Note : I'm back; hoping to be able to continue the story in a quicker space than the last months.
Sometimes, just a gentle breeze could save us and we wouldn't notice; maybe it's for our best, being unaware of how a grain of sand had weighed in our life. Though, as unnoticed as they could appear, we have to believe in their existence.
Wrapped in their comfy heaven and oblivious to the outside world, Mulder and Scully had now reached a dead end where doing a U-turn seemed as difficult as exiting a giant mushroom trap.
They had followed the way to their dreadful fate half willingly and half drug-induced, unconsciously acknowledging they would stay in their to-good-to-be-true bubble until death or a rescue team would find them. After all, wasn't it their right to live just for themselves, for once? Wasn't it worth the risk of losing their mind for hours filled by fireworks in their heart and on their skin? When you've been on death row a few times like they both had in the past, you might accept that nothing could beat a radical and ultimate folie à deux.
Of course, Mulder should have known better when he had spotted a little fox acting weirdly —his red fox, he was sure of it— but in this split moment of recognition his guts had been overpowered by his eager hard-on and Scully's divine moans. Then, the image and the memory of the benevolent animal had vanished, as well as the hint of doubt that its peculiar attitude had made emerge into Mulder's brain. As for Scully, surely her petite frame wasn't an advantage against the assault of chemicals, easily invading her blood in the tiniest of her vessels. Also, shielded and protected by Mulder's body and warmed by his shadowless bliss, her field of vision became just him and his gestures of love; even the color of the sky or daylight beams were dismissed by her eyes, letting only the intensity of Mulder's hazel irises pierce through them.
At last, some day, some hour of the day or night, a natural need came to Mulder and, this time, alongside a need to step away and walk further from their nest; truth is that nothing could completely tame his Fox' side, his uncanny instinct and his unleashed soul.
Under the spell of his needs, Mulder disentangled himself from Scully's limbs and from the vegetation covering them. His reason missed then a first clue; the simple green shelter they had built wasn't the same anymore, supple roots and soft long leafy stems having eerily grown over, enclosing them in a verdant gilded cage. Stepping out, a cold breeze on his bare skin tickled his free buds and as much as he hated leaving Scully for a mere second, his unrestricted legs led him beyond their close surroundings. Stubborn and always going against the flow, Mulder walked up the stream of the wind despite the chill, long enough for his olfactory sense to catch an oddity. Some cells of his brain, well-trained over the years at the FBI, immediately went on alert and guided Mulder's final strides.
Only when the density of the smell became one-tenth of the saturating scent of the malevolent fruits did Mulder awake from his dreamy state and come back down to earth.
One word then rose up his hoarse throat; death.