ASYLUM by T Bishop and Char Chaffin Rated: NC-17 Category: MSR/X-File/Mytharc Summary: Mulder and Scully discover a secret that someone has gone to great lengths to hide. Disclaimer: All profits from this story have been set aside in our legal defense fund. Feedback: Eagerly awaited at tbishop27@mindspring.com and char@chaffin.com Author's Notes: Thanks to our amazing krewe of betas, David, Tess, Shoshana, Tracy, Shell, and Brigitte. And as always thanks to Grasshopper for keeping up the archive. ASYLUM 1 (PART FOUR) ** CHAPTER TEN ** It was at that moment that Michael knew they were in serious trouble. The huge truck was weaving all over the nearly-deserted interstate (thank heaven for small favors, he thought inanely); Floyd still had his foot mashed on the pedal which meant they were flying low - his erratic driving had awoken Clem, whose instant snarls and growls indicated he was still hungry, and pissed at being jostled awake - and Sarah was beginning to hyperventilate. Wonderful, Michael thought to himself, as he alternated between trying to persuade Sarah to put her head down between her knees and avoid breathing in any more lingering pot fumes, and trying to reason with Floyd, who was screaming a medley of obscenities and threats into their poor ears. "Jesus H. shithead Christ! I can't believe this! Feds! In MY truck! You sons-a-bitches are the reason I hadda go back on the goddamn road! I was doin' just fine; had my cabin an' my dividend check an' the missus an' me were gonna make us a baby or two... then some shit-fer-brains Feds in Washington decided they hadda get a piece of the action up in Alaska... made the goddamn local pukes jack up the residency rules fer claimin' our fuckin' dividend! I lost out on three years of money 'cause I left the state for eight goddamn months!" Floyd was beside himself with fury. "I hadda prove residency all over again when I got home! My wife was so pissin' mad, all her hair fell out! You got any idea what it's like to hafta screw a goddamn bald broad? I couldn't even get it up nearly enough to get the bitch planted!" Michael surreptitiously wiped some of Floyd's spittle from his cheek, and tried to reason with the furious man - without laughing himself silly in the process... "Floyd, listen - just calm down! I feel for you and your wife, I really do -" Floyd's screech of outrage withered his attempt at empathy. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE! YOU DON'T KNOW JACK SHIT ABOUT NOTHING! Hell, you got a woman with hair, dontcha? Jesus Mary Clyde... between the Feds nosin' around in our shit an' me losin' my dividend rights, we hadda sell our cabin an' move in with Dotty's nut-case mother! Now THERE'S a day at the fuckin' beach... another bald broad. No wonder her dad offed hisself years ago!" Sarah began to sob, and Michael was helpless to do any more than just hold her tightly and soothe shaky hands over her back and shoulders. "Floyd... look, you're scaring Sarah, er... Dana. Couldn't you just either slow down a little, or maybe stop for a while, walk around; you know, cool off a little? Don't you think that's a good idea?" No sooner had the words left his mouth, than Floyd began pumping on the brakes, slowing the truck enough to take the next exit at Butler. Though the massive rig slowed a lot, it still took the exit lane much too fast; sending Michael, Sarah and Floyd squidging into the passenger side door - the enraged Clem spitting and screaming when his fat, furry body hit the walls of his cage as it rolled around in the rear of the cab. Michael hit the door with an audible "Oomph!" - still holding onto Sarah, who found herself wearing Floyd and his Smith & Wesson.45... The truck finally came to a stuttering stop; Floyd wrenched open his door and was out and moving around to the passenger side before Michael could pry the door handle out of his right hip... the enraged trucker could move damn fast for such a large man. "Awright... get the fuck out! You wanna 'walk around'? 'Cool off'? Fine! Let's take a goddamn walk!" Floyd aimed the gun at Michael's head, watching them both like a hawk as first Michael, then Sarah hesitantly climbed down out of the cab. Michael immediately put Sarah behind him; she clutched at the back of his jacket and tried to make herself as small as possible. In the early-morning light, Floyd looked menacing and very dangerous - clearly stoned, borderline insane - unbalanced as anyone they'd seen at Keystone. Michael was used to abhorrent behavior; he'd had a year to grow accustomed to it, and to learn how to deal with it, at the hospital. But he'd never come across anyone quite like Floyd Usabelli, whose eccentricities went way beyond 'odd', and slid right into 'out there'. And never had Michael dealt with a 'Mr. Instability', holding a lethal weapon. His foremost thought was protecting Sarah at all costs. He decided to try talking reasonably to the deranged trucker. "Floyd, will you just listen! Sarah and I are NOT Feds! Sarah gets a little carried away when she falls under the influence, and you've gotta admit, blowing weed in her face would be enough for a small woman like her to become stoned... she has this thing for secret agents, like James Bond and Simon Templar; you know Simon Templar, "The Saint"? Roger Moore... you know he had a weekly TV show and had all these adventures each week and he always got the girl..." Michael was babbling and he knew it. Next to him, Floyd still held the gun steady, and was staring at him with his mouth open in confusion. Behind him, Sarah was trying to shush him, whispering frantically, "Knock it off, Mulder, he'll kill us..." At the sound of her voice and the word 'Mulder', Floyd got un-confused in a hurry, and his sudden shout of impatience overrode Michael's flustered ramblings. "JUST SHUT UP! FUCKDAMN! I ain't never heard anything so retarded in all my born days! You goddamn Feds'll say anything to keep from gettin blown away, wontcha? SHIT! I oughta just let ole' Clem loose on the both a ya! Worthless damn government shitheads! You cost me four thousand bucks! That's how much I lost when I came back home an' found out I hadda re-register for my own money! And you dumb shits wonder why Alaska wants to get the hell outta the Union!" He jabbed a grimy finger at the emblem on his equally-grimy cap, and snapped at them, "See that, Asshole? Independence! That's what it's all about! Independence to have the money sittin' in goddamn Juneau, waitin' for us to come and get it! Hell, we got plenty of good common folk, be glad to strap on a gun or two and become an army! We can teach our fuckin' rug rats at home... don't need no stinkin' schools! You know what I say to those fuckin' legislators, when they come up from the pissin' capital to spout their damn propaganda at us? I say, "FUCK YOU ASSHOLES AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON! I'd like to shoot the shit outta you! All a you..." And then he pointed the barrel of the gun... right at Sarah's head... and cocked it. And Michael suddenly saw splintering red behind the explosion of sensory overload in his head - as the gun aimed itself at Sarah - no, aimed itself at... his partner shit not again they were trying to take her from him yet AGAIN! He couldn't let that happen - not again - couldn't almost lose her again - not another bullet not another wound no more hurt no more! He found himself moaning, low and angry, deep in his throat; saw as if from a distance the momentum his booted foot gained, as it flew up and level, and the spin he put on his body propelled that foot forward and caught Floyd neatly underneath his flabby, bearded chin... sending the big man to his knees in agony, the damage done to his neck and larynx instantaneous and immensely painful. Michael couldn't stop there, however - the enemy was still upright, could come back at them any second - she was still in danger had to keep her safe had to... he pulled back one hard fist and rammed it home; the satisfying 'crack!' to the man's cheek knocked his head back, snapping it hard. With a grunt of pain, he keeled over, face- down in the wet grass. Michael immediately turned to Sarah and wrapped her into a protective embrace, whispering to her brokenly, "Shh, it's okay, he's gone he can't hurt us it's okay, Scully..." And Sarah wound her arms about his waist and just hung on. Amidst the engine noise of a still-running semi, a furiously pissed off wolverine snarling in the distance... they held each other and whispered reassurances, low and soft, into each other's heart. After a few minutes, each much calmer - silently they turned to gather up their jackets from the cab of the semi, preparing to make their way back on the road. Fortunately (or not, depending upon how one would accept such news), as Michael was reaching into the cab for their jackets, he heard the CB radio squawking; he paused, and listened. And what he heard sent a chill through him. Hurriedly he grabbed his duffel bag and their jackets, ignoring Clem; climbed down out of the cab and ran back around the truck to Sarah, waiting by the passenger door and looking a bit dazed; tucking her shirt down into her jeans. He threw her jacket over her shoulders and urged, "Sarah, we have to get out of here, fast! There's a road block on the interstate; I just heard it on the CB. Another trucker was warning his buddies... about the state police looking for two dangerous, escaped mental patients. US, Sarah - they're looking for us. Luckily the road block is behind us, but still we have to get a move on." He brushed her hair back out of her sweet face; Sarah stared up at him with damp eyes, and nodded wearily. By mutual, silent consent, realizing they were too close to the turnpike - knowing their safest bet would be the back roads - they turned toward Butler County Road. And so they began their day of walking, and hitching - together. It would be much later in the day before Michael would discover two things: that he did not remember calling Sarah 'Scully' - and he did not recall how on earth he knew to defend himself using tried-and- true FBI self-defense moves. It also would never occur to him that Sarah would actually take Floyd's gun... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ** CHAPTER ELEVEN ** "You DID, Mulder. You called me Scully." They sat in a booth in a tiny roadside cafe eating breakfast and arguing over their early morning skirmish with the deranged truck driver. "Sarah, IF I did, it was simply a slip of the tongue. I was confused... between that charade you had us playing, and breathing in all the secondhand smoke from Jerry Garcia the trucker... not to mention having a gun in our faces! It was an honest mistake, that's all it was." He stuffed a few more bites of hashbrowns into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of coffee. Scully worked on her strawberry waffle, savoring the sweet berries and rich whipped cream. It had been a long time since she'd indulged in anything this sinfully delicious. "Mulder, you took Usabelli out like a pro. Are you going to tell me they taught you moves like that in accounting school?" "I thought he was going to kill you. I reacted." He shrugged. "Got lucky. Don't make more of it than that." She sighed, picking up her coffee cup and cradling it in her hands as she regarded him. "Why do you refuse to see the obvious?" "Because what you're saying is ridiculous." He laughed at the thought of it as he spread more grape jelly on his sourdough toast. "I'm not an FBI agent, Sarah. And neither are you." He bit into the bread, then spoke as he chewed. "Just because I'm here with you doesn't mean I'm buying into this fantasy of yours." She swallowed some of the hot coffee before setting the mug back on the table. "Then why did Dr. Hazlam want to stop me from remembering? What was he afraid of?" "I don't know." Mulder rubbed his temples and grimaced. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a bottle of pills. Scully's reaction was immediate. "Mulder, no! Don't take those anymore. You need to get the drugs out of your system so you can remember too. It wasn't until I stopped my medications that my memories really started to come back to me." "Damn it, I knew you were scamming! No wonder your schizophrenia is worse." He shook his head and sighed. "Sarah, the medications were helping you." "No," she insisted, reaching across the table, closing her small hand over his larger one and the bottle of pills he held. "They were KEEPING me from remembering who I really am." "Secret Agent Dana Scully?" he said derisively, rolling his eyes. "SPECIAL Agent Dana Scully," she corrected him, frowning at his sarcasm. She pulled her hand back and took another bite of her breakfast, trying not to be too angry with him for continuing to doubt her. Mulder shook his head. "What was I thinking? I should have reported Hazlam to the state medical board. Taking you out of Keystone was a big mistake. You need help, Sarah. You need your medications. I'm just feeding your psychosis by helping you escape..." He put the pills back in his pocket unopened and returned his attention to his plate. "If I had any good sense I'd go to the nearest pay phone and turn us both in." She almost choked on her coffee. "God, Mulder, don't do that! Promise me you won't." He didn't look at her, just toyed with the scrambled eggs in his dish. "It's the right thing to do." "They'd never take your word over Hazlam's. You may be a trustee, but you're still a patient - a crazy. You start spouting off about the head of the hospital lobotomizing patients and see how fast they put you up on 'Floor Loon' and pump you full of sedatives." Scully caught his eye and held it. "We can't go back, Mulder... I WON'T go back." He looked out the window to avoid her gaze, then nodded at the two police cars that were pulling into the diner's parking lot. "We may not have a choice." Scully's face paled. She quickly slid out of the booth and grabbed Mulder's hand. "Come on, partner, we've gotta get out of here fast." Mulder stood and snatched up his bag. "Sarah, wait a sec, I have to pay for the food..." he complained as she frantically pulled him toward the back of the restaurant. She ignored his protests; the Bureau could reimburse the owner of this establishment once she and Mulder got back to DC and straightened everything out. There was a fire exit sign back by the restrooms. Scully figured they'd have to run once the alarm was triggered, but there was a wooded area behind the diner that would provide cover while they made their escape. When they rounded the corner by the ladies room, she was overjoyed to discover that The Creekside Cafe hadn't bothered with such an extravagance as an emergency exit alarm. They slipped out quietly, before the cops caught a glimpse of the petite redhead and her tall, dark and handsome companion. "Maybe they weren't looking for us," Mulder said hopefully as she led him deeper into the forest. The road they'd been traveling along seemed to be paralleling this creek for the most part. Scully thought it safest after their close call to stay out of view as much as possible; so they followed the creek itself now, rather than the highway. From time to time they would lose sight of the road, but the meandering stream always wound its way back at various points along the way. "They may have found Floyd by now; and if they did it's a sure bet they know we're headed for Virginia," Scully huffed as she climbed over a fallen tree that blocked her path. "We'll be in big trouble once they find him." "We were only defending ourselves," Mulder argued as he followed close behind her. "That's not what I mean." She stopped and turned to him. She had to tell him. He may not believe her story yet, but he needed to know the seriousness of their situation. "We'll be considered armed and dangerous now, Mulder." She reached behind her back and lifted the gun she'd taken from Usabelli out of the waistband of her jeans. For several seconds his mouth hung open as he stared at the deadly weapon in her tiny hand. "Jesus! Sarah, are you out of your mind!" He combed his fingers though his hair nervously. "That seems to be the consensus anyway," she quipped with a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not laughing." Hands resting on his hips, he glared at her crossly. "What the hell were you thinking stealing that man's gun?" "I was thinking we might need it." She tucked the weapon behind her back again for safekeeping. "What - you're going to shoot at the police now?" "Mulder, the police are the least of our worries. Whoever is responsible for doing this to us, for putting us in that asylum; the person you overheard Dr. Hazlam talking with on the phone... THAT'S who we need to be afraid of." He sat down on the fallen tree trunk looking very weary and frustrated, and Scully thought - a little guilty too. "Nobody did anything to me. I was in Keystone because I tried to kill myself... several times in fact." He looked at her standing there before him and confessed his shame. "No one's conspiring against me. I'm my own worst enemy, Sarah." Scully couldn't help herself. That defeated look in his eyes drew her in. Her heart ached for him, knowing how real her own implanted memories still felt sometimes. She went to him. Standing between his legs as he rested on the mossy log; she placed her palms against his chest as she spoke. "No, Mulder. They put that in your head. Please, trust me." She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes for a minute and remembering... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ** CHAPTER TWELVE ** She had a gun shoved into the back of her - no, Kimmie's - loose- fitting jeans. God. Michael was having a hard enough time wrapping his mind around that fact... and it wasn't a small pistol, either. The day had taken on a surreal quality that made him half expect to see Dali-ish clocks melting down over the sides of trees, or perhaps the roofs of nearby houses. He shook his head, rejecting his silly thoughts, and found himself a bit startled when Sarah's cool forehead pressed against his as she stood between his legs with her small, warm hands resting on his chest. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to experience the pleasure of having her so near. Something about the feel of her, in just this position, her brow touching his... so maddeningly familiar. He couldn't fathom why; it was the strangest thing. Everything about her, so suddenly; after knowing her, being her friend for a year - and now these feelings were swamping his senses and he didn't know why. It was Sarah, just Sarah, for God's sake - and yet he felt as though they'd stood brow to brow more than once before; her hand would have been curled around the back of his neck, though; little fingers tunneling under the cotton of his collar, to rest against his bare skin. Neatly trimmed nails, scoring him lovingly... Wait a damn minute. 'Lovingly?' Where the hell did THAT come from? Michael could feel his head begin to throb and pound. He needed his pills... but just as he thought to move his hand to his jacket pocket and retrieve them, he felt Sarah slip her fingers from his shoulder, up along his collarbone to his face, cupping his cheek gently before laying a cool palm against his forehead and massaging gently. Michael sighed, and leaned into her hand, feeling that oddness of familiarity, once again. Her touch was so healing; he let her minister to him, grateful that she knew where he needed pressure applied. And the pain was dissipating quickly, far more quickly than the last time she rubbed his - Shit. Again; he'd done it again. What the hell was WRONG with him! There couldn't be any "again" between them, because there had never been anything to BEGIN with! Anger at the way his thoughts were straying, had him pull away from her with almost a rough jerk; feeling the throb start anew but determined to fight it. Leaning back on the log, as far away as he could without hurting her feelings, Michael met her puzzled expression with as much of a smile as he could muster. "Mulder? What's wrong? Your head... I thought I was helping. You can't take any pills, you know that..." Her soft worry faded in her throat, as he focused unsmilingly on her face. And he stood up abruptly, and his hands took her shoulders and set her aside so he could move from the cradle of her small form. He knew he had to explain. He really hoped as he did so, that he would be able to understand as well, for every instinct in his body was telling him to yank her back into his arms and never let her go... "Sarah... don't. Don't call me Mulder. Can't you see you still need some sort of professional help? We need to get you to a doctor; someone we can trust who can help you with your delusions. I can't get close... like that... with you. It's not fair to you. Not while you and I are still sick. I still suffer from depression, Sarah - I still feel suicidal, sometimes. Not to the point of no return, never that. But sometimes I feel the depression weighing me down like the burden of the world on my shoulders - and I know until I stop feeling that way I'll never be able to have any sort of relationship, with you." He had to make her understand the seriousness of their situation - far beyond these supposed 'troubles' of hers. "I have to protect you, Sarah - you have to let me do that for you. I'm not gonna deny that there's something there between us - I don't know why. But we need each other's friendship and trust, right now - and I need you to know who I am. Me - not some imaginary person you created as a way of coping. Please, Sarah - can't we drop this charade, and just concentrate on surviving?" He rubbed at his forehead again, trying to ease the ache that had come back with a vengeance. "Look, my head hurts... but I won't take any of the damn pills, if that worries you. I'll stay away from them, as long as I can. And I won't turn us in - or call anyone, I promise. For now, we'll play it your way. But you've got to give me that gun, Sarah -" Her violent shake of her head made him huff in impatience. "Sarah, you can't keep that huge thing shoved down your pants! At least put it in the pocket of your jacket, and keep it zipped and hidden." He pushed up the back of her shirt and retrieved the gun, slipping it into her jacket pocket and zipping it shut. Sarah smiled weakly up at him, and wiped at her damp face. "Thank you for letting me keep it, Mulder," - and his whispered correction of, "Michael, Sarah" - made her retort a saucy little, "Whatever," right back at him. Michael shook his head, exasperated and charmed by her. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her forward, past the edge of the forest and closer to the running stream which wound through the dense vegetation. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX They followed the stream for hours until they came to a public campground where they decided to rest for a little while and hopefully find a ride from one of the travelers passing through the day picnic area. It was late afternoon and Scully's stomach was starting to grumble, and she knew Mulder must be hungry too. At least there was a drinking fountain here where they could quench their thirst, and restroom facilities - even if they were only outhouses. The barest necessities were taken care of. Food would have to wait. They found a shady place down by the water and leaned against a large rock to rest their weary legs and aching feet. Neither of them said a word; Mulder rubbed at his throbbing temples and Scully stared at the beautiful scenery surrounding them, remembering other trips into the forest - as a child with her parents and brothers and sister, camping trips on summer vacation; and later in her life with Mulder, on bizarre cases that had haunted her as nightmares during her time at Keystone. A lot of the memories that had been coming back to her were not good ones, but she welcomed them all, holding on to each memento from her past as a treasured keepsake, embracing the good with the bad because it was all a part of the whole that constituted the truth - the truth she and Mulder needed to reclaim. A man and woman were swimming nearby in a place where the stream widened and pooled. Though the days had turned chilly with the onrushing fall weather, it would seem some folks were not bothered by the cold. Scully watched them frolic carelessly in the rippling water; and when the man turned Scully's way he flashed her a bright smile. He had shoulder length sandy blonde hair that he wore fashioned back in a ponytail. Scully guessed him to be in his late twenties. His companion who kept diving under the water to taunt him, popped up beside him; her short, jet black, pixie-style hair clinging to her head like a swimming cap. She wasn't wearing a suit. And Scully quickly guessed that neither was he. The woman and man talked amongst themselves for a moment and then she left him, wading out of the water without the slightest bit of modesty. Mulder had his eyes closed leaning back against the rock and missed the show. But when the woman grabbed up a beach towel off a nearby rock and wrapped herself in it and then came their way, his eyes flicked open. "Hey," she called to them. As she got closer, Scully could see she was very young, not much more than twenty-two or so; her shining makeup-less face pretty and honest-looking, dotted with freckles from too much sun. "I'm Zoe. You guys want to swim?" "I don't think so, Zoe. Thanks anyway," Mulder declined politely for them both. The young woman gave a quick look back and shook her head at her companion in the water. Then she returned her attention to her new acquaintances with an inquiring grin. "You two got names?" "I'm Dana, he's Mulder." Scully offered. She wasn't about to call him Fox again after the look he gave her last time, and she flatly refused to refer to him as Michael - that name being a part of the lie she was determined to leave behind. "Cool name - Mulder." Zoe's eyes lit when she looked at him. She nodded over her shoulder at the man still swimming in the creek. "That's Mic, my old man. He's a Pisces; can't drag him out of the water. I'm a Cancer, a moon child... my spirit belongs to the water too, but I'm like - not such a freak about it as he is." She giggled. "We were getting ready to head out, but then we saw you and we thought if you guys wanted to like - swim with us or whatever, we could hang here for awhile longer." "Sorry, we really can't. We're just resting for a few minutes and then we need to find a ride before it gets dark," Mulder told her. "We're on our way to Philly for the poetry festival. Mic is an awesome poet. That's how we met - three years ago in San Francisco at a coffee house in the Haight-Ashbury district. Mic was reading one of his sonnets and I felt like he was speaking only to me... you know? It was like - WOW! Went right to my heart... Anyway, I had just broken up with my 'sort of' boyfriend Chris - he was this surfer dude who was really good looking, but a serious drag; he just wanted to be platonic friends, so I like - split." She shrugged indifferently. "I mean, I'm into sex. He just didn't get it, ya know?" Scully nodded, noticing Zoe's pierced eyebrow and nose, then glancing down at the trio of butterflies she had tattooed above her right breast. Scully's hand moved to her back thoughtfully; she hadn't seen it in a very long time but suddenly she remembered it was there... a tattoo of her own. Along with that recollection came images of a man named Ed Jerse - Jesus, how many more of these skeletons were hidden in her mental closet? She shuddered to think. Zoe was still talking. "...So anyway, if you need a lift and you're heading east, we've got room in the bus - if you don't mind crashing on the bed while we drive." Just then Mic decided to join them, wading out of the water completely naked to pull on a pair of beat-up Levis he'd left laying on the shoreline. Scully couldn't help catching an eyeful. 'Poetry in motion - hoo boy,' she thought to herself as she let her eyes wander over the well-built man's tanned frame, glistening in the waning afternoon sunlight. It wasn't until he made eye contact with her and she felt herself blush, that Scully turned away and saw the look on Mulder's face. Uh oh. "We're not going to Philadelphia. But thanks for the offer." Mulder turned away from Scully's apologetic stare. "Bummer. It could have been fun. Me and Mic like to hang with new people. Where are you guys headed anyway?" "DC," Scully answered absently, worried that she'd upset Mulder. He was staring at the gold ring on Zoe's big toe with a petulant frown. "Hey, we could take you as far as Harrisburg." Mic approached them before Scully could decline. "You making new friends, baby?" He had a soft deep voice and dark brown soulful eyes, the kind that drew you in and held you captive. Scully found herself fascinated by his rugged good looks, despite her best efforts to appear disinterested for Mulder's sake. "Mickey, this is Dana and Mulder. They're looking for a ride to DC. I told them it would like - be okay to hitch with us to Harrisburg." "Excellent!" He offered Scully a hand up. And when she reluctantly accepted, he refused to let go until he had made a production of kissing her hand. "Dana, it's a pleasure. Such enchanting blue eyes..." He reached out and tucked a few stray hairs back into place behind her ear. "And the tresses of a Goddess - aflame like the sun itself... Dana, Goddess of the sun, with eyes that steal the hearts and souls of mortal men." Zoe laughed at the expression on Mulder's face. "He's always like that. It's his muse. He finds inspiration everywhere. You'll get used to it." "I doubt it," Mulder mumbled under his breath as he climbed to his feet. They hadn't accepted the ride, but Mic and Zoe seemed thrilled to have their company, and getting out of it gracefully didn't look like a possibility now. Mulder stepped in between Scully and Mic, slipping an arm around her shoulders in a clearly territorial gesture. Zoe had gathered up her clothes and was heading back along the trail that lead to the parking lot. Mic walked slower, showing Mulder and Scully the way. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Michael decided the day was shaping up to be nothing more than an extension of his pounding head. Bouncing along in the middle of a lumpy, unmade bed which smelled of coconut and pinenuts... The old, creaky VW van hit a pot-hole and the jarring thump sent him flying upwards, and then he landed on a rogue pinenut that had fallen onto the bed. Michael yanked it out from under his stomach and threw it over his shoulder. It hit Sarah on the back of her head, but she never felt a thing - she had fallen asleep. On her side, body rocking with each jerky motion of the van; Michael watched her, thinking how young she looked in her slumber. Sleep had a way of smoothing out all of life's little troubles, every one which usually trapped itself on the face, all-too-visible during the waking hours. Michael traced a gentle finger along the flush of her cheek - wondering for the umpteenth time why she brought out such fierce protectiveness in him, not to mention jealousy. He admitted it - he was jealous. He'd seen the way Mic had stared at her, and he'd also noted her response. She was a lovely, normal woman - maybe her health wasn't up to par, but her libido was doing just fine... and guys like Mic loved to take advantage. Michael wasn't about to let anything happen to her, either from a deranged doctor or an over- amorous retro-hippie. Michael's stomach rumbled, reminding him that all they'd had to eat was a handful of coconut chunks and a bowl of pinenuts. Mic and Zoe had scarfed the odd combination, claiming between bites of coconut, that both foods were natural aphrodisiacs. Zoe had exclaimed to Sarah, "You gotta keep the coconut very cold, and eat it while it's still dripping with milk. And the pinenuts are the best, man - you wouldn't believe the shot of hot Mic gets from eating them." She had grinned at Mic, who had leaned over the middle section of the van and kissed her passionately, his hands roaming possessively over her breasts. Sarah had blushed, but Michael noticed she didn't turn away from the intimate display. Michael had dropped the piece of coconut he'd been nibbling on, thinking the last thing he needed was a sexual stimulant. He was already semi-hard just from lying next to Sarah, in the close and humid confines of the van... To make matters worse, Zoe had spent much of their mealtime hand- feeding Mic pieces of coconut as he drove - and the way she sucked the sweet milky residue from her fingers was slowly driving Michael crazy. He closed his eyes against the sight of a pink, feminine tongue swirling around on slender fingers - suddenly finding himself focusing on the memory of Sarah's tongue, lapping at her fingers... lapping at his hot, rock-hard... Oh, shit. He was doing it again; seeing a past which had to be some kind of weird wishful thinking - because he knew Sarah had never touched him - or licked at him - anywhere on his body. And he sure wished he could understand why so many little things were falling into place, when he never knew of any place for them to fall, in regards to him. He was letting Sarah's psychosis get the better of him - that had to be it. She was so convincing in her determination. Between her continuous attempts to drag him into her fantasy world, and not taking his medication, it was no small wonder he'd been getting terribly confused about himself. His head was hurting again; maybe he should get some sleep. Michael stretched out alongside of Sarah, and let himself doze; let himself forget about the couple in the front seat who wanted to play with each other - and with them, if Zoe's amorous glances in his direction would be anything to go by. Michael was determined to ignore it; play dumb. He felt the rocking of the van cradle him in its moist warmth, and he slept. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (End of Episode 1 part 4 of 4) TO BE CONTINUED in Episode 2