Title: THE CASE OF THE RELUCTANT PATHOLOGIST
Author: aka "Jake"
Rating: PG-13 (Language, Adult Situations) 
Classification: MSR, X
Spoilers: Quotes from Christmas Carol, The Red and the Black, One Breath, and The Unnatural; vague references to other episodes through season 7. 
Summary: Ever hear the X-File about the Rabbit-Man of Arizona? No? Well, get dressed in your comfiest PJs, make a nice cup of Sleepytime tea, and let me tell you a little bedtime story...

Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, The Lone Gunmen, Alex Krycek, CGB Spender, Margaret Scully, Charlie Scully and Bill Scully, Jr. and Sr., are the property of Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit.


THE CASE OF THE RELUCTANT PATHOLOGIST
By aka "Jake"


^^"Dana, where is it? Where is that rabbit?"^^  

^^"I'm not telling."^^  

^^"I'm going to find that rabbit and cook it. I'm going to turn it into stew."^^  

^^"No you're not!"^^  

^^"Rabbit stew, here I go."^^ 

^^"You're not going to find him, Bill!"^^

Dana was just a little girl when her pet rabbit died. To say that her pet's death took her by surprise wouldn't tell the half of it. You see, when Dana tried to hide her rabbit from her older brother Bill, she shut it in her lunchbox without food or water or air where it eventually died and was devoured by maggots. What a shock it must have been to open her secret hiding place only to learn that love and death are separated by a mere moment of innocent neglect. 

Did the death of her beloved pet have any long-lasting effects on Dana?

Well...

Twenty-eight years later on a December day in 1997 when Dana Scully petitioned the state of California to adopt little Emily Sim, she told Susan Chambliss, the San Diego County Adoption Agent, "Ever since I was a child, I've never allowed myself to get too close to people. I've avoided emotional attachment. Perhaps I've been so afraid of death and dying that any connection just seemed like a bad thing...something that wouldn't last. But...I don't feel that anymore." 

Oh, really?

--------------------


PROLOGUE

Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it. -- Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

--------------------
Stakeout
2:21 AM

"Mulder, talk to me. Tell me a story." 

"Excuse me?"

"We've been sitting in this car for more than six hours and I'm about to fall asleep. Unless you want to hear me snore, start talking -- either sing me a song or tell me a story or...or *some*thing."

Sing a song? Not on your life. Although, Springstein's 'Redheaded Woman'... 

No. Perhaps a story. I could do a story. Several possible tales run through my head. Most of them based on past or current cases.

"And make it interesting," she adds.

Well, here's the rub. What Scully considers interesting and what I consider interesting are two diametrically opposed and mutually exclusive things. *My* favorite stories contain triple X ratings or titles like the World's Most Incredible Something-or-Other. Scully tends toward medical monographs -- anything from the latest research on genetically altered rat skin to studies about the mating habits of drosophilae melanogaster. Even so, I feel up to the challenge and am pretty sure I can come up with something that'll hold both of our attentions.

"Once upon a time--"

"I said a story, Mulder, not a fairytale."

"This is a *true* story," I insist.

"Then it happened on a specific day at a specific time. I want details. Don't skip over the facts."

"Fine. Tuesday, September 18, 8:23 AM..."

"That's six hours from now, Mulder."

"Yes, it is."

"Then how is it a true story?"

"It just is. On that day--"

"Mulder--"

"Just go with it, Scully. On that day, at that time, a dedicated young man was toiling away in his underground office, solving the mysteries of--"

"Hell? This story is about Hell?"

"Huh?"

"You said this dedicated man was toiling away in Hell?"

"Some people might define it that way, Scully, but I said 'underground,' not 'underworld.'"

"Oh. Sorry. Go on."

"Anyway, this dedicated young man--"

"How young?" She arches an inquiring eyebrow.

"Young enough. May I continue?"

She lifts a palm indicating I should resume my story.

"As I was saying, the dedicated man -- whom *many* would consider young -- was working diligently to unravel the mystery of the enigmatic Rabbit-Man of Arizona." 

"Rabbit-Man?"

"Mm hm."

"Are you certain this is a *true* story?"

"Absolutely. It all started..."

*          *          *

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic jam over at Dupont Circle." Scully draped her coat over--

**"I'm in this story?"**

**"Naturally."**

**"I'm not sure I want to be in the story."**

**"It's far too late for that, Scully."**

Scully draped her coat over the back of her chair and tried to decipher the blurry image in the slide Mulder was projecting onto the wall. Although his screen had vanished more than a year ago -- and he suspected Scully played a pivotal role in its disappearance -- he found the wall suited his needs just fine. 

**"Mulder, I didn't take your projector screen."**

**"Whatever. Now shush."**

"What am I looking at?" she asked, tipping her head first to one side then the other, trying to bring the image into focus.

"The Rabbit-Man of Arizona," he said, thinking the creature was so obvious you'd have to be blind -- or perhaps unwilling -- not to see it. 

"The rabbit...?" She scowled, no doubt hoping to discourage any further discussion on the subject. What she didn't realize, of course, was that her expression of disbelief only fueled his fire. He lived for those pursed lips of hers.

**"You do?"**

**"Scully, the story isn't about you and me, per se. I'm applying a liberal dose of artistic license in order to keep it interesting."**

"The Rabbit-Man," he told her once more, although he was absolutely certain she'd heard him the first time. "Of Arizona," he clarified. Wouldn't want her to confuse *this* rabbit-man with any others.

"It's nothing but a blur, Mulder." She dropped into the nearest chair while he flipped to the next slide. 

Okay, this one was a blur, too, but if a person were to look really closely at it... He found himself squinting. Had he put the slide in upside down? He moved ahead to the next slide. Ah ha! *This* one was crystal clear.

"Those are worms, Mulder, not rabbits."

"Right. But the worms and the Rabbit-*Man*," he emphasized the humanizing suffix, "they're connected. Take a look at this." He passed her a printout of an email he'd received several days ago.

-----Original Message-----
From: THalp202@aol.com
Sent: Monday, Sept 17, 2000 6:34 AM
To: cooperativeextension@uaext.ariz.edu
Subject: Question about black worms

Hello Arizona Extension Service: Please don't think I'm crazy but I need to ask a question about some worms. First of all, they are black and if stepped on they sound crunchy and every night they are crawling on my trailer. Plus they ate my dog. Can you tell me what they are? Thanks in advance and until I hear from you, I'm going to keep trying to find out what these things are and, more importantly, *why* they are here.  --Terry

"*Why* they are here?" She punctuated the question with a snort of laughter.

**"I never 'snort', Mulder."**

**"Yes you do, but that's another story and I'll leave it for our next stakeout. For now..."** 

Skeptical as always, Scully handed the email back to Mulder. "Terry wasn't recently released from a mental institution, was he?" 

"No. And there's more."

Despite the fact that her partner is right like 98.9 percent of the time, Scully raised a suspicious eyebrow and waited with thinly veiled impatience for Mulder's explanation.

**"Mulder, I'm not sure I like the way I'm being portrayed in this story of yours."** 

**"I told you, the story isn't about us, per se."** 

**"What exactly do you mean by 'per se'?"** 

**"I mean the story is based on a true account of something that hasn't in fact happened -- yet. But it will. In the meantime, I'm embellishing."** 

**"I'd appreciate less embellishment, if you don't mind."**

Fine. 

Scully raised an inquiring eyebrow. Ordinarily Mulder would have responded to her curiosity by explaining how much he needed her on the case, that together they were the perfect team, and that her scientific approach seamlessly complemented his own intuitive, albeit less rigorous, style. Not to mention the fact that her questioning nature kept him on his toes and without her he was nothing. Less than nothing. Zero minus infinity. *And* that he thought she was intoxicatingly, stunningly beautiful at 8:36 in the morning -- so much so that all he wanted to do was reach over and-- Never mind. We're not embellishing anymore. 

**"Very funny, Mulder."**

"That note," he said and nodded at the email, "was sent to the University of Arizona Cooperative Extension's Pest Management office. A county Extension agent was dispatched to investigate. He disappeared the same day."

"Disappeared? He left no clues?"

"Nothing but a puddle of sticky slime about three feet wide and an inch or two deep."

"Did anyone analyze the slime?"

"Yes they did. It turned out to be nothing more than that disgusting goo that slugs leave behind when they slither from one place to another."

"That must have been one big slug."

"Or a whole bunch of little ones."

"I thought you said the worms crunched when they were stepped on. Slugs don't normally crunch, do they?"

"I didn't say they crunched; Terry the E-Mailer said that. I said the only thing the local sheriff found was the puddle of slime."

"How do they know Mr. Extension Agent was anywhere near the slime?"

"Because they found his clothes and his camera in the puddle of goo. When they developed the film in the camera, they discovered this." He passed her his piece de resistance -- a photograph of Rabbit-Man. Unmistakably in focus.

"Humph," she said. 

Although she was trying to remain unconvinced, he could see that the photo had impressed her. How could it not? It was one of the most bizarre pictures he'd ever seen and he'd seen a lot. But this guy...thing...took the cake. At about six-two, not counting the ears, which were at least 18 or 20 inches long...high...whatever, the Rabbit-Man was skinny, hairy, and whiskered. Not whiskered in the sense that he hadn't shaved that morning but whiskered like a cat or a mouse or, well, a rabbit. His upper lip was bifurcated, showing two toothy incisors in desperate need of orthodontia to correct a pronounced overbite. And it...he...was staring directly into the camera lens like a...uh, rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. 

"Impressive, huh?" he asked.

"Mulder, he's wearing a waistcoat and a pocket watch."

"I noticed that. Did you see the little spectacles balanced on his nose?" He tapped the photo, pointing them out.

"Mmm. Isn't it likely this 'rabbit-man' is simply a man dressed in a rabbit suit?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Costume party? Kid's birthday? Kinky sex? Any of which is certainly a more plausible explanation than a Dr. Moreauesque human/leporidae genetic experiment gone awry."

"I was thinking more along the lines of lycanthropes -- humans that transform into animal forms. You know, like wanshang dholes or were-rabbits."

"Were-rabbits? You mean like the wolves?"

"Right, only less baying at the moon."

"Oh, brother. Why do I get the feeling we're flying to Arizona later today, Mulder?"

"Not later. Right now." He yanked two plane tickets from his breast pocket and slapped them down next to the still humming projector, which caused the slide to jump in its slot and the worms on the screen to appear as if they'd come to life. Scully watched until they ceased their creepy-crawling.

"Let's go," she said, resigning herself to the inevitable. 

**"Are you comfortable, Scully? This might be a long story."**

**"How long?"**

**"Epic proportions."**

**"I'm comfortable."**

--------------------


PART I: GETTING THERE

Before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" -- Alice in Wonderland

--------------------
South Central Arizona
12:48 PM

Their destination was Hideout, Arizona, a small town 120 miles West-south-west of Phoenix. That's a left turn at Buckeye, a right at Gila Bend, and then pretty much a straight shot to the foothills of the Painted Rock Mountains. More or less. Word of warning though: if you find yourself in Yuma, you missed your turn. Lot's of people do. Lots and lots of people, although we'll name no names since Hideout is located in a section of the state that isn't even included in the seven geographic regions of the Official Arizona Guide. Obviously, the town's not much of a tourist stop; for whatever reason, most people prefer to visit the Grand Canyon.

"Hideout. Appropriately named, wouldn't you say, Scully?" Mulder asked. Searching for a decent radio station, not to mention their final destination, he fiddled with the car's radio as he drove. They hadn't picked up anything but preacher shows and static over the empty Arizona airwaves since leaving the greater Phoenix area. 

"There it is," Scully announced, pointing up ahead to Terrance Halpern's silver trailer, gleaming like a crown jewel in the necklace of polished hubcaps that surrounded his tiny yard. Next to the mobile home's front door, a large sign proclaimed 'BEWARE OF DOG' in square red letters, although there was no dog to be seen. Even through the car's dusty windshield, they could make out the empty dog collar lying on the ground attached to the trailer by a ten-foot length of vinyl-coated aircraft cable. 

Must've been a big dog. 

Pulling into the drive, Mulder parked and stepped from the car. A gust of breath-robbing heat convinced him to leave his jacket behind. Instantly his shirt was drenched with sweat and it flapped against his skin like a flag of surrender in the searing wind. Sand scoured the desert air in miniature tornadoes and Mulder's tie waved a frantic goodbye to the cool interior of the air-conditioned car. Scully exited the car and stood slightly behind him, using him as a shield against the blowing sand and the blistering sun. Together, they crossed to the trailer's dented front door. 

"There's no place like home, Scully," he said, poised on the cinderblock that served as a front step. A rap on the sun-baked tin scorched his knuckles and he shook the heat from his fingers while he waited for Mr. Halpern to answer the door. 

"Who is it?" asked a thickly bicepped man with a bald, spit-polished head when he swung open the door.

"Skinner?" asked Mulder?

"Skinner?" Scully said at the same time.

"Huh?" The man-who-looked-like-Skinner appeared nearly as confused as the two agents felt.

"Sorry. It's just...you look a lot like someone we know...uh, sir. I'm Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner Dana Scully. Are you Terry Halpern?" Mulder lifted his badge to the man's narrowed eyes.

"I am." Halpern adjusted his glasses.

"Mr. Halpern, did you send an email to the University of Arizona Cooperative Extension requesting some information about black worms?"

"I did. Took yer time gettin' here, din'cha? Ya' must be real busy up t'the University."

"Mr. Halpern, we're not from the Extension office. We're from the FBI." He raised his badge once more.

"Oh! When you said agents, I thought you meant..." Terry Halpern's eyes widened behind his lenses and he glanced nervously from Mulder's badge to the trailer. "Um, I throwed out all them marijuana plants last spring, jus' like my parole officer tol' me to."

"We're...uh, we're not here about that, sir. We're here about the worms. Can you tell us anything about them?"

"Sure. C'mon inside where it's a mite cooler." He urged them forward with a wave of his hand.

Mulder hooked a thumb at the BEWARE OF DOG sign and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, dog's dead." Halpern's voice quavered with watery grief. "Worms got him." Blinking back tears, he led the agents inside to where an ancient air conditioner labored to cool the stifling trailer, lowering the temperature by only a mere degree or two. "Have a seat." Terry gestured toward a couple of chairs piled high with Mercenary Men magazines. "Care fer a Bud?" he offered, apparently recovered from his sudden but transitory rush of grief.

"No, thank you, Mr. Halpern. We'd just like a little more information about the worms, if you don't mind."

"Well the worms, they come out ever' night. Millions of 'em, slitherin' up the sides of my trailer. Creepier'n hell."

"Yes, I can imagine. Mr. Halpern, how long has this been going on?"

"Weeks. Mebbe a month'r more. What's really p'culiar 'bout 'em is that by mornin', the worms ain't nothin' but shells. All holler an' brittle. An' black. Nothin' inside 'em at all. The wind jes' blows their shells away 'til there ain't nothin' left. 'Ceptin' the goo, a'course."

"Tell us about the goo."

"That damn slop is ever'where they go. Zigzaggin' all over my trailer and truck. Puddles in the drive. Sticky as hell. Uh, Agent Mulder? Whaddaya' s'pose it all means?"

"I don't know, Mr. Halpern. Do you think it means something?"

"Yep, I do. Means trouble with a capital T-R-U-B-U-L." Halpern crossed to his refrigerator, opened the door, and grabbed two beers. "Ya' sure I cain't offer ya' a beer?" He extended a can to Mulder. When Mulder shook his head, the brawny man opened both cans anyway and quickly downed one brew after the other. Crumpling the empties in his fists, he tossed them into the overflowing trash bin in the corner. "I already tol' everythin' I know to that other feller. The dead Extension agent. Was he a friend of yers?" 

"No, sir. Like I said, we're from the FBI. Mr. Halpern, the Extension agent's body was never found. What makes you so sure he's dead?"

"Well, he must be. He ain't showed up a'gin, has he? I think the worms ate him. Jus' like they ate my dog."

"The worms ate your dog?"

"Yes sir. Poor Blue was tied outside the first night the worms come. Next mornin' I found nothin' but his collar and his favorite chew bone floatin' in a slew of goo. Man, I loved that dog. Just about broke my heart to lose him. Damn worms. I gotta believe if them worms can eat a 120-pound Bull Mastiff then they can pro'bly eat a man, too. Anyways, ya always see them jeesly li'l things chawin' on rotted carcasses."

"Are you referring to maggots, Mr. Halpern?" Scully asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Damn jeesly, dog-eatin,' creepy-crawly maggots. Makes my skin itch jus' thinkin' 'bout 'em." As if to prove his disgust, Halpern opened the refrigerator door once more and yanked another can of beer from the shelf. He didn't stop to offer this one to the agents, but popped the lid and drained the entire twelve ounces down his throat without taking a breath. "Ya' gonna find out where they're comin' from, Mr. Mulder, Ms. Scully? Think ya' can stop 'em 'fore they take any more lives?" Halpern belched.

"We're going to try, Mr. Halpern. Would you mind showing us where the Extension agent disappeared?" Mulder asked.

"Me? Um...I dunno." Halpern's fingers twitched with panicky spasms, causing the veins in his arms to bulge from his wrists to his muscled shoulders. The beer can snapped and buckled in his fist. "S'pose I could draw yer a map," he offered and pulled the nub of a pencil from an old Dunkin Donuts travel mug that sat beside the phone. Tearing the back cover from the August edition of Mercenary Men, he sketched a simple diagram. "There's a cave 'bout four miles from here, Mr. Mulder. Just a crack in the rocks, s'all it is. The Extension feller was found jus' outside the hole. Well, least ways they found his clothes. An' his camera."

"Speaking of which, have you ever seen anything like this before?" Mulder withdrew the photo of the rabbit-man from his pocket and showed it to Halpern.

"No, sir. Least ways, not dressed in no glasses nor pocket watch. Although, I seen a steer wearin' a ten-gallon hat one'st."

"Where was that?"

"Nam." Halpern handed the map to Mulder.

"Thank you for the directions, Mr. Halpern." Scully tilted her head toward the door. "Mulder? Shall we...?"

Leaving Halpern in the kitchen popping the top off yet another can of beer, Scully led Mulder out of the trailer into the bright noonday sun where the two agents stood for a moment blinking at the intense light and wide open spaces like twin Punxsutawney Phils emerging from their holes on February second. 

"Let's go, Mulder."

Scully bee-lined to the rental car, missing the fact that she'd left Mulder crouching at the trailer's cinderblock step scraping a gooey sample from the dog's empty collar into an evidence bag. It wasn't until she discovered the car was locked and turned for the keys that she saw him squatting on the ground, sealing the bag. With a roll of her eyes, she returned to his side to stare down at the crown of his head while he examined the surrounding yard. 

Dry soil. Not a blade of grass, not a green weed of any kind sprouted from the burnt terrain.

"No blood, Scully. If the worms ate the dog, wouldn't there be at least a drop or two?"

"It's been weeks since the dog disappeared, Mulder. Maybe the blowing sand covered any trace of blood."

"Maybe."

"Or maybe Mr. Halpern simply doesn't have his story straight."

"What do you mean?" Mulder rose.

"That he was drunk or on drugs or deranged. Possibly all three."

"Why do you say that?" 

"Mulder, he claims he saw a cow in Viet Nam wearing a cowboy hat."

"Maybe they have rodeos there."

"Or maybe he was high. As for his killer worms, they're probably nothing more than mundane maggots."

"I don't think so, Scully. What would make maggots turn black and since when do they leave a sticky residue like slugs?" He waved the evidence bag. "And what would draw them out into the Arizona desert and why only at night?"

"Maybe they come out only at night because they'd burn up in the daylight." She mopped a trickle of sweat from her brow.

"Vampire maggots?" he asked with hope. "Or maybe you're thinking spontaneous combustion?"

"Neither, Mulder. Maggots did not eat Terry Halpern's dog or the Extension agent. Human and animal myiasis -- the condition where flies deposit eggs in wounds and the resulting maggots that feed on the surrounding necrotic tissue -- is almost unheard of in the western hemisphere. Yes, cattle grubs occasionally attack men and horses, burrowing into the skin. And sheep and horse head maggots are in the same family as cattle grubs, and will sometimes take up residence in the nose of the host. Again, humans are not usually targeted, but infestations of the nose and eyes have been reported."

"Ugh, Scully, please."

"Well, it's true. And maggots have been known to make their way into the intestinal tract of humans, surviving long enough to cause clinical symptoms. Referred to as pseudomyiasis, infestation is usually from the ingestion of food containing fly eggs, or from flies laying eggs near the victims anus--"

"Stop!" he begged. "I'm a smidge sensitive about bugs infesting humans, you know."

"Mulder, the tobacco beetles we vacuumed from your lungs never ate your tissue. You may have been in danger from suffocation, but not from being digested."

"That's a comforting distinction." He cleared his throat a couple of times, certain the crawly sensation in his windpipe was caused by an overlooked larva or two. "I hate bugs, Scully."

"Well, who likes them, Mulder? I myself have detested maggots ever since--" She stopped.

"Ever since...?"

"Never mind. It's not important. Let's check out the cave so we can prove this rabbit-man of yours doesn't exist and we can go home."  

--------------------    


PART II: GOING IN

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything. -- Alice in Wonderland

--------------------

Even from a distance of a quarter mile, Mulder and Scully could see the rabbit-man pacing back and forth in front of an outcrop of rock. Shimmering like a mirage in the desert heat, the amazing lycanthrope glared in their direction as he marched to and fro, watching their car draw closer and closer and periodically checking his pocket watch. His long ears twitched with apparent impatience. 

"I don't believe it," Scully said, staring at the rabbit-man.

"Seeing is believing, Scully. Do you think he can speak?" Mulder asked as he parked the car at a distance of about ten yards. He rolled down his window and shouted, "Hellooo!" causing the strange animal to blink twice, flick its ears, and then disappear into a crevice in the rock.

"I think you scared him, Mulder."

"Or maybe 'hello' is an insult in rabbitmanese."

"There is no such language. Are we going to follow him?"

Already out of the car, Mulder jogged to the low outcropping where only a small patch of rock exposed its worn face to the elements. Like a thirsty man in need of a life-saving drink of water, the stone's parched lips opened from the depths of the desert to reveal a narrow cave that led down more than in. Mulder paused at the opening to beckon Scully out of the car with a wave of his hand.

Scully frowned but vacated her seat and headed toward him. By the time she reached his side, he was down on hands and knees with his head thrust into the mouth of the tiny cave. 

"Can you see him?" she asked.

"Candseeuhthin," he mumbled, his small flashlight gripped between his teeth and aimed into the dark hole. Withdrawing his head from the cave, he removed the flashlight to grin at Scully. "We're going after him," he announced.

"Mulder, we're not prepared...we didn't bring any food or water or...cave stuff."

"Cave stuff?"

"Ropes, flashlights, compasses."

"I've got a flashlight." He waggled the little light at her. "Besides, we have our cell phones in case we get into any real trouble. Come on."

"Mulder, let's think this through. Neither one of us has any experience spelunking."

"I'm impressed you know the word. Besides, I visited Carlsbad Caverns when I was nine. How different can it be?"

"Mulder, Carlsbad is a National Park with thousands of visitors, park ranger guides, and wheelchair accessible trails. We're out here all alone. This is foolhardy."

"But free. Costs six bucks apiece to get into Carlsbad. Come on." He tugged her sleeve.

"I thought you were once a Boy Scout, Mulder. Whatever happened to the motto 'be prepared'?"

"I was an Indian Guide, not a Boy Scout. Big difference. Our motto was 'follow the rabbit-man.' Come on." He stuck his head back into the cave.

"Mulder, I'd prefer to have a well-thought-out plan before we wander aimlessly around a pitch dark hole."

"Story of your life, Scully. No time, though." He squeezed his shoulders through the narrow opening and slithered inside. "Come on," his voice echoed back to her.

"Mul..." She dropped to her knees and crawled in after him. "Mulder?" 

The cave was pitch-dark. She probed the air with a searching hand. 

"Mulder, where the hell are you?"

"RAAAHHH!" he roared, flashing his light beneath his chin and making her scream.

"Jesus Christ, Mulder! That's not funny!"

"Sorry. You should've seen your face though," he chuckled.

"Sometimes I think I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't." He kissed her nose.

"Don't touch me."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

"You don't." He kissed her again, this time on the lips. She lightly kissed him back. "See?" he said.

"Are we going to explore this cave or not?"

"I knew you'd come around. The rabbit-man went this way. I think." Mulder stuck the light back in his mouth and began crawling on all fours through the narrow passage.

The path sloped steeply and steadily downward and as they descended, Mulder's flashlight set the cave's walls ablaze with a fireworks display of eye-popping glitter and glitz. The light flickered across brassy nodules and metallic crystals and each glassy surface reflected a miniature mirror image of the two agents, chasing their phantom rabbit on hands and knees. Hundreds of Mulders and hundreds of Scullys inching through hundreds of sequined tunnels hunting hundreds of long-eared enigmas, ad infinitum, guided by little more than faith and hope and a thirst for the truth.

Mulder paused to remove the flashlight from his mouth.

"What is it, Mulder? Do you see the rabbit-man?"

"Imagine being a fly on this wall, Scully. How weird would that be?" He gazed up at the faceted reflection overhead. Multiple Mulders and multiple Scullys stared back at him as if he peered through an insect's compound eyes. "Help meeeeee!" he called out in a high-pitched voice.

"Mulder..."

He popped the flashlight back in his mouth and continued forward on hands and knees. 

That was when the floor dropped out from under them. Or to be more accurate, they inadvertently crawled off the edge of an unseen cliff. Mulder yelped and the flashlight spiraled from his mouth. He grabbed frantically for something, *any*thing, to hold onto, but the only semisolid object he managed to take hold of was Scully and so the two of them hurtled through the air together with his arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Sorry, Scully," he grunted into her ear as he hugged her to his chest and they fell and fell and fell. 

Mulder thought he might throw up. Was this how they were going to die? Smashed to smithereens at the bottom of a bottomless well without so much as the satisfaction of solving the damn rabbit-man mystery? After all they'd been through, this seemed ridiculously insignificant and cruel. 

"Guess we'll be going out with a whimper *and* a bang, Scully."

"I told you we weren't properly prepared."

"We're about to die and you're saying I told you so?" Mulder hunched his shoulders protectively around her as they plummeted down the seemingly endless shaft at a terrifying, gut-wrenching speed. "That is so you, Scully."

"You have to admit, a rope would have been a wise...ohh!" 

Something feather-soft tickled their arms and cheeks. Something feather-soft and sticky. Something feather-soft and sticky and getting more substantial by the second until it felt as though they plunged through a well of cotton candy. 

"What is this stuff, Mulder?" She buried her face in his chest to keep it out of her eyes.

"I...I'm not sure, but it seems to be slowing our fall." 

It was true. The fibrous material caught on their clothes and their hair, reducing the speed of their decent, wrapping itself around them, and cushioning them from an inevitable crash at the bottom of the shaft. Enveloped in a dense, spongy cocoon, they rolled to a gentle stop. 

"Scully, didn't we see something like this eight years ago in the Olympic National Forest? Do you think a bunch of insects are going to suck our bodies dry now?" 

"Not if I can get us out of here first. Good thing I still carry my Swiss army knife." She tried to unstick her arm from Mulder's back and search her pocket, but gluey threads bound her to him. "Uh, I can't move, Mulder."

He snuggled closer. "I kind of like this," he purred into her ear.

"Now is not the time. Help me get my knife. It's in my back pocket. See if you can reach it."

He struggled half-heartedly, more intent on increasing his body's contact with her than on setting them free. "Guess you're stuck with me, Scully."

"Ha ha. Get my knife, Mulder. It's getting hard to breathe."

She was right; it was becoming more than a little stuffy. And the lack of fresh air was beginning to make him feel lightheaded. He began to search in earnest for her knife, wriggling one hand past the curve of her waist and down the soft slope of her backside while the gummy wool of their enclosure pulled like a Band Aid at the hairs of his arms. Wedging his fingers into her pants pocket, he probed for the knife.

"Hurry, Mulder," she gasped. "I feel faint." 

His chest aching for oxygen, he pulled the knife from her pocket. "Got it," he announced with a cough, his heaving lungs rocking them both.

"Cut us out of here!"

"I'm trying." He fumbled to unfold the blade. "Shit!"

"What's the matter?"

"Corkscrew," he explained. "Why the hell do they put a corkscrew in these things anyway? Just in case you come across a bottle of Pouilley Fuisse when you're lost in the woods?" He stabbed the corkscrew through the material surrounding them and to his astonishment, their sticky prison burst like a balloon. A sudden rush of fresh air popped their eardrums. 

"Let's get out of here." Mulder clawed his way free of the pod and pulled Scully after him. 

Taking a moment to catch their breath, they sat panting and plucking gooey threads from each other's hair and clothes.

"Mulder...this material...it feels like..."

"What is it, Scully?"

"Human tissue." She tested the gummy texture between her fingertips. "It almost reminds me of..." She smelled it and wrinkled her nose. "Lung tissue." 

"Lung?" Eyes now adjusting to the low light, he peered around the cavern, cocking his ear to the rolling tide of wind that rattled past them. "You don't think...?"

"Mulder, we did *not* fall into the lungs of some giant ground-dwelling creature. There is no scientific evidence to substantiate the existence of such an animal."

"This is classic Jonah and the Whale, Scully. Other examples exist in literature, too, you know. Fantastic Voyage, for one. And in the original Star Wars movie, need I remind you that Han Solo flew into the maw of an underground asteroid worm."

"Those are just stories, Mulder. Fairytales. Fantasy. Nothing but fiction. This is real life. We are *not* inside anything but a hole." Scully's hair suddenly swirled upward, pulled by a sucking wind that created a churning red halo around her head. 

Mulder felt his own hair rise in writhing spikes, only to flatten against his skull when a subsequent downward draft blasted over them. 

"You certain, Scully?" Another updraft tugged painfully at their flesh. "Ouch!" 

"We need to get out of here, Mulder." The cave filled once more with air and the increased volume threatened to squash them. "Before we develop nitrogen narcosis or decompression sickness or both."

"This way." Mulder rose unsteadily to his feet and hauled Scully up with him. 

The air pressure increased and decreased, and as it rose and fell the agents felt pushed and pulled, crushed and released. The lack of air was nearly as painful as the overabundance, causing their skin to swell, their ears to pop, and their eyes to feel as if they were being sucked from their sockets.  Hand-in-hand, gripping each other for both support and reassurance, they lurched along the passage, running when they could, but more often than not simply struggling to remain upright.

"Mulder, look!" Scully shouted over the now screaming wind. "There's a light up ahead."

About fifty yards in front of them, a shaft of blue light illuminated the tunnel, and right smack in the middle of the fluorescent beam stood the Rabbit-Man of Arizona, checking his pocket watch. 

"There he is, Scully! He's standing beside a door." Together they sprinted toward the creature.

As they ran, the air continued to howl and pinch, tug and billow. By the time they reached the door and Mulder was able to grab it and anchor them to the frame, the Rabbit-Man had vanished into the adjoining room.

A very different kind of room. 

Square and metal, looking solid and safe, the brightly lit space offered them some much-needed protection from the dreadful roaring tempest. Mulder yanked Scully across the stainless steel threshold and slammed the door shut behind them. 

--------------------


PART III: UPSIDE DOWN

For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible. -- Alice in Wonderland

--------------------

They found themselves in a large metallic room, about forty feet square and lit by row-upon-row of fluorescent tubes suspended from a tall, tiled ceiling. The quiet hum of overhead lights was a welcome change from the deafening gale beyond the door. The Rabbit-Man, by the way, was nowhere to be seen.

"I guess this proves we're not wandering around inside the gut of an overgrown prairie dog...or any other fictitious monster, Mulder. Where'd Rabbit-Man go?" Scully ran her palm along the stainless steel wall. 

"Humph." Disappointed by both the disappearing lycanthrope and the realization that they were inside a manmade structure and not the innards of a previously undiscovered gargantuan underground creature, Mulder paced to the center of the room. His footfalls echoed off the steel, crisply interrupting the tomblike quiet with each step. When he reached the room's midpoint, he spun to inspect their surroundings. 

On all sides, dozens of steel refrigeration units lined the walls. Small boxy compartments -- like you'd find in a morgue -- were stacked several deep. The rows of polished doors gleamed, unmarred by either dust or fingerprints.

"What is this place?" Scully examined the nearest compartment. Hooking her fingers around the door's latch, she opened the locker and slid out an empty cadaver tray. 

"Looks like a mortuary or an autopsy bay," Mulder said, watching Scully explore the room. 

She opened one locker after the next, only to find each one empty. 

"Except that there are no tables or instruments or bodies," she said, continuing her investigation. 

Despite the peculiar circumstances, the familiar surroundings appeared to soothe Scully's frazzled nerves. She visibly relaxed as she surveyed the organized compartments. There was a logic to this place, a neatness and a precision that must have struck a harmonious chord in her structured mind. Naturally she would feel at home here where there were no sticky, suffocating mysteries, no stormy push and pull, and no surprises around the next dark, unknowable corner. 

Well, perhaps there was one surprise.

"Mulder..." She drew back from a tag that labeled one of the vault doors.

"What is it?"

She shot him a nervous glance. "It's labeled 'Jack Willis.'"

"Open it."

She hesitated. Mulder crossed the room and reached for the handle, wanting to save her from being the one to expose the decomposing body of her former paramour locked inside the vault.

"No, Mulder," she stopped him, "I'll open it myself." His hand dropped away.

She did it quickly, like jumping into a cold pool or yanking off an adhesive bandage. 

CLANK. The latch released and the metal door swung outward.

Empty.

"This is weird," Mulder said, his attention already focused on the neighboring locker. "Daniel Waterston?"

"Daniel's not dead, Mulder."

"Maybe he is to you." He opened the door. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" This compartment was vacant, too.

"Who's Marcus Roberts?"

"Um...my senior prom date."

"I'm sensing a pattern." Another empty locker. "Did you love him, Scully?"

"No, I didn't love him. We were only eighteen."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"That's none of your business."

"Hooo...I think it might be. You see, *my* name is just a few doors down. Right after Paul Pritchard, Jason Olivette, and some guy named 'One Night Stand.' Are we missing anyone?"

Scully yanked open first Paul's and then Jason's compartments to reveal...nothing. "I don't understand, Mulder. What the hell does this mean?"

"Who says it means anything? Does it mean something to you?"

"Yes, damn it, I...I slept with all these men."

"You did?"

"Mulder, you know I did."

"I knew no such thing. Yes, I knew about you and Jack...and you and Daniel...and you and me... The others, I had no idea."

"So now you do know. What does it mean?"

"Scully, I don't think I'm in a position to say. But something makes me wish my personal cupboard wasn't quite so..." He opened his own door and stared into the emptiness. "Bare. Seems kind of like...I never existed. Is anyone hooooome?" he called into the vault.

"Mulder, I don't-- Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"That knocking. It came from...it's coming from one of the vaults over there." She pointed to the opposite side of the room. A faint rat-a-tat sounded from within the closed locker.

Crossing the room, Mulder put his ear to the door.

Knock. Knock.

"Whooooo's there?" he asked.

"Tweedledee, you dumbass," came back the muffled reply.

"Tweedle...?" He unlatched the door and out rolled a short, rather unkempt man wearing horn-rimmed glasses held together at the bow with masking tape. "Frohike?"

"Frohike?" Scully repeated.

"Huh?"

Behind Tweedledee, two more heads appeared from the shadowy depths of the refrigeration unit. They looked remarkably like Byers and Langly.

"'Bout time, man," the blonde huffed from the back. "Thought we were gonna suffocate in there." 

"We've been trapped for a very long time," the soft-spoken bearded gentleman in the middle explained.

Mulder eyeballed all three. "If you're Tweedledee," -- he pointed at Frohike's doppelganger -- "then these two must be Tweedledum and Tweedledumber."

"Very funny, dude. We don't need to take insults from a narc like you." The blonde's indignant words reverberated around the empty metal room. "Our names are--"

"Don't tell 'em who we are, you idiot!" Tweedledee hissed. "They probably work for the Government."

Tweedledumber's mouth snapped shut.

Mulder crossed his arms. "Fine with me if you want to be addressed as Dee, Dum and--"

"Don't say it!" Dumber insisted, jumping to the floor. "Narc!"

"Who's the babe?" Dee hopped from the cadaver tray, too, and eyed Scully, raking her from head to toe with a lust-filled stare. "She's *hot*." 

"Stop playing games, Frohike. What the hell are you guys doing here?" She placed her fists on her hips.

"I don't know who this Frohike hombre you keep mentioning is, but if he's a friend of yours, I'll play along." Dee's appreciative once-over became a twice-over and then a thrice-over.

"We've been imprisoned here," the gentle Dum explained, ignoring Dee's lascivious comment and earning glares from his cohorts. "We've been investigating possible avenues of escape."

"Who imprisoned you?" Mulder asked.

"We don't know. But here we are nonetheless, safely tucked away. As far as we've been able to ascertain, we're trapped in a psychological construct."

"A dream?" 

"Possibly. Or a fairytale or fable. Or maybe something more purposeful," Dum suggested.

"Like the physical representation of a psychological state," Dumber added, completely serious.

"Our research suggests that this room might be the tangible interpretation of repressive denial combined with an external LOC POV, as well as some very specific emotional coping styles," Dum explained. 

"Namely, a personal Berlin Wall." Dumber nodded agreement.

"What the hell are you three talking about?" Scully frowned. "We're stuck in a damn empty room."

"Our point exactly, cachonda." Dee winked.

"Frankly, our speculation is all for naught, lady and gentlemen. Whether our theories prove true or false, we are stuck here in any case," Dum pointed out.

"Have you tried leaving by the front door?" Scully asked.

"Um...what door would that be?" 

She and Mulder both turned to look. The door was gone. 

"You see? We're completely shut in, closed off," Dum said. "Although, it's not all bad in here. Clean. Organized. Uh, clean. Did I say that already?"

"What do we do now, Mulder?" Scully swiveled and searched the room, as if expecting a new door to magically materialize as quickly as the old one had disappeared. 

"Any ideas, guys?" Mulder asked the Tweedles.

"Nada."

"Nope."

"Sorry, all out." Dumber's apology was punctuated by the resounding slam of "Mulder's" closing refrigeration unit.

"Looks like someone's been sleeping in my meat locker." Mulder crossed the room to inspect his now shut door. "And I doubt we're going to find it's Goldilocks. Any guesses who?" Yanking open the door, he exposed the retreating cottontail of the Rabbit-Man as it scuttled into the shadows at the rear of the cupboard where it vanished. "Come on, Scully!" Mulder scrambled into the locker after it.

"You guys coming?" Scully asked, one knee already on the lip of the cadaver tray.

"I think we'll stay right here." Dum watched her with forlorn eyes. "Maybe you can come back later and let us out?"

"I'll see what I can do." Scully hauled herself up into the locker. 

Just before the door slammed shut behind them, Mulder heard Dee whistle and say, "She has a nice ass!"  

-------------------- 


PART IV: SIDE STEPPING 

She was looking about for some way of escape, and wondering whether she could get away without being seen, when she noticed a curious appearance in the air: it puzzled her very much at first, but after watching it a minute or two she made it out to be a grin, and she said to herself "It's the Cheshire-Cat." -- Alice in Wonderland 

--------------------

"Mulder? Mulder, where are you?"

"Just ahead of you, Scully. Hurry."

"I...I can't see you."

A bolt of static electricity momentarily lit the metal passageway with sparks. Before the light fizzled out, Scully caught a glimpse of Mulder about fifty yards down the tunnel. A buzz of charged ions vibrated her palms as she crawled through the dark, setting her nerves on edge. She scrambled to catch up with Mulder.

After several knee-numbing minutes and a half-dozen more flashes of lightning, Scully found herself facing a crossroads of sorts where a second shaft split from the first, leading seemingly identical paths in two different directions.

"Mulder? Mulder?" she hollered down first one tunnel and then the next. "Mulder!" 

"I'm here, Scully," his faint reply floated back to her.

"Which path did you take?"

No answer.

"Mulder, which path did you take?" she repeated, yelling as loudly as she could.

"There's only one, Scully." His voice sounded very far away. 

"Mulder, wait, please! I...I don't know which way to go."

Silence.

"Damn it, Mulder!" Another bolt of electricity shot through the air, lighting the shadows for only a second or two. She decided to try the passage on the left.

The further along she crawled, the more lightning flared overhead. Eventually the entire ceiling sizzled with blue-white arcs. A persistent hum accompanied the sparks, buzzing angrily in her ears. The stench of ozone filled her sinuses and she clenched her jaws until her teeth ached.

Zzzzap! CRACK! 

"Mulder?" 

Her plea went unanswered and she wondered if she should turn around, return to the morgue or at least go back to the divide in the passage where she might try the other path. Left or right -- her instincts and Mulder's were never in sync. In hindsight, she realized she probably should have ignored her first choice and gone with the exact opposite, knowing his selection would, without a doubt, contradict her own. 

Nerve-wracking streaks of electricity illuminated the tunnel as far as the eye could see. She continued along her original course, crawling as fast as she could. 

When a puff of smoke appeared up ahead, Scully worried that the shaft had caught fire, ignited by the lightning. However, the smell wasn't quite the plastic odor of an electrical fire, but something more organic. Like burning autumn leaves or an outdoor campfire or...or tobacco smoke. That was it exactly -- the smell of a lit cigarette. Or a hundred lit cigarettes. Blinking her way through the thickening haze, she finally arrived at the end of the passage where she lowered herself over the metal lip into yet another room. 

Reflecting a blue color from the glowing screens of several dozen hi-tech surveillance monitors, the room's black walls seemed to close in on her. The ceiling hung ominously low and a black tiled floor absorbed all light. 

Two men sat on stools and watched the monitors while they discussed the goings-on in the room they surveilled. They kept their voices low. Both wore the blackest suits Scully had ever seen.

"Excuse me..." She cleared her throat. "Uh, sirs?" 

The men turned to look at her.

"Oh my god..." It was Old Smokey and his grinning sidekick Rat Boy. She couldn't believe it. What the hell was going on here? CGB Spender and Krycek at the bottom of a hole in Arizona? 

"Are you lost, young lady?" the Smoker asked, seemingly nonplussed by her arrival. 

"Very funny, Spender." 

"Spender? You've mistaken me for someone else, I'm afraid."

"I don't think so."

"We've never met," he assured her and drew deeply on his cigarette. "I'd bet my life on it."

The grinning young man who looked like Krycek laughed out loud. "You'd bet on anything, Old Man."

"True." The Smoker smiled. "As a matter of fact, I've got a sizable sum riding on the untimely demise of our friend in the booth." He nodded at one of the monitors. Krycek's look-alike snickered.

Scully's eyes traveled to the screen.

Oh, God, it was Mulder. He lay unconscious on a bed in a tiny, whitewashed room. Wires led from his chest, arms, and scalp to a number of monitoring devices. Heart beat, blood pressure, brain activity -- all his bodily functions blipped and beeped in various tones on various machines.

"What are you doing to him?" she demanded.

"We aren't doing anything. We're nothing but innocent bystanders," the Smoker said, causing his Right Hand Man to cackle.

"Then what's wrong with him?" she challenged. 

"He's dying."

"Of what?"

"Neglect? Broken heart? Maybe boredom. Who knows? Care for a jellybean?" The Smoker reached into his pocket and withdrew a fistful of writhing black and white maggots. He offered them to Scully. "No? Suit yourself." He thrust the worms under the nose of his smiling cohort. "Take them," he insisted. 

The Right Hand Man's smile faded just a little. Picking through the worms, he culled out all but the fattest and the whitest.

"The Old Man doesn't care for the black ones," he explained before tossing the maggots into his mouth. His brilliant smile returned after he swallowed.

A shrill alarm blared, jumping Scully and announcing a decline in Mulder's condition.

"Do something!" Scully ordered the two men.

"Uh oh," the Right Hand Man gleefully shook his head. "His odds are slipping."

"Looks like I'll win big with this one," predicted the Smoker. "Care to place a bet, young lady, before it's too late?"

"Where is he? We've got to help him!" Scully's panic increased as she watched the monitor's readout take a nosedive. "I need to help him!"

"The chance of a lifetime..."

"Where's the damn door?" Scully paced around them, searching for a way out.

"In a lifetime of chance..."

"Shut up and let me go to him!"

"It's a high stakes game..."

"God damn it!"

"And high time you joined in." The monitor flat-lined. "Oops, looks like you're too late, young lady." The Smoker stubbed out his cigarette.

"Damn you!" Scully stalked over to the Smoker and grabbed the him by his shirtfront. "Tell me how to get into that room!" she insisted, her fist clenched to strike.

"I think you'll find he's no longer there." The Smoker pointed a tobacco-stained finger at the monitor. Scully glance at the screen. The little white room beyond the glass was empty. Mulder was gone. 

The Right Hand Man let loose a hearty laugh. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, hmmm?"  

"There must be a lesson in here somewhere, wouldn't you say?" The Smoker lit another cigarette and eyeballed Scully. "What do you suppose it is, young lady?"

"Ten to one she doesn't get it," the Right Hand Man predicted.

"I suspect the odds aren't quite as high as that, but I'll see your bet. Shall I give her a hint to help her along?"

"No hints or all bets are off."

"Fine. No hints. But if she finds him, in all likelihood she'll find the truth, too."

"Another wager, old man?"

"Three to one."

"You're on." Instead of laying out cash to cover the bet, the Smoker withdrew another fistful of squirming maggots and deposited them next to the now blank surveillance screen. 

Scully noticed that not all of the worms were white or black anymore. A good number were gray. Dark gray, light gray, silver gray, the colors of smokescreens and fogged mirrors. 

The Smoker popped a particularly fat maggot into his mouth and bit down on it with relish. "You might try placing a long distance call," the Smoker suggested to Scully.

"Don't help her, Old Man!" the Right Hand Man warned.

"Why not? She looks so desperate. Don't you feel sorry for her?"

Scully ignored them both and pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it sooner. She punched in Mulder's number.

"He's number one on her speed dial. That tells us something," the Smoker pointed out.

The phone rang. 

And rang. 

And rang.

"No answer?" The Smoker lit another cigarette. "Too bad."

Hearing the faint trill of Mulder's cell from the far side of the room's back wall, Scully realized she might locate him simply by following the sound of his ringing phone. She sidestepped knotted wires and piles of electronic equipment, listening the whole time for the faint jangle of Mulder's phone. Like a game of Hot and Cold, she homed in on the sound. Running her fingertips over the wall, she searched for a throughway.

"Ooooo. She's rounding the corner."

There! A slight depression, not much more than a paper-thin crack. She rapped her knuckles along the surface, listening for a change in pitch. No doubt about it, she'd found a hidden door. Now she needed to locate the latch.

Fingers fluttering along the crack, she searched for a release. When she found none, she started again from the beginning, retracing her path.

"Determined, isn't she?" the Smoker remarked to his Right Hand Man. 

"Mmm. More than I would have guessed."

"That's the trouble with you, my friend. You have so little faith in the human spirit." 

His comment tickled the Right Hand Man's funny bone. "As if you'd know a damn thing about faith or the human spirit!"

Scully's fingers detected a barely perceptible rise to the surface of the wall. She pressed a tiny, concealed button and heard a release snick open.

"Bingo!" the Smoker applauded. "She's on the homestretch."

--------------------


PART V: TOPSY TURVEY

"I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears!" -- Alice in Wonderland 

--------------------

Leaving behind the Smoker and his Right Hand Man, Scully pursued the ringing of Mulder's phone. To her astonishment, there was a magnificent room on the other side of the hidden panel. She entered and began inspecting the lavish interior from ceiling to floor, end to apse. All around her, candles flickered, casting a sumptuous glow on tall, strawberry-colored walls. High overhead, a sprinkling of sugary cupid-like angels adorned a Neapolitan ceiling. A cloud of incense filled the space with the pleasant aroma of cinnamon and cloves. The room looked every inch like a gingerbread cathedral bedecked for a holiday celebration, with a central aisle dividing rows and rows of candy-coated pews, each seat festooned with a nosegay of spun sugar roses. From somewhere behind her, a stained glass window cast a kaleidoscope of color across the floor.

Smack in the middle of this pretty splash of color lay Mulder's cell phone. Shutting off and pocketing her own phone, Scully retrieved it from the floor. 

"What the...?" 

Mulder's cellphone was covered in goo, which slimed her fingers. She slid it into her pocket along with her own phone and then wiped her hand across her shirt in an attempt to rid herself of the residue. However, the damn goop wouldn't come off and her efforts only made things worse; the slime bled into the fabric of her blouse where it stained the silk with a nasty splotch that resembled a Rorschach's ink blot. She could swear it looked like an upside-down rabbit-man.   

An identical blotch marked the floor where the phone had been, marring the lollipop colors of light reflected from the stained glass window. She turned to look up at the window. Rather than Christ on the Throne or Virgin Mary at the Cross, the enormous rainbow-colored window replicated Mulder's I WANT TO BELIEVE poster. A glazed UFO hovered in a glassy sky above panes of green. Mulder's mantra graced the lower third of the panel in gold letters. Scully's stomach rolled uneasily. 

Where the hell was Mulder? 

"Do you believe?" a deep voice rumbled through the church. 

"Excuse me?" Scully spun to face the speaker.

Walking toward her down the aisle was a priest who looked exactly like her father though he was dressed in liturgical vestments. "Do you believe?" he asked again.

"Daddy?" Scully gaped at him.

"Most people refer to me as 'Father.'" The priest's ruddy cheeks plumped. He stopped just inches away from her. "Do we know each other?"

"I'm...I'm not sure. You look like..." She hesitated. Everyone she'd met today resembled someone she knew, but not a single one of them claimed to know her. Obviously the priest didn't recognize her either. "What did you ask me, Da...Father?"

"I asked if you believed."

"In UFO's?"

"Or extraterrestrials or life on other planets. Or rabbit-men, for that matter." The priest chuckled.

"Sir?"

"Perhaps you believe in all things."

"I don't think so."

"Ah, you're a scientist. You demand proof before you're willing to believe. But what about faith and trust? What of your own God-given instincts?"

"I don't understand."

"'Love bears all things, *believes* all things, hopes all things, endures all things.' First Corinthians."

Scully didn't know how to respond. Her silence spurred the priest to recite more of the passage.

"'Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect; but when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.'" He took hold of her hand and led her down the aisle toward the alter. "Do you know the rest of the passage?" he quizzed.

"Um, I think I, uh... 'When I was a child...?'"

"That's right. Go on."

"'When I was a child, I spoke like a child,...I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child...' Um..." She stalled. 

"'When I became a man,'" the priest supplied, "'I gave up childish ways.' Perhaps you recall the last line?" 

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's been a while."

"It's worth remembering. The passage ends: 'So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.' Do you believe this to be the truth?" 

With a palm at her back, he guided her to a strange red-and-white striped cross. Stripped bare of the customary crucifix, the enormous symbol looked like a bizarre, misshapen candy cane mimicking, in a Santa's Village sort of way, the tiny cross she wore at her neck. She stared into the glossy surface and studied her own candy-colored reflection while she tried to digest the Biblical quotation and answer the priest's question.  

"I...I want to believe--" Her mouth snapped shut when she realized she parroted Mulder's poster. "Where is Mulder?" She turned to face the priest.

"Mulder?" the priest asked, still smiling.

"My partner. Where is he?"

"Did you lose him?"

"I..."

"Why do you suppose you let that happen?" 

"What? I didn't..." She fumbled for the words to describe how she and Mulder had in fact become separated. 

"No matter. Where will you look for him now?"

"I don't know. This place..." Her gaze roamed from nave to choir loft. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Perhaps you need to look inside yourself first, collect your thoughts in order to get to the heart of the matter. It might be best if I leave you alone." The priest patted her arm and stepped to a side door. He flashed her a final encouraging smile before he slipped out of sight.

Scully took a seat in the front pew. She wasn't sure what to do next. This had been such a strange day, and that was saying a lot considering all the strange days she'd shared with Mulder pursuing X-Files over the years.

"Mulder, where the hell are you?" 

As had happened before, her question went unanswered.

"I...I didn't lose you," she insisted, "You lost me. As a matter of fact, you were so fixated on finding the truth, as usual, you went off without me. I don't know why I continue to follow you on these wild goose chases. Or rabbit-man chases. Whatever." 

Glancing over her shoulder, she searched the shadows. 

Nothing. 

"I'm not worried about you," she lied.

Still nothing. 

"You better not be hiding out there listening to me talk to myself, Mulder. I have no intention of saying anything nice about you." 

Still no response, other than her own irritated sigh. And the low rumble of her stomach. She was hungry. They'd wolfed down fast food tacos at the airport while they waited for the rental car but that was hours ago. Now she felt starved and her belly ached for even another soggy, tasteless taco. Hell, she'd take Mulder's sunflower seeds if he were here to offer them. 

She searched her pockets, hoping to locate a candy bar or a breath mint. 

Nothing. 

"Damn it. I'd sell my soul--" She paused. "Sorry," she apologized to the candy cane cross at the alter, "Didn't mean that."

She decided to pace or maybe search for the priest, discover a way out. When she stood, however, she stepped ankle deep into a puddle of slime, a puddle that was growing at an alarming rate. It quickly filled her shoes and saturated her stockings. It inched its way up her calves. And despite being clear and odorless, something about it brought the fire of bile to the back of her throat and a sting of tears to her eyes. 

The pews provided support as she inched her way down the center aisle, one cautious step at a time. The slime swirled around her lower legs, sticky and thick, its current tugging and pulling at her. Soon, it was knee deep and still rising. Progress was becoming impossible. 

Her situation went from bad to worse when a wave of goo plowed over her. It knocked her off her feet. She lost her hold on the pew. She was quickly sucked away from the exit. She struggled to keep her head above the surface but an undertow pulled her down, down, down to the floor. It pinned her there. Pressed beneath its weight, she held her breath and tried not to panic.

Her instincts told her to swim upward but she had become disoriented. Which way was up and which way was down? The slime churned around her. She felt as if she'd fallen into the drum of a clothes washer filled with corn syrup. She was whirling out of control. Her lungs ached for a breath of air.

Lightheaded and desperate and so unbelievably and incredibly tired, she finally ceased to struggle. She found herself thinking instead about Dr. Heitz Werber and the way he had placed her in a trance so many years ago to help her regain her lost memories. Recalling his hypnotic voice, she let her arms, her hands, her fingers go limp, until she was floating free in the maelstrom.

^^"I'm going to ask you to go back...close your eyes...relax...your hands, your feet, your jaw...all parts of your body...go back...take long, deep breaths..."^^

Yes, that would feel good. Letting go. Taking a breath.

She felt herself drift. 

Let go.

Breathe.

^^"I feel, Scully...that you believe...you're not ready to go. And you've always had the strength of your beliefs. I don't know if my being here will help bring you back. But I'm here."^^

Mulder.

Mulder's here. Somewhere. 

Why is it she can't find him?

Scully pinwheeled in the swirling tide. 

Ring Around the Rosie.

Jump rope. Hopscotch. Blind Man's Bluff. Running pell-mell into the wind, lifting a kite high into the air.

Hide and...

Hide and...

The tide carried her to stained glass window, Mulder's gumdrop-colored poster. She hit into it with a spine jarring wallop. The glass cracked. Shattered. She was washed through the now-empty frame on a wave of slime. Landing in a heap on the other side, she was finally able to suck in a breath of air. 

--------------------   


PART VI: DOWNSIDE UP

"I am so very tired of being all alone here!" -- Alice in Wonderland 

--------------------

Scully sputtered and coughed. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The racing thub-dub of her heart seemed to say "too late, too late, too late!"   

She found herself in a narrow hallway with hospital-green walls. The broken window was gone, vanished completely, and this new corridor was both windowless and doorless. An autopsy table stood at its center. On top of the table was a draped body.

The way the day had been going, her first thought was that Mulder surely lay beneath the sheet. But even Mulder's feet weren't as big as these and his ears certainly weren't furry or long enough to hang out over the edge of the table. Scully reluctantly lifted a corner of the sheet to reveal the whiskered face of the rabbit-man.

"Impossible."

She gave the hare's hair a hard tug, expecting the entire head to slip off, nothing but a mask. When it didn't come away, she yanked harder. Then harder still. 

"Humph."

This was no man in a bunny suit. This was really and truly a rabbit...man, which once again supported Mulder's claim that he was right 98.9 percent of the timee. 

Would she be able to find him to tell him?

Of course she would find him. She had to. 

But first things first. A quick examination of the rabbit-man. Mulder above anyone would forgive her the delay. After all, it wasn't as if she were ignoring him; she was doing this *for* him. 

Yanking the sheet from the body like a magician revealing a rabbit hidden inside a hat, Scully exposed the carcass. To her horror, the rabbit-man's torso was already cut open and his exposed innards squirmed with uncountable maggots, which were busy devouring the dead creature's flesh and turning it into a putrid soup of slime. 

Scully backed away from the body. She absolutely must get out of the room. Now!

She turned away from the table to find a way out. Four blank walls stared back at her. Anger and fear and futility boiled up inside her. She pounded her palms against the walls. She called for help. She thought she might cry and the prospect of losing control sent a pyre of fury through her. She lunged at the autopsy table and shoved it with all her strength. It rocked and then toppled. The rabbit-man's corpse tumbled to the floor. It landed face up, its innards and maggots displayed in all their horrible glory.

That's when something reeeeeeally strange happened. 

The maggots lined up like a phalanx of army ants and marched single file from the corpse. They divided their numbers, separating into four distinct lines that crawled in opposite directions. Scully watched in astonishment as each line marched up the walls, where they formed the outline of four separate rectangles the size and shape of doors. Finished with their task, the worms halted and the solid wall within each rectangle simply disappeared, exposing four rooms beyond each frame of worms.

"Oh my God...!"

Scully took a shaky step toward the nearest doorway. Poking her head cautiously into the adjoining room, she saw what appeared to be her childhood livingroom. She blinked at the familiar furnishings, the window that overlooked the base housing, the fireplace with its mantle lined with family photos. 

On the sofa, her mother chatted with Bill and Charlie. Her sisters-in-law sat in the wing chairs swapping photos of the kids. Beyond the window, her nieces and nephews played in the yard. 

It was an odd sensation seeing her family grown older, their numbers decreased yet greater than ever, sitting and visiting with one another in the house where she had grown up. 

When she entered, no one looked at her. Their conversations continued as if she didn't stand there among them feeling alone and lost and tired. Laughter peppered the air making her smile although she hadn't shared their joke.

She cleared her throat to get their attention. "Mom? Bill?"  

They didn't hear her. They didn't see her.   

She stepped closer and placed her hand on her mother's arm. Margaret Scully didn't flinch, didn't so much as pause in her conversation with Bill and Charlie. 

Behind Bill, two large holes punctured the living room wall as if a wrecking ball had crashed through the plaster and wood. The gaps made the room appear larger and emptier than she remembered. Shattered wallboard littered the carpet, looking like snow. A chill crawled up her back and prickled the tiny scar on the nape of her neck. Why would her mother leave a mess like this? Couldn't she see the gaping holes? Fix it, clean it up, she wanted to tell her.

But she didn't. She kept her thoughts to herself because she guessed she must be having a nightmare or had hit her head during the flood and was suffering from shock. Hallucinating. That's what she was doing. And since her old living room offered no way out of Mulder's mysterious rabbit-man hole, nor did it offer any clue as to Mulder's whereabouts, Scully decided the best thing to do was to vacate this figment of her imagination and return to the green hall and the three rooms beyond where she might continue her search for Mulder. Or an exit. Preferably both. 

Crossing the little hall, she selected a different room to explore. She stepped inside without hesitation. This room looked every bit like her apartment back in Georgetown and for a moment she hoped maybe she'd been mistaken about the trip to Arizona and had simply gone out for groceries or the dry cleaning...except that wouldn't explain why she stood there empty-handed.

The air smelled stale, as if the apartment hadn't been lived in for a while. And although she was rarely gone for more than a week at a time, at least a year's worth of dust coated the furniture. Her potted plants were all dead. Even the cactus. Dry, brittle, and black. The calendar on her kitchen wall displyed the current month and year, yet the paper was yellowed with age. 

She walked through the apartment to the bathroom. Everything was as she had last left it. No items had been moved. Nothing had been touched. But dust blanketed everything here, too.

Checking the bedroom, she found her clothes hung in the closet as always, her Bible rested on the nightstand, and the clock kept perfect time. But the room felt so...unlived in. 

A string of paper dolls, blank-faced and waiting to be unfurled, rested on her pillow. She picked them up and unfolded them. A half a dozen identical, cookie cutter men were joined at their hands. Written across their little interlocking arms were the words, 'home, sweet home is where the heart is.' Was it supposed to be a joke? What did it mean? 

The phone rang and Scully let the paper dolls flutter to the floor while she hurried to the living room. She lifted the receiver on only the second ring, yet a dial tone buzzed in her ear. Her answering machine was blinking; its read-out claimed there were three hundred and sixty five messages waiting for her. 

"Must be broken," she said, frowning.

She pushed the button to listen to the most recent message.

"Hey, it's me. Up for a trip to Arizona? I hear there's a Rabbit-Man with our name on it." 

Mulder. 

She played an earlier message.

"Hey, Scully. I've booked us on a flight to New Orleans. Three decapitations. The heads are still missing." 

Mulder again. 

She tried another message. 

"I've got four words for you, Scully: Spontaneous Human Involuntary Invisibility." 

Were all the calls from Mulder? She tried one more.

"Pack your mittens, Scully. We're off to Alaska to hunt snowworms."

"No, Mulder, we're off to another room to find you," she told the machine, no longer feeling very at home in her own home-sweet-home and wishing Mulder's real voice cajoled her with his latest cockamamie case. 

She left her apartment and tried yet another door.

Room number three turned out to be shaped rather like a small closet and it contained no furniture whatsoever. Every square inch of every wall sparkled with the slivers of countless cracked mirrors. Broken bits of glass tiled the ceiling and floor, too.

"This can't be lucky," Scully said, squinting at her numerous reflections. They squinted back, shattered and sliced like the mutilated cadavers she autopsied. An eye here, an ear there, linked together in a patchwork quilt, Frankenstein monster sort of way. "An unfun funhouse," she observed, not smiling. 

In the middle of the glittering floor lay an unbroken hand mirror and Scully bent to pick it up. She held the looking glass in front of her face and was glad to see that all her features were as they should be. Despite being all in one piece again, she thought she looked tired and a bit...well, old, to be quite frank. Hadn't she started out the day feeling fresh and optimistic? Okay, perhaps not optimistic. Hopeful might be a more accurate word. Well, maybe not hopeful either, but certainly not hopeless.   

Now she just felt very alone.

"Me, myself, and I," she told to her image.

In the mirror, her skin shifted and jittered until it appeared covered with crawling maggots! They squirmed across her lips, down the length of her nose, in and around her ears. She scrubbed her face with her free hand and although she felt no maggots, they continued to swarm over her in the mirror. 

Hoping the image was in some way due to the hand mirror itself, she looked instead into the mirrored walls, the ceiling, even the floor. In every piece of every mirror, she was covered in maggots.

Horrified, she watched while the worms darkened and turned charcoal black. When a breeze suddenly blasted through the room, the dried-up maggots swirled through the looking glass air as if they'd sprouted wings. They circled the glass room in a cyclone of black, empty shells, shushing her as they spun. 

Shhhhhh. Shhhhhhhhhh. 

She hurled the looking glass to the floor and hurried from the room.

With no other options, she entered to the fourth and final room. If this was not the way out, she didn't know what she'd do.
 
The air was cold in here. Frost covered gray granite walls. The room was open to the sky and thick, ominous clouds moved overhead, spitting snow and blocking the sun. A line of cackling blackbirds perched along the upper edge of the open wall. 

In the center of the room sat a stone sarcophagus. On its lid, a carved figure, clad in a shroud, clasped his hands to his chest. A ropey vine, leafless and bristling with thorns, seemed to bind the statue to his eternal resting place. Around the tomb, the brittle shells of dried maggots peppered the floor like dead leaves in a neglected winter garden.

The black worms crunched beneath her feet as she circled the sarcophagus.

The name of the deceased was chiseled into the stone and although the letters were worn with age and the vine obscured at least two thirds of them, Scully deciphered enough of the inscription to realize the funerary box was Mulder's. The discovery hardly surprised her at all after the events of the day. This seemed a predictable and somehow fitting end. If she threw herself onto the tomb, would she be transformed into nothing but icy bones, her flesh falling away like snowflakes? Or maybe there was a less tragic end in store for her and Mulder, and she would kiss the carved figure's stone lips like a fairytale princess and wake up the sleeping prince.

God, she missed him. 

She placed her palms over the figure's carved hands, not caring when the cold crept into her fingers and flowed up the veins of her arms to flood her heart with its empty chill. She had nowhere else to look for Mulder. She had really and truly, once and for all, forever and ever, lost him. And the thought made her cry.

One, two, three fat tears slid down her cheeks to fall somewhere near the figure's shrouded heart, while her own heart felt cracked in two. 

"Scully, where've you been?" 

And there was Mulder, slouching against the granite doorframe, spitting sunflower seeds onto the floor.

--------------------   


PART VII: COMING OUT

"Wake up, Alice dear!" said her sister. "Why, what a long sleep you've had!" 

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!" said Alice. -- Alice in Wonderland 

--------------------

"Where have *I* been? Where the hell have *you* been, Mulder?" She swiped the tears from her face.

"Finding us a way out of here." He spit another black shell onto the floor. "Sunflower seed?" He offered her his open palm.

She sniffled and took a seed. "So how do we get out?"

"Elevator. It's at the end of the hall." He pocketed the remaining seeds and took hold of her hand.

Oh, she loved the feel of his fingers twining around hers and the gentle tug of his hand, urging her to follow, yet hanging on so he wouldn't lose her along the way--

**"Wait a minute, wait a minute!"**

**"What's the matter, Scully?"**

**"'So he wouldn't lose her along the way?' Isn't that a bit...well, uncharacteristic since you already left me without so much as a backward glance earlier in your story?"**

**"Scully, I told you before, the story isn't really about us..."**

**"'Per se.' Yeah, yeah, right. Even so, within the context of your own story, isn't it likely that 'Mulder' wouldn't care one way or the other if he ditched 'Scully'?"**

**"I don't really like the word 'ditch,' Scully."**

**"I bet not."** 

**"I'll, uh...I'll amend my story..."**

She loved the feel of his fingers twining around hers and the gentle tug of his hand, urging her to follow, yet hanging on so he wouldn't lose her *again* along the way. 

**"Better?"**

**"More accurate."**

When they stepped into the hallway, the autopsy table, the maggots, and the rabbit-man were all gone, vanished without a trace. The green corridor had transformed from a tiny, cramped space into a huge hall and at its far end, a bank of brass elevators sat waiting to carry them up to the surface.

"Mulder, where's the rabbit-man?"

"You saw the rabbit-man?"

"Yes. He was right here." She pointed to where only a scattering of Mulder's sunflower shells dotted the floor. "And...and this hall was tiny!"

"It was?"

"Yes. And the maggots...they..."

"There were maggots?"

"Yes. They crawled up the walls and made the doors appear and..."

"What doors?"

The doors had vanished, too, of course. The green walls stood clean and unbroken.

"Mul...?" She swiveled, looking for some sign that what had happened here had indeed been real. She wanted proof. Something tangible to show Mulder that her words were true.

"Come on, Scully, let's go home," he suggested. As usual, he did not share her need for tangible evidence.

Still gripping her hand, he led her along the length of the hall and together they boarded the elevator. He pushed the up button...well, actually, there was no down button. The moment the brass doors slid shut behind them, Mulder took Scully into his arms and kissed her lightly on her worried brow.

"This was such a weird case, Mulder."

"Mmm." He kissed her nose.

"I mean, I didn't think I was going to find you."

"Mm hm." He kissed her upper lip.

"Mulder, weren't you worried about me?"

"Always." He French kissed her.

**"Mulder!"**

**"What, you object to tongues?"**

**"No, I don't object to tongues. It's just you have this nice romantic, storybook ending going and suddenly you throw in a French kiss. It seems kind of...salacious."**

**"Well, we can't be 'salacious,' can we? Let me try again."**

Burning with unbridled passion, he pressed his hungry lips to her heaving bosoms--

**"Wrong genre, Mulder."**

**"Too Harlequinesque?"** 

**"Got anything that isn't either pornography or Bodice Ripper?"**

**"Yeah, but how boring is that?"**

**"See what you can do."**

"I love you, Scully," he whispered into her ear.

"This entire day has been a nightmare."

"Did you hear me, Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"I said, I love you."

"I...I heard you."

"Is there...is there perhaps something you'd like to say to me?"

"Uhhhh...thanks?"

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of--"

**KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**

**"Agent Mulder? Agent Scully? Excuse me. Agent Dodgson and I are here to relieve you."**

--------------------


EPILOGUE

Alice replied, rather shyly, "I-I hardly know, Sir, just at present -- at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have changed several times since then." -- Alice in Wonderland 

--------------------

Two hours later, Scully and I are basking in the afterglow of satisfying sex. 

Oops, is that too "salacious"? Sorry. What can I say? My brain is kind of fuzzy and my muscles feel like Jell-O. 

So let's back up a bit. 

In case you didn't know this already, this wasn't Scully's and my first time. We've been doing "it" for a few months now. Thank god. 

And I am loving the couple thing.

But satisfying as our relationship is, there's still one teensy-weensy thing missing. 

I think you all know what I'm getting at.  

Right now, the sheets twist around us tighter than the lung tissue in my allegorical tale, but my shortness of breath has less to do with any unstable atmospheric pressure than with a recent respiratory workout. Scully's looking particularly beautiful, sprawled limply on her back, watching me through half-closed lids from the other side of the bed. Not quite ready to leave her alone, I trace the outline of a heart on her naked chest, mere skin and bone away from her own real beating heart. I add our initials, to see if she's paying attention. She is and rewards me with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile.

"Mulder, your story was...um, interesting."

"Thank you."

"And nicely told."

"Thank you again."

"But what did it mean?"

"Did it have to mean anything? It was just a story, Scully."

"Just a story," she repeats. "And all those symbols and metaphors...they meant nothing in particular?"

"Did they mean something to you?"

Oooo, she gives me a suspicious squint.

"What was your point, Mulder?"

"My point?"

"The moral of the story."

"The moral," I move closer, tucking myself against her side, "is that life is more than an adventure. It's an adventure of the heart. In the grand scheme of things, nothing else is really very important. Is it?"

"Hmm. What about government conspiracies, alien takeovers, the end of the planet as we know it?" She twirls a finger through my hair, creating a miniature Tornado Alley across my scalp.  

"You're sweating the details. What if...what if I died tomorrow, killed off by one of those government-men-in-black-hired-by-aliens-bent-on-enslaving-the-planet types? Wouldn't you miss me?"

"Of course I would miss you."

"Wouldn't there be anything you'd wished you'd said to me?" I draw an invisible line from her breastbone to her bellybutton, right through my previously finger-painted valentine. 

She knows what I'm hinting at. Turning away, she plucks at the sheets. 

"What are you saying, Mulder? That I should grab life by the testes?"

I smile, reminded of nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles and one of the best days a guy could have on a ball field.

"Something like that. Go ahead and say the words, Scully." I prod her with my finger. "'I love you, Mulder,'" I demonstrate, "See? It's not so hard."

She looks anywhere but at me.

"It *is* hard...for me," she admits. Her voice is so small she sounds like a five-year-old. 

Her vulnerability brings out the protector in me, so I draw her close and cradle her in my arms. I pretend not to notice her wet lashes pressed into my chest. Or her heart racing like a frightened rabbit's. I give her a moment before I ask, "Why, Scully?"

"I don't know," she lies, speaking to my collarbone.

"Yes you do. Tell me."

I wait while she searches her mind for any and all possible evasive maneuvers. Then she surprises us both and gives in. "I...I guess I'm afraid I'm going to lose you. I-I'm afraid you're going to die," she stutters. She *is* a frightened child.

"You're not going to lose me and I'm not going to die. Not soon anyway. I hope."

"I've lost you plenty of times already, Mulder. Hell, you've actually died several times since I've known you." Now she stares straight into me. A flood of fear threatens to overflow her lashes. But she manages to hold her tears at bay. 

"And I just keep showing up like a bad penny, don't I?" I smile. She doesn't smile. She's not getting it. "Do your feelings for me change when I'm gone, Scully? Do you care for me any less?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what difference does it make if you say the words or not?"

"My point exactly, Mulder. You already know how I feel about you."

"I do." It's true, I do. Even without the words, she shows her devotion to me every single day and she's been showing me for years. But still... "Maybe a guy likes to hear the words once in a while. Or even once." An itsy-bitsy smile nudges the corner of her mouth. I kiss it. "Grab life by the testes, Scully," I whisper against her lips.

"I..."

God, I'm straining my ears 'til they hurt. I wonder if dogs or bats or a SETI Project satellite could pick up a sound this faint.

"I..."

How can this be so hard? What is it about Scully that makes it so difficult for her to get close, to admit her feelings -- not just to me, but even to herself? As I wait and watch her struggle, I try to convince myself that I'm forcing her through this ordeal for her own good. That's bullshit, of course. I want to hear her say the damn words. I do. After eight years, I want to hear them in the worst way. To be honest, I think I've been waiting all my life to hear them.

Then suddenly she's speaking, her words rushing past her lips. "I love you, Mulder."

Ahhhh! She said it! She actually, finally, at long last, forever and ever said it! Holy Words of Devotion, Batman! My persuasive storytelling must have done the trick. Or maybe it was my exceptional sexual prowess that convinced her. Okay, okay, I guess the truth is, she was probably just ready. 

Now that the words are out, however, her eyes lock onto me as if she expects me to instantly vanish. Ain't gonna happen, Scully. It's possible I'll spontaneously combust, but that would be like 'good' crying. You know, like at weddings or reunions or...or so I've heard.

"Still here," I tell her.

"So I see." She blinks.

"Didn't exactly open the ol' flood gates though, did we?"

"Give me time, Mulder. I'll...I'll say it again. I promise."

Scully doesn't break promises, so I guess there's nothing for me to worry about.

"Mulder, how did you know about my pet rabbit?"

"You had a pet rabbit?"

"Yes. Wasn't the rabbit-man in your story a parable for my resistance to emotional attachment brought on by the death of my rabbit when I was a girl?"

"The rabbit-man is an X-File, Scully. I can show you the background material."

She looks like she wishes she hadn't mentioned any of the dead pet rabbit parable stuff.

"Mulder, you said your story was a true one." She calls me on the carpet now.

"It is."

"So we'll be chasing a rabbit-man later today?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. I may have added a few less-than-accurate details for effect, but most of the story is true."

"Most?"

"Some."

"Which parts?"

"The end."

Now she looks confused. "The part when you held my hand in the elevator so you wouldn't lose me?"

"Nnnnnnnnnot exactly."

"The part where you found me standing next to your tomb?"

"Hopefully not."

"Then which part are you referring to, Mulder?"

"The part I haven't told you yet."

"There's more?"

"Mm hm." I kiss her nose, her eyebrows, her cheeks, and I end up at her lips.

"So how does your story end?" she murmurs against my skin. I lean into her, ready for another round of lovemaking.

"Can't you guess, Scully? Like all good stories, it ends with, 'They both lived happily ever after.'" 

...

And a French kiss.


THE END