TITLE: "Fog in the Desert"
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au 

CATEGORY: S; MSR overtones; MT for sure; Angst
RATING: PG-13 for description of physical injuries/dead
bodies
SUMMARY: Mulder undergoes a surreal journey of the body
and mind.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set sometime during season six
after "Triangle". Mention of "Redux I & II" and "The
Beginning". 

GEOGRAPHICAL NOTE: I have never been to the locations
mentioned in this story. I've based it off information
from net friends, but any inaccuracies are mine and
unintended. 

ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer
stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Love it. Brings joy to my world!
THANKS TO: Suzanne, Debbie and Gerry for being so patient
and prompt. 

My website for all my X-Files fanfiction, thanks to the
wonderful Skyfox, has moved, and is now at:
http://tenxffic.iwarp.com 

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder
and Scully and all other characters from the show belong
to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox
Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained. Characters not recognised from the show are mine.

The X-Files: "Fog in the Desert"
By Ten, July - November 1999

xXx 

With every beat of his heart, he took a step. A strong
and assured stride that took him over the desert sands.
The landscape was still dim, but more and more stars were
disappearing overhead as the glow on the horizon
increased in strength. All appeared tranquil and
pleasant, though on the edge of his vision he could
sometimes see shapes prowling a distance away. Dark forms
- tails swishing. Predators? Mirages? But they were
staying back and sometimes disappeared altogether, so he
could not tell. 

Occasionally he passed caves that could possibly provide
shelter, but strange lights and noises issued from them,
so they were to be avoided as he fixed upon his goal. 

He walked towards the glow. The sun had not yet appeared,
but the pre-dawn light covered him, painting his body in
brilliant hues of red and gold. He walked, hearing
nothing but his breathing and heartbeat and the crunch of
his feet on the sand. 

Often there was little to see in this barren surround of
dunes and plain, so he watched his arms and legs as they
moved. Back and forth. Swinging. Stepping. He admired the
colours. The play of light on his skin. 

And how active it was on his leg. His right leg. He
watched how the light swirled up and down there. He
wondered about it. 

But not too much. He had to keep going. His heart was
telling him to. The beat. His pulse. The drumbeats he
could now hear that matched them perfectly. Each footstep
over the sand. 

Then came a tug at his shoulder.

xXx

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Mulder screamed as agony shot up his
right leg into his entire body. He slumped against a
tree, clutching his leg. His eyes went from half-lidded
contentment to tightly squeezed shut. 

/What the hell - ?/ His graceless collapse against the
tree had jolted his leg, and he scrambled to balance
against the trunk while keeping his foot off the ground,
cheek pressed into the bark. His stomach lurched as he
felt the broken bones of his lower leg scraping against
each other. 

/What's going on? And...where the hell did this TREE come
from?/ The question made his eyes open. He pulled his
head back and nearly overbalanced. "Ahhh, shit!" /Keep
the leg up, keep leg UP.../ 

Mulder's mouth gaped wide open. He was leaning heavily
against a tree. A solid tree. 

In the desert? 

He looked around to his left as best he could, his
breaths rasping in his throat. 

There was no desert. Fog, instead. His frosted breath
joined the fog as it drifted through a woodland of
evergreens and deciduous trees. A thin layer of snow was
underfoot, not sand. It was daylight. There was no red
and orange glow. 

And the air was FREEZING. 

"How the hell did I - ? Scully? SCULLY?" His yell was a
croak. No answer. Shivering hit him, causing his leg to
protest even more. Tears formed in his eyes, only to have
the cold claim them before they could fall off his jaw. 

He chanced a look at his leg, not really wanting to see.
Grubby bandages were roughly tied around his upper calf.
/Great - infection for sure. She'll kill me./ There was a
faint show of blood through the bandages, and a lot of
dried blood all the way down the rest of his pants leg.
The limb was not splinted. /How could I have bandaged it
but not splinted it? Not like there's a lack of branches
around. If I was the one that did that... Or did the
bleeding come before the break?/ 

An image opened up in his head. Sitting somewhere, his
leg pinned, his focus on a rip in his suit trousers that
displayed a gash. The gash looked nasty and was bleeding,
but not spurting arterial blood. Nor was the wound deep
enough to show the bone. But he was stuck. 

Mulder shook off the image and brought himself back to
the woods. As he turned awkwardly to the right, he saw
that his trenchcoat was encrusted with ice. He stared at
it. The cloth was dirty in places too, and bits of twig
stuck fast. He was wearing a suit and tie underneath. No
cold weather gear. No gloves. He could still move his
fingers and toes - though wiggling the ones on his right
leg added to his pain - and couldn't see any sign of
frostbite on his hands, which was amazing considering the
ice on his coat. He patted down his pockets one-handed.
No cellular. No gloves or even a handkerchief to tear
into strips to wrap around his hands. No gun or holster.
He couldn't feel the ankle holster strapped to his leg.
/Can't even fire a round off like a noise-flare./ 

/What the hell happened?/ he thought again, surprised he
could manage a coherent thought when the pain in his leg
was driving him out of his mind. /Where's Scully?/ 

Flashes. 

Scully's alarmed face. 

A gun barrel pressed to the back of his head. 

Being made to move away from her. 

Whirring. 

Fog closing in. Nature's own law. 

Frightened yells. 

Then it was all gone. 

Mulder didn't know what to make of it. Though one thing -
one certainty - did poke through, to his relief. Scully
was safe. 

But WHERE? 

He rebuttoned up his suit jacket and coat as best he
could after his search, then remembered that he hadn't
finished scanning to the right, so braced himself and
pivoted slowly on his left foot, hands clutching the
tree, teeth clenched, hoping he wouldn't slip on the
snow. 

A bag. A medium-sized canvas bag was hanging from a
branch of another tree. The strap was hooked at just
below chest height, only a metre away. There was no brand
or logo on it. Mulder stared at it. The tug at his
shoulder... He'd forgotten about that because of the pain
in his leg. Had he bumped against this bag? Or had he
been *carrying* it, and it snagged on the tree? 

The bag seemed familiar. Not his, but somehow important.
Unknown items made it bulge. 

/Perhaps there's a phone in there. A drink. Warm
clothes!/ Mulder studied the bag and the space he had to
cover to reach it. If he was very careful, he could keep
one hand propped against the tree and stretch out and
grab the bag without letting go. 

He managed it. The bag wasn't too hard to disentangle
from the branch it was caught on and fortunately didn't
dislodge a heap of snow onto his head, but it was heavy.
Quickly Mulder captured the bag between his left thigh
and the tree trunk, putting the strap over his shoulder
to make sure it stayed put, and rifled through the
contents. 

No clothes. Only heavy oval things wrapped in cloth. They
felt like stones. He went to toss them out, but then
stopped, spotting a bottle of mineral water. "Yes!"
Taking the risk of eating potentially germ-filled snow
hadn't been appealing unless necessary. He succeeded in
getting the bottle out. Or half of it. Closer inspection
showed that the water had frozen, and the expansion had
split the plastic open. A rummage deeper in the bag
brought up some of the now-loose ice. Mulder selected a
small chunk and popped it in his mouth. Cold. Scully was
the ice cruncher, not him, but he had no choice. 

He resumed looking in the bag. No cellular. No nice IV
drip full of morphine. Nothing else. "Damn." He put all
the chunks of ice he could find into the pocket of his
trenchcoat - the left one so the big pieces didn't bump
against his right leg - and let the bag drop to the
ground. 

Mulder didn't let go of the strap however - as it slid
down his arm, his hand unconsciously caught it and held
on. But the bag itself was resting on the ground, so he
didn't notice. 

Since the melted ice chips had loosened his throat a
little, he tried yelling again. No answer. /No one in
their right mind would be out in this. So why am *I*
here? Or have I just answered my own question?/ 

The fog was thinning a little. Mulder frowned, and peered
off to the right again. 

A glow? 

Lights. Coloured lights in the near-distance. 

/UFO? Was I abducted and returned and now they want me
back?/ 

The lights were stationary. Mulder leaned back more
heavily against the tree, trying to work out what to do.
If only the damn pain and throbbing in his leg would
leave him alone! The fog seemed to take pity on him then,
because it lifted more. 

He could see the light source more clearly. A large neon
sign, rising up like a lighthouse beacon in the night. He
couldn't quite read it, but he knew what it signified. 

A gas station. 

He yelled and yelled. No response. He couldn't hear any
cars. In this fog, he wasn't surprised. But he had to get
over there. 

Mulder considered his options. Getting down and crawling,
dragging his bad leg behind him, would be the 'easiest'
way, but Mulder was afraid that in these conditions he
would lose his bearings very quickly among these trees.
One hundred feet the wrong way in the fog could mean his
death. His prints and drag trail in the snow would not be
very good guides if he did become disorientated - with
the pain making him lightheaded, it was hard to pick up
the imprints on the white, especially with the shadow-
stealing fog, and any crawling would mean having more of
himself in contact with the snow, which didn't appeal. 

/And once I'm down, I have serious doubts that I'll be
able to get up again./ At least standing upright he could
pinpoint his beacon sign more easily. 

There were plenty of trees to hold onto; he could hop
from one to the next, keeping his weight off the right
leg, and with luck he would come across a dead branch or
something that was conveniently propped up against a tree
so he wouldn't have to lean down to claim it for a
makeshift crutch. And he hoped that the trees would be
sturdy enough not to dislodge a shower of snow onto his
head when he grabbed hold of them. /At least it's not
snowing now./ All the movement and grabbing should keep
the circulation moving in his fingers and toes, but in
this cold he was afraid that would not be enough to
prevent frostbite if he didn't make it to shelter soon. 

He should be able to make the distance without a splint.
By the time he finished trying to make one of those, he
knew his energy levels would be too depleted, vital
strength that he needed to reach the gas station. He
would have to crawl across the road if it was between him
and the station, but then the goal would be in sight. 

He tried not to think about how painful hopping this
first distance was going to be. Just shivering in the
cold was jarring enough to hurt. /Be glad you haven't got
a compound fracture,/ he told himself in Scully's doctor
voice, /There's no way you could walk at all if there was
a bone sticking out of your leg. So count your blessings
and get moving before you freeze in place./ 

Mulder squared his shoulders and flexed his fingers,
ready to take his first step. Or rather, hop. Without
conscious thought, he hefted the bag onto his shoulder. 

He selected his 'target tree' to aim for, /One at a
time,/ prayed he wouldn't lose his balance before
reaching it, and hopped forward, keeping his right leg
raised. It worked, but it jarred like hell. 

Mulder let the scream he produced propel him forward to
the tree. Sweat broke out on his skin and became a thin
sheeting of ice. The broken bones rubbed together inside
him like firesticks. Mulder would have compared it to
knitting needles, only he knew that his bones were doing
anything BUT knitting. 

Mulder grit his teeth and hopped forward again. "Scully,"
he told himself. "ARGGGH!" Another hop. Another. Another
tree. "*Scully*." 

In place of pulse and drum beat, Mulder took up his new
mantra and headed for the lights.


To his relief, Mulder soon found a loose branch on his
agonising trek. It was too tall for use as a crutch, but
was useful enough as a staff. Now he had less chance of
falling. Trying to keep his mind off his injury, he
pondered about the desertscape. A very vivid
hallucination. No pain. 

"Love to be back...there now..." 

The fog was still a presence, but he could see the end of
the woods and that there was a road just before the gas
station. He hoped that as he crossed it a car would come
along and run him over and put him out of his misery. 

"Scully," he reminded himself with each puff of frosty
breath. "Scully. Keep - it - together. Better you...than
her." 

He moved on, shivering, moaning, repeating her name. His
injured leg swung painfully. 

The phrase: "Grind his bones to make my bread" popped up
in his mind. Mulder almost chuckled. This time he would
welcome waking up in the hospital. It would be warm and
less painful and safe. He wouldn't even complain about
the IV or a huge cast on his leg. Or time in traction if
need be. 

Tree after tree. Cling, briefly muster resources (not too
long, just go with the flow, don't think about falling or
the pain or the impossibility or the cold), propel
forward, hop, next tree. 

He wondered about how bizarre he must look, then wondered
to whom. In the woods, no one can see you hop. 

Suddenly Mulder remembered sitting in a strange car - the
back passenger seat - hands flat on his knees, watching
and being watched by a hard-faced man wearing a suit. The
man was also in the rear of the car, over on the left
side, and holding a gun on him. Mulder's gun. /Great.
Lost another one. Skinner's going to kill me. Or give my
frozen body a good kick once they find me./ 

Another man was driving. When Mulder tried to recall his
face, he could summon up only a goulish image of a
bloodied mess slumped against the headrest of...not a car
seat... 

A helicopter? 

But then he was back in the car. And he knew that there
were two more guns in the car, with the driver. One was
Scully's, the other was Corpse-man's own... He'd used it
to... He had been holding it at someone's head. A nervous
little man. The agents had no choice but to give up their
weapons. 

What a time not to be wearing the ankle holster... 

Mulder noted that his hands were unbound. The men must
have had no time or way to secure him. Wait - Suit-man
did have handcuffs in a pocket. Perhaps he didn't want to
risk close contact that could lead to a fight. 

A glance out the window. No fog. Snow on the ground, but
not falling. And not thick enough on the road to slow the
driver down. A radio weatherman was predicting a marked
drop in temperature within the next twenty four hours. 

What a time not to be wearing a much thicker coat...
Mulder was in his own winter work clothes, but this area
was clearly not near D.C., and wherever it was, he
remembered joking with Scully about feeling barely warm
enough. Now if these guys decided to dump him at the side
of the road... 

/Well, if they put a bullet in my brain before they dump
me, I won't have to worry, will I?/ 

Corpse-man spoke, his gravelly voice coming back over the
passenger seat as he concentrated on both the road and
frequent checks of the rear-view mirror. "We should have
taken the woman instead. Smaller, easier to handle." 

Suit-man kept watching Mulder. His voice was unexpectedly
cultured and calm. "You obviously didn't get a good look
at her. I doubt she would have been 'easier' by any
degree. I wasn't planning on any hostages at all, if you
recall. But since circumstances forced us into this, I
don't 'do' females. We all have our moral standards.
Besides, Lover-Boy here practically begged us to choose
him." The criminal gave an amused grin. "I've no doubt
that if we had taken her, this guy would be hot on our
trail right now, ready to make us pay." 

"What makes you think that SHE won't?" 

"Oh, she's out there, all right. She wants to arrest us
and do her job, but she doesn't want any harm to come to
him. That conflict will hopefully work out to our
advantage. But I'm sure a roadblock is in the cards. Turn
here." 

"Here?" 

"If we hurry, we have a chance." 

Corpse-man did as told, and after a few more minutes of
driving was directed to turn into a small airfield.
Mulder didn't recognise it - he and Scully had landed at
a reasonably large airport. There was an argument between
the men as they drove towards an unattended helicopter
that sat outside a hanger. The sign on the hanger
advertised scenic flights. 

Suit-man had a helicopter pilot licence, so they wouldn't
have to kidnap anyone else to make their escape in it. He
thought that the police wouldn't have considered the
airfield as a possibility because of the danger of fog.
But he was confident that there was enough visibility and
it would last long enough. "I know these conditions -
I've lived here for years. And we can hardly risk going
to the airport, can we?" Corpse-man wasn't as sure about
the plan. Time was short though and at any moment the
people they could see working in another hanger further
away were going to realise that something was happening,
so he picked a bag up from the front passenger seat. A
very familiar canvas bag. 

They were going to leave Mulder in the car - alive and
handcuffed to the steering wheel, /Thanks, guys. Nice to
run into some 'gentleman thieves' - but thieves of WHAT?/
- and take off by themselves. But then they saw cars
approaching and realised it was the police. Mulder had
smiled at the sight. Scully covering all the bases. 

But that made the men take him with them as insurance. 

Then memory became flashes: 

Travelling over miles of forest, Corpse-man insisting
that they land as soon as possible. Suit-man confident
they could get further. 

Then the fog had closed in like a giant mouth around a
candy.

xXx

Happy memories, indeed. 

"ARGH! This is getting...REAL old...real fast..." Mulder
crawled across the road, dragging his right leg, hearing
his shoes scrape. /I really picked a bad day to wear the
Armani.../ He focused on that instead of the pain and
discomfort. After a few seconds of indecision at the edge
of the woods, he had kept the staff. 

There were no cars. He could read the sign now. Hemel's
Gas and Eats. Mulder wondered if his brain had mixed the
glow of the sign into that sunrise imagery of the desert. 

He reached the phone booth situated in front of the pumps
and gratefully sat against it, not wanting to go any
further unless he absolutely had to. /Civilisation.../ He
had no energy to clear away the snow that was underneath
him. Why bother with the effort - within a few minutes
someone would be helping him into the warmth. He peered
across at the station/store through tendrils of fog that
weren't thick, but enough to keep the situation surreal.
Any moment now, he expected to just slip back into the
desertscape. No such luck. The station lights were on,
but there was no movement at the counter or amongst the
shelves that he could see. 

Mulder went to yell, but his throat was dry again. He
banged on the booth's framework and the cement a few
times with his staff, but that didn't make enough noise,
so then he reached into his pocket for more ice, and
realised that the canvas bag was still hooked over his
left shoulder. Had he dragged it all the way across the
road? /What the hell? Am I nuts? This is HEAVY./ Too
exhausted to ponder this mystery, he pushed the strap off
his shoulder and crunched some ice instead. 

"Hello? Hello! I need...help!" 

Nothing. 

"Knowing my luck, there's a football game on... Damn!" He
pushed the booth door fully open, then shuffled in by
sliding along on his rear, propelled by his good foot.
Mulder raised his staff and wedged it in the booth on an
angle, with help from the heavy bag, so he could use it
like a handle to grip and push himself up on. As soon as
he got his body up high enough, the phone book shelf took
on the same use. Supported by them both, and in fact
using the branch staff and booth wall as a seat, he could
stay upright enough to use the phone without falling or
placing weight on his bad leg. 

A few seconds of fumbling in his pocket produced enough
loose change to make a call. He noted the criminals had
not taken his wallet or ID. /How nice of them. Guess my
gun was the main thing they wanted. And me./ 

Dialling 911 or the operator didn't occur to him. His
focus was total. He managed to dial Scully's cellular
with chilled fingers and heard it ringing to his relief
as his weary head pressed against the glass panel. /A
little bit longer. Hang on. Just a little bit longer./ 

"Scully." 

Her voice had the same effect on him as the desert
hallucination. Mulder closed his eyes and smiled. He
could hear noise in the background. Not intrusive sounds,
but as if she was in a bustling office somewhere. Unless
it was all white noise in his head. That was definitely a
possibility. 

Though her voice... She sounded so...it would be days
later before the right word would finally click into
place in his mind when he thought back to this moment.
Desolate. 

"Scully..." He managed to speak clearly. One word was all
he could manage for a start. 

There was a pause. A tiny pause, but an eternity for
someone with a shattered leg. He opened his mouth to
repeat her name. 

"Mulder?" Her voice was the barest of whispers, then a
far more strident, "Mulder!" Immediately the background
noise ceased as if switched off. "Are you all right? Are
you still a hostage? Where are you?" Hope, happiness,
worry: one thousand and one emotions jostled in her voice
for dominance. 

"They're dead." He blinked back the image of sitting in
the wreckage, pinned in his seat, bleeding,. Broken leg
screaming for relief, Corpse-man a bloody pulp next to
him, Suit-man's head lolling past the point of life in
front of him. "My leg, Scully, my leg..." He had it
lightly resting against the bag instead of dangling
painfully, but it still hurt so much... 

Trying to free his leg, but the pilot's seat was so hard
to move... He tried to reach for the first aid kit he
could see... 

"Mulder, it's okay. I'm coming." Scully's voice was
desperate. He could hear noises in the background again,
voices asking her questions and calling out orders to
others. "We're trying to trace the call right now. Do you
know where you are?" 

He looked up at the bright neon sign again. "Hemel's Gas
and Eats..." His adrenalin was ebbing. The pain was too
much. His eyes closed and although he was keeping a death-
grip on the phone, he could feel his head sliding down
the glass, his body threatening to follow the leader. 

A rather loud and incredulous yell of "What?" made him
open his eyes suddenly. It had been a male voice in the
background on Scully's side of the phone. "He says he's
WHERE?" 

Scully double-checked the location with Mulder. 

The male voice spoke again. "That's only a few miles out
of town..." 

Then came a rush of activity and questions. Mulder
answered them as best he could. His brain felt as grey
and floaty and insubstantial as the fog. He just wanted
to let go of the phone and drift away into oblivion. 

"Mulder, I'm coming right now. I'm on my way to the car -
Isaac, be careful with that med bag and make sure of the
blankets and not a word of this to those vultures! - and
I'll be speaking to you all the way." 

Vultures? What vultures? Mulder thought of those dark
shapes on the rim of the desert sands. Did she know about
them? 

Scully was still speaking. "I'll be there before you know
it. So will the ambulance. Just don't hang up. And keep
speaking to me. Mericks is talking to the gas station
manager right now - the manager will come out to help
you. Okay? Let's GO!" 

Mulder fitted an "Okay" out through his chattering teeth.
"So co-ld-" Suddenly something occurred to him. "Scully!
The fog - please...be careful..." Being in a helicopter
crash was bad enough without Scully having a car accident
on the way to rescue him. 

Her assurance that she would be careful was not exactly
matched by the instructions he heard her give the driver,
which basically boiled down to "Get us there NOW or you
die." 

The fog was swirling around the phone booth, but then it
became swirling sand. Scully's voice faded away, as did
the gas station. But that was all right, because there
was no pain here. The glow was back, bathing his body in
red and gold light, warm and promising and restorative.
There was whispering, chanting. The drum beats were
stronger and faster, but not frenzied. He walked over the
desert sand, up the dune which was the final barrier to
the sun that was just about to spill forth across the
land. He could not wait. The beats encouraged his pace. 

"MULDER!" 

He was wrenched out of the glow. Mulder started and
blinked. Fog again. Not woodland though. A snowy field...
Empty... And the pain in his leg was excruciating, but
there was no staff to hold onto, no tree... He started to
double over... And that damn canvas bag was banging
against his thigh... He dumped it. A thick blanket that
had been dangling from his shoulder slipped to the ground
with the movement. Where had that come from? 

"MULDER!" 

Without thinking about the pain, he turned around,
wobbling dangerously. To Mulder's astonishment, he saw
that he was in the middle of a field behind a building -
he realised it was the gas station because the top of
that horrible but lifesaving neon sign was visible. There
were cars parked at the fence and others pulling to a
stop, some with lights flashing. Ambulance, police,
others... People were jumping out of their vehicles and
either coming through the open gate or climbing over the
wire. Mulder had no memory of which he had done himself.
A man in a gas station uniform was standing just inside
the field, at the gate, waving his arms and yelling at
the people, "I tried to stop him!" 

But outstripping everyone was Scully. She was racing
towards her partner, yelling frantically for him to stop.
She was only about 50 yards away now. 

Mulder staggered towards her. There was no strength left
to hop. The pain was great, but at the same time
insignificant. He had to touch her. He couldn't see her
expression because she was very blurry. 

Then he was in her arms and a second later in oblivion.


The world was hearing and touch. His other senses were
asleep. There was no pain. 

It wasn't cold. A hand touched his forehead with tender
intimacy, then glided over his arm and was gone. He
missed it. He would have called for it to come back if he
could. But he knew it would. It always did. 

Voices. Male. Familiar in some way, but not Scully-
familiar. 

"So this is the miracle man. Where's the missus?" 

"Keep your voice down - she's just in there, using the
bathroom." 

"You're kidding. He's safe now. He's stable. Send her off
for a break." 

"Are YOU kidding? That was my very reasonable suggestion
last night, and the staff was so worried she was about to
bite my head off that a doctor stood by with a suture
kit!" 

The voices descended into babble, then resumed clarity. 

"Anything we can bring you, Agent Scully?" 

"No, thank you. Please pass my appreciation on to the
sheriff and make sure security is kept tight." 

"Will do. Thank God this room isn't on the ground floor.
It's still a media circus out there. Even Oprah called
today." 

His partner groaned, and that was the last thing he heard
for a while.

xXx

Mulder realised he was lying in a bed. His head was
turned to the left. He decided to see if he could open
his eyes. Both opened without too much effort, though he
could hold them open only as mere slits. It would have to
do. He blinked and tried to focus. He was looking at a
door. A door with a windowed panel in it. He'd seen
plenty of those kind of doors in that kind of 'soothing'
colour scheme. He knew he was in a hospital. 

All was quiet. Even his memory on what the hell he did to
end up here. He felt very tired, which was overriding the
pain he could vaguely feel in the background of his
senses, but he wanted to find out where Scully was and it
wasn't on this side of his room. There was a constant
pressure against his right arm though, so it was a fair
bet that she was sitting there holding his hand and
didn't know that he'd woken, or that she'd fallen asleep
against him. Mulder took a deep breath and went to turn
his head, but movement in the door panel caught his eye. 

A man was staring in. Mulder didn't know him, or couldn't
recall him. The man gave a grin that made him feel very
uncomfortable, then moved back a little and held
something up to the glass. Mulder's still-barely open
eyes could just make out that it was a video camera. 

A shriek of pure rage came from over on Mulder's right.
The pressure lifted from his arm, and he heard the sound
of something being knocked over. Then Scully dashed into
and across his field of vision. The cameraman vanished
from his vantage point, and Scully yanked the door open
and raced out, yelling: "Stop! Security!" 

Mulder couldn't sit up to follow the fuss. He even lost
the battle to keep his eyes open. He heard the sound of
another crash and more yelling and feet pounding in the
hallway. His eyes opened to thumbnail moons again as the
door swung open. Scully entered in short and angry
strides, limping slightly, holding the compact video
camera. She pulled at it, stopping frequently to wipe at
her eyes. He saw her wince as her hand brushed her left
cheek. Mulder drank in the sight of her, his brain noting
on one level that her suit jacket and hair were
dishevelled. With less finesse than she usually
displayed, she managed to extricate the video tape. 

"That's my camera! I'm a member of the press! I have
rights under the Constitution! She can't do that! Or hit
me!" came the rant from the corridor. 

A man in a deputy sheriff's outfit came cautiously into
the room. Mulder recognised him from somewhere. He was
watching Scully like she was a ticking bomb. A ticking
bomb that was now trying to pull the video cassette
APART. "Um, Agent Scully...that's evidence..." 

She stopped and glared at him, then kept prising at the
casing, her fuse burning lower and lower. 

The deputy shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Ma'am,
what he did was an invasion of privacy, and I know you're
upset, but -" 

She deliberately dropped the cassette to the floor. Hard.
"Ooops. All this stress has made me clumsy." Then came a
noise, a crack, like she had stomped on it or kicked it
into the wall. She bent down to pick it up, and when she
was back in Mulder's line of sight, his partner was
drawing her thumb and index fingernails down a length of
exposed tape, scratching and shredding it beyond
salvation. "Ooops again. Here you are, deputy. I'm sure
the security camera in the hallway picked up his little
snatch and grab anyway. Make sure he's the first and
last." Ouch, that was her Dire Threat voice. 

And she didn't realise that her partner was awake. 

As Mulder watched her straighten her suit jacket, he both
wanted to cheer and to ask what the hell was going on,
but all his body would let him do was flake out. Again.

xXx

Soft words. Soft caresses. 

"Mulder?" Hope in her voice. "Mulder?" 

Drifting away again. Sadness setting in. 

"Please come back..."

xXx

He drifted back into awareness. But things didn't quite
fit together. There was no whispering or chanting, but he
was warm. There was some pain, but it was nowhere near as
bad as it had been in the woods. 

So: was this woods, desert or field? 

He opened his eyes. The sand dunes were white and smooth.
The glow spilled over them in all its glory. 

Mulder blinked. The sheets of a hospital bed. And
Scully's hair was spread out over it. She slept at his
side. He could feel her hand holding his, her even breath
against his fingers. And he could feel a cast - no, a
brace - on his leg and the IV in his other hand. It
looked like he still had all his fingers. He wasn't in
traction. No feeding tube either. He was safe. He didn't
even mind the catheter. 

He reached out carefully with his IV-adorned hand and
managed to touch her hair, to stroke it. Scully murmured
and turned towards him. He brushed her hair back and got
his first good look at her face. 

And nearly recoiled. 

This was wrong. Very, very wrong. He wasn't awake at all;
he couldn't be. The face he was seeing was the stuff of
his nightmares. This HAD to be a nightmare, a revisit to
when Scully was so sick with the cancer and so drawn and
pale, her face lifeless. Gaunt. In the hospital, near-
death after going into hypovolemic shock at the meeting
over her partner's 'suicide'. 

This time his brain had mixed up the scenario though,
putting him in the hospital bed instead. He should be
beside it, crumpling down in tears, or being dragged away
by Skinner and other agents... 

He pulled away from her, covered his face with his hands
and tried to turn away. /Let me wake up./ "Please. No
more..." he begged. 

"Mulder?" Scully's voice was croaky with sleep, dazed. 

He couldn't look at her. "No..." His voice hitched. He'd
been through enough. 

"Mulder!" He heard her leap to her feet. She pulled his
hands away, and he was unable to prevent himself from
looking right at her. 

Her face was indeed a carbon copy of that horrible time,
but, as he looked at her, unable to look away, he saw
something happen. He saw her realise that SHE wasn't
dreaming either, that he was awake and all right and
there. And he saw the light rise up in her dulled eyes,
creating a sunrise that spread swiftly across her whole
face in transformation, banishing the stricken mask from
her features. 

"Mulder..." Even the tears that were filling her eyes
didn't dampen the glow. Her Alaska smile. "Oh, Mulder,
thank God..." And as she hugged him, he returned the hold
and bathed in it. 

"Mulder, you're safe. It's okay. You're not a hostage
anymore." 

Her hold was fierce and tight and possessive. After a
while she shifted so that her bowed forehead pressed
against his for a moment before she gently pulled back.
Then she sat in her chair again, but held one of his
hands while buzzing for the nurse. 

"Are you okay, Scully?" She didn't have any makeup on
either. And was that a bruise on her cheek? 

She gave a slight and quirky grin. "I'm fine." He
realised that she at least FELT fine right now, whether
it was actually true or not. 

A nurse popped her head around the door. Scully turned to
her. "Tell Dr Thomas that Agent Mulder is awake please.
Discreetly." Scully emphasised the last word. The nurse
nodded and withdrew, not before Mulder noticed the look
she gave him. Not an 'I want your phone number, big boy'
look, just curiosity and wonder. 

Time to puzzle about that later. "What - I'm discreetly
awake?" he asked as Scully gave him a drink. 

Scully gave him a warning look. "Let's just say that
you're the golden boy of the media at the moment.
Reporters are camped all around the hospital. Updates on
your condition are being given at hourly press
conferences. I don't want to send them into a frenzy. If
they get a whiff that you may be conscious..." 

"Why? What did I do?" 

Scully hesitated. "I want to ask you what you remember,
but I guess we should wait for your doctor to hear it and
see how you are." 

"YOU'RE my doctor. You can relay!" 

"I guess. But first of all: do you need a painkiller?" 

"It's manageable for now. This is nothing compared to
being out in the woods. If I have a shot, I'll just fall
asleep." 

She nodded. That was the standard pattern to his hospital
stays. "All right then. First of all, you have a severe
fracture of the tibia. The bone ends were slightly
displaced and rubbing against each other. You'll be in a
velcro and metal brace for eight to ten weeks." 

"That's okay. I've had enough of walking on that leg to
last me quite a while." 

"I'd imagine so. The bones would have been rubbing
together with even the slightest movement. It must have
been excruciating." 

"It wasn't a nice trip to the forest, no." But the pain
of that memory was wiped out by a different kind of
rubbing - that of Scully's gentle fingers against his
own. "Why a brace instead of a cast?" 

"There was soft tissue damage which caused some swelling,
so a cast would be useless. And you have a laceration on
your calf which had to be accessible to treat as well.
The doctors have packed the wound as a precaution for
infection." 

"And did it get infected?" 

Scully looked slightly awed. "There was dirt in the
wound, but amazingly no signs of infection. We're not
quite sure why." 

"Great, so I'm receiving treatment for something that I
don't even HAVE!" 

"The doctors couldn't quite believe your good fortune.
Anyway, you've been sleeping for the last two days. Can
you tell me what date you think it is?" 

Mulder couldn't remember the exact date, but when he
said, "Around November 10th," she was relieved. 

"Close." 

But she didn't tell him the actual date. Mulder felt like
she was avoiding it. Before he could ask, she said, "And
do you remember where we are? The city we were in on our
case?" 

Amazingly, he could. "Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Place
called Geraine, near the Hiawatha National Forest. No
wonder there was so much damn fog - the Great Lakes!" 

She nodded. Now the million dollar question. "What do you
remember?" 

"I was held hostage." The memories of why were still too
hazy. "And the copter crashed. They died." 

Scully nodded and squeezed his hand. "The copter had an
automatic mayday device, which put out a brief signal
before stopping - looks like the crash disabled it. But
we couldn't pinpoint the signal. The sheriff was sure you
wouldn't have landed safely in that fog and terrain.
Searchers found the wreckage and the bodies yesterday.
Bloodstains confirm that you were in the crash." She
seemed to be about to say something, then changed her
mind. "Do you remember walking or sheltering somewhere
after the copter went down?" 

"I remember fog and trees. Pain. Oh, and the desert." 

"Desert?" 

"I know it wasn't real, but it was nice there. No pain.
No cold." 

"I guess in those conditions it's logical to imagine
yourself somewhere nice and warm." 

"Apart from that, the only thing I can really remember is
seeing the lights of the gas station and getting over to
them." He winced at the memory. "I became a tree-hugger,
Scully." 

The nurse appeared again to explain that Mulder's doctor
was unavailable at the moment. She checked Mulder's
vitals and recorded them, saying that if the doctor
couldn't come in soon, another would be paged. 

When they were alone, Scully asked, "You don't remember
anyone finding you, or discovering shelter somewhere?" 

"No." Where was she going with this? "How long was I
missing for?" 

Her face was reluctant. Strained. "Four days." 

"FOUR days?" 

"In below freezing temperatures. Apparently out in the
open in very inadequate clothing." Her voice was that
scientific delivery monotone she used to distance herself
when giving him the facts of horrific autopsies, but he
could feel tiny tremors running through her hand. "By
rights, you should be dead, Mulder. Your trenchcoat had a
layer of ice over it. Yet you avoided hypothermia and
frostbite. Not even a mild case of either. You MUST have
found shelter somewhere, or been taken in by someone.
Every time the search teams had weather clear enough to
go up in, they couldn't find you or the helicopter before
fog or darkness set in again. Each day we had to wait
until late morning or noon for the fog to burn off, then
by the time the searchers reached the area they thought
you were in... With each passing day it was becoming less
and less a rescue mission than for...recovery of bodies.
And with your leg in that condition..." 

The strain was tight across her face. He could taste the
fear and frustration she had gone through, the knowledge
that your partner is out there somewhere and you can do
nothing. The taste he found too frequently on his own
tongue. 

She took a deep breath. "Mulder, somehow you turned up at
a gas station just a few miles out of town, but the
copter was found 25 miles from here, in very rugged
woodland terrain." 

"What?" 

"The press are calling you a miracle survivor. Some are
saying that you walked out. The whole way. Snow closed in
soon after the copter was found, so any trail you might
have left is gone. Trackers tried retracing your trail
back from the gas station too, but lost it thanks to
idiot media and locals trampling around. Then the weather
finished off further hope there. Your trenchcoat and
clothes are being analysed in a forensic lab to see if
they can place where you were by the bits of debris and
flora. Some of the press are putting forward the theory
that you were dropped off somewhere by the thieves and
your leg was the result of falling in the woods right
near the gas station or aggravation of a crash injury..." 

He tried to absorb this. "And what do you think?" 

"Mulder, I'm honestly at a loss. On the phone, it was
clear that your leg had you in agony. Then you went quiet
and I could hear the station manager talking to you, but
you weren't responding, even when he put a blanket around
your shoulders. Then you dropped the phone and, according
to the manager, you just picked up the bag of stolen
goods and walked off as if you were in a trance. You were
limping a bit, but your face wasn't registering any pain.
You wouldn't answer him. It was like he wasn't there.
When we got to the station, you were in the middle of the
field and you WERE walking without a struggle. Then you
heard me and you just stopped and I could see the
pain...and you just..." Scully's face was slowly
retreating behind the curtain of her hair. "You must have
been in shock and blotted it all out." 

"I guess..." 

"The soft tissue in your leg at the break is nowhere near
as damaged as it should have been if you walked all that
way." 

Mulder suddenly remembered her own injury. "What happened
to you?" He pointed at her cheek. 

Startled, she sat up straight and blushed, which only
accentuated the injury more. "I, um, had a little
altercation with a member of the press." 

"He HIT you?" Mulder went to rise up in bed. He would
make the bastard eat that video camera... 

"No, no. Other way around," Scully explained hastily,
disappearing back behind her wings of hair again. "I just
kind of...bounced off the wall." 

"How could you 'bounce' off the wall?" 

"I...tackled him. That's all." 

Mulder wanted to ask a lot more about that, but the pain
in his leg had been steadily building up during their
conversation and now it was impossible to ignore. Scully
read his face and her own face came back out of hiding,
going into professional mode to order a painkiller. Very
soon Mulder was sliding off to sleep. "We'll talk more
when you wake up," Scully reassured him. She saw his eyes
were roving around the room even as he was fighting to
keep them open. "What is it?" 

"Where's that damn canvas bag?" 

"The contents are back with the rightful owners. I'll
tell you later. Sleep." 

Mulder opened his eyes. Scully was sitting at the
bedside. "Hi," he croaked. She wasn't holding his hand,
but her smile more than made up for that. Now that the
danger was over, she would probably retreat in stages
back to their normal level of partnership. It was their
way. She raised the head of the bed and gave him a drink. 

"Thanks. Was I out for another two days?" 

"Nope. Five hours. How do you feel?" 

"Better." Scully looked better too, he was pleased to
see. She had obviously changed clothes and slept
properly. The bruise on her cheek had faded, or was at
least covered over with make up. 

"We've got some sunshine at last." Scully gestured at the
windows. "It makes a nice change." 

Mulder nodded, but he was looking at the TV mounted on
the wall. It wasn't on. And as he shifted carefully he
couldn't see any books or files or magazines around
Scully, unless they were on the floor. "Why haven't you
been watching TV or something? Just staring at me must
get pretty boring." 

"I just got back from the motel." Mulder had doubts about
that. Scully's 'just got back' was more likely two hours
ago, not ten minutes. "And after you were missing for so
long....I didn't feel like watching TV. I...just needed
to...watch you." She shrugged in embarrassment. 

"I'm here. Any new news?" he asked, changing the subject
to relieve her discomfort. 

"Just another quirk to add to the puzzle. Mulder, that
gash on your leg..." Scully said. "Even though you
bandaged it after the crash, it needed stitches. It was
clearly bleeding quite heavily in the copter and as you
started walking out - the searchers say the ground nearby
was stained with blood. Yet after about 100 yards, the
bleeding just stopped. Of course, they didn't get to
follow your trail far because they had to get the bodies
out and then the snow came... The gash wasn't even
bleeding much when I got to you, even though it was still
open. I guess it could have clotted along the way, then
reopened... Or perhaps the cold..." 

"Is analysis of my trenchcoat in yet?" 

"Not yet. By the end of the week." 

He opened his mouth to ask just how he'd managed to be
taken hostage, but the doctor came in and did a check up,
then a nurse repacked his wound with sterile antibiotic-
soaked gauze. Mulder didn't want to ask for how much
longer THAT was going to be happening. Then the partners
were alone again. 

"Mulder, when you reached the gas station phone - why
didn't you call 911 instead of me?" 

He blushed. "I didn't even think of it." He almost
laughed upon remembering digging in his pocket for
change. /Idiot./ 

There was silence. Mulder was suddenly overcome with a
need to make Scully laugh. "Which news station have you
signed the movie-of-the-week deal with? I want to play
myself so I can beef up my retirement fund." 

Scully rolled her eyes. "As if I'd let any of those
vultures through the door. Though you do have a couple of
requests to pose for 'tastefully done' calendars..." 

"What, with my cast strategically placed? I suppose it's
big enough..." 

They chuckled. Scully shook her head. "Well, we've had
the museum curator at the station, wanting to publicly
thank you. He may name an exhibition in your honour." 

"Museum curator? Thank me for what?" 

Scully looked worried at his memory blank. "You
interrupted a robbery, Mulder. At the museum." 

That triggered something off. "It was near the motel. Our
case was a fraud, closed, and we had time to kill before
we had to leave for the airport ..." 

"Right." Scully filled in a few more blanks when it was
clear that Mulder was having trouble. "The assistant
curator had struck a little deal on the side with a
wealthy private collector over some Middle Eastern
artefacts. These artefacts - 'guidance stones' - are on
lifetime loan from a Mrs Mena Pringle, but were in
storage last week, not on display. So the assistant
thought he could sneak them out. Fortunately the curator
came in on his day off and realised what was happening.
Not fortunately for you though, Mulder, because you
walked into the middle of it." 

"Guidance stones..." Mulder said thoughtfully. He had
never heard of them before. "THAT'S what was in that damn
canvas bag?" 

"Yes. The curator was ecstatic to get them back.
Apparently they're quite old. But I'm puzzled. Why on
earth did you carry that bag with you instead of the
helicopter's survival pack with the flare and the
blankets, or even get some of the clothes off the corp -"
She halted, an apologetic look on her face at how her
words were descending into an anger-edged rant. "I'm
sorry, Mulder. That's unfair of me - it's just been a bit
stressful here. You were in shock and I guess wanting to
do your job and protect the stolen treasures. It's just
that the survival pack was left intact in the copter... I
should be glad you bandaged your leg, right?" 

Mulder could tell she was grateful for a lot else too,
but neither dared to express or explore it. They both
hesitated, and he reluctantly realised that a change of
subject was in order once again. He looked around the
room and saw a few bunches of flowers at various
intervals. "Who loves me?" 

Scully laughed. "The whole world if we'd let in all the
floral arrangements and toys and balloons that have been
arriving at the front desk. For lack of space and
security reasons we couldn't - the sheriff's department
have found hidden mikes and tiny cameras in a few. The
sheriff has requested that people not send anything apart
from letters or cards, but it all keeps coming. The staff
are sending the bulk to other wards and the local nursing
home and charities." 

"What about these?" 

"Agent Hastings had to come to Michigan for another case,
and Skinner entrusted him with these to deliver, since
the AD couldn't get here himself." 

Mulder nodded. They'd worked with Hastings before. His
desk had been near theirs in the bullpen when they were
on domestic terrorism instead of the X-files. Hastings
did his job, didn't give either of them a hard time,
defended well in basketball, and was honest. Skinner had
probably sent him along to have a firsthand, trustworthy
account of whether both agents were all right. 

Scully was still talking about the gifts. "They were
checked for listening devices anyway. That bunch there is
from Skinner, the Bugs Bunny balloon is from -" 

"The Lone Gunmen." Who else would sum up the situation
with 'I knew I should have taken that left turn at
Albuquerque'? Though the thought of Skinner teaming up
with the guys was a worry. The Devil's Triangle incident
had been bad enough. 

"Correct. The roses are from your mother and the irises
are from my mother." Then Scully's eyes fell on a toy fox
and Mulder could see the light in her eyes turn a boiling
red. "That," she said in a controlled tone, "is from -" 

"Give it to the children's ward," Mulder said
immediately. 

Scully stared at him. "But it's from -" 

"I know who it's from. Give it to the children's ward.
They'll love it." He saw the light turn back to the
calming pink and gold. 

"I'll be back in a minute." Scully got up, picked up the
offending toy and then hesitated over the card. 

"Trash it and go have a break. Get yourself a donut and
some coffee and relax." Mulder knew she wouldn't have a
decent break though - she wouldn't want to leave him
alone so soon after he'd just woken up - so amended his
request. "How about you go down and get us BOTH a snack?" 

"Your meal tray will be coming soon." 

"And this will give me the strength to face it." 

She hesitated, then circular-filed the card, nodded and
left, holding the toy. 

Diana. Always popping up at the worst moments. Mulder
sighed. It was hard to accept that yet another person he
had trusted and cared for could be working against him.
And for years. Having a loyal nature and a bruised ego
was a pain... He wondered what Diana would think if she
knew he would prefer one handhold with Scully to all that
had transpired in his old relationship. 

And he wondered what Scully would think of that too. 

He also wondered how a gift from Diana had become part of
Hasting's delivery. He doubted that Skinner had asked her
if she wanted to contribute. Either she'd found out and
left Skinner no option - how could he refuse, even if he
knew the trouble it might stir up - or more likely, Diana
had gone straight to Hastings and turned on the charm. 

Scully couldn't have been happy about the arrival of the
stuffed toy, but didn't get rid of the gift when she had
the opportunity. No one but Diana would have questioned
its absence, which could have easily been explained away
as misplacement or mistake. Would that really be Scully's
style? He was proud of her anyway. 

After about five minutes a knock came at the door. Mulder
recognised the man in uniform immediately and gestured
that he come in. The short, bearded forty-five year old
obeyed, grinning broadly. "Deputy Mericks," Mulder said,
holding out his hand. The deputy had been very helpful on
their case, which had quickly proven to be less an X-file
than a debt-ridden family trying to drum up some money
with a 'haunted house'. 

Mericks grinned even more and shook hands. "Hey, Iceman,
good to see you're back with us. Any idea how you managed
it?" 

"Sorry, not yet. Don't worry - I'm not holding out for a
newspaper exclusive so I can spill all." 

"Where's Agent Scully?" 

"Gone to the cafeteria for a minute." 

"Well, she might see this morning's headlines then. Glad
I won't be in the line of fire." 

"Why? What's being said?" 

"Just let me find the remote control..." Mericks began
searching. "Ever since you walked out of the woods,
people have been coming up with the most bizarre theories
about your survival. Especially since it was leaked that
you and Scully investigate the paranormal. Has she told
you that the press have been going on about you being
abducted by UFOs or being Superman - one woman claimed
that she'd nursed you in her isolated cabin and that you
were very...grateful." 

Mulder stared at him. 

"That rumour has been proved to be false." Mericks had
located the remote and was flipping through channels with
it. "But the tabloids lapped it up." 

"I'm sure Scully didn't." 

"Exactly. It was bad enough when you were missing. Every
time Johann had to go and tell her they were calling off
the search for the day, his hands would be hovering
protectively near his balls! She was ready to go out and
shoot the fog. And that tackle in the hallway here - she
brought down a six foot five cameraman who was taping
you. I've never seen a linebacker do as well. The
momentum sent them sliding into the wall... If we hadn't
been there, she probably would have strangled him." 

"Oh," was all that Mulder could come up with as a
comment. 

"She berated herself for letting the cavalry get too
close at the airstrip, but that wasn't her fault. I was
there when she got the call from you. How her face lit
up... Ah, this station should do it." Mericks handed
Mulder the remote. "Keep it on that and sooner or later
they'll have news segments devoted entirely to you and
today's grand theory, which is right up your X-files
alley." 

"Don't leave me hanging, Mericks. Give me a clue?" 

"Let's just say that today's newspaper headline is
'Spirits Guided FBI Agent back to his Partner Lover'." 

"Spirits? What spirits?" Mulder was more intrigued by the
reference to that than disconcerted over the assumption
about himself and Scully. 

"In brief, Mrs Pringle - the owner of the stones you
saved - and the museum curator claim that you were led
back to Scully by the stones themselves. Or rather, the
spirits that reside in them." Mericks chuckled merrily.
"They'll pop up on the tube and you can hear for
yourself." 

Mulder thought for a minute. "These stones - Scully said
something about them being from the Middle East?" 

"Yeah. Something about this old, old tribe of nomads who
used to put the spirits of their ancestors in the stones
and then use them to navigate back to their loved ones
after long journeys." 

"In the desert..." Mulder's mind was flooded with vivid
images of the desertscape of his hallucinations. 

"Yeah. The media are loving it. This'll turn your rugged
survival movie of the week into a Gothic romance though." 

"Yeah," Mulder said distractedly 

"Every psychic in the state was calling up while you were
missing, giving us 'messages' and premonitions. Of
course, none of them could tell us exactly where you
were. Some said your aura was 'shrouded'. We had to
assign a deputy just to deal with all those nutcases.
Your poor partner had enough to cope with." 

"Oh." 

"And I was speaking to the FBI dogsbody assigned to going
over all the mail you're receiving. Get this - you know
that bottle of water you had on you? The mineral water
company wants you to do a big advertising campaign for
them. A shitload of money to gush 'Fresh Springs Natural
got me through my ordeal - it'll get you through a game
of tennis.' Can you believe it?" 

Both men chuckled. "Did Armani phone?" Mulder grinned. 

Mericks said. "Anyway, I just came by to see how you were
and to see when you can give us your statement. There's
no rush on it since the thieves are both dead and
accounted for, but the main thing the Sheriff wants to
know is if they mentioned this private collector's name
or gave any clues." 

"I'm still pretty hazy on all that, sorry. Nothing stands
out in my mind. But you can take the statement when you
want." 

Mericks' pager went off. "Uh oh, gotta go. I'll arrange a
time for tomorrow morning, okay? Hope your leg heals up
quickly." 

"Thanks. Oh, deputy, would I be able to get the
newspapers from the last week or so? And tapes of the TV
news. You know - to catch up on what I've missed?" Mulder
tried to sound casual. 

"Sure, we can arrange that." He exited, nearly running
into Scully as she entered. They exchanged
hello/goodbyes, then Mulder and Scully were alone again. 

"Sorry I was so long." Scully held up some treats that he
knew probably weren't on his hospital diet at the moment. 

He smiled gratefully and set about eating, but his brain
was going over and over the desertscape and the
intriguing piece of information he'd just received, and
his eyes were continually drifting towards the TV in the
hope of more. Should he ask Scully about this Mrs
Pringle's theory? No, not yet. Because he knew exactly
what she would say.


'HE'S ALIVE - FBI BREEDS 'EM TOUGH' 

'ICEMAN - MIRACULOUS TALE OF SURVIVAL IN REMOTE WOODLAND' 

'TWENTY FIVE MILES ON A BROKEN LEG' 

'MY SEX-FILLED WEEKEND WITH FBI FOX' - "His important
parts weren't broken - in fact they recovered again and
again. I should sue him, because he's ruined me for all
other men." 

Mulder shook his head at the headlines and the garbage
that accompanied them. He had newspapers all over the bed
and table, which he knew was going to get a look from his
partner when she returned. Scully was currently out
running errands, and he hoped she could get back through
the media mob unscathed. Or rather without scathing the
media... 

The photos that accompanied the articles were an odd mix.
One was a blurry colour photo of what appeared to be
himself being unloaded from an ambulance with Scully
hovering over him, though it couldn't be seen very
clearly because there were deputies and other
photographers in the way. Some of the other papers had
his official FBI badge photograph or generic photos of
him and Scully taken from crime scenes. He did wonder who
had given the reporter the photo of him when he was doing
some modeling for an arts student at Oxford. Thankfully
he'd declined to do a few shots 'au naturel'. 

The papers that most intrigued him were the ones where
the museum curator and Mrs Pringle expounded their
theory. The same with the updates he'd at last caught on
the TV. Thanks to those he now knew what a guidance stone
looked like. It was oval-shaped and could be held in the
palm of an adult male's hand. The stone was black and had
an obsidian sheen, with markings etched in a band around
the circumference. 

Mrs Pringle's words stayed in his head. "The Egyptians
wrote about the people who carried these stones. The
Asharue. They were a tribe of nomads who lived in groups
across what we now call the Sahara and gradually
integrated into other civilisations and tribes as they
became more scattered over time." Her sixty-year old face
became comically dreamy. "Can you imagine how strong the
love between this man and woman must be - his desire to
get back to her was so great that he woke the spirits up!
They were moved by his feelings and decided to help,
after laying dormant for thousands of years." 

The nervous middle-aged curator, who was sitting next to
her in the interview, agreed. "I saw the faces on these
two agents when Agent Mulder was taken hostage. I was in
the room. Their love was clear to see - on the spiritual
plane it must be dynamite. The term 'soulmates' falls far
short of summing up their bond." 

At this point the TV broadcast had consulted a psychic
who lived and worked in town, who claimed, "Yes, as I
tried to tell the police days ago, during the time that
Agent Mulder was missing I could sense these strange
presences. Ancient, foreign beings. But I did not know
exactly *where* they were. Only that they were concerned
and expending a lot of energy. I have never sensed
anything like it before. I tried to communicate to find
out who they were and their purpose, but they shied away
from me or may not have understood. Then just once I got
a burst of clarity - two halves calling out for each
other, rendered incomplete until they were one again.
That is how the spirits knew where to take Agent Mulder.
They knew where he needed to be." 

"Yeah, in a hospital," an orderly had muttered upon
hearing that while clearing away Mulder's lunch tray. She
obviously was not on the 'star-trip' or swept up in the
melodrama of it all. She exited. 

The interviewer asked Mrs Pringle, "Could the spirits
have simply wanted to be returned to the museum?" 

"That's one heck of an anti-theft device if so! No, the
spirits were on their own plane. They would not have
cared where they were, otherwise they would have directed
my father to leave the stones in the Egyptian desert
where he first found them in the twenties." 

Mulder lay back and considered. /Did *I* make them care?/ 

The desert... Was that the spirits cushioning him,
putting his mind in the desertscape for the journey so he
would not feel any pain? And the glow... Was it like some
kind of stasis? Keeping his lifeblood from flowing out
the gash, sustaining him despite no food or sleep,
despite such cold, and holding the dark forms of
infection and exhaustion back like the lurking predators
they were? 

/Yike, I'm beginning to sound like Mrs Pringle. That's
what a diet of tabloid media and high romance does to the
brain./ 

But the theory did make sense. It was only when the bag
got caught on a tree that he was pulled out of the link
and became aware of what was going on. Once he reached
the gas station, the link must have had time to build up
again and that's how Mulder found himself halfway across
the field. And how he managed to get the pilot's seat off
his leg in the copter, despite being pinned very tightly,
without vital leverage. 

/And those 'strange caves' - were those cabins with
lights on? What the spirits didn't understand, they would
have avoided - they didn't realise cabins meant safety.
And when I made the phone call, they didn't realise that
meant help was coming./ 

He had his answer, but there was no way he could share
it.

xXx

Mrs Pringle was back on the chat show circuit. "You can
navigate by the stars to reach certain geographical
places, but this compass directed to a certain human
heart, which is what the Asharue tribe were all about." 

The interviewer asked her: "How could they have
understood what he wanted? Their language -" 

"Perhaps after years of listening to my chatter they
became bilingual. But feelings are what woke them up.
Some things are universal, experienced in every culture,
no matter what time zone. As old as humanity. Birth,
death, lo-." 

Mulder hastily turned the TV off as Scully entered his
hospital room. "Here, Mulder, some more papers, and some
books that Mrs Pringle said you would be interested in."
She handed them over, though by the look on her face when
she mentioned Mrs Pringle, Scully was all too aware of
what the woman had been saying, and wasn't very happy. 

/Because she thinks that theory is full of crap, or she
doesn't feel that way about me, or because we're being
dissected so publicly?/ "Thanks, Scully. Sorry that you
have to be running around for me." 

"That's all right. Better than days of sitting around
able to do nothing. It's just a relief to know exactly
where you are." 

Mulder decided he'd better not ditch her again in a hurry
- even if this time hadn't been his fault. 

Scully sat down in her chair and eyed all the reading
material and notebooks Mulder had spread out. He jumped
in before she could comment. "I'm not overdoing it. Since
I can't be as physically active with a brace instead of a
cast, I'm determined to be mentally active at least, or
I'll go nuts." 

Instead of smiling or disagreeing, she asked something he
hadn't expected. "So, you think that the guidance stones
returned you?" She sounded brisk and business-like, but
didn't hold his gaze. 

Mulder answered cautiously, "I still can't remember how I
walked that far. I was just curious to know what I'd
rescued and why they'd be so valuable to a private
collector." 

"But you do believe it was the stones." Her sentence was
not a question. 

He shrugged uncomfortably. "What does it matter? I'm
back, the stolen goods are returned." 

Was she upset? "Why won't you tell me?" 

He stared at her, then said, "All right, this is what I
believe," and proceeded to tell her in minute detail all
that he'd experienced and all that he'd seen and read in
the last few days that matched in with his theory. When
he finished, they sat there in silence. 

He gave her a sad smile. "You see, Scully? This is why I
didn't tell you. Because I didn't want a repeat of the
hospital in the Devil's Triangle where your reaction was
to tell me to go to sleep like I was a three year old who
had overdosed on the Wizard of Oz, or like our rather
disastrous FBI meeting about the alien virus. As usual, I
can't prove what happened, what I saw; no one is going to
believe me; it isn't worth arguing over, and I don't want
you pretending you think it's true now just because you
think that's what I want to hear. We believe different
things. Always have, always will." 

Scully looked him in the eye. "Diana would believe you." 

"Screw Diana," he muttered in frustration. Then realising
what he had said, he quickly added, "And no, I have not
done THAT since the early nineties and don't intend to
again." 

"Maybe...maybe it would be best if you had a partner who
was more open-minded." 

Mulder stared. "You want to leave?" 

She looked stricken. "You need someone who doesn't hold
you back as much as I do. I know what you said in the
hallway, before the bee, but there is a difference
between my science saving your life and it restricting
you too much. And that's what I've done." Scully's voice
was barely audible. "It would be better for you if I..." 

"No! Having a partner who is a believer doesn't
necessarily make him or her a better partner." Mulder had
noticed that she didn't suggest Diana as her logical
successor - Scully did not think that Diana would be
better for him, professionally or mentally. "And it
certainly wasn't Diana I was thinking of when I woke up
in the copter wreckage and when I came to out in the
middle of the woods. It wasn't her name I was saying
every step of the way to that gas station, nor was she
the one I phoned, if you recall. You saved me again,
partner." 

Scully did smile at that. Just. Mulder continued, "I told
you when you got back from Antarctica that I wanted you
to leave for your own safety, but you wanted to stay. If
you've changed your mind now, let me know. I just want
you to do what you feel is best for YOU." It cost a lot
to say that - it felt like he was moving towards the gas
station again, unsure if he would reach his goal, the
outcome everything to him. 

"Mulder...I do believe in a lot. More than you probably
realise. More than I show. I guess I'm scared. I'm scared
enough of some of the things I've seen with my own eyes.
And the things I can't remember... Perhaps I've been
holding back so hard because part of me doesn't want to
know, to live in ignorance, even though I want those
responsible brought to justice. Inside I've known the
truth, but where there's no physical evidence left, I can
shut acceptance of it away for a little longer." She took
a deep breath, the relief on her face that she had
finally admitted it mixed with shame. He reached out his
hand and she raised her own to clasp it as she continued.
"Though when I've had to investigate on my own, I find
myself thinking like you do. Because I have to step out
of my role to see the whole picture. 

"And as for this last week... It looks like there are
some major things that we BOTH believe in. About each
other... We've sort of left it hanging since the bee...
That's common ground to start with, isn't it? The
feelings that brought us to that point?" 

He nodded. "We need to talk," he said very seriously.
"And we need to rearrange some lines and roles that we've
drawn. Like you said, they've become too rigid. Habits
we're so used to, we haven't really questioned if they're
doing any good." 

"Once we get out of here, I guess I'll be stuck looking
after you for a while," she didn't look upset at that
prospect, "and we can do a lot of that then. Agreed?" Now
that she had taken the first step towards opening up, he
could see her determination to see it though. "Enough
holding back." 

"Deal." 

"Oh - the forensics lab where we sent your trenchcoat is
due to contact me within the next few hours." 

"I know what they're going to say." 

"So do I. That you DID walk through 25 miles of harsh
terrain. That's one miracle I'm quite happy to believe
in, whether it was through spirits or God or just that
special determination you have." 

He smiled. "That sounds like a good place to start." 

Mericks knocked on the door then, and Mulder and Scully
clicked into business-mode. Their promise remained in
their eyes. 

It would take a while, it would be rough going, and
sometimes it would be hard to see each other's point of
view through the fog. But Mulder knew that if his
feelings and determination had resulted in his miraculous
survival, then their feelings would ultimately navigate
them safely through this.

THE END.

NOTE: The Asharue tribe and guidance stones are
completely fictitious. So is Geraine.