Title: En Veritae Author: mimic117 Email: mimic1172@gmail.com Rating: PG-13-ish, mild R maybe for bad language ( and non- graphic sex, just once) Category: SA Spoilers: Jersey Devil, Duane Barry, 3, Ascension, nothing after One Breath Archive: yesyesyes (oh sorry, I’m begging) I’ll send it to Gossamer and Ephemeral myself, though. Summary: Scully’s still missing and Mulder’s lost in a snowstorm looking for her. Is his shelter from the storm all it seems? Author’s notes: I know this subject matter is kinda old, but I thought of this story and needed to deal with it. I would like to thank all the terrific writers I’ve been enjoying the past two years, which is what gave me the unmitigated gall to try writing my own. So if you don’t like this, it’s their fault. Being as I am a new-ish writer, please be lavish with your praise and stinting with your flames. Praise will probably give me the nerve to try this again; flames will be used to keep me warm when the furnace isn’t working. Disclaimer: Do I have to? Don’t we all know that I don’t own them, even as much as I would love to have Mulder as my captive boy toy? Aren’t we all aware that Chris Carter is their true owner, even if he doesn’t let them have any fun? Do the lawyers think suing me will get them anything in return? Can’t a frustrated housewife have a midlife crisis in peace, even if she doesn’t get paid any more for this story than she does for any other work she performs? Have we heard all the whining we can stand? Good! En Veritae by mimic117 Late November Somewhere in Northeast Ohio 5:00 PM It seemed to FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder that he'd been walking for a very long time. Maybe he would have been better off waiting with his car for help to arrive. But considering the car was currently at the bottom of a ditch off the highway, and the snow was interfering with his cell phone signal, Mulder rather doubted help would be arriving any time soon. So he continued putting one exhausted foot in front of the other through the knee-deep snow drifts, even as his tracks were obliterated behind him by the ever-worsening early season blizzard. After a minor eternity of auto-pilot trudging, Mulder stopped, swaying on his feet as he sensed something ahead of him. The snow was falling too fast to see anything, but some inner voice told him a solid object was not far ahead, just to his right. Changing course, Mulder pushed himself to continue, just a few more steps - and stumbled against what could only be the corner of a building. Wiping a numb hand across his streaming eyes, Mulder followed the wall until he came upon a door. Surprised to feel the door knob turn, he nevertheless was more surprised to find himself entering a log house with no one in sight. Mulder took two steps inside, shut the door, opening his mouth to call out to the occupants. But the only sound he made was a very whispery “help” before the room went dark, and his full length hit the floor. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 11:15 PM Even before he opened his eyes, Mulder realized he was warm. He would have assumed he was in the hospital, again, except he could hear a fire crackling nearby. Half opening one eye, Mulder saw a field-stone fireplace surrounded by log walls and a vaulted ceiling. Definitely not the hospital. Taking mental inventory, he recited, Mulder could hear someone moving in the background; his first thought was 'Scully.' Then he remembered; Special Agent Dana Scully was missing. It had been nearly 3 months since Duane Barry took her to Skyland Mountain. Almost 3 months of unmitigated hell. He was in Ohio following up a lead on his partner’s whereabouts, now snowbound in a cabin he'd bumped into during a blizzard. A sudden wave of grief released a moan from his throat. He turned his face into the pillow to stifle the inevitable tears. "Good, you're awake. I've got some hot soup here if you can sit up." The voice was soft, gentle, with a touch of sadness in the undertones. Mulder opened his eyes, turning his head to see a slim form silhouetted against the fire's glow. At first, all he could make out was a great cloud of long, wavy golden strands surrounding a head. But as the figure moved forward, out of the fire’s radiance, Mulder found himself gazing into the face of a pretty young woman. A woman with a slim nose, full lips turned up in a tentative smile, and the most melancholy gray eyes he’d ever seen outside his own mirror. Mulder struggled to push himself upright and realized he was lying on a sleeper sofa, opened before the fireplace. Attempting to speak, Mulder discovered the Gobi desert inside his throat. He couldn’t make a sound without it burning as though his esophagus was torn and bleeding. Trying to swallow, he found the total absence of moisture in his mouth made it impossible, and he coughed weakly from the effort. “You should drink some of this before you try to talk,” the woman said. “Walking in these conditions can make you dry from breathing through your mouth.” Mulder nodded as she placed a mug of liquid in his hands. Wrapping his long fingers around the cup, he took a cautious sip, delighted to taste chicken broth, at just the right temperature for comfort. This sure didn’t come out of a can, he thought, and took a large gulp, feeling it lubricate his parched throat. “Thank you.” Mulder smiled at the woman sitting in an armchair near the foot of the bed, and cleared his throat carefully. “This soup is wonderful. It’s already making my throat feel better.” Finishing the warm liquid, Mulder leaned over to set the empty mug on the floor, and felt something tap the underside of his chin. Startled, he reached up a hand to investigate, to find something which belonged there - Scully’s cross. It was the only thing discovered in Duane Barry’s car. When Margaret Scully had asked him to keep it, Mulder placed the chain around his neck. He never took it off for any reason, wearing it to work under his shirt and tie, where it wasn’t visible. Only he knew it was there. It helped to renew his purpose every time he looked in his mirror in the morning. Now, Mulder wrapped his hand around the cross as he sat back against the pillows. Closing his eyes, he renewed the vow he'd recited daily for nearly 3 months. Opening his eyes again, he felt tired, even after just having slept. It was late now. Mulder was very familiar with the way night felt different from the day, having spent so much time awake lately. But he didn’t think it would be polite to fall asleep again without at least introducing himself, so he made an effort to concentrate on staying awake for a bit longer. “My name is Fox Mulder,” he offered. “I appreciate you taking care of me, especially since I just walked in unannounced. My car fell into a ditch out there somewhere, and I was just looking for shelter. I guess my luck must be improving.” His eyes became distant, as though seeing beyond the inside of the cabin. “I could use some good luck right about now,” he whispered. The young woman rose from the chair and stooped next to Mulder, picking up the mug. She smelled of roses and something woodsy, as if she spent a great deal of time outdoors. “I guess you have good timing,” she replied, in a hollow voice. “My name is Verity Hampton. I’m pleased to meet you, Fox.” Mulder opened his mouth to protest the use of his given name, but changed his mind and closed it again. “I’m pleased to meet you, too, Verity, and even more pleased that someone was home when I needed help.” Mulder just managed to cover a yawn that cracked his jaws. “Sorry to be so rude, but for some reason, I’m really beat. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll sleep some more and we can talk in the morning. If that’s okay, I mean.” For the first time, Mulder saw Verity smile fully, marveling that such a small change in muscle alignment could make a huge difference in anyone’s appearance. Dimples appeared in both cheeks, and her gray eyes took on a sparkle that made them look metallic. Mulder couldn’t help smiling back. “If you’re not used to walking in deep snow, it can really tire you out,” she said. “You look to me like you spend most of your time indoors, so I doubt if you get much chance to practice. And you were really cold, which takes a lot of energy to correct. We can wait till tomorrow to get better acquainted. Besides,” she teased, “you look as though you could use some beauty sleep.” Mulder ran a hand over his face and down to his stubbled chin. “That bad?” he lamented. Verity nodded, grinning. As Mulder watched, all the light went out of her eyes, and her voice rang hollowly once more. “I’ll still be here in the morning.” Carrying the mug to the kitchen, Verity continued up the stairs. Quietly watching, Mulder could only wonder at the reason behind her mercurial mood changes. He was looking forward to knowing more about this enigmatic woman. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Day one 7:30 AM It took Mulder a few minutes to regain his bearings, but when he was awake, his first thought was a hope that the snow had stopped overnight. Looking at the windows, he ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to make the blurry, windblown landscape clearer. When that didn’t work, he resigned himself to a day of waiting and got out of bed. The fire was blazing away in the hearth, and Mulder was grateful for the warmth, considering he was mostly naked. Gathering up his discarded clothing from a chair, he turned to find Verity watching him from the kitchen alcove, steam and delicious scents curling around her slender form. “Good morning,” Mulder smiled at her. “Whatever that is smells terrific. But I think I need to clean up a bit first. Could you...” He held up the items in his hand, and Verity grinned at him, gesturing with the spatula in her hand. “The bathroom is down the hall under the stairs,” she informed him. “Help yourself to whatever you need, but don’t leave the seat up.” “I’ll make sure to pick up my towels, too.” Mulder headed with some alacrity down the hallway to attend to pressing business. Finishing with a quick wash-down and combing, Mulder decided to use one of the disposable razors available and at least make himself a little more presentable. There wasn’t much he could do about the wrinkled dress shirt and slacks, but at least he could make his face a bit easier on the eye. Turning to the mirror, Mulder stopped short, gazing at the cross hanging from his neck. Once again, he renewed his vow to Scully, hoping that this lead would be the one he needed to find her. In spite of how well he’d just slept, Mulder was suddenly tired. But it wasn’t a tiredness of the body so much as a weariness of the spirit; a soul bruised and battered from too many raised hopes dashed against the ground time and again. Mulder finished shaving, hung up his towel, and lowered the toilet seat before heading out to breakfast. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Putting his dishes in the sink, Mulder reflected that he hadn’t enjoyed a more companionable meal in almost three months. They'd eaten in near silence at a small dinette table placed in front of the fire. There didn’t seem to be any other heat available in the house, so the warmth from the fireplace was a welcome haven amidst the cold. Walking back into the main room, Mulder watched as Verity returned the sleeper sofa to its rightful form. He sprawled out in the armchair and stretched gingerly, becoming aware of which muscles had been overworked the previous day. Reaching for his cell phone on the end table, Mulder pushed the speed dial number for Assistant Director Skinner’s office, only to receive a ‘no service’ message. It appeared the storm was continuing to interfere with his signal, and he sighed, setting the phone back down. “We’re a bit out of the way for cordless phones, so they don’t work very well when the weather is bad,” Verity’s voice broke into his thoughts. Mulder knew that he needed to stop being so impatient when there was nothing he could do about the weather. If I could make it stop snowing, I’d have to make an X-file folder for myself, he thought “Sorry,” Mulder apologized with a rueful grin. “I really need to be someplace, but I guess I’ll have to wait until the snow stops.” His fingers caressed the cross around his neck. Verity sat down on the sofa. “Does it have to do with the person that cross belongs to?” she inquired. Mulder’s head snapped up, his face registering surprise. “What makes you think...” Watching her hands twist together in her lap, Verity answered in a soft voice, “I know what it’s like to lose someone who matters to you, so I recognize the signs of a sore heart.” Mulder’s surprise changed to a grim smile. “I didn’t know I was so transparent. Guess I need to work on my poker face some more.” Verity’s head dipped down, her golden waves swinging over the sides of her face like a curtain. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Fox,” she murmured, “but sometimes it helps to talk.” When Verity looked at him again, Mulder gave her a genuine smile that reached his eyes. He felt such a sense of peace in the presence of this shy, gentle girl that talking seemed like a good idea. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he teased. “You’re not the only one who’s curious, you know.” Verity smiled back and nodded. Talking would most likely help, he knew, and sometimes it was easiest to talk to a stranger. But it would be painful for both of them. Mulder hoped he could keep his ragged emotions under control. “Well,” Mulder took a deep breath, arranging his thoughts. “Since I barged in on you, I suppose it’s only fair that I should go first.” Thus began the tale of a lonely life brightened by a feisty red- head’s presence, and a search by the FBI’s most unwanted for the one person he could trust. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Mulder and Verity sat and sipped the hot tea, not saying anything. She’d insisted on making something warm to soothe his still sore throat, giving herself a chance to digest all the things he’d told her. Guess I wouldn’t believe me either, if I hadn’t been there, he mused. Mulder set his teacup down on the end table near his cell phone, waiting patiently for Verity to finish processing her thoughts. He turned around and looked out the window, expecting to find the snow still piling up. He was disappointed at not being disappointed. The light was bright, as only winter light can be when it snows, but the wind still howled against the walls of the house, snow blowing in an unending curtain of white. Hearing a heartfelt sigh behind him, Mulder turned to see Verity straightening on the couch, staring out the window into the swirling snow. “You need to find her, Fox.” Verity’s eyes seemed to gaze into a private world located beyond the confines of the cabin. “It’s so devastating to be lost and alone. Not being able to find your way back. Being adrift, unanchored...” Verity’s voice trailed off and her eyes stared at the blank brightness of the window. Somehow, he didn’t think she was just talking about Scully anymore. There was such hollow sadness in her voice Mulder couldn’t stop the sympathetic tears welling in his eyes; wondering what had happened to weave such devastation into her words. They sat like that for several more minutes, communing with their own private demons, until Verity shivered, glancing up to meet Mulder’s eyes with a rueful smile. "I’ve been alone so long I’ve gotten used to zoning out whenever I please,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” Mulder nodded in understanding. “Scully...” His breathed hitched on her name, and he paused to get it under control. “Scully says she doesn't know anyone else who can hold long, intelligent conversations while their mind is in a different time zone. It gets to be a bad habit when you’re alone a lot.” Verity nodded, too, drawing in a shaky breath. “Well, my story isn’t too much different from yours, except the loss was a bit more permanent.” Verity stared out the window. “Jared Caldwell and I knew each other from the time we were in second grade. He lived down the road from my parent’s house, and we rode our bikes to see each other most days after school. We were best friends. I could share anything with Jared, and know that he would understand. “ Verity’s eyes grew wistful. “My parents died when I was still fairly young, and I ended up moving from one foster home to another over the years until I turned 18. But no matter where I went, Jared always managed to stay in touch with me. The foster families weren’t bad, but it wasn’t the same as having a family of your own, with people who share your memories. I guess that’s how I thought of Jared; he was my whole family.” Mulder’s eyes took on a distant stare, as he thought about the one person who represented family to him. “I suppose you know how it is, being close to your partner. You start feeling like you aren’t completely there when the other person is away. We just seemed to naturally grow from best friends into boy-and-girl friends without our realizing it. Jared asked me to marry him right after we graduated from high school, and I never even thought about saying no. We both got jobs and decided to wait a couple years, until we had a bit of money saved for a nice place of our own.” Verity sighed raggedly before continuing. “We were so happy to be together. We didn’t mind waiting, and I got an apartment once I was out of foster care. It was nice to be on my own for a while, knowing that I could spend the rest of my life with Jared when we were married.” Verity’s voice trailed off into silence. Mulder studied her face, seeing the dull pain in her eyes, so like the vision that gazed back at him from his mirror every day. Here was another wounded creature like himself, no longer innocent and trustful of the world, but wary and cautious before all. Somehow, they had found each other for a short time, each recognizing a need for comfort in the other. Mulder shook himself out of his musings and spoke gently, almost tenderly. “What happened, Verity?” Jerking her head upward as if she'd forgotten his presence, Verity locked gazes with Mulder. The intensity of her exposed grief startled him. “Jared drowned just a few weeks before our wedding,” she said hollowly. “No one is quite sure how it happened. His car went off the road and into a farmer’s pond. The crash didn’t kill him; he drowned while he was unconscious. I guess I should have been happy that he didn’t suffer, but all I could think about was that my best friend in the whole world was gone.” Verity's gray eyes grew warmer as Mulder held her gaze, allowing her to see his understanding and sorrow. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and hold her; to ease some of her pain, and perhaps alleviate some of his own in the process. “I guess moving out here shortly afterward wasn’t such a bright idea," she continued. "Lord knows, enough people tried to talk me out of it. ‘You’re too young to live by yourself way out there.’ ‘What will you do if you get hurt or sick?’ ‘ You shouldn’t isolate yourself like that.’” Her cutting tone mocked the well-intentioned voices. “The one that hurt the most was, ‘ You’ll meet someone else, you’ll see.’” Verity sighed, looking at her hands clenched in her lap. “They didn’t understand that we only get one chance at happiness, and Jared was mine. I just couldn’t bear the thought of staying around all the people who knew both of us, having them stare and whisper and pity. The pity would have been the worst. So, I took what money my parents left me, changed jobs, bought this place, and I’ve been here ever since.” Mulder saw the animation go out of Verity’s face yet again, and couldn’t help a slight shiver at the emptiness that remained. They sat in silence for several minutes, until a log in the fireplace broke apart with a loud crack as sparks shot up the chimney. Rousing himself with a start, Mulder got up from the chair and went to the wood box, replenishing the fire before turning to the sofa where Verity watched him. “Thank you for telling me, Verity,” Mulder smiled gently. “It helps to have someone who understands what you’ve been through. I know.” Verity smiled back, rising from the sofa, and gathered up the tea mugs as she walked toward the kitchen. “If you’ll help me wash the dishes,” she tossed back over her shoulder, “I’ll set up the Scrabble board. Let's see if your fancy English education can beat the Ohio public school system at spelling.” ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Looking back later, Mulder couldn’t remember when he had spent a more relaxed, peaceful time with another person for such a long stretch. He tended to get antsy if he was forced into inactivity, or thwarted in his goal. Yet here it was nearly bedtime and he wasn’t anxious that the only thing accomplished that day was being beaten 3 out of 5 games of Scrabble. Verity had made them a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches. Supper was a lamb stew cooked in a kettle over the fire. The silences were comfortable, the conversations quiet and oftentimes humorous. It had been nice to tell stories about Scully and Samantha, hearing Verity’s reminiscences of Jared and her parents. Each understood the other’s need to share this part of themselves. Mulder placed two more logs on the fire, using the poker to push the coals and ashes more closely around them, banking the fire for the night. Straightening up, he looked toward the window, watching the flakes of snow come close enough to the pane to be illuminated by the light from inside. He sent up a silent prayer that wherever Scully was, she was warm and dry and safe. Especially safe. Turning to replace the poker, Mulder jumped when he found Verity standing at his shoulder, watching him silently, her expression unreadable. She smiled as he clapped a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry I startled you, Fox,” she apologized. “I figured in your line of work, you must be used to people sneaking up on you. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mulder let out a long breath and grinned at Verity’s teasing. He marveled at the quiet, graceful way she moved - almost as though she defied gravity, never quite touching the ground. “No need to apologize,” he replied, eyes twinkling in amusement. “If I hadn’t been trying to telepathically stop the snow falling, I probably would have heard you before I nearly knocked you down. Most of the people who sneak up on me tend to be making more noise and holding a weapon. I wasn’t looking for you to knock me out. Should I have been?” Verity’s eyes sparkled back at Mulder, animating her face in a way he had yet to see, and making him wish that the circumstances of his presence in her home were different. “Only if you’d won that fourth game of Scrabble,” she deadpanned. Mulder smiled, and gently picked up Verity’s hand, startled by the coldness of her skin. Looking deep into her eyes, he brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against her cold knuckles. He clasped her hands between both of his, trying to instill some warmth into her frigid fingers. “Thank you so much, Verity Hampton,” Mulder whispered. “For taking me in, for feeding me and distracting me. For letting me share some of my pain with you. And especially for sharing yours with me. It means a lot to me, and I won’t forget it. Or you.” Verity’s eyes dropped to their clasped hands. Gently, she pulled until Mulder released her, before smiling back up into his gaze. In her eyes, he could see how much his words had touched her. He thanked the god of smooth-tongued devils for putting the right ones in his mouth for once. Verity turned and walked toward the stairs without a word. Pausing with her foot on the bottom step, she looked back at Mulder, still standing before the fireplace. A sad smile curved her lips but didn’t reach her eyes. “Sleep well, Fox Mulder,” she murmured. “I’ll still be here in the morning.” Mulder watched her ascend the stairs and disappear from view before he prepared for sleep. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Day Two 9:30 AM Mulder awoke to gray light so dense he felt disoriented. Is it morning or have I developed cataracts overnight? he wondered. Rising from the sofa bed into air chilly enough to make the hair on his legs snap to attention, Mulder padded to the window on bare feet and pulled back the curtain. Snow was falling still, but it seemed to Mulder, with less enthusiasm than before. Something twinged inside his chest, but Mulder couldn’t tell if the feeling was anxiety to leave and continue the search, or regret over not being able to remain in the one place where he had found a temporary measure of peace. Either way, he had no desire to examine it too closely at the moment. Turning back to the fireplace, Mulder squatted on his heels and stirred the cold bed of ashes until he uncovered the small nest of coals waiting for his tinder. Gently coaxing the little flames along, he added kindling and then logs, until the fire once again blazed too brightly to allow close attendance. Brushing his hands together, Mulder stood, reaching for his watch and cell phone. Mulder noted the hour and tsked to himself in deep-bred Yankee disgust at his slothfulness. Under normal conditions, he would have been in his dungeon office, with the spiders and centipedes, for at least an hour and a half by now. Even on the weekends, an urgent call of nature woke him by 7:00 AM. “Damn snow...” he muttered, throwing his cell onto the sofa bed. “What the hell good is a phone if you can’t call for help in a stinking blizzard?” “I suspect it probably makes a dandy paperweight.” Mulder started, unaware that he was being observed. Verity came down the stairs in a red plaid flannel shirt and red jeans that struck him as a nose-thumbing act of defiance against the continuing gloom. The room seemed to warm by a few degrees as she walked to the sleeper sofa and set down a pile of clothes. “These are some of Jared’s things I brought with me when I moved here.” Verity’s hand absently stroked the fabric while her eyes measured Mulder’s long, lean frame. “He might have been just a bit bigger than you,” she assessed, “but they should fit well enough for now.” Her mouth quirked up on one side in wry amusement. “Besides, you’re probably tired of wearing dirty clothes, and these will be warmer than what you have on.” Mulder glanced down at the gray cotton boxers and dress shirt he’d slept in. “Are you implying that my aura leaves something to be desired?” Verity’s smile widened, displaying her dimples, and her eyes warmed. “There’s a clean towel and washcloth with the clothes. Shampoo and soap are in the shower stall.” Mulder snorted “That’s a hint!” and picked up the pile from the sofa bed before heading for the bathroom. After plowing through snow drifts and spending the next day in the same clothes, I suppose I am getting a bit rank, he mused. Too bad I didn’t have the sense to liberate my spare clothes from the car before it sank in the ditch. Stepping into the shower, Mulder sighed in relief as the hot water pounded against his face and chest. He turned and stood for a moment with bowed head, just letting the caressing streams run down his sore body, still aching from his struggle through the blizzard. Shaking the water from his eyes, Mulder grabbed the shampoo bottle, popped the top open, and was slammed in the gut by a wave of longing. Choking on inhaled water droplets, Mulder realized he'd been standing for several minutes, clutching the shampoo bottle, and not all the water running down his face was from the shower. Squeezing some shampoo into his palm, Mulder washed his hair, soaped, rinsed, and shut the water off, all the while trying to get his tortured sobs under control. Stepping from the shower, he grabbed the towel and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He stared in the mirror at his red-rimmed eyes, and realized that something would have to give - and soon. [If you’d done your job, she wouldn’t be missing in the first place...] [Well she’s been gone for almost three months now. Why haven’t you found her yet?] Feeling the tears stinging his eyes again, Mulder grabbed his guilty conscience by the scruff of the neck, threw it into a box in one corner of his mind, and slammed the lid. “I don’t have time for this shit,” Mulder informed his reflection. “I need to be ready to follow this lead when the storm lets up.” Once again under tight control, he finished dressing in the borrowed jeans and bright blue flannel shirt, realizing that he was no longer undecided about leaving. There never really had been a choice to make. When the time came, he would continue the search for his partner. Giving himself one last stern glare in the mirror, Mulder nodded and opened the bathroom door, to be greeted by the smells of a late breakfast of which Scully would never have approved. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ After placing his dirty dishes in the sink, Mulder strolled to the fireplace and set the last two logs on the blaze. Sighing, he warmed his hands in the heat and gazed out the window. Snow continued to drift down; soft, fat clumps of flakes falling straight past the window. Verity finished folding the bed back into a sofa, and looked over as Mulder sighed. She followed his gaze to the window and her eyes grew sad. “The light is getting brighter. It’ll most likely stop snowing around nightfall.” Her voice was serene as always, but with an undertone of regret. Mulder glanced at Verity and gave himself a mental shake. The snow would stop when it was good and ready, and nothing he could do would influence that. [Forget the snow, idiot, and stop dwelling on yourself.] His conscience was back out of the box and slapping him upside the head. But Mulder decided that, for once, it was right. “Hey, Verity, you’re out of logs in here. If you show me where it’s stacked, I’ll bring in more.” Mulder tried to keep his voice light in hopes of improving the oppressive atmosphere. Verity gave him a blank look, then turned silently toward the kitchen. Walking to the far right wall, she pulled open a door that Mulder had never noticed before. Following behind, he realized this was the mud room and back entrance of the cabin, complete with boots, shovels, garden implements, a coat closet and a small stack of seasoned hardwood logs. “There should be enough to last through midday tomorrow, but we can bring more in to dry after supper.” Verity’s voice sounded flat and lifeless in the small room. Her eyes stared into some middle distance, blank and dull as pieces of shale, until she felt the pull of Mulder's stare, and warmth flooded back into her gaze. She gave him one of her gentle smiles, gesturing at an ax hanging above a solid block of oak in one corner. “If you feel the need to reaffirm your manliness,” she teased, “you could split enough logs to last for a while.” Verity’s voice once again held the soft, gentle tones Mulder had become used to, with an undercurrent of sly humor. “Actually,” Mulder played along, “I’ve always been more in touch with my feminine side. But never let it be said that a Mulder wasn’t buff enough to chop a few logs.” Rolling up his shirt sleeves, Mulder placed a log on the wood block and picked up the ax. “You might not want to watch this,” Mulder stated. “It won’t be pretty, and it could get downright ugly.” “Well then,” Verity’s smiled, “I’ll go discover my masculine side while I get some beef stew on the fire for supper.” She closed the door and moved into the kitchen to the rhythmic UNGH-THWACK-CLUNK of firewood warming Mulder’s body once, before it burned and warmed him a second time later. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Mulder managed to turn the doorknob with two fingers and pushed the door open, his arms piled with split logs up to his chin. Dumping his load into the fireplace wood box, he swiped a sleeve across his forehead before adding three new logs to the fire under the kettle hanging from the iron pot hook. He wondered if he could convince the physical fitness instructors at Quantico to add wood chopping to the curriculum. It certainly worked a whole new set of muscles, and you never could tell when skill in swinging an ax might be handy. Mulder jumped when a hand over his shoulder, holding a towel. He still found it uncanny how quietly Verity moved. At times, it was almost as if she wasn’t really there. Mulder’s fingers brushed hers as he took the towel with a murmured ‘thanks’, and once again he found himself marveling at coldness of her skin, in spite of the warm fire. “That stew really smells good,” Mulder remarked as he wiped his sweaty face and neck. “I don’t think I’ve had an honest-to- goodness home cooked beef stew since I left home.” “It should be ready in a couple hours and then we can have an early supper,” she said. “There’s some fresh corn muffins in the kitchen if you need some sustenance after your manly exertions.” Glancing at his watch, Mulder was amazed that it was already after 2:00 PM. He hadn’t realized how long he’d spent splitting logs. He’d just cut one after the other, not really thinking about anything at all. Just letting some of the fear, and despair, and loneliness of the last three months pound itself out through the handle of the ax. Smiling at Verity, Mulder followed her into the kitchen, where he perched on the counter, eating corn muffins and milk, the way he’d done as a child. The activity took him back to some of his earliest memories; of snack time after school, eating muffins and milk at the kitchen table while Samantha crumbled hers all over the high chair tray and onto the floor, where the dog would be frantically sucking up every last molecule, afraid of starving to death if he missed one; of quiet times in front of the fireplace, playing board games with his mother and sister during the harsh New England winters. Is that the kind of life I could have again? Mulder wondered. Would I ever be able to find contentment in the quiet presence of someone like Verity Hampton? Will I some day be able to quit chasing beast women, flukemen, and psychos, and just enjoy a normal life and family? [Fat chance, G-man... Not as long as Scully and Sam are missing.] Mulder’s mental gremlin knew him too well. A normal life was out of the question for now. Maybe forever. Brushing the muffin crumbs off his lap, Mulder hopped down from the counter, rubbing his hands together. “So... who’s up for another game of Scrabble before supper? I have an expensive education to defend.” ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Mulder set the dinette table back under the kitchen island overhang and stretched his spine. Twisting left and then right, he could hear his vertebrae popping like firecrackers and felt some of the stiffness drain out of his muscles. Mulder looked up as Verity returned from putting away the Scrabble board and placed more wood on the fire. One game before supper had turned into three games, before, during and after supper. They’d sat at the little table in front of the fireplace, eating stew and corn muffins, not worrying about the time, the snow, or anything else of importance. It had been incredibly relaxing. Mulder had stopped playing board games after Samantha’s disappearance; too many painful associations. However, the Scrabble games had been fun, and more importantly, had kept his mind occupied for a time. Clenching his hands into fists, Mulder mentally punched himself in the head. Mulder’s guilty thoughts gave way to a familiar, common sense voice, splashing his mind like a face full of ice water. =It’s still snowing. There’s nothing you can do about it now. Don’t waste a good guilt trip on something you don’t need to feel guilty about.= “Thanks, Scully,” he whispered softly. Returning his thoughts to the present, Mulder realized that Verity was standing by the fireplace, watching him. She had grown increasingly quiet, even for her, as the evening had worn on. Mulder looked at his watch and was surprised to find it past 7:00 PM. Darkness came early at this time of year, but he still was amazed by how long they’d spent over supper. Giving Verity a wide smile, Mulder vowed to stop his incessant self-flagellation for the moment and concentrate on being useful instead of decorative. “Why don’t you point me toward the rest of the woodpile,” he suggested, “and we’ll see if I still remember how to stack firewood.” “I’ll get the wood off the pile outside. You can stack it inside with the rest.” Verity’s voice was once again lifeless and hollow. Mulder felt if he were close enough to see her eyes, they would look as dull and bleak as the winter sky. Frowning, he followed her out to the mud room, wishing he could find some clue to what caused these mood swings. He watched as she shoved her feet into tall barn boots, pulling on a wool shirt- jacket from the closet. As Verity unlocked the outside door and placed her hand on the knob, Mulder thought he saw a shudder run through her body from top to bottom. Mulder stood by the door for a few moments, watching Verity break a trail to the snow-covered woodpile he could see about 10 yards back by a line of trees. The wind had blown the snow around the cabin in such a way that it wasn’t more than boot-top high back there. Leaving the door standing open, Mulder began re-stacking the few remaining dry logs to make room for the wet ones coming in. Hearing a musically wooden thudding sound, he turned to see Verity retreating to the woodpile again, several logs laying on the floor. Shoving the wet wood toward the stack with his foot, Mulder speculated about why some people moved more quietly than others. Mulder’s head jerked up as his ears registered unfamiliar sounds outside. His mind had processed animalistic snarls, followed by a soft, gasping scream, before he had reacted enough to reach the door. As his eyes focused on the opening, he saw Verity falling straight toward him, hands reaching out, eyes closed, but too far away for Mulder to catch her. The snarling noise had continued like a hellish background vocal, burst loud in Mulder’s ears as a huge dog landed on Verity’s back, smashing her into the snow. More snarls emanated from the trees, and four more feral dogs loped into the clearing, howling their triumph. A hand flashed to Mulder's side for his weapon, and came up empty. His gun was in a paper bag with his crumpled, dirty clothing. He hadn’t wanted to leave it behind, and he hadn’t imagined a need for it here in this quiet, remote refuge. [When you’re wrong, you’re really wrong, asshole.] Mulder’s gremlin informed him. Searching the mud room, Mulder spied the ax, still buried in the chopping block where he’d left it, and seized it in desperation. The German shepherd-mix on Verity’s back had tried to grab her neck, getting a mouthful of collar instead. The back of her jacket was shredded where its claws had dug in for enough leverage to rip the collar off. Mulder grabbed the ax with both hands, and with a roar of rage, began swinging at anything that moved. The first dog went flying off Verity with a hard smack from the blunt side of the blade. At first content to wait for their leader to finish the kill, now the rest of the pack charged in at this sudden threat. Using the ax like a broadsword, Mulder swung back and forth, relying on instinct and desperation to guide his blows. The occasional yelp of pain told him he was succeeding. At the first break in the attack, Mulder threw the ax in the doorway, grabbed Verity’s limp body under the shoulders, and dragged her inside far enough to slam the door. Throwing her boots into a corner, Mulder scooped Verity into his arms, stumbling through the house to the warmth of the fireplace. Collapsing onto his knees, Mulder’s brain finally snapped out of auto-special-agent mode, and unchecked thoughts and emotions came pouring in. Shaking hands gently removed the shredded jacket, revealing rips in the flannel shirt underneath. Mulder felt Verity’s body stir under his hands. He let her slide down his legs until she knelt on the floor with her back to him. Supporting her with an arm around her waist, he pushed Verity’s long hair to one side, looking apprehensively at her neck. Her skin was as cold as the snow outside, but Mulder breathed a small sigh of relief at sight of her unmarked neck. Gingerly pushing the ripped flannel up Verity’s back, Mulder winced at the thought of all the damage he must be causing to her lacerated body. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself to face the bloody mess of her mangled skin. But there was nothing there. No blood. No torn flesh. Not so much as a welt to mar the pale expanse of Verity’s shoulders. Mulder smoothed his hands over her skin again and again in astonishment. His mind reeled under the burden of what could only be a miracle. Snaking both his arms around her stomach, Mulder laid his cheek on Verity’s naked back, releasing the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Gulping in great shuddering breaths, Mulder was suddenly aware of Verity’s heart beating under his face, her breathing matching his. For the first time, her skin was warm to his touch. Sitting back on his heels, Mulder watched as Verity turned within the circle of his arms, until he was gazing into gray pools that burned with the intensity of heat lightning in a summer storm cloud. Her eyes seemed to reach deep into Mulder’s soul, touching him with such blazing longing that he felt his tenuous control incinerate with the overpowering need to connect with another human being. Without another thought, Mulder wrapped his large hands around the sides of Verity’s face, tangling his fingers in her hair, fusing his mouth to hers as his weight carried them down to the floor. As mouths crushed together and teeth clashed, he felt her lips open to him and claimed the advantage to plunder the treasure of her mouth. Hands did not remain idle, either, both drowning under the need to touch and be touched. Fingers crept under shirts to caress backs, ribs, nipples and bellies. They burrowed under denim to grab handfuls of taut, rounded ass, or laced through tight curls toward the center of their greatest need. This was not a sweaty haste born of love, or even an instinctive desire for procreation. Here was no elegant seduction or self-less wish to please. This was pure animal need; the need to touch another on the most primitive level; to pound away some of their misery in an act so basic as to be without thought; to become lost in the painful pleasure, and thereby lose the ability to feel anything else for a time. No permission was asked and none given or denied. They rolled and tumbled about the floor, first one on top and then the other. Running against the furniture and hearthstone, uncaring of the possible bruises resulting from their madness; only pausing long enough to frantically kiss, stroke, and caress. No sounds were heard beyond the sighs and breaths and moans of their haste. Clothing was not discarded, merely disarranged as dictated by their need. And when they were finally connected in nature’s timeless waltz of passion, there was only pounding want and grinding desperation; until they were so caught up in the purging of their personal demons, neither one noticed that Mulder was crying out one woman’s name as he emptied all his grief, hopelessness, and inconsolable longing into another woman’s body. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Day Three 6:00 AM Fox Mulder slowly climbed out of a deep sleep to the realization that his cell phone was ringing. At some point late in the evening, Mulder had managed to pry himself off the floor, where he remained tangled with Verity, and gotten them both to bed. He’d thrown some logs on the dying embers of the fire and unfolded the sofa. Scooping Verity up, he laid her on the bed, succeeding in waking her enough to exchange his own flannel shirt for the tattered remnants of hers, pulling the quilt around her shoulders as she fell back into the arms of sleep. Stripping off the rest of his clothes, Mulder had crawled under the quilt next to her and felt his eyes slam shut before he could do more than reach out his fingertips to touch Verity’s back. Now, Mulder’s naked body broke out in goosebumps as he darted from the warm bed to grab his phone. “Mulder” he barked. Glancing at the window, he saw clear sky and clouds before diving back into the nest of quilts. Going still against the pillows, Mulder listened for several seconds before coming back to life. “When?” “Where?” “How long?” “Yes, sir... yes, sir...no, sir...” “Do you know who...” “It will take me several hours...” “I’m in Ohio, sir...No, I was snowbound during a blizzard and the signal was blocked.” “Well, my car’s in a ditch so I’ll have to...” “Very well, sir.” “Sir? Thank you.” Mulder leaped from the bed with renewed energy, dressing in frantic haste. It was only as he was looking for his shirt that he remembered Verity. She was wearing it. He had hoped to talk with her about what had happened last night. But suddenly, everything had changed, and Mulder’s mind could only hold onto one thought: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Northeast Ohio Three weeks later Mulder glanced out the car window for the third time and reluctantly acknowledged that he hadn’t the vaguest idea where he was. At least, he knew he was in the right town, on the right road, but beyond that, he didn’t recognize anything enough to find Verity’s house again. When he’d been in this area three weeks before, it had been a little hard to see landmarks through the blizzard raging around him. And when he’d left, Mulder had been in too much of a hurry to take note of where he was. All his thoughts had been tuned to where he needed to be. Now, the clear streets and brown grass gave no indication of the three feet of early- season snow he’d witnessed. It had apparently been followed by a just-as-uncharacteristic warm spell. As it turned out, following up a possible lead to his partner's whereabouts had been unnecessary. Scully was back. The phone call Mulder had gotten while sleeping in Verity’s bed was from A.D. Skinner, informing him that Scully had returned. Nothing Mulder'd learned since shed any light on who took her, where she had been, or how she simply appeared, comatose, in the hospital. It looked as though there would never be any answers to his questions. Scully’s family had decided, despite his objections, to remove her from the machines keeping her alive if there was no change by the end of the week. Mulder felt he would lose his mind if he had to sit and wait for three days with nothing to occupy his thoughts except the emptiness of his life without Scully. He'd meant to return his borrowed clothes to Verity sooner. Now seemed as good a time as any to deal with the ramifications of their brief encounter, before he returned home to watch his best friend die. Seeing a florist’s shop ahead, Mulder decided to kill two birds with one stone, getting help and flowers for Verity at the same time. Hopefully, the shop owner would be able to point him in the right direction. Mulder opened the shop door to the sound of a short refrain from ‘Everything’s Coming Up Roses’. A man walked out of the back room, wiping his hands on a green apron, and the word “medium” flashed through Mulder’s mind. Medium height, medium build, medium age, medium gray hair, medium smile, just - medium. “How can I help you today, sir?” the man asked. Even his voice is medium, Mulder thought wryly. “I’d like a bouquet of mixed flowers, please.” The florist walked to the long cooler against one wall and opened a door. “Did you have any particular type of flowers in mind?” he asked, beginning to gather blooms from the buckets inside. “Does the lady have a personal favorite I could include for you?” Mulder shoved his hands into his trenchcoat pockets and stared down at his shoes for a moment before raising his eyes to the waiting clerk. “Well,” he began, grinning ruefully, “to tell you the truth, I only met her once, and I didn’t get to know her that well. Maybe you know her. Her name is Verity Hampton.” Mulder stopped speaking as the florist jerked upright out of the case and let the door slam shut. The man looked startled and nonplused, as though Mulder had just said something vulgar or unseemly. He opened and shut his mouth a few times before clearing his throat. “Um, I guess...it’s been...a while since you’ve been in this area then, huh?” The florist walked to the counter without even glancing at Mulder and began slowly wrapping the flowers in tissue. Eyebrows lowered into a puzzled frown, Mulder stared at the tense clerk. “Like I said, I only met her once. In fact, I can’t quite remember how to find her house. It was snowing pretty hard the last time I was here. I was hoping you might be able to help me.” Mulder gave the man an engaging smile, and was surprised by the look of pity he received along with his flowers. “Yeah,” the clerk muttered, “I can tell you where her house is. It’s just off the next street on your left, but you won’t find anyone there now.” The florist began absent-mindedly rearranging the items on the counter without looking up. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but Verity died.” He finally glanced up, only to drop his eyes again at Mulder's look of stunned disbelief. “What?” Mulder gasped. “When did this happen?” “I guess it must have been about three years ago.” The man had finished his unnecessary tidying and now moved on to playing with the rolls of ribbon attached to the counter, missing Mulder’s start of astonishment. “Yeah, I think it was three years ago, just about this time of year, too. I remember we’d had a number of early snow storms in quick succession, which made it hard for a lot of the animals to find food. I suppose that’s why it happened.” The clerk looked up at Mulder’s face, mentally flinching at the pain in his eyes. Mulder’s voice was so quiet, the man had to lean forward to hear his question. “How did she die?” Mulder held his breath, certain he knew what the answer would be. The florist took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “She was attacked by wild dogs while bringing wood into the house after a snow storm. She must have been caught from behind, trying to open the door with an armful of wood. The police said it looked like there were several dogs involved from the amount of tracks in the snow, but they never did catch them that I know of.” “There were five dogs,” Mulder murmured. The clerk glanced up sharply, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. Sure that he was just imagining things, he cleared his throat and continued. “Nobody found her until a couple days later, when she hadn’t been to work. That poor girl’s life was nothing but one long tragedy. First her parents dying in that car crash when she was just a kid. Living in one foster home after another; Jared drowning just before their wedding. She never should have moved out to that house all by herself, but I guess she felt like she didn’t have anyone left, so it didn’t matter anymore. She kept pretty much to herself the couple years she lived there, but nobody really blamed her. She’s buried out at Pioneer Cemetery, next to Jared. I can tell you how to find it, if you want.” The man's words ground to a halt, as though he suddenly realized how much he’d been talking and was embarrassed by his own chattering. “How much do I owe you for the flowers?” Mulder asked in a leaden voice. He paid for the bouquet, and turned to leave the shop. “Hey,” called the clerk as the door opened. “Don’t you want directions to the cemetery?” But Mulder didn’t seem to hear as he walked out, carrying the tissue-wrapped flowers. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ It was obvious to Mulder that the house hadn’t been lived in for some time. Even if the smashed grass weren’t so long and the windows so dirty, the ragged, fading ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard would have been a dead giveaway. Mulder looked back down the long drive to the highway, wondering how he had managed to struggle all that way through the driving snow three weeks ago. He’d been lucky enough to flag down a tow truck, out looking for stalled cars, not long after he’d dressed in Jared’s borrowed clothes and left Verity still laying under the quilts. He hadn’t offered any long explanations, and she hadn’t asked for one, simply handing him the blue flannel shirt she’d slept in. He’d kissed her lightly on the cheek and said, “Something’s come up. The snow’s stopped and I need to go.” In her quiet, serene way, Verity had not questioned him, only saying, “Keep the clothes, Fox. It’s still cold out and you’ll need something warm.” Mulder had smiled at Verity, picked up the paper bag he’d thrown his own clothes into, and raised her hand to his lips. Kissing it gently, Mulder noticed that her skin was cold once again, in spite of the heavy blankets. He placated his guilt at leaving so abruptly by making a silent promise to himself to see her again, very soon. He would wash his borrowed clothes and return them to her, and they would sit and talk about all that had happened between them. He was surprised to find himself looking forward to it. Mulder had smiled again and squeezed her hand. Shrugging into his trenchcoat, he walked out into the frozen, glittering morning. He never heard Verity’s softly called “Goodbye, Fox.” And it wasn’t until he’d undressed later in the day that Mulder realized Dana Scully’s cross was missing. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Mulder took a deep breath and walked down the porch with the flowers in his hand. This wasn’t the way he’d planned on returning. He still kept hoping beyond all reason that the florist had gotten her mixed up with someone else. But he knew that wasn’t likely; not after what he had witnessed here. And now there would be no chance for him to explain his actions, or hear her peaceful, gentle voice again. He would never be able to share his pain with her, or offer her a proper goodbye. The house had been on the market for so long, the realtors hadn’t bothered with a lock box, so it was just a matter of seconds before Mulder’s pick gained him admittance. All the furniture was still where he remembered it. The kitchen to the left of the door looked neat, but dusty, the counter tops covered in a light gray fuzz. To the right, the sleeper sofa sat closed, at right angles to the fireplace, covered in a dust sheet. It was obvious no one had been sitting on it recently, or on the overstuffed armchair opposite. It appeared that all the smaller pieces of furniture and personal items had been removed. Mulder suddenly realized that all of Verity’s possessions would have been sold long ago, the money going to the state, as she hadn’t any family. The thought that there was no one to truly mourn her passing made Mulder sad. At least if Scully left him, there would be people who loved her to carry her memory into the future. Slowly circling the room, Mulder recalled Verity’s quiet voice, her calm sad eyes, the ethereal way she’d moved around the room. Now he wondered if she had always been like that, or if it had resulted from her current state of existence. How could she have been solid enough to touch, to kiss, to... Mulder caught his breath at the memory, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d heard of ghosts returning to warn of danger, to seek justice or revenge, even just to let those left behind know they were at peace. There were documented records of spirits caught at the instant of death, forced to replay their final moments on earth for all eternity. But he’d never seen anything pertaining to other, live, people sharing in, participating in, those last moments. Maybe they hadn’t been documented because the people involved were afraid of being ridiculed. How was it possible for this to have happened to him? For Mulder was certain that he had witnessed, and prevented, Verity Hampton’s death. This time. Perhaps he had simply stumbled upon the annual re- enactment of her passing. The florist said it had happened about the same time of year during a blizzard. Mulder was sure the dog attack he prevented had been as much a part of the phantom past as Verity herself. But if he had saved her, why wasn’t she still here? Whether he’d witnessed a haunting, or traveled back in time to be with Verity before her death, Mulder knew without a doubt that this particular story could never be shared with anyone. Mulder leaned his arm across the dusty fireplace mantel and doodled in the fuzz. If he believed more strongly in God, he might have considered the possibility that all of this happened to save him from dying in the snow. Or to give Verity some help finding Jared in the afterlife. Maybe just to piss on Fox Mulder’s parade and give Him a good chuckle. But try as he might, Mulder couldn’t find a better reason than ‘just because’. Just because he was present at the right time, under the right conditions. Just because they were both in so much emotional pain. Just because he was a total fuck-up who couldn’t be trusted to lead a normal life. Looking down at the floor, Mulder realized he was still holding the bouquet of flowers in his hand. Stooping, he gently laid them on the ashes in the cold fireplace; the one Verity was bringing wood to when she was killed. Touching the hearthstone, Mulder spoke quietly, as though to himself. “I promise that as long as I live, you will never be forgotten, Verity Hampton. No one should have to die unmourned. Thank you for saving me; from the storm and from myself. I hope you’re with Jared. I’m sure he’s been waiting for you. May you find peace now.” As Mulder began to stand, a sparkle at the edge of the hearth caught his eye. Carefully brushing away stray ashes, his thumb and forefinger lifted a fine gold chain, from which dangled - Dana Scully’s cross. Mulder’s mouth dropped open, momentarily forgetting how to form words. “Oh God...” Maybe he could find a way to believe after all. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ For days after arriving at his apartment, Mulder searched for Scully’s necklace. He’d stopped there first to change out of his borrowed clothes, knowing that he most likely wouldn’t be returning home for a long time. While changing from Jared’s clothing to his own, he’d discovered the cross missing. Mulder was frantic. He needed to see Scully, but he needed to find the necklace, too. He’d promised Mrs. Scully he would return it when Dana was found, and now it was gone. He’d settled for a quick turn-out of all available pockets in his distracted state, tearing his living quarters and car apart for days afterward. But as Scully’s condition continued to deteriorate in the weeks following her reappearance, the cross’s whereabouts lost importance in Mulder’s eyes when compared to the loss of its owner. Now Mulder stared at the simple, shining ornament and remembered that he had been wearing it while he waited out the blizzard. It must have unhooked itself during their passionate storm of grief and longing, waiting here for him to return it to its rightful place. During all his frenzied searching, not once had it occurred to Mulder that the necklace might still be at Verity’s cabin. In truth, between the chain’s loss and his growing despair over Scully’s condition, Mulder had almost forgotten his short, surreal time in this place. Mulder closed his eyes, gulped back a sob, and smiled as a lone tear slid down his cheek. “Thank you, Verity, thank you so much.” Standing and placing the chain in his pants pocket, Mulder’s heart felt lighter than he could remember in a very long time. For some reason, Mulder was suddenly certain that Scully would be fine. He didn’t know if the feeling would last once he was back in DC, but for now, he was going to hug that certainty to his heart for as long as he could. Taking one last quick look around the scene of his own personal X-file, Mulder walked out the door. “Goodbye, Verity,” he whispered. Perhaps if he hadn’t been in such a hurry to return home, the mice wouldn’t have been the only ones to hear a soft sigh follow him to the door. It sounded suspiciously like the word ‘fox’. Or maybe it was just the draft from the closing door. THE END Further Notes: I would like to thank Hannah Mason and Kronos for the incredible stories they’ve written which were the direct inspiration for this one. If life were fair, they would both stay chained to their desks to write one wonderful story after another, but then life is never fair. So how did I do? I hope nobody was offended by the fact that I didn’t go on to explain that Scully wakes up and everything is hunky dory, but I figured we all know how it goes on from here. So did you like it? Or did it suck and blow chunks? You’d better tell me, cause if you don’t, I’m liable to write something else just like this, and you might not want that. So you’d better send feedback, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences! Special thanks to my buff beta reader. It’s not NC-17, sweetie, so you should be able to get through this one without having to cover your eyes. But just wait until next time! Feedback: mimic1172@gmail.com