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ROCKY MOUNTAIN INTERLUDE (2/2) By Char Chaffin and Tess MSR, Casefile, AU Rating: Strong R Spoilers: FTF, Most of Season Seven Feedback: to Tnv099@aol.com; char@chaffin.com Headers and summary, see Part 1 Chapter Ten Millersburg, CO It was a beautiful Monday afternoon that found Scully walking along the road toward town. Although they had fallen asleep early on Saturday evening, the combination of their discovery at the Franklin homestead and their lovemaking had left them exhausted and they had slept almost fourteen hours. They had awakened on Sunday morning hungry and they prepared a quick breakfast. As they ate, they once again discussed the events of the previous day. Deciding to take advantage of the fact that the mine would be closed, they had set off for the cave armed with their flashlight, two oil lamps and a coil of rope. Before they had left the cabin, Scully had dug through the closet for her leather carryall. "I don't want to leave it behind if we get lucky and figure a way out of here," she had said in response to his questioning look. Upon arriving at the cave, Mulder had secured one end of the rope to a tree near the entrance and coiled the other end around his hand. "I'm tired of worrying about taking the wrong turn in there," he had explained. He had taken Scully's hand in his own and started into the cave, turning in surprise when she balked and refused to step inside. "What's wrong?" "If you're right... if whatever killed the Franklins is in the mine... what's to stop it from being in the cave as well?" Her question hung in the air as they contemplated the new danger that the cave now represented. "You make a good point," Mulder acknowledged, stunned that they hadn't thought of that before now. They'd stared at each other for several long moments, feeling helpless and undecided. Finally, he shrugged and turned to look back into the cave. "We've been in and out of this cave several times now," he pointed out reasonably. "Nothing's happened to us." "Yet." He nodded in silent acknowledgment of her words. "I don't see that we have any other choice, though." "I guess not," she sighed. "Let's just go." Using the flashlight and one of the lamps, they had set off into the inky interior of the cave, moving cautiously at first, jumping at every shadow. They had spent hours exploring the cave, once again pressing their hands to the walls, searching fruitlessly for a way back home. "I don't know," he had complained. "We've tried everything that we can think of." "Maybe we have to be here at a certain time or on a certain day..." He had shrugged and after taking a cautious glance around, sat down heavily on the hard ground. "Maybe." He scraped a hand through his hair. "I just don't know." "Do you think the drawings on the wall are a clue?" He had shrugged tiredly but looked up at the wall with renewed interest. "Could be." Scully had plopped down onto the ground beside him and balanced her backpack on her lap. As she had rummaged through the bag, he looked down at her curiously. "What are you doing?" "I think I've got a pen and some... ah!" She had pulled out a small notepad. "Would you stand up and hold the light closer to the wall?" He had lit the second lamp and set it down on the ground next to her, then stood and held the other lamp over his head to illuminate the drawings while Scully carefully copied them into the notepad. When she had finished, they packed up their things and followed the rope guide back to the mouth of the cave. "Well, that was a waste of time," she had commented as they stepped out of the cave. Mulder had shielded his eyes against the sudden, bright light of the late afternoon sun. "It's getting late," he commented. "Let's go home." As they walked away, Scully glanced over her shoulder toward the gloomy interior of the cave. Home, she had thought. If only it were that easy. They'd spent the evening going over the copies of the drawings until their eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, before giving up. The images and symbols seemed random, the same as most cipher-type codes. Viewed separately they made no more sense than when viewed as a whole message. The longer Mulder stared at them the more frustrated he'd become, until he just threw up his hands. He rubbed at his tired eyes. "I've got to get up early tomorrow for work." Mulder closed the notepad and stood. "Let's go to bed." Scully nodded and forced herself to her feet, stretching her stiff muscles. In the gloom of a single lamp, they had undressed and poured themselves into the soft mattress, for once so tired that even washing up was too much of a chore. Beneath a single blanket they snuggled, wrapped around each other, holding fast. With a few murmured words of love, they had fallen asleep within minutes. After seeing him off the next morning, Scully had gone about the routine chores of feeding the chickens and gathering eggs. This time not only had she found a few large brown eggs in one of the nests, but the hen responsible had actually let her remove them without much fuss, squawking or beak-pecking. Scully took that as a good sign. She had cleaned the kitchen and gathered all of the soiled laundry and bed linens. She hauled bucket after bucket of water from the pump to the cabin until her arms and shoulders ached. After heating the water, Scully lugged it back outside and poured it over the dirty laundry sorted by color in two galvanized tin tubs to soak overnight. She dreaded the thought of doing the laundry tomorrow. Putting the overwhelming thought out of her head, she went inside for a bite to eat only to realize that she still had to go shopping. The work had kept her busy - busy enough that she'd been able to put aside her worries about what was seemingly happening around them and the growing depression that pressed down on her. However, alone on the walk to town, there was nothing to occupy her mind. Eager for the distractions an afternoon of grocery shopping could offer, Scully quickened her pace. She arrived in Millersburg a short while later and was heading toward Silas Cranston's general store when the sound of metal clanging against metal caught her attention. Scully turned away from the store and walked toward the livery, suddenly impatient to see Mulder. She ducked under the overhang and found him hard at work. His back was to her and he was striking a hammer against a metal pole that he was holding in place with a long-handled pair of tongs. He was shirtless and she watched the muscles of his back and arms bunch and loosen with every strike of the hammer. A rivulet of sweat ran down the column of his spine to join the others that had already soaked into the waistband of his pants. He was all the distraction she could ask for and she was reluctant to break the spell, but she wanted to talk with him... see his face. "Mul... Will!" Startled, Mulder turned, almost dropping the red-hot pole. He hastily set his hammer down and smiled at her. "Hi, this is a surprise!" Holding up one finger to caution her against coming any closer, he carefully plunged the metal pole into a bucket of water near his feet. There was a hiss of steam as the hot metal met the water and he released the pole. He removed his heavy gloves and wiped his damp forehead with a sweaty hand, leaving a smear of soot behind. Mulder tossed the tongs onto a long workbench and walked toward her. "Are you on your way to the store?" "Yeah. We need a few things and..." She jerked her shoulder. "I just had to get out of there for a little while. Too much time alone with my thoughts, you know?" He nodded. "I know. I've kind of been doing the same thing, this morning. It's a wonder I haven't dropped the damn hammer on my toe," he smiled ruefully. She tipped her head to one side and met his smile. "I was standing over there watching you for a few minutes," she admitted. "You're surprisingly adept at this already." "Ooooh, watching your man sweat and strain, huh? Want me to flex something?" He was close enough that she could smell the sharp tang of sweat. He pressed the palms of his hands together and began to strike the classic pose of a body builder. He mugged a silly face at her and she felt a smile curve her lips. He could be so goofy sometimes, usually when she needed it the most. Like now. "Uh... no, that's okay." She trailed an index finger along his forearm. "Let's leave something to the imagination." Mulder grinned. "Party-Pooper. Well, at least you're smiling, Scu, um, Kate. I'm glad to see it. Glad to see you in the middle of my morning, that's for sure." He caught her errant finger and gave it a gentle squeeze; then picked up her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss there. Her fingers were chilled and he retained hold of them, adding, "As long as you're here... would you like to meet Angus McLean? He's in the back." She sighed and looked down at her feet. "Considering everything that we know... I'm not sure that I want to meet anyone else." She couldn't bear the thought of another face in her mind, another person's life on her conscience. Mulder could certainly relate. As frustrating as his crotchety employer could be, when they left here he'd miss Angus McLean. He'd mourn the inevitability of this town's ultimate fate. He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a reassuring hug. "Baby, I know. And I wish like hell we could do something, anything. But even if we did have the means to eradicate this, we still couldn't. We both know that, painful as it is." He curled his thumb and forefinger under Scully's chin and tipped her face up to his. "Listen, you'll get a kick out of meeting Angus, I guarantee. He'll probably only swear at you a few times. At the very least." He made it sound so inviting, she thought, grateful for his attempt at levity. "Ah... something to look forward to." He grinned at the wry look on her face. "You bet. Wait here and I'll go get him. Okay?" "Okay." "I'll be right back," He walked toward the back of the shop. "Angus!" he called out. "There's someone out here who wants to meet you!" Scully glanced around as she waited; taking note of unfinished tools and mean-looking equipment that gleamed with either oil or sweat, depending on whether or not it had been recently used. The heat was stifling as it belched from the forge. Even the buckets of water on the uneven floor seemed to give off steam. She could almost feel the humidity curling her hair underneath the half-bonnet she was wearing. She impatiently tugged it off and hung the tied ribbons on her arm, running fingers over her scalp to loosen up the waves and curls that were forming. Absently she listened to Mulder's voice murmuring to his boss, and she couldn't help smiling at the grouchy responses of McLean. In the small room beyond the main work area Mulder was doing everything he could not to bust out laughing at Angus's reaction to being asked to put down his work and meet the 'little woman.' It was as if he'd been asked to burn down the Livery and never pound another hammer, ever again. Angus was fuming. "What?? Yew think I ain't got better things t' do than drop my work an' come out there an' socialize, yew dumb idjit?" He brandished the hammer held in his meaty hand. "Send 'em away! We're busy! Christ on a goddamn haystack!" Swallowing excessive mirth, Mulder adopted a contrite look. "Um, it's my wife. Kate. She was on her way to the grocers, and -" Angus spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the floor in disgust, accompanied by several choice expletives. "I don't care if'n God hisself is out there! We got work, boy! Tell 'er to go shoppin' an' leave us be!" He spun away and stalked though the doorway into the main shop for a tool he needed... and caught a glimpse of a small woman standing near the doorway. The sun was at her back, casting her features into shadow and setting her glorious red hair ablaze. "What th' - Maureen?" He rubbed his hands over his face and took a second look, not trusting his eyes. "Who th' hell is there?" Puzzling over the smithy's dumbfounded expression, Mulder hurriedly moved next to Scully and laid a hand on her back, leading her away from the doorway and further into the livery. "This is my wife. Kate." He glanced down at Scully lovingly. "Kate, meet my employer, Mr. Angus McLean." Mulder had done a wonderful job describing his employer. Angus McLean was exactly the way she had pictured him. She held out her hand. "Mr. McLean. I'm pleased to meet you." The sound of her soft, cultured voice snapped Angus out of his bemused daze and he rubbed his dirty palm against his pant leg before gingerly taking hers. He stared at their hands, mesmerized by the way her small fingers were engulfed in his grip. Just like Maureen... He became aware of the fact that he was still holding her hand and quickly let go, feeling his face grow warm. He found himself stuttering, "Oh. Yew... Um. Missis Mulder. Ah, fer a bit there, yew reminded me... um, pleased t' make yer 'quaintance." She looked at him closely, a little unnerved by the intense way he was scrutinizing her face. "I'd like to thank you for giving my husband a job." Angus didn't know what to say to her. Such a delicate little lady... he managed to grind out a flustered, "Oh, well... he's a real hard worker. Best 'prentice I ever had. Never late an' never complains. An' I work him hard, too. He's learned a lot, Ma'am." He clamped down on his rambling, aware that he was almost babbling. Scully found his shyness endearing, and she gave him a gentle smile before aiming a wider one at Mulder. "Well, he's tired when he comes home, but I think he's enjoying the work." Angus readily agreed, "Damn fuckin' right he'd be tired, I make sure t' get a full day o' work outta him!" His words ground to a halt as he realized he'd cursed in front of her, and aghast at his bad manners, added humbly, "Beg pardon, Ma'am, fer th' coarse words. I'm not used t' havin' a fine lady in my shop." There was absolutely no way she could possibly take exception to his remarks and Scully's response was sincere as she reassured, "No offense taken, Mr. McLean." She watched in fascination as his cheeks flushed rosy above the wild tangle of his beard. "Please, don't worry about it," she urged. An awkward silence fell over them for a moment, before Angus cleared his throat, unwilling to end the conversation and thus have no reason to remain in this lovely woman's company. "Uh, are yew from... that is... where are yew... are yew Irish, Missis Mulder?" She beamed at him. "On my father's side, yes. My great-grandfather came to America from County Cork. And you... with a name like Angus, I feel safe in guessing that your people are from Scotland." Her eyebrow lifted inquiringly as she spoke. Angus replied eagerly, "Yes'm, they's all from Scotland. I sailed over t' th' States, oh, been 'bout twenty years now. Went back t' see 'em all, 'bout six years ago. Came back with... well... yew see..." He stuttered to a halt, suddenly miserable. He looked so unhappy; obviously whatever memories had been stirred to life with her questions were not pleasant ones. And suddenly she knew exactly what - or rather, who - this bear of a man had brought with him when he returned to Millersburg. Scully guessed softly, "You came back with a bride?" "Yes Ma'am. I got myself wed to a lil Irish gal. Purtiest lil gal I ever did see." Words spoken gruffly, with so much emotion. So much sadness. Oh, no... Scully could see his eyes shining with love for his wife even after all this time and she knew; she just knew that something had gone terribly wrong. "I'm sure she was," she said gently. "Her name was... Maureen." This offered in a hushed rasp, as the grizzled smithy stood before the much-smaller woman who looked up at him with compassion in her blue eyes. 'Maureen.' She mouthed the other woman's name and queried softly, "How long were you married, Mr. McLean?" The memories were coming faster and he could see her once more, standing next to him wearing that white gown, bright eyed and happy as she held his hand and promised herself to him. He cleared his throat again, managed to formulate an answer. "Nigh on two years, Ma'am. Th' ship home took a few months, yew see, an' lil Maureen was sicker'n a johnny pukin' up his first whiskey. Beg pardon," this said sheepishly. When Scully waved his apology away, he smiled a little and continued, "We came here, an' I built this smithy from a tarp an' a broken anvil. We was dirt poor but happy. 'Bout a year after we left the Isles, my lil Maureen came t' me an' says Angus, yer gonna be a pappy. Can yew beat that? Me, a pappy!" Beneath the bushy beard his lips curved up in remembrance of that happy time, but Scully saw the sadness that shadowed his eyes. It was the same look of sorrow and longing that she occasionally saw on her own mother's face. "I'm sure you would have been a wonderful father." She inched closer and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "What happened..." She interrupted herself, aghast at her inquisitiveness. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry." He patted her small hand awkwardly. "Nah, it's alright, Ma'am. Jest a mem'ry that hurts, now an' then. An' yew, well..." Angus took a deep breath, "My lil Maureen had red hair, y'see. Long and red. Her eyes were blue. An' she was jest a lil bit, I could pick her up with one hand. Yer a lil bit too, Ma'am, if'n yew don't mind me sayin'." Scully rolled her eyes ruefully and he flashed a shy smile. Seeing that smile, she knew exactly what it was that had attracted pretty, young Maureen to this rough man. She had just taken note of how much younger and handsome he looked with that smile when his face sobered again. Haltingly, he confided, "My Maureen, well... she died an' my child with her. She din't make it through th' birthin'." So tragic, Scully thought as she struggled to speak around the lump in her throat. "And you miss them still." "I never stopped. I never had nobody afore 'em, and nobody since." Angus swallowed down the pain as he'd done many times before and would do again in the future. Some loves were meant to last a lifetime. He'd had just such a love. Scully felt her heart break wide open for this lonely man. "I'm so sorry." She wanted badly to offer some comfort to him but her throat ached with unshed tears. Her breath hitched as she whispered, "I know they're just words but... I truly believe that the people that we've loved and lost never really leave us." Her eyes pled with him to believe her. Angus nodded slowly, fighting back the emotion himself. He hadn't cried in... Christ, not in a damned long time. He wasn't about to start now, and risk upsetting this sweet young lady. "Well, I got more in those few years of lovin' my lil Maureen than lotsa folk git in they's whole lives. I reckon seein' yew standin' in th' sun kinda brought it all back. My Maureen, she loved th' sun." The tears she had been trying to swallow back spilled over her lashes. "Forgive me." Embarrassed, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I just..." Scully looked up at Mulder who had been quietly standing near her during her exchange with Angus, his eyes dark with compassion. "I can't imagine..." She sniffed. "Well. I'm sure Maureen was lucky to have you." "I was th' lucky one, I reckon. An' beg pardon, Ma'am if'n what I tole yew upset yew. I din't mean t' make yew cry." Angus twisted his beefy hands together in misery as he stared down at her damp face. "Oh, no. Not at all. Please, Mr. McLean, I am honored you wanted to share your memories of Maureen with me. I won't forget her. Or you." Scully sniffed hard and offered watery smile, which Angus returned with a sweetness that again revealed the handsome man he had once been. He shuffled his feet like an overgrown boy, suddenly shy once more, and gestured to the back of his shop. "I'm gonna git back t' my shoein'. I'm right proud to meet yew, Missis Mulder. Right proud." "It was a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. McLean," Scully managed, in a voice laced with genuine affection. "Yew take care o' yer man here, keep him from gittin' sick. Last thang I need is some lily-liver chokin' an' fallin' over they's own boots." The grizzled smithy arched a purely Angus-ridden look of disdain at Mulder and then spoiled the effect somewhat by actually chuckling. Finding himself having to swallow more than one lump of emotion during the exchange between his curmudgeon of a boss and the woman he adored, Mulder sent a fervent prayer to heaven that somehow, this man would be spared the agony of the virus that hovered over this town. Meanwhile, he schooled his features into a suitably chastised expression and had the satisfaction of hearing Angus chuckle once more. Scully held out her hand again and Angus caught it between his own. He stared at it for a moment, small and white against his large paw. He leaned forward in a manner so completely at odds with his gruff appearance and brushed his lips over her knuckles, surprising her with the courtly gesture. Emotions threatening to choke her again, she cleared her throat. "I'll do my best but he tends to find trouble, despite my efforts." She smiled at him softly. "I hope we meet again, Mr. McLean." Angus bobbed his shaggy head once in acknowledgment and turned toward Mulder again, grumbling at him, "Yer a lucky sonabitch, boy. I hope yew know it." He slipped an apologetic glance at Scully. "Beg pardon, Ma'am, fer my rough words. An' maybe yew'll come by again. Yer always welcome here." "Thank you." Scully watched the older man walk away, head bent and shoulders slumped; then she moved closer to Mulder and sighed when he wound an arm around her comfortingly. "Oh, Mulder. Such a sad story." Mulder swiped his thumb under her eye, picking up the tear that trickled down her cheek. "Yeah. I heard some of it the other day when I met Jack Sawyer. He told me that if Angus was mean and grouchy most of the time, that he had reason. But I didn't know his wife was petite and had red hair and blue eyes." She turned her head and watched Angus, her own eyes sad, as he picked up his hammer and went back to work. "The way he was looking at me..." "Yes. I think he was seeing his Maureen. And I hope the vision he saw afforded him some comfort, Scully. I think it did." She tipped her head back and looked up at him. "If we're right..." she said sorrowfully, "he'll be with them soon enough, won't he?" Mulder gave her a loving squeeze. "Yes. He will. I think he's just going through the paces right now, waiting. I doubt he'd ever do anything to rush it along, but I feel certain Angus will welcome death, when it comes for him." He'd never seen a sadder man; that was for sure. Amazing, how quickly he'd grown fond of his crotchety employer. Not surprising, the level of respect he'd already established for Angus McLean. Not surprising at all. Scully moved forward and rested her cheek against his chest. "I don't know if that brings me much comfort but I think you're right. Some people... they never recover from that kind of loss." She wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I don't think I could," she whispered. Pressing his lips against her smooth forehead, Mulder confessed, "Me neither, Scully. And, God willing, neither one of us will ever have to, at least not anytime soon." He leaned back and gave her a reassuring smile. "Now, maybe you should get going, head over to the grocer's. I need to get back to my smithy-ing. We still have a lot of work cut out for us tonight. I'll try to be home as early as I can." "Okay." She drew in a steadying breath and pressed a final kiss against his warm mouth; dropped her arms from around his waist. "I'll see you tonight." She began to walk toward the door but stopped and turned back. "Mulder?" she called in a low voice. "Yeah?" "I love you." His smile lit up his entire face. "I love you two." He held up two fingers. Recognizing the childish game, and not to be outdone... "I love you three," she replied, holding up three fingers. He grinned. "I love you four..." That many fingers waved at her, his eyes glowing hazel and filled with quiet pride. She cherished this man and his determination to leave her smiling tugged at her heart. "I love you more." Scully held up all five fingers and waggled them, remembering the way the game always ended. "Bye, Mulder." He blew her a noisy kiss. "See you tonight... 'Missis Mulder.' I do like the sound of that." Scully watched him turn aside, pick up his hammer, bend once again to his work. With a soft sigh, she walked out the door and started across the street. She liked the sound of it, too. And God willing, as Mulder had vowed, they'd live long enough to make it a reality. Chapter Eleven Millersburg Congregational Church The metal saw cut through the rough plank with surprising ease. Mulder paused momentarily to adjust his grip and wipe the sweat off his brow before it could drip into his eyes. He repositioned the plank on the sawhorses in front of him and worked the saw the rest of the way. The plank fell to the ground, neatly severed in half. Mulder picked up both lengths of wood and tossed them into a nearby wheelbarrow, then reached for another long plank and laid it across the sawhorses. He'd cut a lot of planks but was only halfway through the lot, and the sun was creeping higher and higher in the sky. It was going to be another scorcher. Mulder fished his handkerchief out of the pocket of his britches and walked over to a large wooden water barrel that had been thoughtfully provided by Libby Weston. He poured a tin cup of the cool liquid over the handkerchief and wiped at his face and neck. He had a feeling he'd be repeating the procedure many more times before the day was over. Thomas Weston walked slowly over as Mulder headed back to his work area. With a broken wrist and most of his arm in a makeshift sling, the reverend was frustrated that he couldn't accomplish anything more than overseeing Mulder and a handful of other volunteers who were all assisting in the church building's restoration. On the repair agenda were warped boards in several pew seats, three broken window frames and a hole in the roof of the church, compliments of the last bad windstorm that had roared through Millersburg. A damaged front door, courtesy of a randy bull run amok, was also scheduled for replacement. "How's the wrist, Tom?" Mulder shoved the damp cloth in his back pocket and reached for the saw. Thomas shrugged and leaned against the side of the building, cradling his arm. "Hurts like the dickens. Honest to God, I don't know how on earth I could have been so dang clumsy! Of course, having to deal with a stubborn, lovesick bull didn't help matters much. Idiot animal." Two days ago Thomas had been leading his prize bull, Lucas, into the cow pen, hoping that one of his 'girls' was ready to breed. Scenting female cow, the normally placid bull had jerked hard on the chain around its neck, forcing Thomas to stumble to the ground beside the suddenly aroused animal. He'd been so focused on regaining his feet before Lucas could hurt itself on the chain that he'd failed to keep his hands and arms out of the way of the beast's dancing hooves. Lucas's back hoof had come down on Thomas's wrist, breaking it. Luckily the bull was off-kilter enough that only its partial weight had been behind the hoof; otherwise his wrist would have been completely crushed. Freed from Thomas's grip on the chain, the bull had kicked up its heels, swung around in the opposite direction from the cow pen and instead had run full-tilt through the churchyard and into the front door. The impact had dazed poor Lucas, who then staggered around drunkenly; hooves churning up Libby's newly planted primrose bushes. Thomas had lain on the ground and alternately laughed at the pole-axed bull and groaned from the pain in his wrist, until Libby had run out of the rectory and rushed to her husband's aid. Mulder had heard the story earlier when he came into town to see if Angus had anything he wanted delivered to the mine. Angus had told him what happened in clipped, expletive-laden sentences, informed him that Thomas needed his help more than he did, and had sent Mulder over to the church. Halfway out the door of the livery, Angus had gruffly called Mulder back and had handed him a newly sharpened saw, waving away any thanks with a snarl and a frown. Mulder had headed over to the church with the new saw over his shoulder and a large grin on his face. "I wonder if that rotten-smelling liniment of Angus's would help with the soreness. I could get some for you," Mulder offered innocently, then chuckled at the look of horror that crossed Thomas's face at the mention of the pungent liniment. "Will Mulder! I thought you were my friend! I think I'd rather be in pain." Thomas rubbed at his arm. "I remember Angus slapping that stuff on my hands the first time I ever helped him out at the livery, shoeing horses for the mine hauling. Stunk so bad my eyes about crossed, and stung like a thousand bees. Libby made me eat my lunch outside that day, in the rain. Said she wasn't gonna let me stink up her clean house. I picked up a chicken leg with my sore hand and got liniment all over it; I can still taste the nasty stuff. Put me off eating chicken for quite a spell, I can tell you!" Mulder grinned as he sawed through another plank and tossed it in the wheelbarrow. "Yeah, I went through it my first day, Tom. Angus dumped half a bottle on my hands, swearing up a storm at me. Kinda like having a mother scold you, except this mother is hairy, crotchety and spits obscenities as well as tobacco juice." Mulder paused to wipe at his forehead again, adding, "Angus McLean is the meanest, grouchiest man I ever met. And has a heart as big as a mountain. You know, I introduced him to Kate the other day; she stopped by on her way to the grocer. Angus treated her like spun glass. I didn't know his wife had been a redhead with blue eyes." Thomas nodded, remembering the young Maureen McLean vividly. "You're right! I'd almost forgotten. Your Kate does resemble Maureen. Small and fair-skinned. Sweet as honey, Maureen was. And loved Angus something fierce. I've never seen a more broken man, the day he lost her and the babe. You knew about that, didn't you?" "Yes, in fact Jack Sawyer up at the mine told me. And so did Angus, the day he met Kate. She cried for him. I about did, too." Suddenly feeling emotion tug at him again, Mulder took a few minutes to stack the cut wood in the wheelbarrow. Each day they remained here in Millersburg bound him closer to these people he now called 'friends.' Knowing what was going to happen to them - all of them - made it that much harder to remain composed; calm. He wanted so badly to warn them, tell them all to get the hell away from the mines, move away from the town. And he couldn't do a damned thing to change their fate. It was a hell of a thing to have to live with. He looked around the churchyard, seeing the spurt of activity, hearing the buzz of men's voices over the hammering of nails in wood. Everyone pitched in, all the males who lived in town that didn't work each day at the mine. Boys that were between school and work age, their narrow shoulders and thin arms just beginning to fill out with muscle, bustled around importantly, their excitement at being included in adult-type chores visible on their young faces. Local farmers who usually couldn't be enticed from their land and their livestock had come to town to help, prying up boards and offering various levels of advice and instruction. In the shade of a large evergreen a makeshift table had been erected out of three sawhorses and an old barn door, covered with a muslin sheet. In an hour or so, women from the town would bring lunch and the spread they provided would no doubt feed a small army. It was, in its own way, small-town life at its very best. It was wonderful. It was heartrending... for all of these people would be gone in just a few weeks. All of the life that made Millersburg what it was, made this a happy place to live, would disintegrate like the bodies he and Scully had found at the Franklin farm. And in that moment Mulder found himself wishing fervently that the disappearing act they'd thought involved time travel had indeed been just that. At least these folks would have lived on, somewhere - sometime - else. Meanwhile he had to act as if nothing monumental was going to happen. He couldn't take any kind of chance that even a small action of his, one tiny attempt to inform or warn, would somehow affect the way the past had to play out. And that was what hurt most of all. Mulder picked up the saw and hefted another long plank, pushing his thoughts down deep inside where they couldn't run rampant. Over the course of the day, Mulder sawed more planks, yanked umpteen slivers out of his fingers and helped hoist the new front door into place so that the hinges could be positioned. He ate a huge lunch, sitting with Thomas and a few of the farmers, listening to them swap tall tales and reminisce about the 'old' days, ten years ago when the town was just beginning to develop. A younger Reverend Weston, newly arrived in the area, had understood the need to have a house of God and had begun the Congregational Church, which started out as little more than a lean-to with a few tree stumps and rocks for seats. The Rectory had been built at the same time the church walls had gone up, thus providing Thomas and Libby with a place to live. Mulder hadn't been surprised at all to learn that Angus McLean and Jack Sawyer had been instrumental in finishing off the interior of the church, and in fact had designed and built the pulpit. "Well, Mr. Mulder. You've been here a few weeks now and seem to be settlin' in. What d'ya think of our town?" Mollie Hathaway heaped another helping of apple crisp on Mulder's plate, leaning over his shoulder and smiling down into his face. Such a handsome young man, and such a hard worker, she was thinking. And able to work side by side with Angus McLean, of all people! Surely he had the patience of an angel. She patted Mulder's shoulder as she straightened up and he returned her thoughtfulness with a smile and a murmured thanks. He scooped a large spoonful of the crumbly dessert into his mouth and chewed a moment, before answering. "It's a very nice place, Mrs. Hathaway. Kate and I are very glad to have found ourselves here. Everyone has been so good to us." Mollie beamed at him. "Well, now, it's always good to have new blood in town! Keeps the rest of us young! You eat up that crisp, y'hear? Put some meat on your bones!" She eyed Mulder's lean frame, clucking under her breath at what she no doubt thought was an undernourished soul. As rotund as she was tall, Mollie Hathaway obviously believed in sampling her own cooking. Mulder obediently cleaned his plate and pushed back from the table, stuffed and now sleepy. The food had been wonderful and the company pleasant as well. Under different circumstances, he could have seen himself living here with Scully, quite willingly... if they'd been of this time period. If there wasn't a deadly threat hanging over this town, just waiting to absorb all life and leave an empty husk behind. If, if, if... too many of them to count. With a smile at Mollie Hathaway and a nod to the men who were rising from the table, no doubt as overfull as he was, Mulder plunked his hat on his head and went back to work. Keeping busy was the best way to digest the meal he'd gobbled down. The best way to take his mind off things he'd rather not think about... Nulty Homestead After seeing Mulder off for the day, Scully resigned herself to tackling the small mountain of laundry that had accumulated since their arrival. She had drained the water from the tubs where the dirty laundry had been soaking since the previous day and replaced it with hot, soapy water. She set another wooden tub onto a rickety table near the side of the cabin, poured a measure of hot water into the tub and propped a washboard against the inside rim. She fished one of Mulder's work shirts from the suds bath, slicked a bar of soap over it and rubbed it against the washboard, grimacing as she plunged her hands into the hot water over and over again. When she was satisfied that the shirt had been scrubbed clean, she rinsed it in a tub of clean water, wrung it between her hands, rinsed it again in another tub of water that contained a bluing agent and carried it to the wringer. Scully worked the crank with one hand and fed the shirt through the rollers with the other until all of the excess water had been squeezed out; then pinned it to the clothesline. Scully dropped her arms to her sides and watched the shirt dance in the slight breeze for a moment before starting the process all over again. As the hours passed, she hauled endless buckets of fresh, boiling water from the kitchen, submerged her hands into hot, soapy water until they were red and raw, scrubbed and rinsed, wrung and pinned laundry to the clothesline... all the while welcoming the work. She used the routine and the physical exhaustion that came with it to keep at bay the dark and depressing thoughts and fears that plagued her. She dashed a forearm over her sweaty face and impatiently brushed back the stubborn tendrils of hair that had curled from the steam. As the morning lengthened into the noon hour, she was still hard at work. She drew a sheet from the suds bath and stuffed it into the washtub. Her shoulder and back muscles burned with fatigue as she scrubbed the sheet over the ridged washboard and she fumbled with the bar of soap that slipped through her aching fingers. While feeding the material through the rollers of the wringer, she failed to notice that one end of the long sheet had fallen from the table and was trailing over the hard packed dirt of the ground. Scully let out a low shriek when she finally noticed the foot wide smudge of dirt coating the end of the sheet. "Shit!" she muttered as she fingered the now muddy hem of the sheet. She balled the sheet up and flung it to the ground. "That's it," she growled. "I'm done!" She tore off the apron she was wearing and lashing out with one foot, knocked over a bucket of sudsy water. Scully had never shied away from hard work in her life but this was too much. She couldn't stand it another moment, she thought as she toppled another bucket with a well-aimed kick. She didn't know how women did this day after day, accepting it as their lot in life; cooking and cleaning and mending and hauling water in a never-ending, backbreaking cycle. How did women like Libby Weston do this all their lives and still maintain their sanity? How did she maintain her cheerful and generous nature? Libby. Oh, God. Heedless of the dirt, Scully sank down onto the ground and covered her face with her hands. She had bumped into the older woman in town while coming out of the general store the day before and had been trying to shove the memory of that meeting aside ever since... "Kate!" Scully looked up to see the minister's wife hurrying across the street. Her composure had been shaken by her encounter with Angus McLean a short while earlier and she had quickly gone about her shopping with the hope that she could get out of town without meeting anyone else. The sight of Libby Weston bearing down on her had dashed those hopes. "Kate!" Libby flashed a broad smile at the younger woman. "I was hoping to see you in town soon." "Hello, Libby." She hefted the basket in her hands. "We needed a few things, so I thought I'd better come to see Mr. Cranston." "I hope you weren't planning on leaving town without stopping by for a visit," Libby scolded good-naturedly. "Well, I..." Scully glanced longingly towards the road that led back to their cabin. "I have a lot to do and I'll need to start supper soon." "I had hoped to see you and Will at church yesterday," Libby chided gently. "I wanted to introduce you to some of the townsfolk." "Oh! We... uh... overslept," Scully stammered out an excuse. "Perhaps next week." Scully gave a weak smile and nodded. "Yes, next week." Libby linked one arm through Scully's. "Since you're here, come along and I'll introduce you to some of the ladies of our town." Scully dug her heels into the ground. "I can't," she protested. After meeting Angus, she didn't want to meet anyone else. With the knowledge of what she and Mulder suspected would happen to the people of this town, she simply couldn't bear to make any new acquaintances, couldn't stand the thought of looking into another face and lying to them by her silence. She didn't want any other faces to haunt her dreams. Her dreams were tortured enough. "It's just a few women," Libby encouraged with a gentle tug of Scully's arm. "Some ladies closer to your own age," she said invitingly. "Oh, no, I..." Desperate to avoid the introductions, Scully cast about for a believable excuse. "Please, Libby," she pressed a hand to her cheek. "I look a mess." Libby frowned at the other woman's jumpiness and took a closer look at her face. She noted the dark circles under Scully's eyes and attributed them to tiredness. She knew the younger woman had been having trouble adjusting to her new life on the frontier and decided not to press her further about meeting some of the townswomen. "Next time you're in town then," she said and noted the look of relief pass over Scully's face. Before Scully had a chance to move away, Libby tightened her grip on the other woman's arm. If nothing else, she did want to sit with her for a few minutes to see how she was getting along. "Surely you have time to stop for a visit with me," she encouraged. "Oh! That would be lovely, but..." Scully shifted the basket in her hands. "I really should be getting back..." "Nonsense." Libby insisted in a tone that brooked no disobedience. "We'll have a cup of tea and some of the applesauce cake I baked this morning." Scully wavered under Libby's cajoling smile and no-nonsense tone and allowed herself to be led to the Westons' house, where she spent about thirty minutes chattering nervously as she entertained the minister's wife with descriptions of her housekeeping mishaps. Libby's sharp ears noted the forced gaiety in her new friend's voice. She quietly observed the way she cradled the cup of tea between her hands as though drawing comfort from its warmth and nervously toyed with her slice of cake without ever really taking a bite. "Is something wrong?" She laid a gentle hand over Scully's to stop her from crumbling the cake into dust. "Of course not," Scully protested with a falsely bright smile. "I know it can be overwhelming... a new marriage, new life in a strange town," Libby began. "You know that if you need help..." Scully looked down and shook her head furiously. "No, you've been a tremendous help already." "Is it Will? Did you have a fight?" Libby asked. "Sometimes newly- wed couples find it..." Her cheeks grew pink with embarrassment. "Maybe I could... do you have any questions about..." Her voice trailed off hesitantly. "Oh no," Scully protested quickly. "It's nothing like that!" "What then?" Libby squeezed Scully's hand. "We haven't known each other very long," she said, "but I'd like to think that we've become friends." Scully breathed shallowly, willing the tears burning her eyes not to fall. She wanted badly to warn the other woman of what was to come. She wanted to encourage her and the Reverend to leave town now, while there was still time. But she couldn't. "We are... you are... You've been a wonderful help to me, Libby." "Then tell me what's bothering you," Libby pleaded. "It's nothing," Scully repeated. "I'm just... it's like you said. I'm a little overwhelmed and tired." It was half a truth, but true nonetheless. She scraped back her chair and stood. "It's a long walk back home," she demurred as she picked up her grocery basket. "I should get going." Libby's instincts, honed by years as the wife of a minister, told her to give up for now and address the situation again in a few days. She nodded and reluctantly walked her guest to the door. "I've got some things that will keep me busy in town for the next few days," she said. "I'll be out to see you towards the end of the week, but if you need me for anything before then, you make sure that Will tells me, you hear?" Scully nodded and started to step out into the front yard. She stopped abruptly and whirled back around. "Thank you for all of your help." She brushed an impulsive kiss over the other woman's cheek. "You take care of yourself, Libby." Scully had been aware of Libby's concerned gaze following her as she walked down the road that led out of town. At the time she'd managed to keep her head up and the tears at bay. But now she allowed the tears to fall. Sitting in a puddle of muddy water, she cried for the Reverend and Libby Weston, for Angus McLean and Silas Cranston. And she cried for herself and Mulder, for her fears that they wouldn't be able to find their way home; that things would end for them here in this unfamiliar time and place. With dragging steps, Mulder rounded the curve in the narrow, rough road that led to their cabin. He was getting home a little early for a change. He had a basket in his hands, filled with delicious food that had been leftover from the lunch everyone had shared during the church work-party. A whole beef pot pie that hadn't been touched, some crumbly biscuits and blackberry jam. He had a couple of ripe pears and two large chunks of Libby's applesauce cake; a veritable feast. They wouldn't have to cook dinner for at least tonight. He'd had a day full of hard yet rewarding work in the company of men, the laughter of children and the gentle fussing of women as they'd fluttered about, serving, smiling and blushing at the compliments they received for the wonderful lunch they'd provided. He'd had an especially good talk with Thomas Weston, one that he knew he'd always remember, always cherish. He should be feeling great right now. He should be running to the farmhouse with basket in hand, eager to share the day with Scully and ask after hers, the way couples do when they've been apart this way. Scully would have enjoyed being with the women, he thought. There had been a few close to her age; it would have been good for her to meet them. Libby had stopped by as well, dropping off cake and helping to serve. She'd kissed Mulder's cheek when he complimented her lavishly on her delicious cake, then had blushed when she caught her husband's eye and he'd winked at her. Mulder had been enchanted by her impulsive action; he knew how rare it was in this era for a woman like Libby Weston to show outward affection to a man who wasn't her husband or blood relative. Mulder's steps slowed even more as he reached the path in front of the yard and simply stood there, staring. This could very well be where they'd end their days, in this rough little cabin, this way of life, this year, this era. It wasn't theirs. Had never belonged to them; moreover, they'd never belonged to it. Yet, here they were. Stranded in a time that seemed so foreign and dangerous; feeling as if they'd never make it to their other home, the one waiting for them a hundred and forty years from now. Mulder set the basket of food on the ground and pressed his fingers into his tired eyes, rubbing hard. He had to wonder: would it be so very bad, if only evidence of the virus was absent from this scenario? They were as safe from the machinations of the Consortium as they could be. There was no Spender here, no conspiracy, no dark and grisly plans to use him, use Scully. None of that existed here. Yes, it was a hard life, the hardest he'd ever experienced. It was fraught with its own level of danger, though the town itself was small, safe, friendly. Though they had a roof above their heads and food on their table; a job, friends; in a way had more than they'd ever owned in their own world... it wasn't theirs. They couldn't live here, make their marks or influence anyone's lives; leave behind any kind of legacy. Not here. Not in the past, where stepping the wrong way could irrevocably alter the future. All the people they'd met so far, all of the men and women, the smiling children and the hard-working miners, would be gone in a few weeks' time. As would they, unless they found a way to get the hell out, and go home. That, in itself, was the most daunting thought of all. How did they find their way home? And, having found it, how could they live with the sadness and the guilt of knowing the fate of these new friends? Mulder sighed in frustration, feeling depression settle on his shoulders like an overwhelming ache. He picked up his basket and slowly walked up the path to the door, hoping that Scully had at least enjoyed her day somewhat and had managed to keep the ghosts at bay, for a few hours. After indulging in a good, long cry, Scully had mopped her face on her apron and pulled herself out of the mud. She had resolutely shoved her emotions aside by once again burying herself in hard, physical labor. She had spent the rest of the day putting the cabin to rights. The laundry had dried quickly in the heat of the summer day and she had carefully folded and put away every piece. She had emptied the ashes from the stove and scrubbed its cast iron top, swept the floors and refilled the wood box. The bed was tidily made and the mismatched crockery was neatly stacked on the shelves of the small cupboard. The oil lamps had been washed and refilled, their wicks trimmed. The meager pieces of furniture had been dusted and the glass in the window gleamed in the late afternoon sun. And while she cleaned... she planned. She had stuffed Mulder's watch and her silver and turquoise earrings into her leather carryall and set it on the kitchen table along with two lanterns and the flashlight. Mulder's jeans and the shirt he had worn when they first arrived in town were laid out on the bed. Her hiking boots peeked out beneath the hem of the long skirt she wore; underneath the frontier clothes she wore her blouse and jeans. While she waited for Mulder to come home, Scully pored over the notebook in which she had copied the cave drawings, hoping to discover some clue as to how to get home but again finding nothing that made any sense. One thing was certain. Tonight, come hell or high water, they were leaving Millersburg. No more trips into town. No more making friends and lying to them by omission. No more faces and lives on her conscience. She tucked the notebook into the pocket of her skirt when she heard the scrape of Mulder's boots along the dirt path that led to the front door and looked up expectantly. She watched as he stepped over the threshold and saw his eyes sweep over her and the now spotless cabin. He glanced at the items she had set out on the table and then met her gaze with his own. "You want to go back to the cave tonight." "I think that we need to leave this town." Scully rose to her feet. "Whether we get home or not, we can't stay here. If we do, we'll die with all the others." The puffiness around her eyes and the red blotches on her cheeks bore silent witness to her earlier outburst, while her clenched fists and the studied composure of her voice indicated the stranglehold she had on her emotions. "Okay." Mulder felt a sense of calmness and purpose settle over him. She was right. They would give the cave another try, but if they still didn't find a way home, they had to leave Millersburg. Staying was suicide. They had to get home or settle someplace else. Someplace safe. The solution was so stunning in its simplicity that he couldn't believe that they hadn't thought of it before. He set the basket onto the table. "Libby and some of the other women sent food home with me." He glanced toward the window. "We have a little while before it gets dark. Maybe we should eat now." "I laid your clothes out on the bed," she told him. "I thought you might be more comfortable in your own things." Scully reached into the basket and pulled out the beef pie. "I'll take care of this while you get changed." While Mulder changed clothes, she busied herself by setting the pot pie onto the table along with two plates and some utensils. She placed the biscuits, fruit and cake into the center of large, clean cloth and loosely knotted the edges together, setting the bundle down next to the lanterns. A ghost of a smile trembled on her lips when Mulder returned dressed in familiar clothes. They ate the potpie in silence; then cleaned up the remnants of the meal. While Mulder put the dishes away, Scully methodically rinsed out and dried the washbasin before returning it to lower shelf of the cupboard. She took a look around the small cabin and gave a tiny nod of approval. Everything was in its place; she was leaving it behind neat and clean. "Are you ready?" Mulder grasped the handles of both lanterns. She nodded and scooped up the bundle of food and slung the straps of her backpack over one shoulder. When Mulder swung the door open, she hesitated and glanced around the room. "Maybe..." Her voice cracked and she hastily cleared her throat. "Maybe we should leave a note for Libby and the Reverend." There was compassion in his eyes but his voice was firm. "What would we say?" he asked. "How could we possibly explain?" "I know... but it doesn't feel right - our leaving without any explanation; without warning them." e cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. "This is their destiny, Scully," he reminded her gently. "But it isn't ours - it's not supposed to be ours." He curved his palm around the back of her neck and tugged her closer. She nodded and rested her cheek against his chest. "I know. But, that doesn't stop me from feeling guilty." Leaning against each other, they stood in the doorway and watched as the sun began the final leg of its descent behind the mountains. They could hear the gentle rustling of the chickens in the coop and the chirping of the birds as they settled into their nests high in the branches of the trees. They stepped outside as the shrill pitch of a whistle signaling the end of the shift at the mine was carried on the wind down from the hilltops. Mulder pulled the door closed with a decisive click and they headed off down the road, leaving behind the small cabin and the town that had become their haven. Millersburg Mine In the darkness the flashlight bobbed before them, their only source of light. Obscured by clouds, the moon would not be of any assistance to them, not tonight. On the rough path Scully clung to Mulder's hand and held up her long skirt to avoid tripping. The bundled cloth containing the food they'd brought from the cabin was looped over her arm. Her stomach was churning; she knew she wouldn't be able to eat. But they had to have some supplies, in case they found themselves on the road the next morning, searching for a safer town... still living in the past. Her backpack was slung over Mulder's shoulder; she'd filled the water bottle with water from the outside pump and had secured it in the pack. It wouldn't last very long if they had to travel in the morning. They'd have to find more water along the way; perhaps even stop at a farmhouse wherever they could find one, and ask for a refill. The thought of traveling on foot in this untamed, summer-hot terrain was daunting, to say the least. But they couldn't stay in Millersburg. They hadn't thought it would be so hard, so painful, to walk away from that little cabin. They hadn't taken more than a dozen steps when Scully turned and stared back at the farm, just visible in the darkening gloom of twilight. She'd stopped and looked, just looked. Beside her Mulder turned as well and let his somber gaze follow the lay of the land, the small chicken coop and the uneven fence that ran around the property; the outhouse and small barn. In the silent evening they could hear the chickens clucking softy, heard the answering crow of the rooster as he sought to settle and calm his brood. Had he been happy there? With complete honesty, Mulder realized he had. For the first time in his adult life, as well as since he and Scully had known each other, they'd had friends, real friends. They'd gotten to know another couple not far off from their own ages, two people who had already come to mean so much to them. They'd found a place to live that was warm, caring, safe. The work had been hard, but in its way no harder than what they'd both had to endure, working as Federal agents. No harder than fighting the scum of the earth, investigating the paranormal and weird... no harder than staying alive in a world where a higher and darkly dangerous power constantly threatened them. No harder than that. Mulder had in fact enjoyed the physical challenge of their life here. He glanced at her as she stood next to him holding his hand and watching the dark overtake the twilight. He'd heard her sigh, had felt her squeeze his hand. Mulder opened his arms and gathered her close, laying his cheek on her soft hair and breathing in the comforting scent of her skin. They stood there in the dark on the narrow path, and neither spoke. There really wasn't much to say. Scully closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to Mulder's shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart under the soft cotton. Would she miss this place, the constant backbreaking work, the harsh life, the hot summers and what she knew would be hard and freezing winters? Would she miss awakening in the dark morning, groaning her way out of bed, fighting with that old cook stove, enduring the outhouse, sponge baths instead of showers, lugging bucket after bucket of water to the house, to the coop, to the stove and back outside again to dump into the laundry basins? Would she miss scrubbing until her hands were raw and her cuticles split and bled? No, she wouldn't miss that. Not the massive inconveniences that frontier women had to endure. Perhaps if she'd never known anything more, if she'd been born to the life, then she'd miss what was familiar to her. But Scully was a modern woman. She never thought she'd find herself longing so fiercely for the ease that modern invention had given to her; like most twenty-first century people she took most of it for granted. More importantly, she missed her family and wanted desperately to get back home where her phone would ring and bring with it the sound of her mother's voice inviting her over for dinner and filling her in on family news. Would she miss making love to Mulder on that soft, narrow mattress, in the morning when the dew hung thick on the wildflowers... in the evening when the breeze fluttered the faded yellow gingham curtains at the window? Would she miss that sense of them being all alone in a sort of rustic oasis, away from the kind of dangers that only their modern world could inflict on them? Yes, she would. Oh, hell yes. More than she could say, more than she could have ever known. A few tears spilled over her lashes and soaked into Mulder's shirt; he didn't say a word, but stroked her hair and held her tightly. Once or twice she heard him sniff. It brought a small, placating smile to her face to know he seemed as affected as she. Scully drew away slowly and smiled up at the man she'd called 'husband' for the past few weeks, suddenly aching for the term to be real. And with determination she pushed away her unwelcome thoughts and concentrated on the job awaiting them at the cave. They parted slowly; she wiped her cheeks. They joined hands again and continued walking. Twenty minutes later they left the path and clambered up the incline to the cave, shining the flashlight over the entrance. Once inside they stopped for a moment to catch their breath and Mulder gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Okay. We veer right, first thing. That's what we did wrong the last time we came back here looking for the drawings, remember? We walked straight ahead right away, instead of veering." He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, whispered, "Ready?" She nodded. "Yes. Let's go home, Mulder." She was determined in her belief that this time it would work, that this time they'd make it home. The alternative was unbearable. They linked fingers and ventured into the inky-black darkness, grateful for the strong beam of the flashlight. Keeping to the right they edged along the wall, Scully following closely behind Mulder, her hand fisted in his shirt. When they reached the small cavern that housed the drawings, he lit one of the oil lamps for extra light. He shone the flashlight beam over the rough surface, looking for the start of the drawings, sighing in relief when he found them. "Here they are, Scully! The beginning of them, anyway. Don't let go," he cautioned, as she stepped around him to get a better look at the carvings. She nodded and hung onto his shirt, dropping the long skirt from her other hand and running her fingers carefully along the ridges of the carvings. She commented wryly, "As I recall, we did this the last time, with no success. Do you have any other ideas, a thought as to what we may have missed doing?" Mulder kept the flashlight beam steady on the wall as Scully moved her fingers over its surface. "Well, we could try and recreate the circumstances, as best as we can recall them; as we did the last time we were here. You held one of my hands and your palm pressed against the carving. I have no idea which carving; I'm really hoping that isn't part of whatever equation we're trying for." Scully dutifully pressed her palm flat against the nearest carving and they held their breath and waited. Nothing. She muttered in mounting frustration and tried again a few inches to the right, lifting her hand and then palming the wall. Nothing. She moved a few more inches and tried again, with Mulder gripping her other hand and holding the flashlight aloft. She could feel herself beginning to perspire in the strong beam of the light that shone over her shoulder. She tried again. And again. Again... "Nothing. Damn it, NOTHING! We're forgetting something, Mulder. We have to be forgetting something really important!" Her voice rose and echoed dully in the cave. She was fighting to remain calm but seemed to be losing the battle. Scully's eyes snapped to Mulder's face and locked on him, noting the worry in his own eyes, the way he was chewing at his bottom lip, the sweat on his own brow. She ground out an impatient, "THINK, Mulder! What is it? What have we missed, each time we've tried this?" Mulder could feel his own frustration level rising and he did his best to keep it out of his voice. "We're doing everything right, Scully. Your hand on the carving. Holding on to one another. It's exactly what we did before." His attempt at soothing rationale failed miserably; Scully could feel the panic bubbling up inside her along with a decent dose of desperation and good old-fashioned fright. She retorted, "It's NOT exactly what we did before, goddamn it! If it was, we wouldn't BE here right now! We'd be on the ground in the twenty-first century, vomiting up beef pot pie! We'd be HOME, Mulder. We'd be safe!" Scully threw the bag of food against the far wall on the other side of the cave, hearing glass break as the jar of jam shattered inside the linen wrapping with a satisfying crash. She whirled, yanking her hand from Mulder's and faced the wall, beyond angry, far from any semblance of calm, and all her fear and worry, all the exhaustion brought on by days and days of hard work and little sleep... it caught up with her. She'd never in her life felt this level of fury and fright, utter desolation and depression. It bore down on her like some overwhelming weight. But instead of sending her to her knees as it should have, it sang through her body in an adrenaline rush that shook her to her bones. She found herself screaming incoherently, screaming at the wall, at their circumstances, unable to hear Mulder's anguished pleas of, "Scully! Stop! STOP IT!" She never felt him grabbing at her arms, didn't know she tore herself away from his restraining hands. She raised her arms and her tightly held fists pounded against the wall, against the carvings, and she screamed... Her hands were cut, the sides of her palms bleeding on the wall, on the drawings... And all the air suddenly whooshed out of her body, out of Mulder's. In the split second that he realized what was happening, at last happening... he grabbed hold of one of Scully's injured hands, just as she fell to the ground and he followed her down, both of them choking, unable to breathe, unable to think. His head was pounding, throbbing; his ears were filled with the buzzing of a thousand bees, a million flies. His eyes were sewn shut, his brain was compressing... This time the last thing he heard was his own voice, shouting for her, to her. "SCULLY!" Chapter Twelve Millersburg Mine With a pounding headache, Scully awoke to total darkness. She rolled her head to the side and instantly the taste of bile filled her mouth. She swallowed hard and took shallow breaths, willing her stomach to settle. Mulder's weight was pressed against her hip and she felt him begin to stir. "Mulder?" she called out softly. She heard him moan and felt his hand clutch her leg. "Don't move. Lie still and breathe slowly," she cautioned. He followed her advice and several long moments passed as they lay quietly, fighting the nausea and willing it to subside. Finally, Mulder cautiously lifted his head. "Are you all right?" he asked. "My head hurts." Scully rolled over and gingerly pushed herself to her knees. "Mine too." They sat up slowly and Scully reached out blindly, searching for Mulder in the unrelenting blackness. Her hand brushed his arm and she clutched it tightly. "Do you have the flashlight?" she asked urgently. He patted the ground around him. "It's around here somewhere," he muttered. "I dropped it." On their knees, they searched the ground around them with their hands, desperately searching for the flashlight. After several minutes, Mulder's fingertips brushed against the hard plastic casing. "Here!" he crowed with relief and clicked on the light. He played the light briefly over Scully's face and then swept the beam around the cave, illuminating the drawings on the wall. "Do you think it worked?" Scully asked worriedly. "Do you think we're..." Mulder shrugged. "Only one way to find out." He aimed the beam of light down the passageway that led to the cave entrance. He stood and held out a hand for Scully. As he helped her up, he moved the small circle of light across the ground around their feet. "Do you see the oil lamps?" he asked. He shone the light over every corner of the small cavern but the lamps were nowhere to be seen. "Weird," he muttered. "They should be around here somewhere." One of the lamps had been burning when they collapsed. He had no way of knowing how long they had been unconscious, but the lamps should still be nearby. Had it worked? Did it make sense that the only things that would travel through time with them would be those they were touching or wearing at the time? He felt a bubble of excitement rise up. Maybe... just maybe this time they had hit upon the right combination of elements to send them back through time. But what? What had they done this time that they hadn't done in either of their previous attempts? "Forget the lamps." Eager to be on the way and to find out whether they had made it back home, Scully interrupted his thoughts as she scooped up her backpack and hooked it over her shoulders. "Let's just get out of here." They started down the tunnel toward the cave entrance and the tension mounted with every step they took. Scully felt an odd combination of anticipation, hope and worry twist her stomach into knots. She winced in remembrance of her earlier meltdown and didn't know how she would react if they exited the cave and found themselves still trapped in the nineteenth century. She had done her level best to adapt to the life they had been living, but always it had been with the belief that their stay was only temporary. The alternative was unthinkable. If this last attempt hadn't worked... if they had to leave Millersburg in order to escape the coming plague... If they didn't have continued access to the cave where it had all started - how would they ever find their way home again? At last the entrance came into view. Mulder turned to look at her. "Here goes nothing," he said solemnly. "Here goes," she repeated. She tried to summon up an encouraging smile but she knew the worry etched on his face was mirrored on her own. They each took a deep breath and plunged through the opening. They stood for a moment, frozen in place as they looked around. There was nothing to indicate whether their attempt to return home had been a success. Same hillside, same cave... same moon shining brightly overhead. Scully felt a childish urge to wish on a star. She stared upward, a silent prayer on her lips - and suddenly her eyes widened. "Oh my God!" She frantically clawed at Mulder's arm. "What?" His head whipped from side to side as he looked around for an unseen danger. "Look!" She pointed a trembling finger toward the sky. "Do you see it?" she asked urgently. His gaze swept back and forth across the heavens unsure of what she was trying to show him. "See what? Scully! What?" She stabbed her finger toward the sky. "That... star - do you see it? Is it moving? Or am I imagining things?" He followed the path of her finger towards the sky and felt his heart slam against his breastbone. He flung his arms around her waist and lifted her into a hug. "No! You're not imagining it," he said with a grin. "That's no star... it's a plane!" She slipped her arms around his neck and held on tightly. "Thank God," she whispered. "It really worked." Mulder set her back onto her feet and clutched her hands with his. "Well, we're definitely not in the nineteenth century," he agreed. The thought occurred to him that they still weren't sure they had arrived back in exactly the right time. They could have overshot or undershot the mark by any number of years. He squeezed her hand and saw from the cautious smile on her face that she had arrived at the same conclusion. "Are you ready?" Mulder asked. She nodded and together they began to pick their way down the hillside. Halfway down the slope, he pulled her to a stop. "It's still there," he said. His voice was shaky with relief as he spotted their Jeep. They had made it back to the right time and place. They scrambled the rest of the way down the hill. Mulder was fairly dancing around the Jeep and Scully thought he looked like he wanted to throw his arms around the vehicle in an embrace. "I was afraid that even if we did manage to get back, the car would be gone," he admitted as he ran his hands over the hood. "I mean... it's fairly deserted out here, but the way our luck has been running..." She barked out a nearly maniacal laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise at the sound. "Do you have the keys?" she asked from behind her fingers. A panicked look crossed his face as he patted his pockets. Keys? "Oh, no. No, no, no," he whispered. He dug his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, shaking his head at the thought that something as mundane as a missing set of car keys could be the final impediment on this long journey home. He was cursing the fates and muttering about their bad luck when a sudden memory sparked. He jerked his head up in remembrance. "Your purse. I gave them to you when we parked." He bit his lip. "I think." Scully pulled the pack from her shoulders and urgently dug into the main pocket. She gave the bag a little shake and was rewarded by the jangling sound of metal against metal. Her fingers brushed against the jagged metal edges of the keys and she drew them from the bag and dangled them over her head triumphantly. Mulder rounded the Jeep, snatched the keys from her fingers and pressed a smacking kiss against her lips. He opened the passenger door and guided her inside before climbing in behind the wheel. He stuck the keys into the ignition and they looked at each other with wide grins when the engine turned over without hesitation. They laughed and leaned across the gearshift to kiss with giddy relief. "Let's get out of here," Mulder murmured as they drew apart. "Yes, please," she assented fervently. Mulder flipped on the headlights and put the Jeep into gear. He negotiated a careful path along the rutted road and though they both watched the hillside grow smaller in the mirrors, and their moods became more pensive, they said nothing. When they reached the smooth asphalt of the paved road, he stretched a hand across the center console and wrapped his fingers around hers. "Home again, home again," he said. "Jiggity jig," she whispered. As the miles markers flew by, signs of civilization began to crop up with more frequency. "I bet I know the first thing you're going to do when we get back to the hotel," he said, striving for a light tone. "What's that?" She stared out the window and studied the signage and lighting along the road with newfound affection and appreciation. "You're going to set up camp in the bathroom and run back and forth between the bathtub and the toilet." His teeth flashed white as he grinned at her. Scully made an indignant sound and swatted one hand against his shoulder. "Like you aren't going to be happy to see indoor plumbing." She joined him in his lighthearted banter. He laughed. "I'm right, aren't I?" "You're pretty close," she admitted ruefully. When they were about three miles from the hotel, the familiar sight of golden arches rising out of the darkness came into view. "Room service?" he asked. "Or fast food?" She usually tried to talk him out of fast food, but the idea of a greasy burger and crisp fries was too much to resist. "Fast food now and room service for dessert." "I like the way you think." He swung the Jeep off the road and into the drive-thru lane. A few minutes later they were roaring back down the highway and gorging themselves on fries and cheeseburgers. "I didn't realize how much I missed ketchup," Mulder moaned as he bit into his burger. Scully simply nodded in reply as she stuffed fries into her mouth with rapid enthusiasm. Comfort food had taken on a whole new meaning for them. They were feeling pleasantly stuffed and perhaps just a little sick from inhaling their meal when Mulder whipped the Jeep into the parking lot of their hotel. "We made it," he reaffirmed as he killed the engine. She stretched across the gearshift and wiped a tiny smear of ketchup from his bottom lip. "Yeah," she said with fervent relief. "We made it." She turned to open her door and stopped at the restraining feel of his hand on her arm. "What?" she asked. "Your clothes." He pointed to the dress she was wearing. "Right." She unbuttoned the front of the dress and braced her feet against the floorboard as she arched her hips from the seat. Mulder helped draw the long skirt up and together they worked the dress over her head. Scully cradled the material against her breasts for a long, quiet moment before carefully folding the dress. She smoothed her hands over her jeans and tucked the dress under her arm. "Ready?" she asked with a soft smile. "Let's go." The rest of the evening was a blur of both giddy relief and melancholy. Upon reaching their room, Scully had indeed made a beeline for the bathroom where she set about filling the oversized tub with gallons of hot water, while Mulder immediately cranked up the air-conditioner. After sharing a long soak in the tub, they had bundled into robes and ordered dessert from room service. When they'd had their fill of chocolate raspberry torte, they collapsed onto the bed. Mulder propped his back against a mound of pillows and picked up the remote control. Scully rested her head against his chest and curled an arm around his waist, drawing comfort from the familiarity of lying in bed with him while he flipped from one television station to the next. When he finally settled onto a sports station, she let her eyes flutter shut. "We have another full day before we have to fly home." She felt the rumble of Mulder's voice beneath her cheek. "We never did get a chance to visit the national park." She shook her head. "I don't want to leave this room." She tightened her arm around him. "Let's just stay here until it's time to go home." He smoothed a hand over her still-damp hair and cupped the back of her neck in his palm. "Sounds like a good idea," he agreed. Scully crooked a leg over his hips and snuggled closer. "What do you think happened?" she whispered. "What was different about tonight?" She asked the question they had both been avoiding since their escape from the cave. Mulder had actually been giving it a great deal of thought. They'd tried several times to go back to the cave, struggled with deciphering a who-knew-how-ancient cipher in the form of cave etchings that may or may not have been created by human hands. He'd heard the stories and seen his fair share of the reports of mysterious hieroglyphics on the walls of caverns, in dungeons, in ancient tombs. Some believed they were the leavings of extinct races, and others were convinced otherworldly visitors who'd wished to document a record of their time on earth had left them behind. Mulder hadn't decided for himself what he believed, other than the gut feeling that the carvings on the wall of that cave held the key to their return. He'd believed it from the very first. The discovery of the alien virus in nineteenth-century Colorado, very likely in the Millersburg mine itself, seemed to be a separate mystery; Mulder wasn't going to drive himself insane trying to make a correlation between the carvings and the virus. It was enough to have to accept that time travel existed and they'd experienced it firsthand, had tried again and again to return to their own era. When their attempts to recreate the moment of travel had failed, he hadn't been sure what to think. But this time, it had worked. This time they'd made it happen. Mulder lifted Scully's hand from his chest and studied the scrapes and shallow cuts marring the tender flesh where she had beaten her fists against the cave wall. She'd really pounded herself on that wall, he thought to himself, bringing her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. So much anger, fury, desperation; the same fury and desperation he'd been feeling as he'd stood by helpless to stop her from taking out those feelings on a rock wall in the year 1860. She'd made her poor hands bleed. Wait a minute. Blood... Oh, shit. She'd bled before on that wall, hadn't she? In the year 2000. She'd slipped and her hand had hit the wall, she'd cut her palm. They'd bandaged the cut and then they'd found that section of cave that held the carvings. Scully had reached out her hand to touch those carvings, hadn't she? With her injured palm. Yes, there'd been a bandage between the wall and her wound, but still the blood had been there. Tonight the blood had touched the wall again, this time with no bandage intervening. Had it been enough of a recreation? It had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. Mulder pressed another kiss to her hand, murmured, "I think it was this. When you were hitting the wall with your fists." He smoothed a gentle thumb over the raw abrasions. "Remember... you had cut your hand the first time we went exploring in the cave. I washed the cut and bandaged it. But the blood was still there, behind the bandage. You pressed the wound against the carvings, and, for want of a better description, poof! 1860, there we were." She stared up at him with eyes gone wide with sudden comprehension. "And then, I, um, went slightly berserk, started flailing my hands all over the carvings and got them bloody, and... poof? 2000, we've come back?" He nodded, "I think so. It does sound ridiculously simple, doesn't it? I suppose time travel ought to be shrouded in scientific drabble and the ability to make that trip should be dependent upon mathematical equations and what-not. Or at the very least, we build a time machine, like H.G. Wells. Or a souped-up DeLorean." He offered a wry grin and was pleased and relieved when Scully echoed it back to him. Scully tucked her head in against his chest and laced her fingers through his, thinking about his explanation. It made about as much sense as anything else that had happened to them these past few weeks. The scientist in her balked in disbelief at all of it. The woman she was remembered the never-ending, backbreaking work, the way her entire body had ached at the end of each day. There was a half- healed cut on her palm to remind her of that first instance of blood, and her knuckles were still raw and reddened from the hot water and lye soap, from scrubbing everything from chicken coops to Mulder's borrowed britches. The evidence of what they'd lived through was etched on their bodies, locked in their memories. As a scientist she had all the proof she needed, and she'd already accepted they'd somehow survived the impossible. Faced with that, additional acceptance - that blood took them there and blood brought them back - seemed easy enough. For long minutes they lay snuggled together in the comfortable bed, each lost in their own thoughts. They'd left a lamp on, glowing softly on a side table near the bathroom. Mulder reduced the volume on the television until the voices on ESPN were a low murmur. He laid the remote on the nightstand and pulled the covers up over their shoulders, turning on his side to ease Scully's body closer to his. She slipped a leg in between his and rested her head on his shoulder. "We're going to have to tell Skinner about this, aren't we?" she asked. "About what we think happened to the Westons and..." Her words hitched in her throat and she drew in a steadying breath. "We'll have to tell him about what we think happened to the town of Millersburg." Mulder stroked his fingers through her hair soothingly as he mulled over what they'd have to face the day after tomorrow. "Yeah," he agreed. "We're going to have to tell him. We'll sit down and plan it out, but not tonight, Scully. We'll worry about it in the morning. Right now I just want to hold you in a real bed with real sheets and two pillows. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and think about nothing more strenuous than ordering breakfast in bed. Sound like a plan?" She turned her lips into his neck and let them linger against the warm skin, his beating pulse. "Sounds like a plan to me, Mulder. But first, I think we should celebrate a little. Nothing major, my energy level isn't up to it. But I'd sure like to do a bit of cuddling, maybe some necking. Hear a few sweet nothings whispered into my ear." He grinned and bent down to her ear, rumbling a breathy, "Nothing, nothing," into it; then kissed the delicate outer curve and added, "Whatcha got in mind? Can I doze through it?" His voice was thick with weariness yet still managed that old familiar tease. Scully eased away and gazed up, into eyes shadowed and tired, ringed with dark smudges that she knew had to be mirrored on her own face. A day's worth of stubble darkened his cheeks and to her loving eyes, he'd never looked more desirable... more beloved. He smiled sleepily and clasped her closer; Scully raised her lips as his descended, and they kissed softly, tenderly. Bare limbs pressed together under the light blankets, hands caressed slowly, easing residual aches and pains left from days and days of unusually-hard manual labor. When Mulder slipped his hands over her back and cradled her hips, Scully sighed into his mouth in utter satisfaction. She could feel herself sliding down into slumber, could feel it rushing up to meet her as her eyelids grew heavy and her body went limp against him. He eased onto his back and brought her with him, until she lay partially on his chest with her head tucked beneath his neck. With fingers threaded in her hair and his other hand running up and down her spine, Mulder relaxed every muscle, sinking into slumber. One of her hands drifted over his abdomen and found him, warm and full in her palm; she held him gently and he breathed a low, "That feels so good..." into the air above her head. She nodded and yawned in sleepy agreement. His hand came to rest against one sweetly curved cheek; he left it there. A softly-whispered set of 'Love You's' lingered between them as they lay so close to each other. Lulled by the comfortable hum of the air-conditioner, they slept. EPILOGUE FBI Headquarters Washington, DC He wore the dark gray summer-weight wool, the one he'd bought two weeks before they'd left on vacation. It hung a bit on his frame; Scully had circled him once, commenting, "You've lost weight. That suit was a perfect fit when you brought it home." Mulder nodded, his fingers plucking at the waistband of the tailored slacks. "I'm going to have to do something about it. Maybe buy a smaller belt... or start eating a hell of a lot of pizza." He flashed a grin at Scully and she echoed it back to him, happy to keep things light and slightly silly, at least for now. She tugged on her own suit, realizing it too was somewhat baggy. "We both built up muscle, Mulder. We toned up. The Bowflex Company can boast all they want about the kind of workout you can create on their equipment, but obviously nothing beats swinging an iron hammer or lugging endless buckets of water." "You got that right." He leaned up against the desk next to her, scooted in close and wriggled his hip against hers teasingly. Scully favored him with one raised eyebrow and a half-smile; then rested her head on his shoulder. Even after a day of doing nothing much beyond eating and sleeping and bathing, she was still tired. They'd spent their last day in the Rocky Mountains safely behind locked doors, needing nothing more than each other. They'd slept a lot, eaten room service, and taken another bath together, then later on, a shower. They'd made love, once with utmost tenderness and later with unrestrained passion. They'd talked, too. About Libby and Thomas, about Angus. They'd kept the reminiscing lighthearted and more than once Mulder had made Scully laugh aloud with a deadly accurate impersonation of Angus's gruff voice and expletive-laden language. They'd come down off their initial high of relief and thankfulness that they'd made it back to their own time without major incident, and had found themselves unable to banish the guilt of leaving Millersburg behind and uninformed of their fate. Their sensible and practical side demanded reinforcement that nothing different could have been done; history needed to play out in exactly the manner it had. The emotional, more human side of both of them couldn't help but wish that somehow the little mining town and all its inhabitants could have been spared the virus and its ultimate destruction. It was a conflict of emotion they would ultimately have to come to terms with. Glancing at her watch, Scully sighed and reluctantly got to her feet. "We should talk, Mulder. We only have ten minutes before the meeting. We need to figure out what the hell to say to Skinner. I confess I'm at a real loss here." Mulder caught one of her hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "I am too, Scully," he admitted. "I thought it would be so cut-and-dried. Back to the future, eat massive quantities of modern food, take three- point-seven showers and come to work, ready to discuss time travel and deadly alien viruses." He straightened and tugged at her hand until she came into his arms and pressed close to him. "We have to make Skinner understand and accept, concerning the virus. I'm still convinced he was humoring me the last time I tried to explain it all to him. Right after Antarctica, in fact. As I recall, the PTB dug a hole and buried it all up. We can't let that happen this time." At her inquiring frown, Mulder clarified, "Powers-That-Be." "Ah." Scully tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear and thought a moment, trying to put herself in Skinner's shoes, imagining what sort of a reaction she'd have if someone came to her and told the kind of tale she and Mulder had to present to their boss in just a few minutes. It was a daunting and depressing feeling... Then she remembered what she'd folded inside her briefcase before they left her apartment a few hours ago, and she brightened a bit. "I've got Jenny Nulty's dress. I brought it with me. This morning when I looked at it, I found one of her handkerchiefs in the pocket. It has hand-tatted lace around the hem and her initials in the corner. All hand-made. I also have the notepad with the sketches of the cave drawings." She handed him the small notepad and he tucked it into his breast pocket. "Think that would help to convince Skinner?" Scully's voice was light but her eyes were over-bright. Her smile trembled, just a little. Mulder reached out and cupped her cheek, brushed a thumb over her lips. "Yes. I think it'll help. The dress is proof positive that we did indeed travel to another time. I hope. Otherwise how on earth could we have obtained it? It's not something you can buy on Ebay and we didn't rob a frontier museum. Maybe if we turn it inside out and Skinner gets an eyeful of how it's constructed..." He grinned at her and almost sighed aloud in relief when she nodded and smiled in return. "I agree. We have some visual proof. I admit I'd feel a lot more confident if we'd had some way of recording the physical condition of the Franklins. Photos, cell samples... something. I suppose a hundred and forty-year-old dress, an equally-old handkerchief and a notebook of cave drawings are better than nothing, though," Scully shrugged. "We'll tell him everything, Scully. All that we saw, what we experienced. The cave and its drawings, the town, the evidence of virus that we found. I put that book I bought, the one that told the story of Millersburg, in my coat pocket last night before we hit the sack. We'll show him that, too. Hell, I suppose we could always kidnap Skinner, fly back to Estes Park and force him to go spelunking with us." Mulder paused, waiting for her reaction, and chuckled when she shuddered and shook her head decisively. "No, Mulder. No more caves. No return to our little Rocky Mountain interlude. We'll tell Skinner the truth as it happened to us. We'll present all the proof we have, and I know it's not much. If he chooses not to believe us, that's his choice. As for where we go from here," Scully met her partner's steady regard with firm resolve, "we stay alert. We watch for signs and we take nothing for granted. And we fight. Together." "Together." He echoed it back to her; then pulled her into his arms and held on tightly. In the quiet of their dusty little office they clung to each other, reluctant to put a name to what the future seemed to hold, yet knowing they'd face it, no matter the trials or the danger. They kissed softly and Mulder kept hold of Scully's hand as they stepped away from each other and walked to the door. The elevator ride upstairs was quiet, pensive. In Mulder's coat pocket the little book he'd bought at the gift shop in Estes and Scully's notepad were small weights that might or might not be accepted by their AD. Over Scully's arm Jenny Nulty's dress was a reassuring presence that something amazing had happened to them. Something only read about in books; something impossible. Yet again, its influence was only as strong as Skinner's objectivity, his open mindedness, and his ability to believe. Their AD had spent several unwilling years as some kind of underling to the mysterious CGB Spender. After all this time Mulder still wasn't sure why. He and Scully had each had occasion to mistrust Skinner and his ultimate loyalties, thanks to that association. Yet overall, their AD supported them. He believed in their work. Still... time travel? Alien virus? Skinner could be persuaded to accept the latter; he'd probably be less receptive to the idea of his agents spending several weeks in a different century. Mulder could relate... so could Scully. They stepped off the elevator and walked to Skinner's office; nodded to Kim as she smiled and waved them through the door. Their AD sat behind his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up and glasses removed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. He looked up at the entrance of his two best agents and motioned them to sit; then slapped his glasses back on his face and stared at them silently. He'd expected them to look tanned and rested, bursting with health; instead they appeared to have lost weight and both had dark circles of apparent exhaustion underneath their eyes. What the--? "Agents. Nice to have you back. I'd say it looks as if your vacation agreed with you, but I'd be lying through my teeth. Mind telling me what the hell's going on?" Walter Skinner was his usual blunt self. Mulder shifted in his chair and briefly met Scully's eyes; she nodded and stood up, placing the antique dress on Skinner's desk. While their AD's eyebrows snapped together in a confused frown, Mulder pulled the books from his pocket and laid them next to the dress. He cleared his throat and found himself reaching for the supporting clasp of Scully's hand. "Sir... there's something we have to tell you, and it's not an easy story to listen to, but hear us out, please..." END END NOTES: This is the first time Tess and I have attempted to write a fic with this much of a historical base. In researching the mid-nineteenth- century frontier we found several excellent guides; they are listed below in a brief bibliography: Strasser, Susan. NEVER DONE: A HISTORY OF AMERICAN HOUSEWORK. New York: Pantheon, 1982. Beecher, Catharine, and Stowe, Harriet Beecher. THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER'S MANUAL: EMBRACING A NEW REVISED EDITION OF THE AMERICAN WOMAN'S HOME. New York: J.B. Ford and Co, 1873. Peterson, Hannah Mary Bouvier. THE NATIONAL COOK BOOK. Philadelphia: T.B. Peterson & Brothers, c1866. We also took advantage of the seemingly-endless supply of web information and found links on everything from how to build chicken coops and repair wagons to blacksmithing. We also remembered our 'Little House,' and our 'Dr. Quinn!' Even those sites had a lot of very useful information. I'm also happy to admit that I drew from my own family for the character of Angus McLean: my brother-in-law Ray, who lives high on Cameron Ridge in Fish Creek, West Virginia. Ray is just as cantankerous and with a heart as big as the mountain he lives on... and, cussin'? I think Ray invented it! Lastly, we'd like to thank everyone who emailed us with so much enthusiasm as we were posting each chapter, and of course our wonderful betas and previewers. We'd also like to thank AlyC for maintaining Tess's website. Our websites: http://char.chaffin.com, and http://www.tessfiles.com Thanks for reading! Tess and Char |
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