Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The first three months of post-colonization Earth from
Scully's point of view.



*****
Journal 1999 - Chapter 1
by MD1016
*****


"After all that we have had to endure these last few months, 
I now look back on the mundane -- the trips to the dry cleaners, 
endless piles of paperwork, buying a carton of milk -- 
with a relish that only the aged and infirm have understood.  
Now, of course, we all understand."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, December 31, 1999.




October 16, 1999
County Court House,
Falls Church, VA



The walls of the courthouse needed painting.  The chipped grey
enamel showed a layer of tan and white underneath, and the dark
wood wainscots that lined the lower half of the walls were dull with
a build-up of dust and grime.  There had been a time, probably
about the time the century old building was brand-new, when
craftsmanship and quality were highly prized, when people
respected the Courts of Law and the government and fought to
protect them.  Scully had felt that way, too, once, when she was
younger.  

At that moment, Scully felt like the neglected courthouse.

She looked down at her wrinkled black pant suit.  It was
so completely appropriate that she would have chosen black for the
occasion.  Though to be fair, two days before, when she'd first put
the suit on she hadn't known they were going to end up here.  And
anyway, the dirt and dried blood didn't show up against the black,
and the bits on her sleeve where the alien blood had dissolved the
fabric didn't catch the light as much as a lighter color might have.

Mulder tugged her hand.  She'd forgotten he was holding
it.  "We're up next," he murmured in her ear.

She nodded and turned back to the grey curl of paint on the floor
by the American flag, and then to the flag itself.  It had hung, huge
and limp, on the tall copper pole for so long that the natural folds in
the draped material had become creases.

Mulder pulled her hand again and led the way to the judge's bench. 
The heavy-set woman glanced down at their file through thick
bifocals.  "Mr. Fox W. Mulder and Dr. Dana K. Scully?"

"Yes, your Honor."  Mulder answered for the both of them.

The judge played with a paperclip as she met Mulder's gaze.  He
fidgeted a little, shifting from foot to foot, and Scully couldn't help
noticing the pieces of paint chips that littered the floor around his
shiny black shoes.  She looked up to find the ceiling was even
worse than the walls, with dried, bulging water marks and the stark
blotch of white caulk where someone had tried to do a patch job.   

"Scully."  When she turned to him, his eyes were intense.  "This is
important."  He nodded towards the judge.

"I'm sorry," she began, seeing the scrutiny in the older woman's
eyes.  "I've...I've had a rough couple of days."

The judge pursed her lips.  "Dr. Scully, I asked if your intentions to
enter into matrimony are sincere.  It troubles me that the occasion
isn't keeping your attention."

Scully sighed.  "I just haven't slept."  Mulder squeezed her hand so
tightly she flinched.

The judge's eyes narrowed.  "Dr. Scully, please approach the
bench."

Scully saw the anxiety in Mulder's eyes, but couldn't bring herself to
share it.  The previous four days had left her emotionally dead and
physically drained.  Three steps forward without Mulder at her side,
and Scully looked into the grey eyes of Judge Francis H.
Beaterman.

"I can't help but notice the bruises and the cuts and scrapes, Dr.
Scully." Scully lifted two fingers to her cheek.  She'd almost
forgotten about the alien and the canister of frozen embryos that
had become a make-shift weapon.  He'd left a larger, darker bruise
on her left hip and rib cage trying to kick her away, but she'd gotten
the bastard in the end.  

She and Mulder had gotten all of the little bastards.

"I need to know if you're here voluntarily, Dr. Scully."

"I am."

"Marriage is a contractual bond between two people that cannot be
easily broken.  If there's some reason that I shouldn't marry you to
Mr. Mulder, I need to know this now."

"I realize that," Scully replied.
                              
"And you have nothing to add?  Are you sure you want to be
bonded legally to this man for the rest of your life?"

Scully sighed.  Bonded to Mulder.  Married to Mulder.  It was true
that not one word of love had been spoken, just a quick 'we have to
get married' followed closely by 'and get out of the country'.  But it
was Mulder after all, what did she expect?  That's the way
everything was between them.  

She shrugged.  "I already am."

For a long minute Judge Beaterman studied Scully's resolute
expression.  Then she looked at Mulder.  "Do you, Mr. Mulder,
enter into this marriage willingly and without hesitation?"

"I do."

"And do you, Dr. Scully, enter into this marriage willingly and
without hesitation?"

"I do."

"Fine."  The judge smacked her gavel in disgust, and signed the
certificate.  "Sign the license."

The bailiff took the folder and set it down on a table next to the
bench.  Mulder scribbled his signature on the top line and then
handed Scully the black ball point pen.  The line below said in bold
lettering: BRIDE'S MARRIED NAME.  Scully stared at it.  Was
she supposed to write Dana Mulder?

"Scully?"  Mulder's face was pale under the fluorescent lights and
the veins by his eyes were more prominent than ususal.  "Sign your
name, Dana."

"Dana," she whispered as if it were the answer to some mutual
joke.  He only called her Dana when he was scared.  Or when he
thought she might be.  But she wasn't scared.  She wasn't anything.

She signed Dana Scully.

The bailiff stamped the certificate, pressed it with the state seal and
handed it to her.  

"Congratulations.  By the power invested in me by the state of
Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

The next couple started to walk up to take their places in front of
the judge, and the bailiff pointed to the small, battered wood-carved
gate on the far side of the courtroom.  But before Scully could turn,
Mulder grabbed her arm.  His face was strained and unreadable.

Then he kissed her. 

His lips were soft and warm, pressed firmly against her own.  But
all Scully could think while he gripped her tightly by the shoulders
was that if she were half a foot taller, or he a half foot shorter, they
would have made a much nicer picture.  If anyone had wanted to
take their picture.

It was no wonder when Mulder pulled away, and slipped an
envelope from his jacket pocket.  "We have a plane to catch."

The look on his face was stony, blank.  Hadn't she kissed him back? 
She couldn't remember.  "I'm sorry," she started to say, but he
placed a hand to her lower back and steered her out of the court
room before she could get out the rest of the apology.



He was silent all the way to the airport.   Scully was too tired to
broach a conversation, and too empty to care.  She sat beside him
in the passenger seat, head resting on the seat belt that cut too close
to her neck.  She watched the city go by, knowing she'd never see
the sight again; yet unable to muster even the slightest glimmer of
remorse or grief.



At the airport, Assistant Director Skinner met them at the gate with
a small velvet box.  "I guess congratulations are in order."  His thin
lips were set in a grimace of a smile. 

"Thanks."  Mulder's voice was flat.  He flipped the box open and
lifted it for Scully to see.  The twin rings that peeked out from the
pocket were thick gold bands.  She nodded absently.  

After a moment's hesitation he snatched one of the rings up and
jammed it on her left hand and slipped the other on his own.  She
tried to offer him a smile, but he refused to meet her eyes.  Instead,
he addressed Skinner.  "Were the boys able to get to Mrs. Scully?"

"Byers called with a 'mission complete'.  We're still working on
locating your mother."

Mulder lowered his head and nodded.  

"The two of you have done all that you can.  The President is going
to make a statement in about an hour.  Then all hell's going to break
loose here."

"What are you going to do?" Mulder asked.

Skinner's nostrils flared.  "I've still got some unfinished business to
take care of."  He placed a hand on their shoulders and said with
sincerity, "It has been an honor working with the two of you."

"Thank you, sir."  Again, Mulder spoke for both of them.

"Now, then."  Skinner collected himself.  "Your passports will get
you into the country, and your marriage license should get you on
the short list for housing and job placement.  It's hard to say what's
going to happen to the world economy, so here's some hard
currency."  He handed Mulder a thick envelope.  "There's not much
else I can do for you."

"We appreciate all of your help, sir."   

The intercom crackled to life and their flight started boarding .

                   *****

The plane took off without a hitch, and from her window seat
Scully watched the city of DC shrink and then fade from sight
completely under a white layer of cloud cover.  Beside her, Mulder
tried to find a comfortable position for his long legs.

"Why don't you get some sleep, Scully," he said at last.  "It's a nine
hour flight."

Just then the large movie screen flickered with static, and the
captain's voice came over the intercom.  "Ladies and gentlemen,
we've just been advised by tower control out of DC to turn our
monitors to CNN."  A moment later an image of the President of
the United States came into focus.  His usually pallid face was red,
his eyes were moist but steady.

"Fellow Americans, and People of the World.  Three weeks ago I
addressed you in much this same way to explain to you the Truth
that had been undeniably proven to me: that the existence of extra-
terrestrials is a real and documented fact, and they have come to
our planet.

"At that time, the leaders of all the major world countries were
contacted, and the world's foremost scientific minds were collected. 
It was our intent to greet these visitors, to learn from them and
share our knowledge, to understand the things which are beyond
us, and to find a way to peacefully co-exist.  We now know their
intentions to be far from our.  To the lethal degree.

"Our Visitors have turned Colonist.

"From this minute, 18:30 hours Eastern Standard Time, I'm
declaring a State of Emergency within the boarders of the fifty
United States and am reverting all government power to martial
law.  I have advised the other world leaders to do the same.

"A curfew is in effect beginning at sundown.  If you are traveling,
please return home.  You have twenty-four hours before a cease
travel mandate is ordered."

A rush of protests and questions flooded the cabin of the plane, but
the President's plea broke through the mayhem.  "Please.  Please
remain calm.  Tune into your local radio and television news
stations.  I'm asking all personnel there to continue working until
this crisis has past."

The President took a breath and stopped reading from the
prompter.  His voice was tightly controlled.  "I would now like to
take a moment and ask any person seeing this broadcast who
believes in a higher power to pray for the safety and well-being of
every man, woman and child on this planet.  

"May God save us all."

Scully closed her own eyes and offered up a short prayer.  Mulder's
warm, solid hand gently covered her own.

                   *****

The flight was long and surreal.  Everyone moved almost as if in
slow motion, and shock colored every word and gesture.  Barely
anyone could stomach the in-flight meal, and the alcoholic
beverages were sold out in the first two hours.  After that the cabin
lights dimmed, most of the over-head reading lamps followed suit. 
Passengers tried to sleep, half-hoping that they'd wake up a
continent away to discover it was all nothing more than a cruel
joke.





They woke to find, however, that all hell had broken loose.  

Europeans have intimate knowledge of the horrors of war, and the
panic that followed the American President's announcement
reflected it.  In Customs at Schripol Airport in Amsterdam,
travelers were panicking and crying out in more languages than
Scully could distinguish.  Flights were canceled and families split
apart by the Cease Travel Edict that every governed nation had
chosen to impose.  

But Mulder stood tall beside her, gripping her hand like he was
afraid she might be ripped from him.  She wasn't used to holding
hands, but his was warm and strong, and helped to remind her that
even if nothing else was right with the world, Mulder was still with
her.  Together, they waited in the Customs line for more than three
hours before they were motioned forward.  Mulder pushed their
passports across the desk.

"American?"  The blond officer's accent was thickly Dutch.  

Mulder nodded.  

"You know you cannot return home?"

Mulder nodded again.

"What is your business in the Netherlands?"

"We just got married," Mulder said without hesitation.  "We were
on our way to our honeymoon."  He tugged Scully's hand and 
motioned to the officer with a nod of his chin, and she handed the
officer the license she'd kept safely folded in her fist -- her fingers
ached from gripping it so tightly.

The man's eyes roamed over the paper and then back to their
passports.  "Where are you staying?"

"A hotel.  In Maastricht.  Along the river."  He produced a
brochure.

But then the officer turned to her and demanded, "Explain your
blue marks."   He was young, she realized, couldn't be more than
twenty- five.  And his English, while passing, probably hadn't been
tested outside of his job.

"Blue marks?"

"On your face and neck."  His pale eyes were glued to the bruise
that started under her right ear and disappeared into her collar.

"Oh."  She forced herself not to look at Mulder.  "Car accident.  A
couple of days ago."  The officer's eyes narrowed a little.  "I'm OK,
really.  Nothing broken."  When the man's gaze fell to Mulder's
hand in hers she squeezed it.  He squeezed back with a reassuring
smile that would've set her mind at ease, had she felt unnerved...or
anything at all.

The slam of the stamp on the passports jerked Scully's attention
back to the Customs Officer.  "Congratulations on your marriage,"
the young man said, and slid the documents back to Mulder.

"Thanks."  He had their paperwork and Scully out the door before
the officer could think about changing his mind.





Baggage Claim was like the disorder and chaos they'd just left in
Customs, but without the organization of lines. There were far
more people than suitcases, and Scully guessed that to be the
source of the majority of the panic.  It took less than ten minutes
for her to realize that she and Mulder were in the same predicament
as many of their fellow passengers. Resigned to being one of the
unfortunates, Scully found space on a low bench against a wall and
sat with a heavy sigh.

When Mulder's shoes appeared in her line of sight, she didn't have
to look up to know he was frowning at her.  "Our bags aren't here."

"I'd just come to that same conclusion myself."

He shifted feet.  "Scully?  You OK?"

"Sure."

Mulder knelt down in front of her and lifted her face from her
hands.  He didn't seem to like what he was seeing.  Maybe she
looked as empty as she felt.  

"Listen, I'll fill out the paperwork for our bags and then we'll just go
to the hotel, OK?"

"OK."  For a second she thought he might kiss her again, but
instead he gave her a weak grin, turned and walked away.

                   *****

The train ride to Maastricht took just over two hours. Scully
pressed her forehead to the cool window and watched the scenery
go by: houses and cars on narrow roads, green trees, green grasses,
green gardens and pastures.  

At one point a man with a narrow plastic cart came down the isle
selling refreshments.  

"Hungry?" Mulder asked.  She shook her head.  "Scully, you didn't
sleep on the plane, did you?"

"You know I can't sleep on planes."  The statement must've bitten
more than she'd intended because he flinched.  

Scully turned back to the view speeding past outside the window. 
She knew she should apologize, tell him that he wasn't to blame for
anything that was happening to them.  That it was because of his
work that the world had a fighting chance.  But the compassion that
she knew she should feel simply wasn't in her.  Not even for
Mulder.

For several minutes the quiet between them was filled with the
clanking wheels and gentle rocking of the train.  Then Mulder
reached out and pulled her shoulders back against him and wrapped
his arms around her.  The backwards hug was awkward, but Scully
knew it was more to comfort himself than her so she let him hold
her tight, and ran a light hand over his forearm.  She felt a slight
pressure from the kiss he placed on the top of her head, and he
began to slowly comb his fingers back from her hairline until she
finally relaxed enough to succumb to fatigue.

For the first time in days, Scully sank into a dreamless sleep.

                   *****

His voice said her name as he shifted beneath her, and then she was
on her feet walking beside him.  She felt impossibly light with his
hand tucked under her arm pit and her cheek pressed firmly into his
side.  It was difficult to pull herself completely from sleep, so she
let him lead the way to a waiting taxi.

The world around Scully was too vivid and colorful to take in more
than a blink at a time, but it played out behind her eyelids with
dream-like slowness.  The steady vibration of the cab and Mulder's
consistent inhales and exhales against her ear lulled her back into a
deep sleep.

                   *****

She had no memory of arriving at the hotel, but when she briefly
woke in the middle of the night, Mulder was curled on his side
facing her.  He still wore the white shirt and dress pants from the
day
before, as well as the worry lines on his brow that he'd picked up
sometime the previous week.  He was sleeping soundly, so Scully
closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift.

                   *****

The shaking started long before Scully was conscious of it.  She
was still sleeping when Mulder pulled her from the bed and pressed
her between himself and one of the walls.  The ceiling fixture
shattered on the floor, and every bauble that wasn't tied down went
flying.  

"Earthquake?" she yelled above the roar.  Where the hell were
they?

"Let's get outta here."  He grabbed her wrist and they feld
down the flight of stairs and into the small lobby, where a mass of
hysterical people were already gathering and demanding answers
from hotel workers who had none.  The floors were waxed and
slick, and the tremors shook furniture across the lobby as if it were
nothing more than a handful of marbles.  Paintings and flower
arrangements became projectiles.  People clung to each other to
stay up right.

After a moment's hesitation, Mulder again yanked her arm and the
two of them stumbled out on to the cobble stone street.  Passing
cars had stopped; pedestrians clung to poles and signs to stay
upright; a group of teens pressed themselves against the building
opposite, crying and frightened.

Mulder drew Scully close as he scanned the black and green boiling
clouds that darkened the morning sky.  The gusts of wind that
Scully hadn't even noticed died instantly, their absence painfully
obvious.  The ground continued to shake.

"Mulder," she screamed above the din, "what's happening?"

"I don't -"  Before he could finished the sentence, the sky ripped
open with a bolt of lighting and a thunderclap, and a deluge of
torrential proportions rained down on them. 

The storm and the earthquake together were deafening.  Mulder
yelled something and pushed her back towards the hotel.  In a daze,
she gripped the hotel door and pulled herself back inside just as the
lights flickered and then died completely.  Scully froze.  But Mulder
found her waist and curled his arm around her.  He eased her back
against himself and the wall.  They huddled there, and held each
other.

The earthquake continued.

Mulder's mouth lowered to her ear.  Scully held her breath and was
just able to make out the words between warm wet puffs of air. 
"Scully...God.  It's begun."

*****
End of Chapter 1
*****
*****                                        
Journal 1999 - Chapter 2
by MD1016
*****


"The Bible says that God created the Earth 
in six days, and on the seventh he rested.  The 
Colonists took six days to destroy God's creation..."
-Dana Katherine Scully
 journal entry October 25, 1999





October 18, 1999
Maastricht, 
The Netherlands     


          
When the quakes didn't end that night, and the rains showed no sign
of letting up when morning came, Mulder forced Scully from their
spot against the hotel lobby wall and out into the chilly wet.  It was
a dark morning, and with the quakes, disorienting.  The cityscape
had changed considerably during the course of the turbulent night:
what were once historic buildings that had survived hundreds of
years of wars and weather were now nothing more than rubble and
dust.  The narrow streets were made narrower with toppled
buildings and crumbling walls, drainage ditches and sewer holes
were over flowing, and the cobblestone and brick streets had
become shallow canals. 

Scully ran along side her partner, fighting the growing current that
curled around her calves, and the wind, and the rains.  Mulder held
her hand tightly, but with the ceaseless low-grade quaking below
her feet she slipped twice anyway, pulling him down with her. 

The water was frigid.  When she again stumbled on numb feet and
fell forward, she landed on to something soft and pliant; something
that, judging from the bloating, had been dead for most of the night.
Mulder was already pulling her up by her left arm when the raw
panic coursed through her, taking control.  She screamed and
thrashed, pushing blindly at the body and anything else that touched
her.  Her hysteria only managed to loosen Mulder's grip and drop
her once again into the water with the dead man.

The corpse's lips were blue, its mouth gaping; its eyes, completely
dilated, staring blindly up into the rain.  One of its hands brushed
hers as Mulder finally pulled her clear, and the deathly cold fingers
sent a chill through her.  She trembled, watching the body float
away down the rapids of the street, the sound of the rain and
tremors dimmed by her own continual whimpers.  The edges of her
vision blackened, she collapsed, shaking.  Mulder caught her and
she hung limply in his arms.  The river kicked her feet out from
under her.

He pulled her up and pressed her against his chest as he waded to
one of the buildings along the road.  Another swollen body, that of
a middle aged blond woman, swept by.   

Scully barely recognized the sound of glass shattering.  Mulder had
nearly stuffed her head-first through the small window before her
arms and legs began to work again and she was able to crawl into
the dark store front.  The inside of the bakery was much like the
hotel in that parts of the building were starting to crumble and
everything breakable was already shattered and thrown around the
store.  Days old bread and muffins still sat in clear plastic bins, but
the bins were cracked and threatening to collapse.

With Mulder's help, Scully sat heavily in one of the caf chairs, and
tried to catch her breath.  When had she started hyperventilating? 
Mulder placed his hands on her knees and knelt before her.  He'd
been touching her a lot the last couple of days, more than usual.
She clutched at her chest in an effort to get her breathing back
under control.

He ran his fingers up her arms.  "Are you OK?"  

"I...will be."  Her throat was sore, spent. "I don't know what came
over me.  The sight of a corpse has never affected me like that.  I'm
a pathologist for Christsake."

He leaned in closer.  "You're in shock, Scully.  You've had a
traumatic week, and you haven't allowed yourself an outlet.  You've
barely slept, you've eaten nothing in more than 24 hours, and you're
grieving."

His face was so close that when she whispered he could probably
feel her words on his face.  "It hasn't been that bad."  Before she'd
even finished the thought he looked at her in disbelief.  "We've been
through worse," she insisted.

"Scully."  He gripped her legs tighter and his gentle intensity told
her how truly worried he was about her.  "Charlie."

One word brought it all back.  The image of her youngest brother,
his blue eyes mirroring her own horror as the alien creature ripped a
hole in his abdomen so large his intestines spilled out onto the floor
seconds before his throat was sliced and he dropped gasping, and
then died.

Oh.  Right.  Charlie.

Mulder's index finger ran lightly over the bruise on her neck, and
her stomach fluttered  and then turned over.  She clamped a hand
on his wrist to steady herself.

God.  Charlie.  She closed her eyes to keep the thoughts from her
head, but instead the images of Charlie's desperate eyes begging her
for help came back with amazing clarity.  Scully choked.

And then, all at once, the earthquake stopped.

The two of them actually had to reach out and brace themselves
against the stillness.  Scully's  ears started to ring from the sudden
quiet.  The torrential rains continued outside, but the downpour
was like a whisper without the angry grumble from the quake.  The
building over them creaked as it shifted.

The calm before the end, her mind told her.  The apocalypse is now. 
She turned back to the man kneeling before her, the man with
whom she'd spent most of the previous six years of her life.  Her
once-partner, sometimes-friend.  Her lover, but only in the most
chaste, innocent sense of the word.  Her husband.

Mulder's eyes were unfathomably deep, their rich hazel raising a
lump in her throat in a way that nothing else in the past week had
managed to do.  Tears prickled in her eyes and then spilled over. 
He reached up with two fingers to brush them away, and it was
then that she realized that he was shaking, too.

He started to say the words that she'd been waiting for all of her life
and it was like a frozen needle through her heart that he would wait
until these last moments.   "Scully, I l-" was all he could get out.

She grabbed his head and pressed her mouth to his, clamping the
words between them, and his lips quivered against the pressure. 
The energy between them was sharp, electric, pulling them closer
each time they opened their mouths; each kiss melting seamlessly
into the next.  He was soft and warm, delicious, comforting, and a
hundred other things all at once.

And suddenly all the emotions that had abandoned her days before
began to churn in the very pit of her stomach.  She ground her lips
against his, desperate for him and the sensations that he brought to
a boil inside of her.  

And just as instantly Mulder yanked her head away from his. 
Breathless, Scully tried to focus on what had gone wrong.  Why
had he stopped?  He wiped away the tears that slipped unchecked
over her cheeks with his thumbs.

With her head still cradled between his palms, he placed tiny wet
kisses on the corners of her mouth, on her nose, eyes and finally a
lingering pressure on her forehead.  "Scully," he whispered, "the
things you do to me."

When he stood and had to rearrange his pants, she understood his
sudden withdrawal.  And she started to laugh.  The phrasing Charlie
had always used was "laughing like a maniac".  And remembering
that made her laugh even harder.  It was bubbly and contagious and
high-pitched, and -- ever since high school -- always to be avoided. 
But Scully couldn't stop; not even when the stitch in her side turned
in to a painful cramp.

Mulder smiled quizzically at first, and then she saw realization
sweep over his face and it drove her deeper into hysterics.  His
expression dropped into one of concern.  But she couldn't stop the
laughter -- she didn't really want to stop.  She held her stomach and
doubled over the pain, enjoying the cathartic release.  Her head
throbbed.  It felt so good to feel anything at all.

Mulder nodded grimly and walked away, letting her release the
pent-up tension in her own way.

He returned just as her laughter started to die down with luke-
warm bottled water and a couple of muffins.  Scully was shocked at
how hungry she was.  The worry lines around his eyes eased a little
when she got up to get herself a second and then a third pastry,
which she ate between minor bouts of giggles.

"I still feel giddy," she confessed as she wiped the crumbs from her
fingers.  "But at least I'm feeling something."

"Everything's going to be OK, Scully."  She couldn't help the smile
that crept across her lips.  Even after a day long earthquake in a
foreign country and a monsoon in full swing outside he still saw a
light at the end of their very long proverbial tunnel.  Leave it to
Mulder to believe in the extreme possibilities.

                                                      *****           

Once Scully's heart rate died down, and her butterflies settled, they
set out again in the rain.  Mulder led her through the flood to a
brick house, where he knocked on the bright green door.  The
sound of his knuckles on the thick wood door was drowned out by
the downpour, so he tried the door knob.  Locked.

"Is this the place?"  She looked around doubtfully.  There was
nothing to distinguish this building from any of the others, save the
color of the door, and the brass 133 screwed to its center.  "It
doesn't look like anyone's home."

"I think it's the place."  He pulled a scrap of folded paper from his
pocket and dangled it in front of her.  The ink was smeared and
illegible.  Mulder pounded on the door with his fist.  Still
nothing.  "I hope."

Behind them the river Maas was overflowing its banks, taking cars
and trees with it as it spilled into the city streets adding to the
murky waters there.  The building offered no overhang to protect
them from the storm, but the steps elevated them from the flood. 

Scully, miserable and cold, yanked at her wet suit pants and sat
down at the base of the door.  "I hope so, too." 

Mulder followed her example.  They watched the water flow by,
carrying bloated dogs, baby carriages, garbage cans and other
debris in its current. 

"So what is this place?" she finally asked.  "I take it we're supposed
to meet someone here."

"We're not really here for our honeymoon, Scully." 

"Now there's a shock."  She scooted closer to him and rested her
head against his shoulder.  The rain was oppressive, and he was
warm.  "Are you finally going to let me in on the big secret?"

"What little I know."  There was an edge of frustration in his voice. 
Mulder wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and rubbed
vigorously.  It helped, but didn't stop her shivers.  "Yesterday, after
we got back from the compound --"

"That was three days ago."

Mulder gazed down at her with a look of surprise.  "Yeah.  You're
right.  Everything's sort of running together."  He swallowed and
hugged her closer.  "So, when I got home, I found Skinner in my
apartment."

"Skinner?"  She could count on one hand the number of times their
boss had made a special trip to one of their homes, and none of
those times ended pleasantly.  "He gave you the address?"

"Yeah."  He tossed the ruined piece of paper away.  "He's the one
responsible for getting us out of the country.  He set all of this up."

"This?  This what?"

For a moment he stared out at the rain.  The railings and carefully
planted trees gave definition to the flooded river, and made it clear
just how much water had fallen the previous day.  Then Mulder
cleared his throat and took a deep breath.  "He said he had inside
information of the imminent attack.  That it was useless to try and
fight at this stage, and that the major players had a plan that was
already set in motion to retaliate when the Colonists least expected. 
He convinced me this was the only way."

"Again you say 'this.'  What is 'this?'"

"We're here to meet up with a group from the resistance."

"To do what, specifically?"

He quickly glanced down at her and then back out at the rain. 
"I'm not sure, exactly."

"What?"  Cold, exhausted, hungry, and a full bladder was doing
little to help her patience with him.  "Tell me, Mulder, that we're
here for a reason.  Tell me we're not out in the middle of this
torrential downpour because Skinner scribbled something on a
piece of paper."

"There wasn't a lot of time to talk. "  A crash of lightening light up
the sky for an instant, and then the wind started to pick up a little
more.  

Scully burrowed deeper into his chest.  It hurt to be so cold.

"Anyway, arrangements had to be made   we had to get the blood
tests and the marriage license..."  He stopped talking when Scully
looked up into his eyes.  He was shaking, too, and pale in the
twilight of the afternoon storm.

"Mulder."  She fought to keep her voice level.  "Please tell me that
we didn't get married because of Skinner."

He licked his lips.  "He thought it would be a good idea   and I
agreed," he added quickly.  "The Resistance group didn't want me. 
They wanted you and your knowledge and experience with the
Colonists, and your scientific background.  You're one of the few
scientists left alive that has practical experience with the Colonists."

"Which is why they wanted me to deliver the virus to that
compound two days ago," she mused grimly.  "I'm assuming you
got that sample of the vaccine from them.  And they were the ones
who gave you the location of the facility..."

He nodded slowly.  "Scully, you've got to know that I had no idea
your brother would be at your place that night.  And I certainly
didn't think he'd insist on going along  "

"I know," she said quickly to shut him up.  Talking about it made it
worse somehow.  And she was in too much pain physically to
endure the emotional struggle at the moment.  "So Skinner told you
he thought we should be married, and you agreed."

"Yep."

"And?"

"And so...we're married."

She blinked.  "Just like that?"

"Just like that."                  

She turned from him again and gaze out at the sheets of water
hitting the river.  Her eyes were becoming irritated by the rain that
she couldn't blink away fast enough, and her vision was clouding a
little from the irritation.

"OK."  She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.  "What are you
leaving out?  We've traveled half way across the globe to sit in the
middle of what is quite possibly the worst storm this city has ever
seen because Skinner told you to?  You've never done what he'd
told you before.  How do you know he hasn't sold us out?"

"To who?  The Colonists?"

Exasperation crept into her voice.  "Mulder, this makes zero sense."

He sneezed.  "It made sense at the time."

"Your logic is faulty."

"Everybody's a critic."

The storm intensified.  Another huge lighting strike touched down
on the other side of the shadowy buildings across the Maas.  It left
a chard smell of ozone in the wet air. 

"You know," Scully said slowly, "I used to be terrified of
lightning.  When I was a kid.  I hated the never knowing when the
thunder was going to follow.  But I don't mind this lightning.  It
makes it all seem a little less artificial."  She squeezed her arms
around his middle, and closed her eyes.  "You think it's raining in
DC right now, too?  I hate DC in the rain."  

"Well.  Then it's just as well."

She felt him place a small kiss against the top of her head, and for
some strange reason, as miserable as she was, she smiled.   "Yeah. 
It's just as well."

                   *****

Somehow Scully managed to doze off with the storm raging,
curled between Mulder's long, slender legs, his arms locked around
her.  But when the high-powered beam of an industrial flashlight
focused on her face, she was forced back to consciousness.  The
flashlight was blinding black darkness that cloaked the city.  She
was so cold that moving was painful, but Scully forced a hand to
her face to protect her eyes, and elbowed Mulder.  "Company."

"Wat is namen?" the man behind the light demanded.  Scully
couldn't even make out his silhouette, but his accent wasn't native
Dutch.

"Mulder."  His voice was beginning to suffer from the cold.  He
cleared his throat and continued, "And Scully.  We're expected."

"American."  The man was Australian, and none too pleased; there
was almost a snarl in the way he said the word.

"Right."  

The beam lowered to the water that rushed past the steps, and
Scully was able to make out two long legs between the spots that
floated in her vision.  "Miss Scully, follow me."

"We're together," Mulder insisted, teeth chattering once again. 
"We're married now."

The man only grunted.  "Follow me."





Traversing the raging waters in the dead of night proved even more
difficult for Scully, despite the absence of the quake.  She clung to
Mulder's hand to keep from being swept away with the various
debris that  continually slammed into her.  The water was up to her
middle, and freezing cold.

Ten minutes and two blocks later, a small inflatable boat with a
tented tarp became their temporary refuge.  The roar of the storm
against the cloth roof limited conversation to hand signals which
seemed to suit the Australian fine.  He made no effort to cover his
distaste for them.

The ride in the raft was rocky, but mercifully brief.

Scully couldn't help but notice the possessive hand Mulder kept on
her waist; it betrayed his little smiles meant to reassure her that
everything was going to be okay.

*****               
End of Chapter 2              
*****
*****
Journal 1999 - Chapter 3
*****


"...no matter what happens, no matter how bad it gets, there are
always survivors.  It's the beauty, and the tragedy in human
nature...."
-Dana Katherine Scully,
journal entry November 26, 1999.




October 18, 1999
Maastricht
The Netherlands



The bobbing raft quickly left the narrow canals of the city and
broke for the open waters of the countryside.  Drowned black and
white dairy cows became a new hazard to be avoided.  They
bobbed and rolled in the choppy waters like wooden barrels.

Sporadic lighting silhouetted the dark horizon as they motored to a
windmill that seemed to grow out of a rounded hill.  Scully was
overwhelmed by the scale of the white-washed structure.  It
towered over them, its enormous arms shook as they turned from
the strength of the storm.

It was difficult hauling the inflatable raft from the churning water,
and by the time they had it tied to a post beside the windmill,
Scully's arms hung limp and numb from her shoulders.  She couldn't
tell if she was shivering anymore, she was so cold.  Mulder was,
though.  She watched him from the corner of her eye as the
Australian led them halfway around the building to a recessed iron
door.  It seemed dramatically out of place on the old structure.  

The Australian pulled a thin black credit card from his hip pocket
and inserted the card into a slot.  As he waited for something to
happen, he didn't bother to conceal his appraisal of  Scully.  His
sharp eyes swept over her from head to foot. 

After a series of clicks and the thick suck of an air-tight seal being
broken, the door opened to reveal a small wood-lined foyer lit
simply by thick candle slabs.  There was an armoire with an
oversized oval mirror, and in the glass Scully saw a reflection she
barely recognized.  Her clothes were spoiled beyond repair: torn,
wet and discolored.  The skin on her neck and face was so pale as
to be translucent, but marred with angry red, blue and green
bruises.  Her hair was dark and plastered flat to her skull.  She
glanced at Mulder.  He studied her reaction to her own image.

"Wait in there."  The Australian pointed to the door to the right
with his chin.  Out of the storm, Scully could see for the first time
the angular lines of his face, enhanced by the dim light. He had an
athletic, muscular built, and tan with sun-bleached blond hair.  His
dark blue eyes narrowed on Scully.  "I'll let them know you're
here." She turned away from his continued scrutiny in an attempt to
look indifferent.  Then he disappeared through the door on the left.

For a moment they stood shaking in the entry hall.  Then Mulder
pulled her closer and rubbed his hands briskly up and down her
arms.  "How are you holding up?"  His gentle smile evaporated and
his gaze fell heavily on her lips.

"I'm fine."  The vivid memory of the kiss they'd shared earlier that
day left her mouth dry and expectant; a strange sensation to have
when so much of her body hurt.  But he pulled away from her
and turned to the door that the Australian had indicated, and she
found herself following.

The waiting room was a classic turn-of-the-Century sitting room,
complete with a roaring fire under a thick, ornately carved stone
mantle.  Mulder took a seat on one of the dark leather wing-back
chairs near the fire, and motioned for her to join him.  Half a second
later the door opened behind her, and Scully spun around as the
Australian entered, followed by an older gentleman only a little
taller than Scully who wore fine quality wool slacks, a tweed vest
and smoking jacket.  He smoothed his small mustache as he took
the seat next to Mulder.

"I'm glad you were able to make it, Miss Scully.  The unusual
weather left us concerned."  The refined man's accent was thickly
German.  He didn't look at Mulder when he said, "But we
understood you were to come alone."

"You understood incorrectly.  We're married," Mulder explained
calmly.  A little too calmly, Scully thought.  "I go where she goes."

"Why you would bring her?" asked another man with a thick
accent.  He appeared in the doorway, and was so tall he had to
duck to make it through.  Easily a head taller than Mulder, this new
man he wore his thin blond hair in a blunt, shoulder-length bob.  He
pointed to Scully and said: "Not good for so tiny a woman."  His
words were clumsy and gruff.  Nordic, perhaps.

The German seemed amused, but refrained from a response, while
the Australian gave a snorting laugh.

The Scandinavian looked doubtfully at the bruises on her face. 
"Looks half-dead.  Like drowned mouse."

Scully's stomach clenched.  "Try me," she stated defiantly.

The German smoothed a finger over the greying hair on his upper
lip. "Fortunately for us, Miss Scully has already proven her ability in
many challenging situations."

"Mrs.," Mulder pointedly corrected.

The small man shrugged apologetically.  "Be that as it may, the
expedition is full, I'm afraid.  There is no room for you, Mr.
Mulder."

Anger and frustration flared in Mulder's eyes, his jaw clenched and
unclenched.  "Then you can do without the both of us," he bit out,
and jumped up from the chair.  "Come on, Scully, we're outta
here."

The hulking Scandinavian took one step to block their path.

"Please, Mr. Mulder, there's no cause for amateur dramatics."  The
German disapprovingly shook his head.   "Mr. Mulder, we really
must get down to business.  You may have a minute to say
good-bye to your new wife."

"Over my dead body."  Mulder leapt towards Scully only to stop
short at the sound of the gun cocking.  The Australian's aim was
trained on her head.

"It is unfortunate that it has come to this," the German continued
with a sigh.  "Guns are such a vulgar way of exerting power, but
effective.  Logan knows, as do we all, that you are a risk to what
we are trying to accomplish.  We cannot afford liabilities.  He will
shoot to express this point if necessary, starting with Mrs. Mulder."

"Scully," she corrected under her breath.  She could see down the
gun shaft, and the chamber was full.  "I didn't change my name." 
Her shiver reasserted itself.

The German smiled wryly.  "How very 90's of you." 

Across the room, Mulder looked as if he might be sick.  It twisted
her heart to see him in such obvious torment, and it nauseated her
that neither of them knew how they were going to get out of this
situation.  Fatigue and cold clouded her brain, and either the
earthquakes had come back, or she was shivering violently.

At that moment, though, the door swung open behind her, and a
tall, leggy, and completely drenched brunette sauntered in.  She
quickly scanned the scene with a critical eye, and, as if she was
supremely unimpressed by what she'd found, she dropped into the
leather chair by the fire and announced quite casually.  "Gil is
dead."

"Dead?  The man we wait for?"  The blond hulk seemed confused
by the change in events.

Mulder took advantage of the new distraction to move a few
steps closer to Scully.

"Not so fast," Logan replied with deadly conviction.  He stepped
behind Scully and yanked her to his chest, then pressed the barrel of
his pistol painfully into the painful bruise between her shoulder
blades.  She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Dead?" the Scandinavian echoed.  "Gil?  Renee, fix him." 

The woman snorted and shrugged.  "Half of his head was gone." 
French accent, Scully realized.  The woman was tall, leggy and
French.  And beautiful in that pre-Raphelite goddess sort of way. 
The French woman didn't seem to give Scully a second thought.  
"The people are all crazy here," the woman continued.  "They think
the world is coming to an end."

"Isn't it?" Scully asked incredulously.

Renee stretched her arms over her head and sighed heavily.  "Not if
I have anything to say about it."  She shifted her feet closer to the
fire.  "So, what is the problem here?"  She indicated the Australian
with a vague wave of her hand.  "Why is Logan playing with his
gun again?"

"Our pal Mulder, here, decided to come with his girlfriend."

"She's my wife!" Mulder snapped.  "And I'm not going anywhere
without her!"  His face was turning red with frustration and anger.

Renee studied him and then her critical eyes swept over Scully. 
"No, of course you're not," she said matter-of-factly.  "He will take
Gil's place."

"What?  No!" Logan insisted.  "We don't pick up strays!  This isn't
a damned zoo!"  He pointed a bony finger at Mulder.  "That man's
unreliable.  He's a liability.  There's a reason he wasn't picked for
this mission in the first place."
          
For a long moment, the room was silent.  

"Are you going to carry Gil's pack, then?"  Renee goaded.  "Who
will carry the supplies that he was responsible for?  Or maybe
you're willing to give up your share of the rations, Logan?"  She
gave him a deadly smile. 

Logan didn't respond farther than an icy glare.

"Perfect," Renee announced and she pushed herself up from the
leather chair.  "Now that's decided, I want to shower."

Logan stamped his booted foot on the wood floor.  "Nothing has
been decided!  I'm in charge of this mission --"  His protest
ceased when Renee held up a hand to silence him.

"It has been an extremely long day, mon ami.  I will not argue this
with you tonight."  She headed to the door.  "And besides.  There is
no one else."  She glanced back at the German.  "Make him
understand this, please."  She shut the door behind her.

"I'm afraid she is correct," the German admitted reluctantly after a
moment's consideration.  "To find someone with the background
necessary for this mission now that the First Strike has come would
be impossible."

Logan swore and put his gun away.  "He'll destroy this mission."

"You don't know me," Mulder insisted, defensively.

"Oh, I know all about you, American."

"That's enough, Logan," the German commanded.  The Australian
relented, and stormed from the room.

"What means this?" asked the Scandinavian, the confusion on his
broad face painfully evident.

"It means," said the German, "that Gil's things should be unpacked,
and some suitable gear found for Mr. Mulder.  But tomorrow.  
Tomorrow is soon enough.  Then we give Mrs. Scully a better idea
of what is expected of her."  

"No.  Just Scully," she muttered.  "Or Dana.  Call me Dana."

                   *****

"I am Dag," the Scandinavian said as he lumbered ahead of them,
an oil lamp in his hand.  He led them to a room at the end of a
narrow hallway.  It was sparsely furnished with two small beds and
a night table.  It smelled old and musty, but at the moment Scully
would take anything that promised warmth.

Mulder was thinking the same thing.  "We'll need more blankets,"
he said, his voice wavering as he sneezed.

"I will get," Dag promised.  His sincere pale eyes gazed doubtfully
over the beds.  "Bad for cold."  With a grunt of effort, he pushed
one bed against the next, then turned to Mulder with a goofy grin. 
"Good for cold."  

"That's exactly what I had in mind," Mulder quipped, and turned to
Scully with a playful leer.  He yanked the top blanket from one of
the beds and draped it heavily over Scully's shoulders.  "You okay? 
Your lips are blue."

"So are yours."  Her energy had plummeted after the encounter in
the den, and Scully found it hard to keep her eyes open.  Too
much cold and water, too little food and sleep over the previous
couple of days -- make that a week, she corrected mentally.

"Blue lips, it's all the rage."   Mulder's eyes glistened in the low
light.  He drew her closer, kissed her forehead, and wrapped his
arms around her.  Scully leaned into his embrace, surprised to find
his chest wonderfully warm.  For a long moment, she stood, her
cheek pressed to his sternum where his shirt was already dry until
Dag returned with an armful of woolen blankets.  She hadn't
noticed him leave.

"We should get out of these wet clothes," Mulder murmured into
her hair.  She nodded, reluctantly.  It took so much energy just to
stand up, the thought of moving away from his body heat made her
whimper.

"Come on," Mulder whispered encouragingly as he stepped away
from her.  Bereft of his warmth, Scully couldn't keep her teeth from
chattering.  "You don't look so good, Scully.  You're not going to
pass out, are you?"

"I don't pass out."

His eyes narrowed on her.  "Here.  Let me help you."  He slipped
the blanket from her shoulders and started on the buttons of her
blouse.  The Scandinavian, red-faced and smirking, closed the door
on his way out.

Mulder was gentle as he undressed her, careful not to pull too hard
on the buttons of her already ruined suit.  His hands, cold and
trembling, smoothed over her shoulders, sending the jacket and
blouse to crumple at her feet.  Scully stood still, watching his
expression as inch by inch of her bruised body was revealed. 

"Oh, Scully..."  She knew the black bruise on the left side of her rib
cage would garner a reaction, but she never expected the anguished
expression.  It made her heart ache for him, her stomach flutter.

He began to unfasten the button at her waist, but in a moment of
uneasiness she placed a hand over his to stop him.  His eyes lifted
to hers, his brows rose in question.

"I'm your husband, Scully.  Let me help you."

Her twinge of apprehension wasn't about accepting assistance.   It
just seemed wrong to have Mulder touch her so much in recent
days, and then to suddenly be undressed by him.  But the word
'husband' whispered so intimately on his lips shifted the whole room
somehow, her whole sense of reality, and what was awkward a
moment before suddenly became the most natural thing in the world
to her.  Without looking away from his shadowy eyes, she released
his fingers, and he continued to undress her.  His hands slipped
down the sides of her hips and legs, dragging panties and pants to
the floor.  Scully couldn't get over the look on his face, the
complete awe that her small battered body inspired in him.  And
when he unfastened the hook-and-eyes at her back and slid his
hands around her sides to ever-so-gently cup her breasts, she
thought she might cry from the reverence in his eyes.  

The bed sheets were chilled when she first slid between them. 
Mulder climbed in behind her, and pulled her against the warmth of
his bare chest.  She pressed into him, snuggled her cold bottom into
the crook of his lap.  It felt amazing to lay naked with a man again,
sexual and comfortable at the same time.  And warm.  Her body
responded, despite its pain and fatigue.

As did his.

And this man is my husband, she reminded herself as she relaxed
into sleep, too tired to do anything more than spread her legs just
enough for his knee to slide between them.  

This man I would do anything for, that I adore, this man is my
husband.  My Mulder.

                                                      *****           

October 19, 1999.
Maastricht, The Netherlands



Scully woke to a pounding on the door.  Beside her, Mulder stirred,
the arm he'd flung over her sleeping back lifted leaving a chill. 
"What?" he croaked.  It was still dark in the small room, and
even through the thick walls of the windmill, she could tell that the
rain outside was coming down as hard as ever.

"Breakfast."  It was Renee.  "Hurry."

Mulder sat up. The little light on his wrist watch flickered.

"What time is it?"  Scully felt like a ton of bricks, and her head was
swimming.  After her emotional work-out the day before, not to
mention her wounds from the previous week, all she wanted was a
week of sleep with the wonderful new sensation of Mulder's body
snuggled up behind her.

"Six."  He yawned as he flopped back into the pillow.  "Our internal
clocks are still set on DC time.  At least mine still is." 

He looked at her from his pillow, his face puffy from sleep, and a
lazy smile drifted across his lips.

"What?" she asked, her heart racing a little from his hooded look.

One of his fingers traced up her bare thigh, and a chill skittered up
her spine. 

"Nothing," he whispered.  "I'm just relieved that I'm still here.  With
you."

She felt an overwhelming desire to touch him, then realized with a
momentary flash of heat that he was her husband and not the man
she worked with anymore.  Their relationship had changed
profoundly in the past 48 hours.  She ran her hand up the firm
muscles of his bare shoulder and traced the line of his collar bone.

Without another word, Mulder slowly leaned over her, into her
caress, and effectively pinned her between his locked arms. He
smelled so...he smelled like a man, warm from sleep.  His naked
legs brushed hers, and then slipped slowly over them until his knees
rested on either sides of her thighs. 

In all the times he'd looked at her, gazed deeply into her eyes, she'd
never felt so completely rapt; dying for what should come next to
finally happen.  

Another bang on the door interrupted the moment, and Mulder
flopped back against his pillow in frustration.  "What?!"  

Scully was surprised to find herself panting lightly.  He hadn't even
kissed her.

"Breakfast.  Now."  It was Logan's biting voice behind the door this
time.

"Fine!"  Mulder growled, and then sighed. "Not how you
envisioned your honeymoon, huh?"  He didn't wait for her to
answer.  Instead, he kicked the covers back and crawled out of bed. 
"Christ!  The floor's like ice!"

*****  
End of Chapter 3
*****
*****                                        
Journal 1999 - Chapter  4
*****

"...Mulder is the authority on the Colonists 
in the same way that the Pope is the authority 
on God.  It doesn't necessarily mean he knows 
more than anyone else...but no one else was willing 
to wear the pointy hat."
-Dana Katherine Scully,
journal entry, October 19, 1999. 




October 19, 1999.
Maastricht, The Netherlands



On her back, bruised legs spread, Scully closed her eyes and tried to
think about anything except what was taking place between her
thighs.  She counted the rough wooden beams that made up the
ceiling.

"How long have you been sterile?  All your life?"

"No," Scully said through a grunt.  "About four years." 

"Accident?"

Renee jabbed indelicately and Scully grunted her discomfort.  "No."

"Sorry.  Illness?"

"What?"

"Are you sterile because of an illness?"  Renee's thick accent was
French, but her English vocabulary was impeccable. 

"No."  Scully sucked in a deep breath.  "Why does it matter?"  Her
toes curled around the edge of the wooden table.

"I don't have a complete medical background for you.  As your
doctor, I need as much data as I can get.  But you know that. 
Cervix looks healthy. So, it was intentional?"  

Scully closed her eyes against the cold metal that pressed and
scraped inside her.  She tried to relax.  "I was taken...abducted...by
the Colonists."
 
She knew Renee was staring at her.  Even with her eyes squeezed
shut she easily pictured the brunette gaping at her, much like she
did when Scully was first laid back naked on the table, clutching a
small towel to her chest for modesty.  When Renee had taken in the
extent of the bruises, she'd insisted on the in-depth pelvic exam to
be sure there wasn't any internal bleeding.  Scully had adamantly
objected, but when Renee pressed on her slightly swollen, bruised
lower abdomen the yelp she let out had scared the both of them. 
There had been more pain than Scully was prepared for.

"I was returned barren, so, no, birth control won't be a problem."
Scully wet her lips.  "Are you finished down there?"

"Oh.  Oh, yes, I am."  Renee covered her with a blanket and went
to the sink in the corner.  "You're right.  Just bad bruises.  There's
no internal bleeding.  Get dressed."  She dried her hands on a
folded towel.  "You can assume that anything discussed between us
falls under privileged information."   Renee stared at her with
expectant eyes.

"Thank you."  

The woman nodded, and turned away.

"Take your time," she finished as she slipped out the door. 

Alone in the room, Scully just laid there and breathed for a
moment.  

                   *****

The room above was obviously decked out as a training room; pads
and mirrors on the walls, mats on the floor, racks of weights and
poles clumped in corners.  Mulder and Dag stood opposite in
combat in the center of the room.  Each of them had a long knife
drawn, and they circled as if sizing the other up.  Only Dag
outweighed Mulder by a good hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. 
Their weapons, Scully noted with relief, had bandaged blades to
keep the injuries to a minimum.

Dag took the first swipe at Mulder, which he blocked with the flat
of his knife.  Then they recovered and continued their circling.

"Attack!" Dag encouraged.  

"Yeah, attack him," Logan goaded. 

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?"  Mulder dodged a blow that
would have sliced through his thigh if they'd been playing for keeps.

"Attack!" Dag demanded, again.  "I am Lion!  I am hungry!  I eat
your Scully!  Attack!"  He leapt at Mulder, missing his head by less
than an inch.  Mulder's defense was a drop roll that landed him out
of the taped playing field.  Frustrated, Dag slammed his knife to the
mat and threw his hands in the air.

"Why you no attack?!  Why you roll away?!"  He loomed over
Mulder, hands on his hips.  "You think dinner will jump on knife for
you? You think talk will save your Scully from Lion?"

"He's just a coward," Logan heckled. 

Mulder's head jerked to the Australian.  "You better smile when
you say that."

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?  It's not like you're going to
do anything, not when you won't even defend 'your Scully'.  Maybe
she should be *my* Scully.  I mean, thinking about it, you've only
been married a week, right?  Couldn't be more than two weeks or
we would've known about it.  Hell, you don't even have her broken
in yet!  A little thing like that would fit me just fine."

Mulder yanked him up by the front of his shirt and slammed him
against the padded wall.  "You are out of line," he snarled as he
reeled back.  Dag was on him the second his fist made contact with
Logan's jaw.  He pulled Mulder back, keeping his second swing
from making contact.  

Completely exasperated, Dag gestured wildly at the mess on
Logan's face.  "For this he attacks!"  The huge man threw his arms
in the air in defeat.  "Good.  We find Lion insults your Scully, we
give him to you."

Mulder glared hard at Logan.  "You do that.  I'll strike him down
every time."

                   *****

It had been a long day by the time the German returned with rolls of
maps and notebooks under his arms.  He lead Scully to the circular
kitchen on the third floor of the windmill where the shutters rattled
on their hinges from the gusty storm outside.  There, surrounded by
flickering lamps and candle light, the small man quietly and deftly
explained her part in the mission.

"Sandwiched between Austria and Switzerland is the small,
mountain-locked country of Liechtenstein, and in the southern most
point of  Liechtenstein is a mountain called Grauspitz.  Deep below
this mountain, carved out of the granite and limestone is a hidden
city.  This is your destination."  His stubby thumb ran a trail from
the red dot of Maastricht that pinpointed where they were, to a
small, black, nameless triangle.  "There, you will meet with Dr.
Bohr.  He is expecting you."

"Expecting me to do what, exactly?"  Scully crossed her arms and
wondered exactly how much of this Mulder was privy to.  He was
sent out with Logan to collect some last minute supplies, and was
missing the briefing.  At the time, she was nervous about his leaving
the windmill, convinced it was a ploy to trick them apart.  Divide
and conquer.  Especially after their earlier encounter in the gym. 
Now she wondered if maybe it was because he already had this
information.

"You carry within you the keys to unlocking the Vaccine."

"The Vaccine?  But..."  The Vaccine hadn't worked.  It had turned
out to be northing more than an irritant to the Colonists. "Within
me?  Where?"

"Your DNA."  He watched her for a moment, and then stood and
stepped away from the table.  "Yes, I realize this is difficult for you
to take in all at once, Miss...Dana.  But Dr. Bohr feels certain that
the difference between the Vaccine being a viable bio-weapon and
useless oil lies within your genetic markers."

"Because of what they did to me?"

The German nodded.  "And because you've had an early draft of the
Vaccine introduced into your system.  I don't profess to understand
the science of it.  I am not a man of science, myself.  But I do
understand the importance of an effective Vaccine.  As we speak,
the Colonists continue to level our civilization.  They flood every
continent on this planet, and they will not stop until we are all
annihilated."

Scully shook her head and stared back down at the map.  She
needed more sleep; what he was saying to her was too much to
process.  "It's in me?"  She looked at her left hand, at the veins that
played over it, at the knuckles still swollen from being so horribly
cold the day before, and at the simple band of gold that encircled
her finger. "What if it's not?  What if your Dr. Bohr is wrong?"

"That is not a possibility I can contemplate," the German replied. 
"As I understand the situation..."  He hesitated until Scully met his
eyes.  There was an honesty there she could not ignore.  "The
people of this planet have little hope for survival without it.  Every
offensive measure we've taken so far has been met with little
results."

"You can't be serious," Scully breathed through a nervous chuckle. 
"If what's in my cells was the key to defeating the Colonists, I
wouldn't been killed for parts long ago  "

"Don't be ridiculous," he chided.  With his hands clasped behind
his back the German began to pace the diameter of the room. 
"When a person dies, the first thing that goes is cellular integrity. 
Your DNA must remain intact for it to have any use to Dr. Bohr. 
But beyond that, he also needs your expertise, your experience that
is unique to the work you've been pursing over the last six years. 
Contrary to what you might think of us, Miss Scully, I assure you
we are not in the assassination business.  We are here to save lives."

His indignation made her blood boil.  She knew who he was, who
he worked for.  "Explain that to my sister!" She snapped.

He stopped mid-step.  "Your sister's death had nothing to do with
us."  His upper lip twitched.  "And I would take care, Miss Scully,
not to throw accusations around so blithely."

"Mrs.," she insisted.

The German's eyes narrowed.  "Yes." He pursed his lips for a
moment while he considered her.  "I strongly suspect that if you
truly believed us behind your sister's murder, you wouldn't be here
now."  With a smirk of satisfaction, the German settled across from
her at the table once more and straightened the maps.  "But I do
understand.  You had to be sure.  Had to force the question."  His
blue eyes lifted to meet hers and he said with absolute sincerity: "I
promise you, young lady, that we had nothing to do with any of the
ghastly things that befell you or your family."

"Why don't I believe you?"

The German gave good-natured laughed and smacked the table top
with the flat of his fist.  "Because you are a smart woman.  And
cautious.  I suspect that is what has kept you alive this long."

"And I've had Mulder to watch my back."

His brows pursed in momentary consternation.  "Yes, I can see you
believe that."

"I know it.  You shouldn't under estimate him."

"Oh, I assure you, I don't."  He brushed his small mustache down
with the side of his index finger.  "I am quite aware of what your
new husband is capable of."  His comment seemed loaded, but the
German began to collect the maps before Scully could ask him just
what he was alluding to.

"Tomorrow the preparations will be complete, and then the group
will start for Grauspitz.  We have a boat that will take you to an
airfield above the flood line, and then a plane will get the group in
as close as possible to the underground city.  Then the five of you
will be on your own."  For an extended moment the German's eyes
lingered on her face, and then he turned to the kitchen door and
said quietly as he left: "I do hope your Mulder will continue to
watch your back.  Perhaps it is better that he's going after all.  For
all of our sakes."

                   *****
     
Scully made it down to the narrow room she and Mulder shared,
sat on the bed and stared at her clasped hands.  So far from home,
she listened to a rain that was unearthly in its volume and
ferociousness.  "Forty days and forty nights to wash away man's
sins..." Scully shook her head and tried to school her thoughts away
from the morbid.

Chilly in the ill-fitting clothes that had been provided her, and her
exhaustion renewed, Scully laid her head on the pillow and pulled
the edge of the blankets over her.  It was arduous to feel constantly
askew.  At that moment in time, the only thing she was certain of
was that she wanted Mulder to hurry up and come back to her.




He showed up an hour later, soaked to the bone, and looking as
relieved to see her again as she was to see him.  He even threw her
a smile, and found herself grinning in return.

"We found some clothes that look like they might fit me," he told
her, and indicated the wet plastic bags he tossed against the wall. 
"It seems that Gil was a much larger man that I am.  Much larger." 
He yanked his shirt off and balled it up before throwing it on top of
the discarded bags.

"Uh, that's good," she mumbled, distracted by Mulder's sudden
striptease.  He didn't even bother to turn around.  When he pushed
his water-logged jeans down to his ankles, Scully got an eyeful of
Mulder's wet, skin-clinging boxer briefs.  Apparently he'd already
made some very basic assumptions about their new relationship,
and hadn't bothered to mention them.  Or maybe she was being too
sensitive.  There was a time in a bleach shower that he was more
than willing to swap peeks with her...

"Scully?"  He sat beside her on the bed, new fresh jeans on, naked
to the waist, with a small package in his hand.  He gave it to her. 
"Here."

"What is it?"  She weighed it in her hands.  It was wrapped in paper
and tied with twine.

"It's a journal."  

His expression was unreadable, and she wasn't able to gauge how
he wanted her to respond.  She'd never kept a journal in her life. 
The closest she'd ever come were the field reports she'd to submit
once she started on the X-Files.  "A journal?  Where did you get
this?"

He gave a dismissive shrugged as she fingered the thin twine.  The
tip of his tongue wetted his bottom lip.  It was a nervous gesture,
one Scully had long ago learned to associate with news she wasn't
going to like.  "Everyone really has gone crazy out there, Scully. 
Looting and vandalism are only the tip of the ice berg.  They're
rounding up anyone American, German or Russian for conspiring
with the Colonists."  His left hand covered hers on the journal.  The
quiet softness in his voice made her shiver.  "The world's changed,
Scully, and the next year or so will probably be one of the most
interesting and dangerous in human history.  Someone's got to get
it down."

The way he looked at her, saw her so completely, sent a flood of
heat through her chest and up her neck.  "And that someone should
be me?"  She was very aware of his body at that moment, leaning
into hers, and the give of the mattress below them.

"You're the most objective person I've ever known, Scully.  Who
else would give an uncluttered view of what we're living through
for tomorrow's history?"

In a way, the journal was one of the best compliments Mulder had
ever paid her.  Scully found herself smiling.  It was an odd
sensation.  "Thank you," she whispered.   A warm tingle swept
through her, and Scully found herself staring at Mulder's lush
lower lip.  

"It's going to be okay, Scully.  You know that, don't you?"

"I do.  I believe you.  I must be insane, but I believe you."

God, I love you, she thought.  I must be crazy, but I love you.
 
She leaned closer to him, closed the distance between them.  Her
lips pressed against his, opened, welcomed him in.  The heat of his
mouth, the play of his tongue against hers, the tiniest of moans that
escaped his throat drew her closer.  Her fingers smoothed through
his hair until her hands met at the base of his neck, and then she
pulled him even closer.  He leaned to her willingly, his own hands
worked their way from her shoulders down to her waist, and then
even lower.  He squeezed her ass and pulled her against him, and
just as her thighs parted across his knee, the knock on the door
stilled their kiss.

It was Dag.  "Dana," he called, timid.  "You learn knife now."

Scully tried to catch her breath as Mulder threw himself back on the
bed in frustration.  "Unbelievable," he griped.  "This is fucking
unbelievable."

She shared his sentiment.  The last thing in the world she wanted to
do at that point in time was to learn to wield a knife from a seven
foot Nordic man.  "Maybe I could put it off," she suggested, eager
to get back to making out with her new husband, but also desperate
to keep from creating more bruises on her already battered body. 
She'd had more than enough hand to hand combat in the past week,
and she hadn't had a chance to recover from that yet.

"No, Dag's right.  It's important."  The green in his eyes was
mesmerizing.  "When I told you about how crazy things are out
there, the people...and our guns won't work long with all the water
out there."

Dag knocked again.  "Dana.  You come now."

"I wish," she mumbled to herself.  Her legs ached, her back and
side hurt, her head reeled, but Mulder would never know any of it. 
Scully sucked in a deep breath and retrieved the long knife from the
dresser that Dag had wrapped in protective tape for her earlier that
morning.  It seemed pointless for her to learn how to use the knife. 
Anyone who had physical superiority over her could wrestle it away
from her, and anyone who couldn't do that wasn't likely to be a
problem.  But she ignored her body's protests and her mind's
objections and headed for the door.  When she left, Mulder was
sorting through his new clothes.




When she returned two hours later, he was doing much the same
thing.  But now her arms and upper back ached more than she ever
would've guessed possible.  The workout Dag had given her and
Renee was enough to exhaust her almost to a point of tears.  The
last time she'd been forced to the mat, her spine hit the floor hard,
and the pain it created exceeded her limit.  For a while she lay still
and breathing, unable to even open her eyes, until the roar in her
ears died down enough for Renee's voice to reach her.  Finally,
Scully declared she'd had enough, and Dag whole-heartedly agreed. 
And then he insisted on walking her to her room.         

Scully was able to register Mulder's concern as he led her to the
bed, but she couldn't do anything more than answer his questions in
monosyllabic grunts.  For the second night in a row he helped her
undress, and then held her in his arms until she drifted off to sleep.



*****
End of Chapter 4                   
*****
*****                                        
Chapter 5 - Journal 1999, NC-17
*****

"I keep having this re-occurring nightmare that 
I'm Jesus Christ and sitting at my last supper, 
and it's just me, a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, 
and thirteen empty chairs."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, December 12, 1999




October 20, 1999
Maastricht
The Netherlands




Scully's head throbbed in time with her aching body as she drifted
up to consciousness.  Her first thought was the she was in the
hospital, in a strange bed and in a room that sounded cold and
hollow.  But when the pounding on the door came again, she
remembered the mandatory 6am group breakfast that Logan
insisted on.

Her whole body jerked again when the Australian bellowed, "Wake
up!" through the wooden door.  Beyond that, though, there was no
way she was going to make it out of bed.  The mattress shifted
under her, and she felt Mulder's warmth leave her side.  The door
clicked open, hushed voices.

Mulder returned to the bed, his skin chilled, and carefully gathered
her in his arms.  Her head rested on his chest, their legs twined, as
he gently smoothed the hair from her face and cheek.  "Sleep,
Scully," he whispered.  She did.

                   *****

When Scully woke again, it was because her bladder commanded it. 
She slipped from bed, clumsy from sleep and her still-tender
injuries.  

Mulder stirred almost instantly.  "Scully?"  His larger hand clasped
warmly around her wrist.  "What's wrong?"  His voice was still
heavy and graveled from sleep.

"Nothing," she whispered.

"Come back to bed."  The tug on her arm was almost proprietary,
and it sent a shiver down her spine.  "Scully, you're letting the cold
in."

"I have to go to the restroom," she muttered, regretting the
necessity of leaving him and their warm bed.  He released her arm,
and she fished in the dark for her clothes.  Without a window in the
room, it was difficult to judge the time.  The storm continued to
howl on the other side of the curved wall.  "Mulder, where are my
clothes?"

"On the dresser," he mumbled, already settling back into sleep.

She found them, slipped the jeans and sweater on and hurried out
into the hall.  The windmill was still and quiet.  A dim, grey
natural light came from the small circular window in the bathroom
just a few doors down.  It was hard to see much through it besides
the water cascading down the glass.  Not that it mattered much. 

Scully quickly relieved the pressure of her bladder, washed her
hands and face, and then retreated back to the quiet darkness of her
room, where she hesitated at the foot of the bed.  Should she strip
down again and crawl in beside her new husband?  What would he
think if she didn't?  Earlier, he'd made the decision for her, and she'd
been too exhausted to do anything else. 

God.  Why was she so nervous?  This man was someone she'd
known for years, someone she worked beside, someone who she
considered to be her best friend.  And she was hardly some giddy
school girl.  It made no sense that she should second guess herself. 
Especially at this late date when the only link she had to normalcy,
to her other existence, was Mulder.  Her husband.  

She kept coming back to that.

Scully slipped the sweater over her head, and it dropped heavily to
the floor.

"I'm warning you, Scully," he said with a smile in his voice.  "I do
*not* want your cold feet on my legs again."

Butterflies fluttered in her belly.  "No cold feet here."  Her jeans hit
the floor and she stepped out of them.  

He raised the blankets for her, and she slipped underneath.  But
instead of settling beside him, she crawled over him until her cold
legs lined his thighs, her hands smoothed over the downy fuzz on
his chest, and her lips found his.  Mulder reacted immediately,
pulled her down on top of him.  His mouth seared as it opened
to her, his tongue drew hers in, welcomed her to his warmth.  So
warm.  So solid.

As she continued to kiss him, she became aware of just how solid. 
She reached between them and took a hold of the growing erection 
that tentatively bobbed against her inner thigh.  Mulder gasped, and
his fingers clenched her upper arms.

"Be careful with that," he muttered as he breathed heavily against
her cheek.

"Oh, I know what I'm doing." And to emphasize this point, she
began to stroke him.  Slowly.  Working him to his full length. 
Careful not to tease the head too much, wanting him aroused but
no where near satisfied.  Yet.

The tiny puffs of breath against her neck came faster, more erratic. 
She laid his erection against his belly, and smoothed her finger tips
down its underside, and then captured his tight balls.  A gentle
squeeze and lift, and Mulder was gasping for air.  His hands
tightened on her arms again, before slipping down to her sides. 
When his fingers brushed the left side of her rib cage, though,
Scully yelped and jerked away from him, cradling her tender side. 
In the excitement she'd forgotten about the ugly black bruise that
was beginning to green along the edges.  Apparently, so had
Mulder.

"Jesus, Scully, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," he stammered, as if he was
afraid that anything more than his words might break her in half.

"'Sokay," she bit out.  The last thing in the world she wanted to do
was discourage him from touching her.  At the moment, though, it
was terribly hard for her to breathe through the pain in her torso. 
Scully was glad for the dark that hid the tears in her eyes.

"Oh, God, I'm really sorry.  Tell me what I can do."  His hand
brushed her arm and she flinched reflexively. 

"Nothing.  I just need a minute."

The pounding on the door was followed by Logan's pointed dialect. 
"Change in plans," he called through the door.  "Be ready to leave
in ten minutes."

"What?" Scully gasped.  It came out more like a croak.

"Ten minutes?" Mulder echoed her alarm.

"The weather's shifted.  We're heading out now.  Down stairs in
ten with your packs!"

The bedside light flipped on, much to Scully's chagrin.  Mulder's
moment of appraisal of her naked form ended with a guilty head
shake and another swallowed apology.  Without a thought for his
own nudity, or semi-erection still bobbing out before him, Mulder
tip toed over the freezing floor to the set of drawers on the other
side of the narrow room, and began pulling folded clothes out.  

They were mostly packed, needing only to dress and stuff their last
minute items into their travel back packs.  Logan had gone through
great pains to show them how clothes, food, and supplies were
meant to fit in a roughly one foot by three foot space.  Once
dressed, Scully tucked the marriage license inside her new navy
rice-paper journal, and secure both with a long piece of twine. 
Then she was ready to go.  Mulder helped her lift the fifteen pounds
of gear on to her back, but she waited until he turned to sling his
own pack on before she allowed herself to wince at the way it
pressed against her shoulders and back.  Together, they headed
down stairs to where the rest of the group had gathered.





They didn't go out the front door they'd arrived through like
Scully had expected.  Instead, the German lead them single
file down a steep wrought iron stair case into a chamber that
looked as if it were the inside of a submarine.  Space was cramped,
so much so that with her pack on there wasn't enough room for
Scully to turn profile.  The rounded ceiling molded smoothly into
the metal reinforced walls, and their footsteps made a hollow
clinking sound as then slowly made their way down the gentle
grade to what looked like a small train platform, complete with an
undersized subway car.  Only this car didn't run on a track.

"Why do I feel like we're about to take that journey to the center of
the Earth," Mulder whispered.

Two sets of doors slid open on the floating craft - Scully couldn't
think of any other word to describe it -  and the German lifted a
hand to usher the group inside.  The hair on Scully's neck stood on
end.  She couldn't help but think that this was some sort of
elaborate trap.  The vessel didn't look sea worthy; it was a box.  A
metal box.  With flat, rectangular windows, and no discernable aft
or bow. 

Logan stepped in and coughed.  "Ugh!  Reconstituted air!"

"Yes," the German said testily.  "Please board quickly and hold on
to the provided hand rails.  You will not be aboard long."

"You not come?" asked Dag, seemingly reluctant to enter the
vessel, too.  

The German shook his head.  "This is where we part company."

Dag nodded, but looked none too pleased.  Then he followed
Renee on board, and Scully and Mulder followed.  The German
stood in the door with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. 
"Twenty minutes to the air field, and then Logan knows what to
do."  He nodded to the Australian who jerked his chin up in
response.  "Godspeed."

When he stepped back the doors wiped shut, and the sucking sound
of an air-tight seal closing vibrated through the whole craft.  Then
all was silent for a moment while the group members looked from
one uncertain face to another.  

Dag's eyes went especially wide, and he turned to Mulder beside
him and grumbled, "I swim not."

Mulder simply nodded.  No clever quip.  Scully took his hand and
he squeezed hers tightly.  He was scared.

Then the whole vessel lurched forward, or what then became
forward, and shot into total darkness.  The metal floor between her
feet rocked and bucked, and Scully gripped Mulder's arm to keep
from flying backwards on top of her pack.  He helped to over to
one of the chest-high hand rails.  Renee and Dag were not so lucky. 
They ended up slamming on to the unforgiving floor, both of them
yelping on impact.  Logan shouted over the din of a high powered
motor for the two of them to stay down, which made sense to
Scully.  If they were on the ground there was no where to fall.  She
crouched low, found the cold metal plating with her palm, and
slipped out of the shoulder straps of her pack.  Twenty minutes the
German had said.

An instant later they emerged from total darkness, and to Scully's
horror, they were completely under water.  A colorless, murky haze
loomed out the oversized windows.  Mulder's grip on her arm
intensified.  

Their speed held steady, or at least it felt like it did to Scully, as the
floor began to slant in an upward direction.  Quickly, a dancing
surface came into view.  Then, all at once the vessel broke the
surface and righted itself, and pitched them all forward.  From then
on they traveled with the windows above the rocky waves.  Around
them, through the sheets of grey rain, the remains of once great
stone and cement buildings lay in heaps of rubble, where anything
was left at all.  

With unerring precision, the vessel navigated around the debris that
floated by.

                   *****

Godspeed.  

The painted red and black lettering on the fuselage of the twin
propeller plane looked freshly -- and hastily -- applied.  Godspeed. 

The plane itself was old, weather-worn.  

Onboard, soaked from the brief transfer from the odd vessel that
had grounded itself 200 yards away to their new easily identifiable
mode of transportation, Scully tossed her pack on to one of the
upholstered chairs and dropped herself in the one behind it. 

Mulder took the seat beside her.  "Hey.  This time we've got
seatbelts."

"What a concept," she said dryly.

Dag seemed infinitely more comfortable with the idea of air travel,
and he relaxed into a seat across the aisle.  Renee sat behind him.

Logan came form the cockpit looking more relaxed, too.  He was in
his element, in control.  "Everything looks to be in good shape
here," he told them while his eyes were trained on the storm
outside.  Scully looked out the window, too.  Surely he didn't
intend on taking them up with the wind and rain still blowing. 
Hadn't Logan said something about a break in the weather?  Scully
wasn't sure.  She'd been distracted.

"There are a number of pre-flight checks that I need to make before
we take off," Logan said.

"You need help?" Dag offered.

"Naw, big guy,"replied the Australian with a dismissive wave of his
hand.  "Stay here and dry off.  I've got it covered."  He ducked into
the cockpit alone.

Mulder took the opportunity to recline his seat and stretch his legs
out in the aisle.  When he turned to Scully with a tired grin, he shot
her a defensive look.  "What?"

"Getting comfortable, Mulder?"

He leaned against her shoulder and gazed unabashedly into her
eyes.  "Not as comfortable as I'd like to be."  The way he whispered
the words in that low gravel made her shiver.

Scully ran a hand through her wet hair, and tried to calm the giddy
chill that coursed through her.  Or was she shivering again?  Maybe
a little of both.  

"You think we could join the mile high club while we're still on the
ground?"  He waggled his brows at her and she couldn't help but
give in to the infectious grin on his face.  What a wonderful
experience to see Mulder, this man she'd been in countless perilous
situations with, so intently focused on her and so amazingly
oblivious to the total devastation of the world around them that he
was actually smiling at her.  Mulder in love was a breathtaking
creature.


"Let's try!" he exclaimed, and jumped up, pulling her with him.

"Mulder, you can't be serious!" 

He half dragged her down the short aisle to the tiny compartments
in
the back of the plane.  One was labeled LAVATORY.  

"Mulder, tell me you're not serious."

He ignored her hesitation and poked his head in the small closet. 
"Perfect," he mumbled, and stepped inside, pulling her in after him.  

There was no room to stand, no room to move, and with the thin,
plastic door closed, there was no light.  Scully began to ask about
light switches, when his mouth closed over hers and effectively
sucked all thought from her head.  His lips and tongue ignited a
thrill of desires in the pit of her stomach that wove their smoky
tendrils down and through her pelvis.  His long hands smoothed
over her shoulders and arms, cupped her cheek and ass, pulled her
closer, tugged on her clothing, and carefully avoided her tender
bruises.  The urgency and passion that he kissed her with took her
breath away, and when he finally broke it, he asked, gasping, "You
said something about the lights?"

"Lights?"

"You said something about the lights?"

"I did?"

His low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through the very center of her
being.  She fought to keep her legs from turning completely to jelly. 
It was hard enough to stand in their cramped compartment without
having to fight with gravity.  She tried to help him with the buttons
of her shirt, but then she realized she hadn't even taken the sweater
over it off.  Then, in one swoop, Mulder pulled both shirt and
sodden sweater over her head.  The air was cold.  But then the heat
of his bare chest met hers, and his blazing mouth returned.  He
kissed her hard, driving her steadily through a delicious, buzzing
arousal.

He went to work at the button and zipper of her jeans, his lips on
the base of her neck.  His chest was solid under her fingers, and she
felt the strong beating of his heart pulsing under his flesh.  Lower,
she let her fingers wander, until they encountered his button fly. 
The tight space was confining, and it took her several tries to finally
undo his jeans and slip them low enough on his legs to get her
hands inside his underwear.  The flesh there burned her cold hands. 
He moaned, but she was fairly sure it had more to do with her firm
grip than her icy touch.

Finally, he yanked at her jeans, and she stomped them down and
stepped out of them.  Then he grabbed her hips, and lifted her
against his body.  The friction was amazing.  His mouth clamped
over hers.  When he whimpered, she lost all touch with reality.

From that moment her world became nothing more than sensations;
his body under hers, hard and urgent; his mind and soul enveloping
her.  She moved because he did, experienced a profusion of sensual
pleasures knowing he felt them, too.  And when Mulder finally
pushed inside her aching body, for the first time in her life Scully
experienced an instant of perfection.

Oh, she thought, this is what was missing. 

They made love furiously that first time, kissing and breathlessly
moving together, fingers and mouths spurring each other forward,
until the inevitable crashed over the two of them and they climaxed
with strangled gasps. 

Heart and lungs pounding, her breasts smashed against him, Scully
enjoyed the humid warmth they'd created together in their little
cocoon, and quietly listened to the steady cadence of his calming
heart.  And noticed for the first time what was absent.  The sound
of the storm.

"Uh, Mulder...?"

"It's stopped?" he asked quietly, sharing her apprehension.  Quickly
they cleaned themselves up and dressed -  much quicker than Scully
ever would've guessed possible - and she pulled her sweater on as
they reemerged from the lav.  Silence prevailed in the empty cabin. 
They hurried out the open door to find Dag, Renee and Logan all
staring up at the churning, charcoal clouds over head.  A break had
punctured the complete cloud cover, and streams of golden light
poured down from the sky spotlighting the ruined world below.

God-light, Charlie had called it.  The memory made Scully smile.

The group was under way within the hour.

The sunset that night above the clouds had a magical quality to it. 
It felt like they were suspended from invisible tethers, soaring above
a dead, colorless world, and below a canopy filled with the most
brilliant stars Scully had ever seen.  The Milky Way really was a
hazy band that stretched like a river across the heavens.  With all of
the cabin and external lights on the plane extinguished, it was very
possible, she realized, that since the invention of electricity no one
had ever see the stars like they were able to view them now.

As they flew on into the night, she wondered which one of the
specks of light the Colonists called home.  And why they wanted
hers.


*****
End of Chapter 5
*****
*****
Chapter 6 - Journal 1999
*****


"It's been so long since I've seen the sun...
felt its warm rays on my face...
sometimes I wonder if it's lost its will to live, too."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry November 28, 1999 




It was dark in the small cabin.  The only light came from the low,
bluish glow from the cockpit and the full moon outside Scully's oval
window.  The shadows that fell across her sleeping partner's face
softened him, made him look calm and vulnerable.  His relaxed jaw,
gently parted lips, the thin sweep of his lashes against his cheeks, all
of this seemed to belong to a man utterly at peace.  What a
wonderful illusion.  Scully knew it would be a long, long time
before any of them found true peace.

His hand was curled limply around hers, one of his legs protruded
into the aisle,  the other leaned against hers.  His head rested
against his tilted seat back, and surrendered easily to the occasional
jolts of the plane.  Logan had said would take about six or seven
hours to get to where they were going, so it was good that he was
resting.  As Scully understood it, they had a five day hike ahead of
them one they landed.  The entrance to the mysterious underground
city was somewhere halfway up the Grauspitz mountain.

Scully wished she could sleep.  She was tired enough and she
usually slept well on a post-coital high, but her mind wouldn't stop
racing, and her back bothered her.

Mulder's hand jerked a little in his sleep.  She lifted it to her lips
and placed a small kiss on his knuckles.  From the corner of her eye
Scully caught Dag watching her, but when she glanced his way, he
turned his head and looked out the window.  

Dag was a curious one.  He seemed almost child-like in his
eagerness to make friends with her and Mulder, and yet, there was
a distance in him; a heavy wisdom that he carried in his eyes.  Or
was it just a sadness that she was seeing when he thought no one
was looking?

Scully settled back in her reclined seat, and rested her head against
Mulder's shoulder.  Four hours of quiet left while she could still
hold his hand and listen to him breath.  And replay their bathroom
adventure over and over in her head.

                             *****

Logan's voice over the loud speaker roused Scully from the edge of
a very light doze.  "Listen up," he said.  There was a tense edge in
his tone.  "Either the radio's busted, or no one is listening, but I
can't raise anyone on any of the channels."

"What does this mean?"  Renee called forward while Mulder rubbed
the sleep from his eyes.

"It means we're in a hell of a lot of trouble, unless they've got out
landing strip light up like a Christmas tree and I can see where
we're supposed to land from the sky."

Mulder unfastened his safety belt and hurried to the cockpit, Scully
was right behind him.  "What about out radar?" he asked.

"What radar?  This is a G-256.  We've got 2 propellers, a toilet and
a radio.  And the radio doesn't work." 

It night outside the windshield was nothing more then a moon and
stars, and a vast black nothingness below them.  "How high are we? 
Are we low enough to see city lights?"

"Eh," Logan said with a frustrated sigh.  "We're only about 1100
feet up, and we've got the Alps below us, so I don't want to go any
lower until we can see something.  We've got complete cloud cover
below us now."

"How much fuel do we have," Mulder asked, skimming over the
overwhelming amount of switches and dials on the plane's
dashboard.  "Can we keep up here until the sun comes up?"

"I think you're missing the point," Logan snapped, condescension
dripping from his words.  "If I take us down into the clouds, we're
flying blind.  No radio means no guide.  We wouldn't even see the
mountain until we slammed into it."

"Don't tell me what we don't have," Mulder practically growled. 
"Tell me what we do have.  Do we have enough fuel to last us until
the sun comes up?"

Logan ripped his eyes from Mulder stare and glanced down at one
of the dials.  He tapped it with his middle finger.  "Just.  Maybe
another three hours.  Maybe four."

"Parachutes," Scully asked, terrified at the idea of leaping out of a
plane above the Alps while a rain storm wailed below.

Logan balked at her suggestion.  "There's a reason commercial
flights don't have parachutes, Doll.  It's not as easy as strapping one
on and pulling a cord."

"Give us some options, then," Mulder barked.

Logan's own mouth clamped shut, and for a moment Scully thought
it was out of spite.  But then, she realized he didn't have a solution. 
Her stomach clenched.  Her mind began to break the situation
down methodically, it kept panic from setting in.  "Logan," she said
calmly, "tell us exactly what was supposed to happen."

He closed his eyes in frustration, but went through the sequence
with them in excruciating detail, listing a series of instrument
readings and navigational directioning that meant little to Scully. 
"And once we got there - here - I was to send a call out on channel
seven and there was supposed to be someone there who would
guide us down."  And then to demonstrate just that, he picked up
the radio receiver and made the call again for their benefit.  Only
static responded.

"We're supposed to land here?" Renee asked over Scully's shoulder.

"Well," Logan peered out into the night.  "Somewhere here.  I've
been circling at a 40 mile radius for twenty minutes while I tried to
get our landing instructions."

"What choice is there?" Renee asked.  "We wait for the sun, and
then Logan will set us down as gently as he can."

Logan looked like he was going to object, but then thought better
of it.  "I'll keep trying," he said finally.  



For three hours Scully sat beside her husband, holding his hand,
watching as the sky ever so slowly turned from a velvet black to a
dark grey that lightened only to be infused with a thin yellow, then
robust orange, and finally the sun sneaked over the horizon.  Scully,
like the rest of their group, had no way of knowing it would be the
last sunrise she'd witness for a very long time.  She was more
interested in the clouds below them, and the storm she knew was
raging down there.  From their vantage the world looked ash
stained.  And periodically there was a white flash of lightning.  

No one ever responded to Logan's repeated pleas.




He gave them about five minutes warning before he dipped the nose
of the plane down and they dived into the ocean of clouds.  After
that the only thing Scully could see out her window were drops of
water streaming over the glass.  Her stomach turned inside out and
tried to escape out her throat.  Fear shot through her veins like
liquid lightening.  The plane repeatedly made sudden, lurching
drops, and its passengers skipped from one air pocket to another as
they made their slow, blind decent. 

Scully held her breath and closed her eyes.  Mulder grabbed her
hand and clutched it to the seat's shared arm.  She couldn't bring
herself to look at him.  She focused instead on the shaking seat
back in front of her.

"Help!"  Logan's scream from the cockpit was muted by shaking
plane.  "I need some help up here!"  From her seat, Scully could
him struggling with the wheel.  She got as far as unclasping her
safety belt before Mulder pushed her down into the seat and
stepped over her on his way to Logan.  But plane lurched again,
and they both went flying.  Scully was lifted up and slammed the
back of her head on the metal plated ceiling.  She never saw what
happened to Mulder.

                   *****

Darkness is painless.  Light, then, by definition must contain pain. 
When the red and white burning came, Scully tried to retreat away
from it.  Back to the numb darkness.  Back to the nothing.

The light, though, refused to leave her in peace.

She blinked, finding her arms too thick and encumbered to shield
her eyes.  Her lungs were on fire, her head felt like it had been split
in two.  Scully could barely make out Mulder's voice, though she
was fairly sure it was him that called her name.

Then there was another voice...Renee, maybe?  It hurt too much to
think about it.

"She's already breathing, Mulder, stop -"

"Then why won't she wake up?"  He was yelling, upset.

"She is too cold.  We need to get her out of the snow and
on to flat ground."

Mulder's voice again: "Logan, did you see a possible camp?"

"Yeah, but it isn't close."

"I will carry -" 

"Don't you touch her!  You nearly drown her!"  Mulder's voice was
vehemently biting, and it brought with it a sharp-edged pain that
sliced her down the middle.  If she could've screamed, she would've
let out a shrill that stopped hearts.

"No," Dag protested weakly.  "She kick.  I pull her out.  I help
her."

"Scully...Dana...please be OK."  He touched her head and it burst
into a million sparks of light.  When they blinked out, one by one,
merciful darkness returned.

                   *****

Cold.  Cold.  Cold.  And then pain.  But cold before the pain.  Or
pain because of the cold.  It hurt to cough, to breath, to even think
about breathing.  At least the light was gone.

"Scully?"  Mulder's whisper brought the sensation of her
surroundings more into focus.  She was cradled against his chest,
where its familiar warmth left the rest of her body shivering.  The
snow was still falling, she could hear the rasp of the flakes hitting
plastic, but the winds and snow weren't touching her.  

"Scully?" he asked quietly again.  His words vibrated through his
chest."You awake?"  

She found her throat unwilling to form coherent sound, but
coughed a little in response.

The darkness above her peeled back, and Mulder's concerned face
peeked inside her cocoon.  She was in his jacket, she realized, with
her legs curled around him.  Or someone's jacket.  Someone's big
jacket.  She blinked at the defused light, a dismal grey that made
her eyes water.

"Yeah," he said to whoever was sitting beside him.  "She's focusing. 
But she's still shivering."

"I can't get the wood to catch fire.  Everything is completely soaked
through."  That unmistakable Australian voice was Logan's.  "I put
some in the other tent to dry, but it may take a few days before it'll
burn."

Mulder turned back to Scully and gave her a weak smile.  "Blue
lips, it's all the rage."  He pressed a dry kiss to her forehead.  Scully
turned her cheek into the heat of his chest.  The jacket closed over
her head, and once again she was swaddled in darkness.





"Scully...Scully, come on...Dana, I need you to wake up now." 
Mulder's voice was raw in her ear.  "Scully...you've been asleep for
too long.  Please..."

Slowly, Scully came to realize that he was gently shaking her.

"Scully, I know you're tired and cold.  But you have to wake up. 
Renee says you need water.  She says that if you get any more
dehydrated your fever will never go down.  Please, Scully.  Wake
up.  For me..."

She blinked twice, but the ache in her eyes made her close them
again.

"There's the woman I love," he whispered.  

She tried to turn the corners of her mouth into a smile, but it set off
a chain of coughs that quickly degenerated into painful spasms. 
She rolled from Mulder and landed with her nose against the tent's
plastic floor just as she gagged and then vomited bile.  It took a few
breaths to calm her stomach before she ventured to do anything as
daring as sit up.  It was easier to slump over on to her side and not
move.  There was an ache in her lungs, and thick, raspy sound when
she exhaled that didn't feel too pleasant, either.

"Dana."  Renee was suddenly beside her, hand rubbing soothingly
between Scully's shoulder blades.  Scully didn't want to be touched. 
It hurt.  "You took water into your lungs two days ago.  I think you
have contracted pneumonia." 

Judging from how lousy she felt, that sounded about right to Scully. 
She nodded weakly and coughed.  And then tried very hard not to
cough again.  Below her, the lumpy ground only aggravated every
ache.  Where were they?  What had they just been talking about? 
"Two days?" Her throat was raw and swollen.  "Water?"

"At first we thought Logan's calculations were wrong, and we'd
somehow made it over the Atlantic, but the water we crash-landed
in was fresh water.  The biggest damn lake you ever saw, Scully. 
We barely got you and the packs out before the whole plane went
under."  There were dark circles under Mulder's eyes, like he hadn't
slept.  "But we got you out, Scully.  Everything's going to be
okay."

"Eat this."  Renee had some snow cupped in her hands.   She urged
it on Scully.  "You need water, yes?"  

The snow helped to numb the soreness in her throat, but brought on
a chill that started a shiver in her back, shoulders and chest.   Two
swallows was all she was able to get down before another series of
coughs threatened to turn her lungs inside out.  She pulled her legs
up underneath her chest to brace herself, and Mulder laid the jacket
over her again, and then covered it with a scratchy brown blanket. 
Once she was bundled up, he awkwardly lifted her and pulled her
half on to his lap.  He was warmer and softer than the ground.

It took her a moment or two to realized that she was already
wearing the lined coat that had been with her provisions, and when
she did, she tried to squirm out of the navy coat.  "No," she
protested, "Wear your jacket, Mulder.  You'll get sick, too." 

"It's Dag's."  His fussed with the sleeves, tucked them beneath her,
and readjusted the blanket to cocoon her in again.  "He gave it to
you.  The blankets weren't keeping you warm enough, and we
thought if there was extra insulation..."  Was he deliberately
avoiding her eyes?

"Mulder?  Where's Dag?"

He glanced at Renee before answering.  "Resting.  In the other tent,
which is what you should be doing.  Once Logan figures out where
the hell he dropped us, we're going to have to hike out of here, and
you're going to need your strength."  He offered her a reassuring
smile, and Scully saw for the first time the angry red flush in his
puffy cheeks.  She reached out a cold, stiff hand to touch his face.  

"You have a fever, too."

"We all do," Renee informed her.  "We lost too much body heat in
the water.  But you concern me, Dana.  Pneumonia requires
penicillin.  I have none to give you."

"I'll be all right," Scully said and looked up at her husband.  "Right? 
Everything's going to be okay?"

"Right.  Everything's going to be fine."

"Well," said Renee, with both humor and frustration in her voice.
"I'm glad that's been decided.  I think I'll check on Dag."  She
crawled out of the tent and zipped up the flaps behind her.

Scully relaxed in Mulder's arms, and watched his caring face as he
rhythmically brushed the hair from her forehead.  "You know, your
faith in me scares me sometimes, Scully."

His eyes met hers, and she gazed into their depths."It scares me,
too.  Sometimes."

He held her until she fell asleep.  And then for hours afterwards.





But all too soon the gentle dark melted into a grey landscape that
slowly faded into focus.  It was an alien world that surrounded her,
a place she'd never been before.

The snow fell steadily, but at last the wind had died away.  Scully
stood alone, her feet frozen in the sheet of ice that stretched out to
the deep grey of the colorless sunset.  There was nothing between
her and the horizon; just a flat span of white and cold.  She didn't
know where her clothes had gone, at some point before they'd
simply dissolved.  It didn't matter.  They hadn't been her clothes,
anyway.  Nothing was hers anymore.  She had nothing left at all.

Not even Mulder.  Which felt wrong.  Where was Mulder?  

The ice engulfing her feet began to flow up, surrounding her ankles,
crawling up her legs.  It turned the flesh beneath it the same dusky
grey as the sky.  Inch by inch the ice crept up her body, over her
knees, wrapping around her thighs, encasing her hips like a skin-
tight casket.  The ice was alive, transparent, contorting, eating her
whole.

Her hands were captured at the same time her abdomen was.
Slowly her ribs and breasts were encased, and breathing became
nearly impossible; short, shallow gasps were all she was allowed. 
She looked back out at the alien horizon, not even able to find
comfort in something familiar.  She didn't know this land, this
emptiness.  Nothingness.

She called out just as the ice encased her head, taking from her the
last of herself.  So, as her frozen gaze looked on over a distorted
view of forever, her voice echoed over the dead landscape:

"MUUUUUUUUUUUUULDERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Eventually, even the sound of her voice died away.  And it was then
that she realized that the ice had taken everything from her, even
death.

*****                         
End of Chapter 6                   
*****