RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: SRA
SPOILERS: 1st Season.
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, Scullyangst, Mulderangst,
Muldertorture.

SUMMARY: Angst (of course), developing M/S relationship. Occurs
towards the middle of the first season. This story can be read
separate from the rest my REVELATIONS series but most closely
follows The Box and precedes The Abductee (explaining where that
aluminum oxide on Mulder's nose came from). There is even a tiny
bit of foreshadowing of the seventh season here.

ARCHIVING: Anywhere with permission and as long as the author's
name is retained.

DISCLAIMER: Rats! No, the X-Files and the characters of
Fox Mulder and Dana Scull do not belong to me.

BACKGROUND: At the end of The Box, A.D. Skinner bestows on our two
intrepid agents two round trip airline tickets for anywhere in the
continental United States and an extra day of leave. Where will
they go? You can bet they'll go together and that things will not
be smooth sailing. There's an X-File in this one, gang!

Author's Notes: Although, chronologically, this is the 3rd part of
my REVELATIONS series it is being written 8th. Yes, the series is
finally over. The other parts of the series (many award winners)
can be found on Gossamer under 'Esty, Sue'. I have lots of other
work as well there with my newer pieces at
http://members.aol.com/windsinger.

REVELATIONS 1: THE VACATION (1/17)

Chapter 1

     Home never looked so good. In fact it looked so good that for
the first time in months Dana didn't even think of the visit Tooms
had paid there. With luck he would be the first, and last, of their
suspects to drop by. Before she had even fully bolted the apartment
door Dana had unbuttoned four buttons on her blouse. Finally! A
shower! Carefully, she draped her suit coat on the back of a chair.
She didn't know why she had bothered. The coat and skirt were
ripped and snagged from all of her and Mulder's gyrations in their
cramped cubical prison. There were also a fair number of oil spots
because she had taken it off in the empty oil tank before her leap
into the access tunnel. The cleaner she used did wonders but this
may be a lost cause. Dana sighed. It had been one of her favorite
suits.

     After ridding herself of the coat, the rest barely mattered.
She left of trail of ruined shoes, shredded stockings, torn blouse,
ripped slip and a surprisingly intact bra on her way to the
bathroom.

     Bath... Hot bath... Bubble bath... repeated itself like a
mantra through her mind. As the tub filled, she detoured once
through the kitchen for a beer and a package of gourmet 'Crackers
for Cheese'. As an afterthought she picked up her phone with its
fifty feet of cord and carried that into the bathroom as well. She
had a feeling she was going to need it.

     Before the mirror above the sink could completely fog, she
stared at herself and sighed again. Not very good but she dared
another woman her age to look this good after a week of camping in
a hurricane and then after what they had just been through today.
At least the drugs she had written herself a prescription for the
minute she had landed in civilization had finally taken effect. The
blotches from her allergic reaction to the bite of Mulder's tiny
green bugs were nearly invisible.

     Now, did she have everything? Neck pillow, Rockmatinoff
playing on her favorite classical station. The tab on the beer was
up, crackers open. Yes! With an blissful groan she settled herself
in the tub, sliding down till the fragrant bubbles were up to her
chin.

     Slowly, she counted to twenty. Brow furrowed, she counted to
twenty again. On the third time around when she reached 'thirteen'
the phone rang.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Mulder arrived at his small, no-frills apartment in Alexandria
to find a small mound of newspapers outside his door. His aquarium
was so croaked with algae that it took more than five minutes for
him to determine if anything still lived. Obviously, the algae
eaters had met their demise. Other than a couple of electric gobi's
that he found struggling valiantly through the green gunk nothing
moved.

     With more of a grunt than a sigh he dropped down on to his
couch... and sat there ... and then he sat some more. It was so
quiet, so empty. Restless, he stood. His calves and left shoulder
murmured in revolt. He should be tired -- he WAS tired -- but as
always the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. There be dragons.
More than that there was just too much to think about and a round-
trip airline ticket burning a hole in his pocket.

     And no one to celebrate with.

     As with so many times in the past few months, he found himself
immediately wondering what Scully would do. It never occurred to
him to call anyone else.
 
 

     "So where do we go?" he asked.

     "Mulder?"

     "Sorry. Yes, it's me."

     "So what took you so long?"

     "What?" Mulder stared at the phone as if not certain which
conversation he had just started in the middle of.

     "Where are you, Mulder?"

     "In the bathtub."

     "In the bathtub? Mulder, I've seen your bathtub. You could
live and take a shower there. A bath? Never."

     "I cleaned it."

     "Ah, that explains the extra forty seconds."

     "Huh?"

     "Never mind, Mulder," came the weary response. "Why don't we
just start at the top."

     "Fine with me. So where do we go?"

     "That's the place," Dana confirmed.

     "Where's the place? That's what I want to know."

     "Don't start with me, Mulder. I ache, I itch. I'm exhausted.
My hair's a disaster and I'm bruised in places I didn't even know
I had places and after eight months tearing around after you I
didn't think that was possible."

     "Which is why you're taking a bath."

     "I thought YOU were the one taking a bath."

     "I am, but so are you."

     On her end of the line, Dana reached for another of the
crackers that were rapidly wilting in the steam. "How did you
know?"

     "We've been nearly co-habitating at an average of three nights
a week for the last eight months, Agent Scully, and those motel
room walls are thin. It's what you always do after I've drug you
through hell and back. How did you know I'd call?"

     "It's what YOU always do."

     A sloshing sound came from the Mulder's end of the line. "I
don't know how you can find baths relaxing. If I slouch down so my
shoulders are covered my knees get cold. If my legs are warm there
is a significant part of the rest of me that isn't."

     "Funny thing, Mulder," Dana said as she stretched out nearly
full length under the bubbles, "I don't seem to have that problem."

     Incredibly, Dana heard a chuckle. Well, it was more like a
sputter but that would have to do.

     "Mulder, why did you call?"

     "I thought you knew I would?"

     Sigh. "Mulder, WHY did you call?"

     "Agent Scully, even after what we've been through these last
few weeks would you possibly consider taking another little trip
with me?"

     There was a significant pause as Dana's crackers grew soggier.
"You mean together?" she asked.

     "Scully, a vacation isn't any fun alone." Dana felt a pang in
the pit of her stomach. He was right there. She had taken a
vacation alone once. It was fun... for about a day. Now she had
this ticket from Skinner. She had been thinking about calling her
sister, Melissa, or an old school friend or even her mother, but
who knew where Melissa was. Besides, Dana was not altogether
certain that she had any old school friends left. She'd dropped out
of the social scene even before taking up with Fox Mulder. And her
mother? Margaret Scully was a very cool person but no twenty-six-
year-old woman should need to take a vacation with her mother.

     "Scully? If you already have plans..." His voice trailed off.

     "I'm thinking, Mulder." This could get complicated. She should
say she did even though she clearly did not. The sad, slightly
pathetic tone in Mulder's voice, however, gave her pause.

     Why do I just know that I'm going to regret this in the
morning? she asked herself.

     "No, Mulder, I haven't made any plans. We've had the tickets
for what? Ninety minutes?"

     "And only eighty-two hours left before we have to report to
work on Monday."

     All too true. "Not that I'm agreeing to this, Mulder, but
where do you go to get away?"

     Sounds of munching. Mulder must have fixed himself something
to eat, too, but Dana didn't want to think of what that could
possibly be or how old. "Never thought about it," he said finally,
the words somewhat muffled. "I've never taken what other people
usually refer to as a vacation, not a real one.  Not since I was
about ten and those weren't much fun."

     Knowing at least some of Mulder's history, Dana had a feeling
that family togetherness had not been one of the high points of
Mulder's formative years. "But certainly once you left home, since
you've been an adult?" Or were 'adult' and 'Mulder' mutually
exclusive.

     "Never really took any. Just back and forth to Oxford from
home during college and I've traveled enough for the FBI since that
I never felt the need."

     "You never went anywhere just for fun?"

     "A few MUFON conventions before I became too recognizable."

     Oh, that sounded exciting. Dana decided she was not even going
to ask what a bunch of UFO enthusiasts did at conventions or where
they met for that matter. "What do you do on the weekends or during
the holidays?" She was embarrassed that she'd never asked before.

     "A few games of one-on-one when I can find them, swim a few
laps, go for a run, hit the target range. Other than that I usually
spend most of the time on my couch."

     Through Thanksgiving and Christmas, too, no doubt. Dana knew
she was going to have to do something about that. For now, though,
she had more immediate concerns. The longer they talked the more
hopeful Mulder's voice had begun to sound. He could be such a
little kid sometimes, silly and outrageous and like a little kid it
would probably break his heart if she refused to go with him.
Besides, it might just be fun.

     "Mulder, this morning we hated each other."

     "True. But we won't be working together, just hanging out
together."

     Clearly that was supposed to make a difference but the logic
escaped Dana somehow. Maybe it was because she was just so tired.

     "You could visit your parents," she suggested.

     Dead silence. Exactly how she felt about taking a trip with
her mother only more so.

     So how different was her life from Mulder's really? Not a lot.
When she had first crawled into the tub and begun thinking about it
she had found few enough options of her own.

     "All right, Mulder," she said with infinite patience. "All
right."

     "'All right' what?"

     "I'll go with you."

     "You will?" From the sound of his voice, Dana had just
bestowed on her partner a mild shock.

     Damn, I could have gotten out of it after all, Dana though.

     The sound of violently sloshing water came over the receiver.
He must have stood up... in his tub... the soapy water draining off
those lean muscles. Dana's hands were suddenly so slick with sweat
that she almost dropped her own phone.

     "I'll pack and be right over," he promised.

     "Mulder, now?"

     "We only have eighty-one hours and fifty minutes."

     "But I'm exhausted."

     "You can sleep on the plane. While I drive over, why don't you
get on line and find out which cities this airline flies into that
have red eye flights tonight."

     "Mulder, wait --"

     "What?"

     "Have you finished your bath yet?" Silence. "Forget the bath.
Shower, Mulder. You know, water, soap, shampoo, more soap, more
water --"

     "I know how to take a shower."

     "Not a shower, Mulder -- three showers. Three. One before you
do another thing. One before you pack and one after you pack. Got
that?"

     Pause. "Got it."

     "I don't want to smell a whiff of 'eau de skunk' drifting over
towards me from the aisle seat."

     Petulantly, "Got it."

     "And, Mulder..."

     "Yes?"

     "Don't pack more than one pair of long pants. We are talking
serious warmth here or you can go alone."

     "No trips to Devil's Tower, Wyoming?"

     "No, not even to Roswell, New Mexico."

     "Scully, it's warm in New Mexico."

     Warmer than you think, Mulder. Oh, she could tell he had that
one in mind. She sensed the disappointment just in the way he
breathed.

     "No UFO hot spots, Mulder. No weird stuff. I need a rest, a
break. A nice normal vacation like other people have."

     "Won't that be boring?"

     "With you along, Mulder? I seriously doubt it."

                         * * * * * * * *

     Ah, the familiarity of the vibration of a jet engine in
flight. Like airport waiting areas, it usually took Mulder a few
moments after phasing back into consciousness to remember where he
was, where he had been, and where he was going. A glance down to
see that he was wearing his favorite pair of comfortable jeans and
a cream-colored cableknit sweater instead of his required FBI
traveling costume was enough to jar him into full wakefulness.
Across from him in the window seat and a good deal of the middle
seat, Scully slept curled in a position he could not have achieved
in a thousand years. Her slacks, long tunic top and low-heeled
casual boots also told him just as clearly as his own clothing that
this was not a normal business trip. Within fifteen minutes they
would begin their descent into Miami. By five a.m, they would be
landing in Key West.

     Surprisingly, Scully had been as reluctant as he to head for
the night life in the big cities. Because of their weather, New
York and Boston had been cut off her list before he even arrived.
Los Angeles and even Las Vegas soon followed.

     "There's an eleven p.m. flight to Miami," he had suggested as
they studied the flight list Scully had printed.

     "Florida, Mulder? You must be kidding. We just came from there
yesterday morning." Had it only been yesterday? "They'll still be
scooping the mud and sand from the hurricane up by the shovelfuls."

     "The hurricane hit the Gulf coast, not the Atlantic. Miami
barely got a strong breeze."

     For the first time since he had descended on her apartment,
duffel bag in hand, Scully's face had brightened. A closer
examination of the schedule followed. "There's a notation here that
there's an pre-dawn shuttle from Miami to Key West. By sunrise we
could be wiggling our toes in the sand. No high prices, no fancy
hotels, no need to dress up. Just Pina Colada's and lounge chairs
in the sun. No hassles."

     Mulder remembered that he had been so relieved at the thought
that he could leave even his single suit coat behind that he had
jumped to the telephone to check on weather conditions for the next
three days. If he wanted to live, there had better be not even the
slightest hint of a tropical storm within five hundred miles. There
wasn't. Just beautiful fair weather with the normal chance of the
afternoon thundershower which was siesta time anyway. No problem
then.

     No problem...

     Hours later as he woke from his two hours of dead sleep,
Mulder began to see things differently. What had he been thinking?
The friction that had developed in the Everglades between he and
Scully had disturbed him profoundly. Even more troubling had been
the intensity of the relief he had felt when they had managed to
patch things up during their time of forced togetherness in the
packing crate. Their division had worried him more than it should.
Intellectually, he knew that all people who live and work closely
with each other have these moments. 'We are all of us human.' So
why had their estrangement upset him so? He also found himself
worrying about exactly how well their adventure of earlier in the
day had repaired that rift. He knew this was the argument he had
made to himself when he had suggested their taking this get-away
together. If any more mending were required, reconciliation had
best begin sooner rather than later.

     Had there been other reasons, deeper reasons, for why he had
wanted to be with her and only her? Over the months it had become
clear that they were much more than mere partners. They had become
friends. Certainly, she was his best friend though he had not had
the nerve to ask if she felt a similar bond. All he knew for
certain was that the idea of going off on an adventure without her
bright mind and dry wit to share the experience with had been
inconceivable.

     In his haste, however, Mulder had neglected to consider a few
small, critical details.

     Scully shifted in her seat somehow ending up with her gleaming
red head resting on his shoulder. He could still smell the shampoo
she had used only hours before. A place cold and lifeless inside
him was suddenly surprisingly warm and full and alive. Frightening.

     Yes, there was that little detail he'd forgotten or his
subconscious had simply chosen to forget. Just as Scully -- as Dana
-- had never come onto him as a woman so he had never come onto her
as a man. So here they were: a healthy male and female who were too
consumed -- and sometimes just too damned busy fighting for their
lives -- to think about sex much less engage in it. But there would
be no danger this weekend, no case. Not partners but friends. A man
and a woman and neither of had been out on a date in months.

     Oh, shit, what have I done?

     Suddenly, the cabin noise increased as the 747 began to
descend. The warm body that had snuggled up against him stirred
into wakefulness. This time she moved quickly back into her own
window seat as she realized exactly where she had been sleeping.

     "Sorry," Dana said, instinctively tending to her tousled hair.

     "Not a problem. Have a good sleep?"

     "Half of a good sleep but about all I'll get until we check
into a motel."

     'When WE check into a motel'? Had she meant those exact words?
Shouldn't she have said 'Until I can get checked into a motel'?

     For the next few minutes while Mulder did his best to stuff
certain completely unfounded fantasies back into his subconscious
where they belonged, Dana began stowing the magazine and book she
had brought. That, of course, meant having to find the daypack that
she was using as a purse. She had kicked it under the seat in front
of her as she slept.

     "Scully."

     "Hmmmm?"

     "Have you considered whether the Bureau is going to have
trouble with this?"

     "Thanks. From the moment you asked. Didn't you?"

     With a long arm he snagged the daypack. "Not as completely as
I should have." He didn't dare tell her that for long stretches of
time he tended to forget she was a woman. Depending upon the mood
she was in, she would either congratulate him for his lack of male
chauvinism or kill him. It wasn't worth the risk to find out what
response he'd receive at this particular moment.

     "Mulder, we travel together all the time and they haven't got
anything on us yet."

     "True," he agreed.

     "That's because there isn't anything to find."

     Mulder stretched a cramped leg into the aisle. Now there was
a truly depressing thought.

     "And don't forget," Dana continued, "that we just passed one
of the most difficult tests the military could come up with. I
assumed that you'd decided that we were about as safe from the
rumor mongers now as we ever would be." Perplexed, she studied her
partner's pensive profile. "That was your thinking, wasn't it?"

     Mulder was saved from answering by the arrival of the flight
steward reminding them to raise their tray tables and bring their
chairs back to their upright sitting positions. They would be
landing soon.

     "Is there something wrong, Mulder?" Dana asked as the lights
of Miami rose up before them.

     Trouble? No, not yet. Just that even if nothing happened this
was the kind of ammunition a few bruised egos needed in order to
reel him in, shut down the X-Files and send him back to Violent
Crimes. At the very least, they could have Scully reassigned.

     'Even if nothing happened?' Where had that come from? Was
something likely to? Did he want it to? That head on his shoulder.
The empty place her warmth had so easily filled.

     Wheels hit tarmac and the massive machine went into break
mode. Scully's fingers instinctively clutched at her arm rests
waiting for the disaster that might happen if they didn't stop; so
did his. Chances were nothing would happen.

     But someday it might.

End of Chapter 1

~~~

Chapter 2

     The drone of the road moving under wheels put some people to
sleep but not Mulder. Besides, he wasn't a good passenger even
after all these months of their working together. During their long
hours in the car, there were times when he let her drive. He
usually pretended sleep. At least it gave him a chance to rest his
eyes while he went over the facts of whatever case on which they
were working. Scully was driving now because, she reasoned, she had
slept relatively well on the plane and assumed he had not. She was
right about that. The problem was there was no case to think about,
just more about how this trip may not have been such a good idea.
On the other hand, she was playing classical music on the rental
car's radio. Now THAT put him to sleep. At least she had the stereo
turned to use the front speakers only. At the airport Scully had
insisted that he stretch out in the back to be more comfortable. He
must mention to her sometime that when you are six feet plus,
'stretching' out in the back seat of a mid-sized car did not go
along with any definition of 'stretching' he was familiar with. On
the other hand, he was tired. Maybe he could catch a few minutes at
that.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

     He was cold. Oh, so cold. The mattress was lumpy and the
blanket just a scrap of a rag. How could anyone be expected to
sleep? There was his uncle's snoring. There was also the reek of
old urine, tobacco and whisky on the old man. It mixed poorly with
the musty swamp smell of the straw mattress that had not been
changed for months, maybe years. It was bad enough that he had to
sleep in the same room as the old buzzard, his dead mother's uncle,
but in the same bed was torture.

     "There's only one bed, you idiot," the old man had grumbled.
"And we got to keep warm, so git up off the floor and drag yourself
over here."

     And he had obeyed. It was inconceivable that he would not. On
small bare feet he made his way across the frozen earth floor to
crawl in next to the stinking old man and pretend to sleep.

     He didn't want to be here. He never wanted to be here.
Anywhere else would be better. He had tried to get a position... on
a farm, cleaning around a store, something on the docks. The answer
was always the same. He was too small and too skinny. Didn't look
healthy, they said. Didn't want to train and feed someone who was
as likely as not to die on them at any time.

     The night went on and on. The smells that turned his stomach
didn't get any less and the snoring was like that of an old bull.
Finally, his uncle turned on his side, heaving himself up and then
flopping down like the great bullock that he was. If only the old
man hadn't come down so close. They were skin to skin now except
for the few scrapes of thin, worn linen and wool that were all the
boy had to clothe himself. The boy wondered if he could shimmy a
few inches away without waking his uncle. He was certainly going to
try even though the old man got mean when he was awakened out of
what he called his well-deserved rest.

     More minutes passed. The boy managed to slither about a half
inch to his left, enough so that the old man's bones wouldn't
pinch. Suddenly the man's snoring ceased with a snort. Much as he
hated the snoring the boy hated the lack of it even more. Would
there be just yelling this time or would the sinewy old man reach
for the switch as well? Instead, the old man moved his arm and his
hand came to rest on the boy's chest. The boy suppressed a groan.
Now he'd have that dead weight lying on him for who knew how long.
But tonight all was different. Tonight the hand was no dead thing.
It moved as if it were something disembodied but alive. It moved
across the boy's thin chest, traveled down to his shirttail and
slowly, but never pausing in its intent, slid under the boy's
shirt.

     Cold dread colder than a privy seat in January settled in the
pit of the boy's stomach as the hand touched his nipples. They
played there a while before continuing their journey down and down,
loosing the frayed draw string on his pants, moving under where it
was warm.

     Terror gripped the child. This had never happened before,
never, and he didn't even understand what was happening except that
he didn't like it. Maybe his uncle's hand was just cold and he
needed some relief otherwise the joints hurt worse. The hand WAS
cold, very cold. Maybe only that. Then the hand touched... it
touched. The boy trembled. The old man made a noise in this throat.
The boy assumed it was meant to be calming. "Be still. Don't get
upset," it seemed to say.

     But the boy didn't like this! Didn't want the old man's hand
there, not there! Didn't like what his confused body was doing
either. Go away! Go away!

     The old man was using two hands now, was up on his knees and
trying to turn the boy onto his stomach.

     Noooo!!!!

     In was in that act of turning that the boy had his chance.
Quick as an eel he was out from under those questing hands to land
on his knees on the cold, dirt floor, the slickness of frost under
his hands. Far faster than the old man could move, he was on his
feet and tearing out the door to the old man's roars of protest.

     He would never return. Never... never...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

     Mulder started awake, his body covered in a cold, running
sweat. His knees were up and he was actually curled nearly in a
fetal position across the back seat of the car.

     Shit, what a dream! Shit! He was trembling all over, his heart
racing. Had he made a noise? Had Scully noticed? She didn't seem to
have heard anything. The radio still issued forth streams of
classical music. Something loud and lush and pastoral. Something
emotional and romantic. His music appreciation teacher in high
school had explained that, unlike the mathematical precision of the
Classical period, Romantic music was intended to evoke images in
the listener.

     Damn, he'd bring ear plugs next time if she was going to
listen to pieces that evoked stuff like this. But already the
images were fading. There was just this vision of being very small,
and cold, and the invasion. Dirty, filthy old man.

     Mulder shivered and waited for his heart to settle down to
something approaching merely panic speed. It took a while.

                          * * * * * *

     They stopped for gas. Mulder moved to the front seat, driving
this time. Dana looked over at him. Something was wrong. She didn't
know what but something. His mood just wasn't the same as it had
been.

     "Mulder, you don't look so good. Touch of air sickness? Car
sick?"

     "Me? No. Not enough sleep, I guess." And what he got had NOT
been anything like restful.

     Dana tried a reassuring smile. "You aren't going to be a
killjoy on me, are you, Mulder?"

     "Sorry." 'Keep busy' came to his mind. With an effort he
smiled to reassure her. The dream was nearly gone. Just the
dragging on his body from the exhausting terror of it. Maybe he
should actually go back to worrying about some safe topic, like
this trip. "Are you going to need to sleep as soon as we get
there?"

     "No, I guess not. Besides, I want to watch the sunrise." The
sky was just turning from indigo blue to rose in the east.

     "I just saw an billboard advertising a marina that has
Catboats for rent and there's a cafe. We can have breakfast and
arrange for a sail for later in the day - you know putter around
the harbor. Catboats just have a single sail. They're like Sunfish.
No trouble at all."

     "You never told me you sailed, Mulder."

     "Scully, I grew up on Martha's Vineyard. It's an island. Have
you ever been sailing?"

     "A time or two." So eager was he to cover his concerns over
the trip and the dream that Mulder failed to notice the slight
curve of her lips. "Yes, I'd really like that, Mulder. Maybe they
can also recommend reasonably priced accommodations with something
like a view and where we can get transport to a reef where we can
snorkel. I told you I came here as a teenager with my parents. I
can't wait to show you what it can be like down there. It's like
another world."

     Mulder pulled into a parking place in front of the mismatched
collection of bleached buildings that made up the marina. Dana
looked first at the dawn promising to burst golden over the horizon
and then over at her partner. His eyes were just turning towards
her after enjoying the same sight. He seemed to her suddenly years
younger. Was he responding to the pleasure she was feeling or was
she reflecting his? It didn't really matter. Whatever shadow had
settled over him had passed for now.

     Stretching like two people trying to function on inadequate
sleep, they unwound from their rental car and stumbled in the
direction of what would soon be a picture postcard sunrise.
 
 

     The marina store was locked and dark. The cafe's equally
weathered door was locked but lights were on. Mulder peered in,
eyes squinting. "We appear to be early."

     Dana seemed hardly to have heard him. She was standing at a
railing that bordered a large expanse of worn deck connected the
miscellaneous buildings that comprised the marina, bait shop and
cafe. She was standing at the railing that bordered that deck,
breathing in the sea air, and eagerly taking in the view. The
marina was a large one with power boats, cruisers and house boats
at one end and sail-powered craft at the other. To the south one
could see through to the ocean. Directly ahead and to the north,
out in the water, flourished a grove of mango. Their presence would
protect the boats at their moorings.

     Mulder dropped down onto a worn, salt-bleached bench
overlooking the grid of docks below and stretched out his legs.
Dana joined him.

     "The sign says that the cafe will be open in about thirty
minutes and the marina in an hour," he informed her. "You don't
mind waiting?"

     "I don't mind. Do you?"

     "They provide entertainment," he said, gesturing towards the
imminent sunrise.

     They were still sitting there a few minutes later, content
with having nothing to do and neither speaking. Comfortable with
each other, they had been this way -- silent -- for longer than
most people could have managed.

     That was when the woman swung into view. Even this early there
were many boat owners moving about the docks preparing for the day.
This woman must be one of those except that this golden woman
rivaled the sunrise itself. She must have been born with a
proverbial golden spoon in her beautiful mouth. Daddy's money and
an excellent plastic surgeon must have conspired to construct this
vision because Nature could never have created such perfection
without help. She was the ultimate golden girl. Golden bikini top
over a long translucent skirt of gauze cut up nearly to her waist,
golden tan on perfect skin, sun-streaked hair in waves down to her
waist. Long of limb she had curves where there should be curves and
lean where there should be lean. She carried her burden of a huge
coil of heavy cable as if it were nothing at all. A well-toned body
that.

     Dana stared just as she would stare in open appreciation at
the sunrise itself. Here was a vision of exquisite beauty. Curious,
to see Mulder's reaction she turned and wondered how she was going
to pick his jaw up off the dock.

     Secretly, a beaming smile spread over Dana's face. It was
secret because there was no way Mulder was aware of her reaction
much less of her existence and she smiled because she was so
pleased to see her own gorgeous partner react anywhere normally to
any woman. For the first few weeks of their partnership she had
wondered seriously if Mulder were gay, not that he gave her any
reason to believe he was, but because he gave no indication that he
was not. Not that his sexual orientation was any of her business,
and as far as the job went affected her very little, but what a
waste for the women of the world if he were. Still he made no moves
on her and seemed equally immune to females in general no matter
how beautiful or how many signals they sent him. Dana soon learned
about his magazines and his 'XXX-rated' video collection, however,
so that put those concerns to rest. Eventually, the reason for his
immunity was quite simple: Mulder was totally oblivious to anything
but the job - and the victim. To the victim and their family he was
empathy incarnate especially to children and the elderly.

     It was only after the affair with Amos had bound them together
so irrevocably -- and while she was still recovering from that case
-- that the little gestures had appeared. He had begun to place his
body unobtrusively between her and danger, or even when there was
no danger to walk slightly behind her with his hand resting
feather-light against her lower back. At the moment, however, Fox
Mulder was one befuddled knight.

     "Mulder..." she called softly as his eyes continued to follow
the golden vision until she was lost amidst the forest of spars and
masts down in the area of the marina where the largest sail boats
were docked. "Earth to Mul - "

     Any other words Dana might have spoken were never said for at
that instant Dana was granted her own vision.

     A man moved into her view from the same direction from where
the woman had come and if ever there were twin gods and goddesses
these were two. He was the golden woman's match in every degree of
male perfection. He was tall - taller than Mulder by at least four
inches and in Fabio-perfect dimensions. His was a beautiful face
and yet all male with its neatly trimmed golden beard. He had
muscular shoulders under bronze skin which tapered to a narrow
waist below a wash-board stomach. All he wore were bathing trunks
that were loose, but not so loose that Dana could not make out the
perfect ass. Then, of course, there were the muscular thighs below
and the flowing blond hair above. Like the woman, he also moved
like an athlete, like a beautiful animal, like a god. To add a
further touch of exotic barbarism he wore around his neck like an
ancient talisman a leather thong upon which hung a small suede bag.
It was only after he had disappeared into the same rich forest
where the woman had gone that Dana became aware of Mulder at her
elbow. He was extending a handkerchief in her direction and clearly
had been trying to get her attention for some time. His shit-eating
grin would have matched the one she had worn as she watched him
follow the passage of the goddess.

     Numbly, she took the handkerchief, her eyes questioning.

     "I thought you'd need something to wipe off the drool."

     In perfect pleasure, she grinned back at him.

     "Mulder, we have GOT to get out more."

     He sighed, his eyes glancing in the direction the deities of
perfection had disappeared. "You'll get no argument from me there."

     Companionably, shoulders gently touching, they leaned once
more on the railing to enjoy the rising sun.

     "I think this was a good idea, Mulder."

     "I think so, too."

End of Chapter 2
~~~

     Mulder looked at his watch and then up at the marina and cafe.
There was movement at both establishments but still a few minutes
before either were due to open.

     "Let's take a look at the boats," Dana innocently suggested.
Unerringly, Dana began strolling down the wooden walkway in the
direction where the golden duo had gone. Mulder followed, eyes
crinkled in amusement.

     There was pier after pier of sailing ships. Two-thirds were of
the single mast type, white fiberglass models from fifteen foot day
sailors to the bulkier cruiser models that had cabins which could
sleep six or more. The other third were the most interesting. There
were raked-masted yawls and sloops. There were racing yachts, long
and low to the water, their air space above deck a mass of cable
and pulleys, spars and lines and furled sails of every imaginable
size and shape. Several appeared to be converted wooden-hauled
fishing boats. Some were classy. Others were outfitted with hand-
built cabins. Most of these looked like the casual homes of
traveling water gypsies. What they lacked in spit and polish they
certainly made up for in distinction. Then there were the
multihulls - catamarans and trimarans looking bulky but spacious
and stable next to their sleeker cousins.

     The partners read out and commented on the boats' names as
they passed though they kept their voices low so not to awaken
owners who might be sleeping on board. They nodded politely to
crews who were up and moving about. They laughed into each other's
eyes when either caught the other trying to peer nonchalantly into
a cabin window or to stare ahead across the forest of masts in an
attempt to catch some sight of the beautiful couple.

     Walking with shoulders relaxed and hands clasped casually
behind her back, Dana looked so unlike the very proper Agent Scully
that Mulder found himself surprisingly shy in her presence.

     "I love to look at the names of the boats," she said and then
read "'Beloved', 'Finally Free', 'Leisure Living IV' -"

     "Makes you wonder what happened to 'Leisure Living' I through
III, doesn't it," Mulder mused.

     "Oh, Mulder look!" Dana called in a stage whisper.

     Three boats ahead, a ruby sat amidst a sea of pearls. It was
clearly a vintage ship but in such mint condition that it caught
the eye like a nineteen thirty-two roadster on a superhighway full
of minivans and Mazdas. The wooden hull was red below the water
line with defouling paint and ship's black above. The deck was all
shining oak. The details -- the hand holds, the shutter-type door
to the cabin and the molding around the cockpit and numerous small
round windows -- were all brass and mahogany rubbed to a jewel-like
brightness.

     Mulder whistled low as he crouched down in appreciation.
"She's a cross between a schooner and a clipper ship unless I've
forgotten everything I ever learned. Like something out of the
Great Gatsby or similar to some I lusted after on the Thames. I
spent enough spring weekends as a kid scraping that barnacle-lethal
red stuff off wooden boats hulls that I can appreciate the work
required to keep such an antique in this condition. 'Sweat equity'
doesn't even begin to describe it."

     "Just be glad Skinner doesn't own one and doesn't require that
kind of penance from agents who don't turn their expense reports in
on time." Dana had stepped to the stern. "Mulder, look at this.
You'll appreciate her name. 'Myth'."

     Mulder stood, stretching. "Which is exactly in what reality
I'll be able to afford one." He joined her to acknowledge the
beautiful and painstaking work that had gone into painting her name
and the accompanying celtic knotwork pattern around her stern. He
then used his long legs to pace off the ship's length to the bow.
"Forty-two feet." Dana didn't doubt her partner on the length for
a moment. To pace off crime scenes Mulder had a special thirty-six
inch stride that he could reproduce over practically any terrain.

     Hearing movement from the cabin, Dana moved on, tugging a
reluctant Mulder with her. "How would you like to walk out your
front door on a Saturday morning with a toothbrush in your mouth
and wrapped in a towel only to be ogled at by tourists?"

     "Who says I haven't?" Mulder responded with a wicked gleam in
his eye.

     "Cute. Anyway, it's a lot like looking into someone's living
room windows."

     "Who says I haven't done that, too."

     All too soon, they reached the end of the southern-most pier
but before turning to head back towards the marina, they paused to
look down. At this point the pilings raised the walkway where they
stood high above a long strip of shell-strewn beach below. As they
watched, a solitary figure slipped out of the sea. The narrow-
shouldered teenage boy was all legs and arms and big hands and
feet. Wet locks dripping dark across his forehead, he threw himself
listlessly down on the sand. Despite the theater Mother Nature was
putting on that morning he didn't even glance at the coming
sunrise. There was something very lonely about the picture. Why was
the boy here this early on a Saturday morning? Shouldn't he be
sleeping in after his Friday night high school basketball game or
big date. Where was the gaggle of teenage friends that was the
stereotype, the norm, the ideal, for this age group?

     Dana couldn't help but notice how Mulder's attention was
likewise caught and held by this apparition.

     "So what was it like growing up on an island, Mulder?"

     She waited but her companion made no reply. The truth was, he
didn't seem to have heard her. Motionless, he just kept looking
down, face a little blank. What was he seeing? Not this boy.
Another boy?

     "Mulder," she began, speaking a little louder and sharper to
get his attention but not touching him. She'd learned never to do
that. "You with me, Mulder?"

     He came round a little like a dog rising from a roll in the
dew, shaking a little from head to foot. "What..."

     "You all right, partner?"

     Another shake, eyes coming into focus. "Sorry... dosed off, I
guess."

     "Nice dreams?" Dana asked though she couldn't image he would
have had one in such a short time.

     "A dream anyway. There was this young man on a beach but he
wasn't alone. And he was older than that boy," he remarked with a
vague sort of wave to the swimmer below.

     "Was it you?" she asked and then continued as the question
didn't seem to register. "The young man in your dream, was it you?"

     "No, no one I knew, at least I don't think so. He was dressed
oddly. They all were." Another shake of the head. "Gone now. Now
what did you ask me that started all this?"

     "It was nothing. Just wondered how it was, growing up on an
island."

     "I don't know what it would have been liking growing up
anywhere else. Like a small town, I guess, only even more
restrictive. You couldn't get off except when the ferry is running
and in the winter that isn't very often especially when the
Nor'easters dump a couple of feet of snow on you every week or so.
The tourists don't start arriving until about the time school let
out and then the population swells to about ten times its normal
size. Then it's mostly 'us' versus 'them'. I certainly never had to
worry about finding a summer job."

     Dana nodded. "Townees and summer people. Annapolis was a bit
that way but nowhere near as isolated as where you came from." Her
eyes went back to the teenage boy below. "Did you used to do that
at his age -- go down to the beach before sunrise?

     At her side Mulder's expression became pensive, his eyes still
fixed on the solitary boy now sitting huddled on the sand, long
thin arms wrapped around bony knees, head bowed. "Too often."

     Dana's eyes closed. She shouldn't have brought this up. She
could almost feel the echoes of old misery radiating off his skin
like waves of heat. "Couldn't sleep then either?" she asked gently.

     "Even worse. I don't remember sleeping at all. Being comatose,
yes, sleeping, no." And he realized at that moment with the surety
of a prophetic vision that if anything ever happened to Scully that
he would go through that hell again.

     Dana stared at the boy, picturing Fox at that age, the salt
drying in his hair. Unruly as it was now, it probably stuck out
like porcupine quills then. She would have smiled at the thought,
but for the ache she knew that he carried inside. Eight months
they'd been together, seeing each other almost every day, one or
both of them nearly dying, how many times? And as much as she had
learned, there was so much more she still didn't know about this
man. Right now it was enough to understand he was hurting. Don't
push though, don't push. Tentatively, she placed her hand on his
arm.

     "Come on, cafe's open. Let's get some breakfast while we wait
for the marina store to open. My treat."

     As if coming back twenty years, Mulder looked down at her hand
on his arm and then up into her face and Dana was happy to see the
memory slide away as the tension left his body and the light come
back into his eyes. "Coffee!"

     Just like a man, Dana thought as they turned to walk towards
the cafe. Sometimes all you have to do is feed 'em.

     But it wasn't the prospect of food that had transformed
Mulder's mood. It was what he had never gotten all those years ago.

     A touch, a pair of caring blue eyes, and a smile just for him.

                        * * * * * * * *

     Dana had the local specialty, a crab omelet. Mulder had gone
for about half of everything else on the menu.

     As she sipped at her coffee, Dana stared at the empty dishes.
"I can tell you're on vacation. Good thing you don't do it often or
you'd be fat."

     Mulder stuffed another forkful of blueberry pancake into his
mouth. "Never happen," he murmured.

     "You can't fight biology, Mulder. I'll ask you again when
you're forty-five and the spread starts."

     But he didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were riveted on
something on the horizon. Dana turned in her chair to follow his
gaze. It was a two-masted ketch, her full spread of white sails
against sea and sky.

     "There must be some wind out there. She's making time," Dana
observed. "You can even see the head of foam on her bow."

     No comment from Mulder who was totally absorbed in the ship.
"Mulder..." She touched his hand where it was only limply closed
around his fork. "Hey, Mulder..."

     With a little start he came out of his daze.

     "I was saying she's beautiful," Dana told him, inclining her
head towards the flying ketch. "You really do love sailing, don't
you? If that's the case, why don't we rent something larger than a
Catboat? We can't go out any distance with one of those."

     Dana would have gone on to describe her own experience with
sailing but a series of odd expressions came over Mulder's face,
some of which she hadn't seen before and she thought she seen them
all by now. Suddenly, he looked down at his own half eaten omelet
and after a moment pushed the plate away.

     "Let's not get carried away," he began, his words coming
slowly at first before coming up to speed. "You can have a lot of
fun with a catboat plus they're safe."

     Seeing his partner's disappointment, he went on, hurriedly.
"It's true. You have to really be trying to tip one and they are so
much less expensive to repair when you do. Besides, to rent any of
the larger cruisers you have to buy insurance and prove you have
the skills, take a written test on theory and the rules of the
waves, then go out on a test run with one of the marina operators.
It's a lot of trouble and we don't want to waste so much of time on
red tape. Don't you get enough of that at the Bureau?"

     Mulder was talking abnormally fast even for Mulder at his
worst and he wasn't meeting his partner's eyes. Instead, his
attention were drawn, almost involuntarily, back to the ship far
out to sea. As she considered this odd side to Mulder, Dana tapped
the side of her coffee mug with her finger.

     "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy just looking at them
from a distance," he continued. "She does make a beautiful sight."
Uneasy under an Agent Scully gaze, the kind that could make
seasoned perps tremble, Mulder rambled on. "When I was around
seven, I think I read all of the Hornblower series. I read it over
and over until I committed it to memory. That's when my eidetic
memory really started to show itself. I'd find myself reading a
part of the story and I hadn't even opened the book yet. That got
me started on the naval history of the Napoleonic wars and the
voyages of the explorers. I read 'Moby Dick', 'Treasure Island',
'Kidnapped', 'Robinson Crusoe'..."

     "Back to the days when men were men? I always knew you were a
closet Romantic, Mulder."

     The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "Oh, I've been out
of the closet a 'long' time." His gaze drifted back to the ship.
"It's too bad there are so few of the really old sailing ships
left. What's left are rich men's toys."

     "Oh, I don't know. Several of the Navies about the world have
tall ships. They use them as training vessels."

     Brows gathering just a little, Mulder sipped on his coffee. "I
think I knew that, just forgot for the moment. Guess I should have
asked the Navy brat."

     Dana wrinkled her nose at him. "The U.S. coast guard has one,
'The Eagle'. The Russian Navy has one. Dad and Mom and I were
invited to an event on Denmark's tall ship once. Impressive."

     "The ship or the sailors?" Mulder asked, wryly, before he
noticed that his partner's smile had faded. "It was one of the last
receptions I attended with my father."

     It was Mulder's turn to reach out. Her hand was surprisingly
warm and gentle. Skin to skin, it was unusual for him to actually
touch this partner of his. "Sorry to bring back bad times," he
said. It had only been three months since her father's sudden
death.

     "Bitter with the sweet, Mulder," she replied. At that moment
the aging hippie who ran the little cafe brought them their check.
After Dana paid -- Mulder wouldn't let her forget that she had
offered -- they headed once again into the sun. The air had lost
the morning chill they had felt before breakfast. It was going to
be a hot day but after damp, chilly, cloudy Washington and damper,
chillier, cloudier southwest Florida during the recent hurricane,
the sunshine was going to feel wonderful soaking into Dana's skin.

     Like a contented cat, Dana stretched long and luxuriously. "I
could get use to this," she sighed.

     Mulder had paused at the top step leading from the cafe. There
was another of those odd expressions on his face again but this one
was a pleasure to look upon. It was if he had suddenly come upon an
pleasant but unexpected sight and it lit up his whole face. It was
one of those times that reminded Dana of just how attractive her
partner could be and left her slightly light-headed. As much to
hide the rising color in her face as anything, Dana turned to try
to catch what Mulder was seeing. There was no ship on the horizon
now, just the docks and the ships at the marina, looking very much
as they had all morning.

     That was when he stumbled as if he hadn't seen the steps at
all. Thankfully, there wasn't any disastrous results this time --
no sprained ankle or broken leg. He did have to make a sudden grab
for a weather-worn railing that was not all that secure. Both
teetered threateningly for a moment until he caught his balance.

     "Mulder, are you all right?"

     As if numb, Mulder stared for a moment at his hands before
sheepishly relaxing his deathgrip on the bleached wood. "Yes... all
right."

     Almost imperceiveably, Dana watched her partner shake his left
leg as he began to negotiate the rest of the steps. If he hadn't
changed from jeans into shorts in the cafe's restroom, she never
would have seen the movement. Peaking out from the hem of his
shorts, she could just see the lower edge of the long, pink scar.

     "How's the leg?"

     Instant tension. "It's fine," Mulder reported gloomily as he
took the last few steps a little more carefully than usual.

     "Really fine? Sure there isn't something you should be telling
your doctor?"

     "Nothing, Scully. Just a twinge now and then. My therapist
said it would be that way for a year or so as the nerve grows
back." He had been shot only days after the death of Dana's father.
Mulder could have died on that dock or in the ambulance if a
frantic  red-haired pathologist hadn't been on the scene. It hadn't
been a pleasant time for either of them.

     "I thought for a while back then that I'd be stuck with a
partner with a peg leg like the kind the old sailors wore."

     "Where I was shot, I would have needed more than a peg. I
would have needed the whole tree and you mean seamen, not sailors."

     Curious, Dana watched a mixture of expressions cross his face.

     "What?" she asked.

     "What 'what?'"

     "What were you just thinking about?"

     He looked at the boat rental office and his watch. Still not
quite time.

     "Mulder..."

     "It's silly."

     "Come on. We're talking, really talking for once, so give."

     He sat on the edge of a retaining wall, stretching out his
full long length to catch the sun. "Just the phrase, 'Seaman, not
sailors'. It brought back a memory."

     "Of?"

     "An old movie. 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir'."

     "You mean the old television show?"

     "That? No! I mean the movie. Made in the nineteen-forties. Rex
Harrison and Gene Tierney. The Ghost of Captain Grieg loses his
temper once and corrects Mrs. Muir when she uses the wrong term.
He's trying to convince her to 'ghost write' a book about his life
-- a man's life -- so she can make enough money to continue living
in Gull Cottage."

     "Sounds like you like the movie a lot. By any chance was that
because there was a ghost in it?"

     He glared down his nose at her. "No. As a matter of fact it
was because of Sam. She was only five but she made me help her
write about a zillion letters to the TV stations asking them to
rerun it and often they did -- at about two in the morning. Those
were the ancient days before VCRs, after all. We used to sneak
downstairs and watch it under blankets to block the light of the
set and with the sound turned down so low that we could barely hear
it. She'd cry buckets. It was embarrassing."

     Dana had a feeling though, that, embarrassing or not, young
Fox had probably shed a tear or two of his own. "Why didn't you
care for the TV show?"

     "The movie took the subject seriously. A real tear-jerker, you
would say. A 'Chick Flick' they would call it now. In the TV
version they had to keep working around the main premise -- that
the Ghost and Mrs. Muir loved each other but they were in this
impossible situation and they weren't about to advance the story
thirty years or kill off the main character just so they could be
together. How can you make a sitcom out of that? It's too
depressing. Everyone deserves happiness."

     "Even a ghost."

     That got a smile out of him. "Even a ghost," he agreed,
emphatically.

     Even a boy who had his sister taken from him and subsequently
watched his family and his whole life fall apart, Dana thought
sadly. Even an FBI special agent with a doctorate and a string of
commendations who still suffers the taunts of coworkers and
management alike because he happens to see the world a little
differently than other people.

     Yes, everyone deserves happiness sometimes.

     "I'll see if I can find the video," Dana said. "If I can, will
you come over to my place and watch it with me?"

     His attention was immediate, first pleased, then wryly
suspicious. He'd been to Dana Scully's apartment exactly five times
in the seven months they'd been partnered together. "Are you asking
me out on a date, Agent Scully?"

     "Uh, no. You just got me intrigued to see it. Call it research
into the paranormal." A glimpse into Fox Mulder's head was always
that.

     "Oh, that kind of a date. I was afraid you were slipping."

     Slipping? Dana wondered. Slipping where? Something in the
timbre of his voice...

     Dana found herself staring intently at her companion as if she
could read through his skin. She knew she had certain urges in
regards to her partner. Feminine urges and unsafe thoughts. Did he
ever think about her? There he was smiling again. That was
dangerous, but there were other facets to his nature just as
distracting. When he concentrated on a problem no one else would
even attempt, he was so completely oblivious to the world that the
entire process was still for Dana almost mystical. When he broke
his back and his spirit on a case to come up with only a handful of
ashes at the end, his suffering squeezed painfully at her heart.
Dana had never indulged in silly romantic fantasizing, but
sometimes... sometimes the thoughts and the sensations deep within
just rose up unbidden into the light.

     Oh, Mulder, what are we going to do?

     They finally saw the movie together but not until months later
when Mulder was convalescing from yet another hospital stay at
Dana's mother's home. Dana didn't realize until then that except
for the man's name, these were exactly the words Gene Tierney, as
Mrs. Muir, said about her tragic relationship with the Ghost of
Captain Grieg.

~~~

     When the marina store finally opened its doors a mere ten
minutes late, Dana felt a surge of relief. They had best keep
themselves occupied. Sailing, swimming, bikeriding, walking,
sleeping, just about anything but dancing should keep them too busy
to allow more serious thoughts the fertile ground to blossom.

     They had not quite reached the entrance to the store when they
heard raised voices. Two men were arguing, an American from some
southern state and an Englishman. Out of habit the partners tensed,
hands reaching to check for weapons which both had left in the car.
They relaxed when it became clear from the changing tones of the
voices that the argument was nearly over.

     Rounding a large sign which advertised deep sea fishing
charters, they were given their first view of the two men as they
parted. The American was of average height, lean and whipcord
slender. He looked glum but not particularly angry as he headed
towards the parking lot. The Englishman was Dana's dish of the day,
her golden god, and the affect of his accent, despite his perturbed
expression, made her knees girlishly weak. Mulder wasn't in any
condition to notice, however, because watching from the side, cool
as a breeze, was his own golden girl. Despite the distraction the
two friends somehow kept walking. Neither stared for in each was a
strong incentive not to be caught by the other paying too much
attention. Before entering the comparative dimness of the marina
shop, they observed the goddess exchange a few terse and nearly
silent words with her companion. That was the last they expected to
see of the two.

     Inside the cluttered, comfortable store Mulder aimed for a
counter where boats were rented. Soon all thoughts of gods and
goddesses faded as brown hair and red huddled together as they
studied boats and rental prices. They were working through the fine
print of the rental agreements when a tall, slender figure came to
stand at the counter beside Mulder.

     "Mr. Brown, we have a problem." The voice was a woman's and so
unique in its softness and musicality that both partners paused in
their reading of the legalese to glance in her direction.

     It was the goddess, of course, the willowy model, the Playboy
centerfold. Her accent was different from her companions' and its
origins far harder to guess.

     "I'm from Myth," she said to the man behind the counter. Two
heads came up with interest, all pretense of reading contracts gone
as the woman continued in her low, melodic speech, "We had arranged
for a crew to help us move our ship and intended to sail out this
morning. Now we find ourselves abandoned. We can take the ship out
ourselves -- that is not a problem, two can handle her -- but we
are meeting others on an island some distance from here and we will
be staying so we need a crew to sail her back. I know it is short
notice, but do you know of anyone who might be available? Three
days is all we'll need."

     "That's going to be difficult, Ms. Westover," the marina owner
replied. "It's off-season so many of our locals take the
opportunity to go elsewhere. I have a few people I can call but
most of them have more or less full time jobs and need time to make
arrangements."

     The woman sighed and it was as if she left a pure musical note
hanging in the air. "Do what you can. We cannot afford to miss this
connection."

     Before Mulder could turn his attention back to the contract he
was holding, he felt iron fingers wrap themselves around his elbow.
He was dragged around the edge of the counter into a narrow, quiet
aisle packed to the ceiling with shelf upon shelf of snorkels and
fins, line and tackle, life vests and Igloo coolers.

     "Mulder, did you hear what she said?"

     "That their crew ducked out on them? That's hardly a federal
offense."

     Abruptly, Scully's index finger jabbed itself rather painfully
into his forehead. "Mulder, they're from Myth, that dream of a
schooner!"

     "Then the people who ducked out of them don't know what
they're missing."

     Scully was glaring at him as if she couldn't believe that
anyone could be as dense as he at that moment.

     "Am I missing something here?" he asked in all innocence.

     Scully's hands went to her hips and her stance widened. "They
expect the round trip to take three days, Mr. 'Brain as Big as a
Planet'."

     Shifting his attention from the miraculously overflowing
shelves, Mulder turned to his partner with a guileless smile. "So
you finally read 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'!"

     Scully's glare was focusing down to a laser-fine point right
between his eyes. "Considering the kind of cases you seek out, I
decided that I'd better be prepared. The point I'm trying to make,
Mulder, is that we could crew her. We could sail that incredible
dream of a ship!"

     Mulder went considerably pale beneath what tan he had been
able to retain from the Washington summer. "Scully, you can't be
serious."

     "Why can't I?" Her eyes were bright, positively dazzling. Her
whole body in fact was more alive than he had ever seen it in her
suppressed Scully sort of way. She was also oblivious to the chill
that had just drenched him from head to foot.

     "Scully, you need experience for that kind of sailing and on
that kind of boat. I haven't been out since I was sixteen and then
it was all single-sail catboat kind of sailing around the harbor or
in the pond. I don't know about you but there are no trans-atlantic
voyages in my background."

     "But there are in mine."

     Mulder stared at that glowing face and then back towards the
desk where they had been happily contemplating nice safe, twelve-
foot day sailors only minutes before. "You never said," he replied
lamely, hating that it came out like an accusation.

     Dana let out a steadying breath. "Because you never asked.
Navy father... Annapolis and the Naval academy right down the
road... I worked my way through college teaching the 'middies' how
to beat and tack and not get their heads bashed in by the boom when
we had to wear ship. For graduation we even sailed to the Outer
Banks."

     Mulder's pallor hadn't improved. In fact, there was a great
deal more of it. "Why didn't you tell me," he asked, clearly in
some kind of shock through his partner of nearly eight months was
still failing to notice. The cause must have been the lighting in
the store which, compared to the brilliance of the sun outside, was
rather feeble.

     "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to spoil your fun."

     "So you wouldn't have to bruise my fragile male ego, just how
long were you going to let me lecture you on which lines are
shrouds and which are halyards? I won't break, Scully. You should
know by now there's not much more life can do to me that hasn't
been done already."

     There you are wrong, Dana silently corrected. You let
everything new touch you, Mulder. You let everything get inside
where it can hurt you and you never let it out again.

     "Mulder, I'm sorry. I would have told you, I really would have
and soon, but that's not really the point right now. We have a
chance, an incredible chance to do something wonderful! That ship
is divine, one of a kind, and the circumstances couldn't be more
perfect. We'll have help going out to iron out the rough spots and
then we'll have Myth all to ourselves coming back. Do you know what
people pay for that kind of vacation! And just think, it won't cost
us anything. No hotel bills, no food to buy either because that
should be covered. And, Mulder, you won't have to get dressed up
even once!"

     Mulder nearly bit through his tongue but somehow he suppressed
the moan that was rising from his gut. Why did she have to look so
eager, so... happy. Scully happy, truly happy. She glowed. And she
had thought only about not spoiling his fun. How could he spoil
hers then? He'd introduced her to such terrible people -- Amos and
Tooms, Cecil Lively and Eve. He'd drug her into so many terrible
places -- condemned buildings, haunted houses, deserted Iowa roads,
frozen Alaskan wastelands, others even he didn't want to think
about. He'd turned her world view upside down. She'd met Spooky
without warning in a smokey, testosterone-laiden conference room.
He'd broken her sleep as Fox screamed out his nightmares and clawed
at himself and her for Mulder's failures. He'd gotten her shot. She
had nearly died. He owed her something for all that. He owed her
far more than this adventure which she wanted so very much.

     "Fine, Scully. Ask if they'll take us."

     Though he prayed they wouldn't, Mulder knew with his luck that
they would. She had begun stepping quickly back towards the boat
rental desk when he added, "Just remember, you've probably
forgotten more about practical sailing than I'll ever know."

     She paused. "So when have we ever let the unknown slow us
down? What we don't know between us probably isn't worth knowing."
She meant it as a joke, but noticed that he wasn't smiling, not
even his eyes which so often laughed even when the rest of him was
sober as a judge. For the first time she seemed to really see his
reluctance and recognized it as more than irritation at her
omission that she sailed and sailed well. She also knew he would
never tell her what was bothering him so she just guessed at what
she thought was the most logical explanation.

     "Mulder, don't worry. I'll get you through. You're a fast
learner, you'll remember."

     'That was just the point, I remember all too well,' Mulder
remarked silently to her retreating back as she hurriedly returned
to the rental desk hoping to catch Myth's owners before they hired
anyone else. He remembered the splices and the knots, even how to
reef a sail and why. He could even manage to keep his port straight
from his starboard and what side of the red buoy to pass when
returning to port. As for the other... maybe he'd grown out of it
in sixteen years and Myth was larger than what he had sailed then.
Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he feared.

End of Chapter 3
 

~~~

Chapter 4

     Dana was deep in discussions of rigging and waves and compass
headings by the time Mulder joined them just outside the marina
shop.

     "Here he is now. This is my partner, Fox Mulder. Mulder, this
is Jonah and Hannah Westover."

     Jonah had turned to Mulder, his golden eyes registering a mild
surprise. His hand which had been absently fingering the small
leather bag around his neck dropped to take Mulder's hand. His grip
was strong and firm and not the least threatening. His palm was
callused from hard work and up close his strongly chiseled face was
weathered with many small lines.

     "You said you were traveling with your partner, Ms. Scully.
Excuse my surprise. That is a word being used so often to refer to
members of the gay community that I thought --" His voice faded, an
expression of embarrassment on his face.

     "You thought my partner was going to be female."

     "Not quite," Mulder replied, dryly, "though our work keeps us
so busy that I fear that certain pieces of equipment will forget
which way is up."

     Jonah chuckled, his face breaking into a smile that
accentuated all the little lines. He was older than he appeared at
first. "Then you are partners in a law firm or perhaps
entertainers?"

     Dana found the vision the second suggestion produced so
shockingly hilarious that she nearly lost control of the very sane
and professional demeanor she had assumed in an attempt to give the
Westovers the confidence to hire them.

     "Like Sonny and Cher? Hardly," she laughed and it was a free
and uninhibited sort of laugh such as Mulder had seldom heard from
his very serious partner.

     "Now, Scully," Mulder remarked, "I'll bet the fifth floor
finds our case reports vastly entertaining. No, Mr. Westover. We're
in law enforcement. They team you up with a partner. One does tend
to stay alive longer that way." Mulder showed the Englishman his
badge and Dana showed hers.

     "FBI," Jonah remarked, enlightened. "But you're not working
now, are you?" He gestured towards the parking lot. "Or should we
expect unwanted visitors."

     "Unlikely. No one knows we're here," Dana assured him. "We're
on vacation."

     "You must get along extremely well to work long hours together
and then turn around and spend your time off together as well."
The tiniest of smiles graced Jonah's handsome face.

     Mulder sighed though only Scully would have noticed. This was
exactly the reaction he had dreaded. If the details of their trip
should get out at the Bureau, the rumors and snide comments
murmured as they passed would become even more insufferable than
before. He would have to get used to it, however, or not spend the
time with Scully that he so enjoyed.

     At that point Hannah Westover, who had been silently observing
from the side, beckoned. To Mulder's knowledge this was the first
time she had actually acknowledged his presence. Forcing the echo
of sixteen-year-old raging hormones under control, Mulder
approached the feet of the goddess as Dana resumed laying out their
credentials to Jonah.

     "And you also have sailed?" Hannah asked Mulder in her
singularly beautiful voice.

     "I don't pretend for a moment to be as experienced as Scully
but I sailed around and about Martha's Vineyard where I grew up."

     She handed him a length of rope which she carried. "Tie a
sheepshank, please."

     That he could do quickly and with skill. Knots were solid and
real. After the tragic events at the Amos's farm, Mulder had added
to his not inconsiderable knowledge. As he finished not only the
one she asked for but two others, the woman stepped closer to
watch. She was tall, nearly as tall as he and she smelled of the
sea. Not unpleasant that scent but it brought back disquieting
sensations of longing and loss from the years he had spent after
Sam's disappearance. He had wandered for years aimless and
wraithlike over the beaches of the Vineyard.

     When he finished the third knot he tossed the line back to
her. "I even know how a marlin spike is used."

     Without a pause, she replied, "So do I, but I won't ask you to
demonstrate -- at least not just now."

     It took several of his more rapid than normal heartbeats for
Mulder to realize that she had inferred something from his comment
that he hadn't intended. A wave of heat flooded up into his face
that had nothing to do with the rapidly rising sun.

     Without warning Scully was beside him wearing that new smile
of hers. As she approached, the golden girl nodded in a formal old
world sort of way and drifted back to her companion.

     "Mulder, are you all right? You seem a little flushed."

     "It's that obvious?"

     "Just a bit."

     Unconsciously, his eyes had followed Hannah who had joined
Jonah. Already they were heading towards the pier where Myth was
docked.

     Dana couldn't help but notice the object of her partner's
distraction. She had become accustomed to the come-on's Mulder got
from women. She took it as an occupational hazard like noxious
fumes and cobwebs. So focused was he on each case, however, that
Mulder was usually oblivious to their advances. Granted, this woman
had a flotilla's more ammunition than most. No case could mean no
immunity this time. If there was a problem, however, Dana was
confident that Mulder would not be the one to make the first move.
Chivalrous down to the tips of his toes, Mulder would never come
between any established couple, which they must assume at this
point that these two were.

     "You and her, Mulder. Is this going to be a problem?"

     "The fact that she makes me feel like I'm sixteen again? The
fact that I've said less than twenty words to the woman and already
managed to mutter something utterly idiotic? Yeah, other than that
there isn't going to be a problem."

     He had her intrigued. "What did you say?"

     He sighed as they began to follow the other two. "Scully, you
know what a Marlin spike is and how it works, don't you?"

     "Of course. It's a sharp metal spike about four inches long,
usually mated with a good utility knife. It's used on shipboard to
loosen knots." She began to demonstrate, miming holding the object
under discussion in her right hand as she steadied the imaginary
knot in the other. "You work the point of the spike down into the
depression made by the loops of the rope -" All at once Dana
stopped as the relative positions of spike and hallow in the knot
made themselves all too apparent. "Oh, I see."

     Mulder only stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and
stared heavenward. To have even a ghost of a chance of making it
through the weekend, he was going to need help from even that much
ignored power, much ignored at least by him. For her part, it was
all Dana could do to suppress a smile even as she hooked her
partner's arm in hers to hurry his reluctant feet.

     "Take heart, Mulder. Human males have survived worse
humiliations."

     Like a turtle he only hunched his shoulders higher.

     "By the way, in case you're interested we've gotten to first
base." As the little tug of a smile formed at the corner of his
mouth, she snapped, "Stop that, Mulder. You know what I mean. They
want us to follow them back to the ship so we can show them what we
can do. Raise sails, plot a course, dock and undock, that sort of
thing."

     Uneasily, his eyes tracked to the backs of the couple ahead.
"What did you think of the Westovers?"

     "I'm not sure they're married. They could even be brother and
sister, they look enough alike. I'm confident that Jonah's an
expert seaman. There's a small chance of a squall this afternoon
but he'll be at the helm. Then it will be clear for the next three
days."

     "How does being able to turn on a weather radio make one an
expert?"

     "Because I don't think he even owns a weather radio, or if he
does he probably doesn't need to use it often. While we talked he
was constantly looking at the waves and the sky and feeling the
wind on his face as if that was all he needed."

     "It helps that he looks like Hollywood's perfect picture of
Bill Budd."

     "Mulder, are you jealous? Can he help it that one doesn't get
skin like that from sitting behind a desk. I don't know why but I
learned a lot about men and boats when I worked for the Naval
Academy. Some know, some just talk. I sense Jonah knows. With the
winds and the currents, he says it will take us two days to get
where we're going with time off for some snorkeling, but less than
a day to get back. That's perfect. We'll have plenty of time to
make our flight."

     "I surrender. I'll take your word that he can sail and is not
a front man for either the Mafia or the white slave trade."

     Dana gave her tall partner a steady once over with her cold,
critical eye. "Mulder, you get feelings about people, well, so do
I, and I'm not getting any bad vibes from Jonah. When they realized
that we both worked for the FBI, neither turned a hair one way or
the other, did they?"

     "That only means that they aren't running drugs and haven't
any particular aversion to vacationing law enforcement agents."

      Dana took note of the still hunched shoulders. "What gives,
Mulder? You seem to be going out of your way to find some problem
with this."

     He strove to produce a convincingly casual shrug but the
tightness across his back made the movement difficult. "We're
neither of us usually this trusting."

     The tension crease between his eyes was more pronounced than
earlier that morning. "I think I understand. We've been working so
hard that neither of us have had a break since we started together.
The only people we seem to talk to are perps, possible UNSUBs,
victims, victims who may be possible UNSUBs, and other law
enforcement officers, most of whom are just as paranoid as we are.
I guess I'm trying to remember what it's like to meet normal
people."

     His frown was genuine. That wasn't the reason he was dragging
his feet on this but there was truth nevertheless in what Scully
was saying. "In both of our cases you also forgot arrogant doctors
and nurses with long needles and cold bedpans but, yes, I'll admit
that there may be some truth in what you say."

     "Which leads me to ask what was the point of that risqu^^ joke
about the vertical orientation about certain parts of a man's
anatomy? Isn't it a little early, even for you?"

     "Don't you think it's better that they know up front who
they're dealing with?" he asked some light in his eyes again.

     After taking a moment to consider, Dana had to accept her
partner's logic. "Point taken," she agreed. Mulder's bone-dry wit
was as much a part of him as breathing. If their employers were
going to be offended by Mulder's scurrilous use of sexual innuendo,
they had best find that out as early as possible.
 
 

     Myth was every bit as magnificent on board as from the dock.
Up close, however, they could see little signs of wear and tear --
a discolored bit of deck, a worn spot on the brass and paint where
the shroud rubbed on its way back to its cleat, dried salt spray on
a cabin window, the beginnings of a tear on a cushion. But somehow
these small blemishes made the ship's overall condition all the
more remarkable. Myth was no rich man's museum-quality toy but a
working ship that bounded through the seas eagerly and often.

     Recognizing who was clearly the less experienced one, Hannah
took Mulder forward and began working him through the skills and
terminology expected of an able-bodied seaman. In the next thirty
minutes Mulder raised, lowered, stowed and, as necessary, reefed
every sail configuration on the ship. Considering it had been more
than twenty years, Mulder didn't think he did badly. He remembered
to secure the port side shroud line from the jib to the correct
block. He surprised even himself when he remembered to add the
little twist to the knot when securing a line to a cleat. He
remembered how to properly fold the jib when it came down so that
it could be raised again quickly without fouling. Unfortunately,
Hannah seemed less impressed with his efforts than he was.

     While Mulder labored under Hannah's merciless observation,
Jonah took Dana in hand and led her down to the cockpit to discuss
the ship's instruments. Later she reported to Mulder that though
they were significantly more modern than the ship and of good
quality there were remarkably few of them, little more than what
was legal and necessary for basic navigation and safety. No radar
or fish-finding sonar on this baby. Later she and Jonah went below
into the exquisite brass and mahogany paneled cabin to discuss
charts and navigation. Lucky for Dana that even though the power of
Jonah's incredible looks did not lessen with exposure, her passion
for sailing -- in particular for sailing this ship -- negated her
body's most embarrassing reactions to his over-powering presence.
As for Mulder, Hannah seemed to be less of a distraction than Dana
had feared. Mulder had other worries.

     The partners were left alone to debrief only after Jonah and
Hannah went below to make their decision on whether to take on this
impromptu crew.

     "Medical school was like this," Dana said sitting impatiently
on the edge of the cushioned bench in the rear of the cockpit. "The
professors would all get into a huddle to evaluate your
performance. The problem is, they usually didn't tell you what they
decided. They'd just nod and mutter and you'd go off to start
another thirty-six hour shift as much in the dark as you were
before."  As she talked, Dana reached for the dangling end of one
of the sail shrouds and began tying knots.

     "You really want this, don't you, Scully?" Mulder asked as if
genuinely surprised. "I don't think I've ever seen you so nervous."

     "Nervous?" Dana asked, finishing a clove hitch.

     "You're doing a good job of fraying that line."

     Glaring, she put it down only to have her eyes stray to the
shutter doors that separated the cockpit from the narrow steps that
led down into the main cabin. They could hear the distinctive
voices of Jonah and Hannah but muffled. They must be in the forward
cabin where the air foil design of the ship made for a spacious
private sleeping area of a uniquely triangular shape.

     "If you want my opinion," Mulder offered, "which you probably
don't, I think they'll take us on and not because they're clearly
desperate. We were good... or at least adequate."

     "Way to go, Mulder. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

     "All right. You were good. I was mediocre."

     More waiting. Dana had to admit she didn't wait well and knew
Mulder's patience was decidedly less. "There's one advantage to
this trip if we get it," she remarked with good humor. "If we're
trapped on a boat, I can't lose you before it's time for our flight
back."

     Mulder gave his imitation of a friendless puppy. "Scully, you
make it sound like I make a habit of ditching you."

     "Don't you? You do it even when we're not on a case. Remember
the British embassy function we were invited to a few months ago?"
The invitation had arrived within weeks of the Cecil Lively affair,
the gift of a grateful people. Fortunately for everyone involved,
Phoebe did not attend.

     "That was a case."

     "A case for which you needed a date?"

     "I was doing research."

     "I wish you had told me. I could have washed out panty hose
instead of spending the night looking all over the embassy for
you."

     For the first time Mulder realized that she had been really
hurt by his sudden disappearance. "I needed to meet that woman. She
could be a valuable contact some day and it's hard to walk into
such events solo," he said lamely in apology.

     "It's harder to leave alone."

     Mulder suddenly began to glumly study the tips of his athletic
shoes, his feet looking even larger than usual because he was
wearing shorts. Short shorts that showed lots of lean leg Dana
noted with some brightening of her mood. She patted his arm. "Don't
strain your brain, Mulder. After all we're on vacation." She let
herself smile at his expense. "And no matter what happens just
promise you'll be careful. Boats can be dangerous places and if you
come back injured again Skinner will never forgive me."

     "You'd tell him!"

     "If you were injured I'd have to."

     "You'd tell him about the trip and us taking it together?"

     "Why not?"

     "He may get the wrong impression."

     "And what's the wrong impression?"

     Silence was the best answer to that. What was the right
impression for that matter?

     They resumed waiting. Scully twitching and Mulder praying that
the Myth's owners had really high standards or were just suspicious
of vacationing FBI agents.

     "Whether we get this 'gig' or not, Mulder, there are two
things I'd like to get out of this weekend. First, I still want to
snorkel over a coral reef."

     "I'd like that, too," Mulder agreed. "Massachusetts waters are
not known for its exotic sea life, except maybe whales. What's the
second?"

     All at once Dana found her hands fascinating though she didn't
seem to really focus on the newly cracked nails the last hour
working on Myth had given her. "Forget it. It's not important."

     "Scully... Come on, what?"

     She was still studying her hands. "If you really want to know,
I would like just for once for you to call me something other than
'Scully'. I'd even answer to 'Hey, you'."

     Mulder nodded slowly and shifted his position on the coaming
where a cleat was working its way into his thigh. "How about
Starbuck?" he asked, gently.

     She stared at him in surprise. "That was the pet name my
father had for me."

     "I know. Would it hurt too much to use that? Understand that
I'll slip a lot."

     It had only been a few months since her father's unexpected
death. Yes, though forgotten for days at a time the ache was still
there. The reminder didn't hurt as much as Dana thought it would,
however. "Sure, Mulder, Starbuck's fine. He began calling me that
the first summer we went sailing, just he and I. Don't expect me to
call you 'Ahab', though. That was his name."

     "No problem. Just don't call me Queequag, okay? Just something
about that character."

     "What about Ishmael, the young and innocent sailor lad?" she
asked with a gleam in her eye.

     Mulder laughed. "Young? I only wish. Innocent? Oh, Starbuck,
if you only knew."

     She leered. "So tell me."

     He was actually considering what yarn to spin when the door to
the cabin opened and Hannah emerged followed by Jonah.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Less than five minutes later the partners were back in the
parking lot and rooting in their rental car for everything they
would need onboard for three days. Not that they would be out three
days; they could find themselves back on shore again that
afternoon. They were on probation and heading out for a shakedown
cruise. If everything went well, however, they would not be seeing
their Taurus again until it was time to drive back to the airport
to catch the shuttle for the Miami airport and home.

     Working the ship had actually been pleasant, as had the
wandering conversation with Scully as they waited for the
Westovers' decision, but as they walked to their car, Mulder's mind
had begun working overtime to dredge up all the arguments about why
they should not be doing this. After managing to only foul the
zipper on his duffel twice as he fought to get it open, Mulder
sorted through his crudely packed clothes. In what he hoped was
casual gesture, he tossed the single sports jacket he had brought
into the back seat. With dismay he noticed that his hands were
trembling. He hoped Scully was too busy with her own unpacking and
repacking to notice.

     More than his concerns of what the Bureau would think about
this trip, more than being alone on a small ship with the very
distracting Hannah and his equally distracting and far more
dangerous partner, something very disturbing was going on. What was
the point of that killer nightmare he had had while Scully drove?
If it had been the only strange event he would have blamed it on
the airline food, but there had been three others since they had
pulled into the marina's oyster shell parking lot. He had found his
mind wandering unexpectedly, seeing things that could not be
happening around a place he had never been. Unlike the nightmare,
these 'visions' had been very brief, only impressions. First,
snatches of many people on a nearly deserted beach, people who
weren't there wearing vintage clothes as if in a movie. Then while
he had watched the white-sailed ketch on the horizon he had
experienced a whole series of striking physical sensations --
smells, tastes AND sounds. Coming out into the sunshine from the
cafe he had totally lost his toe-hold in reality. The marina was
spread out at his feet as before but somehow it was also completely
different. Between one breath and the next he had thought himself
in a seaport at the turn of the century -- a far larger, dirtier,
busier, and noisier place than the marina. Exactly how it was
different, though, he could no longer recall. Too much had happened
since then. Maybe that was just as well. He didn't appreciate his
eyes and his ears playing tricks on him.

     Maybe he needed this vacation even worse than Skinner thought
he did.

     Mulder continued rummaging through his duffel. Following the
jacket, he tossed out some casual slacks and a pair of wing tips
that no longer could be shined up to Bureau standards but managed
well enough for casual-good.

     "You were right before, I doubt Jonah and Hannah dress for
dinner," he commented. "They barely dress at all."

     Scully looked up from her own two piles of what to take and
what not to take. "It's also not a bad idea to leave a set of dry
clothes in the car. You never know."

     It was the 'you never know' part that in addition to all his
other troubles had begun giving Mulder a headache at breakfast and
why he decided that he had better stop by the marina store before
they left dock.

     Finished, he looked over to where Scully was standing in front
of the open door on the opposite side of the car quickly but neatly
repacking her bag. She paused, a single item in her hand. Instead
of packing it, she moved the garment to the discard pile on her
side of the back seat. It was a slinky, cream-colored nightgown.

     "Were you planning something I didn't know about, Scully?"

     She gave him a suggestive smile. "As I said, you never know."

     Luggage in hand they were just leaving their locked car and
moving back across the sun-drenched parking lot when she began,
"Mulder..."

     "Ishmael, remember?" but Mulder's brow had furrowed just a
bit. This was a new tone of voice for Scully. Uneasy, almost
embarrassed.

     "Mulder. For a moment I need to be serious. This is our last
chance to back out. Is there going to be a problem between you and
Hannah?"

     "Ah..." Mulder stored away the observation that this was what
Scully's 'Facts of Life' voice sounded like.

     "Scully - ignoring the fact that she's with Jonah and he's
half again as big as I am in every measurement we dumb, primal
males think are important -- she's barely aware that I exist."

     "It's just... biology, Mulder. It's a scientific fact that
male hormones are stimulated by the visual. It's in your genes and
Hannah's gorgeous by any way even WOMEN gauge these things. I can
see the way she affects you."

     "And what about Jonah?" he teased. "I wasn't kidding about the
drool. Do you think women can control and men can't?"

     "Biology again. To a certain extent we can. I just don't want
there to be any trouble."

     "When you see either of us begin marking his territory, then
you can worry." Mulder put on one of his half smiles but Dana could
still see some degree of hurt mirrored behind those eyes.

     Her head dipped in a mixture of shyness and embarrassment. It
was another gesture he'd see again, not often and not for several
years, but he'd see it again. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I just
want this to be fun for both of us."

     Casually, he draped the arm not burdened with his duffel bag
around her shoulders. It was something he'd never tried before and
was rather shocked with how well they fit this way. "Then let me
look and enjoy the scenery and you get an eyeful too. The fact that
biology-wise I'm going to spend a significant part of this voyage
feeling like that boy on the beach every time he passes within
sniffing distance of a Playboy... well, my hormones could probably
use the workout."

     Scully laughed. There was no sound but Mulder could feel the
movement where her body pressed against his. His groin tightened in
a pleasurable response. Unobtrusively, he removed his arm. Maybe he
was going to be in more trouble on this trip than he thought.
 
 

     When they were opposite the entrance to the marina's crowded
store Mulder was reminded of the errand he must run.

     "Something wrong, Mulder? You have that look about you again
as if you weren't feeling well."

     "I just forgot... toothpaste. Myth's not that big of a ship
that you would want me to go without. But you go on -- you wouldn't
want Jonah to think that we'd changed our minds. I'll just pop into
the store for a moment."

     Dana paused, a pensive expression on her face and yet she knew
Mulder was right in that one of them should return as soon as
possible. "Is that all?"

     He knew she meant the trip and not the toothpaste. She was
certainly giving him ample opportunity to bow out. He would have
only himself to blame if he didn't. "I'm sure. Do you need
anything?"

     "Maybe some more sunscreen. We're going to fry out there. Oh,
and I looked in the galley. Lots of rice, grains, fresh fruit and
vegetables. I guess that means that if you want junk food you'll
have to pick that up yourself."

     "Thanks. Wouldn't want to have to risk going cold turkey out
there."

     "Oh, and Mulder..."

     "Yes?"

     "Better get some coffee, high test. These two probably
wouldn't be caught dead polluting their bodies with that stuff."

     "Good point. A pound of freeze-dried elixir of the gods coming
up."

End of chapter 4

~~~

Chapter 5

     Mulder found coffee, packaged donuts, chips, and sun screen
without any problem. With the image of standing in front of
Skinner's desk in three days' time crystal clear in his mind, he
even picked up a couple of tubes of aluminum oxide which the
package swore not a single ultraviolet ray could get through. For
the item he really came in for, however, he had to ask the aging
surfer behind the counter.

     "You and your friend took that job on Myth, right?" the
shopkeeper asked as he handed over the requested item. "Well, this
is about four times more than any normal man could possibly use in
such a short time."

     "Normal is not a word most people use when describing me,"
Mulder replied as he slipped the most recently acquired of his
packages deep into the center of his duffel bag.

                         * * * * * * * *

As Dana came aboard, Hannah who was working near the bow gave her
only a casual nod. Jonah's greeting was more personal.

     "Come down and I'll show you where you and your friend can
bunk."

     To the left of the narrow gangway steps as Dana descended was
the tiny galley. On her right was a small padded bench. The central
section of the main cabin consisted of two bench seats which faced
across a dinette table that would seat four people Dana's size.
Between the main cabin and the forward wedge-shaped sleeping cabin
was the tiny lavatory and smaller shower. All along the walls were
pigeon holes of all shapes and sizes equipped with fold down or
sliding doors of the same beautiful old mahogany as the rest of the
detail work. Jonah went to the dinette and released a catch under
the table. The table lowered until it was even with the opposing
beach seats. By moving the back cushions from the bench to fill the
table top with padding, he created a bunk that would fit two people
-- again, two people Dana's size -- and only if they were very
friendly.

     "I hope this is acceptable."

     Dana stared. Jonah expected that she and Mulder would sleep
here? Together? If so they'd be VERY together.

     "I don't think you understand," Dana explained. "Mulder and I
really are just partners."

     'Just' partners? No, more than that, a lot more than that, but
still not what Jonah or anyone else would understand. "We don't..."
Dana gestured towards the bunk.

     Jonah's golden eyes went very wide. "So sorry. I assumed. It's
so common these days."

     And so it was, Dana thought, but not by us.

     Flustered more than she had expected to be by the
conversation, Dana looked around the cabin for alternate
arrangements. She spied the short padded bench of about three feet
that could be seen to the right of the gangway.

     "What about that? Isn't that a single bunk? From other cabin
designs I've seen it is. Doesn't it extend back under the cockpit?
You can't sit up except here in the front half but you can stretch
your legs underneath?"

     Jonah pulled out a couple of large canvas sail bags as Dana
bent to examine the cavity that was created. In the dim light of
the cabin one could easily miss the extra space in the shadows. The
padded bench did indeed extend back further than she could reach.

     "The space is usually used as a bunk for children or for
storage," Jonah confirmed, "but an adult your size could sleep
there if that's what you prefer."

     Prefer? Dana wasn't even going to go there.

     "It will do fine. If I can sleep sitting up for three days
straight during stake outs, I can sleep anywhere. Mulder can then
sleep crosswise on the dinette bunk which is just as well. He'll
sleep less than any of us anyway."

     "As you wish. Again, I am sorry if I offended."

     "Don't apologize. On the road we get this every time we sign
up for separate rooms. We're just very good friends." To have gone
through a hurricane together like they had with only temporary
bouts of homicidal mania, they would have to be.

     "Still I apologize. You must admit in this age, it's an
unusual relationship."

     "Tell me about it," Dana murmured under her breath.

                           * * * * * *

     On his way back to the ship Mulder checked off in a more
organized fashion all the reasons - personal, professional,
psychological and biological - why he should be on his way north
and as far from the Keys as he could get. He stopped only when he
ran out of fingers and toes. Ten minutes later he found himself on
the dock throwing the bowline towards Jonah's waiting hands. Not
only had he used the correct technique so that the throw was
straight and true, but his leap over the side onto the gleaming
oak-planked deck was controlled, calm and confident - the complete
antithesis of the emotions boiling up in his insides as he watched
the gap between ship and pier grow steadily wider. He had only to
look over at Scully's blissful expression, however, to know that he
had made the right decision.

     So what if he humiliated himself in her eyes later. It
wouldn't be the first time.

     Jonah slid Myth out under bare poles - no smelly, noisy engine
for him, not when the tide and the direction of the light wind was
easily sufficient to move them away from the dock. Soon, however,
the older man was calling for his new deck hand to raise the
triangular jib on the forward stay and then there was no more time
for regrets.

     Myth and its new crew would not have to face the open ocean
for nearly half an hour. They would be slowly cruising the network
of channels carved out of the mango groves that were all along the
coast in this part of the Keys. Well protected from the ocean, the
water was smooth as glass and Myth moved along with hardly a
ripple.

     As Mulder tied off the jib line, two mating egrets spread
their large snowy wings from their perches on the mangrove's
twisted roots. The remainder of their sail along the mangrove was
as idyllic. The breeze in this protected place was so light that
Myth seemed to glide on the still water as if by magic. Seated on
the roof of the cabin, Mulder felt his body ever so slightly begin
to relax. Maybe this was going to work after all.

     He was mentally working his way through a book on the
classification of tropical birds he had absorbed during his one
ill-fated summer in boy scouts, when a renewal of soft voices from
the cockpit made him turn. Jonah was relinquishing the helm to
Scully. Her voice was light and calm, perfect for this occasion,
but he who knew her so well could read more in the energy that
seemed to be glowing from every pour. Despite the distraction of
her new responsibilities, he seemed to sense her watching him. He
passed her a wink and was warmed to be given a smile in return.

     After that Mulder went back to his bird watching. A few
minutes later he heard her call, "Seaman Ishmael, raise the
mainsail," and he found her concentrating on him with a mock
severity that Hornblower would have appreciated.

     "Aye, aye, Captain," Mulder replied with a jaunty salute and
moved quickly, genuinely relieved to have something to do. The
process was not difficult -- snap the toggle of the fixed halyard
onto the head of the mainsail they had prepared while at dock and
then turn the halyard winch while checking that the sail didn't
foul. Meanwhile from the cockpit Scully took charge of the traveler
which positioned the boom on the port or starboard. It seemed a
simple process but Mulder knew better as he stood back to wait for
the sail to fill. Until the wind properly filled the sail, the boom
could swing dangerously from side to side.

<<<<<<<<

     All at once he seemed to sense a brisk, cold wind touch his
face and he had a sense of rough hemp rope in hardened hands. The
head of Myth's main mast had always been far taller than he but in
an instant it was far, far above him, taller than the tallest tree
in most forests. Its spars stretched out like wide shoulders and
strong arms. Back, leg and shoulder muscles straining and with the
rhythm of countless work songs in their blood, he and three others
of his shipmates heaved aloft the massive acres of square, heavy
canvas.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

     As abruptly as he had left it, Mulder felt himself back on
Myth's deck. He rubbed together hands that were empty and smooth as
he watched the light, fresh breeze struggle to fill the triangular
mainsail that seemed so very small in comparison to... in
comparison to... to what? Like waking from a dream, the image
floated across the surface of his mind and was gone.

     No, not another fade out. A secretive survey of his shipmates,
showed that at least none had noticed that he had 'left' for a few
moments. Apparently, he hadn't messed anything up when he had zoned
out, either, and that was some comfort. The problem was there could
be problems if he lost touch at the wrong moment. They were still
technically on a shakedown cruise. It was not too late to turn back
if either of the new crewmen proved incompetent or just wanted to
back out. He couldn't do that to Scully, however. He would try to
catch a nap. Yes, that was what he needed, sleep, and until then he
would just need to concentrate.

     He would not, would NOT, ruin this vacation for Scully.

     The mainsail snapped and instinctively Mulder's head followed
the sound. The cause was a slightly stronger gust off the land.
They had come to the end of this section of the intercoastal
waterway and its buffer of mangrove swamp. Ahead a gap opened in
the twisted mass of roots and lush green leaves. An unbroken
expanse of gray ocean and blue sky spread out before their eyes.
Mulder felt his insides begin to churn restlessly.

     Great... For a few miles there he had been able to forget.
Even now, could just be nerves. Before he had the time to offer up
the few prayers he remembered from church and synagogue -- his
parents had unsuccessfully tried him at both -- he was called to
give the main sail winch another half turn. At least the task gave
him something to think about besides his own troubles.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Dana made a small parcel in a cloth of bread, cheese, and
fruit and with two plastic bottles of fruit juice in hand emerged
from the ship's cabin looking for Mulder. She found him sitting on
the cabin roof, his back against the mast, forearms resting on his
knees.

     "I thought they had you chained to that wheel," he said as she
sat down beside him.

     "That's the plan. I'll be piloting most of the day. I want you
to do some today, too, so you can spell me on the way home.
Tomorrow we get to rest because we'll be on duty all of day three
starting at first light. Jonah worked out the schedule. Makes sense
to me."

     "Two days out, one day back."

     "We'll be beating against wind and tide most of the way to the
rendezvous point but we'll be with them both on the way back.
Monday should be fabulous. We'll be flying!"

     'Flying' triggered an intense longing to be seeing this all by
plane Mulder mused as his partner began to lay out the food.

     "You certainly have an appetite," he drawled. "Must be the sea
air."

     Dana glared. "I took enough for both of us. Be nice or I'll
make you get your own lunch next time."

     His face was turned towards the shore still clearly visible as
they would be paralleling the coastal island chain for most of the
afternoon. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

     "Fox Mulder not on a case and not hungry?"

     "Call me Ishmael," he said smiling every so slightly.

     She bit into some lovely crusty bread enjoying its freshness
which would not last long in this humidity. "Whatever your name is,
you should eat. You know that being outdoors like this will take a
lot out of you."

     "I need to lose a few pounds."

     Dana stared. To her eyes Mulder in shorts and a T-shirt was
lean and fit, if anything too thin especially after their forced
fast during the hurricane. She was about to remind him that he had
not finished his breakfast either, then decided that silence was
better under the circumstances. She had to mother him often enough
on the job when he wouldn't or couldn't eat. She was relieved that
the cases lately had not lent themselves to that kind of stress but
they would come around again, she had no doubt. No, she didn't want
him thinking about her in a maternal way. Not now. He was a grown
man. When he wanted to eat he would eat.

     As she cut herself a slice of cheese, Dana noted that Mulder
was studying the wind tail on the port stay. "How much do you
remember about navigation? Can you analyze our current tack?"

     Squinting into the bright sky, he answered, "We've been
following the coast line pretty significantly. That's to catch the
on-shore breeze, I assume. Only there's the affect of the real wind
as well as the shore breeze so that means we're sailing about two
points off. That's why our perception of the wind is pretty
minimal. In other words," he concluded, selecting a small banana
from the pile of food, "it's pretty hot on deck and its going to
get hotter so these bananas won't keep past tomorrow."

     "Not bad. And to relieve that heat, Jonah and Hannah have
approved our detouring slightly to a reef for snorkeling. We'll be
there - " she checked her watch " - in about two hours. Then we can
all cool off."

     They continued with their picnic. Unconsciously, Dana made a
note that though Mulder was going through the motions, he certainly
didn't seem to actually swallow much food. He was chewing that
banana more slowly than she'd ever seen him eat anything except for
a corn souffl^^ the one time her mother had had him over for dinner.
Unconsciously, Dana's attention moved from his mouth to his nose.

     "What?" Mulder snapped, when he noticed the direction of her
gaze. Self-consciously he touched his face. "Has a zit erupted in
the last few minutes?"

     "Huh? Sorry. I was just wondering about that stuff on your
nose."

     "It's just aluminum oxide. I burn."

     "I know what it is. With that pale Scottish complexion of
yours that won out in the race for expressed genes I don't doubt
that you burn, but if you had applied any more of that stuff, a
passing ship might mistake you for the White Cliffs of Dover."

     Mulder assumed a pose of affronted dignity. "Is that some
crack about the size of my nose?"

     "No, not its size, just the amount of gunk you have on it."
Further discussion of sunblock and Mulder's use of it ended
abruptly as Dana spied a tall object on the horizon and raised the
field glasses that hung on a leather strap around her neck. "That's
the Eastern Harbor light house. We're making better time than I
thought."

     They sat in a comfortable silence after that. Scully eating
and offering a bit of bread to Mulder from time to time. He ate a
few bites to please her and then fed the rest to the fish.
Afterwards they just sat and breathed. Scully found herself listing
slightly as she fought sleep. The sun was gloriously hot but not
too hot for sun-starved skins. Like a giant child's cradle, Myth
rose and fell on the long ocean swells.

     "Relaxed?" Mulder asked, unexpectedly.

     Abruptly, Dana straightened. She realized that she had nearly
fallen asleep against Mulder's shoulder and his arm and his leg and
a lot of the rest of his body. "How could I not be?" she said,
stretching as she sat up, every movement intended to convey that
there was nothing unusual about their positions. Beside her, Mulder
seemed as oblivious as she pretended to be. In fact his brow was
furrowed and his fingers were twitching. "Restless?" she asked.

     Mulder shrugged wide shoulders which Scully wished were bare
and not covered by the T-shirt. "Sorry. I'm just finding it harder
than I thought to slow down. Never was good at it even the few
times I came home from college on break."

     "That's funny. I'd crash. I'd sleep fourteen hours a day."

      "You're fortunate that you felt comfortable enough being home
to do that," Mulder murmured.
 

     It wasn't as if his parents had gone out of their way to be
difficult. During high school, after the divorce, he had actually
seen very little of his mother. If she wasn't in her room sleeping
her drugged sleep, she would be flitting between her garden and her
clubs. He had virtually raised himself from age fourteen once the
shrinks decided that the best course might be best to leave their
sulky patient alone. What snatches of conversations he and his
mother had when they passed in the yard or in the kitchen were
stilted and impersonal. No, his mother didn't bother him. She
neither woke him, cooked for him, nor did his laundry. The too-
quiet house was instead full of the voice he didn't hear and wished
with all his soul that he could -- Sam's voice as it should have
been, bursting with life and full of news and plans.

     Her undead ghost was bad enough. Through his life also drifted
the uneasy current that had everything to do with when William
Mulder would exercise his parental rights. His visits were always
unexpected and unwelcome.

     The college years were better in that Fox was far, far away
for most of each year. Whenever he was home his mother would be
just as distant, which was fine with Fox, but there would always be
a visit from 'him'. Father and son would stand far apart on the
porch of his mother's house, the lame attempts at conversation
worse than the talks of weather and grades with his mother.

     "I know people," Bill Mulder would always begin, his words
slurred to varying degrees depending upon the volume of liquid
courage he'd recently consumed. "I could get you into Harvard. Your
scores are off the chart or so the school tells me. You certainly
never did."

     "I like Oxford."

     "Well I don't. This psychology program. What are you going to
be able to do with that?"

     And so it began. "Something will come up."

     "Fox, you're gifted. You could do anything, be anybody, but
you have to plan. You can't let others rule your life."

     Right, like you? Like the way you tried to rule Mom, me, all
those years before she had the guts to push you out.

     Within five minutes they would be shouting. Again.

     He always escaped weighted down with both relief and regret --
relief at being able to leave and regret for the large gaping holes
of painful em