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.

<Even if it's a smelly chicken coop, at least it will be shelter.>

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, 

<Toes, chilly but there; fingers, all present; nose, still too big; 
nothing broken. Clothing; nothing but boxers.> 

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.

<I couldn’t work up enough spit to wet an ant right now.>

“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.

<I’ll be there soon, Scully. As soon as I can leave here, I’ll 
start looking for you again. And this time I’ll find you, Scully, I 
promise.>

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.

<Let her call me Fox. Scully calls me Mulder. I don’t think I 
could bear to hear her call me that. Fox will have to do.>

“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.

<It won’t be long now, Scully, I promise. I won’t give up until I 
find you, or die trying. God, please let me find her. Please.>

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.

<At least she’s not stuck with me in a blizzard, with the wind 
howling and the snow piling up outside. She’d never let me 
hear the end of it. But God, I wish she was here.>

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.

<Maybe it’s actually going to stop soon.> 

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.

<Of course, under normal conditions, I wouldn’t be stuck 
somewhere in northeast Ohio punching Skinner’s speed dial 
button on my phone, and getting a ‘no service’ message, 
either.>

“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.

<Scully... This is Scully’s shampoo. This is how her hair 
smelled when I calmed her fright over a couple mosquito bites. 
This is what I breathe in every time I invade her personal 
space. She probably smelled like this in Duane Barry’s trunk. 
Nooo... Please no! I have to find her... Sculllee! Where are 
you? Why can’t I find you? What will I do without you?>

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.

<I can’t give up now, but it’s so hard to keep going. Scully 
trusted me to watch her back. I have to find her.>

[If you’d done your job, she wouldn’t be missing in the first 
place...]

<I didn’t know Duane Barry was going to take her. Do you 
think I would have left her unprotected if I had?>

[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.

<Well at least the wind isn’t blowing anymore.>

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.

<Guess I’m not as buff as I like to think. I’ll bet Verity could 
whip my sorry ass right now.>

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.

<You’d think an Oxford education would allow me to win more 
than one out of every five games, though. Gotta find time to 
play this with Scully. Oh God! Scully...>

Clenching his hands into fists, Mulder mentally punched 
himself in the head. 

<How could I forget about Scully for even a few hours? I am 
such an asshole. I don’t deserve to get her back if I can’t 
focus better than this.>

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.

<Must be more tired than I thought. Now I’m seeing things. 
Let’s not get spooky here, Spooky.>

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.

<Maybe Verity could teach me how to move like that. Sure 
would be a handy thing to learn with my big noisy feet.>

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.

<Oh Jesus. Please don’t let her be hurt. I should have 
watched more closely...Where the hell did those dogs come 
from? God, let her be all right...>

Shaking hands gently removed the shredded jacket, revealing 
rips in the flannel shirt underneath.

<How could I be so stupid? I should have had my gun. Let 
her be okay let her be okay...don’t let me lose her too...>

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.

<He didn’t break the skin. Thank you...thank you, Jesus. If 
only her back...>

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.

<This can’t be right. There should be something...I don’t...why 
didn’t...>

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.

<I’ve failed so many times. I try to protect them, but I always 
fail. First Samantha, then Scully, and Kristen, even that beast 
-woman in New Jersey. Thank you, God, thank you... I didn’t 
fail this time.>

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:

<Scully’s back!>

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

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.

<Not even Frohike. I’ve got a spooky enough reputation as it 
is.>

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