Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Shortly after sunup Gini shouldered her pack and began hiking 
south, following A-Chi Stream exactly as she had done the 
previous day. The land was flatter and more open here than to 
the north. Tall shagbark hickories lined both banks, their 
broad, woolly leaves fluttered in the morning breeze, 
filtering the sunrise and casting lively shadows on the water. 
The air tickled like butterfly wings against her bare legs and 
arms. It carried the honey-sweet scent of nectar from the 
profusion of lilies that were growing around the trees' 
gnarled trunks. She plucked several blossoms, staining her 
fingers orange-yellow with pollen. Popping the flowers whole 
into her mouth, she ate while she walked. The sweet-tasting 
buds, dripping with dew, appeased her growling belly and made 
a fine breakfast.

She traveled a considerable distance, listening to the trill 
of vireos and trying to spot the shy birds, before it struck 
her that she had not seen a single footprint in the moist, 
lowland soil since starting out.

Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's unusual footwear left distinctive, 
easy-to-spot impressions, yet there were none here. And now 
that she was looking more closely, she saw no other signs of 
her friends' passing either, no crushed vegetation, no broken 
twigs.
 
Could they be traveling in the stream itself?

The water ran deep and muddy, channeled between sloped banks 
rough with greenbriers and supplejacks. Boulders the size of 
mastodon skulls cluttered the sluggish stream. Walking around 
them would be cumbersome, impossible in some places. It seemed 
unlikely anyone would choose to travel there instead of on the 
bank. 

Dread crept up Gini's spine like a spider in the dark, 
bringing her to a stop. 

Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had not come this way, she realized.

But which way had they gone? And at what point had they 
decided to turn away from the stream?

Worry tightened her chest as she tried to remember when and 
where she'd last seen their tracks. 

Late yesterday evening, she recalled, on the northern border 
of the swamp. Muhl-dar's familiar prints, pressed deeply into 
the mud, and Day-nuh's smaller, shallower tracks had led her 
directly into the murky water. She assumed they would continue 
across to higher land, where the swamp narrowed once again 
into a south-flowing brook. After all, who would leave behind 
a source of fresh water when they carried no waterbag?

And yet, for whatever reason, Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had veered 
away.

Dismayed, Gini turned around. She would need to backtrack 
until she picked up their trail again. Focusing her eyes on 
the ground, she trudged along slowly, paying close attention 
while searching for the smallest sign of their passing.

Her own tracks remained clearly visible in the loamy soil and 
she followed them all the way to the shagbark where she'd 
spent the previous night. Despite her vigilance, she found no 
evidence of the others.

It was then she remembered hearing wolves howl while she sat 
in the tree waiting for sleep to claim her. Wolves could have 
chased Muhl-dar and Day-nuh off their course. Bees started 
buzzing in her stomach at the idea, and for a moment she 
thought she might lose her breakfast.

She decided to cross the swamp again, return the way she'd 
come and locate the tracks she'd seen yesterday. Then she 
would try to follow Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's new trail. 

Not an accomplished tracker, Gini worried she might miss a 
shallow print or mistake a deer trail for a human path. 
Although she had sometimes listened to Dzeh and the other 
clansmen describe their hunting strategies and cunning as they 
sat around the hearth, she knew that listening was not doing. 
Even experienced hunters often returned to camp without meat, 
having lost the trail of their quarry.

The sun was already halfway up in the sky; Muhl-dar and Day-
nuh had a lengthy head start. If Gini failed to find their 
route soon, she would fall too far behind to ever catch them.

Then what would she do?

Legs quaking and heart pounding, she headed into the swamp 
once more.

*   *   *

"Which way now?" Scully asked. Dwarfed by a forest of ghostly 
birches and standing knee-deep in ferns, she waited for Mulder 
to make up his mind. 

He swiveled, a chevron of indecision marring his brow. Finally 
he speared the air with an outstretched arm. "That way..." -- 
his finger meandered northwest -- "I think."

"I was about to say the opposite." She squinted into the 
morning sun. "Weren't we heading west last night?"

"Were we?" He let his arm drop.

"Mulder, I'm thirsty."

"So am I."

"We should have stayed with the stream."

"Scully, it was a swamp."

She licked dry lips, feeling exhausted and hungry and sick to 
death of being in the Pleistocene. "At least it was wet." 

"And full of saber-too--" His jaws suddenly clamped shut. He 
shouldered past her and started hiking downhill. "Fine, we'll 
head east." 

She stood her ground for a moment while his words sunk in. 
"Hey, wait! What were you going to say?" Her voice rattled in 
her chest as she jogged after him.

"Nothing."

"No, you said something about saber-toothed tigers."

He quickened his pace. 

Her ankle throbbed from her unhealed sprain and she 
immediately began to fall behind. 

"Mulder, slow down!"

He took three more long strides before he did as she asked. 
Coming to a stop, he straightened his shoulders and turned to 
face her. "I saw cat tracks. Big cat tracks," he admitted.

"Where?" She caught up to him, breathless and limping.

"In the swamp. Last night."

"You didn't think it was worth mentioning at the time?" 

"I didn't see the point."

"The point--" She struggled to control her temper. Sometimes 
he could be so infuriating, the way he danced around the 
truth, thinking he was protecting her by keeping things to 
himself. Well, she didn't need his coddling. "The point is we 
should be honest with each other."

"That's interesting, consid--" Again he stopped himself mid-
sentence. 

"See? You're doing it right now."

"Doing what?"

"Treating me like a child, which I find insulting -- and 
unjustified -- after all we've been through." Her anger came 
spilling out. "When will we be equals, Mulder? When will you 
be comfortable sharing the truth with me? What exactly does it 
take to earn your trust?"

He stepped closer and loomed over her. When he spoke it was 
through clenched teeth. "Isn't that a bit hypocritical? Tell 
me you aren't keeping a few secrets of your own."

There was no denying she censored her thoughts...a lot. 
Whether she did it more or less often than he did was 
irrelevant. They were both liars-by-omission. 

Ten thousand years from home with no one to depend upon but 
each other and here they were, still letting the worst of 
their old habits drive a wedge of misunderstanding between 
them. For God's sake, what benefit was there to perpetuating 
these foolish secrets and half-truths?  

She looked up at his bruised face, his swollen eye and split 
lip. Dried blood clung to his hair; fatigue lined his brow.

It was time for a change. 

She steadied her voice and asked, "What do you want to know?"

Her question clearly took him by surprise. He must have been 
expecting her to continue their argument, not capitulate, and 
it took him a moment to mentally switch gears.

"Go ahead," she prompted. "Ask me anything. I promise to 
answer truthfully."

Nodding his head, he said, "Okay, I want to know what happened 
between you and Dzeh." Suddenly his nod changed to a vehement 
shake. "No, I don't. Forget it."

He spun around and began walking east again, although with 
less urgency than before.

She hobbled after him, wondering if he really did or didn't 
want to hear about Dzeh. And if he did, could she bring 
herself to tell him? She'd just promised to answer his 
questions truthfully, whatever he wanted to ask, and she'd 
meant it. But then she hadn't expected him to ask about Dzeh. 

Neither of them said a word for the next several minutes. They 
mutely wound their way downhill around stands of prickly 
vegetation and in between saplings as dense as prison bars. 
Mulder paused to hold a brier out of her way, face set in 
angry despair, reminding her of a line from a poem: "Life is a 
quest and love a quarrel." Damn Millay...her poetry often left 
a sting, like a slap. It was no wonder she preferred science 
to literature. Hard facts were dispassionate and predictable. 
Love, on the other hand, was too damn personal and confusing.

Did Mulder *really* want to know what happened between her and 
Dzeh? 

She decided to find out. "He didn't kiss me."

"I said forget it. I don't want to know." His hands curled 
into fists and his strides lengthened. He dodged a thatch of 
brambles.

"Then why did you ask?"

Ignoring her question he said, "Just look for the stream, will 
you?"

They were heading downhill through thickets and shadows. The 
stream was nowhere in sight.

"It only lasted a few minutes," she said, returning to the 
subject of Dzeh. If he wanted the truth, then he'd get it.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking confused. "What?"

"Dzeh...the, uh...thing. The swap."

Revulsion darkened his eyes. "I don't care."

"He didn't hurt me...or at least he never meant to hurt me. He 
was gentle."

"I said I don't care." 

"I think you do."

"Scully, please, don't do this." He stopped walking to pin her 
with a sad stare.

"Didn't you want us to be honest?"

"No, that's what you wanted." 

She blinked up at him, perplexed. Was he saying he preferred 
secrets and wounded feelings over the truth? 

Too bad, Mulder. Enough of this pretense and deceit. Being 
honest had to be better than the status quo.

She opened her mouth, prepared to meet his growing ire and 
tell him every distasteful detail, but he cut her off before 
she could begin. 

"Don't, Scully. Don't say something we'll both regret." Eyes 
bright with tears, he looked uncharacteristically frightened. 

His show of panic brought her up short and she paused for a 
moment to examine her motives before risking their 
relationship. In many ways it would be a relief to confide in 
him, to liberate her unease. But how would her release help 
him? 

He'd been beaten within an inch of his life only yesterday and 
it wouldn't benefit him in any way to suffer the additional 
torture of listening to her confessions.  

"You're right. I'm being selfish."

"I didn't say that."

"No, I said it."

He combed his fingers through his hair, obviously conflicted. 
It was his turn to capitulate.

"Uh...he really didn't hurt you?"

"No."

He turned to gaze at the forest, presenting a weary profile. 
His next words sounded thin and forlorn, and she had to strain 
to hear him when he asked, "What did he do?"

Although his eyes were focused on the tree branches, she knew 
he was giving her his full attention.

"He treated the whole thing in a very business-like way. It 
was as if he had a job to do--"

"A job?" Disbelief flared Mulder's nostrils as his eyes once 
again met hers. "I doubt he felt that way. How can a man make 
love to a woman and not feel--" His voice cracked and, Adam's 
apple bobbing, he cleared his throat. "Can we please not talk 
about this?"

His question aroused unwelcome suspicions. Had he felt 
something for Klizzie? Simple lust? Or worse: attraction, 
pleasure and gratification? She had experienced none of these. 
And from the way Dzeh had behaved toward her he hadn't seemed 
to either.

"Are you saying you enjoyed yourself with Klizzie?"

"No, I'm not saying that. No." The urge to argue appeared to 
leach out of him.

"Then what did you feel?" she asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?" 

"You were the one who wanted to play true confessions, not 
me."

"And you're the one who touts the truth as some sort of Holy 
Grail."

"The *truth*..." He paused to fill his lungs, as if preparing 
for battle. "The truth is I didn't want to participate in that 
repulsive custom in the first place, but you already know 
that, so why are we having this conversation?"

They were having this conversation because she wanted to hear 
him say that he loved her, that he found her more attractive 
than Klizzie, or any woman, that he intended to devote the 
rest of his life to her. 

But then, maybe none of those things were true.

Maybe he had enjoyed being with Klizzie more than he was 
admitting.Resentment, alarm, and distrust coursed through her 
veins, singeing her cheeks and turning her bones rubbery. She 
realized she was jealous. Crazy insane jealous and she hated 
the feeling. It was irrational. It made her feel vulnerable 
and powerless, and she'd already had her fill of feeling 
powerless. 

She decided it might be best to keep some secrets after 
all...like her suspicions about Mulder and Klizzie. 

"Fine, this conversation is over."

Eyes stinging with tears and heart pinched with doubt she 
elbowed past him. They'd lost their way in more ways than one, 
it seemed, and now they were stumbling blindly toward nothing 
at all. 

*   *   *

Dzeh led the search party, wanting to be where the view was 
unobstructed and odors unsullied by the passage of his 
companions, where sounds were not muddled by their panting 
breaths and thudding footfalls. His senses were primed for 
this hunt and even after a full morning of strenuous travel he 
remained fully alert.

He slogged through the lowland cedar forest, dodging puddles 
and bog plants, following the murky course of A-Chi Stream. 
The sodden ground held tracks: Muhl-dar's, Day-nuh's and 
Gini's.

Anger burned in his throat at the thought of his sister with 
the strangers. Muhl-dar had robbed him not once, but twice, 
first taking the spiritual offering and then kidnapping Gini. 
Only the lowest sort of villain would accept a man's 
hospitality and then steal a helpless girl-child from his 
hearth.

It sickened Dzeh to consider what despicable acts Muhl-dar 
might inflict on little Gini. Would he force her to lay with 
him on his sleeping skins? The girl was too young to be 
mounted by a mature man; such a mating would be excruciating. 

Silently he begged the Spirits to protect his young sister 
from the evil stranger, to keep her safe until he could rescue 
her.

Perhaps he was already too late. It was possible Muhl-dar had 
claimed his sister's innocence last night, back on the bank 
where the hunters had first encountered the strangers' odd 
tracks. There had been blood beside the prints, and he feared 
it was Gini's maiden blood.

Vengeance ignited his temper and he lengthened his strides. 
There was no doubt Muhl-dar was a fearsome opponent. But he 
was without his powerful thunderclap weapon -- he had left it 
in his hut back at the camp -- and he was no storm-conjuring 
god either; Dzeh had seen his blood run as freely and dark as 
any man's when struck by stone. He could be defeated. And Dzeh 
longed to be the man who choked the last despicable breath 
from his throat.

"Dzeh! Wait!" Wol-la-chee shouted from behind him. 

He turned to find his cousin pacing in a circle, eyes aimed at 
the ground, while the others stood by and watched. 

Pointing a finger, Wol-la-chee squatted and said, "There is 
something here you should see."

Dzeh backtracked to kneel beside him. 

There at their feet, Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's prints pocked the 
muddy soil beside those of a large cat.

"Saber-tooth," Lin said, identifying the paw prints.

"The strangers traveled west from here," Wol-la-chee said. 
"Their tracks head upland, away from the stream."

"But Gini...?" Dzeh turned to scrutinize the tracks to the 
south. "Why would they let her go?"

"Maybe the cat surprised them?" Chal suggested. 

A saber-tooth cat was a serious threat. It might have hidden 
in the swamp to ambush its unsuspecting prey, scattering them 
when it attacked. Had it claimed a victim? Fear stung the back 
of Dzeh's throat. A cat would go after the most 
vulnerable...the smallest...

"Which way now?" asked Wol-la-chee. "Should we follow Gini or 
go after the strangers?"

Dzeh stood and looked first in one direction and then the 
other.

"We will split up," he said. 

*   *   *

Gini hunkered down, submerging herself up to her neck in swamp 
water when she heard the voice of her brother. Trying to make 
no noise, she peered through the cover of loosestrife to 
locate him.

She spotted him with three others: Uncle Lin, Wol-la-chee and 
that awful boy Chal. They were standing only a stone's throw 
away, talking in low tones. 

They hadn't noticed her...yet.

While they talked, she concentrated on stilling the shivering 
in her legs. The black water was frightfully cold. She bit her 
lower lip to prevent her teeth from chattering and possibly 
alerting them to her presence. It seemed each breath she took 
roared like a storm. Couldn't they hear it? Couldn't they hear 
the frantic drumming of her heart?

Lin jabbed the air, pointing west where the ground sloped 
upward into a dense evergreen forest. Dzeh pointed south and 
then suddenly turned to face her. She remained motionless, 
certain he would spot her among the yellow weeds.

But his gaze fell away when he stubbornly shook his head in 
response to something Lin was suggesting.

"No! *You* look for Gini," he said, his voice carrying to her. 
"*I* want Muhl-dar. It is my right!"

Murmurs from Lin and the others were followed by more 
arguments from Dzeh. 

They were splitting up! Oh, no! Dzeh and Lin were heading west 
after Muhl-dar and Day-nuh. Wol-la-chee and Chal were coming 
south, presumably for her. Now what would she do? 

As Wol-la-chee and the boy waded toward her, she held her 
breath and sank beneath the water's surface. She curled over 
her knees and listened to their splashing steps -- deep, thick 
sounds echoing through the cold, murky water. The men stirred 
the mud, blinding her. Their passing caused bog plants to 
churn around her. She felt the slimy tickle of leaves across 
her face. Her lungs soon ached for fresh air, but she didn't 
dare rise. Not yet...not yet. She had to let them pass her by 
and get beyond earshot. She knew they were sharp-eared and 
keen of eye, skilled at spotting their quarry in the densest 
forest. The slightest noise or movement would alert them. She 
*must* wait. She prayed to the Spirits to help her hold her 
breath just a little longer so she might evade detection.

But then what? Which way should she go? If she tried to follow 
Muhl-dar and Day-nuh, Dzeh and Lin would be ahead of her. Yet 
it was pointless to continue south. Wol-la-chee and Chal would 
soon discover she had backtracked and they were sure to do the 
same. She couldn't hide in the swamp forever and she certainly 
was not going to return to Turkey Lake.

Her chest felt ready to burst. The desire to breathe was 
nearly overwhelming. Were Wol-la-chee and Chal gone? 

Finally, she could wait no longer. She lifted her head, just 
enough to release her breath and take in a quiet gasp of fresh 
air.

Slowly, silently, she turned to see if they were out of sight.

Thank the Spirits! They were gone. 

Quaking from cold and fear, she rose on unsteady legs and 
headed west, deciding to follow Dzeh and Lin. If nothing else, 
maybe she would be able to intervene on Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's 
behalf when Dzeh caught up with them.

*   *   *

Begin with a few simple, non-threatening questions, Mulder 
told himself. Start small, that's the key. 

"Sssssoooo...what's your favorite color, Scully?" he asked. 
Four hours of silence had begun to wear on his nerves. 

They'd left the wooded hills behind and were now wading 
through a sea of ripening wheat-like plants, two specks of 
humanity on a vast, open prairie, seemingly alone in the world 
and as insignificant as insects. Their passing embossed twin 
trails, wavering and transient, into the waist-high grass. In 
the distance, a row of hazy mountain peaks studded the 
horizon. Overhead, the empty sky looked close enough to touch.

"My favorite color?" Incredulity pinched Scully's brows. "How 
is that relevant to anything?"

It wasn't really, but at least it had prompted her to break 
her icy silence. 

"Uh...I was just realizing how little we really know about 
each other."

"You were just realizing that?"

"Well, no...I mean, I've thought about it before...of course." 
He tried to laugh but it came out sounding unconvincing and a 
little pathetic. "I mean, we've been working together now for, 
what...five years?" -- five years, three months and twenty-one 
days -- "and we don't know some of the most important things 
about each other."

"My favorite color is not one of the most important things 
about me."

She was still pissed and he was floundering. 

"Uh, okay, not important, necessarily, but basic, which is 
actually quite important by virtue of its very basic-ness..." 
Basic-ness? Was that a word? Shit, he was sounding like an 
idiot. He corrected himself. "By virtue of its basic nature. 
The core of who we are, really, the building blocks to our 
personality. Things that define our character."

God, he was babbling, when what he really wanted to do was end 
their bickering and make up for his abysmal behavior earlier 
in the day. Scully had sucker-punched him with her questions 
about Klizzie, and, caught off guard, he hadn't thought to 
duck and cover, but had struck back instead. Now he felt 
ashamed because she hadn't deserved his ire. Just the 
opposite. She'd sacrificed herself to Dzeh to save his ass, 
and he hadn't reciprocated. He owed her more than an 
explanation; he owed her an apology. 

Too bad he didn't have the cojones to own up to his miserable 
cowardice. 

"Loden," she said at last. "My favorite color is loden. What 
does that say about me?"

Loden? Whose favorite color was loden? And what the hell color 
was that exactly?

"Um, I'd say it defines you as...as..."

"As...?"

"Your own person?" He plucked a lithe stalk from the field and 
tickled her ear with its bobbing seed-head. "Ask me my 
favorite color." 

She batted away his attempt to smooth things over. Again they 
fell into an uncomfortable silence. Evidently she wasn't 
willing to forgive and forget.

His guilt was growing exponentially, threatening to choke him.

He wanted to apologize and tell her the truth, he really did, 
but he couldn't figure out a way to do it that wouldn't end up 
making her feel even worse. 

I'm sorry you gave yourself to a Cro-Magnon, Scully, and, oh 
by the way, did I mention I didn't go the distance myself?

Fuck.

It was bad enough he'd negated her sacrifice by getting them 
kicked out of the tribe over that damn idol. Add to that the 
fact he'd dodged the mate swap and, no matter how he phrased 
it, she was going to be hurt.

He didn't know what to do. He'd really messed up this time. If 
he lived ten thousand years he wouldn't forgive himself for 
allowing that goddamn wife swap. What had he been thinking? 
How had he let himself be convinced it would work out okay? 
Jesus Christ, the choice to turn tail and run seemed so 
obvious now, but at the time...

No, even at the time, he hadn't felt right about it. He'd 
hated it. And now he hated himself for letting it happen. He'd 
allowed another man to make love to Scully. Jesus fucking 
Christ.

To add insult to injury, now he was refusing her the 
opportunity to talk out her experience. As a psychologist, he 
knew how necessary it was for her to express her feelings 
about what happened. He should be encouraging her to open up, 
not closing her off.

If only there was some way he could listen to her side without 
having to tell his. 

She walked beside him, shoulders slumped, hands skimming the 
tops of the wheat plants. Unexpectedly she looked up at him 
and asked, "Okay...what's your favorite color?"

Whether she really wanted to know or not was beside the point. 
She was opening the door of communication and he was grateful. 
"Uh...yellow."

She frowned in disbelief. "Yellow?"

"What, you don't think I have a sunny personality?"

"You want an honest answer?"

He supposed not. Poking his stalk of wheat between his teeth, 
he chewed while he explained, "Yellow is one of the few colors 
I seem to see the same as everyone else." He was constantly 
confusing red with green. Blue was pretty easy to distinguish, 
as long as it wasn't what other people called violet or aqua. 
He glanced at her and wondered how others saw her red hair or 
blue eyes. "Then again, how do I *know* I'm seeing color the 
same way someone else sees it? I mean...isn't it possible 
everyone's perception is unique?"

Her stern expression relaxed as she considered his question. 
Although his meaning had intentionally gone beyond the subject 
of colorblindness, he expected her to give him a scientific 
explanation of rods and cones and visual acuity. Instead she 
surprised him by saying "I don't think we can ever truly know 
another person's experience."

Should that stop him from trying? 

Start small, he reminded himself. 

"Favorite holiday?" he challenged.

It was entirely possible she saw his game for what it was. For 
the time being, she seemed willing to play along.
"Christmas, when Dad was home and the whole family was 
together," she said. "Mom had this beautiful creche that used 
to belong to my grandmother. She'd set it up beside the tree, 
while we kids hung the ornaments. Dad watched from his 
favorite chair. He'd wait until we were finished before he'd 
stand to inspect our work. If it passed muster, which it 
always did, he'd place the star on the top of the tree, like 
some sort of Medal of Honor. He always looked so proud of his 
family at that moment."

"Sounds nice."

"It was." A smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

He wondered what specific memory was causing her contented 
look. "What are you thinking?" he asked, mirroring her smile.

"Oh, I was just remembering the way Melissa used to get mad at 
me every Christmas Eve."

"So there was a flaw in this Norman Rockwell holiday of 
yours?"

She nodded. "Missy was a peeker."

"A peeker?"

"Mm, we'd sneak downstairs after Mom and Dad went to bed and 
she would shake the presents, try to peek beneath the gift 
wrap, that sort of thing. I was more restrained."

"What a surprise."

"Hey, I'm proud of the fact I could look without touching."

"No wonder it took you five years to jump my bones." He dodged 
a playful slap. "You *never* peeked, Scully? Not once?"

"No, of course not. Did you?"

"Well, yeah...I thought everyone peeked."

She snatched the stalk from his mouth and, smiling wider, 
stuck it between her own teeth. He was struck by the intimacy 
of this gesture and took it as absolution for his hurtful 
behavior earlier in the day.

"Missy always tried to talk me into giving her hints about the 
gifts I'd gotten her, promising to tell me what she'd gotten 
me in return," she said through clenched teeth. The seed-head 
bobbled on the end of its long stem as she spoke. "I told her 
'loose lips sink ships,' which just made her madder. It drove 
her crazy that I could keep a secret when she--" Her smile 
suddenly vanished and she grimaced, offering him a penitent 
shrug.  

He wasn't about to surrender their hard won geniality over the 
casual mention of secrets. "My favorite holiday was Flag Day."

"Mulder, Flag Day isn't a holiday."

"Tell that to my Great Aunt Emily. She used to babysit me 
before Sam was born. She'd come over from New Bedford, take me 
to Menemsha Pond to play on the beach, build sandcastles and 
stuff. One day this old guy with an artificial leg limped over 
to us and stuck a miniature American flag in the turret of my 
castle. He said, 'Every castle needs a flag, little man. Be 
sure to guard those stripes with your life. Better soldiers 
than you and me have died for 'em.' Then he tipped his hat to 
Aunt Emily and said, 'Happy Flag Day, ma'am.'"

"That's creepy, Mulder. And I'm not quite seeing why this is 
one of your favorite holiday memories."

"There's more." He plucked a fresh stalk of grass and twirled 
it absently between his fingers. "I took his words to heart 
and brought the little flag home with me. Naturally, Mom 
wanted to know where I'd gotten it. I told her and she had 
pretty much the same reaction you did." He tapped the end of 
her nose with his wheat, making her smile. "She threw the flag 
away."

"She threw it away?"

"Yep, she said it probably came off a grave down at 
Squibnocket Point."

"She might have been right."

"Yeah, she might've been. Didn't matter. Aunt Emily took me to 
get an ice cream cone to make me feel better."

He tossed the wheat like a spear. It flew only a couple of 
feet before it nose-dived into the field.

"Mulder, I don't understand your story."

"What's to understand?"

"Well, it's mildly disturbing and seems to have no point."

"Does it have to have a point?"

"No, I suppose not. It's just...I was hoping for some kind of 
resolution."

He wanted to say, "life isn't always that neat and tidy, 
Scully," but figured she already knew that. If her cancer and 
everything else that had happened to her since she'd met him 
hadn't driven home the point, then their weeks here in the 
Pleistocene certainly must have. 

"Scully, I don't want to fight anymore. Can we call a truce?"

"Mulder, we're not fight--" She stopped herself and removed 
the grass from between her lips. "I don't want to fight 
either." Then, in an uncharacteristic confession, she 
admitted, "I feel scared here. And helpless, which I hate. But 
I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm sorry."

He reached for her hand and dovetailed his fingers with hers. 
She didn't pull away and it felt so damn nice to be touching 
her. "I'm sorry, too," he said. 

"In the interest of not antagonizing each other further, how 
about we come up with a list of subjects never to be mentioned 
again?"

"Forever?" he asked.

"At least until we return home."

Would Dzeh be on her list? he wondered. And what about 
Klizzie? 

"Agreed." 

Apparently she was in no hurry to start her list. The next ten 
minutes passed without either of them speaking. He was 
reluctant to present his own list. There were several items on 
it he preferred to never mention, not even for the sake of 
claiming them off limits. Some would hurt her; some would hurt 
him...or at least hurt his relationship with her. 

Finally he broke the silence by finishing his earlier story. 
"Aunt Emily mailed me a new flag every Flag Day until she died 
last year at the age of eighty-two. She always included a 
note, which read, 'Every castle needs a flag, little man.'" He 
gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "That might not be the sort of 
resolution you were looking for, Scully, but I ended up with 
thirty-three flags. That's a hell of a lot more than I ever 
expected."

She offered him a sad half-smile and returned the pressure to 
his hand. "Do you still have them?"

"No. After her funeral, I went to Menemsha Beach and built a 
giant sandcastle with thirty-three turrets. Put a flag in each 
one."

She was quiet for a moment, as if trying to work this 
information into their shared timeline. "I didn't know your 
aunt died last year."

He shrugged. "You'd just gotten out of the hospital. It was a 
few weeks before we went to Florida to hunt moth men."

"Oh." She stopped walking, pulling him up short. Snagging his 
other hand, she stared up at him with teary eyes. "You're 
right, Mulder, we don't know some of the most important things 
about each other."

No, we don't, Scully. You don't know how much I hate myself 
for letting you down, or how angry I am that Dzeh didn't kiss 
you because I know he did much worse than that, or how very, 
very badly I want to tell you I never touched Klizzie. She 
wasn't you and you're the only woman I'll ever love, with my 
body or my heart. 

Rather than saying any of those things, he wrapped his arms 
around her and sighed into her hair.

"We know each other's favorite colors. That's a start." 
Closing his eyes, he leaned against her and whispered, "The 
rest will come."

*   *   *

From her vantage point, sitting on the summit of Crouching Cat 
Mountain, Klizzie stared into the valley where the world 
appeared unchanged. 

It was an illusion, she knew. 

Turkey Lake still rested like a blessing in the palm of the 
valley, reflecting the cloudless midday sky. The sky was the 
color of pickerelweed, which blossomed in bunches in the 
shallows by the lake's eastern shore. Klizzie knew that 
clusters of frog eggs clung to the reeds there, full of the 
promise of life.

The air was balmy and scented with clover. Honeybees drifted 
from flower to flower. The hillside hummed with their 
collective buzz. An occasional silent butterfly waggled among 
them, peaceably sharing the Spirits' bounty.   

The village itself appeared tidy and tranquil. Communal hearth 
fires glinted like sunshine off stone. Domed huts dotted the 
clearing, familiar, safe and welcoming, although empty now 
because most of the villagers were at the ball field where 
Turtle Clan was battling Badger Clan in a game of yea-go. The 
traditional ceremonies of the Mastodon Feast continued, 
despite personal concerns about thieving strangers or one 
missing girl. Yesterday's events were insignificant when 
compared to the clans' spiritual obligations or even their 
empty bellies.

The ball suddenly struck a goal post, cracking like one of 
last night's lightning bolts. The sound echoed against the 
hillsides and sent a cold Spirit skittering down Klizzie's 
spine. A cheer erupted from the onlookers. For the first time 
in her life, Klizzie felt no kinship with these people. Their 
gaiety was a spear in her sad heart.

Where was Gini, her Little Chick? she wondered. And Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh? And Dzeh? Worry knotted her stomach and tears 
burned her eyes. She found it difficult to believe the 
newcomers would hurt Gini; they had shown no unkindness toward 
anyone in the Clan. Yet people were accusing Muhl-dar of 
stealing a prayer offering from Tsa-ond Cave. They were saying 
worse things, too, impossible things, and she refused to 
believe them. He had treated her only with gentleness and 
respect two mornings ago when they lay together on the furs, 
and again yesterday when she went to him, begging for his 
silence.

She hugged her knees and gazed out over the forested valley to 
the south, where fir trees bristled, hemmed in by mountain 
ranges. Somewhere hidden beneath the evergreen boughs, Dzeh 
and the others were tracking Muhl-dar and Day-nuh, searching 
for Gini. Klizzie desperately wanted the girl back, but she 
feared for the newcomers' lives, and she preferred they escape 
undiscovered than be caught and killed...even if it meant she 
would never embrace her Little Chick again.

She scanned the sky for a sign of the owl, but the Spirit had 
seemingly abandoned her; the heavens lay as empty as her 
heart.

Another cheer sounded from the ball field. Klizzie rose to her 
feet, intending to return to the village, but when she stood, 
her world began to spin, her vision blurred and a wave of 
nausea dropped her to her knees. Crawling on all fours, 
trembling, she vomited her meager mid-day meal, and waited for 
her dizziness to subside.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
MAY 14, 1998
6:48 AM

Tamping down an urge to order his driver to speed up, Colonel 
Beck sat stone-faced in the passenger seat as the young airman 
steered their jeep out the front gate. On the main road, they 
turned west. Beck glanced into the side mirror. Nothing behind 
them but another hot Utah sunrise and an empty stretch of 
highway. Up ahead, more open road, although the intruders' car 
should be coming into view soon. Captain Linden had reported 
finding it parked a mile from the breach in the south fence. 

How the hell had two trespassers gotten past Security, Beck 
wondered? Especially during a test. The timing couldn't have 
been worse.

General Kaback had been livid when Beck called him. Now the 
old blowhard was on his way to Hill. Christ, that was all he 
needed. Kaback would insist on micromanaging the Project even 
though the damn idiot couldn't tell a tachyon from a fucking 
turd.

"Twelve o'clock, sir." The driver nodded at the dusty 
windshield, directing his attention to a blue Crown Vic parked 
a quarter of a mile ahead on the shoulder. Captain Linden was 
waiting beside it, along with half a dozen security personnel. 
They squinted in the early morning sun, their elongated 
shadows looking like gouges in the pavement.

The driver pulled alongside the Ford, and Beck was out the 
door before the jeep had rolled to a complete stop. Salutes 
went up all around.

"Report," Beck ordered as he paced around the car. Utah 
plates, he noticed. Rental sticker on the rear bumper. 

"The vehicle was rented to a Mr. Fox Mulder yesterday 
afternoon in Salt Lake City, sir," said the Captain.

The trunk was up. Two overnight bags rested inside, wide open, 
their contents neatly removed. Shaving kit, sweat pants, men's 
dress shoes and slacks, clean shirt, necktie, and underwear 
were arranged beside a blue-gray duffle. The other bag was a 
hard-sided case, powder blue. Beside it were assorted women's 
clothes, a pair of high heels, toiletries, pajamas, lingerie.    

"You run a check on this guy Mulder?" Beck asked.

"Yes, sir. He's FBI."

"FB--" Fuck. He had been hoping the intruders were nothing 
more than a couple of ballsy UFO kooks, attracted by last 
night's light show.

"What else?" he snarled. 

"Sir, Agent Mulder was a passenger on flight 1204 from Dulles 
to SLC yesterday afternoon. Seat 19B. Arrival time, 3:32 p.m. 
local."

"And the woman?" Beck nodded at the peach-colored bra and 
panties before he moved around the car to peer into the 
driver's side window. What appeared to be sunflower seeds 
littered the mat below the steering wheel.

"Agent Dana Scully, sir, also a passenger on flight 1204. Seat 
19C."

What the hell were two FBI agents doing out here? And why not 
come in the front gate instead of sneaking under the fence?  

"Sir, should I contact the Bureau, find out if Agents Mulder 
and Scully are on official assignment?"

Beck's head snapped up and he pinned Linden with a steely-eyed 
stare. "No, I want you to locate them. You got that, Captain?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Tow the car. Stow it in Hangar 19. And bring Agents Mulder 
and Scully to me as soon as you find them." He spun on his 
heel and returned to his jeep. Kaback would be here in less 
than five hours. That didn't leave much time.

*   *   * 

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 27, 7:45 PM

"You know what I miss the most? A toothbrush." Mulder picked 
his teeth as he walked, trying to dislodge an irritating bit 
of smoked meat from between two molars with his fingernail. 
"Or at least some dental floss. What about you?"

Scully limped along beside him. He admired her dogged 
persistence and tried to ignore the ache in his own legs.

"No contest," she said. "Toilet paper." 

He nodded with understanding and sympathy. 

All around them, as far as the eye could see, gentle hills 
ribbed the landscape. Furred with grass, the prairie seemed 
endless, its monotony broken only by domed anthills and an 
occasional copse of deciduous trees nestled in the shallow 
valleys. To the east, a sluggish river zigzagged southward, 
trenching the red earth and reflecting the golden rays of the 
setting sun. They'd been navigating its countless oxbows all 
afternoon. 

It was possible the river was the same waterway they'd started 
out on, or it might be another. They had no way to know and he 
supposed it didn't matter. Its water tasted sweet and slaked 
their godawful thirst.

He ran a hand over his bearded jaw and continued his wish 
list. "Razor."

"Hoo boy, I'm with you on that, G-Man." She didn't return his 
smile, so he wasn't certain if her enthusiastic response was 
aimed at his need to shave or hers. She added, "Clean 
underwear." 

Clean anything would be welcome. His filthy clothes could 
probably walk on their own. Smelling their sour tang, he 
longed to shed them, then clean himself in a steamy, hot 
shower with a bar of real soap. And after his steamy, hot, 
soapy, magnificent shower, he would collapse onto his couch to 
watch some TV, and maybe have a... "Big, fat slice of 
pepperoni piz--"

"No food!" She gave him a disapproving scowl. The setting sun 
darkened the creases in her face, making her look fiercer than 
she probably intended. "We agreed. Rule number six, remember?"

"Right." According to their new ground rules, twenty-two 
subjects were now off limits. Any and all modern-day foods 
fell somewhere between "sex with other people" and "what 
happens if we never get home." He selected an acceptable 
topic. "Shampoo."

His answer seemed to placate her and her reproachful 
expression softened. "Bubble bath."

"Socks."

"Ibuprofen."

"A cold beer...and that's not a food," he hurried to add.

"It's edible, isn't it?" She cocked an accusatory eyebrow.

"It's a beverage and we have no rule against beverages. 
Although you're welcome to negotiate for it, if you like." 

"No thank you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a beer 
myself." She gazed wistfully across the prairie. 

The lengthening shadows of sunset striped the rolling hills 
with fingers of jet, making the land look like an old-
fashioned washboard. Crickets whined in the tall weeds at 
their feet, while iridescent birds swooped overhead, chasing 
insects in the near-dusk. The swallows glided in dizzying 
barrel-rolls through the crisp air. It would've been a perfect 
evening if not for the fact that they were ten thousand years 
away from home. 

"Maybe not a beer, but a nice glass of wine," Scully said, 
amending her choice. 

They began climbing the next swell of land.

"Red or white?"

"At this point I'm not that picky." She tilted her head, 
snapping the bones in her neck. "I miss my favorite robe and 
slippers."

"I miss my Knicks T-shirt." He yearned for all the comforts of 
home. More than that, he yearned to comfort her, to somehow 
make up for bringing her here in the first place.

"Sheets, pillows and a bed. I'll never complain about crappy 
motels again."

"A silver lining," he teased. "It's good to know our 
deprivation hasn't been for nothing."

She gave him a light jab in the ribs. 

He grinned and arched away from her poking finger, glad to see 
her mood improving. 

A mischievous glint lit her eyes. She aimed two fingers at 
him. 

"Scully...no...," he warned. 

Backing away, he raised his arms to deflect her playful 
attack. But she was too fast for him and managed to spear him 
in the stomach. His grunt made her laugh and try again.

Not really wanting to stop her, he retreated backward, 
stumbling uphill.

"Watch out," she said, eyes flickering to the slope behind 
him.

A diversionary tactic, he was certain, but he glanced over his 
shoulder anyway to see what danger might be lurking there and, 
sure enough, she took full advantage of his inattention. She 
launched herself at him, prodding him again in the stomach, 
the ribs, and one low hit to the groin that made him squeak 
and double over. 

She chuckled at her victory and pressed her advantage, snaking 
her fingers underneath his jacket to tickle his armpit. 

It was good to laugh with her, to fall back into their 
comfortable camaraderie.

Struggling only in a half-hearted attempt to fend off her 
attack, he pinned her arm beneath his while grabbing for her 
other hand, which was insinuating its way beneath the 
waistband of his pants.

"Scully...don't...payback's...a *bitch*-- Ahh!" He yelped and 
writhed beneath her wiggling fingers.

"But victory is sweet," she said, flashing teeth and gums.

God, she was beautiful. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair 
tousled by their mock battle and the relentless breeze. She 
smelled heady and tart from exertion. Her hands were 
feverishly hot and everywhere she touched him his skin 
sizzled. 

Her fingers slipped inside his pants.

"Whoa...Scully..." He staggered backward to the crest of the 
hill, grabbing her wrist to stop her. He didn't really want to 
end their fun, but if she continued much lower she'd soon 
discover that their roughhousing had begun to arouse him. 

Suddenly she stopped fighting him and he thought the jig was 
up, until she gazed past his shoulder and said, "Mulder, 
look."

"I'm not falling for that again."

"No...I'm not joking." She withdrew her hand from his pants.

The intensity of her expression told him she was serious. He 
turned to follow her gaze. 

There in the next valley, tucked into an oasis of trees by an 
elbow in the river, was a village.

"Shit." He dropped to his knees in the weeds, dragging her 
down with him.

"Mulder, I think it's abandoned." 

He pulled his binoculars from his coat and held them to his 
eyes. 

A dozen or so roofless huts dotted the riverbank. Their bone 
supports gleamed golden-yellow in the setting sun. Scorched 
circles indicated the locations of old hearth fires. Not a 
wisp of smoke curled skyward. 

"See anyone?" she asked.

"No. Looks like an Ice Age ghost town. But maybe they left 
behind something useful." He rose to his feet. "Like food."

Tucking his binoculars away, he loped downhill. 

"Or flint for making a fire." She hobbled after him.

"Or a spear." 

"Or a waterbag."

It was funny how quickly their wish list had switched from 
toiletries to survival gear. All a matter of perspective, he 
decided. A moment ago shampoo seemed a necessity. Compared to 
food and water, however, even toilet paper became little more 
than a frivolous luxury.

A few minutes later he neared the skeletal shelters and slowed 
to a walk, keeping a cautious eye out for any sign of ambush. 
After the trouble they'd encountered with Dzeh's tribe he had 
no desire to fall into the hands of another hostile group.

He needn't have worried; the camp was deserted. 

Splitting up, they swept the area, hunting for anything 
useful. Much to their disappointment, they soon discovered the 
village had been stripped bare. The former inhabitants had 
left behind nothing of value. All that remained were the 
shelters, semi-circles of stacked mastodon skulls, too heavy 
to transport. 

Collecting and stacking so many large bones clearly 
represented a significant expenditure of time and energy, 
indicating the villagers' commitment to this location. The 
implication was that they would return to it at some point to 
reestablish their residence, reusing the bones. 

But when? Soon? 

From the worn grass and scorched ground, Mulder guessed that 
occupancy was fairly recent, otherwise vegetation would have 
overgrown the paths between the huts. Wind and rain had yet to 
obliterate the campfires' black circles. 

Hands on his hips, he swiveled to inspect the surrounding 
area. Not a single animal roamed the grassy landscape or waded 
in the river. Nothing moved in the trees. No doubt the 
villagers had hunted the area heavily, depleting it of game 
before moving on to richer territory.

"Find anything?" he called to Scully, who was inspecting a hut 
about twenty feet away.

"Maybe." She held up a matted fur blanket. "It's pretty thin, 
but it beats sleeping on the bare ground."

He nodded, wishing she'd found a mastodon roast instead of a 
skin. Their smoked meat was nearly gone and, without weapons 
or tools to make weapons, they had no way to replenish their 
supply. Hunger was only a day or two away.

The lighthearted moment they'd shared back on the hill now 
seemed remote and unreal. Their situation was grim, more 
serious than anything they'd ever faced before. Behind them 
lay certain death, ahead, more danger. Worst of all, there 
seemed no way to get home. 

Tamping down his fears about their future, he crossed the camp 
to where Scully stood slapping dust from the old fur. 

"Thought we might spend the night here," she said, spreading 
the blanket on the ground inside the shelter's bony walls. "No 
roof, but I don't think we need to worry about rain."

It was true, not a cloud marred the evening sky. A few bright 
stars already winked above the eastern horizon. The chirrup of 
crickets intensified as twilight approached.

He moved to help her smooth out the folds in the blanket. 

They would rest for a few hours, and then continue south at 
sunup. His instincts urged him to not give up hope. Protecting 
her was paramount. She meant everything to him and he would do 
whatever it took to bring her home safely.

*   *   *

Dizzy, nauseous, and lying face down on the ground, Klizzie 
lifted her aching head and tried to blink the fog from her 
eyes. When her vision finally cleared she found herself 
staring at two bare, muscular legs, one of which was hideously 
deformed by deep, ropey scars. The mutilated leg was missing a 
toe on the left foot.

Klesh!

Klizzie pushed herself into a sitting position and gaped at 
her loathsome cousin. She must have fallen asleep, she 
realized. It had been mid-day when she felt the onset of 
queasiness and now the sun was setting.

Klesh squatted next to her, blocking the sun's dying rays. 

"You do not look so well, Kliz."

Her tongue tasted sour and her stomach churned like water at 
the bottom of a falls. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that a proper way to greet your cousin?" He laughed at her 
obvious astonishment and displeasure. 

Four years hadn't changed him. Beard matted with snarls, lips 
curled into a cruel sneer, dun-colored eyes smoldering with 
animosity...he was as repulsive as ever. It shocked and shamed 
her to think she had once lain with this man.

"Are you not curious about your brother?" he asked.

Yes, where was Tse-e? Why was Klesh alone? She glanced past 
him, down the hillside to the village, where the clans had 
returned from the ball field to cook their suppers. "He did 
not go there, did he?" she asked, worried about what the Clan 
might do to him if they discovered him. 

Klesh's sneer turned more hateful. "That would be impossible 
since he is dead."

Dead? "How...?"

"Killed by those chindis you befriended. The red-haired woman 
and her mate."

Day-nuh and Muhl-dar? This could not be true. "You are lying."

He had always been a liar, eager to get his own way even at 
the expense of others. 

He held up his right arm to show her a strange silvery 
bracelet, darkened by dried blood, which dangled from his 
wrist. "Li-chi Tse-Gah's mate wounded Tse-e, then lashed the 
two of us together with this unbreakable binding." He tugged 
on the bracelet to demonstrate its durability. "Then the 
chindis left us to be devoured by buzzards. After three 
torturous days, the Spirits finally took your brother," -- he 
lowered his eyes as if out of respect -- "and I cut myself 
free."

Cut...? Her stomach bucked again and she swallowed its sting. 
Tse-e was her only sibling and although he had not always been 
the kindest brother she lamented the possibility that he might 
be dead. Especially if his passing had been as agonizing as 
Klesh described.

Tears flooded her eyes at the seeming injustice of the 
Spirits' choices. Why was Tse-e taken and not Klesh?  

"That does not explain why you are here," she said, holding 
back her tears. She did not want to show weakness by crying in 
front of him.

"I have come for revenge."

Her heart sank deeper into a murky pond of despair as she 
guessed his motives. "You plan to kill Muhl-dar."

"If that is the chindi's name, yes." He reached out to cup her 
cheek, setting the silvery bracelet rattling. "And you are 
going to help me."

She recoiled from his unwelcome caress. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you do not, I will tell Dzeh your little secret." 

"I have already told him the truth."

"You told him everything? You told him how much you enjoyed 
your night on my sleeping skins?"

Shame rolled through her at the memory of Klesh with his face 
between her thighs, bringing her to her pleasure. She loathed 
herself for allowing it to happen and believed Dzeh would 
never love her again if he learned the humiliating details of 
that awful night.

The sun sank behind the mountain, taking with it the last rays 
of daylight. Regret swallowed her like a shadow.

"The man named Muhl-dar stole everything from me, Kliz -- my 
food, my gear, and my best friend. Help me avenge Tse-e's 
death. He was your brother and he did not deserve to die at 
the hands of a vile stranger."

She pictured her small, nervous brother, wounded by Muhl-dar 
and then tethered to Klesh, suffering unimaginably as he 
slowly perished.

Even so, she would not help Klesh. He was not to be trusted.

"Muhl-dar has disappeared," she said, hoping to discourage 
him. "He left the village two nights ago."

"Left?" Klesh sat up straighter. "Which way did he go?" 

"I do not know," she lied, but her eyes flickered toward the 
forest to the south.

He caught her glance. "I will go after him. You must bring me 
food and supplies from the village."

"I will not!"

His eyes narrowed, frightening her with their intensity. "Then 
I will go there myself and tell Dzeh all about our night 
together."

"Dzeh is gone, too," she blurted without thinking. "He is 
already looking for Muhl--"

Klesh's scarred face brightened at this news and she regretted 
letting her panic wrestle the truth from her.

"Did he go alone?"

She hesitated to say, not knowing what he planned to do. 

He grabbed her arm and growled, "You might as well tell me, 
Klizzie, for I will find out soon enough on my own."

"Let me go!" 

She tried to twist free, but he hung on tight and hauled her 
to her feet. 

"Come with me." 

Her lightheadedness returned as soon as she stood upright. 

"Where...where are we going?" she stuttered, thinking she 
might vomit again.

"To the village."

"No! You cannot. The Clan--"

"Tse-e is dead," he said, strong-arming her down the slope. 
"He was your brother and my cousin. The Clan will understand 
if you take me in so we may grieve together."

"Dzeh will never allow it."

"Dzeh is not here to object, is he?"

The world tilted beneath her unsteady feet. If not for Klesh's 
brutal grip, she would have fallen to her knees. What was 
happening to her?
 
*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:20 AM

"Lisa, take a look at this." Jason Nichols hunched over his 
keyboard and tried to make sense of the data on his monitor. 
The graphic model indicated a spike in gravitational 
displacement during last night's test, which meant that either 
the computer was malfunctioning or something had gone very 
wrong with the test itself. 

Lisa Ianelli abandoned her terminal to cross the lab and stand 
behind him. She peered over his shoulder at the data and 
gasped.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes. McGuane's Transference, completely anomalous. I didn't 
expect to see this for another three to five years."

Lisa studied the evidence. "It's impossible."

"Apparently not," Nichols said, adjusting his glasses. He 
tapped his keyboard, bringing up the next chart. It confirmed 
the first. "Not a computer malfunction."

Lisa leaned closer, almost touching him. Her long, spiraling 
hair tickled his cheek and he felt drawn to her perfume. God, 
he loved this woman, despite the risk to his plans.

"Does it mean someone's come back from the future?" she asked.

He knew she was referring to his future self, who had tried to 
destroy their work last year. When the old man died in the 
fire at MIT's Research Facility, young Nichols was thrown 
thirty years into the future in his place.

It was there he learned the truth when he witnessed a world 
without history or hope, where everyone knew everything that 
would ever happen. It was the same future the old man had 
warned him about and had tried to stop.

Nichols returned to his own time convinced that he must 
prevent it, too. Which is why he'd sabotaged last night's 
test.

Only...he hadn't expected this.

"If I'm reading the data correctly, I don't think anyone came 
back from the future." He traced the computerized image with 
his index finger. "I *think* we may have sent someone into the 
past."   

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 27, 9:42 PM

"I-I'm nervous. Can you believe that?" Mulder asked.

Yes, she could believe it. She'd told him she wanted to make 
love, but as much as she yearned for him, she was nervous, 
too, afraid that her body might rebel against this intimate 
act, a reaction to Dzeh's recent invasion, not Mulder's 
attentions.

She was dressed in her camisole and pants. He wore his jeans, 
too, but no shirt. Both of them were barefoot. She lay on her 
back on the fur robe and he knelt beside her. A circle of 
ancient bones bleached by moonlight surrounded them. No roof 
covered their heads, only a ceiling of stars and the pregnant 
moon. 

Mulder leaned forward, staggeringly handsome, despite his 
bruises. His beard had filled in, dense and dark, changing his 
clean-shaven good looks to something more primitive but 
equally attractive. The hair on his head had become shaggy, 
too, during the last several weeks. It curled over his ears 
and fell into his eyes, making him appear boyish and wild. A 
loss of weight had defined his muscles, transforming his 
already lanky body into one more hardscrabble and sinewy. Even 
injured, he looked strong, durable and unequivocally 
masculine. Lean and half-naked, he stole her breath and her 
heart.

She was hoping his touch would help erase the memory of the 
mate swap and soothe her frazzled nerves. But when he moved 
over her, she unexpectedly recoiled and gasped.

Her reaction apparently startled him every bit as much as it 
did her because he backed away. "Sorry. I-- Sorry."

"No, it's me. I-I'm sorry." She reached for him and drew him 
toward her. 

Rather than lie on top of her, he chose to stretch out on the 
ground beside her, propping himself on one elbow, taking care 
not to touch her. "Let's take this slow, okay?"

She nodded, realizing intimacy, even with Mulder, might be 
more difficult than she had imagined.

He watched her intently. "Would it be all right if I tried 
kissing you?"

"I--" Would it?

"I'll keep my hands to myself and you can tell me to stop 
anytime you feel uncomfortable. I won't force-- I won't go any 
further than you want to go. You're in control."

"Then maybe I should kiss you."

"That works for me." A smile nudged his right cheek. He made 
no move toward her. True to his word, he was handing her the 
reins, allowing her to steer their actions.

She decided to begin by touching his lips with her fingers. 
Running the pad of her middle finger across his lower lip, she 
reveled in the feel of his skin...smooth, pliant, warm. His 
bruised mouth trembled beneath her caress. Then her finger 
grazed a raw cut and he flinched.

"Careful."

"Sorry." 

She wanted to kiss the hurt she'd caused and take away his 
pain, but she wasn't quite ready to press her lips to his. Not 
yet. 

I'm being ridiculous, she chided herself. This was Mulder. She 
trusted him. Hell, she loved him! Yet she felt conflicted. She 
worried that their lovemaking might escalate out of control -- 
her control -- and the idea set her heart pounding. 

As if reading her mind, he rolled onto his back. His arms 
dropped loosely to his sides, palms down, fists uncurled. His 
eyes never left hers and his expression seemed to say, 
"Whatever you want, whenever you're ready."

She rose to kneel beside him and tentatively placed her right 
hand on his bare chest. His heart hammered beneath her palm, 
making her own pulse quicken. Each beat brought a molten wave 
of panic. Could she handle this?

Although their time in the Ice Age had roughened her hands, 
she could still feel every silken hair on Mulder's downy 
chest. They tickled the calloused pads of her palm, sending 
minute jolts of pleasure vibrating up the nerves of her arm. 
Her own skin turned to gooseflesh in response. Her nipples 
tightened. His gaze flickered briefly to her camisole and the 
hardened points of her breasts. When his focus returned to her 
face, his pupils had grown enormous, black and bottomless, 
filling each iris like a solar eclipse. She blushed and turned 
away, avoiding his obvious arousal, afraid it would trigger 
another bout of panic.

She focused on his breastbone, where she traced minute circles 
with her thumb and forefinger, using almost no pressure. His 
breath quickened. Would he lose control? Would she? Glancing 
at his hands, she saw they remained loosely at his sides. 
There was no threat in his posture. Even so, her uncertainties 
confounded her and she almost removed her hand from his chest. 

This is Mulder, this is Mulder, she repeated to herself. He 
won't hurt me. 

If he wanted to overpower her, he easily could. She was 
trained in self-defense, but then so was he, and her skills 
were no match for his larger size and muscular strength. Even 
with his recent weight loss, he still outweighed her by sixty 
or seventy pounds, and his long reach and greater height gave 
him every advantage. He could readily take her if that's what 
he wanted. She needed to trust that he would keep her safe. 
She had to rely on his self-control, and hope that he wouldn't 
force her to do anything she didn't want to do.

In five years, he had never given her a reason to fear him, 
she reminded herself. Not once.

She watched the quick rise and fall of his chest. It was the 
only movement he made. He was allowing her to dictate the pace 
and the scope of their intimacy.

Determined to continue, she slid her hand over his chest, 
avoiding the worst of his bruises and grazing his flat nipple 
with her thumb. The contact caused him to jerk with apparent 
pleasure. He inhaled, a sharp gasp, but, steadfast to his 
promise, he made no move to touch her. His restraint gave her 
the confidence to continue her exploration of him.

Slowly, she traced the upward curve of his ribs, hard beneath 
her palm, to the Linea alba, the shallow indentation of muscle 
that divided his taut torso from breastbone to pelvis. Fine, 
dark hair shadowed the depression, growing more dense below 
his waist. She teased his navel, dipping into it with the tip 
of her finger. Her touch made his stomach muscles quiver. 
Goosebumps sprouted across his abdomen when she combed against 
the grain of his hair with her nails. He grunted with pleasure 
and the sound of his arousal both excited and frightened her. 

She lingered over the Crest of Ilium, stroking his jutting 
hipbones as she studied his nude torso, his submissive 
expression, his accommodating posture. He was offering her his 
trust in return for hers. It was a generous gift, considering 
how he'd also suffered at the hands of the tribe. Blackened by 
contusions, crisscrossed with scrapes, his hide bore physical 
testimony to their cruelty. He had no more reason to trust 
another human being with his body than did she, and yet here 
he was, consigning himself to her command. 

There was little doubt he was doing it for her sake. He 
evidently understood how much she needed him to yield right 
now, and the depth of his understanding brought tears to her 
eyes. He was surrendering so that she wouldn't have to, so 
that she might regain her lost sense of power.

Fortified by his generosity, she unbuttoned the waistband of 
his pants. Even before drawing down his zipper, she could see 
the prominent ridge of his engorged penis pressing against the 
denim of his jeans, looking larger and more menacing than she 
remembered. Feeling apprehensive, she paused, reproaching 
herself for her groundless anxiety while leaving his fly half 
zipped. 

Certainly the threatening size of him was only a trick of the 
moonlight.

His penis isn't a weapon, she reminded herself; it's a part of 
him. There is nothing to fear. 

Squaring her shoulders, she unzipped his pants all the way, 
only to discover he wasn't wearing any boxers, and for a 
split-second suspicion engulfed her. Had he been planning all 
along to make love to her? 

Get a hold of yourself, Dana. Mulder was anticipating no such 
thing. His boxers were still in their travel pack because he'd 
been too weak to put them on at the ball field. He'd been 
going without them for the last two days.

Convinced for the time being that his intentions were not 
dishonorable, she resumed undressing him. She tugged at his 
pants and he lifted his hips to help her. This was the first 
deliberate move he'd made since she'd begun her cautious 
seduction. His motion was so slight, so measured, it didn't 
startle her...unlike his erection, which popped free as soon 
as she pulled his pants low enough. She fixed her eyes on his 
swollen groin and left his jeans bunched around his thighs.

Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him. Fully engorged, he 
was magnificent...and intimidating. An image of Dzeh's 
erection came unbidden to her mind. She fought a wave of 
nausea and tried to push the memory away. This was Mulder, not 
Dzeh. Their motives were nothing alike.

But the memory of Dzeh was not so easy to extinguish. She 
could still see the way he reclined on the skins, his penis 
dark purple and pointing straight up as he reached for her 
hand, drew her down to him-- 

Stop it! This isn't Dzeh! This is Mulder. 

She glanced at Mulder's face, double-checking his expression. 
His hooded eyes were bright with passion, yet his bearded face 
remained calm. He said nothing as she mentally inventoried his 
physical attributes, noting the differences between him and 
Dzeh. Mulder had green eyes, not brown, and a shorter beard, 
longer nose, fuller lips curled into a half-smile, not set in 
a determined line the way Dzeh's had been. His shoulders were 
narrower, and his chest less hairy. Both men had muscular 
stomachs, but Mulder was less tan than Dzeh, despite going 
shirtless for the last few weeks. She regretted the 
disappearance of the scar on his shoulder; his gunshot wound 
was incontrovertible evidence of their 20th Century life 
together. 

Her eyes traveled lower to the thatch of dark hair that 
cushioned his erect penis. Unable to stop herself, she reached 
out to touch his circumcision scar, extraordinarily grateful 
for this distinctive difference between the two men. He 
twitched when she caressed him with the tip of her finger. 

He breathed the words "You're in control..."

Yes, she was, and the knowledge strengthened her enough to 
take him in her hand, hot, rigid, his skin silky smooth 
against her roughened palm. He moaned through gritted teeth 
and she relished the sound; a feeling of privilege ran white-
hot beneath her skin. She directed him, not the other way 
around. The advantage was hers, all hers, and it freed her 
from the dread and panic and hurt that had been dogging her 
since her encounter with Dzeh. Her overwrought nerves began to 
uncoil and she felt herself returning to her physical body. 
Relief swamped her eyes, causing tears to spiral down her 
cheeks as she bent over him and took him gratefully into her 
mouth.

"Sculleee..." His hips rocked. He was obviously trying to 
minimize his reaction to the pressure of her lips.

Holding him in her mouth, feeling in control, she explored him 
with the tip of her tongue. He was softly ridged and he tasted 
salty, earthy, delicious. She inhaled his musky scent and 
savored his familiar smell. She sucked gently, applying the 
lightest possible pressure for now. She wanted to make this 
experience long lasting and wholly different from her brief, 
awful encounter with Dzeh; she wanted this to be leisurely, 
tender and loving.

Mulder didn't thrust upward; he didn't take hold of her head 
or hair. He let her lead him toward ecstasy. Only his quiet 
moans, and the rigidity of his cock, let her know how much he 
was enjoying her ministrations.

She applied more pressure, sucked harder, swirled her tongue 
over and around him, bit down gently, and then scraped his 
flesh carefully with her teeth, stimulating the sensitive knot 
of tissue just below the glans. He hissed with pleasure, 
murmured her name.

Still he didn't touch her.

She released him to blow softly across his wet skin, then 
lapped him from base to tip before taking him once more into 
her mouth. She let him slide to the back of her throat and 
then out, repeating the motion, tightening her lips, setting a 
steady rhythm. 

This was nothing like her experience with Dzeh. This was 
beautiful and right. Mulder was her partner, her protector, 
her lover. The future father of her son.

She cupped his scrotum, thinking of his contribution to their 
child waiting there, half the genetic material that would one 
day be their little boy. When she gently squeezed, he hissed 
her name, "Ssssculleee!" 

His voice sounded desperate when he warned, "I'm close."

She had led him to the brink and now it was her choice where 
he would go next. She decided to bring him to orgasm in her 
hand and watch his face as he came.

Removing him from her mouth, she said, "Let it happen."

He nodded and swallowed. She sat up, curled her fingers around 
him and began to stroke. Her hand slid easily up and down his 
saliva-slicked shaft. He inhaled a lungful of air. His fingers 
dug into the fur beneath him, clutching for a solid hold as 
his hips rose to meet her thrusts. He bit his lower lip and 
she could hear his panting breaths as he huffed through flared 
nostrils. His chest glistened, humid and flushed, so 
feverishly hot she could feel the warmth radiating off him. 
Sweat dotted his brow, snagging strands of damp hair. 

"Come for me, Mulder."

At the sound of her voice he threw back his head and grunted. 
Semen spurted from him, spilling hotly over her hand. She 
continued to pump until he begged, "Stop, stop. Ahh...too 
sensitive." His hands finally came up to cover and still hers, 
spreading semen on them both. She felt the throb of his racing 
heart grow fainter as his penis softened beneath her palm.

A mixture of emotions somersaulted through her: pleasure, 
apprehension, pride, anxiety, excitement, nervousness, 
passion, uncertainty, devotion. She wanted to sort them out, 
tuck them into some sort of proper order, but it was 
impossible and she cringed from the chaos that was squeezing 
her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. Conflicted 
yearnings twisted through her mind on tornado-like winds. She 
was sure of only one thing -- she loved this man -- and she 
focused on that thought as she moved her hand away from him.

"Scully...that was...that was great," he said, gratitude 
evident in the quaver of his voice. Catching his breath, he 
sat up and searched for something with which to clean himself. 

His jacket was an arm's length away and he grabbed it and dug 
into the pocket for his handkerchief.

"Let me." She took the cloth from him and mopped his groin.

He watched, eyes bright with what she imagined was lust, but 
hoped was love. 

"Your turn," he said as he pulled up his pants. 

At first she thought he meant it was her turn to use the 
handkerchief on herself. But she was already wiping her hands, 
so he wasn't talking about cleaning up.

He was talking about bringing her to orgasm.  

"Mulder, I'm not sure I can...I don't think I'll be able 
to..."

"Let me help."

No...she wasn't ready for it. Bringing him to orgasm, that was 
one thing; she could handle that. Coming for him, in front of 
him, it would take too much--

"Show me what to do, Scully." He placed his hand in hers, palm 
up. 

"I don't think--"

"You're in control," he reminded her.

Right. She was in control.

So why did she feel so out of control?

"Maybe I should undress first," she said.

"I won't argue with that." 

His wide grin made her feel suddenly shy, which was ridiculous 
considering the fact that she'd just had him in her mouth, 
watched him climax. But the eager way he was looking at her 
made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

Grateful for the twilight, she hid her timidity in the shadows 
and pulled her camisole up over her head. The cooling night 
made her shiver. She was certain he was looking, although she 
avoided his gaze, too discomfited to find out. Instead she 
rose to her feet and, hands trembling, she unfastened and 
removed her pants. Gathering her courage, she pushed her 
panties down her legs and stepped out of them.

Mulder whispered "Sweet Jesus..." and the words landed like 
mist on her skin. Again she was made rough with gooseflesh and 
tingled from brow to breasts to belly to knees. 

A finger of cool, night air grazed her moist inner thighs, 
shockingly cold and invasive. Its intensity startled her and 
her body blushed in response. Heat crawled up her torso and 
spread inside her womb, which felt swollen and heavy with her 
lust. She had been denying desire for too long and it would 
not be overlooked now. It pressed her to her knees in front of 
him, spread her thighs to give him access, took his hand in 
hers and guided him to her entrance.

His fingers seared her slick folds, branding her with a 
tentative caress. 

"Jesus," he whispered again, sitting up and moving closer.

She urged him deeper, steering one extended digit in and up, 
not daring to look at him, avoiding his reactions with 
downcast eyes. He slipped into her, up to his first knuckle, 
and second...

No. Stop! She clutched his hand, preventing him from going 
deeper. It felt too much like before, like the other, like 
confusion and dread and panic.   

"It's okay, Scully," he said, obviously aware of her distress. 
"It's just you and me here. Whatever happens -- or doesn't 
happen -- it's okay. Just relax and show me what to do."

Sitting on her knees in front of him, legs spread wide, she 
tried to relax as he suggested, but it was difficult for her 
to let go of her recent memory, or her lifelong habit of 
dodging emotion. Unease tightened her inner walls, making 
penetration uncomfortable...the way it had been with Dzeh.

Mulder didn't push more deeply into her, but waited for her to 
do it for him. "Did he touch you there?" 

"Y-yes." Oh, please, don't make me remember it, Mulder.

"Like this?"

"No. Just his-- Not with his hands." Please, please.

"Did it feel like this?"

It felt awful, she wanted to scream. It wasn't you. I hated 
it. I hated him. "No." The word leaked from her throat 
sounding like a distraught child and her whining embarrassed 
her. She was a grown woman, for God's sake. Why couldn't she 
let go of her hurt? 

Mulder edged closer, his hand motionless between her legs. His 
other hand came around her back and settled at the base of her 
spine, the place where he often touched her. His light caress 
was familiar and soothing. "Scully, I'm with you now. Me. No 
man will *ever* touch you this way again...none but me. I 
won't let it happen."

His promise brought a flood of relief, and like a swift river, 
it caught her jumbled emotions in its current and carried them 
off. In her mind's eye she saw her unease swept away. 
Fragments of fear bobbed like debris after a storm, eddying 
out of sight, leaving her breathless but not drowned.

Contentment washed in, displacing her previous discomfort. 

She didn't expect to be made permanently clean by this promise 
of Mulder's. No doubt her respite was only temporary. Her 
memories of Dzeh would return to haunt her, but she now knew 
she didn't have to face them alone; Mulder was here.

"You okay?" he asked. He held her tenderly, buoying her, even 
after the worst of her emotional tempest had passed.

Rather than answer him with words, she moved his hand within 
her, pushed his finger deeper, trying to fill herself with his 
promise of devotion. The magnificent pressure unexpectedly 
swamped her with passion and she gasped. Everything outside of 
her body vanished. The world became only his touch. Her other 
senses registered nothing, no sound, no sight, no smell, only 
him and a ballooning desire to take him more deeply inside 
her.

"More," she begged, her voice thin with need.

"You'll have to let go." 

This time he was referring to her grip on his wrist, not her 
emotional state. She reluctantly released him and he began to 
withdraw. Even as he slid out of her, she became desperate to 
be filled again. She rocked her hips toward him, following his 
retreat, trying to regain the pleasure he was taking away. 

"Nooo," she pleaded. The emptiness was intolerable.

"You show me."

Frantically, she grabbed his hand and slid two fingers into 
herself. Having him inside her was all she craved and she 
satisfied her longing by pressing her hips downward onto him. 
She felt replete as she held him there, adjusting to his 
presence, enjoying the sense of fullness. 

She looked down at his large hand guided by her smaller one. 
He didn't move. He had relinquished control, relaxing his hand 
in hers, allowing her to determine the extent of their 
intimacy. He was undemanding and patient and willing to 
surrender to whatever she desired.

A primitive need prompted her to initiate a steady rhythm, a 
push and pull that both soothed and excited her. At her 
insistence, his fingers glided easily within her, slicked by 
her passion. Each thrust was utter bliss. Each withdrawal 
exquisite torment.

He didn't pinch or grind. No grasping or pressing, rubbing or 
stroking, and yet the friction of his fingers, steered by her, 
prodded her closer to her climax.

Picking up the pace, she thrust more urgently. She was nearing 
the edge, trembling, knowing that he watched her. Pressure 
swelled in her abdomen; sizzling tendrils of pleasure radiated 
out from her center.

God, she loved him. Instead of feeling dominated and shamed by 
this act, she felt self-possessed and liberated. Performing 
for him was reassuring. Empowering. It felt incredible.

She was so close now; release was only a heartbeat or two 
away. Her frenzied pulse hammered her ears. She gasped. Fire 
ignited between her thighs.   

Panting, she imbedded him deeply within herself and waited for 
the eruption of her climax...inevitable...unstoppable... 
there...now!

Ecstasy singed her torso and burned across her thighs. Her 
eyes closed. She gasped, ablaze, deafened by the roar of her 
pulse in her ears. She wanted the glorious fire between her 
legs to go on and on.

Her desperation razed, she released her held breath. Called 
out his name.

"I'm here," he murmured, sounding as awed and grateful as she 
felt.

She lunged for him, releasing his hand, wrapping her arms 
around him, clutching him, trying to breathe, quiet her rapid 
heart, regain her balance.

His fingers slid from her. He drew her tightly to his chest, 
returning her heartfelt embrace.

"You're beautiful," he said. "So beautiful."

She felt beautiful. And cherished. And safe.

I love this man, she repeated to herself. He is all I want or 
need. My perfect other, my hero, protector of my body, spirit 
and heart.

"Lay beside me," he said, releasing her and reclining on the 
fur robe. When she was nestled beside him, he placed an arm 
around her and asked, "Can I...? Is this okay?"

"Of course."

It shamed her to see how she'd made him wary of touching her 
and yet, she was so grateful for his understanding, his 
tenderness, for helping her begin to overcome her fears.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" He stroked her hair, comforting her. 

"I know this is on our list of things we said we wouldn't talk 
about, but I... I think I need to talk about what happened to 
me."

"Tell me," he encouraged.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He seemed truly ready to listen. Not resigned, but 
strong and sympathetic.

"Dzeh didn't kiss me."

"So you said."

She suddenly realized she hadn't kissed Mulder, not once since 
the day of the awful exchange. She'd been letting her anxiety 
-- and her jealousy -- keep him at arm's length.  

"Mulder, I want to kiss you. Right now."

His hand stopped its leisurely caress. Without hesitation, he 
drew her to him and kissed her deeply, passionately on the 
lips.

She felt her apprehensions dissipate as he pressed his mouth 
to hers. Cradled in his arms she realized there would be other 
opportunities to talk about Dzeh and Klizzie and any other 
confusing, unpredictable fears that plagued her. Mulder would 
be with her tomorrow and the next day and long after that. 
She'd seen their future in her visions and now she felt their 
connection in her heart. There was no need to hide her 
emotions from him anymore. Peace of mind descended on her and 
she relaxed for the first time in weeks.   

When he released her lips, she drew back to smile at him.

"Loden is a shade of green, Mulder," she said. "It's the color 
of your eyes when we make love." 

It was the color of his eyes at that very moment.

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Don't cry...don't cry...

Mulder struggled to hold back his tears. He bit his lip...so 
hard he reopened the wound there. Tasting blood, he focused on 
its bleak tang and waited for Scully to fall asleep.

As soon as he was certain he could rise from the furs without 
waking her, he stood and staggered out of the shelter, wanting 
to release his anguish where she couldn't overhear him.

Stifling his emotions while making love had proven almost 
unbearable. It had been torment to feel her hands on him and 
not respond the way his body and his heart were demanding. He'd 
wanted to fill her with more than his fingers. Jesus, he wanted 
to drive his cock into her, replace Dzeh's essence with his 
own, reclaim her as his.

Fucking son-of-a-bitch had no right to touch her. She was 
*his*, God damn it! His!

Lurching toward the river, he let his tears come. Stinging and 
fiery, they spiraled down his cheeks and became lost in his 
beard. Unable to see through their blur he followed the 
river's fluid sound, aiming for the starburst of moonlight on 
its rippled surface. The reflection appeared shattered, like 
his pride, and muddled, like his heart.

Although Scully claimed she hadn't been hurt by Dzeh's 
manhandling, Mulder didn't believe her. The way she'd recoiled 
when he reached out for her proved she was more shaken than 
she was willing to admit.

"God damn Neanderthal," he muttered, "God damn this whole 
fucking place." 

It struck him that if God were to damn anything or anyone, He 
should damn him...for bringing Scully here, for allowing Dzeh 
to bed her, for being such a fool and a coward. 

At the river's edge, his legs buckled and he collapsed onto 
hands and knees in the shallows, soaking his pants legs. A 
moan vibrated in his throat and he tried to swallow it, 
tamping down an urge to scream. He was still too close to the 
shelter. Even over the tumult of rushing water, Scully would 
hear his cries and come looking for him. He couldn't let her 
find him this way.

His throat tightened and a sob hitched painfully in his chest, 
feeling like a punch to the gut. He scrambled to his feet and 
jogged downstream. Although sharp stones bit into the flesh of 
his bare feet, he ignored them, intent only on getting as far 
from Scully as possible before he let loose his outrage.

Impatient to shed his frustration and sorrow, he began to strip 
off his pants as he ran. He fumbled with the zipper, pushed his 
jeans from his hips, down his thighs, slowing his stride only 
long enough to tear the pants hastily from his legs. It never 
occurred to him that they were already wet, that it would make 
no difference if he plowed into the water with them on. White-
hot panic drove him to disrobe and leave his clothes crumpled 
on the shore to wade naked into the river. 

Icy water enveloped his ankles, calves and thighs, contracting 
his muscles with its chill. He hissed when it reached his 
genitals, so goddamn painfully cold, but apt punishment for his 
sins against Scully. 

Hypocrite. Fraud. Liar. She deserved better.

She'd trusted him, goddammit, and he'd let her down. He'd 
allowed another man to touch her, to make love to her. It was 
intolerable. 

Swamped with self-loathing, he dove beneath the surface and 
bellowed into the murky water. His scream churned past his 
face, a stream of frenzied bubbles, the sound muted, too weak 
for the agony it carried. Lungs emptied, he burrowed down 
through the bitter current, swimming deeper, to the riverbed's 
weedy bottom.

When he could go no further, he stopped his thrashing and let 
himself sink into the wafting kelp. His arms and legs were so 
numbed with cold he barely felt its soft tug. He waited there 
in the gloom, letting his awful anger dissipate like sweat in a 
cool breeze.

Inexorably the river brought relief.

Thank God.

A shining memory insinuated itself into his anguish. A moment 
five years ago, in Scully's bathroom, after he'd handcuffed 
Eugene Tooms to her tub. Scully briefly sought solace in 
Mulder's embrace. All these years later, he could still feel 
her cradled in his arms, her pulse slowing, her fear ebbing as 
she caught her breath. It had been the first time he'd saved 
her life. He'd been her hero, come to her rescue like a white 
knight on a steed.

He would give anything to be that man again.

Pushing away from the river bottom, lungs aching for oxygen, he 
promised to reconcile his past mistakes. Two powerful strokes 
and his face punched through the river's surface. He gasped, 
filling his chest with the soft night air. Water clung to his 
lashes, his brows, streamed from his beard and hair. He blinked 
at the stars, bringing them into sharp focus. 

The constellation of Hercules loomed straight overhead, his 
club lifted high, everlastingly prepared to battle Ophiuchus 
and his dreadful Serpent. The snake's triangular head blocked 
Hercules from Virgo, who reclined on her back along the 
ecliptic. 

Mimicking the virgin's defenseless posture, Mulder rolled to 
face the stars and floated with arms and legs spread wide. 
Scully had been similarly exposed, he recalled, when she 
climaxed against the palm of his hand. Jesus, he'd wanted to 
climb inside her at that moment, become part of her, know her 
thoughts, share her ecstasy. He'd wanted to be thawed by her 
passion, and wash away her fearsome memories while purging his 
own anguish. In an ultimate act of love, he'd wanted to embed 
himself between her legs, nudge her womb and weep for joy.

More tears came now, silently this time. He let them fall in 
scalding rivulets past his temples into the icy river. 

High above him, the night sky teemed with menacing creatures: 
the Dragon, the Lizard, the Lion and the Great Bear. At the 
center stood Hercules, and Mulder wished for the legendary 
hero's lionskin armor, to make him impervious to fear, too, 
able to face his own demons. 

He located the cluster of stars that marked Hercules' head, 
halfway between Vega and Gemma. It was faint, even on this 
crystal clear night. 

Suddenly the stars shifted east to west and the entire sky 
appeared to turn watery. At first Mulder attributed the 
distortion to his tears. But blinking failed to clear the 
intensifying blur.

The sky was bucking, folding and unfolding in an astonishing 
fashion, corrugating like a paper fan. Startled, he righted 
himself in the river, treading water, toes searching for solid 
ground. A strange vibrating current wobbled him and he 
instinctively began to swim for shore. But the riverbank 
appeared as uneven as the sky, ribbed with unexpected peaks 
and grooves. It undulated, shuddered, grew soft and hazy.

Was this an earthquake? No, a quake wouldn't explain the sky. 
This was some other phenomenon. Something unnatural. Something 
paranormal. Fearing for Scully's safety, he was about to call 
her name, when a reverse memory inundated his senses and sent 
him spiraling backward in his mind.

Fiery pain in his thigh. The smell of antiseptic and bleach.

"Noitatiplap no 76 si erusserp doolb," a woman's voice said, 
garbled and unintelligible.

Where was Scully? 

There. At his feet. She was backing away toward the emergency 
room exit. He shook, coughed. Paramedics and nurses surrounded 
him. Feeling nauseous, he was afraid he was going to vomit 
into his oxygen mask.

What was happening? 

Suddenly inside an ambulance, he felt like a kid on a merry-
go-round, spinning backward, tugged by centrifugal force. From 
the ambulance he was lifted to the ground where he was left to 
lie, wet and cold. Scully dragged her coat from his chest, 
leaving him exposed and shivering. She shouted, "Nwod 
reciffo!" 

It made no sense! 

Now he was falling skyward, yet somehow he managed to land on 
his feet. Hearing a gunshot, he inhaled a scream. Fire drilled 
his leg from back to front. The astonishing pain vanished just 
before he yelled, "Tnega laredef!" 

What the hell was going on?

As quickly as the topsy-turvy event had begun, it was over. 
The sky smoothed, returning to normal, a curved velvet dome, 
jet black, glittering with all its familiar constellations. 
The river flowed south as before. Its banks lay flat and 
tranquil.

With his heart pounding, Mulder swam quickly for shore. Once 
there he found his legs were quaking so violently they 
wouldn't support his weight, so he crawled from the river on 
hands and knees, and hunkered on the grassy bank to wait for 
his trembling to subside. 

He'd just experienced some sort of time anomaly, he realized. 
Maybe similar to the one that had brought them here. Was it a 
way home? Hope coursed through him, only to be ousted by fear 
when it occurred to him that he could have been sucked back to 
the future -- or to some other time -- without Scully. 

Was she still here?

Frantically, he rubbed his thighs, trying to bring feeling 
back into them so that he could run to her and assure himself 
that she was still asleep in the shelter where he'd left her. 
When his palm grazed the location of his old gunshot wound he 
noticed it was no longer there. Like the scar on his shoulder, 
it had disappeared.

The time distortion...it must have taken him back to the Boggs 
case, to the moment when Lucas Henry shot him in the leg. 
Only...everything had happened in reverse with people speaking 
backward. Somehow he'd slipped into the past, and now he was 
once again where he'd started...only younger, somehow, and 
missing the scar from Lucas Henry's bullet.

A sense of urgency propelled him to his feet. He and Scully 
needed to find a way home, before time separated them 
permanently. Was she still here in the Pleistocene? Locating 
his pants, he ran, desperate to find her.

Retracing his steps, he careened past several ghostly 
shelters, their bony supports luminous in the moonlight. 

Where was she?

Then he spotted her, cradled in the hut's giant, skeletal 
fist, asleep and looking like a resplendent angel. He slowed 
his running, stopping just outside the shelter, hot with 
relief, each sandpaper gasp scouring his throat and tightening 
his chest. She was okay. She was still with him. 

He went to her and crouched on shaky legs, while she blurred 
beyond the curtain of his tears. Hugging his aching ribs, he 
thanked God he hadn't lost her. 

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:29 AM

Jason rapidly typed a string of commands on his keyboard. 

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked, hanging over his shoulder.

He wished she would back away. Her scent, her heat, the 
whisper of her breath against his ear...everything about her 
was distracting.

"Creating a graphical exemplar of the warp during last night's 
test. It should show us any structural anomalies in the 
continuum."

A three-dimensional model began to take shape on the monitor. 
Time rippled in predictable waves from the EE Nodule at the 
model's epicenter, like the surface of a pond disturbed by the 
toss of a pebble.

"Ground zero." Nichols pinpointed the Nodule with his index 
finger.

Lisa's head bobbed, causing her long hair to sweep his 
shoulder. Its tickle evoked yesterday's lovemaking, when he 
had buried his face in those dark, curling tresses, feeling 
both desperate and relieved at the same time. Growing hard at 
the memory, he struggled to ignore her physical proximity by 
focusing on his computer screen. 

Another keystroke set the computer model into motion. Time 
pulsed, stretched. Waves crested like whitecaps on a wind-
tossed sea. Unanticipated bubbles formed on the curve of each 
wave, small at first, but soon ballooning and drifting off 
course. Two expansive bubbles collided and burst.

"Shit." Jason gaped at the image.

More bubbles erupted, causing pinprick holes to develop in the 
fabric of time. Tiny perforations grew larger, then merged 
with others, until the entire model appeared pocked and 
roiling.

"Someone went into that?" Lisa asked, sounding aghast.     

If Jason's suspicions turned out to be true, not only was 
someone lost in that caldron, they might be the catalyst for 
time's continued disintegration.

"We have to tell Beck," Lisa said.

"No!" If Beck saw this data, he might suspect Jason had 
sabotaged the test, and no one must learn about that, not even 
Lisa, not yet. He couldn't risk being removed from the 
Project. Not until he had assured its failure. "Lisa, listen 
to me. It's too early to tell Beck anything. We need to figure 
out what went wrong before we go to him."

"Jason, you said yourself that someone might be trapped in 
there."

"I didn't say trapped. If anyone traveled back, they can be 
returned."

"How? We've never seen anything like this."

"And neither has Beck, so telling him won't help. He'll only 
get in our way. Let's rerun the model. As soon as we figure 
out what happened, we'll go to Beck...I promise."

She stared at the monitor, brows drawn together. "I don't 
know, Jason. This is the Colonel's project."

"It's *our* project. We--"

The lab door suddenly swung inward, putting an end to their 
argument. Captain Linden stood at the entrance, eyes narrowed, 
lips pressed into an angry line.

*   *   *

ANT CLAN'S AUTUMN CAMP
A-CHI STREAM
SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
EARLY AFTERNOON

Concealed by stalks of pasture roses, Gini crouched on all 
fours to watch Dzeh and Lin search the abandoned village at 
the bottom of the hill. Painful thorns pricked her bare knees, 
but the thicket provided good cover. Surrounded by fluttering, 
pink blossoms and dense, glossy leaves, she was well hidden 
from her brother and his uncle, as well as from Chal and Wol-
la-chee, should they suddenly appear from the north. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked for them again, 
expecting to find them hiking down the hill, following after 
her and the others. She was certain they must have discovered 
she'd backtracked at the swamp, and unless they stopped to 
hunt or eat, they couldn't be far behind. But the grassy slope 
at her back remained empty. She breathed a quiet sigh of 
relief and returned her attention to the village in the glade 
below.  

This was Ant Clan territory; she recognized their autumn camp 
by the gooseneck bend in the river, marked by an ancient 
sycamore and a rock formation that resembled a mastodon mother 
with her baby. Klizzie had told her a story about those 
massive stone boulders when they were here last year. 

In the story, the mother mastodon and her baby were drinking 
at the river when a pack of hungry wolves surrounded them. The 
frightened baby hid between its mother's legs and cried for 
help, while the mother trumpeted angrily at her attackers. 

Driven by their hunger, the wolves closed in on the mastodons. 
They licked their muzzles in anticipation.

The wolves bared their teeth and growled low in their throats, 
while the mother lashed out at them with her tusks. She kept 
the wolves at bay all afternoon, throughout the night and into 
the next day. Eventually, however, she grew exhausted and 
weak.

When the greedy wolves saw the mother was near death, two of 
the more daring ones -- a pair of silver-furred sisters -- 
approached the mother from behind while the others kept her 
distracted with howls and barks. The silver sisters darted 
between the mother's hind legs and pounced on her baby. Their 
sharp jaws clamped around his wobbly legs, and he released a 
pitiful wail. The distraught mother used her last dying breath 
to send up one final trumpeting prayer to the Spirits, begging 
them to intercede and save her baby from being devoured by the 
wolves.

The Spirits heard the mother's cry and answered her prayer, 
turning both the mother and the baby into stone. The wolves 
were left with nothing but broken teeth and empty bellies. 

Gini hadn't liked the story very much. It seemed unfair to her 
that the wolves were allowed to go free, punished only with a 
few broken teeth, while the mastodons were transformed forever 
into stone. When she complained to Klizzie about it, she was 
told, "We cannot always understand the actions of Spirits, 
Little Chick, but it is good to know they are willing to 
answer a frightened mother's prayer."

"But what if the wolves had prayed to the Spirits, too?" she 
asked. "Which prayers would the Spirits answer?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is possible to answer all prayers."

Gini doubted this could be true. "Then why do people go hungry 
or get sick, even when they pray?" 

"Maybe they are not praying earnestly enough."

Not earnestly enough? What was enough? Sometimes the Spirits 
seemed very hard to please. 

She decided she would rather have broken teeth and an empty 
belly than be turned to stone.

No sooner had she thought about her empty stomach when it 
rumbled from hunger. She could smell Dzeh and Lin's mid-day 
meal cooking over their campfire. A large armadillo was 
roasting in the coals, while the men paced around the huts, 
going back and forth to the river and gesturing in all 
directions. Although Gini was too far away to hear their 
conversation, she suspected they were discussing Muhl-dar and 
Day-nuh's footprints. They'd been following the strangers' 
clear trail all day, through highland meadows, reconnecting 
with A-Chi Stream around mid-morning, and now here to Ant 
Clan's sparsely treed lands. 

Gini had mixed feelings about returning to A-Chi Stream. It 
meant that Muhl-dar and Day-nuh would now have plenty of fresh 
drinking water as they traveled, which was good. It also meant 
Dzeh could simply follow the stream to find them.

Not that he was having any difficulty tracking them. 

Hopefully Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had not stopped anywhere to 
rest for very long, and now were far, far to the south, 
forever beyond Dzeh's reach. 

Glancing once again behind her and seeing no sign of Chal and 
Wol-la-chee, Gini settled down to pick ants from the rose 
blossoms to appease her hungry belly. Smelling the delicious 
roasting armadillo, she crushed insects between her thumb and 
forefinger and popped one after the next into her mouth. They 
had almost no flavor and it would take a lot of them to 
silence her empty stomach. 

*   *   *

Drawn south by the river, Scully and Mulder hiked through a 
stony valley of scrub brush and stunted hardwoods. Jagged 
hills rose on either side of them. Deep red canyons snaked 
between tree-studded peaks, shadowy and mysterious, making 
Scully feel like a mouse in a maze. It surprised her how 
radically the terrain changed each day, mountaintops to 
lowland swamps to open grassland to this notched and ragged 
place. 

The ground underfoot was relatively flat, although striated 
with rocky outcroppings. Sandy soil and weedy vegetation 
filled the spaces around the islands of stone. Recent 
rockslides littered the canyon's edges and redirected the flow 
of the river with colorful slabs of sandstone. In some places 
entire cliff-sides had fallen away, exposing striped layers of 
earth and uprooted trees. It was as if the land were a living, 
breathing beast, shedding its skin to reveal a more 
brilliantly hued creature beneath.       

The river ran deep and rapid here. Jammed with boulders and 
fallen logs, it zigzagged noisily through the valley. 

Scully raised her voice to be heard above its monotonous chug. 

"It's myth, Mulder. Urban legend."

"Maybe."

Mulder had been uncharacteristically quiet all day. He claimed 
to be fine, although he'd obviously spent at least part of the 
night crying. She'd woken to find him shivering and wet, 
sitting beside her on the furs with his legs drawn up, hugging 
his knees. "River water," he explained when she asked about 
his bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. "I took a bath."

"Before dawn?"

He shrugged and kept his face turned away after that.

Wouldn't you know, she thought. She was finally feeling better 
about their relationship and now he was in a funk.

Not that she could blame him. Making love must have been as 
difficult for him as it had been for her.

A pang of guilt stung her. The decision to participate in the 
mate exchange had been hers, not his. 

In retrospect she realized Mulder had been right about 
leaving. They should have gone before agreeing to the tribe's 
repugnant custom. She'd been wrong to talk him into staying. 
An altercation with the tribe was inevitable given their 
extreme cultural differences. 

And given Mulder's predictable disregard for rules. 

To her surprise, she found herself wishing she were more like 
him. She actually admired his ability to go his own way and 
damn the consequences. He followed his heart without 
questioning it. 

Where had her prudence gotten her all these years? 

This time it had landed her in a stranger's bed. 

What a fool she'd been. Like the Ourobourus on her back, she 
was going in circles, plodding along a familiar, yet 
fruitless, path of logic while denying herself Mulder's more 
satisfying, if less predictable, extreme possibilities.

She vowed to do things differently if given the opportunity. 
She would throw caution to the wind, go where her heart led 
without trying to second-guess it, the way he did. 

The way she had finally done last night. 

Giving in to her emotions and making love to Mulder had been 
cathartic for her. She'd opened herself up in a way she never 
had before, and today she felt better for it...calmer, closer 
to him than ever. 

She'd hoped he would feel the same way, but evidently their 
lovemaking had affected him differently, closing him off 
instead of opening him up.  

Unable to wrestle any real communication from him all morning, 
she reluctantly fell back on their old habit of discussing 
case files instead of personal issues. Debating the paranormal 
seemed better than saying nothing at all, if only a little.

At least it helped pass the time as they traveled.

How many miles had they hiked since leaving the tribe? And 
when would enough be enough? Surely no one was still following 
them.   

A herd of spindly-legged gazelles grazed peacefully on the 
riverbank thirty yards downstream, where grass fringed the 
shore, growing lush beneath a row of slanting elms. Pestered 
by flies, the animals tossed their heads and flicked their 
tails.

Beyond the gazelles, a fallen log had created a swell in the 
river and a flock of stilted egrets fished for minnows in the 
relatively calm shallows. The noon sun flashed brightly off 
the birds' snowy feathers as they plucked silvery fish from 
the water and swallowed them whole. 

Scully's empty belly growled. There was no smoked meat left in 
the pack. The only thing they carried now was the worn fur 
blanket from the abandoned camp.  

"It's the Pookie Johnson story all over again," she said, 
determined to disregard her stomach while whittling away 
Mulder's reticence.

"Who's Pookie Johnson?" 

He tossed a pebble into the river, startling the egrets. They 
cawed and flapped their wings, edging downstream but not 
flying away.

"There was an alleged case in a Cincinnati hospital's ICU 
where patients always died in the same bed on Sunday nights at 
about 9:00 p.m., regardless of their medical conditions."

"A vengeful ghost?"

"Hardly. A team of experts was assembled to investigate the 
cause. The following Sunday, a few minutes before 9:00, they 
waited outside the ward to see what would happen."

"What did happen?" He tossed another stone. It ricocheted off 
a boulder with a tinny ping. "I'd put my money on Aquiel, the 
Demon of Sunday."

"You'd lose, betting man. When the clock struck 9:00, Pookie 
Johnson, the night custodian, entered the ward and unplugged 
the life support system so that he could use the vacuum 
cleaner."

"Nooooo! Say it ain't so."

She felt a surge of triumph. Not only had she told her joke 
without him guessing the punch line, she'd also managed to 
lure him out of his circumspection.

"It ain't so, which is exactly my point, Mulder. That story's 
been told so many times it's become folklore."

"Spoilsport."

She chuckled. "The Demon of Sunday? Where do you come up with 
these things?"

"I--"

Suddenly Mulder stumbled. He managed to remain upright, but 
was now standing in a rocky indentation approximately two and 
a half feet long by about six inches deep. The "hole" was an 
animal track with three enormous, talon-tipped toes.

Mulder's face brightened for the first time all day. "Wow!"

Although she was glad to see him smile, she didn't share his 
enthusiasm; any beast that could leave an imprint like that 
was a monster. "What is it?"

"Allosaurus." He squatted to run his hand over the stony 
print.

"Allosaurus?"

"A theropod. Biggest, meanest predator in North America during 
the late Jurassic."

"A dinosaur?" Jesus, were they traveling further back in time?

"Relax, Scully. This is a fossilized track. Look, there's 
another."

He stood and loped to the next track, which was about three 
yards away. He jumped into it with all the enthusiasm of a 
six-year-old in a mud puddle. Looking back at her, he whooped 
with delight. "Is this great or what?"

She didn't share his enthusiasm. "How do you know so much 
about dinosaurs?"

"All boys know about dinosaurs." He began following the trail 
of prints, hopping excitedly into each one.

"They do?" she asked, more to herself than to Mulder. Bill and 
Charlie had never shown an interest in anything but military 
jets and submarines.

She hurried to catch up.

"When I was nine, Dad took me to the American Museum of 
Natural History in New York to see the diplodocus skeleton," 
he said. "It was 72 feet long, 22 feet high, and was estimated 
to weigh between 50 and 70 tons. Can you imagine a creature 
like that? It would dwarf even the biggest Ice Age beast."   

"I guess I should be thankful we didn't wind up in the 
Jurassic." She eyed the prints nervously. "Are you sure these 
tracks are fossilized?"

Her question brought an indulgent smile to his lips. "Yes, I'm 
sure." 

For the next hour, he followed dinosaur tracks while she 
followed him and listened to his excited descriptions of 
various gargantuan beasts. Diplodocus, apatosaurus, 
stegosaurus, camarasaurus, and so many others she began to 
lose count. 

"These could be over 135 million years old!" he said, tearing 
his eyes away from another set of stony prints only long 
enough to grin at her. "Lower Cretaceous, maybe. Did you know 
that there are more than 1600 fossilized dinosaur bones at 
Dinosaur National Monument?"

Dinosaur National Monument...why did that sound familiar?

"Where?" she asked.

"It's a graveyard of fossilized bones in Vernal, Utah. That's 
about...uhhh...well, I don't know how many miles from here, 
but it's in the eastern part of the state."

That sparked her memory.

"Melissa sent me a postcard from there once," she said, 
picturing the photo on the card...enormous brown bones 
protruding from rock cliffs, happy tourists standing nearby. 
In her note Missy had seemed as enthralled as Mulder, although 
not for the same reasons. It wasn't the dinosaurs that excited 
her. Apparently she'd met a park employee named Craig, who 
convinced her to stay in Utah for most of the month of 
October. Their relationship remained strictly platonic, she 
claimed. Craig was allegedly a cosmic sibling. 

The fossilized tracks finally petered out as the rocky canyon 
widened into a verdant basin of grassland and deciduous trees. 
Red rock cliffs more than three stories high cradled the 
lowland paradise, where herds of animals grazed along the 
broad river's curving shores. Water buffalo, camels, more 
gazelles, all seemingly unconcerned by the approach of humans. 
Flocks of birds waded and fished in the rapids. Enormous 
turtles sunned themselves on fallen logs.

The air smelled as fecund as a greenhouse. Constant bird song 
blurred with the babble of the river, filling Scully with 
wonder, drawing her forward with her head tilted skyward, 
sniffing the soft breeze and listening to the harmonious 
melody of nature.

Mulder seemed to grow calmer, too, as he led them more deeply 
into the tranquil basin. Eyes wide, lips quirked in a half-
smile, he wore an expression of enchanted incredulity. 

His outward delight and disbelief matched hers as they 
approached a herd of horses, eventually coming close enough to 
smell the ponies' dusty hides, without scaring them away. 
Twelve mares grazed peaceably in the shade of widely spaced 
trees, taking almost no notice of the dumbfounded humans who 
walked among them. 

"They aren't afraid of us," she said, keeping her voice low.

"I noticed that."

She chanced touching one as she passed, just lightly, on its 
sun-warmed rump. The pony nickered and kicked at the ground 
making a dull, hollow-sounding thud before plodding two steps 
away. It bent its head to tear another mouthful of bright 
grass from the dirt.

"Why aren't they running?"

"Maybe they can see we aren't carrying any weapons."

The pony swatted its rust-colored tail, inadvertently slapping 
Scully's arm as it swished flies. She flinched and gasped from 
the whip-like sting, causing the horse to gaze back at her. 
Its large eye rolled, assessing the threat. Flies tormented 
its ears and it waggled them, nodding and snorting in an 
effort to find momentary relief. When it trotted away, Scully 
wasn't certain if it was trying to escape her or the bugs.

None of the horses were very large, not by modern standards. 
But they all had fat bellies and muscular legs. A lot of 
protein on the hoof, she realized, and her stomach rumbled 
again.  

"Just one of these animals would feed us for three or four 
days," she said, eyeing the horse that had struck her with its 
tail. She pictured it cut into T-bones and tenderloins, and 
her mouth began to water.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me when I said we have no weapons."

"You have a knife."

He chuckled. "You want me to take down a horse with my 
pocketknife?"

"Okay, maybe not your knife. But we're smart people. We should 
be able to apply a little 20th Century ingenuity to solving 
our food problem."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. But we need to eat and there must be a 
gazillion calories of fresh meat in this valley."

Mulder's head swiveled and a curious expression replaced his 
smile as he looked around.  

"Weird. The place where we stayed last night had no game at 
all. I didn't see so much as an anorexic squirrel. Nothing but 
a few ants."

It was a contrast. This valley was like a Garden of Eden, 
flourishing with robust animals, lush vegetation and crystal-
clear water. Its serenity and abundance soothed Scully's 
frayed nerves. She felt relaxed here. This was the most 
peaceful place they'd encountered since coming to the 
Pleistocene.

"Look at that." Mulder pointed to the eastern cliffs where the 
late afternoon sun spotlighted a shadowy cave in the crimson-
colored rock. The cleft curved like a frowning mouth, its 
lower lip jutting beyond the arching roof, approximately 
thirty feet above the valley floor.

He dug his binoculars from his pocket and raised them to his 
eyes. "I think our luck is finally changing...for the better. 
Feel like spending the night with a roof over your head?"

"It's not occupied is it?"

"Look for yourself." 

He passed her the binoculars.

She peered through the glasses at the cave. Nothing moved 
inside its shady opening. A shallow incline of boulders, 
overgrown with shrubs, saplings and groundcovers, connected 
the cave to the valley floor like a living staircase. At the 
base of those lush steps, a large, ragged beaver dam slowed 
the river's current, creating a sizable pond. Cattails and 
purple flowers grew in profusion along its southern shore. 
More birds fluttered in the rushes.

It was beautiful.

"Come on, let's go," Mulder urged, taking her hand and pulling 
her forward.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:47 AM

"Captain Linden!" Lisa Ianelli wore the startled expression of 
an airman caught jerking off on night patrol. She stood beside 
Nichols, who was seated with his back to the door at a 
computer terminal at the rear of the lab.

Linden stepped into the room as Nichols swiveled in his chair 
to face him. The young scientist's hand slid from his keyboard 
to his lap and the monitor behind him went dark.

Two stone-faced airmen flanked Linden and he motioned them to 
wait outside the door, which he left open. Crossing the lab, 
he passed several unoccupied stations to stand directly in 
front of Ianelli and Nichols. 

"Something wrong?" Nichols asked. 

"You tell me."

"Sorry." Nichols looked up at him with mock regret. A 
contemptuous smirk twitched the corners of his mouth. "I'm not 
authorized to discuss the Project with anyone but Colonel 
Beck. Damn those pesky orders, huh, *sir*?"

Impudent little fuck. Linden was sick to death of Nichol's "I 
know something you don't" attitude. He was a goddamn smart-ass 
and, worse yet, a civilian working on a classified military 
project...a very risky combination. Linden didn't know the 
details of Beck's pet project, but it was his job to ensure 
the security of this base and his gut was screaming at him to 
distrust Nichols and his jittery girlfriend, especially after 
discovering a connection this morning between them and the two 
elusive intruders.

"I'm not here to talk about the Project," Linden said.

"No? Then why are you here?" Nichols leaned back in his chair, 
loose-limbed and cocky.

"To hear you explain why two Federal agents tried to sneak 
onto this base last night."

Nichols looked genuinely surprised. "I don't know anything 
about that."

"I think you do." Linden paced around Nichols to rest his hand 
on top of the computer monitor. What had these two been 
looking at a moment ago and why didn't they want him to see 
it? "You ever hear of an Agent Fox Mulder?"

"Yes, I met him last year." Nichols took off his glasses to 
clean them on the hem of his faded T-shirt. "At the Bio-Med 
Research Station at MIT. Was he one of the Federal agents who 
slipped past your security?"

"Technically you met him at the police station."

"Mulder arranged for my bail, yes. And since you've obviously 
checked my records, you already know I was acquitted of Lucas 
Menand's murder."

"So the BPD said. They also said you disappeared for a period 
of several days after a fire broke out in the Bio Lab's 
computer center."

Nichols fitted his glasses back over his ears and sighed. "So 
what? I needed to get away. I'd just lost several years worth 
of work, not to mention my very good friend Lucas. Is it a 
crime to grieve?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?" Ianelli asked, flipping her long hair 
behind her shoulders. A nervous habit, Linden guessed, more 
than a challenge. Her lips were frayed from biting them. Her 
nails chewed to the nub. She looked like she hadn't slept in a 
week. "What's this really about?" she asked. "Why would Agent 
Mulder try to sneak onto this base?"

"My guess is he was planning to meet someone here. Someone who 
was in a position to leak classified information."

Ianelli's eyes rounded. "You think we're spies?"

"That's preposterous." Nichols threw up his hands in 
disbelief. Anger darkened his face. He pinned Linden with a 
cold stare. "Is that what he told you?"

Linden shrugged. He had no intention of letting them know the 
intruders hadn't been found yet.

"This is my life's work, Captain," Nichols said. "Why would I 
do anything to jeopardize it?"

"Sorry, I'm not authorized to discuss that with anyone but 
Colonel Beck." Now it was Linden's turn to smirk. He drew away 
and headed to the door; at the threshold he turned to look 
back at them. "But I am putting you both under 24-hour guard 
until further notice. Damn those pesky orders, huh, *Mister* 
Nichols?" 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 28, 6:59 PM

While Scully was bathing in the river, Mulder gathered tinder 
for a fire. He planned to ignite it using the sun's rays and 
his binoculars. The idea had come to him earlier when Scully 
passed the glasses back to him, causing sunlight to ricochet 
off the lenses and spotlight the red rock outside the cave. 
Why he hadn't thought to try this days ago, he wasn't sure. 
Must have been distracted by saber-toothed tigers and angry 
Cro-Magnons.

Dried grass? Check. Cedar shavings? Check. Small twigs and 
branches? Check. Larger branches and driftwood? Check.

One threadbare animal skin next to the fire for making love? 
He waggled his brows at no one in particular. Check! 

He had arranged the combustibles near the mouth of the cave, 
where late afternoon sunlight still washed across the stony 
floor. The cave was dry and roomy, about twelve feet high at 
its mid-point and nearly twice as wide. It curved into the 
hillside for about ten yards before narrowing and finally 
dead-ending. Nothing seemed to be living in it, other than a 
small colony of bats that hung from fissures in the roof at 
the back.

It wasn't the Watergate, but in many ways, it was more 
comfortable than some of the hotels they'd stayed in over the 
years.

Just in case he was unsuccessful at starting a fire, he hadn't 
divulged his plans to Scully. No sense getting her hopes up 
over nothing if all he managed to create was a little smoke. 
Besides, it would be great to surprise her with a roaring fire 
when she returned from her bath.

Tilting the binoculars toward the sun, he focused its rays 
through one the lenses, creating a small circle of light on 
his pile of wood shavings. A minor adjustment of distance 
shrank the circle to a dime-sized dot. He wondered how long 
this might take...assuming it worked at all.

Would staring at the dot blind him? He averted his eyes, 
glancing back only often enough to make sure the light was 
still aimed at the kindling and not on the stone floor of the 
cave, or worse, at his leg or foot.

In less than a minute a wisp of smoke wafted up from the 
tinder. Could it really be that easy? A curled cedar chip 
smoldered. 

It was working! 

He blew gently on the ember. It glowed brightly, but didn't 
ignite. He blew again, a little more forcefully.

A tiny flame appeared.

Yes! He was making a fire! Just an itsy-bitsy one, but an 
honest-to-goodness fire nonetheless. 

He set down the binoculars and fed a few bits of grass into 
the tenuous flame, all the while trying to still his shaky 
hands. It wouldn't do to get overexcited and suffocate the 
fledging fire.

The grass sizzled and ignited.

"Now we're cookin'." 

He added a few more cedar shavings. They crackled and snapped, 
and sent up a pleasant aroma. A few thin, dry twigs ensured 
the fire was going to keep burning.

"Woo hoooo!" he bellowed. 

He'd made a fire! A *fire*! Without matches. Now they could 
cook food...uh, assuming they could find some. And even if 
they couldn't, they'd be warm tonight, which was something.

He placed a branch very carefully onto the flames and it 
started to burn.

"You built a fire?" Scully stood at the lip of the cave, hair 
dripping wet, brows raised, and looking for all the world as 
if she didn't believe what her own eyes were seeing.

He grinned up at her. "I did."

"How?"

"A little 20th Century ingenuity." He hefted the binoculars 
and waved them at the setting sun.

She nodded. "Handsome *and* smart. Every cave girl's dream."

"You're just sayin' that because I'm the only guy around who's 
willing to wear a necktie to work or use a napkin at the 
dinner table."

"Can't argue with that. Speaking of dinner..." She brought her 
hands out from behind her back and held up a fistful of 
bullfrogs. They dangled wetly by their long webbed feet, hind 
legs stretching to at least eighteen inches and each one with 
a belly as thick as Mulder's forearm. She smiled proudly.

"Whoa. Look what croaked." 

"You aren't squeamish, are you, Fire Man?"

"Not at all. Whaddaya say I cut a couple of sharp sticks and 
we roast 'em like weenies?" 

*   *   *

Dzeh's eyes widened at the sight of the giant three-taloned 
track. He had heard about such things, but had never seen one 
for himself. This print was as long as a man's stride and was 
pressed deeply into the stone. Whatever creature had created 
it was monstrous. 

"We must turn back," Lin urged. "This is Ye-tsan Basin."

"That is only a legend."

"You can see for yourself it is real. What animal can make a 
track like that?" 

Dzeh knew Lin was right. His uncle was not a man who was 
easily frightened. He'd lived many hard winters and single-
handedly battled ferocious bears, wolves and saber-toothed 
cats. Dzeh had once seen him stand his ground against a 
charging bull mastodon, killing it by driving his spear into 
its furious eye. And yet Lin's face was pale and his hands 
trembling as he stared down at the gigantic tracks.

"It is a trick. Perhaps Muhl-dar conjured these tracks to 
frighten us away." Dzeh's desire to continue after his enemy 
was greater than his fear of ancient legends.

"We have heard the tales all our lives, Nephew."

"Doubtless Muhl-dar has heard them, too."

"These were not created by a man, not even one as cunning as 
Muhl-dar." 

Did massive serpents really live here, creatures bigger than 
the largest mastodon, fiercer than a wounded she-bear? Dzeh 
scanned the land to the south for any glimpse of the giants. 
He saw nothing but more impossible tracks, and A-Chi Stream, 
grown fat and wild, snaking south through a verdant lowland.

"Muhl-dar will die here," he said, feeling relieved. 

It was commonly believed that Endless Lake lay at the 
southern-most end of the Basin, too broad to be crossed and 
too wide to be hiked around. To the east and west, tall red 
cliffs, impossible to climb, squeezed the valley. Ye-tsan was 
a trap. Only a desperate man would enter a place that was 
blocked on three sides and teamed with colossal serpents. 
Muhl-dar would perish as surely as a fly in a pitcher plant.

Two faint sets of prints -- Muhl-dar's and Day-nuh's -- 
disturbed the dust beyond the giant lizard's stony tracks. The 
sight lightened Dzeh's aching spirit. The strangers deserved 
whatever dreadful fate they would meet in this fearsome place.

As if able to see his thoughts, Lin said, "They are already 
dead, Nephew. Let us go home before we meet the same fate. 
Surely Wol-la-chee and Chal have already returned to Turkey 
Lake with Gini."

A shiver of doubt tickled Dzeh's spine, but he shook it off 
and turned away from the terrible lowland. He was finally done 
with the strangers and was grateful he would never set eyes on 
them again. 

*   *   *

The sun appeared to be balanced on the rim of Ye-tsan Basin; 
its crimson glow painted the cliff-sides the color of blood. 
Gini emerged from her hiding place behind a thorny locust tree 
as soon as Dzeh and Lin were out of sight. 

They were returning home...without her. 

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She had expected to 
be relieved, but as it turned out, she was sad and a little 
panicky. Watching Dzeh disappear into the sparse, darkening 
woods was more difficult than she had anticipated. She would 
never, ever see him again, she realized. Or Klizzie either. 

Imaginary knives jabbed her heart as she considered living 
without them. Klizzie had been her mother for four years -- 
half her life -- taking care of her whenever she was sick and 
teaching her important lessons, like how to scrape hides and 
smoke meat and make pemmican. She showed her which plants were 
safe to eat and which were not. She braided her hair and gave 
her gifts and treats, like honeyballs and spruce gum and 
necklaces and soft, pretty tunics. 

Even Dzeh was *usually* nice. He had carved her many little 
dolls, far more than her friend Jeha ever had. And he told her 
stories and sometimes took her hunting even though girls were 
not supposed to hunt with men. 

Lots of nights Dzeh and Klizzie let her climb into bed with 
them when she woke up afraid, scared by a nightmare or the 
howl of wolves. Klizzie would hold her in her arms and stroke 
her hair, while Dzeh told stories, keeping his voice low so as 
not to wake the others in the lodge.

Dzeh had a nice voice. Deep and comforting, at times as soft 
as goose down on a spring wind. It was pleasant to listen to 
him tell tales of successful hunts or happy feasts, while 
Klizzie kissed her cheeks and called her "Little Chick," until 
she fell asleep between them.   

Tears filled her eyes at such fine memories, blurring the red 
sky and the dark silhouettes of trees, making the world look 
like the inside of a gutted carcass.

Wiping away her tears, she was determined not to cry. It had 
been many moon cycles since she'd gone to her brother or 
Klizzie for comfort. Certainly not since Dzeh decided she must 
take a mate.

She would not go back to the Clan. If she must live with 
strangers, she would decide who. Dzeh would no longer tell her 
what to do. She would live with Muhl-dar and Day-nuh and that 
was the end of it.

Unfortunately Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had gone into Ye-tsan 
Basin...the place of monsters.

She turned to face the lowland. There in the growing gloom, 
pressed deeply into the stone, were the frightful footprints 
of giant lizards.

Fighting the urge to chase after Dzeh, she headed into the 
valley.

"Please don't eat me, Serpent Monsters," she whispered to the 
shadows. "I do not want to die."

*   *   * 

Mulder's lips nudged Scully's. He didn't press, didn't open 
his mouth, didn't seek to invade her with his tongue. His kiss 
was chaste, tentative, a gentle exploration of her mood.

They stood at the entrance of the cave, the fire separating 
them from the black night outside. His arms loosely encircled 
her silky shoulders; her hands rested on his bare chest. He 
wore his jeans and nothing else. She wore hers, too, and her 
camisole, which reflected the flames in its lustrous fabric. 
Their feet were bare and the stone floor of the cave felt cool 
on his soles.

Drawing back an inch or two, he asked, "Everything okay?"

She nodded shyly. The glistening tip of her tongue darted 
across her lower lip, as if tasting the love he'd left for her 
there. "Yes...everything's fine."

Would she recoil in horror if he touched her breasts? He 
really wanted to touch them, imagining the eggshell-smooth 
skin, the nipples puckered from her bath in the chilly river. 
They tented the silk of her camisole, creating attractive 
shadows in the firelight, tempting his twitchy hands and 
hungry mouth.

Instead of satisfying his craving, however, he brushed her 
inner arm with the backs of his fingers. 

Goosebumps sprouted beneath his caress. She didn't withdraw 
from him and he felt a prickle of triumph.

Were there certain things he shouldn't do? Certain positions 
that would frighten her? Things she'd done with Dzeh?

The idea of Scully making love to that Neanderthal repulsed 
him, no matter how they'd gone about it. He certainly didn't 
want to remind her of it by approaching her the same way.  

Yet, he wanted to make love to her. He longed for the intimacy 
of intercourse. He wasn't expecting anything so sublime, or 
unlikely, as simultaneous orgasms -- he wasn't that optimistic 
-- but he needed to be with her, *in* her, this time when she 
climaxed.

*If* she climaxed, he corrected himself. It was possible she 
wouldn't be comfortable enough to reach orgasm.

The memory of her coming against his hand made his cock 
stiffen.

"Scully..." He barely recognized his own raspy voice. "I want 
to make love to you, but I... I'm not sure..." He paused to 
swallow. "What do you want?"

There was little doubt she was as nervous as he was. Her brows 
were peaked with worry, her mouth taut, jaws clenched. But she 
nodded, setting her hair swinging. "I want you," she said.

Her answer brought relief, but it wasn't enough. He ventured a 
smile. "I need more to go on than that. I don't want to mess 
this up."

"It'll be fine," she reassured him, although she looked far 
from confident.

"Is there anything...I shouldn't do?"

She bit her lip and thought for a moment. Finally she said, 
"Don't hurry."

"All right." He slipped a finger beneath the delicate strap of 
her camisole and tugged playfully. "How about we start by 
taking this off?"

"You need to undress, too," she said, looking at him through 
lowered lashes.

He'd never wanted her more. Stepping away from her was agony, 
but he did it, reluctantly, to remove his pants.

The night air sifted across his naked erection, surprising him 
with its chill. His hand automatically closed around himself 
and he was rewarded with a familiar tingle of pleasure.

When she lifted her camisole up and over her head, exposing 
her breasts and making them bobble in a most attractive way, 
he tightened his grip on his cock, increasing his enjoyment. 
He was staring at her, making her self-conscious, he knew, yet 
he couldn't pull his eyes away from the dark circles of her 
nipples.

Not until she unfastened and lowered her pants and panties. 

His focus dropped to the triangle of hair at the apex of her 
legs. Rust-colored curls beckoned him and he took an unsteady 
step closer. He felt somewhat narcissistic holding onto 
himself, so he let go. His cock bobbed between them and made 
him think briefly of divining rods and dowsing for water with 
the way it aimed at the cleft beneath her curls in search of 
her humid depths.

She glanced down at him, and much to his dismay, appeared to 
grow a little green around the gills.

"Scully, if you're not sure..."

"No, I'm... I'm fine."

He bridled at the familiar phrase and felt some of the 
rigidity leave his cock.

"Honestly," she assured him and took hold of his flagging 
penis with her right hand.

His knees nearly buckled. The pressure and warmth of her touch 
felt so damn good and he began to grow hard once again. 

He wrapped his arms around her, and she nuzzled his bearded 
chin with her lips, coaxing his mouth to hers. When their lips 
met, he slipped his tongue between her teeth, swirling into 
her mouth, exploring her taste and wetness and heat.

A moan vibrated from his lungs into hers. She shivered in 
response and he hoped it was from desire, not cold or fear. 
She still gripped him and he pressed against her, trapping her 
hand and himself between their hips.

It felt good, but he ached for more.
 
Cradling the back of her head in his palm, he increased the 
ardor of his kiss. Her jaw went slack, her lips more pliant, 
and when her tongue prodded his in a swiftly won skirmish to 
access his mouth, he welcomed it and sucked her in.

Connect, merge, unite...these words didn't begin to describe 
the compelling desire he had to join with her.

Without thinking, without breaking their kiss, he swept her up 
into his arms, causing her to release her hold on him. 
Engorged to the point of pain, he immediately missed her 
touch. 

His kisses became more desperate. Jesus, Jesus, if he wasn't 
in her soon his heart was surely going to burst. Dragging his 
mouth from her lips, he nipped at her chin and nose, lapped 
her neck and cheeks, and dipped his tongue back into her 
mouth. He carried her to the fur blanket, where he knelt, 
feeling clumsy and unbalanced, but keeping her in his arms, in 
his lap, for just a moment longer, enjoying the warm press of 
her weight against his swollen groin. He continued to kiss 
her, on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead, more gently this 
time, trying to slow the frantic pace of his desire.

"God, Scully," he gasped when she bit his neck, trapping the 
thin skin above his Adam's apple between her teeth. "I want 
you...so...much."

She released her hold to look up at him, lips swollen and 
parted, chest heaving in little panting breaths. The pupils of 
her eyes were as black and beautiful as the night sky. He 
swore he could see Hercules coalesce with Virgo in their 
glittering firmament.  

Tenderly, he lifted her from his lap onto the furs. Then he 
moved over her, nipping at her collarbone in a gentle 
pantomime of her passionate bite. Slowly, he lowered his body 
on top of hers. 

Her knees parted to cradle him between her thighs. Her arms 
encircled his neck and drew him down. She was sun-warmed silk 
beneath him, welcoming and enchanting. He fitted himself to 
her, pressing his hips between her splayed legs. His hard cock 
found her entrance and he hitched forward, nudging into her 
softly split form. 

He pushed...and met resistance. 

She gasped and winced. 

"Wait," she said. "I'm not...I'm not ready."

He immediately halted his forward thrust. "Sorry. Maybe we 
shouldn't--"

"No. No, it'll be okay. Just...uh...give me a minute."

Propping himself on his elbows, he shifted his weight so that 
he no longer pressed so heavily onto her.

"Take whatever time you need." He stroked her hair. "How about 
if we swap positions?"

She nodded at the suggestion, so he slid off her, rolling as 
he went and taking her with him. He ended up on his back with 
her sprawled on top of him.

Smiling up at her, he said, "Whenever you're ready. Or not. 
Whatever you want to do." 

A look of determination replaced the watery worry in her eyes. 
"Maybe if you talk to me. It might help."

Talk to...? Really? "You mean...like phone sex?"

"Not quite. I just want to hear your voice. I find it 
soothing."

Ah, so she didn't want to hear "Oooo, yeah, fuck me, baby." A 
poem maybe? He sifted through several possibilities before 
settling on: "'Let me but glimpse you and I can no longer 
utter a word. No voice comes; my tongue is thick. Fire runs 
beneath my flesh.'"

She raised an eyebrow. "Continue."

"'My eyes cannot see, my ears are filled with humming that 
stuns, sweat streams down me...'"

She smiled. "More, please." 

He recited the last line: "'My body trembles. I turn greener 
than grass, so faint I believe I shall die.'"

"That was beautiful. Who wrote it?"

"Sappho. 600 B.C., give or take."

"I like it."

"Yeah? Well, I figured it was better than, 'Down go the 
britches, in goes the little thing about six inches.'"

She laughed at his joke, which pleased him. "Where the hell 
did you come up with that?"

"It's an Ozark square-dance call."

"You're kidding."

"I never kid about square-dancing."

Again she chuckled and he enjoyed the vibration of her body 
against his.

"Talk to me some more," she urged, laying her head on his 
shoulder. "I love your voice. Especially here, in the dark." 

She smelled wonderful, fresh like the river water, but with an 
underlying hint of her own natural fragrance, that delightful 
"eau de Scully" that complemented any of the soaps, shampoos 
or perfumes she used back home. He loved her aroma, most 
detectable at the end of a long stakeout, when the artificial 
scent of her toiletries gave way to her body's unmasked, musky 
perfume. 

He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply, grateful 
for this opportunity to sniff her without pretense. Moaning 
his appreciation, he tried to think of something else 
"soothing" to say.

"Know what the Pleistocene tribesmen call this?" He raised his 
hips, nudging her pubic bone with his erection. As soon as the 
words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. Would his 
question remind her of Dzeh and the mate exchange?

She was quiet for a moment, giving him ample time to worry. 

Finally she lifted her head from his shoulder to grin at him. 
"Umm, impressive?" she asked. 

Thank God, she wasn't upset. And she'd just complimented his 
equipment. Maybe this talking idea was a good one after all.

"Aww, thanks, Scully. But no, it's a 'be-zonz.'"

"Be-zonz? What does that mean?"

"*This*." He poked her again. "Penis. Cock. Dick. Schlo--"

"I get the point."

"Know what they call the female genitalia?"

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Ah-toh," he said, answering his own question. 

"Mulder, how did this come up in everyday conversation?"

"Oh, you know, just a bunch of guys, hangin' out in the prayer 
hut, talkin' guy talk."

"Hm."

"What do you call it, Scully?" He wouldn't mind hearing a 
little "soothing" talk himself.

"It?"

"Your...uh, ah-toh."

"I call it a vagina."

"That's kinda clinical."

"So?"

"Not very sex...er, soothing." He ground against her and gave 
her ass a playful pinch. "Can I give it a nickname?"

"No. And don't tell me you've got a nickname for 
your...your..."

"My what?"

"Your be-zonz."

"You mean 'Godzilla'?"

Now it was her turn to pinch him. She tweaked his ribs and 
then reached down between them to grab hold of Godzilla.

She squeezed him...*hard*. 

"Mmmmmm," he groaned, feeling like he could explode in her 
hand.

She closed her eyes to mere slits, licked her lower lip and 
said, "I think I'm ready."

That was it? A poem and a little friendly banter and she was 
good to go?

She stroked him and he decided not to question it.

"You've got your hand on the stick shift, Scully. Feel free to 
take me for a test drive."

She rose to a sitting position and guided him to her entrance.  
It took all his willpower not to push into her. Instead, he 
let her sink down on top of him.

Ready indeed. She was more than ready. Slick with desire, she 
settled onto him...over him...around him. Jesus, she felt 
good.

He looked up at her sitting above him, her thighs straddling 
his hips, hands anchored to his chest, the unrestrained corona 
of her hair illuminated from the side by the fire. She was 
half light, half shadow, simultaneously exposed and hidden. A 
secret and an answered prayer, all in one. 

Her eyes glittered with tears, bringing a lump to his throat 
and a pang to his chest. 

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper.

She answered him with a faint smile and an almost 
imperceptible nod. Then she rose up on her knees, stroking his 
hardened flesh with her inner walls. The satisfying friction 
drew his attention away from everything, everything but their 
joining.

"I'm fine, Mulder. 'Greener than grass, so faint I believe I 
shall die,'" she quoted his poem and eased back down on him. 
"Make love to me."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"No, you're treating me like glass. I want you to treat me 
like a lover."

"But...I don't...I--"

"You're inside me. Make love to me." Again she rose up.

It was too much. With her blessing, his self-control abandoned 
him. Driven by an urge as ancient as life, he grasped her hips 
and pushed into her. The reward was instantaneous. Pleasure 
zigzagged along his spine, promising bliss should he empty 
himself into her. Every nerve in his body yearned to fill her 
with the fertile slurry of his seed. Meeting her downward 
stroke, thrusting back into her, again and again, he became 
every rutting deer, every mating hawk, every spawning salmon. 
He was the very first spark of life adrift in the vast 
primordial sea, struggling against all odds to become more 
than itself alone.

And yet, this act was greater than any biological urge or even 
a Divine command to go forth and multiply. This was making 
love in the truest sense, becoming one with a soul mate. 
Putting together two imperfect halves in order to create one 
perfect whole.

His recompense came too soon, too soon, in waves, salty 
breakers upon her feminine shores. He threw his head back and, 
with gritted teeth, climaxed into her. Each rush of semen was 
sheer bliss. Each concluding thrust, perfection. 

Scully...

Scully... 

*She* was perfection.

Never had a woman overwhelmed him with passion the way this 
one did. Never had he felt more at home than inside her. He 
belonged to her. It was unimaginable to consider his life 
without her.

Still joined, she leaned forward, lowering herself onto his 
chest, gasping and overheated. Like him. Their two hearts 
thundered against one another, not quite in sync but 
complementary. 

"Sorry," he apologized. He had rushed to his own fervent 
release, failing to bring her along with him. "You didn't--"

"Shhhh. I'm fine, Mulder. Really. That was...that was 
beautiful." She lifted her head to study him. Her eyes shone 
with what must certainly be love. "*You* were beautiful."

"Jesus..." He stroked her face. "Evidently I've fallen for a 
crazy woman."

"Not crazy. Just happy."

Happy? Here? 

"You mean for once being in the wrong place at the wrong time 
isn't a bad thing?" 

He was feeling pretty happy himself, he realized. It was mind-
boggling. Their situation couldn't be more precarious and yet 
he did feel happy. Crazy, insanely happy. 

Greener than grass, he thought, so faint I believe I shall 
die. 

She shifted on top of him, causing his diminishing erection to 
slide out of her. Sated by his dinner and warmed by the fire 
and his love for her, he felt sleepy. Drowsiness weighted his 
limbs. His eyes closed and his thoughts began to drift, 
languid and content. 

"Wake me in fifteen," he mumbled, his words rolling like 
smooth stones in his mouth. "I'll finish you then."

"It's a deal," she said, laughing quietly. She stroked his 
chest with a rhythmic, hypnotizing caress. 

Just before sleep snagged him, he thought he heard her say, "I 
love you, sweetheart," but maybe it was only wishful thinking. 

*   *   *

"More wo-chi!" Klesh flung his empty bowl at Klizzie. It hit 
her arm and bounced away.

She set down her sewing, giving up on trying to untangle the 
knot of sinew in her kit. Rubbing the pain from her elbow, she 
frowned and said, "You have had enough." 

They sat on opposite sides of the hearth in the hut where she 
had laid with Muhl-dar on the night of the mate exchange. The 
Clan had allowed Klesh to remain at Turkey Lake to mourn Tse-
e's death with his kin, just as he had predicted they would. 

"Do not tell me what I will and will not drink," he growled, 
slurring his words. His beard was clotted with a mixture of 
spilled wo-chi and the traditional pale, clay face-paint of 
someone in mourning. His whitewashed lips curled into a nasty 
sneer. "I will have as much as I like. Bring me more. Now!"

"There is none left," she lied, tasting the clay-of-death on 
her own lips. "You drank it all."

She didn't want him to have another bowlful. The powerful 
drink was already making him bad-tempered, more so than usual.

He suddenly laughed out loud, an angry barking sound that made 
Klizzie jump. 

"You...are a liar, my cousin," he said when he finished 
laughing. "Maybe you should have a sip or two of wo-chi 
yourself. It might make you friendlier."

He shifted onto hands and knees and crawled around the fire to 
sit beside her. She glanced down at her sewing supplies, 
strewn about the floor at her feet, and noted the location of 
her stone knife among the needles and knotted sinew. She would 
use it if forced.

"Remember the last time we drank wo-chi together?" His voice 
purred like a saber-toothed cat, sated on the blood of its 
most recent kill. He reached out a gnarled finger to caress 
her cheek.

She batted his hand away. Yes, she remembered. Of course she 
remembered. If she lived to be a gray-haired old woman, she 
would not be able to forget that dreadful night.

"Do not touch me," she warned.

He chuckled at her discomfort. "You said it burned your 
throat," he reminded her.

Indeed, the wo-chi had burned. It caused her stomach to buck 
and ache at first, but after a few more swallows, it enveloped 
her in its mysterious warmth. And by the time she'd finished 
an entire bowlful Klesh no longer seemed so unattractive. His 
scars had grown faint, almost invisible. He appeared as 
handsome as he had been before his disfigurement.

As if able to see her thoughts, he said, "You did not always 
find me so ugly."

No, he had not always been deformed and he had not always been 
so mean. At fifteen, his skin had been as smooth and unmarked 
as any boy's. And he laughed often, even when teased about his 
father, who was a lazy man and a poor gambler, or about his 
mother, who was said to have shared her sleeping skins with 
many men in exchange for meat and hides. Gossips claimed she 
sometimes traded herself for pieces of jewelry, even a...a 
hair ornament.

Klizzie flushed with shame. Four summers ago, warmed by wo-chi 
and dazzled by a silly hair comb, she had done exactly what 
Klesh's mother was said to have done; she gave herself to a 
man in exchange for a pretty trinket.

Her decision seemed foolish now. So obviously wrong. But at 
the time...Klesh had appeared transformed into the boy he had 
once been, the courageous 15-year-old who had saved her 
frightened brother's life by stepping into the path of a 
charging saber-toothed cat. Klesh had nearly died from the 
awful wounds he received on Tse-e's behalf. No doubt he often 
regretted his selfless act, or wished he had perished in the 
fight instead of living. The physical pain he endured must 
have been excruciating.

His scars and his sacrifice earned him no honor, it turned 
out. He was tormented ruthlessly about his deformity, maybe 
because his father and mother were so unworthy of respect that 
the Clan's loathing for them spilled over onto their son. Only 
Tse-e remained loyal to his scarred cousin. When Klesh was 
banished, Tse-e refused to turn his back on the man who had 
once saved his life, and went with him.

If she had been more compassionate and less selfish, she would 
have gone, too.

It seemed she was always misjudging the right thing to do. She 
felt confounded by the choices the Spirits placed in her path, 
unlike Dzeh, who knew what was proper and what was not. To 
her, decisions were often as knotted as the sinew in her 
sewing kit.

Well, she had learned one lesson at least. Telling Dzeh the 
truth about Klesh had been better than more lies. Now her 
cousin could not slit her throat with the knife of her own 
deceit.

"I will bring you some food," she said, rising to her feet. It 
would be better to fill his belly with mastodon meat than more 
drink. And it would give her an excuse to go to the smokehouse 
and get away from him for a while. Maybe if she stayed away 
long enough, he would be asleep when she returned.

"Don't go." He grabbed her wrist and leered at her. "I am not 
hungry for food."

She twisted her arm free. "Then I will visit the Shaman 
instead. The Spirits are poking spears into my stomach."

Without waiting for his permission, she turned her back on him 
and walked out of the hut.

*   *   *

Mulder jabbed at the fire with a stick, sending a flurry of 
sparks spiraling into the night sky. The landscape was jet 
black beyond the hearth's glow. Only the silver moon and its 
rippled reflection on the river appeared beyond the yawning 
mouth of the cave. Inside, light and shadow skirmished on the 
rock walls. The fire provided welcome heat and real 
protection, along with a sense of security that had been rare 
here in the Pleistocene. Sitting inside its circle of light, 
Mulder felt safer and more contented than he'd felt in weeks.

"You're awfully quiet," Scully said. She sat next to him, 
knees drawn up, eyes focused on the flames. "Did I wear you 
out?"

He chuckled. True to her word, she'd woken him after a short 
nap, and they had made love a second time. He'd given her that 
promised orgasm, times two. 

Tossing his stick into the fire, he caused it to crackle and 
hiss. Cedar-scented smoke curled skyward from the green wood.

"I'm just sittin' and thinkin'."  

"About what?"

"Making love. Uh... not tonight...just now...but last night. 
It...uh...it wasn't easy for me," he confessed.

"I know. It wasn't easy for me either."

"Hmm," he hummed his acknowledgement. Of course it wasn't; it 
couldn't have been. "I didn't mean to imply--"

"I didn't mean to minimize your discomfort either," she 
interrupted. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." 

She was radiant in the firelight. Lustrous, smooth, perfect. 
She had put on her black panties and bra after making love and 
now her satiny bra reflected the fire, drawing his eyes.

He was still naked, loathe to dress again in his filthy 
clothes. Maybe tomorrow he could wash them in the river, and 
take a long bath, too, to cleanse away the blood and grime and 
unpleasant memories of the last few days. 

She caught him staring at her chest, and he glanced quickly 
away, not wanting her to think he expected another round of 
lovemaking, although he would bed her again in a heartbeat. 

To avoid looking at her underwear, he focused instead on her 
bare feet and her pretty little toes, curling and uncurling, 
delightfully small, especially compared to his. He loved 
everything about her compact body. Her diminutive size made 
him feel substantial, physically powerful, and protective, 
characteristics he relished when he was with her. It filled 
him with masculine pride to think she might occasionally 
depend on his larger size and greater strength, to overpower a 
murderer or to spear a Pleistocene sloth. 

Or simply to hold her in his arms at night, keeping the cold 
at bay.

He reached out to stroke her hair and she leaned into his 
caress, rubbing against his fingers like a cat. The strands 
slipped between his fingers, feather soft and shimmery, its 
silkiness and shine bringing a pleasant ache to his heart. 

To his surprise, he saw tears glittering along her lower 
lashes. His breath caught in his throat when she raised her 
eyes and he saw they were glossed with melancholy...not the 
same raw contentment he was feeling.

"I keep thinking about you and Klizzie," she said.

"Klizzie?" His hand dropped away and he blinked at her.

"Yes. I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I'm...I'm 
jealous of her."

"Scully..."

Tell her, he urged himself, don't make her suffer thinking 
something happened when it didn't. Tell her. Tell her now--

"I was married once," he blurted.

Shit! Where the hell had that come from? That wasn't what he'd 
meant to say. Could he take it back? Would it be possible to 
divert her attention, maybe switch back to the topic of 
Klizzie? Or would that just make things worse? 

She stared at him. Shock, maybe anger, rounded her eyes. 
"What...?"

"Did I say that out loud?"

She didn't smile at his joke. To the contrary, her frown grew 
deeper. 

"I, uh, probably should have told you that a long time ago."

"You were married?" 

She sounded hurt. Damn it, this was exactly as he'd feared.

He shrugged, afraid to say more. 

"Why didn't you tell me before now?" she asked, her voice 
sounding faint and vulnerable.

"Because...it was a disaster, not something I'm particularly 
proud of."

"What happened?"

"I was an idiot, of course. I didn't...I couldn't agree to her 
terms."

"Terms?"

If he told her the truth, would she leave him the same way 
Diana had? It was his greatest fear.

At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her any 
longer.

He decided to take a chance and come clean. 

"She wanted children. I didn't."

Scully appeared to be corralling her emotions. She nodded and 
asked, "And what was...what *is* your objection to having 
children?"

"Scully...can't we just say you and I disagree on this 
subject?"

"No, Mulder, we can't. One day, you and I are going to be 
parents, *together*. We're going to have a son--"

He hissed in disbelief.

"I saw it, Mulder."

"In your vision."

"Yes, in my vision."

He tried to steady his own emotions. "Have you asked yourself 
why you believe that vision, Scully? You've doubted and 
questioned every paranormal event we've ever 
encountered...except this one. Why do you think that is? Could 
it be because you're seeing exactly what you want to see?"

"That's not it."

"No? A happy family? The perfect future?"

"Are those such terrible things to want?"

"For you, no. For me...they're impossible."

"Why? Why impossible for you?"

"Because I have commitments, to the X-Files, to my sister..." 

These were old arguments, the same ones he'd used dozens of 
times with Diana. During their last fight she'd countered by 
accusing him of acting like a child, with only the 
responsibility of a child...to his "dreams," his "fantasies." 

Just before she walked out of his life forever, she'd said it 
was time for him to let go of his past. She asserted that his 
search for Sam was fueled by a subconscious desire for an 
ideal "family wholeness," and until he realized this and 
became a parent himself he would never know the true meaning 
of commitment or happiness. 

He had disagreed, of course. Then and now. He believed he 
wanted Sam back because he cared about her -- not in an 
abstract sense, but as a living, breathing, little girl who 
was enduring who knew what because he'd been too frozen by 
fear to save her. He was responsible for her disappearance. 
He'd done nothing to help her when they'd come to take her 
away. And it scared the hell out of him to think he might one 
day react with the same fear and cowardice, jeopardizing the 
lives of his own children.

Just as he had jeopardized Scully during the exchange...by 
doing nothing to prevent it. 

He had to make her understand. 

"Scully, someone once told me I would never experience true 
joy unless I planted my feet in the world," he said, 
swallowing his anger...at himself, at his past, at the current 
circumstances. "Trouble is, my feet are always running. Toward 
the truth, away from liars who want to shut me down. We both 
know what I'm up against. It's a fight I can't win unless I 
give it my undivided attention. And I think it's worth my 
undivided attention. Don't you?"

Her expression hardened. "It's *our* fight, Mulder, not just 
yours. It hasn't been yours alone for a very long time."

"You know what I mean. I can't just slip into domestic bliss. 
I need to find my sister. You've known that from the start, 
since our very first case together."

"Having a child doesn't mean giving up on your sister. It 
doesn't mean giving up the X-Files."

No? How could it not? Having a family took time; it took 
emotional commitment. Time was slipping away faster than he 
could comprehend; the twenty-five years since Sam's abduction 
had vanished in a heartbeat. He had nothing to show for it.

He also had neither the skill nor the fortitude to handle the 
emotional responsibility of parenthood. He wasn't the father 
type. He had nothing to give a child. No way to protect it. 
He'd proven that with Sam.
 
"No, I don't feel... I can't..." His temper flared; he balled 
his fists as a familiar tide of incompetence welled up inside 
him, swamping him with his failures and shortcomings. "*No*! 
No children, Diana!" 

Scully flinched as if slapped. Blinking back tears, she asked, 
"Her...her name was Diana?"

Oh, fuck. He'd called her Diana. "I-I'm sorry, Scully, I 
didn't mean..."

He reached out to stroke her hair again, but this time she 
pulled away, and her withdrawal was a knife to his heart. 
Clearly he would have to tell her the truth now. All of it.

"Scully, I'm sorry. Yes. Her name was Diana."

"Diana Fowley...your colleague on the X-Files who left for an 
assignment in Europe?" 

How was she able to remain so calm? Why wasn't she arguing, 
striking out at him, slugging him in the jaw? 

"Yes. We met when I first got out of the Academy...in '86. We 
were married in '89. It lasted 18 months."

She considered this new information. Although obviously hurt, 
she didn't appear particularly angry.

"Mulder, why did it take falling into a time warp for you to 
finally tell me this?" 

Tell her. Tell her the truth. 

"I was afraid."

"Afraid to be honest with me?"

"No. Afraid you'd leave me, just like she did, for the same 
reasons, because I'm not the man you want or need me to be." 
He picked up another stick and tossed it into the fire, 
sending sparks churning through the dark. "What I don't 
understand is why you stay with me at all. It's a question I 
hate to ask, but why *haven't* you left me before now?"

"Why should I leave you?"

"Why not? You've lost so much because of me...everything 
really."

"Not everything. Not so much, really."

"No?"

"No. And how would leaving you now change any of that?"

He shrugged, unable to bring himself to say the words he was 
thinking, that she would be happier, safer without him.

She reached out and caressed the back of his hand. "Besides, 
what makes you think I hold you responsible for the things 
that've happened?"

"Because...I caused them." He drew his hand away.

"You didn't."

"Yes...I did." Why didn't she just admit it and have done with 
it? It was so goddamn obvious. "Scully, I'd like to think I 
would die before letting anyone or anything harm you, but good 
intentions only go so far. The truth is I ignore you and 
manipulate you and use you for my own purposes at your 
expense."

"You don't."

"Yes, I do. I sit idly by while you suffer. I've done it for 
years. We go my way and you get hurt."

She shook her head vehemently. "Mulder, you're acting as if I 
have no free will. As if I haven't made my own choices, when 
the fact is I follow you because I want to. I believe in our 
cause. *Our* cause. Yes, the costs have been high, but from 
where I sit, our purpose is worth a risk. Any risk. Don't you 
think that, too?"

No, he didn't. Nothing was worth ultimately losing her the way 
he'd lost Diana. 

He reached around behind him, fumbling for his pants. When he 
found them, he dug into the pocket and took out his knife. 
"Maybe she was right," he muttered, rising to his feet. 

"Excuse me?"

He went to one of the rock walls where the firelight flickered 
warmly over its smooth surface. He selected a relatively flat 
area and started to gouge into the stone with his knife.  

"Have you noticed there are no petroglyphs here?" he asked, 
etching an eight-inch-tall stickman. "No evidence of any human 
habitation. Don't you find that strange?"

To the left of his stickman, he carved a stickwoman, making 
her a head shorter than her partner and giving her round 
breasts and triangular hips. He joined their hands. When he 
was finished, he took a step back to study his picture. 
Something was missing. He wanted to show the man protecting 
the woman, providing for her, being the sort of man she 
needed, the man he wanted to be for her. A heroic man. He 
carved a long spear in the stickman's hand.

Satisfied, he returned to Scully and sat down beside her.

"What's that all about?" she asked, nodding at the figures.

Tell her, he repeated to himself. Answer her question 
truthfully.   

"Scully, I can't be without you," he admitted. He tried to 
smile, hoping to make the words come easier, but a wave of 
panic drew his brows together and his desire to smile 
vanished. "I...I think I knew that before we came here, but 
now I'm certain of it. So...so if you want a family, whether 
it's by IVF or whatever, I'm willing to be part of that."

Instead of being ecstatic, as he'd expected her to be, she 
scowled at him. "You're agreeing to become a father? Just like 
that?"

Was there something wrong with the decision? 

"Yeah...just like that."

"Don't, Mulder." She shook her head. "Don't do this for the 
wrong reasons."

"I-I'm not." 

He loved her. He didn't want to lose her. He wanted to make 
her happy. Weren't those good reasons?

He knew his perception of family life was skewed compared to 
most, that his divorce echoed his parents' break-up. He'd lost 
far more than he'd gained in marriage. And even earlier there 
had been the loss of Sam. Life seemed to be constantly 
snatching his family away in bits, like buzzards picking at a 
carcass. 

But, dammit, he wasn't going to let it happen any more. 

She didn't look as convinced as he felt.

"It's etched in stone, Scully." He pointed at the petroglyph. 
"You can't get more committed than that. Give me the chance 
and I'll prove it to you."