TITLE: Night Chant 

AUTHOR:  Wylfcynne

DISTRIBUTION: Sister Spooky, Gossamer, Ephemeral, the Spooky
Awards, MulderTorture and Xemplary, certainly; anyone else, please
ask, that way I'll know where it all goes, so I can visit.   

SPOILERS: Biogenesis/Sixth Extinction/Amor Fati, of course; you
need to have seen Anasazi/Blessing Way/Paper Clip to understand
who some of the characters are; vague references to a bunch;
Detour, Little Green Men, the movie, Irresistible, Squeeze,
Unruhe... 

RATING: R for ugly images; NC-17 toward the end 

CLASSIFICATION: post-ep Amor Fati, MSR, RST, MT, SA 

SUMMARY: This starts the moment after the camera cuts away at the
end of Amor Fati:   when Mulder retreats back into his apartment
and closes the door after Scully leaves.  It ends before Hungry,
except for the Epilogue, which takes place after Requiem.  This
story, at one level, is my take on why M&S seemed so relaxed and
comfortable together through most of Season 7.   

DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd be
having more fun, and I'd have more money!  Thank you, Mr. Carter,
for creating the show, and thank you, Mr. Duchovny, and you, Miss
Anderson, for creating the people.  I'm just borrowing Fox and
Dana for some fun and games...I promise I'll bring them back on
time and unharmed...and they won't remember a thing...   

I hereby apologize to any Navajo or other Native American who
reads this and is upset; this is NOT an accurate representation of
Navajo spirituality.  I did some research on the Internet from
sites that claimed to be based on true Navajo spirituality, and it
fit very well with what I wanted to do, but I had to tweak it to
make the story work.   

The concept of Hozhoo (spelled various ways) doesn't appear to
translate well.  It seems to mean "balanced" and "correct" as much
as it means "peace" and "harmony" and "beauty."  This may be
misleading, but it was the best I could do.  I used Tony Hillerman
and Andre Norton for sources at least as much as I did the
websites.  All errors and misrepresentations are my fault. 
Believe me when I say I meant no offense. 

If anyone here has not yet read Xenith's REEK OF PURITY and the
sequel, DARK TIME, stop now, run--do not walk!--to Ephemeral, or
to her site,  http://members.xoom.com/Xenith0/frames.htm  and read
them (and everything else!).  This story is based heavily on
research I did for her while she was crafting DARK TIME; this is
an alternate version I came up with that she chose not to use,
although I offered it to her, first.  It was originally based on
REEK OF PURITY, and it took me a while to find a different way to
start it. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm a comparative newcomer to X Files fiction, but
I have a long history of character abuse in other fandoms.  Those
characters are all very glad my attentions have turned elsewhere;
they needed a break. 

DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is dedicated to my
writing partner, Ravenwald, without whom I would still be doing
all this using a ballpoint pen, who introduced me to fandom on the
'Net, and awakened the Muse, who had been sleeping for a VERY long
time.  

This particular story is dedicated to Xenith, for her friendship,
and Evielouise, for beta and encouragement.  A virtual rose to
Stormlantern for "Spirit Walk." 

+++ Night Chant by Wylfcynne 

 He shut the door after she left, and walked slowly back to his
couch.  He had learned what he had been about to venture out into
the world to find out. 

(*She touched me...and when she touched me everything was all
right.*) 

He had heard her say that Diana Fowley was dead.  It had obviously
affected Scully; she had almost been in tears.  But he was numb to
that grief.  Fowley had been dead to him since she had used the
stungun to take him prisoner; when she had finally removed all his
doubts about where her loyalties actually lay. 

(*When Scully touches me I can't hear the voices.*) 

He collapsed on the couch.  This was not the deafening cacophony
of uncontrolled telepathy, not the mind-shattering roar of all the
thoughts around him that had put him in the hospital, helpless to
shield himself from it.  This was one voice, with a whispering
chorus of sycophants behind it.  It whispered into his mind that
he was doomed to betray all he loved, that when Scully died it
would be his fault.  He could not shield himself from this,
either.  It penetrated his every attempt to hide, to avoid it, to
refuse to listen.  His fate was pre-ordained, he was doomed to a
lifetime of futility, the Prophetess Cassandra of his age,
screaming of a doom that only he could  see, scorned and reviled
and ignored... 

//"No one hears you but me; no one will listen to you..."// 

He shuddered, curled up and wrapped his arms around his head,
trying to shut out the voice.  But it cut through all his
attempts. 

//"You can't hide from the truth.  You have sought the truth all
your life, and this is it:  the End Times are upon us, and there
is nothing you can do to save yourself, your friends and family,
or your people.  Your race is doomed to be hosts for the invaders,
and your world ceases to exist in your lifetime..."// 

Images began to flicker through his mind, images he had not
generated, images sent to torment, to unman him:  the invasion
forces victorious everywhere, those refugees on their own land who
survived the initial onslaught struggling to survive on scraps,
starving as the invaders sent out plagues that killed the 
vegetation, killed the wildlife, killed the people.  Scully trying
to rally a resistance movement, desperate people finally listening
to him, now that it was too late, dying in hopeless combat against
overwhelming odds.  Scully dying in his arms, over and over, of
combat wounds, of starvation, of plague that robbed her of her
humanity... until he was the last human alive... immune himself,
forever the outsider, never belonging, never accepted...never part
of any whole... 

He cried himself to sleep again, as he had every day since Scully
had rescued him from the medical laboratory.   And in his dreams
the voice whispered: //"Alone.  Always alone.  No one who loves
you...no one to love..."// 

*** 

He was not getting very much sleep, but his natural recuperative
powers were working at their usual speed, so he was healing
physically.  He did the best he could to disguise his inner agony,
and he did not think that Scully suspected anything was amiss. 

FBI protocols required him to comply with post-crisis counseling,
and he complained but complied.  He was an expert at dealing with
psychiatric social workers, psychologists and psychiatrists; not
one had ever, in his entire life, ever pried a word out of him
against his will, and this one was no different.  But this one, a
CSW named Keith Roberson, did notice that he was tired, that he
was not sleeping well, and inquired cautiously.  Mulder admitted
to a lifelong history of insomnia, and Roberson called his primary
care physician, who prescribed a low dose sleeping pill.   

Mulder was too tired, and too despondent, to protest.  He picked
up the bottle of pills at the HMO's dispensary, and even tried one
that first night.  It made his usual nightmares worse, because no
matter how awful they became, he could not wake himself up out of
them.  The images of disaster and isolation, loss and pain, went
on all night long, and he was trapped within them.  He was
awakened the next morning by the sudden sound of his newspaper
being thrown against his apartment door.  Still caught by the
nightmare, he could do nothing but lie in bed helplessly sobbing. 

//"You are mine; you have always been mine.  Why do you fight me? 
Give in, and you will be given peace.  You cannot oppose the
inevitable; why torture yourself with this fantasy?  The End Times
are upon us; death is inevitable.  You are not enough to make your
people strong enough to win.  You have failed your life's mission. 
It is over, it is fini--"// 

"Mulder?  Mulder, what's wrong?"   

That was Scully; but he would have known even without her voice,
for her familiar touch on his temple had once again silenced the
voice.  She was sitting on the bed beside him, brushing back his
sweat-flattened hair. 

"Nuthin'" he defended, fighting to regain his composure.  He could
not look at her; if she could see his eyes, she would surely see
right through him.  "Jus' another nightmare..."  

"Must have been a bad one," she agreed, studying him carefully. 
"Are you all right?"   

He nestled closer to her, rubbing his stubbled chin against her
knee.  "I'm always all right when you're with me..." he muttered,
weariness letting words slip out that he would never have said
intentionally. 

She could see the exhaustion in his trembling hands, hear it in
the slur in his words.  Her hands came down on his shoulders,
rubbing gently against damp flesh.  He went limp under her touch.  

"Don't leave me alone..." he moaned through the tears. 

"Never, Mulder," she assured him softly.  "I won't ever leave
you..." 

He settled into the mattress, his face buried against her thigh,
falling asleep almost at once. 

Scully stayed where she was, stroking him gently, letting him rest
against her.  This sort of display of vulnerability from her
partner was rare, and she found that it awakened all sorts of
quasi-maternal rage in her: she wanted to protect him, save him,
make him feel secure.  She wanted to chase away the demons and the
night terrors that had persecuted him for so long.  She found
herself murmuring prayers, scraps of liturgy, even humming some
hymns, while her hands kept up the gentle stroking. 

(*The last time I got to do this, he was injured and in shock in
the Florida wilderness,*) she mused.  (*He's hurt, now,
certainly...and suffering.  I wish there was something I could do
to make this easier for him...but nothing seems to work...  Why
are you such a pain magnet, Mulder?*) 

After a little while she tried to pull away gently, but he
flinched and whimpered, and she came back to him at once. 

"Shhh...  I'm here, Mulder, I'm here...you're not alone...you'll
never be alone...shhh..." 

It was obvious to her that he was in no condition to be left
alone.  She stretched across him to reach for the phone on the
night stand, and dialed Skinner's administrative assistant. 

"Hello, Assistant Director Skinner's office." 

"Hi, Kim," she said quietly.  "Dana Scully.  I'm going to have to
take the day off.  Do I have any vacation or comp time left?" 

"Certainly, Agent Scully.  This is sudden; is there something
wrong?  Can I help?" 

"I stopped by Agent Mulder's apartment on my way in; he's not
having a good day today, and I don't want to leave him alone." 

"I don't think that will be a problem, Agent Scully.  I'll inform
the Assistant Director.  Should we call back on your cell phone?" 

"Yes.  I'm disconnecting the land line here.  Mulder's finally
asleep, and I don't want anything to disturb him.  I'm setting my
cell to 'vibrate,' so if I don't answer it, please use the voice
mail.  I'll check it as quickly as I can..." 

"Take care of him, Agent Scully.  I'm sure it's not a problem." 

*** 

When he woke up she was asleep beside him, holding him cradled
against her.  His start of surprise woke her up, and she smiled at
him sleepily. 

She was wearing one of his tee shirts, and nothing else.  A jolt
of arousal hit him low in the body when he realized that, but he
backed away from her anyway. 

"Scully?  How long have you been here?" he asked hesitantly. 

She sat up and stretched.  "All day.  You must have been really
tired, Mulder.  This is the first you've so much as twitched since
a quarter to eight." 

He glanced at the clock radio on the night stand.  It read 3:35pm. 

"You were on your way to work, weren't you?"  He had vague
memories of her high heels tapping out a familiar rhythm as she
approached him, and he knew she never wore heels when on her own
time. 

"I called Kim and took a vacation day," she shrugged, smiling at
him.  "Maybe I could've gotten Skinner to call it family sick
leave, but he wasn't in, yet."   

He shuddered and rolled out of bed.  He stumbled once as he
straightened, but recovered and headed for the bathroom.  The
moment the door closed behind him the images hit him like a truck,
knocking him to his knees:  Scully dead in the rubble, Scully 's
body melting into green foam, Scully shooting herself to avoid
what would surely be the final abduction...  Scully's dead eyes
staring at him accusingly. 

//"What kind of love is this, that you let her die for you...?"// 

He fought down the agony.  What he wanted to do was scream and
wail and run back to her, bury his face between her breasts and
his body deep inside hers where he would be safe. 

(*But I can't do that.  The longer I stay with her, the more
horrible a death I bring her...*) If she was on her own when the
end came, she would die with the bulk of the population, in the
initial attack.  A few moments of terror, then nothing but the
white light and the path to Paradise. 

(*I hope her God is as merciful as she believes Him to be...*) He
took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.  (*I can do this.*) 

When he went back out into the apartment, Scully was dressed
again, although she had not bothered to replace her hose. 

"Feeling better?" she smiled at him. 

"Yeah, lots," he lied.  "Thanks.  You want to stay for dinner? 
I'm expecting to order cheap pizza; it's two-for-one night at
Marino's." 

She slipped on her shoes.  "Sorry.  Mom and I are taking Ellen and
Trent out for Ellen's birthday.  Are you really all right, Mulder? 
You scared me this morning." 

"I scared me this morning," he admitted, looking away.  "All my
post-colonization nightmares are fairly gruesome, Scully.  I don't
want to talk about them.  If I say it out loud it makes it all
more real." 

She nodded slowly.  "Okay.  I can understand that.  I've got a few
of those that are pretty damn dramatic; I don't want to talk about
them, either.  Do you want to come stay with me for a while?  I
don't like you being all alone like this." 

"C'mon, Scully," he grinned in her direction, still avoiding
direct eye contact, "I'm a grown man.  I can handle a few bad
dreams." 

She refrained from commenting on the emotional wreckage she had
found that morning.  "All right," she conceded.  "But I'm leaving
my cell phone on when I leave.  If it gets bad again, I want you
to call me." 

"You're still number one on my speed-dial, Scully," he answered
indirectly, hoping she would not notice. 

He waited by the window until he saw her car pull out of the
parking lot.  Then he turned away, his eyes unfocused, his mind
blank, and began to pack.  A decade of work- related travel made
packing something he could do without thinking, which was good,
because he was trying very hard not to think.  He turned off all
the lights, fed the fish one last time, and locked the door behind
him. 

He made one stop, at the Craddock Marine Bank branch nearest his
apartment.  In a safe deposit box there he retrieved his emergency
stash.  There was $10,000 in used twenties and fifties and a
complete set of identification documentation for himself as George
Hale.  There was a West Virginia driver's license showing a
general delivery address, a passport and a couple of credit cards. 
There was even a West Virginia pistol permit allowing him to carry
his Sig Sauer and the little .38 Special that rode in his ankle
holster, and a West Virginia license plate for his car.  He
emptied his wallet of everything that identified him as Fox
Mulder, FBI agent, and put it all in the box.  The documents went
into his wallet; the money and the license plate stayed inside the
small Knicks duffle bag in which it had been stored.  It was
easier to carry out that way. 

The Gunmen had hacked into West Virginia's records and made sure
that all the information would be verified if anyone checked.  It
was not perfect; if a nosy cop checked the VIN on the car, it
would come back to Fox Mulder.  But that was unlikely to happen. 

George Hale was a bonded international courier who had more
frequent flyer miles than Mulder did, and the passport reflected
that.  Again, the Gunmen had made sure that all Hale's travel was
verifiable via airline and credit card and car rental records.  He
could invoke the confidentiality of his employment to refuse to
identify his employers by name. 

Mulder did not think about any of this.  He simply wanted to get
away from Scully, and this was the best he could do.  She knew
about his Hale persona; that was how she had found him in Puerto
Rico, when Senator Matheson had sent him to Areceibo chasing a
signal from space.  It might take her a while to remember, but by
that time he could be out of reach. 

He did not use the interstates, and he did not speed.  He was not
in a hurry, and he had no real goal.  The End Times were here.  As
long as she was not with him, it did not matter where he was when
the attack began.  

//"Surrender yourself to me...  You are ignored, mocked, ridiculed
by your own kind.  Surrender to me, and I will end your pain, put
a stop to your suffering..."//  

But Mulder was all too accustomed to his own pain; ending that was
a lesser motivation than keeping Scully and her mother safe.  He
tried to ignore the voice, and kept the car pointed west, always
west.  That consistency made him think, suddenly, of Mr and Mrs
Crump, and he tried to wipe away the tears that blurred his
vision. 

(*At least they're safely dead.  No one can hurt them any
more...*) 

//"Another failure,"// the omnipresent voice sneered. //"You tried
to save that man; he put his trust in you.  He put his life in
your hands, and he died, his brains splattered across the window
glass.  You failed him.  Another failure..."// 

He shuddered, and kept driving. 

*** 

Dana Scully was worried and distracted all through dinner, and
when the dinner was over she took her leave of her mother, her
friend and her godson hastily, promising to call the next day. 
Then she went back to Mulder's apartment.  When he did not answer
the door, she used her key.  

"Mulder?" 

But the apartment was empty.  She felt a tremor of fear.  Where
would he go?  He was on medical leave; he was supposed to be
resting.  She searched the place quickly, and what she did not
find frightened her.  He had packed a bag, taken all three of his
weapons but no extra ammunition, several pairs of jeans and a few
tee shirts, but no suit, no dress clothes.  His cell phone sat on
the charger.  A glance out the window at the side street showed
her that his car was gone. 

She shivered suddenly, chilled.  (*Where would he go?  It's nearly
eleven at night!*)  She hugged herself.  (*Why would he go
anywhere?*)  

*** 

Scully's body lay motionless on the couch, her head back, arms
limp at her sides.  The entire front of her body had exploded
outward, revealing a hollow, empty body cavity, the blood turned
to jelly. 

The hatchling crouched long-fanged at its mother's feet, staring
at him. 

He was frozen with grief and horror, unable to move to escape,
unable to so much as blink.  He had gone through so much to save
her from this, from The Ship in Antarctica,  for it all to end
like this anyway... 

The hatchling leapt at him, jaws open, claws extended.  He waited
for the pain, knowing this was only justice.... 

//"Futility.  Serve or die.  Serve and die.  Resistance is
useless.  It is all the same..."// 

And he died knowing only a longing for that oblivion. 

*** 

He woke up sweating and shaking, knowing, finally, that he was not
running from anything, after all.  He was running toward his fate. 


He had no idea where he was, or how many days he had been driving. 
He had not been paying any attention to the names of towns or
roads.  He slept in the car when he had to stop.  He was rarely
hungry, and could not recall the last time he had eaten.  He shook
off the remnants of sleep and put the car into drive.  He pulled
out into traffic and turned west. 

*** 

"Agent Scully?" 

She looked up, startled.  "Sir?" 

Assistant Director Skinner stepped into the X Files office
hesitantly, as if unsure of his welcome.  "How are you holding up,
Agent Scully?" 

She shuddered, and then squared her shoulders, looking up at him
defiantly.  "I'm fine." 

Skinner hid his unease.  He knew very well that she had responded
with a defense mechanism.  Her partner had been missing for a
week, and he could see the strain beginning to tell on her.  Her
face was drawn and pale, and her clothes were beginning to hang on
her--she was not eating. 

"What progress have you made, Agent Scully?" 

She sighed.  "No one has seen him or his car.  His license plate
hasn't been documented at any toll barrier on any interstate in
ten states.  I've expanded the BOLO to nationwide.  None of his
credit cards have been used..." 

"So he's paying cash, maybe he's using another name..."  Skinner
mused idly.  

Scully stiffened.  "Oh, my God..." 

"What?" 

"He's got another identity," she explained hurriedly, turning
toward her computer and typing furiously.  "The Gunmen set it up
for him.  George Hale, international courier.  He has credit
cards, a driver's license, a passport...anything he might need,
even bank accounts and ATM cards..." 

"Bank accounts?  Can't be much money in them..." 

Scully spared a moment to glance at him.  "Mulder's a millionaire,
sir.  There's money in the Hale accounts, and he can probably
access his own money through the Hale identity." 

Skinner swallowed hard.  "A millionaire?" 

Scully was impatient now.  "He grew up on Martha's Vineyard, sir,
and they had a summer house in Rhode Island.  There aren't too
many poor people on the Vineyard, and they don't have summer
houses out of state.  His father left him both houses and a stock
portfolio worth about five million dollars.  Since then, it's
grown to about eight.  He has all the money he needs." 

Skinner dropped into the chair behind Mulder's desk.  "Stock? 
What sort of stock?  IBM?  Microsoft?" 

She shook her head.  "Most of the companies are suspiciously
linked to the conspiracy; it's very diversified.  Roush
Pharmaceuticals, Strughold Mining, where we found the archive and
were almost killed by a CIA strike team.  It amuses him to use
their profits against them.  That's how he pays for a lot of his
extracurricular trips, sir.  How did you think he got to
Antarctica?" 

Skinner nodded slowly, remembering Mulder's report on their
Antarctic adventure.  Mulder had simply reported that he paid for
the trip out of an inheritance; that had been enough. 

"He was in a hurry," he agreed softly.  "He had a deadline." 

Scully shuddered.  "I feel as if I do, too," she admitted in a low
voice.  "If I don't find him soon..." 

*** 

The mountains surrounded him like pillars, holding up the sky. 
There were hardly any clouds and the blue above him was blinding. 
He had lost the trail of paved roads a while ago, and the Taurus
was covered with dust.   

He had no idea where he was, and he did not care.  When the road
disappeared altogether by an empty hogan, he kept driving.  When
the Taurus bottomed out in a wash, he got out and started walking. 
He found a narrow trail that wound uphill, and followed it because
it was the easier way.  

The voice seldom spoke to him, now, when he was awake; it simply
haunted his sleep, keeping him from any rest.  He usually woke up,
on the rare occasion that he did sleep, to the scornful chuckle
and a whispered chant: //"Loser, loser, failure, incompetent!  You
had the chance to save the world and you failed!  Loser, loser,
failure, incompetent!"// 

When he awoke he heard mocking laughter and saw flashes of
nightmare images:
     --Washington burning 
     --Scully crucified against the wall of their office, on top
of the I WANT TO BELIEVE poster 
     --Scully's raped and battered body sprawled across the hood
of her car, her wrists bound to the rearview mirrors and her
ankles to the bumper 
     --Scully and the Gunmen publicly executed, bodies left
hanging for the flies and carrion crows  
     --Maggie Scully lying butchered on her front lawn while the
Scully family home burned behind her 
     --his childhood home on the Vineyard burning 
     --his father's house in West Tisbury burning 
     --the summer house in Rhode Island burning 
     --his own mother burning to death in her home in Greenwich,
screaming curses at her failure of a son, who was to blame for all
the dying... 

He tripped on a rock and stumbled, almost going to his knees.  The
tequila bottle slipped from his fingers, but it landed in a bush
and did not break.  He had not been conscious of carrying it, but
he picked it up and continued without even wondering where the
liquor had come from. 

The sun was high and hot, and he finally could go no further.  The
horizon line was dancing before him, and, although he did not
realize it, he was in the early stages of heat exhaustion.  He
found a patch of shade under a scrubby pine tree and sat down, his
back against the trunk. 

Thirsty, he took a swig out of the bottle, not noticing that the
cap was missing.  It burned all the way down his throat, but he
was dimly aware that he had been drinking while he walked.  

He put one hand down to lean on it and shift position, and
flinched as a sharp edge of rock made itself known.  He glanced at
the cut, and then at the rock.  He hunted around for a smaller,
sharper rock, found one, and set about making the cut bigger,
deeper.  The blood started to flow and the pain seemed to clarify
his thoughts. 

(*This is good...*) 

He held his hand still, making the blood drip into a neat puddle
beside him.  Soon the single cut was inadequate, and the sharp bit
of stone too awkward.  He fished around in his jeans pocket and
pulled out his folding knife. 

The blade was much sharper than the rock; it sliced easily through
skin.  Working left-handed was awkward, but he was set on his
goal, now. 

Slowly it dawned on him that the voice and the nightmare images
had stopped when the blood began to flow. 

(*If I'd known it was this easy...!*) 

When there was no unmarked skin on his right forearm, he switched
to his left.  The blood made the blade slippery, but he
persevered. 

+++ 

Emma Chee scooped up the crystals and put them back in her
medicine bag.  She looked up at her husband, who was waiting for
her verdict. 

"He's here.  We have to find him quickly." 

Rodney nodded.  "Eric is bringing the truck.  He knows the way
better than I do, these days." 

+++ 

He was lying on his back on a cool glass surface that glowed
softly.  There was no other light in the room, so he could not see
anything.  It did not matter; he could not open his eyes.  A
moment's exploration showed him that his wrists were fastened down
to the surface upon which he lay.  It did not matter; he could not
move.  

This was a familiar place.  He had been here before.  This was a
dream, the landscape of a dream... this was where Scully had found
him after the brain surgery.  This was where it had started... 
Scully had tried to rescue him, but she had come too late.  

A tall figure approached him, glowing softly with a pure white
light, and he felt a gentle caress on his face.  He could not open
his eyes, but he knew who it was.  

("Albert?") he thought loudly.  ("Is that really you?") 

("Yah-tah-hay, FBI Man,") came the familiar voice of the Navajo
shaman.  ("In trouble again, I see...")  Albert Hosteen's mild
amusement was audible.  
Mulder could not smile, and did not try.  ("I'm so sorry, Albert! 
I've failed everyone so miserably...  I let you down, too.  You
didn't rescue me from that boxcar so I could ruin everything... 
I'm sorry, Albert.  I'm sorry...  I'm sorry...") He wanted to
throw himself onto the ground at Albert's feet and grovel, but he
could not move.  

("Peace, FBI Man.  You have not failed; the war is still being
waged.  You lost a battle, yes, but not the war.  When you lost
this battle, they took away your shield, and Evil has gained a
toehold within you.  Are you alone, abandoned...?") 

("No, Scully's still loyal.  I left her.  I've caused her enough
pain, put her life and sanity at risk often enough.  I try and I
try, Albert, but the harder I try, the more people get hurt! 
Everyone I love dies horribly, Albert; even you.  You're dead,
aren't you?  I remember Rodney calling me...") 

("My body failed me, yes,") Albert nodded.  ("But my work was not
done.") 

("Does that make you a chindi, then, Albert?  A ghost haunting
your home?") 

("Perhaps, FBI Man.  Perhaps.  Do you believe me evil?") 

("God, no, Albert!  You're the most holy person I've ever met!") 

("And you could be my grandson, FBI Man, believing in Truth and
Beauty, but not educated in the Way.  I will not let the evil
vanquish you, FBI Man; the war is still being waged, and you will
walk the warpath once again.") 

Albert's voice changed to the sung tone, and from behind him, from
somewhere, came the compelling heart's-rhythm of the drums. 

("Step into the track of Monster Slayer--
("Step into the moccasins of him whose lure is the extended
bowstring--
("Step into the moccasins of him who lures the enemy to death...") 

And the hymn washed away some of his fear, washed away the
coldness of the DOD laboratory, sent the soft wings of comforting
sleep around Mulder's mind, sent him peace... 

+++ 

Emma Chee, her husband Rodney and their son Eric found Fox Mulder
bleeding and unconscious beside a scrub pine about a mile from the
hogan where he had been healed by the Blessing Way five years
before.  He was lying flat on his back, arms spread wide, as if
crucified on the hardpan. 

He could not be awakened. 

Emma bandaged the bleeding wounds on his arms, and Eric and Rodney
carried him back to the truck.  They took him back to the hogan,
and Eric stayed there with him, bathing him, soothing him when he
stirred a little, reaching for consciousness. 

"Albert?" he called, whimpering.  "Albert, I'm sorry..." 

"Be at peace," he murmured.  "All will be well..." 

At sunset, Emma and Rodney returned, and behind their battered old
Power Wagon followed an International Scout II that was even
older. 

Eric looked back at the sleeping man on the pallet.  "The hataalii
is here.  Soon they will heal you." 

He held the blanket aside to let the hataalii enter, bowing his
head with respect.   

The old man smiled at him.  "And how are you, grandson?" 

"I'm okay, Grandfather.  But the FBI man is calling for
Grandfather Albert." 

Emma grinned.  "Is he awake?" 

The four Navajo went into the hogan.  Eric stayed back, letting
his elders approach the pallet.   

"No, mom, he's still out.  He just mutters in his sleep." 

"Show me what concerns you so, daughter-in-law." 

Emma knelt beside the pallet, and gently unwound the bandaging
from Mulder's arm.  The self-inflicted cuts were no longer
bleeding, and through the blood smeared across his skin they could
all read the words carved there. 

Richard Tsosie, the oldest Singer on the Reservation, bowed his
head.  "You are correct, I believe, daughter-in-law.  There must
be a Yeibichai.  Does he have any family?" 

Emma re-wrapped the bandaging.  "There is a lady he loves very
much, a sister stolen from the family as a child and still lost. 
I do not know if his parents live.  Perhaps a handful of friends." 

"Call the woman he loves," Richard instructed.  "Tell her to come
and bring all the people who love this man." 

Rodney folded his arms.  "We can't hold a Yeibichai here; there's
not enough water for that many people, and where would they sleep? 
And who will feed the dancers and the guests?" 

"We can hold the ceremony at my house," Richard stated,
unperturbed.  "He is very weak; let him rest here for the night;
we will take him out in the morning."  

+++ 

Scully waited in Skinner's outer office.  He had summoned her up
from the basement, and then made her wait.  She was desperately
afraid that he was going to tell her something she just as
desperately did not want to hear. 

(*He's alive, he's alive, he's alive...*) It was less than a
prayer, more than just words...but it kept her mind occupied. 

A light flashed on Kim's desk.  She looked up at the waiting
agent.  "You can go in now, Agent Scully." 

"Thank you," she said faintly.  She found herself walking without
being able to feel the floor. 

Skinner's door was ajar; he was just hanging up the phone when she
pushed it open and entered.  "Agent Scully, please have a seat." 

Silently, she sat in her usual chair, carefully not looking at
Mulder's. 

Skinner looked up at her, and saw the rigid control that was
keeping her together.  "Relax a little, Agent Scully," he said
gently.  "He's been found, and he is still alive." 

She wanted to wilt, to weep, to wail.  She did nothing until she
found her voice.  "Where?" 

"New Mexico.  Albert Hosteen's son-in-law called.  He said they
found him about a mile from the hogan where they sang the Blessing
Way for him." 

"Is he all right?" 

Skinner shook his head.  "No.  He was then, and remains,
unresponsive, possibly comatose." 

"From what?" she asked sharply.  "Was he injured?" 

"He lost a lot of blood." 

"How?" 

"Both forearms are, reportedly, heavily carved up, Agent Scully. 
Self-inflicted; he used his own pocketknife.  He was still
bleeding when they found him." 

She sank back in the chair, shocked.  "He...he tried to...?"  She
could not say that. 

Skinner shrugged helplessly.  "Rodney says they are not suicide
slashes, Agent Scully.  They are words, in Navajo." 

"What words?" 

"'Monster Slayer.'  Over and over and over again." 

+++ 

"Beauty is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Good is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Faith is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Truth is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Hope is around me; this one walks in Beauty--"   

The hymn was in Navajo, but the words were clear to him.  He did
not try to move, but lay still, luxuriating in the beauty of the
silence inside himself, the comfort outside, the delicious
sensations of drowsiness and an absence of fear.  Whatever would
happen would happen, now, without any intervention from him... the
die was cast...   

"Love is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Beauty is around me; this one walks in Beauty  
"Good is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Faith is around me; this one walks in Beauty--
"Truth is around me..."   

She dropped to her knees beside his pallet.  Behind her, Skinner
and the three Lone Gunmen settled down quietly around the walls to
watch, feeling far too out of place to interfere.  

Mulder was so still beneath the light blanket that if she had not
seen the cedar incense smoke eddy around his face Scully would
have doubted that he was breathing.   (*Oh, Mulder...*)   He was
gaunt, not just from deprivation, but from pain.   (*You haven't
eaten since the last time I fed you, have you?  So much pain...I
wish you had let me try to help you...*)   

"It is also physical purification, Agent Scully," Emma explained
quietly, letting the singing and the drumming outdoors underscore
her words as she settled down beside her.  "We did not try to
purge him--he was too weak--but we washed him and smudged him and
there was a sweat lodge the first night.  He is clean, inside and
out, physically, and we are purifying his soul from the touch of
evil that gained a toehold recently.  Do you know how it
happened?"   

Scully shivered and reached for his hand.  "There was a carved
stone from Africa.  It bore characters like these--" she indicated
the marks on his unbandaged arm, "--spelling out the human genome
and the Book of Genesis, in Navajo.  When he saw the inscription,
it opened his mind, and all the thoughts of all the people around
him poured in.  He nearly died:  the input was  destroying him. 
He was kidnapped out of the hospital and subjected to medical
procedures for which we have no documentation.  Whatever they did,
it fixed the problem.  When I found him, he was relatively all
right.  That was three weeks ago.  He was home, recovering--at
least, I thought he was!  He was being plagued with horrible
nightmares, but that was the only complaint he had.  Then one
night, without the least bit of warning, he just disappeared. 
Twelve days later your husband called."    

Emma nodded slowly.  "When the talisman broke his shields, evil
came for him.  He fought back--he is a warrior of whom songs will
be sung!--but it is difficult to fight the whisper in your dreams
without help from a shaman, for the Spirit World is a difficult
and dangerous place.  He has spoken, occasionally, without waking,
apologizing to my father.  It sounds as if he thinks he lost the
battle, and that his presence endangers you and the others still
fighting the war."

Scully fought back tears.  "He always thinks everything is his
fault."

Emma digested that.  "We believe that he has told us, himself, how
to help him."

Scully tore her eyes away from her partner's still face.  "What? 
How?!"

Emma pointed with her chin to the knife wounds.  "He labeled
himself.  He is the avatar for Monster Slayer in this generation. 
Some of our oldest stories tell how the sons of Changing Woman
went on a quest to find their father.  Monster Slayer is the
elder, the younger is Born for Water.  Together, they lead the
fight against the darkness, fighting to clear the pathway to
Father Sun:  the Way to Enlightenment."

"That's metaphor..."

Emma shook his head.  "It is more than that.  Like most myths, it
works on many levels.  Can you deny that the battle you and he
fight is a fight against an all-encompassing darkness?"

Slowly, eyes widening, Scully shook her head.

"You are partners in the battle, shield companions in the fight. 
This is true?"

Scully nodded.

"Where were you born?  What does your father do?  Your brothers? 
Do you have brothers or sisters?"

Scully frowned in confusion at the sudden digression.  "I was born
in Hawaii, at Pearl Harbor.  My father was in the Navy, and now
both my brothers are.  My sister Melissa is dead.  She was
mistaken for me and murdered."

Emma smiled triumphantly.  "You are the avatar of the younger
brother, Born for Water.  The fight cannot be won by one or the
other; it is the two, together, in partnership, who are
successful.  So it is that The Foe strives to separate you,
because only thus are you vulnerable." 

Scully stared at her.  Then her eyes flicked to meet Skinner's. 
He was equally dumfounded.  Neither could argue that the logic
seemed to follow their careers.  

"The Yeibichai is a very long and complex ceremony.  The story is,
as are most of our ceremonies, re-enactments of old myths.  The
purpose is to ceremonially recreate the time when the Holy People
came frequently among the Earth Surface People -  the Dineh - and
maintained the world at a somewhat higher level of Harmony." 

"How long is long?" Frohike asked warily, watching the yei dancers
outside. 

"Nine days.  Today is day three." 

"What is the goal of this ceremony?"  Skinner asked. 

Emma met his eyes squarely.  "That the Holy People shall return,
as invited, to become the mask-wearers however briefly, and to
restore Harmony to the patient, the community and the world." 

"Has it ever worked?" Langley asked cynically. 

Emma turned to fix her attention on him.  "It always works." 

"And this is going to help Mulder?" Byers interrupted, frowning. 
"He doesn't believe this, does he?" 

"I don't know what he believes," Emma said quietly.  "But he named
himself Monster Slayer.  If you had to find a European parallel to
the story, imagine Prometheus if he had had to defeat an army,
with only his brother's aid, before he could reach the fire in
heaven to steal it." 

She watched as a level of wary understanding sank into her
listeners' minds. 

"Do you buy that, Scully?" Skinner asked dubiously.  "You're 
Catholic." 

Scully spread her hands helplessly.  "I don't know.  I believe... 
I believe in Mulder.  And it appears he believes..." 

"I believe it," Emma said quietly.  "Our hataalii, Richard Tsosie, 
believes it.  If any of you oppose this it will be much more
difficult." 

"How is Mulder?" Byers asked, changing the subject.  "Has he
regained consciousness yet?" 

Emma shook her head.  "His body is very weak, and his soul is not
here.  His spirit is in the Spirit World, fighting his battle
against evil.  He will not return until we have made more progress
here toward the restoration of Harmony." 

Emma elaborated at some length.  Scully listened to Emma's
explanation of the ceremony and their goals, and chewed on her lip
for a moment. 

"You really think I am Born for Water in this generation?" 

Emma nodded.  "I do." 

"How can I be his battle companion?" Scully growled.  "We're
separated.  Does that mean he's going to lose?  I will not stand
by and let that happen!"  Fire flashed from sapphire eyes at the
Navajo woman.  "We have to do something!  He and I have gone to
the ends of the earth for each other.  If he's somewhere else
fighting alone, and we can't bring him back here, you have to help
me get to him!" 

Emma stared at the desperate woman for a moment, shocked that the
idea had had come from her.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I
should have thought of that!" 

Mollified, Scully tried to settle down.  "So?  How do we do this? 
This is your world, Emma; you have to tell me how it works." 

"First, you need to be purified, as he was.  That will take three
days." 

Scully stood up.  "Let's start." 

+++ 

The Gunmen and Skinner divided up the days and nights so that
Mulder, still unresponsive, was never alone.  They kept him clean
and changed the bandages on his arms, which were healing very
slowly: the words were still clear and easy to read.

Scully was taken away to Emma's home forty miles west, where she
was stripped, bathed four times in a cold-running mountain stream,
and given an herbal purgative that made her night miserable.  At
first light, exhausted and shaking, she was taken back to the
stream and bathed four times again. 

"Hungry?"  Emma asked as she helped the smaller woman dress in
soft-tanned doeskin, a ritual dress, matching leggings and
moccasins. 

"Definitely thirsty," Scully smiled wanly.  "Is Mulder--?" 

"Nothing has changed there.  The Night Chant continues.  Today you
learn some Navajo; the words have power in and of themselves when
said in the proper way and in the proper place by the person
properly prepared." 

"Is that what we're doing?" Scully asked her.  "Properly preparing
me?" 

"Yes.  Tonight at sunset there will be a sweat lodge.  You will
have nothing to eat, I'm afraid, but all the snowmelt you wish to
drink." 

Scully grimaced. 

Emma smiled thinly.  They settled down under a tree behind the
house and started rehearsing the prayers that Scully would need to
know. 

+++ 

It was the evening of the fourth day of the Night Chant.  Frohike
and Skinner were sitting vigil with Mulder.  Byers and Langley
were on their own.  In the hours that they had spent together,
talking quietly to keep each other awake through the long nights,
they had learned that they had both been Marines, both volunteered
to serve, both served in Viet Nam at the same time and both
achieved the same rank.  It gave them common ground, startling
them both, and they started talking, quietly, about battles won
and lost, and how things went wrong, what sort of tactics
worked... 

+++ 

"Comes now Monster Slayer--
"Wearing the body of the oath-bound one--
"Wearing the Fox's moccasins--
"Comes now Monster Slayer--
"Bowstring extended --
"Arrow notched upon it for the flying--
"Comes now Monster Slayer--
"Ready for battle--" 

(*Albert, I'm no hero.*) 

(*Of a certainty, you are, FBI Man.*) Albert Hosteen's voice
sounded mildly amused, as it usually did.  (*You have sworn a
powerful oath to protect the People.  How many times have you
placed yourself between Evil and the People?*) 

(*That's my job, Albert.*) 

(*So?  Does a paycheck truly compensate you for all you endure?*) 

(*Well, no.  But I don't do it for money.*) 

(*Exactly.*) 

(*I became an FBI agent so I'd be better able to hunt for my
sister.*) 

(*And why are you still searching, FBI Man, when you know that she
has been taken by Darkness, and that even if you do find her,
rescue may not be possible?*) 

A wave of grief and rage swept over him, it was a moment before he
had regained sufficient control to attempt speech. 

(*Dead or alive, I will find her.*) 

(*You swore that oath when you were twelve years old.  No one
would know if you broke it.*) 

(*I would know.*) 

Albert chuckled.  (*Hero, indeed, to honor an oath sworn in
secret.  The Holy People honor those who honor them.*) 

(*I could've done without this honor...*) he drawled. 

Albert laughed.  (*Come.  The battle approaches.  You must
prepare.*) 

(*Now?*) Mulder was wistful.  He liked Albert, and he knew this
was their last conversation.  (*So soon?*) 

(*You can't go back until you win,*) Albert answered the question
he had not asked.  (*The fight is here.  You did not awaken here
by chance.  You knew this.*) 

Mulder's shoulders slumped.  (*Albert, I haven't known anything of
any significance for so long that I've about given up hope on that
score.*) 

(*You have known that you are loved.  Your lady waits by your
side, confident of your victory.*) 

(*Scully's here?!*) 

(*No, of course not.  She is with my daughter.  They prepare the
way for you and your foe to meet on a battlefield where the
advantage will be yours.*) 

Mulder cocked his head to one side.  (*If I'm this Prophesied
Hero, why?  Isn't my victory assured?*) 

Albert shook his head.  (*No.  We usually define a hero as someone
who wins against overwhelming odds.  But sometimes he's just
someone who dies well, trying.  I do not know that you will win. 
But I believe in you, and I have every confidence that you can.*) 

Mulder made a sour face.  (*Gee.  Thanks for the vote of
confidence.*) 

Albert shrugged.  (*Would you fight well if you believed that you
could not lose?*) he asked pointedly.  (*The Universe exists in a
state of sa'ah naaghei bik'eh hozhoo.  Conflict is the teetering
of that Harmonic Balance.  Sometimes it tips toward Evil,
sometimes it tips toward Good.  Light and dark, male and female,
power and compassion...all things have opposites and neither good
nor evil ever wins a permanent victory--that would unbalance the
system.  That striving is Beauty.  That striving is Life.*) 

(*That explains 'As above, so below' and the occult theory that if
you are male in this life, you were female in your last one, and
will be again in your next.  Balance.*)  

Albert nodded. 

(*What kind of fight is this, Albert?  I spend a lot of time
getting my ass kicked in hand-to-hand, and I don't think firearms
work here.*) 

(*Firearms do not exist here,*) Albert mimicked his intonation. 
(*Your strongest weapon is your doggedness:  your refusal to give
up, your willingness to endure in order to win through.  The exact
nature of the battle I cannot say; each battle is different,
personal.  Just remember that Monster Slayer lives in your soul,
FBI Man, and your shield maiden stands beside you as Born For
Water.  You are not alone.*)  

Albert raised his hands in benediction, and then he was gone. 

(*Bye, Albert.*) Mulder stood up and stretched.  He was standing
on pavement, but there was nothing around him.  His mind was clear
and functioning at peak effectiveness and, in a very human
response, tried to find some way to make this familiar.  

He blinked and found himself standing in a field of tall grass and
wildflowers.  In his hands he held two old daguerreotypes.  He
remembered this... 

(*Sullivan Biddle.*) 

The world changed again.  He was standing in the same position, in
the same field.  But instead of ancient primitive photographs, his
hands held a rifle.  He was wearing an ill-fitting blue wool
uniform, sweating in the summer sun. 

"Biddle!"  

That was Sergeant Schuele's voice, and he started to turn. 
Something slammed into his chest.  He lay in a crumpled heap in
the grass, agony making it increasingly difficult to breathe. 
Vaguely he could hear gunfire, cannonfire, men and horses
screaming in pain and terror. 

He found the energy to roll onto his back.  He turned his head and
saw the body of a companion beside him. 

Sergeant Schuele's vivid blue eyes stared into his, trapping his. 
As the light and life began to fade from the sergeant's eyes,
darkness swept over Biddle... 

He blinked. 

He was lying on his back in jungle, and there was a monster coming
for him.  He remembered this, and reached for his Sig Sauer.  It
was gone.  He looked around frantically, fighting to get to his
feet, only to find that one ankle was caught in a twist of tree
root, preventing escape.  It was coming closer...it was going to
get him, kill him, eat him... 

His hand closed around a fallen branch about the size and heft of
a baseball bat, and he lifted it, prepared to do battle. 

It was coming... 

It was coming... 

The jungle was gone.  Instead, he was inside the ice-bound
submarine again, handcuffed to the last surviving crewman. 

"You're making a big mistake..." 

The crewman shimmered and morphed into the Bounty Hunter.  The
larger man started slamming Mulder around like he had done before,
and each time he landed, the pain got worse: the first time his
wrist snapped.  The second time it dislocated his shoulder.  The
third time his head hit the bulkhead and he saw stars. 

"Where is she?  Where is she?" he demanded as he had done before. 

"She's alive," the Hunter mocked him.  "Can you die now?" 

He could not answer; the pain was too intense.  But he heard, and
relief sleeted through his awareness.  (*Scully's alive...*) 

The Hunter left the chamber, dragging the helpless man behind him
by the cuffs still locked around their wrists. 

Remembering vaguely how this was going to end, he reached
awkwardly for his weapon, and managed to get a grip on it.  He
aimed up and tried to focus, squeezed off four rounds.

The Hunter's body flinched, and blood began to pour from the
wounds, soaking the being's shirt and jacket with wet scarlet. 

(*Wait a minute...*) 

The bleeding ceased.  The Hunter kept going. 

Mulder found that the weapon in his hand had changed.  Now it was
a plam, the little stiletto-style icepick that was the only thing
that could really kill a Hunter.  And, somehow, now they were both
outside in the snow, trudging toward the sub looming up over them,
a black shadow against the glimmering aurora borealis.

He found his way to his feet when the Hunter paused at the base of
the conning tower.  He took a deep breath and leaped, using the
cuffed wrist as a pivot point, and slammed the plam down, point
first, down into the Hunter's spinal column at the base of his
neck. 

The Hunter crumpled at once and began to melt.  Mulder waited,
pulled the cuff free from the foamy remains, and started climbing
the conning tower.  

Blink. 

He was climbing on the inside of a chute toward the surface of the
Antarctic glacier.  Below him, the alien hatchlings were screaming
their newborn hunger.  

He tried to climb faster, but there was something above him
blocking his path.

Claws sank into his calf, tore down to the bone, progress stopped
only by the tough leather of his boot.  He kicked, frantic, but
could not get free.  The alien yanked, dragging him down off the
ladder. 

Desperate to get free, fighting the intense pain, he drew his Sig
and shot it, firing three times.  It fell away, letting go of him,
and landed on the deck in a dramatic splatter of red blood. 
Mulder stood up, shaking, and two more jumped him.  He shot them
both, but one reached out with a clawed hand as it fell, and tore
open his left arm from elbow to wrist. 

Bleeding, shaking, he looked around.  Dozens more of the alien
hatchlings had emerged, and he no longer had an escape route. 
There were hatchlings between himself and that tube, and there was
no other exit. 

(*I'm going to die here,*) he realized numbly.  Then he squared
his shoulders.  (*Well, I'm not going alone.  I'm taking an honor
guard with me!*) 

+++ 

On the evening of the sixth day, Emma brought Scully back to her
partner's side. 

The Gunmen and Skinner stood uncertainly, unsure what they should
do.  Except for her red hair and utterly pale skin, Scully looked
more Navajo than Emma did in her jeans and chambray shirt.  Scully
was wearing traditional Navajo formal clothing: white- tanned
doeskin dress, the sueded fabric almost invisible under the
elaborate embroidery.  Her moccasins and oversize leggings were at
least as heavily ornamented.

Her expression was solemn, and she did not look at them; all her
attention was instantly riveted on her partner.  She went to her
knees beside him, her hands on his chest, his wrist, feather-light
on his face, where nearly three weeks'-worth of beard blurred his 
expression. 

Emma gathered up the four watching men with her eyes and guided
them out of the room.  Once they were safely out, she shut the
door. 

All four turned to her.  

"What's she going to do?"  Skinner asked. 

Emma spread her hands.  "She joins him in his trance, joins him in
his battle.  They are shield mates in the old ways of your people. 
They guard one another's back, always defending the other.  Alone
they are indifferent warriors; together, they are more than two." 

Byers and Langly traded glances, but did not interrupt. 

Frohike nodded slowly.  "What do we do, now?" he asked quietly. 

Emma glanced at the closed door, and sighed.  "Dinner, I think. 
Then we wait, and watch the rest of the Yeibichai." 

+++ 

Dana Scully settled down on the pallet beside Mulder.  She checked
him physically, first.  He was clean, and the cuts on his forearms
had been carefully painted with iodine and left unbandaged to
air-dry.  The cuts were dry and clean, but they were not healing. 
Her hand stroked his face, brushed hair off his forehead.

"Oh, Mulder," she whispered, "how are you going to explain these
to the Bureau's psychologists?" 

He did not move or react in any way. 

Scully sighed.  Then she settled down beside him, made herself
comfortable, and began to chant as she had been taught, in
awkward, rote-learned Navajo. 

"Comes now Born for Water--
"Wearing the body of the oath-bound one--
"Wearing the Sea-born Woman's moccasins--
"Comes now Born for Water--
"Bowstring extended--
"Arrow notched upon it for the flying--
"Comes now Born for Water--
"Ready for battle - 
"Joining his brother in battle  
"We shall once more point the arrow  
"We shall once more set up the prayer sticks  
"We call upon our ancestors  
"Monster Slayer, Born For Water  
"Battle-brothers  "Be with us here in our battle  
"Evil shall not vanquish us!--
"Not yet do we leave the war trail!--

She took a deep breath, and a swallow of water from the bottle she
had brought.  Then she started again. 

"Comes now Born for Water  
"Wearing the body of the oath-bound one  
"Wearing the Sea-born Woman's moccasins..." 

She went through the entire song four times.  When the song ended
for the fourth time, she was surprised to find her eyes closed. 
She opened them, and found herself back inside the Antarctic
installation that Mulder had always insisted had been a spaceship. 

(*I don't remember this place clearly...*)

Puzzled, she looked around, realizing that she was dressed in snow
gear: white parka, bulky ski pants and boots; she was carrying an
UZI rifle.  All around her was steam and screaming.  She blinked,
staring in horror at the glass-fronted chamber in front of her. 
Inside it, below the sickly green image of a man's face and
shoulders, was something that moved, obscenely, jerking about as
if trying to break free.  It had huge eyes and long teeth and
claws and was indisputably alive. 

Then it moved and cracked the glass.  She jumped back, and lifted
the UZI, putting a short burst into the creature before it could
escape its cell. 

Shuddering away from the bloody corpse, she looked up the corridor
and down it.  Chambers were cracking, hatchlings escaping all
around her. 

In the distance, just before the corridor curved, she saw an eddy
of battle. 

"Die, you sonofabitch!"  

It was Mulder's voice. 

She started running. 

+++ 

He was flattened by the first hatchling's charge, and went down,
hitting his head hard against the metal decking.  His empty
handgun was torn from his bleeding hand, and he reached up to try
to choke the thing that was crouching on top of him, about to claw
his chest open.  A human voice shouted, cutting cleanly through
the animal growling, and a machine gun's full-auto chatter started
cutting through the hatchlings.  After several bursts, the
survivors started to flee. 

He rolled, laboriously, and saw Scully hurrying toward him,
wearing a pure white parka, snow pants and boots, carrying an UZI
rifle.  She slung it on her back, and hurried to his side.

"Mulder...?" 

She touched him, and he grinned through the pain.  "I don't wanna
wrestle..." 

He was not hurt, and he stood easily.  "Boy, am I glad to see
you!" he grinned at her. 

She threw herself into his arms, inarticulate with relief.  He
wrapped his arms around her and held her close, resting his chin
on top of her head. 

Eventually she pushed back, lifted one hand to brush away
threatened tears. 

"Don't you ever run off and ditch me like this, ever again, do you
hear me?" 

He looked away.  "I'm sorry.  I thought I was going crazy, and if
I was going to have a psychotic break, I didn't want you anywhere
around when it happened." 

Her expression gentled.  "I tried to be angry because you wouldn't
let me protect you the way you always try to protect me." 

"You hate it when I do that." 

She nodded, biting her lip.  "Here's a deal.  I'll stop saying I'm
fine if you'll stop ditching me." 

"Deal." 

"Deal.  So, how do we get out of here?" she asked, looking around. 

They were no longer in Antarctica.  They were standing in a
cornfield, and the tall stalks of reached far over their heads. 
If they looked around all they could see was greenery.  Their snow
gear was gone: they were wearing typical work suits:  Mulder in a
pale gray suit and Scully in a pink skirt and jacket. 

She grabbed at his hand.  "We have to stay together.  Emma says it
keeps trying to separate us to weaken us." 

He frowned worriedly.  "All Albert said was that I couldn't go
home till I won the fight." 

Scully nodded slowly.  "All right.  Shall we go?" 

They started down a row, Scully following Mulder with her hand on
his belt so they would not get separated.  This time they were not
being chased, so they did not have to run.  They walked. 

They walked. 

They walked. 

The corn waved, but did not change.  They kept walking. 

Finally Mulder stopped. 

"Mulder?  What's wrong?" 

"This is too easy, and we aren't getting anywhere.  This plane is
kinda like a video game.  When you do what's required for that
level, it changes, and you find yourself somewhere else." 

She considered.  "Like on QUANTUM LEAP?" 

He grinned at her.  "Yeah.  We're on a Quest, Scully, and nothing
on a Quest is ever quite what it seems or as easy as it looks." 

"Okay..."  She looked around, then threw him a grin.  "Ninety
degree right?" 

"I'm game." 

They turned.  Fighting the cornstalks for passage slowed them a
bit, but after a while they came out into a hillside strewn with
red rocks. 

"Look, there's Shiprock," Scully pointed out.  "We're back on the
reservation." 

Mulder looked around.  "This is the canyon where the boxcar was
buried, I think." 

Scully closed her eyes. 

"Comes now Born for Water--
"Wearing the body of the oath-bound one--
"Wearing the Sea-born Woman's moccasins--
"Comes now Born for Water--
"Bowstring extended--
"Arrow notched upon it for the flying--
"Comes now Born for Water--
"Ready for battle -- 
"Joining his brother in battle  
"We shall once more point the arrow  
"We shall once more set up the prayer sticks  
"We call upon our ancestors  
"Monster Slayer, Born For Water  
"Battle-brothers  "Be with us here in our battle  
"Evil shall not vanquish us!--
"Not yet do we leave the war trail!--" 

Mulder looked at her, chewed his lip for a moment, and then
started chanting in counterpoint with her  song. 

"Comes now Monster Slayer 
"Wearing the body of the oath-bound one 
"Wearing the Fox's moccasins 
"Comes now Monster Slayer 
"Bowstring extended 
"Arrow notched upon it for the flying 
"Comes now Monster Slayer 
"Ready for battle--
"Joining his brother in battle 
"We shall once more point the arrow  
"We shall once more set up the prayer sticks  
"We call upon our ancestors  
"Monster Slayer, Born For Water  
"Battle-brothers  
"Be with us here in our battle  
"Evil shall not vanquish us!--
"Not yet do we leave the war trail!--" 

The chant became song, and their voices fit together amazingly
well, considering neither of them had ever been picked for the
junior high chorus.  As they sang, they turned to face one
another, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for
them reach out with their free hands and join them, too.  Eyes
closed as they concentrated on the unfamiliar sounds that
comprised the magickal Navajo language, they sang the song four
times through, four being the number of completeness in First
Nations esoteric tradition. 

They opened their eyes when they were done to find the cornfield
gone.  They stood in ancient forest, surrounded by huge trees that
towered over them.  The leaves at the canopy level tinted the air
below a sparkling green, and the dust motes that were tiny insects
flickered about like fairy dust in the breeze.  They stared
around, awestruck at the primeval beauty of the place. 

A shaft of sunlight arrowed down, illuminating a patch of thick
moss a dozen yards away.  It looked as soft as crib batting and
was contoured into the shape of a comfortable couch.  

"Makes me tired just to look at that," Mulder chuckled, yawning as
they walked to it, hand in hand. 

"Moss that green and healthy is usually growing on a soggy
sponge," Scully pointed out dryly.  "You'd be soaked in a
heartbeat if you sat down." 

Mulder squatted down and tested it with his free hand without
letting go of her.  He shook his head. 

"Nope.  Warm and dry.  C'mon, Scully.  Let's take a break.  I'm
exhausted, even if you aren't." 

She hung back.  "This isn't physical reality, Mulder.  How can you
be tired?" 

"Because I haven't gotten any sleep, really, in more than a month,
if you count the time I was in the hospital," he growled, dropping
to sit on the cushioned surface.  "Just let me take a nap,
Scully...please..."  He was sagging into unconsciousness as she
watched. 

Reluctant to let go of him, she settled down to sit beside him. 
He was already asleep, breathing slowly, deeply.  The stress lines
that had been accumulating around his mouth and eyes started to
relax into invisibility.  She let go of his hand, but kept
physical contact with his body with her own, sitting snug against
him.  He was lying in a comfortable curl, his arms crossed on his
chest.  She sat inside that curve of his body, using him for a
bolster.  He relaxed even more, and his arms went limp, one
falling to rest on her thigh. 

She stroked him lightly, her eyes scanning their surroundings
nervously.

(*It would be just like us to have something with big teeth attack
now, when he's so worn out he can hardly function...") 

Instead, time stretched out.  The light began to fade as the sun
slanted toward the west.  Mulder moved in his sleep, nestling more
closely against her. 

She was not sleepy.  The longer he slept, the more nervous she
felt. 

(*This is crazy,*) she told herself.  (*He has every right to be
exhausted, mentally as well as physically.  Why am I so keyed
up?*) 

But she knew the answer to that: she was in--on?--some kind of
supernatural plane, on some kind of shamanic dream quest with her
partner who, while ostensibly so open-minded that she frequently
felt a draft, resisted all forms of structured religious belief
with all the tenacity that he had developed over his
twenty-five-year-long hunt for his kidnapped sister. 

She knew that this experience had been hard on him.  She had found
him losing a fight that had never happened in the real world,
although the situation had.  

(*I remember that his lower leg and ankle were scratched up a bit
when we were rescued.  He said one of the hatchlings had grabbed
him, tried to pull him back down the chute they had been climbing. 
I barely remember most of that.  I didn't really wake up and
achieve coherent thought until we were outside in the snow. 
Everything in the dark and steam is just a blur.  I remember some
sounds that could have been growls or screams...  

(*I wonder... he's been here in this dreamscape for days,
realtime.  That couldn't have been his first fight.  I guess he
won all the others. 

(*I'm glad I found him when I did.  If we die here, do we die in
the real world?  I don't want to find out.*) 

Mulder nestled closer and her hand smoothed his hair back away
from his face. 

"It's all right, Mulder," she whispered.  "Sleep.  I'll keep you
safe..." 

Those words seemed to echo through her mind. 

Then her head went up as a real sound--although how real anything
was, here, was open to debate!--became audible.  It was a child
sobbing; a small child.  She looked around, and thought she saw a
flash of red and white off to her left. 

"Is there someone out there?" she called.  "Hello...?" 

There was a small stirring in the undergrowth, and then the round
tear-stained face of Emily Sim peeked at her from over a fallen
tree trunk.  This child was not Emily--
(*Emily is dead, and this is not Heaven!*)--but she was plainly
another of the cloned sisters.  This one had longer hair done in
pigtails and a red gingham dress that was torn and grass-stained. 
She was wearing dirty white ankle socks that sagged and patent
leather shoes that were scuffed.  She was dirty and her hair
needed to be combed and re-braided. 

(*She looks like she's been lost for several days...*) 

"Sweetie, come sit by me." 

But the child started to cry again, hopelessly. 

Scully bit her lip.  It was hard to resist that sound, but she did
not want to leave Mulder. 

"Come here, sweetie.  Let me help you." 

"I can't," the child whimpered. 

"Why not?" 

"I'm thtuck." 

Scully frowned.  "Stuck how?" 

"The tree fell, and my foot's thtuck.  An' it hurts...!"  She
started to cry again. 

Scully stood up.  If the child was injured, she really had no
choice.  She glanced down at her partner.  He was solidly asleep,
unlikely to realize she was gone from his side for the few moments
it would take to free the child.  

She hurried across the open clearing to the shady covert where the
child lay. 

"Hi," she smiled as she knelt to investigate the child's
situation.  "My name's Dana.  What's your name?" 

"Melitha," the child lisped shyly. 

Dana froze for a second.  "I have a sister named Melissa," she
managed to smile reassuringly.  "Do you have a sister named Dana?" 

The child nodded.  "Yeth." 

"That's pretty cool, don't you think?"  Scully was trying to see
how the child was trapped.  It only took her a moment more to lift
the fallen branch and free the child's trapped ankle.  "Does your
ankle hurt?" 

"Yeth." 

"Can you walk on it?"

Gamely, the child tried, but it gave way and she started to fall. 
Scully caught her, hugged her close as she started to cry. 

"Sshh...ssshh...it's all right.  C'mon.  I'll carry you."  She
stood up with the child in her arms and turned to go back to
Mulder. 

The clearing was gone and with it, her partner.  She stood in the
middle of a dark forest.  The child in her arms was gone; in its
place, what she held was now the grotesque alien corpse she and
Mulder had had exhumed in Oregon on their first case together. 

She flung it away with a shudder.  "Mulder!" she screamed. 
"Mulder!" 

Only the echoes of her own voice answered her. 

"Oh, my God..."  She suddenly realized what had happened.  She had
fallen into a trap and allowed herself to be lured away from her
partner.  "He's all alone...  Oh, my God!"  She tried to retrace
her steps, but in moments it was clear to her that she was no
longer in the same part of the forest. 

(*Maybe this isn't even the same forest...or the same plane. 
Maybe I've leaped to a different level and left him behind,
sleeping, helpless, trusting me to guard him...*)  She shuddered. 

The idea of parallel worlds, and the necessarily infinite numbers
of them made her dizzy for a moment.  Then depression and
discouragement settled over her. 

(*I'll never land on the same plane with him again except by
accident...and the odds of that happening are so high as to make
'astronomical' an inadequate  adjective. 

(*I lost the battle for both of us.  I screwed up and now we both
lose.  Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry...  I'm so sorry...*) 

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  It was a change in
the quality of the sound that made her look up.  The universe had
shifted when she was not looking.  Now she sat on the edge of the
old claw foot tub she had had in her first DC apartment.  The
water was running and the tub was half-full of bubbles.  The scent
that rose from the tub was her old favorite Hawaiian White Ginger. 
She sniffed appreciatively, and started to relax a little.  She
was home... 

The furnace duct beside the tub exploded outward and out burst a
man covered with gooey yellow slime.  He roared as he lunged for
her, his face contorted in a snarl, his eyes glowing yellow-green. 

With a shriek, she threw herself backward away from him, slamming
back against the far wall with a solid thud.  Tooms grabbed her
with both hands, dragged her down to the floor.  He pinned her
legs with his own, pinned her wrists with his other hand.  She
struggled desperately, screaming with pain and outrage as he
clawed at her body. 

He lost his grip on her wrists and she reached for his face with
both hands, planning to blind him.  As her nails sank into the
flesh, he vanished. 

She fell flat on her face.  When she looked up, the universe had
changed around her again.  She was standing beside a big black
SUV.  She was standing on a sidewalk, between buildings...before
she could quite place where or when she was, she felt the needle
go into her foot. 

(*Gerry Schnauz!*) Terror washed through her.  She only had a few
moments before the twilight sleep in the syringe incapacitated
her, and Mulder was not here to rescue her this time.  She had to
save herself. 

Even as she decided, her hands were moving, delving underneath her
jacket and finding her Sig Sauer in its accustomed place: in the
clip holster at the small of her back.  It was the matter of only
a moment for her to draw the weapon and shoot Gerry Schnauz twice
right between the eyes before he even climbed out from under her
car.  She had barely enough time to realize that she had killed
him before the sedative he had administered took her down.  She
felt herself falling, and wondered if that was enough to trigger
another leap. 

+++ 

Mulder stretched drowsily and rolled over onto his back.  He was
still exhausted, but he was awake, now.  It must have been enough
sleep. 

"Your turn...Scully..."  His voice trailed off as he sat up and
looked around to find himself alone.  "Scully?" he whispered,
terrified. 

The forest was gone.  While he slept the universe had shifted
around him.  He was in the ship on Antarctica again, staring at
the huge conveyor carrying the glass gestation capsules.  He still
had his binoculars, and he felt the familiarity of the move as he
raised them, peered through them, seeking some clue about where to
go. 

Just as before, there was a glass-enclosed transport stretcher
lying on a catwalk below him.  He focused on its contents,
expecting to see the white silk of Scully's blouse and the
charcoal linen of her suit. 

His heart froze and his lungs ceased their functioning for a
single moment of absolute horror.  The clothing so casually
discarded was pink-flowered flannel: a child's night gown.  

Mulder did not hear himself whimpering with dread as he retraced
his path down to the catwalk.  He started checking the contents of
the capsules as he had before.  This time, instead of stranger
after stranger, all the capsules contained people he knew: 
co-workers, fellow agents, neighbors, college pals.  Unlike the
original experience, this time all these people were conscious,
awake, and totally aware that they were gestating an alien infant
that would undoubtedly kill them.  They were all terrified,
screaming, pounding fruitlessly on the glass trying to escape. 
When they saw him go by, they screamed his name, begging for his
help, wailing their terror and pain, cursing him when he passed
them by. 

When he saw his high school basketball coach, he almost broke, but
the image of the discarded pink flannel kept him moving, though
now he knew exactly what horror he was about to face. 

Finally, there she was.  Samantha, exactly as she had been the
last time he had seen her, eight years old and terrified. 

"Fox!" she screamed, pounding on the glass that imprisoned her. 
"Fox!  Fox!  Help me!  Save me!  Fox!" 

He picked up the oxygen bottle and smashed the glass, freeing her. 
Samantha fell into his arms, sobbing her relief.  All he could do
was hold her, rock her and try to calm her. 

But where her body pressed against his he could feel the alien
fetus squirming inside her. 

+++ 

Scully found herself behind the wheel of a new Ford Taurus, the
familiar plastic Lariat Car Rentals key tag dangling from the
ignition.   

This was so familiar a situation that she could not even speculate
which case this was going to turn out to be until she felt another
car ram hers from behind.   

(*Oh, my God.  That's Donnie Pfaster!*)   

She had just enough time to feel all the same terror, to realize
what was about to happen when the Taurus was hit again.  Her car
slid sideways on the snow-covered road and slammed into a tree.   

Holding onto consciousness with sheer teeth-gritted determination,
and onto her service weapon with both hands, she waited.   

She heard the crunch of snow under the big man's feet, and her
muscles tightened up even a bit more.  Another step...another...   

The car door opened, and the necrophile's head and shoulders
blotted out the dim illumination of the street light.   

"Got you now, girly girl..." he breathed.   

She shoved her Sig Sauer into his face.  "Wrong."  She pulled the
trigger, and his face disappeared.   

Dana Scully sat up and got out of the car.  She walked up to the
body sprawled on its back on the street, her weapon at the ready. 
She nudged the nearer boot with her foot.  There was no response.  

"And may the Lord have mercy on your soul," she said softly.   

+++   

"Ssh...c'mon, Samantha...  It's okay.  I'm here, now.  I'll take
care of you, Samantha.  Ssh..."   

"It hurts, Fox, it hurts," she sobbed, still clutching at him. 
"Make it stop, Fox.  Make it stop!"   

Mulder closed his eyes, shuddering.  There was only one way to
save her from being consumed by the implanted alien.  But the idea
was so horrible that he could hardly believe that he was capable
of imagining it.   

(*But what other choice do I have?*) He moaned, hugging her more
tightly.   

"Fox, please," she whimpered.  "Please...  It hurts, Fox..."   

He freed his right hand, drew his Sig.   

"Hush, Samantha, hush.  I'll fix it.  I promise...  Shh..."   

Quickly, he used his left hand to cup the back of her skull,
pressed her face against his chest so he could not see her
expression.  He set the end of the Sig's cold steel barrel under
her chin.    

He took a deep breath.  "I love you, Sam."   

He squeezed his own eyes shut and squeezed the trigger.   

+++    

The snowy street was gone.  She was standing in a dark corridor. 
There were steam jets everywhere, and the metal and glass walls
around her made the smallest sound echo forever.   

She started, suddenly, as the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. 
She looked around, trying to locate it, and moved experimentally
to her right.   

She had only moved a few yards down the corridor when she entered
an area with enough illumination that she could see that the glass
inserts in the walls she was passing were transparent.  She froze
in absolute horror at the image of a teenage girl with short curly
red hair and wide blue eyes.  There was a tentacle of some kind
entering her wide-open mouth, and her hair drifted in the chilled
liquid, but she was not visibly breathing.   

Suddenly Scully could not breathe, either.  (*Oh, my God...this is
where Mulder found me!  This is the ship, the Antarctic ship!  Oh,
my God...!*)   

"Mulder!"  She shouted, she screamed his name.  But there was no
answer.   

(*He has to be here...why else am I here?!*) She started running.  

The place was huge, but she was only yards from him; he was around
the first corner.  What she saw there stopped her in her tracks.   

Mulder was kneeling on the decking, his Sig lying forgotten beside
him.  His arms were wrapped tightly around a child's nude body. 
Both he and the child were wet with blood and brain matter, for
the child's skull had exploded.  The floor around them and the 
weapon lying there were bloody, too.   

Mulder was rocking very slowly, his eyes were wide and blank.   

It did not take a rocket scientist to deduce what had happened
here.  All the capsules here contained people with well-developed
aliens visible within their bodies.  Mulder had found his sister
and freed her from her fate.   

Scully dashed to his side.  He was deep in shock, almost
catatonic.  It took strength she did not know she had to pry his
hands off the child's blood-soaked body.  She picked it up, saw
the unborn alien's  movements slowing, and felt an incongruous
surge of pity.   

(*Poor thing.*) But then she reminded herself that this was not
reality.  This was not a real thing, and this was not the real
Samantha Mulder's body, either.  She deposited the blood-soaked
body in the glass coffin.  Then she turned away, her thoughts once
more focusing on her partner.   

"Mulder?  Mulder?  C'mon, Mulder..."   

He was still frozen, still rocking infinitesimally.   

"Mulder.  It's me, Scully...  C'mon, Mulder...come back to me..."  

She continued to croon to him softly, moved closer, began to
stroke his face, smooth back his hair, ignoring the blood with all
the detachment that seven years of X Files related autopsies had
fostered.  She stood in front of him, gently cradled his face
against her body, talking softly.   

He shivered, finally, once: a bone-shaking shudder that wracked
him from head to foot.  She clutched at him when he flinched back. 
When he moved, looked up at her, they were in a hogan.   

Warm summer breezes, scented with sage and sheep, stirred the
dust.  The blanket that would have ordinarily covered the door was
missing.  Since the door of a hogan always faces east, they could
both see that dawn was not near.   

Mulder found himself kneeling on a pine bough pallet covered with
beautiful handmade Navajo rugs.  Scully stood before him, her
hands laced in his hair.  His hands came up and settled on her
waist, resting on her hipbones, pulling her closer.    

There was no blood, no rows of glass capsules.  Scully felt him
shudder again, felt him start to sink down, heard him start to
cry.   

She held him, silent but supportive, until he could get himself
back under some control.  Then she bent and kissed his forehead.   

"This is still the other plane, Mulder.  It was a test, not the
truth."   

"Oh, God, Scully..."  His voice was broken, harsh.   

"I know," she whispered.  "I saw.  Shh..."  She was still petting
him, smoothing his hair.  Suddenly he looked up at her, and she
could see something new shining in his eyes.     

They were both naked; the transition had taken their clothing,
this time.  The skin-on- skin contact suddenly registered, and she
suddenly knew what she wanted.  Moving slowly, watching his eyes
for the slightest hint that she had guessed wrong, she leaned down
slowly and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth.   

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. 

She relished that contact, leaned into him, kissed him again.     

He buried his face against her body for a long moment, and kissed
her, open-mouthed, just at the base of her sternum.  He looked up,
smiling faintly.   

"They took our clothes, this time.  Do you think they're trying to
give us ideas?"   

She grinned, and used her thumbs to wipe away the tears that still
stained his cheeks.   

"I'd be lying if I said I never had the idea on my own.  What
about you?"   

He rose off his haunches, staying on his knees, but now almost as
tall as she was where she stood.   

"I'd have to lie," he confirmed.   

Scully kissed him again, lightly.  "I learned a song for this. 
Listen--" She shifted from the spoken to the lilting chant-song
tone of Navajo music.  He held her, loosely, listening, his eyes
locked on hers.   

"I have a song and an offering  "In the midst of Blue Thunder am I
walking  "Now to the straight lightning would I go  "Along the
trail that the Rainbow covers  "For to the Big Snake, and to the
Blue Thunder  "Have I made offering  "Around me falls the white
rain  "And pleasant again will all become!"   

This time he kissed her, and she tried to sink deeper into him. 
He backed away, pulling her with him, without breaking the kiss,
until he was sitting with his back against the wall of the hogan. 
She was straddling him, moving against him slowly, rhythmically,
while he used lips and tongue and teeth against her breasts to
make her moan.   

Slowly she slid down his chest, kissing and nipping at his skin,
dragging her teeth over his nipples, making him gasp.   

"Want me to lie down, now?" she whispered reluctantly.  She liked
this so much...   

He growled.  "No.  We can do it like this."  He lifted his knees,
took her hands in his, braced his feet.  "Whenever you're
ready..."   

She took a deep breath.  She loved being on top, but had never
been offered the option so early in a relationship before.  She
put her weight on her knees, leaned forward and rubbed her
hardened nipples against his chest as she slid down those last few
inches, felt the impossibly soft contact as he touched her as
never before.  She inhaled and heard him gasp, too.   

He was physically very impressive, but she had long known that. 
Now she lowered herself slowly, feeling just a little unsteady
because he kept hold of her hands.  Slowly, very slowly, she
welcomed him into herself.    

When she settled against him, and they were finally joined, he
released her hands, reached up with his own to cradle her face,
pull her close enough to kiss.  Then he grabbed at the blankets,
wadding up a couple and stuffing them behind him to brace his
back.   

She leaned forward, and he shuddered.  "Move, Mulder."   

He grinned, and kissed her languorously.  "I don't have to move. 
Just think about this, Scully... this is me, hard inside you..." 
He moved to trail kisses down her throat.  "You're beautiful, and
I've been fantasizing about having you and tasting you and being
inside you for years..."   

She moaned and let her head fall back as her body began to rock
against his.  Her hands clutched at his arms and her body
tightened around him.      

He sucked in an extra lungful of air.   

She began to gasp as her lower body moved more quickly, harder
against him.   

He fastened his lips on one of her breasts, sucked it into his
mouth and let tongue and  teeth play against her hardened nipple
while his hand teased the other.   

She whimpered, and his free hand went to where they were joined,
pressed in exactly the right spot.  She sobbed, "Yesss.  Yesss. 
Yes.  Yes.  Yes!"  Her body went rigid and her back arched, then
she went limp, sagging against his chest, her hips still rocking
against him, striving to prolong the experience.  Finally she was
still.   

He stroked her hair back from her face, moving very slowly,
calming her.  Finally she looked up at him, kissed him.   

"You're even more beautiful when that happens to you," he said
very softly.  "I want to see it again."   

She was still trying to catch her breath, but her eyes widened
when she realized that he was still hard within her, waiting for
her.   

But before she could say anything, he kissed her, moved his hands
up her sides to flick her softened breasts with his thumbs until
the peaks hardened again.   

"I'm still here," he rumbled softly.  He bent his legs, offered
her his thighs to rest against.  She leaned back, and he smiled at
the way her breasts lifted with each breath.  His hands stroked
her slowly, his fingers acquainting themselves with every dip and
wrinkle, every soft spot and every scar, all over again.   

Her back arched, pushing her belly up into his touch.  He bent and
kissed her there, using his tongue to trace a line up her body to
her heart.   

"I love you..."  His tongue caught on her name, and he stumbled
into silence.   

"Dana," she smiled softly.  She leaned forward to kiss him.  "I
love you, too, Fox."   

He blinked.  "You have no idea how much that scares me."   

"That I love you?" she was puzzled.  "Why should that scare you?"  

He shook his head.  "That you called me Fox."   

"Why?  It is your name."  She settled against him, draping her
arms over his shoulders, staying close.   

He snuggled close, rested his forehead on her shoulder.  "I'm not
used to hearing it from someone who loves me.  Usually the
sentence, 'I love you, Fox,' is an out-and-out lie, spoken to
deceive and hurt."   

She laced her fingers through his hair.  "No one else will ever
hear me say it," she promised.  "But it is the truth, now and
forever: I love you, Fox."   

He lifted his head and kissed her desperately; she saw the tears
in his eyes and kissed him back hard.  His hand moved to stroke
her just so, collecting some of her slickness and spreading it
where he needed it.  He held the kiss until she came again,
shuddering, rocking against him hard, her fingernails digging into
his back.   

As she recovered she realized that he was still hot and hard deep
within her, showing no signs of losing control any time soon.   

"How are you doing that?" she demanded breathlessly.   

"I don't know," he admitted.  "Having too good a time just
watching you, I guess..."   

She deliberately tightened her grip on him, and he gasped, leaned
forward and captured her breast in his teeth again.  He did begin
rocking her, then; not thrusting hard, but just moving against her
slowly, lazily, as if he had all the time in the world.  She
shuddered as another orgasm wracked her, dropped her limp against
him.   

"You're wearin' me out, here," she growled playfully, nibbling on
his ear.   

"Complaining?"   

"Who, me?"   

"You.  You don't have to move; can't you feel it?"   

She considered; his voice was breathless, and his eyes had long
since gone dark with lust.  She draped herself over him and closed
her eyes, concentrating on the sensation of him deep within her,
his arms strong around her.   

"God...I'm floating..."   

"Keep your eyes closed..." he murmured, moving only a little,
watching how she gasped when he thrust against her, and how she
sighed when he withdrew.  She picked up his rhythm, tightening
around him as he withdrew, and relaxing to let him all the way in
when he came up to meet her.    

The world was spinning and she clutched desperately at him, trying
not to be flung aside by the force beneath her that was rocking
her head on her shoulders.  His arms were around her, his hands
slid up on her shoulder blades to lock on her shoulders, pulling
her down against him as he thrust up into her harder and harder. 
Her hands clawed at his back, drawing blood across the welts she
had left earlier.   

Neither could understand what words the other gasped when she felt
him finally begin to move hard against her, finally seeking to
share this experience with her.  She found enthusiasm where she
had believed all she had left was weariness.     

This time, however, he was not just playing her body like a
musical instrument.  This time it was his body thrusting upward
into her, rocking her hard, till her head snapped back from the
force of his need.  This time it was clashing teeth and bites that
drew blood from pale skin.  This time it was bruises on her upper
arms from his fingers digging in, and claw marks on his back from
her fingernails as they strove to get closer to one another.   

This time it was energy rising around them like water, both of
them rising with it, until they both exploded in completion.  They
collapsed against one another and held on as a stranger's voice
intruded on them.   

It was a man's voice, sonorous and calm, chanting in Navajo.   

"First World joins to Fourth World-- 
"'Altse' Hastiin and 'Altse' 'Asdza'a'-- 
"First of Created Beings  
"Abalone and Jet joins Coral and Turquoise  
"North and South joins East and West  
"Monster Slayer and Born-For-Water  
"Reunited  
"Now the Heroes are one, the Circle complete  
"Lovers again, companions forever - 
"Souls mated on every plane, in every life  
"Hozhoo is restored, Chaos banished  
"What the Holy People have created  
"Let no mortal act divide."   

Still entwined, they stared at one another, and they both saw the
Universe |shift|.   

Another hogan, very much the same as the first.  But now Scully
was wearing a white doeskin dress, and white doeskin leggings lay
discarded beside the pallet upon which they sat.  He was still
buried deep within her, and as they inhaled the delicious scents
of incense cedar and sage, he moved beneath her suggestively.  She
threw her arms around him, buried her face against his neck, and
let her body clutch at him, move with him.     

They were both tired, now, and each marveled that the other could
move at all, after such exertion.  But friction and contact and
proximity, taste and smell and the sound of gasps and moans was
enough.  He pushed the dress aside to kiss her breasts, and she
rocked against him.   

+++   

The yei dancers were dancing the last dance.  The ninth night was
ending.  Emma looked up, tired, seeing the first faint hint of
false dawn over Tsisnaasjini' in the east.  Soon she would be free
to go inside the hogan and help the couple recover from their days
of trancework.  She walked over to stand by the curtained doorway. 
There had been no sound from within for nearly five days, now.   

A rumble of thunder shocked everyone.  This was The Time When
Thunder Sleeps; the Night Chant could not be sung in storm season. 
Frightened, the dancers looked up at the clear, starlit sky.  The
thunder rumbled again, louder.  A flash of light blinded everyone,
and the earsplitting crack of the bolt striking down stunned
everyone.    

Emma pushed herself up off the ground, dazed, blinking
consciousness back into her mind.  She looked up at the hogan, and
gasped in horror.    

The roof was on fire.  "The hogan's burning!  The hogan's
burning!"   

"Jesus--!"   

Skinner and Frohike dashed forward, being closer than the others. 
But flames drove them back, and smoke swirled around them, driving
Frohike to his knees, coughing hard.  Skinner managed to keep his
feet, yanking his tee shirt up over his face to filter the smoke. 
He tried to get to the doorway again, but was beaten back by the
oven-like heat.   

Thunder rumbled again.  The fire vanished.  The witnesses stared
at the hogan, totally undamaged.  Stunned, Frohike did not even
try to get up off his knees.  He could only stare, along with
everyone else, as the curtain was pulled aside, and a white-clad
figure stepped out.   

It was Scully, haloed in light from the sun dawning before her,
turning her from a pale silvery figure to a woman of gold.  The
white doeskin dress was immaculate, but her legs were bare.  One
hand trailed behind her, and she tugged Mulder out into the light. 
  
Dawn limned him with gold, too.  He blinked at the light, lifting
his free hand to shield his eyes.  He was bare-chested, wearing
nothing but the white doeskin leggings he had found beside the
pallet.   

They stopped, realizing that there were dozens of people staring
at them.  They traded nervous glances, and then Scully relaxed as
she recognized the two who were approaching.    

"Emma, Albert's daughter," she explained hurriedly, almost
whispering.  "Richard Tsosie is the hataali in charge of this
rite."   

Mulder watched warily as the two Navajo emerged from the gawking
audience.  He did not know these people.  He tightened his grip on
her hand.   

Richard was closer, but he waited for Emma, and they approached
together.  As they did, Richard lifted a hand and spoke calmly.   

"Now you will feel no rain 
     for each of you will be shelter for the other  
"Now you will feel no cold 
     for each of you will be warmth for the other  
"Now there is no more loneliness  
"Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you.
"May your days together be good and long upon the earth."   

Scully cocked her head.  "What was that?" she asked when he had
finished.   

"Marriage blessing," he grinned.   

Mulder and Scully traded glances again.  "Why?" Mulder asked, his
wariness more pronounced.   "We aren't married."   

"Aren't you?" Richard asked calmly.  "Your bond has been
sanctified by The Holy People on every level; you are joined until
the end of time.  How much more married do you want to be?"   

They traded shy smiles, this time, and then Mulder looked him
squarely in the eye.  "We're still new to this, hataali," he said
calmly.  "We did not mean to offend."   

Richard shook his head.  "Your presence among us blesses us, Ma'e,
Tsin-tliti."     

Mulder frowned, and lifted his free hand to rub at his eyes. 
"What did you call me?"   

"Ma'e."  Richard shrugged.  "Fox.  'Dana' doesn't translate;
Tsin-tliti means 'match.'"   

It was Scully's turn to frown.  "'Match?'"   

Richard grinned at her.  "You know: little sliver of wood that's
got a red top, starts fires, burns down anything that gets in its
way?"   

Scully had no idea how to react to that, but Mulder chuckled. 
Then he swayed, and started to fall.  Skinner, just a few steps
away, caught him, supported him as he sank to his knees.     

"Mulder?!"   

Scully knelt beside him as he landed on his knees, trying not to
lean on their supervisor or fall forward onto all fours.   

"Mulder?"   

He was very pale, swaying just a little even though Skinner was
still holding him.   

"Scully?"  Skinner looked up at her, frightened.   

"He's dehydrated and half-starved," was her verdict.  Mulder
looked up at her, and their eyes met.  "He's exhausted..."   

Skinner saw her blush, and had a moment to wonder at that; he did
not think he had ever seen her embarrassed by anything ever
before.  Then he noticed something no one else had.   

"Scully?  Look at his arms!"   

Scully looked, and gasped in amazement.  Mulder just looked
confused.   

"What?"   

The fresh cuts on his forearms were totally healed.  The scars
were there, but they were faded almost to invisibility.   

"What?"  Mulder repeated, not understanding.   

Scully traced the letters on his wrist.  "These were fresh at the
beginning of the ritual," she explained softly.  "That was only
nine days."   

He looked, and had to look closely to see the faint marks.  "How
did that happen?" he asked, puzzled.   

"You did it to yourself," Scully told him.   

He looked at her, as if he doubted her for a moment.  But she was
serious, and he frowned in concentration.  "'Monster Slayer.'" He
looked up at her.  "'Monster Slayer.'"   

"Yeah.  Over and over..."   

He was plainly exhausted, physically wrung out by his weeks-long
ordeal.  But he put out his hands, cradled her face in his palms,
studied her face.   

"'Ach'ooni,'" he whispered, and he kissed her lightly on the lips. 
'Friend-closer-than-a-sibling.'   

With an unmistakable gesture of benediction, Richard put one hand
on each of their heads.   

"Beauty is around us; these two walk in Beauty  
"Truth is around us; these two walk in Beauty  
"Love is around us; these two walk in Beauty-- 
"Beauty is around us; these two walk in Beauty."   

"Amen," Frohike muttered from behind Skinner, where he had been
lurking.   

Richard threw him a smile.  "Exactly, my friend.  Exactly."  Then
he lifted his hands and turned to the crowd.  He rattled something
off in Navajo too quickly for them to understand.  Eric and
another young man emerged from the crowd and deliberately set the
hogan on fire.   

Mulder, sitting on the ground, gently pulled Scully closer,
wrapped his arms around her.  He needed that sense of security. 
She settled comfortably against him, relishing his calm breathing
and the warmth of his arms around her.    

The hataali saw that they did not understand, and explained. 
"When one of the Dineh dies, the body is not taken out by the
door--we cut an opening in the wall, and remove the body through
that.  Then we burn the hogan so that the dead person's chindi has
no anchor here and will not stay to cause mischief or suffering."  

"What died in that hogan?" Scully asked nervously.   

Richard studied the pair.  "Your old life, Tsin-tliti, and yours,
Ma'e.  You are reborn anew, here, ready to go forward.  The past
is behind you now; it longer retains the power to wound you, to
hang on your bow arm, to drag at your horse's hooves.  Go forth
now, strengthened.  Nothing mortal can defeat you now."   

+++   

And months later, alone and bereft, Dana Scully made a trip back
to the reservation, camping out near the site of the burned-out
hogan, sitting up late at night watching the stars rise above
Tsisnaasjini in the east.   

"I found you here once before," she whispered.  "Can I find you
again, Ma'e?"   

In the distance she heard the chant begin.   

"Beauty is around us; these two walk in Beauty  
"Truth is around us; these two walk in Beauty  
"Love is around us; these two walk in Beauty-- 
"Beauty is around us; these two walk in Beauty..." 


the end