Episode 10x26

TITLE: Last Kiss

AUTHORS: Sally Bahnsen and Dawn Zemke

EMAIL: rbahnsen@optusnet.com.au, sunrise@lightfirst.com

RATING: PG

CATAGORY: X

KEYWORDS: MSR

SPOILERS: None

ARCHIVE: Two weeks exclusively on VS10, then Gossamer
and Ephemeral. Others are fine, just let us know.

DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and Skinner belong to
Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox. No copyright infringement
intended.

SUMMARY: When your worst nightmare comes true, could
it be time to just let go?

FEEDBACK: Gratefully accepted.

AUTHORS' NOTES: Many thanks to dtg and Vickie
for insightful beta, and to Suzanne for both beta and
medical expertise. This story was three years in the
making, and was inspired by the Pearl Jam song, "Last
Kiss." We hope you like it!

Last Kiss
By Sally Bahnsen and Dawn Zemke

TEASER:

11:52 PM
Location unknown

Darkness enveloped him, moon and stars hidden by an
impenetrable black veil. Wind battered him from head
to toe,
piercing his clothing as thoroughly as the blade of a
knife. He
squinted against the droplets that pelted his face,
crystals that collected on his eyelashes and melted
to trickle down his cheeks in icy tears.

Oh, God. What had he done?

Hands, stained red. Dark hair matted against pale
skin. Tight, painful breaths. Chest heaving. Pain.
All over. It resounded through his head. Thumping,
adding to the confusion. Where was he?

WHERE THE HELL WAS HE?

"SCULLLEEEEEEEEE!"

"Scully." Softer now. Barely a whisper, the word
evaporating on his lips like the sheer white cloud
created by his breath. Swirling into the night.
Gone.

"Scully?" Puzzled.

Find her. Yes. He had to. But where? Which way?
Branches scraped at his face, tearing the skin,
stinging.

Run.

Faster. Faster.

Can't, it hurts.

Knees trembling, weak.

Shivering. Freezing. Sleet clung to his clothes,
ran in rivulets through his hair, wound its way down
his back.

So cold.

ACT I

Margaret Scully's House
Six hours earlier

Damn, it was cold!

He shivered against the freezing wind that whipped
his legs, catching his thick coat and pulling on it
until it resembled a billowing sail, stretched taught
on a gale-driven yacht. His hair blew into spiky
tufts, standing straight out from his head, a look
any punk rocker would envy.

Slush crunched beneath his feet and a fine dusting of
sleet settled across his shoulders, sprinkled like
powdered sugar. He tried brushing it off with his
fingers but as quickly as he scraped at it, more
appeared. His hands were freezing. He cupped them
to his mouth and huffed into them, his warm breath
useless against the icy chill. She had told him to
wear his gloves. He should have listened.

He jogged the remaining distance to the house and
stomped loudly up the wooden steps. Ice quivered
nervously on the railing then slid soundlessly to the
ground. A security light winked on above his head,
bathing the porch with a brilliant white glow. For a
second it startled him, and he blew out a long breath
that swirled into a frosty cloud.

Squinting, unaccustomed to the sudden glare, he
reached out and rang the doorbell. He smiled when the
cheesy tune of "Home, Home on the Range" sang out
from inside.

He waited, tucking his hands under his armpits trying
to keep them warm, jiggling his legs like a toddler
desperate to use the bathroom.

The door swung open and a blast of warm air rushed
out at him. He shivered.

"Fox! Come in, you must be freezing."

"Hey, Mrs. Scully." Mulder stamped his feet and
swiped at the last remnants of ice that clung to his
clothing and hair.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Come on in! I want to
close the door before all the heat gets out."

Inside was blessedly warm. He removed his coat and
hung it on the coatrack beside a smaller version of
his own, smiling. Scully.

"You go on ahead to the kitchen, Fox; I'll be there
in a minute. I just need to fetch some wine from the
basement." Maggie punctuated her words with an
affectionate squeeze to his arm.

Mulder's lips automatically returned her smile, but
his brow wrinkled. "Are you sure you don't need any
help?"

"I think I can still manage to heft a bottle up one
flight of steps--even if they are a bit old and
rickety." Maggie tossed the words carelessly over her
shoulder, the dry wit in her tone reminding him
sharply of her daughter. "Go reassure Dana you've
arrived in one piece. I've had to listen to her fret
about you driving in this weather for the last half
hour."

Any acknowledgement he might have voiced was lost in
the creak of the basement door and the clumping of
feet on wooden steps. Rather than stinging, her
dismissal warmed Mulder, driving away the last
vestiges of chill winter air. Actions truly spoke
louder than words. Maggie's casual treatment only
served to reinforce the fact that, at least in her
mind, his status had irrevocably shifted from guest
to family member. The feeling of welcome, of
belonging, was one he hadn't experienced in a very
long time.

Longer than he cared to admit.

Ironic, that Maggie's genuine affection, her
willingness to embrace him, warts and all, brought an
equal mix of pain to temper the joy. The sad truth
was that he was more relaxed and at peace here, with
her, than he'd ever felt with his own mother. That
admission, disturbing enough while she was alive, now
haunted him.

He'd tried to love his mother deeply and
unconditionally, like any good son. Focused on her
perseverance and strength of spirit. Her ability to
survive unimaginable sorrow with quiet grace and
poise. Struggled to accept that there were parts of
her he'd never know, that he'd never be allowed to
know.

Charred photographs, dark secrets, and bitter half-
truths.

She'd taken that damn self-possession to her grave.

Mulder blinked, pulling his thoughts from their dark
plunge with an almost physical tug. He sucked in a
deep breath, brushing his fingers over the smooth
fabric of Scully's coat, and headed for the kitchen.

He wandered through the living room, redolent with
the spicy scent of cinnamon and apples and warmed by
a crackling fire, and into the dining room. The
polished top of the large cherrywood table gleamed in
a spill of bright light from the kitchen doorway.
Pausing with his toes just shy of the tile,
fingertips trailing back and forth across the smooth
wood, he admired the view.

Scully stood at the stove, stirring something in a
large metal pot and humming under her breath.
Burnished copper tresses brushed the neckline of a
moss green angora sweater, and well-worn denim hugged
her curves in all the right places. She swayed a
little to the tune in her head, small feet clad in
ridiculously fuzzy pink socks scuffing back and forth
against the tile.

MINE Mulder thought, a little surprised by the
intensity of the accompanying emotions--overwhelming
wonder, wide-eyed disbelief, fierce possessiveness,
and not a shred of shame for his caveman attitude.
Deliberately quieting the tread of his sneakered
feet, he crept up behind her and slipped both arms
around her waist.

"Hey, baby. What's a looker like you doing slaving
over a hot stove?" He pitched his voice low and
husky, nuzzling the tender skin just behind her right
ear.

A breathy gasp and then Scully relaxed, her body
sinking into his with easy familiarity. "Making Irish
stew for the man I love," she answered, her own tone
smoky.

"Lucky guy." Mulder nibbled his way down the pale
skin of her throat, lips curving when she couldn't
suppress a shiver.

Scully released the spoon and turned within the
circle of his arms until she faced him, arched
eyebrow tempered with a grin. "And he better not
forget it."

Mulder's smirk faded as he gazed intently into her
eyes, heart on his sleeve. "Not a chance," he
murmured.

Before she could swallow the lump in her throat, he'd
taken possession of her mouth with a kiss that curled
her toes--literally. With a sound that was half sigh,
half whimper she surrendered, body melting into his
embrace and mouth opening under the assault of his
lips and tongue.

She experienced a hefty dose of missing time before
recovering her wits enough to remember the pot of
stew. Scully's fumbling fingers located the dial to
shut off the burner, inadvertently breaking the kiss
in the process. Struggling to slow her rapid
respiration, she lay one hand on his cheek, frowning
a little at the lack of warmth.

"Mulder, you're freezing."

He leaned over to press his forehead against her own
so that when he spoke, his warm breath puffed gently
against her lips. "Brilliant deduction, Agent Scully.
The temperature's dropped another ten degrees and my
damn heater's acting up." She felt, rather than saw
him wriggle his eyebrows. "Had to think warm thoughts
about my partner to avoid turning into a Popsicle."

His lips trailed across her cheek before returning to
her ear and she reflexively slid her fingers into the
short, silky hair at the nape of his neck while
tilting her head encouragingly.

"To what...ah...do I owe...oooh, yeah...all this
attention?"

Mulder never faltered in his task, punctuating every
few words with his lips and teeth on her neck.
"Because...nibble...I can. Don't have to
worry...lick...about aliens...nip...or
protocol...kiss...or the Bureau rumor mill."

Scully's eyes, which had drifted shut, cracked open
in time to see her mother leaning in the kitchen
doorway, lips pursed in a poor attempt to disguise a
cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.

"Very true, Mulder," she agreed, breath catching when
he began working his way back along her jaw. "There
is, however, my...ah...mother."

"Downstairs getting wine," Mulder mumbled against her
lips.

"Not any more."

Five thousand volts of electricity couldn't have
affected a quicker halt to Mulder's festivities. He
pulled back, the back of one hand swiping across his
lips as if to remove the damning evidence and a flush
spreading across his cheeks.

"No need for more salt, Scully, the stew tastes fine.
So, uh, what can I do to help?"

Maggie smirked, crossing over to the refrigerator and
removing a tomato and a cucumber. "You can cut these
up for our salad, Fox. That is, if you've
finished...sampling the stew."

Mulder accepted the vegetables, casting Scully a
quelling look. "I think so. For now anyway."

He retrieved a knife from the block and began
carefully slicing the tomato. Maggie took Scully's
place at the stove, giving the pot a final stir and
examining it with a critical eye.

"Were the roads a problem?"

"Not when I left DC, but they've gotten pretty icy
since then. For the last fifteen minutes of the trip
I had to slow down quite a bit in order to keep the
car on the road." Mulder set aside the tomato wedges
and began attacking the cucumber.

"Well, I'm glad you made it in once piece. This
weather is so unpredictable. Who would imagine we'd
be hit with a snowstorm this late in the season?"
Maggie added a pinch of thyme to the pot and resumed
stirring. "Dana, would you mind setting the table?
We're just about ready to eat."

Mulder felt Scully's warmth along his back, one hand
lingering on his waist while the other reached around
to open the drawer to his right. Unfortunately, she
misjudged the distance and the drawer's corner
clipped his right hip. The impact, more startling
than painful, caused the knife to slip, slicing flesh
instead of the cucumber.

Mulder hissed in pain, dropping the knife to clutch
his left index finger, which attempted to bleed all
over the cucumber slices.

"Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry!" Scully yanked several
paper towels from a nearby roll and thrust them into
his hand. "Here, put pressure on that."

"Don't worry about it, it's not that bad," Mulder
replied, grimacing a bit as he followed her
instructions.

"Dana, there's a first aid kit under the bathroom
sink." Maggie's voice was calm and unruffled. "Take
Fox in and patch him up."

"It's not a big deal, really, I can just..." Maggie's
stern glare stopped his words cold.

"No sense risking an infection." She raised a Scully
brow. "Anyway, you don't really think Dana is going
to let you get away without examining that, do you?"

Hazel eyes cut over to blue and Mulder's lips curved.
"I see your point. Lead the way, Scully. I'll come
quietly."

Scully's hand curled around his elbow and she steered
him out of the kitchen. Once in the bathroom, she
retrieved the kit and uncovered his finger. She
carefully blotted the blood, which had slowed to a
steady trickle.

"Fairly deep, but not very long. It's your lucky day,
Mulder. You won't need stitches." Her voice was light
and teasing, but her face twisted with remorse. She
busied herself unwrapping a sterile gauze pad and a
small bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"Hey." Mulder ducked his head, forcing Scully to meet
his gaze. "The finger is still there. Stop beating
yourself up over this."

She bit her lip as she struggled with the bottle cap,
which stubbornly refused to yield. "It was careless
of me to reach around you like that when you had a
knife. I should have known better.

Mulder stilled her restless hands and liberated the
bottle. Sticking it under his arm, he wrestled the
cap open one-handed. "It was an accident, Scully. I'm
prone to 'em--in case you hadn't noticed. Now slap a
bandage on it and you can kiss it and make it
better...later."

That coaxed a rueful little grin onto her lips.
"Deal." She upended the bottle, liberally soaking the
gauze pad, and stretched out her hand. "Here. Give me
that."

For the first time Mulder seemed to register what the
bottle contained. Eyes wide, he snatched the injured
digit to his chest and vehemently shook his head.

"Are you crazy? That stuff is going to burn like a
son of a bitch! Just hand me a band aid; we don't
want dinner to get cold."

Scully folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"Mulder, you are such a baby. That cut has to be
cleaned. Do you know how many germs there are in the
average kitchen?"

He stuck his lip out, the poster boy for
belligerence. "This is your mother's house, Scully.
You could eat off her floor!"

She shook her head and waved the pad at him. "If that
finger becomes infected you could lose dexterity.
Next thing you know, you can't handle your weapon and
poof!--there goes your field agent status for a week.
Is that what you really want?"

Mulder stared at her for a long moment as if
desperately trying to gauge how serious she was.
Finally, he huffed and stuck out his hand.

Scully took it gently in her own, though the corners
of her mouth turned up in a smirk. "Now hold still.
If you're a really good boy, I'll see that mom gives
you a special treat after dinner."

Mulder waggled his eyebrows. "Really good is my
middle name, Scully. But there's only one kind of
treat I'm interested in and it doesn't come from your
mo...OW! Shit! Sculleeee!"

"There, all done. That wasn't so bad, now was it?"
Scully chirped, reaching for a bandage.

"Remind me to explain the concept of 'playing
doctor', Scully, because you've got it all wrong."

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

Midnight
Location unknown

Tiny twigs and stones pressed into his face. Mud
clung to his lips, gritty against teeth and tongue.
He spat, a half-hearted effort that required more
energy than he was capable of expending. He knew he
had to get up, keep moving, but couldn't quite figure
out why. His head hurt when he moved. So much better
on the ground. Lying still, sinking into the
darkness.

Cold.

Bone chilling. Icy. Pressing into his body, the damp
ground soaking his sweatshirt, the frigid air boring
into every cell.

Can't stay here. He knew that. There was something
he had to do, some place he had to be.

Mulder took inventory of his situation, digging deep
within to summon the energy needed to drag his body
up. He pulled his right arm close to his body,
spreading his fingers wide and pushing the heel of
his hand down in readiness to take his weight. He
tried to do the same with his left, but it seemed to
be missing.

A moment of panic seized him before he realized his
arm was trapped beneath his body. Numb and useless.

He wished for a similar numbness in his head.
Anything to dull the unrelenting percussion ensemble
behind his eyes.

With his face screwed up in a tight grimace he pushed
hard with his right hand, managing to tip himself
awkwardly onto his side, eventually coming to land
none too gently on his back--panting hard.

And then...he screamed. A loud, ear-splitting wail.

A blinding jolt of agony shot through the fingers of
his left hand, along his arm and into this shoulder.
His head rocked from side to side; the immediate pain
almost unbearable.

Short ragged sobs seemed to be the only way he could
get oxygen. Tears leaked from the corners of his
eyes, hot against icy skin. He hugged his arm to his
chest, and moaned.

It felt like an eternity before the gut wrenching
agony began to subside, only to be replaced by a
continuous undulating thud. It originated in his
fingers, worked its way up his arm and enveloped his
shoulder before traveling back to his fingers to
start over.
Mulder grunted, fighting both dizziness and nausea.
If he could just concentrate on the simple task of
breathing, maybe everything else would take care of
itself.
Somewhere, from deep in his memory, echoed a familiar
mantra.

Deep breath in, slow breath out. Come on, Mulder,
breathe with me. In...out...

"SCULLEE!" His eyes flew open, blinking against the
fine flakes floating from the sky.

"Scully?" And then he remembered. She wasn't with
him. He was alone.

There was someplace he had to be. Scully was there.
And he had to go to her.

Oh, God, that meant he had to get up.

Maybe if he just took his time.

Slowly. He could do it.

Take a breath. Hold it.

Support left arm against chest.

Good, good.

Careful now.

Slide right arm against body. Use elbow for
leverage. Push.

Wait. Deep breath. Another.

Okay. Bend at the waist. Sit up.

Breathe! Breathe! No! Don't pant! Don't pant.

A little more. Just a little more.

Bend knees. Brace right hand on the ground. Big
breath. Hold it. Now...PUSH!

Oh God. His knees trembled, his head pounded, his
stomach heaved and worst of all, his arm gave another
spike of pure agony.

But he was standing. Staggering to maintain his
balance and regretting ever having made the decision
to move, but standing nonetheless.

Wobbling like a newborn colt, Mulder managed a few
ungainly steps towards a tree, and giving himself a
minute to recover, hung on with the desperation of a
drowning man clinging to a life raft. He had to stay
upright. If he fell, it was all over. He'd never make
it up again.

Time had become a blur, its relevance completely lost
on Mulder. He had no idea how long he'd been leaning
against the tree until his body's reflexes reminded
him that he was cold. The shivering sent little
sparks of pain radiating from his wrist. It pricked
at his skin like hot needles. His hand throbbed
relentlessly.

He stared at the arm cradled protectively against his
chest. It was too dark to see the damage clearly,
but he had a pretty good idea what was wrong.
Hesitantly he ran the tips of the fingers on his
right hand over the wrist of his left, flinching when
even this light contact provoked a sharp stab of
pain.

Mulder swayed when he felt a large bump protruding
from the side of his wrist. Further investigation
revealed fingers swollen to twice their normal size,
but something else caught his attention. A soggy,
wet bandage wrapped around his index finger, cutting
into the distended flesh.

He toyed with it. Gently caressing the frayed edges
peeling away from his skin. A memory flashed through
his mind.

Oh, Mulder I'm so sorry!

"Wha...Scu..." The words caught in his throat.

Here, give me that.

He could see her so clearly. Hear her voice in his
head as if she were standing beside him.

There, all done. That wasn't so bad, now was it? Blue
eyes smiling at him.

Where was she? Where the hell were these images
coming from?
His head ached with the effort of thinking, the need
to focus.

If you're a good boy, I'll see that mom gives you a
special treat after dinner.

Mrs. Scully. Oh God, he was supposed to pick her up
from her mom's! But...if the memories were real, if
she had put the bandage on his finger, he must have
been there already.

Then where the hell was she?

ACT II

Mrs. Scully's House
Two hours earlier

"Fox, where's Dana?"

"She went upstairs to get her overnight bag." Mulder
lounged against the banister, picking idly at the
bandage on his finger.

"It's been so nice having her here this weekend. I
appreciate you driving all this way just to give her
a ride home," Maggie dried her hands on a dishtowel,
turning to face him.

"You think I made the trip for Scully? It was your
stew that brought me out on a night like this," he
replied with a crooked grin.

Maggie folded her arms, eyes twinkling at his gentle
teasing. "I'm flattered. I hope you know you don't
have to stand on ceremony. As far as I'm concerned,
you're like one of my boys, welcome any time."

The sincere warmth in her words hit him unexpectedly
on the raw. "Thank you." He ducked his head, but the
emotion must have bled onto to his face.

Maggie's gaze was gentle but shrewd. "It never really
stops hurting, does it? I'm sorry if what I said..."

"Don't." He pasted on a smile to soften the word's
sharp edges. "Please, don't apologize. It's not
necessary. I'm...I wasn't very close to my mother. We
didn't see much of each other, and when we did, we
didn't really get along."

Maggie absorbed his words with a barely perceptible
nod. "I raised four children, Fox. We had more than
our share of disagreements--issues as insignificant
as skirt length and as life-altering as career path.
But not one of those arguments had any bearing on the
depth of my love."

Memories rose, unbidden. A stinging slap. Photos
turned to ashes. No note--oh, God, how could she have
left him without even saying goodbye?

"I know my mother loved me." He chuffed a bitter
little laugh. "I just don't think she liked me very
much." He shoved his hands into his pockets and
turned away, willing the conversation to be over.

"What's going on? Why the grim faces?"

An arm snaked around his waist, fingers tickling the
area just above Mulder's right hip, and an auburn
head nudged its way under his left arm.

From the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Maggie give
him a searching look before turning her attention to
her daughter. "I'll let Fox explain it to you in the
car." Her brow furrowed. "Are you sure you don't want
to stay here tonight? If the temperature has
continued to drop, those roads must be pretty slick
by now."

Mulder answered Scully's questioning eyebrow with a
slight shrug, deferring to her judgement. After a
brief hesitation, she sighed and shook her head.

"Thanks for the offer, Mom, but we really need to get
back. Mulder and I were out of town all week and I've
got a mountain of laundry and a case report that A.D.
Skinner expects first thing tomorrow morning."

"All right, I get the picture. You two get your coats
while I pack up some of this leftover stew to take
with you."

Mulder allowed Scully to tug him back toward the
front door, enjoying the softness of her hand in his.
He liberated her coat from the rack, holding it so
that she could slip her arms into the sleeves, and
took the opportunity to envelope her in a brief
embrace.

Scully watched him don his own coat, eyes sharply
assessing. "What exactly were you and my mother
talking about, Mulder?"

He filched her knit cap from her pocket, tugging it
snugly over her ears until only the wisps of her
bangs protruded. "Baseball," he said, keeping his
face guileless. "She wanted to know if I thought the
Yankees had a shot at the World Series."

Both eyebrows disappeared under cream colored yarn.
"Baseball. My mother."

"Sure, Scully. You didn't think I really bought that
'I've never hit a baseball' act, did you? I mean,
between your father and brothers--not to mention your
own tomboy past--I bet your mother could teach me a
thing or two about the game." His voice was light and
teasing, his eyes dark and intense.

Scully pursed her lips and looked up at him through a
fringe of lashes. "Everyone can use a little personal
instruction now and then, Mulder." She let her voice
drop. "A little one on one."

Mulder leaned in until his lips brushed her cheek.
"Wrong sport. But I'm only too happy to give private
lessons whenever you'd like."

She shivered, tilting her head to bring his lips to
her own. "Oh, I like."

The kiss was just getting really interesting when the
rustle of plastic and a cleared throat reminded them
they were not alone. Scully pulled back reluctantly,
licking her lips. She turned to accept the bag of
food from her mother, self-consciously pressing one
hand to her flushed cheek.

"Thanks, Mom. For dinner, and for the doggy bag."

"It was delicious; thank you for the invitation,"
Mulder added.

"I meant what I said, Fox. Any time." Maggie gave
them each a quick hug and kiss, urging Dana to turn
up her collar and grumbling over the fact that Mulder
had neglected to wear gloves.

"Drive carefully, and call me when you get home," she
said, swinging open the door to admit a blast of
frigid air. "And keep warm."

Mulder leaned in close as they descended the porch
steps. "You heard your mother, Scully. We need to
keep warm. And I'm full of ideas on how to accomplish
that."

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

12:46 AM
Location unknown

It consumed him. It clung to every fiber, every
cell. It penetrated his sodden clothing and wormed
its way deep into his bones.

There was no reprieve. No escape. The cold just
was. He had come to accept it.

The cold.

The pain.

The fear.

He no longer shivered with the teeth-jarring
regularity of earlier. A spasmodic jerk feebly
offered intermittently was the only sign that his
body was making even the slightest attempt to warm
itself.

Numbness. He ached with it.

His feet were nothing more than useless clumps of
flesh crammed into saturated sneakers. His
sweatshirt hung heavy across his shoulders, the icy
weight of it further contributing to his discomfort.

Time had ceased to exist in any organized form as he
sat huddled beneath the spindly branches of a
weather-beaten pine tree, seeking its meager shelter.

How long had it been since his body gave up all
pretense of staying upright? Since the cold had
sapped what little adrenaline-driven energy he had
been relying on to push him forward? He didn't know,
and now, he was beyond caring.

Mulder's world had narrowed down to a one-dimensional
existence: misery.

He fought to keep it a bay. Clawed through the veil
of hopelessness that wrapped around his thoughts,
making him doubt what was real, what was truth.
Confusing him. Perhaps he was trapped in the midst
of a cruel dream. Caught in a nightmare and unable
to awaken. But he felt the pain. It was real. It
hurt.

His wrist throbbed mercilessly. He hugged his arm to
his chest. Fat, swollen fingers scraped against his
stubble-roughened chin. Mulder groaned and his head
swam when even this meager contact heightened the
agony in his arm.

He tried to think beyond the pain, beyond the frigid
temperature sapping him of his strength.

How did he get here?

How did he come to be alone?

If he was hurt then what about Scully? Was she lying
in a ditch somewhere? Injured? Waiting for him to
find her?

MULDERRRR! I need your help!

NO! No, that wasn't right. That cry was from a time
before. A past he wished he could forget, a past he
wished he could erase from his life. But more so
from Scully's.

Drive carefully, and call me when you get home.

Drive carefully. Drive carefully. Drive carefully.

Mulder! Watch out!

Oh, God.

His heart froze in his chest, the blood in his veins
as cold as the rain and sleet beating against the
ice-deadened skin on his face.

Memories more horrific than his imagination could
ever conjure flooded his mind. The truth. It
pummeled him. And now he knew. He knew there was no
reason to fight the cold. So he didn't. He lay down
among the prickly, frozen pine needles scattered on
the ground. He buried his head into the crook of
his uninjured arm, letting his painful left one lie
uselessly beneath his chin.

He waited. Praying the cold would carry out its task
quickly. No longer possessing the will to fight,
Mulder allowed himself to succumb to the frigid
temperatures. As he slipped into a numb, pain-free
sleep he could have sworn he heard a voice, calling
to him on the wailing gusts of the wind.

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

Mrs. Scully's House
Two hours earlier

"If you're sleepy, I can drive. It's late, and I know
you haven't slept much this week."

Mulder slid behind the wheel, tossing the ice scraper
into the back seat and blowing on his chilled
fingers. At this point the heater was doing little
more than blowing tepid air. "I'll be all right. You
know me--this time of night is when I get my second
wind."

"Looks like we might actually have some accumulation
by morning." Scully squinted through the windshield
as he guided the car carefully onto the main road.
The back end shimmied when he completed the turn,
gliding across the pavement toward the center line.
Mulder grimaced and reduced their already sedate
speed.

"Sorry. It's a lot slipperier than it was a few hours
ago."

Scully studied his face in the dim glow from the
dash. "It's not too late to go back to my mom's."

"What about the case report? And all those dirty
clothes?"

"Skinner will understand. And it wouldn't be the
first time I had to wash a pair of underwear in the
sink."

The corner of Mulder's mouth curved. "Or better yet,
go without." He darted a quick look at her face,
openly smirking. "C'mon, Scully. You had to know that
one was coming."

She blatantly ignored the jibe. "The storm, Mulder?
Do you want to turn back?"

"Nah, it'll be fine. If it makes you feel better,
turn on the radio. They should be giving status
reports on the roads."

A soft click, rapid snatches of country, rock, and
muzak, followed by the drone of a newscast. Mulder
listened idly to the announcer describe the latest in
a rash of convenience store hold-ups, muttering under
his breath when ice began to coat the windshield
wipers and render them useless.

"What were you and Mom talking about?"

Trust Scully to remember that little detail. Mulder
tightened his grip on the steering wheel and
concentrated on not clenching his jaw.

"We talked about a lot of things, Scully. You, the
weather, Irish stew..."

"Mulder."

It never ceased to amaze him how one word--his name--
on her lips could convey such a wide range of
meaning. Light and teasing when she managed to snag
the last bagel. Sharp and urgent when danger loomed
at his back. Low and throaty when his lips and
fingers shattered her customary reserve.

Gently reproving when his smoke and mirrors proved no
match for her powers of perception.

Mulder sucked in a long slow breath; let it out in a
whoosh. "We were discussing mothers in general." A
beat. "Mine in particular."

He watched Scully from the corner of his eye, saw the
way she worried her lip between her teeth. Scully, of
all people, knew this subject was an emotional
minefield. Her hand crept across the seat to rest on
his thigh, warm and solid.

"I'm sorry if she said anything...painful, Mulder. If
she did, it was completely unintentional."

Her gentle attempt to comfort became tangled up in
the maelstrom of feelings regarding his mother's
death. One piece of him was warmed by her tender
concern, another irritated by the kid glove
treatment.

"Scully, your mother's only offense is in making mine
suffer by comparison." The sharp, cold tone of his
voice both startled and gratified him. "I've come to
terms with what happened; it's over."

Scully observed his white-knuckled grip on the wheel
and his studiously blank expression. You've put it
aside, Mulder. Buried it in a dark place. But come to
terms with it? I don't think so.

"You know, Mulder, it's not surprising that you'd..."

He shushed her, twisting the knob to raise the
radio's volume.

"...steadily dropping temperatures have transformed
the freezing rain to sleet and snow. Roads are
extremely slick, making travel hazardous; there is a
travelers' advisory for the entire metropolitan area.
We highly recommend you stay indoors if at all
possible. We've already had a five-car pile-up on the
BW Parkway near 175; police and EMTs are on the
scene..."

Mulder signaled and jockeyed the car into the far
right lane.

"Mulder?"

He indicated an approaching exit with a tilt of his
head. "That accident isn't more than five miles
ahead, Scully. I'm going to get off the Parkway and
take back roads from here."

She nodded and sank back into her seat, watching
Mulder guide the car off the highway and onto a
darker, quieter stretch of road. Though she wanted to
pursue their earlier conversation, Scully held her
tongue. Mulder needed to focus on navigating the icy
roads, not old wounds.

As she had countless times before, she wondered what
had possessed Teena Mulder. Not to take her life--
after her own bout with a terminal illness, Scully
could empathize all too well with the crushing sense
of hopelessness, the overwhelming weariness. What she
could not understand was the lack of a note, of some
attempt on Teena's part to connect with her son one
last time.

Closure.

Despite Mulder's emotional words, inspired by a
vision of his sister in a starlit field, Scully
feared it was a gift he'd never truly receive. And a
part of her she kept carefully hidden hated Teena
Mulder for that.

The sound of Mulder cursing lustily under his breath
tore her from her dark thoughts. He was hunched over
the wheel, peering through the windshield, his body
thrumming with tension.

"Visibility is practically zero," he said tightly.
"It doesn't help that the heater isn't working well
enough to defrost the glass. Scully, grab that ice
scraper from the back seat. As soon as I find a safe
spot to pull over I'm going to...SHIT!"

She'd just removed her seatbelt and was fumbling for
the scraper when Mulder's sharp cry jerked her
attention forward. Through the curtain of sleet and
ice she could just make out the station wagon lying
sideways across their lane, its front end hanging off
the side of the embankment.

Time slowed to a crawl. Mulder pumped the brake,
struggling to guide their car around the crippled
vehicle, right hand flung out in an instinctive
gesture to protect her. Despite his reduced speed,
the slick pavement provided no traction, and their
sedan lurched into a sickening spin that seemed to
pick up momentum as they neared the stalled car.
Impact was swift and unavoidable.

"Mulder! Watch out!"

The cars collided with a bone-jarring jolt and the
shriek of metal on metal. Their vehicle ricocheted
off the stalled car and suddenly everything turned
topsy-turvy as the violent impact tumbled them into a
head over heels roll. Her hands wrenched from the
vinyl seat, Scully was thrown sideways. A blast of
frigid air enveloped her and she was airborne for a
brief, sickening moment before her body slammed into
something with enough force to tear a scream of pain
from her lips.

Everything went mercifully black.

ACT III

U.S. Route 1
One hour earlier

Mulder came to slowly and painfully, Scully's scream
echoing in his ears and a faint smell of cordite
stinging his nostrils. For a moment he thought he'd
been shot, and it took a few seconds for him to
realize the smell was coming from the airbag.

Carefully, he forced himself to move, sucking in a
sharp breath as pain ricocheted along his left side.
He was crammed in tight against the steadily
deflating airbag, his knees jammed under the dash and
the roof nudging his head.

It took a few seconds to work through the cotton in
his brain until the pieces fell into place.

Scully!

Mulder turned his head toward the passenger seat.
What he saw almost stopped his heart. A gaping hole
where the door should have been and the empty seat
beside him confirmed his worst fears.

"Scully!"

Panic deadened the pain in his side. He wriggled and
kicked till he could pull his legs free, heaving the
airbag aside with his right hand and grabbing at the
door handle with his left. But the fingers wrapped
around the handle were strangely weak and
uncooperative. His wrist throbbed and sharp pain shot
up his arm.

Leaning hard into the seat with his left shoulder, he
reached across and tried again with his right hand, at
the same time giving the door a solid kick with his
right foot. It burst open and Mulder half fell, half
climbed from the stricken vehicle.

Wind blowing straight off the snow whipped through his
hair, its icy chill flaring the ache in his head to a
squeezing agony. Dizzy and disoriented, Mulder leaned
against the side of the car, desperately trying to
force his body to cooperate. Tentatively, he reached
up and touched his forehead, not surprised when his
fingers came away damp and stained with his own blood.
Using the mangled hood of the car as leverage, he
propelled himself forward and staggered around to the
passenger side, struggling to maintain his footing on
the slippery ice.

A crumpled form lay on the snow-covered ground a few
yards from the rear end. "Scully!"

Mulder dropped to his knees beside her, working his
hands under her body so he could turn her over. "God,
Scully!"

He scraped through the shallow layer of snow around
her, his clumsy movements reminding him of his injured
wrist.

"Scully! Talk to me!"

Gently he brushed the hair from her face. Thick blood
coated his fingers. It clung to her hair and oozed
along the side of her face.

"Scully."

A flicker of eyelids, a slight twist of her mouth, and
then his name on her lips. "Mul..."

"I'm here. Just hold..."

"Cold...I'm...cold." Her eyes rolled shut.

"Scully. No! Stay with me."

He slid cross-legged to the ground, carefully pulling
her onto his lap, fear and panic making him oblivious
to any other injuries she might have sustained.
"Scully, wake up! Come on, talk to me!"

His mind whirled, eyes darting from her pale,
motionless features to the sleet and snow swirling
lightly about them.

Get her warm. Get her warm. That's all he needed to
do. Then she'd be all right.

He scrambled to his feet, shrugging out of his coat as
he stood, but the sudden movement sent his feet
skittering from under him. Rubber soles fought to
find a grip on the smooth ice. He managed a couple of
staggering steps before losing his balance and
crashing to the ground. Reflexes kicked in and
instinctively he stretched out both hands to break the
fall. Agony, sudden and violent engulfed his left
wrist and Mulder couldn't help the scream.

Injured arm nestled against his chest, Mulder rolled
onto his knees and shuffled back to Scully. One-handed
he pulled at the coat and placed it over her. Then,
gritting his teeth he gathered her up and stumbled
back to the car. By the time he had laid her on the
back seat he was seeing stars. A couple of deep
breaths stilled the spinning in his head and settled
the nausea in his stomach.

He dropped to his knees by the open door, leaning in
to tuck the coat around her.

"Scully." Panting heavily and keeping his head low to
avoid the dented roof, he clambered inside the car and
slid along the seat till he was perched on the edge by
her waist.

Carefully, he moved the hair from her face and traced
the line of her jaw with his index finger. Closing his
eyes he dipped his head so his forehead rested on
hers. "Scully. Please. C'mon, babe, wake up. You've
got to help me out here. I don't know what to do for
you."

She remained silent.

"Scully?"

He pulled back and looked at her. The pale glow from
the partly veiled moon offered little illumination,
but it was enough for Mulder to make out the ashen
tone of her skin, the bluish tinge to her lips.

"God!"

Trembling fingers sought the soft skin under her jaw.
He held his breath and concentrated, but no matter how
hard he willed the artery to throb beneath his
fingers, he felt nothing. "NO! Scully." Ignoring his
injured wrist, Mulder grasped her arms and pulled her
towards him.

"SCULLY!"

She remained quiet and unresponsive, her head lolling
bonelessly to the side.

His lungs froze in his chest, his vision narrowed to a
pinpoint of light. He shook his head and forced
himself to breathe. No! He couldn't pass out. Scully
needed him.

And then he knew what he had to do. It was all so
clear to him now, so obvious.

Gently laying her back down, Mulder made sure the coat
was securely tucked in place. He leaned over until his
mouth was pressed against her ear and whispered, "I'm
going to get you out of this, babe. I promise."
Then bringing his lips to hers, he kissed her one last
time. "I love you, Scully."

Mulder backed out of the car and moved to the front.
He squeezed into the confined space, desperately
hunting for his cell phone. The glove box, the door
panels and the compartment between their seats all
came up empty. He searched the back again, feeling
along the floor under the driver's seat and...there it
was. He snatched up his cell phone and climbed
outside again. It took 2 attempts before he finally
hit the right buttons, frantically pacing as he waited
for 911 to connect. When nothing happened he pulled
the phone from his ear and inspected the digital
window. "No signal" glared back at him.

"Shit!" He hurled the phone at the car, feeling
little satisfaction as it clunked against the abused
metal and dropped onto the ice. He stood panting,
right hand cupping his forehead as he struggled to
come up with a plan.

The other car. THE OTHER CAR. Get there. Might be
help. God! Was there someone in it? Were they hurt
too? Where the hell did it go?

He turned in circles.

Where is it, where is it?

There!

He could just make it out, hidden in the shadow of
several trees. The mangled rear end angled skyward,
the front buried in a ditch by the side of the road.

Swaying like a drunk, Mulder staggered towards the
wrecked vehicle and slid to a halt. The icy ground
forced his momentum forward and he came up hard
against the side of the car. It wobbled under the
impact.

Check the doors.

Keeping his painful left hand tight against his body,
Mulder reached out with his right and tugged on the
side rear door. Then the front. Both locked. He
skittered around to the other side, hammering on the
windows with the heel of his hand. "Hello! Can
anyone hear me? I need help!" No sound. No
movement.

The car shuddered under his pounding, shifting
slightly to the right before starting a slow tilt
towards the left. Mulder tried to scamper out of the
way. But instead of firm earth beneath his feet, the
ground dropped away under him. He landed with a solid
thump on his stomach. The impact sent a jarring
shockwave of agony through his injured wrist,
momentarily robbing him of breath and clear thought.
He came to his senses with the realization he was
slipping. The soggy undergrowth offered little
resistance as he clawed at the ground, desperately
searching for a handhold to stop his decent. But the
rain had loosened the earth and every time he managed
to grasp onto a small bush or a handful of grass it
came away in his grip. He fought to gain traction
among the tangled scrub making one last desperate grab
at a small sapling to his left. Pain ripped through
his wrist and up his arm, a silent scream twisted his
lips as his last tether to safety slipped from his
grasp. Mulder's rapid slide turned into a roll that
abruptly ended in a teeth-rattling jolt. Sparks
momentarily burst before his eyes like fireworks, then
darkness descended.

Gnawing, relentless pain and bone-chilling cold
tugged him back from blissful darkness. He was lying
face down, cheek pressed against frigid, snow-covered
ground. Spitting grit and snow, he struggled first to
his knees, then to his feet, swaying, his injured arm
clutched to his chest. He managed one, staggering,
drunken step, then two, and three. Clothes sodden
with snow clung to his limbs like leaden weights and
he could barely see through the curtain of swirling
flakes.

He didn't know where he was. Numb feet and uneven
terrain conspired against him and once again he
slipped and went down on his knees, a frustrated sob
wrenched from his lips.

His clumsy attempt to scrub the frozen crystals from
his lashes only succeeded in shoving more of the cold
wetness into his eyes, thanks to his snow-encrusted
sleeve. A flash of color, vivid against the all-
encompassing white, caught his eye and he lifted
trembling hands to stare at crimson fingers. His
breath caught in his throat and his stomach did a
lazy roll.

Oh, God. What had he done?

Hands, stained red. Dark hair matted against pale
skin. Tight, painful breaths. Chest heaving. Pain.
All over. It resounded through his head. Thumping,
adding to the confusion. Where was he?

WHERE THE HELL WAS HE?

"SCULLLEEEEEEEEE!"

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

Route 1
1:55 AM

Assistant Director Skinner stepped out of his car into
a wind that whistled in his ears and spit light snow
across his field of vision. He stood silently, hands
buried deep in the pockets of his heavy overcoat, and
surveyed the scene of the accident. Paramedics were
lifting a gurney into the back of an ambulance, the
small figure on board barely visible beneath a pile of
blankets and a wall of medical equipment.

He headed toward the ambulance, hoping for a quick
word with the EMTs before they transported Scully to
the hospital.

Thick white bandages wrapped around her forehead, a
small patch of red already soaking through the bulky
padding. An oxygen mask covered her face. She looked
so still and lifeless that the AD found himself
checking the heart monitor for reassurance.

Skinner stepped to the side as one of the paramedics
pushed past him and slammed the doors shut. "How's
she doing?"

"All things considered, she's one lucky lady.

"Is she going to make it?"

"Her vitals are stable and so far she's holding her
own. We'll know more when we get her to the hospital.
Now, I really need to get going."

Skinner nodded, his jaw clenched and mouth set in a
tight line.

"Sir?"

Skinner turned to face the man approaching from
behind.

"I'm Special Agent Rawlins." He held out his hand and
Skinner gave it a firm shake. "I've got the owner of
the other vehicle here. You wanted to speak to him?"

"Yes."

"We've got him waiting in one of the police vehicles."

Skinner nodded letting his eyes wander over the bustle
of activity surrounding them. Searchlights had been
erected around the perimeter of the accident site. A
small generator hummed in the background. An
assortment of emergency vehicles parked in a semi-
circle bordered a makeshift command center. The local
PD had acted quickly and efficiently in response to
his call.

The ambulance with Scully inside pulled slowly away,
the flashing red and blue lights a colorful contrast
to the desolate background of snow and deeply shadowed
trees. He sighed inwardly--at least one of his agents
was in relative safety. Now all they had to do was
find Mulder. Again.

He turned back to Agent Rawlins. "How long before the
dogs get here?"

"ETA is 10 minutes, Sir."

Skinner nodded and fell into step beside Rawlins as he
led the way toward the parked cars.

"Sir? We're checking along the road. There's a few
houses not far from here, maybe Agent Mulder made it
to one of them."

"Maybe." Skinner stared into the darkness. But
knowing Mulder, he doubted it.

When he opened the back door of the Ford Crown Vic,
Skinner was confronted by a wildly disheveled man. He
could have been 60 or maybe 70, his gray-streaked
brown hair standing up in unruly tufts around his
head. What looked like a two-day-old growth shadowed
his jaw. Despite his unruly appearance and the early
hour, the man's eyes held a surprising clarity.

"Sir, this is Mr. Harper."

Skinner slid in beside the man, glad of the brief
respite from the frigid cold. He refused to think of
Mulder wandering out in this weather, instead,
choosing to believe that his agent had found refuge in
somebody's home.

"Mr. Harper, I'm Assistant Director Skinner with the
FBI. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't exactly know myself. My car stalled on the
side of the road earlier tonight, and no amount of
coaxing from me would get the old girl started again.
The battery's been acting up for sometime, so I
figured that was the problem. I live a half-mile or
so up the road, and rather than sit around here and
freeze my butt off on the wild chance help would come
by, I decided to hoof it on home. My son lives in
town, and I figured I'd call him and get him to come
down to give me a jump."

"What time was this?"

"Hmm...maybe ten, or a little after."

"And what time did you get back here?"

"By the time I got home and called my son...I guess we
got back here some time after midnight. Damn near
gave me a heart attack when I saw the state of the
cars. And finding that poor young woman in the
back..." The man paused obviously still having a hard
time coming to terms with the situation. "We thought
she was dead at first but when my son went to check on
her she started to mumble something. Couldn't make out
what she was sayin', but she sure seemed to be in a
bad way."

"Did you see anyone else? Was there a man with her?"

"No, sir. Looked like someone else had tended her
though. She was laid on the back seat with a coat
over her. We found a wallet in one of the pockets and
an FBI badge inside. It had a picture of a young
fella. Is that the man you're looking for?"

"Yes it is."

"My son, Tommy, drove back to the house to call the
cops. His cell wouldn't work out here. He had some
blankets in the back of the pickup, so we covered the
young lady with them before he left. I stayed with
her till help arrived. If Tommy had seen anyone along
the way he would have picked 'em up."

The police had been in constant radio contact during
the trip from DC and Skinner knew that so far there'd
been no sign of Mulder.

He slid his hands under his glasses and rubbed his
eyes. Something had happened to Mulder, of that he
was certain. The blood spatters they'd found
indicated he'd been injured, but still mobile. That
had to be a good sign, right? Or in Mulder's case,
maybe not. Damn it. Why the hell didn't he stay with
the car? Stupid question. He'd gone to find help for
Scully.

Skinner heaved a gusty sigh. There was nothing more to
be gained by talking to this man. He'd confirmed that
Mulder had been with Scully. Now all they had to do
was find him.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Harper. An officer will
be along shortly to take your statement."

The blast of cold air that hit when he opened the car
door only reinforced his growing concern for Mulder's
safety. How long could he survive out there?

"Assistant Director? The tracker dogs are here."
Agent Rawlins pointed to a van pulling in beside the
other emergency vehicles. "We've got Mulder's coat
for them to work off. Sir, once they pick up his
scent it will only be a matter of time."

"But will it be enough?" Skinner's eyes locked with
Rawlins's, the implication not lost on either man.

Skinner turned toward the police van acting as the
command center. "I'm going to touch base with the
officer in charge. Let me know when the search team
is assembled."

"You're going with them?"

"Is that a problem, Agent?"

"No, Sir! I'll go and check on their progress."

A quick nod of his head and Skinner was striding
towards the police truck.

ACT IV

2:00 AM
Somewhere off Route 1

"Fox."

The voice was nagging, buzzing in his ear like a
persistent mosquito. Mulder mentally swatted it away,
straining to sink back into the velvet comfort of
darkness.

"Fox. Wake up."

His befuddled mind conjured up images of early
morning darkness, chilled air and warm blankets. His
eyelids fluttered, but remained closed.

"Five minutes, Mom. Jus'...five..."

"Fox William Mulder! Open your eyes this minute!"

The familiar rebuke jolted through him like
electrical current. Mulder's eyes flew open and he
scrambled to push himself upright, moaning as the
sharp agony in his wrist jerked him to full
consciousness. He stared stupidly down at his soggy
clothes, then squinted into the swirling flakes,
teeth chattering. His brain sluggishly tried to
process the discrepancy between dream and reality.

"Mom?"

The name left his lips as little more than a froggy
croak, sorrow and embarrassment prompting him
immediately to wince at his own stupidity. You've
really lost it now, Spooky. First you killed Scully
and now you're calling for your dead mother.
Pathetic. He ground the heel of his hand into his
eyes, tears blazing a path down his icy cheeks.

"Sitting there, feeling sorry for yourself isn't
going to solve anything. You need to get up, Fox. Get
moving or you're going to freeze to death."

Breath caught in his chest, heart thudding wildly, he
whipped his head around stare in the direction of the
hauntingly familiar tone. Standing not more than five
feet behind him, her elegant clothes and meticulously
styled white hair undisturbed by the gusting wind,
sleet, and snow, stood his mother. Lips pursed,
forehead lined with exasperation--he'd seen that
expression countless times over the years. The "oh
for heaven's sake, Fox!" look.

"You're dead." Not the most astute observation, but
then what could you expect from someone most likely
concussed and definitely on his way to becoming a
Popsicle.

The irritated frown deepened. "I realize that, Fox.
Now get up and turn around. If you keep heading in
this direction no one will find you. At least, not
until it's too late."

The initial chill as he'd jolted awake was fading,
shivers tapering off as a seductive feeling of warmth
took their place. Mulder drew his legs up, aching arm
sandwiched between thighs and chest, and laid his
cheek on his knees. "It doesn't matter."

An impatient huff. "Don't be ridiculous. You, of all
people, know every choice we make matters. Is this
what's become of you? The Fox Mulder I knew would
never just lie down and give up."

Anger rose up inside him, driving back the fogginess.
His head snapped up and his lip curled. "And the
mother I knew would never seal herself in a room and
crank up the gas. I guess we're even."

Several indefinable emotions flickered rapidly across
his mother's face before it settled into a neutral
expression. When she spoke, a hint of warmth softened
the words. "Not everything is as it appears, Fox.
There's much about me you don't know or understand
yet."

"Really? And whose fault is that? How many times did
I come to you, begging you to open up to me about
Dad...about Sam? For years you let me chase my own
tail, blaming myself for losing her, for not being
able to bring her back." He dug his knuckles into
bleary eyes. "Why am I wasting my breath? You aren't
even here."

"Of course I am. When did you stop believing in those
extreme possibilities, Fox?"

Mulder pressed his throbbing head to his knees. "I
didn't, Mom. I just stopped believing in you."

There was a long silence. Certain if he lifted his
head he'd find her gone, her voice startled him yet
again. "I suppose I deserve that."

Was that...regret in her voice? Impossible. Teena
Mulder was nothing if not sure of her convictions.

"Fox, you and I may have been a bit of a
disappointment to each other. But I did love you. I
tried my best to protect you, even when you despised
me for it."

The adrenaline rush was seeping away, leaving only
weary resignation. He met her gaze, surprised but
unmoved by the emotion he found there. "You protected
yourself and that bastard who wants to call himself
my father. As for love--I saw the proof of your love.
It was nothing but ashes."

"There are none so blind as those who will not see."
She shook her head impatiently. "Damn it, Fox! The
burned photos? Use your head. Does that sound like
something I would do without an extremely good
reason?"

"I don't know. You're the one with all the answers.
You tell me." To his chagrin the gibe caught in his
throat and tears burned his eyes. Suddenly she was
beside him, carding her fingers through his hair the
way she'd done when he was a little boy. The warmth
and solidity of the familiar gesture bypassed his
defenses.

"They were only pieces of paper, Fox. Everything
important is imprinted indelibly in my heart."

"You left me." The words escaped before he could stop
them, aching and needy. He clamped his lips together
and blinked, horrified.

The fingers stilled, then cupped his cheek. "If you
believe nothing else, believe this: I had no choice."

He leaned into the caress, chuffing raggedly. "I want
to believe."

The warmth withdrew, her voice turned cool, composed.
"Now it's time you got up and started moving."

Overpowering lethargy weighted his limbs, his
eyelids. "Can't."

"You can. Your boss, Mr. Skinner, is looking for you
as we speak. You just need to turn around and head in
the right direction."

An image popped into his mind--his boss, jaw clenched
in the classic Skinner grimace, as he lifted Scully's
cold, lifeless body. Mulder squeezed his eyes shut.
"Scully."

"Do you think this is what she'd want? I'll admit I
never got to know Miss Scully well, but she didn't
seem the kind of person to give up. What would she
say if she could see you now?"

One corner of his mouth turned up in a painful, lop-
sided smirk. "She'd kick my ass."

His mother's voice was dry. "Undoubtedly. Get up,
Fox. For her, if not for yourself."

It was possibly the only thing that could have
reached him. Mulder staggered to his feet, grimly
holding himself upright as the initial dizziness and
nausea abated. "You never cut me any slack," he
muttered, surprised to find no bitterness in the
observation.

She smiled a tight little smile. "You never really
needed it, Fox. You just thought you did." And she
was gone.

Somehow he got his legs moving, one foot in front of
the other, plowing doggedly back the way he'd come.
Just when he was certain he couldn't take another
step, he caught a glimpse of bobbing lights and heard
the faint sound of a dog, barking. Five more strides
and his right foot hit a hole, pitching him to his
knees. After several attempts to stand he sank back,
exhausted. His ears were ringing, his vision narrowed
to a pinprick.

"Here." The weak, raspy cry for help would have been
comical if it hadn't come from his own mouth. "I'm
over here."

The barking seemed to grow louder, the lights
brighter, and then everything faded away.

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

Rugged terrain and slippery patches of ice were fast
reminding Skinner how many years he'd spent behind a
desk. Muscles bunched tight along his thighs and
calves ached in protest as he fought to keep up with
the tracker dogs. Despite the cold, an irritating
stream of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades,
and he'd made a mental note to himself at least a
half mile back to change his brand of deodorant.

Within minutes of the team assembling, the dogs had
picked up a scent and were straining on their leads,
itching to follow Mulder's trail.

The going had gotten tough almost immediately.
They'd half slid, half climbed down a sharp incline
and Skinner couldn't begin to imagine why Mulder
would have gone this way. Lord knows, it was nowhere
near civilization and, if anything, was heading away
from the main road and his best chance of help.

They'd been on the hunt for nearly an hour, the dogs
alternating between a breakneck pace and lengthy
pauses when the scent petered out. At one point, they
had actually turned completely around, finding
themselves heading back the way they'd come, albeit
on a slightly different route. If Skinner's
estimation was correct, they couldn't be more than a
half mile from the road.

Skinner's feet were heavy in sodden boots, and he
felt the early warning sting of blisters on his
heels. He was on the verge of swallowing his pride
and succumbing to his body's demand for rest when
there was a loud cry up ahead.

"Over here!"

A new rush of adrenaline spurred the Assistant
Director on. Picking up his pace, he caught up with
the lead team in a matter of seconds. It took a
moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright beam of
light trained out in front of him, and then another
moment for him to realize what the flashlight was
illuminating.

A few yards ahead, a body lay sprawled on the ground,
barely visible amongst the tangle of small shrubs and
spindly grass. Two members of the search and rescue
team were hunkered down beside it.

"Shit!" Skinner pushed past the dog handlers and
crouched next to the men. He lay two fingers against
Mulder's icy throat and nearly collapsed with relief
when he located a pulse. "He's alive!"

Within seconds, the two paramedics who accompanied
the search party were at Mulder's side. Skinner
stepped out of the way, but remained close enough to
keep an eye on what was happening. The wind was
brutal, knifing through his overcoat and seeming to
freeze the sweat on his overheated body. He stomped
his feet and hugged the coat tighter, wondering again
how Mulder could have survived this.

The EMT's worked swiftly by flashlight, noting their
observations aloud in medical shorthand that made
Skinner wish fervently for Scully's expertise. The
one reading he needed no help understanding was
Mulder's measured body temperature. Ninety-two
degrees was dangerously low.

"Hey, buddy, can you hear me?" One of the men checked
Mulder's pupils with a penlight. "Pupils are equal
and reactive but it looks like he took a pretty good
blow to the head."

Skinner gritted his teeth, liking less and less the
report on Mulder's condition.

"Yeah, and he's got a fractured left wrist," the
other EMT supplied.
As he worked on immobilizing the arm, Mulder moaned
softly. "Hey, buddy! You with us?"

Mulder didn't respond.

"Let's get him out of here." They unfolded the
stretcher and placed
Mulder on it, nestling warm packs around his torso
and then covering him with heavy blankets that must
have felt like heaven.

Skinner got his first good look at Mulder's face as
they lifted the stretcher, and his heart sank to his
toes. He couldn't help wondering if either of his
agents would survive this night.

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
9:22 AM

The maddening itch dragged him to awareness.

Mulder's head rolled restlessly back and forth and he
scrunched his nose, cheek brushing a pillowcase whose
coarse texture and medicinal smell screamed hospital.
Try as he might, he could not seem to raise either
arm to deliver the much needed scratch. Eyelids
struggling to half-mast, he blinked blearily at his
surroundings and took inventory.

The expected hospital room--private, thankfully. He
could feel a bandage on his forehead, just beneath
his hairline. Both arms were immobilized, the left by
a cast that extended from wrist to elbow, the right
by an IV that seemed to be delivering fluids and, if
his muzziness was any indication, pain meds. Several
blankets had been tucked snugly around him and the
blinds had been shuttered against the early morning
sunlight. His gaze panned across the room and froze
on the chair pulled up beside the bed.

The empty chair.

Scully.

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut and breathed slowly
through his mouth, willing away the tears that stung
his eyes and clogged his throat. Though he tried
valiantly to conjure up the memory of her laughing,
eyes sparkling with mirth, all he could see was her
still, white face. His tongue touched his lips,
recalling how cold Scully's had felt, pressed against
his in a desperate kiss. The last kiss.

A whoosh of air followed by footsteps alerted Mulder
to the fact he had company. He kept his eyes shut,
unwilling to face the bland cheer of a nurse certain
to remind him how lucky he was to be alive, when
lucky was the last emotion he was feeling.
Anticipating fingers grasping his wrist, he was
surprised to hear the chair scrape across the
linoleum, followed by a weighty sigh and the faint
scent of sweat and aftershave. Intrigued, he cracked
open one eyelid.

"Mulder." Skinner sat forward. "About time you joined
us."

Mulder blinked, oddly disoriented by the sight of his
boss in Scully's accustomed place. "Sir?" The word
emerged more breath than substance.

Skinner held up a quelling hand and fumbled with a
cup of water. Mulder sipped slowly from the straw,
taking the opportunity to study his boss. Skinner's
normally pristine suit was rumpled and he sported
more than a five o'clock shadow. Behind his glasses,
his dark eyes were lined with fatigue.

Mulder abandoned the straw, a frown pulling at the
bandage on his head, and tried again. "Sir, you look
terrible."

Skinner snorted, shaking his head. "Mulder, I'd be
remiss not to point out that you've seen better days
yourself. How are you feeling?"

Mulder shrank from the intense gaze, choosing to
inspect the ceiling instead. "Seems like I'll live."
And that was the irony, wasn't it?

"Yes, you will." A pause, and he could feel Skinner
scrutinizing his face. "Mulder, do you remember what
happened?"

He nodded, turning back to his boss with jaw
clenched. "There was a stalled car in the road. I
tried to swerve around it but the pavement was icy
and... Scully was thrown from the car on impact. She
wasn't... I couldn't..." He sucked in a deep breath
and pushed the memory away, determined not to break
down in front of Skinner. "I tried to help her,
but...there was nothing I could do."

"You must have become disoriented from the cold and
the knock on the head. From what we can tell, you'd
wandered nearly a mile away from the road. Then, for
some reason, you doubled back."

"You found me."

"Well, the dogs did. It was touch and go for a while
there. You were dangerously hypothermic, and they're
still a bit concerned about frostbite on a few toes.
Another fifteen minutes and..." Skinner's voice
trailed off and he cleared his throat, discomfort
palpable. "You were lucky, Mulder. Very lucky."

"You think so?" Dismayed by the tremor in his voice,
Mulder returned his gaze to a particularly
fascinating crack in the ceiling. "That's a matter of
perspective, I guess." His head throbbed, his wrist
ached, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than the
oblivion of sleep.

He could hear the frown in Skinner's voice.
"Perspective? How else could you...?"

The door swished open to admit a young woman with
long, curly dark hair, a stethoscope slung around the
neck of her white coat. Skinner rose as she offered
Mulder a dazzling smile.

"Agent Mulder. It's good to see you're finally awake.
I'm Cindy George; we met earlier. I've been taking
care of you since you were brought in."

Mulder gave a slight shake of his head, followed
quickly by a wince at the foolishness of the action.
"I don't remember."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not surprising. You
were in pretty rough shape, but you're looking much
better." She tipped her chin toward Skinner. "Mr.
Skinner. I need to examine Agent Mulder for a few
minutes. You can wait in the lounge, if you like, and
I'll come get you when I'm finished."

After an unsuccessful attempt to make eye contact
with Mulder, Skinner left Dr. George to her poking
and prodding. He retreated to the lounge, grateful to
find it unoccupied, and claimed an uncomfortable
plastic chair. Shoving his glasses to the top of his
head, he scrubbed at weary eyes and stubbled jaw,
longing for coffee yet too weary to search it out.
Something about Mulder troubled him, a nagging
sensation that his agent's behavior was off. Of
course, considering the concussion, broken wrist, and
exposure, he supposed normal was a relative term.
With everything he and Scully had been through,
Mulder could hardly be expected to...

The revelation hit Skinner like a proverbial ton of
bricks. Scully. Mulder had been conscious for a good
five minutes before the doctor's entrance, yet he'd
never once asked about his partner. Skinner sat up
straighter, replaying bits of conversation in his
head.

Scully was thrown from the car on impact. She
wasn't... I couldn't...I tried to help her,
but...there was nothing I could do.

You were lucky, Mulder. Very lucky.
You think so? That's a matter of perspective, I
guess.

My God. Surely he didn't think...

But it all made sense. The cryptic remarks. The air
of despondency. And, above all, the complete lack of
interest in Scully's current medical condition.
Mulder hadn't asked because he thought he already
knew.

Mulder believed Scully was dead.

Skinner stood and began to pace, eyes flicking toward
Mulder's doorway. Ten minutes passed. He watched a
nurse enter and leave, but it was another five
minutes before Dr. George finally emerged. She
flashed him a reassuring smile, eyebrows soaring when
he barreled down the hallway to meet her.

"There's no cause for alarm, Mr. Skinner. Everything
is looking good. My concerns about frostbite appear
to be groundless--his extremities have good
circulation and there's no tissue damage. The blow to
the head was severe, but he's obviously awake and
oriented, pupils even and reactive. Immobilizing the
wrist has removed the pressure on the nerves in his
hand and he appears to have regained nearly normal
sensation in his fingers. I'd like to keep him one
more night, just to be safe, but he should be able to
go home tomorrow."

"And Agent Scully?"

"Ironically, though she gave us a scare when they
first brought her in, she's doing better than he is.
She'll have a pretty severe headache for the next
couple of days, and I'd be hard pressed to find a
square inch of her that's not bruised, but being
inside the car protected her from the worst of the
cold. If Agent Mulder hadn't moved her the way he
did, she undoubtedly would have died from exposure."

Skinner winced. "Yes, well, about that. I'd like to
talk to Agent Mulder for a moment, if possible."

"I'm afraid it's not." At Skinner's blank look she
quickly added. "Gail gave him his next dose of pain
medication while I was performing my exam. He was out
like a light by the time I left."

"Damn." Skinner squeezed the back of his neck. "How
long will he sleep?"

"Hard to say for sure, but given his level of
exhaustion I wouldn't expect him to surface for at
least a couple of hours."

Skinner shoved his hands in his pockets as he mulled
over the doctor's words. "Perhaps that's for the
best. It gives us, gives Scully, a little more time.
You said she's feeling better?"

"Well...yes. She's still quite weak and sore, though.
I'd planned to keep her overnight, as well."

"Better enough to be mobile? In a wheelchair, maybe,
if she took it easy?"

Dr. George's brow creased. "You're losing me here,
Mr. Skinner."

"There's been a bit of a misunderstanding, Doctor.
But I think we can put things straight." He couldn't
help grinning at her obvious suspicion. "If you'll
show me where I can get a decent cup of coffee, I'll
be glad to explain."

One corner of her mouth turned up. "You've piqued my
interest, sir. It's a deal."

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

Georgetown Hospital
12:06 PM

This time he fought the pull of sounds and smells,
struggling to burrow back into the comforting
forgetfulness of insensibility. With consciousness
came pain, the throbbing of his arm and head barely
more than a minor annoyance as compared to the aching
emptiness in his chest.

Scully was dead.

Sensing a presence in the chair beside him, Mulder
swallowed and turned his face away, ignoring his dry
throat's screams for water. He couldn't deal with
Skinner now--not with pity barely concealed in overly
kind eyes, and especially not with his boss's attempt
to ease a void no one would ever be able to fill.

Scully was dead.

Long ago, even before they'd become physically
intimate, he and Scully had come to terms with the
risks inherent in their job and the consequences of
those risks. Losing her was an inescapable
possibility: a stray bullet, a terrorist's bomb, the
flick of a knife...these were potential outcomes he'd
had to acknowledge, to accept in their continued
pursuit of the truth. That she'd been taken from him
by something so inane, so pointless as a stalled
vehicle and an icy patch of asphalt multiplied his
already crushing sense of loss and guilt.

Scully was dead.

He'd once told her he didn't think he could continue
without her, emotion-filled words uttered under
desperate circumstances. Now, irrevocably, he knew
the truth in them.

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, remembering
how she'd felt in his arms just scant hours earlier,
the soft curve of her cheek, her tone low and smoky.

Everyone can use a little personal instruction now
and then, Mulder. A little one on one.

God, Scully.

"Mulder."

Had he ever told her what hearing his name on her
lips did to him? He'd always loved Scully's voice in
all its varied inflections and timbres: teasing,
lecturing, comforting, seducing... He could hear it
now, as clearly as if she'd spoken aloud. The thought
that such clarity would fade with time was
unbearable.

"Mulder."

Quiet, coaxing, a puff of breath tickling the
sensitive flesh near his ear. His eyes flew open, his
heart suddenly hammering at breakneck speed. No. It
couldn't be. It was a trick, an illusion conjured up
by his grieving mind in a cruel effort to blunt the
pain.

Scully was...

The fingertips that brushed his forehead and trailed
back through his hair were unmistakable. Breath
caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat and
he slowly turned his head to lean into the touch,
terrified to look, powerless not to. It seemed as if
everything around him, all sound and what little
color the drab room had to offer, faded away as his
gaze locked onto wide blue eyes and a rare, teeth-
flashing smile.

"Hey." Her hand dipped, thumb brushing his cheek now,
heart-stoppingly warm, and solid...and alive.

"Scully."

The name clawed its way out of his parched throat,
rough, shaky, nothing like the reverent supplication
he'd intended. He saw her impossibly beautiful smile
widen a split second before it blurred and the first,
choked sob tore loose from his chest.

Time became hazy along with his awareness. When he
came back to himself he was cradled in Scully's
embrace, face buried in the crook of her shoulder.
Despite the uncomfortable tug of tubing, he'd managed
to bury his I.V.-impaired hand in her hair, sifting
the silky locks through his fingers in continual
reassurance that she was real.

"Scully, God, I...I thought I'd lost you."

Scully gave a watery little chuckle and he felt her
lips brush his forehead. "For a while there, I did
too."

Adrenaline ebbed, replaced by overwhelming weariness
and a sense of peace. Abruptly he remembered Scully's
injuries and jerked backward, scrutinizing abnormally
pale skin and the thick bandage near her right
temple. He recognized the fine lines of pain around
her eyes and mouth, and the slight squint that
indicated headache. Reluctantly he removed his hand
from her hair, swiping impatiently at the moisture on
his cheeks before carefully tracing the gauze with
one finger.

"Your head..."

"I'm fine, Mulder." She helped him settle back onto
his pillows and poured him a cup of water, her
movements smooth despite the unsteadiness in her
voice. His face must have registered his disbelief as
he accepted the straw; one corner of her mouth turned
up in a wry grin. "Well, all things considered.
Still, I'd say a concussion and a few bruises are
pretty tame compared to what might have been." She
curled her fingers around his. "I was unconscious
until they brought me here, Mulder. If you hadn't
moved me into shelter of the car, I would have died
of exposure."

Mulder pushed the cup aside, unable to meet her eyes.
"I left you."

Her grip tightened, drawing him back. "You covered me
with your own coat. Went out into that storm, looking
for help, despite a head injury and a broken wrist."

He snorted and shook his head, not ready to concede
the point. "I wandered around in circles. If not for
Skinner we both would be..." He trailed off.

"Mulder?"

He searched her face, feeling lightheaded as some of
the shock returned full force. "You were dead,
Scully. I was so certain. I tried... There was no
pulse."

Scully released his hand, reaching across his body to
caress the fingers that peeked out of the plastic
cast. "Feel that?"

Mulder looked down, frowning a little at the odd
sensation. "Feels like my hand has been asleep. Pins
and needles."

"Dr. George tells me you'd lost almost all sensation
in both hands by the time you were brought in.
Mulder, what with the cold and the pressure the
swelling from that broken wrist was exerting on the
nerves, you wouldn't have been able to feel much of
anything."

"You mean...?"

"I was alive. And thanks to you, I stayed that way."

He looked away, blinking, uncomfortable with emotions
stripped raw and too close to the surface. Scully
evidently sensed his unease and moved on.

"You know, I was never as much at risk as you were.
Skinner says you'd wandered away from the road, that
it was pure luck you turned back to where they could
find you."

The bittersweet pang was unexpected, though not
necessarily unwelcome. "Luck? Not exactly." Mulder
didn't even realize he'd spoken aloud until he heard
Scully's concerned reply.

"Mulder? What is it?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She huffed. "Really? You certainly got an odd look on
your face. Did something happen out there?"

His mother's face appeared in his mind's eye and he
felt the phantom touch of her fingers on his cheek.

If you believe nothing else, believe this: I had no
choice.

He looked up, relieved to feel the shadow of a
genuine smile on his lips. "Soon, Scully. I promise.
I just need a little time to process everything."

The door opened and a nurse stuck her head inside.
"Miss Scully? Dr. George says your time is up. She
wants you back in bed."

"Huh. She can stand in line."

Scully cocked a warning eyebrow at Mulder's nearly
inaudible mutter, wincing when the motion pulled on
tender flesh.

He tipped his head toward the wheelchair parked
beside the bed. "Go get some rest. You look
exhausted."

She leaned carefully over, lips brushing, then
clinging to his until the waiting nurse politely
cleared her throat. Scully pulled away, a lingering
hand cupping his jaw.

"Are you all right?"

The fist around his heart, which had begun to loosen
the moment he saw Scully's face, finally let go. "Ten
minutes ago I'd've had to say no. But now..."
Mulder's lips curved. "Yeah, Scully. I'm damn near
perfect."

He sank back into the soft pillows, battling heavy
eyelids and smothering a yawn as he watched Scully
climb back into the chair. By the time the nurse had
wheeled her from the room, he was asleep.

EPILOGUE

Georgetown
1:30 AM

The low drone tugged Scully from slumber, vague
memories of pain and helplessness fading as she
registered the comfort and security of her own bed.
She reached one arm behind her, frowning when her
fingertips encountered cool sheets rather than warm
flesh. With an impatient puff of breath, she eased
herself carefully upright and swung her legs to the
floor, snagging her robe from the foot of the bed.
Standing slowly to accommodate aching muscles and
avoid reawakening the now dormant headache, she
slipped the soft terrycloth over her arms and padded
barefoot into the living room.

Flickering blue light from the television illuminated
Mulder, slumped on the sofa, his long legs stretched
out beneath the coffee table and his casted wrist
cradled to his chest. Though his gaze was fixed on
the screen, even at a distance Scully could see his
mind was miles away.

"Hey." She switched on a small lamp, detouring to
shut off the TV before dropping onto the cushions and
leaning against him.

"Hey." Mulder's lips curved and his good arm came
around to pull her more snugly against his side.
"Couldn't sleep?"

"Hmm." She nuzzled the soft fabric of his tee shirt,
soaking up his warmth. "Bed got cold."

He chuffed softly. "Now I know my true place in this
relationship."

"Yup. Human hot water bottle."

The sank into silent contentment for a while, Scully
listening to the steady, soothing beat of his heart
while his fingers stroked through her hair. When it
became clear he had no intention of speaking, she
shook off her stupor and sighed.

"Does this mean you're still processing?"

His fingers faltered a moment before resuming their
previous rhythm. "What are you asking, Scully?"

"Something happened out in that snowstorm, Mulder.
It's been there, in your eyes, ever since you woke up
in the hospital. Now, if you need more time, that's
all right. But you're not getting off the hook until
you talk to me."

Another long silence while she stubbornly resisted
the urge to drift back toward sleep. Finally Mulder's
hand left her hair and came to rest on her shoulder,
fingers curling in a firm grip as if to reassure
himself of her solidity. When he spoke, his voice was
little more than a whisper.

"Do you remember what Skinner told you about how they
found me?"

She frowned, slipping her hand under his tee shirt to
touch the soft, warm skin beneath. "Which part? That
you were three-quarters frozen, or that you'd nearly
wandered away from any possibility of help?"

"I'd headed in the wrong direction, Scully. I was
very confused, hopelessly turned around, and
definitely not firing on all cylinders."

"I'm not surprised. Hypothermia alone could produce
such symptoms, and you were concussed on top of it."

The fingers tightened and she could have sworn she
felt him shiver. "It was more than that, Scully. I
thought you were dead. After a while, it got harder
and harder to come up with a reason to keep going."

She sucked in a sharp breath and lifted her head,
scrutinizing his studiously blank expression. "What
are you saying?"

One shoulder lifted almost imperceptibly. "I'd given
up. Decided to just...let go."

She tamped down on the flash of anger, the desire to
shake some sense into him and demand that he never,
ever consider such an alternative, no matter what
might occur in the future. "What happened?"

Silence, then a reply so mumbled she could barely
make out the words, certain she'd misunderstood.

"Mulder?"

"I saw my mother, Scully. And I don't want to hear
about concussions, hypothermia, and hallucinations. I
saw her, heard her speak. She was there."

Okay. If the defensive tone and rigid tension in his
body were any indication, she'd best tread very
lightly across this minefield.

"What did she say?"

The guarded look faded from his eyes, replaced by a
hint of the affection she'd feared Teena had
destroyed along with some childhood photos and her
own life. "She kicked my butt. Told me to stop the
pity party, turn around, and start walking." He
looked intently at Scully. "She told me to do it for
you, if not for myself. That you wouldn't want me to
give up."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Smart woman."

She laid her cheek back against Mulder's chest,
thoughts and emotions swirling, chaotic.

Mulder's hand returned to the back of her head but
simply rested there. "You think it was all my
imagination, don't you? That she wasn't real." The
question held no condemnation, just an edge of
disappointment.

"I would, except..." She blew out a long breath. Time
to further demolish her reputation as resident
skeptic. "I saw my father, Mulder. The night he
died."

"You never told me."

"I never told anyone. Not even Melissa."

"What happened?"

"He was sitting in that chair." She gestured at the
wingback on the other side of the coffee table. "He
and Mom had been over for dinner earlier that
evening. I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke
up, there he was. It think he was trying to tell me
something; his lips were moving but I couldn't make
out the words. Then the phone rang and it was Mom,
calling from the hospital."

"So, you believe I saw her?"

Scully smoothed her hand over the curve of his hip,
considering. "I believe the people we love are not
lost to us. That they can speak to us, if we listen
with our hearts."

His body, relaxed back into its boneless sprawl, told
her she'd answered well.

"Thanks, Scully." A tug on her hair, and then Mulder
was drawing her up until her face was inches from his
own, cheek cupped in his palm. "But I have to say, I
prefer the more direct form of communication."

He kissed her then, the long, slow glide of lips and
tongue leaving her body melting and her soul filled
with peace. Pulling back, he touched his forehead to
hers.

"I thought I'd never get to do that again, Scully."
His voice broke on her name, but he smiled. "I'm glad
I was wrong."

Eyes burning, she matched his grin. "So am I, Mulder.
More than I can say." Threading her fingers through
the soft hair at the nape of his neck, she proceeded
to show him.

The End

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