By fran58
fran58@fran58.net

Category: V
Rating: G
Feedback:  Of course <g> to fran58@fran58.net
Distribution: Wherever - just let me know.
Spoilers: Everything through The Truth
Disclaimer: Characters owned by Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox.
Summary: "No, no joke, son," he said.  The man's eyes
held a trace of amusement.  "You don't believe me, do
you?"

Author's Note: How many betas does it take to make a
story palatable?  Well, three, apparently, if you're me.
Thanks to addicted2fanfic, FabulousMonster and
MaybeAmanda for beta help.
Other stories:
http://www.fran58.net/authorspgs/fran58/stories.htm

To Nlynn and BoneTree, an imposing duo to sent a
story to.

This was written for the 2002 emuse Secret Santa fic
exchange.
 

Abstract Love

They hadn't had time to get used to love in its everyday
manifestations.  They were used to love in the abstract.
Grand gestures and wordless declarations had been their
strengths.  A perilous rescue at the snow-capped ends of
the earth; that's what they knew.

Even when unspoken fantasies became reality, they had
always had an escape.  He had his apartment, she had
hers.  Motel rooms were always separate.  The nightly
sharing of sheets and blankets without a reprieve was a
rude awakening.

He didn't understand the three different kinds of body
lotion.

She was tired of wading through his cast-off underwear on
her way to the bathroom every morning.

They were spending more days sitting in restaurants, not
talking, than either cared to think about.

~~~~~~~~~~

The café had been busy at noontime so the table was still
not cleared when they were seated at a booth in the
corner.  A plate consisting of leftover meatloaf and green
beans made her stomach protest.  She dropped a napkin
over it and pushed the mess to the end of the table.

"So, Scully, what looks good?  I'm thinking about having
the meatloaf special.  How about you?"

"Salad.  Maybe soup."

Mulder pursed his lips.  "You have to eat something more
than that.  We may not be stopping for hours after this."

Scully shrugged.  "I'm not very hungry, I guess."

"Why do I feel like I'm the mean parent here?"

"Mulder, you're nothing like a parent."

"Sure about that?"

"Positive."

He leaned across the table toward her, eyes gleaming.
"How?"

Scully furrowed her brow.  "How what?"

"How am I not like a parent?"

"Well," she let out slowly.  "For one thing, you've never
read ëMoby Dick' to me."

"Hmm."

"And my mother would never have urged me to pie before
a meal.  Not that you'd ever do *that*."

"Nooo, not me."  Mulder said, eyeing the dessert menu.

Sometimes, late at night, they would stop at one of those
places that was always open.  Sliding into a chair or booth,
bone-weary, Scully would scan the patrons.  Truckers,
salespeople, families.  Who brings the family to a Country
Kitchen at two in the morning? She wondered.  It boggled
her mind.  They were traveling, she supposed.

"...you want?"  Mulder was talking to her.

"What?  Oh ­ sorry."  The server stood at their table, order
pad in hand.  She looked at the boy in his blue polo shirt.
He looked back at her expectantly.  "Side salad and a bowl
of clam chowder," she said, quickly scanning the menu.

"What kind of dressing do you want?  Anything to drink?"

"No dressing, and coffee is fine."  She could feel Mulder
roll his eyes.

The boy nodded, stuck his pencil behind his ear and stode
back to the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~

It felt like she was slipping away.  Her thoughts and mind
were not with him.  They wandered, untethered, like their
present lives.  Mulder wanted to bring her back, to capture
her interest, but didn't know how.  He wondered if this were
something he never really knew how to do, or if he had lost
it somewhere on one of the county roads they traveled.
There were no cases to discuss, no pathology reports to
muse over, nothing to argue about except their next
destination.  And even that didn't matter much.

She sent notes to her mother.  He knew that.  Even though
they had agreed to cut all ties, she still sent messages.
Through whom, he didn't know for sure, but could guess.
In his darker moments, he wanted to call her on this.  But
deep down he knew that she needed to make contact with
her mother as much as her mother probably needed
contact from her.

~~~~~~~~~~

She began to doubt herself, too.  It shouldn't be this hard,
she thought.  Why hadn't it been this hard before? Before.
Before, they hadn't constantly shared rooms.  Before,
they'd had actual work to do.  Something real.  Now all
they had was an endless migration from place to place.

Mulder was insistent -- they had to keep moving.  He was
right, she knew, but still she longed for a moment to stop.
They needed a place to start again. With each other.  With
their work.  The work was important to both of them, she
knew.  She ached to return to a useful existence.  But
mostly, she ached for stillness, for a chance to let out a
breath.  For a chance to exhale and look at the man
beside her with fresh eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder thought they needed a change.  They had driven
past a promising bed and breakfast in North Dakota...

They hadn't felt comfortable stopping just then, however.
A brush with local law enforcement had made them
uneasy.  They had been pulled over by a squad car on
Highway 99.  The helpful deputy had told them that their
back tire looked a bit low.

Maybe some fall color would be good for them, he thought.
So they drove to Minnesota and looked at the foliage.
Scully had reminisced about long-ago family camping trips.
His memories weren't quite as heart-warming.  It was the
most significant conversation they'd had in weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

She stood outside, letting the breeze push back her now
short hair.  It had a polar bite.  From her position near the
bow of the ferry, the town emerging from the bank of fog
didn't look any different than dozens of others that they
had stopped in.  Concrete, Minnesota, population 532.  Or
had they crossed over into Wisconsin?  They had boarded
a ferry and come to the tiny island town on a whim.  She
dimly remembered something about crossing a border...
She hadn't been paying attention.  Not like her.  She pulled
the ticket stub from her pocket.  No help there.  It simply
read: Concrete Harbor, Isle of Concrete.

The ferry bobbed its way to the dock, bumping gently
against the moorings.  Just when she was getting her sea
legs, she thought wryly.  Unlike the other ferry customers,
she and Mulder had no vehicle.  More correctly, she and
Mulder had dumped the vehicle they had been using for
the past three days before deciding to spend a few days
on the island.

The ferry docked.  She and Mulder were let off first.  The
ground felt odd underneath her feet, almost as if is was
undulating as the water had.  Scully frowned.  She hadn't
been on the boat long enough to feel its effects on land.

Mulder tugged on her sleeve.  "Check it out."  He nodded
towards a row of buildings.  "Coffee, hot chocolate, tea.  I
could go for something warm.  You?"

"Yeah, sure."  She glanced around.  The fog was thicker
here than on the inlet they had crossed.  "Mulder, have you
noticed that the fog is worse here?"

"Yeah," he shrugged.  "And...?"

"And usually, it's the other way around.  The mist hangs
heaviest near the water.  Not inland."

"I would hardly call this inland, Scully.  We're fifteen feet
from the dock.  Besides, look at it as a bonus.  We're
harder to spot in the fog."  He steered her towards the
entrance of the coffee shop.

Inside, they were welcomed with the smell of spices
mingled with coffee.  The interior was rustic, but
comfortable.  Mulder rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Mmm, look, Scully.  Apple fritters, my favorite."  His mouth
curled up.  He looked just a bit scruffy with his hair that fell
well below his collar and two days growth of beard.  He
rarely shaved completely anymore.  At first, she hadn't
liked it much, but the look had grown on her.

Scully trailed her hand along the glass-enclosed case
displaying baked goods.  She stopped at the end.  "And
look, peach cobbler.  Your other favorite," she said.

"Really?"  His voice held such a note of delight she had to
smile.

"Yes, really."

"Well, I will admit that they have an amazing selection
here.  I wonder how anyone could possibly make all this?  I
wonder who buys it all?"  She continued to peruse the
selections, then stopped short.  "Oh, My God.  They have
dark chocolate cheesecake.  No one makes that."

"Well, someone must," Mulder smiled.  "Here it is."

"No, Mulder.  I mean it.  I have an aunt who makes this.
It's absolutely wonderful, but it's her own recipe."

"Maybe it isn't as big a secret as you think.  Maybe your
aunt got the recipe out of some magazine."

"Maybe."  But she doubted it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The fritters had been perfect, as had the coffee.  Mulder
laid back on the bed and ran a hand over his stomach.  A
few more days here and it won't be so flat anymore, he
thought.   He glanced at the nightstand where another
fritter lie in wait.  He could almost taste it from his splayed
position on the bed.  Hell, his stomach wasn't as flat as it
used to be anyway.  Mulder rolled over and snagged the
fritter just as the door snicked open.

"Good walk, Scully?"  She had been doing that lately.
Walking a lot.  Sometimes he thought it was to escape
him.  Especially when they were stuck in some strip mall
motel and there really was nowhere to walk.

"Yes, actually.  Very good."  A little frown crossed her face
and she dropped down on the bed next to Mulder.  "Almost
too good.  I could swear that the water here smells like the
ocean.  But that's not possible."  She eyed the pastry in
Mulder's hand.  "Could I persuade you to split that?"

Gratified, Mulder broke it in half and handed a piece to
Scully.  It was good to see her appetite returning.

"I talked to one of the other guests.  He was from Ontario.
Seemed to think that we're in Canada.  How do you figure
that?"  She asked around a mouthful of fritter.

"Bad at geography?"

"You know, as we were coming across, I thought I heard
someone say something about crossing a border."

"I think that if we were actually going into the Great White
North, there would be more red tape."

"Yeah, probably."  Her voice held a note of curious
reluctance.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been four days and no one had looked sideways at
them.  Still, it was time to move on.  The air held a
determined chill and that damn Jack Frost was really busy
nipping, Mulder thought.  He pushed the heavy oak door
that led to a small book store.  The woman at the front
desk of the Inn at which they were staying had told Mulder
ëThe Book Nook' was the place to get information on the
ferry schedule.  It ran sporadically this time of year, she
explained.

The shop was warm and smelled not unpleasantly of
paper, old leather, and tobacco.  The elderly man who sat
behind the scarred wooden desk had a pipe clenched
between his teeth.  An old cash register teetered on the
edge.  He glanced over his paper as Mulder approached,
his eyes partially hidden by his bushy white eyebrows.

"Help you?"

"Yeah, the woman at the inn said you could tell me when
the ferry would be coming next."

"I could."  The man rattled his paper.

"Ah, okay, then the ferry would be coming..."

The man scratched his beard with one pudgy hand.  "Oh,
about April, I'd say.  March, if we're lucky."

Mulder laughed.  "Right.  April.  No, seriously."

The man looked over his paper at him again.  "Oh, I am
serious, young man.  Waters froze over.  No ferries ëtil the
spring thaw."

"Okaaay.  What about snow mobile?  Over the ice?  Zoom-
zoom?"

"Wouldn't recommend it, or walking either."

"Because..."  Mulder's irritation rose.

"Well, mechanical things don't work too well around here in
the winter.  Engines stop, gas runs out.  That sort of thing.
And walking..."  The man shook his head.  "Walking,
people tend to get lost, disoriented.  Plus, it's a mighty
long, cold way to the Harbor Point from here."

"Uh-huh."

"God's honest truth."

Not willing to give up, Mulder pushed on.  "But how can
that channel freeze over in just one night?  That's a pretty
big body of water.  I was down at the dock yesterday.  It
was fine."  This had to be a joke.

"No, no joke, son," he said as if reading Mulder's mind.
"It's frozen.  Go take a look yourself if you don't believe
me."  The man's eyes held a trace of amusement.  "You
don't believe me, do you?"

"Well, actually, no.  I don't believe you."

The man harrumphed.  "That's what I thought."  He waved
a hand toward the door.  "Funny thing, you not believing.
Ironic, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder frowned.  "How would you..."

The old man shook his head.  "Best not to ask what you
really don't want to know."

The man suddenly rose from his chair.  "Sorry, gotta get
that," he said and strode to the back of the shop as the
phone began ringing.

Confused, Mulder blinked.  He hadn't heard the phone
ring.  He gave his head a quick shake.  Must be from all
that loud music in high school.  Why the hell would anyone
keep a phone way in the stock room or whatever was back
there, anyway?  Why not up front like a normal person?

Whatever.  Mulder pushed out the door welcoming the
blast of air.  Frigid air.  Yeah, okay, so it *was* cold.  He
still didn't see how anything could freeze overnight.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't know, Scully, it's the damnedest thing.  The ice is
completely solid.  I chipped down quite a ways and didn't
see any moving water."  The bed squeaked slightly under
Mulder's weight.

Alarmed, Scully turned from the desk where she had been
typing on a laptop and looked at him.  "You walked out on
the ice?  What were you thinking?  It can't have been thick
enough for that!  You could have fallen in."

Mulder shook his head.  "I'm telling you, Scully.  It's solid.
It's weird, but true."  He flopped back on the bed.  "Looks
like we're stuck for a while."

"Unless we walk across the ice to the mainland."  She said.

Mulder sat up, startled.  "We can't do that.  The guy said it
wouldn't work.  Snowmobile is out, too."

Scully pursed her lips.  "Hmm.  I suppose that all the
snowmobiles break down halfway back to the mainland,
huh?"

Muttering, Mulder said, "Something like that."

He looked so contrite that her lips twitched up into a brief
smile.  "On a more serious note, the phones seem to be
acting up.  The one here doesn't work at all, and the one at
the main desk is only working sporadically, so I'm told."

"Been making nice with the locals, Scully?"

She shrugged.  "Judy is nice.  I got bored.  She's
interesting to talk to.  Did you know that she was a medic
during the conflict in Korea?"

"Really.  Did she know Colonel Potter?"

"Funny, Mulder."

"Radar O'Reilly?"

Scully ignored him.  "So, we're stuck here for the winter,
huh?  You'd think that somebody would have warned us
about the possible lightening-fast freeze over.  What are
we going to do for money?  We have to stay somewhere..."
Her voice trailed off in a note of frustration as her eyes
traveled around the room.  "We couldn't afford this for the
whole winter.  We don't have any way to let anyone know
that we need funds."

"Well, yours truly already thought of that.  I stopped by and
talked with your new friend."  Mulder said, sounded smug.
"She said not to worry about it."

"What, they're just going to let us stay here all winter for
free?"  She couldn't keep the suspicion out of her voice.

"Just until we can lay our hands on some cash.  I told her
that I would need to contact someone, but as you pointed
out, the phones are down.  They have a dial-up, here and
at the library, so e-mail isn't an option either."

"That seems awful trusting of her.  There isn't an internet
café or something?"

"I don't know, Scully, I'm just repeating what she said.
She's *your* friend, after all.  Said this sort of thing
happened all the time on the Isle of Concrete."

A row of lines spread across Scully's forehead.  "If the ferry
can't come here, and you can't run a snowmobile, and
nothing can go out, how does the postal service get the
mail here?"

Mulder cleared his throat.  "Uh, well, I asked about that,
too.  Air drop."

"Air drop?  A plane drops mail from the sky?"

"Some woman in a helicopter from the mainland, actually."

"So, the postal workers here just sit around waiting for this
helicopter to fly over head and drop down the mail."

"Mmm, not exactly.  There aren't any federal postal
workers here.  Apparently, there isn't a post office.  The
helicopter just, well, the helicopter drops the mail near the
book shop and the guy there takes care of it.  People just
go to the bookshop to see if they've got anything.."

"And if anyone has anything to mail out...?"  Her voice held
a trace of wariness.

Mulder pursed his lips and cleared his throat again.  "Well,
it seems that the bookstore guy, he puts it all into a box,
and..."

"...the helicopter picks it up."  Scully finished for him.

Mulder nodded.

"I don't suppose we could catch a ride on the helicopter."

Mulder shook his head.  "Uh, it never lands, actually.  Just
drops a line."

"Oh for the love of... how do they pay their postage and..."
She stopped herself and put her hand to her temple.
"Never mind.  Why do I have this feeling that if I were
alone, this would be just another normal town?"

"Are you insinuating that I have something to do with this?"
Mulder took on a look of pained innocence and flopped
back down on the bed.

"If the shoe fits, Mulder..."

Mulder propped himself up onto one elbow.  "I seem to
recall a couple of not-so-normal things happening to a
certain agent when she was well out of her partner's
sphere of influence.  Jesus slugs, man-bats, butt-genies..."

"Fine," she sighed.  "Fine, you win.  Move over, my head
hurts."  She nudged Mulder over with her hip.  "I think I
need to lay down."

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, my advice to you is to sit tight and enjoy our
hospitality."  Judy's fingers flew over the adding machine
buttons.

Scully frowned.  "How come you aren't using the computer
for that?"

Judy shrugged.  "This is just as fast for me.  My niece likes
to go online, but the connection... well, you never know if it
will work or not."

"Uh-huh"

"You know, it's a funny thing," Judy mused.  "We must be
in some sort of geographically strange location.  USGS
claims to not be able to find us sometimes."

"And why would the United States Geological Survey want
to find you?"

"Oh, you know.  Maps, whatever."  She sounded
unconcerned.  "They do fly-overs and the equipment gets
messed up, and they get all concerned.  Like without them
establishing visual aerial contact, we don't exist."  She
pulled a stubby pencil from behind one ear and began
checking numbers off.  "We manage to muddle through
just fine, thank you."

"But Mulder told me that someone from the mainland
drops mail off here..."

Judy shrugged.  "Yeah, go figure, hey?  The folks in
Harbor Point manage to find us just fine."

A small, strangled sound escaped Scully's throat.

Judy looked up at her.  "So, what exactly is bothering
you?"

"Well, this whole water freezing over so quickly for one
thing."

"Oh, don't ask me to explain it.  Happens every year.
Didn't the ferry operator tell you?  He's supposed to warn
people when they come over this time of year."

Scully shook her head.

"Well, it'll all work out.  Just wait.  It always does.  Weren't
you saying that you wanted some down time anyhow?  So
you and the hubby can get reacquainted, so to speak?"

Scully's brow wrinkled.  "I said that?"  When would she
have revealed such personal information to this woman?

"You must've.  Otherwise, how would I know?"  Looking
up, she patted Scully's hand.  "Don't fret.  It'll all work out."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Then she told me the strangest story about how she was
forced to abandon her daughter.  This was before she
went to Korea.  And how, after seventeen years, she
opened her front door one day and there she was."
Scully's voice was sandpaper rough.

"Her daughter?"  Mulder leaned in close, watching Scully
intently.

"Yeah, her daughter."  She pushed away from the room's
desk.  Her hand went to her forehead.  "I'm sorry," she
mumbled.

"For what, Scully?  For telling me that story?"

"She threw me, telling me that."  In one quick movement,
she bent to retrieve her jacket from the bed.  "I'll be back.
I'm going for a walk."

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder paused outside the heavy maple door.  The bag
crinkled in his hand as he juggled it and his room key.

The evening light slanted in through the window causing
the air to shimmer gold.  Scully lay in bed, covers pulled to
her chin, apparently asleep.  Mulder sighed.  He had
hoped that she had snapped out of her fugue.

Her form stirred slightly as he closed the door with a
muffled thump.  "Hey, hi," her voice wisped across the
room.  She pushed up, hair awry.

"Hi," he said softly.  She looked good, he thought.  Sleepy,
but not unhappy.  Her face was relaxed, and he could have
sworn she had put on two or three pounds in the short time
they had been in Concrete.  He hoped so.  "Think you
have room for me in there?"

Scully eyed the bag dangling in Mulder's hand.  "Maybe.
Been to the café's bakery?"

"Yes..."  He shook the bag gently.  "Hear that?"

"It better be saying that you got enough for both of us."

"It might be.  I sure could use a place to lay my head down
before I do any translating."

"No cookie, no nookie," she said smiling.  "What's in the
bag?"

Mulder grinned.  "Why, I believe it just may contain at least
one double chocolate chip cookie.  Possibly two.  And an
apple fritter.  And a piece of dark chocolate cheesecake."

"Okay, you're in."  She scooted to one side and pushed the
covers back for him.  Mulder sat down on the side of the
bed.

"You seem to be in good spirits.  Your walk must have
done some good."  He pulled a cookie from the bag, broke
it in half and offered it to Scully.

"Mmm, I decided to just let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak."
She said around a mouthful of cookie.

"Best thing," he agreed.  "They bark less when they're
asleep."  He shifted on the bed and caught her hand in his.
"You know, I'd give anything to be able to make this whole
mess disappear, don't you?"

"I know, Mulder.  It's not your fault.  I'm just having some
trouble adjusting.  I'll get used to it."  She turned to face the
window.  "Believe it or not, places like this -- for me, they
affirm what we are doing.  I can't help anyone if I'm sitting
in a prison; neither can you."  She twisted around to look at
Mulder.  "Does that make sense to you?"

"Perfect sense."

"So you're okay with just sitting tight a while?"

"Yeah," Mulder said.  "I've been thinking about that.  It
might give us a chance to re-group and slow down.  We
haven't really discussed what our next move should be.
This would give us time."

Surprised and pleased, Scully said, "Yes, time.  We'll need
a more or less permanent location ­ something ­ if we're
going to have the facilities to be useful in any way."

"I've been thinking about that too, Scully.  What about a
RV?  Think it would be too obvious?"

Scully's mouth twitched.  "A Winnebago, Mulder?  Are you
harboring secret fantasies I should know about?"

With a sigh, Mulder dropped back onto the bed.  "No.  I
think you've got them all figured out."

"Ah, well, all right then.  And seriously?  I think your idea
could work.  I was thinking the same thing myself."

"Really?"  He lifted his head in surprise.

"Really."  She lay hers down next to him.

"Well, you know what they say, Scully.  Great minds think
alike."

"And ours, too, Mulder."

End