He couldn't stop shivering. "I'm cold, Scully," he said. He couldn't see her, and he couldn't feel her. The world consisted of nothing but the fire in his head, and the chill in his body. Yet he knew she was there.

"I know you are, Mulder." The sound of her voice brought him back to the forest, and when he felt her arms around him, he was almost happy to be awake.

"I don't feel well," he told her, and that was an understatement. His head hurt, he was freezing cold, and he felt nauseated..

"I know," she repeated, and he had the feeling that she'd been up for awhile, worrying over him. "This isn't right," she said. "You shouldn't be this ill from a simple wound." He opened his eyes just in time to see her pale. "Oh, God," she breathed. "An animal trap. It was an animal trap."

His fear climbed a notch. "What about it?" he managed to ask.

"Anthrax. I remember hearing something on the news about anthrax. Some cows were found dead from it, but not before the woodland animals had a feast." His stomach quivered at the thought. "If one of them was caught in that trap, and then it was reset..." She looked at him in horror. "We have to get you to a hospital."

"I won't..." He shivered. "...argue with that."

She unzipped the bag and helped him to sit up. He leaned heavily into her as a wave of dizziness assailed him, and a shudder wracked him.

"Mulder?" He opened his eyes to find his face sandwiched between her hands. "Can... hear me?" Her lips moved and sounds issued forth; blinking slowly, he tried to determine what it was she was trying to do. "Mulder?"

He jerked at the familiarity of the word. Then it all sank in. "Yeah, Scully?" he rasped.

"I need to get to higher ground. The phones won't work in here." Her gaze swept behind and around him. "The trees must be interfering with the signal."

"Okay," he said. It sounded perfectly reasonable to him.

"You have to come with me."

He wasn't sure why, but that seemed important to her. "Okay." He shivered again. Scully was right: it was winter.

"You have to walk, Mulder. Do you understand? I know you don't feel well, and I know your ankle hurts, but you have to walk."

His gaze followed hers down to his ankle and then back up to meet her eyes. "Okay," he said, his voice trembling a little. "I'm so cold, though, Scully. Can I get back in the sleeping bag?"

She froze, and he wondered what he'd said wrong. "No, Mulder," she said, and he was relieved to feel no anger from her. Her hands pressed lightly into his face with each word she emphasized. "You're sick, and you're getting sicker. We have to call for help." She released his face then. "Come on, now," she said, rising. "See if you can stand."

When she took her hands away, the cold struck him like a physical blow, and he breathed out like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Mulder!" Her face hovered before him, stricken with worry. "What's wrong?" she asked, and he felt like a heel for scaring her.

"Nothing," he answered. An iceberg, a freeze pop, a human popsicle... that's what he felt like. "I'm just a little cold," he said.

She pulled the unzipped sleeping bag around him. "Right. And I'm just a little short."

Despite his misery, he smiled. "All right. I'm a lot cold." He raised his eyebrows in expectation.

"Well, if you can make bad jokes, you must be feeling better," she said, and he realized that the fuzziness had left him. Which was not altogether a good thing, since he could now feel every toothmark in his ankle.

He smiled for her, though, and stretched out an arm toward her. "Can you give me a hand up?"

She slung her rolled-up sleeping back around her neck and shrugged into her knapsack before reaching to pull him up. When he put his weight on the injured ankle, he flailed out, the back of his hand connecting solidly with Scully's cheek, nearly knocking her down. The world spun nauseatingly around him, and he closed his eyes tightly against it.

"It's okay, Mulder. It's okay." He heard Scully's murmurings when the roar in his ears died down.

"I'm all right." Pushing himself off her, he wondered how she'd managed to remain upright with his bulk draped over her. When he could focus, his eyes automatically sought out the contact point on her face; he winced at the redness he saw there. "Are you all right?"

She rubbed at her cheek and nodded. "I'm fine." Steadying him, she bent down and quickly retrieved his backpack, then helped him into it. He stared at the mark on her face the entire time.

Momentarily, he forgot about his ankle and the cold and how godawful sick he felt. "I hurt you."

She picked up his open sleeping bag, spread it over him, then climbed beneath it next to him. She grabbed him firmly around the waist with one hand, holding the sleeping bag closed with the other. "It was an accident, Mulder," she said, very softly. "It's all right."

"I'm sorry."

She smiled at him, and he felt her arm tighten around him. "I know you are." A wave of concern swept through her eyes. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, and they started walking. Eventually, his concern for Scully fell away, and he began to feel like an abused, deflated, run-down-and-backed-over punching bag. His ankle was no longer merely throbbing; every step he took was bone-crunchingly excruciating. He closed his eyes and let Scully lead him.

He wasn't aware he'd let his distress become vocal until he heard Scully's, "You're doing great, Mulder. We're almost there," and her "I know. I know it hurts. Just a little further, okay?"

"I'm..." ...all right, he wanted desperately to assure her, yet all he could manage was another choked-off moan.

"Shh. Don't try to talk. You're doing beautifully. A few more feet, and you can rest. I promise."

He didn't want to do beautifully. He didn't want a few more feet. He wanted this agony to end. He wanted Scully to make good on her promise. He wanted to rest.

Scully was surprised Mulder had stayed on his feet as long as he had, so when he crumpled quietly to the ground she was ready for him. She eased him down gently onto his knees and slid his backpack off him, careful not to dislodge the sleeping bag covering his shivering form. Then, cupping a hand behind his neck, she lowered him onto his back with the sleeping bag beneath him.

He whimpered softly when she straightened his injured leg, and she brushed a hand across his forehead. "Sorry, Mulder." She removed her sleeping bag and unzipped it, then folded it back in half so that when she covered him, it was with the soft flannel interior instead of the shiny cold smoothness of the outside.

She dried the sweat off his face, and his eyes opened; he swallowed. "Scully, I don't know if I can--"

"No more, Mulder," she told him, shaking her head. "I think I can get through from here." She looked up at the crest of the hill about thirty yards behind him. "Well, up there anyway."

He made a motion to look, but his eyes were the only things that moved. "I'll take your word for it," he whispered.

Smiling at him and patting his arm, she slid her knapsack off and took out her cell phone. She dialed the emergency mobile operator, closing her eyes in silent thanks when someone answered; she really hadn't wanted to leave Mulder alone, even for those few yards.

"This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI..." She rattled off her badge number, explained their situation, and waited while they connected her to the hospital nearest their location.

"...with the proper antibiotics," he heard Scully's voice saying.

He was lying on his back, looking up at Scully talking on her phone.

She listened for a minute, then, "Not too far, I don't think. We were trying to reach the hikers' camp, then got turned around." She listened again. "No. We had to move to higher ground." A pause, then he watched as she raised her head and looked behind him. "Yes, I see it." An exhale of relief. "That would be great because, to tell you the truth, I don't think he can travel any more." She listened for a long time, then he saw what looked suspiciously like tears in her eyes. "I understand," she said, and she hit the "End" button.

"They're coming, Mulder. Just--" She looked down at him and stopped suddenly; very casually she turned her head and wiped her eyes. "How long have you been awake?"

"A..." He licked his dry lips. "Just a few minutes."

He knew her smile was forced. "Well, you don't have to go to them anymore, Mulder. They're coming to you."

"Who?" he asked stupidly. His brain felt foggy.

"The rescue team. The paramedics. Seems we picked the perfect place to call from. They're going to fly you out of here. They'll be here in about an hour." She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and she looked at him, clearly shaken yet still feigning ignorance. He reached up and brushed his finger across her still-wet face. Before she could answer, though, another shudder convulsed through him, and he reached out for her in desperation. She held him tightly against her, and he was dismayed to find that his only reaction was an overwhelming urge to throw up. Or faint. Or both.

Her hand rubbed his back. "Stay with me, Mulder. Please."

How could he refuse her when she was pleading so mournfully? "I'm here," he managed to say. "I'm still here, Scully."

"Don't leave me, Mulder," she said, and then he knew she wasn't just talking about a few minutes.

Although he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go back to sleep, he lifted his head from her shoulder and smiled for her. "I won't."

She looked fearfully into his eyes, and suddenly she laughed. "Oh, God, Mulder." She hugged him. "I'm such a fool."

"What?" He felt dizzy, and he wasn't sure it was from the poison coursing through his system.

"The penicillin you've been taking for your last injury." Laying him back down carefully, she started rummaging through the pockets in the front of his knapsack. She graced him with a joyful, teeth-filled smile, as she emerged triumphant with the small vial of pills. "I never thought I'd be happy that you were so clumsy."

"I'm not clumsy," he muttered. She might be deliriously happy, but he still felt like the Boston Pops was ringing in the new year by playing the 1812 Overture in his head.

"A rusty nail? Come on, Mulder. No one over the age of twelve steps on a rusty nail."

He said nothing as she lifted his head and made him swallow the small white pill. Another shudder ran through him, and God help him, he couldn't stop himself. As annoyed with her as he felt, he reached out for her.

She didn't turn him away. It was a pity hug she gave him, but he didn't care. "Easy, Mulder. You're going to be all right now."

"Oh, good," he said, feeling like he was dying, and hoping for it even more. She thought he was clumsy. Clumsy and twelve years old. He closed his eyes. He didn't ever want to be twelve years old again.

"Hey," she said, and he felt her hand caressing his face. "I really need to work on my technique."

His eyes opened, and he looked up at her blearily. "Technique?" His voice shook from another shudder.

"Yeah, a pathologist doesn't get to practice her bedside manner too often." She lifted his head and placed it in her lap. "Better?" she asked.

He mumbled noncommittally, wondering just what she was getting at--and what she was doing.

"I'm sorry I called you clumsy, Mulder. I know you're not." A breeze whipped up and he started to shiver; she pulled the sleeping bag tighter around him. "I was just so relieved to know that you wouldn't be--" She pressed her lips together tightly.

"Dead?" he asked, yearning to bury himself inside his cocoon until he was warm, yet unwilling to sacrifice moving his head from its coveted place in Scully's lap. "That's what they said before, didn't they? That I might not make it until they arrived."

She nodded. "When they found out that the bacterium entered directly into your bloodstream, they were afraid it would spread before they could get to you." Her eyes closed briefly. "And then I remembered that you had some penicillin, and..."

"You decided to add insult to injury."

She grew very still beneath him. "I hope you believe me... That was never my intention."

"I know, Scully," he said. "It just slipped out, didn't it?" He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek into her leg; it felt like a comfort and a punishment. "I hate to think that's how you see me."

She laughed, which was the last thing he expected--or wanted. Despite his chills, he felt too warm; he thought that now would be a very good time to pass out. But his body had other ideas, as it left him wide awake and all too aware. Couldn't things go his way just this once?

"I don't see you that way at all," she continued, obviously ignorant of the battle raging inside him. He felt too miserable to listen closely, but he had no choice. "I see you as my partner, of course, as a friend..." Her hand slipped under the sleeping bag to rub his neck, and he got the distinct impression that his outlook was about to improve. "Don't think I don't see you as a man, Mulder. I do." The kneading stopped, and her hand was just a warm presence on his neck.

He turned his head and looked up at her. "I love you, you know."

It wasn't the full, radiant smile she turned upon him, but one he'd never seen before, one overflowing with tenderness, and affection, and caring. "I know," she said, and the smile lingered.

He waited.

And waited. His words didn't echo back to him.

But the feeling did.

When he opened his eyes, she was there. In a chair by his bed she slept, and he watched her until she woke. Her first conscious movement was to look at him, and it jarred him, that he meant enough to her that her very first thought would be of him.

"Hi," she said, and she gave him that smile again, the one he would forevermore know was just for him.

"Hi," he returned. His voice was rusty, and grated on his throat.

"Here. Have a few sips of this." She held a straw to his lips, and he drew the liquid in too quickly, coughing and spewing water onto her face and down her shirtfront.

Over before it began, was all he could think, even while he was gasping for breath. "Sorry," he wheezed, in between coughs, sinking even more into his pillows. He wished he could keep sinking right on through the bed. His face was hot, his head was throbbing and he didn't want to be awake any more.

The coolness of a washcloth touched his face, accompanied by her soft voice. "Shh... It's okay, Mulder. It's okay."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, mortally embarrassed. He felt like he might just burn his way through the bed after all.

On the floor it was blessedly cooler, and he sighed in relief.

"Come on. Open your eyes." He heard the pleading in her voice, and he realized that he would never be able to refuse her anything. He was surprised to find himself still in bed; the coolness he felt was Scully bathing his face and chest. He looked up at her.

That smile again. He knew he was forgiven. "Sorry," he said, as if he'd never told her before.

"It's okay, Mulder," she told him, and he believed that it really was. "Want to try that again?" The offending straw and cup was hovering mere inches away from his mouth.

"Um..." He swallowed dryly and nodded. "Get out of range this time," he rasped, pleased with himself when she gave a soft laugh.

"You'd think if I learned one thing in all this time I've been around you, it would be how to duck," she said, sitting on his bed and sliding an arm around his shoulders. She held him tight against her while he swallowed the soothing water. When he was through his head fell back against the softness of her breast.

He tried to see her behind him. "You know, you could have just cranked the bed up."

She leaned forward until they were face to face. "Yes, I could have."

He smiled goofily when her meaning penetrated the fuzziness that still surrounded him.

The door opened suddenly, and a nurse came in carrying a paper bag. "You both slept through dinner, and well... the food's not the best here, even on Thanksgiving." She reached into the bag and removed two plastic-covered plates. "We had a lot left over. My husband brought this for you."

Scully looked surprised, and Mulder felt awful. He'd slept an entire day. It was Thursday. She was here instead of there.

"Thanks, Jen," Scully said, gratefully. "I'm starving." The nurse smiled, placed the dishes on the table and left.

"You should be home," Mulder said, softly, not looking at her.

"Mulder..." she said.

He heard the mild rebuke in her tone and looked up nervously. He just about melted when he saw the look in her eyes.

"Don't you know what they say about where the heart is?"

Blinking back tears, he smiled. And nodded.

The End (2/2)

The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one person. -Vi Putnam

Comments appreciated! jolassi555@cs.com