Backtracking
12/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1




Once the snowmobile was out of sight, Scully turned around to go back to
the waterfall.  The archeologist had sounded sincere.  There had to be a
cave there.

Scully skied as far as she could and took her skis off when the snow
cover gave out.  Then she walked the short distance to the waterfall. 
She eyed the steep, rocky hillside, sweeping her eyes up and down, left
and right, trying to find the cave.

"How could you miss it?" Swenson had asked.  

Scully believed there was a cave here, but she still couldn't see it.  

Mentally she divided the surface into a grid, and examined it again,
square by square.  She tried to keep her mind and senses fresh so that
she would overlook nothing.  When she'd exhausted the squares to the
left of the waterfall, she was tempted to skip over and start from the
right.  She wouldn't be able to check behind the waterfall without
getting wet.  

But it wouldn't be methodical to skip from left to right.  And suddenly
Scully felt certain that the cave was precisely behind the waterfall.

To avoid passing right through the cascading water, she walked up to the
stoneface and edged her way across the slippery rocks toward the
waterfall.  The moss grew thick here, on the ground and up the
hillside.  She sidestepped toward the waterfall, and at last she felt it
on her back, soaking her with cool water.  She pressed herself against
the wet rocks as the water poured down her head and back.  

Scully's hands were flat against the rocks to feel for the entrance to
the cave.  She continued to edge along, and then her knee came to a gap
in the stone.  Reaching down, she could feel the edge of the gap; this
might be it, this might be the cave.

She dropped to her knees for a better look, but with the spray from the
waterfall bouncing off the rocks and into her face she could see very
little.  It felt right, though.  She started to crawl into the opening.

The inside of the cave was cool and misty, and slimy moss covered the
ground.  When Scully was in far enough that she no longer felt the water
on her back she stopped to unpack her flashlight.   The beam of light
showed that the passageway continued for at least another few yards, but
it was so narrow that she would have to proceed on all fours.

Her knees were taking a beating from the stony surface.   That damn
Swenson might have mentioned that the entrance to the cave was a tiny
tunnel right behind the waterfall.  Then she could have prepared for
this miserable, painful, wet journey.

Scully continued along the tunnel.  In places it was too small to allow
her to crawl and she had to slither, which at least gave her knees a
break.  Cold, wet, sore, and filthy, she thought longingly of the hot
springs.  She'd definitely treat herself to another dip when she got out
of this cave, and probably rinse out her clothing as well.  

The beam of the flashlight showed the end of the tunnel a few feet up
ahead.  If this was a dead end and Scully had to back her way out on her
belly, she was definitely bringing charges against Brad Swenson.  In
fact she would arrest him for interfering with the investigation.  

But the tunnel did not stop, it turned to the left and widened out. 
Scully dragged herself through into the chamber and hauled herself into
a sitting position.   She leaned against the wall of the cave and used
the flashlight to examine her surroundings.  She could see two
good-sized passageways leading off from this chamber, in addition to the
narrow tunnel that led from the waterfall.  The chamber itself was dry
and reasonably warm, and the mossy floor was cool but not slimy.  There
was a definite odor here, rather unpleasant.  An animal smell.

She played the flashlight beam across the floor of the cave and it
reflected back at her from two glowing eyes.  Then she heard the low
growl.   

After Mulder had lectured her about canid behavior and the folly of
looking a wolf in the eye, he had gone on to discuss territoriality. 
Not that Scully needed coaching to figure out that a wolf's den was not
the safest place she could be.

What would Mulder do in this situation?  Draw his weapon?  Whimper
submissively to show the wolf that he wasn't going to challenge it?  
Hurl himself back into the little tunnel and wriggle away as fast as he
could?

Scully looked at the wolf.

"Hi," she said.  The wolf looked at her.  He stopped growling and put
his head down on his paws.

"Thanks," Scully said.  The wolf really didn't seem dangerous.  She
hoped she wasn't deluding herself.

Time to move on, but which way?  There were two passageways to choose
from.  The one to the left of the wolf seemed to lead back to the
outside, at least that was her impression of the direction it took.  The
tunnel to the right was about the same size and appeared to lead deeper
into the cave.

Head right.  It just made sense.  Scully was looking for a secret and
her intuition told her that the secret would be deep in the cave.  But
as she proceeded to the right, her lupine friend rose to his feet and
started to growl.

"It's okay," she told him reassuringly.  "I'm not going to hurt you.  I
just want to look around."  But the wolf did not back down.  He trotted
ahead of her, blocking the passageway.  She advanced on him very slowly
and his growling grew louder.

"All right," Scully said.  "What if I go left?"  She backed away from
the wolf and stepped slowly toward the other tunnel.  The wolf stopped
growling.  Scully was in the passageway now.  The wolf was not going to
chase her.  He settled down again at his original spot.

"Thanks," Scully said again.  "See you later."  

The passageway was luxuriously wide after the confines of the first
tunnel and the wolf's chamber.  As she followed it the air grew colder
again.  There were icicles and frosty patches on the cave's walls.

Walking rather than crawling or slithering, Scully made easy progress
through the cave's corridor.  She played the flashlight beam back and
forth ahead of her.  The passageway seemed to go on a long way.

Scully wondered if the tunnel became warm again up ahead.  Here where
the temperature was just around freezing, the air was clear.  In the
distance, though, she thought she could see more mist and fog.  Scully's
skiwear was designed to retain its insulating property even when wet,
but she was rather cold by now.

In her many years with Mulder, Scully had become a connoisseur of
discomfort.  She knew, for example, that it was better to be cold and
wet than to be cold, wet, and covered with goo.  And of course it was
better still to be wet but not cold.

She wondered if the equipment in her backpack had suffered from the
waterfall.  She had the digital camera and the camcorder, but she didn't
know if they were still functional.  She'd stop and check when she
reached a warmer spot.

Scully found herself stepping onto a sheet of ice.  One foot slipped out 
from under her and she could not regain her balance.  She did one of 
those pointless dances that would have been most amusing to an observer, 
if there had been one.  

Just fall, she told herself, knowing that her gyrations were merely
going to add the pain of pulled muscles to the inevitable pain of
bruises and bumps.  And she did fall.  The hard rocks smacked her on the
arms as she tried to break the fall and on the back and head.  She fell
and she kept on falling.

This was a chute, a slide.  Maybe a trap?  Scully slipped and bumped
about ten feet straight down.  Much as it hurt, she knew it was going to
hurt more in a few seconds.  She'd taken a hit to the solar plexus on
the way down and the wind was knocked out of her entirely.  She had to
deliberately start to breathe again, and the air escaped her with a
grunting, gasping sound.

She found herself huddled in the bottom of a pit, shuddering and
stunned.  But she hadn't lost consciousness--that was good.  And she
could move everything. Whether this was a trap or a natural phenomenon,
the most important thing now was not to panic.

Scully slowly got to her feet, relieved that she was able to do so. 
Another miracle--the flashlight was there on the ground, still lit.  She
groaned as she leaned down to pick it up; her back didn't like that move
at all.  The beam of the flashlight offered her a most discouraging
view.  Ten feet of sheer rock covered with ice.

She would not surrender to her fear.  She was in a serious situation,
but she would stay clear-headed and calm.

Scully thought about writing a note to Mulder.  She was sure that he
would find her, eventually.  But what would she write?  I love you?  He
knew that.  Yet another miracle.

Her first attempt to climb up the rocks was unsuccessful, as she knew it
would be. She would have to abandon her backpack down here to have any
chance at all of escaping.  She opened the pack to choose a few items to
carry along.  Too bad she'd used her cord for Mulder's damaged skis,
because that was one thing that might really help her now.  

She took out the muddy clothing she had discarded after the soak in the
hot springs and layered it on over her own wet clothes.  It would keep
her warmer but more importantly it would give her extra padding against
the rocks.  She took the digital camera and zipped it into the pocket of
her windbreaker.  She stuck the flashlight in a pants pocket and tried
again to climb up the ice.

The pit was narrow enough that Scully thought she might be able to make
the climb by pressing against both sides of the hole.  The technique
worked well enough to get her a few feet off the ground before she lost
her traction and fell back down. It was a long shot but it was the only
shot she had.  She would have to keep trying.

Scully persevered.  Again and again she tumbled to the bottom of the pit
but she remained hopeful because of the few times she was able to make
good progress before losing it all.  Escaping from this hole would be
like working on the X-files.  She'd had plenty of practice at that.

She would not give up, but she would have to take a rest.  She was
battered and exhausted.  She should probably drink some water, too.  She
didn't feel at all thirsty but maybe she needed it.  And even if there
was no need to write Mulder, perhaps she should leave a note for Charlie
and Allison, indeed, for her whole family.  Something to tell them that
she had no regrets, would not have chosen a different course.

She huddled again in the bottom of the pit, hugging her knees against
her body to conserve heat, and she tried to think of the words to leave
for her family.  But she couldn't.  She was feeling quite calm, and she
wondered rationally if that was normal.  Maybe not.  Maybe it was
hypothermia.  Maybe she had already given up.

That wouldn't do.  Scully marshaled her strength and began the climb
again.  

Perhaps she had mastered the technique, for now she climbed steadily. 
Slowly she ascended the slippery pit, her feet pressed tightly against
one side and her back wedged against the other.  She was breathing
hard.  It was working.

Scully's mind was locked onto the task at hand.  Inching her back up the
pit, then pressing hard to advance her feet.  But her luck did not
hold.  She was a couple of feet from the top of her prison, but she was
not going to make it.  The pit widened out.  She would not be able to
continue.

Think of it as an IQ test, she told herself.

Well, might as well yell for help.  Mulder wouldn't be anywhere near
here, he was probably back at the cabin gathering wood.  Even if he
decided to come and look for her it would take him hours to reach her. 
It was possible that Swenson was around, or maybe someone from the
forestry service.  Anyway, nothing to lose.  

"Help!" she shouted as loudly as she could.  "Help!  I'm in the cave! 
Help!"

That would do for a while.  She would hold her position near the top of
this pit for as long as she could.  She would call out for help every
ten minutes or so.  When she was too tired to hold on she would climb
back into the pit.  That would be better than falling again.

"Hello in the cave!"  The cry seemed distant but strong.  It wasn't
Mulder, but maybe it was Swenson.

"Hello!  I'm trapped in a pit," Scully called.  

The voice didn't answer, but Scully thought she could hear footsteps.  

"Down here!" she called again.  The flashlight in Scully's pocket was
pointed upward, but she had no way of aiming it.  She saw a figure at
the top of the pit.  A man.

Scully's hero lay on the ground at the top of the hole and reached down,
grasping her arm with one large, strong hand.  Scully felt a moment of
terror as the hand began to lift her from her prison and she lost the
comforting sensation of being wedged in place.  The man got to his feet
as soon as his grip was secure.  He was pulling her up smoothly and
easily, as if she weighed nothing.  

Scully's arm protested the rough treatment, especially when the rescuer
gave a jerk to pull Scully over the edge of the pit and set her down
away from the opening.

"Thank you," Scully said.  She was shaking with relief and with cold,
but she managed to pull out her flashlight to get a proper look at the
source of her salvation.  

He was a large man, practically expressionless.  His dark blond hair was
brushed back.  A sword hung from his belt along with a leather pouch,
and while his attire was too crude to pass muster in a Wagner opera, it
was unmistakably Nordic. 

The Viking had rescued her.

But this couldn't be the Viking.  Scully knew this face, she knew this
man.  She had seen him in different forms, but this was the form she
knew best.

This was the alien bounty hunter.

==================================================================

Swenson dropped off the goofy-looking G-man and turned back toward the
waterfall.  Maybe the hotheaded female agent had chilled out enough to
reconsider his offer of a lift to the cabin.

So, the FBI hadn't found the Viking, Swenson thought.  He was secretly
glad.  He'd been prowling this area since the fall and he had yet to see
the Viking himself.  He would have been rather resentful if these
government investigators had waltzed into the forest and found the
Norseman on their first attempt.

If Swenson had ever heard Mulder or Scully say that the Truth was out
there, he would have corrected them.  He saw it differently.

The truths are out there.  The truth of the Maori.  The truth of the
Navajo.  The truth of the Hebrews, the Masai, the Vikings, the
Christians.  For Swenson, the Truth had been shattered into fragments
eons ago.  There were particles of it everywhere.

A man who believes in everything is a fool, Swenson's father had
pronounced.  

Swenson did not believe in *everything,* but he believed--no, he
*knew*--that among all those beliefs there were shards of wisdom, of
knowledge, of magic--of Truth.

The FBI was here at Temperance River searching for the Viking.  That
made him smile.  Perhaps the IRS had agents somewhere looking for a
leprechaun.  Maybe Swenson himself had a future in the civil service.

Swenson was still hoping to forge some kind of alliance with the two FBI
agents.  Their collection of sensing devices intrigued him.  He had
never considered that approach.

He snowmobiled back to the spot where he'd originally encountered the
two agents without crossing paths with the blue-eyed redhead, so he
followed the trail back to the valley with the waterfall.

He left his sled where the snow ran out.  Scully's big wooden skis were
jammed upright in a snowbank only ten feet away, but Swenson didn't
notice them. He hiked to the waterfall, but Scully wasn't there either.  

Swenson assumed that Scully wasn't dim enough to explore a strange cave
by herself, without even informing her partner.  He didn't check the
cave.

With a gleam in his eye, he decided to check the hot springs. 

I'm not a voyeur, he told himself.  I'm just being thorough.

There was nobody in the hot spring.  Agent Scully must have left the
snowmobile trail at some point on her way back to the cabin.  Probably
bushwhacking through the forest somewhere.  

The hot springs looked awfully inviting.  And who knew if it would even
be here tomorrow.  Swenson stripped off his orange snowmobile suit and
then the rest of his garments.  He folded them carefully and placed them
on top of his boots, to keep them out of the mud.  He moved the whole
bundle to the closest dry spot--it wouldn't be much fun if he had to
dress himself in filthy wet clothing after his soak.

He eased himself into the soothing hot water and sat down on the ledge
that was only one of the remarkable features of the spa.

You're a lucky man, Swenson, he told himself.  You could be stuck in a
library somewhere.  Or wearing a suit.

This last idea was not a random thought, for there, within the grove of
trees, was the FBI agent, Mulder, looking rather ridiculous in this
rugged setting because he was dressed in a suit and tie.

How the devil did he get back here so fast? Swenson wondered.

"Hey!" he called.  "Hey, Agent Mulder!"

Mulder looked at him impassively.  And then, with Swenson staring right
at him, he picked up the archeologist's boots and clothing and started
to walk away.

"Good one, Mulder!" Swenson called after him.  It was childish, Swenson
thought, but the G-man probably thought it was a great prank.  In a few
minutes he'd be back with the clothing, probably chuckling to himself
about how funny he was.

That's what Swenson thought until he heard the sputter and roar of his
snowmobile starting up.

That sorry son of a bitch, he thought.  Messing with my sled...

=======================================================================

It was late.  Mulder didn't know what time it was, but he knew that it
was dark and cold.  Once again he had the fireplace aglow and a kettle
of water on a slow boil. 

After Swenson had taken him to the cabin, Mulder had busied himself
collecting a big load of firewood.  He'd started a fire and set the
table.  And then he'd waited.

No wolves howled tonight.  That was good.  But Scully should have been
back long before this.  He'd left her on a flat, easy trail with set
tracks.  No woods, no river.  It wouldn't take her this long to ski
back; it wouldn't even take this long to walk.  

She might be lost or hurt, but that wasn't his fear.  It was the cave. 
Mulder was certain that Scully had gone back to the waterfall to search
for the cave again.  The only logical thing to do would be to wait for
her here.  It would take him hours to reach the waterfall on foot, and
there was no reason to think he'd be able to find the cave when he got
there.  But he was incapable of sitting here and doing nothing.

If only I had a snowmobile, Mulder thought.  Then when he heard the 
snowmobile sputter to a halt outside the cabin, he realized that the
noise had triggered the idea.

Brad Swenson pushed through the door of the cabin without knocking, and
the look he gave Mulder seemed almost hostile.

In truth, Mulder derived only relief from the Swede's dour expression. 
That was definitely not the face of a man about to tell you that your
partner was hurt or killed.  More likely he'd had had another run-in
with Scully and he was coming to complain, or maybe to carry out some
order Scully had given him.

"Hi," said Mulder.  "Is Agent Scully still on your case?"

Swenson continued peering at him, but then his face softened into a big
smile.

"Yes," he said.  "She is on my case.  And you know what that is like." 
Swenson was practically leering.  He'd been so stone-faced up until now,
but maybe he'd been on his best behavior because of Scully's presence.  

"Say, Swenson, why don't you give me a lift back to Agent Scully, and
maybe we can straighten her out," Mulder suggested.  He tossed some
fresh film into his backpack, wondering what else he should bring. 
Water.  He refilled the bottle, trying not to take too long.

"Yes," Swenson said.  "Back to Agent Scully."  Mulder had finished
packing and he pulled on a couple of sweaters.  Mulder went out the door
and Swenson followed.

Swenson got onto the snowmobile and Mulder got on behind him.  The
engine started up, but they didn't move.

"Where is she?" Swenson shouted to Mulder over the noise.

Why would Swenson have to ask him that?  

"I think she's back in the woods," Mulder said.  "She said something
about a flower."

"In the woods," Swenson repeated.  "Which way?"

"Toward the utility road," Mulder said.  It was in the opposite
direction from the waterfall, the hot springs, and the alleged cave. 
"Let me drive."

"Just tell me where to go," Swenson shouted back.

"Come on, you told me you'd give me a chance to drive this thing,"
Mulder said, clapping him on the shoulder.  "You're not backing out, are
you?" 

"Of course not.  You take us to Scully," Swenson said.  He climbed back
off the snowmobile.

Mulder slid forward, shoved the snowmobile into gear, and floored it,
racing toward the utility road.  He knew he was heading the wrong way
but he hoped he'd be able to drive up into the woods and turn around
unobserved.

The roar of the snowmobile's engine gave Mulder the comforting feeling
that he was going fast.  What was less than comforting was the sound of
footsteps crunching along behind him.

Brad Swenson, or whoever that was, was chasing him.  And he was keeping
up.


end of 12 of 17

Backtracking
13/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1




"What do you want?" Scully asked the man who had rescued her.  "What do
you want from me?"  

"I do not want," the Viking said.  "Be gone, woman of Earth."  He turned
from her to walk back the way he had come.

It was not the response Scully had expected.  Of course she thought the
bounty hunter was going to beat her up and ask her where Mulder was. 
Instead of running for safety, Scully took out the digital camera. 
Physical evidence at last, an image of the bounty hunter.

The Viking turned to face her, piercing her with his cold eyes.

"Your weapons will not work here," he said.  "This is hallowed ground. 
Be gone, I tell you.  Do not test my patience."

"Who are you?" Scully asked.  "Why did you rescue me?"  If this was a
dream, Scully thought, it was a preternaturally realistic dream.  The
pain from her fall was very real.  She was bleeding, she realized, or
she had been.  Her face was stiff with dried blood.

"A woman of destiny," the Viking said.  "Indeed, if you were not, the
wolf would have barred your passage.  Put down your weapon, woman, and
tell me what you seek." One of the odd things about the Viking, Scully
noticed, was the way he stood without moving, without leaning.  As still
as a statue and just as patient.

"I think I was looking for you," Scully said, awkwardly stuffing the
camera back in her jacket pocket.  "I was told that you had... a
secret."  

"Audacious woman. You would leave your world to seek a secret."  The
Viking sounded severe but also sorrowful.

"Who are you?" Scully asked again, feeling more confused than audacious.

"You look at me with fear.  Why do you fear me, woman of Midgard? 
Throughout the ages I have walked among your kind and done you no harm,"
the Viking said.  "I have brought fortune to your race, and caused the
barren womb to flower."

Barren womb, what a low blow, Scully thought angrily. If this is a
dream, it's my dream, and I don't have to put up with this.  

"Done us no harm?  You are a murderer," Scully told him quietly. "Your
very biology is fatal to us."  

Am I really saying this? Scully wondered.  Or am I still at the bottom
of the pit?

"So you have seen him," the Viking said.  "I thought as much.  He who
stole my countenance and wears it for his own."

"You're the one who steals peoples' faces," Scully told him with quiet 
anger.   "I know what you can do. I've seen you in action."

"Bold as the sun you are, daughter of Midgard," the Viking muttered. 
"But I am not the one you have seen.  You have seen the trickster, the
wizard of lies.  He borrows the faces of others, but it is my face he
keeps and shows to the world for his own."

Scully felt no fear at all.  Probably a symptom of hypothermia.  

"Is the alien bounty hunter your evil twin?" she asked sarcastically.

"Your scorn is misplaced," the Viking reproached her.  "The trickster
will be my doom, as I will be his.  The race of man will live on when he
and I are both become dust.  Do not be proud, woman, it is unseemly. 
For many will perish before that final battle is lost and won."

The Norseman's somber tone cut through Scully's flippancy.  

"He's going to kill you?" she asked.  "How can you be so sure?"  

"Whatever is, is forever," the Viking said.  "Surely you know that.  We
will fight to the death and will die of our wounds.  But not in your
time, woman.  The spectacle must run its course."  

Scully didn't answer.  He looked so weary and grim that she wanted to
comfort him. She looked into his eyes and he shook his head as if with
pain.

"A sad curse indeed," the Viking said quietly.  "I did not see before
that you were afflicted." 

"What do you mean?" Scully asked, but she thought she knew.

"An evil was done to you.  I can take this from you.  It is within my
power," he said.

"Please tell me who you are," Scully asked for the third time.  

"I will tell you first who you are.  You are of the earth, as I am not. 
But the earth does not confine you.  You are a woman of destiny, and you
have journeyed where few may go.  I will give you what you seek," he
said.

The Viking addressed her gently, but she felt more and more afraid.

"Your companion is a good man, with heart and cunning," the Viking
continued, and for the first time he smiled.  "He fancies himself a
giant-slayer.  He is a man of great integrity, but a man of earth
alone.  He cannot follow you here.  For if he does, he cannot return."

Scully questioned the Viking in a frightened whisper.

"Am I dead?" she asked him.

"Among your kind, do any return from the realm beyond?" the Viking asked
her.

"I--don't know," she said.  "Perhaps.   Yes, I think they do.  People
have reported near-death experiences--"

"Be still," the Viking interrupted her.  "I will answer your question. 
You will return to your world and your kind, but first you will receive
my gifts."

"You said you would tell me who you are," Scully reminded him in another
whisper.

"I am the sentinel," he answered, "the keeper of the bridge.  The bridge
Bifrost spans from Asgard, domain of the gods, to Midgard, where your
kind dwell.  One day the bridge will rupture, but today it holds.  Your
race named me Heimdall, and I am honored to carry the name they gave
me."

======================================================================

Mulder decided against taking the snowmobile up the hillside into the
woods to turn it around.  Instead he veered to the right, taking the
sled off the snowshoe trail and into the rolling snowfield with its
deep, unpacked drifts.  He hoped the powdery snow would slow down his
pursuer.

The snowmobile skimmed over the snowy surface and Mulder no longer heard
anyone behind him.  He didn't dare slow down to take a look.  He kept
the accelerator against the floorboard and urged the vehicle around,
swinging back toward the cabin, back to the waterfall.

Whatever was chasing him was not Brad Swenson.  Mulder remembered
Charlie's dream. Was it the bounty hunter?  The bounty hunter could make
himself look like the Swenson, but that wasn't a unique ability among
his kind, among aliens in general, apparently.  Mutant humans could do
it too, for that matter, like Eddie Van Blundht and Robert Modell.

Whoever was chasing Mulder wasn't after Mulder anyway.  He--it--wanted
Scully.  

As confusing as it was, Mulder had to get a handle on what was going
on.   Because maybe he was leading this thing right to Scully.  

Wouldn't the bounty hunter know where Scully was?  Didn't the microchip
let them track her, control her?  

Too many variables.  No way to know.   The snowmobile brought Mulder to
the waterfall before he had time to formulate a theory or a plan.  

Just find her, he told himself.   Find Scully and get her out of here,
before Swenson--whatever he is--catches up to you.

"Scully!" Mulder shouted.  "Scully!  Scully!"  He projected his cry in
all directions, toward the waterfall, toward the grove of pines that hid
the hot springs, toward the treacherous river trail.  "Scully!"

The call that answered his came from the grove, but it was not Scully.

Fuck.  It was Swenson.  He'd gotten here first.  Mulder was furious at
himself; he had led the shapeshifter right to Scully.

"You son of a bitch!"  Swenson emerged from the grove.  "You stole my
snowmobile!"

Swenson, who had been so pokerfaced,  was red with rage.  And he was
naked.

"I don't care who you work for," Swenson shouted.  "I'm going to report
you.   You are beneath contempt, you bastard.  You took my sled!  You
took my clothes!"

"What do you want?" Mulder yelled back.  "What do you want from us?"

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Swenson shouted.  "I could have stolen
your stuff while you were in the hot spring, but I'm not a sick creep!"

"Swenson?" Mulder asked.  Maybe this was the real Swenson.

"Don't bother asking me for help again," Swenson said.  "And that goes
for your partner as well."

"Swenson, pay attention.  I didn't take your snowsuit," Mulder said.  He
took off his backpack to dig out his old dirty clothes for the
archeologist's use.

"I saw you!" Swenson exclaimed, but he took the clothes that Mulder gave
him.  For a second he pondered whether he might be better off naked, but
then with a look of resignation and distaste he began to get dressed.

Mulder felt sorry for him for a minute, but then he remembered how
Swenson had directed Scully and him to ski down a steep, treacherous
trail that could have landed them in the river.  And then the cave
wasn't even where he said it would be.

"Where's the cave, Swenson?" Mulder asked him.  "You have to show me."

"That's Dr. Swenson, okay?  And I don't have to do anything," he said.

"Listen to me, Swenson--uh, Dr. Swenson.  I didn't steal your stuff, and
you have to help me find Scully.  I think she's in trouble," Mulder
said.

"Guess that snowmobile just followed you home,"  Swenson said.  

"I don't have time to explain it right now," Mulder said impatiently.

"Try," said Swenson, arms folded.  "Try hard."  

"What if I told you that there is a man who can make himself look like
other men, like anyone or even anything he chooses?"  Mulder asked.

"I'd say you've been taking these Viking legends to heart," Swenson
said.  His naturally low-key personality was reasserting itself and his
anger was fading.  "It sounds like you've been reading about Loki, the
wizard of lies.  He was born a giant, but Odin adopted him as his
blood-brother, making him one of the Norse gods. Loki was a
shapeshifter."

"What would it take to convince you?" Mulder asked urgently.  "There is
a man like that. The man who stole your snowmobile wasn't me."

"Loki stole my snowmobile?" Swenson asked.  He wasn't smiling but he
found the notion fairly farfetched.  "And then you stole it from Loki?"

"Swenson, you said yourself that the ancient legends could contain the
truth.  Maybe the ancient Vikings based their stories about Loki on
someone who actually existed, someone with the ability to change his
appearance.  It doesn't matter."  Mulder tried to keep the frustration
out of his voice.  "What does matter is that Scully is probably in that
cave of yours, and she may need help.  She may be lost or hurt."

"She went into the cave?" Swenson asked.  "That's stupid.  Without a
guide?"

"A guide?" Mulder answered.  "Do you need a guide?"

"Agent Mulder, you should not go alone into a strange cave with no idea
of where you're going," Swenson said.  "I thought that was obvious."

"Damn it, Swenson, you knew we were looking for the cave.  Now show me
the cave and help me find Scully," Mulder said.  

"All right, we'll sled back to my truck for some basic equipment, notify
the ranger station, and go look for Agent Scully in the cave," Swenson
said. 

"No," said Mulder.  "We don't have time.  Show me the cave!"

"I'm not going caving in my socks," Swenson said.  He was wearing
Mulder's muddy clothes but that still left him without shoes.

"I'll give you my boots," Mulder said.  "Or we can share them.  I'll
give you the bootliners."

"That's ridiculous.  And if she's really in trouble there are things
we'll need.  Blankets, rope, maybe even ice picks and crampons," Swenson
said.

Mulder grimaced with frustration but there was nothing he could do. 
Swenson was not going to lead him to the cave until he had the supplies
he felt he needed.

"Give me your boots," Swenson said.  "I've got a spare pair in the
truck, but I'm not driving the snowmobile like this."

"I can drive," Mulder offered, but Swenson just pointed at his shoes and
Mulder untied them and pulled them off. 

Swenson got the boots on and climbed onto his sled, and Mulder got on
behind him.  The machine sputtered to life and the archeologist steered
a wide turn back to the trail.

====================================================================

"Return now to your own realm.  Know that there is light from without
and from within,"  Heimdall said.  He turned his back to Scully and took
a slow, heavy step away from her and further into the tunnel.

"Wait," Scully said.  "Please, teach me how to use your gifts."  She
held two items firmly in her hands, but she was mystified as to their
significance.

"Teach you?  Can it be that these things are unknown in your world?" the
Viking asked.  He took the first item from her.  "I will instruct
you--it is easily done. This we call a bottle.  Thus is it opened"--he
pulled out the cork--"and thus is it closed."  He handed it back to her.

It was a small glass bottle, crude and flawed.  The workmanship was
crude, but the glass itself was luminous and iridescent.  

"The second object is called a ring," Heimdall told Scully.  "Unglove
your hand."

It was an odd-looking ring, formed of braided strands of pewter or some
other grayish metal.  Embedded in the strands was a flattened oval of
reddish stone.   A rough image had been scratched into the stone, a
simple drawing of a tree.

Scully pulled off her glove and Heimdall slipped the ring on her
finger.    

"The branches of the tree may reach toward heaven but the roots grip the
earth.  May you always find your way home."  The Viking frowned.  "But
it does not fit.  Perhaps it is not meant for you."

To Scully's surprise, he took the ring back.  He looked through his
leather pouch and produced a coil of rawhide.  He knotted the rawhide
through the ring and gave it back to her, gesturing that she should put
it around her neck.  

"The earth does not confine you, but it welcomes your return.  The ring
is for another--one who may need help to find his way home."  Heimdall
clasped her shoulders in his big hands and looked at her.  Scully turned
her face up to meet his stare.

"Use the light from within, but use also the light from without. The
reckonings of your mind can serve the magic of your heart and the magic
in your heart can show your mind where to explore,"  Heimdall said. 
"Farewell, my Midgard friend.  May your eyes be clear and may your hands
be clever."  He turned and trudged away from her into the tunnel.

"Heimdall," Scully called after him, but he did not stop.  "Farewell. 
And thank you."

Scully put the glass gift in the zippered pocket of her waterproof
pullover and walked back toward the wolf's den.  

I'll try to write down everything I remember when I wake up, Scully
thought.  But some of this must be real.  The lump on her head was
undoubtedly real, and she was sure that all of the pain she felt in the
dream would still be there when she awoke.

A dream is a wish your heart makes.  Scully smiled to herself--Sigmund
Freud according to Jiminy Cricket.  Or what was it Mulder said?  A dream
is an answer to a question we haven't yet figured out how to ask.

And then Mulder was in the cave with her, waving at her from up ahead. 
He was wearing an orange snowmobile suit, a one-piece coverall identical
to the one Swenson wore.  

"Mulder," she called to him, "Go back.  You can't come here."  She was
remembering what the Viking had said, that if Mulder followed her here
he could not return.

"Scully, I came to warn you," Mulder called back.  "There's danger in
here, something very dangerous.  Come out of the cave, Scully."

"I'm coming, Mulder, but you get out too," she said, hurrying toward
him.  "You have to get out, Mulder, before it's too late."

"That's right, Scully, come on," Mulder shouted, stretching his arm
toward her.  Then suddenly, as she approached him, he grabbed his head
and collapsed to the ground.

"Mulder!" Scully broke into a run to get to his side.  Mulder was
writhing on the ground, clutching his head and shrieking.

"Get away!" he shouted.  "Get away from me!  Get it away!"

"It's okay, Mulder, it's okay," Scully tried to reassure him.  She
dropped to her knees and tried to cradle him in her arms, but he fought
her, still squealing in panic and pain.  On hands and knees, Mulder was
hammering his forehead into the stony cave floor.

Scully tried with all her strength to drag him forward, because she
could see no other hope of getting him out of the cave.  She could not
do it.  She grabbed his arms but could not even manage to hold on.

The gift.  The bottle.  Maybe that would help him.

Scully let Mulder flail as she took the Viking's gift from her pocket. 
Mulder's screams were continuous now, as piercing as a siren.  Scully
closed her fingers around the cork and began to rock it, to loosen it.   

Please let this be the answer, Scully prayed, not sure to whom she
addressed her prayer.  

Supine now, Mulder banged the back of his head on the ground with a
sickening crack.  His back was arched as if in tetany, but he rose to
his feet in a single motion.  He was still screaming, but the pitch was
dropping down into the range of human vocalizations, and he was managing
to form a word.

"NOOO!" he was shouting.  Scully stood up as well, and she would not let
herself recoil from him.

Mulder's back was still arched stiffly, but his right arm flew to
Scully's throat and he grabbed her, wrapping his fingers across her
neck.  He lifted her from the ground.

"NOOO!" he shouted again.  He held her up by the throat for long enough
that she was sure she would black out, but before she lost consciousness
he hurled her through the air.  She landed badly, taking some of the
impact on her shoulder and arm but more of it on her head.

"Mulder," she said weakly.  His screams had dropped to an angry whine,
and he was holding his head again.  He looked at her in pain and anger,
then turned away and began to stagger in the direction of the wolf's
den.

Scully's head ached dully, but what was worse was the nausea.  

I need to sleep, she thought.  I'll feel better if I can sleep this off.

She'd gotten a good look at Mulder, and nothing made sense.  There was a
deep gash on his forehead, but considering the punishment he'd been
through, he was mostly unscathed.  And where he'd scratched his face
earlier that afternoon, skiing down the steep trail that ran by the
river, there was nothing.  The scratches were gone.

But that gash on his forehead, that was oozing.  And what oozed from it
was moist and green.



end of 13 of 17

Backtracking
14/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1



Brad Swenson did not want Agent Mulder to assist in the search for Agent
Scully.  Swenson would  have his hands full rescuing one FBI agent and
he didn't want to have to worry about a second one.  Especially since
FBI agents seemed to have even less common sense than the average
academic committee.

Swenson had taken Mulder along for the ride to his truck only because he
did not trust him to stay by the waterfall without causing more
trouble.  The entrance to the cave was not that hard to find, even for
an FBI agent. Swenson was sure that if he didn't take Mulder with him,
there would be *two* FBI agents stuck in that cave.

When Swenson got to his truck he radioed the ranger station for
assistance with the search, then he got out the equipment he needed and
switched Mulder's boots for his own.  

"I want you to wait here by the truck," he told Mulder.  "I need you to
monitor radio communications."

"You're wasting time, Swenson," Mulder said grimly.  "Let's go."  Mulder
was revving the snowmobile, waiting for Swenson to climb on behind him. 
Swenson did; he could see there was no point in arguing with Mulder.

The ride to the waterfall took no more than ten minutes, but to Mulder
it seemed much longer.  I shouldn't have gone with him, Mulder was
thinking, I should have insisted that Swenson tell me where to find that
cave.  

For his part, Swenson was thinking that he would not enter the cave
until he'd extracted from Mulder the promise not to follow.  Swenson
didn't relish searching for Scully alone, and he would have preferred to
wait for help from someone else experienced in cave exploration.  But if
he had to choose between going in alone or going in with Mulder, he
would do it alone.

Mulder drove the snowmobile as near as he could to the waterfall, almost
riding it onto the mud.  

Mulder dismounted the sled practically spoiling for a fight, annoyed
with himself and Swenson for taking so long to come to Scully's aid.

"Now where's that--" he started, but he never go to the word "cave,"
because all of a sudden the cave didn't matter.

There she was.  Scully.  But she wasn't moving.

Scully was lying face down on the ground, close enough to the waterfall
to be hit by the spray when the wind gusted.

Mulder gathered her to him, turning her over, supporting her head on his
arm.  He was relieved when she opened her eyes but winced with pity when
he saw how red and sore they were.

"Scully," he said.  "Scully."

"Mulder," she whispered.

"Scully, what happened?" he asked.

Her answers came slowly at first.

"He's in there. The bounty hunter."

"He's in the cave?" Mulder asked her with a catch in his voice.  "I led
him right to you."

"Seal the cave," Scully said.  "He's in there, Mulder, we have to seal
the cave."

"That's not possible," Swenson said.  He brought Scully a blanket and
she sighed gratefully as Mulder wrapped it around her, over the bright
orange coveralls.

"We'll seal the cave if we have to, Swenson," Mulder snapped at him. 
"I'll take full responsibility."

"Have to," Scully said.  "Do it, Mulder."

"We'll need some explosives," Mulder said.  "Can you get us some,
Swenson?"

"Sure," said Swenson dryly.  "I've got about a half ton of dynamite in
my truck.  Or did you want something nuclear?"

"I've had about enough of your theoretical academic crap," Mulder
snapped.  "I'm telling you to get some explosives!"

"Mulder," Scully said, trying to soothe him.  "We don't need
explosives.  Rocks will do, we just need to close up the entrance so no
one can get out."

"Rocks won't be enough, Scully," Mulder said.  "Don't you remember how
strong he is?  He'll just toss them aside."  

"Mulder, don't argue," she said.  "Do what I say."  She was rapidly
regaining her forcefulness.

"Scully, what happened in that cave?" Mulder asked.  "Are you okay? 
You're not thinking straight, Scully, rocks will never keep the bounty
hunter trapped."

Scully wrested herself from Mulder's arms, tossing the blanket aside. 
She stood up, glaring down at him. 

"Fine.  I'll do it myself," she said.  

Scully's coveralls were made for someone over six feet tall, and the
boots she was wearing were about as big as Mulder's. 

"Where'd you get the clothes?" Mulder asked.  Scully should have looked
silly in her oversized get-up, but she didn't, really.  She looked
menacing.  Without answering she picked up a large rock and hurled it
through the waterfall.  The tumbling sound from within the cave told her
the rock had found its mark.

"Get to work," Scully commanded.  "We have to fill the cave with rocks."

"Those are mine," Swenson said.  "My suit.  My boots."

"Come on, Scully, what's going on?" Mulder asked her.

"Get moving, Mulder," she said.  "I'll explain it all later."  

"Okay," Mulder said.  

The cave was directly behind the waterfall.  That was where "Scully" had
tossed the rock.  Right behind the churning, white cascade of the
waterfall.  That's why Scully and he hadn't found it.  No wonder Swenson
thought they were idiots.

Mulder picked up a medium-sized rock and tossed it through the water.  

"I can't see where to throw them," Mulder said.  He got closer to the
falls and reached his arm through, ignoring the water that pounded over
his head and sprayed into his face.

"Don't help her," Swenson told him urgently, raising his voice so Mulder
could hear him over the roar of the cascade.  "This isn't your partner. 
Don't you see that?"  Swenson was staring from Mulder to "Scully," fear
and wonder etched on his normally placid face.

"Shut up, Swenson!" The command came from Mulder.   Mulder couldn't wait
any longer or he would lose this chance.  Ducking into the waterfall he
pushed himself into the wall of rock and found the gap he knew had to be
there.  

The cave was so much smaller than he had expected, no more than a hole
in the wall. Mulder crouched down to fit into the hole.  He was in.  And
then he was out.

He gasped for breath as Scully dragged him from the cave.  His collar
choked him as Scully used it to pick him up and throw him over her head.

Mulder landed face down, stunned and shaken.  He lay very still, hoping
"Scully" would believe him to be unconscious.  

"You too," Scully barked at Swenson, and Mulder heard him gag and
grunt.  Scully hauled Swenson next to Mulder and tossed him roughly onto
the ground.

Swenson raised himself onto his elbows and coughed a few times before
dropping down to catch his breath.

"Shoot her," he whispered hoarsely to Mulder.  "You've got a gun.  Shoot
her now."

"Yes, Mulder, shoot me," Scully said, but then she wasn't Scully.  She
was the bounty hunter as Mulder knew him.  The snowmobile suit wasn't
oversized any more.  It was a bit too small.

The bounty hunter turned Mulder over with a kick to the ribs.

"I never kill you, Mulder.  Sometimes I wonder why," the shapeshifter 
said.  

"Guess it's my winning personality," Mulder muttered. He looked at the
alien, wondering if his was the last face Scully had seen. The bounty
hunter looked nothing like Scully now, except for one thing.  His eyes
were still rimmed with red, as if they'd been burned by fire or
chemicals.

"I'm not here to kill you this time either," the shapeshifter said. 
"Unless you force me.  Now fill in the cave."

"Scully," Mulder said.  "Let me get Scully first."  Mulder was still
lying on his back.  He wasn't sure he could get up.

"Every time I meet you you're looking for someone, Mulder," the alien
said.  "Get that cave sealed off and I'll take you to your sister."

"Give me Scully," Mulder said. "Then I'll seal the cave.  Just let me
have Scully."

"She's dead, Mulder.  You can't help her, you can only get yourself
killed as well."  The shapeshifter nudged Mulder with his foot; he
didn't want to kick him again because he still wanted Mulder's help to
block off the cave.  The shapeshifter didn't want to get too close to
the cave or what was in it.  

"I want the body.  I want her out of there," Mulder said.  

Swenson listened in bewilderment.  He knew Mulder had a gun, he could
see it.  Why wasn't Mulder using it?  Swenson reached for the gun,
unsnapping the top strap that kept it in the holster.

"No," Mulder told him, barely turning his head in Swenson's direction.  

Swenson had the gun and he'd have to use it right away.  That hadn't
been his plan, but the FBI man's protest had alerted the Trickster.

"Don't shoot," Mulder told Swenson,  "It won't stop him.  You'll get us
both killed."

Swenson ignored him.  He moved away from Mulder and aimed the weapon.

"Play time's over, Mulder," the bounty hunter announced, oblivious to
Swenson's threat.  "You have no options.  Scully's dead, and I'd be glad
to kill your friend here as well.  Get to work sealing that entrance and
when you're done I'll give you what you've always wanted."

Mulder didn't believe him.  He didn't believe Scully was dead.  She
couldn't be dead, he thought, or I would feel it.  But even if she was
dead, he could not seal her into that cave.  

"I'll give you Samantha," the shapeshifter said.  "I know where she is."

The shapeshifter was looking at Mulder.  

Now! Swenson told himself, squeezing the trigger.  The gun only clicked.

The bounty hunter turned his cold gaze on Swenson, but in that moment he
was distracted by a figure emerging from behind the waterfall. Someone
was running at them.  No, not someone, something.

A wolf, thought Mulder.  A big, bad wolf.  There's a wolf charging at
me.

But the wolf was not charging at Mulder.  He lunged at the bounty
hunter, knocking him down. The shapeshifter shook off the attack,
slamming the wolf to the ground.  The wolf attacked again, and once more
the shapeshifter threw him off.

Swenson lowered the gun.  Mulder finally forced himself to a sitting
position and when Swenson stood up, Mulder let the Swede help him to his
feet.

"You see," Mulder said to Swenson.  The wolf's jaws and teeth had torn
at the bounty hunter without slowing him down at all.  Swenson saw the
pernicious green ooze that drained from the wounds and then he got a
whiff of something that stung his eyes and tore at his lungs.

Swenson covered his face, stumbling against something that turned out to
be Mulder. Mulder was trying to retreat, and he reached blindly to pull
Swenson along with him.  Each breath he took brought stabs of pain and
the ground was reeling beneath him.

Nor was the wolf unaffected.  He yelped in surprise and began to back
away.  After a few feet the wolf broke into a trot, running back toward
his lair.  But he stopped at the waterfall.

Mulder forced himself to open his burning eyes, but he still could not
see.  And then the burning stopped.

Scully.  By the waterfall.  For real.

"Scully."  He staggered to meet her, his gait growing steadier with each
step.

"Mulder."  Scully was wet and bloody, and the wolf, now at her feet,
began to growl at Mulder's approach.  

"Shh," Scully hushed him, and the growling ceased.

Swenson opened his eyes and found that they didn't hurt any more.  He
could see and breathe.  There by the waterfall was Agent Scully. She was
dirty and bruised, and her face seemed rigid with pain. There was the
wolf, too, just sitting there.  Mulder was limping toward Scully.  

A piercing howl filled the air.  At first Swenson could make out some
words, like "no," and "get away," but then the words stopped and there
was only the noise of mindless agony.

That man, that thing, that wizard of lies--he was making the noise.  He
was on the ground, writhing spastically.  But it wasn't a seizure, at
least Swenson didn't think it was.  

Mulder had made his way to Scully's side, and his breath was coming in
shaky gulps. He embraced her, his arms around her and his head down,
pressed against hers.

"It's okay, Mulder, it's okay," she said as she gently disengaged him. 
She unzipped the pocket on her windbreaker.  She took out the iridescent
bottle.

Her fingers shook as she gripped the bottle and pulled out the cork.

The shapeshifter rose from the ground.  His neck was arched and his
shoulders were back--he moved as if propelled by his breastbone.  He
pressed his fingers to his head, rolling side to side as he walked. He
turned toward Scully, but then he whirled away.  The shrieking 
continued, rising and falling like a fire siren.

He turned next toward Swenson, but he could not hold his ground.  He 
had to escape.

He lurched to the snowmobile, and when he reached it, he took his hands 
from his head to grab the handlebars.  He hoisted it in the air and 
turned it around before letting it drop back to the ground. 

The shapeshifter mounted the sled and started it up.  Still wailing, he
drove away.  His screams faded in the distance until they were gone.

Scully corked the bottle.

"Mulder," she said.  He was staring after the shapeshifter, and Scully
reached for him to pull him closer.  Again he wrapped his arms around
her, and she buried her head between his neck and shoulder, feeling his
stubbled cheek against her face.

The ground no longer reeled and his eyes didn't hurt, but Mulder's head
ached from where he'd fallen and his neck felt like someone had twisted
it around in a full circle.

Swenson had been staring after the shapeshifter as well, but he looked
around to see Mulder and Scully and the wolf, settled now by Scully's
feet.

"Son of a bitch," he said. "Loki stole my snowmobile again." 

===============================================================
The room was warm.  Out of consideration for his saturated visitors, 
Superintendent Gundersen had turned the thermostat up to the maximum.

Please shut up, Mulder thought.  Please shut up so we can get out of
here.

Mulder's temples throbbed, and his hair was stiff with dried blood and
dirt.  He was trying to look attentive, but his mind kept wandering. 
The dark-suited man behind the desk was droning mercilessly.  The wall
clock showed 9:30, but it felt much later.  The interlude in the hot
springs seemed as if it had happened days ago instead of hours.  Mulder
hoped that Scully was paying attention to what the man was saying, in
case he said something that they needed to know.

"And do you agree, Agent Mulder?" the man asked.

Mulder withstood the temptation to nod and smile.

"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't able to hear you clearly," he said.  Scully
rolled her eyes.

Now the senile bureaucrat is going to start at the beginning and repeat
it all, she thought.  Thanks, Mulder.

"The Department of Natural Resources supports worthwhile archeological
and cultural research.  We've offered financial support and cooperation
to scholars from the university.  We've provided equipment--including
snowmobiles and other vehicles.  We've supplied back-up and manpower." 
The dark suit's delivery was ludicrously theatrical.  He all but rolled
his R's.

"That's very progressive, Mr. Henderson," Mulder said.

"Gunderson.  And thank you," the suit said.  "We are proud to underwrite
genuine academic research, but we are not willing to be associated with
the frivolous or the spurious."

Mulder caught Scully's eye, searching for a cue.  If this geezer was
calling their investigation frivolous and spurious, why was she looking
so complacent?  

"I have assured Mr. Gunderson that Swenson's integrity is sound, and
that his ideas, while unorthodox, are worthy of rigorous investigation,"
Scully said.

So that was it.  It was Swenson who was in trouble.

"Agent Scully seems to feel that Bradley Swenson, for the most part,
behaved appropriately.  She says she can corroborate much of his
report.  She states that the FBI has some experience in detecting and
measuring paranormal phenomena, and that she has scientific data to
support Swenson's unusual claims," the dark suit said.

"Yes, Mr. Henderson,  I concur," Mulder said.  

"Gunderson," the man corrected him again.  "I will assume then that you
would be willing to appear at  Swenson's   hearing.  I have been in
contact with the Office of Oversight, Analysis, and Reporting at the
university.  Believe me, the University of Minnesota  is also unwilling
to support spurious scholarship."

"Mr. Gunderson, Agent Mulder and I are both willing to appear, but it is
imperative that we return to Minneapolis tonight.  We have business to
attend to with the FBI field office and Agent Mulder may well require
some medical attention," Scully said.

"That will not be a problem," Gunderson said.  "The disciplinary hearing
is scheduled for tomorrow in Minneapolis.   If you don't mind, I'd like
Dr. Swenson to be present for the conclusion of this meeting." 

Gunderson picked up his phone and spoke briefly.  

Swenson had been waiting outside the office and he pushed through the
door a moment later and stood in the back of the room, leaning against
the wall.

"Do you want me to stand in the corner, Superintendent Gunderson?" he
asked.

"Keep it up, Swenson," the bureaucrat said.  "Give me something else to
think about while I drive down to the capital to deal with your
garbage."

"Now I'm shaking,"  Swenson asked.  "You tattled on me to the
university."

"The committee will convene tomorrow to review your work so far.  Of
course I will be forced to bring up the matter of the missing
snowmobile--the DNR will have to be compensated for the loss.  Agents
Scully and Mulder have graciously agreed to testify," Gunderson said. 
"Be packed and ready to go in an hour--you can drive down with me."

"Oh, I get the picture," Swenson said to Mulder and Scully. "You two
developed a sudden case of amnesia.  Well, thanks a lot."

"Dr. Swenson, it is not my habit to ignore or forget the events that I
witness," Scully said.  "Agent Mulder and I will give full, open
testimony.  I was going to request a favor from you, but your obvious
hostility makes me hesitate."

"See that, Swenson, I've talked to you before about your attitude,"
Gunderson said. Others in the DNR might feel that Swenson's work had
some merit, but as far as Gunderson was concerned,  the archeologist had
a lousy personality and he brought the department nothing but grief.

"I'm sorry if I misjudged you," Swenson said.  He was usually
unflappable, as cool as a glacier, but Superintendent Gunderson had a
knack for making him snarl like a badger. 

"Then I was hoping you'd be willing to drive downstate with Agent Mulder
and myself," Scully said.  "Agent Mulder may have suffered a head injury
and I find myself somewhat the worse for wear as well."

"Oh.  I'll drive you down," said Swenson.  The FBI agent was rescuing
him from a car trip with his officious overseer.  He tried to make eye
contact with her to signal his thanks, but she looked at him
impassively.

"Will that be acceptable, Agent Mulder?" Gunderson asked.  Scully had
been taking the lead throughout the meeting, but the old coot couldn't
get past the notion that Mulder had to be the senior operative.

"What?" Mulder asked, his head still pounding.  "I'm sorry, Mr.
Henderson, I didn't hear you."


end of part 14 of 17

Backtracking
15/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1


 
"Would you guys like to use my cabin to wash up?" Swenson asked when the
meeting with Superintendent Gunderson was finally over.  "It's right on
the way, and I need to stop and pack a few things before they lynch me."

"Thank you, Brad, we'd really appreciate that," Scully answered for both
of them.  "Where's your car?  I can follow you back to your place." 
Mulder seemed more like himself now, but she didn't want him to drive
until she could have a good look at him.

Scully thought she'd be able to have a private talk with Mulder on the
way to Swenson's home.  She wanted to tell him about Heimdall, ask him
if he believed she'd actually met with the sentinel of the gods, with
Loki's ancient adversary.  

But whether or not she'd found Heimdall in the cave, and whether or not
the shapeshifter and Loki were one and the same, this much was clear: 
The bottle and its contents had power over the bounty hunter.

"In the shop," Swenson said.  "Timing belt.  I need to get a ride with
you."

"Ford?" Mulder and Scully asked together.

So Swenson drove them in the  rental car.   His cabin turned out to be
no larger than the one that Mulder and Scully had occupied, but the
sheltered carport and the propane tank outside indicated that this was a
year-round residence.  

After Mulder and Scully had been evacuated from the waterfall, a couple
of the  rangers had gone back to the cabin to retrieve their
belongings.  Everything had been packed up and loaded into the car. 
Scully looked through the jumble of stuff in the trunk.  Even if she had
a clean outfit left, she had no idea where to find it.  She pulled out a
backpack and a duffel bag practically at random.

"Take something," she told Mulder, and he carried in another couple of
bags.

From the outside the cabin looked charmingly rustic, but its small
interior was crammed with the electronic necessities of modern life.  A
trestle table by the window was dedicated to Swenson's computer and its
related devices.  An "entertainment center" housed a twenty-seven inch
television with a VCR.  The cassettes that didn't fit into the cabinet
were stacked on the floor, the lurid illustrations on their cardboard
sleeves another intrusion of the late twentieth century.

Swenson looked at Scully apologetically.  

"Your friend keeps them here," Scully reassured him.  "They're not
yours."

"Yeah," Swenson agreed gratefully.  

One of the boxes had caught Mulder's eye.  He'd heard about that one,
but nobody seemed to know where to get it.  Maybe Swenson would lend it
to him.  Or make him a copy.  

"Put your stuff down anywhere," Swenson said.  He walked over to his bed
to pull the striped blanket up to cover the sheets, then he hoisted two
large laundry sacks from the floor up onto the bed.  He'd have to figure
out which was the clean one so he could provide his visitors with
towels.  A discreet whiff helped him make the determination.  He pulled
out a large, faded orange and black towel that he gave to Mulder.

"I hope your shower works better than the one in our cabin," Mulder
said.

"Hey, does this look like the Watergate to you?" Swenson asked.  "A word
of advice--turn on the cold water first, let it run until it clears, and
then turn on the hot."

"Thanks for the tip," Mulder said, heading for the bathroom.

"Mulder--wait," Scully said.  "Brad, I'm going to need my medical bag, 
I've go to get him checked over."

"It's got to be in the car there somewhere," Swenson said.  "What does
it look like?"    

"I'll find it.  Mulder, sit down.  Wait for me," Scully said. 

"But I'm fine," Mulder protested.  

Scully fixed him with a look before she left the cabin.

After she'd crawled her way out of the cave, Scully had seen again the
powerful effect of the Viking's bottle on the alien bounty hunter.  He
had fled, his flat, unearthly screams filling the air.  The bottle was
palpable proof that her adventure had not been a dream.

Until Scully emerged from the cave with Heimdall's potent gift, the
shapeshifter was overpowering and unstoppable, and he'd tossed Mulder
fifteen feet through the air and onto his head.  But Scully hadn't seen
that.

Soon rescuers from the forestry service had begun to arrive.  They'd
come with ATVs and blankets and ropes and Thermoses of hot liquids. 
Scully and Mulder were the objects of their mission.  They were bundled
tenderly into the back of a Jeep and whisked away from the waterfall,
away from the cave, and over to the small complex of cabins that served
as the administrative center and barracks for the rangers of the Lake
Superior area.

Preoccupied with her own aches and contusions, Scully hadn't thought to
check Mulder for injury until she saw how dazed and scattered he acted
under questioning by Gunderson.  Now she was wondering if he'd been
hurt, maybe hit on the head.  She really should have thought of this
earlier.  Mulder should have been evacuated on a stretcher, not bounced
around in a Jeep.

"She's going to check me over," Mulder groaned.  "Help me, Swenson."

"You're on your own," Swenson warned him.  "I'm going to take a walk."

Scully came back in the cabin with her Gore-Tex carryall as Swenson was
leaving.  

"Oh, Scully, not the light!" Mulder felt his headache escalate in
anticipation.

"Shh," Scully said, clicking on her ophthalmascope.  "Now watch my
finger..."  She leaned over him as he sat on the bed, checking for signs
of swelling or pressure changes in his brain.

"I hate this," Mulder groaned.

"You're doing fine," Scully reassured him.  "Now close your eyes and
touch your index fingers to your nose, like this."

"Exactly why are we doing this?" Mulder asked.  "Oh, and Scully, it's
D-L-R-O-W."

"Mulder, you seemed kind of sketchy, back with the superintendent.  Are
you sure you're all right?" 

"I'm fine, Scully, except for this headache," Mulder told her.

"You have a headache?" Scully asked.  "Since when?"

"Started around the time the bounty hunter threw me on my head," Mulder
explained. 

You never told me that! Scully thought angrily, but she answered him
very calmly.

"Tell you what, Mulder.  I'll finish up my exam and then we'll see about
getting you to a hospital, okay?"  She said it as cheerfully as she
could, trying to make it sound like fun.

"Scully, I'm fine," Mulder repeated.  "I've got a headache, that's all,
and I think that's understandable, under the circumstances."  He knew
he'd be able to dissuade her.  Scully had always been a softy on this
issue, and over their years together, her mistrust of hospitals had only
increased.

"Mulder, if he threw you on your head, you might have  injuries you
don't even know about," Scully said.  She had also been tossed through
the air by the shapeshifter, and she seemed to have gotten a touch of
whiplash.  Mulder might have that too.

"Give it a rest, Scully.  You haven't found anything wrong with me, have
you?" Mulder said.  "Oh, it's Clinton, William Jefferson.  Cats and dogs
are both mammalian carnivores, but cats are loners and have retractable
claws, except the cheetah.  Dogs hunt in packs."

"You think you have this routine memorized, don't you?" Scully asked,
fighting back a smile.  Mulder was being so Mulderish, trying to charm
her, and it was working.  She sat down next to him on Swenson's bed.

"Yes.  Now you're going to bring out your rubber hammer that you bought
just to hit me with," he said.  "And if I really piss you off you'll
take out your pizza wheel."

"You're making fun of my neuro toys," Scully said.  "You must be feeling
better."  She was checking his head with her fingertips now and quickly
found the small, jagged scrape, which seemed reassuringly superficial.

"Scully, what about you?" Mulder asked.  She'd washed her face, but
there was still some blood on her nylon windbreaker.

"I think we both just need to clean up," Scully said.  "We have to get
to Minneapolis.  I want to get the bottle to the lab."

=======================================================================

Brad Swenson didn't worry about disciplinary hearings.  Whatever
happened would happen.  Sooner or later the Department of Natural
Resources or the University of Minnesota would find a way to boot him
out, he was sure of that.  Until then he was happy to live in a place he
loved, pursue a quest that made everyone else label him as a lunatic,
and collect a stipend for it.

He was driving the Taurus South on Interstate 35.  Traffic was light;
for most of the trip he was able to keep his brights on.  His two
supporting witnesses were in the car with him, one snoring in the back 
and the other next to him in the passenger seat.

"I do appreciate your support," Swenson told Scully, "but I hope you
know what you're  getting into.  Testifying that Loki stole my
snowmobile might not do much for your career."

"You mean the FBI might figure out that we're a couple of crackpots?"
Scully asked. "I supposed we'll just have to take a chance."  

Scully turned around to check on Mulder.  Time to wake him up
again--make sure he was all right.

Mulder didn't respond to her at first, and she had to repeat his name
twice before he answered with a grunt of annoyance.

"Mulder, who's the President?" she asked.

"Jesse the K," Mulder said.  "Leave me alone."

"Pull over," Scully instructed Swenson.

"Scully, chill out," Mulder said, forcing himself awake.  "It's still
Clinton, okay?  One hundred, ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine..."

Swenson drove the car onto the shoulder of the road and brought it to a
stop.  If Agent Scully had to wake Agent Mulder every time he fell
asleep, she might as well sit in the back with him.  

Scully had reached the same conclusion.  She got into the back seat,
forcing Mulder to sit up and get his feet onto the floor.

"...fifty-eight, fifty-one, forty-four," Mulder continued.

"Okay, you pass," she said.  

Swenson pointed the car back onto the highway and brought it up to
speed.  The next time he checked in the mirror, both his passengers were
asleep, leaning against each other and looking quite content, if a
little crowded.  

Just like a couple of kittens, Swenson thought.  He turned the radio on
softly and let it keep him company through the night.

They were almost to Minneapolis before either of the agents stirred, and
it was Mulder who woke up first.

He nudged Scully gently.

"You're drooling on me," he said sleepily, bringing the back of his hand
up to wipe her mouth.

His hand found the source of the moisture, not Scully's mouth but her
ear.

Suddenly alert, Mulder opened his eyes and confirmed his first
impression.

"Swenson," he said quietly but sharply.  "Get us to a hospital--now!"  

"What's the matter?" Swenson asked.  Abbot-Northwestern was the closest,
and he was not waiting for a reply  to take them there.

Mulder wasn't answering just yet anyway.  He was focused on Scully.

"Scully, wake up," he said, immensely relieved when she came awake at
once.

"What?  What's wrong?" she asked.

Mulder didn't want to alarm her by pointing out that there was something
clear weeping slowly from her ear.  

"Uh, Scully, who's the President?" he asked.

=========================================================================

"A skull fracture is not particularly serious," explained the earnest
young woman in the white lab coat.  "No more serious than any other
broken bone, provided that the brain itself is not injured.  Of course
you will be admitted until the drainage stops, but that is mostly for
observation."

Reclining on a stretcher, Scully was as unperturbed as the ER doctor,
but Mulder wanted to scream.  If this injury was so frickin' trivial,
why was Scully's brain leaking out her ear?  

"You've found no signs or symptoms of an active bleed or increased
pressure, is that correct?" Scully asked.  "I presume you'll want a CT
scan."   Hopefully the CT scan will be normal, she thought, and I'll be
out of here tomorrow, maybe the next day.  Thank goodness Mulder's x-ray
was negative.  He ought to get a CT scan anyway, though...

"Yes," the doctor said.  "CAT scan will call for you when they're
ready."  Mulder followed her out when she left the exam room.

"Wait," he said.  "What happens after the CAT scan?"

"Well, that depends," the young doctor said.  "If there's continued
bleeding or if there's pressure from a blood clot, she may require
surgery to correct it.  But that's unlikely.  I don't think you have
anything to worry about."  Again she turned to walk away.

"Damn it!"  It came out louder than he'd intended.  "Her brains are
falling out!  Aren't you going to fix that?"

The doctor glanced at her watch before answering.  She'd be off call at
6 AM, but that was hours away.

"Here's the story.  It's a basilar fracture.  In all likelihood the
damage will repair itself.  The drainage will stop  in a day or two. 
Until then she'll need to be on bedrest and avoid doing anything to
elevate her intracranial pressure.  The biggest danger is the risk of
infection.  And sir... her brains are not falling out.  That's
cerebrospinal fluid."  This time she touched his arm reassuringly before
racing off.

Mulder took a moment to compose himself before returning to Scully. 
He'd need to have a long, serious talk with her, about honesty and
unnecessary risks.  About knowing when to ask for help.  About taking
care of yourself so that the people who loved you didn't have to grind
their molars into dust worrying over you.  But this wasn't the time.

"Looks like you're going to be fine," he said cheerily as he walked back
in the exam room.

"I know," Scully answered.  "Why don't you go get something to eat,
Mulder, I don't need you to wait here with me."

Oh, sure, thought Mulder.  I'll go out for a burger, maybe stop and get
the car washed.  Catch a flick.  Sure, Scully.

"I'll just hang out here for a while," he said casually.

"Mulder!"  Scully sat up suddenly.  She'd just remembered something. 
Something wet and disgusting in the trunk of their car.

"What's wrong?" Mulder asked, kicking the exam room door open before he
sprang to her side, in case he'd have to yell for help.

"You have to find a Laundromat!  We can't go back to Allison with fifty
pounds of muddy clothes!"

Mulder's sigh of relief came out more like a gasp.

"Okay.  I'll take care of it," he said.

"Don't forget," Scully said.  

A magenta-haired kid tapped on the open door before he walked in the
room.

"Scully, Dana?" he asked, showing off a big, pink wad of bubble gum as
he spoke.  "CAT scan's calling for you."

"I'm ready," Scully said.  "Mulder, you take my stuff."  

"I've got it," he said, showing her the plastic bag with her
belongings.   Scully was traveling light today--no cellular, no purse,
just the 9 mm. automatic and the clothes she's been wearing.

"Mulder," she said.  She wanted a kiss.  She wanted it enough to ask for
it, if she had to.

But she didn't.  The kid from CAT scan was popping his gum
indifferently; and Mulder allowed himself and his partner a restrained
peck on the lips.

"Mulder, there's something I want you to wear for me," Scully said as
she reached through the bag of clothes.  Of course Mulder expected her
to produce the little cross, but she did not.

It was the runestone ring that the Viking had given her.

"Would you do that?  Wear it for me?" Scully asked.  As if he might
refuse.  Mulder put the rawhide strand around his neck.  

"See you later," he said.  She would know that his smile was forced, but
it was the best he could do.

=======================================================================

Mulder found Swenson sleeping in the waiting room and woke him up.

"You can go, Swenson," Mulder said.  "Pick me up before your hearing."

Swenson stretched and yawned.

"I'm going to crash at my dad's place," he said.  "You can come too, if
you want.  Plenty of room."   Swenson hoped Mulder would accept the
offer.  His dad was a lot more civil when other people were around.

"Thanks anyway, but I'll stay.  Scully's in CAT scan now, and they're
going to admit her." 

"How is she?" Swenson asked.

"I don't know," Mulder said.  "She's got a skull fracture."

"I'm sorry," Swenson said.  "Is there anything I can do?"  He felt like
a jerk even saying it.  He wished there was a way he could help Scully,
but what could he possibly do?

"Yeah.  Please," Mulder said.  "The laundry.  She... She doesn't want
her brother's wife to get stuck with it.  We borrowed it.  Their ski
stuff, you know?  And it's all dirty.  And wet.  Scully said--"

"Leave it to me,"  Swenson said.  "I'll meet you back here at eight."

Mulder sat down in the chair Swenson vacated, cradling the plastic bag
on his lap. 

Clothes, he thought.  Should have given them to Swenson to wash with the
rest.  

He was still hugging the plastic bag thirty minutes later when Allison
Scully arrived.  He didn't notice when she sat down next to him.

"Mulder," she said softly.  

He looked up.

"She has a skull fracture," he said.  

"I know, but she's going to be all right," Allison told him.  "The CAT
scan was negative, and they're bringing her up to her room now."

Mulder nodded.  

"Is Charlie with her?" he asked.  Charlie would probably beat the shit
out of him, he thought, and the sooner he did it the less inconvenient
it would be.

"Charlie didn't come--he's not great with hospitals," Allison said.  It
was perfectly true, but the real reason she had insisted that her
husband stay at home was because she knew he would want to beat the shit
out of Mulder.

"You know, she was worried about *my* head.  And she's got the
fracture," Mulder said.

"And you wish it was you instead," Allison said.  

"Well, yes," Mulder said.  "Sounds lame, though, doesn't it?"

"No," Allison said.  "I guess that's how it is with partners."

"Can I see her?" Mulder asked, since Allison seemed to have the latest
information.

"Soon.  You know she's going to ask if you've eaten anything," Allison
said.  Dana had already asked about that, in the hallway outside of CAT
scan.  Allison's assignment was to get Mulder to eat breakfast.

"I'll have to lie," Mulder said.  "I really can't eat now."

Allison believed him; she was like that herself.  Genetic Scullys
stuffed their faces when they were stressed, and Oliver seemed to have
that tendency as well, but Allison found it impossible to eat when she
was upset.

"Okay.  Let's go up and see her," Allison said.



end 15 of 17

Feedback to Scetti, malgio@netscape.net, and Kel, ckelll@hotmail.com


Backtracking
16/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1




Scully sighed.  She'd been in this bed less than thirty minutes--long
enough to swallow two Tylenol and a pretty red Colace and flip through
the limited selection of TV channels--and she was bored.

She didn't feel sick.  She didn't even feel tired.  She had a slight
headache and her neck was sore, but otherwise she felt fine.  The
drainage from her ear seemed to be slowing down, but it had been so
scant to begin with that she couldn't be sure.  It was going to be a
long couple of days.

When Allison and Mulder came into her room, she was more than ready for
the diversion.

"Oh boy, company," she said.

"It took forever to find you," Allison said.  "I don't know who designed
this hospital." She put her coat down over a chair.

"M.C. Escher," Mulder said.  "Hey, Scully, how'd you rate a private
room?"  

If Allison hadn't talked to him in the waiting room, she would not have
guessed that Mulder was worried.  He sounded quite hearty.  

"Allison, would you mind getting me a soda from downstairs?" Scully
asked.  

"Sure, Dana," Allison said.  She didn't wink knowingly, but she patted
Scully's shoulder.  

"Alone at last," Mulder said when Allison had gone.  

"I know," Scully said.  "So give."

If Allison had happened to overhear this conversation, her romantically
inclined imagination would have taken flight.

In point of fact, Mulder and Scully had exchanged only a few sparse
observations about the events at Temperance River and it was critical
that they get the details sorted out before Mulder drop by the regional
FBI office.

"After Swenson drove me to the cabin, he must have sledded back to the
hot springs. The bounty hunter found him there and stole his snowmobile,
not to mention his clothing," Mulder said.

"That must have been after I went into the cave, because I didn't see
him," Scully said. "That's going to come up at Swenson's hearing, you
know.  Gunderson is telling them that the DNR doesn't care to underwrite
so-called scholars for their personal, hedonistic pursuits."

"For soaking in the hot spring?" Mulder asked.  "Well, I won't be able
to testify about that.  I wasn't there."

"Maybe they'll ask you if you did any hot-tubbing," Scully suggested.

"Don't worry about the hearing, Scully, I can handle that," Mulder
said.  "Concentrate on the bounty hunter."

"Okay, so the bounty hunter made himself into Swenson and then he found
you back at the cabin," Scully said.  "What happened next?"  

"He wanted me to take him to you.  That's how I knew he wasn't
Swenson--he didn't know where to look for you," Mulder said.  "We've
never seen him afraid before, but I think he was afraid of you, or
afraid of what you would find."

"He's afraid of the bottle, or what's in it," Scully said.  "You saw
what it did to him.  We finally have something we can use against him. 
And did you notice, Mulder?  The bottle also gives us some protection. 
He was bleeding, you know, but his green blood didn't hurt us when the
bottle was open."

"That's why he wanted us to trap you in the cave.  He ordered Swenson
and me to fill the entrance with rocks, but he was afraid to do it
himself.  He didn't want to get too close," Mulder said.

"Mulder, you have to get that bottle to the lab.  We have to find out
what's in it," Scully said.  

"They're going to ask me where the bottle came from," Mulder said.  "And
I won't be able to tell them."  He leaned back in his chair and folded
his arms.  He would not be able to tell them because he didn't know. 
Scully had never told him what happened inside the cave.

Scully turned away from him.  There were so many reasons she didn't want
to talk about it.

She'd felt herself close to death, trapped in the pit.  She didn't even
want to think about it.  Mulder was bound to tell her she'd been
"incredibly rash" to go into the cave alone without first informing
someone, and she didn't want to deal with that either.  Some of the
things Heimdall had told her--they were so weird.  Mulder would think
she was psychotic, or hallucinating.

No, Mulder would believe her.  The real problem was her own beliefs. 
She had to accept that Heimdall was real, because the bottle was real. 
She had held it in her hand.  She had opened it, and the bounty hunter
had been vanquished, overcome with pain and forced to flee.  

Heimdall was real, at least as real as the bounty hunter.  Dana Scully
was a federal agent investigating a paranormal phenomenon.  She had the
duty and obligation to disclose her findings.

"Come on, Scully," Mulder said quietly.  "Tell me how you got the
bottle."

=======================================================================

Allison Scully got a Sprite from the vending machine in the lobby. 
Early as it was, the gift shop was open, and she took the time to select
some magazines for Dana.  Then she had a cup of coffee in the cafeteria
and read People magazine from cover to cover.

That should give those two some time to talk, she thought.  When she got
back to Dana's room, Mulder was still sitting by the bedside.  Allison
coughed discreetly from the doorway, and Dana waved her in.

The two agents were in disagreement about something.

"Don't do this, Mulder," Dana said.  "I'll re-explore the cave when I
get out of here.  You're not the one for the job, Mulder, I explained
that to you.  Besides, you won't know where you're going."

"What if I take Swenson in with me?" Mulder asked.  Scully was trying to
tell him that he'd be in more danger in the cave than she was.  She'd
also argued that a "secret" that lasted for millennia would last a few
more days, until she was well enough to look for it.

They shouldn't be arguing, Allison thought.  Dana was supposed to stay
calm.  There was no yelling or screaming, but Dana looked worried and
somber, and Mulder sounded frustrated.

"Here's what you do," Scully said.  "Get the bottle shipped to DC so we
can have it analyzed.  We're on to something big here.  The bottle may
be the key to everything.  But even if it's not, it's the most effective
weapon we have against--"  She had to watch what she said in front of
Allison.  "It's our most effective weapon," she concluded.

"You're right, Scully, we are on to something big, and you know that's
why I have to go back to Temperance River.  I'll take the bottle to the
regional office, and they can send it on ahead."  Mulder found himself
fingering the runestone ring as he spoke.  It was a hefty piece of
jewelry but there was something comfortable about its weight.  "I'd
better send this to the lab too," he added.

"Mulder!" She was off the bed, leaning over him in his chair.  She'd
forgotten about being on bedrest.

"Jesus, Scully!  What are you trying to do?"  Mulder said, his voice
full of fear and anger.  

"Dana Katherine Scully, you get back in that bed!" Allison ordered her.  

"Oh.  I forgot," Scully said.  "Relax, you two, I'm going back to bed. 
But Mulder, you have to wear that ring.  Promise me you won't take it
off."  She was supposed to stay in bed and avoid activities like
coughing and sneezing.  She could probably get Mulder to dance the
Macarena, if she wanted to, by threatening to blow her nose.

"Yes," Allison intervened again.  "Promise her you'll wear the ring and
you won't go back north.  And Dana, you promise him that you'll stay in
bed."  There, she thought, that would settle everything.

"I don't want him to promise he won't go back to the cave," Scully
said.  "I don't want him to lie to me.  I just want him to promise about
the ring."

"Okay, I'll keep the ring on," Mulder said.  "Now get back in the bed. 
This is extortion, you know."  

"Promise, Mulder.  Promise me."  They exchanged a serious look, and she
got back in the bed.

"I want a word with you," Allison told Mulder sharply.  "I'll be waiting
outside. And Dana, I will speak to you later."  

"I think we're in trouble," Mulder said in a conspiratorial growl, and
Allison, who had not yet closed the door behind her, gave him the look
that he usually got from Scully.

"She thinks it's time for both of us to grow up," Scully said.  "We've
been ignoring our feelings for too long.   There's more to life than
work."

"Is that what she wants to tell me?  Am I allowed to explain that we're
trying to prevent aliens from colonizing the planet?"  Mulder asked.

"You can try, but she'll tell you that everyone thinks their job is
important.  Mulder, about the laundry..."

"Yes, Scully, I understand it's important," Mulder said.

"I know you do.  I just wanted to tell you, don't put the silk in the
washer, you'll ruin it.  I'll wash it by hand, okay?"  She tilted her
head a bit.

"Okay," he said.  The laundry was no longer in his control.  One day,
when Scully was all better, he would tell her what a total pain in the
ass she had been.

"I wish you weren't going to do what I know you're going to do," Scully
said.  "Don't take that ring off, Mulder, you promised me.  And keep the
bottle with you too."  

Mulder was going to go back to the cave to look for the Viking.  He was
going to shimmy down a rocky, wet tunnel until he came to a wolf's den,
and then he was going to hang a left and try not to slide down into a
sheer, ten-foot pit.  He would journey where few could go, and fewer yet
returned.

She had almost lost him so many times.  And he was going to put himself
in harm's way again.

"I'll wear the ring, Scully, I promise,"  Mulder said.  "And Scully, be
good.  I want you to get better.  I'll see you tonight."   And he kissed
her.  It wasn't so hard, really.

"Good-bye, Mulder," Scully said.  "May you always find your way home."

========================================================================

Oliver picked up the ringing telephone, certain it was just another call
for Punk Wannabe Christina Snotnose.  Who, by the way, was going to miss
the school bus if she didn't get out of the bathroom soon.  Aunt Dana
was in the hospital and Mom had gone to see how she was.  Oliver and
Christina were supposed to be old enough to get their own breakfast and
catch the bus without her help.

"Scully," Oliver said.

"Please hold for Assistant Director Skinner," a woman's voice told him.

Assistant Director Skinner, Oliver thought.  FBI.

For a split second he wondered if Mulder had ratted about his videotapes
after all. Nah.  Must be a call for Aunt Dana.

"Scully.  Perhaps you'd care to explain these interesting communiqus
I've received from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources," a
gruff voice said.

Cool! Oliver thought.

"Communiqus?" he asked.  He knew he sounded like a girl on the phone. 
He was always being mistaken for his sister.

"Why, yes, Agent Scully.  The Department of Natural Resources was
courteous enough to share their information about your rescue.  Perhaps
you could take a lesson from them."

"Sir?" Oliver said.

"All right, agent," Skinner said.  Scully was going to play games, but
he didn't have to play along.  "Please send me your report ASAP.  This
afternoon will be fine."  He hung up the phone.

=======================================================================

"Just like old times, son.  You show up in the middle of the night with
a mountain of laundry, and then you try to sneak out the door before we
get a chance to talk." Bill Swenson had been sitting in the kitchen
since six without turning on the light.  

"I'm sorry, Dad," Swenson said.  "My hearing is at nine o'clock, and I
have to pick up the FBI agent from the hospital."  He should have known
the old man would be up and waiting for him.  Before he'd retired, 
Professor  Swenson was notorious for holding his graduate seminar at
8:00 AM.

"The FBI agent who's going to back up your... version of events," the
elder Swenson said dryly.  "That must be the FBI agent who sustained the
head trauma."

"No, Dad, it's the other one," Swenson answered.  "Sorry to disappoint
you--again."

"Bradley--it's your life.  I don't pretend to understand all the choices
you've made," the father said.

The son sighed.

"I know, Dad.  You spent good money on my Ivy League education.  You
didn't complain when I applied to grad school for archeology.  You were
proud of me when I got my doctorate..."

"I was very proud," said the older Swenson.  "I liked the idea that
you'd be a professor--I suppose that says something about my ego.  And I
understand your thirst for knowledge, son, I respect that."

"Your respect that, but you hate to see me jeopardize a promising
academic career,"  Swenson said.

"Bradley, you're a grown man who believes in fairy tales.  You're
tracking down Apollo, trying to put Osiris together again.  Myths are
myths, son.  There's a kind of truth to them, but not the literal truth
you're looking for."  

"I have to go, Dad.  I'll call you, okay?" said the son.

That was a myth that neither man believed.

======================================================================

Mulder had called Scully once today, after Swenson's disciplinary
hearing, to tell her how it had turned out.

Swenson's snowmobile had been located, so the DNR had to drop their
complaint about equipment loss.  Mulder's testimony and Scully's
deposition supported Swenson's other claims, and that was enough to
resolve the matter without any official disciplinary action being taken.

Nevertheless, Swenson felt that he was being punished.  The Department
of Natural Resources and the University of Minnesota had assigned a
geologist to work with him, someone to keep tabs on him and see to it
that he didn't waste government resources on his own eccentric agenda.  

"I work alone," Swenson had told the review board huffily, but he'd been
informed that if he wanted to continue to collect his stipend, he'd be
working with a scientist.

"Poor Swenson," Scully said.  "I hope she doesn't cramp his style."

Mulder paused before telling her what he had to say next.

"I'm going back to Temperance River," he said at last.  "With Swenson. 
Do you need anything before I leave?"

I need you, she thought.  I need you safe.  I need you with me.

"No, Mulder, I have everything I need.  I'll see you later," Scully
said.

"I'm still wearing the ring, Scully, and I've got the bottle too,"
Mulder said.  

Should she tell him that she loved him?  Scully wondered.  The
conversation would become weighty and ominous if she ended it that way. 
She was still debating with herself when Mulder hung up.

That was hours ago.  Now she found herself staring at the phone, and
Allison caught her at it.

"Another game of gin rummy?" Allison offered brightly.  

"Allison, go home," Scully said.  "Or go to work.  I'll be okay.  I'll
call you if I get too bored."

"I'll come by later, or I'll send Charlie if I can get him to behave,"
Allison said, rising from her seat.  

"Thanks," Scully said.  

"Try not to worry," Allison suggested, aware that her advice was
useless.

"He's going to come back," Scully said.  

She did not complete the thought.  If he did not return to this realm,
she would follow him into the next.

========================================================================

Home alone.  Christina did not want to waste this rare opportunity. 
Oliver had computer club this afternoon, and then karate.   Daddy had
called a minute ago--that's how much *he* trusted her--so she knew he
wouldn't be home for a while. Mom was visiting with Aunt Dana.

She could call Ryan.  Nothing like a little male attention to make your
day more interesting.  And Ryan was male.  Not much else to recommend
him, unfortunately.

Aunt Dana had it made.  That guy Mulder was also male.  But he respected
her--you could tell.  The way he looked at her, the way he listened to
her when she talked. Even the way he called her by her last name. 
Scully.  

But Aunt Dana said they weren't seeing each other or anything like that.

Maybe he was lonely.  Anyone who was willing to talk to Oliver had to be
very, very lonely.  

Maybe Mulder wanted to talk about how lonely he was.  He needed someone
to talk to. Someone who could appreciate the dark emptiness he felt
within.   Aunt Dana wasn't really that helpful when it came to dark
emptiness.  She would tell him about hormonal changes and playing sports
and joining clubs.

Then the phone rang.  Maybe it was him.

No, it wouldn't be him, Christina sighed.  Better get back to reality
and pick up the phone.

"Scully," she said.

"Hey, babe."  It was Ryan.  "A bunch of the guys are going over to the
rec. center after dinner to play some b-ball.  Want to watch?"

Christina sighed.  

"No, thanks," she said.

===================================================================

It was probably early evening when Mulder and Swenson arrived back at
the waterfall.  Mulder's watch showed 6:10, for whatever that was
worth.  Swenson no longer bothered wearing a watch here.

Swenson led the way.  It was impossible to avoid the torrent from the
waterfall as they entered the cave, and they found the tunnel quite as
rocky and uninviting as Scully had, but even more confining.

They were heading for the wolf's den.

Scully showed no fear of the wolf.  She described her encounters with
the animal as if she were talking about a casual acquaintance.

Swenson was equally sanguine.  He told Mulder that the wolves in the
area never attacked humans.  It was part of the mystery here, just like
the flowers that bloomed through the snow and the odd temperature
shifts.

Mulder was not afraid of the big, bad wolf.  Not afraid, he told
himself, just appropriately concerned.

The wolf's den was a hub, the way Scully explained it.  The twisty
tunnel from the waterfall led into it, and two larger passages exited
the den, one from the right and one from the left.  Scully had followed
the passageway to the left--the wolf had given her no choice.  The
passageway to the left had taken her to the icy pit and to Heimdall, who
had rescued her.

Heimdall had given Scully two gifts.  The first was the glass bottle
with its thick liquid contents.  This gift repelled the bounty hunter,
hurt him somehow, and vitiated the toxic force of his pernicious green
blood.

The second gift was the runestone ring.  Swenson had been nearly
awestruck when Mulder showed it to him.  He wanted to get it
carbon-dated, x-rayed, and analyzed. His voice caught in his throat when
he described the significance of the crudely etched tree, which might be
Ygdrasil, the Norse tree of life, or perhaps the oak tree, identified
with the god Balder.  

"I've got a friend at the university who can run the tests.  We've got
to give this to him," he'd urged Mulder.

"No," said Mulder, "I can't take it off." 

"I guess I'm not the only one who believes in this stuff," Swenson
responded.

Mulder wasn't sure if he believed in the ring, but he believed in
Scully.  He had promised her.

Mulder carried both of Heimdall's gifts along the narrow tunnel.  The
bottle was in his pocket, and the ring, on its thong of rawhide, was
still around his neck.  From time to time he found himself checking for
it, patting his chest to feel its bulk through the layers of clothing.

He carried two gifts from the Norse god.  Audacious human!  What more
did he seek? 

Was the alien bounty hunter really Loki, the ancient adversary of
Heimdall and his kinsmen?  Even in the tales of the Vikings, Loki's
origin was obscure.  He'd started as one of the evil giants, but he'd
been adopted by Odin as his brother, making him one of the Aesir, the
Norse pantheon.  From ancient times Loki had been an ambiguous figure,
the cunning trickster, sometimes siding with the gods but more often
against them.

Was Loki an extraterrestrial?  

Heimdall would know.  He would know many secrets.

Mulder slithered along,  The light he wore strapped around his head
showed him only the moist rock walls of the tunnel or the ridged soles
of Swenson's boots.  Then Swenson stopped moving.

Swenson's light illuminated the interior of the wolf's den, and Mr. Wolf
was at home.  Swenson had hoped it would be otherwise.  The confident
reassurances he'd offered to Mulder were sincere, but Swenson held some
reservations about meeting up with the wolf in this confined space that
was unarguably its home turf.

Swenson started to move again, slithering until he was fully in the
chamber of the wolf's den.  It was large enough here that he could have
stood up, but he did not, choosing instead to crawl the rest of the
way.  Mulder crawled in after him.

The wolf stretched and yawned.

Swenson took the light off his head and aimed it deliberately on the
left wall of the cave.  It seemed absolutely solid, with no sign of a
passageway.

He looked over at Mulder, who shrugged.  

Swenson started to crawl toward the left wall.  Mulder also moved to the
left, but when Swenson had spent several minutes poking at the wall
without finding an opening, Mulder abandoned his crouching posture to
lean back against the rocks in a sitting position.

Remembering that the shapeshifter had wanted the cave to be sealed off,
Swenson wondered if the passageway to the left had been closed up
deliberately.  He tried to move the rocks that made up the wall, but for
the most part it seemed to be of one piece.  The thick coat of living
moss that covered it gave the impression that it had been there,
undisturbed, for a very long time.

Swenson heard Mulder gasp and then the sound of footsteps in the leafy
litter behind him.  He gave up examining the wall to turn around.

Mulder was still leaning against the wall.  He was absolutely still.  He
was breathing, presumably, but Swenson couldn't detect it.

The wolf was looming over him.  

It was not a threatening pose, to Swenson's educated eye.  Still, he
didn't envy Mulder's situation.

"Keep him occupied," he told Mulder in a helpful whisper.  "I'll keep
looking for the passageway."

Mulder's eyes moved, nothing more.  

Swenson took a pick from his belt and rapped it on the stone wall.  He
was getting nowhere.  He moved back a few feet to photograph the wall
using infrared film.  Maybe the developed images would give him a clue
about getting through this wall.

"We might as well give up," he said when he had finished.

The wolf retreated to his leafy bed.  Mulder heaved a sigh.

"I'll find the passageway," Mulder said, but he had barely finished the
thought when the wolf was over him once again.

The wolf definitely seemed friendly now, Swenson thought.  He was
panting like a dog that wanted to play fetch.

"He likes you," Swenson said.

"Can I keep him?   I'm going to call him Champ,"  Mulder said.  He felt
very concerned, very appropriately concerned, about the wolf.  Scully
would have recognized his panicked face.

We will get no farther, Swenson thought.  We will learn no more tonight.

"Say good-bye to Champ," he said.  "It's time to go home."

Mulder looked at the seemingly solid cave wall to his left, and then
back at Swenson.  Again, only his eyes moved.

"Good-bye, Champ," he said with his jaw locked.  The wolf retreated
again.

Swenson crept his way back into the narrow tunnel.  His last look over
his shoulder showed the wolf still lying down with his head on his
paws.  When the archeologist heard someone crawling behind him, he was
reasonably sure it was Mulder.  

Mulder wriggled along the slimy tunnel, guided by the dim image of
Swenson, a few feet ahead of him, as illuminated by his head lamp. 
After several minutes he heard the sound of the waterfall.   Reaching
the outside at last, he got to his feet but promptly slipped on a mossy
rock.  

It really didn't make any difference.  He was already soaked and
battered. Maybe the cascading water would wash off some of the oozy
grunge that coated his entire body.  

But to his surprise, Mulder found himself even wetter and colder than
before, so he stood up again and walked back to where the snowmobile was
parked.  Swenson was waiting for him.

They rode the sled to the administrative center, where they switched to
Mulder's rental car.  The snowmobile was too noisy to allow
conversation, but even in the car they exchanged few words.  Mulder
drove to Swenson's place, turning the heat on full blast when the engine
was finally warm enough.

Swenson unlocked the door to the cabin.  Mulder was rummaging through
the trunk of the car for something to wear.  Swenson had washed the
laundry and even folded it, but he'd packed it rather randomly into
garbage bags, and it took Mulder a while to find a suitable set.  That
gave the archeologist time to figure out which of his duffel bags held
the clean clothes.

When they were both dry and dressed, Mulder broke the silence.

"That was interesting," he said.


end part 16 of 17

Backtracking
17/17
Disclaimer, etc., with part 1



It was two days later that Scully was lounging in her brother's family
room, on the phone with her mom.  She was fully recovered, but she was
making the most of the last hour of her enforced convalescence.

"I'm fine, Mom, really.  Charlie and Allison are taking wonderful care
of me."  It was ten o'clock, but she was still wearing her blue silk
pajamas.  She was sitting cross-legged on the faux-suede sofa, with
"Rugrats," on the television.  There was a plate of stuffed raisin-bread
french toast on the coffee table, but as soon as Allison vacated the
kitchen, Dana was going to dispose of it.  

"How are they, Dana?" her mother asked.  

"They're fine too.  Charlie's business is doing great and they have a
beautiful house.  And Allison is manager at one of those packaging
places, part of a new franchise.  Alli's at home, Mom, why don't you
talk to her?" Dana asked hopefully.

"How's Mulder?" Maggie asked.   

"Mulder's good.  Don't you want to know about the kids?"  She reached
for her coffee cup.  At least Allison made great coffee.

"Of course, Dana, how are the children?"  

"Christina's really growing up.  Charlie says she makes him think of me
when I was that age," Dana said proudly.

Maggie laughed.

"I don't think I was that amusing,"  Dana bristled.  Apparently her
mother remembered her as a juvenile delinquent. 

"Not at the time," Maggie agreed. 

"Oliver's amazing," Dana continued.  He's so full of enthusiasm.  He'll
start to talk about something and pretty soon you're listening to a
lecture....  Mom, you should get to know these kids.  They're your
grandchildren."

"I know they are, Dana, but it's not that simple."

"Because they're not Catholic?" She had never asked that question before
because if that was the reason, she didn't want to know.

"Dana!  Of course not!"  

"Mom... I know Ahab never accepted them.  Do you feel that way too?" she
asked.

"Try to understand.  I was shocked when Charlie married so young and
took on a ready-made family.   I know he's happy now and I have to be
happy for him.  But Dana, he said some terrible things.  He said some
terrible things to your father."

"Daddy said some terrible things too," Dana said.  "And so did Billy. 
Don't you remember?  He told Charlie he was disgracing the family name! 
But if you ever want these kids in your life, I think it's time to get
over it."

"Oh, Dana, I'm sure it's too late for that already," Maggie said.  

"You have nothing to lose by trying.  But it's up to you."

===================================================================

"Mom, where'd you hide my dinosaur model?"  Christina stood leaning
against the door jamb,  hands on her hips, headed tilted as she waited
for an answer.

"It's in the family room.  Why?"  Allison asked as she finished wiping
off the stovetop.  

"I was thinking I could work on it with Aunt Dana.  Give her something
to do," she answered.

Allison didn't say anything, because anything she said would have been
the wrong thing.

Oliver's footsteps thudded from the stairs and he came skipping toward
the kitchen but he stopped cold when he saw his platform-shoed sister
towering over him from the doorway.  They exchanged glares as Oliver
entered the room and Christina exited.

"Any french toast left over, Mom?" he asked.

"Here," Allison said, handing him an apple.  "I have to stop by the shop
for a couple of hours.  I'll try to get home before your aunt has to
leave."  She went out the door to the garage and her son sat down at the
table to eat his apple.  When the phone rang he picked it up. 

"Scully," he said.  "Yeah, I can get a fax.  Give me a minute to set it
up."

======================================================================

The man at the ski shop said it would be no problem to repair Charlie's
ski.  Charlie was disappointed;  it was the end of the season, and there
were some incredible skis going for a fraction of the regular price.
There was one pair that you could use for just about any kind of
skiing.   They were fast in the tracks but reliable on ungroomed snow.  
Lots of grip *and* lots of glide.  Lightweight, too. Expensive, even on
sale, but worth it.

"She'll think I'm an idiot," said Mulder, who had just paid for them.  
No question about it, when Scully saw that he had bought himself a pair
of skis, she'd have plenty to say.   

"You'd be an idiot to pass them by," Charlie assured him.  "That is the
last pair of skis you'll ever need.  You're going to win races on those
things.  I'm thinking biathlon--you should try it."

"She's going to ask me when and where I intend to go skiing," Mulder
predicted.  Then she was going to ask them how he planned to get them
home from the airport and where he was going to keep them.

When the skis were ready, with the bindings mounted in place, Mulder
held them vertically until he was out of the store, then swung them onto
his shoulder to carry them to the car.  

So, it turned out Allison was right all along about Tiny Dancer and
Mulder, Charlie thought.  I suppose I should say something

"Good skiing right around here," he said.  

=======================================================================

"You broke it, dickwad!" Christina whined.  "Get your hands off that
model, it's mine!"  Christina and her aunt had been assembling the
brachiosaurus together but then her gifted brother had to horn in on
their fun.

"I didn't break it, that's the way it should go," Oliver said
defensively.  "Anyway, why aren't you at the mall?  It's Saturday, isn't
it?"  That was the best thing about Saturday, usually.  His rottweiler
of a sister spent the day with her friends, harassing innocent merchants
instead of him.

"Christina," Scully said, "there's no need to talk to him like that."

"Look what he did!  The boy wonder put the vertebral column in upside
down," Christina said. 

"But it fits!" Oliver protested.

"Well, how would the spinal nerves get out?   Huh?  Huh?"  Christina
knew she was showing off for her aunt.  It wasn't that often that she
got the chance to show up the conceited little turd.

Oliver didn't have to think of an answer because he heard the rattle of
the garage door opening.

"Dad's home!" he announced.  "Want to call me a dickwad again?"

Charlie and Mulder came into the family room and Charlie sat down in the
reclining chair that was obviously his throne.  Mulder took the love
seat; Christina and Oliver had Dana surrounded on the couch.

"How did it go at the ski shop?" Dana asked.  "Can they fix it?"

"Yes," Charlie said.  

"Did you hear from the lab yet?" Mulder asked his partner.  "This is
taking too long."

Scully raised her eyes.

"You're right," she said.  "We should have a preliminary report by now." 

"I have more of the samples," Mulder reminded her.  "We can still get
them analyzed privately."

"D-oh!" Oliver smacked himself on the forehead.  "You got a report.  I
forgot to give it to you."

"That's not like you," Christina said sweetly.  "Maybe you're not
getting enough sleep."

"Shut up, snotface!" Oliver screamed.

"Oliver!" Charlie said.  "Chill out!  Go get the report."

Oliver couldn't find it.  He'd taken it from the fax machine with every
intention of giving it to his aunt, but he's been sidetracked and
forgotten all about it.  He had no idea where it was.

"Maybe it's in your room with your videos," Christina suggested
helpfully.  "Maybe it's under your pictures of Lucy Lawless."

"Christina!" Oliver shouted.  "Maybe you're not really staying at
Hayley's house tonight!"

"I am too, butthead! I hate you!" Christina screamed back. 

"What's going on with you kids?" Charlie asked.  He raised his voice,
but only a little.  "You will not talk that way in this house,
Christina, not ever.  And Oliver, you have a job to do.  Find that
report."

Oliver paced from one room to another, growing red in the face as he
leafed through piles of paper and looked under magazines.  

"Charlie, we'll get them to fax it over again," Mulder said.  "Just
destroy the first copy when you find it."

"You see what it's like, Aunt Dana?" Christina asked, little noticing
how distracted Dana was at this moment.  "I just can't live here
anymore."

Oliver came back to the family room almost in tears.

"I couldn't find it," he said, "but I remember what it was.  Like you
said, it was a lab report, an analysis of two specimens.  All kinds of
descriptive stuff, like dimensions and colors, okay?  And then it said
what they were."

"Oliver, you shouldn't have read that," Scully said.  She spoke calmly
to him, in fact, never in her adult  life had Scully felt real anger
toward a child.  "That was official FBI business--"

"Oliver, just tell us what they were," Mulder said, also calmly.

"Untanned leather," Oliver said.  "From a reindeer."  He looked up at
Mulder, hoping his information was useful.

"Reindeer?" Scully asked.  That didn't seem possible.  Of course,
possible and impossible had very little meaning in her line of work.

"What about  the other sample?" Mulder asked.  That was the one he was
really interested in---that was the powerful liquid in the crude glass
bottle.

"Pine sap," Oliver said.  "Purified and concentrated.  I'm sorry, I
don't remember what kind of pine tree."  He used his big brown eyes on
his aunt this time.

Charlie Scully felt a chill.

"Kids," he said.  "Aunt Dana and Mulder will have to leave for the
airport soon.  Get their stuff loaded into the car."  

Mulder glanced at Charlie, then handed the keys to Christina.  

Christina felt redeemed as she accepted the keys.  He trusted her. 
Furthermore, his hand touched hers.  

"No problem, Mulder," she said,  "the kid and I will take care of it."

"Thank you," Mulder said.  Maybe Christina imagined it, but it seemed to
her that when their eyes met, he gazed at her for a fraction of a second
longer than he really had to.

When the children were out of the room, Charlie was able to talk.

"Pine sap," he said.  "That was the Viking's secret.  That's what would
weaken the shapeshifter so that the Viking could destroy him in their
final battle."  Charlie was no longer embarrassed to talk about the
Viking.

"Pine sap," Dana repeated.  "It seems so ordinary."

"So is garlic," Charlie said, "and look what it does to vampires."

Dana smiled.

"Yes, and look what water did to the Wicked Witch of the West," she
said.

"Ordinary items with extraordinary effects," Mulder said.  "But there's
something else I remember, from one of Oliver's books."

"Something about pine sap?" Dana asked.

"Pine trees.  A pine forest in Norway called Balder's Grove. It was a
sanctuary, with a temple to the gods," Mulder said.  "Even with the
advent of Christianity, this pine grove was regarded as hallowed ground,
where no man might harm another."

Pine sap.  So earthly, Dana thought.  And so available.  Could something
so simple protect humankind from the bounty hunter?  

She felt skeptical.  At the same time, she was glad that Mulder was
still wearing the Viking ring.

Christina and Oliver came bounding back into the family room, full of
excitement at something they'd found on the roof of the Taurus.

"Mulder got some wicked skis!" Oliver exclaimed.  

"The ones Daddy wanted!" Christina added.  "The real expensive ones made
from titanium!"

"You bought skis, Mulder?" Scully asked.

"Yes, I bought skis," Mulder said.  He wanted to add, What's it to you?

"Three words, Mulder.  Change at O'Hare."

==========================================================================

"You're just not going to admit that I'm a genius," Mulder said.

"I said it was a good idea, Mulder.  Don't push it."  

They were driving to the airport with two suitcases and two carry-on
bags.  No backpacks, no duffel bags, and no cartons of china.  But tied
to the roof of the car were Mulder's new skis.

The brilliant, Oxford-educated psychologist, or whatever he was, had
come up with a plan.

Since Allison Scully managed a business with the exact mission of
packaging and forwarding items of any size or shape, why not let her
deal with the skis?  They would stop at her store on the way to the
airport.

"You get to say good-bye to Allison, and you finally get to see her
shop," Mulder said.  "She wanted to show it to you."

"She's proud of it, and she deserves to be," Scully said.  "She went out
on a limb, moving over to this new franchise, and now it looks as if
they're going to take over the whole business.  They have stores opening
all over the country."

"Well, you can talk to her about her business," Mulder said.  "I think
I'm going to thank her.  For the oils."   

They were holding hands as he drove, and Mulder couldn't remember if he
was the one who had initiated the gesture.  However, it was certainly
Scully who had decided to stroke that uncannily sensitive web of skin
between his thumb and index finger.

"Mulder, please don't embarrass me," Scully said.  He wouldn't have
to--she would embarrass herself.    Because whatever Mulder ended up
saying to Allison, Scully would be blushing like a tomato.  And Allison
would know.

"Scully."  His voice was low and serious.  "I live to embarrass you."  

He turned the car into the parking lot by Allison's store.  It was easy
to find because of the huge sign.  Bold purple letters announced the
name of the establishment:

      UNITED SHIPPERS!

So many events had fallen into place to bring Mulder and Scully back
together.   The frozen bindings, the cold cabin, the tick-infested
firewood.  But those events would not have sufficed if not for Allison.  

Allison was the catalyst.

Because, if you haven't guessed yet, Allison Scully was a Shipper.  





the end

Backtracking
by Kel and Scetti
Talk to us!
Scetti: malgio@netscape.net   Kel:  ckelll@hotmail.com