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  This author's e-mail address has changed to: xanaduxf@yahoo.com
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***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

==========
Hurricane Alex
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Story, Angst, Humor, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated PG

Spoilers through "The End"

Summary: On temporary assignment in Key West, Mulder and Scully
encounter one Hurricane Alex. And I don't mean Krycek. <g>

Dedication: To The World Meteorological Organization, without
whom this story's title -- and therefore, the idea -- would not
have been possible. <g>

==========

Hurricane Alex
by shannono


Key West, Florida
Wednesday, August 5, 1998
2:45 p.m.

"Mulder!" Scully yelled across the parking lot at the retreating
back of her partner.

"Yeah?" he called back, pausing and looking over his shoulder.

"Don't forget an extra flashlight, too!"

"Got it," he answered before resuming his trek toward the rental
car.

Scully sighed. Just her luck. She gets a normal, boring, easy
case -- no X-files any more -- and gets to go to sunny, tropical
Key West, with the possibility of a day or two on the beach.

Then what happens? A hurricane. First of the season, and it
decides to target the southern tip of Florida.

And how ironic was it that the storm was named Hurricane Alex?

Well, at least they were finished with the case.

Scully turned back toward the hotel, squinting against the
brilliant summer sun. Other than a gradually-increasing breeze,
the weather showed no signs of the minimal-strength hurricane
just over the horizon. In fact, if it hadn't been for Mulder's
combination of chronic insomnia and channel-surfing, they might
not have heard about the storm until it was here. As it was,
they only found out early that morning.

The hotel was nearly deserted by now, partly because the travel
business was a little slower in the middle of the week, and
partly because many of the guests had checked out early and were
crawling their way up U.S. 1 toward safer ground. But Scully had
investigated and discovered that, for the relatively small storm
they faced, the hotel would be more than secure. They were only
about a dozen feet above sea level, like most of the Keys, but
only the first floor would be likely to see any flooding.

Scully jumped at a loud noise from her left and looked up at the
hotel workers and local laborers struggling to affix storm
shutters to the windows. The job was nearly done, and she and
Mulder had moved to adjoining interior rooms, anyway. The hotel
didn't have a generator, but Mulder was on his way to a
hardware store several blocks away to pick up a small weather
radio, batteries -- and, of course, another flashlight to
supplement their FBI issues. Just in case.

For her part, Scully was headed across the street to a local
market -- its windows already covered with sheets of plywood --
to pick up some basic food items. Her room had a small
refrigerator, and she planned to add a cheap Styrofoam cooler
as a backup if the power should die. She'd cleaned all their
belongings out of the car before Mulder left; the hotel had no
parking garage, and she didn't want to risk losing clothes or a
laptop to the storm.

Scully crossed the parking lot toward the store, her hair
bouncing across her shoulders from the low ponytail that held
it off her neck. She wore one of the two pairs of shorts she'd
brought on the trip, with a loose T-shirt and sandals. It was
about the coolest outfit she had with her -- other than her
bathing suit -- and the heat, already in the mid-90s, seemed to
be intensifying as the storm approached.

She walked across the street quickly and stepped up the shop's
door, pulling it open only to be hit with a rush of too-cool
air conditioning. Rather than offering a welcome relief from
the heat, the blast of cold sent up goose bumps on her skin
and set her worrying about catching a cold from all the quick
temperature changes she'd been through during their two days
in Key West.

Sighing again, she walked in and stopped for a moment, allowing
her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Apparently this store
used all its energy on the air, instead of the lights.

Once she could see again, she looked around and was gratified
to see several small shopping carts near the door. Snagging one,
she headed farther in and browsed a while, picking up a little
of everything, from fresh fruit to junk food. Sandwich meat,
a tiny loaf of bread, sliced cheese, a quart of milk, a dozen
canned drinks, two bags of chips, cereal, a bag of sunflower
seeds (so she wouldn't have to listen to Mulder complain), even
a tiny bag of Hershey's Kisses (to satisfy her *own* craving).
She added a small pack of plastic plates, plastic flatware and
cups, a roll of paper towels to use as napkins, and the cooler.

Her shopping took a bit longer than she expected, but she was
glad only a few of the items she wanted were completely missing
off the sparsely-filled shelves. The island's residents had
apparently done their shopping elsewhere -- or, more likely,
kept themselves pretty well stocked up during the entire
hurricane season.

Finally, nearly an hour after she entered, she headed for the
cash register, where she was greeted by a smiling older man who
quickly and efficiently rang up her thirty dollars worth of
purchases and started filling bags.

"Settling in for the storm?" he asked jovially as he worked.

She smiled. "Yes," she said. "We're staying across the street."

"Yeah, figured you were a tourist," he replied.

"Not really," she said. "We're here on business."

He laughed at that. "Must be nice," he said. "An all-expenses-
paid trip to Key West?"

She half-smirked. "Makes up for some of *other* places we've
endured, believe me."

Suddenly she realized he'd filled up nearly a half-dozen paper
bags. <How on *earth* am I going to get all this back to the
room by myself?> she thought.

Either her apprehension showed on her face, or the shop owner
was a mind reader, because his smile grew exponentially. "Well,
you just take the cart back with you, little lady," he said.
"Just bring it back when you get the chance -- and don't leave
it out in the storm!"

She smiled again. "Thank you so much," she said, helping him to
load her bags into the cart. "I'll try to get it back as soon as
I get it unloaded."

"Well, you be careful," he said, his tone turning serious. "These
storms can kick up before you realize it. I'm probably heading
home a little early today myself, get settled in to ride it out."

She nodded. "Thanks again," she said, heading back out the door.

As soon as she stepped outside, she could feel the change in the
air. The breeze was stronger, and the sunlight looked dimmer,
filtered; at not-quite-four in the afternoon, she doubted it was
the coming of sunset.

She looked off toward the west, and sure enough, she could see
the cloud line approaching. The weather reports had said the
storm was relatively small in diameter, comparing it to
Hurricane Andrew in size, if not in strength.

The storm's winds had been at 95 miles per hour that morning,
nowhere near the intensity of the storm that had battered
Southern Florida in 1992. But further strengthening had been
expected before landfall, which was predicted for several hours
after sunset.

Scully picked up her pace a bit, pushing the cart across the
parking lot and fighting it inside the hotel and to the elevator.
Their rooms were on the third floor, high enough to avoid
flooding.

She leaned against the gleaming paneling inside the elevator and
half-smiled at the unaccustomed luxury. <Not many grungy roadside
motels on Key West,> she thought. <And the few there are stay
full all summer.>

The Bureau might not like the added expense, but this high-rise
was the only place with rooms available this week. And that had
turned out to be a good thing, since getting out of here on such
short notice would have been hard; the airport had closed a few
hours earlier. And staying in a strip hotel on such low ground
during a hurricane was just asking for trouble.

At the third floor, Scully pushed her cart out and down the
deserted hall toward her room, where she slipped in her key card
before shoving the door open with the cart. Resisting the urge
to just flop down on the bed, she immediately set about unloading
her purchases, filling up the tiny refrigerator in a matter of
minutes and stacking the non-perishables on top of the dresser
and in the top drawer.

As she finished, she heard movement from the room next door and
crossed to knock. "'S open," she heard, so she turned the handle
and stepped through the adjoining door.

Mulder sat on the bed, a small weather-band radio in his lap and
packs of batteries strewn around him. He held one of the small
packages in one hand and his Swiss army knife in the other, and
he looked up at Scully with a grin.

"They don't expect you to get these things open too easily," he
said, attacking the cellophane with the blade again.

Scully chuckled and crossed to the bed, where she grabbed up the
plastic-encased package holding one huge, black flashlight, and
one somewhat smaller, bright red one. Studying the pair for a
moment, she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "Trying to
make a statement here?" she asked.

He grinned at her again. "Believe it or not, that was the only
pack they had left," he said lightly. "Must be fate."

She shook her head as she tossed the package back on the bed,
then reached for the remote on the bedside table and flicked the
TV on. "I want to get the latest update," she said. "They should
have a new report from four o'clock ..." Her voice trailed off
as the picture and sound faded in. A black woman was on-camera,
standing in front of a map showing the storm's track; a screen
graphic identified her as Vivian Brown.

"... storm is now just 80 miles off the Florida Keys and has
slowed slightly, now moving at 14 miles an hour," the woman said.
"Landfall is predicted directly over Key West at about 9:30
tonight, although the leading edge of the storm will arrive
around seven. A hurricane warning remains in effect from Marathon
south to Key West, with a tropical storm warning extending north
from Marathon to Key Largo. Most of the southern tip of the
Florida mainland is under a tropical storm watch.

"The storm's winds have taken a jump, up to 105 miles per hour, a
solid Category Two storm. At its current speed, with warm water
still to draw on, the storm is expected to reach about 115 to 120
miles per hour by landfall, which would make it a Category Three
storm."

Mulder and Scully simply looked at each as the woman continued
talking. This was going to be worse than they expected.

"A Category Three storm on the Saffir-Simpson Damage-Potential
Scale can cause extensive damage in the affected area, destroying
mobile homes, damaging roofing, windows, and doors. It can also
be accompanied by a storm surge of nine to twelve feet, causing
serious flooding in coastal and low-lying areas.

"Those people remaining in the lower Keys are encouraged to seek
shelter on upper floors and the highest ground available and to
remain indoors for the duration of the storm. Further evacuation
by land is not recommended, as low-lying roads may begin to flood
within the next few hours.

"Weather Channel senior meteorologist Mike Seidel is here now
with a special message for those Spanish-speaking residents of
the southern Florida area."

The picture switched to show a tall blonde man who began
providing information in Spanish, and Scully muted the
television's sound, her eyes still on the forecast map showing
the storm heading directly for them.

"You know, one thing I never really had any great desire to do
was weather a hurricane," Mulder said musingly.

Scully snorted softly. "Me, neither," she said, shoving herself
sideways across the bed to grab the flashlights she'd been
looking at earlier. "Might as well finish getting ready for it."

Mulder, finally successful at getting batteries into the radio,
set it aside and stood up. "I'm going to go down and see if
there's anywhere a little more secure I can move the car," he
said. "I'll stop by the front desk and get us some extra towels
on my way back."

He started toward the door, but stopped as he passed the opening
between their rooms. "Uh ... Scully?" he said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" she said, her attention on prying the plastic off the
extra flashlights.

"Any reason why there's a shopping cart in your room?"

Scully looked up, momentarily confused, then half-smiled. "Oh,
I forgot about that. I had too much to carry back from the store,
so the owner let me use the cart," she said. "I told him I'd
bring it back, but he said not to worry about it if I couldn't
get it back until after the storm."

Mulder stepped toward the cart. "I could take it while I'm out,"
he started, but Scully cut him off.

"No, he's probably closed up by now and gone home," she said.
"If the store survives the storm, we can take it back then."

He paused a moment longer, then nodded and said, "Okay. I'll be
back in a few minutes." He pulled the door open and was gone.

Scully finally wrestled the plastic loose and reached for one of
the various-sized packs of batteries scattered across the bed.
She started trying to pull the plastic off but soon gave up and
headed back into her room to dig out the pair of scissors she
kept in her first-aid kit.

==========

4:46 p.m.

Mulder and Scully sat on the bed in his room, waiting for the
next update on Hurricane Alex. Mulder had gotten the car moved
around to a slightly more sheltered area near the building, and
they were well-stocked with towels and even extra sheets. Much
of the hotel's staff had gone home, although several people who
lived in mobile homes had moved into rooms for the duration.

Only about two dozen people, including the agents, populated
the 150-room hotel.

Mulder popped another few sunflower seeds in his mouth and
started chewing as the Tropical Update came on.

The storm, they learned, was up to 110 miles per hour, still
Category Two, though the eye was still nearly 60 miles from
land. Tropical storm-force winds were expected to hit the
beaches in another two hours, with the worst of the storm
coming between about 8:30 and 11.

Scully sighed loudly and flopped back on the mattress, getting
an amused look from her partner.

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

"This just figures," she said. "I finally make it to Key West,
even on a business trip, and *this* is what happens."

Mulder chuckled. "Does seem to be just our luck, doesn't it?"

Scully groaned. "I just wanted a day -- one day -- on the
beach," she fairly whined. "Why me?"

"You, you, you," Mulder singsonged. "What about *me*?"

Scully turned her head slightly toward him and opened one eye.
"Mulder, I don't for a minute believe you'd voluntarily spend a
full day on the beach."

His eyes widened. "And why not?" he said loftily. "Just because
I normally avoid vacations doesn't mean I won't take full
advantage when I get the opportunity." He leaned closer.
"Besides, there's no *way* I'd miss the chance to see you in a
string bikini ..."

Scully smacked his arm. "Dream on," she said, smirking and
closing her eye back. "Not that it matters, of course" she added.
"Unless you feel like getting pulled out to sea this evening."

"Not my idea of a good time."

Letting out what felt like her twelve-millionth sigh of the
afternoon, Scully pushed herself back into a sitting position
and fixed her eyes back on the television. A map of southern
Florida showing hurricane and tropical storm warnings was on
the screen, complete with a projected path showing the storm
passing directly over them.

"You know, this is actually pretty appropriate," Scully said.

"How so?"

"Well, if we had to ride out a hurricane, it just seems fitting
that it would be named Alex."

"Yeah, and this time I don't even get to hit back."

==========

6:20 p.m.

Mulder and Scully could hear the wind sometimes, even from their
interior rooms. They had each taken a shower, unsure of how
well the water would hold out during or after the storm. The
Weather Channel was a permanent fixture on Mulder's television,
and the agents were enjoying ham sandwiches, chips, and cans
of Sprite for dinner.

"Hey, Scully, let's go outside in the eye," Mulder said suddenly,
around a mouthful of food.

She shot him a look. "We're supposed to stay inside, Mulder,"
she retorted.

"Yeah, but we know better than to stay out long," he said. "I'd
just like to get a look. It's supposed to be ... eerie."

Scully rolled her eyes. "Now *that* sounds like what I expect
from you," she said. "Besides, it'll be pitch-black dark by
then. How do you expect to see anything?"

"I'll bet the stars will be out."

Scully didn't look at him, knowing the expression on his face
would give her no choice but to agree. "I'll think about it,
Mulder," was all she'd say.

==========

7:45 p.m.

Mulder shoved the door open and came back into the room, a
childlike grin on his face. "Man, it's really going out
there," he said, throwing himself down in a chair as Scully
frowned.

"You didn't go outside, did you?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"No," he said, and she relaxed. "Just down to the end of the
hall. There's a window there. I couldn't see anything past the
shutters, of course, but I could sure hear it."

Scully lifted her chin in the direction of the television. "Last
report said 115 mile per hour winds, and it's probably around
70 or 80 by now out there."

Mulder nodded. "I'd believe that," he said, pushing himself back
up and heading for the connecting room door. "You want something
to drink?"

"Just some water -- since you're up," Scully said, managing to
hold back a grin as he glowered teasingly at her.

He disappeared into the next room, but his voice drifted back in
over the faint sound of the wind. "So, what, landfall in about
an hour?" he said.

"Yeah, that's what they're saying," Scully answered.

"And we're only about a mile inland, so the eye should be here
pretty soon after that," Mulder said.

Scully grimaced and opened her mouth to speak, but she heard the
water in her bathroom come on. She waited until he shut the
faucet off before asking, "You still want to go outside in the
eye?"

Mulder came back into the room, grinning again. "Of course," he
said. "It'll be fun. An adventure."

Scully snorted as she took the glass of water he offered her.
"The last thing I need -- *we* need -- is more adventure," she
said.

Mulder settled back on the edge of the bed as he replied. "But
this is *fun*, Scully," he said. "I don't count chasing people
with guns, or being *chased* by people with guns, as much fun."

"Good," Scully said, taking a sip of her water. "I'd hate to
think you actually enjoy it."

Mulder shrugged. "Well, it beats pushing paper all day," he said.
"But I could do without looking down the barrel of a gun, from
either end."

Scully dropped her eyes to her glass, deep in thought. "Mulder,"
she started, then paused, unsure how to phrase her question.

Mulder sensed the shift in the conversation, from teasing to
serious, and set his drink on the nightstand. "What is it,
Scully?" he asked softly.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, then looked down again
before speaking. "Do you ever ... do you wish your life was a
little less ... exciting, I guess?"

Mulder's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Scully glanced back up at him. "I mean, do you sometimes wish
you had a nice, safe job, like teaching, or a private
psychology practice? Something that would be interesting, but
not so dangerous? That you didn't have to keep looking over
your shoulder all the time?"

Mulder studied her face before saying gently, "Do you?"

Scully looked away, then sat up and put her own glass on the
table, turning her back to him. She sat silently, her hands
clasped between her knees, and considered how to answer him.

She felt him shift on the mattress across from her, but he
didn't speak. She knew he was letting her formulate her
response, and she inwardly thanked him for it.

Finally, she straightened her shoulders and turned back to face
him. "Mulder," she said. "I don't think either of us has ever
really had a choice. But yes, sometimes I do wish I'd gone into
private practice, or stayed in teaching. Some days, when I'm
tired and frustrated, or one of us has been hurt, or we've run
into another roadblock, I do think about what might have been."

She saw Mulder's face darkening as she spoke, and she reached out
to touch his arm. "But that doesn't mean I don't love my job,
Mulder," she said. "It's been hard, on both of us. But I really
don't think I would want to do anything so ... I don't know, so
*mundane*, I guess. I could, if I had to. But I'd hate every
minute of it."

Her words weren't lightening Mulder's mood, she could tell. His
eyes had dropped to the mattress, so she leaned forward and down
to force him to meet her eyes.

When he did, she felt her chest tighten at the despair she saw
there, and she reached for his hand. "Mulder," she said. "I know
you've thought the same thing sometimes."

He dropped his eyes from hers, then lifted them back again, a
small smile playing at one corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess I
have," he said. "I even ..." his voice trailed off, and he
withdrew again, emotionally and physically, pulling his hand
back from hers.

"Mulder," Scully said, sliding across the bed toward him.
"Mulder, what is it?" she said.

He shook his head, turning his face away, but even in profile
she could see he was in pain. "Please, Mulder," she said, taking
his hand again and holding on when he would have pulled back.
"Tell me."

"I ..." Mulder's voice broke, and he bit his bottom lip to help
himself regain control. Scully waited patiently, giving him back
the time he'd given her just a few minutes before.

Finally, he told her. "When you were ... gone," he said. "I ...
I gave Skinner my resignation."

Scully sucked in her breath. "Mulder, no," she breathed. "How ...
what happened?"

Mulder shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do," he said, his
voice low. "You were ... you were dying. And I couldn't do
anything about it. I had been stuck on those stupid wiretap
assignments, and ... well, Skinner said he'd reopen the X-files,
but I just ... I didn't see any point any more."

Scully took in his words and felt a lump rising in her throat.
She could only imagine what those long weeks had been like for
Mulder. She didn't remember anything about the time, other than
the few flashes of memory she'd regained through the years. But
she'd never really considered what Mulder had been through,
knowing she was missing and not being able to do anything about
it.

"Mulder," she said softly. "You know that wasn't your fault."

He shook his head, still avoiding her eyes. "But it was, at least
partly," he said. "I never really told you what we were up
against. I ... I told Skinner that, and he said ... he said if I
hadn't, then I was just as responsible for your condition as
Cancer Man."

Scully was shocked. "Skinner said *what*?" she demanded. "What
the *hell* was he thinking?"

"He was right, Scully," Mulder said, finally lifting his head and
meeting her gaze. "I didn't tell you all the possibilities, how
far these people would go. And you paid the price."

"No way," Scully said, reaching to wrap her other hand around his
where she held it. "I knew *exactly* what we were up against,
Mulder. We talked about it more than once. Don't you remember
meeting at the Watergate? If anything, you were being *overly*
cautious. Neither of us could have had any idea what they'd do."

"But if you hadn't been working on the X-files ..."

"Then it could have happened anyway, Mulder," Scully cut him off.
"People are kidnapped every day. Yes, in my case, it was related
to an investigation. But I don't look at it that way. I see my
kidnapping as something no one could have stopped. As much as
you, or I, would wish someone could have."

Mulder didn't respond, although Scully felt he was still there
with her, not off in some inner sanctum of his mind. She waited
a few moments, then asked again, "Mulder, what happened when you
gave Skinner your resignation?"

Mulder chuffed out an almost-laugh. "He tore it up," he said.
"He came down to the office, told me it was unacceptable, and
then gave me some story about a near-death experience he had in
Vietnam. He said ... he said he was afraid to look beyond it,
but that I wasn't, so he wouldn't let me resign."

Scully half-smiled. "Skinner said he had a near-death
experience?" she asked, a tone of incredulity in her voice.

Mulder looked up and saw the humor in her eyes, and one corner
of his mouth lifted a bit. "Yeah, who woulda thunk it?" he said.
"You remember when he was framed for killing that prostitute?"

"Yeah."

"That's what he was talking about, when he said he was seeing an
old woman. He said he first saw her in the jungle, when he ...
well, when he died, I guess."

Scully nodded slowly, then turned her thoughts back to their
discussion. "Okay, so Skinner didn't take your resignation. What
did you do?"

Mulder shrugged one shoulder. "I figured I'd just leave anyway,"
he said. "He couldn't very well stop me from resigning if I just
walked out." He looked up at her. "But then Melissa came to see
me."

"Missy?" Scully asked, surprised that no one had told her about
this. "What happened?"

Mulder's mouth slowly curved into a soft grin. "What happened
was a swift kick in my ass," he said. "I think your sister was
more like you than you knew, Scully. She certainly reminded me
of you when she was sticking her nose in my face and demanding
that I go see you in the hospital."

Scully bit down on a grin at the thought. "Oh, she certainly had
the Scully temper," she said fondly.

Mulder shook his head, chuckling ruefully. "Well, whatever it
was, it worked," he said. "She jolted me out of my blue funk
enough that I realized what I needed to do." He lifted his free
hand to cover their already conjoined hands where they lay on
the mattress. "I needed to see you."

Scully suddenly found herself fighting back tears. She could
picture Mulder, sitting alone in his apartment, piling all the
blame for her condition on himself, to the exclusion of anything
else. And she knew, from experience, just what a jolt it would
have taken to free him from his depression.

She leaned forward and, lifting one hand, ran her fingers
lightly across his hair. Softly, she said, "I don't think I ever
thanked you."

His eyes shot up to hers, and she saw the wetness he was trying
to hold back. "No," he croaked. "You don't owe me that. It was
the ... it was all I could do. I wanted to do so much more ..."

"It was what I needed," she interrupted. "You gave me what I
needed to come back. *That* was all you could do. And it was
enough."

They held their gaze for another few moments, and then Scully
smiled gently, hoping for a response. She was gratified after
a short pause, getting a shaky but heartfelt smile in return.

Scully squeezed Mulder's hand before separating from him and
turning back toward the television. "Now," she said. "How much
longer until the eye?"

==========

8:45 p.m.

The low roar of the wind was constant now, and the power had
dimmed and flared several times during particularly strong
gusts but was holding on. The cable was gone, though, and all
Mulder and Scully had to watch was a fuzzy picture from a Miami
station. The screen showed a radar picture of the storm, the
edge over the eastern shore of Key West.

Mulder was in Scully's room, grabbing another bag of chips and
changing from shorts into jeans. He was still determined to go
outside during the eye, and Scully wasn't about to let him go
alone.

"You promise we'll only stay out a few minutes, Mulder?" Scully
called.

"You don't have to go, Scully," came the response, and she
grimaced.

"There's no way I'm letting you go out there alone, Mulder," she
said. "But we'll only have about ten minutes, fifteen at the
most. We need to be back in *before* the winds start to pick up
again. The back side of the storm is even stronger."

Mulder came back into the room, pulling open the chips as he
walked. "I'll be careful, Scully," he said reassuringly. "Do you
really think I'd take that much of a risk?"

Scully smirked. "You, take an unnecessary risk?" she said
sarcastically. "Oh, *that* will never happen."

"Ha, ha," Mulder sent back, plopping back down on the bed and
digging into the chips as he watched the flickering picture on
the television. Scully snaked a hand across and snagged a few
chips, grinning at the indignant expression he shot her.

Then she stood up. "My turn," she said, crossing toward her
room. "Don't you go sneaking off without me."

"Yes, ma'am," Mulder said obediently, giving an unrepentant
grin when she glared back at him.

Scully changed quickly into jeans and pulled her hair back into
a ponytail again before grabbing her jacket and flashlight. She
hesitated for a moment before clipping her holster onto the
back of her jeans, pulling her T-shirt down to cover it. She
also slid her FBI ID wallet into a back pocket.

"Better safe than sorry," she muttered before returning to
Mulder's room.

Within minutes, the agents could hear the sound of the wind
diminishing. Mulder jumped up and slid on his running shoes,
lacing them quickly, then grabbed his own jacket, gun, ID, and
flashlight.

"Mulder ..." Scully started.

"We can go down to the lobby and wait for the wind to stop
there, Scully," he said eagerly. "We'll be just as safe there as
we are here."

Grudgingly, Scully pushed herself off the bed and slipped on
her own jacket. She picked up her room key and flashlight and
said, "Okay, Mulder. But we're *not* going out until the wind
stops."

"Okay, okay," he said, practically bouncing on his toes with
excitment. "But let's *go*."

And they headed downstairs.

==========

9:04 p.m.

Mulder and Scully took the stairs to the lobby, not trusting the
elevator in the flickering electricity. The lobby was deserted
but, thankfully, dry; apparently, the storm surge hadn't reached
that far inland.

Outside, streetlights glowed intermittently, some apparently
either blown out or lacking power. In the dim glow, they could
see the trees just barely moving in the remaining wind, which
was steady but light.

"C'mon, Scully," Mulder said, stepping toward the door. "Let's
check it out."

Reluctantly, Scully followed as he released the locks on one
side of the double doors and pushed his way through. They looked
up almost immediately as they stepped outside, where the air was
full of drifting mist, as if a light rain was still falling.

Sure enough, the sky overhead was half-clear, and stars shone
brightly against the black. The near-silence was startling;
Scully hadn't realized how quickly she'd become acclimated to
the sound of the wind.

Dropping her gaze from the sky, she surveyed her surroundings.
She could see little evidence of damage; tree branches and palm
leaves littered the ground, and various signs hung loose from
their moorings. Several pieces of twisted sheet metal were
scattered around; she theorized that some warehouse nearby had
lost its roof to the storm.

She looked toward the small market she'd visited earlier and was
relieved to see no evidence of damage; the plywood covering the
windows had apparently been enough to hold out the wind.

"Isn't this cool, Scully?" Mulder's words drew Scully's attention
back to him, and she turned to see him still staring up at the
sky. She followed his gaze to see the sky had cleared even more
in the few minutes she'd been looking around, and only a few
greyish clouds scudded across above them.

She looked back at Mulder just as he turned his head toward her,
and he shot her a quicksilver smile, reaching for her hand before
turning his attention back toward the heavens.

She felt herself smiling in return as she watched him.

<He's so ... happy,> she thought. <I can't remember the last time
I saw him enjoy himself this much. And for something so simple.>

The moment didn't last, though. Within another few minutes,
Scully realized the wind was starting to kick back up, and she
glanced up to see the clouds filling in above them.

"Come on, Mulder," she said, tugging on his hand. "Time to go
back in."

Mulder looked at her with a mock-pout, and she couldn't help
grinning as they headed back inside.

==========

9:27 p.m.

The wind had hit again just as Mulder and Scully reached their
rooms, roaring even louder than before and sending the storm
shutter at the end of the hall rattling.

Scully looked worriedly toward the window. "Let's get inside
before that window blows, Mulder," she said as he opened the door
to his room.

Mulder looked down the hall and nodded. "Yeah, or let's hope that
shutter holds," he said as they stepped into the room. "That
wind sounds even worse."

"Well, the meteorologists were saying that the back side would
be stronger," Scully replied. "Plus, the islands are so small
that most of the storm is still over water, so it can still build
up strength."

They'd left the television on, but the picture was even snowier
than before, so Mulder dug out the radio and fiddled with it
until he picked up a National Weather Service broadcast out of
Miami.

"Alex is holding at 115 miles per hour," the announcer was
saying. "No further strengthening is expected until after the
eye of the storm moves into the Gulf of Mexico. Forecasters will
be watching the storm closely to determine its course through
the Gulf."

Mulder turned the volume down slightly and sighed, flopping
backward across the mattress and closing his eyes, only to open
then again almost immediately as the power flickered off, came
back on, flickered, and then went out completely.

"Finally," Scully said sardonically, flicking on the flashlight
she still held from their trek downstairs. "I don't know which is
worse, the power being out or the lights flickering like that."

She shone the beam in Mulder's direction and caught the white of
his teeth as he spoke. "Well, there's lots to be said for the
dark ..." he said, his voice trailing off suggestively.

Scully didn't even dignify his remark with a laugh as she stood
and crossed the floor back toward her room.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice came through the dark. "Where are you
going?"

"To put up my jacket and gun," she answered as she stepped
through the doorway. "I'll be back in a minute."

"'Kay," he replied.

His voice was small and forlorn, and Scully couldn't resist
teasing him. "What's the matter, Mulder? Afraid of the dark?"

"Yes," came the reply immediately, in a tiny little voice with
just a hint of teasing behind it. "I hate the dark when I'm all
alone. Please come back?"

Scully grinned into the darkness as she dropped her gun and
badge back on the dresser and hung up her jacket. "I'm right
here, Mulder," she said in a false reproving tone. "No boogey
men are going to get you."

"But, Scu-hu-lee, there's a monster under the bed," Mulder
fairly wailed.

"Well, then, what are you worried about, 'Monster Boy'?" Scully
shot back automatically.

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Mulder said, his voice back to normal.
"I ain't 'fraida no monster."

Scully smiled again and grabbed two more sodas from the small
refrigerator before heading back into Mulder's room. She set one
of the cans on the table next to him and the other on her side,
then sat on the other bed, pulling the pillows up behind her to
lean back against the headboard. She shut down her flashlight,
and the room was plunged back into pitch-black.

"So now what?" Mulder asked, and Scully heard the pop top on his
can release with a soft <whoosh>.

"Mmmm, I don't know," she said. "We've already done the soul-
baring for tonight. What else is there?"

"We could bare other things." She could hear the leer on his
face.

"I'm not even going to dignify *that* with a response," she said,
taking a sip from her can as a soft chuckle came from Mulder's
bed.

"We could try to sleep," was Mulder's next suggestion.

"Mulder, you don't sleep this early without a head wound," she
said. "Unless you want me to hit you over the head."

"Ooh, Scully the wild woman," he teased.

"You have no idea."

==========

6:45 a.m.

Scully awoke slowly, completely disoriented and sore all over,
with no clue why. Carefully, she turned her face to the side,
willing her eyes to adjust to the dark enough for her to figure
out where she was.

Otherwise, she'd just have to wait until she could remember.

Unfortunately, the room was completely dark. She could see the
dim shapes of the furniture, but all hotel rooms looked the same.

Finally, memory returned. The storm. The power outage. Sitting
on the extra bed in Mulder's room and talking about sleep.

Apparently, they'd had an easier time of it than they thought
they would.

Slowly, she pushed herself up onto the side of the bed, reaching
cautiously onto the bedside table to retrieve her flashlight.
She placed the end of the flaghlight flat against the bedspread --
she'd been sleeping on top of the covers -- and turned it on.

The dim glow helped her see Mulder in the other bed, still
asleep. She checked her watch, then wondered if he'd actually
slept through the night. He sometimes could sleep six or seven
hours at a stretch without being sick or injured, but if he'd
gone to sleep around 10, that would be ... nearly nine hours,
and counting.

Scully didn't want to move, afraid of waking Mulder, but nature
called. Being as quiet as she could, she stood and padded across
the floor toward her room. Before she reached the door, though,
Mulder shifted, then raised up and muttered, "Scully?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

"'Kay," he answered, his head dropping back to the pillow.

Scully smiled as she stepped into her room, pushing the adjoining
door nearly shut to keep from waking him. She used the bathroom,
then brushed her teeth and ran a damp washcloth over her face.
She was glad she'd washed her makeup off when she showered the
night before; there was little she hated more than the feeling
of having slept with makeup on.

Looking down at her rumpled clothes, Scully decided to change
and see about something for breakfast. The power was still off,
although the water seemed to be working fine; curious, she
lifted the telephone and was gratified to hear a steady dial
tone.

Pulling a pair of clean shorts and a T-shirt from her suitcase,
Scully went back into the bathroom and quickly changed, tossing
her dirty clothes under the sink to deal with later. She was
brushing out her tangled hair when she heard a soft knock on
the adjoining door, still standing about an inch open.

"Come on in, Mulder," she said, setting down her brush and
turning toward the door. As he pushed the door open, it was all
she could to not to break down in hysterics at the picture he
created.

He still wore his jeans and t-shirt from the night before, both
wrinkled and grungy from their trek outside and a night asleep.
His face was creased from jaw to forehead on one side with two
deep red lines, apparently from a fold in the pillow. His hair
stuck out in more directions than she thought possible, and his
slouched posture and half-opened eyes completed the view.

She turned away from him quickly, biting back a smile, and
headed for the food stash on her dresser. "Breakfast?" she
asked, all she could trust herself to say without laughing.

"Mmmmm," Mulder said. "Somethin' with caffeine would be good."

Scully pulled open the refrigerator and extracted two cans of
cola. "No coffee without power, so this'll have to do," she said,
setting the cans on the dresser. She rummaged through the food
as Mulder walked over and grabbed the soda, popping the top and
drinking half in one long gulp.

"Here," Scully said, pulling out a variety pack of cereal. "Pick
your poison."

Mulder squinted, then bent down to read the labels on the tiny
boxes before grabbing the Corn Pops. "Breakfast of champions,"
he intoned.

Scully grimaced and took her own small box of Corn Flakes. 
"That's Wheaties, Mulder," she said, nodding at the box.
"*Those* are the breakfast of fools."

Mulder grunted as she set out bowls, spoons, and the quart of
milk she'd bought the afternoon before. She quickly fixed the
two bowls of cereal, snagging a single Corn Pop before handing
him his breakfast -- and ignoring his "hey" of protest.

Perching on the edge of the bed to eat, Scully studied the small
refrigerator. "We need to get some ice," she said. "If the power
isn't on in a few hours, we'll need to move the things in the
refrigerator to the cooler so they won't spoil."

Mulder grunted again around a mouthful of cereal. "If all the
ice in the machine isn't melted," he pointed out.

Scully frowned; she hadn't thought of that. "Well, as soon as
we finish eating, I'll run down and fill up the buckets with
whatever ice is left," she said. "And we'll try to eat the
perishables first."

They finished eating in silence, and Scully tossed their bowls
and spoons in the trash can before collecting her ice bucket.
She looked at Mulder, who was leaning back against the headboard
with his eyes closed again, and said teasingly, "Isn't nine
hours enough for you, Mulder?"

"Guess I'm just not used to it," he muttered, never moving.
"There is such as thing as too *much* sleep, you know."

Scully grinned. "Well, I'd suggest you get up and change clothes,
at least," she said. "Those are getting pretty nasty."

At this, one eye opened, and Mulder looked down at his chest,
taking in his messy appearance. "Hmmm, there's a thought," he
said, then closed his eye and leaned back again.

Shaking her head, Scully crossed back to his room and grabbed the
ice bucket and her room key, then headed down the hall to the
snack area. The small room was silent, the vending machines and
ice machine having shut down with the power. She was relieved to
see the ice machine had a lid, rather than a dispenser, so she
could open it up and fish out two buckets full of ice, which by
then was floating in several inches of water.

When she got back to her room, Mulder was nowhere in sight. She
peeked through the door to his room and saw the bathroom door
was closed; she assumed he was getting changed and a little
cleaned up.

Sure enough, he came back to her room a few minutes later, just
as she was finishing up pouring the ice into the small cooler.
He wore clean jeans and a white T-shirt, and his hair was a bit
more tamed, although his jawline was still dark with day-old
beard growth.

"Hey," he said, the boyish grin back on his face. "Let's go out
and look around."
 
==========

7:57 a.m.

The air outside was warm and muggy, moisture still hovering 
from the storm, though the sky was clear. A bit more debris
littered the ground, and in daylight, the agents could see
more evidence of storm damage in the surrounding buildings.

Mulder had just headed around the corner of the building to
check on the car when Scully saw the owner of the market
across the street, walking around the building. Smiling,
she crossed the parking lot to greet him.

He looked up as she approached, then smiled broadly. "Hello,
little lady," he said. "I believe you owe me a cart."

"I know, it's still up in my room," she said, stopping a few
feet away from him. "Did you weather the storm all right?"

"Just fine, just fine," he said, glancing back at the building.
"A few shingles gone off the back, and the roof has a new leak.
Nothing major."

"I'm glad to hear that," Scully said. "We came out during the
eye, but I couldn't see well enough to tell if you had any
damage."

"Oh, the eye is lovely, isn't it?" the man said. "I always try
to go out and take a quick look around. The stars were clear
and bright last night."

Scully saw the man's gaze shift to focus behind her as he
spoke, and she turned to see Mulder approaching, a quizzical
look on his face.

She turned back to the shop owner. "I'm sorry; I just realized
I've never asked your name," she said, holding out her hand.
"I'm Dana Scully."

"Dana," he repeated as he shook her hand. "Such a lovely name
for a lovely woman."

Scully felt herself blush as Mulder stopped beside her; she
felt his eyes on her but refused to look up and meet his gaze.

"I'm Mulder," he said, offering his hand to the shop keeper.

"Joseph Candela," the man answered, looking back and forth
between the two of them before focusing on Scully. "Dana, you
said you were here on business? ..." His voice trailed off as
he glanced back at Mulder, and Scully realized the confusion.

"Oh, Mulder is my partner," she said. "We're with the FBI."

Mr. Candela's face displayed his amazement. "You, an FBI agent?"
he started, then paused. "Listen to me, sounding like a male
chauvinist pig," he said, shaking his head. "Sorry, Dana. It's
hard for old men like me to get used to some things."

"It's all right," she said, smiling at him. "But we should
really be heading back to our rooms. We need to see about
getting home. We'll be sure to get your cart back before we
leave."

"That'll be fine," Mr. Candela said, reaching to shake their
hands again. "You two take care, now, and have a safe trip
back."

"Thanks," Mulder said, and the two turned back toward the
hotel, Mulder's hand falling to the small of Scully's back.

Leaning in a little closer, Mulder said, "Nice guy."

Scully nodded. "Yeah, kind of refreshing to find someone not
out to take the last few dollars off a couple of tourists,"
she said, catching Mulder's smile out of the corner of her
eye.

==========

9:33 a.m.

"Twelve-thirty?" Mulder said, shooting a look at Scully, who
nodded quickly. "Yeah, that'll be fine. We'll take 'em."

Mulder finished giving the airline his credit card and other 
information as Scully set about gathering up her things from
his room and taking them back into her room to pack.

Inside her room, she stopped and looked at the remnants of their
food supplies. "Uh ... Mulder?" she called back.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Would you call the front desk and see if there's a food bank or
some kind of charity around here?" she said. "We need to do
something with these leftovers, and I hate to just throw them
away."

"Sure," Mulder answered. "Just let me confirm the tickets from
Miami to Washington first."

"Okay." Scully went back to her packing, her movements quick and
efficient. After five and a half years as a field agent, she was
used to loading up in a hurry.

She finished in just a few minutes, listening to Mulder's voice
from the room next door as he made phone calls. She had just
zipped up her overnight bag and set it on the dresser when he
appeared in the doorway.

And at almost the same moment, the lights came back on.

"Hey!" Mulder said. "Let there be light!"

Scully smirked. "Try originality next time, Mulder," she said.

Mulder simply returned the smirk, then said, "There's a food
bank just a few blocks from here." He nodded toward their stash.
"They'll take just about anything. Even the plates and stuff."

"Great," Scully said. "I'm going to pack this up and start
taking it down to the car." She stopped, then said, "In fact,
I think I'll pack it *all* up and take it down in the shopping
cart, then take the cart back to Mr. Candela."

"Good idea," Mulder said. "But why don't you wait a few minutes
and let me get my stuff together, and I'll help you with it."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "I can get it, Mulder," she said.

"I know you can," he shot back. "I'm just trying to be nice, so
let me, okay?"

She grinned and plopped down on the bed. "Okay," she said.
"Start packing."

Mulder chuckled and disappeared back into his room.

==========

10:12 a.m.

Their packing done, Mulder and Scully headed downstairs, Mulder
carrying their suitcases while Scully pushed the cart, laden
with shopping bags. They got a few strange looks as they headed
through the lobby, but they barely even noticed.

At the car, they loaded the trunk quickly, and Scully turned the
cart toward the shop. "You go check us out, Mulder, and I'll
take the cart back," she said, already walking away.

"Yes, ma'am," Mulder called obediently, garnering a look over
Scully's shoulder.

Within moments, Scully was pushing open the door to the shop and
maneuvering the cart inside. "Mr. Candela?" she called, looking
around the store. The lights were back on, and she could feel
the beginnings of chill in the air which indicated the air
conditioning was back on.

But there was no sign of the shop owner.

"Mr. Candela?" Scully called again, sliding the cart back into
the line by the door and heading farther into the store. "Are
you here?"

She continued toward the back of the building, calling out for
the shop owner every few seconds, but didn't hear a thing.
Finally, she reached a swinging door at the rear she thought
must lead to a storage or work area.

"Mr. Candela?" Scully carefully pushed the door open and looking
around. She stepped further into the room, still seeing nothing,
and was about to turn back around when she spied what looked
like a shoe, lying on the floor.

Crossing the room quickly, Scully rounded the end of a counter
to see Mr. Candela on the floor, his body twisted at an
unnatural angle. Immediately falling into doctor mode, Scully
knelt at his side, taking in the ashen shade of his skin and his
shallow breathing.

"Mr. Candela, can you hear me?" she asked as she reached for his
wrist and felt for a pulse. "It's Dana Scully, Mr. Candela. Can
you talk?"

Nothing. His pulse was weak, irregular, and fading fast.

"Scully?" She heard her name being called from the front of the
store; apparently, when she hadn't been back at the hotel by
the time Mulder finished at the front desk, he'd come looking
for her.

"In the back, Mulder," she yelled. "Call 911, I think Mr.
Candela's had a heart attack. Phone's back here." 

Quick footsteps, and then Mulder appeared in the doorway.
"Where?" he said automatically, following her nod to the
black wall unit.

Stepping over, Mulder reached for the phone as he spoke. "What
happened?" he said, punching in the three digits for the
emergency call. 

"I don't know," Scully said, still checking the older man's
breathing and pulse. "He wasn't up front when I came in, and I
found him like this."

Mulder opened his mouth to respond, but the dispatcher answered
just then, so he spoke into the phone. "Yes, we need an
ambulance at ..." He paused, then glanced at a sale flyer
hanging near the phone and read the address from there. "We
think the shop owner's had a heart attack."

He rattled off his name and identification, told the dispatcher
a doctor was on the scene, then got off quickly, turning to
Scully.

"Is he okay?" he said.

"He's breathing, but he's not getting enough oxygen," she said.
"I need to give him mouth-to-mouth; come help me move him."

The agents worked quickly, adjusting Mr. Candela's head and neck
to open his breathing passages. Then Scully pinched his nose
shut and leaned over, blowing air into his lungs. She turned her
head, watching as he exhaled, then blew again.

After a moment, she paused and said, "Mulder, find the pulse in
his neck and keep track of it. It's probably still weak, but as
long as it's there we won't need to do chest compressions."

Mulder followed her directions, and they kept up their actions
for the rest of the five minutes it took for the paramedics to
arrive.

==========

10:37 a.m.

Mulder was on the phone again -- his cell, this time -- changing
their flight arrangements, again. The agents were waiting for
news on Mr. Candela, sitting in uncomfortable molded plastic
chairs in the emergency room at the Key West hospital, called
the "Lower Florida Keys Health System."

Scully didn't even *want* to know what they called it for short.

She felt sure the man would recover, although she was just as
sure he'd had a heart attack. A quick search of his pockets had
yielded a driver's license and ID card, including a telephone
number.

Mrs. Candela was on her way to the hospital.

Mulder ended the call, dropped his phone into the empty chair
next to him, and glanced at Scully. "We've got a 1:45 flight
to Miami and a 3:50 to Washington," he said. "We'll have about
an hour and a half layover, but that's the best they could do."

"That's fine," Scully said absently, her eyes focused half on
the entrance and half on the emergency room hall as she waited
for either Mrs. Candela or a doctor to appear.

Mulder blew out a breath and leaned back against the wall, 
closing his eyes. Then he chuffed out a short laugh. "You know,
this all just fits," he said.

Scully's head swiveled toward him. "What?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and shot a sidelong glance at her. "All of
this," he said. "We get an easy case in a great location, and
a hurricane hits. We get through that okay, and we end up in
the emergency room anyway. Maybe we should start collecting
insurance forms as souvenirs."

Scully smiled. "Or maybe bedpans," she said, turning her
attention back toward the door as an older woman rushed in
and hurried to the counter.

"My husband," the woman said to the clerk, out of breath.
"Joseph Candela. He was brought in ..."

"Mrs. Candela?" Scully called, rising from her seat and stepping
quickly to the woman's side.

Mrs. Candela turned toward her, then looked puzzled. "I'm sorry,
do I ..." she started, but Scully interrupted her.

"Mrs. Candela, my name is Dana Scully," she said. "I found your
husband in the store, and my partner is the one who called you.
We followed the ambulance here to wait for you."

"Oh!" Mrs. Candela said. "Thank you so much! Do you know how he
is?"

"I'm afraid we haven't heard anything, Mrs. Candela," Scully
said gently. "We wanted to speak to you before we left. We can
stay with you a while if you like, but we'll have to leave
by about one to catch our flight."

Mrs. Candela looked at Mulder then. "You called me?" she said,
and he nodded and stepped forward.

"Mulder," he said by way of introduction. "Scully and I were in
town on a case, and she met your husband when she was shopping
for provisions yesterday afternoon."

Mrs. Candela smiled. "Yes, he insisted on going in yesterday in
case people needed to stock up for the storm," she said. "But I
was glad he came home early. The winds were fierce last night."

"They certainly were," Scully said, then realized they were
still standing in the middle of the waiting room. "Mrs.
Candela," she said. "Why don't you have a seat, and I'll let
the desk attendant know you're here."

Mrs. Candela nodded. "Thank you," she said, allowing Mulder to
lead her to a chair.

==========

12:52 p.m.

Mulder and Scully left the hospital a little after noon, Mrs.
Candela having gone in to see her husband after thanking them
profusely and taking their business cards. Scully had nearly
forgotten the food still in their car, and they made a stop at
the food bank to drop off what hadn't spoiled in the heat.

Then they stopped for lunch and headed for the airport, turning
in their car and lugging their suitcases and food in to wait
for their flight.

Scully sat on another hard, molded plastic seat, eating her sub
sandwich from the spread-out wrapper and drinking her ice water
from a paper cup.

Then she paused in mid-bite, and started to laugh.

Mulder looked over at her, from his similar position a few seats
away, like she'd lost her mind. "What?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Oh, Mulder," she said. "I was just thinking
about what you said earlier, that things like this always seem
to happen to us. And I remembered what we talked about last
night, how we'd thought about what a normal life would be like."

Mulder nodded slowly. "Yeah?" he said cautiously, afraid of her
next words.

Scully realized his fear and smiled at him. "Relax, Mulder," she
said. "I was just thinking how this *is* normal, for us. Sitting
in an airport, eating food from wrappers and waiting for another
flight. I mean, what is normal, anyway? Normal's whatever you're
used to. And we're used to this."

Mulder considered, then nodded again. "You're right, Scully," he
said. "Our 'normal' might be weird to everybody else, but not
for us. We wouldn't know what to do with someone else's 'normal'
life."

"Exactly," Scully said, still grinning. "This *is* normal, for
us, anyway." Her smile softened as she looked at him. "And I
wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither," Mulder said softly, returning the smile.

And then they went back to their meals.

==========END==========

SPECIAL AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Some additional comments on the Florida Keys, hurricanes, and
my research:

I freely admit that I know next to nothing about the Florida
Keys. The information provided herein was either deliberately
left vague, or was found in one of the resources listed below:

Interactive County Atlas of Florida --
http://interactive.freac.fsu.edu/InteractiveCountyAtlas/Atlas.html
Best of the Florida Keys -- http://www.thefloridakeys.com

I *do* know a little something about hurricanes, being a weather
junkie <g>, but I also used information from The Weather
Channel's homepage at http://www.weather.com to help with some
specifics. I also borrowed the names of several Weather Channel
meteorologists and hope they don't mind.

And yes, I know the *real* Tropical Storm Alex dissipated over
the Atlantic a couple of days before this was posted. The name