Circumnavigation

By Suzanne Schramm
sister-sue@yahoo.com


Rating:  NC-17 (this story contains gambling, misadventure, full
frontal nudity, lechery, groping with sexual intent and the
repetition of a bad, bad word)
Spoilers:  Passing mention of events from Detour and Duane
Barry.
Distribution:  Please drop me a line before you link.  
Summary:  Sometimes you don't know where you're going until you
get there.

Disclaimer:  No fictional characters belonging to 1013
Productions were harmed in the writing of this fic.  No
copyright infringement is intended.  Sturdy shoes are
recommended.

A million thanks to the world's most competent Floridian,
Susanne.

x*x*x*x

"Like a river that don't know where it's flowing, I took a wrong
turn and I just kept going."

x*x*x*x

One of the worst feelings in the world is being fully cognizant
of just how wrong you are.

I don't know which is heavier - the weight of my backpack and
sleeping bag, or the knowledge that we're well and truly lost.  
What's worse is that Mulder knows it too, he's just not saying
anything.  I can't see him, but I can feel him smirking behind
me.  If he's waiting for me to admit that we're lost, he's got a
long wait ahead of him.  

Judging by the sun's position in the sky, we are heading in the
right direction.  We're making good time, too, although I'm
afraid it's not going to be enough.  I've pretty much resigned
myself to the thought of another miserable night without a
shower.  

Our situation seems even bleaker since everything around us has
been destroyed in a forest fire. The fire wasn't recent, yet the
acrid smell of a campfire is still faintly present.  There are
no birds singing in the dead gray and black trees, no woodland
creatures to chatter a warning as we pass.  Our footsteps sound
unnaturally loud.  Every so often a breeze moans through the
desolate treetops, an eerie and foreboding sound that's really
starting to get on my nerves.

God only knows where we are.  This is definitely not the way we
hiked in.  It's quite likely Todd would have known, but Todd is
most decidedly not here.  Just thinking about Todd rekindles my
anger, spurring me to hike a little faster.

Todd Burgess had written Mulder claiming that over the past year
three hikers disappeared from this area.  The twist is that they
were all found within an hour - hundreds of miles away with no
recollection of how they got there.   

"You're not serious."  That's what I said when Mulder suggested
we check out Todd's story.

"It's a slow week, Scully.  We can stay here and play office, or
we can spend some time reconnecting with nature."

"If you're that desperate for a vacation, Mulder, take some time
off."

"How about we flip a coin?"

D.C. was hot and muggy that morning.  It was a slow week.  I
grudgingly agreed to flip for it.

Tails.  We go hiking.

And now, after two days up close and personal with Todd and a
hundred square miles of pristine wilderness, we haven't found
anything to confirm Todd's story.  Unless, like Mulder, you want
to count Todd's vanishing act this afternoon.   He left the
trail, ostensibly to take a leak, and didn't return.

Once it was apparent that Todd was truly gone, we continued in
the direction we had been heading when he ditched us.  Then the
trail split.  I turned around, giving Mulder the look I had
previously reserved for Todd.  "Now what?" I asked.

"You're the one in the lead."  Mulder shrugged, opened his
canteen, and took a long drink.  

I considered both trails; neither one looked like it had been
traveled recently.  "We should go that way."  I pointed to the
left fork.

"How do you figure?"  Mulder offered me his canteen, but I waved
it away.

"The Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  According to their
statistics most people who get lost do so because they keep
making right turns.  They just go in circles."

Mulder looked at me like I had just picked my nose in front of
him.  "The Mounties?"

"It's a hell of a better theory than aliens kidnapping hikers."

"I never said aliens were abducting hikers."

It was his use of the word "abducting" to correct me that made
up my mind.  I started down the left trail, not caring if he
followed or not.  That was almost three hours ago.   My earlier
anger has now been replaced by weariness and resignation.  It's
time to stop, eat something, and set up camp.  My guess is that
we only have another hour of daylight left.  

God, I really wanted a shower.  

x*x*x*x

You know that old cliche about being cute when you're angry?  It
doesn't apply to Scully.  

Anger and exertion have turned her cherry red, although some of
it is probably due to sunburn.  She's setting a death march pace
on our road to nowhere and I haven't been inclined to criticize,
even when I was pretty sure we were going in the wrong
direction.  In fact, my satisfaction with our plight has
increased in direct proportion to her dissatisfaction.  Scully
has never been a happy camper and another night on the cold hard
ground should be adequate justice for her Canadian-based
trailblazing skills.

The trail we're following begins to slope downward, then brings
us out of the fire zone and into a clearing.  On the far edge of
the meadow there are trees - live trees.  The kind you can take
shelter under and build a fire with.  If she doesn't suggest
setting up camp soon, I will.  Scully stops abruptly, tilting
her head to listen.  Then I hear it too - the distant rumble of
falling water.

"There was a lake by the trailhead."  She turns to face me,
swiping the hair back from her sweaty forehead.  "If we follow
the river, it should take us to the lake."

"We need to go over that ridge."  I point to the hills above the
distant treeline.  "I think that's where we started this
morning.  All we've done is circumnavigate this valley today."  
I make a sweeping gesture to indicate our circular route.  "We
should cross the river and catch the trail again over there."

Her lips thin, acknowledging the insult.  "That's another day's
hike to go over the ridge.  We should just follow the water."

"We don't know where the river wanders.  Over is quicker."

"How is up and over quicker than down?"  She puts her hands on
her hips and scowls at me.  "Besides, we'll get lost if we leave
the trail."

Since there isn't such a thing as 'more lost', I refrain from
commenting on that particular line of reasoning.  "How do you
know the trail doesn't cross the river and go over those hills?"

"It will follow the river."  She turns and sets off again.

Bullshit.  That trail will cross the river.  The only problem
with being right all the time is that Scully's no fun when she's
wrong.  Ten bucks says we get our feet wet before we set up
camp.

x*x*x*x

Sure enough, the trail turns to run parallel to the river.   The
ground is uneven and steep by the water's edge, slowing our
progress.  I step over a fallen tree and it registers at the
back of my mind that the ground feels odd.  By the time I
realize why, it's too late.  

The riverbank crumbles beneath me.  My arms windmill wildly,
making me feel briefly like a cartoon character suspended in
mid-air.   Then icy water closes over me.  The river is
amazingly swift, turning me over and over in its dark and
disorienting depths.  I kick, realizing immediately how futile
the effort is.  The waterlogged weight of my backpack and
sleeping bag are dragging me down.
 
Lose the backpack! my panicked brain screams.  With the water's
relentless rush buffeting me, it's difficult to move or even to
know which way is up.  I kick desperately and my head breaks the
surface momentarily.  I gulp in air before being pulled under
again.  I battle against the backpack, finally freeing myself
from it.

I struggle to the surface only to collide with something solid.  
Dazed by the impact and numb from the cold, I can barely flail
my arms in an attempt at swimming.  Roaring water churns all
around me, adding to my confusion.  My feet are too heavy in
these boots, they're pulling me down, just like the pack did.
I've become so cold that I ache.  I can't even tell if my limbs
are still moving or not.   Everything seems slower and hazier.
The water tastes almost fishy.  How many fish have to be in a
river to make it taste fishy?

Then something snags my collar.  Water spills over my face - I'm
going against the current.  Mulder's worried face appears above
me.  I try to stand, but my legs wobble and I lose my footing.  
Mulder catches my arm and drags me, stumbling alongside him, to
shore.  I pull away, bending over to cough up water while my
lungs burn in agony.  Tears spring to my eyes, although I'm not
sure why I'm crying.

"Scully?"  Mulder's voice sounds very far away.  I shudder,
feeling nauseated and shaky.  I drop to my knees, then all
fours, still choking and gasping for air.  I'm cold, I swear
even Antarctica wasn't this cold.  My nausea increases with each
full-body cough.  I groan, knowing what's coming but unable to
stop it.  Mulder moves to check on me at the wrong time and I
throw up on his feet.

x*x*x*x

I take a reflexive step back when she starts puking.  It's
gross, but it's a good sign.  She has to be breathing to barf.  
Scully moans and crawls a few more feet away from the edge of
the river. Snot streams from one nostril, forming a huge bubble
each time she wheezes.  Damn the luck, the camera was in her
pack.  This would have been a great addition to the candid
photos she calls our 'wall of shame'.

While she continues to sputter and cough, I search through my
backpack.  Sweatpants, a t-shirt, and two pairs of socks are all
I have to offer her.  "Here."  I hold the clothes out, but she
doesn't take them.  Instead she closes her eyes, her teeth
chattering so hard it makes my jaw ache to watch.  "Scully?"

She tips onto her side, shivering violently against the ground.  
I crouch next to her and turn her over.  Her skin is cold and
there's no color in her face, unless you want to count how blue
her lips are.  "Scully?  Hey, talk to me."

She doesn't answer.  I sit her up, becoming alarmed by how
unresponsive she is.  Her entire body shakes as if she's having
a seizure.  My alarm gives way to fear.  I try to get her shirt
off but her arms are crossed stiffly in front of her, hindering
my efforts.

"C'mon, Scully, work with me."  Her head flops in a nod and she
shakily tugs at the hem of her shirt.  I help her, pulling the
shirt the rest of the way over her head.  She fumbles with the
zipper of her jeans while I start removing her boots.  My
fingers are growing numb with cold, making it difficult to get
the boots off.  I'm pulling off her socks when I realize that
she's not helping anymore.  She's gone back to hugging herself
for warmth, although she did get one arm free of her bra before
giving up.

"Scully?"  Her eyelids flutter, but that appears to be her only
reaction.  I swear while I tug off her jeans and underwear.  A
nasty voice inside me taunts that it's too late now.  This is
how it ends.  Out in the middle of nowhere, under a cloudless
sky.  She's going into shock and there's not a damn thing I can
do about it.

It's a struggle to get her into the sleeping bag.  I have to
hold her with one arm while I unzip the bag.  She's shaking so
hard I'm afraid I'll drop her, but I don't want to put her down
on the ground, even if she is unconscious.  Once the bag is
halfway open I stuff her in.  I strip off my own wet jeans and
boots, all the while watching the bag with apprehension.  She's
not shivering very much anymore.  God, please, don't let it end
this way.  I pull off my shirt and slide into the bag with her,
willing her to be warm.  I grit my teeth, chilled and frightened
by how cold she is against my skin.  I hate how helpless I feel.  
All I can do is rub her arms and back while I plead with her to
wake up and talk to me.

Gradually, she stops shaking entirely.  I can't tell whether
that's good or bad.  There's still no response when I say her
name or shake her lightly.  But her lips aren't blue anymore and
she is breathing.  She still doesn't feel very warm against me,
but either she's warmer or I'm colder because she doesn't feel
like a block of ice anymore.  I comb her hair back with my
fingers, knowing that if she does live through this she'd
probably rather not have it sticking up.

Then her head tilts back, her eyes opening halfway to blearily
peer up at me.  I give her a hopeful smile.

"M'tired," she murmurs, closing her eyes again.

x*x*x*x

Mulder's talking to me, but I can't really make out all the
words.   "You... awake.  Scully... say... need to... to me.  
Scully... you have to..."

I wish he'd stop chattering at me, I can't think with all the
noise.  There's a roaring sound in my ears in addition to his
voice and they're both giving me a headache.  I'm cold, achingly
so, and I know that there's a reason...  We were hiking, that's
all I can remember.  Mulder takes my hands and starts rubbing
them briskly between his.  The friction is making my fingers
ache, but I can't summon up enough energy to pull my hands away.  
Even after he stops, it still hurts.

"Stay awake, Scully.  Talk to me."

"Go away."  I feel like I'm speaking with marbles in my mouth.  
Why can't he just leave me the hell alone? Why is it so cold?  
Am I in shock?  Shouldn't he be elevating my feet?  Where the
hell are my feet?  I wiggle my toes, but can't tell if they
move.  "My legs won't move."  

Mulder smiles and I feel indignant.  This makes him happy?  

"I mean it.  I can't move my legs!"  

"Scully, I can't understand a word you're saying."  He looks
relieved about this fact, which confuses me even more.  

Then I remember.  I nearly drowned.  Mulder dragged me out of
the river.  I can hazily recall trying to get my wet clothes
off.  Oh God, I don't think I have a stitch of clothing on.  
After everything else that has gone wrong today, this is just
the final insult.   

"Are you warm?"

My whole body burns and aches as my nerve endings thaw.  I'm not
warm, I'm miserable.  What's worse, we're stranded with only the
contents of Mulder's backpack to keep us alive.  I frown at him,
remembering the package of beef jerky he so casually consumed
earlier today.   Mulder doesn't seem to care that I'm frowning,
in fact, he presses a quick kiss to my forehead.  

"Think you'll ever go hiking with me again, Scully?"

I speak as distinctly as I can so that he's sure to understand
me.  "Not even if you held a gun to my head."

x*x*x*x

Dinner does not look like it was worth the effort.  The can
opener is somewhere downriver, so I had to open our only can of
food with my pocketknife and a rock.  All that pounding yielded
only congealed brownish gravy with lumps.  It's meant to be beef
stew, but it doesn't look very palatable.

I poke it with my finger and take a taste.  I've had worse.  I
stir the contents of the can with a spoon and hunker down next
to Scully.  "Dinner is served."  

She is the perfect picture of annoyed misery.  Marginally warmer
now, she's dressed in my sweatpants and t-shirt with the
sleeping bag draped over her legs.  Her hand waves at the smoke
from the fire that's drifting towards her face.  "You go ahead
and eat first."

"No can do.  You need to get something in your stomach."

She accepts the can and spoon, her nose wrinkling.  A small
bite, then another, and she closes her eyes as if to savor it.  
I'm pretty sure it's actually due to exhaustion and not because
she's thrilled with dinner.  While she eats, I drape our wet
clothes over a log by the fire.   With the sun about to set, I
doubt sincerely that any of them will by dry by morning.   I'm
not looking forward to hiking out of here tomorrow in wet jeans.  
Maybe I can convince her to trade me the sweatpants for my
boxers.

"Here, Mulder, the rest is yours."  

I take the can and spoon, sitting down next to her.  She pulls
her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.  I lift a
corner of the sleeping bag and pull it over my bare legs.  It's
become noticeably colder now that the sun is setting.

After a couple of minutes of silence, she clears her throat
softly.  "They should start looking for us tomorrow."

I scrape the spoon against the side of the can.  This actually
isn't such a bad dinner, just a paltry one.  "They don't know
we're lost.  They may wait another day or two before sending out
the troops."

"You don't think Todd is laughing his ass off and wondering why
we haven't returned yet?"

"You're right.  If Todd was abducted like the others, he'd know
we should have returned by now.  Maybe he's organizing the
search effort."

Her eyes narrow, then she stands up and stalks away.  The effect
is ruined somewhat since she has to tiptoe in her stockinged
feet.

"Don't fall in," I call after her.  She gives me a dismissive
backwards wave.

x*x*x*x

I could be home right now.  I could be neck-deep in a hot bath
with a flush toilet on the other side of the room.  Instead I'm
miles from even the most rudimentary of outhouses and wearing
oversized clothes that smell like a campfire.  

/"Don't fall in."/  

Yeah, Mulder, that was funny.   Any gratitude I felt for being
alive is waning fast.  Tomorrow is going to be a long and awful
day.  Neither of us is going to feel up to hiking after we spend
tonight fighting for space in a cramped sleeping bag.

Despite the fact that he saved my life this afternoon, Mulder is
on my shit list.  If he knew we were hiking in the wrong
direction (which I suspect he knew all along), why the hell
didn't he just say something?  I'll tell you why - because the
distance we hiked means nothing to him if it will prove a point.  
His single-minded pursuit of truth is admirable.  The lengths to
which he'll go to substantiate a theory are likewise
astonishing.  But when the point that he's trying to prove is
that I was wrong, I don't find it the least bit praiseworthy.  

After years of watching him leap from one implausible idea to
the next, or having to deal with the aftermath when he goes it
alone, I've reached my limit.  This "case" is a perfect example
of Mulder going to extremes.  There was absolutely no reason to
hike to where the supposed abductions occurred.  The scorch
marks or whatever evidence Mulder hoped to find weren't there,
and probably never were.   And I knew that.  

I knew it before we left D.C.  But I came anyway.  Do you know
why?  Because, God help me,  I believe in him.  I may not accept
his theories at face value, but I do believe in Mulder.  I
believe that one of these days he will find the truth that he is
looking for.  The uncertainty of knowing just how it will reveal
itself is what keeps me at his side every time he goes off on
another wild goose chase.  I certainly don't want to miss out
when he finds it.  After all these years, I deserve to be there.  

But just because I'm here voluntarily doesn't mean that I gave
up the right to bitch about it.

x*x*x*x

I'm trying to find a spot to lie where the ground doesn't dig
into me when Scully returns.  She sits near the bottom of the
sleeping bag and wipes at the pine needles stuck to her socks.

"Mulder, despite any previous comments I may have made under
duress about sleeping bags, you are not about to get lucky."  
I'd think she was flirting with me, if only she didn't sound so
pissed.  

"Cross my heart, your virtue is safe with me."

Any warmth I had built up in the bag leaves when she lifts the
top half to climb in.  She holds it wide open and I'm half-
insulted, half-amused by how obviously she tries not to have to
make contact with me.  She must know it's impossible, but she
tries anyway.  She has to settle for facing away from me. Her
elbow strikes my rib and we both let out exasperated sighs.

"How the hell did we both fit in here earlier?"  She kicks my
leg and I kick back, though I'm not entirely sure if I'm acting
on reflex or with malice.

"You weren't nearly as picky then."  I can't figure out how we
accomplished that feat either.  Of course, at the time I was
trying to save her life, but give me another five minutes of
this and I'll quite happily throw her back in the river.

"I'm not being picky now either.  Obviously."  She shimmies down
a couple more inches until her knees match up with mine.  That
helps.  Our legs take up less room now.  For once her being so
short has some definite advantages.  Once she seems semi-
settled, I put my right arm around her waist.  I'm just daring
her to protest, but she doesn't.  Perhaps she sees the
advantages of economizing.  My left arm is starting to go numb
pinned beneath me at this angle.  I rock my shoulders, trying to
maneuver my arm between us.  Her head snaps up, knocking into my
jaw.  

"Hey, down in front.  Don't forget I'm right behind you."

"Mulder, even if I tried, I could hardly forget that."  She
squirms to emphasize how little room there is.  Her ass pushes
directly against my groin, creating a surprised stir of
interest.  I love it when she plays hard to get.
 
Then she lays her head down on my left arm, which wasn't my
intent.  It's just as likely to go to sleep now as it was
before.  I debate yanking it away, but I don't know where else
to put it.  I give in and let her use my bicep for a pillow,
curling my arm across her chest.  This settles her even closer
to me, but if she's not going to complain, I won't either.  At
least we'll be warm.   Scully takes in a long deep breath and
then lets it out slowly.  I close my eyes, telling myself that
I'll be asleep in seconds.  

But sleep doesn't come.  My stomach growls, protesting the
paucity of our supper.  It doesn't help that Scully smells smoky
and slightly fishy, like lox.  I'd kill for a bagel right about
now.

Scully takes several more deep breaths.  I wonder if she has
some kind of relaxation therapy that she uses to fall asleep.  
God knows, after half the stuff that has happened to her, she
should be a raving insomniac by now.  I toy with asking her, but
I don't want to mess up her routine, if there is one.  

"Thank you."  I'm startled when she speaks, mostly by the
conciliatory tone of her voice.

"You're welcome."  I squeeze her shoulder to show her there are
no hard feelings.  "You know, when I said we should cross the
river, I meant someplace a little easier."

"Fine.  Tomorrow you go first."

"How about we flip a coin?"

Scully laughs softly and I find that even more appealing than
her accidental bump and grind.  "Good night, Mulder."

"Good night.  Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"There's no room in here for bugs.  It's a good thing my virtue
is safe with you."  

"Well, if you decide it's too cold to be virtuous, Scully, you
just let me know."

"Good night, Mulder."  

x*x*x*x

I wake up cold.  

After a moment of disorientation, I remember where I am.  Our
campfire has gone out, making the forest around us feel dark and
frightening.  The river seems much louder than before.  Its roar
pounds in my ears, bringing back the memory of struggling
against its icy current.  Shivering, I nestle closer to the heat
of Mulder's body.  His arms tighten around me and he murmurs
"shhhhh."

"Sorry.  Did I wake you?"  My teeth are chattering, chopping my
words.

"I was already awake."  

"I'm cold.  Aren't you cold?"  Can't he feel the chill seeping
up from the ground?

"Actually, no.  I've been thinking I should get rid of my
electric blanket and hire you."  He slides one leg over mine,
enveloping my body with his.   

"You couldn't afford me."  

"I'll take a second job."  He lays his cheek against mine, his
skin feels blessedly hot.   Ever so slowly, warmth from him
begins to work through me.

"So why are you awake, Mulder?"

His arm tightens across my chest as he shrugs.  "I don't know.  
I was just lying here thinking."

"About what?"  My perception of Mulder unexpectedly shifts to
something more elemental.  I find the oddest times to wonder
what kissing Mulder would be like.

"Mmmmm."  He shakes his head slightly, the stubble on his chin
scratching my cheek and creating a pleasant flutter in my
stomach.  "Nothing."

"Is this stupor of thought something you experience often?"  His
intensity and that lower lip are factors in his favor.  Then
again, anyone who spends that much time alternating between Carl
Sagan and porn can't be very smooth with the ladies.

He considers it for a few seconds.  "Okay, if you must know,
crop circles."

That figures.  This is Mulder at his obsessive best.  It's been
more than a week since I pointed out that crop circles get more
elaborate each year and therefore had to be the work of humans
engaged in some kind of twisted game of one-upmanship.  "What
about them?" I ask.

"Why are they more complex?"

"Practice makes perfect, Mulder.  All you need is a plank and a
length of rope."  I would laugh, if this wasn't so pathetic.  
Here I am having vaguely impure thoughts about my pain-in-the-
ass partner while he's thinking about crop circles.   I can see
it in 'Good Housekeeping' now:  "Can This Partnership Be Saved?"

"Sure, but that breaks the stalk.  How do you explain crop
circles where the wheat is bent, but not broken?"  His hand
smoothes over my shoulder absently, a gesture to punctuate his
words.  Gooseflesh rises along my arms.  I comfort myself with
the thought that he's probably a sloppy kisser.  

"Okay, then maybe crop circles are actually alien teenagers, out
joyriding in their fathers' spaceship."

"If you're trying to get in my pants, Scully, you're already
wearing them."

His clothes suddenly feel much too familiar against my skin,
touching parts of me that he never will.  I'm absolutely certain
he's a good kisser.  "You know what?  A song would warm me."

When he doesn't reply I start musing aloud.  "Isn't there a
saying about that?  Something about a song warming the heart?  
Or something?"

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"There's something that warms the heart," I persist, even though
I no longer have any idea what I'm talking about either.   

"Chicken soup?"

"God, I don't even know what I'm talking about now.  Isn't that
a sign of hypothermia?"  I know I'm babbling, but I can't stop.  
I need noise, something besides the river, to distract me from
the distracting thought of Mulder holding me for reasons that
have nothing to do with warmth or comfort.

"Just sing for me.  Anything."

He still doesn't acknowledge the request.

"Please?"

x*x*x*x

Scully sounds almost forlorn, so I give in, singing the first
song that pops into my head.

"Somebody's gonna hurt someone, before the night is through."  
Her shoulders shake as she stifles a giggle.  "Somebody's gonna
come undone, there's nothin' we can do.  Everybody wants to
touch somebody, if it takes all night."

What was I thinking, picking this song?  I can't think of
another one, so I keep going.

"Everybody wants to take a little chance, and make it come out
right.  There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache
tonight I know.  There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a
heartache tonight, I know, Lord, I know."

I stop, feeling sheepish.  She's still sniggering quietly.  Is
it my voice?  Scully pats my arm.  "Go on."

"Some people like to stay out late, some folks can't hold out
that long.  But nobody wants to go home now..."

"I do," she interjects.

"... There's too much going on.  This night is gonna last
forever..."

"It already has," she mutters.

"...Last all, last all summer long.  Sometime before the sun
comes up, the radio is going to play that song."

"Todd had the radio."

"Scully, did I interrupt when you sang?"

"No."  She doesn't sound even remotely chastened.

"Then shut up, or somebody really is gonna hurt somebody."  I
clear my throat before continuing.  "There's gonna be a
heartache tonight, the moon shining bright..."  We both glance
up, it's early enough or late enough that the moon has set.  She
refrains from comment.

"... So turn out the light and we'll get it right.  There's
gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight, I know."

Half a minute passes before she pokes my wrist.  "You're not
done.  The chorus repeats."

"No, I'm done."  There's no way in hell I can sing "we can beat
around the bush, we can get down to the bone" with her snuggled
against the beginnings of some serious wood.  Just thinking
about that line is enough to engorge another pint of blood.

"Mulder, you're cheating.  I sang the whole damn song."

"I didn't make you.  You finished all on your own."

She sighs, apparently giving up on an encore, and burrows closer
against me.  She wouldn't do that if she knew I lied to her.  I
wasn't thinking about crop circles.  My thoughts were much more
earthbound.  

I have several recurring nightmares.  I'm routinely haunted by
memories of my family and how I failed each of them.  Samantha,
my father, my mother - at night I torture myself with thoughts
of what if and should have.  Sometimes, though, my nightmares
include Scully, especially when I come close to losing her.

I dream that I'm back on Skyland Mountain, squeezing the life
out of Duane Barry.  I relive the fear and frustration I felt
that night.  I wake up reverberating with the same agony I lived
during the months that she was gone.  Ususally I wake up and
pace the floor while I convince myself that wherever she is,
she's fine.  

Tonight I woke up to find her in my arms.  I hugged her,
whispering words of gratitude and love into her hair.  
Oblivious, Scully slumbered through my epiphany.  Eventually, my
thoughts started wandering to places best left alone.  After the
river, I had been too focused on keeping her alive to think
about the fact that she was naked and I was nearly so.  In the
dead of night, while she lay pliant and soft against me, I tried
not to imagine how that might feel under different
circumstances.

Damn me anyway for picking that song.  Everybody wants to touch
somebody - does she ever want to touch me?  God, please, let her
want to touch me.

x*x*x*x

Mulder is solid and warm behind me, his body conscientiously
curving to accommodate mine.  There's no way I'm going to be
able to go back to sleep now.  All those nagging little worries
about food, shelter and survival have ceased to plague me.  I
stare into the darkness, wishing I were better at making small
talk.  

"You still surprise me, Mulder."

"Because it turns out I can sing beautifully?"

"Because you open cans of food with rocks."

"I was going to use my bare hands, but I didn't want you to
think I was showing off."

"So what else can you do that I don't know about?"  Somehow that
question came out sounding much more suggestive that I meant it
to.  What's worse, my mind is playing tricks on me.  I'd almost
swear that he has an erection.  I blush just thinking about the
possibility.

"I can tell what time it is by looking at the stars."

"Really?  What time is it?"  I tilt my head to look up at the
sky.  The movement tips my body just enough to prove that I'm
not imagining it.  Mulder is aroused.   My stomach constricts in
a swift wet slide.

"Umm."  His hips ease away from mine.   "Four o'clock?"

I almost reach back to stop him, wanting him to stay close.  Oh
my God, Dana, no.  Don't grope your partner.   

Mulder tenses.  It takes me a few seconds to realize it's not
because he's guessed the direction of my thoughts.  It's because
he has no room left to retreat.  I should scoot forward and let
him maintain the subterfuge.

I hesitate instead.  For years we have circumnavigated the
attraction between us, heading in the opposite direction
whenever we drew close to the edge.  Maybe it's time we crossed
that river, no matter how swift and scary it looks.   I take a
deep breath, readying myself for the plunge.

"I think you were right, Mulder.  It's too cold to be virtuous."

x*x*x*x

"Scully?"  I choke on her name since she's decided to continue
her relentless advance into my personal space.  Little pinpricks
of light dot my vision as I realize she's doing this on purpose.  
My little maneuver didn't fool her at all.

"Everybody wants to take a little chance, isn't that what you
said?"  

"Are you taking your chances now?"  My whole body feels thick,
disbelieving that she's really going to test my promise to
safeguard her virtue.

Her hand closes over the back of my neck, bringing my face
closer to hers.  Soft lips press firmly against mine for the
span of a few erratic heartbeats.   Then she stops, her lips
still close enough to brush mine when she murmurs, "I've been
living on the edge all day, what's another risk, more or less?"

"How is this risky?"

"I think we're lost, Mulder."   

Her admission stuns me.  Of all the moments to admit we're lost,
she picks now?  I kiss her softly, first on the lips, then on
the forehead.  "What if we aren't lost, Scully?  What if we're
finally found?"  

Her head dips in a nod, but she doesn't reply.  "I don't want to
go back," I whisper, kissing her forehead again.  "It took us
years to get here, Scully.  I don't want to go back."  I tilt
her face up and find her mouth with mine, placing tiny kisses
along the outline of her lips.  

"There's no going back now."  Her tongue runs over my lower lip
and I open my mouth to her.  She takes her time, tracing over my
teeth and along the inside of my lip.  Then her tongue slips
over mine, the sensation making me long for the ultimate slide
of her body.   

Our kiss turns greedy.  I can't seem to get close enough or
taste enough of her.  Desperation wells up in me, pinned as I am
between her soft curves and the side of the bag.  I arch against
Scully to nudge her forward.  She lets out a sharp cry, breaking
the kiss between us.

I kiss her cheek, her neck, any part of her that I can, while
she pants and tangles her fingers more tightly in my hair.  My
left hand drops from her chin to her breast, cupping it through
the fabric of her shirt.  She moans when I roll her nipple
between my thumb and forefinger.  "You like that, Scully?"  

"Yeah."  Her voice has become husky, completely clouding any
shred of good judgment I might have had left.  

My cock throbs against the cleft of her buttocks. God, how tight
must that little body of hers be?   I rock against her, wanting
her to feel me now, wanting her know what I can offer.  My right
hand slips beneath the waistband of her sweatpants.  She
scissors her leg over mine, opening herself to me as much as is
possible under the circumstances.  She's so slick and hot that I
lose all pretense of control, sliding my fingers into and over
her while she writhes and gasps.

x*x*x*x

Mulder's breathing has turned harsh in my ear.  His erection is
hard and insistent against my ass and spine.  His fingers are
just as insistent drawing small circles over my clit.  Pleasure
builds inside me, tightening all my muscles.  He pumps his body
in a slow and steady rhythm against me - a dry fuck.  My stomach
plunges while my mind repeats the word.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  
Mulder is fucking me.  

I begin to tremble, caught on the rising edge of climax.  His
body tenses, his movements becoming more urgent, less smooth.  I
jerk and twitch as wave after wave of sensation drags me under.  
Mulder is relentless, recklessly grinding his hips to mine as he
rolls me partly onto my stomach.  He groans, his body trembling.  
"Jesus, Scully, I'm sorry."  He wouldn't apologize, I'm sure, if
he knew what his desperation was doing to me.

He growls, lurching unsteadily, then more slowly.  He sighs and
his body goes slack.  There really isn't any going back now.   I
may have said I didn't want to - and I don't - but there is
still a moment of panic and embarrassment.

Mulder stirs, moving slightly to shift his weight off of me.  
His hand remains on my breast, but the other now rests low on my
stomach.  "I wasn't thinking about crop circles."

For a moment I'm confused, not sure what he's talking about.  
Then I remember our conversation from a lifetime that was less
than an hour ago.  "Oh," is all I can think to say.

He doesn't elaborate, nor do I ask him to.  I can guess what he
was thinking about, and that thought is enough to send one last
little shiver of delight through me.

x*x*x*x

In the end, we were both right.

Roughly two miles from where I fished Scully out of the water,
the trail crossed the river. Then it followed the river, right
down to the lake near the trailhead.  Of course, we had to hike
around the lake to get to where our car was parked (luckily, the
keys were in my pack), but we did make it back to civilization.

Todd Burgess beat us by 24 hours.

Scully, of course, believes that Todd got there under his own
steam.  She doesn't believe either of the two witnesses who
swear they saw a disoriented Todd wandering down the street
approximately 45 minutes after he left the trail.  Sure, they're
his friends, but that doesn't automatically mean that they're
unreliable.  It's somewhat reassuring that even frantic mind-
blowing near-sex hasn't altered her syllogism.  

Ten bucks says a night of languorous indisputable sex with me
could.

x*x*x*x

End


Author's Notes:

This story started during a hike with Susanne (who wanted it
mentioned that we did not share a sleeping bag).  The original
concept was Pissed!Scully and Unchivalrous!Mulder. But, as
stories often do, it evolved in the writing.  They surprised me
by being NotSoPissed! or Unchivalrous!.   What's an author to
do?  You can't drown them.  I tried, but it turns out they're
both exceptional swimmers.  

This story was written with exceeding fondness for the fellow
fic'ers who unwittingly set out hiking with me.  For Susanne,
who cheerfully left the beaten path in the name of research.  
For Sue, who never said "I told you so" when I used Canadian
logic.  And for Sharon and Alanna, who got lucky with just a
brisk walk.  

The song quote at the beginning is from "Hungry Heart" by Bruce
Springsteen.  No, that was never a candidate for Mulder's song.  
"Desperado" and several Barry Manilow tunes were considered, but
in the end, the Eagles' "Heartache Tonight" was just too much
fun to pass up.

Feedback will be snuggled and sung to at sister-sue@yahoo.com