Backtracking 6/17 Disclaimer, etc., with part 1 It's lucky she can't see my face, Mulder thought. Hauling Scully around over his shoulder was making his mind race with the possibilities. Of course it also made him remember the escape from Antarctica, and he found himself gripping her leg more tightly. "Thank you, Mulder," Scully said. He had gotten her out of a jam, and he had given her a whole new way to check out his butt. Mulder kicked off his boots and went to the fire to see if the water was boiling. "The scenery's great from up here," Scully said. She was enjoying the view, but she was ready for him to put her down. Scully balanced so well on his shoulder, Mulder thought. He could keep her up there indefinitely, if she would let him. She hadn't actually asked him to put her down. Her clothes were awfully cold, and her pants legs were wet. He had one arm across the backs of her thighs to hold her in place, and he used his free hand to feel her foot. Her socks were wet too. "Mulder!" she exclaimed. "You can put me down now." "Your socks are wet," Mulder explained. "Oh," Scully said. Her interactions with Mulder had finally reached the pinnacle of absurdity. What did Scully want from Mulder? As much as he was willing to give her. If that didn't include sharing her bed, so be it. If it stopped short of love, friendship would have to be enough. Now what did Mulder want from her, Scully asked herself. At last she understood. Mulder wanted to drive her insane. It wasn't enough for him to draw the line on sexual relations. No. Mulder had to prohibit sex while flaunting his sexuality. He had to walk around naked and solicit massages and now he had to carry her around like something out of a Cary Grant movie. His arm had been migrating up her leg, and now he was clasping her left buttock in a way that was both politically incorrect and inappropriately pleasing. Mulder was using a stick to poke at the fire. His hair had picked up the scent of burning wood. Scully had the urge to comb her fingers through his hair. It was way out of line, and she wasn't really positioned right to accomplish it. But if Mulder objected she could pretend that she was just doing it to make him put her down. Mulder felt Scully start to squirm around in his arms. He'd been waiting for her to do something. She seemed to be in such a giddy mood he'd expected her to pummel his back Hollywood-style and demand to be released. But she'd be just as likely to make the demand quite seriously, without the fists, or to push away from him without saying a word. She was doing none of these things. She just seemed to be changing her position. She was leaving it up to him when to put her down. Suddenly it was clear to Mulder what he needed from Scully, what she would have to do if they were to continue working together. Scully was going to have to be the referee. It was fine that she trusted him, and she was right to trust him. He would never violate the unwritten rules she'd set. But policing himself was just too hard. It made him think of that dog trick, where the dog has to balance a treat on his nose without eating it. Earlier she'd berated him for his "exhibitionism." He should have reinforced that behavior instead of making fun of her. That was exactly what he needed from her, obvious, overt, verbal instructions on when he was going too far. He leaned forward a little to put Scully down, wet socks and all, and he felt her hand on his head. She kept it there, too, even once she was standing, until he ducked away from her and took a step backward. "There's something in your hair," she said. "Dandruff?" "No, Mulder, there's something there, right behind your ear." She wasn't sure what it was. It felt like a little scab, or maybe it was something he'd picked up skiing through the woods. "A quarter?" Mulder asked, shaking his head and pushing his hair back. Scully didn't answer, but she was reaching for his head with both hands. "Stop it, Scully," he said. "I need to talk to you." He'd felt her fingers in his hair enough times to know he'd be less than coherent if he let her continue. He wanted to be clear-headed and serious for this conversation. "Sit down," she said, trying to steer him toward the chairs by the table. Sit, Mulder, sit, he thought as he sat down. Scully began to examine his head again, but the lighting in the cabin made it difficult. "Mulder, get the backpack from outside," she ordered. Neither of them had shoes on, but Mulder's boots were right by the door, unlaced for him to step into. Fetch, boy, he thought, but he retrieved the knapsack anyway and gave it to Scully. "Thank you," she said, although to Mulder it sounded more like, "Good dog!" Scully took the head-light from the pack and put it back around her head. That freed both her hands to search through Mulder's hair and feel his scalp. Damn it, Scully, Mulder thought. How can I tell you to keep your distance while you're sending me to Nirvana with your fingertips? "Hold still, Mulder," Scully said. Frowning with concentration, she used her thumb and index finger to pluck something off Mulder's scalp. "What is it?" Mulder asked, pushing his chair back. Scully placed the thing on a white paper napkin on the table, and she and Mulder squinted at it. At first it looked like a tiny circle, smaller than a pinhead. "Whooahh!" said Mulder. "It's got legs!" It wasn't a girly scream, but he managed to convey a generous amount of fear and loathing. "It's a tick," Scully said. "Revolting little monster," said Mulder, grimacing with disgust. "I thought the cold would kill them." "I know," said Scully. "Unless they're living in the cabin..." She looked at the fireplace. "You rekindled the fire, didn't you?" "Yeah..." "The woodpile," Scully said. "Who knows how long it's been here. And it's warmer in the cabin." There was only an armload of wood left anyway, and Scully hurried to the pile, gathered it up, and tossed it onto the fire. She swept up the debris that was left and threw that in to burn as well. "Die, you bastards," Mulder said as the wood crackled. "Okay, take off your shirt," Scully commanded. "Scully, this is exactly what I need to talk to you about," Mulder said. "You have to stop doing this to me. I'm not made of stone." "Michelangelo notwithstanding," Scully said, smiling. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that, Scully," Mulder said. "Mulder, this can wait. Take off your shirt," she said again. "There might be more ticks." Mulder looked skeptical but he pulled off his sweater and shirt. Scully began her inspection from the back, starting at his neck and working down until she got to the waistband of his pants. She walked around him so she could explore his chest. She was so serious and methodical that Mulder was able to tolerate her scrutiny. From time to time she'd scrape a spot with her fingernail, to satisfy herself that it was a mole or freckle and not another tick. "Okay?" Mulder asked. Scully didn't answer, but she was still frowning with concentration. "Pick up your arm," she said. He gave her a look of resentment but he let her lift his arm and start to probe his armpit. "You're just trying to tickle me," he said, well aware that if Scully wanted to tickle him she knew how to do it. She frowned with concentration as she completed her tour of the first armpit and then the second. "Take off your pants," Scully said. "I think this has gone far enough," Mulder said. "Thank you for your help, but I'll take it from here." "You'll take it from here? What does that mean, exactly?" Scully asked. Her patience was running out. Only a few hours earlier Mulder had gone out of his way to display his wares, and now he was fussing and stalling. Scully was tired from skiing, and despite the lively fire, the cold from her wet clothing was starting to penetrate to her weary muscles. The sooner she got Mulder checked over the sooner she could slip into a warm bed herself. "I will complete this inspection without your assistance," Mulder said. "You are so obstinate," Scully said. "This isn't an option, Mulder, this is a necessity. Do I need to describe the effects of tick-borne diseases or the methods used in their diagnosis and treatment? Now take off your pants." "I understand how this must seem to you," Mulder said. "I just can't go through with it. I'll check by myself. If I miss something I'll take the consequences." "Fever. Joint pain. Muscle weakness. Vertigo. Fatigue. Confusion. Blood tests. CAT scans. I.V.s. Spinal taps." Scully was not willing to lose this battle. She wanted to change into dry clothes, or at least move closer to the fire, but she could not back off now. "You're shivering, Scully," Mulder said. Mulder, who was arguing about whether or not he would undress, had not bothered to put his shirt back on. "I'm not going to molest you," Scully assured him. "This is just something we have to do for health reasons." "Scully, you've got to get out of those wet clothes," Mulder said. It wasn't a joke despite the context. "As soon as we get this over with," Scully said. "Now take off your pants." "Who's stubborn now?" Mulder asked. "You're freezing to death here but you won't do anything about it. Go change your clothes. For health reasons. Or do you want me to help you?" Scully did one of her little gasps, but she backed off at once. She hurried into the bathroom, hoping she'd escaped before Mulder could see her blush. How many times had she imagined Mulder undressing her? More than once. More than twice. Mulder undressing her slowly and lovingly... Mulder ripping her clothes off in a frenzy of passion... Mulder overwhelming her with his size and strength, forcibly stripping her naked... Mulder attending her during some Harlequin-romance type illness, gently removing her clothing to care for her... Strip poker with Mulder... In the bathroom she removed her sodden ski clothes and rubbed herself dry with a towel. She put on the sleepwear she'd bought especially to wear on road trips with Mulder. She'd given up on that corny facial masque, but this nightgown just screamed, "Abstinence!" No wonder Allison had understood the significance of this garment immediately. It was warm but not comfortable. The stiff lacy trim poked into her chin. It smelled funny, even after she'd run it through the washer. But as Scully went back to resume her confrontation with Mulder, it felt like armor. This nightgown would protect Mulder from her inappropriate yearning. Scully hung her outerwear by the fire to dry. Mulder was still sitting by the table. He was studying the tiny tick. "Okay," Scully said brightly. "I took off my clothes. For health reasons. Your turn." No matter how many times Scully used the phrase "for health reasons," Mulder continued to sense an undercurrent of sexual tension. "We really need to talk," Mulder said. "About us, about what happened in Kansas..." What happened in Kansas. Mulder couldn't even make himself name the act, Scully thought. We made love, Mulder. You felt my need and you gave me what I asked for. And now you're afraid I will ask that of you again. Don't worry, Mulder, I would not use you that way a second time. And I'm the only one who should feel shame about the first time. "Yes, we do," Scully said. "We definitely need to talk. But first let's get this over with. I know you don't want to. I'll make it as quick and painless as I can." Mulder stood up, and Scully reached to unbutton his pants. Reacting instantly, Mulder grabbed her wrists, startling her with the speed and force of his grip. "Mulder!" she said. "Did I hurt you?" he asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But you have to stop this. You're not going to check me for anything. I'm not going to take off my pants. Got it?" He let go of her hands, took his shirt from the back of the chair, and walked back to the bed. The small cabin didn't give either of them a place to retreat. Scully followed him but sat down on the other bed. "I understand," she said shakily. "I understand why you don't trust me. But I swear, Mulder, this isn't about sex. This is for--" "Health reasons," Mulder interrupted her. "Yes indeed, this is for health reasons." He was turning away from her again. "You don't believe me," she said. "I made one mistake and you won't let me live it down. I know I hurt you. Don't you think I hurt myself too?" She was grimly determined not to cry, but her voice was going up and down. "And now you're going to let yourself get sick and infected because you don't think I can inspect you for ticks without making it into something sexual." "Scully, I can't do this. I can't be what you want me to be," he said in a monotone. "I know, Mulder, I know. And I don't want anything from you. Just take off your pants and lie down," she said. No matter how much Mulder resented her for using him, he would have to let her do this. She was not going to let him get Lyme disease. "Aren't you listening to me? I won't play this game anymore. I'm not your pet eunuch," he said bitterly. "What?" Scully squeaked. "Mulder the Wonder Eunuch. You can do anything you want to him. You can climb in his bed and ride him till he sees stars, and then you can throw him away. Because Mulder the Wonder Eunuch is disposable!" "Mulder?" Scully said, looking utterly bewildered. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Mulder said. "Scully, I understand what happened. You hopped into bed with me and then you had second thoughts. Maybe I didn't measure up to your expectations, but goddamn it, Scully, you didn't seem too disappointed at the time. I think we were good, but fine, you don't. Or you did, but then you got to thinking." "Mulder?" she squeaked again. "I thought we were good." "Terrific. You thought we were good, but it just wasn't worth it. You got that phone call from Skinner, and you started thinking about your career again. Or maybe you started thinking about Skinner..." The thought hit Mulder like the stab of ice cream on a loose filling. Skinner. Everything went to hell after Skinner called. "Mulder, I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." Shit, she thought. She was crying. Federal agents do not cry. "Why won't you take off your pants?" She'd never been more confused. Only one thought remained clear--Mulder had to take off his pants. Scully was crying. Why was Scully crying, goddamn it. He should be crying, Mulder thought. "You want me to take off my pants? You got it!" Mulder shouted. He pulled off his jeans and kicked them to the side and tossed his socks on the floor. He pulled off his boxers, twirled them around his finger, and sent them flying across the cabin. "There! Are you happy, Scully?" Scully nodded. "Mulder, lie down," she said. Mulder lay down on the bed. "Just let me know when you want me to roll over and play dead," he said. Scully was still sniffling, but Mulder was feeling relief. Maybe because he'd finally had his say, or perhaps he'd just needed to yell like that. Anyway, however bad this tick inspection turned out to be, they would finally get it over with. Scully took a bath towel from the empty bed and placed it across him. Then she left him--walked clear across the cabin to rummage through an equipment bag. "Scully, just do it already," Mulder said impatiently. "What are you looking for?" "I'll need forceps," she said. "And a magnifying lens." "Is that what you told Ed Jerse?" Mulder asked. "No wonder he tried to stuff you in the furnace." "Shut up, Mulder," she said. She had the miner's lamp on her head, a pair of magnifying loupes over her eyes, and a set of tweezers in her hand. She had pulled herself together to deal with the task at hand. If Mulder would keep quiet she could get it done. She started down by his feet. "Here's one," she said. It was right on his ankle. "Get it off me," Mulder said urgently. "I got it, Mulder, it's off." She dropped the tick in a specimen jar. Poor Mulder. He could face Lyme disease with indifference, but he couldn't disguise his antipathy to the arachnid that carried it. Scully finished checking his legs and feet without finding another bug. She pushed the towel aside and began her inspection of--down there. She thought for a second about slipping on some gloves, but it wasn't practical. Checking for ticks required maximum tactile input. "Scully, tell me if you find one," Mulder said. This was pathetic, he thought, but if it wasn't for the threat of those disgusting creatures, this would be a rare treat. "Nothing so far," Scully said, as she combed and searched, lifting and manipulating as needed. She was earnestly trying to keep the manipulation to a minimum, but Mulder was responding anatomically. She would use her med school training to allay the distress this must be causing him. "Nothing to be embarrassed about, Mulder," she said crisply, "just a normal physiological reaction. The autonomic nervous system causes a reflexive response to stimulation, even when the stimulation is applied inadvertently." "I'm not embarrassed, Scully. It's not the first time you made me hard," he said. She was not going to remind him that he'd thrown a major-league tantrum before agreeing to remove his pants. If talking tough helped him endure this ordeal, she was all for it. Anyway, she was almost done. She draped the towel over his middle again. "Roll over and play dead," she said. "I'll roll over, but I'm done playing dead," Mulder said. "Didn't you hear me before?" Oddly, Scully had listened to Mulder's tirade without comprehension. She'd heard his anger, but she already knew he was angry. And he didn't seem to be angry that she'd coerced him into sleeping with her. He was accusing her of changing her mind, which she hadn't done. And then he'd called her a castrating bitch, but not in those words. It was something about her treating him like a eunuch. "You're going to have to run it by me again, without the metaphors," Scully said. "You lost me right after--oh! Hold still." She'd found one more. Face down was good, Mulder thought. Instead of trying to look nonchalant, he could grimace into the mattress. "It's off," Scully said. "You can get dressed." Oops, shouldn't have said that, Scully thought. If I wanted him to put his clothes on, I should have ordered him *not* to get dressed. "I'm quite comfortable the way I am," Mulder said. He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as the words were out. "No, strike that. I am getting dressed." He found his jeans on the floor, but what the hell had he done with the boxer shorts? He pulled on the jeans and zipped up them very, very carefully. end 6/17 Backtracking 7/17 Disclaimer, etc., with part 1 Mulder succeeded in closing his fly without mutilating himself and he gave the jeans a few tugs to adjust them. He didn't bother putting on a shirt. "Mulder, I don't understand something. If you can forgive me for tricking you, and you said yourself, you thought we were good... Well, what are you so angry about?" Scully was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the hideous, stiff, frilly nightgown enveloping her like a tent. "I didn't make the cut," Mulder said. "That's why I'm angry. And you didn't even give me the pep talk about keeping my grades up and trying again next year." But he would be back, and he wouldn't wait a year, either. "You made the team, Mulder," Scully said. "but you didn't want to sit at the training table." The next morning, after Scully had faxed the report to Skinner, she'd gone into the coffee shop and taken a table. Mulder had walked in later, bleary and grouchy, ordered something to go and taken it back to the room. "Like a bad joke. You didn't respect me in the morning." "I was afraid to go to sleep that night. I knew if I closed my eyes you'd be gone. And that's what happened, Scully." "Skinner called. I told you that, Mulder," she said. "Yeah. Skinner called, asked you what you were doing in my room. That got you to thinking, didn't it? Made you ask yourself the same question," Mulder said. "I learned something that morning: don't tell Skinner more than he needs to know. I should have never mentioned the cow," Scully said. If she had just said, "Sir?" in that way of hers, Skinner would have backed down. "The cow? Who cares about the cow?" A cow falling through the roof was a singular event, but no more singular than sleeping with Scully. Once in a lifetime for both. "I told him your room had been destroyed by the falling cow," Scully said. "First he said he looked forward to reading my complete report when we got back. Then he changed his mind and told me to fax it from the field office. Then he said that the motel probably had a fax machine, and he wanted to see my report in an hour." "Why didn't you tell me?" Mulder asked. "I thought you were running away from me." "I took care of it," Scully said. "I wasn't going to wake you up just to tell you we were in trouble again." "Why didn't you tell me later?" Mulder asked. The rest of that day had been one of the most painful in his life. "Scully, I was devastated. Couldn't you tell?" "Of course I could tell. You were ashamed. You let me push you into something that just wasn't right for you. You felt you'd been used, and you couldn't trust me anymore. You couldn't even look me in the eye." Scully had tried to retain a sense of proportion. She was mourning for the love that she would never have, and for the friendship she had lost through her own treachery. But she had to move on. She had to leave the disaster behind and do everything in her power to rebuild the partnership. "But, Scully," Mulder said. "That's so stupid." "And you were brilliant to conclude that me getting out of bed meant it was over between us?" Scully asked. "You ditched me, Scully." That's how it had felt, but now that the details were emerging he had to agree that he'd been an ass. "Mulder, I am sorry that it happened the way it did. I really didn't give you a choice, and that isn't right," Scully said. That bothered her more than anything; it should have been a mutual decision. "A choice about getting ditched?" Mulder asked. "A choice about getting laid!" She jumped off the bed and gave her ugly nightgown a few tugs. Flannel was supposed to be soft but this thing had a stiff surface, as if someone had starched it. "I think I can reassure you on that point, Scully. I didn't realize you weren't giving me a choice. What were you going to do to me if I refused?" Mulder asked. "You wouldn't refuse, Mulder, that's what I'm saying. You couldn't have refused," she said. "Mind control, Scully? Drugs? Of course I could have refused," Mulder said. "Don't you remember? You said something about how there was plenty of room for two in the bed, and I said, Sure, why don't you join me? You would have never backed down from that," Scully said. The nightgown was really driving her crazy. She'd used fabric softener, too. Maybe she was allergic to cheap flannel. "I could have said no," Mulder said, "and I didn't have to invite myself in to begin with. But why wouldn't you have breakfast with me? Uh, Scully, are you okay?" "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, but she was plucking at that thing she was wearing. Mulder had never seen anything quite like it. "Scully, we're both idiots," Mulder said. "Take that off." Scully laughed. "We are both idiots," she agreed. "We were both so ready to be rejected that we couldn't even wait for it to happen." "Yeah, that too," Mulder said. "Let me help you with that." He grabbed a couple of handfuls of the flannel tent-gown and started to pull it up. "Mulder! Stop it," Scully said. "We are not ready for this!" They certainly weren't, she thought. Mulder was a bright guy, maybe even a genius, but when it came to relationships, he was a slow learner. And she was nothing to brag about either. "Scully, the ticks! You were carrying wood too," Mulder said. "You have to get that off." "Mulder, I was in contact with that wood for less than a minute. I'm sure I didn't get any ticks," she said. "But you're squirming and scratching," Mulder said. "I don't want you to get sick." "It's this stupid nightgown," Scully explained. "That's all it is." "This will take five minutes. Just let me check," Mulder said reasonably. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mulder. Didn't we just agree that there's hope for us yet? You, me, together, et cetera, et cetera?" Scully asked. "As a matter of fact, I think we did. All the more reason for you to lose that bold fashion statement you're wearing," Mulder said. "To the contrary," Scully said. "It's too soon. I'll take the flashlight into the bathroom and check myself over, just to make you feel better." "Tell you what," Mulder offered. "If you'll just demonstrate how you're planning to inspect your own backside, I'll go along with it." "This is insane," Scully said. "I don't have any ticks anyway." "We're not going to risk it," Mulder said. "Remember? Fever, joint pain, weakness, confusion, spinal taps--what else were you telling me?" "No, that's only if it goes untreated. If you catch it early all you need is a week or two on antibiotics," Scully said. Mulder gave her a look of resentment, anger, and betrayal. Had she really made him bare himself just to pay him back for flashing her earlier? "I wasn't informed of that treatment option," he said coldly. "Obviously the most direct and expedient approach, when it is available, is to remove the ticks before infection can occur," Scully said. He could glare all he wanted; she had chosen the safest approach for him. "Or else you can take a couple of pills," Mulder said. If Scully hadn't been trying to humiliate him, she'd at least been indifferent to his feelings. "The antibiotics aren't always effective, and the diagnostic tests for Lyme disease are not entirely reliable," Scully said. "You can finish a course of antibiotics, appear to be free of the disease, and then develop complications later on." Mulder's glare softened as he looked at her. He understood. Scully hadn't been trying to embarrass or punish him. She'd used her best medical judgment for him, but she wasn't able to do that for herself. "Scully, I think you can see which way this is going," he said gently. "I know what you're getting at. You think that if removing the ticks was the best treatment for you, it would also be the best for me," Scully said. "Ordinarily that would be true." The cabin seemed so small now, and Mulder seemed to be filling at least half of it. Scully was backing away from him, imperceptibly, she hoped. The cabin seemed so small, and yet the bathroom seemed so far away. The bathroom, with that door, with that latch you could lock. "Ordinarily, but not in your case?" Mulder asked. Scully's deer-in-the-headlights look. Mulder shoved aside his pity. He had a job to do. "Damn it, Mulder, I can't go through with it! Not with you, not right after we decided we might be able to work this out," Scully said. She could feel waves of heat radiating from her chest and feel the pressure building in her head. "I let you check me, Scully. And lived to tell the tale," Mulder said. He didn't expect her to enjoy the situation, but she would have to deal with it. It wasn't as if he'd never seen her naked, but he knew it would only make matters worse if he reminded her of that fact. "That's you, Mulder." She knew she sounded like an idiot. Like a panic-stricken idiot. "You don't trust me," Mulder said. "You think I'm too immature, or too much of an opportunist, to keep this from becoming something sexual." He sounded serious and a little edgy. "Of course I trust you, Mulder. This is no reflection on you at all," Scully explained. To Scully her logic was unassailable; she just had to make Mulder understand why she was right. "You'd rather get sick than allow me to do this," Mulder said. "That isn't trust, Scully." He sounded dejected--at least he hoped he did. "I trust you with my life!" Scully told him earnestly. "Mulder!" Was he putting her on? He looked as if he might cry. "That's what you say," Mulder said. "That's not what that nightgown says." "Mulder." This wasn't going well, Scully realized. The most single-minded man in the world had declared war on her sleepwear. "I'll give you a hand," Mulder said, grabbing the hem of the oversized nightgown. "Stop it, Mulder," Scully said, but she knew it was like trying to tell Captain Ahab to forget about that whale and get on with his life. "I'll do it myself." She drew her arms back through the sleeves. Then she pulled the stiff, smelly, offensive garment off over her head and flung it at him. Her bravado fled as the cool air hit her skin. Again she felt herself flush with embarrassment and felt her throat constrict so that she had to force out each breath. "Let's go, Mulder," she said hoarsely, preceding him back from the center of the room to the bed. "Let's get this over with." I can't do this, Mulder thought. He felt impossibly awkward, and Scully looked impossibly beautiful, brassy, and vulnerable. But he had to do it. He followed her over to the bed. "Mulder, hand me the towel, please," Scully commanded, and he complied. "Do you know how to remove a tick?" Yeah, I guess, probably, Mulder thought, shaking his head No. She sat on the bed with the towel wrapped around her and instructed him in the art of tick removal. He nodded dumbly when she had finished. "Okay, Mulder, get to work," Scully said, and she lay down on the bed. Mulder put the miner's lamp around his head; the lighting in the cabin was atrocious. Then he put on the magnifying loupes, which helped tremendously. They let him ignore the big picture and concentrate on each inch of skin. Scully hoped she sounded matter of fact, businesslike, but that's not how she felt. The towel gave her only the slightest feeling of security. Mulder swallowed. If he just concentrated on her skin, he told himself, he could do it. What was that, a freckle, a mole? No. It was moving. "Scully," he whispered. God, how he hated bugs. "Mulder..." Her voice was shaky. "Please get it off me." He brought the forceps up to grab the abominable little arthropod, and fortunately the touch of the steel was enough to brush it off Scully's leg and onto the floor. Mulder heaved a huge sigh. One down, but how many to go? There was a lot of Scully left to cover. "Scully," he said. "Tell me about health reasons." "The first sign of Lyme disease is often the bull's eye rash, seen where the bite occurred. Other early symptoms suggest the flu, like a headache or overall achiness." Scully tried to find comfort in the familiar role of lecturer. "Uh-huh," Mulder murmured. Somehow her voice made him feel steadier. He was moving his hand up her leg, using his fingertips as well as his eyes to search for ticks. "Later symptoms include two or more rashes, away from the site where the bite occurred, migrating joint pain, and neck pain and stiffness." She tried to ignore what she was feeling and concentrate on her presentation. "Scully, maybe if you'd just bend you knees here, yeah, like that," Mulder said. Mulder knew she was cooperating, but he could hear her gasp as he got her to spread her legs a little. He was just trying to see what he was doing. "Scully, tell me the bad stuff." "Other symptoms of the early disseminated phase can include facial paralysis and tingling or numbness in the hands or feet," Scully whispered. "Changes in vision, fever of a hundred to a hundred and two degrees, cardiac arryhythmias, and severe fatigue." "Damn," Mulder whispered to himself. There was another one. "Keep talking, Scully," he said. "Late-stage symptoms would be arthritis of one or two large joints, and severe, disabling neurological problems. Confusion, memory loss, dizziness. Numbness in the arms and legs." She could do this, she realized. They would get through it. Mulder grimaced as he used the forceps to remove the tick and drop it in the jar. As Mulder continued to check her groin, Scully continued her recitation. "Early treatment of Lyme disease almost always results in a cure," she said. "Treatment begun later than three weeks after infection is usually successful as well, but the outcome becomes more uncertain the longer treatment is delayed." Mulder replaced the towel across Scully's waist and exposed her breasts. "The relevant serological tests are the ELISA and the Western-blot. Blood tests are considered unreliable in the first month after infection, and diagnosis should be made on the basis of symptoms and evidence of a tick bite." Her words were barely audible. "Scully, put your arms over your head," Mulder said quietly. "No test is one hundred percent accurate. The PCR, or polymerase chain reaction test, is performed on cerebrospinal fluid or fluid aspirated from an affected joint," Scully said, raising her arms. "This test will usually detect the presence of the Borrelia burgdorferi, the bacterium associated with Lyme disease." "Almost done, Scully, we're almost done. I need you to turn over," Mulder said. "Doxycycline or Amoxicillin are the drugs of choice, given orally," Scully said into the mattress. "Okay," said Mulder. "Just about done." "For more severe symptoms, when disease is more advanced, ceftriaxone may be preferred, given intravenously," she continued huskily. "Mulder, do you want the doses?" "No," he said. "We're done." He placed the towel across her once more. "The towel helps, doesn't it?" Scully remarked, grabbing the towel around her as she sat up on the bed. Her voice was finally above a whisper. Mulder reached to pull something out of his duffel bag. A clean white T-shirt. "Thanks," she said as he handed her the shirt. She pulled it on over her head. Scully reflected that this shirt was larger than the usual Mulder tee. She preferred to see him in those body-hugging shirts that showed off his toned torso. This shirt was really better for her. "Unless you'd be happier back in that Victoria's nightmare original," Mulder said, grinning at her. Without the confinement of the cabin and the isolation of the woods, Scully and Mulder might still be caught in their stereotyped dance, their never-ending pas-de-deux of near-and-fear. An air-borne bovine had sparked their initial encounter, but somehow they'd rallied with enough neurosis and self-doubt to rewind themselves back to the beginning of their endless loop of defense and denial. Now the Ixodes tick had forced them together again. A second chance. After all the tension and confrontation of the last two hours, sleep would not come easily. It was going to be a long night. end 7/17 Backtracking 8/17 Disclaimer, etc., with part 1 Scully longed for a television. She'd been in and out of more outfits that day than a new Barbie on Christmas morning. She'd seen all of Mulder there was to see without the use of fiber optics, and she'd shown him as much too. This wasn't her maiden voyage, but she could feel those watertight compartments collapsing into one another. Friend, partner, doctor, lover... What they needed now was to let the dust settle while they figured out their new equilibrium. What they needed was a TV. "Do you have a hairbrush?" Mulder asked. "Of course," she said, "but why?" "Your head," he said. "I didn't check your scalp. Don't worry, you'll like this part." He smiled confidently. Scully retrieved her hairbrush and started to put it to use, but Mulder motioned her over to the bed. "Come on, Scully, be a sport," he said, and she sat on the edge of the bed and gave him the hairbrush. Mulder put the brush down and started with his fingers, and as he had promised, the sensation of fingertips on scalp was mesmerizing and relaxing. "I could get used to this," Scully said. "It's the primate in you," Mulder said. "We're pre-programmed to respond to grooming activity." Using the hairbrush, Mulder started to part her hair into sections, letting him check more thoroughly. "You're showing some real talent here," Scully told him. "Maybe you missed your calling." "Mr. Fox of the Ritz," Mulder said. "But you couldn't afford me, and I'm booked solid for the next two years." "Tell me, Mr. Fox," Scully said. "What's Hillary really like? And that Paltrow woman, isn't she getting a little uppity?" "Hey, Scully, want to try something?" Mulder was satisfied that Scully was tick-free, but she was practically purring under his touch, and he had an idea that she might just go along with. "Seems your sister-in-law slipped us a little care package." "She did?" Scully asked. Allison had thought that the harsh Minnesota weather might prove too rough for her citified visitors, and she'd packed them some basic skin care items. She'd intended for Scully to discover her gift, but Mulder had found it instead. Because she fully understood how dense the two agents were, Allison had even provided some instructions: "Scented body oils. Warm in hands and apply to skin. Feels great. Good luck!" "How does that sound, Scully?" Mulder asked. "Want to try it?" "Sure," said Scully, but when she reached to take the little bottle from him, he pulled it away. "Let me do it," he said. "Let me give you a massage." "Mulder... I don't think so," she answered. She and Mulder had taken some important steps that night, but they'd have to proceed with caution. A massage would be too risky. "Come on, Scully. I've behaved honorably, haven't I? I know you must be stiff from skiing. This will be good. It will help you let go of the tension." "I see," she asked, smiling at him. "This is for health reasons." "No," he said. "This is to feel good. Any benefit to your health is purely incidental." Massage. Mulder. Hands. Skin. Scully tried to consider all the implications, but her thoughts spiraled into knots. Mulder touching her... that would be nice. But where would it lead? Wouldn't Mulder want more? He'd be disappointed, wouldn't he, if this was just a massage? Or wouldn't she? When she felt his caresses, wouldn't she want more herself? Scully wanted them to proceed with caution. But she did want them to proceed, she reminded herself. And this was progress. "Mulder?" she said. Mulder studied her face for clues. Nothing is ever simple for us, he thought. I want to give her a backrub, but she's going to have to convene an ethics committee before she decides. "What?" he answered. "Just a massage?" she asked. "Just a massage," he assured her. "Even if you beg for more." "Because it's been brought to my attention that I treat you like a eunuch," Scully continued. "And I don't want you to think I'm a tease. We are two responsible adults--" "Shut up, Scully." He met her eyes as she gaped at him. "I don't think you're a tease. You are nuts, though." "That's a great line, Mulder, have you had much luck with it?" He was infuriating, really, she thought. After all these months of pain and misunderstanding, of course she wanted everything spelled out between them. "And they call *me* Spooky," he said. "Here's the way it's going to be. Tonight I will rub your back with scented unguents. Tomorrow I will seduce you. Any questions?" They were still sitting on the bed. Mulder's bare chest was so familiar to her. She knew where to auscultate each lobe of his lungs. The burns were long gone, but she knew exactly where she'd placed the paddles to shock his stalled heart back into a rhythm. She knew too, from her one experience, where teeth and tongue would send him into shivers. "Mulder, are you going to spend the night in those jeans?" Scully asked. His trousered leg was harsh against her bare one. Boxers without jeans were one thing, but jeans without boxers? "Are you asking me to slip into something more comfortable?" Mulder asked. It was the same ironic tone he used so often, and not just with her, but it sounded warmer now. "That depends," Scully said. "Did you pack those plaid pajama bottoms? You know, the soft ones." "You like those, huh?" Mulder asked. "You never told me that." Mulder had started wearing pajamas a few months ago. Probably a sign of impending senility, he thought. What was next? Bifocals? Bermuda shorts? The fact was, though, they were damn comfortable. They'd feel a lot better than this stiff, thick-seamed denim. He found the requested pants from among his clothes and took a gray T-shirt to go with them. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm going to change privately." While Mulder was in the bathroom, Scully looked for something to put on herself. Mulder's shirt was great, but it only went so far. She donned a pair of Allison's textured cotton long johns and got into bed to wait for Mulder. He came out of the bathroom dressed just the way she'd wanted. She turned onto her stomach and Mulder tucked the blankets around her waist. He started to pull the T-shirt up over her back when she turned around again and stopped him. "Mulder, are you sure I'm not using you?" she asked. "Roll over, Spooky," he said. "Prepare yourself for indulgence and relaxation." He warmed the scented oil in his hands. With her back to Mulder, Scully pulled Mulder's T-shirt off over her head and stowed it under her pillow, then lay face down on the bed. "Are you comfortable?" Mulder asked, adjusting the blankets. His voice held no seductive tone or sensual teasing. Scully could feel herself relax and the massage had not even begun. "Oh, yes," she said, but when Mulder moved closer to her on the bed, so that his hip pressed against hers, she felt her throat constricting. Her breathing became forced and deliberate and her skin flushed with heat. She had to time her breathing; inhale to the count of seven, and hold it for seven, now blow it out (five-six-seven). But the reaction was one of desire as well as anxiety. Mulder placed both of his palms on Scully's shoulder blades and applied a firm pressure. His hands remained still as Scully's skin adjusted to the warmth of his touch. At first, Scully was overwhelmed by the sensations--it was as if the walls of the cabin were closing in on her. But as Mulder's hands remained stationary she felt herself settling down. Once Mulder's treatment began, his hands never broke contact with Scully's skin. His left hand moved to the center of her back where he kneaded and pressed against the tension that gripped against her spine. On her neck, his right hand stroked up and down in an oblong pattern that seemed to draw out and dissipate the tight ache. Sometimes Mulder's hands would switch tasks, but the contact remained and Scully felt the knots loosen as her muscles ribboned into a relaxed harmony. As Mulder felt Scully's muscles unclench, he changed to a gentler touch. Both hands began to circle on Scully's back. The soothing oil and Mulder's fantastic hands were sending her into a stupor. Her back was humming with the pleasure of it, and she was drifting into sleep. She wanted to thank him, tell him, that was fine, he could stop now. But she didn't want to move, didn't really want him to stop. If only she could stay awake to enjoy this... Out for the count, Mulder thought. He continued his gentle circles for a few more minutes and then he brought the sheet and blanket up over Scully's bare shoulders. He'd spent the last several months frustrated and bewildered because he thought Scully had rejected him, but very little of his discomfort was sexual. Sexual tension was dealt with easily enough, frankly, and if he'd wanted to outsource the task there were plenty of volunteers. The comfort he'd longed for was physical, yes, but only partly sexual. It was enough for him that Scully had acknowledged the urges they stirred in one another. Enough for tonight, at least. He pulled back the covers and got into the second bed. =================================================================== For the second time that evening, Mulder was awakened by the chilly air. The cabin was colder than ever. Wood, Mulder thought. Got to go out and get more firewood. He forced himself to get out of bed. Scully was still asleep, curled up like a hedgehog under her quilted blanket. He took the covers from his own bed and placed them over her. "Mulder?" Scully said sleepily. "Go back to sleep," he whispered. "I'm just going to collect more wood." "'s freezing," she mumbled. "I'll get the fire going again," he promised. "No. Don't go out. 's freezing." "I know, Scully, that's why I have to get more wood," he explained patiently. He loosened the duffel bag to find something to put on over his pajamas. She was alert by this time, but she felt more comfortable pretending to be half asleep "Warm in here. Plenty of room," she murmured. She was on her side near the edge of the bed. "Looks cozy," Mulder said. "Be warmer if you were in here." "You're not giving me much choice," he said, remembering her scruples about the first time he'd climbed into bed with her. "No choice at all," she said. Trying to hide his eagerness, Mulder walked around the bed to slip in on the other side. Mulder saw that Scully was wearing his T-shirt again. That was good--sort of. Mulder got under the covers. He lay on his side, to avoid crowding in on Scully's space. She was off the pillow entirely, so he pulled it over to use himself. Mulder tried to get comfortable without squirming. There really wasn't enough room. He started to reposition himself, inadvertently bringing his arm against Scully's back. "Sorry," he whispered. Scully sighed, stretched, and wriggled herself closer to him until her head was on the pillow and her back was against his chest. She reached back for his arm and pulled it over her shoulder as if it were another blanket. This last maneuver finally convinced Mulder that it would be all right to make himself comfortable. He snaked his right arm under Scully's neck and pillow. He encircled her in his arms. His left hand was within inches of Scully's left breast. And his right hand would not have to more very far either. Scully was not surprised when she felt Mulder's hands graze her breasts. To her great satisfaction, he did not apologize. Scully settled back into Mulder's embrace. His right hand clasped her upper arm and his left hand lay casually across her hip. Comfort and fatigue were greater than arousal for both partners, and they slept. end of 8/17 Backtracking 9/17 Disclaimer, etc., with part 1 To pee or not to pee. Scully had been debating with herself, in between naps, for the last fifteen minutes, but at last she had no other option than to drag herself from the warm bed across the cold floor to the freezing bathroom. Mulder had twisted the blankets into a jumble when she returned, and she straightened them out enough to get him properly covered, but she did not get back in the bed. She dressed and left the cabin to collect some firewood. Her watch showed 2:30, but outside it was early dawn. The cold was bracing and energizing as she gathered up some fallen branches. Stopping by her abandoned skis, she tried to pry out her ski boots, but the bindings were still frozen. She put the skis into the rack, then took two trips to bring the wood into the cabin. Scully got a fire started and the cabin warmed up quickly. She would have to wake Mulder soon. While skiing back from the waterfall the night before, she'd met someone who was also studying the area around Temperance River, an archeologist from the University of Minnesota. He had agreed to drop by the next morning. Nevertheless she took a few minutes to watch Mulder sleep. For the first time she could behold him in his tousle-haired, stubble-faced glory and bask in the sight. She'd been privileged to see him like this before, but regret and yearning always made the pleasure bittersweet. Scully knew exactly how she wanted to wake Mulder. The scented oils were still on the floor next to the bed. She had fallen asleep last night with Mulder's palms and fingers rubbing the soothing lotion into her skin. Payback time. She poured a cup of hot water from the kettle and used it to warm up the oil. Mulder lay face down on the bed. The cabin was toasty now, and he had tossed off his covers. Scully sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped her hands under his shirt. His skin was comfortably warm, so she started to pull his shirt up to remove it. He turned over for her and pulled the shirt off over his head. "Hey," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. "Get back in here." "Nope," she told him. "You're going to get what's coming to you." He grabbed her arms, trying to pull her into the bed. "Stop that, Mulder! Roll over." "Ooh! Are you going to spank me?" Mulder asked, flopping onto his belly. "I've spent the last six years covering your ass, and now you want me to paddle you?" Scully asked. "It's not my number one request," Mulder said, "but I'd settle." "I'll keep it in mind," Scully said. She poured some of the oil onto her palms and started to rub firm circles over his upper back. "Free weights?" she asked him, willing to stroke his vanity as she stroked his body. "Nautilus." He sounded very pleased. Working the dorsal muscles from this position was awkward and tiring. Scully knew she could do a better job if she could get closer. Leaning on Mulder for support, she scrambled on top of him, kneeling across his lower back. "Yee-haw!" Mulder yipped. Scully angled forward and used her thumbs to soothe and press the muscles of Mulder's neck. She frowned with concentration, using slow, even pressure to make him relax. A low groaning noise conveyed Mulder's appreciation. Scully finished with the splenius muscles and briefly moved up Mulder's neck to massage his scalp gently. Mulder sighed, deeply contented. Scully wondered if she could make him fall asleep, as he had done to her the night before. Mulder had promised to rub her back last night; today he was planning to seduce her. Maybe she could beat him to it. She moved down to his left shoulder. In some ways, Scully thought, she knew Mulder's body so well. She knew his medical history, his blood type, his weight, his body surface area--she could calculate his drug doses in her head. She knew what size he wore, in everything. More than once their activities in the field had necessitated an emergency trip to a local Wal-Mart. Scully was as adept at pulling together an acceptable Mulder-ensemble as Mulder was at changing his clothes in a moving car. She giggled a little. Mulder had performed the same service for her, of course. And she still didn't believe the leopardskin-print bra was the only one in her size. "What are you thinking?" Mulder asked. The strong, small hands on his back were sublime, but a night spent wrapped around Scully and dreaming about her had reduced his tolerance for deferring the other pleasures she could bring him. "You have nice arms," she said. Seduce Mulder--could she do it? Probably, but it would be devastating if she started to move in on him and he wasn't into it. She didn't know if she could weather that kind of rejection, or if the relationship could. Dana Scully had never seduced anyone in her life. Dana Scully was a lousy lay--Jack Willis had told her that. Of course that was when they were breaking up, when he was angry and hurt, but she had every reason to believe him. Mulder was thinking about seduction too. He had told Scully he was going to seduce her today, and here she was in the bed with him. That had to qualify as consent. Scully was paying a lot of attention to his right arm, bunching and pressing his deltoid muscle. It was pleasant enough, but there had to be a way to re-direct her efforts to certain other areas. Yet as Scully continued to work on his shoulder he found that he really didn't want her to stop. She used both hands to massage him in a leap-frog motion, and the warmth and pressure of her hands spread the relaxation from his shoulder down his triceps to his forearm and finally to his hand and fingers. Scully returned her hands to Mulder's left shoulder, then worked her way across his back, kneading the muscles forcefully and skimming over the bony processes of his vertebrae. She followed the ridge of his scapula to land on his deltoid, where she began to gather and spread the meaty muscle of his right shoulder as she had the left. Scully was trying to exorcise her self-doubt. Why was she so focused on rejection? Why couldn't she enjoy the moment and let it lead where it would? Trust your instincts, Dana. I don't know if I can, she answered herself. It's been a long time since I touched a man for pleasure. I'm just touching his arm, and it's making me hot! Be honest, Dana. You're not just touching his arm, you're also straddling his butt. Oh. Yeah. Mulder was planning his seduction, or more accurately, he was considering whether it would be wise to attempt one. If Scully had any clue what she was doing to him, she'd probably stop. She'd have to call in the ethics committee again. They had touched so much in a few short hours. So much after so little. He was definitely ready and willing for more. Scully moved her attention to the muscles along Mulder's spine. She worked this area as she had his arms, with long strokes by one hand and then the other. The sacral area called for a circular pattern--first Scully used her finger tips and then she retraced the pathway with the heels of her hands. Tension was moving throughout Mulder's body now, but it certainly was not being reduced. Scully's voice squeaked at first when she tried to talk. "Hold on, Mulder. I need some more oil." She leaned over to get to the bottle, but Mulder twisted beneath her, grabbing her arms so he wouldn't throw her off the bed. He was on his back, and Scully, blushing and startled, still straddled his hips. "Be gentle with me, Scully," Mulder told his shocked partner. When she had recovered from her surprise, she aimed the massage at the safest area presented--the arms again. Scully began to smile as Mulder's expression clearly revealed his enjoyment. In Mulder's four decades on earth, his arms had never before received so much attention. If his brain and his hormones would just leave him alone, he'd probably fall blissfully asleep. Scully moved to the center of his chest and the massage paused. Mulder opened his eyes. Scully's smile had turned suspiciously mischievous. "Mulder, you must be really sore right here." The hands were in motion again and working on his pectorals. Oh, my God! Scully was no longer trying to relax Mulder or relieve his stiffness. Far from it. Breath was coming faster and deeper for both of them. There was no reason to hold back, nothing left to hide. Scully felt not only pleasure but relief. Like a drink of cool water on a parched throat, or finally getting to scratch that itch. Mulder was hers. Body contact, so essential, so desired, was now permissible. Her hands moved from his pecs to his delts, then back to his chest. Then they traveled downward. External abdominal obliques. Scully closed her eyes, the better to appreciate the Braille message of his contours. Her hands moved with almost enough pressure to cause bruising. His abs, then back up his chest. And then lighter pressure, much lighter. Circles. Mulder twisted again without warning and had Scully on her back. Their gazes locked and the smile returned to Scully's lips, a wickedly playful smile. Her hands returned to his chest, lightly now, very lightly, her fingers teasing his nipples. Mulder's elbows stayed locked, but his arms were trembling. His breathing slowed into long inhalations ending with short, grunted expulsions of air. Mulder was undone. Touching... Scully... words were not even part of the thought process now. Scully controlled him completely. One action seemed possible that would level the field. He was hovering over Scully, and she was lying beneath him fully dressed. He lowered himself next to her and grabbed the hem of her sweater, a cable-knit acrylic. For a fraction of a second, Scully's mind focused on the pragmatic. He'll stretch it out! she thought Scully wriggled her way out of the sweater and tossed it onto the second bed. Mulder hands traveled to Scully's waist. He teased under her T-shirt, stroking and scratching lightly. Then he took two handfuls of T-shirt and tugged it over Scully's head. Her hands broke contact with Mulder's body for a moment to let the shirt pass. Mulder started to laugh. Not the reaction Scully had hoped for. "Scully, I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that I'm happy. And you're beautiful. And you're wearing that bra." That bra from Wal-Mart. That bra that proved, beyond all doubt, that he was crass and tasteless, with the sensibility of an adolescent. "I wear this bra a lot," Scully told him. "Usually with the black lace panties." While Mulder tried to formulate a response, Scully slid sideways so that she was on top of him again. She leaned forward and planted her palms solidly on the bed, just above Mulder's shoulders. "Scully?" he said. "Hm?" she queried. Her leopard-bra'd breasts grazed lightly along Mulder's chest. "Black lace panties. Show me." The panties didn't matter, but he wanted to get those pants off her. The oversized tweed ski pants she had borrowed from Allison. Scully's lips and tongue trailed along Mulder's chest, following the same route her hands had blazed. She nibbled on his neck, dozens of quick little nips. Her tongue flicked at his ear lobe, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck as she tasted her way down his neck and back to his chest. Mulder could not move, could not even think. If it weren't for the feel of Scully moving above him, he would have believed that time itself had frozen. Scully's clothing was rough against his skin. Her bra felt rough where it brushed against his bare chest, and her wool pants felt rough where they rubbed hard against him, even through his flannel pajamas. He didn't know if Scully was doing it on purpose, but she was gyrating against him. "S-s-s-s." Mulder wanted to say something, wanted to warn her. Passion and desire grew and fulminated within him, and he could not even say her name. "Mulder..." She abandoned his nipple so that she could answer him, and Mulder and his nipple felt desolate, bereft. "Do you want me to stop?" "N-n-n-n," Mulder stammered spastically, and as Scully's incisors resumed their gentle torture, and her shameless pelvic bones ground against him again, Mulder felt lust and longing explode until they were extinguished. Mulder shuddered when he came, uttering something guttural, voiceless, and throaty. Scully opened her eyes to Mulder's look of chagrin and disappointment. At last Mulder was able to speak. "Oh, shit," he said. Scully took a moment to get over her surprise. "I'm good!" she said at last. "I am g-o-o-o-o-d!" "You're taking this awfully well," Mulder said. "You are so cute. God, you're cute, Mulder. Do you have any idea how cute you are?" But Scully was not going to give him a chance to answer that question, because she could no longer refrain from nibbling on his lips. Nibbles did not satisfy her for long, and soon her mouth was pressed hard against his. Mulder returned her avid kisses. Leopardskin suits her after all, Mulder thought. She's a wildcat. He pulled Scully to him, encircling her with his arms, accepting her tongue against his. And then, when she was firmly in his grasp, he artfully flipped her. "You called me cute. I object to that patronizing characterization," Mulder said. Not only was he above her, he was actually pinning her, and pouting. "You don't understand, Mulder," Scully protested. "I loved it. I loved making you lose control." Mulder's unexpected orgasm had boosted Scully's confidence. Making Mulder come and sharing the bed with him were enough to carry her for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, if need be. "You loved that? You *are* spooky." He began to stroke her stomach, and then, as his hand cupped her left breast, he kissed her again. "Scully," he said when he broke from the kiss, "maybe you'd better get those pants off." It was a little late to worry about the pants, Scully thought. She'd have to invent a fictional mishap and then insist on replacing them. "We don't have much time," Scully said. "We have to get up now." Her watch still read 2:30, but daylight was streaming through the windows and she didn't know how long until her visitor would arrive. "Scully, aren't you hot in those pants?" Mulder asked. She laughed. "I thought so," Mulder said. "I'm going to help you." She gripped his wrists to stop him, but he still succeeded in undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. "Okay, okay," she said, pulling off the pants so that he wouldn't tear them. "But we still have to get going." "Scully... You're going to get what's coming to you." He had moved aside so that she could strip off her pants, but now he was on top of her again, with his knee in between her legs. "Mulder, really. There's no time." Don't make me spell it out, she pleaded silently. I am not like the women in your movies. She realized that their night in Kansas could have given Mulder a false picture. She had never in her life come like that. The surprise, the years of foreplay, and maybe some happy accident of anatomy had given her the fastest, easiest orgasm of her life. But that was like a triple play--once in a lifetime, if you were lucky. "That bra has to go," Mulder said. "My best friend said it was tasteless and tacky." He snapped it open one-handed. And I thought he picked it just for the leopard spots, Scully thought. Mulder's slow fingers were doing wonderful things to her, puckering her nipples and softening her brain. Mulder stared into Scully's eyes while he played with her nipples, and then his gaze shifted as he lowered his head to her breast. She felt gentle traction on her nipple as his soft, greedy mouth began to suck, and warm sensations jolted from her breast to her vulva. Scully's thighs clamped against Mulder's knee, and he took it as a good sign. He flicked his tongue against her nipple, twisting his neck in an effort to catch the look on her face as he did it. Mulder was trying hard to please her, Scully thought. It wasn't his fault she was so high-maintenance. Jack used to complain that she couldn't respond unless the room was dark, the phone was off the hook, and there was a towel spread out to protect the bed. Mulder lowered himself to lie down on his side to Scully's right. He brought his arm behind her neck and pulled her closer. Then he threw his right leg over hers. Mulder wanted to ask her to help him, to show him what she liked. He felt like a cluck. Scully had made him come in his pants like a kid, and now he was fumbling around like a kid. Scully felt an odd combination of controlled and contented. Mulder's arm across her back was such a sweet, friendly gesture, but his leg, which was wrapped around hers and forcing her legs apart, felt thrilling and a tiny bit menacing. She reached for him, turning on her side to face him. She leaned in to kiss him, leaned in close to feel him against her breasts. And when she felt Mulder's hand slide under the waistband of her panties, she forgot to warn him that she was high maintenance. It was Mulder who broke off the long, hard kiss and pulled Scully onto her back again. Scully looked at him questioningly, and he felt stupid again. "I want to see your face," he explained. He wanted to watch her expression as he slid his fingers against her clitoris. "We have to get up." Scully's tone conveyed a total lack of conviction. Mulder drew his hand up Scully's body, circling and caressing. Her breasts, down to her belly, her legs... Mulder's head was resting on top of her arm. Scully reached her other arm to stroke up his inner thigh and cup his balls in her hand, feeling their weight through the flannel. Then Mulder's hand was back in her pants, his fingers sliding past the patch of coarse hair to the slippery labia. Wet, warm, slick. Mulder used his fingertips to circle on Scully's clitoris, slow, firm circles. "Mulder." Long, soft syllables. Eyes half closed. He didn't answer. He was tonguing and sucking again on her left breast. His fingers moved up and down against her clit. Scully was undulating against the bed, against his fingers. Looking good, Mulder thought. One problem, though. Scully's hand by his balls was becoming less attentive, more careless. He really didn't want that hand there anymore. Unfortunately, Mulder had only two hands. With his left arm under Scully's neck, his left hand was in position to pull at Scully's upper arm. He tried it, but she resisted. Scully's brain had switched into hot-pants mode. When Mulder tried to pull her arm away, it took an emergency over-ride from her intellect to stop her from grabbing his testicles to maintain her position. Mulder immediately switched tactics. "Scully." He had to abandon the slick clitoris to move her hand from his crotch. "I just want to take care of you now." Scully's intellect took the opportunity to reassert itself. "Mulder, there's something you need to know. Something I should have explained last night." Scully knew her message would be less than convincing. She was lying in Mulder's arms wearing only her black cotton panties, her labial folds hot and slippery. Mulder recognized that the wildcat had been displaced by Dr. Scully, scientist. He passed her hand across her body to his left hand, and she laced her fingers into the fingers of his left hand. Mulder rubbed again at her right nipple and flicked his tongue along the folds of her ear. Then he answered her. "Okay, Scully, tell me your secret," he said. His hand was migrating south once more, but he was letting it enjoy the journey. "My sexual response--limited. Fussy. High maintenance." Sentences--couldn't. "That's fine, Scully. Don't respond," Mulder said. He was watching her face. "Mulder. Really." Scully didn't want him to stop, she just wanted to warn him that it wouldn't work. "Takes forever." Mulder was tasting her neck again, so there was a pause before he answered. "I've been known to last longer than a minute myself," he said. "Mulder, don't take this personally." Dr. Scully, scientist, had triumphed, unfortunately. "I'm not going to come. Women are not like men." "Really?" Smugness. Index and ring finger, back on her clitoris. Slow. Circles. She knew his confident smile. She could see his face even with her eyes closed. "Mulder. Mulder. Mulder. Oh my God!" Circles. Circlescirclescircles. She tore her hand from his grasp, because she had to kiss him, and she grabbed his head to bring him to her. She pushed her open mouth hard against Mulder's, and she could feel his teeth against her lips as she possessed him with her tongue. And still the two fingers were circling. And still she was coming. And then she grasped his hand to slow his rhythm, and collapsed back on his arm. Mulder hand increased its range, traveling down her soft-skinned thighs, up her belly, over her hip bone to squeeze her buttock. And Scully lay there, smiling. A very big smile that looked as if it might break into actual laughter. "Sorry, Scully," Mulder said even more smugly. "Maybe next time." end 9/17 Backtracking 10/17 Disclaimer, etc., with part 1 "I'm expecting company," Scully said. She and Mulder had finally sat down to breakfast. "Someone I met in the woods yesterday who knows this area inside out." "Scully, if the wolf's coming over, I'm going to hide in the cupboard," Mulder said. "Shame on you, shepherd boy," Scully laughed. "But it isn't the wolf." "Oh," Mulder said. "So it's back to business for us." "Mulder." She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. Still holding him with her gaze, she brought his hand to her mouth and gently kissed the back of his fingers. Then, without releasing his hand, she leaned forward and placed a small peck on his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for having breakfast with me." Mulder squeezed her hand. Maybe we'll make it, he thought. "Tell me about our guest," he said. "You know those snowmobile tracks? This is the snowmobiler. Brad Swenson. He's an archeologist studying this area," Scully said. "He's a post-doc fellow at the University of Minnesota, working with the Department of Natural Resources." "Well then, I'd better rustle up another cup of Taster's Choice," Mulder said. He went to the fireplace to move the kettle closer to the fire, then sat down again. "Scully, are you going to eat that?" he asked. Allison Scully always treated her houseguests to a big batch of her famous stuffed raisin-bread french toast. She'd sent along the left-overs for the camping trip. Dana had never had the heart to tell Allison how much she despised stuffed raisin-bread french toast. She'd excised and consumed a few raisin-free morsels, but most of the concoction remained on her plate. "Help yourself," she said. "Aren't you going to eat your cantaloupe?" "I don't usually eat the rind," he said, spearing a sticky bite of soggy toast. "But go ahead." "Hmph," she snorted, reaching for his melon. He'd left over more than he'd eaten. The sputter of the snowmobile outside announced the arrival of Scully's guest. Brad Swenson held a doctorate in archeology, but his oddball approach to the science kept him firmly on the fringes of academia. Swenson stamped his feet at the doorway to clean his boots before coming into the cabin. "Morning, folks," he said. "Brad, this is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder," Scully said. "Mulder, Brad Swenson." "Agent Scully tells me you know this area inch by inch. Maybe you can help us find our missing cave," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand. Brad Swenson wore a fluorescent orange snowmobile suit. He looked older than his thirty years, and his habitual squint made him seem humorless, which he was not. He was a tall, blond, big-boned man who thought quickly and spoke slowly--most of the time. "If you're looking for a cave by a waterfall with some moss-covered rocks, I can tell you where to find it," Swenson said. "That's great, Brad," Scully said, nodding at Mulder. "As for your Viking..." Swenson sat down across from Scully and accepted the cup of coffee that Mulder gave him. "Do you think you can keep an open mind?" Mulder pulled out a chair and sat down next to Scully. "We'd be interested in anything you can tell us," Scully said. "We've heard a lot of odd stories that turned out to be true, or at least more true than false." "There are many kinds of truth, don't you think?" Swenson asked. "The sacramental wine in a Catholic Mass, is that the blood of Jesus?" "So I have heard," said Mulder. "That is one of those questions that science cannot even investigate," Scully said. Swenson nodded, apparently satisfied that he'd made his point. "Science has its method, and religion has its dogma, right? But sometimes it is the shaman, not the astronomer, who is able to predict the next eclipse," Swenson said. "The difference between science and religion is not that science is right and religion is wrong," Scully said. "The difference is this. Science has a mechanism for self-correction. The scientist can study the eclipse and use that data to correct his hypothesis." "Historically, scientists often overlooked data that did not fit with their existing hypothesis," Swenson said. "A shortcoming that continues into the present," Mulder said. "Furthermore, the scientist will present her--or his--data as if it represents the objective truth. The scientist seems unaware, at times, that her role as observer is part of the picture." "Excuse me," said Scully, "but the errors of individual scientists do not invalidate science itself. The scientific method is sound, Mulder. It is the only legitimate tool that we have." Swenson cast his squinty gaze from Scully to Mulder and back again. He'd heard this argument many times in many forms, but there was something particularly personal about this discussion. "Don't underestimate empirical wisdom, Agent Scully," Swenson said. "As Kelvin Throop put it: Celestial navigation is based on the premise that the Earth is the center of the universe. The premise is wrong, but the navigation works." "Kelvin Throop?" Scully echoed incredulously. "You made that up." Mulder actually waved his hand at Scully to quell her. She settled back in her chair and forced herself to suspend her skepticism. "Okay," Mulder said. "This is getting interesting. What do you think we can learn here?" "The Vikings believed that the end of the world was preordained. They believed in the twilight of the gods, Ragnorok, when most of the gods of the Norse mythology would be killed in battle," Swenson said. "Do you know anything about the Norse religion?" "A little," said Mulder. "A few of the gods survive the final battle against the giants," Swenson continued. "Balder the brave is one who survives." "Ironically, Balder had been killed earlier," Mulder explained to Scully. "There's a picture of his funeral in Oliver's book." "I guess returning from the dead was easier back then," Scully said, raising her eyebrows at Mulder. "Yes, they had more loopholes," Swenson agreed amiably. "Anyway, something happened at Balder's funeral. Odin, leader of the gods, passed along a secret to his dead son." "There was a poem we had to read in high school, by Longfellow." Mulder said. "Rather awful, really. 'Tegner's Drapa.'" He began to recite: They laid him in his ship, With horse and harness, As on a funeral pyre. Odin placed A ring upon his finger, And whispered in his ear. "You remember that from high school?" Swenson laughed. "The undergrads I teach can't remember if Paleocene comes before Pliocene." "Don't encourage him," Scully said. "Anyway, what does this have to do with the cave we're looking for, or the Viking?" "The local lore here includes a lot of the ancient beliefs," Swenson said. "What the old settlers decided is that Odin must have given Balder some special piece of advice, some information he could use to protect himself when the end of the world came." "Told him to use sunscreen," Mulder said solemnly. Scully gave him a stern look, but Swenson laughed. "Maybe. No one knows. But here's the thing, and like I said, you need to keep an open mind. People hiking around here have seen something. An old Viking--and no, it's not Fran Tarkenton." He shot a wry glance at Mulder, who looked hurt. "I wasn't going to say that," Mulder protested. "Anyone's who's ever seen this... apparition comes away convinced that the Viking has a message, a secret to tell them," Swenson said. "There's something strange and mythic about this place," Scully said. "The mists, the way the flowers bloom in the snow, the temperature shifts. Even the animals..." "It's a special place, all right," Swenson agreed. "For example, notice anything funny about your watches?" "Mine stopped last night," Mulder said. "At ten after nine." He looked at his watch. "Only now it's running." Swenson nodded. "I have to radio to the park service headquarters if I want the right time," he said. "Where do people report seeing the Viking?" Mulder asked. "Is there any particular place we should look?" "He's shown up all over," Swenson said, "but I have a hunch that your waterfall would be a good place to start." "A hunch, Brad?" Scully asked. The eyebrow went up, she couldn't help it. "Hear me out," Swenson said. "That waterfall you're looking for, with the cave behind it... There's another interesting feature there, a hot spring. It's like Mother Nature's own Jacuzzi, except for one thing. Sometimes it's there, and sometimes it's not." "How's that again?" Mulder asked. "You got me," said Swenson. "Some kind of underground river or spring, it must get diverted at times. I don't think the geologists have it figured out yet. But there's a natural depression, a pit, really. And when we get lucky it fills up with nice, bubbly water. Now, what do you think we call that hot spring? The Indians called it the Devil's Cauldron, something like that, but the Swedish settlers gave it a new name." "Paul Bunyan's bathtub?" Mulder ventured. "It's called Odin's Secret. It's full-up now, so you might want to check it out." He looked from Scully to Mulder. "Just don't do anything stupid like get drunk and drown. You'd be surprised what people do." Scully shuddered a little. It wasn't that long since Mulder had almost succeeded in drowning himself. "Have you ever seen the Viking?" Mulder asked. "No," said Swenson, "never have. Have you ever seen a virus, Agent Mulder?" Swenson was done talking, but he made a few notations on Scully's trail map to show the way to the second waterfall. After he took his leave, Mulder and Scully prepared to follow his map. "We'll get a final set of readings at the first waterfall and then move the equipment to the new site. So, Mulder, do you think we should bring some food along?" Scully asked. "Yes, Scully, pack us some food. Then whenever you're ready I'll carry you to your little skis." ====================================================================== The trip from the cabin to the first waterfall differed from the one yesterday in two major ways. First, when Scully caught up to Mulder, where the trail through the woods broke off from the snowmobile tracks, he ambushed her with a stockpile of snowballs. Second, using the tracks they'd made yesterday, Mulder was able to lead the way through the woods. Mulder led the way, which made it almost too easy for Scully to get him back for the snowball attack. He was still having a devil of a time skiing uphill, even though he'd waxed scientifically for increased grip. "You know why I'm having so much trouble on the inclines?" Mulder asked when they took their break by the tree stump. "It's your fault." "My fault?" Scully echoed. He was having trouble on the inclines because of his skis. "I've got no grip because you waxed wrong yesterday," he explained. "Now my skis are picking up all your bad wax from the snow." Scully laughed appreciatively and kissed him. Mulder decided that he had indeed intended his complaint to be a joke. When they resumed skiing, Mulder noticed the wolf tracks in the snow. The paw prints seemed enormous. He sidestepped off the trail and motioned to Scully so she'd catch up to him. "Look at those, Scully, that's the wolf you were playing with last night." He thought the reality of the huge prints would have a sobering effect. What scared Mulder silly was the realization of how far from him she'd been when she'd encountered the monster. Even if he had heard her gunshot, it would have taken him forever to reach her. "See?" Scully looked up at him with the same excitement she'd shown yesterday. "I told you he was a big one." Mulder wanted to shake his partner and ask her if she had a death wish. It was a new experience for him although it would have been quite familiar to Scully. They reached the waterfall and quickly took their readings and began to pack up the equipment. "The usual assortment of background noise," Mulder said, "except for the temperature fluctuations." "Most likely attributable to the underground water and the hot spring," Scully said. "High sulfur, too. Either from the spring or maybe from pollution." With the equipment packed, Mulder took out the Minolta and performed his usual act of "using up the roll." He'd always pretended he did this just to bug Scully, but in fact that was only a side benefit. He really did it for the pictures. His large collection featured shot after shot of Scully scowling at him, hiding her face, or giving him the finger. This time he got a few smiles, until she got fed up and took out the digital camera to get him back. She snapped one picture after another, and Mulder found it incredibly annoying. "When we get back to the cabin, I want you to do 'David' for me again," Scully said. "You'd make a great screensaver." "Your monitor's not big enough," Mulder said. "Do you have the map Swenson marked for us? I want to get to that hot spring." "I'm sure what you really meant to say was that you wanted to get to the cave and the waterfall," Scully corrected him. "The hot spring is merely an interesting geological phenomenon." "They call it Odin's Secret," Mulder reminded her. "Could be the key to everything." Swenson's map showed a trail from the first waterfall to the second one. The trail followed the river, so it shouldn't be hard to find. It was easy to find but hellacious to follow. The trail ran almost entirely downhill, with only a few flat or uphill sections. It curved sharply to the left, so that Scully, leading the way, continuously felt that she was skiing directly into the river. There were no snowmobile or ski tracks here, and Scully began to suspect that more experienced campers avoided this trail entirely. Unable to control the velocity of his descent, Mulder was at even greater risk for losing the trail and plunging into the water. To compensate, he made his turns too sharp, so that when he fell, he would fall into the thick growth of the forest rather than over the edge. And he did fall. Many times. While Mulder was picking himself out of the evergreen thicket, struggling to reclaim a ski pole from a particularly aggressive juniper bush, Scully had arrived at last at the bottom of the run. The trail widened, flattened, and veered away from the river. She stood in the clearing, watching for Mulder, chanting to herself, He'll be fine, he'll be fine, he'll be fine. But at the same time her mind was racing from one possibility to another. By the time he came down the trail, as shaky as she was, his face scratched raw by the plant growth, Scully had him in rehab, with lawsuits pending against the state of Minnesota, the federal government, and Brad Swenson. Mulder skied up to Scully. "Hey, it's okay," he said. She looked wide-eyed and pale. "But we're not going back that way." "Mulder," she said. At least none of his scratches were too close to his eyes. They would not have to ski back the way they came because there was a much easier way. If they had continued along the snowmobile tracks instead of turning into the woods, they would have arrived at this same clearing. They had turned into the woods to find the first waterfall, and then followed the riverside trail down to this site. They would have been better off backtracking from the first waterfall to the snowmobile tracks and continuing along on that trail. "Come on," Mulder said, "let's find that bleepin' waterfall." Adding insult to injury, the trail they were following crossed right over the snowmobile trail, and there, by a rocky embankment, was the waterfall that Swenson had told them about. Scully took out the map again. "Look at this, Mulder, we didn't have to go down that deathtrap at all," she said. Mulder saw that she was right. "We could have stayed on the snowmobile trail, followed it all the way out here," Mulder said. "That son of a bitch." "Do you think he was putting us on about the Viking as well?" Scully asked. Screw the Viking, Mulder thought, but there'd better be a hot spring. He'd even brought towels. end 10/17 Backtracking 11/17 Disclaimer, etc., with part 1 Mulder and Scully surveyed the area around the waterfall, but while there were plenty of moss-covered rocks, there was no sign of a cave. "It's like a rain forest here," Mulder said. Unlike the other waterfall, this one was free of ice. The ground around the waterfall was boggy and bare, without a trace of snow. Scully put her backpack on the ground and snapped off her skis. Mulder followed suit, and they both pulled off their sweaters. Scully went back to the steep, rocky hillside that was the source of the waterfall, poking and examining. "There is no cave here," she said. "He's a sick man, that Swenson." "It does seem that he was having some fun with us," Mulder agreed. "Maybe he thought we were pulling his leg, asking about the Viking." "He might have gotten us killed," Scully said. Mulder felt along the rocky embankment much as Scully had done, and with equally disappointing results. He reached his cupped hands into the stream from the waterfall and used the frigid water to wash the dirt and sweat from his scratched-up face. "I'll get you some ointment," Scully offered. She took got out a packet of antibiotic cream from the first aid kit in her backpack and dabbed some along Mulder's scrapes. "Does it hurt much?" she asked him, and he answered with a shrug that could have meant anything. "Scully, I want to find that hot spring, I really do," he said. "You still believe that's the key to finding the Viking?" Scully asked. Maybe it was; maybe there was a good reason the Swedish settlers had named it Odin's Secret. The Viking from Charlie's dream was about the last thing on Mulder's mind just now. This trip was a complete success, even if Skinner disapproved their traveling expenses and Mulder had to pay for everything out of his own pocket. "Don't you ever think about anything besides work?" Mulder asked. "Swenson said it's like a Jacuzzi. Doesn't that sound like fun?" Scully shrugged, first one shoulder and then the other. Her mouth twitched as she looked up at him. She was trying to fight it, but the smile was winning. "Yeah," she said, and she unfolded Swenson's map once more. Swenson's notations showed the hot springs practically at the juncture of the two ski trails. They had to be within a couple of hundred feet of the spa, unless Swenson really had been hoaxing them. There was a thicket of trees large enough to hold a secret hot tub but from where they stood that didn't seem likely. "I hate to disappoint you, Mulder, but unless it's in the middle of that grove, there's no hot spring here," Scully said. It was worth a look, anyway. This valley was drastically warmer than the higher parts of the forest, and the ground was soft and mulchy. That, at least, suggested geothermal activity in the area. They left their skis by the waterfall and traveled the short distance into the wooded area. Under the canopy of the trees, thick, soft snow still covered the ground. The hot spring was nestled within the shelter of the grove as if by design. An ancient seismic upheaval had formed the spa of some volcanic matter. It did not look rough and rocky like the waterfall but smooth and glassy. Mulder whooped with joy when he spotted the hot spring. "Yes! There it is!" he exclaimed. "Look at it! Please, Scully, can we?" "Why, I don't know, Mulder. Did you pack a swimsuit?" Scully asked him. Mulder looked at her with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. "Scully," he said. "Gotcha!" Scully shouted. "Last one in has to log the vouchers." She hurled her pack on the ground in an effort to get stripped and into the water before Mulder. Mulder dropped his pack a second later. "No!" Mulder shouted. "Not the vouchers." He pulled Scully to the ground, trying to hold her down with one arm while wiggling out of his shirt with the other. He couldn't remove his shirt without letting Scully go, and she threw herself across his chest and pulled off her turtleneck. "Yes, Mulder, all the vouchers!" she crowed. Mulder rolled Scully off his chest and back onto the soft moss and threw himself on top of her while he tried to open his fly. When he arched himself up, Scully slipped out of her pants and away from him as fast as he was stripping off his own trousers. "No!" he yelled again, and he grabbed her from behind. He wrapped himself around her, his legs locked around hers and his arms pinning hers in place. Now she wouldn't be able to finish getting undressed. Of course, neither would he. Scully was laughing too hard to say much of anything. As if she'd ever let him do the vouchers. They were a nuisance, to be sure, but she had a system by now and she'd be a fool to let Mulder monkey with it. So they spent the next few minutes rolling around in the mud in their underwear, laughing and grabbing. "Mulder," Scully gasped at last. "You're filthy. Hot springs! Now!" "No!" Mulder yelled back. "I don't wanna take a bath!" They wrestled some more, their garments succumbing at last, except for Scully's bra. "God damn it!" Mulder exclaimed. "It doesn't open in the back, it doesn't open in the front, what is it with this thing?" "Think of it as an IQ test," Scully said. Crossing her arms in front of her she slowly drew the sports bra over her head, bumping and grinding all the while. "There have been some recent advances in the field of women's foundation garments--and with the woman in mind!" "I wouldn't know, Scully, it's been a long time since my last cross-dressing assignment," Mulder said. Scully was vamping it up, but when she noticed Mulder's open-mouthed, appreciative stare she became self-conscious again. She snapped the Lycra bra in his direction, and he grinned broadly as he caught it. "Great!" Mulder exclaimed. "My slingshot!" He raced around the hot spring to the mound of snow on the other side. He had some notion that he held in his hand the world's first double-barreled snowball launcher. "Don't try it, shepherd boy," Scully warned him. Mulder had hurriedly formed two slushy snowballs and placed them in the stretchy cups. Despite his sincere efforts, the snowballs landed by his feet and disintegrated. "That's *King* David to you," he said. Scooping up more snow, he charged at Scully as she tried to slip down into the hot spring. "Think you're safe, do you?" Throwing himself after her, he slid across the ground on his side, grabbing her arm before she could submerge herself and rubbing the cold snow across her bare back. "Mulder!" she screamed at him, undone by the simultaneous sensations of the hot spring water and the cold snow. She grabbed his arms and tugged, and Mulder came splashing into the hot spring after her, yelping in surprise himself as the signal for heat surged out over nerve cells still jangling with cold. Mulder ducked his head a few times to wash out the mud and leaves and wiped his hands across his eyes. "Hey, Scully, come here," he said, reaching out his hand. "How deep is it over there?" she asked him, taking his hand and wading over to his side. "Don't worry, shorty, I won't let you drown," he said. "Anyway, there's a ledge back here." Incredibly, Mother Nature had placed a bench in her Jacuzzi. Mulder settled himself onto the ledge and Scully moved in next to him, leaning back onto his outstretched arm. "How perfect is this, Mulder?" she asked, eyes closed in contentment. "Almost perfect," Mulder said. His voice was soft. "Almost?" Scully asked. The hot spring was a bubble of peace in an ominous world, she thought. If only Mulder could let the peace engulf him, just for a while. "Almost," Mulder repeated. "You're thinking about what we've been through and the uncertainty that lies ahead," Scully said. "No." Mulder sounded very surprised. "I was thinking that I want to kiss you. I should have just done it, but I waited too long. Then I wasn't sure. And I didn't want to ask, that would really be asinine. I mean, here we are, naked--" "Shut up, Mulder." She took hold of his fool head and tilted her face toward his, not offering him her lips so much as taking possession of his. Silly man, she thought. Mulder's lips rested firm and still against hers, and Scully realized that this was the same way he had begun his massage, leaving his hands motionless on her shoulders. The full, warm lips lulled her until his incredible mouth began its circular pattern, its offering. An unforgettable kiss. No intrusive teeth, no dueling tongues, just the insistent waves of Mulder's lips. And then, with Scully lost in the kiss, she felt the waves deepen as Mulder's tongue licked at her lips, working in harmony with those muscular lips. At last Mulder softened the kiss, lighter, lighter, and then it was done. Scully let her head flop back on Mulder's arm as Mulder reclined against the side of the hot spring. "Now it's perfect," Mulder murmured. Scully didn't answer for a few minutes. She was tracing the improbably chain of events that had brought them there. "We owe it all to Christina," she sighed. Mulder snorted. "No, really, Mulder," she said. "Think about it." "I'm sure Christina is a lovely girl," Mulder said. "It was so thoughtful of her to move the car for us, and it's wonderful that she can articulate her hostility so freely." "But, Mulder, if she hadn't moved our car, Charles and Allison would be here now to share the scenery with us," Scully said. "Well, when you look at it that way, Christina does seem something closer to the ideal. You know, Scully, she really looks up to you," Mulder said. He was setting her up. Charlie had let down his guard enough to confide in Mulder about one of his biggest fears: that his daughter would go through the same kind of "wild phase" that his sister had. "I'm aware of that, Mulder, and it's a responsibility I take very seriously," Scully said. Scully had strong views on child rearing and adolescent development, and her diction was taking on that slightly pedantic tone that always brought out the devil in Mulder. He remembered a conversation from years ago. They'd been working together only a short while, but he'd been unable to resist the urge to tease her: "Ooh, if your were that stoned, what?" he had asked her. This time Mulder answered her casually; she'd wouldn't guess that he was up to something. "It's really very important for a child to have a strong role model, don't you think?" Mulder asked. His eyes were closed and he was twining his fingers with hers. "Absolutely," Scully agreed. "Especially for a girl. She'll have so many choices to make, and each of them could affect her future." "She could do a lot worse than follow in your footsteps, Scully," Mulder said. "Thank you, Mulder. She's such a talented, intelligent girl..." "Driving without a license--that's really foolish, isn't it, Scully?" "Foolish and dangerous," Scully agreed. "Where would a young kid get the idea she had any business driving a car?" Mulder asked. "Or taking someone else's care without permission?" "Teen logic," Scully said. "Don't try to follow it." "Drag racing--that's foolish too, isn't it? And dangerous," Mulder said. His hand was on her shoulder now, and his index finger was inscribing little spirals and circles. "Drag racing?" Scully asked. "I've heard of kids taking souped-up old cars and racing them right on the streets," Mulder said. "It's illegal, you know." "I've heard of that too," Scully said. Heard of it? She'd won Tommy Durkin's Pontiac from him! But Ahab made her give it back. And she couldn't go to Jessica's party with a real DJ. Plus she had to do all the ironing for a month. And no griping or he'd make it two months. "You're a little heavy on the gas pedal at times," Mulder said, eyes still closed, finger still circling. Scully's head was off his arm, and she was watching his face carefully. "Really? You think I drive too fast?" Scully inquired. Mulder opened his eyes and let a snort of laughter escape before disguising it with a cough. He nodded his head eagerly. "Mulder, did you and Charlie get much of a chance to chat?" Scully asked, and Mulder continued grinning and nodding. "That's nice," she said. "I'm glad you two are getting along." And she settled back against Mulder's arm. "Don't you want to know what we talked about?" Mulder asked. "Of course not," Scully said, eyes closed again. "That's between Charlie and you." ====================================================================== Lazing against the side of the hot springs, with Scully leaning against his chest, Mulder had no desire to move. But it wouldn't do to be stuck here after sundown, and it felt as if they'd been here for several hours. "Scully... You asleep?" he asked. "Not really... just dreaming," she said, smiling without opening her eyes. "We have to go, don't we?" "Well, maybe another five minutes," Mulder said. "Okay. One more kiss." It was a long, languid kiss, long enough that when they let their lips come apart they needed another little kiss to ease the transition. Scully sighed deeply. "I'll get out first. I'll get the towels," she said. "Um," Mulder agreed. Mulder could stay in the nice warm water. Scully would fetch him a towel. Love is a beautiful thing, he thought. Using the ledge they'd been sitting on for a step, Scully climbed out of the hot spring. The air felt cool but refreshing against her well-poached skin, and she pulled the first towel from her backpack and wrapped it around herself before getting out a towel for Mulder. Mulder was making the most of his extra minute, luxuriating in the hot water. Scully held out the towel for him. She held it by the corners, and she used it to hide that king-size snowball in her right hand. "Okay, G-man, everyone out of the pool," she said. "I don't suppose you could come back for me in the morning," Mulder muttered, but then he roused himself and climbed out. Mulder had packed a couple of towels but it gratified him no end to see that Scully had done the same. He walked into her embrace, and as she wrapped the big towel around him, she clapped her big snowball against his back. His cry of surprise was something between an "Oh," and a "Huh." "You are evil, Scully, pure evil," he said. "This will not go unpunished." "Call it even, Mulder. You got me on the way in," Scully said. She started picking up her discarded clothing and thoughtfully handed Mulder his mud-soaked shirt. Mulder took the shirt, grimacing at the thought of having to wear the filthy, wet garment. Scully rolled up her muddy clothes with the driest items on the outside. Scully's foresight had extended beyond the need for towels. She reached into her backpack and pulled out some fresh clothing. "Where's mine?" Mulder asked. "Your what?" Scully was dressing quickly, and quite unselfconsciously she took Mulder's hand for balance as she pulled on a dry sock and then the ski boot. She leaned against him again to put on the second sock and shoe. "Come on, Scully, you must have brought clean stuff for me," Mulder said. She was going to play with him a little, he realized, and then she was going to give him some nice dry clothes to wear. She had given him food, even on that first day when he'd told her not to bring any. She had brought him a towel. She was not going to make him put on these disgusting pants again or this dirty shirt. All dressed now, Scully took her towel and draped it around Mulder, over the first one. "You're not cold, are you?" she asked. "I am," said Mulder. "I'm very cold." He didn't feel cold. He didn't sound cold, either. Scully relented and gave him a plastic bag full of clothes. Scully hadn't known for a fact that she and Mulder would require a change of clothing after their trip to the hot springs, but the experience of years had told her it was likely. At least on this occasion a spin through the washer would take care of the damage. Scully's dry cleaner had flat-out refused to deal with the aftermath when she'd raced to rescue Mulder from the cockroach invasion. Scully had bits of Mulder's wardrobe salted away in various locations, for his use. She always had a dress shirt on the shelf in her closet at home and at least a set of sweats in the trunk of her car. Mulder's devotion to Scully was equal to hers for him, and yet when he'd traveled to the bottom of the world to rescue her, he'd never thought to pack her even a sweater. "Scully, I've noticed something about us," Mulder said. In pulling on his shirt, he'd somehow left his wet hair standing straight up in the back but plastered to his head in the front. Scully hoped he wouldn't decide he liked it this way. Then she ran her fingers through her own hair--for all she knew she could be wearing a similar coiffure. "When we try to go on vacation, we run into talking dolls or..." His voice trailed to a stop. He'd been thinking of how this investigation had turned into a vacation, whereas Scully's attempts at recreation had turned up genuine X-files. Like Emily. "I know what you mean," Scully answered him. Not a day went by that she did not remember the little girl who had passed through her life so briefly. By that commonplace miracle of human nature, Scully had found that her heart could hold sorrow and joy at the same time. At first she had berated herself for being able to still feel joy. No longer. "This is like a vacation," Mulder said. "Scully, wouldn't it be nice to take a real vacation some time?" He could imagine them snorkeling in some coral playground or exploring the narrow streets of a medieval market town. "I'd like that," Scully said. Danny and Lois had offered her the use of their thirty-foot Catalina for a week or two this summer, but that would be courting disaster. She'd be afraid to take Mulder on Pirates of the Caribbean. Mulder and Scully retrieved their skis from the waterfall but did not put them on. They'd have to hike their way out of the oddly temperate valley. Fifteen minutes later they were skiing along the packed powder when Mulder felt a pop and a shove as the binding sheared off from his right ski. The ski slid its way down the trail and Mulder had to remove the other ski and catch up on foot. "It looks like I owe your brother a new pair of skis," Mulder said. The punishment of back country skiing had proved too much for Charlie's track skis. Mulder had the two skis upright in the snow, but the binding from one ski was in his hand. The temperature had dropped noticeably as Mulder and Scully had gotten farther out of the valley. They'd put back their skis a few hundred feet up from the waterfall, where the snow cover was solid. The run to the cabin should have been easy because the ground was level and the trail was set with snowmobile tracks. It would have been a quick jaunt on skis, but it would take longer on foot. "I'm sure that can be repaired," Scully said. She took some cord from her own backpack and used it to bundle the skis and poles for easier carrying. "At least we'll have no trouble walking here; the snowmobilers have packed down the snow for us." She leaned over to unfasten her own skis. "Scully, you don't have to walk with me," Mulder said. "Go ahead and ski back to the cabin." Scully agreed to his suggestion with great reluctance. She wasn't eager to leave Mulder behind, but she remembered that they were still low on firewood. It would be better to look for more before the light was gone. Fortunately, the arrival of Brad Swenson expanded their options. They heard the roar of the snowmobile before they could identify the driver. Swenson slowed to a stop and climbed off his vehicle. "Any luck with your Viking?" Swenson asked them. "Not today," Mulder said. "Apparently you find it amusing to mislead federal law officers," Scully said. Mulder's tone was neutral but Scully was clearly annoyed. "Hey, take it easy," Swenson said. "I didn't promise that you'd find the Viking by the waterfall, I just said that was your best shot." "As I'm sure you're aware, Swenson, there was no cave by the waterfall. And that so-called trail you told us to use..." Scully's icy tone was as intimidating as she had meant it to be. "Oh. Yeah, kind of a rough trail. Especially with those skis." Swenson could see where Mulder's racing skis would have given him trouble in the back woods. "But you must have found the cave--how could you miss it?" He looked at Mulder--Scully frightened him. "Good question," Scully said. Mulder was starting to feel sorry for the archeologist. "Maybe you could help us out here," Mulder said, showing him the broken ski. "Drive us back to the cabin?" "Glad to," Swenson answered. "I'll have to make two runs, though." Normally he would have offered to drive the lady first, but he wisely decided to leave that choice to his passengers. "I don't require a ride," Scully said. "Mulder, go back to the cabin and get us some firewood while there's still enough light to find it. Frozen wood, Mulder, that would be best." "Scully, let him drive you too. It's getting late." Mulder leaned in so he could lower his voice. "Take the ride, Scully, I really don't want you out here with the wolves." "I'll be fine," she said, and no one would dare contradict her. Swenson got back on his sled and Mulder climbed on behind him, clutching his skis. They looped off the trail for a wide U-turn through the woods, then zoomed along toward the cabin. She will be fine, Swenson thought, but maybe I'll come back later to check on the wolves. end of 11 of 17