From kileyw@frontiernet.net Sun Nov 17 12:32:48 1996
Skinner is Not Bigfoot (1/2)
by Sarah "S\S" Kiley and Amaris E Squared


Authoresses' Notes:

Hi! This is a story written while me and my best friend Amaris went 
camping in the Adirondacks for three days. And after we'd played 
travel Clue several times, got lost canoeing, twisted my leg while 
playing hide and go seek, burned my thumb while making potato bread 
and motzarella sandwiches, (guess who's first time camping this was!)
got bitten by vampire mosquitos that only went for our necks, and 
sucked dry by leeches in the lake, we spent the rest of the day 
(and a good deal of the ride home), writing this. In fact, we even 
developed our own little fallen writing tree (the trees up there are 
HUGE, and the vegetation is wicked <and this is from a country 
person!>).


Now:

Rating: T,H

Summary: Mulder and Scully are searching for Bigfoot in the Canadian 
wilderness, when Queequeg (God rest his furry little soul) appears.
(NB: This story has little to do with Skinner or Bigfoot.)

Disclaimer: Chris Carter, the evil man who offed Scully's dog when he 
became more popular than Mulder, 1013 Productions and Fox Productions 
(who despite my requests won't start up The Queequeg Files) own 
Mulder, Scully, Skinner and Queequeg. No copyright infringement 
intended by me or Amaris.

and now . . . . 

Skinner is Not Bigfoot 
by Sarah "S\S" Kiley and Amaris E Squared

	"Tell me again why we're out here?"
	Special Agent Dana Scully looked up at her 
partner, who was in a tree with exasperation in her eyes. 
Fox Mulder continued to stare out at the vast Canadian 
wilderness, ignorant of the redheaded woman displayed 
hands-on-hips fifty feet below him.
	Scully tried again. "Mulder, what *are* you 
looking for?"
	Mulder gazed down, annoyed at having been 
disrupted. "Bigfoot," he replied indignantly.
	Scully perked an eyebrow. "I didn't know 
Bigfoot liked bird watching."
	"I'm *not*  bird watching!" Mulder denied. "I'm 
trying to ascertain our location."
	Her shoulders sagged. "Why don't you just use 
the compass?"
	"We got - OW!" he groaned.
	Scully glanced up just in time to see her partner 
now straddling the branch upon which he had been 
standing.
	"Mulder!" Scully gasped. "You have to be 
careful! Are you okay?" she asked with concern.
	"Yeah," Mulder said as he slid to the ground. He 
turned to Scully, "What were you saying about a 
compass?"
	"I asked why you didn't just use the compass," 
she said, staring at the cut swelling above his left eye. 
Wordlessly, she slung down her backpack, removing a 
first-aid kit stocked with bandages and other medical 
necessities.
	"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her 
open the kit.
	She pursed her lips, staring up at him. 
"Wondering what the hell I'm doing out here in the 
middle of nowhere.  Scully took out a bottle of hydrogen 
peroxide and a large patch bandage. Mulder ignored 
Scully's last comment and said, "Scully, be careful with 
that. That stuff hurts."
	Scully said to him, "I don't feel really sorry for 
you. You're the one that dragged us all the way out here 
to find a mythical legend." Scully dabbed the hydrogen 
peroxide on Mulder's cut. He said, "Ow!" and responded 
to Scully's last comment with, "There is no proof that 
Bigfoot does *not* exist. In fact, the opposite is true."
	Scully placed the bandage over Mulder's eye.
	"Hard evidence? You know, stuff that can't be 
faked?"
	"What about all the eyewitness testimony?" he 
countered.
	"Eyewitness testimony?" she responded 
incredulously. "An out-of-work waitress who in the past 
year has also claimed to see not only Elvis Presley, but 
has also claimed to have had sex with the ghost of  Jimmy 
Hoffa as well?"
	"Okay," Mulder admitted. "Some witnesses are 
not as credible. However, in many other circumstances, 
intelligent, nongullible people have had clear sightings of a 
creature only identifiable as `Bigfoot''. A creature that 
was large, covered with fur, and walked upright."
	"Well we know it wasn't Skinner they saw," she 
muttered under her breath, poking fun at their boss.
	Mulder laughed. "He deserved that one. 
Mandatory leave my ass."
	Scully shot him a look. "We need a vacation. I'm 
going to need a vacation to recover from this vacation," 
she said, shutting the first-aid kit with a snap. "Bigfoot 
*my* ass," she said, echoing his words.
	"Oh, come on, think about it- these woods are so 
remote and desolate that it's plausible that there could 
have been a primate that might have survived without 
being modernized," he said, his eyes shining with the 
familiar light Scully recognized as Mulder at his best . . . or 
worst, depending on your point of view.
	"Mulder, just assume for a moment that Bigfoot 
does exist, what are the chances of us finding it in two 
weeks in this expanse of forest?"
	"Don't you believe in fate?" he asked.
	"If fate is being stuck out here in the middle of 
nowhere chasing after Bigfoot then I say fate can go to 
hell!" she exclaimed.
	"Scully," Mulder chided. "If you can't believe in 
Bigfoot or fate, what can you believe in?"
	She smiled sweetly at him. "I can believe that 
you're a lunatic."
	He shot her a look. "I believe that it's getting 
dark," he said, shoving aside a large tree branch. It 
snapped back, giving his partner a faceful of pine needles 
and sap.
	"Hey!" she cried out.
	He glanced at her, his face a careful mask of 
feigned innocence. "What?"
	She gave him an evil glare. "You know what," 
she accused.
	"Let's keep on going until we find a clearing so 
we can camp for the night," Mulder said, changing the 
subject.
	"Okay," she agreed. Scully'd let the subject drop 
. . . for now.
	They adjusted their backpacks and set out again.
	
	It was already night when they stopped again.
	"Where did the day go?" Scully asked as she set 
down her backpack.
	Mulder groaned. "I think my shoulders know," 
he complained, rubbing his aching back.
	She sent him a sympathetic look. "I won't say I 
told you to stretch before we began," she said softly.
	"Thanks for your concern," he muttered, 
slapping a hand against his ear to swat away a mosquito. 
"Let's pitch camp."
	Scully quirked an eyebrow at his unusual dialect. 
"Yes, Mr. Boone," she said, removing the rolled-up tent 
from her bag.
	He stared dumbly at her. "You brought a tent?" 
he asked.
	"Mulder, do I detect a hint of incredulity in your 
voice? Yes, I brought a tent, didn't you?"
	He looked at her uncertainly. "No. Can I sleep in 
yours?"
	"It's a one-person tent!" she insisted. "I barely fit 
into it myself!"
	"Take pity on a fool, Scully," he said, opening 
his eyes wide.
	"Why do you look at me like a little lost puppy 
every time you want something?" she demanded.
	"It usually works, doesn't it?"
	"All right, fine, Mulder. But I don't know how 
we're both going to fit," she said with a helpless gesture as 
she began to set up the tent.
	After the tent was set up and Mulder had a fire 
going, they had supper.
	Supper consisted of Scully's mother's soup and 
French bread.
	Mulder patted his stomach when he meal was 
finished. "That was delicious, Scully. Where did you learn 
how to cook?"
	"I didn't," she said. "The soup is my mother's 
recipe. I don't have the time to cook. Not with *my* 
career."
	Mulder looked at her. "Is that a reference to the 
X-Files?"
	"Duh, Mulder. I go chasing after aliens in flying 
saucers, mutant monsters and supposed psychic 
phenomena for a living. I don't even have the time to 
cook, much less have a social life," she balked, looking 
wistful.
	"I never knew that," Mulder said. "I know I make 
the choice to have no life beyond my work, but I never 
knew you wished you did."
	Scully sighed. "It doesn't matter, Mulder. Let's 
go to bed."
	Mulder raised an eyebrow. "You really 
want to, Scully?"
	"Yes, I'm tired," she replied, not catching 
the double entendre looming in his deep voice.
	"Do you still have your handcuffs, Scully?" 
he teased.
	She turned back to him. "For what?"
	He rolled his eyes. "Nevermind, Scully."
	"No, why do you need them?" she 
persisted.
	"nothing, there's no bedposts in the tent 
anyway."
	Scully frowned, shaking her head at him. 
"Okay, Mulder," she said wearily. Mulder stood, 
wincing as his back protested from the movement, 
and followed her, unrolling his sleeping back as he 
arrived. He pushed aside the tent flap, and caught a 
flash of skin before it was snapped back sharply into 
place. "I'm changed," Scully's voice drifted through 
the thin tent fabric.
	Mulder fought a wave of something to 
reply, "Into what?" in a hoarse voice.
	"Warmer clothes, and you should, too," she 
advised. "It's always cooler at night and in the 
morning." She pushed aside the tent flap, staring up 
at him. "All right, give me your sleeping bag first," 
she instructed. Carefully, she spread them side by 
side, fussing with the material until they fit into the 
small hovel of a tent. Then she crawled in her 
sleeping bag.
	Mulder poked his head in, staring at her. 
She was neatly folding up her jeans and sweatshirt 
of the previous day and stuffing them in her 
backpack. He made an art of removing his shirt and 
doing the same. Then he crawled inside. His head hit 
the opposite side of the tent before his calves were 
in. Scully sat motionlessly on her sleeping bag, 
watching this charade with an amused eye.
	"Congratulations, Mulder," she laughed. 
"Not only did you forget a tent, you can't even fit 
into mine!"
	"I can fit anywhere. It's just a matter of 
shifting things around. Namely,  you," he said, 
indicating where both she and her sleeping bag were 
sprawled over the greater portion of the tent.
	"This is my tent, and I'm not moving," she 
said sternly.
	"Just swing your legs over there, so they're 
parallel to the door and then I'll . . ." he trailed off, 
pushing her bag and her so that she was scrunched 
in a corner while he rolled his bag out diagonal to the 
door, trying to scrunch up enough so he would fit. 
Scully shoved him to the side, making more room 
for herself. In the ensuing battle, her backpack was 
thrown out, their bodies arguing with each other's 
until they came to an unspoken agreement.
	It was Scully's tent, and she stretched out 
lengthwise with her feet facing the tent door. Mulder 
did the same, only his feet and the lower part of his 
legs were exposed and sticking outside of the tent. 
Mulder was in his sleeping bag and stuck the lower 
half of the sleeping bag outside. Scully zipped the 
tent door down as far as it would go.
	She settled down and got as comfortable as 
she possibly could. 
	Mulder followed suit. He didn't feel very 
safe with his feet, ankles and most of his calves 
outside of the tent, with only the sleeping bag 
covering them, but then again, it was better than 
having all of himself outside.
	Scully began to feel sleepy. She yawned to 
Mulder, "Good night."
	Mulder looked at her, wondering how on 
earth she could look so comfortable, much less be 
able to sleep. He said, "Yeah, whatever, good night."
	Soon Scully was peacefully sleeping and 
that left Mulder staring at her jealously.
	After a few moments he hunkered down, 
turning on his side and finding himself in a sea of red 
hair. He brushed her hair closer to her head and 
turned on his stomach. The hot liquid he had just 
consumed swished and groaned in his stomach, but 
he ignored it. He reached to cross his arms as Scully 
turned. One of his arms was now trapped 
underneath her. He closed his eyes for a long 
moment, trying to slide his hand out from under her 
sleeping bag.
	"Mulder, what are you doing?" she asked, 
her voice cutting through the darkness.
	Mulder gasped. "Jesus, Scully, you scared 
me." He took several deep breaths. "I thought you 
were asleep."
	"I'm supposed to sleep with you twisting 
and turning while you fondle me the sleeping bag?"
	"I wasn't fondling you, Scully, What kind 
of a pervert do you take me for? You rolled on my 
arm, I was merely trying to extract it before I lose all 
the circulation in my hand and it falls off," he 
explained neatly.
	She arched an eyebrow. "Mulder, lie down 
and get comfortable and then stay there."
	"That's easy for you to say, Scully. You're 
the one with total discipline."
	"If you zip your sleeping bag all the way 
up, then you'll have a hard time moving," she 
suggested.
	"What a brilliant idea," Mulder said 
sarcastically. "I don't know why I didn't think of it 
myself."
	"You have any better ideas?" Scully said 
pointedly.
	Mulder shut up and tried out Scully's idea. 
It was better than doing nothing.
	Scully settled down again, and a few 
minutes later she was sleeping again, leaving Mulder 
with his sleeping bag zipped to his neck and him 
staring at the tent ceiling wide awake.
	He yawned, and Scully elbowed him. 
"Sleep," she grunted.
	"I can't sleep," he protested.
	She turned over, facing him. "What do you 
want, milk and a bedtime story?"
	He just looked at her.
	"No, forget it, Mulder, it's not happening!" 
she exclaimed.
	"Did I say anything?" he accused.
	"No, but you're giving me that look again." 
She stared tiredly at him. "Just go to sleep."
	"I can't there's not enough noise. That's 
why I keep the TV on while I sleep," he said.
	"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?" 
she said.
	His eyes slanted. "Don't patronize me!"
	"Stop acting like a two-year-old then," she 
shot back.
	Mulder turned on his side so his back was 
facing her.
	"Oh, don't sulk now," she protested. When 
she got no reply, she touched his shoulder and 
shook him. "Mulder?" she questioned. "Come on, 
don't be like that." Silence. She pursed her lips 
regretfully. "Goodnight, Mulder," she said softly.
	The man lying next to her muttered 
something unintelligible in response.
	She turned on her side and fell asleep for 
the third time that night.
	
	Mulder awoke in the darkness to the sound 
of a zipper being pulled. H e glanced at Scully, who 
was sleeping peacefully. He looked to the side of his 
sleeping bag, which was secure in place. The zipper 
sound continued, undisturbed. He checked the tent 
flap, but it was securely closed around his ankles. 
	"What the hell . . ." he muttered.
	A cold breeze drifted over his feet. Then he 
felt something warm and wet on his exposed feet. 
Almost like a tongue . . .
	Mulder jerked his feet back, startled. "No 
way," he said to the darkness. "There is no way that  
there is something my sleeping bag."
	He was proved wrong.
	He scooted out of the sleeping bag as a 
small lump began moving steadily towards him.
	"Scully," he whispered, turning to look at 
her. He shook her shoulder to no avail.
	Then he turned back to the bag as 
whatever-it-was neared the top. He pulled out a 
camera, and snapped a photo as a fluffy head 
appeared. Mulder paled.
	There, nestled among his would-be covers 
was a dog. And not just any dog. But a tiny 
Pomeranian bearing a collar with the name 
Queequeg.
	"No, no, no, you're dead!" he yelled at the 
dog, which yipped cheerfully at him, in defiance of 
his claim. Mulder quickly unzipped the tent, and 
grabbed both sleeping bag and dog, dragging them 
out into the woods. There, he proceeded to trample 
both while Queequeg dodged his foot and barked. 
Mulder tripped over a large tree root, out of breath. 
He watched Scully's former pet growl at him and 
then start dragging his sleeping bag towards the 
woods. He groaned, and stood, meaning to go after 
the dog and his sleeping bag. But all that remained 
was a pathetic flea collar. 
	"Queequeg!" he called. "Here boy!" he 
yelled. "Come here you little puffball," he muttered 
under his breath. He whistled, clapped his hands and 
swore several times before returning to the tent. He 
curled up into a fetal position, shivering in the night 
air.
	At least my feet don't hang out the side of 
the tent if I'm curled up like this, he thought 
dismally. He glanced at his sleeping partner. Maybe . 
. .
	"Hey, Scully? Queequeg took my sleeping 
bag, can I share yours?" he asked.
	She moaned in response. "Yeah, sure, fine, 
go to sleep," she muttered tiredly.
	That's about as much of an invitation as 
you're going to get, Mulder, he thought to himself. 
Watching her face cautiously, he slowly unzipped 
her sleeping bag and climbed in, zippering it back up. 
	"Thanks, Scully," he whispered, positioning 
himself so that his back was to hers.
	She made some unintelligible response.
	
	Morning came. 
	Scully awakened first. Something was 
breathing on her neck. AS more of her senses 
became alert, she also felt something pressing 
against the length of her body. She tilted her head to 
get a better point of view at whatever had decided to 
join her for the night, and was met by a fluff of black 
hair invading her face. She sneezed, awakening her 
bedfellow.
	Mulder's face was pressed securely into her 
neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
	"God, please tell me I didn't sleep with my 
idiot of a partner," she said aloud. Mulder's head 
jerked up, cuffing her chin.
	"Ow!"
	"Wha-"
	"Mulder, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she 
said loudly, rubbing her aching jaw.
	He winced, carefully tilting his head back to 
stare up at her. "Uh, good-morning," he said 
awkwardly.
	"Not an answer. What are you doing in my 
sleeping bag and you better have your pants on or 
there's going to be holy hell to pay."
	Mulder gulped. How was he going to 
explain this one?" "Your dog, Queequeg was here 
and then he stole my sleeping bag!"
	Scully's eyes turned stormy. "First of all, 
your sleeping bag is sitting right there and now 
you're using my dead dog as an alibi!"
	"I- I-"
	"OUT!" she said, pushing him.
	The sleeping bag rolled with her, so she was 
lying sprawled on his chest. She beat her fists against 
it. 
	"Out, out, out, out, out!"
	She punctuated her words with blows as 
she tried to shove him not only out of the sleeping 
bag, but out of the tent as well.
	"Scully, I'm not lying, I swear!" he insisted. 
He pushed away her hands, twisting their bodies so 
he pinned her body down with his and her hands 
were aside her ears. "I'm not lying," he said, his 
voice softer. His eyes caught hers for a long 
moment, and his lower body shifted uncomfortable 
against hers.
	"Mulder," she said, her voice slightly 
breathless from their tussle.
	He pressed himself more firmly against her, 
his eyes darkening. "What?" His voice came out 
hoarse, and sounded unfamiliar to her.
	"Your gun's pressing into my thigh," she 
said distractedly.
	"That's not my gun," he croaked.
	Her mouth opened slightly and then 
clamped tightly shut. "Oh," she said finally. She 
squirmed uncomfortably underneath him. "I 
understand."
	After the *full* realization hit her she 
screamed at Mulder, "Get the hell out of my sleeping 
bag!!"
	He didn't move an inch. He stared at her 
dumbly, like an animal frozen in a car's oncoming 
headlights.
	"But- but-" he protested. "That *thing* was 
really here, and Queequeg really took my sleeping 
bag!"
	"Mulder," Scully whispered with a pleading 
note etched in her voice. She was lying next to her 
best friend and her partner in a very intimate 
position, sharing a sleeping bag. Something like this 
could only happen to her, and it could only happen 
because of Mulder.
	Mulder ignored Scully's pleading voice. He 
stuck his chin out stubbornly. "I'm *not* moving."
	Scully refused to stay in her sleeping bag 
pinned under Mulder's body because of one of his 
insane fears.
	"If *you*'re not moving, *I* am," she said 
as she began kicking and squirming to get out of the 
sleeping bag.
	one of her kicks made contact with a very 
sensitive region of Mulder's body.
	He croaked, "Ooph," and curled up in pain.
	Scully twisted her smile  into a look of 
apology and mumbled, "Sorry."
	The look Mulder gave her showed 
*anything* but belief of her sorrow.
	Finally Scully was free of the bag and she 
climbed into Mulder's sleeping bag, making a big 
show of patting the sleeping bag hard and looking 
inside the bag to make sure nothing was inside.
	"See, Mulder," she said. "Nothing here. 
Just your *overactive* imagination."
	He was still doubled over. "See what?" he 
groaned. "That part of my body is connected to the 
rest of my body. Thanks to you, I'm blind."
	"I knew you thought with it, but I didn't 
know you saw with it."
	"Yeah, like that song- `Dem Bones'," he 
said. He began to sing. "My brain is connected to 
my eyes, my eyes are connected to me, well, 
nevermind," Mulder's voice trailed away.
	"You can say it, Mulder. I know what 
you're talking about."
	Mulder paused. "No-"
	"Go on say it. I dare you," she said, 
narrowing her eyes at him.
	He hesitated. He posed the great question to 
himself- should he or should he not? Scully began to 
make a squawking sound. "Are you chicken, 
Mulder?"
	Finally, he muttered, "Genitals."
"If there's an iced tea in that bag, could be love."
"Must be fate, Mulder. Root beer."
- an excerpt from "Tooms"

"I think it's about something we have no personal choice in. I think it's about fate."
- Fox Mulder, Paperclip

"No more," he growled. "You're tempting fate."
"Sometimes it is very . . . pleasant to tempt fate. Fate
is so very big after all, so very warm. I can almost feel it
pulsing right here at my fingertips. *Fate*, that is," Silver
purred.
- an excerpt from Come the Night by Christina Skye


From kileyw@frontiernet.net Sun Nov 17 12:33:54 1996
Skinner is Not Bigfoot (2/2)
by Amaris E Squared and Sarah "S\S" Kiley

Scully groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, 
Mulder, Genitals, huh?" Come on, say the *real* 
word."
	"I refuse, Scully. It's not fair to bait me like 
this. It has to be a crime or something."
	"Well then arrest me," she said as she 
pulled out a pair of handcuffs. She tossed them, and  
Mulder got hit in the head.
	"Ouch!!!" Mulder yelled. "What did you do 
that for?"
	"You're the one who wanted to use the 
handcuffs," Scully said, with a grin on her face. 
	"Not for *that*."
	"What for then?" she dared.
	"Wouldn't you like to know?" he shot 
back.
	"Not in this lifetime, if it's anything like 
your average sexual fantasy!"
	"Never say never, Scully," he reminded.
	"Well, you never know . . ."
	"Yes, he continued, echoing her words 
awkwardly. "You never know."
	The conversation trailed off into a staring 
contest before  Scully broke it. "Well, I'm getting 
dressed, which means *you* have to leave," she 
instructed, motioning towards the tent flap with her 
head.
	The flirtatious conversation over and 
Queequeg nowhere in sight, Mulder decided it was 
safe to leave the tent, and he crawled halfway out.
	He poked his head out, peering around for 
the doggie phantom.
	"Out, Mulder!" she said. A second later her 
foot connected with his butt and he fell face first into 
the dirt. 
	"Scully," Mulder said. "You're not going to 
live love."
	"yeah, Mulder, whatever. It was your idea 
to come here and if you were stupid enough to not 
bring and tent *and* tell me that my *dead* dog 
stole your sleeping bag so you had to get into 
*mine* with *me* in it, then you deserve what you 
get."
	"I've never been camping before, what do 
you want from me, blood?"
	"For starters," she called. "Enough sense to 
go someplace normal for a vacation. Like Hawaii or 
Florida or California, or anyplace *but* Canada to 
search for Bigfoot! Then maybe you could find out if 
you didn't know, what to bring- like a tent. Last 
night was awful!"
	A corner of his mouth tilted in a smile as he 
rummaged to find the leftover soup and bread for 
breakfast. "If you had let me use the handcuffs, it 
might not have been so bad," he said softly.
	"I heard that, Mulder," she warned.
	"It wasn't intended for your ears, but since 
you heard, what do you think about my idea for 
livening things up?"
	"Sure, why not?"
	Mulder turned to stare at the closed tent 
flap. "Scully . . ."
	"Mmm?" she said, smiling to herself.
	"Are you feeling okay?" Mulder asked.
	"Why wouldn't I be?"
	"Well, I just never expected you to agree."
	She poked her head out of the tent and 
smiled sweetly as she threw his shirt in his face. 
"You have such low self-confidence. No wonder 
you need those videos," she teased.
	He glanced at her. "I'm game if you are."
	"Come on, I dare ya."
	"All right, fine," he said, you're on."
	Scully came out of the tent fully dressed 
and Mulder looked disappointed and put his shirt on.
	Scully tossed the handcuffs to Mulder and 
he caught them this time. He snapped it on his right 
wrist and he held up the other end with his hand. 
"Come on," he invited. 
	She walked over to him and snapped the 
dangling end of the handcuffs on her left wrist.
	"I'm keeping the keys, Mulder," she said.
	"Fine, he said, handing them over. She 
place the keys neatly in her pocket as he approached. 
His movements were swift and jerky as he carefully 
lifted a hand up to cup the side of her face. 
	"What are you doing?" she questioned.
	"Indulging in my perverted sexual fantasy."
	"The purpose of this trip is to find Bigfoot," 
Scully reminded him. "And that's all I agreed to do."
	Mulder began to whine. "But you 
promised."
	"I promised to wear the handcuffs, that's it. 
I thought it could be an interesting experience. Being 
chained to *you* all day. At least I can keep tabs on 
you this way."
	Mulder's hand dropped and his face along 
with it. "Fine. I'll keep my sexual fantasies under 
wrap. But you have to keep your promise."
	"Oh, Mulder, that's not a problem," she 
said. "I keep myself chained to you all day. But just 
*how* do you plan to keep your end of the deal?"
	"I can keep my hormones under control," 
he admonished.
	"No, how do you plan to liven things up 
and deliver Bigfoot?"
	"Wonder if Queequeg took his blanket, 
too."
	"Will you stop?" she insisted. "My dog is 
dead. I'm the one who's supposed to be in a state of 
denial, you never even oh-" she stopped mid-tirade, 
struck with a new thought. "Oh, Mulder, I know 
what you're doing," she said, her voice taking on a 
softer, gentler tone.
	"Huh?"
	"Climbing in my sleeping bag, telling me 
you saw Queequeg. I know you didn't like my dog, 
but you can't feel guilty over his death, and you 
can't take his place. Queequeg is dead, and I've 
accepted that, Mulder," she spoke as if talking to a 
child.
	"I'm telling you I saw him," Mulder 
exclaimed. "Somehow he unzipped my sleeping bag 
and climbed up my bag. He poked his head out and I 
took a picture of him. Then I took the dog and my 
sleeping bag outside. I tripped and fell and Queequeg 
ran off with my sleeping bag, leaving his flea collar 
behind."
	Scully paused and then said, as if to 
explain," You hadn't slept well at all, so you were 
sleep-deprived which would make you not in the 
best functioning state. It is possible something was 
in your  bag, but it couldn't be Queequeg. You 
hallucinated your sleeping bag being gone and 
because of your need to comfort me over 
Queequeg's death you climbed in to my sleeping 
bag."
	"But I have proof!" Mulder held up a 
Polaroid picture.
	Scully took it from Mulder and she 
exclaimed, "Mulder, this picture is of *anything* but 
Queequeg. Is this your proof?"
	He sputtered, "But at least it's proof, isn't' 
it? Queequeg or some dog similar to him was here. 
And it probably took my sleeping bag to its master 
and then dragged it back. Look, I'll show you the 
tracks," he insisted. He stalked over to where he had 
last seen the little dog the previous night.
	Scully stumbled after him, practically 
running to keep up with his long strides. The keys 
dropped from her hand. She turned to get them, but 
was rewarded with the swift jerk of her left wrist 
forward.
	Mulder stopped and pointed to several dog 
tracks that led away into the woods. "There," he 
said.
	She wasn't giving up yet. "So there was a 
dog here, a dog who looked similar to Queequeg. 
And for some reason it was in your sleeping bag. 
And it took your sleeping bag. But how did it get 
back into the tent?"
	"I don't' know. I've already offered up my 
theory. I still say it was Queequeg. Queequeg's 
ghost."
	"Well, I say it wasn't. And I don't want to 
argue anymore. Let's go back. I have to find the 
keys anyway."
	Mulder smiled at Scully. "No keys? Now 
we're really stuck."

	Two hours later, Mulder and Scully were on 
the trail. They'd managed to eat breakfast without 
any awful hazards and they'd packed up camp while 
being joined together at the wrist.
	They couldn't find the keys and now they 
were arguing about whose fault the loss was. 
	Mulder kept muttering throughout the 
whole trip. Although his words were low, she caught 
snatches of "ghost", "cuffs" and "Scully".
	She confronted him about it when they 
stopped for a mid-morning snack of peaches.
	"Mulder, we're handcuffed together in the 
middle of nowhere and we have a long trek back to 
civilization, so if you have anything to say, I suggest 
you just spill it," she said.
	He stared down at her. "I have to go to the 
bathroom," he informed her.
	"Oh," she said, trying to figure out how 
they were going to get out of this mess. Her 
suggestion was, "You'll just have to go in the bushes 
and I'll have to turn my back."
	"Okay, then," he said. He hurried over to 
the bushes, practically dragging her with him. She 
ran to catch up with him. He turned towards the 
bushes and she spread herself so they were back to 
back. Mulder started dragging her hand to the front 
of his jeans to undo the zipper.
	"Mulder," she cried, tugging her hand back.
	"I need *two* hands to do this, Scully," he 
said, not the least bit apologetic.
	"Not three!" she insisted.
	"But at least two," he finished. He pulled 
her hand back and Scully slumped against his back. 
Her hand brushed against some slippery, smooth 
type of material. Silk? 
	"Mulder, are you wearing *silk* boxer 
shorts?" she asked, trying to keep her hand away 
from his flesh.
	"No, why?" he asked, his voice darkening.
	"Liar," she countered.
	"Okay, so what if I'm lying?"
	"Let's go home, Mulder. Why are we 
*even* out here?"
	"To find Bigfoot?" Mulder suggested.
	"I'm sorry I even went in to see Skinner," 
she muttered as he zipped up his pants.
	"You're DATING SKINNER?"
	"No, you idiot. *I'm* the one who went 
into suggest Skinner give us both a two week leave."
	"WHAT? Why?"
	"Because I was hoping I would actually get 
a vacation? Because you're a workaholic and 
personally I think some time off would do you some 
good?" she listed.
	"When he told me I had to take two weeks 
off, I thought I could fulfill my lifelong dream of 
finding Bigfoot and proving his existence."
	"Mulder, you need a life. We need to go 
home."
	"For once, I agree with you."
	"There's one problem, Mulder. I have to go 
to the bathroom now."
	"Oh, goody . . ."
	"I'm so glad you're excited," she drawled.
	He grinned. "Now I get to see what kind of 
underwear *you* have on."
	She snorted. "No you don't. Turn around," 
she instructed. He sighed and did so. She started to 
undo her jeans, and Mulder's hand b rushed against 
her thigh.
	"Mulder, don't you dare."
	
WASHINGTON, D.C. 
ALMOST TWO WEEKS LATER

	"Morning, Mulder. Here's a cheerful idea 
for you. Skinner wants to see you. And in fifteen 
minutes," Scully said to the phone.
	Mulder moaned, "Scully I know what 
happened in Canada. It explains everything."
	Scully sighed. "Now, what, Mulder?"
	"I just sent the forms into Skinner. Bigfoot 
has kidnapped your dog. We're going to Canada 
again. And this time we can't go home until we find 
Queequeg."
	"No *wonder* Skinner wants to see you." 
She asked, "Are you feeling okay?"
	Mulder said, "Sure, I'm okay. Except for 
this red rash and ah look at that- my temperature just 
went up to 1000!"
	"I'm going to call Skinner and tell him 
you're sick. Then I'm coming over."
	"Are you bringing the handcuffs?"
	"Maybe . . . if you behave yourself. I'll 
bring you some nice medicine to make you feel sane 
again."
	"No, I like the pretty colors."
	"Oh, by the time I get there you'll be seeing 
stars too."
	"Oooh, stars. Pretty stars?"
	"Yes. Very pretty."
	
	
	


"If there's an iced tea in that bag, could be love."
"Must be fate, Mulder. Root beer."
- an excerpt from "Tooms"

"I think it's about something we have no personal choice in. I think it's about fate."
- Fox Mulder, Paperclip

"No more," he growled. "You're tempting fate."
"Sometimes it is very . . . pleasant to tempt fate. Fate
is so very big after all, so very warm. I can almost feel it
pulsing right here at my fingertips. *Fate*, that is," Silver
purred.
- an excerpt from Come the Night by Christina Skye