"So, Scully, what do you think you'd be doing if you were home right now?" Skinner attempts to strike up a normal conversation.

"Oh, we'd probably be in the office getting ready for our latest wild-goose chase…or else we'd be in your office getting an earful for misbehaving at the conference." Pausing to catch her breath, she gives a soft grunt of effort as she keeps pushing their possessions along. "Then we'd probably head back to my place, order in from that Thai restaurant that just opened…dammit, we wanted to try them before we left!"

Skinner smirks, of all the things for her to miss, it's a takeout joint. Or maybe not… "You two are joined at the hip, aren't you?" He says, recognizing her persistent use of first-person plural. She considers herself a "we", or at least part of a "we".

"I guess so. When we're not together, we usually end up saving each other's asses."

"What about now?"

"Now? Now I'm waiting for him to come get us."

They save their breath for a while, pushing their sled along in silence. Skinner knows that this isn't the time to tell her, he shouldn't burst her bubble like this but it's only fair that she know…"Scully? You know, if there's no evidence to lead anyone here…" he stops short, changing his mind, "We might have a while to wait."

Scully looks at him, as though she has an idea of what he had been about to say. "I know, sir. Mulder will find us, though. You'll see."

"Is that what you really believe? Or what you want to believe?"

Scully scoffs at his remark, in her mind's eye she can see Mulder's UFO poster dominating their office décor. She feels a melancholy pang of homesickness and tries to dismiss it… "I want to believe," she replies in an undertone, pushing with new determination. "We have fires burning, and the smoke signal, and we'll make some kind of reflectors from the windows…he'll find us."

"That's the spirit," he agrees, letting her optimism penetrate his cynicism. Whatever happens, I'll take care of you. You're going to be fine, Skinner thinks, wishing he could say it out loud without alarming her. If I could, I would make you so happy, you'd never be lonely again.

In a little while they reach the shelter and begin unloading. Skinner and Scully look at each other, then at the ladder, then at the chairs from the plane. Scully blows a lock of hair out of her face in a frustrated huff, stretching her shoulders as they anticipate their next move.

"You go up ahead, Scully, catch the top of one and we'll carry it up together," Skinner suggests. Scully nods, getting a bit of a lead on him up the ladder as he holds up one end of a chair for her to grab. It's slow going up; Scully is nearly climbing up backwards, trying to hold onto her end and onto the ladder: straining, pushing, and pulling; but they soon make it to the top. With a few adjustments, they are able to lay it flat on the floor. They do the same with the second one and they both lie down to rest.

After lying still for several minutes, Skinner starts to roll over, but stops abruptly and cries out. Scully jumps up and goes to examine him.

"What's wrong, where does it hurt?"

"It's my back, I think I overdid it. I'm just not used to this kind of work," he groans.

"How bad is it? Did you hear or feel anything snap?" In full doctor mode, she feels his spine, touching here and there to find out where the trouble is.

"It's nothing, I just strained it a little. Nothing popped or anything, it's just sore. Just like I'm sure you will be soon enough. We'll both feel this in the morning. You're just young and spry and more agile than an old guy like me. You can handle more punishment and bounce back from it quicker." She keeps examining him, hoping he's right when he reaches over his shoulder to take her hand, softly sighing her name.

"Sir, I need both—"

"Scully…stop kidding around. Don't pretend you don't know what you're doing to me."

"I'm only trying to help, you're the one turning it into something else."

"Am I? I don't remember hearing any complaints on the beach." He tries to sit up defiantly, but the effect is lost when he gasps in pain and has to lie down again.

"No, sir, you didn't," Scully admits softly.

"And will you stop calling me that?! I'm sorry, Scully, if I'm making things uncomfortable for you, but you still haven't given me a straight answer. You make quite a show of trying to get away but you still come back to me, wanting to hug, to touch…something. And I want to: provided I know what it is you want. If all you want is something physical without any emotional ties, I don't think that's good for either of us. But if you feel anything…" he braces himself and rolls over to face her, touching her cheek, "Anything…"

"I want…I want…" she sighs, holding his hand to her face, "Oh god…of all the people on this Earth to say these things to me, it's you! I know that sounds like a horrible thing to say, but just think about it from my perspective for a minute. For the longest time, I didn't even know if I could trust you. I wasn't even sure whose side you were on. I'm not used to being open around you. And in all fairness, when was the last time I gave you a straight answer? I…I'm really scared by all this, I need time, I need room. You can't just snap your fingers and just have me, like that. What will we do once we get home? Have you thought of that? In a week or two, once we get back to the old routine, will you be asking me out on nights I'm in town? You want me to drop the formalities, but what of that? I don't want to drop my shields for you just to put them back up again. I don't want you offering me something I can't keep!" She's been stretched as far as she can stand, the dam is broken and the remainder of her tirade is lost amid frustrated sobs. All the tension that's been building up since they'd crashed has all comes to its boiling point and there's no turning it off. Scully lies back down on her 'bed', facing deliberately away from Skinner. Tucking her knees up to her chest, her breathing comes in deep gulps as lets her crying fit run its course. All of her fear, anger, and uncertainty are given voice in a singular howl of misery.

After a few minutes, she stops and faces him. She's probably the single saddest thing he's laid eyes on in years. Kicking himself for making such demands of her after what she's gone through already, Skinner wishes there was something he could do to make it right. He reaches out and strokes her hair, her eyes drift closed as she savors his touch, and a few stray tears leak out.

"Scully…I'm sorry. I've been hard on you, doing everything I assured you I wouldn't. I don't know what's wrong with me, why I've lost control like this, I just…when I see you like it, too. It made me think you wanted more."

"I want it. But I don't want to," she murmurs. "I hate feeling this way, all hot and funny and out of my mind…I don't know when I started wanting this from you, I guess I never realized how lonely I am until you showed that you were my friend. I like that, I really like that. I miss him so much," she adds as a non-sequiter. "Is it enough for us to be friends? Friends hug, that's normal. If…you want more than that, you're just going to have to wait. Does that sound fair?"

"Perfectly. I'll wait as long as you need. I'm just happy to be anything to you right now, after the way we've been acting. Rest up a bit before we bring up the next load."

XXX

Skinner doesn't realize when he'd fallen asleep, but sure enough, he finds himself waking up to a peculiar sensation in his back. Some spots feel cool, others feel warm and, as strange as it might sound, weighted down. Just when he's about to sit up to have a look, he feels Scully's hand on his back, pushing him back down.

"Don't get up, I'm doing a little experimental therapy on you. Hot stone massage, like you get at the spa! How's that feel?" She adds another warm stone to his sore back muscles.

"That feels…better, actually. I can't say I ever went to the spa, so I'll have to trust you on this, but I think it's helping. Thank you."

He can't see it, but he can hear the smile in her voice. "You're welcome. It's been a while since I've had a live subject, it's a nice change." She swaps out a cooling stone for a fresh one and lays down eye-level with him. "You really think it's helping?"

"Yeah, thanks, this is great. Wait…how long was I out for?"

"Not very long, just enough time for me to find some smooth stones from the waterfall and heat them in the fire downstairs. I keep cycling them out in batches so I can replace the cooling ones quickly enough."

Turning his head carefully so he doesn't disturb his therapeutic rocks, Skinner takes a deep breath to prepare for what he's about to say. Surprisingly, he's stopped.

"Don't apologize. If we keep saying sorry to each other every time one of us gets a little weird, that's the only conversation we're going to end up having. I understand what you're going through; I just hope you understand where I stand. Believe it or not, it's been a long time. A long time…and, I don't want to rush into anything when our future is so uncertain. I don't want to put myself or you through that mess if it's all for nothing. I've just about given up on the idea of ever having a normal relationship, like human beings do, because let's face it: we're not normal human beings. We never were and we never will be. You have to keep up appearances with the big boys upstairs, and Mulder and I have to try to do our job and not get killed. With those kinds of agendas, it's just not possible. For what it's worth, though, I appreciate it. I can't tell you what it means to me. I don't know, sir…if things were different…I don't know."

Skinner listens attentively, for the first time that he can recall a woman is telling him directly what she wants and why. If only more people could follow her example, life would be so much simpler. Her reasons are sound and valid; she isn't just shrinking away from him because he's a horny old man gawking at a woman half his age. What she'd said on the beach about having enough cloak-and-dagger business at work to be up to putting up with it in her personal life is now doubly meaningful. She'd meant it about Mulder, but it would be true of him, too. If they were together at home, they'd have to work especially hard at not being able to stand each other in the office. He's sick of playing double-agent, it wouldn't be anything to base a relationship from, it wouldn't be fair to either of them. Especially since from what Scully had just said, she wanted the long haul as much as he did. When you reach a certain age, you get thoughts of settling down.

Scully breaks his inner-monologue short: "How's your back?"

"Hmm? Oh, fine, fine. Thanks again." He feels her start taking the cooled stones off his back and he sits up, stretching to test his muscles. To his surprise, the pain is completely gone. "Oh, wow, that's the best." Scully beams at his praise, and helps him to stand.

"Ready to bring the rest of it up?"

"And then the propellers. We are going to have the best tree-house on record."

Scully walks out the door and stands on their narrow deck, looking down the ladder. "We should have some kind of railing in place, it would be really easy for one of us to fall off of this in the night. Don't want you to break a hip," she teases.

"You're all heart," Skinner answers sarcastically. "Just the same, it's a good idea. Even if we do get rescued soon, I don't want any accidents that we can prevent."

After they get the rest of the little stuff brought up, they make the long trek back to the beach, half pushing half dragging their 'sled' along with them. Once they get to the beach, they go through the tool kit, generally guessing at what they'd need, they look up at the twin engines. One is tilted down low enough to the ground, that it wouldn't be too much trouble to reach; the other, however, is pointed skyward, offering a precarious platform from which to perform this task.

"Think you can do that one?" Skinner points at the higher of the two. Scully blanches with a nervous gulp, but nods. They scramble up the hull of the plane, the portions that had been ripped out in the crash offer handy places to grab onto. As Skinner begins working on his propeller, Scully cautiously creeps up the wing to get to hers. Reminding herself that she isn't afraid of heights, she crawls out the rest of the way. She stares at the engine, unsure of where or how to begin. Looking down the wing, she sees her superior in the same sort of fix. They both look at each other and shrug. Scully gives the propeller a push, watches its three blades spin on its axle, hoping it would give her some sort of clue. She reaches in a crack and feels around where it's connected to the plane: a long rod embedded in the engine cover. Wiping her blackened fingers ineffectively against each other, she sits back on her heels with a sigh. She looks over to see how Skinner is doing, and to her surprise he's managed to remove the large conical apparatus that's holding the blades in place! Following his lead, she braces herself against the wing and twists as hard as she can. It's about five feet in diameter, equal to her arm span, making it difficult for her to get a good grip. She bangs hard against it with her wrench, as if it's an oversized pickle jar, and gives it another go. After a few cycles of this seemingly ridiculous system, she's rewarded when she feels it inch towards the left. It's so unexpected that it would actually work, that she laughs out loud at her success. Skinner hears her happy squeal and looks up, amazed once again that a woman that he'd considered synonymous with dignity and grace would make sounds so cartoonish. A few good yanks get his propeller out of its apparatus; he's pushed it out onto the beach and he clambers down after it, leaving Scully up there to finish tackling hers. Now that she's made her initial progress, she makes short work of the rest of the job. With a satisfying splash, she kicks it out and jumps in after it.

"Scully, wait, let me help you with that, it's heavy," Skinner insists, wading out to her. The first steps into the water reveal that their island is fringed with coral. He looks down and sees tiny fish and crustaceans flicking around them. He weaves his way around the miniature reefs, looking farther out to see waves crashing around its 'big brothers' in a rare moment of admiring the view. Such raw savage beauty of the natural world makes him suddenly feel very small. Shaking himself, he returns to the object at hand, and helps Scully fish out the propeller from the surf. As they carry it between them back to the beach, Skinner stumbles over something underwater and cries out. Scully gasps as she sees the water around his ankles tinge a misty scarlet. Skinner stubbornly continues back to the beach, propeller in tow, and only when they reach the sand does he drop down next to it to examine the cut on his leg.

"You cut yourself on the coral," Scully says unnecessarily.

"I can see that, Agent Scully!" he growls. "Didn't you say you have some bandages in that luggage of yours?"

"I'll get it in a minute, sir, just hang on. There's…something I need to do first." She sounds hesitant, as though she finds what she's about to do distasteful.

"And what's that?"

"Well, sir, you cut yourself on coral…which is technically a living thing…which, if it's entered, say, an open wound will continue to grow."

"On me??" Skinner shudders.

"That…and probably in you as well."

This diagnosis is met with his professional opinion: "Eww!"

"Unfortunately, the cure is only slightly less unpleasant than the condition. Just look away for a minute and close your eyes."

"Scully, what--"

"And don't talk to me, I'll get stage fright!"

Stage fright? He thinks, but complying with her requests. He looks away and closes his eyes, and in a minute he feels something warm trickling onto his cut. When it stops, he looks back around quickly and sees her squatting over his leg. Realization that she's just peed on him hits him with mild horror, but given the choice between that and the alternative…

Scully straightens up, "Sorry I had to do that, but it'll keep it from breeding anyway. Now don't move until I get back, you're going to be all right."

She finds her purse under a tree and returns with the bandages. Luckily, the cut isn't very big so it doesn't take many to cover it. "Now, stay out of the water while it heals, I don't want to waste these since they're all we have."

"Yes, Doctor."

"It's not too deep, it'll just take a few days to heal up."

"And, will you need to…?"

"Go number one on you again? I don't think so. Thanks for being a good sport about it. The same thing works for jellyfish stings, you know."

"Good to know. Now, have we gotten enough from the wreck for today?"

But Scully doesn't seem to hear him. She's staring at the propeller lying with its axle planted at an angle in the ground. As the tide comes in, it splashes over blades, pushing them around like the wind. Even as she watches them turn, it reminds her of something, something she's long forgotten. In her mind's ear she hears the rickety spinning sound of a crude set of pulleys, and she wonders what to attach it to. She holds onto that sound in her mind, playing it over and over, when a soft splashing sound joins it.

"Let's just leave these here for now while your leg heals up a little, just till it stops bleeding." She looks over to their bonfire, which has died down to glowing embers overnight. "I'll build up the fire and see if I can catch some fish. How does that sound?"

"You can fish?" Skinner asks incredulously.

"Well, unless you'd rather live on coconuts and bananas…" she offers. "Look, I'm no expert or anything, but the ocean's full of living things. I should be able to at least catch something." Skinner considers this and has to agree. Even if there are clams or oysters past the drop-off, they don't try too hard to get away.

"How well can you swim?"

Scully shrugs, "Well enough. As long as the current isn't too strong I should be fine."

"Be careful," he orders, looking deadly serious.

"I promise not to go out too far." From her tone, he can tell that she isn't offended by his concern.

He watches her wade out into the shallows, bending over to examine tide pools for potential lunch possibilities. Then she remembers the fire, and goes back towards the trees for more dead wood. As the logs hit, orange sparks fly upwards and flames reach up to consume their fuel. He sees her dip her hands in the water and stand perfectly still for a short while. There's a brief struggle and some frustrated yells as the first one gets away. Repeat. After the seventh try, she gets something, and with a delighted squeal she flings a fish onto the shore. Again, she's lucky and another fish is cast out of the water.

At this point, Skinner gets up and hobbles over to her. If she's going to catch the fish, the least he can do is clean them. With a sharp rock, he slits one down its belly. He reaches in to remove the viscera and tosses it aside. He then scrapes off the scales and impales it on a long stick over the fire. He does the same to the other one, saving the entrails for possible bait if they should try using more conventional fishing methods later on. Just as he's imagining how to make a fishing pole with what they have here, a third fish is thrown right in his face with a wet slap! He looks up, and sees Scully clap her hands to her mouth and stare wide-eyed like a guilty child. Both of them are still for a moment, but then neither of them can help but laugh at what just happened. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, still laughing over the expression Scully wore, and cleans this fish as well. Scully soon returns to the fire, carrying the fourth and final catch of the day.

"Are you all right?" She asks, a smile still twitching at her lips.

"I've had worse," he responds in faux-seriousness.

She sits with him by the fire, turning the fish to cook evenly. "What kind do you suppose these are?"

"I really don't know. I'm getting too hungry to care. All I care about is how long these will take to cook." Skinner stops staring into the fire to look at over at Scully, with a small mental note that she hasn't had makeup on in two days, and she actually looks better for it. A bit washed-out by comparison, but then he chalks that up to the fact that human skin isn't meant to come in such garishly bold colors that women tend to paint themselves in. It's all rather silly, Skinner thinks, grateful for not the first time that he hadn't been born a girl.

"What happened to your sun hat that you made yesterday?"

"Oh, it fell apart, it wasn't exactly built to last. The sunscreen should keep me from burning up for now, I can always make another one."

"That's the spirit. In the meantime, I think lunch is ready." He takes the fish from the fire, peels the skin off of one, and hands it to Scully. He then digs into his own, carefully pulling it away from the bones.

"You know, I bet we could make some hooks or needles or something from these bones, they're really sharp," Scully notices, sucking a pricked finger. "This fish isn't half bad, could use a little salt though."

Skinner apparently isn't as finicky, and is already well into his second fish. He looks out at the ocean and points, "There's your salt, out there. If we could catch some sea water in something shallow, wait for it to evaporate…actually, I bet there's already some around here. We could check the rocks just beyond the shoreline."

"It's not important right now."

"Well, not right now, but we can get it, that's all I'm saying."

Scully nods, "Good to know." She watches the ocean for a few minutes, mesmerized by the rhythmic crashes of the waves, wondering if there was a ship out looking for them. Where was it, and when would it find them? With a dejected sigh, she folds her arms over her knees and lays her head in them.

Skinner nudges her, hoping to goad her into motion, "Come on, Scully, no time to mope now. We need to get those propellers to the shelter and see what we can rig up."

Half-heartedly, she nods, allowing him to drag her up by the hand. They load up the propellers into their sled and push it back to the shelter. Along the way they gather more fruit. When they get near the waterfall, Scully peers up at their smoke signal.

"Sir, I've been thinking…we should go back up there."

"Scully, this isn't the time or the place for a pick-me-up."

She rolls her eyes at him in annoyance with a slight growl. "I don't want to get high, I want to see if there's something else we can use that for. Hemp is supposed to make excellent twine and other materials. Even the seeds have verifiable medicinal qualities. It would be a shame to just burn it all up on the off chance of someone noticing it."

Skinner looks up as well, "All right, we could unload all this and go up afterwards. We'll just have to remember not to breathe too deeply." They smile at each other and get a move on.

"I think I have the running-water idea off to a start, too. All we need are some cups and some kind of reservoir for it to pour into."

"Sounds do-able," Skinner agrees. "Maybe if we had a turtle shell or something, it would make a great sink. Maybe we should think of something to stop it when we don't need it. I mean, if we let the water run 24-7 it would not only be wasteful but it would make us really have to pee." He looks like he instantly regrets his crudity, muttering, "Sorry, Scully."

"Not a problem, I was thinking the same thing actually. Now, we could use some shells from largish coconuts, anything smaller would just take too many. In the book they used bamboo, but that doesn't grow around here, so we'll just have to make do with what we have. The turtle shell was a good idea, too. But aren't they endangered?"

"I hadn't thought of that, but it's not like we'd be hunting them en masse, just if we found a shell we'd use it."

Scully nods, "Fair enough." Their eyes meet again as they both think the same thing: This is kind of fun!

They find a spot not too far from the waterfall to start to build their water wheel, where the water was pouring out of the pond into a rivulet of its own. Impaling one of the propellers near the water's edge, they watch the blades turn under the soft current. Both of them brighten at the prospect of this project being a success. They both envision what it will look like once it's done. Scully stands up straighter and dashes back to their house, returning with the coil of rope they had salvaged from the wreck. Looping it around the propellers, she looks to the treetops for a place to hang the second propeller for the other half of the pulley system. She kneels down and starts drawing on the ground with a stick a diagram of what she was hoping to do.

"Sir, look at this. If we had some kind of trench going from here to our house, what do you think of that?"

"Even a channel cut into a plank of wood or a hollow branch would do the trick. Then it could just spill down into…whatever. I'd still like a way to stop it if we wanted to."

"We'll work on that once it's up and running. Maybe if we dug some kind of a moat or something around our trees. It would be good irrigation at least."

"Yeah, and keep the dragons out," Skinner jokes. "Why couldn't I have had a fort like this when I was a kid? This is shaping up to be something excellent."

"We never stayed in one place long enough to build a tree house anywhere I lived. I always read about them, my classmates all seemed to make them with their dads. I mean, if he could have he probably would have. He just had more important things to attend to than climbing trees with his kids."

"Well, that's life evening things out for us. We'll have the tree house our parents didn't want us to have." His tone of lighthearted defiance makes Scully laugh. Just because they're both grown up, it doesn't make deliberately disobeying their parents any less fun, even parents that have since passed on. Shimmying up a coconut tree with the other end of the loop, Scully spies a perfect spot for it. There's a tree nearby that has sturdy-looking branches that should be strong enough to support the weight of the propeller.

"Hey Scully! How do you plan to get the other one up there?"

"Well, I could use a hand," she calls down to him.

"Don't count on it," Skinner dissuades her.

Scully huffs, "I can't do it alone. Are you afraid of heights or something?"

Skinner stammers nervously, "No, but I just haven't exactly done this recently."

"Oh, and I have? I kicked the habit when I was in grade school, and I managed to get back into the swing of it. Come on, they're heavy! They probably weigh as much as I do."

"That's not too much," Skinner says, getting an approving look from his friend.

"Then come on, 'fraidy cat. Time to get out from behind that desk, remember?"

Skinner puts his hands on his hips, "'fraidy cat? Now listen here, I resent that remark!"

"Prove me wrong! If I can do it, you can. Trust me," Scully replies.

Grumbling the whole time, he circles a knot of trees in the vicinity and makes a few false starts, falling back down before he got both feet off the ground. "I can't see how you ever got up this thing, there's nothing to hold onto!"

Scully leans over from her perch to watch his progress. Finally, she marks the place she wants the propeller to go and wrests the rope from its place around the bottom pulley. Making it fast to the branch she had in mind for the propeller, she drops the end down for her boss to pull himself up by. "Tie that around your waist, sir, it'll hold!"

Skinner gratefully obeys, feeling instantly better about this attempt. Just knowing there was a safety line to catch him made him less nervous about going up. The rope strains a little under the combined weight of Skinner and the propeller, but it doesn't fray or break.

Once he gets near enough to her, she reaches out and grabs her side of the propeller. Straining slightly, they mount it where it belongs. "Nice of you to turn up," she quips.

Grimacing at her bad joke, Skinner unfastens the rope from his waist and wraps it around the propeller. Then they drop the ends down and they dangle near its base, waiting to be tied together. Without another word, Scully begins her descent back to the ground. Looking down dejectedly, thinking of the time and effort it took him to get that far, Skinner scoots down close behind her.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Not exactly my favorite pastime, but I didn't die so that's saying something."

Scully does the honors of tying the ends of the rope together, and they're both rewarded for their efforts when it succeeds in turning both wheels. They both stare, mouths hanging open, in sheer wonder at what they'd accomplished in such short a time. It doesn't snag or catch on anything, it keeps turning like clockwork, steadily with the current.

"All we need now is the shells and the trench!" Scully exclaims.

"I've got to admit, I never would've thought of that on my own. Good work, Agent Scully." He pats her on the back and pulls her close, his arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you, sir. It was a team effort, though. I couldn't have gotten those parts from the plane by myself."

"Good thing we crashed together, huh?"

While Skinner hadn't meant anything by this remark, Scully's eyes darken and she pushes away from him with a sigh. He lets her get a head start before following her to their shelter. He finds her in bed, in the same position he found her in that morning. He had hoped to bolster her spirits with his offhand comment, it seems all he had done was remind her how precarious their situation was, how alone and secluded they were, and how far they are from home. "Scully…I'm sorry." He offers lamely, unsure how to handle his moody fellow castaway. She rolls over and faces away from him, her mind is obviously elsewhere. He lets her have her way this time, pats her shoulder and goes back down the ladder. He sits in their 'front yard', keeping a silent vigil while he waits for her to snap out of it. As the day progresses and she makes no move to emerge, Skinner starts to worry. Figuring she might be hungry again, he smashes a few coconuts open, and has the good fortune to have cracked them into nearly perfect halves, to be used in the water wheel. He scoops the flesh from both into one half-shell, and mashes in a banana and a papaya with a smooth stone. He spots the duffle bag on the ground near the base of the tree, where Scully had cast it when she fetched the rope. He finds the knife and a largish stick and starts whittling. When he's done he has a perfectly serviceable spoon. He sticks it in the coconut bowl and climbs back up the ladder. Sure enough, she's still asleep, or spaced out, or whatever she wanted to call it. She looks kind of frightening, staring blankly at the wall, it gives him the creeps.

"Scully? Here, eat this." He holds the shell out to her.

She shakes her head weakly, "I'm not hungry."

"Well, when you are, it's here. All right?"

She shrugs disinterestedly. Scully doesn't budge for the rest of the day, drifting in and out of sleep. Every now and then, she thinks of talking to Skinner, but despite their situation and their more familiar interactions as of late, he still isn't someone she feels comfortable telling her troubles to. She'd feel silly whining to him that she's homesick and lonely. A restless feeling gnaws at her brain, making her feel helpless and disconnected from the world at large. Scully clutches her cell phone, although they're no where near a tower, she clings to her only connection to her partner she feels she has left. Just cradling it next to her ear has some share of comfort, she almost expects to hear his voice issuing from it.