By mimic117
mimic117@yahoo.com
 

Rating: R - NC-17, depending. Hey, it's me! Whaddya expect?

Category: X, MSR

Spoilers: This takes place in season 6, sometime after
Triangle. Unless you're one of the three people who still hasn't
watched that season, you're safe.

Summary: "Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we
know not what, we know not where." John Dryden

Archive: I'll do Gossamer and Ephemeral myself, thanks.
Anyone else who wants it is free to filch at will. Just drop me a
note so I can brag.

Disclaimer: Sheee yeah, right! Not *even* in my dreams.

Author's Notes: I was going to finish some of my half-written
fics. Honest. But deciding something like that just makes my
muse say "Wanna bet?" So I'm writing this instead. I have to
keep my muse happy cause he's insane.

Beta Thanks: To Cindy and XochiLuvr for tackling the Beta
Project From Hell -- again... and again... and again. You never
let me be less than my best, and I appreciate that, even if I do
grumble and curse you behind your backs. At least I know I'll
get my turn, too. ~heeheehee~ If this story is any good, it's
entirely due to them. And if there's anything wrong, it's entirely
due to me not listening to them.

Feedback: Is printed out, fawned over, and stroked to tatters at
mimic117@yahoo.com.

Special cyber kisses to XochiLuvr for building and decorating
my fic home at http://www.mimicsmusings.com
Y'all come and visit. Your depravity levels may vary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unquiet Grave
by mimic117
 

April 1
Ashtabula County, Ohio
Monday
3:45 PM

"Mulder, how could it take you two hours to realize we're lost?"

"I didn't know we were lost. I only thought it was taking longer
than I figured to reach the turn-off. It's hard to judge distances
when you're driving in snow this deep."

"You shouldn't have let me sleep. If I'd been navigating, maybe
we wouldn't be lost."

"I figured you needed the rest, Scully. You wouldn't have fallen
asleep if you weren't tired."

"I fell asleep because I was hypnotized by the snow swirling
outside the window. It's coming down even harder than it was
two hours ago. Why didn't you wake me when you realized we
were lost?"

"I did! I woke you just now. That's when I knew. Do you want
to keep arguing with me, or do you want to help me figure out
where we are?"

"Don't take your eyes off the road again. I'll keep watch for
signs. You concentrate on --"

Scully was too late with her warning. Even as the words left
her mouth, the wheels on her side of the car slid off the
shoulder of the road. The crash wasn't sudden or jolting, but
more of a pillowy slide into a ditch filled with snow. Mulder
fought the wheel valiantly, using every ounce of skill at his
disposal to prevent the inevitable -- including some very
impressive cursing. It was all in vain. As the rental car tilted
over the shoulder of the road like a carnival ride gone bad,
silence descended on the occupants. The only sound to be
heard was the muffled spinning of useless tires that weren't
going anywhere.

Switching off the ignition, Mulder thumped his head in
frustration on the steering wheel. Even if he could have come
up with something witty to say, he would have kept his mouth
shut in disgust. Soft, fat flakes continued to tumble down at an
alarming rate, rapidly blanketing the windshield until the visible
world was reduced to the car's interior. Neither of them stirred
until she heaved a deep sigh and spoke.

"Let's get out of here before we can't dig to the surface."

Trying not to draw undue attention to his role in their mishap,
he replied in a hushed voice, "Shouldn't we stay here until help
comes along? It's pretty cold out there, Scully."

Her piercing stare informed Mulder that he was about to be
grilled, and he'd better have the right answers to her questions
if he didn't want to be abandoned by the side of the road in
another ditch full of snow.

"Mulder, how many cars have you seen in the last two hours?"

Now it was his turn to sigh. "None."

"And how many houses have you seen in the same amount of
time?"

"Umm, not many."

"Any signs for roads, towns, motels, rest areas?"

"It was snowing so hard I had to keep my eyes on the road...
No, Scully. Nothing."

She jerked a nod at his responses.

"Well I noticed what appeared to be a house number nailed to
a tree and what looked like a driveway cut into the woods just
after I woke up. Maybe we can find help there."

He wanted to point out that wandering around in a blizzard
probably wasn't a terribly sane thing to do, but he thought
better of it after one look at Scully's set features. She seemed
determined to cast her fortunes to the elements, and whither
she goest, he must follow.

She fished around in her coat pocket, then pulled out her cell
phone. Punching in three digits, she placed the phone to her
ear, then frowned.

"I'll try again when we get out of this ditch. Maybe it's blocking
the signal."

Putting the phone back in her pocket, she turned as far as she
could toward Mulder. They sat there for a minute or so, until
Scully raised both eyebrows. That's when he realized that she
was waiting for something. He raised his brows in return.

"Aren't you going to get the luggage?" she asked.

"Why do you want the luggage?"

"It's cold out there, Mulder. Do you have any idea how many
people die of hypothermia every year because they weren't
wearing adequate clothing?"

"Let's put on more layers now."

"And then those clothes will get sweaty from the exertion of
walking in snow. We'll end up chilled, and we won't have
anything dry to change into."

"If that driveway leads to a chicken coop or hunting cabin, we
could be walking a long time. You really want to struggle
through a blizzard carrying a heavy piece of luggage? I don't
think the pop-out wheels are going to work too well in snow."

"All the more reason to have extra clothes on hand for warmth."

Mulder could see from the expression on her face that he
wasn't going to win this battle. Maybe he could at least come
up with an acceptable compromise.

"What have you got in your carry-on bag?" he asked.

She tilted her head to one side and looked at him with a
speculative gleam in her eyes.

"A couple changes of semi-casual clothes. A few toiletries.
Some medical supplies. That's not a bad idea, Mulder."

"You keep medical supplies in your carry-on?"

"I like to be prepared. What do you have in your bag?"

"Oh, the usual." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Underwear,
extra running clothes, jeans, T-shirts, a few issues of Celebrity
Skin."

Scully's eyebrows rose again.

"Hey," he said, "I believe in the Boy Scout motto, too."

"You were never a Boy Scout."

"Well I knew a lot of Girl Scouts. Does that count?"

She ignored his question and said, "Carry-on bags it is. Now
let's get out of here before we become part of the landscape."

He pulled on the door handle and pushed the door as hard as
he could. The slant of the car and gravity were not in his favor,
but he wasn't about to give up and suffer the further wrath of
his partner.

A huge gout of snow slid off the door and into his face; he
accepted it as penance for sins of commission.

Mulder considered congratulating himself on the foresight of
renting a four-wheel-drive SUV, but he decided that back-
slapping was probably premature. The rugged vehicle had
kept them traveling for longer than a two-wheel-drive car would
have, but in the end, it hadn't made any difference. He crawled
between the seats into the back and handed their bags up to
where she could grab them. She tossed them out his open
door onto the snowy incline, then scrambled out after them.
Mulder followed, boosting her up to the road with one hand
while he dragged the carry-ons along with the other. He and
Scully only slid back down the incline twice, which struck him
as pretty good considering his sneakers were even less useful
than her dress boots for traction in the slippery snow.

Once they reached the road, he took in his surroundings and
had to admit that she was right. Getting out of the car was the
best thing to do because at the current rate of accumulation
their vehicle was going to be nothing more than a large snow-
covered lump within a couple of hours. The skies didn't appear
to be clearing at all, and the snow was already over his knees.
Mulder could see where the chassis had been scraping ruts
into the snow between the wheels -- ruts that were filling in as
he watched. He slung his snow-covered bag over one
shoulder, then turned and reached for Scully's carry-on as well.
She sent him a glare that proclaimed, "Touch it and die." He
waved his hand in a be-my-guest gesture. Instead of picking
up the bag, she removed the cell phone from her coat pocket
and clamped it to her ear again. The expression of annoyance
on her face was not reassuring.

"Either we're out of range," she said, "or the storm is blocking
the signal. I guess we'll have to walk if we want to find help."

He tried out an ingratiating smile. "Bring in on, Scully. I left my
union suit back in DC, so I'm starting to feel a little chilly."

Shooting him one last aggravated look, she buttoned her coat
all the way to the top and picked up her carry-on. Clutching it
to her chest in an awkward embrace to avoid dragging it
through the snow, she floundered toward the road and their
car's vanishing tracks. The snow was packed down inside the
impressions, making it a little easier to walk. Mulder followed
her, each of them choosing one tire track so they could walk
side by side.

They'd been toiling along in silence for several minutes, fat
flakes pelting into their cold faces, when Scully pointed off to
their left at an opening in the trees.

"Doesn't that look like a driveway to you?" she asked, tiny
clouds puffing from her lips. "There's even a house number
over on that tree."

He nodded. The trail through the dense forest was too straight
and even to be naturally occurring. "Good eye, Scully. Let's
hope the driveway isn't so long that they have to drive down to
get the mail every day."

It very nearly was.

Even with Mulder in the lead breaking trail, it still took them the
better part of half an hour, slogging through deep snow, to
reach the house. By then, they were both cold and winded.
The small, silent building in the cleared patch of trees was a
welcome sight. They stopped at the bottom of the front porch
steps to catch their breath.

"Lucy, I'm hooome." His joke might have gone over a little
better if his voice hadn't sounded so wheezy.

"What if there isn't anyone here, Mulder?" Scully had already
recovered enough to scowl at him. "We can't break into
someone's house."

"I don't think we'll have to," he replied. "I'll bet someone's
home, judging by the lack of tracks and that car-sized mound to
the right of the porch."

"Well let's hope the storm hasn't taken out the phone lines."

Mulder glanced overhead, looking for the wires. Shit, there
were no phone lines. He blinked several times in surprise, then
scanned the surrounding trees, trying to find the perfect
symmetry of a telephone pole. That was absent, too. He spun
in a circle and looked back down the driveway for *any* sign of
telephone, cable or electric lines leading to the house. Nothing.

Out of all the possible houses in all the possible towns in the
whole state of Ohio...

Pointing upward, he silently drew Scully's attention to his
discovery. But instead of having a tantrum and damning him to
hell for getting them into this mess, she only grunted and said,
"That figures." Then she indicated that he should continue to
the door. Dragging her bag along as she trudged up the steps
behind him, she had apparently abandoned the idea of keeping
the luggage dry in favor of giving her arms a break. Mulder
knocked on the door and watched it swing open.

"Oh good," Scully said sarcastically, "and here I was afraid I
was going to freeze to death with my legs crossed on some
stranger's porch. This is much more promising."

He walked through the door with her following a discreet
distance behind. Without any discussion, they set down their
bags and fished beneath their coats for their guns.

The house was silent and dim. Their breath continued to come
out in misty clouds even after she closed the door behind them.
There was no heat evident, either from the fireplace against the
wall to their left, or from the wood-burning stove in the kitchen
to their right. They would have assumed the house was
abandoned if not for the dust-free furniture and accouterments
of everyday life scattered about.

Mulder walked to a door at the back of the kitchen and looked
out its window. No tracks led away from the house in that
direction, either.

"Anybody home?" he called. When there was no answer, he
turned back to Scully and shrugged. "Guess we should take a
look around."

She snorted. "If we run into an irate homeowner sitting on the
toilet, you get to do the explaining."

They lowered their weapons but stayed alert. Finding no light
switches, they both pulled out flashlights to cut the gloom.

The long, ranch-style house had living areas on one end and
bedrooms on the other. The main living space seemed to be
three rooms all connected into one larger unit, without
intervening walls. The front door opened straight into an area
between the living and dining rooms. A sofa and loveseat were
placed at right angles on either side of the cold fireplace to the
left, with a couple of end tables and oil lamps to complete the
grouping. The U-shaped kitchen was at the other end of the
large room, a wood-burning stovepipe running through the wall
to the outside and logs piled inside a woodbox next to the
stove. There was an old-fashioned hand pump on the sink
drain board, and lots of floor-to-ceiling cupboards. Coats,
boots, umbrellas, coils of rope, baskets, hats, gloves and
tangled scarves designated the kitchen door as the back yard
entrance. Upon closer inspection of the kitchen, they
discovered that the bulky refrigerator in the corner ran on a
kerosene generator. It was now quiet, most likely due to a lack
of fuel. In between the living room and kitchen stood a round
table and two ladderback chairs in front of a china hutch which
was pushed up against the wall next to the front door. Several
Victorian-era gas lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling and
perched on the walls. In all, an attractive, cozy space.

Moving to the left past the front door, they followed the back of
the sofa toward the only hallway. Doors were lined up down
the right-hand side of the hall, while the left was covered with
family photos around two windows through which Mulder could
see the storm raging outside. When Scully opened the first
door next to the fireplace, she revealed a winding wooden
staircase leading to a cellar. She called down the dark stairwell
without receiving a reply so they agreed to leave that area for
later exploration.

The next door opened onto a small bathroom, complete with a
miniature twin of the living room fireplace. Smiling, Scully ran
her hands over the enameled clawfoot tub. The ewer and
basin on the pedestal table were a throwback to a much earlier
age. She picked up the pitcher, then stopped, a frown creasing
her forehead.

"If this is the bathroom, where's the toilet?"

Mulder was going to point out that there obviously wasn't one,
but wisely thought better of it, considering the way things had
been going. He decided not to bring up the lack of faucets on
the tub, either. Glancing around for any answer that wouldn't
piss her off further, he happened to look out the window in the
end wall. The backyard had been cleared of trees in favor of
small outbuildings and sheds. One of those buildings had a
disturbingly familiar silhouette.

"Umm, I think it's out there, Scully."

Putting the pitcher down, she went to the window and pressed
her face to the glass.

"An outhouse?" she whined. The window began to fog over as
the snow increased its blizzard dance, turning the view white.
"We'll get lost going out there! How are we supposed to use an
outhouse in this weather?"

"Look on the bright side. At least it'll smell better now than it
will in the summer heat."

The dirty look she shot him could have melted a crop-circle of
snow.

Mulder suddenly snapped his fingers and left the bathroom,
remembering that he'd seen a rope earlier. Walking back
through the living room, he headed straight to the kitchen door.
Yes, there it was, hanging with the coats and boots. Turning to
his partner, who had followed him and now had a puzzled
expression on her face, he presented the rope for her approval.

"I'll tie this to your waist so I can haul you back in if you veer off
course," he said. "How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you want to find out if I know how to tie a noose,"
she replied. "I'm not letting you keep me on a leash while I'm
doing my business. Next plan."

"I suppose fulfilling one of my bondage fantasies is out of the
question, huh?"

A peeved frown was her only answer.

He thought for a moment, lips pursed, finger tapping his chin.
Then his face brightened and he smiled.

"I'll attach the rope to the house and run it out to the facilities.
That way we can use it as a guideline. It'll also give us
something to hang onto if the wind is blowing."

"What if the rope isn't long enough?"

"One crisis at a time, if you please. Let's see if there's any
place to tie it to the house first."

Mulder opened the back door and walked out onto the tiny
stoop. There was less snow here than in the front, but it was
still deep enough to cover his sneakers and creep up the legs
of his jeans. Catching sight of a familiar outline around the
porch post to his left, he grinned. Grabbing Scully by the coat
sleeve, he pulled her up next to him and pointed.

"Great minds think alike. Your safe passage awaits."

In the swirling flakes, they could barely make out a dingy line of
rope running from the post through the snowstorm in the
general direction of the outhouse. He gave it a tug and nodded
in satisfaction.

"Nice and sturdy, and not too high off the ground. Now we can
answer Nature's call without straying into the woods."

Scully retreated back into the house and started rummaging
through the boots beside the door. Pulling out the smallest pair
she could find, she toed off her own dress boots and jammed
her feet into the much larger rubber ones. Plucking a scarf
from the coat pegs on the wall, she wrapped it around her
head. She walked out the door, shoved Mulder to one side,
grabbed onto the rope, and headed out into the storm without a
word. He wondered whether holding in laughter would be
harmful to his body. He decided that letting it out might cause
even more damage. Returning to the kitchen, he replaced the
coil of rope where he'd found it and waited for his partner.

It seemed to take her an inordinately long time to return.
Watching out the window in the kitchen door, he was
considering sending out a rescue party of one when he saw her
materialize out of the snow and stomp up the steps. He
opened the door and let her in with a blast of colder air.
Shutting the door again, he helped her out of the snowy scarf,
brushing her coat off as best he could. She took off the boots,
dumping ridges of snow off the tops.

"Does the little agent's room pass muster, Scully?" He couldn't
hide the amusement in his voice, but he did make a valiant
effort not to smirk.

She ignored him. "Watch out for updrafts, Mulder. Hope you
brought your own Kleenex."

Leaving him with his mouth hanging open and a smile forming
on his face, she put her dress boots back on, hung the scarf on
its peg, and headed for the hallway again.

He followed her and found her already checking out the third
door in the hall. It opened into a bedroom, possibly for guests,
since the furniture consisted of one double bed and a small
dresser with attached mirror. He noticed that some of the
dresser drawers were pulled out. Leaving her to inspect the
room on her own, he continued down the hall to the final door.
He stopped in front of it and turned the knob.

"I'd like to see what's behind door number four, Monty."

He pushed it open and peeked into the room. But instead of
entering, he backed up two steps and pulled the door shut.

"Monty, I've changed my mind."

"Are you talking to me, Mulder?" Scully appeared in the
bedroom doorway, a question in her eyes. The look he gave
her brought her to his side in three strides. "What is it?"

Mulder glanced at his hand, still wrapped around the doorknob.

"I think I've found your homeowner," he said, pushing the door
open again. They stood side by side, staring at the man's body
stretched out on the bed. It would have looked like he was
sleeping if it hadn't been for the hole in his temple and the
blood splattered on the headboard of the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:58 PM

After discovering the murdered homeowner, Mulder and Scully
went into investigation mode. She gathered plastic bags and
latex gloves from her carry-on so that she could examine the
body while he inspected the bedroom. Just as he was getting
started, she brought in a lighted oil lamp from the living room,
placed it on the dresser, then left the room again, muttering
something about primitive working conditions. The resulting
illumination was overly bright and wavering, but it was better
than hunting for clues with a flashlight.

It was obvious to him that someone had gone through the
dresser and closet, leaving drawers open and clothing on the
floor. A pump-action shotgun stood in a corner of the closet,
clean and unloaded. Shoe boxes on the upper shelf had been
searched without any regard for neatness. A man's watch and
wallet sat on the dresser, and a few pieces of inexpensive-
looking women's jewelry lay undisturbed in a velvet jewel box
next to them. There wasn't anything of interest under the bed -
- not even dust bunnies.

Expanding his scrutiny outside the bedroom, Mulder noticed
muddy footprints in the hall coming straight from the front door.
He mentally kicked himself for not seeing them earlier, but the
damage was done. The other bedroom yielded results similar
to the murder scene, minus the dead body. The bathroom was
clean -- literally. There wasn't much to explore in there, other
than the medicine cabinet on the wall, which revealed nothing
out of the ordinary. Drawers in the kitchen cupboards had
been rifled, but he couldn't tell if anything had been taken. The
living room end tables yielded nothing but stacks of board
games. The china cabinet appeared ransacked, although a
checkbook imprinted with the address of a local bank was in
the drawer. Besides table linens and what was probably the
"good" dinnerware, there were a small pile of books, some
flower vases and assorted serving platters and bowls in the rest
of the cabinet.

Even the basement had been turned over. The rows of boxes
and jars looked as though they'd been shifted, and large items
had been pulled away from the wall. He wondered what the
intruders were hunting for.

The basement turned out to be an honest-to-God root cellar.
By the glow of his flashlight, he found shelves full of cheeses,
butter, carrots, potatoes, and apples in a small room to one
side. The larger room contained smoked bacon and ham, dried
fish, preserves, canned tomatoes, pickles. Looking at all that
food, Mulder realized he was hungry. They'd missed lunch
while driving through the blizzard, then the discovery of a crime
scene had further delayed any thoughts of food. His stomach
was now loudly reminding him of his neglect. He couldn't help
releasing a whoop at the sight of so much bounty.

Having exhausted any possible clues in the basement, he
climbed back up the stairs, nearly folded in half to avoid
braining himself on the ceiling. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite
in the clear when he straightened up. The hollow thunk of his
skull meeting wood echoed loudly inside his head. He stopped
walking for a second and gingerly probed the newborn knot on
his crown. There was no way he would be telling Scully about
this. Just one more for the collection, and it wasn't even
bleeding. He was sure the throbbing would stop soon.

His half of the investigation completed to his satisfaction, he
walked back down the hallway and poked his head into the end
bedroom. Scully was bent over the body, taking notes on a
small pad of paper. Her shadow on the wall looked like a giant
towering over the murder victim.

"I'm gonna get a fire going before we both end up with
frostbite," he said. "Then I'll make us something to eat. You
hungry?"

"I will be when I get done here," she answered, "but I don't
think you should start a fire. The heat will accelerate the
decomposition rate of the body."

"Not as fast as the cold is turning me into a brass monkey,
chilly appendages included." She shot him an incredulous
look, to which he replied, "At least let me heat up the kitchen
stove so we can eat something hot. It's at the opposite end of
the house, so the body isn't likely to be affected by the rise in
temperature... for a while."

Scully cocked her head to one side, apparently considering the
idea.

"Okay," she replied, "as long as you don't start the fireplace
until I'm done with my exam. I'll shut the door when I'm
finished. Maybe that will be enough to keep it cool in here."

He left her to her work and retreated to the kitchen. Gathering
wood from the firebox next to the stove, he started a fire,
accomplishing his first goal of getting warm and dry.

While Scully continued to examine the body, he changed out of
his wet sneakers into a pair of borrowed boots, then checked
into provisions for supper.

The contents of the refrigerator were a total loss. With the
generator off, everything was spoiled. He slammed the door
and decided to let someone else deal with it.

The kitchen cupboards were well stocked with canned soups,
pastas, and broths, boxes of rice and macaroni-and-cheese
mixes, hot and cold cereals and bags of noodles. In spite of
the family pictures in the hall showing the murdered man with a
woman beside him, there was no evidence of a wife's touch in
the house. Mulder figured she must have died years ago,
judging by the layer of "bachelor" overlaying the feminine
influence.

His next concern was water. The pump in the kitchen and
missing taps on the tub indicated an absence of modern
plumbing. It seemed likely that the pump's pipes would be
frozen due to the lack of heat, but he decided to try it anyway.
He was pleasantly surprised when a few vigorous yanks on the
pump handle resulted in a gurgling gush of clear, icy water.

Finding a box of wooden matches in a tin holder on the kitchen
wall, Mulder lit the chandeliers, brightening the scene in a
satisfactory manner. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out two
cans of chicken broth and set them on the counter. Checking
the drawers, he located a hand-crank can opener. He found a
tall saucepan under the sink and placed it on top of the now-hot
stove, then opened the cans and dumped the contents into the
pot. He tossed the empty cans into the trash container in the
corner then set off for the basement to gather additional
supplies. His borrowed boots rang hollowly on the wooden
staircase as he descended. Sorting through the shelves, he
picked out carrots, potatoes, and ham to add to the broth. A
nice homemade soup was exactly what they needed after their
long cold day.

Climbing the basement stairs, Mulder was extra careful to avoid
knocking his head again. That meant walking crouched over all
the way up the steps. Reaching the top, he unbent his back
with a groan. Why did old houses always have low ceilings in
the basement? Were all the people midgets a hundred years
ago, or did they get tired of digging the cellar? From now on,
Scully was in charge of trips downstairs. Stepping out into the
hallway with his armload of food, he pushed the basement door
closed with his hip. He caught sight of his partner at the same
time, closing the bedroom door at the end of the hall. When
she glanced up at him, Mulder motioned with his head for her
to follow him back to the kitchen.

Putting the food and flashlight on the counter nearest the stove,
he pulled a cutting board out of a drawer, then asked, "Were
you able to determine anything?"

Scully nodded. "There are mice in the house, so make sure
you check for holes in any bags or boxes of food before you
use them." Stripping off her latex gloves, she tossed them into
the trashcan. "The victim was probably in his late seventies,
and has been dead two to three weeks, judging by the amount
of decomposition and rodent predation. I can't be sure that's
an accurate estimate on time of death, though. It would take a
number of hours for any residual heat to dissipate from the
house, depending on the outside temperature, then a day or so
for the interior to become as cold as it was when we arrived;
less with the door standing open. Once the house cooled,
decomposition would have slowed, though not completely
stopped. If we knew how long it's been this cold, I could give
you a better guess. Cause of death appears to be a single
gunshot to the head, probably from a small caliber weapon."

While she talked, Mulder chopped the vegetables and ham. He
scooped up large handfuls and added them to the broth that
was steaming on the stove. A fresh, smoky scent bubbled out
of the pot, surrounding them with fingers of fragrant steam.

"So was it murder or suicide, Scully?"

"I don't think he could have shot himself in the head and then
gotten rid of the gun. Neither of us saw it laying on the bed or
the floor, which is where it should have ended up if this were a
suicide. The bullet went through his head, through the
headboard of the bed and into the wall of the house. I didn't
want to disturb the body any more than I already have, so I
didn't dig out the bullet."

He stirred the soup and gestured for her to continue. "What
else can you tell me?"

She chewed her lip for a moment before replying. "Well, he
was awake when he was shot, or maybe had just been
awakened by the intruder. The shooter was most likely
standing at the foot of the bed, judging by the angle of
penetration. The blood pattern suggests that the victim's head
was elevated when impact occurred, so he was definitely
awake. If he'd been lying down, the bullet would have gone
into the pillow and mattress. Since he was dressed and on top
of the covers, I'm thinking he was taking a nap when the
murderer entered the bedroom and startled him awake. Death
would have been almost instantaneous."

"Murderers," Mulder corrected.

"What makes you say that?"

"Footprints. It was either raining or snowing when they arrived,
because there are two distinct sets of prints dried onto the
bedroom floor." He pointed to a cupboard and she opened it.
She pulled out a box of oyster crackers and set them on the
table while he stirred the soup. "The UNSUBs went straight
from the front door into the bedroom. They thought they could
find what they were looking for there. Otherwise, they would
have walked through the house and their shoes would have
dried off enough to avoid leaving prints before they reached the
bedroom."

Mulder ladled the finished soup into thick earthenware bowls
and then set them on the table. He placed a pile of paper
napkins between the bowls, added glasses of water and
spoons, then gestured for his partner to sit down. She scooted
into a chair while he took the seat opposite.

"At least one of them knows this house," he continued. "The
killers may have even known the owner was home since they
came armed. They didn't shoot him because they got caught,
Scully. This was a very deliberate act. I can't confirm any of
that by following their trail, of course. Not realizing we were
looking at a crime scene, we unknowingly mucked up the
evidence ourselves. But there's enough left in that one room to
give us some good clues about what happened. We'd better
keep the door shut while we're here, to preserve what we can
of the evidence. This snow can't last forever, and when it quits,
we'll need to find a phone and get help from the local
authorities."

Scully was already eating. Anxious to appease his stomach's
hungry grumbling, too, Mulder leaned forward to dig in. He was
brought up short as the holster at his back caught on the
bottom ladder of the chair. He wiggled to release it, but it
wouldn't let go. Twisting in an attempt to see what was wrong,
he whacked his chin on the top spindle of the chair's back.

"What's the matter?" Scully asked.

Rubbing his chin, he crooked a thumb over his shoulder.

"I'm stuck. My gun is hung up on the chair."

Putting down her spoon, she stood and walked around the table
to his side.

"Let me see."

She moved behind him and crouched down. There was some
tugging, and the holster dug into his spine at one point, but at
last he was freed. She gave him the leather case with the gun
inside, returned to her seat, and resumed eating.

Puzzled, he turned the weapon over in his hands.

"Why aren't you stuck?" he asked. "You're wearing your gun in
the same place I am. How come mine got caught?"

She patted her lips with a napkin before answering. "Height
difference, Mulder. My waistband is lower than yours, so my
gun passes under the chair instead of catching on it. Simple
anatomy."

He thought about that for a second, until his stomach let out a
growl. The smell of the soup was making his mouth water. He
set the gun on the table and grabbed his spoon to appease the
hollow ache in his middle. In his eagerness, he bumped the
water glass, slopping liquid onto his gun. Dropping the spoon,
he snatched up several napkins and blotted the moisture from
his weapon. He huffed in vexation and looked around for a
drier place to set it. Standing, he carried the gun into the living
room and placed it on an end table. When he returned to his
seat in the dining room, Scully was watching him.

"I don't want to try explaining a water-logged weapon to
accounting," he replied to her unspoken question. "Might as
well save myself the headache."

She dipped up a spoonful of soup and continued with her
supper, apparently satisfied with his answer.

They both ate hungrily, finishing off the hot, savory soup and
crispy crackers. It had been a strenuous day. The soup was
almost gone before either of them broke the comfortable
silence.

"What else did you find out, Mulder? Do we know who the
victim is?"

He sipped the last drops from his spoon, wiped his mouth on a
napkin, then replied, "Tonight's supper was courtesy of Elver
Smallwood and the late Marie Smallwood. The driver's license
in a wallet I found on the bedroom dresser matches the name
in a checkbook in the china cabinet. There were only a few
checks written down each month in the register. If my guess is
correct, Elver and Marie grew a lot of their own produce and
only went into town for things they couldn't grow, like Spaghetti-
O's. The last check was dated twenty-two days ago, so your
estimate of time of death may be pretty accurate. I'm thinking
he went into town to stock up before the snow hit and met
someone he knew who decided to pay a hostile visit. I still
haven't figured out what they were looking for, but I wouldn't
bet against simple greed. Maybe old Elver had some money
stashed away for a rainy day and word leaked out. Or maybe
he didn't, and everyone just thought he did."

"I wish he at least had a phone," Scully grumbled. She picked
up the dirty dishes and took them to the sink. "This place isn't
so remote that he wouldn't have access to phone lines. Why
no phone? I don't get it."

Mulder got up from the table and followed her to the kitchen.
He dragged a large pot out from under the sink and pumped it
full of water. He set it on the stove, then stoked the fire with
a couple of small logs before answering.

"I think the answer is in this house, Scully."

"How so?"

"Look at this place," he replied. "If you take away the modern
furniture, it probably hasn't been touched since it was built.
Those gas lights are originals. So is the sink pump. I'll bet
Elver was born here, maybe even lived here all his life. He was
used to doing without the modern conveniences. It's a slower
way of life, but not so bad if you're not used to electricity and
indoor plumbing. He was an independent sort of guy --
believed in taking care of his own, not meddling in other folks'
business, hence the homegrown produce and infrequent trips
to town. Anything outside the house that made life easier was
accepted -- like a car. I'm sure there's one under the large
mound of snow next to the porch. I wouldn't be surprised if
there's a riding lawn mower and a rototiller in one of the sheds.
But the house was fine the way it is, so he never felt the need
to improve on it. I rather like the retro lifestyle. I might not want
to live this way permanently, but at least we'll be able to stay
warm and feed ourselves. And once the snow stops, we'll get
the authorities out here, turn over the crime scene to them, and
hightail it back to central heat, microwave ovens, and flush
toilets as fast as we can."

She sniffed. "Too bad you didn't embrace modern civilization,
Mr. Smallwood. Top-of-the-line technology is going to help find
your killers. I hope you appreciate the irony."

After pushing a stopper into the sink, Mulder poured in hot
water from the pot on the stove, then added cold water from the
pump. Opening a drawer, he removed a towel and a dishrag.
He playfully flipped the washcloth at Scully, who tossed it right
back to him. They pitched it back and forth a couple of times,
until it landed in the sink. He grinned.

"You're all set to do dishes, Scully. Wash in the sink, rinse in
the pot, and you'll be done in no time."

"What do you mean, *I'm* all set to wash dishes?"

"I cooked, so you do the dishes."

"While you were cooking, I was performing a post-mortem
exam on our host, so it's not like I was sitting around painting
my toenails."

"Oooh, what color are your toenails, Scully? Can I help you
paint them next time?"

"Don't try to weasel out of this, Mulder. I'll wash and rinse, you
dry." She suddenly shivered from head to toe, and peered
around the kitchen. "There's one hell of a cold draft in here."

"I don't feel any draft," he said. "You're just trying to change
the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject. I was making an observation."

"Well, your observation isn't going to make me forget that
you're the one washing dishes."

"And you're the one drying."

"Hey, I never agreed to dry."

"Yes you did. I said I'd wash if you dried."

"You *said*. You didn't ask." Mulder melodramatically draped
an arm over his forehead and moaned. "I worked my fingers to
the bone, sweating over a hot stove so you could have a warm
meal and this is the thanks I get. I'm nothing but a kitchen
slave to you. Oh woe is me."

She fished the wet washcloth out of the sink, gave it a quick
squeeze, then smacked him in the face with it. He grabbed it
and countered by trying to stuff it down the back of her shirt.
The resulting struggle ended when his hand landed in the sink,
causing a large splash of water that hit her dead in the face.
He snatched up the dry towel and presented it to his dripping
partner. She glowered at him as she wiped her face, but the
corners of her mouth kept twitching, as though a grin was trying
to escape. He meekly took the now-damp towel out of her
hands and indicated that he was quite ready to dry if she was
done fooling around.

Even as they worked their way through the few dirty dishes,
Mulder and Scully continued to tease each other. Behind them
the curtains on each window moved in a non-existent breeze
and then stilled -- swung and stopped, swung and stopped, all
down the line, one right after the other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8:45 PM

They finished the dishes, then built a fire in the fireplace, which
took most of the available wood. Once they had a satisfactory
blaze going, Mulder donned coat and boots, grabbed his
flashlight, and headed out into the blizzard to hunt for the
woodpile. He tied another piece of rope around their guideline
as an anchor. Scully insisted on tying the other end to his wrist
so he wouldn't drop the rope while trying to reach the nearby
sheds. He squeezed through a crack, which was all the deep
snow allowed when he opened the door, and found what he
needed in the second shed over from the outhouse.

The small building was obviously intended to be a woodshed.
By the glow of the flashlight, he could see saws, axes, and
other tools hanging on two walls, a scarred stump in one
corner, and stacks of dry, snow-free wood piled against the
other walls. There was barely enough room to swing an ax if
you left the door open. He was pleased to see that Elver had
recently laid in a good supply of split wood.

Mulder filled his arms as full as he could manage and still use
one hand to hold his flashlight and the rope. It would take
several trips to bring in enough logs to last the night and into
the next day. Trudging back out into the storm, he pushed the
door closed as much as possible and slogged toward the
house, rope line firmly in hand. Scully was waiting at the door
to untie his wrist and take some of the wood from his arms.

The few logs he'd managed to bring in looked lost inside the
living room woodbox. He groaned at the thought of how much
work it was going to take to fill both this one and the one next to
the kitchen stove. A piece of cloth peeking out from
underneath the box caught his eye; it turned out to be a canvas
wood tote. He smiled with relief. This would certainly make the
chore go faster.

Once the boxes in the living room and kitchen were filled, he
hung the tote behind the back door and returned to the
fireplace's warmth. He stopped rubbing his hand in the heat
and watched as Scully picked up her carry-on bag and started
to half-drag it down the hallway.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She halted, and swayed in place for a moment before turning to
answer.

"I'm going to put my bag in the bedroom and get ready for bed.
What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Why don't you leave your luggage out here?"

"Because we won't be tripping over it if I put it in there."

She turned back to the hallway and continued her trek to the
bedroom. He thought about it for a moment, then picked up his
own bag and followed her. He was halfway to the bedroom
when he remembered his gun. It was still sitting on the end
table where he'd put it after his accident with the water glass.
He should have put the holster on again as soon as they were
done with dinner. Mentally chiding himself for being careless,
he retraced his steps to retrieve the gun. He'd no more than
cleared the corner of the fireplace when there was an explosion
in the living room.

Mulder dropped to the floor, hand automatically reaching for his
weapon. He felt foolish when it came up empty. As he peeked
around the wall into the other room, Scully's footsteps sounded
behind him in the hall. He glanced back over his shoulder to
see her standing with her gun drawn, head swiveling as she
checked the hallway, all traces of exhaustion temporarily gone
from her face.

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

He held his hand up to keep her back as he peered around the
corner again. At first, the living room appeared to be the same
as when he'd left it. The fire still blazed, the lamps still burned,
the room was undisturbed -- except for the fact that his gun
now lay in the middle of the floor.

Leaving his bag where it had fallen from his shoulder, he stood
and slowly moved into the other room. He automatically
scanned the kitchen and dining area as he moved toward his
weapon. He poked it with his toe before bending down to lift it
gingerly between two fingers, still inside the holster.
Unsnapping the leather case, he pulled out the gun and set the
holster aside. Ejecting the clip, he examined it, then brought
the barrel to his face and sniffed. He stared at it in surprise.

"My gun fired, Scully."

He turned to find her standing right behind him, the muzzle of
her own gun now pointed at the ceiling. She frowned.

"Fired? How?"

"I don't know." He showed her the clip, then slammed it back
into the breech. "The safety's off, one round is spent and
there's a strong smell of cordite."

"What were you doing with it?"

"I wasn't doing anything with it. It was sitting on the table. I
was in the hall when it went off."

"Are you sure the safety was on?"

He snorted. "Of course I'm sure! I have no idea how it
happened, but it certainly wasn't my doing."

In spite of her skeptical expression, he knew he wasn't to
blame. Following the direction the gun had been pointing when
he first laid it down, he located a small hole in the back wall.
He caught her eye and demonstrated the trajectory with his
finger.

She lowered her gun.

"Maybe being too close to the fireplace set it off," she said. "It
was really cold in here earlier and you got it wet during supper.
Maybe the moisture and the change in temperature when you
set it near the fireplace were enough to cause a reaction. It
shouldn't have responded that way, but I suppose it could."

"I wonder..." Mulder gazed around the living room. There was
nothing out of the ordinary, other than his gun firing itself. It
had to be a fluke. Probably wouldn't happen again in a million
years. But just in case...

He slid the gun back into the holster, then headed toward the
hallway, keeping the weapon pointed at the floor. As he
passed the carry-on bag where he'd dropped it in the hall, he
snatched it up and continued on.

"Mulder, where are you going?"

"I'm securing my weapon, Agent Scully. I suggest you do the
same."

Entering the guest room, he walked to the dresser and placed
his luggage on top. He looked up when she followed him
through the doorway.

"You can't leave your gun so far out of reach, Mulder." Scully's
bag lay on the floor where it had apparently been dropped in
her hurry to reach him. She bent over to pick it up, then set it
on the dresser. "This is a crime scene. What if --"

"We're snowbound, Scully." He cut her off, waving a hand at
their surroundings. "We can't get out, so it's unlikely that
anyone else can get in. I'll lock the doors. We'll be fine. I'm
more concerned about another misfire -- this time with one of
us in the bullet's path. I'm not willing to take that chance. Are
you?"

Without waiting for a reply, he removed his gun from the holster
and ejected the clip again. He checked to make sure the
weapon's chamber was empty and the safety engaged. Then
he took the clip over to the closet, opened the door, and placed
the ammo on a shelf. Returning to the dresser, he replaced the
empty gun in the holster, stowed it in his carry-on, then
regarded Scully with a question in his eyes.

She blinked at him for a few seconds before reaching around to
her back and taking off her holster. Unsnapping the leather,
she pulled out her weapon and performed the same checks as
her partner. Her ammo joined his in the closet before she put
the holstered gun in her bag and turned to him. He smiled his
approval.

Moving to leave the room, he bumped into the bed. Seeing the
neatly made mattress with the plump pillows at the head
reminded him that it was getting late and they were both tired.
Shivering in the cold air, he eyed the double bed in
apprehension.

One bed. One small bed. Sleeping in a small bed with Scully.
If only that meant what it sounded like. He wasn't even thinking
in the literal, Biblical sense, either -- more in the wrapped-
around-each-other, sharing-warm-breaths sense. Instead, he'd
have to lie there next to her, all night long, without touching her
the way he longed to. And in the morning, he'd wake up and
pretend that they were nothing more than best friends -- that he
hadn't told her "I love you" only to be brushed off with an "Oh
brother."

This was going to be a very long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:17PM

"Don't drag it, Scully. Pick it up and carry it."

"That's easy for you to say, Mr. Six-feet-tall. It's almost as big
as me. So if you don't mind, I'm dragging instead of carrying."

"Get a better grip and hoist it. My end is slipping because I'm
trying to haul your half, too."

"It's not the grip, it's the weight, Mulder. This is heavy. Slow
down."

They shuffled down the hallway past the back of the sofa,
lugging the mattress from the guest bedroom. He'd suggested
sleeping on the floor in the living room, with the fireplace
pulsing out waves of heat, would be preferable to bunking
down in the cold bedroom with a corpse next door. It had taken
very little discussion to reach a consensus. They had also
agreed that a mattress would be more comfortable than the
hardwood floor, so they decided to haul one off the double bed
and into the living room.

"Mulder, watch out for the lamp."

"I'm nowhere near the lamp."

"Yes you are. You'll hit it if you don't swing out farther."

"I can't swing out farther, Scully. I'm dragging your half of the
mattress as well as carrying my own."

"Well whose idea was it to sleep out here in the first place?"

"It was mine, but you agreed with me. Now swing your end
around so I can get past this table."

With a little more pushing and a lot more squabbling, they
shoved the mattress into the space between the sofa and
loveseat, then dropped it to the floor. Unfortunately, there was
scarcely enough room to fit the bedding in a horizontal position,
which meant that Mulder's legs became trapped against the
sofa when the mattress fell. He shoved against the couch hard
enough to scoot it backwards, then pulled his feet out from
under the bedding, but not before the mattress' hard edge gave
his shins a good scraping.

He started to complain about the mishandling of her end of the
chore, but stopped himself when he saw her drooping mouth
and tired eyes. It had been a hell of a day. At least they now
had a warm, comfortable place to spend the night.

She went back to the bedroom and returned with sheets,
pillows, and blankets. They made up the mattress on the floor
and plumped the pillows. This was much better than being
stuck in their rental car at the bottom of a snowy ditch.

Scully yawned. "Guess we'd better get ready for bed. I don't
know about you, but I'm beat. You want to use the bathroom or
the outhouse first?"

There was an off-color remark in there somewhere, but he
tamped it down and stored it for another day.

"Why don't you hit the necessary before you get changed, while
I heat water for washing up? I'll shut down the lights and bank
the kitchen stove before I make my run outside."

"Sounds like a plan." She yawned again as she struggled into
a coat and boots, then stumbled out the back door into the
falling snow, closing the door behind her. He watched her with
a small smile on his lips. As cold as it was, at least she
wouldn't be able to fall asleep out there. He suddenly yawned,
too, and decided he'd better heat up the water before it was his
turn to use the facilities.

Once he finished refilling the large pot at the pump, he hoisted
it to the stove top. He checked to make sure the fire was set
for the night, then walked from room to room turning out the
lamps and chandeliers. He left one lamp burning in the living
room so they wouldn't trip over anything with nothing but the
flickering fireplace for illumination.

Figuring he should probably get whatever he needed out of his
bag so Scully could have the bedroom for changing, he went
back to the cold guest room once more. He pulled a clean pair
of boxers out of his bag and set them on the dresser. When
Scully shuffled through the doorway and headed for her carry-
on, he moved out of her way. Leaving her rummaging tiredly
through her bag, he went to get the pitcher from the bathroom.
He took it into the kitchen and filled it most of the way with hot
water from the pot on the stove then added a little cold from the
pump. In spite of the fact that the water was lukewarm, the
pitcher was letting off steam when he carried it into the
unheated bathroom. On his way out, he passed Scully coming
in. She attempted a smile, but it didn't quite bloom past a
wince. He patted her on the shoulder and headed toward the
back door to hit the john.

By the time he returned from his chilly run to the privy, she was
already tucked under the covers. Mulder went back into the
bedroom and retrieved the shorts he'd left on the dresser. He
got the empty pitcher and basin full of used water from the
bathroom and carried them to the kitchen sink, dumping the
bowl and refilling the stoneware pitcher. Then he returned to
the bathroom where he washed as best he could with a cloth
and warm water. He would have preferred a real bath to cut
through the sweat and grime without getting chilled in the
process. The wistful look on Scully's face when she'd entered
the bathroom earlier told him that she was thinking the same
thing, although he suspected her thoughts included scented
bubbles in the water with plenty of time to relax and unwind in
the deep tub. He made up his mind that she would have a
chance to indulge herself the next day. It wouldn't be any
trouble to build a fire in the small bathroom fireplace and make
sure she had enough hot water for a nice long soak.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Mulder was struck by
the stillness in the house. It wasn't silent, by any means --
snow was still pinging against the windows, the fire crackled
and popped, and the wood structure reacted to the heat by
groaning as it expanded. Yet there was a sense of peace and
comfort, an assurance that they were together and safe.
Maybe Elver knew what he was doing after all, living without
the modern conveniences.

The air was still cold in the hallway, but warming nicely near the
mattress. He smiled at the Scully-sized mound hidden under
the blankets. A wave of gratitude washed over him without
warning. He didn't want to think about what this night might
have been like if they'd slid off the road into a tree instead of
finding shelter. Who knew that driving from Cleveland to Erie,
PA, would send them into a once-in-a-hundred-years lake-
effect blizzard?

He stretched his tired muscles and yawned. It was a bit earlier
than his usual bedtime, but it had been a strenuous day. Time
to get some sleep. Stripping down to boxer briefs, he tossed
his clothes on the couch, draping his damp jeans over the arm
to dry. He pulled back the blankets just enough to make room
for his body, then slid underneath. The air outside of the
covers might be toasty warm, but the bed was freezing. He
scooted closer to Scully, searching for traces of heat. It wasn't
a question of putting the moves on his partner. It was a matter
of surviving the full-body tremors that were racking his frame on
the frigid mattress. He was still wondering why he couldn't find
her under the covers when he bumped into a fleece-covered
shape which snuffled and mumbled in response to his nudging.

Lifting the blankets just enough to peek, Mulder found his
partner swaddled in a navy sweatsuit -- one that looked exactly
like the set he'd packed in his bag to use for running. The
socks looked like his, too. One of Scully's hands reached into
the cold air at her back and swatted around until it latched onto
the covers. She drew them down and tucked them under
herself as he watched her with a smile. It tickled him to think of
her wearing his clothes without bothering to ask permission.
Maybe she figured he owed her, after everything they'd been
through that day. Or maybe it never occurred to her that he
might mind. Of course, he didn't mind. In fact, he wondered
how she might look wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts
and beaming a secret smile at him. The improbability of such
an event ever happening set up a tight ache in the middle of his
chest.

He let her settle into sleep again before gently releasing her
hold on the blankets and covering himself. The room was lit by
the flickering fire as well as the one oil lamp he'd forgotten to
blow out. As his breathing slowed into sleep, the wick on the
blazing lamp cranked slowly downward until the flame went out.
All that remained to illuminate the room was the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday
2:57 AM

It was the cramp in his left shoulder that woke Mulder. He'd
been sleeping on his arm the wrong way and now his hand was
numb. He turned over, groaning at the resulting ache in his
muscles. Pins and needles assaulted his fingers as he tucked
his arm back under the warm blankets. He snuggled down into
the pocket of heat next to Scully's back, brushing strands of her
hair off his nose, and waited for sleep to return.

In that limbo state between sleep and wakefulness, he thought
he heard the sound of footsteps. Instantly alert, he held his
breath. The steps were moving past the front door, but when
he ventured to peer in that direction, nothing was there. The
sound continued down the hallway, then stopped. Silence for
several heartbeats, then a new sound -- a door creaking open,
then closed.

Fully awake now, he reached to the side of the bed for his
weapon before he remembered that the guns were in another
part of the house. He scooted out from under the blankets and
tiptoed toward the front door. It was still locked from the inside.
Glancing toward the back door, he could see even in the dim
light that it was locked, too. Looking down at his feet, he
noticed that the floor was devoid of snowy footprints. Damn, he
wished he had his gun with him. Glancing around, the most
logical weapon he could find was the fireplace poker. He
padded over to the hearth and picked it up. It might be cliche,
but at least it was solid and heavy. Hefting it in his right hand
to test for balance, Mulder crept down the hallway as softly as
he could. When he opened the door to the guest bedroom, he
realized that it didn't creak. It didn't make any noise at all, so
that wasn't what he'd heard. He backtracked and tried the
basement door. It, too, opened silently. There was no light
downstairs, and he didn't think anyone would attempt those
steps without at least a flashlight. So that left the bathroom and
the master bedroom.

Swallowing hard, he peered back into the living room. Scully
seemed to still be sleeping, the blankets nearly covering her
face. He listened to her soft breathing. When he was satisfied
that she was asleep, he gripped the poker more firmly and
snuck down the hall. At Elver's bedroom door, he closed his
free hand around the plastic bag Scully had placed over the
knob to preserve any fingerprints. He held his breath, counted
to three, then turned the knob. The door's hinges let out a shrill
creak as he pushed it open as far as he could without hitting
the wall.

The room was empty.

Or as empty as a room can be with a dead man inside. Elver
Smallwood still lay where he'd been murdered, although thanks
to Scully, he was now respectfully covered with a sheet.
Creeping across the room, Mulder peeked into the tiny closet
and even got down on his knees to look under the bed. The
corpse appeared to be the sole inhabitant until a mouse
scuttled past, right under Mulder's nose. He jumped and
banged his head on the underside of the bed frame.

Rubbing the back of his head, he left the bedroom, and pulled
the door closed behind him. The noises he'd heard must have
been nothing but the warmed building contracting as it cooled
off. Or maybe there were mice in other parts of the house, too.
He walked back to the living room, glancing down the hallway
once more before moving to the fireplace. He stirred the coals,
and then placed the poker back in its place before adding two
more large logs to the fire. He stayed crouched in front of the
coals, warming his chilled skin until the wood caught.
Returning to the mattress on the floor, he scooted under the
blankets and lay on his back for a long while, all senses on the
alert. As the minutes passed without any further disturbances,
his eyes grew heavier and heavier until sleep came to claim
him again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:38 AM

The second time Mulder awoke, he was aware of two
sensations. First, his arms were freezing cold. Not surprising,
since they were outside the blankets. The fire had burned
down overnight, so the whole house was going to be very chilly
until they could get the stove and fireplace going again.

The second sensation was one he hadn't experienced in a long
time. A warm body was tucked up against his back, one leg
thrown over his hip and an arm draped across his ribs, fingers
twitching against his naked chest. The feeling of moist breath
puffing against his back was doing disturbing things to the rest
of his anatomy. He wondered how he was going to get out
from under his partner without waking her. If he thought she
would be pleased by their current situation, he would have
tickled her awake and tried to get lucky. But after Scully and
the guys had fished him out of the Bermuda Triangle, she'd
made it pretty clear that she wasn't interested in a deeper
relationship with him. She'd blown off his declaration and
never mentioned it again. That hurt, but he'd gotten the hint.
His body would just have to quit being so happy before it got its
butt kicked.

Scully mumbled in her sleep and rubbed her nose into his back.
He suppressed a groan through sheer force of will, but he
couldn't stop the shudder that ran the length of his body. If he
didn't get out of the bed soon, he was afraid he'd have to lie
down naked in the snow to get rid of the kickstand currently
propping him up in bed. His problem was solved when she
rolled over, taking the covers with her. He sprang off the
mattress, grabbed his jeans and hopped into them one leg at a
time as he headed for the coat rack. He snagged a jacket and
put it on before he opened the door.

The sight that greeted him was most unwelcome.

The path he'd painstakingly broken to the outhouse the night
before was gone, the cut hidden under a new blanket of snow.
Huge clumps of flakes continued to drop silently from the
leaden sky. The amount of time it would take to wade through
the thigh-deep drifts struck despair into his heart. The
combination of just-out-of-bed warmth and standing-in-the-
snow-barefoot cold resolved his dilemma -- Mulder unzipped
his jeans and proceeded to take his morning leak off the side of
the porch.

When he went back inside and shut the door, he was met by
his sleep-tousled partner, hands on hips and lips pursed in
disapproval.

"You'd better not have been doing what I think you were doing."

"I'm sorry, Scully, I didn't know you wanted to watch. Just give
me a couple of hours and a few glasses of water --"

She ignored his remark and pushed her feet into a pair of
boots. "If you're done marking your territory, maybe you could
make us some breakfast before we try to get out of here." She
pulled on a coat and wrapped her head with a scarf.

"We can't leave now, Scully."

"Sure we can. We'll have a good breakfast, borrow extra
clothes and heavier shoes, and then wait by the car until
someone comes along to help us. Or we can try walking to
another house. There must be one nearby. This isn't the turn-
of-the-century wilderness, no matter how outdated this house
is."

When she opened the door, a blast of wind puffed a mound of
snow off the porch and onto the kitchen floor. Her jaw dropped
as she took in the fat, falling flakes, then closed with a snap as
she turned to him.

"We'll discuss it when I get back."

Mulder's hand on her arm made her pause.

"That snow is going to be up to your waist." He held her gaze,
trying to convey the serious nature of his words. "Don't expend
your energy trying to adhere to social conventions that are
pointless and dangerous under these conditions."

He didn't quite know how else to suggest that she pee off the
porch without coming right out and saying it, and he couldn't tell
if she'd gotten his oblique message. However, the amount of
time that she spent outside after shutting the door seemed to
indicate that she'd taken his advice. He hung up his coat and
wisely chose to forego any comments about cold drafts or
yellow snow.

Scully didn't offer her observations on the experience, either.
She shook the snow off her coat and scarf, then toed off the
boots before returning to their previous discussion about
leaving.

"The roads are probably better than the yard." Her tone of
voice lacked conviction, but he hadn't expected anything less
than her usual persistence. "They'll have it plowed and salted
by now. I'm sure we'll be fine once we get beyond the driveway
to the road. We can still leave today."

"No, we can't." He ran a hand through his hair and huffed in
exasperation. "Look, Scully, I'm as anxious to leave as you
are, but hiking out in this weather is suicide. The snow is
deeper than when we got here yesterday, the wind is howling,
the temperature has probably dropped, and I really don't think
anyone is going to be cruising the roads looking for stranded
travelers. We've got a sure thing here. Let's stay until we can
be certain we aren't risking our lives by leaving."

She blinked at him. "I can't believe it."

"What?"

"You're actually trying to be the voice of reason for once. Did
we switch bodies overnight?"

He smirked. "Can I check and see if you're wearing mine?
The clothes sure look familiar."

A faint blush swept over her cheeks. Clearly, she was
embarrassed that he'd caught her pilfering his clothes.

"I was freezing and I didn't think you'd want me sticking my cold
feet on you all night."

"Ohhhh, Scully..." Mulder purred, "I know lots of ways to keep
warm. You should have said something last night."

Her blush deepened.

She spun on her heel and walked toward the hallway.

"I'm going to get dressed and have breakfast. I suggest you do
the same unless you're planning to spend the day half naked."

Glancing down, Mulder remembered that he was barefoot and
shirtless. And the house was quite chilly, according to the state
of his nipples and goosebumps. He wondered if she had
noticed. Maybe that's why she'd stomped off so fast when he
mentioned other ways of warming her up. He snorted at the
idea that she would ever be affected that way merely by seeing
his bare chest. That happened in romance novels and on
television, not in real life. Dejected by his own thoughts, he
walked to the living room and donned yesterday's shirt. He
worked on getting the fireplace going before turning his
attention to the kitchen stove. By the time he was done, Scully
had emerged from the back room wearing a sweater, jeans,
and boots. Her hair was combed and her blush subdued. He
silently took his turn to change, pushing unpartnerly thoughts
about how beautiful she looked into a dark corner of his mind.
It was shaping up to be a very frustrating day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:50 AM

Living without modern conveniences was damned hard work,
Mulder decided. Everything seemed to take three times longer
than normal to accomplish -- heating water, making oatmeal,
washing the dishes. And that wasn't even counting the amount
of time it took to trek to the outhouse and back. He finally
broke down and shoveled a new path. Scully had insisted on
tying a spare piece of rope from the guideline to his belt loop so
he wouldn't wander off in the blizzard. It was probably a good
thing she did -- the path began meandering a bit too far to the
left, toward the woodshed. When he caught himself drifting, he
finished a branch off the main path to the shed, then returned
to clearing one for the outhouse. Hopefully the paths would be
usable for most of the day.

Something else that took an exorbitant amount of time was
warming up after being outside. The house was small enough
that the fireplace and stove provided plenty of heat, but
outdoors the temperature was down so low that he became
thoroughly chilled after an hour, even when dressed in layers of
clothing. Mulder rubbed his tingling hands together in front of
the blazing hearth as his damp pant legs steamed in the heated
air. He turned when the kitchen door opened.

"You really don't have to do that, Scully," he said through
chattering teeth. "I can get more wood as soon as I warm up a
bit."

She lugged the canvas tote to the fireplace and dumped the
logs onto a growing pile. Pushing back her scarf, she revealed
a bright red nose and watering eyes. She rubbed mittened
hands over her face and gave a watery sniff.

"Nonsense, Mulder. You need to get warm, and we need more
wood for the fire to get you warm. Besides, you already did the
hard work by shoveling the pathways. It's no trouble at all to
reach the woodshed. Two more trips and I think we'll have
enough to last us through the night. Then, with any luck, we'll
be able to get out of here tomorrow."

Picking up the tote again, she tromped back to the kitchen and
out the door. He shook his head at her stubbornness. Still,
she was right -- he was really in no shape to be hauling wood
at that moment. While his shirt was sticking to the sweat on his
chest and back, his hands and feet were so numb he couldn't
feel them. Any warmth he might have generated by shoveling
was lost to the bitter wind the minute he'd stopped. It had been
far too long since he'd spent time outdoors in the cold, moving
piles of snow. Next time he'd listen to Scully and wear a hat.

Once she announced that they had enough wood, Mulder
relinquished his prime spot in front of the fire and stretched out
on the couch. His jeans were mostly dry, he was full from
breakfast, and the exertion of shoveling, coupled with his
broken sleep the night before, had him feeling drowsy. He was
half-dozing when Scully's voice caught his attention.

"So what are we supposed to do until the storm lets up?
There's no TV or radio, and I've seen very few books laying
around. I don't think the Smallwoods were avid readers."

He considered her question for a few seconds, then rose from
the couch and moved to one of the living room end tables. He
threw open the doors underneath and gestured with a flourish
of his hands towards the interior.

"Ta-da! You get first choice, Scully."

Inside the end table was a stack of game boxes. Smaller
boxes were wedged into the sides where the others left gaps.
Moving to kneel in front of the open doors, she peered at the
labels.

"I haven't seen some of these in years. I'll bet there are
collector's items in here."

He squatted next to her.

"The other table has even more. I saw them during my
inspection yesterday. I'd say we've discovered how Elver and
Marie spent their spare time."

Running her fingers over the sides of the boxes, she bypassed
Stadium Checkers, Boggle, Life, and Backgammon. She
paused for a second at the Stratego game then continued on.
Grabbing a dark red, cloth-covered box, she smiled and held it
up in triumph.

"How about Scrabble?"

"That's your final decision? You're sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

He rubbed his hands together, then interlaced his fingers and
bent them backwards to the tune of cracking knuckles.

"You're looking at the Scrabble champion of my Oxford flat,
unbeaten for two straight years. Prepare to meet thy doom,
Agent Scully. You are goin' *down*!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:35 AM

"What do you mean I can't use 'carditis'? It's a perfectly
legitimate medical term."

"No medical terms, Scully."

"I can so use medical terms. They're in the Scrabble dictionary
I have at home."

"Well, we don't have one here so I can't double-check them.
Besides, you wouldn't let me use a word I wanted before."

"Mulder, your word was vulgar. The game doesn't allow the
use of crude terms for female genitalia. Let's see... I used all
seven of my letters, so that's fifty points right there. I'm on a
triple-word box, and the 'D' is on a double letter box, so I get
thirty-nine points for that, giving me a grand total of eighty-nine
points. Not bad."

"Eighty-nine points? Scully, you're killing me here! How come
you keep getting all the good tiles?"

"Whining is very unattractive, you know."

"As well as useless."

"Besides, you had a triple word box under that 'S' I just used.
I'm not getting all the good breaks."

"I don't think you're in much danger from my eighteen points for
'nails'." He rose to his feet and headed toward the back door.
"I gotta use the can. I'll be right back."

"It's about time for lunch anyway. Why don't we pick it up again
while we eat?"

Mulder nodded as he plucked his coat off the peg and
shrugged it on. Jamming his feet into a pair of boots, he
opened the back door to a virtual white-out. Once again he
breathed a "thank you" to Elver for being foresighted enough to
string a rope between the porch and outhouse.

Using outdoor facilities in winter was more than enough to
squelch a person's desire to linger over their business, and the
chance of getting lost on the way there or back didn't hold any
appeal, either. At the current rate of snowfall, the paths weren't
going to be passable for much longer. He was stamping his
feet on the steps and back inside the warm house in record
time. The smell of tomato soup and the scowling face of his
partner greeted him at the door.

"You didn't have to be such a poor sport, Mulder."

"What?"

Scully gestured at the table. "You didn't have to mess up our
game before you left. I never would have thought you'd be that
mean."

Looking to where she was pointing, he saw that the letter tiles
had been scattered across the board and tabletop. He shook
his head.

"I didn't do that, Scully. You know I'm not that petty."

"Then how do you explain it?" she demanded. "I didn't touch
them. I was in the kitchen opening a can of soup for lunch."

"And I was answering nature's call. The board was fine when I
left."

She grimaced. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sure it wasn't your fault.
The wind must have blown in and caught the table just right.
Get your coat off and let's eat. We'll start a new game."

After hanging his coat on the peg by the door, he toed off the
boots. He walked to the disturbed game board, remembering
the strange noises during the night. He picked up a playing
piece and turned it over in his fingers. Shaking his head, he
put the tile back on the table and continued into the kitchen to
help with the lunch preparations.

No one was there to watch when the tiles started to spin on the
table's surface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:35 PM

The day had been enjoyable in its own way, but for Mulder
enforced closeness was turning out to be a new form of
personal hell. Spending every minute of the day with the
woman he loved was heaven, while not being able to touch her
or express his true feelings felt like a hair-shirt that made him
itchy and irritable. The result was a continuous flood of
innuendoes and suggestive comments thinly disguised as word
choices on the Scrabble board.

Being beaten six out of six games cast a pall on his frame of
mind, but the improvement in his partner's disposition was
worth the humiliation. Winning put Dana Scully into a very
forgiving mood. In fact, she'd been more than happy to make
them a veggie, ham, and cheese stir-fry over noodles for
supper -- cooking was a sure Scully-sign of good humor.

He kept his mental promise to treat his partner to a long, hot
soak in the clawfoot tub. While she was making a trip to the
outhouse after supper, he built a fire in the bathroom fireplace
and hung a large kettle of water on the iron pot hook embedded
in the wall. By the time they finished their new round of
Scrabble, the water was heated.

Mulder hauled a large pot of cold water into the bathroom and
invited Scully in for her approval. The look of gratitude on her
face when she understood his intentions was more than worth
the effort. He shut the bathroom door as she began
transferring potfuls of hot water to the tub.

In retrospect, it had been a nice thing to do for his partner's
comfort, but became another layer of itching powder under his
hair-shirt. Lying on the couch while she splashed and hummed
in the bathroom wasn't calculated to relieve his level of
frustration. Instead, it made things ten times worse. He
couldn't seem to stop imagining her pale skin, slick with water
and soap suds, gleaming in the light from the fireplace. He was
startled to find himself rubbing at the woody that was straining
against his zipper -- he hadn't remembered reaching for his
crotch while the images of Scully played out in his mind.
Pushing himself off the sofa in disgust, he strode to the back
door and flung it open to the icy wind. The slap of snow on his
face was a small price to pay for giving in to his lustful
thoughts. His feelings for his partner didn't give him the right to
indulge in fantasies... fantasies that would no doubt disgust her
if she knew about them. He stood there until he heard the
bathroom door open again. Only then did he shut out the
swirling blizzard and return to the living room.

Scully emerged from the steamy room, rosy, smiling, and
relaxed. The sight of her tugged at his heartstrings until he
thought they'd unravel in his chest.

Now, lying next to her warm body, Mulder stared at the
flickering firelight on the ceiling and wondered how he'd make it
through another night in such close proximity without going
insane. Or jumping her bones, which would definitely be
worse. She would probably forgive him for being insane.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden floor intruded on his
thoughts. He listened to them move from the kitchen to the
dining room then down the hallway, until a door again creaked
open, then closed. Last night, he'd been willing to believe that
the sounds were his imagination and the noises inherent to an
old house, but now he was certain there was more to it than
that. His mind flashed on the scattered Scrabble game, and
the strange way his gun had misfired the day before. The
pieces shuffled into place and a pattern emerged -- Elver
Smallwood hadn't quite left the earthly plain. Granted, he had
nothing but a few unconnected clues as proof, yet it made
sense. Elver was trying to contact them. Mulder smiled into
the flickering gloom. How about that? He'd found a real, live
ghost -- in a manner of speaking. Not that he was planning to
mention this theory to Scully. He wasn't in the right mood for
her rational logic and scientific facts.

There were times when he really wished she could believe
without question. As much as he respected her opposing
viewpoint, once in a while it would be nice if they could talk
about out-there ideas without arguing over every extreme
possibility. No way could he tell her that they were staying in a
haunted house. She'd look at him as if he were a child and use
small words to explain why ghosts don't exist. His faith in her
reaction put a damper on his excitement. He loved her more
than he would have thought possible when they first met, but
sometimes he wondered how long he could hold out against
this ache in his heart.

There couldn't be any harm in asking someone else for advice.

He whispered into the silence, "You wouldn't happen to know
anything about unrequited love, would you, Elver old buddy?"

The only answer was a brief flare of light from the fireplace.
Shadows danced and played in the corners, but no other
ghostly revelation was communicated to him in the darkness.

"Thanks anyway," he murmured, getting comfortable under the
blankets. "Guess I'll have to figure it out on my own."

As his breathing slowed, the fire flared again, bathing the two
people in light. Scully mumbled in her sleep, tossing the covers
off her shoulder. She quickly settled into deep slumber and
never noticed when the blankets were pulled back up to her
chin and gently tucked around her by an unseen hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday
9:37 AM

Mulder vowed never to take indoor plumbing for granted again.
When they got home, he was going to clean his bathroom until
it was sanitary enough to eat from every surface, and then he
would keep it that way. In spite of the occasional clutter in his
apartment, he'd never yet had to shovel his way to the toilet.
And he was getting damned tired of having to do it now.

Since the snow hadn't stopped, the path he'd made earlier
continued to fill in. Every time he moved the accumulated
snow out, the sides of the path got higher, which meant it was
more difficult to shovel next time. He didn't mind peeing off the
side of the porch -- guys were built for it -- but it wasn't fair to
expect Scully to risk losing her balance and falling into the
snow at a vulnerable moment.

So he shoveled, and each time it took a little longer. He'd
already been at it for an hour and a half. He was almost done,
but even with the exertion of scooping mounds of snow to one
side, his hands and feet were completely numb again. Just like
the last time, his back and chest were sweaty beneath Elver's
thick barn coat, so whenever a puff of frigid air made contact
with his damp clothing inside a sleeve or up under the hem, it
sent a chill into the pit of his stomach. Right now, his insides
were attempting to generate heat by quivering like Jell-O in an
earthquake.

Scully's good humor had taken a nosedive when they woke up
to still-falling snow. He couldn't really blame her -- he was
starting to go a little cabin crazy, too, but probably for an
entirely different reason. His physical awareness of his partner
had heightened to the point of pain. Ever since she'd emerged
from her bath last night, his senses had been assaulted on all
sides by her scent, the sight of her creamy skin, the silken tone
of her voice. The itching powder on his skin had morphed into
brambles, leaving tiny wounds behind every time he allowed
his consciousness of her to have full reign. As much as he
hated shoveling, at least it gave him a short break from the
constant assault on his sanity and the inevitable swelling of a
certain portion of his anatomy. The extreme cold helped, too.

Following one more heave of the shovel, Mulder leaned his
back against the woodshed door and surveyed his handiwork.
Finished. Again. Little clouds of steam puffed between his
parted lips as he tried to catch his breath. It was still as cold as
it had been when they'd arrived, but to his New England-trained
eye, it looked like the snow was slowing down. Granted, he
might be a bit rusty at weather prediction after so many years
away from the northern reaches, and it might be no more than
wishful thinking, but it seemed as though the flakes were
smaller and spaced farther apart. He certainly hoped so. The
sooner they got out of this place, the sooner they could get the
appropriate authorities in to investigate and return to their own
homes. Scully had been pretty testy at breakfast, snapping his
head off at every remark he made. He suspected *he* was the
itching powder on her skin right now, and not being able to get
away from each other was only making things worse.

Pushing away from the shed door, he trudged back up the
cleared path toward the house. He was chilled to the bone, but
at least he'd used up enough excess energy that he'd be able
to spend the next several hours in Scully's company without
throwing her on the mattress and ripping her clothes off. If they
didn't get out of this place soon, he was going to be spending
all of his time shoveling snow, trying to keep his lust cooled
down.

Mulder shivered as he stomped up the porch steps. At the
moment, his libido seemed to be the one thing that *wasn't*
cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:32 PM

"Mulder, you sank my battleship! Again!"

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good."

"And when you're a poor sport, you're obnoxious. I swear
you're peeking somehow."

He let out a perturbed huff as he reset his ships inside the
game case. "That's the second time you've accused me of
cheating, Scully. I'm hurt that you would think such a thing of
me. Besides, you busted my ass yesterday. I'll be drummed
out of the Testosterone Corps if I can't beat you at *something*.
Wanna try for four out of seven?"

She plopped her game case on the couch cushions and stood.
"No, I think losing three games of Battleship is quite enough for
today, thanks." Walking to the kitchen door, she pulled back
the window curtain. "I'm tired of being cooped up. I want to get
out of here. The snow stopped an hour ago. Why can't we
leave?"

She probably didn't realize how whiny she sounded. Mulder
would usually find such an uncharacteristic display of
childishness endearing. Today, it grated on his nerves. He
glowered at her without trying to hide his exasperation.

"We already talked about this, Scully. It will be getting dark
soon. Standing out by the car all night would be a stupid move.
We'll leave in the morning if it doesn't snow again. I know
you're finding it hard to keep your hands off me, but --"

She whirled to face him. Mulder wasn't sure if he heard her
snarl, but her upper lip was definitely curled in annoyance.

"If you can't say anything constructive, then just shut up,
Mulder!" She spun to face the window, yanking the curtain
aside to glare at the snow-covered yard again.

He slumped on the loveseat and closed his game case. Okay,
teasing was out, at least for today. Board games were wearing
thin, even if he was winning this time. He pushed himself up
and walked to the china cabinet. Opening the double doors at
the bottom, he lifted out the small stack of books he'd seen on
their first day there. Setting them on the table, he perused the
titles and acknowledged that, while there weren't many to
choose from, they were all classic stories.

Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

He'd read it.

First Men In the Moon.

Read that, too.

Robinson Crusoe.

Read it five times.

War Of the Worlds.

Read it until his copy fell apart.

Gone With the Wind.

Probably one of Marie's books.

There were about a dozen in all, an eclectic mix of old titles but
none that could be considered modern. Mulder hoped there
was something here that would soothe his partner's nerves, at
least for a little while. He quietly cleared his throat.

"Um, I found some books when I was hunting around, Scully.
Maybe you'd like to read instead of playing games."

She let the curtain fall and turned back to him, without the
sneer this time. Her eyes widened when she saw the books
he'd set on the table, and she moved over for a closer look.
Her fingers caressed the covers as she sorted through his
peace offering. He could tell which ones she'd probably read
by the way her touch lingered and her smile widened. She
picked up War Of the Worlds and turned it over in her hands.
When she looked at him, there was a self-deprecating grin on
her lips that reached to her eyes.

"Thanks, Mulder. I don't think I've ever read this one, although
I've heard the Orson Wells radio version a few times. Maybe I'll
get some useful tips on how to stop a world invasion. Might
come in handy some day."

He smiled his acceptance of her unspoken apology. She went
back to the couch and sat down as he moved through the
house, lighting lamps. It wasn't quite dark yet, but it would be
soon.

Once they had enough light for reading, he picked up the copy
of A Child's Garden of Verses and returned to the loveseat.
Scully glanced up, giving his choice the once-over.

"Children's poems, Mulder?"

He shrugged. "I loved Robert Louis Stevenson when I was a
kid. I read everything he ever wrote, including the poems.
Hell, I read everything by *all* the classic authors -- H. G.
Wells, Jules Verne, Daniel Dafoe, Kipling, Mark Twain.
Especially the adventure stories. Always wished I could be
stranded on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe. I guess, in
a way, I finally got my wish. You're a lot prettier than Friday,
though."

Instead of chewing him a new orifice as she might have done
earlier in the day, she treated him to a full smile, with teeth.
Scully bent her head over her book as he opened his and did
the same. They soon became so engrossed in reading that
they didn't even notice when it began to snow again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:40 PM

They ate supper late. The luxury of reading without interruption
was novel enough to keep them both interested until nature
called loudly for food and relief.

Scully was the first to put her book aside for a trip to the
outhouse. The little moan of despair she let out upon opening
the door had Mulder rushing to her side, book abandoned on
the floor in his haste.

The path to the sheds was half filled again. Fat flakes were
descending at a steady, though no longer furious, rate.
Stepping up behind her at the open door, he gripped her
drooping shoulders and squeezed in sympathy.

"It has to stop sometime," he murmured into her hair. Placing a
soft kiss on the crown of her head, he was gratified to feel her
lean into his embrace. "We're in Ohio, not Alaska. We'll get
out of here soon, I promise."

Straightening her back, she moved out of his hands, much to
his disappointment. She stepped through the doorway, but
gave him a wavering smile over her shoulder.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm... I'll be right back."

He stood there for a minute or so, staring at the closed door as
though it held some secret he could discover by looking at it,
before moving into the kitchen. Pulling a can of potato soup
and a box of Pasta-Roni out of a cupboard, he scowled at
them. God, he'd agree to do a months' worth of expense
reports in exchange for a nice, juicy hamburger right now.
Leaving the packages on the counter, he tossed a couple of
logs into the stove.

In the heat of the fire, Mulder caught a whiff of himself and
realized that he was probably due for a bath. He'd taken to
wearing dirty clothes whenever he went out to shovel the
pathway, figuring that he'd be reduced to raiding Elver's
wardrobe in no time if he didn't conserve what he'd brought
with him. But in spite of washing up and putting on relatively
cleaner clothes afterward, his current bouquet left a lot to be
desired.

Gathering up some logs and kindling from the pile in the
kitchen woodbox, he walked into the bathroom and built a new
fire in the mini fireplace there. Scully returned from her trip
outdoors to find him pumping water into a large kettle. Seeing
her look of inquiry, he explained, "I thought I'd better soak off
some of the funk before you make me sleep with Elver tonight."

"You mean he isn't the one I've been smelling all day?"

He clapped a hand over his heart. "That's harsh, Scully, really
harsh. Wait and see if I ever run a bath for you again."

The atmosphere at supper was decidedly more cheerful and
friendly than it had been all day. Reading instead of playing
board games had provided a much needed break from
involuntary togetherness. By the time they were done eating,
Mulder's bath water was ready. He let Scully wash up for bed
first, since it was already late, while he headed to the outhouse.
When he got back, she was dressed for sleep in his sweatsuit
once again. He liked seeing her in his clothes, and wondered if
he could convince her to keep wearing them after they returned
home.

She borrowed a large saucepan of his hot water, volunteering
to wash their few dishes while he made himself more
presentable. He rather enjoyed his warm soak in front of the
little fireplace. If he ever had a chance to own a house, he was
going to make sure it had a fireplace in the bathroom. If it
didn't, he'd add one. He knew Scully would appreciate the
decadence of the idea.

That thought brought him up short. When had he started
thinking in terms of what Scully would want in *his* future
home? Right from the beginning of their partnership, he'd
respected her professional opinion when they were working on
a case, even if he often ended up convincing her to do things
his way. Giving her the same courtesy in his personal life
happened gradually, until her potential wishes were spilling
over into his daydreams, too. If he was honest with himself, it
had been a long time since he'd made any decision at all that
didn't include her input. He could no longer remember a time
when her happiness was just an afterthought. Given the
chance, he would fulfill every dream of her heart for the rest of
his life. But she'd made it pretty clear that the interest was one-
sided. Considering the fact that he'd soon be sleeping next to
her, this didn't seem like the best time for wishful thinking.

Finished with his bath, Mulder let the water drain from the tub.
He doused the fire with what remained in the kettle. Dressed in
clean boxers, he reluctantly left the warmth of the little room for
the relative coolness of the rest of the house. Scully was
already under the blankets and seemingly asleep. He moved
through the rooms, first making sure the kitchen fire was
banked, then adding logs to the one in the fireplace. The
domesticity of his chores brought a lump to his throat. All
through history, men have been considered the family
protector. When people lived in caves, that might have meant
keeping the fire away from sleeping family members, snuffing
smoky torches, and barricading the entrance from marauding
animals. As humans grew more inventive over time, the nightly
tasks became easier and less time consuming. These days,
those duties would consist of nothing more than turning a lock,
closing a window, and flicking a few wall switches, but the
symbolism was the same. What wouldn't he give for a chance
to perform these types of chores every night, knowing that
Scully would be waiting for him when he was done? Maybe
wearing something a little less concealing...

As he crouched by the fire and fantasized, the increasing
shadows caught his attention. Standing, he turned around to
find the lamps and chandeliers slowly dimming on their own.
He watched as the glow of each one faded until it was
completely gone, with only the fireplace lending light to the
room.

"You can't forget several decades of habit, can you, Elver?"

When there was no answer, he climbed under the blankets. He
scooted closer to Scully's warmth, but refrained from touching
her, even through the sweatsuit. Thankfully, the day had
ended better than it started. But that also meant that he didn't
have her shield of aggravation to hold between himself and his
inappropriate yearnings. All he possessed was years of
restraint that the past few days had worn thin around the
edges.

On that unhappy thought, he drifted off into a restless sleep,
with the sound of footsteps and creaking doors echoing in his
dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thursday

2:48 PM

Although it had been snowing when they awoke that morning,
the mood hadn't been as strained as the previous day. The
flakes drifted down lazily instead of lashing against the house,
and the lack of gray in the sky boded well for the possibility of
Mother Nature's eventual cease-fire. With any luck at all,
they'd be able to leave tomorrow.

When Mulder ventured outdoors after breakfast to shovel the
small accumulation of snow from the pathways, he'd been
pleased to find that it took him scarcely half an hour. In fact,
the lack of exertion left him feeling so chipper, he offered a very
rude suggestion on how Scully could help to warm him up.
Instead of rapping him upside the head with a saucepan, she
had simply stated that, in honor of their current antique living
conditions, she was going to make use of the woodshed for it's
historic secondary purpose if he didn't lay off the lewd jokes.
He didn't know whether to laugh or find a paddle for her to use,
so he clamped his lips together and tried to hide his grin.

After a pleasant breakfast, a companionable lunch, and the
equitable division of chores, he had high hopes of being able to
last out their forced confinement without doing something that
might jeopardize their current relationship.

Until Scully decided to play a round of Scruples.

"Have you ever played that game?" Mulder asked.

"No," she admitted, "but I've heard about it from my mom, and
the rules make it sound like Truth or Dare. I've played that.
How much different can it be?"

"It's more like Truth or Consequences, Scully. I'm not sure it
would be such a good idea right now."

"You're chicken."

"What?"

"I said you're chicken. You're afraid I'll beat your ass again."

"No I'm not!"

She made soft clucking noises.

"Right." He said, and squared his shoulders. "Let's see how
tough you are then."

He crouched in front of the end table and pulled out the box. It
was still sealed with plastic.

"Huh," he said. "It looks like Elver and Marie never got a
chance to play this."

"Or someone else gave it to them, but they weren't interested.
Maybe we should leave it intact."

Mulder sliced through the plastic with his thumbnail and peeled
it off.

"If someone in their family gave this to them, it would be kinder
to give it back looking as though it had been used, don't you
think? I know I'd be hurt if I found out someone didn't like my
gift enough to open it."

"Okay." She pulled out a chair at the dining room table and sat
down. "But I get to go first."

"You're feeling sadistic today, aren't you? Be my guest, my
dear Scully. After you."

She opened the box and pulled out the sheet of rules. He put
more wood on the fire, giving her time to read through them
before he joined her at the table. He'd played this game before
and hadn't liked it much. He would find himself profiling the
other players, which made it seem like work and took the fun
out of it. As did the necessity of revealing pieces of himself that
he'd rather keep hidden under their respective rocks. Mulder
was getting a very bad feeling about this whole idea, but he
couldn't let his own partner call him a chicken.

Apparently satisfied with the instructions, she pulled a pack of
yellow cards from the box. She shuffled the cards, and dealt
them each five, but left the red pack of cards where they were.

"You've sold your house," she read off her first card. "Before
you move out, the roof starts to leak. Do you have it fixed?"

She stared at him expectantly. He blinked back in surprise.

"Scully, you just read the directions. You're supposed to give
us each one red card, too. Then we have to guess what the
other person is going to say."

"How many years have we been working together, Mulder?" It
must have been a rhetorical question, because she waved a
hand in dismissal and continued. "I *know* what you're going
to answer. Besides, those rules are for a group of people. It
says that you have to decide who would be most likely to give
the same answer as the one on the red card. Not much of a
challenge when there's only two of us. Instead, we'll give an
answer and then try to guess if the other person is being
honest. Now, would you fix the leaking roof or not?"

He was feeling worse about this idea all the time. There was a
knot in the pit of his stomach that felt like barbed wire. His
answer came out a bit more belligerent than he'd intended.

"Hell no! If someone has already bought the house, it's not my
problem unless my head is getting wet. They're the ones who
have to worry about it, not me."

"I can't believe you said that. You have a moral obligation to
make sure that the house is in working order for the new
owners. A leaking roof doesn't qualify."

"Not if the paperwork is already signed and they're just waiting
for me to move out."

"There's nothing here about paperwork, Mulder. It just says
you haven't moved out yet."

"Then you don't have enough evidence for me to be able to
provide a proper answer and it's my turn."

He picked up his first card and read it. "You hit it off with
someone at a party. Your lover seems jealous. Do you cut
your conversation short?"

An amused snort issued from Scully's throat. "Not likely."

"Why not?"

"That's not on the card, is it?"

"No, it isn't." Mulder flipped the card so she could see it. "I
was merely curious as to why you wouldn't cut short a
conversation with some stranger if your lover didn't like you
talking to him."

"In the first place, I wouldn't necessarily be talking to a man."

"You would unless you're gay. I don't think a male lover would
be jealous of you talking to another woman."

She glared at him but didn't dispute his assumption. "Okay, so
I'd be talking to a man. If the man I'm with doesn't like me
conversing with another man -- who I will most likely never see
again -- that's his problem, not mine. Why should I stop talking
to someone simply because I have an insecure lover?"

"Because you love him? Isn't that enough?"

"Why should it have to be? We're both grown-ups. I should be
able to talk to anyone I like without having to cater to someone
with the emotional maturity of an adolescent."

Mulder squirmed. He had a strange feeling that she wasn't
speaking in the hypothetical sense. True, he'd displayed a
touch of territoriality on occasion, but that didn't mean he was
jealous... much. Things were starting to hit a little too close to
home, just as he feared they might. He pointed to her stack of
cards.

"Your turn."

She appeared surprised by his attempt to avoid the issue but
refrained from commenting. Choosing another card, she read,
"If your lover had a nightmare and couldn't sleep, would you
want her to wake you up for comfort?"

He didn't even have to think about that one.

"Sure. I'd want you to comfort me if I had a bad dream and you
were laying right next to me. Why shouldn't I do the same for
you?"

Oops. Should have kept that one impersonal. Time for
another question. He snatched up his next card.

"A genie offers you a remote control device that will make your
lover do anything you want. Do you accept the gadget?"

She chewed on her lip for a moment. "No."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I wouldn't want that kind of power over someone."

"But you could make them do whatever you wanted. You could
change their annoying habits, or make them more romantic, or
anything at all. Don't most women want to change a man once
they have him?"

Scully looked him right in the eye. "If I really loved someone, it
would be *because* of who they are, not in spite of it. I don't
see the need to fix something that isn't broken."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, absorbing the
implications of such power over another person. Mulder knew
he'd never even be tempted. There wasn't one thing about
Scully that he would change. Except for her constant
skepticism, and even that was a good thing, because she made
him work for his proof. He had to see every problem from all
angles so he could find enough evidence to refute her
inevitable nay-saying. No matter how frustrated he got
sometimes, he would never want her to behave in any other
way.

His drifting thoughts were pulled up short by her next question.

"You find a wallet with a large amount of cash inside. The
driver's license is from another state, but there's an address
listed. Do you mail the wallet back with the cash still in it?"

She smirked and said, "Not much of a question for a couple of
law enforcement officers, is it? Let's try another one."

Mulder put his hand over hers as she reached for a new card.
Scully obviously didn't realize what she'd just said to him.
She'd implied that she knew him well enough to believe he was
an honest man, yet she apparently didn't know him well enough
to believe that he loved her -- even when he told her so. The
irony was too much for him.

"Wait a minute. I'd take the money and throw the wallet away
with my fingerprints all over it. You mean you wouldn't?"

"There's no need for sarcasm, Mulder." Shaking off his hand,
she took another card and read, "The ship has sunk; you and
your lover are treading water. You have only one life jacket.
Do you give it to your lover?"

He knew what he was going to say -- there was only one
possible answer. When he remained silent, she shot him a
quick glance, and he knew that she knew as well. He'd already
told her how things are for him, so his answer shouldn't have
come as any surprise to her.

"Yes. I would."

"So you'd prefer to make her watch you drown while saving her
own life?"

"Would it be better for me to watch *her* drown, knowing I
could save her and that I wouldn't want to live without her
anyway? Then the life jacket doesn't do anyone any good."

It seemed that fate was determined to make them
uncomfortable. The good mood of the morning was long gone.
They weren't sniping at each other, but neither was he as at
ease as he had been. By the way Scully kept picking at the
sleeve of her sweater, he suspected he wasn't the only one
feeling uneasy.

He didn't wait for any comment she might have, but picked up
another card.

"As a detective, you want to put away a vicious rapist, but a
crucial piece of evidence is lacking. You can plant it. Do you?"

The silence that followed stretched on for several long
seconds. Finally, she snapped, "Do you even have to ask?
That one is as obvious as the question about the wallet. I
would have thought you knew me better than that after all this
time. Pick another card."

Yes, Mulder admitted, he knew his partner. He knew what kind
of dressing she used on her salad. He knew when her rent
was due -- he'd paid it for her a couple times when she wasn't
in town. He knew her computer password. He knew she
secretly loved cheesecake, even though it was too fattening,
and openly hated pantyhose, even though she wore them
every day. He even knew when her damned period was each
month, for Christ's sake. So yeah, he knew how she'd answer
the question, but he still didn't know the one thing that was
most important to him.

Suddenly, it was too much to bear. Something inside of him
snapped. Maybe it was his last shred of good sense. Maybe it
was an overload caused by four days of being in too-close
proximity to the woman he loved. He only knew that he was
tired of never being sure where he stood with her. Whatever
the cause, he made a sudden decision and acted on it before
he could back out. The game was about to take a sharp right
turn. They'd see which one of them was chicken.

He picked up a new card and pretended to read it.

"Someone you consider a friend blurts out 'I love you' while
under the influence of drugs. Do you believe him and respond
in kind, or blow it off and never mention it again?"

Scully's face paled, then flushed bright red.

"That's not on the card, Mulder," she stated. "It's not
answerable with a 'yes' or 'no'."

"Answer the question, Scully. Do you say the words back?"

For the first time he couldn't catch her eye.

"No."

Mulder slammed his palm down on the table, making her jump.

"Goddammit, Scully! Why can't you accept it?"

"Accept what?"

"That I have feelings for you."

"I know you have feelings for me, Mulder, just like I have them
for you. But we both know you didn't mean what you said."

"Of course I meant it."

"No you didn't. You were drugged. People say lots of things
they don't mean when they're under the influence."

"Drugged or not, I didn't proclaim 'I love you' to everyone who
stopped by to visit. I sure didn't say it to Frohike when I saw
him hanging over my bed."

Scully was picking at the edge of a card instead of looking at
him.

"I'm not your type, Mulder. As much as I didn't want to admit it,
the evidence is clear."

"What evidence?"

"Bambi, Phoebe, Diana -- long legs, tall, busty. That's the kind
of women you've always been attracted to. Who knows how
many others there've been that I didn't know about?"

He felt like grabbing her by the arms and shaking her until her
teeth rattled. Instead, he threw down the card in his hand, ran
his fingers into his hair and tugged -- hard. The pain seemed to
settle his raging emotions.

"Did you ever stop to think that my tastes might have changed
over the years, Scully? Did you consider how those busty
bimbos with the long legs treated me? Isn't it possible they
came on to me, not the other way around? What makes you
think I put the moves on them, or that I wanted to? There are
other things that I find attractive now."

She chewed on her lip but didn't say anything.

"Things like loyalty, intelligence, trust, respect, mutual affection.
Short legs aren't anything to be ashamed of, you know. When I
hold you in my arms, you fit perfectly over my heart. None of
those leggy bimbos ever filled that place the way you do. I
can't believe you don't know that."

He reached out to still her nervous fingers, but as he brushed
her skin, she pulled her hand away. Mulder frowned. There
was something he was missing. He took in her downcast eyes,
hunched shoulders, and tightly pursed lips, swollen from the
rasp of her teeth. Remembering her peevish complaints about
his off-color remarks the previous day, an unlikely idea
occurred to him.

He stretched across the table to touch her arm -- and she
shrugged him off.

All his doubts evaporated. "You're in love with me," he
whispered in awe.

Her expression radiated panic.

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are." A grin spread across his face, which only
seemed to make her more stubborn.

"Mulder, what makes you think that every woman who comes in
contact with you has to fall for your manifest charms? Simply
because Doctor Bambi and Detective White threw themselves
at you, that doesn't mean I have to. Get over yourself."

He didn't buy the confidence she tried to inject into her words.
She was lying. It all fit together. In fact, he was willing to take
another leap.

"You're using Diana, Phoebe and the rest as an excuse. You
know how I feel about you. The idea that you're not my type is
just a pretense to deny your own feelings. You can lie to
yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me."

"Just drop it, Mulder. You don't understand."

"What don't I understand? That you find it hard to express your
deepest emotions? I know that. Maybe you're afraid that I'll be
possessive and jealous, demanding all of your time for myself.
You're probably right, but how is that different from the way I've
always treated you? I love you, Scully. And I know now that
you love me, too. Why can't you admit it?"

She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest. He
knew he was pushing her; he couldn't help himself. Not
knowing would be worse than finding out that he was wrong.
But he wasn't wrong. He was sure of it. Well, pretty sure.
There was a little doubt at the back of his brain that tried to
niggle its way forward, but he smothered its voice under as
much hope as he could muster.

When she finally spoke, Mulder was holding his breath.

"Because I've spent years trying to counteract the perceptions
of a male-dominated institution," Scully said.

He gave thanks that he could breathe again. She hadn't flat-
out stated that she didn't love him. He concentrated on
clearing the dizziness in his head as she continued.

"The good old boy's network seems to think the one way a
woman can advance herself is by lying on her back. When I
slept with Jack, I was perpetuating that misconception, in spite
of the fact that he had nothing to do with my actual career in
the Bureau. I was too young at the time to realize the harm it
was causing, but I'm not that naive now. How would it look if
word got out that I was screwing my partner?"

Her eyes begged for his understanding and acceptance, but
Mulder hardened his heart against her pleading gaze. He
wasn't about to let her off that easy, not now, not when he
knew the truth.

"Were you planning to get the words 'I'm fucking my partner'
tattooed on your forehead afterward, Scully?"

"Of course not!"

"Well neither am I. So how is anyone going to know? We're
adults. We can love whoever we damned well please without
being answerable to our coworkers or society in general. We
only have to answer to each other, no one else. Right?"

Scully fidgeted in her seat. "I suppose so."

"Then admit it!"

"Fine! Yes, dammit, Mulder! I love you!"

Annoyance and irritation couldn't hold out against the three
words he'd been longing to hear. He reached toward her hand
again, and when she didn't pull away this time, he laced their
fingers together on the table. "Well. That wasn't any harder
than explaining my last three health insurance claims. Kinda
feels good to say the words, doesn't it? I've wanted to say
them again every day since the first time."

There was regret in her eyes as well as her voice as she
whispered, "I'm sorry, Mulder. I should have told you that day
in the hospital, instead of treating your declaration like a joke."

He shook his head. "You don't need to apologize. I
understand. Really, I do. You've always needed solid proof
before you can begin to consider an extreme possibility. So
don't believe in vampires. Blow off all evidence of werewolves.
Doubt the possibility of alien life on Earth. But please, even
without scientific confirmation... please, don't ever doubt that I
love you."

He stood and pulled on her hand until she was standing, too.
Wrapping their arms around each other, they clung together as
their bodies slowly swayed to a melody they alone could hear.

After several minutes of silence, she said, "There are no such
things as vampires or werewolves, Mulder, and you still haven't
convinced me that aliens exist, either."

He chuckled and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Give me time, Scully. I'll find your proof." He tightened his
embrace and mumbled into her hair, "These last few days have
been sheer torture."

"I know."

Leaning back, he looked into her eyes and saw a rueful smile
lurking there.

"What?" she asked. "You thought you were the only one going
crazy? Being within touching distance and keeping my hands
to myself has been one of the hardest things I've ever done.
Why do you suppose I started to complain about your
innuendoes?"

"Huh." He pulled her back into a fierce hug. "And here I was
thinking you were just fed up with me. I figured you were
itching to get back home so you wouldn't have to look at my
annoying face for a while."

"I don't normally visit the bathroom as often as I have been the
last couple of days, you know. It was either take regular breaks
or make a fool of myself coming on to my partner."

He leaned back again and made sure she was looking right at
him.

"If you wanted to touch, Scully, all you had to do was ask."

She shot him a glance filled with such desire it took his breath
away.

"Mulder, may I touch you?"

It took a moment to get his voice under control. "You're doing a
pretty good job so far, but please feel free to indulge yourself."

He was expecting the slow drag of fingers over his chest or
trailing through his hair, not the sudden plunge of all ten digits
down the back of his jeans. She'd managed to get right
underneath his boxer shorts, too. The feel of her warm hands
kneading his ass set off a firestorm of adrenaline that lit every
fuse in his body. The resulting explosion of lust welded their
lips together and carried their twined bodies as far as the
mattress.

They flopped down in a tangle, jabbing each other with elbows
and bumping knees. When Agent Scully finally made up her
mind that she wanted something, apparently she didn't mess
around. Mulder found himself stripped and flat on his back in
less than two minutes.

He experienced a moment of panic when she scooted off the
mattress and stood up. It scarcely lasted as long as it took her
to pop the first button on her sweater. He wondered if his eyes
had just bugged out like a cartoon character. As her fingers
flew from button to button, revealing her milky breasts, he felt
the urge to hoot and whistle and clap his hands like the worst
kind of animated lothario. But he didn't because this was
Scully, not some bottle-blonde pole dancer in a sleazy bar. He
should be worshipping her on his knees instead of watching her
with his tongue hanging out.

Her sweater went flying. She pushed her jeans and panties off
in one movement while his eyes darted from her busy hands to
her bobbing breasts. Once she pulled off her socks, she
dropped to the mattress and crawled toward him on all fours.

He gathered her into his arms, skin on skin, and breathed in
her scent. The smell of her desire was strong, or maybe it was
his, or maybe it was both of them combined. He didn't know
where to touch her first, there were so many possibilities. This
was a moment to be savored, something he'd waited years to
achieve. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before,
not even in his best wet dreams about her. He opened his
mouth to suggest that they set a more leisurely pace, but the
words were vaporized as she clamped her lips over his and
shoved her tongue in his mouth.

Their first kiss didn't last nearly long enough as far as he was
concerned. She nipped and sucked at his tongue and lips
while her hands set off sparks on his nerve endings every place
she touched. They tumbled back and forth on the mattress,
groping every square inch of skin they could reach, until she
pulled him on top of her and wrapped her legs around his waist.
The chorus of moans and groans they produced would have
done credit to any haunted castle. He wondered briefly if Elver
would be rude enough to watch. The feel of her soft hand on
his hard cock stopped that thought in its tracks, and his wet
slide into her heat derailed it altogether.

Balancing on his hands, he looked down at her flushed face
beneath him -- a sight he'd never dreamed he would get to see.
It was exhilaratingly painful; wondrous torture; the most
pleasant agony he'd ever experienced. He could feel all the
aching holes in his heart closing up, leaving nothing but Scully
to fill the hollow places.

He never wanted it to end, but the noises she was making
weren't helping his self-control. Neither was the way she
jerked her hips off the bed to meet him on each thrust. In fact,
any control he might have had was useless against the flood of
sensations assaulting his body. His orgasm hit so hard and
fast, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and gasp as he
emptied all the love he possessed into her accepting embrace.

His shaking arms couldn't hold out, and he collapsed to one
side. It took a few seconds for the ringing in his ears to stop
enough that he could hear Scully's panting breaths beneath
him. He tried to move, but she tightened her grip. He was
beginning to get his breathing under control when a horrible
thought struck him.

"You didn't come, did you?" His voice was muffled by a pillow,
but he knew she'd heard him.

"Couldn't you tell?"

"Well, I was in the middle of a major religious experience, so I
may have been a bit distracted. I'm sorry I was selfish, but it
was rather out of my control."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Mulder."

He picked his head up and stared at her, wide-eyed.

"You mean you came and I missed it? How did I miss it?"

Scully smiled. "Just because I didn't scream 'Oh my god,
Mulder, you're such a stud' that doesn't mean nothing
happened. I think watching you set me off."

"If I wasn't so tired right now, I'd be incredibly turned on."

She chuckled softly, snuggling her nose against his
breastbone. He moved to lie next to her and gathered her back
into his arms.

They laid under the blankets for a long time, hands moving
lazily over sex-warmed flesh. He couldn't remember ever
feeling so relaxed and at peace. To be here with her, touching
her naked skin, murmuring endearments into her ear, making
her chuckle, was a gift beyond words. He would gladly give up
concrete proof of extraterrestrials, let someone else put Bigfoot
in a cage, and watch the world go to hell in a colonization
handbasket if he could just stay in this very spot and never
move.

Little puffs of warm breath on his chest told Mulder that he
wasn't the only one feeling worn out. He smoothed a strand of
hair away from Scully's cheek and pressed a kiss onto her
forehead. The rest of the day stretched before them, just like
the other days they'd been stranded in this house. When they
woke up they would need to keep the fires burning, make
supper, trek to the outhouse, talk about the possibility of
leaving tomorrow, maybe play a board game, and finally get
ready for sleep again. And yet, everything was different now,
new in ways he couldn't even begin to contemplate. Was it
only yesterday morning they were irritated and angry with each
other? It seemed like a lifetime ago. His mind boggled at the
realization of the leap they'd just taken. Scully shifted in her
sleep, cuddling closer. He clutched her fiercely, a familiar
protective feeling swelling in his chest until he didn't know if his
flesh was strong enough to contain it. This was a leap worth
making, no matter the distance or risk involved. He was going
to do everything in his power from now on to make sure she
never regretted making that leap with him.

As he felt himself dozing off, his last thought was that maybe
Scruples wasn't such a bad game after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday
8:23AM

Mulder awoke to the sound of dripping water. Lots of dripping
water. So much dripping water, in fact, that his bladder urged
him to get out of bed immediately if he didn't want to embarrass
himself in a way he hadn't done since he'd passed out after
drinking six bottles of home-brewed ale at Jimmy McGinty's flat
in Oxford. No one ever admitted to sticking his hand in that
bowl of warm water, but he'd always had his suspicions.

Scrambling from the mattress, he didn't even bother reaching
for his clothes. They were all alone, the house was isolated,
and he really needed to pee *right now*. Expecting to be body-
slammed by a wall of frigid air when the door opened, he was
surprised to find that the temperature had actually risen
overnight. There was still a deep layer of snow covering
everything in sight, but the snow banks were noticeably
shrunken and the path to the outhouse had tiny thin patches of
dead grass starting to show through. However, making it to the
outhouse wasn't even an option, what with the warm air at his
bare back and the colder air at his naked front. Man, he was
going to miss pissing off the porch once they made it home.

When he shivered his way back into the house, he found Scully
standing just inside the door, swathed in his discarded shirt and
the pilfered sweatpants. She was pulling on a pair of boots as
he walked into the kitchen.

"Mulder, you haven't