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