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MARCH 24, 1999
 

Mulder was being conciliatory.

Oh, there was no doubt about it.  After their adventures
in The Falls at Arcadia, where he'd tried his best to cozy
up to her under the guise of their cover, they'd been on
three other cases.  Three times he'd let her have the
window seat on the plane.  Three times he'd asked her if
she wanted to drive when they picked up their rental.
Three times he'd listened attentively to her rational
explanation of the phenomenon they were investigating.
Three times he'd pursed his lips, nodded his head, and
conceded "I think you're right, Scully."

That's what did it.

Mulder had, on occasion, agreed with her completely.  But
three times in a row?  It was unheard of.  And
surprisingly uncomfortable.  He hadn't gotten irritated
with her in weeks.  She was finding this, too, irksome.

The Fowley Debacle, as Scully liked to think of it, had
put a strain on their partnership.  It wasn't the first
time they'd had a falling out, but it cut deeper than any
other time.  And Mulder had finally realized that fact.

No matter what she'd said to him at the Gunmen's, she knew
she could never let him go. No, that was not strictly
true;  she *could*, she just didn't *want* to.
Frustrating as it was sometimes, Mulder was a huge part of
her life.  Maybe even the biggest part. Certainly one she
did not want to walk away from, no matter how trying it
could be.  He was her own fascinatin' rhythm, and she was
stuck on him.

So now, here they were again, driving through farm country
in Something-or-other, Oklahoma.  Heading off to an
alleged x-file, or, more accurately, a homestead where it
had been reported that some of the blue-ribbon pigs had
been displaying psychic powers, therefore creating a
ruckus within the community.  That was the exact word
Mulder used; "ruckus."  It would have tipped her off if
she hadn't been expecting another nonsensical case, even
by Mulder's out-there standards.

Of course she suspected whoever was witnessing these
extraordinary events had simply read "Charlotte's Web" a
few too many times as a child, but didn't say so.  When
he'd presented the case to her, she'd merely questioned
the validity of investigating something that seemed to
have no obvious repercussions.  He'd immediately launched
into several possible theories involving genetic
mutations, secret research facilities, the potential
collapse of a local economy, covert science experiments
and, she was pretty sure, he'd thrown in cloning as well.

During his little speech he'd paused occasionally, giving
her an opening for rebuttal, but she'd remained silent.  A
hundred barbed comments sprang to mind, but she refrained
from voicing any of them.  Scully knew that if she started
down the path of sarcasm they'd both end up more bloodied
than she could handle.

"And this is an FBI matter?" she'd  finally asked, letting
the skepticism leak into her voice a little.

"What can I say, Scully?" he'd replied with an innocent
shrug.  "Someone called the Feds."

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

It was quiet in the car, except for the swish of the
windshield wipers as they drove on through the drizzly
afternoon.  Mulder had turned on the radio earlier, but
after an hour of country music - the only stations
available in this neck of the woods, apparently - Scully
switched it off.  She sighed.  They used to have
comfortable, companionable silences, but she wasn't sure
that was true anymore.  She knew that Mulder was far more
uneasy than she. But, she justified, that was only fair.

Ah, the crux of the matter.

She knew what Mulder was doing.  He was, in this instance,
as transparent as glass.  He was trying to make amends
with her.  It had taken him a while, but he'd finally
realized how deeply his words and actions had cut her.

Naturally, he being Mulder and she being Scully, they
never discussed the issue after Fowley disappeared.
Scully wasn't sure if that was an indication of how
dysfunctional they were, or if it was a good thing - that
they were such a team that they didn't need lengthy
conversations to understand each other.  She suspected it
was somewhere in-between.

He was choosing only the cases that barely needed
investigating to be solved.  He was handing her the chance
to be right.  She would have felt patronized if not for
the fact that Mulder was so anxious;  his distress was
almost palpable.  She knew these machinations, lame as
they were, came straight from his heart.  He felt deeply,
but wasn't exactly a poetry-and-flowers kind of guy.
Therefore, Scully could forgive him the clumsy attempts,
but not the original offense.  Not yet.

But he was trying oh-so-very hard to please her, to show
her that he valued her, that she was his partner and he
needed her.  She was glad Mulder cared enough to go to all
this trouble, but it wasn't what she needed from him.  She
wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it definitely wasn't
this.  Until something changed there was a small part of
her that just wouldn't let go of the anger.  It was the
inner child, she diagnosed.  The tiny, irrational, purely
emotional part of herself that proclaimed:  "You hurt me!
Now fix it!"

"We're almost there," Mulder announced, interrupting her
musings.

She shook herself mentally and took note of her
surroundings.  They were pulling into a tree-lined dirt
road that had several mailboxes standing in a row at the
corner.

Scully wanted to make a little joke or two - perhaps that
she'd re-watched "Babe" over the weekend as research, or
make reference to the last time they'd had to visit a
pigpen and the horrific results.  She wanted to, but she
couldn't make herself do it.  The time wasn't right, and
she wasn't sure when it would be.  That was where her own
uneasiness lay.

He slowed the car, and pulled to a stop next to a late
vintage, but well-kept, pickup truck. Mulder turned off
the ignition and got out without a word.  Scully followed
suit, and looked around as they made their way to the
farmhouse door.  Even in the gray light of a rainy
afternoon she could tell the owners prided themselves on
the farm, though it didn't seem to be a big enterprise
despite the enormous barn that dominated the property.

They were let into the house by a rather sullen looking
teenager who absented himself as soon as the owners
appeared.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Three minutes into the interview Scully was convinced that
whatever hoax was going on, it wasn't being perpetrated by
the Appletons.  As an FBI agent she knew while looks could
frequently be deceiving, there was no way these people
were trying to pull a fast one.

If you looked up "grandmotherly" in the dictionary, Scully
suspected you would find a picture of Mrs. Appleton.
Slightly plump, her rosy-cheeked face was topped by a halo
of fluffy white hair.  She even sported a gingham apron.

Mr. Appleton was equally authentic, and as far as Scully
could see, neither good soul contained a speck of guile.
They were sincere and earnest, explaining that the
phenomenon had started about a month ago.  Rodney, their
grandson, had been feeding the pigs one day, and talking
to himself when he noticed they began squealing when he
said certain things.

"So then,"  Mrs. Appleton continued the story "on a lark,
he asked the pigs if a girl he liked was going to ask him
to the school dance, and they squealed like crazy.  Would
you believe the very next day that girl did indeed ask
him!  And it wasn't even the Sadie Hawkins dance... I
think Rodney was actually a little unsettled by the whole
thing, he-"

"Freaked out," interrupted Mr. Appleton.

"Excuse me?" Scully asked.

"That was the phrase he used, 'freaked out,'"  he replied,
craning his neck to see if she was writing it down on her
notepad.  Scully dutifully pretended to scratch a few
words.

And so it had begun.  Rodney had some friends over, who,
apparently amazed by the pigs' abilities, had told the
entire high school population, who had in turn passed it
on to their parents.  It wasn't very long before everyone
in the small community had heard the story.  Soon people
were coming from far and wide to seek the swine's advice.
Or more accurately, Scully thought, to see the spectacle.

"Is Rodney here, Mrs. Appleton?" asked Mulder, glancing
around.

"Well, he's the one that let you in, but no, he's not here
right now.  Now's about the time he heads down to the
Randalls' farm to lend a hand.  That boy has several
part-time jobs, we're very proud of him."

Mrs. Appleton twisted around in her chair to look at the
grandfather clock in the corner of the room.  "Oh, it is
that time... another session is just about to start."

"Session?" Scully queried.

"Why yes, we don't want to stress the pigs, and folks were
coming at all hours of the day.  They just can't seem to
perform like that, so Rodney thought it would be a good
idea to have one set time, at 3 o'clock."  Mrs. Appleton
rose from her chair and untied her apron.

After retrieving their coats from rack beside the kitchen
door, the Appletons made their way toward the barn with
the agents in tow.

Sure enough, by the time they reached the pigpen on the
side of the barn, several cars had pulled into the yard.
Mrs. Appleton pointed out the five pigs by name, while Mr.
Appleton trotted off to greet the guests.  Scully was
surprised to see him taking money from the visitors before
they walked over to the pen.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Appleton - are you charging for this?"

"Well, yes...." she replied, looking a little shamed.  "We
didn't want to, but Rodney convinced us it would be best.
After all, we can't send such special pigs to slaughter,
and we lose money on them if we don't."

"The plot thickens," Scully muttered under her breath.

"What was that ?" Mulder asked.

"Nothing," she replied.  If Mulder wanted to continue with
this little charade, fine.  She was going to let him.  It
was time to force the issue.  If she refrained from
comment then Mulder would be the one compelled to draw the
patently obvious conclusion.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

An hour later the 'session' was over, and the visitors
began piling in their cars.  Scully had to admit that it
had been somewhat interesting, but only because she was
wondering what was prompting the pigs to squeal at the
appropriate moments.

Mr. and Mrs. Appleton finished waving the visitors off and
returned eagerly to Mulder and Scully who had entered the
barn, seeking shelter from the steadily increasing rain.

"Well, agents," Mr. Appleton said, shaking the rain off
his coat, "what do you think?"  The couple beamed
expectantly, awaiting the determination.

"Um...." Mulder hesitated, shooting a sideways glance at
Scully.

She took pity on him, but wasn't about to let him off the
hook completely. "Well, it's pretty amazing, but I think
we're going to need to do a little more investigating
before we can decide what's causing this, or what to do
about it."

The Appletons nodded in an understanding manner.  "Of
course, of course,"  Mr. Appleton told them, "and I
suppose sometimes, with things like this, you might never
really know why."

There was no safe rejoinder to that comment, so Scully
stayed silent.

Mr. Appleton suddenly reached inside his coat and drew out
a pocket watch. "Oh dear, we really need to get going,
Molly."

"Oh my, are we going to be late?"  Mrs. Appleton
responded, patting her hair nervously.

At the agents' puzzled expressions she explained, "We have
an appointment at the local newspaper office. They want to
interview us about our pigs."  She smiled proudly.

"Truth is, when we saw you pull up," Mr. Appleton leaned
over conspiratorially, "we thought you were with the World
Weekly News.  I mean they told us, after Rodney called
them, that they weren't interested, but we thought maybe
they changed their minds."

Great, thought Scully, this is what we've been reduced to.
We're investigating tabloid rejects.

"Rodney called them?"  Mulder asked, attempting to sound
casual.

"Oh yes, he's such a dear boy... always looking out for
us. Being here, on the farm, with us has done him a world
of good."  Mrs. Appleton was nodding.  "Back in the city
he was hanging around with," her voice lowered to a
whisper, "the wrong crowd, if you know what I mean."

Scully wasn't exactly sure she knew, but nodded anyway.

"Well, we'd best get a move on.  Thanks so much for coming
to see this."  Mr. Appleton shook Mulder's hand
vigorously.

"That's what we're here for,"  said Mulder, using his best
sincere and hearty tone.  "Do you mind if we stick around
for a little while?  You know, observe the pigs when
they're not performing?"

The Appletons agreed, and made their exit.  After the
sounds of the truck faded it was nearly silent in the
barn.

"Sooo..... Scully....." Mulder paused and waited for her
inevitable conclusion.

Well he wasn't going to get it this time.  She widened her
eyes and shrugged.

Mulder blew out a frustrated breath. "C'mon Scully, let me
have it.  What're we talking about here?"

"Mulder, you are *so* busted.  Let's just drop this
pretense, and get out of here.  We can get to Tulsa in an
hour, collect our bags from the hotel, change our flight
and get home."

"Scully...." he paused, clearly discomfited.

"Mulder, I just want to get back."  She was unsure if
Mulder understood the double meaning in her words, until
he nodded, looking a little defeated.

"But, we should really do something about this."  He waved
a hand in the direction of the pigpen.

"Well, what do you suggest?" she huffed, frustrated.
"Make a video tape to send to Ripley's?  Let Dionne
Warwick and her psychic friends know they're facing some
stiff competition?  What?"

"At the very least,  people, including the Appletons, are
being taken advantage of.   Not to mention the animals.
C'mon, don't you at least want to know who's using these
poor pigs like they're Magic Eight Balls?"

All right, she was a little curious.  Although it was more
the 'how' than the 'who' that piqued her interest.

She nodded her consent.  "Where do we start?"

"I'm guessing in the pigpen." He promptly exited the
building, but Scully stayed behind.  She wandered through
the barn, looking around.   It was more dilapidated than
it had appeared from the outside.  There were no animals
now, aside from the pigs.  It was clear that at one time
this had been a thriving farm, and the remnants of its
heyday could be seen here and there.

When she arrived at the center aisle, which was open all
the way to the roof, she paused to tip her head back and
look at the aged rafters.  She started toward the rear of
the building when she felt something land in her hair.
She reached back and plucked out a piece of straw. Rolling
it in her fingers, she puzzled a bit.  Where had that come
from?  Turning around, she glanced up and saw that on the
third story of the barn there was a hayloft, probably
defunct now.  Scully smelled a rat, though it wasn't clear
yet if it was of the rodent or human variety.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mulder's call.  She
hastened to the pigpen, glad to discover the rain had
diminished to a fine mist.

"Did you find something?" she asked.  Mulder was inside
the pen, crouching by the outer wall of the barn that made
up one side of the enclosure.  The pigs, no doubt worn out
by the previous excitement and the meal they'd been fed
afterward, were lazing in a corner underneath a shed roof.

"Yeah, what do you make of this?" he questioned, pointing
to a spot on the wall.  She climbed up on a rail, craning
to get a look.

"What, you're not gonna join me, Scully?" he asked, and
she could hear the slightly teasing note in his voice.

"You know Mulder, a lot of people think being in the FBI
is glamorous, but I'd be quick to point out the number of
times we've mucked around in a pigpen.  And once was
definitely enough."

He shot her a quick grin, and placed his hands on the
wall.  Around a hole in the wall, to be specific.

"Don't you think this is a bit curious?" he asked.

"It's a hole, Mulder."

"Yeah, I know it's a hole.  A hole with a pipe in it, by
the way, but what's it doing here?  I wasn't raised on a
farm, so maybe there's some sort of arcane agricultural
purpose for this that's escaping me, but I can't figure it
out."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that while pigs are fairly intelligent
creatures, I can't really see them pulling a Stupendous
Yappi on us, and something is triggering their need to
emote at just the right moment.  If we-"

"Mulder," she interrupted, and pointed across the pigpen.
"Is that Rodney?"

Mulder stood and turned, just in time to catch a glimpse
of the loping figure before it disappeared from sight
behind the house.

"Now where do you suppose he came from?"

"I have a suspicion," she said, remembering the straw in
her hair.  "C'mon, let's see what we find inside the
barn."

They went immediately to the wall where the hole was
situated, and found plastic piping, about an inch and a
half in diameter, coming from it and going up through the
second floor.  The pipe was set in a corner made by a
stud, and dark gray in color, so it was easily overlooked.
When they moved into the center of the barn they could see
that the pipe continued on to the third floor, but were
unable to view anything else from that vantage point.

"Onward and upward, " Mulder muttered, making his way
toward the rather ancient-looking wooden ladder that
connected the barn floors.  His first step broke the rung,
though, and he took a few steps back, considering.

"Mulder, I think I saw an aluminum ladder lying alongside
the barn.  We could probably get to the hayloft from the
outside with it."  She was glad the rain had tapered off,
realizing it would be a slippery climb otherwise.

The ladder, they discovered after some maneuvering, was
exactly the right height to reach the outside opening to
the hayloft.

"After you, Scully," said Mulder, with a flourish.

He kept a discreet distance behind her while they climbed,
and uttered not a single innuendo-laden comment.  She was
surprised to find herself a little disappointed.  Maybe
her unwanted ire was finally easing a bit.  She hoped so.

The hayloft had obviously not been functional in years.
Straw littered the floor, clumped in a few places, but
there was not a bale in sight.  Cobwebs festooned the
rafters, and the musty smell of disuse hung over area.  It
took them only moments to find what they sought.  The
mysterious pipe had indeed made it to this level, and
stopped about a foot off the floor.  A plastic cap was
fitted over its end.  A cardboard box, suspiciously
dust-free, was sitting on the floor nearby.

Mulder turned the box over, scattering its contents.
There was a variety of items;  a battery-operated
hairdryer, several unopened cans of dog food, a
can-opener, and a set of headphones.

He picked up the headphones, turning them in his hand
before rising.  Looking around, he quickly located what he
was looking for.  Nestled behind the plastic pipe was a
wire that followed the same path.

Scully had seen more than enough.  "He must open the dog
food and propel the smell of it down the pipe with the
dryer."

"You think that would be enough to get the pigs to
squeal?" he asked, looking dubious.

"Pigs have a highly developed sense of smell, Mulder.
That's why they're able to hunt for truffles underground.
Police forces are even starting to use them as
drug-sniffers.  And, as you already pointed out, they're
fairly intelligent.  I'm guessing it wouldn't take them
very long at all to be trained to respond to this kind of
sensory stimulus."

"Are we talking Pavlov's pigs here, Scully?"

"Well...  yeah.  Exactly.  And Rodney must have some sort
of microphone rigged up so he can hear what people are
asking the pigs."

"So you think it's Rodney?"

"What?  You think there's another possible suspect?"

"No," he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, "I wouldn't
bet the farm on it."

A laugh escaped Scully before she realized it, and she
felt the knot of tension loosen a bit.  Mulder grinned,
pleased with his little joke and its result.

"I think you're-"

"Mulder, don't!"  She snapped, and his unspoken 'right'
hung in the air.  She was more than annoyed that he'd
reverted to his patronizing behavior, breaking the
tentative rapport they'd found.

"What?"  He looked puzzled.  And wary.

"You don't have to do this Mulder.  Any of this.  I know
what you-" she stopped, frustrated, and exhaled
impatiently.  "You sure seemed to give up on your 'secret
research facility' theory pretty fast."

He had the grace to look slightly shamefaced.

"Scully, I-" but the rest of his words were drowned out by
a massive thunderclap.

Great, thought Scully, rushing over to the opening where
they'd parked the ladder.  How was it possible they hadn't
noticed the darkening sky?  She looked out, dismayed to
see that in the short time they'd been in the loft a nasty
thunderstorm had started.  She could see occasional
flashes of lightning, the rain was starting to come down
heavily, and the treetops were being tossed by the wind.

"This doesn't bode well," came Mulder's voice at her
shoulder, startling her.  She hadn't heard him approach.

"Looks like we're stuck here for a while," she sighed, "we
can't head down that ladder with lightning and this kind
of rain."

They both moved back into the loft, and began looking
around for alternatives.
 
"Hey, there's a rope hanging down the center of the barn,
it reaches almost to the floor," Mulder called from the
far edge of the loft.  "If we could just throw something
at it, get it swinging, we could catch it..." he paused,
looking around for something to throw.

Scully joined him and assessed the rope. "Tarzan fantasies
aside, Mulder, that rope looks about as reliable as the
rickety wooden ladder.  I'm not willing to test out its
strength while hanging two stories above ground."  He
nodded in concession.

"How do you suppose Rodney gets in and out?"

"That's a good question, and I intend to find out right
now."  She began making her way to the far end of the
barn.  It was a slightly difficult trek;  the lighting was
dim and the narrow walkway that bordered the center aisle
had no railing, just the occasional post to hang onto.
Mulder followed, wary of the creaking floorboards
underneath.

There was a small opening at that end, about the size of a
door or a large window.  When they looked outside they saw
another ladder lying in the high grasses below.  Clearly
Rodney's means of access.

"Well, that's that.  Case solved," Mulder said as they
made their way back to the hayloft.  "We can notify the
local sheriff on our way out of town.  I'm sure he'll be
able to wrap this up.  I, for one, would not relish the
thought of telling the Appletons that their pride and joy
has been scamming them."

Scully was about to agree when one of the floorboards gave
an even more ominous creak than before, and suddenly
cracked completely.

She was thrown off balance and for an agonizing split
second thought she was going to go over the side.  She
managed to pitch herself forward just as Mulder whirled
around and shouted her name.  He lunged for her as she
landed hard on her left hand, and he stopped short.  He
reached an arm up to a rafter to steady himself, and
stretched his other hand out to her.

"Jesus, Scully," he panted, all color drained from his
face, "you scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?"

She didn't answer, just rolled herself to a sitting
position, one hand clutching the other.  Given the amount
of pain she was feeling, and the awkward way she'd landed,
she knew it wasn't good.

"Scully?" he questioned urgently, gripping her shoulder.

"I think I...." she gasped, tears springing to her eyes,
"I think I broke my wrist."

"Damn it!"  Mulder grasped the rafter firmly, and slipped
his other arm around her shoulders, helping her to stand.
Slowly they crept back to the loft.

"Hold on a sec," he said when they'd reached their goal.
He began kicking straw around to form a pile.  When he was
satisfied with the size of the mound he shrugged out of
his trench coat, removed the belt, and draped it,
lining-side up, over his creation.

"Here, sit down."  Hands on her shoulders, he guided her
gently onto his miniature haystack.  He knelt beside her
and reached for his tie, loosening it, and slipping it
over his head.  "How bad is it?" he asked, wincing in
sympathy as he looked into her eyes.

"It's not good," she replied tightly, "but I think I'll
make it."  She managed a watery smile for his benefit.

"Let me see," he said gently, and she held out her hand,
biting her lip.  Using the belt from his coat, he wrapped
her wrist, and then fashioned a sling out of his necktie.
Satisfied with his handiwork he leaned back on his
haunches, and scanned her face.  He picked up her right
hand, and stroked his thumb along the back of it.  "Does
that help a little?"

She sniffed. "Yes, thanks Doctor Mulder."

"You're quite welcome, Patient Scully."

"'Patient', Mulder?" she queried, raising a brow at him.

"The patience of a saint," he said under his breath as he
released her hand and stood.  He paced around the loft for
a minute, and Scully could see his shoulders tensing.

"Scully, I'm sorry."

"Mulder, this is not your fault."

"I mean for, well, for all of it."  He ran an agitated
hand through his hair.  He took a few more steps, and
stood still, his back facing her.  She could practically
see him struggling for words.

Despite the unremitting pain in her wrist, Scully felt the
tension she'd been carrying for the past weeks slowly
begin to slip away.  Glancing outside, she noticed the
gloom was beginning to dissipate.  "It looks like it's
letting up a bit," she noted.  His shoulders dropped a
notch, and his stiff posture eased.

Mulder looked outside before walking back to her side.  He
knelt again, and ducked his head to meet her eyes.

"Sometimes the only thing you can do is weather the
storm," he said softly.

And like a puff of smoke, the residual anger left Scully.

Mulder's statement had nothing to do with meteorology, and
the light shining in his eyes told her everything she
needed to hear.  She felt an immense relief;  her poor
high horse had been starting to get saddle sores.

Mulder glanced outside again.  "I think it won't be much
longer Scully.  We can just call the sheriff on the way to
the hospital.  Poor ol' Rodney's dreams of tabloid stardom
aren't going to come true."

Scully chuckled suddenly.  Mulder whipped his head around
to look at her again.  She smiled and shook her head a
little at his alarmed expression.  "Don't worry Mulder, it
hurts a lot, but I'm not hallucinating or anything.  I was
just thinking of what those headlines would've been."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something like 'Prize Porkers Prognosticate
and Perplex Populace'."

"Soothsaying Swine Startle and Surprise,"  he countered.

"Telepathic Truffle-Hunters Terrify Townsfolk with
Terrible Tidings."

"Oracle Oinkers Opine On Options."

They continued for a while, each trying to outdo the
other.  It was a good distraction for the pain, and by the
time the rain stopped completely they were both laughing.
It was like a therapeutic massage, Scully thought;  it had
been far too long since they'd been able to communicate
like that, or at all for that matter.

They trooped over to the ladder, and Scully looked at it
with consternation. "How are we going to manage this
Mulder?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary" he replied,
squeezing her shoulder gently.  "We just take it one step,
or in this case rung, at a time."

Mulder positioned himself on the ladder and reached for
her.  She sidled over to the edge with trepidation. "I'm
not going to let you fall," he proclaimed quietly.

She grabbed the ladder's side, and swung a foot onto the
rung while Mulder held on to her waist.

Their descent was arduous and painstaking.  Mulder would
take a step down, then hold her firmly with one hand while
she followed suit.  She found she had to go very slowly to
accommodate her fear - it was an unnerving feeling, having
only one useful arm at any time, but especially in this
position.  She realized, though, that there was no one
else she would trust to watch her back in this manner.
No, Mulder would never let her fall.

When they were nearly at the bottom he suddenly slid both
hands up the ladder to cage her.  Leaning over, he
whispered in her ear. "This sure as hell beats making
towers out of office furniture, don't you think?"

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Five hours and a trip to the ER later, they settled
themselves on the plane.  There were odd bits of straw
still stuck here and there, they both had a faint
eau-de-barn smell on them, and Scully felt slightly woozy
from the painkillers she'd received.

It was good to be back to normal.

She sighed a little as she tried to make herself
comfortable.  Scully had the window seat again, but Mulder
had actually bickered with her over who got it.  She won
it only by virtue of the cast on her arm.  Ultimately
she'd had to remind him of their rule:  whoever accrued
the most injuries on a case got the window seat.  Even
stubbed toes and paper cuts counted, so a broken bone left
him very little bargaining room.  But it pleased her that
he'd tried.

Mulder got through hefting their belongings in the
overhead compartment, and sat down with a whoosh of
breath.

"Doing okay there, Scully?" he asked, glancing at her
sideways as he tried to arrange his too-long legs in the
minimal space.

"I'm fine... a little out of it from the meds," she
replied,  trying to wiggle herself into a more comfortable
position.

He nodded sympathetically, chewing the inside of his cheek
as he regarded her.

After they were airborne he motioned for the flight
attendant, and asked for a pillow.

"Here," he said, pushing up the armrest when the promised
pillow appeared and placing it in his lap, "why don't you
lie down for a bit and take a rest."

She complied, glad of the chance to rest her weary head.
Mulder let his arm fall around her waist, and leaned
forward slightly to stow something in the seat pocket in
front of him.

"What's that?" she asked, already feeling sleep pull at
her, but wondering about the little shopping bag.  She'd
noticed him going into one of the airport gift shops when
she'd headed to the ladies' room to freshen up a little.
Was it possible he'd bought something for her?  She
thought they'd just gotten past the need for atonement.

"Nothing," he replied, "go to sleep Scully."  She did just
that, lulled by the faint stroking on her upper arm and
the roar of the engines.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Scully awakened only when Mulder shook her gently, warning
that it was time to put on her seatbelt for landing.  She
sat up, slightly dazed from her lengthy nap.  Mulder,
biting his lip, managed not to laugh at her confused state
and merely leaned across her to fasten the belt.  She
glanced down as he was tightening it, and noticed
something odd about her cast.

"Mulder, what's this?" she asked, twisting her arm to get
a better look.

'I Believe'  was written in bold black ink across the
underside of the cast.

"I signed your cast.... isn't that the custom?" he
queried, feigning innocence.

"Hmm, well usually people just sign their name, or put
something mundane like 'best wishes' or 'get well soon.'
Trust you to be unique."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?" she asked, still fuzzy and not following him.

"Trust me?"

"Oh Mulder," she sighed, "of course.  I don't think that
was ever in question.  I thought maybe ...  maybe it was
the other way around.  At least that's how it felt."

"Scully," he drawled, tapping the cast lightly with one
finger, "you'll see."

Before she had a chance to ask him what he meant, the
plane completed its landing and their conversation halted.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Scully wearily turned her key in the lock, and shouldered
open the door.  She'd politely declined Mulder's offer to
help her with her bag.  He'd actually accepted her desire
for independence, and with good grace.  This amnesty was
still shiny and new - neither wanted to tarnish it with
the slightest hint of discord.

God, what time was it?  She squinted into the kitchen to
read the digital clock on the stove.  3:10 a.m..  Great.
She didn't bother turning on any lights in the living
room, simply slid her overnight bag off her shoulder and
dropped it in the hall, and shrugged out of her trench
coat after she flipped on the bedroom light.  She tossed
it, too, into the hallway.  She'd deal with them in the
morning.

Her nightly ablutions took a little longer than usual.
Pajamas: too difficult, she opted for a long T-shirt
instead.  Brushing teeth: not too bad except for the
getting the toothpaste on the brush part.  Washing face:
rather tricky.  But, at last, she'd made it into her bed.

She sank into her pillows with a satisfied sigh.  Despite
the absurd nature of this 'case' she was thankful for it.
Even a broken wrist seemed a small price to pay.
Equilibrium had been restored.  She should have known it
would be through means other than a drawn-out
conversation.  It was, after all, their way.

Scully leaned over to the bedside table and switched off
the light.  It took a little maneuvering to find a
comfortable position with her cast, but the task was
eventually accomplished.  Her eyelids had just started
their slow downward slide when she noticed something that
snapped them open again.

What on earth?

There was a faint light emanating from the underside of
the cast.  Slowly she rolled her arm to take a better
look.  Tears sprang to her eyes when she discovered the
source of the luminescence.

'In You'.

Written in glowing letters.  Following, she knew from
their position, the words he'd penned on the plane,  'I
Believe.'

She sniffed, torn between laughing and crying.  Only
Mulder would make such a tender declaration and use a
glow-in-the-dark pen.

She fumbled for the phone in the dark, and punched in the
numbers she needed no light to find.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Mulder," he answered, sounding ridiculously alert for
that hour of the night.

"Mulder, it's me.  I got your message..."

"Yeah...?" he responded slowly, a hint of uncertainty in
his tone.

"I just wanted to say thanks. And, um, ditto."

"Ditto?" he chuckled, "now don't go gettin' all mushy on
me there, Scully."

"Mulder, I think you know-"

"I do," he interrupted, suddenly earnest.  "I just wanted
to present you with a simple fact.  I know how much you
like facts."

"Among other things... " she said softly, smiling in the
dark.

"Well, you can bank on that one."  He'd lowered his voice
too, and Scully could hear his own smile in it.

There was a moment of silence - a comfortable silence, she
noted with joy - before his voice came over the line
again.

"Good night, partner."

"'Night, Mulder."
 

_____________________________
END
 
 
 

Author's note:  Okay, I played around a little with the
timeline.  Does that make this AU? I was convinced that
Arcadia was the episode that immediately followed One Son,
and research (looking at my tapes)  proved me wrong.  At
the official site, though, I did discover that it looked
as if it was *meant* to be the next episode.  So, in my
little world (i.e. the corner I'd painted myself into) I
decided to make it so. Apologies to those for whom this
strikes a sour note.