TITLE: Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: MTA, Xemplary, Jeopardy, Gossamer – others are 
fine, just let me know
SPOILERS: Up through Je Souhaite
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: SA
KEYWORDS: MSR, AU
SUMMARY: Eat the dish of revenge cold instead of hot.  --
Charles Lowe (1885)
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris 
Carter and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement is 
intended.
NOTES: A word about the series. Up until now, I've tried to 
parallel the show whenever possible. Those days are finished. With 
the developments in Requiem and season 8, I've made the decision 
to permanently diverge from the timeline after Je Souhaite. Scully 
may eventually get pregnant, and Mulder might one day be 
abducted, but those events will occur in my own way, by my own 
timing. Because of this, Doggett and Reyes will not be a part of the 
Blood Ties series.
Additional notes and words of thanks at the end of the story.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.


Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold 
By Dawn


X-Files Office
Tuesday
10:36 a.m.


If the final projectile hit its target, he'd have created the spitting 
image of A. D. Kersh's profile--the weak chin, the perpetually 
disapproving twist to the lips. Mulder leaned back a little further 
until the balls of his feet just brushed the floor, his chair emitting a 
low groan that could be interpreted as either protest or warning. 
Squinting a little against the fluorescent glare, he took careful aim 
and...

"Agent Mulder, what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

All the breath left his lungs in a whoosh as he tipped too far 
backward, feet leaving the floor and pencil going wild. It skittered 
and rolled across the linoleum while Mulder lunged upright, 
pinwheeling his arms in an effort to keep from landing in an 
undignified tangle.

Skinner stood just inside the doorway to the office, the scowl 
contorting his features clear evidence that he remained 
unimpressed by Mulder's acrobatics.

"Sorry, Sir. I...uh...didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously."

Skinner thrust his hands into his pockets and walked over to lean 
against Scully's desk. Mulder bent to snag the errant pencil and 
straightened, twirling it between his fingers and cocking an 
impudent eyebrow.

"So, what brings you down to No Man's Land?"

Skinner glanced at the empty chair behind him before pinning 
Mulder with a stern glare. "Scully's at Quantico?"

"Was, is, and will be, from the way I hear it." Mulder leaned 
forward to brace his arms on the cluttered desktop. "They haven't 
even finished shipping in all the remains and gathering dental 
records. She tells me the actual process of identification could take 
anywhere from two weeks to a month."

Skinner nodded curtly, eyes cutting away to several tabloid 
clippings on the wall, his jaw clenched. Mulder waited him out, 
tapping the eraser end of the pencil idly on the blotter.

"SAC Larraby was grateful to get Scully on this one," his boss 
mused, moving over to take a closer look at a particularly lurid 
photo. "That bomb took out at least a hundred people, and their 
families are all awaiting the closure that only a positive ID can 
provide." He abruptly seemed to comprehend the significance of 
his words, eyes returning to Mulder's face.

Mulder inclined his head. "Scully was more than happy to help." 
He smirked. "She figures that with no active cases pending I'll be 
forced to catch up on paperwork."

Skinner looked pointedly at the fresh crop of pencils hanging from 
the ceiling tiles. "I seriously doubt Scully's that gullible."

"Is there something in particular I can do for you, Sir?" Mulder 
asked dryly, dropping the pencil to recline with his hands clasped 
behind his neck.

Skinner walked slowly over to sit in Scully's chair. "I need you to 
take some vacation time, Mulder. The sooner the better. If you fill 
out the leave request today, I'll sign it and have Kim drop it off 
with personnel before she goes home."

Mulder's only movement was a narrowing of hazel eyes. "I don't 
think I've done anything in particular that would cause you to 
doubt my mental health--more than usual, anyway. So there must 
be something else going on."

Skinner's brow furrowed but his eyes evaded Mulder's. "Agent 
Mulder, everything does not have to be part of a greater 
conspiracy. I've checked with personnel; you have a backlog of 
vacation time built up. With Scully tied up at Quantico and no 
open cases, it's the perfect time for you to take some of it."

Mulder chewed on his lower lip a moment before replying. 
"Respectfully, sir? That's bullshit." He dropped his arms and sat 
up. "I'm on a first name basis with the personnel department, and 
while I've certainly received my share of threatening phone calls, 
lately I'm in their good graces." He got up and shut the door, then 
resumed his seat. "Level with me. What's really going on?"

Skinner hesitated, the telltale tic in his cheek betraying his tension. 
Finally, he sighed. "Let's just say that the BSU is currently low on 
profilers and SAC Crittendon heard you're between cases."

"I don't see what one has to do with the other. I'm assigned to the 
X-Files, not Violent Crimes. Any exceptions to that rule are on a 
strictly voluntary basis."

Skinner snorted. "You don't really believe that." At Mulder's glare, 
he continued, "Look, right now it's only rumblings--Crittendon 
making a few shrewd remarks about the most efficient way to 
utilize Bureau resources. But I can guarantee he won't be satisfied 
with just talk for long. In case you haven't heard the buzz, there's a 
serial murderer in Chicago with a preference for little girls and a 
talent for confounding both the police and the Bureau. Crittendon's 
getting desperate."

Mulder nodded slowly, eyes distant. "Scully and I have only been 
married for six months, but it's been the happiest six months of my 
life." His gaze sharpened, locking onto Skinner's face. "Maybe I'm 
selfish, but I think we've both earned it. I won't profile, Walt. I 
can't."

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're preaching to the 
choir, Mulder. I just wish it were that easy."

"It is that easy. When Crittendon asks you for the loan of your 
favorite agent, you just say no." Mulder's tone was glib, his face 
stone.

An odd, almost whimsical expression crossed Skinner's face, and 
he shook his head. "I think you overestimate my position in the 
chain of command. Crittendon's solve rate is down along with his 
personnel. He'll go to Henderson, who'll go over my head to the 
Director..."

"Who's not exactly one of my biggest fans." Mulder scrubbed one 
hand over his face, then raised both in a gesture of surrender. "All 
right, all right. I'll go quietly. Is a week going to be enough time 
for Crittendon to seek out some other hapless victim?"

One corner of Skinner's mouth twitched. "Rosetti's medical leave is 
up next Monday and Hickman gets back from Detroit the 
following Friday. After that Crittendon is only down one profiler. 
I'd play it safe; make it ten days." 

He refrained from comment when Mulder grimaced, instead 
terminating the conversation by getting to his feet. He hesitated 
when his fingers touched the doorknob. "A suggestion, Mulder."

Mulder laced his arms across his chest. "Just one?"

Skinner ignored the jibe. "Crittendon might not let a little thing 
like personal leave deter him. He has been known to cancel 
vacations at the last moment, not to mention hauling his people 
back to work during the middle of a pre-approved holiday. I'd 
make myself scarce."

"Is that your subtle way of telling me to get lost, sir?" Mulder 
affected wide-eyed innocence.

 "A request for leave, on my desk within the next hour, Mulder. 
Then I don't want to see your ass anywhere near this office for the 
next ten days." Skinner flashed him a shark's grin. "There. I've 
never been one for being subtle."

"Like that's news," Mulder muttered under his breath. With a 
martyred sigh he pulled open a drawer and began rummaging for 
the required paperwork.


Georgetown
Tuesday
6:04 p.m.

Scully slipped her key into the lock and eased the apartment door 
open, momentarily freezing when the aroma of onion and spices 
hit her nostrils. She stepped inside and shut the door, her ears 
taking in the sounds of rattling pans and the love of her life 
muttering. Two thoughts chased themselves through her tired 
brain.

How did I ever stand coming home to an empty apartment all those 
years?

Oh, God. Mulder's cooking.

She detoured to the bedroom to deposit her briefcase and kick off 
her shoes before wandering back into the kitchen. She paused in 
the doorway, somehow managing to be amused, horrified, and 
turned on by the view.

Mulder was barefoot, clad in faded jeans and a white tee shirt. He 
was clutching a cookbook in one hand and a wooden spoon in the 
other, stirring the contents of large metal pot. The kitchen looked 
like the scene of a particularly nasty food fight. A mound of dirty 
dishes, pots and pans teetered precariously in the sink. Spilled 
food, utensils, and empty tin cans littered every available surface. 
Her glass measuring cup was sporting a crack, and her favorite 
dishtowel had evidently been used to wipe up tomato sauce.

Mulder finally looked up to catch her lounging in the doorway. 
"Hey."

"Hey yourself." The glasses perched on his nose and the smudge of 
flour on his cheek went a long way toward making amends for 
turning her kitchen into Hiroshima.

Our kitchen she admonished herself. Married six months and they 
were still no closer to finding a more permanent living 
arrangement.

Note to self: Find a place with two kitchens.

"What's so funny?" Mulder gazed at her through narrowed eyes, 
dropping the spoon into the pot and padding toward her.

"Nothing. I'm just happy to see you." She tried to wipe the smirk 
from her face but it kept sneaking back.

"That is not a 'happy to see you' smile, Scully."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not. A 'happy to see you' smile looks like this." He 
grinned toothily at her and batted his eyelashes. "What I just saw 
on your face was this." Mulder folded his arms, pursed his lips, and 
tucked his chin to his chest in a dead-on imitation of her current 
body language.

"Oh, really?" Scully brushed the flour from his cheek with the pad 
of her thumb, letting her fingers trail along the line of his jaw. 
"And what kind of smile is that?"

He slipped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer. "A 
classic," he murmured, nuzzling the hypersensitive skin just behind 
her right ear. "I like to call it the 'Mulder, I'd kill you if you weren't 
so darn cute' smile." He worked his way down her neck, the 
rumble of his voice conspiring with lips and teeth to make her 
shiver. "Not to be confused with the 'All right, Mulder, you're cute, 
but I'm going to kill you anyway' smile."

"Mm. My personal favorite." Scully threaded her fingers through 
the soft hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, bringing his mouth 
back up to hers, where he obligingly proceeded to kiss her 
senseless.

She was pressed up against the counter, having long since ceased 
worrying about getting tomato sauce on her jacket, when a sharp, 
acrid smell pierced her addled brain.

"Burning," she mumbled--no easy feat with Mulder's teeth fastened 
onto her lower lip.

He gave her a smug little grin and resumed attacking her neck, one 
hand working its way up her thigh until her skirt bunched around 
her waist. "My kisses are known to have that effect."

Scully rolled her eyes but tilted her head so he could reach her 
earlobe. "Not me, Ace. The...ah...the food. It's burning."

Mulder's tongue began doing indecent things to the inside of her 
ear. "The food is... The food!"

He dropped her so fast she nearly landed on the tile. As it was, her 
hand splatted into a puddle of congealed butter as she gripped the 
edge of the counter, legs splayed and skirt still hiked up to the tops 
of her thighs. Mulder frantically shut off the stove and grabbed the 
pot, intending to move it to another burner. Unfortunately, in his 
panicked state he forgot to use a potholder. The pan crashed back 
down, contents splattering onto the stove, counter, ceiling, and 
Mulder--who had popped his abused fingers into his mouth and 
was cursing lustily around them.

Torn between groaning or bursting into giggles, Scully calmly 
walked over and grasped his wrist until the digits left his mouth 
with a slurp. She turned on the cold water and stuck Mulder's hand 
beneath it.

"Don't move."

She fished a pair of oven mitts out of a drawer and finished 
moving the pot, which apparently contained chili, to a safe 
location. A handful of paper towels mopped up the worst of the 
spill as well as the greasy smears of butter from her palm. When 
she finally looked up, Mulder was still standing as she'd left him, 
his expression that of a little boy who just knocked over his glass 
of milk.

"Before you say anything, could you give me an estimate?"

Scully lifted one eyebrow. "An estimate?"

"Of approximately how pissed off you are right now. On a scale of 
one to ten." He chewed on his lip a moment before adding. "One 
being 'mildly annoyed' and ten being 'hide all sharp objects.'"

Scully panned her gaze across the kitchen, then let her eyes slip 
shut. After a deep breath, she opened them, walked over, and shut 
off the water. She located a moderately clean dishtowel and 
handed it to Mulder before tugging gently on his arm. Face 
screwed up in puzzlement, he followed her into the living room, 
the terrycloth wrapped around his hand.

"What's going on?" Scully asked once she'd seated them both on 
the couch.

Mulder blinked. "I thought it was pretty self-evident. The authentic 
'South of the Border' chili got a little out of hand."

Scully pursed her lips. "That much I've gathered on my own. What 
I want to know is, what's bothering you? Did something happen at 
work today?"

Mulder's brow furrowed. "Why would you ask that?"

Scully sighed again and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. 
"Because I know you, love. The only time you cook is when you're 
either bored out of your mind or looking for a distraction. Does 
this have anything to do with me being stuck at Quantico?"

Mulder appeared ready to protest, then dropped his head onto the 
back of the couch. "Skinner came to see me today."

"Okay."

He tipped his face to the side so he could see her. "It seems certain 
parties are concerned that a valuable Bureau resource is 
languishing in the basement while his partner is putting together 
human jigsaw puzzles."

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Certain parties?"

"Charlie Crittendon."

"Crittendon?" Scully's confusion melted into understanding. "He's 
a SAC over in the BSU. Works under Henderson." She grimaced. 
"They want you to profile."

Mulder tapped his index finger to his nose.

"Skinner knows what profiling does to you! Why would he...?"

"He wouldn't. But he also probably won't have any choice. Which 
is why he suggested I might like to take a little time off. Maybe 
even get out of town for a while." Mulder's face looked as 
mournful as if Skinner had suggested eating ground glass.

Scully nodded, studying his face. "How soon?"

Mulder gestured toward the kitchen, smirking. "My first afternoon 
off. I feel more relaxed already."

Scully leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, then rested her 
forehead against his. "I love you, Mulder. But I will not be 
responsible for my actions if you spend the next week and a half 
hanging around this apartment all day." She straightened and 
picked up the phone from the end table.

Mulder raised both eyebrows. "Scully, are you getting me a 
babysitter?" He waggled them. "Can I participate in the selection 
process?"

Scully gave him "The Look" and placed the phone into his hand. 
"Call your brother."

Mulder stuck out his lip. "He's not exactly what I had in mind, 
babe."

"Grey has been trying to get you to go up to that cabin for months, 
and you keep putting him off. Now seems like the perfect time to 
me." She unsuccessfully tried to squelch a grin. "And I won't have 
to be afraid to walk in that door every night."

Mulder made a face. "Very funny." He looked at the phone, then 
turned puppy dog eyes to her face. "Sculleee. It's in the 
mountains."

"I know. Should be beautiful this time of year."

"There's trees, Scully. Forest. You know what my track record is 
with forests?"

Scully smiled, her reply syrupy. "The first time you declared your 
true feelings for me was in the forest, Mulder."

"I was high!" Mulder's expression was incredulous. "And in case 
you've forgotten, it was because I'd been attacked by an enormous, 
bloodthirsty wolf...thing."

Scully stood, hands propped on her hips. "You keep doing that"--
she hooked her thumb over her shoulder--"to my kitchen, and that 
experience will seem like a walk in the park. Call your brother."

Mulder started to snicker but a good look at Scully's face changed 
his mind. He hit number two on the speed dial and made a pitiful 
attempt to look enthused. "I hear the fall colors are beautiful this 
time of year."


Eagle Rock, NC
Wednesday
6:23 p.m.


Mulder pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, staring at 
the small, two-story house. Remembering the first time...

"Fox."

"Fox Mulder. Nothing like a little impromptu family reunion to 
spice up your day, huh?"

"Good thing I wore clean underwear."

Mulder's lips curved. Back then he'd never dreamed Grey would 
become such an integral part of his life. He'd erased a void, filled a 
hole that even Scully had been unable to touch. Who'd have 
thought that Fox Mulder--Spooky, lone wolf, that crackpot in the 
basement--would come so far?

Scully.

Grey.

Family.

The front door opened and Grey leaned against the jamb, cocking 
an eyebrow. Mulder slid out from behind the wheel, tugging his 
duffel bag from the passenger seat. With the setting sun the heat of 
the day had faded, leaving a faint bite to the air that warned 
summer was over.

"Either you were just doing some mighty deep thinking or my 
garage door is a lot more interesting than I ever realized." Grey's 
soft drawl floated through the impending darkness as Mulder 
strode up the concrete sidewalk.

Mulder lifted one shoulder. "Just indulging in a little nostalgia." He 
offered Grey a lopsided grin. "Good to see you, Bubba."

Grey tugged him into a brief hug before ushering him into 
welcoming warmth and the soft glow of lights. "Good to see you 
too. Did you run into traffic? I expected you an hour ago."

Mulder let his brother take charge of the duffel and slipped off his 
leather jacket. "Scully was going to leave a little early so she could 
see me off, but she wound up getting stuck at Quantico. I dropped 
in to say good-bye before I hit the road. Guess I should've called."

"Nah." Grey opened the coat closet and handed him a hanger, then 
led the way down the hall toward the kitchen. "Not a problem. I 
kept dinner warm."

"Great, because I'm starving. Lunch was just a roast beef sandwich 
six hours ago and..." Mulder sniffed the air. "What is it? Smells 
like..."

"Chili." Grey crossed to a pot on the stove and gave it a vigorous 
stir. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, freezing at the 
bemused expression on Mulder's face. "Fox? Hey, if you don't like 
chili just say so, I'm sure I can dig up something else."

Mulder just snickered a little and shook his head. "No, no. Chili is 
fine--great, in fact. I, uh, have had a craving for it."

Grey studied his face with narrowed eyes before breaking into a 
smirk. "Oh. Now I get it. This is one of those newlywed stories 
you're not gonna share, isn't it?"

Mulder snorted and went to the cupboard to collect two bowls. 
"More like a "Mulder makes an ass of himself" story. But you were 
half right--I'm not going to share."

"You know, little brother, sometimes reality is far less painful than 
what a person's imagination can conjure up. Especially a vivid one 
like mine." Grey ladled chili into a bowl and traded it for an empty 
one.

"I'll take that chance."

Once they'd seated themselves at the table with their chili, 
cornbread, and tall glasses of ice water, Mulder gazed critically at 
his brother.

"You look tired. Has everything been going okay?"

Grey toyed with his spoon as if he'd suddenly lost his appetite. 
"Yeah. Well, as okay as can be expected, I guess. It's been a rough 
few weeks."

Mulder broke off a chunk of cornbread and popped it into his 
mouth, waiting for Grey to continue. When it became obvious that 
his brother wasn't going to elaborate, a little line appeared between 
his eyes. "Kristen?"

Grey eyes darted to his face before his gaze softened and a smile 
touched the corners of his mouth. "No. That part of my life 
couldn't be better. It's work that's been making me crazy."

He sighed heavily. "We had a real nutcase on our hands, a guy 
with a taste for college girls. Crazy, but smart. Raped and assaulted 
four women before Preston and I managed to collar him. Caught 
him in the act with victim number five." He abruptly released the 
spoon so that it landed in the bowl with a sharp plink. 
"Unfortunately, he panicked, and victim number five bled to death 
before the ambulance got there."

Mulder winced. "I'm sorry."

Grey leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Guess 
you've been there, huh?"

"Once or twice."

Grey's eyes roamed his face as if searching for something. "I don't 
know how you survived, Fox."

Mulder's lips twisted. "With headaches, insomnia, nightmares, and 
popping antacid tablets like they were candy." He shook his head, 
his gaze turning distant. "When things were at their worst, when 
they'd decided I was the divine oracle of the BSU, I lost track of 
everything but the cases. I wouldn't even remember what state I 
was in, but I could describe each crime scene in explicit detail. I 
wasn't human to them anymore, just a machine. But I got results."

Grey's jaw tightened, his eyes flat and cold. "That son of a bitch, 
Patterson. He used you."

Mulder lifted one shoulder. "You can't use someone unless they 
allow it. I'm the one who kept going long after I should have called 
it quits."

"I hate it when you do that!" Grey snapped, stabbing his spoon at 
Mulder's chest. "I've never seen anyone more eager to accept 
blame than you. They manipulated you, Fox. They knew you saw 
our sister in the eyes of every victim and they didn't hesitate to 
capitalize on that weakness. Don't make excuses for them, damn 
it!"

Mulder looked down at his chili but a grin tugged at his lips. 
"Okay. I won't." He looked up at Grey, wide-eyed. "You know, I 
always forget how scary you are when you get angry."

Grey stared at him for a moment, then snorted before biting into 
his cornbread. "And I always forget what a smart ass you are. 
Guess we're even."

They passed the rest of the meal wrangling over whether the 
Yankees had a shot at winning the World Series and debating the 
Gunmen's latest conspiracy theory. They'd deposited the dirty 
dishes in the sink, and Mulder had grabbed a towel to dry, when 
the phone rang. Grey blotted soapy hands on a corner of the towel 
and scooped up the phone, cradling it between cheek and shoulder 
while he resumed washing.

"Hello?" His face softened. "Well, hey, darlin'. I was going to call 
you. We're just cleaning up the dinner dishes." He listened for a 
moment, then glanced at his brother. "Kristen says hello."

"Hello back." Mulder picked up a glass and mimed a toast before 
beginning to dry it.

"Yeah, we head out bright and early." Another sidelong glance. 
"Fox is real excited, I can tell." A pause. "Oh, no, no. Dana's got it 
all wrong. Fox is a real nature-lover, believe me. A trip to the 
woods with him is always an unforgettable experience."

Mulder showed Grey his teeth and an upraised middle finger, 
which his brother seemed to find highly amusing. He continued to 
dry dishes, hunting through cupboards to put them away and only 
half-listening to the one-sided conversation. Grey dried his hands 
and wandered over to gaze out the patio door at the darkened back 
yard, his voice low.

"...day after tomorrow. We'll be taking some food up with us, but 
we'll drive down into town for the perishable stuff. I'll give you a 
buzz then." Grey listened for a moment, then chuckled, a warm, 
contented sound. "I promise. I will, I will." A barely noticeable 
hesitation, then, "Me too, Tippi. Good night."

 He turned to replace the phone, but a smirk and Mulder's raised 
eyebrows arrested the motion. "What?"

"Tippi?"

To Mulder's intense amusement, his normally unflappable brother 
blushed. "It's a nickname, okay? You always eavesdrop on other 
people's phone conversations?"

"Who needed to eavesdrop? You never left the room." Mulder 
waggled his eyebrows. "Care to share the origin of this nickname?"

"No, I wouldn't." Grey hung up the phone and busied himself 
putting away the orphaned dishes his brother had been unable to 
find homes for.

Mulder folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, 
watching Grey's rather jerky movements. "It's an unusual name to 
call someone," he observed.

Grey slid a pot into a lower cupboard and shot him an annoyed 
glare. "Oh really, Fox?"

"You don't have to get so defensive." He kept his voice mild and 
slightly wounded. "I think it's great you have a pet name for 
Kristen." Grey said nothing, just watched him warily. Mulder 
ruthlessly squashed the grin that tried to bulldoze its way onto his 
face. "Makes me wonder though."

"What?" Grey grated through clenched teeth.

"Well, she must have a name for you too, right? Something like 
'Snookums,' maybe? Or 'Sugar Lips'?"

Grey narrowed his eyes and he jerked his thumb at the phone. 
"Why don't you just shut up and call your wife? I'm going to bring 
the sleeping bags up from the basement."

Mulder wisely restrained himself and did as he was told. The 
phone rang three times before a click, a pause, and then Scully's 
warm alto filled the line.

"It's about time you called, Ted. Mulder's been gone for hours--
what took you so long?"

He hung there, slack-jawed, for several seconds before his ears 
detected the soft chuffing of her laughter. "Very funny. What if it 
had been Skinner, huh? Or SAC Larraby. Did you think about 
that?"

"Skinner almost always calls me on my cell, and Larraby shooed 
me out the door and told me to forget all about work for at least 
eight hours." Her voice was rich with a mixture of amusement and 
affection. "Admit it, love. I had you for just a minute there. Big 
time."

"You had nothing, I was onto you." A faint splash echoed through 
the receiver. "Scully, where are you?"

"I'll give you a hint--I pieced bodies together for ten hours straight 
today. My back aches, my feet are killing me, and I smell 
like...well, you can imagine what I smell like. Where do you think 
I am?"

Mulder closed his eyes with a sigh. "Candles?"

"Yep."

A soft whimper. "Bubbles?"

"Of course."

He groaned and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "Sculleee! 
Why am I hundreds of miles away while you're soaking in that tub 
all alone with no one to wash your back?"

"I was asking myself that very question right before you called." 
Scully chuckled softly. "It's only a week, Mulder. I'll keep the 
water warm." Her voice turned serious. "You both need this. 
You've never really had a chance to spend some time together 
without interruptions. Make the most of it."

Mulder's lips curved. "I will." He sighed. "I just wish we could've 
held this little bonding session somewhere else--like the beach."

"Oh, stop whining!" Grey appeared in the basement doorway, a 
bedroll tucked under each arm and a smudge of dirt on one cheek. 
"We're gonna have a great time. Plenty of fresh air, long hikes 
through the woods, meals cooked out over an open fire..."

Scully evidently overheard, because she broke into giggles. "See, 
Mulder? You're in good hands."

"You think so? I have a better idea. I'll come back and play 
connect the dots with Larraby and you go camping with Davy 
Crockett." Mulder eyed Grey, who dropped the sleeping bags with 
a smirk and tromped back down the steps.

Scully's laughter tapered off, and even through the phone line 
Mulder could feel the shift in her mood. "Mulder..."

"I won't do anything stupid."

A puff of air and he imagined the eyebrow shooting skyward. 
"Precognition, Mulder?"

"Just love, babe." He waited a beat. "I miss you already."

Her voice was chocolate, dark and sweet. "Me too. And I'd be very 
disappointed if you came home in anything less than tip-top 
condition."

Mulder grinned. "I'll bear that in mind."

"No bears, Mulder. No snakes. No time-traveling wolf creatures. 
No mothmen. And while I'm at it, no falls, no getting lost, and 
definitely no broken bones. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And have fun."

"Now you're really asking too much." Mulder's voice was dry, but 
his lips twitched. "Grey says we'll be heading to a nearby town for 
supplies the day after tomorrow. I'll call you then."

"Call my cell--I'll be sure to leave it on." Her voice dropped. 
"Good night, Mulder."

"Good night, Scully. Sweet dreams." He was about to push the 
button to disconnect when an odd feeling swept over him, like a 
gust of cold air. He jerked the receiver back to his ear. "Scully, 
wait!"

A loud splash, muttered curses, and she was back. "Mulder, what's 
wrong? You surprised me so much I knocked a candle into the 
tub!"

Mulder bit his lip. The chill had faded, leaving him feeling very 
foolish. "I just...nothing. Sorry I startled you."

The edge left her tone, her voice turning smooth and a little 
contrite. "It's all right. What did you want?"

He shook his head, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see 
him. "Nothing, really. I just...I love you, Scully."

He felt the warmth of her smile. "I love you, too. Are you sure 
you're all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He broke the connection and stared out the glass door. Watching 
splashes of moonlight shift and change as a gentle breeze stirred 
tree branches. Listening to muffled scrapes and thuds that drifted 
up the steps as Grey shifted boxes.

Shivering at the faint but lingering chill at the nape of his neck.


Great Smoky Mountains
Friday
12:36 p.m.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on just a minute! Dana did what?" Grey 
somehow managed to keep one eye on the twisting dirt road while 
darting incredulous looks at his brother.

"You heard me. She ate a cricket. At least, it looked like she ate it." 
Mulder's mouth turned up and his eyes went soft, an expression 
Grey called his "Dana Face." "I've always suspected she really 
palmed it, but she won't admit anything."

Grey slowly shook his head. "Only you would be investigating 
murders committed by a sideshow freak's evil midget twin. You 
know, getting someone like Dana for your partner was really a 
one-in-a-million longshot, Fox. You're just plain lucky."

Mulder turned to gaze out the window, his eyes barely registering 
the sporadic splashes of orange, red, and gold among the still lush 
foliage. "You won't get any argument from me." He snickered. "I 
just wish I could have seen that cigarette-smoking bastard's face 
when he first realized that instead of putting a gun to my head, he'd 
only managed to shoot himself in the foot."

"Not one of his better days, I'm sure." Grey stole a quick peek at 
his brother before anchoring his eyes on the road. "'Course I 
wouldn't be feeling too smug. It still took you six years to admit 
Spender gave you a helluva lot more than just a great partner. If I 
hadn't come along, you'd probably still be in denial."

Mulder's head whipped around and his eyebrows skyrocketed. 
"Excuse me? Are you actually trying to tell me you're responsible 
for Scully and I beginning a romantic relationship?"

Grey inclined his head, expression smug. "My mamma always told 
me to accept credit where credit was due."

"You're delusional! I told Scully how I really felt about her. Okay, 
so I happened to be drugged at the time--the words still came out 
of my mouth. I certainly don't see where you come into the 
picture."

Grey shook his head, snicking his tongue against his teeth. "How 
quickly they forget. Tell me, Fox. Who was responsible for getting 
you two involved with that case in the first place?"

"You were. So what?"

"So you never would have been bitten by that creature if not for 
me--right?"

"Right."

"And because you were bitten, whatever drug was in that creature's 
saliva lowered your inhibitions--right?"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "So?"
 
"So you said things to Dana, poured your heart out to her and 
confessed your true feelings, because you were too high to know 
any better. Which encouraged Dana to come clean about her own 
feelings." Grey waved the hand not gripping the steering wheel. 
"And the rest, little brother, is history."

Mulder laced his arms across his chest and scowled at Grey. "Your 
whole case is built on the premise that I would never have told 
Scully I loved her without the use of narcotics. You can't possibly 
prove such an allegation."

Grey snorted indelicately. "You are so full of it! How many times 
did I not-so-subtly suggest it was time you took the plunge? 'It's 
complicated, Grey.' 'She deserves better than what I can give her.' 
'I don't want to risk our partnership.'" Grey mimicked his brother's 
voice with eerie accuracy. "Face it, Fox. If not for the werewolf 
from hell--and by extension, me--you and Dana would still be 
dancing the same old dance. Solo."

Mulder opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, jerking his head to 
the right so that he could glare at the passing trees and not his 
brother's face. Grey, of course, wouldn't let it go.

"Don't thank me. I was glad to help."

Caught between laughter and irritation, Mulder settled for a 
mixture of both. "You know, you're hardly the one to be lecturing 
me about relationships," he pointed out. "People who live in glass 
houses should stick to basketball or a good game of darts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mulder turned, bracing his back against the passenger door so that 
he could see Grey's face and stretch his legs. "It means we all carry 
the ghosts of past relationships with us, Bubba. But then, I don't 
have to tell you that, do I?"

Grey's eyes darted to his face and the car swerved a bit, hitting a 
large pothole with a bone-jarring thump. Swearing under his 
breath, he navigated back to a smoother section of road. When he 
finally spoke, his voice was very soft.

"I've been up front with Kristen from the very beginning. You 
know that."

Mulder tipped his head back against the window, wishing he could 
take back his own words. "Yeah."

The gentle tone of his voice seemed to make Grey more defensive. 
"I do love her."

Mulder couldn't help himself. Grey had always been honest, even 
if it hurt. He deserved no less. "But you haven't been able to tell 
her."

Grey's lips thinned. "Not in so many words."

"How many do you think you need? Last time I checked, it only 
took three." When Grey only hunched further over the steering 
wheel, Mulder reached over to lay one hand on a rigid shoulder. 
"I'm sorry. This really isn't any of my business. Like you said, I'm 
hardly an expert on relationships."

"It's okay." Grey sighed. "When I vowed to love and honor Kate 
till death parted us, I never pictured it happening so soon. She was 
everything I'd ever wanted or needed out of life. I always figured 
I'd be the one to go first, or at the very least, I'd be an old man with 
one foot in the grave."

"I know you must realize that loving Kristen isn't betraying Kate's 
memory."

Grey chuckled, but the sound was flat and without humor. "Here," 
he said, tapping his index finger against his temple. "But here..." 
He laid the same hand over his heart and slowly shook his head. "I 
can tell Kristen she's beautiful. I can tell her that she's important to 
me, and I want to be with her. I can even tell her she makes me 
happier than I've been in a long time. But when I try to speak those 
three little words they get all tangled up somewhere between my 
heart and my mouth." He cast a sideways glance at Mulder. 
"Pathetic, huh?"

"You're asking the guy who needed drugs to pull off the same 
feat," Mulder reminded him, pleased when Grey's laughter turned 
warm and genuine. He removed his hand from his brother's 
shoulder but left his arm across the back of the seat. "Look, I know 
Scully loves me--she married me, and even for a slightly lapsed 
Catholic that's a heavy commitment. My brain knows she's in this 
relationship for the long haul, that she plans to keep filing my 
Alien Abduction magazines alongside her medical journals..." His 
voice trailed off and he stared out the windshield.

"But?" Grey prodded.

"When I wake up in the middle of the night, and the other side of 
the bed is empty and cold, for just a minute..." A long pause. "For 
just a minute, I think maybe she's had enough. That she's finally 
realized what everyone eventually figures out--that Fox Mulder 
requires a hell of an emotional investment with dubious returns. 
And then the water runs in the bathroom, or the teapot whistles in 
the kitchen, or I see the glow of the reading lamp in the living 
room. And all of a sudden I can breathe again."

Grey's eyebrows knitted together. "I don't know why it's so hard 
for you to get it through your thick skull that Dana and I aren't 
going anywhere, Fox. You have to start accepting the fact that you 
deserve happiness."

Mulder didn't reply, simply turned his head with an exaggerated 
motion toward his brother and raised an eyebrow.

Grey glared at him. "That was dirty pool."

Mulder shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, we've all got our ghosts. 
You've weathered a few bumps in the road with Kristen; I'm sure if 
you just give yourself some time you'll get past this one."

A smile spread slowly across Grey's face. "I'll master those three 
little words and you learn to just roll over and go back to sleep."

Mulder's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You first."

Grey's retort cut off when he abruptly spun the steering wheel hard 
to the left, nearly pitching Mulder onto the floor. One of the tires 
slipped briefly into the ditch at the side of the road and the SUV 
tipped precariously before righting itself with a spray of gravel. 
Mulder clung to the door handle and glowered at his brother.

"What in the hell are you trying to do, drive us off the mountain?"

"Sorry, I almost missed the turn. This should take us right up to the 
cabin."

Two minutes later Grey pulled the truck up to a small and rather 
rustic cabin nestled in a clearing. Constructed of logs, a long porch 
ran the length of the front and a stone chimney peeked over the 
roof in back. Grey shut off the engine and turned to Mulder with 
the smile of a proud parent.

"There! Isn't it perfect? A little home away from home right smack 
dab in the middle of all this beauty."

Mulder eyed the cabin sourly. "That bears absolutely no 
resemblance to my home." He leaned forward to take a closer look, 
then poked his finger at a small shack about 50 feet from the back 
door. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Grey offered him a toothy grin. "Just think of it as another 
opportunity to commune with nature."

Mulder moaned and flung open his door. "I can't believe I let you 
and Scully talk me into this."

"I told you we'd be roughing it." Grey's voice remained patient, if 
amused, as he popped the hatch and tossed Mulder his duffel bag. 
"What did you think I meant?"

Mulder shrugged. "I dunno--no cable?"

"You're impossible. Look, we'll be fine. There's a pump that brings 
water into the kitchen and a generator for the lights. It's even got a 
little refrigerator."

"Sounds like the Hilton." Mulder looked from the cabin to his 
brother, who had ceased unloading his own bag, hands propped on 
hips and brow furrowed. With a sigh he hefted the duffel over his 
shoulder and raised both hands. "All right, all right. I'll try to keep 
an open mind."

Grey's shoulders lost a little of their stiffness as he retrieved his 
own gear and shut the trunk. He slung one arm around his brother's 
neck and they walked companionably to the front door.

"Mark was just up here a couple weeks ago. He assured me that 
everything is in working order and promised we'd have a great 
time. After all, the grizzlies are usually hibernating by now." When 
Mulder jerked to a halt and gaped at him in horror, Grey dissolved 
into laughter.

"I'm kidding, Fox, it was just a joke! There aren't any grizzlies 
around here, and as long as we don't leave food or garbage laying 
around the wildlife won't bother us."

"You're a real comedian; you ought to take that act on the road," 
Mulder growled.

"Just making up for thirty-seven lost years, little brother." Grey 
was still snickering to himself as he slipped the key into the lock, 
frowning a little when the door swung open without the click of 
tumblers turning. "That's odd. I know Mark always keeps this 
place locked up."

"So he forgot. Probably distracted by a grizzly." Mulder brushed 
past his brother and dropped his bag, turning slowly to survey the 
interior. 

To the left of the door a huge stone fireplace dominated a spacious 
living area. The plain but comfortable furnishings included a couch 
and an old fashioned wooden rocking chair, and a thick, colorful 
braided rug covered the hardwood floor. To the right of the door 
was a small but functional kitchenette, including a table and two 
chairs.

Grey dumped his duffel next to his brother's, then carried the box 
containing canned goods and other nonperishables into the kitchen 
and began unloading them. "You can have the bed," he called over 
his shoulder when Mulder stuck his head into the small sleeping 
quarters adjacent to the greatroom.

"Nah, I'll be fine on the couch." Mulder ambled by the fireplace, 
examining a painting over the mantle of Canadian geese in flight 
and fingering a ceramic container of matches before joining Grey 
in the kitchen.

Grey handed him several cans and gestured toward a cupboard. 
"You sure? You must be out of practice by now."

Mulder chuffed a little. "It's like riding a bike--you never forget. 
Besides, I'd rather stay close to the fire. You never know when a 
grizzly might decide he's sick of hibernating."

Though his brother's tone was dry, Grey paused to scrutinize his 
face. "Still? I thought maybe now, with Dana..."

Mulder didn't pretend not to understand. Instead he pasted on a 
smile, but his eyes dodged Grey's. "You're asking an awful lot of 
Scully, don't you think? My nightmares are thirty-nine years in the 
making--she's only had six months." When Grey didn't respond he 
chanced a look at his brother's face. Compassion, not pity, softened 
the features. "They're better, Grey. Really. Stop worrying."

Grey regarded him for a moment longer, then one corner of his 
mouth turned up in a lopsided grin and he tossed Mulder a tin of 
coffee. "All right, you can have the fireplace. Least I can do since 
there's no cable."

"You're all heart."

Once they'd emptied the box, Grey set about firing up the 
generator and Mulder brought in several armfuls of wood from the 
pile against the side of the cabin. Grey came through the back 
door, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, to find his 
brother glaring at his cell phone.

"I told you that was never gonna work." He walked across the 
room and flicked the switch on a lamp, beaming in satisfaction 
when the bulb glowed obediently. "You may as well use it for a 
paperweight while we're up here. That's about all it's good for."

"It was worth a try," Mulder grumbled. "Just looking for some link 
to the civilized world."

"Miss her already, huh?"

Grey ducked, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the gut, and beckoned 
his brother over to a desk tucked into the corner. He rolled back the 
top, exposing a shortwave radio. "In case of emergency," he said, 
turning a large knob. "You can talk to Dana tomorrow afternoon 
when we drive into town for..." He seemed to lose track of his own 
words, a line appearing between his eyes.

"What?" Mulder's brow furrowed, mimicking his brother's, and he 
leaned in closer to watch Grey fiddle with various buttons and 
knobs.

"It's not working. Something's wrong."

"What?"

"I don't know. Preston taught me the basics of radioing for help, 
not how to repair it if it broke!" Grey's smooth drawl turned sharp 
with annoyance. After several minutes of fruitless attempts to coax 
the radio to life, he smacked the top with the flat of his hand and 
cursed through clenched teeth.

Mulder grinned. "I'm pretty radios can't do that--even when they're 
functioning." When Grey's expression remained cross, he tossed 
his cell phone on top of the radio. "Looks like we've got another 
paperweight. We'll probably never miss it anyway--unless you'd 
devised some method of contacting Tippi that I don't know about."

It did the trick. Grey abandoned his quest to resurrect the radio, 
turning to stab a finger in Mulder's chest. "We're cut off from the 
rest of the world, little brother. I'd watch my mouth if I were you."

Mulder folded his arms. "I'm a trained FBI agent. I'm not worried."

"Oh yeah? Well, you should be."

"Why is that?"

Grey's glare turned into a wolfish grin and he pulled a keyring 
from his jacket pocket, dangling it in front of his brother's face. 
"'Cause I got the key to the padlock on the outhouse."


Great Smoky Mountains
Friday
3:46 p.m.


"You're crazy." Mulder climbed over a fallen tree, the trunk 
slippery with bright green moss. "They're not even in the same 
league."

Grey shifted his pack so that it rested more comfortably on his 
shoulders. "Least we can agree on that."

"Batman had that utility belt with all the crime-fighting gadgets."

"Spidey could walk up the sides of buildings," Grey countered. 
"And he had that whole web thing going for him."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Like any crook with half a brain isn't 
going to be able to get out of that sticky stuff. And what about 
cars? Even you have to admit the Batmobile was way cool."

Grey shrugged, ducking under a particularly low branch. "It was 
okay."

"Okay? Are you serious? I used to dream about driving a car like 
that when I grew up." Mulder snorted indelicately. "Unfortunately, 
I don't think Ford makes them."

"Not exactly Bureau issue, huh?"

Grey signaled for him to stop. Swiping at his sweaty brow with the 
back of an arm, Mulder watched his brother take a swig from the 
canteen before handing it over. The water was lukewarm and 
slightly musty from the canvas, but the wetness slid easily down 
his parched throat.

"Thanks."

Grey slung the canteen back around his neck, squinting up at the 
pale gold light filtering through the leaves. For at least the tenth 
time that afternoon, he tugged the baseball cap off his head, 
impatiently shoving wavy, sweat-dampened tendrils of dark hair 
out of his eyes before replacing it. Mulder made no attempt to hide 
a smirk

"Just don't say it," Grey warned, poking a finger at his brother's 
chest. "We've already established that I need a haircut. You start 
calling me Shirley again and you're walking home."

Mulder pointedly gazed around them. "I wasn't aware I had a 
choice."

"Not the cabin, little brother. Raleigh."

"Look at this way. It could be worse," Mulder deadpanned. "You 
could have your buddy Walt's problem."

"Gee, thanks, Fox. Somehow that just puts it all in perspective." 
Grey's gaze returned to the sky. "We'd better head back. Way I 
figure it, we're about three or four miles out, and once that sun 
starts to set it'll get dark pretty quickly."

"Fine with me. I'm getting hungry already. By the time we hike 
back, I'll actually be desperate enough to eat that canned stew you 
packed."

Mulder followed Grey as he began to loop back toward the cabin. 
Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm for the camping trip, he'd 
enjoyed the afternoon hike immensely. The hillsides were a 
patchwork quilt of green, red, gold, and orange, some areas 
breathtakingly brilliant. They'd happened upon a small waterfall 
tumbling down a rocky gorge, where a simple drink had turned 
into a water fight that left them both drenched but refreshed. 
They'd observed two deer, a rabbit, half a dozen squirrels, and a 
few unidentified birds with Grey's binoculars. And they'd laughed. 
A lot.

Distracted by his thoughts and a bootlace that had worked loose, 
Mulder nearly toppled over Grey, who had stopped abruptly in the 
middle of the trail. 

"You might want to signal next time you... Grey? Is something 
wrong?"

Grey didn't answer right away, his eyes scrutinizing the foliage as 
he turned in a slow circle. "Thought I heard something."

"Could you be a little more specific? I hear a lot of things--birds, 
the wind, my own feet." Mulder's eyes narrowed. "If this is another 
attempt to spook me with killer wildlife..."

Grey gave a sharp shake of his head, eyes still scanning the brush 
and ears tuned to catch the slightest sound. "Not this time."

Mulder frowned, stepping closer so that his shoulder brushed his 
brother's and unconsciously mimicking Grey's vigilance. "You're 
serious about this."

"I've had the strangest feeling all afternoon. Like we were being 
watched." Grey shook his head again and smiled sheepishly. "It's 
probably nothing. Maybe your paranoia is finally starting to rub off 
on me." He resumed hiking and Mulder fell into step beside him.

"Hey, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

"In your case, I think you have a point."

They reached the cabin without further incident just as the sun 
dipped below the horizon, lengthening shadows shrouding the 
clearing in near darkness. Grey was almost to the cabin door when 
he jerked to a halt with a muttered curse. He stripped off his 
backpack and tossed it onto the porch before stomping over to the 
SUV, which was now sporting an extremely flat tire.

He crouched down, running a hand over the puddle of rubber. 
"Damn. Must've hit something sharp on the way up here."

"Like when you nearly drove us into a ditch." Mulder peered over 
Grey's shoulder, grunting when his brother's elbow dug into his 
ribs. "You've got a spare, don't you?"

"Yeah. I'm not messing with it now, though, I'll run out of light 
before I can even get this jacked up." With a final, black glare at 
the tire, Grey stood and they walked back to the cabin.

"Tell you what--I'll make dinner. You just sit back and take it 
easy." Mulder waved his hand magnanimously in the direction of 
the couch.

"I don't know if I can enjoy myself, thinking of you slaving away 
in the kitchen. If you wind up with a blister from that can opener, 
I'll never forgive myself." Grey dropped onto the cushions and 
kicked off his boots.

Mulder ignored the jibe, divesting himself of both socks and boots 
before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He fished two beers from 
the refrigerator, whistled to grab Grey's attention, and lobbed one 
toward the couch. Grey caught it neatly, tapping the top a few 
times before opening it.

"What do we have to go with the stew?" Mulder opened the nearest 
cupboard and began sorting through cans.

"There's a loaf of bread on the counter."

Further investigation produced a saucepan and can opener. Mulder 
transferred the stew to the pot and turned on the stove, then 
scanned the counter for the bread.

"No, there isn't."

Grey's head emerged from a copy of "Sports Illustrated." "Sure 
there is. I put it right next to the dish soap."

Mulder picked up the bottle of yellow liquid and brandished it. 
"Our hands will smell lemony fresh, but there's no bread in sight, 
Bubba."

Grey heaved a longsuffering sigh, set aside the magazine, and 
trudged over to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath. The line 
between his brows deepened as his eyes swept the counter.

"What the..."

He tugged open first one cupboard, then the other, rummaged 
through all three drawers and thoroughly examined the empty box 
that had contained their supplies.

"This is crazy." Hands on hips, he glared suspiciously at Mulder. 
"Fox, if this is your idea of a joke..."

Mulder held up both hands. "I like to think my sense of humor is a 
little more sophisticated, though Scully might disagree. Are you 
sure you didn't just forget to put it in the box? Maybe it's on the 
counter back home."

"I guess it's possible." Grey's expression remained troubled. 
"Damn. Now we have no bread for sandwiches tomorrow."

Mulder crossed to the stove and stirred the now bubbling pot of 
stew. "So we make do with that box of crackers I saw and buy 
bread when we drive into town tomorrow."

Grey's rigid shoulders relaxed. "Yeah. You're right. I just would've 
sworn..." He shook his head and pulled two bowls from the 
cupboard. "Let's eat."

An hour later, stomachs full and dishes washed, they sprawled in 
front of the fire, Mulder on the couch and Grey on the floor, back 
propped near his brother's legs. Darkness had quickly leached 
away the day's warmth, but the blaze drove away the chill 
sufficiently to keep the cabin comfortable.

"Sam loved it when we'd have a fire in the fireplace." Mulder's 
voice was soft, pensive. He stared into the flickering yellow and 
orange flames with a distant smile on his lips. "When she was 
little, she couldn't understand why we didn't have them in the 
summer. It would be ninety-five degrees outside, and she'd start 
raiding the woodpile, bringing in logs."

"Sounds like a gal who knew her own mind," Grey mused.

Mulder snorted. "Why not call a spade a spade? She was about as 
stubborn and pigheaded as they come. Once she got an idea in her 
head, there was no discouraging her."

"Sounds familiar." Grey's chuckle turned into a guffaw when 
Mulder flashed him an obscene gesture.

After several minutes of silence Grey tipped his head back so that 
he could see his brother's face. "Are you still looking for the people 
who took her?"

Pain flickered across Mulder's face like the flames over the logs. "I 
made a promise to Sam after she was abducted. I vowed I'd never 
quit until I either brought her home safely or caught her 
murderers." His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "I've failed 
miserably at both."

"You dedicated your life to finding the truth about what happened 
to Sam," Grey replied. "In the end, that's exactly what you did. 
How is that failure?" When Mulder didn't answer, he turned back 
to the fire. "It's all right to put Samantha to rest now, Fox."

Mulder sighed and let his head drop onto the back of the sofa. 
"There was a time when nothing was more important to me than 
finding the truth and exposing the men who attempted to bury it." 
A long pause. "Now, all of that pales in comparison to Scully 
getting a clean bill of health from the doctor."

Grey sat forward abruptly, spinning to face his brother. "She's all 
right, isn't she? There haven't been any signs of the cancer coming 
back, have there?"

Mulder smiled, touched by the concern. "None so far. The doctor's 
been monitoring her more carefully since the chip was removed. 
According to him, she's the picture of health." The smile faded. 
"But it's always there, like an uninvited guest. When she's more 
tired than usual. If she skips a meal or two." He blanched. "When 
she gets a bloody nose from a box falling off a shelf."

"How's she handling it?"

This time Mulder's chuckle was genuine. "A hell of a lot better 
than I am. It pisses her off to no end if I get overprotective. Tells 
me she won't live her life waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Grinning, Grey settled back into a more comfortable position. 
"Yeah. I can hear her saying it, too. She's a lot like Kate was, you 
know? Tough as nails when it comes to defending what she 
believes."

"What about Kristen? She doesn't exactly strike me as a pushover, 
either." Mulder's grin turned to a smirk. "From what I've heard she 
went toe to toe with Skinner when we were trapped in the hospital 
by the bomb blast. He wanted her to go back to the Bureau, but she 
insisted on staying put until you were found."

Grey chuffed softly. "Yeah, I've run up against her a time or two 
myself. Don't let her fool you. She's every bit as tenacious as Dana, 
her methods are just a little more...subtle."

A comfortable silence, filled only by the hissing and popping of 
the fire, fell between them. When Mulder spoke again his voice 
was heavy with sleep.

"Are you happy, Grey?"

Grey turned, hooking one arm over his brother's outstretched legs 
and leaning his cheek against the cushion. His gaze was abstracted, 
contemplative, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Yeah. I guess I am." His voice held a touch of wistful surprise. 
"Losing someone you love--it's kind of like breaking a leg, you 
know? At first the pain is so overwhelming, you can't move, can't 
function. It hurts too damn much. After a while folks start telling 
you it's time to get back on your feet, but just the thought of trying 
to walk again is frightening. You hobble around hurting, every step 
a huge effort, certain that you're gonna fall flat on your face any 
minute. And the really terrible part, the thing that keeps you awake 
nights, is that you can remember how wonderful it once felt to run. 
How effortless it was. And you know that you took it all for 
granted.

"And life goes on like that. Some days are better than others. Until 
one day you take a step, expecting to feel that same old stab...but it 
never comes. So you take another step, and another, waiting for it 
to hit, for that other shoe to drop. But it never does. And you 
realize that maybe, just maybe..."

"You're ready to run again," Mulder murmured.

Grey's eyes jerked sharply to his brother's, then softened. "Yeah. I 
think I might be. 'Course, I still get these twinges, now and then."

"Nobody said you had to start off with a marathon. The journey 
starts with just one step, and all that. Give yourself credit for 
getting back in the race, even if you're not quite ready to finish 
yet."

"I'll keep that in mind." A grin spread slowly across Grey's face. 
"Sometimes I forget that my brother's a shrink."

Mulder released an explosive breath of laughter. "Hey, I might as 
well use the degree to help you. God knows, I've never been much 
good at helping myself." He broke off in a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Looks like my cue to let you get some sleep." Grey gave the leg 
under his hand a pat and stood, stretching both arms over his head 
until his spine cracked.

Mulder blinked up at him. "I must be getting old; it can't be more 
than ten o'clock."

"It's called fresh air, little brother. You should try it more often."

"I get fresh air." Mulder folded his arms across his chest and 
clamped his lips into a thin line.

Grey huffed and shook his head. "I'm not talking about jogging 
through the streets of DC, sucking in exhaust fumes." He sobered. 
"You work too hard, Fox. You need to take more time, you and 
Dana. You never did have a honeymoon, did you?"

"Yeah, we did. We went to California, remember?"

Grey's eyebrows disappeared beneath a tangled sweep of hair. 
"You're kidding, right? Flying out to the coast to investigate a 
supposed mermaid is not a vacation, let alone a honeymoon."

"It wasn't so bad. I got us a room at a really nice bed and breakfast 
on the beach." When Grey's look of pity didn't fade, Mulder 
scowled. "All right, all right. I've got a couple ideas in mind; I'm 
planning on surprising her after this mess with the bombing is all 
cleared up. And before you ask, no, none of them are remotely 
connected to paranormal phenomena."

"He can be taught." Grey stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes 
with the back of one hand. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder 
at the back door. "Because I'm such a wonderful person, I'll let you 
have first crack at the facilities before bed."

Mulder groaned pitifully and hauled himself upright. "I can't 
believe I actually managed to forget that little detail." He wrinkled 
his nose. "It's pitch dark out there. And cold--can't be more than 45 
degrees."

Grey extended a hand and tugged him to his feet. "See there? You 
could have a promising career as a weatherman if your job at the 
Bureau ever falls through."

"And if you're considering comedy, I wouldn't quit my day job," 
Mulder growled, snagging his jacket and ambling to the door. "If 
I'm not back in five minutes..."

"I'll radio for search and rescue," Grey snickered.

Mulder paused outside the back door, gazing upward. The 
cloudless night sky provided a velvet backdrop for thousands of 
stars and a nearly full moon. The deep silence, broken only by the 
occasional rustling of undergrowth or the distant cry of an owl, 
made a sharp contrast to the twenty-four hour bustle of busy DC 
streets. He drew in a long, slow breath of the crisp air and sighed, 
slightly amused by the thought that dwarfed all others.

Wish you were here, babe.

He shivered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and crossing the 
grass to the small but functional shack. He was in the process of 
reaching for the handle, thoughts still wrapped up in the 
surrounding beauty and Scully, when the stench of blood hit his 
nostrils and he froze, eyes dropping to the shadowed ground in 
front of the door.

At first glance it was little more than a ball of bloody fur, torn and 
shredded almost beyond recognition. Clumps of hair, bone, and 
flesh littered the grass, puddles of blood soaking into the earth. 
One glazed eye stared sightless upward, the lips pulled back from 
gleaming teeth in a final snarl. The pointed ears, long snout, and 
rust-colored fur testified that it had once been a fox.

Mulder dropped to a crouch, swallowing hard. He'd seen his share 
of gruesome crime scenes, but the brutal dismemberment of any 
creature--whether human or animal--never failed to disturb him. In 
the darkness, surrounded by wilderness and surveyed by hidden 
eyes, it caused a chill to race up his spine.

"Fox? You okay?"

Grey's warmth and solidity at his back chased away the shadows. 
His brother took a long look at the carcass and walked away, 
returning moments later with a large stick. Mulder watched silently 
as Grey shoved the bloody mess out of sight around the corner of 
the outhouse.

"I'll bury it in the morning," he said, watching Mulder closely. 
"Kind of spooked you, huh?"

Mulder lifted one shoulder, a bit embarrassed by his reaction. "Not 
what I expect when going to take a leak." He scuffed some dirt 
over the bloody residue with one toe. "What would do something 
like that?"

Grey shrugged. "Something bigger and hungrier, I guess. This is 
nature, Fox. You know, kill or be killed?"

Mulder frowned. "I'm not completely ignorant, Grey, I know how 
it works. But that..." He shook his head. "From what I could see, 
whatever killed that didn't eat it. Just...shredded it."

"Yeah." Grey cast a quick glance at the woods. "Well, no one ever 
said nature was kind." He lifted an eyebrow. "Now are you gonna 
use that or am I?"

It broke Mulder out of his daze and he grinned. "Patience, Bubba. 
Give me a minute, and then it's all yours. You can even take that 
magazine you were reading in with you."

"Funny."

Mulder watched him walk back to the cabin before taking hold of 
the handle and tugging open the door. The blood at his feet 
gleamed black in the moonlight. He stepped carefully over the 
puddle, unable to shake his feeling of disquiet or the pall that had 
dropped over a once pleasant evening.


Great Smoky Mountains
Saturday
8:26 a.m.


He'd just finished tying his boots when the cabin door opened, then 
shut with a resounding bang that rattled the pictures on the walls. 
Mulder craned his head over the back of the couch to find Grey 
standing with arms folded and a thunderous expression on his face.

"Grey? What's wrong? Are you having trouble with the spare?"

"No, I'm not having trouble with the spare." Grey spoke through 
tightly clenched teeth. "There is no spare."

"What?" Mulder stood and crossed quickly to his brother. "What 
do you mean, no spare? It was right there on the back of the truck; 
I saw it myself."

"Oh, there's a tire there all right. It just doesn't happen to have any 
air in it. Which makes it damn useless, now doesn't it?" Grey 
sucked in a long slow breath and released it, tucking his chin to his 
chest and massaging the back of his neck.

Mulder eyed him for a moment, then tugged open the door and 
strode outside. He stood next to the crippled vehicle, hands 
propped on hips, waiting for Grey to join him. "Let me get this 
straight. We're stranded out here, surrounded by nothing but 
mountains, forest, and wild animals, with a truck that has two flat 
tires and a radio that doesn't work. We've got enough canned goods 
to last two--maybe three days, if we ration them, three-quarters of 
a jug of fresh water, and two beers. And it's roughly twenty-five 
miles to the nearest town."

Grey flashed him a toothy grin. "I'd say that about sums it up. You 
know, you're real good at that, little brother. Must come in handy 
on the job."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, Grey."

His brother chuckled, moving close enough to prop a hand on 
Mulder's shoulder. "I can see that. Look, the situation is bad, not 
hopeless. According to Mark, there's another cabin about eleven 
miles from here. It's rugged terrain, but if we stick to the road--
such as it is--we shouldn't have too much trouble."

Mulder chewed his lip, only slightly mollified. "You're forgetting 
one thing. What if Mark's neighbor didn't drive up to enjoy the 
great outdoors this weekend?"

"Not a problem. The guy is retired; he lives up here year 'round. 
Mark says he's kind of the grouchy old hermit type, but decent 
enough once you get past his bluster."

Mulder's eyebrows soared. "A grouchy old hermit? Living alone in 
the mountains? Isn't that a little cliché?"

"Maybe hermit is a little extreme. The guy keeps to himself, that's 
all." Grey waved his hand at the jacked-up truck squatting sullenly 
on the gravel drive. "I'm sure, considering the circumstances, he'll 
be willing to give us a lift into town--or at the very least, the use of 
his radio."

Mulder's gaze shifted from Grey to the car and back again, lips  
compressed to a thin line. Finally, he sighed. "Eleven miles, huh?"

As if he'd managed to transfer his morose mood to his brother, 
Grey smiled cheerily. "We should make it to Chris Peterson's cabin 
by early afternoon. With any luck we can still get to town and back 
before nightfall."

"Chris Peterson? The hermit's name is Chris?" Mulder's voice 
dripped disbelief.

"Yeah? So? Is there a problem?"

"The problem is that grouchy hermits are not named Chris. They're 
named Jed, or Zack, or Jeremiah."

Grey stared at him, then snorted indelicately. "Guess his mama 
wasn't in class the day they discussed that rule. Now why don't you 
grab your backpack and we'll hit the road. Or we could continue to 
stand here and waste daylight discussing Mrs. Peterson's choice of 
a name for her son." He grinned toothily at Mulder before 
sauntering into the cabin to collect his own pack.

By the time they struck out for the Peterson cabin the sun had risen 
above the treeline and the air had turned from frigid to comfortably 
warm. The dirt road, fit only for rugged vehicles such as Grey's 
SUV, was deeply rutted in some spots and almost completely 
nonexistent in others. After only a mile both of them had shed their 
sweatshirts, and Grey's sweat dampened hair had begun to curl 
defiantly around his ears and the nape of his neck.

"You know, I hate to sound negative," Mulder mused, shifting the 
straps of his pack to settle it more comfortably on his shoulders, 
"but this trip of yours hasn't exactly gotten off to a stellar 
beginning."

"This trip of mine?"

"Yes, yours. You're the one that couldn't wait to get us out in the 
middle of nowhere communing with the wildlife, Nature Boy."

Grey clutched his chest. "I'm wounded. I thought we were having a 
great time. What about that hike through the woods yesterday? 
And that gourmet meal you concocted last night? I saw the way 
you were soaking up the peace and quiet and all those stars before 
we went to bed."

"Yeah, until I almost stepped in pureed fox." A flicker of 
disappointment passed across Grey's face, disappearing so quickly 
Mulder wasn't positive he'd seen it. He sighed. "Hey, I did enjoy 
all those things. But you have to admit, we've had more than our 
share of bad luck."

Grey opened his mouth as if to argue, but shut it with a shrug. 
"Guess I can't dispute that point. Look at it this way--we've paid 
our dues. I mean, what are the odds that a run of bad luck like 
we've had is gonna continue?"

"You forget, I investigate the supposedly improbable," Mulder 
replied dryly. He stopped and shoved his fingers through damp 
hair, brushing it back from his forehead. "Wait up a minute, I need 
some water."

"Just don't drink too much. We've still got a long way to go."

Grey took a few swallows from his own canteen and proceeded to 
adjust his baseball cap, idly scanning the surrounding forest. Two 
squirrels chased each other through the treetops at breakneck 
speed, leaping from branch to branch. A woodpecker worked 
furiously on the trunk of a large oak, beak tapping rhythmically. A 
sparkle at the periphery of his vision caught his attention and he 
turned, squinting through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses as he 
struggled to make out the source.

The answer hit him like a freight train and he reacted without 
stopping to think.

"Fox, get down!"

He launched himself at his brother, the distinctive crack of a rifle 
piercing the air a split second before they both tumbled down the 
embankment into a shallow ditch. A second report followed 
immediately after the first, kicking up dirt and gravel at the side of 
the road, and then an unnatural silence blanketed the forest.

Grey remained motionless for a moment, sprawled across Mulder, 
who had landed on his right side. His heart thudded wildly in his 
chest, and his brother's short, sharp pants for air seared his neck. 
Slowly, cautiously, he tipped his head up until he could look into 
Mulder's white face.

"That was gunfire."

"I noticed." Mulder spoke through locked teeth.

Grey frowned at the tension in his brother's face and voice. "You 
all right?"

"Not entirely."

"Not entirely? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm still breathing, but I think that streak of bad luck we 
were talking about isn't over yet." The sarcasm was forced and 
Mulder's attempted smirk turned into a wince.

Grey quickly rolled off his brother's body but kept his head down. 
"You're hit? Where?"

"Right leg, above the knee." Mulder struggled to prop himself up 
on his elbows. He made it halfway before his face twisted and he 
grunted in pain, collapsing onto his back.

"Easy, easy. Lie still for a minute and let me check things out." 
Grey's voice was calm, reassuring, but his eyes betrayed him.

Hands traveled carefully down Mulder's thigh, pausing a few 
inches above the knee. A tug and the sound of ripping cloth. 
Mulder stared up at his brother's face--jaw set, lips compressed to a 
thin line.

"How bad is it?"

Grey's eyes met his for only a moment before sliding away. "Brace 
yourself. I've got to check for an exit wound."

Fingers slipped under Mulder's knee and... White-hot agony shot 
through his leg from hip to toes, wrenching an involuntary cry 
from his lips. His eyes slammed shut, sparks dancing across the 
lids, while a rushing sound like the surf on a windy day filled his 
ears. Grey's voice, at first nothing more than an insistent buzz, 
gradually resolved into words.

"...so sorry, Fox, I had to know. Stay with me, little brother. That's 
it, c'mon back."

Mulder blinked, wrestling with a tongue turned thick and clumsy. 
"Still in there."

Grey grimaced. "Yeah. Most likely in the bone, which is why it 
hurts like a son of a bitch. But then, I don't have to tell you that." 
He cautiously lifted his head high enough to peer out of the ditch, 
panning the forest. "We've got to get out of this hole and into the 
cover of the trees. If we stay here we're sitting ducks."

Mulder licked his lips. "I was hoping we could chalk this up to a 
hunter with bad eyesight. You think it was intentional?"

"Whoever it is had a high-powered scope trained on us. I spotted 
the reflection right before he fired." Grey slipped his pack off his 
shoulders and rummaged through it, pulling out a clean tee shirt. 
With his pocketknife he tore the fabric into several large strips. 
"You're bleeding like a stuck pig. I've got to try to slow it down or 
we'll be leaving a neon sign for him to follow." He paused. "That 
means putting pressure on the wound." A slight tremor spoiled the 
matter-of-fact tone.

Mulder met his gaze without flinching. "Do it."

Grey nodded, giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze. He folded 
one of the cloth strips into a square, laid it over the wound, and 
with a last, apologetic glance, pressed down firmly.

No sparks this time around. An explosion of pain so intense 
Mulder thought the top of his head might blow off before darkness 
blotted out the distress in Grey's face.

He surfaced dizzy and disoriented, the need to vomit nearly 
overwhelming. Everything around him bounced and swayed so 
whenever he attempted to open his eyes, the nausea tripled. His 
head throbbed, his leg was on fire, and someone was swearing a 
blue streak. A gunshot, then two more, and the bouncing became a 
gut-churning lurch.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna puke."

Mulder wasn't sure if he said it or thought it, but his brother's 
voice, tense and breathless, cut through the haze.

"Hang on, hang on...almost there."

Snapping and rustling sounds preceded the brush of leaves against 
his dangling arms. Mulder abruptly realized he was hanging upside 
down, in a fireman's carry, over Grey's shoulder as his brother 
jogged through the forest. Icy droplets of water pelted his cheeks 
when Grey tromped through a small, shallow stream and then 
scuffled awkwardly down a steep slope. Despite caution, about 
five feet from the bottom Grey tripped on a root and nearly lost 
hold of him. Mulder's head plunged precariously toward a large 
rock before Grey regained his balance, cursing under his breath.

Just when Mulder was certain neither his stomach nor his leg could 
endure another minute, Grey's frenetic steps slowed, then stopped. 
He eased Mulder gently to the ground, propping his upper body 
against the trunk of a large tree, and peered into his eyes.

"Hey there. How you doing?"

Mulder stared blearily at him. My leg is killing me and I just spent 
the last five minutes slung over your shoulder like yesterday's 
garbage. How the hell do you think I'm feeling?

He opened his mouth to retort, but instead lunged to the left and 
proceeded to lose every bit of the breakfast Grey had prepared that 
morning. Each twist of his gut provoked a corresponding spasm in 
his injured leg until he was doubled over, panting and whimpering 
helplessly.

Cool fingers at the back of his neck, a strong arm curled around his 
middle, supporting him. When the violent cramping in his stomach 
eased, Grey held the canteen to his lips so that he could rinse his 
mouth, then settled him back against the tree. Mulder shivered 
helplessly as his brother dampened a scrap of cloth and wiped his 
face.

"Where are we?" The words jittered and trembled as badly as his 
body.

Grey stripped the pack from his shoulders, dug out the discarded 
sweatshirt, and helped him slip it on. "About a half mile north of 
the road. This seemed a good spot to stop and get our bearings." 
He reached over to brush an errant lock of hair off Mulder's sweaty 
forehead. "We got problems, Fox."

Mulder's mouth twisted. "You think?"

Grey reached into Mulder's pack and pulled out his Sig, holding it 
so that Mulder could plainly see the weapon was missing its clip. 
"Seems like some practical joker made off with all our ammo. 
We've been set up, Fox. And by someone who knows what he's 
doing."

Mulder's jaw dropped. "How...?"

Grey shrugged, his mouth set in a grim line. "Last night when we 
were out stargazing? First thing this morning when we were 
looking over the truck? I didn't check my weapon before we left 
the cabin, did you?"

Mulder tucked his arms tightly against his body, miserable. "Didn't 
think I needed to. Everything was still in my pack from when we 
hiked yesterday. I just filled my canteen."

"Yeah. Me, too." Grey swore and chucked the weapon back into 
Mulder's pack. "I should've known better. You never start out on a 
major hike like we were attempting without taking inventory of 
your pack."

Mulder ground his teeth together to prevent them from chattering. 
"C...cut yourself some sl...slack. It's not like we c...could've 
predicted some nut would be t...taking potshots at us."

"Yeah, well, the idea is to be prepared for anything," Grey 
muttered. "I sure as hell know that."

He dug through his own pack and produced a small first aid kit. 
Mulder looked down at the blood-soaked bandage tied around his 
leg, swallowed hard, and glanced away.

"I wasn't exactly...at the top of my game...when you were hauling 
my ass out of that ditch...but I thought I heard shots."

"You heard right." Grey gingerly cut away the bloody cloth with 
his knife. "Our friend started firing the minute I lifted my head. 
Nearly took it off." He opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and 
paused.

"I know, I know. Got to be done." Mulder tipped his head back 
against the rough bark and stared up into a spray of yellow leaves 
that undulated gently in the breeze. "What's the plan anyway? Back 
to the cabin?"

"It would be closer." Grey flushed the wound with antiseptic and 
blotted with a clean gauze pad, holding Mulder's leg steady when 
his brother's body turned rigid. He continued to speak softly and 
slowly, flinching slightly when the fingers of Mulder's right hand 
buried themselves in his shoulder. "Problem is, it'd put us right 
back where we started--literally and figuratively. We've got no 
radio and no transportation, Fox. And you need a doctor."

Grey packed the wound with fresh gauze and bound it with more 
strips from his tee shirt. By the time he'd finished, Mulder was 
panting as if he'd run a marathon, drenched in sweat and wracked 
with tremors. Grey set aside the kit and moved between Mulder 
and the tree with his brother's body pulled against his chest, 
soaking up his warmth.

"Easy, Fox. Deep breaths."

After several minutes Mulder's trembling abated and his frantic 
gulps for air slowed. "Let me get...this straight. We're still 
heading...for Jed's place?"

It took a moment for the joke to register, then Grey chuckled 
quietly. "Don't see what choice we have. That grouchy hermit's our 
best hope for getting out of this mess."

Mulder let his head drop against his brother's shoulder. "Grey... 
Maybe you should go without me. I could wait here...for you to 
bring help."

Grey stiffened. "No way. I'm not leaving you for that psycho to 
hunt down. You've got no weapon and you're damn near helpless, 
Fox. We stay together."

Softly, little more than a whisper. "I'm not sure I can make it, 
Bubba."

Grey's reply was rough. "You don't have to. We will. Together."

"Then consider this. Whoever's behind that rifle...went to a lot of 
trouble...to bring us here. He's going to do...anything he can 
to...prevent us from reaching Jed."

Grey cranked his head to look into his brother's face. "What are 
you saying?"

"That I don't think...our run of bad luck...was luck at all."

Grey stared at him. "The radio? The flat tires? You think he was 
behind all that?"

"Don't you?" Mulder tried to shift position, groaning when it only 
succeeded in sending a spike of agony through his leg. "He's got us 
right...where he wants us. Whoever he is...he's thorough."

"All the more reason not to split up." 

Grey eased Mulder forward and stood. He meticulously replaced 
the contents of their packs and slung them both onto his shoulders 
before squatting down beside his brother.

"We need to move. You ready?"

Mulder gave him an incredulous look, then nodded. Grey slid his 
hands under his brother's armpits and lifted, steadying him when 
he wobbled like a newborn colt. He slipped Mulder's right arm 
over his shoulder and looped his own around his brother's waist.

"Okay, we'll take it nice and easy. Cutting straight north through 
the forest instead of taking the road will trim at least three miles 
off the trip, but it'll be rough going. Just holler when you can't keep 
up and we'll take a break, relax a few minutes."

"Sure. I'll bring the wine and cheese." Mulder ground the words 
out through his teeth, blinking against the blackness hovering on 
the edge of his vision.

Grey snorted and started walking, supporting his brother so that he 
could keep most of the weight off his injured leg. "If this is your 
idea of a party, little brother, next time you can leave me off the 
guest list."

Mulder concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and 
remained silent, conserving his strength.



Great Smoky Mountains
Saturday
4:41 p.m.


"We've got to find someplace to hole up for the night."

"'M okay. I can...keep going."

Grey looked over at his brother, a mixture of amusement, 
tenderness, and irritation clouding his features. "Fox, you and 
'okay' aren't even in the same zip code."

Mulder swiped wearily at a damp lock of hair that insisted on 
falling into his eyes. "What's that...supposed to mean?" His voice, 
wispy and breathless, betrayed his exhaustion and pain as plainly 
as his pale, drawn face.

"It means I've seen stiffs that looked better than you do right now." 
Grey was breathing hard himself, the strain of bearing most of his 
brother's weight in addition to his own turning an already 
strenuous hike into a nightmare. "Look, I'm about done in myself, 
and the sun will be down soon. Last thing we need is to tumble off 
a cliff in the dark."

"Well...when you put it...that way..."

"Hang on a minute." Grey hesitated, eyes scanning the dense 
foliage surrounding them. "Over here." He tipped his head in the 
direction of a shallow ravine about twenty feet down a steep grade 
peppered with loose stones and shale.

"Are you...crazy? I'll never make it...down that...without breaking 
my neck. And yours." Mulder's voice vibrated with frustration and 
weariness.

"I know it's risky, but we'll take it nice and slow. Trust me on this 
one, Fox, I know what I'm doing."

"Should know...by now. My motto's...trust no one." Mulder shifted 
too much weight onto his injured leg, grimacing.

"Really? I thought you changed it to 'trust everyone.'" Grey pressed 
his lips together, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal a smirk.

Mulder's brow creased, then smoothed. "'S there anything...Scully 
hasn't told you?"

"You're a fairly frequent topic of conversation." Grey draped his 
brother's arm more firmly across his shoulders. "C'mon. Just a little 
further. Let me do the work."

Even at a snail's pace, the trip down the slope was treacherous. 
Stones, polished smooth by melting snow and rain, defied the 
traction of their boots, and tree roots poked from the soft earth to 
catch unsuspecting toes. By the time they reached the bottom Grey 
was gulping air like a drowning man and Mulder was a dead 
weight, his chin pressed to his chest and his eyes reduced to slits.

"Almost there," Grey panted, dragging his brother along the floor 
of the ravine to an area bathed in shadow from the surrounding 
trees and a slab of rock that protruded from the side of the hill. 
"Just a little further, almost there." He wasn't sure if he was talking 
to the limp form in his arms or himself.

Grey eased Mulder down with his back against a large boulder and 
dropped the packs from his shoulders with a groan of gratitude. He 
braced his hands in the small of his back and stretched until his 
spine cracked, then rolled his shoulders and massaged his neck. 
Never taking his eyes off his brother, slumped against the rock like 
a broken doll, his only movements the harsh rise and fall of his 
chest and fingers that clutched and kneaded the flesh just above the 
bandage on his leg.

"You still with me?"

One eye cracked open. "Just trying to decide...whether to go 
dancing...or send out for pizza."

Grey snorted. "While you're deciding, I'm going to scout around 
for a minute. Stay put, okay?"

"If you...insist."

Mulder let his head sag back against the rock with a soft thump 
and tracked the crunch of Grey's boots on dead leaves and gravel 
as his brother prowled around the gully. Only a hint of a breeze 
stirred the trees, but as it dried the sweat gluing his hair to his 
forehead the chills returned. His head throbbed relentlessly, his leg 
was on fire, and the cool stone at his back increased his shivering--
tremors that exacerbated every ache and pain. And the one person 
he longed for, who could ease the misery simply with the warmth 
of her hand in his, was a lifetime away.

"Fox, sit up a minute."

Grey's voice and the gentle pressure of fingers on his shoulder, 
startled Mulder out of a doze he hadn't realized he'd slid into. He 
blearily allowed his brother to tip him forward, balking when soft 
fleece brushed his cheek.

"Forget it. Going to get...cold tonight. You'll need it."

Grey's hands never faltered as he worked Mulder's arms into the 
sweatshirt like a stubborn toddler's. "I've got my windbreaker. And 
I'm going to build a fire."

Mulder stiffened, surprise allowing Grey to finish the job without 
further argument. "Are you nuts?"

Grey cocked an eyebrow. "You keep asking me that question. Do 
you expect an answer, or can I assume it's rhetorical?"

Mulder refused to be sidetracked. "Have you forgotten the fact that 
we are not alone--and for once I'm not talking on a cosmic scale. 
You build a fire...and it'll be like a neon sign...for our friend to 
follow." He broke off, panting heavily from the outburst.

Grey slipped on his jacket and moved over to a small pile of sticks 
and twigs he'd evidently gathered while his brother had been 
dozing. He began arranging them in a configuration that made little 
sense to Mulder's untrained eye, but obviously held some purpose. 
His reply was calm and unruffled.

"Fox, I didn't drag you down here to enjoy the scenery. The sides 
of the ravine, the thickness of the trees, and the rock over our 
heads are all going to camouflage a fire if we keep it small and 
don't burn anything that will generate smoke. I'm not a novice at 
this, I know what I'm doing."

"Harder to see...but not impossible," Mulder persisted through 
gulps for air. "'S risky, Grey. You know it."

Grey fished a book of matches from his pack and turned them over 
in his palm. "It was cold last night. It's gonna be cold tonight. 
You've lost a lot of blood, you're most likely in shock, and all that's 
standing between you and the cold is a couple of sweatshirts." He 
looked squarely into Mulder's eyes. "You'd never make it, little 
brother."

Mulder searched in vain for a response but found instead, in a 
place deeply buried, that his brother was right. Grey proceeded to 
light the fire, patiently feeding it with twigs until he had a small 
but respectable blaze. He then retrieved the first aid kit and 
brandished it with a sympathetic wince.

"'S okay. It already hurts like hell. Can't get much worse."

Grey began carefully to unwrap the strips binding his brother's leg. 
"You said before that you think this guy set us up. Any ideas who 
he could be and why he's gone to all this trouble?"

Sweat broke out on Mulder's forehead but he kept his eyes locked 
on the granite above their heads. "Could be...any one of...ah...the 
enemies I've made." His mouth twisted into a sardonic little grin. 
"Plenty to chose from. As for why...'s pretty obvious...isn't it?"

Grey wet his lips, keeping his expression blank as he regarded the 
bullet wound, the edges swollen and angry red. He opened the first 
aid kit and uncapped the hydrogen peroxide as he worked to keep 
his brother talking.

"You're not the only one who's got enemies. What makes you so 
sure you're the target?"

"Besides the slug in my leg?"

Grey nodded, secretly pleased with the sarcasm. When Mulder 
continued, he tightened his grip on the bottle of antiseptic.

"In case you've forgotten...he left me a damn calling card...outside 
what you call a bathroom last night. Or maybe it was more like...a 
letter of intent--" Mulder's words cut abruptly into a sharp cry of 
agony followed by obscenities, and his spine arched as the 
peroxide bubbled and fizzed in the open wound.

"It's over, it's over. Breathe, Fox. Nice and slow." Grey set aside 
the bottle and dressed the wound with fresh gauze. "You think our 
boy is responsible for that dead animal?"

"Dead fox." Mulder ground out the words, teeth clenched so hard 
the tendons in his neck stood in sharp relief. "Bit 
coincidental...isn't it?"

Grey tied off the bandage and sat back, studying his brother's face 
with red-rimmed, exhausted eyes. "Whoever he is, he's good. This 
was planned by a pro."

Mulder raised a trembling hand to swipe at a drop of perspiration 
trickling slowly down his cheek. "All the ones I put away were 
good, Grey. That's why they gave them to me."

Grey fished a bottle of ibuprofen from the kit, popped the cap, and 
snagged his brother's hand. He held it steady and shook three 
capsules into the palm, handing Mulder the canteen once he'd 
placed the pills on his tongue. Grey's lips thinned and his eyes 
narrowed as he watched his brother drink.

"We've already discussed this, so let's not even go there. Every 
time you talk about that prick Patterson I want to hit something."

The corners of Mulder's mouth twitched. "Anyone ever tell 
you...your eyes flash when you get angry?"

"Yeah, yeah. Part of my southern charm. I'm not kidding, Fox. I 
said it before and I'll say it again. I don't understand how you can 
pass off the way they treated you when you were profiling. If not 
for the X-Files you'd've wound up in either a grave or a straight 
jacket, and you know it."

Mulder took another swig from the canteen before handing it back 
to his brother, the teasing glint fading from his eyes. "There were 
killers to catch. Lives to save. You think I was the only one...close 
to a breakdown? Comes with the job."

Grey shook his head, frustration a bitter edge in his normally 
mellow drawl. "A job you did too well. Patterson used you like 
some kind of natural resource he'd staked a claim to. And he'd've 
used you up if you hadn't gotten out when you did."

Mulder shrugged. "Water under the bridge." He blew a soft puff of 
air through his nose. "In some ways the X-Files aren't all that 
different. Still chasing monsters. They just don't wear masks."

Grey tucked the first aid kit back into his pack. After more 
rummaging, he pulled out several foil-wrapped quick energy bars. 
He smiled brightly, waving them in the air as if displaying a 
gourmet feast. "Dinner?"

Mulder eyed them with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Think I'll 
wait for the pizza guy."

The grin slid off Grey's face. "Fox. You need to eat something. It's 
the only way you're going to keep your energy up."

"Bubba, if I eat that...won't be my energy coming up." When his 
brother's expression didn't soften, Mulder sighed. "All right. Give 
me the red one."

He managed three bites, ever mindful that Grey was watching him 
surreptitiously, before his stomach rebelled. Dropping the half-
eaten bar in the dirt beside him, Mulder tipped his head back and 
breathed deeply, willing the little he'd consumed to stay put. 

"Can't," he said, the words clipped, terse.

"Fox..."

Mulder's eyes snapped open and he lunged forward. "I said I can't, 
damn it! Don't force me to eat something I don't want, I hate that!"

Grey blinked, startled by the fury. "Okay, okay. I hear you."

He slumped back against the rock, grimacing. "Sorry. You just... I 
always hated that when I was a kid."

Grey scanned his face for a moment, then moved so that he, too, 
was seated against the rock, shoulder brushing his brother's. 
"Tee...Mom make you clean your plate when you were a kid?" His 
voice was very soft, noncommittal.

Mulder gazed out into the ravine, now almost completely cloaked 
in darkness. "Before Sam was taken. After..." He snorted. "She 
couldn't be bothered most of the time. I ate whatever I wanted--
whatever I could scrounge from bare cupboards and a nearly empty 
refrigerator. Every once in a while she'd have an attack of guilt and 
try to cook dinner for me. Unfortunately, she usually burned it, or 
mixed up the ingredients so it tasted terrible. That didn't stop her 
from forcing me to eat it, though."

Grey studied the hair at the nape of Mulder's neck, struggling with 
the now familiar feelings of anger and sadness his brother's 
childhood never failed to provoke.

Careful. This is shaky ground.

"Didn't anyone notice what was going on around your house? 
Other family members? Teachers? Friends?"

The reply was light, sarcastic. "I'm sure the Mulder family was 
excellent fodder for the rumor mill. But we always put on our 
game faces in front of company."

Grey tugged off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through 
sweaty strands of hair. "It's okay to be pissed at them, you know. 
You've earned that right."

Mulder's shoulders stiffened. "Samantha's abduction was 
devastating. They did the best that they could."

"Cut the bullshit!" Grey's explosive retort startled Mulder. His 
head snapped around and his mouth worked for several moments 
without producing sound. Grey plowed on.

"You were a child, Fox! They were supposed to be the grown-ups, 
it was their job to take care of you. If they were too traumatized, if 
they were incapable of dealing with their own crap, then they 
should've gotten help."

Mulder shook his head with a laugh that took too much effort. 
"First Patterson, now my parents. Why exactly do you feel the 
need to defend me against the world?"

Grey didn't smile. "Someone has to, Fox. God knows, you refuse 
to defend yourself."

Mulder's eyes cut off to the trees, but he leaned a little more 
heavily into Grey's warmth. "Guess Scully must have figured out 
by now that she's not getting a phone call. You available to defend 
me against my wife?"

Grey chuckled softly, willing to let the subject slide. "You're on 
your own there. I'll have my own explaining to do." He sighed. 
"With any luck Dana and Kristen will figure out something is 
wrong and send in the cavalry."

Mulder shivered, drawing his arms deeper into the sweatshirts until 
the sleeves covered his hands. "Maybe. The thing is, I haven't 
always been the most...uh...reliable person when it comes to 
checking in with Scully. She's probably not going to get too 
worried right away."

Grey finished the bar he'd been munching and stuffed the wrapper 
into his pocket. "My guess is Kristen will do enough worrying for 
them both. Ever since your buddy Krycek snatched me while I was 
on my way to her house... Well, let's just say I always let her know 
if I'm running late."

Mulder smothered a yawn, shifting his weight in an attempt to ease 
the throbbing ache in his leg. Unfortunately, the simple movement 
caused a stab of pain so intense his vision erupted into bright 
flashes of light, and for several minutes he could hear nothing but 
the rush of his own breath. He was only peripherally aware of 
hands pulling and tugging, a low voice rumbling near his ear, and 
sudden heat driving some of the chill from his body. 

At last the pain receded to a dull roar and he was able to slit open 
his eyes. Only a few slivers of pale light remained, even the small 
fire's glow muted by the darkness. Mulder suddenly realized 
something soft and warm had replaced the frigid rock at his back. 
Blinking, he gazed down at an additional pair of arms wrapped 
around his middle.

"You back now?" Grey's gentle drawl held just a hint of strain.

Mulder struggled to sit up, reluctant to admit how good the warmth 
felt. "You can let go. I'm okay now." He winced at the croaking 
rasp of his own voice. "I promised Kristen I'd behave."

"Shut up." The growl was good-natured, lacking any genuine 
anger, and Grey's arms tightened. "You're shaking like a leaf and 
I'm not much warmer. First law of survival--use all available 
resources. Shared body heat just makes sense. Now get some 
sleep." Mulder could almost hear the smile. "I promise I'll still 
respect you in the morning."

On the heels of the warmth came bone-deep fatigue. Mulder's head 
settled back on his brother's shoulder and his eyes slid shut.

"'Kay. But if it starts raining sleeping bags, 'm outta here."

"Huh?" Grey craned his head to study his brother's face, the 
features now slack in sleep. He blew out a long breath of air and 
settled more comfortably against the rock. "Guess that's one she 
hasn't told me, little brother. Remind me to ask."


Blood Ties 10: A Dish Served Cold (7/19)
By Dawn
sunrise@avenew.com


Georgetown
Saturday
6:58 p.m.


She was standing in a spill of frigid air, contemplating the contents 
of her refrigerator, when the phone rang. Scully let the door close 
with a soft whunk and crossed to scoop the receiver off the 
counter.

"A little late, aren't you, Mulder? Are you two so wrapped up in 
bonding that you couldn't look at a watch?" She leaned one hip 
against the cabinets, the warmth in her tone belying the edge to her 
words.

A long pause, then a tentative soprano response. "Ah...Agent 
Scully? It's Kristen. Kristen Harding?"

Scully tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear as she 
returned to the refrigerator. "Kristen! Sorry about that. I was 
expecting a call from Mulder." She poked at a container of leftover 
chili, lip curled. 

"I know. I was expecting one, too--from Grey, I mean. Before he 
left, he said he'd give me a call this afternoon when they went into 
town for supplies. I've been home all day working on handwriting 
analysis reports for Violent Crimes, but the phone never rang. I 
thought maybe you'd heard something." A slight rise in pitch 
communicated her hope that Scully would deliver.

"I wish I could tell you I had." Scully cracked open a Tupperware 
dish of something that had grown fur, quickly dropping the entire 
thing into the garbage can with a wince. "I was at Quantico for 
most of the afternoon but my cell was on. I haven't heard a thing 
from Mulder since Thursday night."

Another silence, then a rush of words tinged with embarrassment. 
"You don't think anything is wrong, do you? Grey is always so 
reliable; if he says he's going to do something, he does it. And they 
are pretty high up in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, 
really. It would be so easy for one of them to get lost, or break a 
leg, or fall off a cliff..."

Scully's amusement turned sour when she excavated a piece of 
pizza that looked to have originated in the Pleistocene Epoch. She 
turned away from the refrigerator and headed for the drawer that 
held Mulder's collection of take-out menus.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?"

Obviously not the response Kristen had anticipated. "I...um...well, 
no. Like I said, I've been working on these reports, and..."

"I was just about to call out for Chinese. Why don't you join me?"

"I..."

"Look, staring at the phone isn't going to make it ring any sooner." 
Practicality built from hard experience, Scully thought ruefully. 
"I'm sure they're just running behind schedule. It is a vacation, 
after all. This way we'll save them a phone call."

"I am tired of staring at these walls." Kristen's voice warmed, 
steadied. "All right. Give me fifteen minutes to wrap up this file 
and I'll head over. Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself. I'll see you in a bit."

Scully switched off the phone, sternly ordering the little bell in her 
head--the Mulder panic alarm--to switch off. She hadn't simply 
been quoting platitudes to Kristen; Mulder's penchant for taking 
off on a whim was legendary. If she had a dime for every time...

*This is different. Mulder's changed a lot over the last couple 
years. Plus, his brother is with him. Grey certainly isn't one to get 
caught up in a wild goose chase to the exclusion of all else.*

With an impatient huff, Scully retrieved the phone and punched in 
the number for Yu's. Since she was unfamiliar with Kristen's likes 
and dislikes, she thumbed through the menu and selected a variety 
of dishes in the hope they'd both be satisfied. She ran a quick 
check of the living room, but with Mulder gone the coffee table 
was free of sunflower seed husks, the basketball tucked in the front 
closet rather than nestled on the couch. By the time she had 
changed to a faded pair of jeans and walked around the corner to 
pick up the food, Kristen was waiting on the front steps and the 
buzzing in Scully's head had ceased.

"You must think I'm completely neurotic." Kristen carried 
cardboard containers to the table as Scully removed them from the 
brown paper bag. "Getting concerned over one missed phone call."

 With a raised brow, Scully held up the teakettle, filling it with 
water when Kristen nodded. She set it on the stove, one shoulder 
lifted in a small shrug. "And you could accuse me of being 
negligent for not giving it much thought. It doesn't make either 
emotion right or wrong." Her lips curved. "You're new at this. I've 
had eight years."

Kristen fiddled with the end of the long blonde ponytail that trailed 
down her right shoulder. "Maybe."

Scully motioned to the table and they sat, sifting through cartons 
and spooning the food onto their plates. "Look, I really don't want 
to sound blasé about this," Scully said, pausing to fix Kristen with 
a compassionate gaze. "I just *know* Mulder. He exists in his own 
world sometimes." She smirked. "A world not governed by the 
laws of nature as we know them. That includes time as a universal 
invariant. We'll probably get a call any minute laced with profuse 
apologies for worrying us."

Kristen picked up a pair of chopsticks and snagged a piece of 
chicken. Halfway to her mouth she stopped, stared at the tidbit as if 
it were a foreign object, and returned it to her plate. Her faint smile 
couldn't disguise the disquiet in her green eyes. "Agent 
Scully...Dana. I'll admit that you and Mulder share a lot more 
history than Grey and I. But I like to think I know him. And he 
knows me. So I think I can speak with complete confidence when I 
say that something about this missed phone call doesn't feel right.

A little line appeared between Scully's brows and she opened her 
mouth to reply, only to be silenced by Kristen's upraised hand. 
"Remember last year, when Grey was kidnapped?"

An image flashed across Scully's mind--Mulder shivering with 
cold, pacing up and down the shoulder of a highway as he searched 
desperately for clues to his brother's disappearance. He'd been 
sick--mortally ill--only none of them had realized it at the time, 
and he'd been too consumed with worry for his brother to 
acknowledge his own body's warnings. A chill crept up her spine 
like icy fingers.

"I remember."

"I sat in my apartment for nearly two hours that night, expecting 
him to walk through the door any minute. Telling myself he'd 
probably just stopped for gas or to pick up flowers or...or just 
about anything I could come up with that didn't include blood, and 
twisted metal, and ambulances. See, my father died in a car 
accident when I was nine, and to this day..." She swallowed hard. 
"To this day I can vividly remember the way my mom sat by our 
big picture window, waiting for him to come home."

"I'm sorry," Scully murmured.

"'S okay. I survived." Kristen's smile faded. "But I also learned a 
lesson. Bad things don't always happen to other people. Sometimes 
they hit a lot closer to home. So, you see, those hours waiting for 
Grey were two of the longest of my life." She studied Scully's pale 
face. "I know you've been there.
 
"Anyway, a funny thing happened to me. When that nightmare was 
all over, when I was sure I'd put it all behind me, it came back to 
bite me. Grey was driving up from Raleigh for the weekend. He'd 
called right before he left. And then for some reason, spur of the 
moment, he decided to make a little detour and visit Mulder on the 
way. And I..." She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her 
head, flushing. "I lost it. By the time he got to my place I was a 
nervous wreck, ready to call the highway patrol to institute a 
search for his dead body. 

"Grey was..." She chuffed a little laugh, "bewildered. To say the 
least. I cried; he apologized. We talked about it, eventually even 
laughed about it. It isn't as if I don't know the feelings are 
irrational. But that doesn't make them any easier to cope with."

"I understand." Scully's voice was low, little more than a whisper. 
"There was a period of time, after Mulder was so sick, when he 
couldn't sneeze without my heart climbing into my throat."

"Then maybe you can also understand why I'm convinced Grey 
wouldn't risk giving me a nervous breakdown just because he was 
having a great time and forgot to look at his watch." Kristen 
paused but her intense gaze never wavered. "He wouldn't."

Scully set her chopsticks on her plate. Not only had her hunger 
been banished by the little lizard wriggling in her gut, the alarm 
bell in her head had risen from a whine to a shriek. 

Kristen's eyes narrowed and she gave a small jerk of her head. 
"You feel it, too. It's written on your face."

Annoyance mixed with fear, tightening Scully's lips and 
sharpening her gaze. "Even if something did go wrong, there's no 
reason to assume the worst. It could be something as simple as a 
flat tire or a...a damaged phone line. Mulder told me the cabin has 
a radio. I'm sure if anything really serious had happened...”

Except the more she talked, the less she believed her own words. 
How many times, really, had Mulder been overdue if there wasn't 
trouble involved? The "Mulder panic button" in her head had 
served to be eerily accurate over the years. As the old expression 
went, "Methinks she doth protest too much." Perhaps her 
determination to assuage Kristen's fears was merely an excuse for 
denying her own instincts.

The teakettle whistled shrilly and Scully stood, absurdly grateful 
for an excuse to avoid Kristen's troubled eyes. She busied herself 
preparing two mugs of green tea and tried not to think about 
Mulder's track record with nice little trips to the forest. Kristen 
accepted the tea with murmured thanks and graciously refrained 
from commenting on the way the liquid jittered in the cup. Scully 
cradled her own mug in both hands and took a long sip, eyes 
slipping shut as she mentally reconstructed her composure.

"I'm sorry." The regret in Kristen's voice failed to conceal the steel 
beneath. "I've heard about the situation you've been dealing with at 
work. I honestly didn't want to add to that burden, but it looks like 
that's exactly what I've done." She set down her mug and pushed 
back her chair. "Maybe the best thing I could do for you at this 
point is to leave."

Scully's hand on her arm arrested the motion. "Kristen..." She drew 
in a long breath, expelling it in a harsh puff. "The way I see it, it 
doesn't really matter what theory you subscribe to regarding the 
missed phone call. For the moment, there's really only one thing 
we can do."

"Wait." The little crease between Kristen's brows clearly 
communicated how she felt about that idea. Her chin tipped 
upward. "But if we don't hear anything this evening, I'm contacting 
the police in Spring Creek first thing in the morning."

Scully released her arm. "If we haven't heard from them by then, 
I'll make the call myself." When Kristen's forehead smoothed and 
she nodded, Scully continued, "But it's still early; there's no reason 
to assume they won't call. And while we're waiting, we may as 
well eat some of this food. Leftovers have a way of turning to toxic 
waste in that refrigerator.

Kristen rewarded her with a genuine grin. "I hear you. Those little 
Tupperware dishes always seem to get shoved in the back where I 
don't see them. Last time I cleaned out the fridge I think I 
discovered several new species."

"Hazards of the job." Scully popped a shrimp into her mouth. The 
crackle in the air between them had dissipated and she felt the 
muscles in her shoulders loosen. "A case can take Mulder and I out 
of town at a moment's notice, and frequently it's days before we 
come home." She chuffed. "At least I put leftover food into those 
little plastic bowls. Mulder just shoves it into the refrigerator as is. 
Once when I was at his apartment I found some vegetable soup in 
a saucepan with a piece of plastic wrap over the top. Top shelf, 
right next to the milk. He called it 'streamlining.'"

Kristen struggled not to choke on a mushroom. "Streamlining?"

"He said it cuts down on the number of dishes that need to be 
washed, and makes reheating much easier. You just pull the pot 
out of the refrigerator and put it on the stove. Simple." She shook 
her head as Kristen snickered. "When he moved in we made a 
deal--I take care of putting the leftover food away, and he's in 
charge of discarding it if it lives past its prime." She grimaced. 
"When he's here."

"You haven't really told people at work, have you?" When Scully 
looked up sharply Kristen lifted one shoulder, flushing. "I guess I 
thought that once you got married the word would be out. There's 
the usual watercooler intrigue and speculation, of course. But that's 
all it really is--intrigue and speculation."

Scully picked up her plate and took it to the counter. "It's not like 
we're engaging in any subterfuge. We drive to work together every 
morning and we've never removed these." She paused, twisting the 
band on her ring finger before swiveling to face the sink. Her voice 
remained measured, even. "Given that, I hardly see the need to 
take out an ad in the newsletter. Mulder worries about the impact 
on my career, but frankly, that's peripheral for me. As far as I'm 
concerned, as long as we continue to do our jobs, our personal life 
is no one's business but our own. The watercooler gossip will 
continue with or without our input."

"I'm sorry. You're right, it isn't anybody's business, including 
mine." Kristen's voice communicated support rather than 
contrition.

Scully turned and leaned against the counter, arms folded. "It's all 
right. I didn't mean to include you." She smirked a bit, lips curved 
and eyebrow arched. "After all, I suppose you're practically 
family."

To her surprise, Kristen's jaw tightened and her eyes slid over to 
the wall.

Scully hesitated, then resumed her seat at the table. "Looks like it's 
my turn to apologize."

Kristen shook her head with a weak smile. "It's all right. Lately, I 
tend to follow the 'one day at a time' plan when it comes to my 
personal life."

Scully snorted indelicately before grasping her mug. "There must 
be a genetic marker there somewhere."

Kristen bit her lip, eyes scanning Scully's face, indecision plain. 
Finally she sighed and a rueful little smile twisted her lips. "I love 
him. And I'm pretty sure he loves me. But I never thought I'd find 
myself competing for a man--let alone with a woman who's been 
dead five years."

"Kate." Scully swirled the amber liquid in her cup. "Not an easy 
act to follow."

"Don't misunderstand me--I would never, NEVER expect Grey to 
forget her or stop talking about her. I know she's a part of him, a 
part of loving him."

"But it gets a little crowded sometimes." When Kristen's jaw 
dropped Scully smiled. "Early in our partnership, before I ever 
dreamed I'd wind up romantically involved with Fox Mulder--not 
to mention married to him--I figured out that his sister was an 
integral part of his life. A package deal."

Kristen inclined her head, index finger tracing the wood grain of 
the tabletop. "But she was his *sister.* He could allow himself to 
love you without feeling as if he'd somehow betrayed her."

**Old Memorial Bridge. Mulder, wrapped in a trenchcoat and his 
own despair. The pains in her own body secondary to the ache in 
her heart...

"Mulder, why didn't you tell me on the phone that it was her?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd never let me go through with it."**

Scully blinked, focused in on Kristen's voice.

"...not like he hasn't been up front with me. I knew it wasn't going 
to be easy."

"You said you're 'pretty sure' he loves you." Quiet. Tentative. 
Scully left the opening but didn't press.

"He shows me every day, in lots of ways." Kristen's hand crept up 
to massage the flesh over her right temple. "But he can't seem to 
say the words. He's come close a few times but..." She chuckled 
bitterly. "You know, I would swear I could feel Kate there, 
standing right between us." The smile dried up. "I'm not in a hurry, 
Dana. I'm more than willing to give Grey all the time he needs to 
come to terms with his feelings. I'd just like to be sure he'll get 
there, eventually."

Scully pursed her lips. "Mulder sometimes refers to himself as 
'high maintenance.'" She shrugged. "The truth is, nothing worth 
having comes without a price. You just have to decide whether the 
end result is worth the cost." She cocked an eyebrow. "From what I 
can see, we've both made our decision."

"God help us," Kristen muttered, and they both burst into laughter.

The conversation turned to work-related topics as Kristen helped 
Scully clear the table, pack away leftover food in the dreaded 
plastic bowls, and wash the dishes. As the evening progressed, 
however, the silences grew thicker and more awkward as the 
phone stubbornly remained mute and uncooperative. By ten 
o'clock Kristen was ready to take her leave, her pale, drawn face a 
good match for Scully's rigid shoulders and jangling nerves.

"Thank you for dinner." Kristen's eyes involuntarily searched for 
the phone, then darted back to Scully's face. "I doubt they'll call 
now. Grey told me he avoids driving those roads at night."

"Try not to worry. They both have their weapons and Grey is more 
than capable of navigating the woods. We'll probably hear from 
them in the morning." Scully mouthed the words without feeling 
them. 

Kristen's expression said she wasn't fooled, but she played along. 
"I hope you're right. Good night, Dana."

Scully engaged the deadbolt and wandered through the apartment, 
turning off lights as she went. She paused in the doorway to the 
bedroom, staring at a bed that looked too big, too cold, and too 
empty. She closed her eyes, remembering solid warmth along her 
spine, a whispery tickle of breath on the back of her neck, the 
scratchy hair on long legs tangled up with her short ones. The need 
to see him hit her with the force of a wrecking ball, crumbling the 
composure she'd so carefully maintained in front of Kristen. 

And abruptly, unreservedly, she acknowledged what she had 
known all evening. That he was in trouble. Serious trouble.

In three quick steps she'd crossed the room and scooped up the 
phone. For the next hour she punched numbers, drawing on both 
her credentials and her diplomatic skills to track down warm 
bodies in the Spring Creek Police Department, the state police, and 
the local forestry service. The answers were maddeningly the 
same. "No, we haven't heard of any trouble or disturbances up that 
way. Sorry, there's nothing we can do until morning. We'll call if 
we hear anything." One foolhardy officer at the Spring Creek 
Police station, irritated by the disruption of his normally peaceful 
graveyard shift, had the temerity to suggest Scully's concern was 
not only unfounded but indicative of a neurotic, overly-possessive 
wife. By the time she'd finished with him he'd offered profuse 
apologies, promised to send someone up to check on the cabin as 
soon as it was light, and volunteered to canvass the local hospitals 
in case anyone with Grey or Mulder's description had been 
admitted.

When she hung up the phone, Scully's worry and frustration 
reached critical mass. Her nature, when faced with a problem, was 
to act. To tackle the situation head on and let nothing stand in her 
way. Mulder in danger only intensified the impulse, the *need* to 
do something. 

Yet even Scully had to admit that she'd exhausted all avenues of 
investigation available to her at 11 o'clock on a Saturday night. 
Now she could only wait for daylight. And pray, for Mulder and 
for the one who stood in her place.

"Grey," she murmured, oblivious that she'd spoken aloud. "Keep 
him safe."



Great Smoky Mountains
Sunday
5:33 a.m.

The fire was dying.

Grey carefully shifted his brother forward and then eased him to 
the ground, settling him on his good side, cheek cushioned on a 
backpack. Fox made a small sound of complaint, eyelids fluttering, 
and drew his arms more tightly against his body. Grey tucked his 
jacket up around the hunched shoulders, laying one hand lightly on 
his brother's head until Fox quieted.

He stood slowly, wincing at the pins-and-needles sensation in his 
legs as circulation returned. The muscles across his shoulders and 
neck felt stiff and tight from the rock's damp chill. He gingerly 
rolled his head and stretched, hands propped in the small of his 
back. The cold air raised gooseflesh on his bare arms and he 
hastily gathered several sticks and crouched closer to the fading 
warmth of the weak fire.

The flames eagerly accepted his offering, and he'd soon rekindled a 
respectable blaze. The first pale threads of light penetrated the 
trees, but in the small ravine the shadows remained thick. Grey sat 
with knees bent, arms linked loosely around his legs, and wished 
mightily for a cup of coffee--for Fox as much as for himself. Chills 
had wracked his brother's body on and off throughout the cold 
night, at times so violently that he could hear teeth clicking 
together.

Grey had done the best he could with limited resources, stripping 
off his own jacket and wrapping it around them both in an effort to 
contain body heat. Toward dawn Fox had quieted, the shivers 
tapering off, and Grey had managed a light doze which, though 
brief, had taken the edge off his own weariness.

Soon it would be full daylight, time for them to strike out for the 
cabin. No way to tell exactly how much ground they had yet to 
cover, but he figured they'd traveled close to eight miles so far and 
his internal odometer was usually accurate. That left another three 
miles.

Three miles. It didn't sound like much. Until you factored in Fox's 
rapidly deteriorating physical condition. They'd limped along at 
little better than a snail's pace yesterday, his brother stubbornly 
insisting he didn't need to rest while desperately trying to conceal 
how badly he was hurting. How much worse would it be today, 
after a night spent on the cold ground?

Grey tipped his head and ran one hand along his stubbled jaw, 
shifting his eyes from the flames to scan his brother's face. Too 
pale, drawn, the flesh under each eye darkening to a bruised 
crescent. In the flickering light cast by the fire he looked far too 
young and fragile to be an almost-40-year-old FBI agent adept at 
tracking down aliens and serial killers.

Responsibility, weighty and encumbering, pressed down on Grey's 
shoulders like a knapsack of rocks. It was all up to him, now, to 
elude a killer, navigate them safely to the cabin, and get Fox the 
medical attention he so desperately needed. And meanwhile the 
clock ticked relentlessly.

Piece of cake.

"Whatsa matter? Something wrong?"

The raspy voice startled Grey. He watched Fox wrestle his eyelids 
open and blink owlishly, brow furrowed.

Grey snorted. "Wrong? What could be wrong? There's a deranged 
killer after us, you've got a bullet in your leg, and we're still a good 
three miles from any kind of help."

"Oh, is that all. I was afraid the Mets won the World Series." 
Deadpan. Sarcasm and dry wit intact.

The fist around Grey's heart loosened, and he rolled his eyes. 
"Very funny. How's the leg?"

Mulder licked his lips, grimaced. "I'd rather talk about the Mets."

"Water?"

"Yeah."

Grey snagged his pack and extricated the canteen. He turned back 
just in time to grab his brother's shoulder as he swayed 
precariously close to the fire.

"Whoa! Easy, Fox."

Mulder sucked in a deep breath, then batted Grey's hands away. 
"I'm okay. Just sat up too fast, that's all." He stared down at the 
jacket that now lay pooled in his lap, obviously noticing it for the 
first time. A mixture of shame and gratitude clouded his eyes, and 
he thrust the coat at Grey without looking up. "Take this, you're 
gonna freeze."

Grey held his tongue as he accepted the jacket and handed over the 
canteen. He fished several energy bars from the pack and held 
them up while his brother drank.

Mulder's lip curled and he took on a greenish hue. "Pass."

Grey opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, handing 
over three ibuprofen caplets instead. 

"Breakfast of champions." Mulder tossed the pills into his mouth 
with a wink and washed them down with more water, then passed 
the canteen to his brother.

Grey ate two of the energy bars and some water before reaching 
for the first aid kit. Mulder watched him lay out the supplies for a 
moment, then turned his face away.

"I've been meaning to ask you about something. Where did you 
learn so much about survival and navigating your way through the 
woods?"

Grey's answering chuckle was little more than a cloudy puff of 
vapor. "I was wondering when you were gonna ask me that 
question. Guess it's time I shared that part of my sordid past."

"Bring it on." Mulder gave him a brief smirk, quickly returning his 
gaze to the fire when Grey began to remove the bandage from his 
leg.

"I hit a bad patch when I started high school, what my parents like 
to call my PITA phase--you know what I mean?"

"The 'pain in the ass' phase? Are you kidding? Most of the brass at 
the Bureau would swear I'm still there." Mulder ground the words 
through clenched teeth. Despite Grey's efforts to be gentle, just 
unwrapping the leg had caused him to break into a cold sweat.

"I see your point." Grey stared at the angry red flesh surrounding 
the wound, loath to admit that it appeared even more inflamed.

"Anyway, I got in with the wrong crowd. Guys whose sole purpose 
in life was to party hard, who believed that rules existed so that we 
could break them. It was life in the fast lane and I was having a 
great time. Until two things happened."

Grey poured the remaining hydrogen peroxide into the wound. His 
brother choked off a moan, eyes squeezed shut and hands 
clenched. When the bubbling and fizzing began to taper off, 
Mulder cracked open one eye.

"Two things?"

Grey picked up a gauze pad. "Yeah. And they were doozies. First, 
I got my midterm report. I was failing English Lit and only pulling 
Ds in Geometry and Chemistry. This from a normally A and B 
student." Grey shook his head, mouth twisted in a rueful grin.

"My folks hit the roof. Grounding me for life was discussed as a 
viable option. Then, while they were still making up their minds, I 
was arrested for possession of marijuana. Now I was dead meat."

Mulder snickered, groaned when the motion jostled his leg, and 
snickered some more. "I can imagine."

"Anyway, to make a long story short, since it was my first offense 
and I'd basically been a good kid, the judge let me off with a slap 
on the wrist. My parents, however, weren't so forgiving. Next thing 
I knew I was packed off to a kind of...boot camp for troubled teens. 
I spent my spring break slogging along the Appalachian Trail using 
muscles I didn't know existed and serving as dinner to mosquitoes 
the size of horses. And the strangest part was, I loved it." Grey tied 
off the bandage and sat back on his heels, a bemused smile on his 
lips.

"I came back cured of my rebellious ways--" He chuffed. "Well, 
mostly. And I continued to attend survival camps over the next few 
summers, just for the fun of it." Grey shrugged a little sheepishly. 
"And that's about it."

Mulder's eyes panned the ravine, the shadows all but banished by 
the early morning sunlight. He glanced sideways at Grey, the 
barest hint of a smile curving his lips. "Final exam time, Bubba. 
Hope you studied hard."

Grey collected their packs, slipped his brother's arm around his 
neck, and slowly stood. "Got it covered, little brother. Smooth 
sailing."


10:30 a.m.

"So this is what you call...smooth sailing...huh? Remind me...never 
to get in a boat with you."

"Here. Sit down and stop being a smartass."

Grey settled his brother onto a fallen log, dropped the packs, then 
used the hem of his tee shirt to mop his face. Though the 
temperature was pleasantly cool in the shade, he was drenched in 
sweat and his muscles trembled with fatigue. He uncapped the 
canteen, barely a quarter full now, took a few swallows, and 
crouched down in front of Fox.

Despite his exertions and two sweatshirts, Fox's arms were tightly 
laced around his shivering body. Cheeks flushed, eyes too bright. 
Grey pressed the back of his hand to the damp forehead, dismayed, 
though not surprised, by the heat. He rummaged through his pack 
for more ibuprofen, peeled one of his brother's hands away from 
his torso, and placed the caplets in the palm. Fox obediently 
swallowed them with some water, his movements jerky and 
mechanical.

A twig snapped somewhere off to their left. Grey stood, sharp eyes 
carefully scanning the vegetation as he placed his body 
deliberately in front of his brother. After several tense moments of 
seeing nothing but a squirrel and several birds, his shoulders 
slumped and he turned back to face Mulder.

"I know you're done in. But as near as I can figure we're almost 
there. I just need you to keep going a little longer."

Mulder dipped his head. "Let's get this...over with."

Packs on his shoulders, Fox's arm slung around his neck, they 
lumbered onward. Though Fox valiantly tried to help, with each 
step Grey found himself bearing more and more of his brother's 
weight, until his back screamed in protest and each breath cut like 
a knife through his lungs. They scrambled up a small hill, nearly 
tumbling head-over-heels on the way down when Grey's foot 
caught on a protruding root.

Ahead, the vegetation thinned and the sunlight blazed brightly. 
Grey's heart soared with hope, but his body could do no more than 
maintain the steady plod forward. They dodged a pine tree, skirted 
a bush bearing bright red berries, and staggered into a clearing. 
Two hundred yards ahead, shaded by several large maple trees, 
was the back of a log cabin nearly twice the size of theirs.

"That's it!" Grey crowed. "We made it, Fox! We made it!"

Caution abruptly dampened his euphoria and he tugged his brother 
backward several steps into the cover of the woods while he 
scrutinized the cabin and the surrounding area. A blue jay chased 
several smaller birds from a feeder before settling down to claim 
the spoils. Two smaller trees served as anchors for a clothesline, 
where three white tee shirts and a pair of navy pants flapped in the 
light breeze. Wisps of smoke drifted from a stone chimney.

The heavy thump of his brother's head hitting his shoulder made 
Grey's decision for him. Fox's eyes