================================================
NOTICE: Deslea's URL is now
http://fiction.deslea.com. Email address
is now deslea@deslea.com or drjudd@catholic.org.
This information supercedes all other
information in this file.
================================================
Bermuda Fragments *PG13* 1/1
Deslea R. Judd
drjudd@tig.com.au drjudd@catholic.org
Copyright 1999
LEGAL DISCLAIMER
This work is based on The X Files, a creation of
Chris Carter owned by him, Twentieth Century
Fox, and Ten-Thirteen Productions. All
characters mentioned remain the intellectual
property of those parties and are used without
their consent and without commercial gain.
KNOWLEDGE DISCLAIMER
I have no medical or geographical expertise.
The extent of my knowledge of Bermuda, Nova
Scotia, Yukon, and Alaska may be found in
Encarta 97 or Britannica. Don't base your
thesis on it.
Archive: OK to archive/forward without
alteration.
Spoilers/Timeframe: Triangle (6x03).
Category: Story, Romance (Skinner/Scully).
Rating: PG13 for non-explicit sex.
Summary: While in Bermuda after rescuing
Mulder, Scully and Skinner discover one another.
But a plot against them forces them to leave one
life behind and start another....
Author's note: The style in this story varies
from detailed to fragmentary in an effort to
convey a life disintegrating, then being
rebuilt. It's an experiment. Let me know if it
works or simply annoys. Want more of my
stories?
http://homepages.tig.com.au/~drjudd/fun.html
Bermuda Fragments *PG13* 1/1
Deslea R. Judd
drjudd@tig.com.au
drjudd@catholic.org
Copyright 1999
PROLOGUE
Hamilton Hospital (Outside Ward 2: Acute)
Hamilton, Great Bermuda
Monday, 6.24pm
At Scully's approach, he rose. "How is
he?"
Dropping down exhaustedly on the chair at
his side, she snorted. "Delirious as ever. The
jerk even said he loved me."
Skinner looked up, startled. "He probably
does," he said reluctantly. He met her gaze.
She waved this aside with a gesture, not
without compassion. "I'm aware of that, of
course. But he wouldn't say it if he weren't
delirious. He knows I don't love him." She
sighed. "I do hope he doesn't remember when he
comes around. I said something like 'Oh,
brother' - height of sensitivity, there."
Skinner raised an eyebrow. "You don't love
him? Seriously?" he queried with frank
suspicion.
She smiled faintly. "I love him like a
mother loves a child. That's what he is, you
know; a child. He's not - he's not for me. Not
that way."
Still dubious, he said softly,
"Scully...Dana."
She looked amused. "Skinner - Walter," she
imitated.
He gave a slight smile at that. "Dana, you
were frantic. You were incredibly rude to AD
Kersh, to his secretary, to my secretary, to
Spender." She started to apologise, but he held
up a hand. "Now, I have very little time for
either Kersh or Spender, and both those
secretaries bug the shit out of me. I'm quite
certain mine is a plant. But it's not like you
to be rude. In fact, the only time I've known
you to behave that way was when you threw your
weight around at the hospital when I was shot -
for which," he added, "I was quite honoured."
His voice lowered. "Dana, you were barely sane.
It looked - it looked like love."
She nodded. "That's true. All I could
think of was that I was going to find him, throw
my arms around him, then slug him for what he
did to us."
"To us?" he queried, wondering who was
meant. It sounded like he, Skinner, was meant -
but surely not? His heart began to race, the
adrenaline pumping. For a fleeting moment he
felt almost primal, assessing the threat before
him. Suddenly he didn't know what - who - he
was dealing with.
She shrugged, her voice introspective, as
though she had forgotten he was there. "Just
because I was frantic didn't mean I didn't
understand the gravity of what I was asking of
you. Your job, your pension - I'm not oblivious
to those realities. But I had to ask anyway."
She bowed her head. "I felt very pressured when
I came to see you; but I only became really
agitated when you refused to help me. It -
rocked me. I went on blind fear after that -
not only for Mulder, but for me." She whispered
with reluctant reproach, "You'd - I *thought*
you'd abandoned me."
His tone was gentle, his tentative touch on
her shoulder compassionate. "I don't begrudge
you asking, Scully. But you were silly to do it
in my office. You must realise it's bugged."
She gave a shamefaced laugh. "I wasn't
thinking."
"I gathered that from your behaviour in the
elevator," he
retorted with a twinkle. That hammering in his
chest was still there; but the tenseness there
eased.
Scully smiled, too; but she quickly
sobered. "I hurt you with that, didn't I?" she
asked. Her insight made him uncomfortable. His
eyes flashed. "You thought I was thanking you
for what saving Mulder meant to me. That I was
loving him."
He was silent, but his eyes were dark. He
nodded slightly. Finally, he said quietly, "It
was like you were kissing him. Your relief for
him, your pain and fear for him. It was all
there. When I-" he broke off.
"When you love me," she finished softly.
"I know that. I've always known." He swallowed
a gasp, not only at her knowledge but also at
her matter-of-fact discussion of it. She went
on, "It wasn't that. I was thanking you for
what you did for *me* - not him. For what your
putting yourself on the line meant to *me*.
You-" she stopped.
She meant well, that was the worst thing.
She was trying to acknowledge him, to value him.
She felt sorry for him. He couldn't bear it if
she kept speaking! He put up a hand. "Don't do
this, Dana. Please don't."
She met his gaze, suddenly understanding,
her eyes flashing with sudden passion. "Do you
really think I would have kissed Kersh if he'd
helped me? Spender? Please, I have some
standards." He laughed outright at that, and
she joined him. She sobered. "Mulder was not
what was in my heart when I kissed you. You
were."
He looked suddenly vulnerable. "Dana-" he
uttered, then fell silent.
Scully touched his hand with tenderness.
"I'm not a fool, Walter. Everything you do for
us - you wouldn't do it for Mulder alone. Not
because you don't care, but because you know as
well as I do that he's going to self-destruct
sooner or later, and you'd just as soon not go
down with him. Believe me, I know the feeling."
He made a small, fleeting sound of mirth. "It's
always been about me. I know that."
Skinner's voice was thick with pain.
"Dana, even if everything you say is true -" at
her scornful look, he said, "all right, of
course it's true - there's nothing to be done.
We - Mulder, the Bureau - there's just nothing
to be done."
"There's this," she retorted, and gently
kissed his lips.
ONE
Somerset Atlantic Hotel (Room 2.07)
Somerset Island, Bermuda
Monday, 8.12pm
He locked the door, and turned to her, his
lips parted.
"Dana."
She went to him, leaned up to him, her
mouth forming an exquisite smile in the dark;
but he stopped, barely touching her. His lips
brushing her, he whispered thickly, "I've waited
so long for this."
The naked need and adoration in his voice
made her heart swell with an uncommon
compassion; one that was searingly painful. She
rocked against him with sudden helplessness.
Her palms cradled his cheeks. "Oh, Walter,
don't you know I love you? I was only waiting
for you to tell me. Why did you never tell me?"
He shook his head helplessly, the joy of
her exquisitely painful in its intensity. The
desire in his body was urgent, but his need for
her was overpowering. Her compassion, her
empathy, the love that was clear within her
danced in his soul and wrenched at his heart all
at once. He breathed desperately, "I will never
hide from you again."
Her sweet mouth was on his. "There will
never be a need."
Body against body, soul against soul.
A joining, a parting. Was this why he felt
so empty? Because they had been one, and now
they were two once more? Because an essential
part of himself was lost when the union had
broken?
//They became one flesh.//
The old scripture passed through his mind,
gone as quickly as it had come; but it was apt.
They belonged to one another now. Once together
they would never again feel whole apart. A
single night, a single joining; but when two
joined in soul, joined in body it could not be
reversed.
And in this fact, whatever else lay ahead,
he rejoiced.
With a prayer of thanks and another of
plea, he slept.
Arch of a neck; scent of the sea in her
hair and her sweat.
"Walter."
He murmured, "Say it again."
Sound of loving indulgence. "Walter."
Then, mischievously, "Sir."
He gave a shout of laughter. "I couldn't
believe it, Dana. You threw me against a wall
and kissed me, and then you called me Sir."
Their laughter rang out, and it warmed his
heart. He spoke. "Dana, everything I've ever
prayed for is here, in us."
"For me, too, Walter. I've been so alone,
and I've loved you so much." She gave him a
gentle kiss, her tone brightening. "Nothing can
spoil this day! Spender could call today and it
wouldn't spoil this day."
But on that score, she was wrong.
Hamilton Hospital (Cafeteria)
Hamilton, Great Bermuda
Tuesday, 9.17am
"Agent Scully."
"Byers? What is it?"
An awkward look. It came to her - he was
the unlucky delegate of the Gunmen. "We -
Langly saw you and Skinner yesterday. You - I'm
sorry to be personal; this is not our business."
He shifted uncomfortably. "You love each
other."
"You're right, it isn't your business."
Her tone was harsh; but at his wounded
expression, she relented. "But there are no
secrets among friends, I suppose. Yes, we do."
Silence a moment; then, compassionately,
"You have to tell Mulder."
Scully felt something in her heart twist
with pain. "I don't want to hurt him."
He smiled faintly. "Unrequited love he can
cope with. The humiliation of finding out some
other way, you not trusting him with the truth -
that, no."
She bowed her head. "You must think me
awful."
He touched her shoulder with affection.
"For having a life of your own? For loving a
good man? No. Just a little jealous." Faint
smile. "Be at peace, Scully."
Kiss on the cheek, and then they parted.
Hamilton Hospital (Ward 3: Sub-Acute)
Hamilton, Great Bermuda
Tuesday, 10.03am
"When?"
"It's been brewing for a while now,
Mulder."
Flicker of pain. "You love him." It
wasn't a question.
"Yes, I love him." Then, gently, "I'm
sorry, Mulder.
"I don't want - I can't bear to be alone,
Scully."
A gentle sound of warmth from behind them,
then a large, gentle hand on his shoulder.
"We're not leaving you, old friend. Try to
think of it as gaining two caretakers instead of
losing one. Although at the rate you need them
perhaps we ought to adopt a few teenagers as
reserves."
Gentle laughter, then sudden tears.
"Please go. I can't-"
But then there were arms around him, arms
of a woman and a man, and he felt loved, and he
was comforted.
TWO
Somerset Atlantic Hotel (Restaurant)
Somerset Island, Bermuda
Tuesday, 2.46pm
The phone call.
"You're a rude arrogant little bitch,
Scully."
"Spender?" she said incredulously.
The voice continued, heedless. "But it's
not my wish to see you killed. Out of my hair
is sufficient for my liking."
"What's happened, Spender?"
"I heard Fowley talking - to *him*. This
Bermuda thing is the last straw. He's going to
have you liquidated as soon as you step back on
American soil - all three of you, and those Lone
Geeks of yours, as well." The younger man's
voice faltered then, his bravado gone. "You
can't come home. Please, Scully; stay away."
Hamilton Hospital (Ward 3: Sub-Acute)
Hamilton, Great Bermuda
Tuesday, 4.12pm
The confirmation.
The six of them sat nervously in Mulder's
room, waiting. Skinner was speaking.
"I have known for some time that this would
happen sooner or later. I have been gradually
moving my money overseas. Cash is not a
problem, either for our escape or for getting
ourselves started again. What is going to be
difficult is getting off this cluster of islands
and back to the States."
Mulder spoke. "Do you think it's wise to
return to the States, Sir?"
Langly interjected, "Foolish not to. We
all have citizenship and rights in the US. We
don't have those anywhere else. We can't use
our own credentials, of course; but we can get
false ones easily enough. Skinner here has one
already." At Skinner's infuriated look at his
knowledge, Langly just laughed. "And Byers,
Frohike and I have underground contacts in the
US. We know the government computer systems.
We can hack where we need to, get help when we
need it. We can't do those things elsewhere.
We don't know the encryption protocols for many
other places, certainly nowhere we have
contacts."
Scully nodded slowly. "Okay, so we go back
to the US. But how and where?"
"Somewhere isolated," Langly offered.
"Somewhere primitive - basic facilities,
but not a large city." That from Byers.
"Somewhere we can live without creating too
much of a paper trail," contributed Frohike.
"Somewhere we can cross borders on foot
without detection," Scully offered.
"Somewhere with natural protection -
mountains or something."
Just as Mulder was about to speak,
Skinner's phone rang. They fell silent,
watching expectantly.
Skinner did not speak; but only listened.
When he rang off, there were five sets of eyes
on him. "Well?"
"We're on the Customs list for detainment.
It's true."
Scully spoke for the five of them. "What
now?"
THREE
Unknown Bermuda Island
2 miles west of Harrington Sound, Bermuda
Wednesday, 5.12am
The helicopter. Scully pointed.
"There, Walter. Just there. The fourth
island along."
Skinner turned to her, aghast. "That's not
an island; it's a bit of oversized coral for
God's sake!"
She said urgently, "You said it yourself,
Walter. It's the only island that's both
uninhabited and out of sight of an inhabited
island, but still within swimming distance of
one. We have no choice!"
He gave a long, low sigh. "All right. All
right! Hold tight, everyone. We're going to
take a sharp dip."
Langly gave a shout, sound of an excited
child. "Hey, this is fun!" Nauseated sounds
from Frohike.
They landed with a thud on the beach.
Mulder was already halfway out the door. "Nice
landing, Baldy!" he called, jumping out.
Skinner made a snarling sound. Scully
called reprovingly, "Mulder, please don't tease
the animals." She yelped as Skinner gave her a
nudge in response.
Byers cleared his throat. He spoke, his
tone formal. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen;
we hope you enjoyed your ride. Please ensure
all your valuables, most especially those false
passports, are on your person as you depart."
Laughter as they went about their necessary
tasks.
Scully had already strapped on her
lifejacket. Now, she opened her medical kit and
spoke to Mulder and Skinner, who lay near her on
the sand. "Ready, boys?" she said with warmth.
But the truth was none of them were ready
for what would follow.
Federal Bureau Of Investigation (AD Kersh's
Office)
J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.
Friday, 2.10pm
"You're sure?"
Spender met the older man's gaze.
"I inspected the wreckage myself, Sir. The
parachutes were burned, of course; but they were
definitely all accounted for. They couldn't
have survived. There was blood everywhere."
The smoker spoke, stepping in front of AD
Kersh to meet his son's unforgiving gaze.
"Blood, but no bodies. How can you be sure?"
"We've tested the blood. DNA from Mulder,
Scully and Skinner were all present," Spender
replied. "DNA for four other unknown males as
well, probably the three goons and the pilot.
In the case of Mulder and Skinner, definitely
too much blood for them to have lived. Scully
could possibly have survived, but not without
help and immediate medical attention. As for
the bodies, they were probably eaten or else
cremated beyond any recognition. There's a lot
of wildlife in the North Atlantic, and the fire
kept rescuers at bay for two days. I assure
you, Sir; they are all dead."
Kersh made a hurrumphing sound. "Well,
Skinner is ex-military. He's entitled to burial
- or, in the absence of remains, a memorial - at
Arlington National Cemetery, although I hate to
give the bastard the honour. Spender, you can
work with the family to see to that." Mystified
look. "Mulder and Scully I can understand, but
Skinner...stupid, stupid man."
The smoker spoke lazily. "Let it be a
lesson, Mr Kersh."
"There's no way I'd follow that path of
destiny," the darker man laughed.
A nod, a discarded cigarette; and the
smoker left.
And Spender thought sullenly, *But I
might.*
Far North Atlantic Ocean
Due East of Cape Sable, Nova Scotia
Saturday, 6.12am
"How are they?"
Scully checked Walter's IV. "They're both
fine, Langly. Spender sent us enough blood to
transfuse ten men, even after we lost one pack.
They'd be up and around already if we hadn't had
to do it so fast. If we'd had a week and had
been able to draw the blood incrementally
there'd have been no problem. But draining them
on the beach like that...they were losing faster
than I could keep up." She noted the bruises
under Mulder's eyes. "They'll both be weak for
a time, of course. We can't count on them for
any heroics."
Langly nodded slowly. "So what if we hit a
storm or something? This is a comfortable
enough boat for the open waters, but it's not an
ocean liner. If we have to abandon ship,
they'll die." He paused. "There's something
else, too. We're getting into Arctic waters
now. We could hit ice any day."
Scully nodded. "I've been thinking about
that. But I don't know that there's much we can
do. We can't go any further south - it's too
risky. And we have to be to the north of Nova
Scotia if we're to get ashore undetected. The
south has too many busy ports - we'd stick out
like a sore thumb."
"We'll just have to hope for the best,
then," Langly said softly.
Scully nodded. "How are the others doing?"
she asked.
"Byers is feeling the strain," Langly
confided. "He's the only one with enough
boating experience to handle the craft, as you
know. He's sleeping the barest minimum. He's
exhausted, he's emotionally drained, and he's
developing seasickness."
Scully frowned. "I am too," she said
quietly. "I normally tolerate the sea quite
well, but this trip has hit my system hard. I'm
keeping very little food down. I'm very tired."
"Well, we drained quite a bit of your
blood, too, Scully. And it's not exactly a
pleasure cruise, however comfortable the
accommodation."
"That's true, of course."
Langly seemed to hesitate, then said, "We
have contingency plans, Scully. Or at least one
plan. We know of a smuggler who operates in
this part of the world. It's not drugs," he
added at Scully's disapproving look. "It's
archaeological finds from Africa, stolen from
historic sites. We could contact him by the
satellite phone if we get into trouble. His
boat is an ex-Navy freighter. It could weather
anything."
"It's risky," Scully said cautiously.
"We know. That's why we haven't done it.
But we have it as an option if we hit trouble -"
he paused, glancing at Mulder and Skinner, "or
if they do."
She passed a hand over Walter's forehead
tenderly, then met Langly's gaze.
"I'll keep it in mind."
Far North Atlantic Ocean
Due East of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia
Saturday, 4.19pm
Scully fell into a chair in exhaustion.
They had encountered their first iceberg
eight hours earlier, then their first layers of
sheet ice atop the water. Within two hours they
were unable to safely move.
The final decision, like all of them, had
been left to her. It had been agonising. They
were equipped for this eventuality with kayaks,
but Mulder and Walter were not able to fend for
themselves. So she had instructed the Gunmen to
contact their friend.
Now, it seemed that the risk had paid off.
Aboard the Naval freighter, accommodations were
less comfortable but far safer. As an added
bonus, their friend's partner had paramedical
experience, relieving Scully so she could rest.
Likewise, Byers was fast asleep in the bunk to
her left.
Walter had finally seemed to stabilise. He
was still exhausted, as was Mulder; but she had
finally been able to cease the blood
transfusions. Now both men were on glucose and
saline drips, nothing more. Their recovery now
was merely a matter of time. The knife slashes
through which they had let their own blood were
finally healing.
As for Scully herself, she felt worse than
the men looked. She had dropped five pounds
within the week. She was throwing up almost
everything she ate, and she felt faint more and
more often. The five of them were depending on
her to lead them through like some Amazon
warrior, and she could hardly stand up. The
possibility that her cancer might be recurring
haunted her.
Now, she sat reflecting on what had been
lost. Her mother and brothers she would never
see again; nor her home. Her photographs of
Melissa and of Emily were there, and all her
monographs and papers. Even if she found some
way to retrieve those items and to inform her
family that she lived, physical contact would
never be possible.
Mulder seemed untroubled by this aspect of
their flight, and in view of his relationship
with Teena the last two years, that was not
surprising. The Gunmen, too, seemed resigned.
After all, they had each other. And it was
likely that they could one day safely return to
their old lives, which by definition had always
been lived well out of touch with the government
paper trail.
The only one who shared her grief was
Walter. He had a daughter, Adriana, born of his
union with Sharon. The girl was nineteen and
attending university in Switzerland, where she
had been schooled. Despite the distance, Walter
was close to her, and he was saddened by the
grief he knew he had brought upon her. They had
shared these things, grieving silently together
late at night.
Now, Scully smothered a heavy, anguished
sigh. She had to stay strong. She had been
silently elected their leader, their wordless
deferral to her their mandate. They were
counting on her, all of them, to nurture them
when they were faltering and to encourage them
to be strong, and to lead them out of their
exile back to their homeland.
If only it weren't so hard.
FOUR
Cape Breton Islands National Park
Cape Breton, Nova Scotia
Sunday, 11.17pm
Nova Scotia.
The freighter lay fifteen miles back,
continuing on its own sordid path. Their
lifeboat was in ruins on the ice-capped rocks
behind them. Scully turned to face the men who
had made her their leader. Her eyes scanned
them, one by one.
Byers, boyish at the best of times, seemed
so very young. He had been badly bruised by
their voyage. Frohike seemed pale. He had
aged. Langly, invigorated by the stress, was
alert; but he had a hunted look in his eyes.
Mulder. Mulder, gaunt and a little lost;
for the death of Fox Mulder had robbed him of
purpose. What was he now, but a slightly
strange man with some peculiar ideas? What
place would there be in their new world for a
man like that?
Walter.
Walter, thin and bruised. Walter, who had
lost his wife to their quest, and now his job,
his old life, and his daughter. Walter, who
loved her, and how she ached at the sight of him
like this, overwhelmed but not broken; humbled,
yet strong. How it hurt to see the red thin
line of the knife she herself had held to his
throat, wounding him, spilling his blood in
order to save him. How it hurt to remember her
own lips at that throat, caressing where soon
she must sear. How it hurt to remember his
body, strong and safe against hers, when it was
now ravaged by the havoc she and Mulder had
brought down on him.
Now, she turned away to face the land they
had embraced for their survival. The white,
cold blue of it stung her with its shocking
beauty. Not their homeland, but a way station
on the path to it. This was what was to replace
her mother, her brothers, her sister, her
daughter? It was so much more, so much greater
than anything she had done or had in that old
life; and yet it wasn't enough.
She wept without shame, first in silent
tears and then in racking sobs. She sank to her
knees. She wept for all that they had lost and
all that they had gained, and the futility of it
all, the knowledge that neither their old life
nor their new one would serve the truth which
they had held so dear. And in some silent way,
each of them wept with her and through her.
Byers started to go to her, but Skinner
gestured him to be still. "Let her be," he said
softly. "Let her grieve."
Scully was silent, still on her knees. At
last, she spoke. "I can't go on," she said
tonelessly. "I can't make it." Anguish - six
years of it.
Walter went to her then. He knelt at her
side, his hand on her shoulder. "You can, Dana.
And you will. Because you have to. We can't do
this without you. None of us could have done
any of this without you. You're our strength.
You can't give up, especially now-"
He broke off then, thinking of their
secret, the secret fear that lay between them,
but she understood. She nodded slowly, her head
high, the tears on her cheeks dried to powdery
flakes of ice. She swallowed hard, then, with a
deep breath, she rose.
"Let's go on."
And like an Amazon renewed, she led them.
Haines Junction (Edge of Kuane National Park)
Yukon, Canada
One Month Later
The four of them sat in silence.
Scully and Skinner had wandered off
together. At first they had all silently
believed that the couple were going somewhere to
make love, but then they had seen the two of
them walking in the distance. The remaining
group sat contemplatively.
"I can almost smell the USA," Byers said
softly.
"That Jersey air will do it every time,"
Mulder rejoined, and there was quiet laugher.
He went on, "I wish you'd continue on with us,
old friend." Frohike spoke. His voice was
gentle. "We can help you more easily from home,
Mulder. And someone has to continue the work."
Langly motioned with his head to the
figures in the distance. "Will you be okay
looking out for them?"
Mulder shrugged. "I'm used to being the
third wheel," he laughed somberly. His
expression cleared. "It will be okay. We've
always been a team. That hasn't changed."
Byers bowed his head. "We'll miss you,
Muldy. We go back a long way."
"Goes both ways, my man."
Frohike spoke, again taking his turn in
that strangely rhythmic way the three of them
did. "You take care of Scully, Fox," he said
simply. Mulder gave him an indulgent smile;
nodded.
"Keep hanging in there, Mulder. And save a
spot for us in your igloo for Colonisation,"
Langly added with good humour.
"Will do. I'll even put in a computer
lab."
They were interrupted by Skinner's
approach. He was alone.
"Far be it from me to interfere with your
touching goodbye," he said, his tone gentle
despite the abruptness of his words, "but I
suspect it may be a little premature. There's
been an unexpected development." He sat down
among them. "It remains your decision,
gentlemen, but in light of this I hope you might
stay with us - at least for the first year." He
glanced back at Scully, who sat beneath a tree
some distance away, her stance peaceful. "God
knows we're going to need all the help we can
get."
The Gunmen exchanged quick glances. Byers
spoke on their behalf, putting voice to the
dread that Mulder could not put into words.
"It's not her cancer, is it?"
Skinner shook his head. "No. We did
suspect so earlier, in Nova Scotia - but Dana is
quite sure now that that's not the case."
"But she is sick," Mulder said softly. "We
all know that."
Skinner frowned. "She is, but not in the
way you think. But quite frankly I don't know
what to make of it - or what to expect."
Mulder was the first to get it, followed by
the other three in quick, almost telepathic
succession. Four astonished voices produced the
same single sound. "How?"
Skinner shrugged helplessly. "We have no
idea. But whatever the explanation, this
changes things. We need to get somewhere safe.
Somewhere secluded, somewhere as far out of
sight as possible. The sorts of risks of a city
are now unacceptable." He glanced again at the
solitary figure beyond them. "We need you all,
Dana most especially. Please don't leave us."
Byers nodded slowly. "All right."
"So what now?"
Brooks Range Settlement
Gates Of The Arctic National Park, Arctic Alaska
Six Weeks Later
Alaska.
Isolation. Alone but for Mulder, the
Gunmen, and Walter; just as she had always been.
Their cabin lay far behind them.
And the priest.
They were covered in snow, a white lace
shawl over her head, her only concession to
tradition. Her hands were in his, and how she
loved him this day, this day when they would
bring before God the union they had already made
among themselves, the union God had seen fit to
bless.
"With this ring, I thee wed, in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Spirit."
A ring, a kiss, Mulder and the Gunmen
encircling them, protecting them as they always
had.
"Amen."
EPILOGUE
Inuit Community (Alaskan Yuit)
North-West Of Nome, Arctic Alaska
Six Months Later
Alone, together.
He didn't know where the Gunmen were, but
he knew Mulder was working on the generator.
The earthen walls buffered the noise, but
occasional mechanical sounds could still be
heard.
He watched her from the corner of his eye,
his hands still working the fire that warmed
them. Her red hair shone like copper set
aflame. Her face bore a couple more lines
around the forehead, legacy of the last year;
but there was something else there, a peace that
took his resentment for all that had happened to
them and turned it into gratitude.
He went to her then, unable to stay away.
He kissed her tenderly, his lips brushing her
with chaste adoration, this woman he had taken
as his wife. His love had only deepened these
six months since then, and touching her now, he
met her green-blue eyes.
"I love you," she said softly. "So much."
"And I, you. Always."
She smiled faintly. "I think about - back
then. But not much. I remember you in your
office and me in my suits and playing babysitter
to Fox. It was all such a load of pretentious
bullshit."
He shrugged then. "We did good things back
then."
"Yes, we did," she conceded, "but it wasn't
real life. It wasn't relationship or harmony or
love or communing with life. We fought evil
within the world of evil, when what we should
have done was turned our backs on that world and
created a world of good."
He smiled then. It had become a familiar
refrain for all of them, even Mulder. "We have
that now, Dana. And no-one will ever take it
away."
She met his gaze, strong and gentle. "No.
We'll keep it safe for us," she said, dropping
her gaze to the wide green-blue eyes at her
breast, "and for her." She smiled indulgently
as he stroked the small, soft cheek. "For
Emily."
Emily. Emily Alaska.
Miraculous child of snow. The one they
said could never be.
But that was part of their old life, and as
it had passed away, seemingly so had the evils
of those days. And as their lives had been
renewed, so had that which she had thought
irrevocably taken, the follicles of one ovary
spontaneously regenerating like a withered tree
which refused to die.
Emily Alaska, remnant of their time in
Bermuda, the only time they had made love in
that old life. The only fragment of a life now
lost.
And perhaps that was best.
END
If there is sufficient interest, a sequel
entitled Bermuda II: Bermuda Remnants (no
mytharc, just an account of their new life with,
possibly, some romance) may find its way to a
website near you. In the meantime, I'm going
back to Someone I Trusted XI!