From: pecan@hotmail.com   
      
   Part2 Headers in part 1   
      
   "Wiggle, Mulder," she ordered firmly, and he had to comply. She looked   
   exhausted and inconvenienced, and he didn't want to be the cause of those   
   sentiments. He wiggled and wound his legs as best he could and,   
   miraculously, his jeans budged and slowly they came off the length of his   
   thighs.   
      
   "Ouch!" he barked when she lifted his right foot to finally remove the wet   
   denim garment. Mulder saw stars and the face of Scully floating in his   
   semi-conscious mind //Mulder, I have this great idea, let's go hiking,   
   hiking, hiking, ...//   
      
   "Sorry, Mulder," Scully said half-heartedly.   
      
   He forgot his pain; it was replaced by dread, because now Scully was casting   
   glances at his soaked boxers. He followed her studious gaze, but knew he'd   
   see no life downstairs. Every inch of his body was either too tired, cold,   
   or too pained for anything to happen. But Scully did not chuckle or taunt   
   him.   
      
   She was-just-not-interested. Cruelest of fates!   
      
   "Mulder, we should have you crawl into your sleeping bag, but I have to put   
   some cold compressors on your foot. I best give you some anti-inflammatory,   
   too...and we really should elevate it to get the swelling to recede," she   
   began, looking everywhere but at him. Well, he thought, meekly, there wasn't   
   much to look at, was there? Not much elevated, was there?   
      
   Searching the wet darkness of the forest he had realized he had hoped this   
   trip would change things. He had wanted to woo this woman, impress her with   
   his woodsy knowledge, dazzle her with his witty repartee. For a very long   
   time, it had been all he had daydreamt about. With the absence of case files   
   to investigate, he had found immense pleasure in investigating the enigma   
   that was his beautiful partner. This hike into the forest had started out so   
   magnificently, too. They had had so much fun pitching the tent. Scully had   
   giggled as he had hit his head on the tent pole. She had examined his head   
   with tentative and affectionate fingers, and their eyes had met in   
   questioning gazes at least twice. Encouraged by those signs, he had planned   
   to make his move once they returned from their little perusal of the   
   surrounding woods.   
      
   He had planned to charm her into his sleeping bag, but, as fate would have   
   it, they had been surprised by the horrendous winds; and the pitch- dark   
   clouds had made it evening and night much sooner. And, worst of all, they   
   had been separated by the creature from the Netherworld: a.k.a. the Horny   
   Moose, and here he was, ready to be shipped off to the hospital, again.   
      
   And now, returned from the jaws of climate and the fierce elk, all but   
   devoured, his chances to woo his woman were as good as gone. He had vowed to   
   romance Scully, come hell or high water. Well, fittingly, there was high   
   water, beating their tent with a thunderous rhythm; and there was hell; his   
   manhood was as slack as he'd ever seen it. How could he possibly woo her   
   now? The cruel fate had him completely vexed, and his hope was weaning with   
   every passing, pain-filled second of this inhumane torture.   
      
   Scully was fidgeting with her ice packs. He winced at the thought of feeling   
   the icy pouches close to his own, but there was little they could accomplish   
   by way of palliative refrigeration. --His pouches were frigid as it were. He   
   grimaced as she brought the ice to his skin.   
      
   Next Scully began planning the elevation of his leg. She was eyeing the pole   
   in the center of the tent. And, worried, he followed her gaze up to the roof   
   of their lodging and down to her bag. She reached for something, and her   
   hand emerged, holding a piece of rope. He watched her put the rope next to   
   his leg and begin the search for something else in her bag. For a few insane   
   seconds he wanted to make a sexual joke, but knew better. Scully was   
   obviously not in the mood for his immaculate innuendo. Besides, he wasn't   
   good for it, was he.   
      
   After a few seconds of rummaging, she extracted a fuzzy cloth. She held it   
   up, measuring the size of the thing with her analytical gaze, and he saw   
   what they were. - -Thermal shorts.   
      
   Scully had had the foresight to pack extra underwear.   
      
   "Mulder."   
      
   "Yeah...?" he squeaked.   
      
   "We have to get your underwear off too. Can you do it?"   
      
   He pursed his lips, bitter regret wreaking havoc in his heart. He couldn't   
   do it. Wasn't that painfully obvious? The humiliation had no end? How would   
   he be able to face her ever again? He'd have to apply for transfer to   
   Alaska.   
      
   "Mulder?"   
      
   Scully was growing impatient with his silence, and nervous fidgeting.   
      
   "Those won't fit me."   
      
   He pointed at her thermal shorts, waiting for her to realize her mistake.   
      
   "These are one-size thermal shorts, one size fits all," she informed   
   admirably neutrally.   
      
   He bit his lip.   
      
   "You need to get warm, those boxers are wet."   
      
   He saw her pupils dart around the tent, mainly fixing on the sturdy pole,   
   which sadly was not the description that applied to the pitiful thing asleep   
   between his thighs. Scully was waiting for him to comply. He weighed his   
   options: Cold, sodden boxer shorts or warm, snugly thermal shorts?   
      
   Ding Dong, Mulder.   
      
   Of course, he thought. Why hadn't he realized that directly? The thermal   
   shorts were his rescue from the claws of fierce humiliation, in fact, his   
   original plan was coming back in 3D force. Their camping trip could be   
   salvaged after all. Those thermal shorts were his ticket to perfect bliss,   
   climax and love forevermore. He gave her an affirmative smile and nodded.   
      
   Scully reached for his sleeping bag and tossed it across his hips.   
      
   "O.K., Mulder, you get them down here and I'll take them off, we'll reverse   
   the process with the thermal shorts, O.K.?"   
      
   He looked at her no-nonsense expression and nodded, almost giddily. It was   
   going to hurt like hell to wiggle again, but he had to get out of the   
   things. His happiness was on the line. Love was a wiggle away.   
      
   She was planning the elevation of his foot, keeping herself occupied while   
   he began pushing his wet boxers over his hurting hips and achy thighs. He   
   lifted his butt off the ground as little as possible to be able to push his   
   boxers better towards his knees.   
      
   "O.K., Scully, your turn," he stated out of breath once his boxers were down   
   to his mid thighs and his bum was resting on the lumpy ground, naked. She   
   nodded, put down the sling she had tied and snaked her hands underneath the   
   sleeping bag. Mulder felt her hands roam his thighs. It would have tickled   
   to have her finger his limbs in this fashion, had his legs not injured   
   themselves at such an inconvenient moment.   
      
   All the while he was trying to cast her flirtatious glances, to no avail.   
   Scully's face was on matter-of-fact, a businesslike mask not fazed by the   
   present act of striptease.   
      
   After a few short moments of roaming, she managed to find the rubber   
   waistband of his boxers, and he managed a faint smile. He cleared his throat   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)