Title: A Change of Seasons Summary: A search for a mythical beast in the woods of Pennsylvania takes an alarming turn for the worse when Mulder's minor injury escalates into a life-threatening disease. Author's note: My thanks to Jill, Cheryl, Rebecca and Gerry for beta reading. Tuesday Late Afternoon "Tell me again why we're tromping through the woods of northern Pennsylvania in the winter?" It was the third time she'd asked the question in the hour that they'd been hiking, and Mulder was growing tired of repeating himself. "It's not winter, " he growled instead. It damn well felt like it, though, as he shivered inside his parka. "It's two days before Thanksgiving, and it's freezing. It's winter. Why am I here instead of scouring the stores for eggnog and cider?" "Is that what you're bringing this year?" he asked, somewhat wistfully. Every year he both envied and pitied her, as she regaled him with tales of what she diplomatically referred to as the annual Thanksgiving Get-Together, and what he privately called Hell: Scully-Family-Style. "Uh, huh, " she said, somewhat distractedly, raising her head and peering up at the treetops. "We're losing the daylight, Mulder." Scully shifted the rolled-up sleeping bag to one side, then pulled her backpack off and dug through. "Damn it, Mulder, " she said, and stopped walking. "What?" He halted his own forward progress, turning to face her. "There's no flashlight in here. I thought you said you packed one." Her tone was accusing, and although *how* she said it annoyed him, *what* she said alarmed him. Oh, God, he didn't-- He ripped his own knapsack from his shoulder and searched inside. "Shit!" "Where did you leave them?" Her tone resonated weariness and resignation. He sighed miserably. "On the table beside the bed. If it's any consolation, I did put the new batteries in them." "Great, " she muttered. "That'll be useful." "Look, it's done. I'm an idiot. I apologize." He squinted up at the waning sunlight. "We'd better start back. We can come back tomorrow." Hefting the pack onto his back, he started walking. "No." That pulled him up short. He turned around slowly. "What?" "You dragged me out here so we could spend a night in the woods waiting for this mythical 'black dog.' And now you want to go back because you forgot your flashlight?" She stared at him, incredulous, then blew out a breath. "I am going home tomorrow, Mulder. I'm going to hope to hell some store somewhere still has cider on its shelves, and I am going to drive to my mother's and spend a nice, X-File-free Thanksgiving with my family." Mulder tried hard not to flinch from the slap to his ego. A nice, X-file-free Thanksgiving. A nice, *Mulder-free* Thanksgiving. "Okay, " he said quietly. "We go back tomorrow, regardless." "Look, it'll be dark in about fifteen minutes." She stole a glance at her watch. "You said it was, what? An hour and a half hike to the site? If we hurry, we can make it there before sunset. Once we get a fire going, we won't need lights." She narrowed her eyes at him. "We *can* light a fire in those lean-to's?" "Not *in* them. But they've got a pit in front for a fire. And more importantly, the fire won't scare the dogs." "I'm still not comfortable about this, " she said. "You said that the dogs haven't harmed anyone? Right? A hiker will be sleeping, and then suddenly jerk awake to find a dog sitting, calmly watching him?" "Not just any dog. A *black* dog." "Sorry. To find a *black* dog sitting, calmly watching him." She raised an eyebrow. "And that's it?" He nodded excitedly. "Haven't you ever heard about the black dog, Scully?" She shook her head. "Not until you told me, no." He nodded. "They're not as prevalent here--in the US, I mean. Pennsylvania is one of only three states where they're on record as having made an appearance." Looking up at her, he retreated a little into his memory. "They're a big part of the folklore of Britain, though. Very enigmatic creatures. Friendly in some places, an omen of death or disaster in others. But anyone who's seen one has never forgotten the experience." "And you've seen one?" she asked. Smiling sadly, he shook his head. "I spoke to the hikers who've seen it, though." His eyes took on that familiar gleam he always got when discussing anything that fascinated him. "One woman woke to find it right in front of her face. She said it was..." He slid into recitation mode. "'...huge, with a shaggy coat, and eyes that were disproportionately large for its head. Its breath was warm and as strong as a gust of wind.'" She stared at him. "So it's a big dog, Mulder. A big *friendly* dog. I still don't see why we had to come here two days before Thanksgiving. You may not think much of 'family' but I do." As hurt flitted across his eyes, she instantly regretted her words. "Mulder--" "Did I tell you what else the woman said?" he went on hurriedly. At the shake of her head, he continued. "It disappeared. While she was looking at it, it vanished. Just faded away." He gazed at her expectantly. She sighed. "All right. We're here. And we'd better get moving if we want to make that camp before dark." She started jogging, Mulder following close behind. "Did you say that it only appears in the camp?" "That's right. The camp is on the site of an old farm. Deserted since the twenties. Until the camp opened this year, no one had been there at night for over seventy years." He took a quick breath. "As some ghosts are thought to haunt certain areas at certain times, so do some black dogs." "And tonight's the night?" He nodded. "And tomorrow. It's appeared two days in a row every 28 days. And those are just the sightings we're aware of since the camp opened in May. If we didn't come this month--and before you ask, no, I didn't know about it sooner--well, I didn't think you'd want to spend Christmas outside in a sleeping bag in the dead of winter." "You mean like tonight?" she threw over her shoulder. "Yeah, " he mumbled. "And you're sure these things are harmless?" When he didn't answer, she stopped suddenly and let him practically run into her. "They're harmless. Right, Mulder?" He was smack in her face, yet he wouldn't look at her. She took this as a bad sign. "No one's been harmed, " he said. "But...?" There was always a "but" where Mulder was concerned; you'd think she'd expect it by now. "But there have been instances--in the distant past--where they've attacked. That hasn't been the case here, though." Even taking a deep breath didn't dispel her irritation at his keeping this tidbit of information to himself. "Let's hope that remains the case, " she said. "Come on. We're not getting anywhere standing here." She started running again. Mulder took off after her. They kept up a pretty good pace, but still found themselves in the dark, stumbling over exposed tree roots and far-too-possessive vines. "We'd better slow it down, " Scully panted from somewhere in front of him. "It won't do us any good to break an ankle falling over a--" A muffled "whump!" and an "Oof!" reached his ears almost simultaneously. "Scully?" His voice sounded a lot calmer than he felt. "Scully? Are you all right?" Only silence greeted him. "Scully!" The panic was welling up and breaking free at the thought that she might be injured. "Scully, damn it, answer me!" He plodded forward, arms straight out in front of him. Unwilling to inflict more damage to her than he'd caused already, he trod carefully. "Scully?" he called again. "Please, Scully, if you can hear me, answer me." A muffled moan sounded off to his left, and he automatically turned toward it. "Scully?" The world exploded around him. He let out a howl as something bit into his ankle. And then he was face down on the forest floor, dizzy with pain. He refused to pass out, though, until he knew she was safe. "Scully?" "Mulder?" "Scully, are you all right?" he gasped. "I'm fine. Just had the wind knocked out of me." "Where are you?" he ground out through gritted teeth. "Keep talking so I can find you." "Um... Over here. I'm over here..." He felt an overpowering urge to faint. "Keep talking, Mulder!" Her sharp voice shocked him awake, but just barely. "I... Jesus, Scully, what the hell's taking you so long?" He groaned and tried to push himself to his knees; a hand on his back kept him lying flat while nearly scaring the life out of him. "Lie still." His head was swimming, and he moaned. "Was it the dog? Did it bite me?" "Nothing quite so innocent, " she said. There was anger in her voice, and he was afraid to ask why. "You're caught in a trap." "This close to a campsite?" She didn't answer, and he was suddenly filled with dread. "We should have been there by now, Mulder. I must have gotten turned around at some point." Her hand rubbed his leg. "I'm sorry." He nodded, and then realized that she couldn't see his face. "It's okay, " he said, softly, feeling sweat breaking out over his face. "Um... Scully?" "Yeah?" "If you want to try to get that trap off, now would be a good time." He felt her cool hand on his hot face. "Are you going to pass out?" "Uh, huh, " he said. And did. While he was unconscious, she freed him from the trap, then sprung it again so it couldn't catch another living being. Unrolling his sleeping bag, she laid it out in a small clearing about twenty yards away. She dragged Mulder over and lay him gently atop it, then ran back and retrieved the rest of their supplies. Working with the light of the half moon, she inspected the injury, heaving a sigh of thanks for the hiking boots that bore the brunt of the attack. She untied the boot and slid it off, then rolled his bloodied sock down. For an instant, two neat rows of puncture wounds met her eyes, then blood began seeping out, no convenient sock to staunch the flow. Quickly, she removed the first aid kit from her pack. She very liberally applied the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide to disinfect the wound, then applied antibiotic and wrapped it. On a hunch, she checked Mulder's pack, smiling triumphantly when she came up with her prize: clean socks. She replaced the underwear and assorted toiletries and thanked God she had a partner who was very hygienic. Since they'd planned to spend the night, she'd brought fresh clothing, but her other outdoor overnight experience with men--well, her brothers and they hadn't exactly been "men"--taught her that they were not as like-minded. She patted his leg, silently congratulating him. He stirred and moaned softly. Hastily, she rolled the soiled sock the rest of the way off, and replaced it with another white sock. She would have liked to leave the boot off, too, but it was too cold to leave his foot exposed. Loosening the laces more, she slid the boot back onto his foot. She tightened the laces but left it untied. "Scully?" His eyes were closed. She laid a palm on his cheek. "Right here, Mulder." "It's cold." As if his words were a catalyst, she shuddered. "I'm going to set up the heaters. You lie still." His response was a barely-vocalized grunt. As she pulled the small battery-powered heaters out of their packs, she was thankful that he was the creature of comfort who'd insisted that they carry the lightweight equipment. She'd argued that the fire would provide both light *and* heat, and he'd countered with, "What if it rains? The fire pits are outside the lean-to's. I don't know about you, but I don't want to freeze." And so she'd relented. Even though it was *his* idea to spend a night out of doors in the middle of winter waiting for what she was sure was someone's stray dog, she'd added yet another item to her already bulging knapsack. Thank God for modern equipment, she thought, as she clicked the units to "on" and immediately felt the warmth. "Hey, " she said, kneeling beside him. "Can you feel that?" He lay very still, and she thought he must have fallen asleep. "Feel what?" he asked, and she almost laughed at the trepidation in his tone. "The heat, Mulder." She tried to keep the reproof out of her voice. "Oh. Um..." His eyes opened, and he looked at her. "It's great. ...Thanks." She heard the slight hitch in his answer. "What?" she asked, gently, laying a hand on his arm. Shaking his head, he tried to smile; it came out as more of a grimace. "It's nothing." "Mulder, don't suffer in silence, " she said, exasperated. "Just *tell* me." He stared at her for maybe ten seconds, then swallowed. "I'm still cold, " he said in a small voice. "Oh, of course, " she said, angry at herself for being so thoughtless. She covered him with the other half of his sleeping bag and zipped it. "Better?" she asked. This time the smile was successful. "Better, " he said. "Although not what I had in mind." Her eyebrows raised. "I'm afraid that's all you're going to get, partner. You're not hurt *that* badly, you know." "How bad do I have to be?" He was feeling better, she could tell. There was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Well, two could play this game. "There's no set criteria but, generally, bad enough that you wouldn't remember in the morning." His eyes widened. "Scully, that has to be the mother of all Catch-22's." She grinned at him. "Specially designed just for you." He nodded. "Yup. It has that distinct Mulder flavor to it. A taste of ecstasy nullified by a heaping dollop of amnesia." He was smiling, yet his voice was bitter. "Mulder..." she started. Then she looked down. "Whatever you want from me, I can't give it." He rolled onto his side, away from her. "I don't want anything from you, Scully." She watched him breathe for a minute, then started to rise. "Scully." He turned back to face her, and she felt like crying at the smile he forced onto his face. He struggled until his hands were free of the bag, then reached out to her. She took his hands, not knowing what to expect, but knowing she could trust him. "I didn't mean that." "I know, " she said, and it came out as a whisper, all she could manage. She squeezed his hands, then tucked them back under the covers. "Get some sleep, Mulder, okay?" His eyes met hers, and she knew what he was asking even though he didn't utter a sound. "We're fine, Mulder, " she told him sincerely, and his relief was palpable. This time when he rolled over, she knew it was strictly for comfort. Wednesday He couldn't stop shivering. "I'm cold, Scully, " he said. He couldn't see her, and he couldn't feel her. The world consisted of nothing but the fire in his head, and the chill in his body. Yet he knew she was there. "I know you are, Mulder." The sound of her voice brought him back to the forest, and when he felt her arms around him, he was almost happy to be awake. "I don't feel well, " he told her, and that was an understatement. His head hurt, he was freezing cold, and he felt nauseated.. "I know, " she repeated, and he had the feeling that she'd been up for awhile, worrying over him. "This isn't right, " she said. "You shouldn't be this ill from a simple wound." He opened his eyes just in time to see her pale. "Oh, God, " she breathed. "An animal trap. It was an animal trap." His fear climbed a notch. "What about it?" he managed to ask. "Anthrax. I remember hearing something on the news about anthrax. Some cows were found dead from it, but not before the woodland animals had a feast." His stomach quivered at the thought. "If one of them was caught in that trap, and then it was reset..." She looked at him in horror. "We have to get you to a hospital." "I won't..." He shivered. "...argue with that." She unzipped the bag and helped him to sit up. He leaned heavily into her as a wave of dizziness assailed him, and a shudder wracked him. "Mulder?" He opened his eyes to find his face sandwiched between her hands. "Can... hear me?" Her lips moved and sounds issued forth; blinking slowly, he tried to determine what it was she was trying to do. "Mulder?" He jerked at the familiarity of the word. Then it all sank in. "Yeah, Scully?" he rasped. "I need to get to higher ground. The phones won't work in here." Her gaze swept behind and around him. "The trees must be interfering with the signal." "Okay, " he said. It sounded perfectly reasonable to him. "You have to come with me." He wasn't sure why, but that seemed important to her. "Okay." He shivered again. Scully was right: it *was* winter. "You have to walk, Mulder. Do you understand? I know you don't feel well, and I know your ankle hurts, but you have to walk." His gaze followed hers down to his ankle and then back up to meet her eyes. "Okay, " he said, his voice trembling a little. "I'm so cold, though, Scully. Can I get back in the sleeping bag?" She froze, and he wondered what he'd said wrong. "No, Mulder, " she said, and he was relieved to feel no anger from her. Her hands pressed lightly into his face with each word she emphasized. "You're sick, and you're getting sicker. We have to call for help." She released his face then. "Come on, now, " she said, rising. "See if you can stand." When she took her hands away, the cold struck him like a physical blow, and he breathed out like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Mulder!" Her face hovered before him, stricken with worry. "What's wrong?" she asked, and he felt like a heel for scaring her. "Nothing, " he answered. An iceberg, a freeze pop, a human popsicle... that's what he felt like. "I'm just a little cold, " he said. She pulled the unzipped sleeping bag around him. "Right. And I'm just a little short." Despite his misery, he smiled. "All right. I'm a *lot* cold." He raised his eyebrows in expectation. "Well, if you can make bad jokes, you must be feeling better, " she said, and he realized that the fuzziness had left him. Which was not altogether a good thing, since he could now feel every toothmark in his ankle. He smiled for her, though, and stretched out an arm toward her. "Can you give me a hand up?" She slung her rolled-up sleeping back around her neck and shrugged into her knapsack before reaching to pull him up. When he put his weight on the injured ankle, he flailed out, the back of his hand connecting solidly with Scully's cheek, nearly knocking her down. The world spun nauseatingly around him, and he closed his eyes tightly against it. "It's okay, Mulder. It's okay." He heard Scully's murmurings when the roar in his ears died down. "I'm all right." Pushing himself off her, he wondered how she'd managed to remain upright with his bulk draped over her. When he could focus, his eyes automatically sought out the contact point on her face; he winced at the redness he saw there. "Are you all right?" She rubbed at her cheek and nodded. "I'm fine." Steadying him, she bent down and quickly retrieved his backpack, then helped him into it. He stared at the mark on her face the entire time. Momentarily, he forgot about his ankle and the cold and how godawful sick he felt. "I hurt you." She picked up his open sleeping bag, spread it over him, then climbed beneath it next to him. She grabbed him firmly around the waist with one hand, holding the sleeping bag closed with the other. "It was an accident, Mulder, " she said, very softly. "It's all right." "I'm sorry." She smiled at him, and he felt her arm tighten around him. "I know you are." A wave of concern swept through her eyes. "Are you ready?" He nodded, and they started walking. Eventually, his concern for Scully fell away, and he began to feel like an abused, deflated, run-down-and-backed-over punching bag. His ankle was no longer merely throbbing; every step he took was bone-crunchingly excruciating. He closed his eyes and let Scully lead him. He wasn't aware he'd let his distress become vocal until he heard Scully's, "You're doing great, Mulder. We're almost there, " and her "I know. I know it hurts. Just a little further, okay?" "I'm..." ...all right, he wanted desperately to assure her, yet all he could manage was another choked-off moan. "Shh. Don't try to talk. You're doing beautifully. A few more feet, and you can rest. I promise." He didn't want to do beautifully. He didn't want a few more feet. He wanted this agony to end. He wanted Scully to make good on her promise. He wanted to rest. Scully was surprised Mulder had stayed on his feet as long as he had, so when he crumpled quietly to the ground she was ready for him. She eased him down gently onto his knees and slid his backpack off him, careful not to dislodge the sleeping bag covering his shivering form. Then, cupping a hand behind his neck, she lowered him onto his back with the sleeping bag beneath him. He whimpered softly when she straightened his injured leg, and she brushed a hand across his forehead. "Sorry, Mulder." She removed her sleeping bag and unzipped it, then folded it back in half so that when she covered him, it was with the soft flannel interior instead of the shiny cold smoothness of the outside. She dried the sweat off his face, and his eyes opened; he swallowed. "Scully, I don't know if I can--" "No more, Mulder, " she told him, shaking her head. "I think I can get through from here." She looked up at the crest of the hill about thirty yards behind him. "Well, up there anyway." He made a motion to look, but his eyes were the only things that moved. "I'll take your word for it, " he whispered. Smiling at him and patting his arm, she slid her knapsack off and took out her cell phone. She dialed the emergency mobile operator, closing her eyes in silent thanks when someone answered; she really hadn't wanted to leave Mulder alone, even for those few yards. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI..." She rattled off her badge number, explained their situation, and waited while they connected her to the hospital nearest their location. "...with the proper antibiotics, " he heard Scully's voice saying. He was lying on his back, looking up at Scully talking on her phone. She listened for a minute, then, "Not too far, I don't think. We were trying to reach the hikers' camp, then got turned around." She listened again. "No. We had to move to higher ground." A pause, then he watched as she raised her head and looked behind him. "Yes, I see it." An exhale of relief. "That would be great because, to tell you the truth, I don't think he can travel any more." She listened for a long time, then he saw what looked suspiciously like tears in her eyes. "I understand, " she said, and she hit the "End" button. "They're coming, Mulder. Just--" She looked down at him and stopped suddenly; very casually she turned her head and wiped her eyes. "How long have you been awake?" "A..." He licked his dry lips. "Just a few minutes." He knew her smile was forced. "Well, you don't have to go to them anymore, Mulder. They're coming to you." "Who?" he asked stupidly. His brain felt foggy. "The rescue team. The paramedics. Seems we picked the perfect place to call from. They're going to fly you out of here. They'll be here in about an hour." She wouldn't meet his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, and she looked at him, clearly shaken yet still feigning ignorance. He reached up and brushed his finger across her still-wet face. Before she could answer, though, another shudder convulsed through him, and he reached out for her in desperation. She held him tightly against her, and he was dismayed to find that his only reaction was an overwhelming urge to throw up. Or faint. Or both. Her hand rubbed his back. "Stay with me, Mulder. Please." How could he refuse her when she was pleading so mournfully? "I'm here, " he managed to say. "I'm still here, Scully." "Don't leave me, Mulder, " she said, and then he knew she wasn't just talking about a few minutes. Although he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go back to sleep, he lifted his head from her shoulder and smiled for her. "I won't." She looked fearfully into his eyes, and suddenly she laughed. "Oh, God, Mulder." She hugged him. "I'm such a fool." "What?" He felt dizzy, and he wasn't sure it was from the poison coursing through his system. "The penicillin you've been taking for your *last* injury." Laying him back down carefully, she started rummaging through the pockets in the front of his knapsack. She graced him with a joyful, teeth-filled smile, as she emerged triumphant with the small vial of pills. "I never thought I'd be happy that you were so clumsy." "I'm not clumsy, " he muttered. She might be deliriously happy, but he still felt like the Boston Pops was ringing in the new year by playing the 1812 Overture in his head. "A rusty nail? Come on, Mulder. No one over the age of twelve steps on a rusty nail." He said nothing as she lifted his head and made him swallow the small white pill. Another shudder ran through him, and God help him, he couldn't stop himself. As annoyed with her as he felt, he reached out for her. She didn't turn him away. It was a pity hug she gave him, but he didn't care. "Easy, Mulder. You're going to be all right now." "Oh, good, " he said, feeling like he was dying, and hoping for it even more. She thought he was clumsy. Clumsy and twelve years old. He closed his eyes. He didn't ever want to be twelve years old again. "Hey, " she said, and he felt her hand caressing his face. "I really need to work on my technique." His eyes opened, and he looked up at her blearily. "Technique?" His voice shook from another shudder. "Yeah, a pathologist doesn't get to practice her bedside manner too often." She lifted his head and placed it in her lap. "Better?" she asked. He mumbled noncommittally, wondering just what she was getting at--and what she was doing. "I'm sorry I called you clumsy, Mulder. I know you're not." A breeze whipped up and he started to shiver; she pulled the sleeping bag tighter around him. "I was just so relieved to know that you wouldn't be--" She pressed her lips together tightly. "Dead?" he asked, yearning to bury himself inside his cocoon until he was warm, yet unwilling to sacrifice moving his head from its coveted place in Scully's lap. "That's what they said before, didn't they? That I might not make it until they arrived." She nodded. "When they found out that the bacterium entered directly into your bloodstream, they were afraid it would spread before they could get to you." Her eyes closed briefly. "And then I remembered that you had some penicillin, and..." "You decided to add insult to injury." She grew very still beneath him. "I hope you believe me... That was never my intention." "I know, Scully, " he said. "It just slipped out, didn't it?" He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek into her leg; it felt like a comfort and a punishment. "I hate to think that's how you see me." She laughed, which was the last thing he expected--or wanted. Despite his chills, he felt too warm; he thought that now would be a very good time to pass out. But his body had other ideas, as it left him wide awake and all too aware. Couldn't things go his way just this once? "I don't see you that way at all, " she continued, obviously ignorant of the battle raging inside him. He felt too miserable to listen closely, but he had no choice. "I see you as my partner, of course, as a friend..." Her hand slipped under the sleeping bag to rub his neck, and he got the distinct impression that his outlook was about to improve. "Don't think I don't see you as a man, Mulder. I do." The kneading stopped, and her hand was just a warm presence on his neck. He turned his head and looked up at her. "I love you, you know." It wasn't the full, radiant smile she turned upon him, but one he'd never seen before, one overflowing with tenderness, and affection, and caring. "I know, " she said, and the smile lingered. He waited. And waited. His words didn't echo back to him. But the feeling did. Lawrence Memorial Hospital When he opened his eyes, she was there. In a chair by his bed she slept, and he watched her until she woke. Her first conscious movement was to look at him, and it jarred him, that he meant enough to her that her very first thought would be of him. "Hi, " she said, and she gave him that smile again, the one he would forevermore know was just for him. "Hi, " he returned. His voice was rusty, and grated on his throat. "Here. Have a few sips of this." She held a straw to his lips, and he drew the liquid in too quickly, coughing and spewing water onto her face and down her shirtfront. *Over before it began, * was all he could think, even while he was gasping for breath. "Sorry, " he wheezed, in between coughs, sinking even more into his pillows. He wished he could keep sinking right on through the bed. His face was hot, his head was throbbing and he didn't want to be awake any more. The coolness of a washcloth touched his face, accompanied by her soft voice. "Shh... It's okay, Mulder. It's okay." "I'm sorry, " he whispered, mortally embarrassed. He felt like he might just burn his way through the bed after all. On the floor it was blessedly cooler, and he sighed in relief. "Come on. Open your eyes." He heard the pleading in her voice, and he realized that he would never be able to refuse her anything. He was surprised to find himself still in bed; the coolness he felt was Scully bathing his face and chest. He looked up at her. That smile again. He knew he was forgiven. "Sorry, " he said, as if he'd never told her before. "It's okay, Mulder, " she told him, and he believed that it really was. "Want to try that again?" The offending straw and cup was hovering mere inches away from his mouth. "Um..." He swallowed dryly and nodded. "Get out of range this time, " he rasped, pleased with himself when she gave a soft laugh. "You'd think if I learned one thing in all this time I've been around you, it would be how to duck, " she said, sitting on his bed and sliding an arm around his shoulders. She held him tight against her while he swallowed the soothing water. When he was through his head fell back against the softness of her breast. He tried to see her behind him. "You know, you could have just cranked the bed up." She leaned forward until they were face to face. "Yes, I could have." He smiled goofily when her meaning penetrated the fuzziness that still surrounded him. The door opened suddenly, and a nurse came in carrying a paper bag. "You both slept through dinner, and well... the food's not the best here, even on Thanksgiving." She reached into the bag and removed two plastic-covered plates. "We had a lot left over. My husband brought this for you." Scully looked surprised, and Mulder felt awful. He'd slept an entire day. It was Thursday. She was here instead of there. "Thanks, Jen, " Scully said, gratefully. "I'm starving." The nurse smiled, placed the dishes on the table and left. "You should be home, " Mulder said, softly, not looking at her. "Mulder..." she said. He heard the mild rebuke in her tone and looked up nervously. He just about melted when he saw the look in her eyes. "Don't you know what they say about where the heart is?" Blinking back tears, he smiled. And nodded. The End The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one person. -Vi Putnam Comments would be greatly appreciated (any time of year)! Jo-Ann -- |