Love, The Missing Word by Sarah Kiley Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigation sighed deeply as she picked her mail up off the floor. It had been a long and tiring day of routine autopsy after autopsy. A heart attack, stab wound to the chest that punctured the superior vena cava, gunshot to the head, massive internal bleeding, death after death. It was tedious work, and it had gotten somewhat boring to her. She wanted to be out on a case again, even if she didn't have Mulder with her. But going on a case without Mulder meant having no one to cover her back. No one she could trust. And so she was stuck in the autopsy lab at Quantico, doing the routine work that had lost its flavor when she didn't know the case connected with the body. She shut the door to her apartment, sliding the deadbolt home as she did so. She tossed the mail on the table, hanging her long trenchcoat on the wooden coat rack she had taken from Mulder's apartment. It had been one of the few things he couldn't put into storage, so she had taken it in, along with some other Mulder paraphernalia. She had also taken his fish tank, complete with fish, which now sat near her window. She'd also taken his black leather jacket, but she only wore it when she missed him. It still carried that certain Mulder aroma. Scully found herself wishing Mulder were there constantly, and sometimes it would get so bad that she would start to cry. But as the first two weeks had past, she had started putting that loneliness behind her. After all, it wasn't as if she would never see him again. She would. It would just be a while before it happened, that was all. Her crying spells only came once in a while, and although she was thoroughly bored, she wasn't very lonely. A corner of her mouth peaked, and then lowered as she ran her hand down the length of an arm of his jacket. She shook her head, and flipped on the TV that sat on her counter, near her refrigerator. It also had belonged to Mulder, and she found herself liking having two televisions in her apartment. She only needed one, but it was convenient to have one in the kitchen, so she could open her mail, and make herself dinner while watching the news. She glanced up, staring at a map of war- torn Europe via CNN. It was being referred to as World War III, which was pretty accurate. It had broken out when the Japanese were released from their UN treaty of using only 1% of the gross national product for their military back in '98. The Japanese had signed a treaty promising to only use their military for defense, and had steadily built it up until they were using 20% of the GNP for defense. But no one had counted on the assassination of Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping, and the quick rise of another leader, Tsung Moai, who had insisted that instead of modernization, China needed land and labor. He became a dictator, and spoke out against the young that wanted a continuation of the democracy. They were killed or tortured, eventually submitting to Moai's will. US forces had been called in to put a stop to Moai, because of the US citizens living in China. A scuttle had broken out between Moai's forces and the US, more troops being brought in. In the mean time, Moai had many meetings with the Japanese leaders, forming an alliance with the archipelago country. So when the US called in British forces to help deal with Moai, the Japanese had also come with their forces. They had stopped trading with the west at the request of Moai. Japan was suffering economic loss, and there was an uprising, splitting Japan into two different countries of South Japan, who had rebelled, and North Japan, who was loyal to Moai. Country after country had been drawn in, Moai luring other countries such as India, dealing with its own problems, Korea with her nuclear weapons, and several southeastern states of the Soviet Union. They had marched across Saudi Arabia to the Mediterranean, forcing an attack on Italy when it sided with the US and British forces' to help South Japan win back its northern counterpart, and rid China of Moai. This had brought the war to Europe, different countries siding with different forces. President Clinton had put the draft into effect for all men between the ages of twenty-five and forty. Because of special circumstances, all nonessential law enforcement officers had been included in the draft. The X-Files had been considered nonessential, their cases falling into the violent crimes section. And so her partner, Fox Mulder, had been drafted to the war. They had only drafted men so far, but Scully knew that it would soon be put into effect for young women without children. She had heard about single fathers having to send their children into foster care while they went off to war, or leaving them with relatives, or their mothers. She had put herself up at the local adoption agency to take in any children who needed foster care, doing her own part for the war. Her mom had already taken in Kate, a young girl of about seven, whose father had been drafted. So Scully had done her part, like her father would have wanted her to, just like her brothers were doing. B.J. was stationed in South Japan. His wife, Beth, and their two kids were staying at Margaret's house. Charlie, her younger brother, was fighting in Italy, last she'd heard. Anne, his wife and their two- year-old daughter Sylvia were also staying with Margaret. Anne was six months pregnant, and Scully was planning on delivering the baby when the time came. Her mom loved having everyone at her house, filling it with life again. Scully came by once a week to catch up on how everyone was, what B.J. and Charlie had said in their letters. But despite all her family, Scully wished Mulder was there. She remembered when he had said good-bye to her, a little over three weeks ago. They were at the airport. Mulder was flying to Fort Drum for his basic training, and from there he would be shipped off to the fighting. She stood with him. He carried a knapsack filled with clothes, and other personal items by the boarding gate. He was dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt. Her eyes had started to fill with tears, but she had held them back, when she looked up into his face. "Hey, it's not forever," he said softly. She bowed her head, breaking contact with his eyes. "I know that, it's just hard." He reached out and pulled her into a fierce hug. She clung to him as if he were a buoy in a hurricane-strung ocean, savoring the feel of his arms around her, the scent of him lingering, and his chin resting gently on her head. He picked her up off the ground lightly, just enough so she gave a little gasp of surprise, and then set her down again with a grin. "We'll be okay, Scully. The FBI couldn't separate us, what makes you think an itty bitty thing like a war is going to?" She laughed dismally. "It's not just any war, Mulder. It's World War III, and you're going to be right in the thick of it," she said. "What if you're killed, or maimed?" "Well, there's a plane leaving for Canada over there, and I bet I could get a ticket. But I don't really want to." She looked up at him, confused. "Why?" "Scully," he breathed. "I only met your father once, very briefly, but I liked him. And from what you've told me about him, he faced up to his duties, and he didn't run away from things. I admire that. I wish I could be like that. And this is my chance." Scully stared deeply into his eyes, truly touched by his confession about her father. And she realized that he was right. Her father would be ashamed of her for even suggesting that Mulder skip the draft, and leave his duties, even if it was for her. Gently, she reached a hand up and touched the side of his face, lightly. He turned her palm to his lips and kissed it softly, looking back at her. "I'm going to be fine, and you are, too. Who knows? Maybe I'll break a leg in my week-long training, and you can fly up to stitch me up and take care of me. " She laughed, a real laugh this time. Then she hugged him tightly again, craving his body being next to hers in a way she had never felt before. She wanted to keep him here, with her. She wanted to keep him safe by her side. Instead, he was going up to Fort Drum and from there, to war. "I still don't want you to leave, Mulder," she admitted. She was getting choked up again, and tried to hold back the oncoming tears. She didn't want Mulder to see her cry. He saw her lower lip quiver like a leaf in the wind, and recognized Dana Scully trying to hold back tears. He felt them welling in his own eyes. He didn't want to leave her. He wished desperately he could get on that plane to Canada, and take her with him. But he couldn't. It was his duty to go to war, his responsibility. And, for once, he was going to live up to that. Inspired by both his boss, Assistant Director Skinner and her father, Captain William Scully, he was going to war. Unlike his father, who hadn't lived up to his responsibilities, hadn't lived up to the fact that he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, Mulder was going to. But leaving Scully, willfully leaving his partner, his best friend behind was going to be hard. Not hard, he thought, stealing a glance at her blue eyes filling with moisture. Nearly impossible. "I don't want to leave you," he whispered, his voice cracking. "And I'm coming back, Scully. One way or another, I'm coming back." She took in a deep breath. What she wanted to do now could change everything, but she didn't want to leave him without doing it. She didn't want to forever wonder about something if anything should happen to him. She had to know what it was like, had to feel it. She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down, and pulling herself up, leaning forward until their lips met. It was a very chaste, very innocent kiss that lasted a mere two seconds. But his lips were soft and warm against hers, and each second lasted a year in her mind, as she tested the weight of his lips, their softness, their passion as they began to respond and put pressure on her mouth to allow him unreceived entry. She pulled back a moment later, and measured his eyes, which had gone dark with passion. "Just when I thought I knew all about you," he said, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. One of his arms circled her waist, and pressed her hard against him, while the other one ran into a tangle of red hair, meshing her with him, until she felt as if they were one and the same. He pulled back softly, and she couldn't resist asking, "What didn't you know about me?" "I don't think I'll ever know all about you. Promise you won't get predictable by the time I come back?" Her arms tightened lightly. "Promise." "Good," he whispered, then smiled. "If I had known you could kiss like that-" he started, but didn't finish, his forehead resting against hers. Both his hands came up to cup her neck, his thumbs drawing tiny circles at her jawbone. "If you had known I could kiss like that, what?" she asked, staring deeply into his eyes, searching for the answer she already knew. That if he had known, they would probably have spent the past two days doing other things. More enjoyable things. Things that she knew they shouldn't do. He pulled her away gently, so he could stare into her eyes, which were cloudy from passion. His pupils were dilated, amidst the hazel puddle surrounding them, and it sent a tiny erotic shiver through her system. "Final boarding call for flight 318, final boarding call." A tiny sound of despair escaped her throat. Mulder swallowed it with another kiss. "I'm coming back, Scully," he said against her lips. "I'm going to miss you." "I already miss you," he said. She pulled away softly and grinned. "Always have to be the winner, don't you?" He winked at her. "Yep. I've gotta come back. Now that I know you can kiss like that, I'm coming back for more." She laughed. "You're gonna miss your flight." He kissed her once more. "Damn, just when I'm starting to like this. I'll see you later, okay?" She smiled, pensive. "Yeah, yeah, I'll see you later." He took her hand and squeezed it gently, before picking up his duffel bag and jogging up the terminal towards the plane. Scully sighed, listening to the reports of an uneasy calm followed by several more bombs being dropped by the reporter in Rome. No one was using nuclear weapons yet, but the war was quickly escalating, and it might come to that fact. Scully had started going to Church again, in the absence of her partner, praying to a God she had forsaken a long time ago to bring him back to her, along with her brothers. She prayed every night, for the end of the war, for the safe return of her family, and her partner. And, for once, she didn't doubt the God she prayed to. Rather, she wanted to believe, adopting Mulder's willingness to believe as if it was her own. She wanted to believe in a God who would help her. She wanted to believe Mulder and her brothers would come back to her safe and sound. She wanted to believe the war would end soon. And in wanting, she believed. She sat down at the table, and sorted through her mail. Telephone bill, electric bill, Ed McMahon trying to sell her magazines, a JC Penny catalogue, a letter from Mulder, the next issue of TV Guide- She stopped, pushing away the magazine and picking up the letter. In Mulder's masculine, familiar scrawl, her name and address were penned across an envelope. She stared at the letters all gliding into one another, imagining Mulder gently flowing it with a pen. Dana Katherine Scully. He had written out her middle name. She wondered what had possessed him to do so. In the corner, his own name, company, platoon and division. She smiled, and turned the letter over. She tore the envelope open, and pulled out the letter like it was gold. And to her, it was gold. Gold from one of the best friends she'd ever had. It was folded three ways, and the pages were numbered. She glanced through it, seeing several small words or sentences blacked out for secrecy. It was dated about a week ago. She took the letter with her into the living room, and shut off the television in the kitchen. Plopping down on the couch, she tucked her legs under her, and began to read: Dear Scully, I told you I would write, didn't I? Okay, so maybe I didn't tell you, but you knew I would. I got out of basic training about a week ago. Can you believe how little training we all got? I'll probably get a reprimand for this, but how are we supposed to win the war if some of us still are in danger of shooting our foot off. Another lowly soldier like myself almost killed me in basic training because he didn't know how to use his weapon. And you thought all the danger was in the war! I'm fine now, though. I've been stationed in ******** for the time being. They'll probably censor that, but I'm sticking it in here anyway. It's summer here- summer in February! I forgot to tell you- I bought you a birthday present before I left. It's hidden in the cushion of my couch in storage- you have the key. You can open it before your birthday if you want to, I hope you like it. The local scenery here is wonderful. If this was is over by then, I'm thinking of retiring to *******. Wanna come? We saw the ****** ******* while driving through *****. The capital is still held by our side. We stayed in a hotel for one night, giving us luxury before taking us out to the battlefield as backup for the next scrimmage against the bad guys, I suppose. I think some woman came onto me, but I took Spanish in high school, not ******, and I don't really remember much of that language, either! Don't get your scalpel out to dissect me yet, Dr. Scully, nothing happened. I really wish you could see this place, Scully, it's beautiful. You'd love it. You've never been to Europe, have you? When this war's over, you and I are coming on vacation here, if there's anything left of the place. A lot of the national monuments were destroyed when the Chinese took control of this city, but what is left is gorgeous. I wish I could send you some pictures. We've gone out for one battle so far, with no casualties. It was merely a scrimmage, so I'm told, but it seemed a lot worse. I've gotten bit all to hell by mosquitoes. We had to lay in the tall grass all night long during the fighting. We're up against Moai's boys. ***** Mason and I headed up two sections of our division to surround the group. We're still on the defensive side of the war, but we're gaining ground rapidly. It doesn't seem that way. Mason and I pushed back the Chinese about **** * **** on the battle ground. I got two men down, and I shot another in the arm before he fled. It's not the same as before, though. It's not the same type of killing, and it feels wrong somehow. I can't help thinking that the men I killed could have wives, families, that they weren't evil, just merely doing the job they were assigned. You're not supposed to think about that here, but not thinking about it seems less than human, doesn't it? I don't mean to depress you, or ask you to psychoanalyze this stuff with me. I wish you were here. Well, more likely I wish I was back in the States with you. I never realized how much easier it was to communicate with you when you're right in front of me. The way we could just look at each other and know. It's so hard to try and tell you everything like this, to explain how I feel with words instead of looks and gestures. I can only hope my mental thesaurus and dictionary explain well enough. One of the men under my section, ***** Armstrong, was shot in the arm during the so-called scrimmage. He was sent to the infirmary, and is being shipped back. He fractured a bone, and the doctors say it's going to be months before it heals, and maybe even years before he's back in perfect physical condition. So he's been honorably discharged, and is out for the duration of the war. ***** was one of those guys who wanted to be out here, too, you know? Would it be too cliche to say that I miss you? Because I do. I miss you terribly. I almost envy poor *****. I know I shouldn't, but I do. He can go home, to his family. Yeah, I know, what family do I have to return to? Mom and Dad are gone, Samantha.... well, you know. I guess all I really have is you. It seems like forever since I've seen you. I've thought about what happened at the airport a lot. No, I'm not about to launch into a perverted fantasy, or complain because there's no women here. I've just thought about when we kissed. Do you remember when your mom and Gail had us pose for pictures when we were baking at your mom's house? I have one of us, and I carry it with me everywhere. It's the one where you've got your head on my shoulder, and I've got my head on top of yours, and we have our arms around each other, and there's flour all over both of us. I carry that picture, and my picture of Samantha. I guess maybe I'm hoping that I'll see both of you soon. I've numbered all of these pages because of the way the mail carriers screw around with our letters. They've probably blacked out at least a half dozen of the things I've told you. I just hope they didn't get rid of the important stuff. There's not really much more I can say, other than you've been on my mind a lot. If I get hurt in battle, I hope I wake up to my favorite redhead, who for some reason is always chasing after to me to make sure I'm all right. I never told you before, but I never really understand why you've done what you've done for me. Why time and time again you've done so much for me, and I know you've gotten so little from me in return. War can make you pretty damned philosophical, huh? I've been a real pain in the ass to you a lot of the time, and you're still here for me. I adore you for that. Scully paused, looking up from the letter. Adore. I adore you for that. He was skating around something, some word he was hesitant to use, she could feel it resonating from the pages of the letter, his reluctance to come out and use the word he wanted. She wished he would just come out and say it, put it on the paper, and stop pretending it didn't exist. She wanted to see it in his script, addressed to her, with her name on it. The word they had never used with each other, but always felt. The word she was sure he wanted to put on that piece of paper, but he couldn't, wouldn't do it. She sighed. Adore was close enough, she thought. Scully returned to the letter. I hope you realize this, I hope you can understand what I'm trying to say with these words. I miss you terribly. I hope they don't black that out. I miss you I miss you I miss you. How's your mom and everyone else holding up? How are you doing? Any hot dates? See any UFOs lately? Frohike young enough for the draft? . Hey, how's your mom holding up with all those kids in the house? I heard they were going to start drafting women soon. I hope you don't have to come over here, Scully. I hope you don't have to face this war at all. It's horrible. We're going out for another scrimmage tomorrow. They say this one could turn into a full-fledged battle because the Chinese have been way too lenient with us and the land. They might try to get it all back with one big attack. The battle could last for several days, so I might not have time to write again for a while. They said to be sure we have food supplies and our dogtags, just in case. If something does happen to me, you're listed as my next of kin, so they'll contact you first. But don't worry. I'm coming home alive and well. I'm still looking forward to my welcome home kiss, and I'm not going to be dead or disabled when I get it. You can write me back, as you probably know, and you're mother's probably encouraged you a thousand times. Don't tell her about our good-bye kiss. She and Gail will start planning our wedding. Only they'll have both your sisters-in-law to do it with! Well, this letter is quickly turning into a novel, so I'm going to cut it off. Besides, it's around eleven here, and I've got to be up by four-thirty. , Mulder Scully stared at the closing and smiled to herself. Leave it to Mulder. Everything but the words. She caressed the page lightly with her fingertips, as if it was his face she was actually touching. Maybe even his soul. "You're the most complex man in the world, Fox Mulder. I miss you too," she said aloud, adding the little heart in his closing to her thought mentally. She paused, pondering the last page in her hand. Setting down the page with his closing, she stared at the page. It had a big PS written on top, and then a giant O on the paper. Her smile lifted into a grin. Beside the O was a tiny x and a heart. Mulder lay flat on the ground in the near- darkness. Dew was forming on his uniform and helmet, mixing with the sweat beading on his forehead. The sun above had been hot all day long, making his clothes stick to him. Now he was freezing in the chilled evening air. Such was late March weather in Europe. He shivered, and wished for the twentieth time in the past hour that he was back in the United States, in his bunk, anyplace but the middle of a field in France. Tall grass swirled around both he and his unit. They had been camped out in the field for over twelve hours while other negociated the terms of surrender of the twelve Chinese soldiers left. After three tanks had been demolished by land mines left over from the World Wars, they had decided to make a ground approach, to save both lives and money. It was a good decision, but it also forced three dozen soldiers to revert to the days of trench warfare. Mulder, unfortunately, was one of those soldiers. He and five others were staked out about five feet from each other, crouched low in the grass, with their guns in place. A distance of about a hundred yards separated him and the twelve Chinese soldiers. The night sky loomed with clouds on the east, parallel to where his group of six men were lined up along the front lines. Shouting and bombs could be heard in the distance. Mulder heard the approach of an airplane, but recognized the humming as a USAF plane. The Japanese planes made a buzzing sound that was slightly louder. He had learned to tell the difference, to know when a bomb was coming and when one was going. It was his fifth time in the field, but certainly the longest. He had been lying in the same position since six o'clock that morning, and it was well after eight, but the looks of the sun just setting over the French countryside. His first three assignments had been in Australia, but the last two had moved him and his unit to France. Those had mostly been scrimmages until Britain could get their ducks in a line and send some Naval aid to the South Phillipines and Australia to cut the Japanese off before they landed. This felt more like a standoff, and it had been going on for the past week. His shifts before had been a maximum of six hours, but they had radioed his unit with the news that they wouldn't be changing units until the Chinese surrender. Word had gotten out that the Chinese had seven American POWs and if they could capture the twelve Chinese soldiers alive, they might be able to make a trade. And if the Chinese saw any activity, they might panic and do something rash, which could include using the alleged nuclear weapons bought at a hefty price from southern Soviet states. Mulder was getting bored. And tired. And hungry. He scanned the horizon, where the Chinese makeshift camp was. No signs of activity. He shrugged several times, his shoulders aching from being in one position for too long a time. He hadn't eaten anything since five o'clock that morning, and he was afraid if he was forced to stay out here for the night he would fall alseep. That would mean extra duties which he wasn't sure he'd have the energy for. Whereas he could handle a suspension from work as a reprimand, cleaning toilets and washing dishes were tasks he didn't want to face up to. Besides, he was the unit leader. He was supposed to be the strong one. It would be double the hell for being in charge *and* falling asleep or passing out from hunger. He wasn't sure which one would happen first. He rubbed his forehead, and pursed his lips. "What the hell is taking them so long?" he muttered to himself. His stomach growled in response. At one point, he had been tempted to start grazing like a cow, he was so hungry. He snorted. He'd better not tell Scully about that one. She'd die laughing. He allowed himself the luxury of a tiny smile despite his condition. Thinking about his friend back home always brightened him up. He tried to picture what her reaction would be. She would look at him, and try to hold back a smile, and then suddenly break out, her lips pulling up and away in a coy simper. Then she would clear her throat, and make some smart comeback. Something like, "If you want, you can come over and cut my grass- you wouldn't even have to use the mower!". Yeah, that was exactly the kind of reply she would make. Something very quick, and very sly like that, he thought. And his reaction? Well, he would probably stand very close to her, so close that he could smell her perfume and the fragrance of the shampoo she used in her hair that morning. And he would tilt her chin up and look deep into her eyes. Make her think he was going to say something very important or very serious. Put on that deep expression. And then quietly reply something very fliratatious, or very witty. He stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocusing on the enemy quarters a hundred yards away. Yes, that was exactly the way it would go between them. It was the way it always went. He would lean very close, so close that she would pull back. He could almost see her blue eyes questioning him, while remaining very large and very open. He would make some wise comeback and quickly turn away. Something like, "Moo" or "Do you think Mrs. Clackey would approve". And he would elicit a tiny chuckle from the depths of her throat, and turn away quickly, satisfied that he had made her laugh. Thinking about Scully also brought back memories of the last time he had seen her, over two months ago when she'd said good-bye to him at the airport back in Baltimore. He'd thought a lot about what had happened. One moment he'd been standing there, saying good-bye to Scully wishing he could stay, and keep loyal to himself. And then in the next second she had just leaned over and kissed him. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, even after such a long time had passed. He knew they should have discussed this. He should have said more in his letter. But there was no way to explain what he was feeling. All the words he knew, the terms, the definitions . . . none of it would work in a letter to Scully. None of it could explain how he felt. The confusion, the emotion. He had always found Scully attractive, both on the outside and on the inside. But he had ignored his outside attraction, focusing more on the inside one. The fact that he found her physically appealing had been pushed away. After all, she was his partner, his friend, his confidant. She was the only person he trusted. So he had ignored his physical wants to satisfy his emotional ones. And now he wondered if perhaps he could have it both ways. If he could have her both ways. Such were the dangerous borderline thoughts that had raced through his head at the moment her lips pressed against his. Kissing Scully wasn't at all like he thought it would be. When she had kissed him, it hadn't been with the graceful confidence she always possessed in his presence. It had been tentatitve. A childlike pressing of the lips and then down and away again. How could he explain that it felt like receiving water after dying of thirst to feel the soft, heated press of her mouth touching his? Like tasting forbidden fruit, breaking the ultimate rule? He wanted to see her. If he could only see her, and know that she knew what he felt, then everything would be fine. They had kissed, they had crossed a barrier, and they hadn't talked about it. They had kissed more than once, he reflected. If it had been a simple brush of her lips against his, it could have been written off as a good-bye kiss. But he had kissed her. A real kiss where his arms were around her, his tongue teasing her lips. He didn't know what possessed him to do such a thing. He had been worried about mentioning the scene at the airport in his letter. She hadn't written him back yet, and he was afraid he had driven her off. Pushed her too far, made it seem like more than she thought it was. He was worried that he had ruined everything. All those years of trust and frienship and care thrown away because of a meaningless physical intimacy. No, not meaningless. At least, not to him. To him, it had been fitting, it had felt right. It had felt . . . purposeful. He just wished he knew what exactly was going on, exactly how he felt compared to how she felt. That he would know what kind of things to think about, dream about. He found himself fantasizing about when he would get home, if she would live up to her end of the bargain and give him the kiss he found himself longing for. How would things change when the war was over? The war had already imposed upon his relationship with her. Would they know what to do about the change when the war was over? Would they ignore what had happened, or act upon it? And for God sake, what did she feel, what did he feel? The radio by his side squaked indignantly, making him jump from his thoughts. He stared at it evilly, listening to the message. It was rare that he was ever alone with his thoughts anymore, and in a way he supposed that was a good thing. He would surely have driven himself crazy pondering what had happened at the airport. But sometimes he wished he could just have a few minutes to think without being interrupted, especially with what had happened, what was happening. "Trooper, this is Little D, come in, over," a male voice reported. It was his senior officer, Lieutenant Gregory Psawtle. Psawtle was in his early forties, and surely would be a general, had it not been for his raunchy past. He had been in and out of rehab for his drinking problem in the eighties before turning sober and joining the military. He had fought in Desert Storm, and was a likeable guy. Psawtle used his past as both example and entertainment. Several of the younger recruits, those who had signed up as soon as they hit eighteen, and those that had been drafted looked up to him, and respected him. Mulder had a sort of admiration for the man. Psawtle had been dealt a bad hand in the game of life. His ex-wife had divorced him, and his daughter dreaded the yearly visits. But all these things hadn't made the man bitter. Although ostracized, he had kept face, and dealt with his problems, instead of just quitting life and letting the world have its way with him. Mulder respected someone who could do that. "Trooper here, Little D, what's the word?" he replied, smirking at the radio.Who had decided to come up with such stupid names? "We're bringing them home, Trooper. Stand and deliver, they're coming halfway. One at a time. Send three of your boys out, make sure they're on guard for a trap. Skies above are heavy. Little D out," Psawtle finished. Mulder felt like a trucker talking into the radio with all this odd language. Darkness had fallen. He snapped on his heat-seeking lenses to peer out at the horizon. A warm-blooded creature was making its way forward, hands raised. He crawled, using his elbows to the six men in his unit, informing them of the procedure. One man was coming out at a time. Three of them were going to get the first one. They were to keep their weapons loaded and aware of a trap, because of the air traffic above. Mulder informed all six men, sending out three- a young man who was just out of his teens, a man about his own age, and a man of about thirty. Between the three of them, they should be able to handle their prisoner. He watched with binoculars as the youngest came up behind and expertly tied the Chinese soldier's hands with some type of rope. The oldest man checked the soldier for weapons, and when satisfied he posed no threat, all three began leading him fowards. And so it went, group after group, until Mulder and two others were the only ones left. The last Chinese soldier came forward. Mulder and his group moved forward. Following in the same pattern, the youngest of the three reached for the soldier's arms, grimacing when he realized that the poor devil had only one. "He's only got one arm, how am I supposed to tie him up?" the young man asked. He looked like he might have forged his draft card, he was so young. Mulder glanced up just as he finished patting down the man's leg in his search for concealed weapons. At the same time, the soldier's second arm dropped out of his sleeve, fully attached. Mulder felt the soldier's knee connect with his nose. The man kicked back, catching the youngest squarely in the groin. The thrid man held the gun on the soldier. Mulder glanced up, holding his aching face, just in time to see the soldier pull the oddest escape in history. The man lifted up his shirt, flashing her breasts at Mulder's surprised comrad. The soldier was a *woman*.The woman took the man's surprise to her advantage, kicking out and pressing the gun back into the third man's stomach. He doubled over, sucking in air as the woman took off like a bat out of hell back to her camp. Mulder stood, holding his bloody nose and started after her. He was catching up with her. A few more feet and he could tackle her. He dashed towards her, fully intent on catching his prey . . . *Stop, Mulder.* The voice boomed in his subconcsious, so loud he held his head. But it was a familiar voice. *Scully?* He glanced up to see the woman gaining ground, and stumbled towards her. *STOP* Her voice seemed to surround him, and he stopped, collapsing from the mental vibrations. He glanced up just in time to see the Chinese woman's body fly up and through the air, punctuated by a blast. She did a flip, and he grimaced as he saw flesh explode in all directions. Black smoke steamed from where she had stepped on a land mine. If he would have followed her, he surely would have been dead. So why had he stopped? Mulder was lying on his bunk, his stomach filled with cheap but better prepared than what he had eaten back at home sometimes, army food. The scene kept replaying itself in his head. The other five inhabitants of his quarters were involved in a game of poker. Henry Abberdine, an older man of forty was dealing. Abberdine was still amazed over the fact that the Chinese soldier had turned out to be a woman. The others, Mark Nary, John Caters and Michael Riverson were poking fun at Abberdine and Arnold Carnent. "How could you not see that she was a broad, Abberdine?" Nary teased. Abberdine snorted. "How the hell was I supposed to know? Christ, if I pulled down my pants and mooned the enemy, don't you think they'd be just a little bit flustered? Lordy, but she did have a nice set," he added. "Ante up." "Hey, don't scare the kid," Caters warned. "Carnent's saving himself for Lady Lorie back in Hicksville." "Jesus, I'd bedded half the cheerleaders by the time I was eighteen," Riverson chimed in. Mulder turned over on his side. "Ah, leave the kid alone, vultures," he added, coming to Carnent's defense. "Ah, that's right, you've got a chick waiting back home for you, too, doncha Mulder?" Caters asked. "Hey, show us the picture, Mulder. That little redhead is hot," Abberdine encouraged. He took a big puff of his cheap cigar, blowing a smoke ring in the air. Mulder snorted. "I'll be the one doing the fantasizing about my best friend, thank you very much." "Best friend my ass. What are ya, a queer? I'll bet money-" "Mail call," a darker voice said. All five men stood. Mulder slid unceremoniously down off his bunk to stand rock still as Lietuenant Psawtle came in, faced with six saluting men. "At ease, you're off duty, gentlemen," he scolded. All six men relaxed, returned to their sitting positions. Mulder climbed back up on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He was surprised when he felt something land on his stomach. He glanced down to see a padded envelope lying haphazardly there. He picked the envelope off his body, and flipped over on his belly to read the return address. He recognized the neat, precise handwriting of Dana Scully. He smiled, his face breaking into an idiotic grin. Scully had gotten his letter. She had written back. Quickly, he tore the evelope open. A small white envelope was the first thing that came out, followed by a square box and a photo. He set the padded envelope down, and picked up the photo. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, and a wave of loneliness and longing swept through him. It was a picture of a smiling Scully, her eyes bright. It looked professionally done. Her makeup looked flawless, the chignon of red hair with curls burgeoning from the top like a whitecap on a wave was immaculately put up. She was wearing a long blue dress. It dipped off her shoulders, the sleeves a sheer light blue. The bodice was more secure, and darker, and the skirt flew out, piles of the same sheer fabric as the sleeves covering her legs from mid-thigh down. He turned the photo over, where she had written him a small message: I've seen that picture of us covered in flour. Enough said. Anne got me a gift certificate to have a picture professionally taken (you know, hair, makeup, wardrobe) for my birthday. If you're going to carry a picture of me, it's not going to be one where I look like The Wicked Witch of the West. ;) He smiled, and turned the photo back over. He skipped the square box, and instead opened the letter, eager to read more of what she had to say. He glanced at the pages, frowning when he realized they were typed instead of handwritten. But then again, Scully wouldn't be sentimental about letter writing. If he wasn't so far away from her, he probably wouldn't care if she wrote him with a pen and her own hand or sent him an e-mail. But it would have meant more time went into the letter if she wrote it by hand. And maybe in giving the letter more attention, could she possibly care more? He sat on his bunk, his head nearly touching the ceiling of their quarters, and set the picutre down so he could glance at it while he read. The box he set off to one side, along with the big envelope. Picking up the pages of her letter, he began to read. Dear Mulder, Well, I'm writing back. Things here have changed. Eveyrone is doing everything they can for the war effort. All computers at headquarters have been shut down, except for one, to save money on electricity. I've had to fill out all my autopsy reports by hand because it's not considered necessary to do them on a computer (hence, I'm typing this letter- I've done twelve autopsies today, and had to make handwritten reports on each). Everyone who can is supposed to use the stairs instead of the elevators. A lot of the secreteries have been given a mandatory leave of absence until further notice, becuase they aren't needed. The VCS is swamped with cases from all over the country. I'm being used as a field agent because a lot of the men have been drafted. I've heard that some of the field offices have been shut down. Staff numbers are dwindling everywhere. I'm working as a fill- in doctor at Fairfax Mercy hospital on Saturdays because of the lack of residents. Nurses are taking over a lot of the jobs dotors usually perform. Remember how I told you Mom might take in that girl Kate? Well, she did, along with a little boy named Robbie Enusa. Robbie's only about one and a half, so he doesn't understand what's going on. His father was drafted and is now listed as MIA. His mother became so shaken that she couldn't care for him by herself. Sissy Enusa and Robbie are both living with my mother. Kate knows her father had to go to war, and she's adjusting to living with my mom and everyone else really well. Mom is having the time of her life. She's got three adults and five children living in her house with her. And she's loving every minute of it. I guess it reminds her of what it used to be like in our house- chaotic. B.J. and Charlie have written. From clues that slipped past, I'm guessing that B.J. is along the front lines in Italy, where the brunt of the fighting is going on. Charlie is in Saudi Arabia, I think. His unit is trying to push back the Indians from the country, but although we have superior technology, they have more manpower. We're only allowed to drive if we have to go more than ten miles. Otherwise, everyone is limited to bicycles and walking. You wouldn't recognize Washington. It's quieter. There's a lot of vandalism, mostly by teens, but surprisingly the murder rate has gone down. Any teenagers who have ben put in juvenile hall for serious offenses such as assault and murder are being drafted if they're sixteen or older. The draft for single women has been put into effect. I got a letter yesterday, confirming that I've been drafted. I'm in the Navy because of my father's background. I haven't told Mom yet. I have to leave within a week. I'll be aboard the USS Roswell. I know you'll get a kick out of that. You'll be able to write to me aboard my ship. I don't know how I'm going to be able to tell everyone else. Kate and I have become really close, and this is going to hurt her. And mom's been depending on me for different things. It's going to be hard to tell her. It's hard to tell you. It's lonely here without you. It feels too quiet, too normal . I miss you a lot. It's hard to come up with the right words here, like you said before, it was easier when we could just look at each other and know, we didn't have to use so many inadequate words. I understand how you feel, and I wish there was no war. I wish you were back here with me, and you didn't have to kill all these people, and you didn't have to think about their families, their friends. Don't drag yourself through that. I know my words aren't doing a lot of good here, but don't keep dwelling on the fact that you killed someone. I've started going to Church again. I know, in your absence, I'm becoming a believer. The war has gotten me to take another look at God. I have to believe that something can stop this war, something bigger than a country, or enough guns. I need to. I keep wishing that you're here with me. I find myself doing different things, and all of a sudden, I'll hear your voice in my head, what you would say if you were here. Maybe this war is getting to me. I'm not there with you in the field, and I can't protect you there. I'm not there to help you. If I could, you know I would be there. Partners forever, right? Be careful. Watch who you trust, because you're going to have to trust someone besides me in this. Mulder paused. Didn't she realize? He'd told her time and time again. Did she think he didn't mean it? Mulder trusted her above everyone else. He trusted her with everything. She was the only one he trusted. She hadn't let him down. He never doubted that she would. I've thought about what happened at the airport, too. Don't worry, I haven't told mom. But it's been on my mind a lot. I think it could change things if we let it. Maybe it already has. I wish I knew what it meant, what it could mean, if it matters at all. I need to know. Why do I follow you around? I have to take care of you. My life would be so boring if you weren't there to mess things up .You know why I've walked through hell and back for you. And I know why you'd do the same for me. He stopped again. I know why? He knew what she was saying. He could almost hear her voice reading off everything on this letter, just like her voice had been in his head at the battlefield. It had to be an omen that he'd gotten this letter after the events that had transpired earlier. Things like this weren't just coincidences. There had to be a reason. He just wished he knew what it was. There was a word he was tempted to use, that he could tell she was tempted to use. It was sitting on the tip of his tongue. He just wished he knew what it was they both wanted to say. I did get your present for me, Mulder. I opened it on my birthday. It's lovely. I wish you could have been here to give it to me. I haven't taken it off since I put it on, on my birthday. I don't think I'm going to ever take it off. And, in return, I've gotten you something. Consider it an anniversary present. A couple days ago was the day I first walked into your office, about seven years ago. I believe your first words to me were something like, "Isn't it nice to be highly regarded?" Well, I think about you a lot. Is it nice? Mulder took a deep breath. It was very nice. It made him feel honored that she had liked the gift he'd gotten her. It was a silver ID bracelet, with her name inscripted on the front. On the flip side was a tiny heart and the letters F.M. He didn't really know why he had suddenly decided to put the heart on there. He had been hoping to figure out a way to explain it by the time he gave it to her. But she didn't seem to be questioning it. And so, maybe she knew. He picked up the white box and opened it. Inside was a very elegant, very expensive watch. He picked it up, and looked at it, grinning to himself. The face of the watch had a large and very blatant green X on it. He felt the back, and realized there were tiny ridges there. He flipped it over. Inscribed on the back was: Thank You, D.S. He touched it lightly, and then turned back to her letter. Do you remember the statue we made? I've got it in my apartment still. Mom came over the other day and she was looking at it. She asked me why I bought it- think we could make more and sell them? I couldn't think of anything else, and I told her you got it for me as a gag gift. And then she got that look on her face, and asked me if I wanted to tell her something. You have to give her credit- she's persistent. I guess I should close this off before I start reminicing. Just know that I'm with you, and that I miss you, too. L, Scully PS- ditto Mulder set the letter down. L? What was L? He stared at the tiny letter. It could just be a typo. Or it could be . . . No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. L. He glanced at the rest of the letter. All of it was spelled right and gramatically correct. She would have looked over the paper before she sent it. Why had she let the L go? Had she intended it to be there? What the hell did it mean? He closed his eyes, replaying the letter in his mind. *Just know that I'm with you* He opened his eyes, and stared at the picture of the woman whom he had grown so close to over the past seven years. The woman he trusted with everything. She had been there. She had been with him, she had warned him not to follow the Chinese woman. He was sure of it. She had saved him again, and she wasn't even here. He stared at the date of the letter. It was written a week and a half ago. That would mean that she was now aboard the USS Roswell, going to some unknown destination. He wondered if she was nearby, how things had gone with her mother. Margaret must have been upset that Scully was going to the war. And the postscript- he smiled as he remembered what his postscript to her had been. *Ditto* He wished he could fulfill that promise. He closed his eyes and searched his memory, going back over the night he and Scully had made the statue. It had been right after Bill Patterson was institutionalized. He had been making a gargoyle, his mind still on the previous case. And then she had come to his apartment. He had waited for her to leave, to see that he was fine and leave. How could he drag her down with him? He waited for her to see that he was a lunatic, to leave it all behind. He had put her in danger time and again, she hould have backed out a long time ago. And she hadn't. had been soft and sad. And then they had started to make the sculpture. Eventually, they had finished, and dozed on his couch, thoroughly exhausted by the time morning And he didn't want her to. So she had come and she had stopped him. He remembered that he voice came. She had made some crack about her mom buying her a copy of Ghost. And she had told him that they could do anything together. It had been one of the few times they had used words instead of actions or expressions to say how they felt. One of the few times that the words had been adequate. He folded her letter back up and carefully slipped it into its envelope. Then he picked up the watch. Thank You, D.S. No, he thought, thank you Scully. He slipped it on his wrist, and lay down again on his stomach, looking at her picture. He willed her to hear his thoughts, if such a thing was possible. She had been there, somehow she had been with him on that field. Maybe if he tried, he could communicate with her that way. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. *I'm there with you, too.* End part I Love, The Missing Word I-V by Sarah Kiley Part II Dana Scully stared out over the dark waters that churned twenty feet below her against the ship's engines to spot the lighted coast of Italy. Stars shone brightly overhead. The night air was cool on her slightly exposed skin. It chilled the small ID bracelet she wore on her wrist that jangled as she placed her hands on the railing. She was on the main deck, like about a dozen other sailors who weren't needed at the moment. After all, they were only going to dock, and there was no sign of an attack. They weren't on duty, not officially. In fact, they were about a mile from Rome, where they would dock. After that, she would receive her forty-eight hour leave along with the rest of the crew of the USS Roswell. It was almost nine o'clock, and it was a Friday night. If there was no war, she reflected, she would be home right now, probably going over case notes or watching a bad science fiction movie with Mulder. She would be sitting with her head resting against his thigh as he stretched out on her couch. One of his hands might absently play with a piece of her hair as she let herself unwind, and complained about the cheesy special effects of the movie, or the way her stomach rumbled from the bad Chinese food. Mulder would be trying to convince her that these were the best movies ever made, and that it had been her idea, not his to get Chinese instead of pizza. And she would turn her head to glare at him, only to find those hazel eyes heavy-lidded and teasing her. And then she might climb up beside him, put her head on his shoulder, and turn his face towards her own. And as his hazel eyes ran dark and the hand formerly playing with her hair now teased the skin of her arm while his other hand touched her face, his thumb tempting her lower lip. He would lean down and gently press a kiss to her lips, innocent at first, and then hungrier, gaining more passion as she responded, and rolled on top of him, gently unbutton his shirt as his hands roamed over her body, her breaths quickening. And so softly, he would begin to unbutton her blouse before he swept her up into his arms and carried her into her bedroom, his eyes never leaving hers . . . She shook herself. Where had *that* come from? Never in a million years had she and Mulder done anything like that, and they probably never would. She frowned, gazing at the lights that played as the ship sailed into port. As the ship's medical doctor, she had almost as much supervision over things as the captain. She decided what the sailors ate, who should be on deck and who should work below, treated sick sailors, vaccinated others to make sure diseases wouldn't catch, checked sanitary conditions, did physicals on each sailor once a week to make sure they were maintaining their health. She was scheduled to do some land work, too, but for right now, she would maintain her status as the ship's doctor. It was not an easy job on a ship with over two hundred men. But Dana had always loved sailing. Her father used to take her and her two brothers out sailing. Melissa had never wanted to come. Missy was always too much of a girl, as compared to Dana's tomboy self. The last time- she paused, a tiny smile flirting with her lips. The last time she had been sailing had been almost three years ago, with Mulder. It had been nighttime then, too, she remembered. Driving a boat in the middle of a lake. Sailing and concentrating on the case had diverted her attention from the death of her dog, Queequeg. She had loved the little dog, and losing him to an alligator had been one of the lower points in her life with Mulder. Life with Mulder. Scully didn't know when she started to divide time like that. It had simply happened in her mind- there were the years before Mulder came into her life, and there were the years after. She stared up at the sky. The sky at sea always looked different than any other sky she knew. There were always so many stars when you were surrounded by nothing but water. She sighed wistfully, remembering times when her father had been alive, and had pointed out the constellations to her and her brothers. Her mom and sister had sometimes come on the tiny boat owned and maintained by Bill Scully. She had distinct memories of sitting in the stern of the ship, staring up at the sky, and watching her mother and father doing the same, Bill Scully's arms around his wife's waist, his chin on her head. Neither of her parents had been very tall. When Mulder had met her father that one time, she remembered wondering why it seemed that her father looked less intimidating standing next to Mulder. From her days as a girl, she always saw him as a large imposing figure, and she would always have that image. She remembered her father had bought her a copy of Moby Dick and The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle for her twenty-sixth birthday. It had been the best present she had ever received. Although she didn't show it much as an FBI agent, Dana Scully was a very sentimental woman. She cherished little things. She had saved all of the letters her family had written to her. They were neatly put away in her quarters. All except one, she thought as she twisted the ID bracelet. It had been bought for her almost six months ago, in December. It had never been given to her. Well, not officially, she thought. Mulder had bought it for her for her birthday. He had already been drafted when her birthday rolled around, but he had urged her to get it from storage and open it. So she had. And it had brought tears to her eyes. It had her named scrolled in a lovely, flowing script on the front side. On the inside, hidden from view was what had made the gift even more special. She turned the bracelet over, her fingers feeling along the words placed there. A small heart stamped by the letters F. M. Fox Mulder. She wished Mulder had been there to put it on her wrist, to explain what that little heart there really meant. Her throat clogged, thinking about him. It had been almost five months since she'd seen him. It was already late May. She had kept praying every night, a ritual she hadn't done since she was four years old. She prayed for Mulder, for her family, for the war to end. And every night she asked God for one special thing, just for her. She asked God to let her see Mulder. She would look at the picture frame beside her bed as she prayed. It was a big 8 x 10 frame, filled with tiny pictures. One of her brothers and their families, one of her mother and father, taken almost a week before he had suffered a massive coronary that left him dead. One of her late sister, Melissa, killed by mistake instead of her. A picture of a brown-haired girl with a smiling wet face, dressed in her bathing suit, with her big brother standing behind her. She had taken the picture from Mulder's things when she had them put into storage for him. To find Samantha was as much her goal as it was his. She wanted to find her for Mulder, so he could live with himself, so he could be happy. And nestled in with all the other pictures of friends and family, was a picture of Mulder. It was one taken of them together at her mother's house two years ago at Christmastime. Margaret Scully and her best friend Gail had wanted pictures, so Mulder and she had allowed themselves to be pushed and prodded until she stood so close that their bodies touched, he had his arms around her waist, and she leaned into him, her hand rubbing his as they stood in front of the Christmas tree. She remembered him making some joke that they both had laughed at. The happiness on his face and hers was evident, and the memory of that time before the war had torn them away from each other lived in her memory, among all the other times they had shared. Scully sighed. She had forty-eight hours off duty. But her thoughts weren't of partying or getting laid, or walking along the beach and enjoying the peace and quiet. Her thoughts were of getting a motel room, and writing a letter to Mulder while soaking in a bathtub full of hot water. She hoped they sold bath salts and bubble bath in Italy. And maybe she would lie in her hotel room, and wonder what he was doing. Mulder had written her a letter she got this past week. It was tucked neatly away in her duffel bag, along with the picture of him and her notebook, pen, and some off-duty clothes. She hugged the duffel bag to her chest, watching as more people came on deck to see them dock in Rome. Mulder had these same forty-eight hours off, she had learned from his letter. She suspected he was in France, and wondered if he was out partying with the guys, or if he had a long-legged French brunette on his arm, or other parts of his body . . . Hot white jealousy and rage spurt through her at that thought. Mulder with another woman. It made her want to spit and then find the little whore and rip all her long dark hair out. She had no idea why, of course. She had no stake of claim on Mulder. He was her partner, not her lover, or her boyfriend. He was simply her best friend, she kept telling herself fiercely. So what if they had kissed at the airport? They were saying good-bye, afraid they may never see each other again. God knew from what Mulder had told her about his experiences that death was not an uncommon thing on the battlefield. And she herself had witnessed death due to the war first hand. The USS Roswell had torpedoed two Japanese ships. Scully had treated the survivors, suffering from everything from severe burns to concussions from falling debris. They had been locked up, and although they had not protested her ministrations, she could tell they weren't too happy with the fact that she was taking care of them. They knew they were POWs, and that that would be used against their country. Some of them had died and witnessing all that death had only made her want Mulder here with her more than ever. She sighed. They were getting closer to the port, and she could see street lights and another ship, the USS Marina docked. She jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She glanced over and saw the smiling face of Chelsea Stuart, one of the technicians that tracked enemy ships below deck. She and Chelsea shared quarters, and the woman had become somewhat of a friend the past two months. Chelsea had long curly black hair that she usually kept pinned up in a bun. She had a darker, olive complexion, her brown eyes wide. Chelsea, or Chessie as she insisted all her friends call her while they weren't on duty, was the sort of woman who looked like she belonged anywhere but in the middle of a war. She was open and friendly, smiled often and liked to laugh. Chessie hated being called by her last name, and insisted upon not calling anyone by their last name unless she had to. Chessie was smart as well. She was sympathetic and understanding, and Scully often heard her referred to as the ship's psychologist. More than once, Scully had gone to Chessie and talked with her about missing Mulder, about wishing she could see him. Chessie gave so much of herself, that it was very easy to give back to her. Scully liked the idea that although the war was harsh and cruel, there were still caring people like Chessie out there, who was everybody's best friend. Chessie grinned. "Thinkin' of all those hot Italian guys out there?" she teased. "My parents came from Italy, did I ever tell you? I speak *perfect* Italian. Want me to set you up?" Dana shook her head. "That's okay, Chessie. I'm not much in the mood for partying around, even with all those hot Italian guys. I think I'm just going to get a hotel room and relax away from the ship," she offered. Chessie frowned. It looked wrong on her features. "It's a *Friday* night, Dana. I mean, look at it out there, it's Italy, it's beautiful. Don't tell me you're going to spend forty-eight hours away from this war sitting in a hotel room. Come on, we'll go get a drink, check out the locals, see if there's anything we like. There's no harm in looking, Dana. Maybe there's a nice looking guy from that other ship over there," she said, nodding towards the USS Marina. "You're getting to see the world. Granted, it's not a Funship cruise, but we've got forty-eight hours, we don't have to be back until nine p.m. Sunday night! You should have a *little* fun," she coaxed. She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her full lips at Scully. The redhead sighed. "I'm not interested in picking up a guy, Chessie." She sighed. "Dana, I know you're in love with that guy, Fox." "Mulder," Scully covered. "And I'm not in love with him. Mulder's a very good friend. He's been there for me a lot." Chessie rolled her eyes heavenward. "I know you're in love with him. I've seen the letters he writes you. He's head over heels for you, and you feel the same way. So you go out with me tonight. You pick up a guy that's a dead ringer for Mulder. It shouldn't be too hard, because he's tall and has black hair. You get a substitute, have an affair, go back to the ship, and forget about it. You can even confess it to him if you want. He's probably off searching the streets for a short redhead who'll have him for the night." Scully snorted. "So you confess that you were lonely and you did a one-time fling with some guy because you miss him desperately- he'll understand, trust me," Chessie pleaded. "Come on, I don't want you to be miserable and lonely this weekend." "I'll have a nice time relaxing by myself-" "God, Dana, you think too much. Haven't you ever done anything just totally impulsive? Don't think, act. It's good for you to do once in a while," Chessie preached. Scully sighed as the ship docked. She could hear excited shouts and talking from the extra deckhands who weren't busy securing the ship. Chessie rubbed her friend's shoulder. "So whaddaya say, you gonna come with me and check out the guys?" Scully closed her eyes, seeing Mulder's face before her. Mulder with that brunette. It was enough to make her sick. "I must be really easily intimidated. I'm an FBI agent, and you've talked me into this thing which I don't want to do-" Chessie squealed in delight. "That's GREAT! All right, let's go get some *real* food, get a drink, it's going to be a lot of fun, Dana, I promise, you'll thank me for this!" Scully sighed as people started getting off the boat. Chessie grabbed her arm and steered her into the frenzy of people clamoring to get to solid ground and freedom. She chattered anxiously about what they would do. Scully tried to be happy, but inside she prayed to God again for her special request, sans the brunette. Mulder was stashed away in the back of the bar, surrounded by two or three of his buddies. He had a duffel bag full of stuff sitting next to him, containing money and clothes. He wouldn't have to go back to camp until Sunday night, and he was glad of it in a way. Unlike his companions, whose attentions were on the group of women that had just entered the bar, their thoughts ultimately of maneuvering one of them into bed in a cheap motel room, Mulder had no such plans. His only plans were on having a beer or three, getting a hotel room, and catch up on his letter-writing. He hadn't had time to write back to Scully's latest letter, or the letter from Margaret, Scully's mother, or his own mother. To his utter astonishment, he'd gotten a letter from AD Skinner just two days ago, with another letter from Scully. It had been brief, asking him how he was doing, if he was obeying orders. But the thought that Skinner would write him just seemed absurd to Mulder somehow. It was as ridiculous as the notion that that black-lunged bastard back in Washington would stop by his apartment for a friendly chat. He snorted, and took a swig off the beer in front of him. He was seated with his superior, Lieutenant Gregory Psawtle, Henry Abberdine and Arnold Carnent, the youngest of his group. Carnent was sipping his soda, trying not to stare at the beautiful women that had just come in. They were from some ship that had just docked, the USS Marina, he thought, remembering passing the ship and feeling hope that it would say USS Roswell, and that Scully would be aboard. It was a silly notion. After all, what were the odds that he would end up in the same country with Scully, at the same time, and that they would both have the same time off? Nearly astronomical. He leaned back in his seat, letting his eyes roam towards the women who were dressed in long navy blue skirts. They had removed their jackets, and all of them had let their hair hang down. For a moment, it was like he was back in Washington, at any common bar where a group of business women had gotten off work on a Friday night and wanted to party. He sighed, sipping his beer again. "Hey, Mulder, look at that one over there," Abberdine said, nudging him in the ribs. Mulder shook his head. "I'm not in the mood, Abberdine." The older man looked shocked. "Come on, these are *women* Mulder. Italian women. Big breasts, long dark hair. These are *real* women, not silicone like you see back in the ‘States!" Mulder pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, Abberdine, not interested." "Mulder, have you lost your mind? We're on leave for two days. TWO DAYS. You're going to tell me you're going to spend two days of freedom sitting by yourself, thinking of that redhead you got waiting for you? You said it yourself- you two are only good friends." "So?" he asked miserably. "So?" Abberdine repeated. "So that means because Psawtle and I are too old and Carnent here's too young, you are just the right age, and you're not attached to anybody, or so you say. It's your job to flirt with the girls to get ‘em to come over here so we can have ‘em!" Mulder glanced at his superior. Psawtle was drinking a whiskey, his head down. Carnent was shaking like a leaf. Abberdine looked eager. He snorted. "Sorry, Henry, but I'm not in the mood for female companionship tonight. You're on your own." Abberdine snorted. "Do you think that hot little redhead is doing this? You said she was on leave too, didn't ya? Well? Do you think she's wherever she is, just sitting there thinking about you? I guarantee she isn't. I betcha ten bucks she's looking for a guy about six feet tall, lanky, with black hair, brown eyes and a nose that looks a little too big. Ten dollars she's looking for a substitute you to get laid with. Why shouldn't you? There's gotta be-" Abberdine paused, looking around at all the women and men that were panned out in the small bar. "There!" he said. He pointed over to where a red- haired woman was seated in a booth way in back with a woman with darker hair. Mulder couldn't see her face, but her hair was a deep shade of red, and she was dressed in a woman's sailing uniform, like many of the others. Mulder sighed deeply. He wished it was Scully. But Scully would never come to a place like this. Despite what Abberdine said, he knew Scully better than that. She wouldn't be going out looking for a replacement of him. If she did go out looking for a guy, it certainly wouldn't be replacing him. After all, they had only been friends, nothing more. Nothing in the letters to indicate they were anything more than the best of friends. Abberdine was wrong. "Come on, Mulder, I'm sure she's not gonna care if you call her Dana all night. She and her friend are ready to party, and so am I," Henry declared. He grabbed Mulder's arm with surprising strength and pulled him away from the table. "Come on, let's go introduce ourselves," he ordered. Mulder allowed himself to be dragged across the bar room by Abberdine halfway until he shrugged out of the man's grasp and simply followed him. Abberdine pushed Mulder towards the redhead seated across from the brunette. They were engaged adamantly in conversation, arguing over something. Mulder reluctantly thought of a line and came over to peer at the frock of red hair. "Hey," he said, "is this seat-" He dropped off, the color draining from his face as the woman looked up at him. "Scully," he breathed. Scully had been arguing about the futility of coming to a bar with Chessie when she had heard his voice. Her breath caught in her throat and she whipped her head around, finding herself face to face with Fox Mulder. "Mulder!" she exclaimed. A moment later she was out of the booth and had hurled herself into his arms, hugging him tightly and never wanting to let him go. She felt his shock and then his arms go around her, pulling her close to him. She buried her face in his chest, fearing she was going to cry. Mulder was here, he was here with her. It was like her wildest dream come true- it was her secret wish, the one she made every night before she went to bed. She wanted to touch him, all over, make sure he was real, and that this wasn't some figment of her imagination. What were the chances? God, they were practically nonexistent. But here he was. She pulled away to stare up at his face, and into his eyes. God, how she'd missed looking into his eyes. She looked up there and saw that reflected back. It was the same as it had been five months ago when they'd said good-bye. She just looked at him, and she knew. She reached up and touched his face, his arms still locked around her waist as he peered down at her. She smoothed her hand over all the planes and angles, running her hand through his hair. It was short, very short. They'd made him cut it so that it was practically nonexistent, but he still looked beautiful, she thought. He was dressed in a pair of khaki pants, black boots and a white shirt with his khaki shirt draped loosely on his shoulders. She could feel the newly exploited muscle in his arms and back, as her other hand continued caressing him wherever she could touch. She was quite aware that they were making a scene, but she frankly didn't care. This was Mulder, *her* Mulder, and he was here with her at last. **************************************** **************************************** *** "He has a way with women, doesn't he?" Abberdine leered over at Chessie. Chessie was beaming at the couple. "They know each other, don't you know?" Abberdine frowned. "You mean she's the little redhead he's hot for?" Chessie looked up at him. He was an older man, a touch of gray tinting his hair, but still very handsome in a big teddy-bear sort of way. She smiled. "Wanna sit down? It seems that Dana isn't going to be wanting her seat back soon," she said, glancing at the couple. She reached a hand over. "My name's Chelsea. Chelsea Stuart. But call me Chessie." "Okay, Chessie," he said, shaking her hand. "Name's Henry Abberdine, but you can call me a love machine." Chessie wrinkled her nose. "That's a bad line, Abberdine." He laughed. "I know." She laughed with him, getting the distinct feeling that this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. "How old are you, love machine?" "Thirty-eight," he replied. "Which means you're forty," she said with a smile. "I'm twenty-six. Want to be my mid-life crisis?" He chuckled. "Why not?" **************************************** **************************************** *** When Mulder and Scully finally did pull away, it was with a great reluctance. He took her hand, smiling down at her. "Abberdine, I'll see you later, okay?" he called to his friend, not bothering to look away from Scully. He didn't want to waste one minute not taking in the face he had longed to see every day for the past five months. "Yeah, Chessie, later," Scully echoed. They both glanced around, to find their friends flirting shamelessly with each other, and laughing, not interested in them in the least bit. Scully laughed. "Well, I think this is where we should leave, Mulder," she said. "All right, just let me get my duffel bag," he said. She grabbed hers and took his hand, never letting go as Mulder quickly introduced her to Psawtle and Carnent and then bid both of them adieu. They walked out of the bar and into the warm May night. The streets, filled to the max with locals, soldiers and sailors, were extremely crowded, so they ducked down a side road, where there were fewer people out and about. Mulder took her duffel bag from her and carried it with his own as the sauntered down the sidewalk in a tense silence. Finally, Mulder broke it. "God, Scully, I've missed you so much," he blurted. She looked up at him, tears shimmering in her blue eyes. "I've missed you, too, Mulder. It's been so long since I've seen you, it seems like a miracle." He chuckled. "Are you kidding me? It *is* a miracle. Do you know what the chances are?" She smiled. "This is so impossible." He squeezed her hand. "It isn't impossible," he whispered. "It's fate." "Fate? Since when did you start believing in fate?" she teased. He shot her a look. "Since when have you known me not to believe in anything?" She laughed. It broke the silence and their own barriers. Suddenly he was finally there with her and he had a million things to tell her, things he couldn't say in those all too infrequent letters, and vice versa. They chatted amiably, sometimes cutting each other off in their eagerness to share, and then apologizing and asking the other to continue. "So," he said in a low voice, when conversation finally had given away to a comfortable silence. "What were you going to do these two days if I hadn't shown up?" She paused, deciding to tease him. "What makes you think I'm not going to continue doing what I was going to do?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna ditch me?" She whirled around and poked a finger in his chest with each word. "Not on your life, buster." She halted a moment, looking up into his eyes. "Are you gonna-" His arms came around her as a response, pulling her close to his body. "Of course not," he whispered. "You can't get rid of me that easily." She sighed contentedly. "Good. ‘Cause I want you right here." He pulled back slightly. "But Scully, all these people are watching-" he began. She pushed out of his arms, laughing. "You know what I meant." He shrugged. "I just call ‘em as I see ‘em. Or hear them rather," he said. He took her arm. "Whaddaya say you tell me what you were going to do now that we've established said plans are canceled?" "Well, I was gonna get a hotel room-" "We can still do that," he interrupted. She raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Scully, I'm a man, I've got my needs!" he declared. She kept looking at him. "All right, sheesh, we'll get separate rooms," he said dejectedly. "And then I was going to take a long, hot bubble bath," she continued on. Mulder swallowed deeply. Scully in a bathtub. Naked. Hot water over her body, patches of creamy skin peeking out from under a mountain of bubbles. Her body concealed by a white foam that would reveal her to him if he simply let out a large breath of air. A long trail of clothes parading around the bathtub. First her blouse, then both high heels, and her skirt, running into two thigh-highs and a garter belt, then her bra and finally her panties, leading to where she had gotten into the tub. He would come in and she would arch an eyebrow, she would only give that concession when he pulled his clothes off, just as naked as she. And he would climb into that tub, feel her pressed against him, under him as he carefully leaned over and kissed her . . . "Mulder? Hello? Earth to Mulder, you're out of our galaxy!" He almost jumped when she waved her hand in front of him. Instead he just turned to look at her, blinking. He was suddenly very aware of his body as he felt himself press against his pants. He pulled the duffel bags in front of him, to hide his painful arousal. "What?" he asked, frowning. All he could see was her slightly open mouth, the way her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips and then retreated. He looked away. Deep breaths, calming breaths. Think of something unattractive. A mental picture of Frohike came to mind and he withered like a flower. "Mulder, where were you just then?" Scully asked. He turned to look over at her, now able to put the duffel bags at his side again. "I was just, uh, thinking, about, um, the beach," he said, relieved when he saw a sign. She frowned. "What about it?" "Well, I mean, it's late, and there'd be nobody there, and how about we go for a little midnight swim?" he asked. Knowing he was lying through his teeth, but deciding that he must have a good reason, she let the subject drop, and smiled. "Great, but, I don't have a swimsuit." He gave her a devilish grin. "Who says you need one?" "You're right. I have an extra outfit in here. I'll just go swimming in my clothes," she said, misunderstanding his statement on purpose. He took her hand and they continued on towards the nearby beach, when he noticed a jangling at her wrist. "Are you wearing a bracelet?" he asked immediately. She paused a moment. "It's the ID bracelet you gave me for my birthday. Or, rather, you bought for me. I kind of gave it to myself." He stopped mid-stride and turned to look at her in awe. "You kept it?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I haven't taken it off since I took it out of your storage shed," she admitted. Mulder was in shock. She had kept it. She had taken that dumb little ID bracelet and put it on her wrist and never taken it off. It touched him deeply that she thought so much as to do that. She put her head down. "It helps me feel closer to you," she conceded, feeling more than a little childish and waiting for a wry response from him. When he didn't oblige her with one, she looked up at his face. His eyes were watery. "That means a lot to me, Scully," he breathed. "More than you'll ever know." He brought her hand up and delicately kissed the skin just over the bracelet. She bit her lip, and then took both of his hands in hers. She pulled them up so she could see his wrists, and then let the left one drop to his side. He was wearing her watch. The one she had sent him. "Same for me," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I haven't taken it off since. It's a good thing it's waterproof." She laughed, leaning towards him, and looking up at him, fighting to keep tears back. She nestled her head against his chest, caressing his hand gently. "Little pieces of each other we carry around," she mumbled. "Well I think it'd be kind of hard to fight if I had to carry you around whole," he joked. He put his arms out and hugged her close to him for a long moment before they continued on. "So what were *you* going to do if I wasn't here?" she asked. Mulder sighed dramatically. "I would have bribed my superiors to tell me where you were and then I'd swim there." "And what would you do when you got there?" she asked. He grinned, and then quickly leaned over and pulled her into his arms, so her neck was supported by one arm and her legs by the other. "This, of course. And then, I'd carry you away with me to search for UFOs." "My best date yet," she said wryly. "Would I get take-out?" "Only the best for you, Scully." "Oh, be still my heart," she said, laying a hand to her chest. He continued sauntering towards the beach, about a hundred yards away. Scully could hear the water pounding against the sand, the sweet and familiar smell of the sea drifting towards her. She glanced around. Several people were staring as he carried her. "Mulder, put me down, people are starting to look at us funny," she admitted, motioning towards one couple who gave them a disapproving look. "Scully, you should know me better than that. I never care what people think of me," he declared. In response, he pulled her tighter against him. Scully watched the sounds of the city recede into nothingness as they neared the beach. The ocean water was dark, churning against the sand. He set her upright on her feet when they reached the sand, twisting her body so she slid against him as he brought her down. A wave of longing and lust swept over him the moment he looked in her eyes. God, they were so close. He could see every detail of her face, a face he hadn't seen in so long. If he just leaned forward, just a little bit, he would be kissing her. The mere thought sent his head reeling, a tingling feeling developing in his fingers and other extremities. He hadn't kissed her since that day in the airport. He wondered if she would still let him take such pleasures five months later. Scully's heart was pounding as she peered into his eyes. They were going dark, darker than she'd ever seen them, not unlike the last time they had been this close. Her breath caught as her mind filled with the thought that he was going to kiss her. It drowned out everything else, the roar of the ocean, the sounds of the city faraway. It was just her and him, and he was going to kiss her again. He was close to her. So close she could feel his breath upon her parted lips, see his eyes dimming. His voice rumbled in his throat, slightly hoarse. "Am I still going to get my welcome home kiss?" he teased. She swallowed deeply. Kissing Mulder. Now. Here. Away from Washington and all the other reminders of what he was to her, what he had to be. Just her partner. Just her friend. Crossing the boundaries, stepping over the rules didn't matter here. Mulder was safe, he was alive, and he was here with her. Every moment had to count, because soon she would be without those dark chocolate eyes and that soothing voice. She saw the feelings reciprocated in Mulder's eyes. If his tongue never spoke them, she knew and he knew she knew. "We're not home yet, Mulder," she said softly. But she reached a hand up to touch the side of his face anyway. So close . . . He pulled her closer to him, and fire shot through her body like an arrow. "Where is home, Scully?" he asked. His voice was dark, and her breaths grew quicker. "Home is back in the United States, back in Washington." He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain, and then opened them. When he did she saw a conflict of emotions in his eyes. A battle of wills churning in those tortured, hazel depths. Finally, after much contemplation, she suspected, he spoke. "Not for me. That apartment in Washington wouldn't be home. It would just be an apartment in Washington-" "If what?" she pressed. His voice dropped so low it was barely audible. "If you're not there. Anywhere I'm with you is home enough for me." He tenderly wiped away a slosh of red hair lying loosely against her forehead. Her eyes studied his face for a long time, just standing there with him under the moonlight. Recognizing the pain on his face, the struggle it had cost him to say that to her. And she saw *it* there. That unspoken word that had been missing from their all-too-infrequent letters. It shone from his eyes with a clarity that surprised her. Carefully, she stood on tiptoe, her hands drawing his face down, and kissed him softly. It was a tiny touch, a press of her lips against his. But it spoke volumes for each of them. She broke away, studying his face for a reaction, and saw him watching her for the same thing. She smiled, a slow, secretive smile, coy and excited, as if she was doing something she wasn't supposed to. Mulder grinned. "Oh come on, that wasn't a *real* kiss," he dared. "You didn't kiss me like that at the airport." She winked at him and her smile grew larger, less bashful and more playful. "Well as I remember you did a little bit on your part for that kiss in the airport, too." With that off-the-wall statement, she quickly ran her hand down his chest, before turning and taking off at a breakneck pace for the ocean. Giddy, she turned, and watched him chase after her. She glanced around at the deserted beach and then back at Mulder. "What the hell, he's seen me in my underwear before," she muttered. She continued running down the beach only this time she began unbuttoning her blouse. She finally got it undone, and threw it to him, losing her shoes as she ran. She reached the ocean, and turned back. Mulder was gathering her clothes and coming towards her. She pulled her pantyhose and skirt off quickly, and then ran into the water, ducking under just as he approached her. She turned back once she was farther out. "Hi Mulder!" she yelled. "Scully, what are you doing?" he called. "Come out here and I'll show ya!" she replied, feeling giddy again. He pulled off his clothes, and dove into the water, swimming out to her. The moon had risen, shining down upon them. He surfaced about five feet from her, wet hair clinging tightly to his scalp, a smile lighting up his face. She swam over to him, jumping the waves to keep her head above the water. He grabbed her and kissed her as a wave crashed over them, sending them toppling over one another and coughing. Scully started laughing, which made the coughing worse. They headed back to the shore, and he slapped her on the back several times as she laughed. "Why does that always work in the movies?" she asked. He chuckled and spit up some more water. "Because there's no such thing as the tide in the movies," he answered. Standing under the starlight, he let his eyes gaze appreciatively over her barely clothed body. She may as well have been naked for all the protection her white bra and panties did for her. He could see the dusky outline of her nipples pushing at the thin material of her bra, and the shadowy triangle at the apex of her thighs. His eyes traveled down her curvy form, admiring the way her waist dipped before flaring into her hips, the perfect shape of her slim, short legs, and the way she offered herself up to his eyes. Scully forced herself to stay still and not cover herself through his examination. In an effort to divert her mind, she gazed at him, feeling wicked. As if she was doing something she wasn't supposed to (although she was sure if a cop happened by they would be definitely arrested for indecent exposure). It didn't feel wrong to be here, with him, but it made her want to say instinctively that they shouldn't be doing this, no matter how right it felt. But at that moment, she couldn't think of a single reason why they shouldn't. It made little sense to her, and she was sure it would make even littler sense to Mulder. Her eyes took in the tightness of his chest and arms. Being in the army had bettered his physical condition, if nothing else, she thought. She had never seen him in such good shape, and she had seen him barely clothed many times. She let her gaze travel downward, holding her breath at the way the boxers completely molded his figure. The Shakespearean phrase "a man of wax" suddenly came to mind. Her mouth opened slightly, and she forced down a mewling sound. She looked farther down, his legs strong. Her body suddenly yearned to feel them against her, covered in sticky sweat, and her face flushed with the thought. "What?" Mulder asked suddenly. Her gaze met his hesitantly, her blue eyes swimming in his. "Um, nothing," she said to his grin. "What?" she demanded when he began to laugh. He clutched his sides, tears spurting out of the sides of his eyes. He fell to the ground. "I never thought I would ever see you blush, Scully. You're as red as a strawberry! My eyes are up here!" he said, rolling on the sand. It clung to his wet body as he continued laughing. Scully crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, tapping her foot. He stood up reluctantly, soft chuckles still escaping his throat. He rolled his shoulders in a pitiful attempt to relieve himself of the sand on his back and other more uncomfortable places. She was still looking at him. "Ah, hell, Scully," he said, reaching over to her. He put an arm around her waist, and pulled her close to him, his mouth grinding against hers. Angry, but not willing to deny the pleasant sensations he was stirring in her body, she leaned against him. His tongue prodded at her lips, and she opened them willingly, her thighs spreading at the same time. His hand traveled possessively down her to the small of her back, pushing her against him there. She gasped into the kiss as she felt his arousal nudging her stomach. His tongue was hot and wet as it danced with hers in a timeless ritual of passion. She took dips of his mouth, and she heard him groan low in his throat as she felt his hips shift restlessly against hers. Fire pooled in her core, making her writhe. When he finally did pull away, his eyes were black as coal, dark as desire. "I want you," he murmured against her lips. As if to emphasize the fact, he pulled her tighter against him, rubbing himself against her. "Now. Tonight. I want you," he repeated. She swallowed convulsively. "Mulder . . ." "Dana," he begged. "Let's go get a hotel room," she said finally, choosing her words very carefully. "One with two beds." His nodded. "Okay." Her heart was breaking. She wanted to tell him something. She wished he could know what she felt, but it couldn't be with looks or actions, this emotion. I need the words Mulder, she thought. I want you to, I want to share this with you, but I need those damn words. "Come on, Mulder, let's go," she said. He pulled on his clothes, and watched her pull her skirt and blouse on. Her body seemed to glow in the moonlight, making her appear as an ethereal being, some goddess who had come down from the heavens and blessed him with her presence. "Dana," he said softly. She looked up from where she was concentrating more than she needed to on the buttons of her blouse. His gut ached, making him physically sick. He wanted to tell her so bad. He wanted to tell her the clichéd three little words that were repeated without care by so many people. A word seldom remembered, but often heard, he thought, remembering a line in some song he had heard. He knew how much that word meant to her, how much it meant to him. If he said those words now there would be no going back for either of them. He would never be able to part from her again if he told her how he felt. It would have to be him and her together forever. He would certainly not be able to go back to the war, let her go back to her ship. If he told her what he was almost certain he felt right now, he would be killing himself. He would have to let her go, and his heart would break and life would be empty without her. Life had already seemed empty these past five months. She looked up at him, her eyes studying him curiously. He reached out and buttoned up her blouse for her. "If I- if we-" he paused, not being able to say the right words to let her know. So he looked in her eyes. And he saw it reciprocated there. Everything he felt shone clear and bright in her eyes. "I'll never be able to let you go," he whispered. Tears shone in her eyes. "I know. And I feel the same way. It would end up hurting more than it helps," she said quietly. He put an arm around her, picking up their duffel bags. She put her arm around his waist, and they began to walk quietly away from the beach. "You know how I feel," she said. It wasn't a question. "It's already going to be hard to leave. If we- it will be impossible." "So you're saying we should forget about it," he accused. She tilted her head, resting it on his shoulder with a sigh. "That's not what I'm saying. It would never work, even if we wanted to forget about it. I'm just saying that we . . . should wait. Just not say it, just not yet. We know what we mean, but we can't say anything or do anything, not yet." "When, then?" he asked. "God, Scully, we've waited so long, it took us such a long time to finally wake up and realize, and I couldn't tell you in a letter. It wouldn't be fair to you. I swore it would be the first thing I would say to you when I got back to you. I know how I feel, Scully. And I don't want to go on pretending. I did that for seven damn years, I don't think I can do it for another seven until this war's over." She stopped, turning him to face her. She leaned up and kissed him hard. "Don't say that, Mulder. Don't say that," she begged, putting her face in his chest and hugging him tightly. He hugged her back. "It'll end, and we'll have all the time in the world, I promise." "How do you know?" he asked. She pulled away. "Mulder, for the past five months, I've started going back to Church," she confessed. "I can't on the boat, but there's a prayer group composed of about thirty of us. And I pray every night." He gazed down at her and then put his hands in the area of her neck, searching until he found the tiny gold cross on its tiny chain. "I always knew you had a believer in you." "You're going to believe when you hear what else I've got tell you," she continued. She took his arm, and they continued, walking along the darkened streets which were filled with less people. "I asked God for one special thing every night," she said. Her voice was getting choked up. It was hard to hold back the tears. Her heart ached. "Every night," she continued, as he gripped her hand tightly in his, "I prayed that He would let me see you. I prayed every night for it, and now I'm here with you. And we're together." His own eyes filled with tears. He knew how hard it must have been for her to turn back to her religion. She had given it up at a great price, for science, and he knew that in some part of her soul she had always regretted the choice. That was why she kept that cross around her neck. She had confessed it to him one night, late and long ago. She was crying openly now, the tears flowing down the sides of her face. He brushed them away gently. "I care about you so much, Mulder. And I asked every night, I begged God to let me see you. "And I don't believe that He would keep us apart for much longer. It's going to end, the war is going to end soon. I can feel it. So you have to trust me on this. If we act on this, if we say anything, we're going to have to leave in a day, and I won't be able to leave you, and you won't be able to leave me. So we can't, not yet," she explained. Mulder listened. "I'll make a deal with you," she offered. He turned to her as they neared the main street. "What?" "July fourth," she said simply. "The war is going to end on July fourth, 2000." He tilted his head at her. "Where did you get this fountain of knowledge?" he asked. Scully shook her head. "I'm serious. July fourth." "How do you know?" he questioned. She smiled. "Mulder, haven't you ever had a premonition? Call it . . . a hunch. An extreme hunch." "Extreme being the operative word," he commented. "But then again," he said, leaning down and kissing her forehead, "I've always been one to believe in extreme possibilities. Did I tell you what happened to me a few weeks ago?" he asked. She shook her head no as they stopped in front of a hotel. "Well, we were bringing in a group of Chinese POWs . . ." Scully awoke the next morning her head pillowed on Mulder's shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. She sat up. She was dressed in his khaki shirt, which hung down to her knees. She hadn't thought to bring any pajamas, so he had "loaned" her his shirt. Mulder was sleeping only in his boxers. She watched him while he slept. They had chattered on most of the night, even while he took a shower and she stood outside, wishing she was in there with him. All the things they couldn't say in their letters seemed to pour out, including their agreement not to say the words until the war was over. Until they were home and assured that they could never be separated from each other again. She had slept with him, but they hadn't done anything in another silent pact. Not until they were safe. But she had needed to be held as much as he did, and the rooms were rather expensive for the mediocre pay they received. So what if it was a single? It didn't seem to matter to her. She knew in her heart what she felt, and that lying here with him was right. She had never entertained this type of fantasy. She had thought about what it would be like to make love with Mulder, but for some reason, she had never thought of the morning after. Or later mornings. She hadn't thought of going to sleep by him some nights without making love, only having him hold her in his arms, like they were an older married couple who didn't feel the need to exercise their love every night, to prove to each other how much they cared. She would have liked to have been able to make love with him last night. But since she hadn't, and she knew they couldn't, she pretended. She toyed with his short hair, watching him sleep and pretended just for a moment that they were back in Washington. And that it was July fourth, 2000. The war was over. They had been able to say how they felt. She thought of the bracelet on her wrist as her wedding band, and the watch she'd noted with delight that he was wearing as his. Married to Mulder. The thought struck her as ridiculous at first. Mulder was too much the bachelor to settle down. He didn't eat healthy, watched cheesy porn flicks, didn't clean up his apartment. But then again, she reflected, wasn't that true of almost all bachelors? The single, never- married men she'd met had been untidy, with little or no food in the house and a yearly subscription to Playboy. Maybe Mulder wasn't that different at all. In retrospect, if you discredited his sister's abduction, and all the conspiracy and pain surrounding the X-Files, which now seemed irrelevant in light of the war, we're normal, she thought. She chuckled. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Couple un-extroardinare. The shaking motion of her body stirred her bedfellow. He opened his eyes and yawned, staring up sleepily at her. "What's the matter?" She smiled, putting a finger to his lips. "Nothing, dear," she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. And old married couple. She could see Mulder hobbling around on a cane telling their grandchildren about all the weird cases they'd investigated. He sighed, and closed his eyes again. "Okay, ‘night Dana." Her smile grew broader. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Fox?" "Don't call me," he muttered. "No, it's important. Listen, will you marry me?" He sprang upright, staring wide-eyed at her. His eyes looked so huge she resisted the urge to reach forward, preparing to catch them when they fell out of his head. "Marry you?" he asked. "Well, I didn't know the idea repulsed you so much," she teased. "Hell no!" he shouted. He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her, locking her body with his and pinning her down against the bed. "Scully, I-" Her face went dark, and he bowed his head. "I caught myself," he said. "But . . . I don't understand." "When this war is over, will you marry me?" she asked again. "You want to marry me," he said, repeating the fact to himself. A mantra sounded in his head. Marryhermarryhermarryhermarryhermarryher. "Since when?" She pushed him up and rolled over so his body was pinned under hers. "I was just lying here, and I was thinking, well, about us," she said softly, toying with his chest hair. She drew tiny circles around the dark patch, avoiding his face. "I was thinking about you and me, and I started thinking about what would happen if we had kids. I was just thinking about you telling our grand children stories about our cases, and the war. I could just see it so clearly in my head." She chanced a look up at his face. Bewilderment ran rampant through his features. "Our children," he said, running the words over his tongue like an unfamiliar taste. "You Scully women plan long-term, doncha?" "What are you, scared?" she asked. He frowned. "Of course not. You know that I . . . feel that way about you," he said, choosing his words with great care. "But this war is playing with our minds. I don't think we could ever have admitted not to admit how we feel if it hadn't pushed it to us." "You think I'm rushing it," she stated bluntly. "No. I think that you might not mean it the way you think you do," he said gently. She sighed, putting her head down until her forehead touched his. "I want to marry you," she declared. She stared deeply into his eyes, losing herself there, not sure where Mulder stopped and Scully began. He was part of her and she was part of him. Mulder knew it as he kept staring into those azure depths. She meant what she said. He felt as if his soul was merging with hers, if such a thing were possible. She *was* him. She was the other half of his soul, and they kept converging into one as he stared into her eyes. He looked there and knew. She was his, and he was hers and they were stuck with each other whether they liked it or not. He kissed her hungrily, as if he were trying to devour her, and she responded with the same passion. When the kiss ended, he looked up at her. "Of course I'll marry you, Dana. Of course. Just promise me one more thing," he said. She looked up at him, filled with the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. "What?" "We don't name any of our kids after me." Mulder and Scully spent the rest of the day talking. They toured Rome, looking at all the ancient ruins. Many had been destroyed when the Chinese invaded. Spray paint marked several, making ruins of the ruins, Mulder joked. It made Scully angry to see all this hard work, to preserve the past, to show people bits and pieces of history, gone to waste because of a greedy dictator. She was still talking about it when they got back to their hotel that night. Dusk was just settling on the city. She stood at the window, the golden rays bathing her in their light and making her hair look like gold on fire. Mulder took in her beauty with much more appreciation than what he had shown the ruins. "All that work, just gone to waste in three weeks while the Chinese took control. It's so unfair!" she complained. She tugged on her black tank top that hung loosely from out of her black spandex shorts. Mulder got up off the bed from where he was laying and sauntered over to her, flipping on the radio by the bed as he did so. He came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders softly. "Don't get yourself all worked up. Moai will be put in his place. Just like that Chimney son of a bitch back in Washington will," he said, his voice steady. "And they aren't wasted. They just carry another mark of history," he assured her. His hand moved in rhythm with the music, and slowly, he began to gyrate his hips against hers. She started to move against him and then turned around so they could dance. She put her arms around his waist and he did likewise, turning their bodies and pressing against her. An announcer came on, blabbering on in Italian. Mulder caught words that sounded like "soldier" and "America" but he couldn't be sure. He was so intent on Scully, on moving their entwined bodies to the music, the smell and feel of her in his arms that he hardly noticed when a slower song came on and the singer began her song in English. "Hold me close, baby please, tell me anything, but that you're gonna leave." Mulder pulled her even closer. He never wanted to let her go. Ever. He wished she could stay with him forever. She had done so much for him. She had been there for him for the past seven years of his life. He depended on her, he needed her in his life. How could he have even thought of not marrying her? Marrying her would just formalize everything. It would do nothing more than just show everyone that he had every intention of spending his life with Dana Scully. He realized that he had always thought of his future as his future *with Scully*. And now he had a guarantee. "As I kiss this fallen tear, I promise you I will be here." Mulder tilted her head up so he could gaze at her eyes. He felt like he was drowning in those clear crystal blue pools of emotion. One hand still keeping her pressed firmly against him, the other smoothed over her face, stroking the sides, her chin, her forehead. Her eyes kept affixed to his face as he continued his hand's journey to her earlobe, running over the rim. He wanted to make love to her. More than anything, he wanted to express himself some way, by some means. He knew it shouldn't be. Mulder had always been very good at squashing down his emotions and not letting anyone in or admitting them to himself. But this was different. "Until the stars fall from the sky, until I find a reason why." It was different because he knew what he felt for Scully. He knew the word she wouldn' t let him say, knew it as sure as his own name. Most of the time when he kept his emotions inside it was because he didn't have the word for what he felt. Words couldn't express what he felt. "And darlin' as the years go by, until there's no tears left cry, until the angels close my eyes." Words had always seemed inadequate for him. Physical communication, body language had been more his style. "And even if we're worlds apart . . . I'll find my way, back to you, by heart." He needed words now. He couldn't write body language in a letter. He needed the words, he wanted the words. He wanted to give her the words. He wanted to whisper them softly against her skin as he drove her towards a sweet pleasure. He had almost slipped and spilled them at least ten times today. He wanted to tell her. His body and heart ached, calling out for him to do something, say something. He was going to lose her tomorrow, she would have to go back to her ship and he probably wouldn't see her again for months, maybe even years. Who knew if they would be sent back to the US at the same time? What if she got hurt, what if she- "When you go, I'll stop the clock. I won't ever let this moment stop." No. He forced the dismal thought from his mind. No, that would never happen. He wouldn't let it happen. Scully was going to make it through the war same as he would. It was going to end soon. Very soon and it would be all over and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. He could go back to Washington, marry Dana, and everything would be just fine. "Time is stealing you from me, but it can never take this memory." He could tell her those three words he longed to say, to hear her say back to him. Yes, it would happen. He was sure of it now. "Until the stars fall from the sky, until I find a reason why, and darlin' as the years go by," the singer continued, her clear voice cutting through. Scully hadn't thought at all during their dance. She had just held onto Mulder for dear life, afraid he would disappear if she let him go. She wished she had realized how she felt for him back in Washington. It would have been so much easier. She was a doctor, she could have fixed the records to keep them from going to war. Now she didn't have the chance to tell him how she felt. She couldn't risk hurting him like that, hurting herself, when it came time for her to leave, to go back to her ship. She clung tighter to him, not willing to be any farther from him than she had to be. "Until there's no tears left to cry, until the angels close my eyes, and even if we're worlds apart. I'll find my way back to you, by heart." Scully paused, listening to the words of the song. Then she pulled away and looked into Mulder's eyes which were wet with silent tears. She led him to the bed and they lay down together. Softly, she began to press kisses all over his face, stroking his arm. Finally she gave into the tears herself, and he put his face in her neck as she lay her head upon his. "Until the stars fall from the sky, until I find a reason why, and darlin' as the years go by, until there' no tears left to cry, until the angels close my eyes." "I can't lose you again, Dana," he whispered. "Not after I've just really found you." Her lip quivered as the tears rolled down. "You won't, I promise. And I'm not going to lose you, understand? Trust me on this, Mulder." "I've never doubted you," he whispered. "I'll never doubt you. You're all I believe in anymore, Scully. You're everything to me." She swallowed. "We're gonna be okay, Mulder, I promise. Somehow, we'll be all right." "And even if we're worlds apart. I'll find my way back to you, by heart." Scully awoke in the darkness to the sound of pounding on her door. She glanced at Mulder, who was sleeping with his head on her shoulder, his arms securely around her hips. She stroked his head and then slipped away from him, going to the door and opening it. Chessie stood there, her eyes wide. "Come on, Dana, we have to go." "Chessie, what happened?" she asked. Shouting was coming from the streets. In the distance, Scully could hear bombs. Chessie ran a hand through her hair nervously. "It's the Japanese. They got control back from Israeli forces sometime during last night, and they're heading back here again. We've got to go. Captain Rodriguez wants us back to the ship in twenty minutes. I've got to go find the rest of the crew. I was looking in all the hotels when I saw Mulder's name on the guestbook. I figured you two would probably be together," she said in a rush. Scully stared at her friend, letting all the information seep in. "All right. I'll be there," she said. She turned and shut the door. Mulder had woken up and switched the light on. "I heard," he said before she could open her mouth. Her lip quivered. "I have to go, Mulder," she apologized. He nodded. "I know. I should probably report back, too. They'll want us as backup in case the Japanese break through your blockade." He stood, running a shaky hand through his hair. A moment later Scully hurled herself at him, clinging to him desperately, wishing she could absorb him into her and carry him with her. Hot tears sprang up into her eyes. "I don't want to leave you," she burst out, sobbing. "It's not fair I have to leave, it's not fair. I just found you again. It isn't fair!" He pulled her close, feeling tears running down his own cheeks. "I know, Dana, I know," he soothed. He leaned back slightly so he could look into her eyes. "But everything is going to be all right. Remember? We've got to trust in each other, and we'll get through this," he promised. He leaned down and kissed her passionately, their salty tears conjoining at their mouths. When he finally pulled away it was with a great reluctance. The words coursed through him. Dammit, why couldn't he say them? He couldn't stand this holding back. She looked up at him. "Write me something," she said desperately. He stared curiously at her. "What?" She rummaged through the drawer of the hotel nightstand and quickly found paper and pen waiting there. "Write me something. A quick letter, anything, while I pack. Please." He nodded. "Okay, Dana. I will." She kissed him again and began to pack up her duffel bag. He folded the letter while she waited, and handed it to her as he walked her to the door of the hotel room. She opened the door, and then turned, looking up at him. "This is it," she said, her heart heavy. Mulder shook his head violently. "This is nothing, Dana. This is only the beginning. Trust *me*. This is all far from over." "Isn't that what Roman Strauss said to Gray Baker in Dead Again?" He leaned over and kissed her. "Maybe we were in World War Two as well," he whispered. "You know how I feel." She hugged him tightly, and then kissed the side of his cheek. "I always have," she said. She briefly touched the skin around the watch she had given him, and he did the same with her ID bracelet. She gazed into his eyes once more, memorizing his face, and with a tiny kiss on the lips, she turned and left, his letter clutched in her hand. In her private quarters aboard the USS Roswell, Dana Scully lay down. She was tired, but unwilling to sleep. A blockade had been established, and although the Roswell was on active duty, she wasn't immediately needed. So she sat in her quarters and carefully took out the letter Mulder had given her before she left their hotel room. Her eyes darted over it, leaving her with a big smile on her face. Dear Dana, Nothing will tear us apart, you must know that. We've survived aliens, men in black, genetic mutants, deadly serial killers, fetishists, months of separation when the X-Files were shut down and we've faced the wrath of Skinner, and death. As I've said before, what makes you think an itty bitty thing like a war can do any more damage? You're in my heart, Dana. You've always known that, I hope. You've made yourself a nice little place in there over the past seven years. I care about you more than I've ever cared for anyone in my entire life. You have to know that. When we have kids, let's name them Romulus and Remus. You know who those guys are, don't you? And besides, there's no way I'm cursing my kids with this name. Oh, and by the way- do you think I looked pretty when I was a woman in my past life? Lo Much care, Mulder (or Muldera) Dana smiled as she folded the letter back up. She took out a piece of paper and a pen, starting her own letter. Dear Mom, I got engaged to a man in Rome, and you're never going to guess who it was . . . end part 2 Love, The Missing Word I-V by Sarah Kiley PART III October 5, 1999 The Office of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner of the Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington, D.C. United States Skinner ran a hand over his head. It had become a nonthinking gesture of his years, one of frustration, running his hand through his hair. Sharon used to tease him that someday if he did it too hard his hair would come out. But that had been before the divorce, when they were together, and happy. He still wore his wedding ring, because somewhere deep down he still loved Sharon, and he knew that she had loved him. For Christ sake, he was almost fifty years old. He wasn't going to go around dating some girl. He wouldn't know where to begin. And no one would ever match what he had with Sharon. No one could even come that close to him. And although he knew it meant living a lonely and solitary life, he was prepared to fulfill that duty. He sighed, looking around his office. It was decorated in muted tan colors, with dark furniture. The beige walls held pictures not of those Skinner idolized, but those whose pictures were expected to be there. There were no personal effects in his office, not a paperweight with any meaning. The office was exactly as the last assistant director had kept it- with one exception. There were no ash trays in Skinner's office. Much to the dismay of the tall man who stood in front of his desk, puffing away on a cigarette. The man's face was old and wrinkled, the years had told time, marking his face with long rivulets and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hair, which had been dark and neatly groomed when Skinner had first met him, now was gray and white, leaving no traces of the darker black. His blue eyes were cold and emotionless, just like his stance, one of ease. Skinner wished he could pound the smug, self-satisfying look right off the man's face. But such actions would have repercussions. Although at this point he could care less about his life, the lives of Mulder and Scully needed to be taken care of. He had come to think of them as his children in a way. Errant, angst-filled ambition- driven nothing-can-touch-us teenagers that were always asking him to borrow the car and give them money so they could go get into trouble. Only if he were their father, he reflected, he probably would have disowned them a long time ago. He looked back at the man in front of him. "Well, Mr. Skinner?" he asked as he pulled a long white cigarette from a pack. "You wanted to meet me." He took a deep breath, putting on a tone that said he knew exactly who was in charge and it sure as hell wasn't the man lighting up his second cigarette since entering his office and spilling ashes on the beige carpet. "I want to know what you're doing with the Mulder situation," he said stiffly. The man with the cigarette snorted. "The 'Mulder Situation'. How nicely dubbed, Mr. Skinner. Maybe you should write for the newspapers." "I want to know why Mulder is doing random profiling and field work. You're wasting his talents." "And you're wasting my time," the man replied. "I've protected him, I've kept him in line, Mr. Skinner, and for that you should be grateful, because I've also protected you." "Protecting him?" Skinner began, shaking his head. The man continued, undisturbed by the interruption. "I've kept Mulder safe in this. I've gotten him out of the country and into routine field work, things that will keep him safe from the Chinese and from himself." "You're killing him, and you know it," Skinner replied. "Killing him? Let me tell you something, Mr. Skinner, I've taken care of Agent Mulder. I've kept him safe and for God only knows what reason, I've kept you safe. With all efforts being directed at the war, Mulder would have more opportunities to discover the truth. He becomes more and more of a threat to my colleagues. I don't wish to see Mulder dead. It could cause a . . . disturbance. "And so I've kept him out of the war, I've kept him and Agent Scully safe." The man dropped his cigarette to the floor and squashed it with the toe of his shiny black shoes, grounding the ashes into the soft carpeting. He turned to leave. Skinner gritted his teeth but said nothing until the man was safely outside. Then he picked up the phone. "Yes, Evelyn, I need to speak with the Defense department," he ordered his secretary. A moment later, the line clicked and cut across, being transferred, until someone picked up. "Harold Johnson's office." "Hello. This is A.D. Skinner of the FBI. I need to speak with Secretary Johnson, please." "Hello Mr. Skinner. One moment, please." More clicks. "Johnson." "Harry? This is Walter," Skinner began. The person on the other end of the line sounded more jovial when he answered, "Son of a bitch, Wally. What's up?' "Nothing much here. I need to ask you a favor, Harry." "Anything, Walt. So whaddaya need?" Skinner smiled. Sometimes it was good to have acquaintances in lofty positions. He thought back to the ground cigarette ashes on his carpet. Sometimes it wasn't. "Well, Harry, I've got a situation on my hands. One of my agents has been drafted-" "Don't tell me you want him to be overlooked! You were all gung-ho for the draft-" "And I still am. I wouldn't suggest such a thing. It's un-American," he stated quietly. Johnson laughed. "Christ, we've gotten to be greedy bastards up here, haven't we? I thought for a minute you'd gone to the buzzards like all the rest of 'em. I shoulda known better. You'd never throw into that kind of snobby shit.' "Damn straight, Harry. But I still need a favor. But it'll help you boys out, too." "Don't keep me in suspense, Walt. Spill it." "There is an agent named Fox Mulder whose talents I feel are being wasted on regular field work." "You called me about this? Christ the kid must be superhuman, Walt. Tell me more." ***************** October 9, 1999 USS Roswell The North-South Japan border Near Miyake-Jima, off the coast of Honshu 5:21 PM Softly, Mulder began to unbutton her shirt. Scully sighed as his lips met hers again, teasing, tasting, exploring. She molded her body to his gently, her hips moving suggestively against him. She could feel him straining through his trousers, nudging her stomach. A hot flash rippled through her core, as she suddenly found herself wanting him more than she could ever have imagined. He deftly relieved her of her shirt. The air felt cool against her heated skin. She ran her hand down his chest, molding her fingers around his muscles before reaching his pants. She undid them quickly, as he unclasped her bra. It fell away to the floor, joining the rest of their clothes. He pushed her forward, until the back of her thighs met the bed and she toppled onto it. He left her there for a moment, and she watched him rid himself of his remaining garments before draping his body upon hers. She threw her head back and moaned loudly as he began to kiss her again, his lips leaving a fiery path down her throat, over her collar bones, and into the soft hollow at her neck. He trailed his tongue down, burying his face between her breasts. She reached out to him, her arms reaching down to mid-back, caressing him wherever she could. Her back arched as he slipped her panties and thigh highs off, her skirt having been lost some time ago. She pulled his head up, her lips open as she saw the dark look of desire in his eyes. "You don't know how long I've waited, dreamed of this moment," he confessed. He moved so he was face to face with her, staring deeply down into her eyes. In that shattering moment, she knew she could never ever feel this way about anyone else in her entire life. It would always be him and him alone. The way it should be. She put her hands through his hair, as he began to kiss his way back up to her mouth. He was hard against her thigh and she gasped as he settled between her legs, the position so natural it seemed as if their bodies had been fitted to accommodate one another. "Oh Mulder, I've thought about this ever since Italy. I dream about you every night, you're my one and only lov-" " . . . wake up, Dana! You're never going to guess who I'm marrying!" Former Special Agent Dana Scully opened one eye slowly and then the other. She turned her face towards whomever was speaking, saw Chelsea Stuart's smiling face, moaned and put her face back in the pillow. Please go away, Chessie, she thought. I was having such a nice dream . . . "Day-na!" Chessie remarked, frustrated. "Wake up! Come on, all you ever do on your off hours is eat, sleep and write to Fox." "Mulder," Scully mumbled into her pillow, realizing that it was no use and she was up and she was going to stay up, but trying to prolong her dream. After all, one of her main goals once the war was over was to very calmly take her best friend of seven years, and her fiancé of five months Fox Mulder to her apartment, to some cheap motel, hell even they're office in the basement would work, and make mad, passionate, spellbinding, soul- consuming, earth-shattering love with him. And while still in the bliss of afterglow, she would drag him to the nearest Church, marry him, and then immediately start working on their future two point five kids and getting a house in the suburbs. Okay, she thought, so maybe that was taking fantasy a bit too far. But it was her dream, wasn't it? She could do anything she wanted. And she had been on phase one of that spectacular dream when Chessie had interrupted her. Regretfully, Dana turned over on her side, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Chessie smirked and folded her arms across her chest. "Glad you could join the land of the living, Miss Scully, where you are not having sex, unfortunately," she added. Scully frowned, running a hand through her red hair. "How did you know what I was dreaming?" She pursed her lips, and then let out a loud moan. "Oh, yes!" She closed her eyes and arched her back for emphasis, the transition from impatient to the throes of passion quick and fiery. She looked almost like a different person before morphing back to her impatience and tapping her foot. "Close enough?" Scully wondered if Chessie wasn't one of those shape-shifters like she and Mulder had encountered. The "alien bounty hunter" that had been sent to kill "Samantha". By the end of that fiasco, she had been so relieved that Mulder was safe and alive she hadn't cared to process what she had seen. It was simply enough to know that he was going to be all right. "Well?" Chessie asked, startling her out of her reverie. Scully shrugged carelessly. "There shouldn't have been anyone to hear it. These are *private* quarters if I'm not mistaken." She swung her legs around, and stumbled out of bed, heading for the bathroom. She rubbed her eyes again, staring in the mirror. She should have looked like the tired, worn-out doctor she was, but instead her face glowed with life. Her face seemed to glow all the time now. She wondered if maybe she was sick, too much fresh sea air or something. She would have admitted herself to a hospital or tried to figure out what was wrong with her if she hadn't seen the emotional symptoms, too. The smiling, the rise in her soul, the hope gleaming through her. It was enough to almost make her want to be sick. All her life, Dana Scully could never remember a time when she had been deliriously happy. She had been glad, she had been extremely glad, happy, joyous. But this, this was something new. It was like she was riding on a cloud day and night, every second of every minute of every hour. Her sadness came less, bordering on her never being sad at all. She was floating all the time, loving life despite its situations. She couldn't even begin to understand how this deliriously happy state had washed over her. But it had been with her ever since Italy, ever since she had come back to the ship, and had the chance to open the letter Mulder had given her, and read what was in between the lines. She often caught herself daydreaming, just sitting around for hours and thinking about nothing and everything. She had never daydreamed- not even as a child! She was on the verge of becoming like her friend Chessie, a bubbly person who spewed kindness and life and fun fun fun! like a fountain of youth. And she didn't mind at all. Why shouldn't she be deliriously happy? After all, she was engaged to Fox Mulder. She was going to *marry* him, be Dana Scully-Mulder, or Dana Mulder. She still hadn't decided if she would keep her last name or not. It didn't matter. She was young, alive, in lov- " . . . you haven't been listening to a word I've said!" Chessie pouted, stamping her foot. Scully shook her head as if to clear it, and turned back to Chessie. "What did you say?" she asked. She reached for the glass by the sink and filled it up with water, sipping it. "I said Abberdine asked me to marry him!" Chessie said, grinning from ear to ear. Scully coughed, choking on her water. Her face went red as she coughed, tiny bits of water and spittle emerging from her mouth. Her blue eyes bulged in surprise. Chessie whacked her friend on the back until Dana could look up and demand, "Are you serious?" in a weak voice. The younger woman nodded. Her brown curls fell loosely around her face, her big green eyes wide. "Henry asked me to marry him- can you believe it?" she bubbled. Scully took several breaths. "Are we talking about the same man? Abberdine? From what Mulder's told me, he'd be the last person to commit to a relationship." Chessie stuck out her lower lip stubbornly. "Don't you believe in true love?" Dana gave her a cocky grin. "If there's no such thing, why do I feel so damn good all the time?" "I didn't say *I* didn't believe in it! You're the one who thinks Henry would never commit to me. I could have said the same thing about Mulder not too long ago." Scully smiled to herself as she picked up a brush and ran it quickly through her hair. "Yes, yes you could've." "So there. Anyways, I just got a letter and he asked me to marry him when the war ends!" Chessie squealed. "I didn't know you two were so close. What did you *do* in Italy, anyway?" The younger woman's face brightened, and she looked downward shyly. "You really wanna know?" Scully glanced at her friend's posture. "No, nevermind. I can imagine." "Well so can I when I found you and Mulder in the same hotel room. But Henry and I have a lot in common, and . . . he cares about me," she admitted. Dana paused, hearing something she had never encountered in Chelsea Stuart's voice. A simple contentedness, a state of elation that went beyond what she herself was feeling. Maybe it was because Chelsea had always been riding on that cloud that Dana was now perched high upon. Because she hadn't seen all the horrors of life, fallen witness to some of the most evil and cruel deeds men could perform. But Chelsea had already been on that cloud, and Scully couldn't help feeling a tiny bit jealous that she wasn't on that higher plane Chessie had been lifted to. Hearing that sound, she wondered if she could ever be like Chessie, so totally and overwhelmingly in love that nothing else would matter, that the rest of the world ceased to exist in response to what she felt. Scully had only seen one couple that had that state of elation- her parents. "You're really in love with this guy," she said, a hint of wonder in her voice. Was this how it had been for her mother Margaret and Bill all those years ago? She nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I know he's way older than me, and that my dad will never approve of me marrying a man only a few years younger than him, but I love Henry a lot, and it's not a problem with us. It's not a- a barrier." "Are you sure he's serious about this, Chessie? That he's not playing around, just teasing you?" She shook her head. "No. Marriage is very important to him. That's why he's waited so long. He never found the right woman that he wanted to settle down and spend the rest of his life with." Scully nodded. "Are you sure you want this, Chessie?" Chessie smiled. "Of course I am." "Well have you told anyone else the good news?" she asked. Scully came back into her quarters and sat on the bed. Chessie trailed behind, suddenly looking downtrodden. Scully picked up on it immediately. Chelsea Stuart was one of the brightest people she knew. Besides being intelligent, she had a happiness, an almost luminescent glow about her. She was never solemn or melancholy, which was one of the reasons she was so popular among many of the crew members. The war never took its toll on her positive and inspiring attitude. So it was very obvious to see when Chessie was feeling down. And very wrong. "Chessie what's the matter?" Scully asked. She came over to her friend and took her by the shoulders. Chessie was slightly shorter than Scully, and by far younger, so Dana had come to think of the younger woman as a surrogate little sister the way they confided in one another. "Chelsea?" she asked. Chessie pulled away. "I, um, I'm in a bit of trouble, Dana." Scully looked her friend over. "What kind of trouble?" There was a long silence in which Chessie looked anywhere but at Scully, her hands smoothing the fabric of her skirt over her stomach and hips in a gesture that had become common for her the past few months. "I need- I need you to give me a pregnancy test," Chessie admitted finally, a bit embarrassed. "I'm not really sure how to tell, but I think I am, and if I am, I need to know so I can tell Captain Rodriguez and I'll be taken off the ship and sent home." "When? Chessie, last time we docked, you were with me all weekend, unless-" Dana paused, staring at her friend. "You can't be five months along, you would have noticed it, you would have had some indication-" Chessie nodded. "I have been seeing several of the signs, but I didn't really pay attention because, well, what if Henry didn't want the baby? What if he wasn't serious about me?" "And now you want to know because you know that he is serious about you. Why didn't you take any protection, Chessie?" She shrugged. "I had those pills they give us, the morning-after ones, but . . . I didn't think to use them. Everything got so hectic so quickly, with the Japanese coming in for an attack on Italy- I didn't have time to worry about it. And besides, if it could- if because of his baby I would be able to go home and see my family, it's worth it," she confessed. "You got pregnant so you could go home," she stated. Chessie shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe I just wanted Henry to be with me. I knew when I saw him that it was more than just a fling. I knew it. And if he had gotten killed- I'd be able to remember him. I don't know, maybe I was just confused and forgot to take the pill. At any rate, I need to see if I'm pregnant, and I want to do this as discreetly as possible. It's only been two months since our last leave. I'll report to Rodriguez and explain that I'm two months along, if you'll let me." Dana swallowed. "Chessie, you know there's going to be repercussions if they find out you got pregnant on purpose." "But I didn't! Not really. I mean, it was sort of an accident, I wasn't looking to get pregnant, I figured if it was going to happen this way, it was going to happen. And if it wasn't, then it wasn't. I don't know. I got caught up in everything- oh, Dana, I didn't do it on purpose! Honestly, I didn't!" Chessie said. Her large green eyes were starting to swim and Scully felt inexplicably and irrevocably guilty for accusing Chessie of such an act. Chessie was her friend, how could she make her feel guilty for getting pregnant- a life-changing experience? Dana put her arms around the younger woman. "Oh, Chessie, I didn't mean it to sound like that. I'm not accusing you. If you're pregnant, that's wonderful, and I'm happy for you. You have no reason to be upset. You're getting married to a man you love, you may be having his child and you might even go home. I'm not going to chastise you for that." Chessie sniffed, reminding Dana of a little child. "I really didn't try to, Dana." Scully pulled away and smiled at her friend. "I know you didn't." She patted Chessie's arm. "But we still need to see if you even are pregnant. Come on, let's get you to the medical unit. There's sophisticated equipment there, so I can see how the baby's coming along if the test comes back positive." "I'm not going to have to pee in a cup, am I?" Chessie asked. Scully smiled. "Well, I suppose we could just leave you as is and tell the captain you've been putting on some weight when your stomach starts to swell." Chelsea flushed. "All right. I just don't like doing that," she said, crinkling her nose in disgust. Dana laughed. "Come on Chessie. We've got to find out if you'll be springing more good news on everyone." ************************ It was pink. Scully sighed. This was the third time she had run the test. And it was still pink. Reluctantly she turned to Chessie who was lying on the examining table, her hands over her abdomen. She sat up on her elbows and stared at Scully. "Well Dana? What's the verdict?" She pursed her lips. "Guilty as charged. Caught you pink," she said, motioning towards the pregnancy test. Chessie shook her head and then lay back against the table, taking a deep breath. "So now what do I do?" "First, we check you out. I'm going to give you an ultra sound, to see how the baby's developing. I wish you hadn't waited so long to tell me about this, Chessie- you might have seriously hurt that baby," Dana chastised her. "I know, I should have come to you sooner, but- I've been taking real good care of myself. I'm eating more so the baby is healthy, I've been really careful, Dana," she said. She nodded. "I know, Chessie, but you still should have told me sooner- stress can cause harm to the fetus, as well as overeating, which you might have done, and undereating, which I know you and your diet do often. Also lack of sleep- whatever weakens you has twice that effect on the baby, which is why you always have to take *very* good care of yourself," she explained. Scully put her hands on her hips and crossed over to her friend. "All right, undo your pants and move your shirt up. You wouldn't want any of this goop getting on your clothes when I do the ultra sound." "Dana?" Chessie asked as she undressed. "Yeah?" her friend replied tiredly, as she bent down and began searching one of the cabinets in the room for the gel. "Thank you," she said softly. "You don't know how much this means to me, Dana." Scully's voice caught in her throat. She never knew what to say at times like this. Maybe she had been hiding her emotions for so long- the things she felt for Mulder all those years that she had simply forgotten what it was like to be so open and honest about how she felt. Or maybe everyone felt this way when someone made a comment as Chessie had. For whatever reason, Chessie's statement meant a lot to Dana. Which was why she said nothing in return, but simply took out the gel and began to smear it on her friend's stomach. "Yikes, that's cold!" Chessie yelped. Scully laughed. "If that bothers you that much, I can't wait to see you in labor." Chessie pouted, crossing her arms over her chest as Dana continued the procedure. "I'm not doing this manually. No sir. I say gimme the drugs and that baby'll pop right out, no pain at all. Why on earth would I want to go through all the pain of manual labor, when I can have the surgery done to remove the kid at the end of eight months unless my baby decides that the early bird catches the worm." Scully shook her head. "I could never imagine having that new procedure done. When Mulder and I have a child, he's going to come out with a few broken fingers, if he doesn't pass out when he sees the blood- he's kinda squeamish about that thing, ya know," she said casually. It didn't sound like a casual statement. When Mulder and I have a child. It seemed so out of place with the person she had been not a year before. That Dana Scully wouldn't be considering even sleeping with Fox Mulder, let alone getting married and having his baby. But she looked forward to both with a certainty now. Italy had changed everything for them. She knew what he had been trying to say in his letter, hell, she knew how long he had wanted to say what he needed to to her. But she couldn't let him. Not in Italy. Not when she'd have to leave him. It simply couldn't have happened. Because if it had, she would probably be a war criminal, neglecting her duties and running off with Fox Mulder, who would face similar charges. Because when it finally happened, when everything was settled and she could look into his eyes and tell him that of course she felt that way, how could ever doubt that she did? When she could make love to him, and tell him everything she needed to. How much she missed him, how long she had waited to finally admit how she felt about him. About all those lonely nights when she would fall asleep in her bed and envision him crawling into bed with her, putting his arms around her and just holding her, all the times she would awaken, saddened by the fact that her dreams were only dreams and that he wasn't there with her. It would be so right. She and Mulder. And it wasn't an if thing. It was when. When she and Mulder had a baby. When the war ended. When they got married. When they came home. She knew her thoughts were somewhat naive to expect so much out of the life that lay ahead of her, but knowing that Mulder was going to marry her, knowing that he was in lov- "Hurry up, Dana," Chessie replied to her silence. "This stuff is starting to itch." Scully shook herself mentally and picked up the plastic and metal probe, placing it on Chessie's stomach. She flicked on the sonogram and began to manipulate the small hunk of metal and plastic in her hand around her friend's abdomen, until she spotted the dark patch she was looking for. "Well there's no denying it now. You're pregnant." Dana went through the routine of showing Chessie her baby's head, hands, feet, answering questions. Why was the head so big compared to the rest of the body, was the baby all right, had she done a good job in taking care of herself and the baby so far? Were there any complications she should be aware of with the child? By the time Scully was finished, Chessie was gloating with the fact that she was pregnant with a perfectly healthy, perfectly normal baby, despite the thick sticky substance on her stomach. Scully took Chessie back to her private quarters, where Chessie cleaned up. When the younger woman emerged from the bathroom, Scully was lying on her bed, re- reading a letter Mulder had sent her. Chessie rolled her lower lip between her teeth in indecision as she stared at the woman she had come to think of as her best friend these past few months. It seemed impossible that Dana was so happy. Chessie remembered her first meeting with the woman, seeing her eyes large and haunted, red- rimmed from tears. She had bounced down to her private quarters to meet the ship's doctor, and had encountered a very strange sight. Scully had been sitting on the government- issued bed holding a black leather jacket to her face and crying. She had looked diminutive then, weakened by the war and everything else she was going through. "Hello?" Chessie asked, suddenly feeling very stupid and very guilty for interrupting this woman's moment of private grief. Scully had glanced up at her and regained her composure immediately, wiping her eyes furiously. "Yes?" she asked, her voice calm and cool. The change from overemotional to blank was startling. "Um, hi, my name's Chelsea. I heard you were the new doctor, and I'm the unofficial welcome wagon." She tried to smile, but the way this woman had looked at her, a placid sad and angry look was unsettling. No one should be so calm and cool with the turmoil of emotions this woman was feeling. Dana managed a weak smile. "Hello Chelsea. I'm Dana Scully." Chessie bit her lower lip, searching for a way to lighten the mood. She found it. "You know, whatever stain you got on that jacket can't be that bad." Scully laughed out loud. Chessie smiled, feeling as though she'd accomplished her good deed of the day. "I mean, I'm sure there's a dry cleaner out there who could fix it," she babbled. Scully's smile waned. "No, it's- it's not my jacket, and there's no stain. I just- my friend, he's um, he's in the army, and while I was home, it was . . . easier somewhat because I had my family, but now- even when there was no one there for me, he was. He's always been there for me, and, I could really use him now. And I was just sitting here and I- " "You smelled him on the jacket," Chessie said quietly. Dana frowned. "How did-" She merely nodded. "I've read about things like this- you know, bad romance novels." Dana laughed again. "Mulder? A romance novel?" The idea was hilarious. Fox William Mulder, Mulder her partner, her Mulder in a romance novel? And even less likely- with her? It was silly, preposterous. She got the sudden image of Mulder galloping up on a white horse- and then falling flat on his ass in the mud as it reared and ran away. "Well that's a weird name- Mulder." Scully grinned proudly. "Better than his first name- Fox." Chessie stared incredulously. "Fox? Oh, he must be quite a man." She chuckled. "Not in the way you think, not in the way you think." Chessie snapped out of her reverie, and looked at Scully. She was so happy, so completely and utterly in love it made Chessie's heart ache. Although she felt strongly about Henry, although she was in love with him, she had the feeling that their love would never quite match what Dana had with Mulder. It would just fall short somehow and she envied her friend that. Her friend had a big grin on her face, like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, her fingers dancing over the ID bracelet on her wrist. She always wore it, but Chessie had never been able to bring herself to ask Dana where she had got it, and why it held such fond memories, what it stood for. It, along with the tiny gold cross around her neck seemed to private, to intimate a thing to ask, even for someone as buoyant and outgoing as Chessie. "Dana?" she asked, feeling very tiny. Scully looked up, and Chessie felt a glimmer of jealousy for the wide-eyed ecstasy in her friend's eyes. Dana dropped the letter and came over to her. "Are you all right?" she asked, her face quickly turning from ecstatic lover to concerned friend. Chessie still didn't know how she could switch from emotion to emotion like that. It had to be very tiring, she supposed. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just-" she paused a moment, looking with big green worried eyes at her friend. "I need you to tell the captain I'm pregnant because I don't want to do it myself," she blurted out. She glanced up at Scully. "I don't know why, you know me, I can usually talk to anyone about anything, but I just don't feel like I can do this by myself, and I'd really like it if you'd tell him for me because I'm afraid I'll be court-marshaled or something or he'll yell at me, when I didn't even want to get pregnant, not that I want an abortion, because it's my baby, and they can't make me give it up, can they? They can't make me give it up for this dumb old war, but I'm afraid he's going to tell me I have to, and I just really want you to be there with me," she babbled. Scully took a deep breath. "All right, calm down, Chessie. Remember, if you're upset, it's no good for the baby," she coaxed. Chessie nodded shakily. "Now then. As the ship's doctor, I have to come with you, don't worry, you won't have to face this alone. Especially in your condition. So don't worry, I'll be there with you every step of the way." ***************************** October 9, 1999 Island of Miyake-Jima, near Honshu 6:39 PM Fox Mulder lay low in the thick jungle underbrush. Sweat rolled down his face, stinging his eyes. Whereas October meant jackets and dusty brown leaves with the occasional sprinkle of white snow in the United States, it meant a scorching hot summer on the other side of the world- namely Japan. This was his first *real* assignment since he had been drafted in early February. He had wondered why he had been put among everyone else, especially considering his FBI background. From what he had heard, he was supposed to be getting spy missions and all those other things, like all the other former agents had gotten, according to the letters Skinner had been sending him. Mulder had been surprised to get the first letter from his boss. Skinner had done a lot for him and Scully, done things beyond reason, things that could put not only his position, but his life in jeopardy. And although Mulder was eternally grateful to his boss, and, he thought begrudgingly, his friend, it seemed so out of place for Skinner to write him a letter. Of course it had been very professional, even to the point of where Skinner had referred to him and Scully as "Agent Mulder" and "Agent Scully". He had even signed off as A.D. Skinner. Not Walter, not Walter S. Skinner, or even Skinner. A.D. Skinner. But still- a letter from Skinner? It was just shy of being ridiculous. Mulder couldn't help grinning when he thought of how he was going to pay Skinner back. By strutting into his office holding out his hand and stating that he had just married "Agent Scully" and was giving him a nice box of Super-Duper Extra Strength Tylenol to get rid of the oncoming headache. Skinner was going to have a fit when he found out about "Agent Mulder" and "Agent Scully". Mulder had written the A.D. back, his letters short, calling Skinner "sir" and Dana "Agent Scully". Mulder wondered if Skinner had to do with this assignment. Although surveillance and spy work weren't exactly up his alley, it was a hell of a lot better than going out in the field and shooting someone down, or trying to profile leaders based on information given by POWs. They had had him doing that for the past two months and while it had been mentally challenging and satisfying, it had left him bereft of a physically challenging and satisfying assignment. This wasn't much better, but at least it was something new. And he was working solo. He hadn't done any assignment solo since . . . before Scully, he realized. Even when she had been abducted, gone for what seemed like forever from his life, she had been with him. In his mind, in his heart, she had been with him on all those cases. Just like she was with him now. It wasn't he first time he had felt this powerful link to Scully, he had felt it many times since they had been separated by this war. Once, he remembered, he had even heard her warn him from danger on a battlefield, in his mind. This went beyond intuition, this was her spirit with him, guiding him. He had always thought of her that way in a sense, his cornerstone, his light, the person that kept him anchored to his life and to his sanity. He didn't dare sigh in this jungle. The enemy was all around him, and one wrong move could kill him. And whereas the thought that he could die didn't bother him so much before, it troubled him now because now there was Scully. She would be upset, she worried about him constantly. Mulder even went so far as to think she might be in lov- Movement. He paused in his reverie. Four days ago, Miyake-Jima had fallen to the North Japanese. South Japan had been advancing, taking back their country bit by bit since the war started. But in their struggle to own more of Honshu, they had overlooked Miyake-Jima, a small island that had been deserted. Intelligence had gotten word that the North Japanese were building a large for there, and that they were housing nuclear weapons to be used on all of the four main islands if they fell to the South Japanese. Considering the fact that uranium had been allegedly smuggled over to Ostrov Sikotan Shikotan-To, a Russian island near the tip of Hokkaido, this rumor had been taken much more seriously than the others. And so Mulder had been called upon and sent in to see if it was true. Once he achieved the information, he was to leave the island immediately. A few miles away there would be a US ship waiting that would take him to Seto Kasugai, just outside of Nagoya, where he could make his report. He hoped everything would run as smoothly. He had a rubber raft carefully stowed in his backpack, which was also full of freeze-dried food and bottled water. The jungle grew thick and lush here, still influenced by the southern current. Mulder looked like a green troll. He had a green camouflage hat on as well as fatigues. His backpack was green too, as well as his face. He took a deep breath and held it as he lay low in the underbrush. The fort was well hidden in the center of the island, with many trees sprouting all around it and providing a blanket of green sheltering them from above air surveillance. Their camp was an abandoned town, left to ruin when the war started. It had been relatively easy to find, as that no one had expected an ambush. But there were many different traps Mulder had seen- from primitive holes covered by thick leaves to high-tech lasers. He had been climbing from tree to tree, shying away from the ground. He had been here two days so far, and he had slept little. At first he had stayed in the tree, for fear of setting off a trap, but gradually he had come down, until he was in his present position. He had been here for two days and he still had seen little. Yes there was a secret base, but he'd have to go in tonight, under cover of darkness to be sure they had a nuke. And to get a look at the plans for what they were doing with it. Mulder had gotten a crash-course in Japanese right before the assignment, his superiors ready, willing and able to exploit his photographic memory. Mulder lay absolutely still as he watched three men exit a large building. They were dressed in military uniform, although Mulder could see no nameplates or insignias. Cautiously, he picked up his camera, and focused in on the men, snapping a few quick photos before pausing and trying to hear what they were saying. They jabbered on and on in Japanese. Mulder could only hear snitches of the conversation, only recognizing a few of the terms. He recognized several country names, and the word bombs. He didn't hear anything about nuclear weapons, but he recognized the word Tuesday. God, could they be planning an attack that soon? he wondered. They moved away into another building, still talking, but Mulder could hear no more. He mentally catalogued the information. He glanced at his watch. Sunset in half an hour. His eyes looked heavenward, and he drew in a deep breath at the heavy clouds. It looked like a tropical storm was in order. It was just the diversion he needed. Carefully, he slunk through the bushes, near the chain-link fence that surrounded the perimeter of the base, until he came to a large tree whose branches extended over one of the buildings. In the time he had spent surveying the base, he hadn't seen anyone go in or come out of this building for any reason, which meant that in all likelihood it was empty . . . and safe. He could use the building to get in and out of the compound tonight- hopefully when everyone was running around worrying about the on-coming storm. He smiled as he lay low among the grass near the tree. Maybe he could write a letter while he lay here in the grass waiting. Or at least compose one in his head. And think of what he would say to Dana Scully once he got somewhere safe where he could put a pen to paper. *Dear Scully, I'm composing this letter mentally in my head. I'm on a secret mission that I can't tell you about (unless you want to pass out from the fumes of the permanent black marker they'll use to cross it all out).* Mulder paused. Scully'd like that. She might even smile- as if Scully ever did that kind of thing. She was so serious most of the time. Even when he tried his damndest to make her laugh. He could almost hear her the conversations in his head. *Why would I _want_ to pass out, Mulder?* *Missing me is too much?* *In your dreams.* *No, my dreams are about you naked and writing underneath me.* *Now _that_ makes me want to pass out.* *Well maybe you should have married some other guy.* Putting his puppy-dog-I-feel- unappreciated-so-doncha-just-love-me-to-death- Scully look on. Her smile finally. "You dolt, I'm just kidding around. Why would I want anyone else? I lov-" He snapped awake, looking around him wildly. Where had that voice come from? That wasn't just him hearing the banter in his head, that was *her* voice, *here*. In this godforsaken jungle, she was here, he had *heard* her voice. With his *ears*, not his mind. *God, I've got to get more sleep. I'm hearing things,* he thought. He rubbed his forehead, looking around. No more movement from the base. Even if there was he had set up a special surveillance camera in a tree a few feet away from the fence of the base. It was motion-sensitive and automatically took a picture when a large object moved. Thank God for technology. He put his head in his hands. No one was around, no one was coming. Maybe he could just get a little sleep. They really didn't expect him to keep awake all three days by himself, did they? Of course not. Mulder closed his eyes, his thoughts running far away from this jungle, and leading his subconscious into the arms of Dana Scully. ***************************** USS Roswell 8:57 P.M. Dana sighed, staring out over the dark waters. The sun had gone down almost an hour ago, and the night air was salty and sticky with the oncoming storm. She leaned against the railing of the big ship. It had been two long and grueling hours waiting for the captain as he took in the information, made arrangements and reamed her out for not realizing Chessie's condition sooner. It didn't matter. She had been chewed out by more superiors than she'd care to remember. Usually it was because of Mulder, but just because it was for Chessie didn't make the experience any different. It usually got boring and frustrating as she tried to explain herself without anyone listening to her. She could hear the water churning twenty feet below her. A strong wind was blowing, and the waves had begun to collide with the ship. Most people were below-deck, preparing for the onslaught of the storm. Dana had always loved the sea before a storm. The way the sky overhead darkened and smoothed over gray-white or dark black. The way the breeze threw her hair and clothes around her body made her feel like some ancient goddess. The sea was something primitive, and old, something that could never be modernized by modern man. She had always felt a surge of inexplicable triumph looking at the sea before a storm, as if nature was winning over man. There were few, if any times in her life that Dana Scully became philosophical or romantic. She had spent so much time cultivating a woman who would have none of those pitfalls. For if you overromanticized life in general, it often led to dreaminess, silliness, something she couldn't afford. Not working for the FBI. Not working with Mulder. With Mulder, she had to be down to earth. She supposed that was a price she paid for working on the X-Files. She had lost the daydream side of her. The side that could look out over the sea and feel unmomentous and extremely important at the same time. She had lost the romantic she had once been. She had to. She couldn't afford to go off on her own little tangents and daydreams. Mulder would just encourage it, encourage the breaking down of those solid, rigid barriers that separated woman from agent. And soon she'd be wandering around looking for aliens, just like he was, she thought with a smirk. But here, miles away from Mulder and the X-Files and Washington, standing on a ship, she could be a romantic. She took in a deep breath of the thick air, and then turned, preparing to head back to her quarters. She still had to write Mulder a letter, and- *Something bad*. A sensation slammed into her. It felt as if someone had swiped at her legs, knocking her to the floor of the ship. She felt sick to her stomach and thought she'd wretch right there. She crawled close to the edge, grabbing the railing and trying to lift herself, when it hit her again, an overwhelming sense of dread and pain. *Something coming. Something bad.* Foreboding filled her senses, the smell of fear and hate and rage and pain consuming her. All the negative emotions a person could experience tumbled through her in the space of a few seconds. It was almost too much too bear. She collapsed to the floor again, her head hitting the deck. It felt like it was going to explode. The pain was so bad, she wished for a second that it would, to relieve the intense pressure there. The blood had rushed to her fingertips, swelling them and making them feel like inadequate clubs. She tried to put a hand to her head, but it hurt to move her swollen fingers. She made several whimpers, and tried to call out, but her throat was dry. All she managed was a hoarse cough. *Bad. Bad. Bad.* Her body started to shake as the ship jounced violently. Her body rolled to the edge, slamming her against the railing. The pain of the metal against her back descended upon her brain, and she screamed as loud as she could. Her throat ached as she cried out, tears beginning to stream down her face. Her body flounced so she was on her back, staring at the dark sky that she had been admiring only a few moments ago. She coughed again and felt her dinner rising in her throat. Through the haze of pain, a thought shot out like the bolt of lightning illuminating the darkness above her. Turn over or you'll choke. *Hurt. Pain. Death.* She flipped her body over with a force she didn't think she had left in her, and threw up. The vomit covered her face and arm, and she began to sob and scream and sob. She knew she was in shock, and that she was becoming hysterical somewhere in the back of her mind, but it didn't register correctly. *Death. Death. Death.* "No," she croaked, trying to fight off the sensation. The ship lurched again, and she rolled over to the other side of the deck. Her head smacked against the railing. Rain began to fall, dampening her skirt and jacket. She heard the rumble of thunder and the rain fell harder, like needles against her skin, pricking a thousand wounds on her. "Help." *BAD. BAD. BAD. SOMETHING COMING. BAD. BAD. BAD.* The words came to her, a repeating monotone in her head. *CAREFUL. CAREFUL. BAD. SOMETHING BAD. SOMETHING COMING.* "Something bad," she moaned. "Something bad coming." An enormous wave started far in the distance, rolling towards the ship, dwarfing the USS Roswell in its size. It grew quickly, the wind whipping and tearing at the water as it went farther and farther. It became a whitecap, bigger and bigger. Scully began to convulse, her lungs aching to take in a breath. "Be careful." The tsunami was bearing down upon the ship, like a vengeful god prepared to punish his faithless adherents. Dana's eyes grew wide. "Mulder," she gasped. "Mulder. Something bad. Careful. Careful. Mulder!" Her last word drew out in a scream as the tsunami hit the ship. Her body was already drenched from the icy torrents of rain. It was picked up by the large wave, and tossed overboard like a worn rag-doll, left at the mercy of the sea during a storm. ****************************** Island of Miyake-Jima, Near Honshu 7:49 PM Mulder jolted awake with a start. He looked around quickly, remembering where he was, and kept his body still, praying he hadn't been spotted or set off any traps. After a few minutes, he lifted his head and peered around. The base was empty. Nothing moved, nothing disrupted the heavy, thick silence that dominated the island. He hoped he hadn't missed anything important. He glanced at the sky as the jungle around him seemed to darken. The sun was almost gone, which would leave him in the blackness. It was time to make his move. Cautiously, he slid his backpack off his shoulders, turning over so he was lying on it, and then glancing around. His muted shuffles sounded like gunfire in the quiet of the jungle. He crawled through the bushes, using his elbows to pull himself forward, until he was behind the tree. He checked around once more before scooting up the tree. He rested his body in a patch of leaves and vines in the crotch of the tree, where it splayed out into three large sections, one of which rested over the building he was planning to break into. He could stay there for a few hours, until around midnight when everyone would be asleep, and then sneak in and get a look at the plans, if there were any. He hoped the Japanese weren't planning on using any nuclear bombs. The destruction would be horrendous, especially with the US retaliation that would undoubtedly come. He waited a few more minutes before inching out onto the branch that was suspended over the building. Carefully, he hugged the branch as he moved farther and farther out. He glanced down and breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the rooftop tiles four feet below him. He curled his legs up, and swung them off the branch, holding on with just his arms. Sweat rolled down his face, the humidity of the jungle combining with the stickiness of the storm to create a heat wave that could make you perspire just by breathing. He dangled his legs down, until his foot met with the tiles. Once he found a firm footing he let go of the branch and lay flat against the rooftop. He slid around, looking for a way to get down, short of jumping. His answer came when he spotted a skylight. He covered the light with his body and peered inside, seeing nothing but empty blackness. He pushed at the window and it swung forward. Pleased, he looked around and then poked his head in the blackness. As his eyes became used to the darkness, he realized that the building was more like an old house, and this was the attic, he mused. He glanced outside again, and then quickly moved through the open window and into the attic. Once there, he shut the window and locked it, turning back to the attic. He stumbled through the unfamiliar surroundings, ducking his head to avoid bumping it on the ceiling. Mulder breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the outline of a door amidst the blackness. He pulled at the handle and it swung inward, towards him. A long row of steps ended at a landing. He had to duck again, squatting as he walked. He crept down the stairs, until he reached the landing. The walls and floors had been stripped bare. He could see out of sync square patches that must have been pictures that aligned the walls before the town was abandoned. He hugged the right wall, so as not to be spotted in case anyone was downstairs. He paused, listening for movement before he stepped onto the landing, turning a corner to the right. Four steps lead down the stairs and into a wider room. A sense of foreboding swept over him, urging him to go back. Ignoring more primitive instincts, he moved down the four steps quickly, and turned side to side, searching for any of the Japanese men he had seen on the base. He saw someone all right. He gagged as the scent of sweat and waste infiltrated his nostrils. The room was only about eight by ten, and was packed wall to wall with men. All were staring at him as if he was a man from Mars. A few of the younger men were bawling like babies. Mulder's blood ran cold as he looked at them. Each of the men was chained with leg irons to the walls. Most were naked, and Mulder could see long red gashes across their backs. One man was covered with tiny red dots, wounds that could only be inflicted by a cigarette butt. The air in the room smelled old and stale. Fear was clear and unmistakable in most of the men's eyes, fear and pain. The scent of death lingered like a poison in the air. Mulder gazed over the men and saw several corpses lying in their midst, the dead, decaying bodies turning green from the heat. Mulder thought he was going to be sick as he saw one man look up, his face covered in blood and bits of the green, rotting flesh hanging from his mouth. One of the men looked up at him and spoke quietly, his British accent unmistakable. "My name is John Quinton Lacey. I am a lieutenant colonel for the British army. I have been here for four months two weeks and three days, so don't just stand there like an ass, go tell the rest of the group that we're in here so they can get us the fuck out of this hellhole!" "Oh my God," he breathed. Mulder shook his head at the man. "I- It's just me. There's no one else here but me. Christ, they don't even know about you," he realized. "They think they're housing nuclear weapons on this island. What they're really housing is POWs!" "Brilliant deduction. Now get the fuck out of here and get help!" Before he could move, a door at the far end of the room opened. A group of three Japanese men entered, carrying weapons. One of them pointed his gun at Mulder and yelled out something Japanese. Mulder was about to sit down as the man had requested when he realized that would give the indication that he knew Japanese. And if they knew he knew what they were saying, chances were slim they'd let anything important slip in his presence. He held his hands up in the air, but didn't sit down. The leader moved one hand off of his weapon and waved his hand down at Mulder. Mulder was about to comply when the feeling hit him. It took him by surprise, and he collapsed, his body convulsing. *Danger. Danger. Help. Help* He gasped for air, as his nerves twitched involuntarily. A cold chill ran over him, and he felt as if he had been immersed in ice water. He curled into a fetal position, his long legs tucked under him, as he shook from side to side. Pain slammed into his head, his fingers, his arm. *Cold. Pain. Hurting. Hurting. Help.* Rage and hate consumed him, like a deadly poison to his soul. He started to scream, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He had never screamed like this. Not when he had been a child and broken his leg, not when they had taken Samantha from him, not when he had found a laughing Duane Barry rejoicing like his favorite team had just won the Superbowl as he handed Dana over to whomever he worked for, be it aliens or the government. *Pain. Pain. Pain. Help.* He continued screaming, his thoughts jumbling and mixing as if his brain had been thrown into a blender on high speed. He coughed up water, as he felt hands grabbing him. He continued to shake, his lips forming small silent prayers. *Help. Help. Help.* Mulder's mouth formed one last word before he lost consciousness. A word he screamed and screamed and screamed until it felt like his vocal cords had snapped. And then it echoed in his mind, a reminder of all he hadn't done before, and all he was unable to do now. "SCULLY!" end part 3 Love, The Missing Word IV-V by Sarah Kiley Miyake-Jima October 10, 1999 11:39 AM There are varying layers of consciousness. In a perfectly healthy, unimpaired human body, there are five different senses which must be in working order before a body is truly conscious, aware of its surroundings. Five different degrees of consciousness. For if someone can only see, they aren't truly conscious. They can't taste, hear, smell or feel. They aren't aware of their surroundings in that way. They can only see. And if someone can only hear, they can't see, smell, taste or feel. Technically, the body is still unconscious, not aware of the sight of the place surrounding them, the scent of the air it breathes, the taste of the sea in its mouth, or the feel of soft sand under it. It is not totally aware of its surroundings, using all its abilities to the fullest extent. Therefore, a body is only conscious if all five senses are working properly, according to the way they were designed. Because only then is the body aware of its surroundings using all its faculties. The body of Dana Scully was in one of those varying layers of consciousness, its senses coming forth slowly, awakening to the day after what seemed like an everlasting night. First she became aware of the sound of the sea birds circling over her body, calling out to her, pulling her from that night. The sound of the ocean lapping against the sand, and the rustling of treetops from a balmy breeze. The next level brought her the scent of the humid sea air, enticing her mind with familiar images and objects. The image of her father in full dress uniform, Captain William Scully, in his starched white uniform, his kind face that had been the guiding force in her life for so many years. The face that could register pride in his youngest daughter, or contempt for her. The latter had been a part too many times in the last few years he had been with her. The smell brought other images to her, a boat she had sailed on with him and her brothers, running along the deck, casting out lines in search of a large fish to bring home and present to her mother who would immediately insist they wash their hands, and lord, did they think she was going to cook it? The next faculty that brought itself into awareness was her sense of taste. She could feel the salty taste of seawater and sand coating her tongue, and as the fourth level of consciousness assaulted her with the feel of sand over her body, cool wet water playing with her toes, and warm sunshine coaxing her back to reality from above. She moved her arm and moaned softly as she felt the ache in her tired muscles. She moved her aching arms until they lay above her head, and then she pulled them down in preparation to propel herself up. As she did so, her fifth and final sense, that of her sight returned. As her legs quivered from holding her upward, she blinked, the world a mesh of colors around her. She blinked again, and stumbled forwards, barely missing a faceful of sand. As she looked around, it gradually came into focus, until she could finally see around her, now fully conscious. The colors that glared at her were so bright she had to squint. Green. A thick jungle lay ahead of her, green leaves and branches sprouting all over, the vegetation thick and wild. She glanced down, and caught sight of the soft sand that squished between her toes, before water rushed up to cover them, cool and wet on her skin. She turned, and faced the ocean that lay sparkling out ahead, a darker blue in contrast to the bright blue sky above. It was beautiful. For a moment, Scully thought she had died and gone to heaven. Glancing down, and judging from her clothing that this wasn't heaven, and she was still very much alive, she backed up a few feet and sat down to gather her thoughts. She had been on the ship when that feeling had hit her. That feeling that felt like someone had punched her in the gut that instinctively told her that somewhere, somehow, Mulder was in danger. Mulder, the man she loved, the man for whom she would do anything was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it. And then the pain had hit. So sharp and clear it had sent her reeling to the floor of the deck, clutching her body as the typhoon that had been threatening the USS Roswell and the citizens of North Japan struck. She remembered the cold waves lapping over her, and then . . . and then . . . . Then I was thrown overboard, the realized. That one tsunami hit the ship, and it swept me away. She tugged uncomfortably at her dark blue navy skirt that came down to her knees, and then at the white blouse that accompanied it. It was too hot for such formal attire, but it was all she had. As she brought her wrist down, panic leapt into her. The ID bracelet. Frantically, she felt in her pockets, looked around on the sand. She needed that bracelet. It was the bracelet Mulder had given her. She _never_ took it off. But there was her wrist, smooth and empty. AS empty and barren as she felt. The bracelet was gone. Although she knew it was just a man-made object, it had symbolized all she felt for Fox Mulder, from passionate love to burning hatred. Without that symbol binding her to him, she felt very much like a woman who had worn a golden wedding ring for fifty years who had been ordered to take it off. she thought. "But it was my piece of metal," she whispered. Sighing, she glanced around, hoping to see someone else, some clue as to where she was, and what she was doing here. She knelt in the sand and drew a map of Japan from her head, finding where the USS Roswell had been at the point she had been thrown overboard. Since she doubted this was the populated island of Kozu-Shima, this would have to be Miyake-Jima, the island the USS Roswell was supposed to pick up the spy from. She swallowed deeply. Foreign soil. The presence of the enemy. If they caught her they'd kill her. She looked around as if she expected someone to jump out of the jungle and start shooting. All was quiet and peaceful. Almost unnaturally quiet, she thought. Now I'm being paranoid. Mulder must have rubbed off on me after all these years. A disheveled grin came to her face at the thought of Mulder, quickly overshadowed by the dark realization that she might never see him again if she didn't get off this island, no matter how calm and peaceful it was, this was enemy terrain. Her only chance of safety was to find this spy, if he was still on the island. He or she would surely realize she was American and take her back to the USS Roswell. They had to, otherwise the Japanese on this island would kill her. She stood, dusting her palms off on her skirt. She stared at the bright white blouse. She'd stick out in the jungle like a sore thumb. Sorely wishing she had been dressed in casual clothes instead of her navy uniform, she headed towards the jungle, ever alert of any predators, human or animal that might come for her. She tugged and pulled at several huge fern leaves until they finally broke off. She carefully placed them at her shoulder so her arms would be free to move while the green would cover the rest of her. She pulled a thick vine down and used it to keep the palm leaves in place. It wasn't Lacroix, she thought dryly, but it would do. And it would also help to camouflage her from her more human predators. She ripped off the hem of her skirt and tied her hair up in it, wishing again she had been wearing a nice pair of dark jeans and a dark shirt when she had been thrown overboard. She began making her way through the jungle, ever wary of traps. Dana had heard stories about soldiers being caught in Japanese traps, where they lay for days, starving to death if they weren't eaten by a nighttime predator first. She paused about twenty feet from the beach where she had awakened, startled with the idea that she had no idea where she was going. And that although Miyake-Jima looked small on a map, in real life it was huge. Scully said a silent prayer and continued her journey going deeper and deeper into the jungle, towards the center of the island. A fourth of a mile away, Fox Mulder began his own journey towards the goal of consciousness, becoming aware of the smell of rotting flesh in summer heat, the taste of bile rising up in his throat, the feel of sweat rolling off his body, the sound of muffled groans and weeping. And then the final, horrific level of consciousness that brought him sight. When at last he reached it, he wished vainly that he hadn't. He was in a dark room, the only light from a solitary skylight on the slanted roof at least ten feet above him. Sunshine poured in, illuminating the dead man he sat across from. Memory flooded over him. The island. Infiltrating the camp. The POWs. He looked around, realizing he had now become one. He turned toward the body to his right, recognizing it as the Englishman he'd spoken with earlier. His neck ached, and as he glanced down he realized he'd been stripped of his clothing. He immediately looked at his wrists. They had taken the watch, too. The watch Scully had given him for their anniversary. Anger coiled inside him. He had worn it like an engagement band. It had helped him to know that no matter what, Scully did care for him, and they were going to be married. Several of the men he was placed near were staring at him, making him feel uncomfortable. He curled his legs towards himself, trying to keep his dignity intact. He must have made some sort of sound, because the Englishman turned to look at him. He snorted, and leaned down to run a hand through his thick blond hair. Mulder realized that all the men were bound to the floor by a waist chain, leg irons, and a set of handcuffs chained to the floor. He felt the cool metal of the waist chain tugging at his stomach, as he sat up, leaning against the wall. "Hallo, Scully," he said. "Does anyone know you're here?" Mulder blinked. "My name isn't Scully. It's Mulder. Fox Mulder." The Englishman held out a chained hand. "Well, Mulder, it's nice to meet you, my name is John Quinton Lacey, in case you've forgotten-" "You're a lieutenant colonel for the British army, you've been here four and a half months, approximately." Lacey's blond eyebrows arched. Mulder shrugged. "I have a photographic memory." Lacey snorted. "Well if you're Mulder, who the hell is Scully?" "Yeah, man, you called out that name and passed out cold, man. You were going nuts, man," a second voice motioned. Mulder turned to the man sitting next to a green and rotting corpse across from him. "Harold Robert Trenton. They stuck me in this hellhole, man. Put me away here. Took me and Jamison in the middle of the night, man, right in the jungle! Middle of the NIGHT! We were SLEEPING! They BROUGHT US HERE! TO DIE, MAN! DIE! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" With that final note, Trenton dissolved into sobs, crying on the dead man's shoulder. "KILLED HIM! MOTHERFUCKERS KILLED HIM! I LOVED HIM! I DID! JAPANESE SONSABITCHES!" The man pulled the dead man's body closer, crying harder. Mulder felt queasy as he watched Trenton kiss the green, maggot-infested flesh of the corpse. Lacey brought his head closer, whispering. "Trenton's been here a little longer than us. He lost it when Jamison died, think he was a-" at this point Lacey brought out his right hand, fingers fully outstretched and wiggled it, "you know. A queer." Mulder nodded, not sure how to respond. "Anyway, what the hell happened to you? The Japs came in and all of a sudden you flipped out and started screaming Scully. What's Scully?" "I don't know what happened to me. I got this feeling she was in trouble, I could feel her, screaming and screaming, and pain and I couldn't- I couldn't' help her-" "Scully's your woman?" Mulder laughed softly despite his situation. "Don't let her hear you call her that. She's my fiance, she's a doctor on the USS Roswell. She's the most amazing woman in the world," he said, his eyes softening as he stared into empty space. "Don't go getting all dewey-eyed on me now, Mulder. If you ever want to get back to this enigmatic Dr. Scully, I need you to keep a clear head. Now, does anyone know you're here, were you supposed to report back last night, or anything that would cause them alarm?" Mulder shook his head. "No. I'm supposed to swim to a US ship sometime this week. It'll be days before they send a task force here to find out what the hell happened to me, if they even do. They might just assume I've drowned." "Dammit," Lacey whispered. "All right then, we switch to plan B." Mulder's eyebrows raised, finding himself already included in whatever scheme Lacey had cooked up in the past four and a half months. "Plan B?" Lacey frowned at him. "My good man, you and I are the only sane ones left in this band. Just look at the rest of them! Stark raving lunatics, and if they're not crazy, they're always too busy crying to be of any assistance. If we can get out, we can get help and hopefully some expensive fucking psychologists for the rest of these poor bastards." "All right, so what's Plan B as you've so aptly named it?" Mulder bit. Lacey chuckled. "Rather trite, isn't it? Anyway, I watched when they locked you up, and the buggers made a big mistake- they think you're one of the POWs that's already been caught. They have no idea that you're new here." Mulder made a motion with his head. "All right how does that help us escape?" Lacey grinned. "Well they had a hell of time trying to get you in chains unconscious. In case you haven't noticed, you outrank our Japanese comrades in the height department, making it doubly difficult because you were unconscious and couldn't submit. The cuffs they slapped you with have a lock, with a key. And that waist chain is loose. When you freaked out, they immediately thought you're a raving lunatic, and then you passed out. They're seriously underestimating you, which gives us an advantage. I've got a pin, a tiny needle. They were using it to torture our late friend Jamison- by putting it in some places needles shouldn't be if you get my drift. Anyway, when the bastard succumbed, the left it there. Most of us are in arm irons, I've tried picking the lock on my wrists, but it's no good. Harry over there took the pin and picked the lock of the handcuffs they had on Jamison- the same kind that are on you now," Lacey said, motioning towards Mulder's wrists. "They key to all the arm and leg irons is on a little string in the center of the room, can you see it?" Mulder glanced in the center of the room, and looked up. Sure enough, suspended on a long thin white string was a golden key. Piled around the key were dead bodies, their flesh rotting in the humid summer air. It was probably some kind of psychological tactic, Mulder thought vaguely. Something to drive a man insane but have ing that key just a few feet above his head, knowing freedom was a mere foot away from his grasp. It was a cruel and heartless punishment, but everything about war was cruel and heartless. It hurt people it tore people apart. The war had made him kill innocent men and women, men and women who might have families who would miss them. Fiances left loverless when a man came with the news that their loved one had died. He swallowed and hoped Scully was all right and that he would come back to her. For some bizarre reason she cared about him, and if seeing him die would cause her pain, he had a very strong will to live. "Yeah, I see the key," Mulder confirmed. Lacey nodded. "If I can get you out of those handcuffs, you should be able to slide your upper torso out of the waist chain. The link from the chain to your leg irons is behind you, which should make it easier for you to maneuver." Mulder glanced back at the key, and then shook his head. "There's no way I'd be able to reach it even if I could get close enough. It's too high." Lacey grinned. "That's what we've got Pierre over there for. Pierre! Comment ca va?" Mulder turned to a corner of the room. A shirtless man with long black hair was curled up in a corner of the room. About five feet above him was the other end of the long white string. As Mulder's eyes traced the string back to the key, he realized it was on a pulled, the other end made into a loop and circled around a nail above Pierre's head. It could easily be pulled so the key would fall. Mulder looked back at Pierre, who was now sitting up. He mumbled something in French. Mulder looked over at Lacey for confirmation of what had been said. "I'm sitting next to two dead corpses, how the fuck do you think I am," Lacey quoted. He called out to Pierre again, speaking in the Frenchman's native tongue. Pierre snorted and gestured rudely towards the body next to him before he began to pull at the arm of one of his dead amis. "What's he doing?" Mulder hissed. "Pierre's been gnawing on Claude's arm for the past week. I haven't resorted to cannibalism yet, but we're barely fed enough and Pierre's been here almost as long as poor Trenton. They give you less and less to eat the longer you're here, I've noticed," he replied conversationally. Somehow the word cannibalism didn't quite belong in polite conversation, Mulder thought, remembering a conversation he had had with his fiancee about three years ago. The dead of night, sitting on a rock, freezing to death after the loss of their boat and that flea-bidden oversized rat Scully had called a dog. Mulder hadn't liked her dog. Maybe it was because Queequeg, as his partner had aptly named the dog, had eaten his owner when he wasn't fed enough. Mulder felt distrustful of the animal for that reason, and couldn't understand why Scully would let a cannibalistic dog sleep in the same apartment with her, the same bed, for God sake! He was always afraid he would go to her apartment one morning to pick her up for work and find out that the dog had bitten off her finger in the night, or worse. And Queequeg had never been too fond of Mulder, either. He remembered when the little dog had bit him when he had tickled Scully once, and she had pushed him away. But Mulder remembered sitting there with her in the middle of the night, and teasing Scully about cannibalism, trying to get her to laugh despite her depression over the loss of Queequeg. Now faced with the real thing, Mulder understood, and found that he rued the day he had made that smart-ass comment. For surely someone was punishing him for it now by placing him in this type of situation. "Hold your wrists out then," Lacey ordered. Mulder's head whipped around to face the lieutenant. "We're going to try this now?" "Just a test run. We'll unlock everyone tonight and sneak out. This is just a practice. We'll put everything back and then get the buggers guns while they're sleeping tonight." Mulder nodded and held out his wrists. Lacey began working at the lock of his cuffs with the pin. A few moments later, Mulder heard a click, and felt the cuffs being released from first his right and then his left hands. He rubbed his wrists as the cuffs dropped to the floor. Mulder sat up and then wiggled down, the waist chain sliding over his shoulders and off. He was about to stand to reach for the key when a bout of self-consciousness attacked him. He glanced around the room, suddenly aware of his nudity, and not liking the fact that he was in plain view of all these different people. Lacey snorted. "Look, Mulder, now isn't the time for modesty. I don't think anyone else but Trenton would be interested in how Uncle Sam's boys are hung, and I don't think Trenton much cares. No get up and see if you can get the key!" Mulder stood, moving over to the center of the room. He almost gagged with the scent of death and decay in the air. The chains around his legs held him back, but free of he waist chain and handcuffs, his upper body had some relative freedom. He stretched out, reaching for the key suspended on the string. He turned towards Pierre, and immediately wished he hadn't as he saw the Frenchman lifting up the arm of his pal Claude that had been gnawed off. Pierre stretched upwards, holding the arm, which was straight and stiff from rigor mortis having set in, up towards the white string. Pierre pushed the dead man's fingers at the string, making it swing from side to side and lower a fraction. Mulder made a jump for it, but the leg irons kicked in, hurling him back to the floor and face-down in a mound of rotting flesh. He stumbled back quickly, just as an ear-piercing alarm sounded. "Fuck," Lacey whispered. "Drop the arm, Pierre, Mulder get back here!" Pierre dropped his friend's arm and stared around boredly. Mulder quickly bent down, pulling the waist chain over him. He snapped the cuffs on and was about to sit down when the door at the end of the room, near where Pierre sat opened. Bright sunlight blinded Mulder. He squinted, and heard several shouts in Japanese. "*What are you doing? You only move when we tell you to move*" a Japanese man spat. He was dressed in army fatigues, sporting a large rifle which he lifted to point at Mulder's head. "*Sit down!*" Mulder remained standing, and held his arms up in the air as high as they would go in the restraints. "*Sit!*" the man ordered. He pointed down with his gun, and Mulder finally complied., still unwilling to fork over the knowledge that he knew what they were saying. A second man came in, dressed like the first and holding a similar weapon. "*Have any escaped?*" "*No sir,*" the first man replied. "*The new man stood, but probably because of the alarm. We checked the outside perimeters very closely, sir. There was no sign of anyone. We don't even know how he got in here.*" "*I suppose next you'll be telling me he's a ghost, Isas.*" The man paused a moment, his eyes drifting over the dead and mutilated bodies to rest on Mulder. "*You called in a Fox Mulder to our associates in Hokkaido?*" Isas nodded. "*He was not on the list. He is nothing. But there is an American ship not three miles from here. She's staying in the neutral zone, but just barely. She's been cruising up and down the barrier for the past day. The captain sent out a signal, in search of a missing sailor, Jo. Most likely it is that man they seek.*" Jo nodded. "*We cannot return him. It would alert the enemy of our presence here.*" "*But even so- who set off the alarm? They may already be aware of our plans.*" At that moment, a third man came in, shorter than the first two, sweat beating upon his brow. "*The others have been sent out to comb the beaches. We found fresh footprints, so we are certain there is another person on the island. The footprints disappear into the jungle. He passed through our laser field, which caused the alarm to sound. There is only one set of footprints.*" "*The lost sailor must be on Miyake-Jima. The typhoon last night would have washed away any of his trails on the beach,*" Jo said. "*He stumbled here looking for shelter.*" "*So why is this man here? They couldn't possibly know about the bomb!*" Isas exclaimed. "*Our security was tight. Maybe what they suspected was that we are holding prisoners,*" the third man added. Jo nodded. "*But if they were planning to free the prisoners they would have sent in more men. There is just him. Have you located this sailor, Udo?*" "*Not yet. We don't have enough resources to go through the jungle. We'll have to let him come to us. I'm going to post five of our men on the beach. They will patrol the grounds to make sure he does not escape,*" Udo answered. Isas paused, glancing back at Mulder, who had kept his head down, but his ears alert during their entire conversation. "*That still doesn't give us an answer as to why he's here. He heard that alarm and was on his feet- no one else was. I think he expects to be rescued.*" Udo and Jo followed Isas's gaze to the American. "*If you are right, then he is a spy,*" Jo said slowly. "*Where is Hiroshi?*" "*He is making preparations for the launch. Why?*" Udo responded. "*Just a moment.*" Jo stalked over to Mulder and kicked him sharply in the stomach with a booted foot. Mulder doubled over, unprepared for Jo's action, coughing and wheezing. The pain rippled through his abdominals, and he winced as Jo used the tip of his gun to flick Mulder's head up. He looked up at Jo, his face contorted into a mask of pain. Jo pushed the line sight of the gun into the soft skin under Mulder's chin, and looked into his eyes. "Cochon! Quelle est vu nationalite?" he demanded. Mulder stared blankly at the man as he ramble on in French. Jo smirked, "Welche staat haben sie?" Do I look German, asshole? Mulder wanted to reply. He bit his tongue, and took several deep breaths. With the sight of the gun digging into the underside of his chin and the barrel pressed against his windpipe, he hoped Jo got the language right before he passed out from lack of oxygen. "¿Cual es su nacionalidad, cerdo?" Spanish! Mulder's mind whirled, trying to remember what the words meant. Back to Señor Everest's seventh grade Spanish class . . . he was rewarded with images of Becky Johnson trying to write Hi on the back of his neck instead of the foreign language. Come on, Mulder, cual is what, es is is, su is your, what the hell is nacionalidad? Language? Mulder braced himself and spat out, "Habla inglez. American. Yo soy American." "¡American cerdo!" Jo snorted. Mulder wasn't sure what a cerdo was, but the way Jo said it, it couldn't be a compliment. Jo kept his dark eyes trained on Mulder's as he spoke to Isas and Udo. "*That is why, gentleman. I don't speak English. We need Hiroshi. He dealt with our English-speaking contacts. We will find out why he's here.*" Scully hovered fifteen feet from the ground in the tree. She was sheltered on all sides by the six- inch heart shaped leaves of a banyan tree. She was situated on one of the smaller trunks, just at the point where it branched into two more sections. The tree had literally thousands of branches, blooming and intertwining with those of other nearby banyans. They grew so close she had been able to practically walk from branch to branch, like a squirrel. She had managed to shimmy up one such tree, when she spotted the complex laser system. It had been the sturdiness of the banyan she had underestimated. It was a dying tree, and a branch had curved under her weight, several leaves fluttering down. And one had hit in just the right spot and set off the alarm. She was sure it could be heard all over the island. She had made a mad dash from branch to branch inward, until she was exhausted, leaving her where she was now. Below her, she heard two voices and the rustle of vegetation. "*Have you seen anything?*" "*No. It was probably a bird. We should get back to the beach. If he escapes, Udo will kill us.*" Scully paused for a minute, her face scrunched up in confusion. Had those men been speaking English? Scully barely remembered any of her French from college, and she was sure they hadn't been speaking francais. It was as if the words had been translated for her. To the best of her knowledge, Scully had never heard a word of Japanese, except for a few in one of those badly dubbed monster movies that Mulder liked to watch. While still puzzling over this, she became increasingly aware of a scent that began to drift all around her, a scent she was all too familiar with. Death. Rot. As a qualified pathologist for the FBI, she had dealt with death and the inevitable decomposition of a body. She had tasted that awful scent on her tongue after an autopsy, felt it absorb into her skin, making her feel like a zombie, a dead thing that should have remained where it belonged, in a putrid grave. Needless to say, it was not a pleasant sensation and always required her stripping down and taking a long hot shower to rid herself of the feeling. But this wasn't a morgue, there were no dead rotting bodies here waiting to be cut up to find out what went wrong inside to cause the person's life to end. This was a jungle on an island in the South Pacific, where everything around her was natural and flourishing, from the tree peonies and vines that were nestled around her to the lotus and ferns that bloomed fifteen feet below. That smell shouldn't be here. It wasn't the scent of a dead animal. Scully had been around dead things for a long time, often going camping with her brothers and father on long weekends. She had encountered her share of dead animals and more than her share of dead humans. There was a difference in the way a dead animal smelled as opposed to a human. And this was the scent of a human body. She stood shakily, the scent making her gag. Normally she applied some kind of counteractive scent just underneath her nostrils to perform an autopsy, whether it was Vicks VapoRub or just some strong perfume. But there was nothing here to protect her from the scent. She moved slowly through the trees, not wanting to alert the Japanese men who had just departed. The scent remained with her as she moved from branch to branch of the different banyans, closer to the center of the island. She ducked under a large vine draped over a branch three feet above her, and her eyes widened when she spotted the compound. Quickly, she pulled back and hoisted herself up onto the branch above her, hiding herself in the waterfall of vegetation that cascaded down. She sat down and peered between the vines, trying to get a better look. A large chain-link fence with barbed wire running across the top and probably a thousand volts of energy running through it surrounded the perimeter, housing in what looked like an abandoned town. There were several buildings that looked older decorative molding edging the brick houses, their windows open, empty and abandoned. The lush wildlife had taken over years ago, she thought. When North and South Japan split, all the inhabitants of tiny islands like Miyake-Jima had been forced to leave, fleeing either to the North or the South for "their own protection". Her gaze traveled over the expanse of the compound, seeing two large hangers. They looked newly made, with cheap walls and a stainless steel roof. She stiffened as four Japanese men came out of one of the hangers. They were talking about something, but she couldn't hear what. She watched as they disappeared into a building about twenty feet in front of her. From somewhere to her right, she heard a slight whirring noise that captured her attention. Her head snapped towards the source of the sound, and she heard a louder whirring noise. It was barely perceptible, but the modernity, the man-made hum caught her attention in a place as wild and virtually uninhabited as Miyake-Jima. With a glance towards the building the men had entered into, she moved from branch to branch, finally landing on another tree. She pulled up a curtain of vegetation and spotted it. Nestled on a large branch, the vines split just enough so as to provide vision without being seen by anyone else, was a camera. She saw the tangle of black wires criss-crossing one another, leading into the camera itself, around the tree and to a small timer affixed to the main trunk. She glanced over the camera, and the spotted a tiny pocket right underneath the camera, where she saw a deposit of Polaroid's. She glanced back at the building, and then sat on the tree, thankful for the shield of leaves and blossoms that protected her from view. Scully took out the stack and began flipping through them, recognizing pictures of the darkened sky, night pictures, pictures of several of the Japanese men. She listened for the four Japanese men who had gone into the building with one ear, the rest of her mind focused on the pictures. She was about to put them away, most useless picture of the compound and the men in various positions when she saw it. Her body froze, her stomach clenching and unclenching rapidly. The camera had obviously gone off while the "spy" was setting it up, she realized. And it had given her a picture of the man. But instead of seeing an unknown face, she saw one with which she was familiar. Intimately familiar. Fox Mulder's face was scrunched in concentration by the Polaroid's shot. She set the rest of the pictures back in the small pouch designed to catch the Polaroid's as the fell out of the camera. She stared at the picture for what seemed like hours, although it was only a few seconds. Mulder. Mulder was the spy. He was the one the USS Roswell was supposed to pick up. He was here, on this island, in the midst of the enemy, just like her. That was his face, the soft hazel depths of his eyes, his nose, just a shade too long for his face. His lips pursed in that gesture of complete concentration that she had seen so often during their work with the X-Files. She heard the voices of the Japanese men, and quickly scuttled back to her previous position to have a better view of what they were doing. Clutching the flimsy Polaroid as if it were a lifeline, she watched as they forced a man out of the building. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The man was naked, his ankles and wrists shackled to a chain around his waist. The Japanese men had their weapons trained on him, and were leading him out. But it wasn't the cruelty and degradation they were obviously submitting him to that made her body tighten like the string of a bow. It was because Dana Scully would recognize that six foot tall lanky frame, the scar that seemed to leap out of his shoulder at her, the one she had inflicted four years ago to save him from himself, anywhere. She would know the curves of his back, after all the times she had seen him without a shirt, or without pants for that matter, anywhere. She could identify that the man was Mulder simply by the way he walked, the way his body moved. She dug her nails into her palm as she watched. Please God, don't let them kill him. I love him so much. I never told him, please, don't let them kill him. She nearly fell out of the tree as she heard a voice, the voice to go with that body, with the picture in her hand, echoing in her mind. Mulder's eyes widened. He glanced left to right, looking all around, wondering if he had imagined her voice. But he could hear it in his mind, as clear as a bell, her voice drifting all around him. Wondering if the humidity and being left alone with half-crazed men and dead bodies had got to him, he attempted to contact her with his words. Several minutes passed. Mulder fought to keep his face from breaking out into a grin. It was Scully. He was talking to her with his mind. Mulder was ecstatic. A connection. He had a psychic connection with her. He sent the thought to her by the will of his mind. Mulder felt like he was floating on air. At last, no longer a spectator, this was it. He was here, Fox Mulder, having his own personal paranormal experience with Dana Scully. So often in his work, Mulder was merely a spectator, watching from the sidelines as others saw visions of ghosts, knew things he didn't know, and claimed to have a psychic connection with someone. It had made him reluctantly jealous of these people, especially the psychics he had talked to. He had once teased Scully that he would pay a million dollars to have a psychic connection. He replayed the conversation in his head, giving their voices to her through their link. ("I'd love to have a connection like that. Think of the possibilities, Scully? You'd know what someone was thinking, you'd know if they were being straight with you, or if they were lying. You'd know all their secrets, all their hopes and wishes and dreams." Scully put that enigmatic little smile on her face, the one that stopped his heart and made him want to kiss her senseless.) Scully interrupted the transmission. (Scully put that enigmatic little smile on her face, the one that stopped his heart and made him want to kiss her senseless, if they weren't driving a car and she would allow such a thing. "I'll be grateful if you leave my mind outta this." "Why? What secrets are you harboring in your mind, Scully? Fantasies?" She smiled again. "If I was, they'd be private, and off limits." "Damn, now I really want a connection like that. You probably have all kinds of kinky sex fantasies about tying me up," he teased. She put a finger to her lips a moment, staring thoughtfully out into space. "Well, I wouldn't mind tying you up, in fact, I think it'd be fun, although I don't think sex would have much to do with it." "Okay, well if you're not harboring fantasies, what do you have locked away up there besides loads and loads of scientific knowledge and an explanation for every paranormal event we've ever witnessed?" he dared. "I'll tell you later, Mulder.") Mulder winced as one of the Japanese men butted him in the gut with his rifle. He doubled over, holding his stomach, and felt like gagging. Mulder groaned, falling to his knees. His captors ordered him to stay like that. A moment later the new guy, Hiroshi waddled over. Hiroshi was taller than Udo, Jo or Isas. And he was much heavier. The man had a large round pot belly, and reminded Mulder of something he'd seen in the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, when Violet had eaten that experimental gum and had widened into a giant round blueberry. "*We need you to ask him some questions for us, Hiroshi. You are the only one who speaks English among us,*" Jo explained. "*We think he may be a spy, and we need to know if the US knows about our plan.*" "*What makes you so sure he's going to tell you the truth?*" Hiroshi posed. Jo's eyes hardened. "*We have ways, Hiroshi, we have ways. Now, as him what his name is.*" Hiroshi turned to Mulder. "What is your name?" he asked slowly. "Fox Mulder," Mulder replied. Hiroshi looked to Jo, who nodded. "*Find out what he's doing on this island.*" "Why are you on Miyake-Jima, Mulder?" "I can't answer that." Hiroshi repeated Mulder's answer to Jo, who glanced at Udo and Isas. He nodded, and at his command Udo produced a short whip, the kind used by jockeys to make race horses run faster. He came down hard upon Mulder's lower back. A welt rippled up onto his smooth skin. Mulder grunted, his face clenching in pain. came his tenuous reply. "I need an answer, Mulder. That was a warning," Hiroshi said in his careful English laden with a thick accent. "Why are you on Miyake-Jima?" Mulder grit his teeth. "My name is Fox Mulder. I'm an American journalist." Hiroshi translated to Jo. "*He lies. Hit him again, Udo, harder.*" The whip cam down on Mulder's upper back. He fell forward, his palms outstretched, feeling the lashes across his back. "*Twice more,*" Jo ordered. Udo hit him again, and Mulder felt the blood coil in his back. "*Now ask him.*" "They will continue to beat you until you give them the truthful answer, Mulder. Why are you here?" Hiroshi demanded. "I told you, I'm an American journalist. I got a tip there was a POW camp on this island. I was just coming to investigate," he said. "I'm a civilian." Scully pleaded. "*He's lying! Hit him Udo.*" Jo demanded. Mulder heard the crack on his back before he felt it. Scully coaxed. "Why didn't you tell us you were a journalist when we first asked you?" Hiroshi demanded. Mulder gazed up at the man. His eyes were glassy, and unseeing. His voice cracked as if he were a teenager when he spoke. "I was afraid you'd kill me. Please, I'm telling the truth." Jo paused, considering. "*Why was he dressed in army fatigues?*" Mulder waited until Hiroshi repeated the words. "I was afraid of being shot. I was just following up on a tip. No journalist has been in a Japanese POW camp since the war started. I'm not on a rescue mission, I'm covering a story." Jo stared at Mulder for a long time. "*He thinks we're in the Japanese army?*" "*From his indications, yes, I believe he does,*" Hiroshi responded. "*Then he knows nothing of our militia, or our plan. He thinks we're holding prisoners for the Japanese army, as if we would help those swine!*" Jo laughed. "*All right, take him back with the rest of the prisoners. Tomorrow _kami kara amanuhara_ will come, and we will be prepared. No one knows and there is nothing they can do to stop us.*" Scully thought. Isas and Udo picked Mulder up by his arms. All the strength had gone out of his body and he allowed himself to be carried across the compound. Mulder swallowed. Miyake-Jima 9:57 PM Scully lay sprawled in the tree. She had kept Mulder talking in her mind for most of the day, waging mental wars on whether this was a delusion brought on by too much stress on her part, while Mulder had spouted theories on how their minds had become fused. He had been asleep for the past four hours, after Scully had lulled him. She could still feel him on the edge of her consciousness, feel his wounds on her back like they were her own. Her logical mind had run out of explanations. From her mental conversations with Mulder she was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than a good night's rest, that she knew she would not have anytime in the near future. She sat up a little and peered out over the compound. All was silent. The only lights came from one of the other buildings. Quietly, she nudged at Mulder's consciousness. She was getting used to him being in her head, and was learning how to use her mind in sync with his. She had put up a shield against his dreams once she saw where they were headed. The first few were nightmares, but as they progressed, she began to see daydreams and fantasies, and for some reason she found she didn't want to pry. Mulder would have the rest of his life to tell her about all his daydreams and fantasies and nightmares, and she would rather hear them from his lips than to spy on him in his mind. During their time on the X-Files, he had accused her more than once of being a spy, and no matter what she wasn't going to peek into his mind without permission and truly become a spy. Inside the tiny room, Mulder jumped awake. she replied. She gave a mental nod and then stood, glancing around in the darkness. Her fear of bats was starting to get the better of her as she edged along the branch of the banyan. She could feel Mulder mentally following her. Suddenly it was like they were on a case, getting ready to catch the bad guy, only Scully was leading the squad, Mulder following to cover her. His presence was comforting whether she wanted to admit it or not. She always felt safer if she knew Mulder was backing her up. He would never let anything happen to her, and she would never let anything happen to him. They had worked that way since the beginning, even before he trusted her, during the early, give-and-take days of their partnership. They had always been willing to do anything for each other, as if they knew that they would be together for a long time. As if they had always loved each other. She took a deep breath, as she moved cautiously out onto the limb. One of her most imminent fears was that of heights. She was scared to death of falling, and Mulder knew it. She could hear his murmurs meant to soothe in her head. She glanced down, and her breath caught. Scully inched her way across the limb. She was past the fence, close to the end of the branch, where she could lower herself down to the roof. And then she fell. It was a simple, stupid mistake, her bare foot slipping as she took another step, and ruining her tenuous balance. She couldn't even scream, only flail her arms as she felt her other foot slip. Her hands reached out and grasped the branch, the rest of her body dangling below her. She held her legs still, not wanting to draw attention. Her arms burned. If Dana Scully had one physical weakness, it would be upper body strength. She had never been able to retain it, and had almost not graduated from Quantico because of her lack of upper body strength. She had excelled in studies, and in every other field of training. Mulder's thought was loud, almost as if he were screaming. Her body twisted as she tried in vain to pull herself up. She tried to move herself sideways, but nearly lost the grip she already had. His voice in her head was stern. A moment later, Scully felt a burst of strength higher than any adrenaline rush push at her arms. She quickly lifted herself onto the branch, walked the remaining three steps and collapsed onto the roof before the power left her. The mental image of a world-weary Mulder smile lit up inside her mind. "Everything I have, Scully. And everything you have.> he thought. She could almost hear the intensity, the passion that entered his voice, so like that of a poet's in its chaotic prose. Scully peered at the building kitty corner. Scully followed his instructions, and crept through the attic window and down the stairs. The scent of death lingered in her nostrils and struck cold fear in her heart. She came to the bottom, and turned to her right. Her stomach turned and she felt the urge to wretch at the sight before her. Dead, rotting corpses were piled high in the room. One man was nibbling on the green fingertips of one of his former friends. The others looked at her with dead eyes. It was a sight that would haunt her for years to come, the image of those dead eyes staring out at her. Eyes that had once been shining with life now empty and void of whomever the person was. All except for two. She glanced to her immediate right, and saw Mulder and the British man he'd told her about, Lacey, staring up at her. She quickly knelt by Mulder. "Mulder," she whispered. She reached out and touched the side of his face. His eyes were alight with happiness, as he leaned up to eagerly capture her lips. "Ahem. Look, I don't mean to be frank, but I'd like to get out of these bloody chains," Lacey interrupted after a few moments. Scully pulled away softly, smiling at Mulder. She glanced around the room, and then finally looked up, spotting the key high above her head. She followed the white string over to a corner where a man lay, the rotting arm of another dead soldier in his lap. Carefully, she made her way over to the string while Mulder informed Lacey as to who she was. She picked it off the nail, and lowered the key to the ground. She glanced at the door before rushing to the center of the room, picking up the key and jamming it into the lock of Mulder's handcuffs. They popped open, his waist chain and leg irons following suit. She then cleared Lacey of his restraints. Lacey stood, wincing at the pain in muscles that hadn't been used for a long time. Scully turned to Mulder, who was still sitting on the floor. "Mulder, get up we have to-" "There's a little problem, Scully. I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion." Scully gave an exasperated sigh. She snorted. Mulder rose reluctantly, trying without success to keep himself hidden from her view and not be obvious about it. Scully led the way as the searched the downstairs until they found a side door leading out into the compound. They quickly and quietly merged into the darkness, at one with the night. Hiroshi was dealing the chips. He, Jo, Udo and Isas were centered around a table, Akio standing off to one side, a cigarette clamped between his thin, chapped lips. The other five members of their group were stationed on the beach, looking for the lost sailor that had set off the trap that afternoon. The four at the table were playing a divination game the Kara Kami Amanuhara had shown them in a dream. Hiroshi had had the vision first, the other member of their small ten-person group next. They had started their cult years ago, before the Kara Kami Amanuhara had become pop culture. It had developed member by member all around the world. As each person had the vision, they gradually came to know each other, to contact each other. The ten men on Miyake-Jima had been the first to encounter the vision and each other. There were twenty other men in the cult. All were of Japanese descent, all of the male species. And all were part of the master plan the Kami Kara Amanuhara had destined. The plan that would be carried out when they came tomorrow. The game they were playing was quite simple. It was fashioned somewhat after poker, only played for no money, and with chips instead of cards. After thirty hands, the player with the most losses was thrown out. Hiroshi, Udo, Jo, Isas and Akio had been the first five to have the vision. Therefore one of them would be the one to greet the Kara Kami Amanuhara when they came. Akio had been thrown out. He was pouting about it, not insisting that Hiroshi has cheated although Akio knew his claim was false. Akio threw the cigarette butt on the floor and squashed it under the heel of his boot. The chips on the table clacked together. "*Is the radio working, Hiroshi?*" Udo asked conversationally, staring at the chips lined up before him. "*There was some interference, most likely from the American ship looking for the sailor. The lines should be free in case anything goes wrong. The Kara Kami Amanuhara will be very proud of us for carrying out their will.*" Jo tossed in his chips- he'd lost again. "*Is our problem in London taken care of, Hiroshi? You said that-" Thump. Something heavy hit the boarded up window of the building. All five of the men turned to look at it. "*What was that?*" Isas asked. Hiroshi looked annoyed. "*I don't know. Akio, go see what is out there.*" "*Why do I have to go?*" "*Because you lost,*" Hiroshi replied sternly. "*Go.*" Mulder and Lacey were crouched in the bushes on either side of the window, Scully opposite the window, hidden behind a few giant ferns that had sprung up on the building opposite the one Hiroshi and the boys occupied. Mulder watched as one of the men he didn't recognize came around the corner, holding a rifle in his hands which Mulder noted were trembling. "*Come out! I know someone's here!*" he called. Mulder's body quivered slightly in anticipation. "*Just come on out.*" The man moved closer to where Mulder and Lacey sat. The man swung his rifle all around, peering into the dark night. Finally, he stepped into range. Scully kicked the side of the building. The man jumped, and turned, so his back was to Mulder and Lacey. They quickly pulled his ankles, and the man fell flat on his face. Scully scampered out from the bushes and grabbed his gun from where it lay fallen from his hands. She brought it down to a safe region on the back of his head, at the appropriate place where it would knock the man out, but not cause him any harm. Mulder waved to Lacey. They pulled the man's body a few forward, so it would be immediately visible upon entering the narrow alley, while Scully checked the weapon. Mulder and Lacey took their positions, crouched beneath the tiny bonsai that grew at the corner of all the older buildings. Scully picked up the rock she had originally thrown at the window and threw it at he window again, harder this time. She shuffled into the bushes, and waited. A few moments later, two more men came out. Mulder recognized Jo and Udo. Scully thought immediately. Mulder was surprised. He'd never heard Scully swear before, or be so angry. It was so . . . unScullylike. Mulder leapt into action. He and Lacey stood quickly, kicking Jo and Udo in the back. Both men fell like toy soldiers. They groaned, and Mulder heard the door fly open. He jumped back into the shadows as Hiroshi stormed around the side, Isas following timidly. "*What the hell-*" That was as far as he got before Mulder and Lacey ambushed them. When the fight was over, the five Japanese men were lying on the ground, four unconscious, one barely conscious, and moaning. "Go round up the men in the forest, Scully. Lacey, get Jo's gun and go with her. I'll take care of these guys." "You sure you can handle them all by yourself, Mulder? Hiroshi does look a trifle heavy," Lacey commented, motioning towards the fat man. Mulder smiled. "I'll be okay once I get my pants back. For right now, go get the beach boys. All we need is them coming back and undoing all our hard work." It was just approaching dawn when a bleary-eyed Dana Scully brought in two Japanese soldiers. Mulder was waiting at the gate. As Scully held the gun on the two men, Mulder quickly tied them up and pushed them into a sitting position beside the rest of their comrades. Pierre was keeping watch on the men, who formed a half circle around them. Mulder hadn't thought it a good idea to give Pierre a gun, but he had seemed stable enough and hadn't done anything odd since he had been put on watch. Lacey was dealing with the three remaining prisoners who still had some shred of sanity in tact. He was trying to get them to eat regular food. Mulder had retrieved his change of clothes and the provisions he was given, along with his camera and pictures. He had kept his mind closed off to Scully so she could go about her business. Now, as he looked at her silhouetted form standing dark against the rising sun, a thought slipped out. She smiled at him, and Mulder felt his heart swell. He came towards her and swept her up in his embrace, just reveling in the fact that she was here. He hugged her much longer than necessary, bringing to her mind a line she had seen in a movie a long time ago. "You know, Mulder, hugs are supposed to end." He laughed, and pulled away, grinning like a fool. He put his arm around her and led her away, towards one of the buildings. "I was starting to get worried about you. I didn't want to pry into your thoughts, but I was about to." "Well I'm glad you weren't," she replied softly. He gazed at her, his mouth hanging open in shock. "You are positively wicked. I've gone through all these years thinking you were an innocent Catholic girl, and-" "Well it's nice to know there's still some things you don't know about me." "How's your back?" she asked, as he led her into the building Hiroshi, Jo and the rest of the gang had been occupying last night. "It's been better. I put some ointment on it. You'll have to properly dress the wounds for me." She nodded. "Did you get in touch with anyone?" "Yeah," he explained. "I radioed the USS Roswell. Chessie answered. She gasped when she heard it was me and squealed when she found out you were okay. I guess she was really worried about you. The ship is coming to pick everyone up. They're going to take us to the base in Shizuoka to be checked out, and I can call my superiors from there and tell them that this place wasn't what they thought it was." "Which is what exactly?" she asked as he shut the door behind them. He walked over to the table, where a stack of blueprints lay. He had unboarded the windows to let some air in, as well as some light. Scully came up behind him, and tugged at the edges of his shirt as he sat down. "Take your shirt off and let me look at the wounds," she insisted. He lifted his arms up and she undressed him quickly, her emotions flashing so fast she could barely keep track of them. From desire to sympathy to anger and finally to the cool professionalism that an FBI pathologist had to have. "I don't know, Scully," he replied. She traced the wounds on his back, and stabs of pain ricocheted up and down his spine. He grit his teeth and concentrated on the blueprints to ignore the pain. "It's all jumbled together, and I can't get it to make sense. Look, these are blueprints of half a dozen major cities- Tokyo, Rome, London, Washington, Sydney and Paris. Most of the writings are in Japanese, so I can't understand some of the symbols. Isas said that there are thirty men, only ten of which are on this island, and that they're in a cult that worships the gods of the sky." "He talked to you?" she asked incredulously as she began to rub some ointment into the skin of his wounds. "Sang like a canary. He speaks French. I had Lacey translate for me," he explained. "Anyway, there's thirty of them, and there's going to be some kind of tribute they're making 'when the sky is dead' whatever that means. There's more prints of the phases of the moon and the island. I can't make anything out. There's also prints of the Royal Palace in London, the White House in Washington, all the seats of government." "Do you think they were trying to make a takeover of their own?" "I don't know Scully," he replied softly. She ran her hands gently through his hair. He leaned back so his head was nestled against her chest as her fingers continued to play over him, teasing him between a soothing gesture and a seductive one. He sighed. "There's also something else, Scully," he divulged. "What?" Her own voice was a bit breathless, he noted with pleasure. Maybe she was getting as turned on by the simple touch as he was. Mulder quickly put his shields back up. "A little. But, according to Isas, all of the men had implants in their neck when the gods of the sky chose them." Scully's hands stilled. "Did you look-" "Yes. On all of the men there is a tiny scar on the back of their necks." She took a deep breath, and then her eyes snapped open. "When did you say they're making this tribute?" He turned to look at her. "'When the sky is dead', why?" "'When the sky is dead,'" she repeated. "Couldn't that also mean when it's black?" "You think it'll happen at night?" She shook her head. "No, today is October 12, Mulder. There's a planetary eclipse when they align today. In those places where it won't be day, the moon will be eclipsed. The place where the eclipse will be most evident will be in Southeast Asia- Japan. And gods of the sky-' Mulder's mind went in sync with hers. "The gods would have to be able to see the tribute from the ground which means-" "Fire," they completed together. She stared at him for a moment, and then dashed out of the building. Mulder followed, his back protesting all the way. He chased her across the compound where she flew to the warehouse. She flung open the doors, and bit her lip, backing away. Mulder finally caught up and grimaced. Inside the warehouse was at least three thousand pounds of dynamite. From sticks labeled TNT to barrels of old-fashioned gunpowder to plastic explosives. "Bombs," she said simply. "They're going to blow up the cities." He took a deep breath as he heard the whistle of a ship. "What time does that eclipse take place?" "1:17 this afternoon," she replied. Mulder looked at his watch, the one he had retrieved from Akio along with his pants. "That means we've got about seven hours to contact bomb squads in those cities. Does the Roswell have any type of fax machine?" "Yes." "All right. We'll send out faxes of the blueprints when we get on board, we've gotta hurry, come on, Scully." Military hospital Shizuoka, Japan 1:45 PM Scully couldn't get comfortable in the hard orange plastic chair. It was the only thing with color in Mulder's hospital room. Everything else was white or black. She was dressed in a loose white tee shirt and a pair of white jeans. Mulder had joked that she looked like an angel. They had kept their link shut off the past few hours, each preferring the silence of their own thoughts to sharing them with each other. Mulder was lying on the bed in front of her. They had given him veranaum to dull the pain in his back. The wounds hadn't been as bad as Scully had first feared, and the doctors had said that they would probably heal with little scarring. The problem was that the verenaum also contained caffeine. Mulder couldn't sit still. He kept wanting to get up and walk around. They had sent the faxes hours ago, and obtained replies from five of the cities. Hong Kong officials had received the transmission, but it was doubtful they would respond, because it had come from an American ship. Scully was a bundle of nerves, as she kept staring at the television set. They were talking about the prisoners on Miyake-Jima, the eclipse, and reports of an alleged bomb scare in several major cities that had caused major panic. She sighed and shifted in the chair, glancing at the clock on the wall across from her. "I was talking with the doctors and they've recommended that you be sent back to the States, permanently, because of your wounds." Mulder nodded, understanding her need to fill the air with conversation bout something other than the fact that no one in Hong Kong had responded, and that most likely many innocent people had died because of this war, because of all the distrust and paranoia between the two sides. "What about you?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "I wasn't wounded. Most likely, I'll be sent back to the ship." "After all you've been through?" he asked. She glanced at him sorrowfully. "It's the right decision, Mulder. I have to go back to the ship. I'm not hurt, or physically impaired." He turned his head away and played with his watch, his face drawn. "I don' t know, Scully, I guess I thought- I thought that when all this was over, you'd be able to come home with me." She crossed her arms and looked away. Her voice was thick with tears when she spoke next. "I would like nothing more than to be able to go back to Washington with you, Mulder. But this war is drawing to a close, you and I both know that. Moai has fled to China, and we're pushing forces back out of Japan, Egypt and Israel. We're closing in on them, and they need me in case anyone gets hurt on the ship." "They don't need you, Scully," Mulder said angrily. "_I_ need you. There are plenty of doctors, Scully. Abberdine wrote me a letter last week and said he's going home. So's Carnent. They don't need them anymore, Scully. They don't need me and they don't need you." "Regardless of whether they need me or not, Mulder, they have me. I have to go, and I wish to God I could go home with you, but I can't," she said, her voice trailing off. He had only heard her sound like that once before, when he had seen her in the hospital after her sister died. Hearing her voice broke his heart, tearing him up into a thousand little pieces. He slid out of bed and padded over to her, putting his arms around her, just like he had then. "I'm sorry for getting angry, Scully." She pulled him closer to her, stroking him in an effort to give comfort as she was receiving it. That was one of the things he loved about Scully. Her way of receiving love was always to give it. Giving comfort and love was like a gift to her, one he had often denied her. He felt guilty about running off on her, about not breaking down and confessing to her when he was having regrets, or feeling lonely and needed someone. All those times he could have given her that gift, and he hadn't. He felt her nudging at his thoughts, seeking entrance, but he wouldn't let her. He had been wanting to mention his idea to her all afternoon, but had never found the right opportunity. "Scully," he murmured. "What?" "I think- I think there's a way that you can come home with me." She pulled back and stared at him. "What is it?" He bit his lip, and closed his eyes for a moment, not sure how to proceed, doubts surfacing in his mind. He chanced a look up at her eyes, and saw care and understanding . . . And hope, he thought. He had to tell her. He wanted her back with him as much as she wanted to be back. "You could get pregnant," he said simply. She swallowed, and stared at him in shock. "Pregnant?" "Well you always said you wanted a lot of kids, and we're getting married anyway and I love you so much and I want to have children with you and I don't want to wait until you're dead or this war is over, I need you with me back in Washington, and we could just tell them that it was an accident, and we'd get married as soon as we got back to Washington, even sooner if possible, you can doctor your pregnancy test results, they'll believe you, and we can get married and get pregnant as soon as we're back in Washington and no one will ever know the difference. Please, Dana, I love you, I need you with me and I want kids anyway, as much as you do," he babbled. She stared at him for a moment. "Don't ask me to do this, Mulder," she said. "Scully, I-" "DON'T!" she yelled. "Do you know what you're asking me, Mulder?" She stood and paced about the room. "You're asking me to choose between you and my honor, Mulder. Fix the tests? Fix them? I could loose my medical license for that, I could be sent to prison for that, dammit Mulder. And just say we got away with it- I'd be taking the easy way out. My father taught me to take orders and to accept what life threw at me. I'd be dishonoring everything he ever taught me." She turned back to where he was still on his knees, like a hopeful fiance. In a way, he was making a proposal. A proposal of their life together, of getting the chance to live it. His eyes looked round and large. Scared. "I don't think I can make it without you another day, Scully. I've lived without you since I left in February, and I can't do it anymore." Scully looked at him carefully and then fled the room. 9:17 PM Scully stood at the foot of Mulder's bed, watching him sleep. Her heart constricted and she felt sick when she thought of the pain she had caused him, the pain she was going to cause him. Mulder already hurt so much. He was filled with so much grief and recriminations that it made her want to weep. Footsteps echoed. She turned, and saw her father standing beside her. He was in full naval dress, his uniform starched white, his medals and nameplate impeccably placed. She watched him watch her for a few minutes before he spoke. "Hello, Starbuck." "Daddy," she whispered. "Oh Daddy, what should I do?" He smiled gently at her, and reached out, gently brushing a strand of red hair away from her face. "What's the matter, Starbuck? Who hurt you?" "I love him so much, Daddy, and more than anything I want to be with him," she cried, burying her face in her father's shoulder. He held her gently, stroking the back of her head. "I do love him, with every fiber of my being and I want to be with him forever, I don't want to go back, but I have to." He pulled her away gently, wiping a stray tear from her face. "Why do you have to go back, Starbuck?" "I'm ignoring my duty, if I do. I'm taking the easy way out, I'm dishonoring everything you taught me to believe in. You told me about how you were drafted and you could have avoided it to be with mom, but you didn't because it was your duty and I want to be like you, Daddy. All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me, and I thought- I thought that you were, that you would be so proud of me for going, for doing the right thing. And I don't want to do it, Daddy, I can't. He's been hurt so many times, I don't want him to hurt anymore, I love him." He smiled gently at her. "You've already made be proud, Starbuck. I was always proud of you, I loved you, I still love you. If you go back, you're hurting yourself by not being with him. And I never wanted you to hurt, Starbuck. And I'll always be proud of you, and so will everyone else. "You're not taking the easy way out, Starbuck. It's hard for you to take the easy way out. I've been watching you. This will be hard. "But when you love someone, you really love them, the way love is always supposed to be, you'll do anything to be with them. I hated myself for leaving your mother. I hated it because I wasn't loyal. And you'll hate yourself for leaving him, Starbuck. Don't make the same mistake I did. I know that you love him the way I loved your mother. Your family, that man that you love are your loyalties. Not to the navy, or the government or anyone else. The people you love are your loyalties. Don't forget that, Starbuck. Never forget that." Scully swallowed. "I won't, Daddy." He gave her a hug again, and then smiled as he pulled away. "That's my girl." He kissed her forehead. "Good-bye, Starbuck. "Good-bye Ahab." 11:21 PM Scully awoke from her dream to the sound of a large party. Someone was shaking her. She looked up to see Chessie grinning down at her. "Dana! Dana! Dana!" she squealed. She hugged her friend tightly, and although Chessie was shorter, she managed to lift Scully off the couch in the waiting area of the hospital. "Did you hear?" "What?" She grinned. "It's over." "What is?" "Moai's dead. He was in Hong Kong and-" Scully's eyes grew wide. "Did the bomb go off?" she asked hurriedly, rubbing sleep from her eyes and standing. Chessie frowned and shook her head. "No. What are you talking about? Anyway, Moai was giving a speech this afternoon to his troops when he just dropped dead. The rest of the forces in Japan just surrendered, along with those in Egypt. There's still some groups putting up resistance in the Middle east and southeast Asia, but it's all confined, the groups can only hold out for a few months at best. It's over, Dana! The war is over!" 11:24 PM "Mulder!" Scully shouted as she entered his hospital room. She had tried to talk telepathically with him, but she suspected he might have his shields up again, because she didn't get a response. In fact, it had felt as if he wasn't even in her head at all, anymore. He was sitting up in bed, quietly staring at the TV screen, in the darkness. She rushed over and enveloped him a hug, climbing on top of the bed with him. "Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry I was angry with you this afternoon," she breathed, as she leaned down and kissed him. He pushed her gently off of him and fumbled for the light so he could see her more clearly. "Scully, what-" "Make love to me," she demanded. "I love you more than life itself, Mulder, I want your children and I can't stand to live another day without you by my side. I love you, and I want you." He touched the side of her face softly. "Dana," he breathed. Suddenly he squirmed, and reached over on the nightstand. "Don't bother, I don't care if I get pregnant. I'm coming back home with you, Mulder, I love you." "No, I want to give you this," he said. He held out something in his hand. Scully recognized it as the ID bracelet he had bought for her all those months ago, the birthday present he had never really given her, but that she had always worn. "My God," she breathed. "Where did you find it?" "It was on the beach on Miyake-Jima. Right before we left, I saw it and put it in my pocket. I forgot about it this afternoon, when-" "I'm sorry, Mulder, I was just so flustered-" "No, you were right. I had no right to make you choose between me and your honor and I'm sorry, and you don't have to do this just to come home with me-" "Do you ever shut up?" she demanded. She leaned down and kissed him forcefully, her tongue gliding into his mouth, her legs spread over his abdomen, her hands titling his head up. He kissed her back, his arms going around her, caressing her back and her face. He tugged her away, and looked at her, taking her hand in his. He slipped the ID bracelet on her, and then looked at her face. "Now it's official, Dana." "We're married?" He shook his head. "Not formally. But from now on," he whispered, kissing the back of her palm above the bracelet. "We belong to each other." Mulder sat caressing Dana's back with his free hand. She was snuggled up against him, their bodies locked together and covered in sweat. He couldn't count on one hand the number of times they'd made love. It was well after three am, and they were both exhausted. "Fox," she whispered. "Yeah?" "In the confusion- I forgot to ask, did you hear about Moai?" she asked, looking up at his eyes. "The war is over, Dana, I know." He grinned at her. "As long as we're sharing gossip, I figured there's something else you should know." At that point his face became serious. "Moai died at approximately 1:17 PM. At that same instant, all ten of the men that were on Miyake-Jima also apparently just dropped dead. I had just gotten autopsy reports back before you burst in. They all died of heart attacks. Moai, all the men. There's no mention of the scars, or of any metal chips in their necks. However, I did get in touch with Skinner and some friends in the British consulate. It seems that nineteen other men 'dropped dead' at 1:17 PM. I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet the farm that they were in on Hiroshi's plan." Scully opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. "Wait, it gets better. I also called MUFON. They reported eighteen thousand separate UFO sightings in the Washington D.C. area alone during the eclipse." "UFOs?" "Gods of the sky, Scully. And the island of Miyake-Jima exploded." "What?" she asked, breathless, sitting up and looking at him. "Hiroshi must have rigged a bomb to go off at 1:17 PM. A helicopter flying over the area took a picture." Mulder leaned over on the night table, and picked up a black and white photo. It was of Miyake- Jima, an egg-shaped island. Two large rings of fire were in the thicker end of the egg, and down near the other end, was a long line. It looked, of all the things Scully could compare it to, like an alien's head. "Wait a minute, though, I thought Moai was Chinese." Mulder grinned. "Only half Chinese. That was how he was able to lure the Japanese emperor into helping him - his father is a very prominent Japanese citizen who divorced his Chinese mother in 1973. And if you've noticed, also can't speak with our minds anymore. I'm also willing to bet we lost that at 1:17 PM, during the eclipse." "That's if we even ever had it, Mulder. It could have just been a self-induced delusion brought on by too much stress-" Mulder blinked at her. "Are you kidding me, Scully?" "Oh come on, we can't really talk to each other with our minds-" Mulder and Scully argued for twenty minutes more, going over all the possibilities. And then they made love and fell asleep, finally realizing all that they had been missing. The End From kileyw@frontiernet.net Mon Oct 14 18:02:06 1996 Hi everybody! This is the epilogue to the Missing Word series. I've had a bit of trouble with this one 'cause it just wasn't sounding right to me < and some parts still aren't>. Okay, this is MSR, so run for your lives! Classification: Short Story/Romance- MSR Rating: "R" 'cause of Scully's "colorful" language Summary: The war is over, but for Mulder and Scully, life is just beginning. The Found Word: 07/04/00 (1/2) by Sarah "S\S" Kiley (kileyw@frontiernet.net) Washington, D.C. July 3, 2000 11:01 PM "You son of a bitch, Fox Mulder!" Mulder ducked as Scully swung at him with her fist, lashing out. He rubbed his sore jaw from where she had got him last time. "Dana, sweetie . . ." "Don't you sweetie me, you twenty-four hour erection!" she yelled. Mulder chuckled. He had never thought that Dana Scully, the prim and proper lady he knew as Dana Katherine Scully would say such a thing. But then again, there was a lot he had learned about her since their marriage in November. They'd gotten married on the five-year anniversary of the day she had awoken from her coma in the Georgetown hospital. Mulder had told her that it was that day he realized that he could never be separated from her. She, of course, had called him a liar and told him it was when they had met up in Italy about a year ago, after being separated for several months, their only contact through long, detailed letters. She had saved every one, and he had saved all of hers. They sat in a box in the closet of their apartment, keepsakes for their children and grandchildren. She gasped. "What the hell was I thinking when I married you? And were you thinking? NOT WITH YOUR HEAD! No, all you had in mind was release for Captain Winky! Too many months without your video collection, I suppose, you stupid- AH! Oh, God!" she screamed. Her hand clenched his forearm. He was sure her hand on his arm was going to leave bruises. "I'm going to kill you!" she screeched. She flailed out, nearly missing his nose. "I hate you, I hate you!" she spat. He closed his eyes, trying to hide his smile. "I know you do, Dana, I know," he reassured. "It'll all be over soon, love, I promise. Just think- in a little while you'll be over this, and everything will be fine. Just breathe with me, Dana." "BREATHE?" she demanded. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?" Her face was red with anger that matched the fiery tempo of her hair. "You better find the doctor who operated on John Bobbit because you're going to need him!" Mulder had to laugh. "Calm down, Scully, you're making a spectacle of yourself." "A SPECTACLE? You chase lights in the sky, and I'm making a SPECTACLE OF MYSELF? I don't care! Let's see the people watching- OW!" she screamed, and Mulder felt her nails dig into his forearm. Mulder glanced across at Mrs. Scully, who was poised on the other side of Dana Scully-Mulder's hospital bed. A quiet, knowing smile was on her face, as she smoothed back hair from her daughter's sweat- stricken face. "Dana," she murmured. "You just yell all you want. You make them think you're giving birth to a full grown man instead of a tiny little baby." Scully quieted down, and began her lamas breathing at her mother's words. Mulder's jaw dropped. He had been trying for the past twenty minutes to get Dana to stop screaming at him, telling her he loved her, and that it would be over soon, and they'd have their baby, and for a while it had worked. But as the contractions began to come faster and faster, she had started yelling about "what he had done to her" and how he had tricked her into having a baby (when they had discussed it together and decided that they wanted a baby). He had heard more swearing from her mouth in those fifteen minutes that only a sailor's daughter could possibly say with such vigor. He hadn't even understood some of them (what was a `fucking messed up seagull with its head in its ass trying to fly with its ears and screw with a toe' and what did it have to do with him?). It was a good thing they weren't videotaping the birth. What their child would think if he or she heard mom swearing like that! "How'd you do that?" he asked Mrs. Scully, in something close to awe. "What?" Scully broke in angrily. She laid back against the pillows as the contraction passed, and then stared up at her husband, the hand that had been digging into his skin now stroking it softly. "I'm sorry, Fox, I'm-" He smiled. "In a lot of pain. I don't think I've ever heard so much swearing in my entire life." He took her hand in his, and smoothed back damp red curls from her face. "It hurts, Fox, it hurts," she whimpered. He kissed her forehead. "I know, love, I know. It's almost over, and then we'll have our baby-" "Fox Junior," she mumbled. He sucked in a deep breath, and prayed it wasn't a boy. He and Dana had been fighting about what they were going to name the baby if it was a boy for the past four months. She thought "Fox Junior" was an absolutely horrible name, while he didn't want the curse of said name brought upon his child. He had tried teasing her about it, saying how unoriginal she was, and how boring it would be, and how she'd call his name, and not one, but two people would appear, but she was undeterred. And she wasn't going to suddenly change her mind. She had never told him why she was so hung up on naming the boy Fox Junior. They had been discussing the name situation for the seven billionth time when her water broke. "Cara," he said determinedly back, grinning when she glared at him. Cara was the one name they'd both agreed on. It was Italian for love, a private joke between them that would make a good bedtime story for their would-be daughter. Mulder had been having daydreams like that for months, thinking of things he could tell his daughter, imagining what she would look like. "During the war in Italy was when I first realized I was in love with your mother . . ." But secretly, while he wished for a daughter so they wouldn't have a major blow-up over the name issue, she wished for a son so she could pass onto him his father's name. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully: man and wife and opposites in every single way. It was a bit like the kind of romance between the school sweetheart and the school rebel, drawn straight up from a bad teenage love `50s movie designed to make teenage girls swoon, staring dewy- eyed at all the boys in school who wore their hair slicked back. The dangerous, daring Fox Mulder who lived to break the rules, to believe in the things people ridiculed, and to be ridiculed himself; hopelessly in love with Dana Scully, the prim and proper woman who believed solely in science and revered her Catholicism, even as she broke her daddy's heart by joining the FBI. But at that moment, the roles were reversed, Mulder quaking in fear at his wife. He had read about problems in childbirth, especially with women like Dana. She was so small and tiny, even if most people couldn't see her that way, even if he didn't see her that way. His main concern was that she didn't have wide hips, which he had read would make childbirth difficult. He was so afraid that, like some bad movie on Lifetime, he would end up being forced to choose: Dana or their child. He had told Scully and she had laughed herself into tears while he went through a range of emotions from anger to embarrassment. He stared at her face, remembering that conversation two months ago . . . "Fox, will you stop tossing and turning?" she demanded. Dana sat up in bed, reaching over and turning on the lights, her hand on her swollen stomach. She glanced over at her husband, who sat up beside her, turning to stare at her. "What's the matter?" He bit his lip, staring at her worriedly. "Nothing, nevermind. I'll go sleep on the couch so I don't keep you and the baby up-" he said, and began to rise. Scully reached out and grabbed the waistband of his boxers, pulling him back down on the bed. "You're the first man in the world to ever *volunteer* to sleep on the couch," she chuckled. She knelt behind him, and put her arms awkwardly around his neck, her enlarged belly making it difficult to embrace him like this. She kissed the back of his neck lightly. "Come on, what's the matter?" she coaxed. He sighed, remaining silent. She did a mental checklist. "You been eating too many green M&Ms?" she teased. She trailed her fingers along his ribs. "I know I'm not exactly beautiful to look at considering I don't have a waist anymore-" He turned immediately, staring into her eyes. "No. And you look better now than I've ever seen you before." "Although I beg to differ, I'm going to let it pass in hopes you'll tell me what's wrong." He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up so he could stare directly into her eyes. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Scully. Or the baby." She stared suspiciously at him. "Why would something happen?" He swallowed. "Well, it's just- you're so small, I mean, your hips are very narrow and I read that it's . . . harder to give birth that way." "Mulder, I'm not going to die. I'll be in a lot of pain and I'll be walking like I've been having sex nonstop for the past nine months, but other than that nothing's going to happen. The worst they'll have to do is cut me open to repair some damaged tissue- I won't be able to wear a bikini anymore, big deal." Mulder felt incredibly stupid. "I know, but, I, uh, I saw this movie-" She groaned. "Oh, Mulder, I told you we have to get Lifetime blocked off until I have this baby. First you thought I was going to run off and have an abortion without telling you, then you were convinced I'd have a miscarriage and it would destroy our marriage, then you were worried about baby snatchers- baby snatchers! This child isn't out of my womb yet! What now? Aliens taking my baby? Faulty anesthetics? Me getting addicted to pain killers?" His face flushed. "I know I worry about stupid things sometimes, but this has happened a lot- statistics show!" he pointed out. "And I-" He suddenly reached out and pulled her into a fierce embrace. "I can't choose! I won't choose the baby if they tell me only you or the baby lives, I won't, I love you," he sobbed. Scully tried to hold in her laughter for two seconds. "Oh, God, why did I have to marry a pessimist?" She pulled him away, staring darkly at him. "Mulder, I want you to repeat after me: I will stop worrying. I will not watch Lifetime movies, no matter how bored I am, and I will not become convinced that all kinds of bad things are going to happen." He sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just- with our record-" She frowned. "What record? Mulder, we met up in Italy in the middle of a war, at the same time, at the same place, if I hadn't been thrown overboard- if you weren't supposed to be picked up by the Roswell instead of some other ship- if . . . whatever that thing that happened between us on Miyake-Jima hadn't happened- we wouldn't be here. We wouldn't be married, you wouldn't be having irrational fears about childbirth- Mulder our record is pretty damn good! We've gone through a lot of things, and you're a liar if you think that the fates didn't conspire for us. We made it through a war- and we came out engaged with a baby on the way! We made it through eight years- eight YEARS of each other, Mulder, to finally get to this point. And we didn't end up hating each other, or shooting each other-" He raised his eyebrows. "Without good reason," she continued, unfazed. "We were separated, if not by our higher- ups, then by ourselves and our inability to communicate, and we've always come back, Mulder. Fate's been good to us, Mulder. Apart, we may not be too spectacular, but together- together we can do anything, you have to know that," she urged. "And I think you do know it." He sighed, his breath stirring the hairs around her face. "There's so many things, Scully. So many bad things . . . my sister, your abduction, my father, Melissa . . ." "And there's a lot of good things. I love you. And this baby is going to be just fine, I promise," she said with conviction. He turned to her with sad brown eyes. "How can you be so sure, Dana? You're so calm and cool about it all, and I'm a basket case." continued . . . . . "You want the Real Thing, and I'm a diet coke, okay?" -Zora Jacobs see http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/8969 for details... From kileyw@frontiernet.net Mon Oct 14 18:13:36 1996 see disclaimer and info in part one The Found Word: 07/02/00 (2/2) by Sarah "S\S" Kiley (kileyw@frontiernet.net) She smiled affectionately, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, Mulder. I wish you knew what it was like to be pregnant. You would understand then, I know you would. You would know what it's like to feel another life inside you and you know-I *know*, Mulder. I just know. Everything will be fine," she coaxed. She leaned over and kissed him gently. "Come on, I'm tired, lie down." He kissed her again. "Truly tired?" He gently toyed with the hem of her silk pajamas where they had ridden up so they barely touched the tops of her thighs, due to her state of pregnancy. She smiled. "Oh, but that wasn't he problem, remember? Maybe I should take you up on that offer to sleep on the couch." He began to unbutton her pajamas. "And then again, maybe I should just lie back and enjoy," she murmured as he reached over and flipped the light off, his fingers trying to free her from the material that held her bound . . . Mulder came back to the present with a start as Scully squeezed his hand again. "Oh, God," she cried out in pain. "Mom- mom, it hurts so much! Mulder!" He swallowed deeply. He's heard her scream in fear and pain before, but this was different. Her screams were excruciating torture for him to have to listen to. He had heard her call his name in fear far too many times and he had decided that he liked when she called his name in ecstasy a lot better. He was almost positive she had bruised his hands. "Breathe, Scully, take deep breaths," he urged gently. With his free hand, he stroked the side of her face. "You can do it, Dana, come on, breathe, remember how we did it before? You can breathe." She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, listening to his voice. She and Mulder had been practicing this for the past month- he was going to put her into a state of hypnosis where she wouldn't feel any pain, but she would still be able to have her baby. She listened to the quiet tones or his voice, whispering something about babies and streams and a chocolate cake, and how they were safe, and peaceful. She envisioned the place in her mind. A bank by the edge of a lake, a picnic table set up near the surface of the lake, where the water lapped the shore as the scent of barbecue pulled her into the realm of fantasy. And Mulder was there, and their children were there, and her mom. Scully was vaguely aware when Mulder stopped talking, but it was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate on reality when the fantasy world Mulder had given her was much less complicated, a calm place where everything was fine. "Dana," his voice cut through the haze. "The doctors want you to push, honey, come on, push." She heard her screams of pain, but didn't feel any. She took a deep breath and began to push. She felt her body widen, and screech, unaccustomed to the feeling, and then relax. She opened her eyes, unaware that she had even closed them and saw Fox smiling at her. "Good girl, Dana, good girl. You did real good. You don't feel any pain, you can't feel the pain, remember that," he urged. She wanted to cry when he turned away from her, looking at someone she couldn't see. When he turned back, his face was solemn. "Okay, we're almost done. The doctors need one more, one more push, they want, one more big push, and we'll have our baby, okay?" he said gently. She nodded, and felt moisture running down the side of her face as she began to concentrate. She held her breath , and pushed with all her might, cursing her parents for bringing her into the world and making her a girl who'd have to go through all this, even as she wished some cruel and unusual punishment on her husband. A moment later, she felt her body retract, coming back to itself after all the distortions it had faced to give away the prize that had been sitting in her body for the past nine months. She collapsed back against the bed, and looked up at Mulder. "Dana, it's all right, baby, it's okay," he cooed, wiping her face where sweat mingled with her tears. "Everything's fine. You're okay, right?" She did a mental check of her body, searching for pain, and found none, surprisingly. She couldn't feel her legs, or anywhere below her waist. She pointed down to her legs, a troubled look on her face. "They had to give you some medication, Dana. They were worried about you being too small for even one, and then the second- they didn't want to take any chances. I'm sorry, I know you wanted to do this by yourself," he said gently. He turned his head again, and Scully saw his face turn slightly green as he shook his head vigorously and replied something to whomever had spoken to him. When he faced her again, he was smiling. "Do you want to see them?" he said gently. She blinked, suddenly realizing how tired she was, and tried to form words. "Tired, can't hold what is it?" Her words sounded slurred to her own ears, and she wondered just what kind of drugs they had knocked her up with. Mulder grinned, and she saw his words form an answer she couldn't hear as she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Room 207 3:46 AM "Mulder!" Dana Mulder shot up in her hospital bed, her husband's name a cry on her lips. She stared around at her unfamiliar surroundings, trying to find out where she was. A hospital. A hospital. Was she hurt? Was Mulder hurt? Where was he? A moment later the light by her bed came on, and she saw her husband sitting in the chair beside her. He smiled. His white shirt was unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A rough stubble covered his jaw, his hair stuck up all over the place. His brown eyes were warm, but exhausted. "Hi. Welcome back." She let out a deep breath. "Mulder, I was- this horrible dream. What am I doing here?" He scooted the chair forward, taking her hand in his own. "Don't you remember?" he asked. She frowned, her mind a fog. "The baby," she whispered, her hands going straight for her abdomen, which was no longer so distended. "The baby, is the baby all right, Fox? Is the baby okay?" she demanded, her blue eyes wide with fear. Mulder kissed her hand. "The baby's fine, Dana. Just fine. There's something you should know-" "What? Is it disformed? Oh, God, Mulder, please please tell me the baby's okay," she begged, her voice going down to a croak. She thought of the infant they had found four years ago, buried alive, each birth defect more damning than the last. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of some mother killing her child like that, no matter how deformed it may be. She stared at her husband for reassurance that their child was fine, healthy, normal. He squeezed her hand, and then sat on the edge of the bed and hugged her tightly. "The babies are fine, Dana, just fine. They're beautiful, perfectly healthy. There's nothing wrong with them." She swallowed. "Them?" "Twins, Dana. Identical twins. Remember they said that there was a possibility we might be having another baby because of all the movement, but they couldn't be sure? And we skipped last month's ultra sound, so . . ." he trailed off, a grin on his face. Her breath caught at the revelation. "Oh, Mulder. Mulder, can I see them? Please, can I?" He bit his lip in indecision. "The doctors didn't want you moving- the birth was difficult-" She shook her head, and sat up straighter, pushing him away gently. "I need to see them, Fox. I *need* to." He brushed a loose strand of hair back away from her face. "Okay." Ten minutes later, the nurses had brought both babies into room 207. Mulder was holding the boy, his face alive at the sight of his newborn son's dark eyes staring up at him, Scully noted with pleasure, as she peered down at her daughter. She smiled when she saw the tiny band on the girl's foot proclaiming her Cara Mulder. "Mulder," she asked, her voice breaking the still that had settled over the room. He turned to look at her, and her breath caught in her chest when she realized that his eyes were glistening. "The boy- what did you name him?" "Fox Junior," he responded. At her look of questioning and surprise, he continued, his eyes focusing on the tiny life in his hands. "You wanted to name him that so much, and I didn't really know what to call him. he's the younger one, so they told me." He toyed with one of the child's tiny fists as it waved in the air and then grabbed onto his pinkie finger. "Why did you want to name him Fox Junior, Dana?" he asked his wife suddenly. "You wanted that name so much- why?" She smiled at him. "I love you, Fox. I love you with all my heart and I love everything about you. That includes your name. And I would watch you- Mulder sometimes I would watch you looking at me putting my hands on my stomach, or waddling around, and the look you had- it was almost like envy." He opened his mouth to protest, but the look in her eyes quelled him. "I know you'd never admit it, but you would watch me and I swear you were jealous because the baby- babies, were inside me, and not inside you. I didn't know how to include you in something like that, and I knew that you felt excluded sometimes, it radiated off of you. I was afraid- I was afraid that you would forget-" she stopped, and then looked at him. "You've been right, so far, keep going," he urged. "I don't know how you knew. I did get like that sometimes, when I would see you- I hated myself for it, and I didn't want to tell you. It was really stupid. Especially since I knew that you didn't like being dependent on me, or anyone else, and you really hated not being able to work. How could I tell you?" She smiled. "I was afraid that once the baby was born, you might forget that you had a handle in it- I wanted you to know that you also helped with this baby, that it wasn't just my child." He looked down at the baby. "Oh, kid, you've only been in this world for a few hours and you've already got a history." Scully laughed, as she cuddled her daughter. A few moments later the nurse came back in. "They'll have to go back to sleep now, unless you plan on waking up at three am every morning. The babies will develop sleeping patterns these first few days, and if they're left unattended and awake for several hours by themselves, they'll become reclusive and won't accept being around different people- including yourselves." Scully and Mulder glanced at each other as they handed the babies back to the nurse one at a time, and she took them out of the room. Mulder stood in the doorway, watching the nurse as she took them back to the nursery. Scully resettled herself back in the bed, flipping on the TV. "Well, they're in the nursery," he said, staring at his wife. He situated his chair next to her bed. Scully wasn't paying attention, focusing instead on the TV. She turned the volume up, her brows furrowed as she stared at the anchor on CNN. " . . . world population is expected to increase in the next few months, according to psychologists, who have been studying the effect of war on society. In post-war news, the peace treaty between Japan and the UN took affect at midnight this morning, even though only a handful of American and British soldiers remain stationed in Hokkaido, who are expected to be called back next week . . ." Mulder looked at Scully. "Well. It's July fourth." She nodded solemnly. "I was right." "You were right. But how did you know?" "Mulder, do you need an answer for everything? I can't wait until our children do this to you, and you have to answer them." She grinned. "I love you." "I love you too." "Mulder, why don't I juts move over and you can lie here with me?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows. "I know this is a fantasy of yours, but-" "Mulder, if I wasn't so tired I'd hit you. Come here." "Yes, ma'am." Mulder lay on his side, kissing the side of her face. "Good night, Dana." "Fox?" "Yeah?" "Our babies- when were they born?" "Yesterday. 11:21, why?" She smiled into his shoulder. "No reason. Good-night, I love you." "I love you, too." It had taken eight years, several deaths, a war, a mystery, and fate. But Mulder and Scully had found each other. And they had found their word. THE END so..... whadidya think?