Thank You's:  Without running on too long, I want to take a moment to
thank everyone who wrote in with such enthusiastic comments!!   Feedback
is the *best* thing ever, and comments and suggestions do a lot to inspire
my creative muse.  <g>  Special thanks go to Amy S., Dia, MD and the
ever-fabulous Karen for sending me some very specific ideas that ended up
in the mix this time around.  And I can't forget to thank Wonder Kat,
Proofer Extraordinaire, for spell-checking me and making sure that I don't
go too far overboard!  <wink>

Spoiler Warning:  This story is the latest installment in the road series
that includes "Goin' Nowhere", "Passing Through", and "At The Blue Hotel",
all of which can be found on Vincent's archive at Ohio State -- or e-me,
and I'll send them.  <g>  As I've said before, in a roundabout way I'm
trying to solve the mystery of
what-the-hell-happened-to-Scully-when-she-was-missing-for-three-months.
To do that, I'm riffing off of information provided in the Duane Barry
trilogy and all the other related mythic episodes we've seen during Season
Three.  Just a general warning to any overseas readers...   :-)

Disclaimer:  Thanks as always to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox for providing
me with terrific source material and allowing me to weave my own dreams
from there.   I think everybody knows the folks from Mr. Carter's
Neighborhood by now -- all the other characters are mine.  And special
thanks go to David and Gillian, the two most *rockin'* actors on
television.

Now that I've bored you all to tears, let's hit the road....
 
 

DOWN THE TRACKS (1/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96
 
 

"...and they're thinking of the long road ahead
 and the strength that they will need
 just to reach the end
 and there in the silence they search for
 the balance between this fear that they feel
 and a love that has graced their lives..."

 - cowboy junkies
 
 

Mulder shifted restlessly as he felt sleep slipping away from him, the
remnants of his dreams clinging like cobwebs to his brain as consciousness
slowly dawned, bringing him back into reality.  He yawned as his eyes
fluttered open, his body registering the pressure of a weight against his
tender ribs.  It was dim in the train compartment, the faint light of dawn
seeping in through the window on the far side.  There was just enough
light to illuminate Scully, lying sprawled atop him, her denim-clad legs
tangled with his under the twist of blankets that covered them both.

 He shifted again, careful not to awaken her with his movements, in a vain
attempt to glimpse her face in its peaceful repose.   Her dark hair was
strewn across his chest, her face buried in the crook of his arm.   In one
hand she clutched the fabric of his shirt, twined between her fingers with
the intensity that a drowning man grasps a life preserver.  He could feel
her breaths, deep and even in sleep, each exhale a soft murmur against his
skin.

 Mulder lay quietly, enjoying the sensation of her body pressed so close
to his, savoring the peace that came from knowing that she was safe in his
arms.  He ran his fingers through her hair, the strands soft against his
palm as he smoothed it back across her shoulders.  He listened to the
sound of the train, the rhythmic pounding of the wheels along the track a
counterpoint to the softness of her breathing, and tried to formulate a
plan.  As blissful as he felt in the quiet of this early morning, he was
all too aware of the reality of their situation.  On the run, alone, with
no one to turn to but each other.

 No one, he thought.  She has no one to depend on but you.

 The weight of that responsibility was heavy, especially given his
awareness of his own weaknesses.

 She's counting on you to keep her safe.

 She's counting on you to take care of her.

 Though he wasn't one to believe in the power of a supreme being, Mulder
offered up a silent prayer for the strength he was all too conscious of
needing.
 
 A whistle blew then, loud in the stillness, causing Mulder to realize
that the train was approaching a station.  The whistle was loud enough to
cut through Scully's slumber, and she stirred restlessly against him, her
hand grabbing the fabric of his shirt more tightly as she awakened.

 "Hey," he whispered softly, unwilling to raise his voice.

 "Hmmmmm," was all that she said, and though she raised her head enough to
rub at her eyes with her free hand, she did not release her grasp on his
shirt.

 "Sleep okay?"  he asked, still keeping his voice low.

 After a long moment, she answered.  "Yes. You?"

 "Fine," he replied.   There was little else to say, so he remained quiet,
shifting again so that he could draw his arm more tightly around her.

 "Where are we?"  she questioned finally, tilting her face up towards him
as though she were still able to catch the answer in his gaze.

 "Not sure," he responded, "but I think the whistle means we're coming to
a stop.  I've been hearing them off and on all night."

 "Ummmm," she answered.  "Is it time to get off of the train?"

 "No," he said.  "It's early yet, and none of the stores or things will be
open.  I think our best bet is to wait for the next one."

 She only nodded, burrowing her face once again in the space where his arm
met his shoulder, her body soft and fragile against his.
 
 

Scully lay quietly, fighting off the sense of disorientation that
threatened to consume her.  She remembered with an aching, vivid clarity
the events of the previous day that had led to their arrival at the train
station, and their subsequent departure.  Despite her best efforts, the
train compartment felt foreign to her, and part of her longed for the
familiarity of their New Orleans apartment.  And yet the most important
thing had not changed -- Mulder was still here beside her, and she drew
strength from the clasp of his arm across her shoulders.  Taking a deep
breath, she inhaled the scent of him, faint with dust and sweat from his
fight in the alley.  She was reassured by the feel of his body against
hers, warm and solid and strong.

 She emitted a low, whistling sigh, and felt him gather her even more
closely to him.  The protectiveness of his motions made her smile
slightly, and she tried to quell the impulse inside her that wanted her to
beg him to let her go.  Although she had always been a woman who took
pride in her independence and self-reliance, there was something
incredibly comforting about his embrace, and she was reluctant to
relinquish the sensation.

 "Mulder," she questioned, "what are we going to do now?"

 The tone of his voice was flippant as he answered. "Well, I think the
first order of business is to shower, and then see about getting some
food."

 "I don't mean at this very moment," she contradicted, knowing he was
already anticipating her response.  "I mean, what's our plan going to be?
 Where do we go from here?"

 He hesitated a long beat before replying, and she died a thousand deaths
in the silence.

 <I'mleavingyouDanaleavingyouandgoinghome>

  "We need to turn the tables on them, Scully.  We can't afford to keep
running.  It's too dangerous for you, and we don't stand a chance of
winning if we play it that way."

 "What do you suggest?" she asked, feeling a rush of relief at his use of
the word "we".  Suddenly it felt as though things were as they once were,
the two of them working as a team, struggling to come up with a strategy
to solve a case.

 Another pause, and then Mulder continued.  "We need to take the offense.
And part of that lies in finding out who created this disk, and why.   We
need to find the manufacturer, and discover who's in charge of their
payroll."

 Scully nodded, her face rubbing against the coarse fabric of his shirt.
"Makes sense.  But how?  We don't have any leads... no access to
information."

 She felt Mulder's fingers in her hair, idly toying with the strands just
behind her ear.  "At the library, yesterday... I found some things out
about droperidol."

 Scully didn't say anything, just inclined her head in another nod against
his chest in a silent request for him to continue.

 "It's an opiate, similar to morphine, even more powerful in its effects.
It was used during Vietnam on the P.O.W.'s, and might have also been a
part of the Nazi experiments."   Mulder's voice was rough, and she could
tell that he was having trouble getting the words out.  "I think... I'm
fairly sure that it was part of that compound that you saw in the lab.
Part of whatever it was that they gave you...."

 Mulder's voice trailed off, and Scully fumbled beneath the blankets
searching for his hand.  Finding it, she gave it a brief squeeze.  "It's
OK, Mulder," she said quietly, hoping he couldn't hear the churning of her
stomach.  "Tell me."

 He cleared his throat, and managed somehow to finish.  "The drug is
capable of putting a person into a coma.... and keeping them that way,
with additional injections...  indefinitely.   I think... I think that
whoever took you away used that drug, in combination with something
else... to keep you under while they... did whatever it was they did."

 They were both quiet then, each lost in their own thoughts.  Scully
called upon a reserve of strength deep inside to finally break the
silence.  "Can we... can we use that information to find them?"

 Mulder was slow to answer.  "Maybe...  we can start by finding out which
companies manufacture it, and who their customers are.   The Gunmen can
check into that for us, I think."
 
 

He could see her face clearly now as she lay nestled in the crook of his
arm.  Her expression was calm and composed, but Mulder was all too aware
of the effort she was expending to make it so.  He could hear the tension
in her voice as she responded.

 "Good.  And maybe they will have some new information about the disk by
now, too."

 "Maybe," he repeated, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.   "Let's hope
so."

 As though she had suddenly realized how closely they were laying, Scully
pulled away from him, releasing her grasp of his shirt to scoot over
towards the wall, leaving a cold empty space in the sheets between them.

 "Scully?"  His voice raised slightly with the question.  "You OK?"

 "I'm fine, Mulder," she answered, and his heart sank at the words he had
heard all too often.  She was withdrawing from him again, and it hurt, as
it always did.

 Good job, Mulder.  Smooth move.  Nice early morning conversation.

 Running a hand through his sleep-tossed hair, Mulder searched his brain
for words that would reassure her, and came up empty.   He reached out for
her, his fingers grazing her cheek, and she flinched.  "Dana... talk to
me.  Please."

 She didn't answer, and that made it hurt even worse.  He debated about
getting out of the bed, about leaving her alone, but he had never been
able to turn his back on her, and now was no exception.

 Before he could stop himself, Mulder reached out to her again, caressing
her face gently with the tips of his fingers.  This time she did not pull
away, and he released the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding as
she allowed his hand to trail down the slope of her jaw.  Her skin was
warm and soft to the touch, and he drew his fingers slowly down her neck
until the collar of her sweater stopped his progress.

 Scully's eyes fluttered shut and Mulder took that as a sign of
acquiescence, allowing his hand to continue its gentle exploration of her
body.  His fingers moved lazily over the rounded slope of each breast,
toying with the buttons of the cardigan that lay between them.  She
murmured softly, a low moan of contentment, and it brought a smile to his
face.

 Enjoying himself now, Mulder moved his hand lower in a soothing, circular
motion across her stomach.  A thin band of smooth pale skin lay exposed
between the edge of her sweater and the waistband of her jeans, and as his
fingers danced along it, Scully emitted a low giggle of protest that
warmed his heart.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her
laugh.

 "Mulder....don't...."

 His smile widened as he deliberately repeated the motion.  "Don't what,
Dana?"
 
 

His hand moved against her again and she squirmed, although the sensation
wasn't entirely unpleasant.  "Don't do that, Mulder.... I'm warning you."

 "Oh?"  His voice was warmer now, dark and low and deep in his chest.
"*You're* warning *me*?  I'll have to keep that in mind."

 Scully tried to relax, to lie still and enjoy the feeling of his hand
against her body, but she couldn't help herself.  "Don't," she pleaded,
the word escaping her lips with an unfamiliar giggle.  "That tickles..."

 Suddenly both of his hands were there, toying at her stomach, pulling at
her sweater to tickle her mercilessly.  The sensation was exquisite, and
her breath caught as she laughed and tried to push him away.  It was as
though his hands were everywhere, coming at her from all directions, and
try as she might she couldn't seem to stop him.

 Mulder was laughing now, too, and listening to that rich full sound
Scully realized that she would gladly suffer an eternity of this torture
if only to hear him so relaxed and happy.

 When she couldn't stand it any longer, she tried to roll away from him,
but he merely rolled atop her, pinning her beneath his weight.  For a
brief instant Scully panicked, her mind flashing back to the previous day.
 Then she felt his lips brush her forehead and she remembered where she
was, and who she was with, and laughed aloud, surprised at how much she
was enjoying herself.

 "Get... off... me... Mulder," she cried, punctuating the words with a
series of giggles that she instantly regretted as they spurred him on to
tickle her harder.  Desperate for breath, she reached up and found his
shoulders with her hands and pushed with all her might, which finally got
his attention.

 Scully felt Mulder take her hands in his, lacing their fingers together
as he pressed her back down against the pillow.  She gasped as his lips
met her throat, trailing a series of little kisses up along her jaw before
finding her mouth with his.  She relaxed in his embrace, allowing his body
to fall closer to hers, as his tongue explored her mouth.   His beard
tickled her skin as she smiled into the kiss, and felt him smile back.

 All too soon, he pulled away, and she felt his head come to rest beside
hers on the pillow, his breath warm against her ear.   Her own breaths
were coming in rapid gasps that matched the pounding of her heart, and a
long moment passed before she found the energy to form words.  "What," she
finally asked, "was *that* all about?"

 "Just a wake-up call, Scully," he answered in a too-innocent tone.
"Didn't you put in a request?"

 "I guess I did," she replied.  Tilting her face back towards him, she
captured his lips again with hers and kissed him hard, hoping to erase the
self-satisfied smirk she somehow knew he was wearing.
 
 

Mulder wandered down the corridor of the train, watching the scenery as it
flashed by outside the windows.   This was his third trip walking the
length of the cars, and a quick glance at his watch told him that it was
nearly time to go back for Scully.   He had left her in their compartment,
ostensibly to get his bearings as to the layout of the train, but really
to give her some privacy while she showered and cleaned up.  The room was
small enough, he reflected -- the last thing that she needed was for him
to be hanging out infringing on her space.

 Still, it was hard to leave her, if only for a short while, and Mulder
had found his mind occupied by nothing else but her during the intervening
thirty minutes.  Approaching the aisleway where the main corridor met a
smaller artery, Mulder took a left, quickening his pace slightly.   It had
been even harder to leave her this particular morning, he thought,
reflecting on how incredibly aroused their impromptu tickling session had
left him.  Mulder knew that he was attracted to Scully, knew that he had
been for a very long time, and part of his mind and body screamed out to
him to push their physical relationship to the limit.

 Yet he was all too aware of Scully's new vulnerability, and he was
anxious not to do anything that would push her too far, that would put her
in a situation that made her feel threatened or unsafe.  His hand wandered
up to the pocket of his shirt, checking once again to ensure that he still
had the disk, the disk that was a physical reminder of the horror of her
abduction, the disk that she had lost her eyesight to obtain.  She had
suffered so much.... more than she should ever have had to endure.  More
than anything else in the world Mulder wanted to protect her, and if doing
so meant depriving himself of pleasure, that was a sacrifice he was more
than willing to make.

 Lost in these thoughts, Mulder bumped into another passenger while
rounding a turn.  "Sorry!" he said by way of apology, with an embarrassed
wave of his hand.  "Guess I need to pay more attention in these narrow
corridors."

 "Not a problem," answered the passenger, a young man with a mop of sandy
blond hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that had fallen slightly
askew.  Fixing the frames atop the bridge of his nose, he continued, "It's
one of the hazards of train travel."

 "Guess so," Mulder answered.  "Don't do much of it, myself."

 "Ah," the young man grinned.  "Well then, I'll make sure I keep an eye
out for you then.  Least until you get your 'train legs'."

 "Sounds good," Mulder replied, and smiled back as the young man moved
past.

 He climbed the stairwell that separated the lower deck of the train from
the upper, and moments later, Mulder found himself back in front of their
compartment.  Looking down, he noticed a small tray against the door,
containing a coffee decanter and a carafe of orange juice, accompanied by
two cups, saucers, and two small glasses.  A newspaper lay alongside, the
morning's copy of "USA Today".  Reaching down, he retrieved the tray,
before knocking on the door three times, as promised.

 "Rick?"  Her voice was muffled through the door.

 "It's me," he answered, and waited for the snick of the lock as she drew
back the bolt.  Twisting the knob, he entered the compartment.  "Looks
like they brought us a little snack," he said, pulling the door shut
behind him.

 Scully was standing in the center of the room, a worried expression on
her face.  "Somebody knocked, but I -- I... I didn't want to answer it."

 He walked over to the table between the two chairs and carefully put the
tray on its surface, before taking her briefly in his arms.  "And I'm glad
you didn't."  He kissed her forehead, catching the clean whiff of soap and
shampoo.  "Feel better?"

 Scully nodded, favoring him with a relieved smile as she pulled away.
She cautiously crossed the room to the bed, finding its edge with her hand
and sitting down before she answered.

 "A little," she replied, "but I wish I had some fresh clothes."

 "Me too."  Like Scully, Mulder had been forced to put on his clothes from
the day before after his shower, and he knew exactly how she felt.  "I
promise -- next stop, we're going to do some shopping."

 "What I need," she grumbled, "is a hairbrush.  They give you
complimentary everything else, but no brush."  Scully ran her hand through
the tumble of damp brown waves that fell across her shoulders in
frustration, and Mulder chuckled.

 "It's fine, Scully -- trust me.  Besides, mine looks just as bad."

 "Yes, but you don't have a giant bruise on one side of your face."

 At her remark, Mulder took a close look at her.  The mark left by the
assassin's pistol was still clearly visible, but the livid purple color of
the bruise had faded somewhat over the intervening hours.  "I don't know
how it feels," he said, "but it seems as though the ice helped.  It's not
as swollen as I would have expected."

 She brought a hand gingerly to her face and ran her fingertips across the
bruise.  "Good," she replied.  "It doesn't hurt as much as it did
yesterday, either."  A pause, and then, "How are your ribs?"

 "Not bad, considering."  Mulder sank down in one of the chairs and
watched her as she fumbled beneath the bed, her hands searching for the
tennis shoes that he could see, just beyond her grasp.  He waited as long
as he was able before finally giving in.  "A little to the left," he said.

 Scully moved her hand in that direction and found the errant shoes, a
slight expression of relief crossing her face.  "Thanks," she responded,
as she picked up the closest shoe and began to put it on.

 Relieved that his interference hadn't angered her, Mulder asked, "Want
some coffee?"

 "Sure," she answered, and he took the decanter and poured them each a
cup, adding milk to hers the way that she liked it.  He waited until she
had laced up the second shoe, and then crossed the room to her side.

 "Here," he said as he handed her the cup.  "Be careful."

 Scully nodded as she took a cautious sip.  She murmured her approval and
then asked, "Did you find out where we are?"

 "Yes," Mulder answered as he walked back to the table to grab his own
cup.  "That last stop was Beaumont, Texas.  The next one is Houston --
according to the conductor, we'll be there around ten, which is a little
over an hour from now."  He picked up the paper and unfurled it to its
full size, glancing at the headlines as he sipped the coffee.

 "Sounds good."  Scully paused for a moment, her head tilted to one side
as she listened.  "What are you doing, Mulder?"

 The question startled him for some reason, and it took him a moment to
answer.  "What am I -- um, just looking at the newspaper."

 "Oh," was all that she said, but the stricken expression on her face
stopped him cold.  The awkwardness of the moment brought him once again to
the painful awareness of just how much she had lost.  So many little
things, he thought, so many things that I take for granted she's now been
denied.

 Suddenly anxious to change the subject, he said, "Let's get out of here
-- get something to eat.  You hungry, Scully?"

 She threw a smile in his direction, and he felt as though he'd been
forgiven for yet another mistake.  "You have *no* idea.  How far away is
the dining car?"

 "Not far," he replied, crossing the room to her side.  Gently, he reached
down and took her arm.  "Shall we, Mrs. Stewart?"

 "You bet," she answered, allowing him to guide her up from the bed and
towards the door.  They were nearly there when she spoke again.  "Mulder?
 Will you bring it with you?  The newspaper, I mean."   She squeezed his
arm lightly with her hand.  "One of us should keep tabs on what's going on
in the world."

 He recognized the need beneath her teasing banter, and it made his heart
ache, but he responded in the same light tone.   "I'll be sure to share
all of my findings with you -- starting with the latest sports scores."
She laughed as he grabbed the paper up with his free hand, tucking it
under his arm so that he could open the door and lead them both out of the
compartment.
 
 

Here endeth part 1... parts 2-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-1                                   X-1
 

This is part two of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

DOWN THE TRACKS (2/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96
 
 

The man cradled the phone against his shoulder to free up his hands in
order to light a fresh cigarette.  "So what are you telling me?"

 Christophe's smooth, cool voice hurtled through the receiver.  "They did
not leave New Orleans by plane.  Of that I am absolutely certain.  Nor by
boat, unless it was privately owned.  All of the charters and shipping
vessels check out."

 "Where does that leave us?"

 "Bus, train, or car.  We've searched nearly all the rental agencies and
come up empty, although that doesn't rule out their having purchased a
vehicle, but given the time frame, it doesn't seem reasonable.  A bus
seems the most likely -- there were a slew of departures from all over the
city yesterday, with a wide variety of destinations.  But we are still
checking into the possibility of a train."

 The man nodded, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the dank room.  "Good.  I
want to be kept continually apprised."

 "Of course."

 "And," said the man, dropping the tone of his voice for emphasis, "I
expect you to resolve this matter personally, once you have located them."

 "With pleasure," Christophe replied.  "Make no mistake about that."

 "Good," the man repeated, and hit the button on the phone to end the
call.   He took another long drag of his cigarette, then dialed another
number on the cellular.  It rang twice, and then was answered.

 "Yes?"

 "It's me.  I need to speak to him."  A pause ensued, during which the man
smoked and envisioned the room in New York City to which he was now
connected via the phone.  Envisioned the men of the Consortium as they sat
in their armchairs, making decisions every moment of every day that
affected a multitude of lives.

 Including his.

 "You have something to report?"

 Jarred back to reality by the cold voice, the man stumbled to form a
reply.  "Yes.  The situation has been rectified.  We should have it back
in our possession shortly."

 "We cannot be too clear about the importance of this.  Failure will not
be tolerated.  Do you understand?"

 "Yes," the man answered, the blood turning to ice in his veins.  "There
will be no failure."

 "There is something else," the voice continued.  "The woman... she may
still be of use to us."

 The man took another drag of his cigarette.  "That changes things... may
I ask why?"

 "You will be informed in due course.  Through the usual channels."

 The man exhaled, nodding as he did so.  "And Mulder?"

 The response was quick.  "We have no need for him."

 "Understood.  He will be taken care of."

  "Remember -- we cannot afford any more mistakes.  Neither can you."

 The line went dead then, and the man closed the cellular and placed it on
the table beside him.  His fingers shaking ever so slightly, the man
brought his cigarette back to his lips.
 
 

After the relative silence of the corridors, Scully was surprised at how
noisy it was in the dining car.   A jumble of voices filled the air, the
laughter of young children mixing with a loud variety of adult chatter.
She adjusted her grip on Mulder's arm as they negotiated the car,
listening closely to his directions over the din.

 "This looks good," she heard him say, and stopped just behind him.
"There's a chair, just to your left."   Mulder pulled the chair away from
the table, the sound barely audible thanks to the carpeting in the car.
She trailed her hand down the length of his arm and found the back of the
chair, releasing her hold on him only after she was seated.

 He moved to sit across from her, and Scully heard the rustling of the
newspaper as he placed it on the table.   Mulder reached across the table
and gave her hand a little squeeze.

 "Comfortable?"

 "Yes," she answered, returning the squeeze before pulling her hand away.
 With quick, light strokes, Scully began to familiarize herself with the
table, locating the plate, the flatware and the glasses, memorizing their
locations in her mind.  She found the napkin and placed it in her lap,
noting as she did so that it was made of the same soft fabric as the
tablecloth.   "Pretty fancy," she remarked.

 "It is," Mulder agreed.  "Much nicer than I would have expected.  Want to
hear the menu?"

 Scully nodded her approval, and listened to the recitation, trying to
decide exactly what she was in the mood to eat.   As hungry as she was,
she had a hard time concentrating on the available selections, focusing
more on the sound of Mulder's voice as he read the choices aloud.   She
had always liked his voice, and during their time as colleagues had
treasured his words of praise and admiration as much as his teasing
banter.  But his voice had come to signify so much more to her now, and
she savored its rich warm cadence.  It was her way to gauge his feelings
and emotions, to help her guess what he was thinking now that she was
unable to study the expressions lurking behind his hazel eyes.

 His eyes... Scully shut her own in a moment of silent regret, wishing
that she had been more appreciative of the power of his gaze.  His eyes
were an intense shade of green when he was on the trail of some
unexplainable theory, flashing with a fiery intensity that spoke of his
passion for his work.  At other times, they were a softer shade of brown,
full of warmth and empathy and his signature combination of worry, fear,
and guilt.   Always expressive, and, she remembered, extremely beautiful.

 Lost in these thoughts, she was startled to hear Mulder calling her name.
 "Lisa?  What is it?  Are you OK?"

 "Fine... I'm fine," she hastened to answer, throwing a smile in his
general direction.

 "For a minute, it looked like you were going to faint."   Scully could
hear the worry in his voice and she shook her head to reassure him.

 "Well, I might, if we don't order something soon," she teased.  "Why
don't you stop with the recitation and find us a waiter?"

 Mulder chuckled.  "Your wish is my command," he replied.  "I'll be right
back."

 Scully heard him get up from the table and as his footsteps retreated she
fought down the rush of panic that always accompanied his absence,
fighting to retain a modicum of control.   You're fine, Dana, she
reassured herself.   Everything's fine.

 She listened to the sounds of the various diners, catching brief snatches
of the conversation that surrounded her.  After a moment, she heard steps
coming nearer, but knew from the rhythm that they did not belong to
Mulder.   The noise of a chair being pulled back reached her ears, and she
realized that someone had sat down at the table next to her.   In a now
habitual gesture, Scully lowered her head slightly, unwilling to draw any
attention to herself.

 She heard the rustle of papers, followed by the sound of a zipper and
then a noise that sounded as though a pile of sticks had fallen on the
tabletop, muffled by its linen covering.  The train shook as the wheels
went over a bump in the trestle, and Scully heard a small plink as
something hit the floor, followed by a faint rolling sound that seemed to
come from directly below her feet.  She heard a man's voice utter a low
curse.  "Shit!"  Silence, then the voice continued.  "Excuse me, ma'am?"

 Scully froze, and the words reached her again.

 "Excuse me?  Can you hand me that pencil, please?"

 "Ummmm....." Scully leaned back from the table instinctively, her foot
moving against the floor in the vain hope of locating the object, with no
success.

 "Ma'am?"  There was confusion in the voice, and she heard the sound of
the man as he rose from his table.  A slight intake of breath, and then
the voice spoke again, filled with apology and a familiar sound of pity
that made her cringe.  "Oh.... I'm sorry, I... I didn't realize."

 "That's OK," Scully answered, aware of the twinge of anger beneath her
words.  "You dropped something?"

 "A pencil.... I think it's beneath your table."

 Scully waved one hand in a brief gesture of acquiescence, scooting her
chair further back from the table to allow the man to retrieve the lost
item.   The man's hand brushed her leg as he reached past her, and she
heard a light scraping sound, followed by his voice.

 "Thanks," he said.  "I'm awfully sorry about that."

 "No problem," she answered, her voice a mixture of impatience and
embarrassment.

 Familiar footsteps approached and Scully drew a breath of relief at the
sound of Mulder's return.
 
 

Elliot laid the errant pencil back amongst the rest as he sat back down in
his chair, shaking his head ruefully, regretting his own insensitivity.
Catch a clue, he thought.  Can't you tell a blind woman when you see one?

 He looked up and noticed the man approaching the table next to him, the
same man he had encountered in the corridor earlier, and offered him a
quick smile.  "Hello."

 "Hey," the man responded, as he pulled back his chair and sat across from
the dark-haired woman, taking her hand in his.  "We meet again."

 Elliot's grin widened.  This was one of his favorite things about train
travel.  Trains were a civilized means of travel -- civilized and
sociable, unlike airplanes, where seatmates rarely even spoke to one
another.  "As they say, once is coincidence.  Twice is fate."  He extended
a hand, noting the ink blotch that stained one of his fingers as he did
so.  "Elliot Masters."

 The man offered his other hand in a brief shake.  "Rick Stewart," he
responded.  Indicating the woman across from him, he said, "This is my...
wife, Lisa."

 "We've already met," said Elliot, and Lisa smiled.

 "Kind of," she said.  "Sorry about the pencil."

 "My fault," Elliot replied.  "I need to keep a better hold of things."

 At that moment, the waiter approached their table, and Elliot turned back
to his own, trying to make some sense of the papers he had strewn across
it.  As usual, things were a mess, and he couldn't find the sketch he had
begun the night before.   With a sigh of frustration, he rifled through
the series of drawings, searching for the one he needed, stopping only to
order a cup of coffee and some toast from the waiter.

 Finally locating the paper he sought, Elliot reached for a forest green
pencil and began tracing a series of leaves in the upper corner of the
drawing.  Quickly immersed in his work, he was startled by the
interruption of Rick's voice.

 "That's incredible," Rick said.  "Is that a real place?"

 Surprised and flattered, Elliot looked at the drawing and realized that
it actually was coming along fairly well.  "No," he answered, "but I wish
it was."

 "Rick?"  Elliot could hear the question in Lisa's voice, and her
companion was quick to respond.

 "It's a drawing of a forest -- looks like a rain forest, to me.  Lush
green trees against a deep blue sky, and there's what appears to be a bird
in the upper corner.... something exotic."

 Lisa smiled again, and Elliot realized that despite her somewhat
disheveled appearance and the angry welt that discolored her cheek, she
was actually quite pretty.  "Sounds beautiful," she said.

 "It is," Rick agreed.

 "Thanks," said Elliot, pleased by the compliments.  "I hope the publisher
likes it as much as you do."   Rick shot him a quizzical look so he
continued.  "I'm an illustrator -- children's books, mostly, but I do
whatever's commissionable.  This is for a fantasy series -- I'm only just
starting on this one."

 "Well," Rick commented, "you're very talented."

 "Thanks," Elliot repeated, and then their conversation was interrupted by
the arrival of breakfast.

 As he sipped his coffee, Elliot watched the couple next to him,
distracted from his work by his interest in their conversation.   He
noticed the way Rick assisted Lisa, explaining the layout of the food on
her plate using the numbers on the face of a clock as a guide.  She
listened to him closely, saying little, and Elliot was surprised by her
accuracy as she began to eat.

 Over the course of his numerous train trips, Elliot had met many
different kinds of people, from all walks of life.   Yet there was
something about this particular couple that he found particularly
fascinating.   Well, he thought, it's not every day that you meet a blind
woman traveling with her husband.  But it was more than that -- it was
something about the way that Rick spoke to Lisa, reading quietly to her
from the newspaper that lay beside his plate on the table, watching her
closely to gauge her interest as he skipped from one article to the next.
 And it was something about the way that she responded to him, picking up
hidden undercurrents in his tone effortlessly, as though the two of them
were communicating on a level that transcended mere words.

 Elliot took another sip of coffee and realized that perhaps it was just
that the two of them seemed so happy sitting there, as though the mere act
of having breakfast together was something special and sacred, something
to be treasured.   The thought made him think of Rebecca, of their lazy
Sunday sessions on the couch with coffee and the paper, and he smiled,
checking his watch and mentally counting down the hours.   A feeling of
contentment filled him as he turned back to his drawing and began
pencilling in more leaves.
 
 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner pushed his chair back from his desk,
frustration causing a throbbing pain to pulse at his temple.  Rising to
his full height, he stepped away from the desk to pace the length of the
room in an attempt to burn off some of his nervous energy.

 Something wasn't right, he knew that in the pit of his soul.   The
reports that littered his desk were useless -- less than useless, and read
as though they had been put together by amateurs.  He found it hard to
believe that no new information on Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had
been discovered in the past twenty-four hours.   It was impossible...
inconceivable.

 At that moment, as though summoned by his turmoil, the door to his office
opened and the man entered, brandishing a cigarette in his hand as always.
  An idle part of Skinner's mind wondered if the man had come into the
world with a cancer stick attached to his fingers, and he allowed himself
the privilege of an inner smile at the thought.

 "Any word?"  The man asked, taking a long drag of the cigarette.

 "Why don't you tell me?"  Skinner's eyes flashed with a deliberate
challenge.  "After all, you seem to be so much more on top of things than
I am."

 The man exhaled, a cloud of smoke filling the room.  "Quite the contrary,
Mr. Skinner.  I have no information for you, beyond what I've read in
those reports."

 Skinner crossed the room to his desk and grabbed one of the files, waving
it in the air for emphasis.  "These reports mean absolutely nothing.  Do
you hear me?  *Nothing*."

 The man said nothing, merely continuing to smoke implacably.

   "With all of the evidence left behind in that apartment in New
Orleans," Skinner continued, "I'm to believe that with all of the manpower
at our disposal, the Bureau has come up with nothing.  No new leads, no
new discoveries."

 "Sometimes," the man remarked, "things take time."

 "Time," Skinner responded, "is a luxury I cannot afford.  Not with the
lives of two of my agents at stake."

 The man took another long drag.  "Former agents, Mr. Skinner.  Or have
you forgotten that Mulder and Scully are now fugitives from justice?"

 It was Skinner's turn to remain silent.

 "They *will* be found," said the man.

 "But by whom?"  Skinner demanded.  "By the Bureau?  Or by someone else?
Somebody is deliberately manipulating these reports, concealing evidence
that we could use to track them down."

 The man smiled, his lips stretching into a taut, narrow line.  "Those are
wild accusations, Mr. Skinner.  You should be careful to whom you say
these things."

 "I'm not the one who should be careful," Skinner muttered.  Striding to
the door, he threw it open and headed into the hall, leaving the smoking
man behind.
 
 

They were nearly finished with breakfast when the whistle blew again.
Mulder glanced at his watch, and then looked across the table at Scully.
"Ten-oh-five," he said.  "Right on time."

 "Good," she replied.  "How long are we in Houston for?"

 "I'm not sure," he answered.  "I'll have to check with the conductor."

 The young man at the next table looked up then, peering over the top of
his glasses.  "The Houston stop is nearly three hours," he offered.  "It's
one of the major transfers, and they also refuel here -- takes a bit of
time."

 Scully tilted her head in the man's direction, a quizzical expression on
her face.  "You know a lot about this train, Elliot."

 Elliot grinned.  "This one, and all the rest.  I travel a lot in my line
of work, but I'm terrified of flying.  I don't think there's a train
running across this country that I *haven't* been on."

 The comment made Scully laugh ruefully.  "I'm not the best flyer,
myself."

 "Ah, a kindred spirit," Elliot replied.

 As he pulled money out of his wallet to pay the check, Mulder asked,
"Well, since you're the expert, Elliot, do you know if there's a shopping
center near the train station?"

 Elliot nodded.  "Sure.  There's a big mall not far -- a quick cab ride.
Just be sure you get back to the station at least twenty minutes before
the train is due to leave."

 "Got it," said Mulder, as he rose from his chair and moved around the
table to where Scully sat. "Thanks for the tip."

 "Anytime," Elliot replied, turning back to his drawings.

 Taking Scully gently by the arm, he helped her up from her seat.
"Ready?"  he asked.

 "Definitely," she answered, falling into step beside him as they made
their way out of the dining car.
 
 

Here endeth part 2... parts 3-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].

X-2            X-2
 
 

This is part three of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are
problems with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at
[email protected].
 
 

DOWN THE TRACKS (3/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96
 
 

The first thing Scully noticed when they disembarked the train was how
quiet it was.  She hadn't realized how ubiquitous the noise of the wheels
against the tracks had become until it was gone.  The second thing she
noticed was the chill in the air.  The air was crisp and had a clean,
fresh scent, but it was more brisk than she had expected.  She shivered
involuntarily despite the sweater she wore, and rubbed her free hand
against her arm in an attempt to create some friction.

 "Rick," she remarked, "it's freezing!  Are you sure we're in Texas?"

 He stopped, and she stopped beside him, hearing him chuckle.  "Yes, I'm
sure we're in Texas.  But you have to remember, it's the beginning of
November.  From time to time, it *has* been known to snow here."

 November... her mind whirled at the thought, suddenly aware of how much
time had passed since they left D.C.  Scully realized that it had been
nearly two months since she had kept any close track of the date.  She
heard a rustling sound and listened, curious.  The next moment, Mulder was
placing something into her hands.

 "Here," he said.  "Put on my windbreaker.  It should help."

 "I'm fine," she responded, pushing his hands away, but he was persistent
and she finally relented, pulling the light fabric over her head and
rolling up the sleeves where they dangled over the edge of her wrists.
Though she was reluctant to admit it, the jacket did a fair job of cutting
some of the chill out of the air.

 "Thanks," she finally answered, and felt him take her arm again.

 "No problem," came the response.

 They walked together in relative silence for awhile, Mulder speaking only
to give her directions.  Reaching a corner, they stopped, and waited while
Mulder hailed a cab.

 Once they were settled inside, she put words to the question in her head.
 "What's our plan?"

 "We'll get to the mall, and then find a phone.  Make our call, and then
do some shopping.  We've got nearly two hours -- it should be enough
time."

 Scully grinned, knowing he was looking.  "You've never been shopping with
me, have you?"

 She heard his answering laugh and felt him clasp her hand in his.
Leaning against his shoulder, she relaxed, feeling good about being off of
the train for awhile.
 
 

As Elliot had promised, the ride to the mall was a short one.  Mulder
helped Scully out of the cab and paid the driver, his eyes already
scanning the area for a pay phone.  He spotted one near the entrance to
the mall, and despite the crowds milling in and out of the doors, he
deemed it isolated enough to be relatively safe.  He guided Scully towards
it, cautious with his directions amongst the throng of people.

 At the booth, he picked up the receiver, and quickly dialed the number he
had long since committed to memory.   The line picked up on the second
ring, and he spoke rapidly.  "Seven-one-three, five-five-five,
eight-nine-five-three."  Hanging up the phone, he stole a look at Scully
while he waited, pleased to note that she seemed at ease.

 Moments later, the phone rang, and Mulder picked it up immediately.
"Hello?"

 Byers' voice reached his ears.  "Long time -- we were starting to get a
bit worried."

 "Things haven't been easy on this end.  You?"

 "There's not a lot new to report."  Byers sighed.  "Haven't been able to
track down much regarding that item you wanted us to search -- coming up
with dead ends on all sides."

 Mulder clenched his teeth.  "Nothing?"

 Langly's voice this time.  "Nothing you don't already know -- it *is*
some kind of microprocessing system, and is definitely capable of reading
information contained in the kind of implant that she found in her neck.
But beyond that, we're not sure."

 Frohike chimed in, saying, "And it isn't clear what purpose a circuit
board like that would serve.  Why someone would need to be able to link up
so many of the implants together in one system.  It doesn't make any
sense."

 "We're running out of time."  Mulder absently ran a hand through his
hair.  "On the search, and on this call."

 "You're right on both counts," Byers agreed.  "What do you need?"

 "Three things.  Check into a drug called droperidol -- who makes it, and
in what combinations.   It may have something to do with the formula she
spotted in the lab."   Mulder noticed Scully's expression darken at his
words, and he reached out to take her hand again in his.

 "Done," said Byers.  "Next?"

 "We'll be needing new ID's -- name of Stewart, this time.  And more money
-- I'm down to my last couple hundred."

 "Where do you want them?"  Langly asked.

 Mulder checked the train schedule that he had tucked into the pocket of
his shirt.  "We'll be in El Paso in about 24 hours.  Is that enough time?"

 "No problem," Byers confirmed. "You'll have it.  And?"

 Mulder hesitated, trying to think of a way to phrase the request.  "Check
into a man by the name of Robert Bard."

 "Common name," Langly commented.  "Can you give us more than that?"

 "At the present time, no."  Mulder cast a glance at Scully, all too aware
that she was listening to every word of his part of the conversation,
hoping she couldn't hear theirs.  "But the man I'm looking for might be a
big help, down the line."

 Frohike's voice cut in.  "This has something to do with her, doesn't it.
 What is he, some kind of doctor?"

 "Give the man a medal."  Mulder's lips turned up in a hint of a smile.

 "We'll get on it," Byers promised.

 "It's been almost five minutes -- we should end this call," Frohike
cautioned.  A pause, and then, "Tell her hello, will you?"

 "Of course.  Talk to you later."

 With that, Mulder hung up the phone.  Taking Scully gently by the arm, he
led the way into the shopping mall.
 
 

The mall was hollow.  That was the closest word that Scully could come up
with to explain the echoing cacophony of the shopping center, the sound of
hundreds of feet against the tile flooring reverberating in her ears.
>From somewhere in the distance came the noisy clang of arcade machines,
and she could smell the greasy scents of a myriad of fast food
combinations.  The tinny sound of Muzak wafted through the air, faint
enough to be imperceptible amongst the din of normal conversation, but
attuned as she was to every sound, she caught most of the piped in melody.

 "Rick," she asked, "am I right in guessing that this place is something
of a tacky nightmare?"

 "Your normal suburban shopping mall," came the response.  "I hope you
weren't expecting Rodeo Drive."

 "No," she answered.  "At this point, all I care about is finding a change
of clothes."

 She followed him into a store, where the music was louder and
considerably more trendy, yet the general vibe was much less hectic than
that of the mall itself.  "Where are we?"

 "Ummm, The Gap," he answered.  "Seems like a good place -- and I think we
can get a duffel bag here -- we need to be able to put this stuff in
something."

 Scully nodded in response to his logic, following him as he made his way
amongst the racks.   After a moment, he stopped, and she followed suit.

 "Have to find you something warm," he said.  "Try this on for size."

 Mulder assisted her in removing his windbreaker, and then slipped her
arms into a jacket that felt as though it was made of some type of heavy
canvas.  It fit much better than the windbreaker, and she smiled.  "Feels
good....how does it look?  What color is it?"

 "Navy," he answered, "and it looks just fine.  Seems like a purchase to
me."

 That issue having been decided, Scully followed Mulder as he wandered
through the aisles.  He chose two turtlenecks for her, telling her that
one was white and the other, gray.  "Basics," he said, and she smiled.
Then a plaid flannel shirt, which he described as "navy, with some green
and white", and she shrugged, surrendering the decision making to him.

 "Rick," she reminded him, "something for the bottom might be a good idea
too."

 With one arm draped across her shoulders, he led her over to another part
of the store. Scully listened to the snick of hangers along the rack as
Mulder sorted through the items hanging there.  "What size?"  he asked.

 "Ummmm, a four, I think," she responded.  A moment later, she heard him
sigh with satisfaction.

 "Khakis, size four.  You want to try them on?"

 She nodded, and allowed him to lead her to the dressing rooms, where they
stopped to stand in line and wait their turn.
 
 

The sales clerk in charge of the fitting rooms motioned them forward.
"Take the room at the end," the clerk said, tossing her long brown hair
over her shoulder.

 "Thanks," said Mulder, and led Scully down to the room the girl had
indicated.  "Right here," he told her.  "I'll be waiting right outside."

 She nodded, and disappeared within, clutching the khakis along with the
white turtleneck he had chosen.  Mulder leaned against the wall and
waited, idly wishing that he was inside the room with her instead.   He
closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of fantasy, only to be
jarred back to reality by the sound of her voice.

 "Rick?"

 There was an undercurrent of worry in her tone that struck him
immediately.  "Lisa?  You OK?"

 "Yes," came the answer.  "But... can you come in here?"

 Mulder twisted the knob on the door of the fitting room, pushing it open
and stepping inside.  Scully stood within, the white turtleneck a perfect
fit.  The pants, however, were another story, bagging slightly at the
waist.  She had tucked both of her thumbs into the waistband and held the
trousers away from her body, a dismayed expression on her face.

 "I guess I've lost some weight," she complained, her lips turning down in
a semblance of a pout.  "Is there a two out there?"

 Mulder grinned.  He couldn't help it -- she looked positively adorable,
standing there.  Unable to resist, he pushed the door shut behind him and
crossed the small space to stand directly in front of her.  He slid two of
his own fingers into the waistband of the pants and pulled her close to
him, startling her as he leaned down to steal a kiss.

 "I don't know if these are such a bad fit," he murmured as he released
her, noting with some satisfaction the flush that his actions had brought
to her cheeks.

 "Rick, go get another pair of these," she demanded, failing in her
attempt to sound stern.

 "I'm going, I'm going...." Mulder dropped another kiss on her forehead
for good measure before he slipped out of the room.
 
 

It was funny, Scully mused, that in all the time that they'd spent on the
run, this was the first time that they had done this kind of shopping
together.    She liked the fact that Mulder hadn't left her behind, as he
had done so many times before, and was pleased that she had become adept
enough at dealing with her handicap that she wasn't a total hindrance to
his efforts.  Dressed now in some of their new acquisitions, she followed
him as he made some selections for himself.

 Scully leaned against a rack of clothes, listening as Mulder rifled
through a selection of what she assumed to be jeans.   She allowed her
hands to trail across the clothes beside her, uttering a low murmur of
pleasure at the texture of the fabric.  "Rick?  What are these?
Sweaters?"

 "Yes," he answered.  "Piles and piles of them."

 She ran her hands across them again, finding one that felt especially
soft.  "What color is this one?"

 "Brown," came the reply.  "Dark, almost chocolate."

 "Ummmm," Scully murmured, dismissing that one.   She swept the piles
again and found another.  "And this one?"

 "Green," Mulder told her.  "A deep forest green."

 She bit her lower lip, considering, and then pulled the sweater carefully
from the stack.  "I like the sound of that.  I think you need this one."

 "Oh, I do, do I?"  Scully could hear the teasing tone in his voice and
grinned in response.

 "Yes... in fact I'm sure of it."

 "Well then," he replied, "who am I to argue?"
 
 

At long last, they stood in line for the register, each dressed in clothes
that they had not yet purchased, Mulder holding the tags to those items in
one hand, and another pile of clothes in the other.  They reached the
counter and he dropped the stack in front of the cashier.  "We'll take all
of this, and these are for the clothes we have on."  The teenage boy
behind the counter examined the tags, and then Mulder pointed at a large
brown duffel bag mounted against the wall.  "And that as well."

 As the clerk moved to retrieve the duffel, Mulder took a moment to count
up the money remaining in his wallet.  Just shy of five hundred.  He hoped
it would be enough.

 "That'll be $373.45," drawled the clerk, and Mulder sighed with relief,
handing over the crumpled bills.   He waited for the clerk to make change,
and felt Scully tap him on the arm.

 "Are we out of money?" she whispered.

 "Not quite," he responded.  "Why?"

 She lowered her voice even further.  "We still need to get....
underwear...."

 Mulder grinned.  "How right you are.  Department store, Mrs. Stewart?"

 Scully smiled back.  "Yes... and then, maybe lunch?"

 "We just had breakfast!"

 "So.....?"
 
 

The man walked towards his government issue sedan, his movements slow and
measured.  It had been too long, he reflected, too long since he had heard
any news from Christophe, and he was starting to feel a bit nervous.  It
was an uncommon emotion for him, and he tried to push away the nagging
feeling of panic that signified the beginning of fear.

 It wasn't supposed to have happened like this.  The abduction of Dana
Scully had seemed, at the time, like a golden opportunity.  A chance to
derail Fox Mulder's investigations into the X-Files, investigations that
threatened to point a finger at secrets that were best left undiscovered.
And a chance at a prime specimen for the tests, someone who would provide
them with the chance to accomplish things on a level that hadn't been
imagined even in dreams.

 And instead everything had gone awry.  Mulder's desperate quest to find
his partner had been only part of it;  if need be, they would have killed
him to shut him up, regardless of the Consortium's fear that Mulder's
death would make him a martyr.  That would have been a small price to pay.

 The real problem had been that the program had failed.

 After all the time spent prepping Scully, priming her body and her mind
to accept their new instructions, the test had failed.   Despite all of
the research, despite all of the previous specimens whose lives had been
donated to the practice of this new science.   Despite the fact that the
implant and its related programs were considered foolproof.

 So they had eventually returned her to the life that they had so nearly
stolen from her.  Returned her to Mulder, and to their work on the
X-Files.

 The man's lips curved in a dark smile as he thought about what he had
learned today, when the Consortium's information had finally reached him.

 It had been discovered that perhaps the experiment that had initially
been labeled a failure, might have actually been a success.

 The man opened the car door and slid behind the wheel, turning the key in
the ignition.  He rolled down the window as he pushed the cigarette
lighter in on the dash, pulling a smoke from the crumpled pack inside his
coat.  He backed the car out of the space, stopping only to light the
cigarette, one eyebrow raised as he considered the irony of the situation.

 Dana Scully had sacrificed her career, her eyesight, and very nearly her
life in a quest to find out who had taken her away, and why.

 Without knowing that those very people were now extremely anxious to get
her back.

 To finish what they had started.

 The man exhaled a cloud of smoke out the window of the car as he drove
out of the parking structure, heading back towards his dreary apartment,
negotiating the traffic with a practiced hand.

 The situation at the lab had backfired, and those responsible for the
failure had already been punished.  They had set the trap carefully, and
up to a point it had worked.  The bait had been attractive enough to lure
Scully to the lab, the circumstances dire enough to ensure that Mulder
would follow her there.  It was Mulder who was to have been killed in the
explosion, eliminated so that they would not have worried about his
interference again.

 So that they could have had his partner all to themselves.

 Yet somehow the two had managed to escape.

 No matter, thought the man.  It will all be resolved.  And soon.
 
 

"What time is it, Rick?"  Scully tilted her head up towards him, keeping a
close hand on his arm.

 Mulder raised his arm, allowing the sleeve of his sweater to fall back
enough to allow him to see the face of his watch, the weight of the duffle
bag he carried making the motion difficult.  "It's twelve-ten," he
replied.  "We need to catch a cab and get back to the station."

 She nodded in response, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Perfect timing."

 "Well, we're not there yet."  Mulder stopped them both at the corner of
an intersection, scanning both ways for an empty taxi, with no luck.  "I'm
not seeing any cabs.  We might have to call for one."  He was surprised
that in this relatively crowded area of downtown Houston, a cab would be
so hard to find.  Then again, it was the lunch hour, which might explain
the difficulty.

 Scully didn't say anything, waiting quietly for him to make a decision.

 After a moment, he announced, "Let's go one more block -- if we don't see
any at the next street, we'll call."

 "Sounds good," she agreed, falling into step beside him again as the
light turned green.

 They made their way across the street, Mulder keeping a vigilant eye on
all of the pedestrians that passed them.  It was a varied mix of people,
businessmen and women clad in suits, and an equal number of more casually
dressed, tourist-types.   Mulder noticed a man walking a discreet distance
away, behind them and slightly to the left, and he frowned.  There was
something about the man, something familiar...

 Running the events of the morning through his eidetic memory, Mulder
realized that he had seen the man before, in the mall.   Near the
department store that had been their final stop.

 Glancing casually over his shoulder, Mulder stole another look at the
man.   He was dressed casually, in jeans and a black sports coat.  He
looked like any of a number of other passersby, but there was something
about him that made Mulder's pulse begin to race.

 "C'mon, Lisa," he muttered, drawing his arm around her to pull her closer
to him as he quickened his pace.

 "Rick?"  Scully's voice raised with the question.  "Something wrong?"

 "No," he answered, unwilling to share his suspicions with her.  "I just
don't want us to miss the train."

 He glanced at her, and could tell from her expression that she didn't
believe him, but she matched her steps to his as they made their way along
the street.

 Mulder snuck another quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the man
had also begun to move faster, closing the distance between them at an
alarming rate.  Mulder could feel the weight of his gun, tucked securely
in the waistband of his new jeans, and it reassured him somewhat.  He made
a quick mental calculation about how fast he could draw the weapon if need
be, weighing their chances if the man turned out to be a threat.

 They reached the next intersection as the light in their direction was
turning from green to yellow.  There were still no empty cabs to be seen,
and Mulder found himself forced to make a split decision.  "Lisa... we're
gonna run for this light.  Can you do it?"

 She nodded, her lips folding into a grim line, as she gripped his arm
more tightly.   Mulder started to jog across the street and she went with
him, stumbling slightly and then finding the rhythm.  The duffel bag
thumped against his side, but he barely noticed, so focused was he on
helping her keep her balance while keeping an eye on the stranger who
pursued them.

 They reached the other side of the street as the light turned red.
Mulder helped Scully up onto the curb and looked back, horrified to see
the man leaping into the opposing traffic against the signal, causing a
number of cars to honk their horns in protest.  His worst fears confirmed,
Mulder slung the handle of the duffel bag up onto his shoulder, freeing
one of his hands in preparation to draw his weapon.   He tapped the pocket
of his jeans, making sure that he still had the disk in his possession, as
a short, silent prayer ran across his mind.
 
 

Here endeth part 3... parts 4-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-3            X-3
 

This is part four of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

DOWN THE TRACKS (4/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96
 
 

Scully felt Mulder's hand tighten on her arm like a vise.   "C'mon, Lisa,"
he said, and the undercurrent of fear in his voice sent a chill up her
spine.   He pulled her along beside him and she did her best to keep up,
concentrating only on the motion of his body beside her as she copied his
strides.   The sounds of passing pedestrians whirled through her brain and
she forced herself to ignore them, trusting that Mulder would negotiate
her safely amongst them, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the
other without stumbling.

 They turned sharply and the noise of the crowd suddenly dimmed.   The air
was different here too, close and dank, carrying with it the pungent odor
of refuse.   The sun left her face, causing Scully to realize that they
had turned down some kind of alleyway, a place where the buildings must be
tall enough to block out the light.  In the distance, she could hear the
sound of water dripping, as though from a faulty pipe.

 The place scared her, the eerie stillness feeling especially ominous
after the commotion of the main street.  Scully could hear their footsteps
echo as they quickly made their way down the alley, and imitating Mulder,
she made a conscious effort to silence her steps.

 "Rick?" she whispered, keeping her voice low.  "What's going on?"

 "Shhhh," came the reply, and his lack of any further response terrified
her.

 After a moment, Mulder stopped, and she stopped beside him.  The water
noise was louder here, she noted.  Scully heard the distinctive sound of a
door handle turning, twice in quick succession, but without the answering
snick that usually signified the opening of a door.

 "Dammit...."

 Hearing his muffled curse, Scully tugged on Mulder's arm again,
frustrated by his silence.  "Rick?  Talk to me," she hissed.

 "Door's locked, and this is a dead end.  Come here."

 Scully followed Mulder back in the direction that they had come, the
sound of dripping water receding as they ran toward the alley entrance.
"Here," Mulder whispered, taking her gently by the arm.  He propelled her
backwards and Scully suddenly felt a wall behind her, touching the cool
concrete of its surface with one hand.

 "Down," he ordered, the word barely audible.   Scully obeyed, her heart
pounding in her chest, crouching down in a squat, her legs poised to run
again if need be.  The wall behind her, she extended a hand out to the
side and felt cool smooth metal.   "Dumpster," Mulder whispered in
response to her unasked question.

 Mulder took her hand and placed it atop the duffel bag which was on the
ground in front of her.  "Stay here," he whispered, his voice close to her
ear.   He moved away from her, then, and Scully heard a distinctive click
that she immediately recognized as the safety of his gun.

 "Rick!"  She called to him in a panicked whisper.  "Where are you going?"

 "Shhhhh," he murmured, bending down to brush his lips across her
forehead, a gesture that did little to calm her.  "I think we've been
followed..."

 "What?!"

 "Just wait here... and don't worry -- no one can get to you without me
seeing them."

 He moved away from her then, his footsteps light and growing fainter as
he walked back down the alley.   Scully sat where she was, hating the fact
that she was unable to do more than wait.  Terrified that Mulder was
right, that someone had found them.
 
 

Mulder made his way back towards the street, his gun held steady in front
of him.  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and was satisfied to
see that there was no sign of Scully or their duffel bag visible from this
side of the trash dumpster.  The alley dead-ended into the wall of a
building, assuring Mulder that there was only one way in or out.   If the
stranger was indeed pursuing them, he'd have to enter the alley directly
from the street.

 And Mulder was more than ready to take him on.

 Reaching the end of the alleyway, Mulder pressed his back up against the
wall, raising the gun with both hands up to the level of his right
shoulder.   Leaning ever so slightly forward, he peered around the side of
the wall, glancing first in one direction and then the other.

 There was no sign of the man.

 Anywhere.

 Mulder lowered the gun, holding it cautiously behind him as he took a
step out into the street, widening his field of view.

 As best as he could tell, the coast was completely clear.

 Allowing himself a slight sigh of relief, Mulder tucked the gun back into
his jeans.  Retracing his steps, he weighed the possibilities.   Either he
had been wrong, and the man had merely been another ordinary pedestrian, a
Houston resident who was late enough for an appointment that he had risked
dodging four lanes of traffic against the light.

 Or he had been right, and the stranger had been after them.

 The paranoid part of Mulder's mind urged him to accept the second choice,
but the more rational part argued that it didn't make sense.  The alley
had been the only place they could have gone -- there was no way that the
man could have lost them, if they were the object of his quest.

 Mulder pushed these thoughts away as he reached Scully, crouched where he
had left her, her face a pale mask of fear.

 "Rick?"

 "It's OK," he answered as he helped her to her feet.  "False alarm, I
think."  She was trembling slightly and he gathered her into his arms.
"I'm sorry.... I didn't mean to scare you."

 Scully wrapped her arms tightly around his back, pressing her face
against his chest.  She said nothing for a long moment, and when she
finally spoke, her voice was quiet, muffled by his sweater.  "I hate not
being able to help you."

 He didn't know exactly what to say to that, so he brushed a kiss across
her forehead before leaning down to retrieve the duffel bag.  "We're both
OK... that's all that matters.  Let's get out of here and back to that
train."
 
 

Walter Skinner left the Director's office, allowing himself to feel a
slight rush of satisfaction.  Though his request of additional manpower
was still under consideration, he had at least accomplished part of his
goal.   A new series of bulletins were to be sent out this afternoon to
law enforcement officials across the country.   Although Agents Mulder and
Scully had been on the Wanted list since the day of their disappearance,
Skinner knew all too well how the passage of time dimmed the priority
level of a search.  Two months had gone by, two months in which little or
nothing had been discovered, and Skinner feared that the missing agents
were no longer uppermost in the minds of the local police.

 And at this point, he had no choice but to place some faith in officers
of the law.  After all, it was the police who had made all of the
important discoveries in New Orleans.

 And perhaps, it would be the police who could help save them.

 Skinner was becoming more and more certain of the fact that resources and
personnel within the Bureau were being manipulated by the mysterious
smoking man and unidentified others. As a man who had devoted his life to
the service of the Bureau, Skinner found it painful to accept that there
were those inside the organization whose agendas did not mirror his own.
Who operated between the lines, and outside of the rules.  But he wasn't
naive, and he had witnessed enough during his course of service to know
that conspiracies were everywhere.  Just because you're paranoid, Skinner
reflected, doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.

 His head filled with these thoughts, Skinner wandered through the
building, taking an elevator and a series of stairs down to the basement
level.  He walked down the corridor to the unremarkable door at the far
end.

 Twisting the knob, Skinner pushed open the door and found himself inside
Mulder's office.  It appeared as it always did, a cluttered disarray of
files and paperwork.   Only Mulder's practiced eye would notice that the
piles of junk were not as he had left them, having been searched
meticulously by Bureau personnel looking for some clue as to where he
might have gone.

 Skinner stopped in the middle of the office and glanced around.  He was
mildly surprised to see that the black filing cabinets containing the
X-Files themselves were still in place, and wondered idly why the smoking
man and his friends hadn't had them destroyed.

 Perhaps, he mused, because they think Mulder will return.

 A poster hanging on the wall near the desk caught Skinner's eye.  A
blurry photo of a UFO, with the legend "I Want To Believe" printed
beneath.  It was Mulder's doctrine, his credo, his reason for living, and
the words echoed in Skinner's mind.

 I want to believe, he thought.  I want to believe that you and Agent
Scully will be found.
 
 

Scully walked beside Mulder, keeping a close hold of his arm.  Around her,
she could hear the commotion of the train station, of passengers embarking
and disembarking in a whirl of activity.  Mulder came to a stop, and she
tugged on his arm.  "What are we doing?"

 "Waiting in line," he answered.  "They're checking everyone's travel
vouchers before they let them get on board."

 Scully heard a rustling of papers and assumed that Mulder was pulling out
their own.  "Long line?" she questioned.

 "Long enough."

 Two or three minutes passed, and Scully remained quiet, taking small
steps beside Mulder as the line moved forward.  She was still a bit
unnerved by their close encounter, and wondered if perhaps Mulder had been
correct in his suspicion that they had been pursued.  He had shared with
her all that he had seen during their cab ride back to the station, and
although he had tried to sound nonchalant, she had picked up the fear
beneath his words.  She shuddered, and felt his arm encircle her shoulders
protectively.

 "I'm OK," she said in response to his unanswered question.  "Just a
little tired, that's all."  And it was true -- as much as she had enjoyed
their little expedition, it had really worn her out.  It still amazed her
how much extra energy it took to get around without being able to rely
upon her eyes.   Even with Mulder's help, even after all this time, it was
still so difficult.

 Finally, they reached the front of the line and Scully heard Mulder
speaking to the conductor as their tickets were checked.  Mulder was
helping her up the steps that led into the train when she heard a voice
calling to them.

 "Hey, Rick... Lisa... wait up!"

 Scully recognized the voice as belonging to Elliot, the man they had met
in the dining car earlier, and she smiled.  There was something about his
energy and enthusiasm that reminded her of her younger brother, and she
wondered idly what he looked like.

 "So much for getting back to the train early," Mulder said by way of
greeting.

 Scully could hear Elliot wheeze as he fought to catch his breath.  "I
know -- I actually just got *off* of the train.  I lost track of time, and
realized I had to make a phone call before we left the station."

 They were moving down the corridor now, Elliot walking directly behind
them, and Scully hoped that their slow pace was not annoying to him.
"Must have been an urgent call," she remarked, as she trailed the fingers
of one hand along the wall, mentally counting the number of doors that
they passed in the hopes of understanding the layout of the train.  She
heard the whistle blow a third time, and a moment later she felt the
motion of the train as it began to move down the tracks.

 "It was," Elliot replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.  "My
girlfriend, Rebecca, has an interview this afternoon.  And I almost forgot
to wish her luck."

 Mulder chuckled as they turned a corner.  "Sounds like you barely avoided
big trouble."

 The corridor was narrow, and Scully could hear the sound of the duffel
bag scraping along the wall as they walked.  "Sure did," Elliot responded.
 A pause, then, "You want me to help you with that?"

 "I've got it," Mulder answered, and Scully felt a rush of embarrassment,
knowing that Mulder could more easily handle the bag if he wasn't helping
her negotiate the corridor.

 In an attempt to switch the subject back, she asked, "What does Rebecca
do?"

 "She's a photographer," Elliot explained, his voice full of excitement.
"Beck's terrific -- she got her Masters in Fine Art two years ago, and
she's done a lot of great stuff."

 Mulder asked, "What kind of photographs does she take?"

    "She does weddings and things like that for rent money, but she
doesn't really like to shoot people.  This meeting today is about doing a
series for the Museum of Contemporary Art in Santa Fe, which would be
great -- it's local, but it would be good exposure for her."

 "Local?"  Scully questioned.  "Is that where you live?"

 Elliot responded in the affirmative, and she continued.  "I didn't know
this train went to Santa Fe."

 "It doesn't."  Elliot laughed.  "That's the magic of Amtrak transfers.
There's another line, the Desert Wind, that does.  It's not the fastest
way to travel, but it gives me time to draw, so I don't mind."

 All was quiet for a few moments, save the sound of their footsteps and
the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the track.  Then Scully heard
Elliot say, "Well, this is me," followed by the sound of a door being
opened.  "Maybe I'll see you later."

 "Later," Mulder echoed, and Scully threw a smile in Elliot's direction as
she bid him goodbye.

 Scully ran her fingers past four more doors and then they reached the
narrow stairs that led to the upper level of the train.  She followed
Mulder, one hand holding tightly to his sweater as she took the steps one
at a time.  They reached the top of the stairs and she breathed a sigh of
relief as they came to a stop in front of their own door.
 
 

Mulder opened the door to their compartment and ushered Scully inside,
dropping the duffel bag on the floor near the table.  He watched her
closely as she made her way towards the chairs, finding one with her hands
and sinking down into it.  "You OK?" he asked soliticiously.  "Do you need
anything?"

 She shook her head, then lay back against the cushions, closing her eyes.
 "No.  I just want to sit here for a minute."

 "Sounds like a plan to me,"  Mulder answered.  He unzipped the duffel bag
and began to unpack their new possessions, putting the few items away in
the armoire in the corner.  Scully was quiet, and Mulder had begun to
suspect that she had fallen asleep when he heard her voice.

 "Mulder?"

 "Yes?"

 "Who's Robert Bard?"

 Mulder stopped in his tracks at the question.   He was tempted to smile
at his own gullibility, having been lulled into believing that her silence
on the topic up until now meant that she hadn't noticed his guarded
request of the Gunmen.   But he'd been wrong, and the seriousness in her
tone demanded an answer.

 In an attempt to be evasive, Mulder said, "He's a... researcher.   I came
across his name when I was in the library."

 "What kind of research?"  Scully's eyes were open now, and her head was
cocked slightly to the side as she listened intently.  "Something to do
with droperidol?  Or with the disk?"

 Mulder put the last shirt on its hanger as he debated how to answer her,
debated how much of his pipe dream he should share with her.  His own
hopes were so unreasonably high, especially with all of the odds stacked
against them.  He was reluctant to raise hers, as well, only to have them
crushed in the end.

 "Mulder?"

 "Neither one."   Mulder crossed to her and knelt down beside the chair,
his face level with hers.  Scully's hands were clasped in her lap, and he
covered them with his own.   "He's a doctor, Scully.  Somebody I read
about."

 "What kind of doctor?"  Her voice was soft, nearly a whisper.

 "He's an eye specialist," Mulder confessed.  "A pioneer in his field.
And I want... I want to try to get you in to see him."

 Scully sat absolutely still.  "He's in Los Angeles, isn't he.  That's the
reason we're going there."

 "Yes.  It is."

 Scully pulled her hands away from his, raking her fingers through her
hair in a gesture of frustration.  A small sigh escaped her lips and her
shoulders sagged a little.  When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet,
resigned.   "Mulder... you're chasing after rainbows.  There isn't
anything that this man can do for me."

 Her words sparked his anger and Mulder had to force himself to keep his
voice calm.  "How can you say that, Scully?"

 "How can I *say* that?"  Scully furiously spat the words out.  "I'm
*blind*, Mulder.  Why is it so hard for you to accept that?"

 "I don't *want* to accept that," Mulder declared.  "And I can't believe
you do, either."

 He reached out for her hand, but she pushed him away, speaking slowly and
deliberately, as though to a child. "This isn't some case that you can
solve.  It's real, and nothing is going to change that."

 In a voice that was almost a whisper, Mulder pleaded, "But what if he can
help you?"

 A brief glimmer of hope flashed across her face, only to vanish a second
later.  "What if he can't?" she asked, and the plaintive tone of her words
cut at his soul.  He reached out to her and Scully allowed the embrace,
wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close.
 
 

Christophe listened to the man on the other end of the phone, committing
the new instructions to memory.  By the time he hung up the receiver, he
had already begun reformulating his plans.

 The fact that they now wanted the woman taken alive made things more
difficult, but surmounting difficulty was one of Christophe's specialties.
 It also made things more interesting, and that was exactly the way
Christophe liked them.

 The real pity, he reflected, was that he would now be unable to avenge
Vincent's death in the way that he had planned.  Christophe still found it
hard to believe that this man and woman had brought about the death of one
of his most valued employees.  Nearly incomprehensible, as a matter of
fact.

 But Christophe was a man who believed in the power of luck, of chance, of
fate.  Fate had dealt him some odd cards over the course of his life, and
he had managed to take advantage of each and every one.   While he would
never consider himself to be a superstitious man, he knew some of his own
successes were due less to his own abilities and more to unexpected good
timing or circumstance.  To luck.

 For this reason, Christophe did not begrudge the man and the woman the
luck that had enabled them to survive as long as they had.

 He was all too aware of the fact that luck eventually runs out.
 
 

Scully sat listlessly across from Mulder in the dining car, picking
halfheartedly at the food on her plate.  Her appetite had vanished, and
truth be told, the smell of the food was making her feel slightly ill.
But she made an attempt for Mulder's sake, to avoid the concerned
questions she knew he would ask.

 He was already worried about her.  She could hear it in his voice, but
she didn't have the energy to allay his fears.  Scully had spent most of
the afternoon in a deep malaise, unable to shake off her dark mood.  She
had told Mulder that she wanted a nap, and he had left her alone, going to
the lounge car to watch television.  However, instead of sleeping, she had
lain restlessly in the bed, unable to relax.   Hours later, the train had
stopped in San Antonio, and Mulder had returned, asking her if she wanted
to take a walk during the two-hour stop.  She had declined, and he had
opted to stay with her, laying beside her on the bed.  At first, he'd
tried to talk to her, but when she remained silent, he gave up, and merely
held her in his arms until the train started up again.

 It was only Mulder's reminder that they would miss dinner if they didn't
go to the dining car soon that roused her from her funk enough to leave
the bed.  Food had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now that she
was here, Scully had begun to think she'd made a mistake.

 Mulder's mention of the doctor in Los Angeles had depressed her in a way
that was as surprising as it was sudden, and Scully couldn't quite figure
out why.  It wasn't as though she hadn't harbored her own hopes about
regaining her sight, at least in the beginning.   Being a doctor herself,
she knew a fair amount about temporary blindness, and had prayed that
perhaps the explosion hadn't done any permanent damage to her eyes.  Yet
as one day followed the next with no change, she had pushed that faint
hope further and further away, burying it deep within her in a place she
was loath to touch.

 Now, to hear that Mulder had been clinging to a similar hope, to hear the
words spoken aloud, somehow felt like more than she could bear.  Scully
knew Mulder well enough to know that he was capable of nourishing the
smallest flame, keeping it alive inside him and using its faint warmth to
sustain him through the darkness.   He'd been doing it for twenty years
with Samantha, convincing himself that she would someday be found, alive
and unharmed.    The hopes of a dreamer, of an ardent romantic.  Of a
believer.

 In her heart of hearts, Scully feared that Samantha's return was as
likely as the return of her eyesight.

 And that fear left her cold and dead inside.

 "Lisa?"  Mulder's voice broke into her reverie.  "Do you want some more
bread?"

 "No," she answered, finding the edge of her plate with her hands and
pushing it away.  "I'm finished."

 He was quiet, and she knew he was staring at her still full plate with
concern, but he didn't say anything more about it, for which she was
thankful.

 "Let's get out of here, then," he said, and a moment later she heard the
sound of him rifling through his wallet for bills to pay the check.
 
 

Here endeth part 4... parts 5-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-4            X-4
 

This is part five of a ten-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and
Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  If there are problems
with the posting (or comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

DOWN THE TRACKS (5/10)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96
 
 

Mulder rose from his chair and went around to the other side of the table
to take Scully by the arm.   She had been listless and unresponsive
throughout the afternoon, and he couldn't help feeling as though once
again, it was all his fault.  He had known better than to say anything
about the doctor, yet it was so incredibly hard for him to keep things
from her.   And, truth be told, he had hoped that she would find the news
promising.   Probably, he thought, she once would have.  The Dana Scully
who had been his partner at the Bureau had been tireless, as relentless in
her pursuit of the answers as he was.  It scared Mulder to see the changes
that the accident had wrought in her, to see her operating more often than
not from a position of defeat.

 "Want to go back to the room?" he asked. "Or do you want to wander around
the train for awhile?"

 "The room, I guess," Scully answered, her voice flat and dull.

 "Okay," he replied, guiding her through the car.

 They were nearing the door that led back into the corridors when it
opened and Elliot entered, carrying a hardcover book under his arm.  He
greeted them with a friendly wave of his hand.  "Hey guys," he said.  "How
was dinner?"

 "Fine," Mulder said, smiling at the young man.   He found it funny that
Elliot was so relentlessly cheerful.  It shattered the stereotype that
Mulder had long harbored about the tortured soul of an artist.

 "Did you get off the train in San Antonio?  It's a great city," Elliot
remarked.

 "No.  Did you?"  Mulder was surprised to see Scully answer the question.
It was practically the only thing she'd volunteered in hours, so he
paused, waiting for Elliot's response.

 "Just for a little while,"  Elliot replied.  "Went into town to the
bookstore -- one of the books I did over the summer just came out."   He
offered the book to Mulder, who took it, admiring the artwork on the
cover.

 "This is terrific," he said.  "The colors are great."

 Scully reached out her hand and touched the jacket of the book with two
fingers.  "What is it?  A fantasy book?"

 "No," answered Elliot.  "It's a mystery story of sorts, called 'The
Westing Game'.   It's by a writer named Ellen Raskin -- the publishers
just did a reissue of all of her books, and commissioned new artwork for
the hardcovers.  For a young adult book, it's actually pretty clever."

 Mulder cracked open the book and flipped through the pages, glancing at
all of the drawings inside.  "Looks good -- and they certainly used a lot
of your stuff."

 Elliot grinned.  "Just wish they'd *paid* me a lot.   I'm tired of being
a starving artist."  A pause, then, "Would you like to keep it?"  His grin
widened.  "I'll even autograph it for you, if you'd like."

 Scully answered before he had a chance, a small smile crossing her face.
"Thanks -- and you definitely have to sign it."

 "Our own little brush with celebrity," Mulder concurred, handing Elliot
back the book.  The young man pulled a pen from the pocket of his shirt
and opened the book to the frontispiece, signing his name to it with a
flourish.

 "Here you go," he said, passing the book back to Mulder, who tucked it
under his arm.  "Maybe someday you can sell it for a pile of money."  With
another grin, he moved past them.  "Now I've gotta get some food -- I'm
starving."

 "Goodbye, Elliot," Scully responded, placing her hand back on Mulder's
arm.   Taking his cue from her silent signal, Mulder led her out of the
dining car.
 
 

"I like him," Scully said as they made their way through the corridor.
"He seems really nice."

 "He is," Mulder agreed.  "But I'm suspicious of anyone who's always in
such a good mood."

 Scully smiled, surprised to find that her own dark mood had lightened
somewhat.  "You're suspicious of everyone, Rick.  That's your defining
characteristic."

 "Oh, really?"  The teasing tone was back in Mulder's voice, which cheered
her a bit more.  Sometimes Mulder's overwhelming concern for her could
feel a bit smothering, and she preferred it when things were light between
them.

 "Yes, really.  But I've gotten used to it, don't worry."  They walked on,
and suddenly Scully didn't feel like going back to their small
compartment.  "I don't want to go back to the room, yet.  Is there
somewhere else we could go?"

 Mulder paused for a moment, and she could almost hear him think.  "Well,
there are two lounge cars.  The one on this level has the television in
it, and there's one on the upper that's called the 'sightseer lounge', or
something like that.  It's just a big room with lots of windows."

 "Let's go there," she said.  "I don't feel like hanging out in the TV
room."

 She followed him down several more corridors and then up the stairs to
the upper level.  They walked on a bit further and then she heard a door
open.  "Here we are," Mulder said.

 It was very quiet inside, which surprised her.  "Are we alone in here?"

 "At the moment, yes," came the response.  "I guess most people are still
at dinner."

 Mulder led her over to the wall of the car, and then they stopped.
Scully reached out a tentative hand and felt cool metal beneath her hand.
 The object was long and cylindrical and extended beyond her reach, and
she realized that they were standing against some type of railing.  She
lifted her hand out directly in front of her and, as she expected, found
glass beneath her palm.  It was cold to the touch and vibrated with the
motion of the train.

 As she made her exploration, Mulder stood beside her silently.  Scully
wondered if he were watching the view, or watching her, with his eyes that
worried shade of brown.  "So, Rick, what's it look like outside?"

 "Fields, mostly.  I can't tell what kind -- it's already pretty dark."

 Scully closed her eyes, picturing the scenery in her mind.  "Any houses?"

 "None that I can see.  It's pretty desolate through here.  In the far
distance, though, there are a lot of lights -- that must be San Antonio."

 "Can you see the moon?"

 "Not from here -- maybe from the windows on the other side.  But there
are plenty of stars."

 Scully felt a contentedness spread over her, standing there listening to
his description.  Reaching down, she found Mulder's hand, and clasped it
in hers.  He responded by moving closer to her, and she leaned her head
against his shoulder.

 After a time, she spoke, using his alias although she longed to say his
name.  "Rick... I'm sorry about earlier.  I didn't mean to be so moody."

 He sighed, a whistling rush of air.  "I'm sorry too.  I didn't mean to
upset you, with what I said about the doctor."

 "You didn't upset me," she reassured him.  "I just.... I guess I just
need some more time to deal with all of this.  That's all."

 "I understand."  Mulder put his other hand on her shoulder, turning her
slightly towards him.  Scully could feel his eyes on her, studying her,
and she smiled a little for his benefit.

 "I bet it's beautiful out there," she said, trying to distract him.

 "It's beautiful in here," he responded, his voice hushed.   He moved his
hands up to cradle her face in his palms, and a moment later Scully felt
his lips brush hers in the lightest of kisses.

 Her heart beating faster, Scully rose on her tiptoes, her hands at his
waist for balance, and kissed him back.

 After a moment, Mulder released his hold on her, only to draw her into
his arms.  They stood that way for awhile, and she was soothed by the beat
of his heart, solid and strong.  He ran his hand through her hair, his
fingers grazing the back of her neck, and she felt a tremor run through
her at the realization of how much she enjoyed being near him.

 An idea popped into her head, and Scully gave words to the thought.
"Rick?  Do you still have Elliot's book?"

 "Right here," Mulder answered, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

 "Will you read it to me?  Back in the room?"

 A small laugh escaped him, and he hugged her tighter.  "It's a children's
book, Lisa."

 "So?"  She grinned up at him.  "What are you, an elitist?"

 "Don't start with the name-calling," he teased as he took her again by
the arm.  "Let's go."
 
 

Back in the room, Scully pulled off her tennis shoes and Mulder did the
same, before sitting down in one of the chairs.  Scully climbed into his
lap, her legs dangling atop his over the edge of the cushions.  He slipped
one arm around her back to hold her comfortably against him, opening the
book so that the base of its spine rested against her stomach.

 "Does that bother you?" he asked, shifting slightly to relieve some of
the pressure.

 "It's fine," Scully replied.  One of her hands lay on the arm of the
chair, and she slid the other down across his lap to rest against his
thigh, its warmth seeping through his jeans to his leg.

 "Okay, then," he answered, and flipped past the introductory pages to get
to the first page of real text.  He cleared his throat and began to read,
hearing her sigh as she snuggled closer to him.
 

 "The sun sets in the west (just about everyone knows that), but Sunset
Towers faced east.  Strange!
 Sunset Towers faced east and had no towers.  This glittery, glassy
apartment house stood alone on the Lake Michigan shore five stories high.
Five empty stories high.
 Then one day (it happened to be the Fourth of July), a most
uncommon-looking delivery boy rode around town slipping letters under the
doors of the chosen tenants-to-be.  The letters were signed 'Barney
Northrup'.
 The delivery boy was sixty-two years old, and there was no such person as
Barney Northrup."
 

 Mulder continued to read, turning the pages as he finished them carefully
so as not to disturb her with the sound.  Scully sat quietly, her head
resting against his shoulder, the crown of her hair tickling the underside
of his chin.  From time to time she would murmur a quiet response to
something he'd read, occasionally eliciting a chuckle from him.

 Time passed, as Mulder sat contentedly, happy that he was able to provide
her with this small pleasure.  It was so peaceful, so calm and quiet,
close to Scully, the sound of the train's wheels against the track a
soothing and distant accompaniment to his voice as he read.
 

 " 'Isn't there some sort of a last statement?' Sandy asked Plum.  'I
mean, like the intern says, nothing makes any sense.'
 The lawyer continued to read from Samuel Westing's will.  'Eleventh:
Senseless, you say?  Death is senseless yet makes way for the living.
Life, too, is senseless unless you know who you are, what you want, and
which way the wind blows.
 So on with the game.  The solution is simple if you know whom you are
looking for.  But heirs, beware!  Be aware!
 Some are not who they say they are, and some are not who they seem to be.
 Whoever you are, it's time to go home.
 God bless you all, and remember this:
 Buy Westing Paper Products!' "
 

 Mulder turned another page and then Scully shifted in his arms, her hand
leaving his lap to find his chin.  He stopped reading when she placed two
fingers against his lips in a gesture that was as surprising as it was
seductive.

 "I don't want you to read, anymore," she whispered, and a chill raced
down his spine.

 His throat was dry as he tried to speak, acutely conscious of her fingers
against his lips.  "No?" he murmured, unable to say more.

 "No."  Scully shook her head slowly, deliberately, her dark hair
shimmering against her shoulders, illuminated by the light from the lamp.
 

 Moving her fingers from his mouth, she brought her hand up to his
forehead.  A moment later, her other hand had joined it, and she ran all
ten fingers along his hairline, each hand tracing a path down either side
of his face.  Mulder sat absolutely still, mesmerized by her gentle touch,
unable to look away.   Her clouded blue eyes were wide, staring over his
shoulder to a point in the middle distance, and her face was slightly
flushed.

 With gentle, delicate strokes she traced the outlines of his face.  His
forehead, his eyebrows, the faint lines around his eyes.  Scully ran her
fingertips down the bridge of his nose, then allowed them to dance across
his cheeks and his jaw to his ears.  Her fingers brushed across his beard,
stroking the unfamiliar hair around his mouth and chin.

 Her touch was slow, sensual, and incredibly erotic.  Mulder could feel
the spaces between his breaths growing shorter, but he merely sat quietly
and allowed her hands to do their work of creating a picture of him in her
mind.  Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and her lips were slightly
parted, allowing him the barest glimpse of the perfect teeth behind them.

 He was captivated by her pristine beauty, by the feel of her smooth hands
against his skin.  After a blissful eternity had passed, she finished her
exploration, and placed her palms on either side of his face, holding it
close to her own.  Suddenly he found himself unable to remain still, and
he leaned in towards her, closing the inches between them in one simple
motion to press his lips against hers.
 
 

His kiss was immediately, instantly electric, and she shivered in his
grasp.  Unlike the kisses that they had shared against the railing, this
kiss was deep and urgent and full of need.   It was a fervent kiss, borne
of ardor and passion, and it robbed her of breath and left her wanting
more.  She kissed him back, trying to communicate to him all that she
thought, all that she felt, all that she wanted.

 Scully heard the sound of the book dropping to the floor as his hands
moved to link behind her back, his arms pulling her closer to him,
crushing her against his chest.  Her hands slid down to rest on his
shoulders, gripping his sweater for balance.   Her breasts felt full and
heavy and tender as they pressed against his body, and she moaned slightly
at the sensation.  The low sound seemed to arouse him even further and he
pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, forcing her head back with the
intensity of his desire.

 She moaned again, shifting against him, savoring his warmth, his taste,
his touch, wanting this moment between them to last forever.   After a
minute, Mulder moved his mouth away from hers, and she gasped for breath
as his lips began to trail along her neck.  He nibbled at the sensitive
skin beneath her chin and she slid her hands up behind his head, her
fingers tangled in his hair to hold him close.   He slid his lips down her
throat, pulling her turtleneck aside to trace the edge of her collarbone
with his tongue.

 "DanaDanaDana...." he murmured softly, and she felt a warm rush of desire
flood her body at the sound of his voice.

 Using her hands to guide the motion of his head, Scully brought his mouth
back up to hers, kissing him with a ferocity that she had not known she
possessed.  His tongue matched hers, stroke for stroke, and she was
consumed by a heady dizziness that rocked her to her core.

 One of his arms remained where it was, encircling her with a strong firm
grasp, while the other shifted, allowing his hand to roam its way down her
body.   His fingers worked their way down her chest, stopping to toy with
each of her breasts with a possessiveness that made her sigh with
pleasure.  His hand moved over her sensitive stomach, but she was far too
aroused now to be ticklish.  His fingers reached the waistband of her
pants and trailed lazily along it as far as his arm could reach, before
moving lower with deliberate intensity.  She felt his hand cup her crotch
and she gasped as his hand slipped beneath her, his fingers against her
butt, pulling her even closer to him.

 His lips were still on hers, probing, searching, seeking, and suddenly it
was all too much.  Feeling as though she might faint, Scully pulled back
from him.  Fighting for breath, she rested her chin against his shoulder,
only to feel his breath against her ear.

 "I want you, Dana," he whispered, his voice rough and ragged.

 She couldn't answer him, couldn't find the words she needed to express
what she wanted to say.
 
 

She didn't respond, her head pressed against his shoulder in such a way
that he couldn't see her face.  He could feel her body shake with deep
tremors, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and suddenly Mulder was
afraid that he had gone too far.

 "Dana?"  He infused her name with all of the urgency he felt. "Dana....
I'm sorry."

 She raised her head, then, and he placed two fingers gently under her
chin, turning her face to allow his worried eyes to meet her empty gaze.
"I didn't...."  His words were fumbling, hesitant.  "I didn't mean.... to
push you....  to take advantage."

 Her pale skin was flushed, and her hair was mussed, and Mulder thought
she had never looked more beautiful.   His desire for her threatened to
consume him, yet he forced himself to continue.

 "Dana... I *do* want you... more than you could ever know.  But I... I
don't want to rush you."  Unable to resist, he placed a soft, gentle kiss
on her lips, fighting the urgent demand of his body to take her then and
there.  "I'll wait for you, Dana... I'll wait for you forever, if that's
how long it takes."

 She smiled then, a slow dreamy smile that began as a hesitant curve of
her lips and blossomed into something deeper and more seductive.  "I don't
want to wait, Mulder.   I don't....."

 He leaned over and kissed her then, all of his emotions racing to the
surface in a moment of pure, unbridled passion.  Her lips parted beneath
his, and he heard her sigh as she pulled him closer, her arms still
wrapped around his neck.   Suddenly the chair in which he sat felt too
confining.  He was overcome with a need to touch her, to caress her.
With one arm still around her back, Mulder braced the other on the cushion
beneath him as he raised up just enough to lower them both to the floor.
Scully reacted to the motion with a small sound of surprise, but quickly
adjusted to their new position by sliding her arms down to encircle his
back.
 
 

She ran her hands up and down along his back, the wool of his sweater
scratchy beneath her fingers.   Scully broke off their kiss as she brought
her hands around to his chest, feeling her way down to the bottom of his
sweater.  Feeling suddenly bold, she tugged on the sweater with both hands
as she found his lips again with hers, telling him what she wanted without
using words.

 Mulder seemed to understand, pulling away from her for a moment, and when
he took her back into his embrace she felt the cool cotton of his tee
shirt beneath her hands.  Running her hands over his shoulders and down
his arms, her fingers met his skin where it emerged from below the short
sleeves of the tee.  She trailed her fingers up and down his forearms,
feeling the way his muscles rippled under the slight pressure.   Her heart
thumping in her chest, she kissed him again as a reward, pulling now on
the hem of his tee shirt in another silent signal.

 Mulder moved his lips away from hers and placed a delicate kiss on her
forehead, before moving his mouth close to her ear.    A warm rush of air
met her skin as he spoke in a hoarse whisper.

 "Dana.... are you sure?"

 "I've never been more sure of anything...."

 He responded to her whisper by moving his mouth across her face, with
excruciatingly slow strokes.   Scully fought for breath as his lips
caressed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, before finally returning
to meet hers in another long, deep kiss.

 Mulder released her again, and she heard the soft rustle of cloth against
skin as he removed his tee shirt.  Scully sat absolutely still, acutely
conscious of the thrum of blood through her veins.  She *was* sure about
this, about being with him.  She knew that there was nothing she had ever
wanted more.  And yet part of her was terrified that somehow they were
making a mistake.   That he was making a mistake, choosing to be with her.
 Especially now, after all that had happened.

 Scully was all too aware that if they crossed this divide together she
could never again be without him.  Aware that she would need him, forever
after, in the same way that she needed air to breathe, and she was
terrified of this simple, honest truth.

 She felt Mulder's arms encircle her again, and this time his skin was
entirely bare to her touch.  She ran her hands along the broadness of his
back, the muscles in his chest, and he pulled her close in response, his
mouth against her ear, his tongue slowly tracing its curves in a way that
made her tremble.

 "Mulder...."

 "Yes....."

 "Are you......?"

 "What......"

 His mouth was still against her ear, his moist, wet whispers seeping
straight into her brain, robbing her of the ability to think.   One of his
arms was wrapped around her back, and the other was tracing lazy circles
across her chest.  Scully knew she was on the brink of being completely
swept away, and she forced herself to concentrate, to ask the question
that was burning deep inside her.

 "Are you....sure....that I'm the one you want?   Even now?  After...."
 
 

Her words stopped him cold and he pulled back slightly so that he could
look at her, there in his arms.  When he did, she turned her face away
from his, her hair falling like a curtain to obscure her features from his
view.   Mulder reached out with one hand and swept the dark locks aside,
then gently caressed her cheek.  Her lips were reddened from their kisses
and her face was flushed but he could see the fear in her expression, and
it cut at his soul.

 How could she doubt him, he wondered.  Didn't she know that he was the
lucky one?

 "Dana...."  He spoke in a tone that was quiet and firm and left no room
for questions.  "You are the *only* one I want.  Now.... forever....
always...."   He punctuated his words with three short kisses, watching as
some of the tension left her face.

 "But Mulder, I --"

 "It doesn't matter to me, Dana."  Mulder pulled her close to him again,
and murmured softly in her ear.  "It doesn't matter to me.... the accident
didn't change the way I feel about you.... what I have always felt about
you."

 "Mulder....."

 "Listen to me, Dana."   Mulder took one hand and traced it slowly along
her face, in a gesture reminiscent of her own exploration of his.  "You
are the most incredible woman I know.... the most incredible woman I have
*ever* known.   Your eyes are the most breathtaking shade of blue I've
ever seen, and I would willingly trade anything I have to get your sight
back.  For you, Dana, only for you.  Not for me."
 
 

Scully felt the tender strokes of his hand against her skin, his touch
gentle as it traced the outlines of her face, and listened to his words.
Listened to the depth of emotion behind them, the gentle tremors that
lowered the timbre of his voice ever so slightly, and she believed him.
Believed that he was telling the truth, that it didn't make a difference
to him.   One more question, she thought.  Just one more...

 "Are we doing the right thing, Mulder?  Are we?"

 "Yes.... oh, yes."

 His voice was hoarse with desire and it seduced her completely.  Scully
relaxed in his embrace, surrendering to the kisses he sprinkled across her
face.  He captured her lips again with his and she moaned softly as his
touch ignited something deep inside her.  She was ready to possess him, to
own him completely.  Ready to be possessed by him, to give herself over to
him totally, to share with him everything she had.

 Pulling away from him, Scully grasped the lapels of her flannel shirt and
pulled it off of her shoulders, carelessly tossing it aside.  She reached
down and pulled her turtleneck from the waistband of her pants, using both
hands to draw it up and over her head.  Tossing it away, she heard
Mulder's slight intake of breath, and allowed herself a tiny smile.
 
 

Here endeth part 5... parts 6-10 posted simultaneously.  IMPORTANT:  the
next section is rated NC-17 -- if you're underage, or don't like that sort
of thing, skip directly to part 7 -- I *promise* you won't miss anything
important to the story as a whole!!!   Also, I feel compelled to mention
that I didn't ask Ms. Raskin for permission to quote her book, but I'm
hoping she won't mind... it's for a good cause. <g>

Let me know if there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-5            X-5
 

This is part six of a ten-part post.  IMPORTANT:  This section is rated
NC-17 -- if you're not old enough to be reading this, or are just plain
uninterested, skip directly to part 7 -- I *promise* you won't miss
anything important to the story!!!

Author's Note, Spoiler Warning, and Disclaimer can be found at the
beginning of part 1.  If there are problems with the posting (or comments
on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

DOWN THE TRACKS (6/10)    *NC-17*
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
6/5/96
 
 

Mulder gazed at her, taking in the expanse of pale skin that lay revealed
to him.  There was a light sprinkling of freckles visible above the plain
white brassiere that they had purchased earlier that day, and he ran a
finger across them, making her sigh in response.  The sound excited him,
and he repeated the gesture, this time with his tongue.   He felt her
fingers in his hair as his mouth moved across her chest, and he continued
his exploration, tracing the lines of her brassiere with slow, tender
strokes.

 Reaching behind her, his hands fumbled for the clasp to her lingerie.
Finding it, he released her breasts from their harness, tossing the scrap
of fabric to the side and placing a hand on each breast.  Scully murmured
his name softly as he stroked her, feeling her nipples harden into sharp
points beneath his fingers.   She made a low sound deep in the back of her
throat that he answered with a kiss, plunging his tongue deep into the
warm cavern of her mouth, running it along the lines of her teeth.

 Her hands did a dance of their own along his back, tracing the ridge of
his spine, arousing him to the point where he was only conscious of her
warmth, her nearness.   He kissed her harder, and she responded in kind,
her tongue matching the movements of his own.

 Unable to stop himself, Mulder guided her down towards the floor, until
she was laying on her back, her hair falling in messy waves across the
carpet.  He moved his mouth away from hers, trailing it slowly down her
neck until he reached her left breast.  As his hand continued its massage
of the other, he took her nipple in his mouth, reveling in the softness of
her skin against his cheek.  She whimpered, a faint sound from deep
within, as he continued his gentle seduction of her body, moving his mouth
from one side to the other with deepening intensity.
 
 

Scully shuddered, powerless in his embrace, as his hands moved across her
body.  Mulder's touch was firm and assured, his fingers rough yet tender
against her skin.   Each new stroke sent a current racing through her body
to pool at her center, and she writhed against him in silent
encouragement.  His mouth left her breast and she sighed, conscious only
of his hands as they moved across her naked torso, her body responding of
its own accord to each of his erotic caresses.

 She felt his hands move lower, finding the waistband of her pants.  His
hands strained against the fabric and she sighed, a low murmur of
acquiescence.  She felt his fingers fumble for the button that held the
pants closed, and then heard the sound of the zipper as he pulled it down.
 She went completely limp as he guided the pants down off of her body,
feeling the cool rush of air as it met her bare legs.  He pulled off each
of her socks, one by one, caressing each foot as he did so.  Although the
motions of his hands were intoxicating, she missed his nearness, and
stretched her arms up into the darkness, searching for him.

 He returned to her instantly, gathering her into his embrace, kissing
every part of her that his lips could reach.  She could smell the warmth
of his body, his distinctive musky scent heightened by the sweat she could
feel on his skin beneath her fingertips.  She kissed his chest and tasted
him, salty and sweet in equal combination, and ran her tongue along his
torso, drowning in the sensation.
 
 

He felt her mouth on him and uttered a low groan full of need and desire.
"Wait," he murmured, and she nodded, permitting him to pull away long
enough to rid himself of his own jeans and socks.  He lay back down beside
her and allowed her hands to roam across his body, taking in the length
and breadth of him in long, slow strokes.  One of her hands ran aimlessly
down his chest to massage his waist, then moved lower, her touch becoming
more tentative and hesitant.

 Mulder took her hand in his, guiding it beneath the waistband of his
boxer shorts, listening to her gasp as she felt the proof of his desire
for her against her palm.   He kissed her again as she stroked him gently,
every fiber of his being focused on her fingers as they did their work.

 Wanting her to share in his pleasure, he took his own hand and slipped it
beneath the cotton of her panties, running his fingers against the soft
curls that he found there.  After a moment, he slipped two fingers inside
her, elated to find her moist and wet.    A low cry escaped her lips and
he smiled, kissing her, using his tongue to mirror the motion of his
fingers inside her.  With his other hand, he caressed her chest again,
toying with one nipple and then the other, squeezing the soft roundness of
each breast, relishing the sighs that his strokes engendered.
 
 

Scully couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move.  She released her
grasp of him, her hand falling limply to the floor as she concentrated on
the currents of desire coursing through her body.  She was focused only on
the exquisite sensation of his fingers inside her, on their slow motion as
they moved in and out, rubbing against her center in a way that left her
absolutely helpless.  She was utterly consumed by him, ruled only by his
gestures, his motions, his tenderness.

 His other hand moved away from her breast to grasp the elastic of her
panties, tugging them down and away to tangle near her knees.   Scully
felt vulnerable and exposed, but at the same time completely and totally
safe.  The pressure of his caresses increased, and she whimpered again,
desperate for more, wanting him in a way she had never imagined possible.
Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the need to hear him, to hear the richness
of his voice, and she called to him with words that sounded soft and weak
to her own ears.

 "Mulder.... talk to me...."

 "What.... what do you want me to say...."

 "I need.... to hear your voice...."

 He brought his mouth close to her ear, murmuring softly as his hand
probed deep within her, bringing her to the point where she felt as though
she would shatter beneath his touch.

 "Should I tell you how beautiful you are?"

 "Yes...."

 "Should I tell you how much I want you?   How much I need you?"

 "Yes...."

 "Should I tell you what I want to do to you?  How I've dreamed of
touching you?"

 "Yes...."

 "Like this.... and this...."

 "Ahhh...."
 
 

Her last response was more of a sigh than a word, and it pushed Mulder to
the brink.  He increased the intensity of his caresses, wanting to
pleasure her more than he wanted his next breath.   He couldn't take his
eyes off of her, intoxicated by the way she writhed beneath his touch.
Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark against her cheek.   Little beads of
sweat had pooled along her brow, and he licked them gently away with his
tongue.  He kept whispering to her, describing his actions as his hand
continued its work.

  He knew that she was close when her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of
crimson, her lips parting as though seeking his own.  He answered her
silent request, plunging his tongue into the warm depths of her mouth as
his fingers closed upon the sweet spot at her center and squeezed.  She
cried out, calling his name in a voice that rang in his ears and
reverberated through his entire body.  He held her tightly as her body
shook with spasm after spasm, floored by her trust and the fact that she
would allow herself to surrender so completely to his touch.

 Long moments passed before her body relaxed, his fingers still deep
inside her.  He kissed her tenderly, murmuring her name and a litany of
all of the endearments he could call to mind as he cradled her in his
arms.
 
 

Slowly she came back to herself, to the reality of Mulder's arms wrapped
around her, his voice crooning in her ear.  "...Dana.... sweet, sweet,
angel...."

 Scully sighed, a deep sigh full of satisfaction, and nuzzled her head
against his chest.  "Welcome back," she heard him say.

 "Miss me?" she murmured faintly.

 "I didn't miss a thing," he assured her, placing a light kiss against her
cheek.
 
 She felt him pull his hand away and groaned in protest.  Finding his
shoulders with her hands, she used them for balance as she crawled atop
him, seeking to quench the feeling of loss.  Tucking her head beneath his
chin, Scully stretched languorously, extending her body along the warm
length of his.   She felt his arms encircle her waist, pulling her close.
 Beneath the cotton of his boxers, his erection was firm against her
belly, and she rotated her hips against him, savoring the pressure of his
hard length.

 He groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest, and she smiled,
repeating the motion.  "Mmmmm," she sighed.  "Much more comfortable than
the floor.  I think I could sleep here all night."

 Another twist of her hips, and then Mulder spoke in a strangled whisper.
"I.... I could think of a more comfortable place...."

 "Really?"  She nibbled at his neck, enjoying an unexpected rush of power.
 "Where would that be?"  She began to rock her body against his slowly, in
counterpoint to the rapid beating of his heart.

 "Ahhh.... if you don't stop that.... we'll never get there."
 
 

Scully tilted her head up and smiled a small secret smile, and Mulder
didn't care in the slightest that her aim was slightly off.  God, he
wanted this woman...

 His body shaking, Mulder slid out from beneath her, rising to a crouch
that allowed him to scoop her up into his arms.  He reached the bed in a
few short strides and yanked the comforter back before laying her down
atop the sheets.  He pulled off his boxers and tossed them to the floor
before turning back to her.

 She lay there quietly, her eyes half-closed, her dark hair strewn across
the pillows.  Mulder stood where he was, drinking in the sight of her, the
smooth lines and curves of her body.  It felt as though his heart was
squeezed into his chest, pounding with an intensity he had never before
felt.  His lungs were tight, and he fought for every breath.  If he could,
he thought, he would stop time right now, at this instant, with his nerves
on fire with delicious anticipation.   To preserve forever the perfect
clarity of this moment, the exquisite pain of longing for her.
 
 

The sheets were cool against her heated skin, and Scully wished it was as
simple to cool her fevered brain.  Her skin was tingling in all of the
places that he had touched her, and every part of her body called out for
more.  Called out for him, with a desperate aching need.  She sensed him
there, near the bed, still and unmoving, and her desire flooded her with
impatience.

 "Mulder," she whispered, "what are you doing?"

 "Looking at you," he answered, his voice dark and quiet.

 Scully felt a rush of embarrassment sweep over her.  "Is.... are the
lights on in here?"

 "The lamp.... by the chair.  Does that bother you?"

 It was as though she could feel his eyes raking over every inch of her,
penetrating deep inside her, possessing her with his gaze.  The sensation
was odd, to know that he was staring at her so boldly and to be unable to
do the same.  And yet there was something about the fact that he *wanted*
to look, something provocative about the tone of his voice, that made her
feel undeniably, incredibly sexy, and she relished the feeling.

 "No...." she purred in a way that she hoped was alluring, trying to drown
out the pounding of her heart.  "As long as you do more than just
look...."

 He growled, a low, feral sound, as he swooped down upon her, his body
enveloping hers in a savage embrace.   His kisses were fierce and
aggressive, yet mixed with the tenderness that she had come to expect from
his touch.  She kissed him back, wanting to taste and touch every inch of
him, her hands roaming across his body, holding him to her with all her
strength.   After a moment, he moved his mouth away from hers, to bite and
suck at her neck.  She could feel his naked erection pressed against her
thigh and she trembled with desire, taking the length of him in her hand
and caressing him with firm strokes.
 
 

Mulder bit his lip to keep from crying out, the sound escaping from him as
a low moan as he fought to retain control.   He twined his fingers roughly
in her hair, holding her head firmly in place as he drove his tongue deep
inside her mouth, aroused by her touch to a point he had never before
reached.  She felt incredible beneath him, her body twisting against him
in a way that made him hot with desire.  She was so tiny, so fragile, and
yet she embraced him with a strength he had not known she possessed.

 Now, now, now, his mind screamed, and he tried to focus, tried to hold on
as the world began to swim around him, threatening to carry him away on a
raging tide of pure sensation.

 "Oh..... Mulder...."

 Her voice was faint, a breathless whisper that escaped between their
frantic kisses, yet it was enough to snap the final bit of his restraint.

 "Dana.... please...."

 Her body arched beneath him as she spread her legs wider, her hand still
grasping him firmly.   She moaned as she guided him towards her, and he
copied the motion, shuddering as he rubbed against the damp curls that
guarded her entrance.  With one sharp, smooth stroke he entered her, the
air rushing out of his lungs as he thrust deep inside her.
 
 

He drove into her with one massive stroke and Scully gasped, the twinge of
pain drowned in a rush of pleasure as his shaft pierced her, pinning her
to the bed beneath his weight.  As his lips found hers, she twined her
legs around his waist, opening herself further to him and crossing her
ankles behind him to keep him close.

 A fog of ecstasy enveloped her, and Scully was only conscious of his
warmth and his nearness, the way that his presence suddenly made her feel
whole, and complete.  It was as though she had found something she hadn't
realized she was lacking, and having found it, all she wanted was more.

 For a moment, Mulder lay quietly atop her, shaken as she was by the power
of their joining.  Then he began to move, slowly at first, then with
increasing force and intensity, rocking her body with the power of his
strokes.  Scully held on to him tightly, feeling the muscles in his back
ripple beneath her hands with the rhythm of his motions, clenching him
deep inside her as she rode with him towards the edge.
 
 

She felt so good to him, hot and wet and tight.  He wanted to lose himself
inside her completely, to disappear into her warm dark depths forever.
Consumed by these thoughts, Mulder continued to move, the motions of his
body causing him to draw back only in order to plunge deeper within her.
Soft breathy cries escaped her lips, little moans of pleasure that made
him crave her even more.  He was delirious with desire for her, attuned to
every motion, every sound that she uttered in the throes of passion.

 There was no awkwardness, no hesitation in their movements.  It was as
though they had long ago learned the steps to this ancient dance, and in
some way, they had.  It felt so right to be sharing this with her, joined
as they already were in so many other ways.  This physical act was like
fitting the last piece into a puzzle they had spent years solving, the
synchronicity of their bodies together the natural, physical extension of
the linking of their minds and souls.

 These thoughts ran through Mulder's mind like a whirlwind, fragments of
consciousness lost amongst a flood of emotions.   He yearned to share
these discoveries with her, to put words to his ardor, his passion, his
need.  To explain to her his intuitive sense that they had been destined
for each other, that each day that had passed since they had come into
this world had been mere stepping stones leading towards this moment.
Yet he couldn't find the words....
 
 

Scully could feel herself tremble, could feel the aching in her muscles as
she fought to hold him, fought to keep him with her, afraid to tumble over
the abyss if he were not by her side.   His arms were like steel bands as
they encircled her, his hands like fire against her skin.  He was moving
even faster inside her now, his strokes no less deep or intense for the
rapidity of their rhythm.   His breaths were shallow and she could hear
him gasping for air as he kissed her desperately, mixed with the sound of
flesh against flesh as their bodies met, parted, and met again.   She
gloried in the smell of him, the taste of him.  Gloried in the feel of him
as he moved atop her, and within her.

 Scully squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to picture him, calling
to mind every image of him she had ever committed to memory, and some that
she had only envisioned in her dreams.  Trying to visualize how he must
look, at this moment, how it would be to see him gazing down at her when
she was close, so close....
 
 

He had to tell her, had to find a way.  "Dana.... Dana.... listen to
me...."
 
 

His voice was rough and ragged, quavering with emotion, and listening to
him she found herself poised on the edge.  "I.... I'm
listening....ahhhh....."
 
 

He had to say it, had to say it now, before he lost the power of speech.
"Dana.... I love you.... oh, God.... I love you....."
 
 

The words swept over her as she tumbled towards ecstasy, falling across
her consciousness in a rush that was almost vivid in its intensity, and
she called to him as her body splintered apart.   "Mulder.... I ....
love.... you....."
 
 

And then he followed her, groaning as he allowed the remnants of his
control to fall away, his body shaking with the force of his release,
holding her tightly as he rode the final waves of pleasure.
 
 

"...I will be with you tonight
 I will be with you 1,000 miles away
 I will never leave
 Inside of you a piece of me will stay
 One little piece of my soul
 One little piece of my whole life
 I give to you
 Take it now..."

 - Melissa Etheridge
 
 

Here endeth part 6... parts 7-10 posted simultaneously.  Let me know if
there are problems with the posting at [email protected].
 

X-6            X-6