AUTHOR: Cathleen Faye | Kimerikal@aol.com
with Melinda MacCaughtry

RATING: NC-17 (for general smut, explicit sexual situations, lots of adult language and some other things that your mother told you would make you go blind)

CLASSIFICATION: MSR

SUMMARY: Trapped together by a mountain storm, Mulder and Scully discover that while they have gone searching for one thing, they may have found something else entirely. Your basic cliché-ridden MSR--Hopefully told with a sense of humor and a touch of sexiness.

SPOILERS: In terms of timeline, the story is set in 1998 sometime after Redux, but otherwise there are no spoilers.

DISCLAIMER: Oh please, like there is any legal value in a disclaimer. <g>

FEEDBACK: Any and all thoughts, suggestions, comments, complaints are ALWAYS welcomed at Kimerikal@aol.com

AUTHOR'S NOTES FROM CATHLEEN: I've been absent from the XF fic scene for some time, not that I was ever a terribly prolific writer in the first place. However, this is a story that needed to be finished. I'd actually started writing this a few years ago with Melinda, based on some of her initial ideas of Mulder & Scully stuck in that Ubiquitous Hotel Room in the middle of nowhere (keep in mind when we started this, such stories were at the height of fashion <g>). We hadn't gotten very far when Melinda was stricken with cancer and writing put aside during her long battle (which sadly, she lost last spring.) I know that she wanted to see this finished, as it was something we talked of getting back to when she was feeling better. In truth, after her death, I'd forgotten about it until I ran across it again while transferring some files from my old PC to a new PC a while ago. I decided the story needed to be finished, a small tribute and thank you to a great friend who had always supported all my endeavors with kindness and encouragement. I'd like to think that Mindy would be pleased that it's now out there in the eternity that is the Internet.

THANKS: My deepest appreciation to Deb, on whom fell the difficult task of doing the beta on this bit of story dormant for so long. Mindy and I may have birthed this thing, but Deb helped teach it to walk & talk. <g> And for that, I'm very grateful. Thank you.

Pilgrims' Progress

January 6, 1998

Another hotel room.

Scully sighed and surveyed her surroundings as she closed the door behind Mulder. The room had all the charm that their crappy FBI per diem could buy and, technically, they were damn lucky to have found it. It had all the basic necessities: a king bed, a table, and even a couch by the window. What it lacked was any warmth whatsoever. Not homey warmth, but actual heat warmth. She was freezing her ass off. It was raining hard outside and they'd been out in it for some time. She was soaked clear down to her underwear and she felt sure that her body temperature had dropped by five degrees. She shrugged off her wet coat and looked around for the thermostat as she shivered. "God Mulder, where the hell is the heat?"

"Over here, Scully." He'd spotted an aged radiator in the corner near the bathroom and was giving the valve a few good turns. It creaked and rattled in protest but finally started to emit a low, but much-welcomed heat.

"Oh, you're my hero." Scully held her numbed hands over the radiator a few moments, flexing her fingers slowly and hoping the feeling would eventually come back. She looked over at Mulder as he dropped his bag on the floor by the couch and noticed that he, on the surface anyway, didn't seem overly bothered by this dreary place. "Mulder, does it ever seem strange to you that central heating should such a rare thing in the places we end up? Is it a conspiracy?"

"Yes," he answered, walking past her. "A very well orchestrated one at that." He sank down on the ratty couch as he pulled off his soaked-through shoes. He then stripped off the socks and twisted them slightly, watching as the ice water plopped onto the cheap carpet and his wet bare feet.

Scully didn't get to see naked Mulder feet that often and the sight fascinated her. Long, slender, clean toes, just ripe for tasting. She watched as he flexed them slightly, trying to bring some circulation back. He looked up at her suddenly, and she felt slightly flustered at having been caught staring. He didn't say anything, but a mild wicked look crossed his face. Before he could utter the inevitable smart assed comment, she crossed over to the bed and opened her overnight case. "Ah, shit!"

"What?" he asked, abandoning the task of sock-squeezing and coming to stand next to her.

"Look, everything got soaked." The rain that was pouring outside had apparently found its way into the trunk of the cheap rental car where it had drained in and then pooled at the bottom. With an exasperated groan she disdainfully picked up a drenched sweater with two fingers and watched balefully as the drops plopped, plopped, plopped, back down onto the rest of her soggy clothes. She looked up to see Mulder watching her with amusement and nowhere did she see the level of sympathy that she felt due. "Don't get too smug, monster boy, your bag was *under* mine in the trunk."

"Shit." Mulder turned and grabbed his own bag. Sitting back down on the couch, he dropped it between his large feet and began poking around inside. Scully could hear the squishing of water as he moved his own clothes about and swore under his breath. She smiled inwardly as she placed a carefully composed mask of commiseration on her face and leaned to look over his shoulder. "Gee, Mulder--that's just...terrible."

At the entirely insincere tone, Mulder slowly shot his partner a look and continued to dig around in the bag. Suddenly his hand hit something. "Wait...wait...Ah ha!" He yanked out a plastic bag that he'd thrown into the suitcase straight from the dry cleaners. Inside were a dress shirt, a sweater, and a T-shirt. All perfectly dry. Saved by sheer laziness, he thought. He turned to grin triumphantly at Scully, who now actually looked a bit peeved.

"What kind of person dry-cleans a T-shirt, Mulder?" she asked in vexed tone.

"The kind of person who now has dry clothes to put on, Scully," he retorted.

She sighed a bit in resignation to her fate, and turned back to assessing the mess in her own bag. Catching the look on her face, Mulder suddenly felt bad about his sarcasm even though she'd started the sniping. Not only were her bag and all its contents sopping wet, so was Scully. Her hair hung in limp strands around her face, dripping rivulets of water down her neck and onto her shoulders. In spite of her jacket, her jeans and sweater were soaked through. And God knows, the smell and feel of wet wool was enough to put anyone in a foul mood. The hint of blue skin tone touching her lips was visible proof of how cold and miserable she felt. He knew that she had other reasons to feel physically miserable at the moment, too. Not that she'd mentioned it, but after all their time together, he knew just the same.

Taking pity on his dripping partner, he dug the large, dry, white T-shirt out of the plastic bag. Getting up, he made his way over to where she was busy draping her sweater over a chair in front of the radiator as though that would do any good at all. "Here," he said as he stuffed the T-shirt into her hand. She looked up to meet his eyes a moment as he nodded to her. "Go take a hot shower, and while you do that, I'll go find out if this dump has a dryer."

Before she could respond, he turned, snatched up her bundle of wet clothes, then his, and headed back out the door. Through the window, Scully watched him dash across the small parking lot and back over to the office of the tiny motel. He hadn't even bothered to put his shoes back on. Even after all this time, sometimes he still surprised her.

Taking the wonderfully dry shirt, she headed for the bathroom, started the shower, and stripped off her remaining wet clothes. A moment later, she opened the door a crack and peeked out to be sure she was still alone. She quickly crossed the room and placed two towels on the radiator where Mulder would see them when he got back, then returned to the luxurious warmth of the hot shower, knowing it would do much to soothe her freezing limbs and aching back.

A bit later, Mulder was back, having negotiated with the owner to use the dryer that the motel used for housekeeping linens. He'd also stopped at the motel's sole vending machine to buy up a plethora of junk food. They hadn't eaten since early that morning and while the manager told him there was small diner just a bit down the road, he was starving *now.* He tossed his bounty on the small table by the couch as he closed the door against the relentless pounding of the rain. As he did so, a roll of thunder crashed so loudly, it sounded like a train wreck. The unnerving booming noise reverberated, then faded. Holy shit. That wasn't city thunder; this was full on mountain thunder. OK, so there really wasn't such a thing, but it was still unlike anything he'd ever heard.

He could hear the sound of the shower as it melded with the pounding noise of the rain outside. He shrugged out of his jacket coat and slung it on the hook by the door as he shook his head to shake off the extra water. Looking across the room, he saw the towels that Scully had left out for him and the little kindness made him smile. When he picked them up off the radiator, they were very warm and that felt like a small, sweet luxury.

He mopped his wet hair as he stripped off his soggy shirt. He then passed the warm towel over his skin, and it helped to ease the chill. Tired, hungry, cold, and stiff from hours of sitting in the car, he stood in front of the large window, clasping his hands behind his neck, stretching from side to side.

As he stared out the window, he watched as a small sedan limped into the last remaining empty parking space just a few doors down from theirs.

A man got out of the car and ran through the pelting rain across the parking lot to his room, opening the door and disappearing into the room a moment as the lights switched on. As he came back to the door, the car door opened and a very little girl clambered out, clutching a stuffed giraffe. As she hopped out of the car, she lost her footing and fell into one of the deep potholes of the decrepit parking lot. The little girl screamed in terror as the rushing water swirled around her. "Daddy! Help Me!"

Mulder opened his door to go to her, but the girl's father reached her in two seconds flat. He scooped his crying daughter out of the deep puddle, clasping her tightly against him as he reassured her that she was safe, that daddy was there. After a moment, he smiled at her, "Sweetie, I told you to wait for me to carry you so you wouldn't get wet. Now look at us--Even your poor Mr. Giraffe is all wet and dirty!" He picked up the soggy toy and wiggled it at her so its long neck flopped about and his little girl giggled at the silly sight, her tears and fright gone. "Now let's get inside before Mommy wakes up and puts us both in time-out." The little girl laughed again as he stood up, holding her closely. As he did so, the man caught sight of Mulder watching them from his doorway, and he nodded to him, acknowledging Mulder's concern. "She's OK. Just scared a moment," he called over to him. Mulder nodded, and the man turned and carried his daughter back across the parking lot to their room, shielding her from the rain.

However, Mulder continued to stand there, watching the water violently rush down the driveway of this dreary place. A shiver washed over him, but it wasn't from the cold. Every once in a while turbulent memories got free of their carefully tended cages. The hazy recollection of his sister taken while under his care, and the far more clear memory of Scully's voice on his answering machine calling to him desperately for help. In both cases, he'd been ineffectual, useless. He struggled to shrug off the regret, knowing how damaging that burden became if he allowed it to weigh him down for too long. After a moment, he closed the door as he shook himself out of his reverie, returning to the present and his previous line of thought. That's right, he remembered now: he was cold, wet, tired, and hungry.

Out of that list, hunger seemed the more immediate problem, as they hadn't eaten since dawn, before their whole day began to spin out of control--Not that that was anything new or different for them.

Not quite a week ago, a woman had contacted Mulder with tales of abductees being returned once a year to this remote mountain. When question of how she could know of such a thing, she claimed to be one of them. She insisted that the next time would be in just a few days.

Of course, Mulder had serious doubts about her entire story, but nonetheless he launched an investigation into the woman's background. He found that she had disappeared at age twelve and had reappeared ten years later, found wandering along the interstate. No one believed her story of where she claimed to have been. The authorities eventually came to the conclusion that she fell into the crazy-but-not-dangerous category. And since being crazy wasn't against the law, she was released. Ever since then, the woman said she'd been trying to find others like her, and more importantly, find someone who would believe her. Her tales of being held with other children pushed all of Mulder's buttons. Mulder checked and found that over the last twenty years, a few others had been picked up, but no one had considered them more than vagrants, not uncommon in the rural area. There was no way of knowing how many others, if any, there may have been.

Then the day before yesterday, the woman disappeared again. He and Scully had gone to the run-down hotel where she had been staying to find it was as though she had never been there. Even the manager who had put Mulder's calls through to her just the day before claimed he'd never seen her.

And so, here they were. After talking about it, they'd traveled to the place in the mountains spoken of by the woman. It was the date she claimed that others would be released, and they had little choice except to put their faith in the word of a person that sane people thought was crazy.

And from the moment they'd started out, almost everything defied them. Their real hotel, that they were supposed to check in to tonight, was actually some thirty miles back down the interstate in a decent sized town. A town that actually had a traffic signal and a gas station. They'd been traipsing out in the back of beyond when a storm that the weather channel had said was definitely headed east defiantly turned south suddenly, catching the entire county off-guard with hard driving rains, flash floods, and mud slides.

Not being stupid, Mulder and Scully had prepared well for the trip into the backcountry. They'd notified the rangers of their plans, carried a small supply of food and water, and had dressed appropriately. However, the violence of the storm was not something that could have been planned for or even foreseen. It was far too dangerous to spend the night on the mountain and they'd struggled to get back down before darkness fell.

By the time Mulder and Scully made it back to their car, the road down the mountain and back to their hotel had been closed because of landslides. The storm raged, growing in intensity, and the need for shelter had outweighed their need to find food. Sleeping in their rental car had started to look like a distinct possibility when they'd been lucky to find this run-down motor court in this tiny wide-spot in the road community. They were going to be stuck there until the roads were cleared.

Was it too much to ask that just once something interesting would happen in the tropics? Something that might send him and Scully scurrying off to a luxury hotel in Bermuda? Did everything in his life have to be a trial--a continual test of his endurance, even when it came to stupid things like eating and finding a decent place to sleep?

However, even as he indulged in the bout of self-pity, he knew things could be worse. In fact, they had been worse. Not so long ago Scully lay near death and he was shut out, seemingly unable to help her.

As though hearing her name, the door to the bathroom opened and out stepped Scully. She was wearing his T-shirt with one towel wrapped low about her hips like a sarong and her hair twisted up in another. She looked a bit like a terry cloth Carmen Miranda, all that was missing was the fruit, and the sight of her made him smile. They'd come through that bad time; but the thing in Scully's neck was both her lifeline and her curse. It came with no guarantees and no warranties. There was no one to complain to should it begin to fail; there was no remedy and no redress. There was no justice for Scully yet and he wanted that for her. He wanted her safe. He wanted her happy. He just wasn't sure how to go about making that happen for her.

As Scully caught sight of him standing there shirtless and wearing only wet jeans, she did her best to keep both her eyebrows from arching. Holy shit. She wanted him so bad sometimes it was painful. This was going to be a rough night for a lot of reasons. She glanced away in a futile attempt to cover the fact her eyes were lingering just a tad longer than was appropriate for a co-worker.

Mulder on the other hand, did little to hide the fact that her appearance also mesmerized him, making him forget for a moment his own physical misery. The fine cloth of his shirt clung to her damp skin. Not quite in full-on wet T-shirt contest fashion, but close enough to make him swallow hard. It was making other things hard too. "Warmed up?" he asked. No pun intended.

"Yeah, finally. Thanks for the T-shirt."

"Well T-shirts and towels are all the rage I hear."

She smiled a bit, but seeing Mulder's unabashed stare she glanced down at herself, noticing that the T-shirt fabric hid little. Oh well, it's not as if Mulder hasn't seen nipples before, she thought--although she suspected that lately it had been mostly on videotape. "Where did you get all that?" she asked crossing to the table where his bounty lay.

"Since the food in the packs got soaked, I went foraging for food, it's what we men do, Scully. I was able to fell a vending machine by tossing quarters at it."

She smiled again, and then nodded as they continued to stare at each other and the moment stretched. "Well, the bathroom is all yours," she finally said quietly as she unwrapped her hair from the towel, running her fingers through the damp red strands to comb it. "You must be freezing."

Actually, he was feeling rather hot at the moment, but decided not to mention it. As they looked at each other, the moment grew in tension until Mulder was finally able to break the spell. He gestured to the food on the table. "Go ahead and eat, don't wait for me." And with a final glance at her, he headed into the bathroom.

He'd just stripped his clothes off and stepped into the shower, when he heard a knock on the door. It opened a crack. "Are you decent?" he heard Scully ask over the hiss of the shower.

"I like to think so," he called back.

He heard her give a sigh that was both amused and exasperated. He smiled to himself as he began to lather up.

"I meant, are you naked?" she asked slowly.

"I'm in the shower, Scully, of course I'm naked."

"Do you mind if I come in a second to get some water? I found one of those little coffee maker things in the closet, along with some coffee and soup packets -- and if you can bring yourself to refrain from giving me anymore shit, I can make us something warm to drink."

At her exasperated tone, Mulder knew he better back off. "I can refrain. Come on in." He didn't suppose she'd consider pushing back the shower curtain and stepping into his arms. Through the curtain, he could see her silhouette as she entered the bathroom and started to fill the carafe at the sink. Immediately there was change in water temperature, sending a barrage of icy water down on Mulder. He gave a small yelp and dropped the soap.

"Are you OK?" she called. He could see her shadow approach through the curtain.

"I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Sorry about that."

Right. He knew she'd deliberately turned on the hot water to draw it away from the shower. That was one thing about Scully, she could give as good as she got. Mulder saw her turn back to the sink and finish filling the carafe. As she left the room, she bent down and picked something up off the floor. "Mulder, I'll put your stuff on the radiator to dry out some."

"Thanks." She left the room and Mulder was able to turn his attention back to more pressing matters: relieving his deep, aching need. The bathroom was a sanctuary and the hot shower was a haven. As the water cascaded down his back, he placed his palms against the wall and stretched, savoring the heat. Water had always been soothing to Mulder and the shower an anonymous place for him to sort through his thoughts. Healing, nurturing, and forgiving, almost nothing mattered in the steam and privacy of the tiled stall. This was where he always retreated when he needed to unwind and get some balance to his life.

Or when he just plain needed to get off.

Turning around, he let the water pour down over his face and chest. He slid his hand though the thick lather, down his abdomen, through the mass of dark hair, and firmly grasped his semi-erect cock. A quick shiver ran up his spine and after taking several ragged breaths, he started to slide his clasped hand slowly and firmly over the length of his shaft. Oh God, that felt good.

Looking down, he watched his hand as it coaxed the responsive pleasure from his body. Moving harder now, he anticipated the release and relief, realizing that it was going to come quickly. He didn't care. Prolonging the pleasure didn't interest him at this time; his goal was soothing that burning knot of tension coiling tightly in his gut and getting to the orgasm was just out of reach. His breathing became a bit more labored as the wonderful pressure built.

He braced his left hand against the tile for support, his fingers splayed wide, almost gripping the tile. Mulder stroked his hand relentlessly over his hard and engorged cock as he closed his eyes, the water running down over his face. The feeling was incredible-- only having Scully touch him would feel better. He imagined Scully's hands and how they would feel upon his skin, caressing gently or gripping him tightly. He'd run his hands and then his mouth over her breasts and down her flat belly to her navel. In his head, he touched the soft red curls at the juncture of her thighs, parting her legs, he imagined being deep inside her, feeling the heat, feeling her tightness, her wetness. He heard the visceral noises she would make.

He was breathing harder now, and the hand braced against wall slid slightly across the wet tile as the movement of his right hand became frantic. Mulder groaned softly, painfully aware that he needed to be quiet, and gulped more air as he felt it start in the base of his spine. Spasms of sensation shot forward, causing his balls to tighten in preparation for his ejaculation. Nearly losing his balance when his abdominal muscles suddenly and sharply tensed, he steadied himself and then lost all thought as the orgasm overtook him. Biting back his cries of pleasure, he sank to his knees as he came, finishing the final strokes on his cock, pulling the last of the come from his body as the intense pleasure gave him the relief he sought.

Unable to think clearly, let alone move, he sat back on his heels on the floor of the shower, head bowed, as the water coursed down his back. Finally, he raised his head and sat back, unkinking his legs from underneath him and stretching them out before bringing them back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees and rested his head against the wall, his eyes tightly closed. He was only cognizant of the water beating down on his head and the thud of his heart as it returned to normal rhythm. God, an orgasm was amazing thing.

After long minutes, his strength came back and he slowly rose to his feet. He finished washing his hair and rinsed the soap from his now at-ease body. The sexual tension was temporarily relieved, even if the emotional tension wasn't. But there wasn't much he could do about that.

He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and looked around the bathroom. It appeared that they were rapidly running out of dry towels. There were only two hand towels and one large towel left. He used the hand towel on his hair and body and the remaining large towel he wrapped around his waist. Of course, large towel in the hotel sense and large towel in the view of the rest of the world were two entirely different things. Unlike the one tied around Scully's small frame, this one barely met to wrap around his waist. Its self-grip was tenuous at best.

Oh well.

When Mulder exited the bathroom, he was greeted by a rather bizarre example of Scully's ability to multi-task. She sat on one end of the little couch, one hand holding a book she was reading. In the other hand, she held her blow dryer, which was running full blast and pointed at his underwear draped over the radiator. Over the noise of the hair dryer she didn't hear him come in and he watched her as she managed to push back the glasses sliding down her nose, flip the page of the book she was reading, and still not lose her grip on the hair dryer. He couldn't help but smile; she was just so damn adorable sometimes.

He noticed that the book she was reading was the one he'd given her for Christmas. Every year they agreed not to exchange gifts. And every year they did it any way. By unspoken agreement, they had settled on books as their gifts to each other. Both were voracious readers and the exchange of books allowed them to appear casual, and yet be deeply intimate as they continued the pretense that they were just co-workers. This year, while perusing Amazon.com for Scully's gift, he'd come across the biography and letters of Maud Gonne, the beautiful and fiery Irish feminist who was the unrequited love of poet William Butler Yeats' life.

He knew little of Yeats beyond having been forced to memorize a few poems in his high school literature class. Granted that had been an easy task for him, but the truth was he'd much rather have been playing basketball. Like most high school boys, he'd little use for poetry except as a means of impressing girls.

However, he remembered the story of Yeats and Gonne. Fiercely political and independent, Maud adored Yeats, even as she had a long-term affair with a married man, eventually having a son and daughter by him. That relationship failed, and years later she'd married John MacBride and had another son she called Sean. That marriage was brief and unhappy with evidence that John was both alcoholic and abusive.

And through this all, Yeats loved and idolized her, immortalizing her in poetry and plays. But a life lived on a pedestal as the muse of a great man didn't interest her. Deeply untamed at a time during the turn of the century when women were mostly decorative, she became a champion of Irish independence, and chose a life devoted to her causes. Eventually her son, Sean MacBride, a rebel in his own right as a young man, would become Ireland's only winner of the Nobel Peace Prize and co-founder of Amnesty International. After reading the book himself, he'd thought the story of this woman of substance would interest the woman of substance in his own life. From her intense perusal of the book, it looked like he'd made the right choice.

Scully looked up and noticed him standing there. This time all he was wearing was the towel with an intriguing set of bulges that swayed softly as he walked. Dear God, was he trying to kill her? She suddenly regretted her decision to dry his underwear. She switched off the blow dryer, reached out and felt the fabric. Damn--It was dry. "These seem to be just about cooked." She looked up and tossed them over in his direction. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Mulder caught the gray Calvins in one hand, turned his back and slid them on, then removed the towel. How weird was it that warm underwear actually provided a small thrill? He pulled the dress shirt off the hanger and pulled it on, rolling up the sleeves even as he felt rather silly for making such a facile effort at modesty and yet also feeling presumptuous if he didn't. It's not as if she hadn't seen him naked. Several times in fact. Of course, either he'd been drugged, sick, or unconscious so he wasn't sure any of that actually counted. Therefore, it was probably best to err on the side of prudency.

Scully hid a smile as she watched him dress, or at least attempt to reach a place of more-than-undressed. Her own outfit of T-shirt, panties, and towel sarong was equally silly and she understood how uncomfortable he was feeling. He turned and walked around the bed, absently rubbing his damp hair with a towel and then running a hand through the tumbled mess, pushing it back off his face. "Is that chicken soup I smell?"

"Yep. Freshly rehydrated. I think it's hot by now."

He approached the little coffee maker, poured two mugs of the steaming unnaturally yellow soup, brought them back to the couch, and sat down. Scully put down her book to take the cup of soup. She sipped from it as Mulder opened the vending machine packages of crackers and chips. "Bon appetit" he said, gesturing with his mug. They clinked mugs and started in on the variety of junk food in front of them. After a few moments of ravenous chewing, he nodded towards her book, now laying face down on the table. "Are you enjoying that?"

"Yes, very much so. I'm not to the end yet, but Maud seems such a woman of contradiction."

"How so?"

"She seemed very much a woman of the tangible world -- she has such zeal for her very real political causes. And yet, after the death of her first son, she studied the occult, thinking she could find a way to reincarnate him, bring him back somehow."

"Grief makes you reach out for possibilities, Scully."

"I know that, Mulder. She's the subject of so very much of Yeats' writing and devotion. Yet, after her affair ended, she refused all of Yeats proposals. She married another only to see that marriage fail badly. As smart as she was, her choices of men were quite terrible."

"Do you think that Yeats' idealization frightened her? Maybe she felt it couldn't be real or that she couldn't live up to it."

"I'm not sure. But she never let go of his friendship either. It was interesting that she called their relationship a 'Spiritual Marriage' and it lasted longer than any other in her life." Scully was silent a moment before continuing. "Maud did confess to not being entirely thrilled with sex...maybe she was afraid of losing the friendship over sex."

"Well, her experience probably wasn't a good one. During that time, it's unlikely that men had either the education or inclination to pay much attention to a woman's needs, let alone understand or care that they even had them.

"That could be said about men now," she joked lightly.

He looked at her. "Not about *all* men, Scully," he said softly.

She looked at him a long time; there was no glibness in his eyes. She lingered over his face a moment before looking down. "No, certainly not about all men, I'm sure, " she agreed.

After that moment hung between them, Mulder took another sip of soup, then returned to the subject. "You know, they'd known each other nine years before Yeats finally kissed her."

Scully looked back at him, his face near hers. "That's a long time to wait for a first kiss," she finally said.

"Yeah, it is."

"I hope it was a good one at least."

"I don't know, Scully--Maud still didn't marry him."

"I'm not to the end yet, but do we find out if they were ever lovers?"

"Depends which scholar you talk to. But whatever happened, they did remain friends, even if the other didn't work out."

"Yes, that's good to know. You know, if they weren't lovers, I wonder what might have happened if she'd given that kiss another chance. It might have been different; she wouldn't have married a man who turned out to be so wrong for her. She might have been happier."

"It's possible. But then again, her son wouldn't have been born. The world would be down one Nobel Peace prize recipient."

"Well, that's true. I guess we can never know what fate has in store for us." She searched his eyes a moment, before continuing. "We can't really know except with the passage of time if the choices we make are correct."

"Exactly. But even wrong choices can have unexpected results. And who's to say Yeats would have been happy if Maud had loved him? Would he have been the writer he was? Maybe he owes his immortality to the fact that she was unable to give him what he needed. He did write that when he met her, 'the troubling of his life began'."

Scully laughed. "So do you think he meant that whether it's romantic love, spiritual love, or sexual love--it's all trouble?"

He laughed, gently. "Could be." After moment, Mulder reached over and offered her an Oreo. "Dessert?" he asked.

Scully shook her head, and he popped it in his own mouth. That wonderful mouth. His tongue caught a few crumbs left on his lower lip. OK--she needed to get a little distance here. "I know it's pretty early, but I'm going to write a bit and then go to sleep, I'm exhausted."

Scully got up from the couch and went to the little table where her laptop sat, thanking God that it had been up on the front seat of the car rather than in the trunk. Aside from losing two thousand bucks, much of her life was on that hard drive, which of course, was never backed up as regularly as it should be. She sat down and began completing her journal entry for the day, her nightly ritual of putting her crazy life in a bit of perspective.

As she typed, out of the corner of her eye she saw Mulder toss the empty wrappers in the trash then disappear into the bathroom where she heard the sound of teeth being brushed. As he came back into the room, he picked up one of the pillows from the bed and tossed it on the couch. He then reached to grasp one of the blankets. She stopped typing and looked at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm crashing too, Scully. I'm bushed."

"I meant, why are you sleeping on the couch? It's too short for you. I don't need a whole king bed all to myself."

"I always sleep on the couch at home, I'm used to it."

"What's the matter--afraid I'm going to compromise your reputation?"

I wish, he thought. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he finally said.

"Don't be silly. I'm good at sharing and I've never had complaints about snoring or cover-hogging."

Mulder moved the pillow back to the bed, drew back the covers, and crawled in as he wondered briefly about the men who may have had the opportunity to comment on snoring and cover-hogging. He pulled the covers close about him, making a nest of sorts as he burrowed in, hoping he could get to sleep before Scully joined him, because that was the only way he was going to get any rest.

Scully watched him perform his little ritual, her eyes lingering on him surreptitiously and affectionately. "Will the light keep you awake?" she asked softly. "I don't need it on."

He met her eyes a moment. "It's fine. It doesn't bother me." She nodded and returned to her keyboard. Mulder continued to look at her a moment as she concentrated. Her glasses slipped slightly down her nose and she pushed them back. Her hair was almost dry now, and freed from the stylings of a blow dryer, it fell in loose waves about her face and she tucked a misbehaving strand behind her ear. The unconscious, so-familiar gestures tugged at his heart and moved him to speak. "Scully, I'm sorry about today."

She looked back over at him, a touch of surprise in her face. "No one in the county knew this storm would turn the way it did. Even the park rangers didn't warn us when we started out. It was just bad luck. I know you're disappointed at losing this chance."

He flopped over onto his back and put his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. "I have it all in perspective. I do. This journey was just a wild hope. So even though not making it up the mountain is not the end of the world or anything close, it just seems like--"

"--Like we could catch a break once in a while?" she smiled at him.

"Yeah, I guess. Something like that."

"We'll try again next year. That's the beauty of this date--it happens every year."

He looked at her now. "Really? You'd come back with me?"

"Yeah, Mulder. I'll probably bitch, moan, and point out the futility of it all--but yeah, I'll come back with you." He looked at her a long time and she couldn't quite read him for once.

"Why?" he finally asked. "We've had nothing but bad luck lately."

"Well, then we're due a change for the better, aren't we?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, we're due." He turned back on his side, grasping a pillow to him. "Goodnight, Scully," he murmured as he closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Mulder." She watched him a moment as his breathing slowed and deepened before she finally returned to her journal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

January 6, 1998

A failed day. We'd come to this mountain to search for answers and it seems that we're to be denied them once again. This isn't an officially sanctioned trip, although it should be. Mulder was following a lead on missing children, his sister possibly among them. If that's not a FBI matter, I don't know what would be. However, they would have considered this a waste of time. In truth, I would have considered this a waste of time two years ago. But I've seen too much since then to dismiss this so easily.

There is a tendency to devote time and resources to the newer cases; the squeakier wheels so to speak. As though the passage of time somehow makes the grief and pain and guilt go away. As long as there is uncertainty, there is both hope and despair. Mulder clings to one, even as the other threatens to enshroud him should he lose his grip, even a little. Nevertheless, hope is what has brought us here to this place. But nature instead of the government conspired against us today.

So instead, we sit in a small hotel on the side of a mountain. It's interesting that wherever we go the desk clerks always assume we're some old married couple, never newlyweds. Maybe it's the incessant bickering. Or maybe it's because we actually do fit together in a strange way. On the other hand, maybe they see the thing that he and I carefully avert our eyes from.

And Mulder's hope will need to wait another year. I know he's bitterly disappointed, but he's hiding it pretty well--as he often does. I know that he looks for answers for me too, that he seeks justice for me as well. And so, Mulder follows this quest with the ferocity and determination usually reserved for a pilgrimage. But then again, a pilgrim is one who seeks salvation through a physical journey or quest for something conceived of as sacred. And really, is the Truth any thing less than sacred?

For if the possibility of what Mulder believes in is true, then there may be certain answers to my own questions of what happened to me. So we're both pilgrims, it would seem. Fated to wander this strange world together searching for our separate truths only to find they are tangled together in a web of lies.

But sometimes it's not about the quest; sometimes it's just about us. Small moments or conversations that I treasure. As disappointing as today was, tonight we had a wonderful, although uncomfortably allegorical, conversation about Yeats of all things. In truth, the only Yeats I know by heart is an ode to wine and love that my father used to recite to my mother:

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye That's all that we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift my glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.

Mulder's sleeping now, all scrunched up in a blanket and peaceful. I could tell the moment sleep came to him; his face softened and became young, unworried. Beautiful. It takes my breath, and I sigh.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As Scully closed the lid of the laptop, a roll of thunder reverberated throughout the room, making her jump slightly, and drawing her attention outside. The flickering lights on the sign of the little motel reflected through the rain, which showed no sign of lessening. Maybe tomorrow would be better, but she doubted it. The room had grown chilly again, so she rose and checked the radiator. It was going full power, doing the best it could against the temperature drop, but it was a losing battle.

She turned off the light, making her way to the bed. Drawing back the blanket, she shed the towel skirt she'd been wearing and crawled into bed, feeling grateful that Mulder's body had already warmed the airspace under the covers. She stretched out beside him, resisting the pull to crawl up next to him. She knew he'd turn and take her in his arms if she gave him even the slightest hint it was what she wanted. There were days, like today, when she was so tired of the dance.

But the truth at this particular moment was that she was exhausted and, as it was the last day of her period, she felt generally crappy--a nasty added benefit left over from the time of her abduction. Mostly, she was afraid of the depth of her passion for him, both emotional and physical. The first two obstacles were temporary and would pass. But to indulge the latter would demand that she give up more than just a bit of her prized control. And she knew that once she gave herself permission to take Mulder all the way into her head, her heart, and her body, there would be no going back for her; she would be in too deep.

Even so, she moved closer to him under the covers, feeling the warmth of his body as she tried to get comfortable on the unfamiliar mattress. "God, I want my own bed," she muttered softly.

A low, sleep-filled voice floated back to her, "and I want my own couch."

Smiling in amusement, sleep washed over her.

But it didn't stay. It was after one in the morning when the worst of it hit, the nauseous pain and severe backache, gnawing at her, just as she knew it would. Like it always did on the last day. Cramps. Most women just got them early on, but with her now slightly screwed up body chemistry, a remnant of her abduction, she got them the whole damn time, even on the last day. For the last three days she'd dealt with the bloaty, achy, generally shitty feeling that always told her the worst was on its way before she got a month's respite. Scully suppressed a groan as another wave of pain seized her and she turned over, trying to find a comfortable position. However, the next one that hit a few moments later caused her to gasp sharply.

She sat up in bed, struggling with both the need to sleep and the pain. God, she was so tired, all she wanted to do was get some rest. Was that too fucking much to ask? Turning in bed, she glanced over at Mulder sleeping so peacefully beside her, completely forgetting her earlier tenderness and momentarily hating every fiber of his being because he was male and therefore not subject to this crap. But in spite of her acrimonious thoughts, she eased gently out of bed so as not to awaken him and headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind her as she turned on the light, and squinting painfully in the sudden brightness.

She pulled out her small sundries kit and dug through it, looking for her bottle of Ibuprofen. The miracle drug. She'd taken several that morning and as usual, they allowed her to function quite well. She gritted her teeth against another wave of pain, now digging a little desperately.

Shit. Shit. Shit! It wasn't there. She dumped the bag out in the sink and try as she might, she couldn't bring up a recollection of putting the bottle in the bag after taking them at home this morning. Toothbrush, toothpaste, tampons. Deodorant. Make-up. How could she remember to bring blush and forget the Ibuprofen? What the hell did she need make-up for? Who the hell did she need to look good for? Mulder? Fuck Mulder. She needed drugs.

Rubbing her lower back, she turned to his small leather kit and invaded his privacy without a second's remorse. She found a bottle and pulled it out gleefully.

Shit. Aspirin. Aspirin worked on cramps just about as well as a fish could ride a bicycle. How the hell could Mulder only have Aspirin? Damn him. She tossed the bottle back in his kit. There wasn't anything that even remotely resembled a 24-hourdrugstore, or even a convenience store, in this tiny no-horse town. She was screwed. Scully sat on the edge of the tub a moment, feeling hormonal, aggravated, weepy, and in pain. After a moment, she got up and started to run the tub. Sometimes a hot bath offered some relief. Sometimes. And sometimes she needed to do more.

Back in the bedroom, a different water sound awaked Mulder. For a foggy moment he thought the rain outside had increased dramatically until he realized the sound was coming from inside, not outside. At that moment, he realized that Scully was no longer beside him and that the water sound was coming from the bathroom.

He got out of bed, feeling the chill of the room. Only the area directly in front of the radiator was warm. He went to the bathroom door. The sound of the tub filling stopped and now he heard a slight splashing.

"Scully?" he called, "you OK?" There was a moment's silence, so he opened the door a crack. "Scully?"

"Yeah, Mulder. I'm OK," her soft voice answered.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, feeling stupid even as he said it. He knew what was wrong and he knew there was nothing he could do.

"You don't happen to have any Ibuprofen stashed anywhere do you?"

"God, I'm sorry. No. I probably have some Aspirin."

"That's ok. Aspirin doesn't work for this." He could hear the soft pain in her voice. "Just go on back to sleep. I'm going to soak a while."

"Scully--"

"I'm fine Mulder," her voice now had a slightly frustrated tone, although he knew it was directed at her own body, not at him. "Its just cramps. No one dies from cramps. They just want to," she added in a rueful tone. "Go on back to bed. I'll be back in after a while."

Mulder wasn't sure what to do. Like most men, he was both fascinated with and repulsed by the female menstrual cycle. The part of him drawn towards understanding all the mysteries and processes of life was completely intrigued by nature's perfect symmetry and organization of the proceedings. However, the often painful, sometimes messy, and occasionally emotional process just baffled the part of him that was regular guy.

He'd first found out about all that in fourth grade from his buddy Robert August. His initial reaction to this new bit of information had been something akin to the horror he'd felt when Robert had filled him in on the whole sex and babies thing a couple years before. His reaction to that earlier bit of information had been a flat: No Way. There was just no way his parents has twisted themselves into the human pretzels like the people he'd seen in the pictures that Robert showed him. His mom and dad? Doing THAT? For fun? No way. There just had to be some other plausible explanation for his and his sister's appearances in this world. OK, maybe his parents had just done it the two times.

Well, as time went on and he was more aware of things, it appeared that not only was his mother doing the sex thing fairly regularly, she was also going through this other bizarre bodily ritual on a monthly basis too.

Dear God.

As he grew into adolescence and adulthood, the women in his life defined his experience and perception of the process. Other than occasionally complaining of a backache, his mother showed few of the signs of the crazed behavior that Robert said went on in his own house with his mom and three sisters. Of course, Samantha was taken before it became something that he could torment her over, as was his prerogative as an older brother. Then later in high school, his girlfriend bitched and moaned and complained for five straight days each month. At Oxford, Phoebe considered the entire thing an unseemly animal process, and not to be discussed in any manner or acknowledged whatsoever. Diana, on the other hand, was walking incontrovertible proof of the fact that PMS did exist and that hormones could be evil. At the other end of the spectrum, his wife Lisa became randier than hell during that time of the month and Mulder was more than happy to accommodate her needs. Hell, it was half of what kept the brief, ill-advised marriage on life support a few months after it had actually died a natural death.

As for his partner, other than the occasional zit on her chin, before her abduction he hardly ever knew what time of the month it was for her. However, since her abduction, her body was messed up. It didn't seem to know that she had no ova left and continued to function as though each month conception could happen and she could become pregnant. So, aside from the cruelty of being reminded each month that bearing a child wasn't a possibility anymore, she'd also become subject to every nasty symptom available. Back pain, cramps, swelling, bloating, headaches, weight gain, irritability, mood swings, sleeplessness, and general achiness. In short, it pretty much sucked to be Scully for a couple days each month.

Scully's attitude, coming as no surprise, was to be stoic about the entire process. As a doctor, she certainly wasn't shy about it and discussed the matter with medical detachment. But at the same time, Mulder knew that she considered any sign that she might be suffering from PMS, good old-fashioned cramps, or any other human symptom, to be a show of weakness. He knew that on some level, she was angry. It was a monthly reminder of the assault of her abduction and because of that, she refused to give into it.

But even so, each month he could see in her eyes that she wasn't as well as she could be even if she tried not to show it. However, a few Ibuprofens kept the pain at bay and her will kept her mood even. She'd never missed two minutes of work because of it and she would never have considered for a moment not coming with him on this trip. Indeed, she would have been completely pissed off for days had he even suggested such a thing. This was a woman who drove herself relentlessly through the misery of chemotherapy, so no damn cramp was going to hold her back.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. And Mulder didn't want Scully to hurt.

He crossed over to the radiator where his pants were. He pulled on the still slightly damp jeans, wincing at the completely gross feel. Likewise with the equally damp shoes. On went the dry sweater and shrugging into his coat, Mulder opened the door and stepped out into the rain. He'd remembered the motel manager had told him that, a short way down the road, there was a small dinner that was taking in stranded travelers. Surely, someone there would have something to help Scully.

Mulder ran to the car, backed out of the space, and headed in the direction the manager had said. About a half-mile down the road, he saw it and, praise the Lord, the lights were on. He pulled over and ran inside as the rain blasted him. As he stood dripping in the doorway, he pushed the rainwater out of his eyes and looked about the place. The small diner was little more than a lunch counter with a couple small booths squeezed into the back. There were about eight men sitting on the stools or playing cards at one of the tables to pass the time. They seemed to be mostly truckers who'd taken the mountain pass only to be caught in the storm like everyone else and had taken refuge in this small place.

They all turned in unison when Mulder came through the door. Upon realizing he was nobody interesting, they all turned back to what they were doing as the level of conversation rose again. There seemed to be a congenial feel about the place, the kind that often happens when strangers become temporarily bound together through circumstance.

The one woman in the place was the waitress, a round-faced woman, well past middle age, who looked tired but friendly. Her nametag said her name was Eula, and she approached him carrying a coffee pot. "Sweetie, we ain't serving anything but coffee right now," she said. "The cook's long since gone home."

"Thank you, but I don't need anything to eat--"

"Well, if you're stranded like the rest of these boys, you're welcome to hunker down and wait it out." Before Mulder could say anything, she set down the coffee, turned towards the back, and shouted, "Toby--you slide your fat ass on over and make room for this boy to sit." Mulder looked to the booths in the back where a large man instantly obeyed the obvious voice of authority.

"No, no, I don't need a place to stay. We managed to get a room at the inn down the highway earlier."

"Well, then what you need, child?"

"Do you have any Ibuprofen that I can buy? I need some for my...girlfriend back at the hotel and there isn't another place open in this town." Girlfriend? Where the fuck had that come from?

"We can fix you right up, honey, we got all sorts of little sundries behind the counter here for folks passing through."

Mulder felt like kissing her feet; he was going to be the hero in this story. He followed Eula over to the counter by the cash register behind which there was a little rack containing everything from granola bars to gum to batteries to condoms. He waited patiently while Eula looked over the rack and then put a little packet on the counter in front of him. Mulder started to take it, then noticed it was Bayer Aspirin. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a pain, but I need some Ibuprofen. It doesn't have to be any particular brand name as long as it's Ibuprofen."

Eula took back the aspirin and went back to looking at the rack for a few moments. "How about Tylenol?"

Mulder's confidence in being a hero began to slip. "No, it needs to be Ibuprofen."

"I know we had some, a lady was asking for it just this morning."

"Let me help you." Mulder pushed his way behind the counter and went through the entire rack with her. Not one fucking packet of Ibuprofen. Not one. Whoever she was, he hated the bitch from this morning who probably got the last packet in the county. The stupid cow was probably sleeping peacefully somewhere while his Scully was miserable.

Eula saw the look on his face. "Honey, are you sure one of these others won't do? They both work pretty good on headaches."

"It's not a headache," Mulder ground out.

The light of understanding when on in Eula's eyes. "Oh...so she gots herself the misery. Poor thing. And ain't you a good man coming out on a night like this."

Mulder didn't feel like a good man; he felt rather useless.

"Midol works good, it's what that lady bought. But I guess she got the last of it."

"I don't suppose you happen to have any personally? I'm happy to pay, money's not a problem."

"Well, sweetie if I had any, I'd surely let you have it. But that ain't been a problem for me for years now and good riddance. But don't you look so hangdog. We ain't defeated yet. You just hold on."

Eula turned around to address the men in the diner. "Boys!" she called out. When she didn't get the full attention she desired, she grabbed a wooden spoon and whacked it several times against a soup pot on the counter. "Boys! I asked for your attention and I want it right now!"

The voices died down and all eyes turned to Eula and the hapless FBI agent cowering behind her as she continued. "Thank you. Now this here young man's girl has got herself the cramps real bad," she gestured to the now pink-faced Mulder, "and she needs some Ibuprofen, something like Advil or Midol. Any of you boys got any that you can share with this boy?" There was silence. "Well? Do you? Speak up!" Eula asked again. "Don't you make me ask again."

A voice from the back spoke up. "I got some Midol out in the rig." Mulder looked on as an old man slowly stood up at the very back booth and all eyes turned to him. The old man looked down at the younger man sitting next to him who had snickered slightly. "I use it for my bad back, Earl!" he said in slight exasperation.

Eula beckoned him forward. "Bob, don't you pay no mind to that fool, you just come on up here and help this young fella out."

Bob walked up to the front of the diner. "Follow me, it's out in my truck," he said to Mulder as he pulled his jacket off the rack and headed out the door without another word.

Mulder turned to Eula. "Thank you so much. Really. You're a lifesaver."

"Glad to help, honey. You tell your girl to take care. And you stay dry," she called to him as he hurried after Bob. Mulder turned and gave her a grin before he headed out the door.

"That is one pretty boy," she said to herself as the door swung shut behind him.

Mulder spotted Bob over by his truck and ran over to him. "Sir, I can't thank you enough for this. Here let me pay you for your trouble." Mulder reached into his pants pocket. All he had was a twenty, but he held it out to the man.

The old man opened the door to the truck cab, groped around in the back, and finally came back with a small shaving kit bag. "Keep your money, son, it's just a couple pills." He opened the bag, rummaged through, and finally brought forth the Holy Grail in the form of a small plastic bottle. "Here," he said, uncapping it and looking inside. "You're lucky, I'm just about out," he said to the desperate agent who dutifully held out his hand to receive the bounty. But instead of handing him the bottle as Mulder expected, the old man tipped the bottle and out dropped two precious tablets into Mulder's palm.

Where, sadly, one of the pills decided to take an unfortunate bounce out of Mulder's hand and down into the dirt below, where it was swept away by the rushing rainwater before Mulder even blinked.

"SHIT!" both men said simultaneously as Mulder, clutching the remaining pill in his hand, lunged after the errant tablet, only to lose it down the storm drain in the parking lot. He stood there staring at the drain as the rain poured down on him, quite unable to believe what just occurred. This was just not happening. He'd failed over a fucking pill. In two seconds, he'd gone from hero to loser. He looked up at the stars. If there had been any visible in the sky, he would have cursed them all.

Curling his hand even more tightly around his remaining treasure, he turned back to the old man who was looking at him with some sympathy. "I don't suppose..."

The old man shook his head slowly and shook the bottle, showing it was now empty.

Mulder sighed. Digging in his coat pocket, he found a paper napkin and carefully wrapped the remaining pill in it. He stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans before turning back to the old man. "Well, thank you, Sir. I'm sure this will help some..." he said without much enthusiasm as he shook the old man's hand, pressing the twenty into his palm in spite of the other man's protests. He turned to leave.

"Son, if you don't mind, can I give you a bit of personal advice?"

No, actually you can just kill me now, Mulder thought as he turned back. Aloud he said, "What?"

"Make your girl come."

The rain was obviously clogging his ears. "Excuse me?"

"Make her come, you know, have a climax. I've been married forty years and while this ain't been a problem for my wife in a long time, back in the days before they had all these fancy drugs we found that making her climax almost always helped a shitload. She didn't much always feel like actual sex, but we did...you know, other stuff that seemed to work. Or maybe it just took her mind off it, but either way, she felt a lot better afterwards..."

The old man trailed off when he saw the rather wide-eyed and disconcerted look on the younger man's face, but apparently misinterpreting Mulder's horrified look as a plea for more information, he plowed on again. "I mean, yeah, she can probably do it herself, but for my wife it seemed to work better when I helped, what you do is--"

"Thank you," Mulder interrupted, desperately hoping to avoid any further details that might be forthcoming. "I think I got it. Thank you." He was rather glad it was dark because he was sure that he was blushing at the picture of him helping Scully to orgasm that now was playing vividly in his mind.

Jesus.

Bob headed back inside the diner, and Mulder headed back to the hotel. As he came inside, he heard the tub running again. Apparently, he'd been gone long enough for the water to get cold. Stripping off his coat, he came to the bathroom door. He heard Scully groan a little. "Scully?" He knocked on the door. "Scully?" He heard some splashing, then the sound of the tub faucet turned off and her voice came back to him.

"What is it, Mulder?" her voice sounded slightly irritated, as though she was sure he was going to ask to pee or something.

"I found some Ibuprofen. It's just one pill, but will that help?"

"God, yes, that will help. Where did you find it?"

"Long story. I'll put it on the sink." Mulder entered the little bathroom, noticing that Scully had drawn the curtain mostly around the tub. All he could see were her naked toes planted on the edge of the tub on each side of the faucet. He set the pill on the sink, drew a glass of water, and set it next to it. "Here you go. Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'll be OK."

He turned to leave but her voice stopped him at the door. "Mulder?"

He turned back to see her hand sneak out from behind the curtain to grasp first the pill and then the water. "Yes?"

"Thank you. You're a good, kind man and someday people will write songs about you."

Mulder gave a small laugh. OK, maybe not a hero, but maybe not such a failure after all. "You're welcome, Scully."

He returned to the bedroom where he again stripped off the damp jeans and laid them back on the radiator. He pulled off the damp sweater, went back to the relative warmth of his dress shirt, and got back into bed.

A while later he heard the tub draining and then the door to the bathroom opened. He turned to look at her as Scully came out. In the low light provided by the neon sign outside, he could see that she was again in the white T-shirt as she made her way to the bed, crawled in beside him and laid down on her back.

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at her. "How are you feeling?" he asked. Much to his surprise, he didn't get the standard response. Instead, she looked over and actually smiled a little for him.

"About eighty-eight percent better. The hot bath and the medication really helped. It's just some low-level back pain now. I can live with that." Mulder looked at her face in the soft light. She wasn't being stoic, she was feeling better; her eyes never lied. He smiled at her as she looked up at him.

"Come here," he said, sitting up and reaching towards her. She looked at him quizzically, unsure a moment, but she did as he asked, moving towards him on the large bed. Leaning over her, he put his hands on her shoulders, and gently nudged her over on to her stomach, drawing down the sheet and blanket. "Let's work on that back some."

Mulder placed his hands low on her back and began to knead the muscles, massaging deeply and firmly over the area from the upper curve of her butt to just below her waist.

Oh my God, that felt good. Scully folded her arms under her head and allowed herself to be drawn into Mulder's touch as his long fingers pressed and manipulated her flesh. After a few moments, he gently drew the back of the T-shirt up so that his touch could come directly in contact with her skin, so that the warmth of his hands flowed more directly to her. He left the panties in place, of course, but he pressed his thumbs against the slight dimples of her back, massaging the pressure points. Her skin, long denied the touch of another human, reacted with delicious responsive quivers that were both sexual and guileless. To deflect the feelings that threatened to overcome her judgement, she asked him a question.

"So tell me the story."

"What story?"

"The story of how you found Ibuprofen at 2 a.m. in this place."

Mulder recounted his experience at the diner, the misfortune of losing the other pill, and even the helpful advice given by the old man. Soon Scully was laughing gently at his misadventures.

"Oh God, Mulder, what a fiasco. That could only happen to you." She felt the movement of his hands slow slightly.

"So it would seem. So…is it true, Scully?"

"Is what true, Mulder?"

"What the old man suggested."

Scully hesitated a moment, this was not a topic she usually discussed with Mulder, but his hands had started to move again, and the feeling was so wonderful she wanted to prolong it. What the hell, she gave another laugh. "Yeah, it's true Mulder. It helps. Why else do you think I was running the tub?"

That piece of unexpectedly honest information rocked him a little bit, not to mention the picture it placed in his head. Not that it was a new image, but it was not one he usually conjured up when in such close proximity to her. "You are full of surprises, Scully," he teased.

"Oh, like you're Mr. Monk," she retorted. "Like you were washing your hair all that time this afternoon."

Mulder was silent a moment, not sure how to process that comment. He was an odd combination of embarrassed and pleased at the thought that Scully knew him so well. "Sometimes you scare me, Scully," he finally said and she laughed. Slowly he lifted his hands from her body, easing the T-shirt back into place. "Better now?" he asked softly.

"Yes, much," she replied. "I think I can actually get back to sleep now, thank you." Scully turned on to her side.

"You sure you don't want to try that other thing? I can help."

Scully smiled a little. His voice was teasing, but she also heard the hopeful tone that lay just beneath the surface. "Maybe next time, Mulder. Now go to sleep."

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

Dawn crept over the horizon and filtered through the window, filling the room with shafts of soft gray and pink light. Mulder opened his eyes and twisted in the blanket, pulling it close and snuggling further into the warmth. Still not comfortable, he bunched up the pillow and turned again, heaving himself onto his right side.

Scully lay in the bed across from him, her red hair vivid against the white of the sheets as she slumbered peacefully. Mulder tucked the blanket under his arm and relaxed into the pillow, all the while keeping his gaze on her face. He knew that he held a special place in her heart and it was this knowledge that kept him sane sometimes. But even as her mind challenged and intrigued him, her physical presence tantalized and tortured him. But having her near was vital to his well-being. Burying his face deeply into the pillow, he couldn't help but think what a twisted bit of karma this was; when the gods wanted to punish you, they answered your prayers.

He closed his eyes to fall back to sleep for a while; they had no reason to get up early today.

It was late morning before Scully stirred slightly and started to wake. As she opened her eyes, she saw Mulder. This was something new. This was something she liked. She stretched on the bed unkinking her muscles. She felt so much better she could hardly remember feeling so miserable last night.

"Morning, Scully."

She looked over to see Mulder pushing his way out of sleep, yawning deeply, and scrubbing his hands over his face. She looked at the wonderful expanse of his chest showing through the barely buttoned shirt as he rolled over on his side to look at her. His hair was disheveled and he needed to shave, but she hoped he wouldn't because he was damn splendid looking. "Morning," she murmured back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good. I feel good."

Mulder looked at her a long while and she could tell he was examining her to see if she was being honest. He must have been satisfied because he smiled. "Good. I'm glad," he said softly, nodding slightly. The closeness between them grew thicker, the pull stronger. The suppression of the natural desire to move into the kiss that hung between them, begging to be realized, was going to test her strength if she stayed here.

So with a quick shake of her head meant to dispel any remnants of sleep, she got up and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Steeling himself against the chill of the room, Mulder threw back the blanket and stood up. He plugged in the little coffee maker as he checked his pants on the radiator. Finding they were finally dry, he pulled them on and then his dry sweater. He poured himself a cup of the coffee, adding a packet of powdered creamer and sugar.

Mulder walked to the window and looked up at the gray sky. Thunderheads loomed in the distance, but the rain had let up slightly. Perhaps they could find out if the highways and roads had been reopened to traffic so that they could get the hell out of this place. With mug of coffee in hand, he took a seat at the small table near the window. As he set the cup down, he bumped against Scully's laptop, almost spilling the beverage on it. Jesus--she'd skin him alive. As he pushed the computer out of harm's way, he noticed it was hot to the touch; she'd apparently left it plugged in and on all night. He lifted the lid, intending to turn it off for her as the power button was at the top of the keyboard.

And there he found himself in a moral quandary. Scully had left her journal open. He knew he shouldn't, that it was wrong, that it was an invasion of her privacy. But he just couldn't keep from reading what she'd written. He scanned the paragraphs quickly, and then sat back in his chair, feeling both elated and ashamed.

Once before he'd read her journal. While she sat with Penny, watching that woman die of the same thing raging inside her own body; knowing it might be her fate. God, how had she found the courage to do that? But she'd not been angry with him for reading it. She'd meant those words for him although he'd probably discovered them earlier than she had intended.

And just as they had then, Scully's words affected him deeply. Her words of understanding and acceptance, both of him and of their pilgrim's quest, were honest and real. Realizing that he had been seeking some small validation of her feelings for him, he didn't quite know what to do now that he had it. He wondered if she ever sought the same validation. Before his better judgement could talk him out of it, his fingers quickly flew over the keyboard, adding a few sentences to the end of her entry. Then he saved the file and quickly shut down the computer.

Mulder pulled on his coat and ran across to the manager's office where he picked up their bundle of wonderfully dry clothes. The manager had no idea if the roads were opened and suggested they contact the park ranger's office back up the road a bit. When Mulder returned to the room, Scully was out of the bathroom and drinking her coffee.

"I thought you'd ditched me."

"Never. I was just getting our clothes back." He deposited the clothes on the chair and entered the bathroom, taking care of business and brushing his teeth. When he came out, he found Scully actually dressed in jeans and sweatshirt. Damn, she was quick. She was now poking around what was left of the vending machine food.

"Mulder, I'm starving and Doritos aren't going to do it for me. Is that diner close by?"

"Yeah, it's about a half-mile down the road. Let's go. We can call the park ranger and see if we can get down the mountain."

"Great, just give me a minute." Scully entered the bathroom and, leaving the door open this time, she began to brush out her hair. She grabbed her make-up bag and pulled out a few items. Mulder sat on the couch, indulging in the simple pleasure of watching Scully as she stood in front of the mirror applying her make-up. A curious ritual, one that he had never been privy to with Scully beyond the occasional reapplication of lipstick. Other men had surely watched her, just as he had watched other women. But this was his first time with Scully. So to speak.

The process itself was odd, this enhancement of beauty. Quite simply, Mulder was fascinated. His mother had never worn much make-up and in the rare instances that she had made herself up, it had been done behind discreetly closed doors. He thought of Samantha, wondering what it would have been like to face his little sister growing up, starting this charmingly feminine process, starting to see boys, and probably dating some guy he would have disapproved of. But rather than make him melancholy, that thought made him smile a bit. He slipped off the bed, and positioned himself against the bathroom doorjamb.

Unaware of his presence at first, Scully was leaning towards the mirror, smoothing a flesh-tinted cream on her face, blending it until it virtually disappeared. She was also giving Mulder a lovely view of her nicely rounded ass; he tilted his head slightly to get a better view.

She added a light layer of palest pink over her cheeks, blending that well, her fingers moving quickly over her skin. When she finished, she took a step back and inspected her handiwork. As she did so, her eyes locked with Mulder's in the mirror and she looked surprised to see him there. "Did you need to use the bathroom? I can step out for a minute."

Oddly aroused, his eyes never left her as he shook his head slowly and whispered, "No," motioning with his hands for her to continue.

Scully's expression was slightly curious, but she returned to the task, applying the faintest sheen of pink on her lids. She placed an eye pencil in the sharpener and gave it a twist as the shavings curled out and dropped into the basin. Scully carefully blended a line along her lashes then set about applying mascara. The last thing she did was cover that wonderful beauty mark on her upper lip.

He'd never gotten that. He loved that beauty mark, possibly because he didn't get to see it often. "You shouldn't do that, Scully."

She met his eyes again in the mirror. "I've done it for as long as I can remember. It's habit."

"Cindy Crawford has a mole."

"Cindy Crawford is also six feet tall. Most of it leg."

"Yeah, but can she take down a liver-eating mutant?"

She laughed. "No, that's true. I could probably kick her ass on the liver-eating mutant thing at least."

Apparently done with the face thing, she gave her hair another brush and as it settled into place, it occurred to Mulder that watching her was as sexy as anything he'd seen in a video lately. But then again, it was amazing what could be sexy when you loved someone. But the oddest thing was that when she was done she looked no more beautiful to him than she had when she first awoke that morning. Still feeling unsettled by her journal entry and the entire display of the last few minutes, he became acutely aware of the increasing heaviness in his groin.

"Mulder? We have to be somewhere. Don't you need to get ready, too?"

Her simple question brought him back to reality. Moving from his leaning position on the door fame, he went to put on a fresh shirt so they could go get breakfast. Trust me, Scully, he thought. I'm ready.

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

"What are you so testy about?" Scully demanded as they entered the room.

"I am NOT testy," Mulder snapped. "I was just hoping to get out of here."

They'd left the motel and driven to the little diner where Scully was introduced to Eula. Fortunately, Bob had been up all night in the diner and had gone to his rig to catch some sleep, so Mulder didn't have to worry about him asking if they'd taken his advice.

After breakfast, they stopped by the park ranger's office only to find that the landslides that had closed the roads hadn't yet been cleared. There had been several accidents, and emergency personnel were busy attending to that and theirs were the only vehicles being allowed through. Hopefully late that afternoon the roads would be open to regular traffic if the rain let up enough.

Only not only did it not let up during the time they were out, it started hailing. So now, they were back in their room for God knew how long. There was no TV. The Phone lines were down so no Internet connection, and Mulder had already read the book Scully was reading. Not that he wanted to read anymore about Yeats and Maud Gonne in any event. The only books that Eula had at the little diner were romance novels. That's all he needed, to read about some guy named "Buck" getting laid. So Mulder has been a bit short-tempered on his way back to the motel.

He flopped down on the couch and looked generally peevish. Scully stared at him a long moment. "Mulder, I'm going to go let the manager know we're staying another night. I'll be back in a bit." She turned and dashed across the parking lot to the little office.

Mulder lay down on the couch and put his hands behind his head. He was not good at being idle. Not to mention he was missing the Knicks game. He could live without it, but he wondered what the hell he was going to do now. The continual close proximity to Scully was driving him nuts. Testy? Hell yes, even though he had denied it. Normally, he would have the solace of his own room to hide in, but being forced to share a room with her was proving to be very difficult. Under normal circumstances, he would just take matters into his own hand, so to speak, but this wasn't a normal situation. He wondered if she would think it very odd if he decided to take another shower so soon after taking one this morning.

He looked through all the drawers on the little nightstand and dresser, finally finding a Bible and a pack of cards. He'd read the Bible before, so he took the cards and lay back down on the couch. After a few minutes, Scully reentered the room and he looked over at her from where he lay. "Hey Scully, I found some cards. Want to play a game?" he asked, flipping a card into the air as he spoke. "Bridge, canasta...strip poker?"

"Don't be silly, Mulder--you need four people to play bridge," she replied. But she approached and sat on the coffee table next to him, withdrawing something from under her coat. She placed a two-day-old local newspaper and a copy of last month's National Geographic in front of him on the coffee table. He grinned up at her. "Scully, you are a most resourceful woman."

"You don't know the half of it."

"Oh?"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes, Mulder."

Mulder reluctantly did as he was asked. He felt Scully move near to him, leaning in close. He felt her fingers slide though the hair at his temples. God, what the hell...

Suddenly, he felt something slide into place over his ears. Startled, he opened his eyes to see Scully very close, pressing a Walkman into his hand, then reaching out the adjust the headphones on his ears. "Here," she said. "The manager took pity on you. Probably because I mentioned I was going to have to kill you if the crankiness continued and he was afraid of cleaning up the mess. He said you can pick up the game even up here. He even threw in fresh batteries."

Mulder took the proffered radio. "Thanks," he said with a weak smile as he looked at her. Her face was so close to his as she settled the headphones in place, her lips so close to his.

"You're welcome," she answered as she moved away, picking up her book as she settling on the bed.

Mulder resisted the temptation to follow her to the bed and instead switched on the Walkman, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on game instead of his partner.

Thank God, she thought to herself as she climbed onto the bed. His petulant behavior had been grating on her all afternoon. He had been acting like a small boy forced to wait in line at the bank with his mother. At any other time she would kill to spend idle time alone with him, but today had been tough. They hadn't gotten involved in their case yet, so there was nothing to talk about there, and at the moment, it seemed that they were completely out of other subjects, too. So actually, being ticked at him had been a godsend because it gave her something to dwell on other than her wish to climb on top of him as he lay on the couch and curl herself around him.

Even though Mulder was still physically present, she felt alone for the first time in two days and she relaxed back against the pillows that were neatly piled against the headboard and tried to read. Thumbing randomly through the pages of the magazine, she looked for something to capture her attention. Anything to take her mind off the man reclining so near to her. A man who was wearing nothing but a gray T-shirt and baggy sweatpants and yet managed to look as sexy as anything she'd ever seen. She finally settled into reading about whales that felt the need to beach themselves. Slowly, the afternoon crept by and Scully soon finished the magazine, then started on the newspaper. She didn't know what time it was when something roused her from the light nap that she'd settled into after boredom made her eyelids heavy and her concentration wander. But then a loud thunk against the wall behind the headboard, followed by woman's scream, made her bolt upright. "Mulder?" She looked over at him, apparently also lightly napping with the headset still on. "Mulder!"

"What?" Mulder asked, raising his head and looking over at her.

"Did you hear that?" Scully was now sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand on her gun that was sitting in its holster on the nightstand.

Seeing her action, he pulled the headset off. "What? What is it?"

"I heard a scream through the wall."

Instantly on his feet, Mulder reached for his own gun a moment later, when a woman's voice cried out, "Michael! Stop it!" Mulder was on his feet and heading for the door, Scully directly behind him. But then came another thump and the voice again. "Michael, stop! You know how ticklish I am. Stop!" The voice was now filled with mirth, and then came a playful yelp.

Mulder slowly lowered his weapon, stared at the wall a moment and then turned to look down at Scully as both male and female laughter drifted in from next door.

"Oops," she offered sheepishly. "Sorry about that." Scully returned her weapon to its holster, reclaimed her position on the bed, and picked the newspaper back up.

"Well, at least someone's having a good time today," Mulder said as he too replaced his weapon then wandered over to the bathroom to get a glass of water.

She looked over at him over the top of the newspaper. "Who said she's enjoying herself Mulder? I don't like being tickled either."

"Laughter, Scully. She was laughing. That tends to lead me to believe that she's enjoying herself."

"Well, I laugh when someone's tickling me too, but that still doesn't mean that I'm enjoying it. I hate being tickled."

Mulder ambled back to the couch, stopping at the foot of the bed. Unable to resist, he reached out a hand and drew a menacing finger along the bottom of her bare foot, not quite making contact.

"Don't start, Mulder," she warned. Not the least bit deterred, he reached his hand out again. "Don't make me hurt you--" she glared at him now while quickly tucking her feet underneath her for protection.

"Wow--who's being testy now, Scully?" he asked as he sat himself down on the couch. He gave up on the headset--the game was a complete blowout anyway--picked up the National Geographic and began to thumb through it. Who would have thought you could devote twelve pages to the wonder that is the American Pond Duck?

"Bill used to tickle me," he heard Scully say softly. "He did just to prove he was bigger and stronger. Melissa would have to rescue me, I hated it."

Mulder looked up from the magazine. "I knew there was a reason I never liked that creep," he said before returning his attention to the article. A moment later, he added quietly, "But if it's any comfort to you, I already know you're bigger and stronger than me."

Scully looked at his bowed head as he made the carefully off-hand comment. He still surprised her sometimes.

After a moment, Mulder heard the sound of laughter again, only this time it wasn't from next door, it was from Scully. It was a giggle, actually. Coming from her, it was an unusual sound to say the least. "What?" Mulder asked.

"I was just remembering how Melissa taught me to administer the wedgie of death. Bill never bothered me again after that."

Mulder smiled at Scully's memory. "I knew there was a reason I liked Melissa," he said.

"She liked you too, Mulder."

"She did? I thought I was generally hated by all your siblings."

"No, Melissa liked you. She did. She thought--" Scully broke off suddenly.

"She thought what?" he prodded.

Scully looked at him. "She thought you were good for me. She always thought I was too closed off."

Mulder digested that statement, wondering how far to pursue it. "You miss her," he finally said. It wasn't a question, but an acknowledgment of her loss.

"Yeah, I miss her. A lot," she smiled again, but it was sad.

The moment passed, but the feeling of closeness lingered as they each returned to what they were reading.

Mulder stole glances at her as he pretended to read and contemplated his options. All he would have to do is cross the room and she'd be in his arms. All he'd have to do is find the courage to get off the couch.

But it was then that he first heard it. A faint thumping noise, coming from behind the headboard. He glanced over at Scully, who didn't seem to notice as she turned the page of her newspaper. The rhythmic noise went on, this time accompanied by a long, soft moan. Oh, Jesus. He was sitting here, hornier than shit for the woman in the room with him, and now he had to listen to this? Not to mention it made it a little awkward for him to pursue his own inclinations at the moment. The tempo continued, only now accompanied by the occasional bump. Again glancing at Scully, Mulder was feeling almost embarrassed because he was on such a sexual edge himself. Having to listen to someone else release their own tension was rapidly turning tortuous. But Scully just casually scratched her head slightly as her eyes scanned what she was reading. She was seemingly fascinated, judging from the concentration on her furrowed brow, and oblivious to the noises coming from right behind her head.

How in God's name was she shutting this out, he thought as he crossed and uncrossed his legs. Had she gone deaf? Mulder was acutely aware of every movement, every sound coming from the next room. But as he stole his next glance at her, he saw Scully shift her hips against the bed ever so slightly, as though trying to smooth out panties that had shifted up.

Or had gotten wet. Ah, so she was in the throes of the horned beast as well. Mulder grasped the magazine in a white-knuckle grip and steadfastly admired the markings of the Mallard Duck. Turning the page, he was treated to the sight of a pair of rapturous waterfowl engaged in duck coitus. Wincing, he closed his eyes as he felt a headache coming on..

Incredibly, the action next door kicked up a notch. The now familiar female voice suddenly moaned, "Ooooh, Michael. Harder, harder." Her partner was apparently eager to please as the dim thumping now graduated to full-on wall bumping, accompanied by male and female grunts. Mulder finally looked at Scully again only to see that she now regarded him over the edge of her newspaper.

"Well...I guess it's safe to say that he finally stopped tickling her," she said dryly.

Mulder collapsed in laughter on the couch, just as the disembodied voice wailed, "OOOOO...don't stop. Oh baby, please," after which followed another series of inarticulate encouragements and groans. Scully, too, finally started to laugh at the absurdity of the moment as she covered her face. God, this was a nightmare, completely out of control. Somehow, it just didn't seem out of place that she and Mulder would be forced to sit here and listen to equally out of control fucking. Mulder decided that they just had to ride it out with them. He got up from the couch and pressed his ear to the wall.

"Mulder!" Scully scolded him.

"Sssshh, I'm taking notes for Frohike."

"Mulder, stop listening in."

He turned to look down at her, then sat down on the bed next to her as the thunk, thunk, thunk continued behind them. "You're joking right? We'd have to be in the next county not to listen in."

Scully smiled, then shook her head. They sat side by side, both embarrassed and engrossed by the joy ride that was taking place next door. Things finally came to a head when they heard, "Oh, God. That's it. That's it! Oh, God. Oh God. Yes, that's it--oh God!" Soon there followed a strangled male cry and the rhythmic noise finally ceased.

Mulder turned to Scully. "So--a woman's opinion: was she faking it?"

Scully rolled her eyes slightly, "I don't know, but apparently she found the Lord."

They laughed together again. Watching Scully's beautiful face flushed with both laughter and light-heartedness was his undoing, her guard was down and he wanted her more than anything he could ever remember wanting. But then another sound made its way through the walls. The soft murmuring of afterglow. Soft laughter, indistinct conversation. The words couldn't be made out, but the hushed tone was unmistakable, it bespoke deep affection and contentment. Love.

And suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore.

And that, more than the overt noises of sexual pleasure, set them both on edge. After a few moments, the sounds died away from the other room as the couple either left the bed or fell asleep. With that, the silence in their room became almost a living thing, pressing down on them. And suddenly, two people who had never been anything but completely at ease with each other were uncomfortable in the other's presence. But Mulder