Daylight.

Glasgow, Kentucky.

May 22, 2010.

When he finally crawled out of the cave, the daylight surprised him. He had expected it to be night, or at least storming uncontrollably, like it had been in his visions, but the sun was radiant overhead. It was hot and humid, and the walk back to the van was miserable. They all kept their heads down and dragged their feet through the undergrowth, not speaking. It was a good sign that their endless march through the cave was coming to a close, but Mulder knew it was far from over. He couldn't leave without finishing this. His day had just begun.

Gene parked on the curb, and the ranger was the first one out. Marshall walked to his jeep, waved to them, and drove off. He still looked glum, having given up on finding his friend in those caves. Mulder was still hopeful.

"I need to borrow your van," Mulder said as they all stretched on the front porch. Gene was trying to find his keys and Scully was giving him a hard look. "What? I have to find someone to exorcise that cave – or at least someone who speaks that language. Also I need to find out what language that was. And I want to look over the files of the victims again."

Scully put her hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, if you don't go into that house right now and get some rest, I will hogtie you."

He considered her, and then considered his own state. He was exhausted. He had spent most of the day making the return trip through the caves. Even when they rested, his mind was always running a hundred miles an hour. When he slept, his dreams were vivid and confusing, breeding anxiety in his already befuddled mind. The idea of sleeping on a soft bed almost made him drool.

"Fine. Fine. No need for violence."

He led her up to the guest room, glancing back before he shut the door behind them. Gene was looking up at him, a perplexing expression on his face. He seemed regretful and upset, but still determined. Mulder knew he didn't believe in ghosts, that all of this was new and alien to him, but there had to be hope for him to change. He had been completely on board with his monster theory earlier. It wasn't such a stretch to believe human spirits inhabited that cave system.

Scully laid across the bed, groaning. "I'm never going camping again. I don't care where it is. If there isn't a working bathroom and a nice, soft bed, it's not happening." She sat up suddenly, scraping her hair back with one hand. "Which reminds me, how did you guys go to the bathroom down there? I've been holding it this whole time."

"That's bad for your kidneys," Mulder responded dryly, shrugging off his tattered clothes and changing into something a little less filthy. He laid down beside her. "It's best if you just don't think about it."

She twisted her lips, rolling into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him. "Can I ask you something? I need a serious answer."

"Go for it."

"Do you regret coming here?"

He almost let out his first instinct, but he held himself back, knowing she wanted something deeper than that. He had to admit to his own misgivings. "If I had known what would happen, I wouldn't have come. But now that I do know, I wouldn't go back and change anything."

"Not even that broken nose?"

"Maybe that."

"I wish you would reconsider going to the hospital."

"I can't waste time there. I'll do whatever you want when this is over, but right now I need to focus on this." He stretched out, enjoying the soft fabric on his skin.

"How are you going to find this expert?"

"I'll worry about it in the morning."

"It's three in the afternoon."

"When I wake up, then."

"So where were you going to go when you got his van?"

He looked over at her, starting to grow irritated. "I was going to go to the library and bang my head on the keyboard of some crappy old computer until I found someone."

"Fine, fine. Go to sleep."

He rolled over, turning his back to her, and buried himself in the covers. His face ached, his feet throbbed, and his mind was still swimming with the experiences he had had in the cave, but he finally felt that he could sleep.

"And don't wander off again. I'm tired of this lone wolf crap. We're a team, Mulder."

He groaned. "Fine."

By the time late evening rolled around, Mulder was still awake. He lay on his side, glaring at the window, watching shadows spread over the house next door. His eyes were fogged by sleep. His mind was jumbled. His instincts told him to take action, to continue his plight to save those spirits from themselves, but he hated the idea of moving. He just wanted to melt into the blankets. He just wanted to shut his eyes and sleep without dreaming of the cabin and the meadow.

But peace was far beyond his grasp. His companions appeared just as dusk settled over the city. Byers was the closest, sitting up at the computer desk, fiddling with a pen. Frohike was standing at the window, occasionally glancing outside, but preferring to give Mulder a sad look. Langly perused the bookshelf, and then started going through the suitcases.

"This case is really getting to you, big guy," Byers said. He set his pen down, and it rolled across the desk. Mulder jumped a little when it thudded to the floor. Was he just imagining the sound? "You should sleep," Byers went on, leaning in importantly. "Otherwise you can't finish this."

"He can sleep when it's over," Frohike argued.

Langly pulled one of the books halfway out, and then hurriedly shoved it back into place. "I think you should keep trucking. Once you get stuck on an idea, you can't let it go. I had a girlfriend who was like that – hell of a woman."

"Right," Byers said, glancing doubtfully at his friend.

"It was in college. You didn't know her."

"If I called her right now, would she acknowledge your existence?"

"Well no, since we're dead," Langly shot back.

"Guys," Mulder interrupted in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to make sure Scully was still sleeping. She had her back to him. "Why are you here?"

Frohike shrugged. "We get bored."

"Heard about your little ghost problem through the grapevine," Byers added.

"You're in my imagination, so you kind of have to know about the ghost problem," Mulder said. His eyes were starting to feel heavier. He had to fight to keep them open.

Byers gazed at the pen on the floor, a strange emotion in his eyes. Mulder could not place it. When he looked up, his image was starting to fade. "Get some sleep. We'll find out what we can in the meantime. Next stop, Mulder's imagination."

"It's a dark and twisted place," Langly said.

Mulder closed his eyes, muttering the last of the conversation to himself. "If I already know the solution to this, feel free to remind me when I wake up."