"Mulder, I don't understand something.  If you can forgive me for
tricking you, and you said yourself, you thought we were good... Well,
what are you so angry about?"

Scully was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the hideous, stiff, frilly
nightgown enveloping her like a tent.

"I didn't make the cut," Mulder said.  "That's why I'm angry.  And you
didn't even give me the pep talk about keeping my grades up and trying
again next year."  But he would be back, and he wouldn't wait a year,
either.

"You made the team, Mulder," Scully said.  "but you didn't want to sit
at the training table."  The next morning, after Scully had faxed the
report to Skinner, she'd gone into the coffee shop and taken a table.
Mulder had walked in later, bleary and grouchy, ordered something to go
and taken it back to the room.  "Like a bad joke.  You didn't respect me
in the morning."

"I was afraid to go to sleep that night.  I knew if I closed my eyes
you'd be gone. And that's what happened, Scully."

"Skinner called.  I told you that, Mulder," she said.

"Yeah.  Skinner called, asked you what you were doing in my room.  That
got you to thinking, didn't it?  Made you ask yourself the same
question," Mulder said.

"I learned something that morning:  don't tell Skinner more than he
needs to know. I should have never mentioned the cow," Scully said.  If
she had just said, "Sir?" in that way of hers, Skinner would have backed
down.

"The cow?  Who cares about the cow?" A cow falling through the roof was
a singular event, but no more singular than sleeping with Scully.  Once
in a lifetime for both.

"I told him your room had  been destroyed by the falling cow," Scully
said.  "First he said he looked forward to reading my complete report
when we got back.  Then he changed his mind and told me to fax it from
the field office.  Then he said that the motel probably had a fax
machine, and he wanted to see my report in an hour."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mulder asked.  "I thought you were running
away from me."

"I took care of it," Scully said.  "I wasn't going to wake you up just
to tell you we were in trouble again."

"Why didn't you tell me later?"  Mulder asked.  The rest of that day had
been one of the most painful in his life.  "Scully, I was devastated.
Couldn't you tell?"

"Of course I could tell.  You were ashamed.  You let me push you into
something that just wasn't right for you.  You felt you'd been used, and
you couldn't trust me anymore.  You couldn't even look me in the eye."
Scully had tried to retain a sense of proportion.  She was mourning for
the love that she would never have, and for the friendship she had lost
through her own treachery.  But she had to move on. She had to leave the
disaster behind and do everything in her power to rebuild the
partnership.

"But, Scully," Mulder said.  "That's so stupid."

"And you were brilliant to conclude that me getting out of bed meant it
was over between us?" Scully asked.

"You ditched me, Scully."  That's how it had felt, but now that the
details were emerging he had to agree that he'd been an ass.

"Mulder, I am sorry that it happened the way it did.  I really didn't
give you a choice, and that isn't right," Scully said.  That bothered
her more than anything; it should have been a mutual decision.

"A choice about getting ditched?" Mulder asked.

"A choice about getting laid!" She jumped off the bed and gave her ugly
nightgown a few tugs.  Flannel was supposed to be soft but this thing
had a stiff surface, as if someone had starched it.

"I think I can reassure you on that point, Scully.  I didn't realize you
weren't giving me a choice.  What were you going to do to me if I
refused?" Mulder asked.

"You wouldn't refuse, Mulder, that's what I'm saying.  You couldn't have
refused," she said.

"Mind control, Scully?  Drugs?  Of course I could have refused," Mulder
said.

"Don't you remember?  You said something about how there was plenty of
room for two in the bed, and I said, Sure, why don't you join me?  You
would have never backed down from that," Scully said.  The nightgown was
really driving her crazy.  She'd used fabric softener, too.  Maybe she
was allergic to cheap flannel.

"I could have said no," Mulder said,  "and I didn't have to invite
myself in to begin with.  But why wouldn't you have breakfast with me?
Uh, Scully, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said, but she was plucking at that thing she was
wearing.  Mulder had never seen anything quite like it.

"Scully, we're both idiots," Mulder said.  "Take that off."

Scully laughed.

"We are both idiots," she agreed.  "We were both so ready to be rejected
that we couldn't even wait for it to happen."

"Yeah, that too," Mulder said.  "Let me help you with that."  He grabbed
a couple of handfuls of the flannel tent-gown and started to pull it up.

"Mulder!  Stop it," Scully said.  "We are not ready for this!"  They
certainly weren't, she thought.  Mulder was a bright guy, maybe even a
genius, but when it came to relationships, he was a slow learner.  And
she was nothing to brag about either.

"Scully, the ticks!  You were carrying wood too," Mulder said.  "You
have to get that off."

"Mulder, I was in contact with that wood for less than a minute.  I'm
sure I didn't get any ticks," she said.

"But you're squirming and scratching," Mulder said.  "I don't want you
to get sick."

"It's this stupid nightgown," Scully explained.  "That's all it is."

"This will take five minutes.  Just let me check," Mulder said
reasonably.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mulder. Didn't we just agree that there's hope
for us yet?  You, me, together, et cetera, et cetera?" Scully asked.

"As a matter of fact, I think we did.  All the more reason for you to
lose that bold fashion statement you're wearing," Mulder said.

"To the contrary," Scully said.  "It's too soon.  I'll take the
flashlight into the bathroom and check myself over, just to make you
feel better."

"Tell you what," Mulder offered.  "If you'll just demonstrate how you're
planning to inspect your own backside, I'll go along with it."

"This is insane," Scully said.  "I don't have any ticks anyway."

"We're not going to risk it," Mulder said.  "Remember?  Fever, joint
pain, weakness, confusion, spinal taps--what else were you telling me?"

"No, that's only if it goes untreated.  If you catch it early all you
need is a week or two on antibiotics," Scully said.

Mulder gave her a look of resentment, anger, and betrayal.  Had she
really made him bare himself just to pay him back for flashing her
earlier?

"I wasn't informed of that treatment option," he said coldly.

"Obviously the most direct and expedient approach, when it is available,
is to remove the ticks before infection can occur," Scully said.  He
could glare all he wanted; she had chosen the safest approach for him.

"Or else you can take a couple of pills," Mulder said.  If Scully hadn't
been trying to humiliate him, she'd at least been indifferent to his
feelings.

"The antibiotics aren't always effective, and the diagnostic tests for
Lyme disease are not entirely reliable," Scully said.  "You can finish a
course of antibiotics, appear to be free of the disease, and then
develop complications later on."

Mulder's glare softened as he looked at her.  He understood.  Scully
hadn't been trying to embarrass or punish him.  She'd used her best
medical judgment for him, but she wasn't able to do that for herself.

"Scully, I think you can see which way this is going," he said gently.

"I know what you're getting at.  You think that if removing the ticks
was the best treatment for you, it would also be the best for me,"
Scully said.  "Ordinarily that would be true."

The cabin seemed so small now, and Mulder seemed to be filling at least
half of it. Scully was backing away from him, imperceptibly, she hoped.
The cabin seemed so small, and yet the bathroom seemed so far away.  The
bathroom, with that door, with that latch you could lock.

"Ordinarily, but not in your case?" Mulder asked.  Scully's
deer-in-the-headlights look.  Mulder shoved aside his pity.  He had a
job to do.

"Damn it, Mulder, I can't go through with it!  Not with you, not right
after we decided we might be able to work this out," Scully said.  She
could feel waves of heat radiating from her chest and feel the pressure
building in her head.

"I let you check me, Scully.  And lived to tell the tale," Mulder said.
He didn't expect her to enjoy the situation, but she would have to deal
with it.  It wasn't as if he'd never seen her naked, but he knew it
would only make matters worse if he reminded her of that fact.

"That's you, Mulder."  She knew she sounded like an idiot.  Like a
panic-stricken idiot.

"You don't trust me," Mulder said.  "You think I'm too immature, or too
much of an opportunist, to keep this from becoming something sexual."
He sounded serious and a little edgy.

"Of course I trust you, Mulder.  This is no reflection on you at all,"
Scully explained.  To Scully her logic was unassailable; she just had to
make Mulder understand why she was right.

"You'd rather get sick than allow me to do this," Mulder said.  "That
isn't trust, Scully."  He sounded dejected--at least he hoped he did.

"I trust you with my life!" Scully told him earnestly.  "Mulder!"  Was
he putting her on?  He looked as if he might cry.

"That's what you say," Mulder said.  "That's not what that nightgown
says."

"Mulder."  This wasn't going well, Scully realized.  The most
single-minded man in the world had declared war on her sleepwear.

"I'll give you a hand," Mulder said, grabbing the hem of the oversized
nightgown.

"Stop it, Mulder," Scully said, but she knew it was like trying to tell
Captain Ahab to forget about that whale and get on with his life.  "I'll
do it myself."

She drew her arms back through the sleeves.  Then she pulled the stiff,
smelly, offensive garment off over her head and flung it at him.

Her bravado fled as the cool air hit her skin.  Again she felt herself
flush with embarrassment and felt her throat constrict so that she had
to force out each breath.

"Let's go, Mulder," she said hoarsely, preceding him back from the
center of the room to the bed.  "Let's get this over with."

I can't do this, Mulder thought.  He felt impossibly awkward, and Scully
looked impossibly beautiful, brassy, and vulnerable.  But he had to do
it.

He followed her over to the bed.

"Mulder, hand me the towel, please," Scully commanded, and he complied.
"Do you know how to remove a tick?"

Yeah, I guess, probably, Mulder thought, shaking his head No.

She sat on the bed with the towel wrapped around her and instructed him
in the art of tick removal.  He nodded dumbly when she had finished.

"Okay, Mulder, get to work," Scully said, and she lay down on the bed.

Mulder put the miner's lamp around his head; the lighting in the cabin
was atrocious.  Then he put on the magnifying loupes, which helped
tremendously.  They let him ignore the big picture and concentrate on
each inch of skin.

Scully hoped she sounded matter of fact, businesslike, but that's not
how she felt. The towel gave her only the slightest feeling of security.

Mulder swallowed.  If he just concentrated on her skin, he told himself,
he could do it.  What was that, a freckle, a mole?  No.  It was moving.

"Scully," he whispered.  God, how he hated bugs.

"Mulder..."  Her voice was shaky.  "Please get it off me."

He brought the forceps up to grab the abominable little arthropod, and
fortunately the touch of the steel was enough to brush it off Scully's
leg and onto the floor.

Mulder heaved a huge sigh.  One down, but how many to go?  There was a
lot of Scully left to cover.

"Scully," he said.  "Tell me about health reasons."

"The first sign of Lyme disease is often the bull's eye rash, seen where
the bite occurred.  Other early symptoms suggest the flu, like a
headache or overall achiness."  Scully tried to find comfort in the
familiar role of lecturer.

"Uh-huh," Mulder murmured.  Somehow her voice made him feel steadier.
He was moving his hand up her leg, using his fingertips as well as his
eyes to search for ticks.

"Later symptoms include two or more rashes, away from the site where the
bite occurred, migrating joint pain, and neck pain and stiffness."  She
tried to ignore what she was feeling and concentrate on her
presentation.

"Scully, maybe if you'd just bend you knees here, yeah, like that,"
Mulder said.  Mulder knew she was cooperating, but he could hear her
gasp as he got her to spread her legs a little. He was just trying to
see what he was doing.  "Scully, tell me the bad stuff."

"Other symptoms of the early disseminated phase can include facial
paralysis and tingling or numbness in the hands or feet," Scully
whispered.  "Changes in vision, fever of a hundred to a hundred and two
degrees, cardiac arryhythmias, and severe fatigue."

"Damn," Mulder whispered to himself.  There was another one. "Keep
talking, Scully," he said.

"Late-stage symptoms would be arthritis of one or two large joints, and
severe, disabling neurological problems.  Confusion, memory loss,
dizziness.  Numbness in the arms and legs."  She could do this, she
realized.  They would get through it.

Mulder grimaced as he used the forceps to remove the tick and drop it in
the jar.

As Mulder continued to check her groin, Scully continued her
recitation.

"Early treatment of Lyme disease almost always results in a cure," she
said.  "Treatment begun later than three weeks after infection is
usually successful as well, but the outcome becomes more uncertain the
longer treatment is delayed."

Mulder replaced the towel across Scully's waist and exposed her breasts.

"The relevant serological tests are the ELISA and the Western-blot.
Blood tests are considered unreliable in the first month after
infection, and diagnosis should be made on the basis of symptoms and
evidence of a tick bite."

Her words were barely audible.

"Scully, put your arms over your head," Mulder said quietly.

"No test is one hundred percent accurate.  The PCR, or polymerase chain
reaction test, is performed on cerebrospinal fluid or fluid aspirated
from an affected joint," Scully said, raising her arms.  "This test will
usually detect the presence of the Borrelia burgdorferi, the bacterium
associated with Lyme disease."

"Almost done, Scully, we're almost done.  I need you to turn over,"
Mulder said.

"Doxycycline or Amoxicillin are the drugs of choice, given orally,"
Scully said into the mattress.

"Okay," said Mulder.  "Just about done."

"For more severe symptoms, when disease is more advanced, ceftriaxone
may be preferred, given intravenously," she continued huskily.  "Mulder,
do you want the doses?"

"No," he said.  "We're done."  He placed the towel across her once more.

"The towel helps, doesn't it?" Scully remarked, grabbing the towel
around her as she sat up on the bed. Her voice was finally above a
whisper.

Mulder reached to pull something out of his duffel bag.  A clean white
T-shirt.
 
"Thanks," she said as he handed her the shirt.  She pulled it on over
her head.  Scully reflected that this shirt was larger than the usual
Mulder tee.  She preferred to see him in those body-hugging shirts that
showed off his toned torso. This shirt was really better for her.

"Unless you'd be happier back in that Victoria's nightmare original,"
Mulder said, grinning at her.

Without the confinement of the cabin and the isolation of the woods,
Scully and Mulder might still be caught in their stereotyped dance,
their never-ending pas-de-deux of near-and-fear.  An air-borne bovine
had sparked their initial encounter, but somehow they'd rallied with
enough neurosis and self-doubt to rewind themselves back to the
beginning of their endless loop of defense and denial.

Now the Ixodes tick had forced them together again.  A second chance.

After all the tension and confrontation of the last two hours, sleep
would not come easily.  It was going to be a long night.

Scully longed for a television.

She'd been in and out of more outfits that day than a new Barbie on
Christmas morning.  She'd seen all of Mulder there was to see without
the use of fiber optics, and she'd shown him as much too.

This wasn't her maiden voyage, but she could feel those watertight
compartments collapsing into one another.  Friend, partner, doctor,
lover...

What they needed now was to let the dust settle while they figured out
their new equilibrium.  What they needed was a TV.

"Do you have a hairbrush?" Mulder asked.

"Of course," she said, "but why?"

"Your head," he said.  "I didn't check your scalp.  Don't worry, you'll
like this part."  He smiled confidently.

Scully retrieved her hairbrush and started to put it to use, but Mulder
motioned her over to the bed.

"Come on, Scully, be a sport," he said, and she sat on the edge of the
bed and gave him the hairbrush.

Mulder put the brush down and started with his fingers, and as he had
promised, the sensation of fingertips on scalp was mesmerizing and
relaxing.

"I could get used to this," Scully said.

"It's the primate in you," Mulder said.  "We're pre-programmed to
respond to grooming activity."  Using the hairbrush, Mulder started to
part her hair into sections, letting him check more thoroughly.

"You're showing some real talent here," Scully told him.  "Maybe you
missed your calling."

"Mr. Fox of the Ritz," Mulder said.  "But you couldn't afford me, and
I'm booked solid for the next two years."

"Tell me, Mr. Fox," Scully said.  "What's Hillary really like?  And that
Paltrow woman, isn't she getting a little uppity?"

"Hey, Scully, want to try something?"  Mulder was satisfied that Scully
was tick-free, but she was practically purring under his touch, and he
had an idea that she might just go along with.  "Seems your
sister-in-law slipped us a little care package."

"She did?" Scully asked.

Allison had thought that the harsh Minnesota weather might prove too
rough for her citified visitors, and she'd packed them some basic skin
care items.  She'd intended for Scully to discover her gift, but Mulder
had found it instead.  Because she fully understood how dense the two
agents were, Allison had even provided some instructions:

"Scented body oils.  Warm in hands and apply to skin.  Feels great.
Good luck!"

"How does that sound, Scully?" Mulder asked.  "Want to try it?"

"Sure," said Scully, but when she reached to take the little bottle from
him, he pulled it away.

"Let me do it," he said.  "Let me give you a massage."

"Mulder... I don't think so," she answered. She and Mulder had taken
some important steps that night, but they'd have to proceed with
caution.

A massage would be too risky.

"Come on, Scully.  I've behaved honorably, haven't I?  I know you must
be stiff from skiing.  This will be good.  It will help you let go of
the tension."

"I see," she asked, smiling at him. "This is for health reasons."

"No," he said.  "This is to feel good.  Any benefit to your health is
purely incidental."

Massage.  Mulder.  Hands.  Skin.  Scully tried to consider all the
implications, but her thoughts spiraled into knots.  Mulder touching
her... that would be nice.  But where would it lead?  Wouldn't Mulder
want more?  He'd be disappointed, wouldn't he, if this was just a
massage? Or wouldn't she?  When she felt his caresses, wouldn't she want
more herself?

Scully wanted them to proceed with caution.  But she did want them to
proceed, she reminded herself.  And this was progress.

"Mulder?" she said.

Mulder studied her face for clues.  Nothing is ever simple for us, he
thought. I want to give her a backrub, but she's going to have to
convene an ethics committee before she decides.

"What?" he answered.

"Just a massage?" she asked.

"Just a massage," he assured her.  "Even if you beg for more."

"Because it's been brought to my attention that I treat you like a
eunuch," Scully continued.  "And I don't want you to think I'm a tease.
We are two responsible adults--"

"Shut up, Scully."  He met her eyes as she gaped at him.  "I don't think
you're a tease.  You are nuts, though."

"That's a great line, Mulder, have you had much luck with it?"  He was
infuriating, really, she thought.  After all these months of pain and
misunderstanding, of course she wanted everything spelled out between
them.

"And they call *me* Spooky," he said. "Here's the way it's going to be.
Tonight I will rub your back with scented unguents.  Tomorrow I will
seduce you.  Any questions?"

They were still sitting on the bed.  Mulder's bare chest was so familiar
to her.  She knew where to auscultate each lobe of his lungs.  The burns
were long gone, but she knew exactly where she'd placed the paddles to
shock his stalled heart back into a rhythm.  She knew too, from her one
experience, where teeth and tongue would send him into shivers.

"Mulder, are you going to spend the night in those jeans?" Scully
asked.  His trousered leg was harsh against her bare one. Boxers without
jeans were one thing, but jeans without boxers?

"Are you asking me to slip into something more comfortable?" Mulder
asked.  It was the same ironic tone he used so often, and not just with
her, but it sounded warmer now.

"That depends," Scully said.  "Did you pack those plaid pajama bottoms?
You know, the soft ones."

"You like those, huh?" Mulder asked. "You never told me that."

Mulder had started wearing pajamas a few months ago. Probably a sign of
impending senility, he thought.  What was next?  Bifocals?  Bermuda
shorts?  The fact was, though, they were damn comfortable.  They'd feel
a lot better than this stiff, thick-seamed denim.

He found the requested pants from among his clothes and took a gray
T-shirt to go with them.

"Excuse me," he said.  "I'm going to change privately."

While Mulder was in the bathroom, Scully looked for something to put on
herself.  Mulder's shirt was great, but it only went so far.  She donned
a pair of Allison's textured cotton long johns and got into bed to wait
for Mulder.

He came out of the bathroom dressed just the way she'd wanted.

She turned onto her stomach and Mulder tucked the blankets around her
waist.  He started to pull the T-shirt up over her back when she turned
around again and stopped him.

"Mulder, are you sure I'm not using you?" she asked.

"Roll over, Spooky," he said.  "Prepare yourself for indulgence and
relaxation."

He warmed the scented oil in his hands. With her back to Mulder, Scully
pulled Mulder's T-shirt off over her head and stowed it under her
pillow, then lay face down on the bed.

"Are you comfortable?"  Mulder asked, adjusting the blankets. His voice
held no seductive tone or sensual teasing.  Scully could feel herself
relax and the massage had not even begun.

"Oh, yes," she said, but when Mulder moved closer to her on the bed, so
that his hip pressed against hers, she felt her throat constricting.
Her breathing became forced and deliberate and her skin flushed with
heat. She had to time her breathing; inhale to the count of seven, and
hold it for seven, now blow it out (five-six-seven).

But the reaction was one of desire as well as anxiety.

Mulder placed both of his palms on Scully's shoulder blades and applied
a firm pressure.  His hands remained still as Scully's skin adjusted to
the warmth of his touch.  At first, Scully was overwhelmed by the
sensations--it was as if the walls of the cabin were closing in on her.
But as Mulder's hands remained stationary she felt herself settling
down.

Once Mulder's treatment began, his hands never broke contact with
Scully's skin.  His left hand moved to the center of her back where he
kneaded and pressed against the tension that gripped against her spine.
On her neck, his right hand stroked up and down in an oblong pattern
that seemed to draw out and dissipate the tight ache. Sometimes Mulder's
hands would switch tasks, but the contact remained and Scully felt the
knots loosen as her muscles ribboned into a relaxed harmony.

As Mulder felt Scully's muscles unclench, he changed to a gentler touch.
Both hands began to circle on Scully's back. The soothing oil and
Mulder's fantastic hands were sending her into a stupor. Her back was
humming with the pleasure of it, and she was drifting into sleep.

She wanted to thank him, tell him, that was fine, he could stop now.
But she didn't want to move, didn't really want him to stop.  If only
she could stay awake to enjoy this...

Out for the count, Mulder thought.  He continued his gentle circles for
a few more minutes and then he brought the sheet and blanket up over
Scully's bare shoulders.

He'd spent the last several months frustrated and bewildered because he
thought Scully had rejected him, but very little of his discomfort was
sexual. Sexual tension was dealt with easily enough, frankly, and if
he'd wanted to outsource the task there were plenty of volunteers.

The comfort he'd longed for was physical, yes, but only partly sexual.
It was enough for him that Scully had acknowledged the urges they
stirred in one another.

Enough for tonight, at least.

He pulled back the covers and got into the second bed.
 
=======================================================

For the second time that evening, Mulder was awakened by the chilly air.
The cabin was colder than ever.  Wood, Mulder thought.  Got to go out
and get more firewood.

He forced himself to get out of bed.  Scully was still asleep, curled up
like a hedgehog under her quilted blanket.  He took the covers from his
own bed and placed them over her.

"Mulder?"  Scully said sleepily.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered.  "I'm just going to collect more
wood."

"'s freezing," she mumbled.

"I'll get the fire going again," he promised.

"No.  Don't go out. 's freezing."

"I know, Scully, that's why I have to get more wood," he explained
patiently.  He loosened the duffel bag to find something to put on over
his pajamas.

She was alert by this time, but she felt more comfortable pretending to
be half asleep

"Warm in here.  Plenty of room," she murmured.  She was on her side near
the edge of the bed.

"Looks cozy," Mulder said.

"Be warmer if you were in here."

"You're not giving me much choice," he said, remembering her scruples
about the first time he'd climbed into bed with her.

"No choice at all," she said.

Trying to hide his eagerness, Mulder walked around the bed to slip in
on the other side.

Mulder saw that Scully was wearing his T-shirt again. That was
good--sort of.

Mulder got under the covers.  He lay on his side, to avoid crowding in
on Scully's space.  She was off the pillow entirely, so he pulled it
over to use himself.

Mulder tried to get comfortable without squirming.  There really wasn't
enough room. He started to reposition himself, inadvertently bringing
his arm against Scully's back.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Scully sighed, stretched, and wriggled herself closer to him until her
head was on the pillow and her back was against his chest. She reached
back for his arm and pulled it over her shoulder as if it were another
blanket.

This last maneuver finally convinced Mulder that it would be all right
to make himself comfortable.  He snaked his right arm under Scully's
neck and pillow.  He encircled her in his arms.  His left hand was
within inches of Scully's left breast.  And his right hand would not
have to more very far either.

Scully was not surprised when she felt Mulder's hands graze her
breasts.  To her great satisfaction, he did not apologize.

Scully settled back into Mulder's embrace.  His right hand clasped her
upper arm and his left hand lay casually across her hip.

Comfort and fatigue were greater than arousal for both partners, and
they slept.

======================================================

To pee or not to pee.

Scully had been debating with herself, in between naps, for the last
fifteen minutes, but at last she had no other option than to drag
herself from the warm bed across the cold floor to the freezing
bathroom.

Mulder had twisted the blankets into a jumble when she returned, and she
straightened them out enough to get him properly covered, but she did
not get back in the bed.  She dressed and left the cabin to collect some
firewood.

Her watch showed 2:30, but outside it was early dawn. The cold was
bracing and energizing as she gathered up some fallen branches. Stopping
by her abandoned skis, she tried to pry out her ski boots, but the
bindings were still frozen. She put the skis into the rack, then took
two trips to bring the wood into the cabin.

Scully got a fire started and the cabin warmed up quickly.  She would
have to wake Mulder soon.  While skiing back from the waterfall the
night before, she'd met someone who was also studying the area around
Temperance River, an archeologist from the University of Minnesota.  He
had agreed to drop by the next morning.

Nevertheless she took a few minutes to watch Mulder sleep. For the first
time she could behold him in his tousle-haired, stubble-faced glory and
bask in the sight.  She'd been privileged to see him like this before,
but regret and yearning always made the pleasure bittersweet.

Scully knew exactly how she wanted to wake Mulder.  The scented oils
were still on the floor next to the bed.  She had fallen asleep last
night with Mulder's palms and fingers rubbing the soothing lotion into
her skin. Payback time.  She poured a cup of hot water from the kettle
and used it to warm up the oil.

Mulder lay face down on the bed. The cabin was toasty now, and he had
tossed off his covers.

Scully sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped her hands under his
shirt.  His skin was comfortably warm, so she started to pull his shirt
up to remove it.  He turned over for her and pulled the shirt off over
his head.

"Hey," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.  "Get back in here."

"Nope," she told him.  "You're going to get what's coming to you."  He
grabbed her arms, trying to pull her into the bed.  "Stop that, Mulder!
Roll over."

"Ooh!  Are you going to spank me?" Mulder asked, flopping onto his
belly.

"I've spent the last six years covering your ass, and now you want me to
paddle you?" Scully asked.

"It's not my number one request," Mulder said, "but I'd settle."

"I'll keep it in mind," Scully said.  She poured some of the oil onto
her palms and started to rub firm circles over his upper back.

"Free weights?" she asked him, willing to stroke his vanity as she
stroked his body.

"Nautilus."  He sounded very pleased.

Working the dorsal muscles from this position was awkward and tiring.
Scully knew she could do a better job if she could get closer.  Leaning
on Mulder for support, she scrambled on top of him, kneeling across his
lower back.
 
"Yee-haw!" Mulder yipped.

Scully angled forward and used her thumbs to soothe and press the
muscles of Mulder's neck.  She frowned with concentration, using slow,
even pressure to make him relax.

A low groaning noise conveyed Mulder's appreciation.

Scully finished with the splenius muscles and briefly moved up Mulder's
neck to massage his scalp gently.

Mulder sighed, deeply contented.

Scully wondered if she could make him fall asleep, as he had done to her
the night before.  Mulder had promised to rub her back last night; today
he was planning to seduce her.

Maybe she could beat him to it.

She moved down to his left shoulder.

In some ways, Scully thought, she knew Mulder's body so well.  She knew
his medical history, his blood type, his weight, his body surface
area--she could calculate his drug doses in her head.

She knew what size he wore, in everything.  More than once their
activities in the field had necessitated an emergency trip to a local
Wal-Mart.  Scully was as adept at pulling together an acceptable
Mulder-ensemble as Mulder was at changing his clothes in a moving car.

She giggled a little.  Mulder had performed the same service for her, of
course.  And she still didn't believe the leopardskin-print bra was the
only one in her size.

"What are you thinking?" Mulder asked.  The strong, small hands on his
back were sublime, but a night spent wrapped around Scully and dreaming
about her had reduced his tolerance for deferring the other pleasures
she could bring him.

"You have nice arms," she said.

Seduce Mulder--could she do it?  Probably, but it would be devastating
if she started to move in on him and he wasn't into it.  She didn't know
if she could weather that kind of rejection, or if the relationship
could.

Dana Scully had never seduced anyone in her life.  Dana Scully was a
lousy lay--Jack Willis had told her that.  Of course that was when they
were breaking up, when he was angry and hurt, but she had every reason
to believe him.

Mulder was thinking about seduction too.  He had told Scully he was
going to seduce her today, and here she was in the bed with him.  That
had to qualify as consent.

Scully was paying a lot of attention to his right arm, bunching and
pressing his deltoid muscle.  It was pleasant enough, but there had to
be a way to re-direct her efforts to certain other areas. Yet as Scully
continued to work on his shoulder he found that he really didn't want
her to stop.  She used both hands to massage him in a leap-frog motion,
and the warmth and pressure of her hands spread the relaxation from his
shoulder down his triceps to his forearm and finally to his hand and
fingers.

Scully returned her hands to Mulder's left shoulder, then worked her way
across his back, kneading the muscles forcefully and skimming over the
bony processes of his vertebrae.  She followed the ridge of his scapula
to land on his deltoid, where she began to gather and spread the meaty
muscle of his right shoulder as she had the left.

Scully was trying to exorcise her self-doubt.  Why was she so focused on
rejection? Why couldn't she enjoy the moment and let it lead where it
would?

Trust your instincts, Dana.

I don't know if I can, she answered herself.  It's been a long time
since I touched a man for pleasure.  I'm just touching his arm, and it's
making me hot!

Be honest, Dana.  You're not just touching his arm, you're also
straddling his butt.

Oh.  Yeah.

Mulder was planning his seduction, or more accurately, he was
considering whether it would be wise to attempt one.  If Scully had any
clue what she was doing to him, she'd probably stop.  She'd have to call
in the ethics committee again.

They had touched so much in a few short hours.  So much after so little.
He was definitely ready and willing for more.

Scully moved her attention to the muscles along Mulder's spine.  She
worked this area as she had his arms, with long strokes by one hand and
then the other.  The sacral area called for a circular pattern--first
Scully used her finger tips and then she retraced the pathway with the
heels of her hands.

Tension was moving throughout Mulder's body now, but it certainly was
not being reduced.

Scully's voice squeaked at first when she tried to talk.

"Hold on, Mulder.  I need some more oil."

She leaned over to get to the bottle, but Mulder twisted beneath her,
grabbing her arms so he wouldn't throw her off the bed.

He was on his back, and Scully, blushing and startled, still straddled
his hips.

"Be gentle with me, Scully,"  Mulder told his shocked partner.  When she
had recovered from her surprise, she aimed the massage at the safest
area presented--the arms again.

Scully began to smile as Mulder's expression clearly revealed his
enjoyment.

In Mulder's four decades on earth, his arms had never before received so
much attention.  If his brain and his hormones would just leave him
alone, he'd probably fall blissfully asleep.

Scully moved to the center of his chest and the massage paused.

Mulder opened his eyes.  Scully's smile had turned suspiciously
mischievous.

"Mulder, you must be really sore right here."  The hands were in motion
again and working on his pectorals.  Oh, my God!

Scully was no longer trying to relax Mulder or relieve his stiffness.
Far from it. Breath was coming faster and deeper for both of them.

There was no reason to hold back, nothing left to hide.

Scully felt not only pleasure but relief.  Like a drink of cool water on
a parched throat, or finally getting to scratch that itch.  Mulder was
hers.  Body contact, so essential, so desired, was now permissible.

Her hands moved from his pecs to his delts, then back to his chest.
Then they traveled downward.

External abdominal obliques. Scully closed her eyes, the better to
appreciate the Braille message of his contours. Her hands moved with
almost enough pressure to cause bruising. His abs, then back up his
chest.  And then lighter pressure, much lighter.  Circles.

Mulder twisted again without warning and had Scully on her back. Their
gazes locked and the smile returned to Scully's lips, a wickedly playful
smile.  Her hands returned to his chest, lightly now, very lightly, her
fingers teasing his nipples. Mulder's elbows stayed locked, but his arms
were trembling.  His breathing slowed into long inhalations ending with
short, grunted expulsions of air.

Mulder was undone.  Touching... Scully... words were not even part of
the thought process now.  Scully controlled him completely.
 
One action seemed possible that would level the field.  He was hovering
over Scully, and she was lying beneath him fully dressed.  He lowered
himself next to her and grabbed the hem of her sweater, a cable-knit
acrylic.

For a fraction of a second, Scully's mind focused on the pragmatic.

He'll stretch it out! she thought

Scully wriggled her way out of the sweater and tossed it onto the second
bed.

Mulder hands traveled to Scully's waist.  He teased under her T-shirt,
stroking and scratching lightly.  Then he took two handfuls of T-shirt
and tugged it over Scully's head.

Her hands broke contact with Mulder's body for a moment to let the shirt
pass.

Mulder started to laugh.

Not the reaction Scully had hoped for.

"Scully, I'm sorry," he said.  "It's just that I'm happy.  And you're
beautiful.  And you're wearing that bra."  That bra from Wal-Mart.  That
bra that proved, beyond all doubt, that he was crass and tasteless, with
the sensibility of an adolescent.

"I wear this bra a lot," Scully told him.  "Usually with the black lace
panties."

While Mulder tried to formulate a response, Scully slid sideways so that
she was on top of him again. She leaned forward and planted her palms
solidly on the bed, just above Mulder's shoulders.

"Scully?" he said.

"Hm?" she queried.  Her leopard-bra'd breasts grazed lightly along
Mulder's chest.

"Black lace panties.  Show me." The panties didn't matter, but he wanted
to get those pants off her.  The oversized tweed ski pants she had
borrowed from Allison.

Scully's lips and tongue trailed along Mulder's chest, following the
same route her hands had blazed.  She nibbled on his neck, dozens of
quick little nips.  Her tongue flicked at his ear lobe, and then she
wrapped her arms around his neck as she tasted her way down his neck and
back to his chest.

Mulder could not move, could not even think. If it weren't for the feel
of Scully moving above him, he would have believed that time itself had
frozen.

Scully's clothing was rough against his skin.  Her bra felt rough where
it brushed against his bare chest, and her wool pants felt rough where
they rubbed hard against him, even through his flannel pajamas.

He didn't know if Scully was doing it on purpose, but she was gyrating
against him.

"S-s-s-s."  Mulder wanted to say something, wanted to warn her. Passion
and desire grew and fulminated within him, and he could not even say her
name.

"Mulder..."  She abandoned his nipple so that she could answer him,
and   Mulder and his nipple felt desolate, bereft.  "Do you want me to
stop?"

"N-n-n-n," Mulder stammered spastically, and as Scully's incisors
resumed their gentle torture, and her shameless pelvic bones ground
against him again, Mulder felt lust and longing explode until they were
extinguished.

Mulder shuddered when he came, uttering something guttural, voiceless,
and throaty.

Scully opened her eyes to Mulder's look of chagrin and disappointment.
At last Mulder was able to speak.

"Oh, shit," he said.

Scully took a moment to get over her surprise.

"I'm good!" she said at last.  "I am g-o-o-o-o-d!"

"You're taking this awfully well," Mulder said.

"You are so cute.  God, you're cute, Mulder.  Do you have any idea how
cute you are?"  But Scully was not going to give him a chance to answer
that question, because she could no longer refrain from nibbling on his
lips.

Nibbles did not satisfy her for long, and soon her mouth was pressed
hard against his.

Mulder returned her avid kisses.

Leopardskin suits her after all, Mulder thought.  She's a wildcat.

He pulled Scully to him, encircling her with his arms, accepting her
tongue against his.  And then, when she was firmly in his grasp, he
artfully flipped her.

"You called me cute.  I object to that patronizing characterization,"
Mulder said. Not only was he above her, he was actually pinning her, and
pouting.

"You don't understand, Mulder," Scully protested.  "I loved it.  I loved
making you lose control."  Mulder's unexpected orgasm had boosted
Scully's confidence.  Making Mulder come and sharing the bed with him
were enough to carry her for the rest of the day, the rest of the week,
if need be.

"You loved that?  You *are* spooky."  He began to stroke her stomach,
and then, as his hand cupped her left breast, he kissed her again.

"Scully," he said when he broke from the kiss, "maybe you'd better get
those pants off."

It was a little late to worry about the pants, Scully thought.  She'd
have to invent a fictional mishap and then insist on replacing them.

"We don't have much time," Scully said.  "We have to get up now."  Her
watch still read 2:30, but daylight was streaming through the windows
and she didn't know how long until her visitor would arrive.

"Scully, aren't you hot in those pants?" Mulder asked.

She laughed.

"I thought so," Mulder said.  "I'm going to help you."  She gripped his
wrists to stop him, but he still succeeded in undoing the button and
sliding down the zipper.

"Okay, okay," she said, pulling off the pants so that he wouldn't tear
them.  "But we still have to get going."

"Scully... You're going to get what's coming to you." He had moved aside
so that she could strip off her pants, but now he was on top of her
again, with his knee in between her legs.

"Mulder, really.  There's no time."  Don't make me spell it out, she
pleaded silently.  I am not like the women in your movies.

She realized that their night in Kansas could have given Mulder a false
picture.  She had never in her life come like that.  The surprise, the
years of foreplay, and maybe some happy accident of anatomy had given
her the fastest, easiest orgasm of her life.  But that was like a triple
play--once in a lifetime, if you were lucky.

"That bra has to go," Mulder said.  "My best friend said it was
tasteless and tacky."  He snapped it open one-handed.

And I thought he picked it just for the leopard spots, Scully thought.
Mulder's slow fingers were doing wonderful things to her, puckering her
nipples and softening her brain.

Mulder stared into Scully's eyes while he played with her nipples, and
then his gaze shifted as he lowered his head to her breast. She felt
gentle traction on her nipple as his soft, greedy mouth began to suck,
and warm sensations jolted from her breast to her vulva.

Scully's thighs clamped against Mulder's knee, and he took it as a good
sign.  He flicked his tongue against her nipple, twisting his neck in an
effort to catch the look on her face as he did it.

Mulder was trying hard to please her, Scully thought.  It wasn't his
fault she was so high-maintenance.  Jack used to complain that she
couldn't respond unless the room was dark, the phone was off the hook,
and there was a towel spread out to protect the bed.

Mulder lowered himself to lie down on his side to Scully's right. He
brought his arm behind her neck and pulled her closer.  Then he threw
his right leg over hers.

Mulder wanted to ask her to help him, to show him what she liked.  He
felt like a cluck.  Scully had made him come in his pants like a kid,
and now he was fumbling around like a kid.

Scully felt an odd combination of controlled and contented.  Mulder's
arm across her back was such a sweet, friendly gesture, but his leg,
which was wrapped around hers and forcing her legs apart, felt thrilling
and a tiny bit menacing.

She reached for him, turning on her side to face him.  She leaned in to
kiss him, leaned in close to feel him against her breasts.  And when she
felt Mulder's hand slide under the waistband of her panties, she forgot
to warn him that she was high maintenance.

It was Mulder who broke off the long, hard kiss and pulled Scully onto
her back again.

Scully looked at him questioningly, and he felt stupid again.

"I want to see your face," he explained.  He wanted to watch her
expression as he slid his fingers against her clitoris.

"We have to get up."  Scully's tone conveyed a total lack of conviction.

Mulder drew his hand up Scully's body, circling and caressing.  Her
breasts, down to her belly, her legs... Mulder's head was resting on top
of her arm. Scully reached her other arm to stroke up his inner thigh
and cup his balls in her hand, feeling their weight through the flannel.

Then Mulder's hand was back in her pants, his fingers sliding past the
patch of coarse hair to the slippery labia.

Wet, warm, slick.  Mulder used his fingertips to circle on Scully's
clitoris, slow, firm circles.

"Mulder."  Long, soft syllables.  Eyes half closed.

He didn't answer.  He was tonguing and sucking again on her left
breast.  His fingers moved up and down against her clit.  Scully was
undulating against the bed, against his fingers.

Looking good, Mulder thought.  One problem, though. Scully's hand by his
balls was becoming less attentive, more careless.  He really didn't want
that hand there anymore.

Unfortunately, Mulder had only two hands.  With his left arm under
Scully's neck, his left hand was in position to pull at Scully's upper
arm.  He tried it, but she resisted.

Scully's brain had switched into hot-pants mode.  When Mulder tried to
pull her arm away, it took an emergency over-ride from her intellect to
stop her from grabbing his testicles to maintain her position.

Mulder immediately switched tactics.

"Scully."  He had to abandon the slick clitoris to move her hand from
his crotch.  "I just want to take care of you now."

Scully's intellect took the opportunity to reassert itself.

"Mulder, there's something you need to know.  Something I should have
explained last night."  Scully knew her message would be less than
convincing.  She was lying in Mulder's arms wearing only her black
cotton panties, her labial folds hot and slippery.

Mulder recognized that the wildcat had been displaced by Dr. Scully,
scientist.  He passed her hand  across her body to his left hand, and
she laced her fingers into the fingers of his left hand.  Mulder rubbed
again at her right nipple and flicked his tongue along the folds of her
ear.

Then he answered her.

"Okay, Scully, tell me your secret," he said.  His hand was migrating
south once more, but he was letting it enjoy the journey.

"My sexual response--limited.  Fussy.  High maintenance."
Sentences--couldn't.

"That's fine, Scully.  Don't respond," Mulder said. He was watching her
face.

"Mulder.  Really."  Scully didn't want him to stop, she just wanted to
warn him that it wouldn't work.  "Takes forever."

Mulder was tasting her neck again, so there was a pause before he
answered.

"I've been known to last longer than a minute myself," he said.

"Mulder, don't take this personally."  Dr. Scully, scientist, had
triumphed, unfortunately.  "I'm not going to come.  Women are not like
men."

"Really?"  Smugness.  Index and ring finger, back on her clitoris.
Slow.  Circles. She knew his confident smile.  She could see his face
even with her eyes closed.

"Mulder.  Mulder.  Mulder.  Oh my God!"

Circles. Circlescirclescircles.

She tore her hand from his grasp, because she had to kiss him, and she
grabbed his head to bring him to her.  She pushed her open mouth hard
against Mulder's, and she could feel his teeth against her lips as she
possessed him with her tongue.

And still the two fingers were circling.  And still she was coming.

And then she grasped his hand to slow his rhythm, and collapsed back on
his arm.

Mulder hand increased its range, traveling down her soft-skinned thighs,
up her belly, over her hip bone to squeeze her buttock.

And Scully lay there, smiling.  A very big smile that looked as if it
might break into actual laughter.

"Sorry, Scully," Mulder said even more smugly.  "Maybe next time."

=====================================================

"I'm expecting company," Scully said.  She and Mulder had finally sat
down to breakfast. "Someone I met in the woods yesterday who knows this
area inside out."

"Scully, if the wolf's coming over, I'm going to hide in the cupboard,"
Mulder said.

"Shame on you, shepherd boy," Scully laughed. "But it isn't the wolf."

"Oh," Mulder said. "So it's back to business for us."

"Mulder."  She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes.  Still
holding him with her gaze, she brought his hand to her mouth and gently
kissed the back of his fingers.  Then, without releasing his hand, she
leaned forward and  placed a small peck on his cheek.

"Thank you," she said.  "Thank you for having breakfast with me."

Mulder squeezed her hand.  Maybe we'll make it, he thought.

"Tell me about our guest," he said.

"You know those snowmobile tracks?  This is the snowmobiler.  Brad
Swenson.  He's an archeologist studying this area," Scully said.  "He's
a post-doc fellow at the University of Minnesota, working with the
Department of Natural Resources."

"Well then, I'd better rustle up another cup of Taster's Choice," Mulder
said.  He went to the fireplace to move the kettle closer to the fire,
then sat down again.

"Scully, are you going to eat that?" he asked.

Allison Scully always treated her houseguests to a big batch of her
famous stuffed raisin-bread french toast.  She'd sent along the
left-overs for the camping trip.

Dana had never had the heart to tell Allison how much she despised
stuffed raisin-bread french toast.

She'd excised and consumed a few raisin-free morsels, but most of the
concoction remained on her plate.

"Help yourself," she said.  "Aren't you going to eat your cantaloupe?"

"I don't usually eat the rind," he said, spearing a sticky bite of soggy
toast.  "But go ahead."

"Hmph," she snorted, reaching for his melon.  He'd left over more than
he'd eaten.

The sputter of the snowmobile outside announced the arrival of Scully's
guest. Brad Swenson held a doctorate in archeology, but his oddball
approach to the science kept him firmly on the fringes of academia.

Swenson stamped his feet at the doorway to clean his boots before coming
into the cabin.

"Morning, folks," he said.

"Brad, this is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder," Scully said.
"Mulder, Brad Swenson."

"Agent Scully tells me you know this area inch by inch. Maybe you can
help us find our missing cave," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand.

Brad Swenson wore a fluorescent orange snowmobile suit.  He looked older
than his thirty years, and his habitual squint made him seem humorless,
which he was not.  He was a tall, blond, big-boned man who thought
quickly and spoke slowly--most of the time.

"If you're looking for a cave by a waterfall with some moss-covered
rocks, I can tell you where to find it," Swenson said.

"That's great, Brad," Scully said, nodding at Mulder.

"As for your Viking..."  Swenson sat down across from Scully and
accepted the cup of coffee that Mulder gave him.  "Do you think you can
keep an open mind?"

Mulder pulled out a chair and sat down next to Scully.

"We'd be interested in anything you can tell us," Scully said.  "We've
heard a lot of odd stories that turned out to be true, or at least more
true than false."

"There are many kinds of truth, don't you think?" Swenson asked.  "The
sacramental wine in a Catholic Mass, is that the blood of Jesus?"

"So I have heard," said Mulder.

"That is one of those questions that science cannot even investigate,"
Scully said.

Swenson nodded, apparently satisfied that he'd made his point.

"Science has its method, and religion has its dogma, right?  But
sometimes it is the shaman, not the astronomer, who is able to predict
the next eclipse," Swenson said.

"The difference between science and religion is not that science is
right and religion is wrong," Scully said.  "The difference is this.
Science has a mechanism for self-correction.  The scientist can study
the eclipse and use that data to correct his hypothesis."

"Historically, scientists often overlooked data that did not fit with
their existing hypothesis," Swenson said.

"A shortcoming that continues into the present," Mulder said.
"Furthermore, the scientist will present her--or his--data as if it
represents the objective truth.  The scientist seems unaware, at times,
that her role as observer is part of the picture."

"Excuse me," said Scully, "but the errors of individual scientists do
not invalidate science itself.  The scientific method is sound, Mulder.
It is the only legitimate tool that we have."

Swenson cast his squinty gaze from Scully to Mulder and back again.
He'd heard this argument many times in many forms, but there was
something particularly personal about this discussion.

"Don't underestimate empirical wisdom, Agent Scully," Swenson said.  "As
Kelvin Throop put it:  Celestial navigation is based on the premise that
the Earth is the center of the universe.  The premise is wrong, but the
navigation works."

"Kelvin Throop?" Scully echoed incredulously.  "You made that up."

Mulder actually waved his hand at Scully to quell her.  She settled back
in her chair and forced herself to suspend her skepticism.

"Okay," Mulder said.  "This is getting interesting.  What do you think
we can learn here?"

"The Vikings believed that the end of the world was preordained.  They
believed in the twilight of the gods, Ragnorok, when most of the gods of
the Norse mythology would be killed in battle," Swenson said.  "Do you
know anything about the Norse religion?"

"A little," said Mulder.

"A few of the gods survive the final battle against the giants," Swenson
continued. "Balder the brave is one who survives."

"Ironically, Balder had been killed earlier," Mulder explained to
Scully.  "There's a picture of his funeral in Oliver's book."

"I guess returning from the dead was easier back then," Scully said,
raising her eyebrows at Mulder.

"Yes, they had more loopholes," Swenson agreed amiably.  "Anyway,
something happened at Balder's funeral.  Odin, leader of the gods,
passed along a secret to his dead son."

"There was a poem we had to read in high school, by Longfellow."  Mulder
said.  "Rather awful, really. 'Tegner's Drapa.'"  He began to recite:

        They laid him in his ship,
        With horse and harness,
        As on a funeral pyre.
        Odin placed
        A ring upon his finger,
        And whispered in his ear.

"You remember that from high school?" Swenson laughed.  "The undergrads
I teach can't remember if Paleocene comes before Pliocene."

"Don't encourage him," Scully said.  "Anyway, what does this have to do
with the cave we're looking for, or the Viking?"

"The local lore here includes a lot of the ancient beliefs," Swenson
said.  "What the old settlers decided is that Odin must have given
Balder some special piece of advice, some information he could use to
protect himself when the end of the world came."

"Told him to use sunscreen," Mulder said solemnly.  Scully gave him a
stern look, but Swenson laughed.

"Maybe.  No one knows.  But here's the thing, and like I said, you need
to keep an open mind.  People hiking around here have seen something.
An old Viking--and no, it's not Fran Tarkenton."  He shot a wry glance
at Mulder, who looked hurt.

"I wasn't going to say that," Mulder protested.

"Anyone's who's ever seen this... apparition comes away convinced that
the Viking has a message, a secret to tell them," Swenson said.

"There's something strange and mythic about this place," Scully said.
"The mists, the way the flowers bloom in the snow, the temperature
shifts. Even the animals..."

"It's a special place, all right," Swenson agreed.  "For example, notice
anything funny about your watches?"

"Mine stopped last night," Mulder said.  "At ten after nine."  He looked
at his watch.  "Only now it's running."

Swenson nodded. "I have to radio to the park service headquarters if I
want the right time," he said.

"Where do people report seeing the Viking?" Mulder asked.  "Is there any
particular place we should look?"

"He's shown up all over," Swenson said, "but I have a hunch that your
waterfall would be a good place to start."

"A hunch, Brad?" Scully asked.  The eyebrow went up, she couldn't help
it.

"Hear me out," Swenson said. "That waterfall you're looking for, with
the cave behind it... There's another interesting feature there, a hot
spring.  It's like Mother Nature's own Jacuzzi, except for one thing.
Sometimes it's there, and sometimes it's not."

"How's that again?" Mulder asked.

"You got me," said Swenson.  "Some kind of underground river or spring,
it must get diverted at times.  I don't think the geologists have it
figured out yet.  But there's a natural depression, a pit, really.  And
when we get lucky it fills up with nice, bubbly water.  Now, what do you
think we call that hot spring?  The Indians called it the Devil's
Cauldron, something like that, but the Swedish settlers gave it a new
name."

"Paul Bunyan's bathtub?" Mulder ventured.

"It's called Odin's Secret.  It's full-up now, so you might want to
check it out." He looked from Scully to Mulder.  "Just don't do anything
stupid like get drunk and drown.  You'd be surprised what people do."

Scully shuddered a little.  It wasn't that long since Mulder had almost
succeeded in drowning himself.

"Have you ever seen the Viking?" Mulder asked.

"No," said Swenson, "never have. Have you ever seen a virus, Agent
Mulder?"

Swenson was done talking, but he made a few notations on Scully's trail
map to show the way to the second waterfall.  After he took his leave,
Mulder and Scully prepared to follow his map.

"We'll get a final set of readings at the first waterfall and then move
the equipment to the new site.  So, Mulder, do you think we should bring
some food along?"  Scully asked.

"Yes, Scully, pack us some food.  Then whenever you're ready I'll carry
you to your little skis."

========================================================

The trip from the cabin to the first waterfall differed from the one
yesterday in two major ways.  First, when Scully caught up to Mulder,
where the trail through the woods broke off from the snowmobile tracks,
he ambushed her with a stockpile of snowballs.  Second, using the tracks
they'd made yesterday, Mulder was able to lead the way through the
woods.

Mulder led the way, which made it almost too easy for Scully to get him
back for the snowball attack.  He was still having a devil of a time
skiing uphill, even though he'd waxed scientifically for increased grip.

"You know why I'm having so much trouble on the inclines?" Mulder asked
when they took their break by the tree stump.  "It's your fault."

"My fault?" Scully echoed.  He was having trouble on the inclines
because of his skis.

"I've got no grip because you waxed wrong yesterday," he explained.
"Now my skis are picking up all your bad wax from the snow."

Scully laughed appreciatively and kissed him.  Mulder decided that he
had indeed intended his complaint to be a joke.

When they resumed skiing, Mulder noticed the wolf tracks in the snow.
The paw prints seemed enormous.  He sidestepped off the trail and
motioned to Scully so she'd catch up to him.

"Look at those, Scully, that's the wolf you were playing with last
night."  He thought the reality of the huge prints would have a sobering
effect.  What scared Mulder silly was the realization of how far from
him she'd been when she'd encountered the monster.  Even if he had heard
her gunshot, it would have taken him forever to reach her.

"See?" Scully looked up at him with the same excitement she'd shown
yesterday.  "I told you he was a big one."

Mulder wanted to shake his partner and ask her if she had a death wish.
It was a new experience for him although it would have been quite
familiar to Scully.

They reached the waterfall and quickly took their readings and began to
pack up the equipment.

"The usual assortment of background noise," Mulder said, "except for the
temperature fluctuations."

"Most likely attributable to the underground water and the hot spring,"
Scully said.  "High sulfur, too.  Either from the spring or maybe from
pollution."

With the equipment packed, Mulder took out the Minolta and performed his
usual act of "using up the roll."  He'd always pretended he did this
just to bug Scully, but in fact that was only a side benefit.  He really
did it for the pictures.  His large collection featured shot after shot
of Scully scowling at him, hiding her face, or giving him the finger.

This time he got a few smiles, until she got fed up and took out the
digital camera to get him back.  She snapped one picture after another,
and Mulder found it incredibly annoying.

"When we get back to the cabin, I want you to do 'David' for me again,"
Scully said.  "You'd make a great screensaver."

"Your monitor's not big enough," Mulder said.  "Do you have the map
Swenson marked for us?  I want to get to that hot spring."

"I'm sure what you really meant to say was that you wanted to get to the
cave and the waterfall," Scully corrected him.  "The hot spring is
merely an interesting geological phenomenon."

"They call it Odin's Secret," Mulder reminded her.  "Could be the key to
everything."

Swenson's map showed a trail from the first waterfall to the second
one.  The trail followed the river, so it shouldn't be hard to find.

It was easy to find but hellacious to follow.  The trail ran almost
entirely downhill, with only a few flat or uphill sections.  It curved
sharply to the left, so that Scully, leading the way, continuously felt
that she was skiing directly into the river.  There were no snowmobile
or ski tracks here, and Scully began to suspect that more experienced
campers avoided this trail entirely.

Unable to control the velocity of his descent, Mulder was at even
greater risk for losing the trail and plunging into the water.  To
compensate, he made his turns too sharp, so that when he fell, he would
fall into the thick growth of the forest rather than over the edge. And
he did fall.  Many times.

While Mulder was picking himself out of the evergreen thicket,
struggling to reclaim a ski pole from a particularly aggressive juniper
bush, Scully had arrived at last at the bottom of the run.  The trail
widened, flattened, and veered away from the river.

She stood in the clearing, watching for Mulder, chanting to herself,
He'll be fine, he'll be fine, he'll be fine.  But at the same time her
mind was racing from one possibility to another.  By the time he came
down the trail, as shaky as she was, his face scratched raw by the plant
growth, Scully had him in rehab, with lawsuits pending against the state
of Minnesota, the federal government, and Brad Swenson.

Mulder skied up to Scully.

"Hey, it's okay," he said.  She looked wide-eyed and pale.  "But we're
not going back that way."

"Mulder," she said.  At least none of his scratches were too close to
his eyes.

They would not have to ski back the way they came because there was a
much easier way.  If they had continued along the snowmobile tracks
instead of turning into the woods, they would have arrived at this same
clearing.  They had turned into the woods to find the first waterfall,
and then followed the riverside trail down to this site.  They would
have been better off backtracking from the first waterfall to the
snowmobile tracks and continuing along on that trail.

"Come on," Mulder said, "let's find that bleepin' waterfall."

Adding insult to injury, the trail they were following crossed right
over the snowmobile trail, and there, by a rocky embankment, was the
waterfall that Swenson had told them about.

Scully took out the map again.

"Look at this, Mulder, we didn't have to go down that deathtrap at all,"
she said.

Mulder saw that she was right.

"We could have stayed on the snowmobile trail, followed it all the way
out here," Mulder said.  "That son of a bitch."

"Do you think he was putting us on about the Viking as well?" Scully
asked.

Screw the Viking, Mulder thought, but there'd better be a hot spring.
He'd even brought towels.

Mulder and Scully surveyed the area around the waterfall, but while
there were plenty of moss-covered rocks, there was no sign of a cave.

"It's like a rain forest here," Mulder said.  Unlike the other waterfall, this
one was free of ice.  The ground around the waterfall was boggy and
bare, without a trace of snow.  Scully put her backpack on the ground
and snapped off her skis.  Mulder followed suit, and they both pulled
off their sweaters.  Scully went back to the steep, rocky hillside that was
the source of the waterfall, poking and examining.

"There is no cave here," she said.  "He's a sick man, that Swenson."

"It does seem that he was having some fun with us," Mulder agreed.
"Maybe he thought we were pulling his leg, asking about the Viking."

"He might have gotten us killed," Scully said.  Mulder felt along the
rocky embankment much as Scully had done, and with equally disappointing
results.  He reached his cupped hands into the stream from the waterfall
and  used the frigid water to wash the dirt and sweat from his
scratched-up face.

"I'll get you some ointment," Scully offered.  She took got out a packet
of antibiotic cream from the first aid kit in her backpack and dabbed
some along Mulder's scrapes.  "Does it hurt much?" she asked him, and he
answered with a shrug that could have meant anything.

"Scully, I want to find that hot spring, I really do,"  he said.

"You still believe that's the key to finding the Viking?" Scully
asked.   Maybe it was;  maybe there was a good reason the Swedish
settlers had named it Odin's Secret.

The Viking from Charlie's dream was about the last thing on Mulder's
mind just now. This trip was a complete success, even if Skinner
disapproved their traveling expenses and Mulder had to pay for
everything out of his own pocket.

"Don't you ever think about anything besides work?" Mulder asked.
"Swenson said it's like a Jacuzzi.  Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Scully shrugged, first one shoulder and then the other.  Her mouth
twitched as she looked up at him.  She was trying to fight it, but the
smile was winning.

"Yeah," she said, and she unfolded Swenson's map once more.

Swenson's notations showed the hot springs practically at the juncture
of the two ski trails.  They had to be within a couple of hundred feet
of the spa, unless Swenson really had been hoaxing them.  There was a
thicket of trees large enough to hold a secret hot tub but from where
they stood that didn't seem likely.

"I hate to disappoint you, Mulder, but unless it's in the middle of that
grove, there's no hot spring here," Scully said.  It was worth a look,
anyway.  This valley was drastically warmer than the higher parts of the
forest, and the ground was soft and mulchy.  That, at least, suggested
geothermal activity in the area.

They left their skis by the waterfall and traveled the short distance
into the wooded area.  Under the canopy of the trees, thick, soft snow
still covered the ground.  The hot spring was nestled within the shelter
of the grove as if by design.  An ancient seismic upheaval had formed
the spa of some volcanic matter.  It did not look rough and rocky like
the waterfall but smooth and glassy.

Mulder whooped with joy when he spotted the hot spring.

"Yes!  There it is!" he exclaimed.  "Look at it!  Please, Scully, can
we?"

"Why, I don't know, Mulder.  Did you pack a swimsuit?" Scully asked him.

Mulder looked at her with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

"Scully," he said.

"Gotcha!" Scully shouted.  "Last one in has to log the vouchers."  She
hurled her pack on the ground in an effort to get stripped and into the
water before Mulder.  Mulder dropped his pack a second later.

"No!" Mulder shouted.  "Not the vouchers."  He pulled Scully to the
ground, trying to hold her down with one arm while wiggling out of his
shirt with the other.  He couldn't remove his shirt without letting
Scully go, and she threw herself across his chest and pulled off her
turtleneck.

"Yes, Mulder, all the vouchers!" she crowed.  Mulder rolled Scully off
his chest and back onto the soft moss and threw himself on top of her
while he tried to open his fly.  When he arched himself up, Scully
slipped out of her pants and away from him as fast as he was stripping
off his own trousers.

"No!" he yelled again, and he grabbed her from behind.  He wrapped
himself around her, his legs locked around hers and his arms pinning
hers in place.  Now she wouldn't be able to finish getting undressed.
Of course, neither would he.

Scully was laughing too hard to say much of anything.  As if she'd ever
let him do the vouchers.  They were a nuisance, to be sure, but she had
a system by now and she'd be a fool to let Mulder monkey with it.

So they spent the next few minutes rolling around in the mud in their
underwear, laughing and grabbing.

"Mulder," Scully gasped at last.  "You're filthy.  Hot springs!  Now!"

"No!" Mulder yelled back.  "I don't wanna take a bath!"  They wrestled
some more, their garments succumbing at last, except for Scully's bra.

"God damn it!" Mulder exclaimed.  "It doesn't open in the back, it
doesn't open in the front, what is it with this thing?"

"Think of it as an IQ test," Scully said.  Crossing her arms in front of
her she slowly drew the sports bra over her head, bumping and grinding
all the while.  "There have been some recent advances in the field of
women's foundation garments--and with the woman in mind!"

"I wouldn't know, Scully, it's been a long time since my last
cross-dressing assignment," Mulder said.  Scully was vamping it up, but
when she noticed Mulder's open-mouthed, appreciative stare she became
self-conscious again.

She snapped the Lycra bra in his direction, and he grinned broadly as he
caught it.

"Great!" Mulder exclaimed.  "My slingshot!"  He raced around the hot
spring to the mound of snow on the other side.  He had some notion that
he held in his hand the world's first double-barreled snowball launcher.

"Don't try it, shepherd boy," Scully warned him.  Mulder had hurriedly
formed two slushy snowballs and placed them in the stretchy cups.
Despite his sincere efforts, the snowballs landed by his feet and
disintegrated.

"That's *King* David to you," he said.  Scooping up more snow, he
charged at Scully as she tried to slip down into the hot spring.
"Think you're safe, do you?"  Throwing himself after her, he slid across
the ground on his side, grabbing her arm before she could submerge
herself and rubbing the cold snow across her bare back.

"Mulder!" she screamed at him, undone by the simultaneous sensations of
the hot spring water and the cold snow.  She grabbed his arms and
tugged, and Mulder came splashing into the hot spring after her, yelping
in surprise himself as the signal for heat surged out over nerve cells
still jangling with cold.

Mulder ducked his head a few times to wash out the mud and leaves and
wiped his hands across his eyes.

"Hey, Scully, come here," he said, reaching out his hand.

"How deep is it over there?" she asked him, taking his hand and wading
over to his side.

"Don't worry, shorty, I won't let you drown," he said.  "Anyway, there's
a ledge back here."  Incredibly, Mother Nature had placed a bench in her
Jacuzzi.  Mulder settled himself onto the ledge and Scully moved in next
to him, leaning back onto his outstretched arm.

"How perfect is this, Mulder?" she asked, eyes closed in contentment.

"Almost perfect," Mulder said.  His voice was soft.

"Almost?" Scully asked.  The hot spring was a bubble of peace in an
ominous world, she thought.  If only Mulder could let the peace engulf
him, just for a while.

"Almost," Mulder repeated.

"You're thinking about what we've been through and the uncertainty that
lies ahead," Scully said.

"No."  Mulder sounded very surprised.  "I was thinking that I want to
kiss you.  I should have just done it, but I waited too long.  Then I
wasn't sure.  And I didn't want to ask, that would really be asinine.  I
mean, here we are, naked--"

"Shut up, Mulder."  She took hold of his fool head and tilted her face
toward his, not offering him her lips so much as taking possession of
his.

Silly man, she thought.

Mulder's lips rested firm and still against hers, and Scully realized
that this was the same way he had begun his massage, leaving his hands
motionless on her shoulders.  The full, warm lips lulled her until his
incredible mouth began its circular pattern, its offering.  An
unforgettable kiss.  No intrusive teeth, no dueling tongues, just the
insistent waves of Mulder's lips.  And then, with Scully lost in the
kiss, she felt the waves deepen as Mulder's tongue licked at her lips,
working in harmony with those muscular lips.  At last Mulder softened
the kiss, lighter, lighter, and then it was done.

Scully let her head flop back on Mulder's arm as Mulder reclined against
the side of the hot spring.

"Now it's perfect," Mulder murmured.

Scully didn't answer for a few minutes.  She was tracing the improbably
chain of events that had brought them there.

"We owe it all to Christina," she sighed.

Mulder snorted.

"No, really, Mulder," she said.  "Think about it."

"I'm sure Christina is a lovely girl," Mulder said.  "It was so
thoughtful of her to move the car for us, and it's wonderful that she
can articulate her hostility so freely."

"But, Mulder, if she hadn't moved our car, Charles and Allison would be
here now to share the scenery with us," Scully said.

"Well, when you look at it that way, Christina does seem something
closer to the ideal.  You know, Scully, she really looks up to you,"
Mulder said.

He was setting her up.

Charlie had let down his guard enough to confide in Mulder about one of
his biggest fears:  that his daughter would go through the same kind of
"wild phase" that his sister had.

"I'm aware of that, Mulder, and it's a responsibility I take very
seriously," Scully said.

Scully had strong views on child rearing and adolescent development, and
her diction was taking on that slightly pedantic tone that always
brought out the devil in Mulder.  He remembered a conversation from
years ago.  They'd been working together only a short while, but he'd
been unable to resist the urge to tease her:

"Ooh, if your were that stoned, what?" he had asked her.

This time Mulder answered her casually; she'd wouldn't guess that he was
up to something.

"It's really very important for a child to have a strong role model,
don't you think?" Mulder asked.  His eyes were closed and he was twining
his fingers with hers.

"Absolutely," Scully agreed.  "Especially for a girl.  She'll have so
many choices to make, and each of them could affect her future."

"She could do a lot worse than follow in your footsteps, Scully," Mulder
said.

"Thank you, Mulder.  She's such a talented, intelligent girl..."

"Driving without a license--that's really foolish, isn't it, Scully?"

"Foolish and dangerous," Scully agreed.

"Where would a young kid get the idea she had any business driving a
car?" Mulder asked.  "Or taking someone else's care without permission?"

"Teen logic," Scully said.  "Don't try to follow it."

"Drag racing--that's foolish too, isn't it?  And dangerous," Mulder
said. His hand was on her shoulder now, and his index finger was
inscribing little spirals and circles.

"Drag racing?" Scully asked.

"I've heard of kids taking souped-up old cars and racing them right on
the streets," Mulder said.  "It's illegal, you know."

"I've heard of that too," Scully said.

Heard of it?  She'd won Tommy Durkin's Pontiac from him! But Ahab made
her give it back.  And she couldn't go to Jessica's party with a real
DJ.  Plus she had to do all the ironing for a month.  And no griping or
he'd make it two months.

"You're a little heavy on the gas pedal at times," Mulder said, eyes
still closed, finger still circling.

Scully's head was off his arm, and she was watching his face carefully.

"Really?  You think I drive too fast?" Scully inquired.  Mulder opened
his eyes and let a snort of laughter escape before disguising it with a
cough. He nodded his head eagerly.

"Mulder, did you and Charlie get much of a chance to chat?" Scully
asked, and Mulder continued grinning and nodding.

"That's nice," she said.  "I'm glad you two are getting along."  And she
settled back against Mulder's arm.

"Don't you want to know what we talked about?" Mulder asked.

"Of course not," Scully said, eyes closed again.  "That's between
Charlie and you."

=====================================================

Lazing against the side of the hot springs, with Scully leaning against
his chest, Mulder had no desire to move.  But it wouldn't do to be
stuck here after sundown, and it felt as if they'd been here for
several hours.

"Scully... You asleep?" he asked.

"Not really... just dreaming," she said, smiling without opening her
eyes.  "We have to go, don't we?"

"Well, maybe another five minutes," Mulder said.

"Okay.   One more kiss."  It was a long, languid kiss, long enough that
when they let their lips come apart they needed another little kiss to
ease the transition.  Scully sighed deeply.

"I'll get out first.  I'll get the towels," she said.

"Um," Mulder agreed.   Mulder could stay in the nice warm water.  Scully
would fetch him a towel. Love is a beautiful thing, he thought.

Using the ledge they'd been sitting on for a step, Scully climbed out of
the hot spring.  The air felt cool but refreshing against her
well-poached skin, and she pulled the first towel from her backpack and
wrapped it around herself before getting out a towel for Mulder.

Mulder was making the most of his extra minute, luxuriating in the hot
water.  Scully held out the towel for him.  She held it by the corners,
and she used it to hide that king-size snowball in her right hand.

"Okay, G-man, everyone out of the pool," she said.

"I don't suppose you could come back for me in the morning," Mulder
muttered, but then he roused himself and climbed out.

Mulder had packed a couple of towels but it gratified him no end to see
that Scully had done the same.  He walked into her embrace, and as she
wrapped the big towel around him, she clapped her big snowball against
his back.

His cry of surprise was something between an "Oh," and a "Huh."

"You are evil, Scully, pure evil," he said.  "This will not go
unpunished."

"Call it even, Mulder.  You got me on the way in," Scully said.  She
started picking up her discarded clothing and thoughtfully handed Mulder
his mud-soaked shirt.

Mulder took the shirt, grimacing at the thought of having to wear the
filthy, wet garment.  Scully rolled up her muddy clothes with the driest
items on the outside.

Scully's foresight had extended beyond the need for towels.  She reached
into her backpack and pulled out some fresh clothing.

"Where's mine?" Mulder asked.

"Your what?" Scully was dressing quickly, and quite unselfconsciously
she took Mulder's hand for balance as she pulled on a dry sock and then
the ski boot.  She leaned against him again to put on the second sock
and shoe.

"Come on, Scully, you must have brought clean stuff for me," Mulder
said.  She was going to play with him a little, he realized, and then
she was going to give him some nice dry clothes to wear.  She had given
him food, even on that first day when he'd told her not to bring any.
She had brought him a towel.  She was not going to make him put on these
disgusting pants again or this dirty shirt.

All dressed now, Scully took her towel and draped it around Mulder, over
the first one.

"You're not cold, are you?" she asked.

"I am," said Mulder.  "I'm very cold."  He didn't feel cold.  He didn't
sound cold, either.  Scully relented and gave him a plastic bag full of
clothes.

Scully hadn't known for a fact that she and Mulder would require a
change of clothing after their trip to the hot springs, but the
experience of years had told her it was likely.  At least on this
occasion a spin through the washer would take care of the damage.
Scully's dry cleaner had flat-out refused to deal with the aftermath
when she'd raced to rescue Mulder from the cockroach invasion.

Scully had bits of Mulder's wardrobe salted away in various locations,
for his use. She always had a dress shirt on the shelf in her closet at
home and at least a set of sweats in the trunk of her car.  Mulder's
devotion to Scully was equal to hers for him, and yet when he'd traveled
to the bottom of the world to rescue her, he'd never thought to pack her
even a sweater.

"Scully, I've noticed something about us," Mulder said.  In pulling on
his shirt, he'd somehow left his wet hair standing straight up in the
back but plastered to his head in the front.  Scully hoped he wouldn't
decide he liked it this way.  Then she ran her fingers through her own
hair--for all she knew she could be wearing a similar coiffure.

"When we try to go on vacation, we run into talking dolls or..."  His
voice trailed to a stop. He'd been thinking of how this investigation
had turned into a vacation, whereas Scully's attempts at recreation had
turned up genuine X-files.  Like Emily.

"I know what you mean," Scully answered him.  Not a day went by that she
did not remember the little girl who had passed through her life so
briefly.  By that commonplace miracle of human nature, Scully had found
that her heart could hold sorrow and joy at the same time.  At first she
had berated herself for being able to still feel joy.  No longer.

"This is like a vacation," Mulder said.  "Scully, wouldn't it be nice to
take a real vacation some time?"  He could imagine them snorkeling in
some coral playground or exploring the narrow streets of a medieval
market town.

"I'd like that," Scully said.  Danny and Lois had offered her the use of
their thirty-foot Catalina for a week or two this summer, but that would
be courting disaster.  She'd be afraid to take Mulder on Pirates of the
Caribbean.

Mulder and Scully retrieved their skis from the waterfall but did not
put them on. They'd have to hike their way out of the oddly temperate
valley.

Fifteen minutes later they were skiing along the packed powder when
Mulder felt a pop and a shove as the binding sheared off from his right
ski.  The ski slid its way down the trail and Mulder had to remove the
other ski and catch up on foot.

"It looks like I owe your brother a new pair of skis," Mulder said.  The
punishment of back country skiing had proved too much for Charlie's
track skis.  Mulder had the two skis upright in the snow, but the
binding from one ski was in his hand.

The temperature had dropped noticeably as Mulder and Scully had gotten
farther out of the valley.  They'd put back their skis a few hundred
feet up from the waterfall, where the snow cover was solid.  The run to
the cabin should have been easy because the ground was level and the
trail was set with snowmobile tracks.  It would have been a quick jaunt
on skis, but it would take longer on foot.

"I'm sure that can be repaired," Scully said.  She took some cord from
her own backpack and used it to bundle the skis and poles for easier
carrying.  "At least we'll have no trouble walking here; the
snowmobilers have packed down the snow for us."   She leaned over to
unfasten her own skis.

"Scully, you don't have to walk with me," Mulder said.  "Go ahead and
ski back to the cabin."

Scully agreed to his suggestion with great reluctance.  She wasn't eager
to leave Mulder behind, but she remembered that they were still low on
firewood.  It would be better to look for more before the light was
gone.  Fortunately, the arrival of Brad Swenson expanded their options.

They heard the roar of the snowmobile before they could identify the
driver.  Swenson slowed to a stop and climbed off his vehicle.

"Any luck with your Viking?" Swenson asked them.

"Not today," Mulder said.

"Apparently you find it amusing to mislead federal law officers," Scully
said.  Mulder's tone was neutral but Scully was clearly annoyed.

"Hey, take it easy," Swenson said.  "I didn't promise that you'd find
the Viking by the waterfall, I just said that was your best shot."

"As I'm sure you're aware, Swenson, there was no cave by the waterfall.
And that so-called trail you told us to use..."  Scully's icy tone was
as intimidating as she had meant it to be.

"Oh.  Yeah, kind of a rough trail.  Especially with those skis."
Swenson could see where Mulder's racing skis would have given him
trouble in the back woods.  "But you must have found the cave--how could
you miss it?"  He looked at Mulder--Scully frightened him.

"Good question," Scully said.  Mulder was starting to feel sorry for the
archeologist.

"Maybe you could help us out here," Mulder said, showing him the broken
ski.  "Drive us back to the cabin?"

"Glad to," Swenson answered.  "I'll have to make two runs, though."
Normally he would have offered to drive the lady first, but he wisely
decided to leave that choice to his passengers.

"I don't require a ride," Scully said.  "Mulder, go back to the cabin
and get us some firewood while there's still enough light to find it.
Frozen wood, Mulder, that would be best."

"Scully, let him drive you too.  It's getting late."  Mulder leaned in
so he could lower his voice.  "Take the ride, Scully, I really don't
want you out here with the wolves."

"I'll be fine," she said, and no one would dare contradict her.  Swenson
got back on his sled and Mulder climbed on behind him, clutching his
skis.  They looped off the trail for a wide U-turn through the woods,
then zoomed along toward the cabin.

She will be fine, Swenson thought, but maybe I'll come back later to
check on the wolves.

=======================================================

Once the snowmobile was out of sight, Scully turned around to go back to
the waterfall.  The archeologist had sounded sincere.  There had to be a
cave there.

Scully skied as far as she could and took her skis off when the snow
cover gave out.  Then she walked the short distance to the waterfall.
She eyed the steep, rocky hillside, sweeping her eyes up and down, left
and right, trying to find the cave.

"How could you miss it?" Swenson had asked.

Scully believed there was a cave here, but she still couldn't see it.

Mentally she divided the surface into a grid, and examined it again,
square by square.  She tried to keep her mind and senses fresh so that
she would overlook nothing.  When she'd exhausted the squares to the
left of the waterfall, she was tempted to skip over and start from the
right.  She wouldn't be able to check behind the waterfall without
getting wet.

But it wouldn't be methodical to skip from left to right.  And suddenly
Scully felt certain that the cave was precisely behind the waterfall.

To avoid passing right through the cascading water, she walked up to the
stoneface and edged her way across the slippery rocks toward the
waterfall.  The moss grew thick here, on the ground and up the
hillside.  She sidestepped toward the waterfall, and at last she felt it
on her back, soaking her with cool water.  She pressed herself against
the wet rocks as the water poured down her head and back.

Scully's hands were flat against the rocks to feel for the entrance to
the cave.  She continued to edge along, and then her knee came to a gap
in the stone.  Reaching down, she could feel the edge of the gap; this
might be it, this might be the cave.

She dropped to her knees for a better look, but with the spray from the
waterfall bouncing off the rocks and into her face she could see very
little.  It felt right, though.  She started to crawl into the opening.

The inside of the cave was cool and misty, and slimy moss covered the
ground.  When Scully was in far enough that she no longer felt the water
on her back she stopped to unpack her flashlight.   The beam of light
showed that the passageway continued for at least another few yards, but
it was so narrow that she would have to proceed on all fours.

Her knees were taking a beating from the stony surface.   That damn
Swenson might have mentioned that the entrance to the cave was a tiny
tunnel right behind the waterfall.  Then she could have prepared for
this miserable, painful, wet journey.

Scully continued along the tunnel.  In places it was too small to allow
her to crawl and she had to slither, which at least gave her knees a
break.  Cold, wet, sore, and filthy, she thought longingly of the hot
springs.  She'd definitely treat herself to another dip when she got out
of this cave, and probably rinse out her clothing as well.

The beam of the flashlight showed the end of the tunnel a few feet up
ahead.  If this was a dead end and Scully had to back her way out on her
belly, she was definitely bringing charges against Brad Swenson.  In
fact she would arrest him for interfering with the investigation.

But the tunnel did not stop, it turned to the left and widened out.
Scully dragged herself through into the chamber and hauled herself into
a sitting position.   She leaned against the wall of the cave and used
the flashlight to examine her surroundings.  She could see two
good-sized passageways leading off from this chamber, in addition to the
narrow tunnel that led from the waterfall.  The chamber itself was dry
and reasonably warm, and the mossy floor was cool but not slimy.  There
was a definite odor here, rather unpleasant.  An animal smell.

She played the flashlight beam across the floor of the cave and it
reflected back at her from two glowing eyes.  Then she heard the low
growl.

After Mulder had lectured her about canid behavior and the folly of
looking a wolf in the eye, he had gone on to discuss territoriality.
Not that Scully needed coaching to figure out that a wolf's den was not
the safest place she could be.

What would Mulder do in this situation?  Draw his weapon?  Whimper
submissively to show the wolf that he wasn't going to challenge it?
Hurl himself back into the little tunnel and wriggle away as fast as he
could?

Scully looked at the wolf.

"Hi," she said.  The wolf looked at her.  He stopped growling and put
his head down on his paws.

"Thanks," Scully said.  The wolf really didn't seem dangerous.  She
hoped she wasn't deluding herself.

Time to move on, but which way?  There were two passageways to choose
from.  The one to the left of the wolf seemed to lead back to the
outside, at least that was her impression of the direction it took.  The
tunnel to the right was about the same size and appeared to lead deeper
into the cave.

Head right.  It just made sense.  Scully was looking for a secret and
her intuition told her that the secret would be deep in the cave.  But
as she proceeded to the right, her lupine friend rose to his feet and
started to growl.

"It's okay," she told him reassuringly.  "I'm not going to hurt you.  I
just want to look around."  But the wolf did not back down.  He trotted
ahead of her, blocking the passageway.  She advanced on him very slowly
and his growling grew louder.

"All right," Scully said.  "What if I go left?"  She backed away from
the wolf and stepped slowly toward the other tunnel.  The wolf stopped
growling.  Scully was in the passageway now.  The wolf was not going to
chase her.  He settled down again at his original spot.

"Thanks," Scully said again.  "See you later."

The passageway was luxuriously wide after the confines of the first
tunnel and the wolf's chamber.  As she followed it the air grew colder
again.  There were icicles and frosty patches on the cave's walls.

Walking rather than crawling or slithering, Scully made easy progress
through the cave's corridor.  She played the flashlight beam back and
forth ahead of her.  The passageway seemed to go on a long way.

Scully wondered if the tunnel became warm again up ahead.  Here where
the temperature was just around freezing, the air was clear.  In the
distance, though, she thought she could see more mist and fog.  Scully's
skiwear was designed to retain its insulating property even when wet,
but she was rather cold by now.

In her many years with Mulder, Scully had become a connoisseur of
discomfort.  She knew, for example, that it was better to be cold and
wet than to be cold, wet, and covered with goo.  And of course it was
better still to be wet but not cold.

She wondered if the equipment in her backpack had suffered from the
waterfall.  She had the digital camera and the camcorder, but she didn't
know if they were still functional.  She'd stop and check when she
reached a warmer spot.

Scully found herself stepping onto a sheet of ice.  One foot slipped out
from under her and she could not regain her balance.  She did one of
those pointless dances that would have been most amusing to an observer,
if there had been one.

Just fall, she told herself, knowing that her gyrations were merely
going to add the pain of pulled muscles to the inevitable pain of
bruises and bumps.  And she did fall.  The hard rocks smacked her on the
arms as she tried to break the fall and on the back and head.  She fell
and she kept on falling.

This was a chute, a slide.  Maybe a trap?  Scully slipped and bumped
about ten feet straight down.  Much as it hurt, she knew it was going to
hurt more in a few seconds.  She'd taken a hit to the solar plexus on
the way down and the wind was knocked out of her entirely.  She had to
deliberately start to breathe again, and the air escaped her with a
grunting, gasping sound.

She found herself huddled in the bottom of a pit, shuddering and
stunned.  But she hadn't lost consciousness--that was good.  And she
could move everything. Whether this was a trap or a natural phenomenon,
the most important thing now was not to panic.

Scully slowly got to her feet, relieved that she was able to do so.
Another miracle--the flashlight was there on the ground, still lit.  She
groaned as she leaned down to pick it up; her back didn't like that move
at all.  The beam of the flashlight offered her a most discouraging
view.  Ten feet of sheer rock covered with ice.

She would not surrender to her fear.  She was in a serious situation,
but she would stay clear-headed and calm.

Scully thought about writing a note to Mulder.  She was sure that he
would find her, eventually.  But what would she write?  I love you?  He
knew that.  Yet another miracle.

Her first attempt to climb up the rocks was unsuccessful, as she knew it
would be. She would have to abandon her backpack down here to have any
chance at all of escaping.  She opened the pack to choose a few items to
carry along.  Too bad she'd used her cord for Mulder's damaged skis,
because that was one thing that might really help her now.

She took out the muddy clothing she had discarded after the soak in the
hot springs and layered it on over her own wet clothes.  It would keep
her warmer but more importantly it would give her extra padding against
the rocks.  She took the digital camera and zipped it into the pocket of
her windbreaker.  She stuck the flashlight in a pants pocket and tried
again to climb up the ice.

The pit was narrow enough that Scully thought she might be able to make
the climb by pressing against both sides of the hole.  The technique
worked well enough to get her a few feet off the ground before she lost
her traction and fell back down. It was a long shot but it was the only
shot she had.  She would have to keep trying.

Scully persevered.  Again and again she tumbled to the bottom of the pit
but she remained hopeful because of the few times she was able to make
good progress before losing it all.  Escaping from this hole would be
like working on the X-files.  She'd had plenty of practice at that.

She would not give up, but she would have to take a rest.  She was
battered and exhausted.  She should probably drink some water, too.  She
didn't feel at all thirsty but maybe she needed it.  And even if there
was no need to write Mulder, perhaps she should leave a note for Charlie
and Allison, indeed, for her whole family.  Something to tell them that
she had no regrets, would not have chosen a different course.

She huddled again in the bottom of the pit, hugging her knees against
her body to conserve heat, and she tried to think of the words to leave
for her family.  But she couldn't.  She was feeling quite calm, and she
wondered rationally if that was normal.  Maybe not.  Maybe it was
hypothermia.  Maybe she had already given up.

That wouldn't do.  Scully marshaled her strength and began the climb
again.

Perhaps she had mastered the technique, for now she climbed steadily.
Slowly she ascended the slippery pit, her feet pressed tightly against
one side and her back wedged against the other.  She was breathing
hard.  It was working.

Scully's mind was locked onto the task at hand.  Inching her back up the
pit, then pressing hard to advance her feet.  But her luck did not
hold.  She was a couple of feet from the top of her prison, but she was
not going to make it.  The pit widened out.  She would not be able to
continue.

Think of it as an IQ test, she told herself.

Well, might as well yell for help.  Mulder wouldn't be anywhere near
here, he was probably back at the cabin gathering wood.  Even if he
decided to come and look for her it would take him hours to reach her.
It was possible that Swenson was around, or maybe someone from the
forestry service.  Anyway, nothing to lose.

"Help!" she shouted as loudly as she could.  "Help!  I'm in the cave!
Help!"

That would do for a while.  She would hold her position near the top of
this pit for as long as she could.  She would call out for help every
ten minutes or so.  When she was too tired to hold on she would climb
back into the pit.  That would be better than falling again.

"Hello in the cave!"  The cry seemed distant but strong.  It wasn't
Mulder, but maybe it was Swenson.

"Hello!  I'm trapped in a pit," Scully called.

The voice didn't answer, but Scully thought she could hear footsteps.

"Down here!" she called again.  The flashlight in Scully's pocket was
pointed upward, but she had no way of aiming it.  She saw a figure at
the top of the pit.  A man.

Scully's hero lay on the ground at the top of the hole and reached down,
grasping her arm with one large, strong hand.  Scully felt a moment of
terror as the hand began to lift her from her prison and she lost the
comforting sensation of being wedged in place.  The man got to his feet
as soon as his grip was secure.  He was pulling her up smoothly and
easily, as if she weighed nothing.

Scully's arm protested the rough treatment, especially when the rescuer
gave a jerk to pull Scully over the edge of the pit and set her down
away from the opening.

"Thank you," Scully said.  She was shaking with relief and with cold,
but she managed to pull out her flashlight to get a proper look at the
source of her salvation.

He was a large man, practically expressionless.  His dark blond hair was
brushed back.  A sword hung from his belt along with a leather pouch,
and while his attire was too crude to pass muster in a Wagner opera, it
was unmistakably Nordic.

The Viking had rescued her.

But this couldn't be the Viking.  Scully knew this face, she knew this
man.  She had seen him in different forms, but this was the form she
knew best.

This was the alien bounty hunter.

=========================================================

Swenson dropped off the goofy-looking G-man and turned back toward the
waterfall.  Maybe the hotheaded female agent had chilled out enough to
reconsider his offer of a lift to the cabin.

So, the FBI hadn't found the Viking, Swenson thought.  He was secretly
glad.  He'd been prowling this area since the fall and he had yet to see
the Viking himself.  He would have been rather resentful if these
government investigators had waltzed into the forest and found the
Norseman on their first attempt.

If Swenson had ever heard Mulder or Scully say that the Truth was out
there, he would have corrected them.  He saw it differently.

The truths are out there.  The truth of the Maori.  The truth of the
Navajo.  The truth of the Hebrews, the Masai, the Vikings, the
Christians.  For Swenson, the Truth had been shattered into fragments
eons ago.  There were particles of it everywhere.

A man who believes in everything is a fool, Swenson's father had
pronounced.

Swenson did not believe in *everything,* but he believed--no, he
*knew*--that among all those beliefs there were shards of wisdom, of
knowledge, of magic--of Truth.

The FBI was here at Temperance River searching for the Viking.  That
made him smile.  Perhaps the IRS had agents somewhere looking for a
leprechaun.  Maybe Swenson himself had a future in the civil service.

Swenson was still hoping to forge some kind of alliance with the two FBI
agents.  Their collection of sensing devices intrigued him.  He had
never considered that approach.

He snowmobiled back to the spot where he'd originally encountered the
two agents without crossing paths with the blue-eyed redhead, so he
followed the trail back to the valley with the waterfall.

He left his sled where the snow ran out.  Scully's big wooden skis were
jammed upright in a snowbank only ten feet away, but Swenson didn't
notice them. He hiked to the waterfall, but Scully wasn't there either.

Swenson assumed that Scully wasn't dim enough to explore a strange cave
by herself, without even informing her partner.  He didn't check the
cave.

With a gleam in his eye, he decided to check the hot springs.

I'm not a voyeur, he told himself.  I'm just being thorough.

There was nobody in the hot spring.  Agent Scully must have left the
snowmobile trail at some point on her way back to the cabin.  Probably
bushwhacking through the forest somewhere.

The hot springs looked awfully inviting.  And who knew if it would even
be here tomorrow.  Swenson stripped off his orange snowmobile suit and
then the rest of his garments.  He folded them carefully and placed them
on top of his boots, to keep them out of the mud.  He moved the whole
bundle to the closest dry spot--it wouldn't be much fun if he had to
dress himself in filthy wet clothing after his soak.

He eased himself into the soothing hot water and sat down on the ledge
that was only one of the remarkable features of the spa.

You're a lucky man, Swenson, he told himself.  You could be stuck in a
library somewhere.  Or wearing a suit.

This last idea was not a random thought, for there, within the grove of
trees, was the FBI agent, Mulder, looking rather ridiculous in this
rugged setting because he was dressed in a suit and tie.

How the devil did he get back here so fast? Swenson wondered.

"Hey!" he called.  "Hey, Agent Mulder!"

Mulder looked at him impassively.  And then, with Swenson staring right
at him, he picked up the archeologist's boots and clothing and started
to walk away.

"Good one, Mulder!" Swenson called after him.  It was childish, Swenson
thought, but the G-man probably thought it was a great prank.  In a few
minutes he'd be back with the clothing, probably chuckling to himself
about how funny he was.

That's what Swenson thought until he heard the sputter and roar of his
snowmobile starting up.

That sorry son of a bitch, he thought.  Messing with my sled...

=======================================================================

It was late.  Mulder didn't know what time it was, but he knew that it
was dark and cold.  Once again he had the fireplace aglow and a kettle
of water on a slow boil.

After Swenson had taken him to the cabin, Mulder had busied himself
collecting a big load of firewood.  He'd started a fire and set the
table.  And then he'd waited.

No wolves howled tonight.  That was good.  But Scully should have been
back long before this.  He'd left her on a flat, easy trail with set
tracks.  No woods, no river.  It wouldn't take her this long to ski
back; it wouldn't even take this long to walk.

She might be lost or hurt, but that wasn't his fear.  It was the cave.
Mulder was certain that Scully had gone back to the waterfall to search
for the cave again.  The only logical thing to do would be to wait for
her here.  It would take him hours to reach the waterfall on foot, and
there was no reason to think he'd be able to find the cave when he got
there.  But he was incapable of sitting here and doing nothing.

If only I had a snowmobile, Mulder thought.  Then when he heard the
snowmobile sputter to a halt outside the cabin, he realized that the
noise had triggered the idea.

Brad Swenson pushed through the door of the cabin without knocking, and
the look he gave Mulder seemed almost hostile.

In truth, Mulder derived only relief from the Swede's dour expression.
That was definitely not the face of a man about to tell you that your
partner was hurt or killed.  More likely he'd had had another run-in
with Scully and he was coming to complain, or maybe to carry out some
order Scully had given him.

"Hi," said Mulder.  "Is Agent Scully still on your case?"

Swenson continued peering at him, but then his face softened into a big
smile.

"Yes," he said.  "She is on my case.  And you know what that is like."
Swenson was practically leering.  He'd been so stone-faced up until now,
but maybe he'd been on his best behavior because of Scully's presence.

"Say, Swenson, why don't you give me a lift back to Agent Scully, and
maybe we can straighten her out," Mulder suggested.  He tossed some
fresh film into his backpack, wondering what else he should bring.
Water.  He refilled the bottle, trying not to take too long.

"Yes," Swenson said.  "Back to Agent Scully."  Mulder had finished
packing and he pulled on a couple of sweaters.  Mulder went out the door
and Swenson followed.

Swenson got onto the snowmobile and Mulder got on behind him.  The
engine started up, but they didn't move.

"Where is she?" Swenson shouted to Mulder over the noise.

Why would Swenson have to ask him that?

"I think she's back in the woods," Mulder said.  "She said something
about a flower."

"In the woods," Swenson repeated.  "Which way?"

"Toward the utility road," Mulder said.  It was in the opposite
direction from the waterfall, the hot springs, and the alleged cave.
"Let me drive."

"Just tell me where to go," Swenson shouted back.

"Come on, you told me you'd give me a chance to drive this thing,"
Mulder said, clapping him on the shoulder.  "You're not backing out, are
you?"

"Of course not.  You take us to Scully," Swenson said.  He climbed back
off the snowmobile.

Mulder slid forward, shoved the snowmobile into gear, and floored it,
racing toward the utility road.  He knew he was heading the wrong way
but he hoped he'd be able to drive up into the woods and turn around
unobserved.

The roar of the snowmobile's engine gave Mulder the comforting feeling
that he was going fast.  What was less than comforting was the sound of
footsteps crunching along behind him.

Brad Swenson, or whoever that was, was chasing him.  And he was keeping
up.

========================================================

Subject:
        NEW: Backtracking (13/17)
   Date:
        Tue, 05 Oct 1999 07:46:56 -0400
   From:
        Kel <ckelll@hotmail.com>
     To:
        xfc-no_ATXC@onelist.com
 
 
 

Backtracking
13/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1
 
 
 

"What do you want?" Scully asked the man who had rescued her.  "What do
you want from me?"

"I do not want," the Viking said.  "Be gone, woman of Earth."  He turned
from her to walk back the way he had come.

It was not the response Scully had expected.  Of course she thought the
bounty hunter was going to beat her up and ask her where Mulder was.
Instead of running for safety, Scully took out the digital camera.
Physical evidence at last, an image of the bounty hunter.

The Viking turned to face her, piercing her with his cold eyes.

"Your weapons will not work here," he said.  "This is hallowed ground.
Be gone, I tell you.  Do not test my patience."

"Who are you?" Scully asked.  "Why did you rescue me?"  If this was a
dream, Scully thought, it was a preternaturally realistic dream.  The
pain from her fall was very real.  She was bleeding, she realized, or
she had been.  Her face was stiff with dried blood.

"A woman of destiny," the Viking said.  "Indeed, if you were not, the
wolf would have barred your passage.  Put down your weapon, woman, and
tell me what you seek." One of the odd things about the Viking, Scully
noticed, was the way he stood without moving, without leaning.  As still
as a statue and just as patient.

"I think I was looking for you," Scully said, awkwardly stuffing the
camera back in her jacket pocket.  "I was told that you had... a
secret."

"Audacious woman. You would leave your world to seek a secret."  The
Viking sounded severe but also sorrowful.

"Who are you?" Scully asked again, feeling more confused than audacious.

"You look at me with fear.  Why do you fear me, woman of Midgard?
Throughout the ages I have walked among your kind and done you no harm,"
the Viking said.  "I have brought fortune to your race, and caused the
barren womb to flower."

Barren womb, what a low blow, Scully thought angrily. If this is a
dream, it's my dream, and I don't have to put up with this.

"Done us no harm?  You are a murderer," Scully told him quietly. "Your
very biology is fatal to us."

Am I really saying this? Scully wondered.  Or am I still at the bottom
of the pit?

"So you have seen him," the Viking said.  "I thought as much.  He who
stole my countenance and wears it for his own."

"You're the one who steals peoples' faces," Scully told him with quiet
anger.   "I know what you can do. I've seen you in action."

"Bold as the sun you are, daughter of Midgard," the Viking muttered.
"But I am not the one you have seen.  You have seen the trickster, the
wizard of lies.  He borrows the faces of others, but it is my face he
keeps and shows to the world for his own."

Scully felt no fear at all.  Probably a symptom of hypothermia.

"Is the alien bounty hunter your evil twin?" she asked sarcastically.

"Your scorn is misplaced," the Viking reproached her.  "The trickster
will be my doom, as I will be his.  The race of man will live on when he
and I are both become dust.  Do not be proud, woman, it is unseemly.
For many will perish before that final battle is lost and won."

The Norseman's somber tone cut through Scully's flippancy.

"He's going to kill you?" she asked.  "How can you be so sure?"

"Whatever is, is forever," the Viking said.  "Surely you know that.  We
will fight to the death and will die of our wounds.  But not in your
time, woman.  The spectacle must run its course."

Scully didn't answer.  He looked so weary and grim that she wanted to
comfort him. She looked into his eyes and he shook his head as if with
pain.

"A sad curse indeed," the Viking said quietly.  "I did not see before
that you were afflicted."

"What do you mean?" Scully asked, but she thought she knew.

"An evil was done to you.  I can take this from you.  It is within my
power," he said.

"Please tell me who you are," Scully asked for the third time.

"I will tell you first who you are.  You are of the earth, as I am not.
But the earth does not confine you.  You are a woman of destiny, and you
have journeyed where few may go.  I will give you what you seek," he
said.

The Viking addressed her gently, but she felt more and more afraid.

"Your companion is a good man, with heart and cunning," the Viking
continued, and for the first time he smiled.  "He fancies himself a
giant-slayer.  He is a man of great integrity, but a man of earth
alone.  He cannot follow you here.  For if he does, he cannot return."

Scully questioned the Viking in a frightened whisper.

"Am I dead?" she asked him.

"Among your kind, do any return from the realm beyond?" the Viking asked
her.

"I--don't know," she said.  "Perhaps.   Yes, I think they do.  People
have reported near-death experiences--"

"Be still," the Viking interrupted her.  "I will answer your question.
You will return to your world and your kind, but first you will receive
my gifts."

"You said you would tell me who you are," Scully reminded him in another
whisper.

"I am the sentinel," he answered, "the keeper of the bridge.  The bridge
Bifrost spans from Asgard, domain of the gods, to Midgard, where your
kind dwell.  One day the bridge will rupture, but today it holds.  Your
race named me Heimdall, and I am honored to carry the name they gave
me."

======================================================================

Mulder decided against taking the snowmobile up the hillside into the
woods to turn it around.  Instead he veered to the right, taking the
sled off the snowshoe trail and into the rolling snowfield with its
deep, unpacked drifts.  He hoped the powdery snow would slow down his
pursuer.

The snowmobile skimmed over the snowy surface and Mulder no longer heard
anyone behind him.  He didn't dare slow down to take a look.  He kept
the accelerator against the floorboard and urged the vehicle around,
swinging back toward the cabin, back to the waterfall.

Whatever was chasing him was not Brad Swenson.  Mulder remembered
Charlie's dream. Was it the bounty hunter?  The bounty hunter could make
himself look like the Swenson, but that wasn't a unique ability among
his kind, among aliens in general, apparently.  Mutant humans could do
it too, for that matter, like Eddie Van Blundht and Robert Modell.

Whoever was chasing Mulder wasn't after Mulder anyway.  He--it--wanted
Scully.

As confusing as it was, Mulder had to get a handle on what was going
on.   Because maybe he was leading this thing right to Scully.

Wouldn't the bounty hunter know where Scully was?  Didn't the microchip
let them track her, control her?

Too many variables.  No way to know.   The snowmobile brought Mulder to
the waterfall before he had time to formulate a theory or a plan.

Just find her, he told himself.   Find Scully and get her out of here,
before Swenson--whatever he is--catches up to you.

"Scully!" Mulder shouted.  "Scully!  Scully!"  He projected his cry in
all directions, toward the waterfall, toward the grove of pines that hid
the hot springs, toward the treacherous river trail.  "Scully!"

The call that answered his came from the grove, but it was not Scully.

Fuck.  It was Swenson.  He'd gotten here first.  Mulder was furious at
himself; he had led the shapeshifter right to Scully.

"You son of a bitch!"  Swenson emerged from the grove.  "You stole my
snowmobile!"

Swenson, who had been so pokerfaced,  was red with rage.  And he was
naked.

"I don't care who you work for," Swenson shouted.  "I'm going to report
you.   You are beneath contempt, you bastard.  You took my sled!  You
took my clothes!"

"What do you want?" Mulder yelled back.  "What do you want from us?"

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Swenson shouted.  "I could have stolen
your stuff while you were in the hot spring, but I'm not a sick creep!"

"Swenson?" Mulder asked.  Maybe this was the real Swenson.

"Don't bother asking me for help again," Swenson said.  "And that goes
for your partner as well."

"Swenson, pay attention.  I didn't take your snowsuit," Mulder said.  He
took off his backpack to dig out his old dirty clothes for the
archeologist's use.

"I saw you!" Swenson exclaimed, but he took the clothes that Mulder gave
him.  For a second he pondered whether he might be better off naked, but
then with a look of resignation and distaste he began to get dressed.

Mulder felt sorry for him for a minute, but then he remembered how
Swenson had directed Scully and him to ski down a steep, treacherous
trail that could have landed them in the river.  And then the cave
wasn't even where he said it would be.

"Where's the cave, Swenson?" Mulder asked him.  "You have to show me."

"That's Dr. Swenson, okay?  And I don't have to do anything," he said.

"Listen to me, Swenson--uh, Dr. Swenson.  I didn't steal your stuff, and
you have to help me find Scully.  I think she's in trouble," Mulder
said.

"Guess that snowmobile just followed you home,"  Swenson said.

"I don't have time to explain it right now," Mulder said impatiently.

"Try," said Swenson, arms folded.  "Try hard."

"What if I told you that there is a man who can make himself look like
other men, like anyone or even anything he chooses?"  Mulder asked.

"I'd say you've been taking these Viking legends to heart," Swenson
said.  His naturally low-key personality was reasserting itself and his
anger was fading.  "It sounds like you've been reading about Loki, the
wizard of lies.  He was born a giant, but Odin adopted him as his
blood-brother, making him one of the Norse gods. Loki was a
shapeshifter."

"What would it take to convince you?" Mulder asked urgently.  "There is
a man like that. The man who stole your snowmobile wasn't me."

"Loki stole my snowmobile?" Swenson asked.  He wasn't smiling but he
found the notion fairly farfetched.  "And then you stole it from Loki?"

"Swenson, you said yourself that the ancient legends could contain the
truth.  Maybe the ancient Vikings based their stories about Loki on
someone who actually existed, someone with the ability to change