"'I think we've stepped in a big pile of shit here, Scully,' he said. His lips brushed her hair.  'I don't know who's listening, or who's friendly. Don't talk about anything to me except eating, drinking, finding a latrine, and being cold. No names. We have to act like two pilgrims in search of a miracle. I have to order you around, and you have to not question me in public. You can kick my ass when we get home, but Skinner's got us in a bad place.'"


 She crawled wearily to bed. The mattress creaked alarmingly, but it seemed clean enough. When she got home, she was never going to complain about laundering her 330-count percale sheets again . Her nice pillow top mattress, her nightstand and lamp, the bathroom three steps away, instead of down the hall. It gave her quite a pang of homesickness.

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