Tremors and Aftershocks

TREMORS AND AFTERSHOCKS (1/5)

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

1:15 AM

January 8, 1998

Washington, D.C. Area

Special Agent Dana Scully drove through the rain-slicked streets, her mind in

a turmoil. Officially, she was on her way to her partner's apartment to tell

Mulder they were on a case, newly assigned by AD Skinner. Unofficially, she

intended to take the first step in encouraging an intimate relationship with

him. The thought of such a reality was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Since the cancer's remission, they had been moving closer and closer to that

line, and now she saw no more reason to hold back. Scully felt ready to fully

embrace the entire man; body, soul and mind. She was positive that he felt

the same about her and may have been ready for a long time to commit to her in

that way. Scully had agonized over whether such a move could shatter their

friendship, and had finally concluded that it wouldn't. She knew in her heart

that he loved her, and since she felt the same, the link between them could

only grow stronger. Because of the lateness of the hour and the traveling

they would have to do in the morning, she doubted that tonight they would go

beyond any verbal expressions of love. But, after this case was over...

Scully wondered again why his cel phone was off and he wasn't answering the

phone in his apartment. Upset with her over their last case, could he be

irritated enough at her to cut himself off like that? Of course, he could

have been lured into another one of his solo investigations, but she didn't

think so. He was communicating with her these days, which was a miracle in

itself. Although nothing specific had been said, Scully recognized his

efforts to include her in what were formerly his private pursuits. She wasn't

so sure it was such a good thing, though, when he would drag her out in the

middle of the night to check out strange cattle behavior at some farm in rural

Virginia. But she was damned if she would complain if it meant this new

openness between them could last.

OK, the most logical and obvious reason for his incommunicado status: He *was*

pissed off at her about their last case. Granted, she may not have been all

that supportive when he had freaked out over whatever that psychic had told

him. The woman had been brought into the case by the local police, who had

used her services with good results in another similar set of murders. But

the psychic had seemed to ignore the case and zero in on Mulder; his

insecurities, his nightmares, his beliefs, his needs...

God, I fell in love with a madman, she was thinking. He believed all the

garbage that woman was feeding him. I admit that I *was* pretty rude to him

when he was trying to get me to believe it, too, and then I shut him out,

which was probably not a smooth move at the time. He was so silent all the

way home; didn't even say goodby when I dropped him off around six o'clock.

Scully now felt that she should have given him a little more support, but

blamed it on her tiredness and the fact that she had been completely fed up

with that kind of horseshit. Realizing, however, that she would normally at

least hear him out no matter how weird his theories, she felt guilty for the

way she had treated him.

Assistant Director Skinner had called her at home at 11:45 PM when he couldn't

reach Mulder. The AD gave her the assignment and apologized for the short

notice. They would have to catch an 8:50 AM flight to San Francisco. He gave

her the rest of the flight information and said that the case file would be

waiting for them at the airport.

Up ahead, she could see Mulder's apartment building looming out of the fog.

He was still up, since there was a light shining from his window. The rain

had slowed to a mist, and it was cold outside. Nice night, she thought. At

least there was a parking spot within a block of his place.

She locked the car and buttoned her coat securely to keep out the chill that

seemed to sink right into her skin. The street lights glowed palely through

the drifting mist, providing little illumination as she hurried to enter the

building.

Knocking on his door, she thought she could hear voices and some kind of

shuffling noise. Her brow wrinkled with worry as she recalled her inability

to reach him on his phone. The agent unbuttoned her coat, her hand hovering

over the gun at the back of her waist as she strained her ears for any

indication of trouble.

Then Mulder's voice on the other side of the door startled her with its

loudness.

"Who's there?"

"It's Scully. I need to talk with you."

Silence. "Scully? Is something wrong?"

The door was hastily unlocked and flung open, and her partner's worried face

looked down at her. He was nude from the waist up and his jeans had obviously

been thrown on in haste, since they were unbuttoned and half- zipped. He

stood with bare feet and rumpled hair, holding his weapon down by his side.

It was all she could do to keep from reaching across the space between them in

order to touch him. Who was she kidding? It was all she could do to keep

from throwing him onto the floor in the hall and satisfying her alarmingly

strong desires.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, taking her right hand in his left. "It's

after one in the morning."

Scully smiled and said, "I'm OK. I couldn't reach you..." Her eyes caught a

movement behind Mulder, so the trained FBI agent part of her stepped to the

side to get a clearer view. And then wished like hell that the agent part had

stayed home.

The woman standing in Mulder's living room was exquisite. Long perfect legs,

brown curly hair, blue eyes, great breasts, tiny waist, and naked as the day

she was born. When she saw Scully staring at her, she gave her a slow smile,

obviously not a bit concerned with her nudity.

Scully bit her lower lip, fighting to overcome her shock. Mulder had stepped

in her line of view and seemed more nervous than she had ever seen him.

Finally she could trust herself to speak.

"Skinner gave us a case. I'll meet you at Dulles, Delta's ticket counter, at

7:50. The flight is at 8:50 to San Francisco." She turned and rapidly walked

to the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

"Scully!" After his shout, he must have realized the lateness of the hour

since he lowered the volume of his voice as he ran after her. "Dammit, wait a

minute!"

She ignored him and nearly flew down the stairs. There was no further sound

behind her, which meant he had given up. Good. The tears ran silently down

her cheeks. Part of it was from anger at herself for thinking that Mulder

felt the same way about her as she felt about him. The rest was the agony of

realizing that he would never completely belong to her in the way she had

hoped.

She slammed the car door shut, started the engine, and drove home to pack.

Dulles Airport

7:35 AM

Mulder had spent a soul-searching night and was no nearer to resolving his

fears and insecurities than he ever had been. He loved Dana Scully. There

were no doubts in his mind about that. But to actually commit to an "ever

after" relationship was scaring him to death. For one thing, all of Scully's

problems stemmed from her relationship with him. For another, he was

terrified of pouring out his love to her and then having it thrown back in his

face. He was pretty sure there was mutual attraction going on between them,

but did she want more than a roll in the hay to satisfy an itch? Did she

truly love him? And if she did, was that enough in the long run? Would their

friendship survive intimacy and a deeper knowledge of one another's soul?

He was still kicking himself for contacting Liz last night. What incredible

timing. Asshole, he thought. It had been three years since he'd seen her,

and he had to call her now. God, what a fuckup.

Mulder had met Liz during a case in 1990, long before Scully had arrived on

the scene. He had been deep into profiling a serial killer of children and

was dangerously close to going mad. The horror of the images of slaughtered

babies and children was bad enough, but the real horror came from entering the

killer's mind to experience the murders, to understand his motivation. To

catch him before the next child died.

One night he fled to a bar to see if alcohol couldn't dull the edges. That's

where he'd met Liz Farrell. She was going through a rough and emotional

divorce and had sought refuge in the bar before having to go home to a very

empty, echoing house.

They had checked into the nearest hotel room, barely waiting to shut the door

before ripping at each other's clothes with desperation and lust. The

coupling was frenzied, and the reward a deep, healing sleep for both of them.

At dawn they awoke to find that the frenzy had dissipated, and their second

joining was slow and incredibly satisfying. But they recognized there was no

real commitment or love in this, so they parted and went their separate ways.

They did exchange telephone numbers, neither expecting to ever use them. But

use them they did, about twice a year over the next four years. Mulder

usually initiated the call, but Liz contacted him twice during that time.

They would use her house or his apartment, or find an out-of-the-way motel or

hotel and give themselves up to passion for the night, parting once more at

dawn.

After Scully had stolen his heart, he'd had no more need for Liz; until now.

As a matter of fact, she had contacted him a couple of times, about two years

ago, and he had politely but firmly declined her requests to meet. Liz had

been gracious about the first rebuff, but the second time, had tried some

graphic sexual conversation on the phone to get him to change his mind. It

had certainly had an effect, but he managed to remain unswerving in his

decision.

This last case had nearly shredded what little sanity he had left, and Scully

seemed not to notice. Well, that wasn't true. He probably had scared her to

death with his wild claims and trying to force her to believe in that psychic.

He snorted. Scully, believe in a psychic? Yeah, right. He should have known

better. With him out of control and with Scully pushing him away, he had

turned to Liz for some human comfort. For some way to anchor himself again.

But he'd realized almost immediately what a wrong move that had been. When

Liz had reached Mulder's apartment, he had tried to apologize and send her

home, but she had become aggressive. With their sexual history and his state

of need, he had reacted predictably to her nudity and skillful hands and

mouth. But afterwards, there had been a great sense of shame for his lack of

control, which was compounded immeasurably by Scully's expression on finding

Liz with him. It hadn't been fair to Scully, but more importantly, he was

afraid this would rip their partnership to shreds.

Mulder's thoughts were interrupted when he spotted his partner talking with

the ticket clerk at the counter. He saw the clerk hand her a large manilla

envelope which she tucked into her carry-on bag after checking the contents.

Taking a deep breath, he approached her with long strides, attempting to act

as if his world might not have ended the previous night. What was he supposed

to say to her now? Scully, I've loved you for the longest time. By the way,

that was Liz you saw naked in my apartment. We just fuck each other now and

then. Don't mind us.

Scully saw her partner, and she did something that surprised the hell out of

him. She smiled. Granted, it wasn't her 2,000 watt heart-stopper, but it

would do, very nicely.

"Good morning, Mulder. Why don't you check your baggage and then we can get

some coffee? Here's your ticket. I'll meet you in the coffee shop around the

corner."

And she was gone. Whew. He wasn't sure what was going on, but it was making

him damned uneasy. He had expected a cold shoulder at the very least.

After checking the bags, he located his partner sitting at a small table in

the back corner of the coffee shop, sipping from a paper cup of steaming

liquid, studying a file. There was another cup sitting on the table,

obviously for him.

As he sank into the uncomfortable orange plastic bucket chair, he watched her

ignoring him for a few moments before saying, "I want to explain something to

you, Scully."

Without looking up from the file, she replied, "It's none of my business."

"As close as we are..."

She looked up. "As close as we are? Just how close *are* we, Mulder?"

She looked as if she really wanted to know. As if she didn't know already.

"Scully, we can't do this here and now, in the airport. But we have to talk

about it eventually, preferably as soon as possible."

"Do what, Mulder? Define our relationship? Have an in-depth conversation

about our feelings for each other? What would be the point, do you think?

You've pretty much established our personal roles in each other's lives from

what I saw last night. Surely you don't have a problem with our professional

relationship?"

He found himself shaking his head no, but whether it was in answer to her

questions or a defense mechanism, he was unsure.

"Good. Let's go over the case."

Mulder startled himself as much as Scully when he slammed his hand down on the

little table and the flimsy structure nearly fell over. Their coffee sloshed,

leaving small spatters and puddles.

"We've got to talk about this later, Scully. I don't want you closing

yourself off to it."

Her death-glare drilled a hole in him for a second before she tightly said,

"Fine."

He was proud that she wouldn't let him bully her. That's my girl. From the

intensity of her glare, though, she was going to tear strips out of his hide

before she was done with him.

The too-loud public address system chimed in at that moment, with "All

incoming and outgoing flights are temporarily delayed due to the heavy fog in

the area. We will notify you as soon as flights are cleared to resume. We're

sorry for the inconvenience."

"Shit," he heard his partner quietly say.

He inwardly smiled. She was no doubt thinking he would drag her off now to

have that little discussion. Well, he had to agree that an airport wasn't the

best place for baring your soul to someone.

"Let's go find someplace a little more comfortable, Scully."

She eyed him warily and with resignation.

"...To go over the case." He grinned at her.

Her eyes said it all. Scully was definitely not dumb and could see right

through him. The equivalent experience of her glare at him couldn't be any

less than having a vasectomy without pain killers.

They settled down with their carry-ons and the files in a quiet waiting area

where the airport had slipped up and actually provided some overstuffed chairs

which were comfortable. Other than a slumbering businessman, they had it all

to themselves. The quiet would probably not last very long, with everyone who

was trying to get out on a flight this morning wandering around, waiting for

the fog to lift so their planes could take off.

While Mulder read one file, Scully reviewed the autopsy records. She had

already gone through the facts of the basic case. It was shaping up to be

something from a grade B horror movie. No wonder the locals didn't want

anything to do with it. Every night for the past week someone had been torn

to pieces and half eaten. The murders all took place several hours north of

San Francisco near various small towns. There had been no attempt to conceal

the bodies. There had been four reported sightings of a "large, hairy, man-

beast" in the general area, but as it had been dark, the witnesses weren't

really sure what they had seen.

Mulder glanced up at one point, saying "Another werewolf? Or do you think the

Jersey Devil has gone coastal?"

He was rewarded with a twitch of her mouth and a raised eyebrow.

Capturing her eyes with his, he let all his love shine in them for her. It

was long past time to show her what his feelings really were. Her breath

seemed to catch, but she bowed her head too quickly for him to see what she

was thinking.

His cel phone rang.

"Mulder," he said, as he juggled some papers so they wouldn't slip to the

floor from his lap.

"Agent Mulder. I was told by the San Francisco Bureau that you're heading up

the investigation into the grisly murders we've been seeing around here. ASAC

Jamison told me to contact you directly when I called him a minute ago. I'm

Sheriff Janet Webber in El Gato Rojo, and we just found another body. Are you

still in D.C.?"

"Unfortunately, Sheriff, we've been delayed at Dulles due to fog. As soon as

we can get out there, we'll rent a car and head up your way."

"Well, I can't leave the body parts lying around all day." Mulder winced at

her words, picturing the unpleasant scene all too easily. "We'll need to get

them on ice, but I can keep everything else roped off until you take a look at

it." She gave Mulder directions on how to find the town and how to reach the

crime scene.

As he disconnected, Mulder commented, "Do not pass Bureau; go directly to the

crime scene."

No matter how many times he ran up against the disdain held for "Spooky"

Mulder and his work, it still hurt. In a way, though, he was glad they often

didn't take an interest in his cases; it left him free to conduct them the way

he wanted. But it still hurt.

He caught Scully's sympathetic look and knew she understood. Of course she

would, you idiot. She's part of the "Spooky" team and all the wonderful

benefits that entails. Like getting abducted and tested, sterility, loss of

family members...

"Where was this victim found?" was all she said.

"Dunno. Up around El Gato Rojo. We'll need a good map for this one, I have a

feeling."

He noted the directions to the town on the back of a form in the file and then

sketched out a map from the town to the crime scene. Wrapping up their

discussion on the case took another fifteen minutes, and then everything was

put back into a neat bundle by Scully. Mulder wandered off to find a

bathroom.

By the time he returned, the PA system was announcing that all flights had

resumed and to check with the individual airlines for revised schedules and

more detailed information.

Within half an hour the partners had reached their gate, checked in, and were

boarding. Because the plane was full to Atlanta and to San Francisco, they

wouldn't be getting adjacent seats. They were packed tightly into the plane

on the first leg of the trip to Atlanta, and the mad scramble to make the

plane change in only eight minutes left them wondering if their luggage had

also made the switch in time.

Since Scully still had the files with her, Mulder decided to take a nap, only

to discover that five-year-old children don't make good seat-mates.

During the flight, Scully passed her partner's seat and smiled at the sight of

Mulder playing Barbie dolls with the cute little girl sitting next to him.

When she came back, the two were deep in a discussion as to which dress Barbie

should wear to a dance.

When Mulder spotted his partner, he excused himself and stood close to her in

the aisle, asking in a low voice, "Please, please change seats with me. I'll

even let you drive next time. In fact, I'll even agree that Barbie dolls

*are* unrealistically proportioned..."

"Don't be silly, Mulder. I'm sitting next to the cutest hunk and we're

getting along really well. Why would I want to trade that for playing with

dolls?"

"A cute hunk?" he asked suspiciously. He peered forward, trying to locate her

seating area. "Where?"

She just gave him an inscrutable look, told him to go back and play with his

dolls, and proceeded up the aisle. About to call after her, he had to quickly

sit down instead, to make way for the serving cart. He sighed, thinking that

even with the normal banter between them, he could see the hurt lying back in

her eyes, in her posture, and in her voice. Things had definitely changed

since last night.

(Continued in Part 2)

TREMORS AND AFTERSHOCKS (2/5)

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

Landing forty-five minutes late, they found that their baggage had, indeed,

not made it and was God-knew-where by now. Mulder finally told the airline to

deliver their luggage in care of Sheriff Webber in El Gato Rojo, since they

had no idea where the two of them would be staying that night.

As they waited in line to pick up a rental, Mulder couldn't resist calling the

ASAC in San Francisco.

"Agent Jamison? I'm just checking in to keep you informed of our progress on

the investigation."

"Progress?" The man sounded confused.

"Yes, sir. We've talked with the Sheriff in El Gato Rojo, who is holding the

crime scene in situ for us, but since the plane was late and the airline

managed to lose our luggage, we're running behind schedule."

"So, what you're saying, is that there *is* no progress, am I right?" still

sounding confused.

"Yes, sir. But we'll continue to keep you informed at all times." Mulder

disconnected, chuckling to himself. He couldn't stand that prick. The man

had no common sense and Mulder wondered who on earth had given him the

position of ASAC. There were twenty people who were more qualified for the

position in the San Francisco Office alone. Now the dumb shit would wonder

what this phone call had been all about. Eventually, he would figure out that

Mulder was making fun of him and then there would be hell to pay, but messing

with their heads was one of the things that kept him sane on these field

trips.

Rental car secured, they walked over to its assigned numbered parking spot.

Mulder held his hand out for the keys, but Scully moved them out of his reach,

saying, "I'll drive."

"But that was only if you traded seats with me on the plane."

"I wasn't ready then; now I am."

Shrugging his defeat, he got into the passenger seat and buckled up. When

Scully turned to ask him something, the seat was already tilted back and he

was falling asleep.

"Long night?" she muttered sarcastically, low enough so that he wouldn't hear

her. But her mood was more sad than angry.

It was a boring and uneventful drive. Darkness fell when they reached the

halfway point and Scully noticed that there were no lights anywhere in the

pitch black landscape, save for the intermittent car which passed them. A

little over an hour later, they pulled into El Gato Rojo. The place seemed to

have two traffic lights on the main drag, and then you were out of town again.

She was thinking that they weren't going to have much luck finding a motel out

here.

A red brick building announced on a lighted sign that it housed county

offices, the library, the post office, and the sheriff's office. Handy, she

thought. Just add the morgue and a restaurant, and we won't have to leave the

building on this case.

Pulling up into an angled parking spot in front of the building, she turned

off the ignition and poked Mulder.

"Mmff?" His eyes flew open, looking disoriented, and a flicker of fear

lingered in them for a moment.

Scully wondered what he had been dreaming. Or maybe she didn't want to know

after all.

"We're here."

He looked apologetic as he sat up. "You should have let me spell you with the

driving, Scully." He rubbed his face with a hand and yawned hugely.

"It was worth it, watching you snore and drool."

"What do you expect for entertainment this cheap?"

They got out of the car and then both ducked back inside for their coats. It

was quite cold, with a biting wind from the north.

"I thought California was warm in the winter," Scully said, as she pulled her

long wool coat around her body.

"Apparently not, this far north," he observed.

They entered the building, welcoming its warmth. They displayed their ID and

asked the gum-chewing teenager at the counter where they could find the

Sheriff.

The jaw stopped moving as dark brown eyes studied the agents. Discreetly

removing the gum with a piece of paper, she said, "I'm Nancy. I'm supposed to

tell you that Janet's brother was killed in a car crash. She's in San Diego."

Her expressive eyes clearly showed the sympathy she was feeling.

"We're sorry to hear that," Mulder said. "It must have just happened, since

we talked with her earlier and nothing like that was mentioned."

"Yeah. She's been gone about an hour is all."

Glancing to her right, she picked up several file folders and handed them to

Mulder. "She left these for you. There's a note inside the top one."

While Mulder glanced at the paperwork, Scully asked, "Is there someone taking

her place while she's gone?"

The teenager replied, "Roger Natinski is the Deputy Sheriff." Before either

agent could speak, she added, "But he's in Bakersfield at a conference.

Wasn't supposed to be back for a week, but now he's coming back tomorrow

afternoon since the Sheriff's had to leave."

Mulder turned to his partner, saying, "Looks like it's just you and me, babe."

He winked.

If Scully hadn't been so damned tired, she would have punched him.

"Motel," was all she said.

His grin grew wider at that, but he wisely bit back his normal off-color

retort.

To the girl, he said, "Is there a motel nearby?"

"No. El Gato Rojo doesn't have a motel."

"Is there anywhere we could get some rooms for the night?" Scully noticed

that the girl was falling for her partner's considerable charm, which he

seemed to turn on unconsciously when speaking with a female. An unbidden

image flashed through her mind of Mulder caressing that woman's body in his

apartment the night before...she quickly slammed that door shut.

Helpfully Nancy went over to a desk and returned with a telephone book.

Paging through it, she noted, "There's a motel on the highway about twelve

miles further north." Looking up suddenly as an idea occurred to her, she

added, "And then there are the folded up cots in the closet here. They're

part of the first aid gear in case of a catastrophe. I guess you could set

them up in the back room. The bathroom is down the hall."

With an "I don't believe this" look at her partner, Scully turned to the girl

and asked, "Could you please call the motel for us and see if they have any

rooms?"

"Sure."

Four minutes later they were pulling cots out of the closet and setting them

up. They were Army surplus, apparently, and had the olive green scratchy wool

blankets to go with them. Nancy had gone home after showing them where things

were and how to make a pot of coffee in the morning.

Mulder sat down on his cot, loosening his tie. He was warily eyeing Scully,

who was royally pissed off, which was evident by the set of her shoulders and

from the sighs he heard now and then. Looking around the small, bare room, he

couldn't blame her. The cots, eight boxes of paper, a copier, and some

shelves full of supplies for the copier made up the room's contents.

Having a death wish, he asked, "So, Scully. Does this honeymoon fulfill all

of your fantasies?"

Obviously restraining herself from homicide, she walked to the door, saying,

"Let's find something to eat. The pretzels and water I had on the plane are a

distant memory."

He doubted there would be much of a selection of eating places here, any more

than there were motels. He grabbed the keys to the building and followed his

partner out into the cold night.

After eating a greasy dinner in a smoky little dive on the main drag, Mulder

and Scully decided to get a breath of air and walk around town. They hadn't

spoken to each other except for necessary comments such as "Please pass the

salt," and the silence was getting to be uncomfortable.

When their fingers and toes were thoroughly numb from the cold, they

gratefully returned to their cozy little room. At least they left the heat on

at night, Mulder was thinking. That would have been the last straw.

They found themselves sitting on the cots, nervously eyeing each other.

Mulder broke first.

"This is ridiculous. We've always been able to talk to each other." Well,

that wasn't quite true, but it sounded good as an opening. She didn't

respond, so he took a deep breath and began, "I hadn't seen Liz for over three

years, Scully, until last night."

Interrupting, she said, "Mulder, it's none of my business and I wish you'd

just drop it." Her hands were nervously twisting the night shirt she planned

to wear to bed.

"I think it *is* your business." His voice had softened and her eyes were

again caught by that penetrating hazel gaze. "I think there's more going on

here than embarrassment at walking in on me with a woman." He noted with

interest that an emotion, looking an awful lot like fear, swept over her face

at that moment.

He stood and walked across the room to her cot. Crouching down in front of

her, he took the small hands from their task of strangling the shirt, and

softly murmured, "Scully, you have to know this. I'm sorry about last night,

but I...I was using Liz to run away from...everything. I realize what a

stupid, asinine, cruel, hateful thing I did, and ask if you could possibly

forgive me."

Scully had to close her eyes against the impact of his emotions, and of her

own. She realized that her whole body was trembling. Yanking her hand from

his so that he wouldn't notice the shaking, she gathered herself, looked into

those eyes and said, "Honestly, Mulder, I'm not upset about that anymore. I

have to admit that it surprised me at the time, though. And of course you're

forgiven, although there's nothing to forgive."

OK. He had laid his heart out and she had stomped on it. And the walls were

up, firmer than ever. Fine. He was a fool to think she could have loved him

like that. But, oh, God, he had hoped...

Scully, meanwhile, was devastated that she could have lied to him in such a

manner. The fact was that she wanted him so much it consumed her entire

being, but it still hurt like hell to remember finding that woman and Mulder

together. The image kept haunting her, keeping the wound fresh in her heart

and in her soul.

Mulder stood and went back to "his" side of the room without another word. He

removed his jacket, tie, shoes, shirt and pants, hanging them over the side of

the copier. Dressed in an undershirt, boxers and socks, he pulled the blanket

back and lay on the cot with his back to her. Covering up to his nose, he

mumbled, "'Night, Scully."

A few minutes later he heard her rustling around as she changed into the

nightshirt. The light clicked off in the room, but the glow from the hallway

lights softly illuminated the space. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping anytime

soon.

It occurred to him then to wonder how, if the tables were turned, *he* would

have reacted to finding Scully with some man he'd never seen before. To have

her answering the door at one in the morning, clutching a robe around her

obviously bare body, sweat filming her skin, hair in a sexy mess, a nude guy

hovering somewhere behind her. Mulder knew without a doubt that he would have

beaten the hell out of the guy for touching her. Mulder was now so aroused

from visualizing Scully half-naked, he had to stifle a groan, hoping she

hadn't heard him. And the night had barely begun.

5:45 AM

Scully could smell the most delicious fragrance. She fought through the webs

of sleep to open her eyes, finally seeing the source of the odor. A cup of

coffee, hot and steaming, was sitting next to the cot, on a box.

"Good morning."

"It had better be later than 6:30," she grumbled.

Finally managing to focus properly, she saw her partner, completely dressed,

sitting on his cot with his coat lying next to him.

"Time to rise and shine, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Scully." He was

disgustingly cheerful, the bastard. She really wasn't able to handle cheerful

yet, or keeping her eyes open for that matter.

"Have you been up all night?" she asked, really wanting to know. She hadn't

been able to fall asleep for a long time, herself.

"Not quite. I washed up as best I could, got dressed with fresh underwear and

yesterday's wrinkled suit, explored the building, went for a walk, made the

coffee, and now I'm ready to get to work." He smiled and waved a folded-up

paper at her. "I even found an area map in the post office that might be

helpful. Those keys that Nancy left us will open all the doors in this

building."

She scooted up and swung her legs around, touching the floor with her feet.

Then she remembered the nightshirt and hastily pulled in down to her thighs.

A quick glance at him told her he hadn't missed any of the show.

"Uh, Mulder, why don't you go somewhere for a minute so I can get decent?"

Instead of the suggestive comment she expected, a sigh escaped his lips before

he obediently arose and left the room.

She didn't really look forward to putting the same old suit from yesterday

back on, but there was no choice. At least she had makeup and underwear in

her bag. They'd had to do without luggage before on trips and had taken to

carrying the basics in a small bag which stayed with them throughout their

travel.

They were able to leave by 6:30, after folding up the cots and returning them

with their blankets to the closet. This time, Mulder beat her to the driver's

side but she wasn't awake enough to argue with him. She grumpily thought that

he was much too energetic at this early morning hour. Scully handed the keys

over once she'd settled into the passenger seat. She pulled the sketch, which

her partner had made of the Sheriff's directions to the crime scene, from the

file and compared it to the area map Mulder had found in the post office.

It was still very dark but the secondary road they were on seemed smooth and

fairly straight, so Mulder drove at the speed limit and sometimes slightly

over. He wanted to get to the scene, take a look, and then get back to have

breakfast. If the murders remained consistent, there had probably been

another one last night, somewhere in a twenty-five-mile radius. It was likely

to be a very long day for them.

"It's another two miles, then turn right onto 'Ridge Road.' It's eight miles

farther, then you turn up the hillside onto 'Bertram Road,' a narrow lane that

dead ends where the murder took place."

Mulder had already taken a look at the maps. He commented, "This guy sure

knows the territory around here. That's a hiking trail over the hillside and

slopes, but it's likely that only the locals would really know about it."

She didn't reply, so he glanced in the direction of the passenger side. She

was studying the post office map intently.

"What?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh, I just saw some inked-in note and was trying to read it. A few

miles from the trail head is a small 'x' and I think it says 'Bertram's' next

to it.

"Could be something to check out. Notice the 'x,' Scully. Coincidence? I

think not."

Scully groaned. He was in "silly" mode. "Please. You can do better than

that. And there's Ridge Road."

He made the turn and soon found that the road was incredibly winding, with

frequent switchbacks. The car's speed dropped by necessity to a crawl on the

switchbacks, but increased as much as he dared once out of them. With only

the car's headlights for illumination, it was difficult to tell how deep the

drop-off on the right was, but it seemed like a long way to the bottom.

Scully was hanging on to the handhold near the ceiling above her door, he

noticed.

Over the next seven slow miles, a gray light was gradually washing over the

landscape as dawn arrived. Mulder was accelerating out of a deep curve when

something fairly large tried to cross the road in front of them. Even as he

slammed on the brakes, he knew they weren't going to avoid a collision. They

both felt a sickening blow as the car's right front bumper connected with it.

For just a second they caught a glimpse in the headlights of lots of hair or

fur and what might have been a human face.

What Mulder hadn't expected was that the combination of loose gravel along the

sides of the road, braking suddenly, and the blow to the front corner of the

car would result in a skid in the direction of the drop-off. He frantically

tried to correct the skid by steering into it but the momentum was too great.

The rear wheels were already going over the edge.

The sky had lightened enough so they could see the terrain now, and to the

partners' relief, there was just a short, gentle slope to slide down before

the car came to a halt at the bottom. If they had gone off the road just

fifty yards earlier, a thirty-foot drop would have been unavoidable, probably

killing them both.

A little shaken by their close call, they emerged from the vehicle.

No words were necessary as they looked across the hood of the car at each

other. They were uninjured, thank God.

A sound reached their ears from off to the right. With the first weak rays of

the morning sun slanting over the ground, they could see something moving

uphill toward a line of trees over a hundred yards away. In the poor light

they could see that it appeared to be humanoid, but there was something not

quite right with the shape.

"Ten to one, that's our murderer," Mulder said, as he went after it.

Scully's protest died unspoken on her lips, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

How the hell would you know that's our murderer? she was thinking.

With a rueful look at her shoes, she followed her partner, trying to avoid

rocks and holes in the ground. She resolved to throw jeans, a pullover, and

some sensible shoes into the bag from now on so she wouldn't have to wear a

business suit out in the wilderness next time the airline lost their luggage.

Mulder was gradually pulling farther away from her and he looked back as he

reached the tree line. She waved at him to go on, hoping she could catch up

eventually.

She was still thinking about why Mulder had made the leap that this was the

murderer. The person was in the right area, granted. The normal person

wouldn't have run away after being hit by their car, either. And then there

was its physical appearance. Having only seen glimpses of it, she thought it

might match the witnesses' descriptions of a man-like hairy creature. She

knew that Mulder was thinking, "werewolf," and was certain that there would be

some arguing in store for her; but what else was new?

By then Scully had reached the tree line and stopped to gauge where to go

next. She saw a fairly obvious path, even in the reduced light under the

trees. It led her in a generally straight line, and seemed to go on for

miles. So far there had been no sign of her partner, or of the thing he was

pursuing. Finally she stopped, leaned against a tree to rest, and listened

for sounds of the chase.

The silence was eerie and complete. Not even a bird was singing in the early

morning hush. That was strange, she thought, not having noticed it before.

She could hear her own breath softly moving in and out of her mouth and was

aware of the heartbeat that thumped softly within her chest. This is really

creepy, she couldn't help thinking, after standing still for a few minutes.

Striking forward along the path once more, Scully nervously glanced at the

surrounding woods with mounting unease. After a few more minutes, however,

the woods began thinning and eventually she found herself in a clearing. Her

breath caught in her throat as she realized what she was seeing.

(Continued in Part 3)

TREMORS AND AFTERSHOCKS (3/5)

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

There was a huge old three-story house filling her vision. It sat high on the

ridge, with a front view of rolling hills, and with the woods at its back and

sides. It looked as if it had been there forever with vines and ivy growing

over its stone foundation and continuing up the weathered wooden siding. It

appeared to have been vacant for many years.

The sharp crack of gunfire from inside the structure abruptly shook Scully

from her reverie. She sprinted around to the front door, almost taking a fall

when the toe of her shoe snagged a vine in the overgrown yard. Risking the

rotted-looking wood of the porch, she ran up the steps and through the

already-open door with her weapon drawn and ready. From outside, the shots

had seemed to come from high above her, so she began climbing the once-ornate

marble and wood staircase.

At the second floor landing where the light was diffused into gem-like colors

from the dusty stained glass window high above, something big slammed into her

from the shadows. Hands caught her before she could fall, and pulled her

urgently back down the way she had just come.

"Hurry up, Scully! It'll rip us apart!" Mulder sounded close to panic.

Now she could hear a raspy rumble interspersed with a panting sound somewhere

above and behind them. Trusting her partner, she moved as quickly as possible

down the stairs. Instead of heading for the door as she expected, however, he

suddenly swerved left and then left again. The sounds were getting closer but

the last thing she wanted to do was to look behind them.

Mulder reached a heavy wooden door, threw the latch, yanked it open, then

turned and fired his weapon at something behind Scully. In the same moment

his other hand pulled her past him through the door. He fired again, then

yelped as his gun went flying and four deep gashes appeared on his hand. And

then he was staring into the yellow eyes of a canine-toothed horror.

In that split second, Mulder clearly saw his own inescapable bloody death.

But as the being raised a paw full of razor-sharp claws, the floor began to

shake. Gently at first, but with rapidly growing intensity. A low roaring

sound surrounded them and pieces of ornamentation from walls and ceilings were

falling. Mulder felt disoriented when he felt the floor move.

As the floor under their feet began actively buckling, the beast let out an

enraged roar and turned as if to challenge and fight the unknown threat.

Mulder saw the large wooden beam falling in time to step back farther into the

doorway so he only felt the air disturbed by its passing. But the beast was

not so lucky. The heavy structural beam landed on the creature, crushing it

into the floor. Mulder wasted no more time, but spun around and ran down the

stairs into the basement, looking for his partner. They had to get out of the

collapsing building.

Scully had been looking for a coal chute or storm cellar access to the

outside, with no success. It was pitch dark, and the small flashlight she

kept in her coat pocket for emergencies didn't penetrate very much into the

large space.

When everything began heaving and rumbling around her, she fought to keep on

her feet and get back to the stairs. Over fifty years of dust was sifting out

of the structure into the air, making her sneeze and her eyes water.

"Scully!" Her partner was calling from somewhere ahead and she tried shining

the flashlight in that direction. In the wavering, jumping beam of light she

could see him coming her way, but the shaking was increasing to an impossible

pitch. Something had to give soon, she knew.

Crack! There was a stupendous noise as the house began to fall in on itself.

Mulder dove the last few feet for Scully, knocking her to the dirt floor, then

rolled with her until they were lying against the stone foundation.

Pressed against her body, riding out the shock waves, he felt several blows to

his back and legs as a beam, floor joists, and fir flooring collapsed and

split into pieces nearby. An old claw-footed bathtub landed with a hell of a

lot of noise close enough to touch. The whole house was coming down on top of

them.

"Scully," he desperately said, his lips against her ear. "I love you."

As if his words had shocked the earthquake into submission, everything stopped

moving suddenly. A few more parts of the house crashed down and various

fragments continued to trickle over the broken structure, but an uneasy quiet

settled over all.

Shocked that they were still alive, Mulder tried moving off of Scully so she

could breathe. She was trying to shift and he could feel rather than hear the

uneven gasps through her chest. His back encountered a heavy, rigid object,

however, so it was necessary to slide down her body before he had room to get

up. As his body reacted to this stimulation, he was wryly thinking that it

was amazing how the human libido was strongest in life-threatening situations.

Rubbing against every inch of her through necessity, he was rapidly becoming

embarrassed, especially after expressing his love to her. She would be

furious at him.

Finally able to stand if he bent his head, he could see some of the

devastation from the earthquake. Light was coming through small openings in

the jumbled debris overhead, and dust and plaster were floating in the air.

There was a large, heavy wooden beam lying against the foundation wall,

creating a triangular space along the base of it. That was what he had bumped

against when he first had tried to stand. It had held off a lot of heavy-

looking debris from crushing the two of them. The beam itself had come very

close to landing on them, he noted with awe.

Scully had also scooted out of the narrower part of their space and, after one

nervous sidelong glance toward her partner, was looking around in amazement.

She realized how close they had come to dying just moments ago.

The space in which they stood was very small; roughly only four feet wide, six

feet long, and just under six feet in height, overall, but it varied a lot

with irregular chunks of debris jutting everywhere. Mulder couldn't stand

completely upright except where there were a couple of gaps in the ceiling.

Bits and pieces of the house littered the semi-clear space in which they

stood. A long section of wood that looked like trim from around a door split

the area at the one-third point. It crossed the space like a spear at

Scully's waist height and was embedded in a crack between two large stones in

the wall.

Turning to each other with the intent to see if each was all right, they both

found themselves smiling at the other's condition. They were covered in

plaster dust, dirt, and a variety of unidentifiable matter, better left to the

imagination.

Scully's eyes were drawn to Mulder's hand which he was holding protectively

against his chest. She reached out and touched it, making him flinch and suck

in a sharp breath. Her fingers came away tacky with blood and dirt.

At her questioning look, he said, "Werewolf got me. You're gonna have to keep

an eye on me now, Scully. At the full moon I may grow hair and go howling

after you."

"What else is new?" she wanted to know. "Let me try to clean that off a

little and wrap it."

She removed her coat and her suit jacket, then pulled the clean tee shirt over

her head. Mulder's eyes grew rounder as he watched this modified strip tease,

then realized she was waiting for him to take the shirt from her hands so she

could get back into her clothes.

He blushed and held the still-warm item while Scully quickly put her jacket

back on, leaving the coat hanging over the horizontal piece of wood.

"Sit down, Mulder." He obeyed, and she went to work on his hand. It hurt

like hell while she tried to clean it without water, and he was shaking by the

time she began applying the make-shift bandage. He could tell that she was

trying to keep from hurting him, but it was unavoidable. While working on the

wound, she commented, "When you were still upstairs I tried using my cel

phone, with no success. I know yours was left in the car on the seat." He

winced, both from the pain now stabbing throughout his hand, and the news

about the phones.

"What happened to the beast-man, Mulder?" He only detected a trace of sarcasm

in her voice, which was a big improvement from the usual friendly ridicule.

"A beam the size of Godzilla fell on him, so I doubt he'll be bothering us or

anyone else again."

"I thought only silver bullets could kill them," she noted as she was

finishing with his hand.

"I think being mashed flat tends to inhibit the regenerative process," was his

dry answer.

There was a frown on her forehead and her partner knew that she was worried

about infection. But he also knew that the chances of getting out of this

basement with a three-story house on top of them were slim to none, so his

hand probably wouldn't matter anyway.

Perhaps reading his mind, Scully said in a hushed voice, "No one knows where

we are, Mulder."

His hand cupped her cheek gently in answer.

Sounding braver than she felt, Scully announced, "Well, we'll just have to get

out of here on our own, then."

"This whole thing is pretty unstable. If we try climbing on this stuff, it

may come down on our heads."

"If we don't try to get out, and sit around waiting instead, then the

aftershocks may do the job for us."

Her words startled him. He hadn't thought about aftershocks. She was right;

they needed to find a way out before another quake hit and completely buried

them.

"Let's try sticking close to the wall, OK? The foundation seems to be the

only part that held up and we may need its stability to work with. Do you

know if we're on the front, back, or side of the house here?"

She thought for a moment and said, "I'm pretty sure we're at the front,

northwest end. Why?"

"I was trying to envision what might have been above this area that's now in

pieces. Obviously, a second or third-floor bathroom." He gestured to the

bathtub that sat on a pile of wood and plaster nearby. "I think there was a

large, empty living room on the main floor and nothing else of major weight

above that. Other than the structure itself, of course."

When he put his arms up to grasp the edge of a door that lay horizontally in a

promising-looking gap above them, he gasped. The beating his back had taken

from the falling structure had apparently left his hide badly bruised. It

didn't get past Scully, for he felt her hands on his back, poking and

prodding. And that hurt like hell.

"It's OK, Scully. Just bruises. I'm sure that nothing's broken."

She agreed, but said, "Why don't you give me a boost up there? If you go

first, I don't think I can reach that hand hold."

Reasoning that it didn't matter *who* went first since the hazards were pretty

much equal, he put his good hand into his wounded one and let her place a foot

onto the resulting step. With his help, she reached the door and climbed on

top of it, then they held their breath to see if everything remained stable.

A little more dirt fell, but it seemed safe enough.

Mulder grabbed the edge of the door again, trying to ignore the aches and

pains of his muscles and injured hand. He was pulling himself up when

everything began shaking once more. A rumbling sound grew in volume and then

the door was slipping sideways, dropping him back to the floor with Scully

following. She landed on top of him, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

A creaking groan made him look to his right; the huge beam was shaking and

moving slowly where it leaned on the wall. If it came down, it would probably

be onto their location. The heavy door above them was also overbalancing and

about to fall.

Managing to heave air into his lungs, he shoved Scully to the side and tried

to pull her against the rock foundation once more. It had saved them the last

time and he didn't have any other options available. A huge piece of flooring

smashed down behind him, grazing the sole of his shoe and destroying half of

the formerly clear space. Under her own steam now, Scully stretched along the

base of the wall, pulling him close to her as the rest of the world fell

around them

This time when the house stopped disintegrating on top of them, they lay

enclosed in a space about half the size of the previous area. With the sheer

volume of debris all around them, no light was able to filter into this pocket

against the rock wall.

"S-Scully?" Mulder slid his hand from her back up to her head, trying to tell

by feel if she were injured. She wasn't moving or speaking to him, and he was

frightened and on the verge of panic.

Then she did move, clutching him around the waist and pressing herself against

him. He could sense her despair, since he felt the same. They weren't

getting out of this alive. Either they would die of thirst or lack of air, or

another aftershock would finish them off. When he put his face next to hers,

he felt the moisture of her tears.

"My God, Scully. Are you hurt anywhere?" He quickly ran his hands down her

arms, over her ribs, and then both legs. By the time Mulder was satisfied

there were no obvious injuries, he noticed that she was breathing faster.

Before that thought had time to register, however, he felt her hand move up to

caress his cheek. It was unmistakably deliberate and very sensuous, with her

thumb brushing against his lips, her breath against his throat. He closed his

eyes from the pleasure of her touch.

Her other hand was at his waist, fingers spread up over his abdomen, warm and

full of promise.

Mulder's thoughts were pretty basic by this point. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod

was the brilliant mantra his brain managed to supply. He was afraid to move

for fear she would stop this sweet seduction.

When her breath caressed his ear and she whispered, "I want you," a jolt of

desire shot straight to his groin. She was panting with arousal, already

unbuckling his belt. And as much as he wanted this, too, he found himself

grabbing her wrist, stopping the motions of her hand.

"Scully, no. This is something you'll regret later, believe me." His voice

was unsteady and rough as he fought his own desires. He knew beyond doubt

that giving in to this would be the worst choice they had ever made, no matter

how much they both wanted it right now.

He felt her muscles tense, then Scully was pushing hard at him, trying to move

away. He could hear little whimpering sounds.

Trying to keep her close, his elbow whacked some debris when he forgot how low

their "ceiling" had become. "Shit!" he exclaimed. By the time his elbow quit

shooting arrows of pain up his arm, Scully had moved as far from him as

possible.

His emotions were running high with so many concerns: His desire for her; the

conflicting need to push her away before they really screwed things up between

them; the pain from his injuries; and the fear that none of this mattered

anyway, if they couldn't get out of their prison.

With the pounding of his blood in his ears, Mulder didn't hear it at first.

Then he caught a distant sound like a voice coming from somewhere above.

"Scully! There's someone up there!" Mulder turned his head to face upward

and shouted, "Help! We need help!"

The quiet was absolute, then he heard a faint, "We'll get help! Hang on!"

Lying back, he tried to comprehend that they just might get out of this alive

after all. If the rescue attempt didn't manage to crush them with the

shifting debris, that is. He realized that his partner had once again been

awfully quiet.

"Scully." Mulder moved toward her and found her face in the dark. "We might

make it, after all."

She remained silent and then he realized that she was crying in earnest. The

tears were running over the fingers that were resting against her cheek. And

Mulder suddenly felt a sickening premonition in the pit of his stomach.

"Scully? Tell me that you're not shutting me out now." His voice held a note

of terror.

His answer was another sob from her throat. Mulder waited until Scully's

weeping had dwindled to an occasional sigh. He was going through hell,

imagining the worst, telling himself that she was just reacting to the shock

of not having to die in this remote tomb. And then his heart twisted in his

chest when he remembered that she had never told him that she loved him, even

in their recent passionate moments. Just, "I want you."

"Scully?" he tried again, afraid to hear what she had to say.

Her voice, thick with the aftermath of her tears, was so low he had to strain

to hear her.

"I let myself lose control. I thought...we weren't going to survive."

All he could manage was a strangled, "Oh, my God." That was the only reason

for her passion...they were going to die anyway, so what the hell? His

stomach churned.

She could sense his distress and hastened to say, "Mulder, I wanted this with

all my heart and soul, I really did. I planned to tell you that when I went

to your apartment the other night. But after I found you with her, I realized

that you'll always have your own life, your own way of doing things, people

from your past I could never understand or relate to, and sexual partners who

still mean something to you. I decided that our friendship is so valuable to

me that I didn't want to jeopardize it by trying to change you into someone

that you're not." She paused. "Then, when I thought there would be no future

to worry about..."

Taking a shuddering breath, Mulder desperately tried to think of what to say

that wouldn't make things worse. His life depended on changing her mind;

literally, his life.

"Scully, you've come to mean everything to me. I couldn't make it without you

any more. Liz was a mistake. A mistake that I wouldn't have made if we had

committed to each other already. It was a mistake born of an unreasoning fear

of a final, irrevocable commitment to you; it drove me to calling her. That

fear isn't there anymore, Scully. There's a deep contentment and a confidence

that I'm finally on the right path. I love you more than life itself and want

a chance to prove that to you."

He could feel her shivering where their arms were touching, and he realized

how cold it was. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to share body heat,

and was glad when she didn't fight him again. But he noticed that she wasn't

exactly snuggling against him, either.

Mulder suddenly chuckled. "I hope your apartment has plenty of hot water,

Scully, 'cause it's going to take several showers to feel clean again.. We're

pretty filthy." He was desperately trying to communicate with her on any

level; he knew if he didn't clear things up between them before a rescue,

Scully could very easily close him off for good.

A sudden fit of anger that was born of frustration swept over him then. He

had wanted this as much as she did. Because he had halted what would have

been nothing more than sex, born of their desperation at the wrong place and

time, she was withdrawing totally. Mulder thought he knew what was going on

here.

"Scully, you've been just as afraid of intimacy as I was, all along! You've

wanted the closeness, but when it came down to it, you've always backed off.

Then, when you thought there would be no consequences, you were willing to let

it happen."

Her body was so taut, he figured her limbs would break if he tried to move

them. "You're closing off again, Scully, afraid of facing this in the real

world. I think you're using Liz as an excuse. I never thought of you as a

coward."

Because she couldn't see him in the dark, her slap went off the mark and hit

him hard on the nose instead of his cheek. "Ow! Godammit, Scully! Aren't

things bad enough, you have to add a broken nose to the equation?"

"You're a chickenshit, Mulder! And a hypocrite! You talk about *me* being a

coward...God! You're saying that you love me - what's that all about? I

think you've been more afraid to tell me that and accept the consequences than

you'll admit." Her voice broke on the last words and she sobbed harshly.

Not able to see her face, he reached for her arm and he noticed that she was

still trembling. Figuring that part of it was from the cold and part from her

anger, he pulled her closer. At first she reacted violently, slapping her

hands against his chest and pushing, resisting the contact. But he persisted

until finally she calmed down and relaxed against him.

"I'm sorry," came her muffled voice.

"I know," he murmured. "Me, too."

"I don't usually cry so much. Or slap you."

"I know. It's all right."

Sniff. "Mulder, I do love you."

Silence. Then a cracked, husky voice replied, "I don't usually cry so much

either."

Two sniffs.

"Do you really think this will work?"

"Oh, Scully, it already is. We'll both continue to do dumb things from time

to time, but it'll all work out. I promise." He hoped to God he was telling

her the truth. He still had his own fears and doubts, but this was what they

both wanted now, and they were strong enough to make it work.

There was a shifting, scraping sound coming from far above the two agents and

thin trickles of dirt fell on them. Scully sneezed. Then Mulder sneezed.

There was more noise, and the sound of people calling to each other. The

rescue had commenced in earnest.

Two hours later, the sounds of the rescue effort up above hadn't seemed to be

getting much closer. Every once in a while Mulder would shout to the rescue

party, letting them know someone was still alive and in need of help.

It dawned on him that if it were necessary to spend the night in the wreckage,

hypothermia from the cold might become unavoidable. Mulder tried to recover

Scully's coat, digging around in the rubble in the general area where she had

left it. When some of the debris caved in on him, he stopped before he got

more than a few additional bruises.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they slept for a few hours. Mulder groggily

woke up when Scully whispered in his ear, "Listen! Mulder, there's something

in here with us!"

(Continued in Part 4)

TREMORS AND AFTERSHOCKS (4/5)

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

When what she said registered, he snapped completely awake, ears straining for

what she had heard. There, not too far off...a low growl and a snuffling

sound. Now it was right on the other side of the solid wall of broken

flooring and rubble that held them captive.

"Shhhh. We're safe, Scully. It would take a backhoe to move that stuff."

"But what is it? I thought you said the beast-man was killed by the beam?"

"Yeah. It's either another one, which I don't think is likely, or it

regenerated somehow. And that's not too likely, either. But I did put four

rounds into the thing's torso earlier, with no noticeable affect."

Suddenly the large, bulky section of flooring was slowly being shoved aside

and some light was piercing the darkness of their cell. Mulder's eyes nearly

bugged out of his head. Nothing should have been able to move that huge piece

without using heavy equipment. That thing was going to be on them in a few

seconds. Trapped in this tiny space, they wouldn't stand a chance and would

be torn apart. Not much of an alternative to being mashed by the collapsing

house.

The thing, now confident of reaching his prey, gave a blood-curdling howl.

There was a flurry of activity somewhere above them. "Christ! What the hell

was *that?!"

Mulder felt a movement by his elbow. In the dim light he saw that Scully was

holding her gun ready, aimed toward the still-hidden monster. He shook his

head, saying, "That didn't stop him before."

"Maybe you didn't hit anything vital." Still a skeptic, but Mulder noticed

that her voice shook.

"Four rounds from three feet away? Scully, even *I'm* not that bad a shot."

Then he remembered a long dowel-like object somewhere in the junk he had tried

to move when searching for Scully's coat. But that was over where the beast

was now slowly making a wider opening. With the supporting weight of the

flooring moved away, and if he could use that sturdy dowel as leverage, he

might be able to bring the mountain of debris that tottered precariously

against the wall down on top of the beast. The main thing wrong with that

scenario was that it could very well kill them all. And your point, Mulder?

he asked himself.

Grimly determined, he told Scully what he planned to do, and for her to make

herself as small as possible as far as possible from the planned avalanche.

She kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, "I'll help."

Before he could protest, she had crawled over near the opening, which was

almost wide enough now for the beast to get through. Galvanized into action,

Mulder helped her dig for the piece of wood. If they couldn't find it right

away, he would try attacking the mountain of debris with his own body,

climbing and kicking until it gave way. Suddenly his hand touched the dowel;

and at the same moment the beast's paw slapped down on his arm.

Having no choice but to let go of the dowel, he yanked his arm away, feeling

the tug as the fabric of his coat ripped. Scrambling back from the claws, he

called out a warning to his partner, "Scully, watch out!"

But she had already seen what had occurred and didn't hesitate to dive for the

length of wood, closing her hands around it. Unfortunately, the beast had

cleared the opening and now crouched at the entrance to their lair. It easily

reached Scully and pulled her out through the opening with no effort at all.

The dowel dropped to the earth floor amid the debris as Mulder saw his partner

hauled out to her certain death.

With a bloodcurdling scream he snatched up the dowel and burst out of the low

enclosure on all fours, ready to be torn limb from limb if he could save

Scully from the same fate. The beast was ready for him, however. It had

thrown Scully aside and turned to face this screaming madman who was waving a

stick in the air. And with one swipe of its powerful arm, Mulder was thrown

with agonizing force into some twisted metal and wood, breaking his left wrist

and opening a gash in his head and on his leg.

Satisfied, it turned toward Scully once more, but Mulder had only begun to

fight. Leaving a trail of blood, he awkwardly crawled to the unstable

mountain of debris and shoved the strong wooden dowel into a promising looking

location.

"Hey, asshole!" he yelled to the beast. It swivelled its head and looked over

at Mulder and growled. With the broken left wrist rendering that hand

useless, all he had available to him was his wounded and throbbing right hand

to use in pushing down on the lever. He threw all of his body weight into the

maneuver. The debris rocked ominously and a large piece of marble fell,

smashing onto the basement floor.

Menacingly, the beast stalked toward Mulder, growling softly. It seemed to

understand the threat the agent posed. Good, Mulder thought. He's moving

away from Scully. Now, if this junk will just fall forward and not shift to

the side...

With only the space of a medium-sized bedroom to cross, the beast was

practically on him already. With desperation, Mulder again threw all his

strength and weight onto the lever, causing the base to rock enough so that

the top half finally succumbed to gravity and toppled. It seemed to drop in

slow motion, graceful and deadly. Then Mulder felt a searing pain as the

beast ripped his chest open. He fell back in a spray of blood, at the same

time seeing the monster fall under a two-foot long chunk of marble. Filled

with horror, he saw Scully being buried in the cascading rain of debris.

Unable to move <when did those boards wind up across my legs?>, Mulder drifted

in and out of consciousness, trying to remember something important that he

was forgetting. He couldn't seem to focus his thoughts. Suddenly a young man

who said his name was Mike Emory was carefully removing the boards. Mulder

faded out then and when he groggily opened his eyes once more, he was wearing

some kind of safety harness.

When he moved his hand to touch the harness, he bit back a cry at the pain in

his broken wrist. Mike saw the problem and quickly immobilized the wrist,

using a temporary clear plastic cast.

Mike had to nearly carry the disoriented man over to a gap in the debris which

the rescue team had managed to enlarge and clear. By carefully removing and

shoring up the parts and pieces of the old house, they had opened an irregular

semi-vertical tunnel down to where they had heard a voice and unidentifiable

noises.

Mike hollered up the cluttered and crooked shaft that they were ready, and the

lines attached to Mulder's harness tightened, pulling him upward. Slowly

ascending, they had reached the halfway point. The rescuers above could now

see the two in the shaft and a mutual wave of relief washed over them.

Mulder suddenly became semi-lucid, regaining his sense of place and self. He

began wildly swinging his arms and the men above had to fight to keep his

lines steady.

"No! I have to get Scully! Stop!" He was kicking now and trying to unfasten

the harness with his useable hand. "Scully," he screamed in frustration and

panic.

Mike tried to steady the injured, struggling man, but was in danger of losing

his foothold in the debris and falling. Then Mulder's head banged against a

protruding pipe, right where it had received the previous blow. His vision

blurred and he felt nauseated; he was finding it hard to fight the threatening

blackness. Through the haze of his injury, he saw a large shape loom from

below. A snarling nightmare filled his vision as Mike was forcibly pulled

back to the basement. His terrified screams surrounded the semi-conscious man

and followed him down into oblivion.

The rescue team members on the safety lines were horrified at seeing this man-

like beast drag their friend down the shaft. From far below, everyone could

hear increasingly agonized shrieks accompanied by terrible ripping sounds.

Jake Emory, Mike's brother, was among the rescue team members who witnessed

the horror. Wild eyed, Jake ran to his truck and returned to the shaft,

holding a wicked-looking .357 Magnum hand gun. Meeting the eyes of the other

men, he said, "We've been hunting that thing with these silver bullets. I'm

sending it to hell where it belongs."

Looking down, they could see the now-unconscious man dangling in the harness,

like bait on a hook. Blood was still dripping from his head, chest and leg

wounds. There was a scuttling noise and then the beast, covered in Mike's

blood, appeared in the shaft, climbing rapidly toward the helpless agent.

Then it was on Mulder, claws gripping his body, pausing to howl its victory.

Jake calmly leaned over to get a clear view, and gave a shrill whistle.

Startled, the beast looked upward, sharp canine teeth gleaming red in an

obscene snarl. The first bullet missed its target entirely. Adjusting his

aim, Jake put the next round right between the yellow eyes. The thing lost

its grip and plummeted downward out of sight, smashing against obstacles as it

fell.

The men wasted no time in getting Mulder completely out of the shaft. They

carefully laid him onto a stretcher and hooked him up to an IV. The EMTs from

the helicopter worked on his various injuries, preparatory to flying him to

the nearest large hospital, which was in Chico.

Meanwhile, Jake insisted on going down to make sure the beast was dead and to

see if anyone else was alive. He reminded the team that the man they had

rescued seemed to have been agitated about going back for someone named

"Scully." No one wanted Jake to go down there and see what was left of his

brother, but no one else wanted to encounter the monster they had seen,

either. Finally, Chet Meyers, a 45-year-old former surfer who had somehow

landed in El Gato Rojo, agreed to accompany Jake, against his better judgment.

The pilot of the helicopter, after consulting with the EMTs as to the

condition of their patient, agreed to wait a few minutes for possible

additional victims. The volunteers grabbed a two-way radio and a light-weight

folding stretcher to use if they found anyone.

Making their way down the dim access tunnel, Chet kept thinking he could hear

the beast climbing up from his lair toward them. Unfortunately he was a

horror movie addict and was cursed with a lively imagination.

They finally reached the bottom and found the body of the thing Jake had shot

lying there. When Chet stepped over it, he just knew that the beast would

suddenly come to life, reach up, and grab his leg; but nothing happened.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, he turned toward his partner.

Jake was standing as if petrified, staring at what was left of his brother.

The thing had pulled all his limbs off and finished by ripping the throat out

of the still-alive man, judging from the extended length of time the screaming

had lasted. Chet put a trembling hand on Jake's shoulder and told him to go

back up; he would look for the survivor. Clearly in shock, Jake managed, "I'm

OK. Let's do it."

As they worked on a promising mound of debris, they had gradually removed bits

of lath, wood planks, a light fixture, a dead rat, and a lot of wood chunks of

all sizes. Jake was working in a daze, mechanically removing these pieces of

a once-beautiful house and tossing them into a new pile. He discovered a hand

without realizing at first what he was seeing.

Chet realized after a moment that something was wrong. Jake wasn't moving and

seemed frozen in place, holding a board in his hands, plaster dust floating

all around him. Then he saw what his partner had uncovered, and began quickly

moving debris from around the exposed hand, trying not to further injure the

person as he dealt with the unstable material.

"Check the pulse," he told Jake, trying to break him out of his catatonia.

He obeyed in a daze, nodded when he felt the faint throbbing, then switched

his radio on and relayed the information in a monotone. Chet was aware that

Jake's shock was profound over the death of his brother, but was grateful that

he could still help him with this victim.

They carefully supported Scully's limp form as they strapped her to the

stretcher and applied a neck brace as a precautionary measure. Chet thought

that she looked very young and beautiful under all the plaster dust and dirt,

and hoped she survived this. They carried her to the beginning of the exit

shaft, where safety lines were then securely attached to her stretcher. Chet

supported the leading section by her head as they began to ascend, with Jake

climbing up behind them.

Several times Chet thought he heard something from below, some elusive sound.

The hairs on the back of his neck were actually standing up, which was

something he didn't think happened in real life. He was suddenly very anxious

to reach the top.

The fresh air signaled that they were close to the upper opening, when a few

pieces of debris from the shaft's wall broke free and fell, hitting the three

with glancing blows. Chet understood the significance first, hollering to the

team above to "Pull, pull, fast! Earthquake!"

Adrenalin got them moving, but the aftershock was building steadily,

collapsing more and more of the shaft behind them. Some roof shingles and

boards now blocked a portion of the shaft, but they were able to squeeze past

the bottleneck with only a few nail scratches and punctures. Chet was hit by

a heavy piece of wood which continued down the shaft and grazed Jake's arm as

it passed. The rest of the place was caving in as they reached the edge, but

their team was ready and pulled them free of the death trap just as the

aftershocks ceased and the debris finished collapsing with a roar.

They heard a shout from the helicopter crew and looked up in time to see the

great stone chimney toppling down into what was left of the building. It

created a thundering sound, releasing a cloud of soot, dirt and ash. The

rescue team moved the stretcher farther out of range of the disaster area so

that the EMTs could take a look at the victim who was lying so very still and

quiet.

Mulder had regained consciousness when the aftershock began, and lay petrified

on the stretcher for a second, trying to orient himself. The shaking of the

earth gradually slowed, and then he heard the tremendous crash of the chimney

falling. Seeing the filthy cloud rising above the ruins of the house,

everything came back to him in a white hot bolt of agony.

Two rescue members were standing nearby and Mulder heard, "...horrible, Chet

said. Jake was in shock when he saw the body. Too bad we couldn't get it out

of there before the whole thing came down." Hardly able to bear the thought

of the probability that his beautiful Scully lay crushed under the weight of

the collapsed building, tears ran down his face unnoticed.

Mulder thought he would lose his mind then, and perhaps he did for a few

moments. He somehow found himself on his feet, free of the straps and the IV

needle, staggering toward the ruins. Someone, he realized, was trying to stop

him. To calm him down. To make him fucking forget about his partner... "No!"

he screamed. The scream ended in a sob, and he had to bend over to hold in

the ache and pain that ripped through him. The loss he was feeling couldn't

be borne.

Finally, some words were getting through to him, and he listened with a faint

hope glimmering in the darkness of his despair. "She's alive. Your partner

is still alive, man. See for yourself."

Limping painfully and stooped-over, his head hurting so badly that his sight

was blurry, he was gently led over to another stretcher where a small figure

lay, unresponsive to the care being given by the medical technicians.

Scully's shredded jacket and pants had been cut away, leaving underwear as the

only things covering her nakedness. Her left arm was immobilized with a

temporary cast similar to the one on Mulder's wrist. She wore a neck brace.

He could focus enough to see that the bruises all over her body were beginning

to show. There was an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, but the techs were

preparing a respirator to take its place, as she wasn't breathing properly.

There was a blue cast to her lips that was scaring the hell out of Mulder.

"What...what's wrong? Can you help her?" he asked in a tremulous voice. He

dropped to one knee above her head.

One of the techs looked up and said, "Broken left arm, some broken ribs,

concussion, and we're trying to help her breathe right now. You had better

get out of the way, sir. As soon as she's stable enough, we'll get both of

you to the hospital."

Mulder reached out with his now-filthy bandaged hand and ran a finger over the

cold forehead. Harshly, he said, "Cover her up. She's cold."

"We'll do that right now, but you have to get out of the way. We'll meet you

at the helicopter." Sincere blue eyes looked into hazel ones and Mulder

stood, slowly backing away, keeping his gaze fastened on his partner.

It was growing dark by the time Scully's stretcher was carried to the waiting

helicopter. Mulder supervised the operation, obviously in great pain, and the

EMT's allowed him to think that he was helping, out of compassion for this

distraught man. Once she was settled as comfortably as possible, he lay down

on his own stretcher next to her and the IV needle was re-inserted. He knew

he shouldn't sleep; not with Scully so injured, and not with his own

concussion, but sleep overcame him, nonetheless.

Hospital

7:30 AM

Mulder felt like crap even before he could summon the energy to open his eyes.

He tried to raise his hand to his face, but something was stopping the motion.

He could swear he could hear his eyelids creak as he slowly raised them. He

had a splitting headache, and the rest of his body didn't feel much better.

When he could focus, a large obstruction filled his vision, which gradually

coalesced into a tall man in his late thirties, receding blond hair, glasses

shielding green eyes, and wearing a white coat.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Wesley Sharpe. Your partner is going to be all right. They

told me that would be the first thing you'd ask." The doctor smiled and

pulled up a chair.

Taking a deep breath in relief, Mulder said, "I want to see her."

The smile disappeared. "Agent Mulder, neither you nor she are in any

condition to go wandering around the hospital..."

"Please...just tell me where she is, or I'll have to go find her myself." The

voice sounded weary, but determined.

A tiny frown appeared between Dr. Sharpe's eyebrows. He conceded defeat

gracefully by saying, "I'll take you to her room in a few minutes. How's

that?"

"OK," was the whispered response.

"First, I'll tell you about your condition. You have a concussion with a gash

in your scalp. We shaved that area and stitched the wound together. X-rays

don't show a problem with your skull, but we need to keep an eye on you at

least through tomorrow. Your left wrist is broken, and one pin was necessary

to set it properly. We expect it to heal well, and you should have full use

of it eventually. The pin will have to come out later. The gash in your

thigh took twelve stitches, but should heal well, also. Your upper left chest

has four parallel slashes, which also needed stitches. They looked worse than

they actually were, and you shouldn't wind up with more than four thin lines

as souvenirs. The same goes for your right hand; it should heal well now that

we've cleaned the wounds out and stitched them. Other than various bruises

and a torn fingernail, that's about it. You've had a tetanus shot, lots of

antibiotics, but not too much in the painkiller department, until you're out

of the woods with your concussion. Do you have any questions?"

"What about Scully? How is she?"

"Her broken ribs nearly punctured a lung; we've had to go in and do a few

repairs. We've just been able to remove the respirator. We've set and placed

a cast on her broken arm, and her concussion didn't cause any permanent

damage. We'll need to watch for signs of pneumonia. Besides that,

essentially her whole body is one big bruise and she'll be sore for awhile,

not to mention colorful."

Mulder was feeling torn apart. On the one hand, she hadn't been killed. But

on the other...He couldn't stop thinking how he had caused most of those

injuries to Scully by pulling the debris down on top of her. He would give

his life for her, and what does he do? Nearly kills her himself. The cool,

suave Fox Mulder strikes again.

Seeing his patient's reaction, the doctor stepped through the doorway and

called a nurse to help him. They pushed Mulder's bed and IV stand out the

door and down the hallway, ignoring the insistence that he could walk. Dr.

Sharpe was adamant. "Not with that concussion, you're not. This is the only

way you can see your friend; you're not walking around in your condition."

Anxious to see his partner, Mulder didn't bother to argue the point.

(Continued in Part 5)

******THIS PART IS RATED NC-17******

TREMORS AND AFTERSHOCKS (5/5)

by Gerry Hill (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

There was a flurry of activity near the elevators as they approached. Several

men in suits were arguing with an orderly, but the disagreement stopped when

Dr. Sharpe and his little group arrived.

The man wearing the most stylish suit and hair in the group stepped close to

the bed and peered down at Mulder's face. He smiled.

"Agent Mulder? With the bandage on your head I wasn't sure at first.

Congratulations on the quick resolution to the case." He looked as though he

wanted to shake his hand, but refrained, since one was in a cast and the other

was bandaged and had an IV line attached to the arm.

Since the last thing Mulder remembered was the beast running around loose, he

was at a loss as to how he had "resolved" the case.

The doctor introduced himself, and was told, "I'm Carl Jamison with the Bureau

in San Francisco, and these are Special Agents Benton and Sherill. We're at

the Camden Inn. Please let us know if anything comes up with our injured

agents." He gestured toward Mulder. "Their welfare is very important to us,

but I'm sure they're in safe hands with you."

To the silent agent on the bed, he added, "I'll handle the media on this,

Agent Mulder, since it's obvious you're in no condition to do so. And I'll

send Agent Benton in to see you later to take a verbal statement. Get some

rest."

ASAC Jamison and his entourage took over the elevator and descended,

presumably to "handle the press."

As the other elevator arrived, Dr. Sharpe commented, "You must be a prize

agent to have them come up here from San Francisco to take care of you."

Mulder snorted and replied, "Yeah, right." He didn't say that he thought

Jamison was probably there for the publicity and was in heaven eating up the

press's attention. About the only attention that he and Scully were likely to

get would be criticism for the medical bills and rescue expenses later on.

"Doctor, is there anyone in the hospital who could fill me in on what happened

after the part where I was being shredded? I vaguely remember being hauled

upward with something big chasing me, but it's all hazy."

They reached the fourth floor and made their way down the hall while Dr.

Sharpe thought about it. "There were two men from the rescue unit with minor

injuries who were in here, but they're probably gone now. I'll leave you with

your partner for a few minutes and see what I can find out."

Mulder could see a sheet-covered figure in a bed as they approached a doorway

and his heartbeat quickened. There was space for his bed just inside the room

against the right-hand wall. Before she left, the nurse raised the head of

his bed a little so that he could see better.

This is no good, he thought. Scully was ten feet away and hadn't reacted to

the commotion of their entrance. He had to get closer...to really see her and

to touch her. He still couldn't believe they would both be all right after

what they had been through.

The floor was cold, he discovered. Damned cold. Then the pain in his head

hit full force, making him forget all about the coldness of the floor. God!

Blinding pain strobed through his skull in regular bursts, keeping time with

the beating of his heart. The sharp ache in his stitched thigh made itself

known, too, but had trouble competing with his head. His chest felt numb

until he moved his arm to grasp the IV pole. Then a stabbing pain radiated

from his shoulder outward, until his whole body seemed to throb in sympathy.

OK, I can do this, he sternly told himself. Just a few steps and I can reach

her. No big deal.

Taking his IV pole firmly in hand, he forced himself to move to Scully's

bedside, trying to keep his moans silent. Once there, he could hardly see

through the mists of pain which enveloped him.

Scully's eyes opened then, and when she realized that Mulder stood unsteadily

at her bedside, gave him her breathtaking smile. Damn! Did she realize what

that did to him even under these conditions? He let go of his IV stand and

put a trembling hand against her poor bruised cheek.

"Hi." Her voice had a breathless quality to it and the tone was low and

scratchy.

His voice wasn't much better, but, unlike Scully, couldn't blame it on broken

ribs and the insertion and removal of a respirator. He tried to lighten the

powerful emotions that shook his soul by joking with her.

He complained, "The nurses didn't believe me when I told them that a werewolf

attacked, and then a three-story building collapsed on top of us. They say we

were just having rough sex." He slyly looked at her through his lashes.

She stared at him for a moment, and he wondered if he'd really put his foot in

it this time. And then he realized that she was trying desperately not to

laugh. The pain from her ribs was obviously excruciating as she fought to

control her mirth.

Mulder was aghast at what he'd done. Trying to make amends, he began to back

away, saying, "Oh, God, I'm sorry. Look, I'll be good. I'll get back over

here on my bed and be quiet for awhile." He winced at the tears falling from

her eyes, which were probably from a combination of pain and suppressed

laughter.

But she made a valiant effort to calm down, rasping, "Don't go."

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He could never refuse a request like

that from her. He moved to Scully's side once more.

Her eyes were roving over his body, widening at the sight of all the bandages.

"Come closer." Although Scully's voice was weak, her sense of command was as

strong as ever. He obediently leaned over his partner's petite body,

relishing the closeness as always.

She managed to raise her right hand enough to touch his face with the

fingertips. Mulder's eyes closed at the delicate contact. He felt as though

he was falling into the vast beauty of her soul, with rainbows of color

swirling around and through him...

He was pulled back to consciousness by her concerned voice repeating his name.

Somehow, he was now on the floor. He must have passed out, he thought, and

tried desperately to home in on her voice and to clear his head.

"I'm OK," he finally managed.

Mulder braced himself for the ordeal of getting back up. Using his stitched

right hand and Scully's bed for support, and only blacking out for a few

seconds, he began the struggle. Seemingly a few years later, he stood on

wobbly legs, a lopsided smile on his face from the relief at achieving the

impossible.

Scully's heart felt full to bursting with love for this idiot and tears welled

in her eyes. She knew that his hand and thigh would both need new stitches,

since blood now dotted what used to be white gauze.

"Lie down," she gently ordered.

Not inclined to argue at this point, he gritted his teeth and shakily made his

way back to the bed.

He had just reached it when Dr. Sharpe and an older man walked into the room.

The doctor was speechless at Mulder's obvious disregard for his orders.

The caught-in-the-act agent carefully slid back onto the bed, nearly passing

out again as he gingerly lay back onto his pillow. Taking a moment to

recover, he turned an innocent, guileless gaze onto the doctor.

Dr. Sharpe's eyes zeroed in on the paleness of Mulder's face, the sweat on his

skin, the new bloodstains on the bandages, and the stubborn set of the man's

jaw. Knowing when he was beating his head against a wall, the doctor chose to

introduce the man who waited by his side and then fight what he knew was going

to be an uphill battle later.

"This is Chet Meyers. He was one of the two men who pulled your partner out

of the Bertram house ruins. He can tell you what he knows about the rescue."

The two agents saw a tired and banged-up looking man. Bruises and scratches

marked his face and hands, and a finger splint had been applied to his ring

finger.

Scully whispered, "Thank you," to her savior and Mulder echoed the sentiment.

Waving off the gratitude, Chet began telling them what he knew about the

events in the old house. He described the attempted rescue of Mulder by Mike

Emory and what had happened to him. He could see the horror in the two

agents' faces as he continued to describe the events that followed.

"Were they silver bullets?"

Scully should have known that Mulder would ask a question like that.

"Yeah. Jake said that Mike had poured them himself for use in hunting the

creature. There had been a lot of deaths attributed to the thing, but nothing

seemed to stop it. One guy claimed he had emptied both chambers of his

shotgun into its chest and it showed up the next night and killed his wife

when she went outside to get some firewood."

"What about the creature? Has anyone dug it up yet?"

Chet shook his head and replied, "Are you kidding? No one has the budget to

put all that time and labor into excavating that place. We're talking about a

hell of a lot of debris, and in a remote area, at that. Jake agreed that the

place could be his brother's burial site; he didn't want it dug up, either. I

hear that the feds are insisting that it be cleaned out in search for evidence

in the case, so I guess it's up to them to supply the money for it. I hear

that they're just bitching and moaning about what to do. And now the press

has the story and it's all becoming a circus."

Mulder, keeping an eye on Scully during Chet's comments, saw the glazed look

in her eyes and the restless tiny movements of her legs. Knowing that she was

in more pain than before, he motioned to the doctor, who decided to clear

everyone out the minute he saw the problem.

To Mulder, he accusingly said, "You'll need some re-stitching on those wounds.

Let's get that done, and then you can see your partner again later." Not any

more happy than the doctor to go through the delicate and painful exercise

once more, he made no comment.

Chet said his goodbys after promising to have their luggage sent to the

hospital from the Sheriff's office in El Gato Rojo, assuming it had ever been

delivered there by the airline.

That evening, Mulder had the privilege of watching ASAC Jamison on the local

news, taking all the credit for the solution to the "beast-man" murders.

Two days later

Several nurses were standing in the hallway outside a room where the patient

Mulder was visiting the patient Scully.

"Don't know why they don't just put his bed in there with hers; it would open

up a room. He's in there all the time, anyway."

With a wink, another nurse replied, "Yeah, or just put him in bed with her and

save even more space."

Inside the room, Mulder was sitting next to his partner, laughing at something

she said, and marveling at how every inch of visible skin was black and blue.

She hadn't seen a mirror yet, or she would probably be insisting that the

sheet cover her whole body, face and all.

She's beautiful, even like this, he thought. Mulder's heart ached for her,

wishing he could stop all the hurt and damage she continued to suffer at his

side. And what felt like a knife in his gut was the knowledge that he had

done this to her by his own hand this time. There was still a trace of fear,

but mostly there was contentment and joy at the thought that he couldn't get

rid of her now, even if he beat her off with a stick. Scully had told him she

loved him. The world had bloomed with colors he had never seen before when

that fact truly hit home. He couldn't stop a lone tear which escaped his eye

and trickled slowly down his cheek.

Scully stopped in the middle of a sentence when she saw the tear. The look in

his eyes...oh, God! In their depths shone such love and devotion that her

breath halted for a moment, overcome with amazement that Mulder's heart was

freely being offered to her, and unspoken commitments were being made.

Four Weeks Later

Scully's Apartment

7:30 PM

The phone rang.

"Hello."

"Hi. It's me."

"Hello, Mulder."

"Can I come over? It's a full moon and I need someone to keep an eye on me,

in case I turn into a werewolf. It clawed me, remember?"

"I thought they had to bite you to turn you into one."

"Hmmm. Maybe you're right. But in 'An American Werewolf in London,' he only

got clawed on the chest to turn into a snarling, raging beast."

"That was a movie. And besides, you don't need to be clawed to turn into a

snarling, raging beast. Trust me."

"Ha, ha. But seriously, there's a lot of truth in those movies, Scully.

Anyway, you're changing the subject. Can I come over?"

"Oh, Mulder, I know what you want, and I want it, too, but I feel so ugly

right now, with the bruises fading, all yellow and icky. My face is still

colorful."

"Not a problem. I'll bring a paper bag for your head."

"Mulder! How crude can you get?

A snicker. "Pretty crude, Scully. Wanna find out?"

"Oh, all right. I miss you, too, but we have to be careful; we're both still

pretty fragile."

"Where there's a will, there's a way. Yes, they called me Mr. Romance at the

Academy. I'm just turning into your street, so I'll be there in a minute or

two. I've been driving around and happened to be in your area..." He

disconnected.

Scully didn't know whether to be amused or kick his arrogant ass down the

front steps when he arrived. He *had* been behaving himself for a week,

giving them both time to heal and to accustom themselves to their new

relationship. Prior to that, he had been coming by nearly every day until she

had pleaded for some space. Looks like the "time out" has ended, she thought,

with a sudden feeling of anticipation.

She was still undecided on his fate when the knock sounded. Looking down at

herself, she figured that the oversized tee shirt she wore would have to do.

As she opened the door, he was unbuckling his belt. At the raised eyebrow, he

began laughing, saying, "It's a joke, Agent Scully. Chill."

"Since when did you start using the word 'chill?'"

He followed her into the living room and flopped down on the couch, his long

legs stretched out under her coffee table. She sat next to him, waiting for

his answer.

"During this enforced recuperation period, I've been watching a lot of

sitcoms. I finally quit cold turkey; it was either that or become one of the

living dead. Apparently, some of the slang stuck."

"Apparently. Your daily phone calls helped a lot, by the way." She gave him

a smile. She noticed that the shaved area on his head over the healing gash

had grown quite a bit, but was still shorter than the rest of his hair. It

gave him a kind of punk look. Or maybe moth-eaten.

He had been looking her over ever since his arrival, assessing how she was

healing. She hadn't been kidding about the bruises. The worst of it was

over, and the yellowish-black was beginning to fade, but it would be a little

longer before it completely disappeared. Her arm was still in a cast, only it

was a smaller one now. He didn't think her ribs were wrapped anymore, from

what he could tell by the way her tee shirt fit. And being the observant

agent that he was, he also deduced that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Mulder leaned toward her, careful not to touch her anywhere but on her lips

with his own. His mouth gently caressed hers, conveying all the love and

longing he felt for her. Scully's hand came up to his face, fingers lightly

stroking his temple, sliding down with a feathery touch around his ear,

rubbing his lightly-stubbled jaw, and resting on the back of his neck.

When they moved apart, he could see the troubled look on her face.

"What was the real reason you wouldn't make love to me back in the ruins,

Mulder? Was Liz too fresh a memory? Do you love her?"

Looking stricken that she could believe such a thing, Mulder struggled to find

words, finally resorting to humor, as usual. "Scully, haven't you ever seen a

horror movie? The kids who go off and have sex are always the ones who are

attacked and killed by the monster. That's the rule. It would have sealed

our fate!"

Seeing her "I am not amused" expression, he relented. "OK, I can see there's

no escaping this discussion. I don't love Liz. I've never been in love with

her. When I called her this last time, it was for comfort after that awful

case, but also to deny and avoid any commitment to you, because I was

frightened. I'd never been in a situation before where there was mutual love

with the promise of a permanent melding of my life with another." He paused

as Scully made a small sound in her throat.

He took a breath and continued, saying, "I backed off from having sex with

you in the collapsed house because I thought it would be a mistake and might

scare you away from me. We were reacting then, not expressing our love for

each other."

Nervously, he waited for her response and nearly melted in relief when her

lips met his again. Her eyes remained closed, so he brushed lightly over her

breasts with the back of his hand, causing her eyes to fly open with the

sensation. He saw the naked and open desire in them. And they both knew

there were no more obstacles in their path.

Standing, he held his hand out to Scully, his dark eyes seeming to tug at her

soul. She let him pull her to her feet as they silently crossed the line that

had previously seemed so insurmountable.

Once in the bedroom, Mulder gently pushed her back so that she sat on the edge

of the bed. With the small cast on his wrist, stripping his clothes off took

longer than normal, but he soon had removed his shoes, socks, shirt, slacks

and underwear. When this nude man lay on the bed next to Scully, he was

amused to see that her attention was centered on the nearly-healed wounds on

his thigh and chest. Always the doctor; always the professional. He had to

see if he could break through that control, if only for a while.

"The stitches are gone. It looks like everything's healing well."

"You want to play doctor?" he leered.

She idly ran her hand up his thigh, over his abdomen, and across a nipple,

bringing a gasp from him, and an increasing hardness to an already impressive

erection. He sat up and lifted the tee shirt from her, under which she was

bare. Noticing her discomfort with how beat up her body was, he whispered

what he truly felt. "You're so beautiful. Lie back and let me love you."

He was extremely tender and gentle with her, but before long had her panting

and squirming with the fire he unleashed in her body. He smiled while licking

and tugging at her nipple when he remembered Scully telling him that he had an

oral fixation. Besides his sunflower seeds, he had also thoroughly gnawed two

pencils and a plastic coffee stirrer one afternoon when she'd made the

comment. Scully felt the smile against her breast, but figured it was just a

Mulder-thing, biting back another moan as his mouth attacked the other nipple.

By the time he shifted his mouth further downward, she was urgently moving her

hips and no longer trying to hold back her moans.

Thoroughly aroused and ecstatic with being able to realize his fantasies

concerning his desirable partner, Mulder soon had her very close to an orgasm

with the attention his talented fingers and mouth gave to her most sensitive

parts. When he swirled his tongue around her navel and then plunged into it,

her enthusiastic reaction had him wondering whether she had *any* non-

erogenous zones.

Her skin quivered when his tongue moved further down, and then he paused to

contemplate the incredibly arousing goal just inches from his nose. He spread

her legs farther apart with her knees up to give him better access. Mulder

experimentally pushed his tongue against her clitoris, which caused the

intensity of her cries to increase. He massaged this small nub with his

tongue, applying a circular pressure, then moved his hand along her thigh

until it reached her moist curls. He pushed two fingers into the opening he

found there.

Ah, God, she was so hot and wet inside!

Keeping his hand busy with his thumb pressing her clitoris, he moved up beside

her and captured her lips with his. Invading her mouth with his tongue, he

urgently matched the movements of his thrusting fingers. His erection was

pressing into her side, warm and throbbing.

A sound was welling up in Scully's throat and when he released her mouth, she

screamed, "Mulder! Oh...God!" He could feel her tightening around his

fingers and then she was coming, hard. It was wonderful to see, and his gaze

swept over her face, then down to his hand, where he could feel the spasming

around his fingers.

Nuzzling her ear and temple, he murmured endearments. "God, I love you so

much. You're so beautiful when you come." He waited as her breathing

gradually slowed, and told her with a gleam in his eyes, "This time I'm coming

along with you, in both senses of the word."

When Scully was completely back in the real world again, he positioned himself

above her, being careful to keep his weight off her rib cage. On his elbows,

he looked down the length of their bodies and slowly pushed the head of his

penis into her opening, then pulled out again, then pushed back in. Just

seeing the tip disappearing into her and then re-emerging, glistening with her

juices, caused a surge through his groin, making him even more impossibly

hard.

He was rewarded with an "Ahhhh!" and smiled. He was getting more and more

turned on just seeing how she reacted to him. He loved watching this

beautiful woman, as he pleasured her.

He pushed in farther and was met with a surge of her hips, trying to pull him

all the way in. He almost gave in to the feelings she was generating in him,

but managed to pull back once more. He could see her returning frenzy,

though, and finally relented, thrusting fully into her. Her eyes flew open

and he nearly came then, just seeing the desire and love filling them. He

felt her heels on his back, urging him on. He began deep, steady, rhythmic

thrusts that felt so fantastic he could have wept.

"Ahh, Scully," he whispered. "So good. You feel...so...good."

His pumping motion grew more urgent, as his need escalated, Scully's cries

telling him what he was making her feel. They rode this crest of sexual bliss

until the sensations became more than they could bear. Her orgasm overwhelmed

them both, and he fell with her, calling out to God and each other in the

exhilarating, intense release they shared.

Finally realizing how tired his arms were from leaning on his elbows, Mulder

reluctantly moved to lie next to his sweat-sheened, bruised, and glowing

partner. He pulled the sheet up over them and snuggled in close to her side,

running a hand through her hair and kissing her shoulder. He couldn't get

enough of touching this endlessly fascinating body.

Scully's rate of breathing was slowing and a satisfied smile adorned her

mouth.

"If that's what waiting four weeks will do, I wonder what would happen if you

had to wait four months," she commented, patting him on the arm.

"Don't even think it," he warned, lightly nipping at her earlobe. "In fact, I

intend to screw you senseless every day, and twice on Saturday."

She giggled. Mulder practically fainted. Scully, giggling? All was right

with the world, and he finally thought that real happiness was no longer

something that the other guy always had, while he was on the outside, looking

in. He had found it in Scully.

Speaking of Scully, she was persistently trying to push her tongue into his

ear, while rubbing his nipple, sending a surge of lust stabbing into his

groin. He groaned.

"Scully, it isn't Saturday." It took a second for her to connect the dots,

then he was delighted and gratified to hear her rare laughter brighten his

world.

THE END