Wed Nov 27 1996
FOX'S DEN III: HOME SWEET HOME
by Deb Prewitt thalia@goodnet.com

Summary: The third story in the Fox's Den series. The partners are reunited
after a battered and bruised Mulder finds his way home.

Classification/Rating: SRA, PG

Spoilers/Warnings: None.

Archivists/Newsgroups: I give permission for 'Fox's Den III: Home Sweet
Home' to be posted on the archives and newsgroups as long as my name,
e-mail addy and intro remain intact.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine; they're the property of Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions and FOX Broadcasting. No infringement is intended.
I promise not to hurt them (much). I promise to keep their safety belts
securely fastened. I promise to bring them back to their full and upright
positions before landing......oh, wait. Wrong speech. Sorry.

Author's Note: This is the third (and last) story in the Fox's Den series.
That's it. No more. I mean it. I would recommend reading the first two
Fox's Den stories - otherwise, this one may not make much sense.

Godzilla-sized thanks to KL and Charli for sticking it out through the
series. We're home free, gals! <grin>

Feedback...please, I want feedback! Send all comments, questions,
suggestions or musings to <thalia@goodnet.com>. I want e-mail, lots and
lots of e-mail.

And now, please welcome my final guest for the evening...

FOX'S DEN III: HOME SWEET HOME
by Deb Prewitt

Stretched across the vast expanse of black vinyl, she stirred in her sleep.
To the casual observer, the startled expression on her face, the slight
movements of her hands lightly skimming over her body, the soft-spoken
gasps escaping her lips would seem like the effects of a nightmare. But the
dream Dana Scully was having was _not_ a nightmare. Quite the opposite,
actually....

Scully jerked awake, sitting straight up, her hand grasping the back of the
couch. Taking a few moments to slow her breathing, she took stock of her
surroundings. Allowing her eyes to adjust fully to the darkness, she
breathed a sigh of relief. She was in his apartment, lying on his couch,
one hand still forcefully clutching one of the couch pillows.

But just as quickly as the relief entered her body, it seeped out. He was
still gone. Her partner was still missing.

She swung her legs off the couch, then raised her hands to her head, lazily
wiping the sleep from her eyes. Contorting her body into a cat-like pose,
she stretched the aches from her back. She rose from the couch and moved to
the window, relieved that the rain had stopped completely. Moonlight
spilled in and splashed across half of the dark apartment. Her eyes lowered
to the window pane bearing the 'X' made of masking tape.

"Bastard," she whispered. She didn't know why she was so surprised not to
hear from the man called 'X'. She knew exactly where his loyalties lay:
with himself. He owed her nothing; he owed Mulder nothing. But she couldn't
help the depression that had crept into her body.

A quick glance at her watch told her that it was past midnight. She
silently chastised herself for sleeping so long. She turned back to the
window and raised her head to the dark sky, her somber blue eyes gazing at
the small slice of moon she could see between the two buildings. Her hand
unconsciously went to her stomach as she heard a low growl coming from its
depths. She hadn't eaten in over a day, and the sleep she had just allowed
herself was the first since he had disappeared. This feeling of
helplessness was devouring her whole.

Moving away from the window, Scully side-stepped the caramel-colored chair
and stopped at the round table next to it. Her hand reached to the gray
lamp sitting stoically on the fake marble table top. She was about to click
the lamp to live when she heard a thump outside the apartment door.

Yanking her hand back, she quietly moved to the coffee table where her gun
lay. Freeing the gun from its holster, she cocked the hammer and slowly
tip-toed to the door. She could see a shadow under the door, the light
spilling in from the hallway partially blocked by a dark form.

Her ears pricked when she heard another thump, then the jingling of the
door knob. She pushed her back against the wall next to the door and
listened. Heavy breathing, a low moan, more breathing... then 'Shit'.

*Oh God!* She knew that voice, almost better than she knew her own.

"Mulder?"

On the other side of the door, she heard a rush of exhaled air. "Scul...,"
the voice said, cutting itself off with a harsh cough. "Scully, it's
me...don't have...keys..."

It was her turn this time to heave a heavy sigh of relief. She lowered her
gun, one hand immediately moving to unlock the door. She fought back the
hysterical laugh building up in her throat as she cautiously swung the door
open.

His hands were sitting on either side of the door frame, obviously holding
most of his weight. His mouth and parts of his jawline were raw and chafed,
and his lips were bloody and split in several places. His face was red --
from exertion, she assumed -- and he had what looked like tiny scratches on
his throat and cheeks. He looked like he had been ridden hard and put away
wet. But to her, he had never looked better. He was alive.

She was staring so intently at him that she almost missed the corner of his
mouth curling up into a lopsided grin.

"Hi honey, I'm home," he managed to whisper before his hands lost their
grip on the door frame, and he fell into her.

---------------------------

Mulder awoke to the sensation of cool fingertips caressing his face. He
wanted to open his eyes, but the groggy feeling in his head wouldn't allow
it. Behind his closed eyelids, his mind conjured up images of roses again,
the feeling of those feather-soft touches making him think of velvety rose
petals gliding across his sensitive skin. He even thought that he could
smell their deliciously sweet scent.

His throat let loose with a low moan. The fingertips hesitated, then
continued their gentle exploration. He reached up toward his face, his hand
coming in contact with something soft. A sweatshirt, or sweater perhaps. He
forced his eyes open.

Blinking his eyes a few times, he focused on the image before him: bright
auburn hair, smiling blue eyes, soft coral-colored lips.

He smiled. "Am I dreaming?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Only if we're having the same dream," Scully said softly. Her hand
continued caressing his cheek, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to
revel in her touch.

He felt a slight pang of loss when she pulled her hand away from his face.
His eyes fluttered open and met with hers. They stayed that way, locked in
each other's gaze for several seconds before she blinked and she lowered
her eyes to her lap.

For the first time since he had awakened, Mulder was now aware that he in
his bedroom. He looked down at his body lying in his hardly-used bed, and
his hand loosely grasped the faded green blanket draped over his body.
Somehow, Scully had managed to strip him of his T-shirt and jeans, leaving
him clad in only his cotton boxers.

His eyes drifted back to Scully. She was sitting on the bed, near the
middle, her legs folded up underneath her body. Their eyes met again
briefly. She smiled and her hand moved to his hair, her fingers brushing a
few stray strands from his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice still low.

"Better," he said, his voice feeling stronger. "How...how did you get me in
here, Scully? The last thing I remember was you opening the front door and
me falling into the apartment."

She laughed tightly. "It wasn't easy. Have I ever told you that you're just
too damned tall?"

He managed a few short laughs before his lungs were overcome by powerful
coughs. Scully helped him sit up in the bed, one hand on his back, the
other reaching around him to the side table where a coffee mug filled with
water lay waiting. She helped him raise the cup to his lips and he gulped
the water down greedily.

She pulled the mug back. "Hey, take it easy," she gently chastised.
"Slowly, Mulder. You're dehydrated and you probably haven't eaten in days.
You'll only make yourself sick."

He nodded, his head pounding too furiously for him to argue. She placed the
coffee mug back on the table and proceeded to rearrange the pillows behind
him so that he could sit up in the bed. He soon felt her hands on his upper
arms as she gently pushed him back into the fluffed pillows.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
Finally, he opened his eyes to see Scully staring at him, not with her
usual 'how did you manage to get yourself into this mess' look, but
something completely different. Her eyes were filled with concern,
compassion and...love?

*Nah,* he thought, knowing his head was still so screwed up that he
wouldn't be surprised if it was affecting his sight.

"So, Scully," he said, keeping his voice level despite the fact that her
fingertips were lightly skimming across his collarbone. "You didn't answer
my question."

She pulled her hand away, wiping her fingers on a washcloth. Her hand moved
to her lap and she picked up a small tube, placing it next to her on the
washcloth. He suddenly realized what Scully was doing: she was applying
ointment to the thorn scratches. He felt a twinge of disappointment,
finally figuring out that she was touching him for _medical_ reasons.

"You mean after you fell onto me and sent both of us to the floor?" Her
voice was firm but was sprinkled with humor.

He smiled slyly, wincing as his painful lips stretched. "Oh, great. The one
time I get to be on top of you and I'm unconscious."

His smile widened as he watched her skin turn a light shade of crimson. She
recovered quickly, however, and her eyes shot mental daggers at him. "After
I managed to get out from underneath your _dead weight_, I checked to make
sure you were still breathing. Then I ran here," she said, pointing to the
bed, "and got this blanket. I folded it long-ways and moved it under your
back. I pulled the two loose ends up so that they went over your shoulders,
and dragged you in here and up onto the bed."

Mulder fought to keep a straight face as his mind filled with images of
Scully pulling him through the apartment. But he had to admire her for her
ingenuity. She saw the challenge and rose to meet it head-on, her clever
mind deducing and executing the perfect solution. That was his Scully.

He decided it best to leave this one alone and not tease her. Well, that
and the fact that his head had begun pounding out an incredibly long and
complex drum solo on his brain.

He lay back against the headboard and closed his eyes, his head feeling
like a sixteen-pound throbbing bowling ball. He felt her moving on the bed,
then her body was up against his arm, and her fingers were lightly brushing
through in his hair.

"Head still hurts, eh?" he heard her whisper. All he could do was lightly
nod. Her hand moved down toward his face, her fingers caressing his cheek.
He smiled internally, knowing that she was touching him now _not_ for
medical reasons.

"I guess you want to know what happened," he said lazily, unaware that his
words had begun to slur together.

Her hands moved to his arms and it took him a few seconds to realize that
she was trying to push him down toward the end of the bed. He complied,
helping her as much as he could to inch down so that his head lay on the
bed.

"No, we'll talk later," she whispered in his ear, her breath like feathers
across his skin. "You're home, and that's all that matters. Right now, your
body needs the rest."

He felt her hands move from his arms, but he reached out to her. "Stay with
me," he said quietly, his hands grasping one of her arms. He opened his
eyes, locking with hers briefly. "Please."

She nodded, then moved to stretch out next to him. He wrapped his hand
tightly around hers and drifted into darkness.

THE END