TITLE: "Her Dod Kalm"

BY: Ten

E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au



CATEGORY: S, A, M&S Torture, MSR

RATING: R for adult situations. Probably a milder R than

most... Sorry.

SUMMARY: Scully's POV of Dod Kalm.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: "Dod Kalm" at a wild guess.

Mention of other eps like "End Game", but probably all

old stuff that all of us have seen or heard about. There

is a Mulder companion vignette to this: "His Dod Kalm".

(The Title Muse was not around.)



Notes/Rambles about my Scully characterization will be at

the bottom of part three.



ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be

archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer

stay intact.

FEEDBACK: Love it.

THANKS TO: The Usual Suspects - especially Kristina for

preventing me from making some major mistakes, and

Suzanne for opening up some perfect opportunities for

innuendo. What's a writer to do? Thanks to Ainon for

wading through MSR to edit for me (and to get to the MT).



My website for all my X-Files fanfiction, thanks to the

wonderful Skyfox, is at:

http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Keep/1351



DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and

Scully, the script for Dod Kalm & characters therein,

etc, belong to the original writers and Chris Carter, Ten

Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used

without permission. No copyright infringement is

intended, no profit will be gained.





The X-Files: "Her Dod Kalm"

By Ten, February, posted March 1999





I remember the first time I laid eyes on Fox Mulder. How

he had whirled around from his desk and pinned me with

his stare, while wearing those glasses.



/Oh damn, he's gorgeous!/ I thought bleakly.



And brainy and witty. And annoying. All of which were

quickly proven.



But mostly as handsome as all get out. Especially with

those glasses.



I knew I was a goner.



And so a serious infatuation was born. I'm not usually

like this. I'm not a giggling schoolgirl by nature, and I

certainly haven't acted that way towards him or given any

clues as to my thoughts. I have done my best to keep a

lid on my crush, then and now. Really. After all, I was a

grown adult and that was my first real case and a person

shouldn't do things like go up to her new partner at work

and spin his chair away from the desk and straddle him

and get what has to be got out of the way and move up and

down while watching your own extremely satisfied

reflection in the lenses of those glasses. Nope. Not

good.



Fantastic actually, but it is something that has to be

kept in the imagination and only trotted out at suitable

times.



So I made sure I was professional. A 100% efficient by-

the-book agent. So professional it hurt. It was my little

mental cold shower. One that I would douse myself with

often. I would keep thinking: /This crush will go away.

It's perfectly natural - you're a woman with a pulse and

he's a very attractive man. Just let the crush run its

course and try not to do anything dumb in the meantime.

You've got a job to do. Remember, he's married to his

work. You don't want a one night stand that will ruin

your partnership./



And our friendship. A friendship more special than any

others I've ever had. The respect and fun and challenge

and stimulation and affection oh-so-carefully muted. The

friendship got deeper and deeper over time. I couldn't

afford to ruin it.



But sometimes he would look at me and I'd want to throw

him down over the desk - even if we were in Skinner's

office at the time - and take him.



Infatuation. Get over it.



I've been his partner for two years now - I still count

the time the x-files were shut down and the time I was

missing - and lately my problem has gotten worse.



I nearly lost him two months ago. In the Arctic. I spent

two weeks sitting by his hospital bed, sitting beside a

handsome man who had been transformed into a motionless

wax dummy, and another two weeks pretty much camped at

his apartment when we got home, making sure that he was

taking it easy. I was so scared because even when he was

discharged he was very listless and I'm sure in mild

shock at least over all he'd been through. I had the

shell of him walking around, but, finally, he seemed to

come back to himself. 'Relieved' doesn't quite cover my

feelings.



Sometimes I spout long boring refutations of his

theories, just so I can stare unchecked at his face. But

when he was in a coma and so still for so long, it

certainly wasn't any fun to be able to stare all I

wanted.



I had come so close to losing my best friend. I look

forward to seeing him each day more than I ever

anticipated Jack coming over when we were involved. A

case of wanting what you can't have? Why can't I crush

this crush?



Case in point:



This morning Mulder was telling me about this fascinating

mystery of wrinkles in time, and at the naval hospital I

saw one of the supposedly 'aged' men from the missing SS

Ardent that proved his 'theory', but even as my mind was

going over scientific possibilities and my desire to find

out what had happened, another part of my mind was

mooning over Mulder. I hate it when he has his suit

jacket off and he's walking around the office in a shirt

that is all creased at the back from him sitting. I hate

how crumbled it is and how it hangs off his frame...



It's untidy. It looks like he's slept in it... It's

so...appealing to my baser instincts.



And fortunately for my hate, Mulder does that often. The

more I have to deal with it, the quicker I'll be able to

cure myself.



Just like with this damn crush.



Well, I'd better stop tapping away and stow the computer

- Halvorsen just told me that they're readdyyy to cast off.

It'll be nice to be on a boat again, out at sea. Close to

my father. Better than flying. And on our way to find the

SS Ardent and solve this mystery of the aging sailors.

I'm just as intrigued as Mulder about this one.









TWO WEEKS LATER:



Well, it's been a while since I've written in my laptop

diary, because Trondheim's boat was hijacked while

Mulder, Trondheim, Halvorsen and I were over

investigating the Ardent. The men responsible were

captured and the boat was returned to dock, possessions

still intact. Eventually.



There is so much to write.



Trondheim's boat was pretty small and reeked of fish, but

I felt at home. I stowed my gear out of the way on the

bridge - no cabin on a ship this small - and then watched

the view as Trondheim and his first mate, Halvorsen, did

what they had to do. Mulder was pacing, eager to be at

our destination already. He paces very well, but I

couldn't watch that - we were on the clock and we weren't

alone. The boat had only been underway for a few minutes

when I noticed my partner's pacing slow to a stop. His

face was going green. He bolted for the head, which on

this ship was pretty close, inside the bridge. I

hesitated for a moment, then hurried the few metres to

him.



Trondheim gave a wolfwhistle. I was focused on one thing

though. Mulder would have shut the door after himself,

but there was no time, and when he sank to his knees, his

feet were sticking out of the doorway thanks to his long

legs and the tiny compartment. After he had finished, he

leaned back.



"Mulder, you okay?" I was as close to him as I could

manage, sort of standing on the threshold. There was no

way I could squeeze inside with him.



He was embarrassed, waving a hand back at me in a 'go

away please' gesture. He tried to shut the door on me but

quickly realised that was a futile thing. "Scully? Why

the heck are you in here?"



"I'm a doctor and your partner and there's no little

girl's room around here, is there!" He grunted. "I can go

see what seasickness medicine I've got in my bag. But I

thought you were a good little sailor."



"So did I..." His eyes got this stricken look and his

head whipped back around and reburied itself in the bowl.



Tiredness was probably a factor - I got sleep on the

plane, but I don't think he did. He would have been too

excited.



Mulder kept vomiting and retching. Trondheim was amused,

but was sensible enough to keep that fact to himself once

I glared a few holes into his skull. Halvorsen was more

sympathetic, glancing back from his work every so often.

Unless he just wanted to go to the bathroom... During a

brief respite, Mulder said, "Scully, I'll be okay. I'll

be out when I'm finished."



I stood just behind him with a hand on his back, rubbing

gently. It wasn't fair that I could only touch him when

he was sick or injured. I'd been able to a lot when he

was in the coma and recuperating. But it wasn't fun when

he was non-responsive. As a doctor it was normal to check

his forehead for sign of fever and so on. I did that now,

and followed it up by gently running my fingers through

his hair.



I realised that I'd missed doing that.



"I'm not going anywhere until you're capable of moving to

a bunk to lie down -"



"Now you're talkin'!" Trondheim couldn't help saying

gleefully in his slightly accented voice as he steered

the ship. "Get up, man! You heard the lady. It's not

polite to make her think that she's making you sick."



Mulder muttered something, then clutched his stomach and

vomited again. I couldn't believe that he had anything

left in him. But it looked like we would spend the entire

ten hour journey in this cubicle.



When he hadn't vomited or retched for a good ten minutes,

I asked if he thought he could make it to the nearest

bunk. I led him over to one of the sofa/bunks along the

back wall of the bridge. I thought of getting Halvorsen

to help, but naturally, Mulder would have none of that.



My partner was so pale and subdued that I just wanted to

hug him. And screw him blind...once I was sure that he

had no more to bring up, naturally. I'm still practical

in my passion. Damn this infatuation. Damn him for

looking sexy even in the throes of miserable illness.



Damn me for having no willpower when it comes to Mulder.



I got him to the bunk - with Trondheim chuckling but

controlling his opinions to a few comments in Norwegian

to Halvorsen, who didn't dare laugh. Mulder slowly

crumpled onto the mattress, and, upon my request,

Halvorsen found a bucket to place next to it. Too bad it

reeked of fish, but there was no choice. The whole ship

reeked of it anyway - that didn't settle my partner's

stomach any. I helped Mulder out of his coat and covered

him with a blanket. Then I went hunting for my med bag.



I must get one of those ear thermometers - especially

since my oral one ended up in the bucket when Mulder

suddenly heaved again.



I got him some water. He took a mouthful, swirled it

round, then spat it into the bucket.



"Mulder, you have to drink some. You'll get dehydrated."



"I'll just throw it up again..."



I made him have a few sips. He proved himself right.



"Well, here's hoping that some medicine will settle your

poor tummy."



He rolled his eyes at my 'cheering the three year old'

patter. He was so pale - Alaskan pale. I must have looked

stricken, because it pulled Mulder out of his own misery

enough to ask if I was okay.



"I'm fine. Okay, let's see what I have here. Vistaril -

injection. Phenergan - suppository. That's all." Neither

very good choices. Devil or the deep blue sea. But he was

lucky I had any seasick meds in there at all. "I'll go

see what Trondheim's got in the medicine cabinet. Will

you be okay?" /Dana, it's only just across the cabin -

relax!/



Mulder nodded. I was as quick as I could. The medicine

cabinet was basically an ancient relic from the

nineteenth century. Almost everything was out of date.

Mulder keeps his refrigerator in better condition! When I

came back in his eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep.

He was moaning faintly but trying to cover it, curled up

on his side.



"Scully...how much further?"



"We're only one and a half hours into the trip."



"Oh."



"I'm afraid there aren't any other seasickness meds."



At this Trondheim snorted. "Of course not! If you get

seasick, you have no business being a fisherman. And it

wasn't like I was expecting to net passengers today."



I glared at him, then turned back to Mulder. "So Vistaril

or Phenergan? Name your preferred poison."



"The injection, I guess... Vistaril?" Mulder said

listlessly. He disentangled one arm from where it was

wrapped around his stomach, pulled the blanket down and

offered his arm to me, tugging his shirtsleeve up to

expose his biceps. Nice biceps indeed.



"Um, Mulder, there's something that you should know about

the Vistaril... It has to be given in the behind - it's

too irritating to be given anywhere except in a large

muscle that can absorb it."



Mulder's glassy eyes stared at me. "Soooo....with either

med - I'm gonna have to moon you?"



"I'm afraid so..." /Yeah. REALLY afraid, Dana./



"You mean we get a free show?" I'd forgotten about

Trondheim. He was really beginning to bug me. /Ignore,

ignore./



"And something else about the Vistaril. I haven't had it

myself, but those who have say that for about twenty

minutes afterwards you feel like someone has used your

butt for target practice with flaming arrows."



Mulder said, "Oh. Um, I don't feel as bad now. How about

we just hold off and see if the worst has passed, huh?"



"Okay." I sat beside him on the bunk. Eventually he fell

into a restless doze. I stroked his forehead and his hair

a bit.



A lot of people don't like being touched or hovered over

while sick. When I was little, I used to want to be left

alone in my misery, apart from when I needed someone to

get something for me. It was like I was the only person

in the world, and I wanted to wallow. Mulder, on the

other hand, craves the affection and closeness. He

usually seems embarrassed about it afterwards, but never

during, even though he might make token 'you really don't

want to watch me throwing up' comments to give me an out.

Did his mother ignore him when he was young and sick, or

was that the only time she was affectionate and he's

clinging to that memory? He's never talked about that,

and I don't want to pry.



Trondheim and Halvorsen were talking as they worked. I

usually knew when talk would turn to Mulder and me

because Trondheim would get this chauvinistic look and

Halvorsen would blush and stare anywhere but at us

passengers.



Half an hour later Mulder was curled up tightly onto

himself, begging me to make the bunk stop moving. To make

the walls still. To shoot him. Yeah - like I'd ever do

that unless he really pissed me off.



"The Phenergan..." he said. "Gimme the Phenergan..."



I got the blanket out of the way and he rolled over onto

his rebellious stomach. Together we got his jeans and

boxers down enough for the job to be done. He didn't care

about the show we were putting on for the crew and

neither did I. I got a pair of disposable gloves out of

my bag and pulled them on. The noise and Trondheim's

barking laugh made Mulder's tightly squeezed-shut eyes

open. He regarded me in alarm.



Trondheim said, "Hey Halvorsen, you're about to really

get an education!"



That was too much for Mulder. "Um...can I have the

injection instead please?"



"What about the burning arrows?" I asked.



"Couldn't be any worse than this!" He gagged again, then

settled.



So I prepared the Vistaril. I prepared it as

professionally as I could despite the fact that Mulder's

rather distracting butt was two metres away. The flesh

looked tight and firm. How could it still be so tight and

firm when not long ago he couldn't even walk around the

block because Alaska had taken so much out of him?



How that butt moves when he walks...when those damn suit

jackets aren't hiding it, of course. When he's in the

office and in crinkled shirtsleeves...pacing...with his

glasses on...



/What would it be like if I was underneath him? Cradling

that butt with my body? How would his muscles feel?/



/Don't think don't think don't think! You have a patient.

Doctor him./



/I wish.../



I gave him the injection. He flinched. The last thing I

wanted to do with - to! - this gorgeous butt was to hurt

it. /Professional, professional,/ I repeated as I started

rubbing there. Mulder's head shot up and he gaped at me.

"I'm massaging the area -" I began.



"I can feel that!"



"- to help it absorb. It's standard procedure." My voice

croaked a little.



"Oh." So did his.



"Steer the ship!" I snapped at Trondheim, using my body

to block the sight that had him in fits of laughter.



"If I wasn't sick and if we didn't have company, I'd be

enjoying this..." Mulder said.



I laughed, but the truth was that he was sick and I WAS

enjoying it. How depraved was that? I wondered if I

should get therapy for this crush.



Then, between the both of us, we got his boxers and jeans

back up. He startled a little - I think I may have

brushed something I shouldn't have...



Twenty minutes of flaming arrows was right. Mulder did

the noble male thing of trying to internalise his

suffering, but he looked so miserable that I didn't have

to hear a sound from him to know how bad he was. I stayed

right beside him.



He was muttering something to himself. I caught a few

words. "...worse than...childbirth..." I wanted to howl

with laughter. What would HE know about that? But then

again, he was being a typical sick male - completely

focused on self.



I was worried that he'd dehydrate. Between his dozing, I

got some water into him. But it came back up again. The

Vistaril didn't seem to have made any difference. He

spent the rest of the trip dividing his time between the

head and the bunk.









It took twelve hours to reach Mulder's mystery ship, not

ten. Two hours of bonus torture and a sore butt. Poor

Mulder. I hoped this x-file was worth it. But at least he

didn't have to hang over the toilet for so long anymore.

I was staring out the bridge window, mesmerised by the

fog, when my partner lurched out of the head behind me,

pale and unsteady looking.



"Feeling any better?" I asked, moving over to him.



He opened his mouth without losing anything but words - a

good sign. "You're lucky you inherited your father's

legs..."



I stared at him. Mulder didn't like my legs? He thought

they were butch and ugly? The jerk! I vowed never to wear

skirts again; how dare he! What was wrong with my legs -

they may be short, but -



"Sea legs," he clarified with a grin.



I could have kicked myself. With my inherited legs.



We managed to find the other ship despite the fog - no

thanks to the radar system which was going haywire. We

found the ship the old-fashioned way. We ran into it. The

impact threw Mulder against the wall and me against

Mulder. Just what his stomach needed.



So we got ready to explore the ship, gathering our

supplies. Mulder seemed to regain his equilibrium very

quickly then. Probably due to the distraction of his x-

file and the psychological fact that the boat was now

'still' in the water, so I made him keep drinking. Twelve

hours of seasickness means dehydration.



He kept the water down. Yay! I had been getting tired of

bucket duty.









We explored the SS Ardent - or what remained of it. For a

ship commissioned in 1991, it looked to be a rusty ghost

ship from several decades ago. Trondheim and Halvorsen

tagged along. A mistake.



Within a few minutes we found the crewmen's quarters, and

members of the crew...dead. Mummified. Almost pillars of

salt. Before we had time to digest this or explore

further, our boat sailed without us, stolen by stowaways

from the Ardent, as we discovered later.



We were trapped on the Ardent with its mysterious corpses

and no radio contact and strange bleeding rust. The

scientist in me was eager to solve the mystery, while

another part of me was afraid of these haunted

surroundings and the ghosts we might find. We did find

two live 'ghosts' - the captain of the ship, Barclay, who

had been transformed from a thirty-five year old into an

ancient looking man and died soon after we found him, and

Olafssen - a pirate whaler who had been picked up by the

Ardent when his boat sank. He killed Halvorsen. His

'friends' had abducted Trondheim's ship. And somehow

Olafssen had not aged.



Poor Halvorsen. So young. Trondheim hadn't wanted us to

help him with the sea burial. Though he was less gruff to

me when I told him about my father, and how his ashes

were scattered in the sea.



"Then perhaps your father will take care of the boy..."



The ship was so silent - apart from eerie creaking. I

wished it was full of men - even if they would ogle me

and make lewd comments. To my relief, Mulder had

recovered from his seasickness and was drinking lots of

water, mainly because I was giving him dehydration

lectures.



Before the Captain died, he said that 'time got lost',

and I think I believe him...



Because during the middle of that night on the ship, when

Mulder woke me to begin my turn at watch, I looked up at

the handsome face I loved to look at...and found that it

had aged thirty years.



And so had mine...



xXx



I decided not to keep gawking into a mirror. Seeing

Mulder's face was reminder enough. We both dealt with our

fear by arguing theories and possible solutions while

Trondheim argued with us for dragging him in and losing

his ship. We had to solve this.



Mulder and I went hunting with our flashlights and

followed a pipe that was the one thing that didn't seem

to be corroding. It led to the sewage processing hold

where Olafssen and his friends had stayed. Right next to

the tank holding the sewage water that is recycled again

and again. It was the only water safe to drink. It didn't

come from the sea. All the other portable water on the

ship had been contaminated with something in the

desalinization tanks. Water that I'd been nearly forcing

down Mulder's throat...



There wasn't much 'good' water left either.



We returned to the mess hall to find that Olafssen was

gone. He had 'escaped' from his binding. Trondheim

maintained his innocence, despite evidence that the rope

was cut. Note to self: next time, insist on using

handcuffs. He and Mulder nearly came to blows, but there

was no time for that. I reminded them that we had work to

do, and I set about setting up a makeshift laboratory on

a countertop.



I took blood samples ("Only from my arm this time - did

the sight of my butt scare you that much, Scully?"), and

they gave me urine samples, and we began drinking the

safe water.



The blood tests showed that we had impossibly high

concentrations of salt, but I went into all that in the

Captain's log.



About eighteen hours after the onset of the symptoms, I

was looking in the mirror a lot and was relieved at what

I was seeing. My own eyes as well as the test results

were showing that the recycled water was slowing the

rapid aging down. In Trondheim and me.



But not in Mulder. Because he was dehydrated. I watched

him walk towards me and it wasn't a walk anymore - it was

a shuffle. He looked so old. He was so athletic before

this... Now he was a stranger.



"I think I just lapped George Burns."



But he was still my Mulder.



Inwardly I raged against this thing/condition/disease I

was trying to cure. How dare it do this to us? How dare

it take away what I loved about Mulder. I didn't want my

crush cured in such a drastic way! How dare it take away

my youth and leave my brain still thirty-one years old,

and do this to us just after I'd recovered from my coma

and Mulder from the retrovirus.



Focus. I would find a cure, or keep us alive until help

came.



Mulder was still keeping his fears in. So was I. I wished

seasickness was all we had to deal with now.



Trondheim threatened me. Tried to intimidate me first,

lurking around behind me as I prepared to check Mulder's

latest specimen sample.



"If you've got something to say, say it. But don't hover

behind me like that."



"The water isn't helping him."



"Then maybe we should double his ration," I fired back.



"What for? A lake full of water isn't going to bring him

back."



"We don't know that for sure. Not yet." It was a struggle

to keep my voice steady.



"Look at him. We've wasted too much water on him as it

is."



"Who are you to decide?" I snapped, louder than I had

intended.



I glanced fearfully over at Mulder, who was looking our

way. He wouldn't be able to hear our words, but it

wouldn't take a federal investigator to work out our

subject.



Trondheim was full of quiet, threatening insistence. "You

don't have to be a doctor to see that he isn't gonna make

it. But you and me, Scully...you and me...we'd better

start looking out for ourselves."



And Trondheim walked off.



I took a deep breath and resumed my test on Mulder's

sample.



His kidneys were still failing to excrete the Heavy Salt.



A few minutes later I went and sat next to Mulder. I

smiled at him and pulled the Captain's log and pen

towards me, hoping he would not comment or ask.



"It's not working, is it?" he asked bluntly.



What was I thinking? "Let's give it some time to work."



He sighed. "I wanted to prove to you that it was a

wrinkle in time, but *I* didn't want to be such literal

evidence." He grinned, but his heart wasn't in it, just

like when he was still blowing away the cobwebs of

Alaska. "I know you're doing your best, Scully. But look

out for yourself." He indicated the doorway that

Trondheim had disappeared through.



"I fully intend to look out for myself. And my partner."



"Scully -"



"Mulder, I didn't spend all that time wrestling you from

the retrovirus to have you quit on me now. Understand?"



"Loud and clear."









Later on I gave Mulder his ration - and a bit more - from

the portable container that held water from the sewage

hold. He'd hauled it up to the mess hall earlier, before

he had worsened. Trondheim was off somewhere, lurking. I

went back to writing in the log, having remembered a few

points I had forgot to put on record. As usual, I got

engrossed in the task, oblivious to the world, and it was

only by luck that I looked up and around and caught

Mulder in the act of carefully pouring his glassful back

into the container. Although he startled when I turned,

he didn't spill any, fortunately.



"What are you doing?" I said louder than usual so I could

be sure that he'd hear me. And louder than usual because

I was furious, to put it mildly.



He gulped. How did a man manage to look like a guilty

little boy even as he looked one hundred years old? "I

was... You gave me more than my ration. I was just

pouring that bit back in. I didn't feel very thirsty."



I slammed the log shut and marched over to him. I held my

hand out for the glass. He gave it to me. "Sit down." He

did. I repoured the water and placed it in front of him,

then stood over him, arms folded. "Drink it."



"Scully -"



"DRINK it!"



"There's not much left - there's no point wasting it on

me."



"You doubt that I'll find the cure? You don't have faith

in me?"



"You know that's not true."



"We're not down to the last few drops yet. We've got

enough to keep us all alive for a few more days. Help

will already be on the way. You need to drink this,

Mulder, to ensure that you'll be alive when they come."



"Scully, I'm still the senior agent here."



"Senior is right. But you'd lose in an arm wrestle with

me at the moment. Drink it."



He did.









Trondheim resurfaced later on when Mulder was asleep.



"You're being selfish, you know," was his opening line.



"Selfish?" I repeated incredulously. "In wanting to keep

a man alive? That's my duty as a doctor."



"More like your duty to yourself. All because he's your

boyfriend. There are other fish in the sea."



"He is my *partner*."



"Whatever they call it these days. You still find him

beddable lookin' like that? You're sick. There's no way

that you're going to get him back the way he was, but

you're wasting the water on a lost cause anyway. All for

yourself."









Mulder half-woke, confused and panicked. "It's all right,

I'm here, it's okay," I soothed. I hadn't been touching

him much ever since the aging had made its marks on us.

Several reasons, I guess: seeing my hand stretch out and

that it was covered with liver spots and wrinkles and

shrivelled was a fright - an alien hand; plus Trondheim

was around and I felt odd showing affection towards

Mulder in his presence, like it would prove the sailor's

theory or that he would use it against me; and also,

shamefully, perhaps I was frightened to touch Mulder

because he was no longer the handsome man that attracted

me so much.



I knew that aging is natural - but this was so unnatural!

Give me the gradual wrinkling over time, the easing in,

and that would be fine, but not this sudden

transformation. It terrified me. It had robbed me of my

Mulder, and might permanently take him away.



Because, as Trondheim said, how would we ever get him

back the way he was?



I was so ashamed of myself. He was still Mulder. My

partner.



So now that he was terrified and waking up to be faced by

an old-looking Scully who insisted that all was okay, I

touched him. I stroked his forehead again and although it

was no longer smooth, that didn't matter anymore. At

least his hair hadn't altered. I ran my fingers through

it again and again and he slept again and still I kept

stroking.



After a long time my hand was tired. I felt thirsty, but

I didn't want to drink any of the water and therefore

deprive Mulder of it. Besides, Trondheim had finished off

what was left in the mess hall container and I didn't

want to go get more unless Mulder was with me.



I had to write some more in the log.



So I wrote. I was not sure if the untainted water was

helping Mulder at all, but I couldn't give up trying.



And Trondheim was sitting there, across the hall, staring

at Mulder and me. Waiting. Biding his time.



Mulder was incapable of keeping watch anymore, so I would

have to. I would guard over him. And if Trondheim tried

to hurt my partner, he would quickly realise how

ferociously little old ladies could fight.









Now I knew why Great Aunt Pamela always kept falling

asleep in front of the TV, even in the middle of shows

she had waited all week for. She couldn't help it at her

age. Though my doctor's residency had also trained my

body to shut down whenever it could and doze. Whatever

the culprit, I woke up wondering why I had Aunt Pamela's

hands.



It took a few seconds to clear my head of cobwebs, then I

remembered where I was and what was happening.

Immediately I looked for Mulder, and to my relief he was

asleep just near me.



But Trondheim was gone. I grabbed my gun. It didn't take

long to realise what he was doing - he was backflushing

the sewage water to keep it for himself. I confronted him

in the sewage hold.



The man is not the sharing type.



I held my gun on him, but I couldn't fire. Whether it was

my conscience or this aging affecting me and my reflexes

- I still don't know. And in my hesitationn,,, he profited.

Knocked me out into the corridor before I could get off a

shot and locked himself in. Locked himself in with the

only useable water on the ship.



Mulder's only chance of survival.



I should have riddled Trondheim with bullets and lived

with my conscience.



But it was done and I had work to do. I had water to

find.









I found Olafssen's body along the way. Trondheim had

hidden it very well, I'll give him that.



I searched through kitchen cupboards and holds and

lockers and through a heap of paraphernalia. A lot of

girlie mags... I wondered if that would take Mulder's

mind off things? It would at least bring a smile back to

his face.



That face...



I almost cheered when I found a snowglobe. And the lemons

- a gold mine!



Finally, I returned to Mulder, who was probably beginning

to worry. He was sitting up, shaking like the old man he

now was, looking through the captain's log. When he saw

me, he smiled. I sat down across the table from him,

focusing in on his eyes. Those lovely hazel eyes that are

the most recognisable part of him at any age.



"You're almost out of pages," he teased. Then he became

more serious. "It's good you kept a record."



There was no gentle way to deliver my news. "Trondheim's

locked himself in the sewage hold. He's backflushed all

the water, and he's keeping it for himself."



Mulder accepted that fairly well. I wanted him to keep

fighting, not to give in and accept death.



"I looked everywhere...and this is all I could find."



I produced the jar. Its contents did not look thirst-

quenching. I placed it in front of my partner and told

him what was in it. He licked his lips exaggeratedly.

"It's not Evian, but -"



"You go ahead and drink it," he said firmly.



"No, Mulder -"



"It's the only logical choice, Scully. You're a woman -

your life expectancy is greater, and your body retains

more water in the fatty tissues."



"That's more reason for you to drink it." I ignored what

would have been the mother of all insults to me and my

gender in any other situation.



"You have a much greater chance of surviving until help

comes."



"Don't do this, Mulder."



He half-chuckled. "Don't be so stubborn, Scully. You know

I'm right."



I supposed we looked like an old married couple, arguing

away. We were both right. But who would win? I heard

myself say, "Well, there isn't much liquid to make a

difference anyway."



"There might be." He pushed the jar towards me. I stared

at it. Life. I stared at him. Life.



"No." My decision was made. I went to say more, but -



The ship rocked and grated and moaned. For a moment I

thought I was aboard the Titanic. The outer hull had

finally corroded through. We were thrown to the floor.



And so was the jar. None of us bounced.









The loss of the water had cut off what had promised to be

the most long and protracted argument of our partnership.

Mulder assured me he would have won. Then we became very

quiet, conserving our energy, sitting together, the

Captain's log before us on the table. We waited for

rescue.



Fourteen hours later, none had occurred. To think that I

was about to lose my life at sea when I wasn't the one in

the Navy! I wrote Mom a note on one of the pages, then

slipped back into thought.



/Hey Ahab, guide them to us, will you please? I don't

know how much longer Mulder can hold on./



Mulder was wrapped in a blanket, half-sitting, half-lying

back against the wall. "I always thought when I got

older, I'd maybe take a cruise somewhere. This isn't

exactly what I had in mind. The service on this ship is

terrible, Scully."



We both mustered grins. I was still writing in the log.

Writing to keep the inevitable at bay.



"It's not fair. It's not our time. We still have work to

do."



I could feel his fright, even though he was doing his

best to keep it out of his voice. I'd been clinging onto

the hope of rescue up until now, but as that hope was

fading, there was not a great fear of death in my heart.

Sadness, yes, but not the sort of fear I would have had

before my abduction coma. I had to share this with him.

"Mulder...after they found me, when the doctors, even my

family had given up -" /Though not you, Mulder, you

didn't give up on me./ "- I experienced something that I

never told you about. Even now, it's hard to find the

words. But there's one thing I'm certain of, as certain

as I am of this life, we have nothing to fear when it's

over."



He could see the truth in my eyes and I could see the

fear in him lessen.



"I'm so tired..." he admitted in a whisper.



"You should sleep."



I went to stroke his forehead again, but my hand was

trembling so much that it sort of drifted over his eyes

like I was closing them for the last time. For a moment I

was appalled, then full acceptance came over me. I was

giving Mulder permission to let go. At least we both knew

that there was nothing to fear. I would see Ahab again.

And that place. It peaceful and beautiful there. I would

be with Mulder too. I was sure of that.



I stroked his forehead and hair as he closed his eyes,

then I took his hand. His eyes opened again and he tried

to say something, but he was too exhausted. He squeezed

my hand and lost consciousness. There was nothing more I

could do for him or for myself.



And as I sat there holding Mulder's hand, I came to a

realisation. Something I had been fighting off for a

while. This was not just a crush I had on Mulder. It was

not just physical attraction. Once it had been, but

somewhere along the way it deepened and grew into much,

much more. Despite the sudden shock of his aging, I had

felt the same way about my partner even though he looked

and acted old - I'd been scared to touch him because of

my feelings...



I loved him. There was an element of lust in there, yes,

but that can be a part of grand love.



A love beyond friendship. Of the type I never thought I'd

find but always secretly hoped for. Mulder and I are

friends and soulmates. There is the promise of the sort

of bond you only seem to find in fairytales. It wasn't

that way with Jack. I hadn't expected it to be. Sure,

when I was little I read the fairy stories and romance

novels and sighed over them, but even then the practical

side of me always thought that it was a made up 'happily

ever after' Hollywood rose-coloured-glasses love and that

real life just didn't work that way. Though in my early

twenties I saw that some people were lucky enough to get

that very rare love. I never thought that I would be one

of them. The rest of the population seemed content enough

with the common everyday domestic variety. Seemed logical

to me.



But what has logic ever had to do with Fox William

Mulder? He sabotages logic, he sabotages thought and

reason and everyday love and turns it all into something

so unique that I don't want to be without it or him.



I hadn't faced what nearly losing him in Alaska did to

me.



I had wanted to grow old with Mulder normally...

Naturally.



I hadn't refused the water because it was my 'do no harm'

oath as a doctor with a patient - in refusing the water,

I was refusing a life without Mulder.



It was too late to tell him, but at least I wouldn't have

to live on without him.



I wanted to shout this epiphany to the world, but didn't.

And how would it look in the log? This was something

private. So I filled my final log entry with ramble about

the Norse legend of the end of the world that I had put

together from the pictures in a children's book in

Halvorsen's belongings.



The outer hull was probably flooded, but the inner hull

was supporting the ship's mass...for now...as I wrote of

the wolf, Skoll, who would swallow the sun.



I could hear him howling. I dropped the pen, and with the

last of my strength, lay down beside my partner to die.



xXx



I awoke to find the no-nonsense doctor from the start of

this whole adventure staring down at me. And shining a

light in my eyes, which mercifully she stopped doing.



"It's been thirty-six hours since your rescue. I've got

you on dialysis with a high flux filter..." She held up a

mirror and I saw my dazed reflection gazing back, graced

with a nasal cannula and such. Why was she showing me

what I looked like? What had happened -



Then I realised. My face was much younger looking...



"You're obviously responding well." She started going on

about my condition and how my fluid status was normal

again.



I sagged back against the pillow. I was exhausted. Then I

surged up. "Mulder? Where is he?"



Even as the doctor's eyes left mine, I was turning in

that direction. He was in the adjacent bed, eyes closed,

covered with even more equipment than I could feel on me.

And he was much younger-looking too.



My stud was back.



"His endocrine system was considerably more compromised

than yours. Frankly, we didn't think that he'd make

it...until we discovered this." She held up my - the -

captain's log. "Based on your observations, we're giving

him a course of synthetic hormones which seems to be

working." She appeared impressed.



I tried to tell her that the danger was still out there,

that there would be more cases like this if precautions

weren't taken, that someone had to gather the evidence

and study it...



She told me that the ship had sunk soon after we were

rescued. She left.



I turned as much as I was able and watched Mulder. I let

the rhythmic noises of the machinery lull me to sleep.









Mulder kept sleeping. He'd stir occasionally or wake up

for a second at a time, then go right back to sleep

before he could really comprehend anything. The doctors

weren't concerned. After the ordeal we'd been through,

they thought he deserved all the rest he could get.



I was taken off dialysis and most of the other stuff over

the next day, and, as long as I was careful, I could get

up and walk around. Which is just what I did every time I

could see Mulder's eyes fluttering open.



Once he looked up at me and murmured something like

"Val?" and I felt hot jealousy pour through me. Who was

she? After a few repeats of her full name, I realised my

'rival' was 'Val Kyrie'. Ah...



Then, finally:



"Hey," I said gently, taking his hand and waiting as I

had so many times before.



He gazed up at me. He knew me. And he thought he knew

where we were and what we were. "Dead," he announced.



"No, not dead, Mulder. We're okay."



He shook his head slightly.



"Trust me, Mulder, this is not the next level, and I've

seen enough corpses to know that you're not one just

yet."



He hesitated. "Sure?"



"We're in hospital. We're safe." Finally it sunk in.



"Nightmare..." he managed faintly. "Old."



"It wasn't a nightmare, Mulder. It was real, but we're

fine now."



He immediately went to raise his hands, only to find they

were in restraints. Naturally, he panicked.



"Mulder, Mulder, it's okay. I'll show you in a mirror -"

/Where the hell is the mirror?/ "- see, you're okay. It's

over. Look at me, I'm okay too. You're just in restraints

because they didn't want you pulling at the shunt for the

dialysis -" He glanced down at his right arm, where the

dialysis machine was plugged into what looked like a very

big peripheral IV in his forearm. "- or anything else."



But he kept straining at the restraints. "Mulder -" I

realised what he wanted to do. Finally I said, "Okay,

I'll release them, but you have to promise me to be

careful and not pull anything you shouldn't."



He nodded. As soon as the restraints were off, his hands

came up to my face, touching the skin, proving that the

wrinkles were gone. The feel of his fingers was

wonderful. Only when he was satisfied did he remove his

hands and touch his own face. He let loose a sigh of

relief.



"It wasn't our time," he said.



/But it now is, in a different way,/ I thought. "You've

got some synthetic hormones in your lower abdomen,

dissolving," I said, automatically trying to be

businesslike to cover my feelings.



Mulder stared at the area where the pellets were lodged,

though he didn't lift his gown for a proper look.



Time to get back at him for the 'retain more water in the

fatty tissues' remark. "They injected the pellets into

the subcutaneous fat -"



"I don't have any subcutaneous fat!" he said mock-

indignantly. "Or are there some leftover baggy bits from

all that wrinkling?" He lifted the neck of his gown and

attempted to stick his head down to get a good view.



I wanted to volunteer.



He was still huffy. "Hormones? You're kidding!"



"Don't worry - you won't suddenly start emitting girly

screams. They saved your life."



"No, you did."



There was something in his eyes. Something that I hoped I

was not imagining.









When we were discharged, I took Mulder home with me so I

could 'keep an eye on him'.



"Scully, that's not necessary," my still pale and thin

and tired partner said.



"You hadn't recovered properly from Alaska - I'm going to

make sure that this time you do."



Exhausted Mulder. Again.



He slept a lot. I wrote a lot. And thought a lot over all

that had happened and my findings. What would I do with

my new-found knowledge? Keep hiding it? Apply it? What

would I do if he didn't feel the same way? Then one day

when he was more recovered and sitting up in bed reading,

I sat at the coffee table and stared at my computer

screen, at my words there, for a long, long time. Then I

hit the print button.



I went into the bedroom with the collected pages. Mulder

looked up from his novel and smiled. He was getting his

colour back.



I held out the pages. "I - I'd like you to read this.

It's my other report of what happened. My personal

report. I want you to read it right through before you

say anything. I'll be just out here. If you - if you

don't agree with it, that's fine. It'll be okay."



Mulder gave a little smirk. "Scully, we never agree on

reports..."



/Don't remind me./ I hoped this would be the exception. I

handed it over and left in a hurry.



Time stretched out. I sat on the sofa that was now my

bed, straining my ears. /The rustle of paper. Was that a

gasp? What has he just read? Is that bed springs

creaking? Is he getting up?/



A paper aeroplane glided past my ear, skimmed over the

coffee table, and landed on the floor over the other

side. I turned, but Mulder wasn't in the bedroom doorway.

He must have ducked back inside. I went around and picked

up the aeroplane and opened it up. It was the last page

of my diary.



On it he had written:



----------------------------------------------------



I felt so angry on the ship that I was suddenly old and

dying and had achieved nothing. I'd always accepted that

my search for the truth would take its toll on my career

and relationships...but I also always believed or hoped

that somewhere just up ahead, almost within reach, would

be the end of my quest and that I would be free to have a

normal life. That there would be time.



And suddenly there wasn't that time anymore. And worst of

all, I'd dragged you into it all. The one person I didn't

want my quest to ruin my relationship with... But I guess

it has already; all that you've been through.



Alaska gave me back my faith to keep looking, but the

Ardent gave me faith of another kind. And you, Scully,

what you've given me, what you mean to me -



There's something I'd like to achieve before I age

another day, but I have to ask this first:



So, you'll still love me when I'm old and grey?



----------------------------------------------------



I turned to find Mulder was now in the doorway.



"I will. I did," I replied.



"Good," he said. "Because the feeling is completely

mutual. Sea legs and all."



Then he came and sat down on the couch and within a few

seconds our tongues became very mutual too. I never got

this good a necking session in college - or at any other

time - ever!



"This is not just going to be a one night thing, Scully.

You mean more to me than that."



"I know. And we're still going to keep searching for your

sister. There being an 'us' doesn't change that."



Then our lips met again. And again a few more times.



Mulder looked like a gleeful kid. "If this is normality,

I'm all for it."



"So enjoy some more..."



"Well, just what would you recommend?"



"I'm a romantic. I want a full moon." I pulled his t-

shirt up at the waist with one hand and reached for the

button of his jeans with the other.



His eyebrows raised at my fast pace. I was struggling to

prevent my own from registering the same shock. He

wrestled with his conscience for a full second before

deciding to join in. His hand closed in on the top

buttons of my blouse. "Can I check you for leftover

wrinkles?"



"Sure, if I can wrap my sea legs around you." I couldn't

believe I was firing off all these jokes - must have been

nervousness or alternatively I was so relaxed that it

just flowed.



He was thorough in his search. So was I. I checked out

his body more thoroughly than when I was searching for

safe water on the ship. "That's quite a mast..."



Time got lost once he came aboard.



The back and forth rocking of waves may have made Mulder

seasick, but he certainly didn't show any ill effects

from all the back and forthing we did together, or from

the movements of the sofa and then the armchair

underneath us. And the coffee table - though I don't

think we'd better try there again. Too wobbly. At least

we removed the laptop computer first. And my desk chair

is kaput. It was worth sacrificing to recreate my office

fantasy. The mattress was fine.



Back and forth. A whole lot of back and forth. And up and

down.



A rhythm almost as old as the sea's rhythms... A rhythm I

will be celebrating until I'm a hundred. And past that.



We definitely weren't dead in the water. No sirree. I was

ready for him to be worn out quickly and to have to wait

for the next day to take up the oars again for a few

trips to ease us in and build up his endurance, but the

man has extra reserves of strength and I didn't complain.

What Mulder brought out in me...what I felt when he...

Multiple. It had never happened before. My scientific

brain doesn't believe it. The rest of me couldn't care

about rationalisation. There are definite advantages to

this type of love.



My God, my sea legs will never be the same. I don't think

I'll be able to walk properly on land again. They were

still quivering with aftershocks when I ducked to the

bathroom in the wee hours of the morning. I was just

coming out when Mulder came in looking for me. A few

minutes later up against the bathroom wall, we just

came... He'd taken care of the problem of my weak legs by

giving me a boost, so to speak. Hell of a boost. I think

I shredded my shower curtain - I was kind of gripping it

like the handles on the subway. The bathroom tiles are

probably imprinted on my back. I watched our performance

in the bathroom mirror...until it fogged over, that is.

And when I was capable of keeping my eyes open.



Then he carried me back into the bedroom, but we only

made it to the mat, not the mattress. I may not have had

my landlegs, but other parts of me were shipshape and I

could still move what counted. He lay back and watched,

hands on my hips to make sure that I didn't go flying off

with the speeds I was clocking up. When he recovered

enough, he poured my melted body into bed and crawled up

next to me, sleepily trailing kisses and his tongue up

and down my spine, then resting his head in the small of

my back..



I felt 110 years old and a teenager again, both at the

same time.



So did he. "I'm so tired..."



"I think you've earned the right." Then I couldn't

resist. "Soooo, what do you think of me getting a

waterbed?"



Cue pillow fight.





THE END.





NOTE: I'll be curious to see the reaction to Scully's

characterisation in this, having decided that if I was

her and worked with Mulder all the time, this is how I'd

be thinking... I'm not Scully, true, but we're both

female and have a pulse, so I went for it! It's amazing

what can go on in part of the brain while the body and

rest of the mind are geared for working - I had to endure

a year of Accounting one year while looking for a job,

and I spent a heap of time in class thinking up ways of

getting M&S together very very creatively (this was

before I could channel it all into fanfic!), and when the

teacher asked me questions I never once replied, "Yes,

Mulder?", or worse: "Oh YES, Mulder!"



And in case you were wondering, I did pass that year of

Accounting! LOL.