Title and parts: The Celine Series - If That's What It Takes Author: CC Decker Email: Oh, God, please, email me, people! If you even read it, please email me! I make it a policy to email comments to *every* piece of fan fiction I read, and I think everybody would be happier if everybody did this! Please email me at I will forever love you if you do! Category: TRH (sort of) Rated: R Summary: A white water rafting trip goes horribly wrong for Mulder and Scully, and during it, Mulder's near death shows them how much they care for each other. Spoilers: None I can think of . . . Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, rafting, near-death experience. Disclaimer: Whoohoo! My favorite part! Hey, folks, I'm Chris Carter and these characters actually *do* belong to me. This is an episode I would make, if Fox Broadcasting would let me, but those bastards won't, so what's a person to do! Anyway, I'm a fan of Celine Dion, if you folks haven't guessed already, and I used her lyrics without her permission. But I'm sure she won't mind, because in the same breath I'm going to tell all of you to get out there and buy her 'Falling Into You' CD, and all of her others, while you're at it! And please, people, start watching my great new show 'Millennium'! It's been doing crappy in the ratings, and I can't figure out why! Maybe 'cause it's a boring, cheesy show that's detracting from 'The X-Files', I don't know . . . At any rate, keep on watching and I'll get my pay check! (For all you clueless people, I'm not really Chris Carter . . and I'm not making any money off his characters, so he doesn't need to sue me . . .) And on with the story!!! When the storm rises up, when the shadows descend Ev'ry beat of my heart, ev'ry day without end I will stand like a rock, I will bend till I break Till there's no more to give, if that's what it takes I will risk everything, I will fight, I will bleed I will lay down my life, if that's what you need Celine Dion, If That's What It Takes "Another camping trip," Special Agent Dana Scully said, studying the surrounding forested terrain from the passenger seat of their rented car. This time they were in Pinetop, a small town in northeastern Arizona, right on the White Mountains range. Also a UFO hot spot, according to her partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. It was his theory that the disappearance of the group of campers they were up here to find was alien-related. She was privately hoping it was something mundane, like a hungry bear. "Yep. And the only way to reach their camp is by white water raft. The area is too heavily wooded to get a helicopter or search team in." She turned to study her partner. He was tall, lanky, and handsome. His brown hair was going every which direction, and his eyes held a spark of quirkiness. He had discarded his usual suit and tie for jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel shirt, and hiking boots. "Wonderful," she said flatly. "On our first camping trip, we nearly ended up shooting each other because of an ancient artic worm. On our second camping trip, blood sucking fireflies attacked and we nearly didn't make it out alive. On our third trip, spore from a volcano almost infected me with a hostile . . ." "Scully . . ." "Then, of course, who could forget our recent excursion out to meet Big Blue? A damn alligator ate my dog!" "But Scully, each of those times we got to stay in deluxe all-expenses-paid government accommodations." Mulder had a way of saying things that completely destroyed the validity of her complaints. She shook her head and looked out the window of the car at the passing landscape as the sun began to set. First, they had taken a four hour flight from Washington D.C. into Phoenix, which was a pleasant 100 degrees, in the shade, thank you. And it was only early spring. Then, after spending thirty minutes battling the confusing airport, they found their luggage, rented a car, and started the trek up to this northeastern Arizona town. Thankfully, after three hours of driving upward in altitude, the barren desert landscape had turned into lush evergreen forests, and the temperature had dropped forty degrees. And the town of Pinetop seemed pleasant enough, even if Mulder couldn't find the office of the guide they had hired. And to top it off, they had to get up at four-thirty the next morning. "I think it was that road back there," she volunteered as Mulder shot through an intersection. "Really? I don't think so, but we can try," he said, turning around. "So, Mulder, I need more information on this case." "A guide took a group of six, three couples, on a white water rafting trip down the Salt River up here. He had a radio in case of emergency. Their original goal was to do some rafting, float down the river, and end up on the National Park camp grounds. It was to be a four day trip. Unfortunately, the second night, a radio call went out from the guide, begging for help." "What did he say?" "A giant light was coming from the sky, and that one by one, each member of his partner was getting sucked up into it. Then his transmission went out, and nobody heard him again." "Did they find the camp ground? Drag the river?" "Yes, and they found nothing. The camp ground looked as if they had only left it ten minutes earlier, and still set up. Nothing turned up in the river." Scully pulled out the briefing of the area that their guide had sent them. "It says here that a few people make their summer homes along the banks of the river, often miles off the road. How do we know that they weren't attacked by somebody in one of these houses?" "We don't, really. And don't let that note mislead you.. There aren't that many cabins, and at this time of the year, most of the people don't even come up. Not until summer, at any rate." "Well, I always did want to go white water rafting," she said, delighted when Mulder finally turned into the proper parking lot. ************************** Fox Mulder walked briskly along the hallway of the motel, down three doors to his partner's room. Stifling a yawn, he knocked briskly on her door. He was more than a little surprised to find Scully half awake with a bad case of pillow hair. She was usually up way before him. "Time to get up," he said cheerfully, studding her fuzzy expression. "Mulder, it's the middle of the night . . . " "No, it's not. Up and at 'em. We have half an hour." "My father was right," she said with a groan as Mulder began to excuse himself. "How so?" "I should have gone into the medical practice after all." Mulder chuckled and shut the door. Their duffle bags were in the trunk of the car, and their guide was supposed to provide them with the rest of the equipment they would need. It had all been discussed at their meeting the day before. The guide, Marty Windle, had suggested they rest the night and set out early in the morning, around five. Mulder had wanted to take off that evening, but Scully had managed to talk him out of it. A few moments later, Scully emerged from her room, dressed in a flannel shirt, a wind breaker, and jeans. For a moment Mulder idly stared at his partner as she approached the car, allowing himself the luxury of admiring her soft curves beneath the denim, the petiteness of her frame. Yes, his partner was undeniably a very beautiful woman. It was funny how, when he worked with her on a day-to-day basis, how he could forget those things. "Well, she said, settling beside him in the car. The shorter hairs at the back of her head were falling out of her ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed with the cool morning temperature. She now looked almost fully awake and refreshed. However, he knew well that looks could be deceiving. "Well, what?" He replied. "Well, are we going to get breakfast or something?" "I guess. Unless you want to start this trip with some of Marty's wonder freeze-dried scrambled eggs." She just stared at him, then looked forward. "A pediatrition," she continued. "That way, I could have my own office, and not wake up until at least seven or eight. And I wouldn't have to worry about getting eaten by bears." "But what about all the screaming children that would have thrown up on you?" Mulder started the car, shuddering. "I would rather be in a gunfight any day." She waved her hand at him. "Kids aren't that bad." "Scully, you're not becoming maternal on me, are you?" He asked with mock horror. "Don't be a wise ass, Mulder. It's too early." "What about Denny's? The very essence of American mediocrity when it comes to food. And it's cheap, to boot." "Sure . . . fine . . . whatever. Mulder, what time is it?" "Um . . . four thirty-five." "Wonderful." She yawned again, the opened her eyes wider, for the first time fully waking up and becoming alert. "It looks like we might get rain," she said, eyeing the light gray clouds above. "No, I checked. That all supposed to pass over us and storm on someone else." She grunted a noncommittal reply and gestured for him to turn into the Denny's. "Don't worry, Scully," he said, resting his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the front door. "I'll take good care of you on this trip. I won't let a bear eat you." He stared at the road, letting a long silence fall. "Unless you want to go to McDonald's or something instead." He paused. "Hey Scully, you know what they call a cheeseburger in France?" "Shove it, Mulder." He snickered to himself and shook his head. She could really be a bitch in the morning. Breakfast was as he predicted; mediocre. Scully's disposition immediately improved with her fist sip of coffee, as he knew it would. He even surprised himself by mentally predicting what she was going to order. It was amazing how close they were. "Well, as much as I hate to say it, Scully, it looks like we have to head out." He watched as she stared longingly into her coffee cup. "Nose and throat specialists make a lot of money, and they hardly ever do anything. I could have done that." "This just isn't your day, is it?" She sent him a rare smile. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I just want to crawl back into bed and get several more hours of sleep, you know?" "Sure. Breakfast is on me," he said, rising to take the bill to the register. She just yawned behind him and drank the rest of the coffee. ************************** "Ready to head out?" Marty Windle asked, his eyes wide with eager anticipation. His hair was that of a true outdoor recreationist, long, windblown, slightly scraggly. And he had not an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. "I guess," Scully said. There were standing in his travel office, looking at posters of tiny yellow boats in huge, engulfing waves. Every shot looked as if it had been taken just as the boat was being flipped over, or just as someone was falling out. The people in the boats were hanging at impossible angles. "Are we going to be pitching a tent and all that?" Mulder asked, glancing apprehensively at the posters. "You betcha." "Our gear is right here," Mulder said, gesturing to the front door. "We only brought what you asked us to . . . clothing." "What about sleeping bags?" Scully asked. "I provide them. Freshly washed, of course. Often city slickers come out here and don't realize how cold it is. They bring paper thin bags." He glanced from Mulder to Scully, and back again. "Now, I have a small tent for myself, and one for you two," he trailed off uncertainly. "One?" Scully asked. Marty grinned at them. "I was assuming you two would want to be together." "No," Mulder said quickly. "We should probably have separate tents." "Oh," Marty looked vaguely embarrassed. "You can just go out and get in my jeep then. Everything's already loaded. I'll get another tent." Scully glanced at her partner, partly in amusement and partly in exasperation. Why people always assumed they were lovers, even when they knew they were with the FBI, was beyond her. "Sure," Mulder said, touching her shoulder gently. Five minutes later they were roaring down a one lane road at fifty-five miles an hour, Mary hunched over the steering wheel as if making himself more aerodynamic would move the car faster. In order to distract herself from her terror of imminent death, Scully leaned forward, gripping the seats, to ask Marty a question. "Marty, you have been a guide on this river for the last seven years. Do you have any explanation as to what could have happened to the previous party?" "None," Marty said, looking over the seat at her. "My partner was a very experienced guide. He's seen everything. In this part of the country, rapids are rated from one to six, six being completely impassible, even for the best. Well, he did a six run and lived to brag about it. There's no way some threes, fours, and fives could have taken him down. Besides, we never found any evidence of them. They just vanished." Scully nodded, then glanced apprehensively at the sky. "I hope everything you have is waterproof," she said. The clouds were almost black. "It looks like it is really going to pour." "Nah, it should be passing over. You guys are going to be in for a treat, though. This season has all sorts of huge rapids, from the melting snow." "Great," Mulder said, sounding less than enthusiastic. "Well, here's the road," Marty said, turning abruptly onto a dirt road. He didn't slow down at all, and the ride rapidly became like riding on a shaky roller coaster. For twenty minutes Scully sat in mortal terror, her seat belt digging into her waist, her hands gripping the seats in front of her until they began to cramp up. Then, they plunged through a patch of bushes and onto a rocky river beach. Close to the water stood a very small Tuff Shed. "You guys can go look around. I can handle everything myself." "Sure?" Mulder asked. "Absolutely. City slickers usually just get in the way." "Come on, Mulder," Scully said, getting out of the car. She was lucky her bladder was still functioning properly after such a ride. "I need to walk around some." ************************** Mulder took a deep breath of the fresh air, staring up at the high cliffs, then at the pristine water. The soft lapping of the rubber raft against the water was actually very soothing. It had taken Marty less than ten minutes to get everything set up, and even though the clouds were still black overhead, the sunrise looked to be a beautiful sight. For right now, the slow- moving comfortable pace was pleasant, and he was in no rush to go plunging into the white water. But, that was part of his job. He fumbled with his life jacket again, trying to fit a snap that kept popping out. "How long until we see some white water?" Asked Scully. She was sitting at the front of the boat, Marty in the middle, and him behind. "Not very," Marty said. "Another five minutes or so." Mulder glanced around, then chuckled when he saw Scully. Her life jacket looked impossibly big on her small frame. Her eyes, however, gleamed with excitement. "What happens if one of us falls out?" Mulder asked Marty, only half joking. "Try and stay afloat by pointing your toes downstream. Hope I can pick you up. Stay away from rocks." "Oh," Mulder said. He hated boats, and the very thought of plunging into the turbulence ahead was sickening. Then suddenly, the sound he had least been looking forward to hearing sought out his ears. He could hear the water roaring up ahead, around a bend. "Say goodbye to peace and tranquility," Marty quipped as he sharply steered them around a rock. "Shit!" It was all Mulder could say. The current ripped them off the soft, peaceful water and into a rolling, plunging nightmare. He heard Scully whoop with glee as the shot down a slope into a huge wave, completely drenching the whole boat. He clenched with all the strength he had to the ropes. Scully was right. He should have employed his degree to something a little wiser. He should have been a doctor too. A psychologist who wouldn't have to risk his life on every damn case. "Aiee!" He screamed involuntarily, watching in mortal terror as the front of their boat plummeted off a small cliff. He followed sickeningly after it, diving forward, over the edge. They were going to flip over! But no, as he slammed into the water below, the boat leveled off for three seconds. He saw Scully emerge from beneath a wall of water, and he was immensely relieved that she hadn't been swept away. The last thing he wanted to do was go into the freezing, freshly melted snow after her. "Here we go!" Yelled Marty over the thundering of the waves. Scully let out another cry as the boat was again swept forward, but it was with adrenaline and not terror. Damn Navy kid. Another endless three minutes of terrible rolling, plunging, diving horror. They missed four huge rocks by centimeters. Water had slammed over Scully's body more times than he cared to recall. His stomach was back in base camp. And, unlike a sickening ride at a local fair where one could scream loud enough to get off, there was no way to get the operator of this ride to stop. "Oh, Christ," he panted as the boat drifted out of the horrible turbulence and into a slow, gentle current. "Pretty cool, huh?" Marty said over his shoulder. "Yeah." "Mulder! Wow! That was great!" He glanced miserably at his partner. Her hair was flattened against her head, her face was covered in rivulets of water, and her clothes were soaked against her body. But her eyes were gleaming, and her countenance was that of a reckless teenager. "Hey," he said, waving weakly to her. He couldn't stop his hands from trembling. This was a really shitty assignment. "Are you alright, Mulder?" Her expression went from ecstatic to concerned in less time than it took his stomach to violently protest such abusive treatment. But he shook his head. "Yes, I'm fine. That was pretty rough, that's all." "Rough?!" Marty snorted derisively. "That's was about a three. Before this trip is over, you'll get to see some four's and five's. This is kiddie stuff." "Oh," Mulder said. "Gee. Great." Scully sent him a sympathetic glance, but she was too high off the adrenaline of nearly dying to care much about his new phobia. Oh, God, let something happen so I don't have to finish this damn trip, Mulder briefly thought, staring up at the heavy black clouds above. Anything. And then, God answered his prayers. There wasn't any warning. The skies just opened up and dropped all of their water at once on the river, completely saturating anything that had survived the run. He whimpered thankfully, glad they would now have to pull off and wait until the storm subsided. "Oh, yes!" Marty yelled. "A storm! Everything's going to be a five rating today! Boy, did you folks ever get lucky!" "You're not going to stop?" Mulder asked, instantly regretting the squeak in his voice. "No, there's no need to. No lightening is going to hit this water due to the cliff canyon, and we have to run through the main passage before the water's intensity rises too much." Mulder glanced up into the heavens again. Yeah, God was a real funny guy. Look at that. What a wise ass. "Wow, this is great" Scully said, vainly trying to dry her face off. "Great," he echoed faintly. "We're not even going to pull over for a break?" Both Scully and Marty stared at him. "I guess not," he answered for himself. "Ordinarily, if someone was having problems, I'd pull over," Marty said slowly. "But today we really have to haul ass." "I'm not having problems," Mulder growled defensively. ************************** Scully rolled her eyes and faced front. Her predictions about the storm were true. Never trust a smiling weatherman. She glanced back at her partner and saw the utter misery in his eyes. Who would have ever supposed that Mulder would be the one to dislike such an exciting sport? She was having a fabulous time. And in some little, rarely acknowledged part of her heart, she was glad to see that Queequeg's death was being revenged by the powers of fate. She was having a fabulous time. The bouncing, the rolling, the plunging . . . it was just like a roller coaster. Even the freezing temperature of the water wasn't that bad. The rain continued to shatter down on them, and she peered up into the sky in awe. It certainly didn't look as if there was enough water up there to create such pressure, to so completely soak everything. It was almost forty-five minutes later when Marty prepared them to face another gauntlet, and the storm showed no signs of relaxing. If anything, the driving rain looked as if it were coming down harder. Even the calmest water was beginning to rock. "Here we go again," Marty yelled, paddling faster towards a sharp drop up ahead. The roar of the approaching rapids filled her with anticipation. Until they got their fist view of the rapids ahead as the were swept to the edge. It looked hopelessly impassible, even to her untrained eye. The water was crashing against the rocks with uncontrollable intensity. There was no way they could ride that. "Oh, shit!" She heard Marty yell behind her. Marty was straining to row backwards, away from the edge, but if anything they were moving forward faster. "Hold onto your asses!" He yelled, giving up on the rowing. "I miscalculated the storm!" Panic filled her before he had even finished the words. They would all get tossed from the boat in a matter of seconds! This had to be a level six river, or a seven. She could feel her muscles going numb as she clenched her fingers against the rope. And as the boat began to move over the edge, she took a deep breath, knowing she might not get another one. There was no going back. The instant they splashed down, the boat was tossed upward. Her cry of terror caught in her throat as a huge wave, at least three times the size of those before, crashed down on her body, slamming her into the rubber and a moment later almost ripping her from the boat. She could hear the total panic in the men's voices behind her, but suddenly, even as her heart was racing and her body tense, her mind became very sharp, alert, and most of all, calm. The boat was tossed far into the air like a child's bath toy, and went slamming into a rock that nearly flipped them. Yet all through this she felt strangely at ease. Though she could barely get her eyes open long enough to see anything coming, there was a clarity to her surroundings. "Shit!" She heard Marty scream behind her. She half turned, just in time to see one of his oars catch on a rock, sweeping him backwards and right off the boat. Her first instinct was to leap to help, but the boat smashed down before she could blink, and Marty was gone. She looked farther back, searching for Mulder. He was still clinging to the ropes, his body straining in the mist. His life jacket was hanging completely off one of his arms. "Jesus," she felt herself whisper, as another wave plunged over her body. She felt the boat lunge to the side, almost pushing her in the opposite direction. Another huge wave slammed on her, pushing water deep into her nostrils. And when she turned to see Mulder, she only glimpsed him flying helplessly out of the raft, and the vest flying in the other direction. Absolute hysteria claimed her mind in less than a second. Mulder was going to die, especially without his life vest. He had no chance for survival. She was alone. "NO!" She screamed, daring God to defy her. And with that, she deliberately threw herself over the edge of the raft, trying desperately to pinpoint him. The current took her under instantly, filling her lungs with fluid death. Instead of fear, she became utterly enraged. With one hard kick she slammed herself up to the surface, gasping a breath as she could. Mulder was not going down, and neither was she! It was impossible to see anything. Only the waves as they came, plunging her back beneath the surface. But she would not give up. She fought her way upward, rolling over a wave instead of under it, and she barely glanced Mulder's arm go under only about ten feet away. Before she could even catch another breath, she was smashed downward by a wall of water, streams of fire- death shooting into her nostrils and lungs. Never, in all the injuries had she ever sustained, did she believe anything could be as painful as this. She tried to push upwards, knowing she had to get the water out and the precious air in, but the waves conspired to keep her below the surface. She never even saw the huge rock she was hurled into. Pain. Body numbing, brain-shattering pain. She felt her mind go blank, and her vision clouded dangerously. But again, she felt lifted, and with a roar of absolute fury, she forced her consciousness to stay with her. She drew on every reserve of strength she had, fighting, struggling, battling the water, reaching blindly in any direction for her partner. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and ever time she went under it seemed as if it took longer to come up than the last time. The seconds were ticking dangerously by into minutes, and if she didn't find him soon . . . But there was no giving up. The flame running along her body where she impacted with the rock was irrelevant. And then, she connected with his body. He wasn't moving in the water. She desperately tried to flip him right side up, but the current smashed them into another rock. She felt her shoulder take the impact, jarring her vision, even as she turned to see the shore. Another wave of blackness slammed on her, but she pushed it away. Please help me, she begged mentally, her weak movements no match for the water. Please help me save him. A rush of almost superhuman strength flooded her limbs, and her grasp on his body renewed. Kicking, screaming, plunging, she forced herself in an agonizing inch-by-inch movement towards the shore. Mulder was dead weight in her arms, sweeping her hopelessly along, but she would not abandon him. If he was going down, so was she. "Ahhh!!!" She suddenly smashed the same shoulder into something solid, but she wasn't tossed from it, as the last rock. Between the battering waves she realized it was a tree that had fallen in the river and remained, wedged against a rock. Mulder's body was crushing against her's, and the water seemed as if it had to be coming from a source more powerful than a river . . . an ocean that had just broken from a dam. The pressure against her body was immense as it crushed her against the log, but there was no going back. Forcing herself into the tree, she managed to slowly inch towards the shore. It was a very slow process, and with each second that passed, she was sure another rib was getting bruised by the intense force of the water. After what seemed to be an ever-lasting eternity, sharp river rocks were suddenly tumbling beneath her feet, and the river gradually began to sweep past her, instead of with her. With a final desperate rush of strength she managed to pull Mulder from the water and on to the shore, the rain still cascading down on her, the wind whipping her hair against her face. She shrugged out of the scant remains of her life jacket (most of it had been torn away by tree limbs), and flipped Mulder over onto his back, leaning over him. He wasn't breathing. There was no pulse. She tilted his head back, pinched his nostrils, put her lips against his, and pressed air from her lungs into him, even though it caused her immense agony to do so. She pulled up, gasped another painful breath, and exhaled for him again, the whole time praying a wordless, desperately into the heavens. With a cough she tried again, then pulled up, placing her hands on his chest, to pump his heart. "One, two, three, four . . ." she cried, staring down at his unresponsive face. Fifteen compressions, three breaths, fifteen compressions. "Damn it, Mulder! You can't leave me!" Her hand rose off his chest to slap his face, to do anything to make him suddenly sit up and crack a wise ass joke. The screaming wind whipped away her cries, and the bullets of rain threatened to penetrate her skin. Above, the skies rumbled and thundered their discontent. But nothing happened. Horror deeper than she had ever experienced engulfed her as the angry waves had minutes before. She was going to loose him. She was too late. "NO!!" She pushed herself back on him, breathing for him, pumping his heart. "Damn you, don't you leave me! Damn it!" She slapped his head back again, trying to do anything, anything. Drops of rain slipped down his cheeks like tears. No response. He was going to die. He was going to leave her here alone with nothing but a corpse and the driving rain. This was how it was going to end. All the special times they had shared began to flood her memory as she looked into his cold face. The smiles, the touches, the rare, oh-so-rare embraces. The times she had chased after him to rescue him from himself. The time he had stayed with her when she was peering into the Valley of the Shadow. And then, as if someone had turned on the proverbial mental lightbulb, she suddenly recognized her emotions for him. She loved him. She adored his humor, his wit, his intensity. Perhaps, in a small way that had grown over the years, she always had. "I need you! I love you! Don't you dare leave me, Fox Mulder!" Her hands came crashing down on his chest. "You are not going to die on me, you bastard! BREATHE!!!" And then, just as she was lowering her head to touch his lips again, he suddenly convulsed beneath her, shuddering on the rocks, a chocking stream of water pouring out of his mouth. She lifted his head gently to give him better leverage, feeling a slow smile touch her lips. He began coughing violently, and that was enough. She held his head tightly to her, closing her eyes as tears of joy began to stream down her face. "Damn boat," he pronounced clearly before slipping again into unconsciousness. But she knew she had only won half the battle. The immense throbbing in her shoulder and chest was getting difficult to ignore, and the torrents pounding down from above would do nothing to lessen the situation. She desperately looked around, looking for anything to shelter in. . . a cave, a tree . . . A huge cabin lying just a few hundred yards away, atop a small cliff, with stairs going down to the shore . . . She couldn't believe it. She blinked against the rain, but the huge cabin was still there, its windows dark. She glanced once at Mulder, noticing the blood on his body, and for the first time how bitingly cold it was. Her shoulder was also bleeding profusely. "Please," she begged again of the skies. "Just give me the strength one more time." Grunting with the effort, tears streaming down her cheeks with physical agony, she forced Mulder to his feet, pulling him over her shoulder, supporting all of his weight as she staggered along the rocks, gasping against the rain. She went down three times, but there was no way she was going to stop. She finally managed to reach the stairs, and with a cry, she forced herself and the dead weight of Mulder's body up a flight. She paused only ten seconds before continuing, and after three flights, she as on level ground with the cabin, an accomplishment in light of the molten lava pulsing through her lungs. "Thank you," she whispered, hauling Mulder along to the back door. There was no car anywhere in sight and the house looked thoroughly shut up. Without pausing to knock at the back door, she slammed her foot into it, forcing it open. Sheets covered all the furniture, but she grimly kept moving through the house, up one more flight of stairs, and into the first room she saw, which must have been the master bedroom, due to its size. She settled Mulder on the pretty bedspread, then sank to the carpet, trying to draw a breath. With fumbling fingers she reached for the telephone by the bed. There was no dial tone. "Oh, fuck," she said. It seemed to phrase things perfectly. She gasped again as her shoulder and ribs complained waves of fire. "Even being a proctologist would have been better than this," she said aloud, crumpling against the side of the bed. But she wasn't finished yet. She forced herself to her feet and left the room, staggering downstairs to find a first aid kit. She still had so much to do for Mulder before she could begin to think about herself. ************************** When Mulder woke up to find himself under a down quilt, against soft pillows in an impeccably furnished and designed hardwood bedroom, he was absolutely convinced he had died and this was the afterlife. But when he looked closer and realized that the scenery out the lace curtained windows was of evergreens and a fierce black rainstorm raging on outside, and that the room looked remarkably like some of the more expensive luxury cabins he had been in, he began to really become confused. And he thought he was going crazy when he turned his head and found Scully curled up beside him, fully clothed, on the king sized bed. He couldn't but help notice a large bruise on her cheek, and that a spot on her forehead was bandaged. Her hair was a complete mess. "Scully?" For a moment she didn't move, but when he gently touched her shoulder she winced sharply and sat up, her eyes flying open in surprise. "Mulder! How are you feeling?" He paused for a moment, trying to assess that. He hurt. All over. His head, limbs, and his chest especially. Every breath drew a painful, tearing wheeze from his lips. "I don't feel well, but I'll live. Where are we? What happened? The last thing I remember is flying out of that damn boat . . . who found us?" "Nobody found us," she said, abruptly moving off the bed. Her face tightened in physical pain as she did so, and it did not escape his notice. "Then how did I get here?" He asked carefully. "You fell out of the boat, and I went in after you," she said softly, turning away. "You fell out too?" "No, I jumped in after you." Mulder felt his mouth drop open in shock. "You jumped in after me?" He repeated stupidly. "Really? Jumped? After me?" She nodded, saying nothing. "But where are we now?" He asked, bewilderedly looking about himself. The last time he checked, this stuff hadn't been packed in the boat. "When I managed to get you to shore we got lucky. There was a large cabin just off the river. It must be a summer home for some rich executive, because nobody's around. The telephones and the power have also been shut off." Mulder pushed himself off the bed, staring at her in wonder. He barely remembered falling out of the boat, and didn't remember anything after that, but he did recall how violent the water had been as they had been pulled into it. He stretched, grimacing. His joints were stiff, and he could feel the bruises where he had connected with a few rocks, but he would definitely live. He blinked a few times against the massive headache he had, and gingerly touched the bandage on his head. He noticed immediately he was dressed only in boxers. Pushing any embarrassment away, he wandered to the window. "Scully," he breathed when he managed to make it to his destination. The view consisted of a sharp cliff dropping into a rocky shore line, and by looking to the side he could see three flights of steps leading from the shore to the land up here. The river was still raging with the same intensity it had been roaring at before, the rain pelting downward with almost violent intensity. He shuddered as he stared into the white water. "You didn't do this by yourself," he said. "It's physically impossible." She wasn't offended at all. "I did. There's nobody else here," she said simply. "Jesus." He turned to the small woman, but she avoided his gaze. She had gone above and beyond the call of duty, friendship, and even love, and she had saved him by herself. A chill of death touched him. "It was close," she said, smoothing out the bed. He noticed various first aid equipment on the bedside table. He also noticed her stiff movements. "What happened?" "You fell out of the boat, lost your life jacket, and I went in after you. I managed to hang onto you until I could get us to shore, and then I . . ." she hesitated, turning to fiddle with the equipment. "You weren't breathing, and your heart wasn't beating. I used CPR, and managed to bring you back. Then, I dragged you from the shoreline up here." "You carried me up here?" "'Carried' is an exaggeration, but yes." His look of wonder turned to awe. "How long have we been here?" "A day or so. You had a head injury, and maybe a slight concussion, but it appears to be fine now. You were suffering from exposure, cuts and bruises, and of course nearly drowning, but you'll be fine for now. I've attended to all that. Nothing needed stitches." "And you?" He asked, turning from the window to move towards her. "Are you alright?" "I'm fine." But she said it stiffly, and he noticed again that even as she moved a little, she was in pain. "Dana," he said sternly. She turned to him in surprises, and he slowly crossed the room. She was dressed in a silk blouses that was a few sizes too large for her, and somewhat baggy 'beach comber' pans. He gently touched the bandage on her hairline, then brushed his hand on her shoulder, studying how she stiffened. "I think I have a cracked rib or two, and my shoulder was nearly dislocated. That and the occasional cut and bruise." "Let me see." "Mulder . . ." "Let me see." She silently unbuttoned the blouse, pulling it off her shoulders to expose the huge bruise that ran from her hip all the way up her body, and under her arm, connecting with a bruise and a bandage on her shoulder. She wasn't wearing a bra, but instead some sort of light weight sleeveless undershirt that cut off just below her breasts. Of course, he thought. A bra would cut into the bruise too much. The bruise itself was not just a light shade of blue, but a deep angry purple that betrayed how hard she had impacted with the river rocks. He knelt carefully, and delicately touched the discolored skin, noting how she recoiled from his touch as if he had burned her. He smiled at her gently, then turned her, running his fingers over the bruises along the small of her back, over the cuts and scrapes. Her body looked s if it had been beaten by six large men with very heavy clubs, especially her rib cage and shoulders. There was a shattering and a tiny tinkling inside his head, and he realized with a start that it was his heart breaking at the pain she had been forced to endure. "Oh, Scully," he whispered. She shrugged the blouse back on, hastily buttoning it. "I'm fine. You were my real concern, but you managed to miss most of the rocks." He grimaced as he staggered again to his feet. It didn't feel like he had missed most of the rocks, but his damage was nothing like Scully's. "The phones don't work?" "No, they don't, and we're miles off the road. I'm sorry, Mulder. I would have gone for help earlier, but I didn't want to leave you, and I didn't know if I could make it on foot . . ." "Scully! Christ, look at yourself! You don't have anything to be sorry for!" He wanted to pull her into an embrace to make her understand the sacrifice she had nearly made. She shook her head, then changed the subject. "The clothing of the woman who lived here is about four sizes too large for me, but the man's clothing is about your size." He nodded, staring at her in bewildered wonder. Had she honestly plunged into the water after him, fought the impossible current, then dagged him along a beach, and up three flights of stairs, all with cracked ribs? "There isn't much to eat," she said apologetically as she limped out the bedroom door. "And there isn't any warm water, so if you want a shower, you're going to have to suffer." He stared after hear. He still couldn't believe she had done this all by herself. She was so amazing. ************************** There was an odd ripping sensation as he was thrown from the boat, and headfirst into the river rock, as if he was being pulled upward, not into the water. Suddenly, the rain and the rocking of the water faded, and he could see clearly, everything from Marty bobbing further downstream to Scully, still clinging to the yellow raft, then leaping from it, into the torrent, after him. He watched, unable to do anything but float above her, as she was bashed into rock after rock, always searching for him, struggling and fighting death. He felt nothing, but could see his body (that was kind of weird, but natural, as well) bobbing up ahead. She continued to battle the current, then managed to connect with him, getting slammed into another rock and a tree, before she managed to haul him to the rocky river show. Her strength seemed to defy physics. He swooped in lower, feel his concern for her, and his body, grow. He could feel her pleas directed at God though she said nothing, and he could see how desperately she was performing CPR. "Damn it, Mulder! You can't leave me!" Her hand rose up and slammed into his cheek. "Leave you? I'm right here!" But his cry fell silent. "No, damn you, don't you dare leave me! Damn it!" He wasn't down there. He was dying. He could feel a pull from above, and even as he sought to move down to her, it continued to drag him upwards. He could feel her agony as well as his own. "I need you! I love you! Don't you leave me, Fox Mulder! You are not going to die on me, you bastard! BREATHE!!" I love you, too, Dana. Why didn't I realize it before? He flailed desperately against the air, and was suddenly dropped to the shore. There was a paternal chuckle above, and the pull abruptly ceased. He could feel the rocks beneath his feet, the rain as it slammed down on him. With a desperate cry, he leaped towards his body before the pull could begin again. He connected with his body, merging with it, and sank into it. Painful gasps of air flew into his lungs and bombarded his chest, but as he looked into Scully's tear-filled eyes, he realized it was all worth it. "Damn boat," he said, before sinking into a wave of blackness. ************************** Mulder sat up in bed, eyes wide with wonder from his dream. The room was dark, and outside of the covers it was chilly, but he pushed himself form the bed and pulled on a robe, silently opening the door. There was a small office next to his bedroom, but directly out of it was a bridge going over the lower story of the house to the bedrooms on the other side. Scully, seeing that he didn't need any help, had claimed a room on the other side of the bridge. He tiptoed the fifteen feet to her door, pausing for a few moments to listen. But everything was silent. What a bizarre dream, the thought, going back to his room. But something about that didn't ring quite true. There was no dream-like quality. It had been straight, as genuine as memory. He stared at the ceiling, wondering, but sleep didn't come easily. A sensation began to grow stronger in him, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. Had the always perfectly controlled Agent Scully fallen in love with him? ************************** "I had a weird dream last night," Mulder said at breakfast. The wind of the storm bashed tree limbs against the windows of the kitchen, but neither of them noticed. The powerful storm had been raging all night, and they had grown accustomed to the storm's wailing. "What was it about?" She asked, rising stiffly to help herself to more apple juice. They had made it from frozen concentrate in the freezer. She glanced up at him, and smiled. He had looked far better when he had come down the next morning. In far better health than she looked. "I dreamt that I was outside my body when all this happened," he said. "When I got thrown out of the boat . . ." She felt herself stiffen entirely against her will, and the stiffening only enraged her battered body. She pushed down the wave of misery and forced her voice to remain normal. "What happened?" She could feel his eyes studying her. "Well, I feel out of the boat, but I feel up, not down. I watched you go in after, and how you hit some rocks, then grabbed me and pulled me out of the water, you know, like you described. I was floating there as you started CPR, and you like smacked me," he paused to take a long drink. Her stomach dropped a good six inches in her body, and she cold literally feel the blood draining from her face. "Did something else happen?" She asked, pouring the juice, then turning her back on him. "I don't know. You screamed at me a lot. Did that happen in real life?" "Yes. I mean, no. I mean, Mulder, your imagination is probably just supplying information about that happened to you." "That should explain it, because you said something really weird to me." "What was it?" She asked. He couldn't possibly . . . "It's stupid. Forget I ever said anything." "No, tell me." "I . . . I don't now. It sounded like you said something about . . . I don't know . . . loving me." Oh, no. He remembers. "Well, like I said, memory, Mulder, can often be distorted by . . ." "Look at me, Scully." She turned to him, knowing that not doing so would instantly confirm any suspicions he had. But when she met his intense, scrutinizing gaze, everything fell apart. She couldn't feel her expression change, but in a milliseconds he knew the truth. As sure as if she had screamed it. His eyes widened, then dropped. "Oh," he said. An awkward silence fell. She put the juice down and rapidly walked away from the kitchen, even though moving so quickly was desperately painful. She flew up the stairs, and into the small den at the top, not even bothering to go to her room. She slammed the door, sinking against the wood. She couldn't just avoid him. And she had never wanted him to know the truth. Even as she was adoringly bandaging him and caring for his wounds, she knew he could never know. Mulder did not return her love, and it would only get worse if he knew. But now . . . She closed her eyes, trying to battle against the sobs that sought to claim her body. She loved him so much, to the point of risking everything she had; mind, body, and soul, but it wasn't returned. She wanted to lay down and die. There was a soft knock above her head, but she didn't move. "Scully . . ." "Mulder, please . . ." "Scully . . ." The door opened and he walked in, immediately pausing to stare down at her. But she remained silent, trying to choke down her sobs, her face buried in her hands. She sensed him standing over her, and she didn't even have the luxury of becoming enraged with him. It was always understood between them. They were working partners, even friends, but never anything more. Ever. "Damn it," she whispered. "I don't know what to say," he said. "When did you . . ." She shook her head. "When I thought you were going to die. Mulder, please, leave me alone. I never meant for you to find out about this." "I can't, Scully. You are my best friend." He sank to the floor in front of her, lifting her face up. "I wish we could . . ." Hope sparked even before she could kill it. " . . . have a relationship with each other." He paused, holding her face tenderly in his hands. Her spark flared into a bon fire. "Mulder . . ." " . . . But they would destroy the X-files, and I'm not sure if I could handle that. It's not you, it's me . . . I . . . I just don't return your . . . emotions. I'm so sorry, Scully . . . Dana. I don't think you'll ever understand how sorry." Her emotions plummeted further than they ever had, and she found herself wishing she had hit a rock in the river a little harder, just enough to loose consciousness and die peacefully in the storm. "I understand," she said. She rose from the floor, trying not to wince as the flames shot into her lungs. She turned slowly, straightening her shoulders. At the very least, she could appear dignified. But even as she took her fist step away, she was possessed. She fled across the bridge to the sanctuary of her bedroom, but didn't get four steps before she felt Mulder's arms wrap around her. "Damn you, let me go!" She screamed, twisting to escape his arms. "No! Dana, I have to tell you something . . ." "Damn it!" She fought against him, but the pain in her torso was too much to withstand. She sank helplessly into his arms, and he gently lowered her to the carpet. "Stop, oh, Jesus, Mulder, stop." "Dana, I have something incredibly important to tell you." She gave up. There was no escaping him. But she knew if he offered words of sympathy, she was going to burst into flames of embarrassment on the spot. "Well, let's hear it then," she said miserably. He continued to hold her in his arms, but moved so he could look into her eyes, forcing her chin up with his fingers. "I love you," he said quietly. "I was just kidding back there." He didn't just say that. There was no way he said that. She shook her head. She was hearing things. Too much water in her ears. She refused to even think about hoping for him. "What?" She gasped, searching his serious face. He smiled and kissed her forehead. "I love you, Dana Scully, you lion-hearted woman. I was playing with you back there. I wasn't serious at all . . . not in the least!" He punctuated the last statement with another kiss to her forehead, then pulled back to gauge her reaction. She stared unblinkingly back into his eyes, hardly daring to believe him. "You're not serious," she said. "I'm very serious, indeed. I can even prove it to you," he said, tilting her face up. She trembled away from his lips for just a second as he moved in on her, but there was no escape from his arms. Even though . . . even though she had to sacrifice her independence, it was worth it. Taking a deep breath, she moved forward, and brushed her lips hesitantly against his. For a moment she just enjoyed being so close to him, but reflexively she began kissing him harder, lifting her hands to touch his face, then to gently run through his hair. She didn't even care whether or not this was really happening. She felt herself sinking into his arms, the tender way he held her close. But he drew away first. "Our first kiss," he said, running a hand along her cheek, brushing her stray strands of fiery red hair over her ear. "Not quite the first," she whispered, smiling. "Oh, I suppose that's right." He snuggled her head against his chest. "But the first time I was unconscious, so it didn't count." She inhaled deeply. Mulder's scent was light, fresh, and decidedly manly. And all his own. He smelled as no store-bought product could . . . he smelled like he was her's. She could still barely believe she was in his arms. "You sick bastard," she said, gently slapping his arm. "I'm never going to forgive you for doing that to me." He laughed, squeezed her, then playfully pulled her to her feet. She tried to keep her features smooth, there was no way to prevent the wince of pain as her muscles moved against her bruised ribs. He immediately let go of her, an expression of regret capturing his features and creating the finest lines on his forehead. The pain was almost tolerable when he looked like that. "From a dramatic standpoint I should pull you into the bedroom and make sweet love to you for the rest of the day," he said, directing her into his bedroom. "Except I don't think either of us could do that right now without passing out." She grinned up at him, but nodded. "So," he continued, "I'm going to take care of you for once. I'm in better shape than you are right now, anyway." "I'm fine," she said, but even as she did, she couldn't control herself as her features contorted in discomfort. He chuckled and shook his head. "You don't always have to be so independent with me. Let me take care of you. You saved my life," he said, taking her hand. He brought it to his lips, then rubbed his cheek against her skin. "I never thanked you for that." "It goes unsaid," she murmured softly, embarrassed that he was even impressed with her actions. "I would do it again, if I had to." She looked up swiftly as his breath caught, and a look of awe was carved into his features at her statement. "You darling woman," he said, dropping her hand. He gently pushed her into his bedroom, then sat her down on the edge of his bed. She could hardly believe it. He was standing over her, loving her. Her heart was screaming in her chest, and she could feel fresh tears ready in her eyes. He tenderly moved his hands to the collar of the blouse she was wearing. Her breath caught almost painfully in her throat, then stopped all together as he began to pull each button from its notch. "Mulder," she said imploringly. He paused, stared down at her, and laughed. "Dana, for godsake, you can call me Fox now." She laughed too, absolutely delighted. "All right then, Fox," she said, leaning into his hands. "How are you going to take care of me? And I'm not wearing anything under this." "You are going to rest," he commanded, going back to the buttons. "You are not going to worry about me. As for not wearing anything under this blouse, that's not a problem. You can trust me, Dana. I promise I won't hurt you." "Fox . . ." He put a finger to her lips, silencing her. "I don't want to hear any complaints," he said sternly. "You are going to relax and heal if I have to beat you into comatose submission." She shut up, but couldn't keep a smile off her face. He was such a darling. Mulder tenderly pulled apart the last button and slipped the blouse off her shoulders, dropping it carelessly at his feet. She didn't feel exposed before him in the slightest. She had already exposed so much for him . . . her body was no obstacle. "God," he whispered. She stared back up at him, feeling the utter trust grow even stronger within her as his fingers brushed along the bruises. He peeled off the bandage on her shoulder and let out a gasp of amazement to see the deep gash where the tree cut into her. "It's nothing, really," she said, trying to wipe the look of deep concern off his face. He ignored her completely, and she could feel herself shuddering slightly as her cleaned the wound and put a fresh bandage on. He continued to examine her, studying every bruise and cut, missing nothing. She was so happy she could hardly stand it. She wondered suddenly if this was how he had felt when she attended to his wounds. "Stay here," he said softly, turning to disappear into the bedroom's walk-in closet. He returned a second later with a silk night gown. He pulled it over her head tenderly, not even in the least aggravating her injuries. She couldn't believe that this was happening. That he was touching her, dressing her. The silk rustled against her skin like a lover's breath. She could hardly stand the bittersweet sensation of the action. He pulled her again to her feet, going down on his knees to untie the string to the pants that were so large on her. Not a single motion of his was in any way overtly sexual, but somehow it increased the sensual pleasure of his motions to indecent proportions. He loosened the pants and let them fall over her hips and to her ankles. The dress fell to her mid-thigh, but he pulled it up to examine her hips and legs. She felt completely at ease. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, surprising her as he kissed her stomach. "What? For what?" "For falling out of the boat," he muttered. His large hands moved lightly over her hips, but he hesitated to do anything more. She let out a shaky sigh of frustration. More than anything else, she wanted to make love to him, to feel his touch, and right now she was physically incapable of it. He kissed her stomach again, sending a ripple of shivers up her spine, then dropped the gown. "Come on, into bed," he commanded again. She settled herself back on the sheets, then twisted around to lay flat on her back, her head against his pillow. He pulled the covers over her, then sat on the edge of the bed. For the fist time she could feel herself actually relax. She didn't have to worry about being half awake in case he needed her. She didn't have to worry about keeping up the facade of false emotions for him. She could simply put herself completely into his hands, like a child, and let him take care of her. Laying down made it easier to draw a breath and put less stress on the bruises. "We do need to discuss some things," she said slowly as he brushed her hair against the pillow. "Like what?" "Like the fact that the Bureau must think we're dead. That we can't just stay here. Eventually this storm is going to end." He moved his hand to her face, resting his thumb against her cheek, his palm cupping her jaw, his fingers under her ear. She could still feel every place that he had touched her, still burning against her skin. She turned her head slightly to kiss his palm, then his fingers. "So what? You'll be whisked away to a hospital where you'll get crappy food and a fat nurse who won't let me visit." "And my mother will be going out of her mind." He pulled his hand away, and looked down at her thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. I could jog down to the road, but who knows how long that could take?" "Maybe there's a bike or something in the garage," she said weakly. Fatigue slammed into her. "I don't really care." "Well, I'm going to look around," he said, rising. "Try and go back to sleep." She yawned, but managed to catch his hand. "One other thing, Fox." "What?" "Whatever possessed you to do something so mean to me this morning?!" She said it with a grin, but somewhere deep in the filing cabinet of her heart, she was distinctly hurt by his little prank. But he smiled and kissed her hand. "I'm sorry I startled you so badly. The devil made me do it. He thought if I made myself look unavailable to begin with, you'd want me all the more." She laughed and pulled her hand away as he promptly disappeared out the bedroom door. She shook her head silently, then let out a shaky sigh. Just being able to trust him, to let him take care of her, was difficult enough without his putting her on an emotional roller coaster. But this way, it was so much easier to rest, to breathe without feeling as if her lungs were being blow-torched. And the exhaustion of the last week was catching up with her. In moments, she was asleep. ************************** Fox Mulder whistled as he strolled down the sidewalk to Scully's apartment. Tonight was her first night home. It had taken almost an hour for him to find a bike, pump it up, ride down the long drive, and catch a passing car. Of course, the storming whether had not let up, and it was generally a miserable experience. After that, however, things moved swiftly. Scully was whisked away from the house to the local hospital, the owners of the home were called and compensated, papers were filed, Scully's distraught mother was contacted, and information was exchanged. A few newspapers even picked up on the story of Scully's heroic rescue and ran with it. Thankfully, though, the hospital offered her just what he wanted for her . . . peace and relaxation. Her injuries were as she had guessed, four cracked ribs, a deep laceration on her shoulder, bruises and some cuts. He had barely been able to say hello and good-bye to her, much less be alone with her at all. It was easy to think that what they had shared four weeks ago might just be a figment of his imagination. He knocked quickly on her door, shuffling from foot to foot in anticipation. Dana came to the door a few moments later, a quirky smile pulling at her lips as she recognized him. "Hi," she said softly, stepping back to let him in. "Hi," he said, pulling the red roses he had bought her out from behind his back. She took them, but there was an air of reluctance about her. His suspicions immediately rose. "Sit down," she said, gesturing to the couch. "Is there something wrong?" He asked as she settled into a chair across from him. She was still moving stiffly, but he could tell she wasn't in constant pain anymore. Whatever painkiller drugs she was on, they were doing their job. "Yes, Mulder, I think there is." She looked him directly in the eyes and sat up straighter. "I think . . . I . . . misled you about my emotions in the cabin. At the time, I was very confused. Mulder, I've had two weeks to think clearly about the issue, and I'm sorry, but . . ." He could literally feel the blood draining from his face. Her expression was so completely earnest, so professional, as if she was discussing nothing more than a case. She wasn't kidding. Dana Scully never joked around. "Dana," he said, leaning forward in the chair. "I'd prefer 'Scully', Mulder. I was confused. You are a really good friend, my best friend, and I was honestly terrified of losing you, but I think it clouded my emotions and judgement at the time." "You're kidding, right? As revenge?" He asked, trying to squelch the little boy squeak in his voice. "No, I'm not. I've had almost a month away from you to reflect, and I've decided I don't want to move this relationship past what we have." She suddenly leaned forward compassionately, her cool exterior breaking. For the first time tonight he was seeing her again, not her work persona. "Mulder, I'm sorry, really. It's my fault, in this case, I lead you on. I told you something that just wasn't true." "Dana . . . Scully . . . are you sure? I mean, whenever you move out of work into . . ." "I'm sure, Mulder. I realized how much I care about you, but I think even I didn't really understand in which way." She wasn't kidding. There wasn't a single overt glance, not even a slight smile that could betray her joke. She was serious. "I see," he said, standing. He wouldn't beg. He'd think about it tomorrow. But the one thing he knew was that he had to get out of here now. She stood as well, watching in silence as he strode across the room to her front door. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, honest anguish in her voice. He opened her door and slammed out, leaving the roses behind. Even as he was walking to his car he was listening to hear her run up behind him. To leap into his waiting arms and laugh. To delight in the knowledge that she had tricked him. But she didn't follow. It was true. Dana . . . Scully . . . had most certainly not fallen in love with him. He paused for a few moments by his car, but standing alone in the evening only confirmed his suspicions. It was true. As horrible as it was, it was true. He got in the car, and slammed the door, hesitating only a moment before punching the gas pedal and fleeing. What a nightmare. He stormed into his apartment, kicking a harmless wall in frustration. He couldn't even remember driving home, he was so upset. He sat down on his futon, but got all upset again, and stood up, rapidly pacing back and forth. Gritting his teeth with frustration, he picked up his basketball and started bouncing it violently against the floor. Who cared what time it was? She had saved his life, certainly risking her own. She was so strong. Why he had never realized how much he had cared for her was beyond him. His life was cursed. That must be it. One big joke. Then, there was a soft knock at his door. "Mulder, it's me. Mulder, I'm sorry. Please, can I see you? We need to talk." The concern in her tone was soft acid against his raw nerves. For a moment he froze, considering not answering the door, but she had a key anyway. Yes, his life was most certainly cursed. He unlocked the door silently, stepping away before even opening it. He put his back to her as she pushed the door open. He could feel her eyes on him. "Mulder, we have to talk." "I understand, Scully," he said, going over to the window. He could dimly see her reflection in the glass, and she didn't seem to be wearing her standard business suit, or even her standard 'off duty' clothing. It looked almost as if she was in . . . well . . . he thought he could see her almost bare shoulders, and her hair looked as if it had been swept up. Great. Now she was teasing him. "Look at me, Fox." He had to be strong. Keep his chin up. Be a man and all that. He knew turning around would dissolve that. "Leave me alone," he snarled half-heartedly, keeping his back to her. "I'm not leaving until you look at me." He whirled abruptly, prepared with a sudden speech of fury that would hurt her as much as she had hurt him. When he saw her, though, it rushed out of his mind. She was dressed in a royal blue evening dress that matched her eyes. Spaghetti straps curled over her creamy bare shoulders, and the hem of the skirt was brushing against her mid thigh. While the fabric was by no means skin tight, it still seemed to accent her petite build perfectly. The bodice of the dress curved over her breasts, leaving just enough to the imagination. Her hair was pulled up into a French twist, tendrils of curls framing her face. In her hands was one of the roses he had brought her. It hurt him just to look at her. "Why are you here?" He asked. A smile curved across her generous lips. She crossed her arms and stared at him. It was all she had to do. "You were . . . joking?" The smile grew a little bigger, and an eyebrow arched playfully. She looked down at the rose, gently plying its petals apart. "You deserved it," she said, keeping her eyes down. He moved closer to her, and she lifted her eyes. "I knew it all along," he said immediately, taking her face in his hands. She smiled beautifully at him. "Sure you did. You saw right through my Academy Award winning performance." He bent down, finding her lips with his own, a tender, brushing kiss to begin with before he pulled her into an embrace. She gave into him, perfectly willing. Her mouth opened, taking his, gently, soft, and silky. He was so relieved to have her in his arms again, and he could hardly stand it. But it was she who pulled back first. "From a dramatic standpoint I should pull you into your bedroom and make passionate love to you for the rest of the evening," she said, looking challengingly into his eyes. "I hope there's not a 'but' coming," he said, not letting go of her. "But," she continued, "I didn't get all dressed up just to impress you. You can at the very least take me out to dinner, Agent Mulder." He eyed her fancy dress, and wanted to groan. Any place that would be appropriate to take her to would no doubt take hours to serve the food and eat . . . and right now all he wanted to do was lead her by the hand into his bedroom. "Fair enough," he said instead, reluctantly letting go of her. "I could put on a nice suit." "But not one of your ties!" The false alarm in her voice both irritated him and made him chuckle. "Don't worry, you can choose my tie, Scully." He stepped back, admiring her from the French twist to the high heeled pumps. He had never seen her so beautiful . . . she was such a totally foreign creature now, so completely alien from that he had seen the last five years. Yet this was most certainly a natural part of her, as well. "I'll wait here," she said, lowering herself to his futon couch. He dashed into his bedroom, throwing open his closet door. The sooner he got her out, the sooner they had dinner, the sooner they'd be back. He pulled off his tee-shirt and jeans instantly, dashing around in his boxers. It wasn't until he turned frantically to pick up a pair of pants when he realized she was watching him silently from his bedroom door. "Hi," he said, standing up, supertisously holding the pants in front of him. "I changed my mind," she said with amusement. "Let's not go out." Mulder crossed the room, but she didn't move. "No more joking," he said, stopping in front of her. Her sly smile became serious. "I love you, Dana. For saving my life, for standing behind me, for everything. I just never realized how much." The was suddenly nothing but pure love in her eyes. No more jokes. The gentle tilt of her head, the way she softly leaned against the door frame demonstrated her returning emotions. "I love you too, Fox. Let's stop playing games for a little while." But before taking her in his arms he had to be sure. The last thing he wanted to do was screw up this relationship too. Especially this relationship. "I don't want to push you," he said, barely managing to force the words out. "We can wait." "We've been waiting long enough." She moved into him, putting her hands against his bare chest. "I'm still not in top condition, but I certainly feel better than I did four weeks ago. If you're gentle with me . . ." She t railed off, looking up into his eyes suddenly. He thrilled to the tender note in his voice, to the sudden way she looked away shyly. So the enigmatic Dana Scully wasn't completely confident. "I can be very gentle," he finally said. He pulled her hands off his chest and took a step back, hold them in his own. "And you do look so beautiful." She looked nervously past him at the bed, then turned and met his eyes again. She as such a wonderfully mysterious creature, one moment confident, the next nervous. He guided her across the wooden floor stopping her just short of the bed. She paused, slightly unsure of herself. "Don't move," he said. "Close your eyes." Scully looked at him, but suspiciously closed he eyes. He switched off his bedroom lamp. The blue light of the moon was shining brightly into his bedroom. The dark shadows of his blinds crossed the bed, and they crossed her slim body as she stood. For a moment he did nothing but touch her with his eyes, taking this image into his mind forever. Then, carefully, he moved behind her and touched her shoulders. The sharp intake of her breath sent his blood racing. He touched her ear, and then her neck with his lips, pulling the pins from her hair to let the red curls fall over her shoulders. "Can I open my eyes, Fox?" "No, not yet." With a light touch he pulled his hands from the top of her neck to the zipper of the dress. She tensed beneath his fingers as he began to pull the zipper down, almost trembling at his touch. And at the small of her back, the zipper ended. Running his hands up her spine and over her shoulders, then under the spaghetti straps, he paused for only one uncertain second. She was silent, her eyes still closed. With a deep breath, he lightly pushed the straps off her shoulders. The fabric slipped off her body and to her ankles in one, fluid, movie-like motion. He stepped in front of her, studying the fineness of her features. She was in a strapless bra and panties, and it was almost enough to see her like this now. He put his hands over her tiny waist, sinking to his knees, massaging his hands over her hip, thighs, and knees. He gingerly pulled one foot up, holding her ankle as he pulled the heel off. Her fingers slid into his hair as he pulled off her shoes, leaving her barefoot on the hardwood floor. He touched his lips to her knees, then stood up again. The bruises still marred her flawless body, but they had faded, almost disappearing in the forgiving light. "I still can't look?" Dana asked, a definitely un-Scully-like giggle escaping her. "No." He found her lips, pulling her into him. Her body completely against his . . . oh god. She leaned into him, completely letting go of herself. It was so hard not to give into his immediate temptations. His hands feverishly found the clasp on her bra and pulled it apart, carelessly tossing it to the floor. Undressing her this time was so much different than it had been the fist. This time passion and desire were the prevailing emotions, not concern and anguish. Mulder, feeling like the hero of some grand, sweeping romantic drama, carefully bent down and swept her up into his arms, then lightly placed her on the bed. "Oh!" She suddenly gasped. He felt her stiffen in pain, then relax again in his arms. He immediately backed off to sit on the side of her bed, taking her hands in his own. "I'm alright, just a little tender," she whispered. He put his hand gingerly on her stomach, then kissed her lips again. "The last thing I could ever want to do is hurt you," Mulder said with a chuckle. She sat up quickly, only inches away from his face. Her kiss was reassurance enough that she was fine. It was hard to believe she was actually in his arms. Granted, even when he had first met her, there had been an immediate attraction, but distrust has prevented him from acting on it, then friendship had, later. And then there had been so many happenings along the way that had curbed his love for her. He kissed her again on the lips, then on the cheek, moving slowly down her neck. "Fox," Dana said imploringly as he kissed her shoulder. He moved over her as carefully as he could, careful not to press on the delicate bruises. Her hands went from his hair to his waist, and with a sly grin she pulled at his boxers. His hands automatically followed her example, moving to her hips, grabbing at the fabric, and pulling the panties off. "Easy," she gently admonished, reaching up to hold his face. He took her hands, interlocking her fingers with his own, pulling them above her head. He couldn't but help pause over her, and notice how completely vulnerable she was to him. Yet this wonderful creature was not only giving him her full consent, but her love as well. "Fox, please," she moaned, beseechingly. His own need was growing painfully, but he couldn't risk harming her. He kissed her stomach, the base of her throat, each of her breasts. She was shaking now, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He slid his hand between her thighs, parting them easily. Then, pausing over her only another second, he entered her, pulling her hips gently into him. She met him, crying out with pleasure, every breath and movement with his. She cried out as the rhythm increased, and he barely heard is own cries, so focused was he on her. He couldn't think about anything but giving her pleasure, and making her happy. Gone were the days of selfish love-making . . . she was the cause. Her fingers clenched against his, her hot skin pressed against him, her pleas faint in his ear. The climax slowly built, each movement perfectly together. He respected her, loved her, and now . . . The climax broke, and both of them completely unaware of anything but each other. The burn of her flesh against his was so strong. They were for once one connected being, completely devoid of individual pettiness. This was the perfect, higher experience. This was sheer bliss, joy, and heaven. The pleasure she could bring him, the delight and satisfaction of finally having someone to love . . . and to touch . . . it proved . . . She was his perfect match. "I love you," she whispered as he settled beside her, both of them spent and exhausted. Dana rested her head against his shoulder, wrapping her slim arms around him. Her curls were delicately tickling his arm, her lips only inches away from his, her leg wrapped over his. "And I'm not letting you out of my grasp, ever." Mulder chuckled and wrapped his arm around her in turn, surprised at the simple delight of her soft, forbidden skin against his chest. He eyed the ceiling for only a second, feeling a quirky smile touch his lips. He briefly ran his fingers over the curve of her breast, content in the satisfaction that he could. They had really done something 'bad'. Shame on them. It was totally worth it. ************************** Scully woke up first, only slightly surprised to find herself in Mulder's arms. But it was one of the sweetest sensations she had ever felt in her entire life. He was so incredibly, surprisingly gentle. She didn't care that the Bureau frowned upon interpersonal relationships. She had plunged into that river, putting her life on the line, and she had earned this. Smiling to herself, she carefully slipped out of his warm arms, padding naked across his hardwood floor to his closet. She opened it, expecting to find his shirts hanging within. They were in a pile of clean clothes on the closet floor. She couldn't but help chuckle. Talk about bachelor living. She pulled one of his business shirts out of the tangled mess, savoring the fresh scent of his cologne, and of his clean laundry. She pulled his shirt on, quietly giggling when she saw the hem of the shirt reached her upper thigh. "Hey. You aren't walking out on me, are you?" She turned, smiling to see his tousled hair, the little-boy look of concern. "No, I'm not," she said. The sunlight shining in his window was absolutely beautiful as it cascaded on the bed where they had made love. It was unbearably wonderful. She was so happy it almost hurt. "Stealing my clothes?" "Sure." She went back over to the bed and sat delicately on the edge, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Well, Agent Mulder, where are we supposed to go from here?" He leaned into her touch, then suddenly settled back, an air of boredom masking his features. "I don't know. I think we made a mistake. I don't think we should see each other." She laughed and leaned forward to touch his lips, delighted when he pulled her into him. "Well, that's not acceptable, Agent Mulder." He grinned. "Well, never mind, then. I guess we go from here into the kitchen." She lingered for a moment longer, wondering if she should escalate her advantage, but decided to break away, instead. "Seriously," he said, grabbing her hand as she stood. "Did we make a mistake?" She paused, staring back into the beautiful hazel eyes she had spent five years staring into. "No. I would do it again . . . Fox." "Promise?" There was that sly, patented Mulder-smile. "I promise," she said, returning the smile. "And now, I think I'm going to cook you a decent breakfast." "Wow, what a woman. She can cook, too." She stood up, smoothing the shirt, and was almost to his door when he called to her. "Dana?" "Hm?" She turned, leaning against the frame. But his countenance was serious. He wasn't playing right now. "When you said you'd go into the water again for me . . . back at the cabin, I mean . . . did you really mean . . ." Without a word she walked over to him. She didn't know what she could say to explain it to him. How he meant more to her than her own life. Then, it came to her in the form of a Celine Dion song. "'I will risk everything, I will fight, I will bleed, I will lay down my life, if that's what you need. Every second I live, that's the promise I make." She cradled his face in her hands, touching the top of his head with her lips. "Fox, darling, 'that's what I'll give, if that's what it takes.'" The End!!!! Please, if you liked it, hated it, or couldn't care less, please, please, please email me at danabryant@earthlink.net It took a really long time to write, so please spare a moment and email me what you think!