Love, The Missing Word I-V
by
Sarah Kiley

PART III


October 5, 1999
The Office of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner of
the Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, D.C.
United States

     Skinner ran a hand over his head. It had
become a nonthinking gesture of his years, one of
frustration, running his hand through his hair.
Sharon used to tease him that someday if he did it
too hard his hair would come out. But that had been
before the divorce, when they were together, and
happy. He still wore his wedding ring, because
somewhere deep down he still loved Sharon,  and he
knew that she had loved him.
     For Christ sake, he was almost fifty years
old. He wasn't going to go around dating some girl.
He wouldn't know where to begin. And no one
would ever match what he had with Sharon. No one
could even come that close to him. And although he
knew it meant living a lonely and solitary life, he was
prepared to fulfill that duty.
     He sighed, looking around his office. It was
decorated in muted tan colors, with dark furniture.
The beige walls held pictures not of those Skinner
idolized, but those whose pictures were expected to
be there. There were no personal effects in his office,
not a paperweight with any meaning. The office was
exactly as the last assistant director had kept it- with
one exception.
     There were no ash trays in Skinner's office.
     Much to the dismay of the tall man who
stood in front of his desk, puffing away on a
cigarette. The man's face was old and wrinkled, the
years had told time, marking his face with long
rivulets and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.
His hair, which had been dark and neatly groomed
when Skinner had first met him, now was gray and
white, leaving no traces of the darker black. His blue
eyes were cold and emotionless, just like his stance,
one of ease. Skinner wished he could pound the
smug, self-satisfying look right off the man's face.
     But such actions would have repercussions.
Although at this point he could care less about his
life, the lives of Mulder and Scully needed to be
taken care of. He had come to think of them as his
children in a way. Errant, angst-filled ambition-
driven nothing-can-touch-us teenagers that were
always asking him to borrow the car and give them
money so they could go get into trouble. Only if he
were their father, he reflected, he probably would
have disowned them a long time ago.
     He looked back at the man in front of him.
     "Well, Mr. Skinner?" he asked as he pulled
a long white cigarette from a pack. "You wanted to
meet me."
     He took a deep breath, putting on a tone
that said he knew exactly who was in charge and it
sure as hell wasn't the man lighting up his second
cigarette since entering his office and spilling ashes
on the beige carpet. "I want to know what you're
doing with the Mulder situation," he said stiffly.
     The man with the cigarette snorted. "The
'Mulder Situation'. How nicely dubbed, Mr.
Skinner. Maybe you should write for the
newspapers."
     "I want to know why Mulder is doing
random profiling and field work. You're wasting his
talents."
     "And you're wasting my time," the man
replied. "I've protected him, I've kept him in line,
Mr. Skinner, and for that you should be grateful,
because I've also protected you."
     "Protecting him?" Skinner began, shaking
his head.
     The man continued, undisturbed by the
interruption. "I've kept Mulder safe in this. I've
gotten him out of the country and into routine field
work, things that will keep him safe from the
Chinese and from himself."
     "You're killing him, and you know it,"
Skinner replied.
     "Killing him? Let me tell you something,
Mr. Skinner, I've taken care of Agent Mulder. I've
kept him safe and for God only knows what reason,
I've kept you safe. With all efforts being directed at
the war, Mulder would have more opportunities to
discover the truth. He becomes more and more of a
threat to my colleagues. I don't wish to see Mulder
dead. It could cause a . . . disturbance.
     "And so I've kept him out of the war, I've
kept him and Agent Scully safe." The man dropped
his cigarette to the floor and squashed it with the toe
of his shiny black shoes, grounding the ashes into
the soft carpeting. He turned to leave.
     Skinner gritted his teeth but said nothing
until the man was safely outside. Then he picked up
the phone. "Yes, Evelyn, I need to speak with the
Defense department," he ordered his secretary.
     A moment later, the line clicked and cut
across, being transferred, until someone picked up.
     "Harold Johnson's office."
     "Hello. This is A.D. Skinner of the FBI. I
need to speak with Secretary Johnson, please."
     "Hello Mr. Skinner. One moment, please."
     More clicks.
     "Johnson."
     "Harry? This is Walter," Skinner began.
     The person on the other end of the line
sounded more jovial when he answered, "Son of a
bitch, Wally. What's up?'
     "Nothing much here. I need to ask you a
favor, Harry."
     "Anything, Walt. So whaddaya need?"
     Skinner smiled. Sometimes it was good to
have acquaintances in lofty positions. He thought
back to the ground cigarette ashes on his carpet.
     Sometimes it wasn't.
     "Well, Harry, I've got a situation on my
hands. One of my agents has been drafted-"
     "Don't tell me you want him to be
overlooked! You were all gung-ho for the draft-"
     "And I still am. I wouldn't suggest such a
thing. It's un-American," he stated quietly.
     Johnson laughed. "Christ, we've gotten to
be greedy bastards up here, haven't we? I thought
for a minute you'd gone to the buzzards like all the
rest of 'em. I shoulda known better. You'd never
throw into that kind of snobby shit.'
     "Damn straight, Harry. But I still need a
favor. But it'll help you boys out, too."
     "Don't keep me in suspense, Walt. Spill it."
     "There is an agent named Fox Mulder
whose talents I feel are being wasted on regular field
work."
     "You called me about this? Christ the kid
must be superhuman, Walt. Tell me more."
*****************
October 9, 1999
USS Roswell
The North-South Japan border
Near Miyake-Jima, off the coast of Honshu
5:21 PM
     Softly, Mulder began to unbutton her shirt.
Scully sighed as his lips met hers again, teasing,
tasting, exploring. She molded her body to his
gently, her hips moving suggestively against him.
She could feel him straining through his trousers,
nudging her stomach. A hot flash rippled through
her core, as she suddenly found herself wanting him
more than she could ever have imagined. He deftly
relieved her of her shirt. The air felt cool against her
heated skin. She ran her hand down his chest,
molding her fingers around his muscles before
reaching his pants. She undid them quickly, as he
unclasped her bra. It fell away to the floor, joining
the rest of their clothes. He pushed her forward, until
the back of her thighs met the bed and she toppled
onto it. He left her there for a moment, and she
watched him rid himself of his remaining garments
before draping his body upon hers. She threw her
head back and moaned loudly as he began to kiss
her again, his lips leaving a fiery path down her
throat, over her collar bones, and into the soft hollow
at her neck. He trailed his tongue down, burying his
face between her breasts. She reached out to him,
her arms reaching down to mid-back, caressing him
wherever she could. Her back arched as he slipped
her panties and thigh highs off, her skirt having been
lost some time ago. She pulled his head up, her lips
open as she saw the dark look of desire in his eyes.
     "You don't know how long I've waited,
dreamed of this moment," he confessed. He moved
so he was face to face with her, staring deeply down
into her eyes. In that shattering moment, she knew
she could never ever feel this way about anyone else
in her entire life. It would always be him and him
alone. The way it should be. She put her hands
through his hair, as he began to kiss his way back up
to her mouth. He was hard against her thigh and she
gasped as he settled between her legs, the position so
natural it seemed as if their bodies had been fitted to
accommodate one another.
     "Oh Mulder, I've thought about this ever
since Italy. I dream about you every night, you're
my one and only lov-"
     " . . . wake up, Dana! You're never going to
guess who I'm marrying!"
     Former Special Agent Dana Scully opened
one eye slowly and then the other. She turned her
face towards whomever was speaking, saw Chelsea
Stuart's smiling face, moaned and put her face back
in the pillow.
     Please go away, Chessie, she thought. I was
having such a nice dream . . .
     "Day-na!" Chessie remarked, frustrated.
"Wake up! Come on, all you ever do on your off
hours is eat, sleep and write to Fox."
     "Mulder," Scully mumbled into her pillow,
realizing that it was no use and she was up and she
was going to stay up, but trying to prolong her
dream. After all, one of her main goals once the war
was over was to very calmly take her best friend of
seven years, and her fiancé of  five months Fox
Mulder to her apartment, to some cheap motel, hell
even they're office in the basement would work, and
make mad, passionate, spellbinding, soul-
consuming, earth-shattering love with him.
     And while still in the bliss of afterglow, she
would drag him to the nearest Church, marry him,
and then immediately start working on their future
two point five kids and getting a house in the
suburbs.
     Okay, she thought, so maybe that was
taking fantasy a bit too far. But it was her dream,
wasn't it? She could do anything she wanted. And
she had been on phase one of that spectacular dream
when Chessie had interrupted her.
     Regretfully, Dana turned over on her side,
rubbing sleep from her eyes. Chessie smirked and
folded her arms across her chest. "Glad you could
join the land of the living, Miss Scully, where you
are not having sex, unfortunately," she added.
     Scully frowned, running a hand through her
red hair. "How did you know what I was dreaming?"
     She pursed her lips, and then let out a loud
moan. "Oh, yes!" She closed her eyes and arched
her back for emphasis, the transition from impatient
to the throes of passion quick and fiery. She looked
almost like a different person before morphing back
to her impatience and tapping her foot. "Close
enough?"
     Scully wondered if Chessie wasn't one of
those shape-shifters like she and Mulder had
encountered. The "alien bounty hunter" that had
been sent to kill "Samantha". By the end of that
fiasco, she had been so relieved that Mulder was safe
and alive she hadn't cared to process what she had
seen. It was simply enough to know that he was
going to be all right.
     "Well?" Chessie asked, startling her out of
her reverie.
     Scully shrugged carelessly. "There
shouldn't have been anyone to hear it. These are
*private* quarters if I'm not mistaken." She swung
her legs around, and stumbled out of bed, heading
for the bathroom. She rubbed her eyes again, staring
in the mirror. She should have looked like the tired,
worn-out doctor she was, but instead her face
glowed with life. Her face seemed to glow all the
time now. She wondered if maybe she was sick, too
much fresh sea air or something. She would have
admitted herself to a hospital or tried to figure out
what was wrong with her if she hadn't seen the
emotional symptoms, too. The smiling, the rise in
her soul, the hope gleaming through her. It was
enough to almost make her want to be sick.
     All her life, Dana Scully could never
remember a time when she had been deliriously
happy. She had been glad, she had been extremely
glad, happy, joyous. But this, this was something
new. It was like she was riding on a cloud day and
night, every second of every minute of every hour.
Her sadness came less, bordering on her never being
sad at all. She was floating all the time, loving life
despite its situations. She couldn't even begin to
understand how this deliriously happy state had
washed over her. But it had been with her ever since
Italy, ever since she had come back to the ship, and
had the chance to open the letter Mulder had given
her, and read what was in between the lines. She
often caught herself daydreaming, just sitting around
for hours and thinking about nothing and everything.
She had never daydreamed- not even as a child! She
was on the verge of becoming like her friend
Chessie, a bubbly person who spewed kindness and
life and fun fun fun! like a fountain of youth.
     And she didn't mind at all.
     Why shouldn't she be deliriously happy?
After all, she was engaged to Fox Mulder. She was
going to *marry* him, be Dana Scully-Mulder, or
Dana Mulder. She still hadn't decided if she would
keep her last name or not. It didn't matter. She was
young, alive, in lov-
     " . . . you haven't been listening to a word
I've said!" Chessie pouted, stamping her foot.
     Scully shook her head as if to clear it, and
turned back to Chessie. "What did you say?" she
asked. She reached for the glass by the sink and
filled it up with water, sipping it.
     "I said Abberdine asked me to marry him!"
Chessie said, grinning from ear to ear.
     Scully coughed, choking on her water. Her
face went red as she coughed, tiny bits of water and
spittle emerging from her mouth. Her blue eyes
bulged in surprise. Chessie whacked her friend on
the back until Dana could look up and demand, "Are
you serious?" in a weak voice.
     The younger woman nodded. Her brown
curls fell loosely around her face, her big green eyes
wide. "Henry asked me to marry him- can you
believe it?" she bubbled.
     Scully took several breaths. "Are we talking
about the same man? Abberdine? From what
Mulder's told me, he'd be the last person to commit
to a relationship."
     Chessie stuck out her lower lip stubbornly.
"Don't you believe in true love?"
     Dana gave her a cocky grin. "If there's no
such thing, why do I feel so damn good all the
time?"
     "I didn't say *I* didn't believe in it!
You're the one who thinks Henry would never
commit to me. I could have said the same thing
about Mulder not too long ago."
     Scully smiled to herself as she picked up a
brush and ran it quickly through her hair. "Yes, yes
you could've."
     "So there. Anyways, I just got a letter and
he asked me to marry him when the war ends!"
Chessie squealed.
     "I didn't know you two were so close.
What did you *do* in Italy, anyway?"
     The younger woman's face brightened, and
she looked downward shyly. "You really wanna
know?"
     Scully glanced at her friend's posture. "No,
nevermind. I can imagine."
     "Well so can I when I found you and
Mulder in the same hotel room. But Henry and I
have a lot in common, and . . . he cares about me,"
she admitted.
     Dana paused, hearing something she had
never encountered in Chelsea Stuart's voice. A
simple contentedness, a state of elation that went
beyond what she herself was feeling. Maybe it was
because Chelsea had always been riding on that
cloud that Dana was now perched high upon.
Because she hadn't seen all the horrors of life, fallen
witness to some of the most evil and cruel deeds
men could perform. But Chelsea had already been
on that cloud, and Scully couldn't help feeling a tiny
bit jealous that she wasn't on that higher plane
Chessie had been lifted to. Hearing that sound, she
wondered if she could ever be like Chessie, so totally
and overwhelmingly in love that nothing else would
matter, that the rest of the world ceased to exist in
response to what she felt. Scully had only seen one
couple that had that state of elation- her parents.
"You're really in love with this guy," she said, a hint
of wonder in her voice. Was this how it had been for
her mother Margaret and Bill all those years ago?
     She nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I know
he's way older than me, and that my dad will never
approve of me marrying a man only a few years
younger than him, but I love Henry a lot, and it's not
a problem with us. It's not a- a barrier."
     "Are you sure he's serious about this,
Chessie? That he's not playing around, just teasing
you?"
     She shook her head. "No. Marriage is very
important to him. That's why he's waited so long.
He never found the right woman that he wanted to
settle down and spend the rest of his life with."
     Scully nodded. "Are you sure you want
this, Chessie?"
     Chessie smiled. "Of course I am."
     "Well have you told anyone else the good
news?" she asked. Scully came back into her
quarters and sat on the bed. Chessie trailed behind,
suddenly looking downtrodden. Scully picked up on
it immediately. Chelsea Stuart was one of the
brightest people she knew. Besides being intelligent,
she had a happiness, an almost luminescent glow
about her. She was never solemn or melancholy,
which was one of the reasons she was so popular
among many of the crew members. The war never
took its toll on  her positive and inspiring attitude. So
it was very obvious to see when Chessie was feeling
down.
     And very wrong.
     "Chessie what's the matter?" Scully asked.
She came over to her friend and took her by the
shoulders. Chessie was slightly shorter than Scully,
and by far younger, so Dana had come to think of
the younger woman as a surrogate little sister the
way they confided in one another. "Chelsea?" she
asked.
     Chessie pulled away. "I, um, I'm in a bit of
trouble, Dana."
     Scully looked her friend over. "What kind
of trouble?"
     There was a long silence in which Chessie
looked anywhere but at Scully, her hands smoothing
the fabric of her skirt over her stomach and hips in a
gesture that had become common for her the past
few months.    "I  need- I need you to give me a
pregnancy test," Chessie admitted finally, a bit
embarrassed. "I'm not really sure how to tell, but I
think I am, and if I am, I need to know so I can tell
Captain Rodriguez and I'll be taken off the ship and
sent home."
     "When? Chessie, last time we docked, you
were with me all weekend, unless-" Dana paused,
staring at her friend. "You can't be five months
along, you would have noticed it, you would have
had some indication-"
     Chessie nodded. "I have been seeing
several of the signs, but I didn't really pay attention
because, well, what if Henry didn't want the baby?
What if he wasn't serious about me?"
     "And now you want to know because you
know that he is serious about you. Why didn't you
take any protection, Chessie?"
     She shrugged. "I had those pills they give
us, the morning-after ones, but . . . I didn't think to
use them. Everything got so hectic so quickly, with
the Japanese coming in for an attack on Italy- I
didn't have time to worry about it. And besides, if it
could- if because of his baby I would be able to go
home and see my family, it's worth it," she
confessed.
     "You got pregnant so you could go home,"
she stated.
     Chessie shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe I just
wanted Henry to be with me. I knew when I saw him
that it was more than just a fling. I knew it. And if he
had gotten killed- I'd be able to remember him. I
don't know, maybe I was just confused and forgot
to take the pill. At any rate, I need to see if I'm
pregnant, and I want to do this as discreetly as
possible. It's only been two months since our last
leave. I'll report to Rodriguez and explain that I'm
two months along, if you'll let me."
     Dana swallowed. "Chessie, you know
there's going to be repercussions if they find out you
got pregnant on purpose."
     "But I didn't! Not really. I mean, it was sort
of an accident, I wasn't looking to get pregnant, I
figured if it was going to happen this way, it was
going to happen. And if it wasn't, then it wasn't. I
don't know. I got caught up in everything- oh, Dana,
I didn't do it on purpose! Honestly, I didn't!"
Chessie said. Her large green eyes were starting to
swim and Scully felt inexplicably and irrevocably
guilty for accusing Chessie of such an act. Chessie
was her friend, how could she make her feel guilty
for getting pregnant- a life-changing experience?
     Dana put her arms around the younger
woman. "Oh, Chessie, I didn't mean it to sound like
that. I'm not accusing you. If you're pregnant, that's
wonderful, and I'm happy for you. You have no
reason to be upset. You're getting married to a man
you love, you may be having his child and you
might even go home. I'm not going to chastise you
for that."
     Chessie sniffed, reminding Dana of a little
child. "I really didn't try to, Dana."
     Scully pulled away and smiled at her friend.
"I know you didn't." She patted Chessie's arm. "But
we still need to see if you even are pregnant. Come
on, let's get you to the medical unit. There's
sophisticated equipment there, so I can see how the
baby's coming along if the test comes back
positive."
     "I'm not going to have to pee in a cup, am
I?" Chessie asked.
     Scully smiled. "Well, I suppose we could
just leave you as is and tell the captain you've been
putting on some weight when your stomach starts to
swell."
     Chelsea flushed. "All right. I just don't like
doing that," she said, crinkling her nose in disgust.

     Dana laughed. "Come on Chessie. We've
got to find out if you'll be springing more good news
on everyone."
************************
     It was pink.
     Scully sighed. This was the third time she
had run the test. And it was still pink.
     Reluctantly she turned to Chessie who was
lying on the examining table, her hands over her
abdomen. She sat up on her elbows and stared at
Scully. "Well Dana? What's the verdict?"
     She pursed her lips. "Guilty as charged.
Caught you pink," she said, motioning towards the
pregnancy test.
     Chessie shook her head and then lay back
against the table, taking a deep breath. "So now what
do I do?"
     "First, we check you out. I'm going to give
you an ultra sound, to see how the baby's
developing. I wish you hadn't waited so long to tell
me about this, Chessie- you might have seriously
hurt that baby," Dana chastised her.
     "I know, I should have come to you sooner,
but- I've been taking real good care of myself. I'm
eating more so the baby is healthy, I've been really
careful, Dana," she said.
     She nodded. "I know, Chessie, but you still
should have told me sooner- stress can cause harm
to the fetus, as well as overeating, which you might
have done, and undereating, which I know you and
your diet do often. Also lack of sleep- whatever
weakens you has twice that effect on the baby,
which is why you always have to take *very* good
care of yourself," she explained. Scully put her
hands on her hips and crossed over to her friend.
"All right, undo your pants and move your shirt up.
You wouldn't want any of this goop getting on your
clothes when I do the ultra sound."
     "Dana?" Chessie asked as she undressed.

     "Yeah?" her friend replied tiredly, as she
bent down and began searching one of the cabinets
in the room for the gel.
     "Thank you," she said softly. "You don't
know how much this means to me, Dana."
     Scully's voice caught in her throat. She
never knew what to say at times like this. Maybe she
had been hiding her emotions for so long- the things
she felt for Mulder all those years that she had
simply forgotten what it was like to be so open and
honest about how she felt. Or maybe everyone felt
this way when someone made a comment as
Chessie had.
     For whatever reason, Chessie's statement
meant a lot to Dana. Which was why she said
nothing in return, but simply took out the gel and
began to smear it on her friend's stomach.
     "Yikes, that's cold!" Chessie yelped.

     Scully laughed. "If that bothers you that
much, I can't wait to see you in labor."
     Chessie pouted, crossing her arms over her
chest as Dana continued the procedure. "I'm not
doing this manually. No sir. I say gimme the drugs
and that baby'll pop right out, no pain at all. Why on
earth would I want to go through all the pain of
manual labor, when I can have the surgery done to
remove the kid at the end of eight months unless my
baby decides that the early bird catches the worm."
     Scully shook her head. "I could never
imagine having that new procedure done. When
Mulder and I have a child, he's going to come out
with a few broken fingers, if he doesn't pass out
when he sees the blood- he's kinda squeamish about
that thing, ya know," she said casually. It didn't
sound like a casual statement.
     When Mulder and I have a child.
     It seemed so out of place with the person
she had been not a year before. That Dana Scully
wouldn't be considering even sleeping with Fox
Mulder, let alone getting married and having his
baby. But she looked forward to both with a
certainty now. Italy had changed everything for
them. She knew what he had been trying to say in
his letter, hell, she knew how long he had wanted to
say what he needed to to her. But she couldn't let
him. Not in Italy. Not when she'd have to leave him.
It simply couldn't have happened. Because if it had,
she would probably be a war criminal, neglecting her
duties and running off with Fox Mulder, who would
face similar charges. Because when it finally
happened, when everything was settled and she
could look into his eyes and tell him that of course
she felt that way, how could ever doubt that she did?
When she could make love to him, and tell him
everything she needed to. How much she missed
him, how long she had waited to finally admit how
she felt about him. About all those lonely nights
when she would fall asleep in her bed and envision
him crawling into bed with her, putting his arms
around her and just holding her, all the times she
would awaken, saddened by the fact that her dreams
were only dreams and that he wasn't there with her.
It would be so right. She and Mulder. And it wasn't
an if thing. It was when.
     When she and Mulder had a baby. When
the war ended. When they got married. When they
came home.
     She knew her thoughts were somewhat
naive to expect so much out of the life that lay ahead
of her, but knowing that Mulder was going to marry
her, knowing that he was in lov-
     "Hurry up, Dana," Chessie replied to her
silence. "This stuff is starting to itch."
     Scully shook herself mentally and picked
up the plastic and metal probe, placing it on
Chessie's stomach. She flicked on the sonogram and
began to manipulate the small hunk of metal and
plastic in her hand around her friend's abdomen,
until she spotted the dark patch she was looking for.
     "Well there's no denying it now. You're
pregnant."
     Dana went through the routine of showing
Chessie her baby's head, hands, feet, answering
questions. Why was the head so big compared to the
rest of the body, was the baby all right, had she done
a good job in taking care of herself and the baby so
far? Were there any complications she should be
aware of with the child?
     By the time Scully was finished, Chessie
was gloating with the fact that she was pregnant with
a perfectly healthy, perfectly  normal baby, despite
the thick sticky substance on her stomach. Scully
took Chessie back to her private quarters, where
Chessie cleaned up.
     When the younger woman emerged from
the bathroom, Scully was lying on her bed, re-
reading a letter Mulder had sent her.
     Chessie rolled her lower lip between her
teeth in indecision as she stared at the woman she
had come to think of as her best friend these past
few months. It seemed impossible that Dana was so
happy. Chessie remembered her first meeting with
the woman, seeing her eyes large and haunted, red-
rimmed from tears. She had bounced down to her
private quarters to meet the ship's doctor, and had
encountered a very strange sight.
     Scully had been sitting on the government-
issued bed holding a black leather jacket to her face
and crying. She had looked diminutive then,
weakened by the war and everything else she was
going through.
     "Hello?" Chessie asked, suddenly feeling
very stupid and very guilty for interrupting this
woman's moment of private grief.
     Scully had glanced up at her and regained
her composure immediately, wiping her eyes
furiously. "Yes?" she asked, her voice calm and
cool.
     The change from overemotional to blank
was startling. "Um, hi, my name's Chelsea. I heard
you were the new doctor, and I'm the unofficial
welcome wagon." She tried to smile, but the way
this woman had looked at her, a placid sad and angry
look was unsettling. No one should be so calm and
cool with the turmoil of emotions this woman was
feeling.
     Dana managed a weak smile. "Hello
Chelsea. I'm Dana Scully."
     Chessie bit her lower lip, searching for a
way to lighten the mood. She found it. "You know,
whatever stain you got on that jacket can't be that
bad."
     Scully laughed out loud. Chessie smiled,
feeling as though she'd accomplished her good deed
of the day. "I mean, I'm sure there's a dry cleaner
out there who could fix it," she babbled.
     Scully's smile waned. "No, it's- it's not my
jacket, and there's no stain. I just- my friend, he's
um, he's in the army, and while I was home, it was .
. . easier somewhat because I had my family, but
now- even when there was no one  there for me, he
was. He's always been there for me, and, I could
really use him now. And I was just sitting here and I-
"
     "You smelled him on the jacket," Chessie
said quietly.
     Dana frowned. "How did-"
     She merely nodded. "I've read about things
like this- you know, bad romance novels."
     Dana laughed again. "Mulder? A romance
novel?" The idea was hilarious. Fox William Mulder,
Mulder her partner, her Mulder in a romance novel?
And even less likely- with her? It was silly,
preposterous. She got the sudden image of Mulder
galloping up on a white horse- and then falling flat
on his ass in the mud as it reared and ran away.
     "Well that's a weird name- Mulder."
     Scully grinned proudly. "Better than his
first name- Fox."
     Chessie stared incredulously. "Fox? Oh, he
must be quite a man."
     She chuckled. "Not in the way you think,
not in the way you think."
     Chessie snapped out of her reverie, and
looked at Scully. She was so happy, so completely
and utterly in love it made Chessie's heart ache.
Although she felt strongly about Henry, although
she was in love with him, she had the feeling that
their love would never quite match what  Dana had
with Mulder. It would just fall short somehow and
she envied her friend that. Her friend had a big grin
on her face, like the proverbial cat that ate the
canary, her fingers dancing over the ID bracelet on
her wrist. She always wore it, but Chessie had never
been able to bring herself to ask Dana where she had
got it, and why it held such fond memories, what it
stood for. It, along with the tiny gold cross around
her neck seemed to private, to intimate a thing to ask,
even for someone as buoyant and outgoing as
Chessie.
     "Dana?" she asked, feeling very tiny.
     Scully looked up, and Chessie felt a
glimmer of jealousy for the wide-eyed ecstasy in her
friend's eyes. Dana dropped the letter and came over
to her. "Are you all right?" she asked, her face
quickly turning from ecstatic lover to concerned
friend. Chessie still didn't know how she could
switch from emotion to emotion like that. It had to
be very tiring, she supposed.
     "Yeah, I'm fine, I just-" she paused a
moment, looking with big green worried eyes at her
friend. "I need you to tell the captain I'm pregnant
because I don't want to do it myself," she blurted
out. She glanced up at Scully. "I don't know why,
you know me, I can usually talk to anyone about
anything, but I just don't feel like I can do this by
myself, and I'd really like it if you'd tell him for me
because I'm afraid I'll be court-marshaled or
something or he'll yell at me, when I didn't even
want to get pregnant, not that I want an abortion,
because it's my baby, and they can't make me give
it up, can they? They can't make me give it up for
this dumb old war, but I'm afraid he's going to tell
me I have to, and I just really want you to be there
with me," she babbled.
     Scully took a deep breath. "All right, calm
down, Chessie. Remember, if you're upset, it's no
good for the baby," she coaxed. Chessie nodded
shakily. "Now then. As the ship's doctor, I have to
come with you, don't worry, you won't have to face
this alone. Especially in your condition. So don't
worry, I'll be there with you every step of the way."
*****************************
October 9, 1999
Island of Miyake-Jima, near Honshu
6:39 PM

     Fox Mulder lay low in the thick jungle
underbrush. Sweat rolled down his face, stinging his
eyes. Whereas October meant jackets and dusty
brown leaves with the occasional sprinkle of white
snow in the United States, it meant a scorching hot
summer on the other side of the world- namely
Japan. This was his first *real* assignment since he
had been drafted in early February.
     He had wondered why he had been put
among everyone else, especially considering his FBI
background. From what he had heard, he was
supposed to be getting spy missions and all those
other things, like all the other former agents had
gotten, according to the letters Skinner had been
sending him.
     Mulder had been surprised to get the first
letter from his boss. Skinner had done a lot for him
and Scully, done things beyond reason, things that
could put not only his position, but his  life in
jeopardy. And although Mulder was eternally
grateful to his boss, and, he thought begrudgingly,
his friend, it seemed so out of place for Skinner to
write him a letter.
     Of course it had been very professional,
even to the point of where Skinner had referred to
him and Scully as "Agent Mulder" and "Agent
Scully". He had even signed off as A.D. Skinner. Not
Walter, not Walter S. Skinner, or even Skinner. A.D.
Skinner.
     But still- a letter from Skinner? It was just
shy of being ridiculous.
     Mulder couldn't help grinning when he
thought of how he was going to pay Skinner back.
By strutting into his office holding out his hand and
stating that he had just married "Agent Scully" and
was giving him a nice box of Super-Duper Extra
Strength Tylenol to get rid of the oncoming
headache.
     Skinner was going to have a fit when he
found out about "Agent Mulder" and "Agent
Scully".
     Mulder had written the A.D. back, his
letters short, calling Skinner "sir" and Dana "Agent
Scully". Mulder wondered if Skinner had to do with
this assignment. Although surveillance and spy work
weren't exactly up his alley, it was a hell of a lot
better than going out in the field and shooting
someone down, or trying to profile leaders based on
information given by POWs. They had had him
doing that for the past two months and while it had
been mentally challenging and satisfying, it had left
him bereft of a physically challenging and satisfying
assignment. This wasn't much better, but at least it
was something new. And he was working solo. He
hadn't done any assignment solo since . . . before
Scully, he realized. Even when she had been
abducted, gone for what seemed like forever from
his life, she had been with him. In his mind, in his
heart, she had been with him on all those cases. Just
like she was with him now.
     It wasn't he first time he had felt this
powerful link to Scully, he had felt it many times
since they had been separated by this war. Once, he
remembered, he had even heard her warn him from
danger on a battlefield, in his mind. This went
beyond intuition, this was her spirit with him,
guiding him. He had always thought of her that way
in a sense, his cornerstone, his light, the person that
kept him anchored to his life and to his sanity.
     He  didn't dare sigh in this jungle. The
enemy was all around him, and one wrong move
could kill him. And whereas the thought that he
could die didn't bother him so much before, it
troubled him now because now there was Scully.
She would be upset, she worried about him
constantly. Mulder even went so far as to think she
might be in lov-
     Movement.
     He paused in his reverie. Four days ago,
Miyake-Jima had fallen to the North Japanese. South
Japan had been advancing, taking back their country
bit by bit since the war started. But in their struggle
to own more of Honshu, they had overlooked
Miyake-Jima, a small island that had been deserted.
Intelligence had gotten word that the North Japanese
were building a large for there, and that they were
housing nuclear weapons to be used on all of the
four main islands if they fell to the South Japanese.
Considering the fact that uranium had been allegedly
smuggled over to Ostrov Sikotan Shikotan-To, a
Russian island near the tip of Hokkaido, this rumor
had been taken much more seriously than the others.
And so Mulder had been called upon and sent in to
see if it was true. Once he achieved the information,
he was to leave the island immediately. A few miles
away there would be a US ship waiting that would
take him to Seto Kasugai, just outside of Nagoya,
where he could make his report. He hoped
everything would run as smoothly. He had a rubber
raft carefully stowed in his backpack, which was also
full of freeze-dried food and bottled water. The
jungle grew thick and lush here, still influenced by
the southern current. Mulder looked like a green
troll. He had a green camouflage hat on as well as
fatigues. His backpack was green too, as well as his
face. He took a deep breath and held it as he lay low
in the underbrush. The fort was well hidden in the
center of the island, with many trees sprouting all
around it and providing a blanket of green sheltering
them from above air surveillance. Their camp was an
abandoned town, left to ruin when the war started. It
had been relatively easy to find, as that no one had
expected an ambush. But there were many different
traps Mulder had seen- from primitive holes covered
by thick leaves to high-tech lasers. He had been
climbing from tree to tree, shying away from the
ground. He had been here two days so far, and he
had slept little. At first he had stayed in the tree, for
fear of setting off a trap, but gradually he had come
down, until he was in his present position. He had
been here for two days and he still had seen little.
Yes there was a secret base, but he'd have to go in
tonight, under cover of darkness to be sure they had
a nuke. And to get a look at the plans for what they
were doing with it. Mulder had gotten a crash-course
in Japanese right before the assignment, his
superiors ready, willing and able to exploit his
photographic memory.
     Mulder lay absolutely still as he watched
three men exit a large building. They were dressed in
military uniform, although Mulder could see no
nameplates or insignias. Cautiously, he picked up his
camera, and focused in on the men, snapping a few
quick photos before pausing and trying to hear what
they were saying. They jabbered on and on in
Japanese. Mulder could only hear snitches of the
conversation, only recognizing a few of the terms.
He recognized several country names, and the word
bombs. He didn't hear anything about nuclear
weapons, but he recognized the word Tuesday.
     God, could they be planning an attack that
soon? he wondered.
     They moved away into another building,
still talking, but Mulder could hear no more. He
mentally catalogued the information. He glanced at
his watch. Sunset in half an hour. His eyes looked
heavenward, and he drew in a deep breath at the
heavy clouds. It looked like a tropical storm was in
order.
     It was just the diversion he needed.
Carefully, he slunk through the bushes, near the
chain-link fence that surrounded the perimeter of the
base, until he came to a large tree whose branches
extended over one of the buildings. In the time he
had spent surveying the base, he hadn't seen anyone
go in or come out of this building for any reason,
which meant that in all likelihood it was empty . . .
and safe. He could use the building to get in and out
of the compound tonight- hopefully when everyone
was running around worrying about the on-coming
storm.
     He smiled as he lay low among the grass
near the tree. Maybe he could write a letter while he
lay here in the grass waiting. Or at least compose one
in his head. And think of what he would say to Dana
Scully once he got somewhere safe where he could
put a pen to paper.
*Dear Scully,
     I'm composing this letter mentally in my
head. I'm on a secret mission that I can't tell you
about (unless you want to pass out from the fumes
of the permanent black marker they'll use to cross it
all out).*
     Mulder paused. Scully'd like that. She
might even smile- as if Scully ever did that kind of
thing. She was so serious most of the time. Even
when he tried his damndest to make her laugh. He
could almost hear her the conversations in his head.
     *Why would I _want_ to pass out,
Mulder?*
     *Missing me is too much?*
     *In your dreams.*
     *No, my dreams are about you naked and
writing underneath me.*
     *Now _that_ makes me want to pass out.*
     *Well maybe you should have married
some other guy.* Putting his puppy-dog-I-feel-
unappreciated-so-doncha-just-love-me-to-death-
Scully look on.
     Her smile finally. "You dolt, I'm just
kidding around. Why would I want anyone else? I
lov-"
     He snapped awake, looking around him
wildly. Where had that voice come from? That
wasn't just him hearing the banter in his head, that
was *her* voice, *here*. In this godforsaken jungle,
she was here, he had *heard* her voice. With his
*ears*, not his mind.
     *God, I've got to get more sleep. I'm
hearing things,* he thought.
     He rubbed his forehead, looking around.
No more movement from the base. Even if there was
he had set up a special surveillance camera in a tree a
few feet away from the fence of the base. It was
motion-sensitive and automatically took a picture
when a large object moved. Thank God for
technology. He put his head in his hands. No one
was around, no one was coming. Maybe he could
just get a little sleep. They really didn't expect him to
keep awake all three days by himself, did they? Of
course not.
     Mulder closed his eyes, his thoughts
running far away from this jungle, and leading his
subconscious into the arms of Dana Scully.
*****************************
USS Roswell
8:57 P.M.

     Dana sighed, staring out over the dark
waters. The sun had gone down almost an hour ago,
and the night air was salty and sticky with the
oncoming storm. She leaned against the railing of the
big ship. It had been two long and grueling hours
waiting for the captain as he took in the information,
made arrangements and reamed her out for not
realizing Chessie's condition sooner. It didn't
matter. She had been chewed out by more superiors
than she'd care to remember. Usually it was because
of Mulder, but just because it was for Chessie didn't
make the experience any different. It usually got
boring and frustrating as she tried to explain herself
without anyone listening to her. She could hear the
water churning twenty feet below her. A strong wind
was blowing, and the waves had begun to collide
with the ship. Most people were below-deck,
preparing for the onslaught of the storm.
     Dana had always loved the sea before a
storm. The way the sky overhead darkened and
smoothed over gray-white or dark black. The way
the breeze threw her hair and clothes around her
body made her feel like some ancient goddess. The
sea was something primitive, and old, something that
could never be modernized by modern man. She had
always felt a surge of inexplicable triumph looking at
the sea before a storm, as if nature was winning over
man.
     There were few, if any times in her life that
Dana Scully became philosophical or romantic. She
had spent so much time cultivating a woman who
would have none of those pitfalls. For if you
overromanticized life in general, it often led to
dreaminess, silliness, something she couldn't afford.
Not working for the FBI. Not working with Mulder.
With Mulder, she had to be down to earth. She
supposed that was a price she paid for working on
the X-Files. She had lost the daydream side of her.
The side that could look out over the sea and feel
unmomentous and extremely important at the same
time. She had lost the romantic she had once been.
She had to. She couldn't afford to go off on her own
little tangents and daydreams.  Mulder would just
encourage it, encourage the breaking down of those
solid, rigid barriers that separated woman from
agent. And soon she'd be wandering around looking
for aliens, just like he was, she thought with a smirk.
     But here, miles away from Mulder and the
X-Files and Washington, standing on a ship, she
could be a romantic. She took in a deep breath of the
thick air, and then turned, preparing to head back to
her quarters. She still had to write Mulder a letter,
and-
     *Something bad*.
     A sensation slammed into her. It felt as if
someone had swiped at her legs, knocking her to the
floor of the ship. She felt sick to her stomach and
thought she'd wretch right there. She crawled close
to the edge, grabbing the railing and trying to lift
herself, when it hit her again, an overwhelming sense
of dread and pain.
     *Something coming. Something bad.*
     Foreboding filled her senses, the smell of
fear and hate and rage and pain consuming her. All
the negative emotions a person could experience
tumbled through her in the space of a few seconds. It
was almost too much too bear. She collapsed to the
floor again, her head hitting the deck. It felt like it
was going to explode. The pain was so bad, she
wished for a second that it would, to relieve the
intense pressure there. The blood had rushed to her
fingertips, swelling them and making them feel like
inadequate clubs. She tried to put a hand to her head,
but it hurt to move her swollen fingers. She made
several whimpers, and tried to call out, but her throat
was dry. All she managed was a hoarse cough.
     *Bad. Bad. Bad.*
     Her body started to shake as the ship
jounced violently. Her body rolled to the edge,
slamming her against the railing. The pain of the
metal against her back descended upon her brain,
and she screamed as loud as she could. Her throat
ached as she cried out, tears beginning to stream
down her face. Her body flounced so she was on her
back, staring at the dark sky that she had been
admiring only a few moments ago. She coughed
again and felt her dinner rising in her throat. Through
the haze of pain, a thought shot out like the bolt of
lightning illuminating the darkness above her. Turn
over or you'll choke.
     *Hurt. Pain. Death.*
     She flipped her body over with a force she
didn't think she had left in her, and threw up. The
vomit covered her face and arm, and she began to
sob and scream and sob. She knew she was in
shock, and that she was becoming hysterical
somewhere in the back of her mind, but it didn't
register correctly.
     *Death. Death. Death.*
     "No," she croaked, trying to fight off the
sensation. The ship lurched again, and she rolled
over to the other side of the deck. Her head smacked
against the railing. Rain began to fall, dampening her
skirt and jacket. She heard the rumble of thunder and
the rain fell harder, like needles against her skin,
pricking a thousand wounds on her. "Help."
     *BAD. BAD. BAD. SOMETHING
COMING. BAD. BAD. BAD.*
     The words came to her, a repeating
monotone in her head.
     *CAREFUL. CAREFUL. BAD.
SOMETHING BAD. SOMETHING COMING.*
     "Something bad," she moaned. "Something
bad coming."
     An enormous wave started far in the
distance, rolling towards the ship, dwarfing the USS
Roswell in its size. It grew quickly, the wind
whipping and tearing at the water as it went farther
and farther. It became a whitecap, bigger and bigger.
     Scully began to convulse, her lungs aching
to take in a breath. "Be careful."
     The tsunami was bearing down upon the
ship, like a vengeful god prepared to punish his
faithless adherents.
     Dana's eyes grew wide. "Mulder," she
gasped. "Mulder. Something bad. Careful. Careful.
Mulder!"
     Her last word drew out in a scream as the
tsunami hit the ship.
     Her body was already drenched from the
icy torrents of rain. It was picked up by the large
wave, and tossed overboard like a worn rag-doll, left
at the mercy of the sea during a storm.
******************************
Island of Miyake-Jima, Near Honshu
7:49 PM

     Mulder jolted awake with a start.
     He looked around quickly, remembering
where he was, and kept his body still, praying he
hadn't been spotted or set off any traps. After a few
minutes, he lifted his head and peered around. The
base was empty. Nothing moved, nothing disrupted
the heavy, thick silence that dominated the island.
He hoped he hadn't missed anything important. He
glanced at the sky as the jungle around him seemed
to darken.
     The sun was almost gone, which would
leave him in the blackness. It was time to make his
move.
     Cautiously, he slid his backpack off his
shoulders, turning over so he was lying on it, and
then glancing around. His muted shuffles sounded
like gunfire in the quiet of the jungle.
     He crawled through the bushes, using his
elbows to pull himself forward, until he was behind
the tree. He checked around once more before
scooting up the tree. He rested his body in a patch of
leaves and vines in the crotch of the tree, where it
splayed out into three large sections, one of which
rested over the building he was planning to break
into. He could stay there for a few hours, until
around midnight when everyone would be asleep,
and then sneak in and get a look at the plans, if there
were any. He hoped the Japanese weren't planning
on using any nuclear bombs. The destruction would
be horrendous, especially with the US retaliation that
would undoubtedly come.
     He waited a few more minutes before
inching out onto the branch that was suspended over
the building. Carefully, he hugged the branch as he
moved farther and farther out. He glanced down and
breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the
rooftop tiles four feet below him. He curled his legs
up, and swung them off the branch, holding on with
just his arms. Sweat rolled down his face, the
humidity of the jungle combining with the stickiness
of the storm to create a heat wave that could make
you perspire just by breathing. He dangled his legs
down, until his foot met with the tiles. Once he
found a firm footing he let go of the branch and lay
flat against the rooftop. He slid around, looking for a
way to get down, short of jumping. His answer came
when he spotted a skylight. He covered the light with
his body and peered inside, seeing nothing but
empty blackness. He pushed at the window and it
swung forward.
     Pleased, he looked around and then poked
his head in the blackness. As his eyes became used
to the darkness, he realized that the building was
more like an old house, and this was the attic, he
mused. He glanced outside again, and then quickly
moved through the open window and into the attic.
Once there, he shut the window and locked it,
turning back to the attic. He stumbled through the
unfamiliar surroundings, ducking his head to avoid
bumping it on the ceiling.
     Mulder breathed a sigh of relief when he
spotted the outline of a door amidst the blackness.
He pulled at the handle and it swung inward,
towards him. A long row of steps ended at a landing.
He had to duck again, squatting as he walked. He
crept down the stairs, until he reached the landing.
The walls and floors had been stripped bare. He
could see out of sync square patches that must have
been pictures that aligned the walls before the town
was abandoned. He hugged the right wall, so as not
to be spotted in case anyone was downstairs. He
paused, listening for movement before he stepped
onto the landing, turning a corner to the right. Four
steps lead down the stairs and into a wider room. A
sense of foreboding swept over him, urging him to
go back. Ignoring more primitive instincts, he moved
down the four steps quickly, and turned side to side,
searching for any of the Japanese men he had seen
on the base.
     He saw someone all right.
     He gagged as the scent of sweat and waste
infiltrated his nostrils. The room was only about
eight by ten, and was packed wall to wall with men.
All were staring at him as if he was a man from
Mars. A few of the younger men were bawling like
babies. Mulder's blood ran cold as he looked at
them. Each of the men was chained with leg irons to
the walls. Most were naked, and Mulder could see
long red gashes across their backs. One man was
covered with tiny red dots, wounds that could only
be inflicted by a cigarette butt. The air in the room
smelled old and stale. Fear was clear and
unmistakable in most of the men's eyes, fear and
pain.
     The scent of death lingered like a poison in
the air. Mulder gazed over the men and saw several
corpses lying in their midst, the dead, decaying
bodies turning green from the heat. Mulder thought
he was going to be sick as he saw one man look up,
his face covered in blood and bits of the green,
rotting flesh hanging from his mouth.
     One of the men looked up at him and spoke
quietly, his British accent unmistakable. "My name
is John Quinton Lacey. I am a lieutenant colonel for
the British army. I have been here for four months
two weeks and three days, so don't just stand there
like an ass, go tell the rest of the group that we're in
here so they can get us the fuck out of this hellhole!"
     "Oh my God," he breathed. Mulder shook
his head at the man. "I- It's just me. There's no one
else here but me. Christ, they don't even know about
you," he realized. "They think they're housing
nuclear weapons on this island. What they're really
housing is POWs!"
     "Brilliant deduction. Now get the fuck out
of here and get help!"
     Before he could move, a door at the far end
of the room opened. A group of three Japanese men
entered, carrying weapons.
     One of them pointed his gun at Mulder and
yelled out something Japanese. Mulder was about to
sit down as the man had requested when he realized
that would give the indication that he knew
Japanese. And if they knew he knew what they were
saying, chances were slim they'd let anything
important slip in his presence. He held his hands up
in the air, but didn't sit down. The leader moved one
hand off of his weapon and waved his hand down at
Mulder.
     Mulder was about to comply when the
feeling hit him.
     It took him by surprise, and he collapsed,
his body convulsing.
     *Danger. Danger. Help. Help*
     He gasped for air, as his nerves twitched
involuntarily. A cold chill ran over him, and he felt as
if he had been immersed in ice water. He curled into
a fetal position, his long legs tucked under him, as he
shook from side to side. Pain slammed into his head,
his fingers, his arm.
     *Cold. Pain. Hurting. Hurting. Help.*
     Rage and hate consumed him, like a deadly
poison to his soul. He started to scream, his voice
sounding foreign to his own ears. He had never
screamed like this. Not when he had been a child and
broken his leg, not when they had taken Samantha
from him, not when he had found a laughing Duane
Barry rejoicing like his favorite team had just won
the Superbowl as he handed Dana over to whomever
he worked for, be it aliens or the government.
     *Pain. Pain. Pain. Help.*
     He continued screaming, his thoughts
jumbling and mixing as if his brain had been thrown
into a blender on high speed.
     He coughed up water, as he felt hands
grabbing him. He continued to shake, his lips
forming small silent prayers.
     *Help. Help. Help.*
     Mulder's mouth formed one last word
before he lost consciousness. A word he screamed
and screamed and screamed until it felt like his vocal
cords had snapped. And then it echoed in his mind,
a reminder of all he hadn't done before, and all he
was unable to do now.
     "SCULLY!"


end part 3