Title: Nuclear Winter
Author: philiater
Category: Mulder/Scully, story
Rating: R for some bad words and sexual content.
Timeline: runs the gambit from Season 2 to 7 with tiny 
references to Per Manum (which is supposed to take place 
during Season 7).
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. They belong to CC 
and 1013 and company.
Beta thanks to Sallie who went above and beyond the call 
of duty.
Written for the X-OK story challenge and dear Sallie.  
Authors note and elements at the end.
Summary: Mulder walks in his sleep, and Scully takes 
advantage. For years.
[I know. I've been stuck on a dream theme of late.]
~*~*~*~*
Nuclear Winter: the chilling of climate that is hypothesized 
to be a consequence of nuclear war and to result from the 
prolonged blockage of sunlight by high-altitude dust clouds 
produced by nuclear explosions.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mulder is a sleepwalker. It was a closely guarded secret; 
few knew of this nocturnal habit and it appeared nowhere 
on his official FBI file. He'd been so secretive, that I only 
learned of it by accident. 
We were in California, investigating what would become a 
familiar them-"Ghost in a Haunted Motel Room."  The 
motel in question was the repugnant Madonna Inn, just 
outside San Luis and somewhere between San Francisco 
and LA. One of its rooms, dedicated entirely to love, was 
said to be haunted. 
To say the motel was ugly would be a kindness.  One 
hundred and nine rooms decorated in "themes," with the 
color pink splashed around like they'd been hosed down 
with Pepto-Bismol. It must have seemed like a good idea 
on paper, but in reality it had become a color-toned 
nightmare.
Though we spoke to several people and checked out the 
room in question, no ghosts were discovered. Too late to 
drive out of the secluded valley, we decided to stay put, 
sealing our fate so to speak.
We were staying in the Cave Room, I in the master "cave" 
and Mulder in a separate rock- encrusted alcove. It wasn't a 
separate room per se, but a rock wall that divided off most 
of the main room effectively.   
Oddly, that room had been my choice, the only one not 
decked out in a scheme of nauseating pastels. The leopard 
skin bedspread was certainly ugly and the waterfall shower 
was garish, but all the other rooms had been too awful and 
too bright to be associated with the benign act of sleeping. 
I'd become physically ill upon viewing the Floral Fantasy 
Room, and the Valentine Room was entirely out of the 
question, haunted or not.
When Mulder said the Cave Room was booked a year in 
advance and we couldn't have it, I gave him a look that 
could have frozen the sun. 
"Coming here was your idea, make it happen," I said, and 
he did.
I found my relief had been short lived however, when it 
came to actually occupying the room. Fieldstone rock lined 
every single surface--floors, ceilings, furniture and sinks. 
Mulder seemed to love it, but I reminded him there were a 
number of compelling reasons people didn't live in caves 
any longer and that room was a prime example. He sulked 
around a little, but finally seemed resigned to my lack of 
enthusiasm for the place.
In retrospect I should never have agreed to share a room 
with Mulder. We'd known each other only a year or so and 
I'd just returned from my abduction. From the beginning, 
we both tried to pretend the absence had never occurred. I 
didn't want to talk about it, and Mulder let it go at that. 
Though he never said so, I suspected he blamed himself 
and was eaten up with guilt about it. 
The California case was our first road trip since my return. 
Mulder preferred to stay near D.C., as if I'd be safer there. 
He seemed to have forgotten that Duane Berry had 
snatched me from my own apartment first and *then* 
driven off with me to parts unknown. The Madonna Inn 
wasn't D.C. and it was a reprieve of sorts.  
It had taken hours that night to fall asleep, and I was 
dreaming of starry skies over wheat fields when I woke to 
find a figure standing at the foot of my bed. It was cloaked 
in shadows and for a moment I was startled, thinking the 
inn's ghost had actually come to visit. My rational self 
finally took over and I instinctively reached for my gun. 
"Stop right there," I shouted, hoping Mulder would hear my 
voice above the rock wall and the din of his own snoring.
The dark form moved forward until it stood in a narrow 
shaft of blue-white light shining through the gap between 
the cheap cowhide drapes. Though only partially visible, I 
knew him immediately.
"Mulder? What are you doing?"
"I lost my baseball."
"Baseball?"
"Yeah. It's the one with the Whitey Ford autograph."  
I turned on the tiny bedside lamp, which provided the 
barest of illumination. Mulder stood there in nothing but 
sweat pants, looking lost, and seeming to expect me to 
come up with the damn thing.
"Mulder, I've never seen your baseball. Go back to bed."
"I can't--not until I find it."
He looked around as if it might magically appear, and then 
set about searching the room. With a sigh, and feeling more 
than exasperated, I shoved the covers back and walked over 
to find him rifling through my rock-lined dresser. He 
managed to knock the complimentary basket filled with 
pink sugar, wine, and California avocados off the top 
before I got to him.
"Mulder," I said, stilling his frantic hands. "I'll find it in the 
morning" 
"You will? Are you sure, Scully?"
"Yes. In the morning."
By then I suspected he was still asleep because his face had 
a peculiar expression of sweetness on it. He was very 
subdued for Mulder and acting like...like a kid.
"Where are you Mulder?"
"At home, Scully. Where else would I be?"
Where else indeed?
"Do you mean Martha's Vineyard?"
"Sure I do."
"How old are you now?"
"Fourteen." After a brief pause, he turned away and began 
to search again. "I have to find that baseball or Bobby will 
kill me."
He moved to the bed, dropping to his knees to search under 
it, but found only the box springs surrounded by rock, 
ensuring that nothing would ever roll underneath. Thwarted 
by this solid obstacle, Mulder let out a howl of frustration.  
An awake Mulder was difficult enough to manage, but a 
sleeping Mulder, regressed to the age of fourteen and angry 
to boot, was a creature I simply had no idea how to deal 
with. 
I touched the back of his head, speaking to him with a 
gentle tone, trying to coax him up off the floor and back to 
his room. 
"Come on, Mulder. It's not here, but I promise we'll find it."
When that failed, I decided I'd had enough and used anger 
instead.  Sounding for all the world like his mother, I 
chastised him for waking me up and making a nuisance of 
himself.
Big mistake.
He growled in anger and the next thing I knew, I'd been 
pushed backwards and he was pinning me to the bed with 
his hard body. He was breathing fast, the harsh sound of it 
filling my ears.
I must have made some kind of noise, or failed to struggle 
enough, because Mulder suddenly stopped and settled his 
body more fully over mine. His expression slowly changed 
from one of sweet innocence to that of an aroused man. His 
hooded eyes roved over my body, stopping to admire the 
view the gap in my blue pajama top afforded. 
Leaning down, he gently kissed my forehead, eyes and 
cheeks before wandering down to my mouth. That little 
nudge I felt against my belly certainly did not belong to a 
14 year old, and the sensations his hands were evoking as 
they roamed over me would have been against the law in 
several states. 
I should have stopped him, should have been the grown-up 
realizing he was essentially impaired, but I seemed 
incapable of making that decision.
Mulder, I'd discovered, was a good kisser. Better than 
good--wonderful in fact.
His lips were softer than I ever imagined. I thought they'd 
be calloused from all the chewing he seemed to do on them, 
but they were baby soft, just like the tongue he threw into 
the mix next.  
By then I was lost. Any thought of protest was crushed to 
death under a powerful surge of hunger for human touch 
that came seemingly out of nowhere. In retrospect, it was 
probably a reaction to my abduction and my suppressed 
memories of being prodded by gloved hands while lying, 
unable to move, on a cold, stainless steel table.
I hadn't known that then, of course. All memory of my 
abduction was still locked up tight in a portion of my brain 
that served to protect me from the pain of remembering. 
However, I had begun to think I would never be touched 
"that way" again.  
My body, however, instantly remembered what it was like 
to be caressed, and was already sending a rush of blood to 
parts outside my brain and distinctly south of my head.  
That little nudge against my belly became more insistent 
and not so little I discovered, once I touched it with my 
hand. Mulder gave a satisfied groan of pleasure when I 
reached beneath his waistband to stroke the bare skin of 
him. 
"Scully, Scully, Scully," he murmured into my chest and 
then stopped as those soft lips encountered flesh now 
hardened by desire. He latched on like a baby and suckled 
for all he was worth, confirming my suspicion that he had 
an oral fixation
I responded with a variety of soft sighs and quick breaths, 
fearing I'd wake him otherwise. He quickly stripped me of 
my pajamas while I loosened the draw strings on his sweat 
pants. I wondered if I would be able to relax with him 
enough to engage in sexual activity in such an awkward 
setting. Then nimble fingers snaked between my legs, and 
Mulder set about making me forget our surroundings 
entirely.
Mulder positioned himself on top of me, using the old 
fashioned missionary position. I found it more than 
satisfactory, never understanding the need for positions 
more exotic, or limb endangering like those featured in his 
porno magazines. Nothing defied gravity in that bed except 
my orgasm.  
When Mulder came, it was a wonder to behold. Eyes 
closed, neck extended, his face held the appearance of pure 
pleasure. He opened his eyes and looked down. I smiled, 
drawing him back to me and kissing him soundly.
At the end of the kiss, he drew away. "Scully?"
"Forget the baseball, Mulder."
Reluctantly, I disengaged myself from him and sat up. 
"You have to go back to your bed now. Understand?"
Little-boy eyes looked back and he was 14 again. "Okay."
I helped him put his pants back on and then led him back to 
his bed. If he woke up a mess, maybe he'd think he'd had a 
wet dream.
I went into the bathroom and took a shower in the waterfall. 
Finally, something useful and very nice in this room. But, 
as I stood under the hot spray, regret began to scratch at the 
edges of my good mood.
 
The next day, Mulder was insufferably cheerful, while I felt 
foul, with a morning-after headache. He ordered an 
enormous breakfast in the cafe while I nibbled listlessly on 
dry toast. When I responded with one word answers he 
tried goading me several times, but I refused to rise to the 
bait. He finally fell silent, but even that was short-lived.
"What's the matter Scully? 
"I have a headache, Mulder."
"Shouldn't you have said that last night?"
I shot him a startled look, but he simply looked back with a 
comical smile on his face. 
"What do you mean?" I asked slowly.
"Well, the Cave Room is the most popular room for 
couples and it was such a wasted opportunity. You could 
have spared my ego and used it as an excuse instead of just 
assuming I'd sleep in the other bed."  
He was joking. Relieved, I quirked an eyebrow and asked, 
"Wasted for whom, Mulder?"
He gave a short laugh, and I wondered for the hundredth 
time that morning what it was that I'd started. And what 
would I do next?
The answer to that question presented itself on the next 
road trip. Mulder came in through the adjoining door and I 
let him, taking him into my bed and welcoming him into 
my body with pleasure.
After that, our somnambulistic couplings became 
something of a habit when we were on the road.  I did a 
little reading on sleep disorders and found that Mulder's 
condition was exceedingly rare, but did exist. Stress 
seemed to be the most common trigger, and very few of our 
cases were free of that.
In the beginning it was perfect. We were virtual strangers 
where our real selves were concerned and sex in this 
manner kept it that way. No emotional entrapments, no 
recriminations or useless guilt the next day; just good, clean 
sex.
I bought condoms until I learned they weren't necessary for 
one purpose and Mulder's lack of dating through the years 
eliminated the other. I explored the wilder, darker side of 
myself with Mulder in those early days and his unconscious 
self seemed happy to oblige. 
As good as the sex was, I did miss the awake Mulder now 
and then. On a stakeout he could chatter in the car like a 
monkey with Attention Deficit Disorder, but was silent as 
the grave in bed. Occasionally a grunt or errant 'Scully' 
might slip from him, but no words of endearment were ever 
uttered.  
That was a good thing, really, but there were times when a 
little tenderness would have been nice, false or not. The 
cancer years were particularly hard in that regard. I would 
have far preferred intimacy to our impersonal couplings, 
but if impersonal was all I could get, I took it gladly. 
Instead of shooing Mulder back to his room, I held him 
close for a few extra minutes afterward. Though he never 
knew it, those moments helped sustain me through many 
dark, dark days.
To my amazement, every once in a while, Mulder seemed 
forget whom he was sleeping with. A few "Pheobes" and 
the occasional "Diana" had slipped out at inappropriate 
moments.  
Hearing Phoebe's name didn't matter. She was clearly a part 
of Mulder's past and I saw her as nothing but a nostalgic 
mistake. She must have had a kinky bent, because Mulder 
was a little more creative during those times.
I didn't know who the hell Diana was, and didn't find out 
until two years ago. Her frozen smile and false charm 
grated on my nerves immediately.  She was the 
personification of everything I'd come to despise about 
Mulder's taste in women--all shiny surfaces polished by 
makeup and plastic surgery. Diana was intelligent, but as 
deceitful as any member of the consortium. Though she 
said she shared Mulder's quest, I doubted that statement the 
day I met her.
Mulder saying her name during sex hurt me in a way I 
couldn't explain.  When Diana first came back, Mulder 
didn't sleepwalk at all.
Losing the X-files to her and Spender had been a major 
blow. Hearing her answer his phone was physically painful 
and only added to the overall process that was wearing 
away at me emotionally 
We had a brief respite from Diana's machinations during 
the case in Arcadia. I was still angry with Mulder and 
enforced closeness was Skinner's not-so-subtle way of 
getting Mulder and me to make amends. He knew our partnership was 
strained and probably thought togetherness was a solution. 
It was a nice gesture, but I also recognized that if he'd 
known about Mulder's nocturnal habits, he'd never let us 
within fifty feet of each other again. 
The house in The Falls was the epitome of uptight suburban 
posturing.  Mulder took to the role of fashionable 
househusband with glee, choosing bad undercover names 
and wearing his designer clothes with disturbing comfort. It 
reminded me of that morning at the Madonna Inn and 
realized I was behaving in much the same manner as I had 
then. 
I was set to forgive his enthusiasm and the Diana betrayal, 
when he brazenly told the Schroeders over dinner we'd met 
at a UFO conference and then had the nerve to manhandle 
me on Gene Gogolak's sofa. Later that night, when he 
patted the bed next to him in invitation, I wanted to strangle him.
I left him in the bed alone and wiped off the green crap I'd 
slathered across my face. If I thought he'd been deterred, I 
was wrong. He came into the spare bedroom later that 
night, looking for that damn baseball again. 
Unable to resist him in this state, I allowed him to take me 
to bed and gently reaffirmed what Diana had nearly 
destroyed.  
It wasn't long, however, before she intruded into our lives 
again during Mulder's breakdown.  Diana stood there next 
to Skinner in the hospital and said he'd been in trouble and 
called her first.
He called her first?  Liar. He likely dreamed his way across 
town to the university and she probably followed out of 
curiosity.  
I went to Africa to try and save him, to take away the 
interminable hold the Smoking Man and Diana seemed to 
have over him. Discovering the alien ship was a life 
changing event for me. Being strapped to a table and 
experimented by those two was life changing for Mulder.
When Diana was killed, I honestly felt sorry for Mulder, 
but the relief I felt was enormous. 'Ding Dong the Witch is 
Dead' became a twisted little song I played over and over 
inside my mind. After that, hearing Phoebe's name barely 
registered.
At least he never called me "Samantha".  
I was more cautious with Mulder after the Diana years. I 
locked the motel door between us for the first few months 
and when I unlocked it again, the condoms went back on. 
~*~*~*~*~*
End part 1
Nuclear Winter 2/2
Descriptions, disclaimers and rating in part one.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
We carried on as usual for a time, through ravenous brain-
eating teenagers and the return of Donnie Pfaster, but I 
grew restless. As with any relationship, it had to change to 
survive, or grow stale and die. As much as I enjoyed being 
with Mulder, I couldn't continue the deception. 
But I was stuck. What do you do when a situation is no 
longer tenable by one of the participants? I couldn't bring 
myself to deny him, and he showed no signs of stopping the 
behavior. Five plus years of this habit had worn a groove 
into our lives, one I couldn't seem to get out of--a rut in the 
truest sense of the word.
I really didn't know what Mulder would do if I were to tell 
him what had been going on all these years. My 
imagination ran the gambit from surprised disgust to a blast 
of Hiroshimic proportions with the inevitable fallout. At 
best he'd be angry he hadn't been able to enjoy it the way I 
had. Mulder was nothing if not a pragmatic sensualist. 
Any way I looked at it, he was going to be unhappy.
Unhappy?  More like disgusted. Put in his shoes, I'd feel 
the same way. The idea that he could or would take 
advantage of me in the same manner was abhorrent.  
Mulder had known more than his share of deception over 
the years and I'd only added to it. 
There were other things to face up to as well. I was falling 
in love with Mulder, real love, not mere infatuation or the 
result of a long partnership and familiarity. We'd become 
true soul mates, Melissa Ephesian not withstanding.
I was about to make my confession, when Mulder told me 
he discovered my ova inside a government clinic. The 
chance to become a mother never seemed more important 
and overwhelmed my desire to confess. When I asked him 
to be the sperm donor, I wanted him to understand exactly 
what that meant and he needed to be awake for that.
I could have tricked him, of course; could have finagle my 
way into his apartment after an implantation procedure and 
hope he'd dream me into his bed, but something good and 
frustratingly noble inside me wouldn't allow me to take 
advantage of him in that way.
When the procedure failed, I began to lose hope that 
anything could remain between us if he knew the truth.  
I was thinking about Mulder, the long history of his 
sleepwalking, and our relationship, when I got home from 
the clinic. Mulder was asleep on my couch, but woke 
immediately when I opened the door.
He was sympathetic about the failure and held me close to 
provide what comfort he could. I found it ironic that as 
close as we'd become in life, we couldn't seem join on a 
cellular level.
"Never give up on a miracle," he'd said. It was one of the 
best moments we ever shared and then we had one of our 
worst.
Mulder held me for what seemed an eternity and I let him, 
preferring he break contact instead of my usual reticence 
splitting us apart first. When he didn't let go immediately, I 
sensed a change in his demeanor.
"Scully. Are there enough ova to try again?"
"I don't think so. Parenti said he used the most viable in this 
last try."
"We should have tried it the old fashioned way, like we've 
been doing."
I stiffened instantly, wondering if he meant what I thought 
he did.
"Like we've been doing?"
"Yeah."  
He did.
Pulling out of his arms, I took a step back to regard him 
warily. I felt a variety of violent emotions rock through me; 
surprise, humiliation, and, finally, anger, before managing 
to contain myself and wipe all expression from my face. I 
couldn't, however, keep it out of my voice.
"How long have you known?"
"Since California."
"California?" I asked, appalled.
"Pink sugar and avocados. It's hard to sleep through an 
orgasm, Scully."
I let an awkward silence fall between us.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I didn't know what to say. I've done some sleep walking in 
the past, but nothing like that before. When you didn't say 
anything, I just went back to bed. After that..." he trailed 
off, apparently wondering how to finish. "After that, you 
seemed content the way things were. I was hoping you'd 
eventually tell me on your own."  
"Were you awake every time?" I asked, feeling a little sick.
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"You called me by other women's names."
"Then definitely not!"
How could I have been so deluded for such a long period of 
time? Could it be because I'd wanted to be? 
"You used me."
"*I* used you? And what were you doing, Scully? Playing 
bridge?"  
"No. I'm partially responsible too, but it doesn't excuse 
what you did either."
"I thought I was making you happy, Scully. I thought I was 
giving you something you wanted."  
More silence. I sensed a schism slowly develop between us 
building from the anger we'd suppressed for so long, and 
then felt it expand into a chasm. I was powerless to breach 
it and Mulder appeared just as helpless in face of so much 
raw emotion.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked quietly, Pack it in?"
"No."
"Then what?"
I didn't answer him. What was there to say?
He left, slamming the door behind him.
I tried to tell myself it was for the best. Now that the truth 
was out we could move on. 
Part of me was glad the procedure hadn't worked. If Mulder 
couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the intimacy we'd 
been sharing for over six years, he wasn't ready to share the 
responsibility of a child. 
That realization did nothing to assuage my pain, or warm 
the wintry cold his departure had left behind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mulder wasn't in the office the next morning and nothing 
about the place led me to believe he'd been there and gone. 
When he didn't show for the rest of the day, I became 
worried. Even an angry Mulder would normally have left a 
message or note if he was leaving town.
Kersch was out of the office too, and his smug secretary 
assured me Mulder had not phoned in to say he'd be gone.
Mulder's apartment was empty too, everything tidy, dark 
and entirely undisturbed.  I turned his computer on and it 
was devoid of clues as well. In desperation, I made a call to 
the Gunmen.
Byers was the only one to actually show up. He knocked on 
the door like a polite little Gunman and I opened it to admit 
his brown-suited form.
"Just you?" I asked, looking behind him in the hall, 
expecting to see his partners clad in bad disguises.
"I was, uh, the one picked to come."
"No one else wanted to face the wrath of Scully?" I asked 
jokingly and shut the door.
"No," he said seriously as he followed me into the living 
room.
I snapped my head around, but only met soft blue eyes 
suffused with kindness. In another lifetime, John Byers 
might have been able to woo me. Warily, we sat down on 
the couch across from each other.
"Where is he, John?"
He looked into his lap at his clasped hands. I noted that his 
nails were all neatly trimmed, not bitten off like Mulder so 
often did.
"John?"
"He's gone away to think."
"To think? Mulder's never just gone off to think, John."
"I don't think he's been in this situation before, Scully."
So, the Gunmen knew. I wondered just how much Mulder 
had told them.
"I need to know where he is so I can..." I stopped. So I 
could what? Yell at him? Apologize? Maybe both.
I took a chance and reached across to place my hands over 
his. "Do you know the real reason he left? Not the in vitro, 
but about the sleepwalking?"
He looked a little confused so I pressed my advantage. "I've 
done something wrong, very wrong where Mulder's 
concerned and I need to make up for it. If you don't tell me 
where he is, I'll never have the chance to do that. You can 
understand that feeling, can't you?"
Now it was his turn to look up from his lap. I didn't have to 
say her name to read the emotion in his eyes. Suzanne 
Modeski was never far from his mind.
"I love him, John." I couldn't make it any plainer or 
emotionally bare than that.
I watched his eyes as his reserve cracked like an egg. I 
honestly believed the Smoking Man could have tortured 
him to death without getting the answer, but a little 
unexpected emotion from me made him fall apart.
He leaned across the short space between us and whispered 
in my ear.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In retrospect I should have thought of this place first, but if 
I'd been wrong, it would have been a long, long way to 
come to wind up empty handed. 
The Madonna Inn came into view as my rental car rounded 
the corner. It was late, well past midnight, but several 
floodlights illuminated the parking lot and the facade of the 
tired, familiar building. 
One look at that ugly exterior and all the years fell away. 
Once again I was a near novice agent, full of myself and 
attempting to make every case conform to the rules of 
science. Mulder was still on fire for the conspiracy and the 
hope of finding his sister still shone bright in his eyes. We 
were such different people then, and I thought that wasn't a 
bad thing at all. 
I tried to stay patient while I carefully explained to the 
gum-chewing desk clerk that I needed to check on my 
partner and failed badly. I was mesmerized by the sheer 
number of metal piercings adorning her ears, eyebrows and 
lips. A steel ball bobbed forward as she spoke, making my 
tongue hurt.
"We can't give that information out ma'am," she said in 
cheerful denial. 
Ma'am. She called me ma'am. She must have been all of 
sixteen and in elementary school when Mulder and I visited 
this place the first time
"I understand that, but if you'll just let me speak with the 
manager..."
"It's about time you showed up."
From out of nowhere a tiny, gray-haired woman 
materialized behind the desk. I stood at least three inches 
above her. She was wearing a long turquoise dress and 
Indian jewelry adorned her ears, wrists and neck. Long 
gray hair hung loose about her shoulders, and I had the odd 
thought that she must have been a hippy once.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"This is Agent Scully, Grandma. She says she needs to 
check on someone."
"She wants to check on Mr. Fox. It's all right, Amber. I'll 
take her there myself." 
A pair of piercing green eyes stared out at me from that 
ageless face, until I looked away.
The old woman retrieved a metal ring full of numbered 
keys and came out from behind the desk. 
"I'll be back shortly, Amber."
"Okay, Grandma," the teenager called, her nose already 
buried in the goth fashion magazine I caught her reading 
when I arrived.
I followed "Grandma" out of the lobby, and we started 
across the parking lot to the main building containing the 
one hundred plus themed rooms.
Thank you Mrs.." I started.
"Aunt Ida. Everyone here calls me "Aunt Ida." Even your 
young man."
"What did you mean it was about time I showed up?" I 
asked, ignoring her reference.
"He's been waiting here for you for six years. Any other 
woman would have showed up long before this."
I felt slow, as if I were missing something obvious to 
everyone else but me.
"Waiting for six years?"
"He books that room every year for the weekend and just 
waits. Used to come out of his room once in a while to 
check messages, but not much else. I couldn't get him to eat 
in the dining room until the fourth year. I think he was 
afraid he'd miss you. He was early this year, but I've always 
made room for him"  
My mind was reeling. Mulder had been coming here every 
year for six years, to wait for me and also managed to 
ingratiate himself to the staff along the way? Unbelievable. 
It was yet another part of himself that he'd kept hidden 
from me. I had no right to feel deceived, but I did. 
As we entered the main hallway, I felt the need to defend 
myself. "I didn't know he was here."
 
She stopped and turned to look at me. "Didn't you?"
I rifled through my memory, trying to think if he'd left me 
any clues, any hints over the years that he'd wanted me to 
return to the Inn, but couldn't come up with any.
"No."
She turned her back on me and continued down the hall. 
"Sad young man."
"Was. Was a sad young man," I corrected.
She stopped in front of the Cave Room's thick wooden door 
and fixed me with a doubtful eye. "I hope so. He deserves 
happiness."
"Yes, yes he does," I said as sincerely as possible. I couldn't 
believe I was allowing a stranger to make me feel this 
guilty.
She unlocked the door without knocking and pushed it 
open. Reaching around to the back of the knob, she put the 
Do Not Disturb sign on the front handle.
"I expect you'll want privacy."
I watched her trail off down the hall feeling a mixture of 
apprehension and annoyance. What on earth was I going to 
say to Mulder now? The speeches I'd rehearsed in my head 
were useless in the face of this new information.
I eased the door open the rest of the way and stepped 
through. "Mulder?"
The rock walls I remembered so well had no answer. I 
gently closed the door and stepped back through time as I 
did so. 
The leopard skin bedspread was still there, along with the 
gift basket of sugar and avocados resting on the dresser. To 
my surprise however, Mulder wasn't in the big bed in the 
main room, so I went around the rock wall to the other side. 
A pair of long legs with big, bare feet were sticking out 
from under the white sheets on the narrow bed. Mulder was 
lying on his stomach, hugging a flat pillow, bunched over 
to simulate a normal size. He had his head turned toward 
me, and I could see he hadn't shaved since I'd seen him last. 
Relaxed in sleep however, his face held an angelic quality 
that made him beautiful.
A sudden, sharp pain in my chest caused me to sit down 
heavily onto the rough-hewn log chair next to the bed. How 
could I forget?  How could I forget how much love could 
hurt? And if I was correct about this one, the pain might 
just kill me.  
"Mulder?" I asked with a small voice. It came out so softly, 
I knew he couldn't possibly have heard it. His eyes opened 
though, and he smiled at me. 
"Scully. You finally made it."
"Yes."
"I've been waiting for you," he whispered softly.
"I know. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."   
When he touched my face, I knew there was no need for 
florid speeches, or useless words of apology. I felt my eyes 
fill with tears.
"Come here," he said.
I didn't express doubt about the practicality of two people 
occupying a bed that small, just went to him without 
question and then no words were necessary at all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
End
Challenge elements: A room at the real Madonna Inn: 
http://www.madonnainn.com/
I chose the Cave Room: 
http://www.madonnainn.com/tour/137.asp, and yes, it 
really is booked a year in advance. Thanks MaybeAmanda 
for providing the elements. The Madonna Inn's online store 
is not working, or I'd have a link for the pink sugar and 
wine. 
Other elements included: the words valentine, avocado, and 
toast.
I also realize this is a take on the old 'I was drugged' fanfic. 
In this case, 'I was asleep'. Other fanfic cliches abound as 
well.
Extra thanks to Ravenwald and happy birthday.