***X-Files Fanfic, with a bit of Highlander: the series cross-over (I just couldn't resist- and at least now I have a plot!)***

(Mulder's voice) My search for the truth about my sister has led me down more paths than I can count. And down each, I find things unimaginable, even incomprehensive. And while the existence of an alien race is by far one of the most well-hidden secrets of mankind's history on this planet, perhaps yet another path may lead to a secret even greater than this. And while these secrets are immense, and their impacts large enough to change the course of history of this planet and the universe forever… what, we must ask, happens when these secrets come together? And who, among us who are in the know, have the power to actually do something about them?

-FBI Training Building, Washington DC-

“I just don't see why we need a refresher course, Mulder,” Agent Dana Scully complained as the two retrieved their bags from the lockers of the FBI training building. “I can fire a gun just fine.”

“Standard procedure, I guess,” Mulder replied, dawning a jacket which he was sure to zip up all the way. He'd been feeling cold, lately, and considering the perspiration even his partner exhibited during the course, his chills were not a matter to deal with the air conditioning about.

The two walked from the place, heading over to separate cars, parked far back in the 'visitor' section of the lot. They were both pensively silent, thinking of the events which led the X-Files to be reopened, and their status as agents reinitiated. They'd been together a long time, and in that time the trust had built between them to new levels. You can't put your life in someone else's hands unless you care for them, and at times, the feelings went beyond simply caring…

“You want to catch something to eat?” Mulder's words and the rumble in his stomach broke the silence.

Dana realized that they were standing by his car already; her own was a few over. “No thanks, after all the excitement last week I think I need a little rest.”

Mulder nodded, half relieved she had turned him down. “Alright. See you tomorrow then.”

Her smile was pleasant, as she nodded. “Tomorrow.”

-Alien Research Center, Vermont-

A man sits on a high stool, overlooking papers spread across the desk in front of him. He is wearing a white lab coat, with suit and tie showing through its unbuttoned front. His elbow rests on one knee, bent so his chin rests on his fist. His face is worn, though young, and struck now with a thoughtful, almost-confused expression. His other hand lies on the papers, pointing to the last few lines he read.

“Bee-Beep! Bee-Beep!” his pager goes off, making him jump and lose any train of thought he had managed. His free hand goes in a most fluid movement to his side, retrieving the small device and glancing at the number. “Oh, hang it all!” he exclaims, furiously gathering papers and books, along with a jacket, and heading out the door.

“So why'd you beep me?” he asked, throwing the papers down in front of the woman sitting there.

“One's escaped,” she said softly, pointing to a tv monitor, showing a most empty white room.

“Great, just great,” he mumbled, looking around the office to see a man hidden in the darkness, a small stream of cigarette smoke flowing from his mouth. “And just what do you expect me to do about it?”

“He can't get far,” the woman said, sorting through the mess of papers Gary had brought in with him. “The levels of the toxin in his body will render him unable to move in a short while. But we'll need to move in fast. I'd hoped to capture this awakening in the lab, but the tests will need to be done no matter where he is.”

“The important thing,” the man in the corner said, tapping his cigarette against a small ashtray on the corner of the desk, “Is that we get to him before any of his own kind do.”

The first man nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, shuttering at capacitated versions of 'his own kind'. “It won't be easy, but I'll get started on rigging up the equipment we'll need for the tests now.”

The woman smiled. “Good man. We'll have a car and driver ready and waiting at the North exit for you. As soon as we hear word, you're to leave, understood?”

“Understood.”

The phone rang.

'Not now, please,' Scully thought, the bedside clock alerting her to the fact that it was four in the morning. Her bed was so warm, and she was so cold. She'd felt a little tired all day, but attributed it to the lack of sleep she'd had lately. However, now she wasn't too sure.

The phone rang again.

She groaned, pulling one bare arm out of bed, facing the winter coldness of the room, and reached out for the phone.

The phone rang a third time.

“He--” she was surprised to find her voice rough and scratchy. She cupped her hand over the receiver and cleared her throat. Then she tried again, “Hello?”

“Agent Scully, we just received a phone call for you and your partner specifically. It was from a man named Dawson, ring any bells?” It was Skinner. Back to business as usual.

“No, s—“ her voice failed her again. She coughed and continued. “No, sorry. Do you want us to… come… in?” she yawned, closing her eyes.

“I think you'd better. Not much of what he said made any sense at all, and he wouldn't tell me much of anything. He said he'd call back in an hour.”

That didn't give her much time to figure out what was wrong with her throat. “Alright. Thanks.” She hung up and buried her face in her pillow, coughing lightly.

Scully was asleep again. This time at her desk, with her arms folded on it and her head turned to the side and resting on it. Mulder was on his way there, according to Skinner, and she figured a short nap wouldn't hurt. The medication she had taken earlier was certainly taking its toll, and drowsy did not begin to describe how she felt now.

“Scully?”

It was Mulder. She was awake before opening her eyes, dreading the first few moments with him. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her sick. She sat up and cleared her throat. “I'm awake,” she said, not truly even convincing herself of that fact.

“You don't look too good,” he said softly, wanting to hold her fragile body in his arms, wanting to cradle her, to stroke her hair, to comfort her. He couldn't do it, he knew. But the truth was that he didn't feel too well, himself. And there was nothing he would rather do than take a few days off to relax and recuperate with Scully at his side.

“Actually, I'm not feeling—“

The phone rang, making them both jump. Scully reached for the phone, but Mulder got to it first. “Agent Fox Mulder speaking.”

The voice on the other end was soft and deep like a blues singer's. “This is Joe Dawson. I'm in a car on the way to Vermont. There's something up here that I'll need you and your partner's help with. Only condition is that you both keep your mouths shut about this—“

“Of course, but Mr. Dawson, we have no idea—“

“Meet me in a small town named Miller's Glen, it's in the north of Vermont, off the interstate. I'll be at a small bar called 'Times of our Life' all night tonight. Just ask for me and someone'll be able to point me out.”

“Mr. Dawson, could you please explain—“

“I'll explain tonight. It has something to do with the… alien research. See you tonight.” And he hung up.

Mulder hung up the phone, looking a bit perplexed.

“What was all that about?” she asked, rubbing the side of her neck where it hurt from sleeping a few minutes ago.

“We're going to Vermont,” he said, shrugging. “I'll tell Skinner, then meet you at your place in an hour.”

“Mulder, what's going on? What's this about?”

“Alien research, he said. But that's just about all he said. He's meeting us tonight in Miller's Glen, Vermont at some bar there.”

“And you think this is for real, Mulder?” She coughed into a fist and looked into his eyes.

“Don't know. Seems suspicious to you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I'm just tired and not thinking clearly, but yes, some guy says the word alien and you're ready for a drive to Vermont?”

'Not as ready as you think,' he thought to himself, seeing his own fatigue and ache reflected in his partner. “Either way, Scully, he said he needed our help. Whether it's for real or not… I think we could both benefit to get away from our desks for a little while.”

She nodded, standing. “I just hope you're right.” She paused. “Wait a minute, don't I always pick you up?”

He searched for a reason, when the real one was that his place was such a mess that he didn't want to clean it before they left. He'd sweated through several changes of clothes the night before, and the mess of tissues would be dead giveaways. “Don't be afraid of change, Scully. You're in no condition to drive anyw—“

“Mulder! I'm fine!”

“Uh huh. Just be ready in an hour.”

She sighed, half-thankful. “Sure, Mulder.”

-Alien Research Center, Vermont-

“We have a heat reading coming in. It's in the center of the forest, can we get a measurement on that. Or a confirmation, even?”

Dr. Josh Adamchack stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, watching the men and women scurry around in front of the screens and keyboards. He had shed his lab coat by this time, and had finished assembling the devices necessary to perform the tests. All that remained now was to find the subject.

“Coming through now. 99 degrees exactly—it's humanoid.”

“Confirmation, humanoid, but moving fast.”

“Are we sending in a team?”

“Record the coordinates, get some guys in there quick.”

“Phone call made.”

“Why is it moving so quickly?”

“Maybe the drugs didn't work.”

“They had to have.”

“Team approaching subject. ETA, forty-seven minutes.”

“Good,” Dr. Adamchack said, running a hand through his hair, revealing to anyone at the right angle, a small, circular blue tattoo.

-Woods in the north of Vermont-

“Do you see him?”

“I see something—turn left!”

“Trees—“

“Turn damnit!”

“I'm going, get off my back!”

“I wouldn't be on it if you just went!”

“Just shut up!”

A third man pounded on the van window glass, “There it is!”

“Call it in.”

“Calling!”

No one noticed the fourth man in the van, supposedly gathering bonds and chains for the subject. His cellular phone was small, his voice trained to be quiet. His words short and few. “They've found him, Dawson. Go with plan B, I'm afraid. And those agents up here stat!”

“uh-CHHeooo!” she sneezed, reaching once more for the Kleenex. By the time she'd reached home, the pills had numbed her throat and headache, but then the sneezes started, and hadn't stopped for a moment as she attempted to pack. There was a tickle in her nose, strong and “uhCHHHooo!” constant.

There was a knock on the door.

“Just a minute!” Scully shouted, blowing her nose and gathering the tissues up into the wastebasket. She grabbed her bag and threw it on the couch on the way to the door. She unlocked it, and it opened on its own accord, Mulder's hand on the knob. “Almost done,” she said, trying to avoid his eyes.

“OK, I'll wait.” He sat down on the couch, trying to let his relief from doing so look more like a casual rest. His whole body ached, and his head was stuffy and congested. He doubted very much that he would make it to Vermont without coming down with a full-blown cold. But it wasn't as if he had much to worry about. From the way Scully looked, she had one herself. It would make the assignment quite difficult, but misery loved company… and the thought of putting Dana Scully to bed and climbing in beside her to sleep was ever so inviting.

“uhCHHH! HuhCHHHHeoo!” he heard come from the other room. He smiled.

“Bless you, Scully.”

She came back out with her coat on, a second bag slung over her shoulder, and the cordless phone in her hand. “Thanks. Can you call Skinner and tell him we're taking off now? He left a message on my machine asking to be informed. He got another c… another call… fr… f…” she stopped, submitting to it, holding one hand up to her nose and mouth. The second bag slipped slowly from her shoulder, about to slide down her arm. She pulled back, eyes closed, mouth opening with a slight frown to take in a deep breath. “ehhCHHHHeoo!” she sneezed, bending back, then forward from the force. The bag thumped to the ground. Strands of her short copper hair fell into her face. She took a breath and opened her eyes, throwing her head back gently to right her hair. “Excuse me.”

Simultaneously, “Bless you,” from Mulder. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making you do this. You're sick. You can, er, stay if you want, it's alright.” 'Please say no. Please say no,' he thought to himself.

Scully sniffed, “You're not making me do anything, Mulder. How many times do we have to go through… this… uhCHHHHISHH!”

“Bless you! But, Scully, you—“

“It's a small cold, Mulder. I'm not dying. I'll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I could do it alone.”

She nodded. “I'm sure. I'm the doctor here, after all. Now, call Skinner for me, will you?”

He walked over and took the phone from her, swooping down to pick up the bag at the same time, watching a smile spread on her face.

“Thanks, Mulder.”

He dialed the number, and sat down on the couch as it rang, slumped with his head against the back, his legs spread, one hand on his thigh. “This is Mulder. Scully said that there was another phone call?”

Skinner replied, “Yes there was, just after you left. He said the situation's taken a turn for the worst and to get there as quickly as possible. He also assured me that it's of utmost importance. I don't know, it sounds a bit… hold on… I think I'm going to… Aahiichoo! Sorry.”

“Sir?”

“Sorry, I think I'm coming down with that cold that's going around the place here. You two ok I hope?”

Mulder's head was pounding, and his nose itching. One look at Scully told him that she was worse off if anything. “Yeah, we're fine.”

“That's good. I'm gonna go take the day off, I think. Check in with me at my home number if you need to call me.”

“OK.”

“Good luck, Agent… aahhIHchoo! Agent Mulder.”

“Thanks.”

He hung up and stood, picking up the bag from the couch.

She looked worried. “Anything wrong?”

He shook his head with a laugh. “I'll explain on the way there. Shall we head out?”

She nodded, her head stopping on the down stroke as she froze. huhCHHHeooo!” She locked the door, and followed him out to his car. It was going to be one long drive…

Even the way she sneezed was beautiful, he remarked,

-Times of Our Life bar-

“Uh, we're looking for Joe Dawson,” Mulder said to the bartender as soon as they entered; Scully went straight to the bathroom to freshen up after the drive.

The bartender, a young man who stood drying out a beer mug, paused to point across the room to the stage. There in big letters were the words: Joe Dawson Band.

“Ah,” Mulder said, rolling his eyes. “Thanks.”

He sat at a booth near the front, removing his jacket, then thinking twice and putting it back on again. He sniffed and rubbed at his nose, clearing his voice to find it rough. 'Oh great. Just get through this meeting, Fox. Then you can stretch out in a warm hotel bed…'

Scully sat down across from him, and the waitress came up to them in a bored manor. “What'll ya have?”

Scully sniffed and put her elbow on the table, her hand at the back of her neck. “Do you have tea?”

“Sure do.”

“Wonderful. I'll have a cup of tea and a ham sandwich.”

“And for you Sir?”

Mulder shrugged. “Uh, I guess I'll have the same.”

Scully narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“K, folks, I'll be right back.”

Scully put her hand on Mulder's forehead, but he pulled back too fast. “Are you sick, Mulder?”

Mulder shrugged. “Lay off, Scully. We had a hard, long drive and I'm exhausted.”

“I bet!” came a rough, kindly voice from the gray-haired man standing beside the table. “Name's Joe Dawson. Thanks for coming all this way,” he said, extending his hand to Mulder. Then he did the same to Scully but she suppressed a cough and shook her head.

“I've got a cold.”

“Ah. So sorry to hear that. Can I sit down? I promise to be brief now. I would rather give details in a safe place, anyway.” He walked a few steps with a limp and plucked an unused chair from a nearby table. Then he pulled it up to the edge of the table and sat down gently, leaning his cane against the table. The man was obviously not old, but his gray hair and tired eyes told them he had seen a lot.

“You brought us up here to help you find the mystery of blues, I suppose?” Mulder cracked, looking at the musician.

Mr. Dawson smiled and shook his head to the side, characteristically. “I assure you, Agent Mulder, that my band is just as much a convenient cover as it is a passion. Now, I would guess you are both incredibly confused. Let me begin at the beginning… or, near to the beginning.”

“Please,” Mulder said, glancing at Scully, who nodded.

“All right. You are both familiar with the attempts of the… well, the attempts to create a human-alien hybrid that will survive the eventual alien invasion, correct?”

“Whoa! Wait a minute!” Mulder said, his eyes opened wide. “Who are you and how do you know this?” If he knew this, the man must surely know just about everything that he'd spent his whole life trying to discover.

“All in good time. I assure you, I am on your side, else I would not be in need of your help. You and your partner are the utmost experts in this matter, whether your bureau wishes to admit it or not. And my organization is greatly in need of your talents.”

Their conversation died down as the food was brought, along with a cold beer for Joe.

When the waitress left, Mulder- after he had taken a few long, soothing sips of the warm tea- was the first to speak. “What organization is this?” he asked, skeptical.

“As I said, all in due time. I said that I would start at the begin… oh my! Agent Scully?!” His look was one of shock.

Mulder looked to see Scully with her arm on the table, and her head on her arm. She was, in fact, asleep. “Mr. Dawson, I'm sorry, but I think she could do for some serious bed rest.”

“Joe,” the man said, rising and leaning on his cane as he moved the chair back from where he'd taken it. “Luckily, there's time for that.”

Mulder was relieved to hear those words as he pulled a drowsy Scully to her feet and left money on the table for their barely-touched food. “We've got reservations at the Sheraton, room 592. You're welcome to stop by to talk privately with us… after you finish your gig here and all.”

Joe smiled and made a gesture with his free hand towards the door. “Hey, that's the great thing about knowing the owner. Consider my gig a wrap.”

Scully coughed, blinking her eyes, trying to figure out what happened.

Mulder was about to inform her that they were heading to the hotel when a sudden, strong sneeze came upon him. With his arms supporting Scully, there was no way to reach for his handkerchief, so he turned his head and let it come. “AahhhUHHSHEOO!”

Joe shook his head, smiling with a grin of charm, sympathy, and kindness. “You're just as sick as she is,” he observed, opening the door for them. “I'll not only meet you there, but I'll drive.”

-Sheraton Hotel, Room 592-

Scully was snuggled comfortably under the covers, a box of tissues on her lab as she sat up against the headboard of one of the king-sized beds in the room. Mulder sat beside her, his shoes off, his coat still on. He was pale, but luckily very good at concealing the coughs that came at him more frequently now. His sniffling was a different story, and one Scully was becoming suspicious of, but she was more interested in hearing what Mr. Dawson had to say.

“I said I'd begin at the beginning,” Joe said, sitting back in a chair he'd pulled over to the bed. “There are beings in this world, as you both well know, which are not human. You'd be surprised at how very many there are, in fact. Many of the tales you know have a bit of truth in them. Aliens…vampires… For example, take Noah.”

“From the Bible?” asked Scully.

“Yeah. Now, we know the tale of the great flood has roots in many cultures. In the epic of Gilgamesh, in the Bible—we know that Noah, he himself, perhaps of different name, must have existed. What age did Noah live to, according to the Bible?”

Scully answered right away, “ .”

“And his grandson Methuselah?”

“ .”

“Unbeknownst to history- Bible and otherwise, this is quite a literal interpretation. There is a thing called the Methuselah stone which grants the power of longevity, perhaps even immortality.” Their faces were skeptical, but amazed. “This is not the reason I have enlisted you. It's merely an example of what powers are out there.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Daw—Joe. But why then did you call us here?”

Joe smiled. “There are beings on this earth who cannot die when you put a bullet into their chests. They cannot die if you run them over with a car. They cannot die if they fall from a one hundred-story building. They are, in all practical essence, immortal. In fact, the only way they can die is if they are decapitated.” Joe stood, and began walking back and forth across the room with a gentle limp. “When their head comes from their bodies, there is a rush of power, called the quickening. Then, it is over. Now, to other immortals, this quickening is important. So, they kill each other for this power. This may sound a bit absurd or even revolting, but it is truly a necessary process. It is part of a great game that has been going on for centuries in the cloak of darkness. The last alive, the immortal left standing, claims the prize, and is said to then become the welder of such supreme power that the world and perhaps universe has never before been witness to.”

Mulder coughed. “Uh, excuse me, but this sounds a bit far-fetched.”

“Yes,” Scully said, her accent coming through stronger when she was tired… and sick… “What evidence do you have to make us believe such a story?”

Joe stopped pacing and looked down at his legs. Softly, “My life.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes. “You are…”

“No,” Joe said, smiling. “I am a watcher. Part of a secret society of men and women who observe and record the immortals. It is our job, our lives, to make sure history does not know about them, but to keep records in the event that there will be none left, one day. For as long as there have been immortals, watchers have existed to… watch them.” He held his arms out, flipped palm up to reveal a blue, circular tattoo on his wrist. “If you believe even a fraction of what I am telling you, please believe this next bit; it's the reason I've called you up here.”

“Go ahead,” Scully said in disbelief already.

“Immortals can only die one way, as I have told you. They cannot get ill, their scrapes, bruises, even broken bones set instantly. They are, nearly the perfect race, aside from the fact that they cannot bear children.”

“So how do they…”

“They make love the same, I assure you,” he said, thinking of his trailing Mac and a certain someone back to the barge or loft. “However, they simply cannot procreate. No one knows how they come into this world. They are all foundlings… they are all normal, seemingly human, before their first death, when they come back to life.”

“Ok, so saying we believe this, why is it that you've called us here.”

Joe took a very deep breath. “The aliens found out about the immortals. Now, imagine all that I've told you- a super-human race… and then imagine it spliced with alien DNA. Now while this might be hindered by the fact that there are few immortals and they cannot reproduce, the ones in charge seem to have something greater on their minds. If they can engineer the perfect immoral to be alien, and this hybrid wins the ultimate prize that I spoke of, not only a world will be at the alien's disposal, but an entire universe. In all the feats of technology and power that the aliens can have, even the aliens could not hold such power. But the universe in the hands of a hybrid? It would mean mankind's total destruction, and truly the ultimate Armageddon.”

Mulder coughed. “So we're here to stop them?”

“Even if we stop them this time they know how to find immortals. They will try again. We have to find a way to make sure they are unequivocally unsuccessful. That they walk away from this notion without a doubt that it was a complete and utter failure.”

“That won't be easy,” Scully said, closing her eyes. “I think I need to lie down.”

Mulder felt her cheek and forehead. “Yeah. Joe, can we talk tomorrow?”

Joe nodded, standing. “We have to act fact. I'll come by around seven in the morning, alright?”

Mulder nodded. “Night.”

“Night,” he echoed. “And feel better!” he addressed to them both, but Scully was too tired to notice. Joe let himself out.

Scully sneezed and lay back in bed with a groan. “Remind me again why I came on this wild goose chase Mulder?” She rubbed a tissue against her nose. “These are horrible tissues.”

He cleared his throat and stood up with a glance at the bedside clock. It was only ten, and the shop closed at midnight. 'Good.' He coughed again, unable to suppress it. “I'm going down to the lobby shop to get a few things for the night. Want anything, other than tissues?”

She shook her head.

He left, sighing as soon as the door was closed behind him. He sniffed and quickly fished his handkerchief out of his back pocket, blowing and wiping his nose. 'I'll give in when I get back,' he told himself. 'I can't keep trying to hide this or I'll make myself feel worse.' Mulder made his way to the elevator, giving the people coming out a nod as he entered, leaning with a shiver, against the wall. Five floors down to the ground, he got out, feeling drowsy from the motion of the elevator. He sniffed, cleared his throat, and decided to make this as quick as possible.

Ten minutes later, a sniffling Mulder lay an armful of items out on the counter. A wad of singles filled one hand, and his handkerchief was gripped tightly in the other. The check-out girl gave him a sympathetic look as rang it all up.

“AaahhIIHHSHOO! AhhTCHOOO! ISHOO!í he sneezed, his face long and drawn-out, eyes tightly squeezed shut. He blew his nose and sniffed, looking the very picture of misery.

“Bless you,” the girl said, punching the few last buttons. “That'll be ten fifty-two.”

He thrust the money in her direction, passing it over then gripping the counter as his whole body shook with sudden force at a quite powerful “huh… heh… Ahhh… AAAHHHIIIEEESHHOO!”

“Bless you!” she said again. “Sick?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just a bit of… of a… ahh… Aaaahhh… AaahhhhIIIISHHOO! Sniff… a cold.”

“Sounds like whatever you're in town for'll have to wait, huh?”

He smiled. You can't exactly call in sick to an alien investigation. “Wish I could Sniff.”

She handed him the change and pushed the bags toward him. “Sorry to hear that. Hope you feel better, Sir!”

He nodded, feeling his nose start tickle again. He stuffed the money into his pocket and lifted his handkerchief. “aaahhh… AaahhhhIIIIEEESHOOO!” Embarrassed enough already, he could think of nothing but a quick exit. He took a bag in each hand and turned towards the elevator. Once there, he sighed, closing his eyes and letting the sneezes come naturally. “hah-ahhhIIHHHSHOO! AaahhhIIHHTCHOO! aaahhhTISHOOO! sniff aaahhhEEhhhhshooo! AaaahhhhIIHHHHTSHOOO! AhhhIIHHHSHOO! IHHHSHOO! Sniff!” Mulder looked up and his eyes rested on a security camera. He blushed. “Great,” he mumbled, sniffing. “Big brother is terribly concerned with my health.” He sniffed and tried to make himself look presentable as he walked from elevator to room. With a deep breath, he entered, only to find Scully changed and fast asleep beneath the covers.

Mulder smiled and sniffed, unpacking the bag a bit. He took out one of the tissue boxes and replaced the hotel's with it. Then he got one for himself, retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose, take a quick shower, and brush his teeth. He popped a cough drop in his mouth and slid under the covers of his bed. He propped both pillows under his head and moved the tissues from the bedside table to the bed right beside him. He debated turning on the television, and finally decided to, keeping the volume down to a minimum. He flipped through a few channels before finding a run of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” which was just beginning. “It couldn't hurt,” he said, tossing the remote down to the bottom of his bed, setting the alarm clock, and swallowing the remains of the cough drop. He was asleep before the opening credits had finished.

“UhCHHUSHH! UhhCHISHH!”

Mulder woke to the sound, propping himself up on one elbow and looking over at Scully. “You ok?” he asked, sounding stuffy.

She nodded. “Sorry, just go back to sleep. My cold's just being a pain and… uuhhh.. uuhhhCHISHHO! and… UuhhhCHISHH! uuhhh… uuuhhhhh.. UhhCHISHHO! CHISHH! Sniff Sorry, Mulder. My cold's just sniff keeping me up.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, choosing his next words carefully. “So's mine.”

She pushed herself up onto one elbow and gave a laugh to look over and see his bed just as flooded with tissues as hers. “I knew you were sick!”

He rolled his eyes. “Very good, Scully.” He lay back down and rubbed at his nose with the flat of his palm. “You won the prize. Now that you have all the power in the universe, could sniff you make the room stop spinning?”

She sat up all the way. He truly looked miserable. “You ok?”

He shook his head. “Do I look ok, Scully?” He felt bad about acting so punchy, but he didn't know how else he could have replied. He shivered and moved his hand from his nose to over his mouth for a few harsh coughs.

Scully pulled at her blankets to untuck them. “No. You look like you could use a friend.” She got up with the blankets and joined him in his bed, being sure to keep her distance. “Besides,” she stroked his cheek. “You're kinda cute when you're too weak to argue.”

He smiled. “I could say the same abo… ab… ahh…” he grabbed a tissue. “AhhIIIhhshooo! Sniff about you.” He hesitated a moment, but stretched his arm out, bringing her closer to him as she scooted in that direction to oblige. “I keep getting… the… SNIFF the chills,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

Spreading the blankets she'd brought out to cover him as well, she answered, “I know, I do, too.”

This is what he'd wanted from moment one… to be in bed, resting beside her. To be there to comfort her and have her do the same for him. In all their years together, in all the messes that had dragged each other through, in all the times they had relied upon loyalty in their partnership above reason and faith… she was the closest thing he had to stability, to strength, to love. And to be beside her, to be there for her, and know she were there for him, was the most powerful thing in the world.

“You tired?”

He shook his head. “You?”

“No.” There was a moment of silence. “So what do you think sniff about this Dawson character?” She stopped to blow her nose. “Excuse me.”

He chuckled. “Well both be apologizing until we're hoarse if… uhhh…my… turn…. AahhhIIIHTSHOO! aaahhhhhIHHSHO! Ahhh… AhhhhhIIIHHSHHHH!”

She laughed. “You sure rock the bed when you… oh great… uhhCHHHIAH!”

He passed her a tissue, laughing. “So do you!”

She sniffed a few times, looking back over at him. “But really sniff what do you sniff think sniff of all this?”

Shaking his head, “I… ahh… one second… ahhhhIIIHHHCHOO! AhhhCHOO!”

“Never mind.” Softly, “You need your rest. We'll talk tomorrow.”

“Dot sleeby. Oh great. sniff Listed to be. By sniff does is sniff all sniff stuffed dow. SNIFF!”

She suggested the television and at his nod, and went for a search among the blankets for the remote. The soft, eerie tune of the alien space craft rang in her ears. “Close Encounters? Were you watching this?”

“Yeb.” He blew his nose in an attempt to sound more normal but the energy require just to do that drained him and he squeezed his eyes shut. “It's still sbiddig.” The room around him seemed a blur as he opened his eyes and tried to focus on something, anything. When he couldn't, he groaned and squeezed his eyes closed again.

She felt his forehead. “You're not too warm, so far as I can tell. I don't think you have a fever.”

He shivered, shrugging. He wasn't about to complain, but he felt too horrible not to. And as the dull ache which ran through his body intensified for a moment in his head, he let out a soft groan, “Uuhhh…”