing off for his 
girlfriend, he dribbled the ball from half court to the foul line, 
breaking into a run for a perfect lay-up.  The ball dropped neatly 
through the chain netting.  Glancing every time over to where she 
sat on the asphalt, he sank shot after shot from around the 
imaginary three-point arc, the paint long since having worn away.  

His closely-cropped hair glistening with the sweat he'd worked up, 
Mulder came to a halt in front of her and held out the ball.  
"C'mon, Scully... a little one on one free throw shooting.  We'll 
just play to ten.  I'll even spot you five points."  

His tone was so sincere, the look on his face innocent and 
earnest.  She looked at him and was reminded once more of the 
depth of love she felt for this man.  It almost made her sorry she 
had to kick his ass.  

"Sure, Mulder."  Pushing herself up, she took the proffered ball 
from his hand.  "Me first?" 

"Be my guest.  We'll shoot until one of us misses, and then it's 
the other person's turn." 

"Fine."  

She took her place behind the foul line, her right foot just a bit 
ahead of her left.  As Mulder headed toward the goal to rebound 
for her, he called over his shoulder.  "Be sure to bend your knees 
a little, Scully.  Concentrate on the back of the rim and try to arc 
the ball."

As she experimentally dribbled the ball a few times, getting used 
to the feel of it against her hand, it took her back.  Back to the 
days of scrambling for a loose ball in the driveway of whichever 
military housing they were in at the time.  Of elbows in the face 
and six arms upraised under the net, of jostling with Billy and 
Charlie for position.  She could still hear her impatient coaches 
teaching her the finer points of free throw shooting, so she could 
help them beat the Genzel kids down the street.  Focusing on 
the front of the rim and not the back, as so many amateurs made 
the mistake of doing, proved to be the key to her team's success.

Flash forward twenty years as she crouched low and lofted the 
ball into the air.  Two pairs of eyes watched it float gracefully to 
the basket where it dropped in pretty as a picture. 

Four more such baskets later, Scully strolled toward Mulder as 
he retrieved the ball.  "That was five, wasn't it?"  She smiled a 
cheshire grin as he came to stand in front of her.  "And with the 
five points you spotted me, I think that makes ten." 

"Scully, you amaze me." 

She felt her face heat up, and dipped her head for a second before 
raising it.  Demonstrating the technique, she instructed, "It's all in 
the wrist action, Mulder.  All in the wrist." 

"Wrist action, huh?"  His eyes took on a devilish gleam, and he 
tossed the ball over his shoulder.

She nodded.  "That's right."  

Her eyes went wide as he began to slowly advance toward her.  
Even as her heartbeat quickened in anticipation, she kept a step 
from him by backing away. His strides lengthened though, and 
he easily caught her as she stumbled into the square goal post.  
"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Shhh...I'll show you wrist action, Scully." 

He placed both hands on her hips, his thumbs sneaking under 
her shirt to make tiny strokes against the sensitive skin.  
Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her without hesitation.  
Their lips clung, sliding over each other as they sought fuller 
contact.  His tongue traced her upper lip, seeking entrance.  
Opening her mouth to him, she savored the unique taste she'd 
come to crave.  Lazy kisses lingered as tongues explored 
mouths, returning to tangle together.

When a light breeze ruffled her hair, sending strands tickling her 
cheeks, she remembered where they were.  Making an effort to 
remind him, she turned her head to the side.  Undeterred, he 
strung kisses along her jaw as she panted.  "Mulder...we can't...
do--"

The flick of the button on her jeans and the slow parting of her 
zipper sent a shudder rippling from her head to her toes, taking 
her words with it.  Her head thudded back against the post as he 
pressed nipping kisses down her neck.  Her knees buckled when, 
with a quick twist of his wrist, he slid his hand under her panties.  

Slipping his free arm around her waist, he held her close and 
began a gentle assault with his other hand on hot, wet folds.  His 
fingers slipped effortlessly over her, teasing her by only grazing 
the spot she most needed to feel them.  Frustrated with his 
indirectness, she whimpered and pressed herself against his 
hand.  She groaned with relief when he set up a slow circling, 
quickly bringing the low thrum in her center to a pounding roar.  

Mulder's New York Knicks could have been playing the game of 
their lives on that court, and Scully wouldn't have known the 
difference.  Between the whispered urgings in her ear and the 
rolling waves of her climax, she was lost in a storm of sensation.  
Instinctively digging her nails into his back, her body stiffened as 
just the right caress sent rippling contractions from deep within 
her abdomen to her swollen clitoris.  

Her teeth closed over her lower lip as he continued to fondle her, 
drawing out the orgasm until the pulsating stopped.  She dropped 
her head forward onto his shoulder and clutched his arms for 
support.  They stood still for a moment, both gasping for breath, 
until he slowly withdrew his hand.  Scully lifted her head to find 
him staring at her with the look that she could never see too 
often.  As he went about refastening her jeans, she scrubbed her 
hands over her face.  

"I can't believe we just did that here, Mulder." 

He ducked his head to catch her eye and grinned.  "Gives a 
whole new meaning to 'He shoots!  He scores!' hey, Scully?"

Groaning a laugh, she put both arms around his waist and rested 
her cheek over his heart.  He returned the embrace, and they 
stood swaying under the afternoon sun for long minutes.  

"I wish we had a bed right now." 

His hands roamed over her back as his voice rumbled under her 
ear.  "Tired, Agent Scully?"

She pulled back to look up at him with a mock serious 
expression and shook her head.  "No." 

He chuckled and took her hand, starting for the hill they'd 
descended earlier.  Stopping to grab the long forgotten 
basketball, he promised.  "Don't worry, Scully.  There's a bed in 
your future, and you'll never guess where it is."   

Side by side, they climbed the steep embankment.  Scully stole 
looks at him as they walked back to the car.  "What, no clues, 
Mulder?"

He didn't answer until they were in the car and he had plucked 
the keys out of her hand.  "How do you feel about being 
surrounded by the scents of fresh earth and buffalo hides?"

~~~~~~~~

Mulder shook Scully awake and pointed to the gigantic sow 
posing as a Welcome to Pig, Kentucky sign.  She blinked her 
eyes and followed his pointing finger.  Turning to gape at him in 
disbelief, she then looked back at the pink monstrosity as they 
drove by it.  "That's definitely a pig, Mulder."

It was dusk by the time they approached the Pig city limits 
around dusk, and he was more than ready to stop for the night.  
Since their very personal game of one-on-one, which he'd 
graciously allowed her to win, his body had hummed with desire 
for her.  All he wanted for tonight was a bed in a quiet place and 
the chance to lose himself in her, for her to feel as alive as she 
had made him.  That the location he had chosen was also high 
on his List of Strange Places to Have Sex... well, that just made 
it all the better.  

"Mulder?  Why are we stopping here?"  She slammed the car 
door and turned to look at him, her face a mask of confusion. 

"Here" was Wigwam Village #2 on the border between Pig and 
Cave City.  A motor court from the days of Ozzie and Harriet, it 
boasted a large, pointed, central wigwam which housed the 
office.  Fourteen of the smaller, concrete structures sat in a 
semi-circle behind them.  

"This is where we're spending the night."  

It was amazing, really, the way she contorted her face.  Her 
eyebrows climbed, even as her jaw dropped and she tucked her 
chin in toward her chest.  "In a wigwam?"

"It's the last Wigwam Village left in the country.  Eleanor 
Roosevelt once visited and wrote about it in her column, 'My 
Day'."  Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as he'd hoped.  He 
shifted from one foot to the other, not solely because he hadn't 
peed since West Virginia.  "I thought that alone would appeal to 
you, Scully."

"We're going to sleep in a wigwam?"  

Shit.  He'd heard that intonation before, the memory of a late night 
phone call whispering in his ear.  <Her name is Bambi?>

"Well, I was hoping we'd do more than that, but yes."  Reaching 
out, he hooked his index finger in one of the belt loops on her 
jeans and drew her along with him as he headed for the office.  
"C'mon, Scully -- this might be your last chance to sleep with an 
Indian Guide in his wigwam."  


Scully's mood seemed to brighten when she found a nicely 
decorated, typical motel room hidden away in the cone-shaped 
building.  Though small, the space held a double bed fashioned 
from hickory and a private bathroom with a gleaming, claw-footed 
tub that brought forth a squeal of delight from its red-haired 
inspector. 

Having brought their bags in, Mulder left her to wash away the grit 
and grime of the road and set out to find them something for 
dinner.  A quick inquiry to the desk clerk had him heading back 
into Pig to find the restaurant widely thought of as the best in 
town.  The fact that it was the only one in town apparently didn't 
factor into the equation.  As promised, it wasn't hard to miss, 
and soon he was on his way back to the wigwam with his catch 
of the day.  

She had finished her bath when he returned and was sitting 
cross-legged on the bed, combing her steam-curled hair.  Seeing 
her clad only in his stolen Yankees jersey, nearly made him 
abandon all thoughts of sustenance in favor of quenching a more 
primal hunger.  But when her eyes lit up at the white styrafoam 
containers, he decided it would be better to eliminate all 
distractions first. 

He joined her on the bed and spread out the food.  To her credit, 
discovering from the printed napkins that their meal came from 
the Porky Pig Diner caused only a moment's hesitation.  When 
he pointed out the numerous pork products he could have bought 
and then waved the homemade strawberry shortcake for later 
under her nose, she acquiesed.  They dug into crispy, fried 
catfish with abandon. Judging by the rapturous look on her face 
at the first bite of the luscious dessert, he'd made the right 
choice.  

Needing to wash off his own topsoil, he moved into the bathroom 
while she finished eating.  He emerged a while later, wearing a 
towel around his waist with dampness quickly chilling his skin -- 
until he saw Scully.  

She was on her knees in the middle of the bed, bending away 
from him to untuck the spread and sheets from underneath the 
pillows.  The soft fabric of his shirt caressed her round ass.  All 
thoughts of being cold fled as heat rose, spreading throughout his 
body, from his full erection to the tips of his fingers and toes.  Any 
weariness from the long day's journey vanished as he moved to 
kneel behind her.  

With the dip of his weight on the mattress, she started to turn 
toward him, but he stopped her.  

"Muld--"  Her voice carried a question.

"Shush," he whispered.  "No words."  To soften his command, 
he ran the back of his hand slowly down her cheek, gently 
directing her face forward.  His hands trailed heavily down her 
back to cup the swells of muscle and flesh in front of him, rubbing 
the material up and over her hips.  He felt her shudder as her head 
fell forward, her hair hanging in a riotous tangle between her arms.  
Any thoughts of languid loving disappeared when she clutched the 
sheets in tight fists and rocked back against him, her softness 
pressing, circling his hardness.  The roughness of the towel on 
his highly sensitized penis was all he could stand, and with a 
quick jerk, he tossed the hindering cloth to the floor. 

Already puffing like a locomotive, he nudged her legs to rest 
outside  his.   He ran the fingers of one hand up and down the 
length of her inner thighs as she snaked a hand between her legs, 
arching at the touch.  Batting her hand away, he took over the 
caress, feeling her swell and soften for him.  As he continued to 
stroke her clit, never giving her quite the pressure he knew she 
needed, he entered her with one sure movement. 

Ohhh, so good.  With the miniscule part of his brain that was still 
cognitive, he wondered if the day would ever come when this initial 
moment of re-introduction would feel commonplace, something 
other than complete surrender.  She held him tightly in her fiery 
grasp, and yet he had never felt so free.  Free to pour all the 
passion he had for her into this most intimate of acts -- passion 
sublimated for professionalism during the day became fulfilled 
desire in stolen hours in the dark.  

Having given her time to adjust to his presence in her body, 
Mulder pulled back slowly, wet flesh clinging to him, and thrust 
his way in again.  Lingering retreat.  Sudden charge.  Scully 
picked up his rhythm and slammed back to meet his every return.  

Needing to feel more of her, he sat back on his heels and pulled 
her into his lap so that she straddled him.  His hands smoothed 
over the silky skin of her stomach, gliding up to hold her breasts 
under the shirt.  He scraped one fingernail around each areola, 
feeling them wrinkle tighter and her nipples harden.  At the extra 
stimulation, she groaned and arched her back again, her head 
falling to rest on his shoulder.  Taking advantage of the 
opportunity presented, he lightly bit down where neck and 
shoulder met, soothing the marks with his tongue.  

He felt her hand drift from the hold she'd had on his forearm as he 
kneaded and stroked her breasts.  Prying his eyes open, he 
inhaled sharply at what he saw. 

A painting hung above the headboard, the likeness of a Native 
American in full ceremonial regalia, but the picture reflected in the 
glass captured Mulder's attention.  The two of them joined as one, 
rocking against each other in an increasingly frantic pace, and the 
unbearably erotic sight of Scully's hand moving from caressing 
herself to cradling his balls. 

Unable to keep his eyes on them any longer, he turned his face 
into her neck and disobeyed his own command for silence with a 
litany of murmurs.  "comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon..."  
Answering his plea, her body went taut and then quivered as her 
inner muscles fluttered wildly against him.  A feral growl rose from 
her throat.  

It was enough to send him plunging over the edge after her.  
Clutching her to him tightly, his hips bucked with enough force to 
raise them both, and he cried out as he flooded her. 

They sank back onto the bed, both gasping for air.  Mulder 
continued to hold her close, pressing kisses to her shoulders, the 
back of her neck.  He reveled in the feeling of her finding the 
same release he'd sought, her body still shaking in his arms, 
until he realized her tremors were for another reason.  

Brushing his lips across her ear, he whispered, "Hey... you okay, 
Scully?"

She nodded her head, but then moved from his lap to face him.  
Tears shimmered above her lower lashes and she fought to keep 
them from falling.  Alarmed, he reached for her.  "Scully, what's 
wrong?"

Tilting her head, her eyes mapping every inch of his face, she 
admitted, "I'm scared."  She angrily shook her head, causing one 
tear to break its hold.  "I can't... I can't lose this connection...
what happens when we're together... the way I feel with you." 

"You won't!" he declared fiercely.  Pulling her into his arms, he 
cradled her against him, feeling her warm breath on his neck.  He 
buried his face into her hair and nuzzled her forehead as his 
hands swept slowly up and down her back.  Though he rejoiced 
in the openness of her admission, he was determined her fears -- 
their fears -- would be unfounded.  Barely a sussuration in the 
stillness, he promised, "We won't."


~~~~~~~~~~


Since Mulder declined to drop hints as to their next destination, 
Scully hoped they were just passing through when he shook her 
awake just outside Memphis.  But when he began to mumble 
"I'm goin' to Graceland, Graceland... Memphis, Tennessee. I'm 
goin' to Graceland, Graceland." she knew her luck had run out.  

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  It wasn't that she had bad 
memories associated with the city itself, but over two years later, 
she still could recall Mulder's voice as she'd asked him where he 
was going on his Bureau-imposed vacation. <It's a place I've 
always wanted to go...a spiritual journey.>  He'd left for Memphis, 
and she'd left for Philadelphia -- on her own journey.  Both had led 
them right back to the basement office and to each other, and she 
suspected neither one of them ever understood exactly how close 
they'd come to losing everything.

Here they were, years later and still on the verge of loss, though 
not by their own hands.  They arrived at The Peabody, a posh 
hotel billed as "The South's Grand Hotel," without any indication 
from Mulder that he noticed her growing discomfort and darkening 
mood.  That alone gave her an unwelcome feeling of deja vu.  

It was a shame, too.  Years of nights spent in cheap, generic 
motels often made her long that once... just once, the Bureau 
would foul up their travel arrangements and book them in a hotel 
as elegant as this one.  The lobby was dressed by deep, rich 
colors, and overlooked on all sides by balconies.  Stuffed, 
elegant chairs and sofas sat in arrangements perfect for 
conversation or for listening to the glossy grand piano off to one 
side.  An ornate, marble fountain occupied the center of the 
lobby, as well as the attention of most of the guests enjoying 
drinks at the bar or an early afternoon tea.  As she and Mulder 
walked past, she realized what everyone found so fascinating -- 
five mallard ducks blissfully paddling in the water.  The bellman 
was only too happy to invite them to the lobby at eight that 
evening, in order to see the ducks march along their red carpet 
to the elevator.  There they would ride up to their home on the 
rooftop, fulfilling a daily sixty year tradition. 

Yes, this was just the sort of place she would have liked to stay 
with Mulder -- under different circumstances, and if she weren't 
feeling peevish toward the man exploring their plush room with 
abandon.  This wasn't how she saw things progressing after what 
they'd shared last night, the raw intimacy as they'd made love 
and later, as she'd let him know her fears.  But now she found 
herself returning in spirit to that day in his office, where they were 
on two separate planes of existence.

"Nice set-up they've got here."  His voice echoed off the tiled 
walls in the bathroom.  "But I bet those ducks downstairs get the 
luxury accomodations."

She stood in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to 
do with herself, and came to the conclusion she needed some 
answers.  "Mulder, what are we doing here?"  He ought to be 
happy -- though it didn't have the impact of <Why don't I have a 
desk?>, her question was at least more to the point.

Her query brought him to her, surprise and concern written on his 
face.  "You don't like the hotel, Scully?"  He ran one finger down 
her cheek and grinned.  "I don't think Memphis is known for its 
wigwam villages, or we'd--"  The grin disappeared with her 
interruption.

"I'm not talking about the hotel," she said, shaking her head and 
then focusing somewhere near his sternum, finding it difficult to 
look into his eyes.  

His hand dropped away from her.  "Then what is it?   I can't read 
your mind, Scully." 

At his exasperated tone, she chanced looking at his face.  His 
eyes showed his confusion, a reaction that both saddened and 
annoyed her.  "No, that's obvious."

"Okay, as far as I can see, you're trying to pick a fight, Scully."  
He raised his hands in seeming surrender and took a couple 
steps back.  "There's something here you expect me to get, but 
I can't do that as long as you're dancing around the issue."  As 
he spoke, his voice took on a harder edge, the tiny muscle on 
the left side of his jaw twitching in anger.  "I want you to talk to 
me, but you're hiding behind veiled meanings, and I can't give you 
what you need when you do that."

"I guess not."  She folded her arms across her chest and jutted 
out her chin defiantly.  Deciding inexplicably, even to herself, to 
join him in reopening old hurts, her words stabbed at him.  "You 
never understood why I wanted a desk in the basement."

Rubbing his forehead as though he had a killer headache, he 
barked a laugh.  "No, I didn't.  I didn't understand why you wanted 
a desk stuck down in the basement when you had a perfectly 
good one in your office upstairs."  Facing her again, he shrugged.  
"Or for what reason my ass was in the fire for not presenting you 
one on a silver platter." 

She shook her head sadly and moved to look out the window.  
They were on the eighth floor overlooking a busy city street.  
Even on a late Sunday afternoon, the cars were bumper to 
bumper.  The hotel's front door and awning were directly below 
their window, and a white horse-drawn carriage was parked at 
the curb.  A young couple climbed in, a bottle of what appeared 
to be champagne going along for the ride.  Despite all this 
activity, her fear, and inability to communicate it, was beginning 
to make her feel alone.

"If you wanted a desk, Scully, why not just requisition one for 
yourself?"  

She straightened her back, subconsciously following her father's 
order to <Buck up!> and turned to face him.  "It was never about 
a desk, Mulder." 

"Yeah, I got that."  He was angry, she knew, having recognized 
long ago that flippancy and sarcasm were his weapons of choice.  
"You wanna explain?"

Knowing this was a long time coming and wanting to get it right, 
she took a deep breath and began.  "I just...didn't see myself 
having a place in the X-files, an acknowledgement that I'm was 
invested in them as you are..."  She paused to try and swallow 
around the knot in her throat.  "That I was more than just 
'assigned' to them.  I needed to know that then... especially 
then."

Mulder raised and dropped his arms to his side in a gesture of 
apparent futility.  "God, Scully... who do you think I've been 
through hell and back with all these years?"  He stared at her for 
a few seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet 
and emphatic.  "I know what your involvement with the X-files... 
with me...has cost you.  Your own appearances in them are 
enough to make you invested."

His words failing to appease her, she nodded.  "Yes, you didn't 
hesitate to remind me when I returned from Philadelphia."  
Though a part of her realized his mention of her presence in the 
files was not made with the callousness of his earlier barb, it still 
stung to hear the words again.  "Was it really necessary to throw 
it in my face, to make a joke of it?"

"No, it wasn't.  And I'm sorry I did.  But your little episode with Ed 
Jerse fucking scared me out of my mind then, Scully.  Not unlike 
I am now."  His apology came with hoarseness in his voice and 
weariness in the set of his shoulders.  "I get angry and I say 
things I don't mean when I'm scared.  Maybe that makes us 
even," he surmised, grabbing his leather jacket from the chair.  
"I lash out and you shut me out." 

Before she had time to refute his words or stop him, he was out 
the door, not even giving her the satisfaction of slamming it.  She 
sank into the nearest armchair and pulled her knees up to her 
chest, alone with her fear.


~~~~~~~~


Thinking he might want to burn off some of his anger, she 
checked the hotel's athletic club first but came up empty.  As 
she stepped off the elevator on her way to look in the bar, she 
spied him sitting on one of the sofas by the fountain.  To anyone 
else, he was seemingly fascinated by the ducks' antics as they 
chased each other in circles, but her practiced eyes saw a man 
locked inside his own mind.  

She approached him slowly, as she might a wounded animal.  He 
continued to stare straight ahead, giving no acknowledgement of 
her presence.  Sitting beside him on the sofa, she mirrored his 
body, both of them hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands 
clasped loosely.

Silence reigned between them until Scully took a deep breath 
and turned to gaze at his profile, lightly asking, "Waiting for the 
ducks to make their exit?"

"I was hoping they'd invite me up to their pad.  See how the 
well-to-do waterfowl lives."  Shaking his head at his own humor, 
he returned her contemplation of him, his eyes hooded and 
solemn.  "Are we ever going to get any better at this, Scully?"

"I think we have."

"Then what happened up there?"  His question was sincere.

"Two immovable objects collided?"  She bowed her head at his 
dismayed reaction, smiling to herself that she seemed to have 
picked up some of his deflection tactics.  "I'm sorry."  Laying her 
hand gently on his forearm, she admitted,  "I did some thinking 
after you left, and... among other things, I think I've realized that... 
getting better at what we have between us doesn't mean there 
aren't going to be rough patches."

"Like today?"

She nodded.  "Yes."  Fighting her normal response to look away 
from him while revealing herself emotionally, she gazed steadily 
at him.  "I think...I think I overreacted because... being here 
reminded me of... another time when I felt lost, when I'd had the 
first symptoms of my cancer, and suddenly I needed to know you 
recognized my value to the work..."  Giving his arm a squeeze, 
she continued.  "And I suppose if I were to be really honest... 
my value to you." 

Though she knew she needed to be honest with him, that it was 
what he professed to want, his crestfallen expression tore at her.  
She wanted to hold him, to be held.  As if he'd heard her, he sat 
back on the sofa, drawing her with him until she was pressed to 
his side.  His arm rested behind her, giving off warmth, but not 
quite touching her.

"Do you doubt those things now, Scully?  After all this time?  
After us?"

"Usually, no."  Shaking her head, she laid her hand over his 
heart, trying to reestablish a connection.  "But the combination 
of an uncertain future and the reminder of a difficult period in our 
lives, in our partnership... it's made me a bit overly sensitive, I 
guess."

Finally he curved his arm around her shoulders.  "I guess bringing 
you here didn't help either, huh?"

With a sad smile, she shook her head.  For a few minutes they 
were quiet. Mulder appeared lost in thought as he watched the 
ducks enjoying their last moments in the water, while Scully 
kept her gazefixed on him.  Then his brow furrowed and he 
looked to his side.

"Do you want to leave, Scully?  Go on to our next stop... or 
home?"

She thought carefully before answering.  "Wouldn't that be giving 
in?"

"I don't want you -- us -- to continue if you're miserable."

If the mood had been different, if the conversation had been any 
less important, she might have laughed out loud at the irony in 
his words.  As one skilled in the language of metaphors and 
multiple meanings, she recognized immediately that his 
sentiment referred not only to this vacation.  He had to 
understand her response covered every layer of his fear.  

Shifting to kneel on the sofa beside him, she ran her hand over 
the hair at the back of his neck and leaned close until they could 
almost rub noses.  "Mulder, I'm not.  I'm with you because I want 
to be."  Helpless to resist the urge, she nuzzled him.  "To the 
end." 

She knew the instant he believed her.  His eyes lost their shadow 
and hope flickered once more.  Nodding, he lifted her hand from 
its place on his chest and kissed her palm.  Then, taking her by 
surprise he jumped to his feet and pulled her up after him.

"C'mon... while I was wandering the halls, I found something I 
want to do." 

She doubled her steps to keep up with him as they wove their 
way through the crowd gathered to watch the ducks march.  
"Don't you want to stay and see the ducks leave?"

"Nah, you see one duck ride an elevator, you've seen 'em all."

~~~~~~~~~~~


Fifteen floors and one frantic grope in a blissfully empty elevator 
later, they stood in a narrow hallway leading to two swinging 
doors.  Strains of music drifted from the other side, and through 
the windows taking up most of each door, Scully could see they 
were on the rooftop.  The sun had dipped below the edge of the 
building, and tiny lights strung along the branches of several 
decorative trees illuminated the people dancing and milling 
around.  

Just as she was placing the song playing as "I've Got You Under 
My Skin," and finding a perverse amusement in it, Mulder 
shouldered his way through the doors, tugging her along with 
him.  

"Mulder, what are you doing?  This looks like a private party."

He stopped and shook his head.  "It's not, I checked.  The 
conceirge told me they have this 'Sunset Serenade' once a week 
in the summer -- music and dancing."

A poster by the door announced that The Buonis was the guest 
band of the night, and a crowd of couples swayed to their music.  
Though the dress wasn't formal, she and Mulder were clearly the 
only ones wearing jeans and t-shirts.  

"Mulder, we're not dressed for --"

Grabbing her shoulders, he crouched to look into her eyes.  "Are 
you ever going to see these people again, Scully?"  At her sigh 
and smile of surrender, he gave her a playful shake.  "Right."  
Placing his hand between her shoulder blades, he gently pushed 
her ahead of him as they skirted the dance floor.

The band switched to the sounds of "Yesterday" just as they 
discovered an alcove formed by the edge of the roof and a storage 
room.  They ducked underneath the branches of the potted tree, 
likely positioned to discourage just what they were doing, and 
moved into each other's arms.

He tucked her right hand in his, holding it against his chest, and 
wrapped his other arm around her waist.  Resting her head on his 
shoulder, she followed the sway of his body, the tension flowing 
from hers with every movement.  

"How's this?"  He bent his head and whispered.  "No one will see 
us and we still have the music and the sunset." 

Lifting her heavy eyelids, she looked out over the skyline.  The 
sun had already melted into the rolling Mississippi River, 
burnishing the water to golden tones.  Lights blinked on in 
buildings as far as she could see, joining the glowing M that 
outlined Tennessee's link to Arkansas.  The borrowed song 
reached them even in their hideaway... "Yesterday, all my 
troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they're 
here to stay."  Snuggling closer under his arm, she decided Paul 
McCartney must have had premonitory visions of herself and 
Mulder when he penned those lyrics.

Allowing her eyes to drift shut, she murmured,  "Mmmm...this 
feels good, Mulder." 

"Feels just like..."  His voice trailed off into a chuckle.

She craned her neck to look up at him.  "Like what?

"Feels just like it did in my dream."

"You dreamed we were dancing?"  She grinned at him, absurdly 
happy to learn she occupied his dreams and not just his 
nightmares.    "Where?"

Even in the dim light, she could make out embarrassment tinging 
his face as he sheepishly elaborated.  "We were in sort of a night 
club in this small town... Cher was performing, and we were 
dressed for work, but... we danced."

Trying to conjure up the image in her own mind, she closed her 
eyes again, and brushed her forehead against his neck.  "What 
song did we dance to?"

"'Walking in Memphis'," he answered, and in obvious anticipation 
of the declaration rising in her throat, clarified, "I know, Marc 
Cohn's version is much better."

Rubbing her cheek on his shirt, feeling the rise and fall of his 
chest beneath her head, she shoved away all thoughts of their 
uncertain future.  Tonight she would dance and listen to tales of 
dreams where attending a Cher concert with her partner made 
perfect sense.  "Tell me more, Mulder."

Their feet continued to shuffle and their bodies to move with the 
music as he rested his chin on her head.  "You smiled...and 
laughed.  I held you close... you were so warm, Scully.  A 
two-headed mutant danced with Cher."  She had to strain to 
hear his next words, her throat tightening when she did.  "And we 
were happy."


~~~~~~

Fox Mulder was in heaven.  And not just any heaven either.  This 
was the branch where the early morning wake-up call was his 
partner's mouth steadily sucking his engorged penis.  It was the 
area in heaven where his own little red-haired vacuum cleaner 
didn't consider it an insult when he rolled over and pillowed his 
head on her breast for a post-orgasmic snooze instead of 
reciprocating.  

She followed him in slumber, as he discovered the next time he 
awoke.  Carefully easing his head from her chest, he watched her.  
At least in sleep, the tension was gone from her face.  Her 
forehead was blessedly smooth, the shadows under her eyes a 
bit dimmer after a night spent in dreamland instead of worrying.  
The lips which had earlier brought him such excruciating 
pleasure were parted slightly.  He leaned his head to her mouth 
and felt tiny puffs of warm breath against his cheek. 

Pulling back to look at her once more, he decided that maybe, 
just maybe, yesterday would prove a turning point for them.  He 
didn't know what he was thinking when he brought her here -- he 
should have known she would associate it with that period in 
their lives, but he was too caught up in the idea of taking her to a 
place that meant something to him.  Still, it forced a 
confrontation long overdue, and he hoped they each understood 
the other a little better.  He knew that fear was a driving and 
sometimes paralyzing force for Scully, and though he believed 
she was learning to trust him with it, her inherent tendency to 
fear the end when she could be enjoying the middle was not 
going to disappear.  

As for himself...well, he wasn't going to win the next Mr. Tactful 
contest.  It was true what he pointed out in the heat of their 
argument: their fears were manifested differently.  She retreated 
behind her walls, often hiding from her enemies in her fortress' 
secret room for good measure.  He raged against them, 
sometimes wounding his fellow warriors with his sword of 
sarcasm and shield of cruelty. 

No, neither would change, but in mutual awareness maybe they 
could prevent resentment from building to monumental proportions 
and allow themselves some peace in at least one area of their 
lives.  

As he lay thinking, she snuffled and shifted in her sleep, her hand 
sliding from her stomach to brush against his on its way down to 
the bed.  The contact brought him back to the present, reminding 
him that while he might have had a taste of heaven this morning, 
she hadn't.  

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he drew her closer and 
nuzzled her jaw.  When she began to wake and stretch, he 
whispered while sprinkling raindrop kisses on her cheek, "Scully, 
I'm going to take you to my idea of heaven."


~~~~~~~~~


"Didn't I tell you this was heaven, Scully?"  He mumbled at her 
with a mouthful of eggs and country ham.  

"Mmmhhhmm...'ou did."  Her enunciation left something to be 
desired, but he could hardly fault her.  She had just popped a 
piece of gravy-soaked biscuit in her mouth.  

Though she protested initially, citing cholesterol levels from his 
last checkup and the couple pounds she'd gained in recent 
months, he reminded her they were on vacation.  He soon found 
that all he needed to do to push her over the edge was walk her 
into Earl's Hot Biscuits and watch her nearly be brought to her 
knees by the aroma of an old-fashioned Southern breakfast. 

They spent the next hour savoring their coffee, continually 
replenished by Gwen, their gray-haired waitress, who couldn't 
clear the top of Scully's head if she stood on her tiptoes.  Gwen 
was a force to be reckoned with though, as she ignored truck 
drivers demanding seconds of fried chicken livers and biscuits, 
and chose instead to regale Mulder and Scully with tales of the 
days Elvis Presley made Earl's his regular hangout.  Upon 
Mulder's inquiry, she stated emphatically that she did indeed 
believe the King was still alive, and proceeded to explain why to 
a rapt audience of one.

Occasionally, Mulder glanced across the table to find Scully 
watching him with a bemused smile on her face.  He knew she 
could have shot his and Gwen's hopes dead in the water, so he 
loved her all the more for allowing him his delusions.  But he 
gradually lost interest in the prattling woman who had pulled up a 
chair, ("I tell you what, standin' on my feet all day... my legs look 
like tree trunks 'fore I know it.") in favor of the one slowly running 
her foot up and down his calf, so he requested their check. Still 
talking, Gwen left to ring up their bill, telling a customer 
demanding service to "Keep yur britches on!"

Given Scully's general reaction to their arrival in Memphis, Mulder 
had no intention of suggesting a trek to Graceland, even though 
he had rather lascivious fantasies about the two of them in the 
Jungle Room.  He was pleasantly stunned when she brought it up 
herself.  

They could go this afternoon, she said.  No, she wouldn't mind, 
she was sure.  Yes, she felt fine, why did he ask?

It wasn't until they were leaving that it dawned on him. Scully's 
generosity carried a price.  And she handed him the bill when 
they climbed into the car.  

"You want us to do what?"  

"You heard me."  Somewhere beneath the no-nonsense 
expression she wore, he was sure a smirk lurked.  "I want us to 
take the sight-seeing cruise on the Memphis Island Queen."

"But..."  The trouble was, he couldn't come up with a credible 
reason why they shouldn't spend ninety minutes rolling down the 
Mississippi on a gigantic paddleboat.  Well, there was his 
tendency to turn the shade of asparagus and puke on himself, but 
she stopped taking that excuse seriously the first time they made 
love on his waterbed.

She settled her sunglasses on her nose and patted his leg.  "The 
first tour leaves at 10:30, Mulder."  

Although reluctant to say good-bye to his breakfast so quickly, 
he nodded and started the car, vowing to buy her the tackiest 
piece of Elvis memorabilia Graceland's gift shop had to offer.

The ordeal he expected their cruise to be never materialized.  
Maybe it helped having something in his stomach.  Maybe it was 
that the large vessel was built to move with the swiftly flowing 
current.  It gave at just the right moments in order to minimize the 
bobbing that usually forced him to scurry to the nearest railing.  
But he suspected it was neither of these things.  No, as always, 
it was Scully.  

She was in her element here, showing no signs that paddling on 
a river paled in comparison with challenging the ocean in a 
sailboat.  Someone with a microphone, probably the captain, 
directed them to look this way and that, pointing out river 
landmarks and giving history lessons for eleven dollars a ticket.  
Mulder saw none of it except as reflected in her eyes.  A strong 
wind picked up and blew her hair in every direction, though much 
to her apparent aggravation, mostly in her face.  Not for the first 
time in his life, he wished he could see the wind, if only to kiss it.  
Sufficient thanks, he thought, for giving him reason to tame the 
wild flyaway strands with a stroke of his hand. 

By the time they re-docked, he was abandoning his boating 
phobia and entertaining thoughts of Scully sun-bathing on the 
deck of a cruise ship.  They would go to the Bahamas or some 
other tropical location which would allow him to model his 
Speedo for her.  She interrupted his planning with a reminder that 
if they were going to visit Graceland that afternoon, lunch was in 
order.  

Their trip to Corky's Barbecue had them both strolling down 
memory lane after Scully deliberately missed her mouth and 
ended up with a smear of tangy sauce marring her complexion.  
The look she gave him as he again wiped her face clean was 
similar to the one he remembered.  He wondered if he could have 
had her even back then, but decided they had come together in 
their own time... the right time.  Still, he was glad he could 
explore later just what was behind this sultry expression.  Maybe 
they sold this sauce to go.  


They were maneuvering the city streets again, and Mulder was 
thinking to himself that D.C. drivers wouldn't seem quite so crazy 
after Memphis traffic, when Scully stretched to look over the seat.  
Whatever she found didn't please her.  She turned around and 
kicked at the collection of bags, wrappers, and disposable coffee 
cups littering the floorboard.

"Mulder, this car is disgusting." 

He glanced at the face she was making.  "Sorry, Scully... it was 
the best the rental agency could do on such short notice." 

"No, I mean its current condition.  We accumulate more garbage 
with every stop, and it smells."  For proof, she held up a small 
box containing botulism in the form of leftover chicken strips.  "If 
you spot a dumpster, pull over and I'll clear some of this out."

As he kept watch for the nearest trash receptacle, she shoved as 
much of the garbage as she could into a paper bag, ignoring him 
when he tried to rescue the half doughnut she tossed in.  Slipping 
her hand between their seats, she retrieved a bag of sunflower 
seeds -- well, about ten seeds -- and moved to send it packing, 
too.    

"Hey, not those!"  He snatched the bag from her and dug deeply 
into it, popping a seed into his mouth.  She was hanging over the 
seat gathering more garbage when he spotted a big, gaping trash 
eater in a day-care center's parking lot.  "There's one." 

He decided he didn't need the few seeds anyway and shoved 
them into her hand as she got out.

Wanting to be in the proper frame of mind for their trip to 
Graceland, he began scanning the radio for something by Elvis.  
He glanced up just as Scully approached the dumpster.  
Stopping a couple feet away, she froze, dropped the trash where 
she stood, and ran back to the car.  The car door flew open and 
she leaned in and gestured to the back of the car. 

"Pop the trunk.  I need some gloves."  

"What's wrong?"  His question was spoken to an empty car as 
she was already standing behind the car.  He released the trunk's 
lock, and she rummaged for a few seconds before walking briskly 
toward the dumpster, pulling her rubber gloves on as she went.  
Alarmed, he stepped out of the car.  "Scully?"

If she heard him, she gave no indication.  Her hands protected 
from whatever she might encounter, she stepped onto a small 
ledge jutting out from the bottom of the container.  It raised her a 
foot or so, enough that she could lean through the window on the 
side.  As he approached her, he saw what sent her running for 
her gloves.  A trail of fresh blood, no more than a few hours old, 
started on the parking lot and led to the dumpster.  Drops and 
smears of red were on the side of the metal box and on the ledge 
of the opening.  She was frantically pushing garbage bags away 
from her, digging down deeper, as she stood on her tiptoes to 
reach further.  

He touched her back.  "Scully?"

Breathing heavily, she turned toward him.  A fall of hair obscured 
part of her face, but he could see her skin was white with shock.  
"Mulder, call 911... there's a baby in here." 

Oh, God.  His heart rate doubled as he raced back to the car for 
his cell phone.  Whywhywhywhy... why now?  They were never 
going to get a break.  First, blood in the night and now babies 
being tossed out like garbage.  

The operator answered just as Scully climbed down from the 
dumpster, a tiny brown baby cradled in her arms.  Mulder 
struggled to get out the necessary information when his mind was 
occupied with the scene in front of him.  

This is Special Agent Fox Mulder... blood all over her shirt... not 
hers... police and emergency units to... where are we... Bellevue 
Boulevard... god, the umbilical cord's dangling against her legs... 
the Happy Day Childcare Center... baby in a dumpster... putting 
that fragile body on the ground... my partner's performing CPR...

Ending the call, he hurried back to her.  She had placed the baby 
on a thrown away plastic bag and was carefully doing chest 
compressions.  Two fingers pressed on a chest no wider than 
Scully's hand and small puffs of air inflated brand-new lungs.  

"They're on their way, Scully."  

Her words came between breaths and artificial heartbeats.  "Need 
a... towel or something... have to keep her... warm."

With no towel available, Mulder yanked his shirt over his head.  
Still wearing an undershirt, he handed her the garment.  She 
wrapped it around the infant, and then lowered her head to the 
little girl's chest, listening carefully.  Somewhere in the distance, 
wailing sirens competed with the sound she sought, but Mulder 
knew she had held her focus when she looked up.  

"There's a heartbeat."  She sat back on her heels, gloved hands 
resting on her thighs as she panted from the exhaustion of 
breathing for two.  

He was considering the dreaded "are you okay" question when 
the EMTs pulled into the parking lot, the Memphis police right 
behind them.  For the next few minutes, he and Scully were 
thrust back into FBI agent mode.  As the EMTs wrapped the 
baby in warming blankets, Scully described the child's condition 
when she was found.  Leaving the medical personnel to their jobs, 
Mulder gave his statement to the police and accompanied them 
as they began to check out the area.  

Uniformed officers blocked off the parking lot with crime scene 
tape as people from neighboring businesses began to gather and 
gawk.  A detective marked spots on the parking lot where blood 
had fallen.  Someone discovered more splatters closer to the 
day-care, and the investigation was shifting in that direction 
when Mulder noticed the ambulance pulling away and his partner 
rushing behind the Honey-Baked Ham store next door.

Making sure they weren't needed for anything else, he set off after 
her.  When he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly to avoid 
stumbling over her.  


~~~~~~~~


She was on her hands and knees, her back bowing with every 
retch as she emptied her stomach of her lunch.  For a moment 
he stood there, astonished to see his own personal Rock of 
Gilbraltar that way.  He was torn between giving her the privacy 
that she usually insisted on and the need to let her know he 
understood, to test their newfound vulnerability with each other.  
She spared him from making the decision when she gasped a 
faint "Mulder..." before another heave wracked her body.  Without 
another thought he was on his knees behind her, draping over her 
back with one arm around her waist in some kind of sick parody 
of the last time they made love.  This was one of love's other 
incarnations.  Just as he remembered his mother did for him, he 
held her forehead in the palm of his hand, supporting her as she 
vomited up misery and grief.  

Her body was trembling from the force of being sick when she 
finally stopped bringing anything up.  Content to press his knees 
into the gravelly concrete for as long as she needed, he 
continued to hold her as she gasped for breath.  When she 
seemed to have herself under control, together they stood and 
she moved into his arms as freely as he'd hoped she would.  

Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped her mouth 
for the second time that day.  "Feel better?"

"Oh God," she sighed, her body sagging against his.  "You know, 
back in med school... during my residency, this kind of thing was 
difficult for me... I thought one day I would get used to it, but I 
haven't." 
 
She shook her head against him.  "And I'll never understand it."

"Understand what?"  He squeezed her in his arms, aware of what 
she couldn't comprehend, but wanting to give her the chance to 
express it for herself.  

"How... how anyone could throw away a child... a baby who had 
hardly taken her first breath..."  She shook her head as she 
looked at him, her eyes unfocused.  "... how any child could be 
destroyed... in any way." 

"You're right, Scully.  You'll never understand it."  Trying to soften 
the impact of his words, he pulled her back to him, fitting her 
head under his chin.  "No one will, because it makes no sense." 

They stood there for long minutes, the sounds of investigators 
going about their business just yards away.  Almost in unison, 
their heartbeats slowed to a normal rhythm.  He knew their 
sight-seeing of Memphis was over.  Just the thought of continuing 
on to the site of all that was tacky and tasteless, made him want 
to be sick, too.  A quiet night in the hotel before getting on the 
road in the morning would be the best thing for both of them. 

"Are you ready to go back to the hotel, Scully?"

She raised her head suddenly, nearly striking him in the chin.  
"No... there's somewhere I want us to go."  Then realizing the 
condition of her clothes, she grimaced.  "But I guess, yeah... we 
should go change first."

He was surprised.  "Where?  I would have thou--"

"I've seen the destruction of too many children."  Moving from his 
arms, she stood straighter, the strength he was used to seeing, 
returning in increments.  "I want to go to a place where they fight 
to save them."


~~~~~~~~


There were days, like yesterday, when the most important 
woman in his life drove him crazy, not that he didn't suspect she 
felt the same about him.  But then there were days like today.

Sitting in one of the patient playrooms in St. Jude Children's 
Hospital, his heart fluctuating from the depths of his stomach to 
his throat, he watched as Scully balanced herself on a tiny, red 
chair.  She spoke earnestly and quietly to a little girl wearing a 
bright yellow hat on her smooth, hairless head.  As if she were 
unwilling to be caught doing only one thing, the little girl had 
insisted Scully help her color a picture while they talked.  

When she had told him where she wanted to go, to a hospital 
especially for children with catastrophic illnesses, he started to 
try and change her mind.  It couldn't be a good idea for her to 
surround herself with dying children, not while awaiting her own 
sentence.  

In the end, he couldn't refuse her.  

Upon arriving at the hospital, he saw how wrong he was.  This 
was exactly the place she needed to be, for though many of the 
children were dying, just as many or more were living.  The walls 
were bright and cheery, the staff dressed not in antiseptic white 
but in every color of the rainbow.  Children of all ages roamed the 
halls, some on crutches or in wheelchairs -- at least one he saw 
in a red wagon just like Samantha had.  Heads were covered with 
hats of all kinds, wigs made just for small people, or with nothing 
at all.  

As he and Scully walked through the hospital, they found little 
boys and girls playing in small groups or catching up on 
homework in rooms isolated to protect fragile immune systems.  
At one door, she stopped, folding her left arm across her body... 
her other hand fluttering to her mouth.  He followed her line of 
sight, swallowing hard at the tableau before them.  Curled 
around a small child -- boy or girl, without the hair it was 
impossible to tell from there -- was a woman, younger than 
Scully, perhaps, but with the same tired look on her face.  Her 
hand rested on the child's chest as though feeling for a heartbeat, 
and she cried without making a sound.  After watching another 
moment, Scully put her hand in his and they continued down the 
hall.  

The playroom was filled with toys and books, but only one little 
girl, and this was where Scully chose to stop next.  Much to his 
surprise she sat down and struck up a conversation with the 
small patient who looked to be a bit older than Emily had been. 

He sat on the couch across the room, drinking in the sight of 
Scully dealing with her trials in her own way.  Lost in 
contemplation, he started as a tall, curly-haired woman sat down 
next to him.  

She smiled.  "Are you with her?"

"The woman?"  He nodded.  "Yes." 

"Oh, I know you're not with Krisanna," she laughed.  "She's my 
daughter, and I don't believe we've ever met."

He offered his hand and smiled.  "No, we haven't.  My name's 
Mulder... that's Dana Scully over there with the black crayon." 

Returning his handshake she replied, "I'm Lydia Hamrick."  She 
glanced over at the budding artists before speaking again.  "It's 
really nice of you to visit with my daughter.  We don't live here, 
so the only visitors she has are her dad and brothers when he 
can drive them down." 

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost two months," she answered and then smiled.  "But we'll 
be going home soon."

Before he could comment, Scully approached, and he jumped to 
his feet in case she was ready to leave.  Thinking he might have 
looked a little too eager to get out of there, he introduced the two 
women and listened as they chatted about Krisanna's progress 
in a language in which he was becoming all too proficient.  He 
kept his gaze fixed on her eyes, watching as they began to 
glimmer with tears at news the little girl had been diagnosed with 
an atypical Rhabdoid tumor in her brain.  Unshed tears lingered 
but were out-shone by hope when Lydia explained how, much to 
the doctors' amazement, the tumor was located in an atypical 
area and was completely removed.  

"She has two more weeks of chemo and radiation, and then we're 
done for now!"  Her smile broadened.  "Oddly enough, I'll miss 
this place -- there are days when I'm totally awed by the amount 
of giving that goes on here." 

"It seems very special."  Scully's voice was quiet.

"It is.  It's a nice feeling, to be in a place filled with people all 
working to save my daughter's life."  Called by her daughter, Lydia 
started to move away, stopping to pat Scully's shoulder.  "There 
should be more such people." 

Scully whispered, "Yes, there should." 

When the mother walked away, Mulder and Scully left the 
playroom and started toward the elevators.  Both were quiet -- 
she seemed lost in thought, and he was busily trying to 
determine how the visit had affected her.  He didn't have to wait 
long for his answer.  

Pressing the down arrow by the elevator, she turned to him.  "I'm 
going to be okay, Mulder." 

He wasn't expecting that.  "You are, Scully?"

"Mmmhmm," she smiled.  "I am." 


~~~~~~~~~

Both Mulder and Scully were dead to the world, if not to each 
other, for ten hours following their day of dizzying highs and lows.  
The extra sleep proved to come in handy as they traversed a 
great part of the South the next day.  Taking the first leg of the 
journey from Memphis to Birmingham, Scully concentrated on 
maintaining her position behind the fastest moving truck -- "no 
sense lolly-gagging around."

"Lolly-gagging, Scully?"

"Lolly-gagging... dilly-dallying.  Come on, Mulder... if you go 
somewhere, you really should learn the language." 

Whether or not that piece of advice applied to regions within one's 
own country of origin took up several miles, until he promised to 
teach her all the dirty words he knew in French, as well as their 
applications.  They made it through the first vocabulary lesson 
before she deemed it unsafe for them both, and righted the car on 
the highway and Mulder in his seat. 

Stopping at a rest area just west of the Alabama-Georgia state 
line, they dug into club sandwiches purchased during their drive 
through Birmingham.  In between bites, she interrogated him as 
to their next destination, but he was a tough nut to crack -- 
something she pointed out with a smile.  From his prone position 
on top of the picnic table, he grinned and hooked his finger under 
the collar of her shirt, pulling her face to his.  "I would think you'd 
be glad my nuts are tough." 

They exchanged snickering laughs and teasing kisses, their need 
to reach their destination before very late finally driving them back 
into the car.  Despite their best efforts, it was nearly eleven that 
night when they checked into a Holiday Inn in Waycross, 
Georgia.  Mulder admitted they were only a few miles from where 
they would spend the next couple days and could have gone on, 
but with an embarrassed look, said he wanted her see it in the 
daylight first. 


She appreciated the decision to wait -- crossing the bridge onto 
St. Simon's Island was like entering a different world.  They drove 
along winding lanes lined with a mixture of palm and cypress 
trees, their car now and then flirting with the edge of pristine 
beaches.  Cottages and the typical beachfront motels were 
scattered close to the white sand, but far enough from each other 
to keep crowding to a minimum.  Elegant old houses obviously 
bearing the Spanish influence sat behind lush green lawns.  

Their drive took them past what appeared to be the main beach, 
and into a heavily wooded section on the far end of the island.  
Scully was just making out slivers of rolling blue beyond the 
trees, when the car slowed to a crawl.  Although she refocused 
her eyes to take in her  immediate surroundings, she didn't see 
why Mulder would be heading in this direction -- until he nudged 
her elbow and pointed for her to look up through the windshield.

Her gaze followed the path he indicated and ended up fixed on 
what appeared to be a meticulously crafted house.  It was small, 
made of finely hewn wood and glass.  Windows filled every side 
of the structure, including the two bay areas on either side of the 
front door.  Two flights of stairs, the curved railings and solid 
steps fashioned from tree branches, led to a spacious front 
porch.  Although it was an extraordinary house, its beauty 
wasn't what took Scully's breath away.

No, its most distinctive feature was that it stood fifteen to twenty 
feet off the ground.  

Nestled among the branches of a stand of large trees.  

"Oh, my God."  Her mouth gaped, and she turned to him in 
disbelief.  "Is that a..."

He nodded as if he saw one every day.  "A tree house."

"In a tree..."  She turned back to stare at it as Mulder eased the 
car up to the rail fence circling the house and parked.

"It wouldn't be a tree house if it weren't, Scully."  Popping the 
trunk, he climbed out to begin unloading their bags, as she 
followed, still looking back over her shoulder.  Handing her a 
suitcase, he led the way.  "The guy who owns this place was into 
tree houses, and after building one, he built another and another.  
Pretty soon he turned them into a resort."

"Amazing."  She couldn't decide what she found more 
astonishing -- an island resort of tree houses like something 
straight out of "Swiss Family Robinson," or that Mulder had 
arranged all of this for her.

Having removed the key from a sealed envelope lying on the 
welcome mat and marked "Fox Mulder," he opened the door 
announcing, "And this is ours."  

She preceded him in, marveling at the wonder of this place.  A 
first glance around the enormous room revealed a queen-size bed 
positioned under a sky-light, a small kitchen complete with dining 
table, and through the narrow doorway in the back, she could 
make out what looked like a tub, just like hers.

Mulder dropped his bags beside the bed before returning to her 
side, slipping his arm around her shoulders.  "I could have gotten 
another house, but it was fifty feet in the air, accessible only by 
rope and harness."

"Ooo, kinky," she teased as she turned into his embrace and 
hugged her thanks.  

He took a deep breath and let his hands wander.  "Then again, 
we could always switch." 


~~~~~~~~~~


Promising that later that night, he wouldn't miss having ropes and 
harnesses, she managed to get them out of the house.  Since 
the island was small, and they had all day, they opted to walk as 
they began a sight-seeing tour with no agenda.  Once they were 
clear of the more wooded end of the island, Scully spotted a 
towering lighthouse, so they began working their way in that 
direction.  

Upon their arrival at the enormous brick structure, they discovered 
by the sign out front that it was not only fully operational by the 
U.S. Coast Guard, but that it housed the Museum of Coastal 
History.  Choosing to save the museum for later, they entered the 
lighthouse and found themselves in another era.  Preserved to 
reflect its original appearance, the main room featured darkly 
polished wood floors and trim with brass fixtures.  Ancient 
mariners' maps hung on the walls and old-time nautical 
equipment sat within glass cases.  The wheel of a ship stood 
bolted in place in the middle of a small platform, and standing 
beside it, as though he'd stepped out of a time capsule was the 
living incarnation of "Moby Dick"'s Captain Ahab.  

There was a small, quick intake of breath from Scully's direction 
when she saw him, and for a moment, they stared at each other.  
The spell was broken when he stepped off the platform to greet 
them.

"Good afternoon!  Cap'n Mel Nobel here," he boomed, as he 
heartily pumped Scully's hand.  "Yeah, I know -- it rhymes... the 
things parents name their kids..."  

She shot Mulder a look and swallowed a laugh at the expression 
on his face.  Turning back to the bearded man in front of her, she 
introduced them both.  "I'm Dana Scully... this is Mulder.  Good 
to meet you."

Shaking Mulder's hand, he then gestured with a wide sweep of 
his arm.  

"You folks interested in a tour?"

Assured that they were, the white haired old man spent the next 
few minutes entertaining them with tales of the lighthouse's past.  
He told them of the first lighthouse to stand in that spot, replaced 
by the current one in 1872.  His voice was full of pride as he 
explained the many instruments and records preserved there.  
Listening to him refer to the house as if it were a child or, better 
still, a lover, reminded Scully of her father's voice as he spoke of 
his ship. 

The tower itself was next, so she and Mulder carefully followed 
Captain Nobel up the narrow, spiral staircase.  They stopped for 
a moment at the halfway point, to give the two of them a chance 
to catch their breaths, according to the old man, but she 
suspected he needed the break much more than they did.  
Fifteen or so feet from the top, a sign posted to the side of a tiny 
window promised, "Almost there!"

True to its word, they soon emerged onto the platform holding the 
enormous light, bright and big enough to warn passing ships of 
danger ahead.  They could see the entire island from up there 
and well out into the blue, blue ocean with its huge white swells.

"Well, there she is."  Captain Nobel extended his arm in the 
same proprietary gesture as he'd done downstairs.  "Worth every 
step of the climb to see the ocean from here, isn't it?"

"It's beautiful."  Scully smiled and nodded.  "I appreciate you 
bringing us up... makes me think of how much my father would 
have enjoyed exploring the lighthouse, meeting you."  

Bushy eyebrows shot up in delight.  "A sea-faring man, your 
father?"

"He was also a captain -- in the United States Navy."  She turned 
to lean on the ledge and look back out over the water, feeling one 
of Mulder's fingers barely grazing her arm in tiny strokes.  "He 
died several years ago."

"Ahhh, missy... men of the sea never really die.  They live on in 
their vessels... in the oceans and rivers that they sailed."  The 
keeper chuckled.  "Even in their lighthouses."  

Mulder spoke for the first time since they'd climbed the tower.  
"Sounds like there's a story behind that comment, sir." 

"That there is m'boy!"  Mel gave Mulder an exhuberant slap on the 
arm, bumping him into Scully.  "Seems over a century ago, the 
lightkeeper, Frederick Osbourne, and his assistant, shared 
quarters here in the lighthouse itself.  Cap'n Osbourne lived 
downstairs and the assistant was upstairs."  Their storyteller took 
off his cap and scratched his head before continuing.  "Well, ya 
see... they got into an argument one Sunday morning and 
Osbourne wound up dead."  His voice lowered to a rumbling 
whisper as he leaned toward them.  "According to the wives of 
several keepers over the years, footsteps were heard in the tower 
late at night... when the keepers were in plain view, standing 
stalk still."  

Raising up, he rocked back on his heels.  "Now, don't that beat 
all ya ever heard?"

The story was amusing, but Scully couldn't believe it was still 
being told, obviously without considering other avenues of thought. 
"Captain Nobel, don't you think those 'footsteps' were a product 
of these women's imaginations?  Brought on by stories told in 
grander scale every time, until--"

Mulder interrupted, "Sir, did anyone ever mention feeling a cold 
wind blow through around the time footsteps were heard?"

She stared at him, annoyed that he would perpetuate such 
nonsensical thinking.  "Mulder!  You can't be serious --"

This time he moved in front of her, appearently intent on 
questioning the man currently scratching his bearded chin.  "Or 
perhaps there was a particular spot in the lighthouse that was 
colder than anywhere else?"

Though she wasn't sure who she was talking to at this point, she 
continued.  "A branch might have been slamming against an 
outside wall... Or a hot water heater sometimes makes a 
knocking sound when it's heat--"

He stopped to grin at her.  "Scully, there were no hot water 
heaters back--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kids!"  Holding up his hands, Captain Noble 
looked from Mulder to Scully.  "Ya take all the fun out of a ghost 
story when you dissect it.  Hadn't anyone ever told ya that?"  
Shaking his head, he turned to head back down the stairs, 
glancing back at them with an exasperated look and motioning 
for them to follow.  "Well, guess we've fiddle-faddled around up 
here long 'nough."

Hustled out of the lighthouse, Mulder and Scully stood on the 
boardwalk staring at each other, until she snickered.  After a 
good laugh, they walked on and found a red and white striped 
stand selling ice cream and sno-cones, perfect for the windy heat 
still blowing through in September.  She licked her orange 
sherbet push-up and he sucked all the grape flavoring from a hole 
in the bottom of his sno-cone as they walked through the middle 
of the island. 

Hours flew by with their meandering, but still they continued -- 
this time beneath a canopy of branches.  Rows and rows of oak 
trees that were hundreds of years old, Scully estimated, filled an 
expanse of land.  They lined unmarked paths, their branches 
twisting and turning overhead until one tree joined with another 
across the way.  The leaves were already beginning to fall, but 
still they showed no signs of being anything but a most vivid 
green. 

As they walked hand in hand, the only sounds were those of 
rustling leaves.  Breaking the silence, Scully mused aloud.  

"Sometimes, with all we've seen and experienced, it's hard for me 
to believe a place this beautiful and peaceful still exists in the 
world."  She squeezed his hand.  "At least I didn't until you 
brought me here." 

He spoke, his voice tentative and unsure.  "So, even with... 
everything, this time away has been a good thing?"

"I think so.  Our attempt to forget the possibility I'm out of 
remission notwithstanding, we needed some time just for us."

"The test results should be back any time now, shouldn't they?"

She hesitated for an instant before answering.  "Yes, I think they 
should be."

He stopped in his tracks, pulling her back to stand in front of him.  
"Scully, what are you not telling me?"

Taking a deep breath, she met his worried stare.  "While... you 
were in the shower this morning, I called Dr. Zuckerman's office 
to see what the delay was."  At his deep sigh, she shrugged one 
shoulder as if to say, "Sorry, I couldn't help myself." 

"And?"  His gaze was intent... pleading.

"And it seems a clerical error had the lab overlooking the 
samples sent over for testing... they didn't start working on them 
until late yesterday." 

"Dammit."  He pressed his palms against his forehead, pulling on 
his closely cropped hair at the same time.

She pulled his arms down and moved into them, holding him tight.  
"Dr. Zuckerman thinks he'll have them by this evening though, 
and he'll give me a call immediately." 

"Scully..."  Laying his head atop hers, he rocked her from side to 
side.  "Well, what do you want to do until then?"

"I thought we might--"  Her suggestion was cut short by a flurry 
of activity and the swell of an organ music bursting from the 
small, white church across the road. 

More people than the church looked like it could hold spilled from 
it.  They lined a stone path from the front door, laughing and 
applauding as a young couple dressed in wedding finery ran from 
the building.  She was blonde and beautiful.  Her full skirt caught 
up in one hand, she tossed a bouquet of what appeared to be 
lilies with the other.  Her new husband was dark and 
good-looking.  He helped his bride into the white convertible 
awaiting them, and they drove away amid family and friends 
shouting "Congratulations, Jeni and Tom!  Be happy!"

Scully had turned in Mulder's arms to watch the departure.  His 
hands now were locked around her waist and his chin rested on 
her shoulder, convenient for kisses to her neck.  

She leaned her head against him.  "That's a beautiful little 
church for a wedding.  They seemed happy."

"I think you're required by law to at least pretend happiness on 
your wedding day,"  he teased.

"I wonder if they'll stay on the island their first night... maybe at 
the Tree House Resort."  She twisted to see his face.  "They 
must have a honeymooner's house, don't you think?"

"Uhhh...yeah, I'm... pretty sure they do," he stammered.  "But I 
don't think that couple will be in it tonight."

Suspecting he had a little secret of his own, she faced him and 
purred, "Mulderrrr?  Why don't you think that?"

"Because we're in it, okay?  It was the only thing they had left."  
His admission came rapid-fire.  "Unless you want to hoist 
yourself fifty feet up."

She shook her head in mock seriousness.  "No, I think I'm more 
than satisfied."  

"Are you, Scully?"  He held her head between his hands and 
began covering her face with kisses.  "Are you sure you're 
satisfied?"

Kissing him once, she changed her mind.  "Mmmm, maybe not.  
Let's go sit on the beach and you can tell me how you plan to 
fulfill my every wish tonight."


The sun was beginning to set over the ocean by the time they 
reached the resort's private beach beyond the trees.  Picking a 
spot on a grassy area just before shells and sand took over the 
landscape, Scully sat leaning against the trunk of a palm tree.  
Uncharacteristically quiet, Mulder lay with his head resting in 
her lap, his feet crossed at the ankles, and his hands worrying 
a seashell.

"Scully?  What would you say if I asked you to marry me?"

She looked down at him, unsure if she'd actually heard that.  
"Excuse me?"

"That's what you would say?"  The shell went flying in favor of a 
blade of monkey grass.

"Uhhhh.. no... I'm just not sure where you're going with this."

"I'm not going anywhere with it.  It was a simple question -- what 
would your answer be, hypothetically, if I asked you to marry 
me?"

She thought for a moment.  "Well, first I'd want to know why you 
asked me." 

Sitting up, he faced her and drew his knees up to chest.  "Isn't it 
obvious?"

"Maybe in your mind, Mulder..."  Seeing he didn't take that well, 
she tried another track.  "Okay, hypothetically, are you asking 
me this question after we've discussed marriage?"

"I guess... no... hell, I don't know.  You're making this difficult, 
Scully." 
 

She reached out and tugged at one of the legs of his jeans.  "Just 
say what you're trying to get at." 

He took a deep breath and spoke directly to the ground between 
them.  "Standing back there at the church... I was thinking... 
remembering how you once talked about wanting a normal life, 
and..."  He paused, finally looking at her.  "I thought you'd see 
marriage as a part of that."

"First, I can't be held accountable for everything I say while being 
driven into Area 51."  She sobered her voice.  "What I mean is, I 
may talk about having a 'normal' life, but... when it comes down 
to it, Mulder, I'm happy with my life as it is."

"So you don't want us to get married, ever."  

"What would marriage change for us?"

"I... I don't..."  His blind search for an answer ended without 
producing one.

"Would you love me more?"

He met her gaze with his own, one so sure and true it brought 
tears to her eyes.  "That's not possible, Scully."  

"Would it mean you'd be more committed to me?"

"No."  

She smiled.  "That's what I thought.  Speaking for myself," she 
paused as she knee-walked the foot or so between them.  
"Though I may not be as proficient at expressing it as you are... 
no one will ever love you as much as I do, Mulder, as far as I'm 
concerned, I'm yours and you're mine until," she grabbed the 
front of his shirt in her hand and pulled him to her, whispering, 
"until whatever end there is." 

He uncurled her fingers from his clothes and cradled her hand 
between his as he matched her whisper and raised her a kiss.  
"Until death or aliens us do part?"  

"Something like that," she mumbled into his mouth.

Their slow kisses turned into gentle caresses as they laid down 
on the ground.  Mulder was just easing the clingy knit of her 
dress up her thigh when the sharp trilling of a cell phone startled 
them.  

Sitting up, they both began scrambling to see whose it was.  
Scully pulled hers out of a deep pocket saying, "Mine, mine... it's 
mine."

She flipped it open.  "Scully..."

"I'm fine, doctor, thank you."

"No, that's all right.  I understand."  Her voice was breathless 
from anxiety and dimming arousal.  "What do you have for me?"

"Mmmhmm," she hummed, trying to listen and ignore Mulder's 
questioning expression at the same time.  "What about the chem 
panels?"

"Nothing?"  Oh, God... thank you, she prayed.  Her pounding 
heart rolled over as Mulder's eyes widened at the single word.  
He was going to be so relieved.

"No, no, I... I realize that.  Yes," she smiled, tears threatening to 
fill the back of her throat.  "It is good news." 

"Yes, I'll see you in three months." 

"Thank you."  Thumbing the off button, she tossed the phone into 
the grass and climbed into Mulder's lap, wrapping her arms 
around him and resting her head on his shoulder.

His hands swept over her back.  "Nothing?  Nothing at all?"  

"The tumor's still there, of course, but it's no bigger.  The blood 
tests came back negative, and --" 

"Then what caused that nosebleed?"

"He doesn't have an explanation other than one of the things you 
and I discussed."  She shrugged and reminded him, "Remission 
doesn't always mean the complete disappearance of indicating 
factors." 

"So we're right back where we were?"

Massaging the back of his neck, she grinned up at him.  "Yeah... 
status quo has never looked so good, has it?"   Life had never 
looked so good to her, not even when she originally went into 
remission.  Being with Mulder changed things.

"I think we should celebrate."

"I think so, too."  She jumped up from his lap and pulled him to 
his feet.  With a smile over her shoulder, she began walking 
toward their house.  "Let's go climb a tree." 

~~~~~~~~

The last few days of their vacation were blissfully free of the dark 
cloud that had dogged them since they left D.C.  Biking tours of 
smaller, neighboring islands filled hours not spent playing tag over 
and under ocean waves.  

They passed their final evening lying on a blanket on the beach, 
craggy rock formations serving as shelter from prying eyes.  High 
tide lapped within feet of them -- they'd have to go wading when it 
came time to get around the rocks and return to the house.  But 
Scully didn't give it a thought, and she suspected Mulder was 
equally unconcerned, judging by his deep grunts as he balanced 
over her. 

Having stripped her of her black swimsuit, he knelt with his hands 
digging into the covered sand and drove into her.  Her legs were 
locked high around his waist, and she pulled him back to her 
before they'd barely separated.  Their lovemaking was frenzied as 
they worked off days of worry.  Her thrusts came as rapid-fire as 
his, and teeth nipped at flesh as her drive to live and love was 
manifested in her body's response to him.  Even in the balmy 
ocean air, chill-bumps rose on her skin.  She felt dizzy from the 
blood rushing to pool in her center, so she clutched at his 
forearms to avoid spinning away. 

It was dark with only a full moon for light when she peered up at 
him.  Her beginning orgasm was making it difficult to focus, but 
she could see his eyes were screwed shut, his face a mask of 
pleasure-pain.  His lips formed mere breaths of her name, and 
she feared he was losing himself in his nightmare world without 
her.  Drawing up to wrap her arms around his neck, she ground 
her pelvis into his, her contracting walls touching off his own 
release.  As he collapsed and clung to her, she rubbed his back 
and rocked them, whispering, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," until 
sleep overtook them both. 


Loathe to leave, but needing to be back to work in just three days, 
they started the long drive the next day after an early morning 
swim.  Eight hours later, when he suggested they stop for the 
night, Scully was glad she'd taken Mulder's advice to pack as if 
she didn't know where she was going. 

This time she found herself ushered into a tiny cottage nestled in 
the Great Smokey Mountains.  It was nearing the end of peak 
season in the village of Gatlinburg, so they were able to secure a 
place for the night in one of Kling's Chateau's, a collection of 
exquisite little houses resembling those found in the mountains of 
Germany or Switzerland.  Further exploration of the tiny town 
revealed an odd conglomeration of heritages on display, with 
German, Irish, and Cherokee Indian being the most predominant.  
Although she was sure people resided in the area year around, 
most of the businesses seemed to cater to tourists.  Craftsmen 
and artisans lined every street, demonstrating and selling their 
handiwork. 

As the evening wore on, Scully led a reluctant Mulder from 
speciality shop to art gallery to toy store, determined to find 
something for her mother and little Matthew.  Mulder's question, 
"What about Bill?", garnered him a dismissive snort and a 
suggestion that he could pick out something for her brother if he 
wanted.  They worked their way up one of the streets in the 
direction of their chateau.  She was promising him fudge from 
Claire's Old-Fashioned Candy Factory if he would accompany 
her to one more shop, when he spotted it.

Across the street and further up the hill stood Ripley's Believe it 
or Not Museum in all its brightly colored, flashing sign glory.  
With a groan, she allowed herself to be tugged along by a man 
bent on seeing for himself Van Gogh's self-portrait made out of 
jelly beans.  

Twenty minutes later, they were back on the sidewalk, having 
been told for the second time in three days that they were taking 
the fun out of the bizarre.  Well, if she were going to be really 
honest, she was the one accused of spoiling the party, but she 
sure as hell wasn't going to let Mulder's cry of "It's the Fiji 
Mermaid!" go unanswered.  

She let Mulder soothe her ruffled feathers with a back rub later 
that night.  And by the time they hiked two miles through the 
mountains the next morning, she was ready for another.  Sitting 
on a smooth rock in the middle of a babbling creek, her bare feet 
chilling in the water, she sighed her relief as his fingers unraveled 
knots in her shoulders.  In between bites of the Kit-Kat bars she'd 
carried in her pocket, they talked of everything and nothing. 

As they headed back down the mountain, a feeling of dread 
washed over her -- End of Vacation Syndrome was setting in.  
This vacation had given her a taste of what it meant to be with 
him, no regrets and no restraints.  She'd grown to know him in a 
new way, and with his help, she also revealed herself to him, 
opening lines of communication they never had before.  
Returning to their lives and jobs in DC would bring an end to the 
carefree, and a resumption of the all-encompassing quest they 
shared.  She mentally shook herself.  They weren't home yet, 
and she wasn't going to spoil those last hours anticipating what 
she couldn't change.  

On their way out of Gatlinburg, they stopped at Michael's Celtic 
Heritage, a shop specializing in Irish and Scottish items.  
Deciding jewelry was the way to go for her mother, she 
purchased a pendant made of white gold.  The design was that 
of a Celtic knot, a circle without beginning or end, never to be 
unravelled.  Not an inappropriate symbol for her relationship with 
Mulder, she mused as they left the shop.  


It was after nine that evening when Scully unlocked the door of her 
apartment.  Dropping her bag by the door, she moved to check 
her messages, chuckling as Mulder made a bee-line for the 
bathroom.  She'd told him not to get the forty-two ounce Coke at 
their last stop.  Two telemarketers and her landlord were the only 
company her answering machine had while she was gone.  The 
unpacking could wait, so she headed for her bedroom, wriggling 
out of her jeans as she went.  

She sank onto her bed and was sitting with her eyes closed when 
Mulder padded in.  Lifting one eyelid, she saw that he was clad 
only in boxers and a t-shirt.  Experience told her she'd find the 
rest of the clothes strewn over the bathroom floor in the morning.  
The eyelid closed again in weariness. 

"Does it feel good to be home, Scully?"

"I... I'm not sure."  Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly and 
stood to pull back the covers.  "As much as I loved every place 
we stayed, it will feel good to sleep in my own bed, but..."

"But?"  He turned her toward him and cocked his head to one 
side in that way he had.  Sometimes it made her feel as if he 
could read her mind.  "But being back here, those walls are 
starting to close in again?"

Apparently he really could read her mind.  "I guess... being home 
is a reminder that nothing's really changed, and... that doesn't 
look as good here as it did the other night on the beach."  She 
huffed a laugh. 

"It wasn't the cancer this time, but it could be the next... is that 
it?" he asked.

She nodded again and sighed as his hands cupped her face, his 
thumbs smoothing over her cheekbones.  Eyelids that closed 
without her permission opened as his hands left her face.  His 
nimble fingers began slipping her shirt's buttons through their 
holes as his breath caressed her forehead.  

"Yeah, it could be, but," he paused to kiss her temple, pushing 
her shirt off her shoulders.  "We need to think of today..."

Her hands ran over his chest, one finger circling his nipples 
through his shirt.  Stretching up on her toes, she nipped 
underneath his chin as he unhooked her bra and slid it down her 
arms.  

He sent her panties to the floor, his hands stroking back up her 
body.  "Not tomorrow," he mouthed in the valley between her 
breasts.

"Just tonight?" she asked as her neck lost its ability to hold her 
head upright.  He ran his fingers through her hair, cupping her 
head in his hand.

"Yep," he smiled and eased her onto the bed, stripping off his 
shirt and boxers before lying down beside her.  Her toes curled 
as he avoided kissing her in favor of running his tongue down her 
neck and the slopes of her breasts.  Grazing his lips over the 
darkening tips, he rasped, "We'll enjoy each other, Scully."

"Love each other...ohhh..."  The weariness caused by eight hours 
in the car began to recede as he moved slowly into her.

"Yesss..."  He hissed as she contracted her muscles around him.  
"It's the journey, Scully."  Slipping one arm under her shoulders, 
he propped himself up with the other, setting up a leisurely rock.  

Though her body's natural inclination was to shutter her eyes, she 
fought to keep them open, wanting to see him for as long as 
possible.  Smoothing her hand over his cheek, she smiled,  "Then 
let's get back on the road, Mulder.  You and I still have a long way 
to go."


THE END




AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Better sit back, these may be almost as 
long as the story.  ; )  

"Mileage" is the result of one desire -- to write a "long" story, 
mostly to see if I could.  I'm still learning this writing thing, you 
know.  Back in May, after that annoying season finale aired, I 
said to myself and a few select people:  "Self and Select People, 
I'd like to write a long story between now and CC's attempt to get 
out of the corner he painted himself into."  The desire to 
write a long story is all well and good, but it doesn't mean squat 
without an idea, which I was missing until last month.  Big waste 
of the summer, huh?  <g>  But then I decided that I liked the idea 
of M&S traveling all over the country, not on cases -- just on 
vacation.  So I began thinking about that, and I remembered that 
when my father wanted to talk to me parent-to-child, he'd trap me 
in a moving vehicle and let me have it.  Voila!  I could do the same 
to M&S.  

But where to send them??  I knew I wanted their destinations to 
be *different*, but I was also set on a stop in Memphis, TN, 
because darn it, M&S aren't passing through the South without 
coming to my hometown!  Their stay here and the things they did 
were as realistic as I could make them.  There really is a Memphis 
Island Queen, the ducks really *do* march to and from the lobby 
of The Peabody every day.  St. Jude's Children's Hospital really 
does marvelous work for children with cancer.  And unfortunately, 
just last week, a newborn baby girl really was thrown into the 
dumpster of a day-care center by her mother, just after she was 
born.  The name and location of the center were changed to 
protect the innocent.  

Pig, Kentucky also actually exists, as does the Porky Pig Diner.  
The Wigwam Village where M&S stayed in Pig is genuine, 
however I messed with the geography a bit -- it's in Cave City, 
KY. 

The tree house resort where M&S stayed on St. Simon's Island 
is real, though it's actually located in Oregan.  Hey, what's a few 
thousand miles?  ; )  To see a picture of their tree house go here:  
http://members.aol.com/scullysfan/stefrnt.jpg   The lighthouse is 
really there, and so is the little church where M&S saw the bride 
and groom.  It's called Christ Church, and its origins date back to 
the early 1800s when John and Charles Wesley preached under 
the big oaks there.  St. Simon's Island truly is an exquisite place, 
and I'd love to go back -- if you ever get the chance to go, do.  

And lastly, Gatlinburg, TN in the Great Smokey Mountains is real.  
I should know... I spent a weekend or two there every year of my 
childhood.  Gorgeous trees in the fall, skiing and skating in the 
winter, and beautiful hand-crafts year 'round.  The trails through 
the mountains can be easy or challenging, the creeks are ice 
cold and crystal clear, and there's no better place for a picnic 
than beside Laurel Falls.  

Maybe that's what this story was -- a chance to let M&S enjoy 
some of my most favorite places on earth while learning a little 
more about each other.  I wanted to show they could be together, 
still having problems and old hurts to smooth over, but that when 
all was said and done, their love was stronger than anything.  


AUTHOR'S THANKS:  Since I finished my last story, I've had this 
little voice whispering and nudging for me to get busy and write 
another one.  No, it wasn't myself -- that voice is way too loud.  ; )  
My most heartfelt thanks to Laney for ceaseless encouragement 
and great beta-reading/editing, and to Jill and Barbara for catching 
my many mistakes and holes and especially for not thwapping 
me for my "had been"s.  <g>  All three are wonderful!  This story 
is much better than it would have been without them, and any 
mistakes that remain are solely my responsibility.  Thank you to 
Dasha for the spur of the moment beta and giving me a fresh 
perspective.  Big thank yous also go to Jesemie's Evil Twin for 
filling me in on the weird and wonderful to be found in Kentucky 
and to Jean Robinson for the basketball lesson.  <g>  And to 
Kris for putting up with the temporary loss of her "best toy" for the 
time it took me to write "Mileage."  ; )


Shari
2 September 1999

For more of my work -- 
http://members.aol.com/scullysfan/myfic.html

Chronicle X -- http://chroniclex.simplenet.com