TITLE: Falling Snow, Chapter 1/10
AUTHOR: Snark
E-MAIL: snark_911@yahoo.com
CLASSIFICATION: SA (Story, Angst) plus some UST
KEYWORDS: NONE
RATING: PG-13 
SPOILERS: This story is set before the Two Fathers/
One Son episodes. While there are no true pre-requisites 
for this story, allusions are made to at least the 
following episodes: Sleepless, Red Museum, Detour, 
Triangle, Shapes, Alpha, Bad Blood, Clyde Bruckman's 
Final Repose, and Tithonus. 
DISTRIBUTION: OK to forward to ATXC newsgroup and to
Gossamer. Please ask permission before archiving anywhere
else, please. Or at least let me know that you have 
archived it, so that I can keep track of where it's listed.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of The X-Files universe belong
to Chris Carter, the FOX network and 1013 Productions.
No infringement is intended and no money is being made by
the existence of this story. (Unfortunately.) However, 
the characters of Khi Shaolin and Mobaje are my own creation. 
These characters are not for use by any other fanfic author 
without my express, written consent.
FEEDBACK: Mail comments to snark_911@yahoo.com.
AUTHOR HOMEPAGE: http://www.smartania.com/snark/index.html
SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully and a mysterious woman from Mulder's
past crash in the snowy landscape of the Colorado winter. 





------------
Chapter 1
------------



The man was asleep and then he was awake. His eyes snapped 
open to the darkness, the rest of his body remaining still--he had 
learned long ago that jerking awake often had unpleasant 
consequences. His gun, which had been lying on the low table in 
front of him, was now in his hand, retrieved by an almost 
imperceptible shift of his right arm. 

The man listened to the night. What had awakened him? Living 
in the apartment building, he had become used to the usual 
sounds that filtered into his apartment from the outside world:  
doors closing, cars passing, babies crying, lovers quarrelling. The 
man's brain automatically filtered out such sounds, not bothering 
to alert his body of their presence. No, this had been something 
else, something that had danced along the edge of perception and 
awakened him. Something inside the apartment.

Without sound, the man rolled off his couch and stood into a 
gunman's position, all in one fluid motion. The light from street 
lamps backlit his tall, shirtless frame, his wide shoulders tapering 
down to narrow hips. The arms and chest that held the gun so 
steady were lean but powerful, muscles rippling just beneath the 
surface. His eyes, often filled with humor but now gone cold, 
surveyed the room quickly. Every corner, every shadow was 
catalogued and dismissed.

The man moved forward slowly, gliding into the other half of his 
quarters. He rounded the corner to his kitchen and found nothing, 
backtracking to check the lock on his apartment door. He looked 
around again, uncertain at what his eyes showed him--something 
had awakened him, but he couldn't find its cause. He saw nothing 
out of order, no item misplaced or in disarray. 

Well, nothing except for the perpetual stack of unwashed dishes 
and take-out containers on his kitchen counter. 

Exhaling a short chuckle, the man slid his gun into the front of 
his jeans and relaxed. He went to the kitchen again and opened 
the refrigerator, shoving aside the boxed-up remnants of last 
night's pizza supreme to search for that last Wicked Ale he knew 
was in there somewhere. Finding it hidden behind an empty juice 
carton, the man withdrew the bottle and smiled--no one makes 
ale like Pete, he thought to himself. 

After a short search for the bottle opener, the man resorted to the 
trick he learned in college, using the edge of his countertop and a 
quick downward swipe to pop the cap off. Noticing how beat up 
the counter edge looked, he realized that perhaps he had used this 
trick too often lately. He shrugged off the thought quickly, 
instead focusing on the pleasurable sensation of drinking the ale. 
Screw 'em, he thought--after spending his days doing lousy grunt 
work, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to enjoy a few cold ones 
at night.

Polishing off half the bottle in a single draught, the man turned 
and headed back towards his couch. As he moved into the room, 
his body snapped to a halt almost before he even saw it. The 
bedroom door, closed tightly when he had left the room minutes 
earlier, was now standing open a few inches. 

The ale was instantly replaced by the gun as the man moved 
across the intervening space in just two strides. He paused the 
merest of seconds before kicking the door open with his left leg, 
quickly bringing his foot down to hold the door open in its new 
position before it could swing back in his face. As his gun came 
to bear unflinchingly on the figure sprawled across his waterbed, 
a voice flowed out from the darkness. A voice that he 
immediately recognized, but could not believe he was hearing--a 
voice he had thought he would never hear again. 

"What the hell took you so long, Zippy?"

The man, who had rarely been called anything other than Mulder 
(at least to his face) in almost 10 years, just threw his head back 
and laughed. 

     *    *    *    *    *    *

"No, sir. You must understand--your wife is not being 
investigated. She applied for a job at a federally-operated office, 
which requires us to do a background check to verify her 
identity. Sir... sir, that's not necessary... yes, I understand... sir, I 
realize that you are trying to help, but faxing me photos from the 
Kalchette family reunion is not going to help. No, it's really not 
necessary, sir. Really, I think I've found out everything I need, 
thank you for your time. Yes... no, thank you... Yes, you too, sir."

The woman sighed, hanging up the phone for the... She realized 
that she couldn't even remember how many calls she had placed 
this day. They had all tumbled together and become indiscernible 
from each other, a mind-numbing conglomeration of the same 
phrases and questions she'd spoken a thousand times over. 

I swear to god, she said to herself, if one more person freaks out 
at me over a background check, I won't be responsible for the 
outcome. The woman reached to the small of her back and felt 
the weapon holstered there--she gave a slight smile as she 
imagined the possibilities.

The smile faded quickly, though, as the woman flipped to the 
next data page and saw the never-ending list of names and phone 
numbers lying before her. Sheet after sheet, it went on, printing 
out her future in perfect 10-pt type, tiny black letters standing 
stark against the whiteness. Their effect was almost hypnotic--as 
she kept staring at the page, feeling her eyes begin to go out of 
focus, she half-expected to see the words "Next Call, Please" 
coalesce before her. 

Thinking over what she had just thought, the woman realized she 
must be very tired indeed. Usually exceptionally well-organized 
and categorized, her thoughts only wandered when the body had 
foregone sleep more than it should. It's a good thing I'm taking a 
couple of vacation days, she thought.

Glancing around the bullpen, she saw that she was the only one 
remaining. She caught sight of the wall clock as it hung barely 
illuminated by the feeble light of her desk lamp--nearly midnight, 
she thought with a start. No wonder everyone was gone already.

Grumbling "Damn time zone differences" under her breath, the 
woman stood and stretched, slowly but thoroughly, an almost 
feline quality to her movements. Each muscle groaned, each joint 
stiff in its response. She hadn't moved from her desk in almost 4 
hours, and even then it was just a quick stop to the restroom. 

The woman shut her desktop down, logging out of the computer 
system and putting her phone on night hold. She started to file 
the phone list in her top drawer, but then just tossed it back down 
by the phone. Screw it, she thought--it's not like it won't be there 
Monday morning. Grabbing her coat off the back of the chair, 
she headed for the door, relishing the thought of just getting 
home to a nice, hot bath and perhaps a glass of wine.

Passing her partner's desk, though, she noticed a stack of folders 
and printouts with a large note stuck to the top--Take Home, Do 
Not Forget! Stopping to look more closely, she saw that it was 
the presentation slides and materials that her partner was 
supposed to have for his trip to Colorado tomorrow. If he flew 
out without them, thereby negating the most important section of 
the senior conference, she doubted that their superiors would be 
very sympathetic. More than likely, they'd give him work so 
brainless it made background checks seem like theoretical 
quantum biology.

Figuring it was easiest to just drop the materials off at his 
apartment, the woman scooped up the stack and headed out the 
door. The miles to her partner's residence passed by virtually 
unnoticed--she doubted she would have noticed had a herd of 
pink gazelles gone bounding across the road. Pulling into a 
parking spot outside the apartment building, she was glad to see 
her partner's window brightly lit. Good, she thought, I'll get these 
dropped off and be on my way home in about 60 seconds. 

The woman entered the building and used the elevator to reach 
the fourth floor. As she walked down the hall, she heard raucous 
laughter emanating from an apartment towards the other end. She 
quirked the tiniest of smiles--no wonder her partner was still 
awake, with all that noise going on. 

As she approached his apartment, though, the woman was 
surprised to realize that the laughter wasn't coming from a nearby 
apartment. It was spilling out from within his apartment, 
stretching out to every corner of the hallway. She could hear his 
baritone laugh intermixed with another voice--a voice whose 
low, resonating quality masked whether it was male or female. 
Unnoticed, her hand went to her gun, drawing it halfway out 
before she caught herself. C'mon, she thought, it's not like 
hearing your partner laugh is a sign of the apocalypse or 
anything.

In fact, her partner laughed often, but usually in more of a soft 
chuckle accompanied by small, almost teasing smile. She had 
rarely heard the full-throated belly laughs that she was hearing 
now. Some part of the woman's brain acknowledged how nice 
that laugh actually sounded, while the majority focused on 
gathering herself together and knocking on the door.

Reaching up, the woman knocked a few times, just to the left of 
the brass '42' nailed to the door. Getting no response, she 
pounded a bit harder, using the flat of her closed fist instead of 
her knuckles. She could hear the conversation inside, punctuated 
by laughter and loud exclamations, so she knew that there were 
indeed people inside. Determined to be heard this time, the 
woman drew back her whole arm to bang on the door.

Suddenly, the door popped open in front of her, startling her so 
much she nearly dropped the stack of papers. She could not 
believe what she saw--her partner stood in the open doorway, 
dressed only in a pair of faded blue jeans, holding a nearly empty 
pitcher of some sort of slushed drink, with an Hawaiian lei 
around his neck and a grin from ear to ear. When he spoke, she 
wondered if perhaps the apocalypse had indeed begun. 

"Come on in and get on down, Sister D!" 

The woman, who had rarely been called anything other than 
Scully (except by her family) in her entire life, just cocked an 
eyebrow and stared.

     *    *    *    *    *    *

Mulder reached out and took hold of Scully's elbow, pulling her 
inside the apartment and shutting the door behind her. When she 
started to explain about the papers, he 'shushed' her and guided 
her into the living room. As she stepped through the doorway, 
Scully saw a woman sitting on the couch, dressed in jeans and a 
cut-off sweatshirt, also wearing a lei and obviously having a 
good time. The woman appeared to be swaying slightly, 
seemingly having trouble keeping hold of her large drink glass, 
even though it was nearly empty.

 "Dana Scully, I'd like you to meet Khi Shaolin, my roommate 
from college and a friend I haven't seen in... well, in more years 
than I care to remember," Mulder said with another laugh. "Khi, 
this is Dana Scully, my partner at the F...B...I." He over-
enunciated the letters, ending with a dramatic flourish of his hand 
to indicate her.

Scully watched as Khi, whom 30 seconds ago she would have 
sworn was too drunk to stand, set her drink down and rose off the 
couch smoothly, stretching out a hand and bowing very slightly 
from the waist. "Ms. Scully, it is a pleasure, I am sure," she said, 
without hint of slurring or unsteadiness. As Scully reached to 
shake the proffered hand, she was again surprised by the low 
resonance of Khi's voice--it had a musical, almost mesmerizing 
quality.

Scully realized she had underestimated the Khi's height and 
weight. She was 5'11" easily, and must have gone 160 or even 
more. But Khi was not fat or out of shape--Scully could see a 
well-developed set of abdominal muscles where the sweatshirt 
cut off. Annoyingly well-developed, actually. The hand that 
enclosed Scully's was strong and firm, yet not crushing. Scully 
got the impression of great strength held in check. 

Who *is* this woman, she said to herself, and why is Mulder 
drinking like a fraternity pledge with her?

"Yes, a pleasure," Scully said, rather coldly. Turning back to 
where Mulder had been, she started to explain why she was 
there. "You left these at the office, Mulder. I thought it would be 
easier to just drop them off for..." She broke off in mid-sentence, 
realizing Mulder was no longer standing behind her. Wondering 
where he had gone, she heard the whirring of a blender out in the 
kitchen. 

With a glance back at Khi, who had sat down on the couch again, 
Scully walked into Mulder's kitchen to find him busily mixing 
another pitcher of whatever it was that he and Khi were drinking. 
She saw at least four distinct liqueurs go into the pitcher, along 
with liberal quantities of ice and whipped cream.

"Mulder," she tried again, "here's your presentation and slides for 
tomorrow's conference. I'll just set them dow-" Again, Mulder 
'shushed' her, pouring the pitcher's contents into a tall glass and 
handing it to her. 

"Scully, you gots to try this," he said. "It's what Khi calls a 'Black 
Angel Kamikaze'--it's excellent! We used to drink them all the 
time, but I never learned how to make them before she..." Mulder 
trailed off, leaving the thought hanging unspoken.

"So, you and Khi were roommates?" she asked, breaking the 
uncomfortable silence. She was trying to be polite, even though 
she knew she probably didn't want to know the details. "I thought 
Quantico didn't allow cross-sex roommates."

"Oh, they don't," Mulder replied, turning to face her as he poured 
himself a drink. "Khi wasn't an 'official' roommate. Hell, she 
didn't even attend Quantico. We just lived together for a year 
when I was a senior and living off-dorm. She was completely 
unlike anyone I had ever met before. She still is, in fact."

"I've never heard you mention her before," Scully said with just 
the merest hint of defiance in her tone. 

"Well, I haven't seen her since the day I graduated, nearly 10 
years ago," Mulder explained, oblivious to Scully's annoyance. 
Noticing Scully's completely full drink sitting on the table, he 
leaned over and handed it to her with that 'Trust me' look in his 
eyes. "You gotta at least try it, Scully. Anyway, when I got back 
to the house after graduation ceremonies, I found that she'd 
packed up and left. No explanation, no note, no nothing." His 
eyes seemed to focus on something not in the room with them, 
remembering. "But whatever--she's back now and that's what 
matters. C'mon, Scully, are you gonna taste that drink or what?!"

To get him off her back, and to distract herself from wondering 
why Khi's return would matter so much to Mulder, Scully took a 
little sip of the drink. Expecting something horrible, she was 
surprised to find that it was wonderfully delicious--iced and 
creamy without being overpowering. She didn't want to get 
trapped into staying with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Khi, 
however, so she merely said that it was OK and set it back down. 
Mulder just kind of scoffed, teasing her that she wouldn't know a 
good drink if it jumped out and bit her.

Khi came into the kitchen at that point. Or, rather, Khi danced 
into the kitchen at that point. Her arms up above her head, 
singing "Wave your hands in the air, like you don't care. C'mon, 
Zippy, let's dance," she began to circle the room. And if that 
wasn't a shocking enough sight to Scully, she just about fell over 
when Mulder, apparently also known as Zippy, immediately 
plunked his drink down and joined in. Going over to Khi, the two 
of them formed the world's tiniest conga line, chanting "W... O... 
R... D... Up!" as they danced.

Even though it was painfully clear that neither of them would 
probably listen to her, Scully drew a deep breath and forged 
ahead anyway. "Mulder, as the only person in this room who is 
not completely tanked, I feel the need to point out that you have a 
flight out to Colorado at 8:30am tomorrow--no, today," she 
corrected herself after a quick glance at her watch. "You are the 
keynote speaker at a conference whose attendees are the very 
same people that, if you fail to show up or are in less than peak 
form for it, will take you off your currently less-than-thrilling 
assignment and stick you in only-god-knows-where, USA, where 
your duties will most likely consist of color-coding office reports 
and pushing the lunch cart."

Mulder drew himself to a stop and Scully felt a glimmer of hope 
that she had gotten through to him. She watched as he took a 
small sip from his glass, appearing to think about what she had 
said. That hope was shattered, though, when he snapped his 
fingers and said "Needs more whipped cream!"

Scully shook her head, rolling her eyes slightly as she turned on 
her heel and walked back into the living room. She set the stack 
of papers on Mulder's bookcase shelf, figuring that location was 
at least reasonably safe from whatever lei-wearing, drink-
downing, word-upping antics might take place as the night wore 
on. She refused to imagine what those antics might actually be.

As she headed for the front door, Mulder came out of the kitchen 
and stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Hey Scully, 
thanks," he said. "Sorry about all this, I'm just happy to see Khi 
again. It's like she never left, we're right back in the groove. 
Thanks for bringing that stuff by--I would surely have forgotten 
it in all the excitement."

Scully, somewhat amazed that he had even picked up on the 
reason that she stopped by, just looked at him for a second. 
"Sometimes, Mulder, I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't 
attached to the rest of you," she said. Mulder gave the short, quiet 
chuckle she was used to hearing, mumbling "Right on, Sister D." 

He opened the apartment door for her and placed his hand on the 
small of her back, guiding her through as they stepped out into 
the hall together. "Remember, Mulder," Scully said, turning back 
to look at him. "8:30am, plane to Oregon, your future at the 
FBI."

"I'll be there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, yes ma'am," Mulder 
said, affecting a sort of mock military stance and attempting to 
salute her. 

Scully was tempted to crack a small smile, but that was forgotten 
as Khi came gliding up behind Mulder. She wrapped her arms 
around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him 
clear off the floor, saying "Geez, Zippy, your desk job made you 
slow or what?" Scully watched in amazement as Mulder did a 
quick twist to try and break free, but was unable to loose Khi's 
hold on him. As Khi hauled him backwards into the apartment, 
Mulder called out "Hey Scully, get the door please, will ya? I'm 
about to be ta-"

Scully reached in and pulled the door closed just as Khi was 
executing a bodyslam maneuver to send Mulder sprawling onto 
the couch. Scully looked at the '42' for a few seconds before 
turning and walking away. 

"Your future at the FBI, Mulder," she said quietly as she walked 
down the hall. "I hope you're there for it."

Almost to the elevator, she was suddenly overcome by a wave of 
intense pain. As her hands came to her head, she doubled over, 
her throat constricting. As she squeezed her eyes closed, she was 
shocked at what she saw--an image of Mulder lying on snow-
covered ground, red blood seeping through the white show, she 
herself cradling his head in her hands. The image had the clarity 
of actual vision--for that briefest of seconds, she would have 
sworn she was in that time and that place, experiencing that 
sequence of events.

And then it was gone. The vision, the pain, the fear--all gone 
between one heartbeat and the next. Scully staggered slightly as 
she tried to regain her composure, leaning heavily against the 
wall, breathing hard. She remained there for a half-minute or so, 
finally gathering herself together and walking on again. She 
threw one last glance at Mulder's apartment as she rounded the 
corner , wondering. 

     *    *    *    *    *    *

"She *so* does not like me, Zippy, you catch that?" Khi said, 
nonchalantly holding Mulder down on the couch with a well-
placed knee on his back and his arm twisted behind him. Mulder 
was struggling hard (as hard as he could in his inebriated state, 
anyway), yet Khi held him easily, seemingly exerting no effort at 
all.

"Mmmph wrmm ffmpph hfmpv," Mulder said, or at least that's 
what it sounded like. Khi laughed and relinquished her hold. 
"Time was, Mulder, that you would have broken free on your 
own," she said teasingly, "at least for a few moments."

"Yeah, whatever, shut up," Mulder said with a smile, turning 
over and sitting up on the couch, rubbing his shoulder a bit. 
"Why is it that no matter how much *you* drink, you never seem 
to lose your grip on things? Whatever those things may be..." he 
finished with a laugh, indicating his sore arm.

Khi laughed for a few seconds, making an 'aw, poor baby' face at 
him. "Losing control is a dangerous thing, FBI Agent Mulder," 
Khi said. "You should realize that by now, especially in your line 
of work--when the body and mind are weakened, the soul is 
unleashed. If a person isn't careful, the soul can be lost forever." 

Shaking off the seriousness of her words with a short laugh, Khi 
stepped over to check his arm, feeling the bones and tendons that 
connected the arm to the shoulder. "You'll live, Zippy. Which is 
something I can't say for myself, if your partner ever catches me 
alone in a dark alley," she said, standing and making motions as 
if pointing a gun to her head.

"As I was trying to say before, you're nuts. Scully liked you just 
fine, she's just kind of... well... distant when she first meets 
people," Mulder said, rising off the couch and stretching a bit.

"You mean when she first meets people that just happen to be 
from *your* past," Khi said with a wink. "I know these things. 
And trust me, Zippy, if her eyes has been bullets, I'd be playing 
'Word Up' on a harp right now." With the expression of a perfect 
angel, she made harp-plucking motions as she headed off for the 
bathroom.

Mulder stepped out of the living room, heading into his bedroom 
to find a shirt to slip on. Since he wasn't busy dancing or mixing 
drinks anymore, he found he felt slightly chilled. He grabbed a 
black T-shirt out of a stack of identical T-shirts in his bottom 
drawer, pulling it down over his head to cover his bare chest. 
Feeling warmer immediately, he headed back out to the couch 
and sat down, propping his feet up on the table.

Whaddya know Zippy, he said to himself, Khi Shaolin has 
returned with a bang. As he waited for her, he wondered where 
she'd been for the last 10 years, what she'd been doing that 
steered her to his door. He realized that he hadn't ever really 
known what Khi did even back at Quantico--she had just been 
this person in his life. A person that, at the time, he couldn't have 
done without. With an almost unbelievable combination of wild-
eyed adventurism and utter self-control, Khi had been exactly 
what he needed to stay on track. More than once, she'd pulled 
him back from the edge of self-induced madness, using nothing 
but a voice filled with logic and reason. 

That, plus a well-executed half-nelson hold every once in a 
while, he laughed to himself.

Mulder heard the door to the bathroom open and saw Khi head 
past the living room into the kitchen. After a moment, she came 
back, carrying a brimming pitcher. "Ack, no! No more," Mulder 
exclaimed, making the sign of the cross in front of him. "I can't 
drink another drop if I want to make that flight in the morning."

"*This* is going to help you make that flight," she said, handing 
him the pitcher along with a fresh glass. As she sat down next to 
him, he saw only water in the pitcher. "Force yourself to drink all 
of that before you try to sleep, and you should be hang-over free 
when you wake up." Khi rested her head on the back of the 
couch, closing her eyes and becoming still.

"And why is that?" Mulder asked, reaching out and pouring a 
glass of water.

"Water serves as an equalizer for the alcohol in your 
bloodstream," Khi explained, not bothering to open her eyes or 
even turn her head. "The alcohol you consumed made your blood 
fall out of acidic balance. While your body would eventually 
return to the proper balance on its own, through metabolization 
and time, the water speeds the process by adding a large volume 
of pH-neutral liquid into your system."

Hearing no response, Khi opened one eye and turned to look at 
Mulder--she found him staring at her, a half smile formed on his 
lips. "What?" she asked warily.

"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone there, for a 
minute," he said, starting to drink the glass of water to cover the 
smile. 

"Who?" Khi asked innocently. She already knew the answer, but 
wanted to see if Mulder would actually tell her. He'd never been 
someone that confided in others easily, though there were times 
she'd gotten him to open up. But that had been a long time ago.

"Ah, no-one you know," he said after he draining the glass. 

"Sure, okay," she said, waiting while he poured himself a second 
glass. "Would 'someone' happen to be a redhead and carry a 
gun?" Khi asked, relishing the look on Mulder's face--double-
takes that good were few and far between. He didn't deny her 
statement, though.

"Is she going on this trip with you tomorrow?" Khi asked. "She 
seemed awfully concerned that you make it there on time."

"No, she's staying here," Mulder said deadpan. "Someone's gotta 
stay and make sure the world is safe from people who inhaled 
when they were 17."

Khi roared at that one, laughing until she was nearly crying. 
"Good god, Zippy--you can still make me laugh like no one else 
in the world," she said when she was finally able to speak again. 
"I've missed it."

"And I've missed you," Mulder said quietly, reaching out and 
taking her hand in his. She nodded in agreement and smiled, 
placing her other hand over his and leaning to rest her head 
briefly on his shoulder.

"Well, before this turns into a Taster's Choice moment," Khi 
said, letting go of his hand and standing up, "we should probably 
get you to bed. Finish that water first." She headed off into the 
bedroom, where he could hear her rustling around in her bag.

"Yes, sir!" Mulder called out. He drank down the last of the 
water and returned both the glass and the pitcher to the kitchen 
counter. After stopping at the bathroom to do his nightly routine, 
he padded into the bedroom and began stripping down to his 
boxers. Khi, already changed into a set of baggy flannel pajamas, 
watched approvingly.

"Oooh, black silk. My, my, my..." she teased him. "You've got 
good taste. Or should I be saying, 'someone' has good taste?"

"Keep talking like that, and you *will* end up playing that harp, 
Khi," Mulder said. "She'd pull your tongue right out of your head 
and beat you to death with it."

"For some reason, I truly believe she would," Khi laughed, 
pulling back the covers on the waterbed and crawling in. Mulder 
came over to the bed and grabbed a pillow, turning to head back 
to the living room and the couch.

"What, you don't want to sleep with me, Zippy?" Khi asked, 
affecting a hurt expression complete with a down-turned lower 
lip. She was amused by the sudden shyness apparent in Mulder's 
mannerisms--he was twisting the corner of the pillow with his 
hands as his eyes darted around at everything but her.

"Well, I didn't want to assume that you... I wasn't sure that's what 
you did anymore, or what you wanted to do... or what you... 
whatever," he finished lamely.

"Yeah, I still like to sleep, Mulder," she said, laughing. "I don't 
think they've quite figured out how to negate the need for sleep 
in humans yet."

She turned the covers back on one side of the bed, scooting over 
to the other side to make room for him. He hesitated for the 
slightest of moments, then slid into bed next to her. As he curled 
up to sleep on his side, his feet just barely grazing her legs, a 
small smile crossed his face briefly--just like old times, he 
thought.

As he felt himself drifting off to sleep, he said "Actually, they 
have figured that out, Khi--you just don't want to know what 
happens when they do."



      *** 30 *********  Section End  *********** 30 ***
 

Continued in Section Two, Chapter 2/10...

http://members.tripod.com/~koosn/falling_snow-2.txt