CATEGORY: SRA, Slash (Mulder/Skinner UST)

RATING: PG13 for m/m interaction.

SPOILERS: Tiny ones for Avatar. Zero Sum, Redux II

SUMMARY: Mulder gets into a fix and Skinner comes to the rescue.

THANKS: To Hal, who made so many valuable suggestions, many of which I recklessly ignored, and to Xanthe, who encouraged and provided an authentic tone for Mulder's smart remarks. You're both stars, and any faults in this piece are not yours!

DISCLAIMER: The characters of the X-Files are the creation and property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Broadcasting and the talented actors who bring them to life. No infrindgement of coypright is intended and no money is being made from their use here. The other characters portrayed herein are the creation of the author and may not be used without permission.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the first part of the Replay trilogy. It is continued in Replay 2: Another Country and Replay 3: Warm Thoughts. My other stories (nearly all M/Sk) can be found in Sergeeva's Walter Altar at: http:www.geocities.com/Area51/Shire/7155

FEEDBACK: Always appreciated and answered. Write to me at sergeeva@geocities.com 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder put down the cell-phone and breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods were looking out for his good fortune. Half an hour ago he wouldn't have given much for his chances, but the odds had just altered dramatically in his favour. So okay, he would still have to face more consequences than he liked to think of right now, and he wasn't out of the woods yet (see, I can still do irony, he told himself wryly) but it was going to be ALL RIGHT. He knew this with a confidence that had everything to do with his personality, and very little to do with his life. Experience should have told him that fate is sneaky and doesn't follow a nice orderly plan.

He still couldn't quite believe he'd had the nerve to call Skinner while the man was on vacation, and he was even more incredulous that his boss had agreed to come down here and bail him out. It was way more than he had a right to expect and was the whole reason for his renewed optimism. Scully would definitely kill him after this - she'd made it perfectly clear that if he pursued this 'ludicrous old wives' tale', those were her very words, on his own, then she washed her hands of him. He didn't see what the problem was, he'd just slip into the country, check out the evidence and slip out again, another foreigner passing through. And that would have been fine, except that his contact here had disappeared back to wherever he came from with most of Mulder's money, leaving the agent trying to find the site on his own with no help at all from an increasingly suspicious and hostile local populace, who definitely didn't want to be told there might be ectoplasm in their backyard.

He'd tried in vain to get anyone to guide him to the site. They clearly thought he was deranged and he was beginning to wonder if there really was anything going on here, other than his own over-eagerness to follow the most ridiculous of leads. But what if there was something weird to discover? ... He could feel the itch to find out for himself and he knew he wasn't ready to give up just yet. After two days plunging about in the jungle on his own he was a lot more ready. It was a nightmare. Eaten alive by the vicious insect life, every stitch of clothing he'd brought waterlogged and still no nearer finding the location of the sightings. He was getting desperate and more and more sorry for himself with every passing moment.

He thought about calling Scully, of course, but dismissed that idea at once. He could imagine her scathing 'I told you so' voice and he wasn't going to expose himself to that until he was safely back in civilization. He thought about calling Frohike, but the thought of the Gunmen's helpless laughter was even less appealing, so he called Skinner, surprised to find that he was confident of getting more than laughter or dismissive sarcasm from his boss. Skinner would be mad of course (Mulder could picture the man's jaw clenching), but he'd listen and he'd get Mulder out of this hellhole with a minimum of fuss. He didn't realize that he'd be dragging the AD back from scuba diving in Antigua. He knew that his boss was taking some vacation time (hell, that was why he and Scully were on their own time too right now - they didn't want to be under the supervision of another AD even temporarily), but he hadn't imagined Skinner actually taking a holiday. The man was such a workaholic.

He had to bully and cajole Kimberly into giving him the number of Skinner's hotel in St.John's. She was a good PA, defensive of her boss's privacy, but it was Mulder and she knew Skinner might have a bigger problem to sort out if he didn't speak to his troublesome agent sooner rather than later. She gave Mulder the number and hoped for the best. Mulder tried to formulate his explanation to the AD, but soon gave up - this was a fuck-up, there was no point in trying to pretend otherwise. He would just have to face Skinner's wrath.

"Sir?" (Best to be as by-the-book as possible... )
"Mulder? Only you could track me down out here. What is it?"
"It wasn't totally my fault, sir..."

He was astonished when Skinner sighed resignedly at finding out who his caller was, but then agreed to cut short his trip and come to Mulder's rescue. He sounded almost amused by Mulder's tale of woe. He would certainly not let his subordinate forget about this little debacle for a long time, but he also murmured something about life with Mulder never being boring and Mulder wondered if his stern and straight-laced boss could possibly rather be suffering in this humid airless jungle than relaxing in the sun. Perhaps he misses his days in the field, Mulder speculated, perhaps the scuba diving isn't enough of a challenge for an ex-Marine. He had a sudden poignant insight - could he be lonely?

The relationship between the two men had improved considerably since the early days of distrust and antagonism. Mulder had learned to respect his boss, learned that he could trust the older man, learned that Skinner was fair and honourable and loyal to his agents. The man had proven that time and again. Mulder didn't regret his own loyalty to Skinner during the business with the prostitute, the shooting of Detective Thomas, or the exposure of Blevins. He still felt that his boss was an enigma, but it was one he thought he'd like to penetrate. Sometimes he felt that Skinner wanted to open up to him, saw a look in those dark eyes that made him wonder if Skinner needed a friend who shared the same dark world and could understand what it did to a man's soul. Maybe all this is just my imagination, thought Mulder, maybe he's coming down here to give me the worst ass-chewing of my entire sorry career... But if not, if this intensely private man is coming, not as a boss, but as a friend, then I'm going to show him how much I value that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walter Skinner put down the cell-phone and smiled wryly to himself at the conversation just ended. Ectoplasm in the jungle? Mysterious glowing shapes moving through the forest at night? Just the sort of thing Mulder would feel he had to investigate. He wondered if he'd ever really understand Fox Mulder: the man was such a mass of contradictions, such certainty and such self-doubt. Certainty over his work, his 'cause', his 'quest' - an energy and dedication that Skinner had rarely encountered in his life, but also self-doubt over his own abilities, his own worth, a deep, self-destructive streak that made Skinner so angry. Mulder was exceptional in so many ways and yet he seemed to value himself so little. Skinner was carrying on a concerted campaign to try and change that, to show Mulder that not everyone saw him as a worthless eccentric, to repay some of the trust that Mulder had shown in him.

He had barely hesitated over his decision to go to Mulder's aid in this latest crisis. He'd been looking forward to the prospect of this vacation, his first in nearly two years and a chance to brush up his diving skills and unwind after a gruelling few months at work. He soaked up the sun and explored the wonders of the coral reefs until now he was as burnished as a chestnut and bored out of his mind. The beach-holiday mentality just didn't suit him: he was no good at casual acquaintance and the ritual of drinks in the bar, card-games on the terrace and flirtation on the dance-floor was anathema to him. It made him grouchy and unapproachable and the several women (and two men) who tried to catch his attention soon gave up and left him to his own restless company. He pretended to be furious when Mulder called but in truth he welcomed the reprieve. He was unexpectedly touched that Mulder had called him, and had already started making a mental list of what equipment he might need for the rescue op (he shook his head at how easily he slipped back into the military mind-set). This trip would do him far more good than a relaxing vacation and it would be a chance to get to know his brilliant and infuriating subordinate better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder started cramming gear into his small backpack and striking his makeshift camp with renewed energy. Suddenly it was all an adventure again. He calculated it would take Skinner at least 12 hours to get here, or rather to the tiny settlement that was their agreed rendezvous point and the nearest thing to a town in these parts. He'd left it in the early hours of that morning to try yet another route through the impenetrable vegetation, hoping to reach the remote weather station that had first reported the phenomena. It would take him the rest of day to hike back to the little town, but then he shouldn't have too long to wait for Skinner. That was just as well. The locals had started avoiding him, gabbling to each other in their indecipherable dialect, shutting their shop doors as he approached, waving their arms angrily when he tried to offer credit cards in payment for transport or the services of a guide. Short of finding his own way out on foot to a real town with an airport (and the place he'd flown in to and been driven here from had been a day's drive away), he was stuck here without outside help.

The last two days had proven to him how ill equipped he was for all this outdoor stuff. He looked miserably at his damp clothes. He hadn't given a lot of thought to what to bring, just shoved a pair of jeans and a few T-shirts into his pack along with the socks and underwear. Of course, the jeans were far too heavy and clung to him in the humid air, like stiff, wet cardboard. The T-shirts were light enough but they were sweat-soaked and clingy too inside an hour in this climate and his bare arms were an open invitation to every stinging and biting insect within a hundred miles. He brought one tube of anti-histamine cream and used that up on the first day. After that he took to wearing one T-shirt and winding the others around his arms to keep his skin covered. He thought about cutting the legs off his jeans to get relief from the chafing fabric, but then his legs would get insect bites too and he already had a few around his ankles from enterprising ants or whatever that must have crawled up inside the jeans.

Skinner will really enjoy telling me what a sorry specimen I am, he thought, realizing with surprise that he cared what Skinner thought of him, and that Skinner was about the only person in the world, Scully included, that he wouldn't mind seeing him like this. Still pondering on this thought he hoisted his bulging backpack and set off into the dense jungle in what he was confident was the direction of the town.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skinner winced as the rented 4-wheel drive vehicle bounced over the potholed track and jolted him repeatedly against the door panel. Patience may be a virtue, he fumed, but I think I lost the last of mine about two hours ago. I'm going to have Mulder on surveillance duty for months to make up for this. He allowed himself a moment of genuine anger, then shook his head in resigned amusement... you dropped yourself into this, Walt. No way could this be covered by the job description!

It was no holiday outing negotiating the rough unsurfaced roadway to the village. The map looked clear enough, but the jungle was criss-crossed by a maze of twisting tracks and he had to keep one eye on the compass as he fought to keep the vehicle from canting over and plunging down into a hidden gorge or over an unseen cliff. By the time he rattled into the village it was dark and Mulder was nowhere to be seen. His cautious inquiries met with hostility and revealed that Mulder had managed to alienate just about everyone who might have helped them in the five days he'd been down here. What the hell has he been telling these people? I could make a shrewd guess, he thought, as he fended off the suspicious questions of the local police. He had known, really, that it couldn't be as simple as just turning up, meeting Mulder and driving them both out of here. He would wait here tonight and then he'd have to try and locate Mulder himself.

He resigned himself to an uncomfortable night in the rented vehicle and when dawn came with still no sign of Mulder, he rose, shouldered his own carefully-packed rucksack and set off into the jungle, map in hand to search for Mulder. If the worst came to the worst and he couldn't find him, he'd make for the weather station and radio out for help, but he hoped they could just get out of here discreetly, the two of them, without involving the authorities. No point in Mulder getting another black mark on his record - after all, they were both on their own time... He surprised himself, sometimes, with the allowances he made for Mulder. What was it about that young man that got to him?

It was two hours before he found a sign that showed he was on the right track - a pile of sunflower-seed shells on muddy ground near a waterfall. Boot prints were clear in the soft ground and from there Skinner could follow Mulder's trail easily enough: an aimless, circular route. Surprised to find how his jungle-tracking skills came back to him, Skinner fought against the images that came flooding back to him as well... This was altogether too reminiscent of patrols in 'Nam: the stifling, dripping heat, the incessant, maddening chatter of insects, the endless lush greenery, featureless and disorienting. The sounds and smells of the jungle assailed him with unwelcome familiarity and he distracted himself with a flash of anger towards Mulder. Damn him - why couldn't he just go through channels to open a case, like every other agent? He really was worried about the man now, fearful that he'd met with an accident, and worry always made him angry. A day spent in this hell, perpetually one step behind his quarry and visited by altogether too many painful memories and he was ready to haul Mulder's tiresome butt back to DC without ceremony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder finally had to admit to himself that he was lost. His hand-drawn map, so thoughtfully provided by the vanished guide, had disintegrated in the damp atmosphere and now he was trying to navigate by the few shafts of sun that pierced the heavy canopy of trees and by an over-confident idea of his own familiarity with an area he thought he knew after four days of exploration.

When he came to the ravine for the first time he knew he was off-course, he'd never seen this place before and had no idea of its relation to the village or the weather station. It was a bit of a setback, true, but he might as well take advantage of the location and cool off under the waterfall that tumbled down the rocky wall. The pleasure in skinning off his sweat-soaked clothes was worth the delay, he decided, stepping under the blissful chill of the water. Tiny jewelled birds darted in and out of crannies in the cliff above him. The sun pierced the canopy of trees to glitter in the splashing water. For a brief while, he could see the beauties of this place. It was repellent to have to put his stained and sodden clothes back on but he had no choice. He felt much better for the shower and sat letting his feet dry before he put his boots on again, enjoying his exotic surroundings for the first time, wishing he had something to eat besides his ever-present sunflower seeds.

When he came upon the same ravine a second time, hours later, after walking obviously in a circle, he was so disheartened he nearly wept with frustration. Instead though, he removed his boots and headed for the waterfall again. That's when it happened. He was carrying his pack to fill his water bottle, watching the little birds circle, craning his neck to peer up at the towering rock-face. Suddenly his feet slithered out from under him on the moss-covered stones, he clutched vainly at the slick rock, arms flailing and felt himself falling...

Crashing fifty feet down from where the waterfall splashed, Mulder incongruously thought of Alice in Wonderland. Down through creepers and prickly vines he plunged, down into the depths of the ravine, wrenching his ankle as he fell and cracking his head as he landed. Winded and stunned he lay gasping, tangled in a thorny bush, his limbs sprawled at painful angles, slowly taking stock of his situation. He wasn't knocked out - that had to be good - but he didn't think he could move. He lifted an arm tentatively and felt the thorns claw at his shoulder. Closing his eyes against the hopelessness of it all, he fought against tears. He felt bruised all over, helplessly trapped in the entwining undergrowth and now, as darkness fell, more than a little scared.

He could die out here. He felt so sore everywhere he couldn't even tell what his injuries were. To make matters worse, he realised his pack (including cell-phone and water bottle) were long gone and he couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction so he knew Skinner would never find him. What a way to die, he fumed. Vampires, flukemen, cockroaches - no problem, but try and deal with the Great Outdoors and you're a joke! He spent the night feeling sorry for himself, scared to move in case he injured himself further, startled by every strange noise, dripped on by the endless sopping vegetation and crawled over by what felt like armies of ants, platoons of beetles and not a few snakes (unless fever had set in and he was hallucinating). When it began to grow light he talked sternly to himself and decided to try and find the extent of his disability. That's what Scully would do, he thought, and then wished he hadn't brought her to mind when he was in quite such an embarrassing fix.

Taking inventory of his injuries, he found he was scratched and bruised, his left ankle was swollen and purple and he had an impressive bump on his head, but he wasn't quite as helpless as he'd feared. Very carefully he began to extricate himself from the thorns and strangling vines. He knew he had to at least try and get himself back up to the ledge from which he'd fallen. Cautiously lifting his weight off the spreading bush where he'd landed started him sliding further down the gorge. His T-shirt snagged on the spiny twigs and he winced as his chest raked over the thorns. Barely managing to catch onto a strand of vine as his footing gave way, he heaved a sigh of relief as it held fast and he was able to begin the painful ascent. It was slow progress, as his ankle wouldn't support his weight and he had to rely on the strength of his arms to pull himself up from one wet, slithery bush to another. It was exhausting and his hands were soon cramped and raw from gripping desperately to every slick handhold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Following Mulder's aimless route, Skinner was getting increasingly anxious. He'd seen fresh boot-prints just half an hour previously, before the light got too low to see anything more and he was forced to make camp for the night. He'd hoped to catch up with the younger man by now, but he had the sense to know when to call it a day. Laying out his thin waterproof groundsheet and hanging the mosquito net from an overhanging branch he hoped that Mulder was getting some sleep wherever he was. Thinking of Mulder's foolhardiness got him steamed again and he pegged down the edges of the netting around his sleeping area with cathartic viciousness. After stowing his pack inside the netting to use as a pillow, brushing his teeth in a measured amount of the precious fresh water and relieving himself, he crawled into his makeshift tent and closed his eyes.

He couldn't sleep, though. Visions crowded in as he listened to the slithering, buzzing and rustling sounds of the night-time jungle. Visions of night patrol in Hua Binh, when you had to lie in three inches of stinking swamp water and kick the river rats away from your boots in the night, when your underwear rotted under your uniform and food went bad overnight in the heat and humidity. Visions of the sky lit up with tracers and the beat of Hueys in the heavy air, of Jacko and Hog playing poker by the light of a candle set inside a coffee can, of trying to read a letter from home while Charlie laid down saturation fire and you were belly down in the mud with three other frightened 18yr-olds, squeezing your eyes shut against the light and noise and trying to remember how your girlfriend's kisses tasted...

Skinner fought free of the memories and tried to wrench himself back to the present, but that only brought new visions: of Mulder wandering blindly in circles, or lying injured somewhere. He felt guilt for the past and anxiety for the present in equal measure and neither was an aid to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn found Mulder lying precariously on a ledge still far below the path by the waterfall from which he'd fallen. His bare feet were scratched and swollen with bites, his injured ankle was a rainbow of bruising and too tender to touch and his arms and hands were numb with bearing his own weight for so long. He'd climbed for what seemed like hours, slipping backwards as often as he gained ground. It was torture. As his strength seeped out of him, he was moving on automatic pilot. Finally exhaustion overtook him and he lay where he was. He needed water badly and managed to roll himself under a large leafy plant nearby where he could catch the drips sliding off the huge leathery leaves. The water tasted bitter however. It's probably a poisonous plant and I'll die soon in excruciating agony, he thought, gloomily. The bleak thought suddenly struck him as ridiculously doom-laden and he started giggling uncontrollably.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skinner, entering the ravine, recognized the towering rocky cliff with the narrow fall of water and the steep, densely covered drop from the day before. If Mulder had also walked himself back to this spot for the second time he would be getting desperate by now and might do something reckless. He pushed forward along the narrow path and then spotted the boots lying in the mud near a new collection of sunflower-seed shells. He looked around, spotting broken branches near where the waterfall cascaded over mossy rocks. Watching his own footing on the slippery surface, he peered over the edge of the drop and saw a swathe of flattened vegetation where something had crashed down through the matted undergrowth. He began calling out:
"Mulder, are you down there? Can you answer, tell me where you are?"
He moved gingerly along the wet rocky lip of the ravine, scanning for any sign of Mulder and suddenly, as he moved away from the splashing of the waterfall, he heard what sounded like giggling. I'm hallucinating, he reprimanded himself, get a grip, man! But he moved towards the sounds, which grew louder.

Mulder looked up at the ledge so impossibly far above him and couldn't believe his eyes: Walter Skinner peered down at him, looking for all the world like the original Action Man. He wore baggy green fatigues, the legs of the cargo pants tucked into mean-looking combat boots, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up on the muscled forearms, a bandanna tied over his bald head and hanging down over his bare neck, and the frame of an impressive-looking rucksack visible behind his broad shoulders. As Mulder watched, light-headed with relief, Skinner shrugged out of the rucksack harness and started to clamber down the side of the ravine. Gazing entranced, his aches forgotten, Mulder saw his normally sober-suited boss swing himself agilely down the cliff face, flexing his impressive muscles and looking as if this was all second nature to him.

When Skinner reached the ledge where he lay and crouched down beside him to examine his injuries, Mulder could hardly recognize him for the same man he saw sitting at his desk in the Hoover Building. This Skinner was still brisk and stern but seemed younger, radiating energy and competence, his face taut and lean under the dark tan, his hands gentle and efficient. Carefully he checked Mulder over: feeling his brow for fever, finding the goose-egg on the back of his skull from the fall, inspecting his raw and stinging hands, his arms spotted with insect bites, his poor distorted ankle.

"I thought you weren't coming. I thought you wouldn't find me. I didn't think anybody would find me...not out here." Mulder babbled, in a rasping voice that sounded nothing like his usual dry tones.
"You certainly didn't make it easy." Skinner told him. "Next time you want me to re-discover my orienteering and tracking skills, I'd be grateful if you could give me some warning so I can take a refresher course. Now does this hurt?"
His hand gently rested on Mulder's ankle, examining it carefully. Mulder bit back a cry of pain.
"No. It's not too bad," he said, wincing. Skinner sighed.
"Mulder, I can't assess your injuries unless you're honest with me. Does it hurt?" He asked again.
"Yes." Mulder yelped as Skinner's fingers probed the bone.
"Okay. Okay. I think it's clear that's broken." Skinner gave one of his rare smiles and shook his head ruefully. "How do you get yourself into these situations, Mulder? No, don't answer that just now. Let's just concentrate on getting you out of here. Do you hurt anywhere else?"
"No." Mulder looked down, flushing. Hell, he hurt all over. Skinner might as well have asked him where he didn't hurt.
"Let me check that." Skinner said softly.

His strong hands moved over Mulder, causing a minimum of pain, taking his time, noting the parched lips, the bruises over ribs and knees, the scratched and battered feet, asking the occasional question: "Can you bend your knee?" "Is your vision blurred at all?" "How's your breathing?" Mulder was torn between wanting to hug the man and wanting to burst into tears. The incredible relief of not being alone, of not facing death alone, the calm presence of the other man... he'd never felt so safe, so like letting go, in all his life. It was overwhelming. Just as he felt sure he would start weeping, Skinner levered him up to lean shakily against the rocky wall while he uncoiled a length of rope from around his waist and fed it through Mulder's belt loops. Mulder closed his eyes and concentrated on not putting any weight on his injured ankle. A touch on his shoulder made him open his eyes again, to find Skinner's penetrating gaze fixed on him.

"I know your arms and hands haven't much grip left at the moment, so I'll rope you against me while I get us up to the path. You'll need to try and stay close against my back because if you flop backward your weight could pull us both off the rock - do you understand, Fox?"
He started at the use of his first name but nodded a response, realizing it was probably intended to get his attention, and saw Skinner loop the rope around his chest and shoulder, so that Mulder was held against the broad back as Skinner faced the rock-face. Mulder wrapped his arms around Skinner's neck, his abused muscles protesting at even this weak clasp, and tried to tuck his left leg up against Skinner's hip, so that his bruised ankle didn't dangle so painfully. They began the ascent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an agonizingly slow process. Skinner couldn't reach for hand and foot holds easily and couldn't grab for vines to swing himself higher as he would have been able to without the burden of Mulder's weight. Still, he inched them onward up the treacherous cliff and Mulder could only marvel at the strength of the ex-Marine as he pressed on, denying the tremors in his muscles and the rasping of his dry throat. When they eventually made it to the luxury of the wider pathway, Skinner carefully untied the rope and took Mulder's weight in his arms as he settled him down on the muddy ground.

"Um... you don't have to worry about me now, sir, I'll be fine."
"Just rest a while, Mulder, okay? Take help when it's offered."
Mulder wanted to say something more, to thank Skinner for his rescue, but his boss just gave him a brief unreadable look and went to retrieve his backpack. He spread out the groundsheet and lifted Mulder onto it, then laid out an impressive array of medical supplies and some dry clothes.
"I'll just get some water." he said gruffly and went to fill the water bottle.
"Watch out for the wet rocks underfoot," Mulder called out, "that's how I..." but Skinner was standing firm, legs braced on the slippery surface, one hand grasping a vine as he held the bottle under the falling water.

Mulder closed his eyes again and heard rather than saw Skinner return. That gentle hand was on his shoulder again, helping him to sit up, and he let Skinner cut the ragged T-shirt off him. Warm hands rubbed liniment into his aching arms and shoulders, the spreading heat making him drowsy. A cool, clean shirt like Skinner's own was slid onto him and then Skinner pushed him gently back to lie flat and began to unbutton the mud-encrusted jeans. Mulder's eyes flew open at the feel of those blunt fingers at his waistband but Skinner shushed him and held up a pair of dry cargo pants in explanation. Soon he was cool and dry, his aches and bites treated, his ankle bound in a support bandage and his scarred hands and feet washed and dressed. He sat with a stainless steel cup of cool water held clumsily in his bandaged hands and felt a hundred times better than he'd felt in days. He watched Skinner as he packed away the supplies and re-filled the water bottle yet again. The man had hardly paused for rest since he'd first found Mulder but his concern was all for the younger man, his own needs coming second.

Skinner came back to where he lay and hunkered down next to him, seeming embarrassed about something.
"You know, you're not going to be able to walk on that ankle, don't you?" Mulder nodded, knowing what was coming.
"You can leave me here while you go for help," he said, I'll be fine." Skinner's eyes widened in surprise.
"No, there's no way I'm leaving you like this," he stated. "I've been looking at the map." He produced the chart, folded open to the relevant section, "We're here," pointing to a spot that looked like all the others to Mulder, "and that weather station you mentioned is here," indicating another spot. "It's a lot nearer than that village. We could make it there in 6 or 7 hours and there'll be a radio there - we can call for a helicopter to fly you out... The only thing is, you'll have to let me carry you there..."
He looked apologetically at Mulder. Mulder swallowed hard and looked into his boss's concerned face.
"I don't like being as helpless as this and I don't know how you think you can carry me in this heat for 6 or 7 hours, but I'll do whatever you want - you seem to know your jungle survival stuff."

As soon as he'd said it he wished he could call the words back. He saw the pain pass over Skinner's face like a shadow and the dark eyes lose focus for a moment as they saw another jungle on another continent. Shit, he berated himself, make sure the guy relives it all again, why don't you. But Skinner straightened and looked at him again, saying mildly:
"Yeah, well I've survived worse than this in my time."
Mulder felt a wave of wretched misery pass over him.
"You must think I'm a complete idiot," he muttered.
"Not a complete idiot, no." Skinner shook his head.
"Just as headstrong and unprepared as usual. The day you think first and act second is the day I can retire a happy man, Mulder."
"I'm sorry. Bringing you out here to rescue me. I've screwed up your vacation..." Mulder began. Skinner snorted.
"Hmm. Sitting on a beach doing nothing is not my idea of fun. You did me a favour. I much prefer tramping through jungles and rescuing injured colleagues."
Mulder wasn't sure whether his boss was joking or not. Certainly Skinner didn't smile, but that wasn't necessarily a clue to his boss's mood. Mulder didn't see how Skinner couldn't be pissed off at his latest escapade but he didn't want any recriminations right now and Skinner certainly didn't seem to be in the mood for them either.

Skinner lifted Mulder up and carried him to where he could lean against the rock. Then his boss folded the groundsheet and stowed it in the pack before unstrapping the pack from its aluminium frame and hoisting it against his chest. Turning his back to Mulder he asked:
"Can you manage to fasten the straps across my back? That'll keep it in place, then I can carry you piggy-back and spread the load a bit."
Now he was grinning broadly, trying to make light of the daunting task and Mulder's heart lurched with affection for the man who stood by him uncomplainingly - who had stood by him on so many occasions. His bandaged hands fumbled with the straps and clasps but eventually he snapped the last fastener and tugged the straps tight. Skinner boosted Mulder up behind him and hooked his arms under Mulder's thighs. He started to walk, testing out the balance of weight at first, but soon striding out as if carrying a 6ft-something man was something he often had to do.
"I'm going to make a stop every hour or so, so we can relieve ourselves and I can check the map and look at your dressings. Doze if it's easier for you - I don't need to be entertained - but I'm going to ask you often if you've remembered to drink some water. You'll be in shock from yesterday, whether you feel it or not and it's important you don't get dehydrated. It's nearly noon now so we'll be travelling in the hottest part of the day and since your kit got lost we have only the one water bottle. You hang onto it and try to remember to take a sip every 15 minutes or so. I'll ask if I need it myself."

So calm, so capable, so practical. Mulder couldn't be embarrassed about the situation when Skinner was so matter-of-fact about it. He concentrated on staying still and not digging his knees or elbows into Skinner. Soon the rhythm of the big man's strides lulled him into drowsiness and he drifted off, only to be roused by his boss's soft voice asking: "Water, Mulder - did you remember?" He uncurled one arm from around Skinner's neck and balanced the bottle between his chest and his boss's back so he could unscrew the cap. Having drunk, he passed the bottle forward for Skinner, but the other man declined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the first hour, during which Mulder had dozed between water doses, Skinner found a shallow cave where the heat of the sun at its zenith didn't penetrate. He lowered Mulder carefully to the ground and bit back a hiss of pain as his own cramped shoulder muscles were relieved of Mulder's weight. He knelt so that Mulder could unfasten the backpack and then stood and stretched. Mulder watched the big man methodically circling each shoulder, captivated by the sight of the muscles flexing and bunching under the sweat-dampened shirt. Skinner turned back to him.
"You need to pee?" No awkwardness, just practicality.
"Mmm, 'fraid so."
"OK - I'll find you a spot where you can lean against something and keep the weight off that ankle, after that you're on your own."

Quick little grin, transforming the stern face into something startlingly youthful. Mulder blinked, feeling something spark deep inside him, and when Skinner lifted him and swung him up into his arms again he closed his eyes and didn't dare look his boss in the eyes. Where had this growing attraction come from all of a sudden? Was it just gratitude at being taken care of? Thinking about it as he attended to his business, Mulder knew that it wasn't something sudden - it had been there in the back of his mind for a long while now. All those boring meetings when instead of doodling, he'd allowed his gaze to rest on the span of those broad shoulders, the strength in those hands... He'd taken in the physique, the sternly handsome face, the expressive eyes. Fooled himself that he was just observing, that it was better to know your enemy. But he hadn't thought of Skinner as the enemy for a good while now, and he certainly wasn't thinking of him that way now.

It got even harder to keep his cool when they came back to the cave and Skinner started to check Mulder's injuries.
"Take your shirt off, Mulder." Skinner told him and he did as he was told, his mind fogged by the events of the day and by his new self-knowledge. When the big hands started smoothing fresh ointment onto his shoulders, hands and feet, Mulder wanted to groan aloud. He didn't dare to look at Skinner's face: one glimpse of those grave, concentrated features and he'd fling himself against the broad chest and embarrass both Skinner and himself. Skinner's simple kindnesses today struck Mulder as showing more care than he had ever gotten from his parents when he got into childhood scrapes. He wasn't thinking of Skinner as a substitute parent, though. Far from it. He pushed those ideas away.

They pressed on. Another hour of suffocating heat as they moved onward, climbing steadily now. The vegetation was changing: sparser, but now there were impenetrable thickets of lethally spiked briars that they had to detour around. Skinner checked the map constantly, relieved as each expected landmark came into view. They were making pretty good time and if his own stamina held out they would reach the weather station before nightfall. He was concerned about their dwindling water supply, though. He'd stopped taking any for himself a while back. Mulder was weakened with injury and probably concussed (he'd definitely had a strange look about him at the last stop) and he must keep his fluids up. Skinner knew about survival techniques and that he ran a risk of dehydration himself by not drinking anything, but there wasn't a choice. They hadn't enough to share, they might not find a fresh source any time soon, he at least was uninjured and in good condition. He'd just have to survive - Mulder needed him to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder was trying not to enjoy being carried on Skinner's back. He was very conscious of how exhausting it must be for the older man and his worry for Skinner's own well-being only made this more of a torment. He now had an intimate knowledge of every perfect muscle across Skinner's shoulders and of the smooth skin of his neck, the scent of the man's sweat, the sound of his breathing. All of this was only making him more and more attracted to his boss, which was the last thing either of them needed right now. It was almost unbearable, though, to be pressed against all that muscle, the high curve of Skinner's ass against his groin, the lobe of Skinner's ear just within reach of his yearning lips... If his boss hadn't been wearing that bandanna to keep the sun off he'd have kissed that beautiful bald head long before now. All he needed now was to get a hard-on.

He didn't have long to wait. They stopped shortly in the shadow of a massive rock formation. Water had collected in the weathered strata, which had formed into shelves and hollows like a miniature cave settlement.
"Thank God! A decent drink at last" Mulder started to lower himself from Skinner's back. Skinner set him gently on a rock ledge and let him unbuckle the rucksack harness. He extracted the steel cup.
"You stay put. I'll go check these pools out."
Both men felt the relief of being able to replenish the nearly empty water supply, but when Skinner inspected the water it had a blue-green sediment, leached from the rock, which he recognized as copper sulphate, making it undrinkable. It can't be helped, he rationalised, turning wearily back to Mulder.
"We're out of luck. It's contaminated. We'll just have to keep going." He looked away from Mulder's disappointed expression.

Skinner calculated they had about another 2 hours to go until they reached the weather station. Mulder could just about last out on the little remaining water. As for himself, he was trying to ignore the signs of his own deteriorating condition. He spoke hardly at all now, his throat so parched it was painful, he felt light-headed when he moved too quickly and the persistent headache he'd been tolerating for the last 40 minutes was now a sickening throb behind his temples. At least they could use the mineral-rich water for washing, without risk of poisoning themselves. Mulder would need a hand, but they would both feel better for a makeshift shower. Huskily, he explained the situation to Mulder as succinctly as possible and helped the younger man to get out of his shirt.
"You're sure this won't poison us?" persisted Mulder. Skinner cleared his throat painfully.
"Reasonably sure. Now do you want my help or not?"
Mulder noted the signs of patience wearing thin and held his tongue for once.

Holding his bandaged hands out of the way, Mulder let Skinner pour cupfuls of the cool water over his sweaty shoulders. It had felt wonderful to peel off the sticky shirt and now to feel the fresh stream over his back and chest was better than he could have imagined. While he dried off, Mulder watched Skinner take off his own shirt. Apart from a patch on the back where Mulder's own sweaty chest had been resting, Skinner's shirt wasn't soaked, as his own had been. Mulder noted this fact absently, but his mind was focussed on the sight before him: Skinner's perfect bronzed torso glistening as his boss sluiced the cooling water over himself. As he feasted his eyes on the washboard stomach and bulging pectorals, Mulder felt his cock twitch and his heart sink. How was he going to endure another hour of close contact with Skinner's incredible body when his own body was betraying him so rampantly?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He found out soon enough when they resumed their journey. His crotch was pressed against the small of Skinner's back, every tiny movement rubbing against his swollen cock. The worst of it was that he knew Skinner must be aware of it and yet his boss made no sign that anything was unusual. When they stopped to relieve themselves, Skinner carried him to a thickly planted spot, gave him an enigmatic look with one eyebrow quirked, and took himself a good distance away. Mulder shamefacedly relieved both his libido and his bladder.

Skinner had realized his companion's condition of course, but he was feeling so awful himself by now, he didn't have the energy to speculate on why Mulder was sexually aroused under these circumstances. He'd noticed that he'd stopped sweating a while back - a sure sign of dehydration, as the body tried to conserve all it's fluids. He was finding it hard to read the map now, with the dizziness and the blurred vision. If he could just get Mulder to the weather station they could summon help and Mulder would be okay.
"Ready?" Skinner asked Mulder when it was time to move on again.
"Yeah. But then I'm not the one doing all the walking." Mulder shrugged. "Look, sir, this must be wearing you out. Perhaps we should stop, make camp or something...I don't know."
"Mulder, we need water. We can't afford to stop here." Skinner told him brusquely.
"Whatever." Mulder shrugged. "But what if there isn't any water at the weather station either, sir?" He voiced the fear that Skinner had silently been nursing.
"Then we'll just have to hope for a quick rescue." Skinner snapped.

Skinner's arms and shoulders protested agonizingly as he strapped on the back-pack for the last push and made sure Mulder was securely perched on his back. With weary legs he set off up the now steep trail to the ridge ahead of them where they should find the weather station. Mulder mistook Skinner's silence for disapproval. He felt desperately ashamed of his hard-on and for precipitating this whole crisis in the first place. He wondered if his boss was cursing him, calling him every name under the sun under his breath. If their situations had been reversed he was not sure he could have been as charitable as Skinner seemed to be.
"I, uh, could probably try hopping," he suggested. Skinner grunted.
"I don't think so, Mulder."
"No. Really. I'm feeling much better." Mulder insisted. "It would probably be quicker. I could lean on your shoulder or something." He struggled to get down and Skinner stopped, taking a deep breath.
"Mulder. Just keep still or we'll both topple over. You can't hop. It's a ludicrous suggestion. Now just stay where you are."
"But..."
"And don't talk." Skinner told him firmly. Mulder shut up.

Mulder began to realize that Skinner was in trouble when the big man staggered twice in quick succession and Mulder, clutching at his neck as Skinner stumbled forward, felt the dry burning skin, almost too hot to touch. He spoke to Skinner, suggesting they take another break, risking the other man's wrath by repeating his offer to hobble along on his own for a bit, but Skinner didn't acknowledge him and continued to climb doggedly upward as if even a tank couldn't deflect him from his course. Mulder hoped it was just sheer exhaustion that was affecting Skinner. For the hundredth time that day he felt the guilt of his responsibility for this mess. He knew Skinner would tell him exactly how many procedural guidelines he'd broken and how much he had cost the American taxpayer as soon as they were out of here. He'd take his punishment, though his heart quailed at the prospect of the months of surveillance duty he'd no doubt have to endure. He just hoped he hadn't irrevocably ruined the working relationship he and Skinner had managed to arrive at. Not to mention any other... no, don't go there...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The squat building of the weather station came into view just as Skinner's legs were about to crumple under him. He staggered the last few yards to the padlocked door, lowered Mulder and the pack gratefully to the ground, and summoned almost his last reserves of strength to burst the hasp from the doorframe with a kick that nearly toppled him backward. Recovering himself, he carried Mulder inside and laid him on one of the canvas beds in the bunkroom. Barely able to see now, he croaked his intention to go and find the radio and managed to walk away from the younger man with a straight back. No good worrying Mulder about this, he told himself; a good long drink of water and I'll be fine.

He found the radio - an antiquated model, not unlike those he'd used in 'Nam. This familiarity stood him in good stead now, since he couldn't focus on the dials and frequency adjusters and couldn't remember what frequency or code he needed to summon emergency aid anyway. He switched the set on and reached for the mike, his hand missing its mark as he tried to focus. Grasping it on the second attempt, he braced himself against the table edge and ignored the way the room spun around him. Get help, his weary brain reminded him, Hog would come and get them, the guys would come for them. He fought the waves of pain from his throbbing head and dredged up a number and a form of words from somewhere in his melting brain. At first no sound came from his parched throat, he could hear the hiss of empty air from the radio. He swayed against the table, swallowed and managed to rasp out something with no idea if anyone could hear him. Automatically he disconnected, his training coming back to him. He was at the limits of his endurance but he couldn't let go just yet. Water, he thought. Must get water for Mulder. He found his way back into the bunkroom, leaning heavily on the walls as he went. The room swam blurrily before him and through a haze of red sparkles he saw Mulder try to reach him as he whispered:
"Radioed out. Don't know if heard. Haven't looked for water yet, can't see too well..." and let the blackness take him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder saw Skinner stagger into the room and realized how ill he was. He was levering himself up off the camp bed when Skinner collapsed. His injured ankle was forgotten as he flung himself down at Skinner's side, his heart palpitating in panic. He touched his hand to Skinner's brow and winced as he felt the burning skin. Dry and burning. He began to realize what had happened. Of course, walking for nearly 7 hours in the stifling heat, sweating all the while, anyone would get dehydrated. And he'd been carrying a 170lb man... Why hadn't he made sure he drank enough water? Even as he pondered on this, Mulder knew exactly what Skinner had done. How many times had he passed Skinner the water bottle and it had been so quickly returned? Skinner had been depriving himself so that Mulder was okay.

Panic surged through him, anger at himself and at Skinner. Damn the man! How could he have knowingly endangered himself? What gave him the right to decide that Mulder's safety came first? How could Mulder himself have been so blind to Skinner's condition? The hot tears spilling from his eyes, Mulder tried to calm himself, to think what he should do, other than take his unconscious boss in his arms, which was what he wanted to do right now. He eased his boss into a more comfortable position. Skinner's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Mulder tried desperately to remember what little first aid he knew (the disadvantage of having a doctor for a partner was that he tended not to worry about needing to know that stuff), surely his cursed eidetic memory could dredge up something he'd read about heat exhaustion and dehydration... All he could remember was that you had to cool the person and replenish their body fluids, but only very slowly. Too much too soon was as dangerous as the lack had been - especially cooling someone down too suddenly. He recalled reading that turning a cold shower on someone in this condition could be such a shock to the system the patient could die. Oh God, what a responsibility!

"You can't die, Walter, not when I've just learned how much I need you... not when I've just realized that I lo..."
He heard himself call his boss "Walter" and realized that he'd been thinking of him that way for some time now. When Walter had called him "Fox" back at the ledge, he'd thought it was a way of rousing him out of his exhausted stupor... what if it hadn't been that at all? Now was not the time for emotional outbursts - he must be strong for Walter now. Help was on its way (he hoped) and there was heat and light and food and water here somewhere. He had to get moving...

Moving was not exactly easy though. He'd been kneeling at Skinner's side and now his injured ankle had stiffened again and he couldn't work out how to stand up, let alone walk anywhere. He dragged himself over to the metal bunks and used the frame to haul himself upright. Gingerly, he tested his ankle. The shooting pain told him he couldn't put any weight on it. By leaning against the wall he managed to hop as far as the next room, biting his lip against the discomfort. The relief of finding a broom he could upend and use as a crutch was out of all proportion to the difference it made. Hobbling was still excruciating, and he could picture himself looking like a less-than-elegant Long John Silver, but he was still mightily pleased with the arrangement. He also found a large canvas bag he could sling around his neck to hold the various supplies he hoped to gather.

Exploring further, he found a storeroom that had supplies of dried food and water purification tablets, which he stowed in his bag, and a locked medicine chest, which he hauled back into the bunk-room with difficulty, balancing on his makeshift crutch as he limped along. Every effort took so long. Frustration with his own awkwardness made him even less agile and he needed to be efficient for Walter now... Slamming his crutch against a door that swung shut in his face, he took a deep breath and pushed it open again. He found the radio and looked at it dubiously - there was no way he would know where to begin transmitting with this. He just hoped that Skinner had been able to make contact with someone who could help them. Lurching from gloom to hope, he laughed aloud when in the back yard he found an underground water-tank with a crude manual pump to draw up the water. It took him an age, but he filled a plastic container and dragged that back too. Maybe, just maybe, he could take care of Skinner long enough for help to arrive.

Back at Skinner's side he had to acknowledge that there was no way he would be able to manoeuvre the big man onto one of the canvas beds. He'd better try and make him comfortable here on the floor. At least there were far fewer insects here on the mountain ridge and the air was a bit fresher. Another delay as he hobbled painfully out to Skinner's pack and lugged it back inside. He flung the carefully packed contents out onto the floor and sorted out a few things. There were medical supplies he could use and matches, and some dry socks and underwear he couldn't wait to change into. Looking at the mess he'd made of Skinner's orderly supplies he sighed. We're so different, Skinner and I, it's no wonder we clash over so much. He looked over at his boss and for a horrible moment thought he'd stopped breathing. Crawling over he stared at Skinner until he saw the shallow rise and fall of the massive chest. He found he was shaking with shock and felt suddenly shivery. The last thing Walter needed was for him to give way now. Walter might be breathing but he didn't look good and he was still burning up. Mulder had no idea how much time had passed since Skinner's collapse, but he needed help urgently. He needed Mulder to get going and fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moving every item separately and crawling or limping around the room was a nightmare, but finally he had a bed of sorts organized. A thick layer of blankets on the floor, in lieu of a mattress with more blankets to cover them as night fell (he had no expectation of help arriving before morning at the earliest and he suspected it might get quite cold up here after dark). He also suspended Skinner's trusty mosquito net from a hook in the ceiling, its edges weighted down with food cans from the storeroom. Mulder was quite proud of himself, as he surveyed the room, but he didn't linger over his achievements. He knelt beside Skinner again and thought about the best way to move him the few feet to the 'tent'. In the end he carefully rolled Skinner onto a blanket and was able to pull that inside the netting and settle him on the 'bed'. It had taken too long. Skinner's breathing was barely perceptible. He was slipping into unconsciousness. I have to start and cool him down, Mulder fretted, but slowly. Just undressing him won't be enough - it's still as hot as hell, even up here. I guess I need to bring a bowl of water and sponge him down or something... That took an age to achieve too... he slopped most of the water over the sides of the bowl, until he remembered the plastic container he'd filled at the pump and re-filled the bowl from that. He added a couple of the purification tablets to the container.

By the time the sun set they were both as comfortable as he could make them under the insect-proof canopy. He found the switch for the ceiling fan, which really only stirred up the humid air, though the psychological benefit of seeing the blades circle was something at least. He'd been wrong about the temperature dropping - it was still almost as hot as during the day, and the air was even more still so that every movement felt heavy and exhausting. He lit two kerosene lamps, which attracted some huge moths but enabled him to see how Skinner looked.

In truth, Skinner looked devastatingly beautiful. Mulder was ashamed of himself for thinking such a thing under the circumstances, but it was the simple truth. He'd removed Skinner's boots and socks and peeled off the green fatigues, leaving him in just his boxers. They were the same drab olive as the fatigues, as if Skinner had gone back into full Marine mode for this expedition (a thought that made Mulder more than a little hot under the collar). It had taken all his concentration to strip Walter and not allow it to become an erotic act. Only the sight of this beautiful man so still and helpless had brought him back to the seriousness of the situation.

He now sat with his back against the wall and the all-but-naked Skinner cradled in his arms. He was keeping up a continual sequence of bathing his boss's face, chest, stomach and legs with the cool water from the bowl at his side. Skinner looked so vulnerable with his head against Mulder's shoulder and without his armour of business suit and starched shirt, or even his Action Man outfit of earlier. Vulnerable, and somehow fragile without his glasses. Mulder had gently removed those, laying them carefully beside the 'bed'.
"Oh Walter," he whispered, "why did something like this have to happen for me to see how rare you are?"

Skinner's body was still burning, the washcloth was hot after each pass over the muscled torso. Mulder tried to trickle a little water between Skinner's parched lips but it dribbled uselessly away. It was the last straw, he felt so hopeless then that he gave in to his overwrought emotions and just rocked Skinner's bare body in his arms, weeping unashamedly for a long while as he faced his new feelings for this man and his fears for Skinner's safety. When he'd cried himself out he tried just moistening Skinner's cracked lips with a damp cloth and gradually he was able to get a few drops into the other man's mouth. The medicine chest contained an array of medications, including something he thought was an electrolyte solution to add to water, but he wasn't sure enough and in any case he couldn't get enough water into Skinner yet to make it worthwhile. He was so worried about Skinner's temperature. He still felt so hot and Mulder was terrified that he wasn't getting him cooled down fast enough now. Frustration and worry was making him desperate. He longed to sleep, but couldn't think about pausing in his efforts to help Walter. He owed his life to this man.

He looked at the man lying so still in his arms and thought about the long day, during which he'd been cared for by this amazing man with whom he'd fallen hopelessly in love. He pressed the cool, wet washcloth tenderly to Skinner's brow and cheeks and throat, then laid the back of his own hand against the damp skin to feel the temperature. The touch turned into a caress, as he gazed down at the handsome face: the eloquent arch of the dark brows, the sweep of eyelashes a perfect brush-stroke against the smooth brown cheek, the strong curving jaw that fit his hand so well as he stroked, the clear lines of the firm mouth... On an impulse, he tilted Skinner' chin up and bent to kiss the parched lips. They felt heated and dry, roughened by dehydration. He closed his eyes and imagined a kiss in which Walter responded to his touch, moved his lips against the brush of Mulder's, opened his mouth to the passion that Mulder wanted to show him. Overwhelmed by longing, he couldn't stop then, raining soft, desperate kisses all over Skinner's brow and eyelids and cheeks and nose, and murmuring:
"Don't die, don't die - stay with me."

He got control of himself again and went back to wiping the cooling cloth over Skinner's bare skin. He had learned this man's body by heart over the past few hours. He knew the silk of the inner arm, where the veins ran blue under the paler skin, knew the soft elliptical hollow of the navel, the corded muscles of the thighs, the scars on stomach and legs, knew the way the sheen of the smooth pectorals showed though the dark curling hair. He knew how it felt to hold this man in his arms, he knew how much more he wanted...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite his determination to stay awake, he must have dozed off because something jolted him awake suddenly. Groggy with pain and sleep he couldn't work out what was happening, until he realized that the strobing light and deafening crashes were from a thunderstorm raging over the mountain-top. The rain was lashing against the building and lightning flooded the room blue-white at frequent intervals. They were at the centre of a violent storm and Mulder knew no rescue would be arriving in the midst of this. Despite the crash of the thunder he knew it was not that which had roused him, it was a whisper of sound coming from Skinner's lips. Skinner still had his eyes closed but was trying to speak. Mulder bent low, trying to catch the words. He could hear "Mulder" and "water" repeated over and over. He put the steel cup to Skinner's lips and watched the dry mouth working to swallow a tiny sip. He dipped his fingers in the water and brushed them over Skinner's lips. Skinner worked his mouth a little more and managed to swallow another sip from the cup. Mulder couldn't tell if he were fully conscious or not, but kept murmuring soothing, meaningless words as if by instinct. As his parched throat was eased, Skinner began to speak more and it was soon clear that he was far away in that other jungle that had nearly taken his life 28 years ago.

Mulder listened, fascinated and horrified, as Skinner relived the nightmare of that time and place, sometimes calling out to people he seemed to see, sometimes whispering tense commands, sometimes talking to his family as in a letter. Once or twice he began to weep uncontrollably, shaking and turning his face against Mulder's chest. Mulder could only hold him tight, trying to give the other man a sense of safety that would bring him out of the agony he seemed lost in. He wrapped his arms around Walter, stroking his bare back and rocking him. The storm rumbled and lashed outside. After a while, Skinner seemed to quieten again and his slow breathing sounded more like a man merely asleep than in delirium. Mulder continued to tenderly nuzzle the smooth scalp and kiss the flickering eyelids. He had lulled them both into a dreamlike state. Letting his mind drift on an idyllic future in which he and Walter... he realised that the storm had at last moved away. The relief at knowing help might now be on its way was wrenched from Mulder in a long weary sigh. He began to hum as he rocked Walter in his arms, trying to keep himself awake. The ceiling fan turned its languid circles, beating at the humid air and the cicadas clicked again outside the windows in the aftermath of the tempest. He freshened the water in the bowl and began bathing Walter's thighs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, Skinner's soft voice again roused Mulder, this time from a vivid dream. The voice was so hushed Mulder had to strain to hear the words, but when he did, he blushed. Skinner was talking about him, calling him 'Fox', using the most tender words, full of worry and love, praying for him - just the way Mulder himself had been murmuring to Skinner all through this long night. He'd be embarrassed if he knew I was hearing this, he thought, even as his heart leapt to hear his straighter-than-straight boss whisper about his 'beautiful Fox'. For the first time he considered the amazing possibility that Walter cared about him more than he'd known. But will we ever be able to say what we feel to each other? He wondered.

When Skinner awoke the next time he was weak but no longer delirious. Mulder saw the brown eyes open and peered anxiously at his boss. Huskily, Skinner got right to the heart of the matter:
"No help yet?" Mulder held the cup of water for him and felt the immense relief of seeing him drink more than just a mouthful.
"Not yet, no, but I didn't know how to work the radio and there's been a terrific storm and nothing could have reached us in that and..."
"Okay, Mulder, I get the picture. How long have I been out of it?"
His eyes were closing again and Mulder could see Skinner was slipping back into sleep. He gave him a brief edited version of his hours of unconsciousness, saying only that he had called out some names, but none that Mulder recognized. Skinner's eyes opened wide again and he gave Mulder a searching look. Mulder wanted to fold his arms around the other man, kiss him and tell him everything, but he did none of these things. After Walter had fallen asleep again, he gently moved the heavy head to rest against his own chest and brushed his lips over the satiny skin. This might be his last chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first light they heard the beat of a helicopter and soon the clatter and din was right overhead. Mulder heaved himself stiffly to his feet and tottered over to the window. A very brisk Dana Scully was alighting from the Medevac 'copter, along with two paramedics.
"Uh oh! We're in big trouble now, sir. She Who Must Be Obeyed has arrived."
"That hardly seems a valid nickname when you spend all your time ignoring her good advice."
Skinner's voice was very weak, but he managed a grin. Mulder had the grace to look sheepish, but grinned back:
"Well she makes me pay afterwards, you know."
"I don't think I do want to know, Mulder."

Skinner was still dressed in only his boxers and looked more than a little uncomfortable about it. He could barely sit up on his own, there was no way to get him dressed before Scully reached them... Mulder swathed a blanket around the big man, who shakily pulled it around himself then put out a hand to Mulder.
"Thanks, Mulder... for everything." The dark eyes held his with gentle intensity. Mulder felt a lump in his throat.
"You're thanking me?..."
Before he could go on Scully and the paramedics arrived.

"Mulder, Sir... are you ready to go?" Scully took in the ragged and half-naked state of the pair of them and scanned the room with a frown. Skinner looked a lot worse than she'd anticipated and Mulder looked... well Mulder looked like Mulder always looked when she rescued him from one of his scrapes... like a naughty little boy, not at all convinced of his own awfulness.
"Well, I was still hoping to get a sample of that ectoplasm, Scully... "
He ducked as Skinner glared and Scully made to cuff him. The paramedics stepped in and both men were strapped into stretchers and carried out to the helicopter. As they were loaded on board Scully started on Mulder. Contritely, he answered all of her questions and bore her scolding. She had a few choice words for Skinner too, when she heard how he had risked his own life to keep Mulder alive, but they were softly voiced, the gratitude clear to hear. The paramedics looked on in amusement at these three who seemed so close and yet so exasperated with each other.

As the helicopter lifted off from the mountain ridge, Skinner managed to sit up and touched Scully's arm to get her attention:
"Why are you here, Dana? I'm sure I wasn't compos mentis enough to radio the Bureau, let alone mention your name." Dana smiled at her boss and explained:
"You used your old call sign, from your unit in Vietnam. Someone in Emergency Dispatch recognized the code and patched it through to the Bureau as routine. Once we checked the map references you gave us we realized who it must be. I knew where Mulder had been itching to go and the call sign tied you to this locale too... The Dispatcher filled me in on some of the ops that special unit of yours carried out. You had some lucky escapes, sir."

Mulder, who had been listening, fascinated, to all this, looked over at Skinner.
"You'll have to tell me about those sometime, sir."
Skinner met the shining hazel eyes with his own dark gaze and said quietly,
"Maybe I will."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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