This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended.

Life goes on.....

It had been a little over a month since her ordeal with Duane Barry and only a couple of weeks since she'd been able to convince Mulder that she was ready to return to work. Even now she could sense the internal conflict that raged behind those intense, hazel eyes. *His* eyes . . . they were so expressive and betrayed his feelings more often than he knew. On one hand, he wanted her back by his side more than ever, yet on the other hand, she felt his apprehension at her return to duty . . . and possible danger.

She remembered only bits and pieces of what occurred between the time of her abduction and when she awoke in a hospital bed much, much later. However, she did know from her mother and sister's accounts, that Mulder had been devastated. Taking her disappearance and subsequent coma *particularly* hard, he had embarked on a dark path toward revenge and self-destruction. Their portrayal of him during that time was very disturbing to her for she knew he felt that he had lost her . . . and in the process, he had lost himself.

She would always be grateful to her sister, Melissa, for her "gifted" insight into Mulder's psyche that enabled her to "boot" him back on course. It had been Dana's experience that Mulder too readily accepted responsibility and guilt for incidents and situations over which he had no control. In the end she had discovered that he had chosen life . . . and *her* . . . over death and revenge.

When the nurses had told her of Mulder's nightlong vigil by her side, she was 'touched' by his devotion. They'd informed her in great detail of how he'd refused to leave until her mother arrived the next morning to find that he d passed out in a chair, still holding her hand. Only at her mother's insistence did he finally relent and go home. Although no one had come right out and said it, she realized that when he finally left, he believed she was close to death . . . that despite everything he'd done, he'd failed to bring her back, and that the next call from her mother would be the one to tell him that she had died.

It was very strange. She had no proof, no scientific documentation, but in that limbo state between life and death, she had somehow felt his presence and his unyielding strength of will . . . along with something else. She remembered hearing his soft, insistent voice. He'd spoken to her during that time, told her things--things about himself--about her . . .. and even though she could not recall any specific details, she knew he'd bared his soul to her as a last effort to persuade her to stay. That part of himself that was kept hidden and safe from all the hurt and pain, he lay open before her as an offering . . . everything he was . . . anything he had . . . it was hers. She remembered reaching out to accept his gift and being suddenly embraced by the incredible warmth of an unconditional love that she could not bring herself to leave behind. She reveled in its gentle richness and followed the silver thread it spun away from death and back to its source . . . FOX?...her soul had inquired in delighted recognition. "I am *HERE*," his emotion filled voice had stated with firm resolve.

She had never really discussed their relationship with her mother or her sister. However, it didn't take a "psychic" to deduce from Mulder's reactions to her "situation" that what they felt for one another was much deeper than she'd led them to believe.

When she had first beheld him at the hospital, his dancing eyes full of joy and concern, the halting smile, and faltering speech said it all to her. Dana, she had thought to herself smugly, you can read him like a book. His body language and unique nuances were second nature to her now and spoke volumes even though to those who didn't know him like she did, he may have seemed guarded and reserved. The truth was . . . (and she could tell this by his hedging and furtive glances at her mother) that he was uncertain as to what she had told them about him, so he said and did what he thought was expected.

She remembered looking at her mom and sister's sly smiles and realizing in amazement that Fox Mulder had already been accepted by them as "family". She imagined that he had *no* idea in hell what a *feat* that was.

Dana looked up from her thoughts to see Mulder staring at her again for the umpteenth time this morning. A contented half-smile seemed to arrange itself upon his face lately almost every time he looked at her. It seemed as though he was mentally "pinching" himself just to make sure she was real and not a figment of his imagination.

His tendency toward overprotection at this point was understandable but it was becoming a little annoying. Ever since she had returned, he'd only given her research and busy work to do and had allowed her to accompany him only when he felt there would be no "dangerous" conflicts involved. And when "unexpected" conflicts had occurred in one case, he had taken unnecessary risks with his own life to keep her "safe. This had to stop . . . it wasn't healthy for him, for their relationship or their partnership. She was an "equal" partner, not just "backup.

Dana returned his gaze and stated firmly, "We have to talk."

"Sure, about what?" he replied with wide-eyed innocence.

"About *you* not letting *me* do my job," she answered purposefully as she walked over to his desk and sat on one corner in a familiar pose.

"I don't understand what you mean," he lied ineptly while idly pushing some innocuous papers around on the desktop.

"Yes, you most certainly do," she countered, placing her hand affectionately on his arm and squeezing it. "You *can't* stop me from living . . . just because you're afraid of me dying . . . " She looked into his eyes and saw that he knew exactly what she meant.

He gazed at her with those big "puppy dog eyes." God, she thought admiringly, those babies could melt holes in the polar ice caps.

He reluctantly conceded her point. Okay, I admit to being unfair and overprotective. I apologize for not realizing it sooner. It's just that . . . well . . . Life is so . . . *fragile*. I'm afraid . . . " he admitted grudgingly, "afraid of losing you again. " He reached up and tenderly touched her cheek, then brushed a lock of hair off her forehead.

"You've gotta help me with this. Next time I'm out of line . . . just smack me, okay?"

"Well, you better straighten up . . . I don't want to be accused of 'partner abuse.'"

He grunted with amusement and held up what looked like two tickets. "Skinner thinks we both need a vacation," he ventured teasingly with an air of mystery.

"What's that?" she asked finally unable to contain her curiosity. In her opinion, he appeared much too smug.

"Two round trip tickets to Bermuda . . . via Starlight Cruise Lines," he grinned mischievously.

"Beg your pardon?" she asked suspiciously. "Why would Skinner send *us* on a cruise?" There had to be a catch.

"Cause he's a 'hell of a guy'?" Mulder grinned. From the look on her face, Mulder could tell Dana wasn't buying it. "No, huh? Okay, the Bureau is sending us to investigate a series of murders on the Starlight Bermuda cruise. The Starlight people claim that 'ghosts' have been murdering their passengers." Dana arched one eyebrow at that remark. Mulder stopped briefly, drinking in the sight . . . god, it was so good to have her back. "Well, we both know how the higher-ups feel about 'ghost' stories, so the Bureau disregarded their previous requests for help and shoved the case under the proverbial carpet. Now it seems the Bureau's been catching hell because one of the members of the Board of Directors of Starlight Cruise Lines is a big shot senator with major connections on the hill. He s been putting pressure on the right people, so now this has become a job for . . . tah dah . . . Spooky Patrol!!!!" Mulder finished with a flourish, waving the tickets under Dana's chin. "How's about us mixing a little business . . . with pleasure? A little R&R would be nice."

"I don't think that's what Skinner had in mind," she laughed jokingly.

"Ah . . . but what Skinner doesn't know . . . won't hurt him, will it?" he replied with a suitably devilish glint. "Besides, Skinner's not such a bad guy."

Dana couldn't believe her ears. "Wait a minute . . . How did Skinner go from 'that bureaucratic, bald-headed prick' . . . to 'not such a bad guy'?"

"Things change," he commented with a sheepish grin. "Well . . . whadda ya say . . . Mrs. Mulder?"

"What?" she squeaked in surprise. She definitely needed her ears checked.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you . . . ah . . . that's our cover . . . we're newlyweds . . . " he said in one quick burst and ducked his head for the anticipated reaction. Damn, he'd guessed wrong. He thought she'd go for the "noogie, or the "ear flick, but instead, she'd faked him out and delivered a knuckled "charlie horse" to his arm that could've dropped a charging rhino to his knees.

"Ow . . . !!, Jesus, Dana," he whined gingerly rubbing his arm. He'd forgotten she'd grown up with two brothers. For a small package, she sure could pack quite a mean punch.

"And just who's brilliant intellect came up with that original cover story?" she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow in speculation. She already knew the answer . . . she just liked to watch him squirm and she wasn't disappointed.

Mulder stared down at his toes and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Well . . . um . . . actually, it was *my* 'brilliant' idea," he stated defensively. "I thought it was a plausible cover . . . After all," he shot her a sidelong glance with smoldering eyes, "we've already successfully fulfilled most of the 'requirements' for the role," he commented with a self-satisfied grin.

"Since when did I ever make you come up with an 'excuse' to indulge yourself?" she questioned him slyly.

"Never," he admitted, "It's just that I thought we could be 'convincing', and a little role playing could be . . . stimulating."

"In other words," she replied bluntly, "It gets you all hot, horny, and hard."

"Well . . . Yeah, I guess so . . . something wrong with that?" he commented in a slightly higher pitched voice that cracked unevenly over the word 'guess'.

"Not a thing," she smiled engagingly.

Mulder's face turned a deep shade of red. Sometimes her directness really caught him off guard. He had a sneaking suspicion that she just enjoyed watching him blush.

"Starlight Cruises . . . Mulder, why does that name sound familiar?"

"Starlight specializes in theme cruises . . . they do a Star Trek cruise, a honeymoon cruise for newlyweds only . . . " Mulder stopped as Dana glared at him.

"Mulder, we're not gonna be surrounded by a bunch of moonstruck, pie-eyed newlyweds, are we?"

"Not this time," he retorted. "The Bermuda cruise has always been a murder mystery tour."

"How appropriate," Dana mused. She'd read about these types of trips, where one of the guests or crew is "murdered" and the rest of the passengers spend the cruise trying to find out who "dunnit." Only this time it appeared the murders were for real.

"So when does this trip into the realm of amateur sleuthing begin?" Dana inquired as she gracefully moved across the room to pour herself another cup of coffee.

"Tomorrow morning, at 0900 hours," he quoted crisply, "and uh . ..Scully?"

She turned back toward him with a questioning stare.

"Make sure you pack your bikini . . . I wanna be able to check for mosquito bites," he snickered softly, and ducked again unsuccessfully as a well-aimed wadded up paper ball bounced off the top of his head. He smiled broadly. She could've bounced a brick off his head for all he cared and he'd be grateful . . . just knowing that she was there to do it made him feel warm, contented, and very lucky.

"Really Mulder," she teased, "I thought you'd conduct a more thorough search than that. You'd be surprised at what you can hide under a bikini . . . " With that remark, she turned on her heel and marched out the door leaving him to choke on a retort that never made it past his lips.

His gaze followed her through the door and as he settled back down into his chair, he heaved a sigh. God, that was one "ornery" woman. He smiled.

Leaning forward, he started going through the cruise line case files that cluttered his desk. There were fifteen deaths listed in all over the last three weeks. They escalated from two deaths in the first week, to five in the second, and to eight in the third. After studying each individual case, he came to the conclusion that although the sheer volume would make it highly unlikely, each death appeared to be accidental. Either this company had the absolute worst safety record in history or something unusual *was* indeed occurring here----and getting worse with time.

He noted that the insidious and violent nature of the "accidents" seemed to increase in proportion with the number of victims. He also discovered with some chagrin that when the Bureau had refused to acknowledge their requests for assistance, the company had complicated matters by incorporating the deaths into the "game." On top of that, they managed to worsen the situation even further by offering the amateur sleuths a hundred thousand dollar reward if they could solve the murders and bring the culprit or culprits to justice. Oh that's just great . . . he and Dana were gonna have to fight over evidence and clues with a hundred or so Sam Spade and Jessica Fletcher wannabes. Any evidence that would've been present was probably all but destroyed or highly contaminated at best.

Another question kept nagging him---Why would normal, everyday people continue to sign up for a cruise in which they had a pretty good chance of becoming so much . . . fish food? He and Dana were going because it was their job . . . but these people . . . he just didn't get it. He was still warring with himself over exposing *her* to that kind of risk. He knew he'd have to get past his feelings about it somehow and he accepted the fact that it wouldn't be easy. So why would *these* people take that kind of chance? Was it just the money? Was a hundred grand worth dying for? Evidently some people obviously thought so. These cruises were booked far in advance with waiting lists packed with people just *dying* to get on board. In fact, the company had booted a couple off this cruise just to make room for himself and Dana.

With that thought in mind, he shoved all the appropriate files in his briefcase (he'd already committed their entire contents to memory, but Dana might want to look over them herself). He then turned out the desk lamp as he headed home to pack.

Dana took her suitcase down from the top shelf of her closet and set it on her bed. Packing was the absolute worst part of any trip. She turned around and frowned, contemplating the contents of her closet, mentally compiling an inventory of what to take with her. Let's see, there was sure to be some type of formal affair on board, so she'd need an evening gown. She selected a floor length, deep blue gown with a plunging back. The style was simple but elegant, and most importantly, the flowing skirt hid deep pockets which would completely conceal her handgun. 'The latest Paris fashions for the well-dressed agent,' she thought with a snicker.

The remainder of her packing was done automatically . . . a bathing suit (not a bikini . . . Mulder would just have to use his imagination--that wouldn't be difficult for *him*), several coordinated jogging outfits, jeans, sneakers, and a couple of sun dresses. Just in case, she packed a waterproof windbreaker . . . given her recent string of luck, they would be out in the middle of the ocean when the next hurricane hit. Raiding her lingerie drawer, she selected several lacy under things, along with a very sexy nightgown. Turning back to her closet, she spied a silky, blue blouse hanging next to her work clothes. It was one of the first things Mulder had given her during a very memorable evening which had led, in fact, to their rather *unique* relationship. On impulse, Dana pulled it off the hanger and added it to her suitcase.

Mulder . . . Dana fingered the cross around her neck as she thought of him. Why was it that this man could make her so angry and steal her heart so thoroughly all at the same time? He had carried her necklace with him during the time she was gone, had worn it around his own neck, just to have her close to him. And now that she was back he was "protecting" her to death, smothering her with his concern to the point where she felt she would strangle him.

Dana had never taken kindly to "mothering, not even from her own mother. She had grown up a tomboy, determined to keep up with her brothers, to hold her own with any man. Having a man protecting her was a foreign experience and she wasn't sure that she liked it . . . at least not to the extent she'd been subjected to lately. A little protectiveness was nice, but Mulder was going overboard. She chuckled at the idea of Mulder overboard, and then sobered as she remembered that this cruise was not strictly for pleasure. People were dying on this ship.

Zipping up her suitcase, she wondered how Mulder was doing with his own packing.

Mulder was confused. What in the hell did you pack for a cruise, anyway? He'd never been on one . . . was it the same stuff he'd always packed when he went on his other cases? He was at a complete loss. Swallowing his pride, he finally admitted to ignorance and phoned Dana, who quickly ran out of patience trying to explain the fine points of

"recreational" packing.

He figured that he was just getting the hang of what to throw into the suitcase when the door flew open and Dana barged in under full steam. She plopped her suitcase inside the door and joined Mulder by his bed, staring at the jumbled mess mounded inside his open suitcase.

"Okay, Sherlock, show me what you've got," she mumbled, running one hand through her hair.

"Right now?" he asked hopefully.

"What you have 'packed,'" she replied sternly with a patient scowl.

"Oh," he said with disappointment as he waived his arm in the general direction of the untidy mound. "Just what you told me to pack."

She immediately began rummaging through the stack, folding things as she went.

"Mulder, don't you have a tux?"

"Yeah, it's somewhere in the back of the closet--probably covered with dust bunnies and cobwebs . . . why?"

She glanced at him with disbelief. "Because cruises usually have at least one 'formal' affair on the schedule."

He frowned. "I thought you said that these things were 'fun'." Getting stuck in a monkey suit was not his idea of fun.

"Mulder . . . what's this?" She held up a pair of faded sweat pants, a shabby sweatshirt with ripped out sleeves, and a NY Knicks baseball cap.

"Those are for jogging . . . you *said* casual, didn't you?"

"Geez, Mulder, there's casual wear and there's slum wear . . . *This*," she said, holding up the offensive clothing, "is 'slum wear'."

"But I like 'em," he protested stubbornly.

"Do you want to be believable or not? No 'normal' male would wear something like that on his honeymoon cruise," she countered.

"I would," he replied absently.

"Yes, but you and I *both* know that *you* are *not* * normal*," she chuckled lightly.

"I'm 'wounded' to the core," he pouted, lifting his hands in supplication. "I give up! I leave my 'wardrobe' in your capable hands. By the way . . . " He turned with a devilish grin, "Do *I* get to go through *your* stuff, too?"

"Maybe---if you behave yourself." Dana smiled at him seductively.

"That's blackmail," he chided.

She faced him squarely and shrugged her shoulders. "If it works....use it."

Mulder went into the bathroom to get his shaving kit together. Shaving kit, Dana thought...what was the deal with that little black bag that men always put their shaving stuff into anyway? It was almost like the masculine equivalent of a makeup kit, but any man would go ballistic if you suggested the similarity. The little black bag was a masculine constant.....she remembered her dad having one, and her brothers, the last time she saw them, each had their own. She didn't carry a makeup kit herself. Her makeup, such as it was, was thrown in a bag stashed at the bottom of her suitcase. If she lived to be a hundred, there were some things about men Dana knew she would never understand.

Turning back to her 'assignment', she paused momentarily.

"Oh....what's this?" she mumbled out loud, picking up a scrap of red cloth much too small to fold properly. Red Speedos? No way....not on *this* trip. Actually she really *loved* the red Speedos but so would the

'rest' of the female population on this cruise----nope, not a chance. Red Speedos are *definitely* out. She deftly wadded up the swim trunks, threw them under the bed and replaced the tiny garment with a more conservative pair of OPs.....sorry girls, she thought to herself wryly, I'm not willing to share.

Mulder ambled back into the room as she slammed his suitcase shut.

" Any room for this?" he said, handing her the inevitable black shaving kit. Dana snickered as she opened the suitcase to make space for the kit. If in nothing else, in shaving accessories at least, Mulder was a "normal" male.

"That ought to do it," she said with satisfaction as she watched him lean into the door frame to languidly scratch the area between his shoulder blades.

He studied her with a doubtful expression. "You *did* leave me with *something* familiar to wear....didn't you?"

Dana didn't say anything, she only smiled sweetly.

Uh oh.....He knew from past experience that the 'who....little ole' me---*whatever* do you mean', smile was a harbinger of nothing but trouble.

"Dana," he ventured cautiously, "please tell me you *didn't* explode a GQ magazine inside my suitcase." He did not even want to think about what the salt air would do to Armani suits or silk shirts.

She ignored his remark and commented, "Ya know Mulder, you have some really nice clothes here. Why don't you ever wear any of them?"

He slapped his hand to his forehead and exclaimed, "Oh my God, you did......I'm gonna have to spend this entire case walking around looking like an ad from some yuppie men's magazine." He paced around the room, pondering the image distastefully. "And what do you mean--- I don't wear nice clothes? I have to wear a damn suit almost every day of my goddamn life," he grumbled. He looked up just in time to see a shadowed emotion cloud over her face and settle upon her lips in the form of a "hurt" little pout.

Oh, Jesus....not "the pout", he thought with dismay. He could take just about anything but *that* and tears. Dana wasn't the crying type....Hell, she didn't have to be. "The pout" was just as effective and it didn't ruin her makeup or leave her eyes red and puffy. There was just

*something* about that full protruding bottom lip that never failed to melt him into a puddle of mush, and Dana knew it. Knowing that she could turn it on at a moment's notice didn't seem to matter....it still had the same effect on him -- panic. Now you've done it, he berated himself. You've hurt her feelings....she's upset...and you're in deep shit. Give it up, Mulder.....you're never gonna win, he reminded himself.

He walked over to her, stood silently for a moment, then held out his hands to her, palms up in a gesture of conciliation. "You're right," he stated factually. "If we're gonna pose as newlyweds, I suppose I should

'look' the part," he agreed with a sheepish grin, but his eyes held a glint that clearly said that if he was expect to *look* the part, he expected to

*act* the part as well. He wasn't about to give up totally, though, and in a pleading tone asked, "can I at least bring one 'slummy' thing with me?"

One corner of her mouth curled up in a smile as she retrieved the Knicks ball cap from the bed and placed it backwards upon his head...."There," she teased, "does Mulder have his 'blankie' now?"

Mulder gazed down at her with barely contained mischief. "Wonder how it'd look with a 'Tuxedo' on the Lido?" he quipped with shades of Dr. Seuss.

Damn, she wouldn't put it past him to wear that blasted thing with his tux to the parties these cruises always seemed to throw on the Lido Deck. Then she had a thought of her own---

"Wonder how it'd look on a 'Fox' in just socks?" she snickered in reply.

"Better than the 'tux'," he bragged teasingly.

"Prove it," she challenged, shoving him gently backward, her hands lingering on his chest, busy undoing the buttons on his shirt.

God, sometimes she could be insufferably 'pushy'.....yet he discovered early on that he 'liked' her to tell him....show him...what she wanted, and he was somewhat 'surprised' when he found it strangely

*erotic*....a real turn on.

"No, you prove it," he smiled, as he pushed her forward gently and slid his hands beneath her blouse to caress the warm skin underneath. My god, it never ceased to amaze him how 'soft' she was....No one had a right to be that soft.... His fingers moved over her skin seemingly of their own accord, and he breathed in the scent of her, already forgetting about packing, the cruise..... the case. He'd always found it difficult to believe that she could do this to him....make him forget about time and space and anything but the consuming fire that burned through his brain and into his soul and anywhere else she touched him. The thought that he had nearly lost her stayed with him always....and the thought that *she* wanted to please *him* made him humble.

"I will," she answered his smile with a seductive one of her own. She felt the tension in his body mount as she slid her arms around him and slowly scrunched the shirt out from beneath his jeans with her fingers. Brushing her fingertips ever so lightly up his sides, she then slipped the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop half way down his arms before she surprised him by reaching around, grabbing the shirttails and pulling them tightly in front of his waist, gently pinning his arms to his side. Her full lips teasingly caressed his chest as the nimble fingers of one hand expertly released his belt buckle and snap, her hand lingering temptingly just below the loosened waistband. She noted with satisfaction that he trembled under her touch even though his body radiated an incredible heat. Her other hand finally released the shirt and let it fall to the floor. Mulder shuddered with an effort at control as she brought her hands up, lightly traced her fingertips down his spine and grasped what she considered the world's most perfect ass in both hands. He gasped out loud, encircled her with his arms, and drew her close. Then he held her tightly against his chest for several minutes as if he were afraid to let go. Dana didn't protest....she sensed his need for closeness...for confirmation of the fact that she indeed, really *was* there and *not* going anywhere. He finally slid his hands carefully and purposefully up the curves of her body, cupped her face in their gentle strength and kissed her long and deep with a force of emotion so powerful that its resonance overwhelmed her and left her dizzy.

This was the first time they'd actually been intimate since before her abduction and she wanted---no, *needed* to prove to him as well as to herself that not only was she ready for work....she was ready for *him* too. They hadn't exactly planned on this. It just happened like it usually did--spontaneous combustion. She was 'unprepared' and so was he. Due to recent circumstances, she hadn't been on the pill in months, but she'd be damned if she was gonna stop now. Tomorrow they'd start their case and even though it was a 'cruise', it was *still* a case and there'd be little time for personal pursuits. They would be Agents Mulder and Scully. He'd be her imagination and she'd be his anchor in reality. Together they'd solve this thing and hopefully come out of it in one piece. But *this*, however, *this* was *their* time--right here--right now--*their night*....and she was gonna enjoy it like there'd be no tomorrow. Because she'd discovered first hand that 'tomorrows' were a precious, uncertain commodity that may never come at all.

Her mouth blended to his with renewed fervor as they sank to the floor at the foot of his bed, where he made slow, passionate, and deliberately erotic love with her. He played her senses like a master virtuoso...each note in perfect pitch...each chord in total harmony. His love was a symphony and his imagination--its conductor. He came to her over and over again...different music with different arrangements, performed with perfection until exhaustion took its toll and they collapsed together after one final, powerful crescendo. They lay motionless, entwined in the darkness with the soft, steady ticking of the clock on the night stand as their only reminder of the passage of time.

Mulder awoke with a familiar ringing in his ears. He reached over to automatically slap the clock off the night stand but encountered carpet instead, realizing belatedly that he was still on the floor. He turned over slowly and chuckled to himself. Dana even slept with a 'smirk' on her face.

He also realized that he d neglected to tell her last night that they'd be getting up at 4:30 in the morning, so he figured that she wouldn't be in the best of moods. Hell, face it Mulder, he thought with some trepidation, experience has taught you that she's gonna be down right

'cranky', so it would be to your advantage to wake her as pleasantly as possible. While lightly brushing his lips along the curve of her neck, he expertly slid his hand beneath the sheet they'd pulled off the bed during the night, letting his fingers work their magic. After several minutes of her squirming, wriggling, and moaning, she finally managed to open her eyes and smile.

"Time to get up," he yawned, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

She looked up at the clock on his night stand . "Mulder, it's 4:30 in the morning," she mumbled groggily, "didn't you say the cruise started at 0900 hours?"

"Yeah, the ship leaves port at 0900 but our flight to Miami leaves Dulles at 0600, so get your butt in gear," he said cheerfully.

How can he be so damned 'chipper', she thought to herself. When she realized that time frame involved here was really tight, she bolted to her feet, wrapping herself up in the sheet, and glared at him. "You mean to tell me that I only have a half an hour to get ready?"

"What's to get ready?" he replied, truly puzzled. "Everything is packed."

"For one thing......I need to take a shower," she insisted.

"I thought you said you took one before you came here."

"I did." She stared at him accusingly, then at the spot where they'd 'slept', then back at him.

He finally got the message <I guess things did get a little

'untidy'> He turned and sputtered, "Ah.....yeah.....a shower would be nice--you go take one while I put this stuff in the car." <Of course she'd need a shower, stupid...Mulder, sometimes you're a total idiot---why does she put up with you?>

He hauled the luggage out to the car and had just stepped back into the apartment when he heard her yell his name.

"MULDER!!!!!"

"Oh shit," he mumbled out loud. He'd forgotten what he'd done....he didn't know exactly why he'd done it, except that it was one of those impulsive things that seemed like a good idea at the time. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her exquisite bottom staring him in the face. The covers had fallen off and it was just

'there'. He also saw the magic marker on the night stand and Mulder with a marker was somewhat akin to a street artist with a can of spray paint and an empty wall---he couldn't resist.

Dana stalked out of the bathroom, dropped the towel, and pointedly looked down over her right shoulder at her rear... There on her right butt cheek, perfectly scripted in bold block letters, was the message: 'Hi, I'm Dana...If found, please return to Fox Mulder, c/o FBI HQ, Washington, D.C." And on the other cheek a collection of smiling little happy faces looked back over at the message. She stood there holding the towel in front of her, glaring at him. "Mulder, what the hell is this?" It seemed that the bathroom wasn't the only thing that was steamed.

Fox stood in the doorway sporting a look that was reminiscent of a puppy who'd just been caught chewing up his master's best leather pump.

"Graffiti?" he choked hoarsely and ducked back out the door before she could find something unpleasant to throw at him.

Mulder relentlessly paced the sidewalk in front of his apartment like a caged tiger, muttering to himself under his breath. "Why couldn't you resist temptation and behave yourself....just once? You just *had* to do it--didn't you? Now, not only do you have to watch your back for the bad guys--you're gonna have to keep looking over your shoulder for *her* too.....cause you *know* she's gonna get ya for this." He sighed heavily and plopped down onto the stoop to wait for her. No way was he going back into his apartment, not yet.

Dana grabbed her towel, stomped back into the bathroom, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She stopped and took a closer look at his "handiwork." Now that she'd gotten over the initial shock of finding words and illustrations written on a particularly personal part of her anatomy, she decided that it really wasn't half bad. If she ever did become 'misplaced' again, <God forbid>, there would certainly be *no* doubt about who to contact. She laughed out loud as another thought invaded her awakened imagination. <Why don't you just tell him to hang one of those

'clap on / clap off' key chains around your neck? On second thought, you better not mention the first thought....he's just nuts enough to consider it as an option.> She chuckled loudly as she dressed. Never before had anyone written 'graffiti' on her butt. Leave it to Mulder to be the one to think of it. She really couldn't be angry with him, though, for the more she thought about it, the funnier it seemed. That was a frightening thought---- that she actually 'understood' his 'out there', bizarre sense of humor. At times she found herself regarding him as a 'living' version of a 'Far Side' cartoon. One thing was certain...life with Mulder was

*never* dull.

She did a quick makeup job, collected her things, and quietly stepped outside into the slightly polluted fresh air of a D.C. morning. The sky was just starting to glow warmly in the east with the promise of the new day. Dana still couldn't believe she was up this early, especially after the workout she'd received last night. Standing at the top of the stoop, she momentarily studied the hunched figure seated near the bottom step, then silently descended to his position and sat down beside him.

He acknowledged her presence by reluctantly meeting her gaze with a suitably repentant expression. "I promise," he said, reaching over to claim her hand with his own, "I won't do anything like that again....I'm sorry."

"Yes, you will," she chortled, "you can't help yourself....and I wouldn't want you any other way." Relief shown clearly on his face.

"Mulder, sometimes you are totally off the wall.....I think that's one of the things that I 'like' about you." She smiled and patted his knee. "You totally screw up the order of my world...just when I have 'all my little ducks in a row', you come along, unceremoniously blow them all out of the water and throw everything into tilted, eschewed angles. It can be a real pain in the ass.....but it sure makes life a hell of a lot more fun and interesting." She leaned in, kissed him gently on the cheek, then took his hand and hauled him up with her as she stood.

"Come on, Mulder, we've got a plane to catch and a case to solve.....oh, and next time, make sure you give me at least an hour to get ready or I'm gonna shoot you."

He followed her to the car and opened the door. "At least now I know what you can hide under a bikini....." he remarked at he got in.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head....this was definitely gonna be a trip to remember. "Shut up, Mulder."

Mulder and Scully sat in backed up traffic on the freeway off ramp with a perfect, panoramic view of the airport.

"We're not gonna make it," she said anxiously, "It's 5:30 now--we're never gonna get through this mess by 6:00. So close.....yet so far away." She turned in her seat, looking at the cars stacked up in all the lanes as far as the eye could see. "Looks like you can't get there from here, Mulder."

"Oh ye of little faith," Mulder remarked with his best evangelical voice as he twisted the ball cap around into 'sniper' position and shifted his body into a determined pose.

"What this situation calls for is some good old fashioned 'London' driving techniques----and I learned from the best." His mouth took on a determined set. "Hold on to your breakfast, Scully, cause we're goin' for a little ride."

She opened her mouth to ask just what he had in mind, but her voice was suddenly eclipsed by the sound of a revving engine and squealing tires.

"Oh Sweet Jesus, Holy Mary, Mother of God!!!!!" she exclaimed in one loud burst. He was driving on the angled concrete embankment. She forcefully clamped her hands down on the dashboard, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She said every prayer she could think of that she'd learned since she was five years old, then held her breath.

He sped the car to the front of the line and bullied his way in before the lead car amid obscene gestures and yells that questioned his family background. "Chill pal, you'll get over it," she heard him mumble under his breath as the car screeched to a halt in front of the terminal. He leapt out of the car removed the suitcases from the trunk, and threw them onto the sidewalk. Moving to the passenger side he opened the door, stating with satisfied glee, "see, told ya we'd make it.....fifteen minutes to spare at that!!!!" He looked down only to find Dana frozen in position, holding her breath with a death grip on the dashboard. He pried her hands loose and pulled her out of the car. "Dana?....are you OK?...Dana?.."

She merely stared at him, slightly dazed, and gasped, "oh fine...I'm just dandy, Mulder...." <son of a bitch>

"Check the bags in...I'll go park the car," he said with relief as he hopped back in the car and drove away. Dana stood on the sidewalk watching the rapidly retreating vehicle. She shook her head to clear it, and then bent to pick up their bags. What was that about life never being dull with Mulder? In the last couple of minutes dull suddenly sounded pretty damn good.

When he returned, she was waiting impatiently at the desk, a litany repeating in her head....<He's a maniac....your partner's a maniac....geez, and what does that make you? You're with him......I'm gonna kill you, Mulder....one of these days, you're just gonna go too far.....oh, you're just sooo impossible...>

He ran up to her, grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the concourse at breakneck speed, reaching the boarding gate just as the last passenger was walking onto the ramp. They handed over their passes, boarded the plane, and took their seats.

He was exhilarated, she could tell. His cheeks were pink from running through the airport, his eyes were glinting with good humor, and he was actually grinning at her. She sat calmly in her seat as the plane took off and he noticed that the anxiety she usually displayed when she had to fly was conspicuously absent. When he made a remark to that affect, she merely arched one eyebrow and sighed, "Mulder, I've come to the conclusion, after riding with you.....that flying is not half as dangerous or scary as I had previously believed. Just a thought....why didn't we start out earlier?"

One corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile and his eyes sparkled with just plain orneriness. "Cause I *know* how much you hate waiting....and we didn't have to wait once yet all morning..."

She thought about slugging him, but at this point she just didn't have the energy. Instead she simply closed her eyes and whispered between clenched teeth, "Mulder....two things...first, take off that stupid hat....second, take a nap."

He shot her a 'hurt' expression and replied with a mock insulted voice, "I'll have you know that this is not just any *ordinary* stupid hat....this *stupid* hat is *autographed* and very valuable." He saw that she was *not* impressed and was, in fact, becoming just a tad irritable, so he quickly added, ".......and I'll take it off and put it right over here." He took it off and pointedly hung it on the arm of his seat. " There, now it's safe' and out of sight." He smiled his most engaging smile in an attempt to lighten her mood.

She recognized his obviously blatant attempt to 'butter her up' and couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry....guess I'm just a little stressed and tired." She reached over and affectionately squeezed his hand.

"Serves me right for keeping you up so late.....in the future, I'll try to be more cognizant of 'time'."

"Don't you *dare*, " she smirked. She smoothed out the top of his hair. Those damn caps that he insisted on wearing always left his hair in a mess....not that he cared.

He tilted his head slightly and winked.

"As for taking a nap---It'll have to wait....at least until I brief you on what we're up against here, since I didn't have a chance to do it last night." Mulder pulled some papers from his carry on bag and handed them to Dana.

"I had Byer at the Lone Gunman take the passenger lists for every cruise over the last three weeks and run them through his computer system to compare for repeat passengers. There were ten in all. Then Frohike obtained dossiers on those. Out of the ten, three were consecutively killed during the three week period. Of the remaining seven, two did not rebook for this cruise, leaving five who were present on every trip....including the one we're about to take. Now *that* was the easy part."

He shifted in his seat so that he faced her, "All members of the crew, on the other hand, were present on every cruise, so narrowing down suspects among *them* is gonna be tricky. However, Frohike, being the diligent, obsessive soul that he is...ran dossiers on everybody, including the first mate's mother. Since the combination of case files and dossier reports resulted in a stack of paper nearly two inches thick, I decided to just commit them to memory and brief you as we go. I guess photographic memory isn't *always* a drag," he managed to mumble sardonically.

Dana stared at him in surprise. "Am I imagining this, or are you taking a 'conventional' approach to this case? I mean, you haven't even mentioned 'ghosts', or spirits, aliens, or psychic phenomena even *once* yet. Mulder, are you feeling okay?"

He heard the chiding in her voice and replied in a mildly annoyed tone, "Dana...I haven't mentioned it because as of this moment, I have yet to find any evidence that any paranormal activity has occurred. All I have is the company's assertion that it has. I claim the right to reserve judgment until I've spoken to witnesses and examined whatever evidence is available. I need 'proof'. " He glanced at her almost shyly. "*You* taught me that. Meanwhile, here's what we've got to work with. Number one: The cruises occur on a weekly basis. Number two: Ten passengers repeated the cruise more than once. Three: three of those passengers have died at a rate of one per cruise..along with the other victims. Four: two of the passengers failed to return for another trip---and I don't believe they should be precluded from investigation. Five: This company's been in business for twenty years and this is the first time that I know of that anything like this has ever happened. Maybe we should consider what may have 'changed' three weeks ago--what's different now than it has been for the last twenty years. Six: The five remaining passengers are our immediate suspects at this time. I'm hoping it's one of them cause it would make things a lot easier. But with my luck the whole damn crew is probably in on it and I'll be eighty-two before I can sort em' all out." He sighed heavily and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Got any aspirin? I'm getting a major headache...wonder why?"

"Could be from all the information you've tried to cram in there over past few hours," she observed as she pulled a small bottle of aspirin from her purse and handed it to him.

He gratefully swallowed the pills, settled down in his seat, closed his weary eyes, and promptly...fell asleep.

'Amazing', she thought to herself, as she kept her vigil over the peacefully slumbering figure. Any other time, she would have had to watch him 'struggle' just to take a nap, yet every time they flew, he would practically pass out in his seat with minimal effort. Maybe it was the air pressure or something....It could be worth looking into, she pondered as she too drifted off to sleep.

Too soon, it seemed, she was rudely awakened by the jolt of landing gear on the runway. She found herself snuggled comfortably against Mulder's chest with his face resting on top of her bowed head. Funny how they tended to gravitate toward each other even when they slept.

The Miami airport terminal was packed with every shape, size, and color of tourist imaginable....a claustrophobic nightmare. Thousands of people...all going somewhere. It reminded her of Grand Central Station at rush hour.

She sat down tiredly on a bench while Mulder went to track down their luggage at baggage claim. She waited for nearly a half an hour and then began to worry. <Where in the hell is he? I swear, you send him to do something simple and he's probably created a crisis out of it.....either that or he's gotten himself lost again...I've never seen anybody with such a crummy sense of direction. You d think someone with photographic memory could at least remember where s he s going.> She was just about to get up and go looking for him, when she spotted him headed toward her through the crowd.....empty handed.

She faced him with a sense of dread, "Mulder, where's our luggage?"

He bit his bottom lip and squinted his eyes. "Right now?" he hedged.

Dana tilted her head and expelled a short puff of air.

"Yes...right now...." she growled.

Mulder rubbed his chin for a couple of seconds as if mentally calculating some kind of mathematical formula and stated with typical aplomb, "oh, I'd say right about now, at this very minute...it's probably somewhere between Atlanta and Newark. It appears that our bags decided to take separate vacations. Don't worry though...the airline said they would compensate us for our 'inconvenience'. Hope they have a big checkbook, Dana, cause I for one plan to be one big 'inconvenient' bastard. Let's go...we're running late."

"So what else is new..." she commented with just a hint of sarcasm as they left the concourse and flagged down a cab.

Mulder had the cabbie pull over about a block away from the port and park in front of a section of expensive looking boutiques. He paid the driver, got out, opened the passenger door and carefully extracted Dana from the cab and unto the sidewalk.

"What the hell are you doing?" she exclaimed in surprise. "The ship leaves in an hour!"

"Well...." he said patiently like a professor instructing a student, "Unless this is a cruise for 'nudists,' and I don't think it is.....we're both gonna need some clothes."

Dana nodded in agreement but whispered with embarrassment,

"Mulder, I don't think there's enough space on my card for a *whole* new wardrobe, especially from shoppes like these..."

Mulder glanced down at her with a somewhat amused expression.

"Lucky for you, I'm a man with few expenses and an American Express Card with no limit and nothing on it....space is one thing that I have in abundance." He grinned broadly, took her by the hand and proceeded to drag her into one of the larger stores, where he deposited both her and his card in front of the saleslady. "We have exactly 45 minutes," he told the woman politely as he palmed her several bills. "Get her whatever she wants and have it sent to the port before 9:00." He then gave her the information on the ship and strolled out the door to attend to his own needs.

Thirty minutes later he met Dana in front of the shop and they walked briskly to the port, breezed through customs, and boarded the ship without further incident.

They'd made it....she'd had her doubts....but they *had* made it. Mulder never ceased to amaze her....he'd not been phased once during this whole fiasco. He just seemed unstoppable once he set his mind on something....she'd always admired that about him. The more obstacles you put in his way, the more stubborn he'd become and that relentless determination always seemed to get him through to the end.

She sighed and finally started to relax a little, while he strolled nonchalantly beside her like the whole morning had been nothing more than a walk in the park. Suddenly, he jerked her elbow and when she looked up, he nodded toward the purser's desk. Following his gaze, she spied an older woman of about fifty wearing a very loud, flowered dress topped by what looked like a handmade sweater, and carrying a very large handbag with what appeared to be an orange cat's tail twitching out from under one corner. That thought was confirmed as the animal yowled...maybe it didn t like being stuffed in that handbag. The woman wore a wide brimmed straw hat that sported several huge artificial flowers of nonconforming colors. Dana looked up at Mulder with a questioning stare. In reply he stated in a low voice..."Suspect number one," he smirked. "Mrs. Charlotte O'Keefe....widow....age 52...no children..." He snickered lightly as he also noticed the animal's active tail, "...one cat. She writes mystery novels for a living and evidently is quite successful at it."

Dana took another look at the woman. Mrs. O'Keefe was bending slightly over the counter haggling with the uniformed gentleman behind it as he gestured at her handbag. No doubt having some sort of discussion about the cat...who in their right mind brought a cat on board a cruise ship anyway?? She sort of reminded Dana of a loose cross between Mrs. Doubtfire and Tootsie, with a little bit of the head nun from her parochial school years thrown in for good measure. She even had her hair in that weird sort of helmeted, little ole lady bun, and someone really needed to tell her that all that makeup was not in the least bit attractive. But a suspect?

"Mulder," she asked in an incredulous voice, "you don't seriously suspect *her*?"

"Why not?" he asked, honestly puzzled.

Dana stared at the woman one more time. "I mean....she looks like someone's grandmother for crying out loud."

Mulder arched one eyebrow and commented with a voice slightly tinged with humor. "And Ma Barker was a loving 'mommy' too."

"Point taken," she conceded. "I just hope she's not anywhere near our deck.....I'm allergic to cat hair. That's all I need....sneezing, runny nose, watering eyes....no thank you." She twitched slightly just thinking about it.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I've heard Mrs. O'Keefe only travels first class, and the way the Bureau works.... we'll probably be down in the engine room somewhere. And speaking of cabins, I don't know about you," he quipped lightly ,"but I for one would like to get the key to our cabin and get settled in before I start sticking my nose into everybody's business."

He casually strolled over to the desk and picked up the key to their assigned cabin. The man behind the desk was very polite and apologized profusely over not being able to give them the honeymoon suite.

"I am truly sorry, Mr. Mulder," he stated, his Indian accent tinged with sincere regret, "but there was only one cancellation and it was an inside cabin with an upper and lower berth.... Of course, we will endeavor to make your trip as pleasurable as possible. If you should require anything at all....my name is Koran Soote--you can call me Kor....please call on me and I will be most happy to assist you."

Mulder grinned slightly, "Thanks...Kor....I guess beggars can't be choosers... can they?" He turned to Dana as they walked away. "Think his parents were Trekkies? Funny...he doesn't look like a Klingon. People on the Star Trek Cruise must have a field day with that name," he laughed softly.

They reached the cabin. As Mulder opened the door an avalanche of bags and boxes baring the embossed name of the shoppe he'd left Dana at spilled out into the hallway and onto his feet. He tilted his head to one side and favored Dana with a wry smile. "Give a woman 45 minutes and limitless space on a credit card and she'll do her damnedest to fill it up anyway.... so much for limitless space. Did you get 'everything' you needed?" he asked, doubt written clearly on his face. He shoved several stacks of boxes into the hallway to clear a path into the cabin. "I think you're gonna have to unpack this stuff first.... just so I can *find* what I bought."

Mulder stopped short when he realized the small dimensions of their cabin. "Whoa... this room is about the size of a large bathroom. I bet my closet's bigger than this," he commented with disappointment.

"Come on, Mulder, this is a ship," Dana replied, grabbing the nearest box. "What were you expecting, the Hilton? Besides, it's not really *that* small."

"It is if you're 6'1" and not munchkin size like some people I know." He made a point of staring directly at her. "In that case.... I suppose it's just a little 'cramped'."

She gave a snort and replied, "Oh, quit complaining and help me put these things away, ok?" She began opening boxes and placing things in the small dresser that sat flush against the wall. He took the hint and also began going through the boxes on the floor. He knew *his* stuff had to be in there somewhere, but right now its location was as mysterious as the lost continent of Atlantis.

"Hey, I *like* this," he murmured seductively. She turned to see him balancing some scant, black, lacy underthing up in the air with one finger. She reached over and snatched it off of his finger, tossing it into the drawer. "Later, Sherlock....and only if you're a good boy," she teased ruthlessly.

"I'm always 'good'.... sometimes too good for my own good.....," he managed a pout as he continued to hunt for his elusive clothing. Where in the hell were *his* things? He raised himself up and plopped down on the bottom bunk with a long, heavy, sigh. "I give up," he uttered in defeat.

"If in your quest for the perfect wardrobe, you happen to find some very expensive clothing that's about ten times too big for you.....they're mine." He stifled a yawn, lowered the upper part of his body onto the bunk which was about a foot shorter than he was and closed his eyes.

"And just *what* do you think you're doing?" she asked, slightly miffed as she came across a stack of packages from a different shop.

"Resting my eyes," he mumbled cooly. He was suddenly jolted to alertness by the smack of something cool and silky hitting him in the face.

"I found your things," she commented querulously. Mulder scrunched the boxers from his face with one hand, sat up without thinking, and cracked his head on the bottom of the upper bunk.

"Ow....Shit!!!" he yelped in pain. "I think maybe you should take the bottom bunk, huh??" He took his hand away from his head and studied the drops of blood on his fingertips. "At least the ceiling doesn't have springs hanging out of it."

"Are you okay?" she inquired with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he grunted, "as fine as a person can be who's just been attacked by a bed..... always knew there was a reason I didn't like them." He got up very slowly, picked up his things that she'd had shoved over to him and attempted to find an empty drawer. No luck.

"Ah......Dana....?"

"What is it *now*?" she mumbled impatiently.

"Could you just .....move your things over just a bit? I mean, I'd really like *some* of my stuff in a drawer instead of doubling as carpeting for the floor."

"You should have thought about *that* when you were 'resting your eyes,'" she snapped tersely.

Mulder's eyebrows knitted in contemplation as he mentally brought up a calendar in his head. <Nope....too early for PMS.....must be not enough sleep and jet lag...either that or you managed to piss her off again---perhaps....a combination of not enough sleep, jet lag, and

......okay, what did you do to piss her off this time? Time for a review...Mulder. Ya kept her up too late; got her up too early; rushed her; and then....ya let *her* unpack almost everything. Bingo!!! For someone who's supposed to be sooo smart, where women are concerned...sometimes Mulder, you've got shit for brains...It's gonna take some fancy maneuvering and serious butt kissing (he shamelessly found that thought tremendously appealing) to get you back on solid ground here.>

He got up silently, crossed the room and squeezed two suits and a tuxedo into an already overflowing closet. He stood there quietly staring at her and smiled. "Ya know, Dana, I don't think these murders are such a big mystery after all...."

Startled, she looked up at him in surprise. "Why do you say that?" she asked, her anger temporarily forgotten and her curiosity piqued.

"All I have to do is find out if any of these people shared a cabin. If they did, chances are they probably killed each other," he remarked with a sardonic smirk.

She sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes and paper....opened her mouth...closed it....grinned, snorted, chuckled, and then broke out into a peal of uninhibited laughter. He kicked several boxes out of the way as he walked back to her and dropped to the floor beside her. "I'm sorry I didn't help you more," he commented in between gasps, for her laughter was contagious and he found himself succumbing to it in a big way. "I.....well, sometimes......sometimes, I just don't think.....forgive me? Please???.... I'll have you know that you're the

*only* person I would ever 'grovel' to....." She nodded in affirmation and got the hiccups.

"Let's get the rest of this stuff put away cause we have an orientation meeting at 1100 hours to 'instruct' us on how to 'play the game.' Hopefully, we'll get to see the other suspects as well." He piled the last of the packages' contents into a drawer and shoved it closed with his foot. "That's the last of it," he said with satisfaction.

The smile left Mulder's face suddenly, as if someone switched off a light. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, swaying on his feet When he opened his eyes again, he began taking deep, labored breaths, and he shook his head as if to clear it. "Let's get the hell out of here before I lose what's left of my sanity," he said, grabbing the key off the dresser with one hand and Dana with the other. Without another word, he barged through the door and out into the hall, dragging her behind him. He leaned up against the wall, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

Dana studied him with concern, as his face appeared somewhat

'flushed'. "Are you gonna be all right?" she asked worriedly as she gently stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

Mulder opened his eyes and with a gravelly voice, croaked in embarrassment, "Yeah, I'm fine.....I'll be just fine---I don't know....the walls just seemed to 'close in'. I just need some air--that's all....just some air," he said, his speech punctuated by deep breaths.

**** Continued in 2b M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy." Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Wed Oct 09 04:27:54 1996 Devil's Advocate, part 2 continued...

"You never told me that you were claustrophobic," she ventured cautiously.

"I'm not," he said defensively. "At least I've never had a problem with it before. It wasn't the 'space' exactly......"

Dana watched him deal with his frustration as he tried to fit

'words' to what he'd experienced. "It was more like---like the air was

'alive' with a 'heavy' malevolence. I felt a vague 'dread'. You know, the kind you get when you walk into a dark building and ya know the perp is in there---somewhere--watching, waiting, calculating the moment when he's gonna blow your brains out...." Mulder trailed off, cocking his head to one side. "We've left port," he said suddenly without preamble, " I don't know how I know that, but I know it's a fact."

Dana eyed him closely and saw the same frightened look in his eyes that she felt. He spoke with a audible tremor. "After all this time.....have I finally lost it and taken a half-gainer off the deep end?"

Dana tried to smile and replied soothingly, "I'd say no.....people who *are* crazy don't usually speculate on the state of their sanity.....But there might be a totally rational explanation for all of this. After all, you haven't eaten all morning and I'd say you're probably just in the middle of a hypoglycemic 'funk'. Come on, there's a brunch buffet on the Promenade deck. Let's get some food into you before we go to that infernal meeting and I'll bet you'll feel a hundred percent better." She lightly grasped his wrist and led him down the hall to the elevator.

Buffet brunch was a serious understatement, Mulder thought as he eyed the spread laid out on the Promenade deck. Jesus, he'd never seen so much food in his life....table after table of every kind of 'brunch' food known to the civilized world. Perhaps Dana was right. He *was* beginning to feel much better and the incident in the cabin was becoming just a distant unpleasant memory.

Mulder piled his plate up and sat down. Now *this* was definitely

*his* kind of assignment, he thought wickedly. He spread butter on his french toast and then picked up the syrup and poured a heavy trail over the toast, the edges of the maple lake threatening to overrun his scrambled eggs and sausage. If that sound he heard in the background was his arteries hardening, he decided to ignore it, at least for this trip.

Dana sat across from him with her bagel, fruit salad, and cup of coffee. A look of amazement crossed her face as she watched him dive into the mound of food on his plate.

"Mulder, I don't think it's a good idea to 'overindulge' right now."

"First you tell me to eat, then you tell me *not* to eat....which is it?" he asked in irritable confusion, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork.

"You've never been on a large ship in the middle of the ocean, have you?"

"No......" he replied with exasperation, "I told you I've never done this before."

Dana proceeded carefully. "Well, sometimes it can get a little

'rough' once the ship hits open water and a 'full' stomach is not always advisable."

"Wonderful." He stared at his remaining repast hungrily. "Food, food, everywhere....and not a bite to eat," he purposely misquoted. He looked over Dana's shoulder, then mumbled quietly, "try not to be too obvious but suspect number two is standing at the far table, juggling two plates and scurrying to a seat about four tables away."

Dana dropped her napkin on the floor, and turned partly around in her chair to retrieve it. As she did, she casually glanced up to see a middle-aged man with slightly graying hair poking out from beneath a white Panama hat. He had on white shoes and wore a bright Hawaiian shirt underneath a white linen suit that looked two sizes too big, except of course, for the slight paunch that hung over his belt. "Him?" she asked raising an unbelieving eyebrow. "Oh great....first it's Grandma Moses, now.....it's the 'Good Humor Man'. Mulder, I think you're really reaching on this one."

"Could be," Mulder agreed, "then again....who knows. The 'Good Humor Man' is Karl Kopec, lead snooper for the National Inquisitor. Karl is the mastermind responsible for such 'riveting' headlines as 'siamese Twin Murders Brother and Claims it was Suicide', and 'Chinese Dwarf Gives Birth to Gorilla Baby'. Truly 'stimulating' journalism don't you think? Karl's chasing the 'big story'. The Inquisitor has offered a $10,000 reward to anyone who can prove 'life after death' and Karl plans to collect. Combine that with the reward that the cruise line is offering, solving this mystery would probably be the biggest payday he's ever had."

Mulder turned away from Karl and focused his attention on a man who just walked into the room. "Now *he* could be a real problem," Mulder stated as he directed Dana's gaze to a marginally overweight, gray-haired man wearing a bad suit and cheap shoes. He sported a five o' clock shadow and the way he chewed his mouthful of gum reminded her of the billy goat on her cousin's farm in Wisconsin.

"Why is *he* a problem?" she wondered out loud.

"Because he's an NYPD police detective who wanted this case," Mulder replied.

"New York? Isn't a cruise in Miami just a little bit out of his jurisdiction?" Dana asked.

"Yeah, well he's 55 years old and wants to make a name for himself before he retires. Personally, I think he wants to be the next Joseph Wambaugh." Mulder paused as the cop passed their table carrying his brunch plate and a cup of coffee. Mulder barely stifled a chuckle when he saw what was on the cop's plate....danish and a doughnut. Talk about perpetuating a stereotype! When the cop was safely out of earshot, Mulder continued with his briefing on the guy. "His request was denied when the FBI was contacted so he knows the Bureau sent somebody---he doesn't know who and I for one would just as soon keep it that way. His name is Jake Moorehouse. The first cruise he took was a 'gift' from his buddies at work to help him 'celebrate' his pending retirement. So far he's been unable to prevent the murders or apprehend the criminal or criminals and he really resents the FBI being anywhere near this case."

So what else is new, Dana thought to herself. By and large, local cops were not happy when the FBI was assigned to one of "their" cases. But a cop as a suspect, that puzzled her. "Mulder, if he's a cop, why would he be a suspect?" she asked.

"Yeah, I know---it does sound a little lame," Mulder admitted.

"Maybe he just wanted to go out with a bang. Unfortunately, 'heroes' get more talk show gigs and book rights than just normal every day, run of the mill, retired cops."

They got up from the table. Mulder took one last, longing, look at the remaining food on his plate before he headed for the door and the rather large conference area across from the Promenade Dining Room.

"Good God Mulder," Dana whispered, "I've never seen so many 'odd' people in one place before. It looks like what I might picture the Mulder family reunion to resemble....."

"Oh.. so now you're picking on *my* family again, huh?" Mulder looked down at her with a glint in his eye. This one was just too good to pass up. "May I remind you," he began in a teasing tone, " that *your* family is the one that could set up a 900 number for 'psychic friends'." His voice lost it's teasing quality....suddenly he didn't feel so well.

"Come to think of it, way don't you call up Melissa and have her 'channel' me some Rolaids... my stomach seems to have a life of its own....somehow it's traveled into my throat and I can't seem to coax it back down to where it belongs." He felt dizzy, hot, and extremely nauseous.

"Mulder, *sit* down," she ordered, "sit down before you fall down." Lord, he looked awful. All the blood drained from his face as beads of perspiration rolled down his cheek. "I told you not to eat all that stuff," she reminded him. "Do you think you can hold on to it until this meeting is over???"

"You mean....do I think I can keep from tossing my cookies all over your brand new shoes???? Believe me, I'll give it my best shot, but I'm not promising anything."

Geez, he actually *did* look ....green....It's a good thing there weren't any self respecting aliens around to see *this*. "Okay, I spotted Mrs. O'Keefe, Mr. Kopec, and Sgt. Moorehouse. That leaves two suspects unaccounted for.."

"Actually....two suspects---three people," he corrected.

"What?"

"Well, I counted the Boltons as one suspect."

"Why on earth would you do that?" she inquired....this she had to hear...sometime his logic was just a tad difficult to follow.

"They're married," he stated and acted as if no further explanation was necessary.

"So what? They're still two different people."

"Yeah, but how could one of them *murder* people and not have the other one know about it.... I mean I couldn't keep something like that from

*you*---and we're not even married."

"I swear, Mulder, sometimes you're sooo naive. Read my lips. Not everyone is like *us.* Not all couples talk, argue and care enough about each other to tell one another the truth on any given subject. Not all couples love each other either...."

"All right...I guess I screwed up on that one." Mulder said, admitting defeat one more time. Geez, it was hard to win with this woman.

She reached over and ran her fingers through his hair. "That's okay....we'll let it slide this time." Dana looked away from Mulder as two people entered from the dining room. They wore matching jogging suits.....very expensive matching jogging suits, and it was obvious they had just finished what was probably their morning run. "Don't tell me....the Boltons, right?"

Mulder nodded. "Todd and Kelly Bolton, middle thirties. He's an associate with a high powered Wall Street law firm, based in their Atlanta office. Handles stock transfers, buyouts, mergers...."

"A corporate raider...lovely," Dana muttered under her breath.

"She's in real estate...handles only high six and seven figure properties. No kids, but a nice little estate on the outskirts of Atlanta."

"So what are they doing on this cruise?" Dana asked. "Surely they don't need the money."

"No....just the movie rights. Rumor is that Todd got wind of a small production company that's for sale in Burbank. He probably thinks that if he can solve this 'crime; he could swing a deal to purchase the company and produce a movie of his adventures, thereby getting his foot in the door of the entertainment business. And I'm sure Kelly has dollar signs floating in her eyes just dreaming about the house she could sell to Roseanne out in sunny California."

Dana and Mulder fell silent as the Boltons passed them carrying their plates. Each had an identical cup of tea...herbal, no doubt...a small fruit salad and a muffin. Dana caught snatches of their conversation as they floated by. It seemed to consist entirely of what their lawn man was doing to rid their estate of some persistent pests, and how badly the repair shop had messed up the leather interior on her BMW. She watched them closely...both had identical light brown hair, steel blue eyes....and she noticed with some amusement that they finished each other 's sentences, seemingly without a break in the conversation. Maybe Mulder was right...two people, one suspect.

"So who's the third missing person?"

"She's a psychic witch," he said as a wistful smile played across his lips.

"A what?" she smirked. This better not be another jibe at Melissa, not if he knew what was good for him.

"Okay--her name is Oneida Darkhorse...Psychic Advisor to the Stars and self-proclaimed high priestess of the 'dark' arts. Quite a Title, huh?

" Dana's look said that she didn't buy it, not in the least. "Her father is supposedly descended from Mayan kings---her mother a full-blooded Red Hand Souix. She was born and raised in Brazil." He stopped and pointed at the door. "Well, what do you know. Here she is now. Maybe she 'knew' we were talking about her."

As if on cue, a tall, lithe, young woman glided into their midst. Conversations ceased and heads turned in unison as she slithered into her seat at the far corner of the room. Dana hated to admit it, but the woman was exquisite. Her gleaming raven hair hung straight and sure below her tiny waist and her face held the proud features of her Native American heritage; the flawless, tawny skin, high cheekbones, and full, red lips. But the most intriguing feature was--her eyes--they were an incongruous cool, icy, blue that seemed to look right through you and see into your soul.

Dana also noticed something else.... the woman's affect on the male population in the room was equally --intriguing. She glanced up at her partner and discovered, much to her annoyance, that he too was not immune to the woman's obvious sensual appeal. The stupid grin on his face attested to that fact. She nudged him forcefully in the side to bring him back from whatever fantasy his fertile imagination had been entertaining and he fumbled awkwardly in an attempt to recover his composure. Finally, he just shrugged his shoulders and commented sheepishly, "Well, there's nothing wrong with 'looking', is there?"

"Mulder, that was *not* 'looking', that was just pure...'gawking'. How would you like it if I looked at another man that way?"

He looked down at her and smiled guiltily. "I didn't mean to," he whispered with child-like innocence.

However, his assurances to the contrary, Mulder began to notice an intense desire for the beautifully exotic woman rise within him......wait a minute, he argued with himself. This was *not* what *he* wanted. The only woman he *wanted* to arouse him was the one standing beside him. He shook his head quickly from side to side, trying to clear it. What the hell was going on here, he asked himself in a growing panic--first the episode in the cabin and now....this? Mulder reached over and pulled Dana in front of himself almost like a shield. Dana was surprised at his sudden action, looked up and followed his gaze across the room to find that Oneida had singled him out with her penetrating, icy, stare. Dana looked back and forth between the two with a growing concern. Something was going on here besides mere gawking.

Fox Mulder reeled with the erotic imagery that bombarded his mind...crazed, steamy visions of Oneida that he knew didn't originate in his own head. He felt the dizziness and intense nausea slam into him once again with renewed vengeance. Scully turned just in time to see him sway unsteadily and crash to the floor.

Across the room Oneida smiled, then turned her attention away from the crowd that had gathered around the couple. Brunch, that sounded good to her. Maybe she'd get something to eat. Using her 'talents' always did give her an appetite.

The other subjects of Dana and Mulder's attention barely noticed the commotion. The Boltons had finished their brunch and each had their cellular phones out, completing last minute ship to shore calls before the ship was too far out from the port for their cellulars to work. Todd was busy berating his assistant for sending a document by runner instead of by fax....he'd have to take care of his little 'assistant' problem when he got back. She was a cutie, but she'd long since worn out her usefulness. He wondered how much severance pay he'd have to give her to keep her quiet. Kelly was checking the latest listing in her office, instructing her assistant which clients to send the listing to. Neither saw Mulder fall to the floor, and probably wouldn't have cared even if they had.

Karl Kopec folded the latest issue of The Star and put it on the table next to the issue of his own tabloid paper. Have to see what the competition's up to, he thought to himself. Nothing much was the answer. Now this... this was a 'real' story. If he could crack this baby, he'd be up there with the likes of Geraldo Rivera... just as famous and just as rich. And nobody could ever again call him a tired old hack... he was an investigative reporter, and he'd damn well prove it on this trip. He saw the tall young man sway and fall to the floor. Another newbie, he chuckled to himself. Won't they ever learn to get motion sickness medicine *before* they leave port?

Jake Moorehouse sat surreptitiously scanning the room, looking for the agents the FBI had sent in to investigate 'his' case. Usually they were easy to spot, even without the dark sunglasses and the uptight, buttoned-down dark suits. Most Fibbies he'd known during his career were insufferably arrogant......God's gift to law enforcement....and he could spot that arrogance a mile away. As far as he was concerned, the only difference between a Fibbie and a beat cop was the technical equipment at their disposal. His own precinct was facing budget cutbacks and he'd been asked if he would take an early retirement. The federal guys, they didn't have to worry about that. Hell, he figured his own taxes kept at least one team fully supplied with all the manpower and technical support they could ever possibly need. Beat cops.....that was a different story. Beat cops had to think on their feet...didn't have all that fancy, schmancy high tech stuff to do their detecting for them. But that worked in his favor here.... Even if there were a pair of agents on board this time out, he still figured he could beat them at solving this little mystery...he had nearly twenty-five years experience going for him, as well as an insatiable desire for the fame and fortune he figured would go along with solving the case. He was nobody's fool...he knew he could find a way to translate this little reward money into a tidy nest egg...something to keep him warm and cozy for the rest of his life. The idea made him smile.

Moorehouse frowned briefly when he saw the young man hit the floor, his wife bending down protectively over him. He'd checked them out already...newlyweds. Only she didn't act like a newlywed....all nervous and uncertain at having her new husband suddenly pass out on her. Nope, not this one....she just calmly called for the doctor and felt her husband's pulse. Hmmm...maybe she was in the medical profession. He'd have to check that out. One thing was certain, however, these weren't the agents he was looking for. No Fibbie he knew would ever have come on board unprepared for motion sickness. Moorehouse continued his scan of the room, mentally cataloging all the passengers he saw.

In the background, unnoticed by anyone, a small man heaved a deep sigh....from the looks of things, this was going to be a *very* long cruise.

Mulder heard far away voices drifting in and out in waves through his head. He tried desperately, without success, to pull them into focus and decipher some kind of meaning from the sounds. However, the noises always seemed just beyond his reach--just at the edge of his consciousness, taunting him until he was just too exhausted to reach for them any more.

He began to sink back down into the cool darkness when a single voice broke through and pulled him back again. Slowly, he felt reality coalesce around him and he opened his eyes. He found himself prone on a cot in the midst of various medical paraphernalia and antiseptic smells. Great... he was in yet another doctor's office. This was turning out to be one hell of a day, and it wasn't even half over.

Mulder awoke with a monstrous pain in his head. He tried to sit up, but his stomach cramped unmercifully, and without warning, he was forced to roll over and retch violently for several minutes. Oh God, he felt like shit.....

A soft, cool hand felt his forehead and caressed his cheek. "Doc's gonna give you something for the nausea and vomiting," Dana said helpfully.

Mulder nodded slowly as something 'stung' his arm....he then looked at the doctor, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Bernie Kopel. Naw....it couldn't be.... He closed his eyes, trying to fight off the sinking feeling that he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and pretty soon the Madd Hatter was gonna invite him to a tea party.

"Young man, you've got possibly the worst case of motion sickness I've ever seen," the doctor said, smiling at him reassuringly. Mulder opened his eyes again and was relieved to see just a normal looking doctor, not a refugee from 'The Love Boat'. Must be all that late night television his subconscious had absorbed from years of falling asleep on the couch, in front of the TV. The idea that his subconscious was being influenced by

'The Love Boat' wasn't exactly reassuring.

"Combine that with an equally nasty case of vertigo," the doctor continued, "and you're one sick puppy. I'm going to give you a patch to wear that should alleviate the symptoms within an hour or so."

Dr. Johnson went back into the other room to retrieve the small package of patches lying on the counter. He paused briefly in the doorway as he momentarily caught a shadow of someone else in the room out of the corner of his eye. Scanning the small lab/pharmacy turned up nothing out of the ordinary, so he convinced himself that he'd been a ship's doctor too long and his eyes were playing tricks on him again. He brought the patches out and placed one on the back side of Mulder's right earlobe.

"The medication will gradually release throughout the day and you should be able to function normally very soon," he explained. "Meanwhile, I would like you to remain exactly where you are for at least an hour or so." The doctor turned to Scully. "Make sure that he does..." She smiled at the man and commented, "I'll sit on him if I have to."

Mulder managed a weak grin. "Guess I missed the 'meeting'. What are their ground rules so I know which ones to break first?"

"It seems we have to 'earn' the right to solve the 'real' cases by first solving a 'test' case they gave us at the meeting," Scully replied.

"Test case? What 'test case'?" Talk about shades of Sherlock Holmes.....

"Every individual or couple was given the same 'mystery scenario', at least that's what the idiot called it," Scully said with a 'why me, lord' look. "The first 5 individuals and/ or couple to solve said mystery earn the right to solve the real thing and collect the prize." Scully looked at him, totally exasperated. "Mulder, I can't actually believe we're going along with this...this lame charade."

Mulder's shrug said it all...you gotta do what you gotta do. After all, they couldn't very well blow their cover. Scully knew that, but it still didn't stop her from feeling totally frustrated. They should be out chasing the *real* bad guys, not some make believe villain in a ridiculous game of 'Clue'.

"Does the 'Mystery' that they gave us sound 'challenging' at all?" he asked with growing curiosity. "And has that logical mind of yours figured it out yet?"

Dana grinned....leave it to Mulder to get excited about any mystery, even a make believe one. "Yes....it does sound....'challenging'," she replied, "and no, I haven't quite figured it out yet."

"Well....are you gonna tell me or keep me in suspense? What's the scenario?" he asked eagerly with the glint of an anticipated challenge, sparkling in his eyes as he started to raise himself up off the cot.

She shook her head 'no' and gently pushed him back down..."45 Mulder."

"Huh??? 45? 45 what?" he inquired impatiently.

"Forty-five minutes....that's how long you've got left to warm that cot and you're gonna stay there even if I have to hog tie ya and sit on ya. Got that, Sherlock?"

He reluctantly settled back down onto the cot and grumbled, "I bet Dr. Watson didn't threaten Sherlock Holmes with B&D. if he didn't agree....Geez."

"Watson didn't have the same kind of 'investment' in Holmes that I have in you either, so shut up, close your eyes, and do what you're told."

"But...."

"Shsssss," she hissed fiercely, her eyes just daring him to disobey her.

Seeing that he wasn't going to get anywhere until he appeased her sense of duty, he reluctantly closed his eyes, fully intending to wait

*just* the minimum amount of time required to fulfill the time restraint that she so enthusiastically enforced on him. However, weariness took its toll and in the end, Mulder's forty-five minute nap lasted a little more than six hours.

The steward rolled the cart to a stop in front of cabin 609 and knocked respectfully on the door, waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he knocked again, a little harder. This time the door opened, but just barely.

"Mrs. O'Keefe?" the steward asked. Behind the crack in the door, he could only make out one eye and part of her face. He knew the old lady was a mystery writer, and he had always believed writers were a little eccentric, if not downright weird. But a passenger taking brunch in their cabin the first morning out of port was a first in his book. Maybe she was afraid her cat would jump overboard or something.

"I have your brunch, ma'am," the steward said when she remained silent.

"Just leave it in the hallway, young man," Mrs. O'Keefe said.

"I'll bring it in..in a minute or two."

"Are you sure, ma'am?" Now the steward was thoroughly confused. He wasn't supposed to do that....leaving his cart in the hallway was a sure way to get in trouble with his supervisor. "I'm supposed to leave it in your cabin, not the hallway," he insisted.

"My cat's not used to strangers....I'm sure you understand." Mrs. O'Keefe's blue eye stared back at him unrelentingly.

Well, it didn't look like the old lady was going to open her door, and he sure didn't want to stand here arguing with her all morning. Shit....if he got in trouble, he'd just blame it on her. What were they always telling him...the passenger is always right? "Okay, ma'am. But don't leave it out here too long....someone might decide your brunch looks better than what they had."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind," she said, firmly closing the door.

The steward shook his head as he walked away. Boy, you see all sorts on these cruises, he thought.

A few minutes after the steward left, the door to cabin 609 opened slowly. Mrs. O'Keefe stuck her head out the door and looked in both directions down the hall. Convinced that no one was in the corridor, she opened the door and quickly pulled the cart inside, her rubber soled shoes making no sound on the carpeted hallway. Anyone seeing her would have been amazed at how quickly the little old lady could move when she wanted to.

Jake Moorehouse sat in a deck chair, ostensibly getting a little sun, but in reality closely watching his fellow passengers from behind the safety of his shades. There had been quite a turn out at the orientation meeting this morning. Even the newlywed wife had shown up to collect the little test scenario and listen to the rules before leaving, probably to go check up on her sick hubby. Moorehouse had already dealt with the fake mystery, a bit surprised that it had taken him a couple of hours to solve it. It was complicated, but he'd chewed up and spit out harder mysteries in his time. He'd turned in his response on the way to the deck, confident that he would be among the five lucky winners.

The day had turned out beautiful -- sunny and warm without a cloud in the sky....a definite difference from the dingy gray of New York City. Quite a few of the passengers were taking advantage of the sun by either frolicking in the pool or laying around catching rays. There was even a volleyball game going strong, although Jake figured the guys were in it mostly to oggle the girls as they bounced around in their bikinis trying to hit the ball. Had he not been working a case, he might have spent more time eyeing the girls himself.

Jake noticed the Boltons sitting at a table near the pool, heads together over the test scenario. Inwardly he smiled...solving a mystery was a little harder than bullying some poor slob into selling his company, eh? Amateurs.....

The reporter...what was his name, Kopek?...walked by Jake's chair on the way to the bar. Probably on an expense account from that rag he worked for...from the looks of it he'd probably spend the whole trip sloshed. He'd exchanged the worn linen suit for a pair of garish Bermuda shorts that clashed horribly with his Hawaiian shirt. Jake noticed the test scenario tucked under the reporter's arm. Well, he hadn't figured it out yet. Moorehouse wondered how he'd do with a couple of drinks under his belt...maybe in Kopek's case the liquor actually helped him think.

Jake wondered how many of the passengers at the meeting this morning had given up after reading the test case. Not a lot of them seemed to be working on it....that was just as well. Less competition searching for the real criminal. And a major suspect sat well within Jake's view, sunning herself by the pool.

Oneida Darkhorse...he'd spent a lot of time researching her. She'd been on all of the previous cruises where passengers had died. Her husband was some rich, big shot politician....sending his wife on all these cruises probably didn't even put a dent in his spare change. Not that she'd acted much like a wife while she was on board. Oneida had an effect on men....a very carnal effect...and by all reports, she enjoyed the hell out of it. Moorehouse guessed that she used the men that she attracted the way other people used alcohol or drugs...as an escape. Although what the heck she had to escape from was beyond him. She had money, fame, and a bod that wouldn't quit. Moorehouse considered himself somewhat of an amateur psychologist...you got to be that way after years on the job.....but there were some people he just couldn't figure out. One thing was certain, though...this woman was a real looker. Moorehouse let his eyes pause on her reclined form, letting his imagination run rampant.

As he sat there watching her, Oneida opened her eyes and stared straight at him. Moorehouse felt like a goose had walked over his grave. In spite of the hot weather, he shivered. A thought rang out in his head, as clear as if someone had spoken it out loud....<not in your lifetime, bud> Moorehouse got up from his chair with a start, deciding that he'd had enough sun for one afternoon. Maybe a nap, in his cabin, so he'd be alert for tonight's festivities.

Oneida turned over on her lounge chair so the sun could hit her back...had to make sure the tan was even. Besides, she liked laying on her stomach, her face buried in her soft beach towel. For some reason she was very drowsy and felt like doing nothing more than lying out in the sun. Maybe she'd stay here for the entire trip, although she'd have to get up sooner or later and turn in her answer to the test mystery. She knew the answer already, of course...she'd gotten it loud and clear from the purser's mind when he'd looked at her. She just didn't want to turn in her answer too soon....after all, some people might accuse her of cheating.

She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the deck fade into the background....letting the creep's thoughts about her fade from her mind as well. Oh, she appreciated male attention, all right. But it had to be from the *right* male, and he definitely was *not* it. She let her thoughts drift back to the man she'd seen on the Promenade Deck this morning....now *he* was someone she was definitely interested in. He wasn't on deck, she was sure of it....she would have known if he was around. Oh, well... no doubt he would be at the party tonight to see whether he and his new little wife had won a chance to compete on solving the real mystery. Oneida hoped they had...it would give her a chance to be around him, to try and sort out the barrage of feelings he had thrown back at her this morning when she'd used her 'talents' on him. Picturing him in her mind, Oneida drifted off to sleep.

Dana had pulled up a chair to sit with Mulder just to make sure that he didn't renege and get up first chance he got. She'd used the time to study the case she'd been given and was surprised to see that it was quite a little mystery. When the forty-five minutes were up and Mulder was still peacefully sleeping, she'd decided not to wake him. He'd be royally pissed off at her but he'd just have to get over it. Sleep was a rare commodity for him and she wasn't about to interrupt it. He obviously

'needed' it and by God, he was gonna get it whether he liked it or not.

The afternoon went by quickly. Dana dozed off a bit herself, the early morning finally catching up with her. She awoke with a start, and was pleased to see that her 'patient' was still fast asleep. Stretching her arms and yawning, she prepared herself for the inevitable complaining and whining she was sure would ensue when he finally woke up and discovered he'd overslept. But she would stand by her decision and if he didn't like it....it was just too damn bad.

Dana finished with her study of the case and looked up over the rim of her reading glasses as Mulder turned restlessly on the cot, his eyelids fluttering in the effort to awaken. <Why is it that men always seem to have the most thick, gorgeous eyelashes???? It just wasn't fair.> He gradually opened his eyes and momentarily stared at her with a blank expression.

She got up, put the 'test mystery case' in the chair, and knelt on the floor beside the cot. With one hand she checked his pulse and with the other, she brushed the ever stubborn lock of hair from his eyes again. The medical part of her mind noted with some dissatisfaction that he remained disoriented just a little longer than she thought he should have, but after a few minutes, he seemed lucid and fairly normal.

Mulder sat up cautiously. The medication must have worked for the headache, dizziness, and nausea had diminished to tolerable levels and he actually even felt a little 'feisty'.....and though he shouldn't be....hungry. Didn't he just eat? Oh well, maybe it was just that he'd barfed up everything.

"How ya feelin', sleepy head?" Dana said cheerfully. "Ready to go back to the cabin, take a shower, change your clothes, and go to dinner?"

"Dinner? What happened to lunch?"

"You slept through lunch," she replied hastily.

He narrowed his eyes. "Dana.....what time is it?"

"Oh...." She looked at her watch. "It's exactly 5:32 PM." <Brace yourself Dana, cause here it comes>

"Five thirty-two PM? You mean that I've wasted a whole day, flat on my back when we have to beat out all those people to solve their stupid

'test mystery'!" Mulder glared at her--- he couldn't believe she'd let him sleep so long. They were on a case, for crissakes. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because I thought you'd have a better chance of solving this thing with a well-rested, alert mind than an exhausted, groggy one," she replied sweetly, "and I have the utmost 'faith' in your deductive abilities, so don't get your 'knickers in a twist'.... I can almost guarantee nobody else has solved the damn thing yet either."

One corner of his mouth crooked up in that infamous lopsided grin.

"Solving a case with a 'well-rested', alert, mind, huh? What a *novel* concept," he commented sardonically as he stood carefully, getting his bearings. "Why do I have to change clothes?"

"Because it's a formal dinner/dance."

"Lovely---it's monkey suit time already and it's only the first night. What could I have possibly done to deserve all this good fortune?" he lamented.

"Stop with the 'pity party' and I'll give you the file on our 'test mystery'," she cajoled as they walked through the main deck to the elevator. That should keep his worry circuits busy for a while, she thought sneakily.

"Sounds like a fair trade," he replied, taking the file from her hand. Mulder proceeded to peruse the documents during their elevator ride. Luckily they had the elevator all to themselves so no one saw their

'un-newlywed' like behavior. He handed the file back to her when they got out on their deck.

"Well?" she asked.

"I'm thinking," was all he'd say as they entered the cabin. He hurried to the shower and closed the door. Dana heard him turn on the water. Fifteen minutes later he emerged wearing a big smile and very little else. "I know who did it, " he laughed, " I know the answer to the

'test'." He started to quote sections of the file out loud to her so she could follow where he was going with it.

"Okay....so they call this scenario the 'Case of the Vanishing Man' Here we go....

"#1. Mystery writer describes to a friend a scenario for his book that involves the lead character phoning *his* friend and telling him that he's screwing around with a 'magic disappearing spell' and says that he's

'disappearing' while talking on the phone. In the *story*, the friend arrives to discover the guy is missing, the house boarded up and locked from the inside with no means of escape, i.e. no fireplace, trap doors, secret passages, etc.

"#2 Mystery writer finishes novel on the 1st of the month, goes to town and mentions to several people that he was late because he had to

'meet' someone earlier that morning. Writer returns home. After two weeks the *friend* that he told the story to goes to his cottage to find everything there matches the scenario in the Writer's book, i.e. locked from the *inside*, etc., except for one thing...the writer has been murdered.

"#3. "The *greedy* landlord, who also happens to be the builder of the cottage, says he's pissed cause the Writer died before he could pay his rent. The landlord turns the place, which had become a mecca for occult minded and mystery buffs, into an attraction and charges admission, making more money than he ever did from collecting rent.

"#4. "Now the question is.....who killed the writer and how? Give up Scully????? huh? huh???" he asked smugly.

Scully had an idea, but she wanted to hear it from him. Besides, she just loved it when he showed off. "All right Mr. Holmes-----I give...who dunnit?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson," he replied in an overdone British accent. "The landlord did it, of course," he stated with conviction.

"Right.....how did you come to that 'leap' in logic?"

"Well, according to everyone who knew this guy, he was a greedy, lazy, SOB who'd evict his own mother if she was late with a payment. The Writer said he had to meet someone that morning...it was the first of the month....and what do you pay on the 1st of the month, oh Scully one?????"

"The rent," she conceded. "The Landlord lied about not seeing the Writer when he'd paid his rent that morning--why?"

Mulder rubbed his chin. "This part is just conjecture," he admitted, "but I think the bastard gave the Writer the idea for his book and when the writer refused to cut him in on the book deal, he got angry, planned his revenge, and when the Writer returned from town he killed the guy and found another way to make a profit off of it."

Dana had to admit that the *who* made sense, but the *how* was beyond her. "Okay.....so how did he murder the guy and get out of a building that was totally sealed from the *inside*? And Mulder, if you mention Eugene Tooms, I'll .......I don't know what I'll do, but I guarantee it won't be pleasant."

"Remember....the landlord also built the cottage....and he was admittedly 'lazy'. It's true the place had a concrete floor and solid stone walls....but it also had a beam ceiling with exposed rafters. I learned a few things while being forced into child labor on my summer vacations for my big shot cousin architect. He'd often run into trouble with workers not properly securing...if they even secured it at all....that kind of roof to the wall's corners. The weight of the roof kept it in place and no one would be the wiser that it wasn't secured unless a huge wind came in and lifted it. The landlord had a truck...and truck jacks are usually hydraulic...all he would have to do is seal the place up, take the damn truck jack, place it under a beam and lift the corner of the roof about a foot which would be a piece of cake, crawl out, then remove the jack from the outside. No mystery...only a devious mind. So whadda ya think, Watson???"

"I'm *very* impressed," Dana said, and she was, too, but she couldn't resist adding, "I think you'd make a great FBI agent someday when you grow up." She skittered to one side as he snapped his towel at her.

"I'm really glad you figured all that out, too--maybe it'll bring us in first place since all they really asked for was 'who dunnit', not specifically how or why," she said wryly.

"Then why in the hell did you let me go through all those mental contortions to figure all that shit out?" he asked slightly perturbed.

She grabbed an extra towel lying by the sink and before entering the shower, looked back over her shoulder, pursed her lips and simply said,

"Gotcha--"

He crossed the small room and retrieved his tuxedo from the closet, thinking about the smart remark he'd made earlier that morning about leaving late so that 'she didn't have to wait anywhere'.....touchÈ', Dana...<paybacks are hell>

Dana's voice filtered out above the noise of the running water.

"Hey....how long before his 'artwork' wears off my butt?"

He thought for a moment , <well you did use a laundry marker> then yelled back, "Oh, I'd say you're good for at least a dozen more washes," he chuckled mirthfully under his breath as he contemplated having to stuff himself into this monkey suit.

"Hey, Sherlock," Dana called again from the shower. "Since I'm in here and obviously not in any condition to be seen yet, how about you go take our answer to the purser's office."

Any excuse to postpone putting on that damn suit was fine with him, he thought as he pulled on his jeans and a t shirt. "Purser's Office...gotcha," he said, heading out the door.

Todd Bolton paced the small confines of their cabin, his mind working in overdrive. The ship to shore phone had been out again, so he couldn't call his office. Anytime he was out of touch with the office he felt out of control, and Todd hated feeling out of control of anything. In his business, deals were made, and broken, at all hours of the day and night. Todd didn't trust anyone to handle business while he was gone, and if solving this mystery wasn't so important to his overall career goals, he damn well wouldn't be here.

The cabin wasn't helping matters any. You'd think what with all the cruises he and Kelly had taken trying to solve this little mystery, he'd be used to it by now. But small was definitely *not* what Todd Bolton was used to. He was on the fast track, and that was exactly where he wanted to be. He was already rich by most standards, but what Todd craved most was power and all the trappings that went with it. The fancy, fast cars...the estate in the country...and a beautiful, smart wife who looked good at his side. He never traveled less than first class, and this cabin was a definite come down. And to think this was the best "suite" the cruise line had to offer.

Kelly emerged from the shower wrapped in one of the large towels they had brought from home. God, she was gorgeous. She'd look good in California, just as good as any of those beach blanket babes with the Coppertone tans and the bleach blonde hair. He wondered briefly if she knew about his extracurricular "activities" with the long string of girls he'd hired as assistants. Probably not. And he refused to think about whether she may have retaliated with "assistants" of her own. It was enough that they were good together, and he had to admit that they made a heck of a team. They'd actually figured out the stupid little test scenario. Of course, Todd had hedged his bets with a little side

*investment* directly into the purser's pocket. That was one of the most important things Todd had learned in his life...never go into a deal unless you already know what the outcome will be. He had no intention of failing this time out. There was too much riding on this deal. Yeah, they'd close the book on this little mystery, and that would lead to another deal which Todd would close and that would be the start of their new life in California. Closure....that was his goal in all things, whether in the boardroom or in the bedroom....closure and success.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready to dry her hair, Kelly Bolton shivered briefly, and a frown creased her forehead.

"What's up, babe?" Todd asked, seeing her frown.

"Nothing," she replied. "Must have gotten a chill, I guess." But she didn't sound convinced, and as she continued to look into the mirror, Kelly felt more than just a slight chill run down her back...this cold was buried deep in her bones. She started putting on her makeup automatically, letting her mind roam free, and in the back of her thoughts echoed one word she had heard her husband say at least a million times.....<closure>.

(continued part 4) M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy." Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 11 11:16:34 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 4) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com

The trip to the purser's office just hadn't been long enough, Mulder thought as he attempted for the tenth time to tie his stupid bow tie. He didn't know why he was having such a problem with it. Actually, he'd been having minor problems with his coordination in general ever since he'd awakened this afternoon. He'd even bumped into the door jam on his way into the cabin. He was beginning to feel more like an Inspector Clueseau than a Fox Mulder.

This case was not turning out exactly the way he'd hoped....it was almost as if he'd been under personal attack since he boarded the damn ship. And in spite of all the sleep he'd gotten this afternoon, he still felt tired. That same heavy feeling of dread began creeping up on him again and as he gazed into the mirror, he thought he saw something move behind him just outside his field of vision. Mulder spun around, ready for a confrontation but the only thing that met his scrutiny was 'empty space'.

<Oh boy, first...you're paranoid...now, you're delusional on top of everything else> He could have sworn there was something...or someone there.

He temporarily gave up on the tie when Dana entered the room and slipped into the floor length, blue velvet gown that she'd purchased before they came on board. Mulder studied the dress in wonder---- It 'plunged' in the back, it 'plunged' in the front, in fact it did so much 'plunging' that it seemed to possess an ethereal quality that defied the law of gravity.

She was beautiful. If he'd have been a prince, he'd have taken her away from all this. However, as it were, he was just a lowly FBI agent who, at the moment, was trying to decide whether or not he was crazy and if he should tell her about his doubts.

Dana interrupted his thoughts by reaching up and expertly fixing the bow tie for him. Gazing into those clear, blue/grey eyes, he finally decided that for now--- he'd just let it ride until he had more information to go on.

"Thanks for fixing the tie," he said gratefully, "I just can't seem to get it together tonight," he sighed as he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth and replace the stupid looking patch on his earlobe with a new one. He rotely spat out the toothpaste, looked up at he mirror and froze.....

"Dana," he whispered at first. "Dana, come here!!!" he raised his voice.

The urgency in his tone brought her running.

Mulder pointed at the mirror and she stepped back to look. There in the steam, a written message began to appear one letter at a time.

'Danger..... go..... back..... death.... awaits....'

"Scully," he murmured nervously, "if you've got a logical, rational, explanation for 'this one', please believe me......I'm *more* than willing to listen....and I *REALLY* wanna hear it."

Dana leaned in closer to the mirror to inspect the mysterious writing. "Could be that someone wrote on the mirror with some sort of water repellent material...say like a chapstick. When the steam collected, it would collected everywhere except on the material. It's like silk screening, Mulder."

"Okay Einstein....," Mulder said, considering her theory. "But if that were true...wouldn't the 'writing' appear all at once--not one letter at a time in a flowing motion? Wouldn't it have shown up after *my* shower, too? And if this was someone's idea of a practical joke---why single us out? Nobody's *supposed* to know who we are."

Mulder cautiously opened the medicine cabinet to look inside. No, there were no panels, no holes in the wall, absolutely nothing to suggest tampering or fraud.

"Did you hear anyone come in here while I was gone?" Dana shook her head no. He didn't think that was a possibility...the bathroom in this cabin was pretty darn small, and it was doubtful that Dana wouldn't have seen someone come in. Stumped, Mulder shrugged his shoulders.

Mulder looked back at the mirror. The steam in the bathroom was dissipating and the words were slowly fading from sight. "In any case, whether it's ghosts, goblins, or a magician with a long distance calling card, someone was concerned enough to send us a 'warning' and I don't think we should totally disregard it, do you?"

"Mulder, I've learned not to 'disregard' anything where you're concerned," she replied, shaking her head with a wry smile. "And what do you mean...'warn us'. Seems to me, whatever this is, it's gone out of its way to warn 'you'."

"Come on, Scully....I'm not predisposed to psychic impressions. You're the one with *that* kind of background," he added with relish. Reminding her of that fact always seemed to give him just a teeny tiny spark of pleasure, since he knew it tended to irritate her skeptical nature to be associated 'genetically' with what she considered, for the most part....'flights of fancy'.

"Oh....so you don't have *any* psychic ability at all, huh? Then what was that business in the cabin this morning all about....I didn't feel anything--*you*, on the other hand, practically hyperventilated yourself into oblivion." When she paused, Mulder thought he'd gotten off lightly...he should have known better. "And one more thing. About that psychic 'witch'....Oneida. She zeroed in on you like a hungry wolf sniffing out a plate of raw meat. There were at least fifty other men in that room, all with the same stupid grin on their faces. Why did she concentrate such an icy glare at *you*? Exactly what kind of 'message' did she send you? Mulder, do you think she's for real? And now...this! " she pointed at the mirror and sighed.

Mulder favored her with a look of grudging resignation and admitted, "I'll concede to insight, intuition, and maybe to a larger degree, a certain amount of empathy, but I've never been telepathic or prophetic. As to whether or not I believe our 'resident witch' is for real?? Mulder shrugged. "Personally, I don't think that she's a true psychic. However, she does seem to possess the ability to channel and project raw emotions onto others....and does it with great skill to further her own ends...whatever they may be. The icy 'glare' was probably thrown my way because I sort of refused her suggestions.....I somehow got the feeling that a negative response was 'unusual' and I guess she considered it a 'slap in the face' so to speak."

"Fox....," she drew out his name deliberately, "what 'exactly' did she 'project' to you?"

"Uh......" he stammered, "Let's just say.....I discovered that there are 'positions' that even *I* haven't heard of......" Damn, he knew he'd blushed again and betrayed his attempt to appear worldly. <You should know better than to try and play Mr. Cool with Dana....she knows you too well. She might tease you about adult videos and skin magazines but underneath it all, she knows as well as you do that you're more old fashioned than you'd like to admit.>

Realizing that this conversation was taking a decisively

'familiar' turn, he caught himself inadvertently looking down the front of her dress, which led him to the conclusion that if they didn't leave right now....they wouldn't leave at all. Never had he thought it would be so difficult to keep his mind balanced between 'lover' and

'partner'.....but it had to be done. Mulder cleared his throat noisily and announced, "I'm starved.....let's go eat." Then he thought with surprise, after barfing his guts out all morning, that he really *was* hungry.

Mulder took another look at her as they left the cabin and commented with a shy smile, "I submit that there is no need for concern on your part as far as Mrs. Darkhorse is concerned....she projects a fantasy....but *you*.....*you*, Dana......are reality and truth. And as you know.....I prefer the truth. " He took her arm and gently wrapped it around his own as they traveled down the hall. When they approached the waiting elevator, however, Mulder stopped suddenly and refused to take another step.

Dana glanced ahead and saw what *she* interpreted as the reason for his failure to move. That obnoxious yuppie couple, Todd and Kelly Bolton, had boarded the elevator just in front of them and were waiting inside for Scully and Mulder to join them. The epitome of the me-first 80's generation, they were the perfect "beemer" poster children. Scully was in total agreement with Mulder on this one. She didn't want to share an elevator with these people either. If she had to endure one more pointless discussion on the destructive capabilities of 'lawn aphids', she'd personally hunt them down after this was over and spray their whole freaking yard with Round Up. Hell, that would give them something to talk about for the *next* twenty years, at least.

Outwardly, Dana just smiled and motioned for them to go on ahead.

"I forgot something in the cabin," she offered in explanation, then whispered to Mulder under her breath, "We can catch the next one." She waited for a comment and when none came, she looked up to discover that her partner was staring blankly into empty space, unaware that she had even spoken to him.

This can't be, Mulder tried to reason logically... this is not real. Yet he 'saw' the yawning cavern almost as if it were superimposed over reality of the elevator, felt the cold darkness cling to his skin as he stood at the edge of the abyss, unable to move. <Come on Mulder>, a part of his brain kicked in <--it's a goddamn elevator, for Christ sake.....not the pits of hell> Once more he got the impression of something moving just beyond his range of vision----and then it was gone.

Dana tugged on his sleeve several times in alarm until he finally blinked his eyes and gazed down at her, slightly disoriented.

"What's going on with you?" she asked worriedly.

"I wish I knew," he replied with a concern look evident in his

*own* eyes. "Dana.....I......I think I'm hallucinating....."

She heard the edge of panic that crept into his voice and attempted to diffuse it with reason and a soothing tone. "If you are......there has to be a logical explanation for it and eventually, we'll find out what it is." She stroked his cheek...his skin was clammy and his forehead was damp with sweat. What the hell was going on here? "Are you sure you're up to this dinner party? You *could* go back to the room and lie down for a while," she suggested.

"No, I'm fine now," he lied. "First of all, I certainly can't conduct an investigation from my room and secondly," he eyed her appreciatively, "I'd be a fool to let a beautiful woman attend a dinner party unescorted amongst a room full of wolves. Just do me a favor and take the stairs. okay?"

The party was in full swing when they arrived. The passengers had all donned their finery...a few couples were on the dance floor, but most seemed to be still eating dinner. Dinner...gee, that sounded good. Once again Mulder realized just how hungry he was. The dinner spread had to be twice as large as the brunch buffet he'd seen earlier...had that only been this morning? Already it seemed like he'd been on this cruise forever. Mulder decided that if he was going to be 'seeing' things, he'd just as soon 'see' them on a 'full' stomach rather than an 'empty' one and once again indulged in a plate full of food. After all, he was fully medicated now and didn't expect to be blowing chunks anytime soon.

A short time later, a soft, sensual bolero began to play and Mulder allowed himself the rare pleasure of dancing with Dana.....in public. After all, they were supposed to be newlyweds here and he was gonna play it to the hilt. He pressed her body to his until they melded into one graceful line, pulsing with steamy, rhythmic movements that lended a whole new dimension to the term 'dirty dancing'. Dana felt as though they were making love in the middle of a crowded dance floor and found the sensation to be nearly overwhelming. How could a man with feet that big be so graceful? Then she wondered with just a hint of jealousy who had taught him to dance in the first place.

Neither of them saw Oneida Darkhorse watching them from her table, her lovely face marred by a frown. She didn't like to be rejected, but she knew there was no hope for her with this man. To dance like that...to move as one person...there had to be a deep emotional connection. She didn't need to be psychic to know that these two were bonded to each other...mind, body, and soul. And she was surprised by her own reaction to this revelation...it hurt, a deep, empty ache that was more painful than even the sunburn on her back. She'd fallen asleep this afternoon, a sound, dreamless sleep, and as a result her back was badly sunburned. And in spite of her nap, she still felt drowsy. The music seemed to come from far away, and her 'talents' were somewhat dulled this evening. Not that she felt like using them right now, anyway.

When the song was over, Scully and Mulder sat down and he scanned the room. He thought all of the suspects were present --- No, wait.....someone was missing. But who? He should be able to remember something that simple. Why couldn't he remember?

Mulder stared at Dana from across the table, confusion and frustration plainly visible on his face and asked. "Dana, what suspect is missing? I can't remember.....I've got photographic memory and I can't recall something a two year old would know. What's wrong with me?????"

"I don't know, but we're gonna find out...just stay calm," she said, squeezing his hand. She watched the captain get up from his table and move over to the microphone set in the middle of the stage. They're announcing the winners of the mystery solving 'test'." As she expected they were first on the list, followed by Mr. Moorehouse, Mrs. Darkhorse, Mr. Kopec, and finally, unbelievably, the Boltons <so they made a lucky guess> she thought crossly.

Mulder sat up straight. "That's them...that's who's missing...the Boltons." He took another look around the room and spied, not the Boltons, but someone else he thought he knew. "Dr. Jay??" he whispered out loud.

"What??" Dana asked as he bolted across the room toward the bar.

Mulder reached the bar, but when he got to the stool where he'd seen the little man perched earlier, he was gone. Fox massaged the area between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and shook his head slowly. Maybe he *did* need to rest....his eyes were sure playing tricks on him, and even a full stomach didn't seem to have helped. What the hell was he thinking?? What would a homeless man that he'd met in D.C. while undercover be doing on an expensive cruise ship? Although Dr. Jay *had* always seemed out of place in the street environment, he hadn't questioned him about it since the little man had saved his ass more than once during that escapade. He did remember that the odd man had a knack for popping in and out of his life unannounced without leaving a clue as to where he came from, where he was going, or when he would leave. Mulder had found it a constant source of irritation when the guy was around.

He walked unsteadily back to the table and downed a drink.

Dana eyed him warily for several seconds and inquired, "what was that all about?"

"I'm not sure....I thought I saw someone that I knew," he answered, with a puzzled expression. "Let's go. Maybe I am just 'stressed out'."

She followed him out of the room and down the hall to the elevator where a crowd of people waited. She pushed the button but nothing happened.

"It's not working," one woman growled.

Mulder looked at the display over the elevator. "Well, it says it's on this floor.....the door must be stuck," Mulder replied as he reached his fingertips into the crevice between the doors and pulled, forcing them open. He nearly threw up when what was left of a bloody arm fell across his shoes. The inside of the elevator was a vision of hell....blood was splattered everywhere and what was left of the bodies' features was flattened and unrecognizable....but he knew who they were and so did Dana. They had almost ridden in this same elevator with the Boltons not more than an hour ago. From all the available evidence, it appeared that the cable had broken and sent the elevator into a free fall that ended rather abruptly.

Dana mumbled absently, "so much for social climbing."

"They should have used a ladder like everybody else," Mulder added without thinking.

Looking at the carnage in front of him, he suddenly felt very weary and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he could have sworn the blood spatters on the back wall of the elevator formed a pattern...no, not just a pattern, a word....<closure>. What the hell.....?? He looked away and then risked a glance at the back wall again, but the word was gone....Mulder turned to Dana. "I gotta lie down," he muttered.

They returned to their cabin after the ensuing investigation. It had taken a lot of effort not to interfere, but Dana had managed to lurk in the background while Jack Moorehouse, the only "cop" on board, had taken over the crime scene. Karl Kopec had been in the crowd, notebook in hand. Even Mrs. O'Keefe had put in a brief appearance, along with Oneida Darkhorse. All the remaining suspects, Scully noted. She'd managed to hear most of what Moorehouse said to the shipboard officer assigned to handle the "incident", as they referred to it, without seeming too intrusive. Mulder had watched the proceedings from the background, but Dana had a feeling that he wasn't all there. In spite of her assurances to him, she was really getting worried.

***** continued in 4b M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy." Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 11 11:17:11 1996 Devil's Advocate part 4 continued...

Mulder undressed and climbed clumsily into the upper bunk, curled up and went to sleep. Dana noticed that he hadn't even bothered to cover himself, so she did it for him. "Long day, Sherlock," she said, pressing her hand again to his cheek, and then his forehead. His color looked a little better, but he had deep circles under his eyes. If this kept up, tomorrow she was taking him back to the doctor and would have a little consultation with this guy, cover or no cover.

Exhausted, she crawled into the bottom bunk and lulled by the movement of the ship, was soon asleep herself.

Jack Moorehouse oversaw the removal of what was left of the Boltons from the elevator to the meat locker....the only cold storage on the ship large enough to accommodate the bodies. You'd think with all the

'accidents' on board they'd put a morgue in here, he thought to himself. The elevator had been cordoned off, the doors shut on the bloody mess inside. When the ship got back to port the authorities would go over the scene again, but Jake doubted they would find anything.

This looked like just another in a long string of accidents. That was the hell of this case...everything looked like an accident, and there was no evidence to prove otherwise. He'd checked the cable himself. It had been old and worn and had finally snapped. The crew chief argued that the cable had just been serviced before they left port, and he'd produced the work order to back up his claim. But Jake could find no evidence of foul play....just damned bad luck for the Boltons. Less competition for me, he thought cynically.

Speaking of competition...all the finalists had shown up at this grim scene, even the newlyweds. In fact, one of the bystanders had told him that the man, Mulder was his name, had forced the elevator doors open. The kid must be stronger than he looks, and he didn't toss his cookies, either. Passes out from motion sickness, but blood and gore doesn't phase him. Weird kid. Not that Darkhorse dame...she'd taken one look at the mess and turned white as a sheet, which was a difficult task considering the sunburn she was sporting. She hadn't stayed long, but then neither had Mrs. O'Keefe. Funny....for a murder mystery writer, you'd think she'd want to stay and get some real 'background' for her next mystery. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the broad around much....maybe she was one of those reclusive types. Probably wanted to get back to her cat....old ladies and cats. Geez, you had to be pretty damn strange to bring a cat on board a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.

Kopec, he'd stayed around to the bitter end. When it had come time to scoop out the bodies he'd had to tell Kopec to get the hell out of the way. Reporters....he held them in even lower regard than Fibbies.....

And speaking of Fibbies, he still couldn't figure out who they were. There'd been quite a crowd around the elevator, but none of them seemed like the FBI type to him. They were there, he was sure of it. And sooner or later he'd figure out which ones they were.

Moorehouse passed by the Mulders' cabin on the way back to his own. He noticed that no light glowed from the crack under their door....well, they were on their honeymoon, after all. Probably engaging in some marital antics. Weird or not, the kid was lucky to have snatched up such a gorgeous dame. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he imagined the two of them together in the sack. The smile vanished as Moorehouse stepped into a pocket of frigid air. Great...now the air conditioning was probably on the fritz, too. He continued on down the corridor, wondering if he'd packed any warm clothes.

Wheezing for breath, Mulder awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep to a great pressure on his chest and strong hands about his neck, squeezing the air from his body. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into the face of... What?!? Looming not more than a few inches over his head was a monstrous face with great, red-rimmed eyes. The thing snarled at him with evil intent, threatening to tear him apart with its jagged teeth and claws. To Mulder, it was the embodiment of pure evil, everything his worst nightmares had ever conjured up and then some, and the stench that the creature exuded made him sick. He tried to pry its 'hands' from his throat and in the process rolled over, fell out of the bunk and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

The noise immediately awakened Dana who jumped from her bed and turned on the light. What she saw momentarily made her think she was in the middle of a bad dream. A very disheveled Fox Mulder lay in the middle of the cabin floor, babbling about some creature and seemingly struggling with some unseen assailant. That in itself wouldn't have been all that unusual...she'd seen some of his worst nightmares before...but what startled her was the appearance of the dark bruises that were beginning to form around his neck. She ran to his side and gathered his head into her lap as if her presence could protect him from whatever was doing this to him. He relaxed and slowly opened his eyes. She noted with practiced medical precision that they were dilated into great black pools. He was totally stoned. Somehow he had been drugged and was on the verge of overdosing.

How in the hell had the drugs gotten into his system? She mentally reviewed everything that they ate, touched, smelled, breathed....she had been in exactly the same environment yet only he was affected. Then she noticed the stupid patch...it delivered its contents directly into the bloodstream and she didn't have one. She gently removed it, placed it into a glass on the dresser, and hoped to God that it was how the drug was being administered. So much for them being here incognito....someone definitely knew who they were and didn't want them snooping around.

Dana reached over and removed the sheet from her bed, twisting it into a rope as she wrapped it around Mulder's body, effectively immobilizing his arms and legs. He was calm now, but she had no idea what drug he was given or whether there'd be any withdrawal symptoms as it wore off. She was in no position to handle an 'out of control' Mulder, should he become unmanageable, and if anything happened to her as a result of something he did, she knew Mulder would never forgive himself.

For now, Dana realized that she was on her own. She'd thought of going to Dr. Johnson earlier, but he'd been the one who'd given Mulder the patches in the first place, and he was the last person she felt she could trust now. Until she could conduct an investigation of the good doctor, she would have to treat Mulder as best she could. Dana placed a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket as he whimpered incoherently at her touch.

Dana sat cradling Mulder, her mind churning over what had happened to them in just one short day. One thing was certain...something was going on *here* that had nothing to do with the drugs. She shivered as the bruises around Mulder's neck darkened into the unmistakable impressions of fingerprints from very large hands. Looking at the irrefutable evidence before her eyes, perennial skeptic Dana Scully was forced to accept the extreme possibility that something or someone who she could not see had attempted to strangle her partner.

The drugs, however, just didn't make sense....of all the cases they'd encountered involving true 'entities', rarely did any of them rely on exterior stimulation such as drugs to accomplish their desired effects. People used drugs to control others....or to eliminate them. Whatever this

*thing* was, it certainly didn't appear to need any help to dispatch someone. God, if Mulder hadn't fallen off the bed and awakened her.......She refused to carry that train of thought any further. No...the drugs had to mean that some real life, flesh and blood person was involved in trying to kill them, or at the very least get them stoned enough to interfere with their investigation. And that meant that they were possibly dealing with two separate cases here, and one of them, at least, involved a very 'real' and 'dangerous' criminal.

Oneida Darkhorse left the gruesome elevator scene, went back to her stateroom and paced the floor for nearly half an hour. The carnage she'd seen there had disturbed her deeply and she'd had to leave almost immediately. The blood and gore was horrific, but what truly horrified her was that it had all taken her by surprise. Why hadn't she foreseen this?? After all, she was 'psychic', wasn't she??? What was wrong with her?

Perhaps it was her shameless attraction and futile attempt to seduce another woman's husband that clouded her vision. Not that it had been the first time, and Oneida refused to believe that she was developing a conscience at this stage of her life. But something had been different about this one. She'd noticed him right away and found the tall, darkly handsome man intriguingly attractive. Especially when he recognized her attempts to influence his mind...not many people had that capability.

She'd inquired about the young couple and was told that they were newlyweds, something that she found difficult to believe. They were much too comfortable with one another. If they had said they'd been married for many years, she might have believed that....but 'just' married???? She didn't think so. These two belonged together... no doubt. They had probably been together in all their previous lives and would continue to be together when this life ended. They were connected, two halves of the same soul. Some things were a constant.

Perhaps she was just feeling guilty for trying to change that, maybe that's what was wrong. On a whim, still hoping to clear her mind, she put on her swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and headed for the pool for a midnight swim. Something about the warm, night air and star filled sky always seemed to help her clear her head and give truth to her visions.

Oneida draped her towel over a pool chair, slid the sandals from her feet and walked quietly across the deserted deck to the edge of the pool. She sat down and dangled her feet in the cool refreshing water as the warm, tropical breeze ruffled through her long, dark, hair. She lifted her face to the sky, staring at the stars that twinkled back at her. They seemed to be shining very brightly tonight.

Desperately she tried to clear the fog from her mind, but the image of a man that she could not have continued to invade her thoughts. At first she had been angry that he had rejected her suggestive impressions until she had glimpsed more deeply into his thoughts. What she discovered there was the fierce loyalty and love that he kept safely treasured for

'his' Dana, and it was then that she realized that her 'lust' could not compete with his love for this one, petite woman who never seemed to be far from his side. She remembered that the brief contact that she had required to get that information for some unknown reason had caused him great distress.....so much so that he'd passed out on the spot. *That* had

*never* happened before. She hadn't intended to hurt or cause him pain and had no idea why contact with her had affected him so adversely.

Oneida suddenly felt a dark depression settle over her and once again felt the aching hollow in the middle of her chest. Why couldn't someone love *her* like that??? Her own husband had no love in his heart for her. All the love in his heart was reserved for his money, and with that she could not compete. All the men she'd ever seduced held nothing in theirs for her either....save lust.....and only then because she had placed that thought in their simple minds.

A tear welled threateningly in one eye but she refused to let it go. Perhaps a short swim would invigorate her and set her mind straight and into a more positive mood. She glided through the water with grace and ease as her taut, brown body glistened in the glowing light of a full moon. Her muscles relaxed as she floated on her back and wondered at the blanket of stars that shone above her. She closed her eyes and let the warm water of the pool buoy her body on the surface, small waves lapping at her face, letting her tension flow out into the water around her.

A single bee landed on her arm. She brushed it off absently and continued to float. Then another stung her chin. She opened her eyes to see a cloud of bees descending upon her, stinging her body, her ears, her nose, and eyes. <Oh my God!!!! Don't panic--you're in the water---dive----they can't follow>

She dove to the bottom of the pool and stared upward to see that once again, nothing but the moon and stars hung in the sky. Swimming cautiously to the surface, she put out her hand to break the water but instead contacted with something hard and unyielding. Oneida pounded on the clear barrier with her fists but to no avail. <NO!!!!> Her mind reeled in terror as she swam toward the shallow end of the pool, continually striking at the transparent wall that separated her from the life giving air above. <What is this??? This is impossible!!!!! Let me out!!!>

The barrier at the shallow end was no different than it was at the deep end and she floundered helplessly beneath the hard, clear surface, beating her hands against its coldness until they bled. Her oxygen-starved lungs ached unbearably and her mind screamed in agony at the knowledge of her impending death. With a face contorted with rage and fear, her lungs, unable to fight the reflex for which they had been designed, responded on their on accord and drank in the surrounding water. As darkness descended and claimed her soul, her intellect convulsed in one last scream of terror....<I don't want to die......>

Fox Mulder's eyes flew open wildly in unfocused fear as he cried out with some as yet undefined horror. His body shook slightly in spasms and strained helplessly against the makeshift bonds that Dana had devised to prevent him from thrashing about and hurting himself...or her. He swung uncontrollably from intensely lucid moments to bouts of incoherent mutterings---from total 'enlightenment' to absolute confusion. Dana held his shivering body tightly and with a gentle rocking motion, cooed softly into his ear, trying to ease his obvious pain. Occasionally she would kiss away the tears that would sometimes silently roll down his cheek. It would be a long, rough night....morning now, she thought, looking at her watch.

<Why did these things always happen to *him*?? .....and you, remember...you're the one who was kidnapped....You *know* why they happen...They happen because you *dare* to question....to find the truth. God, Mulder, I hope we *survive* to be old and gray...> She lightly kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes.

The ship was his again, as it should be. He roamed free in its halls, its staterooms, and the dark bowels beneath the decks where massive machinery kept the ship on course to its destiny. This was his hunting ground, and soon it would be his for all time. The puny, insignificant beings on board would be his prey now, and again and again for all eternity. The thought delighted him...of all the beings he had encountered on his journeys, and there were many who had suffered at his hands, the beings on this ship provided him with the most intense pleasure. Their fear invigorated him, their deaths energized him. He could feel himself growing stronger with each new death, and he flexed his massive arms as if to prove the point. He laughed with the sheer joy of it all, and in a cabin far above him, a man cried out again from the depths of his drug induced visions and struggled against his bonds.

That particular being puzzled him....never in all his time on this ship had one of these little creatures reacted to him in this way....prey that could sense the predator. So much the better, he thought. What fear he could induce in this one! He grinned in anticipation of such a delicious prospect. Moving further into the darkness of the ship, he passed beneath the cabins of his prey, content to wait for now....to wait for their fear to build before he struck again.

A dark shadow followed him. It was not as strong as the hunter, but it, too, was growing stronger with the passage of time and the passage of miles underneath the bow of this vessel. For now it could do nothing but wait and watch, and try to warn those it could. But soon it would have its chance to capture the hunter, to return them both where they belonged. It mourned the deaths of the beings inhabiting this ship, as it mourned the deaths of all beings the hunter had killed since his escape. Anger towards the hunter had built up in it over the eons it had spent in pursuit. The hunter killed with such callous disregard for the lives of the beings he took. To the follower, each being's life was precious, something to be protected, and it raged against its inability to protect them from this monster. But soon it would have that opportunity, but only once, and if it failed, all aboard this vessel would be lost for the remainder of eternity. That thought was inconceivable. So it rallied what strength it could as it slipped unseen after its own prey.

The only person who noted the passage of the hunter and the follower stood hidden in the shadows of a dimly lit corridor, himself unseen by the passengers and crew. He was merely an observer here. He was forbidden from interfering with the two beings and their eternal struggle. More people would die....he was sure of it....and he was helpless to stop it. Even he had to answer to a higher power and in this instance he had been given strict ground rules....watch, and report back. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his long...and very strange...life.

Fox opened his eyes very slowly to yet another headache and another returning bout with an upset stomach. As reality seeped in, he also noticed that he was once again on the floor and this time, on top of everything else, unable to move to boot. It seemed to him that he woke up on the floor a 'lot' these days and it was 'usually' when Dana was somewhere in the immediate vicinity. What was it with that woman and floors? He remembered a time when if he fell asleep on the couch...he'd wake up on the couch. Now-- now it seemed that no matter *where* he fell asleep, chances were pretty good that he'd wake up on a 'floor' somewhere.

He was still groggily trying to figure out why he couldn't move when Dana began to stir beside him. His first impression was that he'd somehow gotten himself tangled up in the sheets. But that wasn't right.... he didn't feel a sheet covering him--just a blanket--and his whole body felt 'numb'.

Dana finally rolled over and looked into his red-rimmed eyes for several seconds.

He looked back, questioningly. "What??" he managed to sputter out in confusion. Jesus, he felt like someone had stuffed his mouth full of cotton balls and dribbled Elmer's glue into the corners of his eyes.

"Tell me your name," she demanded.

"Huh??" he muttered in surprise. God, he must have really tied one on if Scully felt that she had to see if he knew his name.....Funny...he could only remember having one drink.

"Your name, what is it?" she repeated.

"The Frog Prince....Care to kiss a toad?" he pursed his lips and snickered. Okay, he didn't remember getting sloshed but if she wanted to teach him a lesson by rubbing it in, he'd play along.

"Do you know where you are?" she asked nonplussed with obvious concern in her eyes.

It suddenly occurred to him that she *wasn't* joking and he replied in a somewhat tired voice, "the cruise from Hell."

She finally smiled, satisfied with the answer he'd given, pulled the blanket off of him, and began to untie the sheets.

The fact that he was in his underwear didn't really bother him but being in his underwear *and* being tied up with a bed sheet presented some

*interesting* possibilities that registered on his face in the form of one curiously raised eyebrow.

She read his expression and immediately remarked smugly, "don't go and get all excited, Sherlock. It's not what you think. If I were gonna get kinky--I'd certainly want you awake to enjoy it---not stoned out of your mind."

As she sat patiently untying the sheets, Dana filled him in on the events of the night before. He found that he didn't remember a lot of it. He recalled discovering the Boltons in the elevator and unfortunately he also remembered something or someone trying to strangle him as he lay in his bunk. He actually wished that he'd experienced a nightmare but the nasty bruises on his neck suggested that it was something much more sinister than merely another bad dream.

Dana helped him to his feet and he shakily made his way to the tiny bathroom. Mulder took an extra long shower, letting the hot water soak into his aching muscles. He then toweled off and planted himself before the mirror to brush his teeth < God, my mouth tastes like a hundred Scottish Highlanders have been jousting under my tongue...ack...> He rinsed out his mouth and looked up, expecting to see circled, bloodshot eyes. "Oh shit!.......not again," he exclaimed as he backed away from the mirror.

Hearing the alarm in his voice, Dana raced into the bathroom and watched as another message began to form in the steam. It read simply:

'Ding Dong the 'Witch' is Dead'

"Obviously a great fan of classic children's literature," Mulder deadpanned. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and turned away from the mirror.

"What the hell *is* this, Dana?" he asked with growing anxiety.

"Did some revenging entity decide to call an open season on Fox Mulder?? I mean...did something attach a psychic sign to my back that says 'kick me'?"

She could almost see his whole being just droop under the pressure of this continual physical and mental bombardment. He had a point.... It did appear as though he'd been singled out to be picked on, and not just by whoever....or whatever....was writing these messages on the mirror.

But why pick on only Mulder? She'd witnessed the phenomena, seen the writing on the wall, so to speak. She was also a vital part of this investigation, yet if there were 'stones being thrown', they all seemed to be aimed at Mulder. On one end....warnings and visions designed to

'assist' him...and on the other....(she thought of the dark bruises encircling his neck) some kind of evil that was bent on destroying him. It almost appeared that he was becoming the battleground for some as yet unidentified opposing psychic forces, if she could actually believe in such things. Perhaps that was it. Mulder, in his innocence, *was* a believer....it was easy for him. It was an innate part of his nature to be open and receptive to possibilities that others ignored, rejected, or just plain didn't recognize or understand. And once again that openness was getting him into trouble, only this time, Dana was afraid of just how much trouble he was in for.

Dana watched as he let go of a breath he'd been holding for several seconds. He blew it out with weary resign in a light puff between his softly pursed lips, then pulled the turtleneck shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans. It had been the one he'd worn when they'd left D.C.. Granted, it looked a little out of place on a tropical cruise, but it would be easier to explain than the bruises around his neck.

He looked down into Dana's eyes and said, "I suppose we should conduct a search for Mrs. Darkhorse. However, I've got a sinking feeling," he looked back up at the mirror, "that she'll be a lot 'colder' than she was the last time we saw her."

Mulder took her hand and led her through the door. The air on deck was fresh and clean as the sun began to peak over the horizon in a fireball blaze of glory. It was still very early and the majority of the passengers had not even rolled out of bed yet. So they stood side by side at the railing on the nearly empty deck and marveled at the quiet serenity.

Dana observed silently as Mulder relaxed, leaned onto the rail and gazed out over the ocean. He turned to her suddenly and whispered, "can you hear it?" he asked.

She tilted her head to listen. "Hear what?" she asked, gazing into his eyes, a question in her own.

He reached his arm out and pointed toward the flaming horizon, "the hissing sound the sun makes when it touches the water..." he smiled wistfully, his face a study in wonder and awe.

A breeze ruffled through his hair and Dana's heart melted at the sight of his playful eyes crinkling at her with the simple joy of being alive. On impulse, she reached up, gently pulled his face to hers and tenderly kissed his soft, full lips. He then encircled her possessively and returned the gesture, whispering in her ear, "I don't know about fate, or futures...but right here, right now...I can say, I am truly happy." He rested his chin on top of her head and sighed contentedly.

"Well, I hope you two are finished with this mushy display of emotion," a familiar voice commented from behind them.

Mulder spun around to find an equally familiar face staring up at him with a look of infinite patience. Mulder remembered thinking he saw the little man the night before...at least *that* hadn't been a drug-induced hallucination.

Scully stood open mouthed for several seconds before uttering the name, "Dr. Jay?"

Mulder, still smarting from the fact that Dr. Jay had managed to sneak up on him once more, finally recovered enough to offer his hand.

"What brings you to this expensive little outing, Doc? Last time I saw you, you were living in a cardboard box." Mulder gave him the once over and added...."and you've changed tailors....my compliments on your improved wardrobe."

Dr. Jay impishly lifted an eyebrow. "I might say the same to you, my dear young man...and I see that at least you've retained some good taste and have remained faithful to this exquisite, lovely young woman."

Doc expertly took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it in a gallant manor. His face then took on a knowing look as he commented, "my congratulations, dear lady."

"Oh...Doc," Dana faltered, " we're not really married...it's a cover," she tried to explain.

"That's uh... not what I meant," he stammered, and for the first time his glib manner seemed to falter slightly. He had forgotten that he was aware of and sensitive to physical and mental changes that these beings were not. He recovered quickly, however, and replied in a lively retort,

"yes, and I see you were 'covering' very well indeed. Do you 'cover' often???" he laughed heartily.

He watched as both young people tried, unsuccessfully, to hide furious blushes. It seemed neither had noticed his own discomfort, as he intended. They would discover things in their own time, which was how it should be. But now it was time to get down to business.

"I have come to tell you that lovely but deliciously unscrupulous Mrs. Darkhorse has just been found in a most undesirable state. Perhaps when you are finished 'covering' you would like to take a shot at investigating how a healthy young woman could suffer bee stings where there are no bees and drown in three feet of water with her hand gripping the railing by the steps.....an interesting dilemma, don't you think?"

Mulder turned to Dana in amazement and then back to Doctor Jay, only to find empty space where the little man had been standing.

"Did you see him leave?" he asked.

Dana shook her head 'no' and turned to search the deck in both directions...no Doctor Jay.

"God, I hate it when he does that!!!" Mulder steamed as they made their way toward the suddenly loud commotion taking place around the pool area.

A dozen or so passengers were crowded around the shallow end of the pool when they arrived. A quick scan of the crowd revealed that it included most of the suspects on their list....well, those who were still alive, anyway. In the forefront, of course, was the ever present Jake Moorehouse. Since this was a 'real' incident that had just taken place, just like the Bolton incident the night before, Moorehouse had automatically taken charge as a 'duly sworn law enforcement officer' and bullied everybody else out of the way to preserve the scene for himself. He had begun to rope off the area and confiscated several cameras to take pictures of the suspected 'crime scene'.

Dana had endured his arrogant, bullyish behavior the night before without comment because to do anything else would have jeopardized their cover. Her frustration, however, was getting the best of her this time, and she was just about ready to tell this meathead to move aside and let her do her job, when Mulder piped up helpfully. "Detective Moorehouse, when you're done taking pictures, perhaps you would like my wife to take a look at the body. She is a very skilled physician with extensive training in pathology and undoubtedly could be of assistance to you in determining the 'cause of death'."

Moorehouse silently congratulated himself on correctly deducing this young woman's line of work from the previous episode in the conference room. He did a another study of the attractive, petite woman before him. If she was trained in pathology, he guessed that she'd probably come across more dead bodies on the outside than the patch-pushing ship's doctor, so he decided to let her examine Mrs. Darkhorse's remains. He realized he could come up with a lot of theories, but he needed someone with a medical background to help prove them. "You've got a point there....what was your name again?"

"Fox," Mulder said uncomfortably. He knew Moorehouse knew his name...why had he pretended to forget?

"Having an expert take a look at her would be a plus toward solving the crime," he replied cautiously, "but remember... withholding any information would be impeding an ongoing investigation, so I suggest that anything you find out of the ordinary be reported to me immediately, contest or no contest." He didn't completely trust these two...for that matter he didn't completely trust anyone.

"Detective Moorehouse, it has not yet been determined that a

'crime' has been committed here," Mulder reminded him.

Moorehouse stared at Mulder suspiciously. "You caught that, did you?" Not many untrained people would have picked up on that subtle detail. He made a quick decision to reevaluate his opinion of these two....she appeared just a little too young to be a medical expert and he was just a bit too observant. Plus now that he thought about it....that haircut....strictly Federal issue. He'd seen enough of them to know. Yet on the other hand....this guy didn't possess the same arrogant airs that usually accompanied a Fed...in fact he got the distinct feeling that he really didn't care who solved the case...just so long as it was solved and people stopped dying. And to cap it off, he'd watched this pair from a distance.... if they weren't married or at least 'involved', they deserved an Oscar. Somehow he just couldn't picture this kid as a Fibbie. Still he'd keep an eye on him. He'd been wrong before....but not often.

Mulder knew he'd made a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it was out now and he couldn't very well take it back. So he attempted to downplay his response. "Well, who knows? She did go to the party last night...and liquor and swimming aren't always a responsible combination. Maybe she just got drunk and drowned."

Dana made her way to the edge of the pool where the body had been lain. She made a cursory examination and motioned for Mulder to take a look.... Moorehouse followed as well. "These red marks appear to be 'bee stings' but I'm almost positive that the cause of death was drowning. Where was she found?" she asked Moorehouse...after all, they couldn't very well tell Moorehouse that Dr. Jay had already filled them in on the facts of this incident before he *disappeared*.

Moorehouse walked over to the ladder on the shallow end of the pool. "She was lying face up on the steps, her hand wrapped around the pole, here," he said, using his pencil to point to a spot just below the waterline.

Dana frowned at the water....if the woman had made it all the way to the ladder, why didn't she pull herself out of the water? There had to be something more here. "Mu....Fox, I'll need a toxicology report before I can determine without a doubt why this woman would drown in less than three feet of water with her hand still gripping the step railing."

"No bees," Mulder commented with a puzzled look.

"What?" Dana and Moorehouse asked in unison.

"Couldn't have been bees. Look..." he pointed to the surrounding area. "There aren't any dead bees. If she was stung, there'd be dead bees everywhere. No stingers either," he noticed, pointing to several of the red patches on the body. He tilted his head and quoted as if it were verbatim, and of course it was..."The European Honey Bee as well as several related species can travel from 7 to 10 miles per day when swarming. Swarming honey bees are docile, preferring to cluster in a protective fashion around the queen but are essentially non territorial at this time. You see, Dana, we're too far from land for a swarm of bees to attack Mrs. Darkhorse and if by some freak of nature, they did....there would be evidence to support their presence." He scanned the deck again. "There isn't."

He turned back and got down on one knee beside the body. "One other thing that's out of place," he continued, pointing at the corpse's hands. "Her palms are bruised and bloody, like she was pounding on something with great force, yet there is no sign of blood anywhere else around the pool....and there are no 'abrasions' on her hands. Whatever she hit, it was 'smooth', not like the rough texture of the pool .

Moorehouse studied Mulder for several minutes. He had to admit to himself that in spite of everything....he was impressed. He could learn to like this kid even if he did turn out to be a Fed. There was just something likable about him...smart, but unassuming, and maybe a bit gullible too, although Moorehouse wasn't exactly sure where he got *that* impression. What a weird combination.

He could also like the broad...but for a different reason. He admired the no nonsense way she went over the body...all business. She was tough. He thought that she was maybe even tougher than her new husband. Somehow he got the feeling that in a crisis, she'd be a definite asset.

Taking Mulder's information on bees as gospel and being unable to detect any odor of alcohol emanating from the body, Dana began to search for some other reason for this woman's incapacitation. There were no obvious bumps on the head, however, she did notice a 'patch' on her ear that she removed and placed on a napkin that she slid into her pocket. If someone could drug Mulder with these things....why not Oneida? Perhaps someone had planned a similar fate for him. Had she not been around and known what to do, he could have died. Dana shivered and tried to push that thought from her mind.

She openly informed Mulder (mainly for Moorehouse's benefit) that she believed Mrs. Darkhorse had drowned but due to the lack of proper lab equipment, it would be impossible to conduct the toxicology tests necessary to determine exactly what, if anything, had incapacitated her. She watched as Moorehouse had the body moved into the galley's walk-in freezer and placed next to the Boltons....or what was left of them. Geez, she thought, if only the other passengers knew what was taking up space next to their prime rib---maybe they wouldn't be such gluttons.

With Oneida safely put on ice--literally--and Moorehouse temporarily appeased, Mulder and Scully seated themselves at a secluded table near the far end of the dining room and ordered breakfast....at least Scully ordered breakfast. Mulder, now without the 'benefit' of the notorious patch, was once again beginning to feel somewhat queasy. He settled on just toast and a glass of water.

Mulder looked up from what passed as *his* breakfast to gaze across the table at Dana with an expectant stare. "So?...what 'really' killed Oneida Darkhorse? That bit about her drowning wasn't for 'my' benefit--neither was the crap about the toxicology tests. I may not be a

'licensed' pathologist, but *you* know that *I* know enough to have already figured that information out for myself."

"Oneida *did* drown," Scully hedged.

"But...." Mulder interjected.

"But....she shouldn't have--not in three feet of water with her hand still clinging to the rail--and *not* face up."

"So what's your theory, Scully," he prodded.

"This," she said as she pulled the confiscated patch from her pocket and placed it on the table.

"A patch?" he asked in surprise. "There are at least fifty people on board wearing those things," he reminded her.

"Yes, but only one drowned in the shallow end of a pool---and only

*you* nearly ODed." Dana paused long enough to eat a bite of her bagel and cream cheese, and tried to ignore the green look on Mulder's face as he poked at his toast. "Mulder, haven't you noticed the 'declining' number of contestants participating in this so called 'game'? All of our 'suspects' are being eliminated. Perhaps someone is succinctly getting rid of the competition. If this patch contains the same drug that was used on you, I can almost guarantee Oneida probably became disoriented and couldn't tell which way was up!!"

Mulder studied her for a moment and steepled his fingers in front of his bottom lip, then pressed on in a deliberate tone. "That's a good theory, Dana, but I have just a few problems with it. What about the bee stings where there were *no* bees? She was facing *up*, not down --and her hands were 'ruptured', not abraded as would occur from hitting the 'bottom' of the pool---and what about *this*?" he asked with determination as he pulled the shirt away from his neck to reveal the strange, ugly bruises that had formed there. "Dana----these were made by something that my brain tells me could *not* exist in this reality, yet *here* is the result of what every sense that I have screams is impossible."

Mulder looked away from her and took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Okay, here's what I think. Oneida was stung by bees because she believed it---she drowned because her mind believed she couldn't surface and that belief became reality. 'I think, therefore, I am' may have stranger connotations here than we know."

"So is that how you explain the bruises on your neck?" Dana asked.

"You believed in the assault from your nightmare so strongly that it resulted in a physical manifestation of the perceived reality of your

'dream'?"

Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think that's all there is to it. Something is happening here. I know I'm not being scientific, but....I feel that sometimes....sometimes I'm trying to exist in two places at the same time and the farther away from land we travel....the worse it gets."

Mulder dropped his gaze and stared at the table with downcast eyes as he absently pushed crumbs of toast around on his plate. He knew how ludicrous he must sound to her.

Her reaction was not what he expected, however. She smiled and patted his hand, then replied with an impish grin, "You follow your theory, I'll follow mine and maybe, just maybe, between the two of us....we'll find the 'truth'." Dana squeezed his hand, then stood up. "I think I'll start by paying a little visit to our friendly ships' doctor. Somehow I really don't think that he's involved with *this,*" she said, picking up the patch and returning it to her pocket. "But perhaps he can shed some light on how it could have become contaminated."

Mulder also stood up.....slowly....and leaned heavily on the back of his chair. With pleading eyes, he practically begged, "If in your opinion, the Doctor is on the level.....could you possibly...."

"Get you something for the motion sickness?" she finished for him.

"I'll find some Dramamine. It's not as effective as the Scopolomine in the patch but because of the pill form and the packaging, it's much more difficult to tamper with."

"Thanks," he mumbled gratefully, then added, "I'm gonna go see our ever humble servant, Kor, to see if I can arrange a ship to shore call to Frohicke. I need to get some more information on the two passengers that

*didn't* show up for this little pleasure cruise. Something else has been kinda bothering me too....Mrs. O'Keefe. I haven't seen much of her during this whole trip and it seems a little 'odd' that a woman who makes her

*living* writing murder mysteries wouldn't even make the final cut ahead of the Boltons in that stupid mystery scenario competition. Something just doesn't sit right.... I know, another 'unscientific' conclusion, based on conjecture," he stated before she could respond.

"Remember, I told you before.....I trust your instincts," she snickered lightly. As Dana turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder.

"Meet you on the upper deck, where we were this morning, in about an hour." He nodded in agreement and left in the opposite direction.

The damn cat was yowling again....the steward could hear it through the door. Last night the couple in cabin 611 had complained strenuously that the cat was keeping them awake. The steward shook his head as he knocked loudly on the door. Eccentric mystery writer or not, the old lady was gonna have to do something to keep the cat quiet. Otherwise, he was afraid he'd end up stuck with the damn thing in his quarters for the duration of the cruise. ' Take care of it' had been all his supervisor had said this morning. After the grisly discovery in the pool, everyone on the crew seemed to have a short temper and the steward didn't want to cross his boss, not on this particular morning. Definitely not a good idea.

He had to knock again to make himself heard over the racket. The door opened a crack and once again the steward found himself talking to the old lady's one blue eye.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but your neighbors have been complaining about your cat. Can you please try to keep him quiet?"

"Yes, he is being quite a fussbudget this time out, isn't he?" Mrs. O'Keefe said. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do try my best to keep him quiet. It's very difficult for me to work when he's behaving so badly."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the steward offered, pushing on the door slightly...he was finding it difficult to have any kind of coherent conversation with a single eyeball.

"No, no, that's quite alright," Mrs. O'Keefe replied, pulling her faded blue bathrobe tightly together in front of her. As she did, her hand slipped off the door and it opened wide enough that the steward finally got a good look at Mr. O'Keefe. Geez, she certainly wore enough makeup, he thought to himself.

Mrs. O'Keefe's cat saw the opportunity it had been waiting for. With an ear piercing screech it flew between Mrs. O'Keefe's legs, clawed the heck out of the steward's ankles on its way by him, and shot down the corridor. "Tiger!!!" Mrs. O'Keefe shouted, running after the cat. "Bad kitty! Come back here!"

The steward took off after both Mrs. O'Keefe and her cat, ignoring the stinging in his ankles. Boy, the old bat could really run....she'd already followed her cat to the stairs and was taking them two at a time trying to keep up with the flying ball of orange fur. Great...not only didn't he keep the cat quiet, now he was in a foot race with the damned feline...and probably the oldest passenger on the ship...and losing badly. This was definitely not the way he wanted to start his day.

Koran Soote bounced around busily at his desk, attending to everything from extra cabin towels to lost keys, but he smiled warmly at Mulder as he approached. "Mr. Mulder...everything has been to satisfaction, I hope?"

"Everything's just 'peachy', Kor...." If Kor heard the sarcasm in Mulder's voice, he gave no sign. "I'd like to arrange for a ship to shore phone call," Mulder continued, but Kor shook his head sadly.

"I am most displeased to inform you that ship to shore communications are unavailable at this time." Kor's voice seemed to express genuine sorrow at being unable to comply with what should have been a simple request.

"When will it be available?" Mulder asked.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but ever since the company changed their previously 'filed' course approximately three weeks past, communications on this journey's leg have been sporadic and unreliable."

"Kor, you say the company *changed* their previously plotted course?" Mulder asked---just to confirm what he had heard.

"Yes, after twenty-five years."

"But the company is only twenty years old," Mulder argued.

Kor smiled shyly. Ancestry was very important to Kor's family, so when he began working on the ship, he made it his business to learn everything he could about his ship's ancestry. Here at last was a passenger who seemed to know more about this vessel than just what time dinner was served. "Yes, this true. But the line was owned previously for five years before that by Triangle Lines. After several years of unfortunate mishaps, Triangle was forced to sell to Starlight. It was at that time the course was changed as well as the ship's luck. It has remained so until three weeks past when it was changed back to the original course."

Mulder was intrigued. "Why was the course changed back?" he asked, now truly engrossed in the story.

"As with all things these days," Kor sighed, "to save money. The previous course edged around the Triangle's center....it took more time and of course, more money. Now we must travel through the center."

Mulder had no idea this cruise was headed for the center of the Bermuda Triangle. When he found out, Frohicke and the rest of the Lone Gunmen were gonna be green with envy.

Mulder eyed him with curiosity. "What were the 'unfortunate' mishaps that occurred on the original course?"

"Rest assured that I am not certain." That was one thing that Kor had never been able to find out for sure. Several 'tall tales' had grown up around the ship's previous adventures in the Triangle, but Kor was certain they were only more Triangle lore that grew stranger over the years as the stories had been told and retold. "Perhaps the Captain will allow you to read the ship's logs," he suggested.

Mulder was about to ask for directions to the Captain's office when a ball of orange fur went barreling up and over Kor's desk, scattering papers everywhere. Mulder caught a brief impression of teeth, claws, and a bushy orange tail. Mrs. O'Keefe's cat, no doubt. It leapt off the desk and landed on the staircase leading up to the Promenade Deck. Mrs. O'Keefe came huffing along behind the cat, crying, "here, Tiger! Come to mommy, you bad boy," at the top of her lungs while a winded steward followed behind at a slower pace.

"Kor!" the steward yelled. "Give me a hand, will ya?"

Kor took off from behind his desk, joining the bizarre race.

"Hey, Kor, thanks...you've been very helpful," Mulder called after the retreating figure.

"Show me your appreciation with your tips," he shouted back at him.

Mulder found a ship's map in the mess on Kor's desk and located the Captain's office. He made a beeline for the designated quarters and retrieved the ship's logs for the first five years and the last three weeks. The Captain, in fact, seemed overjoyed that someone was actually interested in the history of his ship.

Dana appeared from around a corner just in time to witness Fox heave what was left of his stomach overboard. She sighed and shook her head as she grasped him from behind and led him back to the chair. "Sit there and don't move," she ordered. A sickly moan was her only reply.

"I'll get you a glass of water and a Dramamine.....I believe the Doctor is on the level."

"Why don't you give me the whole damn bottle?" he finally managed to squeeze out.

"Because it doesn't work that way....and you know it," she lectured him.

Mulder closed his eyes....maybe if he couldn't see the ship rolling about, it would help....Fat chance.

Scully walked away and returned a short time later with a glass of water and two small white pills that he took greedily from her palm and dutifully swallowed.

"So you think the doctor's clean, huh?" he inquired hoarsely while picking up the stack of log books he'd placed on the deck beside his chair. He put the worn looking books in his lap and thumped the top one gingerly with his index finger. "The key to all of this is somewhere in here," he stated with conviction, "I just *know* it!"

"What exactly is it that you expect to find?" she asked curiously as she sat on the chair beside him.

He replied uncertainly, "I not really sure....but I'll know it when I see it." He filled her in on the information he'd picked up from Kor.

"The logs contain the first five years of this ship's run through the Bermuda Triangle before it was 'starlight Cruises'. Five years that were plagued with what our friend Kor referred to as 'unfortunate mishaps'. This log here," he said, pulling out a newer book from beneath the stack,

"contains the entries for the last three weeks. I'm hoping that by comparing the two, I'll find a relevant connection besides the obvious one----the course change that takes this ship through the center of the Triangle."

"Do you *actually* believe any of this has to do with the Bermuda Triangle?" she commented with a bemused expression.

With the memory of another time flashing in his head, he lifted one eyebrow and meekly uttered in a playful tone, "Scully....After all you've seen----you can still ask me that question???"

One corner of her mouth turned up in an effort not to laugh. She replied succinctly in a matter of fact voice, "yes."

Mulder chuckled lightly as some of the sparkle began to return to his eyes. He was starting to feel better -- she could tell. Dana really felt sorry for him because he'd been nothing but sick since he first stepped foot on this floating hotel. She also felt just a tinge of guilt at not foreseeing this problem....especially for a man who needed Dramamine just to operate the microfiche at work.

She sighed..."Now to get back to your original question---do I think Dr. Johnson is clean? Yes, I think he's legit. His procedures might be a bit sloppy, but in my opinion, he's no killer." She picked up a patch and held it in the light for a closer inspection. "Due to sheer volume, it's common practice to dispense these little suckers from the same container to different individuals. It would be easy for someone who knew about that to contaminate the medication. Doctor Johnson said that your and Oneida's medication came from the same batch. However, when we tried to locate the container, it was----'missing'."

"Why am I not surprised?" Mulder quipped ironically.

A stiff mid-day breeze had struck up as they talked, flapping the pages of the log book. Mulder sighed. As beautiful and peaceful as it was on deck, it didn't look like he'd be able to get any work done here, and he knew he was on to something. He closed the log book he was trying to read, got up, grabbed the remaining logs, and headed for their cabin. Dana followed, trying to keep up as usual. Sometimes when he was concentrating on a case, he just forgot that *her* legs had to work twice as hard to match his seeming effortless stride.

Jason Hubbard was just putting the finishing touches on his power workout when he noticed that old mystery lady...what's-her-name... standing by the door watching him. The reporter, Kopec, had nearly tripped over her on his way out of the weight room. Put money on the table, and suddenly the weirdest people show up in the strangest places, looking for clues that probably didn't exist anyway. But the old broad didn't look like she was searching for clues...she was just standing there watching all the hardbodies work out. Probably the only way the old bat was gonna get her jollies on this trip, he thought with a cruel laugh.

He'd heard from some of the other crew that the old lady's cat had led Wilson and Kor on a merry chase all over the ship. The cat was now locked away in Wilson's room for the duration of the cruise, on the Captain's specific orders. Boy, he'd have given anything to see the look on that geeky steward's face while the Captain read him the riot act over the stupid cat. The stewards thought they got to see all the good action on this rust bucket, lurking around the passenger cabins and in the corridors. Action...man, they didn't know the meaning of the word. Here in the gym...here's where all the action was. And he...Jason Hubbard...was right in the middle of it all.

Sure, as Activities Director he had to oversee the senior citizens with their stupid shuffleboard games, but he more than made up for it with all the leotard bunnies who showed up to work out in the gym. Those he gave his "personal" attention. And every once in a while he'd strike it rich with some babe who wanted old Jason to help "spot" her while she lifted weights. He was good at that, just like he was good at many other things.

That was how he'd met Oneida Darkhorse. Too bad good ole' Oneida had to leave this world so prematurely....what a shame. She'd been one hell of a roll in the hay, and he'd been able to parlay that into a fifty percent increase in the balance of his retirement account. It was always a drag to lose a first rate meal ticket. Guess he'd have to find some other high-profile hubby to bribe into silence---Hey, that shouldn't be *too* difficult, he reasoned, as he flexed his muscles and admired himself in the mirrored wall, checking out the available ladies in the process. Hell, he was feeling good today... why not give the old hag a treat.

He laid down on the weight bench and lifted the over-burdened barbells above his head, wondering just how much cash the old broad had stashed away and if she would be worth it. He didn't notice the two small screws that fell from the 'bar rest' onto the carpeted floor.

Jason pumped a ten-set and strained with effort as he placed the barbell into the holder. Nobody spotted him because quite frankly, there was no one on board ship that could hold a candle to him when it came to power lifting. The holder quivered under the weight for an instant then snapped without warning, sending four hundred pounds of steel and iron crashing down on his unprotected neck. A sickening snap echoed throughout the room as his head snapped back and blood oozed from his protruding eyes.

Mrs. O'Keefe hoped the young man had a beneficiary. She turned slowly and left the room unnoticed.

Dana stepped through the cabin doorway, bottle of shampoo in hand.

"Next time, remember the toiletries, will ya," she huffed. Typical...he'd bought his brand and hadn't thought that she might use something else. And God only knew that she didn't want to end up with "Mulder" hair. The humidity was making it hard enough to deal with.

Fox sat cross-legged on the floor in typical Mulderesque fashion, clothed only in a pair of jogging shorts and a shadowy smile. He rolled his eyes upward to look at her and replied, "If you remember correctly, we

*were* in just a little bit of a hurry---so *excuse* me if I didn't get

*everything*."

"And who's fault was that?" she asked accusingly.

He dropped his eyes back down to study the log book that lay open in his lap and mumbled under his breath, "bitch." Then he quirked one corner of his mouth into a half smile.

Scully narrowed her eyes ."What?"

Mulder gazed up at her innocently. "I said, *which* shampoo do you get?'" <Boy, you smoothly maneuvered your way out of that one--real slick, Ace....>

"Since *when* are you interested in shampoo brands?"

"Since *you* walked in and made it a major topic of discussion," he replied and waited expectantly for the 'Scully retort' that would signal the end of what had become a ritual....the verbal sparring match. He looked forward to the 'make up' sessions that usually followed these mundane, minor squabbles.

He watched her nose wrinkle up and her eyes crinkle at the corners as she pondered a comeback.

Mulder grinned in spite of himself. <Duck, Fox, here it comes> He waited---but instead of the usual 'slam', she simply crossed the tiny room and stood over him as he sat on the floor. <Uh oh......no fair.....she's altered her tactical approach and I don't even have a copy of the new battle plan>

Dana bent over, cupped his chin in her hand and tilted his head back to face her. She then teased his lips with light, feathery kisses as she whispered softly between breathes,

"Mulder.....sometimes......you're a.....royal.......pain.....in....the ass."

He reached up behind her neck to pull her down closer as he responded with a low growl into her mouth, "but I'm damn lovable, huh....."

She always found a way to keep him off guard and he was never quite certain what she was going to do----funny, she'd often said the same thing about *him*. There was *one* thing, however, of which he was absolutely sure of though... If she didn't desist on her present 'course' right

*now*, he was gonna toss the damn log book that rested in his lap onto the floor....and he *wouldn't* need his hands to do it.

He gave a shuddering sigh. This may be the place, but it certainly was *not* the time for compromising positions---he had work to do... they both did. He pulled away from her regretfully and was surprised to see the same look of apology in her eyes that he knew was also reflected in his.

"Later, Sherlock," she whispered. Dana tousled his hair unmercifully.

"Later," he echoed hopefully with a promise written plainly in his eyes. He kissed her forehead and watched her straighten, walk into the bathroom and close the door.

He returned his rapt attention to the book in his lap. He thought he was beginning to see a pattern -- a correlation, if you will, within the worn pages. Just a little more to read and maybe it would all fall into place. The answer was here...he knew it.

Scully disrobed and turned on the shower, testing the temperature before she got in and closed the shower door. It was a little early for a shower, but after poking around a dead body all morning, she just wanted to feel clean again. The water, the soap, and the *shampoo* felt wonderful and she sighed as the warm water loosened muscles she hadn't realized were so tight. It was going to be difficult to leave the comforting warmth of the shower and venture back out into the real world.

However, she hadn't been in for more than a couple minutes when she noticed that the water was a little hotter than it had been just a few seconds earlier. Dana reached up to turn the hot water down and found that the knob spun around uselessly in her hand. <Okay, let's try turning up the cold water, then> The same spinning motion greeted her hand with the other knob as well.

Dana squirmed around in the small stall as the water got hotter. She pulled at the shower door and discovered to her dismay that somehow it had jammed and wouldn't budge. The water temperature was becoming unbearable and was beginning to burn her skin. Fear and pain gripped her heart and she screamed, "MULDER!!!! GOD!!! MULDER, GET IN HERE!!!!" She attempted to stay out of the stream of water ....the metal shower head was already too hot for her to try and swivel the spray against the wall. She huddled against the far wall, trying to avoid the water as much as possible, but the drain was clogged and the scaulding water began to rise, blistering her feet. She pounded on the shower door in desperation...<please, please let him hear me>

Mulder looked up from his reading when he heard her call to him. What now, he thought.... she must have forgotten her towel. He stood up and tried to open the bathroom door but the handle wouldn't turn. He knew she wouldn't have locked it...those days were long past. But the door was stuck and refused to give, even when he applied his full weight into shoving it open. Then he heard her scream, 'sob,' and pound on the shower door. Something was terribly wrong.

He shouldered the bathroom door...nothing. He moved back to the far side of the room, ran at the door to build up his momentum and slammed his shoulder into the barrier that kept her from him. The door gave reluctantly and he found himself in a room full of steam.....very *hot* steam. The shower door was just as stubborn as the bathroom door, so he tore the tank lid of the toilet and smashed it through the tempered glass.

The water that had collected on the shower floor was ankle deep, and it splashed out over the broken glass into the bathroom, blistering Mulder's bare feet. He reached in to grab Scully from her huddled position in the corner of the shower. The spraying water burned his back as he pulled her to safety, but he ignored it, his only thought being to get her out of there. As soon as they were clear, the water slowed to a drizzle, then stopped completely.

Dana shook with uncontrollable sobs as Mulder gently wrapped her in the terry robe that she had left draped over the towel rack. He picked her up easily and cradled her in his arms, murmuring softly to her, "it's alright....I'm here....you're okay now." As he turned to leave the bathroom, another message appeared on the mirror...."I can write too....," it taunted him menacingly.

He shook with fury..."You deal with me, you goddamn son of a bitch...not her, not her! I know about you... I'm the one who believes!" he screamed into the empty room.

He ran with her in his arm down the hallway and up two flights of stairs, ignoring the startled looks of the passengers and crew they passed. He'd be damned if he'd trust the elevator after what happened to the Boltons. Right now it looked like almost anything on this ship could prove to be lethal.

Carrying her into the infirmary, Mulder was oblivious to his state of undress and the pain from his own wounds. The doctor took one look at the both of them and motioned for Mulder to put Dana down on the examination table. As the doctor started his examination, Mulder began to notice the blisters appearing on his own shoulders, feet, and various other parts of his anatomy but he chose to ignore the pain....he'd deal with it later.

The exam had given Dana a chance to calm down. She stared at the worried, controlled panic that filled Fox's eyes. "I'm alright," she assured him. "It hurts like hell, but I *am* alright." She'd received a first degree burn over most of her body and a few areas of blistering, but the doctor said she was lucky. At the worst, she would only suffer skin damage equivalent to a really 'bad' sunburn. He sprayed her all over with an anesthetic spray and told her to drink lots of fluids, which was the same advice he gave to Mulder. Now that the initial adrenaline had worn off, Mulder was beginning to feel the consequences of his actions. His shoulder ached with a vengeance as it began to discolor to a bluish-purple hue. Well at least he was color coordinated....it kinda matched the color of his neck, he considered as an afterthought.

Dr. Johnson taped an ice pack to his injured shoulder, declared it to be a bad sprain, and stuck a bottle of pain killers in his hand. He couldn't afford to take the pills...he'd been bombed enough on this trip already. But he took the bottle anyway and put it in his pocket. <No sense arguing with yet another doctor--->

Mulder helped Dana off the exam table. She stood unsteadily at first but without assistance.

"Come on, Scully, Let's go 'peel' together," he said, trying to ease the tension.

"Love your new wardrobe, Mulder," she commented, looking down at the clinging, silky blue jogging shorts "....blue's your color. It matches your neck and shoulder and brings out the color of your eyes."

He smiled and drew her close. "The official color of the walking wounded....I knew you'd be pleased---see there?? And you accused me of being color blind." They walked over to a deck chair and sat down.

"Alright Mulder, I'll take it back....you're not color blind. You just have incredibly bad taste in ties," she snickered, wincing slightly as she shifted position on the chair, drawing the robe closer around herself. She fidgeted apprehensively....she didn't like sitting around in public in

*just* a robe, but she didn't want to go get her clothes either. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to stay up here for a while. I really don't want to go back to the cabin...just yet."

He nodded with understanding. "I'll go back and get us something to wear...." He looked down at his jogging shorts, which were just drying out. They'd certainly seen better days. "I don't know about you but I feel a little silly walking around looking like a wounded, overdone lobster in jogging shorts."

Dana laughed softly at the image he conjured up in her mind. Even in the worst circumstances, he always seemed to be able to make her laugh. But then she thought of the writing on the mirror, and of Fox rolling around on the cabin floor fighting an unseen assailant. "Are you sure it's safe to go back there?" she asked in an alarmed voice.

"As safe as anywhere else aboard this ship," he replied, happy that he'd lightened her mood, even for a little while. "Just stay here and wait for me....I'll be right back." He stood slowly and walked away as quickly as his blistered feet would let him.

Mrs. O'Keefe walked away from the purser's office, Tiger held firmly in her arms. It had taken quite a bit of sweet talk, with a few alligator tears thrown in for good measure, for her to get her beloved Tiger back. The purser had relayed the Captain's displeasure at having a cat run loose throughout the ship. Mrs. O'Keefe had listened patiently while the purser explained that it was a special privilege to have a pet on board, and if she didn't want that privilege taken away, she needed to pay more attention to the cat so that it didn't annoy her neighbors and run loose on the ship. Mrs. O'Keefe had meekly agreed, and had told the purser she was sure that nothing like that would happen again during this cruise.

Idiots, she thought to herself. Who the hell did they think they were talking to back there...a school child? The hand supporting the cat tightened around the animal's jeweled collar. Well, at least *that's* still there, she thought, smiling down at the flea ridden fur bag she'd been saddled with. She passed a group of her fellow passengers....back from fun in the sun, no doubt. With her free hand, she stroked the cat's head in a show of loving affection. The cat yowled and hissed at Mrs. O'Keefe.

Jake Moorehouse walked briskly across the deck heading toward the passenger cabins. He was contemplating the scene that he'd just witnessed in the gym...it was most definitely not a pretty sight. It was ironic. All those muscles Hubbard had worked so hard at maintaining had done him in at the end. It reminded Moorehouse of a t-shirt he'd seen once...eat right, exercise, stop smoking....and still die.

He stopped by the Mulder's cabin, intending to retrieve the little redhead....he was in need of some more medical 'expertise' again. When he arrived, however, he found the door wide open, the cabin empty and waterlogged. On the floor he discovered the remains of several copies of the ship's log. Jake picked them up for a quick look, but whatever information was written on these pages was long gone now. The water had caused the ink to run in such a way as to practically wipe the pages clean. No amount of wishing was going to make writing reappear.

***** continued in 6b <

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 14 06:26:03 1996 Devil's Advocate part 6 continued...

<Damn, what was this guy doing with copies of the ship's logs anyway? What did the logs have to do with the mysterious murders. > Moorehouse stood in the middle of the Mulders' cabin holding one of the logs, quickly re-evaluating his opinion of the newlyweds. This Fox Mulder knew a hell of a lot more about this case than he let on... much more than just an amateur trying to make a few fast bucks. What bugged him more was the fact that if this guy was a Fibbie...and it was beginning to look that way.... he was going to have to revise his estimate of Feds in general. Maybe their success wasn't due to all their fancy schmancy equipment after all. He couldn't find *anything* of a technological nature anywhere in the room, not even a lap top computer....and even beat cops had those nowadays. He was beginning to really admire this kid and his little sidekick... and he was glad none of his pals were here to see his lapse in judgment.

"What are you doing in here?" Jake spun around, startled by the voice behind him. The kid stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of silky jogging shorts and sporting probably the worst sunburn he'd seen in a decade. Jake found himself stifling a laugh. This kid had to be the quirkiest Fed he'd ever seen.

"There was another 'accident' and I was just taking up your wife's offer of assistance," Jake explained, putting the log book down on the bed.

"I came to your cabin to get her but the door was open and the place was a little 'damp.,"

Mulder limped slowly into the room. "Yeah, well, we sort of had a little 'accident' of our own," Mulder commented tiredly as he pulled open a dresser drawer and retrieved two sets of clothes.

"I can see that," Moorehouse said as he got a better look at what he had previously thought was a 'sunburn'. The burn was uneven and in splotches--mainly on the kid's back and shoulders, as if he'd been splattered. And to top it off, he had an ice bag taped to one shoulder, and the shoulder underneath it was turning purple. Jake's practiced eye also took in the greenish-purple bruises around the kid's neck, although they didn't seem to be as recent as the ones on his shoulder. He studied Mulder and made a decision...<What the hell...>

"You're FBI, ain't ya?" Moorehouse said intensely. Mulder didn't respond, but Jake had seen just the slightest hesitation in the kid's movements as he sorted out the clothes he'd taken from the dresser. Anyone else would probably have missed it.

"What the hell happened here? Is your 'partner' ok?" Jake knew the Bureau frowned on married couples working together, so he figured the hot little redhead was the kid's partner...and by the looks of things...a very 'close' partner. In his opinion a marriage certificate was probably the only thing 'missing' between these two and sometimes a piece of paper was just that.....a piece of paper.

Fox slowly pulled on a pair of jeans and a light cotton denim shirt. Even the light cotton rubbed painfully against his burns, but then, anything he put there was gonna hurt. The motions of getting dressed gave him time to ponder the questions Moorehouse had asked. Procedure required that he maintain his cover no matter what, but then again, whoever it was he was trying to remain incognito from obviously already knew who he really was. For some strange unknown reason, he felt he could trust this big, blusterous loudmouth cop, and he was tired of tripping all over him at every turn, and lord knows he'd never stood on procedure before. Why start now?

Mulder turned to look at Jake. "In answer to your first question.....yeah, I'm FBI," he said in a conspiring tone. "Something tried to kill my partner while she was in the shower, and she's a little shook up and burned but she'll be okay....she's tough."

"You know, you're pretty good, kid," Moorehouse said with grudging praise. "I pride myself at picking out Fibbies a mile away, but you sure had me fooled."

"Don't feel bad," Mulder deadpanned, "I'm not exactly a 'model' agent. In fact, I probably got sent on this case to begin with because they were hoping I'd get swallowed up by a black hole, thereby preventing them from further embarrassment. Following the 'book' is not exactly my forte'."

Moorehouse caught the reference the kid made to a "black hole". And what was that he'd mentioned earlier.... that some*thing* had tried to kill his partner...not some*one*. Yeah, this was definitely one different Fibbie.

Mulder looked down at the ruined log books on the floor, picked one up and slowly watched the water roll down the cover and drip onto his feet.

"Looks like some of your evidence got screwed up....hope it wasn't too important," Jake commiserated. He knew what it was like to lose evidence that could possibly solve a case.

"Oh...don't worry about it, Jake....Can I call you Jake?" Moorehouse nodded in reply. Mulder repeated, "really....it's no big deal."

"No big deal? There could have been something important in there, else *you* wouldn't have been interested in it," Jake stated with frustration. Geez, this kid was *really* weird.

"No, I mean it. It *is* no big deal....I already read them all. The books may have been destroyed but the information wasn't. I have photographic memory. The information is in here," he said, pointing to his temple. "..... word for word...including the ink spill on page 32 and the ketchup stain on the upper left hand corner of page 147."

"I never met anyone with that before...how's it work, Fox? Uh...can I call you Fox?" Moorehouse had seen the kid flinch at the sound of his first name...probably had the pants teased off him in school over a name like that.

"Call me Mulder, okay? The way my memory works is kind of complicated...can I explain it later? All you need to know right now is that it *does* work." Mulder picked up the remaining log books off the floor. "You said there was another 'accident'....did it involve strangulation is some way?"

"Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that....how did you know?"

"Because all this has happened before, more than once." Moorehouse's look made it clear that he didn't understand. This was gonna be kind of difficult to explain. Mulder decided to start with the tangible evidence he'd located in the ship's logs.

"In comparing the entries in the log books, I discovered that the first ship that made this voyage suffered the same 'misfortunes' as we're experiencing now." Mulder briefly explained to Moorehouse what he knew of the ship's ownership history. "Those first cruises used the exact same course we're now using, which cuts through the Bermuda Triangle instead of skirting around the outside edges."

"Wait a minute..." Moorehouse interrupted. "Are you saying that the Triangle is causing all these deaths on this ship?"

"Indirectly, maybe," Mulder conceded. "There's a lot of speculation concerning the events that have been reported to occur in the Triangle. This particular area of the ocean is a little bit peculiar in that there's....well....sort of a dimensional - timeline confusion here... I don't know quite how to explain this, but there are several theories which basically state that present time coexists with the past and the future, but on different dimensional planes. There is speculation that the Triangle contains a gateway or portal that could allow one or all of the dimension to interphase with one another. In other words, if all three dimensions must meet somewhere, especially with what's been happening around here, I've got a feeling that this is it."

"You're not exactly a *normal* FBI agent, are you?" Moorehouse asked. The kid was bright, no doubt, but Jake guessed that he probably had a standing appointment with the Bureau's shrink.

"I warned you," Mulder said with a smile. At least Moorehouse was still listening. That was more than he could say about ninety percent of the agents back at the Bureau.

"It might make you feel better to know that I'm not the first one to make this connection," Mulder continued. "Someone else recognized what was happening and changed the ship's course twenty years ago......and for twenty years there were no further 'incidents'. Until now. When I checked on our course, I found out that three weeks ago this ship was routed back to it's original course through the Triangle. The log reflected that the orders came directly from corporate headquarters, no doubt neatly disguised as an efficiency measure."

"Three weeks ago," Moorehouse muttered. That's when all the accidents had started. Damn...he would have liked to look at the records of the accidents of twenty years ago just to be sure, but it looked like the kid was on to something.

"Yeah, quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Mulder responded.

"The question is why wouldn't the company notice the correlation between the course and the accidents on this ship? A simple solution would have been to change the ship's course, but they didn't. Instead they stage this elaborate 'game' and call in the 'spooky Squad.'"

"Spooky Squad?" Moorehouse asked.

"Inside joke," Mulder muttered. Moorehouse had the feeling it was not a very funny joke.

"So someone had to know about all this." Mulder continued, working out the logic as he spoke. "Someone in power at the corporate level decided to return this cruise to its original course, knowing full well what the consequences would be. I would suggest that it's probably the same individual who requested the investigation in the first place. Anyone actually requesting an investigation would, more than likely, be automatically precluded from suspicion. It's a good bet that they were counting on that fact, since a 'conventional' Federal Agent would never suspect or even consider the possibilities that I've mentioned. All the deaths that happened on this cruise would have been listed as accidental or unexplained.....just like they were the first time.... and the killer would be home free."

"If that were true," Moorehouse reasoned, "why in the hell did the Bureau send you? From what I can see, your ideas are about as

'unconventional' as they come."

Mulder pondered that question for a moment then grinned. "The

'Bureau' didn't exactly send me....my boss did. Let's just say that I have a feeling he's tired of burying their underhanded, bureaucratic bullshit for them." Skinner, you sly dog, he thought with a certain amount of glee. They told you to send somebody but never in a million years would they have

*ever* guessed that you'd send me......way to go, Walter. He suddenly had a whole new respect for the Bureau's Assistant Director.

"So we're looking for a murderer, not something connected with this 'timeline' theory you were talking about before?" Moorehouse had no problems admitting to being confused...it was probably written all over his ruddy face.

"Probably both," Mulder replied. "Look at it this way. What better way to murder someone than to make it look like an accident and slip it in with all the other 'accidents' that have occurred on board? There is a real, human murderer on board...but he is using this phenomena to cover his tracks and in the process, many other innocent victims will die. I want this bastard, Moorehouse."

"You're not the only one, kid," Moorehouse growled.

"Not only him...I want the maniac that's bouncing around in this continuum...." Mulder could tell by Moorehouse's look that he'd probably lose his credibility with the good sergeant over this, but this other thing was real, whether anyone else believed in it or not. "I've felt it, Jake. It's real....it's evil..... and it's sadistic....worse than any serial killer I've ever encountered. It tried to kill me," Mulder said, pointing at the bruises on his neck. Moorehouse had to admit that they looked like extremely large fingerprints, now that he thought about it. "And it just tried to murder my partner. I can sense it...I don't know how or why, but I can. It murders for pleasure and thrives on our fear.....and it's getting stronger."

"So if what you say is true...and I'm not saying that I believe in any of this mumbo gumbo you just spouted," Moorehouse was quick to add,

"how do you plan on stopping this other 'thing'?"

"I dunno," Mulder admitted. "I have a feeling, though, that when the time comes, I'll know what to do. As for reward money? You can keep it....the Bureau wouldn't let us accept it anyway. Besides, no one would believe or accept the second half of what I just told you anyway....so you work on the part of the case that you *can* prove and I'll wrestle with the

'spooky squad' stuff...okay?"

"Nice of you to bring me my clothes, Mulder." Both men spun toward the icy voice that stabbed at them from the cabin door. "I got worried when you didn't get back within a 'reasonable' length of time....and here you are with Sergeant Moorehouse, having a nice little chat." Scully was more than just a little miffed. "You don't have to go over your little explanations again for me...I heard. And I wish you'd stop making major decisions without consulting me first," she glared at Moorehouse and narrowed her eyes at Mulder.

Jake sensed that the kid was in the proverbial 'dog house' and he didn't want to stick around when the fur flew....yep, just a piece of paper, he thought , feeling sorry for the kid but laughing to himself when he saw the way she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, impatiently tapping one foot. He knew that pose...he'd seen it many times before. His mom used to get it before he got spanked when he was a kid....and the last time he'd seen it was when his ex-wife locked him out of the house for the last time. Jake had the impression that it was an ingrained female genetic trait.

"Ma'am, when you're done here....I'd appreciate some help with the latest so called accident." There, he said what he'd come here to say in the first place. Moorehouse took one final look at the fire in Scully's eyes and decided it was way past time for him to leave. He made a quick exit out the door and down the hall, chuckling to himself the whole way.....he had the distinct impression that Agent Mulder was in for a serious ass chewing.

Scully shut the door behind Moorehouse. As soon as she was sure he was out of earshot, Scully turned slowly toward Mulder, took a deep breath and blasted, "what the hell did you think you were doing?!? All this time we've bent over backwards to maintain a believable 'cover' and now you go and tell one of the 'suspects' who we are!!!!!! A few hours ago I could have blamed it on the drugs, but not now. I hate it when you do things like this. Mulder, it's just like that time in the forest..."she trailed off, trembling slightly as she flashed back to the time when millions of microscopic green insects had nearly killed her. "Sometimes you just don't stop to think about how what you do and say could affect those around you. Now, could you at least tell me why you blew our cover?"

Mulder eased himself down onto the bottom bunk and sat silently for several minutes. Yes, he knew that he'd been wrong that time in the forest when he didn't consult her---but goddamn it, he'd been right about the guy. The man had come back for them...and had died as a result.... a fact that she always conveniently failed to mention. This time....this time he stood by his decision. She hadn't been there and he'd had no time to wait for her to decide what to do. Fox raised his eyes to her and stated in a calm, quiet voice, "Dana....the man was in the cabin when I arrived. He saw the log books on the floor and put two and two together. He may be an oaf in some respects but he's not stupid. He came right out and asked me if I was FBI."

Mulder looked down and studied the blisters on feet. "Dana...." he continued softly as he raised he eyes to gaze directly into hers, "Look at me."

She held his gaze and asked questions with her own puzzled eyes.

"What kind of liar am I?" he whispered in frustration. "Could I look that man in the eye and lie to his face....especially when my instincts tell me that I can trust him, in spite of his abrasive personality? Do you actually think that he'd believe me? This is an NYCPD detective we're talking about. He's probably been lied to for over twenty years by a lot of people who were a lot better at it than I am. " Dana had to agree with him there...Mulder was a terrible liar. But she wasn't ready to quit being angry, not just yet. They were partners, dammit...and he'd just made a major case decision without her.... again.

"There's something else to consider and I'm sure it's crossed your mind, too," Mulder continued. "It seems pretty obvious that whoever or whatever we're trying to keep our identity from already seems to know who was forced to make a split second decision and unfortunately I had to do it without the luxury of your input on the matter." Mulder sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. God, he was just so tired and he didn't want to fight with her.

Dana's eyes softened as she walked over to where he sat. Perhaps this time he'd been correct, she thought evenly. She *had* blasted him before she'd had all the facts, but she also felt that she had a 'good' reason to 'jump to conclusions'. It was typically 'Mulder' to run off on his own without consulting her and this impulsive tendency really frightened her. She knew it grew from the years he'd worked alone without a partner. But she *was* here now. She was just afraid that one day he'd go off on his own and she wouldn't be there to pull his ass out of the fire.

Mulder felt of her fingertips lightly ruffling through his hair as he felt the mattress sink down beside him. He turned his face to one side and discovered an impish Scully face giving him the once over. "You may have been right this time," she conceded. "But in the future...if at all possible....please let me know what you're up to, okay? It's scary when you go off on your own because I can't help you if I don't know what you're doing and I can't be there for you if I don't know where you are. I don't want you to get hurt, Fox."

Fox Mulder smiled and cautiously embraced his partner in a gentle hug, being careful not to press too much on their mutual burns. He looked at their skin and remarked devilishly, "this could present a real challenge....don't you think??"

She laughed. "I've never known you to 'flinch' from challenge, I'm sure you'll think of something," she pursed her lips, kissed him softly, and then gave him a gentle shove.

Dana stood up, put on the soft cotton dress that Mulder had gotten out for her and slipped on a pair of sandals. He watched quietly as she went to the mirror to brush the tangles out of her still- damp hair and marveled at how lovely she looked---even with beet red skin and blisters. Silently, he thanked every deity he could think of for her continued presence in his life, and he was exceedingly glad that they had ended this last argument on a positive note.

Mulder's mind played back to another scene from not too long ago... he'd become frustrated and left Scully's office at Quantico in a huff. He hadn't even said good-bye.....he'd just gotten up from her desk and walked out. Afterwards, she'd disappeared, and more than anything else the memory of his indifference tore at his heart and had haunted him throughout the whole ordeal. How could he have been so callous? If she had *not* been returned to him safe and whole, it would have remained like a lead weight upon his soul till he drew his last breath. Mulder vowed, then and there, that he would *never*......*ever* leave her in that manner again, and so far he'd been able to keep that promise.

Dana felt his eyes follow her appreciatively across the room and she allowed his longing gaze without comment. The thought that he could still desire her even when she looked this 'bad' warmed her heart. Sure, he could make her angry with his obsessions and impulsive carelessness, but he was an inately 'good' person and his 'decent' qualities more than outweighed his flaws.

She finished removing the last tangle from her hair and crossed back over to Mulder. He was trying, without success, to get his sneakers on over his swollen feet.....he hadn't bought sandals for his replacement wardrobe. Finally, giving up, he just slipped on a pair of socks, muttered "fuck it" under his breath, and stood up. Bad idea, Mulder, he thought belatedly as the weight of his body popped the blisters on the soles of his feet. "Shit," he grimaced when the dampness soaked through his socks. He wasn't certain if the wetness was from the blisters or the water-logged carpet....all he knew was that it stung like hell.

He looked down at Dana's red but relatively unharmed feet. "How come yours didn't blister?" he complained.

"Just lucky I guess," she replied warmly while taking out an extra pair of his socks from the dresser. "Come on," she soothed, "looks like I have another dead body to examine. We can drop by Dr. Johnson's on the way and get some antibiotics for those 'boats' you call feet." She paused momentarily, then quipped facetiously, "God, I just *love* our

'vacations'."

(continued part 7) <

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Tue Oct 15 07:31:50 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 7) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com

Moorehouse had already made his investigation of the scene in the gym. He'd roped off the area from the other passengers...they'd just have to get their exercise some other way for the duration of this trip. He figured that the agents would be occupied for awhile with ironing out their

'differences' and he didn't want anything disturbed by any of the 'amateur' sleuths on board, although their number was rapidly dwindling. However, the Mulders had shown up more quickly than he had anticipated and the kid still seemed to be in one piece and in a decent mood at that.

<Interesting.....could they be as efficient at everything else as well?>

Jake observed with fascination as the hot little redhead....she'd introduced herself to him this time as Dana Scully, but reminded him that she was still Mrs. Mulder to everyone else.... painstakingly examined the body from gory head to toe without so much as a 'flinch'. Mulder, he noticed, was just as competent as he scanned the area with equal fervor and concentration. He knelt down by the victim's head and carefully removed the two screws that had fallen on the floor and placed them in a zip lock bag he'd picked up from the kitchen. Then he began to pick at something that had evidently stuck into the carpet and placed it in the bag with the screws. Jake thought it looked like metal shavings....How the hell could he have missed that?

Dana completed her work and looked up to see two expectant faces staring at her for a report. She almost had to laugh....she hated to admit it but in many ways Jake and Fox were a lot alike. They were both incredibly stubborn, opinionated, and used to having their own way. Jake, however, was more boisterous and openly crude, while Mulder, even though he could make a crude remark now and then, was more subdued with a refined, softer edge. She could understand why Mulder might trust this guy.

"Well," she finally commented, "The cause of death is fairly obvious....the man's throat was crushed, and the pressure from the sudden weight forced his brain into his cranium and out of his nasal cavities, mouth, ears, eyes, etc.....see...." she said pointing to the floor. "The cranial fluid has pooled on the floor and the eyeballs were forced from their sockets."

This woman is amazing, Jake thought. He'd seen a lot of gruesome murder scenes but hearing her talk about it this way was starting to make even him.....queasy.

Mulder, on the other hand, lifted one eyebrow and commented with a grin, "ya mean like the roadkill I saw the other day when I jogged by your place? I think it was a squirrel....kinda hard to tell sometimes when they're flat like that."

Moorehouse looked at him in utter disbelief for several seconds, then roared with laughter. He liked this kid.....he really did, weird ideas or not.

Dana's only reaction was to give them both a pained look and state with patient resign, "Mulder, you have an acutely *sick* sense of humor. Now for our next problem....how are we gonna get this barbell off of him so we can put him in the deep freeze with the others? There must be at least four hundred pounds on that thing."

Fox shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me..... if I try to lift that thing, we'll *both* be sorry." He favored Dana with a sideways glance and winked covertly. "What about you, Jake?"

Moorehouse shook his head with a definite "no".

Mulder snickered in spite of himself....this was such a ridiculous problem to have. Back on shore he never had to worry about getting the body away from the scene of a crime...the coroner's office took care of it. Yup, his *sick* sense of humor was definitely kicking in here....probably some kind of a mental pressure release valve.

"What?" she asked.

"Well......I don't know.....It's just that I keep getting flashbacks of that movie, 'Weekend at Bernies'. Maybe we could put a towel over his face and pass him off as a new kind of eclectic 'gym art'. If we play our cards right....everybody will want one." One look at Dana confirmed that she didn't think the idea was nearly as hilarious as he did. He tried to get serious, but it only resulted in a case of those snorting type giggles....the nasty ones you get when you're *really* trying not to laugh. The harder he tried to not to laugh, the worse they got...Shit, he might as well say it and get it over with.

"Okay, then," he managed to slip in between gasps, "how about if we put out a ship-wide call for anyone who can lift Roseanne Barr....ya know....shades of 'The Sword in the Stone'? Whoever accomplishes the feat gets to rape and pillage the Tiki Bar, win a kiss from the princess and a free one-day, 'life-time' pass to this wonderfully 'safe' gymnasium."

Even Jake snickered a little this time, but Dana just stood there looking at him with an 'I can't believe I'm hearing this, Mulder' look on her face. "Okay...okay....I'm losin' it," he admitted. "The pressure's finally got to me......I give.....Dana, I don't *know*! How do we get this guy out from under this *damn* thing.!?! Maybe a lever...Jake can push down and we can pull him out....by the feet. I'm not touching what's left of his head."

Mulder stacked several round weights on the floor to make a fulcrum, then looked around and spotted a steel bar at another weight bench. He carried it over, placed it under the barbells and over the stacked weights for leverage. With Dana and Jake pushing down on the bar he managed to pull the body free. Soon thereafter, Jason Hubbard took up his new residence in the deep freeze next to his former lover, Oneida Darkhorse and, of course, the Boltons.

As they slammed the freezer door shut, Mulder observed glumly,

"I've got a feeling if we don't solve this thing soon....we're gonna run out of freezer space and be forced to hang up a 'No Vacancy' sign, or thaw someone out."

He studied Scully and Moorehouse and theorized out loud. "In spite of my somewhat 'unconventional' theories about what's happening on this cruise, I believe that at least Hubbard's and possibly Darkhorse's murder was committed by an all too human criminal. Markings on the screws suggests that they were forced with a screwdriver of inappropriate size for the screw head and the shavings confirm that the screws were stripped when they were removed. We also have reason to believe that Oneida Darkhorse was drugged by the means of a Scopolomine patch, although we don't have the lab facilities on board to test the drug levels in the patches. Entities don't need screwdrivers and I don't believe they would push drugs. So if these two murders were committed by a human criminal, they have to be connected in some way. And if what Oneida projected to me yesterday is any indication of her 'inclinations', I can almost guarantee what that connection was. My first suspect would be her husband, but since he's not on board we should consider the possibility that he hired someone to take care of the problem."

"What about the Boltons?" Dana asked.

"They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Mulder replied. "I have a gut feeling that the entity is behind the Boltons' deaths. There was no physical evidence of human involvement in that

'accident.' Whoever the murderer is, he...or she....isn't quite as clever as they think. They've been leaving little clues behind."

Jake nodded in agreement. "Mulder, since Hubbard was the Activities Director on board this ship, maybe we can get some of his fellow employees to rat on the bum about his suspected fling with Darkhorse. I saw him up on deck during the volleyball game, making a move on a couple of the girls. He sure looked like the 'bragging' type to me. If I could borrow your partner for a couple of hours, we could probably interview most of the staff and maybe come up with some leads." Jake shot Dana and inquiring glance and stated in a sincere tone of respect, "I could *really* use the help of an experienced interviewer....."

Dana glanced briefly at Mulder for his opinion and he nodded a reluctant affirmation. "I have a few 'unusual' leads to follow, myself. I want to meet with the captain and see if we can't get this barge turned around....I'd even be happy with a change in course," he added as he turned to leave.

Karl Kopec sat nursing a drink in the Tiki Lounge, listening to what had to be the worst rendition of "Tiny Bubbles" he had ever heard in his life. What was it with lounge singers on cruise ships...they all thought they were Don Ho.

Normally he'd already be drunk by this time of the day and the singer wouldn't have bothered him. But he was too nervous to drink today. He was afraid that if he passed out drunk on this tub, he'd wake up dead. And after all the things he'd done in his life, he wasn't looking forward to where he'd be spending eternity.

Something was different about this cruise... he felt it. The other cruises hadn't been a piece of cake, either, but then again he hadn't felt personally threatened then. Now he was in an elite class of passengers... one of the "finalists" in this little hunt and seek game. And the number of contestants was rapidly dwindling. Karl figured he now knew what the bald eagle felt like being on the endangered species list.

Add to that the close call he'd had this morning while walking on deck. He'd been down in the gym earlier and had seen all the girls working out in their tight leotards. Of course, none of them had seen *him*... they'd all been too busy eyeing the Activities Director, drooling over his muscles, no doubt. Well, they say it's never too late to get in shape. So he decided to take a quick stroll around the deck. After all, wasn't walking supposed to be good for you?

He'd been passing by the lifeboats when a cable must have broken loose. All he knew was that one minute he was walking along jauntily, and the next minute he was hugging the deck for dear life as a steel beam swung over him exactly where his head had been only a moment earlier. Karl had a vivid imagination... it came from years of working as a reporter and seeing all the gore he'd reported on. He had no trouble imagining himself lying lifeless on the deck, his head smashed to smithereens like some watermelon dropped off a high-rise. That had been the end of his experiment with aerobics. He'd come straight to the bar and ordered a double.

Except now he was having trouble finishing it. He wasn't sure the money was worth all this....maybe nothing was. Screw up here and you're dead, he told himself. And what was that other saying... he should know. In his career he'd managed to squeeze into his stories all the hackneyed expressions he'd ever heard in his life. Oh, yeah.... something about lying down with dogs. Karl grimaced and finished his drink in one non-stop swallow.

"Bartender," he said, "I believe I'll have another after all." If you gotta go, he thought, you might as well go in style.

Mulder had no idea what argument he could possibly use to persuade the captain to change the ship's course, at least not any argument that the man would believe, anyway. All he had was an outrageous theory and no proof--as usual. They were in International Waters, so he couldn't force or demand compliance with his wishes. He didn't have the authority.

While pondering this unlikely dilemma, Fox found himself walking purposefully toward what he 'thought' was the Captain's office only to discover with embarrassment that he'd somehow gotten on the wrong deck.

<How in the hell did you manage this??> Funny...he didn't remember descending to the Lido deck. <Oh boy, this is one time I'm glad Scully's not here....one mistake with a map over a year ago and she brands me for life. God knows what she'd do with this disturbing little tidbit.> He could hear her now---'Fox Mulder, not only do you screw up North, South, East, and West, but you can't tell 'up' from 'down' either. <Okay okay, so I'm lost...goddamn it....where are the stairs?>

He wandered down the corridor aimlessly for several minutes, searching for the stairway that would take him back to the upper deck.....<wait a minute, Mulder, you *are* on the upper deck.> He saw the fluffy white of the clouds overhead and felt the soft, damp sea air on his face...but he also saw the dark corridor with the artificial lighting overhead, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he passed by. As he watched, the clouds disappeared and were solidly replaced once more with the artificial lighting....what the hell??? His mind reeled with the effort of trying to sort out two converging realities....his brain just was not set up for this kind of sensory incongruity....<you can't be two places at the same time....you just can't> A small tiny voice prodded his intellect---he knew the voice. It was his own. 'Why not?' it teased excitedly.

He traveled down the dark hall and stood before a large heavy door marked 'Laundry'. For some reason he felt compelled to enter. He reached out to turn the door handle when a familiar stench assaulted his nose and a heavy dread once more draped itself over his shoulders. It's evil weight forced him to his knees but somehow he managed to open the door. Willing himself to look up, he beheld the hideous creature that he'd remembered from the previous night. It turned to face him, snarled tauntingly, and lifted the still, slight figure of his friend, Kor, into the air before shoving his head into the pants press and pulling the lever.

"NO!!!!!!" Mulder screamed in shocked horror and rage as he rushed toward the thing with clenched fists.

"You do not belong here, boy," its growl echoed mockingly in his head. "Ah....you think you can threaten me, human garbage?" It laughed demonically as he approached. "You will fear me, like all your kind fear me....you'd better." It swung one great clawed appendage at Fox, swatting him away like a gnat and sending him sprawling into the far wall. Dazed and bleeding from a ragged gash in his side, Mulder stubbornly tried to stand, but a voice he trusted forbade him and a gentle hand restrained his movement. He watched helplessly as the demon dropped Kor to the ground and moved swiftly into the lower reaches of the ship. A long, dark shadow pursued the fleeing apparition into the darkness.

"*You* should not be able to do this...*you*, my dear boy, are an enigma," Dr. Jay's voice soothed gently. "Stay out of this my dear, dear Fox.....you are in over your head on this one. Now he will come for you, too." Dr. Jay carefully laid his hand atop Mulder's bowed head, patted it as he would an obedient child, and then affectionately stroked the silky strands of hair back from his forehead.

"Oh...Fox, my boy...." Dr. Jay groaned quietly, "you are a never ending wellspring of unexpected surprises and a constant source of worry for those of us who care for you...do you know that? You have proven to be more dangerous to him than either of us had anticipated. Now that he knows you can sense his presence and track him down, he will try his utmost to make certain that you are unable to do either."

Noticing the potential seriousness of the nasty looking slash, Dr. Jay gently massaged Mulder's temples and perceptively alleviated some of his confusion and pain. Then he reached up and pulled the fire alarm. "I can not stay with you at this time," he said, "but I am quite certain that someone will be here presently to assist you."

Mulder raised his head painfully and in a semi-lucid state tried to thank Doc for his help only to find himself looking into a dim vacant hallway where Dr. Jay had stood only moments before. "Who are you???" he slurred into the shadows, absently clutching at his side with his right hand.

The warm, rich liquid oozed stickily between his fingers and pooled into a crimson puddle on the cold floor beside him. Each individual cell in his body shrieked in protest against the duality it had been forced to endure. Being in neither one reality nor the other, Mulder felt as though he'd been ripped apart on a molecular level and thrust simultaneously into two entirely different modes of existence. This combined with the stress of trying to cope with a situation that he did not fully understand left him exhausted. Closing his eyes to the artificial light in the room, he finally succumbed and accepted the painless peace of the surrounding darkness that slowly enveloped his senses.

Scully assisted Jake in what was now their tenth 'interview' of the various ship's personnel who'd worked with and for Jason Hubbard. Personally she was beginning to think that this whole endeavor was nothing but a waste of time and effort. After the first two interviews it was obvious that virtually 'everyone' knew of Oneida's little affair with Jason Hubbard. Hubbard was just the last entry in a long list of 'flings' that had paraded through Oneida's relatively short life. Her husband *had* to know about her many extra-marital activities....Dana was sure of it. One or two indiscretions could have possibly been hidden from him, but *not* the volume of lovers that this woman had collected. If her husband had known about *all* of those, why would he 'target' his wife now....and just one particular lover?

Jason's on board karate instructor, Tieng Yan Soo, provided them with a probable answer to this question. During his interview, Moorehouse managed to get some pretty scandalous material from the man. <He may be an oaf....but Mulder was right about Jake not being stupid> Dana thought. It seems that Oneida had hopped into the sack one two many times and gotten herself pregnant. In addition to that startling bit of information, he also got Tieng to admit that Jason had been spending a lot of money that he shouldn't have had given his salary... spending it like a 'drunken sailor,' according to Tieng.

After they finished questioning the last employee on their list, Moorehouse guided Scully by the elbow to a table by the pool side bar.

"Well, what's your theory, Ms. FBI Agent?" Jake clipped in his gravel- gruff, sometimes annoying voice.

Scully tilted her head slightly and squinted her eyes. <I will never take Mulder's soft, melodic tones for granted ever again.....> "I think....I think that Jason was blackmailing Oneida about the baby. It's plausible that she told her husband that it was his. So shortly after she tells him about the baby, he notices large sums of money disappearing from their accounts. He puts two and two together and gets three. Faced with the good chance of another scandal involving his lovely wife, he decides it would be in his best interest just to get rid of them both and start over. And what better way to do it than on a cruise that's being plagued by so-called 'ghost' murders to begin with." She stopped and looked at Moorehouse. "So what do *you* think?" she asked pointedly, just daring him to punch holes in her theory.

Jake gave a hearty laugh. Man, this one really *was* a little spitfire. He'd bet his last dollar that no one ever swatted *her* fanny in the bullpen and got away with it. "I agree whole heartedly with what you said....For a Fibbie, you're ok," he replied in his usual boisterous and crude manner. "So we know what the motive may have been and the identity of maybe one of the suspects. The only problem I see is that Oneida's big shot hubby, the good Senator Weston, ain't on board this tub...so who axed the stupid bitch and her boyfriend?"

"I have this uneasy feeling that the answer is lying here right under our noses...." Dana muttered. A copy of the National Inquirer fluttered unnoticed on the table next to her iced tea. She picked up the glass to take a sip but nearly dropped it in her lap instead when the ship's fire alarm began to blare on all decks.

"Relax, cupcake," Jake leered, "it's probably just one of those idiotic fire drills."

Scully glared at him intensely. "First of all ....I am *not* a

'cupcake'." She paused for emphasis, making sure that Moorehouse got her point. "And second, this isn't a drill...." Dana pointed at two crew members who raced past them, struggling to get into fire gear. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna go find out what the hell is going on

*now*...."

For once, Moorehouse agreed. They found the captain and Moorehouse expertly pried the information from him as the alarms were silenced. Crew members already suited up for a fire were taking off their gear.

"See, I told ya it was a false alarm," Moorehouse grumbled. "The sailor boy, there, says that somebody must have pulled the fire alarm in the laundry room cause the electronic fire fighting stuff says that there ain't no fire."

"I'm gonna to check it out anyway....somebody had to pull it!!!" Dana insisted...she had a 'feeling' that this wasn't just a false alarm, and if there was one thing she'd learned while working with Mulder, it was to follow her instincts as well as her mind.

Moorehouse reluctantly agreed to go with her and the first mate to investigate the false alarm. The alarm box that had been pulled was in, of all places, the freaking laundry room. This broad was one of the pushiest dames he'd ever met. He wouldn't admit it to anybody else, but he found her stubbornness uniquely appealing. In her own way, she was just as intense as the kid.

The trio traveled down the hot, dimly lit hall toward the laundry room. The shadows seemed alive with their own malevolent energy, and Dana found herself wondering why the hell there wasn't more light down here. They became aware of a still, fairly large shadow apparently slumped up against the wall ahead of them. As they approached cautiously, Dana suddenly realized that the shadow was resolving itself into the the all too familiar profile of Fox Mulder.

Her heart in her throat, she began to run the remainder of the distance to the limp figure. The others were hard pressed to keep up with her short, slender legs and they made it to the laundry room a few seconds after she did. The first mate took one look at the situation and headed back down the hall to get some help. Moorehouse just loomed overhead while she knelt by Mulder's side.

Mulder was slumped in a semi-reclining position of the floor. Dana noticed the blood-soaked shirt and the thick puddle that had formed on the floor beside him. She immediately tore the shirt away from the wound to get a better look. What greeted her was an ugly gash of torn flesh and a section of exposed bone from a lower rib. He was conscious...but in a

'punch drunk' sort of way....probably from blood loss and mild shock.

"Moorehouse," she ordered, pointing to the laundry room, "Get me a clean sheet or towel....anything....I've gotta stop the bleeding."

Moorehouse dutifully ran off in search of what she needed. He returned a few seconds later with a white sheet that seemed to match his complexion. He handed the sheet to Scully. "Hope there's room in the deep freeze for one more. We got another corpse in there," he said in a subdued tone, pointing toward the laundry room door, "and it ain't pretty."

Mulder stirred at the sound of their voices and managed a slurred whisper. "It murdered Kor, Dana....It just killed him...no reason....except it...it wanted to." His voice quivered weakly, catching in pain as he tried to draw a breath... "It enjoyed the fear... horror... when he died....." he trailed off and Dana had to lean in closer to hear what he was saying. "It's evil...evil...Scccuullyy...I can feel it.....Dr. Jay's right--I know how... find......it." She noted with concern that his words were becoming more and more incoherent and his irises were trying to roll back into his head.

"Mulder!!!!" she shouted into his ear..."stay with me ....Come on, Sherlock. Just think...I've had to wrap you up in a sheet, twice in one day. Stay with me and we'll do it for fun some time. Mulder...don't pass out....you hear me....Fox!!! You pass out and the deal's off....Where did this thing go? Where's Dr. Jay? Mulder, answer me....." Mulder's head tilted back limply as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Shit!!!" she exclaimed.

"What??" Moorehouse asked in alarm.

"He passed out..... Damn it Mulder. Didn't I just tell you not to pass out? You never listen to me." She looked at Jake in exasperation.

"He never listens to me...."

"Damn," Moorehouse commiserated, "give the poor guy a break, will ya? I mean, so far on this tub he's barfed his guts out, been poisoned, strangled, par boiled, had to use his shoulder as a battering ram, and now some multiphasing demon troll thing just tried to rip his lungs out without even the benefit of a good stiff drink. Personally, I don't think this is one vacation he's gonna want to remember so I'd forget about the 'Kodak' moments if I were you." Jake looked down at the pale, young man on the floor and then back up at Scully. "Hey, is he gonna be all right?" he asked with what appeared to be genuine worry.

Dana returned his gaze, trying not to show her surprise at his obvious concern for her partner's condition. <Maybe I've been wrong about this guy...maybe he had a heart after all. Sometimes Mulder's instincts about people were uncanny>.

"It's a nasty wound, but it could've been much worse," she replied. "Luckily for him this 'thing' struck bone instead of a lung or he'd be in some major difficulties right now. As it is, he's not gonna be running any races anytime soon. It's gonna hurt like hell, though, and he should take it easy. But if I know my partner...and I do, give him a couple hours and he'll be up trying to track this thing down with a vengeance. That is, if we can get some help down here and get him to the infirmary."

Dana looked down the hallway expectantly. "Where the hell is everybody?" she growled impatiently.

Jake's eyes darted nervously as he continued to survey their surroundings, his search stopping momentarily at the laundry room entrance. He remembered all too vividly what was inside.

"Listen, Ms. FBI, I ain't a doctor like you, but it doesn't take an expert to figure out that your other half, there....he ain't lookin' too

'good'. I know you don't wanna move him around, but whatever did this just might decide to come back for a return engagement and I for one don't wanna be here if it does....you catch my drift?"

Dana was momentarily indecisive. Moving Mulder improperly could worsen his condition, but then again, waiting for help could prove fatal to them all.

Moorehouse stared at her, waiting for her decision. Shit, he was a big, hulky guy and he didn't think that it would be all that difficult to carry the kid. Mulder was tall but with a slender strength that didn't lend itself to a tremendous amount of bulk. Jake shot Dana an impatient yet understanding stare. "I promise....I'll be gentle," he snorted with a grin. She nodded her head reluctantly and Jake knelt down beside Mulder and gently lifted him from the ground with a loud grunt and cradled him in both arms. "Jesus, he's a lot heavier than he looks," Jake complained as moved cautiously down the hall.

The trip to the ship's infirmary seemed maddeningly slow. Every now and then a low moan would escape Fox's lips when Jake was forced to shift Mulder's weight in his arms. Dana had noticed that once more a slow, steady flow of blood began to leave a trail on the floor behind them.

Dr. Johnson took one look at his returning patient, sighed deeply and pointed to the examination table. "Mrs. Mulder, just have Detective Moorehouse put him on the table....I've taken the liberty of reserving the cot in the corner just for him, since he seems determined to spend the balance of this trip occupying that space." The doctor walked over to his patient and studied him for several seconds.

Dana became alarmed at the doctor's seeming inaction. Mulder needed attention, and he needed it *now*. She assumed that the ship's doctor was unused to seeing this type of violent injury and maybe he didn't know where to start. Exasperated, she finally decided she had to do something.

"Dr. Johnson, I am also a medical doctor and although my specialty is pathology, perhaps I may still be of assistance," she suggested helpfully.

Taking her comment as a condescending remark, Dr. Johnson turned around and glared at her. "Look," he replied with some irritation, "I may be a 'ship's doctor', but I *am* qualified. Excuse me for being a little surprised, but I don't usually see this kind of wound on a cruise ship. How in the *hell* did this happen?? I haven't seen anything like this since I worked the ER at Boston General."

Dr. Johnson walked over to the sink and began methodically scrubbing for surgery. "I spent ten years repairing the results of man's inhumanity to his own kind and became weary of fighting a losing battle," he continued. "So I accepted a staff position at the Mayo Clinic thinking I could escaped the carnage, but it wasn't any different.... As a last resort, I came here and found a chance to think things out. It helped not having to treat anything more complicated than hang nails and motion sickness.....now.....now you bring me this..." he said pointing to the limp form covering the exam table.

Dana stared at the floor in embarrassment. "I really didn't mean it the way it sounded," she apologized. "I...I'm just worried."

Dr. Johnson looked up from scrubbing his hands. He was going to need assistance with this one....the cruise line didn't keep a nurse on board...and it looked like he'd just gotten a volunteer. "Well, if you're going to assist me," he stated with resign, "you'd better scrub too. I know it probably isn't a real priority in pathology....dead bodies don't complain about infection," he snickered in good humored retaliation, "but living ones most certainly do."

Moorehouse decided then and there that he'd seen enough blood for one day. Besides, someone had to take care of the remains in the laundry room, and he guessed that someone was him, if only by default. It never gets any easier, he thought to himself as he walked off in search of someone in authority.

Dana emerged about forty-five minutes later and smiled at Moorehouse for the first time since they'd met. "He's gonna be okay," she said with relief. "Thanks for your help. Doc's got him in his 'reserved' cot snoring away and has promised to keep an eye on him for the next couple of hours. Fox has a tendency to 'wander' off without informing concerned parties of his intentions or whereabouts. So if he so much as flinches in an unauthorized manner, Doctor Johnson has promised to let me know. Now....where were we before this disaster struck???"

Once again, Moorehouse was impressed. She just finished stitching up her partner and here she was, raring to go. "Well, I'd say we've got a least two more people that I'd really like to interview," he replied.

"O'Keefe and Kopec."

"Mrs. O'Keefe You suspect that little old lady? Mulder did, too," Dana mused.

"I don't know if I'd call her a 'suspect' or not, but a couple of people in the gym put her there at the time of Hubbard's accident, and she wasn't working out." Dana raised one eyebrow at that. What in the world would Mrs. O'Keefe be doing in the gym....she wasn't even one of the finalists, so she wouldn't have been in there looking for clues.

"Unfortunately, I have no idea where either one of them might be at this very moment," Moorehouse continued. "I haven't seen Mrs. O'Keefe or Kopec since the incident in the gym. From what the stewards tell me, Mrs. O'Keefe seldom leaves her room. I'll bet ten to one odds that Kopec is warming a bar stool somewhere.

Bar hopping....terrific. Just what she needed on top of the day she'd already had. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the headache tht was threatening to descend.

Moorehouse looked at her closely. He was getting to know her well enough now that he could see the tension in the tight lines around her eyes and her mouth. "Hey, how about a break before we get going again?" he suggested. "I don't know about you, but I could use a little fresh air." Dana readily agreed, and they headed for the pool.

The follower was gaining ground, growing stronger with time. It still had trouble sensing the hunter, but with the unexpected help of one of the beings on this vessel, it had nearly caught him this last time. But at the last second the hunter had backed off from this being and fled into the darkness of the ship. The follower had paused just long enough in its pursuit to register the presence of the observer. That in itself was surprising....the follower knew that its actions, as well as those of the hunter, were being observed, but never before had it seen the observer. Something was different this time. The follower drew stength from that fact...maybe it meant that this time it would be victorious over the hunter, that its millenia-long struggle would be at an end. The follower did not want to contemplate the alternative.

Dana sat down at a table by the pool to momentarily rest her feet....even though they hadn't blistered like Mulder's, they were still sore. She idly picked up the National Inquisitor and thumbed through the rag while Jake went to get her a desperately needed iced tea. She was just about to toss it on the chair next to her when an article caught her eye...an article in the scandal sheet section written by none other than Karl Kopec. This wouldn't have normally been a big deal since Kopec *did* work for the infamous tabloid....but the article was about Oneida Darkhorse and her 'sordid' love affairs. Dana quickly read the article.

Perhaps this was the connection that they'd been searching for. Of course, all of these people would have known each other from taking this cruise for the last three weeks. But this paper was last months issue. Which meant that Kopec had known about Oneida *before* he'd met her on the ship. And he'd written one damnable article about her various sexual escapades. How odd that Oneida didn't seem to know about the article or the man who wrote it. Odder still was the fact that everbody's brother seemed to know about her affair with Jason and her pregnancy, but Kopec didn't even appear to be the least bit interested with this new, *really scandalous* aspect of the story. Why not? Unless....unless someone had paid him to keep his mouth shut about that. And if he took monery to keep himself quiet, it wasn't that big of a stretch to believe that he would take money to keep someone else's mouth shut...maybe two other mouths.

Dana tried to think of all the times she'd seen Kopec on this cruise, to visualize what he'd been doing. This little exercise only served to point out to her that she hadn't seen that much of Kopec at all except when he was hanging around the murder scenes.

When Jake returned, Dana showed him the article and voiced her suspicions about Kopec. "I don't know, Jake. I just can't shake the feeling that Karl Kopec is somehow involved in all of this. Maybe we should check him out next and see what we can turn up." If Mulder were here, he'd probably have made some incredible leap in logic and had the whole thing worked out already....sometimes his 'insight' really *was*

'spooky'. Dana had to remind herself that this wasn't Mulder -- this was Jake -- and she wasn't exactly sure what his reaction to her theory would be. So she waited patiently for him to sort things out and give her his opinion.

Kopec, huh? Jake found himself really liking that idea. There was a certain neat logic involved here. Karl'd been seen in the gym, too, right before Hubbard died. Put two and two together, and you had opportunity and motive. The little weasel probably *was* responsible for at least two of these so called accidents. The thought of cuffing and arresting that rumor-monging terd warmed him from the top of his head right down to the tip of his toes. He grinned at Dana and nodded, "Well, if you have a hunch about this guy, maybe we should just pay him a

'friendly visit' and see what kind of slime spews outta this nut when we crack him."

Dana viewed Jake with a patient skowl. "Moorehouse, you're just so damn descriptively poetic...Mulder can't hold a candle to you in terms of grossness."

"Hey, was that a compliment?" he asked gruffly.

"Who the hell knows," she sighed. "Let's go find Kopec....on second thought, maybe we should wait for Mulder. He's one of the best interviewers I have ever known....and Jake, I'm not just saying that because he's my partner....it's true. I'd feel a lot better if he could be there."

Jake snorted and replied, "hell, I know the kid's good....but it's only been an hour since you were stitiching his guts back together, and I doubt Doc Johnson's gonna let him outta his sight for a least another hour. By that time Kopec could very well ditch the evidence...if, of course, there is any.... and we'd be left with nothing but suspicions that we can't prove. I think Mulder would tell you to 'go for it'."

"Well, in that case Detective Moorehouse, what do you suggest we do first...a little 'bar hopping' or a quick visit to Kopec's quarters?" she inquired, knowing from Jake's reaction to the reporter that he'd probably already done a study of the man's habits.

Jake rubbed his stubbled chin, checked his watch. "I'd say he's more than likely visited every lounge and bar on the ship by now and is

'resting' in his cabin," he replied thoughtfully. "But that's just a hunch."

"Now *that* I can deal with," she laughed suddenly. "My partner puts a great deal of faith in 'hunches' and I hate to admit it, but most of the time.....he's right. We'll play your hunch, Jake....Let's go."

Mulder could sense the creature even within his drug-induced dreams. It stalked the ship's corridors, unseen by the innocent victims that it hunted. At first, Mulder had feared this evil monster, this horrid being that fed off of the terror and pain of those it destroyed. But now...now, even though there was still fear in his heart, there was also anger. The instinctive protectiveness of his nature took over and a righteous rage overpowered his fear.

He remembered seeing the 'other' shadow that had pursued this predator...he could also feel its presence close by....and was surprised to find that it reminded him...of himself. He sensed its determination to win this final showdown....and something inside of him knew that it was

'indeed' final. He wanted to help, he *needed* to help...he could not simply stay still and silent on the sidelines while this momentous battle raged on about him, not while innocent people were being slaughtered.

He opened his mind to the other, begging for an opportunity to help it in this battle....and his call was answered. To his surprise, he found that he was not 'helpless'...he could do something, and he would. For all of the "other's" great strength, it could not always locate the hunter....but Mulder could. He could 'feel' his presence in the air...smell the stench that radiated from this being. He didn't know why....but he could.

But there is danger here, the follower warned. The hunter knows you can sense him....he will attempt to lure you to destruction. But Mulder didn't care about that....it was his job to protect the innocents from predators, both from within and without this world's physical boundaries. He was not about to stop now. Mulder would follow the hunter....and so would the 'other'. If the 'other' needed him as 'bait', he would comply....no other innocent beings need die at the hands of this monster. It will be soon, the follower told him. They were nearing the center...and the hunter would come to eliminate him, for a creature as evil as the hunter could only be returned to hell while they were in the center. And the hunter would risk no threats to his continued existence in this world.

Fox awoke slowly, remembering his vision. He could not remain here....there was so little time left and so much to do. He was stiff and in a great deal of pain, and he winced as he carefully pushed himself up from the cot into a sitting position.

The noxious odor of burned flesh permeated the room. Mulder twisted his body slowly to discover the source. The partially blackened figure of Dr. Johnson was stiffly propped up against the bottom cabinets of the washup sink, the crackling hiss of the sterilizer's electrical voltage as it met filling the air with ozone. Fighting the urge to vomit, Mulder stood swaying unsteadily on his feet. He put out a hand on the counter to steady himself and noticed the words scrawled on the countertop. He read the message that had been written into a thick layer of powder that had spilled over the counter's gleaming formica surface.

"Dana's doomed...in the engine room"

"Asshole thinks he's a fucking literary giant," he mumbled under his breath, with disgust. "He wants me to go to the engine room," he shouted out loud to what appeared to be an empty room...but he *knew* the

'other' was there...he could almost see him, too.

"Just who do you think you're talking to, my dear boy?" Dr. Jay's voice echoed behind him.

"You know damn well who I'm talking to, so don't feign ignorance with me," Mulder growled. "If I turn around are you still gonna be there, or am I gonna have to look at empty space again?"

"Oh, I'll still be here," Dr. Jay mused. "Not too fond of my exits, eh?"

Mulder turned around and faced the little man. "Oh, I'd say I'm about as fond of your exits as your 'entrances'. You know about all of this don't you? Who the hell *are* you? What is this 'thing'?"

Dr. Jay thought for a few moments, pondering exactly how much he

'could' tell Mulder, and came to a decision. After all, the boy was right in the middle of this situation, like it or not, and as with all intelligent beings, he did have the right to know at least something about what he was getting into.

"Yes....I do know something about what's happening here," Dr. Jay admitted with a sigh. "I am what you might call an 'observer'. I am not supposed to get involved, only report the outcome. And you, my friend, make that *extremely* difficult."

Dr. Jay looked over at the charred remains of the ship's doctor, shaking his head sadly. "This 'thing' as you call it...the hunter....well, I suppose it is somewhat akin to *your* version of an escaped 'serial killer'. The 'other'--the follower, as you think of him, performs the same task as you do in this dimension....and I must say that he does his job with the same ruthless determination. You would like him. In another reality, the two of you would be friends. Perhaps that is why it took time from its pursuit to try and warn you," Dr. Jay mused.

"You mean those messages in the mirror, and the hallucinations I had involving danger, were warnings from the follower?" Mulder asked.

Dr. Jay shook his head yes. "And as you have no doubt deduced, this time and place is the follower's last chance to capture this fiend and return him to his prison. I had not expected you to be involved with this my dear boy...I should have known."

With a stern look of resolution, Mulder accepted Dr. Jay's explanation. He'd always had a feeling that the little man wasn't quite what he appeared to be. He found that the revelation of the reason behind Dr. Jay's presence here was not in the least bit surprising. He gestured toward the countertop. "This thing says Dana's in the engine room...and it wants me there."

"It's a trap, you know," Dr. Jay commented.

"Of course I know," Mulder snapped. "I may not be of a 'higher' alien intelligence, but I'm not a total retard either."

"Don't sell yourself short," Dr. Jay countered. "You don't have all the information."

"In any case, if this thing wants me....it's gonna get me....Let's help the 'follower' go kick some ass. Are you coming or not?" Mulder asked tersely. He didn't wait for a reply, just stormed out the door, holding on to his side. He'd begun to bleed again, but he was beyond noticing.

"Right behind you, dear friend," Dr. Jay retorted.

Dana and Moorehouse stopped in front of Kopec's cabin. Moorehouse moved over to the side...covering their back, Dana noticed with approval. She knocked on the door. "Mr. Kopec, this is Dana Sc....Mulder. Could I have a few words with you, please?" There was no immediate response to her knock.

They waited patiently for a few minutes. Dana was just about ready to try knocking again, only a little harder this time, when the door slowly opened, revealing a very disheveled and obviously hungover Karl Kopec.

He smiled generously when he saw Dana, but as the door opened wider to reveal Moorehouse, a decidedly ominous frown appeared on his face.

"What do you want?" Kopec growled. "I'm a very busy man."

"May we come in and ask you a few questions?" she asked politely.

"Sure, why not? He's a cop," Kopec said, gesturing at Moorehouse.

"He's gonna come in one way or another, so we might as well make this cordial....Like I said, what do you want? Decide to pool your resources to solve this little mystery?"

"Something like that," Jake grumbled.

"We'd like to ask you about your relationship to Oneida Darkhorse," Dana said in a leading tone.

"What relationship?" Kopec asked nervously. "I met the woman on the cruise...and she died...that's about it."

Dana walked over toward the small dresser that sat along the far wall. On it she noticed a small motion sickness patch, unused. Now that she thought of it, she'd *never* seen Kopec *ever* wear one during the entire cruise....what was this one doing on his dresser? She bet that if they searched his room, they'd find the rest of the package of Scopolomine patches. And she had a 'hunch' that on closer inspection, they'd find the screwdriver that ushered in Jason Hubbard's demise too. It had to be about money, she thought. As far as she could tell, he had no ' personal' reason to off the couple.....unless someone had threatened him or 'paid' him in some way.

Moorehouse cut in, "if you didn't know her before the cruise, how is it you were able to write a very 'detailed' article in your rag mag last month about the woman's love life?"

"You'd be surprised how much I can write about someone I don't know," Kopec insisted. "All it takes is a few interviews with the right people, a little money in the right hands...My boss isn't exactly a stickler for getting an 'official' reply from whoever he decides to skewer. I never had to meet the lady."

"So much for honest journalism, eh, Kopec?" Moorehouse scoffed.

"Mr. Kopec, do you get seasick often?" Scully interjected. "I didn't notice you ever wearing a patch." She held up the offending patch and examined it more closely for effect. "You wouldn't happen to have a screwdriver just lying around in here too...would you?"

Kopec paled at the question...Dana could smell the sour stench of alcohol pouring off the man as his forehead broke out in a cold sweat. She had him on the run and decided to pull what she referred to as 'Mulder'.

"Mr. Kopec....why did you kill Oneida and Jason?" she asked with positive certainty.

Kopec's knees nearly buckled when he heard the question...."You think *I* killed those two?" he managed to ask through his suddenly dry throat. His eyes darted back and forth between Jake and Dana, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headluights of a speeding car.

"You can't be serious!"

Moorehouse glanced over at Dana before he returned his attention to Kopec. "Oh, I think we're pretty serious alright. How about you? Are

*you* serious?" Jake asked, advancing on the cringing reporter. "Murder is a serious business, Mr. Kopec. And Mrs. Mulder there is holding some serious evidence that can put you away for a long, long time, you scumbag. So if you've got something to say to us, you'd better say it quick, before I suddenly remember that we're in international waters and I don't have to answer to my captain for my actions."

Kopec quit backing up when his butt hit the cabin wall. He felt trapped....literally. Moorehouse may have been about the same height as he was, but the detective was bulkier and obviously had a lot of practice using that bulk to his advantage. Karl didn't know how he'd get out of this one. Considering what had nearly happened to him this morning, maybe a nice, safe jail cell wouldn't be so bad. At least he'd still be alive.

He was spared that decision when his cabin door flew open and a yellow blur pounced into the room and bounded onto his bed, yowling at the top of its lungs. Dana burst out in a fit of sneezes, and Moorehouse turned around to glare at the intruder. Kopec saw his chance, sidestepped Moorehouse and flew out the door and down the hall. Jake took off in pursuit. Dana shoved the patch into her pocket and followed Moorehouse, sneezing and trying to see through her watery, itchy eyes. Damn cat, she thought.

A lone figure appeared in the doorway of Kopec's cabin and entered the room. "Bad kitty...now look what you've done," Mrs. O'Keefe scolded as she retrieved the patches from the dresser. She rummaged quickly through the drawers until she found the screwdriver, which she placed in the pocket of her sweater, along with the package of patches. "I don't believe Mr. Kopec will be needing these, do you?" she mumbled in an unfamiliar gravelly voice. The cat yowled in response. "No, I didn't think so," she said with a sinister laugh.

She picked up the cat from the bed, her fingers playing absently with its jeweled collar. "Come on, you worthless fleabag. Although you did earn your keep this time," Mrs. O'Keefe said, scratching the cat under its chin. The cat flattened its ears against its skull, its eyes dark and round with feline anger, a growl building in the back of its throat.

"Let's go take care of some 'unfinished' business.....I do believe I know where he'll go."

Mrs. O'Keefe walked hurriedly down the corridor in the opposite direction. On arriving at her destination, she expertly circumvented the lock on Oneida Darkhorse's old cabin and slipped inside.

Mulder painfully picked up his pace in an effort to get to the engine room before what Dr. Jay referred to as "the hunter" could harm anyone else...specifically Dana. The thing had mentioned her by name and he had no doubt that it would use her to draw him out. What the hunter didn't know was that he wouldn't come alone. He would bring the 'other' and Dr. Jay with him. Granted, Dr. Jay was ordered to remain neutral. But somehow he also sensed that his unusual friend was growing dissatisfied with his 'duties' as they were dictated to him. In the end, and if it became necessary, Mulder felt that Dr. Jay might surrender to his urge to act. Mulder sincerely hoped that wouldn't be necessary...not only for his friend's sake, but also for his own. Because if Dr. Jay had to act, that would mean that Mulder couldn't, and there was only one thing that was going to prevent him from fighting this battle...his own death.

Karl stopped in a darkened hatchway for a moment to catch his breath. He should have taken up aerobics years ago, he thought. You never know when you're gonna have to run for your life, and being in shape would have made it a hell of a lot easier. Although in his case, adrenalin had been a good substitute. He risked a peek into the corridor...no one seemed to be following him. Maybe he'd lost them. Now if he could only stay lost until this damn ship docked. Once on dry land, the contacts he'd made over the years would help him stay lost permanently. He'd just have to stay alive until then.

His contacts....he snorted with disgust. One in particular had certainly played him for a sucker this time around. Sure, the money had been an incentive, but dangle a good job in front of him...that was the real carrot. A job covering the city beat for The Washington Post....heaven for someone like him who'd been buried in the supermarket tabloids for more years than he cared to remember. Well, he could kiss all that goodbye now....he'd be lucky if he wound up pumping gas at some dusty truckstop in the middle of the Nevada desert.

He had to find someplace to hide for the rest of the cruise, but he was a little short on options. His fingers dug around nervously in his pockets.....hell, he didn't even have his favorite little flask with him. This was gonna be a dry couple of days. Then his fingers tightened around the key. That was an idea....maybe he could go there. Who would think to look for him in the cabin of a dead woman?

Moorehouse stopped in front of the door and nodded to Dana. "Are you sure about this?" he asked with just a tinge of doubt.

"I'm not *sure* about anything," she replied with a shrug, "but what could it hurt to check?"

"Not a damn thing, Ms. FBI....Not one damn thing..." he grunted as he kicked in the door to Oneida Darkorse's cabin. "Looks like you were right after all....he's definitely here...." Jake stepped back and pointed to the body that was suspended only a few inches from the floor, swaying gently from the ceiling fan. "Guess he didn't want to go to jail," he commented with a snicker.

Dana stepped forward and studied the body more closely and then began to wheeze and sneeze...again. Shit. "Jake," she managed to get out between sneezes, "he was dead before he was hung....someone else killed him. Believe me, I'm a pathologist. There are certain physical things that happen when a person is hung...and they're *not* present in this case." She sneezed again and her eyes began to water.

"Getting a cold or something?" Jake asked after her third round of sneezing began. She sounded terrible.

"No, I just have an allergy to....cats..." she trailed off, thinking about what her body was telling her. She'd had an attack when Mrs. O'Keefe's cat had barged into Kopec's cabin. A quick look around Oneida's cabin confirmed that they were the only ones here, along with Kopec's gently swaying body. "Jake, the only person on this ship with a cat is Mrs. O'Keefe and now I'm sneezing my head off...Her cat was here, and not too long ago either." Another sneeze interrupted her. "I don't usually get this bad unless I'm in the same room as a cat....or if a cat was just in the same room I'm in. And if that damn cat was here, so was Mrs. O'Keefe." She sneezed again. "I gotta get out of here or my eyes are gonna swell up and I won't be any use to anybody. Trust me...it's not a pretty sight."

Moorehouse and Dana moved back out into the corridor, shutting the door on the grisly sight. They'd have to haul the body down sooner or later, but right now Dana was more worried about yet another human murderer on board. Jake offered Dana a tissue and she blotted her watering eyes.

"Never did see the sense of carrying a hankie," he explained.

"Those you gotta wash....these you just throw away. Simpler. Life's already too complicated."

"And it just got worse," Dana commented. "Our prime suspect is in there dangling from the ceiling. Someone wants us to think he committed suicide...God, maybe this thing goes higher up than a lowly tabloid reporter out after some easy money or whatever else he was offered."

"You think someone was hired to knock off Kopec after he offed Oneida and Hubbard?" Moorehouse asked.

Dana nodded. "We made an assumption that someone...more than likely Oneida's husband, the upstanding Senator Weston....hired Kopec to kill his unfaithful wife and her lover to prevent years of blackmail and a potentially disasterous political scandal. If that's the case, he certainly couldn't offord to leave witnesses and evidence lying around that could be traced back to him...could he?"

"Come on, Scully...you're joking, right? You're not trying to tell me that the old *Bat* is really a 'hit woman'...." Moorehouse tittered in disbelief. "Kopec wasn't exactly a lightweight. Whoever did that," Jake said, pointing in the general direction of the body, "had to have some pretty good upper body strength."

"Well maybe, just maybe, the old bat is not what she appears to be," Dana argued. "Have you seen very much of her on this trip?"

"No, now that you mention it, she spent most of her time in her cabin," he replied with suspicion creeping into his voice. "What better place to hide a guy's bulk than under all those little ole lady layers, right?"

Dana nodded...her thoughts exactly.

"Race you to the old lady's cabin...." Moorehouse said. Dana hung on to the tissue Moorehouse had given her...where they were headed, she was gonna need it.

Dr. Jay figured he should pay more attention to his physical training. This young man could 'run', even injured, and he was having a difficult time keeping up. In another reality, Mulder would not have been able to 'touch' him in a race, but here....this was a different story. Having to move through atmosphere could really slow a person down. Mulder made it down to the engine room about a length ahead of him and that was with a nasty injury handicapping him.

Mulder was about 50 yards ahead of the good doctor when the explosion rocked the ship. Flames darted menacingly from the entrance and the wails of trapped passengers who had been taking a tour of the engine room echoed hurtfully in his ears. Mulder hesitated briefly, then thought of Dana....trapped somewhere in that hell. He considered all the people who would die if he wasn't there to locate the hunter for the 'other'. This is what he had always wanted, what he was here for...to make a difference... and he *could* make a difference here. Despite his deep seated fear of fire, he rushed forward through the entrance before Dr. Jay could stop him.

Searching through the smoke and debris, he came upon the obviously nude body of a woman. The body was the same size and shape as Scully, but the upper half had been burned beyond recognition, the remaining clothes only charred tatters. Mulder dropped to his knees beside the body, the fire around him forgotten as darkness and despair settled in his soul.

Dr. Jay came up slowly behind him and rested a comforting hand on Mulder's shoulder. Young eyes turned to look at ancient ones and the absolute desolation that Dr. Jay saw upon his friend's face burned straight through to his equally ancient soul. Mulder cried in anguish as he felt the air grow heavy with the hunter's evil presence. The familiar stench eclipsed the room...even overpowering the smell of burning flesh around him. Fox summoned all his anger, concentrating as he had never done before, and was rewarded as the entity's form shimmered into reality before him. He screamed with rage for the 'other' to hear...."There's your piece of shit! Damnation to Hell is too good for the son of a bitch....make him pay!" he cried. "Goddamn it, you make him pay," he sobbed.

(continued part 9) <

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 17 07:07:14 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 9) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com

Moorehouse stood in front of yet another cabin door. He looked to Dana with a somewhat sheepish expression as he brought his foot up to kick it in.

Dana put her hand up to stop him. "Before you knock it down...at least see if it's open," she suggested.

"Why would the moron leave the freaking door open?" he commented doubtfully.

"So they could have a good laugh when morons like you take the extra time to kick it in," she countered with a grin. Dana tried the doorknob and found it unlocked.

Mooreshouse merely shrugged his shoulders as they entered the empty room. Empty that is, except for a wig, a dress, several pairs of support hose, a pair of boxer shorts, and a very complicated latex mask sitting on a styrofoam wig holder. An empty wig holder sat on top of the dresser, along with jars of heavy pancake makeup.

"Great...by now whoever this is has probably dumped the disguise. Looks like we don't know *who* we're looking for now...." Jake commented with just a little confusion.

Dana walked over to look at the makeup jars. "I don't suppose our suspect was the helpful type who left us a few good prints to work with," she said, stifling a sneeze. At least she wasn't sneezing her head off....that meant that the cat wasn't anywhere near here, either, and hadn't been in some time. And that confused her as well. If this wasn't the *real* Mrs. O'Keefe, why the cat? Maybe she should just sniff everyone they met, and the one that made her sneeze was their suspect. Better than nothing, which is what they had now.

Dana was just about to mention that to Moorehouse when they felt the ship rock with what appeared to be an explosion from several decks below. Momentarily forgetting the dilemma facing them about Mrs. O'Keefe's true identity, they raced down the stairs two at a time in the direction of the blast.

Within the dark shadows of the engine room, amid flame and smoke, two entities finally came together to battle for dominance. They had reached the center, the place where the follower was finally as strong as the hunter. The hunter was savage in his fury....he did not want to leave this place and would fight to the death for his right to stay. But the follower was full of righteous anger and that anger gave it strength. The air around them crackled with electricity and had a liquid feel to it. They wrestled in their eternal battle, unseen by everyone save one strange little observer and his unconsolable friend.

Mulder dropped his head in sorrow and turned to leave the beings behind. He'd done what he could to help....now he had to trust the follower to finish the job, just as he'd trusted Dana time and time again to do her job. Dana....Oh god. Passing by her body, he could not help but kneel to touch her one last time. He reached out his hand and stopped suddenly, his hand hanging in mid air as realization made it's way to his brain. He stared up at Dr. Jay, smiling....laughing.... "It's not Dana," he shouted with joy, tears streaming down his face.

"How do you know that?" Dr. Jay responded.

Mulder looked up at him again and smiled....no grinned wildly, relief flooding through him. "No graffiti!!!" he giggled giddily in between gasps. He was just starting to explain to a clearly puzzled Dr. Jay when the entities collided a final time, and a second explosion ripped through the engine room.

A tremendous force lifted Mulder into the air and slammed him unmercifully into the bulkhead, his arms raised before his face against the blast. He felt hot metal tear into his body but he wasn't exactly sure where, and a dark, rich, stream of blood flowed fiercely down his face and into his already stinging eyes. He couldn't see. Superheated air burned into his nose and throat and his lungs felt as though they were burning a hole through his chest. He vaguely felt himself being lifted and carried through the inferno and out towards the light....a bright light.

Dana and Moorehouse arrived at the scene minutes later. The engine room was fully engulfed in flames, thick black smoke pouring from doorway. Somehow the crew had managed to rescue a few passengers, and they lay about on stretchers lining the corridor. Most had obvious burns, and one woman was bleeding freely from a head wound. This looks like a war zone, Dana thought. She looked for Dr. Johnson to see if she could help him, but she couldn't find the doctor. All of the sudden she had a very bad feeling about this.

Dana headed toward the open dooway, but Moorehouse grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Mulder's in there...I know it," she replied, straining to get away from his grasp. "I've got to find him...."

"What.....are you nuts? Nothing could survive in there."

Dana struggled briefly, then stopped, her shoulders sagging as she acknowledged that he was right. Even where she was standing the heat was almost unbearable....if Mulder was caught in there....

"Oh, god...." Dana breathed, her eyes going wide with shock and surprise. Moorehouse followed her gaze into the inferno, then blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision. Surely he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Dr. Jay was walking toward them through the flames carrying Mulder's limp body in his arms. The fire backed away from them, and they emerged untouched through that vision of hell and out into the corridor.

The odd little man seemed to support Mulder's larger mass effortlessly. He walked down the corridor and laid Mulder down gently on an empty stretcher, like a father lovingly putting his child to bed. Dana ran over to Mulder, horror and despair etched on her face as the extent of his injuries became clear. His burns, though not widespread or immediately life threatening, were mainly second degree....the most painful. The skin on his arms and hands had peeled away, revealing the raw and bloody skin beneath that resembled melted wax. Although the burns were serious, what concerned Dana more was the amount of blood he was losing due to what looked like shrapnel wounds, and most particularly the damage done to his respiratory system from the superheated air that he had inhaled. She could hear his strangled attempts to breathe as his throat and nasal passages began to swell, cutting off his oxygen supply. Chances were that he would suffocate or bleed to death before she could do anything to help him.

Tears streamed down her face as Dr. Jay had Mulder transported to the infirmary and placed on the exam table. Unable to touch his hands, she settled for stroking his hair. Normally silky and soft beaneath her fingertips, it was stiff and charred brittle....little pieces broke off at her touch. For once in her life, Dana wished she wasn't a doctor....then she wouldn't know that Mulder was dying....she could still have hope. Mulder needed immediate treatment in an intensive care ward, and he wasn't about to get it on this ship. And he wouldn't last until help arrived from the mainland.

Looking toward her tear-stained face, Dr. Jay came to a decision. It was going to cause him problems, but he didn't care. These two didn't deserve this.

Dr. Jay took Dana by the elbow. "Come, my dear," he said, gently ushering her out of the room. Before she could protest, he shut the door forcefully behind her, locking her out.

"Noooo!!!" she howled as she pounded her fists on the door. How could he do this? How could Dr. Jay keep her from him....Fox needed her help, needed her to be there with him. Why would he keep them apart? "Let me in...please, please....let me in," she begged, but the door remained firmly closed.

Dr Jay studied the battered figure before him. "You do not deserve this," he repeated. "Our mission here was successful...we won, my friend, and part of that success was because of you," he whispered sadly. "I can not condone neutrality in this case...so I will do what I must. If I am punished for my disobedience, so be it. Making you pay for our mistakes is a sham of justice and I will not be a part of it," he vowed angrily.

Holding his hands over Mulder's prone body, Dr. Jay closed his eyes. A bright glow grew in the room, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It surrounded the two men until their shapes were indistinguishable from the light. In a flash the light disappeared, and all that remained was a blood covered table and an empty room.

Enlisting the help of several passengers, Dana finally broke into the infirmary. However, she did not find what she expected..... There was nothing here...the room was empty. Just like the test scenario, Dana thought, the men had vanished from a locked room with no obvious means of escape. <Where has Dr. Jay taken him... and more important....Why?>

Moorehouse insisted on conducting a ship-wide search for Mulder.....after all, in reality no one could vanish from a locked room, not to mention a cruise ship out in the middle of the ocean. But the search was to no avail.......Dana wasn't surprised...she hadn't really thought that anyone would find him. You couldn't hide a critically wounded man on a ship...and have him survive.

Along with a couple of doctors from the passenger list, she helped the ship's personnel care for the injured.....Familiar tasks kept her mind occupied. But when the last victim was attended to, there was nothing else to do. Dana felt like a lost soul, aimlessly wandering the corridors. After spearheading the search for Mulder, Moorehouse had made himself scarce. She had a feeling he couldn't deal with failure, or maybe he just wanted to give her some space to let her deal with her grief in her own way. In any event, Dana evetually found herself on the deck where she'd watched the sunrise together with Mulder. She leaned heavily on the rail and cried bitterly, giving in to her grief.

"Shush," a familiar voice admonished from behind her. "You cannot go to him in this condition, my dear. He is going to need all the cheering up that you can give him...especially when those burns start to itch."

Dana whirled suddenly and looked Dr. Jay dead in the eye...after all they were nearly the same height.

"I took the liberty of calling for an air lift, the little man continued. It seems that ship to shore is now....functional, shall we say."

"Where have you been?" she asked in a mixture of anger and relief.

"Why did you take him? How did you take him?"

"Dear lady, suffice it to say that one should sometimes *not* ask too many questions...just accept 'what is' and be thankful. Dr. Jay s expression turned serious, and Dana felt her heart leap into her throat as he continued. But be warned...he is not completely out of danger, my dear. There are some things that even *I* can't fix. He has an insatiable will to live, however, and with the proper medical facilities, I think he'll make it. He s back in the infirmary. Go to him...he needs you." The little man turned and walked around a corner. Dana ran to the spot, but he had vanished once again.

Remember, Dana, she told herself, don't ask too many questions... just accept what is and be thankful....and she was. She turned and ran toward the infirmary. The door was now open and upon entering, she spotted Mulder's long, lean silhouette lying peacefully prone on the examination table. All the equipment had been expertly utilized and was performing all the necessary functions....she could not have done it any better herself. The heart monitor showed a steady sinus rhythm, the ventilator hissed with regularity, and the IV dripped monotonously through the clear surgical tubing.

Dana rechecked the equipment a second time, took his vital signs, and concluded that though he was still critical, his condition was at least stable...a feat that she had thought would be an impossibility when she'd first examined him at the scene. It was during this second examination that she noticed the strange, green, gel-like substance that seemed to ooze from his nose and mouth. It also covered the damp bandages on his arms and hands. Reaching out, she touched it with her fingertips and felt an odd, tingling sensation. It almost felt like some kind of

.....living material. She raised her fingers to her nose, sniffing the green goop, but it seemed to disappear into thin air as soon as she brought it close to her nose.

Having dealt in the past with numerous 'other' types of living organisms, many of which she would just as soon forget, she was at first alarmed by the presence of this unknown substance. In the end, however, she came to the conclusion that Dr. Jay would not use anything on Mulder that would cause any harm. She attempted several times to remove a sample for study, but without success. Each time she tried to gather some for a slide, it dissolved without a trace within seconds.

Dana finally decided that whatever it was, it must accelerate the healing process....sort of a topical super-antibiotic tissue regenerator, if such a thing was possible. <Remember, extreme possibilities *are* possible, Dana, when you ve ruled out every other logical explanation.> In that event, it was highly probable that the goop was geared to respond only to the host in which it was introduced. At least it didn t seem to have an adverse affect on her.

"How's the kid doin'?" Jake asked gruffly as he stood hesitantly in the doorway. I d heard somebody finally found him.

"He's hanging in there," she replied, worriedly pacing the floor.

"It seems he's been here all along."

"Yeah, sure..." Moorehouse scoffed. "And if I believe that one, you've got a great bargain on Manhattan you d like to run past me, right?"

Dana smiled...funny how they'd come to this unspoken understanding not to talk about Mulder's strange rescue from the engine room, not to mention the mysterious Dr. Jay. She listened as Moorehouse filled her in. He'd searched Kopec's room, then Oneida's, and last but not least Mrs. O'Keefe's... or whoever the hell she/he was. Not surprisingly, he d found absolutely nothing to connect Senator Weston with the murders of his wife and her lover. If they were dealing with a government assassin, and Moorehouse had every reason to believe that they were, there would be no evidence. These guys were ruthless...not to mention thorough. However, he'd found all sorts of incriminating evidence against Kopec still in his cabin...some coincidence, huh? Yeah, right....

"I think you should go with him when the choppers get here," Moorehouse said, gesturing at Mulder. "We've gone as far as we're gonna get with this investigation. I've notified the authorities to meet the ship at the port when we dock. Whoever bumped off Kopec is long gone...or died in the engine room explosion... and every lead is a dead end. We both know that Senator Weston was behind at least two of the murders, but all the evidence has conveniently 'disappeared'. Just try to prove that kind of charge against the good senator with what we have and we'll have the whole damn 'hill' down on our necks."

Moorehouse paced back and forth in the small room. It was clear that he was frustrated by not being able to nab the real culprit. But he'd been around long enough to know that eventually you had to stop banging your head against a brick wall cause you're the only one who's getting hurt.

"I've got enough evidence to prove Kopec's involvement," he continued. "It's more than enough to get the reward. And as your partner so eloquently informed me...no one will believe the identity of the other murderer. If I hadn t seen some of this stuff with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it either. I m still not sure that I do."

"I know the feeling," Dana said sympathethically. "I've always been the skeptic. Mulder's had to drag me along all the way on that score, kicking and screaming. I may believe on occasion, Jake...I'm just a lot less likely to than Mulder."

"You know, Mrs. Mulder," Jake said, emphasizing her name ever so slightly...kind of like an inside joke. "Since you were the one who made the connection and forced Kopec's hand, part of this reward belongs to you and your partner."

"We can't take a reward for performing our duties while on an official case," Dana replied. "But how about you take 'our share' and set up some kind of charity fund. Pick one that needs the money the most," she said almost as an afterthought.

******* continued in part 9b <

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 17 07:07:51 1996 Devil's Advocate part 9 continued....

Moorehouse nodded with admiration, agreeing with her suggestion.

"I'll take care of the loose ends here. You know...if you're ever in need of a new partner....look me up." He stared at Dana, whose gaze had never left Mulder during the whole time he'd spoken to her. "I know, when hell freezes over..never hurts to ask," he muttered under his breath.

He walked over to the table, patted Fox lightly on the head and grinned. "Better get used to her bossin' ya around...looks like you're stuck with her."

The trauma hawks came within the hour bringing medical personnel and airlifting many of the more seriously injured passengers to the waiting trauma teams at Jackson Memorial. Mulder had been one of the first to be taken and Dana, being a doctor, was allowed to accompany him. As promised, Jake stayed behind to handle the details of the 'provable' murders.

For three long days Mulder fought an uphill battle for his life. Already weakened by his previous illness and injury, he balanced precariously on a tight rope between life and death. This rope had to be tread carefully, for there was 'no' net to catch him if he fell. On several occasions he'd nearly lost his balance and tumbled into the chasm.

Dana recalled everything with vivid clarity....the crash-carts, tubes, needles, and machines. She was heartbreakingly reminded of just how many ways modern medical science could violate a human body, and she found herself on an emotional roller coaster ride. She soared with joy when Fox's condition stabilized, and then sank with despair hours later when his vitals plummeted, resulting in a cardiac arrest. They'd brought him back....twice... and he'd stabilized yet again.

She was exhausted....physically, mentally, and emotionally. The strain was evident in her posture and displayed itself clearly in the deepened lines and shadows beneath her bloodshot eyes. Her voice echoed with anxiety and stress when she spoke to Margaret on the phone that second nerve-wracking night......needing her mother's strength, yet reluctant to ask for her support.

Dana had always been a strong person, dependent on no one, and she prided herself on that strength--- Then she'd met 'him' and as with everything else, he'd thrown a monkey wrench into the cogwheels of her life.

Mulder had always respected her, she realized...right from the start he d valued her opinions and cared enough to argue with her when he thought her opinions were wrong. He accepted her strength and when necessary, he relied on it without reservation. Fox was one of the few

'men' she'd ever met who didn't seem threatened by her 'drive' or her intelligence, and in fact, almost seemed to 'enjoy' providing her with challenges for both. He was possibly the 'smartest' person she'd ever known--and at times one of the most troubled. She couldn't exactly pinpoint when it happened, but over the last two years, she'd grown to love this man...obsessions and all. Somehow in her heart and mind, she just couldn't picture her life without him in it.

Pacing a scuffed path in the shiny white tiles of the hospital floor, she walked to the window and back again, wishing with all her heart that she could impart to him the same strength, openness, and love that he'd given to her in her own struggle for life.

Finally, physically exhausted, she simply flopped herself back down into the small, comfortless chair next to Mulder s bed. She absently reached out and lightly traced the fine contours and angles of Mulder's face with her fingertips. Her touch lingered tenderly over his soft, sensual lips, now rudely separated by the cold unyielding plastic of a ventilator tube.

Memories flooded her mind......"There's nobody down here but the FBI's most Unwanted".....mischievous eyes..."Do you think I'm

'spooky'?"........teasing smirks..."I think it's plausible someone might think you're 'hot'.".....softly sincere..."If there's an ice tea in that bag... could be 'love'"......eyes crinkling in mirth..."that only happens when I eat Dodger Dogs."....fleeting smile, knowing looks.....words of comfort....passionate embraces.... The visions wouldn't stop and threatened to overwhelm her, but she struggled to remain in control.

Dana bent low over his ear and whispered a phrase that seemed vaguely familiar to her. "I don't know if my being here will bring you back....but 'I'm here'." Resting her head on the bed beside him, Dana drifted into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened several hours later by the choking sounds of Mulder trying to expel the tube from his throat.

He'd improved around midnight and his gagging reflex kicked in, prompting the doctors to remove the ventilator and place the thin oxygen tubing beneath his nose instead.

Dana sighed in relief....this was a definite improvement. She allowed herself to hope.

Margaret Scully paced the the floor in ICU angrily. She glanced frequently at her daughter who had seated herself in a chair by Mulder's bed. "You informed his parents?" she asked yet again.

Scully nodded in affirmation one more time. "I told you, mother...they can't make it," she repeated, thoroughly understanding her mother's anger. She had felt some of the ire that her mother was openly venting. "His mother is in New York with some business appointment--she left a number where she could be reached if there was any change, and his father is in Paris. His cousin Alex and his wife Catie will be here as soon as they can find, or shall I say, 'bribe' someone to watch the kids." Dana snickered out loud, "Although I wouldn t hold my breath if I were you... zoo keepers are in short supply these days."

Her mother'd had no trouble recognizing the unspoken need in her daughter's voice when they had spoken on the phone the night before. She'd flown in that morning and immediately began playing mother hen to both of them. Scully had to admit she was just a little surprised at her mom's maternal instincts toward Mulder at first. Margaret was genuinely ticked off at his family for their indifference to him and pestered the nurses often if she thought that he wasn't getting enough attention...which was totally absurd, since the nurses did nothing *but* pay attention to him. Her mom and Mulder had *obviously* become very close during her absence and she had 'adopted' him as her own. Dana smiled. Boy, would he be in for it now, she thought. Three Scully women, picking on him...pestering him....caring about him.....he was about to discover what a *real* family was like---God help him.

"You mean to tell me that with her only child at death's door, this woman prefers to keep a *business* appointment????" Margaret fumed, then huffed for effect. "How in the name of heaven could someone as caring and empathetic as Fox *ever* come from people who are so...." she paused momentarily searching for the correct word. ".....callous? Do you still have that number?"

Scully dug out her notebook. "Yeah, it's right here." She held the notebook up for emphasis and jumped in surprise when her mother quickly reached over and snatched it from her hand. "Mother, what are you doing?" Dana inquired anxiously. "Mother....."

"As one mother to another...I'm going to give this woman a piece of my mind," she replied obstinately, reaching for the telephone. She then shot her daughter a look that dared her to try and interfere.

Dana remained where she was. She knew her mother's moods and this was not one that would appreciate rationality. She'd once been told that all Scully women were stubborn, opinionated, and very protective....personally, she couldn't *imagine* why anyone would think such a thing...Yeah, right. She could almost hear the 'lock and load' before the blast and was more than grateful that she, Dana Scully, was not going to be on the receiving end of *this* phone conversation.

"Hello? Mrs. Mulder? This is Mrs. Scully. My daughter is your son's partner. Her mother was being extremely polite... that was a very bad sign. "Yes, there's been a slight improvement. Frankly, I was surprised not to find you here...I ve been looking forward to meeting you. Her mother paused briefly, no doubt listening to Mrs. Mulder s excuse for her absence. "Yes, I *heard* about your *business* in New York. That is what I want to talk to you about. What I want to know is how a *business* appointment can take precedence over your child's welfare." Her mother paused to listen again...Dana could just imagine the other end of this conversation, probably something about minding her own business. Dana cringed...that phrase never failed to push her mom s buttons, especially when Margaret Scully knew she was right.

"Oh, you don't...do you? Well, let me tell you something...I have never met anyone as intelligent, gentle, and kind as your son...and one of these days you may find that he's gone...and that you never even took the time to know who he was. And that, Mrs. Mulder, would be a *real* shame. If you know what's good for you, you'll get your butt down here and be a mother ... What kind of person am I?!?" Margaret repeated indignantly.

"I was about to ask you the same question....your son needs you." Mrs. Scully's face took on an expression of disbelief. "Your needs?!!?? What??? Pardon me, but perhaps the poor boy was adopted after all, because I can't for the life of me picture him as *your* son. You've shut him out because seeing him reminds you of what you've lost....That's not fair to him.....or to you. Yes, well same to you. Goodbye." She slammed the receiver down as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Bitch," she mumbled softly.

Margaret Scully looked at her daughter and grinned guiltily. "If that doesn't bring her...nothing will, and in that case, he's better off without her. Whew!!!" she uttered in an exaggerated sigh. "I feel much better."

Mulder stirred slowly on the bed and began to cough up some of the odd green liquid. Scully wiped it from his mouth only to watch it disintegrate from the cloth in her hand. The strange smelling stuff had been driving the doctors batty trying to figure out what it was. They had an idea of what it did, although they couldn't even begin to imagine *how* it did it or where it came from. New skin had already begun to form on his hands and arms and his respiratory system had also begun to heal in the same manner. What ever this green goo was, it worked and she didn't give a rat's ass if they could figure it out or not. She said a silent 'thanks' to Mulder's guardian angel, Dr. Jay....whereever he was... and hoped that he wasn't in too much trouble.

Scully watched as Fox slowly opened his eyes. She could tell that even though his eyes were open, they were glazed and slightly dilated....he wasn't all there yet, but it was a start. His other injuries still worried her. He d lost a lot of blood and had begun to experience system failure from hypovolemic shock when they d first arrived at the hospital. That fact along with the basal skull fracture he d received fed her overly cautious paranoia concerning his condition.

He moaned quietly and whispered, "Mom?" Dana brushed the hair from his eyes as her mother bent over him.

"Yes, it's mom," Margaret said in a soothing tone.

Mulder looked at her and in his confused, semi- conscious state, whimpered softly, "please don't hate me, mom. I didn t mean to... I love you."

Margaret held back her tears. "Oh, dear...I could *never* hate you....I love you too. Now go back to sleep..." She kissed him lightly on the forehead. A contented smile formed upon his lips as he drifted off to a warm, safe place.

"Dana, dear," her mom whispered softly as she turned to leave,

"I'll be back later to relieve you for a little while so you can get some rest, and don't try and argue with me about it....I'm your mother. I think you're as bad as he is," she said, glancing at Mulder. "I don't think anything less than dynamite could have moved him from *your* side at the hospital," she smiled in remembrance. "He's a very, very, stubborn young man...." she said out loud as she walked through the door. "Who obviously loves you very much," she added quietly under her breath.

Margaret was halfway down the hall when she realized she'd left her purse in the chair in which she'd been sitting. She headed back to the room, intending to duck in quickly and retrieve it. Pausing at the door, she peaked through the window just in time to see her daughter bend carefully over Fox, tenderly stroke a stubborn lock of hair from over one eye, and lightly kiss his full, soft lips... green goo and all.

Mrs. Scully grinned in spite of herself and made a mental note to stop harassing her daughter about 'dating'. She couldn't have come up with anyone that even came close to Fox. No wonder Dana hadn't shown any interest. She went back down the hall...she had her ATM card in her pocket, after all. She'd just take a cab.

Scully remained in ICU after her mother had left for the motel. She watched Fox sleep... a deep, healing sleep. When the doctor came by on his last rounds for the evening, he confirmed what Dana already suspected...that Mulder s condition had improved enough for them to confirm that he would indeed survive. She'd been nearly frantic with concern for the past two days...and rightly so. That man was gonna give her gray hair and ulcers.....well, that is unless she gave them to him first.

Glancing up to check him every now and then, she took out her lap top compuder and began to make her report. It was late but she didn't care...she just wanted to finish the one last detail and put this case behind them. Surprisingly, Skinner hadn't pressed her for it. In fact, he d called the hospital a couple of times to check on Mulder s condition, and he d told her to take as much time as she needed. Maybe Fox was right again and Skinner wasn't such a bad guy after all.

She sat and stared at her keyboard for what seemed like hours. Should she write what she 'knew' was the truth...or only what she knew that she could 'prove'? The only proof they had implicated Karl Kopec and she was certain that *he* was murdered by someone hired by the *good* senator. This someone, she believed, was whoever had been disguised as Mrs. O'Keefe. Since there were no fingerprints and nobody had seen this person out of disquise, he or she would be next to impossible to find, let alone connect to Senator Weston. Either way, the *real* human guilty party would escape prosecution due to a convenient 'lack of evidence'.

Dana had no doubts that Senator Weston was behind the murders of Oneida and Jason and had used the 'unexplainable' murders to his advantage. But without the concrete evidence needed to indict or convict him, they were powerless to connect him with the crimes.....so once again....they were left with the injustice of knowledge without proof. Dana wanted to scream.

"Don't do that," a quiet, familiar voice whispered from the shadows. "Hospitals notoriously frown upon loud noises...especially late at night."

"Are you a mind reader, too?" she asked in startled surprise as Dr. Jay stepped forward into the light. "How did you get in here? Don't tell me...let me guess. Scotty beamed you down and you're exiled on this quaint little planet for screwing with the prime directive." Dr. Jay favored her with a quisical look...she d inadvertantly come pretty close to the truth, with just a few of the details wrong.

"I'm sorry...." she apologized, "I'm just a little frayed. I should be thanking you---you saved Fox's life," she murmured, pointing to the hospital bed surrounded by the whirring and beeping machines that kept diligent surveillance on the pale being who was safely tucked in between the crisp white sheets.

"Oh, I'm not offended, dear lady," he replied gallantly. "Actually I thought your remarks were...quite humorous...and not too far from

...'truthful'. I did get into a 'spot' of trouble for my interference with your partner's dilemma. However, the powers that be recognized the necessity of my actions and cleared me completely. You see.....Fox's continued existence is, shall we say, 'required'. He is slated to have a full, long, and very productive life ......if all is to turn out as it should." He stared at Dana once more with a cryptic grin. "You'll have a lot to do with that, so please be careful and take care of yourself, too."

Dr. Jay walked over to the bed and rested his hand gently on Mulder's forehead. "Do try not to be so impulsive, my friend. My superiors tend to frown upon my absconding with their medical equipment. In fact, it makes them absolutely livid."

Mulder twitched under Dr. Jay's touch and moaned softly in reply.

******** continued in part 9c <

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -

********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 17 07:08:28 1996 Devil's Advocate part 9 continued...

"There, there....no need to get so touchy" he spoke to the now aggitated young man beneath his hand....."Do not think that your pain was pointless. You accomplished much more than you can ever be allowed to realize. The human demon will eventually reap what he has sown...*You* have assisted in slaying a much larger dragon.....I am embarrassingly proud of you."

Dr. Jay smiled thoughtfully and Dana watched breathlessly as he stroked Mulder's hair tenderly, dropping his fingertips to linger momentarily on Fox's cheek. "I have to leave now....please endeavor to behave yourself."

The strange little man turned around to face Dana, and for the first time she noticed that he was holding a cat...in fact, it was Mrs. O Keefe s orange cat. Now why had t she seen that before? And why wasn t she sneezing her head off?

Where did *that* come from? Dana asked, pointing at the cat. She could have sworn he didn't have the cat when she first saw him.

This delightful creature? Dr. Jay asked mischeviously. He scratched Tiger behind the ears, and the cat closed its eyes contentedly, purring up a storm. It never ceases to amaze me what so-called intelligent beings will do to each other, he said, shaking his head sadly. I think this one has suffered enough, don t you? Besides, he has a present for you. Dr. Jay took the collar off the cat and held it out to Dana.

Cats...intelligent beings?!? Surely he must be joking. Cats were...well, cats. She shook her head at him. "I can t take that ...I m allergic."

Dr. Jay quirked an eyebrow at her. Are you now, my dear. He chuckled, then dropped the collar on the table by Mulder s bed. Amazing stuff, that green goo...but now I really must go.

Dana recovered her composure and quickly asked, "will we see you again?"

"Oh....I'll be around. You can count on it...the two of you could give an old man 'green'...I mean 'gray' hair. By the way...." He paused and produced a small flask of the strange tea he'd given Mulder the last time they'd met. "This tea is very good for just about everything...but especially for an upset stomach...it could come in handy."

"Thanks," Dana replied, taking the flask of tea from him, all the while eyeing the cat warily. Was there something going on behind those golden eyes? Naw... she was imagining things...a cat was a cat. But I don t think we ll be taking another cruise any time soon, she told Dr. Jay.

Dr. Jay grinned broadly. "No, I suppose not."

Dana took the flask that she had taken from his hand and set it on the small end table beside her chair. When she looked back up.....Dr. Jay and the cat had vanished once again into the shadows....

Strange. . .

Dana, she thought to herself, don't even ask. She shook her head slowly, retraced her steps back to Mulder's bed and seated herself carefully on its edge. He looked much better, she noted with satisfaction. A small tinge of pink had returned to his cheeks and the odd green substance had vanished without a trace, leaving no sign that it had 'ever' existed in the first place.

Thinking of Dr. Jay, she looked up, briefly expecting him to pop up out of nowhere. Somewhat relieved to find themselves still alone, she spoke to Mulder out loud, "I must say, Fox Mulder.....you *do* attract some of the *strangest 'friends'."

Upon lowering her gaze, she was surprised to find that Fox had awakened and was contemplating her face from beneath heavy-lidded hazel eyes.

Dana smiled in joyous relief as Mulder moved his lips and tried to speak. His first attempt resulted in nothing more than a strained whisper and even though the effort appeared to exhaust him, he persisted.

Tears welled hauntingly in his eyes, then overflowed and traveled silently down his cheeks as the shock of his ordeal caught up with him. Mulder met her gaze. His countenance suggested a plea for comfort as a low strained voice, hoarsely laced with pain and emotion echoed what was clearly displayed on his face. "Hold me?" he asked in a strangled whisper.

"For as long as you want me to," she replied quietly.

Dana carefully lowered herself to lie beside him on the bed. Very, very gently, she adjusted wires and shifted tubing as she placed her arm lightly across his body in a tender caress....a position in which she remained until her mother showed up to relieve her the next morning.

Scully stopped typing in the middle of her report, removed her glasses and set them on her desk. She rubbed her eyes gingerly, then took another sip of hot tea before resuming her task. This report really needed to be finished---she knew that. She'd started on it several days ago while she was watching over Mulder in ICU, but found that at the time she just didn't seem to be able to concentrate on writing it. But now with Mulder steadily improving day by day it was time to get on with business.

Dana still wasn't exactly 'certain' of what it was that she

*should* write...so she had basically stuck with the facts as she knew them. Putting her teacup down, she continued typing:

'As previously stated, evidence found in Karl Kopec's cabin suggests that he, indeed, committed the murders of Oneida Darkhorse and Jason Hubbard. Mr. Kopec's fingerprints were found on both the screwdriver used to loosen the screws on Mr. Hubbard's barbell stand and on the package of patches used to drug Mrs. Darkhorse and Agent Mulder. Chemical analysis of the patches confirmed a potentially 'fatal' dosage of the common motion sickness drug known as Scopolomine. The only thing lacking in the proof of Mr. Kopec's guilt, however, is 'motive'.

Both Agent Mulder and I feel that Mr. Kopec did *not* act on his own initiative. Our investigation has revealed no prior contact between Mr. Kopec and the victims, outside of Mr. Kopec s somewhat inflammatory article concerning Mrs. Darkhorse. However, Mr. Kopec denied ever having met the woman prior to writing the article, and we have been unable to prove otherwise. Our opinion is further based on the fact that Mr. Kopec, himself, was also murdered by an unknown assailant who disguised himself or herself as Mrs. Charlotte O'Keefe. *Note*: The authentic Mrs. O'Keefe had been in residence at her estate in Maine during all three cruises, a fact attested to by numerous eyewitnesses. Therefore, she could not have been on board the ship.

'It is our belief that Mr. Kopec was recruited by an outside source to eliminate Mrs. Darkhorse and her lover. Although Agent Mulder and I suspect who that source might be, without the proof needed for conviction, arrest and prosecution of our suspect would be a useless endeavor. We will, however, continue to monitor this 'suspect' covertly in an attempt to obtain the evidence and information necessary to link this individual with the crimes.'

Dana paused in her report to finger the collar Dr. Jay had taken off the cat. Dana had given the collar to the forensics lab to run tests on it. The lab report was sitting on her desk...Dana just hadn t decided what to do about it yet. As it turned out, the collar itself was unremarkable...easily purchased at any pet store in the country for about six dollars. However, one of the jewels imbedded in the collar had turned out to be a computer microchip. Encoded on that chip were columns of numbers and dates. This was important...Dana knew it. Maybe Mrs. O Keefe's imposter had encoded that chip as an insurance policy of sorts to protect him or her from whoever had ordered Kopec s murder. Too bad it hadn t turned out that way. But maybe someday they d be able to trace the numbers and dates back to Senator Weston, although for the life of her, Dana couldn t figure out how she would ever be able to prove the chain of custody on this particular piece of evidence. For now, she decided to leave it out of her report and she continued typing:

'Mr. Kopec's murderer still remains unidentified. However, since all passengers and crew have been accounted for, it is this Agent's opinion that the assassin perished in the same engine room explosion that critically injured Agent Mulder.

It is Agent Mulder's contention that the 'outside source' knowingly used the existing deaths on board the cruise ship vessel to confuse and hinder any ensuing investigation. To paraphrase a saying that he seems quite fond of quoting..'A lie is most convincing when place between two truths.'

As for the other 'murders' aboard this and the previous cruises of the past several weeks, no evidence of 'foul play' could be proven. I tend to lean toward the assumption that this particular section of ocean in some manner, perhaps due to environmental changes, detrimentally affected certain susceptible individuals, inducing a form of psychosis, causing erratic behavior and possible hallucinations. This, in turn, prompted 'unusual' accidents that would not have normally occurred. It should be noted that once the cruise line initiated a course change correction which avoided this particular area of ocean, no further incidents occurred.

Studies done in several universities would tend to back up the aforementioned theory. For example, lack of ultraviolet light may cause depression, high frequency sound has been known to produce irritability in some persons, etc. I submit that although this is a 'possible' explanation for this phenomenon, it is not necessarily the *only* one, and could not be proven without extensive research which was not possible during this investigation. Therefore, without concrete proof, I am forced to 'officially' classify X-file number 4305-6 as unsolved.'

She knew Mulder wouldn't 'officially' agree with this Classification....and she had to admit that she didn't either, but she also knew that he would grudgingly accept her judgment in the matter. Dana took one last sip of tea, turned out the light and headed for bed.

Scully spent the better part of the next day at the hospital, and she was exceedingly pleased that Mulder continued to improve. When she'd arrived that morning, they'd even propped him up in bed. The IV dangled from his arm and she still thought he looked too pale. Although the monitors beeped and hummed reassuringly, she fought the urge to check his vitals just one more time. The only thing holding her back was the fact that he was talking incessantly. She couldn't get him to shut up, not that she 'really' wanted him to. It was a pleasure to hear his voice again, and the fact that he was running his mouth proved to her that he was feeling pretty good, considering the circumstances..

Pulling the chair up closer to Fox, she sat down with a wide grin on her face. If it hadn't been for the tragic circumstances that had

'landed' him here, she would have considered the scene before her as

'comical'. All right....in spite of everything, it *was* comical.

The skin on Mulder's arms and hands had begun to peel profusely, and in an effort to prevent him from scratching and infecting himself, the nurses had brought in a pair of long, white evening gloves with little pink embroidered roses running down the sides for him to wear. They'd customized them by cutting out a space for the IV and taped the tops securely around his upper arms so he couldn't 'accidentally' pull them off. She d have to remember that technique the next time he was sporting a cast...she didn't even want to think about all the trouble he d caused with the last one.

Mulder recognized an impish grin when he saw one and merely raised one questioning eyebrow, just daring her to comment.

A nurse strolled in and unceremoniously dropped his chart at the foot of the bed.

"What?" he repeated out loud, as Dana continued to snicker.

"Oh, I don't know....." she offered with a wry smile as she glanced up at the nurse. "I was just wondering....how did you get him to put

'those' on without putting up a fight?" she inquired, pointing at the gloves.

"Oh, he *did* put up a fight," the nurse said sweetly, giving Mulder a wink. ".......he lost."

"You guys *cheat*," he grumbled.

"Cheat?" Scully asked in confusion.

"We knocked him out," the nurse chuckled with satisfaction.

"*Never* give the *nurses* a hard time," she admonished as she left the room.

"Mengele's granddaughter," he mumbled accusingly under his breath as she walked through the door.

Dana laughed out loud. That infamous Mulder sense of humor was back...that was a *very* good sign. She studied him for several seconds. There'd been something she'd wanted to ask him....something she'd wanted to know but she'd wanted to wait until his mind had cleared and he was feeling better---perhaps now.....

"Mulder," she ventured cautiously, "do you remember *anything* from the time of the explosion until you woke up here?"

Fox knitted his brows in concentration. "Not much," he admitted,

"....and yes, it does bother me," he added before she could ask. A haunted look clouded his features and the memories that he 'could' recall replayed themselves in his mind. "I remember mostly *pain*," he continued, "waves and waves of pain....and 'joy'."

"Joy?!!?" she sputtered disbelievingly.

He lowered his eyes and his voice. "*It* lied to me....it implied that you were in the engine room....that you were dead.... When I discovered that the 'body' I found wasn't you......I felt....joy."

He quickly continued his narrative before she could respond.

"Things get pretty vague after that and I'm not sure what was real and what was imagined. I have a brief and fuzzy recollection of hearing Dr. Jay's voice, being naked, seeing a green haze, and the sensation of being submerged in. . . warm jello? I seem to remember that at first I was afraid I would drown... I panicked and tried to hold my breath. Then Dr. Jay said that it was ok to breathe....and it was. It was the weirdest dream I've ever had, Dana. It was like breathing under water. Everything tingled and the pain stopped for a little while. I don't remember anything else after that until I woke up here."

Scully thought about what he'd said, and then asked the question that she'd been leading up to. "Mulder....don't you feel 'cheated' at not being able to remember what happened to you?"

He knew she was referring to her own feelings at being unable to remember what had happened to her as well as his own. His eyes suddenly crinkled with amusement as he considered his answer.

"No, I don t, he said. What I feel most is gratitude that we're both *alive* to contemplate feeling 'cheated'. Anyway, speaking as a person who's been cursed with remembering everything that I've ever seen in my whole goddamn life.....being able to forget something is a freaking.....luxury.

His face took on a pained expression, and Dana was just about to call for the doctor when he stopped her. "No, it s not that, he said. I just remembered that your mom was here earlier. She *insisted* that my feet looked 'cold' and put socks on them." He wiggled his toes for emphasis. "Could you please take 'em off and tell her that I'm a big boy and I don't *want* socks on.....please*?" he asked with a pleading look in his eyes.

Dana chuckled loudly. "Is she coming back today?"

"Yeah, this afternoon," he grunted.

"In that case it would be in your best interest to smile graciously, leave the socks where they are, and don't contradict her.....arguing with my mother is a no win situation."

"Sort of like arguing with you," he intoned softly.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"I said, 'she's a lot like you'," he corrected smoothly.

Dana knew that wasn t what she d heard the first time, but she decided to let it slide. After all, he *was* still recovering. "Melissa said that she'd stop in tomorrow to see you on her way to Key West," she told him, settling into the chair beside his bed and reaching out for his hand.

He nodded in acknowledgment and thought with trepidation about having three 'Scully' women in one place at one time.....<I'm not strong enough for this yet> He was surrounded by them...hell, he was up to his ass in them with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Shit, falling into a black hole suddenly looked pretty damn attractive.

Nah... deep down inside, he knew he loved them all----one in particular... Fine.

Can you believe it?? Stinker's "speechless"... or at least too tired to write something here, so you all are stuck with me. We didn't intend for this story to be sooooo long when we first started... or we may never have started at all. Somewhere during the second month of writing, we started calling it the "unofficial" X Files novel, which I changed just a tad in the sub-Title as a way to acknowledge all the wonderful fellow Philes I've met on line... including Stinker, my writing partner. Wonder if Morgan and Wong got started this way??? See you all on line... Annie.... January 31, 1995 <

**********************************************************************

_ _

\ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous

\ / email fanfic list, please write:

X A N G S T Anonymous

/ \ & xangst@frii.com

/ \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator

- -