Styx RATING: G (PG if you're ultra-sensitive to mild cursing) SPOILERS: Yep. Plenty of them. Beyond The Sea, Ascension, One Breath, Never Again, Folie a Deux, Christmas Carol, Emily, Fight the Future, Triangle. (If there are others, I'm unaware of them - maybe it's best just not to read it if you haven't watched up through Season Six, just to be safe.) SUMMARY: Scully gets to be the subject of an X-file again, this time when she gets called out by Mulder to help him investigate the phantom Styx Cat in a rural North Carolina town. (Yes, I know the summary sucks, but it's the best I can do, okay?) DISCLAIMER: The characters are not mine. The world is not mine. I just borrowed them for a bit. Hope CC and the people at 1013 Productions don’t mind… THANKS/ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To the folks at the X-Files MezzoCafe/Diner message board for putting up with me, and to Kelley2 specifically for being the first non-relative to read it, I offer many thanks. I also relied heavily on the X-File site Deep Background for info on past episodes that my fickle memory refused to provide me with. FEEDBACK: tbweber@email.msn.com Styx National Forest Styx, North Carolina Evening, Day 1 "Mulder, tell me you're not lost." "I'm not...I'm sure we're on the right path." "If we were on the right path, we'd be at the car by now." She shined her flashlight about the darkening woods in a futile attempt to spot something useful. Mulder continued as if he hadn't heard her. Agent Dana Scully suppressed a sigh. Since early afternoon, not five minutes after pulling into town, the two of them had been roaming in the woods near Styx River, and she still didn't have much of a clue as to why. /Now, think, Dana, why does this seem so familiar?/ a voice in her head asked sarcastically. It took more effort than usual to silence it, though the sentiment lingered. She was about to speak up again, if not for constructive reasons then to make herself feel better, when, miraculously, the well-traveled path appeared ahead of them. He grinned. "See? What did I tell you?" Scully refused to reply, instead looking up through the branches overhead. The first stars were appearing in the clear night sky. They started walking back along the path, following the gentle downhill slope. Though Scully's feet ached and she was sure she had lost at least a pint of blood to the local insect population, she would have preferred a faster pace, one that would get them out of the woods and back to civilization as quickly as possible. Mulder, however, seemed more than content to saunter along at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world. "Mulder, we don't want to be out in the woods after dark," she ventured. His eyes continued to scan the trees and undergrowth to either side of the path, his feet continued their slow, steady pace. "We're not that far from the parking lot, Scully," he said, then added with a half-smile, "though if you want to run ahead and get the engine running, I'll be more than willing to give you the keys." "Give me the keys, and you'll be walking back to the motel," she grumbled, only half joking. To his credit, he didn't seem particularly annoyed by the jab. "Mulder, why are we out here?" she finally asked, after another minute of walking. "I thought I explained on the phone," he answered, but refused to meet her gaze. She stopped, forgetting her desire to leave the woods before nightfall in her annoyance. After a few paces, he realized that she wasn't following him. "Coming, Scully?" he asked at last. She shook her head, crossing her arms as much in a gesture of defiance as to help warm herself against the breeze that wafted through the trees. "Not until you tell me what's really going on here," she fixed him with a distinctly unamused stare. "What do you mean, Scully? I told you when I called, didn't I? There have been dozens of reported sightings of a large black cougar in the area, where they have been officially extinct for over a hundred years," he tried again. He failed. "Mulder, we get reports of this kind of thing all the time. Kangaroos outside of Little Rock. Polar bears in rural Michigan. Last year, there was even the rhinoceros in downtown Philadelphia. You didn't call me up in the middle of your vacation and drag me out on the first available plane to investigate any of those sightings. What's so special about this case?" Mulder walked back to her, slapping a mosquito on his neck. He made a slight face at the bloody smear it left on his palm before wiping it off on his long black coat. "Because Styx is a very special case. See, it's not just famous for the Styx Cat. There are other anomalies associated with this area, dating back hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. In fact, just -," he stopped mid-sentence, suddenly alert. She waited, and was about to speak when she heard a rustle in the woods. She caught his eye, and he nodded. Drawing his gun, he searched the forest gloom with his flashlight, slowly moving to the side of the trail. She did likewise, trailing behind him. Another rustle; something large. Closer. Suddenly, Mulder's light snapped toward a patch of bushes that was quivering to stillness. A smear of black motion retreated from the harsh beam. Without a word, he plunged off after the shape. "Mulder!" she hissed, knowing as she did so that he would not or could not hear her as he bounded off. "Damn it," she breathed to herself, not sure who she was angrier at - him for running off as usual, or herself for even being here. She looked back at the trail once more, then, with a silent prayer and hissed sigh of frustration, followed her partner into the woods. The ground was a shadowy blur, her flashlight's beam seeming pitiful indeed. As she dodged trees, sidestepped roots and tried to find the most even parts of an uneven track, Scully suddenly realized that she no longer saw any sign of Mulder. She stopped, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. She looked back, to the sides, straight ahead. To one side was a shallow gully, with a muddy trickle of a stream at the bottom. She listened. The night was still. Silent. "Mulder?" she called quietly. After a few moments, she tried again, louder. "Mulder!" /He ditched me. Left me behind. I can't believe he left me again./ She looked around, more out of habit than any hope of seeing anything useful, finding the situation all too familiar. /Okay, it's not that I can't believe it. I don't want to,/ she amended her earlier thoughts. Six years, she had stuck by his side, through circumstances which no sane human would possibly believe. Six years, she had spent proving her worth - to the FBI, to the X-files, to Mulder. He said he trusted her. He said he believed in her. Yet, at any given moment, those six years, that trust and belief, were tossed right out the window whenever he saw fit. Scully found herself wishing she had taken the keys when she had the chance. Even in her frustration, though, she could not make herself believe that she honestly would have left him in the woods alone. Those six years had meant something to her. /Well, aren't we feeling morally superior at the moment?/ Scully refused to acknowledge that with a response. Instead, she turned her mind back to the situation at hand. "Mulder!" No response. /Okay, Scully, think. You were right behind him./ She looked around again, slowly walking forward along the narrowing deer track. The hill had risen until she couldn't see above it anymore. After a moment of indecision, she grabbed hold of a leaning tree and began to climb to the top. A rock rolled unexpectedly as she placed her weight on it, and a flash of pain shot through her ankle. She bit her lip, continued up the last few feet to the top. A flicker of motion drew her eyes to one side. Focusing through the gloom, she saw nothing. "Mulder!" she called once more. A branch snapped. Behind her. Scully whirled around, aiming her gun reflexively. Her ankle flared in protest, and she instinctively shifted her weight to her good ankle. Her balance was thrown. Scully felt herself overbalancing, the bottom of the shallow ravine seeming far off indeed. Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm. She gasped as she was pulled back to firmer footing. "Careful, Scully," Mulder said, as though he hadn't just vanished into thin air. Scully regained her balance and carefully removed herself from his grasp. Her head still spun for a moment as she looked at her partner. "Well?" she asked. He shook his head. "Lost it," he answered. Mulder looked around the forest briefly, then looked to the darkening sky, visible only as dull gray patches through the branches. "Looks like it's about to rain again. Let's get back to the car." He started walking back to the main trail. Scully followed without hesitation. Vista Motel Evening, Day 1 The Vista Motel might not be the most elegant place she had stayed in, but at least it had a working shower. And a clean bed. She had just finished drying off from the former and was settling down on the latter when the knock came at her door. She was not surprised. Not entirely thrilled, but not surprised. She rose from the bed to open the door. "I was wondering when you were going to come," Scully allowed her weariness to tinge her voice, not even looking at him as he entered her room. She dimly noticed that he was carrying some reference material; print-outs, photocopies, and a file folder. What she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a day. Jet lag, plus the two-hour drive in a cramped rental car out from the airport to this town that fit the image of "back-woods hick town" in almost every possible way, were catching up to her very fast. At least her ankle had stopped throbbing. Mostly. He sat down on the bed, filled with the nervous energy she had seen so often in the past. She guessed he could go on all night about this latest paranormal investigation. Why, Dana silently berated herself as she settled down, waiting as he reorganized his scattered papers, oh, why, had she picked up the phone this morning? Hadn't she learned her lesson before, many times over? "What, no slide projector?" she asked, looking over the assortment of material he had brought from his room. "Still in my suitcase," he came back without missing a beat. Oblivious to her tired eyes and slumped shoulders, Mulder continued. "You said you wanted to know what was so special about this place, of all the locations reporting phantom animals. On the surface, the story of the Styx Cat is just like all the other reports of impossible animal sightings. Several eyewitnesses, a few blurry photos, but nothing concrete to prove that such a creature actually was there. Nothing we haven't heard of a hundred times, as you pointed out. But what makes this particular case so unique is that there are reports of more than just big cats appearing and disappearing in these woods." "More?" Scully asked reflexively. "Like what?" "First off, the town of Styx did not earn its name by accident. According to the town history, long ago, when the first white settlers came, the Indians had stories about the forest around here. They claimed that it was a place of changes and transitions, where ghosts could walk and shadows took form. They avoided it whenever possible, which is why the settlers were able to move in so easily. Soon, though, they realized that there was more to the stories than just superstition. Men who went hunting in the woods never returned. Some who did came back...different, changed. Sometimes, the dead would walk out of the woods, alive and whole again. This town was named Styx because, like the Indians, they came to believe that this place was near a passageway to the land of the dead." "Mulder, that sounds like a ghost story to me. At best, it is a legend based on exaggeration or misidentification," she sighed wearily. As usual, he was oblivious to her signs of fatigue...probably deliberately, she suspected. Running a hand through her damp, red hair, Scully forced herself to wait patiently, knowing that he would not leave until he was finished. Mulder had that look in his eye that she was all too familiar with; somewhere between determination in his cause and pleading for her, for anyone, to believe him. "In that case, there has been an awful lot of exaggeration and misidentification in this area. I found records of no fewer than twelve such cases, with rumors of many more. All tied into the woods. All confirmed by numerous witnesses." He shook the relevant files - she assumed, as she made no move to take them - for effect. Scully closed her eyes again. "Forgive me if I sound obtuse, but what does this have to do with the Styx Cat?" Sometimes he needed a little prodding to get to the point, or he could go on all night. Not that a prod necessarily negated that possibility, she reminded herself ruefully. "I think that all of these-" he waved his arm to include the various piles of evidence he had spread across the bed "-the reports of a phantom cat, the stories of people being changed, even the returning dead, can all be explained by the same phenomenon." Scully quirked an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. Just what theory was he going to try to get her to swallow tonight? "And what would that be?" she asked. Mulder reached for another stack of papers. He sure had done his research. She wondered if the man understood the concept of vacation at all, or if he just considered it another form of assignment. "Numerous scientists and investigators have postulated the existence of multiple realities coexisting with our own. At its most basic concept, the theory of all possibilities being played out on branching timelines is saying the same thing; there are many realities. Of course, nobody knows what these other dimensions would be like, but some have speculated that those nearest us would be almost identical to our own. There would be subtle differences, of course, but if one were to step from one of these nearby branch-dimensions to our own, there would be very little overt to signal that person that they were in the wrong world. I think that Styx, or more accurately the forest where these sightings take place, is located at some sort of trans-dimensional gateway, a thinning of the barriers between realities." "Mulder," she said, in a tone between incredulous and pleading. She needed no more words. Years together had taught him what that tone, that look meant. And, as usual for all those years, Mulder pressed on with his theory despite that look. "Think about it, Scully. It explains all of the unusual claims of the area. The large cats people keep reporting are cougars from a world where they were never exterminated in this part of the country. The people, too...like the cats, they accidentally wandered across from their own worlds. The reports of men and women being changed by the woods could be instances where the same person from both dimensions crossed paths with themselves. It's still the same person, they've just been transposed onto the wrong world." Scully sighed, forcing her eyes to stay open. She wanted to be asleep. She didn't have the energy required to turn the light of science and reason on all the flaws in his wild ideas. "Assuming your theory were correct - that's assuming we are to believe that there are other realities, and there were some way to cross between them - it is stretching the limits of logic to assume that these worlds mimic our own so closely that the same person would be in the same place at the same time for such a transfer to occur. The odds against it are…" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "Completely unknown," Mulder cut in, not to be deterred. "We know nothing about the dynamics of multiple realities, so how can one come up with any reliable statistics for such an occurrence? For all we know, it's fairly common." It was inhuman, she decided, to have that much energy after a day of driving and hiking through the woods. /But he wasn't the one who was hauled out of bed at five this morning by the telephone,/ the voice reminded her. She ignored it for the sake of her own annoyance. "But, Mulder, there is at least one obvious flaw in your logic. Since not everyone who goes through the forest gets transposed, as you put it, it must be a fairly random occurrence to stumble through one of your dimensional holes. So why is it that the Styx Cats never seem to be around long enough to leave any evidence? If these transferrences are common, surely with all the local interest and the large population of hunters one of these animals would've been caught by now, or at the very least have left some physical evidence behind. If, however, the odds of crossing over are remote for one time, they are even bigger for a return trip." As she half expected, he reached for another bunch of papers. "Maybe, in some rare occasions, they do. There's a lot of forest out there, so it's very possible that some evidence has been overlooked or misidentified over the years. But many stories indicate that those who have crossed over know they are out of place. They feel pulled, drawn back to the woods. Perhaps there's some transdimensional balance that's altered with each crossing, and the worlds seek to correct themselves." "Perhaps?" "Records are sketchy on what happens to people after their initial displacement," he sounded a little shy to admit this lack of knowledge. "Sketchy?" "I mean, there's almost nothing written about what happens to them in the long run, though there is plenty of speculation, local folklore and anecdotal tales on the matter. A few stories say that the newcomers go on to live normal lives, but most seem to end with the person returning to the forest, and either returning 'cured' or not at all. Some stories also state that those who stay, who ignore the pull, die in a short time of unknown causes. A few stories from the local Indians indicate that their spirits were sickened by the light of a foreign sun." "Mulder, it's late, I'm tired, and I honestly don't see where this explains what was so urgent," Scully finally cut to the chase. He looked at her, as though seeing her fatigue for the first time - which he probably was - then began to gather his extensive research quickly. "The reason I called you down here on such short notice was that it's just happened again," he said, pulling a small sheaf from the greater bundle and offering it to her. She took it wearily, flicking a glance at the photos of a fairly generic-looking man. "That is Mr. Joel Price, lifelong Styx resident and mechanic at the local garage. Three months ago, he was out hunting with his friends when he tripped and fell into the river. Despite their best efforts, he was swept away by the rapids and they lost sight of him. Two days later, search teams found his body." "So...I take it Mr. Price has turned up again," Scully ventured. Mulder was at the door. "Yes and no," he replied, opening the door and letting in a damp, cool breeze. She shuddered slightly, but he seemed oblivious to the chill. "See, last night, his former best friend, one of the men who saw him drown, shot what he took to be an intruder attempting to enter his house. When he turned on the porch lights, he saw that it was Joel Price." "Returned from the dead?" she asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "And returned to the dead," Mulder replied, moving out into the night. "He died of the wound a few hours later. Tomorrow, Scully. Nine AM. The medical examiner's expecting you." With that, he left, the door still slightly ajar. "Good night," she said to the door as she closed and latched it. Outside, the first drops of rain fell against the window. Styx Police Station Morning, Day 2 "Agent Dana Scully, I presume," the balding man in the sheriff's uniform said as she entered the building. Mulder had dropped her off on his way back to to city hall, where he was doing more research to support his transdimensional rift theory...at least, that's what she assumed he was doing. As usual, he had been less than specific when describing his plans for the day. The Styx police station looked like half a hundred other small town police stations she had seen. Desks, tile floors, fluorescent lights, the wall of Wanted posters and the hard benches… with minor rearranging, it could be made to mimic precisely numerous other sheriff's offices. Even the man who was coming out from behind a cluttered desk, an aging gentleman going a little to fat around the waist, seemed nothing more or less than an average sheriff. "Yes...I understand my partner-" Scully started, reaching for her identification. "-told us to expect you. Yes he did," the man cut her off, barely glancing at her badge. He started herding her to a nearby hallway. "He's - I mean, the body's in the morgue. Darnedest thing I've ever seen. If I hadn't pulled Joel out of the water myself, I'd swear…" He trailed off, gray eyes darting nervously, then belatedly offered his hand. "Oh, sorry - I'm Sheriff Frank Whitehorne. Dave Steele, the medical examiner, called a while ago and said he'd be a little late, to show you to Jo- to the body." He shook her hand with an energy based in nervousness. "Sorry - it's just so strange. I mean, Styx is such a normal, laid-back town. To have something like this happen…" Frank stopped again, shaking his head. They had paused outside the door to the morgue...if the label on the frosted glass door could be trusted. The faint smell of formaldehyde and the chemicals of death tainted the air. "Normal? I take that to mean that you don't believe in the Styx Cat," Scully asked with a slight smile. Whitehorne looked at her, face unreadable, then offered a slightly forced smirk when he saw her lack of seriousness. "So, I see your partner's filled you in on the local stories," he said. There was a slight hesitancy to his voice under his overlying skeptical air. He looked back down the hall as he continued. "Now, Ms. Scully, I've lived in Styx all my life. I've heard the stories, same as everyone else. As a kid, I went hiking hundreds of times looking for the Styx Cat, just like everyone else. Now, far be it from me to call those who have claimed to have seen it liars, but I can tell you right now that if there is such a thing, not only have I never seen it, I have never heard any reports that I would consider reliable enough to support its existence." Sheriff Whitehorne turned back to the door, opening it and herding her inside, still fidgeting nervously. Inside the darkened office, beyond the glass wall, Scully saw the body of a lanky, pale-skinned man on the slab. The face in profile matched the face on the photos she had studied last night. Reflexively, her mind reviewed the information. Joel Marcus Price, age 36. Single. Lifelong resident of the community of Styx. Chief mechanic at the local garage for nine years. Often described as friendly and helpful, with a flair for practical jokes that sometimes got him into trouble. Generally, considered fun and harmless. No criminal record, no known enemies or debtors. Three months ago, Joel Price and two friends, Hector Kline and Ken Parker had been out on a hunting trip. Part of the trail had given way, and Joel had fallen into Frost Creek, a swift-moving tributary of Styx River. Despite their best efforts, Ken and Hector were unable to reach Joel, and soon lost sight of him. His body was recovered shortly thereafter by police divers. No sign of foul play was discovered. He was buried in the local cemetery. The rest of the tale was almost exactly as Mulder had described. Hector had awakened to hear noises at the door. He had grabbed his gun - licensed, her mind distantly noted - and gone to investigate. When the man failed to respond to a shout of warning, he fired through the glass, catching the man in the upper torso. The stranger had died on the way to the county hospital. Mr. Kline was currently in custody pending investigation, though it didn't look like anybody could figure out what the charge was. The "almost" was that Hector had not been at home when he killed the man who resembled Joel Price. He had been at the home of one Mary Lyon, formerly the girlfriend of the deceased. None of this, however, explained the nameless man on the metal table. No identification had been found on him. His fingerprints hadn't come back yet. Who was he? Why was he trying to get into Mary's home in the dead of night - using a key that didn't work? None of this, she knew, would be answered by running the questions through her mind. More information was needed. Grimly, she prepared for the autopsy, though she had no idea what she could find that would shed more light on the situation. She and Dr. Steele were just finishing when Mulder arrived. The curious excitement in his eyes dimmed noticeably at the sight - and smell - of the dead body. He hovered at the edge of the room, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. With a look at the medical examiner, who nodded his permission, Dana Scully stepped to the trash can, stripping her gloves and scrubs. "Find anything?" he asked as she removed her hair net and picked up her jacket. "Nothing unexpected," she replied unenthusiastically. "The unidentified man died of complications from a gunshot wound to the upper right torso. We sent blood and tissue samples to the lab for processing, but we won't get the results for at least a day. I honestly don't know what else you expected me to find in a preliminary examination." "Unidentified? That is Joel Price," Mulder insisted. She sighed. "Dental records appear to be a match for the deceased Mr. Price," Scully emphasized the "deceased" to her partner with a look,"but we can't be certain. A fire in the dentist's office three months ago burned all but the oldest records. But, that dubious evidence aside, this man is not him. For one thing, he has a tattoo of a snarling cat on his right bicep. The real Joel Price had a similar tattoo, only on his left shoulderblade. Also, he has an old scar on his left thumb. Mr. Price had a scar there, too, only it was half an inch smaller." "Which means he's from an alternate reality, varying in subtle ways from our own," he continued. "A shifted tattoo, a slight variation in the wound that caused the scar on his thumb...think about it, Scully. What are the odds of someone with matching dental records, blood type and physical features showing up in this small population? It's the only explanation that makes sense, unless you think he's a clone." "Mulder, I hate to say it, but at this point him being a clone of Mr. Price is a more plausible explanation," she sighed, then shrugged. "You may find this hard to believe, but coincidences do happen." She looked up at her partner, then smiled slightly, trying to soften the blow of logic on his current pet theory. "They say everybody has a double in the world, Mulder. Who knows? Maybe this is just Mr. Price's." "That's weak, even for you," Mulder said as they walked out of the sheriff's office. Once more the rain was misting down, turning his dark gray coat even darker. "Well, I'm sorry I don't have anything more for you," she came back indignantly. "You call me up at five in the morning and have me catch the first available flight, then drive out here to the middle of nowhere, on 'urgent business,' only to trot out some tale of phantom lions and the returning dead." They had reached Mulder's car in the parking lot. "I seriously don't know what you expected me to find, nor do I know why you felt compelled to bring me into this matter." "So, you're saying that it's mere coincidence that an exact double-" "Nearly exact." "- nearly exact double of a man who has recently died shows up in a small town where he used to live, and was shot trying to get into the home of that man's girlfriend in the middle of the night?" They were sitting in the car now, rain pattering on the roof and rolling down the windows. "Mulder, I don't know what to think," Scully admitted. "I just don't see how you intend to prove your theory of alternate worlds. I mean, we've already been out in the woods and neither of us saw anything unusual." "I saw something," Mulder insisted. "It was too dark to be sure what it was, but I know I saw something out there. It had to be the Styx Cat. Nothing else around here looks that much like a cougar." "Whatever you saw, it still isn't proof. Even if you went back, now that the weather's turned bad -" "Turned bad?" He asked, looking at her. Scully paused, returning his gaze quizzically. He was a trained investigator, too. Why should she have to explain the concept to him? "Yes...now that the rain's getting worse, the scent's been washed away, and any tracks-" He shook his head, cutting her off. "It's been like this for four days," Mulder continued, looking at her. She blinked, thinking back on the drive out...what she could recall of the monotonous trip through nowhere. She didn't remember much, though she did remember fighting with the faulty sun visors in her rental car more than once. Her partner was continuing. "...said you'd never driven through a worse thunderstorm, that you nearly went off the road a few times…" Thunderstorm? "Yes, the thunderstorm." It was then that she realized that she had spoken aloud. He peered at her, concerned. "Are you all right?" He reached out to feel her forehead, and she carefully deflected his hand. "I'm just a little tired," she insisted, rubbing at her forehead as she felt the faint throb of an impending headache. He looked at her again, then turned his attention to the ignition. Her eyes followed his hand, lingering on his gray coat. Another memory...Mulder, in the woods, wiping the remains of a mosquito off on his black coat.../black/ coat… Unaccountably, she felt a chill wash through her. "Um...where are we going?" she asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Back to the hotel to pack. Didn't you hear me? I said my vacation time's over tomorrow, and if you're out of the office too, I can't get authorization to stay. Besides, as you so astutely pointed out, with the rain the only chance of evidence is in the body - which you've just examined - so there's no reason for me to stay. I'll call and arrange for the autopsy results forwarded to our office," he said. "You look a little pale. Are you sure you're all right?" "I'm fine," she said automatically, as she had said countless times in their partnership. As usual, it was a lie. As usual, if Mulder suspected she wasn't being honest, he chose not to press the matter. Scully's Apartment Day 3 Scully sat awkwardly in her living room, self-consciously clutching a cup of tea, eyes constantly flickering across the furnishings, and wondered if she was losing her mind. She felt like a stranger in her own home. It was nothing overt. The sofa, the chairs, the carpet were the same...almost. But sitting here, in near-darkness, she felt like she had somehow entered the wrong apartment. Her mind kept telling her to keep an ear open for the real owner at the door, though the keys she had yet to put away confirmed that she was indeed at her proper home. When Mulder had dropped her off (hadn't she driven her car to the airport?), she had begun to relax. Perhaps it was stress. She hadn't been sleeping too well lately. The mind was a tricky thing, memory treacherous and malleable. Surely, if nothing else, she had learned that in the past six years. So perhaps Mulder had been wearing a gray coat, and perhaps she had driven out through a hailstorm and forgotten about it. To be perfectly honest, six years of on-the-fly airport runs and rental cars tended to run together in her mind. Sometimes she drove there, sometimes she took a taxi or got a ride from Mulder. Yes, her logical mind had approved of this answer. Nothing strange here, just too much work, not enough sleep. The story of her life for longer than she cared to recall. Yet, just when she had begun to relax, just when she heard Mulder's car pull out of the parking lot, it had started. The vague sense of unease, like she was being watched. When she had gone to the kitchen to brew up some tea, she had had to open three cabinets to locate the bags. Again, her scientific mind, the part that scoffed at phantom lions and alternate timelines, the part on which she had relied for so long to keep her sanity during her work on the X-files with the ever-ready-to-believe Agent Mulder, told her that this, too, could be explained. It was as she was taking her warm mug of tea out to the living room, too unsettled and weary to even contemplate the bags that still waited by her door, that her eyes chanced upon her collection of family photographs. And it was here that her mind had stopped cold. Even now, hunched over her tea, her eyes snuck a glance at the pictures in their mismatched frames, accumulated, like the images inside them, over many years and from many places. They were by the door to the kitchen. A typical, almost cliché wall (spilling over onto the small knick-knack table beneath) full of pictures of family and friends, most in contrived, happy poses in nearly-forgotten places. Usually, she barely did more than glance at them as she went about her day-to-day routine, so familiar was she with their contents. Now, they made her blood run cold, even from across the room, as she recalled what they held in their idyllic, unremarkable frames. The photos of her family, each adorned with a fine layer of dust that bespoke too many hours at work and not enough idle time at home, were not as she remembered. Yes, she remembered the vacation to Virginia with her family some years ago, but who was that dark-skinned man with Melissa, the one with his arm draped around her shoulder? The picture of her brother Bill, dressed in full uniform - the medals on his chest were unfamiliar. But the one that had captured her attention was currently resting face-down on the coffee table, where she had taken it to view. Nerving herself, she set down her mug and lifted it again. In her career as an FBI agent, she had seen many images that would turn most people, even hardened investigators, into horrified wrecks. She had witnessed, on film and on the autopsy table, the stuff of nightmares, the work of serial killers, natural pathogens or other, less easily explained processes of man or nature. Over time, she, like all in her profession, had developed a calm detachment that allowed her to view such atrocities with a cold, analytical eye. But this, this simple picture, unnerved her in a way she had never experienced. It was of a happy time. It was taken in front of a lake, with idyllic blue waters sparkling under a clear sky, framed by greenery. Scully herself stood, smiling at the camera, a genuine expression of happiness that was very rare these days. Behind her, arms wrapped casually around her waist, smiling lips so close to her earlobe that it seemed he would nibble on it at any second (if he had not been before the shutter closed,) more tanned and happy than she had ever seen him, was Fox Mulder. She would be lying to herself if she denied that there was a certain distant appeal to the notion of herself and her partner in a romantic relationship. More than once, especially as their work had contrived to isolate her from such normal aspects of life as friends and dating, her mind had idly toyed with the idea of advancing their working partnership in that direction. Each time, a variety of factors, some real, some hypothetical, and some admittedly self-concocted, kept such speculations from finding fruition. Knowing basic human nature, and knowing Mulder specifically, she was fairly certain he, too, had mulled the idea over on some lonely nights. Every so often, beneath his normal banter and innuendo, she thought she caught the hint of some deeper, stronger emotions. But neither had taken that first step. Sure, there was the one time in that hospital room, when, obviously as a result of stress, drugs, and the effects of having been shipwrecked in the Atlantic Ocean while searching for a ghost ship, Mulder had professed his love, but that hardly counted. As for serious efforts, the closest they had come… Scully turned her thoughts from the aborted kiss in the hallway outside Mulder's apartment, and its traumatic aftermath. But this picture...could she honestly be that far gone, to have completely forgotten it, the time that it was taken? She looked it over, hoping to see some hint of a joke in his eyes or hers, some indication that they were not what they appeared to be when they had snapped this photo. Her eyes drifted once more to the faint marks above her shirt collar - his, too, though it was hard to tell for certain, the relaxed, familiar way she and Mulder were posed, the way his hands were wrapped possessively around her. She sipped at her tea, though it had long grown cold. Constant re-examination and denial could not change the facts. This was a picture of two lovers. /And I don't even remember our first kiss,/ she thought with a mixture of fear, horror, and a tinge of regret. Mulder had abandoned her again. Scully swung her flashlight about, its glaring, white beam showing nothing but trees, undergrowth and uneven forest floor in all directions. She was lost. Away from home. She didn't belong here. It was almost pitch-black in the woods, with only a few faint stars visible through the trees overhead. No sign of a trail. No sign of her partner. No sign of anything. "Mulder!" she cried out, her voice unnaturally loud in the silent forest. As the echoes died, perfect silence returned, save her own pounding heart. She strained her ears, but heard no answering cry. No footsteps. No noise at all. Wait - none at all? What about the night birds? The crickets? The mosquitoes? Some distant memory tingled in her mind; such dead silence almost certainly indicated the presence of a predator. Her blood chilled as she reached for her gun, but didn't find it. Had Mulder taken her gun, too? She was drawing her breath to call again when she heard something. A rustle in the bushes, as loud as a thunderclap in the stiflingly quiet woods. Swinging her flashlight around, she caught sight of...It moved. Too fast. Bright points hovering in the night. No, not hovering - eyes. They were eyes. On something huge. Black. So dark that her flashlight could not find it, though the eyes were lit up in her beam like halogen headlights. It was big. Fast. Bounding forward. Toward her. Suddenly, she was running. The forest flew by on all sides. The sound of her own passage nearly deafened her to the heavy, thudding feet of the thing behind her. /Mulder,/ she cried in her mind, eyes still searching the forest for some sign of her partner. She was not where she should be, she knew that in her bones. Mulder had ditched her, and left her lost while he went home. /Home,/ her mind repeated longingly. Then she was falling, the breath knocked out of her before she hit the ground. Something had struck her back. Another blow rolled her over, and she was staring straight up. Straight at it. Eyes still glowing, though her flashlight had tumbled away when she fell. Her heart was pounding, her back stinging. Its breath was hot on her face. Sweat coated her body as she shook uncontrollably. /He abandoned me! He abandoned me, and left me to die! Mulder, where are you? / /Mulder!/ The great cat opened its jaws, fangs glistening unnaturally long, and it snarled. She struggled to move, but it seemed that all the strength had drained out of her body. Time seemed to slow down as it drew back, haunches gathering, in a long-bodied spring toward her vulnerable throat. /Mulder, where are you? It's going to kill me! I can't move, you have my gun, I'm lost, I'm alone, I'm going to die here where are you please help Mulder please come back where are you Mulder Mulder Mul-/ "-der!" Scully jerked awake. She was in her own bed. At home. Styx was long behind her. She lay still, waiting for her pulse to slow, her skin to cool. Her body under the covers was soaked in sweat. Was the furnace malfunctioning? Scully threw the blankets away, feeling some relief. Her face was still burning. With sleep-induced clumsiness, she rose and stumbled to the bathroom. Even after she soaked a washcloth in cold water and mopped the sweat from her head and neck, it took her a long time to return to sleep. FBI Headquarters Washington, D.C. Late Morning, Day 4 Dana slowly picked her way down the stairs, nerves as much as lingering light-headedness making her steps less sure than usual. /Please, let him be out... let him be out,/ she pleaded with each step, though she was not entirely sure why. She had no reason to fear him or his presence. Except she didn't want to have to answer any more awkward questions today. She had already had her fair share of them since their return from Styx. She neared the door, her eyes glancing at the nameplate. /Please, let him be out.../ Scully turned the knob. "So, finally decided to show up?" /Damn./ "Good morning, Mulder," she forced a smile, unable to look him in the eye as she walked to her chair...and hesitated. It sat before a desk. Not a new desk, either - the neat stacks of papers, the array of pencils and pens - much like her desk at home. Her eyes drifted to the plaque - Special Agent Dana Scully. Her stomach turned again, her legs suddenly unsteady. She became aware of Mulder's eyes on her, aware of the fact that she had stopped dead in the middle of their office, and forced herself to set her case and coat down on the desk - her desk - as she sank into the chair. Her head took a moment to follow, strangely hollow-feeling. "You okay?" Concern in his voice. Probably in his eyes, too, but she felt an irrational fear of looking up. As if, looking, she would see the same familiarity and affection as she had seen in the photograph last night - the photograph of a place she couldn't recall at a time she had no memory of. /And now you're sitting at a desk you never had, wondering if these memories are real./ "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, as she had said countless times before. Surely, he knew the code of their relationship after six years. Surely, he wouldn't choose to - "You don’t seem fine," her partner said. Of all the times for him to break code and actually challenge her assertion...She heard him shift to lean forward at his desk - facing hers. "Besides, if you were fine, why were you at the doctor's this morning?" At this, she almost looked up, but instead grabbed a random paper and started scanning it, eyes barely focusing on the words. "How did you know about that?" Scully asked, carefully keeping her voice neutral. "I have my sources," he replied vaguely, though she sensed he was joking. She hoped he was joking. She wasn't sure anymore. When he next spoke, the humor was gone, the worry back full force. "Something wrong? You still look a little pale…" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reaching across the desk. Scully leaned away from him, though with the two desks between them all he could have reached was her hand. He hesitated, hand hovering for a moment, then carefully withdrew it. She blinked, forcing herself to look up and hold his gaze. No special spark, no strangeness...it was just Mulder. Just Mulder. "Nothing...just a touch of the flu, I think," she answered at last. "All that running around in the woods in the rain…" she trailed off. He wasn't convinced. She knew that he knew that she saw this. Still, he eased back, leaning back in his chair. "If you need to talk about it…" he started, sounding unaccountably awkward, eyes at once seeking hers out and avoiding her. Why should he be the one to be uncomfortable, here? She was the one losing her mind. "Why should I need to talk about it? I told you, it's just the flu," Scully returned evenly. He looked wounded by her reply. "You know you can still trust me," Mulder's voice was barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the air conditioning. His expression was at once cautious and pleading, as though he had longed to say those words before. Scully blinked, returning her eyes to the papers before her, feeling oddly disoriented. It was as though she had missed part of the conversation. She wasn't used to feeling like this with her partner. They had, despite the odds and despite their differences, established a communication level that often transcended spoken words. Yet, now, it was as though she were talking to a stranger. But it was still Mulder...A memory of the photograph, her and him on a weekend getaway to an anonymous lake, flashed through her mind. Not just the conversation she was missing… /The doctor found nothing wrong with me. Just a slight temperature,/ Scully reassured herself, trying to make herself read the report in front of her. Mulder's eyes lingered on her for a while, then he, too, began sorting through the disorganized heaps on his desk. He seemed to be paying as little attention to his work as she was. Upset, for some reason. Probably her reaction to him. But what had she said that was wrong? What had she done? /"You can still trust me…"/ No, he didn't need to know. The silence stretched on, both doing more paper-rustling and pencil-sharpening than was necessary. Scully was just about to leave on the pretense of running copies when her cell phone rang. "Scully," she said automatically, still standing by her desk. "Dana." Her mother's voice. "I'm sorry to bother you at work -" "Oh, no trouble at all, Mother," she answered. Mulder, who had been watching her curiously, returned to his work when she mentioned Margaret Scully. "I was just wondering...you know, your father's birthday's coming up, and I thought perhaps, this year-" Her mother stopped speaking. Scully swallowed. Even though it had been years since her father died, she still felt the dull ache of his loss. What was her mother planning? A graveside visit, with the family? Not that there was a grave as such, since his ashes were now in the Atlantic Ocean. Usually, when her mother felt like visiting her late husband, she went to the seashore where they had stood and watched the sea he loved reclaim his cremated remains. Maggie Scully would stare out at the waves as they rolled in for hours at a time, lips moving in silent prayer or conversation. Despite the love she had of the ocean, and the love she had of her father, Dana had always felt unaccountably discomforted by those visits. She wasn't sure she was up for another one, especially with the whole family. Especially not now. She was just formulating an appropriate excuse when her mother started speaking, in reply to some barely-heard voice on her end of the line. A man's voice. "...no, just a friend, dear...yes, in a minute…" Her mother's voice came in a quiet tone; she could imagine her leaning behind a door frame to avoid being heard, as she had seen her do countless times when she was a child. "I'll have to call back later. He just came home...What? I'll be right there, Bill! Bye, bye!" Scully barely heard her mother's words. She barely heard the click that signaled her mother hanging up. She barely registered pressing the button on her own phone and pushing the antenna down. The world seemed to spin around her, and she sat abruptly, staring at nothing. Mulder rushed to her side, but she didn't even notice. Her mother's words kept replaying in her head. /"I'll be right there, Bill!...He just came home… I'll be right there, Bill!"/ The incoherent voice at the other end took on the familiar cadence and quality of her father's tones. No. A mistake. It had to be. But it wasn't. "Scully? What is it?" Mulder was asking, hovering over her. He reached behind himself to pull the extra chair over, sitting on the edge without once taking his eyes off her. "My...my father…" She started, looking at her cell phone as though it were an X-file itself. Maybe it was. "What? Is he in the hospital again?" Mulder asked, sympathy and anxiety in his voice. Scully's eyes widened in shock. Of all the times for his damnable sense of humor... not even Mulder could think that was funny. She turned slowly to face her partner, but saw no hint of amusement in his face, no repressed grin struggling to escape, nothing but his obvious concern for her well-being. "Mulder, he's...he's dead," she said slowly. Mulder blinked. "I'm...I'm sorry," he replied quietly, worry vying with uncertainty in his voice as he continued. "Um...do you need me to cover for you? You know...if you need to see your family, make arrangements…" His voice faded as he noted the increased pain his words were inflicting. Tears started welling in her eyes. He wasn't lying. He wasn't kidding. He was completely baffled at how his offer had worsened the situation. In short, he had no idea that William Scully, Sr. had been dead for years. Or should have been. /I must be losing my mind,/ Dana decided at last, but was unable to hold herself to that seemingly obvious diagnosis. But why was that? She was a doctor, after all. When one's memories did not match with those of others, and the evidence at hand, it was obviously the individual with the memories who was at fault. So, it was true. She was insane. But, no - the memories were too clear for that, weren't they? Standing on the beach in the rain, watching his ashes being scattered on the waves… later, visits to the shore that served as his grave...the days spent with her mother, when neither one of them could speak for hours on end, simply needing the other's presence...Scully shook her head, feeling a sob in her throat - for her father, for her mother, for herself, she wasn't sure. /I'm mad. No, the world's mad. It's me, isn't it?/ She couldn't hold back the tears any longer. It was too much. Mulder hesitated, then carefully reached forward, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into his embrace as she cried, tears dampening his shirt. He whispered soothing words and held her as she sobbed. "Mulder, he…" Her voice broke. Who was crazy? Herself, or the rest of the world? Just by contemplating that question, wasn't it obvious that she was insane? The tears continued to flow, as fear overwhelmed her again. "It's okay...it's okay…," Mulder misunderstood her silence, rocking her slightly as he tried to comfort her. Scully drew a ragged breath, knowing she had to try again. Mulder would listen. He had to. He was the one thing she was reasonably sure of in her life. He would tell her if she was insane. After all, he was the one trained in psychology. So surely he would know a crazy person from a mentally stable one. Slowly, she pulled back. He resisted, then carefully - reluctantly - let her go. He reached onto her desk and grabbed a tissue from the box by the cup full of pens. "My father…" She paused, as he started drying her face, his other hand resting lightly yet solidly on her shoulder. His own eyes had misted, tearing slightly, though not in grief for Bill Mulder, Sr. Not entirely. It was seeing her in pain that had caused him to almost cry. As always, her pain was his pain. "Shh...it's okay, Scully…," he continued whispering, eyes searching her face as if for some clue to stop her obvious anguish. But it wasn't the pain he thought it was that hurt her. He had to listen, he had to know… A finger brushed the hair back from her face, lingering lightly on her skin, trailing down her cheek to her jaw. She trembled. "Mulder, listen to me," she said, mastering her own voice again as he brushed another lock of red hair away from her eyes. "I need to tell you something. My father…" She blinked, slowly, shivering at his touch, the look in his eyes, the memory of the phone call...crazy. All of it. Yet she had to tell him. Had to. /Because he won't lie to me. He'll tell me if I'm still sane./ She opened her eyes again, drawing a breath to speak...to find him millimeters from her face, eyes soft and deep as they gazed into hers. "Mulder-" she managed, then his lips were brushing hers gently. For a moment - just a moment - her mind was too shocked to do anything. Her body reacted on its own, returning the touch with the same softness as he offered. Then, as his hands crept around to the back of her head, the kiss slowly intensifying, she remembered herself. This was Fox Mulder she was kissing. Her partner. Her friend. This had to stop. Carefully, resolutely, she pulled back, placing a hand on his chest to push him away. This was wrong. All of this. At her resistance, Mulder pulled back, looking almost embarrassed. He searched her face, confused, then quickly removed his hands from her. He blinked two, three times, mouth opening and closing in silent apology. Finally, he found words. "Scully, I...I'm sorry, I know you said you needed some space, but I-" She stopped him with a look. Now was not the time for that...even if she had known what he was talking about. "Mulder, my father died five years ago," she rushed forward before he could interrupt her, with words or anything else. "I remember it very clearly. It was just before the Luther Lee Boggs case. He died of a massive heart attack while driving home from my apartment with my mother. We scattered his ashes at sea." Mulder was silent, staring at her. He had half-risen during his stammered apology, but now sank slowly down once more. Scully continued in a rush, knowing that if she stopped now she would never be able to speak of it again. "That's not all, Mulder. I don't remember driving through a rainstorm in Styx. I've never seen this suit I'm wearing. I never had a desk in the six years we've been together. And...and I don't remember us ever visiting any lake or being more than...good friends," Scully finished lamely. "I need you to tell me if I'm insane." She had closed her eyes as she said it, afraid to see his reaction to her words. She was crazy, she was sure his eyes would say. Dana Scully was losing her mind at last. Maybe it was bound to happen, after all they'd been through. Surely, her sanity had been tested just as much as her patience and intelligence. She remembered Mulder, lying on a hospital bed, in wrist restraints, begging her to tell him whether he was crazy or not. At the time, she had thought it a plea for her to, once more, take his side against the world. Now, she understood his desperation to hear the truth from someone she knew and could trust, knew that her own judgement and senses may be twisted and unreliable. She had to trust him, when she could not trust even herself. Silence filled the basement office. "Well?" Her voice lingered uncertainly between cautious prompting and nervous laughter. "Are you going to call in the men in the white coats?" She opened her eyes, to find Mulder still staring at her. He had leaned away somewhat, giving her more room, but his gaze was still locked on her face. "Say something, damn it, Mulder!" She demanded, though without much force. Crying had left her drained, the confession left her more so. "Am I crazy?" He watched her, thinking carefully, running a hand slowly through his hair. "That's why you were at the doctor's, wasn't it?" he said at last. She nodded, unable to speak. "I should've known it was something...you'd never go in for a simple flu." He still hadn't answered her question, though. Probably trying to find a way to break the news gently, or keep her pacified until he could summon reinforcements. "You still haven't answered me, Mulder," she prompted after a few more unbearably quiet moments. "I...I need to know. The truth." Her partner leaned forward, found that uncomfortable, leaned back, and at last pushed himself to his feet. She feared he was going to leave her, go summon security to watch her while he called the relevant shrinks and doctors, but instead he walked over and closed the door firmly. He started pacing slowly, eyes darting to and from her as though he was not sure where to look. "You know I don't think you're insane," he said at last as he walked slowly from one side of the office to the other. It wasn't a large space, made less so by the piles of boxes and other equipment stacked haphazardly about it, so his circuit didn't take him long. He paused, standing, looking down at her. "And you say it started in the forest?" His eyes held a glimmer of hope, even in the face of what must seem like madness. Must seem like? To her it was madness, even if she was sane. She rubbed at her forehead, feeling a dull ache behind her eyes. "Mulder, you aren't going to try to chalk this up to the Styx Cat, are you?" she asked with weary skepticism, though her tone lacked conviction. "How else do you explain this?" he voiced the thought that was in her head at that precise moment, then held up a hand to forestall an answer. "And don't say that you're crazy. You know I don't believe it. Even you don't believe it, or you would've checked yourself in to a mental hospital instead of seeing your normal doctor." He stopped, stepping forward to crouch before her, looking her in the eye again. "Scully, are you honestly telling me you don't remember...us?" He reached to take her hand, then hesitated, pulling back slightly. His face, though outwardly bearing only the curiosity and eagerness to prove his latest theory, held something deeper. Pain. Pleading. Hope? Scully, moved by an emotion she couldn't name to calm him, reached forward and took his hand. He moved his other hand to her shoulder, stopped and used it instead to cover her hand in his, all the while never looking away from her face. "Not the way I think you mean," she informed him gently. He blinked as though blinking back tears. She slowly proceeded. "What I remember...we are partners. Friends. We share a deep, some would say spiritual, bond. But we never…" She trailed off, unsure what prompted her to tell him this, except she felt he needed to know. As she spoke, her free hand moved to cover his. He looked down at their hands, a series of subtle emotions moving across his face though he tried to hide it. Slowly, he nodded. "There would be subtle differences," he said at last, pulling a hand free to rub at hers. A smile, strangely painful though it tried to be light, came to his face as his fingers touched her ring finger. "The other Scully...my Scully had a scar. Here." His finger traced the space between her hand and the first finger joint lightly. "A struggle with an escaped killer, two years ago. After you - she - collared him, he managed to push you through a glass window." He looked up to her eyes, finger still moving on the clean, unmarred skin of her finger and hand. "For a while, there was so much blood...I thought you'd lost it. The finger, I mean." His eyes returned to her hand, and he gently removed his, standing slowly. He continued, though he seemed to be speaking to himself. "I almost beat the guy to death after I got the handcuffs on him. You - she - my Scully was calm, as usual. She even laughed when I told her I thought she'd lost her finger. 'And lose this ring? It took me too long to get it, Mulder, to lose it now.' Should've known you'd be too feisty to let some two-bit criminal take that from you…" He stopped, suddenly awkward. He hadn't considered it unusual that she was not wearing a ring to begin with, Scully realized. His comments after the kiss came back to her. He had his back turned to her, but his head was lowered, shoulders and neck tense with pain. "I - I'm sorry," she said quietly. It was all she could think to say. For a moment, she almost wished she were insane, if only so Mulder wouldn't be in such pain. Was it possible? /As possible as me being in the wrong universe,/ her mind told her. He gestured vaguely, face still hidden, to the effect that she didn't need to apologize for something that wasn't her fault. Scully almost stood, to comfort him, but suddenly she realized the full implication of the problem that he himself was facing. This was not Mulder...her Mulder. Subtle differences, as he had said. This Mulder, and this Scully - the Scully he thought she was - were to each other what she and her Mulder had never been, and probably never would be. Some part of her mind wondered how it had happened, what subtle change had allowed that avenue to open up...and close down again, it seemed. She rubbed her ring finger, remembering his words, his touch. This partnership had been under the strain of not only shared personal feelings of love, but the awkwardness and uncertainty of that love's loss. She shifted in her chair, pushing herself to her feet. This may not be her Fox Mulder, but it was a Fox Mulder, and she hated seeing him in pain. As she slowly approached him where he stood, her mind flashed over the past two minutes. Suddenly she was willing to accept his story of transdimensional rifts and alternate timelines? She, Dana Scully, the Skeptic Queen of the basement office for six years running, suddenly jumping onto the believer bandwagon? Now, she decided, was not the time for that argument. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He said nothing, but he covered her hand with his own. They stood like that, in silence, for a timeless moment. Strangers, yet friends, comforting each other with actions familiar yet foreign. At last, he raised his head, turning to her, removing her hand from his arm and giving it a light squeeze as he released it. "So…" Scully started, voice breaking a silence that seemed to last forever. "So…," he repeated, equally uncertain. "Now what?" she asked, feeling stupid. She bit off a nervous laugh. It was quite ridiculous, actually. He grinned, stifling a snicker, though his eyes were still dark. "How to I get back...where I belong? How does the other me return here? Can we switch back?" "I was hoping you'd have an idea," he admitted sheepishly, then he turned serious. "Scully...if you are...if this is…" Mulder paused to gather his thoughts, and tried again. "This is incredible, if this is actually a case of dimensional crossing." He looked at her, a familiar light in his eyes. She knew that look, even if she didn't know this Mulder. This was an X-file, his chief passion in life. "Do you remember when it happened? Anything unusual at all?" "I can't even begin to describe how hard this is to believe," Scully found herself saying, shaking her head wearily. "But, no, I can't think of anything strange." "Can you recall precisely when and where things shifted? When did you first notice something was wrong?" he pressed. She thought. "Well, when I first arrived at Styx, it was so bright I remember you - my Mulder- said that he should've brought sunscreen instead of rain gear." "Still your world, then. When you - my Scully - pulled into town, there was standing water on the roadway." She nodded. He thought for a second. "The convenience store on the way to the national forest. What did we buy?" "Bug repellent. You'd left yours at the hotel. I think we were ripped off, because it did nothing for the mosquitoes," Scully added, rubbing the fading welts on her arm where the nastier insects had bitten through her coat. Mulder shook his head. "You bought one of those plastic ponchos, though by the time we got there it had stopped raining. You left it in the car." They fell quiet for a while. "So, we've established that everything was normal until we got to the woods. "Presumably, yes, I suppose so," she replied slowly. "Something wrong?" he asked, noting her uncertain tone. "It's just...I'm having a little trouble accepting this," she said. "Too spooky for you?" he teased gently. He was trying to help, in his own Mulderish way. "You could say that," she replied with a slight smile. It was working. "Okay, when you got to the woods, what did you do next?" Mulder continued. Scully thought back. "We -" A knock came at the door. "Yes?" Mulder called out. "Come in." The door opened, and Assistant Director Walter Skinner entered, carrying a manila envelope. "Do either of you know anything about this?" As usual, he sounded somewhere between annoyed and professionally courteous. "It showed up in my mail by mistake." He held out the envelope, unmarked except for "Special Agents F. Mulder and D. Scully" written in pen on the front. Mulder reached forward and took it, somewhat sharply, Scully thought. "Sorry, sir," he said. Skinner lingered at the doorway. "So...aren't you going to open it?" His eyes drifted to Scully, expression shifting as he noted the bloodshot eyes and dampened cheeks. "Something wrong, Agent Scully?" he asked, sounding as though he truly cared. Skinner's eyes flicked to Mulder briefly, an odd, unreadable look in them that vanished almost as soon as she noticed it. "No...just family problems," Mulder spoke up again before she could think of a reply. Skinner's eyes flicked back and forth between the two, and he seemed to want to say more. "Anything else, sir?" he pressed at last, meeting Skinner's eyes squarely - almost challenging. Walter held for a few moments, then broke, turning away. "No, nothing else," he said, sounding almost submissive. He faced Scully again, almost pointedly excluding Mulder from his next words. "If you need anything…" "I'll let you know," Scully finished for him, nodding her understanding. "Thank you, sir, but I'll be fine." Skinner nodded in reply. Mulder fixed him with another look, and Skinner didn't bother to return it, instead backing, somewhat meekly, out of the doorframe. "Very well then…," At last, he left, closing the door behind him. Mulder shot a somewhat contemptuous look after the assistant director, then stashed the envelope in a drawer in his desk. "If you don't mind me asking, is the Skinner in your world as much of a spineless weasel as the one here?" he asked casually, resuming his seat. Scully wandered back to her chair, not sure she was hearing him correctly. "The Skinner I know is a man in a difficult position, who doesn't always have the luxury of making the choices he would like," Dana replied carefully, sitting down. He looked at her, face unreadable. "Aren't you going to look at it?" She said, changing the subject with a gesture at the envelope. "Hm? Oh, it's probably just the usual," he brushed off the question. "It'll keep. The immediate question is, what do we do now?" Scully looked at the desk full of papers, and back at the man seated across from her. Suddenly, she felt like an intruder, a stranger in another's life. Her head pounded, her vision blurring. "Scully?" His voice sounded distant, ringing in her ears. "I...I think I should go home," she said, pushing herself to her feet. She wavered unsteadily for a moment, then found her balance. Mulder stood just as quickly, pulling the envelope out of the drawer and scooping up his coat. "You don't have to come," she told him, a bit quickly. He smiled. "Yes, I do," he stated firmly. "Unless you want to drive off the road. You're in no shape to be behind the wheel, Scully." "I'm -" Her standard defense was cut off when she had to return her hands to the desk as a fresh bout of dizziness and chills swept through her. "No, you're not fine," he countered mildly, placing a hand on her arm and looking into her eyes. "You're pale, you're dizzy, you're obviously not feeling well…" He was almost pleading. He wanted to take her home. To help her, or to continue the investigation where they weren't likely to be interrupted again? Or something else? She couldn’t deny that she wasn't feeling at her best, but suddenly the idea of letting him drive her anywhere seemed uncomfortable. Dangerous, even. Did she really know this Mulder? Sometimes yes, but sometimes no. "But, don't you have work…?" She trailed off, indicating his desk. "Nothing urgent," he answered, picking up her stuff and steering her toward the door. "Come on, Scully." Feeling oddly drained and detached, Scully let him lead her out of the basement office. She needed to go home, and he was right. In her condition, between her headache and the obvious psychological shock of her situation, she would probably wind up going off the road...or worse.Worse than what? Her mind asked vaguely, but refused to supply an answer. She pushed the thought away. It was just Mulder, driving her home when she couldn't do it herself. He'd done it many times before, just as she'd done the same for him. Nothing to worry about. After all, Mulder was still Mulder. Scully's Apartment Later, Day 4 "So, tell me about your world." It was the first hint of conversation since they had arrived nearly an hour ago. The remains of their meal - pizza and pop, since mixing alcohol with her existing symptoms seemed like trouble waiting to happen - were strewn on the coffee table. She hadn't questioned him when he had followed her into her apartment, heading for the phone and asking if she still liked pepperoni. Granted, pizza wasn't necessarily the best thing for her to eat, especially with that hint of illness lingering at the edge of her senses, but Scully hadn't been up to arguing. Since that phone call, since that talk in the office, she had felt drained. Empty. Powerless. Now, as he sat waiting for her to answer, she felt herself relaxing further. Yes, she was in a surreal situation. Yes, her science had failed her...not for the first time. But Mulder was here. It was going to be okay. "What is there to tell?" she asked in return, watching the last of the ice cubes melting in her glass and reflecting that the ice maker in her own refrigerator had been malfunctioning for a month. /Maybe this alternate universe thing isn't that bad, after all,/ Scully thought idly. Mulder shrugged, obviously trying to pick out some meaningful questions from the plethora of inquiries his mind was no doubt clamoring about. She allowed herself to smile fractionally at the familiar sight of Fox Mulder in pursuit of an X-file, so enthused that he sometimes hardly knew where to begin. "Well...what is your family like? Sister? Brothers? Your father - you said he died?" The memory of the phone call came back to her, and her laconic mood faded. Not completely, but enough that the seriousness of the situation began to sink in. Still, sitting here in almost-familiar surroundings, stomach full of pizza, feeling just the slightest bit drowsy and facing Mulder in his caring yet curious mode, it didn't seem overwhelming. Just another curiosity in their extremely curious lives. "Yes...a heart attack. Sudden." The memory of that night came back to her. "I.. I saw him. When he died. I'd dozed off on the couch, and I almost thought I was dreaming. He was sitting in that chair," she indicated the one he was in, and he shifted a little self-consciously. "His lips were moving, but I couldn't hear anything. Then the phone rang...It was Mother. I turned to look and Dad was gone." Mulder's hazel eyes darkened in sympathy. For a moment, she wondered why she had related that detail. It had taken her a while to work up the nerve to tell her Mulder that, and when she did he had been too blinded by his pursuit of the Boggs case to see how hard it was for her, a woman of science, to admit to seeing a ghost. Scully vaguely wondered how this Mulder would have reacted. In some ways, he seemed more sensitive to her thoughts and feelings. In others, he seemed...a stranger. Like his behavior with Skinner. He swallowed the last of the contents of his own glass, and looked as if he wanted to speak. "Here…," he started, then trailed off. He looked up at her, then, as though finding strength in her blue eyes, continued. "At that time, he had a heart attack, here, too. For a while, it was looking pretty bad for him. But he recovered. It was bad enough that he had to take disability leave, though. It devastated him, being stuck in dry-dock to rot, as he put it. Since then, he's never been the same. Your mother...in this world, Maggie Scully said that the heart attack killed something in him. I wonder if there's some connection. Him dying in your world, and part of him dying in this one." The room fell silent for a time. "I'm sorry." She nodded in acknowledgement, unsure why he felt the need to apologize for a death by natural causes five years ago - and not even in his world. Because he's Mulder, her mind answered her unformed question. "So...the rest?" "Well, Charlie has a family. Three boys." "Two girls, here," Mulder supplied. "What about Bill?" In her world, her oldest brother and her partner were not the best of friends. Evidently, the feeling was similar here. "Bill's a lieutenant-commander in the Navy. He's married -" "What's her name?" "Tara. Tara Gilman." "Hmm...seems my Scully was right," he said with a grin. "She said she had a good feeling about his new girlfriend." Scully smiled in reply. "Your sister?" Mulder asked. She looked down at her hands. He tried again. "Here, at least…" "I did...have a sister," Scully spoke at last, not looking up. "Melissa died. Three, almost four years ago. Killed, actually." "Killed? By who?" "By the kind of people who never get caught," Scully answered a bit sharply, looking up at him. "You still have the X-files here...surely you know the kind." He nodded once, looking slightly troubled, but said nothing. No doubt this Mulder and Scully had their own memories of the Consortium and their kind. She continued, forcing her tone to soften. "They were looking for me, actually. She was shot in the head, and died in the hospital. She never woke up." "Melissa's still alive here," he spoke at last, not meeting her eyes. "She...about the same time as your sister was shot in your world, this Melissa had a severe mental breakdown. She's never recovered. The doctors think she never will. Nobody determined the cause. One moment she was having coffee with her friends, the next...She's catatonic much of the time, though when she speaks, she raves about the bullet that scrambled her brains, that her soul died and her body won't let her rest." They looked at each other, but neither felt like discussing the issue. Scully had her own reasons for being especially touchy about the subject. Mulder...well, at the very least, he sensed her discomfort. Shifting in his seat, he changed the subject. "Scully, about the Styx Cat…" "There aren't any cougars there in my world, either," she said with a slight smile and head shake. Yes, no matter the world, Fox Mulder was still Fox Mulder. He smiled in self-depreciation, rolling his empty glass between his fingers. "I wonder how many worlds connect outside of Styx," he mused aloud. "The cats have to come from somewhere, after all." "Mulder, isn't it also possible that the Styx Cat is also just a figment of local imagination?" Scully asked. He shrugged. "I suppose, but considering the evidence at hand, I'd have to say that the possibility of it being real is definitely there." He gestured at her to indicate the "evidence" he meant. Scully shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Evidence. A specimen. Proof of Mulder's theory. Not that she hadn't been the subject of an X-file before - according to her Mulder, she had made a record number of appearances in their cases. She just didn’t like being reduced to an object, a means by which he could prove another of his pet ideas. "I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he apologized. "It's just…" He stopped, unsure of how to explain himself without digging himself in deeper. She blinked slowly. "It's all right, Mulder. I understand what you mean," she told him, taking another sip of the ice-diluted cola. "If you think it's strange for you, just think what it's like for me." Why had she let that last slip? She must be more tired than she thought, to admit that. "Don't worry, we'll find a way to get you back," her partner assured her quietly, earnestly. She looked into his eyes and saw how seriously he meant that. He didn't like seeing her in this position, any more than he liked seeing her in pain. The intensity of his gaze held her trapped for a long moment. Scully almost felt she was falling into his eyes. Had her Mulder ever looked at her like that? Had that need to make things right, that hunger to understand her and help her, ever been in his eyes, and she simply never noticed? Was this Mulder the friend she was seeing? Mulder the partner? Or Mulder the lover? Belatedly, she realized she was staring, and broke the trance by looking down at her nearly-empty glass. Unaccountably, she felt a flush on her cheeks. She didn't realize she had been staring at this, too, until his hand reached out and gently took it. "Finished?" he asked. She started, looked up at him, and could only nod. Something about his closeness made it hard to speak. Mulder took their glasses into the kitchen, then returned for the pizza and other leavings. "So," he said as he returned,"you haven't finished telling me." "Telling you what?" "Your life, your Mulder…," he gestured encouragingly. As he fell silent, he looked at her. "Unless you'd just as soon wait until later. You probably should be getting some rest." He was offering to leave, Scully realized. Suddenly, she did not want to be alone, in what both was and was not a stranger's home. "No, it's okay," she assured him, even as a yawn betrayed her weariness. He looked at her questioningly, both daring her to contradict him and hopeful. Hoping for what? That she'd ask him to stay? That she'd tell him more about what it was like to be in the wrong universe? He must be getting some distant, perverse pleasure out of the fact that scientific, logical Scully was once again being played for a fool by Fate. At least, her Mulder would be. If this one was, he was doing an extremely good job hiding it - even from her. Of course, perhaps she wasn't as attuned to this Mulder as she was to her own. She rubbed at her head. All of this "this Mulder," "that Mulder," "my world," "your world" stuff was making her temples throb. He was watching her still, she realized, hope being swiftly supplanted by caring concern. "Besides, you can't leave until you've opened that damned envelope." It was a flimsy excuse for him to stay, and she knew it. So did he; his eyes drifted to the door. "Please, Mulder. I'm fine. Just...I want to know what's in there. And if I don't know, I won't be able to sleep." It was no more valid now than it was a few seconds ago, but her tone made the difference. At last, he relented. Mulder picked up the manila envelope and moved to sit next to her on the couch. "Okay, but only if you promise to go to bed straight after," he said as he settled down beside her, doing a decent imitation of a parent pressed into reading a bedtime story one more time by a weary child on a school night. Scully smiled to herself at the analogy. /He'd make a great father,/ was her next fatigue-induced thought. The image of Fox Mulder, picture book in hand, seated beside a child's bed sprang instantly to mind. The child snuggled under the covers was a little girl. Not just any girl - Emily. The smile faded quickly, the memory of her daughter painful even after a year. He was watching her, a small smile that seemed both friendly and compassionate on his face. How could he know she was thinking of her lost child? Or had an Emily died here, too? No, surely she was reading too much into it. She fought another yawn. Yes, Mulder was right. After this, she should be heading to bed. Scully forced her fuzzy thoughts to focus as her partner carefully opened the envelope. Inside the contents were somewhat disappointing. A small sheaf of printed papers slid out into his hand, with some fuzzy photos of what looked like UFO's over some sort of military installment. Also inside was a folded letter, written in the same neat, block-printed handwriting as whoever had written their names on the manila envelope. The text was simple. "URGENT - Be sure your friends get this soon!" There was no signature, no mark of who had written it, nor any indication who these "friends" were supposed to be. Mulder was unconcerned, already paging through the material, seemingly amused. "Well," Scully said, somewhat nonplussed. He didn't seem to notice her disappointment. Mulder held up a slightly out-of-focus photo of a triangular aircraft hovering over a platoon of soldiers in the jungle. The quality of the print, the foliage and the uniforms hinted to her that it was an old photograph, perhaps of Vietnam or the Korean War. "Oh, the Gunmen'll love this," he remarked. He started paging through the documents. Some had been recently printed, while some were poor photocopies of older records. Scully sighed. Of course. Another whacko informant using Mulder as a conduit to the Lone Gunmen, some of the few people on this earth to whom her partner's paranoia wasn't nearly paranoid enough. Their publication, The Lone Gunman, was a mainstay of the government-fearing, conspiracy-hunting, computer-hacking fringe crowd. In other words, right up Mulder's alley. She tried reading some of the fine print, but her eyes wouldn't focus beyond the blobs. Trying to force them made them hurt. She closed her eyes, rubbing at them lightly, then opened them again to see him restacking the papers. He glanced at his watch. "I wonder if they're still up. Probably," he answered himself. "I should run this over as soon as possible. With any luck, they'll be able to get it in the next issue." "Hmm," Scully vocalized non-commitally, feeling a chill settle through her. She closed her aching eyes again. "Scully?" he asked. She heard and felt him turn to face her. "You sure you're okay?" "Just the flu," she answered without opening her eyes. "Plus I'm tired. You, go on." His hand on her forehead was cool. She pulled away slightly. "You're on fire, Scully," he informed her, touching her cheeks lightly. "I'll be okay," she said. She had almost said "I'm fine" out of habit. Seeing him hovering over her - or rather sensing, as her eyes objected to being open for any length of time - was slightly smothering. "I just need some rest. Go on. I'll be fine." She felt the cushions shift as Mulder stood. She slumped slightly, both drained and relieved - only to find herself being picked up. Scully blinked, squinting at him through her headache. "Mulder." It was both an inquiry, a statement of shock, and a not-so-subtle demand to be put down. None of the sentiments had much strength behind them. "You're going to bed, now," he told her, once more sounding like a father putting his foot down with a child who insisted that they weren't tired, even if it was bedtime. "But, Mulder," she protested, wondering if he was joking. "I'm perfectly capable of getting there myself." Even as she said it, she realized that just being carried was making her head spin and heart stumble. She wasn't sure how much of that was illness and fatigue and how much was the knowledge that Fox Mulder was taking her to her bedroom. A moment later, she decided that that question alone more than proved his case that she needed rest, and she kept quiet. Soon, she was deposited on the edge of her mattress. She sat there, blinking as he turned on a bedside lamp, watching fuzzily as he moved to her dresser. Her eyes slipped closed, and a wave of chills washed over her. She clenched her jaw against a bout of lightheadedness that followed, wrapping her arms around herself - only to feel Mulder's hands at the buttons of her blouse. "Mulder," she said warningly, not opening her eyes, yet lacking the energy to resist as he removed her work clothes. "Relax, Scully," he said quietly yet firmly, and she found herself complying despite herself. Moments later, he was slipping her arms through the sleeves of her nightshirt. In her somewhat disoriented and shocked state, she wasn't sure if she was touched, relieved or disappointed that he was behaving as a gentleman and friend rather than… rather than what, she asked herself. What, did she want him to try something untoward while she was sick? Mulder? This Mulder? As Scully chased these thoughts through her tired mind, he pulled a light blanket over her. His hand trailed across her cheek as he rose, then left the room. She heard him moving through the house, water running, cabinet doors opening in her bathroom. At last, he returned with a glass of water. In his other hand, he presented her with two green-tinged gelcaps: Nyquil, she recognized. Or at least this world's equivalent. "Mulder," she started, but lost track of what she was going to say as the word left her mouth. With little hesitation, she took the medicine, swallowing it and washing it down with half of the glass. Mulder set it on the nightstand where she could reach it, but not where she was likely to knock it over. He sat down lightly on the bed. "Shh.." He covered her hand where it gripped the edge of the blanket, using his other hand to stroke her hair lightly. She knew she should probably be objecting to the intimacy in his gesture, the low, soothing murmur of his voice, but her fever-weakened mind was unable to find a reason why. She relaxed, listening to his nonsensical words, feeling him so near, so comforting. Scully felt sleep pulling her down, though it was far too soon for the gelcaps to have taken effect. Just as she passed the threshold to darkness, she felt his lips brush her forehead. "Good night," he whispered, voice no louder than a breath. Then the mattress shifted as he rose. She never heard him leave the room. Scully's Apartment Day 5 The forest stretched forever, tree trunks barely visible in the gloom. She ran, heart pounding, skin coated in sweat, breath burning in her lungs. She didn't belong here. She knew that. She had to go back, but she had lost the trail. Behind her, branches snapped, paws pounded dirt, and a low snarl cut through the night. She knew Mulder was out here somewhere - she wouldn't be here if he hadn't called her. But he was gone. She had a vague memory of him racing off through the woods, the beam of his flashlight wavering crazily as he vanished in the distance. Her own flashlight had been lost long ago. When it had crossed its beam. Shining eyes. Glistening teeth. Tearing claws. It knew she was lost, that she was in the wrong place. That's why it was after her. Behind her. Closer. Closer. Suddenly, her legs stumbled, fatigue taking over where adrenaline had failed at last. Scully fell, striking the loamy earth with a rush of air being driven from her lungs. She rolled onto her back, reaching for her gun. It was gone. Mulder had it. He'd forgotten his, hadn't he? Where was he? She needed the gun - needed him. The dark shape behind her snarled, the sound slicing through her ears sharply. As it sprang, she found her voice. "Mulder!!!" Her cries echoed through the woods, but brought no reply. The beast descended on her, ferocious face snarling above her own, paws pinning her down as she fought. She drew another breath. "Mulder!! Mulder!!!" "Scully!" She jerked, struggling to rise, but she was still pinned down. "Scully," Mulder said again, quietly. Her eyes opened and focused, the last vestiges of nightmare falling away as she saw her partner leaning over her, holding her down firmly. Her heart was still racing, but she relaxed. Just a dream. Slowly, he eased up on his grip, sitting on the edge of the bed as he had the night before. "Mulder," she said, not sure of what else to say. He smiled, relieved to see her awake, yet anxiety still darkened his eyes. "I was having a nightmare." "I gathered that," he said with a half-grin, placing a hand on her forehead. It wasn't as shockingly cold on her flesh as it had been the night before. "Want to talk about it?" His gaze was intense, his hand lingering on her skin. She averted her eyes, seeing at last that the light that permeated the room came from the windows. She also saw Mulder's rumpled coat piled over the arm of the chair in the corner of her room. "What time is it?" she asked, sitting up slowly and carefully pushing his hand away. A flicker of apology and pain passed over his face, but was quickly hidden. Surely, they had each spent many a night keeping vigil over the other - in hospitals, mostly. Still, she felt uneasy with the knowledge that he had spent the night in her room. /Why? It's just Mulder,/ a voice in her head questioned. Scully dismissed it. "Half past ten," he told her, watching her carefully. "Half past ten? We're late," she said. She almost asked why he had let her sleep in, but couldn't bring herself to question his actions. "Calm down, calm down." He rested a hand on her shoulder, voice soothing. "I already called Skinner. You're covered. Relax." She did, marginally. "But, you-" She started. He smiled at her. "I think he'll understand. Besides, it's not like he can fire me," Mulder assured her. Something in his tone, his eyes made her look away again. She almost asked what he meant, but wasn't sure she wanted to know. A memory of him calling their superior a spineless weasel surfaced. No, it meant nothing. He was probably joking, anyway. Yes, that was it. He was joking. "Feeling better?" She was more than a little glad that he had changed the subject. "Yes, actually," she said. Her head still had a cottony feel to it that wasn't quite like mere morning haziness, but otherwise she was much improved. "Good." Mulder seemed genuinely pleased to hear that, though something still lingered in his tone. "Mulder, what is it?" she asked. He avoided her eyes. "Mulder?" "I was thinking...as you were sleeping," he started, still not meeting her gaze. "Do you remember, back in Styx, when I was telling you what happened to people who crossed over?" "Yes…," she started, thinking back. "You said they were pulled back. But what-" He cut her off with a gesture, rising to pace. "Scully, do you remember what I said happened to those who left Styx? Who didn't go back?" He finally looked at her. Scully thought back on the conversation. She had been in her bathrobe, just out of the shower. He had been sitting on the bed, evidence spread across the sheets. Slowly, slowly, the relevant portions of the conversation came back to her. /"...died very shortly of unknown causes…"/ She looked up at him. He nodded, seeing comprehension in his eyes. She shook her head. "No," she said. "You yourself said that there was very little information on what happened to those people." "But most of what I did find indicated that they didn't last long," he countered firmly. "Mulder, that still doesn't mean anything. It could be a coincidence. I mean, normal illnesses happen all the time. Perhaps I was coming down with something before I...before I crossed over." He shook his head. "I've never seen a flu set in that fast, or go away this quickly. And it hasn't gone away, has it? Not completely. Plus, the nightmares." He looked at her. "You have to go back. To Styx. To...to where you came from. If you stay here much longer, you'll be dead." /And what about your Scully?/ She asked silently. /Has my Mulder figured out that something is amiss? Will he know what to do? Will she -/ She stopped herself. No Scully from any world remotely similar to her own would come up with the idea of transdimensional rifts on her own. Not without Mulder suggesting it. Looking at him, she saw that he knew this. Feared it. "Mulder, you yourself said there was no conclusive record of what actually happens in these cases," Scully reminded him gently, though the words sounded weak even to her. He nodded once vaguely in acknowledgement, and an awkward silence filled the room. "Well...I suppose you ought to get dressed, if we're going to be leaving town," Mulder said at last. As he headed to the bedroom door, he stopped suddenly. "Oh, we'll have to swing by the Gunmen on the way to the airport." He had stayed with her all night? She was touched, and a trifle disturbed. She nodded, moving to gather clean clothes for herself. As she headed to the bathroom, she heard Mulder on his cell phone, obtaining two tickets. /I'm going home,/ she thought. Outside The Lone Gunmen's Office/Apartment Early Afternoon, Day 5 Scully fidgeted in the car, checking her watch again. He had gone in twenty minutes ago - twenty-one, her mind recalculated. The longer she sat, the more she noticed that was amiss, and the more she wanted tomorrow morning to arrive. Yes, the earliest Mulder could get tickets was 10 AM the next day. She found the delay to be unaccountably irritating, but hid it. Or tried to. Just as she had tried to hide her lingering dizziness and weakness. Mulder had not been fooled, especially by the latter, but knew better than to confront her directly. Instead, he had idly suggested that she really didn't need to get out of the car, since he was just dropping the envelope off at the Lone Gunmen's place. She had agreed, even smiling when he made some stilted joke about Frohike taking advantage of her while she was off her game. At the time, she had been glad for the time alone. Now, she wished she had gone in. Every time she looked at the building, her mind kept telling her the door style was wrong. Every time she glanced at the sickly-looking greenery edging the parking lot, her mind told her that the trees were spaced incorrectly, and the bushes were too low. Even the potholes in the lot itself were irregular. What had happened to that one large pit just at the entrance, the one that always nearly caused her to bite her tongue? It had been replaced by a jarring series of smaller holes in the crumbing asphalt. Part of her wondered if the Lone Gunmen themselves were as she remembered them. Did this Langly still need a haircut? Was this Byers still the well-groomed, respectable looking one? Was this Frohike still mildly enamored with her? Scully squirmed in the seat again. /I wonder if he told them,/ she thought. Scully could almost conjure an image of Mulder sitting in the Lone Gunmen's darkened, cluttered apartment, beer in hand, laughing as he related how Scully the Practical had once more been caught up in one of "his" X-files. Almost, but not quite. He wouldn't do that to her. After a moment, she decided that Mulder had probably kept the entire transdimensional shift tale to himself. Surely he was just as awkward with the situation as she was. After all, he and his Scully had been so much more than mere partners. She would be lying if she said that her own bond to her Mulder ended at the professional line, but still, the loss of a lover, even a former one, was worse. Especially to have them replaced with a ringer. A phony. Which is what she felt sometimes when she looked at this Mulder. She shifted again, not liking where her thoughts were running, but unable to stop them. And her own partner...how was he taking this? Had her other self been taken to his world, a simple trade? Or was this Mulder right, that there were many dimensions meeting in Styx? If so, maybe the Scully that belonged here had displaced another, similar Scully in a third timeline. Who had shifted another one, who had shifted another...She rubbed at her forehead, feeling the distant promise of a headache building. There was no use worrying the matter to death. All she could do was get herself back. The other Scullys would have to do the same. /And just how do you intend to do that?/ A skeptical portion of her mind nagged. As she tried to come up with an answer, a motion in the rear-view mirror grabbed her attention. She glanced up and saw a black car roll slowly past on the road. From the passenger seat, a man flung a smoldering cigarette butt to the ground. Through the distance and the mirror, their eyes locked. Her breath froze in her lungs. He saw her, head moving in an infinitesimal nod. The flicker of a smile crossed his face. After pausing a moment, the smoking man gestured to his driver, and the car moved away, turning a corner and vanishing. Her pulse was still racing when Mulder returned to the car three minutes later. "Good news," he said as he climbed in behind the driver's seat. "Langly hacked into the airline computers, and we now have tickets for this evening. He tried to get us in first class, but the best he could do was business…" Mulder trailed off, looking at her. "Something wrong, Scully?" "I...I saw someone. The smoking man," she told him. His eyes darkened as he turned the key in the ignition, hand gripping the wheel tightly. "Come on, Scully. We have a plane to catch," he said, jaw tense as he pulled out of the parking space. She blinked. "But, shouldn't-" she started. "What good would it do? He's always ten steps ahead of us. I don't feel like playing his game today. We still have to swing by my apartment. Besides, if we don't get to the airport soon, what with traffic this time of day, we'll be late." That was effectively the end of the conversation for the rest of the trip. His hands never slackened on the wheel, though. Scully was both too intimidated by his tenseness and too busy with her own state of health to break the silence. Baltimore-Washington International Airport Early Evening, Day 5 It sometimes seemed to Scully that she lived in airplanes and rental cars. Hotels, the office, even her own home were all temporary breaks from her permanently mobile life. So, waiting in the airport was almost relaxing in its mundane chaos. It meant she was about to go back home. /Home,/ her mind replayed the word, lingering over it. The closer they had come, the more her thoughts centered around that single, small word. Going home. Going back. Even here, in the airport, she saw constant reminders that she was out of place. Airline logos were the wrong shapes. Kids ran around carrying what looked exactly like Barney dolls, except they were sky blue instead of bright purple. The music from the terminal restaurants was both similar to and different from the piped-in tunes she was used to. Mulder, sitting next to her, was paging through the latest King horror novel. Not Stephen King - Darron King. "America's master of terror and suspense returns with his most chilling tale ever," the blurb on the back proclaimed. She checked her watch again. Their flight should be boarding in a few minutes. Looking about, trying to find something other to do than watch the seconds tick by on her watch, she saw him. "Mulder," she said quietly, nudging him. He lowered his book, turning to her, then followed her gaze to the man standing near the phone bank. He watched them calmly, exhaling a thin stream of smoke, eyes dark and unreadable. With a mutter Scully couldn't understand, Mulder pushed himself to his feet. Unsure of what to do, she followed. He walked to a phone and pulled out the directory, paging through it. Scully hovered uncertainly near his shoulder. "What are you doing here?" he muttered. "That's what I was going to ask you," the smoking man answered, voice carrying the same self-assured, light contempt that it always did. Scully felt her blood run cold, but held her tongue. "You know, I don't mind you taking these little excursions on your own time, to satisfy that boundless curiosity of yours, but when they interfere with our work…" He drew another lungfull of smoke. Scully tried to keep her breathing steady. "I have to know why." He finished. "The X-files are still mine, as I recall, to investigate as I see fit," Mulder replied. "But you just got back, and surely you haven't received the autopsy report on Mr. Price, yet, have you?" the smoking man replied. "Oh, of course not. I forgot. You were taking off work to care for your ailing partner. And how are you, Ms. Scully?" "Better," she replied neutrally. Inside, her mind was in shock. /Not your world. Not your Mulder. Not your place/, she told herself. He smiled, though his eyes remained dark and unaffected. As usual, Dana felt that he was somehow belittling them. "I should hope so," he answered,"or I would wonder why your partner was dragging you back out into the field so soon. You were sick this morning, weren't you?" His eyes took in her and her partner. She tried not to flinch under his scrutiny, fighting a fresh wave of dizziness. He caught her slight waver. "Pity. I'd almost hoped you two were working things out. Anyway, the autopsy results did show up this morning. I managed to obtain a copy, of course. Quite mundane and uninteresting. I have to wonder just what you're going back to investigate, unless you're still hoping to see the legendary Styx Cat." "Maybe I am," Mulder remarked evenly. If either had anything else to say, it was cut off by the loudspeaker announcing that their plane was now boarding. "Is there anything else? That's our flight." Mulder closed the phone book with a little more force than was needed. He picked up the phone and started to dial. "No, not for now," the smoking man answered, moving slowly away. "Next time you get a message labeled 'Urgent,' however, I suggest you act on it in a more timely fashion." With that, he turned and moved away. Within a few steps, he was absorbed by the crowd. Scully turned to Mulder, who was still waiting on the phone. "Mulder? That information -" She started, but was cut off when he waved her to silence. A moment later, he started speaking. "Hello, guys. Just wanted to let you know the tickets were okay. Thanks. We owe you! Bye!" He hung up. Scully stared at him. "Who was that?" She asked. "The Lone Gunmen," he replied. "I just wanted them to know we'd gotten here okay. Langly also likes to know when one of his jobs goes off smoothly, so he can gloat." He was actually smiling. Scully blinked in shock. "That packet you gave them...the information, the photos...he sent them?" She did not have to specify who "he" was. Mulder looked at her, slightly perplexed. "Of course," he answered. "Come on, our flight's boarding." She lingered behind. "Something wrong?" "No...It's just...in my world, we aren't exactly on the same side of the fence," she said. Mulder looked about, then leaned in closer to her. "Not here, either," he told her, then looked into her eyes. "It's still me, Scully. We're still committed to exposing the truth. It's just… sometimes, to get closer to the truth, you have to make certain concessions. Bargains." "Deals with the devil," she muttered before she could stop herself. "You're starting to sound like Skinner," he said lightly, though the apparent levity was belied by an odd look in his eyes. Before she could identify it, he turned away. "That information...it was fake, wasn't it? A plant?" A small part of her mind told her that this was not her problem, but she simply could not let this lie. Six years fighting Cancerman and his kind, and now Mulder's in bed with them? /Not your Mulder. Not six years here./ It was illogical to be incensed with him when he was essentially a stranger, but she was. Mulder was - or should still be - Mulder, despite the universe. This was not something Mulder would do. Or would he? Obviously, in some scenario, it was. "Scully," he tried, reaching toward her, eyes darting about. She would not be stopped, though she kept her voice low. "I can't believe this. You've been using the Gunmen to disseminate the Conspiracy's lies. You're playing their game. You're one of them." A slightly desperate look crossed his face as he reached to take her arm. She drew away from his touch, looking at him as though seeing him for the first time. "Tell me the truth. Were you or were you not playing the Gunmen - your friends - for fools?" Mulder's eyes did not meet hers, instead turning to the gate. "It would've been leaked to them anyway," Mulder admitted, leading her slowly away from the phone. "And it's not like they don't get bad leads from other sources. Besides, every little thing we do gets us that much closer to the source. That much closer to the truth." He looked at her, then turned to survey the busy airport terminal. "Look, this...this isn't really the place to discuss it." Scully hung back. "Coming?" She held up her ticket. "You go ahead. I...I want to use the bathroom," Scully told him, moving toward the ladies' room. He watched her for a moment longer, then turned around. "Okay. See you on the plane." Mulder hesitated a moment longer, eyeing her carefully. Another strange expression. A plea for understanding? Discomfort at being caught? Guilt? Or something else? Again, she could not say. "I'll be there," she said. "And I'm sorry I got angry. It...it's not really my place to judge. I was just shocked." He watched her silently. She gestured toward the gate. "Go ahead. I'll catch up." At last, Mulder nodded, relaxing marginally. She watched as he moved into line. Scully kept an eye on him to see that he wasn't looking back, then changed her direction to return to the phones. /Not your world. Not your Mulder. Not your problem,/ a little voice in her head told her. She ignored it. Drawing a shaky breath, she picked up the receiver and poked at the keypad for redial. Her eyes anxiously scanned the airport for signs of unwelcome eyes as the phone rang. She listened to their message impatiently, drumming her fingers on the wall behind the phone. "Hello, this is Scully. I need-" A click in her ear. "Hey, Scully! Nice to hear you're okay!" It was Langly. "You got the tickets, right?" He paused as somebody talked to him. "I know, I heard it too - I was just making sure," Langly told the person - Frohike, she thought, listening to the muffled tones. "So, isn't your flight boarding about now?" "Yes, and I have to be going soon, but I had to tell you something first," she told him, lowering her voice. "This may be my last chance, and...I think you need to know." "Okay...shoot," Langly said, sounding puzzled. /Not your problem,/ her mind tried again. Her conscious brushed that annoying voice aside. Scully drew a breath, looking around, and began to talk. Scully made it to the plane at the final boarding call. Her legs felt weak, and not just from her sickness. Trying not to shake, she eased past Mulder to her seat by the window. "You okay?" he asked. "Yeah...lines," she explained, looking out at the runway. Mulder seemed about to say more when the pilot's voice came through the cabin, announcing that they were preparing for takeoff. As Scully fastened her seatbelt, she heard Mulder pull his book out again and continue reading. She released a low sigh. The plane began to move. /Home/, her mind repeated the word. Never had it seemed more appealing. Styx Late Evening, Day 5 The silence, broken only by the car's motor, the pattering of rain and the cracking of sunflower seeds - a noise she had long ago learned to tune out -, was going to drive her crazy. She was certain that speaking at this point would do the job faster, though, so she held her tongue. They had barely exchanged two words to each other since leaving Washington. Mulder had not initiated deeper conversation than asking if she wanted anything from the vending machines before they took their rental car. Scully just kept running a hundred disconnected thoughts through her mind, a mind that was feeling less than up to the task of analyzing and connecting them in any sensible fashion. Mulder and herself as lovers. Mulder and herself working with Them. Skinner acting like a whipped puppy whenever Mulder looked at him. How had it happened? "How had what happened?" Mulder asked, and she became aware that she had asked it aloud. She rubbed at her head, knowing it was too soon to take another dose of medicine. Still, it was either talk or return to silence and watching miles of nothing roll past her window. "All of it," she gestured vaguely. "You, me - I mean, you and your Scully. The deal with...with them. What happened? When did it suddenly seem like a good idea to join them?" He squirmed at the last question, eyes locked on the dim road ahead. "Are you sure you want to know?" he tried carefully, obviously uncomfortable. "Mulder, with any luck, I'll be leaving in a short time. At the very least, I'd like a few answers before I go." "Typical Scully," he said quietly, a smile touching his eyes. "Do you mind if I ask a few of you in turn?" "Typical Mulder," she returned, also smiling. The tension, if not completely shattered, had weakened considerably. "Okay. Fair enough. May I start?" "Sure," he agreed, sounding almost friendly. "Shoot." "Which happened first, your involvement with them or you and me - I mean, you and your Scully…" She trailed off. He winced. "Ouch. Straight for the lightning round," he commented, then drew a breath and released it slowly. "The deal...that came first." "How-" she started, but he interrupted. "I believe I get a question now," he pointed out. She closed her mouth, nodding silently. "Okay...since you brought up the subject, why is it that you and your Mulder never took the relationship farther?" It was her turn to fidget. He seemed pleased to have struck a nerve. Revenge, she figured. A voice in her head said that she should've expected this, especially when she was so direct in her own question. "It...it just wasn't a good idea," she finally said, aware that it was a weak answer even as it passed her lips. He offered a lopsided grin. "Funny, that's what my Scully said when I proposed," he commented. His mirth faded. "Guess she was right...at least, at the time." The silence returned. "So...your turn," he spoke abruptly. She thought on it for awhile. A few dozen questions percolated in her mind, but, since they involved this Mulder and Scully's relationship, she took pity on him and dismissed them from consideration. At least for now - if he struck too close to the bone, she doubted she would hesitate to bring it up again. "Tell me about this deal you made with the smoking man," Scully decided at last. Though it was obviously a sensitive subject, he seemed more comfortable with it than his failed engagement. "That's a statement, not a question," he tried evasively. She looked at him. "Mulder." No more words were needed. He resettled in the driver's seat, obviously uncomfortable. "It happened when my Scully was abducted," he said at last, then flashed a look at her. "Did...did that happen in your world, too?" She nodded, staring at the road, unable to speak. He placed a hand on hers, giving it a squeeze before returning it to the steering wheel. "It's okay. My Scully doesn't like to talk about it, either." After that, he returned to his story. "During that time, I was a wreck. I hardly slept. I barely ate. I must've lost about ten pounds. My contacts dried up, every lead turned into a dead end. Every time a redhead Jane Doe turned up in a hospital or morgue, no matter where, I was there. In the meantime, I kept throwing myself into my work, to try to take my mind off it, but most days I was lucky if I could tie my shoes. One day, Skinner came to me. I was practically living in my office, so I wasn't hard to find. He had been watching me self-destruct for weeks, but until then he hadn't spoken directly to me. Skinner said...he said he knew some people who might be able to help. But there would be a price. He tried to talk me out of it after he brought it up. He said the cost would be too much, that I wouldn't realize what I'd sold until it was too late to get it back. I didn't care. I had nothing to lose...nothing I cared about, anyway. So I met with his contacts. They said they could get you - my Scully - back, in return for a favor to be named later." He fell silent. "Shortly afterwards, you showed up, good as new. Almost," he amended. Scully thought back on her own experience. She had been at Death's door for longer than most who live to tell about it. Could her Mulder have prevented that? A moment later, she chided herself. Yes, he had helped this Scully, but at what cost to himself? His integrity? "How did she take the news?" she asked. Lost in memory, Mulder forgot that she still owed him the answer to another question. "At first, she was angry. Then, when she realized that we were, for the first time, in a position to actually get some concrete information on the very people we had been tracking, she came around. I think it was seeing us actually make progress in the X-files, not just spinning our wheels like we used to do, that helped convince her. That, plus the guarantee of protection for our loved ones should we attract attention from the wrong people...even the Consortium has its enemies. Finally, we could let our guards down a little…" He stopped, lost in thought. Scully filled in the rest easily enough. So. That was how it had started. Easy enough to see. A little less worrying about watching their backs, a little more job security and progress...Of course, in the end, it hadn't worked out. Or were they just going through a rough patch? "It's not like they've ever asked us to kill anybody," he continued suddenly, breaking her train of thought, as though he had to justify the deal to her. Maybe he felt that he did. "Just a case overlooked here, a false lead slipped there. In exchange, we get protection, and a helping hand with the bureaucracy every so often. Plus, we're gaining their confidence. Slowly, they're starting to trust us with more and more information. Then…" he trailed off. She wondered if even he believed that he could suddenly turn the tables on the Conspiracy, after so long in their back pocket. In her world, that song had been sung by more than one of Mulder's informants. Most died. This Mulder looked almost wistful as he had made his promise. Had he realized that, like his father before him, he had sold his soul in the name of good intentions? And his Scully's soul, too..."And you...you've never crossed the line?" "We...we have come very close," Scully finally answered. "Maybe stepped over it once or twice. But we always pulled back. No matter how hard it was, no matter what the price, we kept fighting for the truth." She knew she was glossing over many faults with that valiant description of her own world. In the long run, however.../Easy to pass judgement, from where I'm sitting/, Scully reminded herself. The conversation ended uneasily there, both lost in their own thoughts. "We're almost there." "Mmm?" Scully blinked, opening her eyes. She must have dozed off. Her neck was complaining of the odd angle where it had been resting against the window. Scully yawned. Outside, the evening was rapidly darkening to true night. Almost there. She was almost home. Ahead was the turn-off to the Styx National Forest. Soon...A cell phone rang, startling her. Mulder pulled into the parking lot, opening his phone and extending the antenna even as he stopped the car."Mulder," he said. She unclasped her seatbelt and opened the car door. The cool, damp night air helped clear her head. "Yes...Are you sure?" She looked at him, and he gestured that she should get out of the car; he'd be there in a minute. Grateful to stretch her legs, despite the light rain, Scully did just that. As she looked out at the woods, a chill traveled through her. Memories of shining eyes and nightmares vied with an almost tangible pull to enter, to return where she belonged. Her own world. A second later, she realized what she was thinking. /My Mulder is never going to let me live this down,/ she decided with a small smile. She could live with his teasing and gloating. Just as long as she was back. She heard the driver's door open, and turned to see him standing. He was still talking on the phone. His eyes kept looking to her, then darting away. Oddly uncomfortable, she turned back to the darkened trailhead. "...I -...But…" He looked to her, sliding the keys across the roof of the car. She turned at the noise, and he gestured to the trunk. Their only luggage, a small carry-on case in which Mulder had packed minimal clothing and items for his own stay and return trip tomorrow, plus two flashlights, was there. There had been no time to grab anything from her apartment, so this Scully would have to make do with what she had. As Scully moved to open the case, he turned his back to her, continuing to speak. She opened the case, removing the flashlights and turning one on. The light caught the almost invisible raindrops as it cut a swath through the darkness to the tree line. Mulder turned off his phone, tucking it into his pocket and taking the other flashlight from her. With a click, he added his beam to her own. "Who was that?" Scully asked as they moved to the trailhead. He stared ahead. "In a while, Scully. First, I think you still owe me the answer to a question." His voice tried to be light, but there was an edge behind it. Understandable. They were basically walking into this blind, assuming that, once they were back in the forest, things would somehow correct themselves. Neither knew what would happen. Neither knew what to do if it didn't work. Would she die? Or would she simply be stranded here, with a corrupted Mulder, a resurrected family and a life that was not her own? "I suppose so," she answered, though she had lost track of their earlier conversation. They walked up the trail, feet sinking in the mud. Overhead, a distant roll of thunder warned of worse weather to come. Large drops of water landed on them from the branches above. "You know back at the airport? Before we left town?" His eyes scanned the forest. Still keeping an eye out for the Styx Cat, probably. Some things never changed. "Yes?" Scully was feeling impatient with his pace, yet her legs weren't sure enough for her to speed up much. Her skin was tingling, her heart speeding unaccountably. Near...soon...close...home...further...She was having trouble focusing on Mulder. "Hm? Sorry?" "I said, did you by any chance make a phone call? To the Lone Gunmen?" he repeated, voice carefully measured. She realized that they were no longer on the main trail. Somehow, Mulder had managed to steer her onto a side-trail, little more than a deer track. Of course, it made sense. The original transference had occurred off the beaten path. Still, she found herself growing more anxious. There was something in his tone that made her wary, though she was having trouble determining what. Her head was throbbing faintly. "Yes," she admitted. How could he be concerned with such a thing now? Couldn’t he feel it? She was almost home. He released a breath, slowing down. She pulled ahead. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she could stop. There...wasn't that the ravine? So close… "And I suppose you told them everything," he continued. "Only what I knew," she responded. They walked a few paces in silence. "It wasn't your place to interfere, Scully," he said at last. She heard him shuffling through his coat. Probably looking for his sunflower seeds. This place looked familiar, she realized at last. This was where her Mulder had first left her! The rift had to be here! Scully turned back to tell him that they were almost there, and froze. Mulder had his gun drawn, eyes sorrowful and desperate. "It wasn't your place," he repeated. "Mulder…," she started, but he cut her off with a gesture from his gun. "I think you can answer your own question now, about who was on the phone," Mulder offered a dark half-smile. She reached for her own weapon, but his finger tightened on the trigger, tracking her movement. Slowly, she moved her hand back to her side. "Move, Scully." "But -" "I said, move," he spat out through clenched teeth. She turned around, complying. Moments later, his long legs caught up with her. Scully felt the barrel of the gun pressed against her side. Thunder crashed overhead, closer now. "You weren't there, Scully," he started speaking. She said nothing. "You don't know what I was going through. You don't know what we went through. All these years...this isn't your world." "It may not be my world, Mulder, but it's still wrong," she replied. "You want to know why I called them? I'll tell you. I couldn't stand the idea of me - of any me - being party to such a cowardly group of power-hungry despots as that damned Conspiracy! I couldn't take the idea of you, Mulder - of any you - being a willing pawn in their games. Did you really think you could ever defy them, even if they told you the whole truth? Did you really think you, us, of all the people who had tried before, would somehow miraculously survive? I can't believe you're any relation to the Mulder I know. He knows what kind of games they play, and he knows better than to join their team." "Shut up, Scully," he growled her name, nudging her harder in the ribs with his weapon. "How dare you judge me? Judge us? You weren't there -" "But I was there, Mulder!" Scully shot back. "We - my Mulder and I - have been through the same crap you've been through. Hell, we probably had it worse, because we weren't begging for scraps at our enemy's table! Both of us have lost friends and family in this fight, but you know what? We kept fighting! We didn't give in! We didn't have a choice, because we knew if we ever did take that final step, we'd be lost. No better than they are. You can't find the truth if you're part of the same people who are hiding it!" A flash of lightning lit up the clouds. The thunderclap shook the ground. "Yes, I know all about all the people you've killed in your noble quest," he returned mockingly. "I know what it's done to the people here, too! Your sister, your father...both of them suffered because you and your naïve, cowardly Mulder insisted on doing things your own way! How dare you talk like you're so high and mighty! You've hurt people you don't even know! Melissa - this Melissa - spends her days tied to a bed, so she can't bash her brains out on the wall! She was finally getting her life together. She was getting a degree. She had a boyfriend. They were even talking about marriage. And you two took it all away from her! How many other people here have you hurt...or worse? How many in your world?" His anger electrified the air. She could almost feel it at her back, a storm as dark and deadly as the one that was just starting overhead. They now stood near the top of the ravine. Scully looked down, but couldn't see the muddy trickle at the bottom. She turned around. He had stopped a pace back. He raised the gun, aiming between the eyes. "What, are you going to shoot me? Is that it? I'm almost gone, Mulder! Shoot me, and you may never get your Scully back!" His eyes flashed. "Better to shoot you, a stranger, than shoot her!" he snarled. At that moment, she realized what she had done. He wasn't mad because she had blown his cover with the Lone Gunmen. He wasn't mad because she had betrayed his bargain with the Conspiracy - not entirely. He was mad because, through her actions, she had condemned his Scully to death. They would never believe him, that it was a different Scully who had called Langly and spilled the story. If they ever saw this Mulder with her ever again, not only would she die, but probably him as well. The rain began to fall, though where they stood the branches blocked most of it. The sound of raindrops striking the branches became a low, echoing roar. "You can't do it, Mulder," she said slowly. "Or are you that far gone? That you'd kill your own partner just for a chance to get closer to the men behind the truth?" He stared at her down the barrel of his gun, eyes black and cold. "I have to kill you," he repeated in a low voice, stepping forward. She took a step back, sensing the chasm behind her. "You know, this isn't the first time they've suspected you - her. A few autopsies done more thoroughly than requested. A few too many questions here and there. Always, I've managed to convince them that it was a misunderstanding. Even when our relationship got rough, I always came through and defended her. This...this I can't talk them out of. They've decided that, to use their words, you are 'an unacceptable risk.' They want Scully dead, or it's all gone. I have to kill you." "No, you don't," she argued. His gun wavered slightly, but he tightened his grip, tensed his jaw and kept his aim. "If I don't...where does that leave me? Where does that leave us?" Mulder asked. It was half-rhetorical question, half-plea. The fire in his eyes was forced, his pain clear underneath. She blinked, and offered the only answer she could give. "It leaves you with a clean start. An honest start," she said at last, quietly yet steadily, meeting his gaze. "Maybe that's why this Scully broke off your engagement. Maybe she couldn't stand what she'd become - what you both had become. Maybe this is what she wanted all along. A chance to be honest again." They stood, eyes locked, gun between them, for a timeless moment. As the next flare of lightning lit the skies, he lunged forward. She edged backwards, but was out of ground. He grabbed her roughly, twisting her around to face the ravine and pulling her back against his chest. He leaned down to her ear, tightening his arms against her struggles. "Keep me honest, Scully," he whispered, then stepped back, releasing her with a shove. She looked back just before she overbalanced, to find him watching her. Then she was over the edge, tumbling, falling. The thunder roared again just before she blacked out. "Scully!" She was being shaken. Mulder had his gun, still - she could feel it in his hand where it clutched her arm. He was going to do it this time. He was going to shoot her. "Scully!" What more did he want? He had her trapped. Her head hurt. Hell, her whole body hurt. It was a wonder nothing was broken, after that fall. "Scully!" "Mulder," she mumbled, finally opening her eyes. She was almost blinded by a light shining in her face. "Sorry," he apologized, turning his flashlight away. Scully blinked, trying to clear the spots from her eyes. It was still dark, but the rain was gone. The storm clouds were gone. The night was still. "Ahh," she gasped involuntarily as she struggled to sit up. Mulder hovered, as though unwilling to let her rise, then moved back to give her room, and a helping hand on her shoulder. She blinked again. "Mulder," she started, then looked at him. In his black coat, he almost blended into the gloom at the bottom of the ravine. Black coat? "Is...is that you? Really you, you?" "I was going to ask you the same thing," he said, looking her over. "Are you all right?" She felt her head and took a mental inventory of her various aches and pains. "I think so," she offered after a moment. "You?" He chuckled quietly. "Yes." Mulder rose, offering a hand to help her do the same. She took it gratefully, finding her legs steadier than they had been earlier. Scully blinked again, looking around. She had dropped her flashlight, and saw no sign of it. Maybe it got left behind. Scully returned her gaze to Mulder, squinting at him. "So...is this it? Am I...are we…" She was having trouble finding the words to express her question. Mulder understood, though. He took her hands, turning his flashlight on them. Lightly, he rubbed a dirty thumb over her ring finger. "It looks like it's the real you," he said aloud, then turned to look in her eyes. She returned his gaze. Was this the real Mulder? Yes, she was suddenly certain. In the back of her mind, some portion of her subconscious confirmed it. His expression shifted as his own mind made the same conclusion. Scully relaxed, feeling her headache fading. She was bruised, filthy, and cold, but she was home. "Let's go home, Mulder," she voiced that thought wearily. He smiled. He had a hundred questions in his eyes, as did she, but at that moment neither needed to know more than they knew right then. They were home. Together. With Mulder's flashlight leading the way, they started up the ravine wall. Over the canopy of evergreen branches, the stars shone bright against a velvety blue evening sky. THE END Styx ©1999 by DreamLurker, a.k.a TBW, a.k.a the Master Dreamer. Not to be reproduced without permission. For permission, or to offer feedback of any sort, contact me at tbweber@email.msn.com . Thank you!