"Tell me again why we're tromping through the woods of northern Pennsylvania in the winter?" It was the third time she'd asked the question in the hour that they'd been hiking, and Mulder was growing tired of repeating himself.

"It's not winter," he growled instead. It damn well felt like it,though, as he shivered inside his parka.

"It's two days before Thanksgiving, and it's freezing. It's winter.Why am I here instead of scouring the stores for eggnog and cider?"

"Is that what you're bringing this year?" he asked, somewhat wistfully. Every year he both envied and pitied her, as she regaled him with tales of what she diplomatically referred to as the annual Thanksgiving Get-Together, and what he privately called Hell: Scully-Family-Style.

"Uh, huh," she said, somewhat distractedly, raising her head and peering up at the treetops. "We're losing the daylight, Mulder." Scully shifted the rolled-up sleeping bag to one side, then pulled her backpack off and dug through. "Damn it, Mulder," she said, and stopped walking.

"What?" He halted his own forward progress, turning to face her.

"There's no flashlight in here. I thought you said you packed one."Her tone was accusing, and although how she said it annoyed him, what she said alarmed him. Oh, God, he didn't--

He ripped his own knapsack from his shoulder and searched inside."Shit!"

"Where did you leave them?" Her tone resonated weariness and resignation.

He sighed miserably. "On the table beside the bed. If it's any consolation, I did put the new batteries in them."

"Great," she muttered. "That'll be useful."

"Look, it's done. I'm an idiot. I apologize." He squinted up at the waning sunlight. "We'd better start back. We can come back tomorrow." Hefting the pack onto his back, he started walking.

"No."

That pulled him up short. He turned around slowly. "What?"

"You dragged me out here so we could spend a night in the woods waiting for this mythical 'black dog.' And now you want to go back because you forgot your flashlight?" She stared at him, incredulous, then blew out a breath. "I am going home tomorrow, Mulder. I'm going to hope to hell some store somewhere still has cider on its shelves, and I am going to drive to my mother's and spend a nice, X-File-free Thanksgiving with my family."

Mulder tried hard not to flinch from the slap to his ego. A nice, X-file-free Thanksgiving. A nice, Mulder-free Thanksgiving.

"Okay," he said quietly. "We go back tomorrow, regardless."

"Look, it'll be dark in about fifteen minutes." She stole a glance at her watch. "You said it was, what? An hour and a half hike to the site? If we hurry, we can make it there before sunset. Once we get a fire going, we won't need lights." She narrowed her eyes at him. "We can light a fire in those lean-to's?"

"Not in them. But they've got a pit in front for a fire. And more importantly, the fire won't scare the dogs."

"I'm still not comfortable about this," she said. "You said that the dogs haven't harmed anyone? Right? A hiker will be sleeping, and then suddenly jerk awake to find a dog sitting, calmly watching him?"

"Not just any dog. A black dog."

"Sorry. To find a black dog sitting, calmly watching him." She raised an eyebrow. "And that's it?"

He nodded excitedly. "Haven't you ever heard about the black dog, Scully?"

She shook her head. "Not until you told me, no."

He nodded. "They're not as prevalent here--in the US, I mean. Pennsylvania is one of only three states where they're on record as having made an appearance." Looking up at her, he retreated a little into his memory. "They're a big part of the folklore of Britain, though. Very enigmatic creatures. Friendly in some places, an omen of death or disaster in others. But anyone who's seen one has never forgotten the experience."

"And you've seen one?" she asked.

Smiling sadly, he shook his head. "I spoke to the hikers who've seen it, though." His eyes took on that familiar gleam he always got when discussing anything that fascinated him. "One woman woke to find it right in front of her face. She said it was..." He slid into recitation mode. "'...huge, with a shaggy coat, and eyes that were disproportionately large for its head. Its breath was warm and as strong as a gust of wind.'"

She stared at him. "So it's a big dog, Mulder. A big friendly dog. I still don't see why we had to come here two days before Thanksgiving. You may not think much of 'family' but I do." As hurt flitted across his eyes, she instantly regretted her words. "Mulder--"

"Did I tell you what else the woman said?" he went on hurriedly. At the shake of her head, he continued. "It disappeared. While she was looking at it, it vanished. Just faded away." He gazed at her expectantly.

She sighed. "All right. We're here. And we'd better get moving if we want to make that camp before dark." She started jogging, Mulder following close behind. "Did you say that it only appears in the camp?"

"That's right. The camp is on the site of an old farm. Deserted since the twenties. Until the camp opened this year, no one had been there at night for over seventy years." He took a quick breath. "As some ghosts are thought to haunt certain areas at certain times, so do some black dogs."

"And tonight's the night?"

He nodded. "And tomorrow. It's appeared two days in a row every 28 days. And those are just the sightings we're aware of since the camp opened in May. If we didn't come this month--and before you ask, no, I didn't know about it sooner--well, I didn't think you'd want to spend Christmas outside in a sleeping bag in the dead of winter."

"You mean like tonight?" she threw over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"And you're sure these things are harmless?" When he didn't answer, she stopped suddenly and let him practically run into her. "They're harmless. Right, Mulder?" He was smack in her face, yet he wouldn't look at her. She took this as a bad sign.

"No one's been harmed," he said.

"But...?" There was always a "but" where Mulder was concerned; you'd think she'd expect it by now.

"But there have been instances--in the distant past--where they've attacked. That hasn't been the case here, though."

Even taking a deep breath didn't dispel her irritation at his keeping this tidbit of information to himself. "Let's hope that remains the case," she said. "Come on. We're not getting anywhere standing here." She started running again.

Mulder took off after her. They kept up a pretty good pace, but still found themselves in the dark, stumbling over exposed tree roots and far-too-possessive vines.

"We'd better slow it down," Scully panted from somewhere in front of him. "It won't do us any good to break an ankle falling over a--"

A muffled "whump!" and an "Oof!" reached his ears almost simultaneously. "Scully?" His voice sounded a lot calmer than he felt. "Scully? Are you all right?"

Only silence greeted him.

"Scully!" The panic was welling up and breaking free at the thought that she might be injured. "Scully, damn it, answer me!" He plodded forward, arms straight out in front of him. Unwilling to inflict more damage to her than he'd caused already, he trod carefully. "Scully?" he called again. "Please, Scully, if you can hear me, answer me."

A muffled moan sounded off to his left, and he automatically turned toward it.

"Scully?"

The world exploded around him. He let out a howl as something bit into his ankle. And then he was face down on the forest floor, dizzy with pain. He refused to pass out, though, until he knew she was safe. "Scully?"

"Mulder?"

"Scully, are you all right?" he gasped.

"I'm fine. Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"Where are you?" he ground out through gritted teeth.

"Keep talking so I can find you."

"Um... Over here. I'm over here..." He felt an overpowering urge to faint.

"Keep talking, Mulder!" Her sharp voice shocked him awake, but just barely.

"I... Jesus, Scully, what the hell's taking you so long?" He groaned and tried to push himself to his knees; a hand on his back kept him lying flat while nearly scaring the life out of him.

"Lie still."

His head was swimming, and he moaned. "Was it the dog? Did it bite me?"

"Nothing quite so innocent," she said. There was anger in her voice, and he was afraid to ask why. "You're caught in a trap."

"This close to a campsite?" She didn't answer, and he was suddenly filled with dread.

"We should have been there by now, Mulder. I must have gotten turned around at some point." Her hand rubbed his leg. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, and then realized that she couldn't see his face. "It's okay," he said, softly, feeling sweat breaking out over his face. "Um... Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"If you want to try to get that trap off, now would be a good time."

He felt her cool hand on his hot face. "Are you going to pass out?"

"Uh, huh," he said. And did.

While he was unconscious, she freed him from the trap, then sprung it again so it couldn't catch another living being. Unrolling his sleeping bag, she laid it out in a small clearing about twenty yards away. She dragged Mulder over and lay him gently atop it, then ran back and retrieved the rest of their supplies. Working with the light of the half moon, she inspected the injury, heaving a sigh of thanks for the hiking boots that bore the brunt of the attack. She untied the boot and slid it off, then rolled his bloodied sock down.

For an instant, two neat rows of puncture wounds met her eyes, then blood began seeping out, no convenient sock to staunch the flow. Quickly, she removed the first aid kit from her pack. She very liberally applied the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide to disinfect the wound, then applied antibiotic and wrapped it.

On a hunch, she checked Mulder's pack, smiling triumphantly when she came up with her prize: clean socks. She replaced the underwear and assorted toiletries and thanked God she had a partner who was very hygienic. Since they'd planned to spend the night, she'd brought fresh clothing, but her other outdoor overnight experience with men--well, her brothers and they hadn't exactly been "men"--taught her that they were not as like-minded. She patted his leg, silently congratulating him.

He stirred and moaned softly. Hastily, she rolled the soiled sock the rest of the way off, and replaced it with another white sock. She would have liked to leave the boot off, too, but it was too cold to leave his foot exposed. Loosening the laces more, she slid the boot back onto his foot. She tightened the laces but left it untied.

"Scully?" His eyes were closed.

She laid a palm on his cheek. "Right here, Mulder."

"It's cold."

As if his words were a catalyst, she shuddered. "I'm going to set up the heaters. You lie still."

His response was a barely-vocalized grunt.

As she pulled the small battery-powered heaters out of their packs, she was thankful that he was the creature of comfort who'd insisted that they carry the lightweight equipment. She'd argued that the fire would provide both light and heat, and he'd countered with, "What if it rains? The fire pits are outside the lean-to's. I don't know about you, but I don't want to freeze."

And so she'd relented. Even though it was his idea to spend a night out of doors in the middle of winter waiting for what she was sure was someone's stray dog, she'd added yet another item to her already bulging knapsack. Thank God for modern equipment, she thought, as she clicked the units to "on" and immediately felt the warmth.

"Hey," she said, kneeling beside him. "Can you feel that?"

He lay very still, and she thought he must have fallen asleep. "Feel what?" he asked, and she almost laughed at the trepidation in his tone.

"The heat, Mulder." She tried to keep the reproof out of her voice.

"Oh. Um..." His eyes opened, and he looked at her. "It's great. ...Thanks."

She heard the slight hitch in his answer. "What?" she asked, gently, laying a hand on his arm.

Shaking his head, he tried to smile; it came out as more of a grimace. "It's nothing."

"Mulder, don't suffer in silence," she said, exasperated. "Just tell me."

He stared at her for maybe ten seconds, then swallowed. "I'm still cold," he said in a small voice.

"Oh, of course," she said, angry at herself for being so thoughtless. She covered him with the other half of his sleeping bag and zipped it. "Better?" she asked.

This time the smile was successful. "Better," he said. "Although not what I had in mind."

Her eyebrows raised. "I'm afraid that's all you're going to get, partner. You're not hurt that badly, you know."

"How bad do I have to be?" He was feeling better, she could tell. There was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Well, two could play this game.

"There's no set criteria but, generally, bad enough that you wouldn't remember in the morning."

His eyes widened. "Scully, that has to be the mother of all Catch-22's."

She grinned at him. "Specially designed just for you."

He nodded. "Yup. It has that distinct Mulder flavor to it. A taste of ecstasy nullified by a heaping dollop of amnesia." He was smiling, yet his voice was bitter.

"Mulder..." she started. Then she looked down. "Whatever you want from me, I can't give it."

He rolled onto his side, away from her. "I don't want anything from you, Scully."

She watched him breathe for a minute, then started to rise.

"Scully." He turned back to face her, and she felt like crying at the smile he forced onto his face. He struggled until his hands were free of the bag, then reached out to her. She took his hands, not knowing what to expect, but knowing she could trust him. "I didn't mean that."

"I know," she said, and it came out as a whisper, all she could manage. She squeezed his hands, then tucked them back under the covers. "Get some sleep, Mulder, okay?"

His eyes met hers, and she knew what he was asking even though he didn't utter a sound.

"We're fine, Mulder," she told him sincerely, and his relief was palpable.

This time when he rolled over, she knew it was strictly for comfort.

The End of Part 1 of 2