LOVE'S SAVAGE SEA SPRAY: AN X-FILES PIRATE SAGA (Episode Two, Part One) By: THE X-CENTRIC WRITING COLLECTIVE: Jacquie LaVa Foxsong (foxsong@foxsongfiles.net) MaybeAmanda (maybe_a@rocketmail.com CATEGORY: MSR, Parody, Humor RATING: R, for adult themes, lusty scenes and some rough seafarin'language CLASSIFICATION: A gleeful continuance and parody of the trashy romance-novel, "bodice-ripper" genre, begun in Episode One, and nagged, um, demanded, ah, requested by readers who should probably know better, LOL. By once again placing our favorite characters in said bodice-ripper, we are really asking for the Fic-Gods to stomp on us (You can thank us later, of course). In any case, if we are doomed to walk the plank for this one, then we shall all jump at once! SPOILERS: Nay! DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the gang be not ours, Mateys... we only beg for the right to turn their "lives" into one big "Bodice-Rippin" Good time! SUMMARY: The dashing Captain Fox Mulder and his Lady Dana Scully continue their high-sea romantic adventure, amidst more assorted seafarin' meanies than you can shake a peg-leg at, in this continued tribute to the "Romance Novel" - EPISODE TWO, PART ONE << 8 In a dank little tavern called the Little Ale'inn on the island of Cuncan, a woman was cleaning up in the early-evening lull. The late- afternoon customers had left, and the nighttime ones had not come in yet, and her master had gone down to the harbor to bargain for whatever liquor might have come in on the ship they'd seen that day. She had the place to herself. She mopped the nasty, greasy bar with a nasty, greasy rag. It didn't do much good, but the lights in the tavern were low, and their clientele weren't the kind to pay much attention anyway. She pushed the rag around in slow, idle circles. Her mind was a thousand miles away. 'Fowl Di,' they called her, but as she wiped up the bar she was remembering her younger days, before the war, when they'd called her by her real name - Diana. She'd had plenty of handsome young men then, back when she had all her teeth. Back then she'd had what could be passed off under dim lighting as good looks. The war - the war had changed all that. Di leaned across the bar to wipe at an unidentifiable scrap of something on the other edge, and her bosom made a hollow thunking sound as it hit the wood. Ah, yes - that had been the worst of it. She had thought more than once that it would have been better to lose an arm in the war, as her master had done, rather than to have lost her bosom. That was how she had met her master, Alex Krycek. Sometimes she thought of him as her friend, but other times she wasn't sure. They had met on the voyage as they crossed the ocean together on Admiral Spender's ship, the Ardent, at the end of the war. Seeing that Krycek had only one arm, she had befriended him; when he found out what had happened to her, he tried to return the favor. Krycek eked out a living carving and whittling; he'd paid for his passage on the Ardent by making her captain a new pegleg during the journey. The sailors used to come down at night and sit, talking and smoking, watching him hold the pegleg in the hook that he wore for his left hand, carving with his right. When he'd finished Admiral Spender's leg, he'd offered to whittle a pair of oaken falsies for Di. She glanced down at them, her hand pausing on the bar. Certainly, they were as fine a pair of titties now as they'd been, years ago. But they were more like Krycek's idea of a perfect pair than they were like the ones she'd lost. They were pert and upright and almost conical, and rather large. If he hadn't thoughtfully hollowed them out a little they would have given her a backache. That was why they made that familiar hollow thunk whenever she bumped them into anything. Di shook her head and sighed and went back to mopping the bar, and reflected again on what a small world it was. She had never told Krycek that she knew the man he blamed for the loss of his arm, the man who'd served alongside him in Her Majesty's Navy, the man he'd railed at and sworn for all these years to avenge himself on. She had never told him that this was the man she had thought of ever since the war. She had longed for him since the first moment she'd seen him, and when she'd finally bedded him, he'd caught that unfortunate case of scabies from her, and then gone off to sea before she could apologize. No, it was water under the bridge; there was no use mentioning it. Her life wasn't so bad here - she had a steady job, and a roof over her head, and Krycek didn't begrudge her the few extra pence she made in the back room with the drunken sailors who'd heard the rumors about her infamous falsies and wanted to sample the rest of the merchandise as well. No, she decided again, turning away from the bar. There'd be no point in ever again mentioning the name of Fox Mulder. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Under a bright blue sky, echoed in the blue, blue ocean below, a ship rode the crested waves gently, new sails trimmed neatly and the gleam of fresh paint sparkling white and clean. The Piper Maru was looking much improved - an improvement mirrored in the attitudes of the crew who worked her decks. Ragged still, a bit; these rough sailors... but content of spirit as never before. With three solid square meals under their belts every day, and better pay - stopping more often into ports exotic and new, able to slake their thirst for rum and women more often than ever before - these men were happier, healthier and actually cheerful as they toiled. And this amazing transformation owed itself to their new Captain... Who was, at this very moment, standing under the hot sun on above- deck, holding the love of his life in his strong arms, and kissing her quite senseless. "Oh, dearest love... Mulder... nay, you cannot!" Lady Dana Scully pressed against the hard chest of Captain Fox Mulder; eyes dazed with a combination of passion and fear; attempting to stave off his lusty caresses, even as she found herself straining closer to the flame. He had his face buried in her scented neck, mouth open against her soft skin; his tongue ravenously tasting her; one hand held her hips pressed against his raging erection, while the other cupped the sweet weight of her breast, so lovingly outlined by the form-fitting blue embroidered brocade of her gown. She was shuddering with the need his wild kisses had awoken in her soul - but she could not, would not allow this completion. Somehow she must make him understand. Mulder drew in a harsh breath, as he slowly lifted his head and gazed into his Scully's eyes... damp with tears of mingled pleasure and panic; he cursed himself for his callow behavior, and wrapped his arms comfortingly around her, cradling her to his heart. He had caused his darling to weep. His contrition knew no bounds. Cupping her lovely face in trembling hands, Mulder looked deep into her eyes, then covered her cheeks with tiny, apologetic kisses as he whispered to her. "My love, my Scully... please, forgive me! I have forgotten myself, yet again. I cannot help it, dearest - when I am near you I lose my sanity completely; the pounding of my heart makes me deaf against everything except your bounty; I cannot get enough of you!" He held her tightly, allowing her to feel the accelerated beating of his heart. Taking one tiny hand in his much-larger one, he pressed it to his chest, naked beneath the crisp linen shirt he wore, open almost to his waist. "Feel me, Dearest - feel how much I want you, need you!" Dana shuddered at the feel of his hot skin, and moaned silently, leaning into his chest and pressing rosy lips to the heated flesh. She tasted his skin, the feel of it divine against her tongue - and Mulder gave one mighty groan of desire and gently pushed her away; it took all his strength to do so. Gasping in mingled frustration and desire herself, Dana raised glazed eyes to his, and laid her hand on his warm, beard-stubbled cheek. "Oh, Mulder... I want nothing more than the right to lie in your arms every night, learning the delights of your strong body, but we cannot, yet. It is against my faith, Mulder. This raging lust I feel for you is a sin in God's eye - even though to me it feels so right. I tell myself that nothing this wonderful should be wrong... yet I know it is, dearest. We cannot allow ourselves to be tempted any further, Mulder - not until we marry." Mulder's eyes widened at her breathless declaration. Married --! His face must have shown his sudden panic, for Dana smiled a little, and kissed his cheek. "Is the thought of wedding me so foreign, so distasteful to you, my lord? Surely you see this as a natural conclusion to our love and devotion - Mulder?" She placed a finger underneath his chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers... only to tremble anew at the depth of love and want in his beautiful hazel eyes. Their gazes locked as they cupped each other's faces, reaffirming silently their commitment to each other. Mulder spoke softly, reverently to his lady. "Scully... I would want nothing more from this lifetime, than to become your husband, and the father of your children. But my love -" his eyes closed briefly, as if fighting back tears - "My love, I am, for all intents and purposes, a pirate. Oh, I am an officer of His Majesty's Navy, and I am proud to claim that title, but a pirate as well, thanks to my past association with Skinner. I have pirated these high seas long enough to acquire a reputation, and I am a wanted man somewhere in this wide world; of that I am quite sure. What sort of life could I offer you, my love? Nothing secure, nothing guaranteed! You should leave me, Scully; you should get as far away from me as you can! Go, be a Lady... be someone's Lady while you still can." His impassioned diatribe was halted by her soft palm pressing against his lips. "I can't. I won't. Mulder, I'll be that Lady, but my place is here with you now. This life that I have been exposed to, whatever you call it... it is your life. You hold me in your hand, Mulder - ever since that first fateful day upon the auction block, my course was set. And this ship, your ship, Mulder -and your crew - mayhap they need us, both. How many other lives can we save, together? How much can I prove, to myself and to my odious brother Wee Willy-Poop, that I am strong, and unconquerable?" She reached for his hand, clasped it tightly in hers, tugging on it a bit, and smiled faintly. "Mulder, if I leave you, go back to Ireland and to my brother's dominance and cruelty... he wins." And Dana Scully stared hard into the eyes of her beloved, and he smiled down at her, just a little; still worried, but knowing the rightness of them, together. They wound their arms around each other and held on tightly, there on the polished deck, with the sun beating down upon their heads and the wind in their faces. "Very well, Scully - I concede. I love you too deeply to try dissuading you further. So, tell me..." he smiled down into her glorious eyes, "Tell me, what sort of wedding does my Lady desire?" She dimpled up at him, and stroked his cheek so lovingly. "A Catholic wedding, Mulder." << 9 The heat of the afternoon sun made the sand almost painful to walk upon, and Alex been waiting for almost an hour, the thin, worn soles of his tattered boots no protection from the burning ground. He shaded his hand against the low glare of the sunset, and watched as a ship, large and with full sails still billowing, moved closer and closer to the shore. It looked like... but nay, it couldn't be, for that particular lady wasn't due into harbor for several more weeks, and Alex Krycek was not looking forward to the day it finally docked. He really hoped today was not his unlucky day. Alexendrokovski Krycek was a nomad, of sorts; never having called any one place his home. Found wandering in the dirty streets of Tsankva Kvorkis when just a small tot, he had lived hand to mouth amongst the whores and derelicts who frequented the docks of the tiny Russian seaside burg. Sometimes the whores, painted of face and with large, soiled breasts, took pity on the rail-thin child, and would give him scraps of dry, stale bread and dregs of wine from their evening meals. The foul-mouthed sailors would frequently kick him out of their way when they chanced upon him, begging in a high, childish voice, in front of the doxy-quarters down on Vee Lu Svenk; he would stumble to his ragged knees, tears springing from his large, dark eyes, as they laughed coarsely and swore at him. One of the whores would then pick him up, and cradle him to one of many sweaty, yet comforting bosoms, and rock him, crooning to him, calling him a brave little man for not screaming from the pain. Before the age of four, Alex had broken every one of his little ribs, had endured several cuts from filthy daggers and had broken both arms. Every fight, every cruelty inflicted upon his innocent head just served to make him stronger, more of a scrapper... tougher to kill. By the age of ten, Alex could fight as well as any of the meanest swabbies who swaggered along the dock and spat their tobacco juice on the rocky beach. He had learned how to steal and filch purses from the few gents who were hapless enough to lose their way, fresh off the touring ships when they came in for supplies and such. These men were easy to spot with their snowy cravats and breeches of clean velvet; clutching their hats in one hand and a clove-studded orange in the other, to help ward off the harbor stench. Alex cut his thieving teeth on these unfortunate fops, learning to snatch and run, quick as lightning. He had to fight to keep his hard-won treasures from the same gaggle of unwashed sailors who'd kicked and beaten him when he was younger; as he grew tall and strong (and very adept at fighting with knives), the sailors learned to leave him alone... for the young man Alex Krycek was not to be trifled with. The only humanity in those filthy streets safe from his marauding wrath was the whores who frequented the corners, the docks and every available tavern. These women had been kind to Alex, essentially the only mother-figures he'd ever known - and Alex was unfailingly polite and kind to them, for he'd never forgotten their coarse but warm comfort when he was an injured, bleeding and hungry little boy. Perhaps that was why he'd taken pity on Fowl Di, the bar wench he'd met on the Ardent so long ago. None would talk to the poor woman, staring at her flattened chest with horror... not even wishing to look upon her pockmarked face, for she'd been infected several times with the dreaded Whore's Sores, which traveled from sailor to sailor like wildfire and left deep holes upon the skin after the sores popped, drained and healed. It was said Di's last case of sores was so bad, she'd actually lost her titties. They'd become infested with the sores and had simply rotted off her body. She had almost died of the raging fever, and Alex never did find out the true story, nor did he care. Fowl Di was what she was though no fault of her own - just as Alex had become. He and Di actually became friends. Now, Alex watched the huge ship as it moved closer and closer; he'd thought it was the Georgetown, just back from a round of trading in the Indies; he'd promised Di a length of Indian cotton, to make herself a decent gown. But this was not the Georgetown, it would seem - this ship looked more like the Piper Maru, Skinner's ship. This far away, it was still hard to tell. Alex stood his ground in the still-sizzling sand of Cuncan, and nodded slowly to himself. It didn't really matter, he supposed, whether he bought the cotton today; the Georgetown would be back soon enough, and the money he'd make from the fine rum he could get from Skinner might mean he could buy a little better kind of fabric for Di. Alex turned and started toward the harbor. His mood improved further as he neared the busy docks. Skinner's rum was by no means the cheapest, but for all the man drove a hard bargain, it was still a good buy -- it was always so potent that Alex could water it down significantly without a single complaint from a customer. By the time he came to the Piper Maru, Alex was smiling, and he found himself actually looking forward to the inevitable haggling over the price. His smile turned to an expression of consternation when he took a better look at the ship that bobbed gently in the water at the end of the dock. It must be the Piper Maru -- yes, that was the same intricately-carved dragon's head at the bowsprit, eyes ablaze, nostrils flared... but there had been changes. The rigging all looked new; the sails were crisply white -- where were the bold red slashes that had been blazoned across them? And the flag -- Skinner had always taken a devilish glee in the overlarge Jolly Roger he had liked to fly at the very top of the mainmast, its grinning skull and crossed bones proclaiming without doubt the nature of the ship, and practically daring the men of Her Majesty's navy to try to best her. Many times had Alex's old crony Admiral C.G.B. Spender skirmished with Captain Skinner, and many were the self-aggrandizing tales told by the rough and dangerous crew, around Krycek's tavern late into the evening. Alex squinted up into the sun at the flag that flew in the Jolly Roger's place, and tried to make sense of it. It was a plain black banner, bearing the single letter "X" in a bold circle. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. This could bode no good, he thought, and wondered at the same time how he might learn more without actually approaching the ship. He looked around, but saw no familiar faces. Where was Bowman, the navigator? Or Manners, the quartermaster? Alex faded into the crowd, becoming invisible, as he had learned to in his childhood, and slipped closer to the Piper Maru. As he studied the ship, he saw something that made him narrow his eyes and stare openly. Coming to the top of the ramp, preparing to disembark from the ship, was a woman. This in itself was not unusual; Skinner nearly always had a tasty morsel on board to occupy himself between raids. What had caught his eye was the woman herself. She was petite and dainty, but bore herself regally; she was dressed in a kind of finery almost unimaginable in this little harbor town -- a dark blue brocade, rich with embroidery, riding low on her shoulders, nipping in at her delicate waist. A lacy shawl covered her milk-white shoulders, and only served to better frame her creamy bosom, rising above the plunging neckline of the gown. Her luxurious red-gold hair was piled high upon her head like a crown of flame. Alex sucked in his breath sharply. Skinner had outdone himself this time. He watched as the beautiful woman stepped onto the ramp, and saw that she was flanked by two men, one short and stout and bespectacled, the second tall and lanky, with long yellow hair and a craggy, forbidding face. Yes, Skinner knew the worth of what he had -- and was wisely keeping her well-guarded. Alex watched as she descended the ramp, her chaperones at her side, and disappeared into the crowd. Krycek's curiosity grew by leaps and bounds. He looked around again to see someone who might tell him more; his eyes came to rest on a young boy just coming down the ramp, carrying a few small bundles. As Alex watched, he set the bundles down next to a larger trunk. When the child turned back toward the ramp, Alex was standing before him. "Good morning, young man," Alex said, smiling. "I'm Alex. What's your name?" "Gilligan, sir, Vince Gilligan. But the crew all call me Gilly." "Have you come in on the Piper Maru? I know her -- she's a fine ship." "Oh, aye, that she is, sir," said the child. Alex drew a coin out of his pocket, slowly, and saw with satisfaction that the boy glanced down and took notice. Alex toyed with the coin, not offering it to the child, and yet making it plain that it might still change hands. "So, my young man," he asked, "where has she been sailing, this fine ship? For I am a tradesman, and interested in her wares. Mayhap she is carrying cargo that will suit my needs." "Why, I have only been on board her this past month, sir, so I cannot tell you more than that." At Krycek's raised eyebrow he went on, "My family, sir -- we were on a ship that foundered in a storm, and began to take on water. Most of the lives on board were lost. A few of us clung to the last bits of the wreckage for a few days. But finally, just when all hope seemed lost, the Piper Maru chanced across us, and the Captain rescued us, and has brought us here, where we may find other ships to take us home. He has even given us coin to book our passage." "I see," Alex said slowly, trying to imagine what could have brought about such a show of generosity from Skinner. He wondered if the boy's family was well-to-do, and whether there had been some sort of exchange that the boy had not been privy to. "He is a good man, then, the captain...?" The child beamed. "Oh, yes, sir! He is a fine man. And his missus is so kind, too -- she has been teaching me my letters and my sums, all the way here. I like them both so very much!" His missus! Krycek almost frowned in surprise, and caught himself just in time. A suspicion began to form in his mind. "And what does the Captain's missus look like, my boy?" he asked. "She's a pretty lady, sir, with red hair, and eyes as blue as the sky. Captain Mulder says that Miss Scully is the prettiest lady on all the seas, and I think he is right." Captain Mul -- "Here, my boy," Krycek said, abruptly holding the coin out to the child, "I thank you for the tale." He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the surprised boy staring after him. ~~~~~~~~~~ << 10 Inside the Little Ale'inn, the air was much cooler, albeit stale with last night's ale and tobacco fumes; but Di was used to the stench. She knew it permeated her skin and her hair, but she had grown so accustomed to it, and besides, all their customers reeked of the smell. This afternoon, however, the odor was especially strong; there had been a marathon whist session the night before, with a throng of sailors egging on the two remaining players. Krycek loved these standing-room-only nights of games, and drinking; he brought in a tidy sum after such events. Last night had been no different, and Alex had bounded out the door fairly early this morning, patting Di on her rump and winking at her, promising her a length of fine indian cotton, should the Georgetown come into port. He had asked her what color she preferred, knowing with a smile she would reply, "Oh, Master Alex, it doesn't matter to me none, you know that! Just having new cloth is more than I could hope for." When he had returned a few hours later, Di was just coming in from cleaning out the pigeon coop Krycek kept behind the tavern. It was another unpleasant, smelly job, but she knew Alex was the only man in all the nearby islands to keep messenger pigeons, and she had seen many times over how valuable they could be as a means of contacting the world outside the little island. Several times, these pigeons and the messages they carried had helped to avert trouble. As she opened the back door, Di had heard Krycek directing the young man who'd brought the great kegs of rum to the tavern. "Over here, behind the bar -- yes, right there. That'll be fine." "Master Alex?" "Di," he said, with a sigh, turning to her. "I'm sorry -- it wasn't the Georgetown that docked today; it was the Piper Maru. I've no cloth for you after all." He patted the top of the nearest keg. "But we have some of that excellent rum, now, so by the time the Georgetown comes our way, we may be able to buy you twice as much, eh?" "Ah, you're right. We always do well on Captain Skinner's rum -- that we do," she replied, but Alex's face darkened at her words. He reached over and pulled a barstool toward him, and slowly sat down. "There's been a change at the helm of that ship, Di," he said thoughtfully. "I dealt with a new man today for the rum -- called himself Byers. John Byers. He seemed a pleasant, easy sort of fellow, though I'll warrant I paid the same sum for these three kegs that I would have to Skinner's old quartermaster Manners." Di frowned a little. "But... is Captain Skinner not her master, anymore? What could have happened? Why, it's been years since anyone dared even to try him." Krycek shook his head. "I heard a little of the story, here and there, but not enough to put all the pieces together. And I want the rest of the tale, because I think the man who usurped that ship is someone I've a score to settle with." He looked meaningfully at the steel hook that protruded from the end of his sleeve. "I invited the man Byers to come here and sample that good rum, and told him his Captain was welcome as well. If he's the man I'm thinking of, then..." His voice trailed off. Diana, seeing the determined set of his mouth, felt a wave of mingled excitement and apprehension wash over her. She knew whom it was that Alex held responsible for the loss of his arm -- but what could that man have to do any longer with the Piper Maru? Or, for that matter -- with her? Di wiped down the bar with the cleanest rag she could find, and set out mugs for ale and rum. Outside the sun hung low in the sky; it would set soon and then the men would come, rowdy as ever, demanding their warm rum and setting up the whist games again. Sailors would stagger in from the docked ships in the harbor, having begun their drinking marathon on deck and continuing in the cozy tavern. Some of the sailors would come to her, eager to strike a deal of an hour or so of her time. Only a handful of unattached women lived on the island. Although Di was certainly nothing to look at, she was kind to the sailors and took very good care of them, either in front of a mug of ale or behind the dingy curtains of her little room. She sighed gustily, and dropped the soiled rag into a cracked earthen bowl filled with grimy water. Propping her elbow on the sticky bar counter, she wondered for the hundredth time if her life would ever be more than a smoky bar and a sailor's callused hand somewhere on her body. Di shook her head in self-disgust, and finished setting up the rest of the mugs. As she bent down to retrieve the storeroom key from underneath the counter, knowing she would have to bring out another crock of ale, the door opened noisily, blowing in a gust of sea breeze and the smell of spicy citrus and cinnamon. Di paused in mid-squat, sniffing the air. That smell - she knew that smell. Citrus and cinnamon... Once, long ago, she'd lain in a rumpled bed next to a man who smelled of citrus and cinnamon; she'd curled herself against him as he slept, and her hand had caressed him lovingly -- Mulder. Fox Mulder had always smelled of citrus and cinnamon; it was his own special cologne, made for him in the West Indies years ago when he first crewed the Piper Maru and the ship had docked there for supplies. Mulder... here? Impossible. It could not be! Di crouched behind the counter, afraid to straighten up and see for herself who'd just come through the door. She stayed down and out of sight, listening to see if she could recognize the voices. Two of them, one deeper than the other, both voices smooth and cultured, amazingly similar in pitch and tenor. "Seems to be deserted... thought this was the only tavern in town?" John Byers looked around the empty room, noting the stacked mugs on the counter and the tallowed candles in their sconces on the dark walls. "Someone must be here, for the sconces have been lit and the door was unlocked. Mayhap they are in a storeroom somewhere, fetching supplies." He shrugged and flopped into the nearest chair; next to him, Fox Mulder sank into an adjoining chair and rubbed at his weary face. It had been a long day, but they were finally at port - and he was now an engaged man. He grinned to himself; Byers noted the wide smile, and slapped Mulder on the back. "You are one lucky devil, Captain... I hope you realize that." Mulder nodded, smiling still; he reached out a strong hand and clasped his friend's shoulder. "I am indeed, Byers - do not think I am unaware of it! Lucky beyond belief..." He trailed off, staring into space, seeing naught but the enchanting face of his beloved Dana, as she had last appeared to him: standing on the gangplank of the Piper Maru, red hair glinting in the sun, a smile of pure loveliness on her face and eyes brighter than the sky. He sighed. And behind the counter, Di heard his voice - and his sigh - and her heart began to pound hard against her oaken chest, for she knew that voice and that sigh. Combined with that intoxicating smell, it could be none other than the man who still haunted her dreams after all this time. Fox Mulder, in this tavern. She still dreamed of him often, sometimes every night in a weeks-span. Still remembered the feel of his taut, smooth skin, and the strength of his man-root as it had buried itself into her eager body again and again. Gentle but rough, tender yet demanding - tireless in his need and in his lust. A stallion under the covers, and a true gentleman outside the boudoir... such a man! Di had to see him; had to be sure. She dared a quick peek over the scarred counter. Oh Merciful Heavens! It was he - it was Fox. Seated only a few feet away from where she crouched in trembling awareness; long legs stretched out before him, clad in tight buff breeches and polished black hessians; dark blue waistcoat fitting his wide shoulders to perfection, white linen shirt open at his tanned throat... smiling at his companion, who was also quite a nice-looking fellow, but could never begin to compare to her darling Fox. Di began to rise, up off her knees, fully prepared to fling herself over the counter and into his arms - then she froze, and looked down at herself in complete dismay. She was a wreck - a complete and utter wreck. Her hair hung in her eyes, greasy from lack of a proper cleansing and brushing; her gown was soiled down the front and stained with ale and rum and sweat, torn on one shoulder from the rough handling of last eve's only paying customer. She'd fallen into bed exhausted, not bothering to undress. If ever there needed to be a time when Di looked and smelled her very best, it was at this fortunate moment in her life... for a hardy wind and Lady Fortune herself had seen fit to sail her Mulder back to her. Di wanted nothing more than to wallow in that good fortune. But first, she needed to clean herself up. Staying low behind the bar, she crept soundlessly into the back room and wasted not a moment; ripped off the soiled gown and hurriedly splashed herself with toilet water, raking her hair up into a quick and sloppy chignon as she struggled into the first clean gown she could dig out of her steamer trunk. Within five minutes she was as presentable as possible and smelled a good sight better, although underneath the coating of lilac toilet water the sweat and ale was discernible. But there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Pressing one work-roughened hand to her fluttering stomach, Di pulled the shabby curtain aside, and approached her destiny. Byers spotted her first, and gave her a shy smile; she smiled back in his general direction, her eyes locked onto the form of the only man in the world for her, sitting so relaxed and at ease in the scarred chair. Mulder had been staring out the darkened window, wondering when he should return to the ship and to his Scully, for surely her nightly toilette would be completed by now, and he would go to her stateroom, and have a leisurely supper with her... then spend the rest of the evening planning a future; dreaming dreams, and kissing her until they both fair exploded. A small noise near the bar drew his attention away from his reverie, and he turned his head to glance at the woman standing next to the wooden counter. Dark hair piled haphazardly atop her head; faded blue gown, clean but wrinkled here and there; sparkling brown eyes in a tired, pockmarked face, showing traces of the prettiness that would have been apparent many years and many men ago. He had seen this woman countless times, in countless ports; slopping ale to sailors and assorted drunks; cleaning up vomit and urine from overflowing slop buckets, dodging hands with no coin in them and allowing a padded pocket a few liberties. Yes, he'd seen his share of this kind of woman. Except this particular woman did look familiar to him... he stared at her, hard. Yes, he did know her. He dredged through his brain and pulled a name out of the air; stood up slowly and addressed her. "Diana, is that you?" She nodded eagerly, one tear falling from her eye, moving swiftly toward him as he held out a hand to her, a smile forming on his handsome features. She reached him in an instant, bypassed the hand and threw herself into his arms; in her joy forgetting completely about her oaken titties and how they might feel to someone who knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding such an odd appendage. His arms closed around her slowly, and he gave her a hesitant hug; bewildered at her familiarity but accepting without question her need to be held. She smelled... odd, he decided; sweaty and perfumed and decidedly stale with rum - but after all, she was a bar-maid, and as such took on the scents and smells of her trade. And her bosom; strange. Something very strange. And with a start of shock, Mulder realized what it was. He remembered a sailor on the Piper, bragging about bedding a wench with oaken titties and how they had repulsed him and yet excited him at the same time. Mulder looked down at the woman in his arms and his eyes filled with pity. What had happened to her, he wondered, as he held her gently and felt her tears against his throat. The Diana he'd known had been a handsome woman; a bit thin from too few meals, but nicely rounded and her face had more than a few traces of beauty. She'd always had nice eyes and a sweet smile, but now her eyes were faded, and her face drawn and creased - her body much too bony and her hands rough and scratchy from years of harsh soap. And her breasts... Mulder couldn't even begin to fathom what may have happened to her in the past, for her to lose her bosom. He'd known her years ago, when he was a callow, youthful and eager lieutenant and she was the 'older woman' who took him to bed and eased his hot blood with a body well-used but still supple and firm. He held her and let her cry all over him, and pondered sadly the harshness of the world on a woman alone; no man to care for her and in such dire need of money and food that she'd lie with swine to gather a few coins to rub together. He was so thankful he'd found his Scully, before a fate such as this could have befallen her, and stolen the bounty of her youth and beauty, and innocence. So thankful... so anxious to get back to his ship and see her, tell her - reaffirm his love for her, and his need. For now, however, there was a woman who needed comfort, and no small amount of it, and Fox Mulder was ever the gentleman. So he held Di and spoke gently to her, kind words she'd not heard in so very long; inquiring about her health and her well-being, as if he really did care; which he did, of course... but not in the manner for which her need was the strongest. He brought her over to his table and bade her sit; dried her teary eyes with a linen handkerchief that was softer than her skin. She dabbed at her eyes and restrained herself from blowing her nose on such silky cloth, also forcing herself not to wipe her nose against the sleeve of her gown. Di was no lady, but Fox Mulder was a gentleman through and through; she'd not bring him down to her level by exercising her baser instincts in his presence. to be continued! EPISODE TWO, PART TWO << 11 Lady Dana Scully stroked a boar's hair brush through her glossy flaming locks, and with half-closed eyes thought of her love. It had been the most wondrous day. They'd spent the morning planning and scheming a wedding, stealing kisses and caresses as they plotted. Mulder had pressed a sweet kiss upon her honeyed lips with each plan they'd agreed upon; after the second or third kiss they'd found themselves agreeing upon the most ridiculously outrageous ideas, just to have an excuse to kiss. She'd asked for roses and lilacs to wear in her hair; Mulder had countered with hibiscus, remarking upon the ease of finding the scent- heavy flower, which grew wild on the island. An agreement made, they had kissed with leashed passion, exploring each other's mouths tenderly. Then Mulder had declared his desire to be married in puce- colored breeches, with broad purple stripes; Scully had been suitably horrified and had countered with her wish to see him in his formal white dress breeches. "They mold themselves so cunningly to your, um... strength, my love." And her eyelashes had fluttered at him in exaggerated appeal; Mulder had hooted aloud with delighted laughter and had agreed instantly; then his strong arms had wound about her tiny waist, and pulled her into his hard chest, covering her smiling lips hungrily; giving up all pretense of polite discourse as they'd fondled each other with increasing abandonment, and kissed until they were both fair unconscious. Mulder had been aflame with longing and boundless lust, trembling hands cupping her sweet breasts, lips stamping a trail of possessive kisses across her dainty jawline and down one creamy shoulder until he had reached a luscious point, hidden underneath the blue of her gown. He had gasped at the feel of that berry-sweet morsel under his fingertips, and had tugged at the shoulder of her gown, exposing the tender nub to his hot gaze, and then to his even hotter mouth. Dana had shuddered with sweet longing as his lips closed over her nipple, alternately pulling and then licking at it with his silky-rough tongue until she thought she'd go mad with the wanting of him. Now, Dana shuddered anew at the remembrance of the passion-soaked moment; how she'd cried out with the feel of his hard suckling of her breast, fighting to keep her head and hating to deny him the ease of her body. But she wanted their first time together to be perfect... she wanted the honor of marital bliss to cover both of them, ere they consummate their sacred vows. She'd pushed him away, eyes glittering with unshed tears as Mulder, damning himself to perdition for making her weep once more, held her pressed tightly to his shaky frame and begged her forgiveness again and again. 'Twas a small boon to grant; she loved him too much to be angry with him for actions which she knew could not be helped, nor controlled, by either of them. Dana sighed, and set down her brush; he'd be here soon, and they would share a light repast and finalize their plans for the wedding ceremony... and then there would be the sweetest, most drugging kisses, exchanged with heated passion... her head swam with the need, and the desire. Dana lay back upon the wide satin-covered bed, and dared to touch her soft breasts with her own slender fingers, imagining they were the hands of her love - feeling with wicked need the almost overpowering stir of her deepest womanly ache, for him... for her Mulder. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Alex Krycek held his favorite pigeon in his hand, and thought about what he'd discovered this night, simply by asking a few well-worded questions. He now knew for certain the identity of the Piper Maru's new Captain - and his fury and desire for revenge had never been stronger than at the moment when the Piper's swabbie Byers had unwittingly uttered Fox Mulder's name. Krycek had been half expecting it, if the truth be told; had suspected as much when he'd first spoken to that boy Gilly, who'd been unloading from the Piper. Captain Fox Mulder! The man who'd caused him to lose his arm. His enemy. Krycek had sworn an oath to kill Fox Mulder, should their paths ever cross again, and now it seemed his chance was finally at hand. Fox Mulder was docked here on the island, preparing for a wedding, according to Byers. Krycek had returned to the tavern in time to speak to the swabbie, who'd stayed behind to have one last mug of warmed rum before heading back to his post. Apparently Mulder had already departed for the ship, no doubt eager to return to the arms of the luscious red-haired beauty who Alex had spied earlier. Mulder's intended... the loveliest woman Alex had ever seen. A woman such as that could keep a man warm and sated for the rest of his God-given days on earth. It would be a shame to see a woman so beautiful laid low as a widow, so soon after her wedding vows. She'd be desolate. She'd need comforting, to be sure. Alex smiled at the thought - he could be persuaded to be the comforter of the Lady Scully, with little effort. He stroked the little pigeon once more, and set it on a small perch; adjusted the tiny missive strapped to its leg. This pigeon was trained to fly from the island to wherever the great ship Ardent happened to be a-sail - and Alex knew its Captain would come running with full canvas flapping, if he knew the Piper Maru was this accessible. Hopefully, the Ardent wasn't so very far away and could make port quickly, upon its captain receiving this most vital missive. Admiral Spender hated the Piper Maru; had been searching for it for quite a while. Spender had a score to settle with its Captain, and quite a lot of purloined booty to lift from its well- padded storerooms. Krycek smiled again, and set the pigeon loose, watching its upward progress into the night sky. "Fly straight and true, my little friend. I am counting on you to deliver my most important missive of all. Do not fail me..." As he continued to watch, Alex could have sworn he saw the bird dip its wing as if in acknowledgment of his entreaty. << 12 The Ardent was a huge ship, larger than most frigates and fitted with extra sails. Its owner, Admiral C.G.B. Spender, was one of the few higher officers in Her Majesty's Royal Navy who actually owned his own ship. Spender never failed to remind his crew at any given moment - usually when he was angry at them and was wont to threaten them in some way - that the Ardent belonged to him and thus he could make them walk the plank for any sort of misdemeanor, should they displease him in any way. Consequently his crew obeyed him stringently, but they despised him, even as they feared him. Considering the quality of the crew in question, their fear was all the more indicative of the man himself; the man who controlled the Ardent, and their lives. CGB Spender was a tall man, with a slight paunch and yellowed, unhealthy skin; unhealthy from the copious amounts of tobacco he smoked in his pipe, constantly lighting it and sucking the acrid smoke deep into his lungs. The tobacco was specially blended for him and always ready for him, whenever he stopped at Port Du Morlee', on the Mediterranean island of Salarno. Thick, yellowish-green smoke would ring his craggy head as he puffed away, and the stench of the tobacco permeated every nook and cranny of the huge ship. His crew - hardened criminals for the most part, although they played at being officers of the Royal Navy - cringed whenever Spender spoke to them, not just because they feared him but also because of his putrid breath. Many of them were in the habit of carrying around clove-studded oranges, which they held to their noses in a vain attempt to reduce the odiferous smoke. Spender was not offended by their antics; in fact, when he was feeling particularly buggery, he would take their oranges away from them and then force them to stand still whilst he breathed directly into their faces. If they vomited as a result of their weakness, they were slapped in irons as a punishment and chained to the side of the ship for hours. Spender's crew thus actually became infamous for their ability to hold their vomit endlessly. Spender had hand-picked his crew from the hapless dregs of the islands of which he was wont to dock. To say they were rough men would be to put forth an understatement. There was Junior Yeoman Modell. Rob was his name, but no one would ever have dared to address him so informally. He was Modell to some and "The Shover" to others, depending upon their rank (and physical strength). Recruited by Spender in the West Indies, Modell was obsessed with the idea of bending the minds of the human race to do his bidding, and his will. Handsome and articulate, he was always dressed immaculately in his yeoman whites, and would become irrationally infuriated whenever another crew-mate touched his spotless uniform, or behaved in a clumsy manner close to his person, threatening to spill upon, smudge, stain or otherwise maim his uniform. Ordinarily the crew would have delighted in torturing the yeoman, just to watch him erupt... except that when Modell did spew his nasty venom on a hapless crew mate, they would usually die. For Modell had perfected that ability -- to force the human mind to perform his bidding, simply by staring at them, and thinking about the way in which he wanted them to hurt themselves. Of the fortunate few who were allowed to see another sunset, upon being asked where Modell had disappeared to - after inflicting his form of terror upon them - they would simply stare blankly into space, and murmur, "He had to go." Modell's immediate superior was Senior Yeoman Pfaster. Donnie his name; the sweet nickname given to him by his sainted mother, these many years dead in her grave. Donnie wore about his neck a chain woven of his mother's hair, and studded with her fingernails, which he had removed from her fingers upon her death. Considering his mother wasn't completely dead when he removed them, however... it was understandable why his "sainted" mother screamed and cursed his rotten soul to Hell, as he was busy prying off her nails. Donnie had solved that small annoyance by drowning his mother's weakened body in a copper tub of icy water; then he gently washed her hair with rose- scented soap, pulled it out by the roots and wove himself a chain to wear about his neck. Oftentimes he would pause in his daily task, and stroke the chain gently, a dreamy look upon his face. When his crew-mates witnessed this moment of reverie, they would usually run in the other direction, as Donnie had once or twice attempted to remove hair in a subversive manner; sneaking up behind them as they toiled, and yanking on their locks. After the last attempt, every man jack crew had his hair shaven off - and so that small temptation was removed. It didn't stop Yeoman Pfaster from trying to remove their fingernails, however, at night when they lay abed. Recruited from the Hawaiian island of WakiWaki - rescued from disembowelment for trying to remove the hair of the Chief's number one daughter, Sweetbread Blossom - Pfaster had found a home on the Ardent. The rest of the crew would have liked to see him run away from said home. Ensign duties were assumed by Edward Jerse, a handsome and personable lunatic whom Spender recruited on the far coast of Cornwall. Ensign Jerse was the Ardent's record-keeper, having been employed as a merchant banker in Cornwall. Possessed of a higher intelligence than the average ensign, Jerse was nonetheless as pudding-pated as they came. Tattoos covered his arms and his strong shoulders; a dizzying variety of tattoos which at first had fascinated the other crew. Until they realized that Jerse was convinced his tattoos had lives of their own, which they played out on his hapless body with irritating regularity. To keep his 'live' tattoos from exercising such mundane daily routines as holding 'town meetings' and 'village dances' complete with music - which he claimed they were prone to do when he slept - Jerse frequently did himself bodily injury with fire, hot coals and sharp knives. When the instruments of his self-infliction became too much for the rest of the crew to bear, they forced Spender to restrict Jerse to the lower quarters, where the great stores of foodstuffs, pilfered booty and other such supplies were kept. The arrangement worked quite well, with Jerse at home amongst his responsibilities, and the crew at last undisturbed by his habitual wounding... except sometimes, late at night, when a crew-mate could swear he heard the sound of a squeeze-box, playing a waltz. Far down in lowest quarters, lived Crewman Eugene Tooms. Tooms was the ship's vermin killer. Rats were a problem on any ship, and even a large, well-appointed ship such as the Ardent was not immune. Tooms was very successful at his task for one very good reason: he craved, and lived off, the livers of all the rats he caught. Tooms had been recruited in the Bavarian town of Hammerschmitzel, where Spender had found him keeping the sewers vermin-free. Spender had bought him, taken him on board and tossed him into the bowels of the lowest quarters. Within three days, nary a rat could be found, and Tooms was lying in a corner of the dank galley, his mouth covered in yellow bile, and satisfyingly bloated from his grisly repast. The rest of the crew, curious to see for themselves their new oddity of a crew-mate, took one glance at the slumbering Tooms and ran for upper deck. After that, Tooms was on his own. On this particular day, very early in the morning, the Ardent cut through the foaming waves with ease, sails billowing full in the breeze and crew scrambling to keep the huge ship moving swiftly. Spender was impatient to be at his next planned port; it was rumored he'd found a new quartermaster to replace the one that Crewman Tooms had murdered. Spender had cursed from one end of the ship to the other, when the discovery had been made. Good and loyal quartermasters were hard to come by, and Van Blundht had been one of the best. Deceptively strong and intelligent, fiercely loyal to Spender, Van Blundht was worth his weight in gold, for he had the inexplicable ability to rearrange his features in such a way as to take on the identity of anyone with whom he came into contact; this ability enabled him to perform some amazing raids on the well-protected hoards of goods and other necessities of port, wherever the Ardent docked. Van Blundht would simply sidle up to the storeroom doors, observe the keeper of the keys and by arranging his features would take on the countenance of that keeper. He would then knock the keeper unconscious, take his keys and unlock the doors, instructing the keeper's own lackeys to load the goods into the Ardent's large storerooms. Usually no one ever questioned the keeper, when doling out the coffers, and thus the great ship amassed mounds of goods and rarities, from all over the world. But Van Blundht had made the mistake of venturing down into the bowels of the ship, his natural curiosity getting the better of him, wanting to see for himself the odd crewmate Tooms. And he saw, indeed... right before Tooms, having eaten every rat's liver he could find and still hungry, had leapt upon the rather slow-moving Van Blundht, and had made a meal of his nice, large liver. Now the Ardent flew across the water, and Spender stood at the helm of his ship, puffing away on his acrid tobacco and watching the reflection of the bright sun upon the sea. His anger, at having to replace the valuable Van Blundht, was great, but not great enough to be willing to give up Crewman Tooms, for the nasty little liver- muncher had cleared his ship of all vermin, and for that talent he was worth keeping. Spender was willing to look for another quartermaster, and in fact, was entertaining the idea of asking his old friend Alex Krycek to assume that duty. He could use a man such as Krycek - even with one arm, the Russian was tough and quite formidable. Smiling to himself, Spender turned awkwardly away from the foaming wake of the sea, his pegleg less than steady beneath him, just in time to see a carrier pigeon land with unerring accuracy upon the rail near him. A carrier pigeon... Spender knew of only one user of such messengers: his old friend Krycek. Odd that the tiny bird should land on his ship at the exact same moment that Krycek would cross his mind. But as Spender reached out a hand to grasp the minuscule leather pouch tied to its leg, his pet parrot Polly, having flown from its perch at stern to light upon its master's shoulder, began to squawk in furious jealousy at having to share Spender's favor. The pigeon, spooked by the angry parrot, abruptly took to its wings and flew directly into the surprised face of Yeoman Pfaster, who immediately grabbed at it, yelling, "Ahoy! Fresh pigeon for supper, Mateys!" Two of the upper deck swabbies, upon hearing the word 'fresh,' whooped and began to chase the little bird, who flew erratically around in circles, trying to escape their eager grasp. At last Pfaster, taller and more dexterous than the rest, reached out a long arm as the bird barreled past, and caught it. The tiny pouch was torn off its leg as Pfaster made ready to wring its little neck... just as their Admiral roared at them to drop the poor bird or face walking the plank. "I'll have the man's head who tries to harm that bird! Drop it, Yeoman, else face my considerable wrath!" Five clumsy steps forward and Spender was nose to nose with Pfaster, puffing his fury and acrimoniously fetid breath into the yeoman's suddenly greenish-pale face. Pfaster loosed the bird from nerveless fingers; the tiny creature flew off, just as the poor yeoman keeled over from the unholy stench of his Admiral's breath, and vomited on the deck floor. The deadly point of Spender's pegleg kicked him aside as he bent to retrieve the tiny missive that had been attached to the bird's leg. Carefully he unfurled it; held it close to his face and read it - Only to fling it down again, cursing foully, as he turned on one heel and limped over to the stairs leading to below-deck, bellowing, "MODELL! Reset the course! We sail for the isle of Cuncan, this very day!" And to himself, softly, "I have a score to settle, and a Captain to collect..." << 13 Di stood at the grimy window that looked out onto the main street, such as it was; early in the afternoon and it was already bustling with life. She took up a grimy rag, dipped it in a bucket of water and rubbed the wet rag on a bit of lye soap, trying not to notice how the acidic soap made her hands raw and rough. "Tisn't as if anyone's going to hold my hand," she thought to herself, as she soaped up the cloth and applied the foam to the lower window, taking off a few layers of smoky residue. She'd begun wiping the rest of the suds from the window, when a sort of intuition made her glance up... and she froze in place, heart beating fair out of her poor body. Fox Mulder stood in the street, right in front of her rounded eyes. Di dropped the rag upon the floor, one wet hand going to her wooden chest, not able to feel her heart pounding itself silly against the oaken tittles, but knowing it was. Her eyes drank him in hungrily. He looked wondrous, he did... even more handsome than he'd appeared to her, several nights before. Clad in a wine colored waistcoat and pale grey breeches, which fit his muscular legs to perfection, calf- high polished hessian boots and a snowy shirt and vest, cravat intricately tied - holding his tricorn in his hands. His dark hair tossed about in the sea breeze, face tanned and eyes almost green in the bright sunlight. Di had ne'er seen a more tasty sight. God, to be held -naked - in those strong arms once more... what a monumental difference from the sweaty, diseased embraces of the sailors she was forced to endure, just for the bit of coin they flipped her! To taste those full, wide lips of his again, instead of the wet slobbering of her average customer, all over her shrinking body, in the dank darkness of her tiny room. To be able to walk about on his finely-tailored arm, out in public, out in the street where all the sailors and general rabble of this Godforsaken town could see them, and acknowledge her elevated status, as a lady instead of a worn-out whore with raw hands and wooden breasts. Di sighed gustily... mayhap her Fox had come back this morn, for a reason? Mayhap for her? Her face brightened considerably; had he longed for her, thought about her these past nights aboard his fine ship, sleeping in his spacious stateroom? Had he pictured her there, in his bed, snuggled in his arms among lush bed linens and feather pillows? Was that why he had come back today; dare she think it was for her? Well, why not? Hadn't she made him happy, once? Hadn't she spent a considerable amount of her time with him; caressing him, kissing him... loving him? Once... and it could be that way again! Di grew more and more excited, just imagining her darling Fox coming back ashore, just for her. Oh, Lord - once again she was a mess! She needed to get ready; needed to put on a clean gown, try to achieve some semblance of style to her matted hair which still bore the pins from the messy chignon she'd made of it from several days past. Needed to try sponging the prior evening's sweat and ale stains from her skin. Di hurried to the tiny back room where she slept, tugging at her apron as she pulled the ragged curtains shut and dug into her steamer trunk for another decent gown. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Out on the dusty street, Captain Fox Mulder pressed a snowy white handkerchief to his damp forehead. It was hot in the sun, but he was a man in love, and as such the burning on his head from the bright rays above was as nothing compared to the burning of his heart. Even so, Mulder set his tricorn over his dark, breeze-tossed hair as he waited for his dearest Scully to arrive, escorted by two of the faithful Lone Swabbies. His unlikely friends on board his ship and now, more than ever, his most trusted crew. They'd proven invaluable as both companions and guardians to Lady Dana Scully. His business in town completed, Mulder prepared to walk from whence he came, eager to meet up with the unlikely trio. But before he could take more than two steps, a tinkling voice called his name... and he swung around, a huge smile lighting his face and flaming in his eyes as he spied his love, running toward him; Frohike and Langly struggling to keep up. He held out his arms as Lady Dana Scully leapt into his embrace. He swung her around in a dizzy circle there in the bright sunlight, and his tricorn fell to the ground as he laughed joyfully. He covered her still-smiling mouth with his, suddenly ravenous for a taste of her sweet nectar; kissing her deeply and at length. Frohike and Langly politely turned their backs on the two lovers, and pretended to find the rutted street highly fascinating. "Mulder, my love... put me down! I grow dizzy... Mulder!" Smiling giddily, Dana pushed at the strong chest of her beloved, affording precious little space between them, and squealing anew at the feel of his warm lips tickling at her sensitive neck temptingly revealed by the low-cut gown, lace shawl trailing on the ground. Mulder nuzzled her once more, breathing in her heady perfume, which owed naught to artifice. Her unique scent belonged to her and her alone; he had privately dubbed it ScullyScent; wishing nothing more from his life than the privilege of wallowing in her fragrance for the rest of his days. He raised his head and regarded her sparkling eyes and enchanting, glowing face. He loved her so; was fortunate indeed to have her by his side. He voiced his thoughts aloud, and watched in rapt fascination as her cheeks blushed an even deeper shade of rose. She ducked her head, burying her heated face against the strong column of his neck. "Oh, Mulder... my adoration knows no bounds. 'Tis I who am fortunate! For you have saved me, in every way possible, you have saved me. You have restored my faith in humanity; you have given me the strength of your beliefs!" His impassioned kiss interrupted her loving declaration, and he whispered against her lips. "Tis you, dearest Scully, who have saved me - you kept me honest - you've made me a whole person, my darling. I owe you everything..." Once more he seized her luscious mouth with his, bending her over his arm and kissing her with every ounce of pent-up passion in his soul. And across the dusty street, Di ran out of her tiny room, fastening the last few buttons of a faded but clean cotton gown; her face scrubbed and her hair hastily pinned up on her head. Only to stop abruptly, almost running into the still streaked window of the bar, as her wide, shocked eyes took in the scene being played out in front of the Little Ale'Inn. Fox Mulder, her endless obsession - holding a woman in his arms, kissing her passionately. A stunningly beautiful woman with flaming red-gold hair, porcelain pale skin which had the gleam of silk about it; wearing a gloriously flattering gown of deep gold, covered with intricate embroidery that shimmered and sparkled in the bright sunlight. Her shoulders rose above the low neckline of the dress, and her eyes were closed, her lips being devoured by the man for whom Di would have given her life, to kiss, in just that way... out in the public eye for all to see. And as she stared and the tears shimmering in her eyes began to spill over and run down her rough cheeks, Di leaned a bit far, there at the window; a morbid need to see her pain laid bare in the street... and her oaken tittles bumped against the window, emitting a dull thunk on the glass, echoing the ache in her heart; in her soul. She threw back her head and wailed; the messy chignon on her head coming loose and shielding her ravaged face, swishing against her tears. << 14 They made their way down the long narrow street in the afternoon sun, oblivious to the crowds around them, to the sights and smells and sounds of the little harbor town, so caught up were they in each other. "Scully, my dear," Mulder said teasingly, gazing fondly down at her, "tell me more about this wedding you want. How large a hall shall we need? Will you have many maids to attend you? How many trunks will your trousseau require? The hold of the Piper Maru is only so large, you know." "Oh, Mulder. Once there was a day when I would have said I'd need a great church and a huge hall, and a hundred trunks." She tucked her arm further through his. "Now, my love, I know better. All I shall need is you, my darling, and a man of God to pronounce us man and wife. The rest matters not, so long as I have you." "I am very glad to hear you say that," he answered. As they had been speaking, they had passed out of the most populous part of the little town; the houses grew farther apart, and the road dwindled to a narrower path, shallow ruts worn along its edges from the little donkey-and goat-carts that went up and down to the markets. Mulder paused outside a wooden gate set into a spare hedgerow, and turned Scully toward him. "Here we are, Scully," he said. "'Twas not only for trade that I set the Piper Maru on her course for this island. I knew from my last few visits that there was a good man here, a priest -- a Godly man who told me he felt called to come here, late in life, to minister to the rough men of the seas who might otherwise never hear the word of God. This," and he held his hand out toward the little building a few yards behind the hedge, "is the Roman Catholic Mission of the Blessed Saint Dana the Enigmatic." Scully's mouth dropped open in surprise, and one little hand flew up to cover it. She hurried to the gate and looked excitedly at the humble whitewashed house with the wooden cross mounted at the peak of the roof. In the yard, a statue of the saint stood in the center of a small, well-tended garden; a few chickens scratched and pecked at the bare-swept earth outside the church's front door. "Oh! Oh, Mulder!" Scully cried in delight, whirling around again to face him. "She is the saint my mother named me for. It's wonderful -- it's perfect! It's been such a long time since I have been able to go to a church. How shall I ever be able to thank you?" In reply, Mulder dropped to one knee, right there by the roadside in the warm sunshine. He produced from his pocket a small box, and from that, a ring. He reached up to take Scully's hand in his own. "I will be amply thanked, my darling," he said softly, "if you will accept this ring, and come with me now into that church, and become my wife." Scully was speechless with joy. All she could manage to do was to fling herself into Mulder's arms, nearly knocking him down in the process. He laughed aloud as he struggled to stay upright. "Scully! I hope that means 'yes' -- and have a care, my dearest one. I don't want to drop the ring!" He got to his feet, and set Scully carefully down again. "Yes, Mulder. Oh, yes!" She stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Yes, let's go inside and meet the priest." They went through the gate and entered the yard hand in hand. The chickens scurried out of their way as they approached. Mulder knocked at the door of the little church. From inside a voice called out in a rich Irish brogue. "Come in, do come in. The Lord's house is always open!" Mulder glanced down at Scully's face. She was glowing, her eyes sparkling; she looked as happy as a child on Christmas morning. He couldn't help smiling along with her as he pushed the door open wide and ushered her inside. As the door closed behind them, Mulder respectfully reached up and removed his tricorn hat. The interior of the liitle church was plain, but neatly kept. A large wooden cross hung on the back wall; before it stood a simple altar, draped with a snowy white cloth. Candles flickered in colored glass votives on two tables behind and to either side of the altar. As Mulder and Scully proceeded up the aisle between the rows of benches that served as pews, an elderly man in a priest's cassock pushed the drapery aside from a doorway in the back of the church and peered out. He smiled broadly when he recognized his visitor, and came forward, holding out his hand in greeting. "Ah, Lieutenant Mulder! You've come back, have you? 'Tis the Lord Himself who's called you, my lad!" he exclaimed. Mulder shook the old priest's hand. "And a good day to you, Father. It's good to see you again." "How are you, son? And how is your Captain?" The priest smiled and turned toward Scully. "And who is this lovely lass you've brought to God's house this fine day?" "I -- I captain the Piper Maru now, Father," Mulder said a little uncomfortably, adding quickly, "but never mind that. This is Lady Dana Scully -- my fiancee. We were hoping..." "Lady Dana Scully," the priest interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "I am so pleased to meet you. But tell me, my dear. Are you related to the Scullys of County Quant, in Ireland, where I myself was born so many years ago?" "Why... Why, yes," Scully answered wonderingly. "My father was Lord William Scully, of QuantiCove, and my mother -- " "Aye, she was Margaret. I should have known!" the old priest cried, reaching out to clasp her hands in his own. "You are very like her, lass. You'd naught remember me, but I'm Father McCue, who baptized you when you were but a wee babe in your mother's arms!" Scully could only gasp in surprise. "Father McCue! Yes, I do remember you teaching me my catechism when I was just a little girl!" Tears sprang to her great blue eyes, and she flung her arms around the old priest's neck. "My mother said you'd gone to sea, to the mission field. I never thought to see you again!" "There, there, my dear lass," Father McCue said soothingly, patting her shoulder. "The Lord works in mysterious ways. 'Tis a miracle, 'tis a miracle, to be sure. God be praised!" Mulder was beaming as he witnessed the touching reunion between his darling Scully and the old priest. He'd ne'er thought there'd be a connection between these two, although as Irish as they both were, he might have guessed. A happy coincidence, to be sure. He stood to one side and gave them their joyous moment, but glanced at the sky as if to gauge the angle of the sun. He didn't have a lot of time for tarrying, and was desperate to bind Scully to him lawfully before the sun set that day. So thinking, Mulder reached out one hand and cupped his beloved's shoulder, gaining her attention. At her smiling inquiry, he shrugged and said regretfully, "It grows late, dearest. I am thrilled that you and the good Father have found each other after so many years, but it is important that we return to the ship soon." Father McCue waved aside the apologetic look Mulder sent him. "Of course, of course! You are affianced, you say? Then you'd be wanting to seal your vow with the sacrament of marriage. I can surely perform the ceremony, yes indeed! I should be able to post the banns beginning tomorrow, and --" "No, Father. You don't understand. Lady Scully and I wish to be married this very day! I sail within a week at most, and likely sooner. I wish to protect her with my name, unimpressive as it might be, and all of my earthly possessions, as soon as possible! For you and I know only too well how many dangers one can find in the world, and my life as a sea captain is not without more than a few of those dangers. If something should happen to me, I want my beloved to be protected and cared for." "Oh, Mulder. Your hand in marriage is plenty for me! I care not for what you possess." Scully gazed up at him with her heart in her eyes, imploring him to believe... "Well, now. This presents a bit of a problem, Captain Mulder." The old priest rubbed at his chin with thick fingers as he pondered the situation. He looked at the two standing in front of him, holding hands, obviously so very much in love. If the darling child had been aboard the young Captain's ship for any length of time, then her reputation would have been compromised irregardless of the many men who served the Piper Maru. Unless there was also a woman, in some sort of serving capacity, aship as well -- But when he delicately posed the question to Mulder, the only response he got was a shake of the head. Father McCue's concern grew, and being a frank and earnest man, he wasted no time expressing that concern. Mulder and Scully were dismayed at the implications being outlined by the kindly, well-meaning priest. Scully's reputation, possibly in tatters? Unacceptable! And yet... "Well, wouldn't it then be of highest importance that we marry, and as soon as we can? In that manner, Lady Scully's reputation will not suffer an hour longer." It made perfect sense to Mulder, and yet Scully's eyes dropped suddenly, but not before he saw the consternation in their lovely blue depths. The good Father also seemed perturbed. "Well, my son, it's not quite as cut-and-dried as that. I suppose it's too much to hope, that you be Catholic?" Father McCue was sorely tempted to hold his breath and cross his fingers as a child might do. "No. I am afraid not, Father. I follow no religion, much to my great regret. My mother and father, as far as I know, never had what you call an affinity with the word of God. I suppose you could label me Protestant, at best." Mulder found himself beginning to worry as well, when faced with the concern he saw in the priest's faded green eyes. Mayhap he wasn't a religious man, but he was well-read and knew quite a bit about the Catholic religion. He knew of its constraints and its piousness. And he knew enough of its base strictness, to understand that a speedy marriage to Lady Dana Scully might not be that easy to obtain... Father McCue was thinking of all options. Surely God was looking kindly upon these two children, for ne'er in such a long while had he seen a man and woman more meant to be together, than Captain Mulder and his lady. It was apparent in the way they looked upon each other, their love and commitment plain to see. In the way he could tell they'd face the world, demanding only the truest truths from a society already fraught with so many ills. Fox Mulder was a good man, this Father McCue knew without doubt. And Lady Dana Scully came from a family whose roots were strongly embedded in the Roman Catholic faith. If only there was a way -- "My son, would you be willing to embrace the Catholic religion? Would you be willing to convert?" The old priest posed the question without hesitation and was gratified at the younger man's ready reply. "Of course, Father. I would embrace it with all my heart and a soul willing to find the necessary faith, ere it gain me my beloved's hand in marriage." Mulder clasped hands with Scully's and pressed her fingers to his lips, kissing the soft skin ardently. Scully couldn't look away from the intensity she found in his hazel eyes. Father McCue nodded decisively. "Then this is what we shall do. I shall post the banns -- wait," he admonished, as both Mulder and Scully started to raise protest, "Wait. The banns must be posted. In this we have no leeway. A legal license of marriage is the only way a posting of the banns might be avoided. But this is a small and remote island and we have no court here. We would have to send away to England for the license and that could take months. "But the banns will only restrict you for three weeks. That is not very long, my children. Surely you can stay in port a fortnight past your original plans, Captain Mulder... when it means gaining your heart's desire! And this way I can begin your catechism as well. I can have you ready to be baptized and then confirmed into the Catholic faith, before three weeks' time. Normally it takes longer, but I sense in you a man of high intelligence. I wager you will soak up your catechism like the proverbial sponge. What say you? Will you accept my direction and allow me to set your course?" Mulder looked at Scully, his eyes desperate for her to understand his urgency. She looked back at him, blue eyes just as desperate. Three weeks -! It was an eternity. It was intolerable. It was the only way, this she knew, to belong to her love in the proper manner. She was devout in her Catholicism. She could not go against the teachings of the Church, neither could she marry a man who was not of her religion. Father McCue was offering her all she wanted, needed. But they'd have to wait... "Mulder..." Her voice begged him to understand and to accept. Slowly he nodded, and she slumped in relief. "All right, Father. I will wait. Post your banns, and Lady Scully and I will make our preparations. Tell me when you require me for my lessons, and I will be here, eager to learn. But hear me well: I mean no disrespect, but I cannot wait one day past three weeks." Father McCue nodded, well-satisfied with the young buck's willingness to do right by his beloved. He'd make a good Catholic, and a good husband for the dainty Dana. McCue knew he could do no less for the daughter of one of County Quant's most respected families. "I will post the first bann today. And, Captain? You must engage a lady chaperone for your betrothed. 'Tisn't fitting that a child of her tender breeding should be attended by only rough men, day after day! It so happens that I know of a gentlewoman who will fit your needs quite well. She is of an age, well-spoken and educated, and I am sure would happily and competently fulfill her duties as a lady's chaperone and companion. May I contact her for you?" The wily old priest included both of them in his query for permission. Scully sighed, once, and then mentally kissed her freedom goodbye. She well knew the consequences of having a chaperone; she'd been chafed by that particular restriction for all of her life. But it mattered not in the greater scheme of things, as all that she agreed to, now, would afford her a swifter and smoother transition from untried maid to the wife of Fox Mulder. She nodded her assent, and Mulder mirrored her action, albeit more reluctantly. Father McCue beamed. "Excellent! I will contact her today and send her over to your ship, post-haste! Her name is Marita Covarrubias. A Russian lass, I believe. Delightful young woman." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to be concluded in Episode Three! (unfinished)