From Roswell to Virginia: The Offer, Chapter One by Vickie Moseley Summary: What happened between May 2002 and January 2008. A series in several parts. Rating: safe for under 16 Category: MSR, A Disclaimer: I just had to fill in that one monster sized blank. No infringement intended. Archive: yes Author's Notes: This first part, The Offer, consists of 6 chapters and goes from 2 years after the ending of The Truth (2004) to Christmas Time 2005. Subsequent parts will come later. I'll be posting these first six chapters one a night for the next six nights. Dedication: A special thank you and big 'assist' credit goes out to Laura Savadow -- this would have rested on my hard drive for at least another year had it not been for her encouragement. Comments to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Cottonwood, AZ September 15, 2004 Ray Carter held the board as his partner, Jim Nelson, drove in the last nail. The frame was finished. The next day the plumbers would be at the site to put in the pipes. It was the third duplex in the development and there were 16 sites with footings poured. The work seemed never ending. Nelson looked over at Carter and smiled. "Quittin' time," he said affably, pulling a red handkerchief from his back pocket and using it to wipe the sweat from his neck and face. "That little filly o' your'n pickin' you up?" Ray shook his head, the longish hair moving gently around his face. "Nah. I'm walking tonight. She's got a late shift at the WalMart." "I can drop you off. Ain't no trouble," Nelson replied. Ray shook his head. "She keeps telling me I need the exercise," he said with a smirk that sent Jim into peals of laughter. Nelson stared up and down his companion's lean frame. "Yeah, you're lookin' right flabby there. I can see that beer gut a mile away." Jim stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and stooped over to grab his tools. "Well, suit yourself. Tomorrow -- same 'bat' time . . . " "Same 'bat' station," Ray responded. In short order he had his own tools in the back of Jim's truck and slammed shut the tailgate. With a quick wave of his hand, he headed off down Arizona 89A toward the RV Park. It was a good two miles, but he didn't mind the walk. It was quiet, traffic along 89A was light and he made good time. If he hadn't been wearing steel-toed work boots, he would have broken into a run, just to feel the wind in his face. Instead, he lumbered along, eyes fixed on the horizon and not much else, mind fixed on nothing in particular. Half an hour later, he was pulling open the door to their 30-foot residence. It had been a luxury pull- behind, in its day. That day was approximately a dozen years ago. A basic shot-gun designed trailer, the kitchen was to the right, the living room, bathroom and bedroom to the left. The faux leather furniture was cracked and torn, the carpet was worn completely through in the high traffic area in front of the door. The mattress was as thin as a pancake. The fridge wouldn't keep milk more than a day and beer was always lukewarm. Ice was something they bought at the convenience store and it melted quick enough in the sink or the freezer. But it cost 400 bucks a month to rent and as long as they only used the A/C from midnight to 6, they could afford the utilities, which included basic cable. He pulled open the fridge and sneered in disgust at the bologna which had gone bad sometime during the day so he promptly dropped it in the trash. He grabbed a bottle of some generic beer he'd never heard of, twisted off the cap and plopped down in the reclining chair. Moments like this never failed to remind him how very far down they'd come. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember -- back to a time when his name wasn't Ray, it was Mulder. Hot nights in DC with the A/C on full blast so that his apartment windows fogged up. For some reason, she liked it cold in summer. He had almost laughed at her once, when he'd come by her apartment with a case file to find her shivering under a blanket with a fire blazing in the fireplace. The temperature outside was a balmy 86 that night but in Scully's apartment it had been just shy of subzero thanks to her central air conditioning. It had been a month or two after their 'Antarctic adventure', as he referred to it. He couldn't understand how she could tolerate the cold after nearly freezing to death on an ice flow next to a giant spaceship-sized crater. Of course, she couldn't understand why he still insisted that it had been a spaceship in the crater in the first place. But those days, even those days when they weren't quite fighting, not yet really talking, were long past. They were together now and they'd been on the run for over two years. Life had taken on somewhat of a rhythm. They never stayed anywhere more than six months, they never took jobs even remotely close to their old lives. Scully usually worked in retail, sometimes food service and he usually found something in construction or day labor. One stretch of six weeks they'd spent traveling the midwest with a small-time carnival until they'd both been hit on by the hygiene-adverse proprietor (on the same evening, just different times) and decided to find work elsewhere. Arizona was the latest rest stop on the road and if they held to their schedule, they would be there at least another two or three months. He heard the beat up Chevy Caprice Classic's tires on the gravel driveway and sighed. Hopefully Scully would have stopped by the grocery section of the Super Walmart and picked up something for dinner. As the door to the old pull-behind trailer opened, the unmistakable smell of roasted chicken assaulted his nose and his stomach growled loudly. "Well, at least a part of you is happy to see me," Scully quipped as she walked past him and dumped the two bags of groceries on the small kitchen table. "At least two parts, that I can name," he returned. "And if there's cold beer in one of those bags, I might be able to promise a few more parts." She smirked in his direction and pulled a six-pack of Rolling Rock longnecks out of one of the bags, waving it like a trophy. "Did someone forget to tell me we won the lottery?" he asked in mock surprise and stood, reaching for a bottle. She, however, held the carrier out of his reach. "Shower first, beer and dinner second." He frowned. "Hygiene control freak," he mumbled, bumping into her shoulder as he moved toward the tiny bathroom. That merited him another smirk that he caught in the smooth surface of the microwave oven. "And shave," she called after him. That brought a smile to his face because there was usually only one reason she requested him to shave in the evenings and it never failed to uplift his mood. When he returned, shaved and in a fresh shirt and pair of running shorts, she had the table set and dinner laid out. The roasted chicken was resting beside a container of his favorite potato salad and a plate of sliced tomatoes. His promised Rolling Rock was just above the knife of his place setting, sweat glistening in the late summer sunset coming through the window. He winked and smiled at her as he leaned over and gave her a kiss before sitting down across from her at the table. "So, this is nice," he commented. He picked up his bottle of beer and held it toward her as a toast. "To $4.89 roasted chicken," he said. She clicked her bottle's neck against his and smiled back. "It was 50 cents off. Only $4.39," she amended. "Which explains the expensive beer," he nodded but noticed that she was staring intently at her plate. "Or not," he prodded. After a few moments of silence she raised her eyes to gaze at him. "It's the 15th," she said, obviously expecting that to mean something more to him. He sat there for a moment, chewing his chicken. Finally it came to him. "It's your mom's birthday," he sighed. She nodded and dropped her eyes to the table again, this time dishing out a small helping of potato salad onto her plate. "I called her today. From the payphone at work." She wouldn't look up at him. "Scully . . . we talked about this," he moaned. "Sure, it's a pay phone, and they can't necessarily trace it to us right here but they'll come out here and start asking questions, showing our pictures. Not to mention that now they'll be watching your mom's every move. I don't get paid till the 30th and we'll have to leave here by tomorrow so we just lost a thousand bucks." He laid his fork back on the table and took another swig of his beer. "Mulder, they've already called my mother. Skinner did, over a month ago. About a deal." For a few terrifying moments she thought her words had struck him dead. "Mulder?" "It's a trap, Scully," he said, picking up his plate and carrying it to the postage stamp sized sink. He scraped the half-eaten chicken into the garbage and started water in the sink, putting in a squirt of dishwashing liquid before scrubbing the plate with more force than needed. "I don't think so, Mulder. Not if you hear what it was," she said quietly from her seat, less than five feet away. After rinsing the plate and putting it in the drainer on the counter to dry, he turned to her and crossed his arms. "OK. What's the deal?" "I'm cleared of all charges. I can return to DC, and I will be allowed to resign from the FBI, effective the date we left. I will have access to all my bank accounts, my medical license will be in reinstated." Mulder's eyes softened, he dropped his arms to use them to lean against the counter. "You'd get your life back," he said just above a whisper. After a few moments silence where he chewed on his top lip, he tilted his head. "I assume that's as far as the offer went. No mention of yours truly." She closed her eyes. "None," she responded. "Do you still think it's a trap?" He pulled on his bottom lip, staring at nothing. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably not. You really did nothing wrong, Scully. I'm the one with a price on my head." She picked up her plate and scraped it in the garbage, he took it and washed while she finished removing the rest of the meal from the table. "Should I keep this chicken?" she asked and he shook his head. She dumped everything in the garbage and he wiped his hands dry to take the bag out to the dumpster. When he came back inside, she was sitting on the threadbare sofa, another warming Rolling Rock half empty in her hands. "Mom . . . wants me to take the offer." "I'd suspect her of being a clone if she didn't," he huffed as he downed a second beer in two long gulps. "Mulder, I . . . I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave you, I don't want to be apart. It would be so dangerous for you by yourself -- " "I've done it before, Scully," he interjected. "But if I'm back there, maybe I can do something to clear you," she suggested. "How? You'd be outside the FBI. Scully, the gunmen," he choked a bit and then started again. "All possible resources are gone." "Doggett? Reyes?" "Even if they tried to help, Scully they'd share your fate. No. No heroic measures," he said, putting his arms around her and pulling her toward him to kiss the top of her head. "That's for your living will, Mulder. We're talking about your life. Our life. I meant what I said in that brig -- I'm fighting for us now." He touched her chin with his forefinger, raising her face up so he could place a kiss on her lips. "Let's talk more about it in the morning." Rising, he pulled her off the sofa and into the bedroom. The next morning, amid toast and peanut butter with a coffee chaser, he convinced her to go. Greyhound Bus Terminal San Diego, CA September 17, 2004 "Dana! Dana, we're over here!" Scully craned her neck around the six-foot tall gentleman directly in front of her and tried to find her sister-in-law in the crowd of people making their way across the bus terminal. Finally, she spotted Tara and immediately saw that Bill was with her. Scully sighed. She'd been dreading this moment almost as much as she'd been hoping for it to happen. "Tara, Bill. I'll be there in a sec," she called, skirting a woman struggling with a large suitcase and a wayward small child. "Excuse me," she said, pressing forward. In the wink of an eye, she was folded into a strong embrace. "Oh my God, we thought you were -- well, never mind what we thought! You're here! We're just happy to see you," Tara gushed, wiping at her wet cheeks. "You look great! Bill, doesn't she look great?" "Could stand a few more pounds on you, short stuff," Bill said gruffly, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "C'mere," he ordered, pulling her into another strong hug. When she extracted herself from her brother's arms, she looked around. "Where's Matthew?" Tara glared over at her husband. "He's with the sitter. Bill didn't think the bus terminal was a place we wanted Matty to see," she said, leaving no doubt that she didn't hold with that opinion. "I told him all kinds of people ride buses, but he was being an ass, so I gave in." "C'mon. Let's get out of this neighborhood while we still have hubcaps -- or tires for that matter," Bill groused and led the way out of the building. "That all you have for luggage?" he asked, motioning to the backpack in his sister's hand. "Yup. Been traveling light the last few years," Scully answered bluntly. "Humpf," was the response she got from her brother. Tara shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Well, I have some things that might fit you. And tomorrow we can go shopping at Horton Plaza. Their end of summer clearance sales are fantastic!" "Boy, just what you needed, Tara. An excuse to go shopping," Bill muttered, getting into the driver's seat. That started them off on some mild bickering and Scully sat back in her seat with a weary sigh. It had been a whirlwind of decisions in the last few days and she wasn't entirely sure all of them had been her own. Once Mulder learned that she could be free, he pressed her to call her mother and arrange to go home. Travel was more difficult if they intended to keep his location a secret, so it was decided (again, not by her) that she should go by bus from Flagstaff to San Diego, where she would spend a day or two with her brother before flying back to Baltimore. She glanced at her watch. It was just a little past 6 and she wondered if Mulder had fixed anything for supper. She had left him with the majority of her pay from the Walmart, so she knew he could have gone out on the town and had a Big Mac and fries. Suddenly, the thought of him so far away and all alone caused her eyes to tear and her throat to close up. "So, we thought Chinese for dinner?" Tara said brightly as she turned in her seat and caught the expression in her sister-in-law's eyes. "Oh, honey. I know, it must have been awful," she sympathized. Scully swiped at her cheeks. "No, it wasn't -- not really. It was just . . . " She sighed again and looked out the window. "Well, at least you got that albatross from around your neck," Bill chimed in. "Bill, you promised," Tara warned. "What? It's the truth, isn't it? Goddamned bastard stole her away from us in the middle of the night. Left her in the middle of Arizona, for god's sake! Hope the son of a bitch is at the bottom of a shallow grave about now -- " "Bill!" Tara shouted. "That is quite enough! Don't you see this is hurting her? Stop being a 'son of a bitch' yourself and think about your sister's feelings for a minute, will you?" It was everything she could do not to pull open the van door and fling herself on the pavement, moving by at 65 miles an hour. Only Tara's hand on her arm stopped her. "Dana, sweetie, he -- he says stuff he doesn't know anything about. I'm so sorry for the way things turned out between you. But I'm just really happy you decided to come home. We all are. And that's what we're going to concentrate on, isn't it Bill?" The last words were spoken in a voice that brokered no opposition. "Yeah, glad you're home," Bill said, grudgingly contrite. Once again, Scully remembered the other decision she had little input into -- the cover story she'd given her family. Mulder had concocted it before she'd even placed the call to her mom. According to the story, Mulder had dragged her out west and soon after they got to Arizona had run out on her in the middle of the night. She hadn't seen or heard from him in months. She'd been living in a homeless shelter in Flagstaff while she looked for work to get enough money for a bus ticket home. As luck would have it, she managed to get the money for a ticket to San Diego and thus, here she was. But she'd made some demands of her own before she left. One was that she would go immediately and get a cell phone and call the cell phone she'd left with Mulder. He would answer, saying she had the wrong number, but he would then have her number in his phone's contacts. He would call her from pay phones once a week -- Friday night at exactly 9 pm Mountain Time. She made him swear to keep to that schedule. She threatened drastic action if he failed to make even one call. When she told him that she would have nothing left to live for if she didn't hear from him, he understood exactly how drastic that action would be. Dinner with Tara and Bill was excellent, but she hardly tasted a thing. She made a show of pushing the food around her plate and smiling till her cheeks hurt. It was much harder than she thought, coming back to the 'real world'. "So we'll drop Matty off at kindergarten at 8:30 tomorrow. There's a Starbucks right down the street from St. Mary's so we can have a little coffee and girl talk before the stores open. We have to pick Matty up at 3:00 but that should give us plenty of time to find you a new wardrobe," Tara chattered on over coffee after dinner. "Tara," Scully said tiredly. "I have three dollars and forty-five cents to my name. I don't think I can afford a full wardrobe." Bill and Tara exchanged looks and Tara plastered on a smile before digging into her purse and producing a shiny new debit card. "Here. This is yours. Oh, and this," she added, pulling out a white business envelope. "The last account balance is in there, along with your pin number. You can change the pin number of course -- " "Bill, Tara, I can't take your money," Scully objected immediately. "It isn't 'our' money, Dana. It's yours," Bill said, looking a little uncomfortable. Tara saved him from going further. "After you, well, when we realized you weren't coming back, Maggie, er, your mom -- Dana, she sold your car, your furniture, everything in the place. She said if you did come home, you would need the money more than the furniture. Besides, she couldn't afford to keep up the rent on your apartment and she'd have been forced to put the things in storage. "So anyway, she sold everything -- got some pretty good deals on most of it. She put it all in an account, for when you came home. This isn't our money. It's yours, every last dime. It's a money market account and it's been making pretty good interest over the last two years. Needless to say, you have more than enough for some nice clothes and a plane ticket back home." For a moment it was hard for her to breathe. All her furniture and things -- sold. Her apartment -- gone. She had nothing left in Washington. Not her job, not her partner -- She struggled with the tears that threatened once again. When had she become such a weeper? While on the road she hadn't shed a single tear, not even when she'd seen playgrounds with mothers and babies and toddlers. Now all she wanted to do was crawl into a corner and weep to death. Then she realized the source of her strength over the last two years -- Mulder. While he was beside her, nothing could touch her. She could afford to be strong because she knew he always had her back. Had she just made another horrible mistake by leaving him? "Dana? Honey? Are you OK?" Tara was asking anxiously when she came out of her dark thoughts. "I . . . yeah. I'm fine," she replied automatically, even though she was anything but that. Cottonwood, AZ 5:35 pm "Goddamn it!" The hammer flew through the air, just barely missing the windshield of Jim's pick up. "Ray! What the hell?" Jim shouted from his spot at the tailgate of that same pick up. He looked up at his worker, now struggling to keep his footing on the peaked roof of the duplex they were framing. "I'm -- I'm sorry, Jim. I . . . I cut that last board too short," Mulder sighed, wiping his forehead with the already saturated kerchief that resided in his back pocket. "Ray, get your ass down here," Jim said dourly. Mulder, known as Ray Carter to his boss, scrambled down the frame of the house and slouched over to stand next to the truck. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll . . . I'll pay for those boards. Just take it out of my pay next week," Mulder started. "Hell, if you have another day like today you're gonna owe ME money on payday, Ray," Jim shot back. "What the hell has gotten into you, boy? Your filly got you sleepin' on the sofa?" Mulder winced and looked away. "That's it, isn't it? Well, hell, that's easy to fix," Jim laughed, slapping Mulder on the back. "Just head on over to the creek, pick her a bunch of wildflowers, put on your best cowed look and beg her forgiveness. Done and done. Easy as pie." "She's not there. I -- I sent her back to her . . . family," Mulder admitted. "You what? She's that much younger than she looks?" Jim demanded. "No, it's not like that. This . . . isn't the life for her - - living in rundown trailers, taking minimum wage jobs. She's a . . . she was a professional . . . before she hooked up with me." "Professional?" Jim asked, his eyes growing wide. "Professional like a 'working girl' -- that kind of -- " "God no!" Mulder interrupted. "She . . . she's a doctor. She was a doctor. She hasn't practiced in so long I don't even know if she still has a license." "So why couldn't she be a doctor here? We could sure use one!" "Like I said, I don't think she has her license anymore. Besides, that's not the point. She needs to get as far away from me as possible." Jim eyed him carefully. "Ray, I never ask questions. You're a good worker, most of the time. That's all I care about. But if you're in some trouble and I can help -- " Mulder shook his head sadly. "No, Jim. Thanks, but no. It's not like that. There's nothing you can do to help me." "Well, it's almost quittin' time. Why don't you knock off now, since I don't think I can afford anymore wasted boards -- for this week, at least." With a nod, Mulder picked up the forgotten hammer and put it with the rest of the tools. "Ray -- want a ride?" He only thought for a moment. "Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Jim. I'd appreciate that." end of chapter one From Roswell to Virginia: The Offer, Chapter Two Bill Scully's Residence San Diego, CA October 1, 2004 "So, what'll it be, Sis? I've got 'Master and Commander' and 'Return of the King'. Tara wants Viggo and you know which one I'm voting for, so you have to break the tie," Bill said, holding out the two DVD boxes. "And this time, I won't try to bribe you into voting my way." "Only because you know she's as much a Navy brat as you are," Tara smirked as she carried the basket of clean laundry up the stairs. "Hey, I thought you liked seeing Russell Crowe in those tight white pants," Bill called. "I liked him in Gladiator better," she called back down the steps. "We all did," Scully muttered to herself. "No, I'm afraid you're on your own, big brother. I'm going out for a little bit." "Out?" Bill asked, perplexed. "Out where? I'll get my jacket and go with you." His presumption annoyed her. "Bill, I just need -- I'm just going for a cup of coffee." "We have coffee in the kitchen. The good stuff. That stuff from Starbucks that Tara insists on paying 15 bucks a pound for." Scully was already at the door. "Look, I just want to go out for a bit. Is that all right?" she asked crossly. "Do I need to ask permission?" "No, of course not," Tara answered before Bill had a chance to put his foot any further in his mouth. "Here, take my car." "No, Tara, I was just going to catch the bus at the corner," Scully protested. "Don't be silly, Dana. Take my car. I just put gas in it this morning. Go. Have some peace and quiet. God knows you deserve it," she said, smiling, and pressing the keys into Scully's hand. "Thanks, Tara," Scully said, giving her sister-in-law a smile before heading out the door. She could hear her brother demanding to know what Tara meant by her comment as she opened up the driver's side door and got in. The radio station was turned to a country music channel and she quickly punched the off button. The silence was immediate and very welcomed. She loved her family, but she never realized how cramped a four bedroom split-level could be. Bill meant well, but he was constantly in her business. Tara was sweet and knew when to leave certain topics alone, but was always hovering, waiting for Scully to fall apart. She could have gone back east already, but she just couldn't face it yet. She'd talked to her mother almost daily, had several conversations with A.D. Skinner, too. It was taking time to get all the paperwork in order, but in essence, she was 'retiring' from the FBI. Retired at age 40 with only a few thousand dollars to her name. She was no closer to deciding what she wanted to do with her life, now that she was no longer running. It felt like the decision wasn't even really hers to make. She would have loved to drive around the harbor, but didn't want to waste Tara's gas. Instead, she drove through the drive up window at Starbucks, got herself a double shot latte, non-fat milk and parked the car at the far end of a Walmart parking lot where no other cars were around her. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. Waiting was the hardest part. After only a couple of minutes, the phone rang and she quickly answered. "Scully," she said, out of habit and the fact that he told her he loved hearing her answer the phone that way. "Hello, beautiful," he said in return. She couldn't stop her smile. "Hello back. How's the hand?" He'd made the mistake of telling her he'd hit the back of his hand with a hammer and she was still worried he might have broken something. "Better. Looks like hell, but it doesn't hurt anymore. So, where are you?" "Same place I was last week," she replied. "Made any decisions?" Their conversations where stilted at best, but they'd had years of practice at subterfuge and had no problem filling in the blank spaces. "No. Not really." "You do have all those years of schooling behind you. Have you considered taking some advice I gave you a long time ago?" "After the icicles melted from my ears -- that advice?" she shot back. "Hey, I gave you the socks _and_ the parka that day," he reminded her with a wounded tone. "I'm teasing. And yes, I've considered that option. I just don't know." "What's to consider?" he asked. "Well, it would mean a few years getting certified in a specialty. I'm not 22 anymore, as you well know. I just don't know if I really want to go through that." "I hear you. But it is an option. I think it's your best bet." "Enough about me. How's the scenery?" More than anything she wanted to ask where he'd relocated to, but she knew it was better that she didn't know. He'd told her he was leaving their 'luxury accommodations' in his last call, which meant he was either still on the road or had settled in already. "It's nice. A little harder to run 4 miles in the morning, but I'm adjusting." "You found a place to live?" "Nothing like our previous mansion, but yeah. Someplace to . . . " His voice trailed off. She understood. What they were doing couldn't really be considered 'living' any more. Existing, that's the best either could hope for. She swallowed past the tears threatening to choke her. "I think I might take that trip next week." "Different time zones -- we'll have to coordinate." "You call the same time as always," she told him. "I'll adjust accordingly. Did you find work yet?" "Yeah. Something a little safer -- something without hammers." "Please don't tell me you have to ask if they want fries with their order," she teased. "Were I that far up the food chain," he replied with a chuckle. "More like 'are you done with that plate, sir." "Do they let you split the tips?" "Hard to split a quarter, Scully." "Makes you think there might be karma, after all those years of lousy tipping," she quipped. "Ouch," he shot back. They were quiet for a long time, just listening to each other breathe. Neither wanted to be the one to say goodbye first. "Look, you better get back. Big brother will probably call the cops out if you're home too late." "That's one thing I won't miss when I leave here, that's for sure," she answered. "True 'dat," he joked. "Well, till next time . . . " "Wait," she said, suddenly anxious. "Don't hang up yet." "I'm still here, but I only have another fifty cents," he replied. "I . . . I'm going to do some thinking. I might have to make a few decisions on my own -- " "It's your life, Scully. They're all your decisions to make." "No, no, they're not. But I want you to know -- I'm not giving up." "Maybe you should," he murmured. "Don't say that -- don't ever say that again," she growled. "I'm not giving up and neither should you." "Last quarter. I gotta go." "Next week?" "Yeah, next week." "I love y --- " The dial tone was loud in her ear. She slowly pushed the button to end the call on her side and put the phone back in her pocket. As soon as she was done, she laid her head on the steering wheel and cried till she ran out of tears. The Bel-Aire Motor Lodge Gerlach, NV 9:55 pm Mulder rounded the corner from the pay phone next to the highway and dug his key out of his pocket. The motor lodge had been an economic necessity, but that didn't stop it from looking like a dump. The door to his unit had new wood on the frame and a metal guard around the lock mechanism, indicating either a cautious innkeeper or a recent break-in. Still, for a hundred bucks a week, it was someplace to lay his head. He flopped down on the lumpy mattress and stared at the television. It had fuzzed out on him the first night and the proprietor had promised to take a look at it. Mulder suspected it was a way to keep the utility bill in check. He'd already leafed through the Gideon Bible in the nightstand, and even gone so far as to see how many of his old high school classmates had last names listed in the 'Greater Reno' white pages. To say he was bored didn't even touch the reality. Maybe it was worse, keeping the connection to Scully. He spent all week looking forward to those few precious moments on the phone and then when they were over, he was despondent for the next 24 to 48 hours. He didn't miss her. He missed THEM, the two of them, together. He'd come back from the dead to be with her and now he was hard pressed to find a reason to keep living. Not if she were always going to be somewhere he wasn't. She'd told him not to give up. He recognized Scully in full 'Special Agent' mode when she told him not to say she should give up. It was music to his ears, considering there seemed to be so little left of the old Scully anymore. Too much grief, too many disappointments and crushing defeats could do that to a person. But maybe if he wasn't hanging around, like a ghost in the corners, she could move on with her life and start over again. Like she did when you were dead, a little voice inside his head countered. Oh, yeah, that worked so well. Not only did she keep his apartment long after she should have, she paid his bills, fed his fish -- who does that? He was dead, he was buried and she still couldn't bring herself to let him go. What was to say that she would manage to do it if he just disappeared -- again? If he failed to call at the appointed hour, she would probably start a national manhunt for him. Where the FBI and the consortium had bungled the job so far, he had no doubt that Dana Scully would leave no stone unturned in her pursuit of him. She was going back to DC soon, or so she'd implied. He hoped with all his heart that she would at least try to make the most of her time. From all the times she'd been there to save his miserable life, he knew she'd make an incredible doctor. Yes, it would be hard, but Scully had always needed work to put her back against. He just wished she'd see it that way. Somewhere in his musings he'd dozed off to sleep. Part of his brain knew it to be a dream because he'd never seen anything like it in the waking world. He was walking down a long driveway, carrying a stack of mail. Ahead of him was a little house, dormer windows tucked into the roof and a full porch in front. It wasn't much, but he smiled as he drew closer. When he was just about to take the steps up to the porch, the front door opened and Scully stepped out. "Bout time you made it. I was starting to worry." She stepped forward and took his hand, tugging him toward the door. "We've been busy. Got something to show you." He followed her into the living room, noting the well-worn furnishings, the lived-in feel of the room. Through the small dining room and into the kitchen, she led him. At the kitchen table she stood over a small boy, head bowed and coloring a picture for all he was worth. "Can I show Daddy what you made, Will?" The child nodded and smiled up at Mulder. Scully picked up the picture and held it so that it was framed in her hands. "Our family portrait," she announced. When he looked at the picture, there was nothing there. In that instant, he woke up with tears running down the sides of his face. Baltimore-Washington International Airport October 6, 2004 4:35 pm Maggie Scully stood at the baggage claim area, scanning the crowd. When she spotted the flash of red, she stood on tiptoe and waved her hand. "Dana. Honey, over here!" Scully smiled tiredly and made her way around the crowd of travelers to finally be engulfed in her mother's arms. "Mom. I'm so sorry," she choked out. "Shhh, none of that. We'll talk when we get you home. Do you have a bag checked?" Maggie said, all business. Maggie Scully had never been a cold or distant mother, but she never allowed family business to be conducted in public. It was where her daughter had learned to wait till the privacy of her home to show her emotions. "Yes, one bag. Um, it's red, I think. We bought it yesterday," Scully said, pulling away and wiping her eyes discretely. "Oh, there it is." She grabbed the luggage off the carousel and extended the handle to pull behind her. "Short term parking?" "Yes. I'm close to the exit so we'll be home in a jiffy." They talked of inconsequential things on the short ride. Maggie wanted all the details of Matthew's activities, even though she received regular reports from Tara. When they arrived at the house, Scully was met with the aroma of her mother's secret recipe vegetable soup. It brought tears to her eyes, but again she wiped them away and took her bags up to her old room. She was surprised to find that her mother had actually kept a few of her things. The bed and dresser from her old apartment now replaced the twin bed and nightstand of her high school days. When she looked in the closet, she found a few of her old suits and her good trench coat and winter over coat. A few pairs of shoes, both running and high heels were on the floor of the closet, lined up and waiting for her. She sat down on the bed, surveying the contents of the closet and the room. "I kept the things I thought you wouldn't want to part with -- the sweater your Dad brought you back from Italy and one or two of your nicer suits. I thought you might need something to wear for interviews," Maggie said from the doorway. "Tara and I went shopping in San Diego, but we got mostly casual clothes. Thanks for . . . for everything, Mom. If you hadn't stepped in -- " Once again, her gratitude and guilt threatened to overcome her. Maggie sat down next to her and pulled her into her arms. "Dana," she said, kissing her daughter's head. "I understand, more than you think I do. I know you did what you thought you had to. I did what _I_ thought you would want me to do. I knew you would need money at some point and I made sure you would have it available. I'm just so sorry things turned out this way. If you ever want to talk about what happened, about Fox -- " "Mom, I don't want to talk about him. Please," Scully begged. She stood up and started for the door. "That soup smells great. Can we eat now?" Maggie eyed her intently for a moment and then smiled. "Of course. It's ready. I have some bread from Caroline's Bakery and a salad made up in the fridge." "Sounds wonderful," Scully said with forced cheer. "Let's eat." They had just sat down when the front doorbell rang. Maggie smiled and excused herself. In a few minutes, Scully heard a familiar voice in the hall. She rose and stood at attention. "Sir!" she said, letting out an embarrassed chuckle at his frown. "Sorry, Walter. I'm just -- " She stepped around the table to give the man a warm hug. "I didn't expect to see you tonight." "Well, when Maggie said she was making vegetable soup, I wrangled an invitation," he said. "Now as I remember it, I called and invited you, Walter," Maggie said from the stove as she scooped more soup into a bowl. "Dana, get Walter's place set and we can eat." After several minutes of quiet eating, Skinner put down his spoon and leaned back from the table. "Maggie, that was wonderful. Thank you." "There's more in the pot, Walter. Can I get you another bowl?" "No, no. Thanks, but I have to watch it. I've got another match on Saturday and I have to be in shape." "Just remember to look out for those 'right hooks' this time," Maggie said with a smile. Scully looked from her mother to her former boss. There seemed to be a friendship there, more of a 'comrades in arms' feel than she remembered. But she realized, these two people had been brought together by their relationship to her and her choices. It was comforting to know that her mother had found someone she could talk with without fear of revealing too much information. She wished she had that luxury -- the burden of knowing that Mulder was out there with no one to watch his back nagged at her constantly. Maggie fended off all offers of assistance in clean up and finally Scully took Skinner into the living room. "Dana, I took the liberty of bringing the paperwork over here for you to sign. Don't get me wrong -- if you want to come to the Hoover tomorrow -- " "No, thank you, Walter. I wasn't relishing the thought. I'd just as soon not go back, if you don't mind." "Not at all. I understand," Skinner said, reaching into his suit coat and pulling out a very small set of papers, only two or three. "You'll have COBRA in effect for 18 months if you pay the full payments, so at least you'll have health insurance. Your retirement fund is vested, but I'm afraid if you start to draw on it this long before official retirement age, it will be a very small amount of money each month." "No, I'm letting it sit there until its time. I have to find work, I can't live on my government pension, Walter." Skinner nodded and looked away -- a sure indication to Scully that he had something on his mind. Finally, he met her gaze. "I have a few contacts outside the FBI, you know." She chuckled and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm aware you have a life." A faint blush colored his cheeks but his gaze never wavered. "I took the liberty of contacting an old friend of mine -- a guy I grew up with, actually, Dave Tyler. He's currently the Dean of Medicine at the University of Virginia." Scully leaned back in her seat. "Oh." "Dana, I sent him your folder." She pursed her lips. "Bet that was fun reading," she said dryly. "Actually, you have a significantly larger stack of commendations than of censures, if you did a tally," Skinner replied. "Anyway, Dave looked it over and said he had some thoughts on where you could go from here. He's very interested in meeting with you, if . . . you're amenable." She sat there, mentally at the crossroads she knew she'd come to eventually. Medicine was calling her. Where it had once felt like it only pulled her away from Mulder, a new thought formed in her mind. If she were a doctor, she was making a final break with all things FBI. With time, perhaps, those people watching her every move would see she wasn't a threat anymore. Her life and the lives of those around her would be much safer. It offered her a future. As a doctor, she wasn't tied to one place -- she could go anywhere. Even back to Mulder. By this time, Maggie had joined them. "I made coffee and I just happened to find a pumpkin pie in the refrigerator." Skinner looked at the tray and smiled. "Sounds perfect," he said taking a plate and happily starting to eat. "Dana?" Maggie asked. "Yes, thank you," she said. Then, looking over at Skinner she smiled. "Yes, to the pie and the offer." Walter looked relieved and Maggie grinned, having heard most of their conversation before bringing in the coffee and pie. "I'll call Dave tonight after I leave and set up a time and place." "Thank you," both Scully and Maggie said in unison. Jay Jay's Diner Gerlach, NV 8:45 pm Mulder surveyed the dining room with dismay. It was Friday night and he was supposed to be headed to the town's only working payphone, but instead, he was stuck cleaning up after a busload of stranded travelers. The Greyhound company was sending a new bus to pick up the more than 40 people, but that wasn't due to arrive until at least 11 and Charlie, the owner of Jay Jay's, had volunteered his dining room for temporary housing -- keeping the staff on after closing hours in anticipation of the money to be made. Mulder considered his options. He'd been in Gerlach almost 6 weeks, he could very easily quit this two-bit job and relocate. But he wasn't due to be paid until Tuesday and the tips to be made over the weekend would help him buy his own bus ticket out of town. As Sherry nodded for him to go ahead and clean off table three, he was still deep in thought. "Marty! Yo! Table three, dude," Sherry said as she passed him. "Oh, yeah. Sorry Sher," he apologized. "I know just how you feel," she whispered. "I have a hot date tonight, too. Damn shame we're stuck here with these losers. I mean, the most any of them can afford to order is a cup of coffee. I'm gonna make zilch in tips. Charlie's an asshole for making us stay." Mulder nodded in agreement and went over to bus the few dinner plates at table three. Sherry was right, Charlie was probably going to lose money on the deal, between paying for the extra hours of manpower and the amount of free refills all the bus patrons were consuming. As he carried the bin of dirty dishes back to the sinks, he passed the owner. "Um, Charlie, uh, do you think I could take my break in a few minutes?" Mulder asked. "Wait till that family over in 12 leaves, then you can take your break. But you better not be late coming back," the grizzled old man warned with the crook of his index finger. "No sir," Mulder promised. He waited dutifully, keeping busy by filling the napkin dispensers and loading the recent dishes in the dish machine. He watched the hands on the old Coca-cola clock in the dining room move past 9 o'clock and head unerringly toward 9:30. He knew Scully would be frantic by the time he finally called. It was almost a quarter to ten when he ran breathless to the payphone and starting plugging quarters in after dialing her number. He let the phone ring 4 times before her voicemail picked up. "Sorry, wrong number," he said, hoping to disguise his voice. He slammed down the receiver and started to walk away when the phone rang and startled him. He grabbed the receiver and answered. "Hello?" "Mulder?" she said and he could hear the tears in her voice. "Is that you?" "Yeah, Scully, I'm sorry. I got held up at work tonight." "That's OK. I just . . . I'm sorry I didn't answer right away. The phone got caught on my pocket and by the time I answered -- " "Hey, it's OK, it's all right. I just thought maybe you had a hot date with some young resident," he joked. "Classes don't start for another three weeks, Mulder. So far all I've met have been professors and administrative assistants -- most of them our age or older." "Did you find new digs?" "I have. A little apartment not far from campus. Mom loaned me a table and chairs and I found a sofa and end table at a resale shop just down the street." "Fireplace?" "No, no fireplace. Not that I'll have much time to relax in front of it if I had one. My adviser, Dr. Mercer, told me I could complete the classroom portion of neurology in two semesters, but I'll be taking a heavy load." "You'll do fine, I know it," he assured her. "You still slinging dirty dishes?" she asked. "Same place, for now. Probably not for much longer." She wanted so badly to tell him to come home, but what Skinner had told her during the last week had frightened her to the bone. "Be careful. Your currently 9 on the list," she said as cryptically as she could. "You're sure?" he replied. That meant he was on the Ten Most Wanted and his FBI picture would be on bulletin boards in every post office throughout the country. "Yeah." "They use the new picture or the old one?" he tried to joke. The Bureau had insisted on making him update his photo ID upon his return from the dead. He and Scully had joked about at that time. "The most recent one. Maybe a change is in order." "Yeah, on several levels. I'll get on that. Hey, I have to get back, I'm on a short break." "OK. I'm sorry I didn't answer right away." "I know. I'm sorry I was late." "I'm so sorry about a lot of things, you know," she said quietly. "We'll get through this Scully." "Be careful. Don't offer to pick up the mail," she warned. He chuckled softly. "Definitely. Till next week," he said, using their new way to say goodbye. "Next week," she answered and disconnected the call. He was still a wanted man, he thought as he put the receiver back. It was time to move on. end of chapter two From Roswell to Virginia: The Offer, Chapter Three Silver Nugget Motel Prospector, MT December 22, 2005 Mulder stood outside the motel office, his hands stuffed far into his pockets to ward off the wind. Forty dollars. That was all that stood between him and a warm bed for the night. With the temperature at 30 degrees and falling, it was sure to be chilly out in the elements. But all he had to his name was a wadded up sawbuck and a buck-fifty in loose coins. Twenty-one dollars and fifty cents and no jobs to be found. He'd even offered to hire on as housekeeping and maintenance for the motel in exchange for a room but the manager looked down her nose at him and said they already had plenty of help. Probably didn't appreciate the 'eau du roadkill' bouquet that wafted from him since a week ago when he'd had his last shower and change of clothes. If only he hadn't managed to get himself mugged at the bus station in Billings. He'd had a nice roll of bills on him at the time, nearly $500. Plenty to get a ticket to the next town on his mental list of hiding places and start again. Maybe even head south before the heavy snows set in the mountain passes. But as he'd left the station headed for a cheap motel, they'd caught him. Three kids, not more than 20 years old if a day. His FBI training kicked in for a while, but they had knifes and he'd brought fists -- it was no contest. He'd promised Scully he wouldn't go out and get himself killed and he sure wasn't in the mood to die over $500. Well, $480, in his pocket. The last $20 was his safety money and he'd hid it in his shoe. Next time he'd have the $20 in his pocket and the $480 in his shoe, but it might be a while before he could put that into practice. The wind was coming out of the west, straight down the mountain and Mulder pulled his collar up to somewhat block it. As he walked along looking for a diner or even just a bar, he passed a payphone. It only made him long to pick it up and dial a number from memory, Scully's new cell phone number. But the last time he'd talked to her had been the Friday after Thanksgiving and when she'd drifted off the conversation two times in five minutes she finally admitted she was reading a textbook while talking. She was coming up on her finals and these tests would determine where she would take her residency. She had no room to screw up and he knew he was a distraction so he'd offered a deal. He would call her on Christmas Eve and they would talk for more than 15 minutes. She was to save up her cell phone time until then. It would be their Christmas present to each other. She'd been sniffling as she disconnected their last call, promising that she would have good news when they next talked. He couldn't imagine what good news would sound like at this point. A warm bed was all the good news he could conjure in his mind. One lone store front was open at this late hour and he headed for it like a beacon in stormy seas. The diner was warm and he found a seat in a booth near the back. He ordered a bowl of vegetable soup and water for a total of $2.79. His stomach growled while the waitress was taking his order and she smiled at him and brought over a basket of crackers before leaving to get his food. He glanced up at the clock on the wall to see it was just a quarter to eight. If he played his cards right, he could manage to sit in the warmth for at least an hour. When the waitress brought his bowl of soup, she placed a piece of apple pie next to his water. "I didn't order this," he said with a frown. "Last piece and dinner hour's mostly over -- it'll get all runny over night so I'd just have to throw it away tomorrow," she said. When he looked up at her, he saw that she was middle aged, late forties, and had a motherly air about her. "Eat up," she directed and then was called to the register to cash out the only other patron. An hour later, she was standing behind the counter, not looking his way but with an air of boredom. He walked up and handed over the $20, having left the change on the table for a tip. She counted out the $17.21 and he started for the door but turned at the last minute. "You wouldn't need any help around here, would you?" he asked. She sized him up a minute, then looked down at the dirty tiled floor. "Know how to swing a mop?" "Sure do," Mulder replied eagerly. She nodded. "I close up at 10. Be back here then and you can mop up while I'm taking the deposit. I'll pay you $10, cash." "I'll be here. Thanks," Mulder replied and made his way across the street to a laundry mat, the only other building open at that hour. Snow was falling just as Mulder left the diner with a total of $27.21 in his pocket and no place left to go. He looked left and saw only snow. Right was no better. He hunched down in his jacket and started down the road to the right, only because the wind would then be at his back. This would be his 8th night out in the weather and he certainly wasn't looking forward to it. He was so very tired. As he turned a corner, a shed door came unlatched and was caught by the wind, slamming it against the wall with enough force to shake the little 6 by 6 building. The noise startled him and he looked up at the open door. Mulder took a moment to check all around. The shed was near a small church, next to the alley at the back of the property. When he peered in, he could see a few rakes and assorted implements of yardwork, a pair of hedge clippers hanging along the wall and some burlap bags full of grass seed. Not the Ritz, but a windbreak just the same. He stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him. Just being out of the wind made him instantly warmer. A ball of twine allowed him to make a 'latch' for the door and by shifting some of the bags along the floor, he constructed a reasonably comfortable bed. A plastic tarp with a rip down the middle managed to cover him to some extent. It was in this MacGyvered domicile that Mulder tried to fall asleep. The last week he'd had trouble falling asleep, mostly because the first three nights he was wet from the near constant drizzle, then the wind had come up and made sure he spent the nights shivering. Now that he finally had a relatively warm and dry place, he let his mind slip to another warm and dry time. After their millennial kiss, it took at least another few weeks before Scully managed to fall under his charms. At least that was the way he chose to remember it. But one night, one cold night in late January, they were sharing a pizza and finishing up the expense reports from yet another case on the Left Coast and it happened. A snowstorm, total white out and Mulder talked her into staying the night. * * * * * * * "It's cold out there, Mulder. Hurry up and get in here!" Scully demanded from under the mountain of pillows and comforters piled on the bed. "My, aren't we impatient," he chuffed out a laugh as he toed off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans. "whhoooo, it is chilly," he muttered as he dove under the blankets and snuggled up next to her naked body. "Yeaouch! Mulder, watch those feet!" she yelped. "Sorry, cold feet, warm heart," he promised, pulling her into his arms. "Those babies should be registered as lethal weapons," she murmured into his neck. A few seconds later, she was tight against him, sighing with pure contentment. "Warmer?" he asked. "Infinitely. So when did your super say they'd get the boiler fixed?" "Day after tomorrow," Mulder replied with a yawn. "And tell me again why we aren't packing up and heading to _my_ apartment, with the heater in perfect working condition?" she asked sleepily. "It was my turn for the slumber party, Scully. You remember," he chided. "Yeah, right," she muttered again and burrowed farther into his shoulder. "Besides, I'm closer to National and our flight is at 7 tomorrow." "Don't remind me. Snakes. Tennessee," she slurred. He smiled and brought his hand up to smooth her hair. "Shhh, go to sleep, Scully. Morning will be here soon enough." "Love you," she murmured as sleep claimed her. "Love you, too," he smiled and joined her in slumber. Richmond, VA 7:15 am Scully awoke to the blaring of her alarm clock, holding her pillow in a tight embrace. The last images of her dream were fading, but it had been so vivid. All she knew was that she had been sleeping safely in Mulder's arms, that he was there with her, warm, loving and totally real. She sighed her disappointment that it occurred only in her dream and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. The wind rattled against the window of her tiny one-bedroom apartment. It was drizzling rain, but the forecast was calling for snow showers later in the evening. She smiled as she remembered that it was her last day of finals. After 2:30 pm, she would be free -- all her coursework completed. All she had left to do was decide on where she wanted to do her residency. Unlike some of her classmates, she didn't have an overabundance of offers at hospitals, but there were a few she was considering. She couldn't wait until Christmas Eve when she could talk to Mulder about her plan. One hospital was in Wyoming. It wasn't her first choice as far as program, but it was in a small town in the mountains. It seemed like a perfect place to blend in, become invisible. She'd chosen her specialty in Pediatric Neurology for a reason -- it seemed the farthest she could manage away from pathology or forensic medicine. Working with children meant little chance she would be drawn into any police work, even as an expert witness. Mulder seemed to like the western states, so it was her plan that eventually he could join her wherever she was. It would take some talking to get him to agree and they would need time and resources to pull it off, but in a couple of years, they could be together. Just a couple of years. Her heart sank. It had been so hard, this past year without him. She'd been busy, classes had taken every waking minute, but the nights were so long when she knew she would be crawling into bed by herself. Their phone calls were a lifeline, but even those became hard to deal with as her studies called her. Mulder, as much as she loved him, was a distraction from the course she'd laid out for them. He didn't know that the reason she was working so hard, studying so diligently was because she saw it as the only way back to him. She couldn't tell him, in case she failed. But she planned to tell him everything on Christmas Eve. She would lay it all out -- her 'five year plan' for them, that included no less than the two of them together, somewhere, safe. She would make it happen. All she had to do was get through the day. Douglas Avenue Church parsonage Prospector, MT 5:15 am Thomas Wells rolled his shoulders and looked out the living room window at the snow-covered street. As the newly installed pastor of Douglas Avenue Church, it was his job to shovel the sidewalks and spread deicer. "Coffee?" offered Sherry his wife, with a yawn. "You didn't have to get up," Thom told her as he accepted the mug. "Told Drew I'd be at the clinic early this morning. Blood pressure day at the senior center," she replied, shuffling off to toward the kitchen. "So, can I expect a big breakfast when I come back in?" he asked, wrapping another scarf around his neck and stuffing his hands in fur lined mittens. "Sure. What are you going to fix?" she asked with a twinkle in her eyes. "Tell you what, if you can get the steps and walk done by the time I'm out of the bathroom, I'll scramble you some eggs and you can finish off the last of the English muffins." "Deal!" he answered with renewed enthusiasm for the tasks at hand. The steps took only a few minutes and he had most of the sidewalks clear when he hit a patch of ice where the guttering on the old parsonage had allowed rain to leak onto the walk. It was right where Sherry would have to walk to get to their car and visions of his bride hobbling around on crutches spurred him to take more drastic action. He remembered seeing an ice breaker in the shed when he'd put the rakes away just a few weeks before. He headed out back to retrieve the tool. Pulling on the door to the shed, he found it caught on something. Upon closer inspection in the twilight of the winter morning, he saw a piece of twine holding the door shut from the inside. As he tugged, the twine gave way, revealing a battered tarp on the floor covering -- something. Thom, without conscious thought, reached down and lifted the edge of the tarp, jumping back three feet or more when he saw the body. A man, a homeless man from the looks of him. Fearing the worst, Thom grimaced as he leaned over and poked at the man's shoulder. The man didn't awaken, but he did groan. "Hey, buddy, time to wake up," Thom said loudly near the man's ear. No response. Thom sniffed the air, expecting to detect the scent of alcohol on the man's breath, but couldn't smell anything. Pulling off his mitten, Thom put his hand to the man's neck and felt for a pulse. It was rapid and thready. More disturbing was the heat radiating from the man's face and neck and the bright flush of fever on his exposed cheeks. "Oh dear," Thom worried and hurried into the house to get his wife, the LPN. 5:45 am Thom and Sherry maneuvered the man's dead weight through the parsonage door and into the small bedroom Thom used as a study. Sherry had already folded out the futon and made the bed up with spare sheets and pillows from their sofa. "Get me the thermometer, it's in the medicine cabinet," Sherry directed after Thom had stripped the man of most of his tattered and dirty clothes and covered him with a blanket. Thom returned with the thermometer and a bowl of water and a washcloth. "How's he doing?" Thom asked, as Sherry removed the glass tube from the man's lips. "A hundred and three," Sherry said with a frown. She placed her hand on his chest and was quiet for a moment. "He's got a rattle in his chest. Could be bronchitis, could be pneumonia. We'd need an xray to tell for sure. I should call Drew, see if he'd mind dropping by on his way to the clinic. As she moved over to the desk to dial her boss, the man groaned again and muttered something in his sleep. "What did he say?" Sherry asked, waiting for the line to be connected. "Sounded like Sully . . . Sally, maybe . . . I couldn't quite make it out," Thom informed her. Sherry glanced at the man again and then turned her attention to the phone call. "Drew, hi, this is Sherry. Hey, uh, we have a homeless guy here at the house. Thom found him in the tool shed. Yeah. Well, we don't know his name, he's unconscious and he's running a high fever. He sounds pretty congested in his chest, too. Do you think -- Yes, yes that would be great. Thank you. We really appreciate it. See you soon." end of chapter three From Roswell to Virginia: The Offer, Chapter Four Prospector, MT 5:35 pm Thom peeked in on their 'guest' again, making sure the man was still covered. In his fevers and subsequent coughing fits he had managed to kick the blankets to the foot of the bed by lunchtime when Thom had been home to tend to him. Dr. Drew had assured both Thom and Sherry that the man was not going anywhere and didn't need hospitalization. His diagnosis was acute bronchitis and bed rest, plenty of liquids and fever reducers were all that were required for recovery. That left the question of what he was doing in their shed for another time. For now, Thom had seen the arrival of their houseguest as one of God's many little challenges and forged ahead. But he wondered what the man was doing in Prospector, a town of only 600 residents, in the first place and right at Christmas time, to boot. Going back to the kitchen, Thom spooned some chicken with rice soup into a cup and placed in on a wooden tray next to a glass of orange juice. It was going to be tricky getting any of it in their patient, but since Sherry had called to say the line of seniors seeking to have their free blood pressure readings was longer than expected, Thom was on his own. "OK, uh, friend," Thom said jovially as he juggled the tray onto his desk and pulled his chair over closer to the futon. "Let's eat." Then, suddenly, he realized what was missing. "Oh, but first -- " Thom bowed his head and put his hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Dear Lord, please bless this meal and this stranger who is so in need of Your guiding hand. Help him to find strength in this food and feel the welcome in our hearts. In Jesus's name we ask this . . . Amen." "scuully," Mulder moaned and rolled onto his back. A dry, hacking cough seemed to start in his very toes and shook his lanky frame for a few seconds before he quieted. He didn't awaken, but started to murmur again. "4-1-0. 6-5-3. 2-1-8-9," he muttered and rolled over again so that his back was toward Thom. The young minister looked at the man and chewed on his bottom lip. Numbers? What was he talking about? Numbers. A bunch of random numbers . . . "Is that a phone number, friend? Is there someone you want us to call?" But Mulder was deeper in slumber and didn't answer. If only he'd listened more closely, Thom chided himself. He caught part of the number, the first part at least. 4-1-0. That was an area code, it had to be. The rest was -- a blur. Thom vaguely remembered a 6, sounded like an 8, the last number could have been 5 or maybe 9? He'd never been good with numbers and he hadn't expected such a clue to the stranger's identity. The next time, Thom would grab for a pen and paper, but for now, he'd have to wait until the man was more conscious before he could ask for him to repeat it. "We'll help you any way we can, friend," Thom assured the stranger on his study's futon. "Something tells me there's someone out there that might be worried about you." Chevy's Bar and Grill Richmond, VA December 23, 2005 7:25 pm "And Santa Claus is co-o-o-m-m-m-ing to town!" Scully smiled indulgently at her classmates as they finished the third time through of the all time Christmas classic, sung decidedly off-key with the battered juke box in the corner of the bar. "Dana, c'mon! You're way behind," encouraged a handsome surfer type who was at least 15 years her junior and unusually adept at pouring beer with very little foam. "Finals are over! They can't do anything to us now!" he crowed, pouring another glass of beer from one of the several pitchers lining the table. "You haven't seen residency yet, Chris," Scully warned. "Yeah, Chris. Listen to the lady! She's a --whaz that you call yourself, Dana," slurred another classmate, Tracy, a pretty blonde who would have made a perfect covergirl for one of Mulder's more illicit subscriptions. "Retread!" shouted another classmate. "She's been here, done this. What I can't understand is why anyone would want to go through this torture again," the young woman exclaimed, raising a glass in Scully's direction. "Just a glutton for punishment," Scully said dryly, sipping on her first and only glass of beer. She glanced at her watch and decided it was time to take her leave. "Look, it's been a lot of fun, but I think I'm heading out. "Hot date tonight, Dana?" Chris asked. He'd been shyly flirting with her all semester, but with classes over, he seemed to have found his courage. He was the one who had bullied her into 'celebrating' with her classmates. "No, I have to drive to Baltimore tonight. Family's coming in for Christmas." "You can drive there tomorrow. I'll even wake you up early," Chris said suggestively, leaning one hand on the table and the other on the back of her chair so that he was trapping her in her seat. "Let the woman be, cave man," Tracy warned and glared at him until he moved. She grinned at Scully. "Glad you could make it tonight, Dana. Let us know where you end up, OK?" Scully smiled again. "Absolutely. Keep in touch, all of you. Good luck and Merry Christmas!" She opened the door and stepped out into a fairyland of white. The promised snow had arrived and the temperature had dropped to the point where it was actually sticking to the ground. She pulled on her gloves and reached in her purse for her keys. Her cell phone rang before she found them. "Dana Scully," she answered. "Hey, Sis. Are you on the road yet? Mom says you better hurry, it's supposed to get slick tonight." She closed her eyes. "Yes, Bill. I managed to watch the weather today, too. I'm just leaving. My car's packed and gassed up. Since I won't have to fight rush hour traffic through DC, I should be there in about 3 hours." "Well, hurry up. Charlie and crew are only an hour out so you're the straggler." First he told her the roads were getting slick, then he wanted her to hurry up. Oh how she'd missed her brother during the last year -- not. "Sure, Bill. Just make sure someone leaves me a bed or at least a couch and a pillow for tonight." "We'll try, but I'm not making any promises if you don't get here quick." "Goodbye Bill," she intoned tersely. "See you soon, Short Stuff." She walked the half block to her car and started to open the door when her phone trilled again. She pulled it out one-handed and growled "Bill, I told you, I'm on the way!" There was silence and then a hasty "Sorry, I think I might have the wrong number." "Oh, no, I'm sorry. Ah, this is Dana Scully," she amended, cursing herself for not looking at the caller ID. "Did you say Scully?" the man on the other end of the line asked. "Yes, Dana Scully. Can I help you?" "I hope so," said the caller. "My name is Reverend Thom Wells, I'm in Prospector, Montana. I, uh, I found a man in my tool shed this morning -- " "Oh, god," Scully gasped. "Oh, no, he's alive, I mean, he's sick but we've had him checked by a doctor. Well, anyway, he keeps calling for Sully or something and he mumbled this number and -- I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have bothered you -- " "No, no, Rev. Wells, that's quite all right. This man, is he tall, about 6 foot, brown hair, hazel eyes? Does he have a mole on his right cheek?" There was silence for a moment and then an excited "Yes, yes there is. At least I think there is. He has a beard right now but I do see a mole and his eyes are hazel." She swallowed, her heart thumping in her chest. "You said he's been seen by a doctor. What's wrong with him?" "Bronchitis. He's also pretty run down. Drew, er, the doctor said it looks like he hasn't eaten much and we think he might have spent a few nights outside. He only had 27 dollars in his pocket and no identification." Relief washed over her. Bronchitis. Nothing life threatening, as long as he was warm, dry and resting. "Rev. Wells, how do I get to . . . did you say Prospector?" she asked. "Then you know this man?" "Yes, yes I do. He's my . . . he's a very close friend of mine. We've been in contact but I haven't heard from him in about a month. Sounds like he got himself into some trouble. I'd like to come out and . . . " She stopped suddenly. 'Come out and -- ' what? Bringing him home was out of the question. Staying out in Montana wasn't an option, either. She realized the Reverend was waiting for her to continue. "I'd like to come out and help him. I'd really like to get a flight out there tonight, if possible." "Sure, of course. Tell you what -- the closest airport is Billings and I have a friend who can pick you up. It's probably easier that way than trying to give you directions. We're tucked in the mountains here." "I don't want to put you to more trouble," Scully objected. "Nonsense. I'm just happy we found his . . . friend," Thom said, emphasizing the last word. "You have my number now. Just call us with your flight arrangements and we'll be there to pick you up." "Thank you. You -- you don't know what this means to me," Scully said, the weight of this conversation falling solidly on her heart. "One last thing, Ms. Scully." "Certainly, what do you need?" "His name. Can you give me his name?" She thought for a second. "Frank. Frank Miller. But just call him Miller. He prefers to go by his last name." She was fairly certain that even a fever ridden Mulder would answer to a name that sounded so close to his own. "Miller. Got it. Thank you Ms. Scully. I'll await your call." Scully disconnected the line and immediately dialed the first airlines she could remember that flew into Billings. Years of traveling to the far corners of the country served her well. In fifteen minutes she had a flight out of Richmond Airport to Billings with a rather lengthy layover in Chicago, but it was leaving in two hours. She was already packed, so all she had to do was get to the airport. Her phone rang as she was leaving the ticket counter. She had already called Rev. Wells with the information, so she was surprised and then dismayed to see her mother's phone number on the caller ID. Her mother and family -- the ones expecting her in Baltimore. "Hi, um, Mom," she answered. "No, just using Mom's phone. Hey, do you think you could stop by a convenience store and grab a gallon of milk on your way here? Mom forgot to pick some up earlier and you're on the way . . ." Bill said casually. "Bill," Scully replied at a loss for words. "C'mon, Dana. It's a lousy gallon of milk. They sell the stuff at every gas station. Just grab one and I'll pay you back, I promise." "Well, that's the problem. I'm not coming home tonight." She took a deep breath and waited for the fireworks. There was silence for several minutes and then loud guffaws. "Good one, Dana! Man, you had me going there. Just like 'old times', right? But I know better. That sorry son of a bitch is nowhere to be found so you just thought you'd put one over on me, you little pipsqueak! So, where are you? Have you made it to DC yet?" "Bill. I'm serious. I'm not coming. May I speak with Mom, please?" "What's this about? Dana, I thought you put all this clock and dagger shit behind you." "Bill. Mom. Now. Please," she bit out. "Sure. Whatever. Just a sec." She could tell he was pissed but she did hear him yell for their mother to come to the phone. "Dana what's going on? What did you say to Billy that got him so angry?" Maggie asked once she was on the line. "I can't make it," Scully said, licking her lips. "Can't make it -- where? Home? Why not, for heaven sakes?" She was cornered and she knew it. "Mom, I just -- I can't face it. I just . . . I need some time to myself." "You've had a whole year at school, sweetheart. We're your family and we love you. We want to celebrate with you. You're starting a whole new career and soon you'll be so busy with work. This was supposed to be a time to reconnect with us, remember?" "Mom, please. I . . . please just allow me this," Scully begged. "Dana, if I didn't know better, I'd say this had something to do with Fox," Maggie sighed. "Or did I just say too much," she added tartly. "Mom, I can't explain it now. Please, please just try to understand." "Sure. That's all I can do, isn't it? Try to understand. Lord knows you won't give me any information to help me understand." "I'm sorry, Mom." The PA system almost drowned out her words. "Is that . . . Dana, are you in an airport?" "Yes." "Will you at least tell me where you're going?" "Mom, I have to run. I'll call you . . . when I get back. I promise. I love you. I mean that with all my heart." "Fine," Maggie replied. "Merry Christmas, Dana. I hope you know what you're doing." She hung up the phone before Scully could answer. As she hurried off to her find her gate, she put the phone in her pocket. "So do I, Mom. So do I." Prospector, MT 8:55 am Scully looked over at the older man behind the wheel of the ancient pick up. He looked in his 60s but had a boyish expression and a quick wit. They'd made their acquaintance at the Billings Airport just a half hour ago. "Name's Ben Whittle, I'm the Deacon of Douglas Avenue Church. Rev. Thom sent me to fetch ya. Did ya check your bag?" he said and in minutes they were on the road. "I want to thank you for coming to the airport, Mr. Whittle," Scully said as she looked around and finally found the end to her seatbelt on the huge bench of the pick up. "Please, call me Ben. Round these parts if you said 'Mr. Whittle' people'll look at ya funny. Ben or Deacon Ben, whichever. Nary a problem, Ms. Scully. Just real glad that fella the Reverend found has someone to look out for him. Peers he's not done the best job of that on his own." His words, meant in passing, were like a stake driven right into Scully's heart. It was just as she feared all those many months ago. Mulder had put on a brave front, and from their phone calls, he appeared to be getting along fine without her, but this recent development proved that to be a false impression. "Not to be nosy, but how long you know this fella, uh, Miller?" Ben asked. Scully smiled at the question. "All my life," she said quietly. Then, because she didn't want to lie to this man, she added "well, it seems that way sometimes. Really, I've known him almost 14 years." "Was he . . . a vet?" Ben asked. "A vet?" Scully echoed, not understanding his meaning until finally it came to her. "A veteran? No, no he was never in the military," she answered. Ben nodded. "Just seems odd -- I mean, don't get me wrong, I know folks can stumble on hard times, but he don't seem like a . . . well, your typical homeless person." "He's not," Scully replied. "He's not typical, by any stretch, but he's not, or at least he won't be homeless. Not if I have anything to do with it." Ben smiled. "Good. Good t' hear." After a moment of silence, he turned on the radio and they listened to Christmas music on the local Christian rock station. In her hurry to get to Prospector and Mulder, Scully had ignored all the trappings of Christmas that were everywhere around her. When they arrived at the little church and parsonage, it was hard to ignore the beautiful Nativity scene in the churchyard. The figures were carved wood, half normal-sized and had the most amazing detail. Mary, Joseph, a shepherd, an angel, assorted animals and a manger bed lined with fresh straw just waiting for midnight and the arrival of the Christ Child. The stable came complete with its own shooting star rising above it. Ben caught Scully admiring it as he helped her with her bag. "I helped make that set. My grandad and my dad did most of it -- I was just a kid. That sheep there, the one with the tail a 'might too long -- that's my contribution," he grinned. "I wanted to make the tail shorter, but Gramp's was afraid I'd chop off a back leg in the process." "It's so life like," Scully commented. "The Virgin's face -- she's beautiful. She looks so real." "Grandad was an artist with wood. He made furniture mostly, cabinets when folks built a house. He fashioned Mary after my Grandma. She'd passed on by the time we worked on that, but he used her picture." The door to the parsonage opened and a young man stepped out on the porch. "Ms. Scully, he's waking up," he shouted out to them. "I'm Thom Wells, Merry Christmas," Thom said, helping her in the door and taking her coat. "My wife Sherry is in with him. He's been in and out since about 6 this morning, but I think his fever's down so he's more lucid." "Thank you, thank you," Scully tossed hurriedly over her shoulder as she made her way to the room Thom had indicated. When she entered the room, her eyes sought him out. He was lying on a folded out futon, under a brightly colored quilt. A young woman was trying to get him to drink from a cup of orange juice. He saw motion and looked up. His eyes went wide and he almost dropped the cup. "Scully?" She said nothing, just went to him. The young woman stood and smiled. "I'll leave you two alone for a moment, let you get caught up. I'll be in the kitchen." When Sherry had closed the door behind her, Scully sank to the edge of the bed and wrapped him in her arms. "Oh Mulder," she sobbed. "Hey, hey, shhh, Scully. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I screwed up so badly," he whispered. "Please, don't cry." She wiped at her cheeks and lifted her head from his shoulder. "Mulder, what happened? How long . . . how long have you been on the streets? Why didn't you call me, why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, finally getting control of her emotions and turning to the easiest to handle -- anger. But he knew she wasn't really angry at him. "It's not how it looks, Scully, I swear. I got -- mugged. I was in Jasper for most of the fall. I went to Billings -- heard some hotels there were hiring. People never notice hotel workers. Minute I got off the bus, I got rolled. Couple o' kids with knives -- never stood a chance. I took off down the first road out of town, hitching a ride. I ended up here." His speech trailed off at the end from lack of breath and loss of voice. She shook her head and picked up the juice glass Sherry had left behind. "Here, drink this," she ordered while she felt his forehead. "Mulder, we can't go on like this." "Scully," he gasped, coughing. She helped him sit up until the worst of the cough was over. "Scully," he repeated. She shook her head to cut him off. "When was the last time you had any cough medicine?" "The woman, Sherry, wanted me to eat something first but I wasn't really that hungry. I did take some medicine. I just really woke up not that long ago." "Then you should be fine for a while. Oh, do you know your cover?" "She kept calling me Miller, so I assumed I'm Frank, for now." "For now," she said with a grin. "Why don't you go back to sleep." "Don't leave yet," he begged. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder. Just close your eyes." She stroked his head right at the hairline, a way she knew would put him out in minutes. It worked like a charm. He had been mugged. Kids with knives, it was a wonder he wasn't dead. He could have been killed outside the bus station in Billings, Montana and she would never have been informed. She would have spent the rest of her life wondering what happened. He would have been buried in some pauper's grave, no headstone, nothing. It ripped her heart to shreds to think about it. They had to do something -- no, she had to do something. They could not continue to live this life, him on the road, her in the open. There had to be some way, some way to keep him safe, to stay together. Their first instinct after his escape from the death sentence had been to run, as far and as fast as possible. But maybe that wasn't their only option. Still, Mulder's name and a relatively recent photo adorned the bulletin boards of every post office in the 50 states, not to mention all border checkpoints and airports. If there was a way out of this mess, Scully was hard pressed to see it immediately. But she wasn't about to give up this time. He made most of the decision when they'd split up and gone separate ways. It was her turn to do the thinking. She smiled when she realized he had fallen back asleep. They were together. They were both alive. It was Christmas and she'd received her fondest wish. But this wasn't a dream, this was reality and with every wish granted there was a challenge to keep it close. Scully felt up to that challenge. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she tucked the blankets up around his shoulders and tiptoed out of the room. In the kitchen, Scully found Sherry in the midst of holiday baking. Sherry looked up from leaning to peek in the oven. "Sorry. Caught me being Mrs. Claus," she said, straightening and quickly wiping her hands on dishtowel. She extended a hand to Scully. "Sherry Wells. Welcome to our home," she said with such sincerity that it caused Scully to tear up. "Dana Scully," she answered, taking Sherry's hand in a firm clasp. "I can't thank you enough. For taking him in, for calling me -- " "Tsk, think nothing of it," Sherry said, waving her hand. "Would you like a cup of coffee? And there's oatmeal in the slow cooker, if you're hungry. I only got a few bites down Frank, er, Miller when I took him his meds." "Coffee, yes. I grabbed a bite during the layover, so I'm fine. Miller just fell back asleep so can I help you with anything?" "Sure," Sherry smiled. "How are you with sprinkles?" She handed Scully an assortment of colored sugar and nodded toward the pan of cookies about to go into the oven. "I'm so sorry if all this has interrupted your preparations for Christmas," Scully said, dutifully shaking red, green and yellow sugars over the cookies shaped like stars, trees, angels and snowmen. "Oh, really, I'm a horrible procrastinator," Sherry admitted. "I wouldn't have started baking until today anyway. But I need about 12 dozen cookies for tonight, so I'll be hip deep in flour and sugar all day. I'm so happy you can be here and help. With Miller, of course," she added hastily. "Miller tends to sleep away his illnesses, so I'll be happy to help around the kitchen, too," Scully offered. "I would be doing something like this at home anyway." The two women had been working in comfortable silence for several minutes when there was a cough at the doorway. "Mul-Miller," Scully stumbled to her feet, assisting her former partner down to a chair at the table. "You should be resting," she scolded. "I was resting. It smelled too good in here to stay asleep," he shrugged. He was still very pale and his forehead was dotted with left over fever sweat, but his eyes were clear. "Figured I needed to earn my keep," he added, looking over the dozens of cookies already cooling. "Not unless Sherry minds you pilfering a good portion of the finished product," Scully retorted. "Hands to yourself, Mister." "You're no fun," he sighed, but his heart wasn't in the banter. If he were pressed, he'd have to admit he still felt like something the cat hacked up. "Here, Miller, have some coffee. And if you don't mind, this one just broke while I was taking it off the cookie sheet. See if I added too much almond extract in this batch." Sherry winked over to Scully as she handed Mulder the halves of the 'broken' cookie. "Sherry, are there any hotels in town? I'd like to arrange a place to stay for tonight," Scully said. Mulder looked up and nodded his agreement. "There's only one motel and I imagine they're full up. We're not exactly a tourist hot spot but some folks have family coming in for the holidays. Besides, we have room here, if you don't mind the sofa in the living room. It's right next to the tree," Sherry prodded. "Oh, we . . . I couldn't put you out like that," Scully protested. Sherry shook her head and wiped flour off her hands. "Look, it's no bother. And as nice as the Shamrock Inn is, it's older and the little cabins are pretty darned cold this time of year. Miller shouldn't be in a place like that. Just stay here another day or two, till he gets back on his feet." "I've seen the Shamrock, Scully. Think Blessing, Tennessee -- with less caulk around the windows," Mulder piped up. "Besides, it's Christmas Eve! After the 6 o'clock service this evening, we have a little reception in the church basement with carols and all these cookies. I don't know if Miller will feel up to it, but we'd love to have you join us -- for the service and the reception. Since you're away from your own church," Sherry said as she eyed Scully cross, glittering in the weak sunlight coming in the kitchen window. "That sounds nice. Very nice," Scully said. "But if we are staying, we better get these cookies baked and decorated." end of chapter four From Roswell to Virginia: The Offer, Chapter Five Douglas Avenue Church Christmas Eve, 2005 Scully's hand was firmly ensconced in Mulder's as they made their way into the little church. Dark wood gleamed in the flare of dozens of candles. Everywhere they looked, red and white poinsettias rested on steps and columns and pine trees sparkled with twinkling white lights. The tiny sanctuary was already filled but they were able to find two seats near the back. Everyone smiled and nodded. Mulder was a little self-conscious in his attire. Sherry had washed his clothes the morning Thom had found him delirious in their shed, but he knew they were worn and torn in a few places. Scully smiled at him again and he forgot all about his clothes. Scully was here. He still couldn't believe it. There were a few moments during the day when he would wake up from a nap and wonder if she had just been a fever dream. Then she would knock and enter the study where he was supposed to be sleeping and his heart would fill to near bursting with the joy of seeing her smile. "Warm enough?" she whispered to him. He nodded. Thom's old barn coat was not exactly a perfect fit, but it would keep him warmer than his threadbare jeans jacket. He briefly longed for his old leather jacket that had been left behind months ago somewhere near Topeka Kansas in the middle of the night. No, no regrets, no thoughts of the past, he chided himself. Tonight, he wanted to just bask in the present, in the glow of the candles and the warmth of Scully's hand, that hadn't left his even when they sat down. It was more Christmas than he could ever hope to have. It wasn't her mother's church or even the church she'd been attending since starting her studies, but Scully found it just as moving as if she were home. The crucifix above the altar was her focal point and she bowed her head and prayed silently for God to give her the path, find a way for them to stay together and still be safe. She knew that prayers were always answered, it was just that mortal men didn't always like the answer given. This time, she prayed fervently that God would give her the wisdom to find her way and the courage to do what needed to be done. The service was beautiful and Mulder wasn't at all surprised to find that Thom was a good preacher. He certainly practiced what he preached, at least as far as 'taking in the homeless' was concerned. The choir was well practiced and the songs were familiar and comforting. His thoughts rested on Scully for a moment. This was a long way from the pomp and ritual of a full Catholic Mass at Midnight on Christmas Eve. Did she miss that? Not having her family here, just him and all these strangers? Sure, Sherry had done everything in her power and then some to make Scully feel at home during the day, but it wasn't the same. How much more he loved her for coming the minute she knew he needed her. But hadn't that always been the case with them? New Mexico, Alaska, the Antarctic -- did it really matter how far they had to travel just to save the other's life? Mulder was somewhat startled when everyone rose to sing one last song. The choir had picked an old standard, 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' for the recessional hymn. Let nothing you dismay. He could use a few weeks without dismay right then. Just a few moments was nice but he was a greedy son of a bitch and had always known it, even when it hadn't been pointed out to him by Bill Scully Jr., among others. Plus, he was so tired of running. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay in this little town long. He and Scully would leave in a day or two and then they would have to separate again somewhere down the road. He envisioned them in a bus station or maybe a train station. He would go one way, she another. But this time, he'd have to cut off all contact with her. It wasn't fair to her and she'd said it herself -- they couldn't go on this way. This time he wouldn't even try to convince her. He would agree to all her demands, go along with all her plans for continued phone calls, etc. But this time, he would make sure he didn't mess it up for her. He would disappear completely. Forever. His mind snapped back from such morose thoughts as Scully tugged him down the steps to the church basement. The large room was dominated by a big old Douglas fir festooned with ornaments, many of them handmade by the Sunday school children. A table was set with a punch bowl and heavy with platters of food. Mulder noticed that the 12 dozen Sherry and Scully had made weren't the only cookies present, for there were rum cakes and cupcakes and more cookies to feed the crowd, that he suspected was the better part of the whole town. He smelled coffee and almost fell over in delight. Scully noticed the way his eyes lit up and his nose twitched. "OK, here's the deal. You go find us a couple of seats and I'll get us some goodies -- including some coffee. But only one cup for you," she warned. "If you don't sleep tonight, Santa won't come," she teased. "Santa already came and brought me just what I wanted," he grinned back and squeezed her hand. What he really wanted was to get her alone, by themselves for a few hours, but that wasn't likely to happen. As far as Thom and Sherry knew, they were friends and nothing more. She patted his shoulder and he made his way around the party goers to find them a couple of seats at the long tables set along the walls. He heard his name, or at least his cover name and looked up to see a man he didn't remember coming toward him. "Sorry to startle you, I'm Andrew Michels, the town doctor. I met you yesterday, at the Wells' house," he said, extending his hand. "Oh, yeah, Doctor. I'm sorry, I'm still a little out of it, I'm afraid," Mulder replied, shaking the man's hand firmly. "Thank you, for making the house call." "Not a problem. Sherry's my assistant, so I knew you were in good hands. I understand your friend is a doctor -- the one who came out?" "Yes, yes, she is. Oh, here she comes now," Mulder said, standing to help Scully with the coffee cups and large plate of assorted pastries. "Scully, this is Dr. Michels. Dr. Michels, this is Dana Scully," Mulder introduced them. He couldn't help but see Dr. Michels eyebrows raise in appreciation. Scully smiled, shaking his hand. "So, Sherry tells me you're a doctor, too," Drew said, pulling up a chair to join them. "Yes," Scully said with a nod. Mulder looked between them, alternating between jealousy and curiosity. Maybe this is what Scully needed -- a life of a quiet practice in a small town. "GP?" Drew asked, propping his chin on his hand. He wasn't bad to look at, Mulder supposed. A bit too rugged, if there was such a look. His hair was longish and he wore a leather suit jacket with a string tie. Still, he looked a far sight better than Mulder felt at that moment. "No," Scully answered politely. "I just completed coursework to go into pediatric neurology." "Oh, so you'll probably go to one of those big hospitals out east, huh?" Drew prodded. "I don't know, really. As I said, I just completed my coursework and now I'm trying to figure out where I can do my residency. I have a few offers, but nothing definite yet." She turned to her partner and smiled. "Miller, are you ready to head back to the house? I don't want you to overtax yourself tonight." Drew took the hint and rose. "Well, nice to meet you both. And I hope we get another chance to visit, Dr. Scully, before you leave." "That would be lovely," Scully said and Mulder almost snickered because only he could detect that she meant the exact opposite. Scully gathered their cups and plate and deposited them in the nearest trash before taking Mulder's hand and leading him through the crowd. "I think Dr. Drew is quite taken with you, Dr. Scully," Mulder whispered as he noticed the young man waving them goodbye. "That was one of the better perks of pathology," Scully sighed. "I never had to put up with other doctors." "Now, he didn't seem that bad," Mulder egged her on. They were now outside and the cold was biting, but invigorating at the same time. Knowing he wasn't going to spend the night out in it went a long way to boosting Mulder's spirits. He proceeded to play his favorite game -- bait Scully. "He was insufferable, Mulder." "He simply asked you about your work. I didn't see any harm -- " "He was this close," she held up her forefinger and thumb less than and inch apart, "to putting the moves on me." "I guess I should have decked him, huh?" Mulder replied, trying not to laugh. She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, please." Mulder's smiled got even brighter. "So, Scully, any Christmas wishes you care to share?" he asked, giving her a gentle squeeze. She looked at him and slowly shook her head. "Can't think of one. I have everything I could possibly ask for right here." "Still no regrets?" he asked, his eyes shy but searching. "Oh, a few of those, yes. But overall, I think it's all how it's supposed to be," she replied. "C'mon. Let's get you out of the cold. You look tired." He couldn't tell her his heart was breaking, that he wanted so much more than these few precious hours with her. As they made their way through the silent house, she led him into the study. She sat him on the futon and tugged off the barn jacket, then bent down and slipped off his boots. When she pushed him back against the pillow, he pulled her down with him. "Mulder, Thom and Sherry -- " "They're going to be there at least another hour, Scully. Probably longer. Please. Stay. Just till I fall asleep." She nodded but stood up. "You aren't going to sleep in your clothes, are you?" she asked bluntly. "I have to tell you, I don't think I'm up for any big reunions," he admitted sadly. "Can't say the thought didn't cross my mind, but actually, I just thought you'd be more comfortable if you weren't in your jeans," she replied. "Oh. Good thought," he agreed and slid out of his pants, quickly diving under the covers to avoid the cold air. "This house is drafty." "And you're still sick," she reminded him. Keeping her clothes on, she crawled in under the covers and pressed up against him. His arm encircled her shoulder and he leaned his head so that it rested against hers. "Better?" she asked. "Much," he said around a yawn. "What time is it, anyway?" She glanced at her watch. "Quarter till eight." "I'm embarrassed," he said, closing his eyes. "I can't stay awake." "Go to sleep," she said, kissing his chin. "Tomorrow we'll see what Santa will bring us." She was certain that Mulder had just fallen asleep when she heard her phone ringing from her coat pocket. Sliding out from under the blankets, she shivered at the cold and grabbed for her phone, taking it out into the living room. "Dana," came her brother's voice. She closed her eyes, debating whether to just hang up and turn her phone off for the rest of the night. The last person she wanted to talk to was her brother because she knew it would only end in an argument. "Dana, are you there?" he asked, his voice tense. That must be his 'command' voice, she thought and stifled the urge to salute. "Yes, I'm here. What do you want, Bill?" "Gee, I wanted to see if you were going to call us on Christmas Eve. Considering you only had two more hours, I figured I'd better take the initiative." She winced, realizing she had promised to call when she arrived -- wherever. "Sorry. I got -- busy." "Busy," Bill repeated. "Busy. That's great. That's just dandy. I'm so happy you got . . . busy." "Bill, I really don't want to get into this -- " "Well, I'd love to know just one thing, Dana. Just one thing. Is it worth it? Whatever you're doing to be so -- busy," he ground out. "Is it worth putting Mom through hell?" "What are you talking about? I told her -- " "You told her you 'couldn't deal with this'," he huffed. "What exactly is 'this'? Is it us, Dana? You couldn't deal with your family? Is that it? Please, tell me. I mean it's not like we didn't take you in after that son of a bitch dumped you in the middle of -- " "Bill, enough already!" Scull hissed into the phone. "Look, it's Christmas and I just -- I just spent an entire year working my ass off. I thought I deserved a little downtime. It didn't mean that I didn't want to be with my family. I -- " She struggled to come up with something, anything to say that would fix the situation. "Come home," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "What?" "You heard me. You managed to get a flight to wherever the hell you are in record time. Well, just hop on another plane and get back here. Be here on Christmas. Your nephew misses you, your mother misses you, hell, I miss you! Whatever you're doing can't be as important as your family. So just come home." "I -- I can't, Bill." "Why the hell not?" "It's not that easy to explain," she said near a whisper, tears choking her voice. "Try. I'm not stupid, Dana. Did you pick up a guy? If that's the case, fine -- bring him along. Just don't do this to your family." Scully hitched a breath and started to speak again when she heard her mother talking to Bill, asking him who was on the phone. "Let me speak with Mom, please," she begged. There were a few moments of fumbling and finally she heard her mother's voice. "Dana, honey, is that you? Merry Christmas, Sweetheart! You just missed Matty, he finally went down about fifteen minutes ago." "Mom," she interrupted. "Mom, could you take this somewhere private -- up in your room. I need to talk to you and I don't want anyone overhearing." "Sure. Um, yes, I think I know what you're talking about. It's in my bureau. I'll go up and see if I can't find it," Maggie said and Scully smiled at her mother's ability to cover any situation. "OK, Dana, I'm upstairs. Now please, tell me what is going on with you! You're getting me worried." "Mom, I'm in Montana," Scully said. "Skiing?" "No, Mom. I was called here. Mom, Mulder was found in a shed, half frozen and with acute bronchitis. He was lucky enough to crawl into the shed of the local minister who took him in, got him medical attention -- " "But Dana, you haven't heard from him in over a year," Maggie interjected. "That's not true, Mom," she confessed. "We've been calling each other for the past year, longer actually. He didn't dump me, Mom. He sent me away. When I called you on your birthday and you told me that Skinner had offered me a chance to clear my name, he made me take it." "But honey, you said -- " "Yes, I know what I said," she sighed. "That was all part of the plan. Mom, if I came in and 'gave myself up', the first thing they would want to know was how to find Mulder. We're not married. They could have subpoenaed me, they could have made it a condition of my retirement. So Mulder dreamed up the story that he'd left me months before so everyone would believe that I couldn't possibly know where he was. It was pretty much the truth, actually. When he would call me, I didn't know where he was at any given time and he couldn't tell me in case someone was listening." "Oh, sweetheart -- but how did he end up in that shed?" "He was mugged outside the Billings, Montana bus station over a week ago. He lost all his money so he just started hitchhiking. He made his way to this little town not far from Billings. It was so cold, and apparently the door to the shed doesn't close completely, so he crawled in there to sleep. Rev. Wells found him the next morning. I have been so busy with finals that he wasn't supposed to call me until tonight. I got the call last night, but it wasn't Mulder, it was Rev. Wells. Mulder was muttering my phone number in his sleep." "That's why you left in such a hurry," Maggie sighed. "Yes. And that's why you can't tell Bill where I am or what I'm doing," Scully insisted. "Dana, what are you doing? How is Fox, is he going to be OK?" "Mom, he can't go on like this. It's not safe. He could have been killed." "But Dana, you don't have to hide anymore. We just got you back, sweetheart. Please, please don't leave us again," Maggie begged. "Mom, I'm sorry, but I can't -- I can't let him go again. I won't let him go. Not if it means -- Mom, I lost him once already. I can't bury him again, Mom. I can't!" "I know, sweetheart, I know," Maggie crooned. Just then, Scully heard footsteps on the porch. "Mom, I have to go. I'll call you later. I love you." "Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you too." Douglas Ave. Church Parsonage Christmas Morning, 2005 Mulder awoke to the smell of coffee very near his nose. He opened his eyes and smiled at Scully, sitting on the edge of the futon, waving the coffee mug close to his face. "If that's decaf, we're going to have a serious discussion," he warned, coughing only a little before sitting up to accept the mug. After the first sip, he smiled. "Santa brought me caffeine for Christmas," he sighed happily. "That's not all he brought you. C'mon, Sherry and Thom are waiting for us in the living room." Mulder tossed back the covers and reached for his jeans while Scully waited impatiently by the door. In a moment, they made their way out to the living room. "What time is it?" Mulder whispered as he looked out the window. It was still relatively dark outside, but the grey sky had a rosy tint. "Just after 7," Scully replied quietly. "The congregation delivers meals to shut ins today, so Thom and Sherry have to be at the church in a couple of hours." "Thom should consider changing jobs and joining the FBI -- at least we usually got Christmas Day off," Mulder muttered. "Most of the time, anyway," Scully agreed with a nod. "Merry Christmas, Miller, Dana," Sherry exclaimed happily as she placed a huge piece of fresh baked cinnamon coffee cake on a plate and handed it to Thom. "Come join us. It's my mother's recipe. We have it every Christmas morning." "Smells delicious," Scully said, accepting a slice for Mulder and one for herself. After a few minutes, Sherry cleared her throat and nodded toward the tree. Thom clapped his hands together and looked at their guests. "I know we met under, well, unusual circumstances, but, well, Sherry and I -- or rather, 'Santa' left you some things under the tree." He reached down and pulled out two brightly wrapped boxes, handing one to Mulder and the other to Scully. The two former partners looked at each other in mild amazement. "Rev. Wells, really, you've both done so much for me already," Mulder objected. "And we're already imposing on your hospitality," Scully added, turning the beautiful package over in her hands. "It's not much, but, well, it's Christmas and we didn't want you to be left out," Sherry said. "Go on, open them." They exchanged looks and then simultaneously tore into the wrapping. Mulder got his box open first and grinned broadly. He pulled out a very nice dark green cable knit sweater and a pair of jeans. At the bottom of the box were two paperback books, one a mystery novel and the other science fiction. "This is too much -- " "Nonsense," hugged Sherry. "Besides, they're . . . well, I like to call them 'recycled'. Your clothes were stolen, you can't wear the same outfit every day. If those fit, we have some other things that might work for you, too. As for the books, we have a book sale each spring and so we accept donations all year. There are boxes and boxes of other titles in the closet if you want to trade those." He had already pulled the sweater on, catching Scully's eye as he did so. She smiled her approval. "No, these will do just fine. Thank you. This is . . . one of the best Christmases I've ever had." "OK, Dana. Your turn," Thom encouraged. Scully bit her lip and tugged at the tape on her box. It soon tore free and she opened it to reveal several small bottles of assorted bubble baths and body lotions and two romance novels. She looked over at Mulder, her eyes glistening. "This is -- exactly what I wanted," she laughed happily, reaching over to take Mulder's hand. She held his gaze for a moment before turning to their hosts. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. What you've done for us is just . . . there aren't words to express how much this has meant to me, to find people like you in the world. Thank you." Sherry started picking up the wrapping paper strewn around the floor and Scully jumped in to help. Mulder yawned a few times in succession and Scully ordered him back to bed. "I just got up," he whined and she shook her head. "Then go lay down and read for a while." "And what, exactly, will you be doing?" he asked with a gleam in his eye. "She'll be using up her Christmas presents," Sherry said, crossing her arms and struggling to keep the grin off her face. "I know a woman in need of some serious 'me time' when I see one." "But I thought I'd help with the meals," Scully objected. "It's the least I can do -- " "Dana, as much as we appreciate the thought, believe me, we have this under control. And it's Christmas! Go, have a soak in the tub and I'll let you help me with dinner later," Sherry said, gently pushing her toward the hall where the bathroom was located. "And you, off to bed," she said to Mulder as she passed him. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a feigned pout and headed off to the study. It was 2 in the afternoon when Mulder resurfaced to find Scully in the kitchen helping peel potatoes. The aroma of roasting turkey was enough to make his mouth water as he pulled up a kitchen chair and grabbed a potato and a paring knife. "How many are you feeding here, Sherry?" he asked as he peeked into the large pot already half full of peeled potatoes. "Let's see, with Ben and his son, the Mikelmans, Dave and Elizabeth and their two -- 24," she said, counting on her fingers. "And they're all going to fit in . . . here?" Mulder squeaked, looking around the comfortable, but not large kitchen. Sherry giggled. "No, silly. We cook the food here and then we transfer everything over to the church basement -- where we were last night. More elbow room and I don't have to worry about putting the tables up and then taking them right down. We have a 'bucket brigade' carrying things over." "And everyone brings a dish, so basically, it's just the turkey, stuffing, potatoes and gravy coming from Sherry and Thom," Scully explained. "Good to know. Not that I don't love turkey and potatoes, but I didn't want to have to fight several people for a drumstick," Mulder quipped. "Mul--ler, you peel a potato like a guy -- here, watch me," Scully said, showing him the proper technique. "I peel like a guy because I am a guy, Scully. And for your information, they sell potatoes already mashed in little tubs at the grocery store." "You may be a guy, but they would have drummed you out of the Navy," she smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he tossed back, grabbing another potato. "Just try to leave a little more potato on that one. We only have 10 pounds," she smiled sweetly. He stuck his tongue out at her in reply. "Dana, is that your phone?" Thom asked as he passed through the kitchen. "Table cloths are on the tables and the plates and silver are on the serving line. Anything else?" he asked Sherry. Scully listened and then hurried into the living room to find where she'd left her cell phone. By the time she found it, it had stopped ringing. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it had been from her mother's house. Taking a deep breath, she hit the send button to return the call. "Scully residence," came a voice she instantly recognized. "Father McCue, hello, Merry Christmas," she said with a smile. "This is Dana." "Oh, Dana, good, good! Merry Christmas to you, too. I just tried to call you." "Oh, what can I do for you?" Scully asked, curious and a little confused. "Your mother invited me to Christmas Dinner and we've been chatting. I understand you're looking for a hospital to do your residency -- someplace off the beaten path, so to speak." Her heart started thumping in her chest. Her mother would never betray a confidence, but she must have told the priest some of their situation. "I am still looking, yes. May I ask why you called?" "Well, it just so happens that an old seminary buddy of mine is the administrator of a small rural hospital in western Virginia -- Father Mike Ybarra. I put in a call, just to inquire, and he's looking for a resident with your qualifications. He's very interested in speaking with you. I have his number, he asked if you'd be available to call him tomorrow morning, sometime after 9 our time." Scully was speechless. Western Virginia was a little too close to the rest of the Eastern Seaboard for her liking, but in the Blue Ridge Mountains, there were plenty of places tucked away where a person could hide for years. "I know this is sudden, but your mother seemed so worried that you might not find someplace close by," Father McCue insisted. "This sounds very interesting, Father. If you have the number, I'll give Father . . . Ybarra, was it? I'll give him a call tomorrow." "Excellent. The hospital is Our Lady of Sorrows. Here's the number," he said, rattling off a string of 10 numbers that Scully dutifully jotted down on a scrap of paper in her purse. "Oh, and your mother said to tell you that it's not far from Uncle Ned's place. Said you'd know what she meant." An image of an old gnarled man in a casket flashed through her head, but then she vaguely remembered a little house tucked back in the tree line with beautiful pine covered mountains behind it. Uncle Ned was her mother's uncle, her grandfather's youngest brother who had never married. "Dana, your mother wants to say hello. You have a Blessed Christmas, dear," Father said. "Thank you, Father McCue. You too," Scully replied, a million thoughts swirling through her head. "Dana," Maggie's voice came on the line next. "Did Father McCue tell you what we talked about? What do you think?" "Mom -- what's this about Uncle Ned's place? I thought that was sold years ago." "No, Dana. That sale fell through. The house is so far out in the middle of nowhere, it's on a well and a septic. The road is treacherous in the winter, no one would give the asking price. It's been rented a few times, but right now, well, it's been sitting vacant for over a year. I have no idea what condition it's in but it's only 15 miles away from Our Lady of Sorrows. Dana, honey, if you're looking for someplace off the beaten path -- this is it," Maggie offered. "I remember the house a little bit. Didn't we go there one summer? It's right against a forest preserve or something." "It's not much to look at from the outside, but Ned loved to putter. He put in a lot of modern conveniences. But the best part is, it's yours. Your Aunt Catherine and I talked this afternoon and she said her kids would only want to sell it. If you live there, at least it stays in the family. You'd just have to pay utilities and the property taxes each year. Your moving in wouldn't draw any attention, we'd leave the deed in mine and Catherine's name -- just as Ned left it to us." "Mom -- this is . . . a lot to take in." "Dana, just tell me you'll think about it. And talk -- to your friends about it," she said, emphasizing the word 'friends'. "I will. Tonight." She heard Mulder's footsteps and saw him standing hesitantly in the doorway. "Mom, I need to go. I'll call you tomorrow, OK. Merry Christmas. I love you." "Merry Christmas to everyone there, Sweetheart. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you, too, Baby Girl." She folded the phone closed and put it in her purse. "Everything OK?" Mulder asked, eyeing her nervously. She smiled up at him. "I didn't think . . . " She had to clear the tears that were making it so hard to speak. "I didn't think this Christmas could get any better," she said, stepping forward and encircling her arms around him. "Mulder," she whispered. "I think I was just given a way for us to go home." Last Part for now -- Merry Christmas and a peaceful and Joyous New Year --Vickie Prospector, Montana Christmas Day "Sherry, Miller wants to stretch his legs. Is there anything you need to have taken to the church basement?" Scully asked, Mulder following her into the kitchen. "Oh gosh, let me think," Sherry responded. "Here, I noticed last night that we're almost out of coffee filters over there. You can take these," she said, pulling a packet of filters out of the cupboard. "And the napkins. Oh, and this," she added, digging in a drawer and extracting an electrical power strip. "Somebody's bound to bring a slow cooker and I think Meg is bringing the ham in a roaster -- we'll need plenty of outlets. That should do it. Thanks!" Mulder carried most of the items, with Scully carrying just the coffee filters. It was snowing lightly as they stepped out into the cold. Waiting till they were down in the basement, Mulder finally broke the silence. "OK, what's going on?" "That was Father McCue on the phone. He was at Mom's for Christmas Dinner. Mom told him I was still looking for a hospital to do my residency -- someplace 'off the beaten path' she told him." "Why would she tell him that, Scully?" He studied her guilty expression for a moment before crossing his arms. "What aren't you telling me?" Scully drew in a steadying breath and forged ahead. "Mulder, Bill called last night, after you fell asleep. We argued and then I spoke with Mom -- and I told her everything." "What?!" "Mulder, she understands. And my mother is not going to betray our confidence! But basically, I think she figured out that I'm not going back. At least, I wasn't until Father McCue called." "Not going -- Scully what the hell are you talking about?" Mulder demanded. "I was not going back if it meant going without you. I won't live that way anymore, Mulder. You . . . you could have died, twice, in the last week. And I would never have known." "Maybe it would be better that way," he muttered. Her hand shot out and she shoved him, hard on the shoulder. "Don't you ever say anything like that to me -- ever! Got it?" she roared. "You have no idea -- " "Yes, Scully, yes I do!" he shouted back. "It might have been a long time ago, but I revisit the time you were missing at least a couple of times a year. Don't tell me I have no idea. I have a very good idea." "But you never had to bury me," she hissed and then struggled to keep her voice from betraying her hurt. "I know we have many of the same scars, Mulder. But some of mine -- some of mine are a little deeper now," she whispered. He closed his eyes and reached out, pulling her toward him. "I know. I'm sorry. I just -- Scully, life on the run was awful for you. I could see that it was killing you. This year, going back to medicine, working on your courses, I could hear how happy you were every time I talked to you. I want that for you." She pulled away to look up at his face. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, Mulder. I can still have that. Father McCue has a friend who is an administrator at a small hospital in far western Virginia. It's basically in the middle of nowhere, according to Father. It's perfect." "I'm not following, Scully. How is that perfect?" "Mulder, Mom put all the pieces together. I had a great Uncle who owned some property just a few miles from this hospital -- he was the family recluse but I do remember visiting him once. This place is still in the family. It's there, for us. We can live there. Mulder, it's far out in the country, tucked into the mountains. The road is crap, the house is on several acres, no neighbors -- " "Sounds like some place a serial killer would hang out, Scully. How well did you know this great Uncle?" Mulder quipped and she shoved him again, but with a grin on her face. "Mulder, it would mean not running any more," she said firmly and then waited for his answer. "I wouldn't be able to go out -- anywhere." "Like I said, it's a pretty big place -- I think I remember hearing Mom say it was over 60 acres. The back portion is wooded and abuts a forest preserve. You'd have plenty of room to roam." "So how would this work? You'd go to the hospital everyday, I would stay home and just -- what?" She got a steamy look in her eyes and pulled him closer. "I'm sure we can think of some way for you to earn your keep, Mulder, if that's what you're worried about." He leaned down and kissed her for the first time since he'd awoken to find her by his bedside. They were still kissing when they heard a throat being cleared behind them. "I really hate to interrupt," Thom said apologetically. "But folks are going be here soon. If you two would like a little privacy, you're welcome to go back to the house and I'll bring you a plate over later. A lot later," he added with a grin. Scully recovered first. "No, that's not necessary, Thom. We'll be attending this party. After peeling all those potatoes, I'm dying to taste them. Besides, it's Christmas and I have a lot to celebrate." In no time the church basement was again filled with the smells of wonderful food and the sounds of joyful conversation. The dinner flew by and soon Sherry was at the piano and Thom was leading everyone in rounds of Christmas carols. Slowly, as the hour drew near ten, the guests pitched in on clean up and Mulder and Scully joined Thom and Sherry as they walked back to the parsonage in the wintery night. "Bet you're glad you're not in that shed tonight, Miller," Thom teased lightly. Mulder feigned a shiver and nodded in agreement. "But if I had to spend the night in somebody's shed, I am grateful it was yours," he said seriously. "Just glad to offer a helping hand," Thom said with a smile. "Glad we could help out in other ways," he added, nodded to where Scully and Sherry were walking just ahead of them. "Yes, I can't thank you enough for that. But I do have one more favor to ask." "Sure, Miller. What do you need?" "Do you think someone could drive Dana and me into Billings tomorrow? We need to see about renting a car to drive back home." Thom looked over at Mulder who wore a look of somewhat befuddled happiness. "Of course. It's Saturday -- mind if Sherry tags along? She can hit the after Christmas sales." "Sounds like a plan." An unremarkable little house Rural western Virginia Dec. 30, 2005 It had been an eventful trip across country. The mountains were beautiful, but treacherous. Scully had the foresight to rent a four-wheel drive vehicle in Billings, but that still didn't stop them from get snowed in for a day and a half in just outside Madison, Wisconsin. It was by mutual agreement that they spent the 36 hours snow delay tucked under the covers of the king sized bed at the brand new Ramada Limited just off the I-90. Mulder's bronchitis had improved to the point where they could finally have their 'reunion' and they took full advantage of the snow to never leave their room except to forage for food at the 7-11 just across the parking lot. They hit rain in western Pennsylvania that turned to snow just as they entered Virginia. They headed straight for the Richmond airport where Scully returned the rental and picked up her own vehicle. By the time they arrived in the tiny village of Ashland, there was half a foot of snow on the ground and more to come. Maggie had called ahead and the agent who had previously listed the house had the keys and a map all set out when Scully entered the office with a blast of cold air. "I haven't been out there since last spring -- I did call the power company and told them to turn on the electric," she told Scully with a shrug. "I'm sure it will be fine," Scully said. "Hope you have a sleeping bag -- the place is unfurnished," the lady called out just as Scully was at the door to leave. "Um . . . " Scully said, stopping to turn and look at the woman. "I don't -- " "Here," she said, moving to a closet and pulling out some blankets. "I keep these around in case I get snowed in some night. This should hold you till you can arrange for your stuff to be brought out." Scully thanked the woman and hurried back to the car where Mulder had the seat fully reclined, listening to an oldies station. "We have the key," she said brightly, as she put the car in reverse and backed out onto the snow packed street. "Here, you get to play Sulu," she added, hanging him the directions. Almost half an hour later as it was just getting dark, they sat before an elaborate steel cattle gate. "Are those . . . vines?" Mulder asked as he stared hard at the metal designs illuminated by the headlights of Scully's Taurus. "Possibly. Did I mention that Uncle Ned was a bit - - eccentric?" "Did I mention that you could have told me about your crazy relatives sometime during the first 10 years of this partnership?" Mulder shot back with a wicked grin. "Oh, so now you have regrets," she muttered. "C'mon, I have no idea how heavy this thing is going to be." "Just make sure the car is in 'park'. I have no intention of becoming road kill," he said, getting out of the passenger seat. The gate did have some rust and squealed like a thousand banshees, but swung easily enough and soon Scully was guiding the car through as Mulder shut the gate behind them. The steps where icy and the front porch was littered with leaves. Mulder took the keys from Scully's hands and opened the door. "There might be something hibernating in here, Scully. Stay back." "And do what? Hit it with a stick?" she asked, but by that time he'd turned on the overhead light in the living room and was looking around. "Um, we should start a list of things we're going to need," he said, kicking a pile of rags in the corner. "Puts 'traps' at the top of the page." She chewed on her bottom lip but nodded. "Maybe we should go back to Richmond and sleep at my apartment." "Too many people around, Scully. I'd be spotted in a minute," he reminded her. "Tell you what -- get me those blankets and I'll stay here. You go back into town." "No," she said vehemently shaking her head. "No and way." He chuffed out a laugh at her serious expression but pulled her close. "So, you gonna protect me from all the little 'Willards' living in the attic when they come looking for food later tonight?" "No, but I'll watch you stomp the crap out of them if they come too close to me," she said sweetly. "C'mon. Let's look around." Aside from the alleged nest in the living room, the other parts of the house seemed free of occupants. Maggie had been correct about Uncle Ned's 'puttering' -- the kitchen boasted a relatively new stove and refrigerator as well as a dishwasher and a garbage disposal in the sink. On the back porch sat matching washer and dryer and Mulder discovered the basement was clean, dry and had a water softener next to the hot water heater and furnace. "Now all we need is to get my furniture out of Richmond," Scully said as they toured the upper floor, which consisted of two bedrooms and a nice master bathroom. "About that," Mulder said quietly. "How are you going to get everything here? I would love to help you, but -- " She smiled at him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Mulder, you are such a liar." "OK, I'm really kind of glad I can't be seen to help move heavy furniture, but that doesn't mean I want you moving it all by yourself." "Don't you worry. I have just the people in mind who would be perfect for this job." Dec. 31, 2005 2:45 pm Mulder shivered in the cold afternoon breeze, putting another split log on the fire he'd built at the little fire pit he'd discovered in the woods behind the house. He was fairly certain that the wood smoke was blowing away from the direction of the house and the road, so his little impromptu barbeque would be undetected. Much to his amazement, Scully's friends had readily agreed to help her move out to the country. He wasn't surprised, however, to find that at least one of the young men had taken a particular interest in his beautiful partner, even if she was at least 15 years older than the young doctor. She'd let it slip after making the calls and he'd teased her about it for the rest of the evening. She told him that his punishment was hiding out in the woods on an exceptionally bitter afternoon. The fire was warm, at least to the parts of him facing it. He'd already roasted some hot dogs for his lunch and was considering breaking open the package of marshmallows Scully had sent along with the large thermos of coffee when he heard some rustling in the undergrowth. In a moment, she appeared, picking twigs and dried leaves out of her hair. "Finished? Already?" he asked. "Yes, they all had big plans this evening. They just left." "So, how much do you owe me?" he asked with a Cheshire cat grin. She licked her lips and sat primly on one of the logs surrounding the fire. "I owe you -- two back rubs and you get to join me when I soak in the tub later," she admitted. "Yee-haw, Scully!" he hooted. He'd wagered that Chris would try to get her to go out for the evening and possibly would try to wrangle an invitation to stay with her at the house if she demurred. Based on her 'payment', Mulder had been right on the money. "Details, Scully. You promised details." She rolled her eyes. "It was rather sweet, actually. He offered to take me to dinner, since I'd already plied them with pizza for lunch, but I said I was too tired." "Bet he had plenty of ideas about how to solve that problem," Mulder muttered. "So, as they were packing up to leave, he offered to -- " "C'mon, Scully -- the suspense is killing me!" "He offered to help me make the bed. And when I told him I'd already put the sheets on it -- " "He said 'I mean tomorrow'," Mulder quoted. Her reply was another roll of the eyes and a shake of her head. Mulder roared with laughter. "This guy really needs a keeper. Or at least a nice woman to take him out of the pool for a while. His pick up lines are ancient!" "Oh, and you're an authority on current pick up lines?" she shot back. "Sure," he said, going over to sit next to her and wrap his arm around her shoulders. "Hey, baby. Come here often?" She giggled and shook her head. "No, actually. I'm new in town." "Oh, well, please. Allow me to show you around." He leaned over and kissed her, slowly but thoroughly. When they broke for air, she leaned against his forehead. "So, Mulder. Want to help me make the bed?" "Best offer I've had all day," he rasped. He dumped the remaining coffee on the fire, kicked some dirt on it to make sure it was out and took her hand to walk back to the house.