Date: 21 Sep 1998 03:34:38 GMT
Subject: NEW: "Anasazi" by B. Bennett & E. Risley  1/1

Anasazi
by B. Bennett and Elaine Risley

Summary: Scully and Mulder drive from DC to New Mexico.
A missing scenes piece for "Anasazi."
Category: S
Legalities: Yes, we're infringing again, but no money will be
made from this endeavor.  All characters mentioned belong to
Chris Carter and Co.
Archive: Gossamer. Others please ask.
Rated: PG
Feedback: Much appreciated. Please send to bedina@juno.com
and postjade@yahoo.com


Scully was on Route 1 just outside of Alexandria when the
adrenaline rush eased enough for her to consider her actions.  White
knuckled, she gripped the steering wheel and willed herself not to cry.

'I shot him', she thought for the hundredth time since she'd wrestled
her wounded partner into the passenger seat of her FBI issue sedan, 'I
shot Mulder.'

She had known something was wrong when she talked to him last at
his apartment; his behavior was just too aberrant, too paranoid, even
for Mulder.  The lab results on the fluids in the filtration device said
hallucinogens, so when she saw him with his gun trained on Krycek, she
knew she had to stop him, or he'd damn himself to prison for the rest of
his life.  Scully bit her lip at the memory of the second she'd pulled
the trigger.  It was possibly the worst moment of her life, and as Krycek
went running into the night, it was all she could do not to give chase and
kill the sorry son of a bitch.

Mulder groaned, pushing all thoughts of revenge from Scully's
mind.	Steering one-handed, she reached out and tentatively touched
his shoulder.  It was sticky with blood, but not as much as Scully had
expected.  She prayed it was a clean shot.  Raising her arm, she gently
grazed his cheek with the back of her hand.  "Mulder?"

"Scully?" he gasped, coughing weakly.

Scully almost cried again, but this time with relief.  She reached into
his lap for his hand, and lifting it, pressed it tight against the wound.

"Hold this," she instructed, trying to keep the fear out her voice.
"Press hard, Mulder."

He did as directed, but looked up at her with haunted, frightened
eyes.  "You shot me," he slurred, his face glowing eerily as the car
passed the bright street lights.

Scully swallowed hard, turning her eyes back to the road.  "I know,
Mulder, I'm sorry."  She ran a yellow light as she made a left onto
Wilson.  "I didn't know what else to do."

Mulder wheezed, his breathing sounding harsh and irregular to her
ears.  "You shot me," he said again.

Tears began to fall down Scully's cheeks.  "I'm sorry, Mulder,"
she said, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "I'm so sorry."
The road blurred, and she was forced to wipe her eyes with the back of her
hand.  'Focus,' she admonished herself.  Sirens in the distance were
growing weaker with each passing minute.  She put on her blinker and
swung into the parking lot of the Hillwood Motel.  Scully knew of exactly
one cheap, no-questions-asked, motel close to where Mulder lived, and
this was it.  From Seven Corners, Virginia, she could rent a car and hit
any of the major roads leading out of the Metro area.  But first, she had to
see to Mulder.

"Stay here," she said to her partner as she hurriedly flung the door open,
not waiting to see if he would respond.  The night clerk at the Hillwood
didn't seem to notice the blood all over her hands and shirt as she gave
him the $32 nightly fee.  He handed her back room key number 7 without
ever taking his eyes off "When Animals Attack" on the old Zenith
television mounted on the wall over the desk.  There was apparently
nothing to sign.

When Scully returned, Mulder was almost unconscious.  She
unbuckled his seat belt and stretched both of her arms around his waist.

"Come on, Mulder," she said, leaning backwards.  His eyes popped
open and he appeared disoriented, but he obediently got out of the car.
He nearly collapsed at his first step, however, and Scully was forced to
support him.	Sweat broke out across her forehead as she struggled to
open the door.  She had always thought her partner's height was
comforting, reassuring, but as she dragged him into the room, she found
their size difference nothing but a hindrance. She finally maneuvered him
close enough to the bed and she let go, trying to keep him from landing on
his shoulder as he fell.  The whole time he mumbled incoherently,
although every couple of minutes he would clearly say, "You shot me."

She left Mulder on the bed and ran back to her car to pull the medical bag from
the trunk.  Her heart pounding, she returned to the room and locked the
door behind her.  Switching on the dim light by the bed, she turned to
wrestle Mulder out of his blood soaked jacket and shirt.  She sighed with
relief as she got a clear look at the wound.  The shot had gone straight
through his shoulder, and although it had left two bleeding wounds, at
least she didn't have to dig out the bullet.

Scully went into the bathroom and turned the hot water faucet on full
blast.  She stood there, willing it to heat up, as she surveyed
the rust stains around the drain.  Not the most sanitary conditions, but she
had no choice but to make do.  She couldn't take him to a hospital, because
all bullet wounds must be reported to the police, according to Virginia
Commonwealth law, and she felt certain that would further endanger her
partner.  When the water was sufficiently hot, Scully soaked a towel and
returned to Mulder.  He lay on his back, moaning, his eyes tightly closed.
She was afraid to give him any drugs for the pain.  There were too many
drugs still in his system; she couldn't risk an overdose.

"Mulder," she whispered, gently touching his cheek.

His eyes popped open, and for a moment, seemed to focus on her own.

"I've got to clean your wound, Mulder," she said, trying to make her voice
as soothing as possible, "It may hurt some.  Do you understand?"

Mulder threw his head back as a fresh wave of pain washed over him.
"You shot me, Scully," he whined before returning to his incoherent
ramblings.

'God, I could use a beer,' Scully thought wearily.

Trying to keep him from crying out as she worked proved futile.  She
was afraid one of the other residents would hear him through the thin
walls and call the police, so every time Mulder's voice got too loud, she
shouted "Yes, Yes, oh like that, baby, faster!" or some variation on
that theme.  Mulder didn't seem to notice, which Scully thought was kind
of a shame.  He would have found the whole situation damned amusing.

When the bandages were in place, she gave him a shot of penicillin to
cut down on the chance of infection; then she went back out to the car
to see what she had in the way of extra clothes.  In her back seat, she
found an olive green silk blouse which she'd intended to drop off at the dry
cleaners, but that didn't seem too practical at the moment.  She came back
to the room with a windbreaker and old sweatshirt she'd found in the
trunk.  The sweatshirt smelled like she'd been jogging in it, which in fact
she had, but it would have to do for now.  She checked on Mulder again and
was somewhat amazed to find he had fallen asleep. Sitting on the bed by
his side, she noted that the blood stains didn't stand out against his dark
jeans, but, of course, his shirt and jacket were a total loss.

She glanced down at her own clothes and knew that gross or not, she
had no choice but to wear the sweatshirt; her blouse was soaked in blood,
as was her jacket.  She pulled them off and climbed into the shower,
staying only  long enough to get clean.  After dressing and checking to
make sure that Mulder was still sleeping, she left the motel room once
again.

There was a rental car place two blocks down on Route 50.
Although Seven Corners was not the best place in the world for a
stroll after dark, she didn't have a choice.  She made sure her Sig was
secure in the waist of her pants and started walking.

A half an hour later, Scully pulled back into the Hillwood parking lot
in a late model Ford Taurus.  Inside the hotel room, she found Mulder
still sleeping.  Working quietly, she gathered their things together and
then began pulling the sheets off the bed, not wanting to disturb Mulder
until they were ready to leave.

"Mulder," she said, gently shaking his good shoulder.

Mulder moaned and opened his eyes.

"We have to go.  We can't stay here."

Mulder didn't say anything, but tried to sit.  Scully helped to steady
him.

"Just scoot over here," she said, indicating the unmade part of the
bed.  Mulder slowly did as he was told, and Scully removed the rest of
the bedding and took it out to the car.  She wasn't willing to leave bloody
sheets around for the maid to find.  She returned to the room and
as gently as possible helped Mulder into the windbreaker.  The movement
of his wounded arm proved to be too much, however, and he turned a
sickly shade of green.  Scully pushed the tiny bathroom trash can
beneath his head just in time.  She held his forehead as he vomited.

"Sorry, Scully," he mumbled when he was finished, leaning heavily
on his good arm.

She smoothed his hair back from his face.  "It's okay," she said, trying
to keep her impatience to rush him out of the room and onto the highway
from her voice.  She allowed him to sit for a moment; then she gently
urged him to stand.  He was feverish and glassy eyed as Scully led him out
to the car and got him settled in the passenger seat.  She went back to the
room and poured the contents of the trash can into the toilet and then
rinsed it out and put it back where it belonged.  She took the threadbare
towel and wash cloth that were in the bathroom, as well as the small bar
of soap.  Running the wash cloth under the faucet, she pulled the door shut
and went back to the Taurus.  Wiping his face, she noticed that Mulder was
shivering, and she suddenly realized that the temperature had to be near
sixty.  Crossing around to the front of the car, she settled into the driver's
seat, flipping the heater up on high.  They would have to stop at a WalMart
or someplace and get Mulder a shirt; the windbreaker wouldn't be warm
enough.

She pulled back out onto Route 50.  They had been at the Hillwood
Hotel for all of two hours.  No one seemed surprised at their departure.

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

Scully stopped at an ATM to withdraw her maximum daily amount of
$300.	Leaning over her partner, she awkwardly slipped her hand around
to his backside.  He didn't seem to notice as she pulled his wallet from
his jean's pocket.

'You're missing all my best moves tonight, Mulder,' she thought wryly
as she rifled through his credit cards.  On a case once in Omaha, Mulder had
left early for the police station, forgetting his wallet in the motel room.
He'd called Scully with his pin number and a request that she stop and
withdraw $50.  He never bothered to change his pin number after that, and
she'd threatened him once or twice that if his theories became too
outlandish, she would steal him blind and make for the West Coast.  She
smiled a little as she punched in his code.  It was hard to forget.  E-B-E-S.
Thus fortified with $600, Scully headed west in the direction of the only
person who could possibly help them, an old Navaho code talker she'd never
met.

Only a few hours out from DC, Mulder awoke in such excruciating
pain that Scully decided he'd been away from his apartment's
contaminated water long enough to chance a painkiller.  The results were
as effective as if she'd clubbed him over the head with a baseball bat,
and it occurred to Scully that it was a good thing her partner's obsessions
ran to wild ideas and dirty movies instead of hard liquor and drugs.  He
stayed quietly asleep, his chin almost touching his chest, until they
reached both the Tennessee/Virginia border and dawn.

"Scully, you're going to fall asleep," Mulder said, his voice low and
rumbly with sleep.

His comment, the first in almost eight hours, startled Scully mid-
yawn.  Recovering quickly, she glanced at her partner.  He was looking
at her with his head resting against the back of the seat, his eyes
drooping with exhaustion and the effects of the drugs, but his expression
calm.  He smiled sleepily, and it occurred to her, not for the first time,
how handsome her partner was when he was relaxed.

"Was it one of the little white pills?" he queried as he settled more
comfortably into his seat.

Scully grinned.  "Yes, Mulder, it was a Percoset."

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes.  "Mmmm, I like those."

He remained silent for a few more moments before Scully realized
his eyes were open once again and he was watching her.

"Scully, you look tired.  Do you want me to drive?"

Scully did her best to prevent a howl of laughter from escaping her
lips.  "Definitely not, Mulder."

He grinned, blinking slowly, as if he knew his grasp on reality was
tentative at best and he didn't want to risk losing it by moving too
quickly.

"That's probably a good choice."  He reached across the armrest with
his left hand and caught her right hand in his.

Scully looked at him curiously.

"If you get tired, Scully, just squeeze my hand," he said, his eyes
earnest in a way that reminded Scully of a small child,  "I'll talk to
you if you squeeze my hand."

Scully smiled, her voice affectionate.  "Okay, Mulder, thank you."

For the next several hours, she steered one-handed.

**************
Afraid someone would see her dragging her near comatose partner
into a motel room, Scully stopped only when absolutely necessary.	As
they passed through Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma and then Texas,
Mulder awoke occasionally with a sleepy comment or request.  Scully tried
to coax him into drinking some water, but he responded each time with a
loud "No!".  Scully suspected he subconsciously was trying to avoid the
substance that had made him ill in the first place, and she knew it was
dangerous to go without fluids, but she couldn't help but find his
stubborn refusals amusing.  Finally, in a conversation that would have had
Scully rolling on the floor were it not so serious, she convinced him to
take a small sip of her lemonade.  She passed it to him, and grasping the
it in both hands, he greedily downed the entire can.

He asked to use the bathroom twice after that.  The first time, in a
gas station somewhere in Tennessee, he slipped and hit his head on the
sink.  Scully only let five minutes pass before she frantically began
pounding on the door, shouting his name, ignoring the curious looks of the
other people who had stopped for gas.  He finally emerged, staggering
drunkenly and holding his hand against a cut on his scalp.  The second time
he asked to stop, she accompanied him to the bathroom and stood behind
him, her arms around his waist to keep him steady.  The irony of having
to help Mulder pee, because she'd shot him and then doped him up finally
got to her.  She began to laugh hysterically, her forehead resting between
his shoulder blades.

"Scully?" Mulder asked quizzically.

His confused response only made her laugh harder.

So Mulder began to laugh as well.  He leaned his head back until it
rested on hers.  He didn't know where he was, he wasn't sure of the
events of the past few days, and he didn't understand why Scully was
standing in the men's room of a gas station with him, but it was funny and
she was laughing, so he did too.

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

It was 4 o'clock in the morning when Scully pulled into a dusty
motel on a desolate stretch of New Mexico's Route 64 outside of
Farmington.  She had given Mulder another Percoset at 2:00 am, so he was
sleeping deeply in the passenger seat and didn't seem to notice when the
car came to a stop.  Scully could barely keep her eyes open.  Aside from a
few brief naps at a couple of gas stations, she hadn't slept in the last
thirty hours or so.  Determination and adrenaline had kept her going, but
now that they had finally reached their destination.  Scully could feel
herself starting to crash.  At a phone booth in Clinton, Arkansas she had
called ahead to Albert Hosteen, the codetalker.  He told her to come to this
motel, and they scheduled a meeting for the next day at 11:00.  Scully
hated to waste any more time, but she knew she would need at least a few
hours sleep before she could talk coherently to anyone.

After stumbling into the motel office to give the night clerk forty
dollars, she headed back to the car to get Mulder.  He was sleeping soundly.
It took several tries to get him to wake, and still more encouragement to
convince him to actually sit upright.  Just getting him out of the car took
a monumental effort, and by the time Scully got him and their belongings
into the hotel room, her arms were aching and she had a crushing headache.

"You know, Mulder," she panted, leaning heavily against the wall for
a moment as she let the sleeplessness-induced dizzy spell abate, "I should
just let my gym membership expire.  Hauling you in and out of cars is
much better exercise, and it's a hell of a lot cheaper."

Mulder, sitting on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed and his
head tilted to his chest, didn't answer.

Scully briefly rubbed her hands across her face, then knelt to pull
off his boots and socks, followed by the blue shirt she'd bought him at a
K-Mart outside of Nashville.  She looked at the dressing on his shoulder
and sighed deeply.  It needed to be changed, and after two days on the road,
Mulder was starting to get a little ripe, so she might as well get him into
the bathtub first.  She went into the bathroom to start filling the tub.

"Don't you lay down, Mulder," she threatened over her shoulder as
she adjusted the temperature of the water.  After it was satisfactorily
full, she returned wearily to get him.

"Take off your jeans, Mulder," Scully said.

Mulder looked up at her, his drugged expression clearing
momentarily to reveal both surprise and confusion.  But his eyes quickly
drifted closed again and he stood, swaying, to obediently followed her
directions.

She took hold of his elbow and encouraged him to follow her to the
bathroom.  Her plan was to get them both clean, Mulder's shoulder dressed,
and into bed in under half an hour.  She stopped him in front of the tub and
looked up at her partner, who was quite literally asleep on his feet.

"Mulder," she said, looking up, her hands on his waist to
help balance him.  "Listen.  I want you to take off your underwear and get
into the tub.  Can you do that?"

Mulder pried his eyes open ever so slightly.  He regarded her for a
few seconds before answering, as if his brain really, really wanted to
know what was going on, but just couldn't process the information.  He
blinked slowly.

"Kay, Scully," he mumbled, reaching for the waistband of his boxers.
She turned around to give him some privacy while she unwrapped the tiny
bar of hotel soap and found the miniature shampoo bottle.  When she turned
back around, Mulder was sitting in the tub, his long legs bent at the knee
to accommodate the cramped space.  His eyes were closed and he was
starting to list to the side.

"Mulder!" Scully growled harshly, "do not fall asleep!" There
was no way she would be able to get him out of the tub if he decided it
was bedtime.  She splashed a little water at his face, and his eyes popped
open.  She put a wash cloth and the soap in his hand.

"Wash," she ordered, pulling the wrapper off a plastic hotel cup,
which she then used to scoop water over his head.  Mulder made a
fumbling attempt to clean himself with the undersized motel washcloth.

"Don't get your shoulder wet," Scully admonished as she put the
shampoo in his hair and began to foam it up with her fingers.  Somewhere
in a less exhausted region of her mind, it occurred to her that her
handsome, naked partner in a bathtub might be kind of fun under other
circumstances.  As it was, she could barely keep from leaning against
his damp shoulders and dropping off to sleep.  She shook her head violently
and pushed her sleeves back.

'Fifteen more minutes,' she thought. Preparing to rinse his hair,
she dipped the cup into the water.

"Shut your eyes, Mulder."

"You said not to fall asleep," he mumbled.

Scully grinned.  "You're right," she said, "I just don't want to get
soap in your eyes."

"Okay," he sighed, but he was already starting to slump against the
side of the tub.

Scully finished rinsing his hair as quickly as possible, and then
nudged him.

"Mulder, we're all done here," she said, groping blindly in the water
for the drain plug.

Mulder opened his eyes and looked at her.  "What, Scully?"

She reached out and pushed his spiky wet hair back from his
forehead.  "It's okay, Mulder.  Just stand up."

He did as he was told, and Scully began drying him off, taking great
pains to give him as much privacy as possible under the circumstances.
It would have been easier if Mulder hadn't kept trying to wrap his arms
around her in a bear hug, more for support, she suspected, than for any
other reason.  He seemed only marginally awake and not the least bit
concerned about his current state of undress.  Twisting the skimpy towel
around his waist, she picked his boxers up between a thumb and forefinger,
then caught his hand to lead him out to the bed.

"Sit, Mulder," she ordered.  He obediently complied, and she began to
gently clean the bullet wound.  Grinning, it dawned on her that a definite
advantage of keeping her partner drugged was that he listened to her
unquestioningly.

"Don't chase aliens, Mulder," she said aloud, gently applying fresh
bandaging to his shoulder.  "Don't run off without me, Mulder."

Mulder opened his eyes and looked up at her quizzically, his brows
knit together in confusion.

Smiling at him warmly, Scully gently patted his head.  "Put your
boxers back on and then get under the covers, Mulder," she said.
"I'm going to take a quick shower."

Mulder mumbled his agreement and stood immediately.  She turned
quickly and departed for the bathroom before he could drop his towel.

Several minute later when she returned, clean, but not really
refreshed, Scully was struck by two things.  The first was that Mulder had
inexplicably put his jeans back on and the second was that he had
stretched diagonally across the only bed in the room.

"Damn," she whimpered, exhausted.  She let go of the towel
and reached for her panties and the camisole she had worn under her suit
the night she shot Mulder, not bothering to duck into the bathroom to
change.  Then she hung the black slacks and the blouse in the closet, hoping
some of the wrinkles would fall out by morning.  Finally, she turned to the
bed.  It didn't take too much internal debate to decide to sleep with Mulder
rather than martyr herself in the chair; she deserved to be comfortable
after the last couple of days.

"Mulder," she said, slapping a leg, hoping to get his limited attention
for just a minute longer, "move over."

Not opening his eyes, he complied obediently, and she climbed
into the right side of the bed, away from his damaged shoulder.  She
didn't make the effort to coax him under the sheets; she was just too tired,
and she figured if he got cold, he could probably find his way to the
blanket at the foot of the bed.

Scully settled against the pillow and reached for the hotel clock.
Mulder immediately flung his right arm across her body, the back of his
hand coming to rest warm and heavy against her stomach.

She didn't bother to push him away.  Setting the alarm for 10:00 am,
she turned off the bedside lamp and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer
that Albert Hosteen wouldn't be early.

End.