Gypsy by Rachel Howard

Title: NEW: Gypsy by Rachel Howard
Author: snowrider5@aol.com

Date: 24 Jul 1997

NEW: GYPSY, (1/3) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com) PG-13 for violence
and adult situations Classification - T with peripheral X-file
Spoilers - Fourth season
Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST, some angst. Summary - While the agents are
investigating a possible UFO sighting in Colorado, Mulder makes a decision
about his priorities.

All rights reserved. The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and
Skinner are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions and are used without
permission; no copyright infringement is intended. All other characters
are the property of the author - please do not use without permission.
Lyrics from "Nobody Knows Me" used without permission; no copyright
infringement intended. Author's permission given for electronic
duplication only.
All feedback/comments welcome - email to snowrider5@aol.com.
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Moffat, Colorado
11:21 AM
"Levison."

"Levison what?" Mulder asked, not concealing his impatience well. They had
four more witnesses to go, and it was already clear this woman didn't want
to be talking to them. Her body was balanced on the edge of her chair as
though she might get up any second. Not fertile ground. Get the
preliminaries out of the way, then move on to someone less hostile.

"Not 'Levison what'. That's my last name. And that's all you need?" She
tried to conceal the question in her voice but didn't quite succeed.

Scully broke in. "Actually, we need a first name for our report, Ms.
Levison." She spoke gently, trying to put the woman at ease. From reading
local sheriff's report, this woman might be the only credible one of the
bunch. She was the only witness who hadn't been out there to look for
flying saucers, as far as Scully could tell from the sketchy notes.

The woman sighed. "Gypsy."

"Thank you. Do you live in Crestone?"

"Only for the summer. I'm a grad student at CU - the University of
Colorado at Boulder."

"Could you tell us what you were doing on Humboldt Peak?"

"Preparing to descend. The weather looked like it might be turning and the
summit of a fourteener is no place to get caught in a storm."

"What made you decide to climb Humboldt in the first
place?" Scully asked.

Gypsy Levison stared levelly at her. "Because it was there." She relented
somewhat, watching the agent's jaw tighten. "Sorry. Common excuse among
climbers. I sometimes go trailrunning when I need a change in my
training."

"Training?"

"Triathalons." Scully lifted an eyebrow and was rewarded by a slight smile
from their witness, which Mulder caught.

Mulder looked more closely at the woman across the table from him, who had
relaxed a little. She had sculpted arms ending in broad shoulders, their
shape outlined under a faded blue T-shirt. The cords in her neck stood out
briefly as she swallowed. The jaw and nose were strong, maybe a little too
strong for beauty, but her wide-set eyes were a clear, pale blue, ringed
with black at the iris. Meeting her eyes, Mulder realized how his
once-over must have looked from her point of view, and he averted his
gaze, embarrassed.

Scully glanced at her partner, then back at the woman. "So you were
trailrunning yesterday."

"At first. Humboldt's really not a good mountain to run - the trail
surface is very inconsistent. I ran about four miles, then switched shoes
and just hiked. It was perfect the day before yesterday - cool and clear -
when I started, and I thought I'd take it easy."

Take it easy. A fourteen-thousand foot summit. Scully marveled mentally.
Even here in Moffat, sitting in the police station's tiny office, she
could feel the effects of the altitude. Her annoyance with her partner's
insistence on chasing this particular wild goose had nearly evaporated
during the drive from Gunnison to this tiny town in Colorado's San Luis
Valley. The clean, cool air, the rugged splendor of the Sangre de Cristo
mountains growing closer as they drove across the flat plain of the valley
- the sheer beauty of her surroundings had gone a long way toward calming
her, even as her partner rattled on about the campers from Crestone who
had ostensibly seen a UFO while camped out halfway up Humboldt Peak.

But in spite of drinking extra water and trying not to over-exert herself
upon their arrival in Colorado yesterday evening, Scully could feel the
symptoms of mild altitude sickness: lethargy, a dull headache that aspirin
could not seem to conquer. Or maybe it was only the cancer. Scully sighed,
looking at the near-perfect physical specimen across the table.

"You were on the mountain between nine and ten in the morning?"

"Yes, I was getting close to the summit, but the clouds rolling in didn't
look good, so I had just decided to turn back, try and get lower before
the storm got any closer. I remember thinking the light was really strange
- threatening."

"Like the sky before a storm?" She watched Mulder lean in a little bit.
Scully chewed her lower lip, annoyed. Don't lead her, Mulder.

"No," the woman said, with a little reluctance. Mulder leaned further.
"More like, well, the light was wrong. I saw a partial eclipse a few years
ago. This was more...more like that. Just strange - like seeing everything
through a lens.

"I turned an ankle and fell down hard on the trail. I hit my head when I
fell - I guess pretty hard, because I blacked out for a few minutes. When
I came to, I checked my watch - it said nine forty-three."

"So you were briefly unconscious. Did you feel any other effects from the
concussion?" Scully asked. She watched Gypsy Levison carefully. The head
injury could explain a lot.

"No. I've had two severe concussions before, and this didn't seem much
like either of them. No blurred vision or anything."

"Did you see a doctor when you got back to Crestone?"

"No, I felt fine, so I didn't bother."

"A doctor's examination would..."

"Be pointless. I know my body very well, Agent Scully." Gypsy's look
became bold. "I wasn't in need of medical attention."

Time to pry a little, Mulder thought. He could feel his partner's
disbelief growing, and it irritated him. The woman still hadn't told them
anything that disputed the campers' assertion that the lights in the sky
had not come from celestial bodies or known aircraft. "Ms. Levison - could
I call you Gypsy?"

"No." She shifted to look at him directly. "It's not personal. I'm not
fond of my first name. Everyone calls me Levison."

Scully struggled to hide a smile. A kindred spirit for Mulder.

His smile was full and genuine, and it lit up his entire face. "Really? I
have the same problem."

Levison returned the smile. "What's yours?"

"Fox."

"Better than Gypsy. Actually, it's Gypsy Leigh. Were your parents hippies,
too?"

"No." His smile faded a little. "Did you see anything else?"

"No. The descent wasn't eventful at all. I had a headache from the fall,
and I just wanted to get back. Agent Mulder, is there anything else you
need
to know? I'd like to get going. I still have a thirtymile bike ride and a
six-mile run ahead of me today."

Scully looked over at her partner. To her surprise, he nodded. "Yes, but I
wonder if you'd do me a favor. I run recreationally myself - any good
routes locally that I should know about? We'll be here for a few days, and
I'd like to get some miles in."

She looked at him speculatively. "Run recreationally as in really run, or
just jog to keep off the fat?"

"Run. Ran on my high school track team."

She stood. "Well, I'm heading back to Crestone later this afternoon. If
that's not too far for you, you're welcome to join me. You too, Agent
Scully."

Scully shook her head, but Mulder accepted. "Actually, we're staying in
Crestone. When?"

"Let's say five-thirty - meet me outside the coffeehouse."

"What's the address?"

She chuckled "You'll see it. There's only one in town, and there's not
much to the town."

Scully rubbed her temples. "Levison, I'm a medical doctor. Are you certain
you're feeling all right? I'd be happy to examine you myself."

Levison shook her head. "Thanks, really. Unless you're an orthopod."

"That's right, you turned an ankle."

"That's fine, but my knee buckled a little, and it's given me a couple of
twinges."

Scully walked around the table. "Sit back down, please. I'll take a look."
Levison sat, and Scully knelt before her.

Mulder grinned. He secretly loved watching Scully play doctor. She was
still perfectly logical, methodically searching for evidence of injury or
damage in much the same way she would tackle a tough case, but working on
a live patient instead of the corpses that their work usually brought her
way drew out some of the softness in her. She focused completely on the
patient, but comforted, reassured as she touched limbs and skin. He had
felt her small, gentle hands on him, on bruises, cuts, soft tissue damage,
fevers, so many times. He thought he healed faster under her care because
her hands on his body gave him strength. He watched her flex Levison's
left knee, turn it slightly, asking softly if this hurt, had she ever
injured the knee before, did that hurt, did the pressure she was applying
to the inside of the knee feel any different than pressure on the outside.
Scully had Levison lie flat on the floor and pressed opposing ways on her
upper and lower leg, feeling for looseness in the knee.

Scully sat back on her heels. "Strained the medial collateral ligament.
Not a serious problem, but twisting motions will hurt - if you're going to
run, do it on smooth surfaces for the next few days."

"Thanks, doc." Levison's blue eyes slowly swept across Scully's face.
"You've got great hands."

Mulder's eyes widened, hearing Levison echo his thoughts. Scully flushed
slightly, brushed a few redgold strands of hair away from her face and
stood up. Levison stood in one fluid motion, and Mulder noticed she was
hardly taller than his tiny partner - maybe 5'3", 5'4" tops.

"All right, five-thirty, then?" He nodded in the affirmative. "See you
later."

He watched her leave the room. She moved with the pure grace of a natural
athlete, limbs flowing, muscles bunching and releasing smoothly under her
slightly tanned skin. Not beautiful, not really, but he couldn't get
enough of watching her. He was already looking forward to the run.

"Mulder, I hate to burst your bubble, but that woman not only didn't see
anything, she probably wouldn't remember it accurately if she had. She had
a concussion, and in spite of her tough-girl act, she was clearly in pain
and probably a little disoriented after she fell."

"Come on, Scully. We have four more witnesses to interview - let's see
what they have to say before you write this case off. And she did see
something."

"What?"

"The light. She said it looked wrong."

"Head injury, Mulder. Changes your perception on several levels -
including cognitive and visual anomalies."

"Let's get going with the other witnesses, okay? We still have a missing
boy to find."

"Right, and you don't want to miss that run." Scully's mouth quirked
slightly.

The rest of the interviews were numbingly similar. Four crystal-clutching
California transplants who had come to Crestone and gone out to the forest
for spiritual enlightenment had seen strange lights in the sky while
camped out partway up Humboldt. The lights had appeared near dawn and the
glow had awakened all of the adults almost simultaneously, leaving the
three children with the party sleeping. While the adults were trying to
find the source of the lights, the nine-year old son of one of the campers
had vanished. His mother was hardly articulate, consumed with worry and
guilt, but still insistent that she had seen the lights in the sky.

Mulder and Scully briefly considered the possibility that the mother, with
or without the help of her friends, had hurt or killed the child and
concocted the story as some kind of distraction, then both rejected the
theory almost immediately. Too elaborate a conspiracy; no discernible
motive. Their background check of the boy's mother showed that she had
fought hard and spent a lot of money on legal help to win custody of the
boy after her divorce two years ago. Sarah Hanspeth was simply desperate
to find her child.

Scully watched quietly as Mulder reassured the woman for the fourth or
fifth time that local law enforcement authorities and search and rescue
teams were doing all they could to find her son. She knew he did want to
find the child, but she also knew Mulder well enough to know that if he
really thought the boy were wandering in the forest, that he'd be out
there looking already. No, Mulder thought that Jordan Hanspeth was in the
custody of alien visitors. That was why he was still asking questions in
this dusty office, digging for information on the lights in the sky.

No point arguing with him now. The search and rescue team really was doing
everything they could. If they hadn't found Jordan by morning, and if the
pounding inside her skull subsided, she would join them.

After Sarah Hanspeth left, Mulder looked at his partner. She had dark
circles under her eyes, and her skin and lips were pale. Most worrisome,
she had let a lock of hair straggle untidily across her cheek. She made no
effort to push it away as she stared back at him, dull-eyed.

He did it for her. "Scully, you need to rest."

"I'm fine, Mulder." She closed her eyes momentarily against the worry on
his face. "It's just the altitude." When he didn't reply, she repeated,
firmly, "I'm fine. Let's get back to the motel. We can talk about the case
after your run."

Looking at her pallor, he suddenly felt guilty. She was sick, and he was
going running with a <not beautiful not really> woman who was the epitome
of health. The irony nagged at him. He was leaving her behind, again. She
hated being left behind. "Dana, if you'd rather not be here, I can..."

"Dammit, Mulder, stop it right now!" The color was back in her cheeks, he
noted, wryly, and he had helped bring it back, but that was only because
she was righteously pissed off at him.
"Stop babying me. I'm suffering from mild altitude sickness and I need
rest and water and a day or so to acclimate." God, she hoped that was
true. "Go exercise and leave me the hell alone."

They made the drive up to Crestone in near silence. He knew that she tried
to hide the pain she felt from her cancer from him. He knew she had begun
carrying
mild painkillers in her travel kit when they went on the road. He wondered
how much longer the mild ones would work.

Her silence on this, the heaviest of all the burdens she carried as a
result of working with him, ate at him like a second disease. This one was
corrosive, separated them, drove them apart while it poisoned him as
surely as the real tumor in her head was poisoning her blood.

Of all the mysteries in his life, his partner was probably the greatest.
She was closer to him than anyone in the world; hell, she was the only
person he was close to. He thought he knew her better than anyone else
could. Yet she could still sit less than a foot away in the confines of
the compact rental car and be well beyond his reach. It was difficult to
live with the estrangement that her cancer had created between them, but
the thought of living without her left him reeling, blank. He thought he
might very well not be able to manage - manage to draw breath or chew and
swallow food or lie down and rest - if she were to die. He ruthlessly
pushed the thought aside. Not Scully, not dying.

He stole a look at her and saw that her eyes were shut and she was slumped
slightly against the side of the car. Her hair had fallen across her face
again and he could not see her chest rising and falling under the dark
blue linen blazer she wore. A nameless terror caught in his ribcage and he
slammed on the brakes without thinking, reached across the front seat for
her.

She gasped and woke up, simultaneously putting one hand in front of her to
halt her forward motion and reaching for her holster with the other. Gotta
love life in the FBI, he thought, distractedly: alters every basic
instinct. She swung around towards him and his reaching hand connected
with her neck and shoulder, feeling her pulse under his hand right away.
He looked back at the dusty road just as the car finished coasting to a
stop.

"Mulder, what happened?"

What happened, Mulder? <thought I had lost her not dying not Scully>

"A deer ran across the road. Shook me up."

She didn't look for the retreating deer; she didn't have to, knowing
immediately that he was lying. She took in his tight face, hazel eyes not
meeting hers but focusing on where his strong hand still gripped the curve
between her throat and her collarbone, feeling her racing pulse begin to
slow. Something in her thawed and she covered his hand with her own small
one.

"Mulder." Her voice was gentle. "It's all right."

He flushed, began to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grip, not
letting him. She let him feel her pulse for another few seconds, then drew
his hand down with hers, into her lap. He released the brake and they
drove the last few miles to Crestone like that, his hand clasped between
hers, small, cool, healing him.

Crestone, Colorado
Airey Lodge Motel
5:18 PM

Levison was right; there wasn't much to the town. The motel was small and
utterly unremarkable. Their rooms, adjacent and nearly identical, looked
out onto a parking lot backed by a forest that marked the edge of town.
Scully heard the sounds of Mulder tossing his luggage on the floor,
unzipping a bag, then the thump of shoes hitting the carpet. She laid out
her belongings and began to change her clothes.

The town, squeezed between the forest and the mountains rising up behind
it, looked like an afterthought, a compromise between humans and the power
of nature. Scully knew that people who lived in tiny mountain towns like
this one got pounded with heavy snow, snow that bowed roofs and blanketed
roads, every winter; had to drive far to get things she and other city
people took for granted; struggled in myriad ways against the rigors of
mountain life. But she felt the immense grace of the mountains above her
and thought she might understand why someone would choose this life.

He knocked on her door. "Decent?"

"Depends on your standards."

He walked in, grinning. "I'm heading out, okay?" She realized he was
asking for permission, and made sure her smile was full enough to give it
to him.

"Sure. What are the dinner options like here?"

"Kinda slim from the looks of it, but don't go off without me."

"Deal."

He left and she laid down on the double bed in her Tshirt and jeans,
hoping a nap would make the headache go away.

END PART 1/3 or 4

NEW: GYPSY, (2/3) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com)
PG-13 for violence and adult situations Classification - T with peripheral
X-file Spoilers - Fourth season
Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST, some angst. Summary - While the agents are
investigating a
possible UFO sighting in Colorado, Mulder makes a decision about his
priorities.
See part 1 for disclaimers. All feedback/comments welcome - email to
snowrider5@aol.com.
-------------------------------------------------
Levison was waiting outside the coffee house, as promised. The bike locked
to the post beside her was clearly an expensive one, built for
competition. She was still dressed in what must be her training gear,
Lycra shorts and a sweat-drenched synthetic jersey with the Tecktonics
logo plastered on the front and their "Move Earth" slogan on the back. As
he walked toward her, she tugged the jersey off and upended a water bottle
over herself, soaking her brief athletic top thoroughly. She did this with
the same unselfconscious grace that she did everything else, turning what
might have looked like a flirtatious gesture into something ordinary and
simple. Her short brown hair was pulled back in a tight, low ponytail.

"Big fan of Tecktonics?" he asked.

"Actually, yes. They're my sponsor." She handed him a second water bottle.
"Have a drink before we go - you need to work hard to stay hydrated here,
and it takes a while to adjust to the altitude."

He nodded and drank. "So, Mulder, what's a good pace for you?"

He considered. "Maybe six and a half minute miles?"

"Back at sea level, maybe. Let's aim for seven."

They set off slowly, warming his muscles, still tense and remembering
their day in a suit. He loved running, loved how on a good day, he could
reach a smooth effortless rhythm, feeling like his momentum could carry
him forever. On a good day, he could float along above the pavement for
miles, not thinking about anything, only breathing and moving.

She set a pace that he matched easily at first, falling into her cadence,
letting her get a few paces ahead of him so that he could watch her
smooth, even stride, her strong legs flashing, feet touching down one
after another. He had not run with anyone else for a long time and had
forgotten how intimate it was, sweating side by side, like lovers.

As they went on, he could feel himself tiring, his lungs and brain needing
more oxygen, his dry mouth wanting water, but she kept moving, sometimes
just ahead, sometimes beside him, always easily, smoothly, her breath
hardly audible. She didn't try to talk to him, and he was grateful to save
his breath.
She led him on a loop, turning from town, making three turns onto paved
and then dirt roads, so that when his burning lungs and rubbery legs were
begging him to stop, the town waited before them. She slowed to a walk,
and he thankfully followed suit.

She checked her pedometer. "Not bad - about six-fifty a mile, and that was
just about six miles." He nodded, out of breath but pleased with the pace.
She stopped where they had begun, outside of the coffeehouse, and sat down
on a bench by the door. She offered him a water bottle again, and he drank
eagerly. She took it from him and drank, too, then dumped the remaining
contents of the bottle over her head.

"Pretty impressive, Mulder. How long are you and your partner going to be
here?"

"Another day or so, maybe more. If we find what we're looking for quickly,
only another day."

"You're not just looking for the boy." It wasn't a question.

"I think you saw more than you remember seeing on Humboldt, Levison. I
want to find out what it was."

She shrugged. "Ask anything you want, but I don't think I'll help you
much."

"Why don't you like Gypsy?"

Her wry grin indicated that she knew she'd handed him an easy opening. "I
used to like it a little better."

"So what happened?"

Her face changed, clouded up immediately. He saw she was searching for
words, and remained silent, waiting for her. He had managed to find the
Achilles heel on this woman who he had just met, and it bothered him that
he could do that. But, he thought, it was easy to recognize on her because
had the same weak spot.

His background in psychology kept him from fooling himself most of the
time. He knew his own dislike of his first name came partly from a desire
to keep other people at arm's length, to keep anyone from being as close
to him as his sister had been. <was. Is.> He remembered when Scully had
tried to call him Fox - the first and only time she had done so - and his
immediate rebuff. On some level he was ashamed, sorry that he had pushed
her away. Their relationship might be very different today if he had let
her, if they had become Fox and Dana to one another instead of Mulder and
Scully. But by now it was too late when he called her Dana, she pushed
back. His fault, again.

Levison finally said, "I never liked the name when I was a kid. My
classmates were all Elizabeth or Lisa or something nice like that. Nice,"
she said, bitterly. "I didn't have many friends and I got teased all the
time because my mother dressed me funny - she did, long skirts from
Guatemala, stuff like that - and because I was weird, because of my name.

"We were different, my family. My parents spent a lot of time protesting
nuclear weapons proliferation. I spent a lot of time playing softball and
running and swimming because they were the only things I was any good at.
I made the varsity track team my freshman year in high school and the
varsity swim team the next year. I was an All-American. I got a full ride
to Michigan State and swam for the team. College was okay. I made
everyone, including my parents, call me Levison starting my freshman year
in college."

She pulled her hair out of the ponytail and scraped her fingers through
her hair, scratching her head. "I let just one person call me by my first
name - the only person I've ever known who really liked it. We were
together for seven years."

"What happened?" Mulder asked, when she faltered.

"Stephanie died a year ago. Breast cancer. She thought Gypsy was so
romantic. And when she said it, it was. Now it sounds like breaking
glass."

Mulder stared at his hands, at a loss for words. Nothing he thought of
sounded adequate. The silence stretched out until she said, "Your turn."

"What, my name?"

"Yeah."

He thought about Samantha, and his parents. "In a way, it's the same
story. I hated it right from the start. My sister called me Fox; she was
abducted when she was eight and I, my family, we stopped talking to each
other. She was such a nuisance when she was there - I was four years older
and what are little sisters for but to drive you nuts, right. But then she
was gone. It, we..."

Mulder stopped, struggling, but Levison asked, "You and your partner are
pretty close, right?"

"Yeah, we're close," he replied, relieved that the conversation wasn't
about his family any more. "We've worked together a long time." She must
have asked him about Scully to save him from having to talk about
Samantha. "We were assigned to work together four years ago. I wasn't too
happy about it at first - I had been assigned to other agents before and I
felt like I worked better alone. But she was good, really good. And a hell
of a good shot - much better than me. It's nice to have someone like that
covering your ass." Levison laughed. "Now I can't imagine working without
her." He thought of her cancer again and fell silent.

"She's hot, too," she said.

He recognized a slight challenge in Levison's voice and hesitated for a
second. All right, Mulder, it's not a big deal. You thought Levison was
hot. She thinks Scully's hot. So what. He replied, "Yeah, you're not the
first to notice. She has some other fans who have pointed that out." He
thought of Frohike and chuckled.

"You needed to have it pointed out?" Levison stared straight at him.

Mulder took a deep breath. "Like I said, we're close friends, we're
colleagues, and that's all."

Levison threw her head back and laughed. "How many times have you said
that? You sounded just like the emergency broadcast recording, you know,
"This is a test this is only a test..."

Mulder had to grin. "Okay, you're not the first person who's asked."

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I invite you out for a run and we end up having this
totally personal conversation."

"S'okay, I started. I do need to ask you one more thing, though. Where
could a couple of hungry FBI agents get a decent meal in this town?"

"Head straight back out of here, like you were going to Moffat, and you'll
go about two miles before you get to Deer Creek Road. Turn left onto Deer
Creek, go
about three-quarters of a mile up the road - it's the only driveway on the
right. Just go around back. We're barbecuing - you're not a veggie, are
you?"

"No, but hey, I didn't..."

"I know, but we'd like to have you. Both of you. I'm sharing a cabin with
some friends and I know Josie and Nick will be happy to meet you guys.
Pick up some beer on the way, willya?"

"Thanks, sure. I'm Scully will be happy you asked."

Levison's smile turned wicked. "Definitely a babe. Think I've got a shot?"

"Try it and I'll be forced to kick your ass."

She threw her head back and laughed heartily. "Let's say about
seven-thirty, okay?"

"Sure. What time is it now...oh, six-forty," he finished the question,
looking at the clock on her pedometer just as she glanced at her watch and
said, "Quarter 'till seven."

"Either this one's slow or that one's fast - get it together, woman."
She frowned, clearly puzzled. "Last time I checked, these were both
perfectly in sync. I wonder what happened?"

Mulder's heart leapt. "When did you last check them together?"

"I don't know. Maybe three or four days ago. Oh well." She dismissed the
subject. "Better get a move on, Mulder, or you'll miss the main event."

He snapped out of it, mostly. "See you soon."

His mind was still whirling. Five minutes of lost time. Five minutes.

Airey Lodge
6:42 PM

Scully woke from her nap clear-headed and peppy. The headache was gone.
Maybe it had been the altitude, after all. She stretched luxuriously, got
up, brushed her teeth and noticed her stomach rumbling when she heard the
door of the room next to hers slam. She called out, "I'm awake and I'm
hungry" just as he knocked.

He walked through the connecting door and said, "Pipe down, G-woman. I
solved the dinner problem already."

"Don't tell me there's Chinese take-out in this burg."

"No, something much more authentic. We got invited to a barbecue at
Levison's friends' house." She looked a lot better, he thought. Actually,
she looked great, tousled red hair framing her face, white T-shirt and
faded jeans hugging her slender body, the color in her cheeks much higher
than when he'd left. What'd you dream about, Dana?

"How was the run?"

"It was good, but she absolutely ran me into the ground - kicked my ass."

"Yeah, well, I always suspected you enjoyed getting kicked in the ass by
pretty women."

"Try me and see for yourself, Scully," he replied, leering.

She utterly failed to hide her smile, not because it was all that funny,
but because it had been a long time since he had teased her like that and
she had missed it badly. Looking at her happy face, he smiled back.

"Besides, I'm not really her type."

"C'mon, big guy, don't throw in the towel yet."

"You might be, though."

"What?"

"Her type. She's gay."

"How do you know? She didn't respond to your charm, so she's gay?"

"No, when we were talking, she told me about a former partner - someone
she was with for a long time."

"Oh. But she's single now?"

"I didn't ask, but I think so. Her lover died a year ago." He hoped she
wouldn't ask how, and she didn't. "Is it okay? I said we would go - I
probably should have checked with you first."

"No, it sounds great. Where's their house? What time are we supposed to be
there?"

"Seven-thirty - just outside of town."

"Get your sorry butt in the shower, then."

"I love it when you talk about my butt. Want to come wash my back?"

"Make that a *cold* shower."

7:33 PM
Near Crestone

He told her about the missing time during the drive. Scully shook her
head, pointing out that watches ran slow or fast all the time and it was
entirely possible that they hadn't been synchronized to begin with. He had
known perfectly well what she would say, but he also knew that every piece
of potential evidence could be added to another. Often in these cases,
proof was a puzzle that you added pieces to gradually, until finally you
could see the image emerging from the whole.

The cabin was tucked back from the road, down a sloping, rocky driveway
with two trucks parked side by side. Mulder grabbed the six-packs from the
back of their rental car and followed Scully around the side of the house.
She had put a huge blue plaid Woolrich shirt on over the T-shirt, and
small, impossibly clean hiking boots on her feet. He wondered if she had
bought them for the trip. Music flowed from the cabin, Lyle Lovett singing
in a smoky voice about good intentions.

The small yard behind the cabin was really a clearing between the looming
trees. A little stand of aspen near the cabin blended into dark conifers.
In the middle of the clearing, Levison stood poking at sizzling chicken
breasts on a large gas grill.

"Hey, Mulder, did you remember the beer?" Levison waved at him with the
meat fork.

"Microbrew or macrobrew, your choice," Mulder replied.

"Micro."

He handed her a cold bottle, and she twisted off the top, smiling at
Scully.
"Thanks. Nice to see you again, Agent Scully."

"It's Dana - nice to see you again, too. Do you need help with the grill?"

"Nah, she c'n burn that stuff all by herself," said a lean man, walking
out of the cabin towards Scully. "I'm Nick, that's Josie," pointing at the
woman following him.

"I'm Dana and this is Mulder. Thank you for having us. You have a
beautiful spot here."

"Yeah - this is one of the prettiest parts of the state. And there's not
enough tourism to ruin it that's the best news. I used to spend summers
over by Telluride - can't even stand to visit now, it's so crowded with
Hollywood types. Though, here, the believers get a little annoying
sometimes."

"Who are the 'believers'?"

"Didn't you know before you came?" Josie looked at the agents' blank
faces. "The New Age types think that Crestone is sort of a harmonic center
- a special place on the earth. Go digging around in the woods here and
you'll find about a million temples and shrines. I practically fall over
one every time I go for a walk."

"Sounds like just your kind of place, Mulder," Scully said, and ducked as
he batted at her half-heartedly.

"Do you live here year-round?" Mulder asked. Nick shook his head. "Only
summers. I teach at CU Boulder, and Josie here is a research assistant at
the medical school."

"Really?" Scully pricked up her ears. "What department?"

"Parisitology. Levison said you were a doctor."

Scully nodded. "Pathologist." They began a detailed discussion of tissue
deterioration and Mulder lost the thread immediately. Nick seemed to be
following the discussion, and Mulder wondered what subject he taught, but
didn't interrupt. Scully followed Nick and Josie back into the cabin and
Mulder could tell that she was enjoying herself, talking shop. It was good
to see her having fun, for a change. Working with him, the kinds of cases
they got, was stressful for a healthy person. How could she keep managing
it? He found Levison watching him closely.

"Worrying about Dana?"

He blinked, considered. "I guess I was."

The wind moving through the trees was getting cold, and the last light
began to leave the sky. In the fading light, Levison took in the clear
hazel eyes, lean face and body, and wayward brown hair. Fine looking man.
His wistful expression as his eyes followed his partner's retreat into the
house tugged at her. "Why?"

He twisted the beer bottle he held in his hands, but didn't reply
immediately. When he met her eyes again, she was surprised by the pain
written in his. "I want to ask you something but I'm afraid it's pretty
personal."

"Hand me another beer then, and come sit down." He did, lowering himself
into a plastic lawn chair beside her. "Shoot."

"How did you...you said you lost Stephanie to cancer." Her eyes clouded
over, but she nodded. He took a deep breath. "What did you say to her? How
did you get out of bed every day and talk to her about bullshit like the
weather and how you lost your keys and getting the oil changed in the
car?" His voice cracked and he spread his hands helplessly, shaking his
head.

She reached over and put a hand on his arm, and tried to compose a
response. God, he was crystal clear. His raw fear and hurt were almost
unbearable to her she was sure she had looked like this once, watching as
Stephanie fought a losing battle against a foe she could not touch, could
not see. Levison forgot that this man was a near-stranger, and closed her
eyes, speaking from the gut.

"I gave her everything I could. Anything I thought she wanted. I felt like
every minute I spent sleeping, or working, was wasted time because I
needed to fit everything in while I could. When she was gone," her voice
caught, and became barely audible, "I wanted to die so badly. I couldn't
understand why time was still passing, why I was still breathing without
her." She wiped her eyes and stared into the dusk. "It happened fast. She
was only really sick for a few months."

In their silence, he let the intimacy of her confession and his sadness
linger around them, feeling more helpless than ever. Lyle Lovett was still
singing,

From the kitchen, Dana's laughter rang out. The sound cut through the air,
through the music, warming him. Whatever had happened today in the car had
been a step towards healing the rift between them. He could not let it
slip away, not when he felt time rolling away behind them like a dark
river, faster and faster.

7:18 AM
San Isabel National Forest

The fine mist in the chilly early morning air would not make searching for
the boy any easier, Mulder thought, but Levison assured him that it would
burn off as the morning went on and the sun warmed the mountain. They had
all joined the search team at the base of Humboldt, topographical maps in
hand, listening to the team leader describe the terrain to be covered.
Privately, Mulder admitted to himself that the chances of finding a
nine-year old alive after several days alone on a mountain, with no food
or water, were slim. But Mulder still doubted that the boy had been out
there alone. He stole a glance at Scully; her head was bowed, reading the
map and listening to the instructions. He had promised himself that he
would not hover over her.

When they set out on the trail, he stayed a few paces behind her, letting
her chat with Levison. He saw that Levison was walking slowly, a
deliberate pace that he thought might be for Scully's benefit. She had
probably guessed why he had prodded about her memories of Stephanie's
illness.

Scully was really enjoying the hike. Their grim purpose hadn't escaped
her, but she couldn't help but notice the clean smell of the forest, the
delicate wildflowers waving beside the trail. Nick knew some of their
names and called them out over his shoulder: penstamen, Indian paintbrush,
and a fabulous blue and white bell, pointed edges arrowing up, that turned
out to be a columbine.

She had woken up that morning still feeling strong, well, and had told
Mulder quietly but firmly that they needed to go help search for the
missing boy. He had agreed, although she knew he would have suggested
approaching Humboldt's summit anyhow just to examine the location of the
alleged sighting. He didn't try to talk her out of making the ascent,
although she knew he was making a conscious effort not to worry about her
exertions, and his struggle touched her.

Life in the Bureau was still not an easy place for a woman. It was a
deeply ingrained habit with Dana to keep her personal troubles to herself
-- her pain from her tumor, pain when her father and her sister died, pain
at Mulder's regular and predictable thoughtlessness. Learning to keep most
of her feelings from Mulder had become a necessary form of self-protection
somewhere along the line, as her attachment <that's a good word for it
Dana isn't it> to him grew. Now her carefully maintained distance was
beginning to shatter.

END PART 2/3

NEW: Gypsy, (3/3) By Rachel Howard (snowrider5@aol.com)
PG-13 for violence and adult situations
Classification - T with peripheral X-file
Spoilers - Fourth season
Keywords - Mulder/Scully UST, some angst. Summary - While the agents are
investigating a possible UFO sighting in Colorado, Mulder makes a decision
about his priorities.
See part 1 for disclaimers. All feedback/comments welcome - email
tosnowrider5@aol.com.
-----------------------------------------------
Until yesterday, she had chalked the overt displays of his concern for her
health up to mild chauvinism and his usual desire to get the work done.
Remembering his reaction -- "either you're with me or you're working
against me, Scully" -- when she had finally admitted to him at the asylum
that she had seen an apparition of a dead girl, she thought that her
assumptions had been justified. After the incident in the car yesterday,
she could no longer tell herself that it was that simple. The revelation
that he had been inadvertantly responsible for her cancer had torn him
apart and she knew that he had probably misinterpreted her detachment. As
pointless as this trip had been from a professional standpoint, it was
giving them an opportunity to try and reconnect.

Glancing at Levison hiking ahead of her, joking with Nick, she reflected
that she was glad the woman was effectively off-limits to Mulder. She knew
he found Levison attractive and Dana thought that watching him make
another sexual conquest would have taxed her unbearably.

She was starting to fall behind and with an effort, she stepped up her
pace to catch up with the rest of the group. Levison turned her head at
Dana's approach and stopped. "Hey, anyone else want to take a break?"

Mulder, Nick and Josie all stopped immediately. "We're almost at our
section of terrain," Nick said. "We need to move off the trail here, to
the left" pointing at a section of wavy lines on the map "and fan out
across the boulder field." The others leaned in to see what he was
showing them on the map. Dana nudged in front of Mulder and saw that the
lines on the section of the map Nick was indicating were tight; it was
steep, then. She felt Mulder's warm breath in her hair and fought off an
urge to lean back against him.

He said, "Levison, how close are we to where you took your fall on the
trail?"

"Pretty far. I was much higher up."

He shrugged, but Dana could tell he hadn't given up. "Let's spread out."

The boulder field, a few hundred yards off of the trail, was steep and
wide and required careful footwork. Dana scrambled over her section, above
Levison, who had nimbly made her way to the rocky bottom of the slope and
was picking her way along the ravine, bounding, surefooted, from rock to
rock, peering into the crevices between the largest boulders. Above her,
Mulder walked, silhouetted against the sky, the light above him blacking
out his features so that all she saw was an outline of his body as he
moved, parallel to her, sometimes stooping to examine the rocks.

They went on and on. Dana lost track of time. They moved across a wooded
section of the mountain that was not quite so steep, and then a narrow
gully with a streambed at the bottom where all five of them walked nearly
side by side. They stopped and ate a hasty lunch of sport-energy bars,
fruit and water, and began walking again, crossing more scree, where they
straggled out once again, Levison still below her, Mulder above. And then,
ahead of them, below her, Dana saw crows gathered, and some long, black
and white birds that she did not know by name, and they were dipping down,
swooping back up, flapping in a jerky dance, and she knew with sick
certainty what was down there.

Levison, picking her way steadily across the rocky bottom of the slope,
suddenly stopped. She leapt down from a low rock outcropping, dropping
between two rocks so that Dana could see only her head and shoulders. She
watched the other woman recoil, stagger back a few steps, then her head
dipped down, and Dana heard the sound of retching.

Steeling herself, Dana made her way down to where Levison had stopped,
angry crows cawing their retreat.

It was bad. Jordan Hanspeth's body lay between the rocks, left leg twisted
at an impossible angle. His arms were crossed over his Power Rangers
T-shirt. Hands, arms, and the thin knees that poked up beneath his shorts
were bloodied from the fall that had ultimately cost him his life. Blood
and vomit partly covered the expression on his young face, but not enough,
and the eye sockets held only raw ruins now, their gelatinous contents
half-pecked away. Fresh mud that could not have come from rain cradled his
head; mud from a wound, either head or neck, that had soaked the ground
beneath him.

Scully called uphill to Mulder, "Tell Nick to get on the radio. We found
him. He's dead, Mulder."

From where she was standing, she could not make out the expression on his
face, but he turned quickly and headed up the hill toward Nick.

Levison was still pale and she avoided looking down at the small body on
the ground. "Sorry. I never, I didn't know it would be like this," she
began, but Dana stopped her.
"It's okay, Levison. I nearly puked when I did my first autopsy. Would
have, too, but the guys in med school were hard enough to deal with
without that."

Levison nodded with a weak smile. "Do you think we could wait a little
further away?"

"Sure." They found a warm rock out of sight of the corpse and sat next to
each other, close enough that Dana could feel the other woman shiver
slightly as she looked back toward where she had found what remained of
Jordan Hanspeth.

"How do you get used to that?"

"You don't. Not children. Mulder still gets sick sometimes at the really
bad ones. Especially young girls. He lost a sister when he was still just
a kid himself."

Levison nodded, stretching her legs out in front of her. "I know, he told
me about it."

"Did he?" Dana looked at her, surprised, fighting a hint of jealousy. "He
doesn't usually discuss it with people he doesn't know well." Except me,
after I panicked over some mosquito bites and practically got naked in
front of him in a motel room. Not that he noticed.

"We talked for a while yesterday."

"About Samantha?"

"More about you. He worries about you a lot."

Dana shook her head, not ready to admit aloud what she had been thinking
earlier that morning. "Mulder cares a lot about our work - it's really the
only thing that he cares deeply about. It's been tough for him lately
because I haven't been...haven't given a hundred percent and he's taken up
a lot of the slack."

Levison's blue eyes were intense. "Do you really think that's all it is?"

Mulder's approach kept Dana from having to reply. He, Nick and Josie
finished making their way down to where the two women sat. "Where is he?"

"Just below us. Mulder...it's bad."

He steeled himself, then went to look. Nick and Josie followed him, then
backed away with exclamations of disgust. When Mulder turned back to Dana,
his face was pale, but determined. "Scully, I want to make a preliminary
examination before search and rescue gets here and moves him."

She got up and joined him. He knelt next to the body, holding his breath
at the smell, and brushed away the hair behind the right ear. Dana leaned
over to see. Nothing - no triangular scar, which was what she knew he had
been looking for. He gently tried to turn the boy's head, but rigor mortis
had set in and the body shifted slightly. She rummaged in her daypack for
latex gloves, then helped him ease the body onto its side. The back of the
boy's head made a soft liquid sound as it left the mud, and Mulder had to
turn away and take a deep breath, fighting nausea, as she checked behind
the other ear. No scar there, either.

"Massive head trauma. He probably died of blood loss and shock."

"Quickly?"

She looked up at his taut face. "No, probably not." She sighed. "I'll know
more after the autopsy." She stepped back and began stripping off the
gloves, looking at the body. At first she couldn't imagine where the fresh
drops of blood splashed on the corpse's arm had come from, then she felt
it on her own face and reached up quickly to cover her nosebleed, but not
before Mulder noticed.

"Oh, Scully." Hastily, she rummaged in her pack for a tissue. Nothing.
"Take this," he said, handing her a bandanna.

She took it without looking up and pressed it to her face. It smelled like
him, a mix of his laundry soap and the sunflower seeds he always had in
his pocket. Tipping her head back to stop the bleeding, she took in his
expression and said, her words muffled by the bandanna, "I'm okay, Mulder,
it doesn't mean anything."

"I know." But his expression didn't change and he moved a little closer to
her, shifting his weight nervously, like a kid who had to pee and couldn't
hold it.

The bleeding stopped quickly, as it always did. She looked at the bandanna
- luckily, it had been red to begin with. "Rescue team's about five
minutes out," Levison called over the side of the rock.

The agents returned to where their friends sat. No one spoke for a minute,
then Josie asked, "Who gets to tell his mother?"

Quietly, Mulder said, "I do."

They waited in silence until the rescue team arrived with stretchers and
the business of moving Jordan Hanspeth's corpse down the mountain began.

It took two hours before they reached the trail again, the search team
carrying the stretcher in turns, not because it was heavy, but so that no
one bore the intangible, crushing burden of death for long. Dana knew that
slaughterhouse workers had to be rotated much more often than other shift
workers, because the constant exposure to gore, pain and death caused a
kind of trauma, emotional corrosion, as time went on. She watched them set
the stretcher on the ground and saw Mulder and Levison consulting a map.

"That can't be right, Mulder."

"Yeah, except that it is."

Scully joined them. "What is?"

Mulder's eyes never left the map. "According to this map, the body was
over four miles from where Sarah Hanspeth and her friends set up camp."
Too far for a nine-year old to hike in near-darkness.

His face was flushed with excitement and exertion. "Scully, I need to take
a look up there. I can find the campsite, and Levison, could you show me
place on the trail where you fell?"

"No."

"No - you can't find it?"

"No, I'm not taking you there."

"Why not?" He stared at her, the hand holding the map falling to his side.

"Because it doesn't matter. That kid is dead, Mulder. He's not coming
back. He fell down and died and he isn't coming back no matter what we
do."

"Levison, you know something happened to you up there."

"*It doesn't fucking matter!*" she shouted at him, and saw the rescue
workers glance over at where they stood, a tall man arguing with a small,
irate woman, the second woman watching expressionlessly. "I don't care.
I'm healthy and alive and really, nothing else matters. And if something
did happen I don't want to know about it. I didn't see a flying saucer and
I didn't see any little green men." Gray, Dana thought distractedly,
little gray men. She tasted blood coursing down her upper lip, and hastily
tugged the bandanna out of her pocket, pressed it to her face again.
Levison looked over at her. "What really matters, Mulder?" Levison's hand
clamped down on his arm, but she kept staring at Dana.

The silence seemed to last years. Without looking at him, Dana felt his
burning gaze. Then he huskily muttered, "All right." Her head jerked up,
but he turned away from the two women and started down the trail. He was
really walking away. Dana looked at Levison, her face calm as a painted
Madonna. The bleeding had stopped again and she let her hand fall away
from her face. Levison studied her for a moment, took the bandanna and
carefully wiped smeared blood from her upper lip.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go down."

5:20 PM
Moffat police station

Dana could not remember the last time she had felt this tired. Mulder had
barely spoken on the hike back down or the drive to the police station,
and neither of them said a word as they waited for the county sheriff to
return from the coroner's office. He looked tired, too, when he walked in
the door.

"Agents... I notified Mrs. Hanspeth as soon as I heard from the search and
rescue team over the radio. To cut to the chase...she does not want an
autopsy done on her son's body, and I'd just as soon that you didn't try
to change her mind."

Scully looked up at the man. "May I ask why?"

"Pretty clear what happened. Kid walked away in the dark, got lost and
took a bad fall. Can't see that an autopsy would tell you anything we
don't already know, and there's no call to cut up a child's body just for
curiosity."

She thought that might not be all of it. If Crestone was really some kind
of gathering point for New Age worshippers, the area probably got more
than enough attention from 'believers'. He probably didn't want to add
fuel to the fire by creating rumors about the circumstances surrounding
the boy's disappearance and death. Scully waited for Mulder's protest, but
it never came.

"All right, sheriff, we'll let it go." She looked at her partner, but he
remained mute.
They shook hands and he promised them any help they needed from D.C. with
the report.

Walking out of the stuffy, cramped office into the afternoon sunshine felt
good. Scully turned her face toward the blue vault of the sky and wished
heartily that they were here on vacation, not another fruitless case.
Mulder asked, "Hungry?"

She nodded.

"Think it's too early for dinner?"

"Not for me. I saw a diner down the street when we drove into town -
looked kind of cheap and seedy, just your kind of place."

He didn't even crack a smile. "Mulder, talk to me."

"After dinner, I will. Let's eat first."

They sat across from each other, sticking slightly to the booth's red
vinyl seats. Mulder wolfed his dry steak, fries and canned peas with total
indifference while Dana managed to get most of the chicken special down.
She reflected on the inevitability of diner food; you could sit down at
any small-town diner in America and know just what was on the menu without
looking if you only knew what region of the country you were eating in. In
the South, she would have asked for and gotten barbecued or fried
something or other - here in the West, it was either steak or chicken, in
this case overcooked and hopelessly tasteless.

They stood out, even dressed in their hiking clothes instead of the suits
they usually wore on the job. The other patrons were all older, mostly
couples with a few foursomes eating eagerly, enjoying the evening out on
the town, dressed in clean slacks or working clothes fresh from the shop
or the field. Most ate quietly, and Dana could feel the difference in the
silence between the people around them: it was warm, usually, even
restful. She didn't know what was on Mulder's mind, but the silence
between them stretched taut and sharp as a barbed wire fence.

He paid the check and they left, late afternoon sun beginning to flush the
mountains with color. The light was slowly sweeping up the side of the
mountains that backed up to the valley, darkening as it went.

"Did you know - Sangre de Cristo means 'blood of Christ' in Spanish?"

"I'm tired of blood, Scully."

"Is it the boy?"

"Not just that. I'm...tired." He turned, unlocked the car door, slid
inside. She got in and looked at him, waited for him to start the car, to
explain. He turned the key in the ignition, but it wasn't until the rental
had slid past the town limits that he added, "I need a shower."

"Dinner, now a shower. Since when have you not been able to talk to me
unless you were full and clean?"

He smiled a little at that and saw that she was getting irritated. "Sorry,
Scully. I just have to think something through. I'm actually thinking
something through before I act - sound promising?"

"Sounds extremely unlikely. You're probably just reflecting on the
so-called plot of one of your videos." She knew he wasn't, but she got a
weak grin for her efforts.

She left him alone after that, went to her room at the motel without
comment when they got there. She showered, put on clean jeans and sat down
at her laptop to start the brief report that they would have to present to
Skinner upon their return. Mulder knocked and came in.

"Want to take a walk?"

"Sure, I guess. Mulder, if we're leaving tomorrow, we need to call the
airline - find out what time we can get out of Gunnison."

Something flickered across his face and was gone before she could
categorize the expression. "Come on, the light's going."

They walked slowly, away from the town. "Scully, I'm sorry for dragging
you out here."

She shook her head. "Mulder, it's all right. I didn't want to come, but
it's so beautiful here - even without an X-file, I'm glad we came."

"There's an X-file here. I'm sure of it."

She stopped, tugged his sleeve until he stopped too, and looked down at
her. "If you're so certain that an alien aircraft showed up here four
nights ago, then why didn't you go look at the campsite? At where Levison
fell on the trail?

His face was calm, but he still looked tired. He replied, "Remember what
she asked me? What mattered? I realized that I wasn't sure, and I hated
myself for not knowing. I've been thinking about it all day. Now I know."
He was quiet for a moment. "Scully, I've spent my whole life looking for
Samantha. She matters to me. The truth matters. But so do you." Dana felt
her pulse quicken, but kept still. "Do you still trust me?"

"Always, Mulder."

"I can't just stand by and watch you get sicker and sicker. And I can't
let you not talk to me about it, either." She began to say something, but
he stopped her. "Let me finish. I know Skinner offered you medical leave -
hell, he's practically been at his wits end trying to get you to take it.
I've got back vacation time coming to me. Call Skinner and ask him if you
can take the leave time now, Scully."

"Mulder, I want to keep working. Sitting around my apartment with nothing
to do isn't going to make me get better."

"You can keep working. We're just going to look for a cure for your cancer
instead of looking for evidence of extraterrestrial life."

She stared at him, bemused. "Even accepting the premise that a cure is out
there - where, and how long do we look for?"

"Until you're better."

"Where do you propose we begin?"

He smiled fondly at her. "You're giving me that look again." He touched
the tip of his index finger to the finely arched, copper-colored eyebrow
that she had lifted at him. "Dana, can you trust me enough to not ask
where we're going?"

She shivered at the delicacy of his touch. She shut her eyes and tried
hard to focus only on the question, not on how his fingertip traced the
curve of her eyebrow, dragging down her temple to caress her cheek. "I
think so."

"Good. We're leaving tonight. Let's get back to the motel and call
Skinner. You can sleep while I drive."

"Mulder, you're dead on your feet," she protested, then looked at him
again. He didn't look tired any more. He had been transformed in the brief
minutes that it had taken her to agree to put her life in his hands, and
now he seemed completely awake, focused on his plan. A man with a mission.
"All right, let's go pack." She shook her head, still not sure what she
had agreed to, the skin over her cheekbone still tingling from his touch.
He was already starting back toward the motel.

"Mulder."

He stopped and looked back at her. "If I agree to this, you have to
promise me something."

"You already agreed."

"Mulder."

"Anything, Scully."

His reply carried hidden meaning, but she didn't have the time to dissect
it. "This is me, Mulder, my life we're talking about, not some
extraterrestrial biological entity. Please don't turn this into some kind
of impersonal project. I can bear the illness, but not being some kind of
science experiment. I am not an X-file. Don't turn me into that. Okay?"

His heavy-lidded gaze caressed her as intimately as the touch of his
finger had. "I'll never forget who or what you are to me, Dana. I promise
you that much."

Near Crestone
8:02 PM

The last light slanted through the trees as they walked around Nick and
Josie's cabin, to where smoke and the smell of lighter fluid came from the
grill. "Don't you people ever eat anything else? You know, pasta, salads,
escargot?" Mulder asked Levison, who was engaged in a dangerous experiment
with sputtering charcoal and a stream of lighter fluid.

"Watch it my man, or you'll be begging for scraps."

"We ate in town. Just wanted to say good-bye. We're heading out tonight."

Dana asked, "Is that Josie making all that noise in the kitchen?"

Levison nodded, and Dana ducked into the cabin. "I figured you were coming
back here to badger me into giving you a guided tour of Humboldt, and here
you are going back to D.C. already."

"Wrong on both counts."

She put the can of lighter fluid down, to his relief, and looked straight
at him. "Another case?"
"Not exactly. Scully's sick, Levison. I'm - we're going to look for
something that can make her better."

"Where?"

He glanced over his shoulder, but Dana was still inside. "To a reservation
in New Mexico. I nearly burned to death once. The man who found me saved
my life. I don't know if he can save her, but it's a place to start - at
least, it might buy us some time."

The deepening dusk wrapped around her as the flames drew out the angles of
her face. "Give her anything she wants. Anything. If you don't find what
you're looking for, at least make the most of the time you have left."

His eyes glittered, reflecting the firelight. "I'll find what I'm looking
for."

Dana came out of the cabin, followed by Nick and Josie. Cards were swapped
all around. Levison walked them back to the rental car, and gave Dana a
quick hug. She wrapped her arms around Mulder's neck, and he hugged her
fiercely, lifting her off the ground. When he set her down, she was
smiling. "Godspeed, Mulder."

They drove away, and he recalled the map he had studied earlier. When they
reached Alamosa, they would keep going south, take 285 toward New Mexico.
Glancing at Dana, he saw she looked sleepy already. "Are we there yet?
How much longer?" she mumbled.

He chuckled. "Shush."

"Sure you're not too tired to drive?"

"Never felt better. Go to sleep."

He meant it. He felt invincible, humming with energy. The moon was rising
over the valley and they had plenty of gas.

Dana felt herself sliding into sleep, comfortable, lulled by the quiet
purr of the engine and the heat of his body nearby. As she drifted off,
she felt one of his hands cover hers.

The road ahead of them, beyond the pool of illumination from their
headlights, was lit by the moon. He thought of what lay behind them on the
mountain, and reflected on the mystery he had left behind; on the one
ahead of them; on the one sleeping beside him. The dark valley slipped
behind them and they moved on, toward higher ground.

--- end 3/3 ---

"Everybody's uncle's an amateur magician."
Fox Mulder, HUMBUG