From: Ten Date: Wed, 03 Nov 1999 20:37:07 +1100 Subject: "Fog in the Desert" (1/5) by Ten Source: xff TITLE: "Fog in the Desert" (1/5) 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" (1/5) 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. END PART ONE OF FIVE TITLE: "Fog in the Desert" (2/5) 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". 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! 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. xXx 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. END PART TWO OF FIVE TITLE: "Fog in the Desert" (3/5) 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". 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! 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. xXx 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." END PART THREE OF FIVE TITLE: "Fog in the Desert" (4/5) 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". 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! 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. xXx 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. END PART FOUR OF FIVE TITLE: "Fog in the Desert" (5/5) 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". 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! 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. xXx '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. (PART FIVE OF FIVE.) NOTE: The Asharue tribe and guidance stones are completely fictitious. So is Geraine.