Beating the Darkness Back, Part 3
Oct. 27th, 2008 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anjouficTitle: Beating the Darkness Back 3/7
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
comice aka Anjou (Anjou@rocketmail.com)
Posting Date: October 2008
Rating: R for language and sexuality; M for Mature readers
Classification: Mulder/Scully, MSR, post-ep for IWTB
Archive: No archival until the story is completed, please. I'll be submitting to Ephemeral and Gossamer myself.
Spoilers: Through I Want To Believe
Disclaimer: All X-Files personnel belong to 1013 and Fox. All other elements are mine.
Author's Note: Beating the Darkness Back will be posted in seven parts. Parts 1 & 2, and 3 & 4 will be posted together, as they are just long sections that needed to be cut in half for ease of posting. This story is finished, although still undergoing final editing for Parts 5-7. I expect it will be all posted in a week's time. Posts can be read on my fic journal:anjoufic, as well as Ephemeral and other XF fic sites. The whole tale will be archived at my website, No Other … , maintained by the generous dtg, when it is completed.
Thanks to Konrad Frye and especially the fabulouslilydale for not only willingly answering questions about the novelization of "I Want To Believe" that clarified the timeline for this writer, but for being brave enough to have read it in the first place.
As always, my biggest thanks go to my sister and editrix, Suzanne, for her support, and above all, her patience.
Summary: Where do we go from here, now that we are free?
~*~
March 23, 2008
Private Islands, Bahamas
Scully had been smiling since they’d touched down in Ft. Lauderdale. It wasn’t an all-out grin, but her face was set in the curved shape that he associated with pleasure. No furrow in her brow, no line of worry or want marred her pretty face. More importantly, no mask adorned it. Her face was simply open and relaxed and happy, the closer they got to their destination. He was reasonably certain that his face had only relaxed into such an expression much more recently.
Mulder knew that it had been a long time since they’d traveled anywhere on a plane, and that he was simply out of practice with all the possibilities for frustrating holdups that could be encountered. They had, it seemed, run into every possible problem throughout the day. Storms in the North had made their plane late in getting to Richmond. Charlotte was backed up for similar reasons. The thing was, Mulder could have tolerated all of those delays more easily, if not for the fact that their vacation itself had been postponed by more than a month. Scully’s treatment of Christian had gone well for the most part, but hadn’t been without its issues, and Scully had been unwilling to leave until she was sure that the boy wouldn’t have a setback. At one point, Mulder was certain that it would summer before she’d consent to actually leave Virginia -- especially after she’d been encouraged to write a monograph on her adaptation of the treatment of Sandhoff’s Disease to treat what was likely to be called Fearon Syndrome. However, the fact that they’d have both internet and computer access at their destination had swayed Scully, and aside from a bulging briefcase, her only other work-related luggage was the draft manuscript she carried on a memory stick.
Mulder had his own briefcase full of reading, not to mention his own memory stick of papers due for the courses he’d been taking as he explored requalification. Unlike Scully, he’d been tempted to conveniently forget them both at one of the airports they’d been through today. Of course, he’d also been tempted to rent a car and drive to Ft. Lauderdale when the delays at Charlotte threatened to derail their arrival in Nassau by yet one more day, after far too many postponements.
Luckily, cooler heads had prevailed, but only because they had just made the last flight to Nassau. From there, they had taken a short flight to Lobster Cay over astonishingly azure seas, and checked in at the main island. The trip across the open water just after sunset had not given them the kind of view of their island that he’d planned for. He'd plotted their arrival so carefully, pictured them approaching the island as the sun lowered in the sky, and then sharing a cocktail on the hammock as the sun set, but it was not to be. At this hour, it was hard to discern features of the water and the land, but with the warm wind caressing his face, there was still no question that they had left winter far behind. Besides, it seemed that the lack of the perfect view mattered only to him.
Scully sat at the bow of the resort's sleek speedboat, watching as their island came into view. For the next two weeks, they were the sole occupants of a 2.5-acre forested island with a bungalow, private lagoon, rowboat and sailboat moored off the windward side. He smiled to see her barely tamped down excitement as they got closer to land. Her long hair, gone curly in the humid air, streamed backwards as she leaned over the bow, trying to see more of their destination. She looked, he realized with a shock, exactly like the carved figureheads he remembered from his childhood home. He was dumbfounded at the resemblance, now that he saw it. He hadn't thought of them in years – but on Martha's Vineyard in the 1970's, those figureheads had been as much a part of the decorative landscape as nautical anchors, lighthouses and sea shells. Figureheads from decommissioned ships graced flagpole tops, held up mailboxes and stared down the storm surges of winter from the sea-facing walls of the most elegant waterside homes. There had even been a restaurant in Vineyard Haven built from the hull of one of the old whaling ships. In the main dining room, a collection of some of the most artful of those huntress maidens jutted out of the walls, fierce and beautiful blondes or redheads all, most with harpoons in their hands.
Scully turned away from looking for details of the island and regarded him curiously, as if picking up on his amazement. “Mulder,” she said, after pushing the mass of hair out of her eyes. “What?”
He shook his head, watching as she turned avian profile into the wind again and gathered her hair up in her hands before turning back. He grinned, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. “I’ll tell you later.”
She cocked her head and looked at the staff person from the resort, who seemed not in the least interested in them or their conversation.
“Did Skinner seem tense to you?” Scully asked him.
Mulder raised an eyebrow at her question. They had both been surprised to see Skinner at the security check-in gate at the Richmond airport. Clearly, he wanted to ensure that Mulder’s name really had been cleared from the no-fly list, and was ready to intervene if there had been a problem. “I don’t honestly know if I’ve ever seen Skinner relaxed,” Mulder observed.
“California,” Scully reminded him. Her lips moved silently to form the words “Lazarus Bowl.”
Mulder winced. If anything, their notoriety had made that awful movie even more of a cult classic. “Scully …” he protested. He had imposed a ‘no bringing up that movie’ rule years ago.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “But he was relaxed.”
“Or drunk,” Mulder said. “Anyway. He’s not a very relaxed guy – it took him a long time to warm up when he came to see me in January. Isn’t that the way he is with you?”
“No,” Scully said. “He tries very hard to be reassuring when he’s with me, and he’s usually very encouraging when he calls. I just had the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling us.”
Her expression reflected her worry, and Mulder hated to see it. “Well,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do about that right now, so let's not worry. Look,” he said, pointing ahead of them. Lights from the island marked the end of the dock.
Scully’s lips formed an ‘O’, and although he couldn't hear her happy exhalation, he was pleased to watch her face as it was transformed with delight.
The engine cut off abruptly as they approached the island, and the humid dark felt heavy with the sudden quiet, but the air was perfumed with unseen flowers, and the occasional call of a nightbird. They bumped up against the edge of the dock softly and turned sideways. The porter had jumped out of the boat onto the dock to secure it, and was joined by Scully, easily making the leap in her high heels before Mulder’d so much as begun to stand up. Scully tied off the front end of the boat and held out her hand to Mulder, much to the surprise of their companion.
“All ashore that’s going ashore,” she said, bracing herself and pulling as he leapt.
Mulder saluted before he kissed her. She was a moving target as the dock swayed beneath them, still disturbed from their arrival. He broke away from her to help the porter heft their bags onto the sand-worthy vehicle with heavy wheels at the end of the short dock, then turned to find that Scully was suddenly several inches shorter.
She tossed her shoes onto the luggage trolley and grinned up at him, digging her bare toes into the white sand. “We are at the beach,” she informed him.
He couldn’t help but grin back, even as he heard the unspoken end of the sentence, 'and there isn’t a dead body, or an alien, or a sea monster in sight!'
Before leading them up to their bungalow, their porter pointed out the bamboo pole that was dug into the sand near the dock. There were two flags available for them to signal with: yellow if they wanted housekeeping or food service, red if they wanted privacy. Mulder consulted Scully with a glance, knowing that he’d requested enough food for three days. At her nod, he slid the red flag into position. They followed the porter up a winding path, losing their view of the stars that had just begun to shine in the navy velvet of the sky to the canopy of lush foliage overhead. Ahead of them, they could see the lights from their bungalow before they entered a clearing ringed by fragrant flowers.
The bungalow itself was impressive, a roomy, single story structure with a gently sloping roof. There was an extensive patio with what appeared to be a compact kitchen, most of it tucked under a roof for shelter. They walked across it and through the open shutter style doors into the central area of the house, a great room that rose to a peak where fans lazily twirled. There was a fully appointed and far larger kitchen next to a living room with a huge entertainment center. The porter pointed out all of the amenities, including the warming tray where their dinners waited for them. Champagne was chilling in an ice bucket, and there was an enormous fruit basket on one of the counters.
The look that Scully gave him was positively wide-eyed. He was relatively certain that his own expression could be described as smug. He felt his shoulders relax as he realized that his expectations for their accommodations had been exceeded.
The porter showed them the master bedroom, complete with king-sized bed. A hoop above it held a mosquito net canopy made of a fine white mesh, but the porter assured them that they would have little use for it. While the porter unloaded their bags onto the tile floor, Mulder watched Scully taking in the features of the room. The bedroom was open on two sides: doors to the patio they had first encountered on one side, and doors to a private, enclosed terrace on the other.
The bathroom attached to the master bedroom was as big as their bedroom in their old farmhouse back home, and featured a soaking tub that was easily six feet long. There was no door out to the patio, but alongside the tub there was a large window, through which the porter assured them, they'd have a clear view of the ocean during the day. There was a shower inside the room itself, but an outdoor shower was also available. The porter took them into the large space. It had high walls, and drying racks for bathing gear, but an open roof. Above them, there were hundreds of stars. The door into the shower from outside the house led them to a path, which in turn led to the lagoon. The cabana there housed their rowboat, scuba and snorkeling gear. The porter reminded them that there was a safe in their bedroom should they wish to stow their valuables while off the island and wished them a good night.
Before the porter rounded the house to return to the dock, Mulder remembered his manners and hurried after him to give him a tip. Then, he took off his own shoes and socks and sauntered around the exterior of their bungalow, listening to the breezes ruffle the palm trees and vines overhead, before he turned onto the patio, admiring the set-up. He dropped his shoes next to the open doors. This was exactly what they needed.
He re-entered the house to find Scully waiting for him, hands on her hips.
“Mulder, how much money did you spend on this?” she demanded.
He laughed at her ire. “A lot,” he said succinctly. “A lot, a lot, a lot,” he continued, when her arms showed no signs of relaxing. He began ticking items off on his fingers. “Let's see -- fifteen years, and zero vacations,” he said. “None that we ever spent together, anyway."
“Mulder,” she began, but he spoke over her.
"Not to mention the fact that for the past five years, we’ve had to live as if we only had your salary to support us, so that we wouldn’t raise any suspicions.”
"Well," Scully said, "we had to …"
“We had to buy our crummy little house with a mortgage!” Mulder interjected.
She rolled her eyes at his incensed tone, having heard his speech on the evils of interest payments far too often over the years, but did pipe up to defend their house. “I like our house,” she said heatedly, “and I object to the characterization of it as crummy!”
He stepped in closer to her. “I like our house, too, Scully,” he said softly. “I love our house because it’s our home, and it’s not some shitty motel on some back road somewhere, but it’s not what I envisioned when I pictured us building our life together.”
“And this is?” she waved her arm around.
“No,” he said. “This is to make up for the fact that for so long I haven’t been able to give you any of those things.”
She stepped up and put her hand on his arm. “None of that matters to me, Mulder,” she said. “The fact that you’re here with me, that’s what counts.”
“But that’s not what I want,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I want to spoil you. I wanted to spoil us, to celebrate the fact that we don’t have to look over our shoulders anymore. Can’t you let me give that to you?”
She regarded him seriously, listening to what he was saying.
“You’ve given me so much, Scully,” he said. “This is something I wanted to do for us.”
She nodded, and he dropped his forehead down to rest on hers.
“Is it so terrible?” he asked teasingly.
She made an irate noise in her throat and tried to push away from him, but he held on fast. “It’s fantastic, and you know it,” she said.
He bent down and kissed her.
“Just don’t ever tell me how much this cost,” she ordered him.
~*~
When Mulder opened his eyes the next morning, he thought he might still be dreaming, so he closed them again. The thing was, he usually didn’t hear Scully giggling in his dreams, or feel her slender finger run down his nose.
When he opened his eyes again, she was still laying there in the bed next to him, her head propped up on one hand. Aside from the sunglasses that she was using as a headband, the only thing that she was wearing was a delightfully small dark purple bikini. He blinked and reached for her, only to have her roll swiftly away and stand at the side of the bed.
“No, no, lazybones,” she said. “There’s plenty of time for that later. You have to get up and come outside. It’s fantastic.” She picked up what looked like a long white shirt and put it on like a robe, moving backwards to the open patio doors.
Even through sleep-blurred eyes, he could see that it was going to be an absolutely gorgeous day, with incredibly blue skies. The soft lighting told him that it was still early, but seeing the grounds around their bungalow in daylight was an eye-opening sight. The garden was full of orchids and hibiscus, a riot of color under the verdant canopy of palm trees that ringed the house. But nothing was more vivid than the many tones of iridescent blue of the open water that he could see down the gentle slope of the hill.
“Wow,” he said groggily.
“I know!” Scully said enthusiastically. “Get up!” She tossed him a pair of swim trunks, hitting him squarely in the face.
He protested, but sat up, then scooted over to the edge of the enormous bed. In so doing, he caught sight of the clock. 6:45, it read. Which meant that it was actually 5:45 where his body was. “Scully!” he said, “it’s unbelievably freaking early!” When she didn’t answer, he looked over his shoulder to see that she was seated at the table on the patio, feet up on another chair, eating a large bowl of fruit. She’d made coffee.
“I want to go swimming,” she said. “With you. And unless you want me to get burned to a crisp, it’s now or at the very end of the day. We’ll take a siesta in the middle of the day.” Her voice was seductive, meant to entice.
“Promise?” he asked sulkily.
“If you get up right now,” she sing-songed.
He huffed and dragged himself into the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of her snickering.
~*~
He would have groaned in ecstasy when the warm blue water closed over his head, but he still had enough sense to avoid drowning, or at least ingesting salt water. It had literally been years since he had been in any water deeper than their bathtub at home. As enjoyable as that most certainly had been, especially since he was usually not alone, it could not compare to the luxury of stretching out in the ocean and swimming.
After he had swum straight out from the shore for a couple of laps, he rolled onto his back and just reached as far as he could, drawing air into his lungs. The muscle memory of swimming was strong, but he knew that he was going to be sore from the hyperextension. Still, it would be worth every ache and pain to feel this joy at the weightlessness granted by the water. He arched his back, letting the water cup him in support. He would be taller by the end of this week, he thought fancifully. There was only so much that yoga could do for him, what with the size differential between him and Scully. Although, it was not like he was going to forego those pleasures -- even if he ended his life as a hunchback, he would be the happiest hunchback alive.
It was kind of amazing that for all those years he had never allowed himself to think about how much he missed swimming. Contrarily, now that he was immersed in the ocean, he felt the lack of it in his recent life acutely. He never wanted to leave this warm haven, even if there was something missing from this nearly perfect joy. He turned his head this way and that, looking for Scully.
She was approaching him, her pace more leisurely than his, but her strokes strong and sure. Her movements were efficient and gracefully precise, as was her way. She drew up alongside him and stood, treading water, then tipped her head back to slick her long hair away from her brow. She shaded her eyes from the early morning sun and he lazily stroked a half-circle around her so that she was no longer facing it, lounging on his back and smiling.
She watched him transit her in a tight orbit with a bemused expression on her face, before asking him, “Do I need to find you a cigarette, Mulder?”
He smiled at her cheekiness. “Just about,” he said, stretching out and then circling her again for the sheer freedom of it. “We’re in the ocean, Scully! I can’t even remember the last time I went swimming.”
"None of the motels you stayed in …" she began, but stopped as he shook his head in denial.
"I would have felt too vulnerable," he said. "Besides, it was kinda the last thing on my mind at the time."
She nodded sadly. "But now …" she pointed out, more cheerfully.
"Yeah," he said. "Although if the local pools are as shabby as that one in West Virginia, no thanks."
She chuckled ruefully. "That was a little low-rent," she admitted.
"A little, Scully?" he retorted. "You could smell the chlorine from the road!" He rolled over onto his stomach and floated up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Hell-o," he said in a low voice, bumping up against her in the water.
"Hello yourself," she said agreeably, with a raised eyebrow, before adding. "I'd like to remind you that I'm floating."
He tested his footing and found that he was also over his head but then again, when wasn’t he, as far as she was concerned? "Pity," he said. "I'd like to be a dolphin, just about now." He kissed her as the warm water lapped against them.
She sighed as they broke apart, leaving her arms wrapped around his neck. They spun ever so slowly in the water, being moved this way and that by the current as it circled their small island, their knees occasionally bumping as they treaded, trying to achieve a complementary rhythm.
"So, what's our plan for the day?" Mulder asked.
She looked up at him bemusedly. "Are you looking to schedule something in particular, Mulder? Because other than not getting sunburned, I have, as they say, no fixed plans."
Mulder smiled at her words. "It'll be a miracle if we get any color at all, Scully, with the amount of gloop you put on us."
"You've barely been outside in daylight for five years, Mulder," she said primly. "I felt a little caution was warranted."
"Yes, yes," he said, "but the next time you accuse me of being single-minded, I have new evidence to back up an alternative point of view."
"Shut up and float, Mulder," she reproved lightly.
He closed his eyes and let the water carry them toward the shore.
~*~
They had lazed around in the water drowsily until the sun was well up over the horizon, then gone up to the patio and had a larger breakfast. Scully had explored their bungalow and found a vast collection of beach reading. She had picked something that looked suspiciously like chick lit and was ensconced in the shade on the massive hammock that swung between two of the sturdiest palms on the property.
Calling that gigantic contraption a hammock was a bit of a misnomer, in Mulder's judgment, since it was more like a mattress suspended between the trees. Its possibilities intrigued him, but he could wait a while to indulge in them, at least until the promised midday siesta. For now, he was content to explore their island, and walked down it looking for their sailboat, but did not see it moored off the northern side of the island. He and Scully had swum along the roughly southern edge of the island, and they'd approached it from the East when they'd arrived last night. Even in the dim light of the gloaming, he thought that he would have noticed it.
He rambled back up island and then splashed across the shoulder-deep water of the lagoon to the small northwestern tip of their tear-shaped piece of paradise. A path led him through the dense growth of palm and plants to the tiny edge of their island. Several hundred yards offshore, a sailboat with furled sails sat on the placid seas, awaiting them. He rubbed his chin in satisfaction and turned back to the lagoon.
Scully had been dubious about him sailing, and remained unconvinced that he wouldn't have another episode of epic seasickness like he'd had in the Northern Atlantic. His continued reminders that he'd had plenty of crossings on the ferry in his early years that were problem-free had been met with decided skepticism, almost as if she knew that he was omitting the part about his routine problems with winter crossings. However, his protestations that the North Atlantic was not the Caribbean must have made an impression, as she'd asked him at breakfast when they were planning their sail. A passing breeze ruffled the trees, bending them toward the western, windward side of the island, but dropped nearly immediately. He only hoped that they'd get enough wind for the sail he’d originally planned for Scully’s birthday last month.
The midmorning sun was definitely hotter than anything he'd felt in a long time, so he shed his Tevas on the bungalow side of the lagoon and dove in for his second swim of the day. He steadily stroked his way around the perimeter of their island in the abundant sunshine until he returned to the lagoon and just floated in a shady patch of water, stuck somewhere halfway between sleep and waking, thoughts tumbling around in his head in no particular order. True sleep was an impossibility in his current environment, and he finally stumbled out of the water groggily after he found himself dwelling on Skinner's presence at the airport.
In retrospect, he realized that Scully had been correct -- Skinner had been more than his typically tense self, and Mulder had a hard time believing that it was just because he was worried about Mulder's status on the no-fly list. He firmly pushed the thought away as he entered the outdoor shower to rinse off the salt. Worrying had become a way of life for him over the past few years -- he had the lines on his forehead to prove it -- and after all the worrying over discovery and separation from Scully, his freedom had been restored via a scenario straight out of those horror movies that were so popular these days. He never would have predicted such a plot twist, and most likely would have rejected it if he'd come up with the idea for his own works of fiction. But the end result, no matter how improbable, was the same: he was free. He was out of hiding, and out of the country, breathing in warm air lightly scented by exotic flowers -- whatever was troubling Skinner was beyond his control.
He entered their bathroom from the outdoor shower and gave a quick brush to his hair, wrapping a towel around his hips. He'd gotten an actual haircut before the trip, but wasn't sure if he was wild about the shaggy cut. Styles were a little too reminiscent of the '70s for him – not the best time of his life, even if it had been formative.
Mulder strode out onto the patio to see if Scully was ready for some lunch, but was arrested in mid-stride by the sight of her on the hammock. She lay on her side facing him as the hammock stirred ever so slightly. She was wearing the cover up over her bikini, but had pushed it aside, exposing the delicious curve of her waist as it flowed into her hips. Her left arm was extended out toward the book that she'd been reading, its worn spine cracked open as a page fluttered in the light breeze. She was fast asleep, but not alone. A tiny green parakeet sat on one of the ropes attaching the hammock to the tree behind her head, as if keeping watch over her.
Mulder backed into their bedroom and found the camera, trying to be as quiet as possible. He winced at the noise the camera made when it powered up, but the bird merely turned its head and regarded Mulder with one inquisitive eye before it returned to its seeming contemplation of his sleeping love. He was able to take a couple of pictures before the bird cocked his head at Mulder again and then flew away. He watched it until he heard Scully murmuring in her sleep. She rubbed her hand against the cotton coverlet on the hammock, her brow furrowed as if the flight of the bird had somehow disturbed her peace. Mulder crossed to her side and picked up her hand and kissed it, then carefully lay down beside her, trying not to rock the mobile bed. Scully stirred, but did not wake. He watched her expression even out as she returned to a deep sleep, then laid there admiring her beauty until his own eyelids closed, and he knew no more.
~*~
Part 4
Author:
comice aka Anjou (Anjou@rocketmail.com)Posting Date: October 2008
Rating: R for language and sexuality; M for Mature readers
Classification: Mulder/Scully, MSR, post-ep for IWTB
Archive: No archival until the story is completed, please. I'll be submitting to Ephemeral and Gossamer myself.
Spoilers: Through I Want To Believe
Disclaimer: All X-Files personnel belong to 1013 and Fox. All other elements are mine.
Author's Note: Beating the Darkness Back will be posted in seven parts. Parts 1 & 2, and 3 & 4 will be posted together, as they are just long sections that needed to be cut in half for ease of posting. This story is finished, although still undergoing final editing for Parts 5-7. I expect it will be all posted in a week's time. Posts can be read on my fic journal:
anjoufic, as well as Ephemeral and other XF fic sites. The whole tale will be archived at my website, No Other … , maintained by the generous dtg, when it is completed.Thanks to Konrad Frye and especially the fabulous
lilydale for not only willingly answering questions about the novelization of "I Want To Believe" that clarified the timeline for this writer, but for being brave enough to have read it in the first place. As always, my biggest thanks go to my sister and editrix, Suzanne, for her support, and above all, her patience.
Summary: Where do we go from here, now that we are free?
~*~
March 23, 2008
Private Islands, Bahamas
Scully had been smiling since they’d touched down in Ft. Lauderdale. It wasn’t an all-out grin, but her face was set in the curved shape that he associated with pleasure. No furrow in her brow, no line of worry or want marred her pretty face. More importantly, no mask adorned it. Her face was simply open and relaxed and happy, the closer they got to their destination. He was reasonably certain that his face had only relaxed into such an expression much more recently.
Mulder knew that it had been a long time since they’d traveled anywhere on a plane, and that he was simply out of practice with all the possibilities for frustrating holdups that could be encountered. They had, it seemed, run into every possible problem throughout the day. Storms in the North had made their plane late in getting to Richmond. Charlotte was backed up for similar reasons. The thing was, Mulder could have tolerated all of those delays more easily, if not for the fact that their vacation itself had been postponed by more than a month. Scully’s treatment of Christian had gone well for the most part, but hadn’t been without its issues, and Scully had been unwilling to leave until she was sure that the boy wouldn’t have a setback. At one point, Mulder was certain that it would summer before she’d consent to actually leave Virginia -- especially after she’d been encouraged to write a monograph on her adaptation of the treatment of Sandhoff’s Disease to treat what was likely to be called Fearon Syndrome. However, the fact that they’d have both internet and computer access at their destination had swayed Scully, and aside from a bulging briefcase, her only other work-related luggage was the draft manuscript she carried on a memory stick.
Mulder had his own briefcase full of reading, not to mention his own memory stick of papers due for the courses he’d been taking as he explored requalification. Unlike Scully, he’d been tempted to conveniently forget them both at one of the airports they’d been through today. Of course, he’d also been tempted to rent a car and drive to Ft. Lauderdale when the delays at Charlotte threatened to derail their arrival in Nassau by yet one more day, after far too many postponements.
Luckily, cooler heads had prevailed, but only because they had just made the last flight to Nassau. From there, they had taken a short flight to Lobster Cay over astonishingly azure seas, and checked in at the main island. The trip across the open water just after sunset had not given them the kind of view of their island that he’d planned for. He'd plotted their arrival so carefully, pictured them approaching the island as the sun lowered in the sky, and then sharing a cocktail on the hammock as the sun set, but it was not to be. At this hour, it was hard to discern features of the water and the land, but with the warm wind caressing his face, there was still no question that they had left winter far behind. Besides, it seemed that the lack of the perfect view mattered only to him.
Scully sat at the bow of the resort's sleek speedboat, watching as their island came into view. For the next two weeks, they were the sole occupants of a 2.5-acre forested island with a bungalow, private lagoon, rowboat and sailboat moored off the windward side. He smiled to see her barely tamped down excitement as they got closer to land. Her long hair, gone curly in the humid air, streamed backwards as she leaned over the bow, trying to see more of their destination. She looked, he realized with a shock, exactly like the carved figureheads he remembered from his childhood home. He was dumbfounded at the resemblance, now that he saw it. He hadn't thought of them in years – but on Martha's Vineyard in the 1970's, those figureheads had been as much a part of the decorative landscape as nautical anchors, lighthouses and sea shells. Figureheads from decommissioned ships graced flagpole tops, held up mailboxes and stared down the storm surges of winter from the sea-facing walls of the most elegant waterside homes. There had even been a restaurant in Vineyard Haven built from the hull of one of the old whaling ships. In the main dining room, a collection of some of the most artful of those huntress maidens jutted out of the walls, fierce and beautiful blondes or redheads all, most with harpoons in their hands.
Scully turned away from looking for details of the island and regarded him curiously, as if picking up on his amazement. “Mulder,” she said, after pushing the mass of hair out of her eyes. “What?”
He shook his head, watching as she turned avian profile into the wind again and gathered her hair up in her hands before turning back. He grinned, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. “I’ll tell you later.”
She cocked her head and looked at the staff person from the resort, who seemed not in the least interested in them or their conversation.
“Did Skinner seem tense to you?” Scully asked him.
Mulder raised an eyebrow at her question. They had both been surprised to see Skinner at the security check-in gate at the Richmond airport. Clearly, he wanted to ensure that Mulder’s name really had been cleared from the no-fly list, and was ready to intervene if there had been a problem. “I don’t honestly know if I’ve ever seen Skinner relaxed,” Mulder observed.
“California,” Scully reminded him. Her lips moved silently to form the words “Lazarus Bowl.”
Mulder winced. If anything, their notoriety had made that awful movie even more of a cult classic. “Scully …” he protested. He had imposed a ‘no bringing up that movie’ rule years ago.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “But he was relaxed.”
“Or drunk,” Mulder said. “Anyway. He’s not a very relaxed guy – it took him a long time to warm up when he came to see me in January. Isn’t that the way he is with you?”
“No,” Scully said. “He tries very hard to be reassuring when he’s with me, and he’s usually very encouraging when he calls. I just had the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling us.”
Her expression reflected her worry, and Mulder hated to see it. “Well,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do about that right now, so let's not worry. Look,” he said, pointing ahead of them. Lights from the island marked the end of the dock.
Scully’s lips formed an ‘O’, and although he couldn't hear her happy exhalation, he was pleased to watch her face as it was transformed with delight.
The engine cut off abruptly as they approached the island, and the humid dark felt heavy with the sudden quiet, but the air was perfumed with unseen flowers, and the occasional call of a nightbird. They bumped up against the edge of the dock softly and turned sideways. The porter had jumped out of the boat onto the dock to secure it, and was joined by Scully, easily making the leap in her high heels before Mulder’d so much as begun to stand up. Scully tied off the front end of the boat and held out her hand to Mulder, much to the surprise of their companion.
“All ashore that’s going ashore,” she said, bracing herself and pulling as he leapt.
Mulder saluted before he kissed her. She was a moving target as the dock swayed beneath them, still disturbed from their arrival. He broke away from her to help the porter heft their bags onto the sand-worthy vehicle with heavy wheels at the end of the short dock, then turned to find that Scully was suddenly several inches shorter.
She tossed her shoes onto the luggage trolley and grinned up at him, digging her bare toes into the white sand. “We are at the beach,” she informed him.
He couldn’t help but grin back, even as he heard the unspoken end of the sentence, 'and there isn’t a dead body, or an alien, or a sea monster in sight!'
Before leading them up to their bungalow, their porter pointed out the bamboo pole that was dug into the sand near the dock. There were two flags available for them to signal with: yellow if they wanted housekeeping or food service, red if they wanted privacy. Mulder consulted Scully with a glance, knowing that he’d requested enough food for three days. At her nod, he slid the red flag into position. They followed the porter up a winding path, losing their view of the stars that had just begun to shine in the navy velvet of the sky to the canopy of lush foliage overhead. Ahead of them, they could see the lights from their bungalow before they entered a clearing ringed by fragrant flowers.
The bungalow itself was impressive, a roomy, single story structure with a gently sloping roof. There was an extensive patio with what appeared to be a compact kitchen, most of it tucked under a roof for shelter. They walked across it and through the open shutter style doors into the central area of the house, a great room that rose to a peak where fans lazily twirled. There was a fully appointed and far larger kitchen next to a living room with a huge entertainment center. The porter pointed out all of the amenities, including the warming tray where their dinners waited for them. Champagne was chilling in an ice bucket, and there was an enormous fruit basket on one of the counters.
The look that Scully gave him was positively wide-eyed. He was relatively certain that his own expression could be described as smug. He felt his shoulders relax as he realized that his expectations for their accommodations had been exceeded.
The porter showed them the master bedroom, complete with king-sized bed. A hoop above it held a mosquito net canopy made of a fine white mesh, but the porter assured them that they would have little use for it. While the porter unloaded their bags onto the tile floor, Mulder watched Scully taking in the features of the room. The bedroom was open on two sides: doors to the patio they had first encountered on one side, and doors to a private, enclosed terrace on the other.
The bathroom attached to the master bedroom was as big as their bedroom in their old farmhouse back home, and featured a soaking tub that was easily six feet long. There was no door out to the patio, but alongside the tub there was a large window, through which the porter assured them, they'd have a clear view of the ocean during the day. There was a shower inside the room itself, but an outdoor shower was also available. The porter took them into the large space. It had high walls, and drying racks for bathing gear, but an open roof. Above them, there were hundreds of stars. The door into the shower from outside the house led them to a path, which in turn led to the lagoon. The cabana there housed their rowboat, scuba and snorkeling gear. The porter reminded them that there was a safe in their bedroom should they wish to stow their valuables while off the island and wished them a good night.
Before the porter rounded the house to return to the dock, Mulder remembered his manners and hurried after him to give him a tip. Then, he took off his own shoes and socks and sauntered around the exterior of their bungalow, listening to the breezes ruffle the palm trees and vines overhead, before he turned onto the patio, admiring the set-up. He dropped his shoes next to the open doors. This was exactly what they needed.
He re-entered the house to find Scully waiting for him, hands on her hips.
“Mulder, how much money did you spend on this?” she demanded.
He laughed at her ire. “A lot,” he said succinctly. “A lot, a lot, a lot,” he continued, when her arms showed no signs of relaxing. He began ticking items off on his fingers. “Let's see -- fifteen years, and zero vacations,” he said. “None that we ever spent together, anyway."
“Mulder,” she began, but he spoke over her.
"Not to mention the fact that for the past five years, we’ve had to live as if we only had your salary to support us, so that we wouldn’t raise any suspicions.”
"Well," Scully said, "we had to …"
“We had to buy our crummy little house with a mortgage!” Mulder interjected.
She rolled her eyes at his incensed tone, having heard his speech on the evils of interest payments far too often over the years, but did pipe up to defend their house. “I like our house,” she said heatedly, “and I object to the characterization of it as crummy!”
He stepped in closer to her. “I like our house, too, Scully,” he said softly. “I love our house because it’s our home, and it’s not some shitty motel on some back road somewhere, but it’s not what I envisioned when I pictured us building our life together.”
“And this is?” she waved her arm around.
“No,” he said. “This is to make up for the fact that for so long I haven’t been able to give you any of those things.”
She stepped up and put her hand on his arm. “None of that matters to me, Mulder,” she said. “The fact that you’re here with me, that’s what counts.”
“But that’s not what I want,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I want to spoil you. I wanted to spoil us, to celebrate the fact that we don’t have to look over our shoulders anymore. Can’t you let me give that to you?”
She regarded him seriously, listening to what he was saying.
“You’ve given me so much, Scully,” he said. “This is something I wanted to do for us.”
She nodded, and he dropped his forehead down to rest on hers.
“Is it so terrible?” he asked teasingly.
She made an irate noise in her throat and tried to push away from him, but he held on fast. “It’s fantastic, and you know it,” she said.
He bent down and kissed her.
“Just don’t ever tell me how much this cost,” she ordered him.
~*~
When Mulder opened his eyes the next morning, he thought he might still be dreaming, so he closed them again. The thing was, he usually didn’t hear Scully giggling in his dreams, or feel her slender finger run down his nose.
When he opened his eyes again, she was still laying there in the bed next to him, her head propped up on one hand. Aside from the sunglasses that she was using as a headband, the only thing that she was wearing was a delightfully small dark purple bikini. He blinked and reached for her, only to have her roll swiftly away and stand at the side of the bed.
“No, no, lazybones,” she said. “There’s plenty of time for that later. You have to get up and come outside. It’s fantastic.” She picked up what looked like a long white shirt and put it on like a robe, moving backwards to the open patio doors.
Even through sleep-blurred eyes, he could see that it was going to be an absolutely gorgeous day, with incredibly blue skies. The soft lighting told him that it was still early, but seeing the grounds around their bungalow in daylight was an eye-opening sight. The garden was full of orchids and hibiscus, a riot of color under the verdant canopy of palm trees that ringed the house. But nothing was more vivid than the many tones of iridescent blue of the open water that he could see down the gentle slope of the hill.
“Wow,” he said groggily.
“I know!” Scully said enthusiastically. “Get up!” She tossed him a pair of swim trunks, hitting him squarely in the face.
He protested, but sat up, then scooted over to the edge of the enormous bed. In so doing, he caught sight of the clock. 6:45, it read. Which meant that it was actually 5:45 where his body was. “Scully!” he said, “it’s unbelievably freaking early!” When she didn’t answer, he looked over his shoulder to see that she was seated at the table on the patio, feet up on another chair, eating a large bowl of fruit. She’d made coffee.
“I want to go swimming,” she said. “With you. And unless you want me to get burned to a crisp, it’s now or at the very end of the day. We’ll take a siesta in the middle of the day.” Her voice was seductive, meant to entice.
“Promise?” he asked sulkily.
“If you get up right now,” she sing-songed.
He huffed and dragged himself into the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of her snickering.
~*~
He would have groaned in ecstasy when the warm blue water closed over his head, but he still had enough sense to avoid drowning, or at least ingesting salt water. It had literally been years since he had been in any water deeper than their bathtub at home. As enjoyable as that most certainly had been, especially since he was usually not alone, it could not compare to the luxury of stretching out in the ocean and swimming.
After he had swum straight out from the shore for a couple of laps, he rolled onto his back and just reached as far as he could, drawing air into his lungs. The muscle memory of swimming was strong, but he knew that he was going to be sore from the hyperextension. Still, it would be worth every ache and pain to feel this joy at the weightlessness granted by the water. He arched his back, letting the water cup him in support. He would be taller by the end of this week, he thought fancifully. There was only so much that yoga could do for him, what with the size differential between him and Scully. Although, it was not like he was going to forego those pleasures -- even if he ended his life as a hunchback, he would be the happiest hunchback alive.
It was kind of amazing that for all those years he had never allowed himself to think about how much he missed swimming. Contrarily, now that he was immersed in the ocean, he felt the lack of it in his recent life acutely. He never wanted to leave this warm haven, even if there was something missing from this nearly perfect joy. He turned his head this way and that, looking for Scully.
She was approaching him, her pace more leisurely than his, but her strokes strong and sure. Her movements were efficient and gracefully precise, as was her way. She drew up alongside him and stood, treading water, then tipped her head back to slick her long hair away from her brow. She shaded her eyes from the early morning sun and he lazily stroked a half-circle around her so that she was no longer facing it, lounging on his back and smiling.
She watched him transit her in a tight orbit with a bemused expression on her face, before asking him, “Do I need to find you a cigarette, Mulder?”
He smiled at her cheekiness. “Just about,” he said, stretching out and then circling her again for the sheer freedom of it. “We’re in the ocean, Scully! I can’t even remember the last time I went swimming.”
"None of the motels you stayed in …" she began, but stopped as he shook his head in denial.
"I would have felt too vulnerable," he said. "Besides, it was kinda the last thing on my mind at the time."
She nodded sadly. "But now …" she pointed out, more cheerfully.
"Yeah," he said. "Although if the local pools are as shabby as that one in West Virginia, no thanks."
She chuckled ruefully. "That was a little low-rent," she admitted.
"A little, Scully?" he retorted. "You could smell the chlorine from the road!" He rolled over onto his stomach and floated up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Hell-o," he said in a low voice, bumping up against her in the water.
"Hello yourself," she said agreeably, with a raised eyebrow, before adding. "I'd like to remind you that I'm floating."
He tested his footing and found that he was also over his head but then again, when wasn’t he, as far as she was concerned? "Pity," he said. "I'd like to be a dolphin, just about now." He kissed her as the warm water lapped against them.
She sighed as they broke apart, leaving her arms wrapped around his neck. They spun ever so slowly in the water, being moved this way and that by the current as it circled their small island, their knees occasionally bumping as they treaded, trying to achieve a complementary rhythm.
"So, what's our plan for the day?" Mulder asked.
She looked up at him bemusedly. "Are you looking to schedule something in particular, Mulder? Because other than not getting sunburned, I have, as they say, no fixed plans."
Mulder smiled at her words. "It'll be a miracle if we get any color at all, Scully, with the amount of gloop you put on us."
"You've barely been outside in daylight for five years, Mulder," she said primly. "I felt a little caution was warranted."
"Yes, yes," he said, "but the next time you accuse me of being single-minded, I have new evidence to back up an alternative point of view."
"Shut up and float, Mulder," she reproved lightly.
He closed his eyes and let the water carry them toward the shore.
~*~
They had lazed around in the water drowsily until the sun was well up over the horizon, then gone up to the patio and had a larger breakfast. Scully had explored their bungalow and found a vast collection of beach reading. She had picked something that looked suspiciously like chick lit and was ensconced in the shade on the massive hammock that swung between two of the sturdiest palms on the property.
Calling that gigantic contraption a hammock was a bit of a misnomer, in Mulder's judgment, since it was more like a mattress suspended between the trees. Its possibilities intrigued him, but he could wait a while to indulge in them, at least until the promised midday siesta. For now, he was content to explore their island, and walked down it looking for their sailboat, but did not see it moored off the northern side of the island. He and Scully had swum along the roughly southern edge of the island, and they'd approached it from the East when they'd arrived last night. Even in the dim light of the gloaming, he thought that he would have noticed it.
He rambled back up island and then splashed across the shoulder-deep water of the lagoon to the small northwestern tip of their tear-shaped piece of paradise. A path led him through the dense growth of palm and plants to the tiny edge of their island. Several hundred yards offshore, a sailboat with furled sails sat on the placid seas, awaiting them. He rubbed his chin in satisfaction and turned back to the lagoon.
Scully had been dubious about him sailing, and remained unconvinced that he wouldn't have another episode of epic seasickness like he'd had in the Northern Atlantic. His continued reminders that he'd had plenty of crossings on the ferry in his early years that were problem-free had been met with decided skepticism, almost as if she knew that he was omitting the part about his routine problems with winter crossings. However, his protestations that the North Atlantic was not the Caribbean must have made an impression, as she'd asked him at breakfast when they were planning their sail. A passing breeze ruffled the trees, bending them toward the western, windward side of the island, but dropped nearly immediately. He only hoped that they'd get enough wind for the sail he’d originally planned for Scully’s birthday last month.
The midmorning sun was definitely hotter than anything he'd felt in a long time, so he shed his Tevas on the bungalow side of the lagoon and dove in for his second swim of the day. He steadily stroked his way around the perimeter of their island in the abundant sunshine until he returned to the lagoon and just floated in a shady patch of water, stuck somewhere halfway between sleep and waking, thoughts tumbling around in his head in no particular order. True sleep was an impossibility in his current environment, and he finally stumbled out of the water groggily after he found himself dwelling on Skinner's presence at the airport.
In retrospect, he realized that Scully had been correct -- Skinner had been more than his typically tense self, and Mulder had a hard time believing that it was just because he was worried about Mulder's status on the no-fly list. He firmly pushed the thought away as he entered the outdoor shower to rinse off the salt. Worrying had become a way of life for him over the past few years -- he had the lines on his forehead to prove it -- and after all the worrying over discovery and separation from Scully, his freedom had been restored via a scenario straight out of those horror movies that were so popular these days. He never would have predicted such a plot twist, and most likely would have rejected it if he'd come up with the idea for his own works of fiction. But the end result, no matter how improbable, was the same: he was free. He was out of hiding, and out of the country, breathing in warm air lightly scented by exotic flowers -- whatever was troubling Skinner was beyond his control.
He entered their bathroom from the outdoor shower and gave a quick brush to his hair, wrapping a towel around his hips. He'd gotten an actual haircut before the trip, but wasn't sure if he was wild about the shaggy cut. Styles were a little too reminiscent of the '70s for him – not the best time of his life, even if it had been formative.
Mulder strode out onto the patio to see if Scully was ready for some lunch, but was arrested in mid-stride by the sight of her on the hammock. She lay on her side facing him as the hammock stirred ever so slightly. She was wearing the cover up over her bikini, but had pushed it aside, exposing the delicious curve of her waist as it flowed into her hips. Her left arm was extended out toward the book that she'd been reading, its worn spine cracked open as a page fluttered in the light breeze. She was fast asleep, but not alone. A tiny green parakeet sat on one of the ropes attaching the hammock to the tree behind her head, as if keeping watch over her.
Mulder backed into their bedroom and found the camera, trying to be as quiet as possible. He winced at the noise the camera made when it powered up, but the bird merely turned its head and regarded Mulder with one inquisitive eye before it returned to its seeming contemplation of his sleeping love. He was able to take a couple of pictures before the bird cocked his head at Mulder again and then flew away. He watched it until he heard Scully murmuring in her sleep. She rubbed her hand against the cotton coverlet on the hammock, her brow furrowed as if the flight of the bird had somehow disturbed her peace. Mulder crossed to her side and picked up her hand and kissed it, then carefully lay down beside her, trying not to rock the mobile bed. Scully stirred, but did not wake. He watched her expression even out as she returned to a deep sleep, then laid there admiring her beauty until his own eyelids closed, and he knew no more.
~*~
Part 4
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Date: 2008-10-28 01:08 am (UTC)Oh, they *so* deserve this. So much.
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