TITLE: Atoll 
AUTHOR: Terma99 
EMAIL: terma99@aol.com 
DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer-YES! 
Clinique's Chaos, XFFFA-YES! 
Anywhere else-YES! But be kind and let me know about it. 
SPOILERS: Naw... 
RATING: R (it's smut-lite) 
CLASSIFICATION: MSR 
SUMMARY: Who wouldn't dream of spending two weeks on a 
private island with a tanned, naked Mulder? 
POST DATE: 10/1/99 
MY NOTES: The image of this little atoll o' love came from a 
line Mulder delivers to Scully while loving her silly in Scent 
Four. So although I don't necessarily think of it as a sequel 
(much different style) it is inspired by the Scent Finale. 

"I want to take you away to some deserted island for a week 
where I can throw you down on the beach and make love to 
you twenty-four hours a day....I'll feed you bananas and have 
the natives leave jugs of fresh water near our private lagoon. 
We'll sleep on blankets in the sand and bathe in the ocean. Can 
you hear the seabirds?" 

Such a lovely thought, I had to go take them there. 

To find missing installments, visit: 
www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html 
  

SPECIAL THANKS: to my fab beta babes: SUE!!! Who gets the 
Wonder Woman award for reading this with a fever and sore 
throat. I guess she caught it from me--computer viruses... 
And thanks to Michelle, who unlike me, is the fastest beta 
in the west! 

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Moose and Squirrel, but for two 
weeks at Isle Terma they won't need any clothes. All regards 
to 1013, FOX, and such for providing the fodder for my dirty 
little mind. 

FEEDBACK: Send sunscreen!! 
Terma99@aol.com 
  

Atoll 

by Terma99 
  

"Don't do that," he says near my ear. The first words he has 
said in over an hour to me. I shift against the soft knotted 
cords of the hammock and nuzzle his shoulder. 

"Do what?" I pretend to ask, hearing the sigh of the ocean 
pawing at the shoal not fifty feet away from our nest hung 
between two coconut trees. 

"Think." 

"I'm not," I protest, running my hand over his already tanned 
chest. He's turned the color of toasted sugar after just three days. 

"You are. You've made a little pink wrinkle right here," he 
says, tracing a finger across my sun-baked forehead. 

"Maybe I was thinking a little," I admit. "I'll stop." 

He sighs contentedly, rocking us with one long leg braced 
against the closest tree. I breathe in the smell of manskin, 
sweat and coconut oil, and let entire years of memories and 
worries vanish from my head. He's right; I can feel that wrinkle 
relaxing now. He kisses my hair and in minutes I fall asleep. 
  

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

I'm sorting his clothes. Mulder has really decided to unpack, 
leaving little piles of shirts and boxer shorts strung around 
the bound bamboo log floor of our raised hut. 

For some reason I feel the urge to organize his things into neat 
folded piles. But I do not put them back in the bag. 

Satisfied with my arrangements, I slip out of my linen sundress, 
grab a towel and head out to the shower, naked. 

It's not really a shower, more like an all-purpose water bottle. 
There's no running water on this fingernail of sand, just 
coconut trees, grass, shells, and seabirds. Oh, and crabs, which 
to my amusement, seem to terrify Mulder. 

I pull the bamboo gate open and step in under the high-set 
faucet and pump the foot pedal to build up a brief shower's 
worth of fresh water pressure. 

I pull the chain and let the cool water fall over me, running 
just long enough to get my hair wet and foam up the shampoo. 

This little enclosure is the closest thing we have to a private 
room. There's no toilet, but plenty of sand and no one else for 
the half mile stretch of our island. Mulder affectionately refers 
to the activity as "going to dig a hole." Not something I really 
needed to know. 

I soap up, and pump, and rinse again until the stickiness of 
cocoa butter lotion and sea water is off my skin. 
  

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

Our hut on stilts is really more of a covered platform than 
an enclosed room. The corrugated steel roof slants to drain 
the rain water which falls with sudden irregularity out here 
in the Caribbean. There are rolled-up walls of plastic and 
canvas that can drop over the openings if we wish to use them. 
So far we haven't. I don't even know where we are in the 
Caribbean. Mulder might know, he made the arrangements, 
but he isn't telling. 

We became intimate almost three weeks ago after a six-year 
courtship of denial and frustrated urges and feelings. It was 
hard dealing with all the resurrected hormones while maintaining 
a proper professional front at the office. The tension was killing 
us and I was beginning to snap at him. So Mulder took us away 
from all that with a surprise plane ticket sitting in my inbox 
last Friday with the phrase, "We need a chance to get acquainted," 
written across it and a short list of things to pack. 

On our arrival here we did little else for the first 24 hours but 
work on easing some of that work-related tension. But we've 
settled in now and concentrate on a wider variety of activities 
such as eating, sleeping, and making footprints in the wet sand. 

He's lying on the bed, which like most things here, is simple. 
It's little more than a mattress on a low platform, covered in 
cotton sheets and a few light blankets. We haven't needed the 
blankets yet, either. It rarely cools past 75 degrees at night 
and we have each other to keep warm. 

He's sleeping. I can hear him breathing slow and deep. I've 
never seen the man sleep so much. I guess he must be a little 
like a bear--running on empty for 10 months, sleeping for the 
other two. I don't mind, as I watch clouds gather over the main 
island across the shallow lagoon that separates us from the 
other atolls. I wonder if there will be lightening. Lightening over 
the blue clear water will be lovely. I gather my legs under me 
and lean against a pole at the edge of our hut, waiting for the 
clouds to break. 
  

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

"Scully..." He whispers my name as he shudders over me, his 
eyes sealing in pleasure as he releases himself into me. I caress 
his back and kiss his hair as he pulls out and collapses against 
me. I hold his head to my breast and stroke him slowly. His 
arm wraps around me and he lies still. He loves this--he doesn't 
want to move if it means I'll hold him like a little boy until he 
falls asleep. 

We're lying on a thick woven blanket by the beach. We've slept 
here the last two nights, naked between two blankets on the 
sand. We make love as the sun sets and the stars come out-- 
falling asleep together, wrapped in each other's arms--waking 
hours later to a stunning sunrise. 

"Scully?" He already sounds half asleep. 

"Hmm?" 

"Watch for crabs." 
  

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

Twice a day we take the skiff to the main island. Mulder 
likes to drive the boat, and I let him despite my more advanced 
sea worthiness. I think it has something to do with the way I 
enjoy watching the muscles ripple across his back as he pulls 
the starter, kicking the propeller into gear. 

Mulder's getting the hang of sealife. Our eight-hour trip out 
by ship from the mainland airport left him pale and shaking 
when we reached dry land. But the gentle ripples that cross 
the lagoon don't bother him at all as our boat slaps across the 
water. 

On the main island is a small house occupied by the archipelago's 
caretakers. In back is an outdoor kitchen, bar, and dance floor 
all covered in a temporary roof of coconut fronds. 

We sit under the leaves at the picnic tables, sipping frozen 
fruity drinks out of coconut shells, and watch Mensah cook. 
He's an African-Caribbean native with a talent for whipping 
up the most delicious spicy foods from whatever he can get 
imported from the mainland fresh each morning and from a 
generous supply of dried goods stored in the caretaker's 
pantry. Mulder and I have enjoyed more variations on 
pineapple curry than I could ever remember, but each dish 
has been memorable--beans, peas, fish, rice, colorful fruits 
and greens and some vegetables I can't even begin to identify. 
And there's always something cool and sweet waiting for us 
to share for dessert. 

Each day Mulder and I pick up drinking water, some bananas, 
granolas and other dried foods to take back to our two-week 
rented private paradise. 

Tonight there is a couple from London sharing dinner with us. 
They are from an atoll southwest of ours--a barely visible slip 
of land, almost a mirage, out across the lagoon. Mulder and 
the Englishman share their love for American football, a 
conversation I quickly tune out, and take my papaya soup 
to the water's edge to devour in private. 

I watch the sunset listening to Mulder's goofy laughter and 
the Englishman's strange hiccuping retort that indicates his 
enjoyment of their conversation. 

I watch a coconut crab the size of a bowling ball crawl out of 
the ocean and finger its way over to a fallen furry coconut and 
begin its measured tapping on the surface with a gnarled claw. 
In an hour or so he'll have it open. 
  

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

Each day Mulder picks a new activity to amuse himself. While 
I enjoy sitting in the shade with a good book, he's out up to his 
knees in seawater looking for some form of wildlife to frolic with. 
 Today is seashell appreciation. 

I look up from my novel now and again, sitting in my lounge chair, 
to watch him sloshing around in the knee deep water. It's several 
hundred feet out before the sea floor begins to drop off into a 
swimable depth, so he has plenty of territory to cover. 

He's wearing sunglasses and a marvelously snug-fitting pair of 
old cut-offs and his wet/dry sandals. I haven't seen him wear a 
shirt in days. I can barely get him to pull one on over his 
shoulders for dinner. He stopped bothering with buttons two 
days ago. 

He kicks the sand under his feet, waits for the water to clear 
and dips his hand in, pulling out a shell. He turns it over a few 
times, then tosses it back in. He walks a few steps and begins 
the process again. 

Dig, wait, dunk, rinse, inspection...ah, he likes this one. He raises 
his head and holds it up proudly. I nod at him and he begins 
sloshing back to shore. He brings me the shell all dripping, and 
I quickly protect my book under the towel and take it from him 
with a smile. 

"It's purple," he says, as if that means everything. 

"It's very nice," I tell him, and set it down next to me with the 
twenty or so other shells he's been bringing me all afternoon. 
They've now formed a half moon path around my chair. 

He bobs his chin happily and turns about to go hunting again. 
I wonder what he thinks he'll get in return for all these shells 
once they form a continuous circle around me. 

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

Seashells aside, Mulder knows he has the advantage when it 
comes to seducing me. We were sitting under a coconut tree 
talking about nonsense, old television shows, and he suddenly 
got quiet and just looked at me. 

I can't believe I've glanced at those sincere, honest, hazel 
charms for so many years and couldn't see the depth of 
desire smoldering in them. All he has to do is gaze, and in 
seconds I've sold my soul to a glinting pair of emerald 
brown baubles. 

That afternoon we didn't even make it to the beach blanket. 

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

Today's amusement--fishing. 

Mulder found a net in the storage shed behind our hut last 
night. He's been bouncing a leg all morning lying next to me 
on the bed waiting for me to wake up and tell him it's okay 
to go out and play. 

I slap his leg and tell him to go jump in the water and he 
laughs and kisses my ear. "Gonna go get my woman some 
breakfast," he says with a smile, and leaps up, net in hand. 
I swear he slept with it. With a happy hum, he slips out and 
down the bamboo ladder. 

Forty minutes later he makes a reappearance and starts 
fumbling through our dried food supply. I yawn and sit up, 
giving up on sleeping in. 

"We brought back dried peas, right?" he says to no one in 
particular. He finds the plastic bag in question and looks up 
at me. 

"Bait," he says in explanation and disappears again. 

I have a shower and my breakfast of granola and coconut milk 
and bananas and wander out across the atoll to see what he's 
gotten himself into. 

I find him at the far end of the island where we've often 
watched a swirl of small sardine-type fish schooling about. 
It's early afternoon now and the fish have retired to deeper 
waters, but Mulder's still out there. Hair askew and a look of 
frank determination across his face, he kneels in the three-foot 
deep water holding the net out, taut. 

I watch him from behind a coconut tree as he stares into the 
water, flexes his arms and dives in with the net, covering his 
face and hair with churned up sand and seawater. I can't help 
but chuckle as he spits sand from his mouth in disgust. The net 
is empty. 

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

Two hours later into his fishing trip Mulder returns 
triumphant. Smiling through his sunburn and caked hair, 
he holds out the net to me, now occupied by one small, 
stinky, five-inch fish. 

"My hero," I tell him and take the net from him, slipping the 
smelly thing into a plastic bag. 

He's looking enormously pleased with himself and grabs me 
for a good groping and a big sloppy gritty kiss. 

"Come here, nature boy," I say, pushing him off and taking 
his hand. "My hunter needs a shampoo." 

I have him sit in a lounge chair near the water tower and fill 
a bucket with fresh water. I ask him to lean back and pour 
cupfuls of water over his head until most of the sand has 
drained out. He hums happily as I rub herbal shampoo into 
his hair, scrubbing his scalp with my fingers, getting behind 
his ears and around his neck. I soap him for longer than is 
necessary and he sighs, eyes closed, wearing a ridiculous smile. 
I pour the remainder of the bucket over his head in a long 
waterfall to rinse and he stands up, shaking the drops off him 
like a mutt. 

"Go change for lunch," I tell him. "We'll show Mensah what 
you caught." 

"Come help me?" He grins, tugging my hand, and I follow him 
up into the hut. 

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

His hair, still wet from the lounge shower, dampens the pillow 
where he lies sprawled backwards across the bed. He's naked 
and tosses his head to the side with a long low moan as I bring 
him off in my mouth. 

I swallow him and smile at his appreciative expression as his 
eyes flutter open and his breathing returns to normal. 

"You don't do that when I bring you coffee to the office in 
the morning," he notes. 

"Try bringing maple oat scones next time," I say with a smirk 
and throw a shirt at him from the collection which has 
redistributed itself across the floor. "I'd suggest using the 
buttons today if you don't want to peel." 

"I'll forgo the shorts then," he says snidely and sits up to pull 
his arms into the shirt. 

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

Mulder wasn't kidding about forgoing shorts. He ripped a nice 
long hole in his cut-offs in a hat weaving-related accident I'd 
rather not ask about and now refuses to wear the attractive 
department store khakis I bought him for the trip. He is 
however, wearing the badly woven hat. 

The vision of Mulder strolling our private beach in nothing but a 
pair of sandals and a grass hat is something I wish I could capture 
on a postcard. But we elected to take nothing resembling the 
modern world with us and cameras and video are over 8000 
miles away. I'll have to try to remember this. 

I warn him not to burn his ass as I like to sink my nails into it 
during sex and would hate to have that part of his anatomy off 
limits. He has a nice furry layer of protection for most of the 
rest of him, but not all, as it hangs all loose and fleshy in the 
tropical breeze. He didn't protest when I rubbed it with a dollop 
of sunscreen earlier. 

He looks like an adult Coppertone commercial as he attempts to 
set a match to the dried coconut leaves and sparse grasses he's 
gathered as kindling. Mulder found a wood pile in the back of 
the shed--wood stored specifically for the southern shore firepit 
we stumbled across and dug out earlier today. The sun's about 
to set and we've brought marshmallows back from the main 
island, where before our noon meal, Mulder enjoyed a special 
sardine curried pineapple appetizer. Despite his exaggerated 
yummy sounds, I politely refused the delicacy. 

I'm sitting cross-legged on a blanket unwrapping a wire clothes 
hanger for our spit. After a few false starts, Mulder gets the 
leaves to light, but realizes he didn't gather quite enough to set 
the logs blazing and has to sacrifice his hat to the cause. 

He stands there buck naked, hands on his hips, while a light 
wind blows out his hair. He watches the flames rise and nods at 
me. "Sun's going down, maybe I should put something on." 

"Maybe," I say, and begin to impale marshmallows on the spit. 

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

It's very late and the wind is blowing from the east. I get up to 
unroll and tie down the walls on that side of the hut. It's still too 
hot to enclose us completely. 

I hear Mulder on the bamboo ladder returning in the middle of 
the night. He's been "digging more holes" tonight than he'll admit. 
This is the third time he's left the bed. 

I lay down and smile gently at him when he walks in looking 
pale under that shade of sun-kissed caramel. He tries a little 
smile which quickly turns to a grimace as he sits then lays down 
low on the bed, hugging my thigh. 

"Are you okay?" I ask him softly. 

"I'll live," he groans. 

"You should be drinking water," I tell him, reaching for a bottle at 
the head of our bed. 

"I have," he mumbles against my leg, eyes shut. "That's why I 
keep getting up." 

I sit up and touch his forehead. He's been sweating a little. I 
brush his hair back from his eyes. "Will you take something, 
I brought..." 

"No," he insists. "Just something I ate." 

We've been eating exactly the same foods since we arrived, 
except of course, Mulder's "catch of the day." I unwrap him 
from my leg and help him the rest of the way onto the bed and 
cover him with a blanket. I reach under it and rub his 
abdomen lightly. 

"No more fishing," I tell him. 

"No more fishing," he echoes in agreement. 
  

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

Hand in hand we spend an afternoon walking through the 
coconut grove in the center of our island. Mulder's telling me 
some ridiculous story about some trick he played on a roommate 
in college involving sand and a bowling ball satchel. I'm not so 
much listening to the story's content as I am just enjoying the 
resonance of his voice, throaty and full of subtle tone inflections 
that go straight to my heart. 

Mulder's looking up at the ripening coconuts high in the trees. 
He tells me he saw a documentary once on tree-climbing 
coconut monkeys that Indonesian farmers train to pluck the 
fruits out of the high branches. "It looked pretty easy," he says, 
pausing now and again to touch the ribbed bark of a tree. 

Eventually we come upon a smaller tree that's hanging itself 
southward with the gentle tradewinds. Mulder gives the tree 
a good kick and one of the fruits wiggles freely. He raises his 
eyebrows and tells me to stand back as he walks around the 
base, devising his plan of attack. Finally he stills, and touching 
the trunk, turns to me with a funny wistful expression. I stare 
back at him. 

"We should get married," he says casually, and gestures with his 
eyes at the loosely hanging coconut. 

I stand blinking at him--amazed at what he's just said--but he 
doesn't let that keep him from the task at hand. He sets his foot 
high up on the tree and hoists himself up, inching his way up like 
a six foot caterpillar. The tree groans in protest and begins to dip 
over as he painstakingly hugs himself higher toward the fruit. 

I feel a lightness wash over me as I replay his words. But I'm 
distracted by the sudden fear he's going to plunge to his death 
and he said that as some sort of an insurance policy. I open my 
mouth, but I have no voice as he grunts and scrapes his way up 
the tree. Thankfully he's wearing clothing today. 

The trunk sags perilously under his weight as he reaches out to 
whack at the fruit with his fingertips. He's not quite high enough, 
but his movements are now causing the tree to sway wildly. 

"Mulder...?" 

One more whack and the tree pitches to the right throwing him 
off like a rodeo rider. 

There's a snap of leaves as Mulder falls six feet or so to the ground. 
I run to him, ready to kick his ass for scaring me like that if he 
survives the fall. 

"Mulder, are you okay?" 

He rolls onto his knees, rubbing his elbow. "It's all right ladies, 
the sand broke his fall," he announces through gritted teeth. 
He's knocked the wind out of himself. Meanwhile the molested 
tree, still swinging up and down from his plunge, manages to 
shake off the coconut in question which falls with a thud in 
front of Mulder's knees. 

"Ah-hah!" he says to me as I help him up. "Don't try that one 
at home." 

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

We're quiet as we head back to our hut, Mulder proudly carrying 
his coconut under his bruised and scraped arm. I don't know 
what to say to him and he hasn't brought the subject up, but 
his gentle hand on the small of my back tells me he's in no 
hurry for an answer. 

Back at home, he ducks into the shed of wonders to find 
something to open the fruit with. I head up to the platform 
to put on something warmer while he makes whacking noises 
down below. I can't help but realize I'd dearly like to be alone. 

I change slowly and sink to the end of the bed, trying to make 
sense of my thoughts. Tears are not far off and I blink them 
back shamefully. Mulder's hollow bonking noises have quieted 
and I wonder if he's waiting for me. 

I slip back down the ladder to find him sitting in the sand 
holding the coconut back over his head as he tries to drink 
from it. At least I hope that's what he's doing. 

He lowers it and smiles at me. "Delicious, come try some," he says, 
holding the fruit out to me. Standing, I bring the fuzzy skin to my 
mouth and tilt back. Nothing. "You have to suck on it, Scully," he 
tells me, emphasizing the infinitive. I start to laugh and coconut 
milk shoots up my nose. I cough and sputter, handing it back to 
him. 

"Tasty," I say, wiping my nose on my hand. 

Mulder stands and kisses me and takes me and his coconut up 
into the hut. 

He pours the rest of the milk out into a glass which winds up 
sitting on the south-facing window sill for three days untouched 
until I throw it out. 

He sets the emptied coconut at the end of the bed, and lays me 
down and makes love to me in an agonizingly blissfully slow 
way that leaves me unaware of myself and my surroundings 
for those long moments when we are joined--aching flesh into 
flesh. 

I lie still, listening to him breathe next to me as he naps, my 
body still awake and thrumming with the many pleasures he 
has shown me. And I wonder about the hundred conflicting 
emotions I'm feeling as I lie near him. I close my eyes and in 
my mind I see him climbing the coconut tree, watching it bend 
and sway in his patient arms. 

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

In the morning I wake to Mulder shaking me wearing his panic 
face. He's pointing at something across the room. 

I start at his expression, adrenaline kicking my heart into 
overdrive. I sit upright and focus my eyes at what I fear will 
be a kick line of green aliens, but really only amounts to a 
two-pound coral-colored invader at our feet. 

A coconut crab has made quick work of Mulder's prize fruit. 
I flop back down on the bed and roll over, closing my eyes. 

"Scully...?!" He shakes me again. "Get it!" 

"I left my weapon at home, Mulder. You'll have to take him 
down in hand to hand combat." 

He sits up and scoots back as far as he can away from the foot 
of the bed where the crab is methodically enjoying his meal. 
Mulder, suddenly aware of his nakedness, feels the need to 
pull the blanket off me and wrap it around his waist as he 
searches for his shoes. 

"I'm getting the hell out of here while I still can," he says, 
slipping on his sandals. Blanket of protection between himself 
and the killer claws of death, he tiptoes around the monster 
and quickly heads out the door. 

No more coconuts for Mulder. 

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

Since we've successfully marked fishing and coconut hunting 
off Mulder's "to do" list, he's now settled on a more expensive 
and complicated amusement--snorkeling. 

We've rented a dual set of masks, snorks, and flippers and 
have headed a half-mile northeast from the lagoon to set 
anchor near a small coral reef. 

I joined him for the first few hours, splashing about, viewing 
the bright rainbow of fish, anemone, and living coral. Mulder 
does know something about fish; they do like peas. We seduced 
a pack of them to come nibble the dried treat from our hands. 

I'd love to stay in the water, slowly kicking over the seascape, 
but the skin on my back and legs began to protest. So I retired 
to the boat under a sun umbrella to eat a banana or two and read. 

I'm lying back on a towel listening to the clunk of the waves 
under the bow when a long wet black flipper cartwheels into 
the boat quickly followed by its mate. 

Like Neptune rising from the depths, Mulder pulls himself up 
the ladder, a piece of kelp clinging to his arm. He hoists himself 
in and begins to say something unintelligible through the 
nasal-clogging half-mask. 

"What?" I sit up. 

He pulls the kelp and the mask off and reaches into the pocket 
of the khaki shorts getting their first taste of sea weathering 
and pulls out a small green object. 

"I found the wreck Mensah told us about. I found a coin!" He 
says excitedly, dropping it in my hand. It's cold and petina'd 
with age. A hollow-centered copper Spanish doubloon, I figure. 

"Think it's worth something?" Mulder asks, like a kid finding 
his first arrowhead. I hate to disappoint him. 

"Afraid not, sweetie. I've seen similar ones made into earrings 
at Macy's." 

"Oh," he says, nodding his head. With a shrug he pulls his 
flippers and mask back on and falls backwards off the end 
of the boat into the clear blue sea. 
  

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

Mulder decides it's his job to remedy my sunburn. He has me 
lay down on a blanket in the shade while he spreads aloe over 
every inch of my body, from my toes to my chin. It feels cool 
and comforting and he takes his time, hitting some spots 
more frequently than others. 

It becomes obvious to me how aroused he is when he finally 
finishes, but he insists this one is on him, as he descends between 
my thighs to care for a part of me that has never seen the sun. 

He takes me quietly, just a touch of soft tongue and lingering 
wet kisses. Careful manipulative fingers trace over my 
dampened skin. 

"Watch the sun fall, Scully. I won't let you go until it does." 

The reds deepen as I watch the round burn of the sun melt 
perfectly into the sea. 
  
************************************* 

After two days of exploring the nameless Spanish pirate 
wreck, Mulder has found three half coins, a musket ball, and 
a link off an anchor chain. He shows his treasures to Mensah 
who smiles through yellow teeth and points to a line-up of 
identical Spanish coins hanging on nails along the roof beam. 

We're sitting at the bar tonight and it's crowded and noisy. A 
small cruise ship has docked off the main island and the 
passengers are invited in for dinner and dancing. Mensah has 
his sixteen-year-old cousin Bobby with him to help cook and 
a calypso band has sailed in for the live entertainment. 

The cooks have prepared a veritable feast with five fat grilled 
ahi steaks as the main course. It takes some cajoling to get 
Mulder to try the fish again, even if Bobby could vouch for its 
safety and professional fishing practices. 

I'm filled to the gills with rum punch, ahi, and hot jerked yams 
with rice when Mulder decides he wants to dance. We've never 
attempted this social form before, and in my pleasantly dizzy 
state, I'm certain to make fools of us both. I try to wave him 
off, but he's bigger than me and he lifts me right off the bench 
kicking my legs and squealing. Fool indeed. 

He tugs me into the heaving mass of heavily punched 
Caribbean cruising retirees and takes me by the waist and 
hand like we're about to do the tango in high school. This is 
calypso and I see someone has attempted to assemble a limbo 
pole, but Mulder takes it slower, all the while smiling at me 
trying to keep upright. 

"I do believe, Agent Scully, that you are sauced." 

"I am not," I whine, trying not to step on his feet even if I'm in 
my bare toes. It isn't long until I just collapse, giggling against 
him and he holds me close, humming out of tune in my ear. 

One dance turns into two or three and I'm pressed against him, 
eyes closed, feeling his heart beat under me. He loosens an arm 
and pulls something from his pocket. I feel something scratchy 
slip around my neck and I pull back looking down as the intact 
doubloon Mulder first recovered from the depths hangs between 
my breasts on a band of woven grass. 

"It's not Macy's," he says. "But you can think of it as an 
engagement necklace." 

I stand in front of him, my mouth open like a hooked fish, 
feeling a sob gathering in my chest as my eyes tear over. I 
just stare at him, at all the mysteries his eyes speak to me as 
they search mine and I feel so damn happy that I say... 

"I think I'm going to be sick." 

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

I'm not, thankfully, as Mulder hurries me out into the sandy 
cove beyond the reveling. I lean over, breathing slowly, 
waiting for my legs to reappear under me. After a few minutes 
they do and I raise my head with a sheepish smile because 
I'd really hate to hurl all over his gift which is a thousand 
times more precious than football videos or silly key chains 
which I value with my life. 

He pats my back to reassure me that I have not offended him. 
"Don't let it be said I don't know how to show a lady a good time." 

I laugh at him and he smiles back as I clutch the coin 
possessively against my breast. "Thank you, Mulder." 

"You're welcome," he says and takes me for a long quiet walk 
across the sands. 
  
************************************* 

We walk to the far end of the main island which is twice the 
length of ours. Overhead the first pin pricks of stars are 
beginning to emerge. We sit in the sand side by side while 
he tells me about the first time he ever fell in love--with a 
hussy named Stacy Brechter in the seventh grade. She had 
red hair in two long braids and a mouth full of treacherous 
braces. "Instant idiotic shameless love," he tells me, kissing 
my hand and rubbing it under his chin, scratchy with a day's 
growth of stubble. 

"She hated me, she threw mud in my hair," he relates with a 
pout. 

"I've thought about throwing mud in your hair a few times 
myself. But I certainly don't hate you." 

"Maybe I have the kind of 'do that begs for clay treatment," 
he suggests, kissing my nose. I push him back onto the sand 
and give his head a sand treatment while we kiss each other 
breathless. 

I can feel his hardness growing under me and he lifts up the 
back of my dress and slips a set of fingers under my panties. 
I moan as he strokes me to madness and I fumble with the 
gauntlet of his button fly jeans. 

"Mulder," I whisper, as I lift my dress and sink down onto him. 
"We probably shouldn't do this here. It's not our island." 

He thrusts into me, filling me and says with a rough groan, 
"It is now." 

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

It's beginning to rain and lightening is fluttering through the 
clouds stretching toward us over the chopping waves when 
we reach our cove under the guidance of a big hand flashlight 
--the only item we brought here from our professional lives. 

Mulder beaches the boat and pulls up the engine while I jump 
out to tie it off from the hands of the tide. "Hurry up Scully," he 
yells over the warm rain, "Or we're gonna get zapped." 

We run up to the hut, dripping and out of breath as I fetch 
towels and Mulder tugs down the rest of our walls before the 
rain can soak the bed. We get the lantern lit and I set about 
mopping the floor near the far wall while Mulder strips out 
of his wet clothes and pulls blankets and fat pillows from the 
linen shelf. 

I finish up and peel out of my wet dress and panties, and 
wearing only my necklace, come settle into his lap where he 
sits crosslegged on the pillows near the plastic window 
covering. From here we can watch the light play across the 
sky, dive and light up the blue waves of the sea. 

Mulder turns the lantern down to a slow burn and dries my 
hair with a small towel as he ooohs and ahs at the free show. 
I lean back against him, fingering my coin as his arms close 
around me and I feel his lips warm against my ear. 

"Love you, baby," he says, and that's all I've ever needed to 
hear. 

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

We spent our last morning on the island eating cold granola 
and marshmallows and taking one last playful run naked 
through the shallow waters along the shoal. 

We splashed out until we reached waist deep water and 
Mulder swam under my legs lifting me up on his shoulders 
and throwing me off into the ocean with a noisy splash, scaring 
away all the sliver thin fish. 

It's later now and I sit alone at the head of our cove staring at 
our boat loaded with our bags and spare supplies, waiting for 
the ship to come signal us out and take us away from the 
archipelago. 

Mulder's spending a moment with himself as well, walking the 
length of the island one last time, I'm certain pausing to shake 
at a few coconut trees. I can't help but feel sad that this all has 
to end soon. 

The minutes pass and I hear him shuffling along the sand toward 
me. 

"You're thinking," he says, and sits behind me, wrapping me in 
 his arms, once again covered with the rolled sleeves of a cotton 
shirt. 

"I am," I answer, looking out to sea and holding the gift he gave 
me tightly in my right fist. I know he can see that. "I'm going to 
miss this place." 

"We can come back here sometime," he promises, giving me a 
squeeze. 

"No," I say, surprised at my own words. "I don't want to come back. 
I want to remember it like this. I want to remember it as the 
place where we got acquainted." 

He sighs a laugh at my parroting of his own words from when 
we began this journey. It feels like a year ago, not two short 
weeks. 

"Ever since we arrived here Mulder, you've been asking me 
a question. And I think I'd like to answer it before we leave." 

He shakes his head behind me. "You don't have to answer it 
now, Scully, you can take all the time you need." 

"If I can't answer it now, then when will I ever be able to 
answer it?" 

I don't know who I'm trying to convince. There will never be 
anyone else. Mulder is all the man, lover, protector, child and 
partner I'll ever desire. Why do I need more time to tell him so? 

"I've known it since the day we met," I say, and kiss his hand 
that rests on my knee. "The answer is yes." 

A flash from a ship's beacon signals across the shimmering 
waves. 

It's time to leave. 
  

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

Kleenex anyone? I need some. 
*honk!* 

Come sniffle with me at Terma99@aol.com 

Sue slipped Scully a poloroid on Mulder's nekkid day. 
The results were as follows: 

Special Air Mail Delivery to: 
W.S.--AD FBI, Washington, DC, USA 

<photo close-up of someone's hard, Bali Tanned ass> 

Dear Walter, Having a great time. 
Wish you were here.  Love, Dana