From: Jennifer Sorowitz <sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu>
Date: Wed, 10 May 2000 00:43:32 -0500
Subject: xfc: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 15 of 17 by Jennifer Sorowitz
Source: xfc

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 15/17
Author: Jennifer Sorowitz
Email: sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground,
Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two
teenagers in a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its
vicinity, they are trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their
way out--without killing each other first?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission
and no profit is being made.

Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Jennifer Sorowitz


Epilogue Part 1


And you try to find yourself
In the abstractions of religion
And the cruelty of everyone else
And you wake up to realize
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive


Mulder did not hear the knock at first. His attention was focused on one of
the maps that were strewn across the desk in his hotel room. He had been
scrutinizing this particular sketch for the past half hour, but to no
avail: it was not giving him the information for which he was searching.

It was only when the knock was repeated more insistently that he finally
noticed the noise.

Uncurling his body from the hunched-up position in which he had been
sitting, Mulder stood up and tossed his glasses onto the pile of papers. As
he made his way over to the door, he stretched his arms and bent his head
this way and that to get the kinks out of his neck.

When he opened the door, his visitor greeted him with a familiar easy-going
smile.

"Hey, G-Man, what's up?" Even in the casual attire of a tee-shirt and
jeans, the athletic build and confident stance made the man's military
training unmistakable. The obvious five o'clock shadow--and perhaps the
cocky, rebellious glint in his eye--was the only hint that he was not a
spit-and-polish soldier from one of the more illustrious branches of the
armed forces, but rather a rough-and-tumble commando well-versed in the
arts of unconventional warfare.

"Hi, Socks," Mulder replied, shaking the other man's proffered hand.
"Thanks for stopping by." He stepped back, and gestured for the SEAL to
come inside.

"No problem. I headed over just as soon as I got your message." Socks
looked around as he entered. Taking in the size and splendor of the room,
he whistled in admiration. "So this is how the other half lives. Obviously
you Feds get better treatment than us military grunts."

Mulder chuckled. "Hardly. Believe me, this is the exception to the rule.
It's only because the father of one of the victims in the case we were sent
here to investigate owns the place. Otherwise, I'm sure we'd be staying in
Hawaii's version of Motel 6."

"Compared to some of the places I've had to sleep in my lifetime, Motel 6
would be like staying in a penthouse suite."

Socks' attention was then drawn to the desk, and the piles of papers that
were scattered across its surface. Walking closer, he saw maps of the
island of Nihau and of the Lehua Caves, tourist brochures on the Hawaiian
Archipelago, type-written police reports, and a number of crime scene
photographs. Off to one side, next to the laptop whose keyboard was
partially covered by paperwork, was a tray from room-service with a meal
that was only half-touched.

"Been busy I see," Socks remarked, picking up a brochure for a closer look.

"I've been going over these maps, trying to figure out where we were when
the cave-in separated us from Scully and Riskey--specifically, where the
tunnel was in relation to the cave entrance. Unfortunately, not much has
been documented in regards to charted pathways in the Lehua Caves. It would
appear that most of what was known about those tunnels died with our guide,
Uncle Stu."

Mulder shook his head sadly at the recollection of Stu's untimely death.
Feeling partly responsible, Mulder had insisted to Detective Agbayani that
he would inform Stu's brother about the unfortunate accident himself. Stu's
younger sibling had taken the news surprisingly well; he seemed oddly
comforted by the fact that Stu would spend all eternity within the stony
caverns to which he had devoted his entire adult life and about which he
could never stop talking passionately. 'Maybe he'll finally meet one of his
beloved Kahunas,' the brother had said.

The sound of Socks' voice brought Mulder out of his reverie. "And you're
looking for this information why?"

Pushing away any lingering feelings of guilt, Mulder instead focused on the
task at hand. "Agent Scully and I were sent to Hawaii to investigate the
mysterious death of two teenagers," he explained as he rifled through his
piles of papers. "It seems the kids were wandering around the caves near
the entrance when something killed them--incinerated the flesh right off of
their bones." He handed Socks a photo from the crime scene.

The SEAL took it, stared at the image of two skeletons laying side-by-side
on the cave floor. Aside from a small frown, Socks' face betrayed no other
emotion at the gruesome sight of the victims' remains. There was little
doubt that he had seen far worse during his years as a soldier, that he had
learned to harden his heart to such horrendous sights. He wordlessly handed
the photo back to Mulder.

"How long were they missing before their bodies were discovered?"

"Less than twenty-four hours."

Socks scowled in disbelief. "No way is that possible. It'd take months for
those bodies to completely decompose."

"Well, Scott Robinson and Kilikina Ainalani were each seen alive and well
by members of their respective families several hours before they went
missing. And their remains were discovered early the next morning," Mulder
said, gesturing to the photo. "What's even more bizarre is the fact that
their backpacks were found against one of the cave walls, with not a singe
on them."

"That's wild, man," Socks said, slowly shaking his head. "But what does it
have to do with the cave-ins or our little journey through the cave?"

"I think that canister you and your team were sent to retrieve is what
killed those kids."

For the briefest of moments, Socks' eyes registered his surprise. But just
as quickly, the reaction was gone, his expression once more nonchalant. "I
don't know what you're talking about," he said, crossing his arms. "Who
said anything about a canister?"

"Drop the cloak and dagger bullshit, Socks, because I'm really not in the
mood," Mulder snapped. "Your commander already told Scully that the object
was a canister, and that it showed up on the government's sensors two
nights before we all met up in the caves--the same night Scott and Kilikina
died. I believe in coincidences as much as the next guy, but I've also been
in this business long enough to recognize when something is not due merely
to chance. You said yourself that the canister seemed to be the source of
the cave-ins. If it was able to cause all those quakes, I think it was
powerful enough to kill those kids."

This time Socks did not bother to hide the incredulous look from his face.
"Generating an explosion or a concussive blast that pulverizes rock is one
thing. But how could the same device do that to those kids' bodies?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Mulder said with a small grin. "You're
probably much more up to speed on the latest in military technology."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that, G-man?" Socks chuckled. "You
know I can't discuss that kind of info--not even with a Fed."

"I'm not asking for details about the mechanisms. I just want to know if
the technology is even feasible."

Socks hesitated.

"Off the record," Mulder amended. "Just between you and me."

Socks sighed heavily. "Off the top of my head, I can think of at least a
dozen weapons in various stages of development that could cause the
cave-ins. There are a probably at least a dozen more that require higher
clearance than my rank allows. But none of 'em can melt the flesh off of
bones. That sounds more like a biological weapon. And even those would
leave evidence--either on the skeletons themselves, or the nearby
surroundings."

"Is it possible for the two types of devices to be packaged together in a
single device?"

"Doubtful. I would think the components of each would be unstable, that the
risk of one affecting the other, or of setting off both, would be
astronomically high."

"So what you're telling me is that there's no device known to man that
could be responsible for both the manner in which those kids died and the
cave-ins?"

Socks was silent a moment, considering. Finally, he shook his head. "To the
best of my knowledge, no, there's no such animal."

Mulder nodded, a small, knowing smile creeping across his face. "That's
what I thought you'd say."

"I don't get it, Mulder. If the technology doesn't exist, then isn't your
whole theory blown?"

"Not necessarily. Maybe the effects we witnessed were not due to man-made
technology at all."

"What, then?"

"Scully suggested that perhaps there was some sort of volatile chemical
reaction going off in the canister."

"In which case, the canister may be some sort of biological or chemical
weapon?"

"That's what Scully thinks, yes."

"But you've got your own theory?"

Mulder nodded. "I agree it's likely that there was some sort of reaction
going on in the canister. But I don't think it was intended to occur. I
think that initially the canister was placed somewhere in the cave near the
entrance, perhaps to hide it. But around the time the kids entered the cave
for their little midnight tryst, the canister got damaged. Maybe whoever
put it there heard the kids coming, had to bee-line it out of there to
avoid being discovered, and didn't have enough time to secure it. Or maybe
it had been sitting there a long time unnoticed, but the kids managed to
knock it over--say when things started getting hot and heavy.

"Regardless of how it happened, the seal on the canister was broken. And
whatever it was housing must have been an unstable substance. I think that
whatever this substance was, it mixed with something in the cave
environment that served as a potent catalyst. Maybe it was the oxygen in
the air, the humidity, Kilikina's perfume, Scott's raging hormones--hell
maybe it was the goddammed bat guano or even a lingering Kahuna cave
spirit."

Socks rolled his eyes. "I don't have to be a chemist to know you're reaching."

"I know, I know. But just bear with me a moment, will you?"

Grinning despite himself, Socks nodded for Mulder to continue.

"Let's just say that something in the cave interacted with the canister's
contents, and together they created a substance capable of turning those
kids into a couple piles of bones. But it didn't end there. In fact, maybe
it was just an intermediate stage of the reaction that made it capable of
incinerating flesh--otherwise, wouldn't we have met the same fate when we
got close to it?

"Anyway, the reaction continued, perhaps changing from a substance capable
of melting only organic material to one able to eat through solid rock. The
canister fell deeper into the cave, eventually ending up near the ledge
where you later discovered it on your sensors. And while it was there, it
continued the irrevocable chemical reaction that had begun near the cave
entrance. Only by then it was transformed into a product that was capable
of producing explosive force. This product was the source of the cave-ins
that we all witnessed during our various hikes through the caves. Until,
ultimately, one of the blasts it created buried it beneath tons of rock."

As Mulder concluded his narrative, Socks' brow furrowed. He looked over at
Mulder thoughtfully. "That's all well and good. Heck, it would make for one
hell of a sci-fi flick. Only problem is, there is no such chemical known to
man."

"No chemical known to or made by *humans*, you mean."

The room fell silent as Socks tried to make sense of Mulder's statement. At
first, he thought Mulder had been correcting him for not using a more P.C.
term that included the fairer sex. But then, as he recalled what he had
recently learned about the nature of the cases Mulder and his partner
investigated, it became suddenly apparent that the agent had been referring
to _Homo sapiens_ as a species.

For several moments, Socks stood staring at the maps as he pondered the
implications of Mulder's latest theory. Then, as Socks lowered his head,
his shoulders slowly began to shake. Before long, he let loose with a loud,
raucous peal of laughter.

"Oh, that's rich, man. That is so rich." He ran a hand across his mouth as
he tried to quell his chuckles. "You really think that some little green
men left that canister in a Hawaiian cave?"

Mulder forced a smile. "I don't know who placed it there, or for what
reason, but whatever's in it--I don't think that substance is of earthly
origin. I know you have no reason to believe me, Socks. But if you had seen
all the things I've witnessed over the years, you'd--"

"Hey, hold on a sec," Socks said, holding up a staying hand. "I never said
I didn't believe you. As far as I'm concerned, without the actual canister
to analyze, your explanation is no more right or wrong than your partner's
or anybody else's."

This time it was Mulder's turn to stare at Socks incredulously. "You're
kidding me, right? You're not dismissing my theory right off the bat as--"

". . . completely out there?" Socks suggested. "Hell, man, it sure as hell
beats the idea that some terrorists or right-wing extremists put it there."
Chuckling, he gave Mulder a friendly slap on the back. "I'll just bet that
Scully usually gives you hell for all this alien talk."

"How'd you guess?"

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that you and your partner
exchange a healthy dose of differing opinions."

Mulder had to smile at the accuracy of Socks' assessment. "That's putting
it mildly."

"So does Scully think you're totally off your rocker for what you're
proposing about the canister?"

"No more so than usual. As I've come to expect, she refuses to commit to
any particular explanation without definitive scientific proof. Which is
actually where you fit in."

"Me?" Socks looked utterly taken aback. "What the hell do I have to do with
anything?"

"Well, when that canister was buried, so were our chances of ever proving
what happened to those kids. But with your help, I think I can make a
decent case for my theory."

"Okay, Mulder--I'll bite. How do you think I can help your cause?"

"Did you bring the data I asked for?" Mulder asked, walking back toward the
desk.

"Yup."

"Well, where are they?" Mulder asked, looking at the empty-handed SEAL
expectantly.

"Right here," Socks said, tapping his temple with his index finger.
"Anything you need to know is stored in the ole noggin'."

"You're kidding, right? You've memorized the coordinates for our little
hike in the cave?"

Socks laughed. "You forget that I'm usually the point man for Team Alpha. I
can't very well carry around and refer to a cheat sheet when rappelling
down a cliff, deep-sea diving, or trudging through a muddy jungle in the
dead of night in the midst of pouring rain. And believe me, RB'd have my
hide if I led us in the wrong direction."

"Yeah, but couldn't you have brought a print-out of the data your tracker
collected during your mission?"

"That data is no longer in my hands. Besides the fact that technically the
info you're asking about is classified."

Mulder had been afraid of this. Fearing the worst, he had been prepared to
accept that the commander's admitting to Scully that the object was a
canister might be the extent of the information revealed by the members of
Team Alpha.

"I understand," Mulder said, reaching for one of the many charts that
littered the desktop. "How good are you at reading maps?"

"I'd say I can hold my own," Socks said, walking closer. "And since I just
so happened to look over all the data the tracker compiled before my team's
debriefing, and since I just happen to remember the coordinates, I don't
really see the harm in taking a look at these maps and maybe pointing to
some landmarks here and there."

Mulder smiled. "Socks, buddy, you are the man."

"And don't you forget it." He picked up one of the maps. "So, what exactly
is it you want to know?"

"The location of the canister when it registered on your tracker in
relation to where the bodies were found."

"Oh, is that all?" Socks dead-panned as he began to scrutinize the maps
more closely. Sitting down behind the desk, he continued to examine the
various sketches and charts, attempting to correlate the memorized
coordinates with the ink drawings. Mulder stood by watching patiently,
until Socks was finally ready to announce his conclusions.

"To the best of my knowledge, I'd say that the crime scene is located only
about a hundred feet above the ravine where the canister lit up the
tracker's sensors," Socks said. "Maybe there was another sink hole around
that it fell through."

"Or maybe it made its own path for the journey through the rock."

"Maybe," Socks conceded. He ran a hand across his short-cropped, curly
black hair. "Anything else I can help you out with?"

Mulder thought a moment. "Not really--unless you can tell me what was in
that canister, who wanted it, and for what purpose."

Socks grinned as he got to his feet. "Sorry, man. No can do. I'm just a
lowly Lieutenant. You want any more info, you need to hassle someone with
more security clearance--like RB."

"That's okay. I think I should probably quit while I'm ahead," Mulder
muttered. "Thanks for all your help, Socks," he said, holding out his hand.

"Sure thing," Socks replied, shaking it. "So now we even for my slugging you?"

"No problem," Mulder said, clearing the papers off of the laptop. "I should
probably be thanking you for knocking some sense into me."

"Yeah, well, don't kick yourself about it. Life-threatening situations tend
to bring out the worst in all of us."

"Except for those of us who thrive on them," Mulder mumbled.

"Come again?"

"Nothing," Mulder told Socks as he opened a file on his computer. He was
relieved to find that Socks let the subject drop.

"So, you think the close proximity of the crime scene and the canister will
help your investigation?"

"We'll see what happens when my boss reads the case report."

"Think this info will at least help convince your partner about the link
between the deaths and the canister?"

"Maybe. I'll have to run it by her tomorrow, during the plane ride back to
D.C."

"I take it she's not as into this whole alien canister theory, huh?"

"No, I think pondering the true nature of a mysterious, unknown chemical of
purported extraterrestrial origin is probably about the furthest thing from
Agent Scully's mind tonight."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should follow her lead. If this is your last night
in Hawaii, you sure as hell shouldn't spend it cooped up in a hotel room,
buried beneath a stack of papers. You're staying on an island paradise. You
should get out there and enjoy it."

"I've never really been a big fan of the beach."

"You suits work too hard," Socks chastised with a disappointed shake of the
head. He glanced at his watch. "Ah, geez, I need to get going."

"I'll walk you out."

"Man, this Robinson Resort is the way to go," Socks remarked as they made
their way to the door. "You must have an awesome view of the ocean."

"I guess," Mulder shrugged.

Socks glanced past him, saw that the drapes on the far wall were drawn. His
eyes swept once more across the room, passing over the cluttered desk and
half-eaten meal. As they came to rest once more on Mulder, Socks took note
of the subtle slouching of his shoulders, the downtrodden cast of the other
man's eyes.

"Thanks again," Mulder said, opening the hotel room door.

"My pleasure," Socks replied as he began to leave. He was part-way through
the doorway when he turned back. "Hey, Mulder, I'm on my way to meet Toller
at this beach-side bar. You wanna join us for a beer?"

For a moment, Mulder seemed to consider the idea. "Thanks, but I think I'll
pass."

"C'mon, man--you look like you could use the fresh air."

"Like I said, I'm not a big beach fan. Besides, I need to finish up my report."

"All right. Suit yourself. We'll probably be there for a while. If you
change your mind and decide to join us, it's called Pacific Spirits."

"Will do."

"You take care of yourself, G-man."

"You too, Socks. Good-night."

With a final nod and a smile, Socks took his leave.

Closing the door, Mulder made his way back across the room. He had been
headed for the desk, but stopped instead in front of the drapes. He reached
for the cord, slowly pulled them apart, revealing full-length glass doors.
Unlocking them, he stepped outside onto the balcony. He walked over to the
steel railing and gazed out at the long strip of beach. The sand glistened
almost white in the bright light cast by the moon. He could practically
taste the mild, salt-filled breeze as it blew past, its feather-light touch
calm and soothing on his skin.

Mulder watched as a young couple strolled by hand-in-hand below him. The
woman pushed her wind-tossed golden tresses out of her eyes as the man bent
closer to whisper to her. She smiled, and they laughed happily as they
continued down the beach. Mulder gripped the railing tightly even as a
shiver ran through him.

With a weary sigh, he turned away and walked back inside. He locked the
door and drew the drapes before sitting back down at the desk. Moving the
computer closer, he found himself staring at the screen. It was a good hour
before he finally began to type.


End Epilogue Part 1


*****


Jennifer Sorowitz V'02
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu

If you can imagine it,
you can achieve it.
If you can dream it,
you can become it.
        -William Arthur Ward

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 16a/17
Author: Jennifer Sorowitz
Email: sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground,
Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two
teenagers in a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its
vicinity, they are trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their
way out--without killing each other first?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission
and no profit is being made.

Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Jennifer Sorowitz


Epilogue Part 2a


Dana Scully peered at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. It seemed
that no amount of concealer, foundation, or powder was going to completely
cover the prominent purple bruise on her left temple. A liberal dose of
make-up had managed to reduce it to a pinkish-blue spot, but it still
remained perfectly obvious. She reminded herself that it was still far more
attractive than plastering a big band-aid on her forehead. And it was not
as though her dinner companion did not know how she had received it. Hell,
he had been there with her at the time--if not by her side then at least in
the general vicinity.

She should, she realized, wear it now as a badge of honor--a testament to
the hell she had been forced to endure, and which she had managed to
survive otherwise relatively unscathed.

Hmm. Why was it that cuts and bruises and even scars actually made a man
appear more attractive, whereas they were instead a source of embarrassment
or shame for a woman? she wondered. Another of society's
socially-constructed double standards, she realized with a sigh.

She consoled herself in the fact that the rest of her attire would
hopefully distract her companion's attention from the one small blemish.
Taking a few steps back, she stared at her image in the full-length mirror.
She had packed this dress on a whim, but was now certainly glad that she
had. A pale mint green, its spaghetti-straps and low-cut bodice revealed
just enough creamy-white skin to tantalize. The tube dress hugged her body
discretely, nonetheless accentuating her slim waist and sweeping curves.
She was thankful not only that it was ankle-length, but also that the long
slit was up the back and not the side, thus concealing the numerous
scrapes, scratches, and bruises her legs had received during her recent
adventure. A pair of heeled sandals completed the outfit; with such a tall
date, she was definitely going to need the added height.

Applying a liberal dose of perfume to her wrists and neck as well as to a
couple of other strategic places, she felt satisfied with her appearance. A
quick glance at her watch revealed that she had better get moving if she
were going to be on time. She pulled on a matching lacy-knit short-cropped
sweater, grabbed her purse, and headed out the hotel room door toward the
elevator.

A few minutes later, she stepped out into the hotel lobby. As she headed
for the lounge, she found herself admiring the ornate beauty that
surrounded her. Light from the fading sun flooded through the sweeping
glass panels that stretched from ceiling to floor, revealing a breathtaking
view of the deep blue ocean and white sands outside. Armchairs and plump
sofas upholstered in fine leather were scattered about. Lush tropical
flowers and palms dotted the marble floor, along with glass screens
decorated with frosted floral designs. Being put up in Robinson's hotel
here in Maui was definitely a treat, especially after all the seedy dumps
she and Mulder had stayed in over the years. She could definitely get used
to this kind of luxury. The things one could do with an unlimited expense
account. . . .

Entering the lounge, she scanned the room. There were some businessmen on a
couch talking, a couple seated by the window, a man in an arm chair by the
far wall, another couple standing by--

She did a double-take and glanced back at the man who sat in the
overstuffed chair, leafing through a magazine. Lord, she had not even
recognized him. When he had come to visit her in the hospital, he had been
dressed casually and had not even bothered to shave. The man she saw now
appeared to be another person entirely. She found herself staring at him,
feet suddenly plastered to the floor. Her heart had sped up enormously, and
she feared it was so loud it must be echoing in the room.

She could not remember the last time she had felt this nervous. Hell, she
could barely remember the last time she had been on a date. Discounting
that entire Ed Jerse fiasco, it had been more years than she cared to
recall. She had almost forgotten the delicious tingle of anticipation
before the initial greeting. It was new, it was exciting, it was just what
she needed to forget--

At that moment, he caught her eye. Smiling, he put down the magazine and
started to rise.

*Well, here goes nothin',* Dana thought. Taking a deep breath, she crossed
the room to meet him.

As she approached, she saw how his eyes moved slowly down her
body--assessing her, she realized. Well, she must have passed the test,
because it elicited quite a reaction. He grinned broadly, and she was
struck by how much that gesture changed his face and lightened his
features. His deep blue eyes danced with pleasure. And she noticed
now--probably because this was the first opportunity she had to see him
clean-shaven--the huge dimples that appeared whenever he smiled. Ever since
she was a teenager, she had always been a sucker for a big pair of dimples.

"Hello, Commander," she said in greeting.

"Agent Scully," he replied.

At the same time he was appraising her, she took in his appearance as well.
He was dressed semi-casually: black jeans, white button-down shirt, black
vest. He really was a big man, powerfully built. Even with the civilian
attire, his well-kept physique was evident. Though not too tight, the shirt
obviously covered a broad chest and well-sculpted arms. And even with her
nearly three-inch heels, Dana barely came to his shoulder.

Normally, she would find such a presence intimidating, would feel a little
unsettled standing so close to him. But not with this man. For some reason,
she felt at ease with him. He made her feel safe, comfortable. It had been
a long time since a man had been able to make her feel that way. Longer
still that she had allowed it. Too long, she realized.

She also realized how silly their using formal titles sounded. They had
spent countless hours alone together in close quarters, trapped in a cave.
They had been forced to work together closely in order to survive the
experience--which included her having to use his body as a ladder in order
to help save them from falling. They had huddled together in one another's
arms to avoid hypothermia. He had given her CPR and saved her life. Surely,
that meant they were beyond this and ready to be on more familiar terms.

"Please, call me Dana."

He smiled. There were those damned dimples again. She felt almost weak in
the knees.

"Only if you call me Mark."

"Deal."

"You look beautiful, Dana."

"Thank you. You're looking mighty good there yourself, Mark."

"Never would'a thought I could clean up so well, huh?"

"Well, considering I was the one who took a bath in bat guano, I really
shouldn't judge."

"I've always admired women who aren't afraid to get a little dirty in order
to get the job done."

"The stories I could tell you. . . ."

"Well, Dana, the night is young. There'll be plenty of time for you to tell
me all about them. Oh, I almost forgot--" He carefully reached into the
inner pocket of his vest and revealed a lavender, long-petaled tropical
orchid. "This is for you."

Dana could not help but gasp at the sight of the exquisite blossom. "Oh,
Mark, it's absolutely gorgeous."

She started to reach for it, but he quickly pulled it away. She looked up
at him in confusion, not understanding what it was she had done wrong.

"This type of flower was meant to decorate, to show off the superior beauty
of the wearer. Would you mind--?" he asked, beginning to move his hand
toward her head.

She was a little taken aback, but at the same time quite flattered. She
nodded for him to go ahead.

With nothing but gentleness, he pushed the stem into her hair and tucked it
behind her ear. The awareness of his light touch on her bare flesh created
a warm reaction, deep in her core, that slowly began to spread to her
extremities.

"How's it look?" she asked him.

"Beautiful. So, you hungry, Dana?"

"Yes. Did you have a place in mind for dinner?"

"Do you like Japanese?"

"I've only had it a few times, but I've always enjoyed it. Do you know a
good restaurant around here?"

"One of the best there is."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Great." He held out his arm in a chivalrous gesture. With a smile, she
slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, happily anticipating what she
was sure would prove to be a delightful evening.


End Epilogue Part 2a


*****







Jennifer Sorowitz V'02
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu

If you can imagine it,
you can achieve it.
If you can dream it,
you can become it.
        -William Arthur Ward

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 16b/17
Author: Jennifer Sorowitz
Email: sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground,
Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two
teenagers in a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its
vicinity, they are trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their
way out--without killing each other first?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission
and no profit is being made.

Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Jennifer Sorowitz


Epilogue Part 2b


"I hope you don't mind going the traditional route," Mark said as he held
the door of the restaurant open for her.

"Well, I know how to use chopsticks, if that's what you mean," she replied.

He laughed softly. "No, actually, I was referring to the arrangement of the
restaurant--more specifically, the tables."

As she stepped inside, Dana felt as though she had been transported to
another world. Gentle music filled the air, instantly relaxing her. Amidst
the soothing low lighting, she looked at the numerous decorations: large
paper rice screens, paper lanterns, ornamental fans, paintings with
brush-stroked characters that hung on the walls. On the opposite end of the
room, a chef stood behind a counter, chopping vegetables. As she glanced
around at the patrons who filled the restaurant, she realized what Mark had
meant by "traditional": they were all sitting on the floor.

"It's the Japanese custom for dining," he explained. "There are mats and
cushions. Dana, if you're not comfortable with it, we can go--"

"No, no, this is fine. It's great." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Hey,
if we're going to eat Japanese food, we might as well get the full cultural
experience, right?"

"Exactly."

"Irasshai mase! Welcome," a hostess said as she came over. She was dressed
in an exquisite jade green kimono embroidered with flowers and birds, along
with a darker green obi--a wide sash that was wrapped around her waist and
fastened in back. Her hair was done up in a bun, in which was placed a pair
of decorative sticks from which dangled ornaments of birds. On her feet
were a pair of white silk tabi and a beautiful pair of zori, or lacquered
sandals.

Mark indicated that they needed a table for two. "Uhm, Dana, there's one
other custom we're going to have to observe before we can sit down. . . ."

She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He did not reply, however; merely
averted his eyes. She followed his gaze downward to her feet.

A few minutes later, the hostess had led them to a raised cubicle in the
far corner of the restaurant behind a sliding paper rice door. Mark removed
his shoes, and Dana followed suit, slipping out of her sandals. She padded
across a woven reed mat to where one of two thin cushions lay before a
table.

As she slowly lowered herself to the cushioned floor, she was unsuccessful
in trying to bite back a small moan.

About to sit down, Mark looked at her, concern filling his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm still a little sore from our cave adventure. I seem to keep
discovering new bruises all the time."

"I know what you mean," he chuckled as he seated himself across from her.
"I think some of my bruises have bruises."

"I'm just glad I can move my arms. They've been really sore from all that
climbing I had to do. I think you're going to have to give me some exercise
pointers so I can get in better shape."

"You're already in excellent shape, Dana. But if you ever want to tone up a
bit, we could always work out together. The great thing I've discovered
about exercise is that there're so many other ways to do it than just going
to the gym or for a run."

"Like sports, you mean?"

"Yeah, I do play a lot of sports. But I also like to go hiking, rappelling,
mountain climbing. Skiing, surfing, sailing. Basically, anything that gets
me outdoors."

"I can't remember the last time I've been sailing."

"Too bad we don't have more time here. The Pacific is wonderful, and these
islands are beautiful. But, hey, when we get back to the states, we should
go sailing sometime."

"I'd like that."

He smiled at her, and she could not help but return the gesture.

"So," she said, picking up her menu, "what do you recommend?"

"Well, I was thinking we could go with some sushi. . . ."

"Raw fish, huh?" The mild displeasure in her voice was obvious.

"Ever had it before?"

She shook her head. "I think the doctor in me just has an aversion to
eating raw meat."

"Well, I've had it dozens of times, and I'm still here. But I want you to
enjoy dinner, so if you're not comfortable--"

 "No, that's okay. I feel like tonight's a night for trying new things,
taking chances. I'll try some."

"Great. We'll get some different types. I'll also order some California
rolls, which have crab meat and avocado. You like soup?"

"Sure."

"Konichi-wa," said the waitress, giving a small bow as she came over to the
table with a teapot and poured them each a cup of green tea. She, too, wore
a beautiful kimono: hers was pale blue, and decorated with the pattern of
rolling waves on the ocean.

"Konichi-wa," Mark replied. Then he said something to her in Japanese, and
she laughed.
Before Dana had the chance to speak, Mark began to place their order in
Japanese. "Chuumon o onegai shimasu . . ." he began, glancing down at the
menu. To Dana's untrained ear, his inflection sounded like that of a native
speaker. All she could make out were the words "miso," "sushi," "fugu," and
"sake".

With a small bow, the waitress took their menus and left.

"I didn't realize you could speak Japanese," Dana remarked. "That was quite
impressive."

"Well, with all the places I've been, I've managed to pick up some phrases
here and there."

"That sounded like more than picking up a few phrases. Your accent was
impeccable."

"I've always been good with languages," he admitted.

"How many do you speak?"

He looked skyward a moment, considering. "Japanese. Some Chinese. French.
Spanish. A bit of Portuguese. Some Italian. A touch of Russian."

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" <<Do you speak German?>>

"Genug zum vorbei Erhalten, fraulein. Sind Sie flie=DFend?"<<Enough to get
by, frauline. Are you fluent?>>

"Ich erlernte etwas Deutsches in der Universitat." <<I learned some German
in university.>>

The waitress returned with a teapot and two small tea cups.

"Arigatou gozaimasu," <<Thank you,>> Mark said. "Do you drink sake?" he
asked Dana.

"I've actually never had it before."

"It's a bit strong," he warned her, "but quite good. Shall I pour you some?=
"

"Sure." He handed her one of the small cups of warm rice wine.

"I suggest drinking it in small sips," he warned her. "It's pretty strong."

She nodded. "Should we make about a toast?"

"Sure. How about . . . 'to new friends'?"

"To new friends," she agreed, gently clinking her cup to his. As she lifted
it closer, the first thing she noticed was the powerful, almost herbal
scent that assailed her sinuses. When Dana took a cautious sip, she was
surprised that the flavor was not sweet, as she had expected, but instead
tasted more like hot vodka. It burned going down, much as she remembered
her last experience with whiskey.

"Well?" Mark asked. He had already drained his cup, and was seemingly
unaffected by the experience. And why should he be? she realized. Given his
background, this was probably like drinking water. Hell, he could probably
drink half the men in the Navy under the table and not even get a buzz.

"It's got bite, that's for sure," Dana managed to say.

"More?" he asked her, even as he refilled his own glass.

"Why, Mark, are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Now, what sort of impression would that give?" He downed a second cupful
in a few quick swallows. "Nah. I usually don't try that till the second
date." He filled his glass and offered her again.

Dana shook her head. "I think I'll nurse this one for a while," she
replied, taking a sip of her tea. "So, how is Robbins doing?"

"Feeling no pain, that's for sure, the way they've got him doped up. He was
in surgery over nine hours. They said that because of the huge risk of
infection, they couldn't put any rods, plates, or screws inside his leg,
since it could spread the infection. So they stuck the metal on the outside
instead. He's got all these pins sticking out of his leg, attached to these
metal rods."

"An external fixator?"

Mark nodded. "It's one hell of a massive contraption. Plus, he had to have
a fasciotomy. Because of the vascular injury, they were worried he might
develop some sort of complication . . . what did they call it? . . .
Compartment syndrome, I think. The way it was explained to me, they needed
to alleviate the pressure in his leg to prevent any additional damage to
his muscles and nerves. Now, they're just waiting for some of the swelling
to go down, and then they'll close it up. They want to keep him another
couple of days after that surgery to monitor the healing. If he continues
to improve afterwards, then they said we can move him--transfer him to a
stateside hospital."

"So there are no signs of infection?"

"Nope. Though they've had him on massive doses of antibiotics since they
brought him in, just in case. You know, he was really lucky you were there,
Dana."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It was nothing."

"For Christ's sake, Dana, you saved his life. Going into surgery, they
weren't sure if they were even going to be able to save his leg. But when
they took a look at your handiwork, the docs at the hospital were impressed
as hell. Said it looked like a surgeon had worked on him. They said that if
you hadn't acted so quickly--and so skillfully--he probably would have bled
to death. And that if you hadn't stabilized him the way you did, he
probably would have had nerve damage, or the blood supply would have been
completely lost. He's damned lucky you were there."

Dana met his eyes, saw the way they were focused on her, and quickly looked
away, blushing. It had been a long time since she had received such
unadulterated praise. It felt good. Better than good. Wonderful. It was a
great feeling to be appreciated, for her actions to be deeply valued. She
could definitely get used to this. "I guess all those years of hacking up
dead bodies finally had some practical use."

"Don't sell yourself short, Dana. You're a gifted doctor. And a skilled
field agent. I put that in my report--how well you performed, especially
under pressure. And when we get stateside, I'm gonna contact your
boss--A.D. Skinner was it?--and recommended that you get a commendation."

"Mark, that's really not necessary."

"Of course it is." He reached across the table, placed his hand on hers.
"You should be rewarded for a job well done. You keep this up, you'll be
running the Bureau in no time."

Dana's first thought was that he was buttering her up a bit. Trying to woo
her with words and wine, perhaps in hopes of getting something more out of
this night. So as much as she enjoyed hearing his words of praise, she did
not take them completely seriously. But looking at his face now--at the
genuine gratitude and admiration she saw in his eyes--she knew his
sentiment to be sincere. Once again, she felt that familiar pounding of her
heart, even as she returned his smile.

"Thank you, Mark. That really means a lot to me. I just wish we could have
solved this case--found out what killed those kids."

"I think you were on to something with the canister theory."

"Do you really think that it could be responsible for the deaths of those
kids?"

"Well, if whatever it contained was powerful enough to cause multiple
cave-ins, it probably could have generated the force that incinerated the
kids' bodies."

"Perhaps. Too bad you weren't able to retrieve it. I'd love to know what
was in it. Which also leads me wonder . . . how did it get there in the
first place?"

"Someone must have planted it."

"I guess we'll never know what it contained, who put it there, or what
killed Scott and Kilikina." She sighed heavily. "I hate not having closure.=
"

"Yeah, unfortunately life doesn't always provide us with all the answers we
seek."

The waitress brought over two bowls of steaming soup.

"What type of soup is this?" Dana asked.

"Miso. It's pretty popular."

Blowing on a spoonful of hot liquid, Dana took a small taste. It was salty,
but the chunks of tofu gave it a nice texture. "It's good."

"So, aside from the assorted bruises, you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling fine. Given the fact that I nearly drowned, the doctors
decided to keep me that first night for observation. By the way, thank you
for coming to see me, and for the flowers. I'm sorry I didn't get much of a
chance to speak to you--I was still a little woozy from the meds."

"You're welcome. I was lucky to get within ten feet of you, the way your
partner was hovering."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't know? From the moment he and the others found us on the beach,
after I had given you CPR, he didn't let you out of his sight. Way Socks
tell it, after the cave-in that separated us from them, Mulder went postal.
Tried digging us out with his bare hands. Socks said he had to slug him to
calm him down."

Sighing, Dana shook her head. Typical Mulder. "There are times when Mulder
can become a little . . . irrational. Our partnership is usually pretty
equal, but there are moments when he can get rather . . . overprotective."

"When we first met, it seemed like you two could barely tolerate each
other. But by the time we got out of the cave, he seemed extremely
concerned about you. And judging by his behavior at the hospital, I'm
guessing you two have since worked through your differences."

"Matters aren't completely settled, but I guess you could say we've
declared a truce. We had been having some issues concerning our working
relationship recently. But we had a little talk at the hospital, and Mulder
has assured me that it will no longer be a problem. I've decided to give
him the benefit of the doubt."

"From the extent of his concern for you outside the cave and at the
hospital, I'd say you two must have a lot of history together."

Dana took a moment to wipe her mouth. She could see where Mark was going
with this. He was gently inquiring about her relationship with Mulder,
seeing if there was anything between them before making an embarrassing
mistake this evening by being too forward.

"Mulder and I have been partners for over six years. We've become good
friends. We've been through a lot together, had a couple of close calls. So
sometimes he over-reacts a bit."

"You don't usually see someone act like that toward a partner."

"Says the man who nearly got himself killed rappelling down a ravine to
save his teammate," Dana pointed out.

Mark considered. "Yeah, but that's different."

"Not really. You and your men work together, you train together. When
you're on a mission, you have to put your lives in each other's hands. It's
the same for Mulder and me. When we're in the field, we usually only have
the other as back up. I trust him with my life, as he does me. So it's more
than just a partnership. It's a bond, of sorts."

Mark nodded as he chewed, evidently now agreeing with what she was saying,
relating to the sentiment. "Yeah, I could see how that would make you two
really close."

"He's probably the best friend I've ever had," Dana remarked, poking at a
piece of tofu with her spoon. "We've helped see one another through some
pretty rough times. But I'm sure you must know what that's like. You and
your team seem pretty tight. You and Socks seem particularly close."

"Yeah, they're a great bunch of guys. When it comes down to the wire,
there's nobody else I'd rather have on my side. Socks, especially. We've
been on hundreds of ops together. Best swim buddy I ever worked with. We've
been working together so long, most of the time we don't even have to
signal, we can just tell what the other intends to do."

Dana nodded her head emphatically. "You know what the other is thinking,
anticipate what they're going to say or do next even before they speak or
act."

"Exactly." Mark laughed. "You know, Dana, I can't tell you how many women
have been unable to understand my commitment to the team. It's like they
get jealous of my relationship with the guys. They think that because I'm
so close to them, because I trust them implicitly, I can't feel the same
way about them. And the relationship ends before it ever has the chance to
get started. But you, you're the first woman who not only understands, but
can also relate to what it is I'm trying to convey. Because you've got the
same kind of relationship in your life. You know what it's like."

Nodding, Dana could not help but smile at the irony. Back in the early days
of her partnership with Mulder, when she actually made an active attempt at
dating, she experienced the same problem. Hell, half the guys she went out
with could not wrap their minds around the idea that she could work with a
man that closely and not become romantically involved with him. It was as
though they felt threatened by her close partnership with Mulder, no matter
how many times she tried to assure them that theirs was merely a platonic
relationship. How funny was it that it was only now--after a failed attempt
at trying to pursue a romantic relationship with Mulder--when she was no
longer actively searching for an empathetic man who was interested in her,
that she finally found one? And better yet, it was a man she herself was
interested in getting to know better. Fate really worked strangely
sometimes.

"So, your job has cost you a lot of women, huh?" she asked, taking the
final chunk of tofu from her bowl. "What happened to having one in every
port?"

Mark nearly choked on his soup. "Well, uhm. . . ." Coughing, he reached for
his cup of tea, downed it in only a few gulps. "I won't deny that when I
first joined the Navy, I had my share of fun. Hell, I was still a kid at
the time. But as the years passed, and I rose in the ranks, gained more
responsibility, playing the field lost its appeal. I'm no kid anymore. And
I look at my sister, Amy, with her husband and her two kids and her house,
and I realize that coming home to an empty apartment isn't all it's cracked
up to be. I want to find somebody to settle down with, share my life with.
It's time for some stability." He took another sip of tea. "What about you?=
"

"Well, I've always planned on getting married, having a family someday.
First, it was going to be after college. Then after med school. When I
joined the Bureau, I thought I'd be able to balance career and family. I
had one serious relationship at the time--with an instructor, actually--but
it didn't work out. I figured I'd meet someone else, that I'd be married in
a couple of years. But then I was assigned to the X-Files, and my
priorities changed completely. I'd always been a workaholic, but that kind
of sentiment seemed to suddenly take on epic proportions. The nature of the
work ultimately isolated Mulder and me from most of our co-workers. He's
really devoted to the X-Files, and that kind of dedication is contagious,
I've found. As time went on, I'd come to invest so much, I had such
personal involvement with the work, that it took precedence over most other
aspects of my life. In the beginning, I managed to find the time to date
off and on, but as the years went by, I instead focused all of my energy in
the work. And as a result, my personal life suffered. For the most part, I
haven't been too bothered by that. It had gotten to the point where it just
didn't seem worth the effort--especially given the lack of understanding
from most men in regards to my devotion to my career."

"You didn't look for a relationship elsewhere?" Mark asked. "You and
Mulder. . . ?"

Dana had to bite back a laugh. She always found it amazing how fragile the
male ego was, even in the most confident of men. "No. Even if either of us
were interested, I don't think it's wise to mix professional and personal
relationships. It makes things way too complicated, and they just don't
work out well. I was already burned once in that regard." *Twice actually,*
she silently corrected herself. *First by Jack Willis, then by Fox Mulder.*

"Well, then I'm glad we're no longer working together on that case," he
said softly, reaching to cover her hand with his own.

The implications of his statement sent a delicious shiver down Dana's
spine. She smiled demurely, and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. From
the intensity of his gaze, she realized that he was completely serious.

She was debating how best to respond when the waitress returned with their
dinner. She placed two plates of sushi in front of them, along with a pair
of small bowls, and a larger bowl that contained a larger bowl with dark
liquid. She said something to Mark in Japanese, and he nodded in reply.

"This looks delicious," Dana said. "So, what have we got here?"

"You've got the California rolls, and this one has the fish."

"What's this small spot of green on the edge of the plate?" Dana asked.

"Wasabi. It's very hot, like Chinese mustard."

"And these?" Dana queried, pointing to several pinkish-orange, paper-thin
slices that garnished the side of the dish.

"That's pickled ginger," Mark explained. "It not only retains some of its
heat, but it also has a distinctive sweet-sour taste. It's used as a palate
cleanser--you eat it between bites of sushi so that you start each mouthful
fresh."

"There any special trick to this?"

"Well, I can show you how I like to eat sushi. I usually start by pouring
some soy sauce into my dipping bowl," he told her as he did so. "Then I
pick up a little bit of wasabi with my chopsticks, and mix it with the soy
sauce. Then I dunk my sushi in that." He used his chopsticks to pick up a
piece of sushi with practiced ease and dunked it into the tiny bowl.

"Sounds easy enough," Dana said, following his instructions to prepare her
own dipping sauce before picking up a piece of her California roll with
comparatively less elegance.

Mark looked at her expectantly.

"Mmm," she said, nodding her head. "It's good."

"I'm glad you like it."

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Dana looked up to see the
sushi chef approaching the table, a plate in hand. He stopped, and gave a
small bow.

"Konichi-wa," the chef said.

"Konichi-wa," Mark replied.

They exchanged a few more words, and the chef placed his dish on the table.
"Meshi agare." <<Bon appetit.>> With a final bow to Dana and then to Mark,
he took his leave.

Dana was a little taken aback. "What was that all about?"

"I guess they don't get many people ordering this dish, so he decided to
deliver it personally," Mark surmised as he popped a piece of ginger into
his mouth with his chopsticks.

"More sushi?"

Mark smiled, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "It's a special kind of sushi.
The fish they use is a delicacy."

"What kind of fish is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, as she picked
up a slice of ginger.

"Fugu."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Puffer fish."

Dana stopped, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "Puffer fish? You're
kidding. I thought they're poisonous."

"They do contain a toxin. It's primarily concentrated in the ovaries and
liver. The chefs that prepare it are specially trained to remove those
organs safely. In Japan, they're licensed by the government. Wanna try
some?"

Dana had gone a shade paler. "Tetrodotoxin is one of the most potent toxins
known! It specifically binds to sodium channels in nerve and skeletal
muscle and blocks them. It can lead to severe muscle weakness, progress to
respiratory paralysis, and ultimately end in death."

"Oh, I know. Each year several people die from eating puffer fish."

"Then why on earth would you want to take that chance?"

"Well, just the idea that I'm putting my life in my hands is a bit of a
rush. But also because eating it makes your lips get all numb and tingly."

"There must be a minute amount of tetrodotoxin in the meat," Dana remarked,
almost offhandedly.

"It's a really wild sensation. Besides, it just tastes really good."

"You're crazy!"

"That's why they call me RB. At least this time, if something goes wrong,
I've got my own personal physician standing by."

Dana slowly shook her head. "Definitely crazy."

"You sure you don't want to try it, Dana? Not even a little piece?"

"No way."

"Aw, c'mon. Haven't you ever wanted to take a chance? To live on the edge a
bit?" Mark dunked a piece into his bowl and took a bite. "Mmm. Delicious."

Dana considered. When was the last time she let down her hair? Cut loose a
bit? She said herself that this was going to be night of experimentation.
Surely, one little bite would not hurt?

"Well, maybe just a taste."

"That's the Li'l Red I know."

Ignoring the infuriatingly condescending pet name he had first coined in
the caves, Dana started to reach for the plate of fugu, but Mark stopped
her.

"Allow me." He picked up a piece with his chopsticks and held it out to
her. Dana moved her head toward it, gently took a bite. She chewed it
slowly, deliberately, savoring the taste. Mark was right. It was delicious.

"How long does it take for your lips to get numb?"

"A few minutes. But I don't know if that little piece will be enough to get
a decent effect."

Dana pursed her lips. She'd gone this far. . . . What the hell.

"I suppose I could finish the rest of the piece. . . ."

Laughing, Mark fed her another piece of sushi.


End Epilogue Part 2


*****


Jennifer Sorowitz V'02
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu

If you can imagine it,
you can achieve it.
If you can dream it,
you can become it.
        -William Arthur Ward

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 17a/17
Author: Jennifer Sorowitz
Email: sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground,
Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two
teenagers in a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its
vicinity, they are trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their
way out--without killing each other first?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission
and no profit is being made.

Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Jennifer Sorowitz


Epilogue Part 3a


After dinner, Dana and Mark ended up taking a leisurely moonlight stroll on
the beach by her hotel. The full moon suffused the pale sand in a soft
glow. She had removed her shoes, and was now savoring the sensation of the
cool sand beneath her feet and between her toes. A gentle breeze wafted
through her hair, and made the temperature perfect. They slowly walked down
the strip of beach side-by-side, their arms softly brushing against one
another from time to time.

Dana was more relaxed then she could remember feeling in a long time. The
nervousness of earlier that evening had finally abated. Though she
suspected it was because of all the sake and puffer fish she had consumed,
she nonetheless preferred to think that it was because their frank dinner
conversation had put her at ease.

She felt really comfortable with Mark. He was easy to talk to--about any
topic. Work. Politics. Books. Movies. Their many travels. They seemed to
have more in common than she would ever have imagined. And at the same
time, there were many ways in which they were complete opposites--which
made getting to know him better all the more interesting. She found that
when she talked with him, she felt as though she could be herself--let her
guard down and speak her mind. And that was fine by him. He was one of
those people you could talk to and feel as though you had known him for
years.

"I can't get over how beautiful the view is," Dana sighed.

"Funny, I've been thinking the same thing all night."

Dana looked up at Mark and saw that he was staring down at her. Flushing,
she quickly looked away. "Flatterer," she murmured.

"Can't blame a guy for stating the obvious."

He was buttering her up, plain and simple. And Lord help her, she was
falling for it--hook, line, and sinker.

"Come on now, Dana, you must be used to this by now. Don't tell me guys
aren't complimenting you all the time. You must have to fight 'em off with
a stick."

She laughed at that. "Not quite. Let's just say it's been a while since
I've had to resort to violence."

"Well, then the men you work with must have an inordinate amount of
self-control."

"I wouldn't go that far. It's just . . . well, I have a reputation of being
somewhat of a . . . cold fish."

"You've got to be kidding me. Even back when we met in the cave, it was
obvious what a compassionate person you are. People must just be
misinterpreting your professionalism for indifference."

"Exactly. It's as though, just because I'm a woman, they expect me to be
warm and emotional, to wear my heart on my sleeve. Some people just don't
seem to understand that it's possible to be empathetic while still
maintaining an air of professional decorum."

He nodded in agreement. "It really is a double standard. Society claims to
treat women equally in the work place. And yet, when a woman is
career-driven and assertive, when she shows the least bit of ambition to
succeed--qualities which are highly valued in a man--she's suddenly
condemned as unfeminine and unemotional. As though the two aspects of one's
personality must be mutually exclusive. I still don't get that."

Dana was impressed. Sure, it occurred to her that he could be feeding her
an elaborate line, playing up a feigned feminist viewpoint simply for her
benefit. But her gut feeling told her that his words were genuine. There
was a stark sincerity in his voice, a real embitterment at the injustices
he seemed to have witnessed first-hand.

"You know, Mark, if more people could see professional women through your
eyes, there'd be many more of us in positions of authority. For starters,
there'd be many more female agents in the bureau. If more people had an
open mind like yours, there'd be more women in the armed forces, too."

"Well, actually, that I'm not so sure about."

"What?" She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Don't tell me you don't
support the idea of women in the military?"

He hesitated.

"Of course! Why should it surprise me? Mr. Big Macho Navy SEAL would never
be able to accept a small, frail, helpless woman as a soldier."

"It's not that, Dana."

"What, then? Afraid she can't tote her share of gear? That she can't jump
from a plane or fire a gun?"

"No, not at--"

But Dana did not hear him. She had worked herself up into a small tizzy,
unable to let this drop. "Think a woman doesn't have the heart to kill when
it comes down to it? That she'd be too soft, and unable to pull the trigger
when her fellow soldiers' lives were--"

"For God's sake, Dana!" he all but shouted at her. "If you'd let me get a
word in edgewise, I could try to explain my viewpoint."

She clamped her mouth shut. Then she looked down at her feet sheepishly.
"Oh . . . I'm, uhm . . . I'm sorry about that. I guess I'm kind of used to
having to argue a bit to get my point heard and taken seriously. Go ahead."

He smiled at her. "That's okay. You're awfully pretty when you're angry.
Your cheeks get all flushed, and your eyes flash, and you get this little
crease right between your eyes."

Folding her arms, she could not refrain from quirking her mouth. "Thank
you. But don't think you'll be able to charm your way out of this one by
changing the subject. I still want to hear what you have to say."

"Heaven forbid. Well, the reason that I'm hesitant about allowing women to
serve in the military is not because of them per se. There are plenty of
women out there who are perfectly capable of pulling their weight. Hell,
look at you while we were in the caves. On a mission, I'd feel confident
having you cover my back. In my time, I've seen some damned good women
soldiers, who could take certain guy soldiers in a fight any day of the
week. It's not them I have a problem with."

"Well, what then?"

"It's more an issue of the men. Not so much in accepting the fact that a
woman is perfectly capable of being a warrior. With time, I think it's
possible to view certain women in that light. It's just that for the most
part, the majority of women that a man deals with are nothing like that.
More often than not, when a man sees a woman, he thinks of his mother, or
his sister, or his girlfriend. Women that he cares about, of whom he's
protective. In a field situation, were a woman to fall into danger--if she
were to become injured or captured--the average Joe's natural gut instinct
is going to be to protect her from harm, to keep her safe. Never mind that
she might be tougher than Xena and able to hold her own. It's just human
nature. It may be socially constructed, but it's human nature all the same.
And that kind of thinking is going to make a man get sloppy. Which means
he's going to get himself and his teammates killed."

"Well, that has nothing to do with women's capabilities as soldiers."

"No, it doesn't. Not at all. But it does affect the men's. And when one
soldier's judgment is brought into question, the entire team is
compromised. Which means they won't be able to get the job done. So, in
answer to your question, I think that women may be ready to join the
military, but I think that men have got a ways to go before they'll be
prepared to deal with women as fellow soldiers."

For one of the rare times in Dana's life, she was speechless. Mark had a
very good point. It was a logical, well-thought-out argument. She might not
like it, she might not agree with it, but it made good, logical sense and
went a long ways toward explaining the actions and the mind set of a great
many military men she had come to deal with over the years. Simply the fact
that Mark acknowledged a woman's ability to serve as a capable soldier was
a huge leap forward in the thinking of a man in his position, she realized.

*We really have come a long way, baby.*

Dana smiled then. It had been a long time since she had been able to find a
man with whom she could carry on intelligent conversation, with whom she
could debate issues like politics and societal values and personal
philosophies. Someone who would listen to her arguments intently, and give
them serious consideration, and yet also offer his own perspective, without
tying to force them on her. A person who did not feel threatened by her
intellect or her strong opinions, but rather welcomed them as a vital part
of her personality.

There was Mulder, of course. He had always treated her as an equal during
their intellectual conversations. It was in other matters of consideration
that he was sorely lacking. And as a result, their pedantic exchanges had
long since fallen to the wayside.

With Mark, it was different. They seemed able to connect on so many levels.
There was the intellectual, as now. There was also a great deal of physical
attraction, a definite chemistry that flowed between them. But in addition
to his mind and his good looks, there was something more. Perhaps it was
because of his line of work, but Mark was, without a doubt, something of a
daredevil, a definite risk-taker. "RB" seemed to say it all. He was brave
and bold and headstrong. And there was just something about that undaunting
recklessness that appealed to her.

Being with him, feeling the energetic spirit practically radiate off of
him, brought up her own feelings of rebellion and audaciousness, buried
since her teenage years. And now that she had gotten a taste of that
forbidden fruit--the ideas and notions she had denied herself for so
long--she was no longer willing to forget them again quite so easily. When
she was with him, she wanted to take chances, to try new things, to live
life a bit closer to the edge. It made her feel powerful. Vibrant. Alive.
More so than she had in years. She felt as though she had found a piece of
herself that she had lost a long time ago. And she liked that. She liked it
a lot.

"Dana?" She felt him lightly touch her arm.

"Hmm?" she asked, turning to face him.

"You still with me? For a minute there, you seemed a million miles away."

"Did I? Sorry about that. I was just thinking," she said, resuming their
leisurely pace.

"Penny for 'em."

She hesitated. "They're not worth that much, I'm afraid."

"I get it. You don't want to share. That's fine. I understand."

"Well, a girl's got to maintain some air of mystery. I tell you all my
secrets on our first date, there'll be nothing left to talk about next
time."

"Next time, huh? I take it that means you're having a good time, that you'd
consider going out again?"

"I'm having a wonderful evening, and yes, I'd love to see you again."

He smiled. "Great. I really enjoy being with you, Dana. I haven't had
conversation this good in a long time."

Conversation, huh? Is that what he saw when he looked at her: the chance
for a good chat, a nice opportunity for a heated discussion? That seemed to
be the story of her life.

Just as her spirits began to sink, he did something to quickly put an end
to that notion.

As he walked, Mark's arms were swinging slowly at his sides. During an
upswing, his arm glided past hers, just as it had many times that evening.
But this time, he slid her hand in his, curled his fingers around it, and
did not let go.

For a moment, Dana tensed, so surprised was she by his action. But as she
realized what had happened, she forced herself to relax. She bent her own
fingers, and held tight to his hand as they continued walking, never losing
pace.

"How are your lips doing?" he asked her.

"My lips?"

"Still tingly?" He stopped then, and turned to face her. He stood not a
foot away, looking down at her face.

If his nearness were any indication, conversation was the furthest thing
from his mind right about then. Dana definitely felt tingly--though the
sensation was in no way limited to her mouth, nor due to the sushi she had
eaten.

"I think there might be some residual numbness. It's hard to tell."

"Well, perhaps we ought to test them out. To ensure there's no permanent
damage."

Before Dana even had the chance to reply, she felt his mouth on her own.
Considering it was a first kiss, it was anything but hesitant. There was a
power, an urgency, to it. She felt his hands come up to cradle her face.
Her eyes drifted closed, even as her lips parted in response to the
insistent urging of his tongue. He made no hesitation at the invitation she
offered, and plunged inside her mouth--exploring, touching, tasting as he
caressed first her teeth then her own tongue.

For her part, Dana was anything but passive. She met him stroke for stroke,
movement for movement, tarrying first with his tongue, and then moving into
his mouth for her own exploration. That seemed to excite him as much as it
did her, for she felt his hand move to the nape of her neck, his fingers
tangling in her hair and pulling her closer.

Dana gladly would have gone on for hours, but, ultimately, her need for
oxygen won out. They reluctantly pulled apart, each gasping for breath. His
hands slid down her face, one coming to rest where her jaw met her neck,
the other on the curve of her shoulder. She stared up at him through hooded
eyes, chest heaving up and down as she drew the cool night air into her
lungs. He held her gaze. She watched as he licked his lips, and she
wondered if he could still taste her there.

"Wow," was all he could manage in a wavering voice.

Dana smiled in return. She could not have said it better herself. "So, did
I pass the test?"

"With flying colors. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Just proceed directly to the head of the class to collect your prize."

"And what might that be?"

"Anything you want--so long as you promise we can do that again sometime,"
he said, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"I think that might be arranged," she replied, leaning into his touch.
Looking up at him, she watched as his eyes dipped down, no doubt to watch
the rapid rise and fall of her chest above the plunging bodice of her
dress. Dana felt her skin flush--not so much with embarrassment as with
desire. It had been a long time since her body had reacted this way.
Probably because she could not remember the last time a man had kissed her
with such passion, such intent. She did not want these intense sensations
to end. She was nearly overcome with a sudden longing for his hands to
follow his gaze, to touch and stroke her sensitized flesh.

A moment's hope quickly turned to disappointment as she felt his hand
continue its downward path along her neck and shoulders, as he slowly
stroked her arm until he reached her hand, which he took in his own.

She felt his other hand leave her, and she bit back a sigh of frustration.
But then she saw his fingers heading toward her chest, and she nearly
gasped. Her brow furrowed as she realized that his angle of approach,
though too low to be meant for her neck, was nonetheless too high to be
intended for her breast. Her eyes once again closed, and she held her
breath in sweet anticipation.

She felt the feather-light touch of his fingers just below her collar
bones. "That's a beautiful necklace," he said.

Opening her eyes, she looked down to see him holding her tiny gold cross in
his fingers.

"I've been admiring it all night."

Dana slowly let out the breath she had been holding. Though she still found
his touch arousing, from the tone of his voice, she knew that the intensity
of the moment had passed. She realized, however, that by maintaining light
yet deliberate contact, he was being sure to tell her 'I'm still
interested. Let's just take things a little bit more slowly.'

That notion only seemed to stoke the growing fire within her. His
consideration, his courtesy to not take advantage of what was obviously
impassioned desire on both sides, of wanting to get to know her better
before taking things any further, only made her want him more. It was funny
how showing a little bit of respect could get you exactly what you wanted.

For a moment she wondered if that was exactly what he was doing. If this
was all part of some large, preconceived scheme to get her into bed. He had
obviously played the field before. Perhaps this was no different; just a
more challenging notch to carve into his belt.

She quickly dismissed the idea. She remembered his honest declaration
earlier that evening--of wanting to find the right woman with whom to
settle down, someone with whom he could share his life, a family. If he
really did think that they connected so well--and she was sure he did--he
would not take that chance by advancing too quickly.

Although as far as she were concerned, the way her body hungered for him
needily, he could toss her to the ground and take her right here, right
now. She wondered what he would do with such knowledge.

*That is exactly the kind of situation he's trying to avoid, Dana. He's
trying to be a gentleman because he obviously holds you in high regard, and
all you can think about is jumping his bones.*

Almost of its own accord, her eyes wandered down his chest to his crotch.
She wondered if he was as hard right now as she was wet.

*For God's sake, Dana, stop it! You're hornier than a schoolgirl! It's been
a while, but that doesn't mean you have to jump him on your first date.
You'll scare away your first chance at a decent man, at a healthy
relationship. Take a deep breath, and just calm down.*

Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her head of any remaining carnal
thoughts. She tried to focus on his words. He was saying something about
her cross.

". . . really is lovely. It's simple, which is what makes it so elegant."

"Thank you," she said, surprised she was able to find her voice. "My, uhm .
. . my mom gave it to me, years ago, when I was a teenager."

"And you still wear it?"

"I've rarely taken it off since. And even then, more often than not, it
wasn't really by choice."

"If you don't mind my asking, are you a very religious person?"

"Uhm. . . ."

"I'm sorry, Dana," he said, letting go of her necklace. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No, Mark, that's okay. It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just
not a simple answer."

"Well, c'mon, then," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. "Let's walk
some more, and you can try to explain it."

"Okay," she smiled, falling once again in step beside him. "Well, I was
raised Catholic. When I was a kid, we went to church every Sunday and
holidays. I don't know how much I believed in it back then. When I was
younger, I did. But then I hit that teenaged rebellious streak most kids
do, and I resisted it. As I got a little older, though, and started to
question things--life, my place in the world, that sort of thing--the
church drew me back. When I went to college, and was away from the watchful
eyes of my parents, I lapsed again. And then in med school, there barely
seemed enough time for eating or sleeping, let alone going to church. So
although I still believed, I became an infrequent worshiper. The big
holidays, when I visited my parents, that sort of thing.

"Around the time I finished med school, when the bureau was trying to
recruit me, I found myself returning. I spent some long hours talking to
our priest, sitting in the pews waiting for some sort of divine
inspiration. It seemed that those days I was seeking counsel wherever I
could get it. I was torn between going the route my parents
wanted--practicing medicine--and following the other path which seemed to
be calling me."

"You obviously chose the latter."

"Ultimately, yes. Believe me, it was no easy decision. But I knew that
whatever I chose, God would still be there, to watch over me. He'd let me
know in those mysterious ways of His, if I had chosen the right path. But
then I got caught up in my work, in trying to carve a niche out for myself,
in a new relationship, and I let my faith waiver again. There were a few
occasions, during my work on the X-Files, when I was drawn back to the
church. One involving a 'miracle man' that could seemingly heal people with
his touch. Another involving a boy who displayed stigmata."

"The wounds of Christ? Geez, you really do get your share of weird happenings."

Smiling, Dana nodded. "After each of those cases, I found myself
questioning my faith. But along the way, He seemed to give me signs that He
was still there. He helped see me through some very difficult times."

She paused, trying to decide whether to say more--to reveal some very
private, very painful events. One glance up at Mark--at the concerned,
attentive look on his face as he gazed back down at her--made the decision
for her.

She took a deep breath, searching for the strength to continue.

"Several years ago, I was abducted. I'm still not certain by whom, or where
I was taken. I have almost no recollection of what happened--which is
probably for the best. I was missing for three months."

"Dana, I'm so sorry," he said, genuine sympathy softening his voice, as he
squeezed her hand.

She nodded her appreciation, but kept on speaking. Talking about this was
not easy, and now that she had begun, she felt the words rushing from her
lips, needing to get out, to be said and heard.

"When I was finally returned, I was in a coma, on the brink of death.
During that time, I had . . . I guess you could call them out-of-body
experiences. I remember my father--who had been deceased for over a
year--talking to me, telling me it wasn't time for me to join him yet. I
also recall a kind woman, a nurse, watching over me, taking care of me.
Only, when I regained consciousness and finally asked about her, they told
me no such person ever worked at the hospital."

"So you think she was some kind of guardian angel, sent to protect you, to
guide you home?" Surprisingly, there was none of the expected incredulity,
no sense of mocking, in his tone.

"I realize how silly that must sound."

"That's not silly at all, Dana. I've known men who have almost died--who
actually *have* died, but were resuscitated. Many of them have had similar
experiences, similar stories. Not just the stereotypical bright light. But
loved ones pushing them away, or kindly people leading them home. It's
certainly not unheard of. I have no doubt that you experienced something
similar."

"To this day, I'm still not sure what to believe. All I know is that for a
time, I had my faith renewed. But then, the biggest test came a few years
ago."

Something bigger? Mark wondered incredulously. Hell, being kidnapped for
three months seemed like the mother of all life-altering events. What could
she possibly have been through that could top that?

"As a result of my abduction--and of the tests they performed on me--I had
contracted a rare form of cancer. I was diagnosed with an inoperable
nasopharyngeal tumor."

He stopped dead in his tracks, turned to face her. Even in the moonlight,
she could tell that he had gone a shade lighter. "Holy shit. I- I don't
know what to say. But you're okay now, right? You're not sick anymore?"

She was deeply touched by the level of concern in his voice. "I'm fine.
I've been in remission for over two years."

"I can't even imagine. It must have been a difficult time for you."

"It was. For a while I was in denial. I felt fine, and I didn't want to
believe that I was dying. I learned a few months later that the cancer had
metastasized. So far as I knew, it was only a matter of time. One night, my
mom had a dinner party. Invited her priest, Father McCue. She went so far
as to sit him next to me, hoping he would counsel me, minister to my faith.
But at that point in my life, I was so angry--at the world, at God. I was
angry at the injustice of it all. I pushed Father McCue--and God--away.

"Then things took a sudden turn for the worse, and I was hospitalized. My
doctor began an aggressive experimental treatment as a last-ditch effort.
Nothing seemed to be working, and everyone seemed to be fearing the
worst--myself included. During that time, spending countless hours lying in
that hospital bed, gave me plenty of opportunities to think. And I realized
that all along, I had been going about things the wrong way. My entire
life, I had accomplished so much, gotten through many crises, on simple
faith. Except, at that time, when I needed it most, I pushed it away. I
thought I was doing everything in my power to try to heal myself. But the
truth of the matter was, I was not getting better. I was dying. And I had
never been so frightened.

"It was then that I realized how much I had come to rely on my faith, on my
religion, on God, my whole life. When everything else failed, that was the
one reliable thing to fall back on. I remembered this cross--" she took the
small charm in her fingers--"and why I wore it, what it symbolizes to me.
And I knew that if I were to get through this, if I were to see my illness
through to the end--whatever that end might be--I needed to call on that
faith. And so Father McCue came to me, and together we prayed. Only then
did I feel that I had done all I could, exhausted every possible resource."

"And the treatments--they cured you?"

"To this day, I don't know if it was the medical treatment, an alternative
remedy we attempted, or even a miracle that saved me. To tell you the
truth, I don't care what did it. It doesn't really matter. What does is
that I was given a second chance. It was almost like I was tested. When I
was at the lowest point in my life, I asked God for help. And He answered
me. I know now that no matter what--if I ever lose my way again, have more
doubts in myself, in others, in the world--He'll always be there. Waiting.

"So, you asked me if I consider myself a religious person. Well, religion
is very important to me. My faith is an integral part of who I am. Right
now, my faith is strong. I believe."

He looked down at her, and shook his head in amazement. "Dana Scully, you
are one incredible woman. During that time in the cave, I could tell that
you were a strong person. But I had no idea how strong. To have been
through all that--the abduction, the cancer--to have carried on and managed
to overcome it is remarkable in and of itself. But to have been able to
have learned from it, to have given it meaning in order to improve your
life. . . . it's incredible. As is your spirit." He gently reached to
stroke her cheek. "As are you."

She smiled. More often than not, when people learned of her cancer, they
offered her sympathy and sadness, regret and pity. But never before had
someone truly appreciated her struggle, the inner turmoil her illness put
her through. She did not think it possible for someone to completely
comprehend what she had been through without having been there.

Mark had not even known her before her cancer, and yet he was still able to
recognize how the experience had changed her, helped make her into the
woman she was today. Somehow, he understood.

At that moment, she felt another connection to him. Not only had they
managed to connect on both a physical and an intellectual level, but now
she also felt an emotional--no, a spiritual--tie to him. More than
anything, she wanted to get to know him better, to obtain a peek into his
heart, just as he had managed to see into hers.


End Epilogue Part 3a


*****

Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 17b/17
Author: Jennifer Sorowitz
Email: sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu or jis3@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground,
Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two
teenagers in a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its
vicinity, they are trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their
way out--without killing each other first?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission
and no profit is being made.

Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Jennifer Sorowitz


Epilogue Part 3b


"What about you?" she asked, taking up the slow pace again. "Does religion
factor at all into your life?"

He gave a soft chuckle. "Well, believe it or not, Dana, I was actually born
and raised Catholic. I guess you can say that I've lapsed. Can't remember
the last time I was in a church. No, wait, I lie. It was probably for my
nephew Nate's christening, oh about six years ago."

"What made you give it up?" she asked gently.

After her revelations of the importance of her faith to her, he was
thankful that her tone was not accusatory, but merely curious.

"Let's just say I became disillusioned at a very early age. When I was
still in grade school--about seven or so--my mom got really sick. Cancer,
actually. For well over a year, she was in and out of the hospital. It was
a horrible thing to watch, especially for a young kid like me. She was
slowly wasting away, her body turning on her, and eventually her spirit
giving up. My older sister, Amy, was incredible. She was a senior in high
school at the time. Not only did she help nurse my mom when she was still
able to live at home, but she also took over all the household chores. I
was too young to make much of a contribution. And my dad--well, with his
work and all, he was away half of the time. Eventually, Mom went into the
hospital, and she never came home again."

"Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry," Dana said, taking his hand in both of hers. "It's
hard enough to lose a parent when you're an adult. I can't imagine what it
would be like for a young child."

"Yeah, I was pretty devastated. But Amy, she held the family together. She
became like a surrogate mother to me. Kept me on the right track. Made sure
I did my homework, ate my vegetables, stayed out of trouble. She clothed me
and fed me and loved me. Hell, she pretty much raised me. After she
graduated from high school, she got a job in a bank so that she would be
home by the time I was out of school. She gave up her own dreams to ensure
that I was well taken care of. By the time I got to high school, she was
able to get a better job as a secretary in a different  department. That's
where she met her husband Alan, actually--he was her boss. But anyway, she
kept me on the up and up, instilled in me the importance of a good
education. She was always encouraging me. She was behind me one hundred
percent when I decided to apply to the naval academy at Annapolis.
Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack during my freshman year. But on
graduation day, Amy was there to cheer me on."

"She sounds like a pretty incredible woman."

"Oh, she is. She was sister and mother and friend to me. Amy always had
traditional family values. Mom instilled them in her, and after her death,
Amy felt obligated to pass them on to me. Things like respecting your
elders, staying out of trouble, working hard at school, and going to church
every Sunday. It was a weekly ritual. We never missed a service. I think it
was her faith in God that helped see Amy through it. I remember seeing her
praying a lot, especially around the time mom got really sick. In her
unwavering belief, she found the strength to carry on.

"For me, church did just the opposite. I became embittered toward God. I
couldn't understand how a supposedly all-powerful being could be so cruel,
so heartless. How he could make my mother have to suffer so, and take her
away from me and my family. Why he would make my sister--one of the most
devout and pious people I've ever known--have to make so many sacrifices.

"Amy gave up so much for me. Ever since she was a little girl, she had
played the piano. Mom taught her. And Amy was really good. She had dreamed
of going to Julliard, of becoming a concert pianist. But when mom got sick,
she had less time to practice. She still played--Mom was constantly asking
her to because hearing Amy's music always helped take her mind off of the
pain. But after Mom died, it was all Amy could do to finish her
requirements so that she could graduate. She never bothered to apply to any
college because she felt it was her duty, her obligation, to take care of
her family. She gave up her dreams for me. And never once did she complain.
Rather, she was always smiling, always laughing, always happy. She made the
best of any situation.

"Still, I never thought it was fair, all she had to give up on account of
me. She deserved better. I blamed God for all of it. When I lived at home,
I still went to church every Sunday, but only because Amy asked me to. I
could never say no to Amy--still can't, actually. But it was just going
through the motions. I no longer believed in God. I renounced any and all
faith in His power. I guess that makes me an atheist, huh?"

"Losing your faith in God and not believing He exists are not one and the
same," Dana stated gently. "I can see why you would come to doubt, even to
hate Him, for what you perceived to be incredibly unjust wrongs to you and
your family. The same way I can see how the same circumstances produced the
completely opposite effect on your sister. In her pain, she turned to God
for help, whereas you shunned Him. Both are completely understandable
reactions to the type of tragedy you've had to endure. Hell, I think I've
followed both routes at different times in my life. Ultimately, I found my
way back to Him. Who knows, one day you might, too."

He shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt it. The pain's too deep, the wound too
old. Some grudges can never be forgiven."

"Fair enough. For what it's worth, Mark, I'm truly sorry for all the loses
you've had to endure."

"Don't be. I'm sorry I never really got to know my mother, and I'll always
miss her. But for the most part, my childhood was good. It was happy. Amy
made sure of that."

"She really does sound like a remarkable woman." There was sincere
admiration in Dana's voice.

"Oh, she sure is. I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for her. You
know, Dana, in many ways, you remind me of her. I don't just mean your
persistent faith. You're both strong, spirited. Determined. Undaunted in
whatever you put your minds to. Compassionate."

Given the way Mark had described Amy--the heartfelt adoration and nearly
devout regard in which he held her--Dana was deeply touched. In fact, she
felt truly honored. If he held her in half as much esteem as his beloved
sister, she considered herself lucky indeed.

She smiled at him warmly.

"Maybe someday you two could meet. I'm sure she'd come to know and care for
you as much as I do."

"I'd like that, Mark. I'd like that a lot." Dana found the idea of meeting
this woman who had played such an integral role in shaping Mark's life a
wonderful opportunity.

"Me, too." He looked into her eyes, held her gaze. "Thanks for listening to
me ramble on, Dana. I hope I didn't bore you too much."

"Not at all. I'm glad you told me. I think hearing about your childhood,
about your sister, helped me to understand you a bit more. Get to know more
about what makes Mark Riskey tick."

"Same here. I'm glad you told me about your fight with the cancer, and how
it changed you. Most of all, I'm glad you beat it. That I've gotten the
opportunity to meet you. And, I hope, to get to know you even more."

A strong, cooler breeze blew past then. Dana felt it straight through the
thin fabric of her sweater, and shivered.

"The wind's starting to pick up," Mark said, glancing around. "We should
probably head back to the hotel."

"Yeah, it's getting late," Dana said, glancing at her watch. Her eyes
suddenly grew round. "My God, is that really the time?"

Mark looked at his own watch. "Ah geez. You've got an early flight
tomorrow--er, today--don't you?"

Smiling sheepishly, Dana nodded. "No big deal. I can sleep on the ride back
to D.C." *And it'll save me the trouble of having to make small talk with
Mulder.*

"All the same, we should probably get back," he said, holding out his hand.

As another stronger breeze whipped through her, Dana quickly took his hand
and they made their way back up the beach the way they had come.

"You cold?" he asked.

"A l-little," she muttered, teeth beginning to chatter.

"I'm sorry I don't have a jacket to offer you. Guess I'll just have to
improvise." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

"You Navy SEALs sure are a resourceful lot." Dana encircled his waist,
huddling into the warmth of his body as much as she was able.

Twenty minutes later, they were approaching the doorway to her hotel room.

"Well, here we are," Dana said, stopping a foot or so in front of the door.
She looked up at him and smiled. "You, ah, want to come in for a while?"

For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, a hint of temptation crossing
his features. "I'd love to, Dana, but it really is getting awfully late. I
don't want to keep you up--I'd hate for you to oversleep and miss your
flight on account of me."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She hoped she did not sound too terribly
disappointed. "So, you going to be sticking around the island for a while?"

"Probably at least till the end of the week--until the docs spring Robbins.
I like for us to all travel together if I can help it."

She nodded. "I guess you and the guys will manage to find some way to pass
the time."

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll have some fun. It's too bad you can't stick around a
while longer."

"And so goes the life of a federal employee," she remarked with a dramatic
sigh.

They laughed.

"You'll just have to soak up some rays for me," she told him.

"Sure thing."

There was a moment of silence.

"I had a really great time tonight, Mark."

"Me too. Hopefully, we can do it again some time."

"I'd like that."

"Would it be okay if I called you when I got back to the states?"

Her smile lit up her entire face. "Sure. Let me just give you my numbers."
She rummaged through her purse, managed to find a business card and a pen,
and scribbled on the back of it. "Here you go," she said, handing it to
him. "The card has my office and cell numbers, and I've added my home one.
You should be able to reach me at one of the three."

"Busy lady."

"They keep me on my toes."

Another moment of silence.

"Well, have a safe trip back."

"Thanks again, Mark. Good night."

Key in hand, she paused a moment before preparing to turn toward the door.

In that moment, he gently cradled her face in his hands and bent towards
her. Her eyes slid closed just as she felt his lips touch hers in a soft,
gentle kiss. He slowly pulled away, leaving her standing there, unable to
find the strength--or the will--to move from the spot.

"Good night, Dana," he whispered.

She opened her eyes, and watched as he backed slowly down the hallway, wavi
ng.

Smiling, she waved back before letting herself into her room. As she closed
the door, she leaned back against it, sighing contentedly. She stayed there
for a while, mind a million miles away.

Reluctantly, she walked over to the bed, slipped out of her sandals and her
sweater. She was about to go into the bathroom to wash up when she caught
sight of her reflection in the mirror. She almost did not recognize
herself--so big was the smile on her face. She could not remember the last
time she had felt this happy, this relaxed. It was a feeling she could get
used to.

Slowly, she reached up to her ear, and gently removed the flower from her
hair. She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply its sweet aroma,
letting it permeate her senses.

For the first time in a long while, Dana Scully looked forward to tomorrow,
and what new surprises lay in store for her.


Finis


*****


Hope you enjoyed this! More to come soon, so stay tuned!


*****


Deep Water
by Jewel

You find yourself falling down
Your hopes in the sky
But your heart like grape gum on the ground
And you try to find yourself
In the abstractions of religion
And the cruelty of everyone else
And you wake up to realize
Your standard of living somehow got stuck on survive

When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love

You wake up to realize your only friend
Has never been yourself or anyone who cared in the end
That's when suddenly everything fades or falls away
'Cause the chains which once held us are only the chains which we've made

When you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
And when you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love, love, love
It's nothing without love

We've compromised our pride
And sacrificed our health
We have to demand more
Not of each other
But more from ourselves

'Cause when you're standing in deep water
And you're bailing yourself out with a straw
When you're drowning in deep water
And you wake up making love to a wall
Well it's these little times that help to remind
It's nothing without love, love, love
It's nothing without love
It's nothing without love






Jennifer Sorowitz V'02
sorowitz@dolphin.upenn.edu

If you can imagine it,
you can achieve it.
If you can dream it,
you can become it.
        -William Arthur Ward