"... take me to Avalon, where you can heal this wound -- take me home ..."
 - Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Mists of Avalon
 
 

"Erlona's Heart"
(1/17)
By MD1016
 
 

     The case was starting to take its toll.  Twenty-eight murders over a
12-month time frame; all with different murder weapons, in different
locations throughout the US.  The victims belonged to various races
and religions, had no common social class, and after a lengthy trail of
paperwork and interview sessions, didn't seem to have anything in
common except for one thing:  they were all recipients of the Make a
Wish Foundation.  They were all dying.  And for a variety of reasons:
cancer, genetic syndromes, AIDS.
     Scully'd had enough.
     Mulder watched her as she sat at the long evidence table they'd
commandeered at the start of their involvement in the case a month and a
half before.  The files were opened and spread out before his partner lit by
the loud overhead light that funneled its glare directly over her.  Her
right hand held a half-chewed pen poised against the note pad, ready to
capture anything that might pop into her head.  But her eyes were glassy
and distant.  She'd zoned out again.
     It was too much.  That was all there was to it.  Between the
autopsies and grieving parents - not to mention the frustrating lack
of leads - and her own private battle with the tumor that was growing
inside her head, it was little wonder to Mulder that she was having
difficulties.  Not that she'd ever voiced a single disheartened complaint.
Oh, no.  That would be un-Scully.  Her weakness was in refusing to allow
herself a moment of weakness.
     And so he'd watched her bottle and stuff her own torturous emotions
until she simply began to shut down.
     He sipped his coffee.  Pulling rank and taking her off the case was
out of the question.  She'd never forgive him, and he couldn't live with
that.
Asking her to step back and take a breather for a couple of days would be
shot down before he'd even get the request out of his mouth.  Hoping
against hope she'd accept that the case was cutting too close to home and
that she'd ask for own removal would be like Perot becoming President: it
could happen, but it wasn't damn likely.
     So, what to do?
     In the darkened corner of the room, a small TV flashed silent images of
fires and floods.  Mulder watched the pictures blink by with little interest.
War and pestilence and violent acts of God - nothing new.
     His attention slipped back to his partner, who continued to stare,
oblivious.  He ground his teeth.  Did she have any idea how worried he
was?  Of course not.  Why should he be worried when she was fine.  She
was always fine.  Even when her life was falling apart around her,
Scully-the-Indestructible was eternally fine.  Mulder felt like hitting
something.
     //Damn it!//  Why did she always have to be the stoic?  Why couldn't
she look him square in the eye for once and say, "You know, I'm not so
great right now."  Was it really so hard for her to open up to him?  After
HOW many years that they'd been working together?
     "Earth to Scully."  He dropped into the chair.  The table was heavy
between them.
     She blinked and looked back down at the papers in front of her.
"Sorry."  She bit her lip.  "I was just thinking."
     Mulder sat back in the chair and eyed her drawn face.  "Well, I
don't know how.  There haven't been any new leads in nearly 12 days,
and we've done all of the leg work that I can think to do.  We've been in
this cell for 10 hours today, Scully.  My brain is fried."  All of which was
true, Mulder congratulated himself.  "I've got to get some food before I
go into sugar shock."  Scully sighed.  Okay, he'd laid the bait.  Now he
would have to wait for her to take it.
     "Why don't you go ahead.  I'm not that hungry."  She ran an
absent-minded hand over one of the more gruesome photos on the table.
"I'll just find a cot somewhere down in holding and catch a few hours
of sleep later."  If Mulder didn't know better, he'd say she was
over-compensating.  The old Scully motto: if the work frightens you, work
harder.
     "Uh . . . I'm feeling a little light-headed, Scully.  You think you
could
drive me?"  He knew the excuse was feeble by the way she glared at him.
She was trying to tell him to back off. //Fat chance.//  "Come on.  I'll
treat
you to ice cream."  Just the way her eyes narrowed on him sent his blood
pressure soaring.  He had her attention; he just needed the clincher.
"Chocolate fudge brownie with extra chocolate sauce."  She sighed again.
     "I hate that you know this about me, Mulder."
     "All I know is that for some yet-unexplained reason, ice cream and
chocolate combined, hold power over you like nothing else."
     "Exactly."
     "A power, which, when used for the forces of good, can be a
indispensable tool."
     "The forces of good?"
     "That would be me."  At that, she gave a short, curt laugh
before slipping back into Agent Scully, Consummate Professional.
     "Mulder, maybe we're going about this all wrong."  She collected the
photographs into a neat pile.  "Maybe these cases aren't connected."
     "Are you talking about a huge coincidence?  That 25 children randomly
met violent deaths and the Foundation just happened to play a role in their
lives?"  He studied her reaction as it slowly swept across her face.
     "Not all of the victims met with violent ends..."
     "Any death that isn't natural is a violent end."
     Scully sighed.  "Well, in this case, I'm going to have to disagree,
Mulder."  She pulled out a small color snapshot of a little boy in green and
blue pajamas holding out a picture book to the camera with an expectant
smile.  "Peter Goldman had Monterey Syndrome.  It's a slow liquidation of
the spinal column starting at the base and working its way up.  This picture
was taken just after diagnosis.  Over the next two years he lost control of
his legs and arms and eventually would have lost complete movement.
That includes face and speech.  That includes breathing and normal bodily
functions.  That includes -"
     "I get the point."
     "No, Mulder, the point is that his mind would have stayed intact.
He would have continued to grow and mature mentally even though he
would've been trapped inside a useless body."  She slid the photo back into
the stack and slipped the stack into a file folder.  "That is, until he
reached
puberty and his brain would begin its own liquidation process."
     //God.//  Mulder winced and folded his arms, trying to read her
mask-like facial expression.   "So, I guess drowning in the neighborhood
swimming pool would be almost preferable."
     She blinked.  "Anything would be preferable."
     And then she looked away and busied herself with sorting the files,
organizing them for the next day.  But her glassy stare returned.  Is this
what she was thinking about every time she zoned out?  About
how one way to die is better than another?  Was she projecting her own
fears?
     "What was his wish?"
     She seemed startled by his question.  "What?"
     "His wish.  With the Foundation."
     The thin file was mixed in with a stack of fifty or so that looked
identical, but she knew exactly where it was.  She pulled it.  "Peter made
his wish on February 12, 1996.  He asked for a trip to Disney World."   A
gentle smile curved her lips.  "On March 20th, he got his wish.  He was
accompanied by his father and mother and two older sisters.  They had a
week-long all-expense-paid stay in the Magic Kingdom."  Scully heaved
another sigh and replaced the file.  "We have to catch this killer, Mulder.
The Foundation provides a wonderful service to people who really need
something wonderful in their lives."
      "You know," Mulder said light-heartedly, "I think that would be my
wish, too."
     She feigned shock.  "What?  No extensive pornographic fantasy
come true?"
     "Who needs porn when you're at the Happiest Place On Earth?"
     She concealed a smirk and reached below the table for her
briefcase.  "Says the man with the subscription to Celebrity Skin."
     Mulder smiled.  She was playing with him again.  It had been days
since he'd been able to get her caught up in any kind of repartee.  He
clasped his fingers behind his neck in mock outrage.  "Are you saying
you wouldn't choose Disney World?"
     There was a second when she slid her eyes up to gauge his response
before she selected a handful of papers and shoved them into the leather
case.  "No, I'm saying *you* wouldn't."
     Mulder leaned forward.  "Then what would you chose?"
     "For you?"  Scully straightened.
     "No, Scully.  For you.  What would be your wish?"
     She paused and then rose from the chair.  "It doesn't matter,
Mulder.  The Make A Wish Foundation is only for children who aren't
expected to live past their 18th birthday."  Her coat was on the hook
behind the door, and she tossed it heavily over her left arm.
     Mulder couldn't help himself.  "So?  What would be your wish?"
     "If I were a child?"  Her tone was light and her face dipped down
as she studied the scuffed cement floor.  She was deliberately avoiding him.
Scully never played dumb.  It pissed Mulder off.  She was tense again.  Her
eyes were focused on an imaginary point below the ground.
     "No! Scully, why are you being so difficult?  I'm not asking you a
hard question.  There's no wrong answer."
     "You're asking me what my dying wish is, Mulder."
     The words stung like a slap across the face.  The sting may have been
unintentional, but it hurt nonetheless.  He watched her slowly straighten her
shoulders again.  She didn't meet his gaze.  For a moment she stood there,
waiting . . . expecting something more from him.  But nothing came.  His
mind had shut down when his heart stopped.
     When had he become such an asshole?  How could he not have been
aware of what they were talking about?  About how it would affect her?
     Scully turned and opened the door.  "I'll bring the car around."
     Then she was gone, and Mulder was left sitting at the table with his
tie hanging between his legs. //Shit.//  Fuck up her day, fuck up her life -
apparently it was all the same to him.
 
 

     Two weeks later nothing much had changed, except for the darkly
shadowed circles that had set up residence beneath her eyes.  And the body
of the 29th victim lying face down in the mud under a tree in her own
backyard.
     Mulder watched his partner crouch down to inspect the body of the
eight-year-old.  Her latexed hands were eerily as pale as the dead skin they
were touching, thought the little girl was once the rich color of the wet
earth that splattered her.
     "Mulder, can you move the umbrella?  You're casting a shadow."
     He took a few steps back and gave her the air she'd asked for.  There
wasn't a lot to the crime scene.  The child had apparently been playing in
the tree and had fallen.  The only problem was that she was still wearing
the Pooh slippers and matching pajamas that she'd worn to bed  the night
before.  And there was no way that anyone could have climbed the old
walnut tree with the kind of oversized slippers she was still wearing.  In
the
rain.  Before the sun came up at 5:45 AM, when her father had discovered
her body.
     The falling rain dotted Scully's coat a darker blue.
     "Can you get a cause of death?"
     Sighing, his partner stood and turned to him.  She peeled off the
gloves.  "Her neck is broken, along with most of her facial bones.  But I'll
want to do an autopsy before I pin that as the primary cause."  She glanced
briefly behind her to the dead child before continuing: "The position is
right
for a fall head first from that high branch, but I don't believe for a second
that she climbed the tree."
     Mulder frowned.  "Me neither.  Her slippers aren't torn or scuffed
like they would be -"
     "She suffered from Hanrahan Syndrome, Mulder.  It's a fatal
genetic disorder that causes lesions in the brain.  One of the symptoms is
uncontrollable tremors and violent muscle spasms.  There's no way she
could have held on to the tree, let alone climbed it."
     The rain picked up, but she made no attempt to step closer to him
and share his umbrella. //Her umbrella,// Mulder reminded himself with a
grimace. //What's mine is hers and what's hers is hers.  Isn't that how it
works?  My quest, my department, her cancer, her life...//
     She stepped past him.  The edges of her coat fluttered around her
body and the wind kicked her hair from her neck.  "I'll see you at the
morgue when you get finished."  She hadn't even bothered to turn her head.
     "Finished with what?"
     "Whatever."  At the gate she stopped, her profile caught by the light,
but didn't look at him.  "This is where you go off and do the field work and
tell me to let you know anything I find in the postmortem."  She sighed and
pushed the tall wooden gate wide open.  "I know the drill, Mulder."
     Beside him, one of the local officers wandered up and held out a plastic
candy wrapper.  "I found this near the fence.  You think it could be
important?"
     It was just a square plastic wrap printed with red and green to look
like a strawberry, but with next to nothing left to go on, Mulder was ready
to take anything.  "Maybe," he mumbled and turned back to see the gate
swing shut and lock itself.
     "Hey, pal," the man beside him chimed in.  "I'm thinking you just
got ditched."  His brown eyes were a little more jovial than Mulder felt was
necessary.
     "She's tired.  It's been a long day."
     "Yeah," the man turned back to the tiny body that was just then
being covered with a yellow tarp.  "It's not even lunch time."
     Mulder shrugged and followed the path his partner had taken.
 
 

     Three days later, over an egg salad sandwich, Scully lifted her head
and whispered, "I want to sail."  Mulder nearly missed it, but the haunting
silence that followed jerked his attention to what she'd just said.  He set
down his soda and met her steady gaze.  "In the ocean.  One more time."
And then she picked up the sandwich triangle and took another bite.
     That was all she was going to say on the subject; and Mulder
understood.  He picked up his own sandwich and studied the ham peeking
out from under the dark crust. //Sailing.//
     Their lunch continued in silence.
 
 

     The following afternoon, word came from D.C. that the two of
them were being temporarily removed from the case.  The term Skinner
had used was "redirected"; but then, Skinner was not a subtle man.
And Scully wasn't an idiot.
     When she read the fax, her eyes flickered accusingly at her partner,
and it was all Mulder could do not to cower from her and beg forgiveness.
But the tirade that he'd expected didn't come.  Not when they left the
police station; not when they arrived back at the motel that had been home
for more than two months; not even when they reached the airport and
Mulder quietly interrupted her request to the woman behind the ticket
counter for a one way back to DC.
     "She means Ft. Lauderdale," Mulder tried to cover Scully's shock with a
small grin.  He slid a credit card along the counter top.  "Two to Ft.
Lauderdale."
     The woman clicked on the keyboard and made several affirmative
noises.  The screen flickered in the reflection of her heavy glasses.
     "Mulder, we're going to Florida?"
     "Just a minor detour."
     "Here you are," the woman handed over two plane passes and
circled the gate number on both.  "Enjoy your flight."
     Leading Scully by the elbow, he hurried down toward the far end
of the terminal.  "I hope you brought your bathing suit, Scully."
     "I didn't."  Her dry tone was laced with irritation.  "What's in
Florida?"
     "Oh, you know," he tossed out as they headed towards the metal
detectors.  "Oranges, sun, pirate's gold, 90 percent of the country's
population over the age of 65."
     They both pulled out their weapons and identification and placed
them on the small table for inspection.  The guard was unimpressed.
Scully's brow arched towards her partner.  "Some X-File relating to a
surplus of retirees?"
     Mulder caught her challenge and offered her a genuine smile.
"Trust me, Scully.  You're going to love this."
     She collected her weapon and ID and tucked them back in their
hiding places.  "Tell me why I'm going to love this," she demanded under
her breath.
     "Come on, Scully.  Everybody likes vacations."  She stared at him
for a moment more without a sharp rebuttal.  Mulder wasn't sure
what the look was that she was giving him, but he knew it wasn't gratitude.
Or joy either, for that matter.  Well, maybe he was going to get that tirade
after all.  "Look, if at any point you want to go home, we'll go home.
Okay?  You say the word, and we'll drop the vacation and head straight
back to the basement and the normal nine to five."
     He knew he had her when her head dropped and she let out a sigh.
"Just give me a nine to five job and I'll call it a vacation."
     "Naw, Scully," he lowered his tone to a flirtatious level and tugged
at her elbow.  "What I've got in mind beats filing hands down."
 
 

     "Mulder, you've got to be kidding."
     They stood on a wooden dock surrounded by the cackle of gulls,
the smell of a salty breeze,  and blue sky as far as the eye could see.
Scully,
in her beige pant suit and heels, held her hanging bag and purse neatly over
her right shoulder as she gaped at the sight before her.  Even Mulder was
amazed.  When the woman on the phone had said 65 feet long and 111 feet
high, it had seemed much smaller in his mind.
     "But Mulder, you get seasick."
     //Oh, yeah.//  The schooner that was tied to the end of the pier was not
what Mulder had had in mind at all.  He'd envisioned a simple little boat
with a white sail and a bottle of wine.  Like an Eddie Bauer ad.  The
thing  that waited for them at the end of the dock was enormous.  Its twin
masts jutted rigidly from a wooden deck stained a rustic red.  Ropes lined
them both and . . . were those rope ladders hanging tautly at an angle from
the crow's nests?  Not even the naked Amazon carved into the tip of the
boat offered him comfort; in her outstretched arm she raised a thick and
daunting sword. //Oh, yeah.//  He was gonna suffer.  One way or another.
     "Mulder, is this a joke?"
     He turned and saw the confused look on his partner's face.  Her
cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat and the sun, and her hair was
lying flat against her head from the humidity.  "It's not a joke, Scully."
He
turned back to the sailboat. //Well, hell.//  It was what she wanted.  "It's
a
wish."
     She gasped and glanced  at the boat.  Her eyes were wide and moist.
Her chin wrinkled.  She shook her head.  And then, she looked back at him
through tears that threatened to fall but didn't. //There.//  He knew that
look.  That look he understood.  Her full lips opened and closed around a
barely audible, "Thank you."
     Bags and all, she turned back towards the end of the pier and
slowly walked towards the hulking ship.  Mulder watched her for a
moment before he followed, memorizing the weight in her stride, and the
flutter of her cropped hair in the breeze.  She was beautiful.  Majestic.
Like the wooden woman with the outstretched sword who screamed, "I
will lead the way," without even saying a word.

End of 1/16

     Mulder made his way down the long pier a little dazed, and set his bags
alongside Scully's.  His earlier decision that the boat was enormous wasn't
accurate enough, he decided.  Mammoth was a better word.
     The hull was a smooth reddish wood that shined golden in the late
afternoon sun; dotting the side at regular intervals were small square
port holes that reminded Mulder of cannon turrets.  As he walked towards
the back of the ship, he noted that the railings and ropes even the white
balloons that floated between the boat and the dock were in great shape.
The boat was in excellent condition.
     The end of the sailboat swelled up and out and finished in a mostly
flat bay window, like something out of "Hook", and that image didn't sit
well with Mulder.  He shifted restlessly.  Below the elegantly carved
window he saw "Lady Of The Lake" painted in a flowing, medieval
script.  We've found the right boat, Mulder sighed to himself.  His stomach
knotted.
     That's when he noticed the dog barking.
     On the deck immediately above Scully, a large rust-colored dog
wagged its tail playfully and barked an affirmative to Scully's "Are you a
good dog?" and "Aren't you sweet?"  Without giving any warning, the
excited Golden Retriever leapt from the lip of the deck directly onto his
partner.  She yelped in surprise as they both tumbled backwards.
     "Scully!"  Mulder set off immediately, knowing he wasn't going to
make it to her side before she hit the dock.
     The dog landed hard against her mid-section.  The grunt she
released must have contained all of the air in her lungs, because she didn't
make a move to either sit up or push the animal off of her.  They hadn't
landed in the water, but it was close; and as she lay there crumpled on the
grey wooden pier, the dog licked at her face with an excited vigor.
     Mulder pushed the hyper dog away.  "Scully, are you okay?"  She
nodded, trying to regain her breath after the wind had been so abruptly
knocked out of her.
    A deep male voice exclaimed, "Holy Flaming Cow!  Is she all right?"
Behind them, a large man jumping down to the dock stole Mulder's
attention for a moment.  In the next moment,  Scully's lungs finally
responded and she gasped swallow after swallow of air.  Her hands
clutched Mulder's arms, trying to pull herself up.
     "Take it easy, Scully.  Just breathe for a minute."  That, in fact, was
all she was able to manage.
     The hovering man behind Mulder spoke in his rugged bass voice.  "I'm
really sorry.  Morg is usually good about things like that.  She's
very friendly."
     "I can see that."
     "I'm fine, Mulder."  Dismissing his hovering hands, Scully pulled
herself
together and stood up.  She brushed the new creases in her trousers and
offered a faint smile to the man she was facing.
     "I'm Kyle," he said, holding out his broad hand to her.  With a
critical eye, Mulder sized up the man in front of him.  He wasn't quite what
he'd expected.  A little too preppie, maybe.  Or a little too "together".
When the woman on the phone had explained that she and her husband
actually lived on the boat, he'd pictured a haggard, sea-wary couple.  Kyle
looked...well...like a nice guy.
     She took the man's hand and introduced herself and Mulder as if
nothing unusual had happened at all.  Poised and professional to the last,
she'd completely recovered in record time. //How does she do that,// he
marveled.
     "And now that you've met Morg, let me show you around the boat.
Megan, my wife, should be back in half an hour."  He turned to Mulder.
"She picking up the package you sent."
     Kyle beamed good-naturedly at Mulder, managing to ease his anxiety a
little.  The man seemed able to combine excitement and an easy-going calm
in his dark features in such a way that Mulder liked him on sight.  His
thick-lipped smile reminded Mulder of fellow agent James Brophy; another
of the few people with whom he'd felt an immediate rapport.
     Mulder nodded and purposely avoided Scully's curious stare.  He
wanted to prolong the surprise just a little while longer.  Things weren't
going as smoothly as he'd hoped.  But at least now that they'd met Kyle,
things were looking up.
     "You're going to have to take off  your shoes and hose."  Their host
nodded down to Scully's impractical beige heels, which Morg was sniffing
at.  "Hard-soled shoes are bad for the deck and hose are slippery.  You'll
need sneakers or something with rubber soles."
     //Damn.  Another snag.  A minor snag,// he amended.  The box would
be there soon.  "Can't she go barefoot?"
     "Uh . . ."  Scully glanced critically at Mulder's feet and then her own.
"These are all I have, I'm afraid."
     Kyle nodded thoughtfully.  "For now.  We're docked, so it's probably
safe enough.  Let me get the step ladder for you."  He headed for the far
end of the boat and disappeared, leaving Mulder alone with his partner's
scrutinizing glare.  He knew without a doubt that she was demanding an
answer for what he'd planned; her eyes spoke volumes.  He played dumb
and kicked off his own shoes, bent over and rummaged through his
carry-on for a pair of Nikes.
     "So," Scully exhaled, unable to wait him out as she watched Mulder tie
up one of the laces.  "We're spending the rest of the day sailing?"
     "Maybe."
     "Mulder, is this a game or something?  Why won't you tell me
what's going on?"
     He started on the other shoe and tried to keep his face neutral.
"We're on vacation, Scully.  Relax.  Everything is under control."
     "Does Skinner know where we are?"
     Skinner?  He'd brought her halfway across the country to the ocean and
all she could think about was work?  Mulder's brow furrowed.   She really
was picking up his worst habits.  The trip, Mulder decided, was going to be
good for both of them as long as he could get her to forget about the
Bureau and governmental conspiracies and running for their lives for a
while.  He was already trying to forget, himself.
     "He knows we're taking some time off, if that's what you mean."
     "How much is 'some time'?"
     "Oh, you know.  More than a moment and less than forever."
     "What are you hiding from me?"
     "Nothing.  I'm only saving the surprise until all of the pieces are
here."
     "You're waiting for his wife?  What's in the package?"
     "Enough questions, Agent Scully.  Step out of interrogation mode.  The
vacation has begun."
     He winced at the thought. //This is good for me...this is good for
me...this is good for me...//
     Kyle returned with a that fit snugly against the hull of the boat.
Scully
reluctantly kicked off her shoes and climbed aboard, taking the hand
offered her.  Mulder watched her scan the ship from her new perspective.
Her brooding face lit up.  As he passed their bags to Kyle, he saw her run a
hand over one of the thick ropes that anchored the boat to the pier.  She
was excited about being there, even if she didn't want to admit it.  This was
the wish she'd asked for.  It didn't matter that it wasn't the one he'd had
in
mind.
     A contented warmth settled through Mulder.  He'd done good.
 
 

     The inside of the boat was as impressive as the outside.  The sunken
cockpit in the center of the ship led down to the cabin from two sets of
narrow stairs; one to the front of the ship, and one towards the back.  Kyle
led them down the back, carrying Scully's bags and explaining on the
way.
     "The aft of the boat is your quarters.  There are drawers for your
things and there's a small closet through that door," he said, pointing to a
narrow folding door on the right.  "And there."  The small door on the left
of that same wall stood slightly open, "That's the lav.  The instructions on
how the shower and toilet work are on the inside of the medicine cabinet."
The tall man grunted as he set the suitcase down on the bed.  "I'll give
you guys a couple of minutes to get situated and then show you the rest of
the boat.  Just meet me on the deck when you're ready."
     Mulder nodded and Kyle smiled.  Scully eyed both men with a wary
grimace.  Gone was the child-like excitement that she'd had on the deck.
Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Mulder turned to her once Kyle was
gone.
     "What is it, Scully?"
     Her arms crossed in front of her as she prepared for a confrontation
that Mulder wasn't willing to have.  The vacation was supposed to be a
good thing - a fun thing - not yet another thing that would come between
them.  She raised her eyebrows and asked with simple determination,
"Mulder, where are we going?"
     "Bermuda."
     Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.  "We're going to Bermuda in
THIS?  That'll take weeks!"
     "Actually, nine days.  Then five days visiting the various islands,
and then ten days back."
     Scully's jaw very nearly hit the ground.
     "That's why I was stalling, Scully.  You never would have agreed to
that much time off-"
     "I sure as hell wouldn't have!"
     "Kyle and Megan are experienced sailors.  They've made this run
before, and they've assured me it's not very taxing and an incredible
sail."
     Her eyes closed.  "That's not the point, Mulder."
     "This is something that I want to give you, Scully."
     "Why?  Because I'm dying?"  She lashed out without flinching.
     But Mulder did.  She was getting too good at hitting him with that
line.  "No."  Why did she think that everything that he did was about her
illness?  He'd done nice things for her before she got sick.  Hadn't he?  The
trip wasn't about the cancer.  Not at all. "I . . . you deserve some
happiness,
Scully . . ."  Or was it?
     She began to interrupt him, but he bulldozed through her protest.
     "Not because of anything except that you're a good person and you
mean a lot to me, and I'm tired of seeing you unhappy.  I just wanted to
give you something that you know is from me to you . . . "  For a moment
Mulder lost what he was saying as he watched his partner's face soften.
"Something better than a key chain."
     "I love that key chain, Mulder."
     "You're gonna love this trip even better."  Her eyes narrowed and she
glanced around the room warily.  "Look, Scully.  If you want to go back to
D.C. right now, I'll understand.  We can stop this any time you want, and
go home."
     "Just like that?"
     "Just say the word."
     Again her eyes narrowed, but this time they stayed locked on Mulder.
He felt like a kid who'd been called to the front of the class for not
doing his homework.  Her lips thinned and then she sighed, but the way she
held her shoulders told him she was far from resigned.  "So what's in
the box?"
     Oh, she was good. As long as she had him confessing he might as
well bare all.  "Your clothes.  I called your mother and had her ship some
warm-weather things and your tennis shoes."
     "You what?  When?"  Each revelation seemed to surprise her more than
the last.
     "After I got off the phone with Megan and made the reservations for
this trip.  Last night."  Enough.  Mulder wanted some of the control
back.  He pursed his lips and gave her a subtle leer.  "I knew you hadn't
packed your bathing suit - you never bring it on assignment."
     Scully attempted a stern look as her eyes swept over their surroundings.
"So, this is where we're going to spend the next couple of weeks?"
    "Yep." There was no return flight to DC in their immediate
future.
     With a groan, Scully dropped her body at the foot of the bed, and
smoothed herself over the richly textured comforter.  The red of her hair
was a brilliant contrast to the varying tones of grey and blue beneath her.
Her groan became a throaty purr.  "There's only one bed, Mulder.  Is
there something else that you're not telling me?
     Mulder frowned.  Scully was flirting with him.  That was his job.
Now that she'd turned the tables he didn't know how to respond.  And it
didn't help that she was right: the bed dominated the room.  With only a
possible foot and a half on either side of its wooden frame, and three feet
from its end to the stairwell up to the deck, even if he volunteered to take
the floor, he'd have to sleep sitting up.  How long had he said the trip was?
And why was she still staring at him?  She wanted role reversal? //Fine.//
He could take her match for match.  "Well, Scully, I guess I'm just going to
have to trust you not to take advantage of me in my sleep."
     There was a something about the way she lifted herself from the
bed and sauntered past him that scared him silly.  But when she started up
the ladder-like stairs and looked down at him over her left shoulder, he
actually shivered.  In her best alto lilt, Scully whispered, "I make no
promises."  And then, she and her wicked grin disappeared up into the light
of day.
     Mulder looked back at the bed that lay beneath the curtained bay
window.  Had Scully actually winked at him, or was his imagination
running away with him?  And since she didn't protest, did that mean that
they really were sharing the bed?  Mulder clutched his stomach.  Was it
possible to get seasick while the boat was still tied to the dock?
 
 

     Back on the deck, Scully and their host were talking about navigation.
He pointed to several instruments attached to the large wooden panel and
well-polished wheel; and with dutiful interest, she nodded each time.  Now
that was the Scully he knew.
     The dog sat obediently at their feet, wagging its tail and panting
happily.
     Kyle, Mulder decided, was a reasonably good-looking man . . . as far as
tall and brawny went: his deep brown skin was clear of scars and pocks.
And pussy boils . . .   His face was square and well-defined under the
short-cropped hair.  Nothing for any woman to complain about, really.  His
nose was wide, fitting the rugged features of his face.  Scully might even
find him attractive, he considered idly.  She tended to go for men who were
older than she was.  But then, Kyle wasn't much older than Mulder himself.
Comparatively.  So, Kyle was handsome.  So what? //Hell.//
     Next to him, Scully looked like a twelve-year-old.  Without
her shoes, she barely came up to the middle of his chest.  Even her suit
jacket seemed to dwarf her as it hung from her body and rustled in the
breeze.  She had lost a lot of weight since her abduction, but always
seemed to take good care of herself, so it was never really an issue for
Mulder.  Except sometimes when he looked at her under a certain light and
she appeared terribly thin.  But then, sometimes it was just easier to ignore
the obvious.  And most of the time, it was just easier to avoid the issue. If
he didn't mention that her tailored suits didn't really fit any more, then
she
wouldn't grow cold and distant and look out at him from behind shielded
eyes.  If he didn't notice how small she was, then he wouldn't have to feel
protective of her.
     But beside Kyle, she was tiny.  There was no way he couldn't notice it.
More so than she'd ever seemed.   And pale.  And breathtaking.  That
gentle smile that brightened her face was back again as she saw him step up
from below.  A smile just for him.
     "There you are," Kyle chuckled.  "Let's finish our tour."
     He the way down the stairs to the front of the boat and showed them
the common area.  "This is where we'll be eating and cooking."  To the left,
there was a large square table that had padded benches molded into the
walls on three sides.  Along the wall behind the benches were various
cabinets and cubbies.
     To the right there was a small kitchenette; complete with a range, a
sink, and the narrowest refrigerator Mulder had ever seen.  The counter
beside the sink continued on to the left and poured into a small table that
resembled a drafting desk.  Above that hung a complicated radio unit.
     "The stove," Kyle explained, "is propane.  It has to be lit with the
matches that we keep in the fridge."  He shrugged at Scully's puzzled
look.  "We don't want accidents.  And it keeps them dry."  He motioned to
the sink and continued.  "All of the water on the ship for the sinks and the
showers and toilets is from one central water tank.  So no hot water."
Mulder's nose wrinkled at the thought of cold showers for the next couple
of weeks, before the image of Scully lying seductively on *their* bed
zoomed through his head.  On second thought, cold showers might become
habit forming.
     "We don't really need to worry about water rationing," Kyle
continued.  "But we do need to conserve whenever possible."
     "This," he turned with a flourish, "is where we keep the ship's log
and maps and nautical charts."  The paper on the tilted desk was pinned to
its wooden top.  "But you won't need to worry about that.  Meg usually
does most of the charting."
     The door directly opposite the stairs slid open easily, and Kyle led
them into a narrow hall.  "This first door is storage."  He pointed
to the far end of the short hall.  "That's our quarters down there, and the
door in between leads down to the crawlspace below.  That's where the
water and fuel tanks are.  And the engine."
     "This is a beautiful boat," Scully murmured almost to herself.  She
ran an appreciate hand over the well-polished, deep cherry-stained wall.
     Kyle smiled in agreement.  "The Lady is a good ship.  She's our child."
Mulder noticed Scully's head turn back to the tall man beside her, but he
couldn't see her face.  Kyle broke the moment with another toothy grin.
     "Anyway," he started, and nodded back towards the way they came,
"everything is ready, so we'll be setting sail right after the dinner dishes
are
done.  The weather should be clear for the next two weeks at least, so
we're in for some beautiful sunsets."
     Just then, a strong female voice rang out.  "Hey, Dude!  Give me a hand
with this!"
     Mulder was the first up the stairs to find a tall, slender woman
with fly-away hair standing staunchly with her hands on her hips.  Beside
her light- mocha legs, sat a large box that could only be the package that
Mrs. Scully had sent.  When she saw Mulder emerge, she peered over the
rim of her small wire glasses, softened her stance and gave him a genuinely
bright smile.  "You must be Mr. Mulder."
     "Just Mulder."  He liked her on sight, too.  No wonder she and Kyle
were married.  Hey were perfect for each other.  "And you must be
Megan."
     "The one and only."  She ran a hand over her dark, short and very funky
Raggedy Ann cut..
     "Let me get the box for you.  Thanks for picking it up."  He started
down the ladder, but the woman stopped him with a gentle smack at his
ankle.
     "No problem.  I'll hand it up to you, how about that?"  She already
had the box in her arms before Mulder could politely protest.
     "Meg," Kyle grinned, "our guests have arrived."
     "Oh, really?  I hadn't noticed."  Her sarcasm was dry, but good-natured,
and it blended perfectly with the raspy alto of her voice.  She pushed the
box up to Mulder and he staggered back a step under the weight of it.  He
eyed Megan's slim arms suspiciously, wondering where she hid the
muscles.
     "Are you sure you only told her summer clothes, Mulder?  My
whole closet could fit in that box."
     Trying to swing the package around without dropping it, Mulder
managed to step down into the hollowed cockpit and the aft stairs.
"Maybe she decided to come along herself," he grunted through clenched
teeth.  "There's got to be a body in here."
 
 

     The sky was starting to fade as they pulled the bumpers up from the
pier side of the boat and cast off.  Megan was at the helm, steering
through the brightly colored buoys that marked the depth of the channel,
while Kyle ran back and forth across the deck pulling ropes and tying
knots and "readying the sails," as Scully explained.  There seemed to be a
helluva lot going on, but Mulder was content - probably for the first time in
his life - to sit back on the padded bench that ran along the right side of
the
cockpit.  Scully leaned against the leg he'd perched casually on the seat.
Her back was impossibly warm compared to the cool wind that tossed her
hair.  Nonetheless, she shivered and Mulder felt her chill.
     "Did mom pack a jacket?"  She turned to him and the glow of the
sunset highlighted her face.
     "Don't know.  If not, there's my blue wind breaker in my duffel.  I'll
get
it for you."
     "I got it."  She scurried down the aft stairs and returned with his
jacket and her hair pulled back.
     "No luck?"
     "I didn't bother with the box."  She'd pushed the sleeves up so that
her hands peeked out through the wide elastic cuffs and wrapped her arms
around her middle.  "Aren't you chilly, Mulder?"
     "Not anymore."
     He thought he caught a grin on Megan's heart-shaped face, but she
turned back towards the darkening horizon when he glanced up at her.
She stood tall behind the wheel; straight and powerful.
     Kyle called out, "Okay.  Head into the wind!"
     "Rockin'!"
     The boat shifted as their course abruptly changed and Mulder
reached out for stability.  Not that he'd really needed to, as it turned out.
But the sensations were new and uncomfortable to him, even with the
double dose of Dramamine in his system.  Scully's arm was the first thing
his hand grabbed.
     In front of them, they watched as Kyle inserted a crank into a huge
cylindrical wench and began to hoist the sail.  Its thick fabric furrowed
and bucked against the churning air.  The mast was unbelievably tall; red
and yellow lights dotted the top of it, over a hundred feet above their
heads.  When the sail had reached about three quarters of the way up, Kyle
started on another rope and wench.
     A long pole which had been parallel to the mast swung out
perpendicular, and another sail began to raise.  This one made it all the way
up to the top of the mast.  With topsails, The Lady definitely looked like a
pirate ship.
       Then, behind them, Megan grunted with the effort of raising the
backsail, and Mulder realized with a start that she'd left the wheel
unattended.
     "Shouldn't someone be driving the boat?"  Mulder's hand was tight on
his partner's arm.
     "Don't worry.  She locked it off.  Besides, we're not really moving."
     "It sure as hell feels like we're moving."  Why was the boat pointed
towards the shore?
     Scully scanned his face, "Don't tell me you're going to be sick
already.  Did you take the Dramamine?"
     "I took it.  I'll be fine."
     "Isn't that my line?"
     Kyle called out: "Meggie, you set?"
     "All set!"
     And then, as if it was the answer to some inside joke, they
screamed in unison: "RELEASE THE BOOM!"
     Scully tugged at Mulder's arm.  "You see that heavy pole at the
bottom of the sail?"
     Kyle had just released a clip on the one in front of them.  "Yep."
     "That's called the boom.  You need to be careful around it."
     "Why?"
     Both Megan and Kyle climbed down into the cockpit and gave each
other a quick energetic kiss.  They were having the time of their lives, no
doubt about it.  Then Megan took the wheel again and turned a small knob
on the steering column; Kyle slipped down the fore stairs and disappeared
below.
     "Because," Scully continued and pointed towards the boom,
"it's free moving."  Megan yanked the wheel and the ship swung back
out towards the open water.   The boom swept a path across the width of
the ship and strained out over the water.  The sails filled and bowed, and
the whole boat lifted up in the water and took off.  It tilted with the
increasing speed.  The side that Mulder was on sank while the opposite
side rose and rose. //Christ!//  The whole ship was turning over!  He pulled
Scully's shoulders forcibly against him, but she only chuckled at his
startled
yelp.  "It's supposed to do this, Mulder.  Relax.  We're sailing!"  She was
staring up at him, trying not to smile.
     Then she turned and leaned against him of her own accord,
using his knee to prop up her elbow.  Was she teasing him again?  Mulder
didn't care.  She was warm against his chest, and it felt comfortable to
have her so close.  Her arms wrapped themselves around her middle again,
and his followed suit; protecting her against the chill.  "You still cold,
Scully?"  Mulder took a breath and tried to relax into the tilting of his
world.
     "Not any more," she breathed.
     This time, Mulder did catch the smirk on Megan's face before she
turned back and steered them on  into the night.

End of 2/17
 
 

     The boat was rocking.  Up and down and side to side.  Mulder, in
the bed, felt every wave that hit the boat as though it were slamming into
his side.  The contents of the wonderful chicken dinner he'd downed hours
before were drifting up towards his chest.  He closed his eyes and
tried to ignore how the bed and boat seemed to drop out from under him
every second and a half.  If he could forget it just long enough to get to
sleep, then he'd be okay.  Then it would be morning and he could
go back up on deck again.
     While he'd been out in the wind and the spray, he'd been able to
forget the motion of the boat, and even the boat altogether. Just him, the
water, the spray, and Scully pressed firmly against him without all the
hellish bobbing and churning.  Out there he had a center of gravity and a
direction.  Below deck, Mulder was a jack-in-the-box on the end
of a spring.  And the spring kept throwing him up and down and side to
side . . .
     He made it to the toilet.  Barely.  He emptied the contents of
his stomach - and then three other stomachs for good measure - before he
came up for air.  And Scully was suddenly behind him, wetting a
towel at the sink and pulling out his toothbrush and paste from his
overnight case.  When he felt the sickness begin to ebb, her warm
soothing hands were on his back and neck.  She placed a cold towel over
his forehead.
     "Better?"
     "No, just empty."  The concern in her question made him feel
ridiculously pathetic.  Hadn't he brought her on a vacation so she wouldn't
have to take care of him?  This was supposed to be her downtime.  "Go
back to bed, Scully.  I'm okay."
     "You look green, Mulder."
     Mulder nodded to himself.  Nothing but honesty from *his*
partner.  "Can you make the boat stop moving?"
     "No -"
     "Then you can't help.  Go back to bed."
     There was a moment when he could feel her staring at him but she
didn't say a word.  And then she let out an ironic chuckle and gripped his
upper arm.  "I can't believe I'm going to say this, Mulder, but come back to
bed with me."
     "That's right, Scully.  Kick a man while he's down."  It was curious
that when it had become time to retire for the night, neither of them made
mention of the single bed...beside that initial flirtatious bit on Scully's
part.
They had taken turns in the bathroom, and then climbed into bed and shut
off the lights.  Mulder was sure that if she was uncomfortable with sharing
a bed, she would have said something - something more than an off handed
remark.
     "Come on.  I'll give you the seasickness cure my dad gave me."
     For some reason he found the whole situation strangely erotic.  The
thought of laying next to her became a sexual want; where as before, when
they'd actually been lying side by side in the dark, it had been innocent.
Just two people sharing a bed.
     He let her help him up slowly, trying to avoid upsetting his stomach any
further.  It was amazing how far the bed was considering it was only a
matter of feet.  Hell, it was amazing that Scully was leading him back to
bed with her, and he was thinking about not throwing up.  She lay down on
her left hip and patted the bed next to her.  "Lay here, and try to breathe
through your nose."
     "I'll bet you say that to all the guys."  Was it possible to be
physically ill and sexually aroused at the same time?
     He rested his head on the pillow and watched Scully as she
smoothed the hair from his forehead and started to talk.  "My father
explained to me that the Earth is really alive.  Not just the plants and
animals and people that live on the surface, but the planet itself is a
living
organism."
     "Okay.  I'm familiar with that ideology." //Hurry up with the magic
seasickness cure, damn it!  And stop talking in that sexy voice.//
     "The continents are her organs.  And the seas and oceans are her blood.
The tides are really her pulse."
     Mulder gave her a look of terror.  Floating around in an ocean of
blood was not a visual he needed at that moment . . . or, come to think of
it, ever.  "My God, Scully, who was your father?  Stephen King?"
     Scully gave him an annoyed sigh and pulled the blankets up over
the both of them.  "The point is, Mulder, you're not a cork bobbing alone in
the water.  You're flowing within it.  You're a part of it."  She smoothed a
hand over his stomach for emphasis.  "Everything within us and
surrounding us is alive."  Her lips parted on a breath.
     Mulder felt the flesh twitch between his legs, and he surged out of the
bed.  Then the boat lurched beneath him. //Hell!//  They were all against
him!  "I need air!"  He leapt the three feet to the ladder and scrambled to
open the  planks that closed the doorway.
     "Jesus, Mulder."  Scully followed him up the stairs.  "Is it really that
bad?"  He clung to the back of the cockpit bench and let the cold air sweep
across  his face. //Don't throw up,// he chanted to himself. //Don't get
hard,
don't throw up, don't get hard, don't throw up...//
     He was interrupted by Scully's voice.  "Sit back, Mulder."
     She held a blanket in one hand and a pillow in the other.  Mulder
closed his eyes grimly.  Well, at least that took care of the  sleeping
arrangements.  Not that he was thrilled with the idea of  sleeping outside in
the middle of the Atlantic Ocean; but then, it beat sleeping with his head
down over a toilet you had to pump to flush.  Scully placed the pillow
behind his back so that he reclined against the wall that slanted over their
quarters; and then shocked the hell out of him by climbing into his lap.
"Just warn me before you vomit."  She shook the blanket over both of
them, and leaned back on his chest.  Instantly, his center of gravity was
back.
     "Aren't you going to go back to bed?"
     "Later.  Did I ever tell you about the stories my dad told me about
the stars and the constellations?"
     As she settled against him, her weight brought with it a familiar
warmth.
His arms tightened around her and pulled her a little closer.  "Scully, I'm
afraid of your father's stories."
     She shifted against him, trying to find a comfortable spot to rest her
head.  "This from the man who chases serial killers and mutants for a . . ."
Scully went stone still in his arms.  And Mulder knew why.  He'd stopped
chanting, that was why.
     //Shit.  Control, man.  Control!//
     He released his hold on her and mumbled a humiliated, "Uh, I'm
sorry."
     She didn't even hesitate.  "There's nothing to be sorry about,
Mulder.  An erection is a natural biological reaction to . . . stimuli."
     Mulder closed his eyes. //Please, God, tell me my partner and I are
not having a clinical conversation about erections while she's pressing up
against mine.//  "Oh, well.  Now that we've rationalized it, I feel much
better."
     Scully tucked the blanket up under her chin.  "Good."  Was that a smile
he detected in her voice?  "Now, where was I?  Oh, yes.  The stars . . ."
Her head sank back in the crook of his neck.
     Mulder looked up to the heavens.
     "Jesus, Mulder," she breathed in amazement.  "Look at all of the
stars."
 
 

     The morning was fog.  A white haze hung over and around everything.
The blanket that covered both him and Scully was damp from the vapors
that hung in the air.  She pushed herself up from his chest and blinked the
sleep away.
     THUMP.  The sound was identical to the one that woke him a moment
before.  He glanced past his feet and saw Kyle pulling the last of the planks
from the door.  It made sense that their host would be a morning person.
"I see you two have been up for a while," he said smiling broadly.
     Scully moaned softly as she sat up holding her head between her hands.
Kyle eyes her damp pajamas.  "Or maybe not.  You two didn't sleep out
here, did you?"
     Mulder didn't process what he had said; he couldn't take his eyes off
his
partner.  She moved away from him, wincing in pain.  "Scully?"
     Her lips trembled.  "Medication."
     In a flash, Mulder was down the stairs.  He yanked her bag from the
closet and dumped its contents on the bed. The small brown pill bottle
rolled out from under a shoe.  He was back up the stairs and kneeling in
front of her as she whimpered again.  Her nose began to bleed.
     She took the large blue pill that Mulder shoved in her hand.
"Water."
     Mulder cursed himself.  Luckily, Kyle was already on it, and Mulder
caught a glimpse of Megan handing a glass of water up to her husband.
     Swallowing the pill down, Scully thanked the people around her
with a self-conscious whisper and headed for the back stairs.  "Easy does it,
Scully."  He helped her down the stairs and quickly swept the bed free of
the contents of her bag before he helped her to lie down.  He knew she was
in real pain if she was accepting assistance of any kind.  Kyle stood in the
doorway with a fresh blanket.  "Is she going to be okay?"
     Mulder nodded and shrugged at the same time.  There had never
been pain with the nose bleeds before.  At least, not that he knew of.  But
then, he didn't know what the pills were for either.  Just something to do
with the occasionally alluded to, but never discussed cancer.
     Mulder was at a loss, but he tried to be constructive.  "I'm going to
get
her into something dry and let her rest some more."  Kyle nodded and left
them alone.
     Amongst the debris on the floor, he found a large tee-shirt and another
pair of panties.  "Okay, Scully.  Come on.  Before you take your nap,
let's get you changed."  He helped her sit up, and more blood trickled
from her nostril.  "Scully, you're still bleeding." //Damn it!//  He didn't
know what to do.
     "Just give me the night shirt," she grumbled and pulled the bloodied
shirt over her head.  Instinctively, Mulder turned around, giving her some
privacy.  Apparently, she didn't even care if he saw her naked at that point.
All of his internal alarms were blaring.
    He shifted from foot to foot, unable to channel his frustration.  He
could
still see his toothbrush on the side of the sink in the bathroom.  The
bathroom reminded him that toilet paper might be good for cleaning her
nose and stanching the flow.  His brain was starting to work again.  He
returned with a wad of paper just as she was hiking the fresh panties up
over her hips, and held out his offering.  "Scully, I need to know what's
going on here.  Have you had pain before?  Should we turn around now
and get you to a doctor?"
     "No."  She took the toilet paper and wiped at her face.  "No.  I'm fine.
Sometimes there are headaches.  The pills help that."  She laid back and put
an arm over her eyes.  "When I'm in pain, my blood pressure goes up
and then sometimes blood vessels rupture, and I bleed.  As soon as the pain
eases, I'll be fine."
     "We're going to turn around, Scully.  I don't know what I was
thinking, bringing you so far away from a hospital -"
     "Mulder, listen to me."
     "I am listening."
     "Mulder!  Listen!"  She took a deep breath.  "There's nothing that a
doctor or a hospital can do for me right now other than what I'm doing.
And I'd much rather do it here."
     "But Scully, I think-"
     "Mulder, please.  Just let me lie here for a while.  We'll argue about
this later.  Okay?"
     //Damn it,// he scolded himself. //Just leave her alone, you idiot.  She
needs rest, not nagging.//  "Okay, Scully."  He pulled the blanket over her,
and reluctantly left her to sleep.
 
 

     Both Megan and Kyle sat at the table in the common room when
Mulder walked in on them in mid-conversation.
     "What else do you know?" Megan demanded, her right thumb
absently flicking the ash from her cigarette.
     "That's it.  Just her laying on a cot covered in a ton of blood."  Kyle
shrugged.  "Honestly.  I probably wouldn't even've remembered that,
except this nose bleed reminded -" He broke off when he sensed Mulder in
the room.  The couple sprang apart and the conversation died.
     "Am I interrupting?"  Mulder knew that he was, regardless of their
negative answers.  "Were you talking about Scully just now?"
     Kyle nodded slowly and poured Mulder some coffee and slid it
over.  "Is she okay?"
    "Yeah."  Mulder slid in next to Megan, and leaned his crossed arms
against the table top. //Oh, hell.//  Who was he kidding?  "No.  She's not.
But I'm not sure what to do."
    "What's wrong with her?"
    How much to reveal?  It was Scully's story to tell, and she'd made it
clear that she didn't want anyone to know.  And he didn't really know these
two anyway.  That familiar phrase, trust no one, was blaring loudly inside
his head.  "She gets these nose bleeds every once in a while.  The
headaches are news to me, though."
    Megan took a deep drag.  "Has she been checked out?"
    "Yeah, by the best.  No one seems to offer any helpful solutions."
    She was on him in a second.  "It's that serious?"  Mulder swallowed.
He wasn't volunteering anything else, but Megan read into his silence and
winced.  "These aren't just nose bleeds, are they?"
    Mulder sat back.  "I want to take her to a hospital.  We need to get
back to land."
    Kyle scratched at the side of his neck.  "Yeah, that's the thing.  We're
not exactly sure where we are."  Mulder's internal Catastrophe Siren began
to wail.  "The fog . . . well, there's no visibility.  And the radio is dead-
"
    Megan interrupted.  "Not dead, but there's nothing on it.  We're not even
getting static on the off channels."
    "What about the other equipment?"
    Kyle shrugged.  "The depthometer says we're in three feet of water,
which is impossible-"
    "The Lady needs nine feet to float."
    "And the compass says we're facing due north, no matter what
direction we point it at."
    Turning to her husband, Megan reasoned: "We must be in some sort of
magnetic pocket or something."  Mulder noticed her hand was slightly
shaking.  A bit of ash dropped on to the table top.
    It was at this point that Mulder wished he knew more about boats.
None of it made much sense to him.  "Can't we sail out?"
    Megan shook her head and shrugged.  "There isn't enough breeze for
even the spinnaker."
    "Then what about motoring out?"
    "That would work if we could get the motor to work."
    What were the odds of everything going wrong at once?  "What's
wrong with the motor?"
    Both Kyle and Megan exchanged unsettled glances.  "You tell him,"
Kyle urged.
    "It's frozen."
    "Frozen?"
    "Solid.  There's ice and frost all over it.  The gas in the tank is
crystallized."
    Mulder shook his head.  That wasn't possible.  "Do you have any idea
what temperature gas freezes at?"
    Megan picked up her coffee and took another sip.  "I'm guessing at a
lower temperature than sea water.  But I don't know what to tell you.  The
thing is ice."
    For a moment, Mulder looked them both over.  Kyle in his red pocket
tee glaring down at the mug that he rolled between his thick hands; and
Megan, who watched Mulder over her oval glasses as he digested the
information.  Neither of them knew what to do.  They seemed to be just as
much at a loss as he was.  And he believed them.  He didn't know why, and
it went against his better judgement, but Mulder didn't think they were
lying.
     Megan crushed out the end of her cigarette in a huge ashtray and
started another one.  It looked like she was trying desperately to fill it
with
butts.    "Look, we know it sounds crazy, but-"
    "No." Mulder held up a hand to ward off her defense.  "Believe me.
When I take vacations, I expect nothing less than something like this."
   "Murphy's Law follow you around?"
    "Something like that.  Look, I'm going to go check on Scully."
    They nodded gloomily.
 
 

    Outside, nothing had changed.  The fog hung heavy in the air.  Megan
had been right; there wasn't even the smallest breeze to whip the haze
around.  The air, itself, was heavy and immovable.  The water rocked
against the boat, but there was no energy in it at all.  The world had
gone to sleep around them.
    From the hatch-way door, Mulder looked down at his sleeping partner;
Morg panted happily beside her, offering more comfort than Mulder had
been able to.
    He stepped down into the room and the mess he'd created earlier; and
unable to leave things the way they were, Mulder began to put things back
together.  He folded her white tee-shirt, collected a pair of neatly rolled
socks and replaced them on top of the wadded-up hose.  Were you
supposed to fold hose?  Mulder didn't see how.  And, anyway, without legs
in them, hose were . . . creepy.  He shoved them back into the bag.
    Megan poked her head down into the room.  "Oh, there you are," she
scolded Morg in a whisper.  The dog's tail thumped against the bed.
"Morg, are you bothering these people?"
    "Morg?  Why did you name her Morg?"
    Megan head cocked, and she grinned.  "Morgan le Fey."
    That  made sense to him.  "Camelot." //And The Lady of the
Lake.  I guess there's a theme in everyone's life.//
    "I've always been into Arthurian Legend.  Knights and true love and
honor and all that.  It's appealing."  She considered the dog.  "Is Morg
going to bother her?"
    "It doesn't look like it."
    "Then I'll leave her alone.  If she gets in the way, just kick her out."
Then Megan turned and faded into the fog.
    With a resounding sigh, Mulder stuffed the bag in the bottom of the
closet, and turned back to Scully on the bed.  He shouldn't have let her
sleep on the deck with him.  Hell, he shouldn't have even taken her off
land.  She was too ill to be out of touch with civilization.  Period.  If
Mulder could have kicked himself in the head, he would have.
    Instead, he stretched out next to her on the bed with the dog between
them.
 
 

     When Scully woke, Mulder's watch read 10:23.  So it seemed
only right to him that Megan's watch should read 3:45 and the clock
that hung in the common room proclaimed 7:01.
     "What the hell is going on here?"   Scully drank the coffee that was
placed in front of her, but barely touched the toast and grapefruit.  Mulder
tried not to think about it, while Kyle filled her in on their situation.
     "Meg and I have been up to the Crow's Nests, and believe it or
not, the higher you are, the worse the fog gets.  In the 20 years I've
been sailing these waters, I've never seen anything like this." He ran a
finger over his straight eyebrow.
     "Just my luck.  Stranded in the Bermuda Triangle, and I can't even
get a tan."  Her joke was feeble at best.
     Mulder watched how she played with the spoon and the juice from
the fruit, rather than eating it.  "How are you feeling, Scully."
     She nodded, but didn't look at him.  "I'm fine."  Of course she was.
Mulder didn't know why he even bothered to ask.
     Megan stood at the nautical table.  She pulled on the tied waist of her
button-down shirt and turned to the group.  "Well, I don't know what else
can be done.  Until the wind picks up or the engine thaws, anyway.  We've
been all over The Lady and can't find anything else wrong with her.
Visibility is zero.  And the radio doesn't work.  So, I guess, in essence,
we're adrift.  And we might as well enjoy it.  It's pleasantly warm outside,
even if it's a little damp, and we've got provisions enough for two weeks."
     Scully blinked.  "We're just going to drift until the food runs out?"
     Megan offered her an apologetic shrug.  "We're taking suggestions."
     Kyle cut in.  "The real question is Scully's health.  If we need to get
her to a hospital -"
     She didn't even let him finish.  "No.  I'm fine.  These things just
happen from time to time.  In fact, it probably won't again on this
trip, so it's good that it did happened now, while we have the time."
     Mulder leaned into her.  "There's nothing that says the fog won't clear
up just as suddenly as it came on.  We may be able to sail out of here later
tonight or tomorrow-"
     "Mulder, look at me." She clamped her hands on his head and forced his
face down just inches from hers.  "I'm only going to say this one
more time."  Her eyes were clear, and her brows lifted as she spoke.  "I'm
fine, Mulder.  Fine.  I'm a doctor, and I know how to treat myself."
     "But -"
     "You said that I could decide to abort this vacation whenever I
wanted.  And I will - without hesitation - should the need arise."
     "Yes, but -"
     "And until that time, I expect you to believe," she emphasized that
last word for his benefit, and a shiver ran up his spine "that I know what
I'm doing.  Trust me."
     //Damn it.//  Another shiver.
     "Scully."  Her name seemed foreign in his mouth.  "You scared the
hell out of me."  A soft smile slipped out from under her determined mask
and she sat back in the booth.  Her gaze, however, remained locked with
his.
     "Thank you for your concern, Mulder, but it's not necessary in this
case."
     Mulder dropped his eyes and nodded. //Fine.//  He would let Scully
call the shots.  To a point.
     "So.  Who's in the mood for pinochle?"
 
 

     "Mulder, why do you call her Scully?"
     Kyle was carving a Granny Smith and throwing chunks to Mulder
baseball-style in between popping the odd piece in his own mouth.  For a
man stranded on a boat in the middle of nowhere, he seemed to be enjoying
himself tremendously.  The two of them sat sprawled out at the fore of the
boat, where The Lady herself remained perfectly poised.  The mist that
continued to surround them seemed to be receding up and out, but its
progress was painfully slow.
     Mulder looked down at the bite of apple in his hand.  "'Cause it's
her name."
     "If I called Meggie 'Murphy', I think she'd deck me."  He looked
thoughtful as he chewed.  "But then, that's her maiden name.  I think things
would get confusing with us both answering to Duvall."
     "We're partners.  FBI.  It kinda goes with the territory."  Mulder
popped the apple into his mouth and caught the next piece Kyle flung at
him. //This must be some kind of male bonding they don't tell you
about in Psych 101,// Mulder thought fleetingly.
     "So you work together then?"  Mulder nodded and bit into the new
slice.  Juice dripped down along his thick lower lip.  "Closely?"
     "Very.  Scully's become my best friend."
     Kyle found that fact fascinating.  "But doesn't that make it hard?
Do you ever bring work home?"
     "Oh.  No.  Scully and I . . . we're not together.  We're partners."
     The minute it took Kyle to process Mulder's statement was filled
with an endless stream of entertaining facial expressions as the realization
gradually filtered through.  "Oh," he said at last.  "So this is the 'get
together' trip.  I get it."
     Mulder swallowed.  "No.  This was something Scully wanted to do.
Kinda like an Ultimate Dream Trip."  Kyle's blank expression prompted
Mulder to continue explaining.  "We're not together as a couple.  We're just
friends.  Best friends."
     "Are you gay?"
     "No!"
     Mulder's wounded look brought a shrug from the man opposite
him.  "Hey, it was just a question."  He cut another hunk of apple and
tossed it to Mulder.  "Is she gay?"
     "No, neither of us is gay.  Not that it's any of your business."
     "Nope.  None of my business."  He peeled the skin from the slice in
his hand and ate it, looking thoughtfully at Mulder.  "Is she married?"
     Mulder scowled.  "She's not married - and before you ask, neither am
I."
     Kyle threw him another piece, apparently unfazed by the minor
blow up.  He sat back against the rope railing and studied the apple core.
Mulder could almost see the wheels spinning as Kyle's eyes fixed in
concentration.  If Kyle had been a cartoon, there would have been smoke
coming out of his ears.  Then, without warning, he dismissed the apple core
and tossed it over his shoulder.  There was a soft plop as it hit the water.
"Mulder, I just don't get it."  He was sincere in his confusion.  "She's a
beautiful woman.  Isn't she your type?"
     "Kyle, she's my *partner*."  It was obvious to Mulder that his last
sentence didn't register in Kyle's view of the world.  The man may know his
way around a boat, but he didn't have the slightest clue about the
interoffice politics of the Bureau.  Or of Scully's always pervasive
professional demeanor.  There would be no way Scully would ever
consider getting involved romantically with any one who was her partner.
She would consider that . . . unprofessional.
     Another, larger splash came from the vicinity of the back of the
boat.  Followed by another.  Both followed by peels of female
laughter. Mulder was on his feet, running along the railing as he called out,
"Scully!"
     In response, he heard a rolling laugh that could have been hers,
except that it was lighter and more bubbly than anything he'd ever heard
from her before.  In the cockpit, however, he found the remains of the
clothes she'd put on that day.  Complete with undergarments.  "Scully?"
     "Come on in, Mulder.  The water's cold, but it's calm."  Over the far
side of the boat, he found her grinning from ear to ear.  She was treading
water and having the time of her life.  Mulder couldn't help the smile that
swept over him.  She was happy, for once.  And very naked. //What a great
combination.//
     Megan popped up next to her and shook the water from her hair.  "You
almost never see the Atlantic this calm.  You should come in, Mulder.  You
may never get this chance again."
     Kyle stood beside Mulder.  He seemed more critical of the water than
the women did.  "Meg, are you sure it's safe?  This is the same water that
froze the motor.  The ocean's too still."
     "Hey, Dude!  Stop being a spoil sport.  It's just weird weather."
     "Maybe we're in the eye of some kind of system," Scully offered.
     Mulder was taking his cues from Kyle's prudence.  "Sharks?"
     Megan gave him an exasperated slap of water.  "The current's too still.
A shark would drown here."  Then she turned to Scully and gave her a
playful slap as well.  Scully, true to form, returned it . . . with interest.
Instantly, a water war broke out.  Their laughter and splashing filled the
air
around them, and it wasn't until that point that Mulder noticed how quiet
things had been.  No birds or signs of civilization.  No wind.  No crashing
waves.  Just the sound of the ropes and wenches knocking on the boat and
the gentle rolling over of the water as it met the hull.
     "Come on, Mulder.  Join us!"  She waved for him with a wet, bare
arm.  Her slicked-back head dropped seductively, and she purred, "I
promise I won't bite."
     Kyle leaned into him.  "Are you positive you two aren't together?"
     Mulder clenched his jaw.  He didn't know what else to do.  Now
she was flirting with him in public.  Not that Megan and Kyle constituted
public in the normal sense of the word.  But still . . . she wasn't playing
fair.  His shoulders tensed.  How did she expect him to respond?  Did she
*want* him to strip naked and jump in with her?  He should, goddamn it,
just to shock her ass into line.  But then, what would that prove?  That he
was stronger than she was?  That he could meet her challenges and beat her
at her own game?  He didn't want to beat her.  But did that mean he had to
let her win?  He shook his head and ducked down into their room.
     Their room.  The irony made him want to scream.  He heard more
squeals of laughter and another splash.  From the sound of it, the dog had
decided to join in the merriment as well.  There were several playful barks;
but above it, he could hear Scully's concerned, "Mulder?"
     She stood in the stairwell dripping wet, with an oversized towel
around her torso.  "Mulder, what's wrong?"  She shivered a little on
the ladder.  "Are you okay?"
     "Of course."  He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to
notice the water dripping down the slope of her shoulders. //You're mad at
her,// he tried to remind himself.  "Why wouldn't I be okay?"
     "Are you feeling sick again?"  She walked around so that he sat
facing her.
     "No.  Not since last night."  How could her toes be so little?
     "Is it what I . . . I was only joking, Mulder."
     //Joking.  Right.  Joking, teasing, flirting, seducing: call it what you
will.//  Did he really want to fight with her about it? //Hell, no.//  He
didn't
want to fight with her at all. //Change the subject,// he prodded himself.
//Go back to the agent roles.  We're both good at playing Special Agents.//
Those roles were clearly defined.  And it wasn't like they weren't
sitting in the middle of an X-File.  "Scully, what do you think is going on
here?"
     Scully looked up, startled.  Sheepishly, she took a step backward
and met the wall.  "I . . . I don't know.  What *is* going on, Mulder?"
     Mulder shrugged.  "I don't know either.  The electromagnetic
energy pocket seems reasonable, but it wouldn't explain either the engine
or the bizarre weather."
     "You meant what's going on with the boat?"
     "Yeah."  He hesitated.  "What did you think I meant?"
     "Uh . . ."  She turned and went to the closet and pulled her thick
terry cloth robe from one of the hangers.  "They might all be unrelated
events."
     Her hands were trembling.  "Scully, are *you* okay?"  She headed
for the bathroom.
     "I'm fine.  I'm going to shower and get rid of the salt grime."  The
door shut behind her and he heard the small latch slide into place.  It
wasn't
really a lock, Mulder's mind reasoned.  If someone wanted to break down
the door to the bathroom, or really any of the doors on the boat, it wouldn't
be difficult.  But the sound managed to bring a lump to his throat, anyway.

End of 3/16
 
 

     It felt like late afternoon when Megan finally joined the rest of them
sitting around a Yahtzee box up on deck.  Mulder, with his back to The
Lady, offered her a cup of dice as she approached.  She peered down at
him through her wire spectacles and declined.
     Scully rolled and methodically counted out the dice results on her
sheet.
She had been a little tense ever since she had gotten out of the shower, but
wasn't throwing wise cracks or dry remarks, so Mulder figured she was just
concerned about their stalled situation.  He sure was.
     Kyle looked up at the sky.  "It's bluer, I think.  Maybe the fog will
be gone by sunset."  He held up a hand to Megan and pulled her down to
him.  She smiled against his warm kiss.
     "Hey, Dude."  She rubbed his arm affectionately.  "Are they letting
you win?"
     "Hardly."  He flipped his score sheet over and wrapped his arms
around his slender wife.  "Did you check the keel while you were out
there?"
     With a nod, Megan gave a quick smile to Scully, who lowered her
head before Mulder could catch her reaction.  "I didn't go far down,
though.  The water was too cold and dark."
     "It's like night down there."  Scully picked up a few of the dice and
prepared to roll again.
     "Totally."
     Mulder bit the inside of his cheek.  "How far down did you go,
Scully?"  He tried to make his tone conversational, but the glare he got
back told him that he didn't quite succeed.
     "Woah!  Did you catch that?"  All eyes turned to Kyle.  He motioned
towards both Scully and Mulder.  "The temperature just dropped twenty
degrees!"
     Megan turned in his embrace.  "Is this how they fight?"
     He shrugged.  "Maybe.  I'm having trouble figuring them out."
     Scrutinizing both Mulder and Scully like statues in a museum, Megan
ran a hand through her hair.  "What do you think they're fighting about?"
     Scully shook the cup and released the dice, and as she recorded her
score on the score pad, she casually asked Mulder, "Do you think they
know we can hear them?"  It made him smile to see Scully playing their
game.
     "I don't know."  He saw the delight on their hosts faces as he played
along, too.  "Do you think they have any idea how hungry I am?"
     She picked up one of the die and rerolled.  "I hope so.  I'm famished."
Then she looked down at her sheet and her face lit up.  She smiled broadly
at Mulder.  "Yahtzee."
     "Finally!"  Megan threw herself on her feet again and announced
that she was feeling a little peckish and going to fix dinner.  "But while
I'm
doing that, someone should check the cables in the main crow's nest.
When the
fog lifts, I'm hoping that the wind will pick up some.  We're going to want
to put the spinnaker up later."
     "I volunteer Scully and Mulder to do that,"  Kyle stated matter of
factly.
     "I second that nomination, " Megan supported with a mischievous grin.
     "Nominees elected."
     Their hosts quickly scrambled down to the common room, leaving
Scully standing with her arms crossed defiantly.
     "What just happened, Mulder?"
     "I think we got suckered into climbing a hundred feet in the air."
He leaned back and stared up at the basket-like perch hovering far above
them.  "You aren't afraid of heights, are you Scully?"
     She was seeing the same thing that he was.  That crow's nest was
*way* the hell up there.  "Not that I'm aware of.  You?"
     He shook his head.  "But now seems like a great time to develop a new
phobia."
 
 
 

     The climb itself was nerve racking.  Mulder could feel his heart in
his hands as he forced himself to release one level of rope only to pull
himself up to the next.  But once he reached the perch, he found the
sensation all together different.
     The boat below them was reduced to a scale model, surrounded as far
as the eye could see by a wispy grey that faded into nothing.  Visibility was
getting better, but with everything the same color, it was difficult to tell
just how far it went.  He turned to see his partner staring above his head.
     "Those must be the cables they were talking about."  Attached to
the mast were six metal eyes, to which wire cables were clipped.  Mulder
pulled on them, testing their strength.  They were solid as stone.
     "Is that all we're supposed to do?  These guys aren't going anywhere."
He yanked hard on the clips.
     "I guess.  There doesn't seem to be much of anything else up here."
She leaned against the railing.  "You know Mulder, I think I can see
something over there."  She was in the perfect position to give a little of
what he'd been getting lately.
     "Where?"
     "Over there.  Can you see it?"
     Mulder squinted and tried to make out what she was seeing.  There
might have been a small area in the mist that was darker.  But it was
too undefined to tell for sure.  "I don't know.  Maybe Meg has some
binoculars or something."   He began the decent, taking less time in
climbing down than it took to get up there in the first place.  That's how
everything in his life seemed to work.
 
 

     The four of them stood in a line along the starboard stern, staring at
the darkening mass that Mulder had decided was most definitely there.
The haze left it fuzzy and distorted, but there was something solid out
there.  And it looked like it was heading their way.
     Kyle peered through the binoculars.  "It doesn't seem like we're
moving at all, but that may just be an illusion.  We could be drifting
towards it."
     "You think it's land?"  Megan snatched the binoculars from her
husband.  "A boulder or something?"
     "I can't tell."  He leaned over the rail and squinted as if that would
cut through the fog.
     "Is there a life boat?"  Scully stood with her arms crossed and her feet
firmly planted on the deck.  "Maybe we could paddle over and take a
look."
     "That sounds like a good idea."  Megan tossed the viewers to her
husband and started for the back of the boat.  She was a woman on a
mission.
     "Hey," Kyle called after her.  He trotted to catch up.  "It could
be anything.  I don't want you going out there alone."  She didn't seem to
notice he'd said anything at all and he smacked his hand against the steering
column in frustration.  "Damn it, Meggie!  You're always running off alone!
We're in the OCEAN!"
     There was no stopping her as she pulled the cushioning from one of
the cockpit benches and lifted the lid on the hollow seat.  "Fine, I'll take
Mulder with me."
     "What?"  Scully's face was fixed in concern.
     "No, it makes sense," Mulder admitted.  "Someone needs to stay behind
who can take care of the ship.  And I'll be able to paddle harder than you."
     "But I don't see why you have to go out there at all!"
     Mulder could see the resentment on his partner's face at the thought
of being left behind again.  He recognized the set jaw and practiced tone
free plea from countless conversations.  "Do you have a two-way radio?
Walkie-talkies or something?"  If Mulder was going to be out roaming the
ocean on a life boat, he wanted some form of bread crumbs to make his
way back.
     "Yeah."  Megan nearly leapt down the fore stairs.  "I think we've even
got batteries for them."
     Scully sighed.  "Well at least we'll be able to communicate."
     Her frustration was adorable.  The little wrinkle her brows created
above her nose deepened as she noticed Mulder looking at her.  "Don't
worry, Scully.  We'll save some of the adventure for you."
     "No batteries," came from below.
     Her shoulders sagged.
     Megan re-emerged with  a length of heavy plastic and addressed
Mulder.  "Dude," she grinned with excitement.  "Let's get this baby
floating!"
     Kyle placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.  "Meggie, please.  I don't
want you to go out there."
     For a moment she hesitated, studying his deep brown eyes.  "Why?"
She pushed her glasses farther up on her nose.  "Is there something you
want to tell me?"  Her leading question brought a scowl to his face.
     "Of course not!  You know I always tell you everything I know."
     "Everything?  Always?"
     Mulder had the distinct feeling they were talking about something
important, something with more levels than Kyle simply not wanting his
wife to leave the ship, and his natural investigator's instincts wanted to
know what that something was.
     "Damn it, Meg!" He ran his hand over the back of his head in
frustration.  "I just don't want you to go."  Megan cocked her head, trying
to read more from his honest expression.  What was she looking for?
     "Neither do I."  Scully spoke up, defiantly.  That seemed to tip the
scales.
     Megan deflated as she looked from her husband to Scully.  "Oh,
hell."
     That decided, Mulder turned back to the shadow in the fog.  "Do
you think it's a ship?  Don't those spires look like masts to you?"
     They all turned back to focus on the shadow that loomed ahead of
them.  "They could be masts," Kyle offered.  He wasn't convinced, though.
"You think another ship is caught out here?"
     "It would make sense," Megan thought aloud.  "Were only half a day
from land.  And these waters are far from deserted.  Maybe they need help.
Supplies or . . ."  Her voice trailed off into the silence that surrounded
them
as the object sailed through a thick bank of fog and came into focus.
     It was a ship - no doubt about it.  Two thick masts hanging with
shredded sails and loose ropes.  The hull was pitted and damaged with
jagged holes, and the once vibrant paint was dulled down to grey where it
still bothered to cling at all.  There wasn't a sound as it pushed its way
through the vapors, except for a faint break in the water that lapped against
its sides.
     The ship was an old, wooden schooner much like The Lady; but it was
decayed and weathered - a lifeless shell floating steadily towards them.
Mulder shivered with a serious case of the creeps.
     "The wind . . ."  Megan's voice broke with a rumble.  "Do you feel
it, too?"
     The second she spoke, Mulder felt it gently brush against his cheek.  It
was a weak breeze that wove through the heavy humidity.
     "Kyle!"  Megan screamed, "Throw up the sails!  It's heading right for
us!"
      //Jesus Christ!//  She was right!  The old boat was set on a collision
course!
     "Raise the spinnaker!"
     Kyle ran to the front of the ship and knelt over a small open panel,
yelling back instructions.  "Scully, take the wheel.  Mulder, help me here!"
With all of his weight, he pulled a rope that hoisted the colorful spinnaker
sail.  Mulder was at his side in a second, jerking the rope down with grunts
of effort.  They quickly set up a working rhythm.  Sweat ran down both of
their faces, as the sail billowed in the slight breeze.  The stiff material
began
to puff out as it raised.
     "Dana!"  Megan's voice ordered from somewhere behind him,
"Starboard!  Now!"
     The whole boat lurched to the right.
     The sail was only half way up when Mulder stole a peek at the
progress of the other ship.  It wasn't there.
     Mulder spun around trying to find where the old sailboat had been.
Had Scully turned The Lady that much?  The other ship simply wasn't there
anymore.
     "Help me!"  Kyle gritted through his teeth.
     Mulder took up the rope again, but stood breathing heavily and
scanning around them.  "The boat's gone."
     Kyle, too, tried to orient himself.  "Holy flaming cow!"
     Megan noticed, too. "Kyle!  Where's the boat?"  She was at the base of
the aft mast, with the crank hanging limply in her hand.
     None of them could say.
     At last, Kyle got Mulder's attention.  "The wind is back.  Let's just
get this sail up."
     Mulder nodded and glanced at his partner at the wheel.  He could just
make out the top of her face, but her eyes were wide and focused out to
her left.  Then slowly, she closed her eyes.
 
 

     In the light breeze, the fog lifted quickly and in no time Scully was
steering them out into the open ocean again.  Mulder helped Kyle hoist
the main sail and the top sail before the two of them collapsed in the
cockpit.  Megan had retired almost immediately down to the common
room to check the equipment and their position.  She returned with beers
in hand.
     "We're really off course," she said, handing a bottle to Scully and
readjusting some of the knobs under the wheel.  "I spoke with the coast
guard and reported our situation."  She took a swig and placed her bottle in
the holder by the wheel.  "Prepare to come about."
     Scully took a seat next to Mulder.  "Remember the boom?"  He
nodded and looked up to the heavy pole that secured the main sail.  Megan
swung the wheel hard to the right and the boom swept from the left side of
the ship to the right, not stopping until it hung over the water.
Once again the boat seemed to lift and the side that Mulder was on rose a
good five feet.  It was hard to fight the sensation that the boat was going
to
tip over completely, but this time, he only grabbed the back of the bench.
He considered it a personal victory.
     Kyle gulped at his beer.  "So how far off course are we?"
     "About 30 miles north and east of where we should have been."
     "What?" he choked out.  "How did we drift that far in one day?"
     Megan shrugged.  "The good news is, that we're not really going to
have to make up the time.  Where we are now is still about seven days
from the Bermuda coast."
     Kyle  looked thoughtfully over the ocean to his right and pulled at
his sweat stained shirt that was quickly drying.  "Did you report the old
schooner?"
     Locking off the wheel, Megan grabbed her beer and settled against
her husband.  "Yes."  She put an emphatic hand on her hip.  "And that man
had the nerve to suggest it was just a trick of the light!"
     Disgusted, Mulder slammed his hand against the bench below him.  Not
only did work follow him everywhere, but the lies and deception did as
well.  "That's bullshit.  All four of us saw it."  His head turned to Scully.
She'd been quiet ever since he and Megan had gotten back from the raft.
"The ship was coming right for us."
     "Maybe they're right, Mulder," she stated reasonably.  "I mean, ships
don't just disappear.  A trick of the light does."
     "It wasn't just a shadow," he pushed.  "Scully, it had mass and a
defined
shape."
     "Mulder, it looked like a ghost ship right out of a B movie from the
40's."
     "Who's to say that isn't accurate?  Someone had to get that image
from somewhere.  Don't dismiss this simply because it's convenient."
     Her eyebrows raised incredulously.  "It's not convenient, it's cliche."
     "Scully.  You don't have to believe the rest of us, but don't deny
what your own eyes told you."
     "Mulder, my intellect tells me that a ship - even a cliched, deserted
ghost ship - can't vanish into thin air."
     "But your intellect has no problem with the solid form that all four
of us saw being nothing more than reflected light against the fog?  And it
doesn't question that the reflected light became a clearer image as it got
closer; behaving, in fact, contrary to the laws of light refraction?"
     Her back stiffened and she threw her shoulders back.  "You can't
tell me that was a phantom ship, Mulder, because there isn't any such
thing!"
     "Just because you choose not to believe it, doesn't mean it doesn't
exist!"
     "It means it doesn't exist for me," she countered.
     "And that's your whole argument?  Proof through denial?"  Mulder
hadn't realized that he'd raised his voice until the quiet that followed
began
to ring in his ear.
     Megan popped up in an obvious attempt to break the tension.  "I think I
need another beer."
     Scully turned sharply from Mulder and followed her.  "You got
anything stronger?"  They disappeared below deck.      Kyle propped a
knee up on the bench and took another swig of his beer.  "I don't know,
Mulder."  He shook his head.  "You two fight like a couple."
 
 

     Two hours later, by Mulder's watch, the sunset had slipped into the
watery horizon, leaving only a thin ribbon of orange to highlight the inky
blue sky.  Kyle sat opposite him towards the back of the cockpit, enjoying
the evening and the soft piano music that filtered through hidden speakers.
Every once in a while, the quiet man would rise and check the helm or reset
the CD.  But then, Kyle would return to his seat and relax again; allowing
his eyes to glide over the stars and the mood and the beauty of the full
sails
and the ocean.  And Megan.
     She slouched low on the bench on the other side of Kyle's bench,
talking quietly with Scully, who was on her fifth glass of scotch.  Make that
her sixth.  Megan refilled her glass as she leaned against Mulder's partner;
listening intently.  Scully didn't seem to notice.  Whatever they were
talking about had her smiling,  and she laughed quietly as Megan took over
the conversation again.
     The two of them looked as if they'd been friends for years; shoulder to
shoulder, talking for hours, comfortable in their own little bubble.
     Kyle didn't seem to mind being left out at all.  He watched his wife
with
a fond smile, content to be a witness rather than a participant.
     Mulder was bored.
     Scully downed the contents of her glass, and Mulder frowned when
Megan simply handed her the bottle.  Apparently, the constant refills were
becoming too taxing.  To Mulder's surprise (and secret delight), however,
Scully pushed the bottle away.  She gave a lopsided shake of her head and
made a move like she was going to stand up.  Nothing happened.  She
poked curiously at her legs, and Megan gave a wild laugh.
     Once they decided that Scully was, indeed, going to need help
standing, the two women linked arms and counted out loud, "One . . . two .
. . three!"  They rocked forward like sloppy toddlers and made it - barely -
to a teetering stand.  It took another minute for them to work up the
forward velocity to actually walk.  They made it as far as the aft stairs,
and
had every intent, Mulder was sure, to navigate the steep steps side by side.
The fact that the doorway was only wide enough for one wasn't even a
consideration.
     "Scully . . ." Mulder grabbed her arm to keep her from falling
down head first.  "Let me help you."
     She yanked her arm away from him, using Megan for balance.
"You don't think I can manage by myself."
     "I think you're drunk, Scully."
     "I'm happening to be nicely buzzed."
     "You're happening, all right."  He smirked as she faltered on her feet.
"You passed buzzed over an hour ago."
     Megan released her arm and fell happily onto her husband.  "Hey there,
stranger."
     "Hey, yourself."  He kissed her lightly on the shoulder.
     "Oh."  She kissed his forehead.  "Do that again."  He started at her
shoulder and slowly worked his way up the arch of her neck and to the
underside of her chin before she whimpered in frustration.  With both hands
Megan held her husband's head and firmly planted a hungry kiss over his
mouth. //Time to make a strategic exit,// Mulder decided.
     Scully, on the other hand, had other ideas.  She was completely
focused on the couple next to her, her mouth open a fraction.
     "Come on, Scully, time for bed."  She turned reluctantly to Mulder, her
eyes wide and glassy.
     He helped her down the stairs and sat her at the foot of the bed, and
she let him help her along without a word.  She was despondent all of a
sudden; a whole 180 from just a moment before.  "Mulder," she sighed,
after staring at her feet.  "I don't think I can take my shoes off."  Water
was
pooling under her eyelids. //Maybe that's why Scully rarely drinks,// Mulder
thought. //She's a depressive drunk.//  And yet, somehow that explanation
didn't sit entirely true with him.  He crouched down, wanting nothing more
in the world than to make her smile.
     "Don't worry, Scully."  Mulder removed her tennis shoes and placed
them neatly on the floor by her feet.  When he looked up, her eyes were
closed and her head was nodding forward.  "Easy does it, Scully."  He
practically lifted her back on the bed and slipped her under the covers.  Her
eyes opened and met with his.  The sadness was there, but with it was . . .
something naked and painful.  It was so foreign from the Scully that he
knew that it paralyzed him.
     But then she closed her eyes and whatever it was went with them.
     Kyle popped his head in the doorway.  "Hey, Mulder.  You think
you could give me a hand with putting the ship to bed?  Meg's out of it for
the night."
     "Sure, I'll be right there."
     As soon as Kyle was gone, Mulder looked down at his sleeping
partner.  What was going on in that complicated head of hers?   How many
other un-Scully things were hidden in there?  So strong and powerful and
intelligent and compassionate. //And sad.//
     He kissed her forehead to ward off the demons.
 
 

     The blue light from the moon was streaming through the wide bay
window, spotlighting Scully where she lay sleeping.  Mulder had long since
given up trying to sleep through the nausea that rolled in and over him as
the
ship moved.  Because his shoulders and upper back were achy, the thought
of another night propped up in the open air of the cockpit - where, for
some inexplicable reason the motion of the boat didn't seem to bother him -
left no appeal whatsoever.  Especially when Scully was sleeping so
peacefully beside him on the bed.  The gentle rise and fall of her stomach
and the slender hand that rested over it acted like a metronome, dividing up
his night into inhales and exhales.
 
 

     At some point later, Mulder awoke to the feel of a hand running low
along his hip.  He peered into the darkness, but it was absolute.  Either his
eyes were failing him or there was a sudden cloud cover blocking out the
full moon that had lit the room earlier that evening, because there was
nothing that he could see.   What he could feel, though, was another story.
     A second hand came out of the darkness, and together they gently
but firmly pushed him back down to the pillow.  A soft disembodied,
"Shhh..." hushed any protest he might have made; if protesting wasn't the
last thing on his mind.  The mattress shifted and the weight of a small body
settled above him.  A small and very feminine body.
     Her hands glided up his sides as her legs parted over his hips.  His
groin
reacted immediately, heating and firming under her weight.  She rocked
against him, pressing against his waking erection.  Spirals of desire shot
from his belly downward, and his hips bucked.  He gripped her waist,
locking her against him.  The pressure was delicious.
     She moaned.  He knew that moan - it was a Scully moan.  Her name
jumped to his lips, but her fingers found his mouth in the dark and stopped
the word.  His heart was pounding in every part of his body.  Her silky
fingers fell away, and in their place she pressed her lips to his and her
tongue lanced roughly into his mouth. //Oh, God.  Scully.  Tell me this isn't
a dream.//
     Her fingers wove their way through his hair.  It was all he could do to
simply lay there and kiss her.  It was becoming as hard to move as it was to
think in the thickness of the dark.  But he didn't want to think.  He didn't
want to move.  His body was on a sensation high that he didn't want to
end.
     She rocked against him again.  And again.  The friction from the
cloth was threatening to be Mulder's undoing.  He whimpered against her
kisses in an effort to hold back the climax that was already building.
     Then she reached between them, slipping a hand beneath the loose
sweat shorts he'd worn to bed, and the briefs underneath.   She pushed
them both down and found his erection.  Mulder gasped as a new jolt of
desire erupted through him.  She held him firmly and freed him from the
clothes.
     The feel of her clutching him, pulling him into position against her was
unbelievable.  But the wet flesh that parted over the head of his erection
was beyond description.  She was hot and slick, and as she mounted him he
couldn't stop himself from murmuring her name over and over.  She guided
him inside her body, that rippled as it swallowed him; milking his length
and tugging him deeper.  The small pinch as he penetrated her inner barrier
brought a grunt from them both.  And then she dropped herself on top of
him and kissed him with a replenished hunger.
     He returned her passion, and while they continued the kiss, Mulder
flipped them both over and managed to thrust himself a little deeper
into her body.
     "Yes!"  She cried out in delight.
     And, as if the sensation of being erect and buried deep within her
wasn't enough - as if the knowledge that she'd initiated their joining didn't
fill him with enough elation - as if the sound of her panted breath and
desire
wasn't completely satisfying - Mulder could think of nothing in that
moment of truth but the words that slipped out through his lips.
     "I love you.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you..."
     In that second, the bluish moon filled the room once more, and Mulder
blinked at the face beside him. //Scully.//  So beautiful with her hair
gently
askew and her eyes closed. //Asleep.//
     Mulder's stomach lurched in panic.  Yes, he was painfully erect,
but not inside her or even below her.  There were layers of clothing,  a
blanket, and an inch or two between them.  Her arms weren't twined
around him, but limp out to her sides as she slept deeply.
     He leapt from the bed, and she didn't stir as it gave an extra bounce.
She just lay there, in the light that pooled around her, oblivious to the
dream that had taken Mulder over.
     //It had to have been a dream,// Mulder told himself. //No matter how
real it felt...she felt...//
     The nausea returned with a vengeance.
     The toilet stood open and ready for him as he pushed his way into
the bathroom and emptied his stomach.  What had he been thinking?  That
Scully would really come on to him in a way that was neither teasing nor
playful?  He coughed and sputtered.   Only in his dreams.
     Admittedly he'd had plenty of those type of dreams.  But never
when she was asleep at his side, passed out.
     He'd said that he loved her.  In the dream.
     Mulder glanced back through the room to his sleeping partner.
When the dream fades and the tangle of reality returns, what's left?  And
is it real?  Their lovemaking hadn't been.  Her desire for him hadn't been.
     The Dramamine pills sat in their bottle next to the sink.  He rinsed
his mouth out and swallowed two.  Not that he really expected them
to help.  They weren't going to do anything about the problem in his shorts.
     Mulder closed the door and placed a hand on the wall behind the
toilet and pulled his stiff member out, briefly thanking the heavens that the
disturbing dream hadn't become a wet dream.  He wasn't sure he could've
dealt with that.
     //Stop thinking about her.//
     Mulder closed his eyes and yanked himself hard, trying to keep his
mind neutral.  And when that didn't work, he let himself think of the
countless scenarios that he'd witnessed courtesy of VHS.  And jerked even
harder.  He tried a variety of rhythms to accompany the images.  They only
helped in making him harder and more desperate, not in bringing the
release he was ready to beg for.
     He looked down at the first drop of milky liquid that was dripping
slowly down the underside of his shaft.  He was red and swollen and ready
to burst.  Why wouldn't he come?  It had never taken so long before. //This
is excruciating!  Come on!  Do it!  Just get this over with.//  He gave
himself permission to think of her, and the image of her in her mulberry
pant suit fluttered into his mind.  She stood with her arms crossed and one
brow cocked.  Her lips opened to dispute some theory of his . . . and that
was all that he needed.
     He leaned forward against his arm and groaned as his other hand
tugged hard and fast and brought a rapid climax.  He groaned in relief as he
emptied himself, feeling the release even up through his belly.
     For a minute, Mulder drew in breath after breath, standing and
holding himself over the toilet.  And then he stepped back and reached for
a towel. //The mulberry suit?  God.  What a pervert.//
     It took only a minute or so to clean himself up and get the bathroom
looking the way it had before he made his grand entrance.  He reluctantly
switched off the light and peeked out the door, almost expecting to find her
sitting up and staring at him, knowing exactly what had just happened.
     She hadn't moved a muscle.
     He pulled his pillow from the bed, grabbed his jacket from the
dresser and headed for the protection that the uncomfortable cockpit
benches had to offer.
     And tomorrow, he guessed, he'd have to talk to Kyle about alternate
sleeping arrangements.
 
End of 4/17