-------- CRUISE (10b/12) by Madeleine Partous email: partous@total.net "Feedback both pro and con is deeply appreciated." SUMMARY AND DISCLAIMER IN PART ONE The pool, it turned out, really was minuscule. But the sun was hot and liquid honey on Scully's skin, the deck chairs were padded and soft and the tangy smell of the sea rolled over her like a memory from childhood. She wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea -- after all, they were supposed to be working, and even if masturbation carried no spectre of guilt for her, slacking off certainly did - - but once she'd stepped out into the sunlight, it was impossible not to go with it. Of course, she'd had to slather on as much SPF as money could buy or she'd be lobster red by lunchtime. Scully sat on a chair, setting down her tote bag with its requisite sunscreen and book and even a few files thrown in for conscience's sake, and lay back in the heat with a satisfied sigh, adjusting her sunglasses against her nose as she nonchalantly hunted for Mulder. He hadn't arrived yet. God. What the hell did he need to do down there? Find the perfect Armani robe? Buff his toenails? Pomade his hair? She snorted and leaned back, surrendering to the sun. She gazed down at the red-headed woman from the overhead deck. Not a great idea, this basking thing. Someone with her complexion should probably stay out of direct sunlight. But the woman was spectacular nonetheless, despite how teensy-weensy she was. Her hair glowed and sparkled in the light. She lay as though she was alone in the world, her white robe barely hiding her lean, curvaceous figure. For the first time, she noticed a small mole over the woman's upper lip. Stunning. And yet... She could feel the woman's aloneness rise through the air like an aura of pain. She could tell the red-headed woman was self-sufficient, proud, defiant even. She could feel her strength, her confidence, her competence. But it wasn't enough. Was it. It was never enough. She could definitely relate. Everyone uses you when you're strong. They suck you dry and leave you with... what? With nothing. With nothing but their need for you. That included the tall, handsome, dark-haired man. He was kind, but he was needy and he used her. They always do. All of them who need you. They can never be filled. They can never be healed. That was the real tragedy. She knew what it was like to be sucked dry by people who could never be satisfied, never be made whole. If she could have believed for a moment that she could save them, she'd have given them everything she had. Everything she was. She'd tried. God knew she'd tried. And the irony was that they meant no harm. They were needy -- that was all. When an animal is dying, it does whatever it needs to do in order to survive. Humanity was dying. It was grasping at straws. Humanity used her -- and it used the red-headed woman lying below her. She wasn't sure how, but she could read the signs. She could recognize a kindred spirit. And she knew that no salvation existed for the killer she had become. Her mission was to free others. To free them from the horror she herself faced every day. The kind ones. The sensitive ones. The ones who were gnawed, swallowed and ultimately digested by the senselessness of it all. Nothing could free her. But she could free them. She would free the red-headed woman in a wordless tribute to the pain they shared. She would release her. Not now. But soon. Right now she had other business to take care of. Scully suspected she'd nodded off when she looked up to find Mulder standing in front of her and blatantly staring. "Hey?" She blinked a few times to scare away sleep. He said nothing. He stood there and looked down at her, his eyes hidden behind aviator Ray-Bans, a towel clutched in his hand. Finally he cleared his throat. "The sun's hot, Scully. You should be careful." She stirred and sat up. "I've got 5000 sunscreen on, Mulder. The guy who sold it to me said that if you put it on a steak, it'll still be raw when you pull it off the barbecue." He pursed his lips and looked away. "Still." "Where you been?" He shrugged a shoulder behind him. "Swimming." She peered over to the pool. "Mulder, if you lay on your back in there, you'd be doing a lap." He smiled. "It's not so bad once you push all the old fogies out of the way." "Mulder..." "Kidding. I'm kidding. They ran like rabbits when they saw me coming." "Must be the purposeful glint in your eye." "Maybe. In any case, it's all a matter of scale. I just did about six million laps in four minutes." "A world record, huh?" He shrugged and sat down beside her. "Yeah. If you use bathtub statistics." She was trying to ignore the fact that he was dripping wet and wearing a fine layer of goosebumps. She was also trying not to look at the form-fitting Speedo bathing suit he had on. It wasn't easy. Mulder leaned back against the chair. She'd seen him dressed scantily before. Hell, she'd even undressed him and put him to bed on several occasions. He normally wore boxers. It made all the difference. Once she'd even seen him naked, under water, but he'd been frozen almost to death and there hadn't been much point in looking under the circumstances. Hypothermia never does much for a man. Now there was nothing even remotely helpless about him. Scully thanked God for the shades she was wearing. As it happened, she suddenly realized he was also staring at her. And he wasn't gazing into her eyes. In fact, she was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. "Uh... Scully?" "What?" It came out sharper than she'd intended. "You have a mole." She stared at him. "What?" "You have a mole. Right there." Mulder reached over and brushed a finger between her nose and her lip, lingering a little. She tossed her head and he pulled back hastily. "You say that as if I didn't know about it." "I've never seen it before, Scully." "That's because I usually make a concerted effort to hide it, Mulder." He folded his hands over his lap and stared at her, agape. "Why?" This conversation was beginning to get on her nerves. "Because it bugs me." Even through his sunglasses, she could see his incredulousness. "Why?" She stared down at her own hands. "I don't know." "There's got to be a reason, Scully." She grit her teeth. "Because the other kids teased me about it, I suppose." "Really?" "I don't want to talk about it, Mulder." Finally she looked over at him. He was still gazing at her. "It's beautiful." "I'm sorry?" Mulder took a deep breath. "Scully, it's sexy as hell." She gaped at him. "Really?" He shook his head in obvious amazement. "I can't believe you've been plastering the damn thing with makeup all these years." Scully suddenly felt defensive. "Look, Mulder..." "It's incredibly attractive, Scully. Just like the rest of you." He gestured at her body a little weakly, she thought. "Mulder..." He chortled suddenly, groaned and looked away, flailing his arms. "Danger! Danger!" Scully was younger than he was, but she'd seen enough "Lost in Space" reruns to recognize the reference. "Oh, for God's sake..." He sat up abruptly and peeked at her over his glasses. His eyes were lit with laughter and... something else. "Time for another six million laps, Scully. Wanna join me?" "There isn't room for both of us in there." "Mmmm. Too bad. Coulda been cozy." He jumped up and strode towards the shimmering pool. As Scully shook her head and leaned back again, her eye fell on a tall dark feminine shape on the upper deck. As she looked, the figure turned suddenly and vanished into the shadow cast by the smokestack. She felt an odd shudder and wondered what it was. Somebody walking over her grave. Right. She closed her eyes and let the sun have its way with her. CONTINUED IN PART 11 From partous@total.net Mon Dec 23 11:43:36 1996 CRUISE (11/12) by Madeleine Partous email: partous@total.net "Feedback, both pro and con, is deeply appreciated, although repeated threats to my life for not posting faster will only make me feel gleefully sadistic. A promise: It'll all be over by Christmas." DISCLAIMER AND SUMMARY IN PART ONE THE NEW WESTERDAM LIDO DECK TUESDAY, 3:30 PM The day breezed by pleasantly, a slow dance of sun, swimming and indolent ice cream snacks by the pool. As much as Scully hated to admit it, she was enjoying herself. And she was actually relaxing for the first time in a long time. The sultriness of it all seemed to suit her partner well too; he was starting to lounge back unselfconsciously, catlike and lithe in the sunlight, and even though they weren't talking much, there was a seasoned contentment in their silence. Scully couldn't help reflecting on the fact that the two of them really were surprisingly comfortable together when the pressure was off. Of course, that might be because they were also surprisingly comfortable with each other when the pressure was on. She tried to remember when that had started to happen, and suddenly realized the real question was why. Maybe it had something to do with the enforced closeness of their everyday lives. Because of everything they'd seen, they'd probably already talked through a greater range of intimate subjects than most couples did in a lifetime. Funny. And today Mulder had somehow found a way to stick close to her without making it look like he was hovering. Much. It was actually kind of flattering, if a little confusing. Once she thought she caught him growling at a middle-aged man who was gazing at her from a deck chair a few rows away, and she was sure that at one point he deliberately sat right in front of her to ruin the view of a young officer who was looking down at her rather longingly from the command deck. Bizarre. Apparently, she wasn't going to get lucky this time around, at least if Mulder had his druthers. It didn't seem fair -- or particularly appropriate. After all, how many chances did she get? Finally, she looked up at him over a spoonful of chocolate sauce. "Um, Mulder..." He was lounging back in a chair at the poolside table where they'd settled, licking an ice cream cone. There was something fascinating about the way he did it, but for some reason Scully preferred not to dwell on it. "Yeah?" "Don't you have anything to do?" He sat up. "In what sense?" She shrugged. "I mean, you've been sticking around like glue all day. Don't you want to go off on your own a little?" He said nothing and gazed at her. "You know. Work out? Explore? Have a drink? Read a book in the shade?" He kept staring at her as he wrapped his mouth around the now-diminutive scoop of ice cream, sucked it in and then licked his lips. Scully shivered. He leaned over towards her. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Scully?" "No." She shook her head, suddenly nervous although she couldn't imagine why. "Of course not. It's just..." "It's just that I'm cramping your style." She shrugged again, looking away. "Me and my car, huh? That's what we do. We cramp Dr. Scully's enigmatic style." Something had turned. His tone was still light but there was a flash of unmistakable anger in his eyes. Mulder folded his napkin and laid it neatly on the table, depositing the rest of his cone on it before standing. "Hey. Forgive me. The last thing I want to do is get in your way." "Mulder..." He pulled on his sunglasses and picked up his towel. "I understand, Scully. It's a cruise. There's bound to be single guys around. Women too, as it happens. Hell, who knows -- with any luck you might even score an officer. I mean, how often do we get a chance to get laid, right?" She felt a flare of fury. "That's not what I'm talking about." He laughed abruptly. "Oh yes it is, Dr. Scully. At least have the good grace not to lie to my face." Scully felt her face grow cold. "You have absolutely no right to speak to me that way, Mulder. We have a professional relationship and I *will* not..." She slammed a sudden fist against the table and Mulder jumped almost imperceptibly. "...I *will* not allow you to address me in that tone of voice. Is that perfectly clear?" He stood, rocking from foot to foot for a moment. When he spoke at last, his voice was as cold as her own. "Crystal." He turned on his heel and strode to the door, slamming his hand against it so hard that several passengers turned to gaze after him as passed through it and vanished inside. Scully watched the door as it swung gently closed behind him. Jesus. She remembered to breathe. What in God's name had brought all this on? And Christ. Why the hell had she said what she'd said? It was true he was out of line. Big time. No question about it. But still. She'd been chillier than the goddam Titanic's fatal iceberg. A professional relationship. As if that was all they had. Her words had been wounding and she knew it. But still. The son of a bitch. He had no right at all to talk to her that way. None. That much was true. Shit. Scully winced and leaned back. She suddenly realized that some of the other poolside passengers were looking at her surreptitiously, a few of them whispering. It occurred to her that what had just happened must have looked, on the surface, like a lovers' spat. Great. Fucking great. She sighed, stood and for no good reason at all that she could figure, went in search of Mulder. Scully didn't find him. She'd scouted the decks for him, the spa, the lounges, the movie theatre, even the casino. When she knocked on his cabin door and got no answer, she gave up and gave in to her anger. Bastard. Let him stew, for all she cared. Christ. For all she cared, he could jump overboard and swim back to New Orleans. Asshole. She changed into slacks and a tee-shirt, grabbed the case files and her laptop and headed back up to the deck. Once she'd settled into a shady deck chair on the port side, she bent her head over her partner's farcical field report and systematically began to debunk it, jotting quick notes in the margins. Screw him. He was full of shit about this case, as he'd been so many times in the past, and she'd had just about enough with pretending he wasn't. At last she opened her laptop and began to type. THE NEW WESTERDAM DINING ROOM TUESDAY, 6:40 PM Mulder appeared at dinner. In a tux. Scully still hadn't quite exorcised her anger, but exposing the gaping holes in his theory had put her in a marginally better mood. She hadn't expected to see him, though, and she was both relieved and put out when she looked up and saw him stroll towards their table. The worst part was that he looked great. Stunning, in fact. "Where the hell have you been?" she snapped when he reached his seat. She squinted at him. His expression actually seemed a little rueful. God. Even apologetic? "Glad to see you too, Scully." He grinned and pushed a hand through his hair. She tried not to laugh. He'd gelled it or moussed it or something, and thanks to his hand it now stuck straight up. He looked like a goddam Little Rascal. She snorted as he sat and then she leaned towards him, running her fingers briskly, efficiently, through his hair for a second until it behaved again. He eyed her warily and smiled. Jesus. Why was it so hard to stay mad at him? Then he leaned over and shyly poked the flower centrepiece over until it slid to a stop right in front of her. "Peace, Scully?" "Honestly. You could've brought me some from somewhere else, Mulder." He shrugged. "Believe me, I looked. You can't buy 'em anywhere on board." For some reason, the thought of Mulder in search of a floral peace offering on a ship was incredibly endearing. "Chocolates?" "I figured you'd had enough ice cream and you'd just yell at me if you gained weight." Scully nodded, smirking. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?" "No." "That's an answer, Mulder." "It isn't. It's just a statement." "See? You absolutely never let me have the last word." "You almost always get the last word, Scully. For one thing, you virtually always write the final reports." "See? See? There you go again." He said nothing. She burst out laughing and he grinned. The centrepiece vanished, the soups arrived and she raised an eyebrow at him. "I feel fine, Scully. Numero uno. Haven't been remotely nauseous since yesterday. And they're expecting smooth sailing all night long." She nodded as he plunged his spoon into the consomme. "So where'd you go, Mulder?" He glanced at her. "I figured you needed to be alone." "I looked everywhere for you." He stopped in mid sip. "Really?" "You overreacted to what I said." Mulder shrugged. "It's possible." He continued hurriedly as she opened her mouth to retort. "In any case, I thought I'd just take a look below deck, which is where a lot of paranormal activity has been reported." Scully decided to let it pass. "I thought our deck was the hotspot." "Only in terms of passenger accounts. Members of the crew on all five ships have been complaining of incidents in the engine rooms and around their quarters since the first murder." "Not before?" "Nope. That's the strange part. Apparently, the incidents began around the time of the first suspicious death." She looked at him. "You went down there without me." He choked suddenly and coughed into his napkin as she studied him coolly. "Scully, take it from me: you'd've hated it. Narrow corridors, no air, a bunch of sailors who haven't seen a woman in months. It's smelly, crowded and creepy as hell. Quite frankly it's appalling down there -- and from what I understand Dutch- American boasts some of the best conditions of any cruise line." "Hmm." "One Javanese cabin steward told me he wept tears of joy when he got a job on this ship. He said in the one he'd been on before, he'd had to share a room the size of ours with five other guys. Can you believe that?" Scully kept looking at him. This was another of her partner's most endearing traits: his recurring stunned disbelief at the inhumanity of man. "Cruise ships are notorious for the way the staff and crew are treated, Mulder. Why do you think everyone we see who's not a passenger, an entertainer or an officer is either Indonesian or Filipino? It's the only way an organization like this one can afford to maintain this kind of service these days. It's true that the waiters and cabin stewards make huge tips and many of them go back home with a lot of cash after a couple of years, but it's still essentially barbaric." He gazed at her, apparently spellbound. "These guys are indentured servants, Mulder. That about sums it up. And that's at least one of the reasons I don't like cruises." "How many other reasons do you have for not liking cruises, Scully?" His voice was soft. "Dozens." "Do you hate everything about cruises, Scully?" She glared at him suspiciously; his eyes danced with mischief and light. "More and more all the time, Mulder." He laughed outright and lay a quick hand on hers before drawing back. "Anyway, I didn't see or sense anything down there that was more than usually disconcerting under the circumstances, but I did hear a lot of stories, most of which have to do with the kind of thing you experienced last night." "Really?" "Yeah. Thumps in the night, fists in the walls, clanks and loud noises in the engine room when no one's there. Almost everyone I talked to reported the same sense of dread or heaviness that you and I felt on our deck, along with extreme dips in temperature, as you described. A few insisted they've heard a male voice too, incoherent angry shouts similar to what Hagenbrendt seemed to hear yesterday." "We didn't hear it." "True. But it's well documented that some people are more sensitive to paranormal phenomenon than others, Scully. Speaking of which, one guy confirmed that the resident psychic on "Sightings" did in fact come aboard and later declared that the New Westerdam, along with her four sister ships, were the most haunted ships on earth. The psychic claims Vanmeer is responsible for all of it -- in fact he insists he had a chat with him while he was here -- and that the ghost informed him the activity would continue until the ships are permanently retired." "How fabulous for them both." "Isn't it?" Scully poked at the salad which an invisible waiter had whisked in front of her. "So what do you believe now, Mulder?" For some reason, she didn't want to talk about the extremely pragmatic conclusions she'd come to that afternoon during the height of her rage. He looked at her for a moment. "I don't know, Scully. Frankly, I'm at a loss with this one." "Is that why you're so quick to get mad?" She fixed him steadily. This time he met her gaze. "I suppose it's one reason." She said nothing. "I'm not used to sitting around waiting for things to happen, Scully. Maybe it's getting to me." She nodded. "To us both." "Funny how we're not comfortable with inactivity, isn't it? Everyone else seems to get along with it just fine." "Maybe we've forgotten how to be like everyone else." She sighed. "Sometimes I feel like we've been living in a bad movie for so long that we don't remember how to turn off the projector." She looked up to find his eyes still on her. "When did all of it get so... melodramatic?" "I think it was around the time we discovered that life really is like a bad movie, Scully." "Our lives. Our lives, Mulder." And then she found a way to change the subject for the rest of the meal. Mulder stood for the second time that day while Scully still sat at the table, but this time there was no anger in it. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk on deck." She looked up at him. "Want me to come?" He shook his head. "I think you're right, Scully. You need a chance to hang out without my hovering around and crowding you." She wondered why she felt an odd stab of disappointment. And... what? Jealousy? Jesus. If it was true, they were both further gone than she'd thought. It was irrational in light of their relationship. In light of the way their relationship had to be. She smiled wanly. And then he leaned over and dragged a thumb on a spot over her upper lip. He pulled his hand away and wiped it on the lining of his jacket before she could lash out at him. "Believe me, Scully -- you don't want to hide that mole." She reached up instinctively and touched it before glaring at him. His eyes were black, unreadable. "Look, Mulder..." "Scully, I'm telling you. It's very seductive. Leave it alone." "I told you before I'm not looking for anything." He nodded and grinned. "I know, I know. But why disguise any of your charms when there's an off-chance Mister Right's strolling the Promenade?" She shut her mouth and said nothing. He waved and sauntered towards the dining room doors. THE NEW WESTERDAM PROMENADE DECK TUESDAY, 8:50 PM She loved the sea at night. In many ways, it was the only thing she lived for. Well. She tittered. The killing came first, after all. But other than that, the sea at night was all that mattered. She was sitting in her usual chair, half in shadows, as he stepped through the door and ambled towards the railing. He looked dashing, his sleek tuxedo glinting darkly in the glow of the spotlights. She'd known he'd come. They always did. What she didn't expect was that he'd turn around suddenly and look right at her. It took her by surprise -- and that was something she didn't like. Not one bit. She thought about ignoring him, about rising smoothly and walking away, but that would only be silly. It would only give him power over her. Instead she smiled thinly. The tall dark man bowed slightly. "Good evening." "I don't like to be surprised." He shrugged. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. You knew I'd come." She looked at him, startled. That was certainly true. There was more to this man than met the eye. Which was saying something when the first glance was already pretty good. Except, of course, that he was one of the reasons behind the red-headed woman's pain. That was a problem. You couldn't trust that kind of a man. Of course, nothing she hoped to get from him necessarily required trust. She rose fluidly and walked over to where he stood. This time she could feel something insistent about him, something determined. There was a glint in his eye she didn't recall seeing last night. He leaned closer to her. "I was hoping you wouldn't be so aloof tonight." "Oh?" Interesting. But vaguely unpleasant, she thought. And for some reason it didn't quite ring true. She'd felt this before from other men, but it didn't seem to fit her feeling about this one. For some reason, he wasn't being himself. Whatever that was. But she trusted her intuition enough to know that it was true. "I mean, we both know what we want." This time she recoiled. "Do we now? I'm afraid you're flattering yourself." He laughed harshly. "I don't think I am, actually." He reached for her and grasped her arm, but she pulled it away and stepped back. Suddenly she thought that maybe she understood why he was behaving this way. God. It was so clear. Just like that. She'd seen the argument he'd had with the red-headed woman on the Lido Deck. So had a lot of other passengers, for that matter. Ships were just like little incestuous suburbs. Everybody knew your business. This tall, handsome man, who for some reason now wore what she knew intuitively was an uncustomary expression, one filled with lust, need and anger, was in love with the little redhead. The problem was he didn't know it yet. How outrageously fascinating. "Or could it be it's not me you want?" She started and stared at him. "I'm just a plaything in your bigger game, isn't that right?" She fought a sudden rush of confusion. Had he just spoken? "What?" He leaned closer to her and she stood her ground, enthralled and unwilling to cede. "You think you know me. But I know *you.*" What was he saying? She shook her head to clear it. There was something mesmerizing about his tone. "The thing is, I've been watching you." He leaned back against the railing so that his face was shadowed once more. "I watched you watch her all afternoon." "You're obviously deranged." Her heart began to hammer in her chest and she didn't like it. Before she could move away, he grabbed her arms and lowered his face until it was inches from her own. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. It never happened this way. For a moment, she was too stunned to struggle. "Stay away from her, do you hear me?" he hissed. "Don't even dream of touching her. You only think you know her. I'm the only one who understands her pain and I'm the only one who can help her." He shook her once, twice. "She's not yours to do with as you please. She's mine -- do you understand?" "She belongs to no one." She spat the words through her teeth. "Least of all to you. At least my claim has some merit." She shook her head. "You can't free her." "Not that way. But I trust her and she trusts me. You defile trust." "No..." "I'll kill you if you go near her." She stopped struggling and regarded him coolly in the shadow of the spotlight. "I'll kill you first." He shook his head, his hands a vice around her arms. "You can't. I'm not the one you're after. I'm not the kind you free." A low wail escaped her throat, startling him for a moment. Her knee rose between his legs, impacting sharply, and he cried out, gasping. His grip relented and she tore away from him. He buckled and doubled over, sinking slowly to the gleaming teak of the deck. All she could hear was the clatter of her heels and the whistle of her breath in her throat as she ran. THE NEW WESTERDAM C DECK TUESDAY, 11:21 PM Scully was almost asleep when the gentle rap came. She'd tossed for awhile, annoyed at herself for expecting the worst although she'd felt nothing since she'd returned to her room. Except a vague sense of worry about this case. And about Mulder's apparent singlemindness where the perpetrator was concerned. He had no evidence to go on. None at all. In fact, they knew nothing more now than he had when he'd first been handed the files. And from what Scully could see, there was nothing in the files which would allow them to uncover any evidence unless the killer, or killers, struck again. It was maddening, certainly; but why was Mulder so unwilling to search out other possible avenues? He was going on a feeling. A conviction he had. She could sympathize -- to a point. But she knew she would have to confront him about his lack of scientific method in this case. Tomorrow. When they'd both had a chance to sleep on it one more time. Just as she was finally drifting off, there was a knock. She froze for a moment. It sounded human enough. "Who is it?" "Steven Spielberg." She couldn't help grinning as she rose to open the door. Scully had tried to have a good time. Honest to God she had. She'd wandered the ship, listened to a few of the lounge acts for as long as she could stand it; she'd stood out on deck and felt the wind in her hair. Hell. She'd even spent an hour in the casino. The fact of the matter was that it wasn't much fun without Mulder. The light from the corridor blinded her for a moment as she reached up and rubbed her eyes with the knuckles of one hand. When she could see, she found Mulder in sweatpants and a tee- shirt, wearing a strange expression which vacillated between tension and humour. "You look like a kid, Scully." "You act like one." She yawned. He grinned and shuffled for a moment. "So what's the matter, Mulder?" She waited. "Can I sleep over?" That woke her up. "I beg your pardon?" "C'mon. You've got two beds." She stared up at him. "You're serious?" He shrugged and squinted down the hallway. "Yeah. I got the heebiejeebies." "You have got to be kidding." "Don't make fun of me during a vulnerable moment, Scully." "But there's nothing going on. And I thought you'd be tomcatting around chatting up Ms. Right or something." He just looked at her. She didn't actually want him to know how relieved she was to see him standing there, alone. It was unbelievably selfish of her. She sighed and wondered why in God's name she was secretly so delighted by the whole thing. "All right. Come on in." He breathed and she noticed for the first time how pale he was. His face was pinched and grey along the edges. "You okay, Mulder?" "I'm fine. Just need to sleep." "No nausea?" "Nope. Fine." He was limping a little. Scully pointed to his leg. "What happened to you?" He turned to her in the tiny space and grimaced. "Bumped my foot against the bar." "Alcoholic." "Workaholic." She lay back in bed and studied him as he pulled the covers off the makeshift sofa against the far wall. "Mulder, we have to talk about this case." He stifled a yawn as he sat down. "I agree. But not now. I gotta get some sleep." "There's something that's been bugging me..." He nodded quickly but it seemed to Scully that he was avoiding her eye. "Me too. In fact..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "There's something I have to tell you." "What?" "Please. Not now. I'm really beat. Can't think right now." She watched him plump the pillows. Maybe he was almost ready to admit that he was working in the dark. Not an easy thing for him. She considered it and decided she'd wait. "Want me to close the curtains, Mulder?" "I'm fine, Scully. There's barely any movement at all." That much was true. So far they'd been blessed with seas as smooth as silk. Speaking of things that were hard to admit, she kind of liked having him there, making little Mulder noises as he settled into the narrow cot, his feet squeezed up against the wall. It hadn't occurred to her before that the beds were short. "You're sure you're okay, Mulder?" "Good night, Scully..." "But..." "Bye bye." She sighed and nestled in. As she closed her eyes, she thought she saw him look at her, his face drawn and tight as he turned out the light. And then she was gone. CONTINUED IN PART 12 -------- CRUISE (12a/12) by Madeleine Partous email: partous@total.net NOTE: Hi. I'm trying desperately to finish this before Friday for the sake of students who won't have email access for a month due to Christmas. See? And you think I don't pay attention. Thanks so much for all the lovely letters, but keep in mind that writers are very insecure and need constant reassurance. Or criticism. Anything. I'm not fussy. Muffin recipes will do in a pinch. MP THE NEW WESTERDAM A DECK WEDNESDAY, 2:36 AM She huddled on her bed in the luxury stateroom she'd come to know like the back of her hand. It was always the same stateroom. The numbers changed, even the decks -- she wasn't crazy, after all. The same room each time would have been asking for trouble. But the layout was always identical and the orientation was the same each time. Port side. The left-hand side. Sinistra. The devil's hand. She blew air from her lips and watched it billow out in the arctic chilliness of the room. She was used to it. It always happened right before she killed. Or when she was distressed, as she was now. In any case, both were true this time. She'd planned to free the old man first, but now there was no time to lose. The red-headed woman had to be freed. Her so-called friend, the tall dark man. He was dangerous. A lunatic. He thought he owned her. Just like her own ex-husband. He'd believed he'd owned her too. Until she showed him what life was like in hell. He'd forced her to live there in this world -- she'd done him one better. She'd sent him to the real place. Permanently. They still hadn't found his body. As if they could. They'd've had to scour four states to find all of him. That had been her first killing. It was also the last one she'd done in anger. Since then she'd only put lost souls out of their misery. Mercy killings. All of them. And she knew she was right, that she was divinely inspired, because an angel accompanied her on every one of her quests. A dark angel, certainly. But all light needed darkness in order to be defined. Without the contrast, how could you discern the difference? She was the heart of darkness in the midst of light. Cold, cold darkness. Hell was cold -- how could anyone have come to believe in its fire? Dante was right. At its very heart, hell was a field of ice. She watched her breath and studied the porthole as it slowly frosted over, fingers of ice playing along its edges in intricate patterns which reached tentatively towards the centre as she watched. It helped to calm her, as it always did. She'd made a mistake about the tall dark man. She'd thought he was a kind man, a considerate man. Now she realized he was as evil as her husband had been. What she still couldn't fathom was how he'd come to understand what she was. Perhaps he'd been sent to test her steadfastness. She smiled in the cold dark silence of her room. She was equal to the challenge. But he'd been right. She couldn't kill him. Not directly. That wasn't where her mandate lay. Her mandate was to free the sad ones, the ones who suffered blind. She could hurt him, though. She could make him wish for death. She could make death seem like the only goal left to live for. She couldn't kill him. But she could destroy him. This would be her last killing. After this one, everyone would know her name. Two birds, one stone. The red-headed woman would be free. And her freedom would destroy the man she believed was her friend. He'd find out then just how cold life could be. But first she had to make sure he didn't interfere. First she had to pry them apart. Scully awoke to the sound of pounding. The room was in absolute darkness; even the porthole was black on black. Which made sense: they were miles from nowhere. There was another loud thump and the sound of a cry, faint, obscure, as if it was drifting in from a great distance. God. They were sinking. On fire. Or something. Her body began to shake with the force of her pulse as she sat up, kicking off the blankets and swearing below her breath as she yanked at an end of the sheet which had somehow wrapped itself around her feet. "Mulder." She reached for the light and slapped it. Nothing. She hit the switch again, cursing loudly this time. "Mulder!" Nothing. What the hell was wrong with him? Worry welled up in her throat and she bit down on it. No time for that. But she could recognize the early warning signs of a panic attack and she willed herself to breathe evenly. She strained to listen. Another thump. And the voice again, deep, male, angry, even outraged, as though it were arguing loudly with someone, but it was still too far away for her to make out any words. "Mulder?" Flashlight. She always carried a flashlight in her overnight bag. Scully stood and stumbled over to her partner's bed. Another thump. Louder. She felt a shudder go through her. There was a body lying on the bed all right. It just wasn't moving. "Mulder, please! Something's wrong with the ship!" She reached out blindly and gasped as she connected with his face, its familiar features and the comfort of his soft short hair. Cold. Jesus Christ oh Mother of God, please, no. Cold as ice. Dead. God, how? Tears sprang to her eyes and she moaned as they welled and began to slip down her cheeks. "No..." Thump. Closer. Panic rose inside her again. "Sc-Sc-Sc-ul-leeeee..." A whisper, nothing more. But something. God. Something. She made a sound and wrapped her arms around him, prodding his face gently, letting her hands drop down to feel his chest, his arms, in search of warmth, any warmth. There was none. "Mulder, I've got to find my flashlight. We have to move. There's something seriously wrong." "D-d-d-d..." "What?" She could barely hear him. "D-D-D-Dana...d-d-don't..." This time the thump resounded through the metal of the wall, ringing. She moaned again and rose, patting him once and then grunting as her hip slammed against the side of the desk. Damn. Why weren't her eyes adjusting? They weren't adjusting because there was nothing for them to adjust to. No light at all, not even the faint glimmer required for shadows to loom. It suddenly hit her that the lights in the corridor had also gone out. That was it. There was no crack of light under the door. That was why she couldn't see anything at all. Her breath was beginning to catch harshly in her throat when her hand finally brushed against her bag, which she now remembered leaving propped up against the bed. Inches from where she'd been lying in the first place. Christ. A thump and the higher ringing of metal she recognized from last night when she'd seen a fist appear in her door. Mulder's door. It had reached the room next to her own. She rummaged through her bag until she felt the cool cylinder of the flashlight. It had to work. There was no reason for it not to work. She pushed the switch and almost sobbed aloud as a beam of light streamed out and hit the desk, making everything on it grow and waver grotesquely in the shadows. "Mulder!" She turned the light on her partner and gasped. His face was covered in a thin layer of frost which glistened in the light. His eyebrows and hair were white. As she stared at him aghast, she saw the frost grow and spread further like a living thing. "S-c-c..." His lips were pale and she saw the superhuman effort it took for him to reach out a shaking hand as his body began to shake uncontrollably. "D-d-d-on't..." "God. Oh God, Mulder." She started to go to him. "D-d-on't g-g-go out-t-t there..." And then the door exploded inward. The shock of it threw her to the ground. Scully gasped as excruciating cold air flooded the room. It flowed around her, sending long fingers of agony along her naked feet. Her gun. Where the hell was her fucking gun? She grabbed the flashlight -- thank God she'd fallen with it -- and shone it towards the door. The beam bounced off a thick whirling mist which was encroaching on all the corners of the room, sending long fog- like fingers into nooks and crannies. Whatever the hell this was, she had to get them out of there. She'd fallen down against the side of Mulder's bed. Mulder. Tears sprung up once more and she wiped them away angrily. He was freezing to death. That much was certain. She heard him mumble something. Alive. He was still alive -- at least barely. "Don't go to sleep." The shower. There was no reason for it to work, in light of all this, but you never knew. Whatever this was, whatever the hell was going on, Scully was beginning to suspect it had nothing to do with the ship itself. If a disaster was in progress, surely there'd be alarms and bodies running down the corridors. In fact, the silence was eerie in its wholeness. She got up and staggered to the bathroom, the beam from her flashlight bouncing against walls. She snatched at the shower unit's hot-water faucet and twisted. A cloud of sweet muggy steam rose suddenly to mix with the mist around her. Hot. Blessedly hot in all this brittle coldness. And then she yelped. Too hot. A little cold water too. No time to lose. She reached Mulder and grabbed his arm, pulling. "Get up. Mulder, please. Try to get up." Frost covered his features now and glowed dully in the glare of her light. She bit her lip. Never mind why, Dana. Christ. Why can wait until later. He moaned. Scully pulled at him again and winced as he tumbled from the bed. God. For a moment she was afraid he'd crack open like that scientist they'd seen. Not that cold. God. It wasn't that cold. He stirred and she felt a hot rush of relief. Then, as if she had all the time in the world, as if the two of them weren't suspended in the midst of madness, she began to drag his body steadily towards the bathroom. By the time she pushed him into the shower, her silk pyjamas were translucent with sweat. He was almost twice her weight at the best of times and the frost had added a few pounds. Steam sizzled as the water struck his skin. She held him up against the wall with one hand and fixed him in the glow of her flashlight. It was a drastic way to resuscitate someone in his condition, but he was in good shape and there was nothing else she could think of doing. He groaned as a shudder rode through him and clouds of steam rose off his body. Scully put down the flashlight and started to rub his face vigorously with both her hands. His head lolled as she moved down to his chest, massaging it through his shirt. Sweat and water flew off her body as she continued to rub him furiously, massaging his arms, hands, thighs, calves and feet. His feet. She hesitated for a moment, fearing the fragility of frostbite. All in all, a few missing toes would be a small price to pay. Anyway, the contrast between the heat of the water and the frigid air in the room would probably give them both pneumonia, assuming who or whatever was responsible for this hellish phenomenon didn't kill them first. He was beginning to stir, his head rolling back against the shower wall as he seemed to welcome the spray against his face, water flying from his lips as he sputtered. "Scully." It was a gurgle, but it was Mulder all the way. He was back. She laughed suddenly and lay a hand against his cheek. He smiled faintly in the glow of the flashlight as water streamed down his face. "Pins, Scully." "I'm sure. It's gonna hurt like hell." He winced and shivered. "Stay here, Mulder. I'll be back." "No..." He reached out and tried to grab her arm, the movement nearly unbalancing him. She didn't try to prop him up. "You've got to stay in the water for a while longer, Mulder. Doctor's orders. I've got to find out what's going on." "Scully, no. There's something..." "For all we know the ship is sinking, Mulder." She stood up and away from the heat of the water. The air was definitely warmer than before. Scully turned and peered out at the room. No question about it -- the mist was dissipating. "It's not sinking," he gasped. She believed him. "Then I'll be back soon." He began to shake uncontrollably as a fit of coughing overcame him. She bent over and grabbed the flashlight, narrowly escaping his hand as he swiped at her in the throes of the cough. "You'd almost stopped breathing. The coughing won't last long." "Scully, please..." She knew he was trying to stop her; she just wasn't sure why. Jesus. Next to some of the things they'd seen, this was practically child's play. Scully left the bathroom and slapped the wall switch just for the hell of it. The cabin exploded into light. She pulled off her soggy pyjamas and drew on slacks and a dry sweatshirt, pushing her feet into sneakers. By the time she'd found her gun, she turned to find Mulder standing against the door jam of the bathroom, dripping and taking deep breaths. "I said you should stay in the shower." "There's something I haven't told you, Scully." He grimaced suddenly and coughed again, doubling over, his hands pressed against his knees. "Tell me later. This is an X-File, Mulder. A real one. Now let me do my job." He raised his head and looked at her. She saw hesitation in his eyes. Hesitation and a strange mixture of determination and dread. She'd think about it later. Mulder let her slip by him and she left the door ajar behind her. CONTINUED IN PART 12b -------- CRUISE (12b/12) by Madeleine Partous email: partous@total.net "Feedback both pro and con is deeply appreciated." *** 4th-season spoiler alert: TFWID *** Well. Now we face the inevitable embarrassment of admitting that 12 chapters was a bit of an optimistic estimate. 12c appears tomorrow. And that'll be the end of it. MP Scully had almost reached the stairway before it dawned on her that the hallway lights were on again. She lay a hand against the wall and took a deep breath. What the hell was she looking for anyway? Traces of frost? A killer mist? An angry, diaphanous Dutch shipbuilder? She leaned against the wall and laughed shakily. God. She was just as bad as Mulder. So. What did that mean? Did she believe? She believed there was nothing normal about what had just happened. Scully straightened suddenly. She believed that Mulder had almost died. Whatever this thing was, wherever it came from, it was capable of killing. There'd been nothing prosaic about the sight of Mulder covered in frost in the middle of the balmy Caribbean Sea. The absurdity of her belief system in the face of everything she'd seen suddenly hit her smack in the middle of the solar plexus. She grimaced and shook her head. Dana, my darling: you're a fucking lunatic. Over the years Mulder had often looked at her, gently, most of the time, and said that anything was possible. Anything at all. Jesus. What if he was right? She wasn't sure she could bear it. Well. She could probably accept the premise. What would make her absolutely crazy was accepting that the big gangly flake was right. She snorted. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and although she wasn't sure what she was looking for, she knew she had to do *something*. Something was up, in any case. But what? And Mulder was fine for the time being. For now, finding out whether the ship was all right would have to do. Besides, something told her she should go out on deck. It was a strange compulsion, but she'd learned to listen to her intuition over the years. Even though she didn't often acknowledge it even to herself, it was this intuition which had saved Mulder's life -- and her own -- on many occasions. Something told her that what she searched for was out on the Promenade Deck. On the port side. The left-hand side. She didn't know how she knew. Scully holstered her gun and headed up the stairs. She stood against the railing in the night as the wind whipped up and gusted fine spray against the deck. The woman was coming. As she stood there, she could sense that the lovely little redhead was climbing the stairs. Alone. Of course, she'd known she'd come. They always did. She breathed deeply and leaned back against the rail. She felt fluid, relaxed, as she always did in these moments. In these moments, nothing existed but the moment. Her senses were alert, alive; she could smell the salt in the air, even the distant scent of lavender and hibiscus as it drifted from the islands they skirted in the night. The thrum of the engines hummed through her; the glow from the spotlights danced off the gleaming white metal of the hull and played against her face, leaving tiny flecks of luminescence in the fine water droplets that hung from her eyelashes. She could feel the pulse of her blood as it beat in her fingertips. She waited. There was nothing amiss, at least as far as Scully could tell. The corridors were silent, heavy with the still air that comes with sleep. A few passengers lingered in the lounges, mostly male, but she avoided their hungry eyes, their questioning glances. It was past 3. She could hear the faint melancholy tinkle of a piano as it floated out from one of the bars. At this hour on a cruise ship, she figured that everyone who had something fun to do was already snug abed. And she didn't particularly relish the thought of running into the few who were still in search of fun. As she reached the Promenade Deck level, she came across a blond officer, a lieutenant, who was obviously on his way to work and possibly already a little late, judging from his expression. She could definitely sympathize. "Excuse me, sir..." He stopped in his tracks and looked at her with unabashed admiration. Another Dutchman. She was getting bored with the looks she was getting. Scully smiled. "Is everything all right?" He smiled back. "How do you mean... miss?" The last word was more of a question than the sentence was. "The ship? The lights went out on my deck and I wondered whether everything was okay." "Ah. What deck?" "C." He gave her a lecherous look which seemed to suggest that anyone staying on C Deck was probably cheap in all the right ways. "We have had a few problems on C deck, miss," he said a little condescendingly. "Nothing serious. Electrical stuff." He used the word "stuff" with a kind of pride and watched her closely, as if to see whether she'd be impressed by his use of American slang. She smiled even more broadly. Maybe he needed to find out exactly how much it took to impress her. "Ah. Well. I'm a doctor, you see, and my companion is a highly placed government official who's presently working -- incognito, you understand, but for some reason I feel I can trust you -- on very sensitive material of national importance. As you can imagine, the lack of electricity wreaks havoc with his need to send classified faxes back to Washington." The officer stared at her as his jaw dropped. "Not to mention that I can't very well treat his heart condition if the portable EEG isn't working, and the fact is, well..." She looked away for a moment before leaning closer to him. "...that if anything happens to him at this point, BOOM!" She threw her hands up suddenly and the lieutenant jumped back. "If you know what I mean," she whispered knowingly. The man had turned almost as pale as his uniform. He nodded, eyes wide. "I'll have someone look into it immediately, m'am." Scully smiled again. "Thank you. Our country..." she lowered her head for a moment and then looked at him earnestly. "Hell, why mince words? The free world appreciates it." He stood at attention and Scully could've sworn he was about to salute, but then he pulled at his collar and beat a hasty retreat. She chortled. That would keep him guessing. And then she almost laughed. Mulder would've been so proud. Scully stepped out onto the deck and was momentarily blinded by spray as a particularly violent rush of wind slapped water against the wood, turning it a deep dark brown. "Hello." She looked up, squinting. A tall, dark woman leaned back against the railing, her long black hair whipped by the wind. There was something familiar about her, but Scully couldn't quite put her finger on it. "We meet at last." The woman's face was shadowed, but Scully caught the glint of teeth. "I'm sorry. It's a bit of a cliche, but in this case it fits." Scully's eyes widened. This was her. This was the killer. She wondered how she knew. Because. Because who else could it be? "You..." she breathed. The woman nodded easily. "Of course. Who else?" She lay a hand against the railing and moved her head out of the shadows. God. She was striking. Pale, almost translucent, her face framed in lustrous dark brown hair which moved smoothly in the wind. Large, slightly hooded brown eyes. Full lips. God. Her hands clenched as she suddenly realized the woman looked a lot like Mulder. But resolutely female. Almost archetypal in her femininity. "I've come to take away your pain." "My...?" Scully stared at her. "You're to be free at last, my dear." "I'm free already." The woman shook her head and clicked her tongue. "No. It's an illusion, poor darling. This pain you bear. It's time for it to end." "But I don't want it to end." "You say that now. You'll see. You'll soon see how glorious it is to be free." Scully began to edge back towards the door. This woman was the killer; there was no doubt of it at all in her mind. She'd killed at least 15 times before and she was undoubtedly pretty good at it by now. This probably wasn't either the time or place to reason with her. And then the woman was on her, around her, and before she could do anything Scully felt herself suddenly weightless as she was lifted from the floor, the other woman's arms wrapping themselves around her, one arm crooked around her knees, the other holding her against her chest. Her arms were pinned against her body by the force of the other woman's grip. Her arm was like steel and Scully wondered dimly why she hadn't reached for her gun while she still had a chance. "Goodbye, my dear. Rest." She heard a whisper in her ear and felt the soft pressure of lips against her cheek before they brushed for a moment against her own. And then she was airborne and at first it did in fact feel like freedom before the whistle of the wind ran through her and she opened her eyes to see the sea, dark and bristling with whitecaps, hurtle towards her. The water broke against her and she gasped, feeling it fill her mouth, wet and warm, and she could hear a faint thrumming sound, no, not a sound, a vibration through her body as the world turned green and black and for a moment all was silent and still. Then she burst up through the surface, almost against her will, as the waves flailed against her face and she heard as if from very far away a familiar male voice, harsh and high, desperate and angry, but this time she could just make out the words, and the words were "federal agent man overboard man overboard stop the engines" and the voice seemed to crack as she felt the water roll over her once again. The silence was stunning and Scully felt a strange fathomless peace except for the thrumming which wouldn't stop and which shook her, disturbing her rest. And then she surfaced again without knowing why, and this time she saw him, his hair plastered against his face, his hand grasping an almost foolish splash of orange as he reached for her. "Scully!" She smiled and sank. Then she saw him under the water too, his body moving towards her, his eyes wide as bubbles exploded from his lips. She'd had bubbles too, she thought vaguely and giggled, remembering. All gone. They were almost all gone. But then she was a little put out because something grabbed her and pulled her, which didn't feel right, but the thrum was closer and the water was churning white and wild, and the vibration was unpleasant, so she let herself go and followed the strength of the other. The next time she surfaced she felt a strong arm around her, around her back, with a hand clasping her breast, cupping and hanging on to it for dear life so that it hurt a little but there was pleasure there too, somewhere, if she could only remember why. "Hang on to the life preserver, Scully." Words. Familiar words which might have meant something once. A groan. "God, Scully. Please. Don't go. Please!" The raw, cracked voice seemed far away. The arm tightened around her, the hand kneading her breast now, rubbing it roughly, desperately. She felt herself lifted and her arms were draped around something, the ridiculous orange thing, and then the arm again, around her, a hand snaking up under her shirt to touch the flesh of her breast for a moment before it curled into a fist and pounded her chest. "Scully. Stay with me." She coughed and water coursed from her lips and slid down her chin. The hand slid down and grabbed the back of her slacks, hoisting her up against the surface of the orange something which bobbed on the water, and then a fist slammed against her back, hurting. "Scully!" She cried out and coughed again, feeling water spurt from her nose and mouth as she retched. The fist hit again and again and she gasped, choking, water bubbling out until air whistled through her lungs, feeling foreign at first, like an intrusion, and then familiar. Air. God. And then she was on her back and her nose was closed by fingers and there was a mouth against hers, a cold wet mouth spread wide to cover her own, and it blew air into her, sweet warm air which tasted familiar like something she knew, like someone. Her chest rose with the giving and fell as the mouth withdrew. She could feel water and spittle leak from her lips and she knew, suddenly, as though from a great distance, that she had come close to embracing the water as her own. The mouth covered hers again and again until she coughed again and this time the sea left her in a great gush through her nose and her mouth, and she gasped, her chest heaving. Water still rose and fell around them but this time when she opened her eyes she was swallowing great gulps of air and it was Mulder she saw. She was floating with her back against a round life preserver. Mulder tread water next to her and held the small of her back up with one hand under the surface. His eyes were wild. "Scully?" She laughed. He stared at her. "I'm fine, Mulder." He spit water from his mouth and growled, enveloping her waist with one arm as the other clung to the preserver. "I know..." he gasped. "You're always fine." She grinned weakly and wrapped her arms around his neck. For once, it seemed all right to cling to him. Bright lights hit the water as a sailor reached out from a rope ladder which now hung against the hull. Scully vaguely registered the sailor's hands on her arms as Mulder held her out to him. It made her a little uncomfortable. After all, she didn't know the guy. "Can you climb?" She nodded and grasped the rung above her. "I'll be right below to catch you if you let go," the slight man said reassuringly. If I let go, buddy, she thought grimly as she started to pull herself up, we're both going down. "You're lucky, lady," he continued as he climbed up behind her. "Yes." She didn't have a lot of breath to waste. "That guy pulled you right out of the propeller's path." She stopped for a moment. "You don't want to know what that thing can do to human flesh, lady." She glared down and the sailor froze. "You're right. I don't." Scully looked up and kept climbing. Hands pulled her up and over the railing. She was grateful to feel the weight of a blanket on her but as far as she was concerned, there were too many people around. Fortunately, the lateness of the hour meant that very few curious passengers were milling about. That would've been just perfect. First a lover's spat, then a near drowning. She and Mulder would've come across as two lunatics with a pathological need for attention. She turned just as Mulder was helped over the railing. A cheer rose from the small crowd and several men clapped him on the back, shaking his hand. Great. Mulder the big macho man hero. Meanwhile, she was only the drowning victim. What was a near-death experience, after all, when compared to the triumph of the living? To give Mulder his due, he seemed genuinely embarrassed. He escaped his entourage and came over to her, putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her further down along the deck. An officer began efficiently to break up the crowd. "You okay?" "Dandy." "Scully..." "What do you want me to say, Mulder? Thanks. But I still wish it hadn't happened." He stiffened. "So do I. Believe me." "I heard you say 'federal agent.'" He nodded, still studying her. "To get them moving. But I told the officer on duty to keep it quiet. We don't want to alarm the killer." That was it. Scully suddenly remembered why she was so furious at him. Her eyes widened. "You knew." Mulder drew back a little. He was still wearing the same sweatpants and tee-shirt he'd taken to bed. "You knew all along." She felt blood rush to her face. "Christ, Mulder. I realized it as soon as I stepped out there and saw her waiting. You *used* me!" She slammed both fists against his chest. The blanket fell off and pooled at her feet. He fell back against the railing, more from the element of surprise than the blow itself, she suspected bitterly. "You bastard. You used me as a decoy, didn't you?" His face seemed to sag. "I never let you out of my sight, Scully. Not for a minute. Even when you ditched me..." Anger twisted his features for a second. "Christ. You son of a bitch..." "Even then, I followed you. I knew she'd picked you out." "How?" Her teeth were clenched. "I can't explain it, Scully. I just knew. The second I saw her." "You *saw* her?" He nodded earnestly. "The first night. It's an instinct, Scully. You know that. I can smell these types of killers a mile away. I can smell their psychology, their mental makeup. There's a taste to them that's always the same." She said nothing. Scully had been angry at Mulder before. But never like this. This felt like the death of something. She felt tears sting. My God. What had he done? What had they lost because of this? "Scully." His eyes pleaded with her. "That's why I'm good at this." The tears rose and this time she let them fall for him to see. "God. Don't. Please." He reached a hand towards her face. She pulled back. "Don't touch me." Her voice was cold. Mulder shivered and she saw the unmistakable shimmer of tears in his own eyes. "Scully. Christ. This was never meant to happen. I haven't slept since I saw her. I never stopped watching over you. But we had no evidence -- you know that. The only way to stop her was to catch her redhanded." "In other words, as she tried to kill me." "I was never going to let her come close." "But she did, didn't she, Mulder? She threw me overboard, you *fucker*!" He cringed and this time the tears slid down his face. "Dana..." His voice was raw. "I'm sorry. I was right behind you. She moved so fast..." He shook his head, gazing at her. Bile rose in her throat. She couldn't control her fury. "You watched your father die the last time," she spat at him sarcastically. "Or at least that's what you believe. Was that me, Mulder? Well. I shouldn't be surprised you almost did it again." He moaned and dug his palms into his eyes. "Don't..." "Maybe you do it every lifetime, Mulder. Huh? That's a thought. What about the sergeant? That was me? Did you watch me fall on the battlefield, Mulder? Did you stand by and watch? Or maybe you betrayed me to the enemy that time too!" She was screaming at him. His head was down. He looked numb, ashen, but the tears had stopped. A part of her mind knew how hateful this was, how wounding. A part of her knew she was breaking something. Fuck it. It was already broken. He'd broken it. When she spoke again, her voice was low. "So much for trust." "Dana..." A whisper. "Don't call me that. You don't deserve to call me that." She paused. "I'm sorry you lost your soulmate, Mulder." Where the hell had the words come from? She took a deep breath. The thing was, she meant it. "But maybe the lesson for me in this lifetime is that it doesn't pay to be your friend." His head snapped up suddenly and she flinched at the fury in his eyes. Before she knew it, his hand was wrapped around her wrist. "Don't ever say that." "Let me go." "No." He pulled her towards him. "I've got a gun, you bastard." "So do I." His other hand gripped her chin. "Look at me." She did. Why the hell not? "How dare you say that, Scully? I'm not saying I was right. Dammit. I tried to tell you tonight. You wouldn't listen." "You should've told me earlier." She could put up with this. After tonight, she'd request a transfer and she'd never have to look at him again. "You're right. It's just..." She waited. "It's just that you're not a good liar. You're so honest, Scully. Your face betrays everything. Your eyes..." He stopped and looked at her. "I'd skin myself alive before I'd let anything happen to you. I'd kill myself if you died because of me. Don't you know that?" There was nothing to say. "Don't you understand? Melissa's not my soulmate, Scully. She was an obsession. We've spent lifetimes ruining each other's lives. Not on purpose; it was just the futile attachment of young souls. I know that now. I realized it even when I was still under hypnosis. She knew it too. That's why this lifetime happened. To free us from it." Scully said nothing, but she could feel him tremble against her. "The evolution of souls has to do with a movement towards something, Scully, not senseless repetition. That's what maya is, the wheel of illusion that keeps souls enslaved. Melissa and I have been caught in a rut for hundreds of years. It's over now. At last." "What are you saying, Mulder?" "I'm saying she's free to find herself. As I am. And the only person I saw through all those lifetimes, other than her, over and over again, was you, Scully. It has to mean something. You don't have the right to mock it. Or to discount it." "It's your fantasy, Mulder -- not mine." He shook his head angrily and pulled her to him. She resisted, but she could feel his heart pounding against her neck. "No. You feel it too. Don't lie to me. Not now." God. The temptation to give in was strong. It was true, anyway. Scully was pragmatic and she wasn't one to deny the truth when she knew what it was. She'd always felt the link between them. Even now. It was just that it didn't necessarily matter. And then, almost detachedly, she felt him grow hard against her belly. Moisture flooded her centre almost immediately. It was predictable. Mechanical. She was attracted to him. She'd always been. This too didn't necessarily matter. She pulled away and he let her go. "We have a job to do, Mulder. Remember? We'll talk about this later." His eyes were still intense, but he nodded. "Where'd she go, anyway?" "I don't know, Scully. Quite frankly, once I saw her throw you overboard, the only thing that mattered to me was getting you out of there." "You saw her do it." Her voice was flat. He nodded again and looked away. "Did she see you?" "I don't think so. She was back inside within seconds." "Well. Our joint testimonies should be enough to put her away. Maybe we should just phone ahead, wait until the ship docks and then grab her with backup behind us when she gets off the ship." Mulder leaned against the railing. He looked completely exhausted. Scully felt a touch of sympathy. Of course he was tired. He hadn't slept in two nights, he'd almost died once and he'd dived off a ship to save her from a bloody mangled death. She met his eyes to find him gazing at her. "She's completely crazy, Scully. If we don't stop her, she's bound to kill again." "Not when she finds out I'm still alive, surely." "She thinks she's invincible. Divinely inspired or something. You can see it in her eyes. She'll just try to kill you again." "That would be stupid." "I hate to tell you this, Scully, but she's not exactly thinking straight. And the one thing we know for sure is she's dangerous. It's pretty clear she's got some kind of psychic power, for one thing. Who knows what else she can do? We've got to find her and confine her to quarters until we can ship her out." Scully pursed her lips. "Okay. Are you all right?" He looked startled. "Fine. It's you I'm worried about." "I probably wouldn't be able to run a marathon, but that's about it. Don't forget you almost died too, Mulder." He smiled faintly. "An eventful evening all around." Scully chuckled drily and headed for the door. "Just like the brochure promised." CONTINUED IN PART 12C -------- CRUISE (12c/12) by Madeleine Partous email: partous@total.net This is it, folks. It's a long chapter. If you have a problem with the download, drop me a line and I'll send it to you in two parts. Let me know if you're interested in a sequel -- I've kind of become enamoured with this particular universe. Thanks for your patience and support. Have a very happy holiday season, and all best wishes for the New Year. MP Scully waited restlessly for him on the landing as he stopped to speak with the deck officer on duty. She watched his back as he talked in a low voice, gesturing towards the staircase and catching her eye for a moment before turning back to the officer. His eyes were haunted. What she'd said had had an impact -- no question about it. Scully stood and shifted and wondered why she felt nothing at all. Betrayed. She'd been used by him. She felt nothing. And yet he'd saved her too, as he'd done many times before. She felt nothing. But there would've been no need to save her at all if he hadn't let this happen in the first place. She expected bitterness. She felt nothing. He loved her. This she knew. She'd always known it. Nothing. He loved her as a friend, as a life's companion, most of all. The physical aspect was almost incidental. Almost irrelevant. Almost. And yet it was the only part of their equation, if Mulder's theory about past lives held, which they hadn't explored. Scully searched her feelings. Nothing? No. Something. But what? Lust? Maybe. Due to general horniness? No. Scully knew she could have sex anytime she wanted. If she could be bothered. The problem was no one interested her these days. Somewhere along the line, her life had become so bizarre, so interesting, oddly enough, that most people actually bored her. Except... She started as Mulder touched her elbow gently. He was looking at her quizzically. "I told the officer what we were up to. More or less. He promised no one would get in our way as long..." She smiled suddenly and saw him catch his breath. "As long as we're discreet?" He grinned and nodded. For a moment, there was no mistaking the pure joy which radiated from his features. Because she'd smiled at him. No other reason. "So. Let's go, G-man." They took a few minutes to change. "I think I'm sprouting mould, Scully," Mulder said as he thrust his key card into his door. God. He'd been soaked for hours. He was bound to come down with something. On the way to their cabins, Scully had decided she would think about nothing. For the time being, she would go with Mulder, find this woman and let her know just how happy she was to see her again. She would think about all of it later. Right now, they were on Bureau time. Great. It was almost 5 AM. Talk about taking your work home with you. They met back in the corridor minutes later. Scully tucked her gun into her holster and closed her jacket. "You know, Mulder, I've changed outfits so often tonight that I'm beginning to feel like Cher." His eyes widened and crinkled. "Except you're better looking, Scully." "Flatterer." "Anyway, you're actually more Sonny's size." "So you're saying you're Cher, Mulder?" Something twigged in the back of her mind and she suddenly stopped walking. Mulder looked back at her. "She looks like you." "Who, Cher? I think I have better legs. And definitely fewer tattoos." She shook her head impatiently. "The killer. She looks a lot like you." He froze. "God." "Didn't you notice?" "No. Not until you mentioned it." "Better nose, though." Mulder scowled. "What's wrong with my nose?" "Your nose would look ridiculous on a woman, Mulder." "Meaning?" She sighed. "Meaning it would look ridiculous on a woman. It looks fine on you, for God's sake. Anyway, that's not the point." He still looked defensive. Then his mouth dropped. "What are you saying, Scully?" His face was tight. Scully shook her head quickly, resisting the urge to lay a hand on his arm. "She can't be Samantha. She's at least your age, probably older." He nodded mutely. "It would be..." He stopped. "It would be too ridiculous," she finished for him. "Anyway, we know what Samantha looks like." "Do we?" It was a whisper. She shrugged. "Life doesn't work that way, Mulder." "It does in bad movies." "Life isn't a bad movie." "Ours is. You're the one who said it." She looked at him. "For now, let's just try to find her." He said nothing and trailed behind her as she set off purposefully down the hallway. It became clear fairly quickly that they had no idea where to start looking. At long last they paused on the A deck landing as Scully sank onto a plush velvet sofa. "Are you saying we should knock on everyone's door, Mulder?" "American citizens don't necessarily need passports, despite what the Captain said. Valid birth certificates are often good enough, depending on the ports of call. In this case, Jamaica, Grand Cayman and Mexico don't require passports." "Which means there's no photograph of this woman on board." "I'll bet on it." Scully sighed. "Surely she's sailed itineraries that require passports." Mulder rocked for a moment. "Yeah, but so what? No one takes pictures of passports, Scully. And she hardly strikes me as the type who'd pose on the gangplank next to a floral arrangement." She ran a hand over her eyes. God. She was exhausted. Mulder stood next to her in jeans and a battered Knicks sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. If she was exhausted, he had to be ready to drop. She gazed thoughtfully at his rounded bicep, studying a blueish vein which stood out in sharp relief and ran down towards his elbow. It took a moment for her to realize that she was imagining running her tongue down its length. Jesus. "The lower decks," she said hastily. Mulder stopped rocking and stared at her. "What?" She looked up at him. "The alleged ghost, Mulder. If this woman is responsible for the paranormal activities aboard these ships, then we should go where they're most commonly reported." He continued staring. "You're saying this poltergeist follows her around?" "I don't know that it's actually a poltergeist." Mulder grinned widely. "God. You're right." He began to pace excitedly. "The reports of ghostly activity seem random on the surface. One ship here, another there -- but why? Why would every one of these ships be affected?" "If it's some kind of psychic energy she projects and it only happens when she's on board." "Yes. If we cross-reference the sightings with the passenger list, we'll be able to narrow it down considerably." She hated to rain on his parade -- but what the hell. "Except for the fact that there's no commonality in names after four cruises and we're now up to eight." He groaned. "But at least we could establish that in each case of a mysterious death, some paranormal activity was reported on board." She chortled. "Right. That'll impress the judge." He looked at her. "Maybe not. But in at least six cases, it might help the victims' relatives come to terms with the whole thing by suggesting that their loved ones may not have killed themselves." Scully breathed. It hadn't occurred to her. Relatives. People who grieved and blamed themselves. They were likely to welcome the idea that some force, some embodiment of evil, had killed the one they loved. That they themselves hadn't driven the victims to take their own lives. And why not, after all? They were still alive. Why live with this? As she looked up at Mulder, she saw the light of something in his eyes that looked like a serene, almost resigned, compassion. God. For the victims. For their families. For the killer even. For her and for himself. He'd sat down next to her. "Three of the victims drowned overboard, Scully," he said softly. "Do you think they jumped?" She said nothing and shook her head slowly. "You can tell their spouses that. Their children. You know they were murdered. You know it wasn't anyone's fault except the killer's. Whatever else happens, that's already something." She felt the heat of him next to her. Something in her knew suddenly that despite everything, despite his blind spots and his foibles, despite his apparent darkness, something in him was good and pure and filled with light. This. This is what drew her to him. And she knew why. As if she'd always known it, the knowledge of what she'd always known suddenly flooded her. It cut through illusion like sunlight. Because she was the one who had taught him. The weight of immeasurable age descended on her like fatigue. Like a given. God. She had chosen him long ago. She didn't know how she knew. She just knew. But when had she forgotten? As exhaustion ran through her, she knew that she had lived by his side for a long time, for lifetimes, from a time when she was already old and he was young, so young. To show him the way. To bring him to this. This thing that in this particular life, she had chosen to forget. For his sake. So that he might learn it at last. That lives are fleeting. That death means nothing. That souls mate eternal, to learn, to grow. All souls. Not just this one with that one. Every one. All souls must eventually return to the centre, where the illusion of division is exposed for what it is. All souls are one. But that was the big one. And he wasn't ready for it yet. Right now, he needed her. The thoughts were a blur, and the feelings, and after all, in this lifetime, Scully was pragmatic. She was dizzy somehow, because of her journey under the sea, she thought vaguely, and now all she saw was his face, concerned but filled with wonder at something he'd seen in hers. He leaned in towards her tentatively. "Scully?" She smiled and reached for him on impulse, her hands against his face. His body stilled as she touched him. Some part of him knows, she thought. Some part of him knew what she was already forgetting again. For no good reason at all, she leaned towards him and brushed her lips against his mouth. His reaction was lightning swift. He moaned and wrapped his arms around her, one hand in her hair as he pulled her roughly towards him. The smell of him filled her senses as she felt lips against her eye, her cheek. Then his mouth opened and his tongue lashed out against her teeth, probing, until she relented and widened, and then it pushed inside her, stroking, filling her, and he continued to moan against her lips, his stubble rasping against her skin as his arms tightened convulsively around her. For a long moment, she let him kiss her. She felt the need to respond to his need, to his apology, to his bottomless remorse, but a nagging doubt caressed her and she remembered. She tore away even though the pain of it was almost physical and then she stared at him. His eyes were slits, his mouth wet and open. He licked his lips and reached for her desperately with his tongue, his face fevered and bruised with desire. "Mulder." She grasped his shoulders and shook him. He bent his head and licked her hand, his hips lunging as he tried to pull her to him again. "Not now." He groaned and nipped her knuckles, dabbing at them with his tongue. "Mulder..." He looked up slowly and gazed at her through narrow eyes. "I want you." His voice was animal and low. She took a deep breath and leaned back, although she was molten and ready and wanted nothing else herself. "Later, Mulder. After we catch her." She waited in the darkness. The thrum of the engines soothed her, as it always did. By now she was able to make her way here without being seen. The ships were all more or less the same, and anyway her angel always guided her through little-used corridors and accessways. But it didn't much matter because the crew was terrified of her angel and always vanished as soon as he made his presence known. He wasn't exactly subtle. There was something angry about him, about the way he manifested to others. Understandable. The world was riddled with injustice. It was enough to justify the most extreme displays of anger. She knew this. And now she waited because she knew the woman had survived and that the two of them were searching for her. No one had ever survived. Strange. Either she'd miscalculated or the little redhead was meant to live after all. It was possible. At this point, she'd learned that anything was possible. She had certainly underestimated the strength of the bond between the woman and the tall dark man. The woman was under his spell -- that much was clear. And yet doubt stabbed through her. It was possible, just possible, that the reverse was in fact true. Or that the spell was mutual. Strange. But she'd heard the man shout "federal agent" and although she wasn't entirely sure what this meant, she suspected he and the woman were on board to find her. To stop her. It had never occurred to her that anyone would try to stop her. Now she realized that this oversight on her part was actually somewhat -- strange. It was just that she'd always considered herself to be a good person, a person with a virtuous mission. Why would anyone try to stop the righteous? Unless, of course, they belonged to the darkness. And as she thought about it, she concluded that this was the only logical explanation. In that case, the forces of evil were in for a big surprise. She smiled. And waited. He'd stayed a little sulky for a while, pulling self-consciously at the front of his sweatshirt to hide the effect she'd had on him. But she knew he understood they had a job to do. First and foremost. In any case, it would've been unconscionable for them to turn their backs on the danger this woman represented. By the time they'd flashed their badges and gained access to the crew and engineering decks, he was his old self again. "Where d'you think she is?" "How the hell should I know, Mulder? You're the one with the instinct." The corridors were outrageously narrow. Crewmen in various states of undress poked their heads out and stared at them as they went by. At her, actually. The level of testosterone in the air was enough to make her long for a convent. Several men lounged in doorways and leered openly. She could feel Mulder close by her side, but to his credit he didn't try to establish ownership as they made their way through the hot, close halls. Evidently, the crew weren't privy to the same level of air circulation as the passengers. Scully could feel sweat beginning to trickle down her face. "Hear the ghost tonight?" Mulder was addressing one of the lounging crewmen. The Indonesian shook his head. "C Deck. Something there. The lights." Mulder nodded. "Nothing else?" "Always it's the engine room at night. Here is only day, sometimes evening." Scully looked at him. "Do you believe in this ghost?" The man studied her for a moment. "In my country, there are as many ghosts as living people. No one dies, miss. They become visible only to each other. Another..." he struggled for words. "Another world that exists in the same space." She stared, fascinated. "Sometimes they are angry. Because of the living, because of what we do. Sometimes only because we forget them." Mulder threw a glance at her. "The dead are... what do you say?" He turned around and said something to another crewman, who stared into space for a moment. "Conscience, yes?" The man nodded. "Ah. The dead are the conscience of the living." Scully shivered. She'd heard the words before, more or less. An old man, a career soldier, all American. A man who'd seen too much. "Universal truths, Scully," Mulder murmured. She looked up at him, startled. She'd quoted the old man's words to him when they'd stood together at her sister's grave. She thanked the crewman and kept walking. A blast of cold air greeted them as they emerged onto the engineering deck. As if that wasn't enough, the overhead lights flickered and dimmed in the cavernous space which housed the ship's monstrous engines. "Bingo," Mulder whispered as he rubbed his arms. She pulled her gun out and looked at him as he stood shivering. He really should've worn long sleeves. "You were a popsicle less than three hours ago, Mulder. What does it take for you to learn a lesson?" He gave her a dirty look and shushed her with a finger against his lips. They were standing on a metal grill platform which hung over the vast expanse of the deck. There was a smell of grease and oil in the air, cut considerably by the cold, Scully surmised. It should have been hot as hell in there. She peered over the iron railing. The space went down and down; huge black boilers gleamed dully in the subdued light. It would have been an eerie sight at the best of times. Scully sighed. Why was it they almost invariably seemed to wind up in places that looked like abandoned factories? Well. Most of the time it was true they actually *were* abandoned factories. So why was it that every criminal on the planet seemed to seek final refuge in what was at the very least a reasonable facsimile of an abandoned factory? She smirked. This was actually striking her as mildly amusing. God. How jaded could you get? She'd obviously been doing this too long. In this particular case, though, it was clear Mulder wasn't sharing her train of thought. He was heading for a narrow iron staircase. As she reached him, he stopped suddenly on a lower step and turned to her, his lips to her ear. "Be careful. She may try to kill you again." "How do you know?" Her lips barely moved. "She's not used to failing. Stay close to me." As they proceeded noiselessly down the steps, it occurred to her that this woman probably didn't have a whole lot of warm fuzzy feelings for Mulder either. If she knew she was cornered, she'd probably lash out at anyone who came near her. Scully set her mouth grimly and followed her partner into what felt like hell. Once they'd reached the floor of the deck, the dull throb of the engines was the only sound they heard and it was next to impossible to see anything at all. The large overhead lights were dim and ineffectual; a few even flickered and winked out as they walked. Scully suspected that the room was normally filled with harsh light which only added to the heat. A heat she could only imagine as the cold bit through her. Yet the boilers were hot enough; waves of warm air radiated from them only to be almost immediately dissipated by the wall of cold. She played her flashlight over looming coal-black surfaces and winced as metal snapped and popped around her. The contrast between hot and cold was causing the steel and iron to expand and contract audibly. As if she wasn't already jumpy enough. And then they cleared a bank of oil drums to find a little round clearing of sorts lit dimly by one of the overhead lights. The woman sat in the centre on a perfectly normal chair, looking for all the world as though she'd been waiting for them to arrive. Mist curled around her, licking her feet like an obedient pet. She recognized it. In fact, she could feel the cold emanating from it. The woman seemed oblivious to whatever discomfort the damn thing had to be causing her. "So nice to see you both." Scully raised her gun and held it firmly in both hands. "Hands in the air." The woman laughed and Scully yelped suddenly as she dropped the gun. It lay at her feet, covered in frost and smoking slightly from the intense cold. Her hands ached and burned. Christ. She felt something brush against her arm. Mulder. He was suddenly right next to her and she felt his hand move up her back until it settled on her shoulder. She gasped a little as he pulled her against his side. "Mulder..." Scully tried to unclench her teeth. Why didn't he reach for his gun, dammit? God. She knew why. There was no point. No point at all. "Lovely to see you too," he said mildly, his gaze locked on the woman. "Hope you don't mind if my friend and I stick together. Bad things seem to happen when we're apart." Scully stared at him and then turned back to the woman. The woman smiled and looked at her. "You're making a big mistake with this one, my dear. He's not to be trusted." Scully forced herself to relaxed and shrugged. "Well, you know men. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." The woman laughed. "Isn't it the truth?" She studied her affectionately. "You're a feisty one. Maybe I worried about you for nothing." "What do you mean?" "It's funny, you know," she continued thoughtfully as if Scully hadn't spoken. "I never make mistakes about this kind of thing." She looked up. "Oh, well. First time for everything. I've had time to think a little. Now I'm fairly certain it's you, Mr. Seasick, who needs my help." "You're wrong," Mulder said tightly. She raised an eyebrow and waited. "Oh?" "The only one who still needs to be freed is you." "Me?" He nodded. Scully squirmed and tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened as he spoke. "Think about it. Everyone you've... freed suffered in ways that are similar to what you've been through yourself." The woman looked at him calmly and said nothing. Scully wished he'd let her go, but part of her grasped what he was doing, and why. It was a standard analysis of a killer's motives, after all. Too bad this one seemed to have some kind of psychic force that might actually render her invulnerable. "You've done your job. You've fulfilled your mandate. We were sent to inform you that you can rest now. You've done well." God. What the hell was he doing? This had to be a dangerous path. The woman only smiled. "You're satisfied, then?" Mulder smiled back. "Very." The woman nodded serenely. Scully let out a breath. He never ceased to amaze her. "Well. I'm pleased as punch." She rose gracefully and smoothed her black evening dress. Something in the woman's tone made her suspicious, but she kept her mouth shut as Mulder gestured back in the direction they'd come from. "Why don't we walk you back to your room?" "A marvellous idea." The woman inclined her head graciously and stepped out of the circle of light. As they turned to follow her, her voice, clear, lit with laughter, drifted back towards them. "Except my mother always warned me not to walk with strangers. Especially when they're sent by Satan." Scully's world exploded into light as an unimaginable force struck her and sent her sailing through the air. She vaguely felt Mulder's arm loosen its grip before she slammed into a stack of oil barrels and fell, her breath knocked out of her. The barrels shook and trembled. Her body screamed with pain but she ducked and rolled off to the side just as two of the large drums crashed into the space she'd just occupied. "Scully!" His voice came from somewhere to her left. And then she heard him scream. "Mulder!" Scully rose shakily and stumbled, almost falling. She narrowly missed careening off a boiler stack as she skidded around the corner and stopped, aghast. Mulder was elevated in the air, held up by nothing she could see. He writhed in the mist that had wrapped itself around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips open wide in agony as the mist swirled in and out of his mouth, his nose, even from the corners of his eyes. "No!" The woman stood in front of him, grinning. Her arms were folded across her chest. "Stop it!" Scully ran for her blindly and then froze as a tendril of mist broke away from Mulder and suddenly lunged towards her, hovering. "I don't want to hurt you, my dear. Please don't make me." "Let him go." "He's a bad man." "No. He's anything but." The woman turned and looked at her. As their eyes met, Scully suddenly saw her clearly. Fatigue washed over her as it had on the landing what felt like centuries ago and all at once she knew. She remembered. This woman. Her soul was dark, but the darkness was born of confusion, of unimaginable pain and sorrow. Lifetimes of it. Over and over again. She carried a magnet for it, somehow. A soul whose destiny it was to harvest sorrow out of others' way. As evolved a soul as you could find on the planet. These were strong beings, beings whose evolution was almost complete, bodhisatvas, the Buddhists called them, souls who chose for a time to bear the brunt of human pain so that others might be spared its paralyzing weight. The guardian angels of humanity. The teachers, the masters, the ones who did silent good and were rarely recognized. Some sorrow was necessary in every soul's life. To learn, to grow. But too much could lead to irreparable damage. This one had cracked under the pressure of other people's pain. Possibly because something in her had driven her to return over and over long past the point where she was useful. Some part of her still clung to human existence when in fact she should have been freed from it long before. A fallen angel. One who'd forgotten what she'd already achieved. Scully recognized her vaguely through the fog of memories she only barely knew she had. They were kindred spirits. Bodhisatvas both. But Scully's time was now. The other's had passed and now her soul was backsliding, regressing horribly. She'd accumulated enough debt in this lifetime to reincarnate as an animal. Tragic. And rare. But it happened. The woman's eyes grew wide as she stared at Scully. Something flickered in her eyes. Some frail fragment of memory. "No..." she whispered. Scully was already forgetting, but she knew, somehow, that the soul she saw staring at her from behind night-black eyes was the one who remembered, the one who'd already been old when Scully herself had embarked on the path. Powerful. And deadly if the power was turned towards evil. Scully knew vaguely that she herself didn't have nearly the power of the other. But she could make sure the other knew that she'd been recognized. Scully turned to Mulder and concentrated. On what? She wasn't sure. On freeing him from the influence of the other. On releasing him from the mist. On loving him. Nothing more, in the end. And nothing less. The mist swirled around him madly for moments and then broke apart suddenly, scattering; he fell to the ground, inert but alive. Alive. Scully could feel his life force as though it were her own. She turned back to the other, who was staring at her now in horror and pain. She remembered. She remembered what Scully had already almost forgotten. "Please..." Their eyes locked and Scully couldn't remember why. She felt a wave of dizziness and swayed. And then the tatters of mist seemed to regroup, billowing and roiling as they headed towards the woman and began to climb up her body slowly until she was completely enveloped. Scully could barely make out the woman's features now and she was tired, so tired. "I'm sorry..." The other's voice seemed to drift through the cloud which finally was all there was to see. Scully yawned and sat down. So tired. Her eyes closed. "Scully." The voice was familiar somehow, but she was so sleepy. "Scully!" She moaned a little and batted at the source of whatever it was that kept harping at her. She heard a muffled "ooof" and something stopped her hand, grasping it. "She's conscious." Yeah, right, she thought irritably. Anyone who thought this was consciousness was bound to be a real drag at parties. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, and reached for non- existent covers. God. Where the hell were the damn covers? She heard a chuckle. "Yep. That's Scully, all right." Mulder. Christ. She sat bolt upright, startling Mulder so that he almost fell off the side of the narrow bed. "Jesus, Scully. Can't you wake up like normal people?" The ship doctor hovered over her partner's shoulder. She stared at Mulder's face, worried somehow but she couldn't quite remember why. "What happened?" He reached over and stroked her cheek. "The killer's dead, Scully. Do you remember the woman?" She nodded slowly. "When I came to, I found her frozen solid like a side of meat. Hard as a rock. And you were lying in front of her, curled up peacefully like all was well with the world." "Really?" She tried to remember. "I panicked at first but you were breathing fine. You looked like you'd simply dropped off, except that nothing I did woke you up." She suddenly stared at him suspiciously and he grinned. "What did you try?" "Well, for one thing I'm sorry to report that Sleeping Beauty is just a fairy tale, Scully. Unless I'm not Prince Charming, which I suppose is remotely plausible." She poked him in the chest and he chortled. The doctor straightened and rolled his eyes. "Everything seems fine here, I'd say." She glared at him. "Medicine. Such an exact science." He nodded. "Agent Mulder mentioned you were a doctor. We make the worst patients, as you know." She started as she remembered. "Mulder?" Her eyes were wild for a moment. "You were suspended in that mist. Are you okay?" "Is that what happened?" He shook his head. "I don't remember any of it. Mild burns here and there; nothing too serious. The doctor patched me up." "Cold burns." He looked at her. "I was suspended in the air, Scully? And you're willing to admit it in front of a witness?" She shrugged. "I saw what I saw. I'm not prepared to advance any explanations for what it was." He smiled at her. "The ship's docked in Jamaica." "So we should go." "Go where?" "Back to Washington, Mulder. Where else?" He groaned in protest. Scully turned to the doctor. "Can you arrange for us to take the body back?" The man shuddered. "No problem. It won't thaw out for days. Never seen anything like it and quite frankly I'd rather it didn't stay on the ship. We'll have to take some quarantine precautions with the body, though." Scully nodded. Although she knew whatever this woman had died from wasn't remotely catching. She hesitated. How did she know? She could only barely remember what had happened. Hell. She just knew. "Do we know who she was?" Mulder looked at her. "A name, Scully. I've got a name. We'll have to run it through the computer to establish her real identity. My guess is we'll find out she was just an ordinary woman with no priors and no motives." She threw her legs over the side of the bed and fought momentary dizziness. Mulder steadied her. "You okay?" "I'm fine, Mulder." He wrapped his arm around her for a quick moment and sniggered. "I know, Scully. I know. You're always fine." She let Mulder doze on the flight home. After all, he'd been awake for days. Under the circumstances, though, he seemed in remarkably good shape; he'd made jokes, smiled and looked happier than he had in a long time. Since she'd known him, possibly. Scully suspected she knew why. She suspected he was looking forward to something. As it happened, she thought a little ruefully, so was she. But she wasn't sure she was ready for it. It had been four years. She knew she could count on him to wait a little longer if that was what she needed. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure what she needed. At some point he awoke and looked at her. By some miracle, they'd been blessed with the entire row on this flight. He lay back, sprawled against the window, and gazed at her as she sat on the seat across the aisle. "What do you think happened, Scully?" She shrugged. "The killer's stopped. That's the most important thing." He dropped his feet and slid over to the aisle seat next to her. "Yeah, but what do you remember?" "The last thing I remember clearly is seeing you suspended in midair, surrounded by the mist. You were obviously in a lot of pain." "And?" "And I remember freaking out and telling the woman to let you go." She stopped and thought for a moment. "Oh. I also remember the mist leaving you. You dropped to the ground." Her eyes widened. "That's it. The mist ended up around the woman. She was completely smothered in it." He nodded. "It killed her. She was covered in thick frost, Scully, like those guys from the Franklin Expedition they dug up in the arctic." "The same frost that almost killed you." He pursed his lips and she found herself staring at them. "I'm not sure it would've killed me. You said yourself that it started to dissipate shortly after you put me in the shower." She said nothing. "But what was it, Scully? If it was her own psychic projection, why would it suddenly turn on her?" "You're asking *me*?" She feigned disbelief. He grinned. No question about it. He was chipper as hell. This called for extreme measures. "Since you ask, I'd have to say that either a) the mist was a poltergeist-like psychic projection which turned against her when she admitted her guilt and/or felt doubt about her mission for the first time, or b) it was actually a manifestation of Vanmeer or some other spirit and she somehow tapped into its power because it had its own agenda to fulfil, except it decided to bail out when the going got tough, or c) it was some kind of manifestation of the killer's conscience which assisted her as long as she had the moral certitude of what she was doing, and then she willingly allowed it to consume her when she realized she was wrong. How's that?" His jaw dropped. "Mulder?" "Are you serious?" She smiled. "Well, actually -- naaaaaaah." He choked and started laughing. When he was finally able to talk again, he wiped his eyes and looked at her. "Still mad at me?" "No." She was serious, suddenly. "But that was the second- to-last straw, Mulder." He said nothing. "I've put up with your madness. I've tolerated your ditching me on cases, even when it actually put me in danger; I've let you run amok without me, putting yourself and our careers on the line. I've been dragged in front of committees and hearings because of you, and none of it's stopped you from prancing around doing whatever you feel like doing. "Scully..." "No more." She fixed him and he sat still, gazing at her. "The only reason I'm not asking for an immediate transfer is because I know that you care about me, in your own way, as much as you do anyone. More than you do anyone, probably. I know you'd die or kill for me. You trust me, even, and I actually believe there's no one else in that category." "Scully, you have to believe me..." "I do believe you. But there's a limit to what I'll put up with, Mulder. And you've reached it. This is it. There's no room for one more thing." He just looked at her. "You understand this isn't an ultimatum, Mulder. It's a statement of fact." He shifted a little. "So what about us?" "What about us?" "Something's happened between us." "Nothing's happened between us that hasn't been there all along." He shook his head impatiently. "Scully, you know what I mean." She considered this. "I don't know that I do. I have to think about it." "You think too much." "And you don't think enough." He brightened. "So we need each other." "We already have each other, Mulder. Don't you see? What you're talking about is... something else." "Something I want, Scully. Something I know you want too." "That doesn't mean it's a good idea." "It doesn't mean it's a bad one either. For Christ's sake, Scully..." "Look." She lay a hand on his. It was clutching the armrest. To each his turbulence, apparently. "Don't push me, Mulder." He met her eyes solemnly for a long moment. "Okay." She smiled at him. He didn't smile back, but although his body sagged a little, his eyes held nothing but patience. "I've waited this long, Scully." She squeezed his hand, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. END