Title: After William Author: Philiater Category: Scully/Skinner. Post Colonization? Probably an AU. Rating: A big NC-17 Spoilers: The entire series EXCEPT the finale. Feedback: Yes, may I have another? Philiater1@yahoo.com Rabid MSR fans-hit the back button NOW Note: Some of this is going to look a little like a story I just wrote. I had an idea for two cabin fics and wrote one. Then I thought, why not write both? Thanks again to Keleka, that demanding B****, uh, Beta After William By Philiater He'd been taken while jogging. He was in the middle of a 5:00 am run through the frigid D.C. morning. He was just hitting his stride; cold muscles finally loosened, eyesight no longer blurred, and he didn't mind the frosty puffs of air he expelled with each breath. True, he wasn't twenty anymore, but at times like these he could almost remember what it felt like. The crunch of rock salt beneath his running shoes reminded him the weather was turning ugly. D.C had yet to have the 'big' storm it was graced with at this time every year. He was deep in thought. So deep he didn't notice the non- descript black Ford that trailed behind him, or the men that leaped from it when it sped up and cut off his escape, until it was too late. Walter Skinner cursed himself for not being more alert, or noticing his surroundings. The last thing he remembered after they plunged the needle into his bicep was: What can they want from me now? ***************************** Across town a pajama-clad Dana Scully was in her kitchen making coffee. She was trying not to notice the empty crib she couldn't bring herself to take down just yet. She was also trying to ignore the toys she kept finding in various odd places all over the apartment. Gone. He was gone. And he was never coming back. She made a mental list of the people gone from her life: Mulder, William, The Gunmen, Melissa, and her father. Even Doggett had been very effectively and permanently partnered with Reyes. Skinner was no longer her boss, and she hadn't made any friends at Quantico. She was alone. Very alone. With a sigh she turned from the coffee maker and padded into the bathroom. Getting up and getting ready for work each day was becoming a dreaded chore. She hoped the hot water from the shower would help loosen the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders. She was deep in thought. So deep she didn't hear her front door open, or the man who stole into her apartment. Unlike Skinner, she never even knew she was taken. All she felt was a sting that came through the blue vinyl shower curtain, and then blackness. ************************ His head was hurting like a mariachi band playing on his skull. Was he hung over? He'd sworn off going down to Tijuana to get drunk and laid. In that order. So where was he now? With great difficulty, Skinner opened his eyes and it was a full five minutes before the swirling image of the room came to a rest and the nausea threatening him to subside. Wherever he was, it was NOT Tijuana. His eyes came to rest on an object lying next to him. Red hair. Is that red hair? Scully? He tried to sit up too fast and the nausea returned with a vengeance. He was still wearing the jogging outfit from this morning. Yes. He'd been out jogging, feeling good and then---blackness. He put a hand on the object next to him. "Scully?" He shook her and received no response. "SCULLY!" The object moaned and turned toward him. It was Scully all right, and she was wrapped in blue plastic. Slowly she opened her eyes and he saw her focus on first his chest and then his bald head. "Sir?" Her voice was scratchy and sounded foreign to him. He watched her struggle to sit up and look down to see herself wrapped in a shower curtain. She wiggled until a hand was free. Gingerly she lifted the plastic, and let out a sigh when she realized she wasn't naked, but wore a sweat outfit. The last thing she remembered was taking a hot shower---- She sat bolt upright with a shocked look on her face. "Where are we, sir?" He frowned, looking around. "I don't know." They appeared to be inside a rustic cabin. There was a fire in the fireplace, and its light bounced off roughened walls. Skinner rose to his feet and walked to the front door. He opened it to a world shrouded in white. They were in a cabin, and the cabin, it seemed, was on top of a snow-covered mountain. Carefully Skinner walked outside. The 'front yard' of the cabin was a sheer, snow encrusted shelf. He saw no footprints but his own, and there appeared no way down off the cliff. He could actually see clouds drift by him as he stood there. How on earth had he and Scully gotten here? "Sir, I think you better come here." He turned to find Scully standing in the doorway with a piece of paper in her hands. He clomped back over, ruminating about the lack of footprints. Scully stood back as he entered and stomped the snow from his running shoes. "I found this in the kitchen." She handed him what looked like a typed letter. The note was strange and cryptic. It was phrased as if they were the newly-arrived guests at an exclusive resort: A.D. Skinner and Agent Scully, Your abrupt removal from society was an unfortunate necessity. The plans for invasion have been moved up and it is occurring even as you read this. I'm afraid this cabin is going to be your home for some time to come. I cannot reveal who I am, but please believe that our group felt it was crucial for both of you to be kept safe for the time being. Don't do anything foolish like trying to climb down the mountain. You will certainly perish. Traversing these mountains is possible only during the summer months, which are at least three months away. Everything has been provided to sustain you while you are a guest in the cabin. I promise to reveal the reasons behind saving you. In the meantime enjoy your stay. She looked at the note and then back to Skinner. A mixture of fear, pain, and confusion ran across her heart and then across her face. They were trapped. They were to stay here in the cabin, safe from the supposed colonization now taking place a world away. "But how do we know this is true? How do we know it's happening if we're not there? We have no phone, TV, radio,- -nothing. Who are these people?" Skinner frowned. She was right, of course. Lies within lies were part and parcel of the Consortium and their minions. He wouldn't put it past them to stage a faked invasion. And there was something else not quite right that he couldn't put his finger on. He felt he and Scully were being told the truth, but he also felt a darker, more hideous motivation lay underneath the words printed on the page. He voiced none of this to Scully, however. Until he had something concrete to base this feeling on it would be pure speculation. "I don't know what to think, Scully. Let's take stock of what's here so we know what we're dealing with." They searched through drawers, cabinets, and closets. There was indeed a large supply of just about anything they'd need for at least six months or so. Canned goods, dried fruits, salted beef, vitamins, and pots enough to cook it in. Several cords of chopped wood were stacked against the wall outside. Skinner found kerosene, cooking oil, and more canned goods in the cellar. The bathroom had a septic tank, but a bathtub without a pump also occupied the space. If they wanted a hot bath, they were going to have to heat the water a pot full at a time. The kitchen had a wood burning stove, water pump, and small table to take their meals. They found clothes in their sizes, boots and coats. An assortment of blankets and quilts lined cupboards and on the large bed. While Skinner was outside inspecting the wood, Scully looked at the bed. It was made of bark-covered logs; the kind you would see on home improvement shows that demonstrated how to build your own log cabin. It was rugged, large, and the only bed to occupy the cabin. Scully pondered the implications of this. She and Skinner had been drugged, kidnapped, brought up here, and left to 'wait' out the invasion. Their kidnappers had made sure they were comfortable, but also made sure they couldn't get down off the mountain for at least three more months. The cabin was situated so planes passing overhead couldn't see them casually. They were completely isolated from the outside world. And there was only one bed. One bed. One bed. Scully couldn't seem to get past this fact. Despite herself she ran one line of thought down to an unbelievable, but horrifying conclusion. "Skinner! Skinner!" She screamed for him. He came barreling in through the front door at her frantic cries. "Scully, what is it?" "I know what they want. I know what they want from us. We're lab rats. They're making us their lab rats." She was so agitated; Skinner had trouble making out the words. "I'll kill myself before I let them do that to me again. I won't go through with this, do you hear me? I'll throw myself over the side of the mountain." She tried to dart past Skinner to the open door as if to make good on her threat. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "Scully calm down and talk to me. What are you trying to say? What do you think they want from us?" Suddenly she calmed and stared at him through dead eyes. "They want us to make another William." Skinner let go and stepped back. "What?" "Listen to me. This place is a prison isn't it? We can't go anywhere until the spring thaw. We're cut off from civilization. But they're making sure we're well taken care of until then. Prisoners are usually starved so they won't be strong enough to resist or escape. They want us to stay put *and* be well fed. They don't know where Mulder is, but they knew where you and I were. Just you and me, a man and a woman." "And there's *one* bed." She pointed an accusing finger at the quilt-covered mattress as if it were an instrument of torture. Scully watched him process the information. She could see denial shadow his face and then disappear again. He wanted to reject her conclusion. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously as he thought the facts over. "Scully," he began carefully, "I don't think that's what they have in mind. It's more likely they want us to believe there's an invasion so we'll tell them where Mulder is or let other vital information out. They could be holding us for ransom." As he spoke, he moved slowly toward her, like she was a wild animal that was trapped or hurt. "The two of us are up here because we're all that's left of the x-files." He gently put a hand on her shoulder, and she threw it off. She started pacing, wringing her hands as she walked. "No. John and Monica are still on the x-files. Why aren't they here too? You know why? Because Monica hasn't been abducted. She can't give them a William. But they know I can." Skinner didn't know what to say to her. She was beyond his rational reach at the moment and he could only hope she would calm down enough to listen to reason. "Scully---" "They also know how you feel about me. You were shot because of me, and Mulder told me about the deal you made with CGB. Maybe they know you're in love with me, and have been for years." Her voice was calmer now, gauging his reaction to her statements. "It wouldn't be difficult to get you to go along with the plan. Just let nature take its course. And if I wouldn't cooperate you could always force me. You're bigger, and who would be around to hear me scream?" Skinner let out a bellow of anger and pain with the last declaration. In two strides he was facing her, putting her arms in a punishing grip. "Agent Scully even if you are right about this 'plan' they have for us you should know by now I would never hurt you in any way. If you think I would force-" He choked on the last words, emotion welling up and threatening spill out into rage. Scully could see she'd gone too far. He was right. He would never hurt her. She slumped in his grasp, defeated. He took her into his arms, the way he did when Mulder died. "I'm sorry." She said quietly. "I didn't know what I was saying. Of course you wouldn't hurt me. I'm just scared." She didn't cry, but her body trembled with emotion. Skinner held onto her. No matter what he said now, he had a feeling it would only frighten her more. And she had guessed the truth about him. Shame washed over him at the thought she'd known about it all this time, but never had acknowledged it. It had been easy to ignore as long as Mulder was around. Now they were thrust together, and dependant on each other for survival. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread in his heart. ****************************** Naturally they argued about who was sleeping in the bed. Their captures had left only the 4 x 4 foot kitchen table and the floor as places to recline. The bed was bolted to the floor, and the fireplace was situated in a corner near the bed so that sleeping in front of it was impossible if not dangerous. Scully was adamant about them not sharing the bed now matter how many times Skinner promised that *nothing* would happen. The wooden table was too small even for her, and the chairs were far too unyielding and upright. Skinner could feel his temper rising with each breath. Finally exhausted and fed up he went to bed. "Scully, if you're determined to sleep on the floor, then be my guest." He huffed over, pulled back the covers, and turned his back on her. Scully was frankly surprised. Skinner had been very solicitous about her comfort in the past. The fact that he went ahead and used the bed instead of the floor spoke volumes. She thought he looked hurt when she didn't believe him about not touching her. It wasn't that she mistrusted him; she mistrusted *them* more. The floor was as cold and hard as it promised to be. The planks were the same rough-hewn logs as those that lined the inner walls of the cabin. No matter where she went, a persistent and very cold draft teased her with its icy fingers. She finally fell asleep once, only to wake with a gnawing pain in her hip. The floor was so hard; the winged portion of her pelvis felt like it was being stabbed with a dull knife. She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the contented snores emanating from the bed. Skinner, apparently, was not losing any sleep. Shadows from the fireplace flickered, and danced across the ceiling like possessed entities. The groan of the wind blew through the upper rafters, and she shivered against it. At last she shoved the thin wool blanket off her and walked over to the bed. Skinner was spread eagle and prone; just dead to the world. Maybe she could sneak into the bed without waking him and be up and out of bed before he woke. She was so tired and cold, she almost convinced herself of the possibility. Stealthy as a cat, she lifted a corner of the down cover and slid into the bed an inch at a time. She was shocked by the amount of heat Skinner could generate. It was as warm as toast under the blankets, and she sunk into the bed gratefully. She pulled the covers over her head in a misguided attempt to conceal herself. She knew it wouldn't work, but it assuaged her conscience anyway. Within minutes, she drifted to sleep to the rhythm of Skinner's snoring. ************************* Skinner woke with a start when he felt an icy object in the small of his back. He rolled over toward and then away from it and heard grumbling under the bedcovers. Something was underneath, and moving around. With caution he lifted the blankets up and discovered Scully curled into a ball. She groaned in her sleep again and determinedly moved toward him as the source of heat she'd just lost. He realized it was her nose that had been the cold object pressed into his back when it touched his lower chest. He froze in place, knowing she would howl like a banshee if she woke and found herself in this position. He tried several times to move away, but she always moved with him like a heat seeking missile. He finally gave up trying, and decided she would just have to deal with it when she woke up in the morning. With difficulty, he fell once again into a deep slumber. ******************************* Skinner found Scully wrapped around him when he woke the next morning. She was pressed tightly into his side, her hair a riot of tangles as it spread across her face. He heard her mumbling, obviously lost in a dream. He lay still, afraid to wake her again. Every once in a while he caught a word or two. He heard 'William,' 'sir,'and 'Mulder', all spoken in anger. She must be angry with the world for what she'd been through. He did not blame her. Just as he was contemplating the wisdom of waking her, she woke with a start. At first she lay still, taking in her surroundings, and then remembering it all in a rush. She backed away from him like he was a poisonous snake. The look on her face was one of sheer fright. Before she could voice any concern, he got out of the bed and walked to the bathroom. He slammed the door with more force than was necessary, knowing he was angry with Scully for being afraid of him, and angry with himself for allowing it to bother him. ********************************* Two weeks later After several awkward days, Scully and Skinner had managed to fall into a kind of routine. Scully kept herself wary, but eventually relaxed as much as she could around Skinner. She drew a calendar on the wall with a piece of charred wood from the fire. An 'x' was placed over each day as it passed, and they passed with excruciating slowness. Scully looked around the cabin again. There was something familiar, but sterile about their surroundings. The furniture, food, and even their clothes were tasteful, yuppie, and generic. Everything looked as if it had been duplicated from an L.L. Bean catalog. All of Skinner's shirts, for example, were made of a thick, plaid flannel. All his pants were blue jeans. His boots were fleece lined, and the socks were a variety of wool including the kind she made into stuffed monkeys as a child. She could almost read the magazine caption: 'B. Keep feet and legs warm on cold, wet days with these beefy two-sided Polar technology 300 100% wool socks. Improved flat lock seams will not chafe-' It was not lost on her that Skinner also looked like he belonged in a catalog himself. He looked right at home in the rugged clothing. She wondered if he ever wished for a life like this instead of the high-powered, risky one he had with the FBI. He certainly seemed far less put out over this than she did. But then again, he didn't see conspiracies in every corner like she did. Damn. She was turning into Mulder. ******************************** They passed the time by reading an assortment of classic books Skinner found in the cellar. The books were the kind you would find in the literature section of the library; Dickens, Shakespeare, Thoreau. They were leather bound, with gold-edged pages. Tasteful, expensive, and a good alternative to the silence between them. Skinner wore his resentment over her distrust of him like a medal. She hadn't been able to relent in her suspicions and he took it very personally. No matter how many times she tried to explain it to him, he simply refused to believe her. Or forgive her. Skinner explored around the cliff edge every morning to see if he could find a safe way down. He always came back looking defeated, and ate lunch with her in silence. She knew he brooded over his inability to locate a hidden passage. He was convinced there was one within reach if he could only find it. He thought it explained how they got there in the first place. He ruminated over the particulars of how all this could have been achieved. Getting the cabin up there, the supplies, and *them*. It had taken a great deal of time, planning, and money. Their speculations over who could have kidnapped them seemed to lead no where. Skinner thought it was an unknown group. "This place is too good for the Consortium. They'd rather see us dead, than living well up here." As usual, she disagreed with him. My God, but he was a stubborn man. She was just as stubborn, and it made for tense interactions. If Skinner had been inclined to sleep with her before, he probably wasn't interested now. Of course they were 'sleeping' together in the same bed. Scully had started out as far away from him as possible. No matter how resolved she was to stay away from him, she always found herself snuggled up against him in the morning. Skinner always firmly disengaged himself from her and got out of bed without any comment at all. Lately she had begun to miss the contact, and actually felt lonely when he did that. But as soon as she found herself wandering in that direction she admonished herself to remember William. She needed to remember that giving him up had almost killed her soul. She would not give another child up even if she was sacrificing Skinner's feelings in the process. ********************** She made lunch after marking the 14th day off her calendar. She waited as usual for Skinner to make his daily appearance. She suspected he had actually given up looking for a way down, but used it as an excuse to get out of the cabin and away from her for a while. They were becoming more and more distant from each other with each passing day. When he didn't show up on time, she got worried. Skinner was nothing if not punctual. He was so unlike Mulder in so many ways. She put her parka on and went outside. She couldn't see him anywhere, and fear ran a cold finger across her heart. What if he had fallen while trying to get down? Maybe he was taking stupid chances just to get away from her. She ran to every place she could think of and called for him. She became frantic when he didn't answer. "Skinner!" He should come right away. He always came when she called him no matter how angry he was. She finally heard a groan near the side of the cabin. She darted around by the wood pile and heard a low moan. There appeared to be a boot sticking out of a snow mound. Skinner's boot. She ran over to him, digging through the snow with her bare hands until she uncovered his blue face. "Skinner, are you ok? Say something to me." He only groaned in response, and she frantically removed as much snow from around his body as she could. She checked him over carefully and he didn't appear to have any gross injury, but he was very cold to the touch and could die if she didn't get him inside soon. There was no way she could drag him around herself, and he was clearly in no condition to assist her. Her mind raced, trying to think of a way to move him. She got an inkling of an idea, and touched her cheek to Skinner's face briefly. "I've got to go inside, but I'll be right back." She dashed inside, and turned over the kitchen table, scattering lunch dishes and flatware in the process. It wasn't too heavy for her to drag, and she pulled it relentlessly toward the open cabin door. Once outside she used it as a makeshift sled, and was relieved when its glossy surface glided over the snow with ease. She slid it around the corner to Skinner's feet. She yanked on his ankles and managed to slide him onto it an inch at a time. It became somewhat easier once his butt hit the top; his water-soaked jeans helped to decrease the friction. She had to bend his long legs so he would fit on the small table, and his head wouldn't drag in the snow. Once he was situated properly, Scully pushed the table forward using the legs as braces. It was not nearly as difficult to push the table as she had thought it would be. The real test would come once she reached the cabin door. Skinner didn't move or make any noise at all, and it made Scully nervous. His heart rate was already dangerously slow, and she feared it would stop altogether. He wasn't shivering, and it was an ominous sign that he'd lost that protective mechanism. Skinner was cold, but she was sweating from exertion. Under the parka and wool sweater she could feel sweat trickle down her back, and hair stuck to the nape of her neck. When she reached the cabin door, she sat down for just a moment to catch her breath. She rechecked Skinner's pulse, and to her relief it was still regular, but slow. Fortunately, the table was about even with the floor of the cabin. Scully thought she could drag him into the place, but she doubted they'd get much further than the entrance. There was really only one thing she could do. There was a round, braded rug in the kitchen, and she pulled that to the door. With more pulling, and dragging, she managed to get Skinner in the door, and onto the rug. She'd moved large pieces of furniture around this way in the past when no one was around to help. She hoped it worked with large, muscular men as well. With more dragging and tugging at Skinner, Scully was able to get him off the table and onto the rug. Every muscle in her body was screaming in protest to the exertion she was putting them through. She desperately wanted to rest, but she had to get Skinner out of the heavy clothing he was wearing. If she left them on heat would never penetrate through the wet layers. She stripped him at the door. The buttons on his flannel shirt proved to be the most stubborn. They simply refused to slide easily through the wet, flannel-lined buttonholes. As she worked, Scully's fingers became colder and colder making it even more difficult. His water-logged jeans had to be peeled off of him, but his boxers were a much easier item to remove. When she removed his socks, she held her breath in case the tell- tales signs of frostbite were present. His toes and upper foot were very red in color, but no water blisters had formed which was a good sign. After discarding the clothing, she dragged him a little at a time over toward the fire. She put every blanket she could find on top of him. In the kitchen she filled pans with water and put them on the stove to warm. She had to resist the urge to go too slowly in warming him up. If she applied too little heat too slowly, then tissue damage would occur from partial thawing. She started with holding his hands and feet against her . Rubbing them was not a good idea, and an old wife's tale that seemed to persist. She brought the warmed water in pots from the stove. Body temperature water was best even though it caused severe pain. Skinner moaned when she placed his hands in the water. She repeated the process with his feet, which were too big to fit inside all at once. She placed warm compresses to his nose and ears. When one pot cooled down she replaced the water and put it back on the stove. It was exhausting work. In an effort to make him more comfortable, she pulled the mattress off the bed knowing it would be quite some time before he would be well enough to stand. With the last of her strength, she managed to get him on it and collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. She'd taken all her clothes off except her underwear by then, and the crazy thought that they were in a compromising position flitted across her mind. She put as much of herself in direct contact with him as possible, and piled the blankets back on them. He was so cold, but at least now he was shivering violently against her. She murmured soothing words to him as his frozen extremities thawed and caused him pain. The sensation as she lay there was a sharp contrast to that first night they spent together. Skinner had warmed the bed for her, and now she was doing the best her small body could do to warm him. As a pathology resident, she'd heard tales of hypothermic people who not only woke up in morgues, but who recovered completely after being declared dead. She tried hard not to remember her own experience with being frozen down in Antarctica. The stories that Mulder told about her being in an ice-encased cell aboard an alien spaceship had fallen on deaf ears at the FBI. Fortunately, she remembered very little beyond Mulder dragging her out onto the snow, and promising her anything if she would live, the way she was now with Skinner. She found herself telling him she would drop the conspiracy idea if he survived this. She made all kinds of bargains with his unconscious body, realizing he couldn't hear her, but not really caring. She was petrified she would lose him. It wasn't just the thought of being alone, she'd been alone much of her life. She truly didn't want to lose *him*. Was it possible she'd been developing feelings for him these past days in spite of herself? She'd known him for so long and he'd always managed to beat death. She'd never been as afraid for him then as she was now. She'd never felt this much emotional pain at the thought of his dying. Even worse, she felt directly responsible for his condition. Throughout the day she'd change the water in pans, but put lids on them to for makeshift hot water bottles. She would alternate placing them under his arms, legs and feet. The fire was kept going strong until the cabin was blazingly hot. She didn't know what his temperature was, but he seemed to warm up and his shivering stopped. Late that night she was exhausted from worry and dragging him around. In spite of her best efforts to stay awake, she drifted to sleep, tucked into his side. ************************** She woke with a start to an empty mattress. Where was he? She scrambled off the bed and looked around. The bathroom door opened then, and a grey-faced Skinner was leaning heavily against the door. She was instantly at his side, afraid he would fall flat on his face. With a little maneuvering she managed to get under his arm and he leaned heavily against her. They shuffled slowly back to the mattress, Skinner's tall body teetering on his feet with heart-stopping unsteadiness. She hid her fear and embarrassment in a scolding voice. "Just what do you think you're doing? You're sick and shouldn't even think about getting out of bed." "I don't have any clothes on." "Yes." "What happened to the cabin?" His question was aimed at the lunch dishes still on the floor, the over-turned table, and the litter of pots scattered across the room. Scully ignored both questions, intent on getting him back in bed. They made it to the mattress, and he sat down with a heavy thump. She stood before him frowning and held one hand up to his forehead and the other against his neck checking his rapid heart beat. "What happened to me?" She looked down at him, and saw that his face held an expression of genuine bewilderment. "You don't remember?" He shook his head, closing his eyes and leaning into the hand she placed on his clammy cheek. He looked so lost and vulnerable. She felt an urge to pull him close, and placed him in a tight hug against her chest. Her voice was soft as a whisper. "I found you outside buried in the snow. You almost died from hypothermia." Unconsciously, she stroked his head as she held it against her. You almost died. You almost died. The words kept repeating themselves with relentless monotony in her head. She felt his arms close weakly around her and she smiled against his head where her cheek rested. After a few minutes she felt his grasp slacken, and when she looked down he had fallen back to sleep. With gentle care she laid him down and covered him back up. Without any proof except what she felt in her heart, she knew he was going to be alright. *********************************** Skinner made a lousy patient. He hated being sick, and even more so with Scully as his 'personal' doctor. The way she fussed over him was unexpected. He noticed that she touched him far more than would be considered professional, and she didn't argue with him anymore. When he baited her on purpose, she pursed her lips and remained silent, or walked away from him. He wasn't sure he liked the change. She insisted that he stay in bed, and became furious when he put the mattress back on the bed frame while she was taking a bath. She also stopped sleeping on the far side of the mattress at night. Her excuse of giving him body warmth wore thin when his temperature returned to normal. He remained silent on the matter because of the way she 'warmed' him. She would curl herself around him and hold him with tight possessiveness. He thought she was just scared because of his close call, but it seemed out of character for her. He hadn't thought she could care so much about him. Maybe he was wrong. The final straw came when he wanted to take a bath. She relented, but tried to insist she had to be in the bathroom with him in case he 'fell.' "Agent Scully, I have been taking baths on my own for forty nine years and am perfectly capable of taking one alone now." She relented only when he threatened to pull her in with him. "Fine." She left him alone, but he knew she stayed outside the door the entire time. After three days of constant 'mothering,' Skinner decided he'd had enough. Scully found him dressed when she came in from getting firewood early that morning. She dropped the wood at the door and stomped over to where he was standing, drinking coffee. "Just what do you think you're doing?" She was actually shaking with fury. "I believe I'm well enough to be out of bed." He said it in his best, most infuriating A.D. voice. "Well, *I* do not think you are well enough to be out of bed. *I* am your doctor, and you need to get back in bed right now." He thought she was angrier than the situation called for. "What's this really about Scully?" She stopped short at that. "What do you mean?" He set the coffee cup down and stood over her using his height to full advantage. "I mean, I think you're over-reacting to my condition." Her face blanched, then became bright red as anger shone brightly in her eyes. "Over-reacting? Over-reacting? You call being concerned about your health over-reacting? You didn't see what you looked like when I found you. You were blue, actually blue and I couldn't find a pulse right away. You were barely breathing and I thought you were---were---" She trailed off and he saw she was crying. He started to reach out to her, but she turned away from him. He saw her shoulders slump, and then shake. The effort of taking care of him for twenty four hours a day had clearly taken a toll on her. Skinner felt immediate guilt. "Scully, I'm sorry." He put his arms around her from behind. She tried to push him off, but he held fast. "Listen to me. I'm sorry. I know you've been worried, but I feel fine. You've taken good care of me and I'm grateful for that, but you can't keep me confined to bed for the rest of the time we're here." To his surprise she said nothing and turned in his arms to hug him back. "I was so frightened." The tremble in her voice tore at his heart. He stroked her hair, and her back letting her get it out. How had they come to this? At least they were talking on more even terms again. He felt her hands slide up and down his back in imitation of his own. She seemed to be calm now and her trembling had stopped. A serene peace descended between them in a satisfying, comfortable way. He knew he should let her go, but he far preferred this kind of touching to her obsessive clenching of him at night. On impulse he kissed her forehead and then rested his cheek there. He'd meant it as a sign of affection, and to acknowledge the warmness now present between them. Her hair was a silky-soft caress, a sweet promise. "I'll make a deal with you, Scully." "What's that?" Her voice was muffled against his chest. "If you'll agree to hold me like this, I'll go back to bed." She leaned back and looked at him through half-closed eyes. Nodding like a sleepy child she led him by the hand. She pulled the covers back, and removed her shoes, shirt and pants. Skinner did the same. By an unspoken agreement they lay down together, and Skinner pulled Scully on top of him, placing as much of his skin in contact with hers as he could. They stayed like that; touching and caressing with gentle exploration. Her skin was so soft beneath his hands. Why hadn't he noticed that before? Her hands played along his chest, ribs and belly. The feather-light touches caused a tight yearning within him. To go any further now would ruin their fragile intimacy. He captured her hands and held them to still their motion. She seemed to understand as he moved her to his side, cradling her head on his shoulder. For the first time since they had been together in the cabin, they each relaxed in the mutual and soothing comfort of the other. "Skinner?" "Hmmm?" "I'm sorry for not trusting you." He accepted the apology by stroking her face and kissing her lips with tenderness. She fell asleep next to him whispering his name. ******************************************** Scully woke to a darkened cabin. The fire had died down considerably, and would likely go out if it wasn't stoked. They must have been asleep for hours. She felt Skinner stir slightly next to her and she looked up into his brown eyes. "Well, hello." There was humor in his voice and she wondered if he'd been watching her sleep. She sat up, the covers slipping down to her waist revealing her lacy bra. "How long have you been awake?" His voice grew thick. "Not long." He raised a finger and slowly traced a path down her throat and chest. He made lazy circles around the swelling of her breasts. He let his thumb graze over her right nipple, raising it with just one pass. He looked to her for a sign to continue; to let his touch become more intimate. Her breathing was almost labored under his ministrations. "Don't stop." A wicked smile played on his lips and he leaned forward to let his tongue trace the same path as his finger. He pulled the strap away and peeled the bra's fabric down. He wrapped his tongue around the nipple and gently sucked it. Scully's hands stopped their journey down his chest when the gasp he elicited was torn from her. His mouth was incredible, doing things she never imagined him doing to her. He maneuvered her onto her back after discarding her bra. His eyes were sensuous and dark above her, but there was also something else; something under the lust shining there. Only the frantic want within her kept her from looking at it more closely. He pulled their underwear off, and settled between her legs. He bent to kiss her, and she met his mouth gratefully. She put her hands to the small of his back to increase their contact, and he groaned when he felt her wetness against his belly. His hips moved in an imitation of the thrusting he must desperately want to do. He breathed raggedly against her neck. "Scully, I don't think I can hold back much longer." She was surprised by the pleading tone and raw need in his voice. She pulled his head back to kiss him as her hand found him. She guided him into her, and he moaned sweetly as he filled her. He set up a steady rhythm, rocking into her with a wonderful mixture of power and gentleness that caused a tightening in her belly. He moved a hand down to where they were joined to apply pressure. That coupled with sight of his desire-slackened face caused her to fall over the edge. She found herself shamelessly calling his name as her pleasure sparkled through her. He soon joined her, grunting his pleasure against her neck. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she felt happy, and peaceful. She stroked Skinner's sweaty back, and murmured nonsense in his ear. She thought she heard him murmur that he loved her before falling asleep. ************************** "I never asked you what you were doing on the roof." They were still in bed, holding each other in a haze of after glow. In the past eight hours they had gotten out of bed only to stoke the fire, eat, and use the facilities. Skinner thought he'd never been so lazy before in his life. And he liked it. "What?" Scully leaned up on an elbow and repeated the question. "I never asked you what you were doing before I found you in the snow. It looked like you were on the roof, lost your footing and fell next to the wood pile." Skinner considered this for a moment. The morning of the accident was very hazy at best. He had been on the roof, and there was a good reason for it. He just couldn't seem to remember what it was. On impulse he got out of bed and dressed quickly. Scully knew where he was headed and protested every step of the way. Finally, Skinner had enough. "Scully, I'm not going to do anything. I just want to look at it again." Somehow he thought it might jar his memory if he could look at the roof again. With Scully in tow, he rounded the corner and found the spot where he'd fallen. Scully's footprints, and the trail the table made obscured some of the area. But not all of it. He heard Scully's sharp intake of breath when he stood on the spot. The roof was a slanting A-frame, traditional and ordinary. Something about it wasn't quite right. "Why didn't you hear me fall Scully?" Her head snapped up and he saw guilt cloud her face. "I don't know." "That's not what I mean. Come here." He held his hand out to her, his voice a command. Scully walked over to him, and he could see she thought he was going to blame her. He squared her shoulders and pointed to the end of the roof. He had always assumed the cabin was built right up to the solid rock of the mountain behind it. Looking at the roof, it seemed longer than he thought it should be. "Look up there Scully. See how long the roof is? Doesn't it seem longer out here than inside?" He watched her face calculate the distances and she frowned. "It is longer out here. Why?" "That's what I was trying to find out. I remember that there was a draft behind the rock." Her eyes widened. "A draft?" "I think there's a passage behind the back wall of the cabin." Scully nodded in agreement. Her face suddenly brightened. "What about the cellar? There's dirt against that wall isn't there?" Skinner saw what she was getting at. If the wall was solid rock, why put dirt over it? They raced back inside and into the cellar. The dirt was black, and firmly packed. The first half inch or so was soft, but underneath was frozen solid. Skinner's head almost touched the ceiling so it wasn't difficult for him to probe the walls. In the right hand corner near the stairs he felt it. "Scully!" She raced over to him and felt it too; a small, but chilly draft. Probably the same draft she had felt that first night lying on the floor. "How thick are these walls? She asked. "I don't know, but I plan to find out." ************************** The cellar became Skinner's new project. He spent hours trying to thaw the frozen earth, and then digging with makeshift tools to loosen the mud. He always stopped long enough for lunch and descended the ten steps again. Scully helped him as much as she was able, knowing it was just a sliver of a chance. But still, it was a chance. And they made love as often as possible in between. Scully found it to be a wonderfully bonding experience, because Skinner would talk with her afterwards. He told her about the war; painting a portrait filled with fear, pain, blood, and death. It helped her to understand him better, and the reasons for why he had done some things in the past. She told him about her childhood, and about being a Navy brat. He laughed at her stories about her mischievous brothers, and their endless pranks. The days went by with surprising speed after that. ******************** Scully sighed as she stood looking at her charcoal calendar. Five weeks had passed since they'd come here. It seemed a lifetime ago. But something kept nagging her at the back of her mind. There was something missing. Something was missing from the calendar and she couldn't think what it could be. True she'd been distracted, and quite pleasantly so. As she stepped back to take a better look, it struck her square in the face. She walked back and compulsively counted the days again. Not liking that result, she did it again. Same answer. No. She sat down at the kitchen table and put her forehead on her hands. How could she have over-looked something so basic? She was reminded of a Dr. Willard that she worked with one summer during medical school. The clinic was in a poor inner city neighborhood, and packed to over-flowing every day. Scully had been astounded at the number of women, both teenagers and adult women who came in with positive pregnancy tests. And they were surprised. Dr Willard had a routine verbal checklist that she employed with great skill. 1. "Are you sexually active?" "Yes." 2. "Do you get regular menstrual periods?" "Yes." 3. "Have you been pregnant before?" "Yes." 4. "Do you feel like that now?" "Yes." 5. "Are you using birth control?" "No." "Then tell me what it is that makes you think you're NOT pregnant?" The women would stammer, and hesitate, but eventually they said nothing. Scully asked Dr. Willard once why she went through this every time. "Because Dr. Scully if you make them answer those questions out loud then they realize the truth for themselves instead of just being told. Sometimes people need to be led through the logic of something that's frightening before they'll believe it." Scully did her own checklist: yes, yes, yes, yes, and no. No miracle child this time. Just plain old-fashioned sex. The only thing she could have told Dr. Willard was her infertility had been confirmed at one time. But then William was disproof of that as well. The fear she'd been able to hold in check came back with full force. Another William. Another William. Without thinking she stood up and walked outside, leaving the door open behind her. ****************** Skinner came up from the cellar covered in mud from digging. He was making slow progress with the back wall, and he could feel the tiny draft increase ever so slightly. He stopped in the bathroom to wash the grime from his hands and face. When he entered the living room, he saw the open door and no sign of Scully anywhere. His pulse quickened. Don't panic he thought. She's just outside that's all. He ran there anyway, a gut feeling telling him something was wrong. "Scully!" He received no answer. Frantically he searched, not knowing that Scully had performed this same act only four weeks before. He found her sitting on a log near the woodpile, staring into space. She looked catatonic, and did not respond to him even when he touched her shoulder. "Scully?" His voice was a whisper, bewildered at her sudden change in character. She looked up at him at last, her expression unchanged. "Do you remember what I told you in D.C. when you came back from Oregon without Mulder?" "Oregon?" "When I was in the hospital. Just after you came back and said you lost him. My secret." "That you were---," His voice trailed off knowing the answer before it left his mouth. He smiled and dropped down next to her. He felt a surge of joy. "Scully that's great---," He trailed off again his joy turning to ashes when he saw her face. Scully's lower lip started to tremble, and unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "What are we going to do?" she whispered. Skinner knew he had to be definite and firm in his conviction. "We're going to keep living. And we're going to get out of here. When we do I'll take care of you and the baby. I promise you that" "But what if I'm right? What if the people who brought us here are after the baby?" The tears started to flow freely now. He pulled her to him and his voice held a deadly tone. "No one is going to touch you or the baby. I will kill every last one of them if I have to." He held her closer. "Every last one." "We couldn't stop them from bringing us here. What makes think you can do it now?" "I was careless before and not paying close attention. I won't make that same mistake again." "My own personal marine to rescue me." He smiled. Good, she was trying to use humor. "Yes." He tucked her into his side. "It's freezing out here. Let's go back inside and get warm." ***************************** Scully watched, as Skinner became a whirlwind of activity. He started making hand weapons like bayonets from kitchen knifes and laying traps all around the cabin outside. He was drawing on survival lessons learned a lifetime ago in a far distant continent and war. He was so engrossed in these projects, she could barely get him to relax long enough to eat or sleep. She thought that if he had the makeup, he'd paint camouflage on his face. "If you don't eat how will you have the strength to defend me?" Scully tried goading him into stopping. This constant activity made her exceedingly nervous. "Just let me finish this first." Skinner was sitting on a chair near the fireplace sharpening a wooden stake. She had no idea what grisly purpose it was going to serve in his already considerable arsenal. Thus far he had left her out of his preparations; apparently forgetting that she was a well-trained FBI agent. She felt like they had traveled back in time, and she'd been reduced to 'his' woman. Scully crossed her arms in frustration. As much as she admired his efforts, this called for drastic measures. She walked over and stood in front of him. With great deliberation she removed all her clothing. "Scully what are you doing?" She leaned down and started kissing his face. "Trying to distract you." She carefully took the stake and placed it on the floor. She then took his hands and placed them on her breasts. "Scully---" "Shhhhh. Let's put those hands to better use." *************************** Author's note. There is more to come, I promise. A sequel. Really.