Faith of the Heart by Kathy Williams Ribbons@aol.com Okay guys. This is *not* a sequel to "Whispers of the Soul". Maybe I'll do that later, but the idea of the first crossing of that romantic line is so powerful, I just decided to do it all over again in a different story, in a different way. Please be nice. Constructive criticism is welcome at Ribbons@aol.com. Spoilers: Fourth season, "Terma". Pretty substantial spoiler, too, so if you haven't seen it, you might want to save this till later. Classification: MSR and an X-Files. (Guess that's MSR and X, for all you archivists). All non-shippers, this will definitely make you heave. Rating: PG-13. Summary: Mulder and Scully go deep into the Everglades seeking to solve an ancient curse of the Seminoles. After his treatment in Russia, Mulder finally realizes what is important. Now if he can just convince Scully. Author's Note: I try very had to stay on character with my stories. Please let me know if I do. Disclaimer: Everybody sing to the tune of Jingle Bells, since this is Christmas (Oh, ho. Do I need a disclaimer for mentioning Jingle Bells? So, get in line, unknown composer. ) Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are not mine, they belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. (Way to go, Chris.) I'm just taking them out for a little run. Thanks are in order to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson for providing us with the wonderful body language and personal touches that have made these characters so real that idiots like myself sit up nights filling in the spaces Chris and crew left out. For when we read Mulder and Scully's names here, it is David and Gillian's images we see. Thanks, guys! Archivists: You may archive this as long as my name stays with it. Thanks for your efforts! Here we go! Play nice guys. Santa's watching! ************************************************************************** Two airline vouchers landed in the middle of the expense report spread all over Scully's desk. She looked up as Mulder whisked by and flopped down in his chair. He leaned back, propped his feet on the desk, and grinned at her. "Another X-file?" Scully asked. His grin was contagious, and she found the corners of her mouth turning up to match his. "Yep. In Florida. The Everglades." "Sounds lovely," she said sarcastically, visions of alligators and mosquitoes swimming through her mind. Well, at least he was smiling. Since his return from Russia, he'd seemed more fragile, more vulnerable. His smiles were fewer and Scully missed them. He vaulted out of the chair, moved across the room in a couple of long strides, and cut off the lights. He turned on the projector and picked his glasses up off the desk. Scully watched him fiddle with the slide projector, her chin propped in her hand. She couldn't get enough of looking at him. When he walked into the Congressional chamber, until that moment she'd convinced herself she'd never see him again. That his pursuit would have finally killed him. Scully smiled at his hands went to his hips and he studied the slide tray. Scully wondered, watching him move in that cat-like gait of his. "Aren't you going to tell me anything first, or are we just going to dive right into the slide show?" "I worked all night on this, Scully. Be appreciative." Mulder gave her a slight smile and launched into his presentation. "This is the Everglades National Park," he said as a picture of a sea of unending grass and water came up on the screen. "In the eighteenth century, the Seminole Indians fled from British-ruled Georgia and Alabama and settled in Spanish-dominated Florida. They lived there in loose groups until 1817 when Andrew Jackson led an expedition into northern Florida to recover runaway slaves." Mulder's hazel eyes snapped with excitement as he turned toward her. Scully rose from her desk to stand at his side, hoping to absorb some of his enthusiasm. His eyes followed her, that wonderful, warm expression on his face. "Go on." Scully crossed her arms. Their elbows touched, but he didn't pull away, seemingly content to stand this close. "Jackson's forces engaged the Seminoles resulting in an orgy of murder, burning, looting." He flashed a pen and ink drawing depicting natives in various stages of agony, their enemies leering above them. "An orgy, Mulder?" Scully just couldn't resist the remark. Mulder smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Two years later the United States purchased Florida from Spain and then the Seminoles' land became a hunting ground for armed bands of slave hunters. Unfortunately, they made little distinction between the slaves and the Seminoles. They fled deeper into the Glades until Jackson became President and began the removal of all Indians east of the Mississippi." "This is all very interesting, Mulder, but I just don't see an X-file here. Somebody seeing Jackson's ghost?" He shot her another glance and her heart lifted a bit more. It had been many weeks since he'd been this happy, this lighthearted. Upon his return from the Russian prison camp, he'd said little about the experience. Only the carefully prepared report he submitted to Skinner. To her, he'd recited the same facts as the report, only adding that he'd missed having her at his back. Then, his face had darkened and he'd said he was glad she hadn't gone along. Nothing else. No further comment. Scully knew better than to ask. But since that day, he'd touched her more. Nothing evident, just subtle brushes, seemingly intended to reassure himself she was there, close by, real. "No ghosts this time, Scully. That would be too easy for you to debunk." He pressed the remote control and another picture flashed up. Scully squinted. The slide seemed completely black, except of a bit or two of light down in the right corner. "Was the lens cover off for this one, Mulder?" "This was taken by a tourist on the edge of the Everglades Park two weeks ago. He reported to local law enforcement that he saw these green lights hovering over the water about a hundred yards out into the Glades. And it's not swamp gas either, Scully. No one's ever reported swamp gas in this area." He smiled at her triumphantly. He knew all her standard responses too well. Scully smiled. Almost hearing the taunting in his voice. "So, what do you think it is?" "From 1835 to 1842 the Seminoles conducted guerrilla warfare on the US troops sent to flush them out of their swamps and send them to the Indian Territory in the west. Over 1500 US troops were killed in these swamps. While some of the Seminoles were captured and moved, a small band went deeper into the Everglades and evaded capture. Eventually the army just gave up and left them in peace." "Do you have a point to this, Mulder?" He flipped the controller again and a picture of a several smooth, round objects flashed up. They resembled aquarium rocks, glimmering inside a museum quality Plexiglas case and Scully had to squint to read the label. `Osceola's Tears.' "What are they?" Mulder pointed with the controller. "Osceola was a Seminole leader during conflict between the Seminoles and the US Government. These disappeared out of the Miami Museum of History three months ago. They appear to be some kind of stones, quartz-like, but harder. In reality the makeup of the objects is unknown. They were found six months ago by an archaeological team excavating an island deep in the Glades. Locals shied away and refused to touch them, babbling what translated roughly into 'Osceola's Tears.' Not long after, these lights started to show up." He changed the slide and another set of lights appeared, this time more numerous. Scully shook her head. "How on earth did you make the connection between this," she pointed at the projector, "and the artifacts?" Mulder turned off the machine and removed the carousel. He glanced back over his shoulder at her. "The curator of the museum found reference in some Seminole legends to some objects referred to as 'Osceola's Tears'. They were a mysterious item, formed when Osceola cried at the hopelessness of his people and the tears fell to the ground to form these." He pushed a glossy print of the artifacts toward her. "What were they used for?" Scully turned on the office lights and held the print beneath a lamp. "Nothing, as far as I can tell. They were considered sacred and kept hidden." "I don't understand how this involves us." He crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. "The archaeologist that unearthed these disappeared along with her entire excavation team." Scully stepped closer to peer into his face. "You know something else, don't you?" His eyes drifted down to her lips, then back up. In that brief instant, he dropped his guard, his face open and vulnerable. Scully heard her own quick intake of breath and knew he had, too. "Yes," he said in an almost-whisper. "I do." Scully leaned back, putting distance between them. Suddenly, their inner network of communication had gone down. She couldn't read him, had no idea what he meant. She shivered as an invisible touch ran up her spine. He put the carousel back into its box and when he turned, he was the same old Mulder. Gone was the confusing expression and Scully wondered if she'd imagined it. His eyes caught and held hers for a moment and she knew she hadn't. "You'd be surprised what you can find on the Internet." Scully frowned. "I beg your pardon?" "You asked me if I knew anything else. I said, you'd be surprised what you can find on the Internet." Scully tilted her head and studied him a moment. He rounded his desk and sat back down. Nonchalant. Confident. No trace of the vulnerability that had been so strong it had nearly reached out and touched her. "So, what did you find?" Scully sat down on the edge of his desk and crossed her arms. He leaned forward. "Local UFO enthusiasts have been talking about the disappearance of these artifacts since just after it happened. They've had sightings right over where these lights were seen." He tapped the print of the slide. "Maybe one of them stole the stones." "Your lack of imagination amazes me sometimes, Scully." "What kind of damage did the Museum sustain at the time of the robbery." "None." "None?" Mulder shook his head. "They were stolen right out of their display box, the laser motion detection system working, the alarm system working. It just vanished without a sign." "Nothing vanishes without a sign." Mulder stared at her pointedly and the radar between them went back up. Samantha. The thought was so strong, Scully thought for a moment he'd said the word. His pain was back, deeper, rawer. His lips quirked into a smile. He brushed across her hand with his fingers. Touching. Always touching. Did he know what those touches were doing to her? Oh, they'd always affected her, but, somehow, now was different. More intense. More desperate. Scully caught his hand and squeezed, then quickly released it. "So, are we going?" "Tomorrow morning. Seven o'clock." ******************************************************************** Scully was vaguely aware of the nightly news droning in the background. Again, she packed an outfit, then rejected it. Slumping down on the bed, she tossed a slip to the side and rubbed her hands across her face. Why on earth was she so tense about this trip? She'd been on trips with Mulder almost every week for four years. They had each other's traveling habits memorized and adapted into their own routines. She could have packed and flown around the world with Mulder, changing planes at each border without a second thought. Why now? She couldn't read him. Something was interfering with the thoughts that passed as easily between them as words did between other people. He was sealing a large portion of himself off to her. The silence was deafening. "This isn't getting it done, Dana," Scully told herself as she rose, selected one of the discarded suits and hung it in the garment bag. She went back to her dresser and yanked open the lingerie drawer. Laying over to the side was the bathing suit she'd bought five years ago. It was black, made of some slightly shiny material. There'd been a sheet wrap skirt with it. She dug through the drawer, then produced the filmy material. In five years, she'd had it on twice. She turned the garment, thinking it still looked new. Then, she glanced over her shoulder at the carry-on sitting on the bed. Did she dare? They were going to Florida, after all. Water, warm sun. Beaches. Rebellion welled up in her and she tossed the suit and its almost skirt into the bag. The phone jangled loudly and she jumped. "Hello?" "It's me." "Mulder. What is it?" His voice held no clue, no forewarning." He paused for a moment. "Bring a swim suit if you have one." Scully glanced over at the guilty bag. "I've already packed one." He paused again. "Is it a bikini?" He exaggerated his voice into a teasing, raspy tone. At least she hoped he was exaggerating. "It is not. I'm not sixteen anymore, Mulder." Again, a pause. "Sometimes you could fool me with that one, Scully. I'll pick you up at six in the morning." Then, the line went dead. Scully pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it. ************************************************************************** Mulder picked her up in the half dark the next morning. Without more than a few courteous words, he tossed her bags in the rental car's trunk, then opened her door for her. Something he rarely did. It just wasn't practical in their work. After all, they were partners, equals. Scully sat down, but looked up at him just before he shut the door. Again, there was that look. Open. Raw. Vulnerable. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. He'd tell her if he wanted her to know. He always did. He slid into the seat next to her, snapped his seat belt , then reached over and gave hers a tug, too. Then, he started the car and guided it out of the parking lot. Scully watched him, trying not to stare. She'd gotten a copy of his report to Skinner and sat up last night reading it, carefully, line by line. There was no indication of anything that might explain his odd behavior. In fact, she wasn't sure she could even call it odd. Just different. Different for Mulder. The report contained an emotionless account of being captured, locked in a cold, damp cell. Sleeping. Hours and hours of sleeping on the floor. Then, he recounted his escape, the aid of the Russian family and his return to the states. The end. Finished. Except for his summation of his belief that the rock they had intercepted had come from there. Even this part wasn't done in his usually passionate prose. She knew about the meteorite that had plummeted to earth in Siberia years ago, flattening trees and landscape for miles. How often had she heard Mulder expound on it, fervently wishing he knew more about the episode? But, the details were hidden in Russia's present unrest. Even this fertile ground had apparently not sparked his usual enthusiasm. She glanced over at him, one hand on the wheel, the other thrown casually across the back of her seat. His dark gray suit coat hung open against the startling white of a laundered shirt. Today, his tie was sedate, dark blue with a small print not distinguishable in the dawn light. How many times had they ridden like this? Submersed in half light, either at the dawning or the dying of the day. Silent. Companionable. Content. His eyes were on the road ahead, staring, transfixed. His thoughts were whirring. Scully could feel them. Images and theories tumbling over one another in his mind. Sorting. Grouping. His fingers found the back of her neck and worked their way beneath her hair. Fingertips worked against the rigid muscles there. "Headache, Scully?" "A little." She sat perfectly still, willing to play out the game if it would give her some insight into his behavior. "I can tell." His fingers kneaded harder, finding the perfect place that begged for attention. "Does this feel better?" Scully tipped her head, allowing him better access to her neck. Something deep in her screamed to add this to her list of Mulder Odd Behaviors, but this just simply felt too good to complain. She closed her eyes, seeing his slim fingers kneading her neck, seeing the skin bunch as he gripped the muscles, feeling the heat his touch produced. "Scully?" "Humm?" She opened her eyes with a start. "Did you doze off?" He was looking at her, staring, in fact. Scully felt the flush creep up her neck. "I guess I did. Did you ever consider becoming a masseur, Mulder?" His eyes twinkled wickedly and something in her rejoiced. "Privately, or for hire?" The unsaid message shot straight through her, bypassing her brain and going to the more primitive parts of her body. She glanced out the window. As they turned into the terminal parking lot, she thought she heard his soft chuckle. ************************************************************************ Tiny blobs of land surrounded by lazy swirls of water stretched to the horizon. Scully pressed closer to the window, remembering for a moment the plane that had gone down in the Everglades just last year, burying itself and its passengers beneath centuries of mud and decay. The sun was rising in the morning sky, gilding the water with silvery shadows. She glanced over at Mulder. He was asleep, his head thrown back against the seat. Tiny blue shadows hugged the cheeks beneath his eyes, almost covered by his lashes. Something had changed, gone out of him in their time apart. He seemed to be tottering on some edge, balancing, looking to her to pull him back in time. He stirred and placed an arm on her seat. His long fingers curled into a fist, tightened, and trembled. Scully placed a hand on his, stretching to cover his fist then curling her fingers around him. He made a sound deep in his chest and lolled his head to the other side, scrubbing his hair into his face. She enclosed his fist with her other hand, amazed at the tightness of the grip and the strength. "Mulder?" He murmured something else. Aware of his problems with nightmares, Scully thought it better to wake him. He was apparently well into one of them. "Mulder?" She leaned over and swiped his hair out of his face. "Excuse me. Would your husband like a glass of water?" A pretty brunette flight attendant leaned over them, pulling a refreshment cart behind her. A slight frown puckered between her eyes. "Yes, he would." Mulder opened his eyes and smiled brilliantly. "Thank you," he said as the brunette poured the water and handed it to him. His looks weren't lost on her, Scully decided, as the woman threw a glance over her shoulder as she moved away. "Thought I'd save you the embarrassment of explaining," he said between sips. "I wasn't going to explain." Scully shifted back to her side of the seat. "Really?" "This isn't the first time this has happened on a plane. You nap and nightmare on a regular basis on flights." His cool, gray eyes met hers across the glass. "And what absolutely-rooted-in-the-logical excuse do you make for me?" Scully felt a smile dart across her face, one she couldn't resist. "Wouldn't you like to know?" ************************************************************************** *** "This can't be right, Mulder." Scully stared over her head at what had to be three stories of indoor hanging jungle. "Well, this is what the reservations say. Plantation Suites." "Accounting's going to love this bill when it comes." Mulder quirked a funny smile at her and picked up the heavier of her bags along with his own. Scully followed him to the desk. "Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. We have reservations." The attendant punched a few buttons on his computer. "Oh, yes. Fourth floor. On the beach." "Who made these reservations?" Scully asked as the bell boy loaded their luggage onto a cart. "Beth." Scully caught his arm as he started forward to the elevators. "Beth Allen?" "Yes. Why?" He turned toward her. Scully groaned and dropped her hand. "I should have known." The elevator arrived with a ping and Mulder stepped into the car. "What's wrong with Beth making these reservations?" Scully heaved a sigh and felt color creep up her cheeks. "Let's just say she's listened to one too many Mr. And Mrs. Spooky rumors." The bell boy stared straight ahead, but slanted them both a glance from the corner of his eye. Mulder looked suspiciously melodramatic as he drew in a breath and widened his eyes. "You think she got us rooms here because of some romantic notion about you and me?" "I think it's highly suspicious, based on the scuttlebutt I've heard." "Relax Scully. Now you sound like me." Scully let the remark pass, entertaining herself by watching the floors pass outside the glass walls of the cubicle that moved up the inner column of elevators. "Here we are," said the luggage attendant as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. He rolled the cart a short distance down the carpeted hall before stopping, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. He pushed it open, then moved down to the next door and did the same. "Adjoining rooms, as you requested, sir. Where would you like the luggage?" Did Mulder flinch just now? Scully thought narrowing her eyes. Why should he? she dismissed. Their rooms almost always had adjoining doors. "You can put it in there and we'll sort it out." Mulder pointed to the floor of his room. The young man quickly unloaded his cart and left. Mulder stopped inside the door. Scully peeked around him. The room was absolutely cavernous with huge windows that looked out over the Atlantic. "Wow," he said, moving toward the bed. Scully walked down the hall and into her own room. It was copy of Mulder's. Except for the flowers. A bouquet of tropical blossoms sat on the table. "Did you get flowers, Mulder?" she asked, opening their adjoining door. He appeared in the doorway before the words barely left her lips. "No. Should I have?" "I can't imagine who would have sent me flowers." She stuck her face into the arrangement, searching for a card. "There's no card." "Probably just courtesy of the management." "Hmmm. Maybe." Mulder leaned against their common door and watched her kick off her pumps in opposite directions and walk across the carpet in her stocking feet. She shed her jacket and tossed it over a chair, leaving only her thin, silk blouse to cling to her figure. With both hands, she flung open the window and sea air poured in, lifting her hair and tangling it. "Have I told you I'm glad we came to Florida?" she asked over her shoulder. "No," Mulder said softly. "You didn't want to come, as I remember." She smiled at him, brilliantly, stunningly, a bit of the tropical sun. "I take it back." Mulder chuckled, more at the sight of her than her quip. Then, he turned. "Want to leave the door open for a bit?" She smiled again. "Yeah. Leave it open. I'm going to change in the bathroom." Mulder shed his jacket and shoes, then rummaged in his own bag for his running clothes. How long had it been since he'd run on the beach, felt the salt air and the wind on his face? "I'm going for a run. Want to come?" he called. He always asked her and mostly she refused. "Yeah. I think I will. I'll come watch, anyway." She stood in the door, dressed very modestly in shorts and a T-shirt. Sudden emotion welled up in him and he swallowed. So much was riding on this trip, so much. "What's wrong?" Her tone was sudden and sharp. Dammit! She'd moved to his side, was staring into his face, reading him. "Nothing. I'm fine," he lied, diverting his attention to his bag. "Mulder, you're lying." Her hand caught his arm, sending electrical impulses up his nerves. "You're obsessing, Dr. Scully." He tried to lose her with a flip answer, but she bulled right through his defenses. "No, I'm not. Something's not quite right with you. Hasn't been since you came back." Now she had planted herself on the end of his bed, between him and his clothes. "I guess I'm still a little tired, Scully. I'll be fine. I just need a good case I can get my teeth into." She chewed the inside of her lip and stared at him. If he shifted his eyes, she'd think he'd lied. If he kept staring at her, she'd know. "Okay, if you don't want to tell me, I understand." "There's nothing to tell, Scully. Now, you want to get up off my clothes, or should I just run in my boxers?" He'd expected her to throw him one of those Scully-chastising looks, but she smiled slowly and stood. Casting her a sidelong glance he retreated to the bathroom. Scully chuckled and turned to go back to her own room when she stepped on a crumpled piece of paper. She bent to retrieve it and saw that it was receipt. A charge card receipt in Mulder's name, his personal card. She glanced around the room. He'd arranged for the rooms, both of them, and the flowers. She stared at the closed bathroom door. What was he up to? Scully carefully placed the paper in the pocket of his abandoned coat, brushing the fabric with her fingers. End part 1 Faith of the Heart by Kathy Williams Ribbons@aol.com Okay guys. This is *not* a sequel to "Whispers of the Soul". Maybe I'll do that later, but the idea of the first crossing of that romantic line is so powerful, I just decided to do it all over again in a different story, in a different way. Please be nice. Constructive criticism is welcome at Ribbons@aol.com Spoilers: Fourth season, "Terma". Pretty substantial spoiler, too, so if you haven't seen it, you might want to save this till later. Classification: MSR and an X-Files. (Guess that's MSR and X, for all you archivists). All non-shippers, this will definitely make you heave. Rating: PG-13. Summary: Mulder and Scully go deep into the Everglades seeking to solve an ancient curse of the Seminoles. After his treatment in Russia, Mulder finally realizes what is important. Now if he can just convince Scully. Author's Note: I try very had to stay on character with my stories. Please let me know if I do. Disclaimer: Everybody sing to the tune of Jingle Bells, since this is Christmas (Oh, ho. Do I need a disclaimer for mentioning Jingle Bells? So, get in line, unknown composer. ) Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are not mine, they belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. (Way to go, Chris.) I'm just taking them out for a little run. Thanks are in order to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson for providing us with the wonderful body language and personal touches that have made these characters so real that idiots like myself sit up nights filling in the spaces Chris and crew left out. For when we read Mulder and Scully's names here, it is David and Gillian's images we see. Thanks, guys! Archivists: You may archive this as long as my name stays with it. Thanks for your efforts! Here we go! Play nice guys. Santa's watching! ************************************************************************** "The message says that Park Ranger George Tilton won't be able to see us until tomorrow." Mulder handed Scully the message he'd just picked up at the hotel desk. Scully scanned the contents. "Well, we can't go into the Everglades alone. I guess the rest of the day is ours." "Guess so." Mulder turned his hat around backwards and strode toward the door. "Race you to the beach," he said, starting into a jog as soon as they were outside. Scully joined him, staying at his side until they reached the surf, then she fell back and waved at him as he charged off down the beach. She sat down on the warm sand and watched him, his shoes kicking up little sprays of sand, his huge T-shirt wrapping around his body. Two sun bathing girls leaned up and watched him pass. Scully smiled as he glanced back at a string bikini. Some things about him never changed. At least she hoped not. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, offering her face up to the sun. Its heat was welcome, calming, and her headache began to recede. Unmindful of the sand creeping into her clothes, she lay back on the beach. The wind caressed her and the crash of the surf hypnotized her. Her worried thoughts evened out and drifted off into peacefulness. Scully batted at an errant piece of hair teasing her ear. Mulder smiled and bit his lip to keep from laughing. He tickled her ear again with a piece of seaweed and she lifted a delicate hand to push it away. Her eyes were closed tightly, her hair the color of the sun, spread out around her head. His breath caught behind the lump in his throat. He leaned over her, shading her from the sun. Already, her fair skin had a pink glow about it. Her eyes flickered open and she stared up at him, invoking vivid, jarring fantasies -- she below, he above. "You should get more rest, Scully. That's twice today you've drifted off." The words nearly caught in his throat as that pinch of worry appeared between her eyes again. Scully sat up and shook off the sand. "That was a quick run." He touched the inside of her arm. Seemed lately he couldn't stop himself. Every time she was near, he had the urge to touch her, to re-establish a link between them that had been broken during his time away. His time away. That's how he thought of it. Even now, the memories were too painful, too vivid to linger on. She wanted to know more, but he couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not until he'd told her something else. Before it was too late. "You've been asleep for thirty minutes." The patch of skin he touched left a white mark. "Don't want to get a sunburn the first day, do you?" "I didn't even think about sunblock," Scully mumbled, bewildered. "I *always* remember sunblock. Where is my mind?" He caught her hand and hauled her to her feet. "C'mon. There's another message at the desk for us. The hotel just sent out a runner." Sand sprayed off her clothes as she stood, still clinging to her back and shorts. Mulder's hand skimmed down her back and across her shorts, sending a shock up his arm. He glanced at her face, hoping he hadn't gone too far. She seemed not to notice, busy raking sand out of the cuffs of her shorts. So, he let his fingers rest on her shoulder, still warm from the sun. So warm. Alive. Tender. "You have a message for Fox Mulder?" he asked at the desk. The attendant handed him a folded note, then moved on to another customer. Mulder frowned, read the piece, then read it again. Silently, he handed it to Scully. `Have info on artifact you seek. Will be on Route 4 this pm at 11. Come if you want truth.' Scully raised her eyes to his face. "There's your connection, Scully." "This doesn't prove anything, Mulder. Just that someone knows we're here." "Route 4 is where the tourist took that photo." He slipped an arm around her back and gently guided her to the elevator. "Let's do a little investigating on our own until then." ************************************************************************** *** The silence in the museum was overwhelming, oppressing. Scully fidgeted, adjusting the suit jacket she wished she'd left home. They were standing in front of a life-sized figure of Osceola, leader of the Seminoles, and the glass eyes were staring down, seemingly straight at her. "Do you know he died cursing the white man?" Mulder's soft voice seemed loud in the silence. Scully leaned closer and accidentally touched a button that set off a jarring, tinny voice droning the history of the Seminole's struggle to remain in Florida. She jumped, then felt Mulder's hand on her elbow. "I'm sorry I'm late." A tall man with an impressive white mustache approached them. He held out his hand and grasped theirs warmly. "I'm Dr. Tomlinson. What can I do for you?" "We're here investigating the disappearance of Osceola's Tears." A shadow of concern drifted across the doctor's face, then was gone. "I didn't realize the FBI was involved in this." "We're not, directly, sir. We're investigating another matter that may include the artifacts." Mulder's voice was steady, even, noncommittal. Curiosity simmered in the doctor's eyes. "Oh?" "Where were the artifacts before they were taken?" "Just over here." The doctor led them to a now-empty display case. A small velvet-covered podium sat deserted inside the clear case. Mulder circled the display, bending, peering through the glass. Orange investigation tape marked off the area and traces of fingerprint powder still smudged the case. "The investigators found nothing. No fingerprints, no fabric or hair. No clues at all. It's almost as if it were . . . spirited away," Dr. Tomlinson said with a shake of his head. Scully's head came up and she exchanged glances with Mulder. "Spirited, doctor?" Tomlinson chuckled, a deep, warm sound. "Perhaps spirited is not an appropriate word. I've worked with the Seminole artifacts and legends for so long, sometimes I let their beliefs creep into my own, I'm afraid. Scully could feel Mulder staring a hole through her. "Osceola died a very bitter man. And with good reason." Tomlinson moved to another taller display case, a climate controlled case that held clothes, obviously very old. "He and his people were hounded, pursued, slaughtered. Driven from their homes, except for the few that managed to resist and remain here in our swamps. Some say he cursed all white men with his last breath." Tomlinson stared at Scully intently. A shiver rippled over her, but Scully mentally shook it off, reminding herself the doctor was going for theatrics. "I'm sure that's a very popular tourist legend, doctor. But we'd like to know what these artifacts were." She pointed to the empty case. Mulder swept to her side, his arm resting against her. She noticed briefly that Tomlinson assessed their touch and one corner of his mouth twitched. "No one is quite sure, Agent Scully. Our best guess is that it is something obtained from trading with the Mayans." Scully glanced at Mulder and could feel his excitement next to her. "The Mayans?" "That or something left over from the Spanish Conquistadors. Something they found in the Everglades and couldn't identify, so they placed a religious value on it." "What did metal analysis produce?" Mulder asked. "Nothing conclusive. Just a mix of various metals found locally." Mulder shifted and moved away from her to stride back to the case. "My research tells me, doctor, that analysis proved the makeup was unidentifiable." Tomlinson chuckled again, but this time the sound was cold, almost warning. "Nothing is unidentifiable, Agent Mulder. Everything is made of elements from this planet." Mulder's thoughts jarred Scully. The line was open again. "What purpose do you think the artifacts served in the culture?" Mulder ran a finger around a smudged fingerprint on the case surface. "We're not sure of that either. There's no mention of it anywhere in our collection of legends or oral histories. The only thing we know for sure is that an archaeological team found it six months ago on an island they were excavating." "Why was the team excavating that island, doctor?" Scully watched Mulder from the corner of her eye. He was circling the case again, studying the structure. Tomlinson's eyes flickered nervously to Mulder, then back to her. "The island is deep in the Everglades and was inaccessible until a few years ago when Hurricane Bell cut a canal deep into the Glades. So the site was relatively undisturbed until a Ph.D. candidate named Walters found it about five years ago." Mulder stopped his pacing and peered closer at another smudge. Tomlinson glanced at him, back to Scully, then back to Mulder. Scully chewed her lip to keep from smiling. Mulder was rattling the poor man's cage. "Do you think we could speak with Mr. Walters?" Tomlinson shook his head. "*Ms.* Walters passed away about three months ago, I'm afraid." Scully willed herself not to look at Mulder, even though his thoughts were banging at her. "I see. Did she leave any notes? I assume she was operating with the sanction of your museum here?" "Yes, I believe she did. Just a minute." Tomlinson hurried away, glancing over his shoulder once more at Mulder. "Okay, Mulder. The poor man's rattled enough." She felt rather than saw Mulder's grin as he came to her side. "I thought that might shake something out of him. And it's probably the only thing that got us those notes." "Why would you say that?" "Because Ms. Walters disappeared into the Everglades and vanished without a sign. Without her notes or her gear. It was all found in her hotel room several days later." "How do you know she went into the Everglades? Maybe somebody abducted her. Was her body found?" Mulder shook his head. "No body was ever found, but she left a note reciting exactly the words of Osceola's curse." Mulder grinned at her, then sobered as Tomlinson pushed back through the door, his arms loaded with manuscript pages. "Here, I believe, is all that Ms. Walters left. The museum claimed the papers after her disappearance because . . . well, . . . the funding was mostly ours." Scully noted the odd explanation for later digestion. ************************************************************************** "C'mon, Scully. It's after five. We can't do anything else until tomorrow anyway." Mulder's voice echoed through the door that Scully leaned against. She smiled, glad to hear the teasing tone. "I haven't been in a bathing suit in three years, Mulder. Do I have to remind you what that does to a tan? Especially if one has a fair complexion." "Nobody knows us here. I promise not to laugh." "Somebody obviously knows us, Mulder. Somebody sent you that note." A pause. "I promise he won't laugh either." Scully yanked open the adjoining door and Mulder nearly stumbled in. He wore a standard, boxer-style bathing suit. Silently, Scully gave thanks that the rumors she'd heard weren't true. Gossip among the office staff declared his preference to skimpy swim wear. "How do you know it's a he?" His eyes were twinkling and Scully just couldn't resist prolonging the mood. "Well, if it's a she, she'll just be jealous." With that he gave her an exaggerated peruse down her length and back up. Despite the laughter in his voice, Scully felt the gaze right to her center. "All right. Wait for me down on the beach." ************************************************************************** * Mulder shifted in the hard wooden chair provided by the hotel. The sun was still nearly halfway across the afternoon sky and the beach was still full. Two young women walked by, almost wearing bathing suits, and each cast sultry glances at him. The looks registered, but heglanced over his shoulder for the thousandth time. Maybe Scully had backed out, baiting him. Then, he saw her. Her hair shone a fiery red, reflected off the black one piece suit. A demure skirt of some flimsy material flittered around her hips. He drew an uneasy breath that caught in his chest. She was beautiful, gracefully moving across the sand. Toward him. God whatever had he done to deserve her. "Okay, do I pass muster?" She held out her arms and turned around in a circle. Leave it to Scully to go right to the point. He wolf-whistled and her cheeks pinked. "You pass. I just hope I won't be called on to defend you from some letch out here." "I don't think you have to worry about that Mulder. There's more interesting game down there on the beach." She gestured toward a bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination and threw a towel over the hard wood of the chair. Now, why hadn't he thought of a towel? "Oh, I brought you a towel. I didn't see you leave with one." She tossed him a thick terry towel and he stood up and gratefully draped it over the chair as she sat down. They were silent, watching the waves crash to shore, then retreat into the vastness of the ocean. Over and over again. "What happened to you in Russia?" Part of him was surprised at her question, part of him knew she'd ask him. Directly. To the point. "You read the report." "I read what you put on the report. I want to know what you didn't." Sudden, confused memories surfaced, clouding his mind, diffusing the bright sun. Bits and pieces jumbled and joined. Pain. Confinement. Fear. Overwhelming fear. Bottomless, desperate fear. He glanced over at Scully. She'd shifted in her chair, her eyes trained on his face. Waiting. "I missed you." The words surprised him. Her eyes widened for a moment, then the Scully look returned. "That's the only constant I can remember." Her expression softened and her hand covered his. "What else happened?" Mulder shook his head. "Scully, I can't remember. Not whole pieces, anyway. Nothing between the time they shut me in that cell and when I escaped. It's a blur." He wasn't about to describe to her the thoughts that went through his mind. Not about to tell her the horrid violence he contemplated, ending only when he centered his scattered thoughts on the image of her face. Knowing that she was here, waiting. She studied him a moment longer, then gripped his hand. "You know you can tell me anything." "No I wouldn't." Mulder turned his head toward her. Her blue eyes were drilling into his. "What?" "You said I'd be shocked and I said no I wouldn't." Dark thoughts suddenly crowded into his mind. Vicious images made of the bits and pieces of the horrors he'd seen in his career. Some she'd seen, too. "I could tell you horrible things, Scully. Things I saw while with the VCS." He glanced over at her, her face poised near his, her innocent freckles splayed across her nose. "Things that would make you run away from me as fast as you could." "I'd never run away from you, Mulder." Her voice was smooth, soft, that mothering voice that he both resented and craved. "I've seen things that would make you doubt that people are anything more than animals walking around in street clothes, vicious animals, dealing out misery for their fellow occupants of this planet." His hands trembled, and he gripped the chair arm tighter. Her hand found his, her delicate fingers wrapping tightly around his. "There's nothing you can ever do that would drive me away from you. Nothing. Do you understand that?" He flipped his hand over and entwined his fingers with hers. She didn't draw away. "I'll leave you an out on that one if the time ever comes." "That time won't ever come." He'd expected her to come back with one of her flippant remarks, carefully aimed to relieve the tension of the moment, but her eyes and her tone were serious. Her grip on his fingers tightened. Scully looked down at their joined hands. Their fingers were as closely entwined as possible. He squeezed her hand, then slipped his out of the grip. Distancing himself. Again. Scully stood and swept off the skirt. "Race you to the water." He grinned up at her, the dark look gone. Then, he peeled off the suit to reveal a man's bikini. Her eyes widened, unable not to notice. "Gotcha!" Then he tore off down the beach and heads turned. ************************************************************************** *** The night wind brought with it the scent of tropical flowers, the gentle sharp scent of ocean and the arousing scent of Mulder's after shave. Scully turned from the window and gazed at the door between their rooms, half open. From the other side, she could hear him humming over the drone of the television. She shook her head and stepped out onto the balcony. Gripping the rail, she threw back her head and inhaled. The tropical setting must be fogging her mind, she decided, aware of the soft light from Mulder's room shining out onto his adjoining balcony. She'd long ago acknowledged she loved Mulder. Just taken out the problem, acknowledged it, then tucked it away in a secret, safe place. He'd never know, even though she longed to tell him, to act on it. But she knew she couldn't. He was far too fragile emotionally, especially now, to add another demon to his list. He'd feel responsible for her, base his field decisions on that, put her first. She couldn't let him do that. It might cost both of them their lives someday, not to mention their jobs, their partnership. That was too valuable, too much a part of the fabric of their lives. "Are you ready?" His breath was soft on her ear, sudden, giving her no time to recover, to put away the thought, back in its safe spot. "Yeah. Just a minute." He was dressed in tan slacks and a wonderfully gaudy tropical print silk shirt that clung to him. She ducked into the bathroom. He'd caught her vulnerable, open. Bracing both hands on the sink, she stared into the mirror and silently recited all the reasons she could not love Fox Mulder. "Scully. Are you all right?" "I'm coming now." She smoothed the lightweight dress and opened the door. Hands in his pockets, he smiled soft and sweet as she emerged. "You look wonderful." "Thanks. Where'd you get that shirt?" She touched the material and instantly wished she hadn't. She'd have to be careful tonight. Her secret was still out of its box. He shrugged with one shoulder. "Figured this might be the only place I'd ever get to wear it." "It's nice." She raised her eyes. That look was there again. The one that sank down to her toes and coiled itself up in the center of her. Open. Vulnerable. "I made reservations for six so we can be out on Route 4 at eleven." *********************************************************************** Soft music wound its way around the subtle noises of the dining room. The windows were open and white filmy curtains danced in the ocean breeze. "Skinner's going to kill Beth and you and me when he gets this report," Scully said as the maitre d' lead them to a table beside the windows. Mulder's hand rested on the small of her back, gentle, but firm, leaving only to pull out her chair. An embossed white table cloth covered the table and crystal and china glinted in the soft light. "Is there anything I can get for you?" the maitre d' asked in an exotic Jamaican accent. Mulder ordered a bottle of wine, and when Scully started to protest, he placed his credit card on the table. "This is my treat." His hazel eyes were unwavering as he watched her. Scully felt a quiver start deep within her, like she was spiraling toward something she couldn't stop. "What do you think of Dr. Tomlinson?" Scully asked, looking away from him. A hand caught one of hers and squeezed. "For the next five hours you're not allowed to talk about work. Is that clear, Dr. Scully?" Scully nodded, feeling unfamiliar, uneasy. This wasn't Mulder sitting across from her, at least not the Mulder she knew. This was a handsome, sexy man gazing at her with . . . . what in his eyes? She didn't even dare a guess. End of Part 2 Faith of the Heart by Kathy Williams Ribbons@aol.com Okay guys. This is *not* a sequel to "Whispers of the Soul". Maybe I'll do that later, but the idea of the first crossing of that romantic line is so powerful, I just decided to do it all over again in a different story, in a different way. Please be nice. Constructive criticism is welcome at Ribbons@aol.com Spoilers: Fourth season, "Terma". Pretty substantial spoiler, too, so if you haven't seen it, you might want to save this till later. Classification: MSR and an X-Files. (Guess that's MSR and X, for all you archivists). All non-shippers, this will definitely make you heave. Rating: PG-13. Summary: Mulder and Scully go deep into the Everglades seeking to solve an ancient curse of the Seminoles. After his treatment in Russia, Mulder finally realizes what is important. Now if he can just convince Scully. Author's Note: I try very had to stay on character with my stories. Please let me know if I do. Disclaimer: Everybody sing to the tune of Jingle Bells, since this is Christmas (Oh, ho. Do I need a disclaimer for mentioning Jingle Bells? So, get in line, unknown composer. ) Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are not mine, they belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. (Way to go, Chris.) I'm just taking them out for a little run. Thanks are in order to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson for providing us with the wonderful body language and personal touches that have made these characters so real that idiots like myself sit up nights filling in the spaces Chris and crew left out. For when we read Mulder and Scully's names here, it is David and Gillian's images we see. Thanks, guys! Archivists: You may archive this as long as my name stays with it. Thanks for your efforts! Here we go! Play nice guys. Santa's watching! ************************************************************************** "That was wonderful. I'll have heartburn all night." Scully folded her napkin and placed it on the table. "I hope so," Mulder's eyes twinkled as he pulled his cup of coffee to him. "Have *heart*burn, that is." Scully felt the color creep up her face as it had so many times since she'd sat down. He'd flirted shamelessly all night and she couldn't think up one sarcastic come back. All she could do was sit and blush like some . . . girl. They were treading on dangerous territory and they both knew it. What would he do if I turned the tables? Scully propped her chin in her hand and watched Mulder turn his cup, preoccupied. She'd love to make him blush, make him squirm. But some small voice told her that tonight was not the night to embark on this. Rarely did they get to see each other as simple people. Not partners, not law enforcement officers. Just friends. Man and woman. Scully allowed herself the pleasure of regarding him that way. To notice the way his hair drifted down across his forehead, the soft gray of his eyes, the broad span of his shoulders. "Your coffee too hot?" Mulder's voice broke into her thoughts. "No." Scully reached for the untouched cup. "No, it's fine." "Your face is so red, I thought maybe it was too hot." He smiled wickedly. Had he read her thoughts? Had she been staring at him? A band started to play and Mulder stood. "Come on. Dance with me." Scully looked up at him towering over her. "You don't dance, Mulder." "Sure I do. Maybe not very well." The piece the band was playing was slow and soothing. Definitely music to get in trouble by. She grasped his fingers and he pulled her to her feet, leading her through the dining room. The hardwood floor was edged with French doors that stretched floor to ceiling, opening onto a wide balcony and beyond that the moonlit ocean as backdrop. The floor was crowded and Mulder wove a path to the far side next to the windows. He pulled her gently into his arms and danced as gracefully as he moved. Scully easily matched his steps, following his lead. She closed her eyes, aware that his hand came up to press her cheek against his chest, her ear directly above his heart. The silk of his shirt slid raspily over the hair beneath it. The sensation was amazing. "Having fun?" She felt rather than heard his words. He had dipped his head down to whisper into her ear. "Ummm," she murmured, too lazy, too content to form words. He drew her against him tighter and her alarm bells went off. They moved as one, body to body, two parts of one whole. The same as they worked. Scully ignored the warning bells and breathed in his cologne, the scent that permeated every single thing she owned. That alternately drove her crazy and comforted her. She was intimately aware of how close they danced, how their bodies fit together perfectly. Very un-partnerlike. What the hell. She ruffled his hair with her fingers and felt him sigh against her. Empowered, she smiled against his chest and did it again. His arms tightened around her, pulled her hips closer to his, crossing another line of intimacy. His breath was hot against her neck and his lips brushed her ear. This is just one night, her voice of reason chimed in. You both deserve it. You'll dance this dance, like this, then go back to being Scully and Mulder, two halves of one X-file team. This will never happen again. Never. The music stopped, dancers changed, and another piece started. Mulder stopped moving, but held her close. Scully didn't pull away, standing in his embrace. The breeze whisked the curtains aside and ruffled her hair. "Mulder? What's happening here?" Her voice didn't sound like her own. She couldn't meet his eyes. Her heart was pounding against him, as his was against her. "I think you know." His words were in the soft, raspy voice that turned her insides to quick silver. With a side step he whisked them both out the door and onto the balcony without breaking the embrace. The sultry ocean breeze dragged moist, warm fingers over their skin. He gathered her closer, tighter, holding her in an almost desperate grasp. "I need you, Scully." Scully raised her head to meet his eyes. They were dark, hooded, intense, offering intimate suggestions. He leaned back against the wall, pulling her against him. Blood pounded in her ears. Or was it the roar of the ocean? A voice screamed at her to pull away, to try and salvage what was left of their professional relationship. She pulled him closer into her arms, as she'd so often wanted to do when he was hurt, or angry, or just needy. "I know." "I promised myself that if I ever got out of Russia, I'd tell you. You want to know what happened? I thought of you every second I was conscious. Regretted every minute that passed without my having told you that I'm in love with you. Deeply in love, Scully." Scully's thoughts flew in a thousand directions. He was so hurt, damaged, alone. Was this a product of that damage or was he sure of his feelings? She was the one he always turned to. She was his comfort, his cheering section. Was he so afraid of losing all that that he had branded it with one name? Love? Fear tingled through her alongside other sensations invoked by his closeness. Her head swam. There was no time to examine her own feelings. She was indeed caught in that spiral she had suspected. His face was lowering and hers was raising to meet him. His lips caught hers lightly at first, only a tentative touch. She reached up for him and he responded by claiming her mouth. No mistaking his intentions. He was branding her his. And she liked it. With a mind of their own, her arms snaked up across his shoulders and into his hair. Fine and silky, it slipped through her fingers. His arms around her back lowered, pressing her hips into his, reminding her of other complications. Then, he separated from her and pushed back a strand of her hair. "The ball's in your court. You know how I feel. It's your decision what to do about it." "Mulder-" His finger across her lips stopped her words. "Don't answer right now." "I can't answer now, Mulder. This is . . . sudden. You know . . . you know how I feel, too. You must know." "I don't want `supposeds' and `I thinks', Scully. You have to be sure. As sure as I am. I love you. I have loved you for years. Then I realized that nothing is worth being apart from you. No fear is worth not being with you, loving you." Scully felt her knees quiver and his arms compensated. Reading her thoughts again, no doubt. "I have to think." "I want you to think. I want you to examine what I think you already know. But not right now." His mouth covered hers again and all conscious thought flew. ************************************************************************* A light, low mist blanketed the deserted road stretching out in front of them. Scully glanced at Mulder. He was once again Fox Mulder, FBI Agent. Not Mulder, her potential lover. As he had promised, he was leaving the decision up to her. After the embrace on the balcony, he had calmly led her back inside and gone for the car. Scully jarred against the seat belt as Mulder hit the brakes. "Look at that," he said, pointing through the windshield. An alligator crawled across the road, pausing to look into the car lights, then resuming his ambling pace. He disappeared into the mist at the edge of the road. "Great effect," Mulder commented with a sly smile. He accelerated and they hurried toward the designated meeting area. Another note had been waiting for them at the desk before they left the hotel. One that detailed the spot in mileage down this road and that one. Now, they were near and Mulder's eyes were scanning the roadside, looking for the dancing green blobs of light. Scully leaned toward Mulder to get a look at the odometer. "Here, Mulder. Stop here." He braked and the car stopped. He rolled down his window and the sounds of the marsh poured into the car. He cut off the engine and they sat in silence, staring off across the Glades. Scully tried to read his thoughts, but he was closed to her again. Distant. She turned to look out her window and saw him watching her in the reflection. She focused on his lips and closed her eyes, remembering. She couldn't remember ever being kissed so thoroughly. He shifted behind her and sighed. "Do you think Tomlinson knows something he's not telling?" she asked to break the tension. "Yes. I shook him up pretty good." "You shake a lot of people up pretty good, Mulder." She turned, but he dismissed the remark with a quick smile. "I think he knows plenty about what Walters found on that island and what the make up of that artifact is. That's why he was so fast to claim those papers of hers. Legally, the stuff should have gone to the family first. And that sort of thing usually gets stored in somebody's attic. He was too interested in it." A set of lights appeared out of the mist now closing in around them. A battered truck stopped alongside, and a man with swarthy skin and jet black hair leaned out. Scully drew her gun and held it in her lap. "You Mulder?" he asked in a thick Southern accent. "Yes." "I'm Joe Walters. I'll take you out to that island where my daughter found them rocks." His eyes constantly flicked to his rear view mirror. Mulder glanced at Scully. She sat perfectly calm, but he knew underneath her jacket she held her gun trained on Walters. "You're Ms. Walters' father?" The man nodded. "Why are you willing to help us?" Walters glanced back down the road the way he had come, then in front of him. "Ever since she brought them things home, my family's been cursed. The man at the museum told my daughter there was a curse on 'em, that Osceola put a curse on all white men and his tears turned into them stones." Mulder shot her a glance that said, `I told you so.' "Where can we meet you, Mr. Walters?" "Meet me at the dock at the entrance to the Park. I'll take you out in my air boat. About five o'clock." He drew his head in, accelerated and careened out of sight into the fog. ********************************************************************* Scully threw two aspirin into her mouth and then washed them down with a glass of water. Rubbing her temples, she flipped off the bathroom light and went to the window. A silvery path lead from the shore to the moon, hanging ripe and full over the ocean. Scully propped her elbows on the window sill, enjoying the breeze that whipped her thin gown around her. Why on earth she'd brought the thing, she'd never know. She never slept in this sort of stuff. Not with Mulder apt to come into her room anytime day or night. Was it a subconscious addition? She shook off the thought. If she started letting hormones interfere with her thinking, she'd never sort all this out. Opening a door, she slipped out on the balcony, checking first to see if Mulder was out on his. He wasn't. She pulled a chair close to the balcony railing and stared out to sea. Its gentle undulations reminded her of her father. He loved the sea and books about the sea. Now, she understood some of his enchantment with so unpredictable a mistress. A figure moved below, a lone person standing in the surf staring down, letting the ebb tide roll across his feet. He wore shorts and a baggy T-shirt that whipped around him in the wind. Mulder. Exorcising his own demons, she guessed. Propping her elbows on the railing, Scully watched him. Watched the wind lift his hair and blow it in all directions. Silky, tangled, unruly. She stretched her fingers, remembering the sensation of running her hand through it. She couldn't imagine life without him at her side. Couldn't imagine not hearing his voice, deflecting his innuendoes, appreciating the look on his face every time she hit one home. Stop it, Dana, she warned herself. She rested her chin on her hands and tried to remember when was the first time she fell in love with him. And why. Was it his unshakable cool, even in the face of liver-eating mutants? His unreasonable affinity for walking in the pouring rain? His tender touches, softer looks, gentle ways? Was it as far back as their first case together when she first trusted him completely, even after only a few hours together? Could it have happened as fast as that? Yes. Mulder picked up a shell and flung it out into the sea, disturbing the perfect path of moonlight. He watched the light shatter, then resume its undulating motion. A lover's motion. He looked back up over his shoulder. She was out on her balcony, looking down at him. He smiled, looked down, and watched the surf eat the sand out from under his feet. His heart pounded just at the sight of her. Only he knew it had been that way for some time. If something happened to him tomorrow, she would at least know he had loved her. Wanted her. And if she decided to deny what he already knew to be true, then that was her decision and they would go on as they had. At least, he hoped he could. Would she give herself permission to love him? She knew him so well, knew his demons, had met them face to face, on her own and at his side. Would she see past his weaknesses, his guilt, his obsessions? See that his heart was hers, if she'd have it? He looked overhead at the multitude of stars, specks of hope against space's void. He glanced back and she was gone, her room dark. "Good night, Scully," he whispered into the wind. ************************************************************************** **** Humid, stinking fog consumed the entrance to the park, surrounding the car until Scully felt like they were sitting in a cloud. Dawn barely peeked over the edges of the trees, giving an ethereal appearance to the landscape. She glanced over at Mulder, half-asleep behind the wheel. He wore an old pair of jeans and a faded pullover shirt, wore them with as much dignity as one of his suits. His lips turned up and she knew she'd been caught watching. "Think he's coming? He raised his head, his eyes sleepy and soft. "Well, he said he would. Maybe he backed out." Mulder straightened in the seat and looked at her, the unasked question in his eyes. Scully looked away and sensed his disappointment. Her dreams had been fitful, wavering between bittersweet and erotic. But always with Mulder in them. She was still confused, still overwhelmed by what had been offered her. By what the consequences of accepting the gift could be. A gentle hum broke the silence, then an airboat emerged from the fog and side-skipped up to the dock. Scully jumped out of the car, tugged a backpack and coat from the back seat and followed Mulder on board. Mr. Walters motioned to the two seats and mouthed for them to fasten their seat belts, then he tilted the fan and spun the craft around. Scully closed her eyes as they rocketed into the fog, no landmarks or paths to follow. She turned her head, feeling Mulder's hand on her shoulder. "He knows where he's going," he reassured, then squeezed her shoulder blade. Scully nodded and held onto the sides of her seat. As if by command, the fog gradually lifted up into the trees, then into the blue morning sky. Before them was a stretch of black water, carved into paths by patches of grass, cypress trees with their spreading knees, and other vegetation. The boat skimmed the water, throwing a fine mist over all of them. Then, the boat slowed from a roar to a bass thrum and they turned into a narrow passageway made between trees. Long gray beards of moss dangled from tree limbs, waving in the breeze as they passed. The channel narrowed until the boat was just dodging the trees that edged it. Then, they rounded a narrow curve and an island sat in the center of a lagoon of black, smooth water. "Here it is," Walters said, cutting the engine. The ensuing silence was loud, then one by one, frogs resumed their chirping and more sounds joined in. The keel of the flat boat scraped against shore and Mulder leaped out, reaching back a hand for Scully. Her feet sank into the thick mud and she stopped to pull her shoe free. "Over there's where they was diggin'." Walters looped a rope over a tree stump and pointed to the left. The grid from the dig was still set up. Sieves and trowels were scattered over the site. Shovels lay abandoned by the water. "What happened to the team that was here?" Mulder asked. A pained looked crossed Walter's face and he shrugged. "Don't know. After Julie . . ." he paused and swallowed. "After Julie disappeared, they just didn't come back no more. Didn't even come back for their stuff. Ain't been heard from since." "What about their families? Have they heard anything?" Walters shook his head. "According to the sheriff, ain't nobody seen 'em since the last time they come back here." Mulder moved toward the site, stepping carefully over the grid, wooden boxes to pack artifacts, scattered pieces of pottery and tools. He dropped to his knees and traced a finger along the ground. "Scully, come look at this." Scully knelt at his side. The faint outline of a body was etched into the ground. "This happened more than six months ago, Mulder. Something like this should have washed away with the rain." Mulder tilted his head up toward Walters. "Did any of the local law enforcement departments come out here?" Walters shook his head, pursing his lips. "Yep. They come out, looked around, then didn't waste no time in gettin' out of here." "What about your daughter, Mr. Walters. Did they search for her, drag the lagoon?" Walters' face blanched. "Ain't no sense of draggin' no water in the Glades, ma'am. If somebody was to end up in it, what the critters don't take care of, the currents will. Too many stumps and sticks to drag." Scully glance at Mulder and saw him absorb the man's pain. "Julie didn't come home one night," Walters continued. "She was stayin' with her mama and me, even though she don't live here no more. Anyways, she was supposed to come home and when she didn't I come lookin' for her 'cause I'm the only one knows where she and her folks was." "You showed her this island?" Mulder shot Scully a glance. "Knowed about it all my life. Fished and trapped all around hereabouts." "Mr. Walters, Dr. Tomlinson at the museum said that a hurricane opened that channel we came done just a few years ago. "Well, sure it did. But I been back here on foot before. Don't many folks come back in here. Stories say it's haunted. Wished I'd a never told Julie about that." He shook his head sadly. "Did you ever bring Julie back here, before she started excavating?" "Sure. Lots of times when she was a young'un. Called it her special place. Used to beg me to bring her." Mulder stood and motioned Scully to his side. "Could be that more than excavating was going on back here." He pointed to a blackened firepit, neatly dug and surrounded by stones. "She would have researched the site and the history before she started digging. Maybe they tried to conjure up the curse." "What are you saying, Mulder?" "I don't know. Experimenting with black magic? Trying to prove some of the local legends and got more than they bargained for? Who knows what those stones or their powers are?" Scully glanced at Walters who had edged back toward the boat. "Another leap of logic, Mulder?" He smiled down at her, his eyes gentle again. "Have faith in me, Dr. Scully." His hand pushed back her hair, then lingered on her shoulder. The roar of the air boat motor made both jump. The fan kicked up a spray of water as Walters turned the boat around and roared out of sight. "Well," Mulder said slowly. "Guess we're stuck here with whatever leap of logic we find, Scully." End of Part 3 Faith of the Heart by Kathy Williams Ribbons@aol.com Okay guys. This is *not* a sequel to "Whispers of the Soul". Maybe I'll do that later, but the idea of the first crossing of that romantic line is so powerful, I just decided to do it all over again in a different story, in a different way. Please be nice. Constructive criticism is welcome at Ribbons@aol.com Spoilers: Fourth season, "Terma". Pretty substantial spoiler, too, so if you haven't seen it, you might want to save this till later. Classification: MSR and an X-Files. (Guess that's MSR and X, for all you archivists). All non-shippers, this will definitely make you heave. Rating: PG-13. Summary: Mulder and Scully go deep into the Everglades seeking to solve an ancient curse of the Seminoles. After his treatment in Russia, Mulder finally realizes what is important. Now if he can just convince Scully. Author's Note: I try very had to stay on character with my stories. Please let me know if I do. Disclaimer: Everybody sing to the tune of Jingle Bells, since this is Christmas (Oh, ho. Do I need a disclaimer for mentioning Jingle Bells? So, get in line, unknown composer. ) Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are not mine, they belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. (Way to go, Chris.) I'm just taking them out for a little run. Thanks are in order to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson for providing us with the wonderful body language and personal touches that have made these characters so real that idiots like myself sit up nights filling in the spaces Chris and crew left out. For when we read Mulder and Scully's names here, it is David and Gillian's images we see. Thanks, guys! Archivists: You may archive this as long as my name stays with it. Thanks for your efforts! Here we go! Play nice guys. Santa's watching! ************************************************************************** "I wish I knew where they found the bag of stones," Mulder said, kicking at an abandoned sieve. The afternoon sun was dipping behind the tall trees, casting the island into an eerie twilight. "Look here." Scully squatted and ran a finger around a small, round hole in the ground. The soil at the edge was blackened. Mulder knelt at her side. "Could be some sort of ceremonial pit. Sacrifice, maybe. Could be where they cooked." "There's no trace of wood or other combustible inside, Mulder. It wouldn't have washed out, it would only have collected in the bottom and more added from the trees above." She pointed over their heads where cypress branches waved in the dying light. "We better get a fire going while we can still see." Mulder made a pile of the sieves, wooden crates, sticks and branches. "We'll see about getting out of here in the morning." Scully glanced around her. The image of the alligator that crossed the road last night flashed before her. "I wonder if this is alligator nesting season?" Mulder paused in lighting the fire. "Worried about being eaten by alligators?" His eyes snapped and he laughed wickedly. "Nothing daunts you, does it, Mulder?" Scully stood, wishing she felt half as brassy as her partner sounded. "Yes, some things." He stared in the new flames and Scully instantly regretted her words. She moved to place a hand on his back and he caught her fingers. "Some things do. Or the threat of not having some things." He caught her again with that questioning look that always begged the same question. Before she could think of something to say, a noise off to their right interrupted. Mulder pulled his gun and stepped in front of Scully. She pulled her own weapon and moved to his side. "Alligator?" she whispered. Mulder shook his head. "Not a big enough splash." The already small island suddenly felt much smaller. Scully moved until their backs were together. "Just an animal." Mulder holstered his gun. Scully turned, placing her Sig in the leather holster at her waist. Dancing shadows from the fire flickered across Mulder's face as he stepped closer. Suddenly, she wished she was anywhere but here. Somewhere she could sit down and sink her face in her hands and try to think. She couldn't think here, not with him so close, touching her, protecting her, crawling inside her thoughts. "I can't think when you do that," she said as his arms gathered her close. "I don't want you to think. I want you to feel. Just turn lose, Scully. Disengage that reasoning process of yours and follow your instincts." She put her arms around him, feeling the softness of his shirt, the hard, cold metal of his gun -- all that was him. Rolled into one. Combined. Her cheek rested on his chest, where it had so many times. In comfort, in fear, in joy. The decision welled up in her, but she pushed the possibility away. No, there was more to consider here than their feelings. There was their partnership, their jobs, their sanity. Could intensity ever mate with intensity? "Better feed the fire." He released her and stepped away, leaving a void behind. Scully dragged a crate up to the fire and sat down. She stared at him across the flames as he poked absently at the embers. "What do you suppose the stones are?" she asked, hoping to change the mood. He shrugged with one shoulder and continued to stare into the fire. "I don't know. Something left by extraterrestrial travelers? A product of volcanic action? Osceola's tears? Some artifact from the Mayans? The Mayan ranged all through the southeast for trading, you know." "Who do you suppose has them?" Mulder raised his eyes. "My guess is that they're back in the hands of the Seminoles." "You think the Seminoles stole them?" "No, I think someone realized the destructive power they had in their possession and wanted the stones back where they would cause the least trouble." "Mulder, you have no reason to believe that those stones have any power at all. No one has mentioned that. No one has confessed to seeing anything unexplained connected with those stones except that they are missing." "Don't the facts add up to you, Scully? The lights sighted over the swamp, the missing stones, dead archaeologists?" Scully shook her head. "This is another of your leaps off the cliff of logic." "Jump off with me, Scully." They were separated by the fire, by the flames, but his gaze held her as tightly as his arms would have. He looked away first. "We should try and get some sleep. You sleep first and I'll keep watch." Scully moved to his side of the fire, aware that he watched her. She lay down near him, the soft sand cushioning her body. Mulder sat inches away, hands clasped around his knees, staring off into the night. Scully cradled her head with her arms, trying to read his thoughts, but felt nothing. Chin resting on his hands, he looked like a little boy, staring up into space, wondering. His hand reached out for her, brushed her side, then withdrew. "Mulder, I'm not going anywhere. Not away from you. Ever. No matter what we decide personally, I'll always be with you for as long as you'll have me." Even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn't convince him. Fox Mulder didn't listen with his ears. He listened with his heart, listened with that invisible net around himself with which he analyzed the world. Part instinct, part emotion. He needed to reach down inside her and read her emotions, read her heart. Scully caught the tail of his shirt in her hand, running the fabric through her fingers. Maybe she was just as bad as he. Needing to know he was near. She'd been frantic while he was in Russia, while trying desperately to maintain a cool exterior. His life depended on her maintaining that veneer, not only in front of Congress, but in front of Skinner, and whoever else might be watching. "They did something to me, Scully," he said softly. "What?" Scully raised up on one elbow. "They did something to me. Some tests." He shook his head, his voice catching. "I don't remember much." Fragmented fear flooded her, memories of her own abduction, memories of rapes she'd investigated. His voice sounded like the women she'd interviewed then. Invasions, all. How long had he intended to keep this from her? "What kind of tests?" She sat up and moved closer. His face was open, his eyes large, frightened. Mulder, frightened? But it was there, plainly written across his face. Scully placed a hand on his arm and his eyes followed her hand. Then, he pushed back his shirt sleeve. "There." He pointed to a tiny scar on the inside of his elbow. Scully moved his arm closer to the fire. The mark was tiny, well healed. New. She knew all his scars. "What do you think they did?" Dread became palatable. She could taste its tinny presence on her tongue and she suddenly wanted to envelope him within her and protect him from the world that thrashed him regularly. "I remember being . . . confined. I couldn't move. Something was over my face. I felt strange. Then, I woke up on the floor of the cell. I can't remember anything else. I thought I was dying." "We'll do some tests as soon as we get back. We'll pull all the reports and read them again. We'll pull the lab results on the men who died in the lab. We'll . . . ." His hand on hers reminded her she was babbling. "You won't find anything. I don't know how I know, but I do." He turned back to the fire, staring hypnotized into the flames. "I was scared to death. I went to sleep at night with the sound of my own sobs echoing in my ears. It was the helplessness. I couldn't help myself." He turned toward her. "I couldn't help you and I knew you'd be next. I promised myself that if I ever got away, got out, that I'd never let you get away from me. Never let them near you." Scully felt his emotion, cascading through her like a waterfall. Fear. Vulnerability. Fierce protectiveness. Love. Scully let her forehead fall to rest on the round of his shoulder. His body shivered and she ran a hand down his spine. "Scully." His tone changed instantly. She raised her head and followed his gaze. Two bright, green lights quivered near the edge of the lagoon. "Do you see it?" he asked breathlessly. Scully nodded, unsure of what she was seeing. The blobs of light began to move, hovering, quivering, until they poised just over Mulder's backpack, lying at the edge of the sand. "What the-" He rose, shaking off Scully's hand. "Mulder, don't." Scully scrambled to her feet, reaching after him. The two lights were joined by three more, outshining the glow from the campfire. Mulder crossed the ground, crouched, until he reached their bags. He picked up his, unzipped it and reached inside. He removed a cloth bag, laced through the top with a leather thong. "How did you get the stones?" Scully was on her feet, a step behind him. "I didn't. Walter must have had them and put them in my bag. They just want them back." He dropped the bag on the damp sand and backed away. He plowed into Scully and she moved with him, one hand on his back. The lights approached the bag, then separated, rocketing into the air, through the trees, all around. Mulder had insinuated himself in front of her as they crouched near their fire, watching. Suddenly a loud mechanical thrum vibrated the night. The tops of the trees waved, dancing on the sound. A large craft moved into sight, hovering on the tree tops. The lights returned, clustered around the bag. Then, a single shaft of brilliant light shot down, encompassing the bag, and it disappeared. The blobs of light followed it up and the craft was gone as quickly as it had come. Silence filled the void, heavy and deafening. Mulder turned wondrous eyes on Scully. Then, he started to laugh. "Tell me you didn't see that, Agent Scully." He shot to his feet, shirttail flying, and turned in a circle like a delighted child, arms aimed at the heavens. Scully didn't trust her legs to stand. The experience had knocked through all her lines of defense against following Mulder over one of his cliffs of faith. What had she seen? Mulder's hand gripped her shoulders, hauled her to her feet and into his arms. "Tell me what you saw, Scully. Let me hear the words." Scully smiled into his enthusiasm, letting her eyes flicker across his face, memorizing his joy. "Tell me, please." His voice dropped into that soft, pleading tone that would get him anything, if he just knew it. "I saw an Unidentified Flying Saucer, Agent Mulder." ************************************************************************** *** Scully stared into the mirror, frowned, then scrubbed off the lipstick she'd just applied. Too dark. Sighing, she flung the tube back into her make up kit and picked up the shade she wore everyday. Soft, barely-there color. Stepping back, she nodded. That looked more like it. So much for being glamorous on the most important night of her life. "Are you ready?" Mulder stepped through the adjoining door. "What if I wasn't, Mulder?" Scully leaned out the bathroom door. "What are you going to do someday when you come in here and catch me stark naked?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her from beneath thick lashes. "You want a list?" Scully laughed. Well, at least he'd come out of this one none the worse for wear. The park ranger had shown up at dawn with a force of local officers. Walters had confessed to stealing the stones, although he never told how he beat the museum security systems. When his daughter disappeared, fulfilling the curse, he realized enough of local myth to know to put the artifacts back. So, he'd seen her and Mulder as his avenue to that. He'd placed the bag in Mulder's pack when he picked them up with the air boat. "I'm starving. Let's go." Mulder wore one of his suits, a somber gray that matched his eyes. Just before he turned, Scully saw a flash of sorrow in their depths. She'd wanted to tell him on the dance floor, to draw him out as he'd done her, to complete their circle. But she couldn't stand another minute of that look of resignation. Besides, as unpredictable as Fox Mulder could be, she'd better tell him in private. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" He turned, his unbuttoned jacket whipping around him. Scully took a deep breath and started forward, her self confidence already in full retreat. Mulder's eyebrows shot up as she neared and a small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. He took a step backwards, his eyes fixed on hers. When his back was against the wall, Scully stopped, her shoes touching his. She raised up on tiptoe and planted both hands against his chest. His arms enfolded her, drew her against him. "Agent Mulder, let's start with item one on that list." End of Part 4. That's all Folks.