From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 7b/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 14:57:41 -0500 All comments to the author: lcbx5me@aol.com ++++++++++ See part 1 for disclaimers TRANSFERS part 7b by L.C. Brown She looked away from the beach to see Mulder leaving a knot of young men that were hanging out near one of the outbuildings and heading toward her. His jacket and tie were gone, his collar was unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. "You look ready for action," she commented mildly. "The guys have been cluing me in to a few things about what the ladies say is going to happen tonight, so I figured I'd better get comfortable. How are you doing?" "Fine. How about you? You're the star of this show, after all." "Just a little stage fright," he admitted, smiling. "I'm a little nervous, too." She glanced up at him briefly. The sun was all but gone; only a few minutes of light remained. She knew what she wanted to say to him, despite the involuntary chill his proximity gave her. She wanted to say it to him while he was still himself, before he changed. "Mulder, before all of this starts, I want to know if your proposal is still open." His eyebrows rose slowly as he stared at her in the deepening dusk. "You know it is. But I don't think now is quite the time --" "I want to accept your proposal," she said firmly. "I'm saying yes, Mulder. I don't know what's going to happen tonight, but I know that come tomorrow I'm still going to want to be your friend and your partner. And I know that I want to be your wife, too. I knew that while we were talking at dinner the other night and I was just too scared to say so." "I know," he smiled down at her. "But being scared together has got to beat being scared separately." She nodded, returning his smile faintly. "We'll talk about this some more tomorrow," he told her, looking at the gathering men and women. "Two's company, but fifty's a crowd. "Okay. I think they're wanting you down on the beach." He hesitated, looking at her. "I wish I could kiss you." "I wish you could, too," she said honestly, her mouth quirking upwards wryly. "But you'll have to settle for a rain check." He leaned closer, careful not to touch her. "I'll collect that rain check tomorrow, Scully," he promised quietly, then turned quickly and headed off toward the bonfire. "Dana! There you are," Miz Gabrielle exclaimed. "You're worse than the kids for disappearing when my back is turned. Now, we're almost ready. The men have taken the chair down near the fire and the women are ready to take care of the rest." "What's the rest?" "It's nearly dark, Dana. The men can't stay down there with that being ready to transfer itself. Oh, good. The ladies are going down to the beach. They'll send the men back up here to take the children away. We'll take the drink down to Mulder, he'll drink it, and the women will make sure that he's safely tied up so he can't hurt himself or anyone else. Come along." She sounded appallingly casual about it to Scully. "What's my part in all this?" Scully wanted to know, following her back into the kitchen. "You're going to identify the incubus when it manifests and then, when it's established that the transfer is complete, you'll kill it." Miz Gabrielle told her, taking an earthenware mug out of a locked cabinet. She measured out a careful spoonful of the infusion she had prepared into the mug, crumbled the leaf fragments into it, and then poured hot water over both. "See? Not enough poison to kill him. Just enough to put him out for a while." "But if the drink puts him to sleep, won't the incubus -- or whatever -- be groggy too?" "The entity is stronger than Mulder is. It can overcome the narcotic for a while. But it won't be able to manifest at full strength." Just as well, Scully thought. The idea of Mulder being able to break out of whatever restraints they put him into wasn't an appealing one. The gun in its shoulder holster suddenly weighed heavily against her side. If he broke free, she would have to shoot him. "What do we do now?" "You're going to carry this down to the beach for him to drink. Don't let anyone else touch it. He has to take it from your hands and drink it all. Understand?" "No," Scully said frankly. "But I'll do it anyway." "You're feeling all right?" "I think so. Tired -- but I'm always tired these days." "It'll be dark by the time you get to the beach, Dana. The tisane you drank has helped prevent him from draining any more of your strength from you, but he'll be waiting for you down there. You'll feel it." "I'll be okay," Scully said, picking up the mug. "By the way, I told Mulder I'd marry him. And I want this thing is out of him, the sooner the better." "Good for you, child. You hold on to that thought. Remember, your attitude is part of what will rid us of this entity. Now, go on. I'll be right behind you." The men were milling around in the yard, gathering the children to keep them out of the way, but moved aside to create almost an aisle across the scrubby grass and onto the beach. Scully carried the mug down onto the warm sand and made her way slowly across to where the women were loosely grouped around the bonfire. The nearer she got to the fire, the harder it was for her to move. She felt like she was under water, swimming her way through the increasingly heavy atmosphere. If the sky hadn't been so clear, she could have believed that a thunderstorm was ready to break overhead. A chair had been set up in the sand a short distance from the fire, slightly downwind, and Scully looked it over, frowning, as she reached the women. It was a sturdily made straight chair, but it had a thick plank nailed across the back to form a cross bar, and one end of the plank was darkly stained with what looked like old blood. Mulder had been standing nearby and moved forward to meet her. "Are we ready?" "I think so," she said eyeing the chair, the crossbar and its evocative stains. She swallowed. "You're sure you still want to do this?" "Yes." Scully forced herself look at him, and then looked away quickly. It was Mulder, but she had to look hard to see him. The shadow of something else was almost blotting him out. She held herself together with an effort. "You need to drink all of this, Mulder," she told him, keeping her voice as steady as she could. He nodded and took the mug from her very carefully, seeing in her expression the reflection of what she was seeing in him, not wanting to distress her further by touching her. He made no comment when she backed away from him immediately, her face turned away. "You should sit down in the chair to drink that," one of the women said, glancing over at them as she sorted the lengths of cord she held. He sat down agreeably, sniffing at the mug. "How long does this take to work?" he asked Miz Gabrielle as Scully moved away toward the fire, away from him. "Just a couple of minutes. As soon as you're finished, the women will tie you to the chair. You'll be uncomfortable, but you won't be able to hurt anyone else. Or yourself." Mulder tested the temperature of the liquid with a cautious sip, found that it wasn't as hot as he thought it was, and drank it all down in a few quick gulps, trying not to taste it. Scully's tisane may have tasted the way flowers smell, but this definitely wasn't in the same class. The aftertaste was still bitter on his tongue when the women, one at a time, began a seemingly tuneless humming, broken by an occasional murmur. The sound was almost subliminal, hard to hear, hard to pin down. Scully had her back to him as some of the older women began binding him to the chair. He watched, and even cooperated, as they stretched his arms out on the cross bars, anchored his torso to the body of the chair, and tied his ankles and knees to the chair legs. They took off the splinted glove to tie his left wrist, but used a soft piece of padded cloth so as not to hurt his damaged wrist. The cords were well-knotted, but they took care not to cut off his circulation. Very professional, Mulder thought calmly, feeling strangely detached from the scene now. Very neat. It would be nearly impossible for anyone to break out of that kind of position. He hoped he wouldn't be able to. >From the way the peripheries of his vision were blurring, he knew that the drugs were beginning to take effect. People separated into parts when they moved, and the flames of the fire were leaping in slow motion. He could feel his connection with reality slipping away. The only thing that he could still connect to was Scully. No one else was real to him. And Scully still had her back to him. He could see her bright auburn hair shining in the firelight as if it were part of the fire. She looked beautiful. He wished he could see her face, but knew why she wasn't turning to look at him. He could feel it inside him and now it wasn't just the drink that was bitter in his mouth. There was some kind of strange scent in the air -- incense, perhaps, that had been thrown onto the fire -- that drifted over him in a fog. His fingertips began to tingle and as the sensation spread through his hands and up his arms. More drugs, he thought. More drugs to separate him from himself. Dimly, at an increasing distance, he could see Scully's hair glowing in the firelight, burning along with the fire, and its radiance burned higher until he had to close his eyes against the brightness of it. The darkness behind his eyelids dragged him down into itself before he realized what it was. And then he was gone. And it was there. ***** (continued part 8) =========================================================================== From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 8/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 14:57:42 -0500 Comments to the author, lcbx5me@aol.com ++++++++++ See part 1 for disclaimers "TRANSFERS" part 8 by L.C. Brown Scully moved slightly away from the fire so that the light breeze wouldn't blow the incense directly into her face. Between the scent of the incense and what she could feel behind her, she felt sick. "Dana, Mulder is asleep," Miz Gabrielle said. "Turn around and look at him." Biting her lip, Scully forced herself to move, to turn around to face him. Bound safely to the chair, he had Mulder's features, but although his face was well lit by the leaping firelight, his eyes were darker than Mulder's, almost black. The sense of something else, something alien, looking out of Mulder's eyes was almost tangible to her, and her stomach tightened against the otherness of it. But he looked drugged, as if he was having trouble keeping his head upright, keeping his eyes open. He looked so much like Mulder. So much. "Scully!" He had Mulder's voice, too, however unsteady. "This isn't working. Whatever she just gave me, all it's doing is making me sick to my stomach. You've got to get me out of this." "Is it Mulder?" Miz Gabrielle asked her, looking over the man in the chair. Scully opened her mouth but couldn't find her voice to answer. "Scully, listen to me, please," he said earnestly. "That stuff she gave me to drink didn't put me to sleep. I'm awake. You can see that. You know who I am," he said earnestly, pulling at the ropes binding his arms to the crossbar. "Untie me, Scully." "Who is this, Dana?" "Scully, please. I've changed my mind," he said, his voice desperate. "You can't let them do this to me. They've already poisoned me. They're going to kill me." "Dana," Miz Gabrielle said firmly, "you must tell me who this is. Is it Mulder? The Mulder you know?" "This is what attacked me," Scully said, her voice sounding strange even to herself, but it held conviction. "It looks like him. But it isn't Mulder." The expression on his face changed suddenly and Scully knew that if she'd had any lingering doubts, the utter malevolence in his eyes would have convinced her instantly. She took an involuntary step backwards, away from the contamination of his look. "They are killing him, you know," he told her harshly, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "They don't have the power to force me to transfer against my will, so they have to kill this body to do it. He's dying even now." Scully looked quickly at Miz Gabrielle. "Is that true?" "Yes -- but don't interfere, Dana," she warned. "We know what we are doing; you do not. If you try to save him, you will certainly kill him." "Don't listen to her, Scully." Mulder was laboring for breath. "I can keep him alive. If you let them destroy me, he'll die too." Scully looked from her partner's form to Miz Gabrielle, feeling helpless. "Mulder wanted to go through with this," she said at last, reluctantly. "It was what he wanted. I can't interfere." Mulder's head dropped forward for a moment and then came up again with an effort. "I hope they can't revive him," he said with quiet malice. "I hope he dies. If I can, I'll see to it that he does." The intensity of his gaze held her frozen in place. "And if he survives despite me, I can make sure that he remembers what I remember. I can make him remember what I did to you -- what we did together, Dana Scully -- and I'll make sure that he knows that this body enjoyed it. And you'll never know when that memory will suddenly come to him." "Gag him," Miz Gabrielle nodded to a plump young woman standing behind him, ready, and she pushed a gag into his mouth and had it tied in place before he could utter another word. But his eyes spoke volumes to Scully. "Can it do that?" Scully asked after a moment. "Will Mulder know?" "I don't know," replied the old woman honestly. "I don't think so, but I'm not sure. But we can't stop now, Dana. Mulder will die if we do. Danielle, where's that sack?" The tall, beautiful black woman brought forward a battered burlap sack and, laying it before the fire, she untied the top and pulled out a large black and white rooster, legs and wings bound against its indignant struggles. At Miz Gabrielle's nod, Danielle gave the squawking bird to an old woman waiting to receive it as it protested stridently. She, in turn, gave it to one of two old ladies standing near the downwind plume of smoke from the fire, all of them murmuring soothingly. Passing it through the smoke of the incense quieted the bird, and it finally lay passive as it was passed from hand to hand, back and forth through the stupefying fog. Scully tore her eyes away from the bird and looked back at Mulder and was glad she couldn't see his face. His head was sunk onto his chest and she had to look hard to see that he was breathing. Danielle was standing beside him, her fingertips on the pulse in his good wrist, her face intent as she watched him. "Quickly," she said aloud. "Miz Gabrielle, it's almost time." "Stay close, Dana." Miz Gabrielle told her, taking the quiescent rooster from the woman named Danielle and bring it close to Mulder's still form. And it was still, Scully realized suddenly. He wasn't breathing any longer. Miz Gabrielle's deep voice was intoning words that Scully couldn't understand, but the thickening of the atmosphere seemed to increase with every syllable. It pressed in around her until it was hard to draw breath. The woman standing beside Mulder moved quickly as Miz Gabrielle inclined her head slowly, continuing to chant. Before Scully could move or protest, Danielle took a knife out of a folded cloth on the ground beside her and deftly applied the sharp point of the blade to Mulder's wrist. He didn't move as the blood began to flow almost immediately, but she held the cloth under his wrist, preventing the blood from reaching the ground. Scully shut her eyes, not wanting to watch any more of it. The smoke from the fire was making her dizzy and the sight of Mulder's still body was making her sick. A high-pitched scream startled her into opening her eyes again a moment later. Miz Gabrielle was beside Mulder, holding the rooster under the steady drip of Mulder's blood, a stick forcing its beak open so that the blood covered its head, filled its beak. It wasn't passive any longer, but struggling wildly against its bonds with high-pitched shrieks of rage. Its yellow eyes were black. "Oh my God," Scully gasped. "Oh my God. It's in there? It transferred?" "It had no choice. Mulder is dead," Miz Gabrielle said briefly, moving as quickly as she could back to Scully, bringing the bloody rooster with her. "Come with me quickly, Dana. We cannot try to revive Mulder until the entity is destroyed." Scully had no idea what to do, but she followed the old woman to the fire. The women there were ready with a large, sharp knife. It looked more like a machete, Scully thought, taking it when they handed it to her, and there was an oily substance smeared on the blade. An anointing of some kind? Two of the other women helped Miz Gabrielle to kneel, stiffly, beside a block of wood perhaps a foot long and a few inches wide. It looked very new and raw. Miz Gabrielle murmured softly to herself as she stretched the neck of the rooster over the wooden block. "When she stops speaking, kill it," one of the women behind Scully instructed her quietly. "Then take the head and throw it onto the fire, then the body, then the block of wood. Do it quickly so that your friend can be revived." Scully nodded, dropping to her knees, the knife held ready, mentally ticking off the amount of time that Mulder's heart had probably been stopped. She wished the old woman would hurry. "Now, Dana," Miz Gabrielle said suddenly. The reflection of the flames leaped in the rooster's dark eyes during the split second that elapsed before she brought the knife down in a quick, professional movement. The blood- filled beak snapped open and closed as its eyes glared, refusing to give in to the finality of death. Scully carefully handed the knife back to the woman who reached for it, then scooped up the decapitated head and tossed it into the fire without a second's hesitation. The flames leaped higher. The bound, still-convulsing body followed, and then the blood-soaked wooden block. The fire roared upward as if she'd thrown gasoline on it, forcing everyone away from the sudden heat. Scully ignored the fire, ignored the heat. She stumbled to her feet and struggled through a haze of smoke and stench to get to Mulder. It seemed a long way to his side. She couldn't see the way through the smoke, and the sand was pulling at her feet, pulling her down. She could hear voices in the distance but couldn't find her way to them. She knew she had to reach Mulder, but he was no longer there to reach. The place she was sinking into was cool and dark, empty of sound, empty of feeling. She was so tired. She would rest for just a moment, then go on to find Mulder. Just for a moment. ***** Scully wasn't aware of waking up; her eyes simply drifted open of their own accord. She didn't feel quite awake, but she wasn't still asleep, either. Her mind wasn't quite together, though. She knew that. There was something that she should be remembering, but.... There was light outside. She could see it slipping through the curtains that weren't quite closed. And she became aware of a need to go to the bathroom. Pushing the covers aside, she got up and padded around the wall beside the bed to the bathroom. Long-established habits took over as she shut the door behind her and went through her morning ritual -- using the bathroom, washing her face, brushing her teeth, bathing and washing her hair -- all on automatic. Her mind wasn't engaged in any of it, wasn't thinking at all. It wasn't until she was using the blow dryer on her hair that the first memory returned and then, as if a signal had been given, the rest followed in a chaotic rush. Nothing was in order, nothing made sense, and it took her a frozen moment to realize that it wasn't a bizarre and frightening dream that she was remembering. She sat down slowly on the toilet lid as she worked through the memories, her fingers lifting without conscious thought to trace the bite mark on her shoulder. Mulder. His name came into her mind without warning, and she had a sudden mental image of him tied to the chair, his head fallen forward, barely visible through the smoke. Dead. Scully looked around the bathroom quickly, her mind noting details now that she hadn't seen a moment before. His things were there. The glass beside the sink had been used; so had his toothbrush. The light on his electric razor glowed red as it recharged, indicating that it had been used this morning. This must be his room. He must be here. He must be alive. She started to put on the tee shirt that she'd been sleeping in and hesitated, wondering how long she'd slept in it, wanting something clean. When she reached for the hotel robe instead, there was a tee shirt hanging on the hook behind it, a woman's tee shirt, large enough to sleep in, but the theme and pictures emblazoned on the front and back was "Great Pubs of Bermuda" and she couldn't suppress a smile as she detected her partner's ironic hand in its purchase. Grateful for his foresight, if not his taste, she pulled the tee shirt on quickly, drew the robe over it, then ventured out of the bathroom on silent feet to peer around the corner at the queen sized bed. He was there -- had been there all the time -- on the other side of the bed, half turned on his side away from her, apparently asleep again after being up earlier that morning. He had pushed the bedclothes down a little and the one bare shoulder that she could see moved slightly as he breathed. He was alive. Going back into the bathroom slowly, Scully leaned back against the door when it was shut and let the relief she felt drive out the lingering sickness that had come with the memories. He was still alive. That was the only thing that concerned her right now. Everything else could be dealt with later. Just the physical effort of bathing had started her legs start shaking, she realized. Or maybe it was the relief. Either way, she felt like she was recovering from a bad case of the flu. It took a real effort to make herself finish drying her hair when all she wanted to do was lie down again. When she was finished in the bathroom, she concentrated on making it back to her side of the bed without making any noise. Leaving the robe at the foot, she slipped under the covers again and lay quiet for a moment to see if she had wakened Mulder. When he didn't move, she sighed tiredly and shut her eyes to doze for a few more minutes. Just a little more sleep would let her recover from the hardship of having to take a shower and dry her hair, she thought wryly. When her breathing was even again, Mulder turned his head on the pillow to look at her. He'd been awake since she first got up, waiting and listening to make sure she didn't have any trouble in the bathroom. He knew she had to be pretty weak; she wouldn't eat yesterday after he brought her back to the hotel. Her color was better than it had been, he thought critically, but she was still too pale. Her skin was so translucent that he felt like he could almost see through her, and she must have lost ten pounds during the four days they'd been here. She looked pretty awful, he had to admit, but the faint color in her face gave him hope that she had turned the corner. She stirred slightly, her sleep disturbed by his continued gaze, and he looked away. She needed to rest some more. When she was fully awake, then there would be plenty of time to talk. ***** This time, the waking was more normal. She was still a little drowsy around the edges, but she didn't feel too bad, all things considered. Not too tired. Not really sleepy. And, surprisingly, she was just beginning to think favorably about food again. The thought of breakfast didn't make her nauseous -- a step in the right direction, she decided, holding the covers in place over her shoulders as she rolled over, and then blinked in surprise. Mulder was there, on his side, watching her interestedly. "Going to rejoin the land of the living?" he wanted to know. She thought about it. "Maybe. I feel a lot better than I did, at any rate." She had so many questions, she didn't know what to ask first, but finally settled for asking what day it was. "Sunday. Everything happened Friday night," he reminded her. "We were both too out of it to make it home so Miz Gabrielle had us stay with her for the night to make sure we were okay. You don't remember anything?" "Should I?" "Well, you were sort of in and out. I wasn't sure what you'd remember. You obviously don't remember the trip back here Saturday morning. You passed out as soon as you hit the bed and you only woke a couple of times to go to the bathroom since then." Scully frowned at him slightly. She wasn't as interested in what had happened to her as in what had happened to him. He looked rested and in his normal good health once more. "What went on with you? They obviously resusitated you, but you were dead, Mulder. I saw it." "I don't remember anything after drinking that rotten-tasting potion of Miz Gabrielle's, and I only have vague memories of waking up afterwards. I don't think I was fully conscious until the next morning." Mulder rubbed a hand across his chin in an absent gesture. "From what I was told afterward, the 'usual potions' weren't working on me, so Miz Gabrielle had Danielle -- she's a doctor, too -- gave me a dose of adrenaline. I'm kind of glad I wasn't awake for that," he added reflectively. "If you were dying, you wouldn't care what they did to revive you," Scully pointed out callously. "The adrenaline brought you back, then." "I guess so. But I had a mother of a hangover yesterday morning, so I didn't really care about anything except getting us both back to the hotel and into bed. I slept most of the day, and when I finally woke up yesterday afternoon, I felt fine." "And then you went shopping." He grinned. "You found the tee shirt, then. I thought you might appreciate something clean to wear when you finally woke up." "I do," she assured him. "After I went shopping for various things, I came back here and you were still out of it. When I finally got tired of hanging out watching you sleep, I went over to your room, packed up your stuff and brought it all over here. I didn't think we'd be needing separate rooms any more, so I had the front desk check you out of that one and into this one." "Well, my reputation was shot anyway after your trip to the clinic," Scully sighed. Mulder ignored that. "Was I wrong?" he asked quietly. "About what?" "About us needing separate rooms. Do you want another room?" She hesitated for a moment, looking at him. There was no trace left in him of the other, in his face or in his eyes, as he waited for her answer. This was the man she trusted. This was her best friend and her partner. This was Mulder. And she felt relaxed, comfortable in his bed -- no, she thought, not his bed; it had somehow become their bed. "No," she said at last. "No, I don't want another room." "Then would you mind if I collected on that rain check?" He still didn't move, still didn't touch her. Scully smiled faintly in answer, stifling inward reservations, closing her eyes as he leaned toward her. The touch of his mouth on hers surprised her. It was as unfamiliar as anyone's first kiss would be, but she would have known that it was Mulder in the dark -- his touch was that distinctive to her. But she could feel no connection in her mind at all to the kisses she had received from these same lips only a few nights before. "Scully?" She blinked at him, then smiled at his puzzled expression. "It was so different," she said simply. "I really didn't think it would be. But it is." He didn't have to ask her what she meant. This time when he kissed her, she made a conscious decision to let all the other memories go. They would always be there, but distant now, not so close, not so painful. But they had nothing to do with Mulder. His lips coaxed a smile from her as they brushed first one corner of her mouth and then the other, then her upper lip, then her lower lip. Nothing but his mouth touched her, and its gentle pressure asked nothing of her, but offered more if that was what she wanted. "I'm fine, " she murmured reassuringly when he paused, her hand on his cheek drawing him back again, showing him with the gesture that she didn't fear his touch any more, that she knew who he was. "You don't have to worry. I'm fine." "Are you sure?" he asked, reaching for her to pull her close to him, wrapping his arms around her warmly. "About being okay with this? I wouldn't lie to you about something like that, Mulder." "You've been through a lot," he continued, giving her a chance to change her mind, hoping she wouldn't. "We don't have to do this now." "I know. But I want to." He nodded his acceptance of that, one fingertip tracing the curve of her cheek, his eyes on the movement then on her mouth as his fingertip outlined her lower lip. Her mouth quivered for a moment, then stretched into a smile for him as his thumb pushed her chin up gently and his lips came down on hers again. This time the pressure of his mouth against hers asked for a response and Scully willingly gave it, lifting her face and opening her mouth to him, the muscles of her stomach contracting with the feeling of their breath mingling, her breath catching in her throat when the tip of his tongue stroked her lower lip as if asking permission before beginning to explore her mouth. There was no sense of urgency; making love was something that couldn't be hurried. There was a lot of pleasure to be found in taking their time learning to know each other, their hands and mouths exploring, finding sensitive spots, erotically charged places individual to each. Scully had long since lost all track of time, was only aware of Mulder's body next to hers, half on hers, skin to skin, when, with a long, deep kiss that promised more, he rolled away from her for a moment. Before she had time to voice a question, he was turning back to her to her, smiling half-mockingly at her in the light from the nearly-closed curtains. "Forget something?" he asked, pressing something into her hand. "I didn't." She didn't have to look at it to know what it was. Her hands brought his face down to hers, her mouth caressing his as she felt his weight settling against her once more. Now they could finish what had begun more than five years ago. It was time. ***** (continued part 9) =========================================================================== From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 9/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 15:00:00 -0500 All comments to the author: lcbx5me@aol.com ++++++++++ See part 1 for disclaimers "TRANSFERS" part 9 by L.C. Brown Scully murmured an almost inaudible protest when he finally got up, but stayed curled up under the covers that he drew back over her, disinclined to leave the warmth of the bed. She felt pleasantly tired, very relaxed, and too comfortable to move. She must have dozed off because when she opened her eyes again, Mulder was sitting down on the bed beside her, half dressed and faintly damp around the edges. "You doing okay?" "Never better," she said honestly and was rewarded by a quick kiss, his tongue flicking briefly over her lower lip. Her hand slipped behind his neck and pulled him down onto the bed with her, taking him by surprise, the pressure of her mouth forcing his lips apart to kiss him more deeply, then gentling the kiss, communicating emotions too difficult for her to put into words. When she ended the kiss, he stayed where he was, half sitting beside her, half lying over her, gazing at her as if he were memorizing her features, the expression on his face warming her from the inside out. "Did I remember to tell you that I love you?" he asked softly at last. She smiled. "I think I heard it a couple of times in passing. Does this mean that I get to call you Fox now?" she asked, her eyebrows rising slightly with the inflection of the question. He kissed her suddenly, hard and deeply, before he slid out of her arms. "Only on special occasions," he conceded with a grin. "You said you wanted breakfast an hour ago, and we're still here." "Whose fault is that?" "Yours," he said immediately. "You get washed up and dressed, and I'll call Skinner." Scully stopped in the act of pulling her robe on. "Skinner?" she echoed. "It's Sunday, Mulder. He won't be in." "I know that. I don't want to talk to Skinner, just his voice mail." "Are you reporting in?" she asked, belting the robe around her. Mulder hesitated before picking up the receiver, then came back to her, putting an arm around her and sitting down on the end of the bed. "I've been thinking about something -- as much as I could think about anything during this past couple of hours," he said feelingly. "I think we should get married." "Didn't we do this already? I thought I said yes." "I mean, I think we should get married now. Not six months down the road. Now." Scully looked at him thoughtfully. "Is there a problem with waiting?" "From a professional point of view, it would be a lot easier to go home and present them with a fait accompli," Mulder noted. "Personally, I don't want to mess around for months planning a wedding that costs the earth but that we can't remember aftewards unless we look at the videos." "I know," she agreed. "I've been to a lot of those weddings. So you want to get married here?" "We can't get married in Bermuda unless we're residents, or unless we've posted banns in two local newspapers fourteen days in advance of the wedding," he told her. Scully stared at him. She was becoming used to his coming up with odd and obscure facts about his extraordinary cases, but this was carrying it too far. "I didn't look it up in advance," he said a little defensively, apparently reading her mind. "I was here with some friends during the Long Vacation at college and I ended up being asked to find out about it for a friend of mine. That's how I know." "Okay," she nodded agreeably. "So how do we get married now if we can't get married on Bermuda?" "Miami's only twenty-five minutes away by plane, and there's no real waiting period in Florida -- just a twenty-four hour wait for blood test results. We could fly to Miami tomorrow, have the blood test done, stay the night, and get married on Tuesday." Scully considered it, looking down at his hand that was holding hers. "And what about birth certificates? Don't we need those?" "I think I can arrange to have them waiting for us at the hotel." "And where does Skinner fit into all this?" "We've finished the case," he pointed out. "We should have been on our way home a couple of days ago. Skinner probably expects us in the office tomorrow morning. But I'm going to call him and tell him that you've got the flu or something and you can't fly. I'll tell him that we'll be flying back...mmm...next Saturday, after you've recovered." "Mulder..." she started to protest. "Scully," he interrupted, "I honestly don't think you're healthy enough to go home yet. Do you?" She mentally assessed her own condition and was forced to reluctantly agree with him. She needed rest and relaxation. She needed to eat four meals a day and sleep for eight hours every night. She needed some time alone with Mulder before they went back to the office and became caught up in the internal political machine there. He took her silence for acquiesence and continued. "We both have plenty of leave time accrued, so that won't be a problem. And we're going to need some story to explain what you look like when we get back." "That's almost a week away. I should look fine by then." "I hope so. But Miz Gabrielle seemed to think that it was going to take his victims a while to fully recover their health. Let's face it, after what you've been through, there's no way you're going to walk back into the office a week from now and not have people notice that you've been ill. You just aren't going to recover that quickly." She shrugged. "Okay, fine." Something else occured to her and she looked up at him, frowning slightly. "Will your mom be upset that you're getting married like this? You're all she's got left." "I know," he said steadily. "But Mom lives in her own world. She'll be happy for me, but I can't say that we've been really close in a long time." He tightened his hand on hers. "How about your mother? She'll probably have a fit," he smiled. "I doubt it," Scully said dryly. "If I know her at all, she'll be overjoyed -- even without a wedding to plan. She likes you a lot, and it's what she doesn't say about you that speaks volumes to me. You've been family to her for a long time now." "That's nice to know. I like her, too. So are you saying that you want to get married right away?" "I can't think of a good reason not to." She laughed suddenly. "And, frankly, I don't want to. Other than be recruited by the FBI, this will be the most out-of-character thing I've ever done." "And I'm sure the FBI seemed like a good idea at the time," Mulder added wryly, getting up. "Go on and get dressed. I've got some calls to make." Scully gathered up some clothes from the drawers and closet and disappeared into the bathroom as he was placing his first call. "Hey, Langly," she heard him say into the receiver. "Yeah, it's me. Turn off the recorder. Uh huh. I need a favor from you guys, but first I've got some news that's going to break Frohike's heart." Scully closed the bathroom door firmly on the rest of the conversation. ***** Mulder had a lot more energy than she did, Scully reflected, digging her feet a little further into the bone-melting warmth of the pink sand. The ocean breeze had been a bit cool after coming out of the water, but she was nearly dry now and enjoying the heat of the late afternoon sun, feeling blissfully lazy. Mulder, on the other hand, had been in the water for a couple of hours now and showed no inclination to come in yet. They had met two other couples at the hotel this morning on their way out and, since they were bound for the same beach for the same reason, the three couples had merged to make one party. Now Bill, Bill's wife, Ron and Mulder were snorkeling a couple of hundred yards offshore while Rachel, Ron's girlfriend, and Scully sunned themselves on the beach. At least, Rachel was actually sunning herself in the full sunlight while Scully prudently caught the reflected rays from the ocean under the shade of a beach umbrella, watching the scene from behind dark sunglasses. Rachel was very blonde, about twenty five, Scully guessed, and was working on keeping an enviable tan. If one could envy a golden, toasted look that would become shoe leather and pre-cancerous skin conditions in just a few years, Scully reminded herself. Rachel was also wearing something that purported to be a bikini, but Mulder had commented privately to Scully upon its unveiling on the beach that it looked more like two Band-Aids and a shoestring. He had already voiced -- and demonstrated -- his unequivocal approval of her own favorite swimsuit, a bronze-colored two-piece, that morning. Scully smiled to herself and looked out over the water again, picking out Mulder as he trod water and cleared out his mouthpiece and snorkel before he started out again. "You guys have only been married since Tuesday?" Rachel commented, interrupting her thoughts. "You guys act like you've been married ten years. You don't act like honeymooners at all. Not like Bill and Lisa." Scully turned an amused look on the other woman. "What, you mean them being all over each other? That's just not us. Not in public, anyway," she amended after a moment. "Are you and Ron engaged?" "Kind of. We've been, like, living together for two years but just haven't set a date," she shrugged. "We're not in a hurry. Were you and Mulder engaged long? Did you have a big wedding?" Rachel cast an envious look at the wedding ring on Scully's left hand, watching the five good sized channel-set diamonds sparkling dazzlingly even in the reflected sunlight. In the direct sunlight, Rachel had already noticed, the effect was blinding -- and gorgeous. "Actually, he proposed...let's see...last Tuesday, I guess it was. And I said yes on Friday, and we got married in Miami on Tuesday. So I guess it took a week, from start to finish," Scully said thoughtfully. "It wasn't a big wedding. But we didn't want it to be. It was just us and the judge and a couple of anonymous witnesses." "You didn't have, like, a dress or anything?" Although Scully smiled at the dismay in Rachel's voice, she had to admit to feeling a small pang in some small part of her at having foregone the opportunity of going down a church aisle dressed like a big meringue -- as one movie had so eloquently put it. But being the center of attention for five hundred people really didn't hold any appeal for her. She had been the center of attention for Mulder, and that had been enough. "No, no big dress. I wore a suit, but I did have a bouquet," Scully consoled Rachel. She and Mulder hadn't even considered flowers. The bouquet had been delivered to the hotel early on Tuesday morning -- creamy gardenias, sprays of orange blossoms and freesia, and pale roses with just a blush of color -- from Frohike, of all people, with his best wishes. The thought behind the small, fragrant bouquet had touched Scully and had surprised Mulder a good deal. "Weren't you nervous? I mean, like, getting married and all, and not even having anyone there? Like, was this the first time for both of you, or had you been through it already?" "No, neither one of us have been married before," Scully answered, thinking that it was rather a personal question. "And I don't think we were nervous." And she hadn't been, she thought. Marrying Mulder had been the most natural thing in the world to do. And if he had been nervous, it hadn't showed. His hands had held hers in a warm, firm clasp during his vows -- he hadn't just repeated them after the judge, but had spoken them to her, really hearing the words and making the promises. "I don't think I could get married that fast, without anything or anyone, like that," Rachel shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, or anything, and I don't mean to pry, but you're not, like, having to rush it, are you?" Scully realized that her fingers were clenched tight on the unopened mystery she'd been holding and forced herself to relax again. "No, nothing like that," she said as casually as she could. "We just wanted to avoid a big wedding at home, that's all." "Well, I'd like a huge wedding. Ron's family owns a business in Newport, so he doesn't have to worry about money. We can have a really big wedding blowout." Rachel missed Scully's involuntary wince, her eyes on the heavy gold and diamond wedding band again. "That's a gorgeous ring," she said sincerely. "Did you get it here or in Miami?" "I think Mulder got it here, I'm not sure where. He surprised me with it at the ceremony." It had been quite a surprise. The light coming in the window beside them had set the diamonds blazing and Scully still wondered a little uneasily if she had looked as open-mouthed astonished as she had felt. Her thumb rubbed the bottom of the band now, reassuring herself that it was still there. She couldn't feel the delicate engraving on the inside of the ring, but she had finally looked at it that night, after they'd gotten back to their hotel room in Bermuda. It had been late, and they'd been in bed for a while, lying close and talking quietly about the day. She had idly taken off the ring to look at it more carefully. The heavy gold of the band had been engraved inside. There were her initials, a date, and his initials -- very simple, very plain. She had noted out loud, a little puzzled, that the date wasn't that of their wedding day, but the 18th, two days before. He hadn't said anything, and it had only taken her another moment to realize that it was Sunday's date -- and to understand immediately why he had wanted that date engraved on the inside of her wedding ring. When she had looked up from the ring wordlessly, he had shrugged and said simply, "I really felt I was married on Sunday." And Scully had shown him how much she agreed with him. "Where are you guys from? Do you both work? We're from Newport, Rhode Island. Ron's business is there; he does big time boat repairs -- yachts and things like that. I just hang out at home," Rachel volunteered. "We live in Washington, D.C. We...uh...we work for the government," Scully hedged, wishing she could weasel out of this conversation. She didn't feel comfortable with so many personal questions from a veritable stranger. And she had a feeling that Rachel had sized up her ring to within a tenth of a carat and could probably tell her the grade of diamonds in it. Was that Mulder heading back for shore? "Oh, the government. You mean like HUD or something?" It was Mulder. He was starting to wade through the long shallows now. "No, not HUD," she said out loud. "Are you in politics? I heard there was a senator here with his wife." Rachel was looking at her speculatively. "No, we aren't in politics," Scully said hastily, not wanting her to begin jumping to that conclusion. "We work for the FBI." "Oh, God, the FBI! Are you his secretary or something?" Scully got up and shook out her beach towel carefully. "No. We're both Special Agents working on field investigations in different departments -- Mulder's usually in the Violent Crimes Section and I'm in Pathology," she told Rachel, ignoring their X-Files assignments, keeping her voice deliberately even. She doubted this girl could even spell FBI. "You're an agent? You both are? With guns and everything?" "And everything," Scully agreed, shoving her book back into her carryall and pushing her dark sunglasses back up on her nose. Hurry up, Mulder. "You mean you guys carry guns? Have you ever shot anybody? I mean, like, shot them?" Rachel gasped, her eyes wide, looking Scully over as if she expected to see a .22 hidden in her swimsuit bra. "Hey, Scully!" Mulder called, coming up the beach. "You fried yet?" "Actually, I shot Mulder one time," she said conversationally just before her new husband came up to them. "Get him to tell you about it some time." Mulder dropped his fins, mask and snorkel on the sand and eyed her quizzically as he picked up his towel and started drying off. "Talking about me behind my back?" "Isn't everyone?" she murmured dryly, slanting a glance up at him. "That's what I hear." His grin took ten years off his age and she couldn't help smiling in response, reminding herself to tell him that she liked his black swimsuit briefs. They weren't quite Speedos, but they did things for him that they didn't do for the sixty year old businessmen that usually affected them. "Are you packing it in?" he wanted to know, looking at her carryall. "Yeah, I think I've had enough...sun." She put an infinitesimal pause before the last word, enough to clue him in. "Okay, I'll go back to the hotel with you," he said immediately, though she knew he hadn't originally had any such intention. "Let me turn this gear back in first." He slung his towel around his neck and, gathering up the rented equipment, headed up the beach. "Nice," Rachel commented, watching him go. "He's really cute." Scully didn't say anything, but nodded to the others as they came up, dripping. "I think we're going to head back to the hotel," she told them. "I'm not sure what our dinner plans are, so maybe we'll see you around tomorrow." "We'll probably go over to Cap'n Jack's for dinner, so if you feel like dropping in, come on by," Bill said, following Lisa toward the rental kiosk with his gear. "Yeah, or stop in for drinks," Ron added. "We're in 512." Scully ignored his surreptitious gaze that followed her movements as she pulled on shorts and a tee shirt over her swimsuit. She had dealt with worse than Ron. "We'll see," she said noncommittally. "I don't know what Mulder's got planned." "Did you know they're FBI agents?" Rachel's voice broke in breathlessly. "With guns and everything!" "FBI?" Ron's eyebrows rose. "You?" "That's right. Mulder, too." "Oh, I'd like to see you handle a gun, honey. You don't look like you're strong enough to pick one up," he smiled, and Scully decided, amazed, that he really thought he was paying her a compliment. "Oh, Scully's good with a weapon," Mulder said, coming up behind him. "She uses a 9 mm Sig Sauer and got better scores with it than I did during our last recertifications. If she targets you, she'll hit you." Ron looked rather taken aback. "You mean you're not kidding? FBI?" "Yeah." Mulder was yanking on his own shorts and shirt, then stripping off the soggy wrist brace he had worn into the water and fastening on a dry one. "Look, Scully's baking out here, so we'll see you around. It's been a great day. Tell Bill and Lisa for us." He followed Scully up to the top of the beach where the mopeds were parked without saying anything and tied his carryall onto the back of his moped while she did the same for hers. "That guy bugging you?" he asked finally. Scully shrugged. "No, he's just a patronizing jerk. What bugged me was Rachel asking if I was your secretary." "I wish I could have seen your face," Mulder laughed. "Did you set her straight pretty quick?" "As much as anyone could. And she all but pulled out a loupe to look at my ring. Between that and the personal questions, it's a good thing I didn't have my gun with me. You'd be reading about it in the paper tomorrow," she said acerbically.. "Well, tomorrow's our last full day here and we definitely won't spend it with Rachel and Ron. Any idea what you want to do?" "Mmm...maybe finish some shopping," she said, thinking. "And I wouldn't mind going back to see another cricket match. I'll see if I can remember what you told me about the rules at the match yesterday." "Are you doing this because you think I want to go?" he asked suspiciously. "No, I am not martyring myself for you. There are some sports that you couldn't drag me to if you put me in a straitjacket first," she warned him. "But I liked the match yesterday. The way you explained the rules gave me some insight and made it more interesting." "I think the guys in white flannels were turning you on." Mulder straddled his moped, turning the key to start the little putt-putt motor. "Admit it." "Nah. It was the English tea they served," Scully said placidly, starting her moped. "I like a sport where you can sit around all afternoon looking decorative, cheering infrequently, and stuffing yourself with scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. Much better than boxing. But not as exciting as hockey," she added. Mulder shot her a slightly startled glance but didn't comment on that. "Want to pick something up for dinner and take it back to the hotel?" "Sure. I'll follow you back." She was privately glad to stay in tonight. A full day in the sun had tired her out more than she had realized. Maybe she'd sleep through the night tonight. Maybe she wouldn't dream. ***** (concluded part 10) =========================================================================== From: xffscinut@aol.com (XFF SciNut) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Transfers" 10/10 Date: 24 Mar 1996 15:02:13 -0500 All story comments to the author: lcbx5me@aol.com Posting complaints, comments to me at xffscinut@aol.com (except: "Get different access, man..." :D ) All parts posted 3/24/96. ++++++++++ "TRANSFERS" part 10 by L.C. Brown The figure on the medical table in the big, empty room looked familiar, but Scully wasn't sure why until she was suddenly closer. Her face. Her hair. Her eyes looking up at nothing. But she wasn't dead. Her chest moved up and down steadily above a grossly swollen belly under the white sheet. And then there were people in the room, talking without her being able to understand what was being said. And she wasn't an onlooker any more. She was on the table, looking up at nothing. Something was happening to her; she could feel that, but she couldn't really feel anything. Something was hurting her, she knew the pain was present, but she couldn't feel it. And then she realized somewhere inside herself that she was giving birth, although why she knew that she couldn't say. She certainly couldn't feel the birth process. She just knew. Just as she knew what she was going to see when the anonymous people at the foot of the gurney held up the child, strangely clean and oddly silent. She didn't see its form or its face. All she could see were its eyes -- those dark, almost black eyes looking at her, piercing her. Remembering her. And when the child reached out to touch her, she screamed. "Scully!" Mulder's voice was loud, his hands shaking her back and forth, and for an unreasoning moment she fought against him. "Stop it! Scully, wake up! You're dreaming...it's just a dream." When she stopped struggling, stopped gasping, he let her go and turned on the lamp beside the bed, creating a pool of light in the dark room. Scully blinked at him in the light, then got up suddenly and went into the bathroom. He heard the door close and lock. Then he could hear water running in the sink. He was a veteran of nightmares and knew she was washing her face, waking herself up, convincing herself that it really had been a dream. Mulder sighed and looked over at the clock. 4:28. Every morning between 4:00 and 4:30 Scully had woken from a nightmare -- but this was the worse yet, if her panic was anything to go by. When she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he was sitting up waiting for her, but she bypassed the bed and curled up in the easy chair instead. She still looked shaken. "Can you remember anything about it?" he asked. She hadn't been able to remember anything much before, but maybe this one had been vivid enough to make an impression. "I know what it is," she said after a moment. "I know what I've been dreaming about." "What is it?" He had a feeling he knew what it was. "I'm not on the pill and he didn't use a condom. What if I'm pregnant?" She had to force herself to say it. Her lips were reluctant to even shape the words, her mind sheared away from the thought. "Miz Gabrielle wondered about that, too," he said carefully. "She came by on Saturday afternoon while you were asleep to check up on you. She asked whether you were on the pill. I didn't know, so I checked through your stuff and couldn't find anything to indicate you were on birth control. So she left something for you to take twenty four hours before we go home. She said that it was safe, but that it would start your cycle within twenty-four hours. If you were pregnant, you wouldn't be any more." "You've known about this since Saturday?" she repeated angrily. "Why didn't you tell me, Mulder? Did you think it was something that didn't concern me?" "You would have thought about it all week, Scully," he explained. "You wouldn't have been able to relax or get any rest. You wouldn't have eaten for worrying about it. If you didn't think of it for yourself, there was no point in telling you until I gave you the bottle that Miz Gabrielle gave me." She didn't say anything, looking away from him into the shadows of the room. "If you think I should have told you earlier --" "Never mind. Forget it. You're right," she said tightly. "I couldn't have known and been able to.... Just never mind." He fell silent, watching her sit unmoving in the chair. When he felt that she had been quiet too long, he sighed and extended his hand. "Scully, come here for a minute." When she didn't respond, he added, "Please?" She uncurled herself from the chair finally and came over to the bed, taking his hand and letting him draw her down to sit beside him. "Look, I don't know what you're feeling right now," he admitted. "I can't even begin to imagine it. I wish you'd talk to me, though." Scully looked down at their joined hands. "I'm not even sure what I feel. I just know that I'm not ready to talk about it. And I know that if I am pregnant, your chromosomes might have contributed to it," she said slowly, "but it wouldn't be yours." "How do you know?" "I just know." He looked at her steadily for a long minute, then tightened his hold on her hand. "I'll stay out of it until you're ready to bring me into it. If I can help, I will." "Just having you here is helping, Mulder. Really." She got up and went around to her side of the bed to get back under the covers again. "Why aren't you having any problems with any of this? Or are you? A lot of guys I know would." Mulder turned off the light and lay down again. "In case it escaped your notice, I'm not a lot of guys," he pointed out. "Remember, I can believe ten impossible things before breakfast. And as for having problems with all this, I have to say that I'm only concerned about how it's affected you. Because I don't remember any of it, because I didn't see any of it, I can't really connect to it. It's not that I don't believe it happened to you -- I just can't believe that I had anything to do with it, even unknowingly." "Well, you didn't have anything to do with it. You just got stuck with picking up the pieces afterwards," she smiled. "I felt better when I figured that out." "Good. Keep feeling better," he murmured, pulling her close and settling down to go to sleep again. "I just hope you stop screaming in your sleep. You're taking years off my life." ***** The air was especially soft tonight, Scully thought, redolent with the scent of exotic spices, citrus trees, and tropical flowers that released their headiest perfumes at night. The sky was as clear as a pool of deep spring water, with stars shining brightly at the bottom of the pool. For their last night in Bermuda, they had gone to a good restaurant and lingered over dinner before electing to walk back to the hotel. Scully had a feeling that they both knew it would be the last relaxing meal they'd be having for a while. They would be back at work on Monday and they'd be lucky to find time to sleep, much less eat, until their workload was caught up. "Don't think about it," Mulder said, squeezing her hand warningly as they strolled along. "How do you know what I'm thinking?" "You're looking kind of professional and grim all of a sudden. Doesn't take too much intuition to know you're thinking about Monday." "And you weren't this morning?" she countered. "I saw you working on your report when I finished my shower." "Only because I needed something to do while you were taking a short forever in the bathroom." "I am on vacation," she reminded him with all due deliberation. "I'm not at work where you can give me ten minutes to get ready before you come over to pick me up." "I never do that," protested her partner. Scully nodded agreeably. "You're right. You usually give me five minutes, not ten." "I'm starting to rethink this whole marriage thing," he cautioned her jokingly. Scully smiled up at him. "Go right ahead. Just keep repeating to yourself 'No pre-nup agreement, no pre-nup agreement.'" "You're pretty cold woman, Scully," he shook his head. "Well, from what I hear, the Bureau jury is still out on that; they're pretty evenly divided over whether I'm too cold or too hot," she grinned. "Do I get a vote?" "No. You're personally biased now." "I always was." They continued strolling down the street, occasionally breasting a wave of locals and tourists that ebbed and flowed from the various restaurants and nightclubs they passed. The traffic continued unabated, it seemed, with an imperterbable policeman standing in a kiosk in the center of the street directing the mayhem around him. "Any idea what we're going to do when we get home?" she asked idly. "About what?" "About where we're going to be living for the time being. Living in separate apartments would probably be hard on a marriage," she pointed out. "Your place is closer to work, but it's too small for both of us. You want to move into my apartment until we can find somewhere else?" Mulder took a deep breath. "Yeah, that'll be fine. But I've been meaning to talk to you about a place to live." "Oh? Is there a problem?" "No, no problem. It's just that I sort of have a house." "Sort of?" "It's rented right now. The guy who's renting it lost his partner last year and asked me a few weeks ago about getting out of the lease in order to move nearer his family. I was going to re-rent the house, but I think living there ourselves would be a good solution to this problem." Scully looked up at him curiously. "Where did you get a house? Where is it?" "My dad left it to me," he explained. "We lived there when he worked at the State Department and when he retired, he decided not to sell. I kept it rented for him. It's sort of located on the edge of Georgetown." "Again, sort of? What's sort of?" "Near 26th and P." Scully stopped walking, forcing him to stop, too. "Dunbarton?" she stared at him. "You have a house in Dunbarton?" "Only on the edge of Dunbarton," he said defensively. "Please tell me it doesn't have a garage, Mulder," she said slowly, mental images of some of the stately Dunbarton homes she knew floating through her mind. The property values in Dunbarton were obscene, and a connected garage put a home into the mansion category in that area. Oh, God, please. Not one of those. Mulder wouldn't do that to her -- she hoped. Life among the old money families of Georgetown's Dunbarton was definitely not her style. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "No, no. Street parking only," he assured her hastily. "It's a four bedroom townhouse, two storeys, with a finished basement and a finished attic that can be used as a spare room. Kind of old, actually, but it's been taken care of. Hardwood floors. Modern plumbing. Central air." "You sound like a realtor," she smiled, relaxing a little. "When is it available? When can I see it?" "The guy moved out...." Mulder thought about the date. "Well, I guess he's moving out this weekend. The cleaning crew will be in on Wednesday, so we could go see it next weekend." "Always assuming we're not working," she sighed. "Yeah. Don't depress me, Scully." He looked at his watch. "It's getting late. We'd better get back to the hotel if we plan on getting up early enough to pack. And you still need to drink that stuff Miz Gabrielle gave me for you." Scully said nothing, just picked up her pace. She wasn't sure how she felt about what was going to happen. It was just easier to believe that she wasn't pregnant. She needed to hold onto that belief for her own sake. And she was glad that Mulder was with her; she remembered reading about these folk remedies, and what she had read didn't sound fun. ***** Mulder watched Scully drink down the glass of water with the little bottle of pungent potion mixed into it, per Miz Gabrielle's directions. Her involuntary shudder told him that it tasted as bad as it smelled, and her face became a little paler. "Uh uh, Scully. Don't think about the taste," he warned. "You think about it, you're going to get sick." "I think I'm going to get sick anyway," she mumbled, half getting up to start for the bathroom. "That's all the stuff we've got, remember. If you lose it, you end up with a D&C back in the States." Scully repressed a groan and sat back down on the bed again, fighting the nausea that the taste of the potion and the volume of water had provoked. She had to keep this down long enough for the taste to dissipate. Capping the bottle so no more of the noxious odor could escape, Mulder took it into the bathroom and put it in his shaving kit. If anything untoward happened, they might need an analysis of what Scully had taken. When he came back out, she was even paler, if possible, pacing up and down the room in a vain effort to outwalk the queasiness. She didn't seem to notice him, her attention taken up by more immediate problems. After a moment's thought, he went to the desk and turned his laptop on. He could finish up his report for Skinner, keep half an eye on Scully, and stay out of her hair at the same time. He could remember a few mornings after the nights before when he'd felt something similar to what Scully was experiencing, and he didn't think she would appreciate his hovering over her. Even when in the pink of health she didn't like it. After half an hour of typing and revising, typing and revising, and then more revising, he gave up. Scully was pacing like a caged animal at the zoo and he couldn't concentrate on a meaningless report while she went through this. Mulder got up and, after searching through a bureau drawer, pulled a sweatshirt on over his polo shirt and sat down on the bed to put on his running shoes. "Put some clothes on, Scully," he said, glancing up at the robe she was wearing. We're going out." "I don't want to go running," she protested. "I'm really not in the mood for it." "I'm not going running," he told her, picking up the extra blanket and looking it over critically. The hotel probably wouldn't approve, but he was taking it anyway. "We're going to go down to the beach. If you want to walk it off, at least you'll have better surroundings than a cramped hotel room." Scully dressed quickly, not saying anything. The thought of the soft night air off the ocean on her face was suddenly appealing. The beach was only two blocks away from the hotel, and when they got there, it was pretty much deserted. It wasn't overly large -- they could see from one end to the other. There was only one other couple down at the far end, but it was too dark to see exactly what they might be doing. Mulder ignored them, guiding Scully to the other end of the beach with a gesture. When he found a spot he liked, he unfolded the blanket and dropped it on the sand carelessly, stooping briefly to pick up the flashlight he'd folded in the middle. "Here," he said, handing the flashlight to her. "Don't trip over anything in the dark." She hesitated, looking down at the flashlight, automatically checking to see if it worked. "Do you...would you like to walk with me?" "I'd be glad to, but I get the feeling you'd rather be by yourself out there," he observed. "I'll stay here and keep an eye out in case you need me. Just let me know." Scully looked up at him wordlessly and nodded. She always needed him, she thought, unable to verbalize the feeling without making herself too vulnerable. She was no longer completely self-sufficient, completely in charge of her own life, in control of her own feelings. Reality was creeping up on her again, and flying back to D.C. tomorrow morning would mean re-entering the real world again -- this time as a married woman. Married to Mulder. And after being married to him, after making love with him, she couldn't tell him that she needed him? "It's okay," he said finally, looking down into her eyes. "I'll be here when you're ready." His mouth gently brushed the corner of hers before he turned her around and gave her a little push to start her off. He spread the blanket out and sat down to look for her. Scully was heading down to the water line and, when she reached it and the shallow waves reached lazily for her feet, she turned left and headed down the beach, her flashlight playing over the sand ahead of her as she avoided ocean debris and the occasional higher wave. Looking at the quiet movement of the water, he found his gaze drawn out to the horizon, and then slowly upward to look at the stars. There were so many more here than one could see at home. They were scattered across the heavens like jewels spread out on blue-black velvet. He'd looked at these same stars when Samantha had disappeared. Then he'd looked at them again from a mountaintop when Scully had been taken from him. She'd only been a little further away from him then than she felt right now. Something more than the queasiness was wrong with her, Mulder thought. He could feel a reserve in her, like she was holding something back from him. He shook his head slightly. Why couldn't she tell him what was wrong? Why couldn't she let him help? This had happened several times, and he'd never made sense out of it before either. Did she think that if she told him what was wrong that he'd try to fix it for her? Or try to protect her in some way? Scully had plenty of reason to think he might do either one, he told himself sardonically. He was a man. Too many other men had been misled by her outward appearance. She was a woman, she was pretty, she was young, and she was petite. Even though she was a highly-trained agent, a lot of men tended to forget that when they were in the field with her and a dangerous situation came up. He didn't forget it. Hell, he counted on it a lot of times. But she had long ago developed that cool, professional demeanor that kept people at arm's length. She made it plain that she wanted to do things for herself. She wanted to solve her own problems. She wanted to take care of herself. She didn't want or need to be sheltered or protected by anyone. But how could he make her believe that when he did want to take care of her, like now, that it wasn't because she was a woman, pretty, petite, etc. -- it was because she was who she was to him. Some of the things he'd done he wouldn't do for anyone else -- man or woman. Only her. Only Scully. And now she was shutting him out in order to solve her own problem again. He just hoped that the exile would be a temporary one. ***** The nausea was gone all of a sudden, like a balloon that popped unexpectedly. One moment it was there, the next moment it wasn't. Scully felt weariness rush in to take its place, and turned to walk slowly back up the beach to where she could see dimly Mulder in the light of the waning moon as it set. She knew from the dark outline of his body against the lighter blanket that he was half sitting up, apparently at ease, leaning on his elbows as he watched her, his long legs casually crossed at the ankle. He didn't have the appearance of a man who was worried, she smiled to herself tiredly, but she could feel it nonetheless. She had stopped wondering why almost two hours ago; she didn't have an answer and she was tired of the question. The tension that had held her for hours now was finally dissipating, and she realized that she was too tired to think clearly. But she had done nothing but think and walk since she got to the beach and she felt that time had been well- spent. Loving someone made you vulnerable. She remembered saying something like that to Mulder their first night here, before everything started happening. As with so many things, she had believed it without really having experienced it. She had never made herself vulnerable to another person. She had never given all of herself to a man. She had always held something back. Always. She had married Mulder. He was her husband now as well as her partner. She couldn't hold anything back from him anymore. Nothing. She had to believe that he wouldn't act differently toward her. Had to believe that he wouldn't become overly protective at work. Had to believe that he wouldn't betray their friendship that way -- betray her -- just because she was wearing his wedding ring. She did believe it, she realized suddenly. Mulder had never done anything to make her think that he would change. She knew him pretty well. He was a complicated person with a lot of visible contradictions that he presented deliberately as a type of defense mechanism. Although it had taken a while to get to know him, she thought she knew him better than anyone else. He tended to be emotionally solitary by choice, not by nature. Yet he had cared for her long before he had told her so with word or gesture. And his feeling for her hadn't gotten in the way of their working together. He led them both into danger without a visible qualm over and over again. He didn't trust easily. But he trusted her. He had absolute faith that she would be there when he needed her. He had told her things that he would never tell anyone else. He trusted her to take care of those secrets. And to tell him hers when she was ready. "Feeling better?" he wanted to know, sitting up as she stumbled up the shallow dune toward the blanket. "Not sick any more, at any rate. Just tired out," she smiled, sitting down beside him, reaching out for his hand. "Thanks." "I figure you've done about ten miles," he told her, lying down again and pulling her down with him. "You won't need the treadmill for a week." "I want to say that I'm sorry," she said, her cheek against his shoulder. "For what? "For holding back on you tonight when I should have been talking to you." Mulder was quiet for a moment. "When you went out for a while before dinner tonight, you went to church, didn't you." It wasn't a question. He knew. She nodded. "I wanted to think about what I was doing. I decided that it was the right thing. The only thing." "So what were you thinking about tonight, walking up and down the beach?" "Us," she said simply. "I didn't really have time to think much about it before the wedding, and I didn't want to think about it afterwards. I meant my vows when I made them, and I still mean them. But I needed to get some things straight in my own mind before we went home." "I wondered whether it might be something like that." He shifted his position, turning onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. "Do you know when I started trusting you, Scully? When I started loving you?" "No." "I don't either," he said bluntly. "I have no idea. But one day, I just knew that I did. I could try to come up with some times and dates, but I'd only be guessing. And I could try to come up with some reasons, but I wouldn't know why for sure. It didn't happen for me in one place at one time for one reason." "But, you --" "Let me finish. I know what's bugging you and why you're having such a problem with it. It's because you've always had a problem with it. But you can't take what you feel and analyze it to death. Scientific theory doesn't apply to something as subjective as emotions. You keep trying to think your way through this, Scully, but it won't work. You're just going to have to act on instinct and faith and feelings." She didn't say anything, not looking at him. His hand cupped her cheek, turning her face to look at him, his fingertips pushing through her soft, fine hair in a gentle caress. "Look at it this way, then. The building you're in right now is burning. It's too late to get out and everything's going to be gone pretty soon. You can hear someone yelling from outside, though. They want you to jump out a window. They say they'll catch you. Now, there's your problem, since you want to find your own solutions to things. You can either try to find a way out through the fire, or you can jump and hope that you'll be caught." "It would be a pretty emotional situation," she said slowly. He nodded, his thumb brushing across the traces of tears on her cheek. He had seen her crying as she walked near the water. "Not much time to think," he agreed. "Is it a long way to fall?" "Long enough," he whispered, his lips erasing the tracks of the tears on her face. "You have to trust that you'll be caught. Then you won't have to worry about the fire any more." Scully shut her eyes briefly as his mouth feathered across her lashes. "I've decided, then," she said at last. "I'm going to jump." He smiled down at her slowly. "Just trust me, Scully. I'll always be there to catch you," he promised. His mouth caressed hers, kindling a deep emotional response from within her without igniting a sexual passion that was, for the moment, out of place. Scully gave him back the response he was looking for, that she had been looking for, and finally committed herself to trusting him completely with her life -- not just to save her life -- but to take care of her life, the way she would care for his. Neither one would be independent any longer, she knew, but neither would they be dependent. Separate people, but one flesh. Their partnership would still be an equal one, but with new dimensions now. She shivered a little in his arms at the thought of the risk they were taking -- at the adventure they were beginning -- and he lifted his head, his breath warming her cheek as his lips parted from hers. "Are you cold? Do you want to go back to the hotel?" he asked, holding her a little closer to keep her warm. "No, I don't want to go back. Not yet." She stopped, looking at the gradually lightening sky, then continued. "The stars are disappearing. I'd like to stay here with you and watch the sun come up." A movement caught his eye for a moment, and he saw the other couple that had spent the night at the other end of the beach making their way up to the street, stopping in a pool of light at the beach entrance to shake out their blanket. Then Scully reclaimed his attention, rubbing her cheek against his chest, turning her face to touch her lips to his throat. There were still promises for Scully and him to seal with word and touch. ***** He held the blanket automatically as she shook her end, looking past her down the beach at the two oblivious people that lay entwined there, completely engrossed in each other. His eyes darkened nearly to black in the glare of the street light, before he looked down at the girl he was with. "It's almost dawn. Time to go in." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Transfers1/30/96 ++++++++++ SciNut(O'tay!) / XFF SciNut host EMXC "If the Truth is copyrighted... E-mail it! ********************** "The critical mind is the creative mind." -David Duchovny ********************** "Never believe anything until it's been officially denied." -Claud Cockburn(1904-1981) **********************