ESTANCIA - The Collector's Edition By Alanna DISCLAIMER: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property of Fox Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. Any other characters and the situations into which I have placed them are of my own creation. CATEGORY: XRA -- mytharc, moviefic RATING: PG-13, for the most part. Certain sections are NC-17 ARCHIVAL: Please archive at Gossamer. Anyone else, please let me know :) SPOILERS: The movie. SUMMARY: The long journey home.... FEEDBACK: Dearly appreciated at emmalanna@aol.com Author's notes at the end. Any scientific or geographic inaccuracies are entirely my fault -- I'm an English teacher, not a geographer or scientist . For those a bit confused by the name thing -- because of personal situations, I've chosen to take my mother's maiden name as my "penname". ESTANCIA, Chapter One. By Alanna +++++++++++++++ Another bead of sweat rolled down Caroline Warren's forehead. Though she would never dare step outside of the Australian Centre for Geographic Research without at least four layers of wool and Gore-Tex, the temperature inside the building had to be at least 30 degrees Celsius. The heating system's malfunction had begun two days earlier, and her fellow scientists had already exhausted their meager mechanical capabilities in trying to diagnose the problem. After several attempts at fixing the heater had only succeeded in raising the temperature by fits and starts, they finally radioed over to a British research facility for help. However, traversing several hundred miles on a Sno-Cat took time, and the natives at the ACGR were getting restless. Being one of only two women at a remote Antarctic research station definitely had its low points. Mike Gooling called out in the dining room, "Hey Carrie, how about a wet t-shirt contest?" An anonymous cretin had taped a crude drawing of a woman in a bikini to a computer and labeled it the new ACGR dress code. In the women's washroom that morning, Susan Mackenzie, her fellow female researcher, suggested they file sexual harassment claims once they got home. Carrie was sorely tempted. Wiping her hand across the back of her neck, her fingers slid over a fine layer of sweat. Fortunately, her partner on monitor tonight was Jacob Smith. Though she didn't know the newcomer well, his easygoing, gentlemanly demeanor and his dedication to their Arctic research warmed her to him nearly as much as did the broken furnace. She surveyed the instrument panel in front of her. Her primary duties that evening were to monitor the seismograph and barometric readings and take notes of the fluctuations every five minutes. Carrie picked up her clipboard and jotted down a series of numbers on the chart, then stood up and stretched luxuriously. Four minutes and 36 seconds until next notation. She palmed her stopwatch and set it for three minutes. "Hey Jacob, I'm going to run and grab something to drink. You want anything?" He turned to look at her, a quiet smile on his face. "No, I'm okay. Thanks." She turned toward the door, but was stopped by a series of loud, erratically paced beats. Running quickly back to the seismograph, Carrie was shocked to find the needle moving up and down in a frantic, jerky motion. This was something BIG. "Jacob, get over here and check this out!" He came over and eyed the control panels while Carrie examined the map tacked up to the wall. "Looks like it must be coming from about 150 miles south of here, judging from these readings. Are there any research camps in that area?" "Nope, not that I see. I'll radio over to the British station and see if they're getting these readings too." Those would be Caroline Warren's last words, as Jacob Smith pulled out a gun and shot her pointblank in the back of her skull. Calmly, as if the gunshot were little more than brushing a fly from his lapel, he pulled on his thick outdoors boots and parka, then rummaged around in his pockets for keys. Stepping out into the frigid Antarctic air, Smith ambled easily over to a black Sno-Cat and turned his keys in the ignition, leaving the inhabitants of the Australian Centre for Geographic Research to find the body of their colleague. He drove over snowy plains and drifts for nearly an hour before turning on the radio and tuning it to a special frequency at the lower end of the dial. The radio waves traveled across the continent of Antarctica, to a remote sheep ranch on the plains of Patagonia, carrying Jacob Smith's low, hoarse voice. "We have a situation." +++++++++++++++ Ninety miles away, a similar Sno-Cat rested on the flat snow-covered plains of Wilkes Land, its yellow carriage peeking out from beneath the drifts which had gathered around it in the fierce winds. Inside, two lost souls sought refuge where they could find it. Mulder had spent nearly an hour trying desperately to get the engine to turn. He had little real experience fixing cars, so he had relied on instinct to tell him what was wrong. An examination of the fuel tank had revealed that the vehicle had more than enough gas to get them across the continent and back. The best he could tell was that the tubes connecting the fuel supply to the engine had frayed then severed, leaving the engine completely unable to function. The Sno-Cat's battery had contained just enough charge for him to send out a few distress calls, yet the only distress they conjured was his at the lack of any reply. Finally, he had pried open the valve on the gas tank and siphoned out a small amount of fuel. He doused it over some rags underneath one of the seats and placed them inside a metal canister, setting it aflame with a spark and providing a barely adequate amount of heat. The fierce wind hit the Sno-Cat with the fury of a hurricane, its howl whistling through the cracks in the frame with a tiger's anger. If Mulder had to imagine hell, it would be this barren, snowswept wilderness. And all this time, Scully lay curled across the backseat, her skin slowly turning bluish-grey from cold and her mind sinking further and further into a sleep which came dangerously close to unconsciousness. Her partner, best friend, and maybe-lover moved the makeshift bonfire away from anything which it might ignite and cracked the windows so that they would have an adequate oxygen flow, then crawled over the front seat bench into the back with her. He gathered two thick woolen blankets from under the seat then meticulously removed her snowsuit, setting it by the makeshift fire to dry. Using one of the blankets, he rubbed it over her skin, wiping away the gooey gel from the pod and taking care not to let the blanket scratch her. Then he allowed himself just a brief moment to look at her. Mulder felt a twinge of guilt at his first experience of seeing Scully naked being in this unforgiving hunk of steel with cold arctic winds buffeting them on each side. He'd always imagined this experience would be fraught with passion, in the bedroom of one of their apartments, with her presenting herself to him body and soul. Full of love and awe. That she'd give him permission to touch her, to run his hands over her body, worshipping her with his fingers and his eyes. Telling himself that that moment *would* still come one day -- that they'd escape this Antarctic Hell -- he still couldn't resist a glance down. Her skin was still a worrisome shade of pinkish gray, though the goosepimples had faded and life was returning to her body. Maps of broken capillaries dotted her skin like a lace covering, her silken flesh presenting itself like a shimmering nightgown. Each blessed, welcome breath raised her chest, and her breasts spread over her like two small pillows tipped in the pink rosebuds of a child's sleeper. Short, strong legs stretched along the backseat, dark bruises springing up here and there, a testament to the hell to which she had been subjected. Though her red hair had shifted hue over the years, the coppery-brown strands at the apex of her thighs kept a sheen borne of the liquid of her entombment, which he hadn't dared wipe clean in his ministrations. It seemed too intimate, too much of a lover's gesture, and he didn't want to take advantage of her for his own curiosity. The residual guilt manifested itself again, and he spread the blanket over her body, warming it until the snowsuit was once again dry. After a quarter hour, he hauled the heavy-but-dry suit from the front seat and carefully ensconced her body within once again. Picking her up carefully, he stretched his tired, sore legs out on the back seat and leaned up against the door frame, pulling Scully's body back up against him and wrapping them in the woolen blankets. He wanted desperately to drift off into sleep, to surrender himself to the exhaustion overtaking him cell by cell, but he knew that to do so could prove their death. So he lay there, absorbing Scully's body with his own, and gave himself over to the fears of his mind. Fears of death, of loss. Of their grave being a cold, so cold hunk of steel, lost in the no man's land of Antarctica. Of their spending eternity curled together under drifts of snow, until nothing was left but two heaps of bones, so completely twined together that they would become one body. God, Mulder! His conscious screamed. The path to self-destruction is paved with fear. Shifting again in the seat, he sat up straighter, willing his mind to stay alert and awake. He began reciting batting averages, all fifty states and their capitals, the names of every friend he'd ever had and every woman he'd ever dated. That took all of five minutes. Halfway through the letter he'd begun to compose to a favorite old college professor, Scully stirred in his arms. He glanced down at her, wonder painting his face. Her eyes still closed, she brushed her cheek across his and he pulled back slightly, not wanting to let stubble burn mix with the already-scarred planes of her face. Mulder stared down at his partner. She had been slipping in and out of sleep all day -- or was it night already? -- and he was afraid to wake her for fear of making her cognizant of the pain she must be feeling. Hell, she was the doctor. He should be the one unconscious with her ministering to him. All he could do was be there for her, keeping her close. After a few moments of her stirring, she opened her eyes just a hair's breadth and lifted her head slightly, turning to face him. He gazed at her, stunned, as she lightly moved her lips over his cheek and groaned slightly. He hadn't been unconscious the last time she kissed him, on the bank of a bottomless crater. Through his wet hair he felt warm breath and the pass of cool lips on his scalp. But he'd told himself it was relief and gratitude, then sank back down into her embrace, warming himself with her presence, having never felt as close to her as he did at that moment. But now she took those cold, perfect lips and brushed them lightly across his mouth. Lips slightly open in shock, he felt her press back against him then heard her soft murmur. "Thank you." Then she fell back asleep, her breath mixing with the warmth of the carriage of the Sno-Cat as he pulled her close -- so close -- once again, wrapping her with his waning strength. +++++++++++++++ Mulder was terrified. According to his watch, they'd been harbored in the vehicle for thirteen hours. Scully had managed several hours of consciousness, during which time they talked briefly, discussing what options they had for escape. They had none. He had sent a few more distress signals before the battery died completely. At its last sputtering, he turned around in the front seat and looked at his partner. The sad, defeated look on her face told him everything he needed to know. That one look nearly broke Mulder's heart into a million pieces. Defeat was not part of their characters. Yet, what other options did they have? In his haste to get to her, he had neglected to pack extra food or clothing, and the garments they wore were woefully inadequate for a trek across who knew how many miles to the nearest encampment. They could build a fire in the bed of the Cat but the chances of aircraft seeing it were next-to-nil, considering he hadn't seen any sign of life in the air or on land since that alien ship had flown off. In low, exhausted voices they brainstormed for a half-hour, each possibility seeming more and more ridiculous, given their situation. But they couldn't give up. They *couldn't*. They had not come this far to die a lonesome, cold death. And now, hours later, he sat in the backseat with her legs across his lap, as his beautiful, precious Scully slept. His strong hands rubbed her cold feet, keeping away the frostbite threatening them from the cold seeping through the cabin after the slow death of their fire nearly an hour before. His own feet were freezing, yet cares for his body seemed trivial when hers was in danger, plus the simple action of rubbing kept his hands somewhat warm. Every so often she would stir and he'd catch his breath at the action, then let out a long sigh of relief as it meant she was still alive, still with him. This time, Scully's stir was followed by awakening. She looked up at him with eyes clouded with sleep, but the alertness was quickly regained when she noticed the cold air surrounding them. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" he replied, the sound barely making its way through atrophied vocal cords. She struggled to a sitting position and he watched her wiggle her toes, the simple movement heartening him -- that his hours of rubbing had not been for naught. "You sleep. I'll stay awake." Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she repeated her entreaty in a stronger voice, "No, I'll be fine. You need to rest." They stared at each other for a long moment, Scully pleading with him to heed her words, Mulder fighting the need to succumb to his own exhaustion. If these were to be their last moments on Earth, he didn't want to spend them asleep, nor did he want her to watch him fade off into oblivion. Finally he sat up straighter in his seat and pulled her close to him, one arm around her shoulder and her body leaning against his. "I saw the ship, Mulder." That simple statement startled him, and he jerked with an energy he hadn't realized he still possessed. "When we were in there -- when you were helping me out, I could tell that that wasn't a place humans had created, and then I saw those.... things." She paused and took a deep breath. "Those weren't humans, nor were they animals." He felt himself getting lightheaded. Yes, she had told him as they lay on the snow, freezing and dazed, that she had seen "it," but that was then and so much and so little had happened since. "You believe?" She pulled away from him slightly, turning her face to meet his gaze. "Mulder, I never *dis* believed. I just needed to see it for myself. I just needed proof." Mulder wanted to scream, And this proof comes on the day of our deaths, with nobody around to tell. Send a prayer up to Heaven, Scully. Tell God. He's your only witness. He kept quiet and simply smiling at her, silently thanking her for this last gift of belief. After a few moments of quiet, her voice rang out in the frigid air. "I wanted to kiss you." If her previous declaration hadn't been enough to make his heart stop, this one was. Before he could reply, she shifted in the seat and pressed her body up to his. Mulder looked at her, face shining in the cold, marveling that his moment of supreme happiness could come in the last moments of his life. Her kiss flooded his body with precious heat, her lips moving over his softly, but with an urgency belied by their mutual exhaustion and fear. Following her lead, he moved his mouth up and down, brushing over her lips, then drew in breath as she pulled his lips into her mouth and sucked on them lightly. His hands closed on her shoulders and he opened his mouth just enough to run his tongue along her lips, where it met her own. A delicious tingle filtered down his spine, pushing sensation into a body too chilled to fill much at all. And as her tongue caressed his own and they breathed each other's air, he thought, //I have kissed Dana Scully. I have kissed her and shown her my love before we die.// Through the daze of their enrapturement, a faint buzzing sound broke. Scully pulled away from him with a start and he groaned, the sound coming from deep within his hollow stomach. She pulled up on her knees and looked out the foggy, wet window and he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Mulder, they're here!" Scrambling over him to the door, she pushed it open then nearly tumbled out onto the snow. With shaky, barely functional arms he reached out to catch her, and held onto her arm as she leaned out and waved one hand frantically, her hoarse voice calling out to the phantom vehicle she saw in the distance. If the past twenty-eight hours had passed by in an everlasting dirge, the five minutes it took for the humming of an engine to draw up next to them took a lifetime. For a faint moment, delirium seized his soul. They had come. Death was here for them, like in some old Emily Dickinson poem. "Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me. The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality." The wild look in Scully's eyes matched a million emotions a more lucid mind could name. Even though this approaching noise might promise salvation for both of them, he cared only for the wonder he saw in her -- the beauty she contained. The sight of the black Sno-Cat which pulled up beside them felt like a mirage. Its warm steel shimmered in ghostly haze. To his exhausted eyes the figures of the two men who emerged from within blurred and glowed. Scully, fortified with rest and adrenaline, stood, bracing herself against the frame of the passenger door. A man got out of the black vehicle, his black snowsuit and gray hair making him seem like a monochromatic daguerreotype in a colored world. The Teutonic planes of his aging face resembled the rocky crags of the landscape surrounding them. "You stuck?" he yelled, and Mulder couldn't resist breaking out in hoarse laughter at the absurdity of the question. "Yes," Scully's voice rang clear, "there's something wrong with our engine." "Here, come get in our Sno-Cat. We'll take you to the nearest base." The man stepped back and moved to open the passenger door of the huge vehicle. Scully turned to look at her partner. What had they to lose? She held out a hand for him and he struggled to pull himself up to a standing position, then he followed her out into the snow. Once his feet hit the ground, he stumbled and collapsed -- damn legs refused to work after so many hours of inactivity. In a flash, his partner was there with him, her arms wrapping around his back, pulling him upright. Saving him yet again. They crawled into the cab of the visitors' Sno-Cat and instantly felt smothered by the heat within. The man who had spoken gave them a few moments to orient and settle themselves, then he spoke, his companion remaining silent. "I understand you have had quite an experience." That sentence shocked Mulder. What on earth? How did this man know? "I was informed by some... associates," he continued in a German accent twisted with hints of Spanish pronunciation, "that you were on a large vehicle underground, which recently left this area." Scully and Mulder exchanged glances of alarm, then she spoke. "How did you know?" she said, in a voice full of suspicion. "I'm quite surprised to see you still alive. I would have imagined that you would have been dead by now. This does a great credit to your strength and perseverance, Agents Scully and Mulder." "Who are you?" Mulder's dark voice rang through the carriage. He smiled in a familiar, almost malevolent way. "I am a member of a group of Elders, several of whom you have already met." "But who are --" "Who am I? You may call me Señor Candelaria," he replied. The man paused for a moment, then continued. "I cannot say that my organization wants you alive, but I myself do not want you to die." Mulder looked at Scully and knew she was thinking the same thing -- that it was absurd to have come all this way to have been saved by this man whom represented everything they detested. "I can offer you shelter and medical attention, if you will come with me." Scully pursed her lips and grasped Mulder's forearm hard, her fingers biting into his tender flesh. The cabin was silent for several minutes before she said, "Could my partner and I discuss this first?" "But of course, Agent Scully." He smiled, the corners of his mouth twisting in a grotesque parody of benevolence. "Though I warn you, if you choose to remain here, you will most certainly die." The driver opened his door, removed the keys from the ignition, and moved outside, and Candelaria followed, the twin rushes of air filling the cabin with the bitter cold wind he and Scully had only just escaped. The two strangers stood outside, facing the windows, while Mulder turned to his partner, his eyebrows raised in the question, "Well?" "We don't have a choice, Mulder," she said in a low voice. "If we stay here, we WILL die." "No --" "Mulder, we're already half-dead of hypothermia. You're developing frostbite on your cheeks and your hands and feet can't be doing much better. I'd have the same problems if you hadn't kept me warm. If you hadn't saved me." She paused, the only sound her warm breath in the carriage. "I don't want to die here, Mulder." Her eyes pled with him, willing him to trust her instincts even as everything else about this situation screamed "TRAP! BEWARE!" But her desperate face mixed with the barren landscape around them and he knew. They had no choice. "Okay. We'll go." If this had been any other situation, he would have smiled at her and been blessed with the glory of her own smile, but their circumstances were too dire for joy. Not yet. And so Scully opened her door slightly and leaned out to get the men's attention. "We'll come with you." +++++++++++++++ The black Sno-Cat bounced over drifts and rocks, the landscape blurring into a sea of white. The bread and coffee Candelaria had offered them swirled around in Mulder's stomach, threatening nausea. He swallowed repeatedly and closed his eyes, trying to settle his stomach, while another set of butterflies flooded through him. My God, what had they gotten themselves into? They were speeding along in a vehicle driven by a man of sinister silence, invited on the trip by a member of the organization they had fought so many years. He and Scully were being taken to a place where they would be at Candelaria's mercy. Scarcely able to move because of the exhaustion which had overtaken him, he merely sat still in the backseat, clasping Scully's hand tightly in his own, as they waited. After an hour or so of driving, they reached a black unmarked helicopter -- what else? he nearly chuckled -- waiting in the snow. Small drifts had piled around the bottom and snow dotted the black paint, giving the copter a serene, marbleized look. The driver stopped the Sno-Cat and got out, then walked over to the copter and said something to its pilot. Candelaria emerged from the front seat and turned his back on the agents to look at the scene. Scully clasped Mulder's hand tighter and gave him a look of false confidence. This mysterious man who purported to be their savior opened their door and led the two agents out and to the copter. He gestured them inside and motioned for them to have a seat in the back. Climbing in after them, he pulled two strips of black cloth from the front of the helicopter. "I cannot let you see where we are going, you understand." Mulder nodded tersely. With that, Candelaria fastened the blindfolds around Scully's head, then Mulder's. As the engines sputtered to life, Mulder heard a rustling followed by a sharp prick on the back of his hand. He started as the needle entered his flesh, then blackness consumed his world. +++++++++++++++ Across the plains of Patagonia, a fierce wind blew. Storm clouds from the Pacific emptied their rains and snows on the high peaks of the Andes and when they reached Argentina they seldom had much moisture left, instead bathing the plains and valleys with a bitterly cold wind and electrical storms. But that morning, the sky was clear and the winds merely a cool breeze, the better with which to land a helicopter on the rocky shores of El Lago de las Posadas. The Blackhawk copter had been in the air for what seemed like ages to its pilot; he'd flown over Antarctica with a brief refueling stop at Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego, all the while with two unconscious FBI agents in the back of the hueybird. The plane alighted at a small landing pad a short distance away from a sprawling ranch house, at a spread without a name owned by a mysterious man hated by the residents of the nearby village for refusing to hire local gauchos. They whispered about him and stared on the few occasions when he appeared in town. "Nazi", they sneered. "Send him back to Germany where he belongs! He does not deserve to be here." The man did not care. The townspeople were correct. He had been a scientist -- one of the youngest but the best -- under Herr Hitler until the Americans invaded the facility at which he worked. As did so many of his comrades, he fled to Argentina, never returning to his beloved Deutschland. He had made a home there in Patagonia -- married a beautiful woman from a good family, raised four children, built a successful estancia with hundreds of acres. But part of his heart remained in Germany. The closest he ever came to his homeland were his periodic visits to New York and London to meet with the Elders. Sometimes that was enough; sometimes it was not. He personally supervised the removal of the two agents from the helicopter, ordering them taken to a room in the gauchos' quarters which had been used by the former caretaker and his wife. And then he left them to the guard of his private security officer, while he went to take care of this business. +++++++++++++++ Sun leached through thick curtains, casting a diffuse glow over the foot of the bed and warming the room. Scully tried to lift herself on her elbows to get a good look at the room, but an intense rush of blood to her head and Mulder's arms around her stomach, holding her close even in sleep, kept her from moving. Instead, she shifted in the bed, movement still hampered by her thick snowsuit, and craned her head to get a better glimpse of the room. The furnishings were bare, merely a brass bed with a yellow coverlet, a chair, and a heavy wooden table against one wall. A door appeared to lead to a small washroom. Next to the large window was a door whose thickness was suggested by the darkness of the wood and several deadbolts lining the frame. A shadowed figure paced back and forth in front of the window -- Scully watched for several circuits before turning away, lest the hypnotic motion lull her into another state of consciousness. She settled back into the pillow and closed her eyes, trying in vain to remember the events of the past... however long it had been. Working backward she remembered waking in the cramped cargo area of a helicopter, trying not to move so her alertness would not catch the attention of her captors. However, the quickening of her breath must have gained notice because before she could gather her wits enough to poise herself for defense against their captors, a needle plunged into the back of her hand and she passed out. Going back further, she remembered their first encounter with the man who called himself "Senor Candelaria." She dissected every bit of the experience and her impression of him. His vehicle came from out of nowhere, yet it seemed to know exactly where she and Mulder were, leading her to believe these men knew exactly where to find the agents. His words, "I understand you have had quite an experience," suggested he knew what had happened on that... in that cave. And the man himself.... Though her knowledge of Spanish came from her study of Latin in college and a trip to Cancun with some girlfriends from medical school, she imagined "Candelaria" had something to do with light or flame. It was obviously a pseudonym he had chosen for its significance; did he imagine himself a sort of beacon? He looked old, perhaps in his 80s, but still quite healthy and mobile. His voice had a very distinct German cadence to it, particularly in the way each word was punctuated with the boom of his voice. And his face -- he seemed almost kind. Certainly not malevolent in the way the British man or the smoking man had been. Scully glanced over at her sleeping partner. She wished Mulder were awake to discuss this with her: he was the expert profiler, she was the scientist. She took the opportunity to look at him, to watch his face and body, still in slumber. Though his face wore the marks of exhaustion and bitter cold, he seemed young and at peace. She had slept away most of those long hours in the Sno-Cat, yet she remembered her few moments of lucidity with him. Scully could still feel the warmth of his body around hers, cuddling and cradling her to keep her warm and safe in the frigid air. It had felt good. It had felt *right*. And a blush spread through her neck and cheeks as she remembered the way he had looked at her when she had murmured to him that she'd wanted to kiss him in that hallway. The slight parting of his lips, the flush of his cheeks, the glow of his eyes as he gazed at her, as if he could see straight through her skin into her heart. He loves me, she thought. He is in love with me. She knew this as soundly as if he had said the words to her. And she knew she was in love with him too, with every ounce of her being. So why did the thought overwhelm her? She couldn't think of it -- not now, not with so many other more important matters to address, like where they were and what this man had in store for them. And how they could escape. Another glance around the room reminded her that she hadn't had access to a bathroom for days now, so she shifted in the bed and slipped out of Mulder's embrace, padding over to the washroom. Turning at the doorway, she glanced back at him and saw her partner turning in the bed, his arms reaching out for one who was not there anymore, then tucking his hands underneath one of the thin pillows. A slight smile spread across her face. Was this how waking up next to Mulder for the rest of her life would feel? Scully turned into the washroom. Simple but European in style, it contained a sink, a toilet with bidet, and a shower stall. She took care of the pressure in her bladder and pulled her snowsuit back on, then stood in front of the sink, rueing the absence of a mirror to get a look at her face. Cupping some water in her hands, she washed her face then used a rough white washcloth to scrub it lightly, wincing at the feeling of the nubs of cotton against the tender skin on her cheeks, forehead, and nose. She filled up one of the two cups with water from the pitcher next to the sink and took a sip, swishing it around her mouth to clear out the terrible taste left by days of morning-breath and another, foreign taste which had most likely been left by that liquid in her mouth when Mulder had found her in the cave. She repeated the process several times, never quite feeling back up to par, then drank several glasses of the clear water in succession. Water had never tasted so wonderful in her life -- it slipped down her throat like a fine wine. Emerging from the bathroom, she walked around the room for a few moments, adjusting her legs to the feeling of being mobile once again. She stood in front of the window and opened the drapes slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of mountains and a lake -- and the back of a guard in khakis, a machine gun slung across his back. Before he could turn and see her at the window, she closed the drapes and moved away from the window, touching the cold glass briefly before she walked away. Scully walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge nearest Mulder, who had shifted to the middle of the queen-sized mattress. She sat and stared at him, not wanting to disturb his sleep but needing to touch him. And so she let her fingers play along his brow, smoothing away the hair still clinging to his skin. A knock on the door startled her, then she braced herself against the headboard, instinctively assuming a defensive posture. The sound of keys in locks followed, and a woman entered. Short, round, and dark, she carried a heap of fabrics nearly larger than herself. "Senora, para ustedes. El medico llega en unos minutos." She set the pile down on the table. Then, with a slight smile, she walked over to Scully, handing her a small bag. "Para su senor." The woman touched her cheeks and nodded toward Scully's ice-burned face. Winking at Scully, she turned and left. Scully looked inside the bag and found lotion, shampoo, deodorant, a comb, women's underwear, and some cosmetics. The first smile in some time spread over her face. For Mulder, indeed. The noise of the door shutting woke Mulder. He stirred beside her then turned toward Scully. "Morning, Sunshine," she greeted him in a soft voice. He looked up at her, sleep clouding his eyes and his face still slack from rest. Shaking his head slightly, he spoke. "Where are we?" "I'm not sure. We seem to be somewhere in the southern hemisphere, judging from the coolness of the glass. The woman who was just here--" "Woman?" "She brought us some clothes. She spoke Spanish, so from the mountains outside I'm guessing we're in South America." Scully leaned back against the headboard while Mulder struggled to a sitting position, wincing at the effort. "How are you feeling?" "Awful." "Be specific, Mulder." That earned her a weak smile. "My legs are sore and I have a headache, though I think that's just from exhaustion. I can't see them but I can feel bruises all over my body." "And your face has cold blisters on it." And yet, he'd never looked quite so beautiful. "Can you move your toes?" He twisted his face in pain at the effort, but then confirmed that he could. "Well, I believe the woman said something about a doctor, so hopefully that means one will be here soon. They have a guard posted outside the door so I don't see any chances of our going anywhere." Scully stood up and walked over to the pile of clothing. Poking through it, she found two thick wool cable-knit sweaters, two tailored shirts, two pairs of simple leather shoes, a pair of jeans, and a long brightly-patterned skirt. The sweaters both appeared to be the same size, but one pair of shoes was somewhat smaller and the skirt was obviously intended for her. She held it up to her waist and looked over at Mulder. "It's your color, Scully," he quipped with as much of a grin as he could muster. "Yes, well, I'm going to have to pull this up to my shoulders to keep from tripping over it. Do you want to clean up first or should I?" "You go first," Mulder said, sinking back on the pillows. "I'm going to need the time to get up the energy to move." She gathered her clothes and the bag in her arms and walked over to the washroom. "Don't get too comfortable. We need to figure out what we're going to do." With that, she closed the door behind her. Shedding her snowsuit on the floor, she stepped into the shower stall and turned the knobs, almost shrieking in surprise at the ice cold water, which fortunately warmed quickly. She stood under the spray of water for a few moments, then worked quickly to clean herself so that Mulder might still have some warm water for himself. She massaged the shampoo through her hair furiously but took more care with the soap on her still-tender skin. After another minute of indulging herself with the warmth, she stepped out of the shower and used one of the towels to dry herself off, then wrapped her hair in it. The panties fit perfectly. The brassiere was a size too big, but it would do for the time being. Before putting on the blouse, she squeezed a generous amount of lotion into her hand and smoothed it over her arms and chest. The scent of rose flooded the room -- the smell of the lotion was stronger than she liked but its simplicity was perfect. She applied the deodorant and pulled the towel off her head, then ran a comb through her damp hair. She slipped on the blouse and buttoned it up. It was obviously designed for a larger woman, but she would have to make it work. The real problem was the skirt. She held it up in front of her and appraised it. It was beautiful, she had to admit, with shades of red, blue, and violet in a floral design. However, when she pulled it on, the scalloped hem pooled around her feet, a problem which she solved by rolling the waistband a few times until the full skirt extended midway down her calves. The shoes fit well, surprisingly enough, and the laced-up boots would serve her well in the event of an escape. She took out the supply of makeup and couldn't suppress a laugh. Bright red blusher and vibrant eyeshadows were not her style at all. However, the tube of reddish-brown lipstick would work fine. Scully applied a thin layer of it then blotted it with her hand so that it wouldn't shine quite so brightly. As she attempted to straighten up the disarray in the washroom, voices filtered through the thin door. She stepped outside and found Mulder being examined by a man in a dark suit. He looked up at her as she entered and the doctor continued to bend over his legs, checking out the bruises over his shins. She winced at the sight of them, then met her partner's gaze. Though he said nary a word, the look in his eyes pierced her so deeply she almost turned away in embarrassment. In this prison in the middle of Heaven only knew where, Mulder made her feel beautiful. Scully walked over to the bed and stood beside it as the doctor rose to greet her. "Senora, I have been sent to see that you and your companion are in good health," he said in broken English. "Your man is very tired and has pain but he does not want any medicine." "I'll be okay, thank you," Mulder said out of politeness, but Scully knew that they couldn't take the risk of accepting any "medication" this doctor might offer, considering he was working with Them. He looked at Scully, telling her without words that this "doctor" had been fine so far, but that they couldn't trust him, which she knew without hesitation. "I'm going to get cleaned up while he checks you out, Scully. Okay?" "Okay." Mulder slowly raised from the bed and walked with tentative steps over to the washroom, while she sat on the edge of the bed. The doctor pulled out a stethoscope and motioned for her to shift in her seat so he could use it. Scully moved so that her back was to him and heeded his, "Breathe, por favor," request. "You have pain?" "I'm tired, but I think I'm okay." Scully chose her words carefully, trying not to underemphasize her injuries but also not overdo them so that he would think more medical attention was necessary. He stepped in front of her and looked her up and down. "Your chest is good," he said, lowering his stethoscope. Scully knew he didn't mean her breathing. "I will give you medicine for las manchas on your face," the doctor said, motioning to what she assumed were blisters on the skin. He walked over to a black leather case on his table. Coming back over to her, he handed her a tube. Though the label was in Spanish, she recognized the name: Neosporin. But was it really? She smiled a "thank you", but decided not to try her luck. "I will tell Se¤or that you are in good health. You are expected at the house for dinner in a half hour." He gathered his supplies and with a final, courtly nod of his head, he rapped on the door. It opened and the guard let him out, looking around the room suspiciously to make certain nothing was out of order. Finally left alone, Scully fell back onto the bed and closed her eyes. +++++++++++++++ The landscape overwhelmed him. Mulder took the chance to scope out their surroundings while he and Scully walked to the main house with their guard a step behind them. An impossibly blue lake glittered in the sunlight, which looked to be late afternoon from the orange hue of the sun. Judging from its position in the sky, the house faced north and the lake was to the west. Beyond the lake, magnificent peaks broke through the clouds. The Andes? Perhaps. The area to the east surrounding the house consisted of endless grassy plains dotted with rocky outcroppings and sheep. The house itself was actually quite simple. Built in a European chalet fashion, its only extravagances were some red paint along the eaves and rocking chairs lining the porch. The wind buffeted them but, though it was cold, it was not so cold that it hurt -- Mulder speculated the temperature was around 50 degrees. He looked over at Scully. God, she was beautiful. Her face bore the marks of their ordeal and she limped slightly, favoring her left leg, but she held herself tall and regal, unafraid of the danger inherent in this situation. Having let her hair dry naturally, it curled slightly around her face and the collar of her sweater, giving her a softer appearance. Though he had always been attracted to her strength, something about this side of Scully touched him -- that this was the woman she was beneath the facade of professionalism she maintained. Mulder walked as close to her as he could while maintaining a safe distance, but even with a foot separating them he could smell the soft rose of the lotion he had found in the bathroom. A delicious thrill coursed through his body, necessitating a deep breath to still his nerves. He had more important things to think about -- like the fact that a guard with a machine gun followed behind him -- than how Scully's skin would taste if he were to run his tongue down the length of her body. Balling his hands into tight fists, he walked. Nary a word was said during the voyage. They mounted the steps to the porch, the sounds of their footfalls echoing in the eerie silence around them, punctuated only by the whinnying of a horse somewhere in the distance. The guard moved to stand next to them and gestured with his gun -- a nice touch, Mulder thought -- for her to open the door. Scully obeyed and the party moved inside. Mulder was surprised at how quiet the house was, like the three of them were the only humans around. The guard led them through an airy foyer to a closed door. Again, he motioned for Scully to open the door and she did. They walked through the entrance into another room, this one without windows but featuring a large but simply-adorned dining table and six chairs. Tapestries covered the walls and an enormous candelabra hung from the high ceiling. Mulder instinctively knew that he and Scully were supposed to sit at the table and so he walked over to it and took a seat. Scully stood at the doorway for a moment, then joined him. The guard watched them for several minutes, then turned and closed the door. The echoing of a bolt being fastened reverberated through the room. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Mulder exhaled. He looked at Scully. She sat up very straight in her chair, not sharing his breaking of his tension. Finally, she spoke. "They haven't left us alone in here because they trust us." "No, of course not," Mulder replied. "The guard is probably still outside." The sound of footsteps filtered through the door, followed by the low rumblings of voices. Mulder caught his breath. The sounds died away. He didn't dare speak again. Though they had been told they were expected for dinner, the table was bare. The room was silent. They had presumably been locked inside. Mulder had no way of telling what time of day it was, his watch having disappeared some time before. He assumed it was early evening. He watched Scully, and waited. Neither spoke. After what seemed like ages, Mulder stood and walked around the room. He made two circuits around the table before Scully turned to face him. "This place is deserted." "You think?" He couldn't keep the tinge of sarcasm out of his voice, and kept walking, immediately regretting the harshness. When he rounded the corner to stand behind her again, she whispered, "They could be listening." "Yeah," he whispered back, then took a step back, motioning for her to stand. Their steps light and noiseless, they walked over to the doorway through which they had entered. Scully closed her hand over the knob and turned it, keeping the movements silent and subtle. The door swung open. Her gaze flickered up at Mulder then back to the open doorway. He watched every muscle of her body tense in tandem with his. On instinct, he reached for his gun before remembering he had none. Scully went through the doorway first, checking both ways to make sure no captor lay in waiting. Seeing nothing, she continued to walk. He followed her through the foyer then, seeing nobody, they continued across it until they found another doorway slightly ajar. Mulder braced himself against the wall while Scully raised her arm against the door, then pushed. Again, silence. Scully took a step inside. Her whispered, "Oh, my God!" send trembles through his body. "What?" his whisper scratched his throat. "Mulder--" She disappeared inside the room. He followed her inside, keeping a defensive position close to the walls and a safe distance from her. Entering the room, he found it empty, except for an enormous desk in front of a window. A body sat in the chair. Senor Candelaria. Covered with blood. Scully rushed over to him, careful not to touch anything. He didn't need to watch her look over the body to know the man was dead. Mulder ran back to the doorway and scanned the hallway. Deserted. Re-entering the room, he hurried over to Scully, then moved behind her to look out the window. Not a soul in sight, as if the ranch had never been inhabited. Scully grabbed a tissue from the box on the man's desk and used it to cover the hand as she opened a desk drawer. While she examined their contents, Mulder searched over the desktop. And then he froze. A rolodex next to the telephone was opened to a damning card: FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION. CONTACT. +01 202 55 50 518 Shocked, he glanced up at Scully. Her expression mirrored his own. "Mulder--" She pointed at a paper on his desk. Moving around the chair to stand next to her, he looked over her shoulder. The paper was an ordinary thermal fax sheet. The familiar fax header read "FBI EXECUTIVE BRANCH". The paper's text read the simple words, "DISPOSE OF BUREAU THREAT. INFORM WHEN FINISHED." No signature. "The Bureau... Oh, God." His voice refused to function. "We've got to get out of here," Scully whispered, her blanched face searching his. With trembling fingers, she grabbed the paper and hurriedly folded it, then handed it to Mulder. He shoved it into his pocket then circled around to rip the F.B.I. card out of the Rolodex. Scully grabbed another couple of tissues and used them to pull a revolver out of the drawer she had opened, then pocketed the wad of cash in the drawer. Nearly tripping over furniture in their haste, they ran out of the room and through the front door of the house. He stopped short at the edge of the porch and scanned the grounds for the sign of another human being. There was none. The place was deserted. Pulling up beside him, Scully whispered, "The gun's cold, but the man must have died very recently, maybe a half-hour ago. The chambers of the revolver are fully loaded." "It wasn't that gun." Out of the corner of his eye he watched her shove the gun into the waistband of her skirt. He looked for a car nearby -- anything they could use to escape. He found no vehicles, but he did see a stable a short distance away, with a half-dozen horses tethered to a post outside. Mulder pointed in that direction and he and Scully ran over to it, each checking for any sign of another human being. Still, nothing. As if one of the Fates was smiling down on them at that moment, two of the horses bore saddles. Mulder ran up to the tethering post and began unworking the knots while Scully stood sentry, gun in her hands, poised for attack if the necessity arose. Yet the almost sinister serenity of the ranch posed no threat. "I've got it, Scully," he called out to her. She turned toward him, still in shooting stance, and hurried over to the horses. One was slightly smaller than the other, so she went over to it and he helped her up onto the animal. Once she was safely on it, he got onto the other horse. "There's a road over there." He pointed in its general direction. Nudging the horses into a fierce gallop, they escaped. +++++++++++++++ The wind chilled them to the bone. Though it lay dormant during the daytime, at dusk it gained fury and power, sweeping down from the mountains and across the plains with a bitter bite. They wanted nothing more than to find a warm bed in a cozy inn, but that was the last thing they could do. They had nowhere to go. And so they kept riding. Scully had not ridden a horse in years, since her childhood dreams of owning a pony had been realized at an idyllic summer camp. Mulder had slightly more experience, yet the jarring repetitive motion of the horse's gait were mallets on already tender muscles and bruises. An hour before they had passed a town, the sodium light of its few streetlights twinkling like heaven itself. They rode close enough to see one singular cross reaching high into the sky, lit by the church's floodlights as a beacon to pilgrims everywhere. Scully pulled back on her horse's reins, guiding it to a stop for just a moment so she could gaze upon the spectacle. As lapsed a Catholic as she might be, the vicissitudes of her faith did not keep her from wanting to curl up in the welcoming bosom of her God, if only for one night. But then Mulder rested next to her, looking at her with a heartbreakingly forlorn expression, the needs of their souls reflected in his eyes. "They might be there." She nodded and nudged her horse back into a trot. Though the ranch they had fled had appeared deserted, they could not for a moment let down their guard enough to believe that someone out there wasn't looking for them. There would be no warm bed, no roof over their heads tonight. And the wind continued to blow. It skittered through their thick wool sweaters and wreaked havoc on Scully's stockinged legs under her skirt. She unrolled the waistband until it hung far past below her toes, then folded and tucked the fabric so it covered her legs, but just barely. Every time she wanted to give herself over to chattering teeth and shivering limbs, she reminded herself of the cold of Antarctica and suddenly South America didn't seem quite as bad. They still had no idea just where they were. From the mountains to the west and plains to the east, they speculated perhaps somewhere in southern Chile or Argentina, a theory borne out by the cold of the southern hemisphere. Knowing that their safest bet was to get as much distance between them and the ranch as possible and that a northern route gave them the best chances and put them that much closer to home, they traveled. After a few hours, the moonlight became too dim for guidance and the winds became too much to bear. Edging closer to the mountains, Scully and Mulder found a grove of trees and stopped. They tethered their horses to one of the trees and removed the saddles. Mulder used his hands to rub down the tired horses while Scully took the blankets from their backs and found the two of them a place in the ground. The saddles themselves were quite elaborate -- obviously the work of cowboys who took a great deal of pride in their horses. Nearest the horse was a thin chamois sheet, followed by a woven blanket in shades Scully couldn't discern in the dark. Topping off the combination was an expanse of furry sheep pelt, then the saddle itself. Scully ran her fingers through the pelt, letting her fingers sink into the plush wool. Nothing had ever felt quite so wonderful in her life. Once the horses were sufficiently calmed down, Mulder turned to join Scully. She had found them a spot under a low tree branch, where the tufts of dry grass weren't quite so harsh against her skin. He lay down next to her and she pulled the pelts over them, barely big enough to cover their arms and stomachs. The chamois followed as did the woven blankets. They provided a scarce amount of covering, but their warmth was enough to bring them a small amount of comfort. And, as much as from a need for warmth as a need for one another, they curled into one another's bodies. Scully tucked her cold legs between his denim-covered ones and finally allowed herself to exhale. We need to rest, she reminded herself. We need to rest the horses and our bodies. But why did she feel like they were only courting danger? "What do you think we should do, Scully?" Mulder whispered, his breath close enough to warm her face. She shifted her body slightly so that her arm curled around his waist, pulling him closer. "We can't keep riding forever, not with these horses. We need to find somewhere, get some better transportation. They're going to find us if we keep riding horseback." "They're going to find us wherever we go." She could feel Mulder wilt in her arms. "Mulder, you didn't find me in that place in Antarctica to let them win. You didn't come all this way to let them find us again. We're going to get out of here." She ran her fingertips along his back. "We're going to get out of here but it's going to be tough." Mulder was silent for several minutes, his shallow breathing the only thing keeping her from thinking he had fallen asleep. "You're right, Scully." She had waited for so long, so many years, to hear him say that and mean it. No reservations, no disbelief. And with the moment here, a thrill coursed through her body. "I've never told you this, Mulder," she felt him catch his breath at the change of the timbre in her words, "but I love you." After a few seconds' quiet, he replied, "I love you too. I always have." "No," Scully pulled away from him to stress upon him the importance of her words, "I am in love with you. I care deeply for you as a friend, but I also want you as a lover." "Scully --" She stopped him with a kiss. Her mouth found his in the darkness, and his warm breath went from glancing across her cheeks to bathing her mouth. The cold of their bodies would not allow for much passion, but their need for each other closed the gap. And it was perfect. They kissed for what seemed like ages, relishing the newness of it all despite having been six years in the making. He curled his body into hers and she felt the sough of his breath against her lips as he pulled his mouth away to inhale, then placed kisses on her cheek and neck. She ran her fingertips down his back while he moved slightly then drew one arm between them. Scully chuffed at the feeling of his hand moving under her shirt then up to tease the underside of one of her breasts. "I've found you, Scully," he whispered into her ear as his hands touched new territory. "I've found you." He repeated the words a few more times then she felt him drifting off to sleep, his breathing elongating and deeping against her cheek. And she had found her lover. +++++++++++++++ They woke in the morning sun. An instinct beyond love had kept them holding each other all night, warding off the cold surrounding them. That same cold hit them that morning with a shock, as the coverings they'd used were shaken to the ground beside them. The first thing Mulder felt on waking was Scully's lips on his cheek, and the first thing he saw was her eyes looking down on him from inches away. "Good morning," she murmured. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, then opened them to find her a little further away, but still so close. This proximity warmed him as much as could any fire. Waking up next to her felt perfect, and he marveled at this step they had taken, as new and yet as natural as it could ever have been. And then she spoke words of magic. "I love you, Mulder." A smile spread over his face. This was already a beautiful morning. "Yeah?" "Yeah." He tilted his chin up to meet her lips with his own, and kissed her briefly before she pulled away, sitting up straight with ease, while he winced with the rush of blood to his head. And the immediate grumbling in his stomach didn't help matters. "Ready to ride?" Mulder groaned at her words. "No, but I also don't want to walk all the way to the next town, either." "We don't have a choice." And they didn't. Somewhere out there, someone knew what had happened. Someone knew that he had found Scully in Antarctica, that they had escaped, that they had been "rescued" -- if he could call it that -- by a man connected with Them. And that man was dead. Mulder and Scully were in danger. Like that was anything new. They'd done this before, they could do it again. He reminded himself of that fact as they gathered the blankets and resaddled the horses. He chanted the words to himself as they rode the horses north, each contact of hoof to earth sending needles through stiff and sore muscles. And the amazement of all they had overcome and would *continue* to overcome kept him going that morning. After about a half hour of riding, they found a medium-sized city in the first rumblings of morning activity. The signs listed its name as "Bariloche". On first look it appeared to be a tourist area, judging from the signs for hotels and the money-changing booth on the main street. Although they'd grown to despise their method of transportation, they got off their horses and tied them to tethers at an intersection, then continued walking down the main street, hoping that the horses would be stolen so they wouldn't leave a train of evidence leading back to him and Scully. Fortunately, several other people were riding or leading horses, so they didn't stick out too much. However, even if they didn't attract too much attention, Mulder knew that their primary objective was to blend in as much as possible. Stopping in front of a locutorio -- a telephone office -- on a busy street, Mulder spoke. "I have a plan, Scully." "When don't you?" she replied. He stretched his arms above his head then drew his body down, closer to her. In a low voice, he said, "I'm going to need some of that money you have. I'm going to try and call the Gunmen and get them to wire us some money, then find a place to lay low for a day or two until we can get the cash." "A car? We don't have that much money." "We'll get some. Trust me on this." "When don't I?" Scully murmured, with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows. "We're also going to need some passports. Think they can get those down to us that quickly?" "I hope so." But he knew they would. Scully left, on her way to find a drugstore and a market to get food and some aspirin. Mulder went inside the office and sidled up to the front desk. "Habla ingles?" he asked in Spanish gleaned more from billboards in the Hispanic sections of D.C. than from any serious study. The desk clerk looked up, a bored expression painted on her face. "Yes, how can I help you?" she asked, in somewhat fluent English. "I need to make a collect call to the United States. How do I do so?" She pointed to a bank of phones in small, three-sided booths. "You will dial '0' for the operator. You cannot dial any other number." "Thank you." He moved toward the phone, then turned back to the clerk. "What is the name of the largest bank in this city?" "Banco de la Nacion." She turned back to the magazine she was reading. "Gracias." Mulder found a booth in a corner, away from the few other customers. Shifting on his still-sore feet, he picked up the receiver and hit "0" for the operator. When the voice answered, Mulder told him that he needed a collect call to the United States, and the operator immediately switched to broken English. "What number?" He recited the Gunmen's number from memory. The connection took about fifteen seconds before he heard the familiar ringing of an American phone. With each unanswered ring, the slight panic rose in his chest. Finally, he heard Langly's voice and the operator asked him if he wanted to accept a collect call from "George Hale". "Yeah, yeah," the man replied. "Got a pen, Langly?" "Damn, Mulder, it's too early. You woke me up." Mulder wanted to roll his eyes, but the urgency of the situation wouldn't let him. "This is serious. I need you to write some stuff down." "Where the hell are you?" Langly said over the rustlings of paper. "Argentina." "What the fuck?" Mulder heard the sound of what seemed to be Langly tripping over his words in incredulity. "Did you find her?" "Yeah. Listen, I can't tell you much about this because I'm still not sure myself just what the hell is going on. But I need you to listen carefully." "Gotcha." "Okay, I need you to get into my bank account and wire me $5,000," Mulder said, referring to the bank account in Switzerland he'd set up about a year before in case of such emergencies where he needed to keep any transactions secret. "The bank is going to be Banco de la Nacion in Bariloche, Argentina." He paused for a second. "Need me to repeat that?" "Nope, I'm recording," Langly said, as if the fact should be obvious to Mulder. "Why am I not surprised? How soon can you get it here?" "Well, it'll depend on how cooperative those Swiss are." Langly sounded confident, though. Mulder quipped, "Turn on your charm, Langly. Okay, get it here as soon as you can. We're also going to need two passports." "Any name preference?" Why was Mulder not surprised that he could have his choice of names, nationalities even. "Use your imagination. How long will it take?" Langly paused for a second. "You're headed north, right?" "Right." "We have a contact in Buenos Aires. She's American but was married to an Argentinian. Convinced the U.S. government was behind his death. She loves us. Thinks Frohike's the greatest thing since Oliver Stone. Good thing she hasn't seen the little troll." "Spare me the soap opera, Langly." Mulder's level of exasperation rose. "Let me give her a call. She might be able to offer you a hideout for a few days. She's rich. Could probably get you on a plane back home. Can you get up to Buenos Aires?" "Yeah. Listen, I'll try to call you again in an hour. Get us the money, okay? Scully and I are counting on you." "Right --" But his sentence was cut off by Mulder's disconnecting the phone. He walked back over to the clerk. "Do I owe you any money?" "No." And she went back to her magazine. Mulder turned and left the office. Across the street was a fairly large clothing store. He walked down to the intersection and crossed the street when the light changed. People milled around, getting started with their daily lives. His plan was to buy them some more clothes, get some food, and then find them a hotel where they could lay low for a day or two until they could get the passports. Stopping at a newspaper kiosk, he glanced at the dateline on the morning papers. Thursday. And then a headline caught his attention. Oh, shit. Fishing a bill out of his pocket, he paid the man tending the booth for the paper, then folded it and tucked it under his arm, not wanting to draw attention to himself by reading it right there on the street. Continuing down the sidewalk to the department store, he stepped inside the store, relieved to see that other customers milled about, so he wouldn't be too conspicuous. Mulder grabbed a cart and got to work. In short order, he picked out underwear, two pair of Dockers-style pants, socks, shirts, and a jacket for himself. Several instances of poking through her luggage for various items had familiarized him with Scully's sizes, and so he got her a utilitarian pair of leather boots, socks, jeans and a few stylish shirts and sweaters. Having seen the women walking down the streets of Bariloche, Mulder knew that Scully would blend in far more if she wore nice, fashionable clothing than if she deliberately dressed down. He finally dared venture into the lingerie department, convinced that the blush he felt spreading over his cheeks would give him away. Mulder chose her a selection of conservative, sturdy underwear and bras, knowing that despite his personal wishes, functionality was more important than delicacy. He did allow himself the luxury of buying her a silky black nightgown, and smiled at himself with the mental image of her wearing it for him. Maybe. As he stood at the cash register while the clerk rang up his purchases, he thought back over what had passed between them the past few days. He told himself all the cuddling was for warmth, yet he knew it was much more than that. It was right. It was a natural progression. For so long now they had been walking in parallel paths, each looking ahead of themselves at their goal. Their quest. But now they were looking at each other. Searching one another for signs of their devotion, of their love. A few years ago, Mulder would have second-guessed the situation, imagining every possible negative outcome and convincing himself of his unworthiness. But something miraculous had happened in the last five years: Scully had made him worthy. He had meant every word he had spoken in that hallway. She made him whole. She made him a better person. He couldn't imagine a life without her in it, nor did he want to. And somewhere along the line, he had gone from being Spooky Mulder whose facade of confidence was riddled with self-loathing to a man who knew who he was and who he wanted to be -- and had achieved that simply by having her by his side. Scully had saved him. Scully made him complete. He knew this now. And he knew that he deserved that woman, somewhere in a drugstore buying supplies to heal them. The clerk's asking him for the money brought him back to the present, and he reached in his pocket for the appropriate bills. The purchases took a good portion of his stash, but he still had quite a bit left. Gathering the shopping bags in his hands, he mounted the escalator and found the outdoors department. Finding a large shoulder duffel-suitcase was easier than he'd expected, and the purchase was added to his bag, along with several more flashlights and two compasses. Exiting the department store, he glanced across the street to the locutorio. Scully had not yet returned from her sojourn to the department store, so rather than standing outside looking conspicuous, he decided to head down to the tourist office he'd spotted and see if he could find a hotel in case they needed to lay low in the city for a day or two. Unfortunately, the office hadn't been besieged by visitors yet, so Mulder stood out as he struggled to get through the doors with his shopping bags. "Puedo ayudarle?" The woman behind the counter -- the first friendly face he'd seen so far -- asked him. He set the bags down next to the front desk and smiled at the woman. "Do you speak English?" he asked, and at her nod he continued. "My wife and I were robbed and had everything stolen except our money." "Oh, no!" "Yes, and we need a map and some information on how to get back to Buenos Aires." "We have excellent transportation. You and your wife can take airplane back there, or use the bus or train. I suggest to fly, because the bus is a very long journey of two days." "When are the flights?" "The flight today leaves at ten of clock. I do not think you can make it. There are another flight tomorrow." "Thank you." Mulder leaned forward on the counter, smiling his thanks at the clerk. He'd be damned if he didn't see her bat her lashes at him in response. "Where would we go to find a good hotel?" She blushed. "Walk down the Avenida Perito Moreno. Many hotels there." She opened a map and marked a few places where hotels were located. He studied it quickly, orienting himself to their location and where they would need to go. "Could you show me where the Banco de la Nacion is?" Rather than pointing it out on the map, she gestured down the street running alongside the agency. "It is a half-kilometer down the road." "Thank you very much," he glanced at her nametag, "Maria." Smiling at her and slipping the map in his pocket, he exited the agency. He crossed the street again and headed toward the locutorio, going back inside to call the gunmen again. Mulder went back to the same cubicle and set his bags down between his legs and the wall. He repeated his earlier actions, giving the operator a different name with which to place the collect call. This time, Byers answered. "Mulder, I heard you were having some problems. What happened?" "Sorry, Byers, I can't go into much detail. What about the money?" "Okay, got a pen?" Mulder didn't, but he informed his friend that he could remember the information. "The cash transfer is waiting for you at the bank you mentioned, under the name 'George Hale', confirmation #28987." "Thanks, guys. What about the passports?" Byers paused for a second. "We're having some problems on that end. Our source is out of town -- we think hiding from the authorities -- but we think we've found another person to get them for us. Even if we FedEx them, we might not be able to have them to you until Monday." "Shit," Mulder said under his breath. No matter how clever they might be, their chances of getting out of the country without passports -- forged or valid -- were next to nil. "Okay, send them to us in Buenos Aires. We'll fly there tomorrow." "Mulder, did Langly mention the woman we know in Buenos Aires? I called her and she would be more than willing to offer you a safe house for as long as you need one. We think she can be trusted. She seems to think it's a big adventure." Mulder sighed. "Okay, I'll have to discuss that with Scully. We'll call you again from the city. Listen, I have to go." "Okay," his friend replied. "You and Agent Scully stay safe." "Thanks. Hey, have you heard about any rumblings at the Bureau?" Mulder asked, referring to the fax burning a hole in his pocket." "No, should we be looking out for something?" "Well, I can't go into detail but we think they have something to do with this." "Damn, Mulder." He heard Byers' sharp intake of breath. "I gotta go. Bye." Mulder disconnected the phone and left the office. He stopped at a bench about twenty yards away. The shopping bags were arranged next to him on the bench and he pulled out the newspaper. Mulder tried to repress his moue of frustration and fear at the headline permeating the page. He and Scully were in serious trouble. +++++++++++++++ The Hotel San Fernando was plain and unassuming from the outside. Though the surrounding buildings were beautiful edifices in Spanish Colonial design, the hotel itself had been designed in a utilitarian fashion, its brick facade conveying security. Once inside, however, it had a quiet, humble charm. The simplicity of the hotel was perfect for the two agents who were looking to lay low and not attract attention. Scully stretched out on the bed while Mulder finished his shower. After the harshness of their outdoors bed of the night before, the plush mattress piled with a thick duvet and fluffy pillows was a slice of heaven. When he'd given her the clothes he'd bought, she'd greedily grabbed one of his undershirts and the new underwear and went into the bathroom to change, discarding her old clothes and donning these after a long, wonderful shower. And the look on his face when she emerged with wet hair, clad only in underwear, an undershirt, and an open blouse sent thrills down her back. Scully *wanted* him to get ideas. And now, she allowed herself a few moments of rest then sat up on the bed, spreading out the supplies she had garnered from her visit to the drugstore. Neosporin, Ibuprofin, aloe vera, bandages, iodine and rubbing alcohol. Plus, some assorted toiletries and another bottle of that lotion she'd used back at the ranch. The ranch. While Mulder had been getting things sorted out in the room, he had showed her the newspaper he'd picked up on the street. A grainy photograph of Candelaria was centered on the page, under a large headline: "MUERTE EN UNA ESTANCIA PATAGONICA". From what little she could tell from the article, seven people had been found murdered on the ranch they had left. Wilhelm Schweig, Candelaria's real name, and six of his servants were found dead by a night watchman. No motive had yet been found, but the newspaper was not shy in mentioning Schweig had many enemies and that he lived under great secrecy. Scully found no mention of the F.B.I. or even Americans in the article. They had not murdered this man, she knew that. They had done nothing wrong, except take some money from that desk. And from the looks of things, they were not under suspicion; indeed, she couldn't tell that the authorities even knew that she and Mulder had been at the ranch. Still, that did not make her feel any better. This hotel room was by far the safest place for them to be, Scully told herself, until they could get the hell out of the country and back to D.C. But even that could be dangerous, considering they had no idea just what that fax from the Bureau had meant. Somebody in the executive branch of the F.B.I. wanted them dead. She knew it was not Skinner. She trusted him far too much for that. As for the rest of the branch -- who knew? Could be the Smoking Man, might even be someone not directly employed by the Bureau. Anyone with access to the executive level fax machines could have sent that. Even after all they had seen, the possibility scared the hell out of her. As her father had been known to say, they were well and truly screwed. The rumblings of a shower being cut off jolted her back to reality. She folded the newspaper and set it beside her, then gathered the drugstore supplies back into their bag and put them next to the bag of food she'd gotten at the supermarket. After a few minutes of listening to him rumble around in the bathroom, he emerged. My God. His hair was a mass of just-from-the-shower spikes, and droplets of water ran down bare arms. Wearing only his khaki pants and a tank top, Mulder had never looked more amazing. Somehow locating her voice, Scully murmured, "I got the food out." "Great, thanks." He sat down on the bed next to her, wincing noticeably as he folded his legs in front of him. Spread out before them was their "feast", an assortment of fruit and empanadas, chosen for their nutritional value and ease of consumption. She watched Mulder pick up an empanada and bite into the pastry, to the ham and cheese filling, then she did the same. "Well, Scully, counting the money left over from the ranch along with what the guys wired us, we have about $5,100, which should be more than enough to get home." "What about the passports?" she asked, after swallowing another bite of the pastry. He finished his empanada then picked up some grapes. "Byers says it's going to be a few days before he can get them ready, and I asked him to ship them to us in Buenos Aires." "How are we going to get there -- wait, where are we, anyway?" She watched Mulder take out a map and spread it out on the bed. He pointed to a spot in the southwestern part of the country. "We're in Bariloche." His finger swept up the map to a point on the east coast. "Here is Buenos Aires. It's about 800 miles away." "Could we fly?" "We could. The next direct flight is tomorrow morning. I'd rather take a car out there, but we can't afford to waste a day that way." "Let's fly, then." Scully finished her second empanada and lay back on the bed, propping herself on her elbows so she could still see his face. Mulder scooted around on the bed until he was sitting next to her. He took a long sip of his bottled water, then replaced the cap. "What do you think of that fax, Scully?" She leaned her head back so that she was staring up at the ceiling, the back of her head pressing against her neck. Her sigh vibrated through her chest, but couldn't take away any of the tension coursing through her body. "I don't know, Mulder. I honestly don't know." Scully felt one of his hands come up to play with her hair, and another, more delicious thrill floated down her spine, pooling in her belly. "We need to get back home, as soon as possible. We need to get away from this place before someone finds out we were at that ranch," he said, referring to the newspaper article. Although the clock on the table beside the bed read 1:13 PM, the light through the window darkened and a hard rain began to assault the windowpanes. She closed her eyes, listening to the staccato beating of the raindrops and the elongated sloughing of his breath. The bed shifted under her and she opened her eyes to find him clearing all of the food off the bed and placing it on the small table in their room. Scully struggled to a sitting position and picked the bag from the pharmacy up from the floor and emptied it onto the bed. "Let's get you cleaned up, Mulder." He turned to look at her, a dark look on his face and his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. She met his gaze and kept it as she took each item out of the bag. Peeling off his shirt, he lowered himself onto the bed and stretched his legs out next to her, wincing noticeably with soreness. "Tell me where you hurt," she instructed, pulling out her tube of neosporin. Mulder gestured toward his shins and murmured, "I think I have some scratches on my legs." "Well," Scully replied, moving on the bed so she sat next to the legs in question, "I can't help you with those cuts if you keep wearing those pants." Her voice trailed off on the last word. He caught her gaze and something passed between them -- something intangible and wonderful, giving credence to everything they had felt the past week, everything they'd felt during their lives together. She watched his hips move as he removed the pants in a fluid motion, exposing his legs inch by inch until all he wore was a pair of white boxer shorts, the first stirrings of arousal visible in the folds of fabric. Shaky fingers fumbled with the tiny cap on the tube of ointment in her hands and somehow it loosened, the flexing of her hands on the tube spilling some oily cream on her thumb. Her hand reached out to rest on his left shin and fingers tangled in the wiry hair on his leg as she spread the medicine on an angry red scratch. Rubbing it into his skin, she felt the shuddering of his leg under her hands, thrilling her with a sense of power. But despite the sensation, she could scarcely manage a whisper as she told him to part his legs so that she could reach the scratches on the inside of his knee. Capturing her heart in his hands, he obeyed her request, then she heard a groan catch in his throat as his hips bucked slightly with the movement. He must have noticed the look of worry and confusion in her eyes, for he sheepishly murmured, "Too much horseback riding." "Oh, are you bruised?" Her voice became coy of its own volition. "Careful, Scully. The only thing that has a chance of being bruised is my ego." A smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. She returned his smile. "Keep at it and your ego might get lucky." He didn't respond, instead gasping for air as her hands worked their way up his thighs until they rested where his shorts met dark skin. The ointment was forgotten as nimble hands worked at his quadriceps, molding them into submission. Scully marveled at the effect she had on him, as the front of his boxers grew and the fly slightly opened, offering tantalizing shadowed glimpses within. A full moan escaped his lips, his Adam's Apple bobbing with the motion and his eyes slipping shut in the precursor to ecstasy. Drawing her hands away from his legs with difficulty, she moved them up to his stomach, resting her palms on the flat, taut muscles of his stomach. Fingers played with the sparse curls of hair, mimicking his own movements of the night before. She flattened the pads of her fingertips on the warm skin, not wanting to add to his injuries by nicking his flesh with her ragged fingernails. Her hands rested above his heart, its steady beat mimicking the rain pounding on the window of their hotel room, their brief refuge in the midst of this maelstrom. "Your chest looks... fine, Mulder. No scratches." "No scratches?" She ran one slightly torn fingernail over his nipple, scratching him slightly but not breaking the skin, and was rewarded by the deep shudder of his ribs and his breath. "Would you like me to scratch you?" HIs voice was more ragged now, more strained as he murmured, "That's all right... unless you have more of that cream." "I have something better, Mulder." He flinched slightly as she removed her hands from his chest and reached for the bottle of lotion she had bought earlier. Squeezing a generous amount onto her hands, the cool cream mixed with the heat of her palms. She rubbed her hands together, spreading out the lotion, then placed her hands flat on his chest, working the lotion into his skin. His eyes closed in ecstacy. She smiled. He inhaled, and she could feel him breathing in her smell, the arousal she could feel coming off her in waves mixing with the gentle floral scent of the lotion. Scully gave his chest her undivided attention for a few minutes, until the lotion was long gone, leaving only its scent and the smoothness of his skin as a memory. And then he opened his eyes. Yet again, Mulder made her feel beautiful. Finally, he spoke. "You must have some scratches too, Scully." She quirked an eyebrow in response. Her answer came in the form of her taking off the shirt she had worn over the tank top and lying back on the bed. She closed her eyes as he moved on the bed, the faint noises of covers rustling and objects picked up and discarded bathing her over-sensitive ears. The faint, clean scent of aloe floated up to her face and she inhaled the mixture of it and Mulder greedily as his cool hands took hold of one of her feet and massaged the gel into it, soothing away the still-tender pains the chill of the Antarctic had given her. Giving herself over to the feeling, sensuality overtook prudence and she murmured, "I always thought this would happen at my home, in my bed. Not here." "This?" "Us, Mulder." "Ah." He gently placed her foot back on the bed and took the other one in his hands, working the healing gel into her skin. "You always thought?" She lifted her head and looked at him, at the waves of love and passion giving his body a beautiful glow. "Always." Scully paused, letting her words sink in. "I never doubted it." He smiled at her, eyes narrowing and darkening. Shifting on the bed, she propped a few pillows under her head so that she could watch him touching her. Her gaze focused on his hands as he ran them up and down her legs, his feather-light touch giving her goosebumps. After a slight moment of hesitation, Mulder moved his hands up to the fleshy skin of her hips, kneading them lightly for a few minutes then slipping just his fingertips under the elastic bands of her underwear. "Take them off." The rasp of her voice scratched at her throat, though she scarcely noticed, too consumed with the look of supplication mixing with power on his face. The muscles in her stomach tightened as she lifted her hips slightly to give him better access while he hooked his fingers under the waistband and drew her panties down. The simple cotton caught on her bunched muscles as they moved down her legs and finally away. And then he bent over her, his legs tucked beneath him and his arms braced on either side of her hips as he leaned over her body. She watched him bend down and purse his lips, then blow cool air over her belly. Shivering with the sensation, she shifted her hips, opening her legs slightly for him. He began the slow worship of her body. Fingers inched under the hem of her tank top, then eased it up until it was bunched around her neck, his hands never making contact with her skin. Her breathing slowed and deepened as his gaze roamed over her chest, focusing on her collarbone then moving down to her breasts. Silently, wordlessly, she willed him to touch her, but still, his hands stayed away from her skin. She imagined herself hovering in the air, her arousal and desire for him making her body light, free. Finally, Mulder sat back on his heels, his hands resting at his sides. She looked at him and a slow, satisfied grin spread over his face. After everything else -- after the last *five* years -- she was reaching a place dangerously close to her breaking point. In something akin to a growl, she ordered, "Touch me." He did. His fingertips traced her ribs, drawing oracles on her stomach. Luxuriously, she raised her arms and pulled the undershirt above her head, then stretched them, running her fingers along the smooth wood of the wall then crossing them on the headboard. And still, Mulder drew. His touch gained pressure as it moved over her stomach, pressing into her taut muscles. Fingers inched over patches of warmth, tracing the half-moon curve of her breasts, then pressed into the supple flesh. Opening her eyes, she looked at him. His face held the awe of the explorer, the greed of a man who had just been given his greatest wish. One hand came up to tweak her nipple, rolling it in nimble fingers. A wave of glory rushed through Scully's body, her hips bucking upward and her throat closing with the ecstasy. He repeated the motion with his other hand, picking up the rhythm of the rain on the window, matching the thrumming of blood in her veins. Finally, it became too much. One of her arms reached up and curled around the back of his neck, drawing him down to her. His tongue snaked out of his mouth and she watched him trace a circle around the mole on the curve of her right breast, thinking nothing could possibly be more wonderful, more perfect than this. Running her fingers through her hair and nudging his head with her hand, she moved him the few inches to her nipple, then gasped as he latched onto it, suckling fiercely with full lips. Breath drew through clenched teeth and she squirmed with the pleasure of it all, urging him forward to bring her closer to completion. After allowing him a lifetime of feasting, she couldn't handle any more without collapsing in an ocean of sensation. Grabbing his head in her hands, she pulled him up with as much strength as she could muster, up to her mouth. And she began to feast on him. This kiss eclipsed all the others they had shared, the previous tenderness transformed into a need to devour one another, to take him into her mouth and swallow him whole. But she needed all of him. With one shaking hand, she caught his wrist in her grasp and tugged it down to her hips, pushing it into the flesh of her mons. "Now," she ordered between moans. "But--" he whispered into her mouth. She moved his hand down until it rested between her legs, gliding over the slickness of her arousal. "I want you in me now. Play later." Forcing her eyes open, she stared at him, willing him to forego the slow luxuriousness of exploration and to give him what they both wanted. One another. Somehow he managed to remove his shorts with one hand, his other hand pressing up into her folds and teasing her clit as he leveraged for balance. Bracing his hands on either side of her, he was suddenly right where she wanted -- needed -- it. Before he could move away to tease her some more, one of her shaky hands reached down and grasped his steel-smooth cock, holding it hard lest he mistake her intent. Guiding it to her entrance, she clenched her fist around him and was rewarded by a lightning-quick shudder moving through his body, head to toe. Scully drew breath into her lungs as she drew him into her, stretching and filling her. His body was hard, his lips soft on her forehead as he nearly collapsed onto her, managing to raise on his elbows lest they be crushed together. She raised her head to lick his jawline and he slowly began to move within her, in and out. Stretching and inflaming. Her arms curled around his back and she used the muscles in her legs to raise slightly then roll them over, her body pressing down into his. She looked down on him. He was hers. Entreaties were unnecessary to make him touch her again, as one hand came up to rest on her breastbone and the other snaked down to where they were joined. He massaged her clit, touching the hooded nub lightly at first, then with an increasing pressure until she couldn't bear any more pleasure. As she gave herself over to the waves of climax, one word slipped through her lips. "Mulder." Just as she thought she might fall over, unconscious from the sheer pleasure of it all, he clasped his hands around her back and held her steady, riding the waves with her until she managed lucidity again. Though her physical pleasure had subsided, the joy she felt in his gaze remained strong as she smiled weakly and clenched her inner muscles around him, begging him come. And he did. As she felt him empty into her, his hips jerking up into her own, he managed to speak through gasps of air. "Scully.... I...." Words were smothered as his face clenched in ecstasy for seconds she was too enraptured to count, then he finally relaxed. Happy. His lover murmured, "Me too, Mulder." +++++++++++++++ Years from now, when his mind drifted back to this time in their lives, Fox Mulder would have a wealth of memories. The tether by which he'd been led, the way everything almost collapsed upon them, the knowledge that this time -- when it had mattered more than any hint of any truth -- he had been able to save Scully. That through his exertions and sheer will, he had been able to find her and rescue her from the possibility of a cruel, icy grave, and that by doing so, she had saved him from desolation. But most of all, Mulder would remember this moment, of lying in Scully's arms and being able to touch her, to please her, to show her all the love he felt for her, without reservations. If perfection were to be found in life, this was it. Though his nervous system cried out for sleep, Mulder simply lay there, one arm tucked under her body, holding her close, and the other tracing the muscles of her arm. He watched her, memorizing her face in the afterglow of making love, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. She was the first to break their silence. "The horseback riding doesn't seem to have taken a toll." A slow smile spread over his face. "Oh, just wait until you see me at full speed." "I'm not sure I could handle that." Laughter rolled in waves over his exhausted body. "Let's get out of here, Mulder," she whispered, her voice changing in his ears. Deepening, more serious. Turning to look at her, he replied, "I'll go out in a little while to get us tickets for the flight tomorrow." "We can't go out. Someone might see us." "We haven't had any indication anyone is looking for us, Scully," Mulder sighed, strength returning to his voice. "But we don't know they're not." She rolled over onto her back, loosening herself from his hold. His first instinct was to pull her close again, but he knew the movement was her way of regaining her concentration. Attempts at compartmentalization were the first reaction of this step they had taken, and the psychologist in him understood that. But then, they had spent five years loving each other and being such a strong partnership, and he knew that as they became accustomed to this new open familiarity, it would blend into their lives as surely as did everything else they had with one another. Scully was silent for a few minutes. "We're going to get out of here and back home, I know that. And when we do, would you promise me something?" "Anything, Scully." In her profile, he glimpsed the first whispers of a smile. "Promise me we'll come back here every anniversary." "Anniversary of what? Our first kiss? The first time we made love?" The words rolled off his tongue, warming him. Scully turned her face to his. "All of it. But first, we have so much to do. We have to find out what happened to me, why all this is happening." He pulled her close, her head resting on his chest. "Are you sure you want to know?" His mood darkened. The words were more for himself than for her. Though he had lived his life in a quest for Truth, some truths terrified him, as much for what they might mean to her as for his own inadvertent complicity in them. They lay there together for a long moment before she whispered, "Yes. Yes, I do." Sometime later, in the midst of somnolence and thought, he felt her drift off to sleep. While her breathing lengthened and deepened, each puff of air moving over his chest, he stared up at the ceiling, listening to the rain beat against the windowpanes. He had drawn her into this mess. He had caused so many things -- terrifying things -- to happen to her. Though he wanted to believe that love conquered all, it did little to assuage the cloak of guilt covering him. No matter how much they overcame, that responsibility would never leave him. He wanted so much more for her than his love alone could provide. And so he held her close, letting her sleep, absorbing the memories of this time they had together, and he prepared himself for the day when he would have to leave her, to save her. +++++++++++++++++ Red slowly became black. Mulder shifted on his feet and adjusted the cheap plastic gloves on his hands, then wrapped the towel more securely around Scully's shoulders before bringing his hands back up to her head and massaging the thick greyish-black gel into her hair. With a small sigh, she arched her neck and let her head hang back, her hair swirling over his fingers. She had never known hair washing -- or hair dyeing, as the case may be -- to be so erotic. The dark brown temporary dye had been chosen so that she could blend into their surroundings more easily; though she had seen many people with lighter hair colorings as she'd walked the streets of Bariloche, she knew that a darker hue would allow her to attract less attention than would her natural red. She reminded herself that this color would fade away within a few weeks, and looked forward to seeing how the difference would look on her, so long as she was assured that she would eventually return to the red she had always secretly loved. "I think that should do it," Mulder said, placing his hands on her shoulders. She could feel him squeeze lightly through the towel. She lifted her head and met his gaze in the mirror. "No, keep going," she murmured, then moaned softly as his hands came back up to her head and began to massage her scalp. Closing her eyes, she let herself absorb the sensation, a now-familiar lassitude moving through her body. Her body still bore the warmth and tingle of the love they had made just a few hours earlier. Scully felt one of his hands move away from her head, then his cheek pressed against hers, stubble scraping along her skin. He placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth, letting his lips linger there for a few moments while he pulled her closer to him. A slight smile painting her face, she whispered, "Mulder, you're going to get dye all over you." "It'll wash off," he murmured against her skin. She felt his hands -- now gloveless -- inch under the towel draped over her shoulders like a cape, and rest on her ribs, kneading them and his thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides of her breasts. Letting him hold her close, she imagined herself sinking into his body, becoming one with him. One with Mulder. She loved that she could now let herself love him, to touch him and look at him without having to wait and plan for a day which might never come. The day had come, however, and this oasis of quiet peace in the middle of all the fear and danger surrounding them kept her sane. "Do you think we'll be able to get plane tickets tomorrow at the airport, or do we need to go get those today?" Mulder took a moment to respond, as she watched him examine them in the mirror. "I think we'll be okay, though I should probably make a few phone calls to make sure." "And what do we do when we get to Buenos Aires, Mulder? Do we keep running? How long can we stay undercover with all these people looking for us?" "We have to." Instead of straightening up, he curved his head closer, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. She loved that they could discuss such serious matters and still keep this closeness. "If we can get those passports, that will help a great deal." She met his gaze in the mirror. "Where are the guys sending them? How will we be able to pick them up without anyone noticing?" "They said they can send them to a friend of theirs in the city." "A friend of theirs?" Though the Gunmen had helped them immeasurably in the past -- and even now -- she still wasn't certain just how far she could trust them, or at least, trust friends of theirs. Paranoia such as theirs bred wariness. "What do we know about this person?" "Well, all Langly could tell me on the phone was that she was a friend of theirs, that she was American but her late husband was Argentinian, and that she has a deep distrust of the U.S. government. They seem to think that she can be trusted." Mulder's voice maintained the surety so characteristic of his personality, though she sensed an undercurrent of wariness which matched her own. "Langly said that she'd probably be more than willing to offer us a safe place to stay for a few days." She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure about this." "I'm not entirely sure, either, but right now it's our safest bet. We know nothing about Buenos Aires, and despite our wealth of experience in navigating unknown places," he smirked at her, "it might be worthwhile to have a contact who knows their way around and can give us assistance in getting home. Besides," his grin faded, "one thing that can be said about the Gunmen is that, as far as we know, they don't have any connections with the Consortium, and it's a safe bet to say their contacts don't either." "Perhaps," she murmured, wanting to scold herself for the suspicion in her voice but it was as large a part of her soul as was he now. Mulder might not always love her skepticism, but he did love her prudence -- she knew that. He turned his head and made to draw away from her, kissing her earlobe and letting his tongue roam over the whorls of cartilage. She shivered with the sensation and barely heard as he whispered, "I'll call them on the way to the airport tomorrow and get this woman's address and phone number, then we can decide if we want to contact her when we get to the city." "Okay." She returned his whisper. Standing up straight, Mulder placed his hands on her shoulders and adjusted the towel protecting her skin from the dye. "How much longer does that stuff need to set on your hair?" "About five or ten more minutes." "I can think of a good way to pass the time." "Oh?" He nudged her shoulders so that she could turn to face him. "On the counter, Scully," he ordered her. She followed, shivering slightly as the cool tile moved against her bare ass. Letting her feet hang down from the edge, she flexed then pointed her toes, the stretching motion soothing her tired legs. Mulder dropped to his knees, kneeling before her. He brought his hands to her waist and pulled her forward slightly, until her hips perched on the edge of the counter and her toes grazed the floor. She looked down at Mulder, the smoldering of his gaze warming her as much as did his smooth touch. A shiver coursed through her body, thrilling her with the intimacy of this between them. His voice was more growl than lucidity as he said, "I never got a chance to do this earlier." With that, he gently pushed her legs apart and buried his face in the sensitive flesh of her core. Oh, God. Through the fury of the awakening of her body, she felt his tongue tracing her, his breath against the sensitive skin. Her hands braced against the countertop were the only things keeping her from melting as he continued to feast on her, every small motion he made sending shivers through her body. The rasp of the stubble of his beard on her thighs inflamed her as much as did his tongue. Each time she felt herself close to climax, her legs involuntarily clenched around his body, and he backed away, placing tender kisses on her thighs then looking up at her, his face slick with... her. The first time, she moaned, "Oh... don't stop." The second time, she whispered, "Thank you, Mulder." Though the words were spoken in the haze of approaching climax, she meant them. A breathtakingly beautiful smile spread over his face, and he returned to his task, bringing her off with a frenzy of sensation and enrapturement. She had never felt so *alive* in her life. Some minutes later, they stood under the spray of the shower, as Mulder gently washed the dye out of her hair, then they soaped each other's body and cleansed away everything but the emotions they felt. And once they were dry and a towel was wrapped around her wet hair, they moved to the bed, to spend one more night together before once again being plunged into the unknown. +++++++++++++++ The two of them woke early the next morning, having spent the night in bed together, holding each other tightly as if even in their dreams they were afraid the other would vanish. They quickly packed up their few belongings into the bag Mulder had bought, then stole downstairs to turn in their room key and pay to have the towels they had ruined replaced. Hailing a taxi outside of the hotel, they crowded into the backseat, the overstuffed bag of clothing and supplies resting between them, and ordered the driver to take them to a telephone office so that Mulder could call the Gunmen to get information on this contact of theirs in Buenos Aires. When the taxi pulled up at the locutorio, Mulder got out and ran into the office while Scully remained in the car, slouching down in her seat so as not to attract attention. His conversation with his friends was brief. He scribbled down the woman's address and phone number on a scrap of paper, then asked Byers one question: "Can this woman be trusted?" "Yes," his friend replied, and Mulder wanted to believe. He replaced the receiver and quickly left the office to rejoin Scully in the car. She called out to the driver to take them to the airport, and the man navigated the streets while Mulder kept a surreptitious watch for anyone who might be following them. Although they appeared to be in the clear, the events of the past few days would not let him relax for a moment. They finally reached the airport with only fifteen minutes to spare. Scully paid cash for two tickets to Buenos Aires under the names "Martin and Gloria Smith" while Mulder scanned the small airport, trying to catch a glimpse of the plane they would use. Glancing out the window, he saw people already boarding the plane, which barely looked large enough to carry people to the next town, much less the 800 miles to the capital. Still, he had flown on worse before, and in their haste to get out of this place and back on safe -- or relatively so -- ground, the airplane looked like heaven itself. Fortunately, because this was a domestic flight, they did not need passports, though the clerk's wary glance spurred Mulder to pull Scully away from the counter and toward the plane as soon as the tickets were in hand, lest the woman get any ideas. They made their way out to the tarmac and onto the plane, which only contained a few dozen passengers. Taking seats in the front so they would be visible to as few eyes as possible, Mulder and his partner got seated, keeping their bag at their feet, and only allowed themselves to relax when the airplane was safely in the air. He glanced over at the woman next to him, and a shiver ran through his body as she took his hand in hers. The same hands had caressed and loved him the previous night, its beauty still lingering in her face. His voice dropped to a whisper as he said, "When we get to Buenos Aires, we'll go straight to this woman's house. Byers' directions on how to get there were very specific." Mulder could see his partner's face tense slightly as she whispered back, "Okay." "I'll call the guys and give them the header data from the F.B.I. fax and see if they can trace it. Hopefully we can fnd out where it was sent from." His hand reflexively moved to his breast pocket, where the fax and rolodex card were kept as safely as he could manage under the circumstances. What he wouldn't give for a photocopier and a lockbox. "I'm also going to ask them to do some research into this Schweig person, to find out just who this guy is and how he's connected to all this." Scully nodded. "Once we get the passports, I want to go straight back to D.C., Mulder. I *need* to get back there. We can't keep running like this." "I know." But if she was by his side, they could run forever. They relaxed as much as their minds would allow them, and spent the rest of the flight in silence, finding safety only in each other's presence. +++++++++++++++ Back at the Bariloche airport, a man pulled a cellular telephone out of his coat pocket, then punched in a number and raised it to his ear. He waited for the call to connect, then spoke into the mouthpiece, saying in Spanish, "Austral airlines, flight 97." Disconnecting the phone, he put it back into his pocket, where it nudge the belt holster of his automatic pistol. Taking one last look at the airplane taking off outside, he turned on his heel and walked out of the airport, then got into his car and drove south. +++++++++++++++ The plane touched down in Buenos Aires without fanfare. Scully and Mulder were the first to disembark, and they made a show of togetherness so as to give the impression they were a couple just back from a romantic weekend together. Truth be told, Mulder didn't mind the charade one bit. His arm around Scully's waist and her head -- with that new dark hair -- brushing against his shoulder felt wonderful. The smile painting his face was as much a show of his contentment as it was for appearances' benefit. He loved holding her close. He loved her. They made their way out into the terminal and followed the signs to the taxi queue, surreptitiously scanning the corridors for suspicious faces. Mulder was rather surprised that nobody seemed to be following them so far. This was all too easy. Though he certainly couldn't complain about the relative ease of their escape from the ranch, he worried that they weren't looking in the right places, that danger was everywhere but they couldn't see it. Any number of people could be after him: Candelaria/Schweig's men, the Consortium he appeared to have worked for, even the F.B.I., if they were involved in this as the fax in his pocket suggested. Even though the newspaper had apparently given no suggestion that the authorities knew that he and Scully had been at the ranch when Schweig was murdered, and even though Mulder doubted that the man had kept any records of the agents' having been at the ranch, the possibility of discovery remained strong in his mind. They had to get to a safe place as quickly as possible, then get home. Yet even that plan was problematic -- someone would probably be lying in wait for them in D.C. Suddenly, going home immediately wasn't as safe an option as it had been before, but they couldn't hide out in South America forever. Too many lives were counting on them: the lives of the people who could be affected by this plague wrought by the Consortium, and their own lives. Mulder knew that if they were meant to die, better it be at home, serving justice and exposure of these criminals, than on the run in a strange land. And better that they were doing so together. Scully got into the taxicab first, sliding across the backseat to accomodate Mulder. He settled himself in the fake vinyl seat and rested the bag on his lap, then pulled the information on their contact out of his pocket. "Calle Herrera, 14, por favor," he called out to the driver, in what he knew was badly accented Spanish. The driver turned slightly to face them. "Cu l barrio?" Mulder furrowed his brow, not knowing what he was being asked. The driver turned all the way around and appraised his passengers. With a look of disinterest, he repeated in broken English, "What town?" "Town?" Mulder asked, blankly. "Ay.... er... neighborhoods?" Oh. He had no idea, and shrugged to convey his lack of knowledge. The driver rolled his eyes and turned back around in his seat, muttering something under his breath. Mulder turned to look at Scully, and a bemused smile played along the corners of his lips. "Hey, how would *I* know what neighborhood? Byers didn't tell me that," Mulder testified in his defense. Scully merely grinned back at him, and a flash of testosterone coursed through his veins -- the alpha male embarrassed by not being a success in front of his woman. Alpha Mulder felt ridiculous, even though he knew that Scully didn't think less of him for that. Still, failure -- while it was a familiar feature of his life -- didn't come comfortably for him. The two of them were silent for much of the ride, as Mulder stared out the window, memorizing each turn and drawing a mental map of their route for future reference. As they passed a large public square, Scully reached over and ran her fingers along his forearm, then placed her hand back in her lap. The simple touch scorched through the thickness of the sweater he wore, sending a jolt through his body. Even after they had made love, Scully still held that power over him. The car eventually stopped at a large gated driveway, and the driver called out, "Calle Herrera, 14." Mulder craned up in his seat and read the taxi meter, then pulled out enough cash for the fare and a tip. The man didn't quite smile as he muttered, "Gracias," and hit the automatic door locks so the couple could exit. Almost before they could gain their footing on the sidewalk, the sound of tires screeching on pavement echoed down the street. The Pereira residence was impressive, Mulder had to admit on first glance. An enormous wrought-iron gate was flanked by 10' high stucco walls, with a machine-gun wielding guard stationed in front. He could see the sparkle of broken glass embedded into the top of the wall, as extra protection against intruders. As Mulder picked up the bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder, Scully approached the guard. "Mrs. Pereira is expecting us," she said in the authoritative voice Mulder loved. The guard appraised them, apparently checking to see how much of a threat they posed. Fortunately for him but unfortunately for them, their threat was bodily only, since they had had to get rid of Schweig's pistol before going through the metal detector back at the Bariloche airport; Mulder doubted that hand-to-hand combat against this man would be successful, despite the odds being in their favor. "Who are you?" the guard barked. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," Scully replied. Without another word, the guard walked over to the gates and unfastened the latch, then gestured them inside with the butt of his machine gun. Mulder's mind flashed back to a different guard doing the same thing at that ranch, and stifled the sense of foreboding at the image. The front driveway curved gracefully toward a large house, painted in a garish yet oddly elegant color scheme of yellow and green. In place of a front door, a large wrought-iron gate graced the center of the building, flanked by huge curtained windows. The agents approached the gate, and the majordomo opened the latch for them, after asking their names and speaking into a walkie-talkie. Scully led the way through an archway with large dark wooden doors on either side, to a huge courtyard. Foliage and flowers of all colors and styles grew in controlled chaos, while the center of the courtyard boasted a large tiered fountain. The entire effect was one of a vaguely bohemian luxury, carefully planned to give the appearance of calm -- an appearance belied by yet another guard standing sentinel at the other end of the courtyard. His appearance made Mulder's muscles tense. Mulder set the bag down next to him while Scully moved forward, further into the garden, cautiously looking around her with every step. Before she could reach the fountain, a loud American-accented voice rang through the space. "Ah! You must be Age-- Mr. and Mrs. Smith!" The woman quickly corrected herself. Mulder pivoted to look at her as she walked up behind him. Mrs. Barbara Pereira was definitely a sight to behold. She stood nearly six feet tall, the brightly-colored clothing she wore fighting a duel with her fair skin and hair. He speculated she must have seen one too many Carmen Miranda films, judging from the flounces of her floral-print skirt and red blouse, and the flower tucked behind one ear; the overall appearance was one of a spokesmodel for a banana plantation, rather than a woman in control of what was obviously a small fortune. The doyenne walked with purpose, each high-heeled step sending an echo around the courtyard. As she approached, Mulder figured that in her heyday she probably *was* a spokesmodel; lines on her face were visible through a layer of makeup, though beauty must have rested there once upon a time. Scully was next to him in a few steps, as Pereira hugged each of them and kissed their cheeks. "Come on," her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I've heard so much about you two and I want to hear all about your adventures!" Glancing over at Scully, he was rewarded by a deliberate roll of her eyes; when Pereira looked back at him, he stretched his sly smile for his partner into a bright grin for their hostess. Pereira approached one of the doors in the archway and clapped her hands briskly, signaling the majordomo to open the door and take their bag from Mulder. Lady of the Manor, indeed. Mulder silently cursed the Gunmen and followed the woman inside, his hand resting on the small of Scully's back as much to support her as himself. Sighing deeply, they allowed themselves to be escorted to the sitting room, so that Barbara Pereira could learn all about their "adventures." +++++++++++++++ The young man attracted little attention as he bicycled down Calle Herrera. His light olive complexion and curly black hair blended in with the other youth on the street, and on first glance, a stranger would see little to set the man apart from all the other young men in the Capital. They would see only a man on his way to a rendezvous, perhaps with a sweetheart, and overlook the slight bulge in his back waistline, concealing a handgun. Slowing down slightly as he passed Calle Herrera, 14, he did not stop his bicycle, lest he attract attention from the sentry outside. He imprinted into his mind the image of the privacy wall as quickly as possible, then continued down the street, on his way back to the small hotel room where he could plan his next course of action. Jacob Smith had very little time. +++++++++++++++ The cool spring breeze filtered through gauzy curtains framing open windows, which looked out onto a verdant courtyard lit by torches and discreet floodlights. Scully sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her boots, then walked barefoot to the window, taking care to stay out of the sight of anyone in the courtyard. Below, a party was in full swing, the sounds of band music and social chatter floating up toward her window. She raised her arms above her head and stretched, the twinges of pain in her muscles both invigorating her and helping her to relax. The combination of the amber hues of sunset and the flickering candlelight made the room darker, and though she welcomed the shadows, she reluctantly stole away from the window and walked over to the far corner of the room to turn on a lamp. Shedding clothes step-by-step, once she was completely naked she stopped to pick up the clothing, folding each item carefully then placing them on top of a low chest of drawers. The white of her blouse stood out against the dark mahogany wood of the furniture, which was complemented by the polished inlaid wood floors and the greens and blues of the spread over the four-poster bed. Fortunately for her, though the house had been built nearly two hundred years earlier -- a fact of which Mrs. Pereira had spoken with pride -- the bedrooms contained private baths, created out of old bedrooms when Barbara Pereira had moved in after marrying her husband. Scully stepped into the bathroom and sighed with relief at the very modern bathtub and shower stall. Their hostess had thoughtfully furnished the room with a plethora of bathing products and had hung a robe on the back of the door. She walked over to the tub and turned the knobs, drawing herself a bath. In contrast to the characteristic Latin darkness of the bedroom, the bathroom was furnished entirely in shades of white. Scully rolled her eyes at the impracticality, and after pouring nearly an entire bottle of bubble bath into the running water, sank down into a white chair to wait until the tub was full. She closed her eyes and though her mind reflexively began to reflect over their situation, she tried her best to clear her mind of all such thought, so that she could simply enjoy her bath while she was afforded that brief moment of peace. The only thing which kept Scully from drifting off to sleep while immersed in bubbles and warm water was the towel wrapped around her hair, keeping it from getting wet and bleeding dye all over the pristine bathroom. The water soothed her tired muscles, helping her forget everything they had endured in the past week, yet the idea that she felt so *good* worried her. She was a doctor. Her self-diagnosis told her that she had no physical symptoms from her experience, yet her intellect told her that nobody could be immersed in an ice cave with unknown chemicals filling her mouth and intubation with a very strange substance and not be affected, not to mention the battering she and Mulder had taken getting out of the cave, plus the cold from their ensconcing in the Sno-Cat. Aware that she could do little more diagnosis without checking into a hospital -- something she did *not* want to do in a foreign country where they were hiding -- she resolved to get a complete physical when she got back to D.C. The notion of "if" did not enter her vocabulary. She had confidence in her own ability to save herself, and she knew that those chances increased exponentially with Mulder by her side. "Mulder." She spoke his name aloud. Perhaps their time in that hotel had something to do with her feeling of physical well being. As she ran a soapy washcloth over her limbs -- the same ones he had caressed so lovingly such a short time earlier -- she felt good. She felt satisfied. It had been inevitable, she knew. Their coming together had been anticipated since they first met, and therefore the actual consummation shouldn't have taken her by surprise, yet it did. As exhilirating as it had been, she also welcomed the surety of their new relationship. They had been through too much together to separate again. Imaginings of a thousand more nights to come warmed her as she stepped out of the bath and walked over to the heated towel rack and dried herself off. As she wrapped herself in the thin satin robe -- not her style, but it would work for the circumstances -- a knock vibrated against the heavy wooden door of the bedroom. She walked over to it and called out "Who is it?", bracing herself in a defensive stance in case of an unwelcome visitor. "It's Barbara!" The woman's voice rang out loudly through the thickness of the door, and Scully winced slightly as she opened the door to her hostess. The woman's appearance had changed dramatically since they had first met a few hours earlier. Instead of bright colors and garish makeup, her hair was swept up in a demure chignon and she wore a cream colored shift dress, the only extravagance being the jewels glittering at her throat and earlobes. Off Scully's look, the woman replied, "Gotta impress the guests, right?" "Right." Scully smiled her response, though didn't laugh as was expected. "Thank you for the bathrobe, Mrs. Pereira." "Don't mention it! Though I'll send someone out in the morning to get you some better clothes. I was in Agent Mulder's room while he was unpacking, and you sure don't have very much, do you?" "I'm just fine, but thank you very much for your offer." Scully didn't want to give the woman any ideas; after seeing her taste in clothing, she feared that whatever her servant brought back, it would probably contain colors and styles she would never wear, even in worse conditions than these. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?" Barbara carried a huge tray in her hands, and swept past Scully as she walked over to a large table and set down the tray. "I brought you two something to eat; figured you'd be hungry after all you two have been through." Sure enough, the tray was heaped with fruit, breads, and what looked to be steak. "So, tell me," the woman looked at Scully with glittering eyes, "was it exciting?" "Exhausting is more like it," Scully replied, trying to keep her voice free of any tones which might encourage the woman to ask more questions. Too late. "Well, Melvin," Melvin? "has told me *all* about the things you two do. It must be *so* exciting to work for the F.B.I.!" Scully picked up a glass and poured some water. "I thought you didn't like the United States Government?" "Oh, I do, don't worry. Damn C.I.A. bastards murdered my poor late husband, God bless his soul." Despite her confessions of personal tragedy, her smile didn't fade. "But I don't hate you and Agent Mulder. Y'all are *heroes*, I hope you know," she whispered conspiratorially. "Why do you say that?" Scully asked, though she had a feeling she knew the answer, and resolved to chastise the Gunmen when she got home, for whatever they had said or printed about her and Mulder. Barbara leaned in closer, her voice less bemused and more serious. Sadder. 'Because you're after the government's asses, Agent Scully. When Melvin called and asked if I could offer you two a place to say, of *course* I said yes! Anything you two need -- money, information --" her voice dropped again, "even if it's *illegal*, I'm your woman. Just ask, y'hear? Anything I can do to help you two, you just let me know. It would mean a great deal to me." She glanced away, and Scully could sense some deep pain and vulnerability under her brassy surface. She then saw the woman smother the emotion, and turn back to the agent. "And don't forget to put in a good word with Melvin, okay?" The older woman giggled. Scully stifled her own laugh. Melvin Frohike had an admirer? She was tempted to play matchmaker, if only to get the old man off her back. "I'll be sure to do that, Mrs. Pereira." Her hostess stood up straight and turned toward the door. "Well, I'd best get back to my little party. I'll knock on Agent Mulder's door and let him know that I brought you two dinner, okay?" "Thanks." She walked over to the door with Barbara, and just as Scully made to close the door behind her, the woman turned for one last comment. "That man is *gorgeous*, but he isn't looking too good. He needs a good night's rest, I think. You take care of him, okay?" She winked at Scully, and then she was gone. Scully closed the door firmly and leaned against it, catching her breath and shaking her head before walking back over to the food. The sight of the platter was very welcome, and she picked up a tray and began to pile fruit upon it before changing her mind. She'd wait for Mulder to get there. As if on cue, she heard a knock on her door just a few minutes later. Before she had a chance to get into defensive stance, he called out, "It's me, Scully." Letting himself in, he crossed the room to the window, and glanced out, keeping out of sight of the crowd below. "You have a view. I'm jealous." "Why?" she asked, while setting their dinner out on her bed. He turned from the window and walked over to her. "I get to see a guard wall. No fun in that." "Depends on what you do with the wall." "Like climb over it?" He sat down on the bed, setting the plate in front of his crossed legs. "Mulder, the wall was covered in broken glass. I don't think you can afford any more cuts and scrapes." Scully took a bite of the melon on her plate, the cool fruit sliding over her tongue. "Yes, doctor." They spent the rest of their meal in silence, until they finally faced empty plates. Stomachs full, Mulder stood and stretched. "Good music." The sounds of the tango filtered through the curtain into their room. "Yeah," she murmured in reply. Scully took the plates and walked over to the table, setting them down next to the empty tray. As she poured herself another glass of water, she felt Mulder's hand on her shoulder. His breath warmed her ear as he whispered, "I can't do the tango, but we can certainly try...." Mulder's voice trailed off as he took one of her hands and pulled her into his arms. One arm wrapped around her back and the other cushioned her hand between their bodies as they swayed slightly, not bothering to keep time with the music. She gave herself over to the peace of the sensation, letting herself be lulled into comfort in his arms. The soft motion of his thumb grazing over the small of her back sent tingles up her spine, accompanied by the kiss he placed on the top of her head. "I'm tired," she whispered. "Me too," her lover replied. They made their way over to the bed. He stepped out of his shoes and she shed her robe, letting it fall on a heap on the rug. Mulder drew back the bedspread and then slipped under the sheets, where she joined him and fit his body to hers. Thoughts of their hostess finding them together did not matter as fatigue washed over her and she soon fell asleep, comforted by the security of his presence. +++++++++++++++ The world was dark and cold, so cold. The chill froze her limbs as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. As she tried to move her legs, they refused to obey and panic swirled up through her body. She tried to gasp but couldn't force oxygen through her mouth or nose, and the desperation of her fighting instinct led her to try desperately to kick and push, only to be met by a cold and unbudging glass on all sides. Buried alive. Oh, God! She wanted desperately to scream, to fight, as her body succumbed to paralysis. Her eyes opened wide in terror and she knew that this would be her death, trapped in such a dreadfully cold morass. And though her voice refused to obey, her mind continued to scream as she felt death overtake her. Scully awoke with a start. Blinking rapidly, she inhaled deep, panicked breaths, trying to fill her lungs with as much oxygen as they would contain. She finally stopped breathing long enough to swallow, and the act made her painfully aware of her scratchy throat, sore from past screams. Her teeth chattered from the memory of cold. As she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness of the room, she felt the urgency of Mulder's grasp, holding her tight and running her hair with one hand in a soothing motion. "Shh, Scully, I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here. You're safe." Her heart still breathing rapidly and her lungs still sucking in air, she relaxed slightly in his arms, yet the sleep which she had craved before was long gone. They lay there together until their breathing evened, though their eyes never shut in fatigue. And though her back was to him, Scully never saw the look of terror and guilt painted on his face. +++++++++++++++ When Scully awoke the next morning, the sun was already casting the room in a blaze of glorious morning sunlight. Sleep had finally come as the first watery grey hues of sunrise were peeking through the curtains, and the dreamless sleep had come as a relief, as she had almost been afraid to fall asleep again, lest the nightmares return. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the sunlight and, sitting up in bed, she tamped down the rush of blood to her head as she watched Mulder over at the table, where the previous evening's tray had been replaced by another tray of fruit and orange juice. "Mmm.. what time is it?" her voice filtered through her still-scratchy throat. Her partner turned to look at her. "Almost noon." That nearly got her out of bed. "Good Lord! Why did you let me sleep so late? We have too much to do." A look of compassion showed in his face. "You needed your sleep. You hungry?" She stood, testing her weary legs. "Yeah, I think so." Scully picked the robe up off the floor, then wrapped it around her body, tying it loosely. "Good." He placed some food on a plate and walked over to her. Scully noticed that he was wearing fresh clothing and his hair looked wet from a recent shower. "Barbara informed me that even though Argentinians don't usually eat big breakfasts, we were American and by God we'd have eggs and bacon." He set the plate on the table and she took a seat in front of it. "This does look good. Have you already eaten?" She picked up a fork and pushed the food around her plate for a moment, before spearing a bite of scrambled eggs. "Yeah, about an hour ago." He sat down across from her. "I was just talking to Barbara about how we can get back home." Scully took a bite of the bacon and looked up at him. "What did she have to say?" "She told me that the fake passports should be getting here this afternoon. I thought we could wait for them then I'd go get us plane tickets." "Okay. But we can't just get out of here on fake passports." "Right, Scully." He swiped a piece of bacon from her table. "We also need to get some fake papers -- ID cards, entry visas, and some other paperwork. Barbara has a friend who she says can get those for us." She speared another bit of eggs with her fork, then swallowed them. "I'll go buy the tickets, then, since we'll have to use cash. How much will it take?" "I'd suggest taking at least three thousand, just in case. It could cost more, though, since we're trying to get these on short notice. I'll go ahead and call the Gunmen and ask them to wire us more money." "Got it. Should we try to fly out tomorrow?" Scully knew that she wanted to get back home as soon as possible. Mulder stood and walked back over to the bed, straightening up the covers. "You might want to book us for the day after tomorrow. I don't know how long it will take us to get the papers we need." Scully stood and walked over to the dresser and rummaged through the pile of clothing to find something to wear out that afternoon. Even though they had no idea just what awaited them, they were finally going *home*. Despite the dangers, that simple thought buoyed her. +++++++++++++++ The traffic in downtown Buenos Aires was unreal, worse than anything she had seen in New York or Washington. Scully's taxicab had not moved in five minutes, by her estimation, and she was becoming more than a little stir crazy. Shifting in her seat yet again, she turned and looked out the window, at the people hurrying by on the sidewalk, heading back to work after siesta. All the sleep she had gotten in the past few days had Scully in a hyper-tuned state of alertness, and her mind was working overtime trying to figure out their course of action. First step: airline tickets. Finally, the waiting became too much. "Aqu¡, gracias," she spoke sharply, bits of Spanish coming back to her from earlier such trips. The driver turned around to face her, eyebrows raised slightly, then reached over and stopped the meter. She tried to figure out how much the ride had cost, but since she only had American money and not pesos, she did a quick estimation and handed the man two twenty-dollar bills. "Accept Ud. d¢lares?" The man grinned, his expression saying dollars would work just fine. Scully got the impression she'd doubled the actual fare, but at that point she didn't really care. He unlocked her door and she stepped out of the taxi, into the swirl of people on the sidewalk. The neighborhood she had requested to be driven to was a large shopping district called Florida, recommended by their hostess. Scully had to step off the curb to get a better look down the street, and she cursed her short stature under her breath. She didn't see any storefronts which identified themselves as travel agencies, so she decided to keep walking. As she traversed the sidewalk, she glanced from side to side and behind her, then out of the corner of her eye she noticed a man who stopped and continued wherever she did. Scully's sixth sense -- developed shortly after she had been partnered with Mulder -- immediately told her she was being followed. She pivoted on her heels rapidly to find the man only about six feet away from her. Trying to lose him, she stopped at the next intersection and crossed the street, not looking back until she was completely across. She turned ninety degrees and crossed the perpendicular street, then continued about twenty yards before glancing behind her. The man was still there. Next to her was a storefront -- a jewelry store. She slipped inside, then glanced around the nearly-vacant shop. Walking slowly, she pretended to peruse the jewels for sale, waiting a few minutes until she could re-emerge. Just as she thought she was safe, she walked through the door to find the man entering. Nearly colliding with him, she deliberately brushed past with a harsh motion, sending him tumbling backward hard against the wooden door frame. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw him right himself then continue after her. Scully could feel the blood pounding in her ears. She knew the most foolish action she could take would be to start running -- she needed to blend in as much as possible and not draw attention to herself. On the other hand, if she kept as she was, she stood a great chance of the man pulling her into an alley, where anything could happen. So, tensing her muscles and standing up straight, she walked straight to the man, wanting to confront him in a public place where hopefully he wouldn't try anything. If that failed, she had a wealth of martial arts knowledge to rely upon. He was of average build -- taking him out would hopefully be fairly easy. Or she could scream. In the space of two steps, they were face to face. Before she could say anything, the man spoke quietly in a perfect American accent. "Agent Scully." She tried to control her gasp at being recognized. "Who the hell are you?!" He smiled slightly, knowingly. "My name is Jacob Smith." Off her look, he continued. "I was there when you and your partner were rescued in Antarctica. I can help you get home." He paused. "I can tell you everything you want to know." +++++++++++++++ Despite its abundance of rooms and the lovely sundrenched courtyard, the Pereira estate was becoming oppressive. Mulder cursed his complete dependency on people thousands of miles away for his escape from Argentina, even as he silently thanked them for all their efforts on his behalf. The transport papers the Gunmen were supposed to be faxing him were taking forever to come through. In frustration he'd finally called them nearly an hour before, but they told him that they were waiting to hear back from the contact who was drawing up the fake papers, and that when they were received, they would fax them to Mulder. Shortly after Scully had left that afternoon the friend of Barbara Pereira's who would draw up the other documentation they would need had come over. He told Mulder that the papers would take a little while to create because of the need to make them look American. He promised that they would be ready by the next afternoon at the latest. Which left Mulder to wait. After listening to what probably amounted to Barbara Pereira's entire life story and nearly drowning in the tea and bitter-tasting mate she had offered him, he claimed a need for fresh air and ventured out into the courtyard. He examined every flower and every tree, then estimated the length and width of the area until he finally went back indoors to find that Scully had still not returned. Mulder knew she could take care of herself, yet given their circumstances, he couldn't help but worry. And wait. +++++++++++++++ Every muscle in Scully's body tensed. Fight or flight -- which will it be, Dana? The question mocked at her mind. She met Jacob Smith's stare, challenging him to try something there on the busy street. His face remained calm and he raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "There's a sidewalk cafe across the street, Agent Scully. Since I know you want us to remain in public, we could sit there and talk." He paused. She continued to silently challenge him. "I'm not going to harm you. I'm here to help you." "Why should I believe you?" Her voice was hard, deliberate. "What would I have to gain? If I or my colleagues," she noticed his slight pause before the last word, "wanted to kill you, we could have done so a dozen times over. I could have shot you as you left your hotel yesterday morning, or even made that plane crash after it left Bariloche. We don't want you dead." She fought to keep from showing her surprise at his knowledge of their itinerary. Scully weighed her options. If she tried to walk away, he'd know exactly where she was going and it'd be a matter of time -- minutes, even -- before he hunted her down again. His next approach might not be so supposedly benevolent. If she sat down with him in a very public place, she might be able to get some goddamn answers for a change. And if he tried anything, she was more than capable of defending herself. "Okay," she assented, then pointed toward a sidewalk cafe across the street. Gesturing at him to go there, she said, "After you." A bemused look on his face, he moved to the intersection and crossed the street while she followed two paces behind. She led the way to the cafe and claimed a table at the periphery of the blocked-off area. They sat down, neither saying a word, and waited until a server came over to take their drink orders. She asked for tea and Jacob Smith ordered something she didn't recognize in Spanish. The woman gone, Scully spoke. "Who are you, really?" "The name I use is Jacob Smith. I'm not sure I ever had a 'real' name, not that it matters anymore." She raised an eyebrow and he pursed his lips as if unsure of what else to say. "I believe you've met one of... us before. Do you remember Jeremiah Smith?" Oh yes, she did. She remembered the older, oddly benevolent man, who worked with Them and could heal with a touch. "Are you--" "An alien?" The grin which spread over his face made him look young, impetuous, like a college boy on spring break. "Ah, let's just say I'm not from around here." Scully remained silent, tacitly urging him to continue. "I'm also a healer. A 'shapeshifter', I think you call us. Me, I prefer 'chameleon'. Has a much more fascinating ring to it. I can become anyone I want to. I could leave here and come back two minutes later and you wouldn't recognize me. It's really quite fun to play around with." He settled back in his chair. Scully got the impression he would tell her the secrets of the universe if she remained silent long enough. Though his boyish charm was undeniable, she didn't have the time or patience for his musings. "What do you know about what happened to us in Antarctica?" Not missing a beat, he continued. "I was with Schweig when you were rescued. I was the one who first noticed what had happened. They expected you two to die, you know." She knew. "Why rescue us, then?" "Schweig had his reasons. So did I. To be honest, you probably wouldn't have lived at all had we not come along. So I did my magic." He moved his hands as if waving a magic wand. Scully stared back at him. "We weren't that close to death. We would have lived." Yet, remembering how close they *had* been to death while they huddled, she gave lie to her words. "Look, Agent Scully, you're a medical doctor. Explain to me how all that damage to your bodies melted away." Smugness mixed with pride mixed with exasperation on his face. "I saw the two of you. On the helicopter ride back from Antarctica, I examined you so we could see just how bad things were. Schweig took photographs -- I'll have to show them to you sometime." She winced at the idea of photographs of the two of them being somewhere out there. "So you healed us?" She didn't bother to hide the skepticism in her voice. "Ma'am, I could go around this cafe and cure everyone. That man over there," he pointed, "heart disease. The waitress has chronic asthma -- she really shouldn't be out in this pollution. A car could crash right in front of us and I'd be the jaws of life. But I'm selfish. People die. I don't want to circumvent that, draw attention to myself. Sure, I could just change my appearance and walk away with nobody the wiser, but part of being like me is selective application." The waitress brought their drinks and she took a sip of her tea, never taking her eyes off Smith. "You haven't answered my question." Jacob Smith nearly finished his drink in one gulp. "You ever tried this stuff? It's mate. Kind of like tea, but with different leaves. Want some?" She shook her head slowly. "Okay, sorry. Your question. Do you want the nutshell or epic version?" "I want the truth." Her voice was hard even as the warm tea slid down her throat. "Once upon a time..." He winked at her. "Seriously, it basically goes back to the 1930s. Better get comfortable." She glared. "Do you remember the German Appeasement movement in Europe before the war?" "I remember learning about it in school, yes." The tea grew cold before her as she paid close attention to his words. "Well, Schweig, Lord Sommers, and a couple named Albertina and Josef Klein met Cambridge. Sommers' father was one of the architects of Churchill's Appeasement policy, and the younger ones all became involved in the movement. I don't think it had anything to do with anti-Semitism, as the Kleins were German Jews who had emigrated to Britain to go to university. Sometime during the war, the Kleins went to America and Schweig went back to Germany. He was a scientist and the Nazi party gave him the opportunity to do research in the concentration camps." Though the man before her said the words with little emotion, a shudder of disgust coursed through Scully's body. "After the war, as you can imagine, Schweig had to get the hell out of there. He came down to Argentina and nobody was the wiser. I'm still not quite sure how he managed to escape the Nuremberg trials, but the man was brilliant." His voice quieted down with what Scully assumed was respect for the man. "Anyway, so Sommers was back in Britain after a stint in the RAF and the Kleins were in America. Because of their involvement in the appeasement movement, they were invited to join an organization which was forming. A sort of cabal of European intellectuals, politicians, and scientists, in response to what was apparently an extraterrestrial threat." He grinned. "And that would be you." "Bingo!" Smith looked extremely pleased with himself. Scully wanted to slap him. "So how do Mulder and I fit into all this?" "Be patient, Agent Scully. Basically, Sommers took a leadership role -- hey, I think you've met him before. Tall, distinguished-looking Englishman?" Scully recognized the description. It had been some time since she'd come into contact with him, but the memory was burned into her mind. She remembered Mulder having mentioned they'd met and he'd given her directions to Antarctica. She didn't trust the man one bit, though she did have to owe him a debt of gratitude for giving Mulder the information to save her life. "Okay. He and Schweig were conspirators of a sort, though Schweig never really took an active role in the organization." "What about the Kleins?" "Well, tell me -- what all do you know about Agent Mulder's family?" He quirked an eyebrow in imitation of her. She flinched. "What do you want to tell me about them?" She could sense where Smith was going with this line of questioning. The waitress passed by and Smith waved at her and asked for a glass of mineral water. Turning back to Scully, he said, "Before the Kleins left England, they had a daughter, named Albertina Katherine." He stressed the girl's first name, and Scully got the connection. Albertina -- Teena. "When she grew up she married a man named Mulder. I was there on their wedding day back in '59. Aged well, haven't I? I bet you can guess the rest, Agent Scully." Scully looked at him, processing the information. She couldn't say she was surprised -- though she'd only met Mrs. Mulder a few times before, something about the woman's demeanor had made her uneasy. "Thank you very much for the history lesson, Mr. Smith, but just how are you involved in all this?" "I came down here about ten years ago to work for Schweig. Always admired the old man, and wanted to get away from that mess up north. It may be hard to believe, but Sommers and Schweig have been on your side. They don't like what you do but they don't want you and Agent Mulder dead. I think they're pretty fond of Fox, seeing as how he's Albertina and Josef's grandson. You too, Agent Scully." She wasn't sure she wanted those people to be fond of her. "How did you find out where Mulder and I were?" "Oh, I was working at an Australian research base at the time. Anything to keep me from being bored. Did you know that that ship taking off set off seismic waves equalling an 8.0 earthquake? I had to go through all sorts of hell to keep word of that getting off. The price we pay, I suppose." "Like killing innocent people?" Scully's voice shot daggers. Jacob Smith's expression changed in a heartbeat from lighthearted to deadly serious. "I do what needs to be done, Agent. Just like you and Mulder." "We do not kill." "You do other things." He retorted. They stared at each other for long moments, as innocent passersby moved around them, oblivious to the intrigue permeating their world. For not the first time, Scully wanted to stop and walk away from it all, to leave and never look back. But they still had too much to do, to learn. To expose. Her thoughts went back to Mulder, and wondered how he was doing with procuring the travel documentation. She suddenly remembered she still hadn't bought the airline tickets, and made to leave. "Do you have anything else to tell me, Mr. Smith?" She pulled out a few small bills from her pocket and put them on the table. He looked up at her. "I haven't even begun to tell you everything you need to know, Agent Scully." "Mulder and I don't have the time for me to sit here and listen to your version of the truth." She stood and looked down at Smith. "Leave if you want," he said with warning in his voice. "But don't go back to D.C." She froze. "Why not?" "If you think you're not safe down here, it's worse for you and Agent Mulder up there." Scully stared at him, imprinting his face into her memory, but knowing that the next time she saw him, he would look different. Turning on her heel, she left the cafe and walked to the travel agency she'd seen earlier. To hell with his warnings. She and Mulder were going home. +++++++++++++++ The sight of Scully walking up the front driveway to the house was like a vision to Mulder. He watched from the window of the front living room as she was let through the front gate by the guard, and he left the room to meet her. As he walked into the hallway, she looked over at him, and he saw tension etched on her face. "Everything okay, Scully?" She straightened her shoulders and curved her mouth in a slight smile. "I'm fine." Her standard answer. He sighed and placed his hand on her shoulder, feeling her bunched muscles under his fingertips. "C'mon, let's go up to your room and I'll tell you what I found out." She nodded and they walked over to the main staircase. She kept her distance all the way up and didn't move close to him again until he'd shut the door behind her. Mulder watched her walk over to the bed and sit on the edge. She looked distant, lost in her own thoughts. "What's wrong?" Scully shook her head slightly and smiled slightly. "Sorry, nothing." Looking up at him, she asked, "What did you find out today?" He sat down on the bed behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. Scully tilted her head back and her hair brushed against his hands, the sensuality of the motion sending tingles down his arms. "We should have all the paperwork we need by tomorrow afternoon." He made a rolling motion on her shoulders with his hands and was rewarded with a low moan from her throat. "Mmm.... that's good, Mulder." He felt her deep breath in his hands. "I got us a flight back to D.C. via Miami. It leaves the day after tomorrow, at 9 AM." "Good." Mulder moved his hands down her back, his thumbs digging into her shoulderblades as she flexed them beneath his hands. "I talked to the Gunmen. Faxed them a copy of that FBI fax we found. They're tracing the headers right now." She didn't reply. He felt her giving herself over to the sensation, and he loved the power her simple movements made him feel. Once again he cursed the men toying with their lives; if they knew just what a rare and amazing creature this woman was, they would never dare touch her. They would never use her to get to him. They could have him instead. Anything they wanted, just to keep her safe. Behind her, he quickly shed his shirt and then moved his hands around to her front, managing to unbutton her shirt sight unseen. Pulling it off of her, he unfastened and removed her bra, then put both on the bed beside them. He leaned into her body and felt himself growing hard at the sensation of her soft skin against his chest. Their breathing deepened as he moved his hands over her stomach and up to gently knead her soft breasts. His dear, precious creature. Mulder's mouth was drawn to her warm skin like a magnet. He placed soft, light kisses over her shoulderblades and she tilted her face to meet his, kissing him deeply as if she could move into his soul through his mouth. She turned in his arms and pushed down her skirt and panties before moving to lie on top of him. They kissed each other for ages -- soft and deep, light and probing. Content with the simplicity of the touch, that they could just kiss one another without bees or villains intervening, the only threat their own inner demons. Some moments later, in the midst of their passion, she whispered, "I love you." Tears rose to Mulder's eyes. He would do anything for this woman -- his lover -- to whom he owed his sanity, his quest, his life. Their love kept them sane in this world, where they could be killed at any instant and where demons came after them from all directions. +++++++++++++++ Scully finished buttoning her shirt and stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down her hair. She was glowing. A smile spread over her face as she looked at herself. She could easily chalk it up to great sex, but she knew it was more Mulder than simply sex. He made her glow. Scully caught his reflection in the mirror as he got out of bed and stretched, his burnished gold skin beautiful as it stretched over taut muscles. She swallowed hard and tried to compose herself. If Mrs. Pereira hadn't know they were lovers when she invited them into her house, she'd know now. "Mulder?" She realized she hadn't told him about her encounter with Jacob Smith. To be honest, she wasn't sure she wanted to tell him -- certainly not everything. "Yeah?" "I meant to tell you this earlier, but...." her voice trailed off as she saw his grin in the mirror. "While I was out I was followed by that man who was with Schweig when he picked us up in Antarctica." Mulder stopped and stood very still. She turned to face him. "What did he say, Scully?" She crossed the room to face him. "He tried to talk to me. I managed to avoid him, for the most part." His face darkened. "What aren't you telling me?" "No! I'm... he..." Why was she so damn flustered all of a sudden? "He's a shapeshifter, like Jeremiah Smith was. He told me that he and Schweig had been tracking us for some time, and that he'd been the one who healed us when we were rescued." "Healed us?" "Yes. I'm not sure that I believe him, though." He began to get dressed, and when he looked away to find his clothes she glanced down, feeling guilty for keeping the information about his family from him. But they already had too much to worry about without letting this distract him. She told herself she was doing this for his benefit, but that didn't really assuage her guilt. "He also told me that we shouldn't go back to D.C., though he didn't say why." "That's all he said, Scully?" She made herself look him in the eye. She had never been a good liar and he could see right through her, but he seemed to believe her when she said, "Yes, that's all." "Okay." He finished dressing in silence. Finally, they made their way downstairs to dinner, the guilt her other, unwelcome companion. +++++++++++++++ Pedro Magallanes laughed at his compadres. They paced around the small, dark room, chattering nervously in English. He merely sat back in his wooden chair, a bemused expression on his face at the chaos around him. Dammit, Magallanes knew that operatives were scarce right now, what with all the various projects happening all over the world, but he would have thought they could have found two more competent agents to assist him. Whatever the two other men were discussing -- Magallanes spoke perfect English but deliberately tuned out their chatter -- they seemed to have come to some sort of resolution, and they took seats at the table. The shorter one opened his mouth. "So, what's the plan, Sir?" Magallanes stood and walked around to stand behind the man, trying to intimidate him with the power of his presence. He could make men with twice his age and experience sweat, simply because of what he knew and what he could do to them. These two were proving to be no exception. "Certain... people are talking. They must be silenced." The tall man -- his dark eyes casting anachronisms with hair which was probably under the influence of peroxide -- turned to look up at him, and Magallanes glared back, letting him know that such brazen displays were simply Not Done. "The operation begins tomorrow, 1100 hours. Be prepared to meet here for debriefing an hour before." He appraised them one last time, then barked, "Dismissed." The men nearly scurried out of the room. Magallanes pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his knapsack and opened it reverently. Pouring a tumbler full of the liquid, he downed it slowly, contemplatively. His winter had been long and boring, full of paperwork and pathetic little missions -- he hadn't even left the southern hemisphere. Glancing back over the instructions his superiors had faxed him, he smiled. Tomorrow would be perfect. He was back in business. +++++++++++++++ "You're looking gorgeous this evening, Dana!" Since when had this woman decided to call her "Dana"? Mulder wondered. Next thing he knew, she'd be calling him "Fox". "Thank you very much, Mrs. Pereira, and I want to tell you again how much we appreciate all the assistance you've given us." That was his Scully -- the voice of diplomacy and graciousness, at least, in situations like these. Still, Mulder could see the strain behind her words. They each took seats at the large mahogany table, where a large dinner was spread for them. Mulder was starving as much from the events of the day as his lovemaking with Scully just a short time earlier, and had been frustrated when their hostess informed them that dinner would be at her customary time of 9:30 PM. He would have simply requested she send them up some food so that he and his partner could eat in private, but Pereira made a point of mentioning that she had turned down a dinner invitation so that they could "get to know each other, and I want to hear *all* about what has been happening to you two!" How does one explain to a naive, overexcited woman that shadow forces want you dead and that they will stop at nothing to make the world safe for extraterrestrials? Mulder decided that avoidance of the topic altogether was the best course of action. He remained silent during the first course of the meal, as Scully deftly steered the conversation away from the two of them, inquiring about Pereira's life in Argentina and then finally about her late husband. The woman's conspiratorial whisper about her husband's murder took them through the main course and into the dessert of fresh fruit. She finally stopped talking and looked up at him. "Goodness, I forgot to ask how your day went!" "We got the tickets and we're waiting for the papers to come through." Best keep the description vague. She smiled. "Oh, that's fortunate. So you're leaving the day after tomorrow?" Mulder watched his partner finish her melon and reply, "Yes, on an early flight." "Well, then I'll have my driver take you to the airport." Scully smiled her thanks and Mulder followed suit. He pointedly glanced up at the antique clock above the mantle, then said, "It's getting late. We'll see you in the morning, Mrs. Pereira." Their hostess stood to bid them goodnight, kissing Scully on each cheek before she walked upstairs, then kissed Mulder's cheeks, whispering, "Y'all sleep well," then winked. Mulder gave the woman a half smile, bristling at her obvious pleasure with her powers of perception. He returned her salutations and headed down the hallway to the main staircase, where Scully was waiting for him. As they climbed the staircase, he said in a low stage whisper, "She knows about us." Scully was silent for a few steps, then replied, "So long as she doesn't tell the Gunmen." "Probably too late for that. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later." They reached his room and she sat on his bed while he changed out of his clothes, slipping on some pajama bottoms Pereira had given him the night before. "Speaking of the Gunmen, are you going to call them tomorrow, or are they going to call us?" she asked. "They're calling us. Better chance of a secured line that way." He finished changing and they walked across the hall to her room. Having no nightclothes of her own, Mulder watched, bemused, as she shed her clothes and slipped on the tank top of his which she had claimed as her own. They moved into the bathroom and stood side by side as they brushed their teeth and washed their faces. The simple domesticity of the act charmed him -- just a few short days after becoming lovers, they were already in danger of becoming an old married couple. That was, assuming they lived long enough to get back to "normal". After they were finished, he slipped into the bed and set the small old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table for 7 AM. But instead of getting into bed next to him, he found Scully kneeling next to the bed, her hair bowed in prayer. Mulder was certainly surprised, having seldom seen Scully turn to her God for guidance. But rather than speaking his surprise aloud, he remained silent until she crossed herself in completion, then moved up next to him. Turning to face him, Scully murmured, "I think we need all the help we can get." Her small body settled in next to his. Mulder reached up and switched off the lamp, then let the long shadows from the window settle over his body. Looking up at the tiles and beams of the ceiling, he mouthed his own plea to whomever might be looking down on them. "Keep her here with me. Keep us safe until we get home." Sleep did not come to either of them for quite a long time as they held one another close, grateful that now they could find comfort from their fears in one another. +++++++++++++++ Unlike the previous morning, Scully was wide awake for a while before the alarm eventually rang. She slipped out of Mulder's embrace and showered quickly, then put on her last set of clean clothes. As Mulder remained sleeping, she decided to steal downstairs and find them some breakfast so they could eat in privacy. When she reached the bottom, she found a maid scurrying through the entryway, who then stopped short when she caught glimpse of the American. "Ay, senora! Un mensaje para Ud." The woman hand Scully a sealed envelope before hurrying along her way. Scully opened the envelope carefully, making sure to touch only the edges of the paper and rip as little as possible. The message inside was written in a looping, elegant script. "Sr. Mulder, "It is not safe for me to go to the house of Sra. Pereira. Please you and your lady friend meet me at La Plaza Naciones Unidas at 12 hours today. Both you must come to get your documents. "Sr. Granados." She sighed deeply. Would the complications never end? Holding the envelope in her fingertips, she went to the kitchen and asked the cook for some bread and juice. The woman smiled and piled a tray high with the food and drink, then handed it over to Scully. She placed the envelope on the tray and carried it up to her bedroom. As she entered the room, Scully found Mulder sitting up in bed, shaking himself out of sleep. "Morning, sunshine," she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. She set the tray on the table, then walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Mulder leaned over and let his head hang, his chin resting on his chest as he gathered his wits. She leaned over and ruffled his hair and murmured, "You okay?" He looked up at her with that sad, world-weary expression his face had taken on far too often in the past few years. "Yeah, I'm fine." "Mulder, that's my line. What's wrong?" His expression became inscrutable. "Nothing." Her brow lowered in a glare. "I had a bad dream, is all." She brought her hand up to his temple and smoothed back the hair resting there, her fingers gliding over the sheen of sweat. "What was --" "I'd rather not talk about it, okay?" Scully flinched and her hand dropped to her side. "Okay." She stood and walked over to the tray. "I brought us something to eat. You hungry?" Rising slowly from the bed, he said, his voice still gruff with sleep, "Sure. Thanks." He picked up a roll and poured himself some juice, then left the room, closing the door behind him. Scully heard the door across the hall open, then close. She sank down onto one of the chairs, confused. Scully decided not to take his reticence as a rejection, not yet. She would wait for him to tell her what had happened when he was ready, though she had to admit that she was a bit hurt, and bristled slightly when he re-entered the room some time later, freshly showered and dressed. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then picked up the envelope, which had remained untouched on the tray. "What's this?" Scully looked up at him. "It's from the man who was going to get us our travel documents. He wants us to meet him at noon at a park." "Really?" Mulder sat down and opened the envelope, and she watched him read it while she took a final sip of her juice, hoping the demons which had been haunting him a short time before were gone. And that his heart was back with her. +++++++++++++++ Barbara Pereira had once again offered the agents use of her car and driver, but they had declined, preferring instead to take a taxicab to the park where they were to meet Sr. Granados. In the back seat of the taxi, Mulder watched as his partner glanced out the window, maintaining her distance from him. He tried to reassure himself that it was to maintain their professional facade in public, but, remembering his dream of the night before, a dark place inside his head was glad that she was pulling away from him. The dream had been so vivid. //waking up and finding her gone -- had she left him? seeing the blood and panicking// He turned away from her, looking out his own window at Buenos Aires speeding by. Fortunately, their driver had found a circuitous route which would no doubt make their meter higher but forced them to spend less time sitting in traffic. The fake passports had finally arrived at Pereira's estate shortly before they left, and "Mr. Frederick Johnson" rested his hand on his pants pocket, assuring himself of its continued presence. Scully had wanted to keep hers in her own pocket, but since her skirt had none, he kept hers for her. Mulder's fingertip traced the outline of the passport as the taxicab pulled up to a stoplight. //his legs getting tangled in the bedspread as he frantically followed a trail of blood out of the room// Finally, he caught a glimpse of several large monuments and an expanse of green in the near distance. Scully sat up straight next to him and he pulled some money out of his other pocket. The driver pulled up to a curb across the street from the park and announced, "Plaza Naciones Unidas." Mulder glanced at the meter and handed him several bills. "Gracias, señor." The man looked back at him with a large smile at the tip he'd been given, and unlocked the doors. //the door wide open, its frame splintered from the force someone had applied to it, the blood -- HER blood -- pooled on the floor, sign of a struggle// Scully walked around to the street side of the taxi and joined him in walking across the street at the crosswalk. They entered the plaza through a large ornamental archway, and stopped to appraise the scene. Several mothers pushed strollers down the sidewalks, some kids kicked a soccer ball on one of the lawns, a few joggers navigating the paths. //a silent scream coursing through his dry throat at the terrifying emptiness of the room// They made their way over to a bench and sat down, scanning the park for signs of their contact. Mulder glanced up at a digital clock on one of the buildings surrounding the park -- the clock said they were still about fifteen minutes early, so they sat quietly, ever-vigilant, waiting for their contact to make his appearance. //the man stepping out of the shadows, the smoke of his cigarette and the smile on his face mocking Mulder's fear and pain// Time passed slowly, even more so with each of them stealing glances at the digital clock. Neither said a word, as if their voices would betray the urgency of their situation. //his voice a snake, hissing through the stale air. "You couldn't protect her, Agent Mulder, so we took her away from you."// After an hour of waiting, during which time they took turns standing and circuiting the park, looking for men who matched Sr. Granados' description, in case he was waiting for them at a different place, Scully turned to face him. "He's not going to show," she said, careful not to use his given name lest wandering ears hear. Mulder scanned the park one more time. "Let's wait another hour." He watched his partner's shoulders slump in exasperation. "If he were going to meet us, he would have gotten here by now." She sighed. "Face it, we've been set up." "No..." But he saw the truth of her words, he just didn't want to face them. "Let's wait fifteen more minutes." She met his eyes and stared at him for a long moment before saying, "Okay. I'm going to take a walk." With that, she stood and took to the path, her legs moving briskly under her long skirt. //"She'll be much happier now, Agent Mulder," the man said, raising one bloodstained hand to his mouth and taking a drag of his cigarette// Mulder leaned back against the bench and watched her walk. He wanted desperately to close his eyes and stop thinking, stop remembering, but forced himself to stay vigilant. He didn't want to believe they'd been set up, yet the truth of Scully's words mocked at him. He wanted out. He wanted out of this mess. He wanted to go home to D.C. and hold her in his arms tightly, forsaking it all. Forsaking everything but her. He laughed at the foolishness of the idea. She would be happier without him, no matter how much it might destroy him. He had lived with loss before. It had torn his heart to shreds, but somehow he had survived. How could he live again without her? How could she live with him? Antarctica had convinced him he would go to the ends of the earth for her, but it had also convinced him that no matter what he did, she would always be the pawn they used to control him. He loved her too much to let her suffer that way. //"She'll be much happier now, Agent Mulder"// Scully finished her circuit around the park, approaching him again. He watched every step bring her closer, as he convinced himself that he had to leave her, for her own safety. When they got home, he decided, he would make her leave him, even if it destroyed them both. She would be happier. She would be safe. They would no longer have her as a pawn. Then there she was, standing merely inches away. Her voice was softer, quieter. "Let's get out of here." He stood and looked down at her. "Okay." They left the park. +++++++++++++++ Mulder was silent the entire way back to Pereira's house. Scully stole glances at him every few minutes but he wouldn't meet her eyes, instead staring out the window, no emotion on his face. He'd been so distanced from her all day, but she knew that something about that dream had affected him deeply, so she waited for him to tell her about it when he was ready. That didn't make the wait any easier. Scully thought of everything he had done for her. While they were riding the horses to Bariloche, he'd told her about how he'd gotten down to Antarctica and she was simply awed at the lengths to which this man would go to find her. He amazed her, and she loved him. She wouldn't think twice about going to the ends of the earth for him. As their taxi pulled up to the front gates, Scully was surprised to see the usual guard was not stationed there, and that the gates themselves hung wide open. Mulder shoved some money at the driver and he let them out, then sped down the street. The two of them stood in front of the gates and looked at each other, then walked through them and up the driveway. Scully instinctively assumed her defensive posture as they scanned the front area of the house, looking for anything out of order. Reaching the front archway, Scully noticed the main door was open, and she heard hysterical sobbing coming from inside. Mulder walked through the arch to the courtyard, looking around for any intruders, while Scully entered the house. She found the maid from that morning on the steps, crumpled into a hysterical mess. At the sound of Scully's steps on the tiles, the maid screamed, then looked up. Her voice shrill and panicked, she wailed, "¡Ay, señora!" She stood and ran over to Scully, throwing herself into the other woman's arms. Scully frantically scanned her brain for remnants of Spanish. "Calma, calma. +D=nde señora Bárbara?" She placed her hands on the woman's shoulders and pushed the larger woman away slightly, looking at her face. "No esta aqui. Vineiron unos hombres y se la llevaron. Llame a la policia!" The agent deciphered that some men had come and taken Barbara. "No policia. When, uh, cuando?" "Esta manana." The woman burst into tears again, and Scully guided her into a chair, then ran out of the room to find Mulder. Barbara Pereira had been kidnapped. +++++++++++++++ The household descended into chaos, and Scully and Mulder had no idea what to do. The maid was crumpled up on the stairs in a sobbing heap, other servants were cowering in their quarters, and the two guards had mysteriously disappeared. Scully moved around the house, looking for someone coherent who could tell them what happened, while Mulder ran up to his bedroom. As he mounted the steps two at a time, his loud footsteps echoed around the foyer, mingling with the strangeled cries of the maid. He stopped short at the top of the staircase and quickly scanned the space, searching for anyone hidden behind curtains or around corners. Each step he took down the hallway was quiet, as he adjusted his stride to make as little noise as possible. As he neared his door, Mulder saw an envelope on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, he saw it was addressed to him, in a block writing style intended to be difficult to identify. He hastily opened the envelope and pulled out the slip of paper inside. "WE HAVE BARBARA PEREIRA. SHE WILL NOT BE RETURNED UNTIL YOU AND YOUR PARTNER STEP OFF THE PLANE IN WASHINGTON. WE WILL BE WATCHING YOU SO DO NOT CHANGE YOUR PLANS TO LEAVE TOMORROW, OR PEREIRA DIES." Mulder read the note twice before folding it and putting it in his pocket, with little concern for preserving evidence. He opened the door to his room but wasn't surprised to find it empty, as was Scully's, then he walked back over to his room and grabbed their things, shoving them into the bag. Going back downstairs, he carefully avoided the now-whimpering maid and ventured through the entryway to find Scully. Just as he stepped through the portal, she emerged from the courtyard, looking as anxious as did he. "There's nobody around here, Mulder. It's as if everyone has disappeared." Before he had a chance to tell her about the letter, she hurried over to the maid and asked, "Se¤ora, +cualquier persona otro se ha secuestrado?" "No," the woman said through her tears, "Solamente la senora." Scully turned to face her partner. "She says that Pereira was the only person taken. I don't know where all the other people went, but chances are they either fled after this happened or are hiding somewhere." He pulled the note out of his pocket. "I found this on the floor outside of my room." Mulder handed it over and Scully quickly scanned the words, murmuring something under her breath. They moved away from the maid and stood still for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. "Scully, can we move the plane tickets up to today?" he whispered. Her own whisper matched his. "No, not without paying about $2,000 in service charges. Besides, it won't get us back to D.C. any faster, since we have connecting flights to worry about." He cursed under his breath. "Then let's get out of here." "What about--" Mulder grabbed her wrist and led her toward the doorway. "The longer we stay here, the worse things get for us. Let's get in a cab, find a hotel near the airport, and lay low until we can leave tomorrow." His partner stepped away from him slightly and glanced over at the maid. "But Mulder, we need to investigate -- find out what on earth is going on here." The man's attempt at an ironic grin was closer to a grimace. "We're not going to find anything here. If there were anything to be found, it would have turned up by now." He put a hand on her shoulder to get her to really notice the seriousness of what he was saying. "We need to get out of here, Scully. If this note is even remotely true, then we don't have a choice but to follow it. We can't go to the police -- not when we're here illegally. And besides, if they," he stressed the word, "are behind this, going public will only make things worse." Shoulders tense and face drawn tightly, she exhaled and closed her eyes. Breathing deeply for a few moments, she finally opened her eyes and looked at him. "Let's go." Mulder squeezed her shoulder quickly, then turned to the maid on the steps, who was looking at them curiously. Scully walked over to the woman and said something to her in Spanish, to which the woman nodded tearfully then stood up and walked upstairs. Coming back over to him, she informed him that she'd told the woman to go back to her room, get her things, and go home to her family. A silent signal passed between them, and they walked out of the foyer and down the front driveway to the street, going for nearly a block before they were able to hail a taxi to take them to the city center. As they settled into the cab, Mulder leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Their problems had increased exponentially -- instead of just worrying about the two of them getting home, they now had an innocent person's life at stake. +++++++++++++++ The Gran Hotel Colon stood majestically on one side of a long boulevard marking the heart of Buenos Aires. It had an elegant charm which would have appealed to Scully's sense of romance, had their circumstances not been so urgent. They had chosen this place because of its size, hoping that a larger, expensive hotel would offer them more security and allow them to ensconce themselves in their rooms and avoid anyone trying to find them. However, Scully knew that if these people wanted to find her and Mulder, they could easily do so whenever they chose. She removed her shoes and unbuttoned the now-dingy white blouse she had been wearing, and sat down on the bed clad in her long skirt and tank top. At that moment, Scully would have given anything to be back at home in one of her business suits, or even a sweatshirt and shorts. Anything but these too-feminine skirts and blouses which reminded her of the complete foreignness of their situation. As Mulder took his time in the shower, she pulled their stash of money out of Mulder's discarded pants pocket and thumbed through it. They still had nearly $2,000, even after the two plane tickets, all the taxi rides, and this expensive hotel; Scully made a mental note to ask Mulder when he emerged to arrange for more money to be waiting for them in Miami, in case they encountered any more problems. The growl of her stomach echoed in the room, and Scully made an executive decision. Picking up the room phone, she dialed room service and looked over the menu, choosing the old standby of cheeseburgers and french fries. She then dialed the number for the conceirge and asked him to have someone go to the department store she'd seen down the street and buy them new slacks, professional-style shirts, and some underwear. Hanging up the phone, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Her mind floated back to a similar situation, where she and Mulder had also been ensconced in a hotel room, trying to evade threats. They had taken comfort in their love then, finding promise in their bond and in the exhiliration they found in one another's arms. But now was different. That dream he'd had last night had affected him deeply, Scully could tell. Over the course of the day, he had closed himself off from her so completely that he almost felt a stranger -- the only real sense of their old partnership had come from his hand on her shoulder in the hallway of Pereira's house. She was not naive enough to believe that sex solved everything, nor did she think that their partnership was in trouble because of whatever was happening with him, but she was still concerned. He emerged from the bathroom wearing slacks and a tank top, his hair already towel-dried. Scully watched him pace the room then move to stand in front of the window, his body still tense and closed-off. She decided to let him stand there on his own for a while, reluctant to disturb him while he was still lost in his own thoughts. Yet after he'd been there for nearly fifteen minutes, she stood and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulderblade. He didn't flinch at the touch, but neither did he turn to face her. Scully shifted on her feet and raised her other hand to his back, then rested her head against it, feeling each of his breaths against her forehead. She stood close to him, listening to him breathe, as the shadows around them darkened with the coming nightfall. Suddenly, Mulder stepped forward and turned around, catching her offguard and causing her to almost lose her balance. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on some socks, then began lacing his shoes, calling out, "I'm going for a walk." "Mulder, you can't go out there." His eyes remained focused on his task, unwilling or unable to look up at her. "I'm just going to walk the hallways. I need to get out of here." Mulder's words hit her with the stinging force of a slap. Before she could be stunned into silence, though, she walked over to face him. "What the hell does that mean?" Her voice was hard, losing all the quiet of their moment at the window. "I'm sorry, I -- I just need to get some fresh air, okay?" He stood and moved toward the door, but was stopped by her hand firmly clasping his arm. Pulling him around to face her, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "What's wrong, Mulder?" Scully wanted to keep her voice sympathetic, but that was becoming extremely difficult in the face of his erratic behavior. "Nothing." Scully knew evasion when she saw it. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him to quit this behavior, he yanked his arm out of her grasp and, his voice bitter, said, "Look, I don't want to talk about it. I'll see you later." She was able to catch up to him just as he turned the doorknob. Bracing her hand against the door, she kept him from opening it. He finally turned to face her, his own eyes narrow and foreign. "What are you doing?" "What are YOU doing, Mulder? Why the hell are you avoiding me?" "I'm not--" "Don't give me that! What do you think you're doing right now?" She searched his face for any sign of relenting, of honesty, but it remained cold. And then he delivered the coup de grace. "I'm not doing anything you haven't done for the last five years." His words stung. She wanted to lash out at him in return, but she knew the truth of what he had said. That still didn't make his actions right. As she tried to think of a reply, he continued. "Do the words, 'I'm fine' ring a bell?" The retort, "That's not fair," hung on her tongue, but she couldn't say it, because what he had said was true. He moved his hand from the doorknob and shifted slightly away from the door, but she kept her hand pressed against it. She felt the exhale of his breath on her face. The hardness of his expression softened a bit, and out of the corner of her eye she saw his hand come up as if to caress her arm, then drop to his side. She bit her lip and he murmured, "I'm sorry, Scully. That was cruel." He raised his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "I just -- I need some time to think about all this." Her voice lowered to match his. "Think about what?" Mulder worried at his face, rubbing his eyes. "This. Us." He paused, and his next words were even quieter, like a confession. "What I've done to you." "What have you done to me, Mulder?" she whispered. He lowered his hand from his eyes but turned his face away from her. "Everything that's happened to you since you met me. It's all been my fault." She closed her eyes and lowered her chin to her chest, the weight of his words -- the guilt they held -- settling over her. Keeping her voice low and reassuring, she raised her face to meet his and said, "Do you think it's all your fault?" He didn't nod, but the look on his face showed his agreement. "Mulder, I'm here because I want to be. Everything that's happened to me has been *their* fault. Not yours." She paused for a moment, then continued. "Remember what you said to me in your hallway? Those weren't just your feelings. They're mine too. I owe you everything. You make *me* a whole person." The expression on his face changed from guilty to wistful for a moment, then back again. "But you were going to leave me, Scully. I shouldn't have followed you out that door." She took the chance of placing her hand on his arm, and kept it there despite his flinch. "I chose to quit the F.B.I. so I could *stay* with you, Mulder. They were going to send me halfway across the country, and I chose to give up everything so I could stay there with you." A chuff of bitter laughter vibrated his chest. "And you would have given up everything, just for me." "Yes, I would! Saving my career would mean nothing to me if I didn't have you. I'm not going to bow to them -- to what they try to do to me -- if it means giving up everything I consider truly important, like my honor, my strength, and *you*." He turned to look at her then. His face was softer, but still closed-off. She could still see doubts lurking in his eyes, though she sensed he was trying to believe her. Scully brought one hand up to trace the contours of his cheek, and whispered, "I love you. I need you." Something in his face changed. His eyes narrowed and his breathing became heavier. Suddenly, there he was, up against her, pressing her into the wall. The force of his kiss reverberated through her body, sending waves of heat along her nerves. Their mouths fused together as her hands came around to snake under his shirt, pulling him closer to her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered a knock on the door, but the feel of his hands under her top, pulling it off, rendered all externals trivial. And then, in a fury of hands and bodies, they were naked, once again pressed up against the wall. She felt his touch everywhere, as he touched her, fingertips leaving bruises on her stomach, her arms, her breasts. His lips whispered words into her skin, his murmurings unintelligible but conveying feelings of need, of desperate love. Breathing became a luxury as she shivered at his touch, at the cool plaster of the wall against her back. His hands closed on her waist and he lifted her until her legs were clenched around his and she was wedged up against the wall. And then she closed her eyes as he swiftly entered her, his mouth closing on her shoulder and his teeth biting into her chest. "Oh God, Mulder, yes...." He began to move, forcefully at first then slower, each thrust a smooth push through slickened folds. Scully wanted to touch him, but somewhere in the back of her mind knew that the force of gravity wouldn't let her. She buried her face in his hair, inhaling the muskiness of him. Kissing him and clenching her muscles around him, she felt tears spring to her eyes, urgency mixing with beauty. Against all logic, the force of his body pressing into her own was enough to bring her to climax, and she shuddered with the impact, her body weightless even as he pushed into her. Her arms grasped at him, clutching him close, wanting his body to mold into her. Time suspended as he continued to pump into her, his mouth moving from her shoulder to kiss and suck at her jugular vein, until he finally emptied into her, his body jerking with spasmodic motions. Mulder's body lost its tension and he leaned into her, breathing heavily. She eased her legs down from around him and regained her footing on the floor, holding his head to the crook of her neck. Hoping that this was enough to make him believe her, but worrying it wasn't. +++++++++++++++ They rose before dawn to get dressed, after having spent a night holding each other close, the darkness broken by bouts of lovemaking and to eat the dinner which had been left outside their door. Sometime shortly after midnight, he had left their bed and padded to the bathroom, emptying his bladder then staring at himself in the mirror for a long time. He looked different. He could see her staring back at him, as if she had imprinted herself on his face. Mulder remembered the tales that after years of living together, couples began to look alike. But then, those couples had the luxury of forever, and he knew that he and Scully would never have that luxury, or at least the certainty of it. Mulder had wanted to believe everything she had told him earlier, and part of him did. Yet those doubts worried at the back of his mind, keeping him from real peace. As he had made his way back to the bed, he stopped and looked at her. She had been sprawled out on the bed, her legs warring with the covers he'd spread over her, and her arms akimbo as if reaching out for him, needing him even while asleep. His male ego had been gratified at the sight, and he pushed back the fears which had overtaken him earlier, wanting nothing more than to hold her tight and savor these moments together. And so he had. That morning, they showered together quickly, getting soap in one another's eyes then wiping it away, amused, as the water coursed over their bodies. As they dressed in the new clothes, courtesy of the concierge, the memory of their situation stood between them as surely as if Barbara Pereira herself had entered the room, and the mood darkened and became more urgent. She called down to the front lobby to have them tabulate their bill and arrange for a taxi, while he gathered their things into the well-worn bag. They quickly scanned the room for anything left behind, and Mulder handed his partner her passport, which she tucked in her pocket. Time couldn't pass quickly enough. Hurrying downstairs, they paid the remainder of their bill and got into the taxi which would take them to the airport. The ride was fairly fast, since the morning's traffic hadn't quite started. Arriving at the airport, Mulder shouldered the bag while Scully presented the tickets at check-in to get their boarding passes. He held his breath as they passed through customs, though fortunately the officer seemed content with their passports and the paperwork they had tried to procure proved unnecessary. He was surprised that there wasn't an alert put out to stop the two of them if they tried to pass through customs, but knew their opponents seemed to want the two of them on the plane, and that customs officers were probably more lenient with people leaving the country than entering. Mulder stole a glance at Scully as they were waved through, and the look on her face reassured him slightly. They made their way to their gate to scope out the scene, looking for the people who the note had said would be watching them the entire way. Mulder didn't see anyone following them, though didn't want to take his chances. As they neared the gate, Scully's hand closed on his arm and she led them into a small airport restaurant, where they tried to eat breakfast, their nerves killing their appetites. After about an hour of waiting, the intercom announced boarding of their flight and they walked to the gate, presenting their passports along with their boarding passes to the attendant at the ramp. He and Scully took one more look around the gate area but still didn't see anyone watching them. His hand at the small of her back, he nudged her forward and they walked through the clearance and down the steps, then across the tarmac to the plane which would take them back home. +++++++++++++++ The smog hovering over Washington D.C. had never looked so beautiful. Scully clasped her partner's hand tightly as their plane circled over the city in final prepartions for landing at National. Her legs were cramped from the long flight from Buenos Aires to D.C. through Miami, yet she'd remained seated for most of the flight, unwilling to leave her seat unless necessary. The flight had fortunately passed quickly, yet these few moments before landing stretched endlessly before her. His hand still in hers, she used her other hand to gather her things in the small plastic bag they'd picked up at the Miami airport, while they pretended to souvenir shop as they waited for their flight to Washington and checked to see if they were being surveilled. For not the first time, Scully wondered if that note had been a set-up, if the claim that they were being watched was merely a ruse. But the memory of a vanished woman and a maid trembling in terror gave lie to her suspicions. Tucking the largely-unread copies of Newsweek and Time into the bag, she set it on her lap and turned to face Mulder. He had claimed the window seat this time and was staring out at the haze, at the early-afternoon glow of the city. She watched over her shoulder as they neared the ground. From the sky, Washington looked so orderly, so planned -- the perfect symbol of the Fathers' vision so many years ago. But she knew that down there, chaos awaited her. The intercom announced that final preparations for landing were underway, and a flight attendant passed by them, checking to see that their seatbelts were fastened. Mulder turned away from the window and looked at her, his silent face speaking questions. //You okay? You ready for what will happen when we land?// She answered yes. She was as ready as she could ever be, which wasn't nearly ready enough. +++++++++++++++ Something about walking up a ramp from plane to terminal had always appealed to Mulder. As corny as it sounded, he liked the idea of the extending ramp being a gateway, from the stasis and uncertainty of travel to the reassurances of home. Somewhere in the walk from their seats to the gate, his hand had slipped from hers and instead clutched the handle of their bag, their union instead manifested through their matching strides -- his shorter than usual, hers longer. They made their way into the waiting area and passed through what he'd always called the "hugs and welcomes gauntlet", of all the people waiting for their loved ones to disembark. Mulder very seldom had a loved one waiting for him, yet he found comfort this time in the knowledge that *his* loved one was by his side. Free from the smothering mass of people, they reached the concourse, only to find Byers leaning against a pillar, his face scanning the approaching passengers. The man didn't need to call out the agents' names for them to approach him, never quite so grateful to see his familiar face. Without a word, they all fell into step together, and only when they reached the escalator to the parking garage did Scully finally speak. "Thanks for picking us up." Standing on the down escalator, he watched Scully lean up and give Byers a quick kiss of gratitude on his cheek. Mulder stifled a chuckle at the man's flustered reaction and stammered assertion that it was nothing, really. All three of them kept vigilant watch on their surroundings as they walked toward Byers' car, and the man said, "I'm going to take you two to HQ -- it's probably safer there than the Bureau or your apartments." Scully took the front seat while Mulder folded his body into the back, and soon they were out of the garage and on the freeway to the Gunmen's offices in Virginia. Only when the city center had receded from view did their driver speak. "Right now Langly and Frohike are trying to get in touch with Pereira, to see if she was returned home like you were told." He navigated down an exit ramp and turned left at the light. "We weren't able to find out exactly who sent that fax you intercepted, but we did hack into the Bureau mainframe and got a log of the transmissions from that machine at that time of day." Anticipating the agents' question, he continued, "The access code used on the machine was one generally used by executive level assistants, so it could have been any one of a handful of people. We did check it against the card-key access times of several of the employees at that level, and we do know that A.D. Skinner and his office staff were not logged in at that time." Scully turned in her seat to look at Mulder. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "Any clue as to just who it *was*?" The familiar scenery showed that they were down the street from their destination. Byers spoke as he pulled into the controlled-access gate and punched in several codes in succession. "That we don't know. We narrowed it down to around a dozen personnel who are possibilities. I'll show you a list when we get inside. To be frank, it could even be someone else altogether, so long as they had knowledge of that access code. We can keep looking, but I doubt it will ultimately help much." Anyone. The possibilities floated around in Mulder's brains. He felt a deep sense of relief that it wasn't Skinner, then chastized himself for even suspecting that. Their boss didn't want them dead -- he knew that -- though recent events had made perfectly clear that quite a few people did. And he knew that further investigation wouldn't help uncover that person or group of people. They didn't want to be found, and knew how to cover their tracks. Mulder watched as Byers punched in another set of access codes to gain entry into the garage, then put the car into park. His partner got out of the car first, shifting her shopping bag from one hand to the other as she opened the door for him. He stepped out and stretched his tired muscles while the Gunman once again punched in more numbers to enter the building -- Mulder was surprised a man could even remember that many codes. They followed him inside. The noise of their entry had alerted the other two Gunmen, and he and Scully had a welcoming party as they stepped into the confines of the compound. He had never been so glad to see them in his life, but resisted the impulse to hug his gratitude, instead saying, "Thanks guys, for everything you've done to help us out." Their smiles were his welcome. Some things never changed. As Mulder set their bag down in the room and walked over to the computer where Langly was busy going through data and speaking on the telephone, he heard Frohike's voice telling Scully that she looked wonderful, and her bemused and appreciative reply that she was very grateful for all their help. Mulder could almost see Frohike's beaming smile light up the room. They got down to business. "...I'll tell them, and we're all glad you're okay.... That's right.... Yes, they're right here, but... Oh, okay. I'll call you again in a few hours." Langly hung up the phone and turned to the others. "That was Barbara Pereira. She's back home." Mulder's sigh of relief didn't wash away the residual horror he still felt at having put that woman in this position. Scully asked, "How is she? Is she all right?" Langly's expression of intrigue was stamped on his face. "Get this -- she doesn't remember a thing." "What?" Several voices said in unison. "Says she woke up this afternoon in her bed and had no idea how she'd gotten there." Byers murmured, "Classic behavior pattern of alien abduction." The two agents exchanged a look. "Did she go to a hospital, or at least have someone check her out?" Scully asked. Langly spoke up. "She apparently had a doctor look her over, but she says she feels just fine and doesn't have time to go to the hospital. Something about a party she had plans for tonight. I didn't think it was a good idea to mention anything about aliens. You two know how she can get." Mulder sunk down into the nearest chair. "It's all being neatly tied up...." He couldn't resist breaking into a bitter laugh. As always, Their mission accomplished, the shadow group slunk back off into the shadows. He and Scully were back in D.C. and Pereira had been returned. Someone had killed Schweig back at his ranch and chances were that anyone exploring Wilkes Land, Antarctica, would find no evidence that anything had ever been there, save a huge crater in the middle of the wasteland. Scully walked over and stood next to him. She kneeled down before him and looked up into his face. His voice was harsh as he said, "No trace on the fax, no witnesses left." Mulder paused. "And yet again, we're left with fuck all." He glanced down at his partner, and saw a flash of something pass over her face -- a darker emotion hinting at things left unsaid -- but was too embittered by the whole experience to question what it meant. After a few silent moments, Byers said, "Um, we'll give you two a few minutes to talk." The sounds of footsteps and a door shutting vaguely filtered through Mulder's near-stupor. Scully remained kneeling in front of him, and reached out and took both of his hands in her own. Her voice soft but steely, she said, "Look at me, Mulder." He obeyed. "We both saw that... thing... in Antarctica. Whatever it was, whoever those *things* were, they weren't human. We don't have any physical evidence and from what I'm guessing, no traces of that substance you found me immersed in remain in my bloodstream." He felt her squeeze his hands, and he fought back smarting tears of sheer fury and frustration. "But Mulder, I *know* what I saw. And until we can get some evidence, that's enough for us to keep going." He looked at her for a long moment. Finally he was getting what he'd always wanted from her -- belief and optimism. That was all he needed, right? Her faith? Somehow, it didn't reassure him, as the old demons of frustration hit him, and he balled up his fist out of a need to throw punches at the brick wall They had erected before the two of them. +++++++++++++++ The hallway of Mulder's apartment was silent as they walked toward his door. Scully kept her hand in her pocket, gripping the sidearm Byers had given her, feeling it rock against her leg with each step. The surety of it made her feel only slightly more confident in their situation. It still had too many unknowns for her to be completely safe. As they neared the turn in his hallway to reach his apartment, she couldn't resist glancing around the space. The panelled walls, the tiled floor, the harsh sodium light of the overhead lamps -- each of them brought back memories. Memories of so many journeys to his apartment, some anxious, others relaxed. Then the last, dreading facing him with the news that she was resigning from the F.B.I., knowing that the news would destroy him as much as it was destroying her. If she had stayed in his apartment any longer, he would have easily been able to convince her to stay -- for all the wrong reasons. Through the clarity of hindsight she knew remaining with him had little to do with being on the verge of something big or the thrill of investigation. Instead, it had everything to do with needing to be with him, searching for a truth which was becoming both more elusive and more tangible every day. The truth of their quest, the truth of their meaning in one another's lives. And over the past week, from when she collapsed on the floor to their walk down this hallway, those truths were coming into greater focus. They rounded the corner and were faced with his door, its brown wood stolid and calm. Mulder's own door key had been lost somewhere along the way, so he fished the Gunmen's backup out of his pocket and inserted it in the lock. The bolt turned easily at the pressure. Before Mulder turned the doorknob to enter, he turned to face Scully. "You ready?" he murmured. She nodded her reply and drew her gun out of her pocket as he pushed the door open. The apartment was quiet. Scully breathed in stale air, the scent of mold and dust floating around the room. Just as she was about to follow Mulder through the front room into the living area, she heard his harsh gasp. She watched him quickly draw his weapon. Drawing her own, she stepped to his side so she could see what he was reacting to. On his sofa sat Donald Leamus, the man who had orchestrated the terrorist "crackdown" to test the biological agent. The man who manipulated the campaign, hoping to break Mulder in the process. The man who had tried to send her partner to his death. The next few seconds passed in a staccato cacophany of drawn guns, shooting stances, and grunts of shock and fury. Two agents stood in perfect position, guns trained on the man sitting calmly before them. "Put your guns down. You can't risk shooting me, Agents." Leamus' voice was smooth wax over metal. The agents didn't obey. "Welcome home, Agents Scully and Mulder," he continued. Fury bubbled through Scully's veins. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice cold and bitter. Leamus smiled. "Thank you very much for following instructions. As I'm sure you're aware by now, Barbara Pereira has been returned to her house." "What did you do to her?" As he said the words, Scully could physically feel Mulder strain to his breaking point next to her. The man shifted slightly in his seat, though made no move to stand or touch the gun next to him on the sofa. "Nothing she'll remember, which is probably better for her." Scully tensed her arm muscles, trying to shake off the soreness from having gone so long out of the position. She wanted desperately to look at Mulder, to ask him questions with her eyes, but she remained still. At that moment, Leamus slowly stood. Scully trained her gun on him as he rose from the sofa, and he said, "I'm going to leave now, but I have one thing to say to you first." "You're not going to leave, Leamus," Mulder nearly growled. He laughed then. "What are you going to do? Shoot me? I think you've already had enough of explaining dead bodies in your apartment, Agent Mulder." Scully's eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to lash out at the man. "Agents, I'm warning you now not to follow up on anything that happened to you in South America, or what you were told by the man who called himself Jacob Smith." "Why?" Scully's words were more command than question. "If you do, we will not hesitate to take Barbara Pereira again. And next time, we won't return her." With that, the man walked out of the apartment. Scully finally managed to take a deep breath. She watched Mulder move over to his chair and slowly sink down into it, while she walked around his apartment, checking in the various rooms and closets to make sure nothing was out of place. Everything looked fine, but that didn't give her any sense of reassurance. She made her way back to the living room and stood in front of Mulder, watching him look out the window, his face closed off and his body still. They stayed in that stance for a few moments, then just as she was about to make a move to either touch him or just say his name -- she didn't know which -- he spoke. "What aren't you telling me, Scully?" "What?" Her face puckered in confusion. His voice rose a bit. "What did Jacob Smith tell you?" Oh, God. The best laid plans of mice and men.... She had chosen not to tell him because she didn't want to hurt him. And now it was all going to hell. Scully took a seat on the sofa, deliberately keeping her distance from him, trying to remain calm. Taking a deep breath, she began to recount Smith's story of Mulder's family history, of the relationship between Schweig, Sommers, and his grandparents. Of why Smith had approached her. Of why he had rescued them in Antarctica. Throughout the narrative, Mulder remained still, staring off into the middle distance. His eyes were close to glazing over, though she knew he was hanging on to every word. When she was finished, the room was quiet for several minutes, then Mulder turned to look at her. "When were you planning to tell me about this, Scully?" She had no rebuttal for him. "You were never going to mention it, were you?" It wasn't a question. "Mulder, I--" She couldn't continue, as the guilt washed over her. His face twisted into a bitter smile. Before she could find words to explain that she'd done what she thought was best, he spoke to her, his voice dead. "I think I need to be alone, Scully." Her voice became quiet, though not meek. Never meek. "Are you angry with me?" Mulder was silent for several long moments. Finally, he said, "No, I'm not. That would make me a hypocrite. God knows I've done the same thing to you in the past." His face softened slightly and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I just... I just need some time to think about all this, okay?" She wanted to heed his request. She wanted to walk out of the room and give him all the distance he wanted. But she couldn't. That was what she would have done had they been respectful colleagues. But they were partners, and now they were lovers. This was *their* problem, not his. "Do you think you can't talk to me about it, Mulder?" He looked up at her. "No, that's not it." "Then what is it?" "It's -- damn it, Scully, this is my life we're talking about, here." "It's my life too." Her voice grew stronger with each word. "It stopped being *your* life when we made love. It stopped being *your* life a long time before that." She wanted to touch him, but kept her hands clasped in front of her. "But it's my family." "And it's not mine too? What do the greeting cards and wedding vows say? 'What's yours is mine'? Mulder, if it affects you, it affects me too." He closed his eyes and she continued. "If we're going to have any future together, we need to learn to start talking to each other and stop thinking we're protecting one another by keeping things secret. I screwed up, I admit it. I should have told you everything about what Smith told me immediately, but I didn't. And God, Mulder, I'm sorry." She walked over to him and knelt next to him, and grasped his hand in her own. "I can't promise that it will never happen again. But I'm not going to sit back and just let things happen anymore. I can't. I won't." "But Scully," he said, "I'm not going to let things happen to you." "You can't stop everything from happening, Mulder. And when you try to take it all on your shoulders, you cut me out of the process. I can defend myself, you know." He looked up at her and pulled his hand out of her grasp. "Why the hell is it wrong of me to want to protect you?" "So I should just sit back and let you take care of me? I'm sorry, Mulder, but that's not going to happen." Mulder sighed deeply. "I can't change that part of me, Scully." "I know that. But you have to remember that I'm in this as deeply as you are. Those people seem to think it's all about you, but it's about me too. Now, more than ever." She raised to her feet and looked down at him. Suddenly, she felt his arm snake around her waist and he pulled her into his lap. Holding her close, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "I know, Scully. And God, I'm trying." They stayed there together for a long time, holding one another close. Finally, she heard his whispered, "I love you." She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled. "I love you too. And you know what, Mulder?" He pulled away from her, and she saw the tears lurking in the corners of his eyes. "What?" "We're going to survive this, and we're going to win." His smile warmed her heart. She pulled away from him and placed her hands on his chest. "So, what next?" "Well, first thing is that we have to contact Skinner and let him know we're back home, then figure out what the hell we're going to tell people." "Ah, you mean we have to get our stories straight." She quirked an eyebrow. Mulder grinned. "Something like that." His smile faded. "We also need to make a plan." "What kind of plan?" He shifted underneath her. "Think about what all we've seen and what all we still have left to learn. We can't keep waiting for things to happen. We have to start going after the truth and not just wait for it to fall into our hands." Scully nodded her head in agreement. "As for the immediate future...." Mulder's voice deepened and she could feel him getting hard beneath her. Her own breathing deepened and a flush spread through her cheeks. "Yes?" "Do you have any idea how often I've fantasized about making love with you on that couch?" Scully smiled. Just as she was thinking of a suitably coy response, his hand snaked under her legs and he stood, carrying her over to the sofa. Her laughter was stopped by his kiss, deep and probing, tender and loving. They collapsed on the sofa and touched one another, beginning their new life as one. They were home. They were together. And sometimes, that was the greatest gift of all. +++++++++++++++ END. AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'll bet everyone remembers their first thoughts upon leaving the theatre after their first viewing of "The X-Files" movie. Mine was, "I have GOT to write a story." I was out of town that weekend, driving 900 miles without ever leaving the state of Texas, and I-20 to Texarkana from Dallas and Highway 59 in East Texas are permanently branded with the first plans I made for "Estancia". This was, by sheer virtue of size and plot, the most ambitious story I've tried to tell so far. I want to thank two people in particular for "Estancia": Kem and Kirsten. These two ladies went above and beyond the call of duty in helping with every idea I had, and reading chapters at the spur of the moment. Thanks, you two -- you mean a great deal to me. And as I said last night, "You RAWK!" I've already read several wonderful fanfics dealing with the ramifications of the movie, and I really hope to read a great many more. To all of you who have made it this far -- please get to writing! Don't let inexperience or insecurity stop you. Each of us has a story to tell, and that's the beauty of the Internet. I'm eagerly awaiting each of your stories :). Thank you. cheers, alanna