Summary: What happened between the time they left the trailer and the next morning.

Spoilers: Kill Switch. Begins at the end of the scene where the trailer blows up as Scully's dragging Mulder through the woods.

Author's Notes: I love it when I realize I can write a missing part to an episode. Boo-yah!

No beta readers were harmed in the making of this fic and I'm sure it shows, but what ya gonna do?

Throwing the Switch
Rated PG-13
By Suzanne L. Feld

"Hang on, Mulder, I need to call the fire department."

He mumbled something I couldn't understand as I propped him against the side of my car, but the moment I let go of him his knees buckled and he began to slide bonelessly towards the ground. I groaned in frustration and hauled him up again, looking around for somewhere he could sit that wasn't muddy, dirty, or burning. There was no such place in sight so I yanked open the rear door and pushed him in, ducking his head with one hand, as he would have cracked it on the doorframe if I hadn't.

Once I was sure he'd stay put I pulled out my cell and, in the flickering light of the burning trailer, saw that I had no signal. Shit. I'd have to drive to an area with better coverage or, more likely, just drive Mulder into the nearest town and take him to the hospital and report the fire there. We were in the middle of nowhere, as usual. I glanced back at the flames to see that they were lowering, but the explosion had been so large that I was afraid it could have ignited the surrounding area though I didn't see any other fires yet.

"Scully?" his hoarse voice called from behind me, and I turned to see Mulder slumped where I'd left him, trying for some reason to unbutton his dirty, scorched cuffs.

I didn't know what was wrong with him, what that thing had done to him to make him so loopy and groggy, but I knew that I had to get him to a hospital ASAP. Letting the fire take care of itself for the time being, I opened the driver's door and started to slide in, but Mulder shaded his eyes with an upraised arm and groaned, "Turn off the light, my head is killing me."

I leaned over and found the switch on the side of the steering wheel to cut the dome light. "That better?"

Before I could get in behind the wheel, he reached between the doors and grabbed my shoulder. "Scully, c'mere," he rasped. "Don't leave me back here alone!"

"I have to get you to a hospital," I insisted, turning and peeling his fingers off my shoulderpad. I thought I heard sirens in the distance, but my ears were still ringing from that horrible sirening noise that had gone off when Esther and I approached the trailer.

He shuddered so hard I saw every bit of his exposed skin turn to gooseflesh and his voice trembled with emotion as he said, "No! No hospital, not after what I've just been through. Just… c'mere, Scully."

On the other side of the rickety farmhouse and a stretch of trees I saw the strobing red and blue lights of emergency vehicles as they pulled up, and figures moving around in reflective clothing that shone eerily in the dim light. No one seemed to notice our cars parked behind the house, being on the other side of the scraggly, bare-limbed woods, so I decided to stop worrying about the fire and pay attention to my partner, who clearly needed me.

I got out of the driver's seat, still holding my keys and closing the door, and went around the open rear door to face him. "What?"

To my shock he grabbed me by the upper arms and dragged me into the back seat with him, surprising me enough that I didn't resist until it was too late. He pulled the door shut and scooted back across the seat to the middle, pulling me into his lap so that I was straddling his long thighs and facing him eye-to-eye. "Mulder, what in the hell are you doing?"

"They took my arms, Scully." He let go of my biceps and stretched out both of his arms to either side of me, rotating his wrists, and I was shocked to see trembling, unshed tears in his glistening eyes. It halted me as I started to slide sideways off his lap; for all that he could be emotional, Mulder rarely if ever overreacted. "After I got in the trailer I… I woke up in this crazy hospital and they wouldn't listen to me when I said I didn't have the kill switch and they sawed off my arms, one of the nurses put a pillow over my face—"

"Sssh, Mulder, sshhhh," I said, going with instinct instead of my usual rational logic. Now I knew why he'd been unbuttoning his cuffs and I reached for his left arm, unbuttoning the cuff—which was shredded, burnt, and scorched—as I talked. "It was the A.I., it had you strapped into some kind of restraining harness with a virtual reality helmet and was messing with your mind; none of it was real. It's what Esther put herself in before the trailer blew up." I found that the flesh of his wrists beneath the shirt was barely reddened, though it looked like his watch was toast by the scorch marks across the face. I leaned back, sitting on his knees as I dug my penlight out of my coat pocket, and checked his eyes as his tears finally lost the battle with gravity and trickled down his stubbled cheeks. The pupils weren't dilated and reacted normally. Despite the moisture still welling in them, I saw no evidence of drugs or anything else unusual. "You're fine, Mulder, just fine. Come on, snap out of it."

"Oh, God, Scully," he choked out, then I was pulled tightly against his hard chest, his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders like steel bands. He buried his face in the side of my neck and let go, crying roughly, heavily; I could feel his face twisting and grimacing as dampness spread across my neck and shoulder even through my trench coat. His whole body was shaking, both from sobs and, I suspected, aftershock/reaction.

Instead of fighting him, I wrapped my arms around his chest and held him in return, knowing that the best thing for him right now was my closeness. I ran my hands gently up and down his heaving back over his shirt, murmuring low comforting sounds into his ear. "It's all right, Mulder… let it out… you're fine, I'm here… it's okay…"

Now that my surprise over his actions was wearing off, I became aware of his strong male body against mine. As much as I tried not to see Mulder as the attractive man he was, at times like this I failed miserably. I was pressed tightly to him from waist to head, my legs straddling him mid-thigh; had the lower half of my body been touching his I might have lost control completely. As it was, it took everything I had not to turn my head and kiss him, to run my hands through his hair and wipe the tears from his cheeks as I did so.

Eventually the sobs began to taper off and his arms loosened enough that I could have moved away, but I didn't. For once, just for once—or so I told myself—I went ahead and indulged myself. Instead of leaving his lap, I moved my hands up to his arms, loosening them from their death grip around my shoulders but leaving them where they were, and then ran my hands from his wrist to his shoulders over the cotton of his dress shirt.

To my surprise he moved me back and, before I could do much in reaction, swiftly undid his tie, whipping it away over the front seat, and then unbuttoned his white dress shirt, all but ripping it off. He wasn't wearing an undershirt beneath and the next thing I knew I was held tightly in his arms again, this time feeling warm skin against my hands as I clutched at his shoulders automatically. Once again he buried his face in my neck, lips moving against my skin and causing little frissions of arousal to dart through me despite myself. "Touch me, Scully, please, touch me," he all but begged, sending a jolt through my gut. From any other man I would have thought it was a sexual overture, but Mulder—unlike his doppelganger Eddie Van Blundht—did not see me as a desirable woman, but as nothing more than his friend and partner.

"Sssh, Mulder, I've got you," I said softly, reaching up and rubbing his arms just like I had when he'd been wearing a shirt. But the soft skin, covering strong, lean athlete's muscles, almost burned against my hands as I ran them back and forth, up and down, massaging the tense flesh. He wasn't crying again that I could tell, but he still had that panicked edge to his voice and I figured that I may as well calm him down now instead of having to do it later.

Or so I told myself—again.

Somehow we began to rock; I never did recall if he or I started it. But shortly we were rocking gently in place, his arms around my shoulders and face nestled in my neck and hair as I soothingly rubbed both of his arms from to shoulder wrist despite the fact that my biceps and trapezoid muscles were beginning to ache. I remained on his lap, legs straddled over his and glad that I'd worn pants today, my breasts pressing lightly against his chest. It should have been an uncomfortable position and yet it wasn't, or perhaps it was just the heat of his body I could feel soaking through my clothes distracting me from any discomfort.

I felt him slowly, gradually relaxing against me and in what seemed like a short time yet forever, I realized that he had dozed off. His limp arms were heavy on my shoulders, head resting sideways on his right bicep, nose nuzzled against the side of my neck while his deep, steady breath brushed softly against my throat.

I could have stayed there until dawn, and a good long time after.

Once again I indulged myself, lowering my aching arms to rest my hands on his lean waist just above the waistband of his pants and letting him hold me in his sleep. Though I would never admit it upon pain of death, being this close to him fulfilled a few of my fantasies. They weren't all sexual; some were just of being together day-by-day. Somehow in the back of my mind I vaguely assumed that once we were done with the X-Files, we would be together. I already knew that there was no one else for me, although Mulder seemed oblivious to that fact.

Even now I could feel my heart yearning for him, but I kept it held tight and safe from letting myself feel everything for him that I knew I could. If I let go of my emotions I'd be his adoring slave, so in love with him that I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of him, eager to do anything he asked of me. But if we couldn't be as equal in love as we were in our work I wasn't going to risk it. I knew he didn't feel the same way for me as I did for him—yet, I hoped—and therefore tamped down those threatening emotions.

I knew that if I let myself go with him now he'd break my heart.

My aimlessly wandering eyes were caught by movement and I saw a figure in reflective yellow stripes coming around the house towards our cars. Gently, hoping not to wake him, I slid from Mulder's lap and, grasping him by his broad shoulders, laid him down on the seat and placed his shirt over his bare torso. He was out but good, not moving other than his steady, even breathing even when I scrabbled backwards out of the car. I didn't know where his suit jacket or overcoat had gone to, so I shrugged out of my trench and laid that over him as well; it was too cold out here to be without at least one or the other. I still had my blazer, though I didn't plan to be out in the cold for long.

I paused just for a second to look back at him; even in the semi-darkness I could see his relaxed face capped by an unruly mass of mahogany hair with one thick lock falling over his brow, and felt my heart tug again. I held the feeling back with a dint of will, as I always did, and closed the car door quietly before I went to talk to the fireman heading our way.

He and I walked over to the destroyed trailer as I explained what had happened, and we agreed that there was no way that either person inside could have survived the destruction. It was unlikely that we'd find more than bone splinters at this point. When he asked me what had blown up the trailer, I could honestly say that I had my back to it and didn't see. He recommended hosing down the remains of the trailer, which I thought was a good idea as well.

I headed to the car as the fireman went back to the others. Dawn was just beginning to break and when I saw something large and dark on one of the trees between myself and the car it startled me at first before I realized what it was. With a slight smile stretching my mouth I walked over and found Mulder's Boston Fog hanging from a branch, slightly singed and with a few tiny burn holes but otherwise unharmed. I didn't see his suit jacket anywhere, but this would do. I slung it around my shoulders and walked back through the woods to the car, hoping this would be the last time I made this short journey. The tails of his coat dragged on the leaves behind me, making an odd rustling-whispering sound, but I ignored it.

Mulder was still sleeping soundly in the back seat, in fact it looked like he hadn't moved, but I knew I had to wake him since one of the fire trucks was now heading our way. Reluctantly I opened the back door, shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the back of the driver's seat, then leaned in and shook his shoulder lightly. "Mulder—Mulder, you've got to get up, the firefighters are here."

"Mmmmn, Scully," he said in a deep, rich, sleepy voice. It was a lover's voice if I'd ever heard one, and caused a physical reaction in me that I did my best to ignore. His eyes opened and met mine, and I could have sworn that I saw a shifting of deep emotions in the dark depths despite the weak light. But then his eyes cleared and moved away from mine, and he sat up. The shirt and my trench fell away, and he looked down at his bare chest with a surprised expression. "Whoa—where'd my clothes go? Where are we? I'm not in the hospital?"

"You don't remember?" I said, surprised. "You don't remember what happened after I dragged you out of there and the trailer blew up?"

He frowned as he scooted to the edge of the seat and hung his legs over, outside the car, and pulled his white dress shirt on, apparently ignoring its dirty, scorched, slightly tattered sleeves. I was already chilled again and picked my coat up from his lap, pointing to where his was tossed at his eyebrows-raised look. "Vaguely… I remember movement… it was dark, then there was a bright light… and then I woke up just now."

If he didn't remember touching me and having me touch him, well, that was all for the good, I thought. This way it wouldn't be awkward between us; I certainly would never tell him about it. "I got you out of there and when we were about halfway through the woods, the trailer blew up," I said as I buttoned my coat against the dank early morning chill. A single fire truck was pulling in behind our cars as Mulder stood and pulled his trench on, leaving his shirt untucked. "When I got you back here, you insisted on taking your shirt off to make sure that you had both of your arms undamaged."

"Nuh—nothing else happened, right?" he said, glancing at me from beneath his brows.

"What do you mean?" I asked half-fearfully. One of the firemen waved at me as they began to drag the hose towards the smoldering ruins and I raised a hand in reply.

"Well, I mean, I wake with my upper half bare and knowing how irresistible I am, I figure someone must have jumped me," he said with false bravado. I could read him far too well; he was covering up insecurity with innuendo.

I huffed. "You're not that irresistible, Mulder," I rejoined. "After you got your shirt off, you passed out in the back seat. While you were sleeping one fireman came by to check out the trailer and they want to hose down the ruins to make sure there's no more sparks with how dry it's been lately."

Mulder nodded thoughtfully and turned away, heading for the orange-suited figures who were around the firetruck. I followed, filled with a combination of relief and annoyance. Relief that I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of our touching—mostly me touching him so unrestrainedly—and annoyance that he wouldn't remember how I'd taken care of him when he needed it. It was rare that one of us broke down enough to let the other fuss over them and it was a memory worth keeping.

Well, at least I'd remember, I thought. It was cold comfort, though, because it made it harder than ever to continue resisting my attraction to Mulder as a man rather than my partner and friend. I knew that there could be nothing more between us until the work was finished, and it might never be. Until then I'd hang onto the memory of his warm skin against my palms, the weight of his hard male body against my smaller, softer one, and the knowledge that he really did need me whether or not he knew it.

For now I trailed along after him, although I knew it wouldn't be this way forever. I was patiently waiting until the right time presented itself and then, and only then, would I remind him of this night. Or, I thought, perhaps the next time I had my hands on his bare skin he might just remember on his own. Yes, he just might.

finis