Title: Unquiet Grave

Author: mimic117

Email: mimic1172@gmail.com

Rating: R - NC-17, depending. Hey, it's me! Whaddya expect?

Category: X, MSR

Spoilers: This takes place in season 6, sometime after 
Triangle. Unless you're one of the three people who still hasn't 
watched that season, you're safe.

Summary: "Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we 
know not what, we know not where."  John Dryden 

Archive: I'll do Gossamer and Ephemeral myself, thanks. 
Anyone else who wants it is free to filch at will. Just drop me a 
note so I can brag.

Disclaimer: Sheee yeah, right! Not *even* in my dreams.

Author's Notes: I was going to finish some of my half-written 
fics. Honest. But deciding something like that just makes my 
muse say "Wanna bet?" So I'm writing this instead. I have to 
keep my muse happy cause he's insane.

Beta Thanks: To aka "Jake" and XochiLuvr for tackling the Beta 
Project From Hell -- again... and again... and again. You never 
let me be less than my best, and I appreciate that, even if I do 
grumble and curse you behind your backs. At least I know I'll 
get my turn, too. ~heeheehee~ If this story is any good, it's 
entirely due to them. And if there's anything wrong, it's entirely 
due to me not listening to them.

Feedback: Is printed out, fawned over, and stroked to tatters at 
mimic1172@gmail.com.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unquiet Grave
by mimic117


April 1
Ashtabula County, Ohio
Monday
3:45 PM

"Mulder, how could it take you two hours to realize we're lost?"

"I didn't know we were lost. I only thought it was taking longer 
than I figured to reach the turn-off. It's hard to judge distances 
when you're driving in snow this deep."

"You shouldn't have let me sleep. If I'd been navigating, maybe 
we wouldn't be lost."

"I figured you needed the rest, Scully. You wouldn't have fallen 
asleep if you weren't tired."

"I fell asleep because I was hypnotized by the snow swirling 
outside the window. It's coming down even harder than it was 
two hours ago. Why didn't you wake me when you realized we 
were lost?"

"I did! I woke you just now. That's when I knew. Do you want 
to keep arguing with me, or do you want to help me figure out 
where we are?"

"Don't take your eyes off the road again. I'll keep watch for 
signs. You concentrate on --"

Scully was too late with her warning. Even as the words left 
her mouth, the wheels on her side of the car slid off the 
shoulder of the road. The crash wasn't sudden or jolting, but 
more of a pillowy slide into a ditch filled with snow. Mulder 
fought the wheel valiantly, using every ounce of skill at his 
disposal to prevent the inevitable -- including some very 
impressive cursing. It was all in vain. As the rental car tilted 
over the shoulder of the road like a carnival ride gone bad, 
silence descended on the occupants. The only sound to be 
heard was the muffled spinning of useless tires that weren't 
going anywhere.

Switching off the ignition, Mulder thumped his head in 
frustration on the steering wheel. Even if he could have come 
up with something witty to say, he would have kept his mouth 
shut in disgust. Soft, fat flakes continued to tumble down at an 
alarming rate, rapidly blanketing the windshield until the visible 
world was reduced to the car's interior. Neither of them stirred 
until she heaved a deep sigh and spoke.

"Let's get out of here before we can't dig to the surface."

Trying not to draw undue attention to his role in their mishap, 
he replied in a hushed voice, "Shouldn't we stay here until help 
comes along? It's pretty cold out there, Scully."

Her piercing stare informed Mulder that he was about to be 
grilled, and he'd better have the right answers to her questions 
if he didn't want to be abandoned by the side of the road in 
another ditch full of snow.

"Mulder, how many cars have you seen in the last two hours?"

Now it was his turn to sigh. "None."

"And how many houses have you seen in the same amount of 
time?"

"Umm, not many."

"Any signs for roads, towns, motels, rest areas?"

"It was snowing so hard I had to keep my eyes on the road... 
No, Scully. Nothing."

She jerked a nod at his responses.

"Well I noticed what appeared to be a house number nailed to 
a tree and what looked like a driveway cut into the woods just 
after I woke up. Maybe we can find help there."

He wanted to point out that wandering around in a blizzard 
probably wasn't a terribly sane thing to do, but he thought 
better of it after one look at Scully's set features. She seemed 
determined to cast her fortunes to the elements, and whither 
she goest, he must follow.

She fished around in her coat pocket, then pulled out her cell 
phone. Punching in three digits, she placed the phone to her 
ear, then frowned.

"I'll try again when we get out of this ditch. Maybe it's blocking 
the signal."

Putting the phone back in her pocket, she turned as far as she 
could toward Mulder. They sat there for a minute or so, until 
Scully raised both eyebrows. That's when he realized that she 
was waiting for something. He raised his brows in return.

"Aren't you going to get the luggage?" she asked.

"Why do you want the luggage?"

"It's cold out there, Mulder. Do you have any idea how many 
people die of hypothermia every year because they weren't 
wearing adequate clothing?"

"Let's put on more layers now."

"And then those clothes will get sweaty from the exertion of 
walking in snow. We'll end up chilled, and we won't have 
anything dry to change into."

"If that driveway leads to a chicken coop or hunting cabin, we 
could be walking a long time. You really want to struggle 
through a blizzard carrying a heavy piece of luggage? I don't 
think the pop-out wheels are going to work too well in snow."

"All the more reason to have extra clothes on hand for warmth."

Mulder could see from the expression on her face that he 
wasn't going to win this battle. Maybe he could at least come 
up with an acceptable compromise. 

"What have you got in your carry-on bag?" he asked.

She tilted her head to one side and looked at him with a 
speculative gleam in her eyes. 

"A couple changes of semi-casual clothes. A few toiletries. 
Some medical supplies. That's not a bad idea, Mulder."

"You keep medical supplies in your carry-on?"

"I like to be prepared. What do you have in your bag?"

"Oh, the usual." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Underwear, 
extra running clothes, jeans, T-shirts, a few issues of Celebrity 
Skin."

Scully's eyebrows rose again.

"Hey," he said, "I believe in the Boy Scout motto, too."

"You were never a Boy Scout."

"Well I knew a lot of Girl Scouts. Does that count?"

She ignored his question and said, "Carry-on bags it is. Now 
let's get out of here before we become part of the landscape."

He pulled on the door handle and pushed the door as hard as 
he could. The slant of the car and gravity were not in his favor, 
but he wasn't about to give up and suffer the further wrath of 
his partner.

A huge gout of snow slid off the door and into his face; he 
accepted it as penance for sins of commission.

Mulder considered congratulating himself on the foresight of 
renting a four-wheel-drive SUV, but he decided that back-
slapping was probably premature. The rugged vehicle had 
kept them traveling for longer than a two-wheel-drive car would 
have, but in the end, it hadn't made any difference. He crawled 
between the seats into the back and handed their bags up to 
where she could grab them. She tossed them out his open 
door onto the snowy incline, then scrambled out after them. 
Mulder followed, boosting her up to the road with one hand 
while he dragged the carry-ons along with the other. He and 
Scully only slid back down the incline twice, which struck him 
as pretty good considering his sneakers were even less useful 
than her dress boots for traction in the slippery snow.

Once they reached the road, he took in his surroundings and 
had to admit that she was right. Getting out of the car was the 
best thing to do because at the current rate of accumulation 
their vehicle was going to be nothing more than a large snow-
covered lump within a couple of hours. The skies didn't appear 
to be clearing at all, and the snow was already over his knees. 
Mulder could see where the chassis had been scraping ruts 
into the snow between the wheels -- ruts that were filling in as 
he watched. He slung his snow-covered bag over one 
shoulder, then turned and reached for Scully's carry-on as well. 
She sent him a glare that proclaimed, "Touch it and die." He 
waved his hand in a be-my-guest gesture. Instead of picking 
up the bag, she removed the cell phone from her coat pocket 
and clamped it to her ear again. The expression of annoyance 
on her face was not reassuring.

"Either we're out of range," she said, "or the storm is blocking 
the signal. I guess we'll have to walk if we want to find help."

He tried out an ingratiating smile. "Bring in on, Scully. I left my 
union suit back in DC, so I'm starting to feel a little chilly."

Shooting him one last aggravated look, she buttoned her coat 
all the way to the top and picked up her carry-on. Clutching it 
to her chest in an awkward embrace to avoid dragging it 
through the snow, she floundered toward the road and their 
car's vanishing tracks. The snow was packed down inside the 
impressions, making it a little easier to walk. Mulder followed 
her, each of them choosing one tire track so they could walk 
side by side. 

They'd been toiling along in silence for several minutes, fat 
flakes pelting into their cold faces, when Scully pointed off to 
their left at an opening in the trees. 

"Doesn't that look like a driveway to you?" she asked, tiny 
clouds puffing from her lips. "There's even a house number 
over on that tree."

He nodded. The trail through the dense forest was too straight 
and even to be naturally occurring. "Good eye, Scully. Let's 
hope the driveway isn't so long that they have to drive down to 
get the mail every day."

It very nearly was.

Even with Mulder in the lead breaking trail, it still took them the 
better part of half an hour, slogging through deep snow, to 
reach the house. By then, they were both cold and winded. 
The small, silent building in the cleared patch of trees was a 
welcome sight. They stopped at the bottom of the front porch 
steps to catch their breath.

"Lucy, I'm hooome." His joke might have gone over a little 
better if his voice hadn't sounded so wheezy.

"What if there isn't anyone here, Mulder?" Scully had already 
recovered enough to scowl at him. "We can't break into 
someone's house."

"I don't think we'll have to," he replied. "I'll bet someone's 
home, judging by the lack of tracks and that car-sized mound to 
the right of the porch."

"Well let's hope the storm hasn't taken out the phone lines."

Mulder glanced overhead, looking for the wires. Shit, there 
were no phone lines. He blinked several times in surprise, then 
scanned the surrounding trees, trying to find the perfect 
symmetry of a telephone pole. That was absent, too. He spun 
in a circle and looked back down the driveway for *any* sign of 
telephone, cable or electric lines leading to the house. Nothing. 

Out of all the possible houses in all the possible towns in the 
whole state of Ohio... 

Pointing upward, he silently drew Scully's attention to his 
discovery. But instead of having a tantrum and damning him to 
hell for getting them into this mess, she only grunted and said, 
"That figures." Then she indicated that he should continue to 
the door. Dragging her bag along as she trudged up the steps 
behind him, she had apparently abandoned the idea of keeping 
the luggage dry in favor of giving her arms a break. Mulder 
knocked on the door and watched it swing open.

"Oh good," Scully said sarcastically, "and here I was afraid I 
was going to freeze to death with my legs crossed on some 
stranger's porch. This is much more promising." 

He walked through the door with her following a discreet 
distance behind. Without any discussion, they set down their 
bags and fished beneath their coats for their guns.

The house was silent and dim. Their breath continued to come 
out in misty clouds even after she closed the door behind them. 
There was no heat evident, either from the fireplace against the 
wall to their left, or from the wood-burning stove in the kitchen 
to their right. They would have assumed the house was 
abandoned if not for the dust-free furniture and accouterments 
of everyday life scattered about.

Mulder walked to a door at the back of the kitchen and looked 
out its window. No tracks led away from the house in that 
direction, either.

"Anybody home?" he called. When there was no answer, he 
turned back to Scully and shrugged. "Guess we should take a 
look around."

She snorted. "If we run into an irate homeowner sitting on the 
toilet, you get to do the explaining."

They lowered their weapons but stayed alert. Finding no light 
switches, they both pulled out flashlights to cut the gloom.

The long, ranch-style house had living areas on one end and 
bedrooms on the other. The main living space seemed to be 
three rooms all connected into one larger unit, without 
intervening walls. The front door opened straight into an area 
between the living and dining rooms. A sofa and loveseat were 
placed at right angles on either side of the cold fireplace to the 
left, with a couple of end tables and oil lamps to complete the 
grouping. The U-shaped kitchen was at the other end of the 
large room, a wood-burning stovepipe running through the wall 
to the outside and logs piled inside a woodbox next to the 
stove. There was an old-fashioned hand pump on the sink 
drain board, and lots of floor-to-ceiling cupboards. Coats, 
boots, umbrellas, coils of rope, baskets, hats, gloves and 
tangled scarves designated the kitchen door as the back yard 
entrance. Upon closer inspection of the kitchen, they 
discovered that the bulky refrigerator in the corner ran on a 
kerosene generator. It was now quiet, most likely due to a lack 
of fuel. In between the living room and kitchen stood a round 
table and two ladderback chairs in front of a china hutch which 
was pushed up against the wall next to the front door. Several 
Victorian-era gas lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling and 
perched on the walls. In all, an attractive, cozy space.

Moving to the left past the front door, they followed the back of 
the sofa toward the only hallway. Doors were lined up down 
the right-hand side of the hall, while the left was covered with 
family photos around two windows through which Mulder could 
see the storm raging outside. When Scully opened the first 
door next to the fireplace, she revealed a winding wooden 
staircase leading to a cellar. She called down the dark stairwell 
without receiving a reply so they agreed to leave that area for 
later exploration. 

The next door opened onto a small bathroom, complete with a 
miniature twin of the living room fireplace. Smiling, Scully ran 
her hands over the enameled clawfoot tub. The ewer and 
basin on the pedestal table were a throwback to a much earlier 
age. She picked up the pitcher, then stopped, a frown creasing 
her forehead.

"If this is the bathroom, where's the toilet?"

Mulder was going to point out that there obviously wasn't one, 
but wisely thought better of it, considering the way things had 
been going. He decided not to bring up the lack of faucets on 
the tub, either. Glancing around for any answer that wouldn't 
piss her off further, he happened to look out the window in the 
end wall. The backyard had been cleared of trees in favor of 
small outbuildings and sheds. One of those buildings had a 
disturbingly familiar silhouette.

"Umm, I think it's out there, Scully."

Putting the pitcher down, she went to the window and pressed 
her face to the glass. 

"An outhouse?" she whined. The window began to fog over as 
the snow increased its blizzard dance, turning the view white. 
"We'll get lost going out there! How are we supposed to use an 
outhouse in this weather?"

"Look on the bright side. At least it'll smell better now than it 
will in the summer heat."

The dirty look she shot him could have melted a crop-circle of 
snow.

Mulder suddenly snapped his fingers and left the bathroom, 
remembering that he'd seen a rope earlier. Walking back 
through the living room, he headed straight to the kitchen door. 
Yes, there it was, hanging with the coats and boots. Turning to 
his partner, who had followed him and now had a puzzled 
expression on her face, he presented the rope for her approval.

"I'll tie this to your waist so I can haul you back in if you veer off 
course," he said. "How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you want to find out if I know how to tie a noose," 
she replied. "I'm not letting you keep me on a leash while I'm 
doing my business. Next plan."

"I suppose fulfilling one of my bondage fantasies is out of the 
question, huh?"

A peeved frown was her only answer.

He thought for a moment, lips pursed, finger tapping his chin. 
Then his face brightened and he smiled.

"I'll attach the rope to the house and run it out to the facilities. 
That way we can use it as a guideline. It'll also give us 
something to hang onto if the wind is blowing."

"What if the rope isn't long enough?"

"One crisis at a time, if you please. Let's see if there's any 
place to tie it to the house first."

Mulder opened the back door and walked out onto the tiny 
stoop. There was less snow here than in the front, but it was 
still deep enough to cover his sneakers and creep up the legs 
of his jeans. Catching sight of a familiar outline around the 
porch post to his left, he grinned. Grabbing Scully by the coat 
sleeve, he pulled her up next to him and pointed.

"Great minds think alike. Your safe passage awaits."

In the swirling flakes, they could barely make out a dingy line of 
rope running from the post through the snowstorm in the 
general direction of the outhouse. He gave it a tug and nodded 
in satisfaction.

"Nice and sturdy, and not too high off the ground. Now we can 
answer Nature's call without straying into the woods."

Scully retreated back into the house and started rummaging 
through the boots beside the door. Pulling out the smallest pair 
she could find, she toed off her own dress boots and jammed 
her feet into the much larger rubber ones. Plucking a scarf 
from the coat pegs on the wall, she wrapped it around her 
head. She walked out the door, shoved Mulder to one side, 
grabbed onto the rope, and headed out into the storm without a 
word. He wondered whether holding in laughter would be 
harmful to his body. He decided that letting it out might cause 
even more damage. Returning to the kitchen, he replaced the 
coil of rope where he'd found it and waited for his partner.

It seemed to take her an inordinately long time to return. 
Watching out the window in the kitchen door, he was 
considering sending out a rescue party of one when he saw her 
materialize out of the snow and stomp up the steps. He 
opened the door and let her in with a blast of colder air. 
Shutting the door again, he helped her out of the snowy scarf, 
brushing her coat off as best he could. She took off the boots, 
dumping ridges of snow off the tops.

"Does the little agent's room pass muster, Scully?" He couldn't 
hide the amusement in his voice, but he did make a valiant 
effort not to smirk.

She ignored him. "Watch out for updrafts, Mulder. Hope you 
brought your own Kleenex."

Leaving him with his mouth hanging open and a smile forming 
on his face, she put her dress boots back on, hung the scarf on 
its peg, and headed for the hallway again. 

He followed her and found her already checking out the third 
door in the hall. It opened into a bedroom, possibly for guests, 
since the furniture consisted of one double bed and a small 
dresser with attached mirror. He noticed that some of the 
dresser drawers were pulled out. Leaving her to inspect the 
room on her own, he continued down the hall to the final door. 
He stopped in front of it and turned the knob.

"I'd like to see what's behind door number four, Monty." 

He pushed it open and peeked into the room. But instead of 
entering, he backed up two steps and pulled the door shut.

"Monty, I've changed my mind."

"Are you talking to me, Mulder?" Scully appeared in the 
bedroom doorway, a question in her eyes. The look he gave 
her brought her to his side in three strides. "What is it?"

Mulder glanced at his hand, still wrapped around the doorknob. 

"I think I've found your homeowner," he said, pushing the door 
open again. They stood side by side, staring at the man's body 
stretched out on the bed. It would have looked like he was 
sleeping if it hadn't been for the hole in his temple and the 
blood splattered on the headboard of the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:58 PM

After discovering the murdered homeowner, Mulder and Scully 
went into investigation mode. She gathered plastic bags and 
latex gloves from her carry-on so that she could examine the 
body while he inspected the bedroom. Just as he was getting 
started, she brought in a lighted oil lamp from the living room, 
placed it on the dresser, then left the room again, muttering 
something about primitive working conditions. The resulting 
illumination was overly bright and wavering, but it was better 
than hunting for clues with a flashlight. 

It was obvious to him that someone had gone through the 
dresser and closet, leaving drawers open and clothing on the 
floor. A pump-action shotgun stood in a corner of the closet, 
clean and unloaded. Shoe boxes on the upper shelf had been 
searched without any regard for neatness. A man's watch and 
wallet sat on the dresser, and a few pieces of inexpensive-
looking women's jewelry lay undisturbed in a velvet jewel box 
next to them. There wasn't anything of interest under the bed -
- not even dust bunnies.

Expanding his scrutiny outside the bedroom, Mulder noticed 
muddy footprints in the hall coming straight from the front door. 
He mentally kicked himself for not seeing them earlier, but the 
damage was done. The other bedroom yielded results similar 
to the murder scene, minus the dead body. The bathroom was 
clean -- literally. There wasn't much to explore in there, other 
than the medicine cabinet on the wall, which revealed nothing 
out of the ordinary. Drawers in the kitchen cupboards had 
been rifled, but he couldn't tell if anything had been taken. The 
living room end tables yielded nothing but stacks of board 
games. The china cabinet appeared ransacked, although a 
checkbook imprinted with the address of a local bank was in 
the drawer. Besides table linens and what was probably the 
"good" dinnerware, there were a small pile of books, some 
flower vases and assorted serving platters and bowls in the rest 
of the cabinet.

Even the basement had been turned over. The rows of boxes 
and jars looked as though they'd been shifted, and large items 
had been pulled away from the wall. He wondered what the 
intruders were hunting for.

The basement turned out to be an honest-to-God root cellar. 
By the glow of his flashlight, he found shelves full of cheeses, 
butter, carrots, potatoes, and apples in a small room to one 
side. The larger room contained smoked bacon and ham, dried 
fish, preserves, canned tomatoes, pickles. Looking at all that 
food, Mulder realized he was hungry. They'd missed lunch 
while driving through the blizzard, then the discovery of a crime 
scene had further delayed any thoughts of food. His stomach 
was now loudly reminding him of his neglect. He couldn't help 
releasing a whoop at the sight of so much bounty. 

Having exhausted any possible clues in the basement, he 
climbed back up the stairs, nearly folded in half to avoid 
braining himself on the ceiling. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite 
in the clear when he straightened up. The hollow thunk of his 
skull meeting wood echoed loudly inside his head. He stopped 
walking for a second and gingerly probed the newborn knot on 
his crown. There was no way he would be telling Scully about 
this. Just one more for the collection, and it wasn't even 
bleeding. He was sure the throbbing would stop soon. 

His half of the investigation completed to his satisfaction, he 
walked back down the hallway and poked his head into the end 
bedroom. Scully was bent over the body, taking notes on a 
small pad of paper. Her shadow on the wall looked like a giant 
towering over the murder victim. 

"I'm gonna get a fire going before we both end up with 
frostbite," he said. "Then I'll make us something to eat. You 
hungry?"

"I will be when I get done here," she answered, "but I don't 
think you should start a fire. The heat will accelerate the 
decomposition rate of the body."

"Not as fast as the cold is turning me into a brass monkey, 
chilly appendages included." She shot him an incredulous 
look, to which he replied, "At least let me heat up the kitchen 
stove so we can eat something hot. It's at the opposite end of 
the house, so the body isn't likely to be affected by the rise in 
temperature... for a while."

Scully cocked her head to one side, apparently considering the 
idea.

"Okay," she replied, "as long as you don't start the fireplace 
until I'm done with my exam. I'll shut the door when I'm 
finished. Maybe that will be enough to keep it cool in here."

He left her to her work and retreated to the kitchen. Gathering 
wood from the firebox next to the stove, he started a fire, 
accomplishing his first goal of getting warm and dry. 

While Scully continued to examine the body, he changed out of 
his wet sneakers into a pair of borrowed boots, then checked 
into provisions for supper. 

The contents of the refrigerator were a total loss. With the 
generator off, everything was spoiled. He slammed the door 
and decided to let someone else deal with it. 

The kitchen cupboards were well stocked with canned soups, 
pastas, and broths, boxes of rice and macaroni-and-cheese 
mixes, hot and cold cereals and bags of noodles. In spite of 
the family pictures in the hall showing the murdered man with a 
woman beside him, there was no evidence of a wife's touch in 
the house. Mulder figured she must have died years ago, 
judging by the layer of "bachelor" overlaying the feminine 
influence. 

His next concern was water. The pump in the kitchen and 
missing taps on the tub indicated an absence of modern 
plumbing. It seemed likely that the pump's pipes would be 
frozen due to the lack of heat, but he decided to try it anyway. 
He was pleasantly surprised when a few vigorous yanks on the 
pump handle resulted in a gurgling gush of clear, icy water.

Finding a box of wooden matches in a tin holder on the kitchen 
wall, Mulder lit the chandeliers, brightening the scene in a 
satisfactory manner. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out two 
cans of chicken broth and set them on the counter. Checking 
the drawers, he located a hand-crank can opener. He found a 
tall saucepan under the sink and placed it on top of the now-hot 
stove, then opened the cans and dumped the contents into the 
pot. He tossed the empty cans into the trash container in the 
corner then set off for the basement to gather additional 
supplies. His borrowed boots rang hollowly on the wooden 
staircase as he descended. Sorting through the shelves, he 
picked out carrots, potatoes, and ham to add to the broth. A 
nice homemade soup was exactly what they needed after their 
long cold day.

Climbing the basement stairs, Mulder was extra careful to avoid 
knocking his head again. That meant walking crouched over all 
the way up the steps. Reaching the top, he unbent his back 
with a groan. Why did old houses always have low ceilings in 
the basement? Were all the people midgets a hundred years 
ago, or did they get tired of digging the cellar? From now on, 
Scully was in charge of trips downstairs. Stepping out into the 
hallway with his armload of food, he pushed the basement door 
closed with his hip. He caught sight of his partner at the same 
time, closing the bedroom door at the end of the hall. When 
she glanced up at him, Mulder motioned with his head for her 
to follow him back to the kitchen.

Putting the food and flashlight on the counter nearest the stove, 
he pulled a cutting board out of a drawer, then asked, "Were 
you able to determine anything?"

Scully nodded. "There are mice in the house, so make sure 
you check for holes in any bags or boxes of food before you 
use them." Stripping off her latex gloves, she tossed them into 
the trashcan. "The victim was probably in his late seventies, 
and has been dead two to three weeks, judging by the amount 
of decomposition and rodent predation. I can't be sure that's 
an accurate estimate on time of death, though. It would take a 
number of hours for any residual heat to dissipate from the 
house, depending on the outside temperature, then a day or so 
for the interior to become as cold as it was when we arrived; 
less with the door standing open. Once the house cooled, 
decomposition would have slowed, though not completely 
stopped. If we knew how long it's been this cold, I could give 
you a better guess. Cause of death appears to be a single 
gunshot to the head, probably from a small caliber weapon."

While she talked, Mulder chopped the vegetables and ham. He 
scooped up large handfuls and added them to the broth that 
was steaming on the stove. A fresh, smoky scent bubbled out 
of the pot, surrounding them with fingers of fragrant steam.

"So was it murder or suicide, Scully?" 

"I don't think he could have shot himself in the head and then 
gotten rid of the gun. Neither of us saw it laying on the bed or 
the floor, which is where it should have ended up if this were a 
suicide. The bullet went through his head, through the 
headboard of the bed and into the wall of the house. I didn't 
want to disturb the body any more than I already have, so I 
didn't dig out the bullet."

He stirred the soup and gestured for her to continue. "What 
else can you tell me?"

She chewed her lip for a moment before replying. "Well, he 
was awake when he was shot, or maybe had just been 
awakened by the intruder. The shooter was most likely 
standing at the foot of the bed, judging by the angle of 
penetration. The blood pattern suggests that the victim's head 
was elevated when impact occurred, so he was definitely 
awake. If he'd been lying down, the bullet would have gone 
into the pillow and mattress. Since he was dressed and on top 
of the covers, I'm thinking he was taking a nap when the 
murderer entered the bedroom and startled him awake. Death 
would have been almost instantaneous."

"Murderers," Mulder corrected. 

"What makes you say that?"

"Footprints. It was either raining or snowing when they arrived, 
because there are two distinct sets of prints dried onto the 
bedroom floor." He pointed to a cupboard and she opened it. 
She pulled out a box of oyster crackers and set them on the 
table while he stirred the soup. "The UNSUBs went straight 
from the front door into the bedroom. They thought they could 
find what they were looking for there. Otherwise, they would 
have walked through the house and their shoes would have 
dried off enough to avoid leaving prints before they reached the 
bedroom."

Mulder ladled the finished soup into thick earthenware bowls 
and then set them on the table. He placed a pile of paper 
napkins between the bowls, added glasses of water and 
spoons, then gestured for his partner to sit down. She scooted 
into a chair while he took the seat opposite.

"At least one of them knows this house," he continued. "The 
killers may have even known the owner was home since they 
came armed. They didn't shoot him because they got caught, 
Scully. This was a very deliberate act. I can't confirm any of 
that by following their trail, of course. Not realizing we were 
looking at a crime scene, we unknowingly mucked up the 
evidence ourselves. But there's enough left in that one room to 
give us some good clues about what happened. We'd better 
keep the door shut while we're here, to preserve what we can 
of the evidence. This snow can't last forever, and when it quits, 
we'll need to find a phone and get help from the local 
authorities."

Scully was already eating. Anxious to appease his stomach's 
hungry grumbling, too, Mulder leaned forward to dig in. He was 
brought up short as the holster at his back caught on the 
bottom ladder of the chair. He wiggled to release it, but it 
wouldn't let go. Twisting in an attempt to see what was wrong, 
he whacked his chin on the top spindle of the chair's back.

"What's the matter?" Scully asked.

Rubbing his chin, he crooked a thumb over his shoulder.

"I'm stuck. My gun is hung up on the chair." 

Putting down her spoon, she stood and walked around the table 
to his side. 

"Let me see." 

She moved behind him and crouched down. There was some 
tugging, and the holster dug into his spine at one point, but at 
last he was freed. She gave him the leather case with the gun 
inside, returned to her seat, and resumed eating.

Puzzled, he turned the weapon over in his hands.

"Why aren't you stuck?" he asked. "You're wearing your gun in 
the same place I am. How come mine got caught?" 

She patted her lips with a napkin before answering. "Height 
difference, Mulder. My waistband is lower than yours, so my 
gun passes under the chair instead of catching on it. Simple 
anatomy."

He thought about that for a second, until his stomach let out a 
growl. The smell of the soup was making his mouth water. He 
set the gun on the table and grabbed his spoon to appease the 
hollow ache in his middle. In his eagerness, he bumped the 
water glass, slopping liquid onto his gun. Dropping the spoon, 
he snatched up several napkins and blotted the moisture from 
his weapon. He huffed in vexation and looked around for a 
drier place to set it. Standing, he carried the gun into the living 
room and placed it on an end table. When he returned to his 
seat in the dining room, Scully was watching him.

"I don't want to try explaining a water-logged weapon to 
accounting," he replied to her unspoken question. "Might as 
well save myself the headache."

She dipped up a spoonful of soup and continued with her 
supper, apparently satisfied with his answer.
 
They both ate hungrily, finishing off the hot, savory soup and 
crispy crackers. It had been a strenuous day. The soup was 
almost gone before either of them broke the comfortable 
silence.

"What else did you find out, Mulder? Do we know who the 
victim is?"

He sipped the last drops from his spoon, wiped his mouth on a 
napkin, then replied, "Tonight's supper was courtesy of Elver 
Smallwood and the late Marie Smallwood. The driver's license 
in a wallet I found on the bedroom dresser matches the name 
in a checkbook in the china cabinet. There were only a few 
checks written down each month in the register. If my guess is 
correct, Elver and Marie grew a lot of their own produce and 
only went into town for things they couldn't grow, like Spaghetti-
O's. The last check was dated twenty-two days ago, so your 
estimate of time of death may be pretty accurate. I'm thinking 
he went into town to stock up before the snow hit and met 
someone he knew who decided to pay a hostile visit. I still 
haven't figured out what they were looking for, but I wouldn't 
bet against simple greed. Maybe old Elver had some money 
stashed away for a rainy day and word leaked out. Or maybe 
he didn't, and everyone just thought he did."

"I wish he at least had a phone," Scully grumbled. She picked 
up the dirty dishes and took them to the sink. "This place isn't 
so remote that he wouldn't have access to phone lines. Why 
no phone? I don't get it."

Mulder got up from the table and followed her to the kitchen. 
He dragged a large pot out from under the sink and pumped it 
full of water. He set it on the stove, then stoked the fire with 
a couple of small logs before answering.

"I think the answer is in this house, Scully." 

"How so?" 

"Look at this place," he replied. "If you take away the modern 
furniture, it probably hasn't been touched since it was built. 
Those gas lights are originals. So is the sink pump. I'll bet 
Elver was born here, maybe even lived here all his life. He was 
used to doing without the modern conveniences. It's a slower 
way of life, but not so bad if you're not used to electricity and 
indoor plumbing. He was an independent sort of guy -- 
believed in taking care of his own, not meddling in other folks' 
business, hence the homegrown produce and infrequent trips 
to town. Anything outside the house that made life easier was 
accepted -- like a car. I'm sure there's one under the large 
mound of snow next to the porch. I wouldn't be surprised if 
there's a riding lawn mower and a rototiller in one of the sheds. 
But the house was fine the way it is, so he never felt the need 
to improve on it. I rather like the retro lifestyle. I might not want 
to live this way permanently, but at least we'll be able to stay 
warm and feed ourselves. And once the snow stops, we'll get 
the authorities out here, turn over the crime scene to them, and 
hightail it back to central heat, microwave ovens, and flush 
toilets as fast as we can."

She sniffed. "Too bad you didn't embrace modern civilization, 
Mr. Smallwood. Top-of-the-line technology is going to help find 
your killers. I hope you appreciate the irony."

After pushing a stopper into the sink, Mulder poured in hot 
water from the pot on the stove, then added cold water from the 
pump. Opening a drawer, he removed a towel and a dishrag. 
He playfully flipped the washcloth at Scully, who tossed it right 
back to him. They pitched it back and forth a couple of times, 
until it landed in the sink. He grinned.

"You're all set to do dishes, Scully. Wash in the sink, rinse in 
the pot, and you'll be done in no time."

"What do you mean, *I'm* all set to wash dishes?"

"I cooked, so you do the dishes."

"While you were cooking, I was performing a post-mortem 
exam on our host, so it's not like I was sitting around painting 
my toenails."

"Oooh, what color are your toenails, Scully? Can I help you 
paint them next time?"

"Don't try to weasel out of this, Mulder. I'll wash and rinse, you 
dry." She suddenly shivered from head to toe, and peered 
around the kitchen. "There's one hell of a cold draft in here."

"I don't feel any draft," he said. "You're just trying to change 
the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject. I was making an observation."

"Well, your observation isn't going to make me forget that 
you're the one washing dishes."

"And you're the one drying."

"Hey, I never agreed to dry."

"Yes you did. I said I'd wash if you dried."

"You *said*. You didn't ask." Mulder melodramatically draped 
an arm over his forehead and moaned. "I worked my fingers to 
the bone, sweating over a hot stove so you could have a warm 
meal and this is the thanks I get. I'm nothing but a kitchen 
slave to you. Oh woe is me." 

She fished the wet washcloth out of the sink, gave it a quick 
squeeze, then smacked him in the face with it. He grabbed it 
and countered by trying to stuff it down the back of her shirt. 
The resulting struggle ended when his hand landed in the sink, 
causing a large splash of water that hit her dead in the face. 
He snatched up the dry towel and presented it to his dripping 
partner. She glowered at him as she wiped her face, but the 
corners of her mouth kept twitching, as though a grin was trying 
to escape. He meekly took the now-damp towel out of her 
hands and indicated that he was quite ready to dry if she was 
done fooling around.

Even as they worked their way through the few dirty dishes, 
Mulder and Scully continued to tease each other. Behind them 
the curtains on each window moved in a non-existent breeze 
and then stilled -- swung and stopped, swung and stopped, all 
down the line, one right after the other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8:45 PM

They finished the dishes, then built a fire in the fireplace, which 
took most of the available wood. Once they had a satisfactory 
blaze going, Mulder donned coat and boots, grabbed his 
flashlight, and headed out into the blizzard to hunt for the 
woodpile. He tied another piece of rope around their guideline 
as an anchor. Scully insisted on tying the other end to his wrist 
so he wouldn't drop the rope while trying to reach the nearby 
sheds. He squeezed through a crack, which was all the deep 
snow allowed when he opened the door, and found what he 
needed in the second shed over from the outhouse. 

The small building was obviously intended to be a woodshed. 
By the glow of the flashlight, he could see saws, axes, and 
other tools hanging on two walls, a scarred stump in one 
corner, and stacks of dry, snow-free wood piled against the 
other walls. There was barely enough room to swing an ax if 
you left the door open. He was pleased to see that Elver had 
recently laid in a good supply of split wood.

Mulder filled his arms as full as he could manage and still use 
one hand to hold his flashlight and the rope. It would take 
several trips to bring in enough logs to last the night and into 
the next day. Trudging back out into the storm, he pushed the 
door closed as much as possible and slogged toward the 
house, rope line firmly in hand. Scully was waiting at the door 
to untie his wrist and take some of the wood from his arms.

The few logs he'd managed to bring in looked lost inside the 
living room woodbox. He groaned at the thought of how much 
work it was going to take to fill both this one and the one next to 
the kitchen stove. A piece of cloth peeking out from 
underneath the box caught his eye; it turned out to be a canvas 
wood tote. He smiled with relief. This would certainly make the 
chore go faster. 

Once the boxes in the living room and kitchen were filled, he 
hung the tote behind the back door and returned to the 
fireplace's warmth. He stopped rubbing his hand in the heat 
and watched as Scully picked up her carry-on bag and started 
to half-drag it down the hallway. 

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She halted, and swayed in place for a moment before turning to 
answer.

"I'm going to put my bag in the bedroom and get ready for bed. 
What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Why don't you leave your luggage out here?"

"Because we won't be tripping over it if I put it in there."

She turned back to the hallway and continued her trek to the 
bedroom. He thought about it for a moment, then picked up his 
own bag and followed her. He was halfway to the bedroom 
when he remembered his gun. It was still sitting on the end 
table where he'd put it after his accident with the water glass. 
He should have put the holster on again as soon as they were 
done with dinner. Mentally chiding himself for being careless, 
he retraced his steps to retrieve the gun. He'd no more than 
cleared the corner of the fireplace when there was an explosion 
in the living room.

Mulder dropped to the floor, hand automatically reaching for his 
weapon. He felt foolish when it came up empty. As he peeked 
around the wall into the other room, Scully's footsteps sounded 
behind him in the hall. He glanced back over his shoulder to 
see her standing with her gun drawn, head swiveling as she 
checked the hallway, all traces of exhaustion temporarily gone 
from her face.

"What the hell was that?" she asked. 

He held his hand up to keep her back as he peered around the 
corner again. At first, the living room appeared to be the same 
as when he'd left it. The fire still blazed, the lamps still burned, 
the room was undisturbed -- except for the fact that his gun 
now lay in the middle of the floor. 

Leaving his bag where it had fallen from his shoulder, he stood 
and slowly moved into the other room. He automatically 
scanned the kitchen and dining area as he moved toward his 
weapon. He poked it with his toe before bending down to lift it 
gingerly between two fingers, still inside the holster. 
Unsnapping the leather case, he pulled out the gun and set the 
holster aside. Ejecting the clip, he examined it, then brought 
the barrel to his face and sniffed. He stared at it in surprise.

"My gun fired, Scully."

He turned to find her standing right behind him, the muzzle of 
her own gun now pointed at the ceiling. She frowned.

"Fired? How?"

"I don't know." He showed her the clip, then slammed it back 
into the breech. "The safety's off, one round is spent and 
there's a strong smell of cordite."

"What were you doing with it?"

"I wasn't doing anything with it. It was sitting on the table. I 
was in the hall when it went off."

"Are you sure the safety was on?"

He snorted. "Of course I'm sure! I have no idea how it 
happened, but it certainly wasn't my doing."

In spite of her skeptical expression, he knew he wasn't to 
blame. Following the direction the gun had been pointing when 
he first laid it down, he located a small hole in the back wall. 
He caught her eye and demonstrated the trajectory with his 
finger.

She lowered her gun.

"Maybe being too close to the fireplace set it off," she said. "It 
was really cold in here earlier and you got it wet during supper. 
Maybe the moisture and the change in temperature when you 
set it near the fireplace were enough to cause a reaction. It 
shouldn't have responded that way, but I suppose it could."

"I wonder..." Mulder gazed around the living room. There was 
nothing out of the ordinary, other than his gun firing itself. It 
had to be a fluke. Probably wouldn't happen again in a million 
years. But just in case... 

He slid the gun back into the holster, then headed toward the 
hallway, keeping the weapon pointed at the floor. As he 
passed the carry-on bag where he'd dropped it in the hall, he 
snatched it up and continued on.

"Mulder, where are you going?"

"I'm securing my weapon, Agent Scully. I suggest you do the 
same."

Entering the guest room, he walked to the dresser and placed 
his luggage on top. He looked up when she followed him 
through the doorway. 

"You can't leave your gun so far out of reach, Mulder." Scully's 
bag lay on the floor where it had apparently been dropped in 
her hurry to reach him. She bent over to pick it up, then set it 
on the dresser. "This is a crime scene. What if --"

"We're snowbound, Scully." He cut her off, waving a hand at 
their surroundings. "We can't get out, so it's unlikely that 
anyone else can get in. I'll lock the doors. We'll be fine. I'm 
more concerned about another misfire -- this time with one of 
us in the bullet's path. I'm not willing to take that chance. Are 
you?"

Without waiting for a reply, he removed his gun from the holster 
and ejected the clip again. He checked to make sure the 
weapon's chamber was empty and the safety engaged. Then 
he took the clip over to the closet, opened the door, and placed 
the ammo on a shelf. Returning to the dresser, he replaced the 
empty gun in the holster, stowed it in his carry-on, then 
regarded Scully with a question in his eyes.

She blinked at him for a few seconds before reaching around to 
her back and taking off her holster. Unsnapping the leather, 
she pulled out her weapon and performed the same checks as 
her partner. Her ammo joined his in the closet before she put 
the holstered gun in her bag and turned to him. He smiled his 
approval.

Moving to leave the room, he bumped into the bed. Seeing the 
neatly made mattress with the plump pillows at the head 
reminded him that it was getting late and they were both tired. 
Shivering in the cold air, he eyed the double bed in 
apprehension.

One bed. One small bed. Sleeping in a small bed with Scully. 
If only that meant what it sounded like. He wasn't even thinking 
in the literal, Biblical sense, either -- more in the wrapped-
around-each-other, sharing-warm-breaths sense. Instead, he'd 
have to lie there next to her, all night long, without touching her 
the way he longed to. And in the morning, he'd wake up and 
pretend that they were nothing more than best friends -- that he 
hadn't told her "I love you" only to be brushed off with an "Oh 
brother."

This was going to be a very long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:17PM

"Don't drag it, Scully. Pick it up and carry it."

"That's easy for you to say, Mr. Six-feet-tall. It's almost as big 
as me. So if you don't mind, I'm dragging instead of carrying."

"Get a better grip and hoist it. My end is slipping because I'm 
trying to haul your half, too."

"It's not the grip, it's the weight, Mulder. This is heavy. Slow 
down."

They shuffled down the hallway past the back of the sofa, 
lugging the mattress from the guest bedroom. He'd suggested 
sleeping on the floor in the living room, with the fireplace 
pulsing out waves of heat, would be preferable to bunking 
down in the cold bedroom with a corpse next door. It had taken 
very little discussion to reach a consensus. They had also 
agreed that a mattress would be more comfortable than the 
hardwood floor, so they decided to haul one off the double bed 
and into the living room.

"Mulder, watch out for the lamp."

"I'm nowhere near the lamp."

"Yes you are. You'll hit it if you don't swing out farther."

"I can't swing out farther, Scully. I'm dragging your half of the 
mattress as well as carrying my own."

"Well whose idea was it to sleep out here in the first place?"

"It was mine, but you agreed with me. Now swing your end 
around so I can get past this table."

With a little more pushing and a lot more squabbling, they 
shoved the mattress into the space between the sofa and 
loveseat, then dropped it to the floor. Unfortunately, there was 
scarcely enough room to fit the bedding in a horizontal position, 
which meant that Mulder's legs became trapped against the 
sofa when the mattress fell. He shoved against the couch hard 
enough to scoot it backwards, then pulled his feet out from 
under the bedding, but not before the mattress' hard edge gave 
his shins a good scraping.

He started to complain about the mishandling of her end of the 
chore, but stopped himself when he saw her drooping mouth 
and tired eyes. It had been a hell of a day. At least they now 
had a warm, comfortable place to spend the night. 

She went back to the bedroom and returned with sheets, 
pillows, and blankets. They made up the mattress on the floor 
and plumped the pillows. This was much better than being 
stuck in their rental car at the bottom of a snowy ditch.

Scully yawned. "Guess we'd better get ready for bed. I don't 
know about you, but I'm beat. You want to use the bathroom or 
the outhouse first?"

There was an off-color remark in there somewhere, but he 
tamped it down and stored it for another day.

"Why don't you hit the necessary before you get changed, while 
I heat water for washing up? I'll shut down the lights and bank 
the kitchen stove before I make my run outside."

"Sounds like a plan." She yawned again as she struggled into 
a coat and boots, then stumbled out the back door into the 
falling snow, closing the door behind her. He watched her with 
a small smile on his lips. As cold as it was, at least she 
wouldn't be able to fall asleep out there. He suddenly yawned, 
too, and decided he'd better heat up the water before it was his 
turn to use the facilities.

Once he finished refilling the large pot at the pump, he hoisted 
it to the stove top. He checked to make sure the fire was set 
for the night, then walked from room to room turning out the 
lamps and chandeliers. He left one lamp burning in the living 
room so they wouldn't trip over anything with nothing but the 
flickering fireplace for illumination.

Figuring he should probably get whatever he needed out of his 
bag so Scully could have the bedroom for changing, he went 
back to the cold guest room once more. He pulled a clean pair 
of boxers out of his bag and set them on the dresser. When 
Scully shuffled through the doorway and headed for her carry-
on, he moved out of her way. Leaving her rummaging tiredly 
through her bag, he went to get the pitcher from the bathroom. 
He took it into the kitchen and filled it most of the way with hot 
water from the pot on the stove then added a little cold from the 
pump. In spite of the fact that the water was lukewarm, the 
pitcher was letting off steam when he carried it into the 
unheated bathroom. On his way out, he passed Scully coming 
in. She attempted a smile, but it didn't quite bloom past a 
wince. He patted her on the shoulder and headed toward the 
back door to hit the john.

By the time he returned from his chilly run to the privy, she was 
already tucked under the covers. Mulder went back into the 
bedroom and retrieved the shorts he'd left on the dresser. He 
got the empty pitcher and basin full of used water from the 
bathroom and carried them to the kitchen sink, dumping the 
bowl and refilling the stoneware pitcher. Then he returned to 
the bathroom where he washed as best he could with a cloth 
and warm water. He would have preferred a real bath to cut 
through the sweat and grime without getting chilled in the 
process. The wistful look on Scully's face when she'd entered 
the bathroom earlier told him that she was thinking the same 
thing, although he suspected her thoughts included scented 
bubbles in the water with plenty of time to relax and unwind in 
the deep tub. He made up his mind that she would have a 
chance to indulge herself the next day. It wouldn't be any 
trouble to build a fire in the small bathroom fireplace and make 
sure she had enough hot water for a nice long soak.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Mulder was struck by 
the stillness in the house. It wasn't silent, by any means -- 
snow was still pinging against the windows, the fire crackled 
and popped, and the wood structure reacted to the heat by 
groaning as it expanded. Yet there was a sense of peace and 
comfort, an assurance that they were together and safe. 
Maybe Elver knew what he was doing after all, living without 
the modern conveniences.

The air was still cold in the hallway, but warming nicely near the 
mattress. He smiled at the Scully-sized mound hidden under 
the blankets. A wave of gratitude washed over him without 
warning. He didn't want to think about what this night might 
have been like if they'd slid off the road into a tree instead of 
finding shelter. Who knew that driving from Cleveland to Erie, 
PA, would send them into a once-in-a-hundred-years lake-
effect blizzard?

He stretched his tired muscles and yawned. It was a bit earlier 
than his usual bedtime, but it had been a strenuous day. Time 
to get some sleep. Stripping down to boxer briefs, he tossed 
his clothes on the couch, draping his damp jeans over the arm 
to dry. He pulled back the blankets just enough to make room 
for his body, then slid underneath. The air outside of the 
covers might be toasty warm, but the bed was freezing. He 
scooted closer to Scully, searching for traces of heat. It wasn't 
a question of putting the moves on his partner. It was a matter 
of surviving the full-body tremors that were racking his frame on 
the frigid mattress. He was still wondering why he couldn't find 
her under the covers when he bumped into a fleece-covered 
shape which snuffled and mumbled in response to his nudging. 

Lifting the blankets just enough to peek, Mulder found his 
partner swaddled in a navy sweatsuit -- one that looked exactly 
like the set he'd packed in his bag to use for running. The 
socks looked like his, too. One of Scully's hands reached into 
the cold air at her back and swatted around until it latched onto 
the covers. She drew them down and tucked them under 
herself as he watched her with a smile. It tickled him to think of 
her wearing his clothes without bothering to ask permission. 
Maybe she figured he owed her, after everything they'd been 
through that day. Or maybe it never occurred to her that he 
might mind. Of course, he didn't mind. In fact, he wondered 
how she might look wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts 
and beaming a secret smile at him. The improbability of such 
an event ever happening set up a tight ache in the middle of his 
chest.

He let her settle into sleep again before gently releasing her 
hold on the blankets and covering himself. The room was lit by 
the flickering fire as well as the one oil lamp he'd forgotten to 
blow out. As his breathing slowed into sleep, the wick on the 
blazing lamp cranked slowly downward until the flame went out. 
All that remained to illuminate the room was the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday
2:57 AM

It was the cramp in his left shoulder that woke Mulder. He'd 
been sleeping on his arm the wrong way and now his hand was 
numb. He turned over, groaning at the resulting ache in his 
muscles. Pins and needles assaulted his fingers as he tucked 
his arm back under the warm blankets. He snuggled down into 
the pocket of heat next to Scully's back, brushing strands of her 
hair off his nose, and waited for sleep to return. 

In that limbo state between sleep and wakefulness, he thought 
he heard the sound of footsteps. Instantly alert, he held his 
breath. The steps were moving past the front door, but when 
he ventured to peer in that direction, nothing was there. The 
sound continued down the hallway, then stopped. Silence for 
several heartbeats, then a new sound -- a door creaking open, 
then closed.

Fully awake now, he reached to the side of the bed for his 
weapon before he remembered that the guns were in another 
part of the house. He scooted out from under the blankets and 
tiptoed toward the front door. It was still locked from the inside. 
Glancing toward the back door, he could see even in the dim 
light that it was locked, too. Looking down at his feet, he 
noticed that the floor was devoid of snowy footprints. Damn, he 
wished he had his gun with him. Glancing around, the most 
logical weapon he could find was the fireplace poker. He 
padded over to the hearth and picked it up. It might be cliche, 
but at least it was solid and heavy. Hefting it in his right hand 
to test for balance, Mulder crept down the hallway as softly as 
he could. When he opened the door to the guest bedroom, he 
realized that it didn't creak. It didn't make any noise at all, so 
that wasn't what he'd heard. He backtracked and tried the 
basement door. It, too, opened silently. There was no light 
downstairs, and he didn't think anyone would attempt those 
steps without at least a flashlight. So that left the bathroom and 
the master bedroom. 

Swallowing hard, he peered back into the living room. Scully 
seemed to still be sleeping, the blankets nearly covering her 
face. He listened to her soft breathing. When he was satisfied 
that she was asleep, he gripped the poker more firmly and 
snuck down the hall. At Elver's bedroom door, he closed his 
free hand around the plastic bag Scully had placed over the 
knob to preserve any fingerprints. He held his breath, counted 
to three, then turned the knob. The door's hinges let out a shrill 
creak as he pushed it open as far as he could without hitting 
the wall. 

The room was empty.

Or as empty as a room can be with a dead man inside. Elver 
Smallwood still lay where he'd been murdered, although thanks 
to Scully, he was now respectfully covered with a sheet. 
Creeping across the room, Mulder peeked into the tiny closet 
and even got down on his knees to look under the bed. The 
corpse appeared to be the sole inhabitant until a mouse 
scuttled past, right under Mulder's nose. He jumped and 
banged his head on the underside of the bed frame. 

Rubbing the back of his head, he left the bedroom, and pulled 
the door closed behind him. The noises he'd heard must have 
been nothing but the warmed building contracting as it cooled 
off. Or maybe there were mice in other parts of the house, too. 
He walked back to the living room, glancing down the hallway 
once more before moving to the fireplace. He stirred the coals, 
and then placed the poker back in its place before adding two 
more large logs to the fire. He stayed crouched in front of the 
coals, warming his chilled skin until the wood caught. 
Returning to the mattress on the floor, he scooted under the 
blankets and lay on his back for a long while, all senses on the 
alert. As the minutes passed without any further disturbances, 
his eyes grew heavier and heavier until sleep came to claim 
him again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:38 AM

The second time Mulder awoke, he was aware of two 
sensations. First, his arms were freezing cold. Not surprising, 
since they were outside the blankets. The fire had burned 
down overnight, so the whole house was going to be very chilly 
until they could get the stove and fireplace going again.

The second sensation was one he hadn't experienced in a long 
time. A warm body was tucked up against his back, one leg 
thrown over his hip and an arm draped across his ribs, fingers 
twitching against his naked chest. The feeling of moist breath 
puffing against his back was doing disturbing things to the rest 
of his anatomy. He wondered how he was going to get out 
from under his partner without waking her. If he thought she 
would be pleased by their current situation, he would have 
tickled her awake and tried to get lucky. But after Scully and 
the guys had fished him out of the Bermuda Triangle, she'd 
made it pretty clear that she wasn't interested in a deeper 
relationship with him. She'd blown off his declaration and 
never mentioned it again. That hurt, but he'd gotten the hint. 
His body would just have to quit being so happy before it got its 
butt kicked.

Scully mumbled in her sleep and rubbed her nose into his back. 
He suppressed a groan through sheer force of will, but he 
couldn't stop the shudder that ran the length of his body. If he 
didn't get out of the bed soon, he was afraid he'd have to lie 
down naked in the snow to get rid of the kickstand currently 
propping him up in bed. His problem was solved when she 
rolled over, taking the covers with her. He sprang off the 
mattress, grabbed his jeans and hopped into them one leg at a 
time as he headed for the coat rack. He snagged a jacket and 
put it on before he opened the door.

The sight that greeted him was most unwelcome.

The path he'd painstakingly broken to the outhouse the night 
before was gone, the cut hidden under a new blanket of snow. 
Huge clumps of flakes continued to drop silently from the 
leaden sky. The amount of time it would take to wade through 
the thigh-deep drifts struck despair into his heart. The 
combination of just-out-of-bed warmth and standing-in-the-
snow-barefoot cold resolved his dilemma -- Mulder unzipped 
his jeans and proceeded to take his morning leak off the side of 
the porch.

When he went back inside and shut the door, he was met by 
his sleep-tousled partner, hands on hips and lips pursed in 
disapproval. 

"You'd better not have been doing what I think you were doing." 

"I'm sorry, Scully, I didn't know you wanted to watch. Just give 
me a couple of hours and a few glasses of water --"

She ignored his remark and pushed her feet into a pair of 
boots. "If you're done marking your territory, maybe you could 
make us some breakfast before we try to get out of here." She 
pulled on a coat and wrapped her head with a scarf.

"We can't leave now, Scully."

"Sure we can. We'll have a good breakfast, borrow extra 
clothes and heavier shoes, and then wait by the car until 
someone comes along to help us. Or we can try walking to 
another house. There must be one nearby. This isn't the turn-
of-the-century wilderness, no matter how outdated this house 
is."

When she opened the door, a blast of wind puffed a mound of 
snow off the porch and onto the kitchen floor. Her jaw dropped 
as she took in the fat, falling flakes, then closed with a snap as 
she turned to him.

"We'll discuss it when I get back."

Mulder's hand on her arm made her pause.

"That snow is going to be up to your waist." He held her gaze, 
trying to convey the serious nature of his words. "Don't expend 
your energy trying to adhere to social conventions that are 
pointless and dangerous under these conditions."

He didn't quite know how else to suggest that she pee off the 
porch without coming right out and saying it, and he couldn't tell 
if she'd gotten his oblique message. However, the amount of 
time that she spent outside after shutting the door seemed to 
indicate that she'd taken his advice. He hung up his coat and 
wisely chose to forego any comments about cold drafts or 
yellow snow. 

Scully didn't offer her observations on the experience, either. 
She shook the snow off her coat and scarf, then toed off the 
boots before returning to their previous discussion about 
leaving.

"The roads are probably better than the yard." Her tone of 
voice lacked conviction, but he hadn't expected anything less 
than her usual persistence. "They'll have it plowed and salted 
by now. I'm sure we'll be fine once we get beyond the driveway 
to the road. We can still leave today."

"No, we can't." He ran a hand through his hair and huffed in 
exasperation. "Look, Scully, I'm as anxious to leave as you 
are, but hiking out in this weather is suicide. The snow is 
deeper than when we got here yesterday, the wind is howling, 
the temperature has probably dropped, and I really don't think 
anyone is going to be cruising the roads looking for stranded 
travelers. We've got a sure thing here. Let's stay until we can 
be certain we aren't risking our lives by leaving."

She blinked at him. "I can't believe it."

"What?"

"You're actually trying to be the voice of reason for once. Did 
we switch bodies overnight?"

He smirked. "Can I check and see if you're wearing mine? 
The clothes sure look familiar."

A faint blush swept over her cheeks. Clearly, she was 
embarrassed that he'd caught her pilfering his clothes. 

"I was freezing and I didn't think you'd want me sticking my cold 
feet on you all night."

"Ohhhh, Scully..." Mulder purred, "I know lots of ways to keep 
warm. You should have said something last night."  

Her blush deepened.

She spun on her heel and walked toward the hallway.

"I'm going to get dressed and have breakfast. I suggest you do 
the same unless you're planning to spend the day half naked."

Glancing down, Mulder remembered that he was barefoot and 
shirtless. And the house was quite chilly, according to the state 
of his nipples and goosebumps. He wondered if she had 
noticed. Maybe that's why she'd stomped off so fast when he 
mentioned other ways of warming her up. He snorted at the 
idea that she would ever be affected that way merely by seeing 
his bare chest. That happened in romance novels and on 
television, not in real life. Dejected by his own thoughts, he 
walked to the living room and donned yesterday's shirt. He 
worked on getting the fireplace going before turning his 
attention to the kitchen stove. By the time he was done, Scully 
had emerged from the back room wearing a sweater, jeans, 
and boots. Her hair was combed and her blush subdued. He 
silently took his turn to change, pushing unpartnerly thoughts 
about how beautiful she looked into a dark corner of his mind. 
It was shaping up to be a very frustrating day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:50 AM

Living without modern conveniences was damned hard work, 
Mulder decided. Everything seemed to take three times longer 
than normal to accomplish -- heating water, making oatmeal, 
washing the dishes. And that wasn't even counting the amount 
of time it took to trek to the outhouse and back. He finally 
broke down and shoveled a new path. Scully had insisted on 
tying a spare piece of rope from the guideline to his belt loop so 
he wouldn't wander off in the blizzard. It was probably a good 
thing she did -- the path began meandering a bit too far to the 
left, toward the woodshed. When he caught himself drifting, he 
finished a branch off the main path to the shed, then returned 
to clearing one for the outhouse. Hopefully the paths would be 
usable for most of the day.

Something else that took an exorbitant amount of time was 
warming up after being outside. The house was small enough 
that the fireplace and stove provided plenty of heat, but 
outdoors the temperature was down so low that he became 
thoroughly chilled after an hour, even when dressed in layers of 
clothing. Mulder rubbed his tingling hands together in front of 
the blazing hearth as his damp pant legs steamed in the heated 
air. He turned when the kitchen door opened.

"You really don't have to do that, Scully," he said through 
chattering teeth. "I can get more wood as soon as I warm up a 
bit."

She lugged the canvas tote to the fireplace and dumped the 
logs onto a growing pile. Pushing back her scarf, she revealed 
a bright red nose and watering eyes. She rubbed mittened 
hands over her face and gave a watery sniff.

"Nonsense, Mulder. You need to get warm, and we need more 
wood for the fire to get you warm. Besides, you already did the 
hard work by shoveling the pathways. It's no trouble at all to 
reach the woodshed. Two more trips and I think we'll have 
enough to last us through the night. Then, with any luck, we'll 
be able to get out of here tomorrow."

Picking up the tote again, she tromped back to the kitchen and 
out the door. He shook his head at her stubbornness. Still, 
she was right -- he was really in no shape to be hauling wood 
at that moment. While his shirt was sticking to the sweat on his 
chest and back, his hands and feet were so numb he couldn't 
feel them. Any warmth he might have generated by shoveling 
was lost to the bitter wind the minute he'd stopped. It had been 
far too long since he'd spent time outdoors in the cold, moving 
piles of snow. Next time he'd listen to Scully and wear a hat.

Once she announced that they had enough wood, Mulder 
relinquished his prime spot in front of the fire and stretched out 
on the couch. His jeans were mostly dry, he was full from 
breakfast, and the exertion of shoveling, coupled with his 
broken sleep the night before, had him feeling drowsy. He was 
half-dozing when Scully's voice caught his attention.

"So what are we supposed to do until the storm lets up? 
There's no TV or radio, and I've seen very few books laying 
around. I don't think the Smallwoods were avid readers."

He considered her question for a few seconds, then rose from 
the couch and moved to one of the living room end tables. He 
threw open the doors underneath and gestured with a flourish 
of his hands towards the interior.

"Ta-da! You get first choice, Scully."

Inside the end table was a stack of game boxes. Smaller 
boxes were wedged into the sides where the others left gaps. 
Moving to kneel in front of the open doors, she peered at the 
labels.

"I haven't seen some of these in years. I'll bet there are 
collector's items in here."

He squatted next to her. 

"The other table has even more. I saw them during my 
inspection yesterday. I'd say we've discovered how Elver and 
Marie spent their spare time."

Running her fingers over the sides of the boxes, she bypassed 
Stadium Checkers, Boggle, Life, and Backgammon. She 
paused for a second at the Stratego game then continued on. 
Grabbing a dark red, cloth-covered box, she smiled and held it 
up in triumph.

"How about Scrabble?"

"That's your final decision? You're sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

He rubbed his hands together, then interlaced his fingers and 
bent them backwards to the tune of cracking knuckles. 

"You're looking at the Scrabble champion of my Oxford flat, 
unbeaten for two straight years. Prepare to meet thy doom, 
Agent Scully. You are goin' *down*!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
11:35 AM

"What do you mean I can't use 'carditis'? It's a perfectly 
legitimate medical term."

"No medical terms, Scully."

"I can so use medical terms. They're in the Scrabble dictionary 
I have at home."

"Well, we don't have one here so I can't double-check them. 
Besides, you wouldn't let me use a word I wanted before."

"Mulder, your word was vulgar. The game doesn't allow the 
use of crude terms for female genitalia. Let's see... I used all 
seven of my letters, so that's fifty points right there. I'm on a 
triple-word box, and the 'D' is on a double letter box, so I get 
thirty-nine points for that, giving me a grand total of eighty-nine 
points. Not bad."

"Eighty-nine points? Scully, you're killing me here! How come 
you keep getting all the good tiles?"

"Whining is very unattractive, you know."

"As well as useless."

"Besides, you had a triple word box under that 'S' I just used. 
I'm not getting all the good breaks."

"I don't think you're in much danger from my eighteen points for 
'nails'." He rose to his feet and headed toward the back door. 
"I gotta use the can. I'll be right back."

"It's about time for lunch anyway. Why don't we pick it up again 
while we eat?"

Mulder nodded as he plucked his coat off the peg and 
shrugged it on. Jamming his feet into a pair of boots, he 
opened the back door to a virtual white-out. Once again he 
breathed a "thank you" to Elver for being foresighted enough to 
string a rope between the porch and outhouse. 

Using outdoor facilities in winter was more than enough to 
squelch a person's desire to linger over their business, and the 
chance of getting lost on the way there or back didn't hold any 
appeal, either. At the current rate of snowfall, the paths weren't 
going to be passable for much longer. He was stamping his 
feet on the steps and back inside the warm house in record 
time. The smell of tomato soup and the scowling face of his 
partner greeted him at the door.

"You didn't have to be such a poor sport, Mulder."

"What?"

Scully gestured at the table. "You didn't have to mess up our 
game before you left. I never would have thought you'd be that 
mean."

Looking to where she was pointing, he saw that the letter tiles 
had been scattered across the board and tabletop. He shook 
his head. 

"I didn't do that, Scully. You know I'm not that petty."

"Then how do you explain it?" she demanded. "I didn't touch 
them. I was in the kitchen opening a can of soup for lunch."

"And I was answering nature's call. The board was fine when I 
left."

She grimaced. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sure it wasn't your fault. 
The wind must have blown in and caught the table just right. 
Get your coat off and let's eat. We'll start a new game."

After hanging his coat on the peg by the door, he toed off the 
boots. He walked to the disturbed game board, remembering 
the strange noises during the night. He picked up a playing 
piece and turned it over in his fingers. Shaking his head, he 
put the tile back on the table and continued into the kitchen to 
help with the lunch preparations. 

No one was there to watch when the tiles started to spin on the 
table's surface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:35 PM

The day had been enjoyable in its own way, but for Mulder 
enforced closeness was turning out to be a new form of 
personal hell. Spending every minute of the day with the 
woman he loved was heaven, while not being able to touch her 
or express his true feelings felt like a hair-shirt that made him 
itchy and irritable. The result was a continuous flood of 
innuendoes and suggestive comments thinly disguised as word 
choices on the Scrabble board.  

Being beaten six out of six games cast a pall on his frame of 
mind, but the improvement in his partner's disposition was 
worth the humiliation. Winning put Dana Scully into a very 
forgiving mood. In fact, she'd been more than happy to make 
them a veggie, ham, and cheese stir-fry over noodles for 
supper -- cooking was a sure Scully-sign of good humor.

He kept his mental promise to treat his partner to a long, hot 
soak in the clawfoot tub. While she was making a trip to the 
outhouse after supper, he built a fire in the bathroom fireplace 
and hung a large kettle of water on the iron pot hook embedded 
in the wall. By the time they finished their new round of 
Scrabble, the water was heated. 

Mulder hauled a large pot of cold water into the bathroom and 
invited Scully in for her approval. The look of gratitude on her 
face when she understood his intentions was more than worth 
the effort. He shut the bathroom door as she began 
transferring potfuls of hot water to the tub.

In retrospect, it had been a nice thing to do for his partner's 
comfort, but became another layer of itching powder under his 
hair-shirt. Lying on the couch while she splashed and hummed 
in the bathroom wasn't calculated to relieve his level of 
frustration. Instead, it made things ten times worse. He 
couldn't seem to stop imagining her pale skin, slick with water 
and soap suds, gleaming in the light from the fireplace. He was 
startled to find himself rubbing at the woody that was straining 
against his zipper -- he hadn't remembered reaching for his 
crotch while the images of Scully played out in his mind. 
Pushing himself off the sofa in disgust, he strode to the back 
door and flung it open to the icy wind. The slap of snow on his 
face was a small price to pay for giving in to his lustful 
thoughts. His feelings for his partner didn't give him the right to 
indulge in fantasies... fantasies that would no doubt disgust her 
if she knew about them. He stood there until he heard the 
bathroom door open again. Only then did he shut out the 
swirling blizzard and return to the living room. 

Scully emerged from the steamy room, rosy, smiling, and 
relaxed. The sight of her tugged at his heartstrings until he 
thought they'd unravel in his chest. 

Now, lying next to her warm body, Mulder stared at the 
flickering firelight on the ceiling and wondered how he'd make it 
through another night in such close proximity without going 
insane. Or jumping her bones, which would definitely be 
worse. She would probably forgive him for being insane.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden floor intruded on his 
thoughts. He listened to them move from the kitchen to the 
dining room then down the hallway, until a door again creaked 
open, then closed. Last night, he'd been willing to believe that 
the sounds were his imagination and the noises inherent to an 
old house, but now he was certain there was more to it than 
that. His mind flashed on the scattered Scrabble game, and 
the strange way his gun had misfired the day before. The 
pieces shuffled into place and a pattern emerged -- Elver 
Smallwood hadn't quite left the earthly plain. Granted, he had 
nothing but a few unconnected clues as proof, yet it made 
sense. Elver was trying to contact them. Mulder smiled into 
the flickering gloom. How about that? He'd found a real, live 
ghost -- in a manner of speaking. Not that he was planning to 
mention this theory to Scully. He wasn't in the right mood for 
her rational logic and scientific facts.

There were times when he really wished she could believe 
without question. As much as he respected her opposing 
viewpoint, once in a while it would be nice if they could talk 
about out-there ideas without arguing over every extreme 
possibility. No way could he tell her that they were staying in a 
haunted house. She'd look at him as if he were a child and use 
small words to explain why ghosts don't exist. His faith in her 
reaction put a damper on his excitement. He loved her more 
than he would have thought possible when they first met, but 
sometimes he wondered how long he could hold out against 
this ache in his heart. 

There couldn't be any harm in asking someone else for advice.

He whispered into the silence, "You wouldn't happen to know 
anything about unrequited love, would you, Elver old buddy?" 

The only answer was a brief flare of light from the fireplace. 
Shadows danced and played in the corners, but no other 
ghostly revelation was communicated to him in the darkness.

"Thanks anyway," he murmured, getting comfortable under the 
blankets. "Guess I'll have to figure it out on my own."

As his breathing slowed, the fire flared again, bathing the two 
people in light. Scully mumbled in her sleep, tossing the covers 
off her shoulder. She quickly settled into deep slumber and 
never noticed when the blankets were pulled back up to her 
chin and gently tucked around her by an unseen hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday
9:37 AM

Mulder vowed never to take indoor plumbing for granted again. 
When they got home, he was going to clean his bathroom until 
it was sanitary enough to eat from every surface, and then he 
would keep it that way. In spite of the occasional clutter in his 
apartment, he'd never yet had to shovel his way to the toilet. 
And he was getting damned tired of having to do it now.

Since the snow hadn't stopped, the path he'd made earlier 
continued to fill in. Every time he moved the accumulated 
snow out, the sides of the path got higher, which meant it was 
more difficult to shovel next time. He didn't mind peeing off the 
side of the porch -- guys were built for it -- but it wasn't fair to 
expect Scully to risk losing her balance and falling into the 
snow at a vulnerable moment.

So he shoveled, and each time it took a little longer. He'd 
already been at it for an hour and a half. He was almost done, 
but even with the exertion of scooping mounds of snow to one 
side, his hands and feet were completely numb again. Just like 
the last time, his back and chest were sweaty beneath Elver's 
thick barn coat, so whenever a puff of frigid air made contact 
with his damp clothing inside a sleeve or up under the hem, it 
sent a chill into the pit of his stomach. Right now, his insides 
were attempting to generate heat by quivering like Jell-O in an 
earthquake.

Scully's good humor had taken a nosedive when they woke up 
to still-falling snow. He couldn't really blame her -- he was 
starting to go a little cabin crazy, too, but probably for an 
entirely different reason. His physical awareness of his partner 
had heightened to the point of pain. Ever since she'd emerged 
from her bath last night, his senses had been assaulted on all 
sides by her scent, the sight of her creamy skin, the silken tone 
of her voice. The itching powder on his skin had morphed into 
brambles, leaving tiny wounds behind every time he allowed 
his consciousness of her to have full reign. As much as he 
hated shoveling, at least it gave him a short break from the 
constant assault on his sanity and the inevitable swelling of a 
certain portion of his anatomy. The extreme cold helped, too.

Following one more heave of the shovel, Mulder leaned his 
back against the woodshed door and surveyed his handiwork. 
Finished. Again. Little clouds of steam puffed between his 
parted lips as he tried to catch his breath. It was still as cold as 
it had been when they'd arrived, but to his New England-trained 
eye, it looked like the snow was slowing down. Granted, he 
might be a bit rusty at weather prediction after so many years 
away from the northern reaches, and it might be no more than 
wishful thinking, but it seemed as though the flakes were 
smaller and spaced farther apart. He certainly hoped so. The 
sooner they got out of this place, the sooner they could get the 
appropriate authorities in to investigate and return to their own 
homes. Scully had been pretty testy at breakfast, snapping his 
head off at every remark he made. He suspected *he* was the 
itching powder on her skin right now, and not being able to get 
away from each other was only making things worse.

Pushing away from the shed door, he trudged back up the 
cleared path toward the house. He was chilled to the bone, but 
at least he'd used up enough excess energy that he'd be able 
to spend the next several hours in Scully's company without 
throwing her on the mattress and ripping her clothes off. If they 
didn't get out of this place soon, he was going to be spending 
all of his time shoveling snow, trying to keep his lust cooled 
down.

Mulder shivered as he stomped up the porch steps. At the 
moment, his libido seemed to be the one thing that *wasn't* 
cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:32 PM

"Mulder, you sank my battleship! Again!"

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good."

"And when you're a poor sport, you're obnoxious. I swear 
you're peeking somehow."

He let out a perturbed huff as he reset his ships inside the 
game case. "That's the second time you've accused me of 
cheating, Scully. I'm hurt that you would think such a thing of 
me. Besides, you busted my ass yesterday. I'll be drummed 
out of the Testosterone Corps if I can't beat you at *something*. 
Wanna try for four out of seven?"

She plopped her game case on the couch cushions and stood. 
"No, I think losing three games of Battleship is quite enough for 
today, thanks." Walking to the kitchen door, she pulled back 
the window curtain. "I'm tired of being cooped up. I want to get 
out of here. The snow stopped an hour ago. Why can't we 
leave?"

She probably didn't realize how whiny she sounded. Mulder 
would usually find such an uncharacteristic display of 
childishness endearing. Today, it grated on his nerves. He 
glowered at her without trying to hide his exasperation.

"We already talked about this, Scully. It will be getting dark 
soon. Standing out by the car all night would be a stupid move. 
We'll leave in the morning if it doesn't snow again. I know 
you're finding it hard to keep your hands off me, but --"

She whirled to face him. Mulder wasn't sure if he heard her 
snarl, but her upper lip was definitely curled in annoyance. 

"If you can't say anything constructive, then just shut up, 
Mulder!" She spun to face the window, yanking the curtain 
aside to glare at the snow-covered yard again. 

He slumped on the loveseat and closed his game case. Okay, 
teasing was out, at least for today. Board games were wearing 
thin, even if he was winning this time. He pushed himself up 
and walked to the china cabinet. Opening the double doors at 
the bottom, he lifted out the small stack of books he'd seen on 
their first day there. Setting them on the table, he perused the 
titles and acknowledged that, while there weren't many to 
choose from, they were all classic stories. 

Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. 

He'd read it.

First Men In the Moon.

Read that, too.

Robinson Crusoe.

Read it five times.

War Of the Worlds.

Read it until his copy fell apart.

Gone With the Wind.

Probably one of Marie's books.

There were about a dozen in all, an eclectic mix of old titles but 
none that could be considered modern. Mulder hoped there 
was something here that would soothe his partner's nerves, at 
least for a little while. He quietly cleared his throat.

"Um, I found some books when I was hunting around, Scully. 
Maybe you'd like to read instead of playing games."  

She let the curtain fall and turned back to him, without the 
sneer this time. Her eyes widened when she saw the books 
he'd set on the table, and she moved over for a closer look. 
Her fingers caressed the covers as she sorted through his 
peace offering. He could tell which ones she'd probably read 
by the way her touch lingered and her smile widened. She 
picked up War Of the Worlds and turned it over in her hands. 
When she looked at him, there was a self-deprecating grin on 
her lips that reached to her eyes.

"Thanks, Mulder. I don't think I've ever read this one, although 
I've heard the Orson Wells radio version a few times. Maybe I'll 
get some useful tips on how to stop a world invasion. Might 
come in handy some day." 

He smiled his acceptance of her unspoken apology. She went 
back to the couch and sat down as he moved through the 
house, lighting lamps. It wasn't quite dark yet, but it would be 
soon.

Once they had enough light for reading, he picked up the copy 
of A Child's Garden of Verses and returned to the loveseat. 
Scully glanced up, giving his choice the once-over.

"Children's poems, Mulder?"

He shrugged. "I loved Robert Louis Stevenson when I was a 
kid. I read everything he ever wrote, including the poems. 
Hell, I read everything by *all* the classic authors -- H. G. 
Wells, Jules Verne, Daniel Dafoe, Kipling, Mark Twain. 
Especially the adventure stories. Always wished I could be 
stranded on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe. I guess, in 
a way, I finally got my wish. You're a lot prettier than Friday, 
though."

Instead of chewing him a new orifice as she might have done 
earlier in the day, she treated him to a full smile, with teeth. 
Scully bent her head over her book as he opened his and did 
the same. They soon became so engrossed in reading that 
they didn't even notice when it began to snow again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:40 PM

They ate supper late. The luxury of reading without interruption 
was novel enough to keep them both interested until nature 
called loudly for food and relief.

Scully was the first to put her book aside for a trip to the 
outhouse. The little moan of despair she let out upon opening 
the door had Mulder rushing to her side, book abandoned on 
the floor in his haste. 

The path to the sheds was half filled again. Fat flakes were 
descending at a steady, though no longer furious, rate. 
Stepping up behind her at the open door, he gripped her 
drooping shoulders and squeezed in sympathy.  

"It has to stop sometime," he murmured into her hair. Placing a 
soft kiss on the crown of her head, he was gratified to feel her 
lean into his embrace. "We're in Ohio, not Alaska. We'll get 
out of here soon, I promise." 

Straightening her back, she moved out of his hands, much to 
his disappointment. She stepped through the doorway, but 
gave him a wavering smile over her shoulder. 

"Thanks," she said. "I'm... I'll be right back."

He stood there for a minute or so, staring at the closed door as 
though it held some secret he could discover by looking at it, 
before moving into the kitchen. Pulling a can of potato soup 
and a box of Pasta-Roni out of a cupboard, he scowled at 
them. God, he'd agree to do a months' worth of expense 
reports in exchange for a nice, juicy hamburger right now. 
Leaving the packages on the counter, he tossed a couple of 
logs into the stove.

In the heat of the fire, Mulder caught a whiff of himself and 
realized that he was probably due for a bath. He'd taken to 
wearing dirty clothes whenever he went out to shovel the 
pathway, figuring that he'd be reduced to raiding Elver's 
wardrobe in no time if he didn't conserve what he'd brought 
with him. But in spite of washing up and putting on relatively 
cleaner clothes afterward, his current bouquet left a lot to be 
desired. 

Gathering up some logs and kindling from the pile in the 
kitchen woodbox, he walked into the bathroom and built a new 
fire in the mini fireplace there. Scully returned from her trip 
outdoors to find him pumping water into a large kettle. Seeing 
her look of inquiry, he explained, "I thought I'd better soak off 
some of the funk before you make me sleep with Elver tonight."

"You mean he isn't the one I've been smelling all day?"

He clapped a hand over his heart. "That's harsh, Scully, really 
harsh. Wait and see if I ever run a bath for you again."

The atmosphere at supper was decidedly more cheerful and 
friendly than it had been all day. Reading instead of playing 
board games had provided a much needed break from 
involuntary togetherness. By the time they were done eating, 
Mulder's bath water was ready. He let Scully wash up for bed 
first, since it was already late, while he headed to the outhouse. 
When he got back, she was dressed for sleep in his sweatsuit 
once again. He liked seeing her in his clothes, and wondered if 
he could convince her to keep wearing them after they returned 
home. 

She borrowed a large saucepan of his hot water, volunteering 
to wash their few dishes while he made himself more 
presentable. He rather enjoyed his warm soak in front of the 
little fireplace. If he ever had a chance to own a house, he was 
going to make sure it had a fireplace in the bathroom. If it 
didn't, he'd add one. He knew Scully would appreciate the 
decadence of the idea. 

That thought brought him up short. When had he started 
thinking in terms of what Scully would want in *his* future 
home? Right from the beginning of their partnership, he'd 
respected her professional opinion when they were working on 
a case, even if he often ended up convincing her to do things 
his way. Giving her the same courtesy in his personal life 
happened gradually, until her potential wishes were spilling 
over into his daydreams, too. If he was honest with himself, it 
had been a long time since he'd made any decision at all that 
didn't include her input. He could no longer remember a time 
when her happiness was just an afterthought. Given the 
chance, he would fulfill every dream of her heart for the rest of 
his life. But she'd made it pretty clear that the interest was one-
sided. Considering the fact that he'd soon be sleeping next to 
her, this didn't seem like the best time for wishful thinking. 

Finished with his bath, Mulder let the water drain from the tub. 
He doused the fire with what remained in the kettle. Dressed in 
clean boxers, he reluctantly left the warmth of the little room for 
the relative coolness of the rest of the house. Scully was 
already under the blankets and seemingly asleep. He moved 
through the rooms, first making sure the kitchen fire was 
banked, then adding logs to the one in the fireplace. The 
domesticity of his chores brought a lump to his throat. All 
through history, men have been considered the family 
protector. When people lived in caves, that might have meant 
keeping the fire away from sleeping family members, snuffing 
smoky torches, and barricading the entrance from marauding 
animals. As humans grew more inventive over time, the nightly 
tasks became easier and less time consuming. These days, 
those duties would consist of nothing more than turning a lock, 
closing a window, and flicking a few wall switches, but the 
symbolism was the same. What wouldn't he give for a chance 
to perform these types of chores every night, knowing that 
Scully would be waiting for him when he was done? Maybe 
wearing something a little less concealing... 

As he crouched by the fire and fantasized, the increasing 
shadows caught his attention. Standing, he turned around to 
find the lamps and chandeliers slowly dimming on their own. 
He watched as the glow of each one faded until it was 
completely gone, with only the fireplace lending light to the 
room. 

"You can't forget several decades of habit, can you, Elver?"

When there was no answer, he climbed under the blankets. He 
scooted closer to Scully's warmth, but refrained from touching 
her, even through the sweatsuit. Thankfully, the day had 
ended better than it started. But that also meant that he didn't 
have her shield of aggravation to hold between himself and his 
inappropriate yearnings. All he possessed was years of 
restraint that the past few days had worn thin around the 
edges.

On that unhappy thought, he drifted off into a restless sleep, 
with the sound of footsteps and creaking doors echoing in his 
dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thursday

2:48 PM

Although it had been snowing when they awoke that morning, 
the mood hadn't been as strained as the previous day. The 
flakes drifted down lazily instead of lashing against the house, 
and the lack of gray in the sky boded well for the possibility of 
Mother Nature's eventual cease-fire. With any luck at all, 
they'd be able to leave tomorrow. 

When Mulder ventured outdoors after breakfast to shovel the 
small accumulation of snow from the pathways, he'd been 
pleased to find that it took him scarcely half an hour. In fact, 
the lack of exertion left him feeling so chipper, he offered a very 
rude suggestion on how Scully could help to warm him up. 
Instead of rapping him upside the head with a saucepan, she 
had simply stated that, in honor of their current antique living 
conditions, she was going to make use of the woodshed for it's 
historic secondary purpose if he didn't lay off the lewd jokes. 
He didn't know whether to laugh or find a paddle for her to use, 
so he clamped his lips together and tried to hide his grin. 

After a pleasant breakfast, a companionable lunch, and the 
equitable division of chores, he had high hopes of being able to 
last out their forced confinement without doing something that 
might jeopardize their current relationship.

Until Scully decided to play a round of Scruples.

"Have you ever played that game?" Mulder asked.

"No," she admitted, "but I've heard about it from my mom, and 
the rules make it sound like Truth or Dare. I've played that. 
How much different can it be?"

"It's more like Truth or Consequences, Scully. I'm not sure it 
would be such a good idea right now."

"You're chicken."

"What?"

"I said you're chicken. You're afraid I'll beat your ass again."

"No I'm not!"

She made soft clucking noises.

"Right." He said, and squared his shoulders. "Let's see how 
tough you are then."

He crouched in front of the end table and pulled out the box. It 
was still sealed with plastic.

"Huh," he said. "It looks like Elver and Marie never got a 
chance to play this."

"Or someone else gave it to them, but they weren't interested. 
Maybe we should leave it intact."

Mulder sliced through the plastic with his thumbnail and peeled 
it off.

"If someone in their family gave this to them, it would be kinder 
to give it back looking as though it had been used, don't you 
think? I know I'd be hurt if I found out someone didn't like my 
gift enough to open it."

"Okay." She pulled out a chair at the dining room table and sat 
down. "But I get to go first."

"You're feeling sadistic today, aren't you? Be my guest, my 
dear Scully. After you."

She opened the box and pulled out the sheet of rules. He put 
more wood on the fire, giving her time to read through them 
before he joined her at the table. He'd played this game before 
and hadn't liked it much. He would find himself profiling the 
other players, which made it seem like work and took the fun 
out of it. As did the necessity of revealing pieces of himself that 
he'd rather keep hidden under their respective rocks. Mulder 
was getting a very bad feeling about this whole idea, but he 
couldn't let his own partner call him a chicken.

Apparently satisfied with the instructions, she pulled a pack of 
yellow cards from the box. She shuffled the cards, and dealt 
them each five, but left the red pack of cards where they were.

"You've sold your house," she read off her first card. "Before 
you move out, the roof starts to leak. Do you have it fixed?"

She stared at him expectantly. He blinked back in surprise.

"Scully, you just read the directions. You're supposed to give 
us each one red card, too. Then we have to guess what the 
other person is going to say."

"How many years have we been working together, Mulder?" It 
must have been a rhetorical question, because she waved a 
hand in dismissal and continued. "I *know* what you're going 
to answer. Besides, those rules are for a group of people. It 
says that you have to decide who would be most likely to give 
the same answer as the one on the red card. Not much of a 
challenge when there's only two of us. Instead, we'll give an 
answer and then try to guess if the other person is being 
honest. Now, would you fix the leaking roof or not?"

He was feeling worse about this idea all the time. There was a 
knot in the pit of his stomach that felt like barbed wire. His 
answer came out a bit more belligerent than he'd intended.

"Hell no! If someone has already bought the house, it's not my 
problem unless my head is getting wet. They're the ones who 
have to worry about it, not me."

"I can't believe you said that. You have a moral obligation to 
make sure that the house is in working order for the new 
owners. A leaking roof doesn't qualify."

"Not if the paperwork is already signed and they're just waiting 
for me to move out."

"There's nothing here about paperwork, Mulder. It just says 
you haven't moved out yet."

"Then you don't have enough evidence for me to be able to 
provide a proper answer and it's my turn."

He picked up his first card and read it. "You hit it off with 
someone at a party. Your lover seems jealous. Do you cut 
your conversation short?"

An amused snort issued from Scully's throat. "Not likely."

"Why not?"

"That's not on the card, is it?"

"No, it isn't." Mulder flipped the card so she could see it. "I 
was merely curious as to why you wouldn't cut short a 
conversation with some stranger if your lover didn't like you 
talking to him."

"In the first place, I wouldn't necessarily be talking to a man."

"You would unless you're gay. I don't think a male lover would 
be jealous of you talking to another woman."

She glared at him but didn't dispute his assumption. "Okay, so 
I'd be talking to a man. If the man I'm with doesn't like me 
conversing with another man -- who I will most likely never see 
again -- that's his problem, not mine. Why should I stop talking 
to someone simply because I have an insecure lover?"

"Because you love him? Isn't that enough?"

"Why should it have to be? We're both grown-ups. I should be 
able to talk to anyone I like without having to cater to someone 
with the emotional maturity of an adolescent."

Mulder squirmed. He had a strange feeling that she wasn't 
speaking in the hypothetical sense. True, he'd displayed a 
touch of territoriality on occasion, but that didn't mean he was 
jealous... much. Things were starting to hit a little too close to 
home, just as he feared they might. He pointed to her stack of 
cards.

"Your turn."

She appeared surprised by his attempt to avoid the issue but 
refrained from commenting. Choosing another card, she read, 
"If your lover had a nightmare and couldn't sleep, would you 
want her to wake you up for comfort?"

He didn't even have to think about that one.

"Sure. I'd want you to comfort me if I had a bad dream and you 
were laying right next to me. Why shouldn't I do the same for 
you?"

Oops. Should have kept that one impersonal. Time for 
another question. He snatched up his next card.

"A genie offers you a remote control device that will make your 
lover do anything you want. Do you accept the gadget?"

She chewed on her lip for a moment. "No."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I wouldn't want that kind of power over someone."

"But you could make them do whatever you wanted. You could 
change their annoying habits, or make them more romantic, or 
anything at all. Don't most women want to change a man once 
they have him?"

Scully looked him right in the eye. "If I really loved someone, it 
would be *because* of who they are, not in spite of it. I don't 
see the need to fix something that isn't broken."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, absorbing the 
implications of such power over another person. Mulder knew 
he'd never even be tempted. There wasn't one thing about 
Scully that he would change. Except for her constant 
skepticism, and even that was a good thing, because she made 
him work for his proof. He had to see every problem from all 
angles so he could find enough evidence to refute her 
inevitable nay-saying. No matter how frustrated he got 
sometimes, he would never want her to behave in any other 
way. 

His drifting thoughts were pulled up short by her next question.

"You find a wallet with a large amount of cash inside. The 
driver's license is from another state, but there's an address 
listed. Do you mail the wallet back with the cash still in it?"

She smirked and said, "Not much of a question for a couple of 
law enforcement officers, is it? Let's try another one."

Mulder put his hand over hers as she reached for a new card. 
Scully obviously didn't realize what she'd just said to him. 
She'd implied that she knew him well enough to believe he was 
an honest man, yet she apparently didn't know him well enough 
to believe that he loved her -- even when he told her so. The 
irony was too much for him.

"Wait a minute. I'd take the money and throw the wallet away 
with my fingerprints all over it. You mean you wouldn't?"

"There's no need for sarcasm, Mulder." Shaking off his hand, 
she took another card and read, "The ship has sunk; you and 
your lover are treading water. You have only one life jacket. 
Do you give it to your lover?"

He knew what he was going to say -- there was only one 
possible answer. When he remained silent, she shot him a 
quick glance, and he knew that she knew as well. He'd already 
told her how things are for him, so his answer shouldn't have 
come as any surprise to her.

"Yes. I would."

"So you'd prefer to make her watch you drown while saving her 
own life?" 

"Would it be better for me to watch *her* drown, knowing I 
could save her and that I wouldn't want to live without her 
anyway? Then the life jacket doesn't do anyone any good."

It seemed that fate was determined to make them 
uncomfortable. The good mood of the morning was long gone. 
They weren't sniping at each other, but neither was he as at 
ease as he had been. By the way Scully kept picking at the 
sleeve of her sweater, he suspected he wasn't the only one 
feeling uneasy. 

He didn't wait for any comment she might have, but picked up 
another card.

"As a detective, you want to put away a vicious rapist, but a 
crucial piece of evidence is lacking. You can plant it. Do you?"

The silence that followed stretched on for several long 
seconds. Finally, she snapped, "Do you even have to ask? 
That one is as obvious as the question about the wallet. I 
would have thought you knew me better than that after all this 
time. Pick another card."

Yes, Mulder admitted, he knew his partner. He knew what kind 
of dressing she used on her salad. He knew when her rent 
was due -- he'd paid it for her a couple times when she wasn't 
in town. He knew her computer password. He knew she 
secretly loved cheesecake, even though it was too fattening, 
and openly hated pantyhose, even though she wore them 
every day. He even knew when her damned period was each 
month, for Christ's sake. So yeah, he knew how she'd answer 
the question, but he still didn't know the one thing that was 
most important to him.

Suddenly, it was too much to bear. Something inside of him 
snapped. Maybe it was his last shred of good sense. Maybe it 
was an overload caused by four days of being in too-close 
proximity to the woman he loved. He only knew that he was 
tired of never being sure where he stood with her. Whatever 
the cause, he made a sudden decision and acted on it before 
he could back out. The game was about to take a sharp right 
turn. They'd see which one of them was chicken.

He picked up a new card and pretended to read it.

"Someone you consider a friend blurts out 'I love you' while 
under the influence of drugs. Do you believe him and respond 
in kind, or blow it off and never mention it again?"

Scully's face paled, then flushed bright red.

"That's not on the card, Mulder," she stated. "It's not 
answerable with a 'yes' or 'no'."

"Answer the question, Scully. Do you say the words back?"

For the first time he couldn't catch her eye.

"No."

Mulder slammed his palm down on the table, making her jump.

"Goddammit, Scully! Why can't you accept it?"

"Accept what?"

"That I have feelings for you."

"I know you have feelings for me, Mulder, just like I have them 
for you. But we both know you didn't mean what you said."

"Of course I meant it."

"No you didn't. You were drugged. People say lots of things 
they don't mean when they're under the influence."

"Drugged or not, I didn't proclaim 'I love you' to everyone who 
stopped by to visit. I sure didn't say it to Frohike when I saw 
him hanging over my bed."

Scully was picking at the edge of a card instead of looking at 
him.

"I'm not your type, Mulder. As much as I didn't want to admit it, 
the evidence is clear."

"What evidence?"

"Bambi, Phoebe, Diana -- long legs, tall, busty. That's the kind 
of women you've always been attracted to. Who knows how 
many others there've been that I didn't know about?"

He felt like grabbing her by the arms and shaking her until her 
teeth rattled. Instead, he threw down the card in his hand, ran 
his fingers into his hair and tugged -- hard. The pain seemed to 
settle his raging emotions.

"Did you ever stop to think that my tastes might have changed 
over the years, Scully? Did you consider how those busty 
bimbos with the long legs treated me? Isn't it possible they 
came on to me, not the other way around? What makes you 
think I put the moves on them, or that I wanted to? There are 
other things that I find attractive now."

She chewed on her lip but didn't say anything.

"Things like loyalty, intelligence, trust, respect, mutual affection. 
Short legs aren't anything to be ashamed of, you know. When I 
hold you in my arms, you fit perfectly over my heart. None of 
those leggy bimbos ever filled that place the way you do. I 
can't believe you don't know that."

He reached out to still her nervous fingers, but as he brushed 
her skin, she pulled her hand away. Mulder frowned. There 
was something he was missing. He took in her downcast eyes, 
hunched shoulders, and tightly pursed lips, swollen from the 
rasp of her teeth. Remembering her peevish complaints about 
his off-color remarks the previous day, an unlikely idea 
occurred to him.

He stretched across the table to touch her arm -- and she 
shrugged him off.

All his doubts evaporated. "You're in love with me," he 
whispered in awe.

Her expression radiated panic.

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are." A grin spread across his face, which only 
seemed to make her more stubborn.

"Mulder, what makes you think that every woman who comes in 
contact with you has to fall for your manifest charms? Simply 
because Doctor Bambi and Detective White threw themselves 
at you, that doesn't mean I have to. Get over yourself."

He didn't buy the confidence she tried to inject into her words. 
She was lying. It all fit together. In fact, he was willing to take 
another leap.

"You're using Diana, Phoebe and the rest as an excuse. You 
know how I feel about you. The idea that you're not my type is 
just a pretense to deny your own feelings. You can lie to 
yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me."

"Just drop it, Mulder. You don't understand."

"What don't I understand? That you find it hard to express your 
deepest emotions? I know that. Maybe you're afraid that I'll be 
possessive and jealous, demanding all of your time for myself. 
You're probably right, but how is that different from the way I've 
always treated you? I love you, Scully. And I know now that 
you love me, too. Why can't you admit it?"

She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest. He 
knew he was pushing her; he couldn't help himself. Not 
knowing would be worse than finding out that he was wrong. 
But he wasn't wrong. He was sure of it. Well, pretty sure. 
There was a little doubt at the back of his brain that tried to 
niggle its way forward, but he smothered its voice under as 
much hope as he could muster.

When she finally spoke, Mulder was holding his breath.

"Because I've spent years trying to counteract the perceptions 
of a male-dominated institution," Scully said. 

He gave thanks that he could breathe again. She hadn't flat-
out stated that she didn't love him. He concentrated on 
clearing the dizziness in his head as she continued. 

"The good old boy's network seems to think the one way a 
woman can advance herself is by lying on her back. When I 
slept with Jack, I was perpetuating that misconception, in spite 
of the fact that he had nothing to do with my actual career in 
the Bureau. I was too young at the time to realize the harm it 
was causing, but I'm not that naive now. How would it look if 
word got out that I was screwing my partner?"

Her eyes begged for his understanding and acceptance, but 
Mulder hardened his heart against her pleading gaze. He 
wasn't about to let her off that easy, not now, not when he 
knew the truth. 

"Were you planning to get the words 'I'm fucking my partner' 
tattooed on your forehead afterward, Scully?"

"Of course not!"

"Well neither am I. So how is anyone going to know? We're 
adults. We can love whoever we damned well please without 
being answerable to our coworkers or society in general. We 
only have to answer to each other, no one else. Right?"

Scully fidgeted in her seat. "I suppose so."

"Then admit it!"

"Fine! Yes, dammit, Mulder! I love you!"

Annoyance and irritation couldn't hold out against the three 
words he'd been longing to hear. He reached toward her hand 
again, and when she didn't pull away this time, he laced their 
fingers together on the table. "Well. That wasn't any harder 
than explaining my last three health insurance claims. Kinda 
feels good to say the words, doesn't it? I've wanted to say 
them again every day since the first time."

There was regret in her eyes as well as her voice as she 
whispered, "I'm sorry, Mulder. I should have told you that day 
in the hospital, instead of treating your declaration like a joke."

He shook his head. "You don't need to apologize. I 
understand. Really, I do. You've always needed solid proof 
before you can begin to consider an extreme possibility. So 
don't believe in vampires. Blow off all evidence of werewolves. 
Doubt the possibility of alien life on Earth. But please, even 
without scientific confirmation... please, don't ever doubt that I 
love you."

He stood and pulled on her hand until she was standing, too. 
Wrapping their arms around each other, they clung together as 
their bodies slowly swayed to a melody they alone could hear. 

After several minutes of silence, she said, "There are no such 
things as vampires or werewolves, Mulder, and you still haven't 
convinced me that aliens exist, either."

He chuckled and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Give me time, Scully. I'll find your proof." He tightened his 
embrace and mumbled into her hair, "These last few days have 
been sheer torture."

"I know." 

Leaning back, he looked into her eyes and saw a rueful smile 
lurking there.

"What?" she asked. "You thought you were the only one going 
crazy? Being within touching distance and keeping my hands 
to myself has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. 
Why do you suppose I started to complain about your 
innuendoes?"

"Huh." He pulled her back into a fierce hug. "And here I was 
thinking you were just fed up with me. I figured you were 
itching to get back home so you wouldn't have to look at my 
annoying face for a while."

"I don't normally visit the bathroom as often as I have been the 
last couple of days, you know. It was either take regular breaks 
or make a fool of myself coming on to my partner."

He leaned back again and made sure she was looking right at 
him. 

"If you wanted to touch, Scully, all you had to do was ask."

She shot him a glance filled with such desire it took his breath 
away.

"Mulder, may I touch you?"

It took a moment to get his voice under control. "You're doing a 
pretty good job so far, but please feel free to indulge yourself."

He was expecting the slow drag of fingers over his chest or 
trailing through his hair, not the sudden plunge of all ten digits 
down the back of his jeans. She'd managed to get right 
underneath his boxer shorts, too. The feel of her warm hands 
kneading his ass set off a firestorm of adrenaline that lit every 
fuse in his body. The resulting explosion of lust welded their 
lips together and carried their twined bodies as far as the 
mattress.

They flopped down in a tangle, jabbing each other with elbows 
and bumping knees. When Agent Scully finally made up her 
mind that she wanted something, apparently she didn't mess 
around. Mulder found himself stripped and flat on his back in 
less than two minutes.

He experienced a moment of panic when she scooted off the 
mattress and stood up. It scarcely lasted as long as it took her 
to pop the first button on her sweater. He wondered if his eyes 
had just bugged out like a cartoon character. As her fingers 
flew from button to button, revealing her milky breasts, he felt 
the urge to hoot and whistle and clap his hands like the worst 
kind of animated lothario. But he didn't because this was 
Scully, not some bottle-blonde pole dancer in a sleazy bar. He 
should be worshipping her on his knees instead of watching her 
with his tongue hanging out. 

Her sweater went flying. She pushed her jeans and panties off 
in one movement while his eyes darted from her busy hands to 
her bobbing breasts. Once she pulled off her socks, she 
dropped to the mattress and crawled toward him on all fours. 

He gathered her into his arms, skin on skin, and breathed in 
her scent. The smell of her desire was strong, or maybe it was 
his, or maybe it was both of them combined. He didn't know 
where to touch her first, there were so many possibilities. This 
was a moment to be savored, something he'd waited years to 
achieve. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, 
not even in his best wet dreams about her. He opened his 
mouth to suggest that they set a more leisurely pace, but the 
words were vaporized as she clamped her lips over his and 
shoved her tongue in his mouth. 

Their first kiss didn't last nearly long enough as far as he was 
concerned. She nipped and sucked at his tongue and lips 
while her hands set off sparks on his nerve endings every place 
she touched. They tumbled back and forth on the mattress, 
groping every square inch of skin they could reach, until she 
pulled him on top of her and wrapped her legs around his waist. 
The chorus of moans and groans they produced would have 
done credit to any haunted castle. He wondered briefly if Elver 
would be rude enough to watch. The feel of her soft hand on 
his hard cock stopped that thought in its tracks, and his wet 
slide into her heat derailed it altogether.

Balancing on his hands, he looked down at her flushed face 
beneath him -- a sight he'd never dreamed he would get to see. 
It was exhilaratingly painful; wondrous torture; the most 
pleasant agony he'd ever experienced. He could feel all the 
aching holes in his heart closing up, leaving nothing but Scully 
to fill the hollow places. 

He never wanted it to end, but the noises she was making 
weren't helping his self-control. Neither was the way she 
jerked her hips off the bed to meet him on each thrust. In fact, 
any control he might have had was useless against the flood of 
sensations assaulting his body. His orgasm hit so hard and 
fast, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and gasp as he 
emptied all the love he possessed into her accepting embrace. 

His shaking arms couldn't hold out, and he collapsed to one 
side. It took a few seconds for the ringing in his ears to stop 
enough that he could hear Scully's panting breaths beneath 
him. He tried to move, but she tightened her grip. He was 
beginning to get his breathing under control when a horrible 
thought struck him.

"You didn't come, did you?" His voice was muffled by a pillow, 
but he knew she'd heard him.

"Couldn't you tell?"

"Well, I was in the middle of a major religious experience, so I 
may have been a bit distracted. I'm sorry I was selfish, but it 
was rather out of my control."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Mulder."

He picked his head up and stared at her, wide-eyed.

"You mean you came and I missed it? How did I miss it?"

Scully smiled. "Just because I didn't scream 'Oh my god, 
Mulder, you're such a stud' that doesn't mean nothing 
happened. I think watching you set me off."

"If I wasn't so tired right now, I'd be incredibly turned on."

She chuckled softly, snuggling her nose against his 
breastbone. He moved to lie next to her and gathered her back 
into his arms.

They laid under the blankets for a long time, hands moving 
lazily over sex-warmed flesh. He couldn't remember ever 
feeling so relaxed and at peace. To be here with her, touching 
her naked skin, murmuring endearments into her ear, making 
her chuckle, was a gift beyond words. He would gladly give up 
concrete proof of extraterrestrials, let someone else put Bigfoot 
in a cage, and watch the world go to hell in a colonization 
handbasket if he could just stay in this very spot and never 
move.

Little puffs of warm breath on his chest told Mulder that he 
wasn't the only one feeling worn out. He smoothed a strand of 
hair away from Scully's cheek and pressed a kiss onto her 
forehead. The rest of the day stretched before them, just like 
the other days they'd been stranded in this house. When they 
woke up they would need to keep the fires burning, make 
supper, trek to the outhouse, talk about the possibility of 
leaving tomorrow, maybe play a board game, and finally get 
ready for sleep again. And yet, everything was different now, 
new in ways he couldn't even begin to contemplate. Was it 
only yesterday morning they were irritated and angry with each 
other? It seemed like a lifetime ago. His mind boggled at the 
realization of the leap they'd just taken. Scully shifted in her 
sleep, cuddling closer. He clutched her fiercely, a familiar 
protective feeling swelling in his chest until he didn't know if his 
flesh was strong enough to contain it. This was a leap worth 
making, no matter the distance or risk involved. He was going 
to do everything in his power from now on to make sure she 
never regretted making that leap with him.

As he felt himself dozing off, his last thought was that maybe 
Scruples wasn't such a bad game after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday
8:23AM

Mulder awoke to the sound of dripping water. Lots of dripping 
water. So much dripping water, in fact, that his bladder urged 
him to get out of bed immediately if he didn't want to embarrass 
himself in a way he hadn't done since he'd passed out after 
drinking six bottles of home-brewed ale at Jimmy McGinty's flat 
in Oxford. No one ever admitted to sticking his hand in that 
bowl of warm water, but he'd always had his suspicions.

Scrambling from the mattress, he didn't even bother reaching 
for his clothes. They were all alone, the house was isolated, 
and he really needed to pee *right now*. Expecting to be body-
slammed by a wall of frigid air when the door opened, he was 
surprised to find that the temperature had actually risen 
overnight. There was still a deep layer of snow covering 
everything in sight, but the snow banks were noticeably 
shrunken and the path to the outhouse had tiny thin patches of 
dead grass starting to show through. However, making it to the 
outhouse wasn't even an option, what with the warm air at his 
bare back and the colder air at his naked front. Man, he was 
going to miss pissing off the porch once they made it home.

When he shivered his way back into the house, he found Scully 
standing just inside the door, swathed in his discarded shirt and 
the pilfered sweatpants. She was pulling on a pair of boots as 
he walked into the kitchen.

"Mulder, you haven't got a modest bone anywhere in your 
body." He glanced down and she snickered. "Obviously not 
there, that's for sure." 

He reached for her, but she side-stepped to the door.

"Bathroom," she stated. "Be right back."

She tugged on a coat, opened the door and stopped short. 

"Thank goodness for sudden warm snaps," he observed. "I 
think things are looking up."

Scully threw him a grin and walked out the door. He closed it 
and watched her through the window as she scurried down the 
path to the privy. Moving back into the chilly house, he took 
time to restoke both fires, being careful to keep certain tender 
parts of his anatomy out of the reach of sparks. 

He was still naked when she returned. Her eyes sparkled as 
she raked him with her gaze. He grabbed her around the waist 
as she walked past and went straight for a lip lock, but she 
twisted out of his arms. 

"Ugh," she grunted. "Morning breath."

"Yours or mine?" he asked.

"Mine."

"I hadn't noticed." He lunged for her again, but she scampered 
backward, out of his embrace.

"I'm going to get dressed," Scully stated, "then I think we 
should take care of breakfast. We can discuss what we're 
going to do about the change in the weather while we eat. You 
might want to put some clothes on before you damage 
something I'm fond of while you're cooking."

She tossed a smile over her shoulder before entering the 
bathroom. Mulder couldn't stop a happy sigh that seemed to 
originate in his toes. He pulled on his jeans, then headed for 
the kitchen to see what delights he could concoct to keep up 
their energy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:45 PM

He wasn't entirely clear on how they'd ended up with him laying 
on top of her, making out on the couch, but he wasn't about to 
complain. 

Following breakfast, they'd agreed to wait one more day and 
leave Saturday morning if the warmer weather held. By then, 
the snow should have melted enough to make hiking out easier 
and their chances of finding help more likely. They'd spent 
some time bringing in more wood, tidying up the breakfast 
dishes, and then it was time for lunch. Which left the rest of the 
day open for whatever they wanted to do to occupy their time.

Apparently, Scully wanted to neck. 

Neither of them was in any hurry. The slide of lips on skin and 
the warmth of roving hands was enough to keep them occupied 
for the moment. They had the whole day in front of them and 
nothing else to do besides take turns driving each other crazy. 

Right now, it was Mulder's turn.

He nipped at a pulsing vein in her throat. It was jumping very 
rapidly at the moment. He kneaded her breast with one hand 
while his lips moved up to her earlobe. He sucked it into his 
mouth and gently nibbled. She went still beneath him and 
gasped. 

"Oh my god..." Her voice was filled with awe and wonder.

He chuckled into her neck. "I haven't even started. If you think 
*that* was good --"

She poked him in the ribs several times, making him squirm. 
"Stop, Mulder."

His head popped up, a frown crinkling his brow. When he got a 
good look at her face, the crinkles reversed direction as his 
eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

Peering over his own shoulder, his jaw dropped when he saw 
what his partner was seeing.

The ghost of an elderly man was standing in the middle of the 
dining room. Mulder assumed it was a ghost since he could 
see the kitchen cupboards right through the middle of him. He 
also felt it was safe to assume that their visitor was Elver 
Smallwood. He couldn't think of any other ghosts who might 
have an interest in breaking up his first make-out session in 
years. 

As they watched, the transparent figure looked pointedly at 
each of them in turn, then walked to the front door. Gazing 
back at them once again, he passed through the closed door 
and vanished.

Mulder scrambled off the sofa and ran after the ghost. Pulling 
back the curtain over the window in the door, he expected to 
find Elver standing outside, perhaps waiting to be followed. 
Instead, he saw an empty, snow-covered porch, and two 
snowmobiles roaring up the driveway toward the house. He 
turned to tell Scully, to see her standing right beside his elbow. 

"Look, Mulder. Now we can get out of here and find help." She 
reached for the doorknob. He grabbed her hand just before 
she pulled the door open. Scully raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I don't think Elver was showing us that the cavalry's arrived." 
He dropped the curtain into place, then unlocked the door and 
stepped back. "I think he was warning us about danger 
approaching. I hope they didn't see us."

The sound of engines grew louder as her eyes traveled from 
her partner to the door and then back again. He knew when 
the pieces clicked into place because her hand shot to the 
small of her back, hunting for her weapon. 

"The killers?" Her hand came up empty. 

He nodded. "Which means they didn't find what they were 
looking for the first time. We have to hide. Now."

"We need our weapons," she said, dropping into a crouch 
behind the sofa. 

Mulder joined her and whispered, "Crawl to the bedroom and 
get our guns. Don't let them see you through the windows."

She set off down the hallway, as fast as she could go on all 
fours. He was close behind her, commando crawling with his 
nose scant inches from bumping her ass.

"There are two of us and two of them, and we've got the 
advantage of surprise," she said. "Why did you unlock the 
door? We could have kept them outside and crept around the 
house unaware."

"Because the house was unlocked when we got here... that's 
how they left it." 

She eased the guest bedroom door open and Mulder followed 
her into the room. He stood once they were all the way inside 
and kept watch on the front door as she hurried to the closet. 
He continued, "If they were to find the door locked, they'd know 
someone was here and there goes your element of surprise."

"What about the mattress on the floor and the fire in the 
fireplace?"

Thinking of the now-warm house and the evidence of 
occupation, he shook his head. "There's no time to clean up. 
We'll just have to hope they're focused enough on their mission 
not to notice until we can get the drop on them."

Her whispered "Shit!" made him turn his head. Scully was 
looking hesitantly at the ammo in her hands. She held out the 
clips for him to see.

"We can't use these, Mulder."

"What?" The snowmobile engines had stopped. He checked 
the door again. "We have to, Scully. I'd really like something 
besides an empty gun between me and a couple of killers."

"It could be unstable," she hissed. "We've already had one 
misfire. What if --"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. He knew exactly what 
had caused the gun to discharge, and it wasn't faulty ammo. 
Taking his eyes off the front door for a moment, he tossed a 
grin over his shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with the ammo," he assured her. "Go 
ahead and reload."

"But --"

Another shake of his head. "Trust me. I'll explain later."

Wearing a doubtful expression, she tiptoed to the dresser with 
their clips and rummaged through their carry-on bags. He went 
back to his surveillance just as heavy boots pounded up the 
porch steps, making the floor vibrate. Mulder closed the 
bedroom door almost all the way and watched through the 
crack as the front door flew open. 

The intruders weren't trying to be quiet. Under cover of the 
slamming door and stomping boots, Scully crept back across 
the room and handed Mulder his gun, clip, badge and cuffs. 
She reloaded her gun, clicked off the safety and tucked her 
badge and cuffs into her back pocket as he did the same. 
Taking up a position at his side, they listened to what the two 
men were saying.

"Are you sure you checked the basement, shit-for-brains?"

"I said I did, Rusty. You got no need to be calling me names. I 
looked and it weren't there."

The second speaker sounded young. The voice was high and 
whiny, very nasal, as though his sinuses were stuffy.

Steps rang on the floor, straight toward Mulder and Scully's 
hiding place. Moving out of sight, they flattened themselves 
against the wall inside the bedroom. They both slumped in 
relief when the basement door opened and the footsteps 
descended the stairs. The killer's voices were clearly audible 
as they continued to bicker in the cellar. 

"Well, it's gotta be here somewhere. Check that little room over 
there. Make sure you move stuff this time, just in case he hid it 
under something. We coulda come back sooner if you hadn't 
took sick, you stupid jackass."

This was the person in command. The voice wasn't much 
deeper than his cohort's, but he sounded older, harder. He 
also sounded pissed. 

"Can I help it if my little brother was sneezin' on me? I got all 
wet the first time we came out here and caught his cold. It 
weren't my fault or anything."

"Aw shut up. Shit! It ain't here." The sound of boxes and 
bottles hitting the floor in a fit of pique echoed up the stairwell. 
"It's gotta be upstairs somewhere. We'll have to look again."

"I ain't goin' in the room with him, Rusty. I'll do the whole rest 
of the house by myself, but I ain't goin' anywhere near a 
corpse."

"You're such a pussy, Lloyd." Boots clomped back up the 
stairs and into the hallway, headed toward the other end of the 
house. "Fine. I'll look in that room, and you take the kitchen. 
That far enough away from the stiff for you?"

"You know, you never shoulda shot him in the first place, 
Rusty. We coulda knocked him out and tied him --"

Mulder and Scully held their breath as the voices grew silent. 
They strained to hear any clue that would help them locate the 
intruders.

"There's someone in the house." Rusty's voice barely reached 
them, almost a whisper.

"How do you figure --" Lloyd hadn't caught on right away; his 
words carried just fine, cut off by the sound of skin smacking 
skin.

"Look around you, dickhead! This ain't how we left the place."

Mulder figured they weren't going to get a better chance, now 
that the element of surprise was gone. He caught Scully's eye 
and held up three fingers. She inclined her head once, twice, 
three times. They burst out of the bedroom and into the hall 
together, Mulder high, Scully low, guns clenched in a double-
fisted grip. 

"FBI! Don't move!" they shouted in unison.

The two intruders stood in the middle of the dining area. 
Despite the larger man's angry scowl, they both raised their 
arms into the air.

"Hands on top of your head," Mulder yelled. "Stay right there." 

He walked out from behind Scully, being careful not to block 
her line of fire. Crossing in front of the fireplace, he circled 
around the loveseat to get behind the men while she crept 
down the passageway behind the sofa. Mulder was almost into 
the dining area when he saw movement out of the corner of his 
eye. Risking a glimpse into the kitchen, his eyes widened as 
the cupboard doors burst open.

"Scully, get down!"

She dropped to the floor as a food can shot past her head and 
dented the wall next to her. Mulder crouched behind the 
loveseat and watched cans, boxes, bottles, dishes and glasses 
fly out of the cupboards one after another. They weren't falling 
-- they were being thrown. A few of the missiles bounced off 
the furniture or shattered on the fireplace, but most of them 
were aimed right at the two intruders who were now cowering 
on the floor, arms over their heads. Mulder winced as a can of 
creamed corn thwacked the head of one man, then jumped off 
the floor and pummeled the back of the other. 

"That's gonna leave a mark," he muttered. He peeked around 
the edge of the loveseat toward his partner's position, but was 
forced to duck for cover again as a six-pack of pudding cups 
thudded off the cushions. The cardboard carrier ripped open 
and two of the plastic cups leapt over the back of the loveseat, 
bopping him on the head.

Mulder's mouth dropped open as he saw the coil of rope fly off 
its peg by the back door, unwinding as it hissed through the air 
like an anorexic snake. Even as it twined around the cringing 
figures on the floor, the ends were whipping up and down, 
striking welts onto their hands and faces. 

The dining room chandelier swayed back and forth in an 
unnaturally wide arc, creaking and squealing as the suspension 
chain protested the unaccustomed movement. He would have 
preferred to let the forces at work have their way, but when the 
knife drawer in the kitchen flew open, Mulder knew it was time 
to intervene. No one would ever believe that he and Scully 
hadn't beaten and stabbed two unarmed men to death. The 
true story would be a little easier to swallow if they had living 
witnesses.

"Elver," Mulder shouted, "stop! I know you're angry, but you 
have to let us take it from here. We'll make sure they pay for 
what they did to you. Please, don't let them turn you into a 
murderer, too."

For a few seconds, it seemed like he'd wasted his breath. 
Kitchen utensils and canned goods continued to whistle 
overhead. Mulder was getting ready to renew his plea, when 
suddenly, everything stopped moving and simply hung there. 
Then, without warning, all the suspended objects dropped like 
lead weights. Anything hanging over the two whimpering 
intruders got one last shot at their hapless bodies. The rest 
landed on the floor and rolled to a stop.

Mulder was up and moving before the last echo had died away. 
Scully crept in from the opposite side of the room, gun drawn 
as she covered him. He pulled the cuffs from his back pocket 
and grabbed the unresisting arm of one man. The beaten-
down killer let out a quiet moan and didn't move.

"Rusty and Lloyd, you are under arrest for the murder of Elver 
Smallwood. Anything you say can and will be used against you 
in a court of law. If you're lucky, Mr. Smallwood won't show up 
to testify for the prosecution at your trial." Mulder finished the 
standard Miranda warning, covering Scully out of habit while 
she cuffed the second man. 

Bruises and bumps were popping out on every exposed inch of 
the intruders' skin. Neither seemed inclined to resist arrest or 
make a break for it. Mulder figured there wasn't even much 
sense in moving them right away; they didn't look capable of 
going anywhere under their own power. 

Leaving the groaning men on the floor, he walked over to the 
fireplace and gestured for Scully to join him. She glanced at 
their prisoners, then followed.

"There are two snowmobiles out there," Mulder said. "I think 
it's time we got some help."

She tilted her head toward the men on the floor. "What should 
we do about them?"

"I don't think they're going anywhere right now. Elver will see to 
that. I'll take a snowmobile and follow their trail. Maybe it will 
lead back to town, or at least to another house with a phone."

She placed a hand against Mulder's chest to stop him as he 
made a move to walk away.

"Hold it. What do you mean *you'll* go for help? Why shouldn't 
I go instead?"

"Weeeelll...." He gave it some serious thought, but he was 
damned if he could come up with a reasonable argument for 
why he should go and she should stay. Scully was perfectly 
capable of shooting the prisoners if the need arose, but he 
didn't relish the idea of leaving her alone with them, no matter 
what their current condition. Nor was he happy about sending 
her out into the cold to track down assistance, which could take 
a while under the current weather conditions. And they couldn't 
both go -- even Mulder wouldn't break the rules so far as to 
leave suspected murderers unguarded. His shoulders sagged 
in resignation.

"Okay, Scully, it's your choice. You want to play guard, or ride 
off into the sunset on a cloud of fuel exhaust?"

The smile on her face told him that he'd made the right 
decision. Now he merely had to accept hers, whatever it was.

"I think I should go for help while you stay here," she stated in a 
determined tone of voice. "Like you said, I can follow their trail 
to start out. Besides, I'm lighter than you, so I'll travel faster. If 
I get lost or can't find anyone in a reasonable amount of time, 
I'll come back here and you can try. Sound like a plan, 
partner?"

He couldn't help grinning. "Sounds like a *good* plan. Let's do 
it."

While Scully bundled into extra clothes and borrowed boots, 
Mulder helped the injured men through the broken crockery 
and scattered packages into the living room. He put one on the 
loveseat and the other on the sofa, then drew a dining room 
chair to where he could watch both of them. He was going to 
be the least comfortable of the three, but Mulder figured they'd 
suffered enough for the moment. Neither man could move 
without groaning and it looked like one of them might have a 
broken hand. He decided not to mention it to Scully; it would 
only delay getting someone to help them and there probably 
wasn't much she could do under the circumstances anyway. 
He'd scoop snow into Ziploc bags to use as ice packs after she 
left.

He looked up to see her standing at the front door, belting an 
oversized parka around her waist. Keeping his gun in hand, he 
walked over to say goodbye. Suddenly, he remembered 
something important.

"Hang on. I have to see which of them has the keys."

Scully grabbed his hand.

"If the keys aren't in the ignition, I'll let you win the next game of 
Scrabble."

He gave her hand a little shake. "You'll *let* me, huh?"

"Yep." She grinned at him. "But I won't have to because these 
types of bozos never bother to take out the key. They'll be 
there."

"Well we'll see about that, won't we? I'll leave the door 
unlocked in case you have to come back and search their 
pockets."

They stood for several seconds, gazing into each other's eyes 
before Mulder twined his fingers through hers and pulled her 
close.

"You be careful," he murmured for her ears alone. "Don't take 
risks. Once you're clear of the driveway, if you lose the trail, try 
to stick to the road, in case there are air pockets under the 
snow. I'm going to worry until you get back, so don't dawdle 
unless you want me to turn into a wizened, gray-haired 
gnome."

"Any more instructions, Dad?" Scully's eyes twinkled at him, a 
little smile pushing up the corners of her mouth. He felt a 
sudden urge to kiss that smile.

"Yeah," he replied around the lump in his throat. "Dump that 
geeky guy you're seeing and find someone more deserving of 
you."

"Nope." Her fingers tightened around his. "Not gonna happen. 
It took me long enough to tell him how I really feel about him 
and now I intend to reap the benefits. Besides, he's not geeky, 
he's gorgeous. Get used to the idea."

Reaching up on tiptoe, she pressed a quick kiss to Mulder's 
lips. He shot a brief glimpse over his shoulder to make sure 
their prisoners hadn't seen. They were both lying with eyes 
closed, apparently oblivious. So he put his hand behind 
Scully's head and pulled her in for a deeper, more satisfying 
kiss. Both were breathing faster when they finally parted. 
Smiling, she drew on a pair of thick gloves, then opened the 
door.

"Be back as soon as I can," she said. "Try not to worry. I like 
the color of your hair." 

He closed the door behind her and returned to his post in the 
living room. A couple of minutes passed, and then the whining 
roar of a snowmobile engine filled the room. He huffed a laugh. 
Scully was right. The idiots *had* left the keys in the ignition. 
Moving over to the fireplace, he threw more wood on the blaze, 
causing the other two men to jump in surprise. They watched 
as he walked back to his chair and sat down, balancing his gun 
on one thigh.

"So," Mulder said, "who's in the mood for a nice ghost story?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:15 PM

Mulder wasn't worried. Not really. Well, maybe a little bit. 
Almost forgetting to eat supper might count as being worried. 
He'd had to recuff both the prisoners with their hands in front of 
them so they could eat. Didn't want any charges of cruel and 
unusual punishment on top of the ones for assault with a 
deadly entity. But he wasn't worried much. Except that it had 
taken him a while to figure out how to handle bathroom duties. 
His *and* theirs. He could usually think of things like that with 
no problem. Maybe being worried had something to do with it. 
The prisoners were starting to sound pretty desperate by the 
time he got around to letting them piss off the porch. Worrying 
made it hard to think straight. He couldn't very well make the 
trip to the outhouse and leave them inside without a guard, and 
he damned well wasn't taking both of them in there with him, 
either. So he'd done his own business with the back door open 
so he could keep an eye on them, then he'd taken them outside 
one at a time and watched through the window until they were 
done. It worked fine. But now he was really getting worried.

He used his foot to shove the worst of the wreckage out of the 
way while his prisoners laid on the furniture and moaned every 
once in a while. When the gloom of evening settled on the 
house, he lit the lamps and sat down to wait. He entertained 
himself by reading Gone With The Wind out loud, complete 
with different voices and Southern accents. The dirty looks on 
Rusty and Lloyd's faces helped to keep his mind off his absent 
partner. Mostly. It would have helped more if he'd actually 
enjoyed the story.

The sound of a very loud engine made all three heads swivel 
toward the door. Mulder was out of his chair in a matter of 
seconds. He flung the door open to the sight of very bright 
headlights moving up the driveway. A green and brown 
Humvee trundled through the softening snow and pulled to a 
stop near the porch steps. The sigh of relief that swelled 
Mulder's chest felt like his first full breath in hours.

Waiting for his partner to climb out of the bulky vehicle took 
what little patience he had left. Still, he smiled as she trudged 
up the drive. Three men followed at a discreet distance, one in 
camouflage and the other two in State Trooper uniforms.

Scully gestured behind her with a wave of her hand and called 
out, "Here's the cavalry. Sorry it took so long."

"I wasn't worried." The expression on her face told him she 
wasn't buying his lie. He cleared his throat and continued, 
"How long did it take you to find them?"

"Would you believe that we're about five miles from the nearest 
town?" She led the rescue party toward the house as she 
continued, "The snowmobile trail ran up another driveway 
about four miles down the road, but by then I'd seen signs for 
the town, so I kept going until I found it. In fact, we would have 
seen a sign if we'd gone around the bend instead of sliding into 
the ditch. Didn't take more than half an hour, but the roads are 
still bad. They had to call in the National Guard and State 
Troopers to help rescue people still in their cars. They were 
going to send someone right out here, but I told them that you 
had things under control and the body wasn't going anywhere, 
so we were triaged to non-critical status. Our number finally 
came up, and here we are."

"Like I said, I wasn't worried. Much." 

Mulder held the door open as Scully's escorts followed her 
inside. The National Guardsman took up a stand by the door 
while she led one of the Troopers down the hall to the crime 
scene. As the door shut behind them, Mulder pulled another 
dining room chair next to his and gestured for the second 
Trooper to sit. He was already running over how much to tell 
and how much to leave out of the narrative of events. He didn't 
need to worry. By the time he'd worked his way up to that 
morning, the prisoners were ready to contribute their own 
version of what happened. He was rather glad they weren't 
smart enough to use the information to their best advantage.

"So where was Agent Mulder again?" Officer Ledert had 
already gone over this line of questioning -- twice. The 
answers he was getting didn't appear to sit well with him. 
Rusty pointed behind the loveseat currently holding his partner-
in-crime.

"He was back there, tryin' to protect his pretty-boy face." 
Rusty's face wasn't nearly as attractive as when he'd first 
entered the house, so a little bitterness and envy was 
understandable. Mulder couldn't help mentally cringing at the 
size and coloring of Rusty's right eyelid.

"And where was Agent Scully?"

"Like I told you before, she was right over here, hidin' behind 
this-here couch."

"And they didn't throw anything at either of you?"

"I swear to God, them cans and shit came flyin' outta the 
cupboard like they had wings. Me and Lloyd didn't stand a 
chance. We was beat to the ground in no time."

Officer Ledert looked a question at Mulder, who simply spread 
his hands in a "what can I say?" gesture. They both looked up 
at the sound of a door closing off the bedroom containing the 
mortal remains of Elver Smallwood. The other Trooper 
followed Scully down the hall to the living room, both of them 
stripping off latex gloves as they walked.

"We won't be able to take the body with us, I'm afraid, Agent 
Scully," he told her. "I'd be happy to remain behind, but with 
two prisoners to guard, I'm afraid that's not possible. I'm sorry. 
I hope you don't mind having to stay here with it another day."

She gave him a small smile. "It's okay, Officer Carney. We'll 
be fine. We've spent most of the week with Mr. Smallwood 
already, so one more day won't hurt."

"Why aren't we leaving today, Officer?" Mulder rose and 
moved to stand close to his partner, although he did make an 
attempt not to hover over her. "I seem to have missed part of 
the decision-making process." He glanced pointedly between 
the Trooper and Scully, waiting for an answer. He should have 
guessed it would come from her.

"It's a matter of security due to limited space in the Humvee, 
Mulder. They're going to take the suspects with them now, but 
Officer Carney assures me someone will be back for the rest of 
us at some point tomorrow."

"He does, huh?" Mulder narrowed his eyes in mock jealousy 
just to see what Scully would do.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, obviously holding in 
a snicker, and answered "'M hm."

"Well then," he stated, "let's not keep these busy officers any 
longer. Gentlemen, they are all yours."

The exit of law enforcement and prisoners was swift and 
efficient, and punctuated by the closing of the front door as 
Mulder leaned his weight against it. Before he could move, 
warm arms were snaking around his waist from behind. In his 
new role as the lover of Dana Scully, he couldn't resist a 
chance to tease.

"You and Officer Carney sounded like you were getting awfully 
close."

She pinched his stomach. "Not as close as I am to you."

Mulder turned within the circle of her arms. He drew her in 
tight, leaning back so he could see her eyes shining at him.

"So you weren't turned on by Carney's concern for the poor 
defenseless little woman? After all, you're alone here, with only 
another FBI agent to protect you."

"There's just one law officer I'm hot for, and it isn't Officer 
Carney."

He threw up his hands. "I knew it! Officer Ledert's paunch got 
to you, didn't it? I've always suspected that portly men were a 
secret passion with you."

"That's why I hang out with you, Mulder. Those little love 
handles are sooo sexy."

"I do not have love handles!"

Scully cupped a hand on either side of his waist and pulled him 
flush against her body. "Sure you do. See?"

That little maneuver called for a kiss. A long, deep, soulful kiss 
that left them both moaning and gasping. Pushing away from 
the door, he led her to the sofa and stretched out down its 
length. He pulled her on top of him and waited while she got 
settled.

"So what should we do for the next twenty-four hours or so?" 
he asked. Scully was lying with her hands folded on his chest, 
chin propped on top of them. Her nose was so close he 
couldn't resist the urge to lean up and kiss it. She gave him a 
blinding, toothy smile.

"We could always play another game," she replied. "I'm sure 
you must know lots of interesting games."

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "What's your 
pleasure? Risk? Monopoly? A nice rousing game of 
Yahtzee?"

She squirmed in his arms, rubbing against portions of his 
anatomy that hadn't seen this kind of action in years... until 
recently. Mulder's eyes grew wide in understanding.

"I was thinking of rousing something else," she purred. Her 
breath tickled his lips and he smiled. "Do you think you're *up* 
to it?"

"Bring it on, partner. I'm *up* for whatever you've got in mind." 
He leaned in to kiss her again and caught a movement out of 
the corner of his eye. The curtain over the back door was 
gently swinging, as though someone had just taken a peek 
outside.

"Hey, Elver!" Mulder shouted. "We really appreciated your 
warning, but do you think we could have a little privacy for a 
while?"

The sound of footsteps crossed the dining room and moved 
behind the sofa toward the hallway. As they passed the front 
door, the faint outline of a man's body could be seen. They 
proceeded to the very end of the hall, where a bedroom door 
creaked open, and then closed.

Mulder had a wise-crack ready on his lips, but before he could 
speak, he heard a new set of footfalls on the hardwood floor. 
These were lighter than the first, with a shorter stride and a 
higher-pitched sound. They followed the same path as the 
other footsteps, and when they passed the front door, the 
shape of a woman's body became visible against the dark 
wood for a second. It disappeared, but the steps continued 
down the hall. The door at the end creaked open and then 
closed again. The fire hissed and popped in the following 
silence.

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Mulder couldn't help 
grinning at the shocked look on Scully's face.  

"Now," he whispered into her mouth, "where were we before 
we were so rudely interrupted?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END

Author's end notes, cause she likes to babble afterward the 
way some people like to smoke: I have no idea where this 
story came from. There have been some interesting 
discussions on message boards recently about where authors 
find their ideas. Lots of people are inspired by a particular 
piece of music, or something else that they read. I have no 
earthly clue. It was just there, so I wrote it down. 

This story would never have been finished without the amazing 
help of Dan and Cindy, who assisted in hashing out the early 
details and doing pre-beta beta. For some reason, this one 
gave me no end of fits. I even had trouble with where M&S 
were going to be stuck in the snow. It didn't seem to matter in 
the grand scheme of things, but it irked me. So I finally plunked 
them down in my own general bailiwick. Anyone who watches 
the national weather knows what a good old lake-effect snow 
off Lake Erie can do to the northeastern portion of my state. As 
much as I dread winter in my declining years, sometimes I wish 
I'd moved to that area a long time ago. I figure if it's gonna 
snow, let's get enough to shut everything down for a few days. 
I'm getting lazy in my old age, too.

Special disclaimer: I don't own Scrabble, Scruples, Battleship, 
Stadium Checkers, or any of the other board games 
mentioned, except for personal copies of the games 
themselves. No disrespect was intended by mentioning them 
here, and who knows? It might even increase sales a little. 
You'll have to try the online auctions for Stadium Checkers, 
though. Production was stopped years ago, and that's where I 
found mine during a sudden bout of nostalgia. 

Feedback: Is printed out, fawned over, and stroked to tatters at 
mimic1172@gmail.com