Date: Sun, 9 Jul 2000 12:14:39 EDT
Subject: NEW: Tam Lin by Pequod (1/12)
Source: xff

Title: Tam Lin
Author: Pequod
Rating: Some parts NC-17. I don't want anyone under
the age of 18 reading this.
Classification: XRA
Keywords: MSR
Disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to Fox, 1013 or
any of their associates by playing with their
characters in this manner. It is done purely for
pleasure and not for personal financial gain.
Feedback: Is welcomed and encouraged
Archive: Spookys - yes.  Anyone else, I would be
delighted, but please ask first.
Thanks: To Dasha for wonderful and insightful
editing, translation from the original English *g*
and providing the page on her web site.

Summary: When your local young men disappear, only
to turn up dead a year later, sometimes it helps to
have friends in high places. Myth and murder
combine in a remote Scottish village, and Mulder
and Scully investigate. The Fairy Queen is out to
revenge the loss of her most prized knight, Tam
Lin. Mulder believes but Scully's not so sure,
until Mulder takes a walk in the woods.

Tam Lin
By Pequod

Chapter one

The automatic door squeezed closed behind her with
a sigh, as if it were glad to shut out the bitter
early evening.  Scully found herself standing in a
small parking lot with space for six cars and two
not very friendly-looking cows.

She pulled her trenchcoat more tightly around her
and stamped her feet to try and get some feeling
back into her frozen toes.  What could be taking
Mulder so long, she wondered?  He only had to pick
up the keys to their car and then they would be
warm and cozy as they sped through the countryside,
protected from the vicious wind and the equally
vicious wildlife.

The door eased open again and Scully turned to see
Mulder striding purposefully towards her, a wide
grin plastered on his face.

"What took you so long, Mulder?"

"There was some confusion as to which of the cars
we were supposed to be taking."  Mulder's grin grew
impossibly wider and Scully glanced hopefully at
the silver two-seater Aston Martin parked directly
in front of them.  This trip could have its
advantages after all.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense.  Which one is
ours?"

His hand on her back, Mulder ushered her past the
gleaming Aston Martin and towards the rear of the
parking lot where three vehicles rested side by
side, lightly dusted with snow.  Mulder pointed to
the middle one of the three and then stood back,
hands folded across his chest and green eyes
twinkling with devilish amusement.

Scully stared at the battered old Land Rover
Defender wedged somewhat incongruously between a
Rolls Royce Silver Shadow and a classic MG in
British Racing Green.

"What the hell is that supposed to be, Mulder?"

"That," explained Mulder, patting the hood and
showering his feet with paint flakes and mud as he
did so, "is our transport for the day, courtesy of
Sir Montague."

"You have to be kidding me."  Stepping up to the
open window, Scully peered into the gloomy interior
and her heart sank as she surveyed the torn leather
of the upholstery and the distinct lack of anything
approaching a modern convenience. "I thought this
friend of yours was supposed to be rich.  Couldn't
he have sent us his chauffeur or something?"
Anything other than this heap of junk, she thought.

"He's not just rich, Scully.  His father is the
tenth richest man in Britain."  Mulder got into the
driver's side and reached across to open the door
for her.  "Besides, the Bentley is only good for
crawling through London traffic.  In the Scottish
Highlands, this is all you'll ever need.  So stop
whining and get in."

Wiping the snow off the seat with her gloved hand,
Scully got in and found a place to rest her feet in
between the boxes and tools littering the floor.

"I don't whine," she muttered as she slammed the
door shut.

"Of course not." Mulder grinned, and on the fourth
attempt the engine coughed into life and they left
the small airstrip for the open road.

...

"So, Mulder.  How far is it from here to Sir
Montague's pad?"  The cold was biting and Scully
tried to crank the window up to shut out the worst
of it.  Unfortunately, the window didn't want to
comply and she was left with a gap just large
enough for the snow to sneak through and coat the
left side of her face with its chill wetness.

The inside of the windshield was starting to mist
up and Mulder was trying in vain to locate the
heater.

"I think it's about twenty miles.  Aha!"  Mulder
prised open a flap on the dashboard and uncovered
the toggle for the heating.  He flicked it on and
cold air and dust blew straight into Scully's face.

"Great," she muttered.  "This is just wonderful,
Mulder." At least we'll only have to put up with
this for another twenty minutes or so, she mused as
they rattled along a fast stretch of paved highway.

The heater gradually warmed up and Scully settled
in her seat, turning to look out of the side
window.

They had passed through a small village a couple of
miles back and it seemed as though civilization had
begun and ended there.  There was nothing to be
discerned except the blackness of the lake -- loch,
she reminded herself -- on one side, and the
heather-covered mountains on the other.  No signs
of habitation, any comforting lights, nor pluming
smoke from cozy hearthsides.  Nothing.  Even the
moon seemed reluctant to emerge from its hiding
place.  It peeked out every now and then, only to
be blanketed by another fast-moving cloud as the
high winds stirred the heavens.

"We might be in for a clear night later, Mulder."

"Mmm," came the only reply.  Mulder brought the
Land Rover to a halt in a dust patch at the side of
the road.

"What's the matter?"

"It's nothing, really.  I just thought we should
have turned off this road by now.  I'll just double
check the map."  Mulder scrambled over the seat to
get in the back of the vehicle and Scully could
hear him rummaging through his bags and cursing
lightly under his breath.

Great, she thought again.  So now we're lost in the
middle of nowhere in the freezing cold, night is
closing in and Mulder's forgotten the map.  Visions
of the local sheep farmer grimacing over their
frozen bodies as he led his flock to pasture
flashed before her eyes and she groaned and leaned
her head against the window.  Not for the first
time she wondered what the hell she was doing here.
Surely the war for independence was fought so that
England could no longer assert its insidious
influence on its colonists?  But no, here we are
two hundred years later and a phone call from a
British peer of the realm to a FBI Director chum
and we're three and a half thousand miles from non-
fat lattes and the mild elegance of a DC fall.

"Found it," yelled Mulder as he clambered back over
the seats and settled down behind the wheel, his
coat bunched up around his waist and his hair
hanging limply in his eyes.  Scully offered up a
silent thank you to God.  She tried to avoid the
temptation to rip Mulder's head from his shoulders
and stick it somewhere extremely unpleasant when
his elbow connected with her shoulder as he
unfolded the map on the dashboard.

She exclaimed her annoyance with an "ow" but Mulder
was far too engrossed in the map to notice.

"Scully, have we passed the sign for Stromeferry
yet?"

"If you mean the sign that read Stromeferry -- sorry
no ferry, then yes, about five minutes ago."

"Oh, good, then that means we must be here," Mulder
pointed at a worryingly orange space on the map,
"and we need to exit here, so we should be
approaching the exit in the next couple of
minutes."

Seemingly satisfied that they were indeed in the
right place, Mulder started to fold the map back up
but Scully stopped him and pointed to the area on
the map densely packed with contours.

She might not be able to remember how to tie a
sheepshank any more but her summers spent at camp
had not been completely wasted.  She knew a
mountain when she saw one on a map.

"Mulder.  Is that what I think it is?"

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"It's um, it's a hill, Scully."

"A rather large hill, wouldn't you say, Mulder?"

"Um, yes, I suppose it could be construed as a
rather large hill.  Yes."

"And we have to be there," she indicated Carter
Hall on the map, "which is on the other side of
said hill.  Am I right?"

"Yeees."

"And would I also be correct when I say that said
hill is, let's look on the map here, 2000 feet from
sea level to the top?"  She looked out at the sea-
loch on their left.  "And Carterhaugh village is at
sea level on the other side.  And these tightly
packed contours would indicate a gradient of oh,
say 1 in 5?  How am I doing so far, Mulder?

"2053 feet," mumbled Mulder.

"So it's going to take us a little bit longer than
20 minutes to traverse this 'road', isn't it?"

"I would say so, yes."

"How long, Mulder?"

Mulder stared straight ahead and his hands gripped
ever more tightly on the steering wheel.

"An hour, maybe an hour and a half."

"Oh, that's just great.  So I've got to sit here in
this freezing bucket of ice with a broken window,
slowly turning into a snowman and I've got to do it
for an hour and a half?  This case had better be
worth it, Mulder."

"You'll love it when we get there, Scully."  Mulder
pulled back onto the highway and the reluctant roar
of the engine drowned out Scully's muttered
expletives.

Two minutes later and they were at the turn off.
The vehicle bounced over a cattle grid and as the
road narrowed to a single lane, the mountain loomed
over them for the first time.  Gloomy twilight
settled around the Land Rover as they inched their
way up the precarious path.

"Mulder -- I know that you went to Oxford with Sir
Montague's son, what's his name...?"

"Simon."

"Yes, Simon.  I also know that when senior men at
the FBI click their fingers, we have to come
running.  What I don't understand is why you
specifically?  The fact that you knew Simon twenty
years ago at University seems to be rather a
tenuous reason to have us fly all this way.  Why
can't the British police handle this case?  I'm
sure they are more than capable."

Headlights flooded the interior of the Land Rover
with white light from behind and Mulder pulled into
the next passing place to allow the vehicle to
overtake.

"Can't we talk about this later, Scully?  I'm
having enough trouble trying to prevent us from
plummeting to a watery grave."

Scully looked out over the sheer cliff and down at
the loch below, by now illuminated only by the
silvery moon.  He had a point, but still.

"You keep saying that, Mulder.  Every time I ask
why you, why this case, you make some excuse not to
talk to me.  I know there's more to this case than
three unsolved murders.  What's it all about,
Mulder?"

Mulder sighed and put the Land Rover in gear again.

"Fairies," he whispered, and then he winked at her
before pulling back onto the path.  "I'll tell you
more if we live to see the other side of this hill.
Okay?"

"Sure, Mulder.  Whatever."  Fairies?  She
contemplated his teaser, gripping the sides of her
seat as they negotiated hairpin after hairpin until
finally they crested the hill and began the equally
slow descent.

Two hours after they had left the airstrip, and
somewhat ashen-faced, they pulled off the mountain
pass.  Mulder had seen fit to furnish her with a
little bit more information about their whereabouts
and Scully now knew that the roller coaster of
death they had just traversed was also known as the
Pass of the Cattle.  An old drover's route, it was
the highest road in Britain and had claimed more
than its fair share of casualties since it was
first hewn out of the bedrock.  Laughably, its
construction had opened up the Carterhaugh
peninsula, previously accessible only by boat, to
visitors, though why anyone would want to risk life
and limb crossing back and forth was beyond Scully.

Jet lagged, cold, aching, and with a crick in her
neck that was going to take some serious massaging
to soothe, Scully wanted nothing more than to curl
up in a warm bed and sleep.  Mulder, however, was
as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

"Won't be long now, Scully.  Just wait until you
see the house.  It's four hundred years old and, so
the story goes, Mary Queen of Scots once slept
there."

"Well it must have a bed then, that's all I care
about right now."

"Actually, there are thirty bedrooms, ten of which
have four-poster beds.  Beds big enough for two,
Scully."  Mulder leered at her and she swatted him,
only half playfully.

"I didn't think that you were impressed with wealth
and ostentation, Mulder.  You surprise me."

"I take people as I find them, you know that,
Scully.  There's nothing ostentatious about Carter
Hall.  Sure it's impressive and looks grand
superficially, but the truth is that it's now half-
owned by the National Trust for Scotland.  Sir
Montague is a rich man by anyone's standards, but
the days of super-wealthy Barons and landowners
lording it over their subjects are long gone.
Simon will never own it.  Once his father dies the
Trust will take full possession.  I'm not saying
whether it's right or wrong, that's just the way it
is."

The road they were travelling along was still
single lane but easier to negotiate now that they
were following the coast at sea level.  There was
little to be discerned of their surroundings, as
night had cloaked the secrets of the landscape in
darkness. The moon had retreated behind the clouds;
there would be no clear sky tonight.

"We're here," Mulder announced, and they turned off
the road and passed through open wrought iron gates
onto a long gravel driveway. A large, whitewashed
house loomed out of the darkness, light pouring
from its many windows.  The drive at the front of
the house was littered with cars and people
wandering around in evening dress, clinking glasses
and laughing.

"What's going on, Mulder?"

"I think I'm starting to realize why Sir Montague
told me to go the tradesman's entrance."

They parked up at the rear of the house and Mulder
got out and knocked on the door.  Before Scully
could disentangle herself from the seatbelt, the
door opened and Mulder was swallowed into the
blackness within.

The seatbelt locked as she struggled with it,
forcing her to remain rigid in her seat until
Mulder returned, a grin on his face.

"You're going to love this, Scully."

When no answer was forthcoming he continued anyway.
"It seems that Sir Montague is entertaining a minor
Royal and doesn't want two FBI agents crashing his
party."

"Well, where are we going to sleep, Mulder?"

"You'll see."  He started the engine again and they
continued round the back of the house and down a
dirt track.  They stopped outside a single story
cottage which Scully was sure was picturesque but
which was right now just somewhere to sleep,
hopefully.

Turning the key in the lock, they entered a small
living room decorated simply in white and pastel
green.

"Get the bags from the car, Scully.  I'll start a
fire."

Squashing the urge to hit Mulder hard enough to
leave bruises, Scully trudged out to the car and
trudged back in with their bags.  A door off to the
left led to a bedroom and she dumped Mulder's bag
in the middle of the bed, fervently hoping that
this wasn't the only place to sleep.  She crossed
the living room where Mulder was seemingly striking
his way through an entire box of matches and found
another bedroom at the rear of the cottage.

Upon her return Mulder had managed to kindle a
small fire in the grate and he sat down on the
hearthrug, his back resting against the chair and
his legs spread into a vee.  "Come here, Scully."
He indicated the space between his legs.

Scully moved towards him and then hesitated.  "What
have you got in mind, Mulder?"

"I just want to ease some of the tension in your
shoulders; it's the least I can do after making you
endure the journey from hell."  He flexed his hands
and then patted the floor.  "I'm told I'm great
with my hands, especially my fingers."

The man was incorrigible, Scully thought.  Still, a
massage would be so nice.  Oh, what the hell.  She
gave into her body's need and settled between
Mulder's legs, her face warmed by the fire and her
back by Mulder's clever fingers.

Mulder quickly located the knot in her neck and set
to work, his thumbs relieving the ache with every
sweep.

"Oh, Mulder," Scully practically purred his name,
"just like that, mmm that's wonderful."

"If only you knew how often you've said that to me
in my dreams, Scully."

She knew she shouldn't allow him to get away with
that comment but the warm fire and the magic of
Mulder were luring her towards sleep.

"Muller," she slurred, "you never told me about the
fairies."

Mulder pulled her back into his arms so that she
was leaning against his chest; it felt too
comforting to protest, so she let it slide.

"Tomorrow, Scully.  Tomorrow."


End chapter one


Tam Lin
by Pequod (pe.quod@virgin.net)

Chapter Two

Scully awoke to a medley of birdsong and the 
bleating of sheep.  Cautiously, she opened one eye 
and then the other as she tried to remember where 
she was.  A shaft of autumn sunlight filtered 
through a gap in the curtains, dust dancing in its 
rays, and fell on the varnished wooden floor.

Gradually, memories of yesterday seeped into her 
tired brain and she vaguely recalled drifting 
towards sleep in Mulder's arms. She couldn't, 
however, remember getting from the front room to 
the bedroom, so Mulder had to have carried her 
here.  God, jet lag must have really taken its 
toll.

She peeked under the bedcovers and was not 
surprised to find that she was fully clothed. 
Mulder was ever the gentleman.  Even on the 
occasions he had seen her naked he always said he 
hadn't really looked.  She wasn't bothered about it 
but Mulder deemed it impropriety to take something 
that hadn't been freely given. At least, that's 
what he 'said'.

The aroma of baking bread reached her nostrils and 
Scully inhaled its rich scent, redolent of 
childhood Saturday mornings in her mother's 
kitchen.  If she closed her eyes she could picture 
herself, standing on a chair so that she could 
reach the table, her face and tiny apron dusted 
with flour and her hands sticky from kneading the 
dough.  Mom always let her and Melissa make their 
own mini loaves, and even when they came out hard 
and burnt, which they almost always did, she ate a 
slice and told them it was the nicest bread she had 
ever tasted.   

Scully smiled at the memory and wrapped herself 
more tightly into a ball.  She didn't want to have 
to leave this warm cocoon.  Gingerly she slipped 
her foot out from under the cover and waved it 
about in the air.  Christ, it was cold.  She 
quickly returned her foot to its nest and then 
realization dawned.  Someone must be baking bread 
in this cottage.  What else could account for the 
smell?  But there was only Mulder and he couldn't 
bake. Could he?

She unfolded her limbs and stretched her tired 
muscles before throwing the quilt off and stepping 
out of bed.  After pulling a pair of thick socks on 
she padded down the short corridor to the kitchen.  
Mulder was standing at the open back door, a 
steaming mug in his hand.  He turned and smiled as 
she entered the room.

"Great bed-head, Scully."

Scully's hands flew to her hair, which she 
discovered was plastered to her head on one side 
and stuck up and curly on the other.  Damn.  She 
tried to smooth it down with her hands but her 
actions had little effect on its unruliness.  The 
damned thing needed washing every morning and 
fifteen minutes with heated brushes before it 
stayed straight; she was not going to make much 
difference to it with her fingers.  Mulder was 
grinning at her but she chose to ignore him.

"Mulder, I may still be jet-lagged, or I may even 
still be dreaming, but I swear I can smell baking 
bread.  What gives?"

Moving across to the large, red Rayburn that took 
up almost half the side wall, Mulder opened the 
oven door.

"Ta da!"  With a flourish of his hands he indicated 
the two pound metal loaf tin nestling on the top 
shelf.  Scully moved in closer to get a better look 
and, to her amazement, there was indeed a loaf of 
bread browning nicely in the oven.

Mulder closed the door and she looked at him 
incredulously.  "You baked bread?"

"What do you think?"

She studied him for a moment.  "I think you went up 
to the main house and flattered the cook into 
giving you a loaf that she had just baked. Then you 
came back here and warmed it in the oven so that 
the smell would waft through the cottage and I 
would think you had made it yourself."

"You know me too well, Scully."  Mulder returned to 
the oven and pulled out the loaf.  "Do you want 
some?"

"Maybe later, I'm going to head for the shower 
first and make myself look presentable.  Why don't 
you put some coffee on for us and I'll be back in a 
minute."

"That's a good idea, Scully.  Your hair is 
beginning to scare me."

She picked up a dishcloth and flung it at him 
before retreating to her bedroom.  

Twenty minutes later, and feeling vaguely more 
human, Scully headed back to the kitchen, which was 
the warmest room in the cottage, thanks to the 
Rayburn.  A steaming mug of thick, creamy coffee 
was awaiting her and she took a seat at the 
scrubbed farmhouse table.  

Mulder was hovering near the toaster, slicing 
doorstop-sized chunks of bread.  "To toast, or not 
to toast, Scully?  That is the question."

"To toast, I think."

He popped four hunks of bread into the toaster and, 
opening a cupboard, produced jam and butter which 
he placed on the table.

She studied him as he busied himself tidying up 
while waiting for the toast.  The tableau of 
domesticity before her seemed somewhat at odds with 
the Mulder she knew and loved.  He was obviously 
enjoying himself, though, and whatever he was 
thinking about was amusing him because every now 
and then a smile would play across his lips and he 
would pause briefly mid-task before continuing.

A knife clattered to the stone floor and he bent 
down to retrieve it, affording her a great view of 
his ass.  She swallowed hard before speaking.  
"Nice view, Mulder."

"You like?"  He wiggled his ass in the air and an 
alarmingly girlie-sounding laugh escaped her.  

"If I didn't know you so well, Scully, I would have 
thought that was a giggle."

"Nah, I think I must have swallowed some air, or 
something, Mulder.  It's the shock, you know?"

"That must be it, then." He straightened up and 
brought the toast over to the table.  Scully 
ignored the temptation of the butter and opted for 
the strawberry jam.  Mulder was not so virtuous and 
slapped the butter on as though he were plastering 
a wall.

"I can hear your arteries hardening from here, 
Mulder."

"I don't care," Mulder spluttered through a 
mouthful of toast, "I like it."

"So, are you ever going to tell me about those 
fairies and what they have to do with this case, or 
do I have to tie you to this table and beat it out 
of you?"

"Ooh, Scully, you tease."  Mulder's eyes flashed at 
her wickedly and she kicked him under the table.

"Come on, Mulder, give it up."

"Well, you know that three young men have been 
found murdered over the last week."  He took a sip 
of his coffee.

"Yeah, each of them found naked in the woods with 
no as yet discernible cause of death."

"Each man, well boy really, had been missing from 
home for exactly a year to the day when their 
bodies were found."

"But the autopsies showed that they died on the 
same day that they were found."  Scully opened the 
file that Mulder passed to her and examined the 
autopsy reports.  "In the case of James MacNaughtie 
there was no discoloration of his body, indicating 
that he had been dead less than two hours.

"Exactly.  So they must have been held somewhere 
before being murdered a year after their abduction.  
But where, and why?  Why kidnap someone, hold them 
for a year without making any ransom demands, and 
then kill them for no apparent reason?  That's 
before we even get to how they were murdered."

Scully flipped through the file, pausing to read 
the brief biographical details of the victims.  
James MacNaughtie, aged 18, lived at home with his 
parents, went for a walk after dinner and never 
returned.  Cameron MacNeish, aged 24, single, 
called his girlfriend to tell her to meet him in 
the pub and didn't show up.  Padraig Quinn, aged 
22, Irish-born, disappeared from his digs, his 
landlady reported him missing three days after he 
was last seen.

"Padraig had only been in Scotland for a week 
before he disappeared.  As far as anyone can tell 
he had an argument with his girlfriend over the 
baby she was expecting and ended up in 
Carterhaugh."

"I think you pronounce his name Porig, Mulder."

"How do you know?"

"I had a Great Uncle Padraig on my mother's side.  
Do the British police have any ideas as to what 
happened?"

"Nope.  They investigated the disappearances quite 
thoroughly when they happened and could find no 
link between the boys, no reason why anyone would 
want them dead.  James was studying for a degree 
through Open University; Cameron was a fisherman, 
like his father, and his father before him.  Hard 
working, well liked, saving up to marry his long-
term girlfriend.  Padraig was young and in love, a 
little headstrong maybe, but there was nothing in 
his past or his acquaintances to warrant this."

Scully got up to fetch more coffee.  "I take it you 
have a theory, then?"  She handed Mulder his mug 
and resumed her seat.

"Thanks.  It's not my theory, it's Shifty's."

Scully choked on a mouthful of coffee, showering 
the table with tiny droplets.  "Who's Shifty?"

Mulder used the nearby dish cloth to wipe the 
coffee off the case file before it stained.

"He's the gamekeeper at Carter Hall.  He's so-
called because he shifts things.  If you want 
something moving, or taking away, then Shifty's 
your man."

"So what's Shifty's little theory, then?"

"Well, Shifty belongs to a long line of 
Gamekeepers.  He claims he can trace his ancestry 
back to a Viking warrior who raped and pillaged his 
way through Scotland back in the days of yore.  He 
says that the boys were killed by a Fairy Queen and 
her band of renegade fairies in revenge for the 
loss of their most prized knight, Tam Lin.  Stop 
laughing."

"I, I'm not, honestly."  Visions of moustached men 
in leather and nipple clamps mincing through the 
forest flashed before Scully's eyes and she bit the 
inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.  
"Go on, please, I'm enthralled."

"Tam Lin was a mortal who was kidnapped by the 
Fairy Queen, turned into an elf, and held for a 
year before becoming a sacrifice on Halloween.  At 
least, that was what was supposed to happen.  
However, Tam Lin had a nice little sideline in 
deflowering virgins who came into the forest and 
one day he met Janet, the daughter of a rich baron 
who owned Carter Hall.  He impregnated her and when 
she returned to the forest to tell him about the 
baby he told her all about his impending doom and 
begged her to rescue him.  The long and the short 
is that she saved him from the Fairy Queen who 
wasn't exactly happy about the situation."

"And this would be a true story with documented 
evidence, I presume?"

Mulder sighed.  "Why did I even think you would 
believe me?  The story is documented in an old 
Scottish ballad."

"Come on, Mulder, that's just folklore.  Even you 
have to admit that's the most far-fetched theory 
you've ever entertained.  Three boys are found dead 
and you immediately think it's a bunch of fairies 
out for revenge.  Admit it, you're winding me up."

"I will admit that it is something of a long shot."  

Scully snorted and coffee came down through her 
nose.

"However," continued Mulder, ignoring her, "this is 
not the first time something like this has 
occurred.  Exactly one hundred years ago, four men 
were found murdered in precisely the same manner as 
our boys today.  They too had been missing for a 
year and the cause of their death is still unknown.  
Shifty can remember his father telling him of those 
murders and how they were similar to ones that had 
occurred a hundred years previous to that.  And 
Halloween is only three days away.  The last body 
was always found on the day after Halloween."

"So, you believe that once a century, the Fairy 
Queen kidnaps four young men, holds them for a year 
and then murders them in chronological order, the 
last one on Halloween.  All because one of her 
elves escaped her clutches and she was left without 
a sacrifice for Halloween. Why?  Why four boys, why 
once a century?  What does she hope to gain from 
it?  It seems to me that Shifty is more of a 
natural suspect than a character from an ancient 
ballad."

"Shifty's theory is that she is trying to find a 
replacement for Tam Lin.  That she takes four boys 
at a time in the hope that one of them will be 
suitable for the final sacrifice.  I'm only telling 
you what he has told me so far.  We need to talk to 
him further to find out about the rest of his 
theory."

"So there's more?"

"Oh, yes.  And there is the matter of the fourth 
boy who is still missing and who, if the pattern of 
the other murders is to continue, has three days 
left to live."

"You never told me about a fourth boy."

"Oh, didn't I?  I'll tell you about him on the way, 
then."  

"On the way where?"

Mulder closed the case file and pushed back his 
chair.  "Pull your little boots on, Scully.  We're 
going for a walk."

End chapter two

Tam Lin
by Pequod (pe.quod@virgin.net)

Chapter Three

Scully stumbled after Mulder as they made their way 
up a small, bleak hill.  Bright sunshine bounced 
off the virginal snow, blinding her with its 
intensity.  She paused to fumble in her backpack 
for her Ray Bans and when she looked up, Mulder had 
disappeared from sight.  Shit.  She followed the 
huge imprints in the snow his feet had made, at 
first finding the going easier if she placed her 
own smaller feet in the holes left by his, rather 
than forging her own route.  Unfortunately, 
Mulder's stride was so much longer than hers that 
she ended up practically having to leap from one 
footprint to the other and she soon gave up trying.  
The crunch of compacting snow echoed throughout the 
silence as she waded through its depths, 
occasionally sinking to the knee, before finally 
she crested the peak.

Mulder was sitting on a rock, steam rising from the 
cup he was raising to his lips.  "Great view from 
here, Scully."  He held the cup out to her as she 
approached.  "What took you?"

Scully flashed him an evil look, which regrettably 
he couldn't see because she still had her glasses 
on.  Perching beside him on the rock, she accepted 
the proffered cup gratefully and took a sip of the 
hot coffee.  The warm liquid slid down her throat 
and into her stomach and soon she could feel its 
heat percolating through her veins and out towards 
her frozen extremities.

She handed the cup back to Mulder and took a moment 
to properly survey their surroundings.  The rock 
they were resting on was one of many, varying in 
size and shape, which littered the plateau.  The 
low, autumn sun highlighted the humps and bumps of 
snow-covered rocks and small hillocks, giving the 
area a decidedly lunar appearance.  Although this 
particular hill was small in comparison to the 
background of mountains, it afforded a spectacular 
view and Scully drank in the grandeur of the snow-
capped peaks.

They were looking out across a stretch of cobalt-
blue sea towards two islands one behind the other.  
The fronting island was flat and featureless but 
the larger one boasted a mountain range that ran 
its entire length, ridged like a backbone.  The 
numerous peaks stood out sharply against the pale 
blue sky; the occasional tip swallowed up by the 
thin strip of flat-bottomed clouds that lay like 
strands of cotton wool over the gray-blue span of 
the range. 

"What am I looking at, Mulder, do you know?"

Mulder withdrew a small guidebook from the inside 
pocket of his jacket and perused it carefully 
before answering.  "You're looking at the islands 
of Raasay and Skye, Scully.  Skye is the one with 
the mountain range, the Cuillins.  It says here 
that Charles Edward Stewart, the Young Pretender to 
the British throne, escaped to the Isle of Skye, 
aided by a Jacobite heroine, Flora MacDonald, after 
he was routed by the Duke of Cumberland at the 
battle of Culloden in 1745.  There's even a song 
about it, The Skye Boat Song."  

Scully interrupted quickly when it looked as though 
he were about to launch into the song.  "That's 
very interesting, Mulder, I'm sure, and at any 
other time I would probably be fascinated to hear 
all about it.  However, right now I'm cold, wet and 
wondering what this hill has to do with that other 
tale you're so enamored with, Tam Lin."

With the warming effect of the coffee wearing off, 
Scully shivered in the chill air and for the 
hundredth time already that day wished she had 
brought thicker gloves with her.  Her fingers were 
numb beneath the thin wool.  Suddenly she felt 
Mulder's hand on her back, rubbing in circles 
across her shoulders and down her spine.  His touch 
was unexpected and startled her into speaking 
without thinking.

"What are you doing, Mulder?  I'm not a baby that 
needs burping you know." The words came out too 
sharply and without the humor that she had 
intended.  

Mulder snatched his hand away, not looking at her, 
and began putting the flask back in his backpack.  
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, " I was just trying to 
warm you up, you look frozen."

Scully gave herself a mental slap.  She had been 
doing this a lot recently, she knew.  Every time 
Mulder touched her unexpectedly, or did something 
uncharacteristically nice, she pushed him away.  It 
was getting to be a habit.  He always looked stung 
afterwards, as though she had physically slapped 
him.  The trouble was he had been finding more and 
more excuses to touch her over the last few months, 
and sometimes she caught him staring at her across 
their desks.  On more than one occasion she had 
been in the middle of explaining away this or that 
ridiculous theory and looked up from her paperwork 
to find him gazing at her intently enough to burn 
holes in her forehead.  Whenever she asked him what 
he was doing, he simply shrugged and told her it 
was nothing.

This didn't happen all that often, and the rest of 
the time he behaved towards her exactly the same as 
he always did, peppering his conversation with 
suggestive remarks cushioned by his quiet 
affection.  At times she wanted to go up to him and 
scream in his ear "tell me what it is, tell me what 
you want", but she never did.  Maybe she was afraid 
that one day he would tell her exactly what he 
wanted and she wouldn't like it; or maybe she would 
like it too much.  

Maybe that was the problem.  

Whatever the overall problem was, she knew she had 
to fix this one here and now or else they would 
spend the rest of the day tip-toeing around each 
other with edgy politeness.

She stopped his hand as he was about to zip the 
pocket of his backpack up, and rested her own hand 
on the back of his, entwining her gloved fingers 
through his bare ones.  He looked up at her, 
surprise on his face, his eyes dark and unreadable.  
"I'm the one who's sorry, Mulder.  I didn't mean it 
to sound like that.  I guess I'm just cold and a 
bit grouchy."  She squeezed his hand and smiled 
hopefully at him.  "Forgive me?"

Relief flashed briefly across his face and then was 
gone, replaced by a warm smile.  "There's nothing 
to forgive.  You do look frozen, though. I've got a 
spare fleece in my bag, if you want it."

She nodded and he reached inside and pulled out a 
thin, black, polar fleece.  She managed to take her 
coat off and get her arms through the fleece but 
her fingers were too numb to do up the zipper.  
Mulder took hold of the fastener and then 
hesitated.  "May I?"  She nodded again and he moved 
in closer, pulling the zipper slowly upwards until 
the collar encased her neck like a scarf.  

Next he picked her jacket off the ground, dusting 
the snow off, and helped her on with it, zipping 
that up also and then popping the prestuds closed 
one by one.  The shivers that ran up Scully's spine 
had little to do with the cold this time.  It felt 
strangely erotic to be dressed by Mulder in this 
fashion.  His fingers lingered a moment longer than 
necessary as they popped the last button under her 
chin and they looked at each other for a long 
second.  She could hear his quickened breathing, 
matching her own for tempo, and their staccato 
breaths mingled and hung in the air.  Mulder was 
the first to break the spell.  He let out a heavy 
sigh and patted her shoulders.  "You're as snug as 
a bug in a rug now, Scully."

She smiled at his metaphor and the atmosphere 
between them became palpably more relaxed.  She 
shouldered her pack and then they were on their 
way, following a path marked only by occasional 
wooden poles and the odd haphazard stone cairn.  
Mulder stopped at the first cairn they came to and 
picked up two rocks, handing one to her and placing 
the other on top of the pile.  "To say, we were 
here."  He grinned as Scully added her rock to the 
others, causing Mulder's rock to shift and settle 
in a hollow next to hers.

Scully was intrigued by the practice.  "What's the 
significance of all these cairns, Mulder?"

Mulder consulted his trusty guidebook.  "This path 
is an old coffin route," he explained.  "It leads 
from Carter Hall to the family burial ground just 
outside Carterhaugh Wood.  Coffins used to be 
carried for miles over these paths, and wherever 
the coffins were rested, everyone would add a stone 
to a cairn on the spot." 

As they trudged down the hill, Scully tried to 
focus her mind back on the case, or whatever it 
was, they were supposed to be investigating.  On 
their way to the hill, Mulder had told her a little 
about the fourth boy who was still missing.  He was 
a twenty-year-old boat builder, Hamish Campbell, 
and Mulder was convinced that he would be found 
dead at midnight on Halloween if they didn't get to 
him first.   Scully was a long way from being 
convinced that fairies were responsible for the 
deaths of the boys.  However, it could not be 
denied that the first three young men had been 
alive for the past year and therefore, there was a 
good chance that Hamish was still alive and being 
held somewhere.  All they had to do was find him.  

And so it was that they were headed towards the 
cottage of Shifty the gamekeeper, who was staying 
out in the woods instead of at Carter Hall because 
it was the middle of the stalking season.  Mulder 
appeared to believe that the man would be able to 
help them get to the truth in some way.  He had 
definitely swallowed all that bullshit about 
sacrifices and revenge.  Scully was more interested 
in seeing this man with her own eyes.  His name 
alone gave her enough reason to be suspicious.

After a further half hour of trudging through snow, 
they came to the edge of Carterhaugh Wood.  A rough 
path wound through the forest densely packed with 
Scots Pine, Mountain Ash and Hazel.  They followed 
it for a short time before arriving at a clearing, 
wherein a small, whitewashed cottage nestled, 
framed by Hawthorn and the thin brown skeletons of 
rambling roses.  Smoke plumed from its single 
chimney.

At Mulder's knock, the door opened and they were 
confronted with their first sight of Shifty.  
Scully was surprised to say the least.  Knowing 
that he earned his name from his removal man 
abilities she had expected someone young, lean and 
muscular.  The man who waved them into the living 
area of his two-room home was seventy if he was a 
day.  

"Fox, it's nice to see you again."  His rheumy eyes 
swept the length of Scully's body.  "And you've 
brought the missus, I see.  You've done well for 
yourself."

He held out a gnarled hand to Scully, who grimaced 
inwardly at his clammy grasp.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

"Shifty to you, dearie.  There's only one Sir 
around here and he's up in the big house."

She waited for Mulder to correct Shifty's 
presumption about their relationship, but he merely 
smiled innocently at her.

"My name is Dana Scully, Sir.  Agent Mulder is my 
partner at the FBI."

"If that's what you want me to believe, dearie, 
then that's fine with me."

Mulder smirked at Scully.  "The trouble is, Shifty, 
that it's against regulations for partners to get 
closer than they should, if you know what I mean.  
So Agent Scully and I have to be careful about what 
we say and do."  He winked at the old man.  

Scully thought about how easy it would be to 
arrange a little accident for Mulder out on the 
wild hills.

Shifty nodded sagely.  "I understand, Fox."

He moved his small frame slowly and with great care 
as he shuffled towards the range where a battered 
old kettle was whistling merrily away.

"Tea?" 

Mulder nodded and motioned Scully to take the seat 
by the fire.  Laying her backpack down she accepted 
the cracked mug of thick, black tea, resisting the 
urge to wipe around the rim of it until Shifty 
turned his back to pour Mulder's cup.

Chairs creaked and the fire crackled as Mulder and 
Shifty made themselves comfortable.

Scully took a sip of her tea and swallowed the 
strong liquid gamely.  "Shifty, Mulder tells me 
that you believe the deaths of these three young 
men to be the work of fairies.  That somehow, 
characters from an old legend are responsible for 
what is happening.  What makes you think that?"

Mulder interjected before Shifty could answer. "I 
should tell you, Scully, that Shifty isn't the only 
person around here who believes that."

"He's right, dearie.  My father and Sir Montague's 
grandfather were the ones who found the bodies of 
two of the boys a hundred years ago.  They both 
could remember their fathers telling them about 
similar events going back to the time Carter Hall 
was first built. It is said that Janet, the wee 
girl in the ballad Tam Lin, was in fact the 
daughter of the first Lord Montague who came to 
Carterhaugh in the sixteenth century."

Mulder interrupted again.  "So that would make the 
child she was expecting by Tam Lin an ancestor of 
the present Sir Montague."

"But, Mulder, if that were the case then it would 
mean that Sir Montague and his ancestors are part 
fairy.  That's not possible."  Scully could hardly 
believe she was even having this conversation.

"That's what they say, dearie."

Scully shook her head in despair.  She felt annoyed 
with Mulder for humoring the old man like this.  It 
didn't seem fair.  And as for Sir Montague - well, 
insanity was known to run in some upper class 
families - too much in-breeding.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, Shifty, but... 
well, in isolated communities like this one, myths 
and legends can take on greater significance than 
they actually deserve.  Don't you think..." she 
didn't get chance to finish her sentence because 
Shifty's indignant voice cut in.

"You think we're all stupid, don't you?  You think 
that because we live out in the sticks that we're 
backward or something."

"I..."

"Well, I'm telling you that the Fairy Queen kidnaps 
these men in revenge for Janet freeing Tam Lin when 
he should have been her sacrifice.  Now she can't 
get any rest until she finds a man suitable to 
replace him."  The old man's voice climbed in pitch 
as he became angrier.  

Mulder broke in then, his voice low and soothing.

"What makes you think that, Shifty?  Why aren't any 
of the men she's taken over the years good enough?"  

"I don't know the answer to that, Fox.  If I did, 
then maybe I could find a way to stop it happening.  
Maybe I could find this last wee lad before 
anything happens to him." 

Shifty's shoulders drooped and suddenly he looked 
old and tired. Mulder set his cup on the hearth and 
motioned to Scully that they should get moving.  "I 
think we'll go and take a look at the area where 
they found the bodies ourselves, Shifty.  Why don't 
rest and..."

The door burst open and a young red-faced man 
crashed in, sweating profusely.  

Shifty sat bolt upright in his chair.  "Christ, 
Jimmy, what on earth's the matter?" 

"Oh, Shifty, it's terrible.  I've found poor Hamish 
out in the woods.  I think he's dead, Shifty."

"What?  He can't be.  It's not the right time."  
Shifty looked despairingly at Mulder who put his 
hand on the old man's shoulder.

"Let's go and take a look, Shifty.  Agent Scully is 
a pathologist.  She'll be able to tell us what's 
happened."

Light snow fell out of a gray and gloomy sky and 
silence descended as they followed Jimmy to the 
clearing in the woods where he had found the 
missing boy.

End chapter three.

Tam Lin 
by Pequod (pe.quod@virgin.net)

Chapter Four

The young man's body was a pitiful sight, propped
up against the trunk of a large oak tree.  From a
distance he looked as though he were taking an
afternoon nap, until upon reaching him she saw his
blank wide-eyed stare.  That, and the fact that no
one in his right mind would take a nap buck naked
in the middle of a forest on a day when the
temperature was struggling to get above freezing.
His body was as white as the snowy ground it rested
on, his red hair and bloody wrists a blush of color
on an otherwise blank canvas.

Scully knelt beside the body and, leaning forward,
habitually checked the pulse in his neck, even
though it was obvious to all that the lad was long
dead.  She gave a cursory, visual examination of
the cuts on his wrists, careful not to disturb the
body until the police arrived, before turning to
Mulder.

"The slicing of his wrists suggests suicide,
however the lack of blood at the scene and the way
the body is positioned indicates that he died
elsewhere and was placed here."

"So you think he was murdered in a way that would
make us think it was suicide?"

"No, Mulder.  I can't say for certain whether or
not he was murdered until I get a good look at him.
At this stage, there don't appear to be any signs
of a struggle, or any indications that he was held
down by someone.  We'll have to wait until the
autopsy to find out for sure."

Mulder steered her gently away from Shifty and
Jimmy who were staring slack-jawed at poor Hamish's
damaged corpse.  "This just doesn't fit the
pattern, Scully.  All the other men were murdered.
The only thing that is the same here is the
location."

"We don't know for sure that the other men were
murdered, Mulder.  I mean, it's likely, yes, but
maybe they were suicides as well and the method
just hasn't been detected yet."

Mulder persisted with his argument.  "Even if they
were suicides, which I very much doubt, they
weren't as obvious as this one.  And the date is
wrong -- the last body was not supposed to be found
for another three days.  Something must have
happened to make the fairies change their plan."

"Or maybe it has nothing to do with fairies at all.
Maybe our all-too-human murderer got careless, or
maybe Hamish tried to escape and this was his
punishment.  Maybe he did commit suicide and his
captor dumped him because he is of no further use."

Mulder reached out and brushed an errant strand of
hair out of her eyes.  "Maybe," he whispered as he
tucked it behind her ear, "he did commit suicide
and the 'fairies' dumped him because he is of no
further use."  The back of his hand skimmed softly
across her cheek and Scully suddenly felt light-
headed.  "Snow," he explained, and smiled gently.

Scully sighed.  "Well, fairies or not, I'll see if
I can assist the medical examiner and we'll find
out what did cause his death."

"That's a good idea.  Why don't you go with the
body to Inverness?  And while you're there, see if
you can take a look at the other bodies as well.
You might find something the ME has missed."

They headed back to the others.  Shifty was
shouting the details of their location into his
hand-held radio.

"What will you be doing while I'm gone, Mulder?"

"Searching for Never-Never land, Scully."

...

"How long before we reach the base, Flight
Lieutenant?"  Scully's voice sounded eerily
disembodied and robotic through the throat mike.

"We're approaching the naval base now, Agent
Scully."

Scully held on tightly to her seat as the giant Sea
King HAS 5 made its final descent.  The helicopter
was more normally utilized in anti-submarine search
and strike and occasional search and rescue than as
transport for visiting US Government Agents.
However, Sir Montague knew a man who knew a man.
As a result, the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm's finest
had waited patiently for her to complete her
autopsies after transporting her and the body to
Inverness.

Scully smiled gamely at the observer and aircrewman
who shared the rear of the helicopter with her as
she fought the nausea that threatened to overcome
her.  At least the flight was marginally less
terrifying than the Pass of the Cattle they had
crossed yesterday.  She let out a long sigh.  Was
it only yesterday that they had arrived in this
strange land-that-time-forgot?

Mulder appeared to be having the time of his life,
the occasional dead boy aside.  And what was all
that hair-moving, whispering and casual brush of
her cheek all about?  She didn't know whether it
was Mulder's escalating boldness or her own arousal
at his frequent touches that she found the most
disturbing.

There had been a time when they were partners,
equals, respectful of each other's boundaries.  A
time when he would touch her and she wouldn't snap
at him.  A time when his voice, low and seductive
in her ear, hadn't sent tiny shivers rippling
throughout her body.  A time when she could stand
in a forest looking at a dead body and not be
thinking about how much she'd like to hear that
voice whispering words of love and encouragement
instead of death and destruction.  If she listened
hard enough, she could sometimes hear the words
that lay hidden beneath the perfunctoriness of his
everyday conversation. Blah, blah, blah ... aliens
colonizing the planet, blah, blah, blah ... I want
to run my tongue over the entire length of your
body, blah, blah, blah ... are you listening to me,
Scully?

There had been a time like that.  Hadn't there?
The cargo door of the helicopter opened and as she
made her way to the waiting car, Scully resolved to
get things back to the way they should be.  Caring,
respectful, affectionate, single-minded friends.
That's what they should be, what they would be.

Mulder was heating a pan of soup when she returned
to the cottage; the smell of tomatoes made her
stomach growl and she realized that she hadn't
eaten anything since breakfast.

He served the soup up with enormous chunks of bread
and silence descended as they hungrily devoured the
small meal.

At last Mulder could contain himself no more.
"What did the autopsy show, Scully?" he asked
through a mouthful of bread.

"The medical examiner was not the most cooperative
person I've ever met.  He wouldn't let me look at
the previous bodies, although he graciously allowed
me to view his reports.  He appears to have made a
thorough and professional job of the autopsies.  I
have ordered a couple of more obscure tests, but I
don't think we're going to find anything."

"What about Hamish.  Did the ME let you take a look
at him?"

"Yes.  He was quite good about that, actually.  He
allowed me to assist and we were both quite sure of
our conclusions.  Hamish committed suicide by
slashing his wrists with what appears to be a piece
of wood.  We found splinters of wood in the wound
and the irregular nature of the gashes would
indicate that he sawed at his wrists rather than
slicing them cleanly."

Mulder's face dropped.  "Are you sure?"

"I'm quite sure, Mulder.  I'm sorry, but Hamish
committed suicide.  There's no doubt in my mind."

Mulder began to clear the plates away.  "I wonder
what will happen now that the Fairy Queen no longer
has a sacrifice for Halloween?"

"Mulder, the British police are treating these
deaths as kidnapping and murder, and now kidnapping
and suicide.  There's no denying that Hamish and
the others were kept somewhere against their will.
But there's no evidence whatsoever to support your
theory about fairies.  It's just a case of trying
to find the kidnapper before he strikes again.  It
could be that he is following the pattern of the
murders a hundred years ago in order to confuse.
If that is so, then he might well take another
victim before Halloween.  However, I don't see how
we can help any further in this case, unless the
British police ask us to assist them in their
search."

Scully rose from the table and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get changed and then I'm going to
church.  I met Hamish's mother at the morgue and
they're holding a memorial service for the men this
evening."  She checked her watch.  "In twenty
minutes, actually.  We got talking and she invited
me along, so, that's where I'm going.  Do you want
to come?"

"I can't.  Simon is home for a few days and Sir
Montague is holding a small party.  I promised we'd
go."

"I don't think I feel like a party after today,
Mulder.  Why don't you go on your own?  Besides, I
haven't brought anything suitable to wear.  Jeans
and sweaters you said."

"I mentioned that to Sir Montague, but he's very
persistent, Scully, and ..." his voice trailed off,
leaving Scully suspicious.

"And, what?"

"He's sent over some of his daughter's dresses.
They're in your room.  He really would like you to
go, Scully.  Simon would love to meet you."

She really could do without this.  "I'll try to
make it after the service," she snapped and headed
for the shower, muttering under her breath.  What
was it with men that they had to arrange your
schedule all the time?  Mulder was always doing it
and it damn well drove her crazy at times.  She
really did not want to meet Sir Montague.  He
sounded positively fascist the way he snapped his
fingers and everyone jumped.  And as for Simon, he
and Mulder would probably end up reminiscing about
their wild oats days at Oxford and she would be
forced to listen to endless tales of their macho
pursuits.

...

By the time she arrived at the small Kirk, Scully
had managed to work herself up into a taut ball of
frustration and anger and it was well into the
third hymn before she started to calm down.

Gradually the words of the hymn seeped into her
consciousness and peace made a tentative foray into
her soul.  The hymn was one that had given her
great comfort during her cancer and she felt
ashamed of her petty behavior earlier.  Mulder
wanted to share something of his past with her and
she had turned on him yet again.  She sang the
verses softly, reverently, thanking God for every
new day and for the endless possibilities of life.

"I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death's sting? Where, Grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows
flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."

Sometimes it was easy to forget the important
things in life.  Like love, friendship, compassion
and tolerance.  Scully knew she was as guilty as
everybody else when it came to neglecting her
friends and their needs.  Resolution number two and
it wasn't even New Year yet -- she would be nice to
Mulder's friends even if it killed her to do so.
Yes, she would.

End chapter four

Tam Lin
by Pequod (pe.quod@virgin.net)

Chapter Five

Mulder was nowhere to be seen when she let herself
into the cottage.  The fire in the grate had died
down to glowing embers and the living room seemed
quiet and serene in the half-light.  Scully crossed
to the mantelpiece and poured herself a small glass
of whisky from the decanter.  She had a feeling she
would require a little help to get through the
evening.

Her parents had entertained often when dad was home
and she and Melissa had watched from the safety of
the stairs as the grown-ups chatted and laughed.
They both longed for the day when they would be old
enough to be allowed downstairs to join the party.
In the meantime they had made do with dressing up
in their mother's clothes and holding fashion
parades in their bedroom.  Melissa would lay a
blanket on the floor and then they would take it in
turns to teeter down the catwalk, small feet
dwarfed in their mother's shoes and lipstick
smeared halfway up their cheeks.   When Melissa
approached her teens, Dana became dressmaker's
dummy and pincushion for her sister's rags and bin-
liners creations.  Tears inevitably ensued when
Dana wriggled once too often and Melissa slapped
her a little too hard.

Her parents' parties had always been warm, informal
gatherings, nothing like she was facing tonight.
And what if all Brits were like Phoebe Green?
Scully shivered unconsciously.  It didn't bear
thinking about.

A hot shower perked her up somewhat and she dripped
her way to the bedroom where there were enough
dresses laid on the bed to stock a small boutique.
Oh, my Lord, Scully thought, as she checked the
designer labels in each and every dress, there must
be thousands of dollars worth here.  Sir Montague's
daughter certainly liked her haute couture.

She picked out a silvery number with thin straps
and a low-cut front.  A little too low-cut.  Scully
laughed when she saw herself in the mirror. This
dress was Mulder's wet dream, there was no way she
could ever wear something like this and get away
with it.  The fabric was cut so low at the front
that it exposed one of her nipples every time she
moved.  The rest of the dress clung to her like
cellophane, and was so see-through she could see
the little roses on her cotton panties.  Either the
panties would have to go or the dress would.  It
would almost be worth the humiliation to see
Mulder's face, but no, this dress was definitely
not for her.

She tried on a few more dresses but they either
made her look like a tart or a schoolgirl, neither
of which would be good images to wear around
Mulder.

Finally, she settled on a black dress tinged with
silver.  It was made up of three diaphanous layers
that together were translucent enough to be sexy
but not so that you could see underwear or nipples.
Tiny silver sequins flecked the chiffon fabric,
giving the effect of stars studding a galaxy.  The
dress molded to her torso but not excessively so
and then flared out gently mid-thigh.  She adjusted
the thin straps and arranged the clinging bodice so
that only the slight swell of her breasts showed.

Standing back, Scully appraised herself in the
full-length mirror.  God, she felt sexy as hell.
No wonder women adored Versace.  The dress made her
feel feminine and powerful.  I am woman, hear me
roar she thought and then immediately was struck
down with self-doubt.  Who was she trying to kid?
You needed to be strong and confident in your
sexuality to carry a dress like this off, not a
woman who only got laid when the moon was blue.  A
tiny war ensued in her head as her insecure side
told her she would only make a fool of herself
dressed like that.  The side empowered by the magic
of Versace argued that every woman deserved a
change now and then, and if she believed in
herself, so would every one else.  To wear, to hide
in a corner, to wear, to hide in a corner.
Goddamnit, she'd faced worse than this on a boring,
uneventful day at work.  Versace won the battle and
Scully headed for the big house, wearing his colors
with pride.

A penguin-suited butler opened the door and led her
to the drawing room where people sparkled in small
groups as they chatted and sipped champagne.  A
maid offered her a glass and she accepted as she
scanned the throng for a glimpse of Mulder.  Small
party, my ass, she thought.  There had to be a
hundred people at least in this room.

Suddenly, a large dark-haired man loomed towards
her, his voice booming over the babble of
conversation.  "My dear, you 'must' be the elusive
Agent Scully that Fox has been telling us so much
about."  A large hairy paw extended and her small
hand was swallowed up as it was pumped
enthusiastically up and down.  "Come in, come in,
don't look so frightened.  I only eat small
children and animals, never beautiful young ladies
like you."

Scully laughed and warmed instantly to the huge
smiling bear of a man.  "It's Dana, please, Sir.
And you are?"

He let go of her and steered her into an adjacent
room, his hand placed firmly in the center of her
back.  Scully suppressed the smile that rose
unbidden to her lips.  How many of Mulder's secrets
would unfurl tonight, she wondered.

"I'm the reason you're here, young lady.  I'm Sir
Montague, but you can call me Monty.  Now, have you
got enough to drink?"

Scully opened her mouth to answer but never got the
chance.

"Peters!  Dana here needs some more champagne.  Hop
to it, lad."

The young waiter smiled nervously at her and filled
her glass to the brim with shaky hands.  She
thanked him and smiled encouragingly.  A blush
sprang instantly to his face and he tripped over
the edge of the Persian rug as he moved backward
without looking where he was going.  Glasses
crashed to the floor spraying droplets of champagne
in a thousand directions at once.

Conversation ceased and all eyes swivelled in their
direction.  Thankfully Scully's dress had escaped
the deluge but the same could not be said for the
waiter or the Persian rug.  The poor boy lay
sprawled in a fizzing puddle of champagne and
Scully held her breath as she waited for the wrath
of Sir Montague to descend.

Instead he bent down and, pulling the boy onto his
feet, brushed him down and checked his hands and
face for cuts.

"Good grief, boy," he growled, "haven't you ever
seen a beautiful woman before?  Maria, go and get a
mop and clear this mess up, and wipe young Peters
down while you're at it."

He patted the boy's head affectionately and people
lost interest in the mini-drama.  A shiver ran
through Scully's body and she had the intense
feeling she was being watched.  She turned to her
right and found that she was indeed being surveyed.
Mulder, another man and a woman were standing
across the room.  It was the man, who had to be
Simon, given his likeness to Sir Montague, who was
staring at her, mouth agape.  Mulder was deep in
conversation with the tall brunette at his side,
seemingly oblivious to the commotion she had just
caused.

Sir Montague headed over to the group and Scully
followed. Mulder looked up as they approached.  To
his credit, his eyes only swept her body once and
then fixed firmly on her face. He smiled warmly and
it seemed to Scully as though the temperature in
the room rose a couple of degrees.

"You made it then, Scully?"

"No, Mulder.  I didn't have the time to attend both
the church service and this party so I sent along a
clone instead. Your task for the evening is to find
out whether I'm the real me or not."

Mulder raised his eyebrows, a mischievous grin
replacing the smile.  "And how do you propose I do
that?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

"You can count on it."  His voice was low and
teasing and the smile was broad on his face but the
eyes that bored into hers were dark and serious.

Scully's stomach flipped as it was in the habit of
doing lately every time he looked at her like that.
The situation was not helped any by Mulder's attire
this evening.  He was very striking in his black
tuxedo.  He always did wear a suit well and this
one was a good cut and looked as though it were
tailored for him.  His cummerbund was green and
gave depth to his eyes.  Eyes that were still
locked with hers in unspoken communication.

She should say something, anything to break the
spell. You look nice, Mulder.  Why thank you,
Scully.  So do you.  There, the formalities over
and done with.  Except that he didn't simply look
nice.  He looked positively edible.  Handsome,
brooding, dark, mysterious Mulder.  The type of man
your mother warned you about.  Scully didn't trust
her voice to be steady if she spoke, so she
remained silent.

In true gallant form, Sir Montague came to her
rescue, albeit unwittingly.

"I see you've not lost your touch, eh, Fox?"  Sir
Montague clapped Mulder so hard on the back that
Mulder actually tipped a little forward before
regaining his equilibrium.  "Dana's a lovely girl."

"She's not my... we're not...."  Mulder recovered the
power of speech only to lose it again.

"We're just partners, Monty," Scully explained for
the second time that day.

"So there's a lucky husband waiting at home then,
is there?"  Simon pushed forward and shook her
hand.  "I'm Simon Montague, in case you hadn't
guessed."

"Dana Scully.  Um, no, there's no one at the
moment."

"Well, that's a damn shame, if you ask me."  Monty
graced her with a grin that went from ear to ear.
"I'll leave you young 'uns to chat amongst
yourselves.  Bairstow's just arrived and I must
talk to him about that damned tank of his, tearing
up the hillside.  What's the world coming to."  He
disappeared into the crowd, muttering under his
breath as he went.

"I'm Julia Stevenson."  The dark-haired woman took
Scully's hand in a firm handshake.  "It's nice to
meet you, Dana.  Fox has been telling us all about
you."

"Has he?"  Scully glanced at Mulder who smiled
innocently.

"Your work sounds fascinating.  I must say I'm not
really surprised that Fox has pursued a career in
the realm of the unexplained.  He always was quite
the stargazer at Oxford.  I lost count of the times
I woke up alone, always to find him lying on the
grass in the Quadrangle -- looking up at the stars."

Mulder coughed and choked on his champagne.  "I
don't think Scully needs to hear about those days,
Julia."  He looked at Scully.  "It was a long time
ago."

He spoke the last part softly, almost
apologetically and Scully was left wondering at his
meaning.  Why should it matter to her what happened
in his past?  And, more to the point, why should it
matter to him that it mattered to her?  Or maybe
that's not what he meant at all.

Julia was certainly the type Mulder seemed to be
attracted to.  She was tall, dark, not beautiful
but elegant and stylish.  She had an air of quiet
intelligence and sophistication. Warmth and humor
shone in her eyes when she was talking about
Mulder, so different from Diana and Phoebe in that
respect.

She smiled at Scully.  "I'm sorry, Dana.  It's such
a long time since I've seen Fox or Simon.  I'm
afraid we've all been tripping down memory lane.
Fox tells us you're a doctor as well as a FBI
Agent.  Simon here's a doctor, aren't you darling?"

"Yes, for my sins. It's a thankless task these
days."

"Oh, and you love every minute of it, Simon.  Why
else would you choose to practice in that God-
forsaken hell-hole you call home?"

"God has not forsaken the good people of Govan,
Julia, that's why he sent me to help them in their
hour of need."

Mulder interrupted.  "I don't understand, Simon.  I
thought you were a high-flying Consultant
Pediatrician with a practice in Edinburgh that was
a licence to print money.  That's what you told me
last time we spoke."

It was Julia who answered.  "That was before Simon
discovered his social conscience, Fox.  These days
he operates from a shabby pre-fab in the poorest
suburb of Glasgow.  None of his clients can afford
to pay him and he's constantly on the scrounge for
money and equipment.  I hope you two have left your
wallets behind, or else you'll leave here
considerably poorer than when you came in."

"I don't remember seeing much of a social
conscience when you passed oregano off as grass and
sold it to half the people in the college.  Do you
remember, Julia?  We had to barricade the door to
our staircase to stop the angry mob tearing Simon
limb from limb once they discovered his treachery."

Everyone laughed as they recalled the incident.

"I'm a changed man, Mulder, old chap.  A changed
man."

Scully observed the easy banter between the three
old friends.  Mulder was slightly flushed, either
with champagne, or just from the company.  He
appeared to have slipped effortlessly back into
this old relationship.  She had assumed that Mulder
had been unhappy at Oxford.  He rarely, if ever,
talked about his time there and the only person he
had ever mentioned before was, of course, Phoebe.
Now here he was chatting happily with an old friend
and an ex-lover.  Julia had her hand on Mulder's
arm as she was talking and Mulder was smiling at
her affectionately, his eyes locked on hers.  Their
relationship must have ended amicably, Scully
thought.  There was no sign of animosity between
them.

She drained her glass and tried to look interested.
Reminiscences were only ever amusing to those who
were involved.  The people telling the stories
always assumed that everyone listening understood
and was a part of it.  It could be quite alienating
at times.  Scully had experienced this time and
again throughout her childhood at different
schools.  Even when she made a few friends they
already had a history together and their giggling
tales only served to heighten her inner isolation.

She suppressed the nagging inner voice telling her
that her feelings had more to do with the way
Mulder was gazing at Julia than being left out of a
conversation about old times.  Mulder could look at
other women however he wanted; it had nothing to do
with her.  Convinced of her own virtue, Scully
decided to be pro-active and engage Simon in a
discussion about his work in Glasgow.  It did sound
fascinating after all.

Simon was halfway through telling her about the
high rate of malnutrition amongst children of the
working class demographic when Scully noticed that
Mulder and Julia had disappeared.  She smiled
politely at Simon as she covertly scrutinized the
crowds for a glimpse of them.

"So I think that a radical shake-up of the National
Health Service is the only way forward."  Simon
concluded his mini-rant and Scully sighed inwardly
with relief.

"You're quite right I'm sure, Simon."  She raised
her glass to her lips and then looked at it as
though she hadn't realized it was empty.

Simon noticed straight away and offered to fetch
her a refill.  Scully accepted, grateful for the
chance to look around properly for Mulder.  He was
nowhere to be seen in this room or the drawing room
and she wandered out into the hallway, drawn by the
elegant strains of Strauss emanating from what was
obviously the ballroom.

She spotted Mulder immediately.  He looked rather
uncomfortable as Julia swung him around the floor
in an energetic waltz.  His face lit up with a
smile when he saw Scully and he waved behind
Julia's back.  She returned the smile and was about
to cross the floor towards Mulder and Julia when
Simon appeared with more champagne.

"There you are, Dana.  I wondered where you'd
disappeared to."

Scully felt instantly guilty for ditching Simon and
so she accepted when he asked her to dance.  He was
an excellent dancer and they whirled gracefully
around the dance floor.  Scully could feel Mulder's
eyes following her without even looking at him.  He
was holding Julia less tightly now; a Greyhound bus
could park quite easily between them.

Simon twirled Scully to the rhythm of the music,
and at every turn, Mulder was watching.  She felt
as though she were dancing with Mulder, not Simon.

The next dance turned out to be one of those
godawful partner-swapping affairs.  Scully was
passed from man to man until she was briefly in
Mulder's arms.  He held her tightly, his body
molded to hers.  Blood rushed to her head, leaving
her feeling faint.  She hoped she wasn't blushing,
even as she could feel the heat rising to her face.

He bent his face towards her and for a heart-
stopping moment Scully thought he was going to kiss
her.

"You're beautiful."

Oh, God.  That came straight out of left field.
What to say?

"I'm surprised you noticed." No, that was not it.
That was not the most appropriate thing she could
have said by a long shot, she had to admit.

Mulder appeared unperturbed.

"I noticed," he whispered, before he was whipped
into the arms of another woman and Scully was left
staring at a sweaty man with stringy hair brushed
across his bald head.

Flushed from Mulder's words, the champagne and the
dancing, she decided to go outside to let the night
air cool her burning cheeks.

The evening was cold but invigorating, and Scully
made her way through the garden and down to the
private beach.

The night-darkened waves of the Irish Sea dashed
against the rocks that littered the shoreline.  The
sea always exerted a calming influence on her and
she returned to it time and again for reassurance
and contemplation.  That was the worst thing about
living in DC.  It was too far to go to the beach.
The Potomac didn't ever match up to the awesome
power of crashing waves.  Scully was reminded of
the piece of music by Mendelssohn, "Fingal's Cave",
which had been inspired by this very sea.  She
wished that she had brought the CD with her; it
would have been quite something to listen to it
sitting on a beach not a hundred miles from where
it was written.  Maybe she could persuade Mulder to
detour via the island of Staffa on the way home so
that she could see the actual cave that inspired
Mendelssohn to create such beautiful music.

The sky flickered brightly and Scully watched in
awe as fingers of green light flowed across the
heavens, like ripples in silk.  The ripples danced
and swelled with light, breathing life into the
firmament.  She had seen the Aurora before on her
trips, but she could never grow tired of its magic.
Mulder would love to see this again.

Mulder.  Now there was the rub.  Although they had
hardly spoken to each other all evening, Scully
sensed that something fundamental had shifted
between them.  Whenever they were in the same room,
he had watched her intently.  His attention had
aroused her, she had to admit.

Scully was so caught up in thoughts of Mulder that
she didn't hear the footsteps approaching and
Mulder's low voice made her jump.

"You're going to freeze your ass off out here,
Scully.  I brought you something to keep you warm."
He draped a black velvet jacket over her shoulders,
rubbing her arms through the material.

"Where did you get this, Mulder?"  Scully hadn't
bothered bringing a coat because the house was only
a two-minute walk from the cottage.

"I stole it from the cloakroom.  No one will miss
it.  The party's still in full swing."  He grinned
broadly and Scully felt herself slowly thawing from
the warmth of the jacket, or was it from Mulder's
arm, which was still slung across her shoulder?  It
was the jacket, most definitely. "What are you
doing out here in the cold, Scully?  Simon is
missing you in there."

Scully leaned into Mulder's body as he stood next
to her and his grip on her shoulder tightened a
little.  "I'm watching the sky."

Mulder began stroking his hand up and down her arm.
The silk lining from the jacket caressed her bare
skin; each smooth, sleek glide teasing the tiny
hairs on her arm erect.  She knew he wasn't just
trying to warm her up.  They were slowly crossing
the boundary into unknown territory.  She could
stop it now if she wanted; they could turn back
without having breached the line.

She didn't want to turn back, though. She wanted to
discover what lay in the areas of the Mulder map
currently marked 'here be monsters'.  Here be
pleasure, she hoped.  She smiled inwardly and
rested her head against Mulder's chest.  His body
tensed momentarily and it pleased her to know that
he was as nervous about this as she was.

"So my little sceptic has finally given in and
started looking for UFOs then.  Is that what you're
telling me, Scully?"

His use of the possessive pronoun made her shiver.
"Sorry, Mulder.  You'll have to try a lot harder
than you have been doing if you want me to believe.
I'm talking about the Aurora."

His hand left her shoulder and his fingers tangled
in her hair, massaging her scalp in slow circles.
God, it felt good.

"How much harder?"

"What?"  Waves of calm were washing over her as his
fingers continued their ministrations.

"I said, how much harder do I have to try to make
you believe?"

The back of his hand caressed the side of her face;
graceful fingers tracing the curve of her cheekbone
down to the edge of her mouth, brushing across her
lower lip.

She let out a small sigh of contentment.

Mulder bent slightly and placed a gentle kiss on
the top of her head.  "Do you like that?" he
whispered into her hair.

Here was the line, Scully realized.  Finally, their
long journey together had brought them to the
brink.  There would be no going back.  She offered
a silent prayer to God, in case he was watching.
"God, grant me the strength to do this, and then
close your eyes while I do."

"Yes," she answered, and then tilted her head so
that her lips brushed his.

The Northern Lights faded into the background as
Scully savored the rich, dark-chocolate taste of
Mulder for the first time.  His lips were soft and
pliant; they yielded gently to her tongue's
persuasion.  The kiss deepened and the heat rose as
they hungrily explored each other.  Scully was
overwhelmed with the urge to climb all over Mulder,
to press him down into the sand and devour him.
She snaked her arms around his neck, working her
fingers through his hair.

Their bodies were tight against each other and
Scully rubbed up against his growing hardness.
Arousal made her bold and she slid her hand between
them, to touch the part of Mulder that had been
denied her until now.  She traced the outline of
his erection through his dress trousers, relishing
how hard he was already, for her, because of her.
Her actions elicited a deep, throaty moan from
Mulder.  "Oh, God, Scully."

His hands roamed her body freely, caressing her
ass, pressing her into him.  If it weren't so
damned cold, Scully knew she would take him here,
now, on the beach beneath the red-green sky.

They broke apart and stared breathlessly at each
other.  Scully could see her own desire shining in
Mulder's eyes.  God, how she wanted him.

She reached up and kissed him gently before taking
his hand.  "Let's go back to the cottage, Mulder."

End chapter five

Tam Lin
by Pequod

Chapter six

The sky blushed a deep red as they walked hand in
hand back to the cottage.  Scully wanted
desperately to run, but that would just seem too
eager.  They had waited six years, another couple
of minutes wouldn't matter; except that she was
itching to touch him, to feel his warm skin against
hers, his hot mouth all over her body.  She
quickened the pace and Mulder followed suit,
squeezing her hand tightly.

Hurriedly, they made their way through the formal
garden towards the side of the house.  A few people
were chatting in small groups, watching the sky's
display.  Scully fervently hoped they would make it
through the throng without being stopped.  Mulder
was carrying the stolen jacket in front of him to
hide his arousal and Scully couldn't prevent a
chuckle from escaping.

"Don't laugh like that, Scully.  You'll just make
matters worse."

"You like it when I laugh, do you Mulder?"

"I do, actually, and. . ."

"Fox, Dana.  So there you are."  Julia sashayed
towards them, swaying slightly as she did so.
"You've been gone for an absolute age.  Simon's
quite bereft."

Mulder shifted uncomfortably, a thin sheen of sweat
beading on his brow, despite the cold.  Scully
would have to get rid of Julia herself, and the
sooner the better.

"Mulder and I were talking, Julia, and he thinks he
has discovered a new angle to the case we were
investigating.  He wants to explore it as quickly
as possible.  You will excuse us, won't you?"

Julia gave them both a penetrating look, a smile
playing at the edges of her mouth.  "Yes, of
course, my dear.  I wouldn't want to stand in the
way of your explorations.  Have fun." She smiled
warmly and then headed for a young blonde girl
hovering near the door.

Mulder was open-mouthed.  "Christ, Scully.  You
practically told her what we're going to do."

"I don't think she's all that bothered, Mulder."
Scully gestured towards the door where Julia and
the blonde were already deep in conversation.  "I
think she's got other things on her mind this
evening, anyway."

Mulder stared at her incomprehensibly.  Men could
be so dense at times.  His brow relaxed and his
eyes widened as realization dawned.    "You don't
mean..."

Scully nodded.  "Simon told me."  She took Mulder's
hand and dragged him down the dirt track towards
the cottage.  "Come on, Mulder.  We were just
warming up before.  We don't want to lose all that
heat now, do we?"

Finally they arrived at the cottage, and after a
few fumblings with the key they were inside.  It
was dark and a little chilly in the living room,
the fire having all but gone out.  Scully flicked
on a table lamp and dim light illuminated the
gloom.

Mulder began trying to rekindle the dying embers of
the fire and Scully headed for her bedroom.

"Where are you going?"  Mulder's question caused
her to stop at the closed door.

"I'm just going to slip into something more
comfortable."  She smiled almost shyly.  "Isn't
that what people say?"

Mulder didn't smile; he looked deadly serious.
What was the matter with him?

"I. . ." He paused, seemingly searching for the
right words.  "I want you to stay in that dress.
Please."

Ah, now she understood.  This was too good an
opportunity to pass up.  "So, Mulder.  What exactly
is it that you like about this dress?"

Mulder rose from the fireside and crossed the rug
towards her, stopping a couple of feet short.
"It's not so much the dress, as the woman who's in
it."

"Do you like me at other times, or is it solely
when I'm wearing this dress?  Because you know,
Mulder, I don't think Monty's daughter is going to
let me keep it."

"I was thinking more along the lines of how much
I'd like to take that dress off you."

Mulder bridged the gap between them; Scully could
smell his cologne mingled with his rich masculine
scent.  He placed his left hand on the door frame
by the side of her head, effectively pinning her
against the door. His body molded to hers, his
erection pressing insistently into her belly. Her
heart rate tripled and in a single, super-charged
heartbeat the mood became serious.  The time to
stop playing games had arrived.  She whispered her
reply into his ear.

"Why don't you, then?"

There was nothing soft about the kiss this time.
It was fierce and hot, full of need and want and
dreams unfulfilled.  Their tongues touched and
tangled, making them both jump a little as the
contact shot electrical waves through their bodies.
At least, that's how it felt to Scully; she could
almost smell the sparks from the fusion as they
burned in the air.

She melted into the kiss, surrendering herself to
Mulder's probing tongue -- soft, wet and teasing,
provoking her into a fevered response.  She was
desperate to touch him, any part of him and her
hands slid into his hair, tangling in its softness.
Her fingers pulled at the short strands, twisting
them around and around as she pressed her body into
his, not caring that the sounds she was making were
practically whimpers.  She wanted this, needed it,
didn't even want to rationalize it beyond the here
and now.  Why shouldn't they take pleasure in each
other?  She deserved to be loved, they both did.

Mulder was mapping her body with his hands, tracing
her contours with deft fingers.  Normally firm and
toned, she rippled under his caresses, becoming
fluid and boneless. His thumbs stroked the
sensitive swell of her ass, fingers pressing into
the curve near her legs, squeezing hard.  The
material of her dress was so thin it was as though
it were not there at all and the shivers coursing
through her body brought her skin alive.  With her
eyes tight shut she concentrated solely on the
sensations his touch invoked.  Mulder abandoned her
mouth, leaving her gasping for air, and moved down
to her neck, kissing his way around it until her
loud moan told him he had found the right spot just
behind her ear.  He slid one of the hands clutching
her ass lower, pressing into the juncture of her
thighs, fingers rubbing along the perineum.  Oh,
God, it felt unbelievably good.

"Do you like that?" he whispered into her ear.

Oh, God, yeah.  She wished only that there were no
barrier of clothing, so that she could press back
against his fingers as they pushed into her from
behind.  He would have to be a contortionist to
achieve that from this angle, however.  She
disentangled her fingers from his hair and held his
face in her hands.  Running her fingers over his
full lips, red and swollen from her kisses, she
grazed them lightly with her mouth.

"Mulder, let's go over to the fire, get a little
more comfortable."

He nodded, unable or afraid to speak.  She didn't
need words to know what he was feeling.  His eyes,
as dark and liquid as a pint of Guinness, spoke of
his desire for her and she led him over to where
the fire was crackling, alive in the grate.

Mulder took his jacket off, throwing it over the
arm of the sofa, and pulled his bow tie off,
unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he did so.
Mimicking his actions of the night before, Scully
settled on the rug with her back against the cold
leather of the chair making a vee of her own legs.

Mulder nestled between her thighs, his back tight
against her chest.  His head lolled forward as she
ran her fingers across the nape of his neck and
under his shirt collar.  She used her thumbs to
trace arcs up into his hair, enjoying the
uncontrolled shivers that rocked his body under her
hands.  She kissed his sensitive skin, lingering
there, marking him.

"Take your shirt off," she requested gently, and
with shaky hands he unfastened the rest of the
buttons.  She slid the shirt down and off, exposing
his beautiful back for the first time, at least in
this context.  Looping her arms around his body,
she crossed her hands over his chest and laid her
cheek against the smooth, warmth of his back.  She
held him there, not moving, just listening to his
heart as it thumped wildly in her ear; her head
rising and falling with every breath he took.

Scully closed her eyes and adjusted her breathing
to match his, taking the time to enjoy the intimacy
of the moment.  Mulder's hands covered hers and she
felt tears prick her eyes; she couldn't believe
they were doing this, and at the same time couldn't
believe that they hadn't already.  It felt natural,
like they had been touching each other like this
for years, and in a way they had.  They had been
making love with looks and small gestures, touching
each other, invading each other's space.

She knew what Mulder's hand on the small of her
back meant to him; it meant the same to her.  That
she was his and he was hers and no one could ever
touch her there like he could.  And she had wanted
the tattoo there to try and claim it back from him,
to separate herself from his life, his quest.  She
did not belong to him; she was her own person.  She
had not realized at the time that she did not have
to lose herself in order to belong; and that as
much as he laid claim to her, she could also lay
claim to him, if she wanted to.  And she did want
to; she could see that now.

"Scully?"  Mulder unclasped her hands and turned
around so that he was on his knees and facing her.
"Is anything wrong?"

His brow was furrowed with worry, and confusion.  A
tear dripped onto the front of her dress and it was
only then that she realized she was crying.

She wiped her face with her hands and smiled at
him.  "Nothing's wrong, Mulder.  Nothing at all."

"We don't have to do this, Scully, you know that.
If you don't want to, we can stop right here."

"I don't want to stop, Mulder."  She moved onto her
knees as well and they faced each other.  Running
her hands through the soft hair on his chest she
bent forward and kissed him again, fiercely.

"I want to love you," she whispered as they parted,
"and I want you to love me."

"I do, Scully.  I love you."

His arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly
to him she could hardly breathe.

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Unless you've developed a sudden interest in
necrophilia, you'd better let me go."

He laughed as he pulled back.  "Necrophilia doesn't
do it for me, Scully.  I like my women to tell me
if they like what I'm doing to them, and the dead
don't moan when I do this . . ." His hands cupped
her breasts through her dress and tweaked her left
nipple hard between finger and thumb.   A jolt of
pure pleasure ran down the invisible wire that
connected her nipples to her clitoris and she did
indeed moan, and loudly.

"Oh, you're too easy, Scully.  And way too
overdressed."  Mulder slid a hand around to her
back and eased the zipper down.  The thin straps of
her dress fell limply down her arms and he peeled
them the rest of the way down, slipping her arms
out as he did.  With the zipper undone, the dress
glided off her small frame and bunched around her
knees.  Mulder bent his head to her right breast
and sucked the nipple into his mouth while rubbing
his thumb over the left one.  Scully went into
sensory overload.  Mulder's mouth was hot, his lips
moist and firm as they sucked at her.  He changed
tack and his tongue lapped gently, teasing her
lightly, until she was pushing herself into his
face, silently begging for his mouth again.

He looked up at her, his mouth wet and inviting.
"You taste salty.  Can you taste it on me?"  He
plunged his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on
it but couldn't taste anything except the remnants
of champagne that lingered there.

"No, Mulder, I can't."

"Maybe if we tried the other breast."

He lavished the same attention on the previously
neglected breast and Scully was growing hotter by
the second.  Her heart was pounding a mambo rhythm
in her chest, just below where Mulder was making
her feel so good.  He kissed her again and this
time she swore she could taste the salty tang of
her own skin on his tongue.  It only made her
hungry for him, to savor his lush flesh as he was
doing hers.

Pushing him back onto the rug, she stepped out of
the dress and stood over him, naked except for her
panties.  She felt bold at that moment; the
evidence of Mulder's arousal was tenting his
trousers most alluringly and she kicked her heels
off and straddled his calves.  He tried to reach up
towards her but she shoved him back down again.
She wanted to enjoy this moment, to create a memory
that would last forever for them both.  Slowly, she
undid the cummerbund, tossing it casually to one
side.  Next came the hook and eye, which was fiddly
but she managed to undo it and reach the zipper.
Mulder was breathing hard, his chest rising and
falling at an alarming rate.

The zipper got stuck halfway down and it took her a
long minute to get the material out so that it
could do its job and glide down to the end.  By
now, Mulder was laughing so hard that she was
bobbing up and down on his legs, her breasts
wobbling most unattractively in the air.

"Stop laughing, Mulder.  This is supposed to be
sexy."

"It is, Scully.  It is, honestly."

He stopped laughing when she slipped her hand in
the waistband of his boxers and ran her nails
lightly down the length of his erection.  He
stopped laughing and let out a loud moan instead.
That was much better, Scully thought, and eased his
trousers and shorts down in one go.  His penis
sprung free and pointed proudly at her.

"Oh, my," she remarked out loud, and then ran her
tongue over the smooth tip.

Mulder hissed as he sucked in air and she swirled
her tongue harder, pressing it into the little slit
at the head, lapping up the fluid that was already
gathering there.

"You taste salty, as well.  Do you want to taste
yourself on me?"  Her voice came out lower than
usual, and Mulder's eyes closed as she dragged her
body up over his.  They both groaned as they made
contact for the first time and Scully settled
herself on Mulder's erection as she leant forward
to kiss him.

She planted her hands on either side of his head
and rubbed herself along his shaft as they kissed.
The friction created was wonderful and her clitoris
throbbed, flooding her with moisture as her body
pulsed at high octave.  It was too much, she had to
have him inside her now; she couldn't wait any
longer.

She removed her panties and settled back over him.
As she rested astride him she became aware of how
quiet it was.  The only sounds were those of the
crackling fire and their own labored breathing.  An
irrational fear overtook her.  So many lines had
been crossed tonight but this was the ultimate one,
the one that would change everything.

Mulder looked at her, his brow furrowed, and his
eyes. . . His eyes seemed huge, the pupils so large
the black almost eclipsed the green. She was
surprised to see her own fear mirrored in his face.
He felt it too then, the enormity of what they were
about to do. They were on the threshold between
what they were and what they could be. It felt to
Scully as though the universe had finally expanded
to its limit and was pushing vainly at the edges of
space. In that moment, time stood still.

"Scully. . . I. . ."

Holding his cock steady, she lowered herself onto
him, gasping at the brief stab of pain as her body
resisted the invasion.  She paused for a second and
then continued her journey, sinking slowly to the
base.

"Oh. . ." little staccato breaths escaped her as
his cock filled her completely.  She couldn't tear
her eyes away from his. Warm fingers of firelight
flickered across his face and she watched,
enthralled, as the fear melted away and something
else burned in his eyes - passion, wonder and, yes,
love.

"Aah, Scully."

She squeezed her internal muscles tightly around
his cock and held him there, neither of them
moving.

Mulder brushed his hands over her belly, trailing
his fingers lightly down over her damp curls, to
where they were joined. His thumb stroked her clit
and she cried out, the pleasure was so sharp.

She reached down and guided his fingers around her
sensitive clit, never quite touching it.

"Like this?"  His thumb moved in small circles,
around and around, and the heat rose between her
legs and began to spread throughout her body.  She
started to move then, slowly at first, and then
faster as they fell into a rhythm.

"Oh, god, Mulder, Mulder."  She called his name
loudly and over and over again as his cock pressed
against a pleasure point inside her with every
thrust.

She was close to the edge, poised on the brink.

Mulder's hand was a blur as it rubbed her clit.
Oh, sweet, sweet pressure.  Sometimes the moment
just before, when she was on the verge but not
quite, was the most pleasurable part of all.  She
wanted it to last forever.   And then it was there,
and she was falling.  Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Warmth radiated from her toes, travelling through
every nerve, muscle and sinew, until it exploded in
her head.  Scully felt as though a surge of
electricity had jolted her body, even her hair and
her teeth felt the buzz.

She slowed her rhythm as her orgasm drained her of
energy, forgetting for a moment that Mulder was not
yet sated.

"God, Scully."  Mulder's awed voice brought her
further back to earth and she began to move again,
sliding his cock almost out of her before taking it
back in again.  It felt exquisite to her over-
sensitized flesh and she worked quickly to bring
back the rhythm they had established before.  As
Mulder's breathing quickened, she took her cue to
speed up.  Mulder was uttering inanities, nonsense
words strung together by her name.  She could feel
another climax building as she rode him and she
urged him to let go, to let it all out.

"Oh, Scully."  He thrust up into her as he came,
his warm semen flooding her.  Her vagina contracted
wildly as her orgasm overcame her, her internal
muscles doing the job that nature had intended as
they tightened around his cock, making sure that
not all of his seed spilled back out.  That was a
cruel irony, not lost on Scully, but she didn't
want to think about that right now.  Not when
Mulder was pulling her to him, holding her tightly.
His cock slipped out as she curved against his
sweaty body.

"I love you, Scully," he whispered into her hair.

"I know you do," she replied, and let the rhythm of
his heart lull her away as it thrummed against her
ear.

End chapter six

Tam Lin (pe.quod@virgin.net)
by Pequod

Chapter Seven

Scully woke shivering; her back was cold where it 
was exposed to the chill air, and yet her front was 
warm and cozy.  It took her a few seconds to 
realize that Mulder had stolen half of the 
comforter, and only the parts of her body that were 
snuggled against him were covered.  She tried to 
sneak some of the blanket back but he groaned and 
wrapped himself more tightly into a ball, taking 
even more of the covers with him.  "Blanket thief," 
she whispered into his back as she molded her body 
to his to appropriate some of his body heat.

How long had it been since she had woken up in bed 
next to the warm body of another, her nose buried 
in his sweet-smelling skin?  Far, far too long.  
And now, finally, here she was next to Mulder, the 
smell of sex on their bodies, the hot, sultry taste 
of him on her bruised lips.  She had thought it 
would be awkward for them, the morning after.  What 
do you say to your closest friend when you awaken 
naked in his arms, clammy bodies stuck together as 
a result of your exertions?  

It had not been awkward at all.  The cold had 
stirred them at the same time; the fire having long 
since died out.  They had looked at each other in 
the dim light and smiled.  Finally.

And now she knew that Mulder had a secret smile, a 
heart-stopping, knee-trembling, oh-brother of a 
smile that was both loving and lascivious at the 
same time.  A smile that held a secret shared 
between two people.  Scully wondered if she had one 
too, and realized that she did because she could 
feel the curve of it on her face right at this 
moment.  

And who wouldn't have, after experiencing what he 
had done when they had stumbled into her bed in the 
early hours?  Her heartbeat quickened at the memory 
of his tongue's eager explorations of her most 
intimate places.  She sighed aloud and Mulder 
stirred and stretched an arm out, catching her 
squarely in the nose.

"Ow!" She pushed the offending arm away.

He was fully awake now and smiling esoterically 
again.  "Morning, Scully."

"You want to be more careful where you put your 
hands, Mulder."  She regretted the choice of words 
immediately, as Mulder's eyes sparkled with 
mischief.  She made a mental note to think 
carefully before speaking in future, otherwise they 
would never be able to have a civilized 
conversation again.

Mulder pulled the covers off them both, exposing 
her to the cool air and his heated gaze.

"So, where would you like me to put my hands, 
then?"

"Mulder, we don't have time for this.  We're 
supposed to be meeting the local detective at 
twelve noon and it's..." Scully reached across to 
the bedside table to pick up her watch.  "Shit... 
it's eleven o'clock already, Mulder.  We have to 
get dressed."

Mulder moved a little closer and took her watch out 
of her hand, turning it face down on the table.

"We still have an hour," he whispered suggestively.

Scully was determined to stand firm.  "No, Mulder.  
We have work to do.  We can't abandon our 
obligations just because we did... what we did... 
last night."

Mulder pinned her arms above her head and settled 
himself on her midriff, his cock stiff and warm and 
tempting as it rested on her stomach.  

"You mean what we did as in, had sex, made love, 
did the wild thing, fucked like bunnies...?"

"I prefer to use the term made love, but yes, all 
of the above." Scully tried to wriggle out of 
Mulder's grasp but it was useless, he was far too 
heavy.

"I prefer the term fucked like bunnies, myself... 
it has prolific connotations that I like the sound 
of."

"I mean it, Mulder," Scully murmured as his hot 
mouth descended on hers.

"So do I," replied Mulder, and any further words of 
protestation were captured and silenced by his lips 
as they closed around hers.

. . .

The grandfather clock struck half past the noon 
hour as they were ushered into the drawing room of 
Monty's house by Maria, the young maid.

The room was still littered with empty wineglasses 
and the multi-colored detritus of spent party 
poppers.  Two maids and a houseboy were fluttering 
about, collecting bottles here, dirty plates there, 
carefully sweeping around the comatose body of a 
reveler who hadn't made it to one of the bedrooms.  

Scully tapped the sole of her shoe repeatedly on 
the wooden floor.  She hated being late for 
appointments; she was never too early, never late, 
always on time.  One night with Mulder and her 
standards were already slipping.

"I hate being late, Mulder.  It's so rude."

Mulder shuffled and grinned.  "You only have 
yourself to blame, Scully.  You could have stopped 
me if you had really wanted."

Scully moved a step closer to him in order to 
refute that remark but Monty's booming baritone 
interrupted them.

"Mulder, old chap, and how are you this fine 
morning?  And Dana..." he let out an exaggerated 
sigh.  "My, you were a sight for an old man's sore 
eyes last night, my dear.  If only I were twenty 
years younger."  He puffed his chest out proudly.  
"Mind you, youth isn't everything, you know.  I 
could show these young 'uns a thing or two.  Isn't 
that right, Mulder?"

"I'm quite sure you could, Monty."

Monty steered them through to the kitchen, where an 
enormous pot of tea sat in the middle of a huge, 
scrubbed farmhouse table.  A small, thin, wizened 
old woman was hovering over the stove, spooning 
batter onto the griddle.  

"Are you hungry, by any chance?  You both look as 
though you could do with a good feed."  Monty 
motioned them to take seats at the table, and 
poured three large mugs of steaming tea.

Mulder took his cup, blowing the steam off the top 
before laying it on the table.  "I've just eaten, 
actually, Monty.  But I don't think Scully has had 
her fill just yet.  I don't know where she puts it 
all.  You wouldn't think she had such an enormous 
appetite looking at her, would you?"

She glared at Mulder as Monty passed her a mug of 
tea.  How could the bastard keep such a straight 
face?  And didn't the British ever drink coffee?  
She would give Mulder's right arm for a cup of 
creamy Java right now.  Then again, without his 
right arm he wouldn't be able to...  

The cook placed a plate of Scotch pancakes in front 
of her and just the smell of them made Scully's 
stomach growl.  She was ravenous.  She hadn't eaten 
anything since the soup of the previous evening, 
and, if she remembered correctly, sex always made 
her hungry in the morning.  She knew that Mulder 
hadn't eaten either, but he would have to suffer 
now for his lewd remark by not getting any 
breakfast.  She tucked into the pancakes with 
vigor, and even treated herself to a spoonful of 
maple syrup.  No doubt she would work off the 
calories later.

Monty explained to them that the policeman, 
Detective Sergeant Mackenzie, had come and gone, 
called out to a new spot in the forest where one of 
his constables had found a bloodied piece of wood. 

"DS Mackenzie is willing to accept any help you can 
offer him so that he can solve this case before any 
other poor sods go missing.  Of course, he's 
wasting his time."

Scully looked questioningly at Monty.  "Why do you 
say that?"

"Because, my dear, these murders are nothing that 
any mere mortal man can do anything about."

"Don't tell me you believe in fairies as well, 
Monty?"

Mulder interjected.  "I told you he did, Scully.  
Monty's grandfather, along with Shifty's father, 
found a couple of the young men a hundred years 
ago."

"It's true, my dear.  The legend of Tam Lin is 
taken very seriously in these parts.  His blood 
flows strongly through the veins of the Montagues."  

Scully resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  No 
wonder Mulder had been friends with Simon and has 
family.

"Are you familiar with the ballad of Tam Lin, Dana?  
Monty asked.

"I'm not, to be honest, Monty.  Mulder only told me 
about it yesterday morning, and so much has 
happened since then that I really haven't been able 
to find the time."

"Well, I could tell you all about it, but I know a 
man who weaves a far better story than I ever 
could."  Monty glanced at his watch.  "Let me 
see... it's nearly one o'clock, he'll probably be 
in the pub right now."

Scully was intrigued, "Who will?"

"Shifty.  He's a bard.  He has a wonderful gift for 
bringing the old tales alive.  If we buy him a good 
whisky, we can probably persuade him to tell you 
the tale."

Scully could see the afternoon sliding away once 
they all got in the pub and the whisky flowed.  
Still, there were worse things she could be doing, 
she reasoned.  She smiled and nodded.  "That sounds 
great, Monty."

Monty pushed back his chair and rose from the 
table.  "The pub it is, then."

Mulder drained his cup, "I think I might just take 
a look at the crime scene again before I join you 
in the pub.  I want to talk to DS Mackenzie, 
anyway."

Mulder and Monty headed for the back door.

"I guess we'll see you in the pub in a short while 
then, Monty," Scully said as she reluctantly left 
the rest of the pancakes on her plate and followed 
them into the courtyard.

Mulder stopped walking and turned towards her. 
"There's no need for you to come too, Scully.  I 
only want a quick briefing from DS Mackenzie and 
then I'll be back."

"Don't you want me to take a look at the piece of 
wood they have found?  I should be able to give you 
some idea as to whether it's the same piece Hamish 
used to cut his wrists."

"There's no need, I'll bring it back with me and 
you can look at it then.  I'll be quicker if I go 
on my own.  I'll be back soon."

"But Mulder..." Scully called after him but it was 
pointless. Mulder was already striding down the 
path towards the hill they had climbed yesterday, 
heading towards Carterhaugh Wood.

Scully sighed with exasperation.  Some things never 
changed.  It wasn't as though she had been that far 
behind him yesterday.  She couldn't help it if took 
her twice as long, and twice as much effort to keep 
up with his colossal strides.  She was in better 
shape than he was, damn him; she had to be if she 
didn't want to lag behind.

"Don't bother about him, Dana.  It's not that he 
doesn't care, he just doesn't think about others 
when his head is full of his own ideas.  He was 
like that when he was a young man."

"I'm fully cognizant with Mulder's preoccupations, 
Monty, believe me.  After six years, there isn't 
much about him that doesn't annoy me."

Monty placed his arm around her shoulder and they 
walked to the front of the house and down the long 
driveway towards the road.

"Still, as long as he's good in bed, eh, Dana?  You 
can forgive a lot for a good lover.  Am I right?"

Scully laughed.  "I'm sure I don't know what you 
mean, Monty."

. . .

The Carterhaugh Inn was only a short walk from 
Carter Hall and they were soon ensconced within the 
small whitewashed building. The inn was set on one 
side of the road that divided the hills from the 
sea.  Scully looked out of the window and out 
towards Skye as she waited for Monty and Shifty to 
return with the drinks.  There was a large, gray 
object cruising down the channel that looked 
remarkably like a battleship.  Scully shielded her 
eyes against the glare of the midday sun and 
squinted at the object.  It was indeed a ship, some 
kind of Destroyer judging by the array of 
electronic equipment cluttering the masts.  

Bill had owned hundreds of model ships when he was 
younger, all carefully constructed and lovingly 
hand-painted.  He had bored her to tears more often 
than she cared to remember with the different types 
and names.  It was funny, the kind of things that 
she could remember.  Sometimes, she could hardly 
remember Melissa's face, or that of her father, and 
yet she could recognize a British destroyer even 
though she had only ever seen a toy model twenty-
five years ago.  Of course, there were also times 
when the faces of her father and Melissa haunted 
her dreams with their clarity.  

She missed Melissa with a deep ache right now; 
missed having her on the other end of the phone 
line, coaxing the details of last night's encounter 
out of her.  Scully never kissed and told, always 
kept her private life private, but Missy could 
always somehow tell from Scully's tone of voice 
that something monumental had happened.

Scully sighed.  She could imagine Missy's reaction 
when she told her. She would laugh and say, "What 
took you so long?"  It just didn't seem that long.  
A lifetime could be lived in a heartbeat, and that 
is how the past six years sometimes seemed to 
Scully.

"Here we are, then."  Monty placed the drinks on 
the rickety wooden table and pushed an unbelievably 
large whisky in her direction.

"A coffee would be just fine, Monty.  I..."

"You can't drink coffee in a Scottish inn, Dana.  
It's just not cricket.  When in Rome, and all 
that."

Scully went to take a sip of the whisky but Monty 
stopped her.

"Swirl it around in the glass first, and then put 
your nose in and inhale deeply."

Scully did as he instructed and the strength of the 
whisky made her eyes water and her nose burn.  She 
looked at Monty who was smiling.

"Now take a sip and tell me what you can taste."

Scully swirled the dark liquid around her mouth, 
and tried not to cough when she swallowed it.  "It 
tastes like iodine."

"That's the peat.  Lagavulin is distilled on the 
Isle of Islay and the spring water they use in the 
process runs through peaty soil, giving the 
whiskies of Islay a very distinctive flavor."

"She's a game lass, isn't she, Shifty?"  Monty 
raised his glass in a toast.  " Slainte mhath! Good 
health!"

"Slainte."  Shifty nodded at Scully.  "So, ye want 
to know the story of Tam Lin, eh, dearie?"

Scully was beginning to wonder whether she did.  
This was Mulder's pet theory, not hers.  Trust him 
to leave her in the middle of a Scottish pub 
accompanied only by a crazy, though endearing peer 
of the realm, and a frankly weird old man who was 
already three sheets to the wind if his glazed eyes 
were anything to go by.

Shifty thumped his fist on the table, making Scully 
jump. 

"Landlord!" he shouted.  "My stool, please."

A tall, bony man hurried out from behind the bar, 
carrying a battered three-legged stool covered with 
torn red velvet.  He set the stool down next to the 
back wall of the pub, and Shifty settled himself 
onto it, pipe in one hand, pint in the other.

Murmurs rippled through the small crowd of drinkers 
and all eyes fixed on Shifty.

He took a sip of his pint, a deep puff from his 
pipe, and after a long exhale of smoke, he began.  
His voice was low, whispering the tale to his eager 
audience, and everyone had to lean in close to hear 
the words of the ballad.

"O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead."

Scully could hardly make a single word out. 
Shifty's accent was strong before, but now that he 
was in storytelling mode it had grown thick and 
guttural.

Shifty continued weaving the tale.

"Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

She had na pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae."

Scully turned to Monty, who was smiling and 
mouthing the words silently to himself, along with 
the rest of the audience it would seem.

"I don't understand a word of it, Monty.  What's he 
saying?"

"He's telling how the Lord's daughter, Janet, my 
ancestor, was out walking in Carterhaugh Woods one 
day when she came upon Tam Lin at the well with his 
horse.  Tam Lin vanished, only to reappear when 
Janet plucked a double rose.  Plucking the rose is 
symbolic; it is, in fact, Tam Lin who does the 
plucking when he takes Janet's virginity and 
impregnates her.  He was quite a rascal was old Tam 
Lin.  He demanded sex from all the girls who 
crossed his path."

Monty emitted a deep-throated laugh, causing the 
drinkers nearest him to turn and glare.

Scully smiled.  "He sounds like a guy I used to 
know in high school, Brian "The Toad" Snode.  He 
used to hang outside the locker rooms and wouldn't 
let you pass without giving him a kiss." 

Scully shivered at the memory.  "It was the only 
way he could get any action, I guess."

Monty grinned.  "And did it work?  Did he always 
get a kiss?"

"He did for a while, until my friend Louise 
pretended to seduce him in the locker room, and I 
sneaked in and stole his pants and underwear.  We 
hoisted them up the flagpole, and he never hung 
outside the locker room again."

Shifty had obviously reached an intriguing part of 
the tale, because his voice grew softer, and people 
leaned in closer to better catch his words.

Scully looked enquiringly at Monty.

"Janet asks Tam Lin whether he has always been an 
elf or whether he has ever been mortal.  He was 
captured by the Fairy Queen, and may be sacrificed 
to hell on Halloween as part of the tithe the 
fairies must pay to stay on the land.  Janet can 
rescue him, but she has to undertake a trial 
first."

"And what would that involve?" Scully was curious 
as to how the tale ended, despite not believing a 
word of it.  She still couldn't see the connection 
between the tale and recent events. 

Before Monty could answer, the door opened and a 
gray-haired man in a tatty old suit walked in 
accompanied by a young uniformed police officer.  
The older man headed over to Monty, who introduced 
him to Scully.

"Dana, this is DS Mackenzie.  He's leading the 
inquiry into the murders."

Mackenzie shook Scully's hand warmly.  "Call me 
Bill.  I'm pleased to meet you, Dana.  Monty was 
telling me all about you and your partner this 
morning."  He scanned the crowd briefly.  "Is he 
here?  I'd be interested to hear your opinion on 
this case.  I believe explaining the unexplained is 
what you are good at."

Scully frowned.  "Isn't Mulder with you?  He left a 
while ago to visit the crime scene."

Mackenzie shook his head.  "I haven't seen him.  
Mind you, we weren't in the woods for long; our men 
didn't find any other evidence.  It's as though the 
body just appeared out of thin air."

Monty grinned at the DS.  "Or from another world we 
can't see, but which exists in parallel to ours." 

Mackenzie sighed and raised his eyebrows at Scully.  
"You're the scientist aren't you, Dana?  Tell him 
there are no such things as fairies."

"It's pointless, Bill.  Mulder is exactly the same.  
The more you try to reason with him, the wilder his 
theories become."  She glanced out of the window.  
"I wonder where he is?"

The police officer left to give a talk on community 
safety to the local primary school, and Bill 
settled down next to Monty.  More drinks arrived 
and soon the two of them were involved in an 
animated discussion about fairies, tithes and 
parallel universes.  Scully had heard similar 
arguments too many times before, indeed had 
participated in such discussions, and her mind soon 
wandered to thoughts of Mulder.

She wondered whether he would come straight back 
when he realized the others had gone, or whether he 
would poke around a little first. Whatever he did, 
she hoped he wouldn't be too much longer.  It would 
be getting dark in an hour or so, and he didn't 
know the hills well enough to be out on them at 
nightfall.  Plus, she had a few things in mind for 
later on, and she didn't like to be kept waiting.

She allowed herself to drift away into memories of 
the previous evening, and Shifty's voice and even 
Monty's baritone faded into the background.

. . .

Scully awoke with a start, and opened her eyes to 
find herself staring straight into Monty's 
avuncular face.

"I was going to say you were away with the fairies, 
but seeing as you don't believe in them..." Monty 
grinned at her.  "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

Scully looked around her; the pub was almost empty.  
Shifty was sprawled across a bench, snoring softly.  
The only other sign of life came from the Landlord, 
who was absentmindedly wiping glasses as he gazed 
into the distance.  Scully wondered what he was 
dreaming about.

Something else was missing, though.  She wrinkled 
her nose as she tried to think what it was.  
Mulder.  

She sat up straight.  "Where's Mulder?"

Monty placed his hand on her elbow and eased her 
out of the chair.  "He's probably at the cottage 
now, making you something nice for dinner.  That's 
where I'm going to take you right now."

Scully wasn't convinced.  Mulder had said he would 
come straight to the pub. She looked at her wrist 
where her watch should have been.  Damn, it was 
still face down on the bedside table.

"What time is it, Monty?"

"It's five o'clock, dear.  Time for tea."

Should she be worried?  It wasn't as if Mulder 
couldn't take care of himself, but still, mountains 
were very unforgiving if you made a mistake.

"Aren't you worried about where he is, Monty?  I'm 
sure he would have come straight to the pub, like 
he promised."

"Why don't you wait until we get back to the 
cottage, and you can know for sure whether he is 
there or not.  I wouldn't worry if I were you; he's 
a grown man, he can take care of himself."

Monty ushered Scully out of the pub and into the 
dark night.  There was no moon, and the sky was 
ink-black.  The Milky Way was spread out above them 
as they walked back down the road but Scully barely 
gave it a glance.  

She was fairly certain that Mulder would not be in 
the cottage when she got back.  There was no reason 
for him not to have turned up at the pub; he had 
wanted to talk to DS Mackenzie as much as the DS 
had wanted to talk to him.  He wouldn't have passed 
up the opportunity, she was sure.

Doubt and uncertainty gnawed at her stomach as she 
followed the beam of her flashlight back to the 
cottage.  She quickened her pace.  The sooner she 
was back, the sooner she would know for sure.


End chapter seven