Scully left the trailer park and plunged into the darkness of the fairgrounds beyond. After a moment she found herself winding aimlessly down a deserted lane. This is stupid, she told herself. This is unsafe. You need to go home.

But she didn't have a home. And there was no turning back now.

She could barely see. She kept moving, though, because she had important things to think about and she knew walking would clear her head. She would calm herself, weigh all the issues, come up with a rational plan. Figure out how she and Mulder could work as partners after all that had -

She swallowed a sob, shuddered, dragged her forearm across her face.

They'd come home from Antarctica three months ago. Her memories of that time were still fragmentary: the agony of ice against her naked skin, the miracle of Mulder's arms, the sound of the chopper. At the hospital in the Falklands, someone had put a hot water bottle against her feet, as if she had nothing more serious than a slight case of the flu. She remembered shivering, closing her eyes, willing Mulder to come for her, as he had before, and take the chill away.

Then the memories got sharper: a scratchy blanket pulled up to her chin, the echo of the night nurse's footsteps, Mulder standing in her doorway, wearing pajamas, looking furtive.

"Hi," he'd whispered, perching on the chair beside her bed. "How you feeling?"

"Fi- I mean, much better. You?"

"I'm okay. They're releasing me tomorrow morning."

There had been an uncomfortable silence, then, his form a motionless, gazing silhouette. With the light from the hallway behind him, she'd realized, Mulder was able to see her much more clearly than she could see him. She hadn't liked that, so she'd propped herself on her elbow to get a better look at his face. All it had done, though, was make her shoulder ache. His features had remained in shadow.

After a long moment, he'd murmured, "I'm sorry, Scully."

"It's okay," she'd said, offering her free hand. She'd assumed that, as usual, he was blaming himself for the terrible things that had just happened. "It wasn't your fault."

He'd hesitated, then put his hand awkwardly in hers. "Um, I mean, well, yeah, I'm sorry for that, too. I'm sorry for *everything,* but..."

She'd waited. "But?"

He'd heaved a frustrated sigh. "I mean, um, the other night."

Of course she'd understood immediately which night he meant. That night in his hallway, when he'd put his arms around her and they'd nearly - "You mean, at your place, before I..."

"Yeah." The word fell flat.

"Oh." His tone had instantly confused her. What had happened between them was a good thing, right? Not the ideal way to move forward with a relationship, but better than the standoff that had existed before. She wondered if there was something about that night she was forgetting. "What - what about it?"

He'd set her hand abruptly on the bed, given it a clumsy pat. "It's okay, Scully. Try to get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Then he'd risen and gone resolutely out the door and - damn her - she'd sat like a lump and watched him go. They'd stayed at that hospital for another day, but he hadn't come to see her again.

At the airport, he'd cracked a lot of jokes, then he'd let A.D. Skinner take the seat next to hers. His 'good-bye' at Dulles had been brief, impersonal.

Damn him, too, she thought, stumbling on her own toes.

Back in Washington, she remembered, she'd put her ass on the line for him. She'd marched into the hearing room and called it the way she'd seen it, handing the S.O.B's another excuse to grind out her career under the collective heel. Mulder had thanked her for this loyalty by begging her to go away.

After that, after everything, shouldn't she have listened?

But she'd been at death's door. He'd crossed a hemisphere to find her. 'Save yourself, go be a doctor' was a statement that simply didn't gel with the facts.

Scully stopped walking. Her head was spinning - where the hell was she? Barn-shaped buildings loomed all around her, a single dim security light bathing them in somber shadow.

"Oh god." She felt her knees buckling. There was the scrape of gravel against her palms. Then nothing.

Forever came. Went away again.

Then there was a voice. "Scully, wake up. Open your eyes. Scully."

Mulder.

His hand was on her forehead. He sounded panicked. "Scully, come on. Scully, please."

"Damn you," she muttered, pushing his hand away. "Can't you see I'm busy right now? Leave me the hell alone."

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"This is very unprofess'nal, Mulder."

"Yep."

"Put me down."

"Uh-uh."

Scully smelled like she'd been smoking pot and drinking. Her body seemed far lighter than the last time he'd carried her in his arms this way. The carnival, it seemed, was ruining her health at least as efficiently as the Consortium ever had.

Moonlight poured onto the booths and buildings around them. Trying to get his bearings, Mulder started in the direction of what he thought was the south parking lot, where a rusted-out pickup truck was waiting. At least this time his vehicle had a full tank of gas.

Scully buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes. "Where're we going?"

"You need a doctor," he told her.

She struggled. "I don't need a doctor. I *am* a doctor."

"You passed out. You're exhausted. I'm officially relieving you of this assignment."

"Tha's not your call. I just need a li'l rest..."

"You can nap all you want while they're giving you fluids."

The employee parking area was just beyond the livestock displays, so Mulder followed his nose, choosing a path that led between two corrugated metal barns.

Scully sniffed noisily. "Smells like shit."

He couldn't help chuckling. "A keen investigator."

She gave a weak kick. "Don't patr'nize me. Put me down, you're blowin' my cover."

He kept walking. "Right. I'm sure the cows will never trust you again."

She kicked harder. "Fuck you."

To avoid dropping her, he set her down. Once her feet were on the ground, she turned and smacked him in the chest.

"...like a fuckin' caveman sometimes..." she muttered, pressing her hand to her forehead and swaying.

Mulder reached for her. "Scully - "

She shoved him back. "I'm not your girlfriend, stupid!"

Mulder stopped.

So there it was.

They watched each other for a long moment.

"Now," Scully said, pronouncing each word slowly and deliberately. "We are both following orders now. I am going back to the bunkhouse. I am going to bed."

She turned, took two steps and swooned.

"Goddamn it, Scully." He stepped forward and caught her. "You have no idea what this is doing to my back."

"No doctor," she protested, as he hauled her up, off her feet, and into his arms.

"But, Scully..."

"No doctor!"

"Okay, no doctor."

"I wanna go back to the bunkhouse..."

"Not until you can walk."

Hoping for something like privacy, he headed for the nearest barn. "At least it's warm in here." His voice echoed. Animals stirred in their pens.

"My hero." Her voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Just let me, um..." A few feet away there was an empty pen lined with bales of hay. He headed toward it.

"Hello?" A male voice floated toward them.

Mulder froze.

"Who's there?" There was a scuffling sound, feet crossing the straw-covered concrete. Scully made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

"Scully, shhh, someone's coming."

A flashlight beam hit them. "Who's there? Speak up or I'm calling security."

Mulder turned toward the voice. There was a stocky figure standing just beyond the row of pens. He paused for a moment, trying to decide on a story.

An animal - goat? sheep? - bleated.

What the hell, he thought. Here goes.

"My girlfriend's sick," he said. "Do you have any water?"

Scully's fist slammed into him. "I said I'm not your girlfriend, asshole."

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"What the hell were you thinking, smoking weed with that guy?"

"I didn't."

"Oh, come on. You smell like a weenie roast at the DEA."

"Very funny."

"Shh." Mulder looked nervously over his shoulder. He'd managed to talk the rancher out of calling security and into giving them some bottled water and a blanket. The big man had gone back to his cot on the far side of the barn - Mulder wasn't particularly interested in waking him again.

The room was stuffy, lit by a single dim bulb. He'd made a bed for Scully on a bale of hay. Now she lay on her side, eyes closed, brow furrowed.

He prodded her. "Here, drink some water."

"I don't want any. Go away."

"You have to take care of yourself on an assignment like this. Have you been going out drinking every night?"

"Substance abuse is like a national pastime for these people." She opened her eyes, gave him a pointed stare. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Sighing, he set the water bottle down. "Whatever. I'm not the one who passed out."

"Shut up. Stop being smug."

"I'm not being smug. What did you eat today, besides roasted corn and half a burger?"

She rolled over, turned her back on him. "I don't remember."

"What about yesterday?"

"Like you care."

In all those carnival movies, Mulder thought, the villain always dragged the heroine to the Tunnel-O- Love to face some heinous torment or other. Then the hero rescued her in a thrilling climax. Afterwards, the heroine was supposed to throw herself into the hero's arms with grateful sobs. Cut. Print. Tack on happily-ever-after epilogue.

Mulder put the lid on the water bottle and set it on the floor. Now that he came to think of it, they'd actually done that whole heinous-torment-thrilling- climax scene just a few months ago. Scully hadn't thrown herself sobbing into his arms then, so he didn't know why he was expecting her to now.

Still, a little less ire, a little more gratitude - it wasn't so much to ask, was it?

Dejected, he peered at the back of her head and sighed. He'd known this day would come. He'd been dreading it ever since they'd come home from Antarctica.

At first, he'd wanted to apologize, to explain, to throw himself on her mercy and confess what a selfish, manipulating asshole he'd been. Determined to get it over with, he'd gone to her before they'd even returned to Washington. He'd managed the apology, but when it came to the explaining and confessing part, the right words had somehow eluded him. Back in Washington, he'd tried again, but the same thing had happened. After a week or so of kicking himself, he'd realized something important:

When he'd said he was sorry, he'd been lying through his teeth.

It had been a hard thing to swallow, at first, that what he felt for Scully wasn't just friendship. Fueled by the idea, his imagination had gone off like a rocket, taking him places he hadn't really been prepared to go. And there was no way to tell her that. Attempting to fit those feelings into something as limited as language would be like trying to force a sandwich through a drinking straw. So he'd ended up pretending nothing had happened at all - a less-than-ideal solution, but the only workable one that had presented itself.

It was getting less workable by the minute.

He took a deep breath. "You want to tell me what's up?"

She gave a soft chuff, but didn't answer.

"I'd really like to know."

She kept her back to him. "Would you, now?"

Mulder's stomach knotted. "He didn't hurt you, did he? If he did..."

"If he did, what?" Her voice dropped into a hiss. "Mulder, we're on assignment. Get a grip."

"I need to know."

There was a hitch in her voice. "Why?"

"Just...because." He touched her shoulder. She pulled away. "I'm your friend, okay? I care about you." He gritted his teeth. "Please."

Scully rolled over. "You're my *friend*?"

The intensity in her voice made him want to back away. He nodded.

"You *care* about me?"

"Yeah," he answered, gingerly. "I do."

She sat up, all in one motion, clapping both hands to her head for support. "You care about me the same way you care about that bitch with the magic boobs?"

His mouth fell open. "What?"

"That girl."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I was there, I saw the whole thing."

"Saw what whole thing?"

Her hands moved from her head to her face. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Scully, why are you so angry at me?"

"I'm not angry," she snapped. "I'm fine."

Mulder felt his fingers curl. "Why do you always say you're fine when it's obvious you're not?"

"Shut up. You're drunk." She was crying.

"So are you. Look, maybe we should..."

She slammed her hands into her lap. "Did you fuck her?"

His mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You heard me. Did you fuck her?"

"Scully, what the hell are you - "

"You were looking at her tits, Mulder. So tell me if you fucked her!"

The words 'tits' and 'fucked' bounced off the corrugated ceiling and went swirling off into the depths of the barn.

"Scully, shhh. That guy's going to call security - "

"I don't care." Her voice was raw.

All at once Mulder realized why.

"You're jealous," he said.

Scully buried her face in her hands, shook her head vehemently. It didn't take a degree in psychology to understand what that meant.

His smile started out big and got bigger.

This didn't really solve anything. It was entirely possible Scully wouldn't remember this conversation tomorrow, and even if she did, it was entirely possible she wouldn't be interested in acknowledging it had happened.

But, still. There it was.

Scully was jealous.

He settled in beside her and patted her back while she cried.

End 05/12