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     This author's email address has changed to: partous@parkpub.com

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From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Tue, 7 May 1996 18:34:35 -0500
Subject: The Rock, in the Blink of an Eye (1/1)

The Rock, in a Blink of an Eye (1/1)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


Hi. I'm working on a long X-File right now, one with a plot and
everything, but I keep getting distracted by nonsense. The
muse is upon me, hallelujah: Just wish it took me a little more
seriously.

Please write: It's so nice.

Here's a variation in what's bound to be a long line of fairly
predictable fanfics about what else might have happened on
the rock in Quagmire. So:

WARNING:

**** QUAGMIRE SPOILERS AHEAD ****

Summary: M/S angst/romance story with some silliness.


DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter rules. I'm just an idiot. 




"Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts rang'd all round
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground...
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye."

- -- Matthew Arnold, "The Grande Chartreuse"






"You're so consumed by your personal vergence against life,
whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that
everything takes on a warped significance to fit your
megalomaniacal cosmology."

"Scully, are you coming on to me?"

Fox Mulder knew he was in trouble when even a blatantly
flirtatious line like this one had no apparent impact on the
unflappable -- if rather bedraggled -- Agent Scully. He
sighed. It wasn't something he'd said all that lightly, despite
the apparent casualness of the thing, and it would've been
nice if she'd at least reacted a little. He shivered. It was cold
and they were wet, but still she sat two feet away.

He stared at her mouth as it continued moving, but try as he
might, he could only catch the gist of what she was saying.

What he was thinking was more along the lines of what he
would have done if she'd said "yes." Or even...

"Maybe."

As he pretended to listen to her philosophical tirade -- he
could tell it was actually pretty good, even fairly accurate -- 
his mind played with the rest of him.

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe I *am* coming on to you. I'm wet, I'm cold, we're on a
tiny rock in the middle of nowhere, although at least it's not
raining -- have you noticed it always seems to be raining,
Mulder? Uh, where was I?"

"You were saying, um, that maybe you *were*..."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. Well? You brought it up. What if I
said I was?"

"Uh..."

"I mean, it's not as though you deserve it. You drag me out all
over the country on asinine assignments that cast serious
doubt on your mental competence. You practically laugh when
my dog gets eaten by some kind of sweet-water monster I don't
even *believe* in, but which I'd never have had to deal with in
the first place if it wasn't for you. I have no life and fewer
relatives because of you. And you even have the gall to make a
joke about cannibalism after we've been stranded for all of five
minutes! I lose weight and all you can think of is less meat for
the stew. Honestly, Mulder."

"Well, you know how boys are. They always tease girls they
like."

"In sixth *grade*, Mulder!"

"I'm sorry about your dog, Scully." He looked at her
pleadingly. Her eyes filled suddenly, and she looked down,
her lip trembling. He sat up and added, a little lamely, "I just
know you well enough to know that work is your best
distraction."

She sniffed. "Has it occurred to you that the loss of Queequeg
might be a metaphor for everything else I've lost senselessly
since I started working with you?"

"Yes."

Scully looked up at him. Her eyes brimmed now, but no tears
spilled -- from sheer determination, Mulder expected. It broke
his heart.

His voice was soft, barely cutting across the lapping of the
water. "So why do you stick around?"

She shrugged. "Frankly, Mulder, I don't know."

"I do."

She looked at him, and a smile crinkled the sides of her mouth.
"Really."

"Yep."

"Well?" Her eyes were laughing now.

"Because..." he took a deep breath, "...I stimulate you
intellectually."

She burst out laughing -- a rare enough sound, Mulder
thought, and it left him in a state of awe.

"Hey, Scully."

"What?" She was still giggling.

"I'm cold. You?"

"No. As an amphibian creature of the night, I find these kind
of conditions invigorating."

Mulder stretched, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Hey, Scully?"

"What?"

"Don't you think we should huddle for warmth? I mean, how
long before we die of exposure?"

"Oh, at this time of the year, I'd say about four weeks.
Anyway, it's not as if you don't have anything to eat,
apparently."

He carefully placed his elbows on his knees, his arms reaching
out casually in her direction, palms down.

"Hey, Scully."

"What, for God's sake?"

"Come here."

She sighed, and did.



Suddenly Mulder realized she'd stopped talking. He panicked
and searched his memory for something to say. Something that
related to Moby Dick. Anything. Call me Ishmael. No, no --
she'd think he'd lost his mind, although he was sure she
already believed that. Whale jokes. Nantucket. Oh God.

"Funny you brought that up, because I've always wanted a
peg-leg..."

Which, as it happened, was true.


END