JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (6/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Chapter 6
    

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Thursday, 8:00 a.m.
December 20, 1993

     The pale, grey dawn had reached into the depths of their cave
and even under the blanket by the time Dana woke. She stretched
with caution, remembered, and only then dared to open her eyes.
Even in the dim light she could make him out. What a wonderful way
to wake up. As good as chocolate. And she was almost warm. In fact,
considering what she had been through for six days, a marvelously
unique feeling. At least the side nestled against her partner was
warm. Mulder was awkwardly curled around her as if he had tried to
surround her with himself. Hard to do with the level of pain he
must be in. By turning her head she could see his face in the
gentle light. Sleeping, but not easily. Eyes closed, lips slightly
open but his brow was furrowed. Dana wondered how long he had
fought sleep to stay awake and watch over her.

     Her injuries making themselves known even in her sleep, Dana
had not stirred as she slept and her hands were still under his
shirt. She placed one now over his beating heart. This was all she
could manage, but it was enough. Nothing else had any significance
- not the cold half of her, not the effort it took just to breathe,
not the dry, awful taste in her mouth which disturbed her only if
it disgusted him, not the rocks in her back and the dry itchy
leaves up her shirt. They were together and she never wanted that
to change.

     At that moment a sound fell against her ear, breaking the
peace of their solitude. She wanted to dismiss the cry. A bird, she
told herself, just a bird. But when it came again, closer and
clearer now. It was a human voice which echoed high above them.
Dana turned her head, frowning, feeling the roughness of the
blanket against her cheek and nose, not entirely pleased at the
idea of being rescued. More voices reached her, closer still, and
soon the sounds of scuffling on the rocks directly above. One
voice, very near, called down asking if they were all right.
Reluctantly, Dana pulled back the blanket on the side away from
Mulder. Chilly but gloriously fresh air rolled over her face.
Removing one arm, she waved weakly at the face she could see
peering down at her from the crack in stone roof. She made no
attempt to speak. She knew she didn't have the strength to project
her voice that far. Besides, Mulder still slept and she didn't want
anything to wake him, not until the last moment.

     In a few minutes, or perhaps longer, because Dana had no sense
of whether she slept again or not, a knotted rope snaked its way
down one of the cracks in the rock pile above their heads and, one
after the other, a miniature search and rescue crew slid down that
knotted rope, dropping down in Dana's little chamber like a World
War II resistance team. There were five of them, all but one a
paramedic by the insignia on their low bulk ski outfits, all but
one female for their small size. Dana sighed, resigning herself to
the presence of the invaders. Smiling weakly, she realized that
suddenly she had lost all interest in doing the slightest thing for
herself any longer. She had held on for six days of pain and
thirst, cold and hunger, loneliness and despair. Reluctantly, she
admitted that the hours with Mulder the night before, staying awake
with him, talking with him, enjoying all the emotional uproar of
being close to him, of being able to touch him and to KISS him, had
taken the last of her strength. And did it matter? There were more
than enough people now who were willing to help her and Mulder and
she would happily let them.

     As the minutes passed and the level of noise from voices and
the sound of rope and metal on stone increased, Dana came to the
conclusion that something was definitely wrong. Mulder, whose
startle reflex could be set off by the touch of a bird's wing
against his window, still had not stirred. At the first sound she
had expected him to wake and reach for his gun. She had been
prepared for that. She had already checked and found that his
holster was empty. But he hadn't moved so much as an eyelash. All
at once, Dana was almost grateful for the arrival of the paramedics
as her concern for her partner grew. She had to admit, she had
seldom seen him so completely spent. Not well or strong the week
before, the physical and emotional strain of searching for her must
have left him as completely drained of energy as she was. 


     Because she waved them off, the rescue unit had been down for
five minutes, most of the time lowering supplies, before four of
them came to take her from him. Expertly, they supported her along
the length of her spine as they moved her to one of the two thick,
sealed cell foam mats which had been among the first items to be
lowered down.

     A feeling of loss, a sudden chill against his side, these
eventually woke him. Half-asleep, Mulder jerked abruptly upright,
involuntarily crying out in agony as torn muscles and ligaments
screamed. Without Dana there to steady him, he lost his precarious
balance on the two points of rock and rolled downhill into her
recently vacated nest, coming to rest on his injured shoulder. On
his knees, he roared. Frantically, he searched for her with his
glazed, pain-crazed eyes and his one good arm.
     

     Two of the team rushed to his side and tried to calm him but
Mulder was not in any mood to listen and savagely thrust them away.
He had been deep in a dream that had not been pleasant. To wake up
in indescribable pain and find Dana missing had thrown him
somewhere in the deep end of a very large and black pool. 

     

     At the first sign of trouble, the paramedic beside Dana threw
open her drug box and started filling a syringe. Dana knew the
concoction, a potent and quick-acting sedative. Frantically, she
tried to call to Mulder but her voice refused to travel far,
certainly not far enough to reach where he had gone or to be heard
over his cries. 


     "Don't hurt him," Dana begged as four of the team prepared to
tackle her raging partner. 


     "Excuse me, lady," the fifth member said, deferentially, from
where she sat nursing a jaw which was rapidly swelling from contact
with Mulder's one flailing fist, "but I'd say he's trying to hurt
us."

     "He's just momentarily... confused," Dana explained, knowing
how lame that sounded.

     The four attacked in unison. They clearly had experience
dealing with the nasty effects of PCP. One latched onto Mulder's
head pulling back on his jaw, one sat on his good arm and the other
lay across his legs. Still they barely held him. Working
frantically, the fourth took a fist full of exposed upper arm
muscle and skin and deftly injected the sedative. Within seconds
Mulder's eyes went from wild, white and staring to a blank
glassiness. He crumpled limply into their arms, coming to rest on
Dana's nest of leaves.

     Dana finally let out her breath. "Oh, Mulder..."    


                            ********

Storn Mountain, West Virginia
Thursday 1 pm
December 20

     "Wakey, wakey," said the disgustingly cheerful voice. "Time
for your fluids."

     Dana snarled and forced her eyes open. The young woman, a
paramedic named Anne with short blond hair, was bending over her
holding a covered cup with a spout, a child's training cup. It was
a little embarrassing, but more practical than a straw for drinking
in a nearly prone position. Dana frowned as she recognized the
rugged and all too familiar rock ceiling which stretched above her
head.

     "Why don't you just hook me up to an IV and be done with it?"
Dana's sleep-slurred voice asked.

     "You know why. We can't keep the IV solution warm enough down
here and your core temperature is borderline as it is. You need to
force warm fluids, the warmer you can take them the better."

     Dana took a few swallows then turned her head. As usual, all
she could see was the blankets piled beside her head. "Where's
Agent Mulder?"

     The woman gestured behind her. "Your partner's sleeping over
there near the wall as before. Those muscle relaxants really knock
him out."

     Dana hardened her gaze. "Not to mention the sedative."

     Anne held up her hand. "We apologized for that but we were as
concerned for his safety as we were for our own. Besides, he fought
his way out of it within an hour. Which reminds me, I have to wake
him or I won't hear the end of it. You partner can be very
disagreeable when he wants." 


     "You could say that. All the more reason you should let him
sleep."

     "But he made me promise to call him each time we woke you."
The young paramedic could not help but remember those piercing
hazel eyes. "I think I'd better. Besides, it wouldn't hurt him to
take some fluids. He also has some mild dehydration. Not as bad as
yours, but it still needs correcting."

     Dana fidgeted uncomfortably. "I think you've managed to adjust
mine."

     "Have to pee again?" the young woman asked, sympathetically.
"I'll get the bed pan."

     "Let's just take care of the bed pan before you wake Mulder,
okay?"
 

     


     "Joe Montana and Cal Ripkin, Jr."

     Mulder sat hunched beside her, open mouthed. "Scully, I
haven't even asked the questions yet!"
     

     "I could read them in your blood-shot eyes. Besides, they're
the same ones you asked two hours ago. Those drugs are turning your
brain to mush. I guessed so it's your turn. Take your medicine, two
shots of whatever they're serving this time."

     Since Mulder was sitting mostly upright, he got a mug instead
of the training cup. Anne handed it to him with a smile. She
enjoyed their game. Agent Mulder had devised it hours before when
Agent Scully had not been able to summon the energy to drink as
much as the paramedics wanted. He would ask his partner a trivia
question and, if she missed the answer, she had to drink a quarter
of a cup. If she guessed correctly, he drank. They had been
drinking warm Gatorade at the time and Agent Scully had resisting
its bitter sweetness. The game was the reason he demanded to be
awakened whenever she was. He thought that way he could coax her to
drink more and Anne had to admit it had worked.
  

     Mulder stared down at the pale greenish liquid he now held,
sniffed its warm vapors. Nothing like Gatorade. Incredibly, the
scent reminded him of - spring. "This actually tastes good. What is
it?" he asked the young blond woman. 


     "Some local herbal tea. Wonderful stuff. Dr. Byers brought
thermoses of it with him from town." 


     Mulder drank the cup down. Even though she hadn't lost the
point, he was pleased to see Dana accept a taste from Anne and
proceed to drink hers as well. He decided not to remind her of that
fact and just gazed at her with satisfaction from over the edge of
his cup. 


     After waking groggily from the sedative, the morning had
passed for Mulder in a blur of Dana-sized bodies. All of them were
busily moving about, bringing blankets and warm drinks, rigging
lines and examining the structure of the rock walls. All in all he
felt like Gulliver in Lilliput, a sense that would have been
magnified if he had stood up, a feat he dared not even attempt.
Except when their hands were poking his shoulder or his ankle or
cleaning and dabbing antibacterial cream on the bad scratches on
his stomach and chest and back, he slept often, but that was due,
as much as anything, to some pleasantly strong stuff they gave him
for the pain after he ate. Never very hungry when tense or sick,
Mulder still had found his stomach rumbling when he caught a whiff
of wood smoke. Someone had made a fire above. For once, canned
Dinty Moore beef stew tasted pretty good.
     

     The most disappointing aspect of the whole rescue was that
once the team arrived, he and Dana were given very little time
together and they were never alone. Mulder was glad that he had
thought of the game or they wouldn't have even had that opportunity
to talk. Before the game it had seemed like they were seldom awake
at the same time, and, when they were, one or the other always
seemed to be in the midst of some probing examination.

     Though he missed her company, Mulder was pleased to see her
looking better. She was still pale, though, and the dark circles
under her eyes were more pronounced in the daylight. The paramedics
shook their head over her ribs. Clearly she needed a hospital. In
that direction, if Mulder took his reading of the team members
correctly, lay a problem. At noon when Evan Byers arrived to prove
to himself that his friends were being properly taken care of, he
was not allowed anywhere near the rock slide. The talkative Anne
gave as an explanation that the researcher had run his feet raw the
night before and was just too clumsy to be allowed on the rocks.

     Mulder refused to believe that. He suspected there was a
larger problem, probably having to do with why the team was being
so extraordinarily careful as they moved about on the rocks above
them. For though there was a lot of activity being directed at
making their 'victims' as comfortable as possible and tending to
their injuries, there seemed to be very little progress being made
on getting them out. From above, two of the team had gone at the
largest of the section of cracks with a sledge but that activity
soon stopped to the sound of hushed, rapid voices. Not wanting to
alarm Dana, Mulder kept his silence. 


     Only in the late afternoon, when the shadows were darkening,
did activity once again increase on the rocks above. Mulder was so
distracted by what was going on that he took his next dose of what
he assumed were muscle relaxants without protest, not because he
liked the fuzzy way it made his brain turn over, but because he was
exceeding weary of the constant background of throbbing pain.

     Minutes later, without being aware it was happening, he passed
into a dream-like state which was not normal sleep and so he was
unconscious when the first pair of cables were laid. He continued
unaware when the backup cables and the back up cables for the back
up cables were sent down. He missed the arrival of the youth-sized
basket litter of metal bands and wire mesh commonly referred to as
a Stokes. His cognitive skills were only vaguely functioning when
a very small, slender man eased himself through what had become the
main access hole to the chamber to shimmy down the knotted rope to
the uneven floor. Somehow Mulder managed to raise a single eyelid
when the small man, Emmanuel Amiero, Mulder's own personal
paramedic, stopped to speak to the two female paramedics currently
giving Dana another examination on the other side of the chamber.
Though he might be four colorful sheets to the wind, few activities
related to Dana escaped Mulder's notice. 


     Words came from that little group huddled on the other side of
the chamber and the ones raised rather weakly in anger were Dana's
though Mulder was not sufficiently cognizant to comprehend their
meaning. Shortly, Emmanuel left the group and moved to where Mulder
sat braced up against the rock, supported by blankets and any soft
thing they could find. His shoulder was immobilized with wide
bandages and a sling. Though the dislocation had reduced itself
naturally to a certain extent, it was still technically out of
alignment, that being a ticklish procedure which only experienced
medical staff attempted. His ankle was encased in an air cast.
Through the medicated fog he could barely feel the roughness of the
rock against his back. 


     "Agent Mulder?" Emmanuel asked quietly, crouching down. Mulder
opened both eyes this time though only half way. The Hispanic's
face was less than a foot from his own, the man's skin reddened
from cold and exertion. Mulder had lost count of how many times he
had seen that slim figure move up and down the rope access to their
oubliette. "Awake?" Emmanuel asked with a gleaming white smile. As
he passed his hand in front of Mulder's eyes, the agent blinked and
the world wavered slowly into focus. 


     "Barely," Mulder admitted, aware that his speech was a little
slurred. "What was in that last batch anyway?" 


     Mulder regretted the scene he had created at the team's
arrival that morning. Waking suddenly to find Dana gone, out of his
head with the pain, he had panicked. Since then all the members of
the team treated him with caution as if he were going to go berserk
at any moment. That was a lonely feeling especially because he was
separated from Scully most of the time. Though he missed their
closeness of the night before, he knew she was in need of her own
rest and healing. Surprisingly, he found himself wishing for the
presence of Richard or Sheila or Evan. A friend. Even Skinner would
do. Anyone not afraid of him. 


     Mulder directed his thoughts back to the present, forced his
eyes open which had closed on their own. "You slipped in a valium
cocktail this time, didn't you? Why?"
          

     Emmanuel's eyes dropped guiltily. "We apologize for that. We
wish we hadn't now, but it's too late. You'll understand in a
minute. Agent Mulder, we have to talk and I don't think either of
us will want Agent Scully to hear. Do you understand what I'm
saying?"

     Conveniently, the two medics Emmanuel had spoken to before
were still kneeling beside Dana, but had moved to effectively hide
Mulder from her view and he from hers. That certainly was
deliberate. 


     "What's wrong?" Mulder asked, the adrenaline surge Emmanuel's
words triggered helping to clear a little of the fog from his
brain.

     "Nothing immediate, don't be alarmed, but there is a
complication. We need to get Agent Scully to a hospital this
evening. We need to get you out, too, but she's more critical.
She's still hypothermic despite all we've tried to do. Her core
temperature is better but we've not seen the improvement we'd like.
Her breathing is labored. We need pictures of those ribs. The
copter pilot doesn't want to fly after dark in these mountains and
she needs to get to a hospital tonight." 


     The twisting became of fist, huge and solid in the pit of his
stomach. "Then take her," Mulder exclaimed, unable to comprehend
the man's problem.

     The paramedic winced. "She doesn't want to go. Not without
2E..."

     The way Emmanuel left that sentence hanging told Mulder all he
needed to know. He looked around the paramedic's shoulder and for
the first time saw the smaller than normal Stokes two of the team
were connecting to cables.  


     "You're worried. You're going to have trouble enough getting
Scully out in that thing and you don't have a clue about how you
are going to get me out. Am I right?"

     "Something like that," the medic glumly admitted. He had
gotten into search and rescue to help people, not to further
complicate their lives. 


     "I've heard your team make only one attempt to enlarge the
opening. Not that I've been in much of a condition to keep track."

     Emmanuel made a valiant attempt to meet the accusing eyes.
"Now we've only administered what we thought best. You signed a
waver, your partner witnessed -"

     "Look," Mulder said with a tired sigh, trying his best to keep
his eyelids open, "I'm not going to sue. I'm just having a little
trouble being coherent right now. Be quick and give me all the bad
news before I fall asleep."

     "The short version then. The amateur geologist in our group is
very nervous about the instability of this rock pile you're buried
under. On the south end there's original rock, but he's even
worried about the fissures in that. We did try once and managed to
expand the hole you came through large enough to get Agent Scully
out, but in the attempt more cracks developed. No more of that,
then until we get a real engineer's report. Let's just say we're
concerned. The Chief has even forbidden more than two of us to
stand up there at a time until we know more. In short, we've been
told to be very careful if we want a good outcome."

     For the first time, Mulder felt a shiver a fear. Not just for
her and her health, but for himself and for these people who were
down here risking their lives to help them. To have tons of rock
fall on his head was not a pleasant prospect, not now - especially,
not now when he was so close.

     <So close to what?> 


     "By good outcome, you mean if we're going to get out of here
in one piece."

     "We're reasonably confident we can get Agent Scully out
without complications," Emmanuel offered.

     "Your optimism is so encouraging. Then it's just me you're
worried about. Then there will be no dynamite, no portable
generators and jack hammers, no pick axes."

     "Not even a stone mason from the National Cathedral with a
hammer and chisel until we can get a real geologist and a few
engineers to do an analysis. With dark settling in, that will be
tomorrow at the earlier, before they can even start. Maybe later
than that. We had no idea at first this could potentially be so
unstable."

     Mulder found his eyes drifting over the rough uneven walls.
Somehow in the harsh light of the propane lanterns it seemed
smaller. More days down here? He hurt so, he was so tired. He
wanted just to sleep and sleep for days next to Dana. That was not
going to happen. Not for quite a while. Perhaps never again.

     Emmanuel must have seen the hazel eyes dim under their half
lowered lids. "I'm sorry. We'll bring down anything you want. Food,
blankets, light, a tape player... Oh, no, sorry, no tape player
unless you use head phones because of the vibrations. We do have a
generator set up on the trail which can pump down warm air, but
we're a little concerned about the fumes, so not too much of that
even though it's going to dip really cold again tonight."

     Cold at that moment did not seem so far away to Mulder, in
fact it seemed to have taken up residence in his bones no matter
how many layers of thermal underwear they had sewn him into. Now
THAT little exercise had made the morning interesting. The prospect
of being here for days without Scully, surrounded by strangers, was
nearly intolerable, but there was no question that she had to move
on.

     The small man tried a supportive smile. "It's not the same
thing, but I promise I won't leave you."

     Mulder made an effort to let some of his old dry humor touch
his eyes but failed miserably. "Thanks for the offer, but you're
right - it's not the same thing."

     "Seriously, Agent Mulder, we need to return to the original
problem. Agent Scully refuses to go without you. We need you awake
enough to convince her. It's imperative she get to a hospital." 


     Mulder head came up suspiciously. "You said -"

     "No, she isn't in any immediate danger, but her body has been
through too much. She's held on amazingly, but her injuries and the
cold have taken their toll. Tell her anything you need to, but,
please, get her to go quietly." The man stared down at his hands.
He had been the one who delivered Mulder's last set of meds. "We
were afraid YOU would be the one to react badly when you found out
we were going to take her. Hence the valium. Again, we apologize."

     Mulder's eyes closed. They had drugged him. Strangers. <Why? 

I'm not an animal.> 


     He forced his eyes open and shakily raised his good arm. "Help
me up." 


End of Book III, chapter 6


=====================================================================
======





From: Windsinger@aol.com
Date: Mon, 17 Jun 1996 00:22:52 -0400
Subject: jttou book III chap 7-12


JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (7/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty


Chapter 7

Off Storn Mountain Trail
Thursday, 4:30 p.m.
December 20, 1993

      With the smaller man's assistance Mulder was able to get to
his feet - well, one foot and a crutch someone had sent down.
Hobbling on the titling stone, with a head hazy from drugs was a
challenge. After a few steps Emmanuel helped him slide back down
onto the hard, cold floor next to the Stokes, just as three of the
team lifted Dana in. He felt her eyes on him immediately. 


      Someone had brushed her hair better than he had been able to
do and must have used some kind of dry shampoo because it looked
better than before, though still not its gleaming self. Somehow
that made Mulder incredibly sad, for he knew how Dana hated dirty
hair. As a paramedic spread a blanket over her legs, another came
by and slipped a ski cap over that hair. With a stiff, gloved and
mittened hand, Mulder touched one of the curls that peeked out from
under the knitted band. 


      "They want to send me without you," came her voice, small but
with a determination which was all Scully. "I told them I won't go,
not if it means leaving you here alone."

      "Shhh, ladies first. Besides, you've been down here longer.
It's only fair that you go first. And I won't be alone. These
people get off on this sort of thing." This time his eyes managed
to glitter with a humor as they traced over the figures scurrying
about involved in the tasks required for this kind of operation.
"This is the best Christmas present we could have given them.
Besides," he added, touching the curl again, "the sooner you go,
the sooner they can finish preparations for getting me out. One
less of us for them to worry about. I'll meet you at the hospital.
Maybe I'll even beat you there."

      Her eyes burned into his with the heat he loved. "You are a
terrible liar, Mulder." Suddenly she reached up and took his good
shoulder in one hand and pulled him down to her. The movement hurt
like hell even though the chemical fog. Though only inches
separated them now, neither attempted a kiss. Accustomed to their
roles, they had gone back to being Special Agents Mulder and Scully
of the FBI when the rescue unit appeared.

      "I won't go unless we can go together," Dana insisted, in a
harsh whisper. "I'll scream."

     He found his eyes beginning to burn again. Odd, they had been
doing that off and on all day. "That I'd like to hear, but be
realistic, Scully. You know you need to get to a hospital." Gently,
he removed her hand from his shoulder.

     "So do you."

     "Not as badly as you and they'll get me there somehow. They
always do. The hospitals in this country can't meet their budgets
without my medical insurance."

     By the garish light of the Coleman lanterns he saw a tear
threatening to spill over her right eye. "I've lost you too many
times, Mulder. I refuse to lose you again."

     "Scully, it's just a dislocated shoulder."

     "You know what I mean. I'm afraid of what might happen if I
let you out of my sight."

     He touched the curl again and looked into her eyes but that
only seemed to affect her more. Not so far below her bravado he had
always known there was a person who was not the cool, rational FBI
agent she let the world see. Not that this was the first time he
had managed to get a glimpse of the woman behind the role she
played. How he envied her that control. Only when she wanted and
needed more from him, did she allow that inner self to show and
those instances were rare. Only when the times were very good or
very bad. Last night was a little of both. Now? This must be a bad
time for her to have lost that coolness of self, and so all the
more reason, in his mind, for her to leave this hole and go to a
place where it was safe and warm and there were doctors and nurses
to care for her. 


      Awkwardly, gritting his teeth, Mulder maneuvered to pull
something out of the side pocket of his jeans. He put it in her
hand. "Here. It's not much, but it's all I have."

     Dana looked at the object he had given her. "Mulder, it's a
rock."

     His attempt at a shrug made him start and grit his teeth. "I
know it's silly..."

     "Mulder, you are never silly. Weird, maybe, but never silly.
And I'd say this classifies as weird." 


      Mulder smiled. That suspicious expression on her face was more
like the Scully he knew.

     "It's a very special rock. Given to me by a very special
person to help me remember that there are happy times."

     She was trying to smile. "Should I be jealous?"

     "I don't think so. His wife wants to adopt me."

     Dana's eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?"

     "Long story."

     "Seems like a lot happened during my little vacation," she
purred, holding the rock now as if it were as special to her as it
was to him. 


     "Remind me to tell you all about it, when we meet in the
hospital."

      Awkwardly, Dana zipped down her coat and put the small, smooth
stone somewhere close to her heart and that pleased him more than
he would ever admit.

      He huddled over her, ignoring the workers who were fastening
countless straps and making final adjustments in her position so
that she would fit into the youth-sized litter, which, for all her
small size, was almost too small. The team members worked swiftly,
quietly, and all discretely ignored the two and their soft
whispers. 


      One of the workers took her arms and placed them at her sides,
preparing to fasten the tight strap and buckle across her arms at
waist level which would imprison her. With a burst of strength, of
which she had not thought she was capable, Dana pulled one arm out
of the paramedic's grasp to place her gloved hand against her
partner's cheek. His face washed free of blood and sweat and most
of the dirt, he looked much better than he had the night before,
though there was no way he would not always look wonderful to her.
There were words in her mind, but she did not speak. Long ago they
had learned that they had that which crossed those boundaries. The
shy, answering emotion in his eyes was all she needed.  


      "You are so beautiful," he murmured, "they'll probably forget
all about me."

      Dana stared. Mulder had called her beautiful. He had never
called her beautiful before. From the wavering focus of his eyes,
from the drugs, he may not know he had said it, certainly would
never remember, but it was from his heart, she had no doubt of
that. 


      "They won't dare forget you. I'll scream bloody murder if they
do."

      "That's the second time you've threatened to scream. I'll take
that as a promise."

     She finally allowed the rescue team to have her arm and in
another minute they had fastened the last strap that kept her
immobile. Her neck was encircled by a cervical collar. They had
taped and tied her so tightly into the small Stokes that she looked
like a child swathed in a basket. They were ready to go. The crew
stood back, concentrating on the pulley lines. A paramedic was
stationed on each side ready to lift her. For the last time she
looked over at her partner's pale face. Though he tried to hide it,
there was no doubt that he was miserable about being left behind.
"Please, wait," she asked the paramedics.

      Anne stood for a second, her hand on one of the thick cables.
She was clearly struggling with impatience. "All right. But please
hurry, Agent Scully. We don't want to lose the light."                


     "Mulder?" Dana watched him search her face, questioning.  "Can
you reach into the pocket of my blouse?" The bindings made it
impossible for her to move her arms.

     "Excuse me?"

     "Just do it, Mulder." 


     By crawling over on his knees and one hand he was able to get
close enough to zip down her parka with his good hand. He pulled
off the mitten and then the glove with his teeth, then hesitated.
"Right breast pocket, Mulder," she told him. He tried to comply and
still not touch any part of her body. From his angle that was hard.
Dana smiled with fond tolerance. "Mulder, if you touch me that's
all right." 


     <Want to bet?> Mulder's groin trembled even through the valium
fog and his thought processes swam as he reached into the warm
cavity. Hunting for the pocket, his hand brushed against the soft
mound of her breast. He heard her sigh, felt fire running from his
finger tips up his arms. He stared into the light in her eyes. Oh,
the touch had kindled a blaze there, too. He found the pocket, felt
the smooth shape of his happiness rock. He thought for a moment
that she was going to give it back to him, then he felt something
else nestled alongside it. A few seconds later he reluctantly drew
back his hand. Entwined in his long fingers was a bracelet of
multicolored stones caged in silver wire. 


     Astonished, he sat back carefully on his good heel and stared
at it. "Ohmygod, Scully, I thought this had been destroyed in the
crash. You've had it - "

     The memory overlaid the blaze in her eyes with sadness. " -
since the night Skinner told me that you had been killed. I've had
it with me every minute since then." She looked at him as
meaningfully as she could. "You take it, Mulder. I want it back,
but you keep it for me until we see each other again."

     They were not allowed to talk any longer. The rescue team had
been more than patient. They were shifting, eager to get going.
Mulder could not even let his hand linger on her arm because one of
the team moved to secure the last blanket closely around her. Then
the team member on each side lifted her and the pulley cables were
attached to the harness on the basket. Slowly, with painstaking
care, she was raised towards the gap in the rocks. There was no
room to spare, but they maneuvered her with expert skill so that in
less than three minutes she was gone. After that there was only the
sound of their moving the litter over the rock face to the level
path above. Promising they would be back as soon as Agent Scully
was safely on her way, the remaining rescue team members climbed up
their knotted ropes and Mulder was left alone in the late afternoon
shadows and the brighter circle of light from the single lantern
they had left him.  

      

      For as long as he was able, he listened to the movement of
boots and tackle on rock, to the shouts of the crew to each other.
He did not hear any words in her soft voice, however. For several
minutes after there was silence. The he heard the sound of one
person returning.

      "Mulder! It's Evan," a familiar voice called. Evan had been in
the area most of the afternoon though they had only talked once.
Shouted would describe their exchange more accurately, as Evan was
not allowed near the steep slope which lead down to the fissure.
They said it was because of his clumsy, injured feet and in that
they were at least partially correct. During that conversation the
physician had joked that he had caught of few hours of sleep in a
real bed, back in his old room at Amanda's Bed and Breakfast, of
all places. Mulder had returned the tease, asking if Amanda's
lovely dark-haired daughter had been there, too, a topic Evan had
been strangely reticent to discuss.

      That had been in the daylight, when Mulder had been guardedly
optimistic about getting out soon. Now night was fast approaching
and he knew he was in for the long stay. The prospect weighed him
down as much as his exhaustion and pain. Mulder wondered if Evan
had any idea how much his natural kindness meant to someone who had
known so little.  


      "Everything went as planned!" Evan shouted again, obviously
still some distance away. "She's up on the trail and they're all
escorting her to the helicopter!" It was like Evan to keep him
informed. 

     

      "Go with her!" Mulder shouted up as loudly as he could through
the crack in the ceiling, though, he felt suddenly very weary and
could muster little power. Because all of the rescue crew had gone
to the meadow to see the helicopter off, however, the mountainside
was quiet and Evan was able to make out Mulder's words. It helped,
also, that Evan had gone against orders and crawled down to the
first ledge of rocks which he and Mulder had found the night
before. He stood there now, with a walking stick in his hand to aid
his balance, and looked towards the ragged gap on the rock through
which the faintest of grey light from Mulder's propane lantern
showed. 


      "Mulder, she's in good hands -"

      "I'm not asking for an argument. Do this for me!" came the
faint surreal voice issuing from inside the mountain.

      Evan shifted from foot to foot, uncertain. He wanted to go
with Dana, but a part of him wanted to stay with Mulder, too, the
part of him that had come to realize that this man needed a friend
as much as, or maybe even more than Dana. At the moment the agent's
voice was not strong or steady, but it was determined. 


      "Mulder, Dana asked me to stay with you. Neither of us wants
to leave you alone!"

      "I'd hardly call this alone. I'm being attended by the entire
complement of the Petersburg S&R. They'll have me out soon. I want
you to make sure that someone takes good care of Dana!" When there
were sounds of reluctance on Evan's part, Mulder added, "Besides,
Skinner assigned you to work with me on this case and I'm ordering
you to go with Scully. Is that clear enough?"

      Mulder was rewarded with the sound of Evan's pure laughter.
"Yes, SIR! But I'll be back as soon as I know she's settled, SIR!"

      "No you won't. You stay with her so I won't worry. Evan, I'm
trusting you to take care of her for me."

      Evan grinned. "'For me', Mulder? That sounded proprietary. You
must have had some kind of a night!" 


      Mulder would have blushed at what Evan was obviously inferring 

except even stirring his blood to that extent would take too much
effort. "You'll never know. Now go run off and catch that
helicopter!" 


      "Running is not exactly my strong suit right now, but I'll do
my best. I'll take care of Dana, you take care of yourself," and
Evan made his way laboriously back to the path and then shuffled at
his fastest speed towards a meadow on the mountain's northern
slope. 


      After Evan's last words Mulder crawled from where he had been
sitting next to the litter on the rough stone floor to his own foam
mat against the wall. Reaching it, a new spasm of shivers shook him
and he wrapped himself in two of the blankets they had been given.
These didn't even begin to take the edge off this cold he felt.
Here he sat and listened to Evan's ragged movements fade away until
there was only the faint sound of the light evening wind moving the
branches on the trees on either side of the rock slide. Some
minutes later the distant throb of a helicopter reverberated within
Mulder's prison. Even when this was gone, Mulder continued to
listen, even when all he could hear was that silence. Now he was
truly alone. 


      That thought was like a signal, a switch. All the strength
seemed to leak out of him, all the strength that held mind and body
together, until like a sack of loose bones he crumpled down onto
his good side and let the world go away. 

      

                                  *********

      Muscles and feet protesting, Evan scrambled up to the trail,
hobbling in the litter-bearers' path. His muscles and his feet
certainly protested, they had not forgotten the day before.  He
managed to catch up to the litter just as the helicopter was
loading and, surprisingly, he didn't have to use his credentials or
his bulk to demand a place. As he settled down on the webbed seat,
he saw Dana's eyes on him. She spoke, though he had to lean down,
putting his ear close to her mouth, in order to hear over the
engine noise. 


      "I thought I asked you to stay with him!" she shouted as
loudly as she could, voice tinged with anger.

      "And he ORDERED me to stay with you." Evan smiled a little.
"He said he trusted me to take care of you. I think I should be
insulted."

      Dana let her head relax against the bindings that gave her
little enough room to maneuver. She caught Evan's blue eyes and
there was a special light in them which, she knew, matched her own.
"Trust from Mulder? That's a gift."

      "I know," Evan agreed in all seriousness, "and I wouldn't dare
insult him by refusing it. So I didn't."

      The helicopter took that moment to rise with a jerk into the
air. Within seconds of rising it dipped and Evan and Dana found
themselves looking down the length of the ancient rock-strewn
mountain which was, at this time, almost totally in dark sunset
shadow. A few lights and the glow from a sizeable fire showed
around the camp the rescue workers had set up not far from the
washed out trail. Other small lights lit the way partially down the
slope. Dana knew at the end of that trail of lights was the crude
cavern where she had spent so many days. Her eyes fixed on that
spot and remained focused in that direction until the helicopter
had taken her far away.

                                ************
9pm

      As he stuffed the goodies he had returned with into his
backpack, Emmanuel Amiero happily hummed snatches of an old folk
song. He thought he had gotten everything; the operation leader's
favorite brand of beer, cigarettes, two more propane canisters for
the lamps, a variety of medical supplies from the Petersburg
hospital to replace items they had used, and chocolate bars. Hmmm,
chocolate... He opened one of the six bar packs and put two into
his pocket. Agent Mulder couldn't have a victory beer as most of
the rest of the team was allowed to celebrate Agent Scully's
rescue, but he might appreciate one of these. Too bad Emmanuel
hadn't had time to ask the agent what his favorite snack food was
before his trip. Having followed Scully's procession up to the
meadow to have the satisfaction to see at least one of their
victims lifted off, he was unexpectedly elected to be one of the
two paramedics to accompany her. Along with that duty a hand had
thrust this shopping list at him. 


      All in all it had been a good trip. Agent Scully was delivered
to the hospital in no worse condition than when they had started
the transport and he had purchased or requisitioned the needed
supplies. As an added bonus, for a few hours he had been able to
enjoy again the luxury of warm running water, flush toilets,
central heating and real electric lights. The mundane inventions of
civilization were always appreciated with a fresh eye after living
out in the field for a few days.

      Emmanuel hoisted his bulging backpack and stepped off the
helicopter just as the roar of the motor dropped back in volume to
something his ears could tolerate. Thanking the pilot he sauntered
off across the field. 


      His steps across the field were loose, relaxed. It was always
a high to be involved in a successful rescue and this one was half
successful and the other half was just a matter of time. Better
still, his small size was, once again, proving to be a asset which
made him an important participant. He was good at fitting into the
kinds of small places children got into, or, like now, into places
full grown men had no place being. Granted this FBI agent had had
good reason for what he had done in the shape of that little red-
head they had just flown out, which was all the reason Emmanuel
would have needed to have done something equally stupid. 

 

      As he reached the edge of the meadow which was being used as
a heliport, Linda Gamer, one of the paramedics who had been down in
the hole helping with Agent Scully, came striding towards him. She
waved at him casually and kept on, heading towards the 'chopper'.

      She moved quickly but she wasn't hurrying. That was good. No
unforeseen developments then. "Hey, Linda," he called, turning back
towards her, "I take it Agent Mulder's doing okay?"

      She swiveled to face him, slight confusion on her face. "I
wouldn't know. Haven't you been with him?"

      "Didn't you get my message? I gave it to -" He realized he
didn't remember who he had given it to. One of the many bodies
surrounding the open doorway of the helicopter before it took off.
"One of Patterson's kids got sick. Since he wouldn't be coming back
they drafted me at the last minute to along with Agent Scully to
get supplies."

      "Sorry, 'Manu, no one gave me any kind of message."

      Emmanuel shook his head in frustration. Shit, what a fuck
up... He started walking again towards the path that lead to the
operation's camp. The beginnings of alarm made him quicken his
pace. He could hear Linda's steps behind him, hurrying to keep up. 


      A little out of breath, she explained, "When we didn't see you
at the party, we all thought you were down in the hole with him. We
didn't even use the radio to call down because we didn't want to
wake him if he was sleeping. We thought you'd call if you wanted
anything." 


      "Who's been with Agent Mulder then?" he called anxiously over
his shoulder without a break in stride.

      As she trotted behind her team member, Linda counted the
remaining members and what she had seen them doing over the past
few hours. Until the engineers' report was complete there was not
much for them to do so many of the married volunteers had gone home
for the night. "Patterson's gone, I guess you weren't here, Jennie
went home to see her kids, Anne was trying to get some sleep and I
saw Lucy in and out of the Operations tent all evening and she
didn't mention anything to me about being down to the hole. In fact
no one did."
 

      Emmanual had learned to follow his instincts in this job and
he suddenly had a bad feeling about this. He moved faster. The
heavily weighted backpack held him back, bouncing uncomfortably on
his spine. Shouldering off the straps, he thrust the pack blindly
in Linda's direction.

      "Here, take this to Ops for me, will you?" Barely feeling her
take it from him he began to run. Shit... shit... shit... For long
minutes the trail was nearly black but as he reached the staging
area there were more lanterns about and handfuls of those little
chemical phosphorescent tubes had been strung on tree branches and
bushes to mark the way.

      Reaching the slide, he scrambled off the trail and down the 

rocks his feet secure on those awkward giant stairs he had come to
know so well during the day. The little tube lights were everywhere
here, too, hanging from small iron stakes pounded into gaps in the
rock to mark the approved path. At the crack he didn't pause but
grabbed the main access rope in his sweaty hands, swung himself
into the hole and slithered down into the crevasse like an acrobat.

      Even before he landed his eyes were seeking Agent Mulder. As
he spied him, the fist in his stomach loosened. The man was on his
mat near the wall curled on his side. Emmanuel couldn't see the
Mulder's face because the agent was turned towards the wall but the
body had that limpness one associates with sleep. Only after he had
landed did his ears pick up sounds that didn't belong in this
scenario; breathing but too labored, too harsh, too irregular and
there were blankets near him but he had pushed them away. The fist
tightening again, Emmanuel hurried to Mulder's side. One view of
the agent's face made Emmanuel's blood turn to pure ice. The broad
forehead glistened with sweat and the skin - <Oh, Mary Mother of
God, he's hot!>. The man was burning up, his skin ghastly pale with 

an unhealthy red flush on each high cheekbone. Emmanuel scrambled
to his feet, found the walkie-talkie and screamed for the senior
medic. His cry did not come close to waking his charge. 


                                  ********

      Mulder was warm, finally warm, and - detached. Floating
somewhere beyond the pain. He had done his job. He had found Dana,
she was safe, she loved him, he was loved. There was nothing else
he desired at the moment except for sleep. 


      And it was warm and painless in this dark and far away place.

End of Book III, chapter 7


=====================================================================
======

JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana(8/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Chapter 8

Storn Mountain, West Virginia
Thursday 11:30 pm 

December 20

      Assistant Director Skinner stared out into the night sky. He
couldn't believe he was doing this. Harrison, Skinner's old
handball partner turned to him, raising his voice to be heard over
the chopper's engines. "Just got a message," he shouted. "They
lifted your female agent out without a hitch late this afternoon.
She's been flown to Petersburg. She arrived in serious but stable
condition. I'll get the hospital on the wire in a moment and get an
update."

      "What about Mulder?" Skinner yelled back, almost afraid to
ask.

      The helicopter pilot shrugged. "Something about rock faults.
I gather he's still there. Do you want me to take you to the
hospital or try to find this field where the woman's chopper took
off from?"

      Skinner growled. Between Mulder and Scully, who was most
likely to need his attention? No contest. "Let's find the field."

      The meadow that had become the heliport for the operation was
not difficult to find. The search and rescue group had brought in
sufficient portable generators so that six bright search lights
marked that one tiny spot in the forested darkness. As Harrison's
chopper approached, another was just taking off. Sitting with his
chin in his hand, watching the retreating chopper fade into the
distance, Skinner found himself considering how much a helicopter
with its lights on against a black rural sky could look like a UFO.
He shook himself. He'd been reading far too many of Mulder's
reports lately. 


      A too-young, unsteady voice came over Harrison's radio to give
them permission to land. As their runners settled onto the winter
field, Skinner played back the sound of that voice in his head. He
knew the operation was being conducted by a local 'S and R' group,
therefore, he did not expect the organization to be run with
military precision, but the young person had sounded nervous.
Something was wrong. Hunched over, Skinner ran from the copter
before its blades had stopped revolving. Had something gone wrong?
Why should he be surprised? After all, Agent Mulder was involved.

      There were people moving about, running before the flood
lights in a way the A.D. did not find encouraging. No one came
forward to meet him and none seemed willing to talk to him, so he
just took off down the lighted path. It took ten minutes of hard
walking and climbing before the crest of the peak of Storn Mountain
reared up, blacker than the black night sky. There were more lights
here, a couple of tents, the irritating, metallic thumping of
generators, the smell of gasoline. A figure ran by carrying a
propane lantern.

      "Who's in charge here?" Skinner demanded. The man, who came up
to about the A.D.'s shoulders, stopped dead.

      "I'm Assistant Director Skinner, FBI, Agent Mulder's direct
supervisor, and I want to know what the hell is going on here!" 


      "Oh, Sweet Jesus..." the slender Hispanic breathed.
Unconsciously, he backed away. Skinner noticed that the man's face
was damp with sweat, unusual for that time of night and
temperature. 


      "Well?" Skinner barked. He waited only a second before
advancing, threateningly, towards the smaller man. "If you can't
answer my questions, then I suggest that you get someone who can.
Where's Agent Mulder and what's his status?"

      Taken aback and not knowing quite what else to do, Emmanuel
thrust out a hand, pulling back when this large, power-radiating
personage made no move to take it. "I'm Emmanuel Amiero. Agent
Mulder's medic. When I went to check on him a few hours ago, I-I
thought he was sleeping. But... that wasn't it. He was running a
fever. A bad one." Something passed over Skinner's face in
response. Worry, concern, not anger initially, though it quickly
converted to that.

      "Of all the... " Realizing that he was not at the office and
that none of his staff were within forty miles, with the exception
of Mulder who was in no condition to hear him, Skinner let loose
with a barrage of oaths he had been saving for years, most recently
when confronted with one of Mulder's theories. He ended with "If
that man dies, I'm going to boil your ass! Do I make myself clear?"

      Emmanuel nodded weakly, his rear feeling warm already.

      Just then a deep, base voice roared out of the dark. "Who the
hell is out there bad mouthing my people!"  Light spilled out onto
the path as the flap of a tent was thrust open. The form of a man
quickly strode towards where Skinner stood. 


      Finally, someone in charge, Skinner thought and studied the
approaching man. Unfortunately, the figure was back lit and all
Skinner could make out was his silhouette, but that was enough. The
straight posture, squared shoulders, the strong, controlled swing
of the arms, the purposeful walk. Ten more steps and Emmanuel's
lantern illuminated the stranger's face, a craggy face, deeply
lined and weather-worn, with a long grey beard which reached half
way down his chest. The clothes were army surplus wool pants, white
t-shirt and a camouflage parka open to the winter air as if its
owner had just thrown it on. The man could have been any drifter
met on the street, only the set of the face, the eyes, were all
Marine.

      "Walter Skinner, Assistant Director, FBI," Skinner introduced
himself, then added his most recent military rank and unit.

      The man, clearly the organizer and authority figure of this
operation from the way Emmanuel almost bowed, was sufficiently
mollified to let his righteous anger cool several degrees. "Chief
Anthony Prescott, Petersburg Fire Department, Commander Petersburg
Search and Rescue, and leader of this happy band." Then he gave his
former military rank and Vietnam unit. Skinner had been right. "I
take it Emmanuel here gave you the news?"

      "What's wrong? This man says Agent Mulder is seriously ill? A
fever? Where did that come from?"

      "To be perfectly honest we haven't a clue. One hell of a fever
is all we know and fluid on his lungs. Our EVAC unit you must have
seen when you came in left to take samples to Charleston for
analysis. Blood, urine, sputum - heck whatever my people could
bottle. The general consensus is pneumonia."

      "Shit!" Skinner threw back his head to pace five steps away
and then five back. "Where is he? I want to see him."

      Prescott surveyed Skinner's bulky form critically. "'Fraid I
can't allow that. You're certainly too large to go down into the
pit and you weigh more than our geologists recommend for anyone
even to be standing up there. The rock is very unsteady."

      "I don't much care if you allow it or not. I'm going. Mulder's
one of MY people. I've walked through fields sowed with mines a
sneeze could touch off and managed not to blow myself up. So have
you, I'm sure. How many of these kids can say that?" Skinner
recalled that no one he had seen so far with the exception of
Prescott had looked to be more than twenty-five.

      Clearly, the Vet was wavering. "You do have a point."

      "And you have to agree, they always add a margin for error in
these estimations."

      Prescott did not smile, but he did nod. "Also true." The man
looked down at Skinner's feet, still enclosed in dress shoes for
the conference Skinner had been on his way to when he asked his old
friend and his helicopter to make a little detour. "Very well,"
Prescott agreed, "but don't stay more than a minute. 'Manu, take
him to the tent and get him something proper for his feet. I just
got one FBI agent out of there, I don't want two again."
      

      Skinner dropped gingerly down onto his hands and knees and
crept near the edge. A bright white light was streaming from the
hole. And it was a hole. A ragged slot of space, that barely seemed
wide enough to allow any sort of a person sufficient space to get
either up or down, opened up below into an irregularly shaped
chamber larger than Skinner expected. He ignored the three upright
figures below who all moved with a slow deliberation as if afraid
to make any noise. Skinner focused, instead, on the one figure who
did not move, the central point of all this activity, a figure,
wearing jeans and some kind of thermal shirt on his upper body
which was cut away on the left side to reveal wide bandages
intended to keep the left arm restrained and immobile across the
broad chest. Laid out on his back, the man breathed tiredly with a
hesitant, wet, gasping sound which was muffled by a full oxygen
mask. Though Skinner knew it had to be Mulder, for a moment he had
his doubts. 


      The presence of the full mask was a rather sinister touch.
Skinner would have expected to see them using one of those slender
cannulas to deliver oxygen, but what threw him off the most was how
very still the man lay, how little of 'Mulder' there was about him.
Though one of his jobs as Assistant Director was to review the
monthly list of procedures delivered by the FBI's HMO, and though
he always managed to find Mulder's name in at least three places,
Skinner realized at that moment that he had never seen Mulder so
quiet before. Never seen him injured in the field, never visited
him in the hospital when he was other than on the mend. This was
acute. Even muted by the distance Skinner could hear that strangled
breathing. 


      An oxygen tank sat nearby. One of the medical staff moved to
where a metal rod had been hammered horizontally into the crack
between two stones and took down an object which hung there. It was
a nearly empty bag of intravenous solution. The young woman opened
her jacket and pulled out a fresh one she had obviously been
warming using the heat of her own body. She removed the sterile
closure on the bag and hooked it into the IV line that snaked down
to where the prostrate man laid. A slender blond paramedic knelt by
the patient's side and wiped the sweating brow. After a minute the
young woman removed the mask, gently tilted the dark-haired head to
the side and used a syringe to deliver a little fluid into the
slack mouth, enough to provide some moisture but not enough to
cause the patient to choke. The man's skin was pale, damp, the
expression too vacant, too empty to be Mulder's who, even when he
was saying nothing, even on the rare times when Skinner had seen
his troublesome agent asleep, seemed to radiate his thoughts. A
moment later after the woman replaced the mask, Skinner back up,
rose to his feet and returned to where Emmanuel waited.

       "How long has he been like this? She certainly would never
have left him in this condition."

      There was no doubt in either's mind who 'she' was.

      "He was fine. Banged up, but not like this." Emmanuel ran down
a list of injuries which made Skinner wince. The Hispanic left out
the details on the incident that led to the first use of the
sedative. He figured he owed Mulder that much.

      "How did he manage to do all that?"

      "He was a man desperate to join his - friend. And I mean 

desperate. But the fever? All we can think is that some infection
had been building up before he got here, but he held it off. People
can do that to a limited degree when they just can't afford to be
sick. Once they took her and he was alone, however...." The young
man stammered to a stop, clearly racked by some guilt. Skinner
could have pressed for some further explanation but didn't see any
point. What was done was done.

      Skinner cast a look back at the slit of light in the darkness.
"You probably couldn't have prevented this. Mulder attracts this
sort of thing and he has been ill recently."

      "I could tell that he wasn't in the best of health even before
his injuries," Emmanuel said, "and when he shrugged it off I knew
I wasn't hearing the complete story. If I had his records...."

      "I'll see you get them and some help, too."

                                  ********

      "Absolutely not! No military." Prescott answered emphatically,
staring over his beer at Skinner, who glared just as stubbornly
over his. There were sitting across from each other at a rickety
card table in the operations tent. "With those big, noisy birds of
theirs, they'll set up a vibration that will rock these old hills
to their bones, and then bones will be all you bring back of your
Agent Mulder."

      "I'm just trying to help, man! I don't see a lot here. You
barely have communications. I can pull in resources - "

      "Excuse us for being the poor relations, but we do all right. 

Did you know our success rate is twice that of most groups with ten
times our budget. We take pride in that. We're comfortable with our
low-tech ways. Rope and strength and dedication and our wits."

      "This is hardly time for back patting -"

      "That's not what I'm doing. Some people say we're just lucky.
A child lost in the woods just happens to be found because the team
leader decides to play a 'hunch'. A young woman is pulled from a
spring flood, clinically dead, and yet she makes a complete
recovery. Believe me we're not cocky, we give thanks, and we've
learned when to be extra careful. We're being especially cautious
about this one because it's tricky and because we'd get a hell of
a lot of bad publicity if we lost an FBI agent."

      "Agent Mulder needs a doctor, a hospital, now! Not when you
finally decide it's safe to act."

      "If you can find a doctor small enough to fit down there, be
my guest. Maybe Doogie Houser before he got his growth spurt. But
a hospital? He looked bad to you, I know, but we've already gotten
his temperature down a little, his pulse is stronger, and his
breathing IS easier than it was. Believe me, he'll get more one on
one care here than in any hospital." Prescott blew on his hands. He
must be crazy to be drinking cold beer on a night like this.
"Besides, what better climate could you want for bringing down a
bad fever. Better than an alcohol bath."

      Skinner leaned back and drained his can. He understood pride
and he usually could tell when it went too far. It did not seem
that way here. He held up a hand to make his point. "If... IF...
Agent Mulder continues to improve and if your engineers can come up
with a realistic solution to this predicament within twenty-four,
I won't call in my friends who hang out in that five-sided building
you've heard about."

      To that Prescott agreed and went in search of another couple
of beers. Skinner stretched out his tired legs. At least his friend
Harrison, currently sacked out in the crew tent, would be doing the
flying. Unfortunately, they had to be off and soon. Skinner's
presence was required at a conference first thing in the morning,
which was now less than four hours away, and the people who had
called it were not the kind you just said 'no' to. Still, he
considered not showing up. Mulder should have someone around who
was there for him. 


      Skinner stood and opened the flap of the tent to stare towards
the distant glow from the lights down the mountainside. No, that
wasn't the answer. Mulder would not take kindly to being baby sat
by his supervisor. That sort of thing could also complicate their
future working relationship. Hell, their current working
relationship was strained enough already. 


      Who then? Considering Mulder's reputation and his current
rather embarrassing situation, Skinner could honestly not think of
an agent, other than Scully, whom Mulder would prefer to a
stranger. Not another agent then.

      Skinner made a decision. First he needed a phone, then he
needed to call in a couple of favors. The phone call wouldn't cost
much, but the favors certainly would. 


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

Storn Mountain, West Virginia
Saturday noon 

December 22


      "Mr. Mulder... Fox Mulder... can you hear me?"

      Mulder tried to move but found his body really didn't want to.
It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. His eyelids felt glued shut
and he didn't have the strength to open them. And his mouth, his
mouth tasted foul and sticky dry. In a word, disgusting. Even the
pain in his left shoulder, bad as it was, and it was very bad,
failed to help him wake this time. Who was talking to him anyhow?
If he was in the hospital again this was the worst bed he had ever
been given.
      

      Someone slipped a straw into his mouth and, after a few sips
of what tasted like one of those electrolyte solutions that doctors
love to prescribe, a gentle hand wiped his eyes with a moist cotton
ball. Afterwards, he was able to crack the lids open, but his eyes
refused to focus. "Any better?" a strange woman's voice asked.

      Mulder just groaned. All he really wanted to do was go back to
sleep. 


      "Hey, don't drift off on me, not just yet. You really scared
us."

      He blinked, deciding that perhaps he would find out who was
talking, where he was, and why he felt so awful and then he would
go back to sleep where none of it mattered anyway. 


      "Where..." Whoops, that voice had not sounded very good,
cracked and weak, but the woman beside him must have understood
because there was gentle laughter in her slightly accented voice
when she spoke. 


      "Do you remember? You went down into a cave to take care of
your partner, Agent Scully. She's been taken to the hospital, but
we haven't been able to get you out yet."

      Mulder's eyes strayed. Details he couldn't see but light and
darkness he could distinguish and this was dim but natural light,
not the glaring white propane lantern light they used at night. "W-
What time?"

      "They airlifted your partner out about five-thirty in the
afternoon, the day before yesterday. Today is December the twenty-
second, almost noon. When the paramedics got back to you, you had
a temperature of a hundred and four." 


      Mulder was beginning to make out the shape of the woman beside
him. She was tiny, smaller by far than Scully, with fine, soft
hands which were gentle when they touched the skin of his forehead.

      "For a moment," he managed to say his voice becoming stronger,
"I thought I had been pulled down into a fairy hill."

      The small voice laughed merrily. "Oh, I'll have to tell my
mother that, she's even smaller than I am." Her smile was warm. He
realized she had a lot of Asian in her background which would help
account for her small size. "I'm Dr. Li Chen, one-half Chinese,
one-quarter Hawaiian and one-quarter who knows," she explained,
"and according to the growth charts, small even for my people. I'm
also the only physician of my size east of the Mississippi River
who specializes in emergency medicine. You must be very important
to someone because that someone pulled a lot of strings to get me
flown out here from Chapel Hill on a moment's notice. I arrived
yesterday morning on the same chopper as your medical records and
the results of your blood tests." Her face sobered a little. "My,
you haven't been taking care of yourself very well lately, have
you?"

      "Not you, too..." 


      "Relax," Doctor Chen told him brightly, "it wasn't as bad as
it looked at first. Exhaustion mostly, I suspect. Also, a touch of
hypothermia, electrolyte imbalance, hypoglycemia, anemia, a broken
collar bone, a dislocated shoulder, which by the way I can finish
reducing when you feel you are up to it, and a badly sprained
ankle. At least I hope it's only a sprain. They can do a lot, but
they can't get an X-ray machine up here. Most of that you know. Oh,
yes," she added almost as an afterthought, "a touch of mycoplasma
pneumonia. You've probably been walking around with a subclinical
case for a couple of weeks at least, maybe longer. I noticed from
your records that you were put on antibiotics about three weeks ago
following a bad episode which also involved a head injury. You were
given a bottle of capsules. Did you take all of them?"

      Mulder stared at her dimly. The woman had used a lot of words
in a short period of time, only half of which he'd caught.
Capsules? Oh, there were some they gave him when he'd left
Ravensworth, but days later, alone in his apartment in the early
hours of one of those interminable, sleepless nights, he'd dumped
them down the toilet in a fit of depression over being sick again. 


      Li Chen read the admission. "Stupid, stupid. You're supposed
to take the whole bottle, as prescribed; otherwise, you're giving
the biggest and strongest bugs, the ones which weren't killed off
immediately, a most excellent opportunity to grow up stronger and
more powerful because they can fit into all the vacated holes in
the food chain. Does this make any sense to you, Agent Mulder?"

      "Maybe when I took Biology 101, but not today, especially not
today," he said wearily, his eyes involuntarily closing so that he
had to consciously had to fight to keep them open. 

      

      "Hmmm, I guess lectures are a little senseless under the
circumstances. Anyway, just take my professional opinion on this.
Most likely you've been carrying around the germ of your own
destruction for weeks. It was just waiting for an opportunity to
flare up, and it did, too, just like a shooting star. Stress will
do that, or the release of stress. Could have been worse."

      "Could have been worse?" Mulder did not know how, but, yes,
she was probably right, it could have been worse. He had experience
with worst cases scenarios.

      "At least the broad spectrum antibiotic the paramedic unit had
available to dump into your blood stream was a good match and that
this particular pneumonia bug still responds quickly to treatment.
I could have been one of the bad ones that have become resistant to
everything."

      "That's a cheery thought. So I'll live?"

      "It's my professional opinion that as long as you follow you
doctor's advice," she said the latter with emphasis, "that you'll
be fine." 


       "Good," he said groggily, "can I go back to sleep now?" That
was the moment when he became aware that the pallet he was sleeping
on had grown. Someone had pushed Dana's mat over next to his to
make a broad bed.
      

      Seeing the question in his eyes, the tiny physician explained,
"When your fever broke early this morning you started shivering, so
we gave you a couple of bed warmers. The old tried and true ways
are still the best. Don't worry, they only let the women volunteer. 

I did hear that there were plenty of volunteers for that
assignment." <And that's hardly surprising,> Li Chen found herself
thinking as her eyes appreciated the smooth, broad chest she was
examining. At least it would have been smooth if it were not badly
scratched from the rocks and would have been broad with about
fifteen additional pounds of flesh and muscle. Better stop it, she
told herself, or you'll have to take yourself off this case for
unprofessional thinking. A person, even a professional, was a human
being and can have the occasional lustful thoughts, it was the
acting on such fantasies that got you into trouble. Still, she
wondered what it would have been like to snuggle next to this tasty
morsel for a night.  


      He was looking more than a little uncomfortable at the thought
of how he had spent the night. "Oh, don't worry, Agent Mulder,
nothing happened. Everyone was too worried to think about anything
more than doing what was necessary to get you out of here as
healthy as possible, but just to save you possible embarrassment
they're both working above today." 


      In an attempt to pull a smile from her patient, Li Chen ended
with one slightly unprofessional comment. She added, "I do think
that one of the girls would like to ask you out."

      Her patient smiled, or nearly smiled. Close enough. Pretty
before, he was positively gorgeous when he smiled. 


      "Sorry, I'm taken," Mulder responded with that smile, however
he was immediately struck with amazement that that statement had
come from him. Except when trying to ward off unwanted advances, he
had not been in the position to use the phrase, since....since
Phoebe. <It's been a LONG time, Spooky.> And there had been no talk
of taking or being taken with Scully. Still, Mulder felt taken.
Certainly, it was a very pleasant way to jump start his heart on
this cold, lonely morning. 


      "When are they going to be able to get me out of here?" he
asked, his voice thin and raspy. 


      The raven-haired physician sighed. "I was afraid you were
going to ask that."

      That got his attention. "There's a plan to get me out, I
hope."

      "The engineers have come to the conclusion that not only are
the looser rocks too unstable for general rock cutting, they may
also be weight bearing to a certain extent."

      "At least they've finished their study. Took them long
enough," Mulder swore impatiently. That started a cough from down
deep that he could have done without. The pain from his chest
spread to his shoulder and all the way down his aching legs to his
sprained ankle. As he coughed he was blind, except for a red haze
of agony. When he became aware again of something besides the pain
he found Dr. Chen behind him, lending her support and expertly
pounding his back. The stuff he brought up out of his lungs was
truly disgusting. 


      "You'd better watch your temper for a bit," she cautioned when
the coughing fit had subsided. "Now if you will just lie there and
listen and not get upset I'll tell you about what the engineers
found. Their study took just a little over twenty-four hours once
they got started. They finished this morning. They recommend using
dynamite on a section of the original bedrock and Chief Prescott,
who seems to call the shots around here, has told them to go ahead.
They're setting up for a small blast over there." She pointed to a
small, narrow gap in the rocks, only a few feet from the stone
above his head.

      By carefully raising himself, Mulder could see figures moving
across the opening. "Blast? That should be a unique experience.
I've been in the way of explosions before, but never
intentionally."

      "Before they try, I'm supposed to relocate you and all your
paraphernalia to the far end of the cave. Sorry to make you move.
Then they want to erect a polyethylene shield - "

      "I definitely like their optimism. A piece of plastic between
me and several tons of rock." The tone of his voice indicated less
than overwhelming enthusiasm for this plan. 


      "Agent Mulder, I'm sorry. They are doing the best they can.
That's the reason for these extra precautions. They don't dare let
anything happen. Not to you. That would hardly be a hero's
welcome."

      "Huh?"

      "You're a hero around here, all over the state. All over the
country by now."

      "I'm not a hero," Mulder said in a low, emotionless voice. "I
killed a man, that's nothing to be proud of. A boy died."

      "That's not how this county see it. The man you killed was a
murderer and a drug dealer, which around here is almost worse. You
saved the life of the man you were with and that of Jimmy Hanks.
Voluntarily, you had your own shoulder dislocated, and very
severely I might add, in order to get down here to help your
girlfriend -"

      "Partner," Mulder corrected emphatically. Talk like that could
lose them their jobs.

      "Partner?" Li Chen seemed unconvinced. "Your PARTNER was in
very bad shape from what I hear and may very well have died that
night without you. And no one blames you for Kevin. You don't like
being a hero? No real hero would. I'm sorry but that's how the
media is playing it. You're the biggest thing to hit West Virginia
in years. If this takes much longer, the story will be on all the
wire services. It's Christmas. They are looking for a good human
interest story."

      Glum shadows settled over Mulder's face. He never thought he
did more than any other professional would do to get the job done.
His assignments just tended to have a different slant than most. He
interacted with the local jurisdictions and his coworkers when
required - even though many of them did not care to be found
interacting with him. Except when fighting for a cause, however, he
considered himself a private man. In the past he had stood up
before those same coworkers, local officials, Skinner, judges and
juries and made a fool of himself trying to defend theories and
explain phenomena which no sane person would consider possible in
their worst nightmares. Despite the derision in their eyes, he
persevered for such dangerous 'beings' needed to be put far, far
away from the public. For himself, however, he could do without the
notoriety, the publicity, the humiliation. 


      "If you can think of some medical excuse, anything, don't let
them..." Mulder did not beg, not with his voice, but he could not
keep the pleading shadows out of his eyes.
   

      Li Chen saw the fear, the embarrassment and understood.
Children, old women, dogs and cats needed rescuing, not six foot
plus, oh-so-gorgeous FBI agents. She knew what it was like to be
pointed out for being different. "I'm sorry," she apologized with
genuine sincerity, "it's too late."

      "At least don't let them use my name." Mulder struggled for
words to justify that request but his groggy synapses were still
not firing very quickly. To his advantage, the anxiety-triggered
adrenalin was cutting through the fog pretty quickly. "Say it's for
security reasons. I'm with the FBI. My supervisor will back me up
on this." <Oh, jeez, Skinner.> Skinner was going to kill him for
getting hurt again. No, Skinner must have been the one who had
arranged for the doctor. Only Skinner could have and would have
done that.

       The petite physician played with the end of her long raven
hair. "Hmm, that might be a good angle. Mystery man. I'm sure the
press can think of ways to make it all sound very cloak and dagger.
National security concerns could be a sufficient excuse for keeping
your name out of it, but with the media these days, who knows? Hmm,
it would give them another angle. They may go for it."

      Mulder settled back, somewhat appeased. "Just do what you can
to leave my name out and keep the camera off my face."

      "Off your face? Oh, now that would be a loss."   


                                  ********

      Over the next few hours Mulder faded out, back in. After more
fluids and some food, Dr. Chen suggested reducing the dislocation,
not something he looked forward to, but in the long run preferable
to leaving the shoulder out of joint which it had been for far too
long.

      "Let me do it," Dr. Chen begged as she watched him force down
corned beef hash and what could only have been one of Amanda's
hardy, substantial muffins. "It will make your recovery go faster
once you're out. In return I'll try to do anything you want ...
that is, anything so long as it's safe and legal."

      Mulder paused with a mouthful of muffin, eyebrows raised. "You
don't have to bribe me. I'll let you do it as long as I don't have
to feel it much. But I would like a radio or a cellular or whatever
with enough range so I can call Scully. If she's worrying about me,
she'll be snapping at the hospital staff so much they'll be
considering rabies shots. I want to be able to tell her I'll be
seeing her tomorrow."

      Li Chen sat down cross legged beside him with a sober
expression on her petite features. "I have some bad news on that,
Agent Mulder. Cellulars don't work here, radios don't even work
down in this hole over distances greater than a quarter mile.
Something about the mountains and the composition of the rock. I
can get you a tape recorder so you can make a tape and I'll see
that it's delivered to her tonight. That I can do. They didn't
think you were going to be down here so long so no one saw the need
for rigging up anything like communications."

      The disappointment irked, but her answer was not unexpected.
He had thought as much. His eyes were dark when he asked, "Why do
I think that there's more bad news."

      "Are you sure you're ready? You promise you won't get upset?
You aren't going to the same hospital as your friend. In fact she's
no longer at the hospital she was originally sent to. The night she
was brought in was very bad for her. Petersburg Memorial is just a
little place and, though they thought they could handle anything
she might come down with, they didn't want to take any chances. 

They sent her by ambulance to Johns Hopkins yesterday morning."

      Mulder felt the hash and muffin clashing in his stomach. Dana
was ill and he was not there for her. "Is she all right?" he asked
anxiously.

      "She will be. Reaction to the stress and some infection. There
were some deep cuts. She spiked a high fever, even higher than
yours, and she was a bit delirious. I know they are trying to keep
from her the fact that you are still down here. They don't need her
worrying about you on top of her other problems."

      "Can you arrange to have me taken to Hopkins?"

      To this her answer was definitive and in the negative. "No can
do. That's a political hot potato. Part of the payment I had to
deliver to keep your name out of the papers was 'you'. 'You'
delivered to the nearest local hospital that can deal effectively
with your injuries. Payment for all the 'S and R' group's hard
work." Le Chen saw the set of her patient's jaw and gave him her
best level stare, the one she saved for difficult patients. "Try to
be realistic. They could use the publicity, it will help their fund
raising immensely. It's the least you can do."
      

      Seeing in the physician's no nonsense glare much that reminded
him of Scully, Mulder sighed with resignation. He missed Scully
like a part of his soul was empty, as if part of himself was
physically drifting further and further away and beyond his grasp.
Discouraged, he pushed away the rest of the meal with his good
hand. Maybe a little agony would actually make him feel better.
"Bring on your weapons of torture, doctor." 

  

      A half hour later, while Mulder sailed the mental trade winds
on muscle relaxants and pain killers, Dr. Chen finished the
reduction of the dislocation and carefully immobilized the arm and
shoulder so as not to aggravate the partially healed collar bone.
Mulder didn't have any complaints. In fact, he barely knew she was
there. Now these were some GOOD drugs.

End of Book III, Chapter 8


=====================================================================
======

JUST THE TWO OF US: Book III  Fox and Dana (9/12)
By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer part 1/12. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty

Chapter 9

Storn Mountain
Sunday 11:30 am
December 23

      The next morning's gloomy light found Eli Jonas running
heavily along Storn Mountain Trail.  The presence of a four year
old girl-child clinging to his back didn't help. The child's mother
ran far more easily beside them. 


      "Come on, old man," the woman teased when he stopped for
breath. She teased but there was no humor. As always, he looked
upon the woman with a kind of awe seeing past her slender,
lankiness, her tangled mass of long, black hair, the formless
dress, man's sloppy coat and ancient, mud-encrusted shoes. She
looked like poor white trash out of some Hollywood production when,
in fact, she was Marjorie's twin. She just had better things to do
with her time than worry about appearances.  


      "We have to make it there before they set it off," she urged
him. Eli took a deep breath and staggered onward. He knew that all
too well.
                                  *********

      When the engineers were ready and set off their charges, the
witnessing throng on the hillside found the blast really rather
disappointing. Such a little explosion for all that fuss. Rolled
into a far corner, covered with practically a geodesic dome of
scaffolding made from very rigid plastic sheets, Agent Mulder was
as protected as they could make him. Prescott had wanted to assign
two rescue workers to remain, but to that the agent had forcefully
refused. If anything went wrong, he did not want to be responsible
for anyone else being hurt. It had not been comforting to have the
engineers agree so readily. 


      In the end Emmanuel was allowed to stay. Despite Skinner's
assurances, the man had been moping around, guilt ridden. Both
rescuer and 'victim' were given hard hats to wear and ear
protection which certainly helped to deaden the sound of the
explosion. Though minimal to those outside, it was painfully loud
inside the small enclosed space even with the protective gear.
Afterwards, Mulder's ears still rang for five minutes. By the time
his hearing returned to normal, they had the scaffolding off and
light was streaming in through a hole in the rock ceiling easily
large enough to accommodate his battered body.  


      Anticlimactic? Yes, but preferable to the alternative.

                                  *********

      From his vantage point higher on the mountain, Eli heard the
good-natured grumbling from the dispersing crowd. The sound from
the explosion had been little more than a pop to those watching
from the trail. 


      "Did you feel it?" asked Marjorie's ragged twin from below
him, in a voice not as nearly in control as he was accustomed to
hearing it. She sat cross-legged on a broad, flat stone, her arms
wrapped protectively around the daughter in her arms.

      Shaking a little himself, Eli took the child so that she could
rise. "How could I not. That was too close. If they'd picked any
other spot, we wouldn't have been able to hold it. I even thought
we had lost it for a moment there."

      The woman stared towards the new crack in the rock through
which the team was now lowering a full-sized Stokes. "He was not
meant to die here." The woman shuddered and reached for her child.
"Take me home now, Eli." 


                                  ********
Storn Mountain, West Virginia
Sunday noon
December 23, 1993

      The moment had come which Mulder had both longed for and
dreaded. Certainly with every bone and nerve ending he wanted out
of this hole, but the method they were going to have to use made
him cringe. He knew they had to strap him into a larger version of
the basket they had used for Scully which would then be pulled up
over the rock face with ropes and pulleys. That procedure was bad
enough, but as the team members prepared him, he could hear the
buzz of many, many voices up on the path above - too many people -
all of whom would be watching, and this made Mulder's stomach
crawl, or would have if he could still feel his stomach. When asked
if he was prone to motion sickness, he had reluctantly admitted
that he got seasick - occasionally - so now he was hazy on
dramamine as well as his normal painkillers. The team members joked
that it would not do for him to puke out his guts on national
television.
  

      That was the worst part of this bizarre situation. The entire
production crew of 'Rescue 911' was probably on hand. If Captain
Kirk himself showed up, Mulder would not be surprised. He had
protested loudly over this with Emmanuel and Dr. Chen, again
demanding his privacy. That is, he did until a hand written letter
arrived signed by Assistant Director W. Skinner. From the largest
of the gaps in the rocks above his head, Emmanuel had sailed the
note onto his lap folded into the shape of a paper airplane. The
letter formally informed Special Agent Fox Mulder that the moment
he had gone after Lester King with a gun he had been fully
reinstated and officially on duty ever since. If Agent Mulder
disagreed, then the FBI's health insurance provider would not be
responsible for many of his medical expenses. Furthermore, the A.D.
reminded his stubborn subordinate how important it was for public
and professional relations that the FBI show its gratitude in this
matter. The letter went on to conclude that, if Agent Mulder did
not want to be assigned to chase monsters through the sewers of New
Jersey, he had better cooperate.
 

      The letter had been signed almost thirty hours earlier. The
Assistant Director was clearly proficient at anticipating the
actions of at least certain of his agents.

      Gritting his teeth, Mulder closed his eyes and surrendered. He
just begged them to get this ordeal over with as soon as possible. 


      Coming up into the gloomy winter day, helplessly strapped in
the basket, was worse than an unsettling experience, it was
torture. To feel the straps coming down over his body was too
reminiscent of being bound to the chair in the dark, damp, cement
room in Colorado - so much so that the still tender spot on his
head throbbed in sympathy. Even hazy from the dramamine, the view
of the rolling land far below, rolling even more as the basket was
moved with jerky starts and stops up the mountain, made him dizzy.
He tried the experience sometimes with eyes open and sometimes with
eyes closed and both methods left him feeling equally horrible.
Mulder didn't care for heights but he could deal with them when he
had to and when he had some control of the situation, but this was
such a LONG way down and if a rope snapped he would be completely
powerless to do anything to save himself. Putting his life and his
sanity in the hands of others was not one of Fox Mulder's favorite
pastimes.

      And just when it seemed that the morning could not be any
worse, Mulder found himself blinking into glaring lights. The
camera crews had set up huge floods to brighten the winter morning
which was grey with snow-filled, low-hanging clouds. Every nerve in
his body screamed. To have to be conveyed up the slope in this
fashion was embarrassing enough, but all the people... staring,
prying. It was like so many times at school, at work, being the
center of their teasing, their taunts and snide insults. To
maintain the armor was hard enough under normal circumstances, but
the drugs made the armor soft. He could feel their eyes cutting
through his defenses like paper. And to be strapped in this cage...
it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut because he knew that
once open whatever came out would do nothing to improve either his
reputation or the FBI's image. 


      The Stokes finally righted, which significantly relieved his
acrophobia and dizziness, but not the anxiety, for suddenly there
seemed to be people, cameras and flash bulbs in his face no matter
which direction he turned his head. The panic was struggling to
rise from the deepest part of him and he was rapidly losing the
battle to keep it contained. Convinced that he would rather face a
dozen serial killers than this crowd, Mulder fought to control his
breathing which was coming far too quickly. One hope he held onto
though it all - that he would be unrecognizable as long as he wore
the dirt he had rubbed onto his face and the three days of beard he
had refused to shave.

      Suddenly, one voice cut through the others, ordering the
prying eyes away with firm, commanding tones. Just one person at
his side now, unfamiliar, yet familiar. A woman bending over him.
"I'm here, Fox," the voice whispered close to his ear. "It's all
right, it's Sheila. No one will hurt you. Hang in there and we'll
get through this media circus as soon as possible."

      Sheila? Mulder thought incredulously, blinking mentally
through the fog in his brain. The panic eased a little. He pushed
it down as he squinted into the lights towards her. What was she
doing here and what had she done to herself? 


      A man with a cordless hand mike and earphones, followed by
another man with a portable TV camera, boldly approached. "Mrs.
Parsons, how does your son look?"

      "Mister..." Sheila glanced pleasantly at the press ID clipped
to the man's lapel, "... Appleton. He looks wonderful. The best
Christmas present I could ask for." Mulder kept his face turned
away from the cameras, suppressing a lazy smile, but he could still
hear her voice plainly. He was impressed by her performance. "I do
want to take this opportunity to thank everyone involved in Mike's
rescue.  He would thank you himself but he's pretty heavily sedated
right now." 


      <Damned right, 'Mike' is,> Mulder thought, relaxing and
letting the drugs and the stretcher bearers float him up the path
towards where the promised helicopter would be waiting. They
thought she was his mother? She certainly was doing her best to
play the part. She had pulled her hair into a severe bun and wore
no make-up, just a shapeless coat to give the appearance of a woman
older than herself. Her performance was also succeeding in keeping
the attention off him. As the quartet of rescue workers carried the
Stokes toward the waiting copter, Mulder stretched out long fingers
on his right side, which was the only part of his body he could
move, and touched her hand which held onto the frame of the basket.

       Publicly, she ignored the gesture, but he heard a new
lightness enter her voice. "I know you'd like to hear his story,
but please, he has been though such a horrible last few days, we
all have, and it's Christmas. I think the best thing we can do for
all concerned, especially for all these wonderful rescue workers,
is to put this behind us now and get back to our families." 


      Unfortunately, the media wasn't buying it. In the end the
cameramen only backed off when their cameras were at risk from the
debris picked up by the wind from the copter blades. With the
reporters finally at a safe distance, Sheila bent down close to him
again. "So how are you doing, 'Son'?"

      "You are really enjoying this, aren't you," he murmured,
arching an eyebrow.

      "A small price to pay to help keep your name and much of your
face out of the media, which is what I'm told both you and the FBI
want." Her expression sobered. "I'm sorry your own mother isn't
here, Mulder," she whispered so only he could hear. "I tried to
call her, but she wouldn't come." Her lips, colorless from the cold
and lack of make up, pressed tightly together. "When this is all
over, I'm going to go up there and give that woman a piece of my -"

      "No!" Mulder said firmly. "Trust me on this, Sheila, please?
Let it go. There are parts of that story you don't know. She has
been through more than you can possibly imagine." Only then did he
remember Sheila's own history and wished he could take back that
last part. Sheila, however, did not seem offended as she smoothed
the blanket over his chest. Thought the set of her chin did
indicate that she clearly was not happy about letting the matter
drop. "As you wish."

      Meanwhile, Mulder was losing interest in the activity around
the helicopter. He just wanted out of there. He felt like a
papoose. He could not move and was becoming more than a little
claustrophobic. He rested his mind on the only topic which seemed
to be able to keep the panic from erupting. "Have you seen Scully?"
he asked, but at that moment the helicopter's engines exploded into
life, ripping the words from him to be blown away with the
windstorm. Someone covered his face to keep the dust off as they
carried him forward under the whirling blades where there was too
much noise for talking.

                                  ********
Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore
Sunday, noon
December 23, 1993                     



      Dana Scully sat bolt upright in bed, ignoring the pull of the
bandages around her aching ribs. "Mom! Oh, my God, Mom! It's
Mulder!"

      Startled, Margaret Scully glanced up from the romance novel
she was reading to stare in the direction of her daughter's gaze.
Dana had been lying back against the raised head of the hospital
bed trying to figure out Sunday morning programming, when the 'News
at Noon' came on. That was when she saw the live film clip of what
seemed to be a huge team of rescue workers pulling a man from a
crevice down a rocky mountain slope. 


      Margaret watched uneasily. "No, dear, you must have heard
wrong. They say this man's name is Parsons, Mike Parsons."

      Dana thought about using several of the words she had learned
from her Naval captain father but restrained herself, not that her
mother hadn't heard the words before. Margaret would just be
surprised to hear them from her youngest daughter. "'Mike Parsons?'
You'll have to do better than that, Mom. He looks scruffy as hell,
but I'd recognize that hair and those feet anywhere." She turned on
her mother, anger flushing her skin. "You told me he was okay," she
accused. "You told me that I couldn't talk to him because an ice
storm had brought down all of the phone lines in his area. I
thought that was pretty lame but... Mom, I trusted you. You're my
mother!" Though the news program had moved on, Dana stared back at
the screen, every frame already burned into her memory.

      "I didn't want to upset you. Fox is a big man and was not in
good shape. It took longer than they expected -"

      "Yes, but almost three DAYS longer," Dana snapped. Three days
in that hole, alone - all right, not alone, but with strangers,
almost as bad. For Mulder, worse then alone. But then, she
realized, she had been there a lot longer and with no assurance
that anyone would be coming to get her out. No, that was not right
either. She had known Mulder would come. She had paced the beat of
her heart on that. What she had told Mulder in the cave their one
night together had been the truth. 


      However, it was easier to bear one's own burden than to see
the ones you care about in distress, and the rescue scene she had
just witnessed... Dana shuddered in sympathy. Regardless of the
smoke screen a lot of people had helped throw up to maintain his
anonymity, he must have hated that. To be so vulnerable and have
all those people staring at him. Dana found herself reaching for
the stone he had given her. As much as she had handled it over the
last three days, most of the time in her sleep, it had actually
begun to smooth. Maybe in the years to come he would give her other
things - gifts as dear as the tiger, which surprisingly had
reappeared a day earlier along with her backpack - but none would
ever be as precious to her as this, because it was precious to him.

      Dana suddenly realized that something had been very wrong with
that broadcast in addition to Mulder being rescued days later than
either had expected. "Who was that woman?" she asked no one in
particular. "That wasn't Mulder's mother."

      "No, that was Sheila Charles," Margaret told her daughter
matter-of-factly. "She stopped by early this morning before you
woke up." Margaret Scully smiled, clearly remembering returning
from the hospital cafeteria to find a strange woman bending over
her sleeping daughter's bed. Immediately, every muscle had gone
into protective mode.

      "My goodness, she is beautiful, isn't she," were the woman's
first words. "I've never had skin like that, never. They are going
to have beautiful children."

      With those words Margaret Scully met Sheila Charles and knew
she had found a soul mate. 


      "Walt sent her to be with Fox," Maggie explained, "to keep off
the media hounds and generally do what family would do, if he had
a family who cared. I think she did a good job, don't you think
so?"

      Dana was not appeased. "Mom, you should have gone. You could
have left me. I'm fine. At least he knows you. That woman is a
stranger. Who is she, anyway? I can't see Skinner going out and
hiring a nurse? A locksmith or a bodyguard maybe - to keep Mulder
from getting into any more trouble - but not a nurse."

      Margaret's expression clearly showed she was surprised that
Dana didn't know. "She's not a stranger, at least not to Fox. She
and her husband are old friends of Walter's. Her husband is the
agent Fox went to work with in Colorado."

      Dana's eyes went wide. "That's why he never mentioned her. He
didn't remember any of that, not until after I disappeared."
Distantly, Dana recalled a comment Mulder had made about the wife
of the man who had given him the rock wanting to adopt him. It made
a weird Mulder-sense somehow.

      "It's too bad you were asleep. You would have liked her. We
hit it off very well. I think she enjoys mothering Fox as much as
I do. If neither of us can be there, she's the next best thing. If
I can read into what she hinted at this morning, she and her
husband had a lot to do with Fox being so much better now than
before you took your little trip."

      "Some little trip," a male voice said suddenly from the
doorway. 


      Dana greeted her large, blond visitor with open arms, even
though the arms were raised rather slowly. "Evan, where have you
been?" Keeping in mind not to stretch her ribs too much, she gave
him a gentle hug. "What happened to you? You stayed with me for
hours but when Mom showed up, you disappeared." 


      Evan glanced uncomfortably in Margaret Scully's direction.
Margaret pretended to go back to her book. "Dr. Byers and I have
had a little misunderstanding about his intentions," Maggie
explained not looking up.

      Dana frowned, puzzled. "Intentions?"
      

      Evan waved her concerns aside. "Don't worry about it. I think
we've cleared that up. Once I knew your mother was with you I went
back to Amanda's to let my feet heal a little more and go over some
herb lore with the locals." It was true, he had walked in with less
of a limp then when Dana has seen him last.

       "And just how much does 'Marjorie' know about herbs?" Dana
asked pointedly and was rewarded with a definite blush from Evan,
who with his fair complexion, blushed even more brightly than
Mulder. The attractive dark-haired woman had been waiting at the
hospital when the helicopter arrived in Petersburg and Dana had
seen her a couple of times after that before she was moved by
ambulance to Baltimore and Johns Hopkins. "I don't think she came
to the hospital to visit me," Dana noted.

      Evan's expression was priceless. A childlike guilt was clear
on his broad face. "I thought you were too sick to notice." 


      "Not that sick. Besides, I have my spies." Dana cast a glance
at her mother.

      Evan knew he might as well let Dana in on how things stood up
front. It all would come out soon anyway. "As a matter of fact,
Marjorie has a Masters in horticulture from Blacksburg and was
taught about the medicinal value of the local plants from both of
her grandmothers."

      "And?" Dana prompted.

      Evan shifted, uncomfortably. "And she is very beautiful and
very - ah - skillful." Now he was really blushing. 


      Margaret took that moment to rise with her book and make a
hasty retreat under the pretence of going to get a cup of coffee.
<Definitely,> Margaret Scully thought with regret, <I was
definitely born in the wrong generation."

      Dana watched her mother go with a grateful gleam in her eye,
then she returned to Evan and pretended to be shocked. "Evan, I
seem to remember your proposing to me only ten days ago."

      He leveled his gaze at her. "Come on, you knew I wasn't
serious."

      The tilt of Dana's red head indicated betrayal, a touch of
lingering anger. "I was so upset that night by the way Mulder had
acted on our little assignment with Johnson, that for a while I
actually believed you meant it."

      "Were you tempted?" Evan asked, sitting on the edge of her
bed, a twinkle in his eye. "Just a little?"

      "If I was," she said enigmatically, "you'll never know. Once
I figured out what you were doing and why, I was angry you would
think such a crude stunt like that would work."

      "It did, didn't it?" he asked, just as seriously. "Made you
stop and think what life would be without Mulder - without Mulder
the way he used to be - and that his sanity was worth fighting for
even if there was a chance that you would lose his friendship."
Evan bent and kissed her gently on the forehead and then looked
fondly into her eyes. "No, I never really expected you would accept
- though if you had said yes I would have done the honorable thing
and married you." His eyes traveled over the hospital room." And if
that little act initiated all this, I'm sorry. I guess I overdid
it, and for that I apologize. Psychology, obviously, is not MY
strong suit." 


      "Not your fault," Dana told him. "Mulder and I came to realize
a long time ago that Fate has it in for us. Maybe someday our luck
will change."

      Evan smiled. "If I know you two, you'll make it change." He
patted her hand. "Now I should go before your mother throws me out.
We've totally confused her, I'm sure. Besides, I have a date with
Dr. Adams tonight." He no longer smiled. "She asked ME a week ago.
Wants to know where I've been keeping myself."

      Dana gave him a wink. "And what will you tell her? And, if I
may ask, where WILL you be keeping yourself in the future?"

      Evan picked up his coat and, a little lost, stood in the
middle of the room. "Barbara Adams is a wonderful person, but I'm
not needed in her life, in her world." He looked at Dana wistfully,
"Do you have any idea how badly rural counties need doctors?"

      Dana's mouth dropped open. "You're going to go back and finish
your Family Medicine residency! You're going to move back there -
to Deacon's Chapel - aren't you?"

      "You certainly infer a lot from a little bit of information."

      Dana smiled that smile of hers, but with a wicked turn to it.
"That IS my job."

      "And you do it so well, too," he admitted putting on his coat.
"I can keep working on pharmacology there. Work with the locals.
Maybe find a new wonder drug, a cure for cancer, who knows? Maybe
just find a place where I belong."

      Dana leaned back against her pillows. "I think you already
have," she whispered.

      Evan suddenly took two long strides and enveloped her in his
strong, gentle arms. "I'll always be a little in love with you, Dr.
Dana, but not in the way Fox thinks. You take care of yourself, and
try to keep HIM out of the hospital."

      "Lord knows, I try."

      "As for me, I'll keep in touch and let you know where I am. If
either of you ever needs me, I'll be there." He released her
carefully and headed for the door. "And if you ever have need of a
little honeymoon suite, there's this little Bed and Breakfast I
know you would just love."

      Dana pressed her lips together, a shadow passing across her
face as she remembered a certain man's hesitation, his stubborn
walls and high towers. "That will be long time coming - if ever."

      "But every journey begins with the first step.  After you were
taken away, when he asked me to take care of you for him, I heard
something in Fox's voice. Have you two taken that first step?"

      It was Dana's turn to blush, remembering that second kiss and
the smell of him, the sense of his presence so very close. "It's
possible, Evan." The sensations were suddenly there where they
could not be, the scent of wool and the touch of his warm breath on
her cold skin.

      Evan had his hand on the door before he turned one final time.
"By the way, Dana," his blue eyes were sincere, "he's a keeper. A
project worthy of your attention no matter how long it takes."

      Dana gave her new friend one of her famous slow smiles. "I
think so. And it means a lot to me that you do, too."
      

      At that moment Maggie bustled back into the room. "Out," she
said with a shooing motion. "Dana needs her rest if we are going to
convince the doctors to let her out early tomorrow."

      Evan dutifully disappeared with a wave as Dana groaned. "Oh,
Mom, I'm tired of sleeping. Tell me more about this Sheila."

      Maggie sat down on the chair beside her daughter's bed. "If
you get back under those covers, I'll tell you a bedtime story
which I think will interest you. It's a little strange - well, Fox
is involved, peripherally at the end, so what can you expect. It's
sad and sort of sweet. And later, if you are good, I have a
surprise for you."

                                  ********

      "Scully, if you're listening to this tape you know that the
good news is that they just pulled me out of that rock pile and
that they didn't drop my useless body down the mountain. The bad
news you probably already know - that they aren't sending me to
Baltimore, so I won't be able to irritate the nurses by forcing
them to chase me out of your room every time you have to use a bed
pan or they want to give you a sponge bath.
 

      "Remember those weeks of isolation after our last trip to the
woods? I kept offering to give you a sponge bath, but for some
reason they - and you - kept refusing my generous offer of
assistance."

      "By now your mother has probably told you that I came down
with a touch of pneumonia. Don't worry, that's largely cleared up
now. I had my own doctor, who, by the way, you would make two of.
I think Skinner played a part in finding her. Despite the fact that
she's second generation Chinese, is less than four and a half feet
tall and weighs about fifty pounds, she reminds me of you in a lot
of ways - won't let me get away with a thing. That can be good or
bad depending upon whether or not you're on the receiving end. She
fixed my arm. My shoulder is back where it ought to be. Now, if
only the muscles and ligaments would get together and recognize
that fact."

      There was a pause at that part of the tape, a small crackle,
as if Mulder had turned the recorder off and was considering what
to say next. When it began again his voice was both softer and, at
the same time, rougher, than before. "I can't say much here. As you
know, it's not really private. Not since my first night, anyway. If
they spring you before me, don't try to make it out here. For one,
they predict snow, for two, by the time you listen to this, I won't
be 'here' any longer. 'Here' will be some local place which, they
promise me, does not keep their bedpans in the refrigerator and
where they sharpen their needles at least twice a month." 


      "Take care of yourself and stay safe until I can make it to
you and don't spend all your time worrying about me. Concentrate on
getting well... Be assured, I hear your voice in my ear and I'm
trying to do what they tell me. I only grumble about having to take
their drugs and their sleeping pills and their vitamin pills about
half the time..." Another pause. "I really hate being helpless like
this, but you know that. You know everything." 

      

      

      Dana adjusted the ear phones of the little tape player her
mother had bought in the gift shop as she listened to Mulder's
message for probably the tenth time, enjoying the unexpected
tingling in her body. This was the surprise her mother had
promised. This tape, which Mulder had made the day after he had
come up from the painkillers Chen had given him to align his arm,
had been couriered by state trouper to Skinner in Washington, who
had given it to Sheila when he met her incoming flight at the
Baltimore-Washington airport, who had given it to Margaret early
that morning making Margaret promise, as per Mulder's instructions,
not to give it to her daughter until they were certain he had
gotten out safely.

      As she listened to the all too familiar hospital sounds and to
the occasional turning of the pages in her mother's book, Dana
stared out the window, watching the twilight settle over the snow-
dusted city. Somewhere out there was Mulder, in a different
hospital, this one miles and miles away. By now he would be
finished with all the preliminary tests and examinations. She could
just see him grumbling at the doctors and nurses. They would have
x-rays taken of the broken collarbone, his ankle, and now his
lungs, too. Someone would order an MRI to examine the soft tissue
damage in the separated shoulder. Though part of it she knew was
play-acting, he had not looked too good on the news tape. They
would pump him full of more chemicals which would make him nauseous
and grumpy.  


      Dana was relieved that he had someone with him, though she
missed with a deep pain not being the one sitting by his bedside
and trying to cajole him out of his moodiness. It was unusual for
both of them to be injured at the same time and yet not be
recovering at the same place. Her mother's story about Sheila had
been, as she had promised, bittersweet. The two must have talked a
considerable time for Margaret to learn so much of the woman's
tragic early life and of her years in New York with Skinner and
with Richard Charles, the man who became her husband - and later
Mulder's friend. 


      Mulder's friend... like Evan, what a concept.  Dana hoped she
would have the opportunity to get to meet the woman herself
sometime, sometime when she was not zoned out as she had been that
morning.
 

      More than anything else at that moment Dana wanted to call
Mulder. She longed to hear his voice say other things besides those
which were on the tape. She had tried twice. The first time she had
been told that no one under that name had been assigned a room yet,
the second time that no one by that name had even been admitted,
but they would take a message anyway, which was certainly odd. Then
Dana realized that the Mike Parsons scheme might be working against
them now. To keep up the fiction Mulder probably had not been
registered under his own name and the hospital would certainly not
accept calls for a patient under his assumed one.

      Feeling powerless always put Dana in a bad mood. This was one
of her worst. She beat a fist into the mattress then stopped and
tried to reason with herself. After what they had been through
these last eight weeks, a phone call would be pretty inadequate
anyway. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She was going to get out and
she knew that if at all possible the hospital would throw Mulder
out, too. Hospitals did not like to keep patients in house over
Christmas. The patients did not care for it and neither did the
staff. Definitely, a Grinch of a Mulder would not be a welcome
addition to any nurse's holiday.

      If they did not let him out, Dana was determined to spend
Christmas at his side, no matter what her mother said about family,
even if she had to drive herself back to West Virginia in a snow
storm. Mulder was her family as much as any other and needed her
more. But chances were they would let him out, too. Feeling like
hell, but out. In that case Dana wanted to do something really
special for him. For him and with him. But what?

      Something like one of those light bulbs they show in old
cartoons went off in Dana's head. A spark of an idea, rapidly
working itself up into a flame. The flare of excitement began in
her brain and made its way over her body. Thinking about the Grinch
had given her an idea. A perfectly wonderful, awful idea.

      Dana wondered if she could convince the doctors to release her
tonight. After all, there was so much to do. Sitting up, far too
quickly, she pulled the tender ribs which made her wince. <Reality
check time, Dana.> "Mom," she began, her eyes glowing in
conspiratorial glee, "I'm going to need your help with this one." 




End of Book III, Chapter 9


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