From: pecan@hotmail.com   
      
   Title: Where The Deer and The Mulder Play   
   Author: Spock  spock_kat@hotmail.com   
   Category: MT, UST, H, MSR   
   Rating: PG-13   
   Spoilers: Detour   
   Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. They are the property of   
   CC who created them, DD and GA who breathed life into them and Fox/1013 that   
   distributed them. I'm only in love with (torturing) them. Buahahahaa.   
   Summary: Two friends out on a hike. What could possibly go wrong?   
   Author's note: I'd like to thank various MR members for very insightful   
   comments on the existence of moose in Maryland forests. Yup, a moose on the   
   loose story, very late one...oh, and the poem - - purely PR, to make it look   
   snazzier (don't wanna say snobbier)Thanks to Lisa for beta and editing and   
   fixing me up with her sweet brother :)   
      
      
   Storms Wrath   
      
      
      
      
   I look to the east   
   where I spy the wild beast   
   it's muscles rippling and twisting   
   changing it's form   
   dressing in colors of gray and black   
   casting shadows of darkness   
   where light is lack   
   I wait only for it's wrath to be released   
   slowly it passes south by east   
   easing not my mind from this terrible beast   
   for as he passes, his power withheld   
   here comes another straight from hell   
      
   Arthur F. Jackson   
      
      
      
      
      
      
   Somewhere in the forests of Maryland   
   A dark, dark, windy night, in the fall of 1998   
      
      
      
      
      
   A sudden crackling bolt of lightning severed the pitch-black canvas of the   
   Maryland sky, briefly illuminating the arena that Mulder was about to enter.   
   The glimpse of the treacherous path, its creature riddled with winding tree   
   roots, sharp stones and sticky vegetation left him feeling pathetic and   
   small. Bathed in ill-willed dark he limped on, his fear of annihilation   
   urging him to speedily seek shelter.   
      
   The ground grew more and more uneven with his every injured step. He knew he   
   had to conquer his terror, forget the stinging pain in his foot, and the   
   battering agony invading his chest, to be able to reunite with his partner   
   and live to see morning.   
      
   He was perfectly aware that urgency was of the utmost importance. He   
   recognized the necessity in finding Scully before the heavens fell or he was   
   caught by the large and heinous animal, now breathing down his neck,   
   following his trail of perfect fear and planning his extremely bloody   
   demise.   
      
   Mulder was trying hard to forget the terrifyingly sharp edges and   
   earth-shattering force of those large hooves, the way they had pushed him   
   backward onto the ground like he weighed nothing, but there was nothing that   
   would rid him of the image of the victoriously grinning beast, snorting   
   abundantly above him.   
      
   Another angry burst of heavenly fireworks was unleashed, and he heard the   
   roar of an approaching wall of wild wetness speedily nearing the area of the   
   mountains Scully had chosen for their mini-hike. Scully - Any moment now,   
   the heavenly fluids would catch up with him and he would probably drown   
   under the onslaught, and the worst, be slowed down to face the demon of the   
   forest, without her.   
      
   He limped as fast as he could, wincing from the constant ache where his   
   lungs used to be, pain shooting up his leg from his sprained foot, and his   
   heart pumping fright into every pore of his terrified soul. When would the   
   throbbing fade? His heart thundered in his constricted chest, in sync with   
   the now continuous thunder rolling over the landscape. Where was his   
   partner? Why the hell had he dropped his flashlight and lost her?   
      
   The wet front of rain reached him, and angry big monster drops began their   
   cascade down his temples and forehead, relentless in their obscuring of the   
   minimal line of vision he possessed. Every drop weighed a ton and made him   
   limp more slowly, as had been his fear.   
      
   He knew he'd be drenched in a matter of seconds. Wet, blind, and hurting all   
   over he reflected on his situation. It was not a matter of if he would lose   
   the battle, but when. He was lost, and, undoubtedly, sure prey to the   
   malevolent foe in hot, passionate pursuit.   
      
   "Scully!"   
      
   He bellowed her name, challenging discovery by the atrocity at his heels.   
   His injured chest and cowardice within protested at this thoughtlessness. He   
   pounded on, at a faster pace, his comfort-starved imagination placing him   
   with her, sleeping snug and warm in that tent they'd pitched together.   
      
   The tent, the war-relic with poles and all, with which they had had so much   
   fun a mere five hours ago, had spawned animate and tender debates between   
   them. With little imagination, one could have perceived those debates as   
   foreplay, a banter-filled pre-coital dialogue between a young couple on   
   their honeymoon even.   
      
   Scully had been different. They had acted differently, not as partners or   
   mere friends going out on a recreational hike together. The vivacious   
   discussion of where to place the tent had been a fest of witty remarks and   
   innuendo flung in carefree, almost loving manner. Scully had smiled and   
   giggled. She had behaved so relaxed, not as her usual bullpen, on-case self.   
      
   But where was the smiling gigglefest now? Lost in the forest like him?   
   Vulnerable? A sitting duck, a mere snack to the rampant monster's moose   
   buddies?   
      
   Where was his partner when the powers that be found immense pleasure in his   
   torture?   
      
   "Sculleeh!"   
      
   He called out for her, his agony evident in the meager pitch of his voice.   
   It made him even more afraid to hear himself sound so weak. Her name   
   disappeared in the wind and wetness that seemed to engulf him as soon as he   
   gave her name breath. The thoroughly unstoppable and icy raindrops battered   
   his exposed face and body; each one felt like the sting of an angry, cold   
   wasp, burying itself into every pore of his beaten skin. His tortured body   
   was barely protected by the thin jacket and worn jeans he had chosen. He   
   needed shelter, direly.   
      
   In his pained trek, his breath grew more and more shallow. Would he survive   
   this? He was beginning to doubt a positive outcome as he heard the distinct   
   strains of celestial harps. Through the mist he expected to see the angelic   
   faces of St. Peter's friends.His demise was truly nearing; he was now the   
   instrument of the powers, to be wielded as they wished. His fate was   
   beginning to form and he saw it played out before him, in a very vivacious   
   color 3D, one which rooted him to the muddy ground. He swayed in the icy   
   wind.   
      
   The angry hind hooves of the intimidating creature pounded on his lifeless   
   chest with zeal. The monster's satisfaction of having finally finished off   
   the disrespectful intruder was limitless. It's cow-like eyes shone with   
   glee, its impressive and pointy head accoutrements flailed in a rout of   
   fanaticism, breaking innocent tree branches in their wake. Celebrating its   
   victory in a frenzied dance on top of the dead human being, slowly yet   
   surely turning the man into bloody pulp in the moss, gave the monster   
   immense pleasure. The atrocity would not let time be of hindrance as no   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)