THE BOX
An X-Files fantasy
by S Esty 
AKA: WINDSINGER@aol.com

Author's note: This is my second submission. The first was Do Not
Go Gentle which is not like this one at all. I actually started big
and have a real serious novel in the works called "Walkers" (5/6
done but needs a partial rewrite). Oh, and I got side tracked and am
working on another short story called 'The Abducted' or something like
that. That first, then
back to the salt mines.

This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission
and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys (unisex personal
pronoun intended), for creating this marvelous stuff.


The Box - an X Files Fantasy

     FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder unfolded his long legs from the
subcompact and stretched. Couch class on the red eye that morning
and now this. He looked up and noticed a petite and very pretty
woman with red blond hair and green eyes just getting out of a car
across the aisle in the parking lot. "Shit," he swore.
     He was trim and actually quite good looking, especially when
he smiled, but he wasn't smiling now. The very pretty woman gave
him a look equally unwelcoming and, if he had known her thoughts,
would have found them equally graphic. They knew each other - that
would have been obvious to anyone who saw them at that moment.
Strangers do not greet each other with such obvious hostility. He
had driven fifty miles around the Washington beltway and half way
to Baltimore in the last car the rental agency had so that he would
not need to share breathing space in a vehicle with this woman.
They turned toward their mutual destination, a nondescript building
popularly called 'the Annex', but did not touch, speak or look at
each other again.
     It had been a dreadful month. A thoroughly unpleasant,
thankless, disgusting, unstimulating, stressful month and he was
sick of the sight of his partner. Her sentiments exactly. 
     
     They had landed at Washington National Airport at six in the
morning and gone immediately by separate taxis to the headquarters
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation near the White House where
in separate offices they had hammered out their reports with
furious concentration, both committed to getting the paper work
done so they could go home. 
     The very pretty woman, Special Agent Dana Scully, kept
twisting in her chair as she typed, thoroughly uncomfortable. In
her warm airless cubical near the chief medical examiner's office,
the hives were breaking out again under her pantyhose.

     Mulder swore and wished his basement hole of an office had a
window that opened. About nine a pert young secretary poked her
head in. "Oooh," she whistled, waving a packet of interoffice mail
in front of her face, "what died in here?"
     "Polecat," Mulder growled and kept typing. 
     "Well, whatever it is, throw it out. And Skinner wants to see
you in his office. Agent Scully, too."
     He saved his file with a solid thump which insulted the fine
electronics in his keyboard and stood up reaching for his coat.
"Agent Scully isn't always here, you know," he snapped. "She has
her own desk with her name on it on the second floor." 
     "Well, excuuuuse, me!" the woman said her eyes rolling as she
made a hasty retreat. Agent Fox Mulder in a snit was not to be
tampered with.

     Scully hissed an abrupt "Hello" when she picked up the phone
at her own desk and swore under her breath when she heard the
summons to appear immediately at the Assistant Director's office.
Glowering, she started down but decided on second thought to make
a detour by way of the ladies room to cover the worst of the red
blotches which she knew were breaking out on her face.
     
     Mulder was already in Skinner's office sitting slumped down in
a chair as far from the Assistant Director's desk as possible when
Scully entered murmuring her apologies. Scully took a chair on the
opposite side of the room from her partner so that it was
impossible for Skinner to look at both of them at the same time.
The distinguished looking ex-military man looked from Mulder's glum
face to Scully's chilly gaze and back again, saying nothing, but
obviously confused over the seating arrangements. He knew, however,
when it was best to say nothing at all.
     "Agent Scully," he began and was then forced to look to the
other side of the room, " Agent Mulder. I know your last assignment
was not a pleasant one." Skinner paused and sniffed in Mulder's
direction. "Agent Mulder, what is that smell?" 
     "Skunk," Mulder admitted reluctantly glaring in Scully's
direction, "which Agent Scully flushed out of the woods during one
of her endless nocturnal excursions to commune with nature."
     "Uh ha," Skinner began then noticed Scully was scratching at
her leg. "Agent Scully, are you alright?"
     Scully snatched back a guilty hand, her face coloring so that
the blotches showed up brilliantly. "Allergic reaction, sir. Agent
Mulder," she said accusingly, "pitched my tent over a nest of 
voracious green bugs."
     Skinner took a deep breath and stared at the floor for a long
minute before looking up. "I guess things were worse than reported.
I'm sorry. No one expected the working conditions would be so
difficult. Well, we can't pick the plums every time, and you did as
well as anyone could under the circumstances." He put his hands in
his trouser pockets. "Now comes the bad news. The training office
informs me that your rotation has come around."
     Groans from both sides of the room. 
     "When? Where," Scully asked dreading the answers and
scratching her arm idly.
     "What? Who?" Mulder added sourly. The fact that this was not
one of Mulder's better attempts at humor spoke to the kind of mood
he was in.
     Under the best of circumstances, the days Scully and Mulder
were assigned to participate in the instructor exchange program
rated right up there with annual performance reviews and
preparations of quarterly budget. It was not that it was so
difficult to lecture to the mixed groups of FBI and CIA trainees
and military and civilian cryptographic specialists from the
Department of Defense's National Security Agency. It was just that
the timing was always so inconvenient. Upper management for these
agencies, however, felt fervently that the program would eventually
prove invaluable in improving cooperation. Therefore, every four
months Mulder and Scully would dutifully, but reluctantly, drop
their investigations of ax murderers and flesh-eating pink ooze to
travel to some out of the way location in the Washington area to
speak encouragingly about the rewards of working for the FBI to a
roomfull of shiney-faced college graduates, lower rank military,
and white color professionals who were no more sure why they were
there than the instructors.
     "In reverse order," Skinner was explaining. "'Who' is both of
you. Since you usually work together, it makes more sense for the
training office to schedule you together so you will both be
inconvenienced at the same time. 'What' for you, Agent Scully, is
your ever popular introductory lecture on maintaining the integrity
of the crime scene."
     Scully sighed with relief. She could do that standing on her
head so preparation time would be minimal. She realized Skinner was
watching her try to scratch her thigh through the skirt of her suit
and stopped.
     "For you, Agent Mulder, you have been asked again to entertain
a group of new CIA inductees on the elementary principles of
behavioral psychology. However, the training coordinator asks that
you leave out the goriest of the gory details. Two ex-marines lost
their lunch last time."
     Mulder nodded similarly relieved. He could recite that one in
his sleep and usually did which was why it tended to sound more
like someone's old uncle telling ghost stories than anything else.
     "'Where'," Skinner continued walking into the middle of the
room equally distant from both of them, "is the NSA training
facility near Baltimore Washington International Airport. 'When',"
he started and paused. "'When' is the reason I called you in here.
No one bothered to inform the training office that your last
assignment had been extended. And, I am certain you have not had
time to check your email to find out that, if you leave
immediately, you might just make it by," he looked at his watch,
"eleven o'clock which is when your lectures are scheduled."
     Exclamations of protest, some profane in both baritone and
alto, hit the Assistant director from both sides. He grimaced and
raised his hands as if warding off a physical assault. "Enough. I'm
sorry, but there is no one available who can stand in for you
today. Therefore, I suggest you collect your materials and depart.
You can check out a car from the motor pool."
     Mulder stood quicker and stormed toward the door. "Ah, Agent
Mulder," the assistant director began which halted him. "Since you
won't have time for a shower, I suggest that you sit as far from
your students as possible."
     Mulder scowled back just in time to see an evil grin from
Scully as she rose. Skinner had turned to her. "And, Agent Scully,
try not to scratch in front of the military."
     It was Mulder's turn to cast a vindictive leer.
     Skinner noticed the by play and scowled. "I don't know what's
going on, but I expect both of you to act, as usual, in a
professional manner and be exemplary representatives of the Bureau.
Do I make myself clear?"
     "Yes, sir," they said together and once in the corridor
outside the office took off in opposite directions. 

     Since neither wanted to consider riding with the other and
both were as stubborn as mules, neither took the car from the
Bureau motor pool. Scully borrowed a friend's Toyota and Mulder
rented the last one off the lot of the rental agency located near
the New Carollton subway station which was how they ended up
arriving at the Annex in separate vehicles. As they walked toward
the grey building, they could hear the planes taking off from BWI
airport. Inside, they showed their Bureau identification and, this
being, more or less, the civilian arm of the Department of Defense,
they had to check their weapons. They pocketed their claim checks
and snapped on visitor identification badges in addition to their
FBI picture IDs and presented themselves at their respective
classrooms with five minutes to spare. Time enough to snap the
slides for their canned talks into the projectors before the
students were herded in.
     Scully found that, once she got started, she enjoyed herself.
She liked presenting this material to groups of fledgling NSAers'.
Some of these people would be doing field work in foreign countries
operating within their own specialties which usually dealt with
communications. And, while they did not happen upon crime scenes as
part of their normal activities, in some counties their normal
activities could be construed as *being* criminal activities and,
therefore, they had best learn to cover their tracks.
     Mulder found a window that opened and perched himself on the
sill with the projector advancer in his hand. The cold kept him
awake so he did not sleep through this presentation, but he had to
avert his eyes frequently not to see that the women in the front
row were shivering in the draft of his open window. Better to let
them shiver, he thought, than subject them to the fine woodsy scent
he had returned to Washington wearing. 
     Upon leaving their classrooms, the two partners made cautious
eye contact. Mulder had to admit he was in better mood and that
Scully looked a little pitiful with her blotched face. She
tentatively asked him, "Go okay?"
     "Fine, yours?"
     "Piece of cake."   
     Something may have come from this cautious beginning at
reconciliation; however, a young marine picked that moment to run
up to them as they stood in the hallway. 
     "You're the FBI people, Agents Mulder and Scully?" receiving
two affirmative nods he proceeded to push a scrap of paper into
Scully's hand. "Message from Assistant Director Skinner. There's
some undercover narcotics agents working the airport and they've
cornered something they want the FBI to take a look at right away.
Your supervisor thinks that while you're here - "
     Mulder rolled his eyes. He was tired of being persona non
grata and had looked forward to spending the rest of the day in the
shower or the pool at the YMCA or maybe both. Scully was looking up
at him. "'Cornered' does not sound good," she commented when she
had gotten his attention.
     "And narcotics agents usually mean trouble," Mulder moaned.
"Especially undercover ones."
     They walked quickly to the security booth and pulled out their
claim checks for their weapons. The two they were handed were
large, black, heavy and totally unfamiliar. "Excuse me," Scully
called to the young Army lieutenant in the security cage, "but
these aren't ours."
     The young woman came forward and checked the tags and the
claim checks again. "Says they are."
     "But they aren't ours," Mulder insisted with exaggerated
distinctness, "and we have to go to work." He flashed his Bureau
ID. "Where we're going there may be one or two other people
present, unfriendly people, with guns of their own. We'd really
like to have ours back."
     The lieutenant gave a bureaucratic shrug. "Tags say they are
yours. If you want to file a complaint, you'll have to do that with
the Commander and he's at lunch. Be back at one o'clock." At that
the woman turned away leaving the two agents leaning against the
counter.
     "This situation," Scully said, "is ridiculous."
     Mulder looked at the thing, checked the clip and finally put
it into the holster under his arm. It felt too big there, and too
heavy. Then he handed the other to Scully bunt first and started
out the door towards the parking lot. 
     "Wait," Scully called, long habit requiring her to
automatically slip the mate to his into her holster before even
considering entering a public area. "There has to be something
illegal about this. Mulder, they aren't ours."
     Mulder walked quickly now that he had made his decision to
act. "The woman says they *are* ours. Anyway, do we have a choice?
We've got narcs waiting for us and I for one don't want to hang
around waiting for some bureaucrat to finish his two martini
lunch."
     Scully trotted after him, irritated that his reckless attitude
was negating the good feelings she had had coming out of her class.
In the parking lot they looked right and then left at their cars.
As Mulder slipped into the little rental car, Scully swore seeing
that someone had blocked in her friend's Toyota. She had no choice,
therefore, but to slide into the passenger side next to Mulder.
     She looked at the directions on the slip of paper as Mulder
flattened the gas petal and squealed out of the parking lot. "We
won't provide a very effective response if we're dead," she
complained, "not to mention we'll lose the element of surprise."
     Mulder's mouth twitched as if he was going to say something
besides what he said which was "Just read the directions."

     The directions led them to an abandoned warehouse far on the
edge of the airport grounds. There were three cars parked outside.
Mulder did slow the car down to a quiet crawl when they were within
earshot of anyone in the building, but, when no one came out to
meet them, he drove past and finally pulled around back. The
undercover officers who called should have been on watch. Mulder's
senses sharpened. He looked over to Scully as they got out of the
car and from long association both drew their guns and advanced
towards the building with caution.    
     A small door on the side of the building stood ajar. They
paused outside for a moment, weapons raised, synchronizing their
assault.  
     Scully whispered, "Try not to trip over your big feet this
time, okay?" Her allusion was to his stumbling over a mango root
early on in their recent assignment from hell. He had fallen into
the swamp sinking their first aid supplies and part of the food.
     "Keep your pretty head down or someone might shoot it off,"
Mulder retorted in a low voice. Having got their mutual licks in,
they settled down to business. 
     Simultaneously, they took deep, silent, cleansing breaths
indicating readiness. They had done this so many times they no
longer needed eye contact. They could feel each other breathing.
Scully opened the door with her foot and came in low turned to the
right; Mulder high, turned left. Side to side, nearly back to back.
"FBI," Mulder shouted his voice ringing and echoing off the
corrugated roof. There was no answering call friendly or otherwise.
     Silence. 
     "Sure you got the directions right?" he whispered.
     Scully stepped on his foot. Not hard enough to trip him, not
hard enough to endanger them, but hard enough to tell him exactly
how she felt about his insinuation.
     They proceeded carefully into the dim warehouse, moving down
the center aisle which was half full of old wooden boxes and
rusting metal drums. At each intersection they stopped, listened
and carefully crossed. 
     At the third intersection Mulder thought he saw a movement to
his right. He turned, aimed and, seeing a gun being raised in his
direction, shot. It should have been a good shot. Calculated,
controlled and well-aimed, only the borrowed gun did not fire. At
his back he heard Scully's click as well. A hollow, impotent sound.
Mulder fired again with no improvement on the outcome. They heard
cold laughter from both their right and left. In less than three
seconds they were surrounded. Three big men, like dock workers who
lifted weights for fun, appeared from the deep shadows behind large
oil drums. 
     The largest, slowest one, a man with the placid face of an
sheep, grabbed Scully and, though she had training in hand to hand
combat, she was no match for this giant who was taller than Mulder
and four times her weight.    
     Mulder was encouraged to hear a few grunts when some of his
blows ran home, but all it got him was a rougher and infinitely
more painful jerk when his arms were pulled behind his back. Mulder
liked to think he could hold his own, better than his own, in a
fight with those of his weight but the two oxen who held him could
have been stone for all that he could move them.
     The one with the gun Mulder had first seen walked now towards
the group smiling. "My, my, what have we here?" He took their ID.
"FBI? And we thought we'd have to leave empty-handed. Hey, boys,
look. Hostages."
     Scully hung her head thinking of the futility of it all.
Hostages. Wonderful, Scully thought. This has been a wonderful day.
     Mulder's temper was up and he still struggled but not with
much success. 
     "What do we do?" the largest man asked the leader.
     The leader stared at the ceiling. "Do what we came here to do,
Harry, only in a round about way. We'll have to trade for what we
want. Let's pack 'em up and take 'em home."
     Harry, who had one huge arm wrapped around Scully's waist
clasping her to him and effectively trapping her arms, started
dragging her to the end of the aisle. "We only planned to take
one," the big man called back to the leader. "Which one do we
take?"
     "I vote for the pretty one," the one who was pushing Mulder
ahead of him called out happily. 
     The second man who had subdued Mulder, a tall and emaciated
man, walked with a heavy hand on Mulder's shoulder as a warning
against any possible escape attempt. "They both look good to me,"
he laughed with an exaggerated lisp. At that Mulder's head came up
like a shot and, since she was being dragged backwards, Scully
could see that his hazel eyes blazed. He tried to flick the man's
hand away from his shoulder, but received only a sinuous caress on
his cheek and a laugh in reply.
     Whoops, Scully thought. Times they were a changing, Mulder. 
     "We'll take 'em both," the leader said casually. "Twice the
buying power, don't you know."
     When they reached the end of the aisle, they were roughly
gagged and their hands and feet were tied. Looking down both were
appalled to see a heavy wooden crate laying empty. Its top, made
out of the same thick boards, lay propped against some shelving.
And the box was small, barely four feet long, three feet wide and
a little over two feet high. 
     "Comfy, cozy, hey kiddies?" the leader said lightly. "Fold 'em
up, Leo." Mulder's eyes widened as did Scully's. The box would have
been a snug fit for one prisoner but for two it would be
impossible. Leo and the tall skinny man dropped Mulder in first
none too gently, and it was a difficult task just to fold his long
legs. Harry pushed Scully toward the box. She looked in and
hesitated. Mulder was curled up, his neck bent, his knees pushed
almost up to his chin. He looked angry and already uncomfortable. 
     "What's wrong girl?" the leader asked leering. "If you don't
want to join your boyfriend, you can stay out here with us." At
that the men laughed and Scully sat down on the edge of the box and
tried to figure out how she was ever going to fit discretely. After
more than a year of working closely with Mulder, always being so
careful not to cross that invisible line, the situation she was
being forced into was frighteningly intimate. Impatient with the
delay, Harry finally picked Scully up and dumped her. Her shoulder
landed on Mulder's head, that much she knew. She did not have time
to identify the other points where their bodies made contact before
someone dropped the wooden cover in place and forced her head down
onto his ribs.
     Suddenly it was darker and the space alarmingly confining. 
Instinctively, Scully pushed upwards with her shoulders but there
was no give. One of the big men must have put a knee on the
splintery wood. Then they started hammering the cover into place
and that seemed to go on forever while Scully's head rattled up
against the lid with every stroke.
     Scarcely able to move, Mulder lay with the unpleasant image of
nails being driven into his coffin. Between the gag, Scully's lying
on his head and rib cage and having his diaphragm collapsed in upon
itself by the severe angle of his position, he could hardly
breathe. With the lid in place there was not only little light but
less air.
     The sound of a motor roared into life close by their ears and
the box vibrated violently as a fork lift scooped up the box in its
claw. The operator must have been inexperienced for Scully felt a
moment of vertigo as the box was swept up with a start and held
higher than should have been necessary. The box swayed
frighteningly on the fork lift's arm as it was transported. Within
thirty seconds, by the increase in light and slight puffs of fresh
air which filtered in from the cracks between the boards, they
could tell that the box had been transported outside. Scully's head
hit painfully on the lid as it was dropped none too gently onto
something hollow and metal, probably the bed of a pickup. The box
bounced. Scully heard Mulder underneath her grunt painfully as she
came down hard and forced out the little reserve air he had in his
lungs.
     Almost immediately, the truck started up. Not with a
suspicious squeal, unfortunately, but almost sedately. The ride was
rough, the road being mostly gravel, cracked asphalt and holes. To
add to their discomfort the shocks on the truck were old. Dust from
the road filtered through the cracks and made them cough. Only when
the truck finally entered onto what must have been a highway,
probably the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, could they finally think
about something besides their discomfort. 
     Mulder hoped that the state road crews would be doing work on
the BW Parkway because they almost always were when it was not rush
hour. If they got caught in a traffic jam, if they could yell or
make some kind of a sound maybe they could attract the attention of
one of the members of the road crew who maybe would have more
curiosity than most Washingtonians and call the police. Too many
if's. Too many maybe's.

End of chapter 1 of 3

--------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------
             "Goodbye," said the fox, 
             "And now here is my secret: 
             It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
             What is essential is invisible to the eye." 
                  A. de Saint-Exupery

     Riding with her head on Mulder's ribs as he lay curled on his
side, Scully had been trying to brace herself against the jostling
and bumping of the ride and still not lay too heavily upon her
partner. The situation was tough enough. During one bounce her eye
caught a flash of white as a shaft of sunlight flickered in for a
moment between the boards. It was a piece of rope. A piece of the
rope used to tie Mulder's hands. It was time to start thinking
about improving their situation.
     Immediately thereafter, Mulder felt Scully nuzzling him near
his back. 
     Fine time for you to start getting playful, Mulder thought,
but felt fortunate that at least this time the gag prevented him
from saying what he was thinking out loud and getting him into even
more trouble with Scully. The truth was he had immediately
dismissed playfulness as an explanation for her actions; Agent
Scully would have a more constructive objective. It was just that
the line was too good to pass up. He would have to save it for a
time when they were both in a better mood. But then Agent Mulder
could not think of when such a conjunction of circumstances might
be likely to occur again.

     With her own mouth gagged, Scully had rejected for the moment
being able to work on the ropes binding Mulder's hands. If she
could get the back of her head down by his hands, however, perhaps
he could remedy that. With much squirming and pushing with her tied
feet against the sides of the box, Scully squeezed onto her back
into the small space between his bent legs and the roof. With her
back bowed also into a 'C' she let her head down near the small of
his back. Early on he had realized what she was trying to do and
had done his best to give her as much room as he could.
     With her head and shoulders lower than any other part of her,
Scully soon felt the blood pounding in her ears and the sway of the
truck made her dizzy. Finally, after a few subtle and discrete
adjustments in positioning, she felt his long fingers entwining
themselves in her hair feeling for where the cloth was knotted at
the base of her neck. As his hands were still tied, his movements
were severely restricted, but after ten minutes of so she could
feel the tightness at the corners of her mouth loosen. In another
few seconds she felt the cloth go slack completely. Feeling as if
her head were ready to explode, Scully rolled shakily off Mulder to
lay on her back beside him. She spit out the gag and took in a deep
breath of the rank air. She lay for more than a minute waiting for
the lights to cease sparkling around her eyes. The roll of the box
on the truck and the smell of skunk on his hair also made her head
and stomach reel. 
     She worked her aching jaw. "I think I'm going to be sick," she
groaned.
     Beside her Mulder grunted out three unintelligible syllables
which she interpreted as meaning, "Don't you dare."
     She smiled weakly and pushed herself around to her knees and
went back to her original position with her head on Mulder's ribs. 
Then she worked on reaching the knot on the ropes binding his
wrists.  
     Amazingly, the knot was not very difficult to loosen even with
her teeth although she lost it once when the truck, which had
momentarily slowed in traffic, suddenly shot forward again with the
lurch. Then she had to reposition herself all over again. With
every bump her head hit the side of the box. Now she had a headache
to add to the dizziness and nausea. After the knot was untied, the
problem was getting her head and shoulder out of the way so that
Mulder could raise his arms but his right elbow kept hitting her in
the head and his left arm which he had been laying on was so
insensible he could not move it at all. One handed he frantically
loosened his own gag. She heard him spit out the cloth and gasp.
She had not realized how little air he had been getting until she
heard him gulping air in quick short pants.
     "Careful," she warned him with her physician's voice, "or
you'll hyperventilate. Then you'll faint and leave me with my hands
still tied." 
     "There are some men who would take that as a come on," he
wheezed but took her advice and struggled to regulate his breathing
to something somewhat slower and deeper. Scully, who had become
accustomed to his brand of humor, did not even consider the comment
worthy of a reply. After all, he had not meant it seriously, though
considering his choice in adult entertainment, maybe he did.
     After a minute or so, he snaked his arm around to her back and
released the bindings on her hands. Being by far the more flexible,
Scully reached down and untied their feet. Even within the close,
dark confines of the box, their comfort improved markedly once
their arms and legs were free. Certainly their choice of positions
was infinitely improved, but they were a long way from being free.

     "Mulder," Scully began after they had lain quietly for a few
minutes just letting their muscles and joints relax. "We could be
in real trouble this time. We could die. You know the Bureau does
not pay ransom. They'll come in shooting first."
     "Unfortunately, these guys probably don't know that," Mulder
grumbled. He was half sitting up balanced precariously on one side
of his tail bone and trying to shake some life into his left arm.
"As far as shooting goes, I could twist the neck off the lieutenant
who mislaid our guns. You know, I checked the clip."
     "So did I," she said. "And the coincidences. The call to come
to the warehouse you must admit was pretty irregular. The mixup
with the weapons. And where were those undercover officers?"
     A big semi must have gone by at that moment because they could
feel the change in air pressure and the truck wavered in its wake. 
     "Do you know what I think, Scully?" Mulder asked grimacing
against the feeling of blood returning to his left arm. 
     "That we were set up?"
     "Bingo." 
     "By whom?"
     "Who had access to our guns? Who delivered what was probably
a phoney message from Skinner?"
      "You mean the military? Mulder, You *are* paranoid," Scully
exclaimed derisively. "The military is going to have us kidnapped
by a bunch of incompetent thieves? Right." 
     "Looks like it from where I sit," he said hitting the side of
the box with as much force as six inches of leverage allowed.
     "You really pissed someone off this time, Mulder," Scully
grumbled with more bitterness than she had intended. "What did you
do? Sleep with some general's daughter?"
     At that moment the truck leaped an extra deep pothole, the box
shifted dangerously on the bed of the truck, Mulder lost his
balance and Scully flew up hit the roof of the box and come down
hard. Mulder grunted in surprise and in pain.
      "Scully," a muffled voice drifted up from underneath her none
too pleasantly, "move your fat ass. You're on my head."
     "Mulder, you're a pig. If you are so uncomfortable, why don't
you get on top for a while? I'm tired of having my head
ricochetting against the roof every time we hit a rut."
     Biting his lip to keep from saying what had come unbidden into
his mind, Mulder heaved himself up to give Scully room. With a few
moves she had not known she was capable of, Scully managed to slip
down. The trouble was she found that the splintery boards on the
bottom of the box were none too comfortable. Fortunately or
unfortunately, depending upon your mood and your sensitivity to the
scent of skunk, the only place Mulder could find to lay his head
was on her chest. Scully found that skunk not withstanding, she
rather liked having it there but she did not dare to tell him that.
The angry words had come out again and they lay curled together is
stony silence for a long time.

     Mulder was trying to sleep. The monotonous rocking of the box, 
now that he was free of the real agony of having his arms bound
behind his back, should have been relaxing except that his legs
continued to ache and he could not find a position that gave him
any relief. He envied Scully' ability to straighten her knees. He
found himself thinking about the last time he had been this
physically uncomfortable which had been laying in a cold, wet
sleeping bag inside a tiny tent for two days while it had rained
incessantly. That had happened on their last assignment. He
wondered what he could have done differently to have prevented that
from becoming such a complete disaster. He was not happy about what
it had done to his relationship with Scully. She was not only his
partner, she was his friend. He didn't want to lose either. 
     The assignment had started mildly enough. A park ranger on an
old fashioned 'swamp buggy' had let them and their back packing
equipment off in one of the most uninhabited areas of the
Everglades. There had been reports of some strange sighting. Beings
that come and went like magic. Farm animals as well as cats and
dogs which belonged to the Seminoles who lived near the edge of the
park had disappeared in large numbers. Mulder and Scully had been
sent in to have a look and after too many days of slugging through
the swamp, being eaten alive by mosquitos and starved when the food
ran out,  found out that the thefts and other unusual happenings
were caused by two rival group of Haitian and Cuban boat people who
had struck out for Miami and gotten lucky. Lucky in that they had
landed before either capsizing or being picked up by the Coast
Guard. The unlucky part was that they had landed in the Everglades.
They had gone a little wild by eating some plants and animals sane
people were never intended to eat and enjoyed helping themselves to
the domesticated animals of their Seminole neighbors.  
     It should have been a simple case but they had made mistakes,
Mulder realized, as he floated his thoughts above the discomfort of
his body. Not taking the time to establish good relations with the
tribal elders had been personally his biggest blunder and had cost
them days of senseless wandering. To make the situation worse, a
tropical storm suddenly blew over the area and decided to stall.
Their ride did not get in to retrieve them for an additional four
days. It was during this delay that Scully had run into the bugs
and the skunk had run into the Mulder. And it had all gone downhill
from there.

     Mulder jerked awake. He realized suddenly that he had fallen
asleep. Scully was tapping him on the top of the head with the
knuckles of her right hand. "Sorry," she said. "Got a cramp. Time
for the Chinese fire drill. Anyway, I could use a nap."
Unfortunately, as comfortable as both always felt after trying a
new position, it always become just as uncomfortable as all the
others within five minutes. With much grunting and groaning, for
Mulder found he had stiffened considerably during his brief sleep,
they switched places and Scully found herself riding with her head
pillowed on his stomach.

     With her head comfortably cushioned, Scully did try to sleep.
Their ride on the truck seemed to go on forever. It must have been
no more than one o'clock when they had entered the warehouse. Now
it would have to be at least four. A grumbling from Mulder's belly
reminded her that neither had had lunch, nor breakfast either
unless one considered breakfast a stale bagel and cream cheese on
the flight from Miami at five in the morning. 
     Trying to ignore how uncomfortable and bored she was, Scully
let her mind drift but it kept fanaticizing about how making mad,
passionate love to Mulder might be an entertaining distraction.
People made love in stranger places. But real people, Dana, she
repeated to herself, not FBI agents. Real people only had to get up
in the morning and look at each other over a newspaper and coffee.
Most of the time if someone got mad, their mate might get a cup of
cold coffee flung in their face, but that was it. She and Mulder
faced each other almost daily with loaded guns in their hands.
Their very lives depended on the other being cool, logical and in
control. A lover's quarrel could lead to hesitation or a mistake in
judgement and someone might end up very dead. If she ever needed a
reminder of why she and Mulder could never afford to become an item
she had only to remember the last few days.
     Still, she thought, feeling the warmth of his body and the
steady beat of his heart in her ear, it was a shame.

     During the next position change, Mulder lay on his side, knees
pulled up to his chin and tried to gets the kinks out of his neck
which had been held in a very uncomfortable angle for most of the
trip.
      "How are you doing," Scully asked more gently than she had
said anything to him for days. There had been silence between them
for so long her voice sounded odd to them both.   
     He half opened two pain filled eyes but she being turned in
the opposite direction she could not have seen. "I can't feel my
legs," he said with a tight voice. She tried moving into as small
a ball as possible to give him a few extra inches to stretch which
helped but he knew the improvement would be short lived for a new
cramp would only develop somewhere else.
     "Scully," Mulder said seriously, "we have to make plans. If
they do not stop soon, or if we can't escape, it's not likely that
we'll be able to move when they do finally let us out, much less
defend ourselves. I'm going to try again to kick out the side of
the box or push up the top. I'll need every inch you can give me."
     But his attempts were unsuccessful. After ten minutes he was
exhausted, sweaty and racked with cramps in his thighs and lower
back but the box had not budged. Scully had huddled as small as she
could in the corner. 
     He called a halt. "Sorry," he gasped, for the air was ripe and
thin. "I just can't get any leverage." 
     "Let me try," she offered. "I have more room to maneuver." But
though Scully could definitely deliver a more determined kick, she
was no match for half inch thick boards. 
     "Even if we had been able to break through," she rationalized,
"We're traveling at sixty miles per hour."
     They settled back into one of their two most favorite
positions, he with his head on her chest. Useless as the attempt
had been, the exercise seemed to have increased his blood
circulation, for Mulder felt more comfortable than he had in hours.
But then maybe his muscles were just getting numb or maybe he just
fit between Scully's curves better this time. 
     She was a small woman, only five foot two and not too skinny.
Soft. And classically beautiful. Intelligent, courageous and
endearing. But also insufferable, stubborn, and close-minded. He
wondered if she knew how capable she was of driving a man insane.
She had risked her own life, times over, to save his, but he could
also remember all the times he had come to her excited about some
truly astounding event, some completely alien or paranormal
phenomena that had dropped wondrously into the world, and she would
analyze it to death. She would take all the fun out of it. If once
and a while, just once in a while, she could loosen up and show a
little enthusiasm. He sighed. It helped he knew that much of her
coolness was a game between them. But how much? All he knew for
certain was that there were times when he got very weary of the
game.
     "Scully," he said staring at the wooden lid of the box three
inches from his nose. "Truce?"
     He could not see that her face softened and that she smiled
her slow lovely smile. "Truce," she agreed.
     He snuggled just a little to show he was pleased. "I
apologize. You don't have a fat ass. You actually have a very nice
ass."
     "Thanks, Mulder," her voice came from above him, "so do you,
though you can still be a pig at times." Her voice was gently
playful. 
     "And you can be a bit of a killjoy yourself," he returned not
unkindly but Scully frowned a little, an expression he could not
see.
     That hurt, Scully thought. Even if he had intended it as a
joke the idea had to have some basis. Hell, Mulder, I'm suppose to
be objective. That's my job. How like a little boy he could be
rushing up to show her some new toy. Did he think she enjoyed
playing the part of the wiser and snotty older sister whose job in
life was to cut him down. - No, silly, it's not a unicorn; just
some poor goat which has been tortured by grafting a horn to its
forehead.
     "It was my fault," Scully admitted trying to make peace. "The
problems we had with the Seminole elders. I should have respected
their customs against women attending their council meetings. We
lost their cooperation. We could have been home within days if we'd
had their help."
     Mulder shook his head a little. "We both blew it. I should
have been more conciliatory. We needed a rest and got sloppy."
     To that she agreed. Those kinds of mistakes could be
dangerous. They had been lucky, but then maybe they only remembered
the case as being so awful because there had been nothing
stimulating to think about. For much of the time it had been just
physically unpleasant and boring. Like now. 
     Scully felt an undeniable need to scratch her stomach, a
movement which he had to notice because her stomach was against his
back. 
     "Sorry about the bugs," he offered. "I was tired. I was angry
at myself. I wasn't thinking."
     "Not your fault," she said. "Should have set up my own tent."
He had tried to raise up to give her a least a modicum of privacy
to scratch her itch. His attempt at courtesy, in light of their
impossible situation, made her eyes mist over. That and the
proximity of his hair and the skunk scent inches from her face made
her sneeze.  
     "Yea," he added sheepishly. "And I'm sorry about this damned
smell. I know you didn't do it on purpose."
     Scully said nothing and was glad he could not see her face
just then. If the truth be known, and she would have to wait until
she could get a good running start before she told him, preferably
from another state, she *had* done it on purpose. Off in the swamp
grass relieving herself in the middle of the night, she had seen
the skunk, waddling about, minding its own business and had chased
the poor thing into Mulder's tent with a few well thrown stones.
She had just been so angry about those green bugs, the hives and
the fact that he's sunk their medical supplies some of which would
have relieved her agony. She just had never realized how tired she
could get of the smell of skunk.
     Her guilty conscience made her want to make some kind of
concession. "Hey, Mulder, maybe we could try one tent next time?"
She playfully wrapped her finger around a lock of his hair. "It
gets lonely. And if we can manage to get through this experience
without ripping each other's clothes off, we could probably manage
to restrain ourselves under more normal circumstances."
     She could feel the muscles in his face move. He was smiling.
"There's no room to rip anyone's clothes off," he commented dryly.
     "Details," she responded. "And, you know, you really don't
smell so bad. Once you get use to it."
     "Thanks," he said with mock appreciation, "especially
considering that if they leave us in here much longer we're going
to smell a lot worse."
     "You still want to be partners?" she asked.
     "Who else would put up with me."
     "Who else would put up with *us*," she corrected.
     She could feel the smile again. Then he reached up and with
great gentleness removed her hand from his hair and put it aside.
"But for now, don't tease," he said, "it's hard enough."
     Is it? she wished she could ask, but said gently instead,
"When I tease, Fox Mulder, you'll know it."
     "Promise?"

     When the truck began to slow down it was time for the quick
decisions to be made. The primary one being whoever was first out
of the box had to be the one most able to initiate some kind of an
offense. Under normal circumstances, being stronger, Mulder would
have assumed this duty, which was also more hazardous, but he was
more affected by their cramped conditions being by far the taller.
After much heaving and thrashing about Scully managed squirm on top
again. As the truck came to a halt they lay quietly, listened and
waited.
     They heard an airplane taking off which prompted a meaningful
look between them and then they heard the sound of a motor starting
close by. Another fork lift.
     "Airport?" Mulder whispered. "And the same forklift? We've
been going in circles!"
     "The same forklift? How do you know it's the same forklift?"
Scully asked in a husky stage whisper. "Is that a man thing? And it
could be a different airport. Maybe Dullas."
      Scully braced herself against the top and bottom of the box
in a struggle to keep down her vertigo. The ride perched on the end
of a forklift was longer this time. The sunlight leaking between
the boards of the old box had given them dim but adequate light
during their trip but suddenly that light dimmed further. They had
obviously been taken inside a darker place. After a minute or so
there was a bump as the tractor wheels went over a break in the
floor. The light dimmed further till Mulder could barely see the
silhouette of Scully's head against the wood as she waited, tense
with expectation. With a jarring thud, the box was set down and the
forklift retreated. 
     Footsteps sounded close to the box and in a moment they felt
and heard a tool like a crowbar being forced under the lid. Scully
tensed but felt the time was not right. When the lid came open a
little farther, when she knew one thrust upwards even from her
weakened condition would throw the lid open hopefully surprising
the man with the crowbar, then she would act. Though she could not
see him, Scully felt Mulder place an supportive hand on her
shoulder. 
     But whoever had been working on loosening the lid of the box
suddenly disappeared. Before Scully could act they heard the foot
steps moving quickly away and the sound of a heavy metal door being
closed securely somewhere close by. Scully hung her head. Their one
chance had come and gone and she had missed it. 
     The only encouraging note about this phase of their ordeal was
that the cover of the box had been loosened sufficiently that
between them, by pushing and prying, they were able to make the
nails sing and groan against the old wood. After a final effort
from both of them the cover fell back with a loud reverberating
crash. They were greeted by a wave of oily stale air and absolute
inky blackness.

     Mulder felt Scully sit up straight with effort, stretch and
finally lower herself with a groan over the side of the box. With
their captor gone and the door to their prison obviously locked,
there was no reason to hurry now. With an odd feeling that was at
once exhilaration and loss, Mulder rolled over onto his back in the
now capacious box. He could still feel the places along the right
side of his body where Scully had lain but these were cooling
quickly. He slowly stretched out one cramped leg. The painful
pleasure of it made him gasp. From somewhere outside the box near
the floor but still close by he heard Scully ask, "Are you going to
live, Mulder?"
     He stretched the other leg and let the relief wash over him
like a cleansing fire. His muscles quivered. All of them. "I'll
never dance again."
     He could sense her leaning with her elbows on the side of the
box looking down at him; however, he could not see her any more
than she could see him. "Did you dance before?" she asked.
     He winked but realized too late that she could not have seen
it. "That's for me to know and you to find out."
     Within two minutes, he was able to crawl out ungracefully to
stretch out his long body on a metal floor. He had time, so he knew
he had to take time. To move to quickly would be to risk a nasty
cramp and that neither of them could afford. This was one of the
few situations Mulder could remember where his partner's small size
had been an advantage. The other times he could remember usually
were related to low hanging branches in dark forests. Scully was
already standing and moving about but she had not ventured far. He
could hear her quiet footsteps and her soft breathing. 
     "Mulder," she said from above him but nearby, "Reassure me
that I'm not blind. Tell me it's dark in here."  
     "Scully, it's dark in here," he told her. After all, she
asked. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark?" That seemed
unbelievable since it seemed like they spent more than half their
lives chasing people and "things" around in dark alleys, dark woods
and dark basements.
     "There's dark and then there's dark, Mulder," she said her
voice a little strained. "This is *dark*! I can't tell if my eyes
are open or shut." 
     Scully moved forward, feeling the ground with her feet to be
certain it stayed firm and level and reaching forward and to the
sides with her arms outstretched. She was searching for a wall.
>From the sound their voices made, which was rather like conversing
at the bottom of a well, she imagined a small metal-walled room
with a high ceiling. But at the moment she would settle for a wall,
a nice dry, solid wall. No weird stuff. The alternative did not
excite her. 
     Suddenly, she felt a breath of wind on her neck and something
touched her shoulder softly. She jumped and whirled defensively
forgetting her concern about moving about cautiously.
     "Mulder!" she shouted as quietly as she could, "That better
have been you."
     There was silence for several long heartbeats and Scully felt
every one. "Yes, it was me," a disembodied voice said out of the
blackness.
     "Don't you *ever* do that again!"
     "I'm incorrigible. My first grade teacher said so." But he
sounded honestly apologetic. "Last time. Promise."
     Exasperated, Scully sighed loudly and turned her back on where
she thought from the sound of his voice Mulder was standing and
began looking for the wall again. At least he was standing. That
was an improvement.
     "Found it!" she called out softly as her searching fingers
found rough metal. In this darkness and quiet it would have seemed
odd to make too much noise. As if you might awaken something. "It
curves." There was relief in her voice. The wall was dry and firm;
no goo, no slime, no mushy stuff and nothing moved. 
     "Same here," Mulder called opposite her from about twenty five
feet away. "My guess is this may have been an old fuel storage
tank."
     Great, Scully thought. She could just imagine mad scientists
opening valves, letting tons of fuel come gushing in over them,
crushing them, drowning them. It's just the dark, Scully told
herself. Mulder's suppose to be the one with the imagination.
Better get yours under control.
     They explored and indeed the container did seem to be a large
metal tank. The floor and walls seemed all of a piece. They found
a thin seam which must have been where the wide door was set that
allowed maintenance people in and through which the fork lift had
driven. It was solid and there seemed to be no way to open it from
the inside. They went back to exploring their dark world. Scully
searched the tank wall from the ground up to about four feet and
Mulder searched as far as his long arms could reach. They were
looking for anything. Anything that could allow them to escape.
They found nothing. Mulder then used the box and by standing on it
with it tilted on its narrow end he could reach another four and a
half feet. Scully spotted to keep him from falling and breaking his
neck. Still nothing. Not even a ceiling. Breaking a piece of wood
from the lid Mulder threw it up and heard it strike a metal surface
about twenty to twenty-five feet from the floor. 
     "Stand on my shoulder," he suggested. Without hesitation she
took off her shoes and then he helped her onto his shoulders. With
her hands searching for any irregularity he moved slowly around the
circumference. When that also was unsuccessful they had only one
option left which was tricky and slow; he stood on the box on its
narrow end and helped Scully to stand on his shoulders from which
she searched the wall for breaks. This meant that each time they
were ready to search another section Scully had to dismount and the
box had to repositioned before he could boost her up again. By this
time Scully could tell that they were both getting tired. Still his
balance was good and he adjusted his weight smoothly again and
again to aid her. 
     This is trust, Scully thought. This is why we are good at what
we do. For she knew that if she fell she could be badly injured. 
     This search, unfortunately was not any more successful. The
curving metal walls of the tank had an irritating sameness. Scully
could tell from the hollow sound her voice made when she spoke from
atop Mulder's shoulders that she was near what served as a ceiling
but still she could not touch it. 
     Then a time came when his strength was not what it had been
and Mulder failed to hoist her high enough to reach his shoulders.
Her foot slipped and he was barely able to break her fall. Both
admitted now that it was time for a rest. 
     Mulder was no longer breathing as evenly as he had. She felt
the same. "Couple more times," he said with a deep breath. "Let's
get half way around."
     She agreed. They tried it again and this time, as she reached
high above her head and to her right, her searching fingers found
empty air. They repositioned the box and tried again more to the
right, adrenaline pumping into their veins and giving them the
extra strength and alertness they needed. 
     "It's definitely an opening!" she called down. "About a foot
and a half on a side."
     "Can you pull yourself up?" Mulder called gently so as not to
disturb her balance. 
     Scully rested her forehead against the wall. It would be hard.
She was tired and it was dangerous. The opening might not be very
deep. Once she pulled herself from Mulder's shoulders she could
never find them again in the dark. He could never see her to break
her fall if she fell. 
     "Don't do it," he said sensing her hesitation. "If it doesn't
look safe. We'll find another way."
     But there may be no other way, she thought, and the idea of
staying there waiting for that group of goons to come back was
totally unacceptable. "Help me down. I have an idea."
     This he did. She hunted in the dark, found the broken lid of
the box and together they broke off a cross piece. She put the
block in the waist band of her skirt before he boosted her up.
Finding the opening again, she threw the block of wood into gap and
listened carefully. From the sound the falling block made, the
opening seemed to go back far enough. Far enough to define a space
big enough for someone's Scully's size.
     It was time. 
     "Now or never. Give me a boost," she said. She felt his warm
hands cradling the sole of her right foot. His hands were warm and
tickled a little. He rubbed the top of her arch encouraging her.
His trust gave her confidence. When he felt her balance was right
he lifted upward with a force that was both smooth and controlled.
Scully found herself propelled into the shaft. Not too fast. Just
right. For a moment she felt herself slip but brought up her knees
and halted her slide. She was in. If this passage went somewhere,
well and good. If it were a dead end, she could be here for a
while. She scouted forward a few feet and felt the walls fall away
around her even though there was no more light than before. She was
on a platform and then she felt the rungs of a ladder leading
downward.
     Scully turned around, crawled back and leaned over looking
into the inky blackness. "I found a ladder!" she called softly but
loud enough for him to hear.
     "As they say, Scully, way to go." came the answering response
from below.
     "Mulder, are you alright?" She had heard the box and probably
Mulder fall after he had boost her up into the passage. He'd
probably lost his balance.  
     "No worse than usual. Get going!"
     "Mulder, I can't leave you behind!" 
     "Scully, you can and you know you will. Remember the voracious
little green bugs and get out of here. Bring back the cavalry." 
     He, of course, was right and she knew it. She had just wanted
him to know that she did not enjoy leaving him. 
     Scully crawled back to the steps. On the platform she stood up
and began to descend. There was no change in the complete absence
of any light but the air was fresher here and less oily. The air
moved, too, a little, as if the space she was in was very large,
not outside, but in a large enclosed space like the warehouse they
suspected. She felt her way on stockinged feet, senses sharpened,
listening as she crept down the staircase that curved around the
cylindrical tank. She had the oddest feeling that she could hear
breathing. Lots of it and the sound of a small quiet fan.
     At the bottom of the stairs she began feeling the outside
walls of the tank for a door. Almost immediately, she found
something. Her groping hands found a metal bar, like a handle, that
did not pull forward or down so it had to pull up as if it were on
a hinge. She took it in hands and prepared to pull up, but first
she prayed. "God, please don't let this open flood gates in there."
She could hear in her imagination, the gush of fluid, Mulder
drowning. But fear got them no where. She pulled. It was rusty and
heavy and she had to try more than once. Finally, it gave a little.
With a heave, she threw up the metal beam.
     Mulder must have heard her working. Within seconds he had
pushed open the metal door from the inside and was standing close
beside her in the doorway thrusting something into her hands. She
realized after a moment that he had handed her her shoes. She
slipped them on. They were still blind so they faced outward and
touched shoulder to shoulder instead of exchanging looks which they
would have done. Now for the next step.
 
     At that moment the lights came up. Blinding them. After the
absolute blackness it was as if they had walked into the sun.

     Even before his eyes adjusted, Mulder whirled blinking,
dropping into a defensive posture his empty hands open and waiting.
And what he saw made his too volatile temper blaze. He and Scully
had just exited from a large black metal tank which looked a lot
like he had expected. The tank was inside a warehouse, if not the
one where they had originally been sent then one very much like it.
What fired his anger was that they were surrounded, not by thugs or
underworld nasties but by fresh faced enlisted men, higher ranking
army types in uniforms with brass buttons, and an array of
civilians in suits some with shoulder holsters casually displayed
over their white shirts who might as well have had CIA tattooed on
their foreheads. All were studying the two as if they were
specimens under a microscope. Mulder noticed a video screen was set
up and he knew somehow instantly that at least while they had been
in the black tank they had been watched on infrared. 
     Scully, for one of the few times in her life that Mulder could
remember, could think of nothing to say. Mulder on the other hand
had a string of obscenities he thought would be appropriate for the
occasion which he had heard in places he certainly would never tell
his mother he had visited. He had opened his mouth to expostulate
upon some of these when he stopped in utter astonishment as a
solidly build man with a military bearing but wearing the costume
of the stylish Washington bureaucrat emerged from the crowd and
walked toward them. 
     "That will be all, gentleman," Assistant Director Skinner said
and though the phrase was meant for the assembled gathering in
general Mulder took it as a direct warning to him to keep his mouth
firmly shut. 
     "I think we all want to thank Agents Mulder and Scully for
their cooperation," Skinner commented formally with a slight bow of
recognition in their direction. "Now as I explained, just before
this *demonstration*, they had just returned from a very difficult
assignment so I think we should respect their wishes for a speedy
departure." Before anyone moved, however, he turned to the Army
brass. "Generals, I believe that the results of the exercise are
indisputable and support the FBI's position is this matter. I hope
it will assist you in the future deployment of your forces." Scully
could have sworn that the final phrase was peppered with some
contempt.

     Even before the crowd had began to break up, Mulder and Scully
stepped up to Skinner both demanding by the expression in their
eyes and the tenseness of their postures some additional
explanation, but Skinner definitely had his Assistant Director look
on. That look was sufficient to continue to silence Mulder who was
again, now that the surprise had worn off, bursting with
indignation. Scully was no less angry but she hid it better.
Skinner motioned for them to follow him and led them into a room
which turned out to be a small, scruffy office. Scully hoped she
had closed the door sufficiently before Mulder exploded.
     "Hell, Skinner! What was that, some kind of a joke!"
     "No, joke,' Skinner said with enough military inflection to
even take the edge of Mulder's temper. "An exercise. Which due to
the nature of its intended purpose required that the participants
be uninformed." Skinner sat on the edge of the room's desk and
folded his arms. 
     "Cut the crap!" Mulder snarled.
     Skinner did not move, his expression did not change, but
somehow his Assistant Director guise melted a little. There was
sympathy in his eyes. "I can appreciate your outrage, Agent Mulder.
The exercise was - an embarrassment - and I want you to know that
I personally spoke against it, but I answer to some pretty
persuasive people."
     Mulder made a comment to that which Skinner pretended not to
hear.
     "As you know, just as the members of the FBI or CIA go out to
instruct certain segments of the miliary community on topics
related to our special talents, upper management teams from these
organizations also get together to discuss subjects of general
concern." He turned to Scully who had sat down on a rickety folding
chair from exhaustion as much as anything else. She was dirty and
disheveled. "The topic which led to the implementation of this
exercise is one you, Agent Scully, I believe would find
interesting. The military is very concerned, as you know, about the
placement of women in the armed forces. In particular, they are
concerned about how man and women will respond if they are thrown
together in a stressful situation."
     Scully crossed her leg and even managed to make it look
elegant under the present circumstances. "I take it the notable
phrase here is 'thrown together'."
     Skinner pursed his lips and tilted his jaw. "Correct. Very
perceptive, Agent Scully. The FBI's position is, as you know, that
men and women can serve admirably together and at close quarters
without - entanglements." Mulder rolled his eyes. "The Department
of Defense has been rather hesitant in allowing women to
participate in hazardous duty. Especially alongside men. The Army
requested a instructive demonstration to show that under stress men
and women would not, by default, engage in behavior unbecoming to
their positions-"
     "They made a bet!" Mulder cried out with sudden inspiration.
"Some general in the Army bet some director in the FBI that a male
and female agent when thrown together in a compromising situation
would fail to 'act like soldiers'." Mulder had calmed down and was
now more disgusted than angry. "Someone could have been injured."
Mulder thought about Scully teetering on Mulder's shoulders high
above the floor and being thrown blind into an opening the size of
an air duct.
     "There was never intended to be any real danger," Skinner
explained and rubbed the back of his neck while looking at them
through the corner of his eye. "You were, however, much more
inventive than anticipated. No one thought you would be able to
make it out of the tank.
     Stubbornly, Scully refused to be let Skinner change the
subject even for a compliment. "I believe we have a question on the
table that has not been answered yet, Director Skinner. *Did* the
Army make a bet that when the box was opened we'd be shown to have
- ah - committed improprieties?"  
     All Skinner said in answer to that was, "I had complete
confidence in you and Agent Mulder's ability to represent the
Bureau in this matter, Agent Scully"
     "You did?" Mulder asked. He wondered if he should take that as
in insult.
     "And you didn't let me down. You didn't, did you, Agent
Mulder?" Skinner's eyes were searching like a father shaking down
a fifteen-year-old who had just brought his daughter home from her
first date.
     Scully looked at Mulder eyebrows raised. She probably looked
worse than he did and he was pretty bad. They were dirty, tired,
disgusted with management and hungry. Mad, passionate sex was the
last thing on her mind at that moment. However, she could not speak
for Mulder.
     "I can understand the 'rat in the maze' test for proving we
could work together," Scully commented, "but what was the point of
the box? And the ride around the beltway?"
     "I would suppose," said Mulder using his analysts voice, "that
those were intended to increase the level of stress. It's a common
practice in interrogations - and torture," He added significantly.
"And, of course, they had the other thing in mind, Scully, which
you've already mentioned."
     Skinner coughed, a meaningful cough which meant that there
were some topics which had now been discussed quite sufficiently,
thank you. By a relaxation of his shoulders they could tell he was
also changing the subject. "I won't insult you by trying to tell
you that you've been either good soldiers or good sports. The
Bureau understands completely that you never volunteered for this.
Therefore, due to the unusual circumstances of the exercise, the
Bureau would like to extend to you a little token of their
appreciation." He took from his pocket two envelopes and handed one
to each of the agents. "Those are vouchers for round trip airline
tickets, effective immediately, for anywhere in the continental
United States." Both Mulder and Scully stared. Skinner stood up.
"Now get the hell out of my sight. I don't want to see either one
of you in the office or in this city for three days."
     Mulder acted like he still had something to say; however,
Scully had other ideas. Not needing any additional coaxing and
partially afraid that Skinner should suddenly think of some other
little assignment which needed attention first, Scully took hold of
Mulder's arm and propelled him out of the grungy little office. In
the end Mulder actually did not protest much. She shut the door
softly as they went out. The warehouse was empty now. 
     Scully looked down at the envelope in her hand. "I'll bet the
Bureau never paid for these. Skinner did."
     Mulder did not seem to have heard her. He looked like a cat
who had just caught a canary. "I don't know about you," he said
dryly waving the voucher and starting back towards the small side
door where they'd come in, "but I'm going to Disney World." Then he
raised his eyes and ran a filthy hand through his skunk scented
hair. "But first I'm going home and taking a shower, maybe
several." He looked back at Scully when she wasn't following him.
Their eyes locked and held. He smiled at her like the fox he was.
At that moment, if there was something better than sex, Scully
thought, it was his smile. "Are you coming?" he asked.
     "Where?" she asked ruefully. "To Disney World or the shower?"
     He shrugged. "Maybe both. You could use both. For now, I meant
to the car. I'll drive you back to pick up yours." 
     "In a minute," she told him and watched him walk off down the
corridor like a man who suddenly had some options.
     Scully opened the office door again quietly. Skinner had been
staring out the dusty little office window. Guilty conscious?
Scully wondered. 
     "Yes, Agent Scully?"
     "Excuse me, Director Skinner, "but I have one more question.
I think you do agree that the military was just hoping to find us
in a compromising position to prove their point that men and woman
can't be trusted to work together. But, sir, even if we had wanted
to - well, you know - there really wasn't any room."
     The older man put his hands in his trouser pockets and looked
down at the floor for a minute. "The actual physical box, not the
idea of the box, was my contribution. After all," he added
innocently, "I had your measurements."
     "So you intentionally made it - too small?" Scully looked
hurt, "Sir, I thought you said you had complete trust in us?"
     He looked her straight in the eye and his were twinkling.
"Moderation in everything, Agent Scully, even in trust."
   
The End   

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Author's Notes: (Hey, Don't read until you finish the story.)

I call this a fantasy because the individuals and organizations who
set up the 'exercise' would never really do such a thing. (At
least, I don't think so. After all, there was the Tailhook
Scandal.)
 
Anyway, a friend of mine was once a real live spook from No Such
Agency (as it is affectionately called in the DC area) and there
really is such a place near BWI airport and the agencies mentioned
in this story do give classes to each other there. Or so I'm told.
(I *really* don't know what this friend did. All he was allowed to
do was complain about management, because that wasn't classified,
so we complained about management a lot.)

The first lines of the story which were written were paragraph 3.
And it wrote itself from there. Actually, I originally intended for
M & S to be really royally p---ed at each other for almost the
whole story, but, you know, the characters just wouldn't behave.
They kept trying to be nice to each other. And it really is hard
for two people to do the kind of work they do (get into and out of
dangerous situations, etc) and not like each other. So I guess they
won and I lost but I really had a very good time losing. It didn't
help that I read J. Sweeney's "Think of Me" while I was polishing
this up. The last lines of the make up scene beginning with 'It's
hard enough' and ending with 'Promise' came after my exposure to
that. (Wow, nice stuff, J. Sweeney!) (ed. note 3/15/95 and since then I've
found Gemma and on and on and on. I think I'm tired.)

Where are they going on their vacation? Will they go together or
separately? For a long time I hadn't the faintest idea except that
I didn't think they would go together because they really needed a
rest from each other. But then they went and made up so well. I've
finally come up with a germ of an idea. If it comes to something
(and it probably will), I'll write a follow up story but I've got
two other pieces in the works to finish first. (Hint: It won't be
Disney World.)

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             "Goodbye," said the fox, 
             "And now here is my secret: 
             It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
             What is essential is invisible to the eye." 
                  A. de Saint-Exupery