By joan the english chick
Part 2: Southern Comfort

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and any other characters you recognize are property of 10-13 Productions and 20th Century Fox, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is property of the author, and may not be reproduced, retransmitted, or posted anywhere without my express permission. Additionally, Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell is not mine and is used without permission.

Scully was exhausted when she got home that night. All she wanted was a hot shower, some hot herbal tea and her warm bed. The pizza she and Mulder had distractedly gobbled for dinner sat heavily in her stomach. Gratefully, she shed her stiff business suit, chafing pantyhose and pinching heels (not in that order).

Half an hour later, wrapped cozily in her fluffy bathrobe, her hair wet and her skin warmed, Scully entered her bedroom with her mug of tea. She winced when her big toe caught the edge of a book. Bending over, she retrieved the copy of Wuthering Heights she had thrown across the room late last night. She smoothed its pages and shook her head.

"Something more upbeat today," she told herself aloud, and returning the book to the shelf, she chose instead another old favorite: Gone With the Wind.

Scully had just settled into bed and found her favorite part of the book - the part where Rhett kisses Scarlett's hand on the porch - when the phone rang. She groaned unhappily and reached for it.

"Mulderrrrrrr," she said into the phone, aware of how whiny her voice sounded, "this better be good, I'm beat!"

"Sorry Scully," her partner's amazingly alert voice said. "I was just wondering if you thought levitation was a possibility."

"What?"

"Well, it might explain how the killer was able to escape with the briefcases without being spotted. He could have levitated out the window and thus avoided going out the front doors."

"Mulder, levitation isn't possible. Even David Copperfield uses ropes and levers."

"How do you explain Dennis Rodman?"

Scully just sighed.

"Anyway, sorry I bothered you, Scully. Get some sleep. I'll figure it out by morning."

"Sure, fine, whatever, Mulder."

"'Night Scully."

"'Night Mulder." She hung up thankfully and turned to the book, but she couldn't seem to keep her eyes open. She found herself sliding farther and farther down in the bed, her lids drooping.....

....Scully opened her eyes and realized that she had dozed off in the car while Mulder was talking. "Sorry, what?" she said, fighting to clear sleep from her voice.

Gripping the wheel lightly, Mulder glanced over at her before returning his eyes to the road. "I said, maybe there was a pig in that briefcase. And you need kissing badly. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how."

"Wh-Why you..." Scully sputtered indignantly.

"They say I kiss very well," Mulder added, grinning his slow sexy grin. Scully narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

"You go to...Halifax!" she exclaimed. "And let me out of this car-"

Suddenly the car was a horse-drawn buggy, the wheel became reins in Mulder's hands, and Scully's waist constricted cruelly in its corset. She looked down and blushed at the amount of cleavage her new dress was exposing.

"-riage before I jump over the wheels!" she finished angrily. The horses clip-clopped to a halt and she clambered to the ground. Mulder tipped his hat and drove off.

Scully turned and grabbed Melissa's hand, and her gown tattered to shreds around her as they hiked wearily across miles of marsh and meadow, their stomachs growling. The pace was grueling, and many times Scully wondered if she would ever again set eyes on her beloved ancestral home. At long last, after what seemed like decades, the beautiful sight of the White House loomed before them in the cold grey light. Scully didn't even care that it was in ruins. She pushed her way inside and confronted the Bounty Hunter on the stairs. Like lightning, she shoved her weapon over the banisters and into the startled face. Before he could even fumble at his belt, she pulled the trigger. As she looked, two streams of blood crept across the shining floor, one from his face and one from the back of his head. The blood was green. Scully looked away quickly.

Suddenly she felt strong and happy. She was not afraid of the darkness or the fog and she knew with a singing in her heart that she would never fear them again. She caught up her skirts to her knees and began to run lightly. But this time she was not running from fear. She was running because Mulder's arms were at the end of the hallway.

She burst into the room and saw him sitting quietly, slumped in his chair. He looked at her steadily with dark eyes that were heavy with fatigue.

"She is dead," he said. Scully nodded slowly.

"Mulder, I'm going to tell you everything," she said. "I've been so wrong, such a stupid fool - I must have believed you for years and I was such a fool I didn't know it. Mulder, you must trust me!"

"Oh, I trust you," he said. "But what of Cancer Man?"

Scully made an impatient gesture. "He's such a helpless, poor-spirited creature-" Mulder stopped her with one upraised hand.

"Scully, I don't give a damn," he said, and held the door for her.

Scully woke up in pitch blackness. She groaned and rolled over, trying to shake the dream. Her moment of peace was broken by the shrilling of the phone. She groaned again with self-pity.

"Mulder," she mumbled into the phone, "this is all your fault!"

"Sorry Scully," he said. "We'll think about it all tomorrow."