Title: Parallels Author: Chad Tanaka E-mail: chadt@aloha.net Rating: PG (for language) Category: SR Spoilers: Triangle Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST, Skinner/Scully UST Summary: Post-Triangle story. Mulder and Scully discuss the Queen Anne after his retrieval from the Bermuda Triangle in a quiet hotel room. Meanwhile, the mysterious Uber-Scully contemplates her decisions with the help of a German spy. UST only. Disclaimer: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner are the property of Chris Carter, Twentieth Century Fox and Ten-Thirteen Productions. The characters have been used without permission for purely non-profit entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. "Parallels" XXXXXXXXXXXX "I did what?" Scully exclaimed incredulously. "You heard what I said, Scully - you slugged me," Mulder said. "Right here." He indicated the bruised spot on his left cheek with a finger. "I never touched you, Mulder," she shot back with an indignant glare. She was stuffing her toiletries into her overnight bag, trying mightily to ignore Mulder as he trailed her every move like a shadow. She was clearing out of the Bermuda hotel room she had hastily booked once she and the Lone Gunmen had pulled Mulder out of the water in the Sargasso Sea and gotten her unconscious and waterlogged partner into the nearest local hospital. Since she and Mulder weren't here on business, Scully had to pay for the room out of pocket. she thought to herself as Mulder droned on in her periphery. Mulder was undeniably draining her bank account, first with that automobile incident that he'd gotten them involved with, and now this. Her last paycheck was still reeling from the deductions Assistant Director Kersh had initiated after Mulder's ill-fated Nevada-to-California "joyride." She heaved a heavy sigh, looking around the hotel room and wondering if she were forgetting anything. "Scully?" Mulder broke into her thoughts. "What?" she retorted distractedly. "Have you been listening to a word I've said?" he asked irritably. "Yeah, yeah, Mulder," she answered curtly. "It wasn't really me. It was a 'kick-ass secret-agent woman' OSS operative from 1939 who just happened to look and sound incredibly like me," she repeated back to him. "That about cover it?" she asked sarcastically as she pulled out a small tip for housekeeping and placed it under the nightstand ashtray. "Wow," Mulder breathed, impressed. "I guess you *were* listening." He crossed his arms and leaned casually against a wall. A lopsided grin creeped up on him as he stared at his beautiful partner. She squared off with him, placing her hands on her hips and piercing Mulder's dancing hazel irises with her steely cobalt-blue ones. "Mulder, I've gotta get out of here. We need to get back to D.C. - back to work, understand?" she said tightly. "Aw, come on Scully," he whined. "You've got this room till twelve tomorrow. And besides, it's only Saturday," he tried to reason with her. "And you're goddamn lucky it is, Mulder," she interrupted him. "Let's stay a while longer. I'd like to talk to you about this," he begged her. Mulder gave her his best lost, pathetic expression - the one with the wounded puppy-dog eyes that always worked on Scully. He held his breath. And the tension, which hung over them like a stormcloud, broke and dissipated like the anger rapidly draining from Scully's face. "Mulder," Scully herself began to whine. "I'd like nothing better - this *is* Bermuda for Christ's sake - but we're in enough trouble as it is with the Bureau. Do you realize the kind of crap I had to go through to get to you?" she asked, trying to hold back another wave of anger. Mulder launched himself off the wall and scooped up Scully in a grateful hug. "Scully," he said while burying his face in the crown of her flame-red hair. "I'm sorry - I really do appreciate you saving my ass again. I just don't have anyone else I want to share this with. It was one of the most incredible things that's happened to me in my miserable life." Scully melted into Mulder's heartfelt embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist, smelling the clean, unfamiliar scent of the hotel soap he'd used to wash himself after returning from the hospital. She let out a short bark of laughter. " I thought *I* was the most incredible thing that's happened to you in your miserable life," she teased. "Well, maybe it was the *second* most incredible, then," Mulder answered, the smile in his voice unmistakable. Reality came crashing down on Scully just then. "Mulder, I really can't afford this anyway," she explained. "It's nearing the height of tourist season and I only got this room because I flashed my I.D.," she said, as she pulled back and looked up at Mulder. "This room is *way* beyond my means, Mulder, but it was the only one they had...I just can't," she said, hoping to end the argument. "Forget it, Scully," he answered, as he gazed down tenderly at her. "I'll take care of it. Consider it partial payment for all the bullshit I've put you through lately." His expression told her he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Mulder..." she began. But the warning look in his eyes told Scully to drop it. And with a sigh of defeat, she relented. she admitted. She extricated herself from Mulder's embrace and walked slowly to the phone. "I'll call the airport and reschedule our flight," she tossed over her shoulder. Mulder cheered silently. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX They stood side by side, leaning against the balcony railing outside her room. The cool night breeze blew lightly into their faces, the smell of the sea bringing up recent memories for Mulder. He saw and heard the foamy waves breaking along the darkened beach directly below them, several floors down. Mulder closed his eyes, taking in the sensations, remembering the Queen Anne and it's occupants he met. It had happened, Mulder told himself, all of it. He had the proof, he thought to himself as he rubbed the sore spot just under his left eye again. "You okay, Mulder?" Scully asked, trying to hide her concern as she watched him massage the alleged bruise he claimed she - no, her doppelganger - gave him. She took another drink from the beer bottle she held in her right hand. "Yeah," Mulder answered, a wistful tone in his voice. "Its just...what, what do *you* think happened Scully?" he asked her. "What's your explanation?" Scully contemplated for a moment. She turned her gaze out to the inky blackness before her and tried to organize her thoughts. "Honestly, Mulder?" she wanted to know. When she saw his answering nod, she continued. "I think it was all a dream Mulder," she said softly. She saw Mulder grimace and turn his head away from her. "You were hurt, Mulder," she tried to convince him. "You were floating in the water, unconscious. When you awoke in the hospital, you were confused, delirious - more so than usual, I would have to say." She saw Mulder trying to suppress a self-deprecating smile. She made no attempt to hide her own grin. She put down her beer bottle on the small table behind her. She grabbed Mulder's empty bottle he held in his hand and placed it alongside hers. Turning to Mulder, she grasped both his hands in hers and spoke. "We've been through this before, Mulder," she said in the most soothing tone she could manage. "Without scientific evidence, you know I can't accept your theory about what happened to you." Mulder looked down at Scully, the ever-present pain and hurt when they argued like this, apparent on his face. "What about the ship, Scully? The Queen Anne? It's still out there, right? You said you saw it," he blurted out in a desperate torrent of words. Scully looked down at her feet, unable to face Mulder's overpowering gaze. she knew. "Mulder," she started tentatively. "I saw a ship - a ghost ship. We boarded it, but there was no one on it." "But what about the condition it was in, Scully?" he interrupted her. "We had no proof that it was the Queen Anne!" she shot back in exasperation. "We saw no markings, Mulder. We were just too concerned about what happened to you to do a thorough examination. I had no way of telling how long that ship was in the water." "Oh, Jesus Scully!" Mulder hissed in frustration. "They don't make them like that anymore, haven't for years! How do you explain that it had electrical power, how do you explain where all of the crew and passengers went?" Scully shook her head sadly. "I don't know Mulder, I can't explain it. But that doesn't mean there wasn't a scientific basis for what I *did* see. I just can't believe in your theory - not without physical evidence!" she told him with a burning conviction. "Well let's go back to the ship then," he suggested. All the evidence she needed would be there, he was sure. When Scully's eyes began to dart in every direction but his own, he knew what she was going to tell him. "Mulder," she said hesitantly. "Once we got to shore, we lost the fix on the ship. Satellite imaging shows nothing in the area - the Gunmen went over everything with a fine-toothed comb." She sighed tiredly once again. "Your ghost ship has vanished, Mulder. Without a trace." "How do you explain *that* Scully?" Mulder asked pointedly. "I don't know, Mulder," she said truthfully. "Maybe it sunk, maybe some kind of magnetic anomaly is preventing detection - I really don't know." "But without scientific evidence," he said bitterly, "you'll never believe me." Mulder turned away from her, withdrawing from her grasp. He stared out at the moonless night and tried to slow his breathing. Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to drive away Mulder again. She dropped her head back in frustration, trying to figure her way out of this familiar, yet unpleasant argument. Facing him again, she lightly squeezed his arm. "Mulder," she said firmly. "I *do* want to believe you. I always do. But just remember - I believe *in* you. Even if we disagree on a lot of things, don't forget that I'm still willing to make the journey with you so we can find some real answers." With a softening in her eyes, she added "I have faith in you, Mulder. And that faith has saved me a thousand times over." She saw her words having an effect: Mulder was visibly relaxing, perhaps accepting the inevitability of the truth. "You're just going to have to trust me, Mulder - that what I do and how I feel can only help the both of us in the end," she pleaded. And without warning, Mulder turned suddenly, cradling Scully's face with his hands. Before she had time to think - before she could protest or encourage him, Mulder leaned in and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was laden with passion, yet Scully could still feel a hint of desperation there, along with something else...but what? And as quickly as it happened, Mulder drew back, looking at her with a glazed, unfocused look. Scully frowned. Mulder's distant expression then changed. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, almost as if he were waiting to get... "Mulder!" she exclaimed. "Is that why she punched you?" she asked. she thought sardonically. He would kiss a figment of his imagination before he tried it on her. He opened one eyelid and stared at her meekly. "Yeah...I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. And she believed he was sorry. She laughed out loud. Mulder opened both eyes and gave her a confused look. "Come on, Mulder," she chided him. "You probably got slammed in the face by a piece of that boat that disintegrated under you. Your bruise did *not* come from a secret agent from 1939." She reached up and rubbed the sore spot affectionately. "You are certifiable, Mulder, you know that?" she said. His answering grin only confirmed that the thought had crossed his mind. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she posed a question. "So, how did I compare?" She crossed her arms in mock-seriousness, giving Mulder the impression that he should choose his response *very* carefully. Mulder chuckled softly. "The secret agent version was nice," he said coyly. "But it doesn't compare to the real thing." she thought to herself. The look she gave Mulder told him the same. She lowered her arms and took a step towards an outdoor chair and sat down. She stretched out like a cat, stifling a yawn. Light spilled in from the living room, creating an auburn halo around her head. The backlighting hid her face in shadow. Mulder took a seat next to her on another chair. The two agents stared at each other for a brief moment, their private thoughts swirling around, each of them wondering what was going through the other's mind. Then one of those random musings planted itself in Scully's brain. The memory of Mulder awaking in the hospital and what he had said to her prodded insistently, compelling her to ask a simple, yet important question. "Mulder, she blurted out, jolting Mulder out of his reverie. "About what you said to me, in the hospital. Did you mean it, or were you just delirious like I thought you were at the time?" she said, bracing herself for his reaction. To her surprise, Mulder smiled contentedly. "You said you believed in me, Scully," he told her, as if it was an adequate explanation. "Do you trust me, trust that I wouldn't lie to you?" he added. "Of course I do," she answered, her eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit balcony. "Then that's all you need to know, Scully," he finished gamely, twisting a corner of his mouth in a sly smirk. He reached across the space separating them and threaded his long, slender fingers into her tiny, delicate ones. Mulder slowly raised her hand to his lips, watching Scully's eyebrows raise as well, and he kissed the back of it lightly. "Scully, I love you," he said to her once again as he lowered her hand. The sudden upwelling of tears came without warning. Scully tried to hold them back, but was not completely successful as a glittering solitary tear escaped and blazed a wet trail down her right cheek. She placed her free hand over his and rubbed his knuckles with a thumb reassuringly. She smiled at him. He smiled back. "I love you too, Mulder," she finally answered back. Releasing Mulder's hand, she picked up her abandoned beer bottle and took a long draught from it. "So," Scully tried to act nonchalantly. "What do you want to do now?" she asked. And just as innocently, Mulder glanced back into the living room and back at her. "Oh, two smart FBI agents like us should be able to come up with something," he told her. "What do you say, Scully?" He looked at her with wide, hopeful eyes. Scully stood confidently and faced the door leading back inside. She threaded her arm through Mulder's and drew him towards the entryway. "I trust you, Mulder," she said lovingly. And she did. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The woman stood at the bow of the ship. The cold sea air bit into her face, numbing it but exhilarating every other part of her body at the same time. Footsteps approached her from behind. She turned to face them. "Our course has been set as you instructed," said the disembodied voice. It was heavily tinged with a German accent, but it was somehow soothing to the tiny flame-haired woman. The passengers and crew had taken possession of the Queen Anne again. In the interim, she had convinced the victors that turning around and heading back in their original direction was the most prudent course of action, given their circumstances. Now she hoped the man who told her to turn back was right. "Thank you, colonel," she said. She was as honest as she had always been, an unusual trait for a spy, she admitted. She slowly turned back to the railing and the salt spray that drifted over her like a mist. Looking out into the dark void of the Atlantic Ocean, she thought of *him*, the man called Mulder. She wondered once again why he had affected her so much - they had known each other for mere minutes of their lives. she mused. Perhaps. In any case, she was horrified and saddened when she saw him jump overboard. Surely, Mulder had drowned and was sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic right now. But somehow, the woman dressed in an oversize navy greatcoat and a crimson silk dress, just *knew* that it wasn't true. The words he'd said about history and changing the course of it for the better struck a chord deep within her. Just as that kiss had done. The fact that she hit him was unimportant - it was just an automatic reaction to an unexpected, but not unwelcome advance. She rubbed the tender knuckles of her right hand thoughtfully. "Thinking about your Amerikaner, are you?" the familiar voice rang in her ears. The woman tried not to look startled. She had no idea he was still here. And so close. She relaxed and looked at the German spy closely. The man was wearing the distinctive gray uniform of the German Wehrmacht. He was very tall - over six feet in height easily. He had a hard look about him and a cruel mouth. He looked every bit the member of the Third Reich she fought against. But there was something else about him, she noted. Behind the wire-rimmed spectacles, his steely gray eyes held warmth there, a softness that she guessed very few could see and touch. The colonel had those eyes turned toward her now and was examining her curiously. "Yes," she acknowledged. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have wanted to turn the ship back around." She sighed wistfully, wondering if she were doing the right thing. "But somehow, I think our departed friend was right. I don't know why," she said quietly. "But I feel it in my bones that he knew something we didn't." The German chuckled in the near-darkness. "Ja, fraulein," he said. "I also had that feeling. We are doing the right thing - you will see." "I hope you're right, mein herr," she replied. The woman turned her gaze out once again, and was suddenly overcome with an inexplicable and overpowering sense of loss and abandonment. The isolation she felt at that moment was almost palpable. She collapsed against the bow rail. A set of powerful, yet gentle hands grasped her under her arms and lifted her up. "Fraulein?" the man spoke in a worried voice. "Are you not well?" Her mind was reeling and her vision swam in and out of focus, but she shook her head. "No, I'm fine, colonel," she said. "I'm sorry. I think exhaustion is creeping up on me," she apologized. "Are you able to stand?" he asked tenderly. When she nodded weakly, he leaned her against the rail and turned toward the forward portside hatch. "I will find a doctor for you..." he muttered. He got only a step away from her until he was stopped by her hand clutching his uniformed arm. "No, no," she pleaded. "I'm alright. I...just, I just don't want to be alone right now," she said weakly. Despite her strength of mind and body, she couldn't shake this horrible feeling of...loneliness. "Fraulein," he said simply and lifted her again. He took her into his arms and held her tight. "You are very cold, fraulein," the colonel said. He began to rub his hands over her arms and back, attempting to restore circulation. Unable to explain why an American spy was practically melting in the powerful arms of her German counterpart, the petite woman sank into his warm embrace. His spicy scent was at once alien and familiar to her. She breathed in deeply and visibly relaxed. she thought. She wrapped her arms unthinkingly around the large man's torso. The colonel was taken aback at first, and he had to force himself not to push her away. But then, he hugged her tighter, burying his chiseled face into the crown of her red hair. He was a German - but he loved America and everything about it. This small, almost fragile woman in his arms seemed to embody America perfectly. Perhaps he could love this woman, he told himself. But could she ever love someone who would turn his back on his motherland, regardless of the moral reasoning behind it? And as if by divine answer, the woman raised her icy-blue eyes to his stormy gray ones and said: "Will you kiss me?" she asked in a girlish, hesitant voice. The man smiled. "Fraulein," he said as he inched his lips closer to hers. "How could any man resist?" And he kissed her. Against the backdrop of a coming war neither of them wanted, the man and woman sailed off into the darkness. Off into history... END XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Authors note: I tried to get the German language and military stuff as accurate as I could, but not being German has its disadvantages. ;-) Please send e-mail to chadt@aloha.net