By Scarlet Baldy.
scarletbaldy@hotmail.com
 

Date: Mon, 3 Apr 2000

RATING: NC-17

CATEGORY: Adventure/ X-File/ Mulder/Fowley *and* MSR (Mulder's a busy
bee), Angst, serious Scully mental Torture, Humour. Post-movie, but
before S6.

SPOILERS: FTF/Emily/The End.

KEYWORDS: Sand/more sand/mytharc.

DISCLAIMER: CC gave them birth, the Fox provided them with clothes and
shelter, but fanfic writers gave them 6 years of unconditional love.
So tell me, who do they really belong to in the end, uh? However, no
infringement intended, yadda yadda. I'm just a narrative voice anyway,
Scarlet Baldy doesn't exist out of cyberspace, and I bet you have
better things to do than suing a fiction. Here, have a Morley...

ARCHIVE: Galia is doing a fab job, thank you.
<http://galias.webprovider.com/visions.html>
Also available at:
http://web.ukonline.co.uk/gutter/ under "Scarlet".
 

SUMMARY: As both agents decide to forget what almost happened in that
hallway, Scully tries to deal with a clinical depression which was
just waiting to happen. The fact that Mulder resumed his relationship
with Fowley is not helping. A mysterious letter sends him on another
wild goose chase in a country far far away. Scully and Fowley 'try' to
temper their mutual animosity to find him. The agents will find out
that travelling can be a mind altering experience, in the true sense
of the word.

This story begins right after the movie and gradually evolves into its
own alternate universe. A.D Kersh never existed, the Consortium didn't
turn to ashes, and Fowley never worked - or slept - with CSM.

A word to UX members: Yes it's shippy, don't even start with me.

                  To Cat, who made me a whole writer.:-)

----------
Part One
----------

"For he on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise."

                      - Coleridge -
 

Mulder stretched his arms above his head, stifled a yawn and stood up.

"Well, I'm beat, see you tomorrow Scully." He grabbed his coat and
began to make his way towards the exit of the bullpen.

Silence.

He turned around.

"Scully?"

He shot her a glance over his shoulder. His partner seemed to be
absorbed in expenses reports.

She didn't even bother to lift her head. "I heard you, Mulder. Good
night."

Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what. Her tone
hadn't been more sharp than it usually was when she didn't want to be
interrupted. Still...

"Aren't you going home, Scully? It's pretty late."

She finally threw him a quick irritated glance above her glasses.
"Mulder, mothering me is not part of your job description."

Time for a strategic retreat."As you wish. Good night, Scully,"

He left. Fox Mulder was not really in the mood to investigate the
reasons behind his partner's short temper right now. He had better
things to do.

The door closed with a sharp click.

Dana Scully let out a tired sigh, removed her glasses and rubbed her
eyes wearily.

She could feel a headache coming.

Things had changed.

And she wasn't just talking about their new position within the FBI.

Mulder had been furious when he'd learned that Agent Spender was going
to replace him the X-Files, and he had tried everything he could to
prevent it from happening - and failed, as usual...

As for her - well, the faith in their quest had been sorely shaken by
their reassignment.

"If I quit now, they win." Yeah, what a joke. Without the X-Files they
were powerless. How presumptuous of her to think that they could have
made a difference anyway. The battle was over before it even began.

During those days she had discovered what it was to be a normal field
agent. To work from 9 to 5 in a lab or in a bullpen, from autopsies to
paperwork and back.

To come back home early, to have time for herself, time to think - too
much, far too much for her own good.

The last few months had been awkward.

Since they'd come back from their Antarctic trip, there had been a
tension between them, and not the kind of healthy tension that had
always been there, an electric undercurrent that created the sparks on
which they fed one another, that kept them going through whatever
ordeal the cases brought. No, this time it was more as if they just
couldn't connect anymore, as if they had suddenly become strangers.

She knew why. He was healing. She was not.

Mulder now had other...connections.

At first they had avoided one another, uncomfortable with the latest
events. Over the years they had become experts at avoiding what hit
too close to home - or rather, in that case, stung too close.

So they both had looked the other way as if nothing had ever happened.
And Mulder's eyes had settled on Agent Fowley...

Agent Fowley.

It had been so easy for him. She'd come back, she'd known him before
<before *you*, Dana>, she'd assessed the extent of the damage and
decided to mend him. An offer he just couldn't refuse.

An offer Scully couldn't make.

Nurse Fowley had launched herself body and soul in this arduous task.

<Body especially...>

It wasn't jealousy.

<Yeah, right!>

OK, it was jealousy, but not *only*.

No, she felt left out. Somehow the fact that he had been as
emotionally fucked up as she was had been a kind of support, like a
stick of rotting driftwood to a shipwrecked man.

Now she was drowning.

She'd gradually inherited her partner's peculiar night-time
activities: hardly any sleep, lots and lots of nightmares, topped with
a personal touch of nausea. Next thing she knew, she would be renting
the same videos. The thought made her smile slightly; she stood up and
closed her laptop.

<You're not *that* desperate, Dana.>

No, but she was tired, exhausted, washed out - and alone, acutely so.
It was as if the outside world were gradually receding like a tide,
its sounds muffled by the translucent walls of the tower she'd
carefully designed.

Nowadays it felt more and more like a padded cell.

And inside Dana Scully was screaming.

----------
Part Two
----------

She stood within the cave, its ceiling so high she could barely make
out the ragged shape of the stone in the near darkness. She could feel
its presence around her, welcoming her, the newborn child. It didn't
scare her anymore, but she'd kept just enough of humanity to realize
that she should have been afraid, very afraid.

The Old Tenant was back, and was eager to redecorate the place in a
way more appropriate to its lifestyle. A lifestyle only suited for
him - but the neighbours didn't know that yet, or didn't want to know,
whichever.

Except one - and she would need more than a knock on his door to rouse
him. But she had to.

For old times' sake...

***

"You look worried, Fox."

Mulder looked at the hand softly resting on his forearm and dropped
the remote control he was holding. "It's nothing."

"How is she?"

Mulder lifted his head and stared at the woman lying on the bed beside
him with mild surprise.

Diana Fowley suppressed a smile. It didn't take an expert to grasp the
implications of six years of partnership. She'd read their files; she
knew what they'd been through together. And she understood that her
presence caused a drastic change of dynamic in their weird
relationship.

She didn't feel guilty about it, but suspected that, at some level, he
did.

When they had started dating back at the academy, he had been too
driven by his demons to allow her to stay, too intense. She had known
then that his restlessness would consume her. She was a practical
person, and as much as she'd loved him she hadn't been willing to pay
the price.

She had left that job to the little doctor.

And come back to find a broken but more tame Mulder. A man now willing
to listen. She had enfolded him in her arms and started putting the
pieces back together. Now that the crazy castle of his mind had been
shattered it was easier to rebuild on more stable grounds.

He slept, his nightmares were less and less frequent, and they talked
a lot, something she suspected he didn't do often. And they made love,
which she knew judging by his initial nervousness he hadn't done in a
long, long time.

"She's - not well."

"Did you talk to her?"

Mulder turned his head sharply and looked at her as if she were a five
year old asking an utterly stupid question.

Diana lifted herself on the pillows, sitting up. "Mulder - maybe she
expects you to."

He let out a joyless chuckle. "I know what her answer would be if I
did."

"What?"

"'I'm fine'."

"I see. She doesn't let you in."

"Doctor Scully never lets anybody in; wouldn't want people to notice
she has weaknesses like everyone else," he smirked. "She's scared
shitless of letting her goddamned walls down."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"I do."

Mulder propped himself on one arm and graced her with a sceptical
smile. "Oooh! Enlighten me, Agent Fowley."

"She depends on you. Too much for her own liking."

He snorted. "Well if she does, she's doing a damn good job at hiding
it."

"I think... she's afraid of facing the fact."

He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would she be afraid?
I've shown her more than once that I needed her. Hell, I even told
her!"

"And now she feels typecast."

His eyebrows shot up. "Huh?"

"She thinks it's part of her job to take care of you. And she hates
the fact that in the process, she's become dependent on you as well."

"That's bullshit. She's the most self-sufficient person I know."

Diana turned towards him and pinned him with a dark scrutinizing gaze.
"What is she to you?"

Mulder raised himself completely to face her, looking bewildered.
"What she...? Er -  she's my partner, my friend..."

Fowley waved an irritated hand. "Oh please! Enough with the generic
terms. Don't give me that "She's-The-Only-Person-I-Trust" bullshit!"

He opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't interrupt! That's what she is, isn't she? Dana Scully, faithful
partner and dedicated friend, always there to save your ass and patch
you up with her talented doctor skills!"

He clenched his jaw, feeling the anger rise. "It's not like that!"

"Really? Go on, tell me then, what is it like?" she pushed him.

He clenched his fists on the comforter. She was so wrong, so wrong -
wasn't she? "It's more complex than that."

She let out a sharp laugh. "Right. Keep telling yourself that, Fox!"

Mulder took the pillow under him and gave it an angry punch before
letting his body drop like a dead weight on the bed.

She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. "Can't you see?
You put her on a fucking pedestal and now she's afraid she'll break if
she jumps down."

 Mulder's patience had reached its limit. He jumped off the bed.
"For God's sake, shut up!"

She froze.

"I don't even know why you're doing this." He paced the room rubbing
his neck roughly. "Shit, Diana, what are you getting out of this?"

She stood up and approached him cautiously. He stopped his pacing and
eyed her warily. She grabbed both of his hands gently and gave them a
little squeeze. "I'm merely trying to help you, that's all. So you can
have a more objective view of the situation. I know how much this is
bothering you," she answered softly.

His lips curved into a hint of a smile; he just couldn't stay angry at
her. She had a kind of soothing power over him, always had. "You
shouldn't care about how she feels."

She arched a teasing brow. "You mean I should be jealous?"

He grinned. "Aren't you?"

She wrapped her arm around his waist and dragged him back to bed.
"No."

"Why not?"

"Because... you're sleeping in *my* bed, Agent Mulder."

Thus ended the conversation, and she was grateful that he didn't try
to tell her that she had no reason to be jealous. Both of them were
smart enough to know that it would have been nothing more than a
comforting lie.

------------
Part Three
------------

                "How come you say you will when you won't?
                 Say you did, baby, when you don't?
                 Let me know, honey, how you feel..."
                                    -Honey Don't- The Beatles.
 

The phone was ringing insistently on Dana Scully's bedside table. A
small hand slowly appeared over the sheets and made its clumsy way
towards the sound.

"Lo?"

"Scully?"

"Ummfff..."

Mulder's voice boomed at the other end. "Wake up sunshine!"

Scully winced, moving the handset away from her ear, and tried to get
enough coordination to prop herself up on the pillows. "Mulder, it's
Saturday," she grumbled.

"And the Scully species doesn't have breakfast on Saturdays?"

Her brain was not awake enough to make sense of his words, so she went
for the autopilot option.

"Where are you?"

"At your front door."

Her eyes went from half shut to wide open in an instant. "What?"

"Can I come in?"

She let out a deep sigh which ended in a yawn. "Will you go away if I
say no?"

"I would but I don't think I can run back with an armful of coffee and
doughnuts."

"Coffee?"

"Haha! Looks like I just found the magic word!"

His cheerfulness was grating her nerves. "Do what you want," she
almost growled, and hung up.

She let herself sink back  on the pillows with an arm thrown over her
eyes. <He's killing me.>

A few minutes later, Mulder gently knocked at her bedroom door.

No answer.

"Scully?"

Silence.

He opened the door and stepped inside cautiously.

<Why do I feel like I'm entering the tiger's cage?>

In the dim light he could make out the shape of his partner under a
heap of sheets and blankets, lying on her stomach with her head buried
under a pillow.

He went to open the curtains slightly. "I gather you're still not a
morning person."

A muffled "no" drifted from under the pillow.

He grabbed a chair, dragged it by the bed and sat down while
extracting a Styrofoam cup from a paper bag.

He reached out for her shoulder and shook it gently.

"Come on, Scully, possums can't have coffee."

Slowly her head emerged from under its hiding place.

"It's alive!"

That earned him a nasty look.

Strands of copper hair were falling messily on her face and she blew
them off with irritation.

She looked like Hell revamped by Helmut Newton.

She raised herself on one elbow and extended a commanding hand towards
the coffee.

Yeah, definitely Newton... sweet Jesus!

Her pyjama top was unbuttoned far lower than it should have been,
leaving very little to the imagination - well, nothing in fact.

Mulder set the coffee on the nightstand.

And reached out towards her.

She threw him a startled look.

Before she even had time to react he was slipping the buttons back
into place. "Great view, Scully, but you're gonna catch cold if you
stay like that."

She drew back from him sharply, lifting a hand to her collar and
holding it shut. Caught off-guard, she didn't have time to prevent her
sudden blush.

<Damn him.>

He was leaning back on his chair grinning at her like a lunatic. Right
now she wanted nothing more than to knock his teeth out, one by one.

After coffee maybe.

She sat up against the headboard and reached for the cup.

"Why are you here, Mulder?" she asked dryly.

"I was running by. I thought I'd just drop by and say hello."

She took a sip from her coffee. "Cut the crap Mulder, you can't have
run all this way from home."

<My, aren't we pleasant this morning?>
"True, Scully, and I didn't. I started from Diana's."

<Of course.> She nodded, staring straight ahead. "I see."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

"Scully?"

<Oh please no,> she prayed, <not now.>

"Umm?" Her gaze remained fixed on the opposite wall.

"Can I use your bathroom?"

She barely managed to suppress a sigh of relief. "Sure."

She let her gaze follow his partner's backside, as he moved towards
the door. She didn't know the brand of his sweatpants but if she had,
she would have sent a thank-you card to the designer. It was hugging
his anatomy in *just* the right places.

<Nice, very nice.>

<But not for you...>

<I don't need to be reminded of that.>

She closed her eyes and let the coffee warm her hands. She felt cold suddenly.

Mulder was in the process of washing his hands when something near the
sink caught his attention. He took the small brown bottle in his hand
and studied the label.

His heart sank. No wonder she had trouble waking up.

***

Something landed near her on the blanket. She looked at the object
with a hint of surprise.

<Shit!>

She raised her head and met her partner's cold hard stare.

"What's that, Scully?"

"Sleeping pills," she answered matter of factly.

Mulder stepped forward, looming threateningly over her. "I know what
they are," he pointed an accusing finger towards the bottle, "and I
also know this stuff is strong enough to knock out a rabid elephant!"

She clenched her teeth and held his gaze stubbornly. "So why do you
ask?"

"Fuck, Scully!" he waved his arms like a broken windmill, "how can I
rely on a partner who's a walking zombie?!"

"I only take them at weekends."

He took a deep breath and sat on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.
"And what do you do the rest of the week?"

This time she lowered her gaze.

He grabbed her wrist roughly. "Talk to me."

Her eyes focused on him again, this time blazing with a thinly veiled
fury. He knew he had just betrayed the Second Commandment: Thou Shalt
Not Ask Personal Questions Of Thy Partner.

"This is none of your business, Mulder."

"It is if your personal problems are endangering our job."

"They haven't."

"Not yet."

"Let go of me."

"No."

"Mulder-" It was a warning.

"I said no."

She yanked her arm away with a strength that surprised him, jumped out
of bed and ran out of the bedroom. The bathroom door slammed so loudly
that the soles of his feet felt the vibration on the wooden floor.

It dawned on him that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the right method.

<Time for plan B, clever boy?>
Yeah, right, plan B, and that would be? Oh well - time to improvise.

He headed for the bathroom and knocked softly at the door.

"Scully?"

Nothing.

"Scully, I'm sorry."

"Leave me alone, Mulder."

"Listen, I really think you should talk to someone about what you're
going through."

"I'm not going through anything."

He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door. The girl
must have a degree in Denialogy...magna cum laude.

<Tell her what she needs to hear.>

His photographic memory selected a few snapshots of his partner over
the last few months and analysed the differences, all the little
things about the way she looked, the way she held herself, the way her
eyes absorbed the light. All the details he hadn't been paying much
attention to, because, truth be told, on a day-to-day basis, he didn't
care much for people.

Or if he did, it was in his own twisted way.

He cared about her the way people care about a war memorial. She was
his precious, smooth, hard and unflinching monument - commemorating
all the things he'd ever fucked up.

He straightened up. Plan B was ready.

"You think I don't *notice*, Scully?" He paused. "You think I don't
see how much weight you've lost? How the skin has turned blue under
your eyes? How silent you've become?"

Not a sound was coming from the other side.

"You think I don't care?" he continued, "you think that as long as
you're doing your job, I won't mind the pain in your eyes, I won't
mind never seeing you smile?"

<You really are one manipulative bastard you know that?>

He waited a few more seconds.

"Open that door, Scully - please?"

Seconds flew, punctuated by his heartbeat. Then he heard the click of
the lock being drawn back. The door opened and she was standing in
front of him, looking at her feet.

He lifted her chin gently, and suddenly wasn't so sure he could deal
with the situation. She was crying. Plan B had worked a little too
well.

So he went on gut instinct, and wrapped her in his arms. She went
willingly, her arms circling his waist.

At least he had the decency to feel bad about it.

He rested his chin on top of her head, feeling her silent sobs shake
them both.

"Shall we forget the previous argument and start from the beginning?"

She nodded against his chest.

He led her towards the living room and sat her on the couch. He left
her for a few minutes, grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom then
went to the kitchen and poured some orange juice in a glass.

<My! Aren't we the perfect gentleman?>

He came back, sat next to her and handed her both items. She blew her
nose, wiped her tears, and obediently took a small sip from the glass
before putting it down on the coffee table.

"You OK?"

She nodded, took a deep breath and faced him. "I don't know where to
begin, Mulder."

"Well, maybe we should start with the symptoms, don't you think,
Doctor Scully?"

She gave him a self-conscious thin-lipped smile. "Loss of appetite,
headaches, stomach-aches, nightmares, nausea," she enumerated in a
clinical tone.

Mulder nodded. "Depression."

"Tell me something I *don't* know, Mulder."

"It's not surprising."

"Isn't it?" she replied bitterly.

He hesitated. "Do you know what was the catalyst?"

She nodded weakly but didn't utter a single word.

He reached for her hand.

She lifted her head and pinned him with a gaze filled with pain and
apologies. She didn't have to say it. They both knew the answer to
that question.

Minutes flew. She withdrew her hand and lowered her chin. "I am so
fucked up, Mulder," she whispered.

"There's only so much the human mind can take - and we're not exactly
living normal lives."

Her gaze met his again, shyly. "No we're not. But I'm glad at least
one of us is willing to try..."

Mulder understood what she was so desperately trying to say. He laid
his hand on her shoulder. "But it doesn't mean that I'm going to leave
you behind."

"I know."

"No you don't. You think I've left you alone."

She shook her head. "That's not true."

He chuckled. "Scully...you're a terrible liar, stop trying."

He saw her bite the inside of her cheek before shooting him a mild
glare.

"What you've experienced is taking its toll," he kept on, "I know
you're so goddamned stubborn that you would rather die than ask for
support, but I won't let you, not this time."

She smirked. Mulder promising a non-ditch behaviour? Bring the
champagne! "What do you intend to do? Come at night and sing me
lullabies?"

He laughed. "If I have to. But to begin with, I want you to start
talking to me again. I want you to call me when you have nightmares
and tell me about them. I am not going to invade your privacy, Scully,
I know how much you need space. But I want you to know that I'm here
for you, and that I am not going to think less of you because you need
someone to listen."

He firmly took hold of both her shoulders and looked at her with an
equally firm gaze. "Deal?"

She shrugged. He could feel the steel rope tension in the set of her
shoulders.

"I'll try," she said at last.

***

Note: Helmut Newton is a photographer, famous for his weird shots of
often half-naked women.

----------
Part Four
----------

           "Well, I can make honey, baby, let me come inside."
                                       -I'm A King Bee- Slim Harpo -
 

A month went by and he almost believed things were back to normal. No,
strike that, not normal, but they had almost regular office hours,
were still used as a team even if now they dealt with average cases.
If you could call dealing with petty criminals, child molesters and
your garden variety of psychopaths "average".

But compared to the life they used to have it was a drastic change of
pattern. Fowley and Spender were taking care of the X-Files now. He
should still be pissed off about it, but since he was sleeping with
the boss of the new Spooky Patrol he managed to keep in touch with the
cases. His role of eminence grise suited him and he knew nothing would
stop him from jumping on the train when the Syndicate showed its
hydra's head again.

They solved cases with the regularity of a Swiss watch. He profiled,
she did the autopsies, a match made in heaven. Yeah, right... Their
colleagues were avoiding them like the plague at the coffee machine;
they were looked at with sideways glances as if they both had the
Number of the Beast tattooed on their forehead.

The only good thing was that Scully looked fine - then again maybe she
wasn't such a bad liar after all.

***

"Mulder?"

The erratic breathing at the other end told her that she really had
chosen the *worst* moment to call. "Sc-Scully?"

"I'm sorry, Mulder, I - I just wanted to... never mind."

She hung up, her cheeks flaming. She had decided for the first time to
take Mulder up on his offer, because she knew he thought she never
would.

She'd wanted to experiment, out of sheer boredom - or so she told
herself.

Only her timing had sucked...

She shut her eyes, trying to ward off the analogy her last thought had
conjured up. Agent Fowley was the last person she wanted to think
about at the moment.

Scully was trying to get through her private hell alone. She hated
asking for help, she hated the drugs, which dulled the pain but fogged
her brain, and since she disliked talking to strangers about personal
issues, she'd given up on any thought of counselling. Besides, she
doubted all the Karen Kossefs in the world could make any difference
right now.

She wanted to sleep and wake up in a hundred years; she wanted to
forget that she was a thirty-something barren old maid with an alien
chip in her neck and mutant offspring quietly dying in some remote
secret lab.

Even Mulder, who wasn't exactly Mr Sanity Of The Year, had backed away
in front of the pitiful freak she'd become.

The boy must be worshipping that bee.

On second thoughts drugs didn't seem like such a bad option...

***

An hour later, she heard noises inside her flat. She hoped it was him,
but at this point she just couldn't care anymore. She was floating in
a drug-induced lethargy; her body was heavy and she felt euphoric, she
felt good, so good.

The door opened and a stream of light burst through it. She closed her
eyes.

"Scully?"

Mulder approached and leaned over her limp form sprawled on the bed,
arms extended, Christ fashion. Her eyes were closed and she was
smiling.

He reached for her hand. "Hey, Scully? You OK?"

"Uh, uh." Her head lolled from one side to the other, still smiling
blindly at him.

He sighed wearily. "What did you take this time?"

She stretched languidly. "Good stuff."

"I don't doubt it," he growled.

He grabbed the innocent-looking bottle by the bed, read the label and
winced. "How many did you take, Scully?"

"Dunno..."

"More than one?"

"Uhmmm, maybe." She was smiling beatifically at him, but her eyes
remained closed, head rocking slightly, following some inside rhythm.

He straightened up. "Right. I'm afraid you don't leave me much
choice."

He slid his hands under her shoulders and knees and lifted her from
the bed. She giggled and snuggled against him, with a contented sigh,
her little fingers locking behind his neck. He headed towards the
bathroom.

"One's not enough, Mulder?" she slurred against his chest.

He couldn't help but smile. "I'm sorry to disappoint you but I'm not
Superman, Agent Scully."

Her fingers flexed slightly against his neck. And then a husky murmur,
exhaled against his shirt: "Too bad."

"Scully!" he scolded in a half outraged half amused tone.

She lifted her head slowly and opened unfocussed and cloudy eyes.
"Is she worth it, Mulder?"

God, she was really out of it. "You don't know what you're saying,
Scully."

She snorted and dropped her head again. "Yeah, don't know a thing,
damn right you are," she paused and rubbed her cheek against his
shirt, "not that I don't want to," she added.

<Control, my boy!>

He entered the bathroom and dropped her in the bathtub.

"Oooh Mulder, are we having a bath? Kinky."

"No, milady, *you* are having a cold shower." With these words he
grabbed the hand shower and turned the tap on.

She gasped as the cold water hit her full blast. She looked stunned
for a while. Then, suddenly fully conscious, she raised herself in the
tub and pushed him away with both hands. "Mulder! Stop! Stop this
immediately!"

<Now that's more like it.>

She was drenched and looked furious - all in all, a familiar sight.

He turned off the water. "Sorry, but as I said, you didn't leave me
much choice."

"Get out!" she snarled.

"I'll get you some dry clothes."

"GET OUT!"

He hurried to comply. There was no point in arguing with Dana Scully
in Wyatt Earp mode. He wasn't worried though, because this was
something he could handle, unlike the lascivious creature who had her
warm little body pressed so softly against his just moments ago. What
was the operative word again? Oh yeah, platonic - must remember that
one.

He went into the living room and sat down on the sofa, waiting for
her.

She came out almost immediately, wrapped in a white terry cloth
bathrobe. She eyed him with the disgusted caution she usually reserved
for deadly viruses and rotting corpses, and headed towards the kitchen
without a word.

She was obviously sulking.

He stood up and followed her. "Feeling better?" he asked, leaning
against the doorframe.

She was reaching up for a glass in the cupboard. She grabbed it and
slammed it on the counter. She swung around and glared at him. "Why
did you do that?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"What I do or don't do outside the Bureau is none of your business!"

"You called me!"

"It was a mistake! You were obviously," she waved a hand dismissively,
"busy."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Scully."

She did not reply to that.

"I'm not some little girl that you can bully around, Mulder!"

"So stop acting like one and get rid of this crap you're taking!"

"I'm a doctor, Mulder. I am fully aware of the effects of the drugs
I'm taking."

He let out a sharp laugh. "Including the 'wanna-jump-your-partner'
effect?"

"WHAT?"

"Don't you dare tell me that amnesia is one of the side effects,
Scully!"

She blinked once, twice, obviously trying to recall the previous
events, and when her eyes widened in shock he knew she just had. Next
he was expecting a deep blush and a guilty look aimed in the general
vicinity of her toes.

He should have known better.

Well, there was a blush of sorts, but her eyes narrowed and faxed him
an icy blue death sentence.

She spun on her heels and headed for the fridge.

Silence. Dana Scully's most deadly weapon.

He joined her by the fridge.

"So," he started conversationally, "shall we celebrate the first pass
you made at me?"

She grabbed a carton of milk.

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"The second then."

She ignored him, shut the door closed and returned to retrieve her
glass. Mulder sighed. After six years he still had no idea how to get
through her when she acted like this; humour obviously didn't work.

"I thought we'd agreed to talk, Scully."

Turning her back to him she poured some milk into her glass.
"There's nothing to say."

A spark of anger ignited in his skull. "Right! There's never anything
to say! You're always *fine*, aren't you, Scully?"

He saw her shoulders inch forward as if she was preparing herself to
be hit, but she didn't move to face him.

"You never really talk, do you, Scully? Unless you're stoned or on
your death-bed!"

Finally she turned around. She eyed him with a cold clinical restrain
that freaked him out. "I think you should go, Mulder."

Right now he wanted nothing more than to strangle her, just to wipe
off that air of superior disdain which told him exactly what she
thought of the low blows he was using to get through her.

"I think you're right."

Moments later the front door was slamming shut behind him.

Scully emptied her glass in the sink and made it just in time to the
bathroom.

To be continued...
 
 
 
 

----------
Part Five
----------

Agent Spender examined the brown envelope in his hands. It was
addressed to FM, X-Files division. He hesitated for a while wondering
whether he should take it to him.

Nah! The pompous bastard didn't deserve a favour. And after all, he
and Fowley were in charge of the X-Files now.

Sometimes he felt like a puppet. Agent Spender might be green but he
was no fool. He knew that his so-called 'father' was clearing the path
for him. He knew he didn't deserve that job, nor had he the competence
for it - yet. But he was willing to learn like a good puppy, waiting
for the time when he'd know enough to actually bite back.

He opened the envelope and stared at its contents, puzzled.

"What is it, Spender?"

Agent Fowley had arrived and was looking at him questioningly.

He waved at the items on his desk. "What do you think? Another riddle
for Spooky?"

Fowley decided to ignore the use of Mulder's nickname. She came
closer, and focussed on the things Spender's index finger was pointing
at. "You opened his mail?"

Spender straightened in his chair defensively. "It was addressed to
the X-Files division."

Fowley threw him a cautious glance; the little guy was on edge, a
rookie who'd been given too big a gun and didn't know how to use it.

"That's OK, Spender. Anyway, I think you should take that to him. I
don't have a clue what it's supposed to mean."

"You want ME to go and see him?"

Fowley suppressed a smile.

"Come on, Spender, you're not that scared of Mulder, are you?"

Spender snorted. "No, but I'm getting fed up of being used as his
punching ball."

"If you wouldn't keep pushing all his buttons, I'm sure you two could
get along pretty well. Besides, I can't go, I have to give our reports
to Skinner."

"Yeah, right." Spender bit back a comment about how touch-sensitive
Mulder's buttons were and that the self-righteous bastard deserved to
have his ass kicked more often anyway. He stood up reluctantly, shoved
the items back in the envelope and headed towards the door.

"Prepare the med-box, Diana."

"You'll be OK, his partner's a doctor." She smiled at him.

"Who works on *dead* people." Spender grunted before leaving.

Of course Fowley didn't tell Spender the real reason why she didn't
fancy seeing Mulder during working hours - the reason was five foot
three and would gladly use her as target practice.

***

Over the following weeks they managed to regain their usual status
quo.

The first week had been tense. They were observing one another warily,
waiting for each other to go straight for the throat like two wounded
dogs in a kennel.

They hardly greeted each other, not that formalities had ever been
their strong point.

When both realised that neither of them was willing to start the
hostilities, the atmosphere relaxed noticeably.

After three weeks it was almost as if nothing had ever happened, the
raw resentful dust of that doomed evening had been neatly swept under
the thick carpet of denial.

It was like being in fucking Switzerland. Mulder felt like a banker
with too many pre-war Jews accounts.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." He smiled at her.

She returned his smile not unkindly.

Looking at her as she removed her own coat and opened her laptop, he
started his routine morning Scully-survey. She must have had a rough
night; she looked smaller than usual as if she'd made herself more
compact to put up with the pain, and he could see even through her
make-up that the skin on her face was taut and pale. She put a lot of
foundation on nowadays, a desperate attempt to hide the blue brackets
under her eyes. Even her hair looked dull.

And her eyes avoided his.

As usual.

Assessing her state was the only thing he could do. She'd made it
quite clear that she didn't want his help. And he found it quite
convenient to obey.

Agent Spender appeared in the bullpen, and headed towards him.

Mulder tensed. Despite Diana's effort to paint a positive portrait of
her new partner, to make him see that Spender was nothing more than an
unwilling pawn in the game, Mulder couldn't shake the gut feeling that
Spender was serving some hidden agenda.

Or to put it simply, he just couldn't stand the little prick.

"Agent Mulder," he nodded towards Scully. "We received this." He
handed Mulder the envelope.

"What is it?"

"We have no idea. Maybe you would be so kind as to give us a clue?"
Contempt was dripping from the young agent's voice.

Mulder bit back a thinly veiled insult. He'd promised Diana to play
nice - for now.

He examined the envelope and removed its contents: a little rectangle
of red plastic and a small piece of paper neatly folded in four. He
picked up the tiny object. He felt an electric stab in his chest and
cold sweat started to run down his spine as he recognized it. With
shaky hands he unfolded the paper. There, written in precise black
ink, he read: "The game is not over, Fox."

Underneath were numbers, a latitude and a longitude.

His breathing stopped.

"Mulder?" Scully had seen him turn deathly pale as he read the note.
"Mulder, what's the matter?"

Her partner jumped out of his seat as if it were on fire, grabbed his
coat and brushed passed Spender. "I have to go," he mumbled.

"Mulder, wait!"

But the agent had already exited the bullpen.

"What was it, Spender?" she asked sharply.

Spender smirked. "Ask him, he seems to know."

Cursing under her breath, she launched herself after him.

Shaking his head, Spender watched her run out of the room. Mr and Mrs
Spooky were off to chase little green men again...

When she reached the lift it was too late. She swivelled on her heels
and headed for the stairwell. <You're NOT ditching me again, Fox
Mulder!>

By the time she caught up with him, he was already making his way
towards his car in the FBI car park. The place smelled of hot tyres
and diesel, making her feel dizzy. The staccato of her heels echoed
against the concrete pillars.

"Mulder!" It wasn't a call this time, it was an order.

Oblivious of her, Mulder stopped by his car and searched for his keys.

Too out of breath to speak, she grabbed his arm, roughly forcing him
to face her. He shrugged his arm free impatiently, his hand closing on
the keys in his coat pocket.

"What the hell is going on, Mulder? Where are you going?" she gasped.

At last he seemed to notice her. "This is personal, Scully." He had
his back to her once more and was unlocking the driver's door.

"Damn it, Mulder, I'm your partner!"

"I'll call you."

"No!"

"You can't go with me, Scully."

"And why not?"

"You're in no shape to follow me."

"Don't you dare, Mulder," she began.

"Dare what? Scully?" He turned and loomed above her menacingly, "Dare
tell you that I can't trust you to back me up when you've got more
chemicals in your system than Elvis?"

"Bastard!"

"Coming from a junkie, that doesn't weigh much."

Her tiny fist hit him straight under the cheekbone.

Mulder staggered backwards.

Before he even had time to recover, Scully grabbed him by the collar
of his shirt and with a force surprising for such a titchy thing
slammed him against the wall next to the car.

"Don't you ever, EVER talk to me like that again, you pathetic sack of
shit!"

Despite the pain in his cheek, and the vice grip in which she held his
collar, he managed to choke out: "Don't tell me - you had steroids for
breakfast?"

Her eyes widened in a mixture of fury and hurt. She released him
suddenly and he thought it was to strike him again. He grabbed her
wrists roughly and pulled her to him.

She let out a sharp gasp of surprise and stared up at him.

The sea met the forest.

Something flared between them, dark, dangerous and inviting - hungry.

He had no idea who bridged the gap first, maybe it was her...

Ironically enough, her lips tasted of honey.

***

Walter Skinner was walking towards the car park lift when he heard
raised voices at the other end.

He drew his weapon and made his way cautiously between the rows of
cars. He could make out the angry voice of a woman, the words
unintelligible, distorted by the reverberating echo. As he reached a
stone pillar, the voices stopped.

He held his breath, listening.

Then he heard a moan.

Tightening his grip on his gun he made his way toward the nearest wall
and started to walk ever so slowly along it.

Someone out there was definitely in trouble.

Skinner reached the end of the wall and stopped again.

His brain dealt with the information sent by the sounds which were
issuing from right around the corner.

And when this information was processed he wasn't so sure he needed
his gun anymore.

He chanced a look - and quickly flattened himself against the wall,
grateful for the support.

He shook his head. No. This couldn't be.

He tried again - and saw exactly the same thing.

Agent Mulder. Leaning against the wall. His trousers down. Covered
from head to waist in Agent Scully.

An Agent Scully who seemed to have lost the bottom half of her suit in
the process, her legs wrapped like a milky belt around her partner's
hips.

Agent Mulder had his hands full - literally - with Agent Scully's bare
ass-cheeks.

And they were engaged in what looked like very enthusiastic CPR...
among other things...

Walter Skinner was a "by the book" kind of man. Only the book didn't
mention what attitude to adopt in this particular situation.

Not when his own agents' book was obviously the Kama Sutra.

A high pitch whimper coming deep from Agent Scully's throat made him
jump. In more ways than one...

He took a deep breath, put his gun back in his holster and made his
way back to the lift.

This could wait.

The ragged voice of Agent Mulder reached his ears: "Scuh-leee!"

Well *he* apparently couldn't.

Lucky bastard.

Walter Skinner entered the lift, thoughtful, his mind lingering on the
fact that some people had freckles in the most unusual places...

----------
Part Six
----------

        "Honeysuckle, she's full of poison,
         she obliterated everything she kissed."
                       -Hole-Celebrity Skin-
 

Mulder had collapsed on the dusty concrete floor, his back against the
wall, with Scully's head buried in the crook of his neck.

They were catching their breath, bodies still joined.

"Mulder?" He felt the vibration of his name against his skin.

"Umm?" He wasn't sure he could use polysyllables right now; he was
still in the "wow" range.

She lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were an extremely pale
shade of post-storm blue. He saw the bewildered wonder in them, along
with something infinitely tender that made his heart skip a beat. She
pushed a lock of hair from his brow.

"We just had sex," she stated.

<There goes my blunt little partner.>
He smiled softly. "Yes, Scully."

"Against a wall."

"Yes."

"In a car park."

"Indeed."

"The FBI car park."

"I know, I was there."

She grinned and pushed her hips forward.
"You're still *here*, Mulder."

He gasped.

Her grin widened.

She kissed him lightly. "We should go."

"You're right." He buried his face in her hair holding her even
tighter against him.

"Someone might come."

He chuckled in her neck.

"I didn't mean *that*, Mulder," she scolded.

Pushing on his shoulders she stood up, wincing slightly, and reached
for her discarded clothes. Sighing, Mulder got up, somewhat unsteadily
and hiked up his trousers.

As she was helping him straightening his tie, he felt something change
in her, a very subtle kind of withdrawal.

The magic was gone.

"What's the matter, Scully?"

She looked up, troubled. "What's happening now?"

"I think we should go home and take a shower."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, but it's the only answer I can think of right now."

"I see."

He sighed and reached for her shoulder.

"Scully-"

She stepped back, avoiding him and turned around, heading for the car.

"It's OK, Mulder, let's go."

They made it to her place in silence.

***

She dropped her keys on the coffee table, and turned towards him.

"Wanna go first?"

Well, obviously she wasn't in the mood for any frolicking under the
shower. Mind you, neither was he. "No, no, you go ahead."

"All right."

As she was heading towards the door, she suddenly stopped and turned
towards him. "We've really fucked up big time, haven't we?"

He shrugged. There was no point in lying to her right now.
"It was bound to happen sometime or another, Scully."

She snorted but her eyes were cold. "You should carry a hive around,
Mulder."

On these words she went into the bathroom and shut the door.

When she came out he was gone.

***

Scully made her way back to the Bureau. She was determined to get to
the bottom of this and the only way was to get hold of the people
who'd had time to get a good look at the envelope's contents.

Namely Spender - and Fowley. The last person she wanted to meet right
now. But she was so angry it really didn't matter.

She knocked on the new basement door.

A woman's voice answered: "Come in."

Scully entered and took a look at what used to be their office. Well,
it was tidy now, she had to grant them that. No silly posters on the
wall, no piles of books precariously stacked on top of the filing
cabinets, no tabloid cuttings glued to the memo board. Hell, there was
even a plant in a corner, and *clean* mugs by the coffee pot. She was
impressed.

"Agent Scully," Fowley greeted her formally.

Spender was nowhere to be seen.

Scully steeled herself and drew a deep breath.

"Agent Fowley, did you manage to see the contents of the letter Agent
Spender brought to Agent Mulder this morning?"

"Why do you ask?"

The first answer which sprung to her mind was: 'Because it made Mulder
ditch me right after he fucked me.' But she had to admit it lacked
diplomacy.

"Because I have reason to believe that this letter is the cause of
Agent Mulder's absence."

A mild shock registered on Agent Fowley's face. "What do you mean,
absence?"

<For God's sake! Do I have to spell it out? D-I-T-C-H.>

"Meaning he's gone."

"And he didn't tell you where he was going?"

Scully's lips thinned in annoyance. <That would be a first.>
"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Fowley nodded; that much was obvious. She and Scully were not known to
socialize, to say the least. She sighed and grabbed her coat. "Let's
go. We'll tell Skinner on the way."

Scully blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Fowley pinned the small redhead with a steady glance. "I'm going with
you, Agent Scully. Knowing Agent Mulder's propensity for getting
himself into trouble you're going to need backup."

Scully knew she was right, but she hadn't planned this; she didn't
want to spend more time than was strictly necessary with this woman.

<Your partner's lover.>
<Enough!>

Agent Fowley must have caught a glimpse of Scully's internal battle,
despite her attempts to maintain a neutral gaze. "Is there a problem,
Agent Scully?"

"Of course not."

***

Skinner held the door open to allow the two women inside his office.

"Agent Fowley, Agent Scully."

He motioned them to sit down and went back to his chair.

"What's the matter, Agents?"

"Agent Mulder received a letter this morning and left without
explanation," answered Scully.

Skinner sighed. <Here we go again!> "Do you have any idea where he's
gone?"

Scully turned her head towards Fowley who nodded before saying:
"Probably the Sahara."

"What?" Both Skinner's and Scully's eyes took Tex Avery proportions.

"The letter contained a latitude and a longitude which indicated this
location, somewhere in Tunisia."

"I see," Skinner rubbed the bridge of his nose pensively, "and you're
here to request the permission to follow him?"

"Yes sir," agreed Fowley.

"Both of you?"

"The letter was addressed to the X-Files division, so technically the
"case" or whatever it is, is ours. Agent Spender will stay here and
deal with whatever comes up; things have been pretty quiet recently
anyway."

Fowley didn't look to see Scully's reaction to her words, but felt the
arctic breeze of her stare.

"Agent Scully?" asked the AD.

Scully tried to ignore the burning anger bubbling like a witch's
cauldron in her stomach. "Mulder is my partner, sir. It's my duty to
go and back him up."  <Even against his will.>

Skinner sensed that the unspoken hostility between the two women went
deeper than mere territorialism over a case.

He finally reached a decision. "All right, Agents, you may go. But I
don't need to remind you that this is outside FBI jurisdiction,
therefore I'll consider this as a leave of absence, and on no account
are you to use your FBI credentials. I don't need a diplomatic
incident to draw further attention on the X-Files right now. So try to
keep a low profile. And when you find Mulder make sure he does so as
well. That's all."

Both women stood up.

"Oh...and try to bring him back in one piece. I'll need him to be
fully conscious next time I see him," the A.D added.

Judging by Skinner's barely concealed threat, Mulder was going to
undergo the ass-chewing session of his life if he ever made it back.

"Agent Scully? Could I have a word with you - in private?"

"I'll meet you at the airport, Agent Scully." Fowley headed towards
the door.

When she was gone Scully focused on Skinner.

"Sir?"

She could see in the way he held himself that the following exchange
was going to be off the record.

"You don't like her much, do you?"

Scully shrugged noncommittally. "Whether I like her or not is
irrelevant in this matter, sir."

The AD held her neutral gaze. "I just want to make sure you're doing
this for the right reasons."

He was rewarded with a trademark Stop-Beating-Around-The-Bush-Walt
raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

Skinner lowered his gaze, opened a drawer and took out what looked
like a small videotape.

"Do you know Alex Brown, Agent Scully?"

The young woman looked at the tape uncomprehendingly. "No sir."

The AD reclined in his chair, turning the tape over and over between
his fingers. "Alex Brown, is 17, Agent Scully. He is currently
undergoing a security training course."

Scully was still looking at her boss, puzzled, not understanding what
he was getting at, confirming Skinner's theory that love not only made
people blind but stupid as well.

"Alex Brown was assigned a surveillance job this morning," he paused
and pushed the tape towards her, "in the FBI car park."

He heard his agent's sharp intake of breath and saw her cheeks try to
compete with her hair for the most interesting shade of red. He had to
admire her really, she didn't lower her gaze. Tough little thing she
was.

Skinner gestured towards the tape. "The material on this tape is
definitely not suitable for younger viewers."

Scully looked like a red stone statue in her chair, back ramrod
straight, not moving, not even breathing, it seemed.

"I'd be grateful if it were kept in a *private* place."

Scully had been waiting for the dark void which had materialized under
her chair to engulf her, waiting for Skinner to tell her that her less
than professional behaviour would be dealt with in front of the OPC;
she could already picture the resignation papers being handed to her.

She blinked at her boss, stunned, as the meaning of his last words
sank in, and finally released the breath she'd been holding, oblivious
of her protesting lungs.

"Sir, I..."

Skinner held up a hand. "That'll be all, Agent Scully."

Scully couldn't believe that she was getting away with this.
"But Sir..."

Skinner's tone was implacable. "I said, that'll be all."

Scully stood up and reached for the tape with nervous fingers. "Thank
you sir." She doubted she had ever meant those two words so
completely.

Skinner looked at her, with something which looked suspiciously like
the ghost of a smile. "Bring him back, Agent Scully."

She nodded and hurried to leave.

Walter Skinner removed his glasses, and started cleaning the lenses
with the hem of his shirt.

<That wasn't very professional, was it, Walt? Disposing of evidence
like that.>

<Call me Mother Theresa.>

He'd always had a soft spot for Agent Scully, and, judging by the
tape, Agent Scully had many of them - alphabetically referenced, from
A to G.

Skinner eyed the stern portrait of Janet Reno and grinned.

***

Having hurriedly packed her suitcase and called her mom, Scully opened
her briefcase and took the tape out. Her eyes went from her VCR to the
object in her hand.

No.

She dropped the tape on the floor and crushed it with her heel. No
need to keep something which wasn't meant to be.

No matter what a nice birthday present it would have made for Frohike.

She checked her apartment one last time, grabbed her suitcase, and
made her way to her car with all the enthusiasm of a Death Row
prisoner.

-----------
Part Seven
-----------

    "Walking back to you is the hardest thing I can do."
               - Just like Honey - Jesus & Mary Chain
 

In kindergarten, Mulder had always avoided the sand box. He hated it
because he would always end up with his mouth and nose full of sand.
Because the other kids' favourite game had been called "Let's bury the
Fox." He always ended up coughing, sneezing and ultimately wailing to
get Miss Jenkins' attention.

And here he was, facing miles and miles of the stuff, under the kind
of heat that would teach Hell humility.

He rolled the little plastic rectangle between his fingers, the only
reason why he would not turn back and head for the nearest
air-conditioned friendly hotel. Away from the sand, and as far, far
away as he could from this...camel.

Finding a willing guide had been no problem. And Ali seemed like a
decent enough fellow, even if his mastery of the English language left
something to be desired. The agent had shown him the location on his
battered map and asked where he could find a jeep.

The young man had smiled at him with teeth so white that it would have
made any talk-show host swoon with envy.

"No road, no car. Camel, Effendi!"

Mulder knew he had to be paying for some unspeakably evil deeds
committed in a previous life.

Not to mention the dysentery.

He soon discovered that the tricky part was not climbing onto the
camel, but rather staying on it. He felt seasick - the rocking motions
of the animal's measured steps were having the most unpleasant effects
on his already painful stomach. And the damn thing stank like a dead
goat.

In an attempt to distract himself, he looked at his surroundings. He
had to admit they were beautiful.

The golden dunes shivered under the sun; the wind had carved hundreds
of graceful wavelets on them.

A petrified sea of shimmering gold.

The sky was a very pale hue of unearthly blue.

It was a colour he remembered.

He'd seen it in his partner's eyes right after she came in his arms,
her eager little body rippling like the unrelenting waves of hot air
around him.

He shut his eyes. It was a colour he should forget.

The colour of a mistake.

***

"You OK, Agent Scully?"

No. She wasn't OK. She was miles above the ground. It was bad enough
in normal all-American planes. But the noises this, this... thing with
wings made suggested that its bolts and screws were madly attracted to
the concept of freedom. She could feel her nerves snapping one by one,
like the strings of a punk rocker's guitar.

"Yes, I'm fine."

Diana Fowley eyed her fellow agent's hands clutching at the armrest
with an almost sympathetic look. "We should land in 20 minutes."

"You mean crash," muttered Scully between clenched teeth.

Fowley hid a smile. It wasn't going too badly actually: 48 hours
together and they still hadn't drawn their guns. They were both too
knackered to do so anyway. The original animosity had given way to an
unspoken truce.

Mind you, the object of controversy was nowhere in sight.

***

Fowley knew she was in trouble the moment she saw the predatory
glimmer in Scully's eyes as she spotted the gear stick in the battered
Alfa Romeo they'd manage to rent in Sfax.

The redhead had grabbed the keys from the chipped Formica counter in
the small airport rental agency, and had headed towards the door
saying, "I'm driving" in a tone brooking no objection.

Now Diana was holding on for dear life, gripping the sides of her seat
with both hands in a way she hoped was not too conspicuous.

People had a peculiar way of driving around here: they ignored stop
signs, they cut bends, and overtook without checking for oncoming
cars, and if they met one, well, they always assumed the road was wide
enough for three. If she weren't trying to be politically correct, she
would say that they drove like lunatics.

And Scully fitted right in.

The term "lead foot" didn't even began to describe her temporary
partner's idiosyncratic driving technique.

It was fast, abrupt and borderline psychotic.

As she overtook an old Mercedes, a van appeared on the opposite lane.
Scully swerved to the left, avoiding the van by inches, the left
wheels of the car biting the red dust.

Fowley tightened her grip on the seat, muttering a rather unladylike
curse.

"Something's wrong, Agent Fowley?" asked Scully with a smirk she even
didn't bother to hide.

"I think we ought to stop soon and get some rest."

"You can drive if you want."

"Wouldn't want to spoil your fun."

Scully eyed the woman coldly and chose not to answer.

***

Mulder was warming his hands on the small fire. He just couldn't
believe how cold the desert was at night. Ali was making some mint
tea. He held the carved iron kettle very high, letting the clear
liquid stream down in a perfect line right into a small golden-rimmed
glass. The sound reminded him that he would have to go and brave the
chilly night air at some point.

The man offered him the glass, and he took it gratefully, nodding his
thanks. He took a cautious sip; it was surprisingly good, hot and cool
at the same time.

Absentmindedly he ran a finger over his bruised cheek.

The young Tuareg had been watching him. He pointed at Mulder's cheek,
holding one hand above his head.

"Big man?"

Mulder smiled and shook his head, raising his own hand under his chin.

"Small woman."

Ali gaped at him for a second and then burst out laughing.

One of the camels behind them chose this moment to bray.

"Shut up, Walter," grumbled Mulder.

Yeah, he'd christened his camel Walter, because it was a pain in the
ass, in every sense of the phrase, and also because he knew he
couldn't go far without it. Besides, the camel wore the air of
superior detachment that was the trademark feature of a good AD.

However, the similarities stopped there.

Walter definitely had more hair than Skinner, and used a different
brand of cologne, "Eau De Carrion" probably.

Holding a blanket around his shoulders, Mulder stood up and went to
relieve his begging bladder.

***

Scully and Fowley decided to stop in Medenine for the night.

They checked into a small dust-covered European-style hotel. The rooms
were clean, though there was no air conditioning. The two women
decided that since it was too hot to sleep they might as well go and
get something to eat. After a quick shower in their respective room,
they ended up in the hotel bar/restaurant where a bunch of tourists
was loudly enjoying the local food.

They ordered a plate of couscous with lamb and a bottle of mineral
water and ate in silence - neither of them inclined to small talk -
or, to be more precise, Fowley ate and Scully pushed her food around.
Diana noticed this.

"Not hungry?"

Scully looked up, her gaze inscrutable. "Not very."

The other woman took a sip from her glass. "Does he do this often?"

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Run away like this."

"All the time."

"Then, if that's the way he functions, you should be used to it by
now."

Scully bristled noticeably. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you look pretty upset."

The young woman snorted derisively. "Of course I'm upset, my partner's
gone missing." She gestured towards Fowley. "What about you? Aren't
you worried about him?"

"Yes. I'm worried. But I can't shake the feeling that there is
something else bothering you. Is there anything I should know, Agent
Scully?"

"Just my luck, trading one shrink for another!"

Diana was getting tired of the game. She pinned the redhead with a
sharp stare. "That may be so, but you're not answering my question."

 Scully shook her head. "You're mistaken, there's nothing else."

"I don't think so."

The young agent's temper rose. "Agent Fowley, I do appreciate your
concern, but I don't see what gives you the right to use your
interrogation skills on me. I'm not some Libyan terrorist."

Fowley sighed, laid both hands on the table and leaned towards her.
"Listen, I know you don't like me and to tell you the truth I don't
like you much either. But for the time being we're partners, and I
want to make sure that everything is clear between us before we get
going, because if we run into any bad guys, I don't want to spend my
time wondering whether you like me enough to back me up or not!"

"How can you say that? Of course I'll back you up," Scully snapped
back, standing up, "and to be honest I resent the fact that you think
me so unprofessional as to let my personal feelings - whatever they
are - interfere with our job!"

She moved her chair away from the table. "Now if you excuse me I have
to go to the bathroom."

Fowley watched her walk away briskly. Mulder had been right. Getting
Scully to talk was as difficult as digging a hole in a glacier with a
coffee spoon.

***

In the bathroom Scully leaned heavily against the door. She'd never
fainted in her life but she sure felt as if she were about to.

<Exhaustion, heat, lack of food,> supplied her doctor's voice.

Summoning what little was left of her remaining strength, she dragged
herself towards one of the washbasins. Her hands were shaking badly as
she let the tepid water run over them. She grabbed a paper towel and,
dampening it, rubbed it on her neck in a vain attempt to cool down.

She had to be more careful; she couldn't let the recent turn of events
alter her behaviour in such a way that Fowley would start questioning
her capacity as a reliable agent.

Maybe Mulder was right. She was too fucked up to be trusted.

She closed her eyes feeling the telltale sting of oncoming tears.

<Mulder, why did you do this to me?>

<It takes two to tango, Dana.>

<Stop it!> She wouldn't think about that. Not now, not here.

She was going to go back to the table and make peace with Diana, give
her some assurance that she was not going to let her down as far as
the case was concerned. She was going to act like the fully
operational Special Agent Scully she was expected to be. An Agent
Scully who would wear mental earplugs to avoid hearing the sounds of
her soul being ripped apart.

She could do this.

The trick was to compartmentalize.

***

Fowley saw her coming back from the bathroom and noticed how pale she
was.

"You OK?"

Scully attempted a smile. "Actually I don't feel too good."

Knowing Mulder's partner, this was the equivalent of a heartfelt
apology.

Fowley rose from her seat.

"I paid the bill. Let's go back, shall we?"

Sculy nodded and grabbed her purse.

As the two women were making their way out, a bulky and visibly
inebriated tourist bumped into Scully.

"Sorry," she muttered and tried to walk round him.

The man blocked her way and grabbed her left shoulder, lowering his
head to catch her eyes. "Weeeell...! Hullooo gorgeous. Wanna drink?"
His breath stank of cheap wine.

Scully shrugged his hand off coolly. "No thank you."

"Aw! Come on Red! Whazematta? You with someone?"

Said Red was considering her options - A: Point her gun under his nose
and scare the shit out of him, or, B: Knee him in the family jewels to
see how high his voice could go; both options were quite tempting -
when a hand materialized on her forearm, and she heard Fowley's stern
voice beside her.

"As a matter of fact, yes. She's with me."

The drunk American's eyes darted wildly from Fowley to Scully. He
frowned in disgust at the hand resting possessively on the small
agent's arm.

"Dykes..." he mumbled and stepped backwards unsteadily.

Diana released her arm. Scully was biting her lip, trying hard not to
laugh.

Fowley winked at her, and pushed the door open. "Come on girlfriend."

Once outside, Scully started to chuckle softly.

"Don't thank me." Fowley's voice was full of mirth.

"I'm not going to. You ruined my plans for the evening."

"Nah, he wasn't your type."

"How would you know?"

<I know your type, Agent Scully, I sleep with him.> "Feminine
intuition."

Scully sobered up, and turned to face her.

"Diana..."

Fowley held up a hand.

"Whatever you're going to say, let me tell you this first. I apologize
for what happened earlier. I didn't have any right to push you like
that."

"That's OK."

"No, it's not OK. And it's not gonna be because there are too many
issues at stake here. Issues between Mulder and me, between Mulder and
you, and ultimately between you and me."

Scully opened her mouth.

"Please, let me finish. It's not gonna be easy, but I need to know
that despite all this, we're going to do our best to make this
temporary partnership work." She paused and pushed a strand of dark
hair behind her ear. "I know I'm gonna try."

"You don't have to convince me, Agent Fowley, I'd reached the same
conclusions a few minutes ago." She began to walk down the corridor.

"You're smart, Agent Scully."

"No, I'm just tired."

***

Scully let the cold water hit her skull, wishing that it would manage
somehow to melt her down so she could disappear down the drain. The
water would merge her cells with the red earth and she would simply
stop thinking, stop feeling, stop being altogether.

But nothing happened. She was still there, shivering both from cold
and exhaustion, her brain filled with a thousand blades which slashed
the inside of her skull whenever she blinked.

She turned the tap off, and stepped out of the small cubicle. As she
dried herself slowly, she caught her reflection in the full-length
mirror on the opposite wall. The towel escaped her suddenly nerveless
fingers.

It was happening again.

It started a few weeks after she'd come back from her icy slumber in
Antarctica. She would sometimes stare at her hands as if they were
not - it was hard to explain - not how they were supposed to be. She
would touch her face, her nose, her cheeks and it would feel...not
right, foreign.

The same feeling was back now, as if her reflection in the mirror
were - lying?

And then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

She was about to turn her gaze away from the mirror - mostly to avoid
acknowledging the sorry state of her now too thin body - when
something caught her eyes.

There, on her right shoulder, close to her neck, was the purple ring
of a bite mark.

She touched it with a tentative finger.

<Mulder...>

The blades in her head dug even deeper.

Out of some morbid fascination, she lowered her gaze.
Twin bruises stood out on her hipbones - two dark Rorschach.

One of the blades made its way to her throat, and a strangled sob
pushed past her lips.

<This is ridiculous, why am I crying? He didn't rape me. I wanted it,
I liked it!>

She tried to regain control by biting her lips, but to no avail. Her
knees gave out and she fell into the eye of her inner storm, sobbing
her heart out on the cold hard tiles.

To be continued...
 
 
 
 
 
 

-----------
Part Eight
------------

            "It seems a shame to waste your time with me."
                                          - Me in honey - REM -
 

Mulder tried unsuccessfully to get more comfortable on his saddle. The
sun was making his head pound in rhythm with Walter's lazy walk. Sweat
was trickling under his djellaba, sticking his clothes to his skin. He
felt dirty and itchy, and it wasn't even midday.

He never thought that one day he would literally find himself in the
middle of the desert looking for the Truth.

But here he was.

What the hell happened to that shovel?

He smiled at the memory and regretted it instantly. Reaching for his
gourd, he pushed his turban away from his mouth and nose to allow him
to drink. The water was unpleasantly warm but soothed his cracked lips
a little.

This was definitely an alien world, hostile and seemingly empty of
life. DC felt like something he had dreamt, like a lingering memory,
remembered but not experienced.

He wondered if he would make it this time. Leaving was easy but it was
increasingly difficult finding good reasons to come back. More often
than not he didn't have time to make a choice, because Scully would
come and stubbornly haul his ass out, whether he liked it or not. But
this time, after what he did to her, he wondered if she would even
bother.

In one crazy moment he had managed to destroy both his personal life
and a weird but efficient partnership.

Being with Diana had grounded him, soothed him. It was a tender,
mature bonding, based on mutual respect and understanding. A perfectly
normal adult relationship.

Health love.

But Mulder had never managed to stick with health food very long. At
some point he always ended up craving for junk food.

Junk love.

A wild, passionate, painful mating, quickly consumed against a greasy
wall.

And now, Scully was clogging his arteries.

***

Fowley didn't comment when Scully handed her the car keys the next
day. They drove in silence most morning. She assumed her colleague had
fallen asleep on the passenger seat. But with the dark sunglasses
she'd been wearing since she'd appeared at the reception, there was no
way to know.

After a few hours Diana stopped to stretch her legs, and took the
opportunity to take a look at the map, laying it flat on the car's
hood.

"How long?" asked Scully's low tired voice behind her.

Fowley shot a glance at the small agent over her shoulder. In her
sweaty tank top and baseball cap, she looked like a teenager; but the
set of her jaw told a different story; one which would scare kids at
bed-time - and many adults as well.

"Two more hours." Fowley wiped her brow. "And then we have to decide
how we're going to get through the desert."

"I don't really want to admire the scenery, the quicker the better."

The agent's lips curved slightly. "That rules out camels then."

Scully mirrored the other woman's thin smile. "No camels."

Fowley nodded and started folding the map back. "OK, so that leaves us
with car or plane."

"A four-wheel drive would be less conspicuous."

"But a plane would be quicker. Mulder must have chosen a car for the
same reason, and he must be a good day ahead of us considering he
didn't encounter the problems we had with connecting flights."

Scully nodded. "True, but where are you going to find a plane around
here?"

"An old friend owes me a favour, and he happens to live not far from
here."

Scully's eyebrow arched above her sunglasses.

"Don't look so suspicious, Agent Scully. As you know, I used to
specialize in anti-terrorism, and as a result I know a quite a lot of
people in North Africa. In fact I spent almost a year in Algeria
trying to have my contacts infiltrate the Islamic Jihad."

"So you're going to ask one of your terrorist friends to fly us to the
middle of Sahara?"

Fowley graced her with an enigmatic smile. She lightly tapped the map
on the hood before making her way back to the car. "Bob isn't a
terrorist, Agent Scully. He's a lot of things but not that."

Scully watched the woman open the car door and slip inside. There was
obviously more to Agent Fowley than met the eye, and, against her
will, she found it more and more difficult to hate her.

She joined the other agent  in the car, her skin sticking unpleasantly
to the seat. Fowley started the engine and turned slightly towards
her.

"Tell me, why George Hale?" She was referring to the name on the
passenger's list they'd manage to coax from an uncooperative
airhostess.

Scully's face softened. "It's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it sometime."

Scully shot her an enigmatic smile of her own. "It was a long time
ago."

***

"Effendi!"

Mulder looked up and his gaze followed Ali's pointed finger.

On the trembling horizon was something which looked like a green line.
Then the smell hit him, still faint, but so imprinted in his brain
that he could have recognized it with a blindfold on.

A cornfield.

Someone had wanted him to see this. Someone who knew him well, very
well. Someone who'd known how to trigger an instant Pavlov's dog
response in him, with one ridiculous little piece of plastic.

A Stratego pawn.

He was being lured into a trap, of that much he was certain. But he
didn't care, didn't even intend to fight. He just wanted to know.

He had lost faith one night in an Englishman's car. He'd learned just
enough to understand that there was no way he could prevent events
planned since the dawn of time from happening. The stakes were too
high, and he wasn't the hero meant to save the world, didn't want to
be.

At the time he had only wanted to save Scully.

Yeah - for what good it did her. He was so sick and tired of all this.
He just wanted someone, anyone, to explain to him once and for all the
whole picture, and if he had to pay with his life, then so be it. At
least he would die a wise man.

He kicked Walter with his heels; the camel lurched forward with a
bored grunt, and headed towards the fields.

***

Scully was resting under the shade of a wide baobab, eyes closed.
They'd stopped at a French mission for some water and Fowley had asked
if there was a phone she could use. Scully had been wandering around
while her new partner phoned the mysterious Bob, and found a little
courtyard where a few kids were playing. The shade under the tree had
been so inviting.

She sighed blissfully, it was so peaceful.

"WAAAHHHH!!!"

She jumped and her eyes snapped open. One of the kids, a little girl,
had fallen and started crying. Scully rushed to her side and helped
her up.

"Hey, you OK? Did you hurt yourself?"

The little girl - who couldn't be more than four years old - looked at
her through her tears uncomprehendingly.

"Tu vas bien?" she repeated.

The child nodded, hiccupping softly. Scully checked her palms and
knees and found nothing. She patted the child on the head with a smile
and stood up.

She walked back to the tree, and noticed that the little girl was
following her. She sat down and looked with amusement as the child
stopped a few meters from her, curiosity battling with shyness.

Scully extended an arm, smiling. "Come here."

The child was a little Malian beauty, with high cheekbones, dark skin
and thoughtful ebony eyes. She climbed on Scully's lap and looked up
questioningly.

"Comment tu t'apelles?"

"Dana."

The little girl nodded. "Moi c'est Camille."

Scully smiled softly. "C'est un joli nom."

The child beamed at her. Then her gaze settled on the golden cross
which never left the agent's neck, and - lifting her little brown
hand - reached for it.

Something flared unexpectedly in Scully, she shoved the child's hand
roughly away.

"NO!"

Frightened, Camille stumbled out of Scully's lap, her eyes brimming
anew with tears.

Scully stood up, reaching up for her. "Oh, I'm sorry, I-"

But the little girl was already running away from her, crossing the
courtyard and disappearing into the house.

"You've sure got a way with kids, Agent Scully," said Fowley's voice
behind her.

Scully swivelled on her feet and fixed the other agent with a lethal
stare. If looks could kill this one would have ripped her spine
straight from her back.

And Diana suddenly remembered a conversation with Mulder - about a
little girl named Emily - and realised why her teasing words were
having such an effect on the young agent.

<Smart move Diana.>

The best thing to do now was to neutralise the venomous atmosphere
which surrounded her, as oppressive as a gambling room in the early
hours of the morning.

"Bob said he'd fly here and take us where we want to go."

Scully blinked and the cold anger drifted from her pale blue eyes. The
woman certainly had damn good self-control.

"How long will it take?"

"About two hours for him to get here, then he reckons three more hours
to reach the place."

"We should be there in the evening then."

"Probably."

"In that case, I think I'm gonna ask the Sisters if it's possible to
use the showers."

Scully turned her heels and headed back to the car.  Fowley followed
her and watched her open the boot to retrieve their bags.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully, about earlier. It was the most insensitive
thing to say."

Scully felt her sweat suddenly turn cold despite the heat. Still
holding her bag in one hand, she turned slowly towards Fowley.

"What makes you say that?"

Fowley cursed herself for not realising sooner that her apology was
bound to trigger questions from the red-haired agent.

"Mulder told me what happened in San Diego."

"Mulder told you?" There was a hint of incredulity in her voice.

<Yeah, Red, the guy talks to me as well.>
"Yes. He was feeling pretty guilty about it. I guess this is why he
needed to talk about it - to an outsider, I mean."

Looking into Scully's intense stare was like looking at a storm
through a bulletproof window; you couldn't hear a sound but you could
see the lightning.

"Why did he feel guilty?"

Fowley shrugged. Why was she asking that? "Well, you know how Mulder
always feel responsible for the things he hasn't the power to prevent.
He felt guilty about the others."

"The others?"

Either the sun was making Scully incredibly slow or she was playing
one of her favourite little mind games with her. To test her. But why?

"The other fetuses, Agent Scully."

Scully's eyes shut briefly and Fowley saw her hand tighten its grip on
the bag, the knuckles whitening with the pressure.

Diana's breath caught in her throat. <Shit, she didn't know!>

"The other fetuses?" The young agent's voice had taken the low and
foreign quality of someone talking from the bottom of a pit.

Fowley swallowed. Her throat felt as if it were encrusted with dust.
<Mulder, you sick bastard.>

"He didn't tell you?" A rhetorical question.

Scully dropped her bag and marched towards Fowley, her eyes blazing
with barely controlled fury. She stared up at the taller agent, their
feet almost touching.

"Tell me WHAT?"

Fowley couldn't stand the woman's accusatory scrutiny anymore. After
all, she had nothing to do with this. And Scully had the right to
know. Hell! Mulder should have told her. He had no right to withhold
something like this. She might as well tell her everything she knew
and get it over with.

"That he found other fetuses in the old people's home, live ones, in
glass jars. With a bar code and your name attached to them."

Scully's eyes turned into polished and glazed aquamarine stones. She
took a step back slowly and stood there, the only sign of life the
heaving of her chest in an uneven rhythm.

"Agent Scully?"

The small woman lifted her head with difficulty as if the muscles in
her neck had suddenly become too weak to perform this simple task;
and, against all odds, she smiled.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

-----------
Part nine
-----------

"Not right, Effendi." Ali stood at the edge of the cornfield.

"I know." Mulder was removing his things from the side packs thrown
over Walter's long neck. The camel was sitting on the sand with the
poise of a sphinx about to ask him some impossible riddle.

Mulder patted the animal's damp nose. "Loosen up, Walter, you're not
going any further."

Walter shot him a haughty look which said *Pucker up and kiss my ass!*

"I'm going to wait for the night." The agent said.

"Danger?" The young man sounded more intrigued than worried.

"Probably, but don't worry, you don't have to follow."

"I not go, Effendi?"

Mulder wondered for a minute at the Tuareg's ability to understand
every single word he said without being able to form a proper sentence
himself. His paranoid side made him wonder for a split second whether
Ali could be trusted. Oh well, it didn't matter much now.

"No, Ali, you wait for me."

The young man nodded and went back to his camel to unpack their tents.

***

Scully had managed to get a few steps away before falling on her
knees, doubling over and
throwing up the meagre contents of her stomach. She felt a cool hand
on her neck and lifted her head. She met Fowley's sympathetic look.

It made her cringe.

"Maybe it's time for that shower, Agent Scully."

Scully nodded and stood up unsteadily.

She felt the other agent firmly take hold of her upper arm, helping
her stand upright. The fact that she didn't object was a testimony to
the state she was in.

Not a word was spoken as they made their way to the main building, and
Scully was immensely grateful to the other woman for not trying to
apologise or say anything needing a reaction from her. She was too
weak to speak, her synapses requiring every last remnant of her sanity
to build a tightly sealed box around the information Diana had so
carelessly thrown upon her - a box she could push aside along with all
the others which were threatening to overwhelm the dark and scary
attic of her mind.

The roof was starting to show some cracks, but she pretended not to
notice.

After her shower she had fallen asleep, exhausted, on the bunk bed one
of the nuns had kindly allowed her to use. The loud purring of an
engine woke her up. She stood up and stretched her weary muscles. Eyes
still fuzzy from sleep, she looked out of the window to see Fowley
hugging a tall, middle-aged man who had just stepped out a small
twin-engined plane.

She left the window and went to retrieve her bag by the bed. Her eyes
settled on an old jam jar filled with iridescent marbles - probably
left by one of the kids - on a small camping table propped against the
wall. For an instant the marbles blurred and she saw an ill-formed
fetus squirming through the glass.

She closed her eyes wishing the image back into her own mental
photo-album of horrors.

She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Nothing but marbles.

She lifted her bag and left the room.

As she came out of the building she saw Fowley, one arm tucked under
the pilot's, heading towards her.

"Agent Scully, meet Robert McKay."

The man shook her hand with a strength which made her knuckles
protest. He looked like a leaner, more tanned version of Sean
Connnery, the kind of man who would have fought off alligators and
uncooperative natives while Stanley and Livingstone exchanged
niceties. He smiled at her like a satiated, lazy lion.

"My pleasure, Agent Scully." And his eyes, raking over her body,
showed her the truth of this.

"Mr McKay."

She was expecting the "Call me Bob" line next. Instead the man turned
towards Fowley and tilted his head.

"So, Di, why do you need to go there?"

"Agent Scully's partner's gone missing, and we think that's where he
went."

McKay shook his head. "There's nothing there but sand, Di."

"That's what we'd like to check," answered Scully.

The man shrugged. "As you wish, ladies. Be ready in fifteen minutes."

***

"Afraid of heights, little lady?"

Scully released her grip on the door handle and folded her hands in
her lap in a way she hoped looked casual.

"No."

"There's nothing to be ashamed off. Everybody's got phobias." He shot
her a grin.

"And what's your phobia, Bob?" asked Fowley, sitting behind him.

"Women who ask too many questions."

Fowley chuckled, and Scully hid a smile.

"What do you do, Mr McKay?" Scully asked.

Bob's face faked panic. "See, Di, now she knows my weak point she's
going to use it against me."

"Bob," sighed Fowley.

"Oh, OK..." His tone became more serious. "Chemical weapons are my
specialty."

"You make them, or you sell them?"

Bob shot her an amused glance. "I prevent them."

"Anti-terrorism?"

"Among other things."

Scully waited for the man to be more specific, but the pilot remained
silent. He turned her gaze towards the window. Endless waves of sands
rolled under them. The sun was still high.

Fowley followed her gaze. "I hope we'll reach the place before
nightfall."

"We will," answered Bob. "Not that you'll notice any difference," he
added with a smirk.

Two and a half hours later, Robert McKay had to admit he had been
wrong.

"Shit! What's that?" he exclaimed, seeing the green patch ahead of
them.

"Cornfields."

"WHAT?"

Scully shrugged.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I've seen them before."

"In the *desert*?"

"In Texas, which is roughly the same."

Bob shook his head in amazement.

"Who would go to such trouble to do this? To feed camels?"

Scully hesitated and turned her head slightly to catch Fowley's eyes.
The woman nodded discreetly. <He's OK.>

Scully briefly explained to Bob the purpose of the genetically
modified corn, leaving aside the alien angle. The pilot didn't need to
know Mulder's crazy theory that the purpose of the virus was to allow
a potential alien race to repossess the Earth. She stuck to what she
was sure of, that the corn was used to allow a certain species of bee
to propagate a deadly virus.

"Please tell me this is a bad joke."

Scully removed her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes. "I wish it were, Mr
McKay, believe me, I wish it were."

***

Mulder heard the sound of the plane before he actually saw it.

<Fuck!>

"Ali! Take your camel and hide in the cornfield, quick!"

While his guide was following his orders, Mulder ran to Walter and
yanked on the reins to make the camel stand up.

The animal shot him a nasty look and didn't budge.

"Come on, be a good camel!"

Walter's nostrils quivered - the camel equivalent of a snort.

Mulder cursed and, dropping the reins, started to run for cover.

***

They landed not very far from a lonely camel and what looked like a
hastily abandoned campsite.

The two women and the pilot walked cautiously towards the place,
Fowley and Scully with their hands on their guns, scanning their
surroundings.

A familiar voice from the cornfield made them jump.

"How about some popcorn?"

Mulder appeared from behind the green leaves, brushing off dust from
his shoulder.

Fowley sighed with relief and threw a glance at Scully.

The young agent was looking at her partner with a cool professional
detachment. "Found anything?" she asked evenly.

Mulder pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "You mean, apart from
this?"

He held her gaze, trying to evaluate whether he was in Scully's
'danger zone' or not, but her eyes gave nothing away. "Not yet," he
started to answer, "I was waiting for the night in case someone had
planned a reception committee."

"Guess you'll have more company than you expected," said Fowley
sarcastically.

Uh-oh, the danger zone might not be where he expected. He chanced an
apologetic look at his lover, but the woman had obviously been taking
lessons at the Scully School Of Inscrutability.

Mulder turned towards Bob and held out his hand.

"And you are?"

"Robert McKay. An old friend of Diana."  The man shook his hand
firmly.

The agent shot a look at Fowley - who merely nodded - before
introducing  Ali, who greeted everybody with one of his blinding
smiles.

As the little group went to retrieve their bags, Ali tilted his head
towards Mulder, and pointed first at his still-bruised cheek and then

at Scully's retreating back.

"Same small woman, Effendi?"

Mulder chuckled. "Yes, but don't say that in front of her, or she'll
use your guts to gag you with."

Ali wrinkled his brow, obviously not understanding.

"Don't call her 'small woman' or she'll hurt you too."

Ali laughed good-heartedly, and both men watched the subject of their
discussion grab one of the bags the pilot had removed from the plane's
small luggage hold.

"Beautiful woman, men offer you plenty camels, Effendi."

It was Mulder's turn to laugh. He shook his head, still smiling.

"I can't do that, Ali, she doesn't belong to me. Where I come from,
women don't belong to men."

Ali smirked, and fixed the tall agent with a smug knowing stare.

"Effendi eyes say she belong you."

Mulder looked away. "Your English is getting better, Ali."

"I learn quick."

***

"Come on, Walter, this isn't funny anymore."

The sun had disappeared below the horizon with the suddenness to which
he still wasn't used. There was just enough light to see, but it
wouldn't last long.

Mulder and Ali were trying to make Walter join the other camel next to
the campsite they'd established, consisting of a few tents surrounding
a small fire.

"Walter?"

Mulder looked up and met his partner's familiar arched eyebrow. She
had approached them silently and was standing a few feet away.

He shrugged, and pulled the reins once more.

"Appropriate, don't you think?" he grunted.

She didn't even blink.

<Agent Scully is not amused.> Well, he couldn't blame her really.  He
dropped the reins, defeated.

"I give up. Come on, Ali, it doesn't matter. He can freeze his hairy
butt out there for all I care."

Ali stopped shoving the camel's rear end, and both men started to make
their way back to the campsite. After a minute Mulder realised Scully
wasn't following.

He looked back and saw her gently caressing the camel's nose. He waved
at his guide.

"Go ahead, I'll join you in a minute."

The young Tuareg shot him an impish smile, and resumed his pace
towards the tents.

Mulder headed back towards his partner. Since she'd arrived they'd
barely exchanged a few words.

"Come on, Scully, it's beginning to freeze out here."

The small redhead didn't stop stroking the camel's nose. Walter had
his eyes half-closed, apparently enjoying the attention. Scully's
power to mellow stubborn, pig-headed creatures seemed to be a
universal invariant.

"Scully?"

He waited for an answer which never came.

He sighed. "Scully..."

He walked up behind her and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. He
felt the muscles flinch under his palm, but she didn't move. His
fingers flexed gently, feeling the warmth of her skin and the hard
ridge of her muscles under the thin cotton shirt.

"Hey, Scully?" he pleaded softly.

Still mute, she stopped her motions on Walter's wide nose; her hand
dropped limply to her side.

Mulder removed his own hand abruptly, and took a few steps back.

"Godammit, Scully, say something! Anything! Be angry at me! Hit me
again! God knows I deserve it. Hell, you can even shoot me! But do
SOMETHING!"

Because she had her back turned to him, Mulder missed the wistful
smile which fleeted across her features.

<Don't tempt me, Mulder.>

Ignoring him completely, she grabbed the reins and pulled. Walter
hesitated for a moment and then complied and stood up. He didn't do it
because of the tender ministrations the human female had bestowed upon
him. Walter prided himself on being above such petty flatteries. No,
he stood up because when she leant over to grab his reins, his small
animal brain had noticed the blatant threat in her eyes.

You can be either a good camel or a dead one.

And Walter wasn't ready to join the Great Oasis yet.

She started to lead the camel back towards the camp. Mulder stood,
stunned, for a long moment. It was completely dark now. He lifted his
head and saw the moon, a forgotten nail clipping on a black ink
canvas. He felt like screaming his frustration at it until his lungs
bled.

Instead he started to run after her.

She was finishing hobbling Walter when he reached her.

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him.

"Scully, I'm not going to let you shut me out like this!"

She lifted her eyes to him, her wide dark pupils outlined with cold
silver circles.

"Welcome to my world, Mulder. How does it feel?" Her voice dripped
with sarcasm. She shook her arm free, and not waiting for his answer,
she walked away and disappeared behind the tents.

"Fox?"

His head turned so sharply he felt the bones in his neck crack. Diana
stepped out of the shadows.

Mulder's shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

"What about you, Diana, are you still talking to me, or are you going
to join my partner for a Marcel Marceau competition?"

Diana fixed him with a level stare.

"No, Fox, I'm still talking to you. Although you might not like what I
have to say." Her voice was barely above a whisper; sound carried well
in the desert, and she had no wish for the others to overhear their
conversation.

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

"I'm not going to blame you for leaving without so much as a phone
call. I've learned to expect such behaviour from you."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "It doesn't matter. I know
you, Fox Mulder. I know nothing else counts when you think you are
about to find your Holy Grail." She gestured towards the cornfield.
"What I resent is that you left me behind to clean up the mess."

Mulder drew a shaky breath. "Did she tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He lowered his head. "What happened between us."

Fowley remained silent for a moment. When he lifted his head he saw
the mixture of fear and shock in her brown eyes.

"No," she whispered. And it was as much an answer to his question as a
denial of what he was about to confess. "What happened?" she managed
to ask in a low, beaten voice.

His silence was his confession.

She lifted her hand, rubbed her forehead and pushed her hair, back,
feeling suddenly old beyond her years.

"I was aware this might happen. But it still hurts."

"Diana..." He reached out for her and wrapped his arms around her
shoulders. She let him do so, resting her cheek on the hard plane of
his chest, memorizing the feel of it. She'd always had an acute sense
of how his body felt against her, mostly because she never, ever took
it for granted. She'd known since the beginning that whatever there
was between them wasn't meant to last forever.

"I'd hate to sound like a jealous woman, Fox, although I guess that's
what I am right now. But you'll have to make a choice."

"There is no choice to make, Diana, it shouldn't have happened," he
murmured against her hair.

"But it did." She pushed him away reluctantly. "Mulder, what I meant
earlier is that I didn't expect to be the one to break the news about
your findings in San Diego."

He paled. "You told her?"

"I thought she knew."

"Oh, shit." he breathed.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why? Isn't it obvious? What did you want me to say? 'Hey, partner, I
know you just lost a daughter, but tell you what, there're plenty more
where she came from, alive and kicking, just waiting for a warm womb
to thrive!' Diana, even I can't be that cruel!"

Fowley stroke his forearm gently, to calm him down. "Shhh... I know, I
know. But your silence was worse, Fox. No wonder she won't speak to
you right now."

Mulder rubbed his neck tiredly. "Pay-back time, huh?"

"I'm afraid so." She reached for his hand and gave it a quick
 squeeze." Come on, let's join the others. There's nothing you can do
about it right now."

***

"I don't know what to expect out there."

Mulder was speaking to his companions, while warming his hands over
the fire.

"I think it would be wise if you, Bob, and Ali, stayed here. We might
have to leave rather hurriedly, and I want to make sure we have a
pilot who can take us as far away from this damn place as possible if
things turn nasty."

Bob frowned and blew a thin, blue, perfect smoke ring from a narrow
cigarillo he'd produced from his battered safari jacket.

"So, I'm not invited to the party?"

"We'll tell you all about it, Bob, I promise," replied Fowley with a
smile.

"Make that a bedtime story, Di, and I'll stay."

"I'll think about it," she teased back.

Bob drew on his cigar, and after a mock defeated pout, sighed. "They
always say that."

"Do they?" asked Mulder, without thinking.

His comment triggered simultaneous and viciously murderous glares from
Fowley and Scully. He almost wished he could bury the more sensitive
parts of his lower body in the sand for protection.

<Go ahead boy, dig your own grave with your balls.>

If Bob noticed the exchange of looks, he didn't show it. He scoffed
and idly chewing on his cigar replied:

"Wait till you're my age, Stud."

Mulder cleared his throat, stood up and brushed the sand off his
khakis.

"Right, if everything's settled, let's go."

-----------
Part Ten
-----------

The three agents crossed the cornfield without incident. They soon
emerged in a wide clearing and, as they expected, found the bloated
white structures of two bee domes, standing side by side.

Fowley felt her jaw drop. "Jesus! They look like something out of
2001!"

"Yeah, well, tell me if you spot any monoliths."

"So these are hives?"

"Of a very special kind, yes."

"I can't believe nobody noticed them before."

"The owners make sure that those who do don't talk about it."

"Mulder, over here." Scully's voice interrupted their exchange. She
was pointing to a smaller structure, further back, between the domes.
It was rectangular in shape and seemed to be made of concrete, like a
small bunker, with a heavy metal door on one side.

Scully approached it slowly and gave the handle a cautious jiggle.
"It's unlocked." She opened the door, her flashlight illuminating a
few steep concrete steps, leading into darkness.

Mulder shook his head. "Too easy. All we need now is a
'welcome'doormat."

Fowley laid her hand on his arm. "We can still go back..."

"No."

"Fox, it's obviously a trap."

"I've known that from the beginning, Diana."

"And you still want to go." There was no surprise in her voice.

His eyes seemed to mimic the colour of the corn leaves. He turned
towards his partner.

"Scully, I'd understand if you chose not to follow this time. I know
you'd rather be miles away from me and..."

She held up a hand sharply. "Mulder, this is neither the time nor the
place to discuss this. I'm here, period." Her eyes translated:
'another word and I'll put you down like a rabid dog.'

Mulder lowered his gaze in submission and turned again towards Fowley.
"You stay here, Diana."

"No!" The brown-haired woman shook her head fiercely.

"Look, someone needs to stay up here to make sure we don't get locked
in. I want you to go back into the cornfield and hide there. If
anything comes up - well, I leave it to your better judgment."

She wanted to object, to say "why me?" but that would be jealousy
speaking, and it would only make her look like a fool. Her rational
self was aware that on a professional level those two were the perfect
match.

"Okay," she finally agreed, "I'll be the bouncer - but you'll have to
tip me first."

She reached up to him and, entwining her fingers in his hair, pulled
his head towards her and kissed him soundly. Over his shoulder, she
saw Scully look away.

<Don't like what you see, Red? Well, tough shit.>

"Come back," she breathed against his ear. And she didn't just mean
from the bunker.

The usual cocktail of guilt and sadness surfaced in his eyes.

"I'll try."

***

They had been following the steps down for what seemed ages. Mulder
was beginning to think they were in a Jules Vernes story.

"Hey, Scully, think we're going to come out in China?"

His partner didn't reply. He chanced a look above his shoulder; she
was a few steps behind him, her eyes cast to the ground, watching her
steps. The concrete surrounding the stairway had given way to polished
cave walls. The atmosphere was cold and slightly damp, rendering the
steps treacherously slippery, slowing their progression.

"You're still not talking to me? That could be tricky later on; I
doubt I have time to learn sign language."

An infuriated breath was sharply drawn behind him. "Mulder, Shut up
and walk!"

***

One hour later, they were still climbing down. His ears had started to
hurt a little, and the muscles in his thighs were beginning to cramp.

He could hear his partner's increasingly fast breathing behind him. He
slowed down a little.

"OK, Scully?"

"Yeah, keep going."

"You sound a little puffed."

"It's the sight of you taking my breath away, Stud."

He choked out a surprised chuckle. If she allowed herself to banter
with him, then things were definitely looking up. It wasn't in
Scully's nature to bear a grudge very long. It was a weakness he kept
taking advantage of mercilessly.

"Glad to know my boyish charm is still working."

"Keep it up, Mulder, and I'll make sure it'll be the only thing that
wor..." She stopped dead in her tracks.

He turned towards her. "What?"

She was sniffing the air around her. "That smell, I know it."

He hadn't paid much attention, but now she mentioned it he caught a
faint whiff of something familiar in the tunnel, something earthy and
slightly metallic, something he had smelt in another place. But where?
The answer was hovering at the edge of his mind, like a morning dream.

His partner froze suddenly, and he saw the colours withdraw from her
cheeks.

He grabbed her arm.

"Scully, what is it?"

She was staring at him with a look of panic she didn't even try to
hide.

"The ship, Mulder. It smells like the inside of that ship in the
Antarctic."

He stared back at her for a moment. Then, drawing their guns, they
started to climb down again, more slowly. After a few more minutes,
punctuated by no other sound than their breathing, they finally
reached the last steps. The beams of their flashlights shone on a
double steel door, similar to an elevator door. Neither lock nor
keypad could be seen.

"So what now?"

He was about to reply that he didn't have a clue, when the doors
opened with a slow whoosh. They instinctively flattened themselves
against each side of the wall, assuming the standard FBI position.

Nothing more happened.

They looked at each other, and chanced a look inside.

Mulder felt the hair at the back of his neck rise, just as
he heard the frightened gasp of his partner.

Behind the door was a cave of colossal dimensions, bathed in an eerie
green-yellowish light. Concrete slabs bordered a lake - no, not a
lake, more like an inner sea, so huge he couldn't make out the far
edge. And it was black. Oily.

"I knew you'd come, Agent Mulder."

The tall, slender figure of Marita Covarrubias stepped out of a
shadowy corner and advanced towards them.

"Please, do come in."

The two dazed agents walked in slowly.

"You can put your guns away; they won't be of any use here."

Mulder stared at the young blonde woman. She'd lost weight, her hair
looked thinner, bleached out and something in her eyes wasn't quite
right.

She looked - changed.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. "What the hell is this?"

"This is your Truth, Agent Mulder."

He looked at the dark sea once more. It was rippling slightly, as if
swept by random shivers.

"Is it... alive?" He dreaded the answer.

"Yes, but dormant, in a way."

"How did it get here?"

Marita gave a low grating chuckle which cooled his blood with its
strangeness. "It didn't *arrive*, it's always been here."

He shot a quick glance at his partner: she was staring at the sea,
probably as dumbfounded as he was.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

He turned his head back sharply. "What do you want, Marita?" he
snapped.

"Want? Nothing. I'm past *wanting* anything. I'm here to give you
information. That's always been my role, hasn't it?"

His brow creased in distrust. "Cut the crap."

"I have a story to tell you, Agent Mulder. Call it my legacy to the
human race."

"You sound like a bad sci-fi script."

Marita's eyes blazed with something dark and threatening. "Well, I
suggest you pay very close attention to this *bad script*. You won't
get another chance to hear it. Three hundred million years ago, the
first alien colonization took place - before mammals, before flowering
plants, even. For some unknown reason, they didn't manage to survive.
They were one of the many species whose decayed, crushed remains ended
up forming petroleum deposits."

"Like this?" Mulder tilted his head towards the black stretch of oil.

"Yes, only this one has been modified."

"How?"

"I'm coming to that. Three and a half million years ago, during the
early Pleiocene, the second colonization took place. By then, the
alien colonists knew that the only way they could survive here was to
be parasitic upon a native life form. They were luckier this time,
because whole new phyla had appeared, including mammals, and amongst
them the Hominidae. They realised that one of the species, which
scientists now call Australopithecus afarensis, could serve their
purpose, except that its brain was too underdeveloped to be used as a
host. It needed... tampering with, for use of a better word. And so
they did. They triggered an evolutionary process which would one day
give birth to the perfect host."

"Us," said Mulder in a breathless whisper.

"No, not us, the next species, people like Gibson Praise. We're merely
useful slaves to them, ultimately fated to become extinct."

Mulder felt light-headed and nauseous. "You're telling me that the
entire phenomenon of human evolution has been engineered?"

"Exactly."

"I can't believe this."

"You can't or you don't want to?"

He shook his head. "What about the oil?"

"Ah, yes, I forgot. The colonists found that they could make use of
the traces of their ancestors' genetic material left in the oil
deposits, and induce the oil to remain dormant while the process took
place; hence places like this one."

"How do you know all this?"

Marita gave him a joyless smile. "For some reason, probably related to
the development of the "God Nodule", some of us who were infected
retain a kind of... link with them," her gaze settled on a point
beyond his shoulder, "and it seems that your partner is one of the
lucky few."

Mulder swivelled on his heels.

Caught up as he was in the woman's tale, he hadn't noticed that his
partner had been standing behind them the whole time, staring at the
black abomination with an empty gaze.

He ran to her side and shook her none too gently by the shoulders.
"Scully!"

"She can't hear you Mulder; they speak to her louder than you do,
right inside her pretty head."

That wasn't Marita's voice.

Alex Krycek was leaning casually against the threshold.

Mulder released Scully's shoulders. Balling his fists, he took a few
steps towards the man. "What are you doing here, Krycek?"

"I didn't want to miss the show."

Straightening up, Krycek walked past Mulder, keeping a respectable
distance between them, and stopped at the edge of the slabs.

"So how does it feel, Mulder, after all those years, to finally learn
the pure unadulterated truth?"

"The truth? How do I know this isn't just another insane theory?"

Krycek smirked. "You must admit this one fits the facts pretty well."

"There's no proof!"

"No proof?" Krycek pointed at the oil in front of him. "Don't be
stupid, Mulder, *this* is the proof, *we* are the proof."

He took a few steps towards Scully.

"You sound like your little partner - she trained you well..." he
reached out and grabbed her chin, "too bad she's too far gone to
appreciate it."

He leaned forward and kissed her lips.

"Let go of her!" Mulder marched up to him with a lethal glare. He
grabbed the younger man by the collar and punched him right in the
jaw. The strength of the blow sent Krycek slamming against the wall.
Mulder grabbed him again and forced him to stand up. He held his face
close to his, eyes blazing with fury.

"If you touch her again, I swear I'm gonna kill you!"

"Don't be so territorial, Mulder; we can share..."

Quick as a flash, Krycek pulled Mulder's head to his and kissed
him in the same fashion he had just kissed his partner.

"Here, have it back."  He grinned.

A low growl rumbled in Mulder's chest. He raised his fist. "You son of
a- "

"NO!"

His head snapped to one side. Marita was staring coldly at him.
"Stop this right now."

He lowered his hand; something in the tone she'd used told him it
would be very unwise to disobey.

"If you want to play the knight in shining armour, Agent Mulder, I
suggest that you get your partner out of here as quickly as possible."

Mulder let go of Krycek, who took the opportunity to rub his jaw,
wincing.

"What's wrong with her?" Mulder asked.

"It's a kind of catatonic state induced by a ultra-low frequency sound
emitted by the oil. It's not aimed at us, it's their own personal
network, and the human brain shouldn't normally be able to pick it up.
But sometimes it happens, like a bad radio getting a too strong
signal, and then the whole system shuts down."

Mulder was back in front of his partner. Her eyes were like two
reflecting pools of blue void.

"The longer she stays here, the harder it will be for her to come
back."

"You wanted to know why I was here, Mulder," Krycek began. "I'm here
to make sure Marita comes back, when it happens to her."

"How?"

Krycek grinned fit to beat the Cheshire Cat. "Make her mind remember
that there is a body attached to it."

Mulder eyes narrowed. "You're sick, Krycek."

Alex backed away to a safe distance and then added, "Why are you
complaining? Scully won't charge you with harassment. She won't even
be able to say no!"

"Alex, that's enough!" ordered Marita sternly.

Mulder's fists were clenching and unclenching, his stomach twitching
in anger.

"Agent Mulder, Alex may have put it bluntly, but he's right. She might
wake up by herself, but it'll take time, and I won't conceal that this
*connection* affects the human psyche quite dramatically. I know it
sounds crude, but if you manage to awaken her body, her mind will
follow."

"You're both insane."

"You're wasting precious time insulting us. She's the one who'll be
losing her mind if you don't leave immediately." Marita pointed out
harshly.

He stared into his partner's absent gaze again, and wrapped his
fingers around her wrist.

"Come on Scully, let's go."

She didn't move.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he lifted her in a fireman's carry.

"This way." Marita was standing in front of another exit he hadn't
previously noticed. She punched a code on the keypad, and the door
opened onto a bright white corridor.

The former UN representative led the way towards a platform elevator.

"This will take you to the surface, inside one of the hives."

She felt him tense.

"Don't worry. I'll disconnect the sensors."

Mulder shifted Scully's weight in his arms and stepped onto the
platform. He turned to face the woman and Krycek, who had been
following them a few steps behind.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"I'm your informant, aren't I, Agent Mulder?"

There was something else, he was sure of it. Marita Covarrubias, even
when she was fully human, always had other agendas, and so did Krycek.
Offering him the Truth on a silver tray just wasn't their style. There
had to be a price to pay.

<Yeah, and it's in your arms right now, buddy.>
Scully was as limp as a rag doll in his arms and her eyes had closed.
Cold tendrils of fear writhed in his stomach.

Marita pushed a button and the platform started to rise. He heard
Krycek's shout above the noise of the machine:

"Take care of the bride, Mulder, it's a lovely weather for a
honeymoon!"

To be continued...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

HUMAN CREDENTIALS (11/24)
By Scarlet Baldy.
Disclaimers: See part one.
RATING: NC-17 for sex and sand.

------------
Part Eleven
------------

The floor was humming gently under his feet and he hurried to get out
of the hive. He came out with a sigh of relief - but it was
short-lived.

"Good evening, Mr Mulder."

He found himself surrounded by four men, three of whom were clad in
dark commando gear and pointing machine guns at him. The one who had
spoken was an old man with a strong foreign accent - German maybe -
and he didn't look any less dangerous.

"Have we met before?" He tried to keep his tone casual. Don't show
your fear and the lion won't bite.

"I never had the pleasure, but I'm an old friend of your father's."

"My father had many friends," Mulder replied coldly.

The small man focussed on the unconscious woman in his arms. "What's
the matter with Dr Scully?"

He didn't reply.

The man narrowed his eyes and fixed Mulder with a hard stare. "I'm
afraid I have to ask you to follow me. You are trespassing on my
property."

"And *I'm* afraid he'll have to decline the invitation," boomed a
voice behind them.

Robert McKay appeared out of the darkness, holding a small black box
in one hand. Two of the guards turned their guns on him.

"Nuh-uh!" smiled Bob, shaking his head and waving the box at them.
"Nice plantation you have here, Strughold."

The old man's eyes widened in surprise. "McKay! What the hell are you
doing here?"

"I'm just helping a friend. Now, let them go."

"And why would I do such a thing?"

Bob lifted the box again. "You know my hobby, Strughold; if you don't
leave us alone, you can say goodbye to your hives."

"You'll kill us all if you destroy the domes," replied the old man
angrily.

"You'll kill us anyway if I don't."

Strughold hesitated for a moment, looking successively at the pilot
and Mulder. Finally he signalled his guards to follow him.

"We'll meet again, Mr Mulder."

The men disappeared into the cornfield.

Mulder stared at Bob, a thousand questions on his lips.

"Hurry, we haven't got much time," the pilot urged him on. Mulder
followed him as best as he could among the dusty corn stalks.

Along the way, they were joined by Fowley who had witnessed the scene
from her hideout inside the field.

"What happened?"

"I'll explain later. What was Bob doing here?" asked Mulder, as they
were half walking, half running among the tall green foliage.

"He came to see what was going on. He's a bit like you, Mulder, he
can't stay still, and you were gone for at least three hours."

Bob, who was a few feet ahead of them, looked above his shoulder and
saw that they had slowed down.

"Come on! You people can chat later."

Mulder hated being bossed around, but he had to admit the man had a
point. Strughold could still change his mind, no matter what the
increasingly enigmatic pilot had done to the domes to convince him
that letting them go was the best option.

Still clutching his unconscious partner, he started to run again.

***

A dim morning light timidly heralded the rise of the sun as they
finally arrived, out of breath, at the campsite, or rather what was
left of it, since Ali had wisely packed everything. Mulder gently laid
Scully on a blanket, and turned towards Bob.

"How the hell did you have time to plant a bomb in the domes?"

The pilot smiled. "I didn't."

Mulder frowned, nonplussed.

Bob retrieved the small black box from his trousers' pocket.

"This remote control only works on my car locks."

The young agent gaped at him. "You bluffed?"

"It's like poker, Agent Mulder. The higher the stakes, the bigger the
lie."

Mulder opened his mouth to speak but he was too floored to do so. Bob
laughed. "What's the matter, son? A bee ate your tongue?"

Mulder ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten his thoughts.
"How do you know him?"

"Strughold? He's a mean bastard, albeit a powerful one. Owns a lot of
land around here, although I didn't know he was into corn. But his
real business is in arms dealing, of the worst kind, biological and
chemical weapons. All those kids dying of leukaemia because their
daddies fought in the Gulf owe it to Strughold's little toys."

"It makes sense," Fowley interjected. She was kneeling by Scully's
side, checking her pulse. It was low.

"Yeah, it does. His background is pretty vague, but I would bet my
plane that he was one of Uncle Adolph's minions in his young days."

He turned to look at Scully. "What happened to the little lady?"

Mulder knelt beside his partner and pushed a few damp strands of hair
from her face.

"When we were down there, something happened and she just...switched
off..."

"You're not making much sense, son."

Mulder's head drooped. "It's not making much sense to me either."

Bob understood that it would be futile to push the young man. He
straightened up and looked at Fowley. "So Di, what do you say we blow
this pop stand?"

"What about Ali?"

"I'm sure Ali can make his own way back."

Bob turned towards the young Tuareg who was standing silently behind
them and spoke to him in his own language. Ali said something in reply
and the pilot looked at the horizon.

"What is it?" asked Fowley.

"Ali says there's a sand storm coming. We can't take the plane."

Above the horizon a line of grey fluttered and writhed like a huge
blurred snake.

***

It was definitely worse than the kindergarten sandbox.

The small group had been slowly making its way through the storm,
until the camels had refused to go further and they all had to stop.

Mulder was huddled against Walter's large flank, trying to protect his
partner from the stinging sand as best he could. Scully still hadn't
woken up, and it worried him. No, worried wasn't the right word. He
was scared shitless. Scared that she would never wake up, or even
worse, scared that she would wake up with that same beyond-human look
he'd seen in Marita's eyes. He held her tighter and waited.

Hours later, the storm calmed down. Ali and Bob exchanged a few words
and the pilot told them that there was an oasis a few miles ahead
where they could rest.

When they finally reached the place, in the evening, Mulder had never
been so happy to see a palm tree in his life. He swore that if he made
it back to America he would never go to a beach ever again. His sand
quota had been fulfilled for at least a hundred years.

They pitched the big grey tents near the water. The place looked like
a postcard from paradise, but in the present situation he would have
traded it gladly for the most ugly city in America, as long as it had
a hospital - and God knew he hated the place.

The two agents installed Scully in one of the tent, while Ali and
Bob finished unpacking and went to look for dry brambles to build a
fire. The pilot had been debating whether he should go back in the
morning to retrieve his plane, but in the end had decided against it.
Strughold had surely discovered his deception by now, and as much as
he was attached to the old crate he wasn't willing to trade his life
for it.

Inside the tent, Mulder tried to make Scully drink some water.
Dehydration was his main concern at the moment. Most of the water
dribbled onto her chin, and he had to stop for fear that it would go
into her lungs instead. Drowning her wouldn't help.

"Aren't you gonna tell me what happened down there?" asked Fowley
softly, sitting down and crossing her legs.

Mulder lifted his head wearily. He didn't want to talk right now, but
felt he owed it to her.

She listened quietly as Mulder unravelled his tale, stopping him only
to ask for some small clarifications. When he stopped she didn't speak
for a long time, obviously processing the astonishing data.

Finally she rubbed her forehead and said, "You were right, this is a
rotten script."

He shrugged and his gaze settled on his inert partner lying on the
camp bed. She didn't like
the way he looked at her. It was too - intimate.

"Awaken her body, huh? Well, you might as well finish what you
started." She bit her lip. It wasn't fair to remind him of that now.

Mulder glared at her. "There has to be other ways."

She stood up, wiping the sand on her hands onto her trousers and bent
down to kiss his cheek. Apologizing with her eyes. "Let's hope so."

She lifted the tent's opening and half turned towards him. "Fox?"

"What?"

"Slap her?" she smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?" he smiled back thinly.

<You have *no* idea,> the brown-haired agent silently answered as she
left the tent.

Mulder reached for Scully's limp hand and stroke it pensively. No
matter what Mr and Mrs Superfreak had told him, fucking his partner
back to life was out of the question.

<Awaken her body...>

His gaze drifted towards her face. With her matted hair, smeared
cheeks, cracked lips and dirt encrusted brow, she looked like the
tomboyish twin of the always-pristine Dr Scully.

He traced her cheek with one finger, feeling grains of sand roll under
its pad.

He liked her better this way - somehow she looked more real, more
accessible, instead of some damn FBI dress-code poster girl.

Absentmindedly he wiped his finger on his shirt. "You are in dire need
of a bath, Agent Scully."

It suddenly dawned on him that the water might induce her body to wake
up. He wasn't overly optimistic but it was worth a try.

He released her hand and started unbuttoning her shirt.

***

Ignoring the others' questioning stares, he carried her, wrapped into
a blanket, to a respectable distance from the campsite to allow them
privacy.

A pregnant moon bathed the place in a soft silvery glow. After
divesting himself of his own clothes, he entered the pool - his
equally naked partner in his arms - until the waters reached his
waist.

The desert night was cold, but the shallow waters were still warm. He
clumsily worked the small bar of soap he had brought along into lather
and endeavoured to clean his partner while cradling her against his
chest.

He wished the water were colder; his soap-slick hand was running over
a very interesting landscape, and his body obviously didn't care
whether she was conscious or not.

<Steel yourself, my boy!>

<I'm doing *just* that...>

Drawing a deep breath, he resumed his task.

When his partner's skin had become as slippery as an eel's, he lowered
her into the waters to rinse her off and washed her hair as well. When
he was done he gathered her once more against him and sighed,
defeated.

It had been a painfully sweet task if not a successful one. He had
failed to witness any sign of awareness on her part.

He stepped out of the pool, wrapped her again in the blanket, and
after slipping back into his trousers and grabbing his remaining
clothes, carried her back to the campsite.

As he was approaching, he saw Bob and Diana chatting by the fire. They
heard his footsteps and lifted their heads to stare at him.

"How is she?" asked Bob.

Mulder shrugged. "Still the same."

Diana stood up and followed him as he resumed his walk back to the
tent.

"What are you going to do?"

He st