Human Credentials

A story about Faith, Identity... and Camels.

by Scarlet Baldy

Part 1

RATING: NC-17

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

SPOILERS: FTF/Emily/The End.

KEYWORDS: Sand/more sand/mytharc. 

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER ONE

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

- Coleridge - 

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

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

Silence. 

"Scully?" 

He stopped to cast her a look over his shoulder. His partner seemed to be absorbed in expenses reports. 

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

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

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

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

Time for a strategic retreat. "OK, I see. Good night, Scully,"

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

The door closed with a sharp click.

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

She could feel a headache coming.

Things had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The last few months had been awkward.

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

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

Mulder now had other... connections.

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

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

Agent Fowley.

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

An offer Scully couldn't make.

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

<Body especially...>

It wasn't jealousy.

<Yeah, right!>

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

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

Now she was drowning.

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

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

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

Nowadays it felt more and more like a padded cell.

And inside Dana Scully was screaming.

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

For old times' sake...

***

"You look worried, Fox."

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

"How is she?"

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

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

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

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

She had left that job to the little doctor.

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

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

"She's - not well."

"Did you talk to her?"

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

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

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

"What?"

"'I'm fine'."

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

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

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"I do."

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

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

He snorted. "Well if she does, she's doing a damn good job at hiding it. Shall I remind you, that, a few months ago she was ready to walk out on me."

"I think... she was afraid."

He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why would she be afraid?"

"Let's face it Fox you're not the most reliable person I know."

He smirked at that, Diana had a point.

True...still, I've shown her more than once that I needed her. Hell, I even told her!"

"And now she feels typecast."

His eyebrows shot up. "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

He opened his mouth to protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She froze.

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

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

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

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

He grinned. "Aren't you?"

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

"Why not?"

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

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

CHAPTER THREE

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


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

"Lo?"

"Scully?"

"Ummfff..."

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

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

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

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

"Where are you?"

"At your front door."

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

"Can I come in?"

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

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

"Coffee?"

"See, I even know the magic word and..."

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

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

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

No answer.

"Scully?"

Silence.

He opened the door and stepped inside cautiously.

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

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

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

A muffled "no" drifted from under the pillow.

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

He reached out for her shoulder and shook it gently.

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

Slowly her head emerged from under its hiding place.

"It's alive!"

That earned him a nasty look.

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

She looked like Hell revamped by Helmut Newton.

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

Yeah, definitely Newton...

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

Mulder set the coffee on the nightstand.

And reached out towards her.

She threw him a startled look.

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

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

<Damn him.>

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

After coffee maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

"Scully?"

<Oh please no, not now,> she prayed. She really didn't want to have 'The Talk'.

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

"Can I use your bathroom?"

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

She let her gaze follow his partner's backside, as he moved towards the door.

<Nice, very nice.>

<But not for you...>

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

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

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

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

***

Scully felt something land on the blanket. She looked at the small object, startled.

<Shit!>

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

"What's that, Scully?"

"Sleeping pills," she answered matter of factly.

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

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

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

"I only take them at weekends."

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

This time she lowered her gaze.

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

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

"This is none of your business, Mulder."

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

"They haven't."

"Not yet."

"Let go of me."

"No."

"Mulder-" It was a warning.

"I said no."

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

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

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

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

"Scully?"

Nothing.

"Scully, I'm sorry."

"Leave me alone, Mulder."

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

"I'm not going through anything."

He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door. Denialogy... Magna Cum Laude.

<Tell her what she needs to hear.>

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

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

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

He straightened up. Plan B was ready.

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

Not a sound was coming from the other side.

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

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

He waited a few more seconds.

"Open that door, Scully - please?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded against his chest.

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

<Aren't we the perfect gentleman?>

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

"You OK?"

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

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

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

Mulder nodded. "Depression."

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

"It's not surprising."

"Isn't it?" she replied bitterly.

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

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

He reached for her hand.

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

Minutes flew. She withdrew her hand and lowered her chin. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Mulder," she whispered.

" Well,' frozen in a pod on a Mother Ship' is only the last item of a long list, Scully. There's only so much the human mind can take - and we're not exactly living normal lives."

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

***

CHAPTER FOUR

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


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

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

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

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

***

"Mulder?"

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

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

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

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

Only, her timing had sucked...

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

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

She wanted to sleep and wake up in a hundred years; she wanted to forget that she was a thirty-something barren mother of a dead mutant offspring, with an alien chip in her neck.

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

The boy must be worshipping that bee.

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

***

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

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

"Scully?"

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

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

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

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

She stretched languidly. "Good stuff."

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

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

"Dunno..."

"More than one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<Woah, easy tiger!>

He entered the bathroom and dropped her in the bathtub.

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

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

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

<Now that's more like it.>

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

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

"Get out!" she snarled.

"I'll get you some dry clothes."

"GET OUT!"

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

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

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

She was obviously sulking.

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

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

"I could ask you the same question."

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

"You called me!"

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

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Scully."

She did not reply to that.

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

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

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

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

"WHAT?"

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

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

He should have known better.

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

She spun on her heels and headed for the fridge.

Silence. Dana Scully's most lethal weapon.

He joined her by the fridge.

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

She grabbed a carton of milk.

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"The second then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think you're right."

Moments later the front door was slamming shut behind him.

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

CHAPTER FIVE

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

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

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

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

"What is it, Spender?"

Agent Fowley had arrived and was looking at him.

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

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

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

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

"Relax, Spender." She took a closer look at the content of the envelope before adding: "just take it to him. I don't have a clue what it's supposed to mean."

"You want ME to go?"

Fowley suppressed a smile.

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

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

"If you wouldn't keep pushing all his buttons, I'm sure you two could get along pretty well. Besides, I can't go, I have a meeting with Skinner."

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

"Prepare the med-kit, Diana."

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." He smiled at her.

She returned his smile not unkindly.

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

And her eyes avoided his.

As usual.

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

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

Underneath were numbers, a latitude and a longitude.

His breathing stopped.

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

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

"Mulder, wait!"

But the agent had already exited the bullpen.

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

The man smirked. "Ask him, he seems to know."

Scully reached for the now empty envelope "Who sent this?"

Spender shrugged, "it doesn't say."

Cursing under her breath, Scully dropped the envelope back on the desk and launched herself after him.

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

When she reached the elevator it was too late. She slammed her fist on the closed doors in frustration, swiveled on her heels and headed for the stairwell. <You're NOT ditching me again, Fox Mulder!>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll call you."

"No!"

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

"And why not?"

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

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

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

"You...son of a bitch!"

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

Her tiny fist hit him straight under the cheekbone.

Mulder staggered backwards.

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

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

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

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

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

The sea met the forest.

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

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

Ironically enough, her lips tasted of honey.

***

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

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

He held his breath, listening.

Then he heard a moan.

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

Someone out there was definitely in trouble.

Skinner reached the end of the wall and stopped again.

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

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

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

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

He tried again - and saw exactly the same thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This could wait.

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

Well *he* apparently couldn't.

Lucky bastard.

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

CHAPTER SIX

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


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

They were catching their breath, bodies still joined.

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

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

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

"We just had sex," she stated.

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

"Against a wall."

"Yes."

"In a car park."

"Indeed."

"The FBI car park."

"I know, I was there."

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

He gasped.

Her grin widened.

She kissed him lightly. "We should go."

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

"Someone might come."

He chuckled in her neck.

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

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

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

The magic was gone.

"What's the matter, Scully?"

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

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

"That's not what I meant."

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

"I see."

He sighed and reached for her shoulder.

"Scully-"

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

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

They made it to her place in silence.

***

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

"Wanna go first?"

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

"All right."

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

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

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

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

When she came out he was gone.

***

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

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

She knocked on the new basement door.

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

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

"Agent Scully," Fowley greeted her formally.

Spender was nowhere to be seen.

Scully steeled herself and drew a deep breath.

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

"Why do you ask?"

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

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

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

Scully rolled her eyes. "Meaning he's gone."

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

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

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

Scully blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

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

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

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

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

"Of course not."

***

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

"Agent Fowley, Agent Scully."

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

"What's the matter, Agents?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Sir," agreed Fowley.

"Both of you?"

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

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

"Agent Scully?" asked the AD.

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

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

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

Both women stood up.

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

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

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

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

When she was gone Scully focused on Skinner.

"Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you know Alex Brown, Agent Scully?"

The young woman looked at the tape uncomprehendingly. "No, Sir."

The AD reclined in his chair, turning the tape over and over between his fingers. "Alex Brown, is 17, Agent Scully; wants to be security guard. He is currently training here."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd be grateful if it were kept somewhere *private*."

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

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

"Sir, I..."

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded and hurried to leave.

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

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

<Call me Mother Theresa.>

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

Skinner eyed the stern portrait of Janet Reno and grinned.

***

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

No.

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

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

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

CHAPTER SEVEN

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not to mention the dysentery.

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

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

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

A petrified sea of shimmering gold.

The sky was a very pale hue of unearthly blue.

It was a color he remembered.

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

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

The color of a mistake.

***

"You OK, Agent Scully?"

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

"Yes, I'm fine."

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

And Scully fitted right in.

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

It was fast, abrupt and borderline psychotic.

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

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

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

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

"You can drive if you want."

"Wouldn't want to spoil your fun."

Scully eyed the woman coolly and kept on driving.

***

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

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

Absentmindedly he ran a finger over his bruised cheek.

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

"Big man?"

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

"Small woman."

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

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

"Shut up, Walter," grumbled Mulder.

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

However, the similarities stopped there.

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

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

***

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

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

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

Diana noticed this.

"Not hungry?"

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

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

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Run away like this."

"All the time."

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

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

"Because you look pretty upset."

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't think so."

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

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

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

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

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

***

In the bathroom Scully leaned heavily against the door. She very rarely fainted but she sure felt as if she were about to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

<It takes two to tango, Dana.>

She shook her head quickly and blinked several times. She wouldn't think about that. Not now, not here.

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

She could do this.

The trick was to compartmentalize.

***

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

"You OK?"

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

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

Fowley rose from her seat.

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

Scully nodded and grabbed her purse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once outside, Scully started to chuckle softly.

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

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

"Nah, he wasn't your type."

"How would you know?"

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

"Feminine intuition."

Scully sobered up, and turned to face her.

"Diana..."

Fowley held up a hand.

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

"That's OK."

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

Scully opened her mouth.

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

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

"You're smart, Agent Scully."

"No, I'm just tired."

***

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

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

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

It was happening again.

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

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

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

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

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

She touched it with a tentative finger.

<Mulder...>

The blades in her head dug even deeper.

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

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

<This is ridiculous, why am I crying? I wanted it, I liked it! >

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

CHAPTER EIGHT

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


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

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

But here he was.

What the hell happened to that shovel?

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

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

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

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

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

Health love.

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

Junk love.

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

And now, Scully was clogging his arteries.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully's eyebrow arched above her sunglasses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd like to hear it sometime."

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

***

"Effendi!"

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

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

A cornfield.

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

A Stratego pawn.

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

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

At the time he had only wanted to save Scully.

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

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

***

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

She sighed blissfully, it was so peaceful.

"WAAAHHHH!!!"

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

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

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

"Tu vas bien?" she repeated.

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

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

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

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

"Comment tu t'apelles?"

"Dana."

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

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

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

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

"NO!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

<Smart move Diana.>

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

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

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

"How long will it take?"

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

"We should be there in the evening then."

"Probably."

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

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

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

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

"What makes you say that?"

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

"Mulder told me what happened in San Diego."

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

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

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

"Why did he feel guilty?"

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

"The others?"

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

"The other fetuses."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me WHAT?"

Fowley couldn't stand the woman's implacable stare anymore. After all, she had nothing to do with this. And Scully had the right to know. Hell! Mulder should have told her. He had no right to withhold something like this from her.

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

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

"Agent Scully?"

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

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

CHAPTER NINE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I not go, Effendi?"

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

"No, Ali, you wait for me."

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

***

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

It made her cringe.

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

Scully nodded and stood up unsteadily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Nothing but marbles.

She lifted her bag and left the room.

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

"Agent Scully, meet Robert McKay."

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

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

"Mr McKay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

"Afraid of heights, little lady?"

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

"No."

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

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

"Women who ask too many questions."

Fowley chuckled, and Scully hid a smile.

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

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

"Bob," sighed Fowley.

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

"You make them, or you sell them?"

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

"Anti-terrorism?"

"Among other things."

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

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

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

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

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

"Cornfields."

"WHAT?"

Scully shrugged.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I've seen them before."

"In the *desert*?"

"In Texas, which is roughly the same."

Bob shook his head in amazement.

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

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

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

"Please tell me this is a bad joke."

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

***

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

<Fuck!>

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

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

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

"Come on, be a good camel!"

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

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

***

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

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

A familiar voice from the cornfield made them jump.

"How about some popcorn?"

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

Fowley sighed with relief and threw a glance at Scully.

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

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

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

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

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

Mulder turned towards Bob and held out his hand.

"And you are?"

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

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

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

"Same small woman, Effendi?"

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

Ali wrinkled his brow, obviously not understanding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Effendi eyes say she belong you."

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

"I learn quick."

***

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

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

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

"Walter?"

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

He shrugged, and pulled the reins once more.

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

She didn't even blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on, Scully, it's freezing out here."

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

"Scully?"

He waited for an answer which never came.

He sighed. "Scully..."

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

"Hey, Scully?" he pleaded softly.

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

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

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

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

<Don't tempt me, Mulder.>

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

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

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

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

Instead he started to run after her.

She was finishing hobbling Walter when he reached her.

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him.

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

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

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

"Fox?"

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

Mulder's shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

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

Diana fixed him with a level stare.

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

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

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

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

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

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

"Tell me what?"

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

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

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

His silence was his confession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paled. "You told her?"

"I thought she knew."

"Oh, shit." he breathed.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do they?" asked Mulder, without thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TEN

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

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

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

"So these are hives?"

"Of a very special kind, yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

"Fox, it's obviously a trap."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll try."

***

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

"OK, Scully?"

"Yeah, keep going."

"You sound a little puffed."

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

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

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

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

He turned towards her. "What?"

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

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

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

He grabbed her arm.

"Scully, what is it?"

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

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

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

"So what now?"

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

Nothing more happened.

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, do come in."

The two dazed agents walked in slowly.

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

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

She looked - changed.

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

"This is your Truth, Agent Mulder."

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

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

"Yes, but dormant, in a way."

"How did it get here?"

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

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

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, only this one has been modified."

"How?"

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

"Us," said Mulder in a breathless whisper.

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

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

"Exactly."

"I can't believe this."

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

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

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

"How do you know all this?"

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

Mulder swiveled on his heels.

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

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

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

That wasn't Marita's voice.

Alex Krycek was leaning casually against the threshold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There's no proof!"

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

He took a few steps towards Scully.

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

He leaned forward and kissed her lips.

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

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

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

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

"Here, have it back."  He grinned.

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

"NO!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How?"

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

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

Alex backed away to a safe distance and then added, "Why are you complaining? She won't even be able to say no!" He shrugged, "and as a matter of fact she still won't say no when she wakes up either."

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

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

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

"You're both insane."

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

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

"Come on Scully, let's go."

She didn't move.

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

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

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

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

She felt him tense.

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

Mulder shifted Scully's weight in his arms and stepped onto the platform. He turned to face the woman and Krycek, who had been following them a few steps behind.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"I'm your informant, aren't I, Agent Mulder?"

There was something else, he was sure of it. Marita Covarrubias, even when she was fully human, always had other agendas, and so did Krycek. Offering him the Truth on a silver tray just wasn't their style. There had to be a price to pay.

<Yeah, and it's in your arms right now, buddy.> Scully was as limp as a rag doll in his arms and her eyes had closed. Cold tendrils of fear writhed in his stomach.

Marita pushed a button and the platform started to rise. He heard Krycek's shout above the noise of the machine:

"Take care of the bride, Mulder, it's a lovely weather for a honeymoon!"

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 NC-17 for sex and sand.


The floor was humming gently under his feet and he hurried to get out of the hive. He came out with a sigh of relief - but it was short-lived.

"Good evening, Mr Mulder."

He found himself surrounded by four men, three of whom were clad in dark commando gear and pointing machine guns at him. The one who had spoken was an old man with a strong foreign accent - German maybe -and he didn't look any less dangerous.

"Have we met before?" He tried to keep his tone casual. Don't show your fear and the lion won't bite.

"I never had the pleasure, but I'm an old friend of your father's."

"My father had many friends," Mulder replied coldly.

The small man focussed on the unconscious woman in his arms. "What's the matter with Dr Scully?"

He didn't reply.

The man narrowed his eyes and fixed Mulder with a hard stare. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to follow me. You are trespassing on my property."

"And *I'm* afraid he'll have to decline the invitation," boomed a voice behind them.

Robert McKay appeared out of the darkness, holding a small black box in one hand. Two of the guards turned their guns on him.

"Nuh-uh!" smiled Bob, shaking his head and waving the box at them. "Nice plantation you have here, Strughold."

The old man's eyes widened in surprise. "McKay! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm just helping a friend. Now, let them go."

"And why would I do such a thing?"

Bob lifted the box again. "You know my hobby, Strughold; if you don't leave us alone, you can say goodbye to your hives."

"You'll kill us all if you destroy the domes," replied the old man angrily.

"You'll kill us anyway if I don't."

Strughold hesitated for a moment, looking successively at the pilot and Mulder. Finally he signaled his guards to follow him.

"We'll meet again, Mr. Mulder."

The men disappeared into the cornfield.

Mulder stared at Bob, a thousand questions on his lips.

"Hurry, we haven't got much time," the pilot urged him on. Mulder followed him as best as he could among the dusty corn stalks.

Along the way, they were joined by Fowley who had witnessed the scene from her hideout inside the field.

"What happened?"

"I'll explain later. What was Bob doing here?" asked Mulder, as they were half walking, half running among the tall green foliage.

"He came to see what was going on. He's a bit like you, Mulder, he can't stay still, and you were gone for at least three hours."

Bob, who was a few feet ahead of them, looked above his shoulder and saw that they had slowed down.

"Come on! You people can chat later."

Mulder hated being bossed around, but he had to admit the man had a point. Strughold could still change his mind, no matter what the increasingly enigmatic pilot had done to the domes to convince him that letting them go was the best option.

Still clutching his unconscious partner, he started to run again.

***

A dim morning light timidly heralded the rise of the sun as they finally arrived, out of breath, at the campsite, or rather what was left of it, since Ali had wisely packed everything. Mulder gently laid Scully on a blanket, and turned towards Bob.

"How the hell did you have time to plant a bomb in the domes?"

The pilot smiled. "I didn't."

Mulder frowned, nonplussed.

Bob retrieved the small black box from his trousers' pocket.

"This remote control only works on my car locks."

The young agent gaped at him. "You bluffed?"

"It's like poker, Agent Mulder. The higher the stakes, the bigger the lie."

Mulder opened his mouth to speak but he was too floored to do so. Bob laughed. "What's the matter, son? A bee ate your tongue?"

Mulder ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten his thoughts. "How do you know him?"

"Strughold? He's a mean bastard, albeit a powerful one. Owns a lot of land around here, although I didn't know he was into corn. But his real business is in arms dealing, of the worst kind, biological and chemical weapons. All those kids dying of leukemia because their daddies fought in the Gulf owe it to Strughold's little toys."

"It makes sense," Fowley interjected. She was kneeling by Scully's side, checking her pulse. It was low.

"Yeah, it does. His background is pretty vague, but I would bet my plane that he was one of Uncle Adolph's minions in his young days."

He turned to look at Scully. "What happened to the little lady?"

Mulder knelt beside his partner and pushed a few damp strands of hair from her face.

"When we were down there, something happened and she just...switched off..."

"You're not making much sense, son."

Mulder's head drooped. "It's not making much sense to me either."

Bob understood that it would be futile to push the young man. He straightened up and looked at Fowley. "So Di, what do you say we blow this pop stand?"

"What about Ali?"

"I'm sure Ali can make his own way back."

Bob turned towards the young Tuareg who was standing silently behind them and spoke to him in his own language. Ali said something in reply and the pilot looked at the horizon.

"What is it?" asked Fowley.

"Ali says there's a sand storm coming. We can't take the plane."

Above the horizon a line of grey fluttered and writhed like a huge blurred snake.

***

It was definitely worse than the kindergarten sandbox.

The small group had been slowly making its way through the storm, until the camels had refused to go further and they all had to stop.

Mulder was huddled against Walter's large flank, trying to protect his partner from the stinging sand as best he could. Scully still hadn't woken up, and it worried him. No, worried wasn't the right word. He was scared shitless. Scared that she would never wake up, or even worse, scared that she would wake up with that same beyond-human look he'd seen in Marita's eyes. He held her tighter and waited.

Hours later, the storm calmed down. Ali and Bob exchanged a few words and the pilot told them that there was an oasis a few miles ahead where they could rest.

When they finally reached the place, in the evening, Mulder had never been so happy to see a palm tree in his life. He swore that if he made it back to America he would never go to a beach ever again. His sand quota had been fulfilled for at least a hundred years.

They pitched the big grey tents near the water. The place looked like a postcard from paradise, but in the present situation he would have traded it gladly for the most ugly city in America, as long as it had a hospital - and God knew he hated the place.

The two agents installed Scully in one of the tent, while Ali and Bob finished unpacking and went to look for dry brambles to build a fire. The pilot had been debating whether he should go back in the morning to retrieve his plane, but in the end had decided against it. Strughold had surely discovered his deception by now, and as much as he was attached to the old crate he wasn't willing to trade his life for it.

Inside the tent, Mulder tried to make Scully drink some water. Dehydration was his main concern at the moment. Most of the water dribbled onto her chin, and he had to stop for fear that it would go into her lungs instead. Drowning her wouldn't help.

"Aren't you gonna tell me what happened down there?" asked Fowley softly, sitting down and crossing her legs.

Mulder lifted his head wearily. He didn't want to talk right now, but felt he owed it to her.

She listened quietly as Mulder unraveled his tale, stopping him only to ask for some small clarifications. When he stopped she didn't speak for a long time, obviously processing the astonishing data.

Finally she rubbed her forehead and said, "You were right, this is a rotten script."

He shrugged and his gaze settled on his inert partner lying on the camp bed. She didn't like the way he looked at her. It was too -intimate.

"Awaken her body, huh? Well, you might as well finish what you started." She bit her lip. It wasn't fair to remind him of that now.

Mulder glared at her. "There has to be other ways."

She stood up, wiping the sand on her hands onto her trousers and bent down to kiss his cheek. Apologizing with her eyes. "Let's hope so."

She lifted the tent's opening and half turned towards him. "Fox?"

"What?"

"Slap her?" she smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?" he smiled back thinly.

<You have *no* idea,> the brown-haired agent silently answered as she left the tent.

Mulder reached for Scully's limp hand and stroke it pensively. No matter what Mr and Mrs Superfreak had told him, fucking his partner back to life was out of the question.

<Awaken her body...>

His gaze drifted towards her face. With her matted hair, smeared cheeks, cracked lips and dirt encrusted brow, she looked like the tomboyish twin of the always-pristine Dr Scully.

He traced her cheek with one finger, feeling grains of sand roll under its pad.

He liked her better this way - somehow she looked more real, more accessible, instead of some damn FBI dress-code poster girl.

Absentmindedly he wiped his finger on his shirt. "You are in dire need of a bath, Agent Scully."

It suddenly dawned on him that the water might induce her body to wake up. He wasn't overly optimistic but it was worth a try.

He released her hand and started unbuttoning her shirt.

***

Ignoring the others' questioning stares, he carried her, wrapped into a blanket, to a respectable distance from the campsite to allow them privacy.

A pregnant moon bathed the place in a soft silvery glow. After divesting himself of his own clothes, he entered the pool - his equally naked partner in his arms - until the waters reached his waist.

The desert night was cold, but the shallow waters were still warm. He clumsily worked the small bar of soap he had brought along into lather and endeavored to clean his partner while cradling her against his chest.

He wished the water were colder; his soap-slick hand was running over a very interesting landscape, and his body obviously didn't care whether she was conscious or not.

<Come on, steel yourself!>

< Doing *just* that...>

Drawing a deep breath, he resumed his task.

When his partner's skin had become as slippery as an eel's, he lowered her into the waters to rinse her off and washed her hair as well. When he was done he gathered her once more against him and sighed, defeated.

It had been a painfully sweet task if not a successful one. He had failed to witness any sign of awareness on her part.

He stepped out of the pool, wrapped her again in the blanket, and after slipping back into his trousers and grabbing his remaining clothes, carried her back to the campsite.

As he was approaching, he saw Bob and Diana chatting by the fire. They heard his footsteps and lifted their heads to stare at him.

"How is she?" asked Bob.

Mulder shrugged. "Still the same."

Diana stood up and followed him as he resumed his walk back to the tent.

"What are you going to do?"

He stopped and turned towards her, his obvious worry stretching the lines around his eyes and tensing his jaw.

"I don't know. I can't - " he stopped, unable to continue.

"You'll find a way, Fox. You always do."

He stared at her blankly for an instant. Then he nodded slowly and turned his back to her, to enter the tent.

Diana made her way back to the campsite, trying to soothe the pain in her chest by telling herself that it was the right thing to say. It was time to let go before things turned ugly, as they certainly would if she tried to prevent him from helping Scully by any means necessary.

He would do anything to save her  life.

She didn't want to think about what 'anything' might entail.

***

Mulder opened the blanket and gently laid his partner on the wide camp bed. Her body was glistening under the flickering light of the small gas lamp which hung on a hook above them.

Her skin felt cold when he started to dry her with a towel. He turned her over and rubbed her pale back in an attempt to warm her up. His hands slowed down their purposeful movements and became absentmindedly caressing when he noticed the tattoo on her back.

<So this is the dark side of your moon, Scully...>

His hands froze. He'd felt something, a faint shiver coursing through her body.

Holding his breath, he ran the towel over her skin again, lightly from the nape of her neck to her backside.

Another shiver.

He dropped the towel and used his hands to stroke the skin of her now dry back. He kneaded her freckled shoulders slowly, holding his breath, and saw the fingers of her left hand flex slightly.

His hands crept up to her neck and his thumbs rubbed against the thick muscles on each side of her spine.

Her breathing pattern changed, picking up speed.

"Scully?"

His fingertips slid down along her spine, massaging gently. They drew small circles in the two hollows right above her buttocks.

"Hhhhmmmm..." Her hips shifted slightly.

<YES!>

He stopped his stroking motions and took hold of her shoulders, turning her over carefully. Her eyes were still closed.

"Hey, Scully, can you hear me?"

He leaned over her, pushed a few strands of copper hair away from her temples and lingered there. Her breathing had the quiet and shallow quality of someone just on the edge of sleep. His other hand came to rest on her stomach, rubbing it lightly.

<They must have used peach DNA to create you, my soft-skinned partner...>

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when her right hand landed abruptly on his - and pushed downward...

Mulder swallowed with difficulty and let out an amused if somewhat strangled chuckle.

"Oh, no no no, angel, this is not what you think."

Her eyes opened, blue and foggy like an April morning mist.

Her small fingers molded themselves more tightly round his and pushed once more.

He shook his head, smiling.

"Scuh-lee..."

Their faces were so close he could feel the breeze of her even breathing tease his dry lips.

She blinked and the fog drifted away.

She seemed pretty much awake now, and her eyes held an unmistakable seriousness as her hand guided him slowly but inexorably between her legs.

He didn't dare resist her this time, not when she was using that Don't-Mess-With-Me-Mulder look he knew so well. All right, it  usually was: Don't-Mess-With-Me-Mulder-And-Fill-Those-Expense-Reports rather than Don't-Mess-With-Me-Mulder-I'm-Horny-As-Hell.

But he wasn't going to quibble.

His blood decided all at once that it was time for that summer vacation the central nervous system had been promising, and headed down south in a rush.

<Mayday!>

His fingers dived inside her and the salty tang of her arousal hit his nose, as she ebbed and flowed against his hand, her eyes never leaving his.

He was still leaning over her with one hand in her hair when his thumb landed on the smooth and hard pebble hidden between her folds. He played with it, rolled it, circled it with increased pressure until he felt a fierce contraction clamp his prying fingers. He heard the now stormy wind of her breath catch in her throat. Her spine went taut as a fishing line as she came without a sound.

Silence, the backbone of their relationship...even now...

Her eyes had closed, her body still shaking with the erratic tremors of the aftermath.

It was all too much...

Mulder straightened up and turned his back from her, sitting on the edge of the camp bed with his head bowed down, as guilt wrapped itself around him like a familiar and musty wet blanket.

<You just let your barely conscious partner fuck your hand.>

He stared as his wet fingers and retrieved the towel to wipe them. This was just fitting. Why should he expect anything else, anything normal, when everything between them was so messed up, so dysfunctional?

His dark thoughts were interrupted when two small hands snaked across his shoulders and wrapped themselves around his neck.

He shivered when the felt-tips of her breasts pressed against his bare back as she anchored herself to him like seaweed to a rock.

Her hands roamed blindly over him, following the lines of his collar bone and down along his chest. His teeth clenched in a hiss when her short functional fingernails grazed his nipples.

Her lips were on his neck; peppering soft baby kisses right under his hairline.

And her hands were definitely sailing towards the equator.

"Scully - don't..."

"Shhhhhh," she breathed against his ear.

Her fingers reached the waistband of his khakis, undid the button and without hesitation sneaked inside.

Mulder suddenly got a bad case of apnea as her determined little fingers cupped him and started a thorough assessment of his rigid state, proving without the shadow of a doubt that the small naked doctor clinging to his back knew everything there was to know about anatomy's cause-and-effect.

A helpless moan escaped his lips.

His hips pushed forward involuntarily seeking the pressure of her fist.

He felt her teeth close on his backbone, clamping his neck in a tight grip, as she kept stroking him with increasing urgency.

He lost all his vowels then.

"Skhhh..."

His heart had begun a wild stampede against his ribcage and he was desperately trying to make his lungs work in a fashion more appropriate for full consciousness.

He stopped her hand abruptly by grabbing her wrist and half turned to face her, breathing trough his nostrils like an anxious bull.

There was enough lust in her eyes to damn the entire Vatican.

The earth moved, or rather the camp bed did, reminding him with an ominous creak that this piece of furniture wasn't designed to welcome the weight of two consenting adults and their raging hormones.

Mulder released his partner's wrist, rose from the bed, quickly got rid of his khakis and fell on his knees.

Without a word, Scully slid off the bed to straddle his thighs.

He reached for her head with both hands then, wrapping his long calloused fingers around her skull, feeling its shape, its resilience, with the same reverence and bittersweet fascination of a Japanese tea master holding his favorite bowl - the one that's so familiar - the one that's so obviously flawed - the one he wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Their lips met as her own hands mimicked his and tangled themselves in his hair. Their kiss was slow and soft and he felt the shivery gasp leaving her throat rush over his tongue, her teeth briefly catching on his lower lip as she lowered herself to take him in.

If this was Heaven, he wanted season tickets.

***

Diana Fowley froze, still holding the flap of the tent in her hand, and took in the sight of her partners - professional and recreational - moving against each other like two willows under the gale.

Scully lifted her head and the two women's eyes met.

Unfazed, the redhead wrapped her arms even tighter around her lover's back, pushing his head into the crook of her neck, her hips gyrating against his, holding Fowley's gaze with a defiant stare.

<Tough shit Di.>

She heard Mulder's needy groan against the woman's shoulder.

Diana pursed her lips in disgust and let the flap of the tent drop.

She made her way back to the campfire and sat down heavily next to Bob.

"Anything new?"

"Yes, I need a drink."

Bob watched her carefully and handed her the small flask of brandy he used to spike his coffee with.

"Something wrong, Di?"

She took a healthy swig straight from the flask and winced as the ball of fire went down her throat. "Not for them."

"Is she awake?"

"Very much so."

A ragged male howl resonated in the silent desert night.

"Effendi good time!" pointed out the ever-smiling Ali.

"So I gather," observed Bob, watching Fowley as she closed her eyes and took another swig.

"Easy, Di, you know you can't stand the stuff."

"It's not the only thing I can't stand," Fowley replied, clutching the flask against her.

"Why don't you get it off your chest, Di, and tell me what's going on?"

"What do you want me to say, Bob? That I love a man who can't love me back? That I came back to him, that it worked for a while, till I realized I came back too late?" She lifted the flask to her lips again.

"What happened?"

She scoffed. "Six years of partnership with a damn redhead, that's what happened."

***

He should have noticed something was wrong. She'd kept her eyes closed as she drove into him, hadn't called his name once. He remembered her pleading whimpers in the car park - not this time, she'd remained silent as a grave as she climbed toward release, her breathing patterns and the tremors in her limbs the only signs that she was actually coming.

But he didn't notice...maybe because the feel of her, tight as a kid glove around him, had been overwhelming, her skin hot as a silk drape left too long under the desert sun. Or maybe simply because he couldn't care less as he howled his pleasure and arched like a waning moon above her.

But now as he watched her sleep, a voice kept whispering in his head.

This isn't normal, this isn't normal, this isn't normal...

To be continued...

INTERLUDE

Nine Lousy Minutes.

Category: H Rating: PG-13 (Bucket loads of smutty innuendos.)

Summary: This is part of the 'Human Credentials' universe. Just a little piece of transitional nonsense I wrote, during a mild bout of writer's block.

--------------------------------

UK, somewhere in the Midlands:

Author: "So what now?" <scratches head.>

Mulder: "No more sand and no more camels please."

Walter the camel: *Ungrateful bastard.* <Trots away>

Scully: "I wouldn't mind a shower actually; the camel was smelly and I've had sand in my ass since Part Eleven."

Mulder <leering>: "Yeah, let's take a shower."

Author: "Oh, give me a break! It's already been done."

M&S: "WHAT?"

<Author sighs and hands them a well thumbed copy of DTA>: "There. It's called 'In The Ruins' by Lydia Bower."

Mulder grabs the fanzine, sits down and starts reading while Scully peeks over his shoulder. Time passes. Mulder coughs, Scully blushes.

Scully <raising eyebrow in shock>: "PEARL DIVING?!"

<Author shrugs>: "Great metaphor, speaks for itself really."

Mulder <chuckling>: "Or screams rather."

Scully <swatting him>: "Shut up, Mulder!"

Mulder <backing away, still reading>: "Well, partner, seems you had trouble doing just that...listen..." <starts quoting in a high pitched voice> "I don't care how much noise I'm making...yadda, yadda...oh yes, Mulder. Yeah. Right there..." <Scully jumps on him and snatches fanzine> "HEY! Give it back, Scully! I wanna read the end!"

<Scully, pissed off, holding fanzine behind her back>: "No. You've read more than enough already. And besides this story is completely unrealistic. I would never do or say such...things."

<Author smirks and points towards a thick pile of printouts.> "Actually, you did worse, hon'. Ever heard of Iolokus?"

Scully: "Iolowhat?"

Author: "Io-lo-kus. Bloody complex characterization you've got in that one."

Scully <still sulking somewhat>: "Sounds like a Shiban title."

Mulder: "Hooo, low blow Scully!"

<Author grins wickedly & nods>: "She's had a lot of practice."

Scully <shaking head in disgust>: "I can't believe this."

Mulder <smirking>: "What a surprise....hey, and what about me in this story?"

Author: "You...you're a paranoid, half-crazed, self-centered bastard."

Mulder <smugly>: "Good."

Author: "AND...you get to raise the Mooselet."

Mulder <blinks>: "I beg your pardon?"

Author <gesturing towards Scully>: "*You* raise her child."

Scully <scoffing>: "HIM? He can't even take care of his fish!"

Mulder <horrified>: "A CHILD?! That's...that's...wicked, insane, completely ludicrous...I...I don't know, it's as bad as making me do it with Krycek!!!"

Author <grins and tosses him a floppy disk>: "Aaah, Mulder/Krycek slash, always a great favourite."

Mulder <gapes for a minute and then throws the floppy against the wall>: "Bastards!"

Scully <smirking>: "Mind you, I kinda understand - after all, it took you five years to make a pass at me."

Mulder <glaring>: "Maybe the prospect of catching frostbite if I touched your ass held me back."

Scully: "Jerk."

Mulder: "Bitch."

Author: "WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Calm down you people! And put those guns down. I SAID PUT THOSE GUNS DOWN. NOW! Thank you."

Mulder <whining>: "She started it!"

Scully <holding chin up defiantly>: "I must admit you've got good taste, Mulder. Krycek is very cute."

Author <evilly>: "And so is Marita. Isn't she, Agent Scully?"

Scully <blanching>: "What are you implying?"

Author: "Slash works both ways, hon'...so to speak."

Scully <stonily>: "That's it, I'm out of here!" <walks away & slams door>

<Author flashes Mulder an impish smile>: "Alone at last." <pats sofa> "Have a seat, darling."

Mulder <backing away>: "Er...gotta go, time to feed the camel." <turns away & runs> "SCULLY! WAIT!!!"

Author <sighs>: "Oh well..." <pinches bridge of nose> "Now...where was I?"

<Sound of trigger being drawn.> Fowley: "You were about to kill the red slut and send Mulder right back to me."

Author <calmly>: "You can't shoot me, Di."

Fowley <smirking>: "Oh? And why not?"

Author: "Because you're a fictional character - and also - shall I remind you that in most fanfics in which you appear, you're either an evil bitch or an evil *dead* bitch. You should be grateful that I gave you human qualities and decided to let you have him at all at the beginning."

Fowley <disgusted>: "I thought you were a Noromo."

Author <shifts uneasily>: "I am...as far as the show is concerned."

Fowley: "And your twisted little mind can still come up with things like that 'car park scene' in Part Five? You're being irrational."

Author <annoyed>: " Look! This is the X-Files universe; I have every right to be irrational if I want to, OK? Now go away."

Fowley <sighs>: "All right, but don't kill me, 'kay?"

Author <growls>: "Don't tempt me."

<Fowley opens door to leave & bumps into Skinner>: "Oh, good evening, Sir." <whispers> "Careful, Walt, she's not in the best of moods right now."

Skinner <whispers back>: "Thanks Di." <Fowley exits>

<Author is currently shaking an empty cigarette packet and cursing under her breath>: "Shit, Daddy nicked all my Morleys again...oh, hi Walter."

Skinner: "Sooo? When do *I* get some?"

Author <grinning & shutting down computer>: "Soon Walter, *very* soon..." <Author starts removing Skinner's tie> "Ever heard of a webpage called S.I.S?"

Skinner: "Er...No."

Author: "It's very...informative..."

Skinner <puzzled>: "In what way?"

<Author's grin widens>: "In many ways...lots and lots of ways...come on."

Skinner <hesitating>: "But aren't I supposed to be a fictional character?"

Author: "Oh, sure, and so am I, so who cares?" <leads Skinner out of the room.>


End.


My grovelling apologies to Lydia Bower, MustangSally and RivkaT. Girls, your Kung Fu is the best. 

DTA i.e. 'Dreaming The Answers' is a British fanfic zine very popular among the regs of the uk.media.tv.sf.x-files newsgroup (UX). S.I.S. is the Sister In Smut, Skinnerotica website. Hi Red V!