TITLE:  Six Days and Seven Nights





AUTHOR: Eleanore





EMAIL ADDRESS: bonyun@oanet.com





DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:


     You are welcome to re-post or otherwise distribute this story


among other X-Philes, as long as you do so for free, and my name


and e-mail address go with it as author.





SPOILER WARNING: References to events in The X-Files Movie.





RATING:  PG   Adult concepts and situations that may not be


             appropriate for very young readers. A few cuss words.





CONTENT WARNINGS:  Shippy, but not much more so than the movie.


                   Embryonic S&M romance.





CLASSIFICATION: S - Story, R - Romance S&M, A - Angst





DISCLAIMER:


     The characters and situations of the television program


"The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox


Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used


without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.





SUMMARY: After their return from Antarctica, Scully and Mulder hole


          up together in a hotel to rest and heal.











                SIX DAYS AND SEVEN NIGHTS





                 by Eleanore    bonyun@oanet.com











Wilkes Land, Antarctica





     There was no sign of man or penguin.


     "I'm sure I parked around here somewhere, Scully." He turned


in a full circle. "You think I should have tied an orange pom-pom


on the antenna?" The limp bundle at his feet gave no response.


     Not far behind them yawned the vast well that had held the


alien ship. Steam still rose in abundance from its shadows, so he


had not been unconscious for very long.


     Where were his tracks? Which rocks were the right rocks?


Squinting, he searched the frozen landscape until he convinced


himself that he recognized one stony outcrop. They would go that


way.


     "Scully?"


     She was still and white, but he could feel a pulse. He tugged


the hood of the parka close about her face; he had to get her


warmed up as soon as possible. The bruised muscles of his back


complained loudly as he hefted her on to his shoulders. Grimacing,


moving carefully, he started off.


     It took over an hour and several rest stops to make it to the


other side of the rise. When he saw the snow cat still standing


where he had left it, his knees buckled with relief and he sat down


abruptly in the snow. Life hung on such a fragile thread of


circumstances, coincidence and luck.


     Easing Scully down, he checked her pulse again and smiled into


her unresponsive face. "We'll be all right now, Scully. I'll have


you pink and toasty before you know it." He knew that there was


food and survival gear in the cat. And he knew that the outfit he


had rented the vehicle from would come looking for him in another


twenty-four hours. Re-energised with hope, he made it down the hill


and over to the cat at a better speed.


     He dumped her on the floor of the cabin.


     "Make yourself at home. I'll be right back." First he had to


fill the gas tank from the spare gas cans, then get the motor


running and producing heat. Where the hell had he lost his gloves?


Those fingers that were not completely numb, ached with the cold


and would not do as he wanted them to. Even his mind moved


sluggishly, but he fought off the urge to lie down and rest a while


beside Scully. Without warmth, the metal machine would only be


their coffin.


     Eventually he had heat coming into the cabin. His face and


hands were going to hurt like hell as they thawed out, but he could


live with that. He found a wool blanket and a sleeping bag in the


storage locker and spread them in front of the blast of warm air.


There was also a first aid kit and some survival food bars,


chocolate, matches and candles. Mulder brought all these things to


where Scully was lying... along with the thermos of cold coffee


from the passenger seat.


     Now he turned his attention back to Scully. He quickly


stripped her... not allowing his eyes to dwell on the small white


body under his hands... rolled her in the warm blanket and popped


her into the sleeping bag. Then he stripped down to his boxers and


climbed into the sleeping bag beside her. He hoped that she


wouldn't be too mad when she came to, but he didn't feel that he


had a choice.


     "Funny how relative comfort is." He bit another chunk off an


energy bar and chewed stoically. "Sleeping on the floor next to a


very scratchy nightie, eating roofing tiles... and damn glad to be


here." Setting the rest of the bar aside, he wrapped both arms


around her. He wanted to believe that she was warmer. He wanted to


believe that her skin was less waxen. He pressed his face against


her shoulder. "You can wake up any time now, Scully." His voice


sounded small and frightened even to his own ears.





     Retching and gasping. Jerking movement. Suddenly Mulder was


fully awake. Scully had pulled herself up enough to vomit a couple


of feet away from the sleeping bag. Mulder watched the lines of her


slender back and waited. She collapsed back down into the warmth of


their nest and saw him looking at her.


     "So it finally rained sleeping bags," she said in a gravelly


voice.


     He grinned foolishly. She was pink. She was too pink. Bright


fever spots stood out on her cheekbones, but he still thought that


it was an improvement over that deathly white.


     "There's some stuff in this first aid kit, Scully.


Antibiotics. Pain killers. What do you think?"


     "First I've got to pee, Mulder." There was no false modesty.


Life had been reduced to basics.


     "Bucket okay?"


     "Yes."


     Mulder squirmed out of the sleeping bag and fetched a bucket


from the equipment locker. Keeping the blanket wrapped around her,


they got her to the bucket and back into the sleeping bag, but the


short burst of activity left her shaky and shivering.


     "I'll go empty the bucket." Mulder picked up his pants and


prepared to put them on. "And I'll clean up the mess... "


     "Let it wait." Her voice was faint. "Come back in here and


read me the names of the medicines in the kit."


     He stood for a moment. He didn't think that she really needed


him for warmth any more, and there was another sleeping bag.


     "You're sure?"


     Her face was hidden by the covers, but her hand lifted up


towards him, searching for him, so he took hold of it and slipped


back into the bag beside her. She plastered herself against him.


She was cold and clammy again; she still needed his warmth. Mulder


wrapped round her.


     "Maybe you should eat something, Scully, and that would help


you to maintain your body heat. There's chocolate here."


     "No. What medicines do we have?"


     Mulder read the labels and they dosed themselves, Scully


gagging down a mouthful of coffee with the pills. Exhausted, she


settled her head on his shoulder and it seemed as if she was going


back to sleep. Mulder pulled the sleeping bag right up over her


head. Her hair was a ratty mess. Good thing they didn't have a


mirror.


     "Are we moving, Mulder?"


     "No. I've got the engine running for heat." He was chewing


another mouthful of fuel. He refused to think of it as food.


     "Where are we?"


     "Antarctica."


     A moment of silence. "That would explain the climate. Don't we


need the gas to get out of here?"


     "Heat was my first priority. Besides, I can't drive and be


here with you at the same time." He stuffed the last of the energy


bar into his mouth and mumbled around it. "I'm pretty sure someone


will come looking for us in the morning."


     "Pretty sure?"


     "Pretty sure."


     She sighed and closed her eyes again. "Well, as long as you're


sure."


     He stroked her arm and she slept.











Washington, D.C.





     An ambulance met their plane. The sight of it on the runway


galvanized Scully.


     "No, Mulder. No!" Her eyes grew huge with dread. "I don't need


a hospital."


     "It's okay, Scully. These guys are real. I checked." He pushed


her gently back into her seat, but she wasn't having any.


     "I don't want to go to a hospital, and I'm not riding in an


ambulance." She shoved Mulder's hand away and struggled to her feet


where she stood swaying and clutching a seat back for support.


"Please, Mulder. I don't want to go to a hospital." Her voice was


shaky and tears born of weakness glistened in her desperate eyes.


     "But you need medical attention, Scully. We both do."


     "Take me to a hotel. I'll call a doctor friend that I know I


can trust. Please, Mulder. No hospitals. No strangers."


     The paramedics were coming towards them with their stretcher.


Scully stumbled backwards down the aisle, moving from seat back to


seat back. Her face was stiff with fear; her eyes darted about in


panic, searching for an escape route. "No... no! Don't let them


touch me, Mulder! Don't let them take me!"








     Doctor Berenstein brought his wife who was a nurse. Together


they examined Scully and bathed her while Mulder paced the hotel


corridor feeling very much de trop. When Mulder was invited back


in, Scully was propped up in the bed. In a cotton nightgown with


her freshly washed hair hanging limp about her face, she looked


almost normal. If you didn't count the inflammation of her cheeks


from the frostbite or the glazed look in her fevered eyes. Mrs.


Berenstein took blood from Scully. Dr. Berenstein cleaned and


dressed the ugly slashes around Mulder's ankle and checked his


battered body for broken bones. They left pills and ointments and


recommendations that Mulder and Scully go to a hospital.











     "I'm going to order some food, Scully. Would you like


something?"


     "No." The huddled lump did not move.


     "How about soup?"


     A tremor. "What kind?"


     "Chicken noodle or cream of mushroom."


     "Chicken noodle... hold the chicken, hold the noodles."


     Mulder smiled to himself. Weak as a kitten she might be, but


her mind seemed to be functioning normally. She had been so cold


for so long that Mulder had feared brain damage.


     It took him a few minutes to convince the room service clerk


that he really only wanted the broth from the soup. When it arrived


it had the noodles in it anyway.


     "Chow time, Scully." She barely made a blip in the big bed.


Without her confidence... her determined postures and fighting


words... she was reduced to just a small sick woman. To see her in


this diminished state always shook Mulder more than he cared to


admit.


     He wrapped her in a blanket and helped her to one of the


chairs by the window. Pouring the broth into a cup he placed it in


her hands and guided it up to her mouth. She took a small sip.


     "I don't think this is a good idea, Mulder. My stomach doesn't


want it."


     "Just a few mouthfuls." She took another sip. Mulder started


to eat his own dinner. "I think we should call your mother,


Scully."


     "I don't want to see anyone."


     "If we don't let your mom come to see that you are okay, I'll


have your brother Bill to contend with."


     "I'm not okay."


     Mulder stopped chewing. He'd never heard Scully say that


before. It gave him a chilly feeling deep in his guts. "But you


will be, Scully, you will be."


     In answer she lurched sideways out of her chair and fell to


her hands and knees, retching and gagging. Up came the small puddle


of chicken broth. She continued to heave, making distressing noises


that Mulder could only liken to a cat trying to bring up a hair


ball.


     He carried her back to the bed and got a cloth to clean her


face. She was so weak she could barely move her limbs.


     "I'm sorry."


     "I shouldn't have made you drink it."  He kissed her forehead


and left her to sleep.











     "No, sir, Scully isn't well enough to testify. We'll need a


few days."


     "I've got half the Bureau breathing down my neck," Skinner


spat into his ear. "You can't go incommunicado on me, Mulder. What


am I supposed to tell the committee?"


     Those neverending sanctimonious committees. Mulder's anger


boiled to the surface. "I don't give a damn what you tell the


committee. They should know by now that Agent Scully is not one to


shirk her responsibilities. She'll be there as soon as she is


able."


     He could almost hear Skinner's teeth grinding. "Could I speak


with Agent Scully, please?"


      Mulder frowned and glanced over at Scully. "I think she's


asleep. I'll check." He covered the receiver. "Skinner wants to


talk to you." There was no movement from the small shape in the


bed.


     "No." The single word was the only sound she had made for


hours.


     "Sorry, she's asleep."


     Skinner snorted in disbelief. "You know that my concern is


personal as well as professional, Agent Mulder."


     "Yes, sir, I understand that you are concerned as a friend.


I'll tell her when she wakes up."


     Mulder went over and sat on the bed behind his partner's


curled form. "That man definitely has feelings for you, Scully. If


he was ten years younger, I'd be forced to take him out."


     "In your dreams, Mulder. Skinner has muscles you've never even


heard of."


     "Beauty and brains, turned on by brawn? I'm disappointed in


you, Scully."


     "You haven't been swept up in his arms."


     A hot panicky feeling hit him below the navel. "And you have?


When exactly would that be?"


     "I think it was while you were dead."


     So... what? Skinner was comforting the widow? Mulder was


afraid to ask more questions.


     Scully was silent.











     "Mulder?"


     He lifted his gaze from the newspaper that he had found


outside their door. "Yeah?"


     "You're being too quiet." Once again she was curled into a


motionless ball, her face turned to the wall.


     "I thought you were asleep."


     "Even when I'm asleep. I need to hear your presence."


     He clicked on the TV, found a football game and turned the


volume down very low, then went to sit propped up against the


headboard of her bed. The pages of the newspaper rattled gently.


Several minutes went by.


     "I've lived on my own since I was nineteen."


     He let the newspaper drop and reached out to stroke her back.


"I know. You choose to live alone."


     "Independence was always more important to me than boyfriends


or roommates."


     "I never chose to be alone. It just kind of happened and I've


gotten used to it."


     "I love my apartment."


     Mulder heard the anguish in her voice. He slid down behind her


so that he could rub her back more easily. "I love your apartment,


too."


     "I'm afraid to go home, Mulder. I'm afraid to be alone." She


swiped at her eyes. "I'm just afraid."


     "Give it time, Scully. You're weak... you still have a fever.


When you're feeling better physically, you'll regain your self


confidence."


     "When I was little... I was afraid of the bully who lived on


the corner of our block. Then one day he pushed Missy into a puddle


and I beat the crap out of him."


     Mulder grinned behind her. So she had been using the same


feminine wiles on men since she was a child.


     "Then when I was older I was afraid of being mugged or raped,


so I took a course in self defence."


     "Let me guess. You beat the crap out of the instructor."


     "In med school I was terrified of getting AIDS, but I learned


how to protect myself. When I first started carrying a gun I was


sure I'd be shot, but training and experience helped me deal with


that."


     The TV muttered to itself. Mulder hoped that she wouldn't


regret telling him these things. Every little fact and insight


about Scully was valuable to him, but she didn't share them easily.


     "You and I have survived a thousand misadventures, Mulder, and


I have never been afraid to go back to work. I wasn't afraid to go


home after Duane Barry attacked me there. Not even after Melissa


was shot." She tightened up into an even smaller ball. "I guess


they've finally worn me down. They win. I'm afraid to go home and


be alone. I don't know any way to protect myself from these


dangers."


     "You just concentrate on getting healthy. I'll do my best to


protect you until you're back on your feet."


     "I know you will." Her voice was sad and tender. The


implication being that though he would try, he would be


unsuccessful. Even with the help of that cool British bastard, he


had barely managed to save her this time.


     Mulder got up from the bed and went to stand at the window


looking out over the city. He wished there was some way he could


disassociate Scully from the X-Files and Fox Mulder, but it was far


too late. She had become a guinea pig... a pawn... a target... all


because her personal ethics had not allowed her to abandon her


partner. He should have chased her away for her own safety years


ago when she was still a trusting, fresh faced rookie. But he had 


needed her so. He regretted the day they had sent her to him with 


all his heart.


     He blessed the day she had come to him with all his heart.











     "Mulder?" Her voice came hesitantly through the dark.


     He raised his head from his pillow. "What is it, Scully?"


     "I'm cold."


     He got out of his bed and leaned over her. Her face was warm.


So was her shoulder and her hand. "You feel all right to me. It


must be chills from the fever."


     "Deeper. In my bones. It won't go away."


     "Would you like me to run you a hot bath?"


     "No. Come and hold me."


     He climbed into the bed and curved himself along her back,


carefully wrapping his arms about her in safe places. "Better?"


     "You don't feel the cold?"


     "No. Warm, soft and female is what I feel." It was torture to


keep his hands still. He must be feeling better.


     "Permafrost. The total absence of heat... like intergalactic


space."


     "You been watching old Star Treks while I'm asleep? You're


starting to sound like Spock."


     "Do you think my soul has died?"


     She was giving him the creeps. "C'mon, Scully. I'm pretty sure


that Father McCue would tell you that only God can give or take


life from a soul."


     "Who's to say He hasn't?"


     "What? I suppose you're going to tell me He's punishing you


for believing in extraterrestrials."


     She was silent. Whenever his scorn for organized religion came


up against the faith of her childhood, tempers flared and feelings


were bruised. It was the only subject they couldn't discuss.


     "Would you like me to ask Father McCue to come by?"


     "No. Just hold me. Be my furnace."


     A chuckle. "Be your furnace?" He had never heard Scully come


up with so many weird ideas. It was like she was tripping on drugs.


But he missed the salty edge that usually accompanied her comments


and the dispassionate rationality that let you know you were


dealing with the brain, not the babe.


     He gave the babe a little squeeze. She was asleep. He sighed


into her hair and drifted after her.





     She slipped out of bed. He let her make her own way to the


bathroom and later heard her retching horribly. He had begun to


wonder if it was a psychological thing. A physical effort to get


rid of the sickening thoughts in her mind. She came slowly back,


leaning on the walls for support.


     "Still cold?"


     "Yes."


     Her skin was warm and dry. "Come on," he murmured drowsily as


he drew her back into his embrace. "Come back to your furnace."











     "She's dehydrated." Dr. Berenstein's voice was accusatory.


     "I've tried to coax some liquids into her, but she won't take


them. If she does she just throws it right back up." Mulder hovered


anxiously as the doctor got out IV equipment. "How were her blood


tests?"


     "Normal body functions. Traces of some unidentifiable toxins


and signs of infection. Has she been taking the antibiotics?"


     "I'm not dead, you guys. Stop talking over me like I was a


cadaver."


     "Sorry, Dana." The doctor gave her a boyish grin.


     "I've been swallowing them dry, but some have come back up."


     "Okay. I'll send over some syringes and intramuscular." He


grabbed a bag of IV fluid from his case and looked around for


somewhere to hang it.


     Mulder took it from him and held it up. "How high does it have


to be?"


     "Just higher than Dana."


     That was easy. Mulder hid a smile as he hooked his finger


through the hole at the top of the bag and slung it over his


shoulder. He never teased Scully about her lack of height, though


he had passed up some mighty good lines to keep that trust.


     She was giving him a knowing look from under her lashes. It


made his heart accelerate happily, though her blue eyes lacked


their usual saucy snap.


     After Dr. Berenstein had the IV flowing to his satisfaction,


he dragged a floor lamp over from the other side of the room and


hung the IV bag from that.


     "Sit down and let me take a look at your ankle, Agent Mulder.


Jeez. I'd like to see the animal that did that."


     "No, you wouldn't," Mulder said without humour.


     "I don't like the colour around those punctures. Keep taking


the antibiotics. Let me see your back."


     Mulder pulled his shirt off. Scully winced and turned her head


away when she saw the eggplant hues.


     "I really would like an x-ray of your ribs. Breathing not


bothering you? Are you taking those long hot showers like I


recommended?"


     "I'm fine, Doc." He wasn't going to make it any worse for


Scully by complaining. He put his shirt back on.


     "That's it for today. Keep working on the fluids, Dana. I'd


like to see more improvement tomorrow." He drew Mulder out into the


hall. "She's a very sick woman, Agent Mulder. Are you sure you


can't get her into a hospital?"


     "I don't think so. It's a trade off between her mental state


and her physical state. Unless her physical condition gets worse,


she's better off here."


     The young man sighed unhappily. "I guess we can let it go


another day."


     "Thanks, Doc."











     A scream like fingernails on a blackboard. "Mulderrrr!"


     The razor dropped from his hand as he ran out of the bathroom.


Scully was on her hands and knees backing away from a puddle of


vomit, her face contorted with horror. Something in the puddle


twitched and Mulder's blood congealed in fear.


     "Get rid of it, Mulder!" Her voice was shrill and panicky.


"Take it away and burn it!" She had backed away as far as she could


go and was now climbing on to the furniture.


     He moved closer to the puddle, feeling like he wanted to


upchuck himself. He hated this kind of thing. Disgusting, slimy,


unidentified biological materials were Scully's job.


     "What is it?" she whispered hoarsely from where she crouched


atop the dresser.


     Swallowing repeatedly, he took one long good look. It was a...


tentacle... with root-like branching at the smaller end. It was


withered and limp, and clearly had been broken off from a larger


entity. Its movement was only a feeble reflex.


     "I think that when I pulled that long tube thing out of your


mouth, part of it must have broken off and been left behind. That's


what you've been trying to throw up for the last three days."


     "Oh my God... " She started to gag and shake her head. Mulder


took two long strides and was able get the ice bucket in place


before she spewed out another small amount of liquid. There was


nothing in it.


     She gripped his upper arm, digging in painfully. "What if


there's more inside me, Mulder? What if there was another one?" She


was shuddering with revulsion, the whites of her eyes wide about


the iris. "Get it out. Mulder... get it out!" Her fingers began to


tear at her throat and chest in mindless terror.


     "Scully, stop it. Scully!" He tried to grab her hands, but she


fought him off and the forgotten shaving cream went flying about


like wet snow, making everything slippery. Ducking his face to


protect his eyes, he moved in close and encircled her with his


arms, pinning her own arms down beside her where they could do no


harm. He held her like a vice until she stopped struggling and went


limp.


     "There was only one, Scully, and it's out." He spoke with all


the calm confidence he could muster. "I think you're going to start


to feel better now."


     "Oh God," she whimpered. "Oh God."








     "Hi, guys. Thanks for coming."


     "No problem, Mulder. Here's the stuff you wanted from your


apartment." Frohike handed Mulder the shabby sports bag, but his


eyes had already gone to the motionless mound in the bed. "Is Agent


Scully sleeping?"


     "I think so. Careful where you step, Byers. Did you bring a


container?"


     Langly held out a haz-mat cylinder. "You didn't say how big,


Mulder."


     "It's not large. You got a scoop or something?"


     The four men gathered around the puddle. The tentacle had


stopped moving altogether now that it was separated from it's host.


Langly used a wooden spatula to move it and some of the liquid into


the cylinder and sealed it tightly.


     "Should we freeze it or just keep it cold?" Byers asked.


     "Burn it," came from the bed in a voice full of loathing. The


Gunmen shuffled awkwardly.


     Mulder put a few layers of newspaper over the wet spot on the


floor. He was going to have to pay extra for all the carpet


cleaning. "What about the stuff for Scully?" He kept his voice low.


"Did you get that?"


     "Sure thing, Mulder." Byers handed him a big bag from one of


the better department stores. "I added some toiletries above the


basic necessities."


     "We just got casual clothes. Cotton slacks and a couple of


t-shirts." Langly grinned. "You'll like the t-shirt I chose."


     "I got her some frilly things," Frohike put in. "Something to


cheer her up."


     "Thanks guys. I'll pay you when I get a chance to go to the


bank."


     There was a hushed chorus of no's. "We were glad to help out,


Mulder. Let us know if there's anything else we can do."


     "Just keep that cylinder in a very safe place."


     "You got it." They were at the door when Mulder remembered


something.


     "Hang on a sec." He went to the cupboard and felt about in the


pockets of his battle scarred parka. Damn. Perhaps he hadn't kept


it after all. At last his fingers closed on the glass vial. He held


it up and was glad to see that it still contained about a half inch


of vaccine.


     "Could you keep this safe for me, too? You can have a go at


analyzing the liquid in the vial if you want. It's what saved


Scully's life."


     The Gunmen looked at the brown liquid with respect. "We'll get


right on it," Frohike promised. Byers opened the door. Langly took


a long careful look down the hall in both directions, then they


were gone.











     "Some juice, Scully?"


     She uncurled a bit. "What kind?"


     "Fresh squeezed orange juice."


     "Yes." She sat up in the bed and took the glass from him with


a steady hand. While Mulder worked on his eggs, she drained her


glass, then commandeered what remained of his juice as well. Mulder


rejoiced silently at these signs of returning health. However her


posture was still listless, her mood depressed.


     "I'm going to take a shower. Why don't you unpack your bag of


goodies and see what the guys got you." He lifted the bulging bag


up onto the bed beside her.


     "Why didn't you give them the key to my place instead of


buying new stuff?"


     "I didn't think you'd want the Three Stooges snooping about in


your belongings, especially after what you said about being afraid


to go home. And your Mom would insist on seeing you if I asked her


to get your things."


     Scully fingered a bit of lace that peeked out of the bag, a


dubious look on her face.


     "Besides, every woman loves new clothes."


     "Every woman doesn't have the Gunmen for her personal


shoppers." Her mouth lifted in the tiniest of smiles. "I'm afraid


to look."


     "Enjoy."


     When Mulder came back out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel,


the room had the feminine fragrance of creams and lotions.


     She was still on the bed, only now she was in baggy khaki wash


pants, rolled up at the cuffs, and a soft blue t-shirt. All around


her was spread the contents of the bag... from black canvas


sneakers to chocolate covered cherries. She looked up at Mulder,


her face soft and bewildered.


     "What?" He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hair with


a second towel.


     "I don't have any other friends, Mulder. Not the kind that


would do this for me... not any more. They are the only friends I


have. What does that say about my life that the only friends I have


are three paranoid misfit bachelors?"


     Mulder felt embarrassed. They were his friends too, after all.


"You could do worse, Scully. They may be a little off-the-wall, but


they are decent and trustworthy."


     "Look at this." She lifted a heavy satin nightgown of palest


peach, modest in its cut, elegant in its simplicity. "I've had


lovers who didn't give me things as nice as this."


     Blanking out that word lovers, he imagined her in the sleek


gown. "You going to be cold tonight, Scully?" he asked hopefully.


     "And this." A tremulous smile as she held up a lacy bra. "It's


way too big. They have very gallantly overestimated my bustline."


She looked up at him with big soft eyes. "I can't accept all this,


Mulder. They spent a fortune."


     "You can't not accept it. They would be wounded. They're very


fond of you."


     "But..."


     He reached for her hand. "When someone wants to give you


something, your job is to take it." He held her gaze until her


shoulders relaxed and she nodded acceptance. "Now pass over those


chocolates."











     "Yes, sir, I think we'll be coming in the day after tomorrow."


     "I'm very relieved to hear that, Mulder. How is Agent Scully?"


     "She's still weak, but much improved physically. I'm more


worried about her mental state." Mulder kept a cautious eye on the


door of the bathroom.


     "I imagine that she's suffering from post traumatic stress.


Perhaps some counselling would be advisable."


     "Yes, I think counselling's a good idea... if you can get her


to agree to it."


     "I'll make it an order if I have to."


     "Thank you, sir."


     Scully came out of the bathroom in a cloud of perfumed steam


just as Mulder hung up the phone. She was wearing the new


nightgown. The supple fabric hugged her curves in a most


distracting way.


     "Enjoy your soak?"


     "Yes." She sat in the middle of her bed, hugging her knees.


Much of her time was still spent curled in unhappy silence, only


now sometimes she was upright and facing out.


     "I told Skinner the day after tomorrow. You okay with that?"


     "Yes."


     After a while she crawled into the bed and faced the wall.











     "You awake?"


     "No," he lied, but the faceless female of his dream melted


away. After a brief moment of regret, he made a better effort.


     "What is it, Scully?"


     "I've been thinking."


     He rolled over in his bed to face her. He could see the peachy


satin nightgown shimmering ghostlike in the dark. She was sitting


up hugging her knees again.


     "Do you know anything about rape counselling, Mulder?"


     Wide awake now. "Just the big picture."


     "'Cause that's how I feel." She was trying hard to hold them


back, but tears of misery and hopelessness dissolved her calm and


nearly drowned out her words. "I feel like I've been raped."


     Mulder was beside her now, but he wasn't sure what to do. They


had been comfortably intimate for a few days, but already she had


begun to pull away from him, re-establishing her distance. Besides,


that word "rape" tended to make a guy a little nervous.


     "Tell me how you feel," he said gently, feeling inadequate.


     Through the tears, between the wrenching sobs, came dreadful


words. Fouled. Negated. Stupid. "I don't want my body any more. I


feel like spoiled goods."


     "Jesus, Scully!" To hell with personal distance. He pulled her


close and hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that this


happened to you. I didn't realize that you were having these kinds


of feelings." His whole being ached for her. What could he do?


     She curled into a ball in his lap. "I don't even feel like it


is my body any more. Maybe it's just my consciousness in an alien


hybrid. How would I know?"


     Mulder kissed her hair. "I would know, Scully. I know your


body better than I know my own."


     She lifted her head to look at him.


     Mulder made a face. "Have I gone and gotten myself into


trouble here?"


     "No. Tell me more." She wiped the tears away and rested her


cheek against his chest.


     "Well, we could start with the obvious. There couldn't


possibly be another pair of eyes like yours. The whites are


unusually clear and luminous. I know every shade of blue in the


iris... from the green blue of the sea that dominates when you are


moody, to the translucent sapphire that sparkles with suppressed


laughter at my better jokes. I know their magnificent size and


shape and just how much higher the left one is... and how it slants


up a little, too." He bent his head to scrutinize her face. "These


are, without a doubt, Scully's eyes."


     A sad smile. "That's just genetics, Mulder."


     "Okay. This is definitely Scully." He lifted her hand to


examine the fingers. "See how the baby finger is just a little


twisted? That's because it got broken when you fell down the stairs


with Donnie Pfaster and you were too damned stubborn to even admit


that it hurt till the next day."


     No comment.


     "Then there's the freckles." Lightly his fingers caressed the


skin between her throat and her gold cross. "A clone would have


freckles, but they wouldn't be in exactly the same pattern. This


little grouping here always reminds me of Orion's Belt. Definitely


Scully."


     He slid her satin skirt up to her knees and searched her shins


with his fingers. "Here. This little V shaped scar is from when you


fell on some scrap metal during that fist fight with those hoods


down in St. Louis. You really kicked butt that day."


     Since his hand was down that way, he couldn't resist placing


it lightly on her bottom. "This is definitely Scully. I have walked


behind these curves up a thousand stairways. I'd know them


anywhere."


     "You do realize, that you'll be going first from now on," she


said in a dry tone. He grinned happily. Certainly sounded like the


real Scully.


     She gave a deep sigh. "So it is my body. What if it's my body


but an alien consciousness. How would you know it was me, Mulder?"


     "That would be harder. I'd have to try to trigger some


behaviours or feelings that were exclusive to my Scully and see how


you responded." He thought for a minute. "Remember the other night


when we spoke of souls and Father McCue?"


     "Yes." She stiffened.


     "Do you remember how you felt?"


     "I always feel angry at you for your intolerance, but at the


same time embarrassed and defensive for believing what others


consider fiction. Hurt that you would attack me."


     "A complex emotional response shaped by your own particular


life history. One that I doubt any imposter intelligence would be


able to mimic. Only your brain could cause you to feel that exact


mix of emotions."


     Another deep sigh. "Thanks, Mulder. You've made me feel a


little better." She pushed herself upright. Turning her face away,


she said in a subdued voice, "I imagine the rape counsellor will


think I'm crazy if I say I was violated by an alien."


     Mulder pushed her hair back so that he could see her clean


profile. "I don't think they ask for details about the perpetrator,


Scully. The effects on you were the same. That's all they need to


deal with."


     She got back into the bed and he smoothed the covers and


tucked them under her chin. "Night, Scully. I still like your


body."


     The softest whisper: "Thank you."











     "Hi, Mom... yes, I'm okay."


     Mulder could hear the tinny squawks of Mrs. Scully's voice


coming from the receiver. Scully played with the phone cord as she


listened, eyes downcast.


     "I'm sorry, Mom. I was too sick to deal with anyone or


anything. Mulder checked me into a private clinic." More vehement


squawks. Scully bit at her lip and waited it out.


     "I was hoping that you could come and spend a couple of nights


with me. I'd like the company... and I could sure use a little of


your TLC." The wide smile indicated that the squall was over.


      "Thanks, Mom. I should be at my place around 1:00. Mulder's


going to drop me off. If you get there first, go on in and put the


kettle on."


     Mulder could hear the relief in Scully's voice. That took care


of the first two nights... but then she would be alone.


     "That didn't go too badly," Mulder said.


     "She's angry and she's hurt."


     "I think it's one of life's hardest tasks... letting your


children go. Especially as you get older and lose your power in


other aspects of your life. Find yourself increasingly alone."


     Scully came and sat at the breakfast table with him. "That's


very insightful of you, Mulder." She picked up a triangle of toast


and bit into it thoughtfully.


     "I am a psychologist."


     She kept her eyes on the toast. "Is that what you're being


when you hold me and help me deal with my demons?"


     "No."


     A faint blush as she licked jam from her finger.


     The familiar feeling of wanting to say more. Wanting to hear


more. Mulder drank coffee.


     "I'm guessing that's the shirt that Langly chose for you." The


black t-shirt had a cartoon figure of a curvaceous redhead on the


front. Her hair was abundant, her green eyes were savvy, and her


skirt was very short.


     "Read the back." Scully stood and turned for him.


     "I taught Wonderwoman everything she knows." He laughed out


loud. "Are you really going to wear that out in public?"


     "Absolutely. We can take separate cabs if it bothers you."


     "No... I like it."


     "Pass the cream, please."











      Mulder looked about the hotel room with mixed feelings. They


had been holed up here for a week and he had been feeling pretty


claustrophobic the last couple of days. On the other hand, he had


treasured the opportunity to be close to Scully, to learn a little


more about this complex person who was the other half of him.


     They were standing by the door, bags in hand.


     "Ready?"


     She nodded. "Yeah." Her chin came up, her shoulders squared,


and her face took on a calm determination. She had lost weight and


frostbite still marred her lovely face. His heart went out to her.


Still weak, still scared, but she was willing to face the world


once more. There was no one he would rather have by his side.


     "Just a sec, Scully. Put your bags down for a minute."


     "What is it, Mulder?"


     "I've just remembered that we have some unfinished business."


She looked up at him with that tiny frown between her brows. Gently


he took hold of her face in both his hands. The frown smoothed away


and was replaced by a look of pleased surprise as she realized what


he was about to do.


     This time there were no interruptions as he kissed her


tenderly. Her lips were soft and pliant, but he didn't linger


long... not certain this was a good idea.


     "Not so fast, Mulder," she breathed in a velvety whisper that


held a touch of the old Scully authority. "You don't get away that


easily." His heart pounded so violently he was afraid that she


would feel him shaking, but he went willingly back to those full,


warm lips... and found his way beyond... embarking on a journey of


discovery. Her kiss was sweet and sensuous, without limits and


freely given. He had never felt so welcome. Scully. Bliss.


     He pulled her close and she snuggled in under his chin.


     "I'm sure I felt the floor tilting, Scully. I don't think


we're in Kansas any more."


     "Idiot," she said affectionately. That proprietary tone was


new. He wasn't just any idiot. He was her idiot.


     The journey of discovery promised to be one of great joy and


physical pleasure. Gradually he would unfold all the delicate


erotic mysteries of this woman, until he knew her very well... but


it was not an auspicious time to start such a journey.


     Reigning in his exhilaration, he took her by the shoulders and


backed her up until he could look into her eyes. "You get that


counselling, Scully... take all the time you need. When you're


feeling more yourself, we'll talk about this again, okay?"


     "Yes." The glow from her smile lit up the tiny hall. How long


had she been waiting for this to happen? Didn't matter. It had


happened, it was good, and they would go on from here.


     One last shared moment of privacy.


     "We should get going."


     "Yeah." He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.


     They picked up their bags and Mulder opened the door. Head


high, Scully walked down the corridor with a firm stride. Mulder


followed... covering his partner's back.








----------------------------





end of story





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