ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE 
By Jacquie LaVa and Tess


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

Chapter Seven
Millersburg Livery and Iron

Mulder resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow and tried to ignore the 
stinging drops as they ran down into his eyes.  With both hands occupied pumping 
the bellows to force air through the forge's bank of coals, it wasn't as if he'd 
had a spare one to swipe across his forehead, anyhow.

Jesus, it was hot.  He'd never in his life been this hot.

Angus had met him at the door of the livery with a pair of scarred leather gloves 
and a snarling, "Git yer ass over t' that forge, boy, and start pumpin'!"  The surly 
blacksmith obviously wasn't one for morning amenities, Mulder decided.  He'd eyed 
the long forge and huge set of bellows with an uneasy respect for the amount of 
fire it could fan.  Made of what appeared to be some species of tanned hide, the 
bellows sported a thick set of handles that Mulder could barely fit his fingers 
around.  The leather gloves hampered his usual dexterity but he didn't have to be 
a blacksmith to understand the consequences of trying to pump the bellows with his 
bare hands.

Working the bellows proved to be one serious exercise in bicep-building.  It was 
cold and stiff, almost impossible to open and just as difficult to close.  It took 
ten arm-breaking minutes of working it, a little at a time, until the hide warmed 
and softened enough to maneuver with some degree of finesse.  Mulder caught Angus 
glaring at him once or twice as he manned the opposite end of the forge; he knew 
the grizzled smithy was impatiently waiting for hotter coals.  Mulder redoubled 
his efforts and was rewarded by a short grunt of what could have been approval, 
as the bellows began opening and closing easier and the temperature of the coals 
visibly rose.  

As the sun crept higher into the sky and the interior of the livery lightened, Mulder 
could better see the day's jobs piled up on a low bench near the anvil, larger pieces 
scattered along the floor.  There seemed to be a little bit of everything.  A crude 
box held horseshoes in varying sizes, another, smaller box held nails.  There were 
several shovels, one Mulder knew belonging to Thomas Weston; there were fireplace 
tools and various pickaxes from the mine.  There were several hoops that looked 
as if they were meant to fit onto a stack of wooden barrels sitting near the doorway.  
Mulder counted five hammers and even some pieces of wagon wheels.

It was going to be a busy day.

Under Angus McLean's growling instruction, Mulder learned not only how to pump the 
bellows but how to turn a horseshoe to extend its usefulness, how to sharpen the 
edges of a half-dozen deadly-looking farm and mining implements, how to repair 
broken hammers and axes and how to make nails.  To his credit, not once did Angus 
bring up his apprentice's apparent ignorance concerning iron work in general, 
though to him it had to be as obvious as hell that Mulder was just following 
directions and had no real grasp of the job at hand.

Yet.

The men worked in relative silence for several hours, Mulder copying Angus's moves 
with his tools and implements.  The veteran smithy seldom slowed down as he 
demonstrated the fine art of pounding and turning.  A ragged chunk of blackened 
iron became the base of a candelabra, showcasing a streak of artistic talent in 
Angus McLean, although Mulder knew he would probably get his ass kicked if he tried 
to compliment his mean-tempered employer.  Dull axes became sharp again, knives 
were honed to a deadly point and an old set of fireplace tools belonging to the 
mining boss Jack Sawyer were tempered, straightened and polished to a high gleam.  
The pile of finished jobs grew steadily, under Angus's approving, if grudging, eye.  
By noon, Mulder was beyond exhausted, sorer than he'd ever been in his life, and 
proud as hell that he'd managed to more or less hold his end up, making a decent 
dent in the livery's endless workload.

Now Mulder leaned against a wooden post, trying to ease the stabbing pain in his 
lower back, and finally gave in to wiping off his face with a handkerchief he pulled 
out of his back pocket.  He'd long since removed his shirt in deference of the 
sweltering heat and his upper chest shone with perspiration.  Long smudges of soot 
and sawdust ran up both arms and across his back and his face was liberally coated 
with it as well.  His hair was soaked to the scalp with sweat and water, as he'd 
dunked his head several times over the course of the morning in an attempt to cool 
off.  His suspenders were almost as grimy as the ones Angus wore.

Angus still hadn't said much to him other than his half-grunting, half-snarling 
style of instruction.  Surprisingly, the smithy had dropped his hammer at least 
four times during the morning and had dragged Mulder over to the outside water pump, 
making him drink a large tin cup of water each time.  Grateful for the prompting, 
Mulder had already begun to update his initial impression of Angus McLean, now 
pegging him for a caring, if rude, gruff and foul-mouthed man.  Someone who was 
that considerate of his employees couldn't be all bad...

"Hey, yew!  Asshole!  Din't I tell yew t' bring some lunch?  Where th' fuck is yore 
food?  Yew think I'm gonna scrape yew off'n th' floor after yew puke up from th' 
heat an' fall over, ya dumb fuck?"  The loud and grinding tones of Angus broke into 
Mulder's thoughts like nails over a chalkboard, and he quickly snapped out of his 
new summation of the beyond-grouchy smithy.  Mulder straightened and met Angus's 
bad-tempered, mean expression as placidly and respectfully as he could muster up.

"I didn't have time this morning, Mr. McLean.  I'm sure I can find something to 
eat over at the Supper House -"

Angus strode over and got up in Mulder's face, both fists clenched by his side.  
"Yew think yer gonna set yerself down at th' Supper House like a goddamn sissy-fied 
dandy, with a fuckin' hanky over yer lap, an' eat lunch?  Ya stupid idjit, ya send 
over fer yer food an' yew eat it here!  I ain't got time t' stop fer lunch an' yew 
don't either!  Jesus bark at th' moon!  Do I hafta tell yew ever'thang?"

Mulder blinked in confusion.  "But you told me the other day that I had to eat lunch 
-"

Once again he was rudely interrupted.  "Yeah, I did, but in here, ya rube!  I ain't 
payin' yew t' stop 'prenticin'!  Yew eat with one hand an' pound with th' other.  
Goddamn sonabitch fuck, we got too much work t' do!"  Angus stomped to the door 
and yanked an old, torn shirt off a hook nailed to the wall, shrugging it on and 
not bothering to button it.  He sent one last snarl toward Mulder as he strode out 
the door.  "Yew eat what I getcha.  Make yerself useful an' finish that fuckin' 
pickaxe like I showed ya, while yer waitin'."

Mulder shook his head as he watched Angus clomp across the street and disappear 
into the Supper House.  The man was a mass of contradictions and meaner than a 
rattlesnake, but he was taking care of his apprentice in his own fashion.  It was 
damned weird.  It was rather like having a dad around, in a strange, creepy way 
- without the sappy stuff.  In fact, it felt almost normal...

Mulder grinned to himself as he picked up the pickaxe head with a set of heavy tongs 
and thrust it into the coals, watching it gain heat and start to glow.  He chose 
one of the heavier hammers and started to pound out the long end of the axe head, 
as he waited for his lunch.

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

Scully lifted a heavy pot from the stovetop and poured heated water into a galvanized 
tin pail.  Dashing her sleeve across her sweaty forehead, she lugged the pail outside 
and across the yard.  This was the ninth or tenth or one hundredth... she had lost 
count... such trip she'd made that morning.  Glancing at the sun, she estimated 
that it wasn't quite noon, yet she was fast approaching exhausted.

"There's got to be a better way," she muttered as she thought of the endless loop 
from the pump to the kitchen to heat the water and then back outside to the chicken 
coop.  Following Libby's instructions, she had mucked all of the straw out of the 
small building and had raked it into a neat pile near the barrel containing the 
feed they suspected of being tainted.  Unpleasant a task as that had been, it was 
easy compared to the chore of scrubbing out the coop itself.  Scully stepped back 
into the henhouse and plunked the pail down onto the dirt floor. 

She picked up a rag and winced at the thought of putting her hands into the hot 
water.  Her skin was raw from hours of contact with the harsh lye soap, and the 
half-healed cut on her palm throbbed.  She tried to comfort herself with the thought 
that the strong soap would have killed any infection but she was not feeling in 
a 'glass half-full' kind of mood at the moment.  

The walls and ceilings having already been scrubbed, Scully went to work on cleaning 
the shelf running the length of one wall that normally held the bedding for the 
straw nests where the hens roosted and laid their eggs.  When she was finished, 
she made one last trip to the pump for a pail of fresh water to rinse away the soapy 
residue.

She stepped out of the building and let the pail fall to the ground with a clatter.  
She propped the door of the coop open with a piece of wood and pushed open the 
shutters on the two small windows to help air out the small building.

She was pumping clear, cool water over her stinging hands when the sound of an 
approaching wagon caused her to look up.

"Kate!"  Libby waved as she pulled back on the reins and brought the horse and wagon 
to a halt.  Scully shaded her eyes with one hand and walked across the yard to greet 
the other woman.

Libby gathered up her skirts and carefully climbed down from the wagon.  "I brought 
my recipes, just like I promised," the preacher's wife offered Scully a sunny smile.  
"I see you've been cleaning the coop."  She noted the pile of soiled straw and 
wandered across the yard.  She ducked her head into the henhouse.

"Looks real good," she praised.  "We'll let it air out another day and then I'll 
bring those chickens."  Libby reached out and squeezed one of Scully's hands with 
her own.   She frowned at the sound of Scully's pained hiss and clucked over the 
chapped and reddened skin.

"Lye'll do that," she intoned in a knowing voice.  "Gets to a point where you don't 
even notice it anymore."  She stroked a tender finger over Scully's palm.  "I've 
got some liniment at home... I'll bring it tomorrow and it'll help fix you up."

"Thanks."  Scully tucked her hands behind her back.  "Can I get you something to 
drink?  A glass of water?"  

Libby followed her into the cabin and looked around approvingly.  The kitchen was 
tidy with the exception of a plate holding the scraps left over from breakfast.  
With no garbage disposal and no trash can, Scully had been unsure of what to do 
with it.

"There should be a barrel near the fence."  Libby picked up the plate.  "Oh dear," 
she sighed at the sight of the remains of the scorched eggs and undercooked bacon. 

"It takes time to get used to the stove," she commiserated.  "Why, I don't think 
I cooked an edible meal the first two months Tom and I were married," she lied kindly.  
She bustled out of the cabin with the plate in her hand.  As she had predicted, 
a squat wooden barrel was propped up near the fence.  "The Connellys - just on the 
other side of that hill," she jerked her chin toward a rise of ground in the distance, 
"Eileen and Donald are their names."  She tapped the plate against the rim of the 
barrel and let the scraps of food fall inside.  "They raise pigs."  Libby clapped 
the lid back onto the barrel and lowered her voice in conspiratorial whisper.  
"Sometimes, when the wind is right... you can smell them."  She laughed at the 
grimace that crossed Scully's face.

"Anyway, they come around a couple of times a week and collect any garbage that's 
left over and use it to slop the pigs."  She led the way back into the cabin and 
set the plate down.  "Why don't we sit for a spell and have a cool drink."  

Scully nodded and brought over two glasses and a pitcher of water.  She sank 
gratefully into a chair and sighed with the relief of being off her feet for a few 
minutes.

"It's not what you're used to, is it?"  Libby murmured.

"Far from it."  Scully's smile was wan.  If the other woman only knew...

"Well, it takes some adjusting, but you're healthy, you got a strong back... you'll 
get there."  Libby frowned and touched her fingers to Scully's sun-kissed cheeks.

"You should be wearing a hat," she admonished.  She rose and pulled a sunbonnet 
from a hook near the door.  "Pretty, white skin like yours! You'll be freckled in 
no time."  She sat down again and thrust the hat into Scully's hands.

Scully fingered the flower-sprigged fabric of the bonnet and tipped her head in 
acknowledgement.  "I'll be sure to wear it."

"Good."  Libby sat down and took a sip of her water.  "Now, let's get to work!"

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

Millersburg Livery and Iron

After the second time Mulder dropped a hammer on his toe, he began to appreciate 
the benefits of wearing hobnail boots.

Inside the borrowed work gloves his hands felt blistered and were stiffening up; 
there wasn't a thing he could do about it.  Unused to clenching items like bellows 
handles, heavy hammers and iron tongs, his fingers were screaming at the misuse 
and his arm muscles were quivering in protest of being overworked.  Mulder had never 
considered himself the strongest man alive by any means, but he worked out with 
weights every day and ran several miles each morning.  He played basketball a couple 
of times a week unless he and Scully were in the field.  His job in general was 
very active and if nothing else he knew he was aerobically-fit and healthy for his 
age.  He was well-muscled and toned, for his size and build.  But nothing had prepared 
his mind and body for life on the prairie, circa 1860.  

Jesus, how could he have possibly known this bizarre little 'jaunt' was in his 
future?  How would he ever have been able to train for something like this?

He tugged off the leather gloves and tried to work the kinks out of his fingers, 
taking advantage of yet another water break.  He was waiting his turn at the pump; 
Angus was still guzzling water.  Mulder shook his hands out and reached for the 
tin cup as Angus finished up... and instead of handing him the cup, Angus instead 
stuck out one massive paw and grabbed at Mulder's hand, turning it over to study 
the damage on his palm.

"Jesus Christ an' th' saints!  Are yew plumb stupid, boy?  Why din't yew tell me 
yer hand was torn up?  I got liniment'll take care of that!  I'll tell yew what," 
Angus dropped Mulder's hand in disgust and pushed him back inside, toward a wooden 
cabinet nearby the fireplace, "I can't be thinkin' o' ever'thang, yew damn fool!  
Yew git yer hands infected an' yer worthless to me!  Here, yew rub this in."  Angus 
pulled out a bottle and unscrewed the cap, dumping some of the contents on Mulder's 
sore and blistered palms.  The liniment stunk to high heaven and stung like crazy; 
Mulder sucked in a harsh breath but refused to whimper, even though he wanted to.  
He worked the liniment into his hands while Angus clomped around in circles and 
called him all sorts of insulting, albeit inventive, names.

Once the liniment soaked in, Mulder had to admit his hands felt a lot better.  Angus 
dug into the cabinet once more and came out with some torn pieces of cotton, wrapping 
them around each of Mulder's palms.  With the cotton in place and the liniment still 
tingling, the idea of picking up the hammer once more or manning the bellows didn't 
make him cringe as much as he'd thought it would.  Mulder smiled his thanks, grinning 
wider when Angus merely snarled at him. He moved into position at the bellows, ready 
to go back to work.

Angus, however, seemed to have other ideas.  He drew a dull-looking pocket-watch 
out of his britches and opened it, taking note of the time.  He peered out of the 
open doorway at the sun that was starting to lower in the sky; then glared over 
at Mulder.  "Ferget it, Boy.  Yew need t'let those blisters set a bit and it's near 
sunset anyway.  No sense in pickin' it up again and makin' yer hands worse."  

He spat tobacco juice onto the floor, by accident or on purpose missing the spittoon 
sitting at the end of the forge.  Angus rubbed a hand over his face and if possible 
managed to add another layer of grime to cheeks already sooty.  "Yew come in 
tomorrow.  I got a load o' stuff needs t' be taken up t' th' mine.  Yew take my 
wagon an' deliver it.  Yew see Sawyer, he's th' boss.  He'll pay yew.  Git here 
at six t' help load th' wagon or don't bother showing yer face here t'all, ya hear?"

Mulder nodded gratefully and removed the gloves, stacking them on a shelf nailed 
to the far wall.  "I'll be here.  And thanks, Mr. McLean.  I appreciate you taking... 
care... of me."  He glanced at the grizzled smithy as he spoke, and swore he could 
see steam hissing out of the curmudgeon's ears.

Angus growled out a few choice expletives, strode to his first-aid cabinet and 
snatched up the bottle of liniment, thrusting it into Mulder's bandaged hand.  "Yew 
put more on tonight, before bed.  Have yer wife rub it in good.  Come mornin' yer 
hands'll be right as rain again.  'Course, they's still purty sissy-fied lookin'.  
But I reckon they'll toughen up, build up some nice calluses."  He gave the younger 
man an approving once-over.  "Yer okay, boy.  Ya held yer own today.  Jest as well, 
too, else yew'd been tossed out on yer ass, first thing!" 

The grudging praise gave Mulder an absurd sense of pride, but he refrained from 
thanking his new employer too effusively.  Instead he nodded once, shrugged back 
into his sweaty shirt, and left the livery with a wave and a promise to be back 
promptly at six in the morning.  He took off down the road with a smile on his tired 
face.

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

"It's best to get on a schedule," Libby had advised.  "You do the laundry on Monday.  
Now, I know that Sunday is a day of rest and as a minister's wife I shouldn't 
encourage you to do any work, but... most folks do their washing on Mondays.   So, 
you want to sort and soak the wash the night before.  Then on Tuesday, after the 
washing is nice and dry, you can do your ironing.  Do your baking on Wednesdays 
and Fridays.  Pull weeds and tend the garden on Thursdays.  Give the house a good 
scrubbing on Saturdays - you won't BELIEVE how much dust and dirt can get inside 
in a week's time!"  

She'd taken a deep breath and started ticking items off on her fingers. "And, of 
course, you'll cook breakfast and supper everyday.  Likely, you'll cook something 
for lunch too on the days when Will isn't at work.  Feed the chickens, do your 
mending, clean and fill the oil lamps, gather eggs... you'll want to come into town 
a couple of times a week for fresh meat and milk..." She'd smiled at the 
shell-shocked look on Scully's face.  "Maybe you should write some of this down."

Now, hours later, Scully's head was spinning from the wealth of information Libby 
had shared with her over the course of the afternoon.  The older woman had driven 
off with a promise to bring the new chickens and then check back in on her new 
neighbor a couple of days after that.  Scully glanced down at the hastily penciled 
notes she had taken.

"Ironing - after clothes are dry, dampen them."  She felt a headache brewing and 
rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers.  "Let them dry and then dampen 
them.  Oh, just fabulous."  She continued reading.  "Rub the irons with beeswax 
and heat them on the stove."  She dropped her head down onto her arms and moaned.  
"God, Mulder's right.  It's like we stepped into an episode of 'Little House of 
the Prairie'!"

She looked up and saw the clock on the mantle.  Mulder would be home in a couple 
of hours and she had to figure out what to make for dinner.  Scully drew the sheaf 
of papers containing Libby's recipes towards her.  She thought of the chicken she 
had purchased at Silas Cranston's general store.  

"Guess we're having chicken tonight."  She flipped through the recipes rejecting 
one after another for being too difficult.  "Chicken pie... nope."  She flipped 
to the next page and screwed up her face in distaste.  "Boiled chicken.  Yuck."  
She paused.  "Chicken soup?" She read through the recipe and shook her head.  "We 
don't have any rice and I can't even contemplate making my own noodles or dumplings!"

She finally settled on fried chicken, determining that she could cook it a little 
early and they could eat it cold.  Nervously, Scully approached the stove and lifted 
one of the burners.  The fire was low and she cautiously added a few pieces of wood 
before setting the burner back into place.  She retrieved the chicken from the cellar 
and brought it back to the kitchen.

"Clean and wash the chicken," she murmured as she consulted the recipe.  "Cut it 
up into pieces and sprinkle with salt and pepper, to taste."  She grabbed a large 
knife and quickly sectioned the chicken into pieces.  "Okay, that was easy enough."  
While she preferred her meat to come on a Styrofoam tray covered in plastic wrap 
from a giant supermarket, she didn't bat an eye at the thought of dissecting a 
chicken.  "Melt butter and lard in a large skillet."  While the greasy mixture 
melted, she dusted each piece of chicken with flour.  Vowing not to let the meal 
burn, Scully stood guard over the stove, poking and moving the chicken around the 
skillet, frying them until each piece was a golden brown as described in Libby's 
recipe.

"Ha!"  She heaped the chicken onto a plate and set it aside to cool.  The recipe 
suggested making a quick gravy by adding a little water, butter and flour to the 
pan of drippings. She ventured back into the cellar and brought up some potatoes.  
She'd boil them and serve them with the gravy...

*********** 

"There's the little woman!"

Scully had dragged a chair out of the warm cabin and was snapping the ends off a 
pile of green beans she had harvested from the garden when she heard Mulder's voice.  
She dumped the beans into a bowl and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her 
waist.

"Mulder!"  She stood and pulled him into a welcoming embrace.  He smelled of sweat 
and soot, but she burrowed closer and tightened her grip around him.  It had been 
a long day and she was simply glad to see him again.

She leaned her head back for a kiss and he happily obliged.  Breaking away, he 
fingered the edges of her sunbonnet.  "I don't know, Scully."  He played with the 
ribbon tied beneath her chin.  "There's something about this bonnet of yours... 
it's turning me on."  He dipped his face beneath the brim of her hat and stole another 
kiss.  When they parted again, he dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and sighed.  

Scully reached for his hand and frowned when she encountered the cotton wrappings 
still in place.  She pulled his hand closer to inspect it and demanded, "What did 
you do to your hands, Mulder?"

He sighed again and pressed his cheek to her neck.  "I developed a few lovely 
blisters.  It's nothing, Scully.  Par for the course, really.  Angus gave me some 
liniment and the stuff works wonders.  My hands feel much better.  I brought the 
bottle home; you'll have to rub some more on me, later on tonight."  He raised his 
head and leered at her, spoiling the effect somewhat by yawning hugely in her face.

Scully threaded her fingers through his sweat-stiff hair, soothing his scalp.  "Long 
day?" she asked.

"Oh, God."  He dropped his head back on her shoulder.  "I'm so sore, even my hair 
hurts."

She thought of that damned chicken coop.  She could sympathize.  "Dinner will be 
ready soon."  She stepped away from him and picked up the bowl of beans.  "Why don't 
you get washed up and then we'll eat.  You can tell me all about your day and I'll 
tell you about mine."

He nodded and watched her walk back into the cabin.  She really did look pretty 
in that bonnet, he thought.  If only he wasn't so damned tired...
He pumped cool water over his head, using his handkerchief to scrub away the worst 
of the day's grime and sweat before dinner.

Twenty minutes later, Mulder entered the kitchen with an armful of wood and a small 
burlap bag slung over his shoulder that she hadn't noticed when she'd met him out 
in the yard.  Scully smiled her thanks as he dumped it into the woodbin near the 
stove; then her grin got bigger when he handed her the bag and she saw what was 
inside.  "My clothes!  You found them.  I'm so glad to see something of mine, 
something familiar, Mulder."  She hugged him for good measure, chuckling when he 
returned her hug with a giant squeeze.  

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and wriggled out of his arms, set the bag down on 
the floor next to the stove; then handed him the plate of chicken. "Here, make 
yourself useful."  He complied eagerly as she carried bowls filled with boiled 
potatoes and fresh green beans to the table.

Mulder wasted no time in sitting down and filling his plate.  "Looks good."  He 
stabbed a crispy breast onto his fork while Scully lifted a chicken leg to her mouth 
and took a bite.  Not bad, she congratulated herself silently.  She sampled the 
green beans and thought they were a little overcooked, but all in all... Feeling 
victorious, she looked up and smiled at Mulder.  The triumphant grin faded as she 
caught him trying to surreptitiously spit a mouthful of food into his napkin.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" He swirled a chunk of potato through a puddle of gravy and popped it 
in his mouth.  "It's great!" he mumbled as he chewed.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What aren't you telling me?"  She used her fork 
to spear up the chicken breast from his plate.  She studied it for a moment before 
dumping it onto her own plate and shoving it aside in disgust.  
As with breakfast, the meat had cooked unevenly and while the smaller pieces were 
fine, the larger pieces had needed more time on the heat.

"It's practically raw inside!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Two days, Scully," he reminded her.  "It's only been two days and learning to cook 
on that thing takes time."  He pitched his voice into a soothing murmur.  "It takes 
practice and besides, it's not like you do that much cooking at home so it'll 
probably take you even longer..." His voice trailed off as she looked at him in 
irritation.

"Not that either of us has time to cook at home," he amended quickly.  "I'm sure 
the rest of it is fine."  He carefully selected a couple of smaller pieces of chicken 
from the platter and made a show of tucking into the meal with gusto.  

Scully knew he was right, but she was not used to failing in anything, let alone 
something as mundane as preparing a simple meal.  The day had been a long one and 
she was tired and frustrated.  They finished the meal in relative silence and worked 
together to quickly clean up.  She dried the last plate and set it into the cupboard.  
Turning, she draped the damp towel over the back of a chair and saw Mulder standing 
near the fireplace.  He reached up with one hand, rubbed his shoulder and grimaced.  
Scully remembered his complaint about being sore and took concerned note of the 
cotton wrappings still in place on both of his palms.  Now would be a good time 
to rub that liniment in, she thought, before they both dropped from utter 
exhaustion.

"Come here, Mulder.  And bring your bottle of liniment."  She beckoned him to sit 
back down at the table.  He pulled the bottle out of the pocket of his work shirt 
and plodded across the room. Scully turned a chair around and guided him down to 
straddle the seat.  She took the bottle out of his hand and plunked it down; then 
helped him to strip out of his shirt. There was still a pot of hot water left on 
the stove and she dipped a clean cloth into the water.  She squeezed out the excess 
and draped the hot, wet material over his neck and shoulders.  She repeated the 
task over and over, allowing the steamy heat to draw some of the tension from his 
muscles.

Scully lifted the now cooling cloth from his neck and tossed it onto the table.  
Stepping close behind him, she smoothed her hands over his back.  Ignoring the aches 
and pains left from a day of scrubbing out the chicken coop, she dug her fingers 
into his shoulders.  Mulder groaned in appreciation and his head dropped forward 
to rest on the back of the chair.  She rubbed and kneaded and massaged until she 
felt his knotted muscles begin to loosen.  By the time she was finished, he was 
half asleep and sagging in his chair.

"Your hands, Mulder.  You can't fall asleep yet," Scully admonished.  He nodded 
wearily and stripped off the cotton wrappings, baring his hands to Scully's 
examination.  To her they looked a little raw and the blisters had bubbled up and 
then burst, but she also knew the liniment had worked wonders, for his hands should 
have appeared much worse.  She unscrewed the bottle cap and poured some of the 
liniment into her own hand, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the pungent odor.  She 
massaged each palm thoroughly with the powerful liquid and this time Mulder didn't 
even wince; he was too exhausted to react.

Deciding to leave the bandages off, Scully drew him out of the chair.  They walked 
outside to complete their nighttime ablutions and trudged back in, both almost 
asleep on their feet.  Mulder bolted the door while she checked the stove to make 
sure that the fire was dying out.  They fell into bed and this night sleep did not 
elude them.


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

Chapter Eight
Nulty Homestead


Four AM came much too early, Mulder thought with a groan of protest at his stiff 
muscles.  He sat up in bed, stretching, doing his best not to awaken Scully who 
slept soundly beside him.  He'd seen the now-clean and neat chicken coop in the 
twilight as he'd walked home the night before, and he knew she'd had to be beyond 
sore herself when she'd taken such good care of his aches and pains and his blistered 
hands. He'd wanted nothing more than to make love to her last night, but they'd 
both been too wiped out to do little more than snuggle as they fell asleep.

This morning, however... Carefully Mulder eased up on one elbow and fumbled for 
a match, lighting the bedside lamp and trimming the wick until it sent a soft glow 
over the small room.  He slid back down onto his side; his body seemed to be able 
to handle that position without his muscles and joints screeching at him.  Scully 
had fallen asleep on her side as well, and Mulder had a feeling she hadn't moved 
an inch all night.  He stretched and wiggled his fingers; they felt a bit stiff 
but the blisters didn't hurt at all and in the dim glow from the lamp he could see 
a big improvement in the healing process.  At least his hands would be able to 
'handle' a bout of early-morning nookie... Mulder moved in closer on the pillow; 
face to face with Scully he trailed a gentle finger over her cheek and then her 
lips, watching her stir and awaken at his touch.

Her eyes fluttered open and in the dim light he could see the shadows underneath 
her lids, exhaustion still lining her features.  Mulder smiled at her and she smiled 
back; then tried to sit up as she realized it was morning and she needed to start 
breakfast.  Mulder curled an arm around her and easily pinned her to the bed.

Scully squirmed and mumbled sleepily, "I need to get up, Mulder.  I have to fix 
your breakfast."  

He pressed a kiss on her cheek and then added one to her soft mouth.  "Nope.  I'm 
not hungry.  I'll bring some of that chicken to work, I promise.  Besides, all I 
have to do this morning is deliver a wagonload of finished tools up to the mine."  
He strung small kisses over her jaw and down her neck, smiling against her skin 
when she sighed and stopped wriggling away from him.  Mulder slipped his other arm 
around her and brought her up tightly against his body, loving the feel of her bare 
skin.  As exhausted as they'd both been the night before, Scully had forgotten to 
put on a nightgown and Mulder had been too dead to notice.  He was certainly noticing, 
now.

"Mulder, you can't bring the chicken anywhere; I tossed it out!  It was undercooked, 
remember?  And with no way to refrigerate it, I had to get rid of it."

"Well, damn!  And here I was thinking I could pop it into the fireplace over at 
the livery, and have it for lunch.  I can't believe I forgot so easily that we don't 
have a fridge," Mulder admitted sheepishly.  

"It's really understandable, Mulder.  Several times in the last few days I've found 
myself looking around the kitchen for the fridge, only to remember where and when 
we are."  Scully reluctantly moved away from him, enough to see his face.  In the 
dim room his hair was tangled, his cheeks bore one hell of a five o'clock shadow 
and his eyes were heavy with residual weariness.

He looked absolutely edible... but she needed to get up and figure out something 
for him to take for lunch, since he seemed determined to ignore breakfast. 

Mulder easily read her mind and clamped her body against his again. "Scully, stop 
worrying about feeding me.  I'm sure I'll survive."  He slipped a gentle hand between 
her thighs and trailed his sore fingers over her silky hair.  "There are other needs 
I have, besides food.  Some of them involve nudity and much handling of our 
respective naughty bits."

Scully smothered a chuckle against his shoulder.  "Naughty bits, huh?  I'm afraid 
I'm too stiff and sore to do your 'bits' much good, Mulder.  I can't even lift my 
arm."  She demonstrated by lifting her right arm a scant two inches and struggling 
to hold it aloft, before the slender muscles started quivering in protest and she 
dropped it back onto the bed.  Her bottom lip trembled into a pout and she looked 
so adorable Mulder ignored his own aches and squeezed her tightly, then ruined the 
gesture somewhat by cursing under his breath, "Owww, dammit!  There has to be a 
way we can do this without causing ourselves further muscle spasms."  

He pondered for a moment, one sore hand running up and down her back soothingly; 
then smiled in triumph.  Of course!  It made perfect sense.  Besides, they were 
already in position...

Carefully, Mulder slid the back of his hand under her knee and raised her leg high 
enough to rest on his hip.  This brought more of her lower body in contact with 
his, and aside from a tiny groan of protest for her aching leg, Scully seemed 
comfortable.  He drew her arm over his shoulder and eased her upper body closer; 
now they were touching in several places, torso to torso.  Their faces were very 
close together on the pillow; Mulder leaned in and Scully did the same, until their 
lips could cling and kiss.

Ignoring morning breath and cricks in their necks, they kissed slowly, thoroughly.  
For both of them, kissing had always been an important aspect of foreplay.  There 
had been a time or two since the onset of their intimacy that kissing alone had 
been enough to arouse them, no other physical foreplay necessary.  Thankfully this 
morning appeared to be one of those times, and Mulder threw himself into the kissing 
with gusto, feeling Scully do the same.

His palms may have been messed over but there wasn't a thing wrong with his 
fingertips, and Mulder used them to his advantage, trailing them lightly over her 
shoulders, down her back, then up again, to trace a delicate ear and tap over a 
collarbone.  Scully shivered and pressed closer, her teeth nipping at Mulder's lower 
lip until he thought he'd go mad.  Scully loved to use her teeth when she kissed 
and nothing whipped Mulder into a frenzy faster than the feel of those tiny love 
bites she inflicted.  This morning was no different.

Mulder slid a hand between their bodies and stroked her gently; she was hot and 
wet, shuddering when he pressed against her and let a finger slip inside.  The 
feeling was as always indescribable; this was Dana Scully at her most potent, her 
most powerful.  Never one for saying very much during lovemaking, she simply allowed 
the demands of her body and the impact of her kisses tell him she was more than 
ready.  When she reached out an impatient hand and grasped his penis, pulling at 
him until he met her soft flesh and thrust inside... Mulder chuckled into her mouth 
and got the end of his tongue bitten lightly for his impudence.  

He whispered, "You're so bossy, Scully..."

In answer she pushed her hips into his as hard as she could and dug all ten fingers 
into his shoulders as he slipped in the rest of the way.

The feeling of being inside her in this position was so perfect that Mulder knew 
he wouldn't even have to move, to gain his release.  She was tight and pulsing all 
around him; he could feel her muscles quivering as much as his were as they both 
fought to maintain maximum contact with minimum body aches.  He caught her mouth 
in a series of deep, scorching kisses and his hand pressed against her lower back, 
the blisters stinging a bit as he held her steady.  He refused to let it bother 
him, and with the fingers of his free hand he found her hard little clit and began 
stroking it, tugging on it in the same rhythm as his mouth on hers, his tongue against 
hers... the same rhythm his hips would have loved to mirror if only his goddamn 
muscles would obey.  

This morning, however, it was enough.  The combination of deep kisses, flicking 
fingertips and a thick and eager penis embedded deep in his lover's body all worked 
together; Scully tensed and then cried out into Mulder's mouth as she convulsed 
around him, an orgasm brought on by no movement but a whirlwind of love.  It was 
perfect.  It was maddening.  It gave him one hell of a release, which he gratefully 
embraced a scant three seconds after Scully's shudders subsided.

"Good God.  That was... well... I have no words for what that was."  Scully was 
stuttering and the sound of her climactic confusion made Mulder laugh aloud.  

He remained on his side intimately joined with her, though he knew the connection 
wouldn't last much longer.  Mulder dropped a sweet kiss on her mouth and several 
over her jaw; then sighed in utter contentment.  "That was the power of sedentary 
sex, Scully.  That was the ultimate in lazy-morning loving."

She snorted softly.  "That was the result of hours of backbreaking work versus 
all-American horniness.  The body is weak but the spirit could give a rip. I think 
I gave myself a hernia on that final descent, Mulder.  We'll have to check to see 
if my navel is still in place."  She giggled when Mulder duly sent an index finger 
poking into her bellybutton, assuring it hadn't slid off her tummy and landed on 
the floor.

"Thankfully the horniness won out, Scully.  I couldn't have done my usual piston 
routine if my life had depended on it.  But I do find much satisfaction in knowing 
my johnson can fire without too much gunpowder."  Mulder sent her a cheeky grin 
and she retaliated by pinching a rather sensitive area of his anatomy; then grimaced 
as she eased away from his body and her leg fell back onto the bed.

"Oww.  Oh, I ache all over, even inside both ears.  I may learn to hate chickens 
as well as their damn coops, if mucking them out gets to be a frequent chore."  Scully 
lay back on the bed and tried to relax every sore muscle.  

Next to her Mulder remained on his side, fearful of moving around just yet, and 
having his aching spine give him grief.  "Speaking of chickens... what did you do 
with all that half-cooked fowl?  It's not like we have a garbage disposal."

She snickered, "Oh, yes.  We do, in fact, have a disposal of sorts.  One of our 
neighbors raises pigs, and according to Libby visits farms several times a week 
to collect the scraps to feed their oinkers.  All we have to do is dump our edible 
garbage in a barrel outside.  The Connellys - their first names escape me at the 
moment - will come by and pick it up.  Nice and neat."

The idea of pigs chowing on hens was just too much to contemplate - or resist teasing 
about, and Mulder deadpanned, "You mean the Connelly's hogs eat chickens?  I wonder 
if they prefer legs or breasts.  Sounds awfully kinky to me.  I'm sure it's a 
perversion against nature and some kind of offense in at least three to five frontier 
states."

She was too sore to physically retaliate for his goofiness, and instead retorted, 
"You should be very glad I'm incapable of tossing you out of bed, Mulder.  Otherwise 
your ass would be making contact with the floor.  Now, which one of us is going 
to attempt rising from the bed first, and help the other up?"

"I have no idea.  But I sure wish I had a camera, to record the moment."

"Idiot."  The insult was said lovingly, as Scully pressed one final kiss to his 
mouth and then sat up, groaning at her protesting muscles.  She managed to scoot 
to the side of the bed and ease herself to her feet, swaying a little as she reached 
out a hand and tugged at Mulder's arm, until with much moaning and other pathetic 
sounding noises, he got to his feet as well.  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders 
and teased, "One foot in front of the other, Scully... and I got dibs on the privy.  
As soon as I light the frigging lamp."

Her smarmy, "Be my guest," had him laughing all the way to the outhouse, trying 
not to stumble in the early-morning darkness.


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


Millersburg Livery and Iron

Mulder and the draft horse eyed each other with mutual suspicion and dislike.  In 
the morning sun the animal's coat gleamed with health; it was obvious that Angus 
McLean took excellent care of him.  Or her... Mulder couldn't tell.  Nor did he 
want to check down there to satisfy his vague curiosity, not with the way the horse 
was rolling those huge brown eyes at him, and showing a mean set of yellowed teeth.  
Mulder's experience with horses started and stopped with the summertime pony rides 
at Martha's Vineyard, back when he was a kid.  At Oxford he'd been too swamped with 
classes and mountains of homework to partake of the university's popular equine 
program.  It wouldn't have mattered if he'd had the time, anyway, since women - 
one in particular, Mulder wryly admitted to himself - had occupied most of his sparse 
free time.  But that was neither here nor there.  Right now he had a horse to hook 
up to a wagon, God help him - and a ton of tools to drag out of the livery and load.  

Mulder wracked his brain in an attempt to recall how Thomas Weston had his horse 
and wagon set up.  The bridle on Angus's horse looked the same to him, and the 
brackets attached to each side of the wagon seemed to resemble the reverend's rig.  
All he had to do was connect the two, and he'd be in business...  Warily, Mulder 
approached the big animal, crooning nonsensically under his breath, hoping the 
horse would pick up on the sound of his voice and not bite his fingers off - or 
kick him in the ass.  He placed a hand on the horse's harness and the beast snorted 
and sidestepped, almost taking Mulder's arm out of its socket.

"Jesus, that hurt!"  Scowling at the snickering horse, Mulder rubbed at his shoulder 
and quickly glanced around the dusty street, relieved to see that no one walking 
along the wooden sidewalk or loitering in doorways seemed to have taken any notice 
of his ineptitude.  He needed to figure this out, and fast.  It was one thing to 
acknowledge ignorance of frontier life by pretending to be an upper-crust city boy, 
but even city boys in nineteenth-century America knew how to harness a goddamn horse 
and wagon.  

Didn't they?

"Well, fer Christ's sake!  Ain't yew ever hadda hook up yer own rig, dumbass?  Or 
did that citified livin' yew did back east take all th' man outta yew?"  

Mulder groaned under his breath as Angus stomped out of the livery and toward him 
as he stood in the street trying to look as if he knew what he was doing with the 
huge draft horse.  He hadn't fooled his boss, who must have been watching from the 
doorway.

Shit.

Angus reached his beast's side and laid a leather-gloved hand on its glossy mane, 
earning him a loving snicker and a nuzzle on his shoulder from the traitorous animal.  
He patted the horse affectionately, but the face he presented to Mulder held its 
usual mean-looking snarl.  "Yew don't know mucha anythin', do yew, boy?  What th' 
fuck did yew do in yer fancy city, growin' up?  Sit on yer mama's lap an' eat outta 
her hand?"

Mulder silently counted to ten and forced his expression to remain suitably humble.  
"I went to school and then to university, Mr. McLean.  I'm ashamed to say I was 
driven everywhere when I was a child, and at university I never got out much because 
I had no spare time for riding.  After I graduated I went right to work in the city 
and again I was driven where I needed to go."  It was actually not far off from 
the truth, if taxicabs could be substituted for horses.  Mulder looked his employer 
straight in the eye and added, "I see now that I should have learned more than just 
what's in books, sir.  I should have learned about life."

The humble-pie attitude must have worked, because the smithy's eyes actually 
appeared to soften a little, and he removed his big hand from the horse's mane and 
slapped Mulder on the back, almost knocking him to the ground.  "Well, yer honest, 
boy.  I can 'preciate that.  If'n I asked anybody else a question like that, they'd 
pro'bly fuckin' lie t' me.  Ain't no shame in not knowin' how t' do somethin'.  They's 
more shame in pretendin' yer a know-it-all, an' then fuckin' up th' works."  Angus 
grasped hold of the horse's head harness and pulled the large animal closer to the 
waiting wagon; then ordered gruffly, "Yew watch me.  Then we're gonna unhook ole 
Bess here, an' yer gonna do it yerself."

Bess, huh?  Well, that answered the gender question.  Avoiding the chomping teeth 
of the big draft horse, Mulder edged closer and took careful note of everything 
Angus did.

A half hour later he was on his way, the clopping rhythm of Bess and the swaying 
wagon almost soothing in the morning sunshine.  It had taken Mulder one try to hook 
up the wagon to Angus's satisfaction, earning him another spine-numbing slap on 
the back and a surly grunt of approval.  To the horse's credit, she'd only tried 
to bite him twice.  Angus had cautioned her in a low, firm growl and she'd subsided 
reluctantly, standing meekly enough as Mulder completed the final harnessing.  Then 
they'd dragged out all the finished tools for the mine delivery, heaping them into 
the wagon carefully to avoid uneven weight distribution.

Angus had wiped off his face and commented, "Yew git yer ass movin', boy.  I ain't 
payin' ya t' lollygag in th' street, lookin' purty."  He snorted at his own joke 
and headed back to the livery, tossing over his shoulder, "When yew git back, we 
got horses t' shoe.  I reckon yew never done any shoein' either, so yew git back 
here fast.  I ain't got all day t' teacha ever'thang!"  Angus had disappeared into 
the wide doorway of the livery and Mulder found himself chuckling as he snapped 
the reins and urged Bess out of town.

Although the mine was only about five miles from the edge of town, it took Mulder 
longer than he'd expected to get there.  A horse pulling a wagonload of heavy tools 
made for slow going.  He wasn't complaining.  The ride was a pretty one; the lower 
hills dotted with a variety of wildflowers and the air sweet and warm.   He relaxed 
in the high seat and looked around at the countryside.

He knew that civilization would encroach upon this pristine land very soon.  In 
1860 the frontier was still wild and sparsely populated, but the move west had 
already begun in earnest.  As more mines - silver, gold and other ores and minerals 
- were staked out and developed, more and more people would flock to the Midwest 
and western territories, seeking their fortunes.  More towns like Millersburg would 
spring up and prosper; grow in population, until the big-city troubles and woes 
found a way through the back door of America.  It was sad but inevitable.  

As desperately as Mulder wanted to find a way to whisk Scully and him back to their 
own time, he still counted himself fortunate to be able to experience something 
this once-in-a-lifetime amazing. 

The narrow road up to the mining area and caves came into view as he rounded a curve 
and Mulder snapped the reins, anxious to get the tools unloaded and head back to 
town.  There were men everywhere, leading work horses, pushing wheelbarrows, 
walking in and out of the main entrance of the mine.  Mulder nodded to several of 
them and pulled on the brim of his hat as he'd seen other men in town do, and got 
a few waves of grimy hands and some curious nods back.  He hadn't had an opportunity 
to meet any of these rough miners since, according to Thomas Weston, they stayed 
either out at the mines or at their own lodgings and farms in the evenings.  By 
the time any of the men came into town for the night, Mulder was already headed 
for home.

He pulled on the reins and stopped Bess near the entrance, swung down from the wagon 
seat and took a chance on patting the horse's mane.  Bess stood placidly and let 
him touch her, offering no reaction at all.  Mulder took that as a good sign and 
walked into the entrance of the mine, searching for someone who looked as if they 
might be in charge.

A young boy that couldn't be any older than maybe fourteen hurried by him with a 
pickaxe balanced on his shoulder and Mulder stopped him.  "Can you tell me where 
I might find Jack Sawyer?"

The boy spat a sloppy chaw of tobacco onto the ground and wiped his mouth on his 
sleeve before answering, "He's in th' hole.  I kin git him fer ya, if'n yew want."  
Mulder nodded and thanked him; the boy laid down his axe and ran deeper into the 
entrance, hollering, "Mr. Sawyer!  Yew got a feller wantin' t' see yew!"

A few minutes passed and Mulder took advantage of the time by examining his 
surroundings as casually as possible.  The main entrance was fairly large, with 
enough head room to lead in a work horse.  He figured the horses would be necessary 
to haul the larger boulders and rocks from the mines.  Kerosene lamps hung on nails 
that had been embedded in the rocky sides; a few crude tables had been set up and 
what appeared to be a set of weights and measures sat on one table, along with small 
burlap bags.  In the dimness of the lamp glow Mulder could see several holes in 
the ground; as he squinted at the back recesses of the mine, a man hoisted himself 
out of a far hole and dusted himself off, then walked toward Mulder.

Jack Sawyer appeared to be about ten years older than Mulder and sported a full 
head of gray hair.  Apparently working in these mines aged a man quickly.  He was 
dressed roughly, as all the miners were, in a homespun shirt and trousers.  Wide 
suspenders crossed over his shoulders and his hands were large and covered with 
calluses and dirt.  He took a grimy bandana from his pocket and wiped his face off, 
nodding to Mulder.  "Mornin'.  I'm Sawyer.  What can I do for ya?"

Mulder pointed to Angus's wagon, just visible from where they stood.  "My name is 
Will Mulder.  I work with Angus McLean.  He sent me over with some repaired tools 
you've been waiting on."

Jack broke into a grin, heavy creases at his eyes almost obscuring them, and 
exclaimed, "Well, it's 'bout damn time!  I was fixin' to head on over to the livery 
an' give him a hard time, for takin' so long."  He regarded Mulder with a curious 
expression.  "You new in town?  Ain't seen you around. If you're workin' for ole 
Angus then you got my sympathy.  He's the meanest, most crotchety son of a bitch 
that ever lived."  Jack wiped at his face again.  "How long you been workin' for 
him?"

"About a day and a half.  He only beat me up once, yesterday."  Mulder's serious 
tone was belied by the twinkle in his eyes, and Jack Sawyer chuckled as he walked 
over to the wagon and peered in, then gave Bess's rump a familiar pat.

"Well, I'll tell ya, if you can handle more n' a day with that cranky bastard, you're 
tougher than I am.  Good luck to ya."  Jack called to a few men who were busy emptying 
out a wheelbarrow full of small rocks and gravel.  "Petey!  Cal!  Come on over here 
and bring the wheelbarrow.  McLean finally sent over our tools!"  

As the men hurriedly dumped the remainder out of the wheelbarrow and pushed it over 
to the wagon, Jack motioned Mulder into the entrance of the mine, out of the sun.  
He walked over to a large bucket filled with cloudy water and dipped a cup into 
it, drinking deeply, then refilled it and offered it to Mulder who gratefully drank 
it down.  It tasted a little stale but he was too thirsty to care.  

Jack wiped off his mouth and gave Mulder the once-over.  "Where ya from... Mulder, 
did ya say?"

"Virginia.  My wife and I... came west to start a new life.  We arrived in town 
with nothing; our stagecoach got robbed and we were on foot for several days until 
we found Millersburg."  The fabrication was coming easier to Mulder; that in itself 
was an upsetting thought.  Once again he was lying and hated having to do it.

Jack shook his head in disgust.  "Goddamn thievery!  Decent folks can't fight it.  
Well, ya come to a nice town.  Quiet, mostly.  Every now an' then some of my boys 
whoop it up when they get a little silver in their pocket, an' come to work the 
next day with busted heads an' pukin' whisky.  Ain't got a bit of sympathy for 'em.  
Even hung over though, they're hard workers.  'Cept a few, but it's like that all 
over."  Jack gulped down another cup of water, and confided, "I lost another one 
this week.  Asshole didn't even warn me, just up an' left.  Now I gotta find me 
a replacement.  Shit."

Mulder could feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to twitch.  "Do you know 
what happened?  Why he left?"

"Well, could've been anythin', I reckon.  A man's wife gets fidgety an' thinks she 
can't hack it out west no longer, talks her man into takin' her home.  Had that 
happen before.  Lost one of my best miners, Ben Nulty, just that way.  His wife 
Jenny had a rough time, I hear tell, an' talked Ben into leavin'.  Never got any 
warnin' from Ben, so leastways that's how I figure it happened.  Probably the same 
with Abe.  Abe Franklin, he's the one that ain't shown up yet this week."  Jack's 
voice was laden with frustration.

Mulder didn't like the direction his thoughts were heading.  "This Abe just left?  
Did he take his belongings with him?"  Please say he did, please...

Jack shook his head.  "Nope, not that I know of.  Nobody in town recollects seein' 
them leavin' with a passel of trunks and such.  My wife wants to go out to their 
place - they live 'bout a mile or so north of the Nultys, right off the same road 
- but I told her screw it.  They'll come back when they're good an' ready, I said 
to her.  Seen it happen before.  But it's goddamn rude, I'll tell ya.  I suppose 
he'll come slinkin' back to the mine, an' I reckon I'll take him back on, since 
he's a damn good miner."

The mine boss stuck out a hand and shook Mulder's, claiming, "Well, I'd best get 
back.  I thank you for bringin' the tools.  I'll get you Angus's money, if you wait 
just a minute.  And you do your best to ignore that bastard's grumpy ways, y'hear?  
He's got a right to be mean, I guess."

Mulder was curious.  "Why do you say that?"

Jack rummaged through a strongbox sitting to one side of the largest table and pulled 
out a leather bag, before he answered.  "Well, Angus used to be one happy son of 
a bitch, when he was younger.  Known him nigh on ten years, now.  He came to 
Millersburg a month or two after I moved out here, when the town was brand new an' 
strugglin' to survive.  He worked a bunch of odd jobs, do anything ya need done.  
He was the hardest workin' man I ever seen.  Still is.

"Well, 'bout six years ago his daddy died an' he went to Scotland to see the ole 
man got a decent burial; he was gone the longest time, 'bout six months, I guess.  
I didn't think he'd come back, to tell the truth.  Well, Angus came back to 
Millersburg with a wife, of all things.  The prettiest little gal you ever did see.  
Said he met her in Ireland.   Ireland!  Don't that beat all?   Can't recall her 
name but she was a sweet young thing."

Jack paused for a moment and counted out coins under his breath, while Mulder tried 
to imagine the grizzled Angus with anyone sweet and young.  Try as he might, the 
image eluded him.  

Satisfied with the count, Jack poured the coins into one of the small burlap bags 
and tied it off, then handed it to Mulder before he continued with his story.  
"Anyways, there was Angus as proud as punch that he'd up an' found himself this 
pretty little gal.  He said he'd come to a decision in Scotland, that he'd be a 
smithy like his daddy had been.  He'd brought back some of his daddy's things an' 
he set up his livery under an old waxed tarp, shoeing horses an' makin' tools. Poor 
as can be but they sure seemed happy, an' it wasn't a year back in town, that he 
was passin' out cigars an' boasting his wife was gonna have a baby.  If you'd met 
him then you'd never know it was the same man you see workin' at the livery today.

"Well, that little gal died in childbirth, Mr. Mulder.  It was a heartbreakin' thing.  
She just couldn't birth that baby, she was so little an' Angus is a big son of a 
bitch.  Th' baby was big, too. She lost too much blood an' died, right after 
deliverin' the child.  It died a few hours after she did.  Saddest thing I ever 
heard.  Angus changed that day, an' he's been black-hearted ever since.  I never 
had a broken heart, but I'd say it can do powerful hurt to a man."

Jack Sawyer walked Mulder back to the wagon, now empty.  Mulder was pensive as he 
thanked the older man and shook his hand, promising to return soon with his set 
of fireplace tools.  "Angus hasn't quite finished them, Mr. Sawyer.  But I'll bring 
them to you as soon as he does.  Thanks for telling me about Angus's loss.  It helps 
me to understand him better, and I appreciate it."

"Well, now... you're welcome.  Ya might do me a favor, an' spread the word in town 
that I need a few more men at the mine, to take the place of the fellers that took 
off.  Angus'll know which ones are good workers an' who's a slacker.  Just ask him.  
An' if your wife don't mind a bit of company, I'll tell Mary - that's my wife - 
to go visit her, soon."

"She'd enjoy that.  Thanks again, Mr. Sawyer."  Mulder clucked at Bess and snapped 
the reins, and she obediently clopped off, the empty wagon swinging from side to 
side on the rutted road. All the way back to town he thought about Abe Franklin, 
Millersburg's latest missing person.  He'd have bet money their homestead wasn't 
missing a thing, except them.  Mulder sighed wearily as he drove along, swaying 
in the seat.  He was almost at the town limits before he realized that Sawyer had 
no idea where he and Scully lived. 

Well, they had bigger concerns now than a visit from another frontier wife.  Maybe 
it was time for him to take another look at the cave, and see if anything could 
be deciphered from the immediate area.  Maybe the cave drawings held some sort of 
key; he and Scully hadn't really pursued that possibility, yet.  Mulder pulled up 
on the reins, thinking he'd just turn around and check the cave right now...

Then he remembered how many miners he'd seen swarming around the site.  In and out 
of more than one cave and mine shaft, there was no way of knowing for sure if he'd 
be discovered were he to go snooping around in the middle of the day.  Besides, 
he'd be in serious shit with Angus if he came back to town late.  And with no 
flashlight - he'd left it hidden at the farm - it wasn't as if he'd be able to see 
anything much.  He might as well wait until later, after dark.  Maybe he and Scully 
could chance going there after dusk when the workers were gone for the day.

His decision made, Mulder snapped the reins and got Bess moving again, toward the 
town.

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

"You up for a little evening spelunking, Scully?"

They were finishing up dinner; Scully had used up the last of the bacon, some 
potatoes and snap beans from the garden and had made up a tasty cream of potato 
soup.  She seemed to be getting the hang of the cook stove and had even tried her 
hand at making soda biscuits.  The meal had been filling and Mulder had complimented 
her lavishly, earning him a blush, a grumble and then a kiss on the cheek all 
simultaneously from Scully, who'd had another frustrating day on the farm.  He could 
really sympathize, since his afternoon with Angus had been packed full of horses 
that refused to stand still while he learned how to shoe them, and the snarling, 
profane verbal abuse that only Angus McLean could dish out.  Plus he'd hammered 
his thumb several times.

It was good to be home, even if 'home' was a hundred and forty or so years from 
where it used to be.

Now Scully cocked her head at him as he picked up the bucket and prepared to head 
outside to fill it for her.  "You want to go cave-ing again?  Tonight?  What do 
you think we'll find, Mulder?"  She stacked the dirty dishes in the wash basin and 
waited until he came back in with the water and dumped it in the heating kettle, 
before adding, "You said this Jack Sawyer mentioned Abe Franklin never showed up 
this week.  If he went to the caves and accidentally stuck his hand on the drawings, 
then wouldn't his wife be at home and worried about him?  Sounds like they both 
took off, doesn't it?"

"I don't know.  Sawyer was pissed off at Abe Franklin and Ben Nulty.  He said his 
wife wanted to run over to the Franklin place but he wouldn't let her.  If nobody 
has gone to see if the wife is still home, then anything could have happened.  Abe 
Franklin COULD have gone up to the cave, for whatever reason, and discovered the 
drawings; touched them.  His wife could have been with him.  Or she could be at 
their homestead, worried sick about him."

They cleaned up in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.  Outside the sun had 
set and soon night would firmly settle in.  Mulder glanced out the window; if they 
went up to the mine now, they could poke around and still make it home before it 
got too black to find their way.  He tossed the damp flour sack he'd been using 
as a dish towel on the table and cautioned, "Scully, if we're going to do this, 
we have to go now.  Tell me what you want to do."

She pushed at her hair and her eyes were troubled as they met his.  "Much as I hate 
to go out there, I think you're right.  I think we should check out the cave.  Maybe 
we'll find something.  If we don't then we have to discuss our next course of action, 
Mulder."

He nodded.  "We will. I don't have to work tomorrow.  My first day off."  His grin 
was infectious as he took her hand and pulled her into the bedroom.  He dug in the 
little closet and came up with a shawl for her; then rummaged around until he found 
the flashlight they'd hidden the first day they came to the farm.  "Let's get this 
over with."

It took them roughly a half hour to walk up to the mine.  Scully had forgotten they 
were so close to it; even walking at a slower pace owing to the darkening sky outside, 
it didn't take long to reach the cave.  They climbed the small incline that brought 
them to the entrance, and Scully held tightly to Mulder's hand as they walked single 
file into the depths of the cave.

In the absolute blackness the flashlight was a welcome reassurance.  Dark places 
had never really bothered Mulder; as a young child he used to hide in his parents' 
bedroom closet and indulge in any number of wild, youthful scenarios that involved 
being in a small, tight area.  The cave, however, was a different kind of dark, 
another sort of enclosed space.  When they returned to their own time, Mulder knew 
he'd be steering clear of caves for a very long time.

They ventured deeper into the narrowing chamber, the flashlight bobbing 
comfortingly before them and the utter ink of the night closing in as they moved 
through it.  Mulder recalled a sharp bend to the right, with the wall carved in 
drawings also on the right side.  They should be coming up on it; he didn't think 
they'd moved this far into the cave before they'd stumbled upon it.

"Scully, did we take a wrong turn somewhere?  We should have seen that right bend 
by now."  Mulder shone the flashlight in a wide arc and saw nothing but a narrow, 
straight passageway and no rock carvings.  

Scully squinted in the small beam, silently bemoaning the loss of her eyeglasses.  
She sighed worriedly, "We might be in the wrong cave.  For some reason it just didn't 
feel right coming in, you know?  Did you feel it, too?"

"No.  We're in the right cave.  At least I know that much.  We must have moved into 
a different chamber.  This isn't the way we walked before, Scully.  I think we should 
just give it up; it's too damned dark and it's getting late.  If we don't leave 
now we're going to have a hard time finding our way back to the farm."

They turned around, their feet shuffling carefully along the dirt floor, the 
flashlight held steady in Mulder's hand.  Scully was gripping his other hand so 
tightly that she was inadvertently causing him pain, but Mulder didn't complain.  
His hands had improved significantly using Angus's liniment, but they were still 
sore.  It was worth the hurt as long as he didn't lose his grip on Scully.

Both of them heaved a sigh of relief when they saw the mouth of the cave looming 
before them, and they scrambled down the hill and found their way back to the road.  
Under a half moon they walked to the cabin, quiet, pensive.  Mulder slipped an arm 
around Scully's shoulders and kept the flashlight trained on the ground before them 
so they wouldn't trip or step in a rut.  

They made it to their cabin in one piece and hurriedly entered, securing the latch 
and immediately lighting the wall lamps in the kitchen.  Scully sank into one of 
the chairs while Mulder poured them both glasses of water from the pitcher that 
still sat on the table.

Mulder gulped down half a glass; then set it down and wiped at his mouth. "Well, 
that was a wasted effort.  I can't believe we almost got lost.  We need to go back 
in the daylight, Scully.  I think we also need to check out the Franklin farm."

"You want to see if his wife is still there."  It was a statement and not really 
a question.  

Mulder nodded, reaching across the small table to grasp Scully's hand.  "I think 
we have to know.  Don't you?  If she's there, then possibly she might be able to 
tell us something.  Anything.  If she isn't, well... then what other choice do we 
have than to believe and accept that people have been going to the cave and 
disappearing for the same reason we did?  We'd have to accept they'd traveled 
elsewhere... to another year, another era.  Somewhere."

Scully rubbed her free hand over her face, tiredly.  "Mulder, I'm exhausted and 
so are you.  Neither of us is thinking straight right now.  I'm definitely not working 
with a clear head, at least not clear enough to attempt imagining people from 1860 
time-traveling to God knows when.  It's too frightening to contemplate, not without 
a decent night's sleep."  She rose from the old wooden chair and pulled at Mulder 
with the hand he still held clasped in his.  "Let's try getting some of that decent 
sleep, okay?  We'll think about it again in the morning.  We can wait until then 
to decide what to do next, can't we?"  

Her eyes were pleading as they gazed into his.  Faced with her worry and feeling 
it feeding his own, Mulder reached out for her and curled her into his arms, holding 
fast, giving and taking comfort as best as he could.  "Yes.  We can wait until 
tomorrow.  You're right.  We can't do any more thinking tonight.  Let's sleep on 
it, Scully.  We'll talk about it again in the morning."


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

Chapter Nine
Nulty Homestead


The insistent crowing of a rooster ruined Scully's plan to sleep late.  She pushed 
up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes tiredly while Mulder grunted and tugged the 
pillow over his ears.  She looked toward the small window to see pearly gray light 
beyond the glass and judged it to be about six o'clock.  With Mulder not having 
to go to work, they had gotten two more hours of sleep than they had in the last 
few days, but she found herself wishing that Libby Weston hadn't dropped off the 
promised fowl yesterday.  She plopped back down onto the mattress and buried her 
face against the warm, bare expanse of Mulder's back, trying to ignore the racket 
coming from the chicken coop.

"Don't those things come with a snooze alarm?" she grumbled against his skin.

"You could always cook it for dinner tonight," Mulder suggested from beneath the 
pillow.  "I'm betting that would be a pretty effective way to shut him up."  

Scully huffed out a tired laugh.  "Sorry, I draw the line at plucking my food before 
eating it."

The rooster crowed again and Scully flung back the covers and crawled out of bed.  

"Where are you going?" Mulder mumbled.  

She pried up one corner of the pillow and found his eyes stubbornly closed against 
the intruding light.  She brushed her lips against his bristled chin and let the 
pillow fall back into place.  

"Outhouse," she groaned miserably.  She ignored the muffled snort of laughter coming 
from beneath the pillow and dragged on yesterday's clothes for the trip outside.  
She guessed that the outhouse was state-of-the-art for its time but she still found 
the experience repugnant and longed for the gleaming porcelain fixtures of the 
spotless bathroom in her apartment.  She returned to the cabin to find Mulder asleep 
again.  Quietly moving around the small bedroom, Scully brushed her teeth and 
quickly washed up.  She changed into clean clothes and stifling a yawn, wandered 
into the kitchen.  

Although soft light filtered through the glass of the window, she struck a match 
and touched it to the wick of an oil lamp.  With the improved lighting, she tied 
an apron around her waist and set about starting breakfast.  Less intimidated by 
the cast iron stove, Scully built a small fire beneath the burners and carefully 
added kindling before replacing the metal lids.  As the stove heated, she reached 
for the small sack of coffee beans, pouring the beans into a wooden grinder and 
turning the brass crank until the beans were ground into a fine powder.  Setting 
the coffee aside, she picked up a bucket and headed out for what she had now learned 
would be the first of many trips to and from the pump.

Stepping outside, Scully took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air.  As she walked 
to the water pump, she noted how the rising sun bathed the mountain peaks in a soft, 
pink glow as the sun rose higher.  She cranked the handle of the pump and cool water 
gushed into the bucket at her feet.  As she carried the sloshing bucket of water 
back toward the cabin, she remembered the chickens.  She walked toward the coop 
and set the bucket of water down on the ground outside of the fence that ran around 
the perimeter of the small wooden building.  

Opening the burlap sack of feed that Libby had brought the prior day, Scully scooped 
a measure of corn into a metal pie plate.  She stepped into the small yard of the 
coop, amused at the way the rooster squawked once or twice and strutted around the 
fence line, careful to keep his distance from her.  When she scattered a handful 
of corn onto the dirt, however, the rooster instantly moved closer and began pecking 
at his breakfast.  She could hear the quiet rustling and clucking of the hens; she 
peeked inside and in the dim light could make out the three hens roosting in the 
straw piled on the waist-high ledge.

"Guess I should probably check to see if there are any eggs," she muttered.  Libby 
had told her that it was likely that the hens might not lay any eggs for the first 
day or so until they had settled into their new home, but suggested that she check 
anyway and let the hens grow accustomed to her.  Scully edged toward the roosting 
hens and stopped about a foot away from the ledge.  She studied the chickens and 
pondered her options.  Did she just slip a hand underneath and feel around for an 
egg, she wondered.  She realized that was probably something she should have thought 
to ask Libby.

"Here goes nothing," she murmured.  She took two more steps until she was within 
reaching distance of the ledge.  "Good morning, ladies."  She stretched out a 
cautious hand and gingerly slid it toward one of the hens.  The chicken let out 
a loud squawk and fluttered her feathers indignantly.  Scully drew in a bracing 
breath, determinedly slipped her fingers beneath the plump, feathered body and was 
rewarded with a sharp beak pecking at the back of her hand.

"Ow!" She snatched her hand away and sent the pie plate clattering to the ground. 
The feed scattered across the dirt and the hens instantly flapped their wings and 
swooped toward the dirt floor of the coop.  Cradling her injured hand against her 
breast, she nodded knowingly.  

"Note to self," she mumbled.  "First, distract the chickens with the feed."  She 
found the nests empty.  "Obviously, you girls need a little more time in your new 
home."  She scooped up the metal plate, quickly let herself out of the pen and latched 
the gate behind her.  Securing the rest of the sack just in case the arrogant rooster 
decided to grab a bit more chow, Scully grabbed the bucket of water and lugged it 
toward the cabin.

She could hear Mulder's soft snores coming from the bedroom and decided to let him 
sleep until breakfast was ready.  She would have to get back to town sometime that 
day or the next for provisions, but she had enough to get through the day.  She 
poured water into a pan and set it on the stove to heat.  While she waited for the 
water to come to a boil, she went into the cold cellar and brought up the remainder 
of the butter and eggs that she had purchased earlier in the week.  She cracked 
one egg into a bowl and beat it with a fork.  She added a third of the beaten egg 
to the ground coffee and mixed it with a small amount of cold water.  She put the 
mixture into the blue-speckled metal coffee pot and poured the now boiling water 
into the pot and set it down on the stove.  

While she waited for the coffee to come back to a boil, she cracked the rest of 
the eggs into a bowl and set it aside, sliced tomatoes on a plate and placed it 
on the table along with the rest of the soda biscuits left over from last night's 
dinner.  Scully peeled a potato, cut it into thin slices and fried the slices in 
a cast iron pan.  Taking a long handled spoon, she stirred the boiling coffee.

"Do I smell coffee?"  She turned to find a bleary-eyed Mulder propped against the 
bedroom doorway.

"It'll be ready in about ten minutes," she told him.  He nodded and ducked back 
into the bedroom to wash up and get dressed for the day.  He returned a few minutes 
later and stepped up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

"Need help?"  He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and she lifted a hand 
to tangle her fingers into his hair.

"Keep an eye on the coffee and stir it every once in a while," she suggested.  "Don't 
let it boil over."  He kissed her neck and stepped away to stand guard over the 
precious pot of coffee while Scully scooped the fried potatoes onto a plate and 
poured the eggs into the hot pan.  A few minutes later they were sitting down to 
breakfast.

"I guess we should get back to discussing what our next move is going to be," Mulder 
said around a bite of eggs.  Scully sprinkled a bit of salt and pepper on her 
potatoes, thinking about their options.

"Well, we need to get back to the cave in the daylight but we can't do it while 
the mineworkers are there," she said.  

He nodded and took a sip of coffee.  "Yeah, we'll have to wait until Sunday."

"I guess we could go out to the Franklins' homestead.  You know, it's likely that 
he's just home sick or something.  Every person who doesn't show up for work hasn't 
necessarily traveled through time," she said logically.

Mulder shrugged and shoveled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.  She knew how 
his mind worked - that he automatically leapt to the conclusion the missing miner 
had somehow found himself in another time and place.  And while their present 
circumstances wouldn't allow her to dismiss the possibility out of hand, she 
naturally looked for a more pedestrian explanation.  

"Well, hopefully we'll know more once we get out there," she sighed.  

They lapsed into silence as they finished their breakfast and cleaned up, each lost 
in their own thoughts.  Scully wiped the last dish dry and watched through the open 
door as Mulder dumped the scraps of their breakfast into the barrel along the fence.  
She couldn't help but worry that she had angered him with her suggestion that perhaps 
something less nefarious had happened to Abe Franklin to cause him to miss work 
this week.  Over the last few months they had come to find a good balance between 
their viewpoints.  While she would never be as willing to accept the implausible 
and embrace it the way Mulder did, she knew that she had become somewhat more 
open-minded.  Her relatively swift acceptance of their current predicament was 
proof of that. 

Then again, she thought derisively, she had little choice but to accept their 
current circumstances for what they were - regardless of how unbelievable they still 
seemed to her.  Still, she had found herself more willing to listen to and consider 
the possibilities of Mulder's theories and in turn, he was more respectful of those 
times when she hesitated or dug in her heels in disagreement. But he had been so 
quiet after she offered her theory...

Mulder returned to the cabin and settled his hands on his hips.  "Are you ready 
to go?" 

She nodded and reached behind her back to untie her apron.  Her fingers fumbled 
with the knot and she craned her head over her shoulder as if she could somehow 
see the knot that stubbornly refused to come loose.

"Let me."  His fingers brushed hers away and he dipped his head down to study the 
knotted ties. She could feel each warm exhalation of breath against the back of 
her neck. The apron's ties slipped loose in his deft fingers.

"This has been kind of nice, you know?"  

Scully tried to turn to face him, but he held her in place by holding fast to the 
material in his hands.  She tilted her head back until her hair brushed against 
his shoulder and looked up at him questioningly.
"What's been nice?"

"This."  He gestured around the small cabin with one hand.  "You know, coming home 
to you every day.  Talking over home cooked meals instead of take-out..."

Her previous worries over his mood evaporated and she paused to consider his words.  
"Maybe it's something that we should consider doing more often when we get back 
home," she suggested with a smile.

He brushed his lips over her cheek.  "Definitely."  He tossed the apron onto the 
table and held out his hand.  "Let's go visit the neighbors."

********** 

They had been walking for about thirty minutes when they finally came upon the 
Franklins' homestead.  The small but sturdy cabin was nestled in a clearing in a 
towering stand of pine trees.  Laundry flapped on the line that ran between the 
side of the house and the barn. Wildflowers grew in abundance in a field of tall 
grass behind the cabin and birds twittered overhead.  The setting was tranquil.  
Quiet.

Perhaps too quiet.  Other than the snapping of the laundry in the wind and the 
chirping birds, there was no other sign of life on the property.  Mulder tightened 
his hand around Scully's and they moved toward the cabin.  He rapped his knuckles 
against the cabin door.

"Hello?  Mr. Franklin?  Mrs. Franklin!"  His voice seemed unnaturally loud in the 
quiet of the morning.

Mulder's fist thudded against the wooden door again.  "Anyone home?"  He shook his 
head.  "I don't hear anything."

"There could be any number of reasons why they aren't at home." Scully ignored the 
look of exasperation on his face and grasped the door latch.  The door gave way 
easily and creaked open to reveal the dimly-lit interior.  They eased their way 
into the front room of the cabin.

"Hello?" Scully called out. They separated and she moved toward the bedroom.  She 
glanced inside and found the bed made, clean clothing hung neatly in the closet 
in the uninhabited room.

She glanced toward Mulder.  "No one's here."

He looked around the cabin.  It was as small as the one he and Scully were sharing 
and there were no hiding places.  He saw her looking toward the trap door that led 
to the cold cellar and shrugged.  He lifted the door and cautiously stepped downward.  
Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary other than the faintly sour smell of 
spoiled milk.

He climbed back up to the main floor.  "Nothing."

Their gazes swept around the room again, looking for clues as to the whereabouts 
of the Franklins.

"It's just like at the Nulty place," Mulder commented.  "Everything in the cabin 
seems to be in its place with the exception of the folks who live here." She knew 
he was more firmly convinced than before that the Nultys and the Franklins had met 
a fate similar to their own and while she still thought that there could be a more 
simple explanation for their whereabouts, she couldn't completely dismiss the 
thought.  She found herself wondering whether the two couples had gone back in 
time... or forward.  Was Jenny Nulty marveling at the wonders of electric 
dishwashers and indoor plumbing?  

"Let's check outside," Mulder suggested.  "Then, if we don't find anything, we'll 
go back up to the cave."

"What about the miners?"

"If we get there right around quitting time, we'll still have an earlier start than 
we did yesterday," he reasoned as he led her outside.  He poked open the door of 
the outhouse and ducked his head into the chicken coop before catching up with Scully 
as she made her way toward the barn.  She pushed open the door; they stepped inside 
and were immediately assailed by a horrific stench.

"Oh!" Scully instinctively jerked back and covered her nose and mouth with her hand.  
They exchanged distressed looks and reluctantly turned around again, bracing 
themselves for what they would find. Mulder grabbed a pitchfork and used it to prop 
the door wide open to allow some fresh air and light into the barn.  They crept 
forward and in the gloomy interior saw a cow - or what was left of it - lying in 
its stall.  Scully swallowed hard and offered a silent prayer that the bovine's 
owners had not met a similar fate.  

A few steps further into the barn and she knew her prayers had not been answered.  
Two people - presumably Abe Franklin and his wife - were lying in a heap in a corner.  
Mulder pushed past Scully and dropped to his knees near the bodies.  He reached 
out a hand toward the woman's shoulder, intent on rolling her onto her back.

"Wait!"  Scully's hand shot out and she grasped his forearm.  "Don't touch them!"

Mulder shot her a quizzical look.  "What?" he protested.  "We have to see if they're 
still alive."

She tightened her grip on him.  There was something about this...  She shook her 
head.  Something not right.  Something... 

"No, no, no," she whispered.  It felt desperately wrong.  Felt familiar. What?  She 
had seen death, had stood over bodies in crime scenes and labs hundreds of times.  
Why?  What was it about this scene that had her heart pounding frantically against 
her ribs?  

She planted her feet against the dirt-packed floor and yanked on his arm.  "We need 
light," she ordered.  "Grab that lamp and bring it over here."  She pulled him to 
his feet and pushed him toward the door.  Her eyes darted around the barn and she 
snatched up a rake propped against one of the stalls.  She heard the scrape of a 
match and the smell of sulfur briefly overpowered the stench of death and decay.  
She used the tip of the rake's handle to gently roll the woman's body over and onto 
her back.  In the glow of the lamplight, they both recoiled at the sight that met 
them.

"Oh, God," Scully breathed.  She could hear Mulder's ragged breathing near her ear. 
Each frantic exhalation matched her own.

"What is that?" he asked.  "It looks like..."

Scully closed her eyes against the sight and felt a terror rising in her unlike 
anything she had ever known before.

"Scully!"  Mulder squeezed her hand and called her name, demanding her attention.  
She reluctantly lifted her lashes and met his terrified gaze with her own.  He 
chanced a glance at the bodies and then looked back at her.

"Is that what... am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

She nodded jerkily.  "Yes."  She yanked free and pressed the heels of her hands 
against her eyes.  "It's the same as those firefighters from the bombing in Dallas.  
From what I can see, Mrs. Franklin's tissue..." Her voice wavered, refusing to even 
put a name to it; she hesitated before continuing.  "I can do an autopsy but I don't 
have the equipment to run any tests to see what's happening on a molecular level."  
She dropped her arms to her sides.  "But I don't... I've only seen this type of 
cellular breakdown once before."

"On the firefighters."

Her expression was grim. "Yes."  She looked at him and the wild expression in his 
eyes frightened her more than the grisly discovery of the bodies.  He nodded once, 
as though he had arrived at some decision before grabbing her by the wrist and 
hauling her toward the door.

"Mulder!"  She struggled against him, but for the first time in their partnership, 
he exerted his greater size and strength to manhandle her into submission.  He pushed 
her out of the door and began to drag her across the yard of the Franklin homestead 
toward the road.

"Mulder!"  She tried to dig her heels into the ground, but was unable to impede 
his forward momentum.  She briefly considered just dropping to the ground like a 
child struggling against its parent's firm grip, but dignity prevented it.  Instead, 
she swung her free arm and cuffed her hand against the side of his head.  He stopped, 
surprised but unhurt by the glancing blow and she took advantage of the moment to 
try to free herself from his grasp.

"Let me go," she growled, twisting her arm in an attempt to loosen his punishing 
grip.  He grabbed her by both arms and hauled her against his chest.

"What did you tell me in that field office in Dallas?" he ground out. 

She shook her head in confusion.  "I don't know..." She squirmed and pressed her 
hands against his chest, pushing as hard as she could to dislodge his grip.  "You're 
hurting me!"

"Then stop fighting me!" His eyes blazed with fury and she shrank back in confusion 
and worry.

"Mulder..."

Suddenly the expression on his face changed from fury to fear and then to contrition.  
"I'm sorry."  He pulled her close and wound his arms tightly around her waist.  When 
he buried his face in her hair, she hesitantly curled her own arms around his back.  
Pressed against him like this, she felt the tiny tremors racing up and down his 
spine and she could smell the ripe tang of fear on his skin.

"It's okay."  Her hands skated up and down his back in long, soothing strokes.  They 
stood, wrapped in each other's embrace in the late morning sun for several long 
moments before Mulder lifted his head from her shoulder.

"Do you remember what you told me in that field office?" he asked again.

She frowned in confusion.  "I don't... I told you several things."

"You said that what those firefighters were infected with contained a protein code 
that you had never seen before."  He repeated her words nearly verbatim.  "You told 
me that what it did to them, it did extremely fast."
"Yes."  She looked back toward the barn and pictured the two people lying inside.  
"Yes."

"You also said that you didn't know how they contracted the infection."

"I didn't.  I still don't."

"So don't you think that we should limit the amount of our exposure?"

Her mouth gaped open and she stepped out of his embrace.  "Oh, God.  Oh my God!"  
She began walking quickly down the road.  "You're right.  You're right."

Mulder hurried after her and once again caught her by the arm, but this time to 
hold her in place, not to drag her along behind him.

"Where are you going?"  He flung his free arm out and pointed in the opposite 
direction. "Our cabin is that way!"

Damn it!  She was getting tired of him grabbing her and pushing her around.  "I 
know, but the town is this way!"  She looked down the road that led to Millersburg.  
She squirmed once in an effort to free her arm but knew from recent experience that 
it wouldn't help.  Instead, she stood quietly until he loosened his hold.

"I remember that I also told you that whatever those men were infected with could 
cause a serious health threat," she reminded him.  "We need to get into town to 
warn people."

"We can't."

Her voice rose shrilly.  "What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?  What do 
you mean we can't?"  Once again, she was fighting in earnest to free herself.  "We've 
got to warn them.  Mulder!"

"Scully, we can't."  He let her struggle for several more minutes against his 
implacable hold.  Although she twisted and squirmed and yelled, she never used any 
of the self-defense measures that she had learned in training to free herself. 
Finally, she slumped in his arms and he lowered them both to the hard ground.

"I don't understand, Mulder."  She lifted pleading eyes to meet his. "Why can't 
we warn them... try to help them?"

He stroked his hand through her hair.  "Do you remember that book I bought - the 
one that led us here in the first place?"  

"Yes."

"Remember the story about Millersburg?  One day it was a thriving, vibrant place 
to live and then suddenly all the people disappeared, leaving no trace of their 
whereabouts until eventually the only things left to prove that they ever existed 
were the remnants of the buildings in the town?"

"Yes, I remember.  But I don't know what you're driving at."

"I mean that it's history, Scully.  It already happened and we shouldn't do anything 
to change that."

"Mulder!  This isn't some episode of Star Trek with their code, directive... 
whatever - about interfering with other cultures and history.  These are people!  
People we've come to know.  Libby... and the Reverend."  Her voice broke.  "We can't 
just..." She shied away from the thought of doing nothing.  It went against 
everything she had ever been taught, everything she believed in.

"I care about them too, Scully.  God, don't you know that?"  He leaned forward until 
his nose was practically pressed against hers.  "I want to help them, but we can't.  
If we alter one thing that happened here... who knows what the ripple effect will 
be?"

Her head fell forward until her chin was pressed against her chest. "Haven't we 
already altered things just by our very presence here?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes.  And there's nothing that we can do about that now.  Thankfully we haven't 
done anything out-of-place here, other than just learn to survive."  He cupped her 
chin in his hand and tipped her head back until she looked up at him.  "But Scully..." 
He ran his tongue over his dry lips.  "It's more important than ever that we find 
our way home."  His voice was filled with foreboding.  "Remember what else the book 
said?"

"No, what?"

"The peddler," he prompted. 

Her eyes widened.  "In the month between one visit and his next... every living 
creature in the town had disappeared."

Mulder nodded grimly.  "We don't have much time left."

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

Back at the cabin, morning slipped into afternoon as they slumped at the kitchen 
table in exhaustion.  Upon their return, Scully had busied herself by making fresh 
coffee and they had consumed almost the entire pot as they tried to make sense of 
what they had seen.

"How do you think... what do you think caused the infection?" Scully finally asked.

Mulder traced his thumbnail over the edge of one of the wooden planks that made 
up the tabletop and shrugged.  "I don't know."

They lapsed back into silence.  Scully's nerves were jangling from a combination 
of adrenaline and too much caffeine.  

"Have you... have you seen any bees?" she asked hesitantly.

Mulder's gaze shot up to hers and he saw the fear and worry etched on her face.  
"I don't... not really.  I mean, I haven't really taken any notice."

"Me either."

Mulder sipped his now cold coffee and let his mind wander back to that awful time 
when he had been frantically looking for his missing partner. Suddenly, he shot 
out of his chair.  Scully jerked her head up in surprise.

"What?"

"That old British gentleman, the one who gave me the vaccine and coordinates to 
your location in Antarctica!"

"What about him?"

He rubbed his hand over his eyes.  "What did he tell me," he muttered.  "What did 
he say?"  He remembered driving in the car with the man, his head aching from the 
bullet crease.  He tried to piece the conversation back together.

"He told me that the virus was extra-terrestrial."  He saw her head jerk back in 
instinctive denial.  "Just listen!" he demanded.  He began to pace around the small 
room.  "He said that it was living in a cave, underground... mutating into an evolved 
pathogen that would be used to colonize the earth by using humans as hosts."  He 
stared at her, hard, willing her to understand - and he knew the moment she made 
the connection.

"The mines.  You think it's in the mines."

He dropped back into his chair and clutched her hands in his.  "It's got to be.  
It makes sense.  Both Abe Franklin and Ben Nulty worked in the mines.  It's a common 
denominator."

"And they brought it home to their wives?"

"Yeah. And to their livestock.  Their cattle, and their fowl."  He thought of the 
dead chickens in the yard that first morning; somehow it had gotten into the feed.  
Miners, coming into contact with the virus, not knowing what they might be stepping 
in, touching... bringing it home to their wives and family.  Their animals.  Bringing 
death home on their clothes, their hands.  Jesus.

"Scully, if I'm right... there's nothing that we can do to help these people.  The 
best weapon against this virus is a weak vaccine..."

"...that's a hundred and forty years away from being created," she finished for 
him.  She dropped her cheek onto their joined hands and he bent his head over hers.

"Yeah."

She lifted her face and tears welled in her eyes, spilling over her lashes and down 
her cheek.  

"I want to go home, Mulder."

He kissed her tears away.  "I know, Scully.  Me too."

They lapsed into silence, each caught up in their own private whirl of thoughts 
and fears.  Scully could feel the beginnings of a headache brewing behind her eyes 
and it seemed that every muscle in her body ached from the tension that held her 
in its rigid grip.  Her gaze was fixated on the rough-hewn planks of wood that made 
up the tabletop.  

"It's been a while since breakfast," Mulder's voice interrupted the stillness.  
"Maybe we should eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"We might feel a little better after we eat," he encouraged.

She gave a weary shake of her head.  "I'm too tired to make anything."

"I can put something together."  Truth be told, he wasn't really hungry, but he 
was looking for some kind of busy work.

Scully lifted her gaze from the table.  "I'm too tired to eat."

He stood and held out a hand for her.  "Let's lie down and take a nap."  He helped 
her to her feet and she followed him into the bedroom where they curled up on top 
of the covers; her back pressed into the curve of his body.  The warmth of his body 
was comforting but she couldn't settle down.

"Relax," he whispered as he rolled onto his back.  She turned to follow him, resting 
her head on his chest and crooking one leg over his thighs.  She rode the steady 
rise and fall of his chest and tried to match her breathing to his.  Up and down.  
One deep inhale followed by a long, slow exhale.  He stroked his hand from the crown 
of her head to the small of her back, hypnotic and calming and she could feel sleep 
beckoning her but she couldn't relax enough to fall under its spell.  The 
scratchiness of his shirt chafed her face, irritating her.  She flicked open each 
button and spread his shirt wide.

Scully nestled her cheek against the warm, bare skin of his chest and scratched 
her fingers through the sparse hair sprinkled over his skin. Pressing her mouth 
against his breastbone, she centered herself in the steady thrumming of his heart 
and the warmth of his flesh, grateful for the solid, comforting bulk of him around 
her, beneath her, beside her. She closed her eyes and reached out for the respite 
from her thoughts offered by sleep.

Against his side Scully's slight weight was both a comfort and a point of arousal 
for him; he'd never been able to lie beside her without wanting her, needing her.  
But Mulder sensed that the comfort was as important as anything else, and he was 
content to hold her and try to coax both of them into sleep.  He continued to soothe 
his palm over her hair and down along her spine, calming them both even as the feel 
of her skin stimulated his senses.

Scully trailed her knuckles up and down the length of his ribs and absentmindedly 
traced a circle around the rim of his navel.  She hitched her leg higher on his 
thighs and felt him stir to life.  His heartbeat quickened beneath her ear and his 
hand faltered for a moment before resuming its steady path along her back.

Suddenly, it wasn't the respite of sleep that she wanted, but rather the sexual 
relief offered in the joining of their bodies.  She shifted in his arms, trailing 
a line of soft kisses across his chest, eliciting a gasp from him as her warm mouth 
closed over a flat nipple.  

"I thought you were tired."  He tightened his fingers around her hip.  The touch 
of her lips against his sensitive nipple was quickly replacing his thoughts of 
sleep.  He needed her, but not that way.  Not right now.

But she didn't want to sleep.  She wanted the distraction and comfort that she knew 
they could find in their lovemaking.  She shook her head and changed directions, 
the line of tiny kisses now moving upward.  She lapped at the salty taste she 
discovered in the hollow of his throat and closed her teeth over his jaw in a delicate 
bite.  He instinctively turned his head toward her, seeking her mouth.  She nuzzled 
his lips, tasting him and with little coaxing, drew his tongue into her mouth. He 
sat up and braced his back against the wooden headboard.  Perched on his lap, she 
opened her eyes and found him watching her as they shared gentle kisses.  She 
struggled to keep her eyes open but lost the battle when his mouth moved from hers 
to press against the soft underside of her jaw.  She tipped her head to the side 
and hissed out his name as he scraped his teeth over the tendon running up the side 
of her neck.  

As always the scent of her was as addictive as the need for her touch, her kiss.  
Mulder was fighting a base need to grab onto her with two fists of utter greed, 
and let the loving take everything else away.  Their future was shakier than anything 
they'd thus far encountered in their lives together.  In their own time they had 
better leverage, could fight their foes and face their tribulations with matched 
strength and fortitude.  But here in the past, where their intelligence and 
knowledge was sometimes worth so little... here the war was unfairly tipped.  And 
the feeling of helplessness was unwelcome and frightening.  

Her heart was thumping against her breastbone and the desire to take him in fast, 
greedy gulps - to join her body to his in a frantic mating that would drive all 
thoughts of death and despair from her mind - was powerful.  She enjoyed those 
sometimes mindless, passionate encounters of racing hands and hungry mouths but 
that wasn't what they needed now.  

Instead, she pushed her hands against his shoulders and drew the shirt from his 
body.  His response was to hurriedly begin to undo the buttons of her blouse but 
as he fumbled with the first one, she grasped his hand and slowed his movements.   
There was no hurry; she wanted this to last. Feeling the first frisson of urgency 
ease a little, he nodded and leisurely worked his way down the line of buttons.  
He brushed the blouse from her shoulders and she reached behind her back to unfasten 
the hook of her skirt.  As she tossed the clothes aside, he took a moment to admire 
the picture she made in a muslin camisole and matching ankle length pants.  She 
scooted back on his thighs and began to work on unfastening his homespun trousers 
when his hand stayed hers.  She lifted questioning eyes to him and saw that his 
attention was diverted by the split crotch of her muslin drawers.

"Convenient," he croaked, drawing a tiny grin from her.  It felt good to smile.  
She savored that small moment of lightheartedness and sat still while he ran an 
experimental finger along the opening.  She knew he was considering the various 
merits of the garment and she decided not to ruin the fantasy by pointing out the 
practicality of the opening when one was hiking up yards of skirt and petticoats 
when making use of the outhouse.  She knew he had made a decision when he began 
to tug at the bow of the drawstring.  When the last of their clothes fell to the 
floor, he tried to draw her onto the mattress beneath him, but she shook her head.  

"Like this," she whispered, maintaining her place in his lap.  She closed gentle 
fingers around him and guided him into place.  She bit her lip and buried her face 
in his neck, panting with the exquisite pleasure/pain of his body invading hers.  
She lifted her head and their lips met in a tender kiss.  'God', she thought. 'How 
I love this man'.  

In his mind they had all the time in the world to love this way, but in their own 
era, their own world.  Mulder found himself pretending that they were in the familiar 
bed in Scully's apartment, windows open to let in the light and warm summer air.  
It was her soft cotton sheets beneath their bodies instead of woven muslin; it was 
her firm yet giving mattress instead of one made of straw and coarse feathers.  He 
held her hips tightly against his as she melted down onto him, as she took him deep 
and then deeper still.  

She looped her arms around his neck and grasped the headboard for leverage as she 
began a slow rise and fall over his body.  The rough wood chafed her palms as he 
lifted his hips to meet the descent of hers.  She shivered when his restless hands 
roamed over her body, skating over her ribs, fingers digging into her as he pulled 
her down to meet his upward thrusts, then sliding his hands upward, palms cupping 
and molding her breasts.  A cry escaped her lips when his mouth closed over the 
tip of her breast in a wet, tugging kiss.  She dipped her head next to his and 
whispered words of love into his ear.

Mulder refused to think their time was shortening at an alarming rate, but as usual 
his brain - the sensible side of it - screamed at him to take it fast, do it, harder, 
more and more, hurry, hurry... He fought against that swamping need and concentrated 
on the feel of Scully as she surrounded him, the way her inner heat cloaked him; 
the taste of her skin on his tongue.  How much he loved it when she wound a hand 
into his hair and clung to him, forcing him to take a larger bite of her, wanting 
to feel the ridge of his teeth on her tender nipple.  How it excited him to hear 
her gasping into the air above his head when he tugged harder.  He had to give her 
more, make her feel more... not because of any reason other than love.  Not anything 
else, not worry or fright or uncertainty.  He shoved it all back and instead thrust 
up deeper, reaching further.

She both welcomed and fought against the rising tide of pleasure, wanting the 
release but reluctant to leave this world where only the two of them and their 
enjoyment of each other existed.  Too soon - or not soon enough - she felt the 
familiar tingling in her toes and fingers.  With a hoarse moan she gave into the 
driving need, grinding her hips into his and whispering words of love into his ear 
until with a similar cry, he surged into her one last time before they both collapsed 
onto the mattress. 

Exhausted, she eased onto her back and drew Mulder's head down to rest against her 
shoulder.  She stroked one hand over his trembling back in a long, soothing glide.  
Clamping an arm over her waist and crooking his leg over hers, he bound her quivering 
body against his own.  Without words they both affirmed not only their love but 
their determination as well, to push forward, to do whatever it took to find their 
way back to the life that awaited them.  

Anchored together, they slipped into a dreamless sleep.  


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

Chapter Ten
Millersburg, CO


It was a beautiful Monday afternoon that found Scully walking along the road toward 
town.  Although they had fallen asleep early on Saturday evening, the combination 
of their discovery at the Franklin homestead and their lovemaking had left them 
exhausted and they had slept almost fourteen hours.  They had awakened on Sunday 
morning hungry and they prepared a quick breakfast.  As they ate, they once again 
discussed the events of the previous day.  Deciding to take advantage of the fact 
that the mine would be closed, they had set off for the cave armed with their 
flashlight, two oil lamps and a coil of rope.  Before they had left the cabin, Scully 
had dug through the closet for her leather carryall.

"I don't want to leave it behind if we get lucky and figure a way out of here," 
she had said in response to his questioning look.

Upon arriving at the cave, Mulder had secured one end of the rope to a tree near 
the entrance and coiled the other end around his hand.  "I'm tired of worrying about 
taking the wrong turn in there," he had explained.  He had taken Scully's hand in 
his own and started into the cave, turning in surprise when she balked and refused 
to step inside.

"What's wrong?"

"If you're right... if whatever killed the Franklins is in the mine... what's to 
stop it from being in the cave as well?" Her question hung in the air as they 
contemplated the new danger that the cave now represented.

"You make a good point," Mulder acknowledged, stunned that they hadn't thought of 
that before now.  They had stared at each other for several long moments, feeling 
helpless and undecided.  Finally, he shrugged and turned to look back into the cave.

"We've been in and out of this cave several times now," he pointed out reasonably.  
"Nothing's happened to us."

"Yet."

He dipped his head in silent acknowledgment of her words.  "I don't see that we 
have any other choice, though."

"I guess not," she sighed.  "Let's just go."  

Using the flashlight and one of the lamps, they had set off into the inky interior 
of the cave, moving cautiously at first, jumping at every shadow.  They had spent 
hours exploring the cave, once again pressing their hands to the walls, searching 
fruitlessly for a way back home.

"I don't know," he had complained.  "We've tried everything that we can think of."

"Maybe we have to be here at a certain time or on a certain day..."

He had shrugged and after taking a cautious glance around, sat down heavily on the 
hard ground.  "Maybe."  He scraped a hand through his hair.  "I just don't know."

"Do you think the drawings on the wall are a clue?"

He had shrugged tiredly but looked up at the wall with renewed interest.  "Could 
be."

Scully had plopped down onto the ground beside him and pulled her backpack into 
her lap.  As she had rummaged through the bag, he looked down at her curiously.

"What are you doing?"

"I think I've got a pen and some... ah!"  She had pulled out a small notepad.  "Would 
you stand up and hold the light closer to the wall?"  He had lit the second lamp 
and set it down on the ground next to her, then stood and held the other lamp over 
his head to illuminate the drawings while Scully carefully copied them into the 
notepad.  When she had finished, they packed up their things and followed the rope 
guide back to the mouth of the cave.

"Well, that was a waste of time," she had commented as they stepped out of the cave.  

Mulder had shielded his eyes against the sudden, bright light of the late afternoon 
sun.  "It's getting late," he commented.  "Let's go home."

As they walked away, Scully glanced over her shoulder toward the gloomy interior 
of the cave.  Home, she had thought.  If only it were that easy.

They'd spent the evening going over the copies of the drawings until their eyes 
were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, before giving up.  The images and symbols seemed 
random, the same as most cipher-type codes. Viewed separately they made no more 
sense than when viewed as a whole message.  The longer Mulder stared at them the 
more frustrated he'd become, until he just threw up his hands.  

He rubbed at his tired eyes.  "I've got to get up early tomorrow for work."  Mulder 
closed the notepad and stood.  "Let's go to bed."  Scully nodded and forced herself 
to her feet, stretching her stiff muscles.

In the gloom of a single lamp, they undressed and poured themselves into the soft 
mattress, for once so tired that even washing up was too much of a chore.  Beneath 
a single blanket they snuggled, wrapped around each other, holding fast.  With a 
few murmured words of love, they fell asleep within minutes.

After seeing him off the next morning, Scully had gone about the routine chores 
of feeding the chickens and gathering eggs.  This time not only had she found a 
few large brown eggs in one of the nests, but the hen responsible had actually let 
her remove them without much fuss, squawking or beak-pecking.  Scully took that 
as a good sign.

She had cleaned the kitchen and gathered all of the soiled laundry and bed linens.  
She hauled bucket after bucket of water from the pump to the cabin until her arms 
and shoulders ached.  After heating the water, Scully lugged it back outside and 
poured it over the dirty laundry sorted by color in two galvanized tin tubs to soak 
overnight.  She dreaded the thought of doing the laundry tomorrow.  Putting the 
overwhelming thought out of her head, she went inside for a bite to eat only to 
realize that she still had to go shopping.

The work had kept her busy - busy enough that she'd been able to put aside her worries 
about what was seemingly happening around them and the growing depression that 
pressed down on her.  However, alone on the walk to town, there was nothing to occupy 
her mind.  Eager for town and the distractions it could offer, she quickened her 
pace.

She arrived in Millersburg a short while later and was heading toward Silas 
Cranston's general store when the sound of metal striking metal caught her 
attention.  Scully turned away from the store and walked toward the livery, suddenly 
impatient to see Mulder.  She ducked under the overhang and found him hard at work.  

His back was to her and he was striking a hammer against a metal pole that he was 
holding in place with a long-handled pair of tongs.  He was shirtless and she watched 
the muscles of his back and arms bunch and loosen with every strike of the hammer.  
A rivulet of sweat ran down the column of his spine to join the others that had 
already soaked into the waistband of his pants.  

He was all the distraction she could ask for and she was reluctant to break the 
spell, but she wanted to talk with him... see his face.

"Mul... Will!"  

Startled, Mulder turned, almost dropping the red-hot pole.  He hastily set his 
hammer down and smiled at her.  "Hi, this is a surprise!"  Holding up one finger 
to caution her against coming any closer, he carefully plunged the metal pole into 
a bucket of water near his feet.  There was a hiss of steam as the hot metal met 
the water and he released the pole.  He wiped his damp forehead with a grimy hand, 
leaving a smear behind. 

Mulder tossed the tongs onto a long workbench and walked toward her.  "Are you on 
your way to the store?"  

"Yeah.  We need a few things and..."  She jerked her shoulder.  "I just had to get 
out of there for a little while.  Too much time alone with my thoughts, you know?"

He nodded. "I know.  I've kind of been doing the same thing, this morning.  It's 
a wonder I haven't dropped the damn hammer on my toe," he smiled ruefully.
  
She tipped her head to one side and met his smile.  "I was standing over there 
watching you for a few minutes," she admitted.  "You're surprisingly adept at this 
already." 

"Ooooh, watching your man sweat and strain, huh?  Want me to flex something?" He 
was close enough that she could smell the sharp tang of sweat.  He pressed the palms 
of his hands together and began to strike the classic pose of a body builder.  He 
mugged a silly face at her and she felt a smile curve her lips.  He could be so 
goofy sometimes, usually when she needed it the most.  Like now. 

"Uh... no, that's okay."  She trailed an index finger along his forearm.  "Let's 
leave something to the imagination."

Mulder grinned.  "Party-Pooper.  Well, at least you're smiling, Scu, um, Kate.  I'm 
glad to see it.  Glad to see you in the middle of my morning, that's for sure."  
He caught her errant finger and gave it a gentle squeeze; then picked up her hand 
and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss there.  Her fingers were cold and he 
retained hold of them, adding, "As long as you're here... would you like to meet 
Angus McLean?  He's in the back."

She sighed and looked down at her feet.  "Considering everything that we know... 
I'm not sure that I want to meet anyone else."  She couldn't bear the thought of 
another face in her mind, another person's life on her conscience.

Mulder could certainly relate. As frustrating as his crotchety employer could be, 
when they left here he'd miss Angus McLean.  He'd mourn the inevitability of this 
town's ultimate fate.  He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a reassuring 
hug.  "Baby, I know.  And I wish like hell we could do something, anything.  But 
even if we did have the means to eradicate this, we still couldn't.  We both know 
that, painful as it is."  

He curled his thumb and forefinger under her chin and tipped her face up to his.  
"Listen, you'll get a kick out of meeting Angus, I guarantee.  He'll probably only 
swear at you a few times.  At the very least."  

He made it sound so inviting, she thought, grateful for his attempt at levity.  
"Ah... something to look forward to."

He grinned at the wry look on her face.  "You bet.  Wait here and I'll go get him.  
Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll be right back," He walked toward the back of the shop. "Angus!" he called 
out.  "There's someone out here that wants to meet you!"

Scully glanced around as she waited; taking note of unfinished tools and 
mean-looking equipment that gleamed with either oil or sweat, depending on whether 
or not it had been recently used.  The heat was stifling as it belched from the 
forge.  Even the buckets of water on the uneven floor seemed to give off steam.  
She could almost feel the humidity curling her hair underneath the half-bonnet she 
was wearing.  She impatiently tugged it off and hung the tied ribbons on her arm, 
running fingers over her scalp to loosen up the waves and curls that were forming.  
Absently she listened to Mulder's voice murmuring to his boss, and she couldn't 
help smiling at the grouchy responses of McLean.

In the small room beyond the main work area Mulder was doing everything he could 
not to bust out laughing at Angus's reaction to being asked to put down his work 
and meet the 'little woman.'  It was as if he'd been asked to burn down the Livery 
and never pound another hammer, ever again.
 
Angus was fuming.  "What??  Yew think I ain't got better things t' do then drop 
my work an' come out there an' socialize, yew dumb idjit?"  He brandished the hammer 
held in his meaty hand.  "Send 'em away!  We're busy!  Christ on a goddamn haystack!"

Swallowing excessive mirth, Mulder adopted a contrite look.  "Um, it's my wife.  
Kate.  She was on her way to the grocers, and -" 

Angus spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the floor in disgust, accompanied by 
several choice expletives.  "I don't care if'n God hisself is out there!  We got 
work, boy!  Tell 'er to go shoppin' an' leave us be!"  He spun away and stalked 
though the doorway into the main shop for a tool he needed... and caught a glimpse 
of a small woman standing near the doorway.  The sun was at her back, casting her 
features into shadow and setting her glorious red hair ablaze.

"What th' - Maureen?"  He rubbed his hands over his face and took a second look, 
not trusting his eyes. "Who th' hell is there?"

Puzzling over the smithy's dumbfounded expression, Mulder hurriedly moved next to 
Scully and laid a hand on her back, leading her away from the doorway and further 
into the livery.  "This is my wife.  Kate."  He glanced down at Scully lovingly.  
"Kate, meet my employer, Mr. Angus McLean."

Mulder had done a wonderful job describing his employer.  Angus McLean was exactly 
the way she had pictured him.  She held out her hand.  "Mr. McLean.  I'm pleased 
to meet you."

The sound of her soft, cultured voice snapped Angus out of his bemused daze and 
he rubbed his dirty palm against his pant leg before gingerly taking hers.  He stared 
at their hands, mesmerized by the way her small fingers were engulfed in his grip.  
Just like Maureen...  He became aware of the fact that he was still holding her 
hand and quickly let go, feeling his face grow warm.

He found himself stuttering, "Oh.  Yew... Um.  Missis Mulder.  Ah, fer a bit there, 
yew reminded me... um, pleased t' make yer 'quaintance."

She looked at him closely, a little unnerved by the intense way he was scrutinizing 
her face.  "I'd like to thank you for giving my husband a job."

Angus didn't know what to say to her.  Such a delicate little lady... he managed 
to grind out a flustered, "Oh, well... he's a real hard worker.  Best 'prentice 
I ever had.  Never late an' never complains.  An' I work him hard, too.  He's learned 
a lot, Ma'am."  He clamped down on his rambling, aware that he was almost babbling.

Scully found his shyness endearing, and she gave him a gentle smile before aiming 
a wider one at Mulder.  "Well, he's tired when he comes home, but I think he's 
enjoying the work."

Angus readily agreed, "Damn fuckin' right he'd be tired, I make sure t' get a full 
day o' work outta him!"  His words ground to a halt as he realized he'd cursed in 
front of her, and aghast at his bad manners, added humbly, "Beg pardon, Ma'am, fer 
th' coarse words.  I'm not used t' havin' a fine lady in my shop."

There was absolutely no way she could possibly take exception to his remarks and 
Scully's response was sincere as she reassured, "No offense taken, Mr. McLean." 
She watched in fascination as his cheeks flushed rosy above the wild tangle of his 
beard.  "Please, don't worry about it," she urged.

An awkward silence fell over them for a moment, before Angus cleared his throat, 
unwilling to end the conversation and thus have no reason to remain in this lovely 
woman's company.  "Uh, are yew from... that is... where are yew... are yew Irish, 
Missis Mulder?"

"On my father's side, yes.  My great-grandfather came to America from County Cork. 
And you... with a name like Angus, I feel safe in guessing that your people are 
from Scotland."  Her eyebrow lifted inquiringly as she spoke.

Angus replied eagerly, "Yes'm, they's all from Scotland.  I came over here 'bout 
twenty years ago.  Went back t' see 'em all, 'bout six years ago.  Came back with... 
well... yew see..." He stuttered to a halt, suddenly miserable.  

He looked so unhappy; obviously whatever memories had been stirred to life with 
her questions were not pleasant ones.  And suddenly she knew exactly what - or 
rather, who - this bear of a man had brought with him when he returned to Millersburg.  
Scully guessed softly, "You came back with a bride?"

"Yes Ma'am.  I got myself wed to a lil Irish gal.  Purtiest lil gal I ever did see."  
Words spoken gruffly, with so much emotion.  So much sadness.  

Oh, no...

Scully could see his eyes shining with love for his wife even after all this time 
and she knew; she just knew that something had gone terribly wrong.  "I'm sure she 
was," she said gently.

"Her name was... Maureen."  This offered in a hushed rasp, as the grizzled smithy 
stood before the much-smaller woman who looked up at him with compassion in her 
blue eyes.

'Maureen.'  She mouthed the other woman's name and queried softly, "How long were 
you married, Mr. McLean?"

The memories were coming faster and he could see her once more, standing next to 
him wearing that white gown, bright eyed and happy as she held his hand and promised 
herself to him.  He cleared his throat again, managed to formulate an answer.  "Nigh 
on two years, Ma'am.  Th' ship home took some months, yew see, an' lil Maureen was 
sicker'n a johnny pukin' up his first whiskey.  Beg pardon," this said sheepishly.  

When Scully waved his apology away, he smiled a little and continued, "We came here, 
an' I built this smithy from a tarp an' a broken anvil.  We was dirt poor but happy. 
'Bout a year after we left the Isles, my lil Maureen came t' me an' says Angus, 
yer gonna be a pappy.  Can yew beat that?  Me, a pappy!"  Beneath the bushy beard 
his lips curved up in remembrance of that happy time, but Scully saw the sadness 
that shadowed his eyes. It was the same look of sorrow and longing that she 
occasionally saw on her own mother's face.

"I'm sure you would have been a wonderful father."  She inched closer and laid a 
gentle hand on his arm.  "What happened..." She interrupted herself, aghast at her 
inquisitiveness. "I'm sorry.  I don't mean to pry."

He patted her small hand awkwardly.  "Nah, it's alright, Ma'am.  Jest a memory that 
hurts, now an' then.  An' yew, well..." Angus took a deep breath, "My lil Maureen 
had red hair, y'see.  Long and red.  Her eyes were blue. An' she was jest a lil 
bit, I could pick her up with one hand.  Yer a lil bit too, Ma'am, if'n yew don't 
mind me sayin'."  

Scully rolled her eyes ruefully and he flashed a shy smile.  Seeing that smile, 
she knew exactly what it was that had attracted pretty, young Maureen to this rough 
man.  

She had just taken note of how much younger and handsome he looked with that smile 
when his face sobered again.  Haltingly, he confided, "My Maureen, well... she died 
an' my child with her.  She din't make it through th' birthin'."

So tragic, Scully thought as she struggled to speak around the lump in her throat.  
"And you miss them still."

"I never stopped.  I never had nobody afore 'em, and nobody since."  Angus swallowed 
down the pain as he'd done many times before and would do again in the future.  Some 
loves were meant to last a lifetime.  He'd had just such a love.

Scully felt her heart break wide open for this lonely man.  "I'm so sorry."  She 
wanted badly to offer some comfort to him but her throat ached with unshed tears.  
Her breath hitched as she whispered, "I know they're just words but... I truly 
believe that the people that we've loved and lost never really leave us."  Her eyes 
pled with him to believe her.

Angus nodded slowly, fighting back the emotion himself.  He hadn't cried in... 
Christ, not in a damned long time.  He wasn't about to start now, and risk upsetting 
this sweet young lady.  "Well, I got more in those few years of lovin' my lil Maureen 
than lotsa folk git in they's whole lives.  I reckon seein' yew standin' in th' 
sun kinda brought it all back.  My Maureen, she loved th' sun."

The tears she had been trying to swallow back spilled over her lashes.  "Forgive 
me." Embarrassed, she brushed the tears from her cheeks.  "I just..." Scully looked 
up at Mulder who had been quietly standing near her during her exchange with Angus, 
his eyes dark with compassion. "I can't imagine..." She sniffed.  "Well.  I'm sure 
Maureen was lucky to have you."  

"I was th' lucky one, I reckon.  An' beg pardon, Ma'am if'n what I tole yew upset 
yew. I din't mean t' make yew cry."  Angus twisted his beefy hands together in misery 
as he stared down at her damp face.

"Oh, no.  Not at all.  Please, Mr. McLean, I am honored you wanted to share your 
memories of Maureen with me.  I won't forget her.  Or you."  Scully sniffed hard 
and offered a watery smile, which Angus returned with a sweetness that again 
revealed the handsome man he had once been.

He shuffled his feet like an overgrown boy, suddenly shy once more, and gestured 
to the back of his shop.  "I'm gonna git back t' my shoein'.  I'm right proud to 
meet yew, Missis Mulder.  Right proud."

"It was a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. McLean," Scully managed, in a voice laced 
with genuine affection.

"Yew take care o' yer man here, keep him from gittin' sick.  Last thang I need is 
some lily-liver chokin' an' fallin' over they's own boots."  The grizzled smithy 
arched a purely Angus-ridden look of disdain at Mulder and then spoiled the effect 
somewhat by actually chuckling.  

Finding himself having to swallow more than one lump of emotion during the exchange 
between his curmudgeon of a boss and the woman he adored, Mulder sent a fervent 
prayer to heaven that somehow, this man would be spared the agony of the virus that 
hovered over this town.  Meanwhile, he schooled his features into a suitably 
chastised expression and had the satisfaction of hearing Angus chuckle once more.

Scully held out her hand again and Angus caught it between his own.  He stared at 
it for a moment, small and white against his large paw.  He leaned forward in a 
manner so completely at odds with his gruff appearance and brushed his lips over 
her knuckles, surprising her with the courtly gesture.

Emotions threatening to choke her again, she cleared her throat.  "I'll do my best 
but he tends to find trouble, despite my efforts."  She smiled at him softly.  "I 
hope we meet again, Mr. McLean."

Angus bobbed his shaggy head once in acknowledgment and turned toward Mulder again, 
grumbling at him, "Yer a lucky sonabitch, boy.  I hope yew know it."  He slipped 
an apologetic glance at Scully. "Beg pardon, Ma'am, fer my rough words.  An' maybe 
yew'll come by again.  Yer always welcome here."

"Thank you."  Scully watched the older man walk away, head bent and shoulders 
slumped; then she moved closer to Mulder and sighed when he wound an arm around 
her comfortingly.  "Oh, Mulder.  Such a sad story."

Mulder swiped his thumb under her eye, picking up the tear that trickled down her 
cheek.  "Yeah.  I heard some of it the other day when I met Jack Sawyer.  He told 
me that if Angus was mean and grouchy most of the time, that he had reason.  But 
I didn't know his wife was petite and had red hair and blue eyes."

She turned her head and watched Angus, her own eyes sad, as he picked up his hammer 
and went back to work.  "The way he was looking at me..."  

"Yes.  I think he was seeing his Maureen.  And I hope the vision he saw afforded 
him some comfort, Scully.  I think it did."

She tipped her head back and looked up at him.  "If we're right..." she said 
sorrowfully, "he'll be with them soon enough, won't he?"

Mulder gave her a loving squeeze.  "Yes.  He will.  I think he's just going through 
the paces right now, waiting.  I doubt he'd ever do anything to rush it along, but 
I feel certain Angus will welcome death, when it comes for him."  He'd never seen 
a sadder man; that was for sure.  Amazing, how quickly he'd grown fond of his 
crotchety employer.  Not surprising, the level of respect he'd already established 
for Angus McLean.  Not surprising at all.

Scully moved forward and rested her cheek against his chest.  "I don't know if that 
brings me much comfort but I think you're right.  Some people... they never recover 
from that kind of loss."  She wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I don't think 
I could," she whispered.

Pressing his lips against her smooth forehead, Mulder confessed, "Me neither, 
Scully.  And, God willing, neither one of us will ever have to, at least not anytime 
soon."  He leaned back and gave her a reassuring smile.  "Now, maybe you should 
get going, head over to the grocer's.  I need to get back to my smithy-ing.  We 
still have a lot of work cut out for us tonight.  I'll try to be home as early as 
I can."

"Okay." She drew in a steadying breath and pressed a final kiss against his warm 
mouth; dropped her arms from around his waist. "I'll see you tonight."  She began 
to walk toward the door but stopped and turned back.

"Mulder?" she called in a low voice.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

His smile lit up his entire face.  "I love you two." He held up two fingers.

Recognizing the childish game, and not to be outdone... "I love you three," she 
replied, holding up three fingers.

He grinned. "I love you four..." That many fingers waved at her, his eyes glowing 
hazel and filled with quiet pride.

She cherished this man and his determination to leave her smiling tugged at her 
heart.  "I love you more."  Scully held up all five fingers and waggled them, 
remembering the way the game always ended.  "Bye, Mulder."

He blew her a noisy kiss.  "See you tonight...  'Missis Mulder.'  I do like the 
sound of that."

Scully watched him turn aside, pick up his hammer, bend once again to his work.  
With a soft sigh, she walked out the door and started across the street.

She liked the sound of it, too.  And God willing, as Mulder had vowed, they'd live 
long enough to make it a reality.

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

Chapter Eleven
Millersburg Congregational Church


The metal saw cut through the rough plank with surprising ease.  Mulder paused 
momentarily to adjust his grip and wipe the sweat off his brow before it could drip 
into his eyes.  He repositioned the plank on the sawhorses in front of him and worked 
the saw the rest of the way.  The plank fell to the ground, neatly severed in half.  
Mulder picked up both lengths of wood and tossed them into a nearby wheelbarrow, 
then reached for another long plank and laid it across the sawhorses.

He'd cut a lot of planks but was only halfway through the lot, and the sun was 
creeping higher and higher in the sky.  It was going to be another scorcher.  Mulder 
fished his handkerchief out of the pocket of his britches and walked over to a large 
wooden water barrel that had been thoughtfully provided by Libby Weston.  He poured 
a tin cup of the cool liquid over the handkerchief and wiped at his face and neck.  
He had a feeling he'd be repeating the procedure many more times before the day 
was over.

Thomas Weston walked slowly over as Mulder headed back to his work area.  With a 
broken wrist and most of his arm in a makeshift sling, the reverend was frustrated 
that he couldn't accomplish anything more than overseeing Mulder and a handful of 
other volunteers who were all assisting in the church building's restoration.  On 
the repair agenda were warped boards in several pew seats, three broken window 
frames and a hole in the roof of the church, compliments of the last bad windstorm 
that had roared through Millersburg.  A damaged front door, courtesy of a randy 
bull run amok, was also scheduled for replacement.

"How's the wrist, Tom?"  Mulder shoved the damp cloth in his back pocket and reached 
for the saw.

The reverend shrugged and leaned against the side of the building, cradling his 
arm.  "Hurts like the dickens.  Honest to God, I don't know how on earth I could 
have been so dang clumsy!  Of course, having to deal with a stubborn, lovesick bull 
didn't help matters much.  Idiot animal."

Two days ago Thomas had been leading his prize bull, Lucas, into the cow pen, hoping 
that one of his 'girls' was ready to breed.  Scenting female cow, the normally placid 
bull had jerked hard on the chain around its neck, forcing Thomas to stumble to 
the ground beside the suddenly aroused animal.  He'd been so focused on regaining 
his feet before Lucas could hurt itself on the chain that he'd failed to keep his 
hands and arms out of the way of the beast's dancing hooves.  Lucas's back hoof 
had come down on Thomas's wrist, breaking it.  Luckily the bull was off-kilter enough 
that only its partial weight had been behind the hoof; otherwise his wrist would 
have been completely crushed.  Freed from Thomas's grip on the chain, the bull had 
kicked up its heels, swung around in the opposite direction from the cow pen and 
instead had run full-tilt through the churchyard and into the front door.  The impact 
had dazed poor Lucas, who then staggered around drunkenly; hooves churning up 
Libby's newly planted primrose bushes.  Thomas had lain on the ground and 
alternately laughed at the pole-axed bull and groaned from the pain in his wrist, 
until Libby had run out of the rectory and rushed to her husband's aid.

Mulder had heard the story earlier when he came into town to see if Angus had anything 
he wanted delivered to the mine.  Angus had told him what happened in clipped, 
expletive-laden sentences, informed him that Thomas needed his help more than he 
did, and had sent Mulder over to the church.  Halfway out the door of the livery, 
Angus had gruffly called Mulder back and had handed him a newly sharpened saw, waving 
away any thanks with a snarl and a frown.  Mulder had headed over to the church 
with the new saw over his shoulder and a large grin on his face.

"I wonder if that rotten-smelling liniment of Angus's would help with the soreness.  
I could get some for you," Mulder offered innocently, then chuckled at the look 
of horror that crossed Thomas's face at the mention of the pungent liniment.

"Will Mulder!  I thought you were my friend!  I think I'd rather be in pain."  Thomas 
rubbed at his arm.  "I remember Angus slapping that stuff on my hands the first 
time I ever helped him out at the livery, shoeing horses for the mine hauling.  Stunk 
so bad my eyes about crossed, and stung like a thousand bees.  Libby made me eat 
my lunch outside that day, in the rain.  Said she wasn't gonna let me stink up her 
clean house.  I picked up a chicken leg with my sore hand and got liniment all over 
it; I can still taste the nasty stuff.  Put me off eating chicken for quite a spell, 
I can tell you!"

Mulder grinned as he sawed through another plank and tossed it in the wheelbarrow.  
"Yeah, I went through it my first day, Tom.  Angus dumped half a bottle on my hands, 
swearing up a storm at me.  Kinda like having a mother scold you, except this mother 
is hairy, crotchety and spits obscenities as well as tobacco juice."  Mulder paused 
to wipe at his forehead again, adding, "Angus McLean is the meanest, grouchiest 
man I ever met.  And has a heart as big as a mountain.  You know, I introduced him 
to Kate the other day; she stopped by on her way to the grocer.  Angus treated her 
like spun glass.  I didn't know his wife had been a redhead with blue eyes."

Thomas nodded, remembering the young Maureen McLean vividly.  "You're right!  I'd 
almost forgotten.  Your Kate does resemble Maureen.  Small and fair-skinned.  Sweet 
as honey, Maureen was.  And loved Angus something fierce.  I've never seen a more 
broken man, the day he lost her and the babe.  You knew about that, didn't you?"

"Yes, in fact Jack Sawyer up at the mine told me.  And so did Angus, the day he 
met Kate.  She cried for him.  I about did, too."  Suddenly feeling emotion tug 
at him again, Mulder took a few minutes to stack the cut wood in the wheelbarrow.  
Each day they remained here in Millersburg bound him closer to these people he now 
called 'friends.'  Knowing what was going to happen to them - all of them - made 
it that much harder to remain composed; calm.  He wanted so badly to warn them, 
tell them all to get the hell away from the mines, move away from the town.  And 
he couldn't do a damned thing to change their fate.  It was a hell of a thing to 
have to live with.

He looked around the churchyard, seeing the spurt of activity, hearing the buzz 
of men's voices over the hammering of nails in wood.  Everyone pitched in, all the 
males who lived in town that didn't work each day at the mine.  Boys that were between 
school and work age, their narrow shoulders and thin arms just beginning to fill 
out with muscle, bustled around importantly, their excitement at being included 
in adult-type chores visible on their young faces.  Local farmers who usually 
couldn't be enticed from their land and their livestock had come to town to help, 
prying up boards and offering various levels of advice and instruction.  In the 
shade of a large evergreen a makeshift table had been erected out of three sawhorses 
and an old barn door, covered with a muslin sheet.  In an hour or so, women from 
the town would bring lunch and the spread they provided would no doubt feed a small 
army.

It was, in its own way, small-town life at its very best.  It was wonderful.  It 
was heartrending... for all of these people would be gone in just a few weeks.  All 
of the life that made Millersburg what it was, made this a happy place to live, 
would disintegrate like the bodies he and Scully had found at the Franklin farm.  
And in that moment Mulder found himself wishing fervently that the disappearing 
act they'd thought involved time travel had indeed been just that.  At least these 
folks would have lived on, somewhere - sometime - else.

Meanwhile he had to act as if nothing monumental was going to happen.  He couldn't 
take any kind of chance that even a small action of his, one tiny attempt to inform 
or warn, would somehow affect the way the past had to play out.  And that was what 
hurt most of all.  Mulder picked up the saw and hefted another long plank, pushing 
his thoughts down deep inside where they couldn't run rampant.

Over the course of the day, Mulder sawed more planks, yanked umpteen slivers out 
of his fingers and helped hoist the new front door into place so that the hinges 
could be positioned.  He ate a huge lunch, sitting with Thomas and a few of the 
farmers, listening to them swap tall tales and reminisce about the 'old' days, ten 
years ago when the town was just beginning to develop.  A younger Reverend Weston, 
newly arrived in the area, had understood the need to have a house of God and had 
begun the Congregational Church, which started out as little more than a lean-to 
with a few tree stumps and rocks for seats.  The Rectory had been built at the same 
time the church walls had gone up, thus providing Thomas and Libby with a place 
to live.  Mulder hadn't been surprised at all to learn that Angus McLean and Jack 
Sawyer had been instrumental in finishing off the interior of the church, and in 
fact had designed and built the pulpit.

"Well, Mr. Mulder.  You've been here a few weeks now and seem to be settlin' in.  
What d'ya think of our town?"  Mollie Hathaway heaped another helping of apple crisp 
on Mulder's plate, leaning over his shoulder and smiling down into his face.  Such 
a handsome young man, and such a hard worker, she was thinking.  And able to work 
side by side with Angus McLean, of all people!  Surely he had the patience of an 
angel.

She patted Mulder's shoulder as she straightened up and he returned her 
thoughtfulness with a smile and a murmured thanks.  He scooped a large spoonful 
of the crumbly dessert into his mouth and chewed a moment, before answering.  "It's 
a very nice place, Mrs. Hathaway.  Kate and I are very glad to have found ourselves 
here.  Everyone has been so good to us."

Mollie beamed at him.  "Well, now, it's always good to have new blood in town!  Keeps 
the rest of us young!  You eat up that crisp, y'hear?  Put some meat on your bones!"  
She eyed Mulder's lean frame, clucking under her breath at what she no doubt thought 
was an undernourished soul.  As rotund as she was tall, Mollie Hathaway obviously 
believed in sampling her own cooking.

Mulder obediently cleaned his plate and pushed back from the table, stuffed and 
now sleepy.  The food had been wonderful and the company pleasant as well.  Under 
different circumstances, he could have seen himself living here with Scully, quite 
willingly...  if they'd been of this time period.  If there wasn't a deadly threat 
hanging over this town, just waiting to absorb all life and leave an empty husk 
behind.

If, if, if... too many of them to count.  With a smile at Mollie Hathaway and a 
nod to the men who were rising from the table, no doubt as overfull as he was, Mulder 
plunked his hat on his head and went back to work.  Keeping busy was the best way 
to digest the meal he'd gobbled down.  The best way to take his mind off things 
he'd rather not think about...


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


Nulty Homestead


After seeing Mulder off for the day, Scully resigned herself to tackling the small 
mountain of laundry that had accumulated since their arrival.  She had drained the 
water from the tubs where the dirty laundry had been soaking since the previous 
day and replaced it with hot, soapy water.  She set another wooden tub onto a rickety 
table near the side of the cabin, poured a measure of hot water into the tub and 
propped a washboard against the inside rim.  She fished one of Mulder's work shirts 
from the suds bath, slicked a bar of soap over it and rubbed it against the washboard, 
grimacing as she plunged her hands into the hot water over and over again.

When she was satisfied that the shirt had been scrubbed clean, she rinsed it in 
a tub of clean water, wrung it between her hands, rinsed it again in another tub 
of water that contained a bluing agent and carried it to the wringer.  Scully worked 
the crank with one hand and fed the shirt through the rollers with the other until 
all of the excess water had been squeezed out; then pinned it to the clothesline.

Scully dropped her arms to her sides and watched the shirt dance in the slight breeze 
for a moment before starting the process all over again.  As the hours passed, she 
hauled endless buckets of fresh, boiling water from the kitchen, submerged her hands 
into hot, soapy water until they were red and raw, scrubbed and rinsed, wrung and 
pinned laundry to the clothesline... all the while welcoming the work.  She used 
the routine and the physical exhaustion that came with it to keep at bay the dark 
and depressing thoughts and fears that plagued her.

She dashed a forearm over her sweaty face and impatiently brushed back the stubborn 
tendrils of hair that had curled from the steam.  As the morning lengthened into 
the noon hour, she was still hard at work.  She drew a sheet from the suds bath 
and stuffed it into the washtub.  Her shoulder and back muscles burned with fatigue 
as she scrubbed the sheet over the ridged washboard and she fumbled with the bar 
of soap that slipped through her aching fingers.  While feeding the material through 
the rollers of the wringer, she failed to notice that one end of the long sheet 
had fallen from the table and was trailing over the hard packed dirt of the ground.  
Scully let out a low shriek when she finally noticed the foot wide smudge of dirt 
coating the end of the sheet.

"Shit!" she muttered as she fingered the now muddy hem of the sheet.  She balled 
the sheet up and flung it to the ground.  "That's it," she growled.  "I'm done!"  
She tore off the apron she was wearing and lashing out with one foot, knocked over 
a bucket of sudsy water.  

Scully had never shied away from hard work in her life but this was too much.  She 
couldn't stand it another moment, she thought as she toppled another bucket with 
a well-aimed kick.  She didn't know how women did this day after day, accepting 
it as their lot in life; cooking and cleaning and mending and hauling water in a 
never-ending, backbreaking cycle.

How did women like Libby Weston do this all their lives and still maintain their 
sanity?  How did she maintain her cheerful and generous nature?

Libby.  Oh, God.

Heedless of the dirt, Scully sank down onto the ground and covered her face with 
her hands.  She had bumped into the older woman in town while coming out of the 
general store the day before and had been trying to shove the memory of that meeting 
aside ever since...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Kate!"

Scully looked up to see the minister's wife hurrying across the street.  Her 
composure had been shaken by her encounter with Angus McLean a short while earlier 
and she had quickly gone about her shopping with the hope that she could get out 
of town without meeting anyone else.  The sight of Libby Weston bearing down on 
her had dashed those hopes.

"Kate!"  Libby flashed a broad smile at the younger woman. "I was hoping to see 
you in town soon."

"Hello, Libby."  She hefted the basket in her hands.  "We needed a few things, so 
I thought I'd better come to see Mr. Cranston."

"I hope you weren't planning on leaving town without stopping by for a visit," Libby 
scolded good-naturedly.

"Well, I..." Scully glanced longingly towards the road that led back to their cabin.  
"I have a lot to do and I'll need to start supper soon."

"I had hoped to see you and Will at church yesterday," Libby chided gently. "I wanted 
to introduce you to some of the townsfolk."

"Oh!  We... uh... overslept," Scully stammered out an excuse.

"Perhaps next week."

Scully gave a weak smile and nodded.  "Yes, next week."

Libby linked one arm through Scully's.  "Since you're here, come along and I'll 
introduce you to some of the ladies of our town."

Scully dug her heels into the ground.  "I can't," she protested.  After meeting 
Angus, she didn't want to meet anyone else.  With the knowledge of what she and 
Mulder suspected would happen to the people of this town, she simply couldn't bear 
to make any new acquaintances, couldn't stand the thought of looking into another 
face and lying to them by her silence.  She didn't want any other faces to haunt 
her dreams.  Her dreams were tortured enough.

"It's just a few women," Libby encouraged with a gentle tug of Scully's arm.  "Some 
ladies closer to your own age," she said invitingly.

"Oh, no, I..." Desperate to avoid the introductions, Scully cast about for a 
believable excuse. "Please, Libby," she pressed a hand to her cheek.  "I look a 
mess."

Libby frowned at the other woman's jumpiness and took a closer look at her face.  
She noted the dark circles under Scully's eyes and attributed them to tiredness.  
She knew the younger woman had been having trouble adjusting to her new life on 
the frontier and decided not to press her further about meeting some of the 
townswomen.

"Next time you're in town then," she said and noted the look of relief pass over 
Scully's face.

Before Scully had a chance to move away, Libby tightened her grip on the other 
woman's arm.  If nothing else, she did want to sit with her for a few minutes to 
see how she was getting along.

"Surely you have time to stop for a visit with me," she encouraged.

"Oh! That would be lovely, but..."  Scully shifted the basket in her hands.  "I 
really should be getting back..."

"Nonsense."  Libby insisted in a tone that brooked no disobedience.  "We'll have 
a cup of tea and some of the applesauce cake I baked this morning."
Scully wavered under Libby's cajoling smile and no-nonsense tone and allowed 
herself to be led to the Westons' house, where she spent about thirty minutes  
chattering nervously as she entertained the minister's wife with descriptions of 
her housekeeping mishaps.

Libby's sharp ears noted the forced gaiety in her new friend's voice.  She quietly 
observed the way she cradled the cup of tea between her hands as though drawing 
comfort from its warmth and nervously toyed with her slice of cake without ever 
really taking a bite.

"Is something wrong?" She laid a gentle hand over Scully's to stop her from crumbling 
the cake into dust.

"Of course not," Scully protested with a falsely bright smile.

"I know it can be overwhelming... a new marriage, new life in a strange town," Libby 
began.  "You know that if you need help..."

Scully looked down and shook her head furiously.  "No, you've been a tremendous 
help already."

"Is it Will?  Did you have a fight?" Libby asked.  "Sometimes newly-wed couples 
find it..." Her cheeks grew pink with embarrassment. "Maybe I could... do you have 
any questions about..." Her voice trailed off hesitantly.

"Oh no," Scully protested quickly.  "It's nothing like that!"

"What then?"  Libby squeezed Scully's hand.  "We haven't known each other very long," 
she said, "but I'd like to think that we've become friends."

Scully breathed shallowly, willing the tears burning her eyes not to fall.  She 
wanted badly to warn the other woman of what was to come.  She wanted to encourage 
her and the Reverend to leave town now, while there was still time. But she couldn't.  
"We are... you are... You've been a wonderful help to me, Libby. "

"Then tell me what's bothering you," Libby pleaded.

"It's nothing," Scully repeated.  "I'm just... it's like you said.  I'm a little 
overwhelmed and tired."  It was half a truth, but true nonetheless.  She scraped 
back her chair and stood.  "It's a long walk back home," she demurred as she picked 
up her grocery basket.  "I should get going."

Libby's instincts, honed by years as the wife of a minister, told her to give up 
for now and address the situation again in a few days.  She nodded and reluctantly 
walked her guest to the door.  "I've got some things that will keep me busy in town 
for the next few days," she said.  "I'll be out to see you towards the end of the 
week, but if you need me for anything before then, you make sure that Will tells 
me, you hear?"

Scully nodded and started to step out into the front yard. She stopped abruptly 
and whirled back around.  "Thank you for all of your help."  She brushed an impulsive 
kiss over the other woman's cheek.  "You take care of yourself, Libby."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully had been aware of Libby's concerned gaze following her as she walked down 
the road that led out of town. At the time she'd managed to keep her head up and 
the tears at bay.  But now she allowed the tears to fall.  Sitting in a puddle of 
muddy water, she cried for the Reverend and Libby Weston, for Angus McLean and Silas 
Cranston.  And she cried for herself and Mulder, for her fears that they wouldn't 
be able to find their way home; that things would end for them here in this unfamiliar 
time and place.

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

With dragging steps, Mulder rounded the curve in the narrow, rough road that led 
to their cabin.  He was getting home a little early for a change.  He had a basket 
in his hands, filled with delicious food that had been leftover from the lunch 
everyone had shared during the church work-party.  A whole beef pot pie that hadn't 
been touched, some crumbly biscuits and blackberry jam. He had a couple of ripe 
pears and two large chunks of Libby's applesauce cake; a veritable feast. They 
wouldn't have to cook dinner for at least tonight.

He'd had a day full of hard yet rewarding work; the company of men, the laughter 
of children and the gentle fussing of women as they'd fluttered about, serving, 
smiling and blushing at the compliments they received for the wonderful lunch they'd 
provided.  He'd had an especially good talk with Thomas Weston, one that he knew 
he'd always remember, always cherish.  He should be feeling great right now.  He 
should be running to the farmhouse with basket in hand, eager to share the day with 
Scully and ask after hers, the way couples do when they've been apart this way.

Scully would have enjoyed being with the women, he thought.  There had been a few 
close to her age; it would have been good for her to meet them.  Libby had stopped 
by as well, dropping off cake and helping to serve.  She'd kissed Mulder's cheek 
when he complimented her lavishly on her delicious cake, then had blushed when she 
caught her husband's eye and he'd winked at her.  Mulder had been enchanted by her 
impulsive action; he knew how rare it was in this era for a woman like Libby Weston 
to show outward affection to a man who wasn't her husband or blood relative.

Mulder's steps slowed even more as he reached the path in front of the yard and 
simply stood there, staring.  This could very well be where they'd end their days, 
in this rough little cabin, this way of life, this year, this era.  It wasn't theirs.  
Had never belonged to them; moreover, they'd never belonged to it.  Yet, here they 
were.  Stranded in a time that seemed so foreign and dangerous; feeling as if they'd 
never make it to their other home, the one waiting for them a hundred and forty 
years from now.  Mulder set the basket of food on the ground and pressed his fingers 
into his tired eyes, rubbing hard.

He had to wonder:  would it be so very bad, if only evidence of the virus was absent 
from this scenario?  They were as safe from the machinations of the Consortium as 
they could be.  There was no Spender here, no conspiracy, no dark and grisly plans 
to use him, use Scully.  None of that existed here.  Yes, it was a hard life, the 
hardest he'd ever experienced.  It was fraught with its own level of danger, though 
the town itself was small, safe, friendly.  Though they had a roof above their heads 
and food on their table; a job, friends; in a way had more than they'd ever owned 
in their own world... it wasn't theirs.  They couldn't live here, make their marks 
or influence anyone's lives; leave behind any kind of legacy.  Not here.  Not in 
the past, where stepping the wrong way could irrevocably alter the future.

All the people they'd met so far, all of the men and women, the smiling children 
and the hard-working miners, would be gone in a few weeks' time. As would they, 
unless they found a way to get the hell out, and go home.  That, in itself, was 
the most daunting thought of all.  How did they find their way home?  And, having 
found it, how could they live with the sadness and the guilt of knowing the fate 
of these new friends?

Mulder sighed in frustration, feeling depression settle on his shoulders like an 
overwhelming ache.  He picked up his basket and slowly walked up the path to the 
door, hoping that Scully had at least enjoyed her day somewhat and had managed to 
keep the ghosts at bay, for a few hours.

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

After indulging in a good, long cry, Scully had mopped her face on her apron and 
pulled herself out of the mud.  She had resolutely shoved her emotions aside by 
once again burying herself in hard, physical labor.  She had spent the rest of the 
day putting the cabin to rights.  The laundry had dried quickly in the heat of the 
summer day and she had carefully folded and put away every piece. She had emptied 
the ashes from the stove and scrubbed its cast iron top, swept the floors and 
refilled the wood box.  The bed was tidily made and the mismatched crockery was 
neatly stacked on the shelves of the small cupboard.  The oil lamps had been washed 
and refilled, their wicks trimmed. The meager pieces of furniture had been dusted 
and the glass in the window gleamed in the late afternoon sun.  And while she 
cleaned... she planned.

She had stuffed Mulder's watch and her silver and turquoise earrings into her 
leather carryall and set it on the kitchen table along with two lanterns and the 
flashlight.  Mulder's jeans and the shirt he had worn when they first arrived in 
town were laid out on the bed.  Her hiking boots peeked out beneath the hem of the 
long skirt she wore; underneath the frontier clothes she wore her blouse and jeans.

While she waited for Mulder to come home, Scully pored over the notebook in which 
she had copied the cave drawings, hoping to discover some clue as to how to get 
home but again finding nothing that made any sense.

One thing was certain.  Tonight, come hell or high water, they were leaving 
Millersburg.  No more trips into town. No more making friends and lying to them 
by omission.  No more faces and lives on her conscience.

She tucked the notebook into the pocket of her skirt when she heard the scrape of 
Mulder's boots along the dirt path that led to the front door and looked up 
expectantly.  She watched as he stepped over the threshold and saw his eyes sweep 
over her and the now spotless cabin.  He glanced at the items she had set out on 
the table and then met her gaze with his own.

"You want to go back to the cave tonight."

"I think that we need to leave this town."  Scully rose to her feet.  "Whether we 
get home or not, we can't stay here.  If we do, we'll die with all the others."  

The puffiness around her eyes and the red blotches on her cheeks bore silent witness 
to her earlier outburst, while her clenched fists and the studied composure of her 
voice indicated the stranglehold she had on her emotions.

"Okay."  Mulder felt a sense of calmness and purpose settle over him.  She was right.  
They would give the cave another try, but if they still didn't find a way home, 
they had to leave Millersburg.  Staying was suicide.  They had to get home or settle 
someplace else.  Someplace safe.  The solution was so stunning in its simplicity 
that he couldn't believe that they hadn't thought of it before.  He set the basket 
onto the table.  "Libby and some of the other women sent food home with me."  He 
glanced toward the window.  "We have a little while before it gets dark.  Maybe 
we should eat now."

"I laid your clothes out on the bed," she told him.  "I thought you might be more 
comfortable in your own things."  Scully reached into the basket and pulled out 
the beef pie.  "I'll take care of this while you get changed."

While Mulder changed clothes, she busied herself by setting the pot pie onto the 
table along with two plates and some utensils.  She placed the biscuits, fruit and 
cake into the center of large, clean cloth and loosely knotted the edges together, 
setting the bundle down next to the lanterns.

A ghost of a smile trembled on her lips when Mulder returned dressed in familiar 
clothes.  They ate the potpie in silence; then cleaned up the remnants of the meal.  
While Mulder put the dishes away, Scully methodically rinsed out and dried the 
washbasin before returning it to lower shelf of the cupboard.  She took a look around 
the small cabin and gave a tiny nod of approval.  Everything was in its place; she 
was leaving it behind neat and clean.

"Are you ready?"  Mulder grasped the handles of both lanterns.  She nodded and 
scooped up the bundle of food and slung the straps of her backpack over one shoulder.  
When Mulder swung the door open, she hesitated and glanced around the room.

"Maybe..." Her voice cracked and she hastily cleared her throat.  "Maybe we should 
leave a note for Libby and the Reverend."  

There was compassion in his eyes but his voice was firm.  "What would we say?" he 
asked.  "How could we possibly explain?"

"I know... but it doesn't feel right - our leaving without any explanation; without 
warning them."

He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand.  "This is their destiny, Scully," he 
reminded her gently.  "But it isn't ours - it's not supposed to be ours."  He curved 
his palm around the back of her neck and tugged her closer.  She nodded and rested 
her cheek against his chest.

"I know.  But, that doesn't stop me from feeling guilty."

Leaning against each other, they stood in the doorway and watched as the sun began 
the final leg of its descent behind the mountains.  They could hear the gentle 
rustling of the chickens in the coop and the chirping of the birds as they settled 
into their nests high in the branches of the trees.  They stepped outside as the 
shrill pitch of a whistle signaling the end of the shift at the mine was carried 
on the wind down from the hilltops.  Mulder pulled the door closed with a decisive 
click and they headed off down the road, leaving behind the small cabin and the 
town that had become their haven.

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

Millersburg Mine

In the darkness the flashlight bobbed before them, their only source of light.  
Obscured by clouds, the moon would not be of any assistance to them, not tonight.  
On the rough path Scully clung to Mulder's hand and held up her long skirt to avoid 
tripping.  The bundled cloth containing the food they'd brought from the cabin was 
looped over her arm.  Her stomach was churning; she knew she wouldn't be able to 
eat.  But they had to have some supplies, in case they found themselves on the road 
the next morning, searching for a safer town... still living in the past.

Her backpack was slung over Mulder's shoulder; she'd filled the water bottle with 
water from the outside pump and had secured it in the pack.  It wouldn't last very 
long if they had to travel in the morning.  They'd have to find more water along 
the way; perhaps even stop at a farmhouse wherever they could find one, and ask 
for a refill.  The thought of traveling on foot in this untamed, summer-hot terrain 
was daunting, to say the least.  But they couldn't stay in Millersburg.

They hadn't thought it would be so hard, so painful, to walk away from that little 
cabin.  They hadn't taken more than a dozen steps when Scully turned and stared 
back at the farm, just visible in the darkening gloom of twilight.  She'd stopped 
and looked, just looked.  Beside her Mulder turned as well and let his somber gaze 
follow the lay of the land, the small chicken coop and the uneven fence that ran 
around the property; the outhouse and small barn.  In the silent evening they could 
hear the chickens clucking softy, heard the answering crow of the rooster as he 
sought to settle and calm his brood.  

Had he been happy there?  With complete honesty, Mulder realized he had.  For the 
first time in his adult life, as well as since he and Scully had known each other, 
they'd had friends, real friends.  They'd gotten to know another couple not far 
off from their own ages, two people who had already come to mean so much to them.  
They'd found a place to live that was warm, caring, safe.  The work had been hard, 
but in its way no harder than what they'd both had to endure, working as Federal 
agents.  No harder than fighting the scum of the earth, investigating the paranormal 
and weird... no harder than staying alive in a world where a higher and darkly 
dangerous power constantly threatened them.  No harder than that.  Mulder had in 
fact enjoyed the physical challenge of their life here.  

He glanced at her as she stood next to him holding his hand and watching the dark 
overtake the twilight.  He'd heard her sigh, had felt her squeeze his hand.  Mulder 
opened his arms and gathered her close, laying his cheek on her soft hair and 
breathing in the comforting scent of her skin.  They stood there in the dark on 
the narrow path, and neither spoke.  There really wasn't much to say.

Scully closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to Mulder's shirt, feeling the steady 
beat of his heart under the soft cotton.  Would she miss this place, the constant 
backbreaking work, the harsh life, the hot summers and what she knew would be hard 
and freezing winters?  Would she miss awakening in the dark morning, groaning her 
way out of bed, fighting with that old cook stove, enduring the outhouse, sponge 
baths instead of showers, lugging bucket after bucket of water to the house, to 
the coop, to the stove and back outside again to dump into the laundry basins?  Would 
she miss scrubbing until her hands were raw and her cuticles split and bled?

No, she wouldn't miss that.  Not the massive inconveniences that frontier women 
had to endure.  Perhaps if she'd never known anything more, if she'd been born to 
the life, then she'd miss what was familiar to her.  But Scully was a modern woman.  
She never thought she'd find herself longing so fiercely for the ease that modern 
invention had given to her; like most twenty-first century people she took most 
of it for granted.  More importantly, she missed her family and wanted desperately 
to get back home where her phone would ring and bring with it the sound of her 
mother's voice inviting her over for dinner and filling her in on family news.

Would she miss making love to Mulder on that soft, narrow mattress, in the morning 
when the dew hung thick on the wildflowers... in the evening when the breeze 
fluttered the faded yellow gingham curtains at the window?  Would she miss that 
sense of them being all alone in a sort of rustic oasis, away from the kind of dangers 
that only their modern world could inflict on them?

Yes, she would.  Oh, hell yes.  More than she could say, more than she could have 
ever known.

A few tears spilled over her lashes and soaked into Mulder's shirt; he didn't say 
a word, but stroked her hair and held her tightly.  Once or twice she heard him 
sniff.  It brought a small, placating smile to her face to know he seemed as affected 
as she.  Scully drew away slowly and smiled up at the man she'd called 'husband' 
for the past few weeks, suddenly aching for the term to be real.  And with 
determination she pushed away her unwelcome thoughts and concentrated on the job 
awaiting them at the cave.  They parted slowly; she wiped her cheeks.  They joined 
hands again and continued walking.

Twenty minutes later they left the path and clambered up the incline to the cave, 
shining the flashlight over the entrance.  Once inside they stopped for a moment 
to catch their breath and Mulder gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  "Okay.  
We veer right, first thing.  That's what we did wrong the last time we came back 
here looking for the drawings, remember?  We walked straight ahead right away, 
instead of veering."  He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, whispered, 
"Ready?"

She nodded.  "Yes.  Let's go home, Mulder."  She was determined in her belief that 
this time it would work, that this time they'd make it home.  The alternative was 
unbearable.

They linked fingers and ventured into the inky-black darkness, grateful for the 
strong beam of the flashlight.

Keeping to the right they edged along the wall, Scully following closely behind 
Mulder, her hand fisted in his shirt.  When they reached the small cavern that housed 
the drawings, he lit one of the oil lamps for extra light. He shone the flashlight 
beam over the rough surface, looking for the start of the drawings, sighing in relief 
when he found them.  "Here they are, Scully!  The beginning of them, anyway.  Don't 
let go," he cautioned, as she stepped around him to get a better look at the carvings.  

She nodded and hung onto his shirt, dropping the long skirt from her other hand 
and running her fingers carefully along the ridges of the carvings.  She commented 
wryly, "As I recall, we did this the last time, with no success.  Do you have any 
other ideas, a thought as to what we may have missed doing?"

Mulder kept the flashlight beam steady on the wall as Scully moved her fingers over 
its surface.  "Well, we could try and recreate the circumstances, as best as we 
can recall them; as we did the last time we were here.  You held one of my hands 
and your palm pressed against the carving.  I have no idea which carving; I'm really 
hoping that isn't part of whatever equation we're trying for."  

Scully dutifully pressed her palm flat against the nearest carving and they held 
their breath and waited.  Nothing.  She muttered in mounting frustration and tried 
again a few inches to the right, lifting her hand and then palming the wall.  Nothing.  
She moved a few more inches and tried again, with Mulder gripping her other hand 
and holding the flashlight aloft.  She could feel herself beginning to perspire 
in the strong beam of the light that shone over her shoulder.  She tried again.  
And again.  Again...

"Nothing.  Damn it, NOTHING!  We're forgetting something, Mulder.  We have to be 
forgetting something really important!"  Her voice rose and echoed dully in the 
cave.  She was fighting to remain calm but seemed to be losing the battle.  
Scully's eyes snapped to Mulder's face and locked on him, noting the worry in his 
own eyes, the way he was chewing at his bottom lip, the sweat on his own brow.  She 
ground out an impatient, "THINK, Mulder!  What is it?  What have we missed, each 
time we've tried this?"

Mulder could feel his own frustration level rising and he did his best to keep it 
out of his voice.  "We're doing everything right, Scully.  Your hand on the carving.  
Holding on to one another.  It's exactly what we did before."  

His attempt at soothing rationale failed miserably; Scully could feel the panic 
bubbling up inside her along with a decent dose of desperation and good 
old-fashioned fright.  She retorted, "It's NOT exactly what we did before, goddamn 
it!  If it was, we wouldn't BE here right now!  We'd be on the ground in the 
twenty-first century, vomiting up beef pot pie!  We'd be HOME, Mulder.  We'd be 
safe!"  Scully threw the bag of food against the far wall on the other side of the 
cave, hearing glass break as the jar of jam shattered inside the linen wrapping 
with a satisfying crash.  She whirled, yanking her hand from Mulder's and faced 
the wall, beyond angry, far from any semblance of calm, and all her fear and worry, 
all the exhaustion brought on by days and days of hard work and little sleep... 
it caught up with her.  She'd never in her life felt this level of fury and fright, 
utter desolation and depression.  It bore down on her like some overwhelming weight.  

But instead of sending her to her knees as it should have, it sang through her body 
in an adrenaline rush that shook her to her bones.  She found herself screaming 
incoherently, screaming at the wall, at their circumstances, unable to hear 
Mulder's anguished pleas of, "Scully! Stop!  STOP IT!"  She never felt him grabbing 
at her arms, didn't know she tore herself away from his restraining hands.  She 
raised her arms and her tightly held fists pounded against the wall, against the 
carvings, and she screamed...  Her hands were cut, the sides of her palms bleeding 
on the wall, on the drawings...

And all the air suddenly whooshed out of her body, out of Mulder's.  In the split 
second that he realized what was happening, at last happening... he grabbed hold 
of one of Scully's injured hands, just as she fell to the ground and he followed 
her down, both of them choking, unable to breathe, unable to think.  His head was 
pounding, throbbing; his ears were filled with the buzzing of a thousand bees, a 
million flies.  His eyes were sewn shut, his brain was compressing... 

This time the last thing he heard was his own voice, shouting for her, to her.

"SCULLY!"

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

Chapter Twelve
Millersburg Mine


With a pounding headache, Scully awoke to total darkness.  She rolled her head to 
the side and instantly the taste of bile filled her mouth. She swallowed hard and 
took shallow breaths, willing her stomach to settle.  Mulder's weight was pressed 
against her hip and she felt him begin to stir.

"Mulder?" she called out softly.

She heard him moan and felt his hand clutch her leg.

"Don't move.  Lie still and breathe slowly," she cautioned.

He followed her advice and several long moments passed as they lay quietly, fighting 
the nausea and willing it to subside.  Finally, Mulder cautiously lifted his head.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"My head hurts."  Scully rolled over and gingerly pushed herself to her knees.

"Mine too."

They sat up slowly and Scully reached out blindly, searching for Mulder in the 
unrelenting blackness.  Her hand brushed his arm and she clutched it tightly.

"Do you have the flashlight?" she asked urgently.

He patted the ground around him. "It's around here somewhere," he muttered.  "I 
dropped it."  On their knees, they searched the ground around them with their hands, 
desperately searching for the flashlight.  After several minutes, Mulder's 
fingertips brushed against the hard plastic casing.

"Here!" he crowed with relief and clicked on the light.  He played the light briefly 
over Scully's face and then swept the beam around the cave, illuminating the 
drawings on the wall.

"Do you think it worked?" Scully asked worriedly.  "Do you think we're..."

Mulder shrugged.  "Only one way to find out."  He aimed the beam of light down the 
passageway that led to the cave entrance.  

He stood and held out a hand for Scully.  As he helped her up, he moved the small 
circle of light across the ground around their feet.  "Do you see the oil lamps?" 
he asked.

He shone the light over every corner of the small cavern but the lamps were nowhere 
to be seen.  "Weird," he muttered.  "They should be around here somewhere."  One 
of the lamps had been burning when they collapsed.  He had no way of knowing how 
long they had been unconscious, but the lamps should still be nearby.  Had it worked?  
Did it make sense that the only things that would travel through time with them 
would be those they were touching or wearing at the time?  He felt a bubble of 
excitement rise up.  Maybe... just maybe this time they had hit upon the right 
combination of elements to send them back through time.  But what?  What had they 
done this time that they hadn't done in either of their previous attempts?

"Forget the lamps." Eager to be on the way and to find out whether they had made 
it back home, Scully interrupted his thoughts as she scooped up her backpack and 
hooked it over her shoulders.  "Let's just get out of here."  

They started down the tunnel toward the cave entrance and the tension mounted with 
every step they took.  Scully felt an odd combination of anticipation, hope and 
worry twist her stomach into knots.  She winced in remembrance of her earlier 
meltdown and didn't know how she would react if they exited the cave and found 
themselves still trapped in the nineteenth century.  She had done her level best 
to adapt to the life they had been living, but always it had been with the belief 
that their stay was only temporary.  The alternative was unthinkable.  If this last 
attempt hadn't worked... if they had to leave Millersburg in order to escape the 
coming plague... If they didn't have continued access to the cave where it had all 
started - how would they ever find their way home again? 

At last the entrance came into view.  Mulder turned to look at her.  "Here goes 
nothing," he said solemnly. 

"Here goes," she repeated.  She tried to summon up an encouraging smile but she 
knew the worry etched on his face was mirrored on her own. 

They each took a deep breath and plunged through the opening.  They stood for a 
moment, frozen in place as they looked around.  There was nothing to indicate whether 
their attempt to return home had been a success.  Same hillside, same cave... same 
moon shining brightly overhead. Scully felt a childish urge to wish on a star.  She 
stared upward, a silent prayer on her lips - and suddenly her eyes widened.

"Oh my God!"  She frantically clawed at Mulder's arm.

"What?"  His head whipped from side to side as he looked around for an unseen danger.

"Look!"  She pointed a trembling finger toward the sky.  "Do you see it?" she asked 
urgently.

His gaze swept back and forth across the heavens unsure of what she was trying to 
show him.   "See what?  Scully! What?" 

She stabbed her finger toward the sky.  "That... star - do you see it?  Is it moving? 
Or am I imagining things?"

He followed the path of her finger towards the sky and felt his heart slam against 
his breastbone.  He flung his arms around her waist and lifted her into a hug.

"No!  You're not imagining it," he said with a grin.  "That's no star... it's a 
plane!"  

She slipped her arms around his neck and held on tightly.  "Thank God," she 
whispered.  "It really worked."

Mulder set her back onto her feet and clutched her hands with his.  "Well, we're 
definitely not in the nineteenth century," he agreed.  The thought occurred to him 
that they still weren't sure they had arrived back in exactly the right time.  They 
could have overshot or undershot the mark by any number of years.  He squeezed her 
hand and saw from the cautious smile on her face that she had arrived at the same 
conclusion.

"Are you ready?" Mulder asked.  She nodded and together they began to pick their 
way down the hillside.  Halfway down the slope, he pulled her to a stop.  
"It's still there," he said.  His voice was shaky with relief as he spotted their 
Jeep.  They had made it back to the right time and place.  They scrambled the rest 
of the way down the hill.  Mulder was fairly dancing around the Jeep and Scully 
thought that he looked like he wanted to throw his arms around the vehicle in an 
embrace.

"I was afraid that even if we did manage to get back, the car would be gone," he 
admitted as he ran his hands over the hood.  "I mean... it's fairly deserted out 
here, but the way our luck has been running..."

She barked out a nearly maniacal laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise 
at the sound.  "Do you have the keys?" she asked from behind her fingers.

A panicked look crossed his face as he patted his pockets.  Keys?  "Oh, no. No, 
no, no," he whispered.  He dug his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, 
shaking his head at the thought that something as mundane as a missing set of car 
keys could be the final impediment on this long journey home.  He was cursing the 
fates and muttering about their bad luck when a sudden memory sparked.  He jerked 
his head up in remembrance.  "Your purse.  I gave them to you when we parked."  He 
bit his lip.  "I think."

Scully pulled the pack from her shoulders and urgently dug into the main pocket.  
She gave the bag a little shake and was rewarded by the jangling sound of metal 
against metal.  Her fingers brushed against the jagged metal edges of the keys and 
she drew them from the bag and dangled them over her head triumphantly.  Mulder 
rounded the Jeep, snatched the keys from her fingers and pressed a smacking kiss 
against her lips.  He opened the passenger door and guided her inside before climbing 
in behind the wheel.  He stuck the keys into the ignition and they looked at each 
other with wide grins when the engine turned over without hesitation.  They laughed 
and leaned across the gearshift to kiss with giddy relief.

"Let's get out of here," Mulder murmured as they drew apart.

"Yes, please," she assented fervently.

Mulder flipped on the headlights and put the Jeep into gear.  He negotiated a careful 
path along the rutted road and though they both watched the hillside grow smaller 
in the mirrors, and their moods became more pensive, they said nothing.  When they 
reached the smooth asphalt of the paved road, he stretched a hand across the center 
console and wrapped his fingers around hers.

"Home again, home again," he said.

"Jiggity jig," she whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

As the miles markers flew by, signs of civilization began to crop up with more 
frequency.  

"I bet I know the first thing you're going to do when we get back to the hotel," 
he said striving for a light tone.

"What's that?"  She stared out the window and studied the signage and lighting along 
the road with newfound affection and appreciation.

"You're going to set up camp in the bathroom and run back and forth between the 
bathtub and the toilet."  His teeth flashed white as he grinned at her.

Scully made an indignant sound and swatted one hand against his shoulder.  "Like 
you aren't going to be happy to see indoor plumbing."  She joined him in his 
lighthearted banter.

He laughed.  "I'm right, aren't I?"

"You're pretty close," she admitted ruefully.  

When they were about three miles from the hotel, the familiar sight of golden arches 
rising out of the darkness came into view.  

"Room service?" he asked.  "Or fast food?"

She usually tried to talk him out of fast food, but the idea of a greasy burger 
and crisp fries was too much to resist.  "Fast food now and room service for dessert."

"I like the way you think."  He swung the Jeep off the road and into the drive-thru 
lane.   A few minutes later they were roaring back down the highway and gorging 
themselves on fries and cheeseburgers.

"I didn't realize how much I missed ketchup," Mulder moaned as he bit into his 
burger.  Scully simply nodded in reply as she stuffed fries into her mouth with 
rapid enthusiasm.  Comfort food had taken on a whole new meaning for them.

They were feeling pleasantly stuffed and perhaps just a little sick from inhaling 
their meal when Mulder whipped the Jeep into the parking lot of their hotel.

"We made it," he reaffirmed as he killed the engine.  

She stretched across the gearshift and wiped a tiny smear of ketchup from his bottom 
lip.  "Yeah," she said with fervent relief.  "We made it."  She turned to open her 
door and stopped at the restraining feel of his hand on her arm.

"What?" she asked.

"Your clothes."  He pointed to the dress she was wearing.

"Right."  She unbuttoned the front of the dress and braced her feet against the 
floorboard as she arched her hips from the seat.  Mulder helped draw the long skirt 
up and together they worked the dress over her head.  Scully cradled the material 
against her breasts for a long, quiet moment before carefully folding the dress.  
She smoothed her hands over her jeans and tucked the dress under her arm.

"Ready?" she asked with a soft smile.

"Let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The rest of the evening was a blur of both giddy relief and melancholy. Upon reaching 
their room, Scully had indeed made a beeline for the bathroom where she set about 
filling the oversized tub with gallons of hot water, while Mulder immediately 
cranked up the air-conditioner.  After sharing a long soak in the tub, they had 
bundled into robes and ordered dessert from room service.  When they'd had their 
fill of chocolate raspberry torte, they collapsed onto the bed.

Mulder propped his back against a mound of pillows and picked up the remote control.  
Scully rested her head against his chest and curled an arm around his waist, drawing 
comfort from the familiarity of lying in bed with him while he flipped from one 
television station to the next.  When he finally settled onto a sports station, 
she let her eyes flutter shut.

"We have another full day before we have to fly home."  She felt the rumble of 
Mulder's voice beneath her cheek.  "We never did get a chance to visit the national 
park."

She shook her head. "I don't want to leave this room." She tightened her arm around 
him.  "Let's just stay here until it's time to go home."

He smoothed a hand over her still-damp hair and cupped the back of her neck in his 
palm.  "Sounds like a good idea," he agreed.

Scully crooked a leg over his hips and snuggled closer.  "What do you think 
happened?" she whispered.  "What was different about tonight?"  She asked the 
question they had both been avoiding since their escape from the cave.

Mulder had actually been giving it a great deal of thought.  They'd tried several 
times to go back to the cave, struggled with deciphering a who-knew-how-ancient 
cipher in the form of cave etchings that may or may not have been created by human 
hands.  He'd heard the stories and seen his fair share of the reports of mysterious 
hieroglyphics on the walls of caverns, in dungeons, in ancient tombs.  Some believed 
they were the leavings of extinct races, and others were convinced otherworldly 
visitors who'd wished to document a record of their time on earth had left them 
behind.  Mulder hadn't decided for himself what he believed, other than the gut 
feeling that the carvings on the wall of that cave held the key to their return. 
He'd believed it from the very first. 

The discovery of the alien virus in nineteenth-century Colorado, very likely in 
the Millersburg mine itself, seemed to be a separate mystery; Mulder wasn't going 
to drive himself insane trying to make a correlation between the carvings and the 
virus.  It was enough to have to accept that time travel existed and they'd 
experienced it firsthand, had tried again and again to return to their own era.  
When their attempts to recreate the moment of travel had failed, he hadn't been 
sure what to think.

But this time, it had worked.  This time they'd made it happen.  

Mulder lifted Scully's hand from his chest and studied the scrapes and shallow cuts 
marring the tender flesh where she had beaten her fists against the cave wall.  She'd 
really pounded herself on that wall, he thought to himself, bringing her hand to 
his lips for a gentle kiss.  So much anger, fury, desperation; the same fury and 
desperation he'd been feeling as he'd stood by helpless to stop her from taking 
out those feelings on a rock wall in the year 1860.  She'd made her poor hands bleed.

Wait a minute.

Blood...  

Oh, shit.  She'd bled before on that wall, hadn't she?  In the year 2000.  She'd 
slipped and her hand had hit the wall, she'd cut her palm.  They'd bandaged the 
cut and then they'd found that section of cave that held the carvings.  Scully had 
reached out her hand to touch those carvings, hadn't she?  With her injured palm.  
Yes, there'd been a bandage between the wall and her wound, but still the blood 
had been there.  Tonight the blood had touched the wall again, this time with no 
bandage intervening.  Had it been enough of a recreation?  It had to be.  It was 
the only thing that made sense.  

Mulder pressed another kiss to her hand, murmured, "I think it was this.  When you 
were hitting the wall with your fists."  He smoothed a gentle thumb over the raw 
abrasions.  "Remember... you had cut your hand the first time we went exploring 
in the cave.  I washed the cut and bandaged it.  But the blood was still there, 
behind the bandage.  You pressed the wound against the carvings, and, for want of 
a better description, poof!  1860, there we were."

She stared up at him with eyes gone wide with sudden comprehension.  "And then, 
I, um, went slightly berserk, started flailing my hands all over the carvings and 
got them bloody, and... poof?  2000, we've come back?"

He nodded, "I think so.  It does sound ridiculously simple, doesn't it?  I suppose 
time travel ought to be shrouded in scientific drabble and the ability to make that 
trip should be dependent upon mathematical equations and what-not.  Or at the very 
least, we build a time machine, like H.G. Wells.  Or a souped-up DeLorean."  He 
offered a wry grin and was pleased and relieved when Scully echoed it back to him.  

Scully tucked her head in against his chest and laced her fingers through his, 
thinking about his explanation.  It made about as much sense as anything else that 
had happened to them these past few weeks.  

The scientist in her balked in disbelief at all of it.  The woman she was remembered 
the never-ending, backbreaking work, the way her entire body had ached at the end 
of each day.  There was a half-healed cut on her palm to remind her of that first 
instance of blood, and her knuckles were still raw and reddened from the hot water 
and lye soap, from scrubbing everything from chicken coops to Mulder's borrowed 
britches.  The evidence of what they'd lived through was etched on their bodies, 
locked in their memories.  As a scientist she had all the proof she needed, and 
she'd already accepted they'd somehow survived the impossible.  Faced with that, 
additional acceptance - that blood took them there and blood brought them back - 
seemed easy enough.

For long minutes they lay snuggled together in the comfortable bed, each lost in 
their own thoughts.  They'd left a lamp on, glowing softly on a side table near 
the bathroom.  Mulder reduced the volume on the television until the voices on ESPN 
were a low murmur.  He laid the remote on the nightstand and pulled the covers up 
over their shoulders, turning on his side to ease Scully's body closer to his.  She 
slipped a leg in between his and rested her head on his shoulder.

"We're going to have to tell Skinner about this, aren't we?" she asked.  "About 
what we think happened to the Westons and..."  Her words hitched in her throat and 
she drew in a steadying breath.  "We'll have to tell him about what we think happened 
to the town of Millersburg."

Mulder stroked his fingers through her hair soothingly as he mulled over what they'd 
have to face the day after tomorrow.  "Yeah," he agreed.  "We're going to have to 
tell him.  We'll sit down and plan it out, but not tonight, Scully.  We'll worry 
about it in the morning.  Right now I just want to hold you in a real bed with real 
sheets and two pillows.   I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and think about 
nothing more strenuous than ordering breakfast in bed.  Sound like a plan?"

She turned her lips into his neck and let them linger against the warm skin, his 
beating pulse.  "Sounds like a plan to me, Mulder.  But first, I think we should 
celebrate a little.  Nothing major, my energy level isn't up to it.  But I'd sure 
like to do a bit of cuddling, maybe some necking. Hear a few sweet nothings whispered 
into my ear."  

He grinned and bent down to her ear, rumbling a breathy, "Nothing, nothing," into 
it; then kissed the delicate outer curve and added, "Whatcha got in mind?  Can I 
doze through it?"  His voice was thick with weariness yet still managed that old 
familiar tease.  Scully eased away and gazed up, into eyes shadowed and tired, ringed 
with dark smudges that she knew had to be mirrored on her own face.  A day's worth 
of stubble darkened his cheeks and to her loving eyes, he'd never looked more 
desirable... more beloved.  He smiled sleepily and clasped her closer; Scully raised 
her lips as his descended, and they kissed softly, tenderly.  Bare limbs pressed 
together under the light blankets, hands caressed slowly, easing residual aches 
and pains left from days and days of unusually-hard manual labor.  

When Mulder slipped his hands over her back and cradled her hips, Scully sighed 
into his mouth in utter satisfaction.  She could feel herself sliding down into 
slumber, could feel it rushing up to meet her as her eyelids grew heavy and her 
body went limp against him.  He eased onto his back and brought her with him, until 
she lay partially on his chest with her head tucked beneath his neck.  With fingers 
threaded in her hair and his other hand running up and down her spine, Mulder relaxed 
every muscle, sinking into slumber.  One of her hands drifted over his abdomen and 
found him, warm and full in her palm; she held him gently and he breathed a low, 
"That feels so good..." into the air above her head.  She nodded and yawned in sleepy 
agreement.  

His hand came to rest against one sweetly curved cheek; he left it there.  A 
softly-whispered set of 'Love You's' lingered between them as they lay so close 
to each other.  Lulled by the comfortable hum of the air-conditioner, they slept.

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


EPILOGUE

FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC


He wore the dark gray summer-weight wool, the one he'd bought two weeks before they'd 
left on vacation.  It hung a bit on his frame; Scully had circled him once, 
commenting, "You've lost weight.  That suit was a perfect fit when you brought it 
home."

Mulder nodded, one hand holding out the waistband of the tailored slacks.  "I'm 
going to have to do something about it.  Maybe buy a smaller belt... or start eating 
a hell of a lot of pizza."  He flashed a grin at Scully and she echoed it back to 
him, happy to keep things light and slightly silly, at least for now.  

She tugged on her own suit, realizing it too was somewhat baggy.  "We both built 
up muscle, Mulder.  We toned up.  The Bowflex Company can boast all they want about 
the kind of workout you can create on their equipment, but obviously nothing beats 
swinging an iron hammer or lugging endless buckets of water."

"You got that right."  He leaned up against the desk next to her, scooted in close 
and wriggled his hip against hers teasingly.  Scully favored him with one raised 
eyebrow and a half-smile; then rested her head on his shoulder.  Even after a day 
of doing nothing much beyond eating and sleeping and bathing, she was still tired.  

They'd spent their last day in the Rocky Mountains safely behind locked doors, 
needing nothing more than each other.  They'd slept a lot, eaten room service, and 
taken another bath together, then later on, a shower.  They'd made love, once with 
utmost tenderness and later with unrestrained passion.  They'd talked, too.  About 
Libby and Thomas, about Angus.  They'd kept the reminiscing lighthearted and more 
than once Mulder had made Scully laugh aloud with a deadly accurate impersonation 
of Angus's gruff voice and expletive-laden language.  

They'd come down off their initial high of relief and thankfulness that they'd made 
it back to their own time without major incident, and had found themselves unable 
to banish the guilt of leaving Millersburg behind and uninformed of their fate.  
Their sensible and practical side demanded reinforcement that nothing different 
could have been done; history needed to play out in exactly the manner it had.  The 
emotional, more human side of both of them couldn't help but wish that somehow the 
little mining town and all its inhabitants could have been spared the virus and 
its ultimate destruction.  It was a conflict of emotion they would ultimately have 
to come to terms with.

Glancing at her watch, Scully sighed and reluctantly got to her feet.  "We should 
talk, Mulder.  We only have ten minutes before the meeting.  We need to figure out 
what the hell to say to Skinner.  I confess I'm at a real loss here."

Mulder caught one of her hands and squeezed it reassuringly.  "I am too, Scully," 
he admitted.  "I thought it would be so cut-and-dried.  Back to the future, eat 
massive quantities of modern food, take three-point-seven showers and come to work, 
ready to discuss time travel and deadly alien viruses."  He straightened and tugged 
at her hand until she came into his arms and pressed close to him.  "We have to 
make Skinner understand and accept, concerning the virus.  I'm still convinced he 
was humoring me the last time I tried to explain it all to him.  Right after 
Antarctica, in fact.  As I recall, the PTB dug a hole and buried it all up.  We 
can't let that happen this time."  At her inquiring frown, Mulder clarified, 
"Powers-That-Be."

"Ah."

Scully tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear and thought a moment, trying 
to put herself in Skinner's shoes, imagining what sort of a reaction she'd have 
if someone came to her and told the kind of tale she and Mulder had to present to 
their boss in just a few minutes.  It was a daunting and depressing feeling...  Then 
she remembered what she'd folded inside her briefcase before they left her apartment 
a few hours ago, and she brightened a bit.

"I've got Jenny Nulty's dress.  I brought it with me.  This morning when I looked 
at it, I found one of her handkerchiefs in the pocket.  It has hand-tatted lace 
around the hem and her initials in the corner.  All hand-made.  I also have the 
notepad with the sketches of the cave drawings."  She handed him the small notepad 
and he tucked it into his breast pocket. "Think that would help to convince Skinner?"  
Scully's voice was light but her eyes were over-bright.  Her smile trembled, just 
a little.

Mulder reached out and cupped her cheek, brushed a thumb over her lips.  "Yes.  I 
think it'll help.  The dress is proof positive that we did indeed travel to another 
time.  I hope.  Otherwise how on earth could we have obtained it?  It's not something 
you can buy on Ebay and we didn't rob a frontier museum.  Maybe if we turn it inside 
out and Skinner gets an eyeful of how it's constructed..."  He grinned at her and 
almost sighed aloud in relief when she nodded and smiled in return.

"I agree.  We have some visual proof.  I admit I'd feel a lot more confident if 
we'd had some way of recording the physical condition of the Franklins.  Photos, 
cell samples... something.  I suppose a hundred and forty-year-old dress, an 
equally-old handkerchief and a notebook of cave drawings are better than nothing, 
though," Scully shrugged.

"We'll tell him everything, Scully.  All that we saw, what we experienced.  The 
cave and its drawings, the town, the evidence of virus that we found.  I shoved 
that book in my coat pocket last night before we hit the sack.  We'll show him that, 
too.  Hell, I suppose we could always kidnap Skinner, fly back to Estes Park and 
force him to go spelunking with us."  Mulder paused, waiting for her reaction, and 
chuckled when she shuddered and shook her head decisively.

"No, Mulder.  No more caves.  No return to our little Rocky Mountain interlude... 
we'll tell Skinner the truth as it happened to us.  We'll present all the proof 
we have, and I know it's not much.  If he chooses not to believe us, that's his 
choice.  As for where we go from here," Scully met her partner's steady regard with 
firm resolve, "we stay alert.  We watch for signs and we take nothing for granted.  
And we fight.  Together."

"Together."  He echoed it back to her; then pulled her into his arms and held on 
tightly.  In the quiet of their dusty little office they clung to each other, 
reluctant to put a name to what the future seemed to hold, yet knowing they'd face 
it, no matter the trials or the danger.  They kissed softly and Mulder kept hold 
of Scully's hand as they stepped away from each other and walked to the door.

The elevator ride upstairs was quiet, pensive.  In Mulder's coat pocket the little 
book he'd bought at the gift shop in Estes and Scully's notepad were small weights 
that might or might not be accepted by their AD.  Over Scully's arm Jenny Nulty's 
dress was a reassuring presence that something amazing had happened to them.  
Something only read about in books; something impossible.  Yet again, its influence 
was only as strong as Skinner's objectivity, his open mindedness, and his ability 
to believe.  

Their AD had spent several unwilling years as some kind of underling to the 
mysterious CGB Spender.  After all this time Mulder still wasn't sure why.  He and 
Scully had each had occasion to mistrust Skinner and his ultimate loyalties, thanks 
to that association.  Yet overall, their AD supported them.  He believed in their 
work.  Still... time travel?  Alien virus?  Skinner could be persuaded to accept 
the latter; he'd probably be less receptive to the idea of his agents spending 
several weeks in a different century.

Mulder could relate... so could Scully.

They stepped off the elevator and walked to Skinner's office; nodded to Kim as she 
smiled and waved them through the door.  Their AD sat behind his desk, shirtsleeves 
rolled up and glasses removed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off 
a headache.  He looked up at the entrance of his two best agents and motioned them 
to sit; then slapped his glasses back on his face and stared at them silently.  He'd 
expected them to look tanned and rested, bursting with health; instead they appeared 
to have lost weight and both had dark circles of apparent exhaustion underneath 
their eyes.  

What the -?

"Agents.  Nice to have you back.  I'd say it looks as if your vacation agreed with 
you, but I'd be lying through my teeth.  Mind telling me what the hell's going on?"  
Walter Skinner was his usual blunt self.

Mulder shifted in his chair and briefly met Scully's eyes; she nodded and stood 
up, placing the antique dress on Skinner's desk.  While their AD's eyebrows snapped 
together in a confused frown, Mulder pulled the books from his pocket and laid them 
next to the dress.  He cleared his throat and found himself reaching for the 
supporting clasp of Scully's hand.

"Sir... there's something we have to tell you, and it's not an easy story to listen 
to, but hear us out, please..."


END