From: "Heather C." Date: Fri, 20 Aug 1999 09:01:35 -0500 Subject: ROADTRIP, 1/5 Source: xff Title: "Roadtrip" (1/5) Author: Alcott Summary: AD Skinner's orders: "Drive to La Grande, Oregon, as quickly as you can. Don't ask questions." Rating: PG for language Classification: SRHA Spoilers: none Disclaimer: Someday, I know Chris Carter will come to me and say, "You are the one! Come, write for my t.v. series!" Until that happens, however, I can't claim ownership to anyone except the Crane clan. Email: alcott@chillylegumes.com Archiving: Please archive at Gossamer. If anyone else wants to archive it, please ask me first. Thanks! Author's notes: This is my first big story and I would not have ever had the courage to submit it if it weren't for the help of Tami, Kirky and Christina. Thank you especially to the fan fic goddess formerly known as DashaK, who is leading me down the path of fan ficdom. 11:04 p.m., Monday night Interstate 80 Westbound Somewhere outside Des Moines "I have to go to the bathroom," Mulder announced. Scully glanced at him from behind the wheel of the mini-van they'd rented the day before. "Again?" He shrugged and offered a crooked smile. She rolled her eyes. "Well, we're out in the middle of nowhere, you're going to have to hold it for awhile." He stared out the window, squinting in a vain attempt to make out the shapes beyond the dark freeway. "Where are we?" "Iowa," she said grimly. "I think." "We've been driving for twelve hours," he said wearily. "Why the hell are we doing this?" "We're doing this because it was a direct order from our AD," she said. "And he didn't seem to convey that we had a choice in the matter." They rode in silence for a few minutes, then Mulder asked, "Hey, remember that girl with the electric eyes?" She shot him a questioning glance. "On the cover of the Enquirer," he said. "She could shoot electricity out of her eyes." "And . . .?" "Well, she was from somewhere in Oregon, wasn't she? Isn't that where we're going?" "Mulder, this isn't about an X-File." "Well, what is it about, exactly? All we know is Skinner said we had to get to Portland as soon as possible, but we couldn't fly or take a train because the airports and train stations were being watched." She shrugged. "I think Skinner made it abundantly clear that we were going to receive details only on a need-to-know basis. So why are you torturing yourself?" "I'm bored, I guess." "Look, Mulder," she sighed. "We don't have to think about work right now. We're between cases. We've been putting in twelve-hour days. I don't want to even think more than is absolutely necessary. So please, for once, can we just not talk about work? Please?" Mulder muttered something under his breath and reached for the radio. He turned it on and was greeted by static where a few hours ago there had been a classic rock station. He turned the tuning knob, paused to listen to a few strains of a show tune, and then flipped it again, pausing to identify a jazz number. A third twist of his hand, and the farm report began to blare. Before he could flip the channel again, Scully snapped, "Mulder!" He yanked back his hand. "What?" She turned off the radio. "I can't begin to tell you how annoying that is." He sat back in his seat, folded his arms, and tried to sleep. His eyelids fluttered; he frowned and shifted his hips, then settled again. A moment later, he sat up. "Scully, I really have to go." She pointed to a roadway sign. "Sixteen miles until the next rest stop." He groaned and lay his head back against the headrest, staring at the roof of the car. "Wasn't there an empty milk carton in here?" "Don't you dare," she hissed. "Don't even entertain the thought." They rode in silence for a few more minutes, Scully intent on the road and Mulder intent on his painfully full bladder. Finally, he asked, "Now how many miles?" "Eleven." She gazed at him, saw the look of pain on his face, and clicked her tongue. "Do you want me to pull over so you can find a tree or something?" "Will it disturb your delicate sensibilities?" She pulled the van to the side of the road and put the car in park. "Hurry up," she said. "We've got a long drive ahead of us." He nodded and hopped out of the vehicle. She turned on the radio, found a nice classical station, and turned it up loud enough to drown out what Mulder was doing just a few feet beyond. When he returned, he looked much less tense. He even managed a smile. "Are you hungry?" She glanced at the highway behind her, then put the car into drive and pulled onto the road. "Are you?" "I could use some coffee." "No! No more coffee for you, Mister," she said. "It turns you into a walking water fountain." He sulked, but she ignored him. So he tucked his travel pillow under his cheek and stared out the window, trying to sleep. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he looked at the dashboard clock, it read 3:08 a.m. He sat up and glanced at Scully, who was staring at the road intently. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked. "I was supposed to take over at two." She shrugged. "You looked tired." "And you look like hell." He reached overhead and flipped on the interior light. "I didn't think it was possible, Scully, but in this light you actually look worse than hell." "I just need to get out and walk around a little." He knew it was more than that. Their last case had dealt with the disappearance of a little girl who would have been Emily's age. The case had hit too close to home for Scully, and he knew she hadn't been sleeping, and that she was truly weary. "What you need is to lie down in a bed and sleep," he commented. It sounded glorious, but she shook her head. "Skinner said we needed to get there as soon as we could." "So we only sleep a few hours. And then we can take a hot shower before we get back on the road." She sighed wearily. "I'm fine to keep going." "Fine," he said grumpily. "Then I'm going to keep sleeping." He propped his pillow, rolled away from her, and closed his eyes. "Too bad, Scully," he muttered. "I was going to pay for the Magic Fingers this time." She didn't respond. 4:03 a.m. 280 miles later The swerve of the van yanked Mulder out of a deep sleep in an instant. He gripped the dashboard and the door handle as the headlights of an oncoming vehicle blinded him. He cried her name; the vehicle fishtailed and he uttered something between a curse and an oath. The vehicle headed for the shoulder of the road, where it finally stopped. Still clutching the steering wheel, her face pinched, Scully was staring wide-eyed at the road in front of her. It didn't register that she should shift the van into park and quiet the engine. He was out of his seatbelt and next to her in a second. "Scully? Hey. Are you okay?" She was staring, her body beginning to tremble. He stroked her hair. "You fell asleep, didn't you?" She appeared dazed. "I think . . . I might have just for a moment." She closed her eyes and sat back in the seat. "Oh, God, Mulder, I'm so sorry." He glanced into the highway around them. "Okay. Chinese fire drill." "What?" "Switch places with me." He hopped out of the van and jogged around it, flinging open the driver's door. She had scooted into the passenger seat, too humbled to argue with him. When they had been driving for a few minutes, she whispered, "Mulder, I'm sorry." He nodded. "You push too hard. Always have." They rode in silence for a few minutes, and when a brightly lit freeway exit appeared before them, Mulder took it. She didn't utter even the smallest of protests when he pulled into the parking lot of a small, ratty-looking motel. Instead, she fought to keep her eyes open. Inside the lobby, he rang the bell and a moment later, a teenaged girl appeared from behind a curtain at the back of the room. From deep inside, he could hear the faint sounds of a television. The annoyance at being awakened from her bed disintegrated when the girl saw the tired, gorgeous, clearly-in-need-of-a-woman's-attentions man in front of her. She spread on the charm, smiling brightly and pressing her shoulders back to make her small breasts more prominent. "Do you need a room?" He smiled at her. "Yes, please. I apologize for it being so late." Clearly, this was a family-owned business, and the girl on night duty was probably the owner's daughter. "No problem," she said cheerily. "You look like you could use the rest." She offered a registration card and a pen, brushing her fingers against his. "It'll be the last room at the end of the row. Room 16. That'll be $45." His exhaustion, coupled with the knowledge that the teenager obviously thought he was hot, made him feel a little heady. He handed her the cash and took the key she held in her outstretched hand. "Thanks." She watched greedily as he walked out of the lobby. He was the cutest thing she'd ever seen: those jeans with the saggy seat, the way the t-shirt pulled over his strong shoulders . . . "Lord have mercy," she muttered. Then she turned on her heel to return to the couch she'd been sleeping on, knowing that her dreams would be more pleasant than before. Outside, the wind ruffled Mulder's hair, but not his smile. "She thinks I'm cute," he gloated to himself. "Wait until I tell Scully." He stopped dead in his tracks, in the middle of a rain puddle. "Scully!" He slapped his forehead with his palm. "Shit," he muttered. "Shit, shit, shit." Inside the van, the adrenaline had drained from Scully's veins and had left her impossibly exhausted. Despite the scare of the previous moments, she had fallen asleep, nestled in the passenger seat of the van. Even when Mulder opened the door, submersing the cab with light, she didn't stir. He called her name. She didn't move an inch. He shook her shoulder slightly. "Hey, Scully, I got us a room . . . ah, but there's a small problem." When that also failed to get a response, he leaned closer and said, "If you don't get up, I'm going to have to carry you." His threat fell on sleeping ears. He snaked one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees and lifted her easily. "Remember how Skinner warned us to be economical with the hotel rooms?" he asked brightly. "Well, I was being very economical, Scully." Sighing, she snuggled her cheek into his t-shirt. "Night," she whispered. I am a gentleman, he told himself as he carried her toward room 16. A gentleman, he stressed as he fumbled to unlock the door, then reached and flicked the light on. I am a gentleman and this is nothing, he thought as he lay her down on the quilt of the bed. He pulled the blankets back on the opposite side she was on, then rolled her into the sheets, removed her shoes and pulled the blanket and quilt over her. "You okay?" he asked. She smiled, her eyes still closed. "Mm-hm." He kicked off his shoes, hesitating. "Scully, I'm going to be honest, I'm . . . I'm really tired. I don't want to sleep on the floor." "Mm-hm." "Are you going to hit me if I lie down in bed with you?" She suddenly sat up, her eyes still closed. "Mulder, shut up and go to sleep." She collapsed back into her pillows. That was as close to approval as he was going to get. He pulled back his half of the quilt and blanket and eased his aching, weary body between the sheets. The bedding smelled fresh, like it had hung on a clothesline recently. He sighed contentedly. The bed was huge and there was a chasm of mattress between them. He wanted to scoot closer to her, and was trying to think of an excuse to do so when she whispered hopefully, "Magic Fingers?" He chuckled softly. "No, sorry." "'S okay." Her breathing deepened almost immediately, and as hard as he tried to stay awake to listen, his body insisted he rest. This is nice, he thought . . . and then he drifted away. (End 1/5) ROADTRIP (2/5) By Alcott Disclaimer, etc. found in part one 8 a.m. Tuesday morning Mulder balanced two gooey pastries atop his Styrofoam coffee cup and unlocked the car door. Scully was already seated inside the vehicle, sipping her awful gas-station coffee and nibbling on a stale egg bagel. "Where to, milady?" he greeted. She shot him The Look and picked up a map. "Just get back on I-80." She hadn't been in a very good mood since she'd awakened. First she had been disoriented, having no recollection of coming into a hotel room. Then she was irritated that they had slept in so late. If she hadn't been there, Mulder would have rolled over and slept until noon. Instead, he pulled out a book that he had bought at the same bakery/gas station/ souvenir shop he'd purchased their breakfast from. "Here. Something to help us pass the time." He tossed it to her. She righted it and read the title aloud. "Getting to Know You". She set it aside. "I already know you, Mulder." 10:33 a.m. Somewhere in Nebraska "How would you most like to be spoiled?" Mulder cast her a sidelong glance and leered. "Well, it includes furry handcuffs and a leash." She set down the book she had been reading from. "Is everything about sex with you?" He feigned offense. "Well, you answer the question, then." She thought about it for a minute. "You know those deep bath tubs, the ones with the claw feet? One of those and a bottle of obscenely expensive bubble bath." She sighed at the thought and took a bite of the shoestring licorice they had bought from a vending machine on Mulder's latest potty break. "Are you alone in the bath tub?" She gritted her teeth. "Yes." "Too bad." She ignored him. "Next question . . . what three things make you happy?" "Proof of extraterrestrial life." "What else?" "Big Macs." "A triple bypass on a bun. What else?" "You." The word slipped out before he had a chance to stop it; inside he was kicking himself. On the outside, he watched the road with newfound interest. Scully fought to keep her face neutral, although a smile was tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Okay. My turn. The three things that make me happy are . . ." "Let me guess," he interjected. "Ice cream." "Frozen yogurt. What else?" "Dinner with your mom." "Good guess. What else?" "Me?" he asked hopefully. What could she say? If she confirmed the truth, she'd die of embarrassment. If she denied it, she'd crush him. She offered a smile and turned the page of the book. "Next question..." He wasn't sure how to interpret that smile. It was kind and sweet; was it a pity smile? Or was it a smile that admitted he had spoken the truth? Or was it something else entirely? " . . . in life?" He snapped out of his reverie. "Huh?" She repeated the question. "What is your greatest fear in life?" The answer came immediately: losing you. He felt suddenly emotional and cleared his throat. "Are you hungry yet?" he asked. He looked shaken, and she cocked her head. "Are you okay? Do you need to get out of the car for awhile?" "I saw a sign for McDonald's," he explained. She shrugged. "Two triple bypasses, coming up!" 2 p.m. Outside Lincoln, Nebraska Scully squealed in an un-Scully fashion and pounded her palms on the steering wheel. "A cemetery! You just lost all of your cows!" Mulder rubbernecked to see the old, weed-ridden cemetery they had just passed. "What are you talking about?" "We passed a cemetery on your side of the road. That means you just lost all of your cows." He frowned. "Explain the rules of this game to me again." "Okay, we count cows on our sides of the road. Whoever gets to a hundred first, wins." "Right. Where does this cemetery thing come in?" "If you pass a cemetery you lose your cows and you're back to square one." "Scully, I swear to God, you are making up this whole game as you go along." "I am not! We played it on car trips all the time." "What if there was someone in the middle of the backseat? How'd they play?" "They didn't. They kept score." She grinned. "I kept score a lot. Bill and Charlie were bigger and so I ended up in the middle. Missy usually sat in the back of the station wagon, reading a book. She was always reading a book." "We didn't play games after Sam disappeared," Mulder said, "But before that, we played that ABC game. You know, when you try to find the letters of the alphabet on signs and license plates." Scully pointed to a passing license plate. "A." "B." Mulder pointed to a sign advertising Betty's bakery, next exit. "Same sign. C. D. Oooh, and E!" The sign advertised homemade cakes and Danishes. Across the top of the sign, the words, "World famous eclairs!" intrigued hungry travelers. The advertising worked for Mulder, whose stomach growled audibly. "I will buy you an eclair if you stop this godforsaken vehicle." "Deal!" She signaled her lane change and headed for the exit. The bakery was a tiny, brick building, seemingly in the middle of nothing beyond cornfields and a lone gas station. Scully dropped him off at the door and zoomed across the dirt road to fill up the thirsty gas tank. The scent of the bakery was so sweet and moist, he nearly swooned with joy. Before him stood a half-dozen bakery cases filled with unspeakable delights. A plump, grandmotherly woman stood behind them. "Hello, young man," she greeted. "Welcome." "Hi," he said with a smile. "Are you Betty?" "Have been for 80 years," she grinned. "What can I get for you?" He approached the counter. "What's good?" "Sweetie pie, they're all good." She reached over and touched his hand. "You're here for the eclairs. Two of them, one for you and one for your sweetie." He was astonished. "You knew that just from touching my hand?" She giggled. "No, honey, you're not from around here, which means you saw my sign. Most folks passing through want the eclairs." "Are they really world famous?" She leaned against the counter. "Tell you what, darling. I'll throw in an extra one for free if you promise to stop by this way the next time you're passing through and tell me if they're good enough to be world famous." He was charmed. "You don't have to do that." "I'm old. Humor me." She picked up a pastry bag and deposited not three, but four of the pastries. "I've changed my mind, you need two extras. Sweetie, you are far too thin. Isn't that woman feeding you?" "Oh, she's . . . we're not married." Betty waved her hand in dismissal. "Doesn't matter if the ring's on her finger. She should still feed you better." "It's not like that," he chuckled. She touched his hand. "It is like that, sweetie. You just don't want to admit it yet." "How do you know?" he whispered. She squeezed his fingers slightly, and he knew: she could see what was in his heart and mind. Spooky. Before he could speak, she let go and handed him the bag. "Do you need some coffee with those?" He was about to say yes, but remembered Scully's reprimand about his frequent bathroom stops. "Um, milk, do you have milk?" "Surely." She poured milk into tall paper cups and capped them with plastic covers. "That'll be two dollars for the eclairs, and another dollar for the milk." Not only was she the sweetest person alive, she grossly undercharged for her goods. He handed her a ten and gathered his bag and cups. When she opened her cigar box-she didn't have a cash register-and began making his change, he raised his hand. "You keep it, Betty. You've made this whole rotten trip worthwhile." "Sweetheart, I can't take your money. You have a long journey in front of you and you may need it." She winked. "You never know when you might drive into a ditch, or something." "I wouldn't do that!" he protested. "Scully would, though." She tried to give him his change, but he held up his hand. "No, you deserve it. These look wonderful." "Do eclairs cost this much where you're from?" she asked, her smile bright as ever. "Damn close." He flashed her a grin. "Oh, one thing you must promise me, honey." "What's that?" "The red-headed woman. I didn't catch her name?" "It's Dana." "Pretty name," she nodded seriously. "You do her right, young man. Marry her and have lots of children, even if you have to adopt them." He felt fire creep into his cheeks. "I don't know if-" "She loves you as much as you love her." He was immobilized. Behind him, he heard the rumble of the van pulling up behind him. Betty nodded her chin past him. "She's waiting, honey." The spell broke, and he took a step back. "Thank you for everything." He opened the door, feeling the oppressive summer air. "Have a good day, Betty." "Have a good day, Fox." He turned back, his blood running cold. But she had turned away and was shuffling into the back room of her little store. His face was still a little flushed when he sank back into the van's passenger seat. "You want to drive for awhile?" Scully asked. "It might help your boredom." "Ah, no . . . not right now." He was still feeling a little freaked out. "Okay." She swung the wheel and turned the van onto the dirt road. "What'd you get?" "Eclairs," he answered. "And milk. No coffee." "Good boy." She reached for one of the paper cups. "I noticed you were getting low on sunflower seeds, so there's a new bag by your feet." He reached down and picked up the bag. She had bought the large, economy-size bag. He gazed over at her, his eyes shining with emotion. She frowned. "What?" He shook his head. "Nothing." He offered the bag. "Eclair?" (End 2/5) ROADTRIP (3/5) By Alcott Disclaimer, etc. found in part one 5 p.m. Outside Cheyenne, Wyoming "Truth or Dare?" "Truth." "How many men have you slept with?" Scully rolled her eyes, glanced over her shoulder, and switched lanes. "I knew you were going to ask that." "How many?" "Why, how many men have you slept with?" "Ha ha. Answer the question." "You answer. Tell me how many women you've slept with." "I asked you first." Scully's sigh was loud and annoyed. "Seven." "Seven? That's it? How old are you?" She was truly offended. "Well, how many women have you slept with?" "I don't have to tell you. It's not my turn." Her eyes narrowed. "Fine. Truth or Dare." He saw her strategy and debunked it. "Dare." She was silent for a minute, then slapped her hands on the steering wheel. "Dammit, I can't think of anything." Mulder made a buzzer noise and said gleefully, "Forfeit! My turn!" "Hey, that's not a rule!" "Yes, it is. Truth or Dare." She cursed under her breath. "All right, fine. Dare." She figured she was safe, since there wasn't much she could do while driving the car. She was wrong. He handed her the bag of sunflower seeds. She took it warily and shuddered at the grin spreading over his face. "See how many you can put in your mouth at one time." "That's disgusting. I will not." "Scully," his eyes gleamed. "I dare you." "I'm not playing with you anymore." "Yes! You have to! You can't just quit in the middle of a turn! It's a rule!" "Who's rule?" she demanded. "Mine and Samantha's!" Silence fell between them. A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, and then hers. Breaking the tension, she snatched up a handful of seeds, counted them and tossed them into her mouth. "Therew! Woo appy now?" "How many was that?" he asked. "Wenty." "Twenty? That's all? What a lightweight." She handed him the bag. He counted out twenty, threw them into his mouth, counted twenty more, threw them into his mouth . . . And immediately began to choke. "Woo okay?" she asked. He didn't respond. She spit the soggy seeds into her hand, dropped them out the window, and turned to him. "Mulder. Are you all right, can you breathe?" He nodded, but his eyes were tearing and he was gagging. She pulled the van over, hopped out, rushed around the front of the vehicle and swung open his door. He stepped out, took a few steps away, bent over and let all the seeds fall out of his mouth. He coughed a little, gagged once, and then pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. She rubbed his back. "Are you okay now?" He straightened his spine and offered a shaky smile. "Okay, Scully," he whispered. "You win." 4 p.m. Near the Utah/Idaho border Tears were running down Scully's face. "And then Shelby died of kidney failure," she whispered. "Remember that?" Mulder, near tears himself, nodded soberly. "A-and . . . then there was that scene in the cemetery, when Sally Field's character telling Olympia Dukakis that her husband and Julia Roberts' husband couldn't stand being in the hospital room when they pulled the plug, but she was there. And then do you remember what she said?" "Oh, Scully, don't say it." "She said that she had been there when Shelby had come into the world and she would be there as Shelby left it! Oh, God . . ." She covered her face with her hands. Mulder brushed impatiently at his eyes and swore. "Yeah, that was a good one." For a moment, they sniffled and collected themselves. Then she said, "Okay, it's your turn. What is the saddest movie you've ever seen?" "E.T., of course." "Strangely, I'm not surprised," she nodded. "Oh, come on, Scully," Mulder said. "Remember when E.T. was dying and he was hooked up to all those tubes . . . and that little boy was crying . . . and then the home planet somehow managed to find E.T. and save him?" "Oh," she said mistily. "I do remember that." "And he and the little boy had to say goodbye . . . because as much as they loved each other, they knew they couldn't survive in each other's worlds. So E.T. told him, 'I'll be right here' and touched Elliot's heart . . . and Elliot never saw him again." Mulder's voice broke on the last words, and his eyes welled with tears. "I bawled my eyes out." "So did I." "Yeah, but were you on a date at the time?" She turned to look at him. "You were on a date? I'll bet that shot a big hole in your macho-ness." "Her name was Mandy," he remembered wistfully. "She had long blonde hair and the cutest little . . ." He cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, I really had a thing for her, but after the movie, she told me that she couldn't date someone who cried so much." "Ohhhh," Scully moaned, envisioning a teenaged Mulder, devastated by a cheerleader-type who dumped him over a sad movie. "That is so unfair." She could see his sad, pimply youthful face, and that image, coupled with cute little aliens and mothers crying in cemeteries, threatened to make her fall apart all over again. "I can't believe Mandy did that to you," she mourned. "I didn't cry for years after that." A lump rose into her throat. He glanced at her, then handed her a napkin leftover from their lunch at McDonald's. "Sheesh, Scully, it was just a movie." She took the napkin, wiped her eyes and nose and struggled with herself until she was stable again. "Okay," she said, lifting the little book. "Next question . . ." He groped for the bag of cookies beside him, then held them up in triumph. "How many Oreos do you think I can shove into my mouth at once?" "Mulder," she warned. "Give it a rest." (End 3/5) ROADTRIP (4/5) By Alcott Disclaimer, etc. found in part one 6 p.m. Somewhere in Idaho It was late, and the driving was getting to her. Even a late dinner at a hole-in-the-wall diner hadn't soothed her; instead, she had picked at the food and spoken very little, as if to conserve what little energy she had left. Back in the car, she'd stared out the window gloomily. Now Scully was getting cranky, fast. Night would be falling soon and every ounce of her body craved eight hours of sleep. Mulder felt the urge to sleep, too, but she was clearly wiped. Her eyes were glassy, her face pale. She was so tired that she was chronically cold, and was shivering even beneath Mulder's jacket. It was probably eighty degrees in the van. If there was any more driving to be done that night, it would be by him. "Why don't you sleep awhile?" he suggested. She shook her head. "No, it's almost time for my shift." "That's okay, I'm fine. You rest." "Mulder, that's not fair," she protested weakly. In response, he reached over and pulled her closer. The confines of her seatbelt were the only thing that kept her from slumping gratefully into his lap. Instead, she settled against his shoulder, and sighed. "I don't want to sleep," she warned. "I want to drive." "Okay," he agreed quietly, slipping his arm around her so she could fit more easily against him. "I'll wake you if you fall asleep." "You will not, you'll let me sleep. Tell me a story." "A story?" he repeated. "You know every story I have." "Tell me a scary story so it keeps me awake." "Oh, a scary story." His eyes gleamed. "You ever hear of a place called Ravenel, South Carolina?" "Mm-mm . . . " she mumbled, fading fast. "Well, about thirty years ago, this school bus crashed on this rural road in Ravenel . . . A road that looked just . . . like . . . this . . one . . . All the children were killed." "And now they're all ghosts." "You're jumping to the good part." "Sorry." "Ever since then, people have been saying the road is haunted. There's an old abandoned church up there, and the children are all buried in the cemetery. They say if you back your car up to the cemetery, sprinkle baby powder on the bumper, then flash the headlights three times, then baby fingerprints will appear in the powder." Scully sat up. "And why would someone want to see that?" Mulder's grin faded. "I don't know." "And whose idea was it to sprinkle baby powder on their car in the first place?" He frowned. "Go to sleep, Scully." "No, no . . . I'm listening." She snuggled back into his shoulder. "And the bus driver shot himself on this little wooden bridge on this road, and if you listen really closely on quiet nights, you can hear him crying and walking through the water . . . just crying . . . and walking . . . " She didn't say anything. After a moment, he jiggled her a little. "Are you asleep?" "No," she said, her voice betraying that she was just a little bit frightened. He knew then that he had a captive audience. "And here's the scariest part, Scully. They say that the reason the bus crashed was that it was being chased . . . by the hounds of hell." She snorted delicately. "Oh, come on, Mulder. Hounds of hell?" "Yup," he nodded seriously. "The gates of hell are somewhere on this road, and people who have been driving on it when the gates are open say that these massive black dogs with blazing red eyes will chase any car who gets too close." He lowered his voice. "And get this, Scully. Once these kids in a Jeep went out there to see if they could find the hounds . . . and the dogs came out of nowhere and they were running, one on each side of the Jeep. They were keeping up with the Jeep, no matter how fast it drove. And Scully . . . The dogs were so big that they could turn their heads and look right into the eyes of the kids in the Jeep. The kids could feel their foul breath as the dogs reached through the window and-" A little shiver shot up her spine, and she sat up. "Okay, thank you, I'm awake now. I'm ready to drive. Pull over." "Are you sure you want to open the door and get out of the car?" he asked, his eyes glistening. "You don't know what's out there." She glanced around warily, absorbing the trees that huddled thickly on each side of the dirt road. "I think I can handle it," she lied. "There's nothing out here but forest and-" Her bloodcurdling scream ripped through the silence and she grabbed his arm. "What?!?! WHAT?!?!" he shouted, slamming on the brakes. "DOG!" she shrieked. The van fishtailed in a haze of road dust, then careened into a narrow ditch. They landed with a resounding thunk. Their heads snapped on impact, but the airbags didn't inflate. The vehicle, unharmed, was sitting in a five-foot ditch, its tail in the air. Mulder unlatched his seatbelt. "You okay?" She nodded breathlessly. "Yeah. You?" Instead of replying, he snapped, "What the hell did you scream for?" "There was a dog," she explained in a tiny voice. "Were its eyes glowing?" he deadpanned. "I don't think so," she said, ashamed of her overreacting. "Did you hit it?" "Hit it? I didn't even see it! Where was it?" "On the road!" "On the road," he repeated. "I wish we were on the road right now." They climbed out of the car and walked around the front to survey the damage. The van had suffered a few scratches, and the alignment would probably be a mess, but besides that, everything looked fine. Now, if they could only get out of the ditch, they could go on their way. Unfortunately, the ditch was a rather large obstacle. Their cell phones were, of course, useless in the midst of the forest. The chances of them seeing a passing vehicle were moot at best. They did the only thing they could do; they climbed out of the ditch and began to walk. An agreeable Golden Retriever came out of the woods to join them. "Is this your hound from hell?" Mulder asked, patting the friendly dog's golden head. "Shut up, Mulder." Mulder looped his finger around the dog's collar and looked at his tag. "Your name is Chewy," he told the dog. "You live at 45 Rural Route B." Chewy wagged his tail agreeably. "Where is that, Chewy? Near here?" Chewy licked his hand, then trotted off. The agents looked at each other. Then Scully shrugged. "Go find Timmy, Lassie." They followed the dog. The residence of John and Katherine Crane 10:32 p.m. Chewy rested his chin lightly on Mulder's bare foot, breathing warm air on his toes, as he and Scully sat in the warm, dimly lit kitchen of the farmhouse. They had been sitting there for hours now, chatting with John Crane, the 55-year-old man who had answered the door of the house where Chewy lived. John had explained that there was a small town nearby but it had no hotel. They were welcome to stay in his home, he had said. And he had refused to take no for an answer. He'd given them hot chocolate and homemade Tollhouse cookies, made that afternoon by his daughter Becky, and had sat down at the table to chat with them. In the hours they had talked, the kitchen had been well traveled. First, Becky, a pretty blonde sixteen-year-old, had come home from her part-time job, grabbing a plate of leftovers on her way up to her room. She was soon followed by John's wife Kate and their youngest, seven-year-old Annie, who had been "in town" shopping for new school clothes. Another girl, Elizabeth, 12-years-old and moody, came through the kitchen long enough to snag a handful of cookies and mutter "It's nice to meet you" under her breath. Every child had blonde hair and freckles across the nose, just like their mother's. The family was completed by eighteen-year-old twin sons, Grant and Gareth, who were at a friend's house. John assured they would pull the van out of the ditch with one of the tractors. However, he didn't know where the boys were exactly or what time they would be home. It would probably have to wait until morning. Still, John had explained, there was plenty of room for them to stay the night. Upstairs, there were four bedrooms: the master suite, and a room for each of the girls. The twins had turned the basement below into "a hip and funky pad", John had said with a smile. That left the small room off the living room, where a guest room was always ready for company. And not quite understanding Scully and Mulder's relationship, John also offered to make up the couch. As the night grew late, the house quieted. Kate joined them for a while, once the girls were all quiet upstairs. But she excused herself shortly before ten, laughing easily that she was worn out from shopping with a seven-year-old. Scully, feeling more and more exhausted with every passing minute, began growing quieter. When John and Mulder became deeply engrossed in a conversation about the lights John had seen in the sky late one night, Scully began to sink into her chair. She stared into her half-empty cup of cocoa, trying to keep her eyes open. She sank a little lower. Mulder was excitedly explaining the crop circles they'd seen several years earlier, and turned to acknowledge Scully. "Hey, and what did that old farmer tell you, Scul-" She was pressing her cheek against her folded arm, her eyes closed. John smiled fondly at her. "She's tuckered out." "We've been driving since Monday," Mulder explained quietly. "It'll all seem better after you get some good sleep." John stood up. "I'll get the sofa ready." In his absence, Mulder reached down and ran his hand over Scully's hair. He whispered her name, and she sat straight up, her eyes flying open. "What happened?!" she gasped. "Easy, easy!" he soothed. "It's time for bed." She glanced around blearily at her surroundings, and then nodded in understanding. By the time she had rubbed the cobwebs from her eyes, John had returned and was holding open the door for them. The living room was littered with stacks of books and magazines, and a Nintendo lay in front of the television set. A Barbie doll was sitting primly in a nearby La-Z-Boy. Sheets and blankets had been spread over the couch, and John had thoughtfully set the t.v. remote next to the pillows. He ushered them into the guest room, just a few feet away from the living room. It was decorated in light shades of pinks and purples, with a spray of dried roses on the wall and porcelain dolls sitting in an old, flower-covered chair. The room was lit by a small, Victorian lamp with purple irises painted on its globe. John shrugged. "It isn't much, but the bed's comfortable, and the house is cool at night. And best of all, the hounds of hell don't make it this far West." He winked at Scully, and shared a conspiring chuckle with Mulder. "I'm relieved to hear that," Scully smiled tiredly. John stifled his own yawn. "I guess I'll be heading to bed, too. We'll get the van out first thing so you folks can be on your way. Is there anything I can do for you before you go to bed?" "You gave us a place to stay, you gave us cookies and cocoa, you got our suitcases out of the van," Mulder grinned. "I think you've already earned your angel's wings." A slight flush crept into John's cheeks. "I'd doubt that. Goodnight, then." They echoed his sentiment, and then they were alone. Around them, the big old farmhouse grew quiet. Mulder turned toward the door. "Well, goodnight." "Mulder." He turned back. "Yeah?" She hesitated, wanting to ask him to stay in the guest room with her. They had been together every moment of every hour, and it felt strange to have him walking away, almost as if someone had cut her lifeline. He felt it, too. "What is it, Scully?" he said tenderly, hopefully, giving her the perfect opportunity to invite him into her bed. She didn't. "Goodnight," she said, her voice thick with regret. He nodded solemnly and closed the door on his way out. A moment later, she heard the creak of the couch as he lay down, and then the muffled sounds of a t.v. nearly muted. Why did her heart hurt so much? He was only ten feet away. She undressed and fished her cotton pajamas from her duffel bag. She was bone-weary and it hurt just to climb under the covers and turn off the lamp. The mattress seemed to embrace her in welcome and everything smelled like a mixture of fresh air and Downy. Her muscles ached as they released the tension of their long drive. And suddenly, she couldn't sleep. The rest she'd been staunchly resisting all day refused to come. The room was beyond dark, completely void of shadowy streetlight. She heard crickets chirp and realized the window was open. The window was open. She suddenly remembered Mulder's stupid story about the hounds of hell. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. For heaven's sake, Dana. This is ridiculous. She shivered involuntarily and reprimanded herself for drinking so much coffee over dinner. And then she heard it: faint, but growing louder. A growling noise. For a moment, she chided herself. She was overly exhausted and reacting badly to the fatigue. She did not hear what she thought she was hearing. There it was again, that same noise. But it wasn't coming from her open window; it was coming from the other side of the door. She threw back the covers. "Mulder, this isn't funny," she hissed, and stomped across the floor. She flung open the door. Darkness . . . and then, two glowing eyes peered up from the floor. She screamed and slammed the door shut. In an instant, lights ignited throughout the house, and footsteps hurrying down the stairs caused the floor to creak. A moment later, the door was open again, but this time, the living room was in light and Mulder, Kate and John were peering at her as if she'd taken leave of her senses. Chewy stood behind them, wondering what had happened. "I heard growling," Scully said lamely. Mulder began to snicker. "You heard Chewy. The cat walked by him." "I didn't know you had a cat." As if that made matters better. "Her name is Persnickety," John said, trying to not laugh at the woman standing there, trembling. "Sometimes she and the dog have at it." "Are you okay?" Kate asked kindly. Scully's face was bright crimson. Her embarrassment ran deep. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I woke you all." Kate glanced at their guests, and saw the way their eyes were locked. He was asking her if she really was all right, and she was begging him to stay with her. Yet they didn't speak a word. Kate tugged on her husband's sleeve. "You're in an unfamiliar house. It's understandable. Goodnight again." She dragged her husband back upstairs. When they reached the landing of the second floor, he asked quietly, "What was that all about?" "She didn't need us, she needed him," she explained quietly. "I hope he understands that." Below them, Scully and Mulder were staring at each other, unsure of what to do next. Scully's heart was still raging in her chest, and her hands hadn't quite ceased their trembling. Mulder, wearing nothing but a tank shirt and his boxers, stepped over the threshold and reached to touch her arm. "Are you sure you're okay?" "Beyond my newly developed fear of Golden Retrievers, yes, I'm fine." She was always fine. He was about to return to his couch and the t.v. informercial he'd been watching, when she whispered, "Mulder, don't go." If he'd lived to be a hundred, he'd never thought he'd hear an invitation like that from Scully. The fact she was coming down from a moment of sheer terror didn't make him any less gleeful. "What do you want me to do?" he asked her, and his face wore the most serious expression she'd ever seen. Her words nearly caused his heart to stop beating. "Do you want to come to bed?" "I-I have the couch." Her face was crestfallen for a brief second, and then she dropped her eyes. "Okay." "No! No, that's not exactly what I meant." She raised her eyes, expecting an explanation that he couldn't conjure up. "Let me just turn off the t.v.," he said. She climbed under the covers, and waited, suddenly feeling edgy. Her nervous system had just about hit its limit. When he returned, he saw that she was lying as far away from the window as she could. He climbed over her and lay down. Still, he kept a good foot of empty bed between them. She saw that he was incredibly tense, his entire body stiff and his eyes staring at the ceiling. She turned off the lamp and lay back, also staring at the ceiling above them. "Mulder?" He jumped at the sound of her voice. "What?" "Can you close the window, please?" He pulled the screen down and turned the lock. Then he lay back in the same militaristic style. She heard a soft padding sound, then an exhale of breath as Chewy entered the room and lay down near the bed. The house all around them grew quiet again. She was silent for long moments, listening to Mulder's steady, even breaths. She wondered if he would fall asleep quickly. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she whispered, "Mulder?" Before he could reply, she rolled toward him and rested her cheek against his chest. Her body was warm and pliable against him, and against his better judgment, he found himself drawing her closer into his arms. "Scully," he whispered against her hair, "I don't think this is a good idea." "Please," she mumbled. His heart threatened to burst under the flood of tenderness he felt. "Whatever you want." He leaned down and kissed the top of her hair. In the span of a heartbeat, she had fallen asleep. For long moments, he stared into the darkness, savoring how she felt, pressed against him. He felt her body relax into him, and her breathing become deeper with each inhale. And just as he was closing his eyes, surrendering to her warmth, she whispered his name, raised her head and did something that he had never thought would happen except in his wildest of dreams. (end 4/5) ROADTRIP (5/5) By Alcott Disclaimer, etc. found in part one 8:30 a.m. A gentle knock on the door awoke Scully, and the sunlight streaming through her window nearly blinded her for a moment. She sat up, holding the blanket to her breasts. "Come in." It was Mulder, grinning like the cat who had devoured the canary. "Hi. Breakfast is ready." He was dressed and freshly shaven and had a gleam in his eye that she'd never seen before. "The van's out of the ditch and parked out front," he said easily. "All we need to do is have breakfast with the family, and we can be on our way." She felt suddenly awkward. The night before, she had nearly forced him into her bed. Now he was smiling and looking very pleased with himself. Somehow, that made her nervous. "Throw on your robe and come to breakfast," he invited. "I'd like to take a shower." "Breakfast is already on the table," he said. "Come on, all the kids are in their p.j.s, too." With that, he was out the door. She rose and walked into the bathroom adjacent to the guest room. She used the restroom and spread toothpaste on her flimsy travel toothbrush. While brushing her teeth, she noticed her lips felt unusually warm. She hazarded a peek in the mirror and discovered that her lips were slightly swollen and reddened, almost as if . . . As if she'd been kissing someone. When Scully sat down at the dining room table a few minutes later, the entire family-John, Kate, and five blonde-headed children-greeted her cheerfully. She returned their greeting as cheerfully as she could, although her face was unnaturally pale. She sat down in the empty chair beside Mulder and folded her trembling hands into her lap. The rest of the family had nearly finished their breakfast, not wanting to wake Scully until it was necessary. She watched uneasily as Mulder piled her plate with eggs, bacon, half of a grapefruit and assorted miniature muffins. Then he managed to fill his own plate with even more food than hers and began to attack the food. All around them, conversations rose over the sound of clanking silverware and milk glasses. The conversations consisted mostly of children asking parents for permission to do various things. As the parents consented or gently denied their children's wishes, Mulder leaned into Scully and asked, "Did you sleep well?" "Did I kiss you last night?" she blurted. She had meant it to be a whisper, but it silenced every voice in the room. All of the blonde heads whipped in unison to watch the action. Kate cleared her throat and rose to clear dishes. "Becky," she said. Becky was staring at Mulder, her head cocked slightly to one side. "Rebecca!" Becky jumped and turned to her mother. "What?" "Help me clear the dishes." "It's Liz's turn." "Good! Elizabeth can help us." "What's Annie going to do?" Kate turned to her youngest, searching her mind frantically. "Annie, honey, I want you to go put your new shoes on and go walk around inside. You have to break them in so they don't hurt your feet." "Okay," Annie said cheerfully, and handing her plate to her mother, she disappeared upstairs. Kate ushered her other daughters into the kitchen, leaving the men and Scully alone. John had been sitting, a coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth. Now, he sipped the tepid coffee and said, "Boys? What say we go make sure the cows are milked?" "We have cows?" one of the twins asked, and the other socked him in the arm. Within moments, the entire family had made themselves scarce, leaving Scully sitting there, her eyes bright with angry tears, and Mulder, with his fork still in mid-air. "What are you talking about, Scully?" "My mouth. Mulder, look at my mouth!" He looked at her mouth intently, and felt his blood begin to heat inside his veins. "What about your mouth?" "I look like I've been kissing someone." Hysteria was rising in her voice. "Mulder, did I kiss you at some point?" He looked at her, as if having a fierce internal argument. Finally, he said, "It's no big deal, Scully, it was a mistake." She clamped her hand over her lips. "When?" "After you fell asleep." He slid a half of a piece of bacon into his mouth, although his stomach was churning. "You were dreaming, I think. You called my name and then you raised your head and-" She set her napkin aside and stood up. "I have to pack my things." "Aren't you going to eat anything?" he called after her. She didn't respond. Shaking his head, he picked up a forkful of eggs and placed them in his mouth. 9:05 a.m. The kids had disappeared into thin air, except for little Annie, who was walking up and down the driveway, happily scuffing the bottoms of her new shoes. Kate had packed their visitors a lunch of sandwiches, fruit and Tollhouse cookies, and now she and her husband stood, smiling and feeling a little sad that their new friends were leaving. "Thank you for everything," Scully said, although she couldn't make direct eye contact yet. Impulsively, Kate wrapped her in a hug, and Scully, who wasn't very good at hugging, feebly hugged back. Into her ear, Kate whispered, "He loves you, too. I can see it in his eyes." She released Scully with a happy, romantic sigh, and Scully offered a tiny smile and climbed into the car. Mulder opened the driver's side door, and then offered his hand for John to shake. "I don't know how to begin to thank you." "It's no trouble," John said easily. "We were expecting you." Mulder's stared. "What?" John's expression remained pleasant. "Oh, I should have introduced myself properly. My mother runs a bakery just off the highway. I think you and Dana stopped there earlier?" The younger man was speechless. "Close your mouth, boy, you're catching flies," John grinned. "But, how?" John shrugged his shoulders. "She thought you might need some help when you passed by, so she asked that I watch out for you." "I don't know what to say," Mulder stammered. He shook the man's hand firmly. "I don't know how you knew we were coming . .. and your mother is-" "-Is an angel," he finished with a smile. Then, with a nod of his head, John took a step back, leaving Mulder to wonder if the kind stranger had been speaking literally. Kate and John waved as Mulder pulled the car from the driveway. Back on the dirt road, they watched the rearview mirrors until distance and a cloud of dust caused John and Kate to fade into the background. "They were nice, huh?" Mulder said. She glanced sideways at him, and then stared bleakly out her window. 11:45 a.m. Interstate 84 Westbound He offered a silent prayer of thanks when they crossed the border into Oregon. If he had known what a beast she would become, he would have pushed her away when she'd kissed him. Or at least, she would have lied about it the next morning. Scully was driving and quite frankly, she was frightening him. Usually a conscientious driver, she was cutting people off left and right and actually flipped off a guy in a pick-up truck after he had honked his horn at her. "Do drive-by shootings happen in this state?" Mulder asked. "Because if they do, you're going to get our heads blown off." She didn't respond. "If you kiss me again, I will turn into a handsome prince for you," he offered. She ignored him. "If I kiss you, will YOU turn into a handsome prince?" She shot him a look that could start a house on fire. "I know, I know," he muttered. "'Shut up, Mulder.'" They'd spent the rest of the morning in silence. Not wanting to stop for lunch and have to face each other over a restaurant table, they munched on the food that Kate had packed for them. Scully ate a few bites of her turkey sandwich, then stared out the window and left it sitting on its plastic wrap beside her. Normally, Mulder would have swooped down on it and finished the sandwich for her, but at the moment, he thought his action would only upset her further. Actually, anything he did would upset her further. Even sitting beside her seemed to agitate her. At some point, she said in a toneless voice, "It's my turn to drive." "We're not that far away," he said kindly. "I'll take your shift. Why don't you try to catch a nap?" She glared at him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Something inside of him snapped, and with a strangled cry, he pulled the van to the shoulder of the freeway. He tossed his seatbelt aside and turned to face her. "Scully, I can't take this!" Before she could even think, he placed her face in his hands and kissed her. She tried to pull away, but he didn't release his firm hold on her face or her mouth. She whimpered slightly, and he reached with one hand to stroke her hair. Gently, he touched her hair, smoothing it with his fingers, reassuring her, comforting her. She stopped resisting; instead, she yielded to his kiss and his touch. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against her and whispered breathlessly, "I kissed you back." Her eyelids slipped closed over the tears that were forming. "Last night, I kissed you back," he repeated. "I was so happy, Scully. I knew you were just having a dream, but for those few moments, it was real to me. I feel like I stole those moments; I know I shouldn't have, I should have pushed you away . . . but I was selfish." He took a ragged breath. "Afterward, I couldn't sleep, I . . . I just laid there, it . .. I . . ." He looked dangerously close to tears, and she pulled back, then pulled his head to her shoulder. Gratefully, he settled there, closing his eyes and sniffling to hold back the emotion threatening to surface. "You didn't sleep?" she whispered. He laughed a little and raised his head. "Twenty minutes, max." She offered a wavering smile. "Okay, Mulder. Chinese fire drill." He nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. When they had switched places and she had merged back into traffic, he impulsively lay down with his head in her lap. "Mulder," she protested. "You need to have your seatbelt on." "Too tired . . ." "What if we get into an accident?" "Don't . . ." She sighed and reached down to absently brush his hair away from his forehead. He smiled sleepily and closed his eyes. With his cheek pressed against her and her hand stroking his hair, every muscle in his body released the tension of the morning, and within a moment, he was asleep. 4:16 p.m. Somewhere in Oregon When he opened his eyes, the afternoon sun was turning the inside of the van into a pizza oven on wheels. He sat up, stiff and sweaty. "Hi," he croaked. She smiled at him, her face serene. She had been watching him sleep, the way his lips parted gently, the way his eyelids had fluttered. Although her thigh had gone numb hours ago, she was a little disappointed when he began to stir and come out of sleep. The clock on the dashboard read 4: 16 p.m. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said. "I slept a lot longer than I wanted to." I enjoyed it, she thought. Aloud, she said, "That's okay, you needed the rest." "Where are we now?" he yawned. "We are, I am happy to say, about an hour away from La Grande." Why did he feel disappointed that their vehicular imprisonment was about to end? Because he had had Scully all to himself for more than 48 hours, and he had enjoyed himself immensely. The trip had confirmed what he'd suspected all along: that he loved her with all his heart. At some point, he was going to have to tell her so. Maybe there would be a touristy little flower shop in La Grande, and he'd be able to buy her a dozen ruby-colored roses to thank her for all that she meant to him. Or maybe he would cut the mushy crap and just tell her, flat out, that he loved her and couldn't imagine a life without her. "Are you hungry?" she asked. He shook his head slightly to derail his train of thought. "I can make it to La Grande, if that's what you're asking." Her stomach rumbled, and she smiled with embarrassment. She had not eaten her breakfast and barely any of her lunch, so he could see why she needed sustenance now. He held up his bag of sunflower seeds and offered them to her. She declined with another smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll wait." "Want me to drive?" She shook her head. "Nah, I'm fine." "You just want to be the one to cross the finish line," he accused. She nodded. "You know me inside and out, Mulder." He stuck a few seeds into his mouth and cracked them between his teeth. Spitting the shells into his hand, he pointed to the license plate in front of them. "A." She snickered under her breath and scanned the billboards. The sign of an approaching rural road read "Babcock Drive." Scully pointed excitedly. "B, C D," she announced triumphantly. "Beat that, Mulder." 5:25 p.m. La Grande, Oregon 2823 miles from Washington, D.C. The van, sparkling white in color when they had left D.C. two days earlier, was now so dirty it could have passed for gray as it pulled into the parking lot of a little Mom and Pop diner in the middle of the small town. Inside, the air conditioning was cool and the faces of the regulars sitting nearby were openly curious. Mulder and Scully found a booth by the window, and a waitress wearing a pink uniform and a nametag that said "Rosie" brought them tall glasses of water and told them what the daily specials were. Scully excused herself to use the bathroom, while Mulder gazed out the window, hoping against hope that he would see a Hallmark store, at the very least. To his disappointment, there was nothing in sight. He was wondering if he'd have to settle for a cheap gas station rose, when Scully returned, smelling like Jergens soap. "Better?" he asked. "Mm." She sipped her water and opened her menu. "Do you want to call Skinner or should I?" "I'll do it, you relax." He picked up his cell phone and reluctantly stepped back outside into the summer heat. The operator confirmed that AD Skinner was in fact still at headquarters, working late. She said she would transfer him. While he waited, listening to bad musak, Mulder scanned the streets, still intent on buying flowers for Scully. 8:26 p.m. EST Washington, D.C. The telephone intercom in Mulder's office buzzed. "Sir?" questioned the operator's voice. Walter Skinner reached over piles of paperwork and pressed a button on the telephone. "Yes." "Agent Mulder is on the phone." Skinner exchanged glances with the man who held a cigarette between his lips while rifling through the last of Mulder's files. The man nodded severely and began toggling files until they were straight, replacing them neatly inside the filing cabinet as if they had never been touched. "Yes, put him through," Skinner allowed. Mulder's voice sounded surprisingly relaxed and light-hearted. "Sir, we're here in Oregon." 'That was quick," Skinner said. "We stopped only briefly, sir." "Well, Agent, your assignment has been eliminated while you were out of contact. You may come home." There were long moments of silence on the other end. Then: "Sir?" "Yes, Agent Mulder." "We just got here, sir." "Yes, I know, Agent Mulder, and what I'm saying is, you can come home now." The man standing before the filing cabinet took a long drag off his cigarette, and then gestured for his crew of non-descript men to speed the process. While Skinner made the arrangements with his agents, he watched the disaster of paperwork disappear quickly back into the filing cabinet. He broke the telephone connection before Mulder's voice rose any higher, and turned to his nemesis. "Did you find what you were looking for?" The man only smiled and pulled a fresh cigarette from his pack of Morleys. 5:30 p.m. La Grande, Oregon "You are NOT going to believe this!" Mulder sputtered, throwing his body into the booth. Scully glanced up from her menu. "What's wrong, didn't you get ahold of Skinner?" "Oh, yeah, I got ahold of him," he seethed. "We can go home now." She nearly dropped her glass of water. "What? We just got here!" "I mentioned that." "Well, why did he send us here in the first place?" Mulder lowered his voice in his best Skinner impersonation. "Agent, that information is still classified." "You've got to be kidding." "Oh, I really wish I was." He snatched up the menu. "What are you having?" She frowned. "Mulder, will you stop thinking about food for one minute. What are we going to do?" "We're going to go to the airport and catch a flight home," he said, gulping his water. "The little airport on the edge of town?" He chortled sarcastically. "Oh, no, my dear Scully, that would be far too convenient. No, we have to drive to Portland International Airport and catch a flight back to DC from there." The waitress approached, a pencil poised over a tablet of paper. "You folks ready to order?" "I'll have the steak special," Mulder said. "And a pot of coffee, please." Scribbling on her paper, Rosie turned to Scully. "For you?" "Directions to Portland," Scully said darkly. "Beg pardon?" "Nothing," Scully sulked. "I'll have the chef's salad and a lemonade." The waitress nodded and walked away. With a groan, Scully pulled a well-worn interstate map out of her purse and spread it across the table. Scanning it quickly, she pressed her finger against the blip on the map that was La Grande. Mulder located Portland with his finger and shook his head. "So, that's another four hours or so." He knew his flowers would have to wait. Scully dropped her head to the table. "I can't take another four hours in a car." "Sure you can," he said cheerfully. "I'll keep you occupied." "Really." She cocked her eyebrow. "How do you plan to do that?" He smiled wickedly. "What do you wear to bed? Sexy lingerie, a cotton nightshirt, or nothing at all?" She realized he was quoting the book he'd bought at the beginning of their trip. She rolled her eyes. "You've seen what I wear to bed, Mulder." "If you could be a body part, what body part would you be?" "What?" she laughed. "That's not out of the book." "If you were the star of a porn movie, what would your name be?" "Mulder. . ." "I'd want to be Foxy Mold. Has a certain ring to it." "Oh, my God . . ." "Can't you picture it, though? Some blonde, buxom young lady panting and hollering, 'oh, yes, Foxy! Do it to me, Foxy Mold!'" "You've gone right over the edge, Mulder." He leaned over the table, his eyes twinkling. "That may be true, Scully, but if I'm going to go over the edge, there's no one I'd rather go over with than you." "Thank you," she smiled, then frowned a little. "I think . . ." "If you could have sex with a president, which president would it be?" "Mulder!" "Do you prefer warming body massage oil or chocolate syrup?" "MULDER!" "If you could pierce any body part, what body part would it be? Be creative now . . ." THE END