Love, The Missing Word IV-V by Sarah Kiley Miyake-Jima October 10, 1999 11:39 AM There are varying layers of consciousness. In a perfectly healthy, unimpaired human body, there are five different senses which must be in working order before a body is truly conscious, aware of its surroundings. Five different degrees of consciousness. For if someone can only see, they aren't truly conscious. They can't taste, hear, smell or feel. They aren't aware of their surroundings in that way. They can only see. And if someone can only hear, they can't see, smell, taste or feel. Technically, the body is still unconscious, not aware of the sight of the place surrounding them, the scent of the air it breathes, the taste of the sea in its mouth, or the feel of soft sand under it. It is not totally aware of its surroundings, using all its abilities to the fullest extent. Therefore, a body is only conscious if all five senses are working properly, according to the way they were designed. Because only then is the body aware of its surroundings using all its faculties. The body of Dana Scully was in one of those varying layers of consciousness, its senses coming forth slowly, awakening to the day after what seemed like an everlasting night. First she became aware of the sound of the sea birds circling over her body, calling out to her, pulling her from that night. The sound of the ocean lapping against the sand, and the rustling of treetops from a balmy breeze. The next level brought her the scent of the humid sea air, enticing her mind with familiar images and objects. The image of her father in full dress uniform, Captain William Scully, in his starched white uniform, his kind face that had been the guiding force in her life for so many years. The face that could register pride in his youngest daughter, or contempt for her. The latter had been a part too many times in the last few years he had been with her. The smell brought other images to her, a boat she had sailed on with him and her brothers, running along the deck, casting out lines in search of a large fish to bring home and present to her mother who would immediately insist they wash their hands, and lord, did they think she was going to cook it? The next faculty that brought itself into awareness was her sense of taste. She could feel the salty taste of seawater and sand coating her tongue, and as the fourth level of consciousness assaulted her with the feel of sand over her body, cool wet water playing with her toes, and warm sunshine coaxing her back to reality from above. She moved her arm and moaned softly as she felt the ache in her tired muscles. She moved her aching arms until they lay above her head, and then she pulled them down in preparation to propel herself up. As she did so, her fifth and final sense, that of her sight returned. As her legs quivered from holding her upward, she blinked, the world a mesh of colors around her. She blinked again, and stumbled forwards, barely missing a faceful of sand. As she looked around, it gradually came into focus, until she could finally see around her, now fully conscious. The colors that glared at her were so bright she had to squint. Green. A thick jungle lay ahead of her, green leaves and branches sprouting all over, the vegetation thick and wild. She glanced down, and caught sight of the soft sand that squished between her toes, before water rushed up to cover them, cool and wet on her skin. She turned, and faced the ocean that lay sparkling out ahead, a darker blue in contrast to the bright blue sky above. It was beautiful. For a moment, Scully thought she had died and gone to heaven. Glancing down, and judging from her clothing that this wasn't heaven, and she was still very much alive, she backed up a few feet and sat down to gather her thoughts. She had been on the ship when that feeling had hit her. That feeling that felt like someone had punched her in the gut that instinctively told her that somewhere, somehow, Mulder was in danger. Mulder, the man she loved, the man for whom she would do anything was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it. And then the pain had hit. So sharp and clear it had sent her reeling to the floor of the deck, clutching her body as the typhoon that had been threatening the USS Roswell and the citizens of North Japan struck. She remembered the cold waves lapping over her, and then . . . and then . . . . Then I was thrown overboard, the realized. That one tsunami hit the ship, and it swept me away. She tugged uncomfortably at her dark blue navy skirt that came down to her knees, and then at the white blouse that accompanied it. It was too hot for such formal attire, but it was all she had. As she brought her wrist down, panic leapt into her. The ID bracelet. Frantically, she felt in her pockets, looked around on the sand. She needed that bracelet. It was the bracelet Mulder had given her. She _never_ took it off. But there was her wrist, smooth and empty. AS empty and barren as she felt. The bracelet was gone. Although she knew it was just a man-made object, it had symbolized all she felt for Fox Mulder, from passionate love to burning hatred. Without that symbol binding her to him, she felt very much like a woman who had worn a golden wedding ring for fifty years who had been ordered to take it off. she thought. "But it was my piece of metal," she whispered. Sighing, she glanced around, hoping to see someone else, some clue as to where she was, and what she was doing here. She knelt in the sand and drew a map of Japan from her head, finding where the USS Roswell had been at the point she had been thrown overboard. Since she doubted this was the populated island of Kozu-Shima, this would have to be Miyake-Jima, the island the USS Roswell was supposed to pick up the spy from. She swallowed deeply. Foreign soil. The presence of the enemy. If they caught her they'd kill her. She looked around as if she expected someone to jump out of the jungle and start shooting. All was quiet and peaceful. Almost unnaturally quiet, she thought. Now I'm being paranoid. Mulder must have rubbed off on me after all these years. A disheveled grin came to her face at the thought of Mulder, quickly overshadowed by the dark realization that she might never see him again if she didn't get off this island, no matter how calm and peaceful it was, this was enemy terrain. Her only chance of safety was to find this spy, if he was still on the island. He or she would surely realize she was American and take her back to the USS Roswell. They had to, otherwise the Japanese on this island would kill her. She stood, dusting her palms off on her skirt. She stared at the bright white blouse. She'd stick out in the jungle like a sore thumb. Sorely wishing she had been dressed in casual clothes instead of her navy uniform, she headed towards the jungle, ever alert of any predators, human or animal that might come for her. She tugged and pulled at several huge fern leaves until they finally broke off. She carefully placed them at her shoulder so her arms would be free to move while the green would cover the rest of her. She pulled a thick vine down and used it to keep the palm leaves in place. It wasn't Lacroix, she thought dryly, but it would do. And it would also help to camouflage her from her more human predators. She ripped off the hem of her skirt and tied her hair up in it, wishing again she had been wearing a nice pair of dark jeans and a dark shirt when she had been thrown overboard. She began making her way through the jungle, ever wary of traps. Dana had heard stories about soldiers being caught in Japanese traps, where they lay for days, starving to death if they weren't eaten by a nighttime predator first. She paused about twenty feet from the beach where she had awakened, startled with the idea that she had no idea where she was going. And that although Miyake-Jima looked small on a map, in real life it was huge. Scully said a silent prayer and continued her journey going deeper and deeper into the jungle, towards the center of the island. A fourth of a mile away, Fox Mulder began his own journey towards the goal of consciousness, becoming aware of the smell of rotting flesh in summer heat, the taste of bile rising up in his throat, the feel of sweat rolling off his body, the sound of muffled groans and weeping. And then the final, horrific level of consciousness that brought him sight. When at last he reached it, he wished vainly that he hadn't. He was in a dark room, the only light from a solitary skylight on the slanted roof at least ten feet above him. Sunshine poured in, illuminating the dead man he sat across from. Memory flooded over him. The island. Infiltrating the camp. The POWs. He looked around, realizing he had now become one. He turned toward the body to his right, recognizing it as the Englishman he'd spoken with earlier. His neck ached, and as he glanced down he realized he'd been stripped of his clothing. He immediately looked at his wrists. They had taken the watch, too. The watch Scully had given him for their anniversary. Anger coiled inside him. He had worn it like an engagement band. It had helped him to know that no matter what, Scully did care for him, and they were going to be married. Several of the men he was placed near were staring at him, making him feel uncomfortable. He curled his legs towards himself, trying to keep his dignity intact. He must have made some sort of sound, because the Englishman turned to look at him. He snorted, and leaned down to run a hand through his thick blond hair. Mulder realized that all the men were bound to the floor by a waist chain, leg irons, and a set of handcuffs chained to the floor. He felt the cool metal of the waist chain tugging at his stomach, as he sat up, leaning against the wall. "Hallo, Scully," he said. "Does anyone know you're here?" Mulder blinked. "My name isn't Scully. It's Mulder. Fox Mulder." The Englishman held out a chained hand. "Well, Mulder, it's nice to meet you, my name is John Quinton Lacey, in case you've forgotten-" "You're a lieutenant colonel for the British army, you've been here four and a half months, approximately." Lacey's blond eyebrows arched. Mulder shrugged. "I have a photographic memory." Lacey snorted. "Well if you're Mulder, who the hell is Scully?" "Yeah, man, you called out that name and passed out cold, man. You were going nuts, man," a second voice motioned. Mulder turned to the man sitting next to a green and rotting corpse across from him. "Harold Robert Trenton. They stuck me in this hellhole, man. Put me away here. Took me and Jamison in the middle of the night, man, right in the jungle! Middle of the NIGHT! We were SLEEPING! They BROUGHT US HERE! TO DIE, MAN! DIE! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" With that final note, Trenton dissolved into sobs, crying on the dead man's shoulder. "KILLED HIM! MOTHERFUCKERS KILLED HIM! I LOVED HIM! I DID! JAPANESE SONSABITCHES!" The man pulled the dead man's body closer, crying harder. Mulder felt queasy as he watched Trenton kiss the green, maggot-infested flesh of the corpse. Lacey brought his head closer, whispering. "Trenton's been here a little longer than us. He lost it when Jamison died, think he was a-" at this point Lacey brought out his right hand, fingers fully outstretched and wiggled it, "you know. A queer." Mulder nodded, not sure how to respond. "Anyway, what the hell happened to you? The Japs came in and all of a sudden you flipped out and started screaming Scully. What's Scully?" "I don't know what happened to me. I got this feeling she was in trouble, I could feel her, screaming and screaming, and pain and I couldn't- I couldn't' help her-" "Scully's your woman?" Mulder laughed softly despite his situation. "Don't let her hear you call her that. She's my fiance, she's a doctor on the USS Roswell. She's the most amazing woman in the world," he said, his eyes softening as he stared into empty space. "Don't go getting all dewey-eyed on me now, Mulder. If you ever want to get back to this enigmatic Dr. Scully, I need you to keep a clear head. Now, does anyone know you're here, were you supposed to report back last night, or anything that would cause them alarm?" Mulder shook his head. "No. I'm supposed to swim to a US ship sometime this week. It'll be days before they send a task force here to find out what the hell happened to me, if they even do. They might just assume I've drowned." "Dammit," Lacey whispered. "All right then, we switch to plan B." Mulder's eyebrows raised, finding himself already included in whatever scheme Lacey had cooked up in the past four and a half months. "Plan B?" Lacey frowned at him. "My good man, you and I are the only sane ones left in this band. Just look at the rest of them! Stark raving lunatics, and if they're not crazy, they're always too busy crying to be of any assistance. If we can get out, we can get help and hopefully some expensive fucking psychologists for the rest of these poor bastards." "All right, so what's Plan B as you've so aptly named it?" Mulder bit. Lacey chuckled. "Rather trite, isn't it? Anyway, I watched when they locked you up, and the buggers made a big mistake- they think you're one of the POWs that's already been caught. They have no idea that you're new here." Mulder made a motion with his head. "All right how does that help us escape?" Lacey grinned. "Well they had a hell of time trying to get you in chains unconscious. In case you haven't noticed, you outrank our Japanese comrades in the height department, making it doubly difficult because you were unconscious and couldn't submit. The cuffs they slapped you with have a lock, with a key. And that waist chain is loose. When you freaked out, they immediately thought you're a raving lunatic, and then you passed out. They're seriously underestimating you, which gives us an advantage. I've got a pin, a tiny needle. They were using it to torture our late friend Jamison- by putting it in some places needles shouldn't be if you get my drift. Anyway, when the bastard succumbed, the left it there. Most of us are in arm irons, I've tried picking the lock on my wrists, but it's no good. Harry over there took the pin and picked the lock of the handcuffs they had on Jamison- the same kind that are on you now," Lacey said, motioning towards Mulder's wrists. "They key to all the arm and leg irons is on a little string in the center of the room, can you see it?" Mulder glanced in the center of the room, and looked up. Sure enough, suspended on a long thin white string was a golden key. Piled around the key were dead bodies, their flesh rotting in the humid summer air. It was probably some kind of psychological tactic, Mulder thought vaguely. Something to drive a man insane but have ing that key just a few feet above his head, knowing freedom was a mere foot away from his grasp. It was a cruel and heartless punishment, but everything about war was cruel and heartless. It hurt people it tore people apart. The war had made him kill innocent men and women, men and women who might have families who would miss them. Fiances left loverless when a man came with the news that their loved one had died. He swallowed and hoped Scully was all right and that he would come back to her. For some bizarre reason she cared about him, and if seeing him die would cause her pain, he had a very strong will to live. "Yeah, I see the key," Mulder confirmed. Lacey nodded. "If I can get you out of those handcuffs, you should be able to slide your upper torso out of the waist chain. The link from the chain to your leg irons is behind you, which should make it easier for you to maneuver." Mulder glanced back at the key, and then shook his head. "There's no way I'd be able to reach it even if I could get close enough. It's too high." Lacey grinned. "That's what we've got Pierre over there for. Pierre! Comment ca va?" Mulder turned to a corner of the room. A shirtless man with long black hair was curled up in a corner of the room. About five feet above him was the other end of the long white string. As Mulder's eyes traced the string back to the key, he realized it was on a pulled, the other end made into a loop and circled around a nail above Pierre's head. It could easily be pulled so the key would fall. Mulder looked back at Pierre, who was now sitting up. He mumbled something in French. Mulder looked over at Lacey for confirmation of what had been said. "I'm sitting next to two dead corpses, how the fuck do you think I am," Lacey quoted. He called out to Pierre again, speaking in the Frenchman's native tongue. Pierre snorted and gestured rudely towards the body next to him before he began to pull at the arm of one of his dead amis. "What's he doing?" Mulder hissed. "Pierre's been gnawing on Claude's arm for the past week. I haven't resorted to cannibalism yet, but we're barely fed enough and Pierre's been here almost as long as poor Trenton. They give you less and less to eat the longer you're here, I've noticed," he replied conversationally. Somehow the word cannibalism didn't quite belong in polite conversation, Mulder thought, remembering a conversation he had had with his fiancee about three years ago. The dead of night, sitting on a rock, freezing to death after the loss of their boat and that flea-bidden oversized rat Scully had called a dog. Mulder hadn't liked her dog. Maybe it was because Queequeg, as his partner had aptly named the dog, had eaten his owner when he wasn't fed enough. Mulder felt distrustful of the animal for that reason, and couldn't understand why Scully would let a cannibalistic dog sleep in the same apartment with her, the same bed, for God sake! He was always afraid he would go to her apartment one morning to pick her up for work and find out that the dog had bitten off her finger in the night, or worse. And Queequeg had never been too fond of Mulder, either. He remembered when the little dog had bit him when he had tickled Scully once, and she had pushed him away. But Mulder remembered sitting there with her in the middle of the night, and teasing Scully about cannibalism, trying to get her to laugh despite her depression over the loss of Queequeg. Now faced with the real thing, Mulder understood, and found that he rued the day he had made that smart-ass comment. For surely someone was punishing him for it now by placing him in this type of situation. "Hold your wrists out then," Lacey ordered. Mulder's head whipped around to face the lieutenant. "We're going to try this now?" "Just a test run. We'll unlock everyone tonight and sneak out. This is just a practice. We'll put everything back and then get the buggers guns while they're sleeping tonight." Mulder nodded and held out his wrists. Lacey began working at the lock of his cuffs with the pin. A few moments later, Mulder heard a click, and felt the cuffs being released from first his right and then his left hands. He rubbed his wrists as the cuffs dropped to the floor. Mulder sat up and then wiggled down, the waist chain sliding over his shoulders and off. He was about to stand to reach for the key when a bout of self-consciousness attacked him. He glanced around the room, suddenly aware of his nudity, and not liking the fact that he was in plain view of all these different people. Lacey snorted. "Look, Mulder, now isn't the time for modesty. I don't think anyone else but Trenton would be interested in how Uncle Sam's boys are hung, and I don't think Trenton much cares. No get up and see if you can get the key!" Mulder stood, moving over to the center of the room. He almost gagged with the scent of death and decay in the air. The chains around his legs held him back, but free of he waist chain and handcuffs, his upper body had some relative freedom. He stretched out, reaching for the key suspended on the string. He turned towards Pierre, and immediately wished he hadn't as he saw the Frenchman lifting up the arm of his pal Claude that had been gnawed off. Pierre stretched upwards, holding the arm, which was straight and stiff from rigor mortis having set in, up towards the white string. Pierre pushed the dead man's fingers at the string, making it swing from side to side and lower a fraction. Mulder made a jump for it, but the leg irons kicked in, hurling him back to the floor and face-down in a mound of rotting flesh. He stumbled back quickly, just as an ear-piercing alarm sounded. "Fuck," Lacey whispered. "Drop the arm, Pierre, Mulder get back here!" Pierre dropped his friend's arm and stared around boredly. Mulder quickly bent down, pulling the waist chain over him. He snapped the cuffs on and was about to sit down when the door at the end of the room, near where Pierre sat opened. Bright sunlight blinded Mulder. He squinted, and heard several shouts in Japanese. "*What are you doing? You only move when we tell you to move*" a Japanese man spat. He was dressed in army fatigues, sporting a large rifle which he lifted to point at Mulder's head. "*Sit down!*" Mulder remained standing, and held his arms up in the air as high as they would go in the restraints. "*Sit!*" the man ordered. He pointed down with his gun, and Mulder finally complied., still unwilling to fork over the knowledge that he knew what they were saying. A second man came in, dressed like the first and holding a similar weapon. "*Have any escaped?*" "*No sir,*" the first man replied. "*The new man stood, but probably because of the alarm. We checked the outside perimeters very closely, sir. There was no sign of anyone. We don't even know how he got in here.*" "*I suppose next you'll be telling me he's a ghost, Isas.*" The man paused a moment, his eyes drifting over the dead and mutilated bodies to rest on Mulder. "*You called in a Fox Mulder to our associates in Hokkaido?*" Isas nodded. "*He was not on the list. He is nothing. But there is an American ship not three miles from here. She's staying in the neutral zone, but just barely. She's been cruising up and down the barrier for the past day. The captain sent out a signal, in search of a missing sailor, Jo. Most likely it is that man they seek.*" Jo nodded. "*We cannot return him. It would alert the enemy of our presence here.*" "*But even so- who set off the alarm? They may already be aware of our plans.*" At that moment, a third man came in, shorter than the first two, sweat beating upon his brow. "*The others have been sent out to comb the beaches. We found fresh footprints, so we are certain there is another person on the island. The footprints disappear into the jungle. He passed through our laser field, which caused the alarm to sound. There is only one set of footprints.*" "*The lost sailor must be on Miyake-Jima. The typhoon last night would have washed away any of his trails on the beach,*" Jo said. "*He stumbled here looking for shelter.*" "*So why is this man here? They couldn't possibly know about the bomb!*" Isas exclaimed. "*Our security was tight. Maybe what they suspected was that we are holding prisoners,*" the third man added. Jo nodded. "*But if they were planning to free the prisoners they would have sent in more men. There is just him. Have you located this sailor, Udo?*" "*Not yet. We don't have enough resources to go through the jungle. We'll have to let him come to us. I'm going to post five of our men on the beach. They will patrol the grounds to make sure he does not escape,*" Udo answered. Isas paused, glancing back at Mulder, who had kept his head down, but his ears alert during their entire conversation. "*That still doesn't give us an answer as to why he's here. He heard that alarm and was on his feet- no one else was. I think he expects to be rescued.*" Udo and Jo followed Isas's gaze to the American. "*If you are right, then he is a spy,*" Jo said slowly. "*Where is Hiroshi?*" "*He is making preparations for the launch. Why?*" Udo responded. "*Just a moment.*" Jo stalked over to Mulder and kicked him sharply in the stomach with a booted foot. Mulder doubled over, unprepared for Jo's action, coughing and wheezing. The pain rippled through his abdominals, and he winced as Jo used the tip of his gun to flick Mulder's head up. He looked up at Jo, his face contorted into a mask of pain. Jo pushed the line sight of the gun into the soft skin under Mulder's chin, and looked into his eyes. "Cochon! Quelle est vu nationalite?" he demanded. Mulder stared blankly at the man as he ramble on in French. Jo smirked, "Welche staat haben sie?" Do I look German, asshole? Mulder wanted to reply. He bit his tongue, and took several deep breaths. With the sight of the gun digging into the underside of his chin and the barrel pressed against his windpipe, he hoped Jo got the language right before he passed out from lack of oxygen. "¿Cual es su nacionalidad, cerdo?" Spanish! Mulder's mind whirled, trying to remember what the words meant. Back to Señor Everest's seventh grade Spanish class . . . he was rewarded with images of Becky Johnson trying to write Hi on the back of his neck instead of the foreign language. Come on, Mulder, cual is what, es is is, su is your, what the hell is nacionalidad? Language? Mulder braced himself and spat out, "Habla inglez. American. Yo soy American." "¡American cerdo!" Jo snorted. Mulder wasn't sure what a cerdo was, but the way Jo said it, it couldn't be a compliment. Jo kept his dark eyes trained on Mulder's as he spoke to Isas and Udo. "*That is why, gentleman. I don't speak English. We need Hiroshi. He dealt with our English-speaking contacts. We will find out why he's here.*" Scully hovered fifteen feet from the ground in the tree. She was sheltered on all sides by the six- inch heart shaped leaves of a banyan tree. She was situated on one of the smaller trunks, just at the point where it branched into two more sections. The tree had literally thousands of branches, blooming and intertwining with those of other nearby banyans. They grew so close she had been able to practically walk from branch to branch, like a squirrel. She had managed to shimmy up one such tree, when she spotted the complex laser system. It had been the sturdiness of the banyan she had underestimated. It was a dying tree, and a branch had curved under her weight, several leaves fluttering down. And one had hit in just the right spot and set off the alarm. She was sure it could be heard all over the island. She had made a mad dash from branch to branch inward, until she was exhausted, leaving her where she was now. Below her, she heard two voices and the rustle of vegetation. "*Have you seen anything?*" "*No. It was probably a bird. We should get back to the beach. If he escapes, Udo will kill us.*" Scully paused for a minute, her face scrunched up in confusion. Had those men been speaking English? Scully barely remembered any of her French from college, and she was sure they hadn't been speaking francais. It was as if the words had been translated for her. To the best of her knowledge, Scully had never heard a word of Japanese, except for a few in one of those badly dubbed monster movies that Mulder liked to watch. While still puzzling over this, she became increasingly aware of a scent that began to drift all around her, a scent she was all too familiar with. Death. Rot. As a qualified pathologist for the FBI, she had dealt with death and the inevitable decomposition of a body. She had tasted that awful scent on her tongue after an autopsy, felt it absorb into her skin, making her feel like a zombie, a dead thing that should have remained where it belonged, in a putrid grave. Needless to say, it was not a pleasant sensation and always required her stripping down and taking a long hot shower to rid herself of the feeling. But this wasn't a morgue, there were no dead rotting bodies here waiting to be cut up to find out what went wrong inside to cause the person's life to end. This was a jungle on an island in the South Pacific, where everything around her was natural and flourishing, from the tree peonies and vines that were nestled around her to the lotus and ferns that bloomed fifteen feet below. That smell shouldn't be here. It wasn't the scent of a dead animal. Scully had been around dead things for a long time, often going camping with her brothers and father on long weekends. She had encountered her share of dead animals and more than her share of dead humans. There was a difference in the way a dead animal smelled as opposed to a human. And this was the scent of a human body. She stood shakily, the scent making her gag. Normally she applied some kind of counteractive scent just underneath her nostrils to perform an autopsy, whether it was Vicks VapoRub or just some strong perfume. But there was nothing here to protect her from the scent. She moved slowly through the trees, not wanting to alert the Japanese men who had just departed. The scent remained with her as she moved from branch to branch of the different banyans, closer to the center of the island. She ducked under a large vine draped over a branch three feet above her, and her eyes widened when she spotted the compound. Quickly, she pulled back and hoisted herself up onto the branch above her, hiding herself in the waterfall of vegetation that cascaded down. She sat down and peered between the vines, trying to get a better look. A large chain-link fence with barbed wire running across the top and probably a thousand volts of energy running through it surrounded the perimeter, housing in what looked like an abandoned town. There were several buildings that looked older decorative molding edging the brick houses, their windows open, empty and abandoned. The lush wildlife had taken over years ago, she thought. When North and South Japan split, all the inhabitants of tiny islands like Miyake-Jima had been forced to leave, fleeing either to the North or the South for "their own protection". Her gaze traveled over the expanse of the compound, seeing two large hangers. They looked newly made, with cheap walls and a stainless steel roof. She stiffened as four Japanese men came out of one of the hangers. They were talking about something, but she couldn't hear what. She watched as they disappeared into a building about twenty feet in front of her. From somewhere to her right, she heard a slight whirring noise that captured her attention. Her head snapped towards the source of the sound, and she heard a louder whirring noise. It was barely perceptible, but the modernity, the man-made hum caught her attention in a place as wild and virtually uninhabited as Miyake-Jima. With a glance towards the building the men had entered into, she moved from branch to branch, finally landing on another tree. She pulled up a curtain of vegetation and spotted it. Nestled on a large branch, the vines split just enough so as to provide vision without being seen by anyone else, was a camera. She saw the tangle of black wires criss-crossing one another, leading into the camera itself, around the tree and to a small timer affixed to the main trunk. She glanced over the camera, and the spotted a tiny pocket right underneath the camera, where she saw a deposit of Polaroid's. She glanced back at the building, and then sat on the tree, thankful for the shield of leaves and blossoms that protected her from view. Scully took out the stack and began flipping through them, recognizing pictures of the darkened sky, night pictures, pictures of several of the Japanese men. She listened for the four Japanese men who had gone into the building with one ear, the rest of her mind focused on the pictures. She was about to put them away, most useless picture of the compound and the men in various positions when she saw it. Her body froze, her stomach clenching and unclenching rapidly. The camera had obviously gone off while the "spy" was setting it up, she realized. And it had given her a picture of the man. But instead of seeing an unknown face, she saw one with which she was familiar. Intimately familiar. Fox Mulder's face was scrunched in concentration by the Polaroid's shot. She set the rest of the pictures back in the small pouch designed to catch the Polaroid's as the fell out of the camera. She stared at the picture for what seemed like hours, although it was only a few seconds. Mulder. Mulder was the spy. He was the one the USS Roswell was supposed to pick up. He was here, on this island, in the midst of the enemy, just like her. That was his face, the soft hazel depths of his eyes, his nose, just a shade too long for his face. His lips pursed in that gesture of complete concentration that she had seen so often during their work with the X-Files. She heard the voices of the Japanese men, and quickly scuttled back to her previous position to have a better view of what they were doing. Clutching the flimsy Polaroid as if it were a lifeline, she watched as they forced a man out of the building. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The man was naked, his ankles and wrists shackled to a chain around his waist. The Japanese men had their weapons trained on him, and were leading him out. But it wasn't the cruelty and degradation they were obviously submitting him to that made her body tighten like the string of a bow. It was because Dana Scully would recognize that six foot tall lanky frame, the scar that seemed to leap out of his shoulder at her, the one she had inflicted four years ago to save him from himself, anywhere. She would know the curves of his back, after all the times she had seen him without a shirt, or without pants for that matter, anywhere. She could identify that the man was Mulder simply by the way he walked, the way his body moved. She dug her nails into her palm as she watched. Please God, don't let them kill him. I love him so much. I never told him, please, don't let them kill him. She nearly fell out of the tree as she heard a voice, the voice to go with that body, with the picture in her hand, echoing in her mind. Mulder's eyes widened. He glanced left to right, looking all around, wondering if he had imagined her voice. But he could hear it in his mind, as clear as a bell, her voice drifting all around him. Wondering if the humidity and being left alone with half-crazed men and dead bodies had got to him, he attempted to contact her with his words. Several minutes passed. Mulder fought to keep his face from breaking out into a grin. It was Scully. He was talking to her with his mind. Mulder was ecstatic. A connection. He had a psychic connection with her. He sent the thought to her by the will of his mind. Mulder felt like he was floating on air. At last, no longer a spectator, this was it. He was here, Fox Mulder, having his own personal paranormal experience with Dana Scully. So often in his work, Mulder was merely a spectator, watching from the sidelines as others saw visions of ghosts, knew things he didn't know, and claimed to have a psychic connection with someone. It had made him reluctantly jealous of these people, especially the psychics he had talked to. He had once teased Scully that he would pay a million dollars to have a psychic connection. He replayed the conversation in his head, giving their voices to her through their link. ("I'd love to have a connection like that. Think of the possibilities, Scully? You'd know what someone was thinking, you'd know if they were being straight with you, or if they were lying. You'd know all their secrets, all their hopes and wishes and dreams." Scully put that enigmatic little smile on her face, the one that stopped his heart and made him want to kiss her senseless.) Scully interrupted the transmission. (Scully put that enigmatic little smile on her face, the one that stopped his heart and made him want to kiss her senseless, if they weren't driving a car and she would allow such a thing. "I'll be grateful if you leave my mind outta this." "Why? What secrets are you harboring in your mind, Scully? Fantasies?" She smiled again. "If I was, they'd be private, and off limits." "Damn, now I really want a connection like that. You probably have all kinds of kinky sex fantasies about tying me up," he teased. She put a finger to her lips a moment, staring thoughtfully out into space. "Well, I wouldn't mind tying you up, in fact, I think it'd be fun, although I don't think sex would have much to do with it." "Okay, well if you're not harboring fantasies, what do you have locked away up there besides loads and loads of scientific knowledge and an explanation for every paranormal event we've ever witnessed?" he dared. "I'll tell you later, Mulder.") Mulder winced as one of the Japanese men butted him in the gut with his rifle. He doubled over, holding his stomach, and felt like gagging. Mulder groaned, falling to his knees. His captors ordered him to stay like that. A moment later the new guy, Hiroshi waddled over. Hiroshi was taller than Udo, Jo or Isas. And he was much heavier. The man had a large round pot belly, and reminded Mulder of something he'd seen in the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, when Violet had eaten that experimental gum and had widened into a giant round blueberry. "*We need you to ask him some questions for us, Hiroshi. You are the only one who speaks English among us,*" Jo explained. "*We think he may be a spy, and we need to know if the US knows about our plan.*" "*What makes you so sure he's going to tell you the truth?*" Hiroshi posed. Jo's eyes hardened. "*We have ways, Hiroshi, we have ways. Now, as him what his name is.*" Hiroshi turned to Mulder. "What is your name?" he asked slowly. "Fox Mulder," Mulder replied. Hiroshi looked to Jo, who nodded. "*Find out what he's doing on this island.*" "Why are you on Miyake-Jima, Mulder?" "I can't answer that." Hiroshi repeated Mulder's answer to Jo, who glanced at Udo and Isas. He nodded, and at his command Udo produced a short whip, the kind used by jockeys to make race horses run faster. He came down hard upon Mulder's lower back. A welt rippled up onto his smooth skin. Mulder grunted, his face clenching in pain. came his tenuous reply. "I need an answer, Mulder. That was a warning," Hiroshi said in his careful English laden with a thick accent. "Why are you on Miyake-Jima?" Mulder grit his teeth. "My name is Fox Mulder. I'm an American journalist." Hiroshi translated to Jo. "*He lies. Hit him again, Udo, harder.*" The whip cam down on Mulder's upper back. He fell forward, his palms outstretched, feeling the lashes across his back. "*Twice more,*" Jo ordered. Udo hit him again, and Mulder felt the blood coil in his back. "*Now ask him.*" "They will continue to beat you until you give them the truthful answer, Mulder. Why are you here?" Hiroshi demanded. "I told you, I'm an American journalist. I got a tip there was a POW camp on this island. I was just coming to investigate," he said. "I'm a civilian." Scully pleaded. "*He's lying! Hit him Udo.*" Jo demanded. Mulder heard the crack on his back before he felt it. Scully coaxed. "Why didn't you tell us you were a journalist when we first asked you?" Hiroshi demanded. Mulder gazed up at the man. His eyes were glassy, and unseeing. His voice cracked as if he were a teenager when he spoke. "I was afraid you'd kill me. Please, I'm telling the truth." Jo paused, considering. "*Why was he dressed in army fatigues?*" Mulder waited until Hiroshi repeated the words. "I was afraid of being shot. I was just following up on a tip. No journalist has been in a Japanese POW camp since the war started. I'm not on a rescue mission, I'm covering a story." Jo stared at Mulder for a long time. "*He thinks we're in the Japanese army?*" "*From his indications, yes, I believe he does,*" Hiroshi responded. "*Then he knows nothing of our militia, or our plan. He thinks we're holding prisoners for the Japanese army, as if we would help those swine!*" Jo laughed. "*All right, take him back with the rest of the prisoners. Tomorrow _kami kara amanuhara_ will come, and we will be prepared. No one knows and there is nothing they can do to stop us.*" Scully thought. Isas and Udo picked Mulder up by his arms. All the strength had gone out of his body and he allowed himself to be carried across the compound. Mulder swallowed. Miyake-Jima 9:57 PM Scully lay sprawled in the tree. She had kept Mulder talking in her mind for most of the day, waging mental wars on whether this was a delusion brought on by too much stress on her part, while Mulder had spouted theories on how their minds had become fused. He had been asleep for the past four hours, after Scully had lulled him. She could still feel him on the edge of her consciousness, feel his wounds on her back like they were her own. Her logical mind had run out of explanations. From her mental conversations with Mulder she was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than a good night's rest, that she knew she would not have anytime in the near future. She sat up a little and peered out over the compound. All was silent. The only lights came from one of the other buildings. Quietly, she nudged at Mulder's consciousness. She was getting used to him being in her head, and was learning how to use her mind in sync with his. She had put up a shield against his dreams once she saw where they were headed. The first few were nightmares, but as they progressed, she began to see daydreams and fantasies, and for some reason she found she didn't want to pry. Mulder would have the rest of his life to tell her about all his daydreams and fantasies and nightmares, and she would rather hear them from his lips than to spy on him in his mind. During their time on the X-Files, he had accused her more than once of being a spy, and no matter what she wasn't going to peek into his mind without permission and truly become a spy. Inside the tiny room, Mulder jumped awake. she replied. She gave a mental nod and then stood, glancing around in the darkness. Her fear of bats was starting to get the better of her as she edged along the branch of the banyan. She could feel Mulder mentally following her. Suddenly it was like they were on a case, getting ready to catch the bad guy, only Scully was leading the squad, Mulder following to cover her. His presence was comforting whether she wanted to admit it or not. She always felt safer if she knew Mulder was backing her up. He would never let anything happen to her, and she would never let anything happen to him. They had worked that way since the beginning, even before he trusted her, during the early, give-and-take days of their partnership. They had always been willing to do anything for each other, as if they knew that they would be together for a long time. As if they had always loved each other. She took a deep breath, as she moved cautiously out onto the limb. One of her most imminent fears was that of heights. She was scared to death of falling, and Mulder knew it. She could hear his murmurs meant to soothe in her head. She glanced down, and her breath caught. Scully inched her way across the limb. She was past the fence, close to the end of the branch, where she could lower herself down to the roof. And then she fell. It was a simple, stupid mistake, her bare foot slipping as she took another step, and ruining her tenuous balance. She couldn't even scream, only flail her arms as she felt her other foot slip. Her hands reached out and grasped the branch, the rest of her body dangling below her. She held her legs still, not wanting to draw attention. Her arms burned. If Dana Scully had one physical weakness, it would be upper body strength. She had never been able to retain it, and had almost not graduated from Quantico because of her lack of upper body strength. She had excelled in studies, and in every other field of training. Mulder's thought was loud, almost as if he were screaming. Her body twisted as she tried in vain to pull herself up. She tried to move herself sideways, but nearly lost the grip she already had. His voice in her head was stern. A moment later, Scully felt a burst of strength higher than any adrenaline rush push at her arms. She quickly lifted herself onto the branch, walked the remaining three steps and collapsed onto the roof before the power left her. The mental image of a world-weary Mulder smile lit up inside her mind. "Everything I have, Scully. And everything you have.> he thought. She could almost hear the intensity, the passion that entered his voice, so like that of a poet's in its chaotic prose. Scully peered at the building kitty corner. Scully followed his instructions, and crept through the attic window and down the stairs. The scent of death lingered in her nostrils and struck cold fear in her heart. She came to the bottom, and turned to her right. Her stomach turned and she felt the urge to wretch at the sight before her. Dead, rotting corpses were piled high in the room. One man was nibbling on the green fingertips of one of his former friends. The others looked at her with dead eyes. It was a sight that would haunt her for years to come, the image of those dead eyes staring out at her. Eyes that had once been shining with life now empty and void of whomever the person was. All except for two. She glanced to her immediate right, and saw Mulder and the British man he'd told her about, Lacey, staring up at her. She quickly knelt by Mulder. "Mulder," she whispered. She reached out and touched the side of his face. His eyes were alight with happiness, as he leaned up to eagerly capture her lips. "Ahem. Look, I don't mean to be frank, but I'd like to get out of these bloody chains," Lacey interrupted after a few moments. Scully pulled away softly, smiling at Mulder. She glanced around the room, and then finally looked up, spotting the key high above her head. She followed the white string over to a corner where a man lay, the rotting arm of another dead soldier in his lap. Carefully, she made her way over to the string while Mulder informed Lacey as to who she was. She picked it off the nail, and lowered the key to the ground. She glanced at the door before rushing to the center of the room, picking up the key and jamming it into the lock of Mulder's handcuffs. They popped open, his waist chain and leg irons following suit. She then cleared Lacey of his restraints. Lacey stood, wincing at the pain in muscles that hadn't been used for a long time. Scully turned to Mulder, who was still sitting on the floor. "Mulder, get up we have to-" "There's a little problem, Scully. I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion." Scully gave an exasperated sigh. She snorted. Mulder rose reluctantly, trying without success to keep himself hidden from her view and not be obvious about it. Scully led the way as the searched the downstairs until they found a side door leading out into the compound. They quickly and quietly merged into the darkness, at one with the night. Hiroshi was dealing the chips. He, Jo, Udo and Isas were centered around a table, Akio standing off to one side, a cigarette clamped between his thin, chapped lips. The other five members of their group were stationed on the beach, looking for the lost sailor that had set off the trap that afternoon. The four at the table were playing a divination game the Kara Kami Amanuhara had shown them in a dream. Hiroshi had had the vision first, the other member of their small ten-person group next. They had started their cult years ago, before the Kara Kami Amanuhara had become pop culture. It had developed member by member all around the world. As each person had the vision, they gradually came to know each other, to contact each other. The ten men on Miyake-Jima had been the first to encounter the vision and each other. There were twenty other men in the cult. All were of Japanese descent, all of the male species. And all were part of the master plan the Kami Kara Amanuhara had destined. The plan that would be carried out when they came tomorrow. The game they were playing was quite simple. It was fashioned somewhat after poker, only played for no money, and with chips instead of cards. After thirty hands, the player with the most losses was thrown out. Hiroshi, Udo, Jo, Isas and Akio had been the first five to have the vision. Therefore one of them would be the one to greet the Kara Kami Amanuhara when they came. Akio had been thrown out. He was pouting about it, not insisting that Hiroshi has cheated although Akio knew his claim was false. Akio threw the cigarette butt on the floor and squashed it under the heel of his boot. The chips on the table clacked together. "*Is the radio working, Hiroshi?*" Udo asked conversationally, staring at the chips lined up before him. "*There was some interference, most likely from the American ship looking for the sailor. The lines should be free in case anything goes wrong. The Kara Kami Amanuhara will be very proud of us for carrying out their will.*" Jo tossed in his chips- he'd lost again. "*Is our problem in London taken care of, Hiroshi? You said that-" Thump. Something heavy hit the boarded up window of the building. All five of the men turned to look at it. "*What was that?*" Isas asked. Hiroshi looked annoyed. "*I don't know. Akio, go see what is out there.*" "*Why do I have to go?*" "*Because you lost,*" Hiroshi replied sternly. "*Go.*" Mulder and Lacey were crouched in the bushes on either side of the window, Scully opposite the window, hidden behind a few giant ferns that had sprung up on the building opposite the one Hiroshi and the boys occupied. Mulder watched as one of the men he didn't recognize came around the corner, holding a rifle in his hands which Mulder noted were trembling. "*Come out! I know someone's here!*" he called. Mulder's body quivered slightly in anticipation. "*Just come on out.*" The man moved closer to where Mulder and Lacey sat. The man swung his rifle all around, peering into the dark night. Finally, he stepped into range. Scully kicked the side of the building. The man jumped, and turned, so his back was to Mulder and Lacey. They quickly pulled his ankles, and the man fell flat on his face. Scully scampered out from the bushes and grabbed his gun from where it lay fallen from his hands. She brought it down to a safe region on the back of his head, at the appropriate place where it would knock the man out, but not cause him any harm. Mulder waved to Lacey. They pulled the man's body a few forward, so it would be immediately visible upon entering the narrow alley, while Scully checked the weapon. Mulder and Lacey took their positions, crouched beneath the tiny bonsai that grew at the corner of all the older buildings. Scully picked up the rock she had originally thrown at the window and threw it at he window again, harder this time. She shuffled into the bushes, and waited. A few moments later, two more men came out. Mulder recognized Jo and Udo. Scully thought immediately. Mulder was surprised. He'd never heard Scully swear before, or be so angry. It was so . . . unScullylike. Mulder leapt into action. He and Lacey stood quickly, kicking Jo and Udo in the back. Both men fell like toy soldiers. They groaned, and Mulder heard the door fly open. He jumped back into the shadows as Hiroshi stormed around the side, Isas following timidly. "*What the hell-*" That was as far as he got before Mulder and Lacey ambushed them. When the fight was over, the five Japanese men were lying on the ground, four unconscious, one barely conscious, and moaning. "Go round up the men in the forest, Scully. Lacey, get Jo's gun and go with her. I'll take care of these guys." "You sure you can handle them all by yourself, Mulder? Hiroshi does look a trifle heavy," Lacey commented, motioning towards the fat man. Mulder smiled. "I'll be okay once I get my pants back. For right now, go get the beach boys. All we need is them coming back and undoing all our hard work." It was just approaching dawn when a bleary-eyed Dana Scully brought in two Japanese soldiers. Mulder was waiting at the gate. As Scully held the gun on the two men, Mulder quickly tied them up and pushed them into a sitting position beside the rest of their comrades. Pierre was keeping watch on the men, who formed a half circle around them. Mulder hadn't thought it a good idea to give Pierre a gun, but he had seemed stable enough and hadn't done anything odd since he had been put on watch. Lacey was dealing with the three remaining prisoners who still had some shred of sanity in tact. He was trying to get them to eat regular food. Mulder had retrieved his change of clothes and the provisions he was given, along with his camera and pictures. He had kept his mind closed off to Scully so she could go about her business. Now, as he looked at her silhouetted form standing dark against the rising sun, a thought slipped out. She smiled at him, and Mulder felt his heart swell. He came towards her and swept her up in his embrace, just reveling in the fact that she was here. He hugged her much longer than necessary, bringing to her mind a line she had seen in a movie a long time ago. "You know, Mulder, hugs are supposed to end." He laughed, and pulled away, grinning like a fool. He put his arm around her and led her away, towards one of the buildings. "I was starting to get worried about you. I didn't want to pry into your thoughts, but I was about to." "Well I'm glad you weren't," she replied softly. He gazed at her, his mouth hanging open in shock. "You are positively wicked. I've gone through all these years thinking you were an innocent Catholic girl, and-" "Well it's nice to know there's still some things you don't know about me." "How's your back?" she asked, as he led her into the building Hiroshi, Jo and the rest of the gang had been occupying last night. "It's been better. I put some ointment on it. You'll have to properly dress the wounds for me." She nodded. "Did you get in touch with anyone?" "Yeah," he explained. "I radioed the USS Roswell. Chessie answered. She gasped when she heard it was me and squealed when she found out you were okay. I guess she was really worried about you. The ship is coming to pick everyone up. They're going to take us to the base in Shizuoka to be checked out, and I can call my superiors from there and tell them that this place wasn't what they thought it was." "Which is what exactly?" she asked as he shut the door behind them. He walked over to the table, where a stack of blueprints lay. He had unboarded the windows to let some air in, as well as some light. Scully came up behind him, and tugged at the edges of his shirt as he sat down. "Take your shirt off and let me look at the wounds," she insisted. He lifted his arms up and she undressed him quickly, her emotions flashing so fast she could barely keep track of them. From desire to sympathy to anger and finally to the cool professionalism that an FBI pathologist had to have. "I don't know, Scully," he replied. She traced the wounds on his back, and stabs of pain ricocheted up and down his spine. He grit his teeth and concentrated on the blueprints to ignore the pain. "It's all jumbled together, and I can't get it to make sense. Look, these are blueprints of half a dozen major cities- Tokyo, Rome, London, Washington, Sydney and Paris. Most of the writings are in Japanese, so I can't understand some of the symbols. Isas said that there are thirty men, only ten of which are on this island, and that they're in a cult that worships the gods of the sky." "He talked to you?" she asked incredulously as she began to rub some ointment into the skin of his wounds. "Sang like a canary. He speaks French. I had Lacey translate for me," he explained. "Anyway, there's thirty of them, and there's going to be some kind of tribute they're making 'when the sky is dead' whatever that means. There's more prints of the phases of the moon and the island. I can't make anything out. There's also prints of the Royal Palace in London, the White House in Washington, all the seats of government." "Do you think they were trying to make a takeover of their own?" "I don't know Scully," he replied softly. She ran her hands gently through his hair. He leaned back so his head was nestled against her chest as her fingers continued to play over him, teasing him between a soothing gesture and a seductive one. He sighed. "There's also something else, Scully," he divulged. "What?" Her own voice was a bit breathless, he noted with pleasure. Maybe she was getting as turned on by the simple touch as he was. Mulder quickly put his shields back up. "A little. But, according to Isas, all of the men had implants in their neck when the gods of the sky chose them." Scully's hands stilled. "Did you look-" "Yes. On all of the men there is a tiny scar on the back of their necks." She took a deep breath, and then her eyes snapped open. "When did you say they're making this tribute?" He turned to look at her. "'When the sky is dead', why?" "'When the sky is dead,'" she repeated. "Couldn't that also mean when it's black?" "You think it'll happen at night?" She shook her head. "No, today is October 12, Mulder. There's a planetary eclipse when they align today. In those places where it won't be day, the moon will be eclipsed. The place where the eclipse will be most evident will be in Southeast Asia- Japan. And gods of the sky-' Mulder's mind went in sync with hers. "The gods would have to be able to see the tribute from the ground which means-" "Fire," they completed together. She stared at him for a moment, and then dashed out of the building. Mulder followed, his back protesting all the way. He chased her across the compound where she flew to the warehouse. She flung open the doors, and bit her lip, backing away. Mulder finally caught up and grimaced. Inside the warehouse was at least three thousand pounds of dynamite. From sticks labeled TNT to barrels of old-fashioned gunpowder to plastic explosives. "Bombs," she said simply. "They're going to blow up the cities." He took a deep breath as he heard the whistle of a ship. "What time does that eclipse take place?" "1:17 this afternoon," she replied. Mulder looked at his watch, the one he had retrieved from Akio along with his pants. "That means we've got about seven hours to contact bomb squads in those cities. Does the Roswell have any type of fax machine?" "Yes." "All right. We'll send out faxes of the blueprints when we get on board, we've gotta hurry, come on, Scully." Military hospital Shizuoka, Japan 1:45 PM Scully couldn't get comfortable in the hard orange plastic chair. It was the only thing with color in Mulder's hospital room. Everything else was white or black. She was dressed in a loose white tee shirt and a pair of white jeans. Mulder had joked that she looked like an angel. They had kept their link shut off the past few hours, each preferring the silence of their own thoughts to sharing them with each other. Mulder was lying on the bed in front of her. They had given him veranaum to dull the pain in his back. The wounds hadn't been as bad as Scully had first feared, and the doctors had said that they would probably heal with little scarring. The problem was that the verenaum also contained caffeine. Mulder couldn't sit still. He kept wanting to get up and walk around. They had sent the faxes hours ago, and obtained replies from five of the cities. Hong Kong officials had received the transmission, but it was doubtful they would respond, because it had come from an American ship. Scully was a bundle of nerves, as she kept staring at the television set. They were talking about the prisoners on Miyake-Jima, the eclipse, and reports of an alleged bomb scare in several major cities that had caused major panic. She sighed and shifted in the chair, glancing at the clock on the wall across from her. "I was talking with the doctors and they've recommended that you be sent back to the States, permanently, because of your wounds." Mulder nodded, understanding her need to fill the air with conversation bout something other than the fact that no one in Hong Kong had responded, and that most likely many innocent people had died because of this war, because of all the distrust and paranoia between the two sides. "What about you?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "I wasn't wounded. Most likely, I'll be sent back to the ship." "After all you've been through?" he asked. She glanced at him sorrowfully. "It's the right decision, Mulder. I have to go back to the ship. I'm not hurt, or physically impaired." He turned his head away and played with his watch, his face drawn. "I don' t know, Scully, I guess I thought- I thought that when all this was over, you'd be able to come home with me." She crossed her arms and looked away. Her voice was thick with tears when she spoke next. "I would like nothing more than to be able to go back to Washington with you, Mulder. But this war is drawing to a close, you and I both know that. Moai has fled to China, and we're pushing forces back out of Japan, Egypt and Israel. We're closing in on them, and they need me in case anyone gets hurt on the ship." "They don't need you, Scully," Mulder said angrily. "_I_ need you. There are plenty of doctors, Scully. Abberdine wrote me a letter last week and said he's going home. So's Carnent. They don't need them anymore, Scully. They don't need me and they don't need you." "Regardless of whether they need me or not, Mulder, they have me. I have to go, and I wish to God I could go home with you, but I can't," she said, her voice trailing off. He had only heard her sound like that once before, when he had seen her in the hospital after her sister died. Hearing her voice broke his heart, tearing him up into a thousand little pieces. He slid out of bed and padded over to her, putting his arms around her, just like he had then. "I'm sorry for getting angry, Scully." She pulled him closer to her, stroking him in an effort to give comfort as she was receiving it. That was one of the things he loved about Scully. Her way of receiving love was always to give it. Giving comfort and love was like a gift to her, one he had often denied her. He felt guilty about running off on her, about not breaking down and confessing to her when he was having regrets, or feeling lonely and needed someone. All those times he could have given her that gift, and he hadn't. He felt her nudging at his thoughts, seeking entrance, but he wouldn't let her. He had been wanting to mention his idea to her all afternoon, but had never found the right opportunity. "Scully," he murmured. "What?" "I think- I think there's a way that you can come home with me." She pulled back and stared at him. "What is it?" He bit his lip, and closed his eyes for a moment, not sure how to proceed, doubts surfacing in his mind. He chanced a look up at her eyes, and saw care and understanding . . . And hope, he thought. He had to tell her. He wanted her back with him as much as she wanted to be back. "You could get pregnant," he said simply. She swallowed, and stared at him in shock. "Pregnant?" "Well you always said you wanted a lot of kids, and we're getting married anyway and I love you so much and I want to have children with you and I don't want to wait until you're dead or this war is over, I need you with me back in Washington, and we could just tell them that it was an accident, and we'd get married as soon as we got back to Washington, even sooner if possible, you can doctor your pregnancy test results, they'll believe you, and we can get married and get pregnant as soon as we're back in Washington and no one will ever know the difference. Please, Dana, I love you, I need you with me and I want kids anyway, as much as you do," he babbled. She stared at him for a moment. "Don't ask me to do this, Mulder," she said. "Scully, I-" "DON'T!" she yelled. "Do you know what you're asking me, Mulder?" She stood and paced about the room. "You're asking me to choose between you and my honor, Mulder. Fix the tests? Fix them? I could loose my medical license for that, I could be sent to prison for that, dammit Mulder. And just say we got away with it- I'd be taking the easy way out. My father taught me to take orders and to accept what life threw at me. I'd be dishonoring everything he ever taught me." She turned back to where he was still on his knees, like a hopeful fiance. In a way, he was making a proposal. A proposal of their life together, of getting the chance to live it. His eyes looked round and large. Scared. "I don't think I can make it without you another day, Scully. I've lived without you since I left in February, and I can't do it anymore." Scully looked at him carefully and then fled the room. 9:17 PM Scully stood at the foot of Mulder's bed, watching him sleep. Her heart constricted and she felt sick when she thought of the pain she had caused him, the pain she was going to cause him. Mulder already hurt so much. He was filled with so much grief and recriminations that it made her want to weep. Footsteps echoed. She turned, and saw her father standing beside her. He was in full naval dress, his uniform starched white, his medals and nameplate impeccably placed. She watched him watch her for a few minutes before he spoke. "Hello, Starbuck." "Daddy," she whispered. "Oh Daddy, what should I do?" He smiled gently at her, and reached out, gently brushing a strand of red hair away from her face. "What's the matter, Starbuck? Who hurt you?" "I love him so much, Daddy, and more than anything I want to be with him," she cried, burying her face in her father's shoulder. He held her gently, stroking the back of her head. "I do love him, with every fiber of my being and I want to be with him forever, I don't want to go back, but I have to." He pulled her away gently, wiping a stray tear from her face. "Why do you have to go back, Starbuck?" "I'm ignoring my duty, if I do. I'm taking the easy way out, I'm dishonoring everything you taught me to believe in. You told me about how you were drafted and you could have avoided it to be with mom, but you didn't because it was your duty and I want to be like you, Daddy. All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me, and I thought- I thought that you were, that you would be so proud of me for going, for doing the right thing. And I don't want to do it, Daddy, I can't. He's been hurt so many times, I don't want him to hurt anymore, I love him." He smiled gently at her. "You've already made be proud, Starbuck. I was always proud of you, I loved you, I still love you. If you go back, you're hurting yourself by not being with him. And I never wanted you to hurt, Starbuck. And I'll always be proud of you, and so will everyone else. "You're not taking the easy way out, Starbuck. It's hard for you to take the easy way out. I've been watching you. This will be hard. "But when you love someone, you really love them, the way love is always supposed to be, you'll do anything to be with them. I hated myself for leaving your mother. I hated it because I wasn't loyal. And you'll hate yourself for leaving him, Starbuck. Don't make the same mistake I did. I know that you love him the way I loved your mother. Your family, that man that you love are your loyalties. Not to the navy, or the government or anyone else. The people you love are your loyalties. Don't forget that, Starbuck. Never forget that." Scully swallowed. "I won't, Daddy." He gave her a hug again, and then smiled as he pulled away. "That's my girl." He kissed her forehead. "Good-bye, Starbuck. "Good-bye Ahab." 11:21 PM Scully awoke from her dream to the sound of a large party. Someone was shaking her. She looked up to see Chessie grinning down at her. "Dana! Dana! Dana!" she squealed. She hugged her friend tightly, and although Chessie was shorter, she managed to lift Scully off the couch in the waiting area of the hospital. "Did you hear?" "What?" She grinned. "It's over." "What is?" "Moai's dead. He was in Hong Kong and-" Scully's eyes grew wide. "Did the bomb go off?" she asked hurriedly, rubbing sleep from her eyes and standing. Chessie frowned and shook her head. "No. What are you talking about? Anyway, Moai was giving a speech this afternoon to his troops when he just dropped dead. The rest of the forces in Japan just surrendered, along with those in Egypt. There's still some groups putting up resistance in the Middle east and southeast Asia, but it's all confined, the groups can only hold out for a few months at best. It's over, Dana! The war is over!" 11:24 PM "Mulder!" Scully shouted as she entered his hospital room. She had tried to talk telepathically with him, but she suspected he might have his shields up again, because she didn't get a response. In fact, it had felt as if he wasn't even in her head at all, anymore. He was sitting up in bed, quietly staring at the TV screen, in the darkness. She rushed over and enveloped him a hug, climbing on top of the bed with him. "Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry I was angry with you this afternoon," she breathed, as she leaned down and kissed him. He pushed her gently off of him and fumbled for the light so he could see her more clearly. "Scully, what-" "Make love to me," she demanded. "I love you more than life itself, Mulder, I want your children and I can't stand to live another day without you by my side. I love you, and I want you." He touched the side of her face softly. "Dana," he breathed. Suddenly he squirmed, and reached over on the nightstand. "Don't bother, I don't care if I get pregnant. I'm coming back home with you, Mulder, I love you." "No, I want to give you this," he said. He held out something in his hand. Scully recognized it as the ID bracelet he had bought for her all those months ago, the birthday present he had never really given her, but that she had always worn. "My God," she breathed. "Where did you find it?" "It was on the beach on Miyake-Jima. Right before we left, I saw it and put it in my pocket. I forgot about it this afternoon, when-" "I'm sorry, Mulder, I was just so flustered-" "No, you were right. I had no right to make you choose between me and your honor and I'm sorry, and you don't have to do this just to come home with me-" "Do you ever shut up?" she demanded. She leaned down and kissed him forcefully, her tongue gliding into his mouth, her legs spread over his abdomen, her hands titling his head up. He kissed her back, his arms going around her, caressing her back and her face. He tugged her away, and looked at her, taking her hand in his. He slipped the ID bracelet on her, and then looked at her face. "Now it's official, Dana." "We're married?" He shook his head. "Not formally. But from now on," he whispered, kissing the back of her palm above the bracelet. "We belong to each other." Mulder sat caressing Dana's back with his free hand. She was snuggled up against him, their bodies locked together and covered in sweat. He couldn't count on one hand the number of times they'd made love. It was well after three am, and they were both exhausted. "Fox," she whispered. "Yeah?" "In the confusion- I forgot to ask, did you hear about Moai?" she asked, looking up at his eyes. "The war is over, Dana, I know." He grinned at her. "As long as we're sharing gossip, I figured there's something else you should know." At that point his face became serious. "Moai died at approximately 1:17 PM. At that same instant, all ten of the men that were on Miyake-Jima also apparently just dropped dead. I had just gotten autopsy reports back before you burst in. They all died of heart attacks. Moai, all the men. There's no mention of the scars, or of any metal chips in their necks. However, I did get in touch with Skinner and some friends in the British consulate. It seems that nineteen other men 'dropped dead' at 1:17 PM. I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet the farm that they were in on Hiroshi's plan." Scully opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger to her lips. "Wait, it gets better. I also called MUFON. They reported eighteen thousand separate UFO sightings in the Washington D.C. area alone during the eclipse." "UFOs?" "Gods of the sky, Scully. And the island of Miyake-Jima exploded." "What?" she asked, breathless, sitting up and looking at him. "Hiroshi must have rigged a bomb to go off at 1:17 PM. A helicopter flying over the area took a picture." Mulder leaned over on the night table, and picked up a black and white photo. It was of Miyake- Jima, an egg-shaped island. Two large rings of fire were in the thicker end of the egg, and down near the other end, was a long line. It looked, of all the things Scully could compare it to, like an alien's head. "Wait a minute, though, I thought Moai was Chinese." Mulder grinned. "Only half Chinese. That was how he was able to lure the Japanese emperor into helping him - his father is a very prominent Japanese citizen who divorced his Chinese mother in 1973. And if you've noticed, also can't speak with our minds anymore. I'm also willing to bet we lost that at 1:17 PM, during the eclipse." "That's if we even ever had it, Mulder. It could have just been a self-induced delusion brought on by too much stress-" Mulder blinked at her. "Are you kidding me, Scully?" "Oh come on, we can't really talk to each other with our minds-" Mulder and Scully argued for twenty minutes more, going over all the possibilities. And then they made love and fell asleep, finally realizing all that they had been missing. The End From kileyw@frontiernet.net Mon Oct 14 18:02:06 1996 Hi everybody! This is the epilogue to the Missing Word series. I've had a bit of trouble with this one 'cause it just wasn't sounding right to me < and some parts still aren't>. Okay, this is MSR, so run for your lives! Classification: Short Story/Romance- MSR Rating: "R" 'cause of Scully's "colorful" language Summary: The war is over, but for Mulder and Scully, life is just beginning. The Found Word: 07/04/00 (1/2) by Sarah "S\S" Kiley (kileyw@frontiernet.net) Washington, D.C. July 3, 2000 11:01 PM "You son of a bitch, Fox Mulder!" Mulder ducked as Scully swung at him with her fist, lashing out. He rubbed his sore jaw from where she had got him last time. "Dana, sweetie . . ." "Don't you sweetie me, you twenty-four hour erection!" she yelled. Mulder chuckled. He had never thought that Dana Scully, the prim and proper lady he knew as Dana Katherine Scully would say such a thing. But then again, there was a lot he had learned about her since their marriage in November. They'd gotten married on the five-year anniversary of the day she had awoken from her coma in the Georgetown hospital. Mulder had told her that it was that day he realized that he could never be separated from her. She, of course, had called him a liar and told him it was when they had met up in Italy about a year ago, after being separated for several months, their only contact through long, detailed letters. She had saved every one, and he had saved all of hers. They sat in a box in the closet of their apartment, keepsakes for their children and grandchildren. She gasped. "What the hell was I thinking when I married you? And were you thinking? NOT WITH YOUR HEAD! No, all you had in mind was release for Captain Winky! Too many months without your video collection, I suppose, you stupid- AH! Oh, God!" she screamed. Her hand clenched his forearm. He was sure her hand on his arm was going to leave bruises. "I'm going to kill you!" she screeched. She flailed out, nearly missing his nose. "I hate you, I hate you!" she spat. He closed his eyes, trying to hide his smile. "I know you do, Dana, I know," he reassured. "It'll all be over soon, love, I promise. Just think- in a little while you'll be over this, and everything will be fine. Just breathe with me, Dana." "BREATHE?" she demanded. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?" Her face was red with anger that matched the fiery tempo of her hair. "You better find the doctor who operated on John Bobbit because you're going to need him!" Mulder had to laugh. "Calm down, Scully, you're making a spectacle of yourself." "A SPECTACLE? You chase lights in the sky, and I'm making a SPECTACLE OF MYSELF? I don't care! Let's see the people watching- OW!" she screamed, and Mulder felt her nails dig into his forearm. Mulder glanced across at Mrs. Scully, who was poised on the other side of Dana Scully-Mulder's hospital bed. A quiet, knowing smile was on her face, as she smoothed back hair from her daughter's sweat- stricken face. "Dana," she murmured. "You just yell all you want. You make them think you're giving birth to a full grown man instead of a tiny little baby." Scully quieted down, and began her lamas breathing at her mother's words. Mulder's jaw dropped. He had been trying for the past twenty minutes to get Dana to stop screaming at him, telling her he loved her, and that it would be over soon, and they'd have their baby, and for a while it had worked. But as the contractions began to come faster and faster, she had started yelling about "what he had done to her" and how he had tricked her into having a baby (when they had discussed it together and decided that they wanted a baby). He had heard more swearing from her mouth in those fifteen minutes that only a sailor's daughter could possibly say with such vigor. He hadn't even understood some of them (what was a `fucking messed up seagull with its head in its ass trying to fly with its ears and screw with a toe' and what did it have to do with him?). It was a good thing they weren't videotaping the birth. What their child would think if he or she heard mom swearing like that! "How'd you do that?" he asked Mrs. Scully, in something close to awe. "What?" Scully broke in angrily. She laid back against the pillows as the contraction passed, and then stared up at her husband, the hand that had been digging into his skin now stroking it softly. "I'm sorry, Fox, I'm-" He smiled. "In a lot of pain. I don't think I've ever heard so much swearing in my entire life." He took her hand in his, and smoothed back damp red curls from her face. "It hurts, Fox, it hurts," she whimpered. He kissed her forehead. "I know, love, I know. It's almost over, and then we'll have our baby-" "Fox Junior," she mumbled. He sucked in a deep breath, and prayed it wasn't a boy. He and Dana had been fighting about what they were going to name the baby if it was a boy for the past four months. She thought "Fox Junior" was an absolutely horrible name, while he didn't want the curse of said name brought upon his child. He had tried teasing her about it, saying how unoriginal she was, and how boring it would be, and how she'd call his name, and not one, but two people would appear, but she was undeterred. And she wasn't going to suddenly change her mind. She had never told him why she was so hung up on naming the boy Fox Junior. They had been discussing the name situation for the seven billionth time when her water broke. "Cara," he said determinedly back, grinning when she glared at him. Cara was the one name they'd both agreed on. It was Italian for love, a private joke between them that would make a good bedtime story for their would-be daughter. Mulder had been having daydreams like that for months, thinking of things he could tell his daughter, imagining what she would look like. "During the war in Italy was when I first realized I was in love with your mother . . ." But secretly, while he wished for a daughter so they wouldn't have a major blow-up over the name issue, she wished for a son so she could pass onto him his father's name. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully: man and wife and opposites in every single way. It was a bit like the kind of romance between the school sweetheart and the school rebel, drawn straight up from a bad teenage love `50s movie designed to make teenage girls swoon, staring dewy- eyed at all the boys in school who wore their hair slicked back. The dangerous, daring Fox Mulder who lived to break the rules, to believe in the things people ridiculed, and to be ridiculed himself; hopelessly in love with Dana Scully, the prim and proper woman who believed solely in science and revered her Catholicism, even as she broke her daddy's heart by joining the FBI. But at that moment, the roles were reversed, Mulder quaking in fear at his wife. He had read about problems in childbirth, especially with women like Dana. She was so small and tiny, even if most people couldn't see her that way, even if he didn't see her that way. His main concern was that she didn't have wide hips, which he had read would make childbirth difficult. He was so afraid that, like some bad movie on Lifetime, he would end up being forced to choose: Dana or their child. He had told Scully and she had laughed herself into tears while he went through a range of emotions from anger to embarrassment. He stared at her face, remembering that conversation two months ago . . . "Fox, will you stop tossing and turning?" she demanded. Dana sat up in bed, reaching over and turning on the lights, her hand on her swollen stomach. She glanced over at her husband, who sat up beside her, turning to stare at her. "What's the matter?" He bit his lip, staring at her worriedly. "Nothing, nevermind. I'll go sleep on the couch so I don't keep you and the baby up-" he said, and began to rise. Scully reached out and grabbed the waistband of his boxers, pulling him back down on the bed. "You're the first man in the world to ever *volunteer* to sleep on the couch," she chuckled. She knelt behind him, and put her arms awkwardly around his neck, her enlarged belly making it difficult to embrace him like this. She kissed the back of his neck lightly. "Come on, what's the matter?" she coaxed. He sighed, remaining silent. She did a mental checklist. "You been eating too many green M&Ms?" she teased. She trailed her fingers along his ribs. "I know I'm not exactly beautiful to look at considering I don't have a waist anymore-" He turned immediately, staring into her eyes. "No. And you look better now than I've ever seen you before." "Although I beg to differ, I'm going to let it pass in hopes you'll tell me what's wrong." He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up so he could stare directly into her eyes. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Scully. Or the baby." She stared suspiciously at him. "Why would something happen?" He swallowed. "Well, it's just- you're so small, I mean, your hips are very narrow and I read that it's . . . harder to give birth that way." "Mulder, I'm not going to die. I'll be in a lot of pain and I'll be walking like I've been having sex nonstop for the past nine months, but other than that nothing's going to happen. The worst they'll have to do is cut me open to repair some damaged tissue- I won't be able to wear a bikini anymore, big deal." Mulder felt incredibly stupid. "I know, but, I, uh, I saw this movie-" She groaned. "Oh, Mulder, I told you we have to get Lifetime blocked off until I have this baby. First you thought I was going to run off and have an abortion without telling you, then you were convinced I'd have a miscarriage and it would destroy our marriage, then you were worried about baby snatchers- baby snatchers! This child isn't out of my womb yet! What now? Aliens taking my baby? Faulty anesthetics? Me getting addicted to pain killers?" His face flushed. "I know I worry about stupid things sometimes, but this has happened a lot- statistics show!" he pointed out. "And I-" He suddenly reached out and pulled her into a fierce embrace. "I can't choose! I won't choose the baby if they tell me only you or the baby lives, I won't, I love you," he sobbed. Scully tried to hold in her laughter for two seconds. "Oh, God, why did I have to marry a pessimist?" She pulled him away, staring darkly at him. "Mulder, I want you to repeat after me: I will stop worrying. I will not watch Lifetime movies, no matter how bored I am, and I will not become convinced that all kinds of bad things are going to happen." He sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just- with our record-" She frowned. "What record? Mulder, we met up in Italy in the middle of a war, at the same time, at the same place, if I hadn't been thrown overboard- if you weren't supposed to be picked up by the Roswell instead of some other ship- if . . . whatever that thing that happened between us on Miyake-Jima hadn't happened- we wouldn't be here. We wouldn't be married, you wouldn't be having irrational fears about childbirth- Mulder our record is pretty damn good! We've gone through a lot of things, and you're a liar if you think that the fates didn't conspire for us. We made it through a war- and we came out engaged with a baby on the way! We made it through eight years- eight YEARS of each other, Mulder, to finally get to this point. And we didn't end up hating each other, or shooting each other-" He raised his eyebrows. "Without good reason," she continued, unfazed. "We were separated, if not by our higher- ups, then by ourselves and our inability to communicate, and we've always come back, Mulder. Fate's been good to us, Mulder. Apart, we may not be too spectacular, but together- together we can do anything, you have to know that," she urged. "And I think you do know it." He sighed, his breath stirring the hairs around her face. "There's so many things, Scully. So many bad things . . . my sister, your abduction, my father, Melissa . . ." "And there's a lot of good things. I love you. And this baby is going to be just fine, I promise," she said with conviction. He turned to her with sad brown eyes. "How can you be so sure, Dana? You're so calm and cool about it all, and I'm a basket case." continued . . . . . "You want the Real Thing, and I'm a diet coke, okay?" -Zora Jacobs see http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/8969 for details... From kileyw@frontiernet.net Mon Oct 14 18:13:36 1996 see disclaimer and info in part one The Found Word: 07/02/00 (2/2) by Sarah "S\S" Kiley (kileyw@frontiernet.net) She smiled affectionately, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, Mulder. I wish you knew what it was like to be pregnant. You would understand then, I know you would. You would know what it's like to feel another life inside you and you know-I *know*, Mulder. I just know. Everything will be fine," she coaxed. She leaned over and kissed him gently. "Come on, I'm tired, lie down." He kissed her again. "Truly tired?" He gently toyed with the hem of her silk pajamas where they had ridden up so they barely touched the tops of her thighs, due to her state of pregnancy. She smiled. "Oh, but that wasn't he problem, remember? Maybe I should take you up on that offer to sleep on the couch." He began to unbutton her pajamas. "And then again, maybe I should just lie back and enjoy," she murmured as he reached over and flipped the light off, his fingers trying to free her from the material that held her bound . . . Mulder came back to the present with a start as Scully squeezed his hand again. "Oh, God," she cried out in pain. "Mom- mom, it hurts so much! Mulder!" He swallowed deeply. He's heard her scream in fear and pain before, but this was different. Her screams were excruciating torture for him to have to listen to. He had heard her call his name in fear far too many times and he had decided that he liked when she called his name in ecstasy a lot better. He was almost positive she had bruised his hands. "Breathe, Scully, take deep breaths," he urged gently. With his free hand, he stroked the side of her face. "You can do it, Dana, come on, breathe, remember how we did it before? You can breathe." She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, listening to his voice. She and Mulder had been practicing this for the past month- he was going to put her into a state of hypnosis where she wouldn't feel any pain, but she would still be able to have her baby. She listened to the quiet tones or his voice, whispering something about babies and streams and a chocolate cake, and how they were safe, and peaceful. She envisioned the place in her mind. A bank by the edge of a lake, a picnic table set up near the surface of the lake, where the water lapped the shore as the scent of barbecue pulled her into the realm of fantasy. And Mulder was there, and their children were there, and her mom. Scully was vaguely aware when Mulder stopped talking, but it was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate on reality when the fantasy world Mulder had given her was much less complicated, a calm place where everything was fine. "Dana," his voice cut through the haze. "The doctors want you to push, honey, come on, push." She heard her screams of pain, but didn't feel any. She took a deep breath and began to push. She felt her body widen, and screech, unaccustomed to the feeling, and then relax. She opened her eyes, unaware that she had even closed them and saw Fox smiling at her. "Good girl, Dana, good girl. You did real good. You don't feel any pain, you can't feel the pain, remember that," he urged. She wanted to cry when he turned away from her, looking at someone she couldn't see. When he turned back, his face was solemn. "Okay, we're almost done. The doctors need one more, one more push, they want, one more big push, and we'll have our baby, okay?" he said gently. She nodded, and felt moisture running down the side of her face as she began to concentrate. She held her breath , and pushed with all her might, cursing her parents for bringing her into the world and making her a girl who'd have to go through all this, even as she wished some cruel and unusual punishment on her husband. A moment later, she felt her body retract, coming back to itself after all the distortions it had faced to give away the prize that had been sitting in her body for the past nine months. She collapsed back against the bed, and looked up at Mulder. "Dana, it's all right, baby, it's okay," he cooed, wiping her face where sweat mingled with her tears. "Everything's fine. You're okay, right?" She did a mental check of her body, searching for pain, and found none, surprisingly. She couldn't feel her legs, or anywhere below her waist. She pointed down to her legs, a troubled look on her face. "They had to give you some medication, Dana. They were worried about you being too small for even one, and then the second- they didn't want to take any chances. I'm sorry, I know you wanted to do this by yourself," he said gently. He turned his head again, and Scully saw his face turn slightly green as he shook his head vigorously and replied something to whomever had spoken to him. When he faced her again, he was smiling. "Do you want to see them?" he said gently. She blinked, suddenly realizing how tired she was, and tried to form words. "Tired, can't hold what is it?" Her words sounded slurred to her own ears, and she wondered just what kind of drugs they had knocked her up with. Mulder grinned, and she saw his words form an answer she couldn't hear as she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Room 207 3:46 AM "Mulder!" Dana Mulder shot up in her hospital bed, her husband's name a cry on her lips. She stared around at her unfamiliar surroundings, trying to find out where she was. A hospital. A hospital. Was she hurt? Was Mulder hurt? Where was he? A moment later the light by her bed came on, and she saw her husband sitting in the chair beside her. He smiled. His white shirt was unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A rough stubble covered his jaw, his hair stuck up all over the place. His brown eyes were warm, but exhausted. "Hi. Welcome back." She let out a deep breath. "Mulder, I was- this horrible dream. What am I doing here?" He scooted the chair forward, taking her hand in his own. "Don't you remember?" he asked. She frowned, her mind a fog. "The baby," she whispered, her hands going straight for her abdomen, which was no longer so distended. "The baby, is the baby all right, Fox? Is the baby okay?" she demanded, her blue eyes wide with fear. Mulder kissed her hand. "The baby's fine, Dana. Just fine. There's something you should know-" "What? Is it disformed? Oh, God, Mulder, please please tell me the baby's okay," she begged, her voice going down to a croak. She thought of the infant they had found four years ago, buried alive, each birth defect more damning than the last. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of some mother killing her child like that, no matter how deformed it may be. She stared at her husband for reassurance that their child was fine, healthy, normal. He squeezed her hand, and then sat on the edge of the bed and hugged her tightly. "The babies are fine, Dana, just fine. They're beautiful, perfectly healthy. There's nothing wrong with them." She swallowed. "Them?" "Twins, Dana. Identical twins. Remember they said that there was a possibility we might be having another baby because of all the movement, but they couldn't be sure? And we skipped last month's ultra sound, so . . ." he trailed off, a grin on his face. Her breath caught at the revelation. "Oh, Mulder. Mulder, can I see them? Please, can I?" He bit his lip in indecision. "The doctors didn't want you moving- the birth was difficult-" She shook her head, and sat up straighter, pushing him away gently. "I need to see them, Fox. I *need* to." He brushed a loose strand of hair back away from her face. "Okay." Ten minutes later, the nurses had brought both babies into room 207. Mulder was holding the boy, his face alive at the sight of his newborn son's dark eyes staring up at him, Scully noted with pleasure, as she peered down at her daughter. She smiled when she saw the tiny band on the girl's foot proclaiming her Cara Mulder. "Mulder," she asked, her voice breaking the still that had settled over the room. He turned to look at her, and her breath caught in her chest when she realized that his eyes were glistening. "The boy- what did you name him?" "Fox Junior," he responded. At her look of questioning and surprise, he continued, his eyes focusing on the tiny life in his hands. "You wanted to name him that so much, and I didn't really know what to call him. he's the younger one, so they told me." He toyed with one of the child's tiny fists as it waved in the air and then grabbed onto his pinkie finger. "Why did you want to name him Fox Junior, Dana?" he asked his wife suddenly. "You wanted that name so much- why?" She smiled at him. "I love you, Fox. I love you with all my heart and I love everything about you. That includes your name. And I would watch you- Mulder sometimes I would watch you looking at me putting my hands on my stomach, or waddling around, and the look you had- it was almost like envy." He opened his mouth to protest, but the look in her eyes quelled him. "I know you'd never admit it, but you would watch me and I swear you were jealous because the baby- babies, were inside me, and not inside you. I didn't know how to include you in something like that, and I knew that you felt excluded sometimes, it radiated off of you. I was afraid- I was afraid that you would forget-" she stopped, and then looked at him. "You've been right, so far, keep going," he urged. "I don't know how you knew. I did get like that sometimes, when I would see you- I hated myself for it, and I didn't want to tell you. It was really stupid. Especially since I knew that you didn't like being dependent on me, or anyone else, and you really hated not being able to work. How could I tell you?" She smiled. "I was afraid that once the baby was born, you might forget that you had a handle in it- I wanted you to know that you also helped with this baby, that it wasn't just my child." He looked down at the baby. "Oh, kid, you've only been in this world for a few hours and you've already got a history." Scully laughed, as she cuddled her daughter. A few moments later the nurse came back in. "They'll have to go back to sleep now, unless you plan on waking up at three am every morning. The babies will develop sleeping patterns these first few days, and if they're left unattended and awake for several hours by themselves, they'll become reclusive and won't accept being around different people- including yourselves." Scully and Mulder glanced at each other as they handed the babies back to the nurse one at a time, and she took them out of the room. Mulder stood in the doorway, watching the nurse as she took them back to the nursery. Scully resettled herself back in the bed, flipping on the TV. "Well, they're in the nursery," he said, staring at his wife. He situated his chair next to her bed. Scully wasn't paying attention, focusing instead on the TV. She turned the volume up, her brows furrowed as she stared at the anchor on CNN. " . . . world population is expected to increase in the next few months, according to psychologists, who have been studying the effect of war on society. In post-war news, the peace treaty between Japan and the UN took affect at midnight this morning, even though only a handful of American and British soldiers remain stationed in Hokkaido, who are expected to be called back next week . . ." Mulder looked at Scully. "Well. It's July fourth." She nodded solemnly. "I was right." "You were right. But how did you know?" "Mulder, do you need an answer for everything? I can't wait until our children do this to you, and you have to answer them." She grinned. "I love you." "I love you too." "Mulder, why don't I juts move over and you can lie here with me?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows. "I know this is a fantasy of yours, but-" "Mulder, if I wasn't so tired I'd hit you. Come here." "Yes, ma'am." Mulder lay on his side, kissing the side of her face. "Good night, Dana." "Fox?" "Yeah?" "Our babies- when were they born?" "Yesterday. 11:21, why?" She smiled into his shoulder. "No reason. Good-night, I love you." "I love you, too." It had taken eight years, several deaths, a war, a mystery, and fate. But Mulder and Scully had found each other. And they had found their word. THE END so..... whadidya think?