By S. Esty
Windsinger@aol.com
 

Disclaimer: No, the characters of Mulder and Scully don't belong to
me. I wish they did; I'd be a lot richer. I am, however, enriched
enough just having known them. With love and respect to CC, DD, GA
and all of the cast and crew of Ten-Thirteen Productions.
 

Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Chapter 1

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Wednesday 5pm
December 19, 1993

     With stiff, numb hands Dana tried to tuck the blankets more
closely around her shrinking body. The blankets did help to keep
out the cold but the frigid air always seeped in. Always. She was
tired, frozen and thirsty. And she hurt. Maybe it was a good thing
that there was no more water. She did not have the strength or the
will to move away from her pile of wind-blown leaves and no desire
to be found lying in her own waste.
 

     They were always so pitiful, the corpses of those who died
slow deaths all alone. Dana did not want to look like one of those
when they found her.

     When who found her? Mulder? Mulder, who when she left, could
barely remember to eat or sleep?  Yes, Mulder. She had felt him.
Searching, sad and driven, but whole. Had that vision been a dream?
Wishful thinking? There was, of course, always the other
possibility, the one Mulder would instantly suggest - clairvoyance,
telepathy. She had never believed in those, but wished she did,
especially now.
 

     <Remember when he was missing, Dana? You knew he was in
trouble.>

     <But I had clues. I had the e-mail from Phoebe. There is
nothing this time for him to work with. Possibly not even all of
himself.>
 

     <Dana's you're talking to yourself.>

     <Who else is there to talk to?>

     What would happen if he never found her? Dana did not try to
deceive herself. It might be very romantic to think that he would
die of grief but of one thing Dana was certain. Mulder was not
ready to die of grief. He would not die. Not of grief, not of
loneliness. He had already known so much of those in his life and
yet he had survived. He would again, not happily, but survive he
would, having too much that he needed to do before he could think
about casting it all away. He would go on, though with one more
burden, one more reason not to drag himself off of his narrow couch
in the morning.

     Dana thought again about why she had chased those boys. She
had pursued them beyond all reason, all sense. They were only
stealing her backpack. Her reaction had frightened them and so they
had run all the faster, all the farther. Their transgression had
broken something deep inside her which these youngsters could not
possibly understand. She barely understood her actions herself.
First she had lost her father, now her partner, her best friend,
her peace of mind, her dreams. Too much. She was not going to let
anything else be taken away from her ever again. Not that the
backpack was so important. The traveler's checks they could have,
her car keys, even her credit cards. For all she cared they could
take her driver's license and give it to some girl so she could
sneak into a package store and buy alcohol. But her tiger, the
furred statue of the furious beast that Mulder had given her - her
dearest possession next to the mementos of her father - that they
would not take from her.

     And because of that act, so full of misdirected anger, she was
going to die. Probably tonight. She could not feel much any more.
Little sensation in her limbs, little even from the beat of her
heart. She could not even rage against the night, the cold made her
so lethargic.

     Dana sighed. It was time to sleep again. Perhaps this time
never to awaken. But Mulder would come. Somehow. She had not the
slightest doubt. At least in her dreams he would come.

                            ********
 

     Mulder let the blur of the trees come up and pass him by as if
he ran in a dark dream. Scully alive, and all that separated them

was unyielding earth and stone and miles. He knew the pace he was
setting was merciless. Certainly he pushed the boy harder than he
should, but stumbling and gasping, Jimmy Hanks took it without
complaining. Perhaps the teenager accepted it as part of the
penance for what he had done. The sounds of the boy's labored
breathing would have been discernable for some distance if there
had been anyone but the three of them to hear. Evan, too, had to
struggle to keep up. Hearing the ponderous and ragged beat of the
larger man's footfalls behind him, twisted Mulder's stomach in
guilt. But he could not have stopped or slowed. Not for guilt or
common sense. Not even for friendship.

     For Fox, running was almost as natural as breathing. For as
long as he could remember he had run. It was the only time he truly
appreciated the name his parents had bound him with. Even before
Samantha's disappearance, he had been different enough so that
being caught on the playground always meant some pain which had to
be stoically borne. Once he had grown into this long body, he had
done well in track and field, perhaps in part, because he could so
easily visualize himself as a fox pursued. And he could not, would
not, allow himself to be caught. Not by his parents, not by his
classmates either in the classroom or on the track. Not by his
superiors at work, not by serial killers, not by any woman, not
even by his own past and fears. For to be caught meant to be
questioned, humiliated, hurt, caged, killed.
 

     As the three ran, adjusting their stride to the roots and
rocks and the turns in the path, they found another reason to keep
running. The sun was sinking lower. Each could feel the darkening
wrap around more closely. In his mind Evan had taken inventory
three times already of what was in the backpack that bounced on his
spine with every plodding step. He was glad of the first aid kit,
but there was precious little else.
 

     The boy led with Mulder on his heels and Evan last, but on the
switchbacks Evan could see the agent's dark face and the expression
chilled his blood. What was there between Dana and Mulder? What
weird fate had twisted their lives together? Who would ever have
thought they would be in the situation they were now? When Mulder
lay lost, dying as the result of Angela's strange games, what had
prompted Dana to think of the only people in the world who would
know where to find him?  Who would have thought that by killing
Lester King, a petty gangster, that Mulder would win the gratitude
of the only person in the world who could lead him to Scully now?
 

     If Jimmy had refused to accompany his cousin to meet King, if
Mulder had not saved the boy's life, would the boy have told?
Certainly not as soon. Evan would have taken the car and gone to
find Sheriff Jonas to tell him the tragic news about Kevin and that
Lester King, their only link to Dana, was dead. Mulder would have
run out the worst of his despair and then some. Afterwards, like
the walking dead, he would have thrown himself into work to
continue the search. Jonas would have assembled his people,
apportioned off the land to teams, marked off the checked area with
large red 'X's on a map, begun the questioning all over again. The
boy's part in this would have come out eventually, although there
was a chance his guilt over his friend Kevin's death would have
transcended the guilt of having lured a young woman to probable
death along a mountain trail in the middle of nowhere.
 

     In any case, if Mulder and Kevin had not met as they had, the
truth would not have come out today, and when the truth did come
out it would probably be too late if it was not too late already.
Evan tried not to think about that.

     They finally arrived at Storn Mountain, for which the trail
was named. The name was appropriate. It was a brooding mound,
spiked with rock towers, its head in a haze for the clouds had come
in as the sun dipped. It was not as smooth or tamed as its brothers
and the number of switchbacks, which could be seen through the
leafless trees, were impressive, even though that side of the
mountain was already deep in twilight shadow.

      As they staggered, half-running, half-crawling up the steep
trail towards the summit, the boy began to slow. Mulder growled his
impatience.
 

     "Have to... slow down..." the boy gasped. "We're almost
there." He was breathing so heavily he could barely get the words
out. "Do you want to go over the side like she did?"

     That was the wrong thing to say. Even though Mulder made no
move or sound, Evan could practically feel the agent's anger lash
out like a physical thing. Luckily, the boy took that moment to
redeem himself and pulled out of the back pocket of his jeans a
slim flashlight which he showed to the men. "I always carry one of
these. It gets dark early in the mountains in the winter."  That
sparked a memory in Evan's mind. Limbs shaking from their forced
exertion, the sweat on his clothes beginning to steam in the cold
air, he swung down his backpack and dug to the bottom.
Triumphantly, he produced the flashlight which, by a miracle, he
had thought to buy at the hardware store. Without hesitation he
handed it to Mulder who was breathing in long, deep silent waves.
Offering it freely was definitely preferable to fighting that dark,
obsessed force for it.

     There would have been a time, before the Everglades, before
Angela, when Mulder would have accepted the flash without a
thought. The action would have been taken simply as Evan's
acknowledgement of Mulder's preeminence in the investigation.
Having Scully around, Mulder tended to forget that that sort of
rapport did not come naturally, even between partners. Over time,
Scully and he had become almost one being on a case. As he had,
reluctantly, gotten used to Evan's ways and Evan to his, Mulder
realized how he had come to take for granted so many of the little
things Scully and he had between them. If she was given back to him
he would try not to let that happen again. To 'try' seemed
inadequate, but was all he could hope for, well aware of how
obsessed he could get. Perhaps that was what bound him to Scully,
the fact that she alone understood and accepted the way the work
could absorb him so totally. That did not make it right, though.
Did not make it fair to her.

     As he took the flash from Evan's hand, this all came to
Mulder's mind. He felt the gift even more strongly because he had
brought nothing on this search. No flash, or medical kit, or
canteen. Nothing but his hands and his head and his determination.

     How had Evan come to make such an offer? Did he sense whose
need was greatest? <It's as if I were half blind without her.
Incomplete, crippled, planted on square one.> Not like Evan who was
a whole unto himself. But that could be faced later. For now, to
find her and get her out safely was his only goal.
 

     Jimmy was waving his beam across the ground. Mulder did the
same with the one Evan had given him. It was odd how the lights
made the night both more light and more dark. Where before all was
in shades of grey now there was the conical area illuminated by the
light and everything beyond that was in near blackness. Most
importantly, they could now see the path they stood on. It hugged
the edge of the hill, at least it did until three feet beyond the
boy. Then it simply did not exist any longer. A recent rock slide
had taken it down and made all that part of the mountain smooth.
 

     The boy's light showed where about six feet further on the
path resumed again. "We knew it was here," the boy admitted more in
despair than in apology." It was almost as dark as this. We had our
flashes but she didn't. We leaped for the other side. We've done it
before." He did not go on to tell them again how she had not seen
the broken path. Did not tell them at all how she had screamed. How
the sound of a body as it slides uncontrollably and strikes the
ledges and shoulders of the mountain does not sound like pebble or
a branch tossed over the edge.

     "Turn off the lights," Mulder ordered grimly. There was still
enough twilight left to see. Gradually, as their eyes adjusted
again to the dark they looked down at their feet.
 

     What they saw was a tumble, like a child's house of blocks
which had fallen, only each block was a chunk of rock as huge as a
giant's plaything. Some were as rough and individual as shards of
glass, others were the rounded mounds of boulders that gleamed like
the pates of bald men. Sometime that autumn, one pinnacle of stone
which had stood higher up the mountain, a pillar of stone that had
survived for millennium like a tooth against the sky, had finally
succumbed to wind and water and acid rain. It had fallen and in
falling had cleaved the trail, causing a landslide of its brothers
and sisters all down the mountain towards the valley. On either
side of the landslide, dark splotches could be seen, softly defined
areas of earth and vegetation where creepers and vines and the
adventurous mosses had ventured out to make their homes on the
outcroppings. In the path of the newly fallen and disturbed rock,
the path of destruction was like a road of silver under the moon.
 

     Among the shimmery, ghostly white of the moon soaked rocks
could be seen black streaks, some of which were certainly cracks
between the rocks. But which were crevices or breaks in the jumble
through which a small woman might fall and which were just shadows,
the men who stared down with dismay could not tell.
 

     Mulder kept his thoughts to himself but Evan murmured for him
to hear or not as he chose, "Oh, Jesus... Maybe she didn't fall too
far, Mulder. Maybe not too fast. It's not like it's a cliff. She
would have slid, most of the time, some of the time at least." He
strained to see a pattern to the patches of silver and shadows, but
found none. It would take hours unless the boy knew the exact spot.
"Jimmy, are you certain this is the place?"
 

     The boy looked scared, petrified. Now that he had stopped
running  he seemed rooted to the spot on the path where he stood.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt her. We just wanted
her to leave us alone." The tall, skinny youth slid weakly down to
sit in the dirt on the path, to bend over his knees and wrap his
arms around his thin chest. "Do you think she's dead?" he asked in
a small, frightened voice.

     "None of that!" Evan snapped. "Just tell us where down here
you took the blankets and the food. You do remember?"

     Jimmy wrapped his arms more closely around his knees and
shivered. "We came back in the daytime. In the dark it looks all
different..."

     "Where?" Mulder demanded.

     "Kevin would have known," came back a small, lost voice. Even
in limited light the two men could see that a glaze had settled
over the boy's eyes. The horror of his cousin's death had come
back. The worst possible time for that to happen.

     "That's all we need," Evan muttered not daring to say what he
was really thinking.

     Mulder's thoughts, if anything, were even gloomier. He had
thought that when he came to this place, to this one tiny speck in
the forest, that his search would be nearly over. Not so. Not that
easy. Never was. Now instead of millions upon millions of
possibilities there were merely hundreds, and that was if the boy
was telling the truth.
 

     He threw back his head and in a burst of fury and desperation
called raggedly, as loudly as he could, "Scuuuullly..." The sound
echoed from mountain to mountain. Evan shivered. As it faded, the
cry resembled more than anything the distant howl of a lost wolf.
When that too was gone, the three stood unmoving and listened. What
they heard was the scuttling of the fall leaves along the forest
floor, the dry, barren branches brushing against each other, and
the sighing of the wind in the pines. There was nothing more, no
answer, not even the sound of their labored breathing because all
three had instinctively held their breath to listen. Mulder raised
his voice again, with more control this time, with more support
from what was left of his strength, and so it rang longer and
louder but there was still no reply.
 

     Mulder turned the flash on again and began easing himself over
the lip of the trail. "Jimmy, come on, you have to show us exactly
where she is."

     Feeling more than ever that he was somehow holding Mulder in
trust for Dana, Evan watched his charge moving far too quickly
towards the dark edge of the trail for a body as tired as Mulder's
must be. He took the pencil flash from Jimmy's hand and aimed it
down to illuminate Mulder's sweat slick face.
 

     "You can't go down there. Are you crazy?"

     "A lot of people would say that was a rhetorical question,"
Mulder muttered, not stopping, not even slowing on the steep slope.

     "Granted, but I thought the purpose was to rescue her. We
can't do that if we're dead." Evan had a sudden feeling of deja vu.
Hadn't he said something nearly identical to Dana some weeks
before? It had not stopped her from walking into danger for
Mulder's sake either. She had been lucky. No, that was not true.
Dana had followed the path that seemed logical to her and in his
turn Mulder must follow his. " I mean," Evan rephrased, shaking his
head to clear it, "if we injure ourselves we won't be much help. We
need rock climbing equipment, experienced people..."

     "Evan, I need to know and I don't see any other options at the
moment. Would YOU leave her alone one more minute than you had to?"

     Mulder had made progress down the slope so his head now was
almost even with the top of the path. He turned in the dark towards
where Jimmy had sat moaning on the path. "Jimmy, come on. Show us
where."

     But the spot on the trail where the boy had sat was empty of
the twilight gleam from the boy's sun-bleached jeans.
 

     "Of all the.... He's gone," Evan hissed. In agreement, Mulder
swore with greater vehemence than the physician had yet heard. Evan
took two wobbling running steps in the direction in which the boy
must have disappeared then stopped, feeling the weak, unsteady
quiver in his thighs and calves and knew he didn't have a chance of
catching the teenager. It was also Jimmy's luck that Mulder was far
down the hazardous slope of loose rock. Otherwise, Evan had no
doubt that the agent would, without hesitation, have run the boy
down. Instead, by the time Mulder could have climbed back up to the
level of the trail, the boy would be too far ahead. The boy also
knew the area far too well for either of the men to waste precious
time hunting him.
 

     "Do you think he'll bring back help?" Evan asked, exasperated.

     Mulder's stone face for just a breath revealed the anger
within, but he fought it down. He could not let this touch him. The
boy was an unwilling guide at best. Better to stay focused on Dana.
Everything else was secondary. "In time maybe. It's been days,
however, and he didn't do much to help her, did he? My guess is
he's too scared to go to anyone voluntarily." Mulder caught Evan's
eyes. "It's us or no one."
 

     Without another word, Mulder worked his way further down the
steep, uneven rock slide to a large boulder. After some minutes of
careful climbing, Evan joined him. They crouched and used their
flash lights to scan the shadows on the area below and to their
left where a person falling from the missing trail would have
passed. Nothing. The pale lights illuminated some of the darker
shadows, but none of these seemed to be concealing any cavities
large enough to contain a person. Both noted the contours were more
rugged on the levels further down, producing deeper and more
numerous shadows. Mulder let his beam indicate a possible next
staging area for the men. To reach it they would have to tackle a
steeper and more difficult slope where the rock seemed even more
loose and unstable. Evan studied the climb down carefully before
attempting the next stage of the descent, consoling himself with
the thought that it was always easier coming up.

     After sliding and slipping for far too long down the shale and
dirt, they stood silent. For a long moment they stood and listened
until the last sound of the small rocks their passage had sent
tumbling down into the darkness had died away. Mulder called again,
his voice harsh, anxious. As before there was no human response.
Only echoes answering with her name.

     They skimmed the rocky crevices below them with their flashes.
There were dark spaces their beams could not penetrate. Being
extremely careful of their footing in the dark, they eased
themselves further down. Working across the rock face, they began
searching each of the dark shadows in turn.

     The two men worked methodically for ten minutes. Both were
beginning to wonder how they could expand their search from the
level they were on to the even more dangerous levels further down.
The shifting of the plates of rock beneath their feet forced them
to move more and more slowly. Now, though neither spoke, the
thought that they might actually be putting Dana in more danger by
continuing the search crossed both their minds.

     With iron control clamping down on his frustration, Mulder
moved from examining one pool of darkness to another. The need to
see from multiple angles made the search agonizingly slow. When a
darker shape in a shadow was revealed to be, yet again, another
long dead, uprooted bush he bit down on his lip. Moving on, he
stepped unto a large flat rock. Feeling it tip, he adjusted his
balance. There was a crack at his feet between the rock he stood on
and the next pile. Too narrow, he thought, even for Scully, but he
knelt down and projected the beam into the darkness. He saw a
chamber, more like an air pocket in the pile of boulders. At the
bottom was a pile of fall leaves twelve feet or more down. He
scanned it. Seeing another pile further down the chamber, he
switched the flash to his left hand to examine that one. Something
about the shape, the unnatural color, caused him to drop to his
stomach, and to reach the flash in as far as space would allow.
Near the mound was something white that looked like a scrap of
cloth, its corners held down with stones. His heart went into his
throat so that he could barely breathe. Furiously he ran the flash
over the boundaries of the mound again. He saw a foot, a shoe, and
another flash of white. A sock.

     "Dana," he sighed. "Oh, Dana."

     He pulled his head out of the crack, and shouted, "She's
here!" with a cry that rang over the mountain side and brought Evan
scrambling in dangerous haste to crouch beside him. By that time
Mulder had his head down in that narrow crack again, calling
"Scully... Scully.... Dana..., " over and over. "If you can hear me
move something. Move anything." Looking up, his face was lit by
Jimmy's small flash which Evan held. The fear went deep. "She
doesn't hear me. I can't see her move, I can't see her breathe. We
need to get down there."

      Evan trained his smaller flash down into the break in the
rock and their two beams together revealed more than Mulder had
seen before. "Fox... look. She's wrapped herself in the blankets
Jimmy and Kevin sent down. That good. Excellent. But don't expect
to be able to tell from here whether or not she's breathing."
 

     Mulder turned eyes which were bright green in the glaring
light and burning with impatience in Evan's direction. "One of us
stays with her and one goes back for help." Simply stated, but as
Mulder spoke his long fingers were digging into the rock as if he
would tear it up with his bare hands if he could. There was no
doubt what his body wanted to do, what he wanted to say, but what
he wanted was not what he did nor what he said. "You go down to
her. You're the doctor. She needs you." Evan stared at Mulder in
astonishment. "I'm in better shape for the trip," Mulder reasoned.
"I'll find Jonas or one of his teams."
 

     "You've got to be kidding." Tired as he was, Evan was not so
sure that Mulder was the one in better shape. The pallor of the
agent's skin was rather frightening. He had been recently ill and
was not in as good shape as he was pretending he was. The man had
just pushed himself beyond reason during their run. Evan crouched
very still upon the rocks staring into the damp, pale face with its
distinct shadow of beard, the ruffled, sweat-matted hair. He had
gotten to know this man more than casually in the past few days and
one thing he knew for certain was the degree of sacrifice it had
taken for Mulder to have made such a suggestion.

     "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but this is not what you
want. You should go."

     "And do what if she has a concussion or a broken leg?" Mulder
snarled with a chilling logic. "Kiss it and make it better?"

     "Don't dismiss the power of positive thinking. Having you
there may do more good for her then all my years memorizing those
damn text books." Evan then had a thought. Without a doubt Mulder
would die to find Dana but to confront her was another matter.
Mulder had returned his attention to the still form a below. "I
hope you're not making this suggestion because you're afraid that
it might be a little awkward if you went," Evan said. This brought
the agent's dark head out of the crack with a jerk. "As I remember,
Mulder, you two didn't part on the best of terms. Going down would
mean lying next to her all night, having to keep her warm. Might
mean having to talk about the last couple of weeks, too."

     Evan had expected anger, had thrown the taunt intentionally,
but saw only a deep sadness in response. "I'm not afraid, not of
Scully, but I can see how you might think so. There really is no
way you could understand. Without our 'history'.... mine....
there's no way that you could." Staring into those eyes, Evan saw
only a hint of uneasiness about the meeting, but in the deep part
of him Fox Mulder had no doubts about how he felt about Dana
Scully. He really had no doubts about how she felt about him
either. He just let his head rule his heart too much.

     "Look, before I change my mind, just do it," Mulder began, not
afraid to beg for this, "I'm not going to try to explain what Dana
and I share - not even to you. Certainly not now. All of this was
my fault, came about because of my misunderstanding. You can barely
stand, Evan. I CAN make it back faster, which is all that counts
now."

     Again, the physician looked down through the small crack,
trained his light on her stillness. No movement, even after all
their arguing. This was not good. Evan looked back up the
mountainside into the darkness. He could barely make out the dark
line of the trail from where she had fallen. His eyes followed the
irregular path her body must have taken as she fell. She had to be
hurt, there was no way she could not be. Reluctantly, he began to
pull off his coat and the thick sweater, leaving only the jersey.

     "You can be the biggest fool, Mulder," he began, "but
sometimes you do make a sort of sense." Crawling to what looked
like the widest opening, Evan began to position himself. The icy
wind played on what remained of his damp clothes.
 

     "Just one thing, Mulder," Evan warned just before lowering his
feet into the crack, "don't run yourself to death. I mean it," he
insisted sharply, seeing the agent on the verge of protesting.
"Killing yourself won't help her at all, or me. Even uninjured I
don't see a way out of this hole without help."

     Grimly, Mulder nodded, knowing that he was capable of doing
just what Evan was afraid he would do. That, for her, he could run
until he was unconscious or until his heart burst.
 
 

     "The first thing I'll tell her is what you did to find her,"
Evan promised.

     Mulder felt a choking tightness in his chest that was
partially gratitude, partially regret for the decision he had made.
He knelt to help the other man descend to the place where he would
give his life to go. Only, as Mulder had already argued, it was her
life at stake, not his.

End of Book III, Chapter 1
 

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

======

JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (2/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Wednesday, 5:30 pm
December 19, 1993

Chapter 2

     Stripped of his heavy coat, Evan began to work himself feet
first down into the narrow hole. The denim-covered hips only barely
fit. He already knew that this was not going to succeed, but that
blanketed and silent woman below and the dark, intense man above
gave Evan no choice but to try. Though the rocks slipped close to
the thin shirt, the stomach passed. Now came the ribs and the well-
developed chest. Evan grunted and twisted trying to find a better
fit within the irregular opening in the rock. So tight! Impossibly
tight! When he sucked in his gut, his weight took him down, but he
slipped only to his chest, just under his armpits, and here the
rocks closed in around him like a vice. Stuck! And no way even to
inhale, no possibility of taking anything but a strangled wheeze
and after a few tiny exhales that too was gone. Panic set in as the
world became a darker grey. Frantic, suffocating, Evan reached
grasping hands towards the sky. A curtain was coming over his mind
which was the color of the night.
 

     Evan never knew how Mulder was able to get him out. He weighed
a third again as much as the more slender man and he didn't
remember being much help. The moment he felt the fist of rock relax
its vice-like grip, he gulped a huge lungful of air just as the
drowning man will as he breaks the surface of deadly waters. Only
after this did he feel himself being hauled up by aching arms over
the lip of the hole so that his upper body was on a level with the
surface of the huge stone. With strength he did not know he had
left, Evan managed to drag his legs out of the hole. He was lying
on his back as the moonlit greyness of the night sky returned.

     Gasping, arms wrapped around his aching ribs, Evan lay staring
at the moon and the stars, waiting for the pain to subside enough
so he could talk. While he could still feel the straggling pressure
from the encircling band of rock, he turned on his side searching
for Mulder. The agent had collapsed beside him on the big rock and
by the heavy sound of his breathing didn't seem to be in much
better condition. To lift the heavier man, every lactic acid-laden,
overworked muscle in arms, shoulders, back and legs had been asked
to give much more than they should. He sat, crumpled, limbs
trembling, totally spent, sweat-streaked hair freezing in the
night's winter air.
 

      "Well, that was definitive," Evan wheezed when he could talk,
tears of self-damning frustration in his eyes. "It's obvious, I'm
not going to make it."
 
 

    Mulder looked up at his temporary partner. <He really does care
for her. Cares for her well-being and not just for how happy she
makes him.> For the first time Mulder truly realized that he was
not the only man who could love Dana Scully.
 

     Evan looked up into the dark place where Mulder's face was and
said, in essence, what Mulder's quickening pulse was already
telling him. "I guess you go. I knew there was a reason you were
starving yourself. You, at least, have a chance." Evan smiled to
see a wild light in the night-darkened eyes. "It's a rotten,
terrible job, I know. Just think, to be forced to keep Dana warm
all night. I dare say Skinner's given you more difficult
assignments."

     Mulder had raised his head and the slight wind caught his
hair. He had wished for this but hadn't dared to hope. Exhaustion
forgotten he began to strip, as Evan had, down to his trousers and
t-shirt.
 

     "Wait," Evan cautioned. "Put your coat on again for a minute.
It's her medical condition we're worried about. Let me show you
what I have in my first aid kit and I'll teach you how to use
what's not familiar."

     Mulder hissed at the delay, but complied. In the light from
Evan's flash, the two men huddled over the contents of the kit.
"First, you can't move her, but I'm sure you knew that. Especially
not her spine or her neck. Let her initiate any movement and
restrict any movement she doesn't want to make as much as you can."

     Mulder's nod was curt, impatient. "Just tell me something I
don't know."

     "Give me a break here. I'm not Scully and I don't know what
kind of training you people get. Let's just review, okay?
Naturally, we're worried about hypothermia, so warmth is
imperative. From what Jimmy said she hasn't had much water, so try
to get her to swallow some." Evan raised the canteen then put it
down into his back pack. He shook his head over the rest of the
contents, finally removing from the small pile the bag of trail mix
with its nuts and dried fruit. "I wish we'd brought more food. I
still have a long way to go tonight, so I'll take the trail mix if
you don't mind. She needs calories for fuel but neither of you have
been eating much at all for days and this stuff could give you some
nasty cramps. Water is more critical."

     They took out more items from the kit. Luckily, it was Evan's
personal one and not the commercial version, but still the
offerings were meager. From his years in the field and the multiple
renewals of the FBI's required first aid course, Mulder knew the
basics and after working with Scully he knew more. Not all of those
countless hours he had spent in emergency rooms had been wasted
grumbling either. They never left the patient any reading material
except for the package inserts from whatever supplies were stored
in the treatment rooms and Mulder had a restless mind.

     Evan's voice droned on. "Antiseptic cream for wounds that
might look infected. Alcohol for more open wounds." There was an
assortment of bandages, gauze and tape as well as aspirin and non-
aspirin pain killers in pill form. Evan touched the pill bottle.
"Obviously, she's allowed these only if she's conscious," he
warned. "But here's something else I always carry." He held up a
bottle of red liquid. "Children's Tylenol. This is a weak solution,
give her the whole bottle if she seems to have a fever." Holding up
a bee sting kit, he continued, "if her heartbeat seems very faint,
the epinephrine won't hurt her and might help. Here it is, this is
what I wanted to show you." He picked up a syringe, still in its
packaging and a small bottle.  "Antibiotics, not penicillin.
There's some in pill form but you can't use that till she wakes up.
Antibiotics by IV would work faster, but you aren't going to start
an IV down there even if I had the materials. This should go into
a thick muscle like her - ah - bottom, but I don't want you to move
her that much so you'll have to use an arm." Evan demonstrated how
to hold the skin. "After you draw the solution up into the syringe,
eject the bubbles. It's not as critical for IM injections as for IV
but do it anyway. I'm sure you've watched enough doctor shows to
have seen the technique."

     The survey of the kit concluded, Mulder slipped off his coat.
He had already disposed of his sweater and flannel shirt. His white
t-shirt glowed in the moonlight. Flash in hand, gooseflesh breaking
out on his bare arms, he stood over the hole looking for a better
place along the ragged, meandering gap to descend. Some spots gaped
wide on top only to narrow further in. In other places the opening
looked impossibly narrow but flared quickly below. After Evan's
experience they decided on a twisted section and hoped Mulder was
at least as flexible as he looked.
 
 

     The wind's icy fingers slid across his ribs as he let his legs
down into the hole. His hips moved through quickly, also the
stomach, and, after much twisting and contorting, the chest passed
in up to his sternum, but the rocks squeezed against both sides of
his broad shoulders. Forcefully expelling his breath, his lean form
suddenly slipped down. One shoulder passed painfully into the
crack, the other caught up. One arm was trapped at his side while
the other was pinched at a cruel angle above and behind his head.
Breathing was suddenly limited to small, inadequate pants. Evan
could sense the legs kicking uselessly below, coming in contact
with nothing but open air. Though he grunted and snarled with
effort, Mulder could not slip further in.
 

     "Mulder, this isn't going to work."

     "Force... it!" Mulder growled. "Space... in front..."

     Evan, who had been gazing down helplessly, jerked upright with
sudden understanding. "Mulder, you're crazy!  I can't do that!"

     "You're a ... doctor! You know what can give... If you care
for her ... do it!"
 

     Evan Byers looked down into Mulder's face and saw there a
great ocean of passion and determination. If love could drive a man
to such depths, Evan came to the conclusion that he had not known
love as much as he thought he had. He put his hand down on the dark
head below him. Mulder, who had not stopped turning and twisting
like a trapped animal with single minded persistence, became
suddenly still and looked up questioningly at his touch.
 

     "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I do care about
Fox Mulder, for himself," Evan asserted, his eyes full of worry,
"and not only because a certain red-head loves him." He smiled
suddenly, letting the heaviness of the sentiment slip away. "I'm
also taking into account how she'll flay me alive if I let anything
happen to you." Standing swiftly, flash in hand, Evan examined
Mulder's position from several angles. Though the agent could still
breathe with effort, he was clearly weakening rapidly.
 

     Reluctantly, Evan could see a way - a well placed kick with
the heel of his boot on the point of the left shoulder and to the
left of the shoulder blade would propel the joint into the space
Mulder had felt, effectively bending that broad front.
 
 

     "This could break your shoulder, your ribs, worse," Evan
cautioned. Mulder's strained expression revealed only discomfort
and determination, no fear. Evan's stomach twisted sickeningly. To
intentionally cause injury was against everything he believed in.
"Has that shoulder been dislocated before?"

     Mulder stopped his impotent struggling long enough to nod
solemnly. "Once."

     "At least that will make it easier. It will still hurt like
the devil, though." Grimacing, Evan sat down, straddling the lip of
the opening behind and a little to Mulder's left, bracing himself
against a rock for leverage. Leg flexed, he poised the heel of his
boot behind Mulder's left shoulder. "If you're in that much pain,
will you still be able to help her?"
 

     Panting first to gather enough breath to speak, Mulder swore,
"Just try me - Aaaaaahhhh!"

     Intentionally, Evan acted without warning - not to prevent
Mulder from backing out, Evan knew that would never happen - but so
there would be no time for the trapped man to tense up. Flesh and
bone, sinew and muscle gave under Evan's emotionally-charged
thrust. The last obstacle now out of the way, Mulder's slender body
slipped through the narrow opening, tearing the skin on his back
and chest and shoulders, the upright arm instinctively curling to
protect his eyes.
 

     The drop was further and faster than either expected and the
blazing fire in his shoulder and along the cuts the rocks had made
was a distraction so that Mulder made a poor landing on his right
ankle, rolling too late. He came to rest on hard, sharp stone.

     Mulder's world was suddenly pain - pain and darkness from his
leg crumpled under him to the agony in his shoulder and everywhere
in between. The light from the flash Evan anxiously held, which was
at first a beacon, was fading, fading into a cottony blackness that
left the pain behind.

     A man's voice was stretching out, going on and on and on, and
that sounded wrong. The blood was rushing in his ears. Oh, it hurt!
Oh, it hurt so bad! There was no thinking. Where was Scully? Her
voice was what Mulder expected to hear, cutting through the dark
that desired to swallow him up, her voice telling him that she was
there, that it would be all right, that she would take care of him.

     Above, Evan heard only low animal-like moans and the shuffle
of aimless movements but not much of either. <Shit!> "Mulder! Fox!
Don't you dare pass out on me, Mulder! I need you! Don't you dare,
you over-educated sack of bones... You walking advertisement for
gloom and doom. If you pass out on me I'll never speak to you
again." More groans deep but not loud, nothing coherent. "Come back
to me, Fox! Damn you, stay with me. Stay with Dana... Scully needs
you. I can't leave knowing both of you are out."
 

     <Scully!> The blackness retreated a little and then pain
returned with his consciousness, just before the flash flood of
agony hit him.

     Mulder's cry shot up through the dark crack in the rock,
something between a groan and lion's roar, clearly sparked with
four-letter words that definitely sounded conscious. "Your....
<indecipherable sound>... is hopeless," gasped the voice from below
between grunts of pain.

     Evan dropped his chin onto his chest in relief. "What's so
hopeless, Mulder?"

     "Your... <indecipherable sound>.... swearing."

     Though amazed that he could, Evan found himself laughing. This
was Mulder, in torment and outraged, but one he could deal with.
"Sorry, I never learned how to swear worth a damn. I always felt
the art was lost after the seventeenth century."

     A strangled sound and then a much louder groan from below. By
the cone of light the flash provided, Evan could see that Mulder
was trying to sit up, not an easy maneuver for he seemed to have
landed with his head decidedly downhill. "You going to be able to
stay with me, Fox?" More animal swearing. "Tell me what's wrong?
Dislocated shoulder?"

     "Oh, yeah," came the heartfelt reply.

     "Maybe it will go back on its own. How far out is it."

     A long, low moan this time as Mulder tried touching that agony
with his good hand. "Way, way out."

     "Shit!" Evan knew it hurt like hell and needed attention, but

there was no chance for that now. "Anything else?"

     More awkward scraping of cloth and boot against stone. Mulder
shifted to lean against a shaft of unyielding granite. Head thrown
back, face contorted with effort, he moved his left leg, found it
bruised but functional, tried to move his right leg and found the
foot wedged between two rocks. He pulled it free after more
swearing. Not functional. At the very least a bad sprain. Without
the high laced boot he would have broken it for sure. "Ankle..." he
hissed.

      Evan practiced his swearing. "Are you going to be able to
function? Can you get to her?"

     "I'll manage..." Came words that sounded as if they were
forced through clenched teeth. And Even had no doubt that Mulder
could be at death's door and he's still get to her. "Send... light
2E.. coat," came the request, in a voice unsteady from pain and
cold.

     Evan snatched at another unimaginative swear word. Mulder's
pain was dangerous enough. That much pain did all kinds of terrible
things to a person's hormone balance. Add to that the affect of the
winter air on a body covered by only a t-shirt above the waist and
Mulder could go right over the edge into shock very quickly.
Hastily, Evan threw down the agents' shirt, sweater and ancient
parka then began hunting frantically for inspiration on how to
lower the back pack without the risk of breaking any of their
meager supplies. Stupid! Why hadn't he bought rope at the hardware
store when he had the chance? But he hadn't so he did not have much
to work with. In order to keep the stronger of the two lights
undamaged it had not been sent down with Mulder, and that had
proven to be a good decision. Now Mulder needed it, however, as
well as the remaining water, their pitiful food stocks and the
first aid kit.
 

     In a pile of debris that looked like it had been washed down
the mountain in a downpour, Evan found a branch about ten feet
long, tied the straps of the back pack to it and sent it into the
cleft in the rock. It only had to drop the final two feet. Mulder
did not even try standing to catch it, but crawled to it with
aching slowness over the jagged rocks which comprised the stone
floor. That action revealed more to Evan about the agent's physical
limitations then his words had. Mulder would continue to be cold,
too. Since his injury made it nearly impossible to move, certainly
impossible to put his left arm in the sleeve, shirt and coat could
only be draped around his shoulders.  The situation gnawed cruelly
at Evan's conscience, but there was no way he could aid either of
them now except to ascertain the worst of Dana's injuries and then
get them help as soon as possible.
 

     With clumsy fingers, Mulder managed to get the back pack open
and, flashlight in hand, was painfully inching his body over the
sharp plates of rock towards the figure they had seen from above.
 

     As the harsh light struck the mound, the bundle, even more
clearly than before, revealed itself to be that of a small blanket-
covered human form. Mulder's hopes soared. As Even had pointed out,
at one time she had had enough strength and mobility to wrap
herself closely in the old wool blankets. Clearly, she had also
made this nest in a hollow filled with dry, autumn leaves.

     Slowly, Mulder pulled the blankets back from the figure's
face. Red hair, tangled and matted with leaves and dirt lay about
her head. It was Dana's sweet face, scratched and dirty, distant
yet rigid, as if she were fighting a battle somewhere far, far
away. Hers was not a restful sleep. No, not sleep, a deeper
insensibility than that. Unconsciousness, maybe a coma. Her
breathing was ragged, each breath coming after a little grim pause
for strength before the next. Mulder touched one hand. Inside its
glove it was so cold and limp. The pulse he felt was weak and slow
but gloriously steady. With the back of his hand he touched her
smooth forehead finding it warmer than her hand, too warm for this
cold.

     From above, Evan had been calling out for vitals.
 

     After Mulder's strangled report he replied, "I agree. It
sounds like she has a fever. Go with the antibiotics." Then he
added groaning, "Stupid, stupid, I should have filled the syringe
for you before I sent the pack down. That's almost impossible to do
one handed."

     "I'll do it," Mulder growled petulantly, determined that he
would despite the fact that he barely had control of his left hand.
The nerves were so badly pinched, the hand felt as if it belonged
to someone else. At least the immediate mind-deadening agony had
retreated to just a roar of unceasing, debilitating pain. Still, he
somehow managed to hold the bottle in the numb fist, to spear the
rubber injection site with the needle and fill the syringe. Finding
access to the deltoid muscles in Dana's upper arm was a much harder
task. She seemed to him like a frozen flower, lying there silent
except for that breathing. Not at peace. In truth, he was afraid to
touch her, afraid that in upsetting some delicate balance she would
shatter in his hands.  Somehow he got the arm out of the coat
sleeve after checking that nothing seemed broken. The sweater and
the long sleeved thermal undershirt he pushed off her slender white
shoulder. At least she had come better prepared than he. All the
while he could hear Evan's impatiently pacing steps on the stone
above.
 

     There was no way Mulder could angle his crippled body to hold
her arm with the numb hand before depressing the plunger with the
other. That would have been less painful to her but an impossible
maneuver in his current condition. With empty stomach twisting, he
jabbed crudely at the thin arm, pushed the plunger, and prayed that
she would forgive him for his clumsiness. When there was no
response, not even the slightest flinch in reaction to the
injection, warm tears welled up in his tired eyes.

     After silently apologizing for looking without her permission,
Mulder lifted the shirt and bleakly reported to Evan that there
were a lot of bruises on her ribs, large, familiar black ones.

     "That's all I can find without moving her," Mulder reported
wearily.

     "Then there's nothing more for me to do here," Evan called
down. "I'll hurry. Keep her warm, Mulder. Above all, keep her warm.
I'll be back as soon as I can."
 

     "Just don't get lost," Mulder called, his voice strained
through the pain.

     Above in the dark, Evan started up the steep slope towards the
little sliver of the trail. <That's going to be hard to do since I
don't know where I am and I don't know where I'm going.>
 

     With the immediate evaluation complete and Evan gone, Mulder
began to appreciate that he was really alone with Scully, his
partner, his friend. His exhausted muscles barely keeping him
upright, he sat hunched by her side, looking at her beautiful face,
as still and clear as ice, her lovely long lashes lying against her
cheeks, her lips partially open in her slow, labored breathing. The
form of her was here but not her. "Where are you Scully?" he
whispered, touching her cheek with his hand. "I'm here. I'm sorry
to have taken so long." She breathed on but that was all. "Please,
come back. Don't leave me alone."
 

     For the Dana he knew was not here and, more than anything now
that he had found her and knew that she lived, he wanted her with
him. Where was that little pout of her lower lip which told him,
without words, when she had had one strange case, one bad joke too
many? Where was that cocked eyebrow which told him that his humor
had taken the edge off the stress? Where was the solid, technical
analyst he had come to rely on and where the expression that told
him he was definitely in trouble now? Where was the glare in the
blue eyes that dared him, challenged him, to prove his theories.

     When had it changed that if she believed it didn't matter what
the rest of the world thought? And where that flicker before they
went into battle that was so full of strength and support and that
which neither of them acknowledged - a little bit of a final good-
bye to last through eternity if in the next few minutes either one
of them should fall.
 

     Where? None of it here. Nothing. Only his fears, and a few
dreams he dared to dream.
 

     Canteen in hand, Mulder placed a few drops of water in her
mouth. When she didn't choke, he gave her a little more, gently
massaging the smooth skin of her throat with his cold-roughened
hand to encourage her to swallow. Offering only small amounts she
managed a few mouthfuls. As he worked, he spoke to her, spoke of
the day it had been and how they had found her, of Evan and how he
was going for help, of the people they had met here, of her
mother's worries and Skinner's. And many, many apologies for having
failed her, for being, even when he was sane, more than half crazy.

     His eyes rested sadly on her hair again. Hesitantly, his good
hand found the pocket of his coat and from there drew forth the
teal-green hairbrush. With awkward gentleness, he brushed away the
leaves and dirt, arranging it softly around her face. As before,
she made no motion, but slept on like the sleeping beauty in the
fairy tale.

     Moving slowly, gritting his teeth, Mulder leaned down and
breathed softly on that still face. After silently begging her
leave, he kissed her lips, not knowing that she had done the same
for him once as she sat with his head in her lap by a white shed in
the yard of a disintegrating house while a storm roared down upon
them. And, as his had been then, her lips were cool and as
unresponsive. He had half expected her to wake as if his kiss broke
some spell and, waking, they would be normal people with normal
jobs and problems like everyone else and a future to build between
them.
 

     <You are not making sense any more, Spook, even to yourself.
Get some sleep. She needs your warmth now. She may need your wits
later but for now just your metabolism will do.> And his thoughts
were so muddled with exhaustion perhaps that was all he could
offer.
 

     The arm which he had injected with antibiotics was already out
of its coat sleeve. Gently, he took her coat off on the other side
then raised her ever so gently, just a little at a time, to place
as much of the coat under her as possible, leaving only a few
inches for himself for later. Skin to skin he knew would be better
but he dared not move her any more.

     By this time, only his back was covered by his own coat, so
the cold was biting deep into his bones. Shivering, Mulder wondered
how he could provide any warmth to her at all. Though it took long
minutes of careful maneuvering, he was finally able to lower
himself to lie down next to her, uninjured shoulder to the hard
stone which was padded only a little by her coat. Adjusting one
blanket and his coat to cover her while keeping the other blanket
available to cover them both was nearly impossible with his injured
arm. Finally, body trembling from chill and exhaustion and pain, he
decided the configuration, crude as it was, would have to do.
 

     The rock floor was several levels of magnitude from
comfortable but by that time Mulder was past caring. He lay with
her body next to his, as close as he dared with their injuries, the
wrenching rattle of her breathing in his ear, the throb of her
heart under his hand, and that was all that mattered. All these he
wanted to keep with him, to feel and listen to in the dark but
within a few minutes the stress of his trials and his blessings
overwhelmed him, pulled closed his eyes, and he also slept.

End of Book III, chapter 2
 

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

======

JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (3/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Buck River Trail, Access Point

Wednesday 10pm
December 19, 1993

Chapter 3

     "Ah, nuts," Eli Jonas swore, straightening up from loading the
back of his pickup, the one with the 'Office of the Sheriff' on the
door. "This day keeps bringing up toads!" It was well past dark,
already cold and getting colder and the search party had sadly
given up for the night. On all their minds had been the almost
certain knowledge that nothing more would be found that night, at
least, nothing alive.
 

     "What's up, Eli," Ralph Elliott asked, suspiciously. The
town's feed store owner and one of Eli Jonas' oldest friends knew
that faraway look he now saw on his friend's face.

     "We've got trouble, people."

     "Oh, hell, Eli, not again!" Ralph wailed, throwing to the
ground the empty water bottle he was carrying. "That sort of thing
always gives me a headache."

     "And it doesn't make me feel like something a turkey vulture
wouldn't eat the day after?" Eli shot back. "Look, with the gift
comes the responsibility, okay? You know that. We found Johnson's
three year old that way."

     "Yeah, but he was family," Ralph complained. "These people are
outsiders."

     "The lady gets herself hurt in our woods. I'd say that makes
it our responsibility. Would any of you say different?"

     "But you said you couldn't pick her up."
 

     "I can't, I never touched her, but I touched that man Evan
more than once and shared coffee with him. Him I can read pretty
well and he's not a happy camper right now."

     "What do you mean?" asked the anxious voice of dark-haired
Marjorie Folkes as she edged her way through the crowd.

     Eli could not help but notice the worried edge to her voice.
"Lost, in the woods, I'd say," he explained. "Gosh, but he's cold
and scared." Eli rubbed his chin. "But not so much scared for
himself. This is stronger than that." He shut his eyes and
concentrated, finally shaking his head in frustration. "Where's
Jack?"

     "Over by the spring," a girl named Cindy offered.
 

     Eli called out in that direction. "Jack, my lad, I need
you!"

     A few moments later a boy of twelve trotted up the slope.
"What do you need Uncle Eli?"
 

     "Your touch, Jack." The boy hurried up and solemnly took his
uncle by the forearms. "Now, no games this time, Jack, not like
when we were looking for Jason Potter's calf. We're cold and we're
tired, but there are others who are going to be an awful lot colder
than we are before the night's over if we don't get this right."

     "Come on, Uncle Eli," the youth protested, "I know the
difference between a calf and a woman."

     "I should hope so at your age!" Eli laughed lightly. After
that the sheriff was silent as was everyone on his search team.
Concentrating, Eli's brow furrowed. "There it is. You're a good
focus boy. You keep working on that and you'll be as good as your
old grandpap ever was."
 

     As the boy smiled with pleasure, Eli turned to the circle of
men and women who had surrounded him. "The big blond man, that's
Evan, he's all alone, but he's on a mission and he thinks he's
failing. That's what he's so upset about. My guess is those two men
found the woman. The dark one stayed with her and this Evan went
for help, but he's up and got himself lost. Not hard to do at
night."

     "I thought they went back to town?" Ralph grumbled. Ralph was
always a good one for grumbling.

     "Yeah, and that's been bothering me all evening. Those two,
especially the dark one, didn't give me the impression that they
were the sort who would sit on their rears and let others do the
work. I expected them back long before supper. I can sense the one
I call the 'dark one', this Agent Mulder, even though I only shook
hands with him the one time. He's a powerful sender. He's very dim
right now, but I can sense enough to know his mind is resting
easier than it was. That's why I'm guessin' that he's with the
woman."

     "So what do we do? Can't we call out the dogs?" A tall, thin
farmer asked eagerly.

     "Dogs? Jeez. Harold, I know you love those hounds of yours,
but we don't know where they started out from so tracking won't
help us here. Someone fetch Old Jeb. He went back to base. He's got
the best direction sense of any of us. I can feel this Evan, but
hell if I know where he is."

     "Can't imagine how we'd live with you if you knew everything,
Eli," Ralph jeered.

     "Yeah, well, I'll remember that next time, your daughter Rosie
wanders off with that Pottersville boy again."
 

     Ralph waved his hand surrendering. "Okay, okay, don't jump
down my throat."

     Eli wiped cooling sweat from his high forehead with its
thinning hair. "Sorry, this sort of thing always gives me the
willies. Ah, Jeb, there you are." An old man, leaning on the arm of
young Jack, was moving spryly up the path. "Jeb, I need your good
right arm so I can see through those inner eyes of yours. Jason,
you get on the radio and have Betty call up the paramedic unit and
the official S&R folk from Petersburg and get them on the way.
We're not going to try this one on our own, it's too visible. And
ask her to get the support troops lined up, too. This is going to
be a long night."

                            ********

Far Off Storn Ridge Trail
Thursday, midnight
December 20, 1995
 

     As a patch of clouds passed briefly over the small, beautiful
moon, Evan stared upwards and frowned.  He hoped the cloud cover
would be only a temporary inconvenience because he needed the
moonlight to save the batteries powering Jimmy's small flashlight.
The moon would set soon enough and then he would have no choice. A
clear night, however, meant that as cold as it was, it was going to
get colder.
 

     After leaving Fox and Dana, Dana lying so still and Fox
looking so pitifully thin and obviously in considerably more pain
than he was willing to admit, Evan had run. He could not help it
any more than Mulder could have. The need to get somewhere,
anywhere, to find someone who could help was just so strong. But
Evan found he couldn't run far and, as he dropped to a fast walk,
the sweat quickly chilled on his body. When the night breeze
strengthened he shivered. Huddling down into the collar of his coat
he walked faster, stumbling, and thought healthy thoughts. He
couldn't afford to get sick. Not now.
 

     Evan had another problem. He was finding it increasingly
difficult to walk. There were blisters on both his feet now, not
only on heels and toes but on the very soles of his feet. He had
felt them forming during his run to Storn Mountain with Mulder and
the boy but in the tension and excitement which followed he had
become numb to the warning pain. No longer. Now every step was
agony. The inexpensive boots he had bought should have been
softened gradually with use and in any case should have been worn
with much thicker socks. He had ripped up his t-shirt a mile after
leaving the rock slide and wrapped the raw skin under the burst
blisters as well as he could but the damage had been done.
 

     "You get what you pay for," his mother always told him. Well,
he had not planned to run a marathon today. Every muscle in his
body cried and trembled and his stomach was empty. Except for the
trail mix which he had eaten hours before, he had left everything
else with Mulder and Dana. They certainly needed it more than he
did. Besides, it wasn't food he needed. He was lost.

     More than an hour before he had wandered off the main trail in
a haze and since then his progress had been without direction. He
searched every large tree trunk which loomed out of the darkness
for the splotch of paint which would indicate he was on a trail
again. He had yet to find paint. And to make it worse, with every
wobbly step he became more conscious that if he went down an
embankment and broke something, perhaps a leg, Mulder and Dana's
lives would be forfeit, as well as his own. No one but Jimmy had
any idea where they were, and that young man had proven to be sadly
unreliable.
 

     Evan was standing in the black shadow of a giant oak which,
like the others, showed no trail markings even by the light of his
flash. Far too tired to be angry, he made a ninety degree
correction to his course. That was when his foot turned on a stone.
Even as he cried out is exasperation, Evan threw himself down
rather than risk trying to correct his balance which potentially
could have wrenched the ankle more severely.
 

     He made no attempt to get up immediately. Being down felt
good. It felt wonderful, in fact, not to be moving. He stared up at
the trees so close around him, their bare branches still thick
enough to hide most of the sky. Good not to be moving, but not in
this place.

     "Admit it, Evan," he muttered to himself, "you're lost and if
you keep going like this you're going to hurt yourself and get
yourself, Dana and Mulder killed." He would rest for a little
while, but not for long and not here.
 

     Exhausted, he stumbled into a clearing a few minutes later.
Somehow he felt better about pausing here than where he would be
closed in so tightly by the trees. He found a space just wide
enough to accommodate his body between the trunks of two huge trees
that had fallen inside the clearing years before. The space would
be out of the wind and, with its ready nest of leaves, seemed the
best he was likely to manage for shelter.

     He stretched out with a groan of pleasure, aching joints
popping. The crackling dead leaves were as welcome a mattress to
his aching body as the high soft bed at Amanda's. He listened to a
night bird, some hardly creature that stayed in these forests over
the winter. A living but lonely sound in the crystal air. The
luminous glow of the watch face on his wrist revealed that it was
just after midnight. December the twentieth now. Nearly, the
longest night of the year.  What with driving so late last night
and searching for Dana in the dark and this interminable walk, Evan
felt as if he had seen enough night to last him for a very long
time.
 

     Just a few minutes he told himself.
 

     Yeah, sure.

     ...But I have promises to keep/ and miles to go before I
sleep...
 

     All well and good for Robert Frost. He had probably never had
a forty-eight hours like Evan had had.

                             *******

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Thursday 1am
December 20, 1993
 

     After only a few hours of restless sleep, Mulder found himself
awake and staring into utter blackness. Even the pale grey patch of
moonlit night sky no longer distinguished the crack in the ceiling
of their prison from the surrounding rock. He woke cold and half
frozen - the frozen half the side that had not rested lightly
against Dana's small form. The frozen half had been covered only by
one layer of blanket. He had had dreams of being cold, the kind of
dreams you do not wake from, that just seem to go on and on. Cold
had not awakened him, however; thirst had. The one craving he did
not need. Evan's partially filled canteen lay beside him, but he
was unwaveringly committed to saving every drop of that for Scully.

     Upon waking he had automatically taken a sense of her. Her
hands were warmer he was certain, her forehead cooler, her
breathing softer and more relaxed. Reluctantly, he rolled stiffly
away from her and reached for the flashlight. Biting his lip
against the aches and the cry of torn muscles, Mulder anxiously
studied this woman, his friend.
 

     Even illuminated by the flashlight's harsh unnatural glare,
her color seemed better. Maybe the added warmth had helped, maybe
Evan's potions, but she should still be in a hospital, not here.
Which god had they insulted, Mulder mused glumly, that these sorts
of disasters should keep happening to them?

     He swung the flash around their little cave, not a cave,
really, but an air pocket in the rock slide. He grimaced as a roll
of dizziness swept over him. Must remember not to move so fast next
time.  At the lower, narrower end of the chamber, a distance of
about ten feet, was a dark, wet-looking spot. Water? By clawing
with his good right arm and pushing with his left leg, he was able
to propel his nearly useless body awkwardly across the uneven
floor. Reaching the spot, he collapsed beside the hollow to scoop
under the stiff, icy leaves. His reward was only a pile of cold,
damp leaves, rock and frozen fingers. There had been water here
once, but no more. No water, then, except for what was in the
canteen until Evan got back with help.
 

     Mulder pushed himself up to the nearest approximation to a
sitting position he could manage, then he had to stop. The
dizziness was back, worse than before, and was making him nauseous.
He dropped his head down to rest it against his knees and his one
good arm as the room spun. Rest, get his equilibrium back before he
worked his way back to Scully. It didn't help, however, that there
wasn't a single normal ninety degree angle or perpendicular surface
anywhere in the place that he could focus his eyes on. The pain in
his shoulder and all the way down his left side was making it hard
to think, much less move. Definitely, this was not a simple
dislocation.
 
 

     Abruptly he straightened, wincing as he did so. He had heard
something. He held his breath, forcing his body to sit as still as
one of the stones and listen. Had he simply heard a handful of
leaves skittering across the rock in the slight breeze? No, it was
a sigh, a groaning sigh, not loud, but loud in this silence.
Without thinking, he turned his upper body in Scully's direction.
The resulting tearing anguish almost sent him spiraling into the
dark. Then she groaned again, and this time the straggled,
inarticulate sound was similar enough to her old voice that that
one unknown word kept him from the darkness when nothing else
would. Something had triggered her return to consciousness. Perhaps
the cooling along her left side when he had left her, perhaps the
aloneness he also felt.

     "Scully?"
 

     Dana was still mostly asleep when she thought she heard a
familiar soft voice call her name.

     The struggle to wake, to move, took almost more strength than
she had, but with effort she managed to slowly turn her head. She
blinked. She blinked again trying to clear her eyes. Sitting in a
pool of white light at the far end of this hole she had come to
know as well as her own apartment sat Mulder, his face full of
sharp, contrasting shadows. He looked ghostly just sitting there.
If she had had the strength to reach for him, he still would have
been beyond her reach. He was huddled over strangely, his face thin
and dirty and full of pain, but it was Mulder. His brow was creased
with worry, his eyes filled with a hunger that was not for food.
 

     No, Mulder was not there, another dream then. She was seeing
a spirit, a spirit come to see her along.

     "I didn't think I was all that far gone yet," she murmured.
 

     "Excuse me?" he asked, the sick roaring in his ears making it
hard to hear.

     "To need a guardian angel who looked like Fox Mulder on a bad
day." Her voice came out thin through dry, cracked lips, barely
above a whisper.

     He smiled gently. "It's me, Scully."

     She closed her eyes tiredly, then opened them again, but he
was still there. "No you're not. You're just here to torture me, to
remind me of how I should have seduced you long ago. Too late now.
One of those nights when we had a connecting door between our
rooms. Or maybe on the boat..."

     "Scully!" he exclaimed. But for all the exaggerated horror in
his voice, his eyes were soft.

     "How else was I ever going to break through that shell," she
moaned. "Give you time to think about it and you only pull that
damn shield over you again, maybe even go out and buy some new
locks, dig a deeper moat." Her voice was dreamy, fading in and out
as if she were talking in her sleep, which was what she thought she
was doing. "Well, it's too late now, isn't it, Mulder. I can't come
to you this time. You are going to have to come to me."
 

     At the end of her ragged speech, Dana had not even been
talking to what she thought was the vision in the cave with her,
but to the empty air, as if she had been talking to him this way
before. In fact, she had done that, talked to him through the hours
of cold, lonely darkness, especially over the last two days after
the pain set in with its sharp, clawed vengeance and death seemed
near.

     Mulder was frightened by her wandering conversation, but more
by the careful way she held herself, moving only her head and that
not easily. Her injuries were clearly serious. At that moment he
wanted nothing more than to be by her side, but he hesitated. It
wasn't the pain itself or the dizziness, he feared, but if he
passed out in the attempt, collapsing onto his face into
unconsciousness, that would only upset her more. His eyes judged
the distance between them, not so very far away, but far enough
considering the effort it would require to reach her. Much as he
wanted to be at her side, staying where he was until his stomach
and his head quit spinning, seemed the safer alternative for the
time being.
 

     "Scully," he called when he thought she was fading away from
him. "I'm not a spirit."

     "Then you're a delusion," she murmured. "Nice one though.
Nicest one I've had."

     Mulder shivered. This was a weird conversation, pleasant to
his ego, but weird in that she did not believe he was really there,
and somehow it was not fair to allow her to open herself so to him
when she thought he wasn't real. "I guess I'd better get over there
and convince you I'm here before you say something you'll REALLY
regret," he mused out loud. Three deep breaths of the cold air
helped clear the dizziness for the moment. Then, tensing his
shoulder and leg as much as possible to keep them immobile, he
began the painstaking task of navigating back the way he had come.
Only when he began to move, the veins standing out on his neck, his
jaw locked tight to keep from crying out, did she raise her head
enough to focus on him. She could not move very much, but it was
enough.
 

     "It IS you," she whispered, suddenly believing, her heart
leaping and crashing simultaneously. Leaping in joy that he was
there. Crashing... "Mulder," she whispered with concern, watching
the painful slowness of his journey," you've injured yourself
again." All thoughts of seduction fled and she was instantly more
alert than she had been for days. She knew she would pay later for
burning this strength but she didn't care.
 

     He had come as she knew he would.

     Mulder had prepared himself to be reserved and comforting but
distant until he knew her mind. Would he be forgiven for the last
two weeks, for being so late in finding her? But he had heard the
words, felt the longing, and the warmth had begun to melt the ice
in his chest. It was a substantial block of ice, only the surface
was from his efforts to close himself off from her since that
moment in the gardens of Ravensworth. Much more had built up layer
upon layer, through years and years of betrayal and disappointment.

     When he had finally struggled to her side, he only touched her
arm lightly in the event it was injured, but he could still feel
the muscles under his hand quivering. "Still think I'm a spirit?"

     She smiled up into his eyes, let her head fall back down upon
its pillow of leaves and started to laugh very softly and very
carefully.

     "Scully, you're delirious,"

     "Deliriously happy." Her eyes glistened in the sharp light
from the flash as her gaze darted about their prison. "Now at least
when the angels come I'll have a date."

     For a moment he thought she was hallucinating, still thinking
he was some harbinger of her death. There was some of that, but he
also caught the edge of the old familiar sarcasm in her voice. "I
didn't come all the way here to let you shuffle off your mortal
coil, or mine either for that matter. Besides, I'm in too much
pain. That would be too easy."

     "Then I hope you brought a very long ladder."

     So that was where she was going with this. He was about as
dull witted as one of these stones. "Oh... that. Don't worry. For
once I didn't come alone. Skinner wouldn't allow it. Byers is with
me. He's gone for the cavalry."

     Scully's eyes widened a notch. Before she had gone on her
little 'vacation', Mulder had bristled every time the researcher's
name was mentioned. Now he said the name easily.

     "Hope he doesn't get lost."

     "I certainly hope not," Mulder agreed.

     "I any case I assume he won't be back for a while."

     "That's right. Probably not for quite a while."

     "There's just the two of us here then?"

     "Just us and the bears."

     "There are no bears," Dana assured him, her eyes far too
bright. "I looked. Just us." Dana smiled. A kind of secret smile
that made Mulder squirm with apprehension. He had come to rescue
her, why then did he feel like the fly in the spider's web.
 

     To change the subject, he cleared his throat and asked, "How
are you?" Looking at that smile and those shining eyes, he decided
he needed to be more specific. "Physically, that is."

     The smile faded. Reality check. Dana made a careful effort to
stretch. Her face contorted ever so slightly in response. "I'm
okay."
 

     But he had seen her wince and raised his eyebrows at her.
 
 

     "Truth then," she relented, the light in her eyes not dimming
entirely as she gazed upon his worried features. "Some broken ribs,
some deep abrasions." Talking made breathing more difficult and she
could not hide that fact from him. "May have got part of a lung,"
she admitted in a hoarse whisper. "Wasn't so bad the first few
days." He touched her forehead. Definitely much warmer than his
cold fingers, but less warm than before. She frowned. "Yes, I had
a fever," she paused for effect, her smile suddenly more infectious
than the bug in her system, "but I feel much better now."
 

     "I'd like to think that was all because of my presence, but
Evan had me give you something." He touched her upper arm. "Hope I
didn't bruise you too badly."

     Realizing what he must have done to give her a bruise, her
eyes glowed with humor thinking of Mulder, Mister World's- Worst-
Patient, actually giving someone an injection. "Mulder, you just
keep unfolding -" Dana stopped herself. Considering how her
thoughts were running that was not an analogy she wanted to repeat
just then. "What I mean is, Mulder, I'm impressed."

     He gave her a wry look, not missing the significance of the
aborted comment. "Just as long as the 'impression' is not too
painful." Hastily, Mulder backpedaled. The woman's mind was more
one-tracked than he had thought. "What I mean is, I've been on the
receiving END of injections often enough to have gotten the basic
idea."
 

     At that Dana just put her head back and, favoring her ribs,
laughed gently. It seemed ages since they had been able to talk
like this and how she had missed their banter. Since before
Colorado, since before Angela. Not since their all too short
vacation on the boat in Key West.

     Mulder frowned a little, not to hear her laugh, but because of
the thin and painful sound of it. "Do you want some water? You
swallowed only a little a few hours ago." As he offered, he looked
towards the canteen which had been forgotten back by the pool. He
would have to move more than a few of his damaged muscles to reach
it.

     She had seen the direction of his eyes. "Do you mind?" she
asked, apologetically.
 

     He took a deep breath for courage and held the wounded arm
close with his good one. "What are friends for," he murmured and
started moving slowly on his knees.

     "The first two days," she began, trying to distract him from
the pain greying his skin, "I could work my way over to the pool,
so I had a little water to wet my mouth. Later the boys - I imagine
it was the boys - left me two plastic liter soda bottles of water.
I had to keep the bottles next to me at night to keep them from
freezing. By the time that ran out, I started worrying about how I
shouldn't be moving around so much. After that, I never made it
back to the pool."

     "The pool's dry now," Mulder forced out through clenched
teeth. "Must only fill up after a rain." Finally within reach,
Mulder grasped the shoulder strap of the canteen with his good
hand. Dana heard him hiss when he leaned over.

     As he held the canteen up in mock triumph for her to see, he
could not help but notice how far the distance back to her seemed.
If it were not her waiting for him, he would have stayed right
where he was. But her eyes were shining so...

     Dana raised her head to see him better, noted his hesitation,
read in the deep creases on his face that he was hurting.

     "Mulder, you haven't told me - what happened to you?" She
caught the firm set of his jaw. He was going to resist this. "Are
you going to make me guess? It's pretty obvious. Dislocated
shoulder - right? And a sprained ankle? How?"

     "Price of admittance," he confessed, finally meeting her eyes,
"but worth every penny."

     She smiled at that. "If you're not entirely satisfied I'll
reimburse you. Anything else?" Seeing his eyes slide away, Dana
inquired more directly in her Doctor Scully voice, "I want the
truth, Mulder."

     "Something doesn't feel right. Broken collarbone, maybe."
 

     Amazed at his continued ability to wreck his body at every
conceivable opportunity and knowing he needed additional
distraction from his physical limitations, Dana weakly raised her
hand in his direction. "Come here, Mulder, I'm cold." Her voice was
enticing, pure music.
 

     No longer hesitating over the distance, he sulked with
exaggeration, "You just want me for my body."

     "Damn straight. I love your wonderful crazy mind, Mulder, but
at the moment I want your warm bones more."

     He began the journey back, grateful for the heavy denim jeans
which took the sting of the sharp rocks off his poorly protected
knees and butt. "I warn you, bones is about all you're going to
get."
 

     Upon reaching her he let out his held breath, then helped her
to some of the water in the canteen. His mouth was as dry as dirt
and he longed for some, but there was little enough and who knew
how long it would take Evan to return with help.

     Dana ran a pink tongue over her lips in pure satisfaction.
Even water which tasted of new plastic was ambrosia to her. With
fond eyes she reached up to where he was huddled over her and
touched his hair. Rock dust came away in her hand. Her hand stayed
on his jaw as if she were examining him. "Mulder," she said softly,
"I don't know how to say this... tactfully... but compared to how
you were when I left, you seem... better."  In response, he huddled
protectively around his injured shoulder. Dana smiled. "Oh, not
physically, but ... you know."
 

     He touched the side of his head, the place Joe had injured so
rudely. "I guess you could say better. As good as I'll ever get,
which isn't saying much."

     Dana's hand lingered a moment, touching his beard-roughened
skin. In the last instant before she withdrew that hand he had felt
it begin to quiver. At the same time she wrenched her eyes from
his, tried to turn her head. She did not want him to see her cry.
It would only embarrass him.

     "Guess I owe God a thank you," she murmured thickly, her chin
tight to keep it from trembling.

     Not a believer, as well she knew, he said lightly, "If you're
going to thank him, thank Sheila and Richard, too."

     Dana found herself turning back, chapped lips rounded,
questioningly.

     "Long story."

     She risked a look at him again in the harsh light of the
flash. Twenty-four hours without a shave, hair matted with sweat
and dirt, a disgustingly dirty and bloody-stained t-shirt, scrapes
and scratches, one arm twisted protectively across his chest, red
eyes in dark hallows, goosebumps and all - he looked wonderful.

     "Mulder..." She paused, swallowed. That had not come out well.

     "Shhh..." he said, soothing her as if he knew what she was
thinking. "None of that's necessary. Not now. All this talk is
tiring you. There will be time later for that when we are out of
here."

     Reluctantly, she removed her hand, pulling her emotions back
around her, she nodded, acquiescent. Same old Mulder. And how was
it that, as awful as she felt physically, that talk was the
furthest thing from her mind at the moment.

End of Book III, Chapter 3
 
 
 

JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Dana and Fox (4/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Chapter 4

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Thursday 2:30 am
December 20, 1993

     Mulder had thought she would be tired. He had hoped she would
sleep, but Dana did not look sleepy. He could also not help but
notice how her sparkling eyes had dimmed since he had refused to
broach any of those 'sensitive' subjects.
 

     <Spooky, since when did you become such a coward?>

     "Scully, are you hungry?" he asked with enforced brightness.

     Dana could tell he was trying to make up. Yep, same old
Mulder. Talk about something else. Like the latest case, or the
Knicks, or food. Food?
 

     "Hungry? Mulder, I've been starved for - how long has it been?
- five days -"

     "Six," he corrected, automatically. He could count every one
by the emotional scar each had left.

     "Six," as if she needed to know, "and the man asks if I'm
hungry."

     Mulder realized, only after he had spoken, that he had no idea
what he had to offer. Remembering some packages in Evan's backpack,
he checked there. "Beef jerky?" he offered, unenthusiastically.

     "Only as a last resort. I don't think I have the strength to
chew it."

     "Ah!" Mulder held up a foil wrapped package that glistened in
the stark glare of the flash light. "Freeze dried ice cream?"

     That brought the sparkle back. "Mulder, you really know how to
show a woman a good time," she quipped as he worked at opening the
stubborn packaging with his teeth.

     He fed her a cube, placing it delicately between her dry lips.
She responded with a smile of total, blissful satisfaction. He fed
her the whole package alternately with sips of the precious water
from the canteen while his own stomach felt like it was touching
his backbone.
 

     When that was gone, her hunger teased to voracious heights,
she asked hopefully, "Anything else?"

     Sadly, Mulder went through the back pack. "Just the jerky."
Then he had an idea and reached into the pocket of his jacket
coming up with the candy bar he had bought, but not really wanted,
at the Sugar Shack. At the time he had not noticed what brand.

     "A Butterfingers?" Dana exclaimed with delight. "Mulder, you
remembered! Gimme."
 

     Mulder would have shrugged if the movement had been worth the
discomfort it would have caused him. No, he had not remembered that
this was her favorite, at least not consciously. He would have to
give his subconscious the credit for this one.

     The candy had crumbled to pieces during all that had happened
since the previous afternoon. Like the ice cream-flavored cardboard
cubes, he placed small bits in her mouth, enjoying the expression
of pure ecstasy which registered on her face, even while his own
stomach growled unhappily. Getting towards the end he put the
crumbs on his finger and let her lick them.
 

     "Hmmm, yum," Dana moaned, happily.

     "I never thought Butterfingers were all that good," he said
with a smile.

     "Well, some fingers are better than others." That was when he
realized she had worked up from his finger tips and was licking
around his second knuckle. The feel of her tongue against his skin
was wickedly tantalizing, and his stomach was not the part of his
anatomy crying out for attention anymore. Slowly he withdrew his
hand. While he had been distracted, however, the fingers of her
right hand had managed to entwine themselves in his hair and she
was pulling his head down towards her. With his face within inches
of hers she paused, curling a lock of his dark hair around her
finger.

     "Dana..." he frowned.

     The curl unwound from her finger. She fixed her eyes upon his.
The expression of raw, possessive need was unlike anything he had
ever seen in her eyes before.
 

     His stomach shrunk into a tight hard fist that made him feel
a little sick. He straightened, solemn and apologetic. "You pick
the poorest times to flirt, Scully." He wasn't angry, but simply
acknowledging the exhaustion and pain, the fragile, tenuous hold
they both had on life at that moment.
 

     Looking at him, her playfulness vanished, the flush from the
taste and the feel of his chocolate-covered fingers in her mouth
faded to a dim memory, replaced by a deep dejection that made her
feel small, embarrassed. Mulder had a point... damn him! This
behavior was not like her, but - oh, God! - she had expected to be
dead by now. Certainly had never expected to see him again, to see
him whole. If anyone had a right to throw to the wind the unspoken
rules of their little professional game, she did.
 

     "I'm tired, Mulder, but what I'm tired of are these little
separate boxes we've locked ourselves into. Is there a good time
for us, Mulder? Will there ever be?" His pained expression in
response touched her. He knew it was his hesitation that had kept
them apart.  "Do you want to make time?"

     To that he had no answer. He looked into her pleading eyes and
could not answer. Within all was in turmoil. How could he hurt her,
hurt himself, when this was something she clearly wanted, and he
wanted as well? Mulder couldn't begin to guess, anymore than he
understood half of what he did. Fear of the unknown. Oddly enough,
for a man with his chosen obsession, Mulder had a healthy fear of
the unknown. This did not prevent him from searching it out,
however, as he searched out truth. It just meant he did not
necessarily have to enjoy the part Fate had decreed that it play in
his life. The unknown had certainly brought more danger and misery
to himself and those he cared about than anything faintly
approaching happiness.
 

     "At least," he finally responded in the gentlest of tones, but
acknowledging that it was a poor and cowardly answer, "I know now
is not the time." Instantly, he was aware of her disappointment, a
lowering of the eyes, a quivering of the lip she would never have
let him see under normal circumstances. She simply did not have the
strength or desire to hide it from him this time.
 

     It cut, that look. He knew at that moment what 'cutting to the
quick' meant. The quick and the dead. That look cut the part within
that lived, the dead could not be cut. "Oh, Scully," he whispered.
"I was ready. Do you remember the last time I called you from
Colorado?" There was no doubt in his mind, watching her tired and
beautiful face at that moment, that she remembered every word. He
swallowed. That made this harder. "If I had come home that day as
planned... I have no doubt something would have happened." He
refused to look at her. "But after the garden in Ravensworth..."

     "Mulder, that wasn't your fault!" Dana protested, feeling
panic setting in, sensing him fleeing from her, stumbling into the
dark. "I know I've said it a hundred times since then and, if I
could think of a better way to phrase it, a way that might get
through to you, I would."

     "Scully, try to understand. I felt... unclean, cursed. I
didn't want you to know, to be touched by that. You have no
idea..." As if sensing that he could find no words to describe what
he had felt, Dana stretched out her hand to touch his injured
shoulder, the only part of him she could reach. It was the
slightest touch but still hurt like fire. He accepted that fire for
the sake of that touch. "Those horrors are caged for the moment,
but they're still in me, still a part of me and always will be. How
can I bring you, anyone I love, that? You should run, as fast and
as far as you can."

     Dana looked upon his huddled form, his bowed head with mixed
emotions. A small part of her understood, but the larger part
fought his rejection of her and his rationalization with pure
anger. Here it was again, the wall she kept coming up against.
Another name, same wall. Why was he determined to allow himself so
little happiness?
 

     "For an intelligent man, Mulder, you can be so dense
sometimes. For one, I can't run, that's pretty obvious. And I
wouldn't if I could. After we returned from Colorado, did you think
I was incapable of understanding what was going on in there? You
know I've seen some of it before. Why didn't you tell me?" Her
voice was soft, as it had been, but there was a little salt now,
too, enough to rub in the wounds, daring him to fight back. "Didn't
you know that I would be willing to help you bear that burden, that
it wouldn't be so heavy if there are two of us? I carry my burden,
too, and a large part of that is seeing you struggle on alone. Will
you deny me... if not me then some other woman... the world, all
that is good IN you because so much has been done TO you? No person
should have to experience what you have, and yet you have survived.
Don't make it worse by dwelling on it. My sister would say, 'Come
out of the darkness and into the light.' I'll wait in the light for
you, Mulder, but I'm afraid to go too far into the darkness for
you, otherwise we could both become lost and then how would you
ever find your way out."
 

     He raised his eyes to meet hers. No one had ever offered
before what she was offering. Of course, he had suspected when she
had stood by him through so much that her feelings were more than
professional, but he had never dared to imagine this depth. How he
hated his high tower at that moment, he was so tired of being its
only occupant, especially when here she was offering him
everything. Was he going to reject her again? In time, when the
hurt became too much, maybe she would quit waiting, quit asking,
quit offering. Then he would truly be alone.
 

     He was cold, in more ways than one. Under normal circumstances
he would have left the room, left her apartment, gone for a run.
Anything but stay so close to her, to be tempted to accept her
offer. But there was no running this time, not from her and not
from his duty. She was still pale, paler even than she had been
when she had first awakened and her thin body was visibly
shivering.
 

     At the look of the sadness in those hazel eyes, Dana turned
her head away, attempting to make it look like she was only trying
to shift her position, while in reality she was frantic. This was
not going as expected and she damned her weakness. She had not
wanted to make him feel sorry for her, but she had, and insulted
him too, by insinuating that he couldn't manage without her. Mulder
was a proud and stubborn man and any tactic which attacked his
pride was the wrong one. Dana almost smiled. At least he couldn't
run away this time. What she had said about herself was true of him
also. A bum ankle and a prison of stone rather limited his options.
Though he could always...

     Dana felt her heart pick up its straggling beat. He was
awkwardly adjusting the blankets over her and very near. "Let's at
least see what we can do to keep you warm," he said gently, though
he kept his face conveniently averted and refused to meet her eyes.
That accomplished as well as he could one-handed he began shifting
his position. His movements were slow and deliberate, as he tried
to find a comfortable spot. He was also taking extreme care not to
jar her or cause her any discomfort, and that concern took much of
the sting from his rejection but not as much as her realization
that he was going to lie beside her. Of course, that was the most
sensible course for them both, he was barely clad himself and
looking more than a little blue, but she had half-suspected he
would find some reason to be elsewhere.

     He rested on his good side, gently touching her to give her
his warmth. In time they managed, between the two of them, to drape
the last blanket to cover them both, at the end pulling it over
their heads to make a small insulated pocket of air.
 

     Dana sighed and took a grain of satisfaction in that Mulder at
least was being the Mulder she knew. Still wresting with his
demons. Still afraid of that first step. Caring, if anything, too
much, as if reluctant to give her what he felt were damaged goods.
Feeling his body pressed along the length of hers, sensing his
breath warming the air under the blanket, seeing his face so near,
Dana realized that, intentionally, they had never been so close
before and he had done this, positioned himself this way. If he
needed the excuse that he was keeping her warm, then so be it. It
felt good to be with him in the wool scented dark and who knew what
might happen.
 

     So he had shut the gate, leaving her outside, and retreated to
his tower. At least this time there had been no slamming of doors
and windows. There had just been that gentle, hesitant shutting of
the gate. Gates were not stone walls. Gates could be easily opened
when their owner sensed there was nothing to fear.

                            ********

Off Storn Mountain Trial
Wednesday 2am
December 20, 1993

     Evan realized later that sleep must have come almost instantly
and yet a part of him managed to stay alert enough to hear, hours
later, the cries, the shouts, and blowing of a horn. Rubbing the
numbing sleep from his eyes, he raised his blond head above his log
fort. The glade where he had rested and gone to ground was seeped
in black shadows. The moon had set and the strong, straight tree
trunks at the edge of the glade were blacker shadows in the dark.
But the darkness also gave him a gift. Without it, he could not
have seen the dim flashing glow of a light flitting amongst the
trees far to windward. Another cry sounded in the raw air, human,
nearer, but still too indistinct to make out the words.
 
 

     Evan scrambled for his little flash and jumped to his feet,
falling as the pain shot all the way from his soles to his
kneecaps. Catching himself on the fallen trunk he had lain behind,
he played the dim light of his flash in the direction of the other
as he called out. His first attempt was a weak, hoarse, gurgling
shout that did not even seem to reach the edge of the trees.
Remembering all those voice lessons from his choir master at church
- though he had never been so happy as when he had grown out of his
boy soprano - he tightened his abdominal muscles giving support for
a longer call.
 

     He was answered after only a second's delay by excited shouts,
more flashes in his direction. Heart pounding with relief, Evan
collapsed on the log and waited for his rescuers.

     The distinctive bulk of Eli Jonas was the first to break the
dark circle of the trees. He was accompanied by a young boy of
about twelve. An old man being supported by two younger men quickly
followed and then two women. As Evan recognized Marjorie Folkes, an
unexpected thrill crept up his spine. He smiled welcomingly at the
dark-haired woman who smiled as warmly back.

     "Thank the Lord, we found you!" Eli howled, slapping Evan on
the back and causing the sturdy younger man to lose what little
breath and balance he had. It did not occur to Evan until later to
wonder why no one seemed to find it strange to find him there and
find him alone without Mulder. Within seconds, someone slipped two
blankets around his shoulders and a cup of hot coffee from a
thermos in his hand. For a few moments he blanked out all the
questions and just sat, gratefully breathing in the warm mist from
the rising coffee.
 

     "How did you ever find me?" Evan asked finally between sips.
His voice came out more clearly as his lips warmed up. "How did you
even know to look? Did someone find the bodies?"

     Eli's exuberant buoyancy deflated. "Bodies?"

     "Mulder and I, we followed these kids, Jimmy and Kevin -"

     The teenager in the group groaned. "Those two."

     "Shhh, Jack, don't interrupt," someone said.
 

     "We followed them to an abandoned Park Service maintenance
yard and found this minor league gangster, Lester King -"

     "Who?" asked a lean, hardened man about Jonas' age who had
joined the group later than the others.

     "Now who's interrupting, Ralph," Eli hissed. "He's a real
estate developer, or so he said. I've had my eye on him."

     "He killed Kevin -" Evan threw out bluntly. That got their
attention.
 

     There was a commotion of voices for a few seconds, strident
for this lonely place, until Ralph's grating voice cut through
with, "Now why did he go and do that?"

     "The boys got too brave and tried to fight back - stupid,
stupid," Evan mourned shaking his head. "When King took Jimmy as a
hostage -"

     "Hostage!" exclaimed someone.

     Evan growled. If only they would let him finish so he could go
on to Dana and Fox. "The short of it is, Mulder was forced to kill
him -"

     "Good for him!" the man Eli called Ralph exclaimed.

     "Who? Jimmy?" Jack asked horrified.

     "No, King!" Eli barked. "Now will everyone please shut up!"

     Evan jumped into the momentary silence. "Mulder shot Lester to
keep him from shooting Jimmy - and me," he added contritely, "even
though he thought Lester was the only one who knew where Dana was.
Only later did we find out that that wasn't true. Lester was lying.
He didn't know after all. Jimmy and Kevin did because they were the
ones responsible for luring Dana to that washed out path, so Fox
and I followed Jimmy to -"

     Not being able to stand it any longer, Ralph leaped in again.
"You followed a fox?"
 

     "Hell no, Ralph! Now if you don't shut up, I'll make you walk
back alone! Fox is Agent Mulder's first name. I saw it on his ID."

     A woman's gently amused voice broke the circle. It was
Marjorie's husky alto. "Now I understand why Evan calls him
'Mulder' all the time."

     Exasperated, mind numb with exhaustion, Evan dropped his head
down into his arms.

     The big sheriff sat down heavily next to him. "Don't worry.
We're just a bit punchy. We've been searching for Agent Scully or
you for more than twelve hours. Now let me see if I've got my facts
straight. You two went back to change clothes and get something to
eat, I thought at that Sugar Shack, though I figured out right away
that Agent Mulder didn't ask about teenage haunts in order to find
out where the greasiest fries were served. So these kids led you to
Lester King. I think I know the place you were referring to. There
some nasty stuff went down and now we've got one dead kid and one
dead drug pusher. Then you and Mulder followed Jimmy up into the
hills to find Agent Scully."

     Evan nodded with relief. "Yes, thank God, you followed it
because I don't think I could have gone through it again."

     "Since I don't see him here, I figure the two of you found her
and they're together. Am I right?"

     "One hundred percent. They are both in pretty bad shape
though. We've got to get help out to them. They're stuck down in a
kind of cave under a huge pile of rock. You're going to need
William Shatner and all the 911 guys for this one."

     Eli whistled. "Where's Jimmy?"

     "Took off before we even found Dana," Evan answered with some
anger.

     "Where's the place you found her - to the best of your
recollection?"

     "Somewhere up on Storn Mountain. At least that's what Jimmy
said. A section of the trail washed out. That's how Dana came to
fall."
 

     "Storn Ridge? Way over there! Good grief! That's a big area
and I don't know anything about a washed out path. Any of you
boys?"
 

     No one did. "What about your friends, Jack?"

     The boy Jack thought hard. "Maybe some of the new mountain
boys would know," the young teenager mused out loud to himself.

     Eli nodded then explained to Evan, "That's what we call the
new-comers who fall under the spell of the mountains."

     The boy stared into the forest. "We would have better luck if
we found Jimmy, Eli. He and his pals have their own clique and they
are all over that area all the time. They know it better than
anyone."

     Eli shook his head and looked around at his people. "If a
couple of you want to go on, on the off chance you can find them
yourselves, be my guest, but I think our best chance is to get
better directions and try at daybreak. And it's clear we need to
get the Search and Rescue crew from Petersburg into that area
ASAP."

     Everyone who was sitting suddenly stood which Evan also tried
to do but his feet would have none of it. "Looks like you shouldn't
be on those," Marjorie pointed out.
 

     Eli got a look in his eye. "Joshua, hand the medicine bag over
to Marjorie and let her see what she can do for Agent Byers."

     Evan closed his eyes wearily. "Call me 'Evan', please. And
it's not 'Agent,'" he muttered but Eli didn't seem to have heard
for he had taken the rest of the party further off for a strategy
meeting. Marjorie heard, though, as she came forward with the kit.

     "You're not with the FBI?" she asked, undoing the laces on the
boot. As she began to pull it off he held onto a sapling and
gritted his teeth against the not inconsiderable pain.

     "No, I'm not," he grunted. "I'm a doctor with the FDA. I was
assigned to work with Dana on a couple of cases and somehow I ended
up helping Mulder." The boot came clear and the cold air almost
felt good on the raw skin. The dark-haired young woman whistled
low, opened a canvas satchel the team referred to as their
'medicine bag' and pulled out rolls of gauze and some jars of
ointment. Leaning back against a tree trunk, admiring her quick,
slender hands, her calm, competent attitude, and the beauty of her
features under the fur hat she wore, Evan was not surprised to feel
his heart beat quicken yet again. He let the moment pass, however,
allowing himself to become distracted by the feel of the ointment.
It felt wonderful going on and her hands were gentle. He exhaled
with contentment.
 

     "Oh, that's good. They wouldn't have gotten so bad if I had
had my kit with me three hours ago."

     "Why didn't you bring it?" she asked, winding the gauze on the
raw places.

     "I left it with them, Mulder and Dana. I felt they needed it
more."

     "If what you say is true, they probably did." Quickly, she
undid the laces of the second boot. "So, you're a doctor?"

     Evan shrugged. "I have my medical degree, but I never
practiced. I conduct research for the FDA in pharmacology, that's
my specialty."

     "Looking at new things?" Marjorie asked, pulling the sock off
gently. The sock stuck where the wet blisters had burst. Evan bit
his lip and tensed against this one. "I hear there are groups
racing to pull samples out of the rain forest before they're all
gone."

     "Some. Unfortunately, most of our resources are being spent on
keeping up with the new narcotics and other addictive stuff the
street dealers are coming up with." His voice indicated he was not
happy.
 

     "That disturbs you," she said. It was not a question. "From
your voice I'd say you'd rather be looking for new drugs to help
people."

     "That's true," Evan admitted. He also had to admit the hand on
his foot was smooth and cool and deft as she smoothed on the salve
and then began to wrap it. The pain was going away at an incredible
rate.

     "Talking of new drugs -  what's that you're using?"

     She laughed lightly. "A local specialty. We have plants in the
woods here, too, you know. You don't have to go to the Amazon.
Plants which the Indians knew about and passed on to the first
settlers, at least to the settlers who wanted to learn." She helped
him put the boot back on. There was the heat again from her hand as
she touched his leg. "So you don't treat patients. That's too bad.
The counties around here, and rural counties all over the country,
need doctors. The local 'wise' women can do a lot in a pinch, but
not everything."  She stood and extended a hand. "Want to try to
stand now?"

     He made the attempt and to his astonishment the pain was much
reduced. He looked over to where the others were gathered.

     "What are they talking about so long?" Evan asked,
impatiently.

     "We're far from any road. They're trying to decide which is
the closest spot a vehicle can reach so we can get a ride for you.
Maybe the best decision would be for you to just stay here till we
get a helicopter in. It sounds like your friends are going to need
one anyway, especially Agent Scully."

     Eli separated from the group and walked up to them, rubbing
his chin. "It's a puzzle. I feel for those two sleeping down in
some hole on a night like this, but I don't want my people
staggering around in the dark. There could be more washed out paths
we don't know about. That's one of the primary mottos of Search and
Rescue groups - don't play the hero, don't lose your own. The
question is, where you do draw the line?"

     Evan straightened out his legs, trying out his numb feet.
"I've learned that Mulder and Dana's kind ask the same questions.
Mulder thought he was giving up any chance of seeing Dana again
when he shot King to save Jimmy. That took a kind of guts I don't
want to think about."

     Eli's eyes narrowed. "Then, by God, Jimmy Hanks is going to
pay up for that. I won't send my people out in the dark, but I will
be ready by first light. If it will help locate those two even ten
minutes sooner, I'll drag that boy's ass over every foot of the
trail myself."

     "First you have to find him," Evan commented.

     The sheriff shut his eyes briefly almost as if sleepy, except
that his jaw was clenched too tight. "Oh, I think I know where to
find him. If by some chance we don't, however, it will be up to
you, Evan, to give us directions." To Evan's exasperated
exhalation, Jonas smiled encouragingly. "Just do the best you can.
Now Jack and Jason have left already to find a spot where the radio
will work. They'll have someone bring up an ATV to that old logging
road near parking area five." Eli looked over at Marjorie. "Jason
figures that's about five miles from here by the nearest road. Our
job is to get Evan there. That'll take close to two hours, I
figure, depending on how potent a batch of salve you brought with
you. Then we drive back to town, find that kid Jimmy, assemble our
forces, and get everyone in place as best as we can before the sun
comes up."

     Marjorie nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me, Eli."

     Evan was frowning. The big sheriff looked down on him but not
very far. There were not many people in Taylor county the sheriff
could say that about. "I know you are worried about your friends,
but, even for us who know them, it's not especially safe to be out
on these mountains after dark, worse for strangers, and I'm not
just talking about washed out trails. Are you fairly sure they'll
survive the night?"

     "I don't know how bad Dana's condition is, but they have
everything to live for now. They have each other. If anyone can
bring Dana through, Mulder can, just by wanting it to be so."

     Eli smiled, showing large teeth. "I like the sound of that. It
gives me a warm feeling just thinking about it. So I take it those
two have enough sense to snuggle up close on a night like this?
They're going to need more than warm feelings."

     Evan returned the smile in the dark and tried a limping step.
"Oh, I don't think I'd worry about that."
 

     "Good, good," Eli responded relieved. He looked over to where
one of the men who had helped the old man up the trail was standing
next to the teenage girl "Still, I don't like to leave life and
death matters entirely to warm feelings. Russ and Cindy are willing
to make a try to find them, they are both as sure-footed as
mountain goats, but they know the land well enough not to be
especially hopeful. There's a lot of trails that crisscross the
area I think you're talking about. And even if they found them, it
sounds like they won't be able to offer much assistance, other than
moral support, until we can get some professionals in there. I dare
say knowing more help is coming would ease your friends' minds so
they're willing to try. Evan, talk to them and tell them everything
you can remember."

     In whole-hearted agreement, Evan limped gingerly over to the
young man and woman. Eli and Marjorie watched as his walk became
more steady, until he was walking slowly, but almost naturally. Eli
nodded approvingly. "You did good, Marg. He'll do."

     "He'll need some healing afterwards," the woman mused. "The
ointment only postpones the inevitable." She let herself smile a
little. "My Mom has those extra rooms and I planned to be with her
for the holidays.
 

     Eli eyed the dark-hair woman with amusement. "Ho, ho! So
what's going on, Miss Marg? Do I see some interest here."

     "Hmm, maybe." Though she kept her voice low, her enthusiasm
was clearly apparent. "Eli, he's a doctor, a specialist in
pharmacology."

     "Is he now? Marg, I know there's not many young men
hereabouts, and none you've fancied since Harold died, but he's not
old family."

     "Maybe not one of 'ours' but he's got some old family in him.
I can feel it. A ways back, a grandparent, maybe. And you know
we've been worried about inbreeding."

     "Are you ever putting the cart before the horse tonight, my
girl," Eli almost laughed, but musing he looked hard towards where
Evan was talking to the others earnestly about the lay of the land,
where he had left Mulder and Dana, and where the cleft in the rock
could be found on the rock face. "A touch of one of the old
families, you say? He is gregarious. Doesn't take on airs like a
lot of city people, either, and I did take a 'shine' to him right
off."

     The young woman stared at the ground and shifted. There was a
smile on her face she was trying to hide. "And?" Eli asked.
"There's more. Woman, you're blushing."

     "He's the one," she said.
 

     Eye brows raised. "You got that strong a sense on him?"

     "The moment he walked into my office."

     Eli nodded. "Could be, but are you sure you weren't reading
the other one? I felt something on him. Powerful, but confused. I
thought it was just that he was so desperate to find his friend."

     "Oh, I definitely felt power within him, too, but very, very
different. Foreign, alien. He has a path, but it is elsewhere. Dr.
Byers however -"

     "You're sure."

     "You know I'm not infallible, none of us are, but pretty
sure."

     The big sheriff smiled again and unashamedly gave the young
woman a quick hug. "Then I'm glad for you, but that's business for
later. Your young man looks like he's finished with Russ and Cindy
so let's get going. We have a lot to do in the next few hours."

     Marjorie blushed. "He doesn't know he's my young man."

     "He will."
 
 

End of Book III, Chapter 4
 

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

======

JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (5/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Thursday 2am
December 20, 1993

Chapter 5
 

     Put two bodies close together under two wool blankets for ten
minutes, even two rather chilled bodies, and the atmosphere will
begin heating up. In more ways than one. They lay in silence,
warmer than before, though they were not what anyone would call
warm, that sort of thing being relative in an drafty cave in the