Title: Tam Lin
Author: Pequod
Rating: Some parts NC17. I don’t want anyone under 
the age of 18 reading this.
Genre: XRA
Keywords: MSR
Disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to Fox, 1013 or 
any of their associates by playing with their 
characters in this manner. It is done purely for 
pleasure and not for personal financial gain. 
Feedback: Is welcomed and encouraged
Archiving: Spookys - yes.  All others, I would
be delighted, but please ask first.
Thanks: To Dasha for wonderful and insightful 
editing, translation from the original English *g* 
and providing the page on her web site.

Summary: When your local young men disappear, only 
to turn up dead a year later, sometimes it helps to 
have friends in high places. Myth and murder 
combine in a remote Scottish village, and Mulder 
and Scully investigate. The Fairy Queen is out to 
revenge the loss of her most prized knight, Tam 
Lin. Mulder believes but Scully's not so sure, 
until Mulder takes a walk in the woods. 

Tam Lin
By Pequod

Chapter one

The automatic door squeezed closed behind her with 
a sigh, as if it were glad to shut out the bitter 
early evening.  Scully found herself standing in a 
small parking lot with space for six cars and two 
not very friendly-looking cows.

She pulled her trenchcoat more tightly around her 
and stamped her feet to try and get some feeling 
back into her frozen toes.  What could be taking 
Mulder so long, she wondered?  He only had to pick 
up the keys to their car and then they would be 
warm and cozy as they sped through the countryside, 
protected from the vicious wind and the equally 
vicious wildlife.  

The door eased open again and Scully turned to see 
Mulder striding purposefully towards her, a wide 
grin plastered on his face. 

"What took you so long, Mulder?"

"There was some confusion as to which of the cars 
we were supposed to be taking."  Mulder's grin grew 
impossibly wider and Scully glanced hopefully at 
the silver two-seater Aston Martin parked directly 
in front of them.  This trip could have its 
advantages after all.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense.  Which one is 
ours?"

His hand on her back, Mulder ushered her past the 
gleaming Aston Martin and towards the rear of the 
parking lot where three vehicles rested side by 
side, lightly dusted with snow.  Mulder pointed to 
the middle one of the three and then stood back, 
hands folded across his chest and green eyes 
twinkling with devilish amusement.

Scully stared at the battered old Land Rover 
Defender wedged somewhat incongruously between a 
Rolls Royce Silver Shadow and a classic MG in 
British Racing Green.

"What the hell is that supposed to be, Mulder?"

"That," explained Mulder, patting the hood and 
showering his feet with paint flakes and mud as he 
did so, "is our transport for the day, courtesy of 
Sir Montague."

"You have to be kidding me."  Stepping up to the 
open window, Scully peered into the gloomy interior 
and her heart sank as she surveyed the torn leather 
of the upholstery and the distinct lack of anything 
approaching a modern convenience. "I thought this 
friend of yours was supposed to be rich.  Couldn't 
he have sent us his chauffeur or something?"  
Anything other than this heap of junk, she thought.

"He's not just rich, Scully.  His father is the 
tenth richest man in Britain."  Mulder got into the 
driver's side and reached across to open the door 
for her.  "Besides, the Bentley is only good for 
crawling through London traffic.  In the Scottish 
Highlands, this is all you'll ever need.  So stop 
whining and get in."

Wiping the snow off the seat with her gloved hand, 
Scully got in and found a place to rest her feet in 
between the boxes and tools littering the floor.

"I don't whine," she muttered as she slammed the 
door shut.

"Of course not." Mulder grinned, and on the fourth 
attempt the engine coughed into life and they left 
the small airstrip for the open road.

…

"So, Mulder.  How far is it from here to Sir 
Montague's pad?"  The cold was biting and Scully 
tried to crank the window up to shut out the worst 
of it.  Unfortunately, the window didn't want to 
comply and she was left with a gap just large 
enough for the snow to sneak through and coat the 
left side of her face with its chill wetness.

The inside of the windshield was starting to mist 
up and Mulder was trying in vain to locate the 
heater.

"I think it's about twenty miles.  Aha!"  Mulder 
prised open a flap on the dashboard and uncovered 
the toggle for the heating.  He flicked it on and 
cold air and dust blew straight into Scully's face.

"Great," she muttered.  "This is just wonderful, 
Mulder." At least we'll only have to put up with 
this for another twenty minutes or so, she mused as 
they rattled along a fast stretch of paved highway.

The heater gradually warmed up and Scully settled 
in her seat, turning to look out of the side 
window.  

They had passed through a small village a couple of 
miles back and it seemed as though civilization had 
begun and ended there.  There was nothing to be 
discerned except the blackness of the lake – loch, 
she reminded herself – on one side, and the 
heather-covered mountains on the other.  No signs 
of habitation, any comforting lights, nor pluming 
smoke from cozy hearthsides.  Nothing.  Even the 
moon seemed reluctant to emerge from its hiding 
place.  It peeked out every now and then, only to 
be blanketed by another fast-moving cloud as the 
high winds stirred the heavens.  

"We might be in for a clear night later, Mulder."

"Mmm," came the only reply.  Mulder brought the 
Land Rover to a halt in a dust patch at the side of 
the road.

"What's the matter?"  

"It's nothing, really.  I just thought we should 
have turned off this road by now.  I'll just double 
check the map."  Mulder scrambled over the seat to 
get in the back of the vehicle and Scully could 
hear him rummaging through his bags and cursing 
lightly under his breath.

Great, she thought again.  So now we're lost in the 
middle of nowhere in the freezing cold, night is 
closing in and Mulder's forgotten the map.  Visions 
of the local sheep farmer grimacing over their 
frozen bodies as he led his flock to pasture 
flashed before her eyes and she groaned and leaned 
her head against the window.  Not for the first 
time she wondered what the hell she was doing here.  
Surely the war for independence was fought so that 
England could no longer assert its insidious 
influence on its colonists?  But no, here we are 
two hundred years later and a phone call from a 
British peer of the realm to a FBI Director chum 
and we're three and a half thousand miles from non-
fat lattes and the mild elegance of a DC fall.  

"Found it," yelled Mulder as he clambered back over 
the seats and settled down behind the wheel, his 
coat bunched up around his waist and his hair 
hanging limply in his eyes.  Scully offered up a 
silent thank you to God.  She tried to avoid the 
temptation to rip Mulder's head from his shoulders 
and stick it somewhere extremely unpleasant when 
his elbow connected with her shoulder as he 
unfolded the map on the dashboard.

She exclaimed her annoyance with an "ow" but Mulder 
was far too engrossed in the map to notice.

"Scully, have we passed the sign for Stromeferry 
yet?" 

"If you mean the sign that read Stromeferry – sorry 
no ferry, then yes, about five minutes ago."

"Oh, good, then that means we must be here," Mulder 
pointed at a worryingly orange space on the map, 
"and we need to exit here, so we should be 
approaching the exit in the next couple of 
minutes."

Seemingly satisfied that they were indeed in the 
right place, Mulder started to fold the map back up 
but Scully stopped him and pointed to the area on 
the map densely packed with contours.

She might not be able to remember how to tie a 
sheepshank any more but her summers spent at camp 
had not been completely wasted.  She knew a 
mountain when she saw one on a map.

"Mulder.  Is that what I think it is?"

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"It's um, it's a hill, Scully." 

"A rather large hill, wouldn't you say, Mulder?"

"Um, yes, I suppose it could be construed as a 
rather large hill.  Yes."

"And we have to be there," she indicated Carter 
Hall on the map, "which is on the other side of 
said hill.  Am I right?"

"Yeees."

"And would I also be correct when I say that said 
hill is, let's look on the map here, 2000 feet from 
sea level to the top?"  She looked out at the sea-
loch on their left.  "And Carterhaugh village is at 
sea level on the other side.  And these tightly 
packed contours would indicate a gradient of oh, 
say 1 in 5?  How am I doing so far, Mulder?

"2053 feet," mumbled Mulder.

"So it's going to take us a little bit longer than 
20 minutes to traverse this 'road', isn't it?"

"I would say so, yes."

"How long, Mulder?"

Mulder stared straight ahead and his hands gripped 
ever more tightly on the steering wheel.

"An hour, maybe an hour and a half."

"Oh, that's just great.  So I've got to sit here in 
this freezing bucket of ice with a broken window, 
slowly turning into a snowman and I've got to do it 
for an hour and a half?  This case had better be 
worth it, Mulder."

"You'll love it when we get there, Scully."  Mulder 
pulled back onto the highway and the reluctant roar 
of the engine drowned out Scully's muttered 
expletives.

Two minutes later and they were at the turn off.  
The vehicle bounced over a cattle grid and as the 
road narrowed to a single lane, the mountain loomed 
over them for the first time.  Gloomy twilight 
settled around the Land Rover as they inched their 
way up the precarious path.

"Mulder – I know that you went to Oxford with Sir 
Montague's son, what's his name…?"

"Simon."

"Yes, Simon.  I also know that when senior men at 
the FBI click their fingers, we have to come 
running.  What I don't understand is why you 
specifically?  The fact that you knew Simon twenty 
years ago at University seems to be rather a 
tenuous reason to have us fly all this way.  Why 
can't the British police handle this case?  I'm 
sure they are more than capable."

Headlights flooded the interior of the Land Rover 
with white light from behind and Mulder pulled into 
the next passing place to allow the vehicle to 
overtake.

"Can't we talk about this later, Scully?  I'm 
having enough trouble trying to prevent us from 
plummeting to a watery grave."

Scully looked out over the sheer cliff and down at 
the loch below, by now illuminated only by the 
silvery moon.  He had a point, but still.

"You keep saying that, Mulder.  Every time I ask 
why you, why this case, you make some excuse not to 
talk to me.  I know there's more to this case than 
three unsolved murders.  What's it all about, 
Mulder?"

Mulder sighed and put the Land Rover in gear again.

"Fairies," he whispered, and then he winked at her 
before pulling back onto the path.  "I'll tell you 
more if we live to see the other side of this hill.  
Okay?"

"Sure, Mulder.  Whatever."  Fairies?  She 
contemplated his teaser, gripping the sides of her 
seat as they negotiated hairpin after hairpin until 
finally they crested the hill and began the equally 
slow descent.

Two hours after they had left the airstrip, and 
somewhat ashen-faced, they pulled off the mountain 
pass.  Mulder had seen fit to furnish her with a 
little bit more information about their whereabouts 
and Scully now knew that the roller coaster of 
death they had just traversed was also known as the 
Pass of the Cattle.  An old drover's route, it was 
the highest road in Britain and had claimed more 
than its fair share of casualties since it was 
first hewn out of the bedrock.  Laughably, its 
construction had opened up the Carterhaugh 
peninsula, previously accessible only by boat, to 
visitors, though why anyone would want to risk life 
and limb crossing back and forth was beyond Scully.

Jet lagged, cold, aching, and with a crick in her 
neck that was going to take some serious massaging 
to soothe, Scully wanted nothing more than to curl 
up in a warm bed and sleep.  Mulder, however, was 
as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

"Won't be long now, Scully.  Just wait until you 
see the house.  It's four hundred years old and, so 
the story goes, Mary Queen of Scots once slept 
there."

"Well it must have a bed then, that's all I care 
about right now."

"Actually, there are thirty bedrooms, ten of which 
have four-poster beds.  Beds big enough for two, 
Scully."  Mulder leered at her and she swatted him, 
only half playfully.

"I didn't think that you were impressed with wealth 
and ostentation, Mulder.  You surprise me."

"I take people as I find them, you know that, 
Scully.  There's nothing ostentatious about Carter 
Hall.  Sure it's impressive and looks grand 
superficially, but the truth is that it's now half-
owned by the National Trust for Scotland.  Sir 
Montague is a rich man by anyone's standards, but 
the days of super-wealthy Barons and landowners 
lording it over their subjects are long gone.  
Simon will never own it.  Once his father dies the 
Trust will take full possession.  I'm not saying 
whether it's right or wrong, that's just the way it 
is."

The road they were travelling along was still 
single lane but easier to negotiate now that they 
were following the coast at sea level.  There was 
little to be discerned of their surroundings, as 
night had cloaked the secrets of the landscape in 
darkness. The moon had retreated behind the clouds; 
there would be no clear sky tonight. 

"We're here," Mulder announced, and they turned off 
the road and passed through open wrought iron gates 
onto a long gravel driveway. A large, whitewashed 
house loomed out of the darkness, light pouring 
from its many windows.  The drive at the front of 
the house was littered with cars and people 
wandering around in evening dress, clinking glasses 
and laughing.

"What's going on, Mulder?"

"I think I'm starting to realize why Sir Montague 
told me to go the tradesman's entrance."

They parked up at the rear of the house and Mulder 
got out and knocked on the door.  Before Scully 
could disentangle herself from the seatbelt, the 
door opened and Mulder was swallowed into the 
blackness within.

The seatbelt locked as she struggled with it, 
forcing her to remain rigid in her seat until 
Mulder returned, a grin on his face.

"You're going to love this, Scully."

When no answer was forthcoming he continued anyway.  
"It seems that Sir Montague is entertaining a minor 
Royal and doesn't want two FBI agents crashing his 
party."

"Well, where are we going to sleep, Mulder?"

"You'll see."  He started the engine again and they 
continued round the back of the house and down a 
dirt track.  They stopped outside a single story 
cottage which Scully was sure was picturesque but 
which was right now just somewhere to sleep, 
hopefully.

Turning the key in the lock, they entered a small 
living room decorated simply in white and pastel 
green.  

"Get the bags from the car, Scully.  I'll start a 
fire."

Squashing the urge to hit Mulder hard enough to 
leave bruises, Scully trudged out to the car and 
trudged back in with their bags.  A door off to the 
left led to a bedroom and she dumped Mulder's bag 
in the middle of the bed, fervently hoping that 
this wasn't the only place to sleep.  She crossed 
the living room where Mulder was seemingly striking 
his way through an entire box of matches and found 
another bedroom at the rear of the cottage.

Upon her return Mulder had managed to kindle a 
small fire in the grate and he sat down on the 
hearthrug, his back resting against the chair and 
his legs spread into a vee.  "Come here, Scully."  
He indicated the space between his legs.

Scully moved towards him and then hesitated.  "What 
have you got in mind, Mulder?"

"I just want to ease some of the tension in your 
shoulders; it's the least I can do after making you 
endure the journey from hell."  He flexed his hands 
and then patted the floor.  "I'm told I'm great 
with my hands, especially my fingers."

The man was incorrigible, Scully thought.  Still, a 
massage would be so nice.  Oh, what the hell.  She 
gave into her body's need and settled between 
Mulder's legs, her face warmed by the fire and her 
back by Mulder's clever fingers.

Mulder quickly located the knot in her neck and set 
to work, his thumbs relieving the ache with every 
sweep.

"Oh, Mulder," Scully practically purred his name, 
"just like that, mmm that's wonderful."

"If only you knew how often you've said that to me 
in my dreams, Scully."

She knew she shouldn't allow him to get away with 
that comment but the warm fire and the magic of 
Mulder were luring her towards sleep.

"Muller," she slurred, "you never told me about the 
fairies."

Mulder pulled her back into his arms so that she 
was leaning against his chest; it felt too 
comforting to protest, so she let it slide.

"Tomorrow, Scully.  Tomorrow."


End chapter one

Chapter two

Scully awoke to a medley of birdsong and the 
bleating of sheep.  Cautiously, she opened one eye 
and then the other as she tried to remember where 
she was.  A shaft of autumn sunlight filtered 
through a gap in the curtains, dust dancing in its 
rays, and fell on the varnished wooden floor.

Gradually, memories of yesterday seeped into her 
tired brain and she vaguely recalled drifting 
towards sleep in Mulder's arms. She couldn't, 
however, remember getting from the front room to 
the bedroom, so Mulder had to have carried her 
here.  God, jet lag must have really taken its 
toll.

She peeked under the bedcovers and was not 
surprised to find that she was fully clothed. 
Mulder was ever the gentleman.  Even on the 
occasions he had seen her naked he always said he 
hadn't really looked.  She wasn't bothered about it 
but Mulder deemed it impropriety to take something 
that hadn't been freely given. At least, that's 
what he 'said'.

The aroma of baking bread reached her nostrils and 
Scully inhaled its rich scent, redolent of 
childhood Saturday mornings in her mother's 
kitchen.  If she closed her eyes she could picture 
herself, standing on a chair so that she could 
reach the table, her face and tiny apron dusted 
with flour and her hands sticky from kneading the 
dough.  Mom always let her and Melissa make their 
own mini loaves, and even when they came out hard 
and burnt, which they almost always did, she ate a 
slice and told them it was the nicest bread she had 
ever tasted.   

Scully smiled at the memory and wrapped herself 
more tightly into a ball.  She didn't want to have 
to leave this warm cocoon.  Gingerly she slipped 
her foot out from under the cover and waved it 
about in the air.  Christ, it was cold.  She 
quickly returned her foot to its nest and then 
realization dawned.  Someone must be baking bread 
in this cottage.  What else could account for the 
smell?  But there was only Mulder and he couldn't 
bake. Could he?

She unfolded her limbs and stretched her tired 
muscles before throwing the quilt off and stepping 
out of bed.  After pulling a pair of thick socks on 
she padded down the short corridor to the kitchen.  
Mulder was standing at the open back door, a 
steaming mug in his hand.  He turned and smiled as 
she entered the room.

"Great bed-head, Scully."

Scully's hands flew to her hair, which she 
discovered was plastered to her head on one side 
and stuck up and curly on the other.  Damn.  She 
tried to smooth it down with her hands but her 
actions had little effect on its unruliness.  The 
damned thing needed washing every morning and 
fifteen minutes with heated brushes before it 
stayed straight; she was not going to make much 
difference to it with her fingers.  Mulder was 
grinning at her but she chose to ignore him.

"Mulder, I may still be jet-lagged, or I may even 
still be dreaming, but I swear I can smell baking 
bread.  What gives?"

Moving across to the large, red Rayburn that took 
up almost half the side wall, Mulder opened the 
oven door.

"Ta da!"  With a flourish of his hands he indicated 
the two pound metal loaf tin nestling on the top 
shelf.  Scully moved in closer to get a better look 
and, to her amazement, there was indeed a loaf of 
bread browning nicely in the oven.

Mulder closed the door and she looked at him 
incredulously.  "You baked bread?"

"What do you think?"

She studied him for a moment.  "I think you went up 
to the main house and flattered the cook into 
giving you a loaf that she had just baked. Then you 
came back here and warmed it in the oven so that 
the smell would waft through the cottage and I 
would think you had made it yourself."

"You know me too well, Scully."  Mulder returned to 
the oven and pulled out the loaf.  "Do you want 
some?"

"Maybe later, I'm going to head for the shower 
first and make myself look presentable.  Why don't 
you put some coffee on for us and I'll be back in a 
minute."

"That's a good idea, Scully.  Your hair is 
beginning to scare me."

She picked up a dishcloth and flung it at him 
before retreating to her bedroom.  

Twenty minutes later, and feeling vaguely more 
human, Scully headed back to the kitchen, which was 
the warmest room in the cottage, thanks to the 
Rayburn.  A steaming mug of thick, creamy coffee 
was awaiting her and she took a seat at the 
scrubbed farmhouse table.  

Mulder was hovering near the toaster, slicing 
doorstop-sized chunks of bread.  "To toast, or not 
to toast, Scully?  That is the question."

"To toast, I think."

He popped four hunks of bread into the toaster and, 
opening a cupboard, produced jam and butter which 
he placed on the table.

She studied him as he busied himself tidying up 
while waiting for the toast.  The tableau of 
domesticity before her seemed somewhat at odds with 
the Mulder she knew and loved.  He was obviously 
enjoying himself, though, and whatever he was 
thinking about was amusing him because every now 
and then a smile would play across his lips and he 
would pause briefly mid-task before continuing.

A knife clattered to the stone floor and he bent 
down to retrieve it, affording her a great view of 
his ass.  She swallowed hard before speaking.  
"Nice view, Mulder."

"You like?"  He wiggled his ass in the air and an 
alarmingly girlie-sounding laugh escaped her.  

"If I didn't know you so well, Scully, I would have 
thought that was a giggle."

"Nah, I think I must have swallowed some air, or 
something, Mulder.  It's the shock, you know?"

"That must be it, then." He straightened up and 
brought the toast over to the table.  Scully 
ignored the temptation of the butter and opted for 
the strawberry jam.  Mulder was not so virtuous and 
slapped the butter on as though he were plastering 
a wall.

"I can hear your arteries hardening from here, 
Mulder."

"I don't care," Mulder spluttered through a 
mouthful of toast, "I like it."

"So, are you ever going to tell me about those 
fairies and what they have to do with this case, or 
do I have to tie you to this table and beat it out 
of you?"

"Ooh, Scully, you tease."  Mulder's eyes flashed at 
her wickedly and she kicked him under the table.

"Come on, Mulder, give it up."

"Well, you know that three young men have been 
found murdered over the last week."  He took a sip 
of his coffee.

"Yeah, each of them found naked in the woods with 
no as yet discernible cause of death."

"Each man, well boy really, had been missing from 
home for exactly a year to the day when their 
bodies were found."

"But the autopsies showed that they died on the 
same day that they were found."  Scully opened the 
file that Mulder passed to her and examined the 
autopsy reports.  "In the case of James MacNaughtie 
there was no discoloration of his body, indicating 
that he had been dead less than two hours.

"Exactly.  So they must have been held somewhere 
before being murdered a year after their abduction.  
But where, and why?  Why kidnap someone, hold them 
for a year without making any ransom demands, and 
then kill them for no apparent reason?  That's 
before we even get to how they were murdered."

Scully flipped through the file, pausing to read 
the brief biographical details of the victims.  
James MacNaughtie, aged 18, lived at home with his 
parents, went for a walk after dinner and never 
returned.  Cameron MacNeish, aged 24, single, 
called his girlfriend to tell her to meet him in 
the pub and didn't show up.  Padraig Quinn, aged 
22, Irish-born, disappeared from his digs, his 
landlady reported him missing three days after he 
was last seen.

"Padraig had only been in Scotland for a week 
before he disappeared.  As far as anyone can tell 
he had an argument with his girlfriend over the 
baby she was expecting and ended up in 
Carterhaugh."

"I think you pronounce his name Porig, Mulder."

"How do you know?"

"I had a Great Uncle Padraig on my mother's side.  
Do the British police have any ideas as to what 
happened?"

"Nope.  They investigated the disappearances quite 
thoroughly when they happened and could find no 
link between the boys, no reason why anyone would 
want them dead.  James was studying for a degree 
through Open University; Cameron was a fisherman, 
like his father, and his father before him.  Hard 
working, well liked, saving up to marry his long-
term girlfriend.  Padraig was young and in love, a 
little headstrong maybe, but there was nothing in 
his past or his acquaintances to warrant this."

Scully got up to fetch more coffee.  "I take it you 
have a theory, then?"  She handed Mulder his mug 
and resumed her seat.

"Thanks.  It's not my theory, it's Shifty's."

Scully choked on a mouthful of coffee, showering 
the table with tiny droplets.  "Who's Shifty?"

Mulder used the nearby dish cloth to wipe the 
coffee off the case file before it stained.

"He's the gamekeeper at Carter Hall.  He's so-
called because he shifts things.  If you want 
something moving, or taking away, then Shifty's 
your man."

"So what's Shifty's little theory, then?"

"Well, Shifty belongs to a long line of 
Gamekeepers.  He claims he can trace his ancestry 
back to a Viking warrior who raped and pillaged his 
way through Scotland back in the days of yore.  He 
says that the boys were killed by a Fairy Queen and 
her band of renegade fairies in revenge for the 
loss of their most prized knight, Tam Lin.  Stop 
laughing."

"I, I'm not, honestly."  Visions of moustached men 
in leather and nipple clamps mincing through the 
forest flashed before Scully's eyes and she bit the 
inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.  
"Go on, please, I'm enthralled."

"Tam Lin was a mortal who was kidnapped by the 
Fairy Queen, turned into an elf, and held for a 
year before becoming a sacrifice on Halloween.  At 
least, that was what was supposed to happen.  
However, Tam Lin had a nice little sideline in 
deflowering virgins who came into the forest and 
one day he met Janet, the daughter of a rich baron 
who owned Carter Hall.  He impregnated her and when 
she returned to the forest to tell him about the 
baby he told her all about his impending doom and 
begged her to rescue him.  The long and the short 
is that she saved him from the Fairy Queen who 
wasn't exactly happy about the situation."

"And this would be a true story with documented 
evidence, I presume?"

Mulder sighed.  "Why did I even think you would 
believe me?  The story is documented in an old 
Scottish ballad."

"Come on, Mulder, that's just folklore.  Even you 
have to admit that's the most far-fetched theory 
you've ever entertained.  Three boys are found dead 
and you immediately think it's a bunch of fairies 
out for revenge.  Admit it, you're winding me up."

"I will admit that it is something of a long shot."  

Scully snorted and coffee came down through her 
nose.

"However," continued Mulder, ignoring her, "this is 
not the first time something like this has 
occurred.  Exactly one hundred years ago, four men 
were found murdered in precisely the same manner as 
our boys today.  They too had been missing for a 
year and the cause of their death is still unknown.  
Shifty can remember his father telling him of those 
murders and how they were similar to ones that had 
occurred a hundred years previous to that.  And 
Halloween is only three days away.  The last body 
was always found on the day after Halloween."

"So, you believe that once a century, the Fairy 
Queen kidnaps four young men, holds them for a year 
and then murders them in chronological order, the 
last one on Halloween.  All because one of her 
elves escaped her clutches and she was left without 
a sacrifice for Halloween. Why?  Why four boys, why 
once a century?  What does she hope to gain from 
it?  It seems to me that Shifty is more of a 
natural suspect than a character from an ancient 
ballad."

"Shifty's theory is that she is trying to find a 
replacement for Tam Lin.  That she takes four boys 
at a time in the hope that one of them will be 
suitable for the final sacrifice.  I'm only telling 
you what he has told me so far.  We need to talk to 
him further to find out about the rest of his 
theory."

"So there's more?"

"Oh, yes.  And there is the matter of the fourth 
boy who is still missing and who, if the pattern of 
the other murders is to continue, has three days 
left to live."

"You never told me about a fourth boy."

"Oh, didn't I?  I'll tell you about him on the way, 
then."  

"On the way where?"

Mulder closed the case file and pushed back his 
chair.  "Pull your little boots on, Scully.  We're 
going for a walk."

End chapter two

Chapter three

Scully stumbled after Mulder as they made their way 
up a small, bleak hill.  Bright sunshine bounced 
off the virginal snow, blinding her with its 
intensity.  She paused to fumble in her backpack 
for her Ray Bans and when she looked up, Mulder had 
disappeared from sight.  Shit.  She followed the 
huge imprints in the snow his feet had made, at 
first finding the going easier if she placed her 
own smaller feet in the holes left by his, rather 
than forging her own route.  Unfortunately, 
Mulder's stride was so much longer than hers that 
she ended up practically having to leap from one 
footprint to the other and she soon gave up trying.  
The crunch of compacting snow echoed throughout the 
silence as she waded through its depths, 
occasionally sinking to the knee, before finally 
she crested the peak.

Mulder was sitting on a rock, steam rising from the 
cup he was raising to his lips.  "Great view from 
here, Scully."  He held the cup out to her as she 
approached.  "What took you?"

Scully flashed him an evil look, which regrettably 
he couldn't see because she still had her glasses 
on.  Perching beside him on the rock, she accepted 
the proffered cup gratefully and took a sip of the 
hot coffee.  The warm liquid slid down her throat 
and into her stomach and soon she could feel its 
heat percolating through her veins and out towards 
her frozen extremities.

She handed the cup back to Mulder and took a moment 
to properly survey their surroundings.  The rock 
they were resting on was one of many, varying in 
size and shape, which littered the plateau.  The 
low, autumn sun highlighted the humps and bumps of 
snow-covered rocks and small hillocks, giving the 
area a decidedly lunar appearance.  Although this 
particular hill was small in comparison to the 
background of mountains, it afforded a spectacular 
view and Scully drank in the grandeur of the snow-
capped peaks.

They were looking out across a stretch of cobalt-
blue sea towards two islands one behind the other.  
The fronting island was flat and featureless but 
the larger one boasted a mountain range that ran 
its entire length, ridged like a backbone.  The 
numerous peaks stood out sharply against the pale 
blue sky; the occasional tip swallowed up by the 
thin strip of flat-bottomed clouds that lay like 
strands of cotton wool over the gray-blue span of 
the range. 

"What am I looking at, Mulder, do you know?"

Mulder withdrew a small guidebook from the inside 
pocket of his jacket and perused it carefully 
before answering.  "You're looking at the islands 
of Raasay and Skye, Scully.  Skye is the one with 
the mountain range, the Cuillins.  It says here 
that Charles Edward Stewart, the Young Pretender to 
the British throne, escaped to the Isle of Skye, 
aided by a Jacobite heroine, Flora MacDonald, after 
he was routed by the Duke of Cumberland at the 
battle of Culloden in 1745.  There's even a song 
about it, The Skye Boat Song."  

Scully interrupted quickly when it looked as though 
he were about to launch into the song.  "That's 
very interesting, Mulder, I'm sure, and at any 
other time I would probably be fascinated to hear 
all about it.  However, right now I'm cold, wet and 
wondering what this hill has to do with that other 
tale you're so enamored with, Tam Lin."

With the warming effect of the coffee wearing off, 
Scully shivered in the chill air and for the 
hundredth time already that day wished she had 
brought thicker gloves with her.  Her fingers were 
numb beneath the thin wool.  Suddenly she felt 
Mulder's hand on her back, rubbing in circles 
across her shoulders and down her spine.  His touch 
was unexpected and startled her into speaking 
without thinking.

"What are you doing, Mulder?  I'm not a baby that 
needs burping you know." The words came out too 
sharply and without the humor that she had 
intended.  

Mulder snatched his hand away, not looking at her, 
and began putting the flask back in his backpack.  
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, " I was just trying to 
warm you up, you look frozen."

Scully gave herself a mental slap.  She had been 
doing this a lot recently, she knew.  Every time 
Mulder touched her unexpectedly, or did something 
uncharacteristically nice, she pushed him away.  It 
was getting to be a habit.  He always looked stung 
afterwards, as though she had physically slapped 
him.  The trouble was he had been finding more and 
more excuses to touch her over the last few months, 
and sometimes she caught him staring at her across 
their desks.  On more than one occasion she had 
been in the middle of explaining away this or that 
ridiculous theory and looked up from her paperwork 
to find him gazing at her intently enough to burn 
holes in her forehead.  Whenever she asked him what 
he was doing, he simply shrugged and told her it 
was nothing.

This didn't happen all that often, and the rest of 
the time he behaved towards her exactly the same as 
he always did, peppering his conversation with 
suggestive remarks cushioned by his quiet 
affection.  At times she wanted to go up to him and 
scream in his ear "tell me what it is, tell me what 
you want", but she never did.  Maybe she was afraid 
that one day he would tell her exactly what he 
wanted and she wouldn't like it; or maybe she would 
like it too much.  

Maybe that was the problem.  

Whatever the overall problem was, she knew she had 
to fix this one here and now or else they would 
spend the rest of the day tip-toeing around each 
other with edgy politeness.

She stopped his hand as he was about to zip the 
pocket of his backpack up, and rested her own hand 
on the back of his, entwining her gloved fingers 
through his bare ones.  He looked up at her, 
surprise on his face, his eyes dark and unreadable.  
"I'm the one who's sorry, Mulder.  I didn't mean it 
to sound like that.  I guess I'm just cold and a 
bit grouchy."  She squeezed his hand and smiled 
hopefully at him.  "Forgive me?"

Relief flashed briefly across his face and then was 
gone, replaced by a warm smile.  "There's nothing 
to forgive.  You do look frozen, though. I've got a 
spare fleece in my bag, if you want it."

She nodded and he reached inside and pulled out a 
thin, black, polar fleece.  She managed to take her 
coat off and get her arms through the fleece but 
her fingers were too numb to do up the zipper.  
Mulder took hold of the fastener and then 
hesitated.  "May I?"  She nodded again and he moved 
in closer, pulling the zipper slowly upwards until 
the collar encased her neck like a scarf.  

Next he picked her jacket off the ground, dusting 
the snow off, and helped her on with it, zipping 
that up also and then popping the prestuds closed 
one by one.  The shivers that ran up Scully's spine 
had little to do with the cold this time.  It felt 
strangely erotic to be dressed by Mulder in this 
fashion.  His fingers lingered a moment longer than 
necessary as they popped the last button under her 
chin and they looked at each other for a long 
second.  She could hear his quickened breathing, 
matching her own for tempo, and their staccato 
breaths mingled and hung in the air.  Mulder was 
the first to break the spell.  He let out a heavy 
sigh and patted her shoulders.  "You're as snug as 
a bug in a rug now, Scully."

She smiled at his metaphor and the atmosphere 
between them became palpably more relaxed.  She 
shouldered her pack and then they were on their 
way, following a path marked only by occasional 
wooden poles and the odd haphazard stone cairn.  
Mulder stopped at the first cairn they came to and 
picked up two rocks, handing one to her and placing 
the other on top of the pile.  "To say, we were 
here."  He grinned as Scully added her rock to the 
others, causing Mulder's rock to shift and settle 
in a hollow next to hers.

Scully was intrigued by the practice.  "What's the 
significance of all these cairns, Mulder?"

Mulder consulted his trusty guidebook.  "This path 
is an old coffin route," he explained.  "It leads 
from Carter Hall to the family burial ground just 
outside Carterhaugh Wood.  Coffins used to be 
carried for miles over these paths, and wherever 
the coffins were rested, everyone would add a stone 
to a cairn on the spot." 

As they trudged down the hill, Scully tried to 
focus her mind back on the case, or whatever it 
was, they were supposed to be investigating.  On 
their way to the hill, Mulder had told her a little 
about the fourth boy who was still missing.  He was 
a twenty-year-old boat builder, Hamish Campbell, 
and Mulder was convinced that he would be found 
dead at midnight on Halloween if they didn't get to 
him first.   Scully was a long way from being 
convinced that fairies were responsible for the 
deaths of the boys.  However, it could not be 
denied that the first three young men had been 
alive for the past year and therefore, there was a 
good chance that Hamish was still alive and being 
held somewhere.  All they had to do was find him.  

And so it was that they were headed towards the 
cottage of Shifty the gamekeeper, who was staying 
out in the woods instead of at Carter Hall because 
it was the middle of the stalking season.  Mulder 
appeared to believe that the man would be able to 
help them get to the truth in some way.  He had 
definitely swallowed all that bullshit about 
sacrifices and revenge.  Scully was more interested 
in seeing this man with her own eyes.  His name 
alone gave her enough reason to be suspicious.

After a further half hour of trudging through snow, 
they came to the edge of Carterhaugh Wood.  A rough 
path wound through the forest densely packed with 
Scots Pine, Mountain Ash and Hazel.  They followed 
it for a short time before arriving at a clearing, 
wherein a small, whitewashed cottage nestled, 
framed by Hawthorn and the thin brown skeletons of 
rambling roses.  Smoke plumed from its single 
chimney.

At Mulder's knock, the door opened and they were 
confronted with their first sight of Shifty.  
Scully was surprised to say the least.  Knowing 
that he earned his name from his removal man 
abilities she had expected someone young, lean and 
muscular.  The man who waved them into the living 
area of his two-room home was seventy if he was a 
day.  

"Fox, it's nice to see you again."  His rheumy eyes 
swept the length of Scully's body.  "And you've 
brought the missus, I see.  You've done well for 
yourself."

He held out a gnarled hand to Scully, who grimaced 
inwardly at his clammy grasp.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

"Shifty to you, dearie.  There's only one Sir 
around here and he's up in the big house."

She waited for Mulder to correct Shifty's 
presumption about their relationship, but he merely 
smiled innocently at her.

"My name is Dana Scully, Sir.  Agent Mulder is my 
partner at the FBI."

"If that's what you want me to believe, dearie, 
then that's fine with me."

Mulder smirked at Scully.  "The trouble is, Shifty, 
that it's against regulations for partners to get 
closer than they should, if you know what I mean.  
So Agent Scully and I have to be careful about what 
we say and do."  He winked at the old man.  

Scully thought about how easy it would be to 
arrange a little accident for Mulder out on the 
wild hills.

Shifty nodded sagely.  "I understand, Fox."

He moved his small frame slowly and with great care 
as he shuffled towards the range where a battered 
old kettle was whistling merrily away.

"Tea?" 

Mulder nodded and motioned Scully to take the seat 
by the fire.  Laying her backpack down she accepted 
the cracked mug of thick, black tea, resisting the 
urge to wipe around the rim of it until Shifty 
turned his back to pour Mulder's cup.

Chairs creaked and the fire crackled as Mulder and 
Shifty made themselves comfortable.

Scully took a sip of her tea and swallowed the 
strong liquid gamely.  "Shifty, Mulder tells me 
that you believe the deaths of these three young 
men to be the work of fairies.  That somehow, 
characters from an old legend are responsible for 
what is happening.  What makes you think that?"

Mulder interjected before Shifty could answer. "I 
should tell you, Scully, that Shifty isn't the only 
person around here who believes that."

"He's right, dearie.  My father and Sir Montague's 
grandfather were the ones who found the bodies of 
two of the boys a hundred years ago.  They both 
could remember their fathers telling them about 
similar events going back to the time Carter Hall 
was first built. It is said that Janet, the wee 
girl in the ballad Tam Lin, was in fact the 
daughter of the first Lord Montague who came to 
Carterhaugh in the sixteenth century."

Mulder interrupted again.  "So that would make the 
child she was expecting by Tam Lin an ancestor of 
the present Sir Montague."

"But, Mulder, if that were the case then it would 
mean that Sir Montague and his ancestors are part 
fairy.  That's not possible."  Scully could hardly 
believe she was even having this conversation.

"That's what they say, dearie."

Scully shook her head in despair.  She felt annoyed 
with Mulder for humoring the old man like this.  It 
didn't seem fair.  And as for Sir Montague - well, 
insanity was known to run in some upper class 
families - too much in-breeding.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, Shifty, but... 
well, in isolated communities like this one, myths 
and legends can take on greater significance than 
they actually deserve.  Don't you think..." she 
didn't get chance to finish her sentence because 
Shifty's indignant voice cut in.

"You think we're all stupid, don't you?  You think 
that because we live out in the sticks that we're 
backward or something."

"I..."

"Well, I'm telling you that the Fairy Queen kidnaps 
these men in revenge for Janet freeing Tam Lin when 
he should have been her sacrifice.  Now she can't 
get any rest until she finds a man suitable to 
replace him."  The old man's voice climbed in pitch 
as he became angrier.  

Mulder broke in then, his voice low and soothing.

"What makes you think that, Shifty?  Why aren't any 
of the men she's taken over the years good enough?"  

"I don't know the answer to that, Fox.  If I did, 
then maybe I could find a way to stop it happening.  
Maybe I could find this last wee lad before 
anything happens to him." 

Shifty's shoulders drooped and suddenly he looked 
old and tired. Mulder set his cup on the hearth and 
motioned to Scully that they should get moving.  "I 
think we'll go and take a look at the area where 
they found the bodies ourselves, Shifty.  Why don't 
rest and..."

The door burst open and a young red-faced man 
crashed in, sweating profusely.  

Shifty sat bolt upright in his chair.  "Christ, 
Jimmy, what on earth's the matter?" 

"Oh, Shifty, it's terrible.  I've found poor Hamish 
out in the woods.  I think he's dead, Shifty."

"What?  He can't be.  It's not the right time."  
Shifty looked despairingly at Mulder who put his 
hand on the old man's shoulder.

"Let's go and take a look, Shifty.  Agent Scully is 
a pathologist.  She'll be able to tell us what's 
happened."

Light snow fell out of a gray and gloomy sky and 
silence descended as they followed Jimmy to the 
clearing in the woods where he had found the 
missing boy.

End chapter three.

Chapter four


The young man's body was a pitiful sight, propped 
up against the trunk of a large oak tree.  From a 
distance he looked as though he were taking an 
afternoon nap, until upon reaching him she saw his 
blank wide-eyed stare.  That, and the fact that no 
one in his right mind would take a nap buck naked 
in the middle of a forest on a day when the 
temperature was struggling to get above freezing.  
His body was as white as the snowy ground it rested 
on, his red hair and bloody wrists a blush of color 
on an otherwise blank canvas.

Scully knelt beside the body and, leaning forward, 
habitually checked the pulse in his neck, even 
though it was obvious to all that the lad was long 
dead.  She gave a cursory, visual examination of 
the cuts on his wrists, careful not to disturb the 
body until the police arrived, before turning to 
Mulder.

"The slicing of his wrists suggests suicide, 
however the lack of blood at the scene and the way 
the body is positioned indicates that he died 
elsewhere and was placed here."

"So you think he was murdered in a way that would 
make us think it was suicide?"  

"No, Mulder.  I can't say for certain whether or 
not he was murdered until I get a good look at him.  
At this stage, there don't appear to be any signs 
of a struggle, or any indications that he was held 
down by someone.  We'll have to wait until the 
autopsy to find out for sure."

Mulder steered her gently away from Shifty and 
Jimmy who were staring slack-jawed at poor Hamish's 
damaged corpse.  "This just doesn't fit the 
pattern, Scully.  All the other men were murdered.  
The only thing that is the same here is the 
location."

"We don't know for sure that the other men were 
murdered, Mulder.  I mean, it's likely, yes, but 
maybe they were suicides as well and the method 
just hasn't been detected yet."

Mulder persisted with his argument.  "Even if they 
were suicides, which I very much doubt, they 
weren't as obvious as this one.  And the date is 
wrong – the last body was not supposed to be found 
for another three days.  Something must have 
happened to make the fairies change their plan."

"Or maybe it has nothing to do with fairies at all.  
Maybe our all-too-human murderer got careless, or 
maybe Hamish tried to escape and this was his 
punishment.  Maybe he did commit suicide and his 
captor dumped him because he is of no further use."

Mulder reached out and brushed an errant strand of 
hair out of her eyes.  "Maybe," he whispered as he 
tucked it behind her ear, "he did commit suicide 
and the 'fairies' dumped him because he is of no 
further use."  The back of his hand skimmed softly 
across her cheek and Scully suddenly felt light-
headed.  "Snow," he explained, and smiled gently.

Scully sighed.  "Well, fairies or not, I'll see if 
I can assist the medical examiner and we'll find 
out what did cause his death."

"That's a good idea.  Why don't you go with the 
body to Inverness?  And while you're there, see if 
you can take a look at the other bodies as well.  
You might find something the ME has missed."

They headed back to the others.  Shifty was 
shouting the details of their location into his 
hand-held radio.

"What will you be doing while I'm gone, Mulder?"

"Searching for Never-Never land, Scully."

...

"How long before we reach the base, Flight 
Lieutenant?"  Scully's voice sounded eerily 
disembodied and robotic through the throat mike.  

"We're approaching the naval base now, Agent 
Scully."

Scully held on tightly to her seat as the giant Sea 
King HAS 5 made its final descent.  The helicopter 
was more normally utilized in anti-submarine search 
and strike and occasional search and rescue than as 
transport for visiting US Government Agents.  
However, Sir Montague knew a man who knew a man.  
As a result, the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm's finest 
had waited patiently for her to complete her 
autopsies after transporting her and the body to 
Inverness.  

Scully smiled gamely at the observer and aircrewman 
who shared the rear of the helicopter with her as 
she fought the nausea that threatened to overcome 
her.  At least the flight was marginally less 
terrifying than the Pass of the Cattle they had 
crossed yesterday.  She let out a long sigh.  Was 
it only yesterday that they had arrived in this 
strange land-that-time-forgot?  

Mulder appeared to be having the time of his life, 
the occasional dead boy aside.  And what was all 
that hair-moving, whispering and casual brush of 
her cheek all about?  She didn't know whether it 
was Mulder's escalating boldness or her own arousal 
at his frequent touches that she found the most 
disturbing.  

There had been a time when they were partners, 
equals, respectful of each other's boundaries.  A 
time when he would touch her and she wouldn't snap 
at him.  A time when his voice, low and seductive 
in her ear, hadn't sent tiny shivers rippling 
throughout her body.  A time when she could stand 
in a forest looking at a dead body and not be 
thinking about how much she'd like to hear that 
voice whispering words of love and encouragement 
instead of death and destruction.  If she listened 
hard enough, she could sometimes hear the words 
that lay hidden beneath the perfunctoriness of his 
everyday conversation. Blah, blah, blah ... aliens 
colonizing the planet, blah, blah, blah ... I want 
to run my tongue over the entire length of your 
body, blah, blah, blah ... are you listening to me, 
Scully?

There had been a time like that.  Hadn't there?  
The cargo door of the helicopter opened and as she 
made her way to the waiting car, Scully resolved to 
get things back to the way they should be.  Caring, 
respectful, affectionate, single-minded friends.  
That's what they should be, what they would be.

Mulder was heating a pan of soup when she returned 
to the cottage; the smell of tomatoes made her 
stomach growl and she realized that she hadn't 
eaten anything since breakfast.

He served the soup up with enormous chunks of bread 
and silence descended as they hungrily devoured the 
small meal.  

At last Mulder could contain himself no more.  
"What did the autopsy show, Scully?" he asked 
through a mouthful of bread.

"The medical examiner was not the most cooperative 
person I've ever met.  He wouldn't let me look at 
the previous bodies, although he graciously allowed 
me to view his reports.  He appears to have made a 
thorough and professional job of the autopsies.  I 
have ordered a couple of more obscure tests, but I 
don't think we're going to find anything."

"What about Hamish.  Did the ME let you take a look 
at him?"

"Yes.  He was quite good about that, actually.  He 
allowed me to assist and we were both quite sure of 
our conclusions.  Hamish committed suicide by 
slashing his wrists with what appears to be a piece 
of wood.  We found splinters of wood in the wound 
and the irregular nature of the gashes would 
indicate that he sawed at his wrists rather than 
slicing them cleanly."

Mulder's face dropped.  "Are you sure?"

"I'm quite sure, Mulder.  I'm sorry, but Hamish 
committed suicide.  There's no doubt in my mind."

Mulder began to clear the plates away.  "I wonder 
what will happen now that the Fairy Queen no longer 
has a sacrifice for Halloween?"

"Mulder, the British police are treating these 
deaths as kidnapping and murder, and now kidnapping 
and suicide.  There's no denying that Hamish and 
the others were kept somewhere against their will.  
But there's no evidence whatsoever to support your 
theory about fairies.  It's just a case of trying 
to find the kidnapper before he strikes again.  It 
could be that he is following the pattern of the 
murders a hundred years ago in order to confuse.  
If that is so, then he might well take another 
victim before Halloween.  However, I don't see how 
we can help any further in this case, unless the 
British police ask us to assist them in their 
search."

Scully rose from the table and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get changed and then I'm going to 
church.  I met Hamish's mother at the morgue and 
they're holding a memorial service for the men this 
evening."  She checked her watch.  "In twenty 
minutes, actually.  We got talking and she invited 
me along, so, that's where I'm going.  Do you want 
to come?"

"I can't.  Simon is home for a few days and Sir 
Montague is holding a small party.  I promised we'd 
go."

"I don't think I feel like a party after today, 
Mulder.  Why don't you go on your own?  Besides, I 
haven't brought anything suitable to wear.  Jeans 
and sweaters you said."

"I mentioned that to Sir Montague, but he's very 
persistent, Scully, and ..." his voice trailed off, 
leaving Scully suspicious.

"And, what?"

"He's sent over some of his daughter's dresses.  
They're in your room.  He really would like you to 
go, Scully.  Simon would love to meet you."

She really could do without this.  "I'll try to 
make it after the service," she snapped and headed 
for the shower, muttering under her breath.  What 
was it with men that they had to arrange your 
schedule all the time?  Mulder was always doing it 
and it damn well drove her crazy at times.  She 
really did not want to meet Sir Montague.  He 
sounded positively fascist the way he snapped his 
fingers and everyone jumped.  And as for Simon, he 
and Mulder would probably end up reminiscing about 
their wild oats days at Oxford and she would be 
forced to listen to endless tales of their macho 
pursuits.  

...

By the time she arrived at the small Kirk, Scully 
had managed to work herself up into a taut ball of 
frustration and anger and it was well into the 
third hymn before she started to calm down.  

Gradually the words of the hymn seeped into her 
consciousness and peace made a tentative foray into 
her soul.  The hymn was one that had given her 
great comfort during her cancer and she felt 
ashamed of her petty behavior earlier.  Mulder 
wanted to share something of his past with her and 
she had turned on him yet again.  She sang the 
verses softly, reverently, thanking God for every 
new day and for the endless possibilities of life.  

"I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death's sting? Where, Grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows 
flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."

Sometimes it was easy to forget the important 
things in life.  Like love, friendship, compassion 
and tolerance.  Scully knew she was as guilty as 
everybody else when it came to neglecting her 
friends and their needs.  Resolution number two and 
it wasn't even New Year yet – she would be nice to 
Mulder's friends even if it killed her to do so.  
Yes, she would.

End chapter four

Chapter five

Mulder was nowhere to be seen when she let herself 
into the cottage.  The fire in the grate had died 
down to glowing embers and the living room seemed 
quiet and serene in the half-light.  Scully crossed 
to the mantelpiece and poured herself a small glass 
of whisky from the decanter.  She had a feeling she 
would require a little help to get through the 
evening.  

Her parents had entertained often when dad was home 
and she and Melissa had watched from the safety of 
the stairs as the grown-ups chatted and laughed.  
They both longed for the day when they would be old 
enough to be allowed downstairs to join the party.  
In the meantime they had made do with dressing up 
in their mother's clothes and holding fashion 
parades in their bedroom.  Melissa would lay a 
blanket on the floor and then they would take it in 
turns to teeter down the catwalk, small feet 
dwarfed in their mother's shoes and lipstick 
smeared halfway up their cheeks.   When Melissa 
approached her teens, Dana became dressmaker's 
dummy and pincushion for her sister's rags and bin-
liners creations.  Tears inevitably ensued when 
Dana wriggled once too often and Melissa slapped 
her a little too hard.

Her parents' parties had always been warm, informal 
gatherings, nothing like she was facing tonight.  
And what if all Brits were like Phoebe Green?  
Scully shivered unconsciously.  It didn't bear 
thinking about.

A hot shower perked her up somewhat and she dripped 
her way to the bedroom where there were enough 
dresses laid on the bed to stock a small boutique.  
Oh, my Lord, Scully thought, as she checked the 
designer labels in each and every dress, there must 
be thousands of dollars worth here.  Sir Montague's 
daughter certainly liked her haute couture.

She picked out a silvery number with thin straps 
and a low-cut front.  A little too low-cut.  Scully 
laughed when she saw herself in the mirror. This 
dress was Mulder's wet dream, there was no way she 
could ever wear something like this and get away 
with it.  The fabric was cut so low at the front 
that it exposed one of her nipples every time she 
moved.  The rest of the dress clung to her like 
cellophane, and was so see-through she could see 
the little roses on her cotton panties.  Either the 
panties would have to go or the dress would.  It 
would almost be worth the humiliation to see 
Mulder's face, but no, this dress was definitely 
not for her.

She tried on a few more dresses but they either 
made her look like a tart or a schoolgirl, neither 
of which would be good images to wear around 
Mulder.  

Finally, she settled on a black dress tinged with 
silver.  It was made up of three diaphanous layers 
that together were translucent enough to be sexy 
but not so that you could see underwear or nipples.  
Tiny silver sequins flecked the chiffon fabric, 
giving the effect of stars studding a galaxy.  The 
dress molded to her torso but not excessively so 
and then flared out gently mid-thigh.  She adjusted 
the thin straps and arranged the clinging bodice so 
that only the slight swell of her breasts showed.  

Standing back, Scully appraised herself in the 
full-length mirror.  God, she felt sexy as hell.  
No wonder women adored Versace.  The dress made her 
feel feminine and powerful.  I am woman, hear me 
roar she thought and then immediately was struck 
down with self-doubt.  Who was she trying to kid? 
You needed to be strong and confident in your 
sexuality to carry a dress like this off, not a 
woman who only got laid when the moon was blue.  A 
tiny war ensued in her head as her insecure side 
told her she would only make a fool of herself 
dressed like that.  The side empowered by the magic 
of Versace argued that every woman deserved a 
change now and then, and if she believed in 
herself, so would every one else.  To wear, to hide 
in a corner, to wear, to hide in a corner.  
Goddamnit, she'd faced worse than this on a boring, 
uneventful day at work.  Versace won the battle and 
Scully headed for the big house, wearing his colors 
with pride.

A penguin-suited butler opened the door and led her 
to the drawing room where people sparkled in small 
groups as they chatted and sipped champagne.  A 
maid offered her a glass and she accepted as she 
scanned the throng for a glimpse of Mulder.  Small 
party, my ass, she thought.  There had to be a 
hundred people at least in this room.  

Suddenly, a large dark-haired man loomed towards 
her, his voice booming over the babble of 
conversation.  "My dear, you 'must' be the elusive 
Agent Scully that Fox has been telling us so much 
about."  A large hairy paw extended and her small 
hand was swallowed up as it was pumped 
enthusiastically up and down.  "Come in, come in, 
don't look so frightened.  I only eat small 
children and animals, never beautiful young ladies 
like you."

Scully laughed and warmed instantly to the huge 
smiling bear of a man.  "It's Dana, please, Sir.  
And you are?"

He let go of her and steered her into an adjacent 
room, his hand placed firmly in the center of her 
back.  Scully suppressed the smile that rose 
unbidden to her lips.  How many of Mulder's secrets 
would unfurl tonight, she wondered.

"I'm the reason you're here, young lady.  I'm Sir 
Montague, but you can call me Monty.  Now, have you 
got enough to drink?"

Scully opened her mouth to answer but never got the 
chance.

"Peters!  Dana here needs some more champagne.  Hop 
to it, lad."

The young waiter smiled nervously at her and filled 
her glass to the brim with shaky hands.  She 
thanked him and smiled encouragingly.  A blush 
sprang instantly to his face and he tripped over 
the edge of the Persian rug as he moved backward 
without looking where he was going.  Glasses 
crashed to the floor spraying droplets of champagne 
in a thousand directions at once.

Conversation ceased and all eyes swivelled in their 
direction.  Thankfully Scully's dress had escaped 
the deluge but the same could not be said for the 
waiter or the Persian rug.  The poor boy lay 
sprawled in a fizzing puddle of champagne and 
Scully held her breath as she waited for the wrath 
of Sir Montague to descend.  

Instead he bent down and, pulling the boy onto his 
feet, brushed him down and checked his hands and 
face for cuts.

"Good grief, boy," he growled, "haven't you ever 
seen a beautiful woman before?  Maria, go and get a 
mop and clear this mess up, and wipe young Peters 
down while you're at it."

He patted the boy's head affectionately and people 
lost interest in the mini-drama.  A shiver ran 
through Scully's body and she had the intense 
feeling she was being watched.  She turned to her 
right and found that she was indeed being surveyed.  
Mulder, another man and a woman were standing 
across the room.  It was the man, who had to be 
Simon, given his likeness to Sir Montague, who was 
staring at her, mouth agape.  Mulder was deep in 
conversation with the tall brunette at his side, 
seemingly oblivious to the commotion she had just 
caused.

Sir Montague headed over to the group and Scully 
followed. Mulder looked up as they approached.  To 
his credit, his eyes only swept her body once and 
then fixed firmly on her face. He smiled warmly and 
it seemed to Scully as though the temperature in 
the room rose a couple of degrees.  

"You made it then, Scully?"  

"No, Mulder.  I didn't have the time to attend both 
the church service and this party so I sent along a 
clone instead. Your task for the evening is to find 
out whether I'm the real me or not."

Mulder raised his eyebrows, a mischievous grin 
replacing the smile.  "And how do you propose I do 
that?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." 

"You can count on it."  His voice was low and 
teasing and the smile was broad on his face but the 
eyes that bored into hers were dark and serious.

Scully's stomach flipped as it was in the habit of 
doing lately every time he looked at her like that.  
The situation was not helped any by Mulder's attire 
this evening.  He was very striking in his black 
tuxedo.  He always did wear a suit well and this 
one was a good cut and looked as though it were 
tailored for him.  His cummerbund was green and 
gave depth to his eyes.  Eyes that were still 
locked with hers in unspoken communication.

She should say something, anything to break the 
spell. You look nice, Mulder.  Why thank you, 
Scully.  So do you.  There, the formalities over 
and done with.  Except that he didn't simply look 
nice.  He looked positively edible.  Handsome, 
brooding, dark, mysterious Mulder.  The type of man 
your mother warned you about.  Scully didn't trust 
her voice to be steady if she spoke, so she 
remained silent. 

In true gallant form, Sir Montague came to her 
rescue, albeit unwittingly.

"I see you've not lost your touch, eh, Fox?"  Sir 
Montague clapped Mulder so hard on the back that 
Mulder actually tipped a little forward before 
regaining his equilibrium.  "Dana's a lovely girl."

"She's not my… we're not…."  Mulder recovered the 
power of speech only to lose it again.

"We're just partners, Monty," Scully explained for 
the second time that day.  

"So there's a lucky husband waiting at home then, 
is there?"  Simon pushed forward and shook her 
hand.  "I'm Simon Montague, in case you hadn't 
guessed."

"Dana Scully.  Um, no, there's no one at the 
moment."

"Well, that's a damn shame, if you ask me."  Monty 
graced her with a grin that went from ear to ear.  
"I'll leave you young 'uns to chat amongst 
yourselves.  Bairstow's just arrived and I must 
talk to him about that damned tank of his, tearing 
up the hillside.  What's the world coming to."  He 
disappeared into the crowd, muttering under his 
breath as he went.

"I'm Julia Stevenson."  The dark-haired woman took 
Scully's hand in a firm handshake.  "It's nice to 
meet you, Dana.  Fox has been telling us all about 
you."

"Has he?"  Scully glanced at Mulder who smiled 
innocently.

"Your work sounds fascinating.  I must say I'm not 
really surprised that Fox has pursued a career in 
the realm of the unexplained.  He always was quite 
the stargazer at Oxford.  I lost count of the times 
I woke up alone, always to find him lying on the 
grass in the Quadrangle – looking up at the stars."

Mulder coughed and choked on his champagne.  "I 
don't think Scully needs to hear about those days, 
Julia."  He looked at Scully.  "It was a long time 
ago."

He spoke the last part softly, almost 
apologetically and Scully was left wondering at his 
meaning.  Why should it matter to her what happened 
in his past?  And, more to the point, why should it 
matter to him that it mattered to her?  Or maybe 
that's not what he meant at all.  

Julia was certainly the type Mulder seemed to be 
attracted to.  She was tall, dark, not beautiful 
but elegant and stylish.  She had an air of quiet 
intelligence and sophistication. Warmth and humor 
shone in her eyes when she was talking about 
Mulder, so different from Diana and Phoebe in that 
respect.

She smiled at Scully.  "I'm sorry, Dana.  It's such 
a long time since I've seen Fox or Simon.  I'm 
afraid we've all been tripping down memory lane.  
Fox tells us you're a doctor as well as a FBI 
Agent.  Simon here's a doctor, aren't you darling?"

"Yes, for my sins. It's a thankless task these 
days."

"Oh, and you love every minute of it, Simon.  Why 
else would you choose to practice in that God-
forsaken hell-hole you call home?"

"God has not forsaken the good people of Govan, 
Julia, that's why he sent me to help them in their 
hour of need."

Mulder interrupted.  "I don't understand, Simon.  I 
thought you were a high-flying Consultant 
Pediatrician with a practice in Edinburgh that was 
a licence to print money.  That's what you told me 
last time we spoke." 

It was Julia who answered.  "That was before Simon 
discovered his social conscience, Fox.  These days 
he operates from a shabby pre-fab in the poorest 
suburb of Glasgow.  None of his clients can afford 
to pay him and he's constantly on the scrounge for 
money and equipment.  I hope you two have left your 
wallets behind, or else you'll leave here 
considerably poorer than when you came in."

"I don't remember seeing much of a social 
conscience when you passed oregano off as grass and 
sold it to half the people in the college.  Do you 
remember, Julia?  We had to barricade the door to 
our staircase to stop the angry mob tearing Simon 
limb from limb once they discovered his treachery."

Everyone laughed as they recalled the incident.

"I'm a changed man, Mulder, old chap.  A changed 
man."

Scully observed the easy banter between the three 
old friends.  Mulder was slightly flushed, either 
with champagne, or just from the company.  He 
appeared to have slipped effortlessly back into 
this old relationship.  She had assumed that Mulder 
had been unhappy at Oxford.  He rarely, if ever, 
talked about his time there and the only person he 
had ever mentioned before was, of course, Phoebe.  
Now here he was chatting happily with an old friend 
and an ex-lover.  Julia had her hand on Mulder's 
arm as she was talking and Mulder was smiling at 
her affectionately, his eyes locked on hers.  Their 
relationship must have ended amicably, Scully 
thought.  There was no sign of animosity between 
them.  

She drained her glass and tried to look interested.  
Reminiscences were only ever amusing to those who 
were involved.  The people telling the stories 
always assumed that everyone listening understood 
and was a part of it.  It could be quite alienating 
at times.  Scully had experienced this time and 
again throughout her childhood at different 
schools.  Even when she made a few friends they 
already had a history together and their giggling 
tales only served to heighten her inner isolation.

She suppressed the nagging inner voice telling her 
that her feelings had more to do with the way 
Mulder was gazing at Julia than being left out of a 
conversation about old times.  Mulder could look at 
other women however he wanted; it had nothing to do 
with her.  Convinced of her own virtue, Scully 
decided to be pro-active and engage Simon in a 
discussion about his work in Glasgow.  It did sound 
fascinating after all. 

Simon was halfway through telling her about the 
high rate of malnutrition amongst children of the 
working class demographic when Scully noticed that 
Mulder and Julia had disappeared.  She smiled 
politely at Simon as she covertly scrutinized the 
crowds for a glimpse of them.

"So I think that a radical shake-up of the National 
Health Service is the only way forward."  Simon 
concluded his mini-rant and Scully sighed inwardly 
with relief.

"You're quite right I'm sure, Simon."  She raised 
her glass to her lips and then looked at it as 
though she hadn't realized it was empty.

Simon noticed straight away and offered to fetch 
her a refill.  Scully accepted, grateful for the 
chance to look around properly for Mulder.  He was 
nowhere to be seen in this room or the drawing room 
and she wandered out into the hallway, drawn by the 
elegant strains of Strauss emanating from what was 
obviously the ballroom.  

She spotted Mulder immediately.  He looked rather 
uncomfortable as Julia swung him around the floor 
in an energetic waltz.  His face lit up with a 
smile when he saw Scully and he waved behind 
Julia's back.  She returned the smile and was about 
to cross the floor towards Mulder and Julia when 
Simon appeared with more champagne.

"There you are, Dana.  I wondered where you'd 
disappeared to."

Scully felt instantly guilty for ditching Simon and 
so she accepted when he asked her to dance.  He was 
an excellent dancer and they whirled gracefully 
around the dance floor.  Scully could feel Mulder's 
eyes following her without even looking at him.  He 
was holding Julia less tightly now; a Greyhound bus 
could park quite easily between them.

Simon twirled Scully to the rhythm of the music, 
and at every turn, Mulder was watching.  She felt 
as though she were dancing with Mulder, not Simon.

The next dance turned out to be one of those 
godawful partner-swapping affairs.  Scully was 
passed from man to man until she was briefly in 
Mulder's arms.  He held her tightly, his body 
molded to hers.  Blood rushed to her head, leaving 
her feeling faint.  She hoped she wasn't blushing, 
even as she could feel the heat rising to her face.  

He bent his face towards her and for a heart-
stopping moment Scully thought he was going to kiss 
her.

"You're beautiful."

Oh, God.  That came straight out of left field.  
What to say?

"I'm surprised you noticed." No, that was not it.  
That was not the most appropriate thing she could 
have said by a long shot, she had to admit.

Mulder appeared unperturbed.

"I noticed," he whispered, before he was whipped 
into the arms of another woman and Scully was left 
staring at a sweaty man with stringy hair brushed 
across his bald head.

Flushed from Mulder's words, the champagne and the 
dancing, she decided to go outside to let the night 
air cool her burning cheeks.

The evening was cold but invigorating, and Scully 
made her way through the garden and down to the 
private beach.

The night-darkened waves of the Irish Sea dashed 
against the rocks that littered the shoreline.  The 
sea always exerted a calming influence on her and 
she returned to it time and again for reassurance 
and contemplation.  That was the worst thing about 
living in DC.  It was too far to go to the beach.  
The Potomac didn't ever match up to the awesome 
power of crashing waves.  Scully was reminded of 
the piece of music by Mendelssohn, "Fingal's Cave", 
which had been inspired by this very sea.  She 
wished that she had brought the CD with her; it 
would have been quite something to listen to it 
sitting on a beach not a hundred miles from where 
it was written.  Maybe she could persuade Mulder to 
detour via the island of Staffa on the way home so 
that she could see the actual cave that inspired 
Mendelssohn to create such beautiful music.

The sky flickered brightly and Scully watched in 
awe as fingers of green light flowed across the 
heavens, like ripples in silk.  The ripples danced 
and swelled with light, breathing life into the 
firmament.  She had seen the Aurora before on her 
trips, but she could never grow tired of its magic.  
Mulder would love to see this again.

Mulder.  Now there was the rub.  Although they had 
hardly spoken to each other all evening, Scully 
sensed that something fundamental had shifted 
between them.  Whenever they were in the same room, 
he had watched her intently.  His attention had 
aroused her, she had to admit.  

Scully was so caught up in thoughts of Mulder that 
she didn't hear the footsteps approaching and 
Mulder's low voice made her jump.

"You're going to freeze your ass off out here, 
Scully.  I brought you something to keep you warm."  
He draped a black velvet jacket over her shoulders, 
rubbing her arms through the material.

"Where did you get this, Mulder?"  Scully hadn't 
bothered bringing a coat because the house was only 
a two-minute walk from the cottage.

"I stole it from the cloakroom.  No one will miss 
it.  The party's still in full swing."  He grinned 
broadly and Scully felt herself slowly thawing from 
the warmth of the jacket, or was it from Mulder's 
arm, which was still slung across her shoulder?  It 
was the jacket, most definitely. "What are you 
doing out here in the cold, Scully?  Simon is 
missing you in there."

Scully leaned into Mulder's body as he stood next 
to her and his grip on her shoulder tightened a 
little.  "I'm watching the sky."

Mulder began stroking his hand up and down her arm.  
The silk lining from the jacket caressed her bare 
skin; each smooth, sleek glide teasing the tiny 
hairs on her arm erect.  She knew he wasn't just 
trying to warm her up.  They were slowly crossing 
the boundary into unknown territory.  She could 
stop it now if she wanted; they could turn back 
without having breached the line.  

She didn't want to turn back, though. She wanted to 
discover what lay in the areas of the Mulder map 
currently marked 'here be monsters'.  Here be 
pleasure, she hoped.  She smiled inwardly and 
rested her head against Mulder's chest.  His body 
tensed momentarily and it pleased her to know that 
he was as nervous about this as she was.  

"So my little sceptic has finally given in and 
started looking for UFOs then.  Is that what you're 
telling me, Scully?"  

His use of the possessive pronoun made her shiver.  
"Sorry, Mulder.  You'll have to try a lot harder 
than you have been doing if you want me to believe.  
I'm talking about the Aurora."

His hand left her shoulder and his fingers tangled 
in her hair, massaging her scalp in slow circles.  
God, it felt good.  

"How much harder?"

"What?"  Waves of calm were washing over her as his 
fingers continued their ministrations.

"I said, how much harder do I have to try to make 
you believe?"

The back of his hand caressed the side of her face; 
graceful fingers tracing the curve of her cheekbone 
down to the edge of her mouth, brushing across her 
lower lip.

She let out a small sigh of contentment.  

Mulder bent slightly and placed a gentle kiss on 
the top of her head.  "Do you like that?" he 
whispered into her hair.

Here was the line, Scully realized.  Finally, their 
long journey together had brought them to the 
brink.  There would be no going back.  She offered 
a silent prayer to God, in case he was watching.  
"God, grant me the strength to do this, and then 
close your eyes while I do."

"Yes," she answered, and then tilted her head so 
that her lips brushed his.  

The Northern Lights faded into the background as 
Scully savored the rich, dark-chocolate taste of 
Mulder for the first time.  His lips were soft and 
pliant; they yielded gently to her tongue's 
persuasion.  The kiss deepened and the heat rose as 
they hungrily explored each other.  Scully was 
overwhelmed with the urge to climb all over Mulder, 
to press him down into the sand and devour him.  
She snaked her arms around his neck, working her 
fingers through his hair.  

Their bodies were tight against each other and 
Scully rubbed up against his growing hardness.  
Arousal made her bold and she slid her hand between 
them, to touch the part of Mulder that had been 
denied her until now.  She traced the outline of 
his erection through his dress trousers, relishing 
how hard he was already, for her, because of her.  
Her actions elicited a deep, throaty moan from 
Mulder.  "Oh, God, Scully."

His hands roamed her body freely, caressing her 
ass, pressing her into him.  If it weren't so 
damned cold, Scully knew she would take him here, 
now, on the beach beneath the red-green sky.

They broke apart and stared breathlessly at each 
other.  Scully could see her own desire shining in 
Mulder's eyes.  God, how she wanted him.

She reached up and kissed him gently before taking 
his hand.  "Let's go back to the cottage, Mulder."

End chapter five

Chapter six

The sky blushed a deep red as they walked hand in 
hand back to the cottage.  Scully wanted 
desperately to run, but that would just seem too 
eager.  They had waited six years, another couple 
of minutes wouldn't matter; except that she was 
itching to touch him, to feel his warm skin against 
hers, his hot mouth all over her body.  She 
quickened the pace and Mulder followed suit, 
squeezing her hand tightly.  

Hurriedly, they made their way through the formal 
garden towards the side of the house.  A few people 
were chatting in small groups, watching the sky's 
display.  Scully fervently hoped they would make it 
through the throng without being stopped.  Mulder 
was carrying the stolen jacket in front of him to 
hide his arousal and Scully couldn't prevent a 
chuckle from escaping.  

"Don't laugh like that, Scully.  You'll just make 
matters worse."

"You like it when I laugh, do you Mulder?"

"I do, actually, and. . ."

"Fox, Dana.  So there you are."  Julia sashayed 
towards them, swaying slightly as she did so.  
"You've been gone for an absolute age.  Simon's 
quite bereft."

Mulder shifted uncomfortably, a thin sheen of sweat 
beading on his brow, despite the cold.  Scully 
would have to get rid of Julia herself, and the 
sooner the better.

"Mulder and I were talking, Julia, and he thinks he 
has discovered a new angle to the case we were 
investigating.  He wants to explore it as quickly 
as possible.  You will excuse us, won't you?"

Julia gave them both a penetrating look, a smile 
playing at the edges of her mouth.  "Yes, of 
course, my dear.  I wouldn't want to stand in the 
way of your explorations.  Have fun." She smiled 
warmly and then headed for a young blonde girl 
hovering near the door.

Mulder was open-mouthed.  "Christ, Scully.  You 
practically told her what we're going to do."

"I don't think she's all that bothered, Mulder."  
Scully gestured towards the door where Julia and 
the blonde were already deep in conversation.  "I 
think she's got other things on her mind this 
evening, anyway."

Mulder stared at her incomprehensibly.  Men could 
be so dense at times.  His brow relaxed and his 
eyes widened as realization dawned.    "You don't 
mean…" 

Scully nodded.  "Simon told me."  She took Mulder's 
hand and dragged him down the dirt track towards 
the cottage.  "Come on, Mulder.  We were just 
warming up before.  We don't want to lose all that 
heat now, do we?"

Finally they arrived at the cottage, and after a 
few fumblings with the key they were inside.  It 
was dark and a little chilly in the living room, 
the fire having all but gone out.  Scully flicked 
on a table lamp and dim light illuminated the 
gloom.

Mulder began trying to rekindle the dying embers of 
the fire and Scully headed for her bedroom.

"Where are you going?"  Mulder's question caused 
her to stop at the closed door.

"I'm just going to slip into something more 
comfortable."  She smiled almost shyly.  "Isn't 
that what people say?"

Mulder didn't smile; he looked deadly serious.  
What was the matter with him?

"I. . ." He paused, seemingly searching for the 
right words.  "I want you to stay in that dress.  
Please."

Ah, now she understood.  This was too good an 
opportunity to pass up.  "So, Mulder.  What exactly 
is it that you like about this dress?"

Mulder rose from the fireside and crossed the rug 
towards her, stopping a couple of feet short.  
"It's not so much the dress, as the woman who's in 
it."

"Do you like me at other times, or is it solely 
when I'm wearing this dress?  Because you know, 
Mulder, I don't think Monty's daughter is going to 
let me keep it."

"I was thinking more along the lines of how much 
I'd like to take that dress off you."

Mulder bridged the gap between them; Scully could 
smell his cologne mingled with his rich masculine 
scent.  He placed his left hand on the door frame 
by the side of her head, effectively pinning her 
against the door. His body molded to hers, his 
erection pressing insistently into her belly. Her 
heart rate tripled and in a single, super-charged 
heartbeat the mood became serious.  The time to 
stop playing games had arrived.  She whispered her 
reply into his ear.  

"Why don't you, then?" 

There was nothing soft about the kiss this time.  
It was fierce and hot, full of need and want and 
dreams unfulfilled.  Their tongues touched and 
tangled, making them both jump a little as the 
contact shot electrical waves through their bodies.  
At least, that's how it felt to Scully; she could 
almost smell the sparks from the fusion as they 
burned in the air. 

She melted into the kiss, surrendering herself to 
Mulder's probing tongue – soft, wet and teasing, 
provoking her into a fevered response.  She was 
desperate to touch him, any part of him and her 
hands slid into his hair, tangling in its softness.  
Her fingers pulled at the short strands, twisting 
them around and around as she pressed her body into 
his, not caring that the sounds she was making were 
practically whimpers.  She wanted this, needed it, 
didn't even want to rationalize it beyond the here 
and now.  Why shouldn't they take pleasure in each 
other?  She deserved to be loved, they both did.

Mulder was mapping her body with his hands, tracing 
her contours with deft fingers.  Normally firm and 
toned, she rippled under his caresses, becoming 
fluid and boneless. His thumbs stroked the 
sensitive swell of her ass, fingers pressing into 
the curve near her legs, squeezing hard.  The 
material of her dress was so thin it was as though 
it were not there at all and the shivers coursing 
through her body brought her skin alive.  With her 
eyes tight shut she concentrated solely on the 
sensations his touch invoked.  Mulder abandoned her 
mouth, leaving her gasping for air, and moved down 
to her neck, kissing his way around it until her 
loud moan told him he had found the right spot just 
behind her ear.  He slid one of the hands clutching 
her ass lower, pressing into the juncture of her 
thighs, fingers rubbing along the perineum.  Oh, 
God, it felt unbelievably good.

"Do you like that?" he whispered into her ear.

Oh, God, yeah.  She wished only that there were no 
barrier of clothing, so that she could press back 
against his fingers as they pushed into her from 
behind.  He would have to be a contortionist to 
achieve that from this angle, however.  She 
disentangled her fingers from his hair and held his 
face in her hands.  Running her fingers over his 
full lips, red and swollen from her kisses, she 
grazed them lightly with her mouth.

"Mulder, let's go over to the fire, get a little 
more comfortable."

He nodded, unable or afraid to speak.  She didn't 
need words to know what he was feeling.  His eyes, 
as dark and liquid as a pint of Guinness, spoke of 
his desire for her and she led him over to where 
the fire was crackling, alive in the grate.

Mulder took his jacket off, throwing it over the 
arm of the sofa, and pulled his bow tie off, 
unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he did so.  
Mimicking his actions of the night before, Scully 
settled on the rug with her back against the cold 
leather of the chair making a vee of her own legs.  

Mulder nestled between her thighs, his back tight 
against her chest.  His head lolled forward as she 
ran her fingers across the nape of his neck and 
under his shirt collar.  She used her thumbs to 
trace arcs up into his hair, enjoying the 
uncontrolled shivers that rocked his body under her 
hands.  She kissed his sensitive skin, lingering 
there, marking him.

"Take your shirt off," she requested gently, and 
with shaky hands he unfastened the rest of the 
buttons.  She slid the shirt down and off, exposing 
his beautiful back for the first time, at least in 
this context.  Looping her arms around his body, 
she crossed her hands over his chest and laid her 
cheek against the smooth, warmth of his back.  She 
held him there, not moving, just listening to his 
heart as it thumped wildly in her ear; her head 
rising and falling with every breath he took.  

Scully closed her eyes and adjusted her breathing 
to match his, taking the time to enjoy the intimacy 
of the moment.  Mulder's hands covered hers and she 
felt tears prick her eyes; she couldn't believe 
they were doing this, and at the same time couldn't 
believe that they hadn't already.  It felt natural, 
like they had been touching each other like this 
for years, and in a way they had.  They had been 
making love with looks and small gestures, touching 
each other, invading each other's space.  

She knew what Mulder's hand on the small of her 
back meant to him; it meant the same to her.  That 
she was his and he was hers and no one could ever 
touch her there like he could.  And she had wanted 
the tattoo there to try and claim it back from him, 
to separate herself from his life, his quest.  She 
did not belong to him; she was her own person.  She 
had not realized at the time that she did not have 
to lose herself in order to belong; and that as 
much as he laid claim to her, she could also lay 
claim to him, if she wanted to.  And she did want 
to; she could see that now.

"Scully?"  Mulder unclasped her hands and turned 
around so that he was on his knees and facing her.  
"Is anything wrong?"

His brow was furrowed with worry, and confusion.  A 
tear dripped onto the front of her dress and it was 
only then that she realized she was crying.  

She wiped her face with her hands and smiled at 
him.  "Nothing's wrong, Mulder.  Nothing at all."

"We don't have to do this, Scully, you know that.  
If you don't want to, we can stop right here."

"I don't want to stop, Mulder."  She moved onto her 
knees as well and they faced each other.  Running 
her hands through the soft hair on his chest she 
bent forward and kissed him again, fiercely.

"I want to love you," she whispered as they parted, 
"and I want you to love me."

"I do, Scully.  I love you."

His arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly 
to him she could hardly breathe.

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Unless you've developed a sudden interest in 
necrophilia, you'd better let me go."

He laughed as he pulled back.  "Necrophilia doesn't 
do it for me, Scully.  I like my women to tell me 
if they like what I'm doing to them, and the dead 
don't moan when I do this . . ." His hands cupped 
her breasts through her dress and tweaked her left 
nipple hard between finger and thumb.   A jolt of 
pure pleasure ran down the invisible wire that 
connected her nipples to her clitoris and she did 
indeed moan, and loudly.

"Oh, you're too easy, Scully.  And way too 
overdressed."  Mulder slid a hand around to her 
back and eased the zipper down.  The thin straps of 
her dress fell limply down her arms and he peeled 
them the rest of the way down, slipping her arms 
out as he did.  With the zipper undone, the dress 
glided off her small frame and bunched around her 
knees.  Mulder bent his head to her right breast 
and sucked the nipple into his mouth while rubbing 
his thumb over the left one.  Scully went into 
sensory overload.  Mulder's mouth was hot, his lips 
moist and firm as they sucked at her.  He changed 
tack and his tongue lapped gently, teasing her 
lightly, until she was pushing herself into his 
face, silently begging for his mouth again.

He looked up at her, his mouth wet and inviting.  
"You taste salty.  Can you taste it on me?"  He 
plunged his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on 
it but couldn't taste anything except the remnants 
of champagne that lingered there.

"No, Mulder, I can't."

"Maybe if we tried the other breast."

He lavished the same attention on the previously 
neglected breast and Scully was growing hotter by 
the second.  Her heart was pounding a mambo rhythm 
in her chest, just below where Mulder was making 
her feel so good.  He kissed her again and this 
time she swore she could taste the salty tang of 
her own skin on his tongue.  It only made her 
hungry for him, to savor his lush flesh as he was 
doing hers.

Pushing him back onto the rug, she stepped out of 
the dress and stood over him, naked except for her 
panties.  She felt bold at that moment; the 
evidence of Mulder's arousal was tenting his 
trousers most alluringly and she kicked her heels 
off and straddled his calves.  He tried to reach up 
towards her but she shoved him back down again.  
She wanted to enjoy this moment, to create a memory 
that would last forever for them both.  Slowly, she 
undid the cummerbund, tossing it casually to one 
side.  Next came the hook and eye, which was fiddly 
but she managed to undo it and reach the zipper.  
Mulder was breathing hard, his chest rising and 
falling at an alarming rate.

The zipper got stuck halfway down and it took her a 
long minute to get the material out so that it 
could do its job and glide down to the end.  By 
now, Mulder was laughing so hard that she was 
bobbing up and down on his legs, her breasts 
wobbling most unattractively in the air.

"Stop laughing, Mulder.  This is supposed to be 
sexy."

"It is, Scully.  It is, honestly."

He stopped laughing when she slipped her hand in 
the waistband of his boxers and ran her nails 
lightly down the length of his erection.  He 
stopped laughing and let out a loud moan instead.  
That was much better, Scully thought, and eased his 
trousers and shorts down in one go.  His penis 
sprung free and pointed proudly at her.  

"Oh, my," she remarked out loud, and then ran her 
tongue over the smooth tip.

Mulder hissed as he sucked in air and she swirled 
her tongue harder, pressing it into the little slit 
at the head, lapping up the fluid that was already 
gathering there.

"You taste salty, as well.  Do you want to taste 
yourself on me?"  Her voice came out lower than 
usual, and Mulder's eyes closed as she dragged her 
body up over his.  They both groaned as they made 
contact for the first time and Scully settled 
herself on Mulder's erection as she leant forward 
to kiss him.

She planted her hands on either side of his head 
and rubbed herself along his shaft as they kissed.  
The friction created was wonderful and her clitoris 
throbbed, flooding her with moisture as her body 
pulsed at high octave.  It was too much, she had to 
have him inside her now; she couldn't wait any 
longer.

She removed her panties and settled back over him. 
As she rested astride him she became aware of how 
quiet it was.  The only sounds were those of the 
crackling fire and their own labored breathing.  An 
irrational fear overtook her.  So many lines had 
been crossed tonight but this was the ultimate one, 
the one that would change everything.

Mulder looked at her, his brow furrowed, and his 
eyes. . . His eyes seemed huge, the pupils so large 
the black almost eclipsed the green. She was 
surprised to see her own fear mirrored in his face. 
He felt it too then, the enormity of what they were 
about to do. They were on the threshold between 
what they were and what they could be. It felt to 
Scully as though the universe had finally expanded 
to its limit and was pushing vainly at the edges of 
space. In that moment, time stood still.

"Scully. . . I. . ."

Holding his cock steady, she lowered herself onto 
him, gasping at the brief stab of pain as her body 
resisted the invasion.  She paused for a second and 
then continued her journey, sinking slowly to the 
base. 

"Oh. . ." little staccato breaths escaped her as 
his cock filled her completely.  She couldn't tear 
her eyes away from his. Warm fingers of firelight 
flickered across his face and she watched, 
enthralled, as the fear melted away and something 
else burned in his eyes - passion, wonder and, yes, 
love. 

"Aah, Scully." 

She squeezed her internal muscles tightly around 
his cock and held him there, neither of them 
moving. 

Mulder brushed his hands over her belly, trailing 
his fingers lightly down over her damp curls, to 
where they were joined. His thumb stroked her clit 
and she cried out, the pleasure was so sharp.

She reached down and guided his fingers around her 
sensitive clit, never quite touching it.

"Like this?"  His thumb moved in small circles, 
around and around, and the heat rose between her 
legs and began to spread throughout her body.  She 
started to move then, slowly at first, and then 
faster as they fell into a rhythm.  

"Oh, god, Mulder, Mulder."  She called his name 
loudly and over and over again as his cock pressed 
against a pleasure point inside her with every 
thrust.

She was close to the edge, poised on the brink.

Mulder's hand was a blur as it rubbed her clit.  
Oh, sweet, sweet pressure.  Sometimes the moment 
just before, when she was on the verge but not 
quite, was the most pleasurable part of all.  She 
wanted it to last forever.   And then it was there, 
and she was falling.  Oh God, oh God, oh God.  
Warmth radiated from her toes, travelling through 
every nerve, muscle and sinew, until it exploded in 
her head.  Scully felt as though a surge of 
electricity had jolted her body, even her hair and 
her teeth felt the buzz.

She slowed her rhythm as her orgasm drained her of 
energy, forgetting for a moment that Mulder was not 
yet sated.

"God, Scully."  Mulder's awed voice brought her 
further back to earth and she began to move again, 
sliding his cock almost out of her before taking it 
back in again.  It felt exquisite to her over-
sensitized flesh and she worked quickly to bring 
back the rhythm they had established before.  As 
Mulder's breathing quickened, she took her cue to 
speed up.  Mulder was uttering inanities, nonsense 
words strung together by her name.  She could feel 
another climax building as she rode him and she 
urged him to let go, to let it all out.

"Oh, Scully."  He thrust up into her as he came, 
his warm semen flooding her.  Her vagina contracted 
wildly as her orgasm overcame her, her internal 
muscles doing the job that nature had intended as 
they tightened around his cock, making sure that 
not all of his seed spilled back out.  That was a 
cruel irony, not lost on Scully, but she didn't 
want to think about that right now.  Not when 
Mulder was pulling her to him, holding her tightly.  
His cock slipped out as she curved against his 
sweaty body.

"I love you, Scully," he whispered into her hair.

"I know you do," she replied, and let the rhythm of 
his heart lull her away as it thrummed against her 
ear.

End chapter six

Chapter Seven

Scully woke shivering; her back was cold where it 
was exposed to the chill air, and yet her front was 
warm and cozy.  It took her a few seconds to 
realize that Mulder had stolen half of the 
comforter, and only the parts of her body that were 
snuggled against him were covered.  She tried to 
sneak some of the blanket back but he groaned and 
wrapped himself more tightly into a ball, taking 
even more of the covers with him.  "Blanket thief," 
she whispered into his back as she molded her body 
to his to appropriate some of his body heat.

How long had it been since she had woken up in bed 
next to the warm body of another, her nose buried 
in his sweet-smelling skin?  Far, far too long.  
And now, finally, here she was next to Mulder, the 
smell of sex on their bodies, the hot, sultry taste 
of him on her bruised lips.  She had thought it 
would be awkward for them, the morning after.  What 
do you say to your closest friend when you awaken 
naked in his arms, clammy bodies stuck together as 
a result of your exertions?  

It had not been awkward at all.  The cold had 
stirred them at the same time; the fire having long 
since died out.  They had looked at each other in 
the dim light and smiled.  Finally.

And now she knew that Mulder had a secret smile, a 
heart-stopping, knee-trembling, oh-brother of a 
smile that was both loving and lascivious at the 
same time.  A smile that held a secret shared 
between two people.  Scully wondered if she had one 
too, and realized that she did because she could 
feel the curve of it on her face right at this 
moment.  

And who wouldn't have, after experiencing what he 
had done when they had stumbled into her bed in the 
early hours?  Her heartbeat quickened at the memory 
of his tongue's eager explorations of her most 
intimate places.  She sighed aloud and Mulder 
stirred and stretched an arm out, catching her 
squarely in the nose.

"Ow!" She pushed the offending arm away.

He was fully awake now and smiling esoterically 
again.  "Morning, Scully."

"You want to be more careful where you put your 
hands, Mulder."  She regretted the choice of words 
immediately, as Mulder's eyes sparkled with 
mischief.  She made a mental note to think 
carefully before speaking in future, otherwise they 
would never be able to have a civilized 
conversation again.

Mulder pulled the covers off them both, exposing 
her to the cool air and his heated gaze.

"So, where would you like me to put my hands, 
then?"

"Mulder, we don't have time for this.  We're 
supposed to be meeting the local detective at 
twelve noon and it's..." Scully reached across to 
the bedside table to pick up her watch.  "Shit... 
it's eleven o'clock already, Mulder.  We have to 
get dressed."

Mulder moved a little closer and took her watch out 
of her hand, turning it face down on the table.

"We still have an hour," he whispered suggestively.

Scully was determined to stand firm.  "No, Mulder.  
We have work to do.  We can't abandon our 
obligations just because we did... what we did... 
last night."

Mulder pinned her arms above her head and settled 
himself on her midriff, his cock stiff and warm and 
tempting as it rested on her stomach.  

"You mean what we did as in, had sex, made love, 
did the wild thing, fucked like bunnies...?"

"I prefer to use the term made love, but yes, all 
of the above." Scully tried to wriggle out of 
Mulder's grasp but it was useless, he was far too 
heavy.

"I prefer the term fucked like bunnies, myself... 
it has prolific connotations that I like the sound 
of."

"I mean it, Mulder," Scully murmured as his hot 
mouth descended on hers.

"So do I," replied Mulder, and any further words of 
protestation were captured and silenced by his lips 
as they closed around hers.

. . .

The grandfather clock struck half past the noon 
hour as they were ushered into the drawing room of 
Monty's house by Maria, the young maid.

The room was still littered with empty wineglasses 
and the multi-colored detritus of spent party 
poppers.  Two maids and a houseboy were fluttering 
about, collecting bottles here, dirty plates there, 
carefully sweeping around the comatose body of a 
reveler who hadn't made it to one of the bedrooms.  

Scully tapped the sole of her shoe repeatedly on 
the wooden floor.  She hated being late for 
appointments; she was never too early, never late, 
always on time.  One night with Mulder and her 
standards were already slipping.

"I hate being late, Mulder.  It's so rude."

Mulder shuffled and grinned.  "You only have 
yourself to blame, Scully.  You could have stopped 
me if you had really wanted."

Scully moved a step closer to him in order to 
refute that remark but Monty's booming baritone 
interrupted them.

"Mulder, old chap, and how are you this fine 
morning?  And Dana..." he let out an exaggerated 
sigh.  "My, you were a sight for an old man's sore 
eyes last night, my dear.  If only I were twenty 
years younger."  He puffed his chest out proudly.  
"Mind you, youth isn't everything, you know.  I 
could show these young 'uns a thing or two.  Isn't 
that right, Mulder?"

"I'm quite sure you could, Monty."

Monty steered them through to the kitchen, where an 
enormous pot of tea sat in the middle of a huge, 
scrubbed farmhouse table.  A small, thin, wizened 
old woman was hovering over the stove, spooning 
batter onto the griddle.  

"Are you hungry, by any chance?  You both look as 
though you could do with a good feed."  Monty 
motioned them to take seats at the table, and 
poured three large mugs of steaming tea.

Mulder took his cup, blowing the steam off the top 
before laying it on the table.  "I've just eaten, 
actually, Monty.  But I don't think Scully has had 
her fill just yet.  I don't know where she puts it 
all.  You wouldn't think she had such an enormous 
appetite looking at her, would you?"

She glared at Mulder as Monty passed her a mug of 
tea.  How could the bastard keep such a straight 
face?  And didn't the British ever drink coffee?  
She would give Mulder's right arm for a cup of 
creamy Java right now.  Then again, without his 
right arm he wouldn't be able to...  

The cook placed a plate of Scotch pancakes in front 
of her and just the smell of them made Scully's 
stomach growl.  She was ravenous.  She hadn't eaten 
anything since the soup of the previous evening, 
and, if she remembered correctly, sex always made 
her hungry in the morning.  She knew that Mulder 
hadn't eaten either, but he would have to suffer 
now for his lewd remark by not getting any 
breakfast.  She tucked into the pancakes with 
vigor, and even treated herself to a spoonful of 
maple syrup.  No doubt she would work off the 
calories later.

Monty explained to them that the policeman, 
Detective Sergeant Mackenzie, had come and gone, 
called out to a new spot in the forest where one of 
his constables had found a bloodied piece of wood. 

"DS Mackenzie is willing to accept any help you can 
offer him so that he can solve this case before any 
other poor sods go missing.  Of course, he's 
wasting his time."

Scully looked questioningly at Monty.  "Why do you 
say that?"

"Because, my dear, these murders are nothing that 
any mere mortal man can do anything about."

"Don't tell me you believe in fairies as well, 
Monty?"

Mulder interjected.  "I told you he did, Scully.  
Monty's grandfather, along with Shifty's father, 
found a couple of the young men a hundred years 
ago."

"It's true, my dear.  The legend of Tam Lin is 
taken very seriously in these parts.  His blood 
flows strongly through the veins of the Montagues."  

Scully resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  No 
wonder Mulder had been friends with Simon and has 
family.

"Are you familiar with the ballad of Tam Lin, Dana?  
Monty asked.

"I'm not, to be honest, Monty.  Mulder only told me 
about it yesterday morning, and so much has 
happened since then that I really haven't been able 
to find the time."

"Well, I could tell you all about it, but I know a 
man who weaves a far better story than I ever 
could."  Monty glanced at his watch.  "Let me 
see... it's nearly one o'clock, he'll probably be 
in the pub right now."

Scully was intrigued, "Who will?"

"Shifty.  He's a bard.  He has a wonderful gift for 
bringing the old tales alive.  If we buy him a good 
whisky, we can probably persuade him to tell you 
the tale."

Scully could see the afternoon sliding away once 
they all got in the pub and the whisky flowed.  
Still, there were worse things she could be doing, 
she reasoned.  She smiled and nodded.  "That sounds 
great, Monty."

Monty pushed back his chair and rose from the 
table.  "The pub it is, then."

Mulder drained his cup, "I think I might just take 
a look at the crime scene again before I join you 
in the pub.  I want to talk to DS Mackenzie, 
anyway."

Mulder and Monty headed for the back door.

"I guess we'll see you in the pub in a short while 
then, Monty," Scully said as she reluctantly left 
the rest of the pancakes on her plate and followed 
them into the courtyard.

Mulder stopped walking and turned towards her. 
"There's no need for you to come too, Scully.  I 
only want a quick briefing from DS Mackenzie and 
then I'll be back."

"Don't you want me to take a look at the piece of 
wood they have found?  I should be able to give you 
some idea as to whether it's the same piece Hamish 
used to cut his wrists."

"There's no need, I'll bring it back with me and 
you can look at it then.  I'll be quicker if I go 
on my own.  I'll be back soon."

"But Mulder..." Scully called after him but it was 
pointless. Mulder was already striding down the 
path towards the hill they had climbed yesterday, 
heading towards Carterhaugh Wood.

Scully sighed with exasperation.  Some things never 
changed.  It wasn't as though she had been that far 
behind him yesterday.  She couldn't help it if took 
her twice as long, and twice as much effort to keep 
up with his colossal strides.  She was in better 
shape than he was, damn him; she had to be if she 
didn't want to lag behind.

"Don't bother about him, Dana.  It's not that he 
doesn't care, he just doesn't think about others 
when his head is full of his own ideas.  He was 
like that when he was a young man."

"I'm fully cognizant with Mulder's preoccupations, 
Monty, believe me.  After six years, there isn't 
much about him that doesn't annoy me."

Monty placed his arm around her shoulder and they 
walked to the front of the house and down the long 
driveway towards the road.

"Still, as long as he's good in bed, eh, Dana?  You 
can forgive a lot for a good lover.  Am I right?"

Scully laughed.  "I'm sure I don't know what you 
mean, Monty."

. . .

The Carterhaugh Inn was only a short walk from 
Carter Hall and they were soon ensconced within the 
small whitewashed building. The inn was set on one 
side of the road that divided the hills from the 
sea.  Scully looked out of the window and out 
towards Skye as she waited for Monty and Shifty to 
return with the drinks.  There was a large, gray 
object cruising down the channel that looked 
remarkably like a battleship.  Scully shielded her 
eyes against the glare of the midday sun and 
squinted at the object.  It was indeed a ship, some 
kind of Destroyer judging by the array of 
electronic equipment cluttering the masts.  

Bill had owned hundreds of model ships when he was 
younger, all carefully constructed and lovingly 
hand-painted.  He had bored her to tears more often 
than she cared to remember with the different types 
and names.  It was funny, the kind of things that 
she could remember.  Sometimes, she could hardly 
remember Melissa's face, or that of her father, and 
yet she could recognize a British destroyer even 
though she had only ever seen a toy model twenty-
five years ago.  Of course, there were also times 
when the faces of her father and Melissa haunted 
her dreams with their clarity.  

She missed Melissa with a deep ache right now; 
missed having her on the other end of the phone 
line, coaxing the details of last night's encounter 
out of her.  Scully never kissed and told, always 
kept her private life private, but Missy could 
always somehow tell from Scully's tone of voice 
that something monumental had happened.

Scully sighed.  She could imagine Missy's reaction 
when she told her. She would laugh and say, "What 
took you so long?"  It just didn't seem that long.  
A lifetime could be lived in a heartbeat, and that 
is how the past six years sometimes seemed to 
Scully.

"Here we are, then."  Monty placed the drinks on 
the rickety wooden table and pushed an unbelievably 
large whisky in her direction.

"A coffee would be just fine, Monty.  I..."

"You can't drink coffee in a Scottish inn, Dana.  
It's just not cricket.  When in Rome, and all 
that."

Scully went to take a sip of the whisky but Monty 
stopped her.

"Swirl it around in the glass first, and then put 
your nose in and inhale deeply."

Scully did as he instructed and the strength of the 
whisky made her eyes water and her nose burn.  She 
looked at Monty who was smiling.

"Now take a sip and tell me what you can taste."

Scully swirled the dark liquid around her mouth, 
and tried not to cough when she swallowed it.  "It 
tastes like iodine."

"That's the peat.  Lagavulin is distilled on the 
Isle of Islay and the spring water they use in the 
process runs through peaty soil, giving the 
whiskies of Islay a very distinctive flavor."

"She's a game lass, isn't she, Shifty?"  Monty 
raised his glass in a toast.  " Slainte mhath! Good 
health!"

"Slainte."  Shifty nodded at Scully.  "So, ye want 
to know the story of Tam Lin, eh, dearie?"

Scully was beginning to wonder whether she did.  
This was Mulder's pet theory, not hers.  Trust him 
to leave her in the middle of a Scottish pub 
accompanied only by a crazy, though endearing peer 
of the realm, and a frankly weird old man who was 
already three sheets to the wind if his glazed eyes 
were anything to go by.

Shifty thumped his fist on the table, making Scully 
jump. 

"Landlord!" he shouted.  "My stool, please."

A tall, bony man hurried out from behind the bar, 
carrying a battered three-legged stool covered with 
torn red velvet.  He set the stool down next to the 
back wall of the pub, and Shifty settled himself 
onto it, pipe in one hand, pint in the other.

Murmurs rippled through the small crowd of drinkers 
and all eyes fixed on Shifty.

He took a sip of his pint, a deep puff from his 
pipe, and after a long exhale of smoke, he began.  
His voice was low, whispering the tale to his eager 
audience, and everyone had to lean in close to hear 
the words of the ballad.

"O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead."

Scully could hardly make a single word out. 
Shifty's accent was strong before, but now that he 
was in storytelling mode it had grown thick and 
guttural.

Shifty continued weaving the tale.

"Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

She had na pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae."

Scully turned to Monty, who was smiling and 
mouthing the words silently to himself, along with 
the rest of the audience it would seem.

"I don't understand a word of it, Monty.  What's he 
saying?"

"He's telling how the Lord's daughter, Janet, my 
ancestor, was out walking in Carterhaugh Woods one 
day when she came upon Tam Lin at the well with his 
horse.  Tam Lin vanished, only to reappear when 
Janet plucked a double rose.  Plucking the rose is 
symbolic; it is, in fact, Tam Lin who does the 
plucking when he takes Janet's virginity and 
impregnates her.  He was quite a rascal was old Tam 
Lin.  He demanded sex from all the girls who 
crossed his path."

Monty emitted a deep-throated laugh, causing the 
drinkers nearest him to turn and glare.

Scully smiled.  "He sounds like a guy I used to 
know in high school, Brian "The Toad" Snode.  He 
used to hang outside the locker rooms and wouldn't 
let you pass without giving him a kiss." 

Scully shivered at the memory.  "It was the only 
way he could get any action, I guess."

Monty grinned.  "And did it work?  Did he always 
get a kiss?"

"He did for a while, until my friend Louise 
pretended to seduce him in the locker room, and I 
sneaked in and stole his pants and underwear.  We 
hoisted them up the flagpole, and he never hung 
outside the locker room again."

Shifty had obviously reached an intriguing part of 
the tale, because his voice grew softer, and people 
leaned in closer to better catch his words.

Scully looked enquiringly at Monty.

"Janet asks Tam Lin whether he has always been an 
elf or whether he has ever been mortal.  He was 
captured by the Fairy Queen, and may be sacrificed 
to hell on Halloween as part of the tithe the 
fairies must pay to stay on the land.  Janet can 
rescue him, but she has to undertake a trial 
first."

"And what would that involve?" Scully was curious 
as to how the tale ended, despite not believing a 
word of it.  She still couldn't see the connection 
between the tale and recent events. 

Before Monty could answer, the door opened and a 
gray-haired man in a tatty old suit walked in 
accompanied by a young uniformed police officer.  
The older man headed over to Monty, who introduced 
him to Scully.

"Dana, this is DS Mackenzie.  He's leading the 
inquiry into the murders."

Mackenzie shook Scully's hand warmly.  "Call me 
Bill.  I'm pleased to meet you, Dana.  Monty was 
telling me all about you and your partner this 
morning."  He scanned the crowd briefly.  "Is he 
here?  I'd be interested to hear your opinion on 
this case.  I believe explaining the unexplained is 
what you are good at."

Scully frowned.  "Isn't Mulder with you?  He left a 
while ago to visit the crime scene."

Mackenzie shook his head.  "I haven't seen him.  
Mind you, we weren't in the woods for long; our men 
didn't find any other evidence.  It's as though the 
body just appeared out of thin air."

Monty grinned at the DS.  "Or from another world we 
can't see, but which exists in parallel to ours." 

Mackenzie sighed and raised his eyebrows at Scully.  
"You're the scientist aren't you, Dana?  Tell him 
there are no such things as fairies."

"It's pointless, Bill.  Mulder is exactly the same.  
The more you try to reason with him, the wilder his 
theories become."  She glanced out of the window.  
"I wonder where he is?"

The police officer left to give a talk on community 
safety to the local primary school, and Bill 
settled down next to Monty.  More drinks arrived 
and soon the two of them were involved in an 
animated discussion about fairies, tithes and 
parallel universes.  Scully had heard similar 
arguments too many times before, indeed had 
participated in such discussions, and her mind soon 
wandered to thoughts of Mulder.

She wondered whether he would come straight back 
when he realized the others had gone, or whether he 
would poke around a little first. Whatever he did, 
she hoped he wouldn't be too much longer.  It would 
be getting dark in an hour or so, and he didn't 
know the hills well enough to be out on them at 
nightfall.  Plus, she had a few things in mind for 
later on, and she didn't like to be kept waiting.

She allowed herself to drift away into memories of 
the previous evening, and Shifty's voice and even 
Monty's baritone faded into the background.

. . .

Scully awoke with a start, and opened her eyes to 
find herself staring straight into Monty's 
avuncular face.

"I was going to say you were away with the fairies, 
but seeing as you don't believe in them..." Monty 
grinned at her.  "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

Scully looked around her; the pub was almost empty.  
Shifty was sprawled across a bench, snoring softly.  
The only other sign of life came from the Landlord, 
who was absentmindedly wiping glasses as he gazed 
into the distance.  Scully wondered what he was 
dreaming about.

Something else was missing, though.  She wrinkled 
her nose as she tried to think what it was.  
Mulder.  

She sat up straight.  "Where's Mulder?"

Monty placed his hand on her elbow and eased her 
out of the chair.  "He's probably at the cottage 
now, making you something nice for dinner.  That's 
where I'm going to take you right now."

Scully wasn't convinced.  Mulder had said he would 
come straight to the pub. She looked at her wrist 
where her watch should have been.  Damn, it was 
still face down on the bedside table.

"What time is it, Monty?"

"It's five o'clock, dear.  Time for tea."

Should she be worried?  It wasn't as if Mulder 
couldn't take care of himself, but still, mountains 
were very unforgiving if you made a mistake.

"Aren't you worried about where he is, Monty?  I'm 
sure he would have come straight to the pub, like 
he promised."

"Why don't you wait until we get back to the 
cottage, and you can know for sure whether he is 
there or not.  I wouldn't worry if I were you; he's 
a grown man, he can take care of himself."

Monty ushered Scully out of the pub and into the 
dark night.  There was no moon, and the sky was 
ink-black.  The Milky Way was spread out above them 
as they walked back down the road but Scully barely 
gave it a glance.  

She was fairly certain that Mulder would not be in 
the cottage when she got back.  There was no reason 
for him not to have turned up at the pub; he had 
wanted to talk to DS Mackenzie as much as the DS 
had wanted to talk to him.  He wouldn't have passed 
up the opportunity, she was sure.

Doubt and uncertainty gnawed at her stomach as she 
followed the beam of her flashlight back to the 
cottage.  She quickened her pace.  The sooner she 
was back, the sooner she would know for sure.


End chapter seven

Chapter Eight 

It seemed as though the walk back to the cottage 
took forever. Scully was practically running by the 
time they arrived at the front gate to Carter Hall.

The cottage was in total darkness as they 
approached, the beam of the flashlight bouncing off 
whitewashed walls and black-hole windows. Scully 
inserted her key and her heart sank as she opened 
the door to a cold and silent living room. 

She dumped her keys on the wooden sideboard and 
ignored them as they skidded off the edge and 
clattered to the hard floor. 

She moved swiftly through the small cottage, doors 
banging behind her as she abandoned one empty room 
for the next. She knew Mulder wasn't going to be in 
any of the rooms; there was no reason for the 
entire cottage to be in darkness, and he would 
surely have come out by now to see what all the 
noise was. She kept looking nevertheless. Maybe he 
had a migraine or something and needed to lie down. 
She didn't think he ever got migraines, at least 
ones not brought on by psychosis, but there was a 
first time for everything. Wasn't there? 

Despondent, she returned to the living room, where 
Monty was waiting. 

"Try not to worry, Dana. If Mulder was able to get 
a signal up on the hill he might have telephoned 
the house and left a message for you there. And 
what about your cellphone? You can leave messages 
on that can't you?" 

God, her cellphone. She'd become so used to not 
using it since arriving that she hadn't even given 
it a second thought. 

She ran into her bedroom and rummaged in her 
suitcase until she found it. She switched it on and 
appraised the blank screen. 

Monty moved so that he was looking over her 
shoulder. "Is there a message?" 

"I can't tell. You need a signal to be able to 
access any messages. I forgot about that." 

"Well, why don't we head over to the house and see 
if he has called there. If he hasn't, we can drive 
up to McLeod's Point where you can get a signal." 

Scully grabbed her fleece and jacket and they 
headed out into the dark. She had a feeling this 
was going to be a long night. 

... 

Mulder had not left any messages at the house, as 
far as they could tell, and now they were heading 
towards McLeod's Point in the old Landrover. Peters 
was at the wheel, and Scully hoped he wasn't as 
easily distracted today as he had been at the 
party. Dropping glasses was one thing; driving off 
a cliff quite another. 

They drove the four miles in silence. God, she 
hoped there was a message, hoped that he was 
sitting in Shifty's cottage having been caught out 
by the fading light. She would kill him, of course, 
for being stupid enough to go out into the woods 
ill-prepared and making her worry like this. What 
if he said he was injured? What if he was lying 
somewhere in pain while she had been sleeping off a 
large whisky in the pub? 

She tapped Monty on the shoulder. "How much longer 
until we reach McLeod's Point, Monty?" 

"We're here now, dear," Monty replied and Peters 
brought the Landrover to rest at the side of the 
road. 

Scully leapt out and switched the phone on again. 
The signal indicator blinked proudly at her, but 
there was no message envelope. She dialed Mulder's 
number and heard only the recording informing her 
that the person she was trying to reach was 
unavailable. 

She snapped the phone shut in frustration and 
turned to Monty, shaking her head at his enquiring 
look. 

"I think we need to call for help, Monty. It's 
late, it's cold, he's been gone for nearly five 
hours when he should have been back a long time 
ago." 

She handed the phone to Monty. "Call the emergency 
services and whoever else deals with these 
situations. Tell them we have a Federal officer 
missing and we need to coordinate a search and 
rescue. Maybe we should get a team together of our 
own and head out to the crime scene. Can you 
organize some of your staff into a search party?" 

"I'll call the emergency services and they will 
contact the ARCC, that's the Aeronautical Rescue 
Co-ordination Centre. They deal with all Search and 
Rescue situations. I will certainly get as many 
people as I can together for a search party, but we 
must wait until the officers arrive from ARCC 
Kinloss. If we rush off into the night looking for 
Mulder, it will only result in them having to look 
for us when we get lost. And if they're looking for 
us, they're not concentrating their efforts on 
finding Mulder. And Dana..." 

He looked her in the eye and smiled slightly. 
"Don't rub the RAF up the wrong way, will you? 
You're not in charge over here and they don't like 
being told what to do. Just a piece of advice from 
a friend." 

"I appreciate what you are saying, Monty. But my 
only consideration is to find Mulder before he 
freezes to death. I'll do whatever it takes to make 
sure that happens." 

Monty smiled again and rubbed her shoulder. "I'll 
go and do the necessary, dear." 

Soon, Scully could hear him barking orders into the 
phone. She stared out over the dark expanse of sea. 

Pinpricks of light flickered along the coastline of 
Skye, the many lighthouses flashing their danger 
signs. If she watched for long enough, Scully knew 
that she would be able to tell the individual 
lighthouses from the length of time between each 
rotation. She looked behind her at the black mass 
of hills barely discernible from the night sky. 
Mulder was out there somewhere. There was no 
comforting light to warn him of danger and gently 
guide him to safer waters. He was in trouble; of 
that she was certain. 

Panic welled inside her. What if he was dead? The 
thought popped into her head and lodged itself 
there. Would she know? She had known when her 
father had died. Her bond with Mulder was different 
to what she'd had with her father, but it was 
strong nevertheless. She had accepted his death in 
New Mexico; had felt the heat from the boxcar and 
known without a doubt that he was dead. There was 
no way he could have survived such a ferocious 
fire. And then she had dreamt about him so vividly 
that she had woken convinced that he was still 
alive. She couldn't explain it, and would never 
admit it to Mulder, but deep inside she had felt 
his presence, not as a spirit or as a memory, but 
his vitality, his life force, his chi, as Melissa 
would have called it. 

This morning, when she had woken next to him, she 
had felt as though the final connection had been 
made. All the little threads that held their lives 
together had been gathered up and pulled tight. 
Surely she would have felt the loss if the bond had 
broken. She would feel the emptiness. 

She didn't feel anything right now. She couldn't 
decide whether that was a good thing or a bad 
thing. 

She jumped when Monty tapped her on the shoulder 
and handed back her phone. 

"I've alerted the emergency services and the local 
Mountain Rescue Team is assembling in Fort William, 
so they should be here within a couple of hours." 

Scully stared at Monty. "A couple of hours? That's 
far too long. The temperature is already 
dangerously low. If he's injured and exposed, 
hypothermia will be taking a hold, and once that 
happens..." God, Scully didn't even want to think 
about it. 

"The ARCC has its own MRT and a Sea King helicopter 
carrying them here from RAF Kinloss will probably 
be airborne by the time we get back to the house." 

Scully headed back to the Landrover. "Well, let's 
get back and organize our own crew. That way we can 
be ready to go to Carterhaugh Wood when the RAF 
arrives." 

She might only be a civilian in this country, but 
there was no way she was just going to sit around 
like a panicking relative or loved one, waiting and 
hoping. She had to do something to find Mulder and 
she didn't care how many burly RAF officers she 
pissed off in the process. 

... 

Monty continued to make calls and by the time they 
arrived back at the house the driveway was already 
cluttered with vehicles. 

DS Mackenzie met them as they pulled up behind the 
other vehicles. 

He nodded at Monty. "Dana, it's nice to see you 
again, although not under these circumstances, of 
course." 

"How did you get here so quickly, Bill? I would 
have thought you'd be back in Kyle of Lochalsh by 
now, eating your dinner." "I should be by rights, 
only Mrs MacPherson wanted a chat, and you know 
what she's like when she gets going. I'd only got 
halfway up the pass before I got the call about 
Mulder." 

He turned towards Scully. "So, you definitely think 
something has happened to him, then?" 

"It must have. He's been gone far too long and he 
didn't take any equipment with him. I think he had 
his flashlight and that's about it." 

They walked towards the large playing field at the 
side of the house. The headlights of two four-wheel 
drive vehicles illuminated a group of five people 
poring over a map that was spread out on the hood 
of a pickup truck. 

Mackenzie continued to question Scully as they 
approached the men. "And he's usually quite good at 
calling and letting you know where he is, I take 
it?" 

Scully hesitated. "Um, well, he doesn't always 
call." Make that he doesn't always call and when he 
does he never gives a straight answer to her 
questions, she thought. "But he's never been in a 
situation like this before. There's nowhere for him 
to go, nothing for him to do. He was supposed to 
meet you and then come to the pub. I can't think of 
any reason why those plans should have changed. 
It's not even as though he might have bumped into 
Shifty and got talking about old times. Shifty was 
in the pub with us the whole time." 

They arrived beside the pickup truck and Monty 
clapped a couple of the men on the back and 
proceeded to go over the map with them. 

Mackenzie looked puzzled. "The fact that he was on 
his way to the crime scene has been niggling at me 
for some time. You see, there's only one route he 
would have followed to the woods, and my men and I 
used it to on the way back to the pub. I can't 
understand why we didn't meet on the path." 

Scully's reply was drowned out by the noise of the 
huge Westland Sea King helicopter as it loomed out 
of the darkness and landed on the twenty-five yard 
line. 

The cargo door opened and a stream of jump-suited 
RAF aircrew poured out. A tall, lean figure strode 
over to the group. 

Mackenzie looked at Scully and raised his eyebrows. 
"The ego has landed," he muttered. He grinned and 
held out his hand. "Flight Lieutenant Henderson. A 
pleasure, as always." 

"Save it for someone who cares, Mackenzie," came 
the reply in a decidedly female voice. The officer 
removed her helmet to reveal a strong, angular 
face. Her dark hair was arranged neatly in a French 
braid. She was very striking, and her height gave 
her an imposing manner; her height, and the fact 
that she was glowering at everyone in range of her 
blue eyes. 

Undeterred by her dismissive remark, Mackenzie 
smiled and waved Scully forward. 

"Dana Scully, meet Flight Lieutenant Jane 
Henderson. She's the officer who will be 
coordinating the search for Agent Mulder. 
Henderson... Agent Scully." 

Henderson nodded curtly. "Miss Scully." Scully 
smiled thinly. 

"It's Dr. Scully, actually, Flight Lieutenant, and 
now that you are here I think we should get this 
show on the road." Henderson ignored her and 
addressed Monty. 

"I have thirty aircrew who will form the core of 
the mountain rescue team. One team will go directly 
to the area where Agent Mulder was supposed to be 
heading. The other teams will divide up the map of 
the surrounding area between them. I will take my 
pilot, winchman and winch operator and we will use 
the helicopter's night vision goggles and infrared 
camera to explore the area from the air. If he's 
out there then the camera will identify his heat 
source and we can either collect him ourselves if 
it is safe to do so, or direct the nearest ground 
crew to his position." 

"I have a small group of volunteers," Monty told 
Henderson. "They're experienced at search and 
rescue, and they all know the hills like the back 
of their hands." 

"I don't want a bunch of civilians out there, 
Monty. They'll only do something stupid and then 
we'll have lots of casualties and not just the 
one." 

Henderson started to move towards her aircrew, who 
were drinking tea helpfully provided by the cook 
from Carter Hall. Scully moved in front of her. 

"Flight Lieutenant. I really think I ought to go 
with the team headed for the crime scene. I've been 
to the area already and I know the route Mulder 
would have taken. I..." 

Henderson sighed and fixed her with a glare. "Why 
is it that other people always seem to know how to 
do my job better than I do? I just said I don't 
want any civilians getting lost on the hills." 

Scully raised herself up as best she could on her 
walking boots, cursing the fact that she wasn't 
wearing her heels today. "I'm an officer with the 
FBI. I have been involved with search and rescue 
operations before. I know what I am doing and I 
would like the opportunity to help find my partner. 
Now if you won't assign me to the team, I will 
organize my own search party. I would much rather 
work with your crew and share our knowledge, but I 
am quite capable of working by myself if I have 
to." 

Henderson waved her hand dismissively. "Monty. 
Assign one of your volunteers to each of my teams, 
but tell them they had better not get in the way or 
else I shall instruct my men to leave them behind 
and we won't bother coming to the rescue." With 
that she was off to brief her crew. 

Scully had the distinct impression that the woman 
wasn't joking. God, if this was what the rescue 
team was like she'd hate to have the RAF as an 
enemy. 

Monty headed over with a map and coordinates and a 
radio. 

"I told you not to rub anyone up the wrong way. I'm 
glad I don't have to sit in that helicopter with 
her. She frightens me and I fought in the Falklands 
war, you know." He gave Scully a pat on the back. 
"Keep close to the others in your team. They know 
what they are doing. And try not to worry, my dear. 
If he's out there, we'll find him." 

Yes, but in what condition, thought Scully but she 
didn't say anything to Monty. 

"I'll be fine, Monty. I just need to be doing 
something." 

"I know, dear. I know. Good luck!" 

Scully joined her team members who were thankfully 
more welcoming than Henderson had been, and soon 
they were on the path that led to Carterhaugh Wood. 
Scully realised, as they rounded the back of the 
house, that she was in the very spot where she had 
last seen Mulder. She looked at her watch. It was 
six thirty. Five and a half hours since she had he 
had walked down this path. She hoped it wouldn't be 
another five and a half hours before they found 
him. 

... 

Scully and her team followed the path diligently. 
When they stopped to rest at a stone cairn, Scully 
was reminded of Mulder's description of the route 
as a coffin route. That was something she didn't 
want to think about too closely. 

The Sea King buzzed overhead occasionally as they 
continued down the path. As they approached the 
clearing in the woods where they had found Hamish's 
body, Scully's heartbeat quickened. All of the 
other bodies had been found in this vicinity. Panic 
welled inside her and she swallowed hard to prevent 
it overwhelming her. Huge tree trunks materialised 
out of the darkness and then were swallowed back 
into the night as she swept the area with her 
flashlight. The tension mounted as the search 
continued. Each indistinct shape was a body, 
Mulder's body, until the beam identified it as just 
another bolder, another dense shrub. 

If this were a movie, she would find a piece of 
torn cloth fastened to a briar, or maybe a trail of 
sunflower seeds. Of course, this was the real world 
and it was dark and freezing and God, was that a 
snowflake that just landed on the tip of her nose? 
Another one caught in her eyelash and she blinked 
it away. Snow was the last thing they needed right 
now. 

Jameson, the team leader, approached her. 
"Henderson's just been on the radio. The helicopter 
has spotted a heat source half a mile north of our 
location. It's in dense woodland so the helicopter 
can't get close enough to send down the winchman. 
I'm going to take one of my men to check it out." 

"Is the heat source moving?" 

"It hasn't moved in the time the helicopter has 
been observing it." Scully shouldered her backpack. 
"I'm coming with you." 

Jameson shook his head. "I need as many people to 
remain searching here as possible. It might be 
nothing and we can't afford to waste time having 
everyone haring off." 

"Well, then take me and leave the other man here in 
my place. If it is Mulder then I want to be there. 
I want to see him for myself." 

Jameson pondered her proposal for a moment and then 
rolled his eyes and sighed. "Henderson will have my 
guts for garters for taking you with me." 

Scully offered up a shrug and a small smile. 
Jameson sighed again, and radioed his intentions to 
Henderson. Scully tried not to smile as the Flight 
Lieutenant's voice crackled loudly through the 
radio. Jameson somehow managed to placate her and 
he led Scully deeper into the wood. 

Jamesons's radio crackled into life again as they 
neared the area identified by Henderson as 
containing the heat source. Her voice, sounding 
eerily disembodied through the radio, directed them 
straight to the spot. 

There was a small thicket of shrubs and brambles 
and Scully shone her flashlight into its depths. 
Two rheumy old eyes blinked back at her. It was 
Shifty. 

"What the hell are you doing out here, Shifty?" 
Exasperation and disappointment made her words 
sound harsher than she had intended, and Shifty 
flinched at her austerity. 

She reached out a hand to help him up. "I'm sorry. 
It's just. We're looking for Mulder, he's missing, 
and I thought, I hoped..." 

Shifty brushed some stray twigs from his tattered 
tweed jacket. "I know he's missing. I heard some of 
the locals talking about it. That's why I came 
straight here." 

"Why? What's so special about here?" 

"This is their area, the fairies. It's where they 
live, where they go about their business. I thought 
if I stayed here long enough I might see them." 

Scully felt suddenly exhausted. It had been an 
incredibly long day, and the last thing she wanted 
was another pointless discussion about fairies with 
Shifty. 

She took his arm and led him towards Jameson, who 
was relaying the latest events to Henderson. "You 
can't sit out here on a night like this, Shifty. We 
have to get you home." 

The old man shuffled between them as they slowly 
made their way northwards a little further, towards 
his home. "I knew it was futile to come out here 
tonight, but I couldn't just sit at home and do 
nothing." 

Scully was loath to humor him, but she was curious 
about what had led him to sit in the middle of a 
thicket in the dark. "Why is it futile, Shifty? And 
what were you hoping would happen?" 

"I was hoping I might catch a glimpse of one of the 
fairies. I've seen them before you know, dearie. 
They don't come out very often, but with tomorrow 
being such an important day, I thought there might 
be more activity than usual. I thought that one of 
them might get careless. Here we are, then." 

They had reached the tiny cottage and Scully's last 
remaining hope that Mulder was completely safe was 
shattered when they entered the cold, damp living 
room. No one was inside. Jameson busied himself 
building a fire and Scully settled Shifty into his 
favorite chair, covering his frail body with a 
thick woollen blanket. 

"Why is tomorrow so important, Shifty?" she asked 
as she tucked the edges around him. 

"You know why. Tomorrow is Halloween. The night 
when the Fairy Queen makes her final sacrifice. You 
won't find Fox until tomorrow night. I'm only 
worried that we'll be too late." 

Scully soothed the old man's brow, brushing the few 
stray locks from his face. "I don't understand what 
you're saying, Shifty. What does this have to do 
with Mulder's disappearance?" 

Shifty closed his eyes for a long minute, and at 
first Scully thought he had fallen asleep. Just as 
she was about to signal to Jameson that they should 
get back to the others, Shifty spoke. 

"The Fairy Queen has captured Fox. Hamish must have 
escaped or killed himself and she was without a 
sacrifice for Halloween. Now she has Fox." 

He yawned, his mouth wide and gummy. Scully glanced 
briefly at Jameson, who swirled his finger in a 
circle next to his head, as if to say the old man 
was crazy. 

"It'll be up to you to rescue him, dearie. You'll 
have to undertake the trial as Janet did. If you 
don't, then I'm afraid the next time you see Fox he 
will be like all the others were." 

Scully was about to question him further, but his 
eyes slipped shut and he began snoring softly 
through his open mouth. 

She turned to Jameson. "What did you make of all 
that?" 

Jameson shrugged. "I think he's just a crazy, 
lonely old man. We have to get back to the others 
and continue the search. There's still a lot of 
ground to cover and no time to waste." 

Reluctantly, Scully left Shifty to his slumbers and 
headed back to the search party with Jameson. The 
snow began to fall more heavily and Shifty's words 
played over and over in her head as she stumbled 
through the semi-darkness. She had no idea what 
Shifty was talking ahout when he mentioned a trial. 
She couldn't recall hearing that part of the 
ballad; she must have either been asleep or 
talking. 

None of this was helping to find Mulder, though. 
Shifty had been a distraction and Scully could feel 
the hours and minutes slipping away as they walked. 
She only hoped that Mulder had found some kind of 
shelter. She didn't want to ponder his chances of 
surviving a night in the open in this weather. 

End chapter eight

Chapter nine

As they returned to the clearing, the snow began to 
fall more heavily and soon the beam from Scully's 
flashlight barely picked out Jameson's shape ahead 
of her as they stumbled along the path. It wasn't 
until she bumped heavily into the back of him that 
she realized he had stopped walking.  

They both pitched forward slightly and she grabbed 
onto his arm to prevent him from tumbling to the 
ground.

"Shhh..." he whispered.

"What is it?" she asked as Jameson switched off his 
flashlight and then did the same to hers, plunging 
them into total darkness.  Scully's heart was 
pounding so hard she could hear every beat as it 
split the silence.   

"I thought I heard something."  Jameson pressed his 
mouth so close to her ear his breath tickled the 
delicate hairs and Scully felt an insane desire to 
laugh.  Oh, yeah, she thought, laughing now would 
be good.  What could be more appropriate?  Here she 
was in the middle of the woods, at night, in a 
snowstorm, blind as the proverbial bat, crouching 
on the ground listening for who knows what.  Yes, 
it was a very good time to start laughing.  She 
knew it was only the tension that was making her 
feel this way.  Every nerve in her body was alert 
and strained; her brain was so full of conflicting 
emotions it was starting to hurt when she tried to 
think logically.  But that only made her feel angry 
with herself.  Now was not the time to start losing 
it, she needed to be strong and clear-headed.  
Mulder needed her to be strong.

She mentally forced all the negative thoughts down, 
hiding them away in the area of her brain reserved 
especially for these occasions.  The swirling 
emotions were more difficult to quiet but with a 
little effort they too were locked away and the key 
thrown into the nearest bush.  

She shut her eyes and concentrated on her 
surroundings.  She heard it, then, a noise that 
sounded remarkably like a groan.  It came again, 
this time more loudly and she was able to fix its 
location just off to the left of them.  

She tugged on Jameson's sleeve to get his 
attention.  "What do you think, Jameson?  Does it 
sound human to you?"

She could make out Jameson's nod now that her eyes 
were adjusted to the gloom.  "Let's check it out."

They switched their flashlights back on and 
carefully made their way towards the source of the 
groaning.  The noise was quite loud now and more 
easily identifiable as human.  Scully's heart was 
in her throat as they approached.  Please God, let 
it be Mulder.  It had to be.  Who else would be out 
here in the dark?  He sounded in a great deal of 
pain but at least that meant he was still alive.

A few seconds later and Jameson's flashlight picked 
out the shape of a man sprawled on his stomach at 
the bottom of a small gully.

"Mulder!"  Scully cried out his name as she 
scrambled down the slippery slope of the ravine.  
When she reached the bottom the light illuminated 
the body more clearly and her heart sank.  Mulder 
had been wearing jeans and a Gortex jacket when he 
left that afternoon.  This man was wearing a dark 
green flying suit. It was one of the RAF crew from 
their search party.  She gently pushed the hair 
back from his face and forced a smile while her 
insides twisted into a painful coil.  

...

It turned out that the crewman had tripped over a 
broken tree branch and tumbled into the gully.  
Scully had examined his injuries briefly, and apart 
from what looked like a broken leg and wrist he was 
none the worse for his adventure.

Now, as she sat on a rock on the hillside waiting 
for the helicopter to pick the man up, her 
shoulders drooped and her body felt tired and limp.  
The disappointment she had felt when she realized 
that the body was not Mulder's turned to 
frustration and anger.  Anger at the poor RAF guy 
for not being Mulder, anger at Mulder for still 
being missing after all these hours, anger at 
herself for her weakness.  Tears pricked her eyes 
and she blinked them away.

She felt so helpless and she hated the feeling.  

Looking at her watch she realized that it was 
nearly ten o'clock, nine hours since she'd last 
seen Mulder.  She couldn't pretend to herself that 
things were all right because they clearly were 
not.  She was fearful, now.  Fearful that they were 
searching for a corpse.  

The worst thing about being a doctor was that no 
one could soothe your fears with words of 
reassurance.  She knew from her own experience that 
the words of doctors carried great weight with 
relatives, they believed everything a doctor told 
them. At medical school it had always surprised her 
and moved her when she saw such trust in the eyes 
of a mother or father.   She held their hands and 
told them that the doctors were doing the best they 
could, and that she was sure everything would be 
fine, even as she knew their son or daughter was 
being pumped full of adrenaline in a desperate bid 
to bring them back from death.  

But who reassured the doctor?  She knew what the 
chances of surviving a night exposed to the 
elements were, even for a fit, healthy person.  An 
injured person who couldn't move around and 
generate body heat was in even greater danger.  

She could hear the helicopter before its beam 
appeared over the side of the hill and she ran 
across as the winchman was lowered down.  She 
helped Jameson fasten the stretcher to the winch 
and watched as it was hauled up into the body of 
the Sea King.

The winchman dropped back down and Jameson motioned 
for her to get aboard.  "Come on, Dana," he 
shouted.

"What's going on?  What about the search?"  She had 
to shout so loud, the noise of the helicopter was 
deafening.

"Henderson's called off the search for tonight.  
We'll resume again at daybreak."

Scully was aghast. "You can't call off the search 
now.  We need to find Mulder as soon as possible.  
He won't..." survive, she thought, but couldn't 
bring herself to say the word.

Jameson gently maneuvered her towards the winch.  
"It's too dangerous, Dana. We've already had one 
casualty; we can't risk anyone else getting hurt.  
Besides, the helicopter shouldn't be flying in 
these conditions.  Henderson's pushing it to the 
limit as it is."

Scully had no choice but to allow herself to be 
attached to the winch and taken up into the 
helicopter.  She was seething with anger.  Surely 
Henderson didn't have to pull everybody off the 
search?  She would have to talk to her when they 
got back to Carter Hall.

...

Henderson was waiting with the rest of her crew 
when the helicopter landed on the playing field.  
Scully marched up to her.  She was aware that her 
anger and frustration were bubbling dangerously 
close to the surface but she didn't care.

"What the hell are you doing, Henderson?  You can't 
call everybody off now, we've hardly even begun 
searching."

Henderson's face set like a mask.  "Dr. Scully.  I 
realize that you are tired and worried about your 
partner, so I will forgive your rudeness..."

"Please don't patronize me.  It's imperative that 
we find Mulder tonight.  Prolonged exposure to 
severe cold will result in hypothermia, and 
frostbite.  Mulder has been out there for nearly 
ten hours now.  His core body temperature may be 
dangerously low.  I strongly recommend that we 
return to the woods and resume the search."

"I'm not going to argue with you about it, Dr. 
Scully.  I will not risk my men and my helicopter 
in weather like this.  It is standard procedure for 
a search to be called off in such conditions.  I'm 
assuming you don't want to be responsible for 
anyone else getting hurt tonight?  The hard fact is 
that there is nothing more to be done until the 
morning.  You have to accept that."

"I..."

"We'll be back at daybreak.  I suggest you get some 
sleep so that you will be fresh in the morning.  
Fatigue makes people careless, and I have no room 
for people who are a danger to themselves and my 
men on my team.  You got it?"

Scully could only nod; she didn't trust herself to 
speak.  Deep down she knew Henderson was right, but 
there was no way she was going to acknowledge that 
fact.

Henderson started to walk back to the Sea King, and 
then stopped and turned towards Scully.

"Oh, and Dana, I haven't lost one yet this year, 
and I don't intend to start now."  Her mouth 
twisted into what could possibly have been a small 
smile and then she clambered aboard the helicopter 
and was gone into the night.

Scully stared after her for a long time, not moving 
until she felt Monty's arm around her shoulders.  
She allowed him to lead her into the house.

...

Scully woke to the sound of a cock crowing.  Her 
back ached, her neck felt stiff, and the left side 
of her face was cold and numb.  She opened her eyes 
and found herself staring down the kitchen table.  
No wonder her face was numb, she must have fallen 
asleep at the table while the others were talking.

Gingerly, she sat up, rubbing her cheek in an 
attempt to get the blood flowing back to the spot.  
A quick look around told her that she was alone, 
but she could hear the soft whisper of voices close 
by.  There was no mirror in the kitchen in which to 
check her appearance, so she smoothed the wrinkles 
out of her combat trousers and flattened her hair 
down as best she could with her hands as she had 
done only two mornings ago.  Mulder had laughed at 
her bed-head then, standing at the back door 
looking handsome and devilish, or was that 
devilishly handsome?  Either description would have 
applied.  

God, Mulder.  Scully glanced at her watch, it was 
seven o'clock but still fairly dark outside.  
Eighteen hours now since Mulder was last seen.  
Twenty hours since he pulled her seductively down 
the bed and they had made love for the third time.  
Christ, they hadn't even been in this country three 
whole days yet.  How can so much happen in such a 
short space of time?  And how unspeakably cruel was 
it that she and Mulder had finally crossed the last 
barrier, only to lose each other, perhaps forever?  

No, she wouldn't think like that, she couldn't 
allow such thoughts to cloud her heart and her 
mind.  She gave herself a mental shake, took a deep 
breath and walked out of the kitchen towards the 
sound of the voices.

Monty was holding counsel in the drawing room with 
DS Bill Mackenzie and a couple of men Scully 
recognized as volunteers from the search last 
night. Large red circles decorated the map they 
were gathered around.  Monty looked up as she 
approached, his kindly face grave and drawn.  
Scully could see large, black circles around his 
eyes and none of the men looked as though they had 
slept at all last night.

"Dana, my dear.  Come on in, come on in. We're just 
plotting our offensive for the day."

"I'm sorry, Monty.  I didn't mean to fall asleep.  
How long have I been out?"

"Only a couple of hours, dear.  You dropped off 
just as Jimmy here was telling us for the third 
time how he climbed the Inaccessible Pinnacle twice 
in one day, and how his rope nearly snapped on the 
second climb and he thought he would plunge to his 
certain death."

Scully managed a small smile, which quickly faded 
when she saw the concerned look that passed between 
Mackenzie and Monty.

"What?  What is it?"

It was Monty who finally spoke.  "Dana, Bill here 
thinks that we ought to consider other 
possibilities regarding Mulder's disappearance."

"What other possibilities?"  Even as she spoke the 
words, Scully knew the answer.  It was something 
she had been putting off thinking about because the 
ramifications were too horrible to contemplate if 
it were true.

Bill coughed to clear this throat.  "So far 
Mulder's disappearance has been treated like a 
search and rescue operation.  It has been assumed 
that he is lost or injured in the woods or out on 
the hills.  The search has been conducted 
accordingly.  However, given the circumstances at 
the moment, circumstances which in fact you were 
here to look into, it is entirely possible that 
another fate has befallen Mulder. Now, this is only 
a possibility, because quite frankly it doesn't 
follow the pattern..."

Monty interrupted.  "What Bill is trying to say, 
and may actually get around to saying before 
nightfall, is that whomever kidnapped and murdered 
the four boys may have taken Mulder."

"That is correct," Bill continued.  "Now, as I was 
saying, it doesn't follow the pattern of the other 
kidnappings because they all happened a year ago, 
but obviously, the murders of those kidnapped men 
were very recent, with poor Hamish being found by 
your good selves only two days ago. Now, obviously, 
the murderer is still around, or was up until two 
days ago, so it is a possibility that he has 
kidnapped Mulder, although as I said, it doesn't 
follow the pattern..."

Scully was finding it difficult to concentrate on 
Bill's ramblings.  It didn't matter that she was 
hardly listening, though.  She knew where all this 
was leading.  If the kidnapper had some kind of 
plan for his last victim, and that plan had been 
thwarted by Hamish's suicide, then he would need a 
replacement, and quickly.  Whatever he had planned 
for the final victim would happen tonight.  But if 
this was indeed what had happened to Mulder, then 
Scully didn't like the chances of finding him.  The 
British police had not been able to find the other 
victims, and they'd had a year in which to look.  
This time, they only had one day.  

Scully realized that Monty was speaking.

"...and we'll have plenty of people out searching.  
Simon had to rush back to Glasgow yesterday for an 
emergency, but he'll be back later and he's 
bringing some friends with him.  If Mulder's out 
there, we'll find him, Dana."

Scully smiled, although inside she felt like 
crying.  It was an impossible situation.  Mulder 
was either injured and hypothermic by now, or he 
was being held against his will and a potential 
murder victim.  Whichever scenario was the correct 
one, time was of the essence.

"Let's get going, then.  Which area of the map have 
you assigned to me?"

Monty folded the map up and tucked it into his back 
pocket.  "Henderson's got all the details.  She's 
out on the playing field now, scaring the crap out 
of the volunteers."

Monty and Bill guffawed as they walked out of the 
room.  "But can you imagine what she's like in 
bed?"  Bill lowered his voice and spoke gruffly. 
"Put it here, now.  No, not like that, like that.  
Now, when I say so, you can start to move."  Bill 
laughed hard at his own joke.  

Monty cast an apologetic look at Scully, who 
suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Henderson.  
Why did all men assume that because a woman was 
strong and capable and forthright in her 
profession, she was bossy in bed?  She might well 
be, but it wasn't a given.  

People talked about her in the same way, Scully 
knew.  She had seen the looks Mulder got from other 
men often enough.  She would be putting forth her 
side of the argument, or giving someone an order, 
and the men would look at each other knowingly.  
She'd heard the words 'bossy bitch' whispered non-
too subtly on many occasions.  Mulder would get 
sympathetic glances, as though they felt sorry for 
him for having to put up with her, and God help the 
poor guy if he was screwing her as well, he must be 
some kind of masochist.  Scully had heard all this 
and more.  Whatever politicians said, there was 
still no equality in the workplace.  Things might 
be more equal in terms of opportunity, and even 
pay, but not in the minds of a lot of people.

At least Mulder was not like that.  He had always 
treated her with respect, arguing with her as he 
would with anyone, never one to pull his punches 
because she was a woman.  Even on that very first 
day in the basement, his disdain had been for what 
he thought she stood for, not for who she was.  

Scully prided herself on her independence, on her 
ability to make her own way through life, relying 
on nothing and nobody.  She was her own woman, and 
always had been.  But she couldn't imagine her life 
without Mulder in it.  Not now, not after 
everything they had been through, all that they 
meant to each other.  Making love hadn't changed 
that, nor even strengthened it.  They didn't need 
sex to affirm their commitment to each other.  It 
was a wonderful direction for their relationship to 
turn in, but it didn't alter the way things already 
were, and would be even if they never had sex 
again.

Mulder wasn't always very expressive emotionally; 
sometimes she put up with a lot without getting 
thanks or acknowledgment.  But there had been 
occasions when he was more demonstrative than she; 
times when he had told her what she was to him, 
that she was his one in five billion, how she made 
him a whole person.  She never said anything like 
that to him; expressing her deepest emotions didn't 
come easily to her.  

She could see why Mulder thought she made him a 
whole person.  They complemented each other well; 
she prevented him from slipping completely into 
fantasyland, and he helped keep her mind open.  
Together they could see the whole picture, and not 
just subjective parts.  

She would never meet anyone else quite like Mulder.  
And she didn't think that anyone would be able to 
get so deep inside her, as he had.  As the song 
said, he was under her skin, deep in the heart of 
her, never to be erased.

He wasn't her life, and yet he was.  She liked to 
think that she could manage perfectly well without 
him, that if for whatever reason, it was all over 
tomorrow and they went their separate ways, she 
would have a good life, enjoy a fruitful career.  
She was more than capable of that.  The fact was 
she didn't want to.  She liked things as they were, 
enjoyed her life and everything in it.  There were 
things she would change, of course, Melissa and 
Emily for a start, and it would be nice to have the 
choice as to whether to have a family or not.  But 
on the whole, her life was good, and it was good 
with Mulder in it.  She didn't want that to change.

She didn't want to lose him; didn't want to face 
the prospect of life without him.

She headed out to the playing field with renewed 
determination, and she even managed a smile when 
Henderson glowered at her and ordered her around 
like she was a fifth grade pupil on a field trip.

...

By mid-afternoon she was exhausted.  Together, the 
search and rescue teams had covered the range of 
hills in closest proximity to the woods, and 
Henderson had ordered the helicopter to cover a 
wider circle.  The search of the woods had been 
meticulous and thorough.  No stone had literally 
been left unturned, and yet there was no sign of 
Mulder, no sign that he had ever even been in the 
woods.

Scully was back at Carter Hall with Monty and some 
of the other searchers.  They were having a short 
break before heading out to a different search 
area.  

Scully sipped her coffee as some more volunteers 
trooped through to the kitchen.

A loud voice broke through the rabble.  "Dana!  
There you are.  How are you holding up, my dear?"

It was Simon.  Scully made to get up as he 
approached but he waved her to sit back down.

"Don't get up, Dana, you look absolutely jiggered."

Scully smiled.  "I've had better days, Simon, it 
has to be said.  It was nothing too serious in 
Glasgow, I hope?"

Simon sighed as he took a seat next to Scully.  "A 
nasty business I'm afraid, Dana; a six year old 
girl with Leukemia, Sarah Miles.  We've been 
waiting for a bone marrow donor for some time now, 
but with no luck.  Still, she's in a better place 
now.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  It's 
not much comfort to her mum and dad, though."

"No, it's not.  Nothing can prepare you for the 
loss of your child."  Her voice cracked and Simon 
looked at her with concern. 

"Dana, I... I'm sorry. Have you? I didn't know, I'm 
sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's okay.  Why would you know? It's fine, 
honestly."

"Mulder never mentioned a child.  Did it happen 
very recently?"

"Nearly a year ago, and Mulder wouldn't mention it.  
It's not something I talk about very often.  I had 
a daughter, Emily.  She was only with me for a 
short time, but that time was precious, and 
something I will always be grateful for."

"That's a good way to look at it.  Is it not better 
to have known her and loved her, if only for a 
short time, than never to have known her at all?"

Hearing Simon unknowingly echo Mulder's own words 
at Emily's bedside made something snap inside 
Scully, and a sob escaped her, followed closely by 
another one.  She swallowed them back down. Now was 
not the time, now was not the time, she repeated to 
herself.

Simon put his arm around her and pulled her in to 
his chest.  Hot tears welled and burned rivulets 
down her cheeks.  Try as she might, she couldn't 
stop them, and soon Simon's jacket was shiny and 
wet with tears.

After a minute or so she pulled away.  "I'm sorry.  
I'm just tired, and worried about Mulder, and..."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Dana.  
Tears are allowed, you know.  Even Monty has been 
known to shed the odd one or two while watching 
'It's a Wonderful Life'.  He always claims that he 
has something in his eye, of course, but we know."

Scully laughed and snuffled the rest of the tears 
away.  "I can't imagine Monty crying at old films 
somehow."

"Well, don't tell him I told you this, but he cries 
at 'The Sound of Music' every single time.  And 
he's banned from watching 'The Elephant Man' 
because we can never hear the film over his damn 
sniffles."

Scully laughed again and Simon patted her back.  "I 
know it's trite to say this, Dana, but I'm sure 
Mulder will be all right.  I just have a feeling.  
He's tougher than he looks, isn't he?  Quite a few 
chaps found that out at University, believe me.  He 
was never one to shy away from a fight if it was to 
defend his honor, or that of someone else. Always 
the gentleman was old Mulder."

"I wish I could be so confident, Simon.  It's just 
been so long, and if he has been kidnapped, then 
time is fast running out, I'm afraid.  When we find 
him, he'll be dead."

Shifty appeared then, in the doorway.  "That's what 
you should be worrying about, dearie.  You can get 
Fox back if you want, but you have to be willing to 
believe."

"Shifty, I don't think Dana needs to hear your wild 
theories right now."

The old man continued regardless.  "Fox knew.  He 
believed, and if you want to save him, so must 
you."

Scully rubbed her aching temples.  She wished 
briefly that Shifty would disappear.  He was 
starting to irritate her with all this nonsense.  
"How can I believe you, Shifty?  It's just 
ridiculous.  There are no such things as fairies.  
Tam Lin is just a ballad, a folktale, invented to 
entertain people on cold, dark nights when there's 
nothing to do except drink and scare each other.  I 
can't possibly believe it.  I'm sorry."

"You're not as sorry as Fox will be tonight.  I'll 
be out there, waiting, and if you've got any sense 
you will be too."

"Shifty, the police are going to set up a 
surveillance operation tonight, in order to try and 
catch the kidnapper.  If there's anyone at all out 
there, they will find him.  I'll be helping them 
out."

The old man spat in a gesture of disgust.  "Pah!  
The police couldn't organize a piss-up in a 
brewery.  They won't be in the right place.  I will 
be, though.  I'll be where I was last night when 
you found me."

Shifty walked across to the back door and opened 
it.  "Fox believed.  Why can't you?  You're his 
only hope, Dana."  The door slammed shut behind 
him.

Scully looked at Simon and shrugged.  Shifty seemed 
so serious. He clearly believed what he was saying, 
and Mulder and Monty were happy to go along with 
him.  So why wasn't she?  Because it just so 
plainly wasn't true.  How could it be?  But then, 
what if she was Mulder's only hope, and she ignored 
him?  What then?  Damn!  It was like giving up 
chocolate for Lent.  She always managed fine until 
someone mentioned it, or waved it in front of her 
face, and then she couldn't get it out of her mind.  
Shifty's comments were going to niggle at her, she 
could tell.

"What's the plan now, Dana?  Back out for another 
go?"

"The search has been widened now, and we all have 
new areas to cover.  The police are setting up a 
surveillance operation, as I said, and if nothing 
has been found by tonight, then the operation kicks 
in and we'll take it from there."

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, as they 
say."

"I thought that was just a myth, that the English 
quoted Shakespeare all the time."

Simon laughed.  "Well, despite my accent, I'm not 
English, I'm a Scot, and don't you forget it."  He 
grinned broadly.  "Would ye rather I quoted Rabbie 
Burns at ye, wee lassie?

'Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
Wi' bickering brattle! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 
Wi' murd'ring prattle!'"

Scully laughed again.  "Um, funnily enough, I 
actually studied that poem in high school.  It's a 
classic, you know."

"Well who would have thought young Rabbie's mouse 
would have made it all the way to America?  You 
surprise me."

"I can also quote 'my love is like a red, red 
rose', and everyone knows 'Auld Lang Syne', don't 
they?"

"You're quite right, of course.  I'll tell you what 
we'll do to get us through the rest of the 
afternoon.  I'll quote you lines from obscure 
British poems, and you can astound me with your 
vast and insuperable intelligence.  How does that 
sound?"

Simon held the door open for her, and Scully 
stepped out into the afternoon chill.  "It sounds 
pretty good to me, Simon.  Let's go."

...

By the time the Police had everyone in place, and 
the surveillance operation was underway, Scully's 
nerves were so frayed she felt sure she was going 
to snap.  Indeed, two RAF men had already borne the 
brunt of her frustrations when they got in her way 
earlier on, not to mention the poor Capercaillie 
which had dared to challenge her intrusion into its 
nest.  

As she sat in the darkness, she couldn't get 
Shifty's words out of her head.  She was Mulder's 
only hope.  What if he died and it was her fault?  
She had begged him to let her save him in the past, 
which fortunately hadn't been necessary.  Could she 
let him down now, when he needed her most?  But if 
she went to Shifty, and something happened here, 
then she would be too far away to do anything about 
it.

She peered at her watch, trying to read the dial in 
the dark.  It was nine thirty.  Maybe she could go 
and check on Shifty and be back in time for 
anything that went down here?  

She told Mackenzie where she was going, and taking 
her flashlight and a radio, she set off to find 
Shifty's hiding place in the woods.  Thankfully, he 
wasn't too far away, and it wasn't long before she 
located him tucked away in the same copse he was in 
the previous night.

He smiled at her gummily.  "I knew you'd come, 
dearie.  You'd better settle in, there's a lot you 
need to know and very little time left."

Shifty unfolded another blanket and Scully squeezed 
through the bushes and sat down on it.  She 
couldn't quite believe she was doing this.  Still, 
it wouldn't hurt to hear him out, now would it?

Shifty whispered into her ear.  "You'd better 
switch the torch off, dearie.  We don't want them 
to see us before we're ready."

Scully turned off the flashlight and they sat in 
the dark.  This would be creepy if it weren't so 
ridiculous, she thought.  She wanted to laugh and 
cry, but she did neither. She sat quietly, 
listening to the night noises and waiting for 
Shifty to tell her his plan.

End chapter nine

Chapter ten

The night was as black as pitch.  No moonlight or 
starlight penetrated the thick canopy of trees.  
Somewhere close by an owl hooted, making Scully 
jump.  She pulled her jacket more tightly around 
her.  The middle of autumn in Scotland was not the 
best of times to be sitting in a thicket in the 
middle of a wood.  The bush next to her rustled and 
a small, indistinct animal rushed past to Scully's 
right as she sat cross-legged on the blanket.

Shifty was as still as a statue next to her.  He 
hadn't spoken a word since Scully had sat down.  
She was desperate to ask him some questions, but 
she sensed that this was his show, and he would run 
it the way he wanted.  She waited as patiently as 
she could.

She could recall another night spent huddled in the 
woods.  That time there was no crazy old man 
sitting next to her, just crazy old Mulder.  It 
sounded perverse to say it, but even though they 
were lost in the woods and in fear of their lives, 
that night had been one of the best nights of her 
partnership with Mulder.  They had been through a 
myriad different nights together, some ordinary, 
some exciting, some downright boring, but that 
night had been special.  

It was not long after her cancer had gone into 
remission, and she had been full of a renewed sense 
of hope.  Sitting in that forest in Florida, Mulder 
cradled in her lap, she had felt close to God, to 
nature.  She had felt truly alive for the first 
time in a long time.  She'd only been half-joking 
when she'd made the crack about the sleeping bags.  
If Mulder had shown the slightest bit of interest 
that night things might have been very different.

Then again, she couldn't be sure to what extent her 
simple relief at being alive had clouded her 
judgment.

In the first couple of months after her cancer had 
gone, she had felt an intense need to connect, with 
friends, family, Mulder.  She had slowly woven the 
web of her life back together again, throwing out 
strands, hoping they would catch in the familiar 
places.  

If she were honest with herself, sex with Mulder at 
that time would have been another way of connecting 
her to life, another silken thread affirming her 
existence.  It would have been a comfort fuck, in a 
way, never to be repeated.

She was glad they had waited.  The threads of her 
life were stronger now, and she felt that there was 
a future to be forged, if they wanted to.  If it 
wasn't already too late.

"Dana?"

The sound of Shifty's voice was unexpected and for 
a moment Scully didn't know where she was.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"You have to believe, if you are to save him.  Do 
you believe, Dana?"

"Believe in what?  I don't know what you think is 
going to happen.  I don't know what you want me to 
do."

"You heard the ballad, back in the pub.  You know 
what you have to do."

Scully was beginning to get cramp in her right leg, 
so she stretched it out, flexing her toes to stop 
the pins and needles.

"Shifty, I, um, I didn't hear the end of the 
ballad.  Bill Mackenzie arrived and then, I, well, 
I fell asleep, I think."

Shifty sighed, and then Scully felt his hand on her 
knee.  She resisted the urge to pull her leg away.

"When the Fairy Queen captured Fox, she would have 
put him under a spell.  When you see him, he might 
look the same but inside he will already have begun 
the change."

"What change?" Scully asked.

"The change from a mortal into an elf.  His 
sacrifice at midnight will complete the process.  
If you don't undergo the trial, the Fox you know 
will be dead."

Scully shivered as much from Shifty's words as from 
the cold.

"I think it's time you told me all about the trial.  
If I have to do something to save him, then I want 
to be prepared."

There was the sound of a zipper opening, and for 
one long second Scully wondered just how much she 
was going to regret sitting alone in the dark with 
this strange old man.  She wished she had her gun 
with her.  The only weapon she had was her 
flashlight.  She tightened her grip on its handle.

There then followed a hissing noise like air 
escaping a vacuum.  Scully's heart started to beat 
faster.  What was Shifty up to?

His hand groped for hers in the darkness, and when 
he found it he turned it palm upwards.  Scully felt 
something warm against her skin; she recognized it 
for what it was and closed her fingers around it.

"That'll warm you up, dearie."

"Thanks, Shifty."  Scully raised the plastic cup to 
her lips and drank the hot tea.

"Now drink that and relax for a bit.  There's only 
a couple of hours left, and much that you need to 
know."

Scully pursed her lips and blew across the surface 
of the tea.  Steam dissipated into the cold air.

"Tell me about Janet, Shifty."

Scully heard the scrape of a match and then in the 
resulting yellow light she watched as Shifty lit 
his pipe.  His eyes were closed and his face was 
drawn and tense as he gummily sucked on the tip.  
It took three matches before the pipe was properly 
lit and Shifty exhaled a long plume of smoke.  The 
smell was comforting somehow to Scully, reminding 
her of her father's late-night poker games with his 
navy buddies.  The air in the dining room would be 
thick with smoke.  Occasionally, she would sneak 
downstairs and her father would let her sit on his 
knee and shuffle the pack with her clumsy, childish 
hands. It was never long before her mother came in 
and hauled her off to bed, silently admonishing her 
father with a steely glare.  Daddy would bow his 
head and look suitably chagrined, but he would 
smile and wink at her when her mother's back was 
turned.

"As you know," Shifty began, "Janet meets up with 
Tam Lin for the second time at the well.  She wants 
to confront him about the pregnancy.  He tells her 
that the Fairy Queen has transformed him into an 
elf, and he will be sacrificed at midnight on 
Halloween as part of the tithe the fairies must pay 
to stay in the land."

Scully remembered this part of the tale from the 
pub.  She was impatient for Shifty to get to the 
point about the trial.  Time was marching on, and 
the time left to find Mulder safe and well 
diminishing with each second that ticked away.  She 
drummed her fingers on her jeans and tried to be 
patient.

"Tam Lin tells Janet that if she will undergo a 
trial, then he will be changed into a mortal again 
and free of the Fairy Queen's spell.  The trial is 
not an easy one, and Janet will need all her 
strength to get through it and rescue Tam Lin.  But 
above all, above everything else she must endure, 
she must believe, and she must love Tam Lin 
unconditionally, otherwise it will all be for 
naught.  Only someone who loves Tam Lin can save 
him."

Scully could guess where this was leading, and why 
Shifty thought she was the only one who could save 
Mulder.  At least it made a change from the 
handsome Prince rescuing the hapless maiden.  The 
ballad of Tam Lin was fairly modern in outlook for 
an old folktale.

"But what does she actually have to do, Shifty?  
What does she have to go through?"

"The Queen and the rest of the fairies travel on 
horseback through the woods towards the place of 
sacrifice.  Tam Lin is at the rear on a white 
horse.  Janet must drag him from his horse and hold 
on to him while the Fairy Queen transforms him into 
various beasts, then plunge him into a well when he 
turns into fire.  When he is his own self again, 
she must cover him with her green cloak and he will 
be free."

Apart from the obvious problems with this scenario, 
notably its implausibility, Scully could also see a 
couple of practical problems, and she voiced these 
to Shifty.

"Shifty, I'm wearing a blue Gortex jacket, not a 
green cloak, and I don't think there's a well in 
the vicinity, not one that I've noticed anyway."

"I thought about that," the old man said proudly.

There followed the sound of the zipper again and 
then Shifty's voice in the darkness.

"Shine your torch here briefly and you'll see."

Scully flicked the flashlight on, making sure she 
pointed it at the ground to absorb some of the 
light.  Even so, the brightness made her eyes hurt 
after so long in the dark.

She examined the items Shifty was holding.  He had 
a tattered green woolen blanket and a large bottle 
of Highland Spring mineral water.  

Scully felt like crying.  The hopelessness of the 
situation hit her full force.

Shifty actually thought that Mulder was going to 
appear in the woods on a horse and she was going to 
save him with nothing more than an old blanket, a 
bottle of water and her love.  Fat tears slid hotly 
down her cheeks and she let them fall and stain the 
pale wool of the blanket.

Shifty reached across and took one of her hands in 
his, stroking her cold skin with his callused 
thumb.

"I know what you think of me, Dana.  I know you 
think I'm a silly old man, and that I'm crazy for 
believing what I do."

Scully felt the heat rise to her cheeks at his 
words.  Shifty was right.  She did think he was 
crazy and it embarrassed her to hear Shifty voice 
her opinions of him.

"I, I don't..." she stammered.

"It's all right.  I don't blame you in the 
slightest."  Shifty gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I know that what I am asking you to believe sounds 
like the ramblings of a crazy man.  I can't change 
the facts of the matter to be more palatable to 
you.  I can't offer you any proof.  I only ask you 
to have faith in me.  Or if not in me, then in 
Mulder.  He was willing to believe.  Ask yourself 
what he would be doing now if the roles were 
reversed."

Scully didn't have to think too hard about that 
one.  Mulder would be willing to give anything a 
try, the more abstract and fantastical the better.  
She had been willing to trust him before.  When she 
was dying of cancer, when there was no hope left 
she had trusted him to replace the chip in her 
neck.  She would perhaps never know whether the 
chip had saved her, but she was walking around with 
a piece of metal in her neck even now because 
Mulder believed that it would.

On the very first day they met, Mulder had talked 
about turning to the fantastic when science and 
conventional thinking have failed to provide 
answers.  She had not believed him then, but a lot 
had happened in six years and if there was one 
thing she did have, it was the strength of Mulder's 
beliefs.

Maybe she should harness some of that strength now.  
It couldn't hurt.  She should check on the progress 
of Mackenzie and the rest of the team, though, and 
let them know that she would be staying with Shifty 
for a while.

She switched the radio on and soon ascertained that 
all was quiet in Bill's area of the woods.  The 
surveillance team had nothing to report, but they 
were happy that all potentialities were covered.  
Mackenzie promised to alert her the second anything 
happened and Scully left the radio on but the 
volume low.

A brief glance at her watch told her it was 10:45.  
Just over an hour to go until midnight.

Shifty was rummaging in his bag again.  This time 
he produced a very small oil lamp and lit the wick.  
The light emitted was minimal, but less intrusive 
than her flashlight.  Scully switched it off and 
appraised Shifty in the faint yellow light.

His thin face looked tired and worn-out, but his 
eyes were bright as he watched her watch him.  
Scully wanted to squirm in his gaze but she forced 
her body to stay still.  She couldn't bear to sit 
here in silence; the quiet allowed for too much 
contemplation.  Conversation was needed, she 
decided.

"So, Shifty.  Why exactly do you believe that Tam 
Lin is a true tale, rather than a folktale?  You 
said last night that you'd seen the fairies.  I'd 
love to hear more about that."

The old man smiled and re-lit his pipe.

"I've known about the fairies and Tam Lin all my 
life.  Like I think I already told you, my father 
and Sir Montague's grandfather found four murdered 
boys a hundred years ago, and the tales of previous 
murders have been passed from generation to 
generation.  Sir Montague does have an ancestor 
called Janet on whom the legend is based.  She did 
get pregnant before she was married, and although 
in the ballad it is implied that Janet and Tam Lin 
live happily ever after, in reality they didn't and 
she brought the baby up with the help of her 
family.  Sir Montague is a direct descendant."

"Okay, so I can understand that the ballad of Tam 
Lin is based on a true story.  I can understand 
that Janet became pregnant and was abandoned by the 
father.  But for the sake of argument, Shifty, 
don't you think that maybe she made up the tale of 
Tam Lin in order to cover up the fact that she had 
slept with someone, maybe a boy her family would 
know?  Maybe she was scared that they would think 
badly of her so she made up a fantastic tale that 
would somehow justify her behavior.  Or, if Janet 
was forced into having sex against her will, then 
she could have invented the story as a way of 
coping with having been raped."

Scully was quite pleased with the latter 
explanation.  The more she thought about it, the 
more plausible it seemed.  She had read many case 
studies of women who convinced themselves that 
their rapes had not happened, or that their babies 
were conceived in more pleasant circumstances.  For 
some women, it was the only way they could cope 
with carrying a child that was a result of rape; it 
was the only way they could feel any kind of love 
for the child.

Some women had also reported imagining other 
scenarios while they were being raped.  Some 
imagined it was a lover making love to them.  
Scully thought it quite conceivable that a girl of 
Janet's age and innocence would use her imagination 
to cope with being raped, and would convince 
herself of the truth of her invention.

"That's a reasonable conclusion to make," Shifty 
retorted, "but there are other things that may make 
you think differently.  Janet wasn't the only girl 
to see Tam Lin, nor was she the only one who ended 
up with child.  As the ballad says, he was a wee 
rascal, and he took the innocence of quite a few 
girls around here.  And then, of course, is the 
fact that I know the fairies exist because I've 
seen them."

There was such pride in Shifty's voice as he told 
her that Scully hadn't the heart to argue with him, 
so she let him tell his tale without interruption.

"I think it must be a gift," Shifty told her.  
"Only a few people have ever seen them.  My father 
was one, and his father.  I was brought up with the 
tale of Tam Lin, and others that are similar, like 
Thomas Rhymer.  My mammy would read them to me on 
cold, dark nights and I would lie awake for hours 
afterwards, watching for the fairies. On my tenth 
birthday my da came into my room and told me to get 
dressed because he had something to show me.  He 
brought me into the woods and we waited in this 
exact spot.  Nothing happened that night, but he 
kept bringing me back until one night I saw them.

"I thought they'd be wee tiny things, no bigger 
than my own child's hand, but they were quite tall.  
Not as tall as an adult, but at least as tall as I 
was then.  They were all dressed in green, except 
for one fairy at the front of the group who was 
dressed in red.  My da told me she was the leader, 
the Queen of the Fairies and very special.  I was 
lucky to see her that night.  

"They didn't look at us or speak, and I remember 
asking my da why they ignored us.  I thought they'd 
be scared.  He said it was because they didn't 
really exist in our time, they were in another 
dimension and couldn't see us, but if we were to 
speak and to reach out towards them, a door would 
open between the worlds and they would know.

"Next time we went out I wanted to speak to them.  
I wanted so badly to talk to them and touch them 
but my da said that bad things could happen if I 
did that.  The Fairy Queen doesn't like people 
interfering and she turns people into elves if they 
cross her."

Scully had a feeling that Shifty had wanted so 
badly to believe that he had convinced himself that 
he had seen the fairies.  She often wondered that 
about Mulder and Samantha.  Scully didn't doubt 
that Mulder's sister had been abducted, and that he 
witnessed at least part of what happened, but 
sometimes she felt that believing that aliens had 
taken Samantha was easier than accepting that she 
had been kidnapped and probably murdered by someone 
all too human.

It was this blurring of fantasy and reality that 
was evident in Janet's tale in Tam Lin, and in 
Shifty's tale of his childhood encounters with 
fairies.

There was something else niggling at Scully, which 
she hoped Shifty would answer for her.

"Why does the Fairy Queen kidnap and murder these 
men, Shifty?  If she wants a sacrifice in revenge 
for Tam Lin then surely she's already achieved 
that.  Why does she keep coming back for more men 
to kill?"

Shifty sucked on his pipe, his brow furrowed in 
concentration.

"I've thought a lot about this, Dana.  I don't know 
for sure why she wants the men, and I don't know 
why it's only every hundred years.  I can only 
speculate, if you want to hear that?"

"Of course," Scully replied as she glanced again at 
her watch.  Half an hour until midnight.  Her 
stomach flipped and the hairs on her arm stood up.  
The anticipation and uncertainty were starting to 
get to her.  Her body began to shiver and she 
couldn't seem to stop the tremors.

"Here, wear this, it'll warm you up and you'll have 
it handy for later."  Shifty draped the woolen 
blanket around Scully's shoulders and she pulled it 
tight.  She drank some more tea, warming her hands 
around the plastic cup.  After a minute or two the 
shivers subsided and she started to warm up a 
little.

"My theory is that the Queen wants a worthy 
adversary.  I think she can only be free of Tam Lin 
and all that his loss represents if someone fights 
her for him and the Queen wins.  She was beaten by 
Janet and she has been spoiling for a fight ever 
since.  No one has ever challenged her before, so 
each of the men has died and the Queen is still not 
free.  That's why you must make sure that you win 
the battle tonight, Dana.  Everything will be lost 
if you don't, including Mulder."

"I'm still not exactly sure what you want me to do, 
Shifty.  Tell me what to do."

Scully didn't feel like going to battle.  She felt 
defeated and resigned.  The closer the deadline of 
midnight was, the tenser she became.  She felt like 
a guitar string wound to its limit.  One turn of 
the screw too much and she would snap.

It was her resignation that made her go along with 
Shifty's plan, and listen to his instructions 
carefully.  When a person has nothing left to lose, 
they have everything to gain.

...

Midnight approached, and in the final few minutes 
silence descended between Scully and Shifty.  Even 
the woods were quiet, the only sound their fluttery 
uneven breathing.  

Scully went over Shifty's instructions in her head.  
When the fairies appeared she must let three groups 
go by and when she sees Mulder she must pull him 
from his white horse, and hold on to him while he 
changes into a lion, a serpent, a water snake and 
then fire.  If she makes it as far as the fire 
stage, then in the absence of a convenient well she 
must dowse Mulder with the Highland Spring.  Then 
she had to cover his naked body with her green 
blanket and all would be well.  This plan would be 
perfect, she thought, if the fairies actually 
appeared.  Scully wouldn't be holding her breath 
for that eventuality, though.

A small laugh escaped her. She couldn't help it.  
Adrenaline was making her feel giddy, as though 
she'd drunk one too many lattes.

Shifty shushed her and silence reigned once again.

With a minute to go, Shifty turned off the oil lamp 
and they were once again plunged into darkness.

Scully's heartbeat was out of control now, its 
rhythm wild and untamed.  She strained to 
distinguish shapes in the dark, and nearly gasped 
when a pinprick of light came into view, seemingly 
suspended in air as it bobbed across her line of 
sight like a will-o'-the-wisp.  The light was so 
dim she could only make out shapes and not 
features, but the light was definitely attached to 
something fairly large, and after a black gap there 
was another light, and then another.  

The procession, if that's what it was, was some way 
in the distance, out of the clearing and behind 
another row of trees.  Scully peered into the 
darkness trying to turn the shapes into something 
she could recognize, human beings, animals or maybe 
even children.  Not fairies, she thought; 
definitely not fairies.  They couldn't be.  Come to 
think of it, Scully wondered if she would recognize 
them as fairies, even if they were.  From what 
Shifty had said, the fairies he had supposedly seen 
were more human in their appearance, not the 
delicate hovering creatures with paper-thin wings 
she remembered from childhood fairy tales.

Maybe it was swamp gas.  Except there was no swamp 
in the woods, and swamp gas didn't have a definite 
shape and make rustling noises as it brushed 
against the branches of trees.

Scully made to move a little closer to get a better 
view, but Shifty held her back.

"Not yet," he murmured.

The lights bobbed along from right to left and 
after the third light had come more clearly into 
her field of vision there was another gap and then 
a fourth.  This one was slightly larger than the 
rest and more discernible as a lantern.  The 
lantern swayed to its own beat, and as it drew 
closer, it cast an eerie glow on its surroundings.

Scully could do nothing but stare as the light 
illuminated the white head and flowing mane of a 
horse.  This could not be happening, she thought.  
She had been willing to go along with Shifty, but 
she had never really truly believed a word of what 
he had said until now.  She tried to see whether 
the horse had a rider or not.  The lantern didn't 
pick out the rest of the horse, just its head and 
the tops of its powerful front legs.  

Suddenly, Shifty's arm was on hers, dragging her to 
her feet.

"Now," he whispered and he must have flicked her 
flashlight on because all at once there was light 
where there had been darkness and there was a 
dazed-looking Mulder sitting atop the horse.

"Mulder!" she cried.  "Oh, my God, Mulder!"  She 
ran towards him, crashing through bushes, heedless 
of spiny branches that scratched her face, and 
whipped into her eyes.

"Dana, don't forget what you have to do," Shifty 
shouted after her.

Scully didn't take much notice, though.  All she 
could think about was that Mulder was here, he was 
alive and she had to reach him.

The horse reared up as she advanced and for an 
awful moment she thought it would throw Mulder and 
he would be trampled.  He was holding onto the 
reigns with one hand and grasping the lantern on a 
wooden pole with the other, but he was making no 
attempt to stay on the horse.  It was as though his 
mind was elsewhere.

She slowed her approach, talking nonsense to the 
horse in an effort to calm it with her voice.  Her 
tactics appeared to have the desired effect and she 
reached Mulder and tried to pull him from the 
horse.  The horse was large, Mulder was 
uncooperative, and she struggled.  She couldn't 
really see what Mulder was wearing, but he didn't 
seem to have any trousers or socks on. There was no 
clothing for her to grab a hold of and pull on.

"Mulder, help me, please.  It's me, Scully.  You 
have to help me.  I can't get you down on my own."

She could hear other horses now, their whinnying 
cutting through the air.  There were voices and the 
sounds of feet crunching on snow and dead branches.  

"Mulder, please."  She was frantic now as the 
voices came closer.  Shifty's voice rose above the 
rest urging her to hurry.  I'm trying, I'm trying, 
she screamed silently.

In desperation she wrapped her hands round Mulder's 
bare calf and pulled with all the strength she 
could muster.  She hoped fervently that if he fell 
off the horse he wouldn't bang his head on the 
ground.  Oh, God, that would be too awful to think 
about.  The horse began to shy away and Mulder 
slumped forward just enough for her to grab an arm 
as well as a leg and she pulled him from his perch 
as carefully as she could.  

She wasn't careful enough, however.  His weight was 
too great for her to bear and she crumpled under 
the strain.  They both hit the ground hard, Mulder 
on top of Scully and she felt sick as the wind was 
knocked out of her.  Her head snapped against the 
cold earth, the snow at least forming some kind of 
cushion, but not much, and the world faded to 
black.

When she came to, Mulder was still half on top of 
her and she had to gasp for every breath.  She 
managed to roll them both over and when she opened 
her eyes she was shocked at what she saw.

It was Mulder, and then it wasn't Mulder.  She 
watched in horror as he became each of the animals 
that Shifty had foretold.  It was like seeing the 
Seraphim again, only more frightening because this 
was Mulder and this could not be happening.  

The lion's face was terrifying, his mouth wide in 
an angry roar, his dark eyes wild.  Every nerve in 
Scully's body was telling her to run.  Her muscles 
were tensed, her mind alert.  She could jump up now 
and be away before the animal could react.  But it 
was no animal, she told herself.  It was Mulder, 
and somehow she was being tricked into thinking she 
was seeing something she wasn't.

She resolved to hold on to Mulder no matter what 
happened, but as the lion disappeared only to be 
replaced by a hissing serpent and then a water 
snake, it was hard to fight her body and her mind 
when all they wanted to do was flee.

Mulder was shaking violently beneath her and she 
closed her eyes as she straddled him, pinning his 
arms to the ground.  It was like riding a rodeo 
bull and it took everything she had to hold on.

She could hear the babble of voices much louder 
now.  They were all around her.  Hands reached out 
to touch her; she could feel small fingers closing 
around her wrists, trying to loosen her grasp on 
Mulder.  She kept her eyes tight shut.  If she 
didn't see it, it wasn't happening.  Holding on to 
Mulder was all that mattered.

And then Mulder was still, and everything went 
quiet.  She smelled smoke and when she opened her 
eyes it seemed as though fire was surrounding them, 
although she couldn't understand why as there was 
so much snow and everything was wet.

The flames leapt high into the air, eating the tree 
branches above them.  The night was filled with the 
crackle and hiss of burning wood.  She felt around 
for the water bottle but couldn't find it.  Fingers 
of fire curled into Mulder's hair, setting it 
alight and Scully frantically scooped up handfuls 
of snow and dampened his hair before the fire could 
do any serious damage.

There was no movement beneath her and she placed 
her finger on Mulder's neck, feeling for his pulse.  
There was nothing.

"Please don't die, Mulder," she begged him, her 
voice a mere whisper.  "I love you. Don't die."

She coughed and choked as acrid smoke filled her 
lungs and then darkness descended again.

End chapter ten

Chapter eleven

"Welcome back, Dana."

Monty's kindly voice was the first thing Scully 
heard when she drifted back to consciousness.  She 
wondered what he was doing in this part of the 
woods.  He should have been with Bill Mackenzie, 
waiting for the kidnapper. Shifty must have brought 
him, she supposed.  There was no need for the 
others to keep the surveillance going now that 
Mulder had been found.

Then the image of Mulder's cold, naked body came 
into her mind and she remembered taking his pulse 
and finding nothing.  Oh, God.  Mulder?

"Mulder!"  She sat up quickly and groaned from the 
severe pain in her head.  She tried to open her 
eyes but just the merest glimpse of harsh white 
light brought fresh pain and she closed them again.  
She felt warm hands on her shoulders, gently 
persuading her to lie back down.  She acquiesced, 
purely because lying down seemed to ease the pain 
in her head.

"It's all right, Dana.  It's me, Monty.  Mulder's 
fine.  He's a bit shaken and a little sore but he's 
fine.  Simon is with him."

Scully felt sleep beckoning her again, but she 
didn't want to fall asleep again out here in the 
cold woods. She needed to get to a hospital. Mulder 
needed checking out by a Doctor.  She wasn't in any 
condition to examine him herself.

"Monty, we must get to the hospital.  Mulder, he 
might be hurt, he needs examining."

"You are in hospital, Dana, both of you.  You're in 
Inverness and you're both fine."

She felt his hand on her forehead, and strong 
fingers caressed her brow, brushing her hair away 
from her face.

"Dana?"  

A different voice this time, with an unfamiliar 
accent.
 
"I'm Doctor Begum.  I want you to open your eyes 
for me, Dana."

Scully groaned.  "It hurts to open my eyes."

"I'll dim the lights and then you can open them.  
You've been unconscious for quite a while.  I need 
to make sure everything is okay."

Scully heard the flick of the light switch and 
cautiously opened her eyes.  The doctor waited for 
her to become accustomed to the brightness and then 
turned the lights up again so he could examine her.

"You've suffered a concussion, Agent Scully, and I 
want you to stay here for a few hours so that we 
can keep an eye on you," he told her, "but if 
everything stays as it is now, I don't see any 
reason why you can't go home this afternoon."

Scully thanked the doctor and after he left, Monty 
moved forward and perched on the bed next to her.

"Where's Mulder, Monty?  I want to see him."

"He's just down the hall.  He had a concussion, 
like you did, but otherwise he's fine.  He looked a 
lot worse than he was.  I'm sure you'll be able to 
see him in a wee while."

"But, I checked his pulse.  I thought he was dead."  
Her voice broke into a sob on the last word and 
Monty put his arms around her and let her cry into 
his shirt.  The relief she felt was overwhelming, 
and after the tension of the last two days she gave 
into her emotions and let it all flood out.

Monty held her and rubbed her back until her tears 
dried up.  She felt safe and relaxed for the first 
time in what felt like forever.

Then suddenly she was full of questions.

"Is Shifty okay?  What about the woods?  Was there 
any sign of the, the..." The what? Fairies?  Scully 
realized she never had actually seen Mulder's 
abductors.  There had been lights, she could 
remember that much.  And she recalled hands 
touching her, pulling at her clothes, but her eyes 
had been shut so that she wouldn't be scared of 
what was happening to Mulder and abandon him.

She had no idea about who was responsible for what 
had happened.

"When we found you there was no indication that 
anyone else had been there.  Shifty was raving on 
about the fairies and horses and something about 
the woods being on fire, but there was no 
scorching, no sign of fire at all, just you and 
Mulder lying together under a wet blanket."

"That, that's just not possible.  There must have 
been some clue.  Mulder didn't just turn up by 
accident.  I...I saw, things."  But what? What had 
she actually seen?  Mulder turning into a lion and 
a snake?  She felt sure that she had witnessed 
that, but how could she have?  There were just so 
many questions and no straightforward answers.  
Scully could see the irony in that-- wasn't that 
the story of her life?

"Does Mulder remember anything?" she asked Monty.

"Not really.  He's very confused at the moment and 
still a bit groggy.  He said he can remember you 
sitting on top of him at one point, but he thought 
he was having one of his usual dreams."

Scully laughed.  "Trust Mulder to think that."

Simon entered her room at that point.  He came 
across and took her hand, placing a kiss on her 
palm.

"How are you feeling, Dana?  It's good to see you 
back with us."

"I'm fine, thank you, Simon.  How's Mulder?"

"He's doing great. Doctor Begum says you can both 
leave together later on today, but we'll have to 
keep an eye on you for a while and make sure you 
don't black out again."

"Well, that's easily solved," boomed Monty, "you 
can both stay over at the house tonight.  There's a 
bit of a Ceilidh happening down at the pub later 
on, and if you're up to it, we'd love to see you 
both down there."

"That does sound wonderful, Monty.  I'll definitely 
be there if my headache has cleared by then."  The 
painkillers given to her by the doctor were already 
having an effect, and Scully was starting to feel 
more human again.  All she wanted now was to see 
Mulder.

Doctor Begum popped his head round the door to 
check that everything was all right.

"Is there any chance I can see Mulder?  I really 
want to talk to him."  And make sure he really is 
back, she thought.  Until she had seen him with her 
own eyes she wouldn't truly believe that he was one 
hundred percent okay.

"Okay, you can see him for a short while, but I 
don't want either of you getting excited.  I want 
only peace and serenity for you two; otherwise 
you'll be spending the night in here.  Am I clear?"

Scully nodded. "Quite clear, Doctor."

She swung her legs over the bed and climbed out.  

She was wearing one of those awful gaping hospital 
gowns, and she felt around the back to make sure it 
was tied tightly.  She didn't want to put on a show 
for Monty and Simon, as nice as they were.

The clothes she had been wearing yesterday were in 
an overnight bag on a chair near the bed.  There 
was a fresher looking pile of clothes next to them 
and Scully looked at Monty questioningly.

"I pulled some things from your drawers at the 
cottage, my dear.  I hope that's all right.  I 
didn't think you'd want to come home dressed in 
those things."  He gestured towards the overnight 
bag.  "They're pretty filthy."

"Of course I don't mind."  Scully shuffled across 
and unfolded a clean pair of jeans.  Monty pulled 
the curtain around her bed to allow her to dress in 
privacy.

"How long do you think it will be exactly before I 
can leave, Monty?"  Scully winced as she bent down 
to pull the jeans up her legs.  Her back and 
shoulders hurt like hell.  She must have had some 
battle with Mulder trying to get him off that 
damned horse.  Two vivid purple bruises decorated 
her upper thigh, and Scully was sure there must be 
one or two more on her body.  She'd have to 
thoroughly check herself over when she could 
finally have a bath and clean herself up.

"They'll want to get rid of you as soon as poss, my 
dear.  There's a shortage of beds, don't you know, 
and as soon as you're well enough to shout at a 
nurse they kick you out.  It's not their fault, of 
course, just too many sick people and too little 
money.  Are you decent yet?"

"In a minute."  Scully pulled her sweater on and 
the swept the curtain back.  She grinned at Monty.  
"I'm ready now."

Monty wrapped her arm around his and escorted her 
out of her room.  "Then I shall take you to see 
poor Mulder, and then Simon and I must be off.  
We've got a Ceilidh to prepare for.  My wine cellar 
always gets a battering when it's party time.  I'll 
send someone to pick you up later."

Simon opened the door to Mulder's room.  "Mulder, 
old chap, there's someone here wants to see you."  
He ushered her into the room and then closed the 
door softly behind her. 

Scully was alone at last with Mulder.

He was sitting up in the bed, his arm hooked up to 
an IV.

He smiled, his eyes shining with warmth.  "Hey, 
you."

Scully resisted the urge to run across the room and 
throw herself in his arms.  

"Hey, yourself."  She moved so that she was sitting 
on the bed, and took his hand, her fingers playing 
over his warm skin.

"How are you feeling?  You look much better than 
you did last night."

"Never mind about that.  Come here."  Mulder held 
his arms out and Scully let him envelop her.  "I 
missed you," he whispered into her hair, and hugged 
her even more tightly.

Scully pressed her palms against his back, 
delighting in the solid feel of his body beneath 
her fingers.  She could hear the steady thrumming 
of his heart, feel its pulse beneath her hands.  

He had been dead last night, she was sure of it.  
There had been silence where now there was his 
heartbeat and the sound of his gentle breathing.  
There had been stillness where now there was rhythm 
and movement.  The last time she had seen him, he 
had been a dead weight, now his body responded to 
her touch, and when they kissed, she couldn't 
remember ever having felt so alive.

"I missed you, too," she said when they stopped 
kissing.  "I thought you were dead.  What happened, 
Mulder?  Where were you all that time?"

"At lot of it is a blur, to be honest, Scully.  I 
can remember some things and not others.  I have no 
idea how I got here, for instance.  The first thing 
I knew was when I woke up to find the doctor poking 
me all over."

Scully kicked her shoes off and pulled the edge of 
the blanket up.  She gestured Mulder to move across 
the bed.

"Make room for a little one, Mulder.  I want to be 
comfortable for this conversation."

Mulder grinned broadly and scooted across the small 
bed.

"Ooh, Scully, are you sure?  What if the nurses 
come in and catch us?  I don't think they take too 
kindly to people messing up their sheets."

Scully wriggled until she was comfortable, which 
was no mean feat in so small a bed.  Mulder's body 
was tight against hers, and his arm snaked around 
her shoulder and held her to him.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we're not going to be 
messing up these sheets."  She placed her emphasis 
on the word 'these' and Mulder caught the hint.

"Do you know, Scully, I'm feeling better already.  
What time will be getting out of here?"

"Soon, Mulder, soon.  Have some patience.  Now I 
want to know what happened.  How did you end up 
naked on a horse in the middle of the woods?"

Mulder's brow creased as though remembering the 
details was difficult for him.

"I don't really know what happened, Scully.  One 
minute I was walking along the path, heading 
towards the clearing, and the next I was hugging 
the ground.  I was pretty close to Mackenzie and 
the others because I could hear them talking, but 
that's all I remember until I woke up to darkness."

"There must have been some kind of trip wire across 
the path.  Whoever kidnapped you must have set a 
trap.  I wonder why they took you and not any of 
the others who were already there?"  Scully had 
been wondering about that for some time.  Why had 
Mulder been the target and not any of the dozens of 
other people who had been out on the hill that day?

"I guess it must have been a trap, though I don't 
know why I was chosen.  Maybe I was just in the 
wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe I was the 
only one alone.  Who knows?"

"So when you woke up you were completely in the 
dark?"  

"Yes.  I didn't know how long I had been 
unconscious, or whether it was day or night.  The 
air had a damp, earthy smell.  I could taste it.  
The ground I was sitting on and the wall behind me 
felt moist and slimy.  My hands were tied behind my 
back, but I was able to feel around me and although 
the ground seemed solid, parts of it flaked away 
when I scraped it with my fingernails.

"I decided that I was in some kind of cave or 
pothole in the ground, but there was no light at 
all so it must have been pretty deep within the 
earth."

Scully tried to imagine waking up to complete 
darkness, with no idea where she was or who had put 
her there.  Mulder must have been pretty confused 
and scared.

"Did you see anyone at all?"

"To be honest, I think I must have been drugged or 
something, because walking along the path, to 
waking up here in the hospital seems to have taken 
no time at all, and yet Simon told me that I was 
gone for nearly two days.  It didn't seem like that 
long, but like I said, it's all very confused and 
hazy in my mind."

Scully laid her head on Mulder's chest.  "I thought 
I'd lost you for good this time.  The police were 
convinced you'd been kidnapped by a murderer.  
Shifty was convinced that the Fairy Queen was 
responsible.  Either way it looked pretty bad.  
I...I was sure we would only find your body."

The memory of searching for Mulder in the middle of 
the first cold night made her shiver.  Every bush 
was potentially hiding his body; every indistinct 
shape could have been him.  There had been a few 
occasions when she had been frightened to direct 
the flashlight onto a shape, certain it would be 
the one, that this time it would be his lifeless 
body.

Mulder stroked her hair, curling strands of it 
around his fingers.  It felt heavenly and Scully 
sighed with pleasure and more than a little relief, 
that he was here to do a simple thing like run his 
fingers through her hair.

"What did you believe, Scully?  Did you believe the 
police, or Shifty?"

"I don't know.  Most of the time you were gone I 
believed you were the victim of a serial murderer.  
And in the cold light of day that still seems the 
most plausible explanation."

"But you wondered, didn't you?" Mulder whispered 
into her hair.

Scully wondered how to put into words what she had 
felt, what she had seen?  It seemed ridiculous now.

"In the middle of the night, sitting in the woods 
with Shifty, yes, I guess I was willing to believe 
it could be fairies.  When I saw the lights moving 
through the woods and you on a horse just as Shifty 
had predicted, well, then I believed.  And, 
I...there were other things..."

"What things?"

Scully sighed deeply.  "I don't know, Mulder.  I 
thought I saw you change into other things, into 
animals, but now I can't be sure.  I was really 
wired, it was dark, and I'd already blacked out 
once.  Maybe I was just dreaming it all."

Mulder yawned.  "I don't think we'll ever know for 
sure, Scully."

No, Scully thought, but she wished there were more 
resolution to the story.  Their entire trip to 
Scotland felt like a dream that she would surely 
wake up from soon.  Maybe Shifty would be able to 
throw some more light on what had happened earlier.

She pulled the blanket up under Mulder's chin and 
climbed out of the bed.  She placed a soft kiss on 
his lips.  Mulder's eyes were already slipping 
closed.

"You're safe now, that's all that matters.  Get 
some rest and I'll be back later."

Mulder smiled sleepily and waved a half-hearted 
goodbye.

As she left Mulder's room she noticed a dirty green 
blanket on the floor.  It must have slipped off the 
end of the bed.  She picked it up and examined it.  
It was the blanket Shifty had given her earlier 
that night.  It was still slightly damp, and 
blackened in some parts with soil.  It smelled, 
too, like soot.  Scully brought the blanket to her 
nose and inhaled.  The blanket smelled of smoke; 
there was no mistaking the scent.

She turned to mention it to Mulder, but he was 
already asleep.

Curiouser and curiouser, she thought, as she tucked 
the blanket under her arm and tiptoed out of the 
room.

...

It was mid-afternoon by the time they left the 
hospital, Doctor Begum having insisted they remain 
under observation for at least twelve hours.  
Scully had slept for a good deal of the time, her 
lack of sleep over the last two days finally 
catching up with her.  In fact, now that she 
thought about it, the night before Mulder 
disappeared hadn't involved much sleeping either.  
She grinned at the memory, and at the prospect of a 
repeat performance, or two.  She hadn't really 
given much thought to what would happen now that 
they had crossed this line in their relationship.  
Events had moved too quickly and in other 
directions since that night and she hadn't had time 
for contemplation.

Mulder nudged her with his foot.  He was strapped 
into the seat opposite her in the helicopter.  
Monty had sent his private helicopter and pilot 
this time and it was a more pleasant experience 
than being entombed in the Sea King Has 5 had been.

"What are you grinning at?" Mulder asked.

"Nothing.  I was just.  Nothing.  I'm just glad 
you're here, that we're both alive to see another 
day, that's all."

Mulder smirked.  "I see.  For a minute there I 
thought you were thinking of other things.  I know 
I am."

Scully groaned.  "Is this the kind of innuendo I'm 
going to have to put with from now on, Mulder?"

"Scully, you've always had to put up with innuendo 
from me, nothing's changed there."

She couldn't deny the truth of that statement, 
Scully thought.  Nothing seemed to have changed, 
except that now her fantasies about Mulder were in 
glorious 3D Technicolor, instead of plain old black 
and white.

The journey from Inverness to Carter Hall was brief 
and they were soon being welcomed into Monty's home 
by Maria, the maid.

"Sir Montague and Simon are down at the pub, "she 
informed them, "but Shifty is in the drawing room. 
He wants to see ye, Miss Scully, if ye're up to 
it."

"Of course," Scully replied, "I have a few things I 
want to talk to him about as well."

Scully followed Mulder into the drawing room, where 
Shifty was sitting in a wing-backed chair so huge 
it almost swallowed up his meager frame.  He beamed 
as they approached.

"Fox, Dana!  It's so good to see you both safe and 
well. Pull up a chair, pull up a chair."

Mulder and Scully sank into two chairs almost as 
large as the one devouring Shifty.  Scully thought 
she could easily live in a chair like this one.  
All she needed was a roaring fire, a good book and 
a bottle of wine and she'd never have to move 
again.

"Well?  Did you see them?  What did you think?"  
Shifty's eyes were bright; his voice pitched high 
with excitement.

Scully didn't want to have to disappoint him, but 
she couldn't lie and pretend she had seen something 
she had not.

"We didn't see anything, Shifty.  At least, Mulder 
didn't, and I, well, I only saw fragments, and I 
can't be sure about what was real and what I 
imagined or dreamt."  

Shifty's brow furrowed.  "But you must have seen 
the Fairy Queen.  She was right there.  She touched 
you; I saw it.  I thought she was going to kill 
you."

Scully recalled the terrifying moment she had felt 
hands touching her, trying to pull her off Mulder.  
And Shifty was telling her that they were the Fairy 
Queen's hands she had felt?

"I'm sorry, Shifty.  I think I felt something, but 
my eyes were closed.  I didn't see her."

Shifty had a far away look in his eyes as he 
remembered. "She was so beautiful," he sighed.

"What did she look like, Shifty?" Mulder asked 
eagerly.

"She was small but she exuded immense power.  She 
was just as I saw her all those years ago with my 
father.  She had something I can only describe as 
an aura surrounding her.  Like light, like all the 
colors of the rainbow.

"It glowed so fiercely when she was fighting with 
you, Dana.  Then when you put the fire out with 
snow, the aura faded, and so did she until there 
was nothing but deathly quiet and darkness."

"You saw the fire?  Monty said there was no sign of 
any fire."  If Shifty saw the fire, Scully 
reasoned, then there must be a trace of it out 
there somewhere.

"I saw it, Dana.  Mulder was alight and you put out 
the flames with snow. I ran over to you and you 
were both so still, lying together with the blanket 
covering you."

The blanket!  Scully realized it was in the 
overnight bag along with her other clothes. Maria 
had taken them from her before ushering her into 
the drawing room.  They were most likely already in 
the laundry.  Damn it!  She had wanted to show it 
to Shifty and ask him what he thought about the 
smoky smell of the blanket.  If there had been a 
fire, as Shifty insisted, then the smoke could 
easily be explained.  If, on the other hand, Monty 
was right, then she didn't know what had happened 
to the blanket for it to be in such a state.

Shify was still speaking, she realized.

"And I've been back out to the site myself, and 
Monty is right, there is no trace of the fire.  But 
I know it happened.  I saw it."

"Then how can you explain it?"  Mulder was 
fascinated by this tale, Scully could tell.  His 
eyes were shining as brightly as Shifty's.

"Well, obviously, when Dana touched you and the 
world of the fairies and our world came together, 
we must have been in their world rather than 
ours..."

"So if there is any fire damage, it will be in 
their version of the forest."  Mulder finished 
Shifty's train of thought for him.

"Exactly," said Shifty, triumphantly.  "We'll never 
find any trace of what happened out in Carterhaugh 
Woods, because nothing took place in our woods, 
only in theirs."

Scully felt as though she should put a stop to this 
fantasizing before Mulder and Shifty got carried 
away and the whole of the last few days got blamed 
on UFOs and visiting aliens.

"You know," whispered Mulder, as he leaned in 
closer to Shifty, "there is a theory that fairy 
tales, particularly tales of abduction by fairies, 
like in Tam Lin, were simply a way for our 
ancestors to explain what we now know to be alien 
abductions.  I..."

Mulder didn't get to finish his sentence because 
Scully placed her hand on his shoulder and 
whispered to him.  "Maria said that Monty has 
prepared the Queen Victoria suite for us, Mulder.  
I don't know about you, but I'm about ready for a 
nap before the Ceilidh tonight.  Do you want to 
show me which room it is?"

Mulder looked at her, and for a split second Scully 
could see him weighing the potential conversation 
with Shifty against the promise that lay hidden 
behind her words.  It pleased her more than she 
would ever admit to anyone that it was only a very 
brief battle Mulder fought, and that she was the 
undoubted victor as he rose from his chair.

"We'll talk about this later, Shifty."

Shifty tapped the old tobacco out of his pipe and 
replaced it with fresh from a battered silver tin.

"Aye, laddie.  No doubt we will."

Mulder led the way as they ascended the sweeping 
staircase in search of their suite of rooms.  
Scully watched as he strode purposefully down the 
long hallway.  Her heart fluttered with excitement, 
and the sheer joy of having him back.  Mulder 
paused outside a large oak door and turned to her 
smiling.

"This is the room, Scully."

She returned his smile and took his hand, squeezing 
it gently as she opened the door and led him 
inside.

End chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Scully stretched and yawned as she blinked awake 
from a brief nap.  Mulder breathed steadily beside 
her.  She was still so tired, even after a long 
sleep in the hospital and a nap this afternoon.  
They both were exhausted, and soon they had to face 
the Ceilidh at the pub.  Scully would rather stay 
snuggled under the bed clothes, warm and safe and 
protected.  But Monty had gone to a lot of trouble, 
and it would be unfair not to show up, particularly 
after all he had done for them since their arrival.

She and Mulder were heading back to DC tomorrow, 
and she wasn't looking forward to the long flight.

Mulder sighed in his sleep and rolled over.  She 
studied his face, so relaxed in sleep.  She thanked 
God again for his safe return.  Whatever may or may 
not have happened out in Carterhaugh woods, Scully 
was sure of one thing; if Shifty hadn't convinced 
her to keep watch with him, Mulder would be dead 
right now.

It was a horrible thought, and Scully's flesh came 
up in goosebumps.  But it was true, and Mulder knew 
it too.  That was why they had made love earlier, 
even though they were tired and hardly had the 
energy; because they could, when they so nearly 
might never have again.

When they had first climbed into the huge bed, she 
had lain cocooned in his arms for a long time, 
enjoying the silence, and the smell and feel of 
him, clean and soft from the shower.  Physical 
closeness was not a new thing to them; there had 
been countless occasions in the past when they had 
comforted each other, as friends do.  What was 
different this time, though, was the knowledge that 
she could kiss the bare skin of his arm as it held 
her, if she wanted to.  So she had, and Mulder had 
sighed, and that had led to her placing another 
kiss on the back of his hand.  Then she had felt 
the warmth of his breath on her ear as he kissed 
the side of her cheek.  She'd sighed, then, and 
twisted around in his arms until she was facing 
him.

His eyes had grown huge and dark again, and she 
kissed his lips gently.  His grip on her tightened; 
she could feel his fingers splayed across her bare 
back.  It had taken no effort at all to swing her 
leg over his and reach down to guide him inside 
her.

They had made love slowly, concentrating purely on 
touching each other's bodies; hands and mouths 
explored warm, lush flesh.  Their actions had been 
an affirmation that they were alive and together 
and able to do this whenever they wanted in the 
future.

One of his hands had played with her hair; the 
other had been between her legs, stroking her 
clitoris as he began to push more urgently inside 
her.  She'd been close, so close.  "Don't stop," 
she'd begged him, and he'd increased the pressure 
slightly and that was all it took for the warm 
vibrations of orgasm to spread through her body.

They had fallen asleep almost right away 
afterwards, hardly even bothering to clean 
themselves up; they could take showers again later.

Now, as the evening sun bathed the room in its warm 
glow, Scully decided a shower would be just the 
thing to wake her up and get her in the mood for 
the Ceilidh.  She padded into the bathroom, and 
stood for a long time under the spray, enjoying the 
feel of the droplets as they played over her skin.  
She was careful not to get her hair wet; there was 
no way she had the energy to style it again.  A 
good brush through and some hairspray would have to 
suffice tonight.

When she emerged from the shower a while later, 
Mulder was up and clad in a white terrycloth 
bathrobe.

"Maria stopped by while you were in the shower.  
Monty's sent us these."  He indicated the bed.

Scully stared at the garments laid out on the 
coverlet.

"No way, Mulder. There's no way I'm wearing that."

Mulder had a huge grin on his face and she knew the 
battle was lost before it had begun.

"Come on, Scully.  All the cool kids are wearing 
them."

"Mulder, you are not, nor have you ever been a 
'cool kid', and I'll just look ridiculous."

"I bet you don't.  I bet you'll look pretty hot."

"I'll only be hot because I'll be roasting to death 
in all this clothing."

"It's November in Scotland.  This kind of clothing 
was made to cope with a Scottish winter.  Besides, 
if I can wear one..."

Scully decided to make a deal.  "Okay.  If you go 
and get dressed up, and if you don't look too 
ridiculous, then I may, MAY, wear mine."

Mulder picked up his kilt and various accessories 
and trundled off to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later the bathroom door opened, and 
Mulder emerged.  "Prepare to be dazzled, Scully."

Scully looked Mulder up and down as he stood 
grinning in front of her.  She had no idea how he 
managed to look so good in that ridiculous outfit, 
but he did.

He had absolutely everything on; every accessory 
was neatly arranged, from the sporran to the dagger 
attached to his thick socks.  Scully wondered just 
how much protection the sporran would provide.  It 
hung neatly over the pelvic area, but didn't look 
as though it would stand up to a well-placed dagger 
or sword.  The green plaid kilt fit him perfectly, 
and just showed enough of his knees.  Mulder had 
knobby knees; Scully had never really noticed 
before.  The black jacket fit neatly at his slender 
waist and Scully had to admit that he looked pretty 
damned fine.

Why was it, she wondered, that men always looked 
better in skirts than women did?  Not always, 
perhaps, but often.  She'd seen many a man over the 
years with legs that she would kill for.  Once, 
when she was a medical student and doing a rotation 
in the local ER, she had met a prostitute called 
Carly who claimed to have been beaten up by a 
client.  The police had been surprisingly 
sympathetic, given Carly's occupation, and had 
assigned her a female detective to talk to and two 
female doctors to examine her.  She was a stunning 
girl, with a long face, high cheekbones and a lean, 
muscular body.  Scully had thought at the time how 
easily Carly could have been a model or an actress.

It had been a surprise, then, when they had coaxed 
Carly into getting undressed and discovered she was 
a man.  Carly was really Carl; and from what they 
had learned afterwards, she had never had any 
hormone treatment or surgery.  That was just the 
way she was built.  Scully had never taken anything 
at face value since that day.

Mulder wasn't quite that nice-looking, but he did 
look good in a skirt; there was no denying it.

"Well?  What do you think, Scully?  Do I pass?"

"Yes, you pass, Mulder.  You look 
very...authentic."

"Like a true Scotsman, eh?  I bet you didn't know I 
have Scottish blood in me, did you?"

"No, I didn't.  And just how true a Scotsman are 
you being tonight?"

She moved forward so that she was standing in front 
of him, invading his personal space.

"I don't know what you mean, Scully."  Mulder 
raised his eyebrows and tried to look innocent.

"You know exactly what I mean, Mulder.  Come on, 
show me."

"I'll show you, if you wear your dress."

Scully conceded defeat, and changed into the dress.  
It was similar to Mulder's kilt and jacket outfit, 
but all in one piece, with a tartan scarf that 
draped from shoulder to waist.  Thankfully, thick 
woolen socks and daggers were not de rigeur for the 
ladies, so Scully pulled on a pair of black 
stockings and some black chunky-heeled shoes.

When she was dressed, she looked at Mulder, 
expecting to see him grinning.  He wasn't.  He was 
smiling, but it was a warm appreciative smile, not 
a mocking one.

"You look fabulous, Scully."

"I do not.  I look like some kind of national doll.  
I feel stupid."

"I just bet you were one of those kids who always 
went to fancy dress parties in jeans and a t-shirt 
rather than a costume, weren't you?"

"So what if I was?"

"Well, you may have felt stupid dressing up in 
silly clothes, but you would have stood out more in 
your plain clothes, and people would notice you a 
lot more, which is the opposite of what you hope to 
achieve.  So if you go to the Ceilidh tonight 
dressed in your power suit, people are going to 
stare at you a whole lot more than they will with 
you dressed like that.  That's what I think, 
anyway," he grinned.  "Besides, I think you look 
sexy."

Scully laughed.  He had a point about standing out 
more if she didn't wear this dress. Ah, bugger it, 
as the Scots would say.

"Come on, then, Mulder.  It's time for you to keep 
your side of the bargain.  What's under the kilt?"

Mulder looked at his watch and sighed.  "I'll have 
to tell you later, Scully.  Right now, we're late 
for the party."

Mulder moved towards the door.  As he went to open 
it, he turned his back to Scully, and she took the 
opportunity to lift up the back of his kilt.

Scully giggled, she couldn't help it.  "You devil!"  

Mulder laughed.  "You know me, Scully.  I don't do 
things by halves."

She pulled the door closed quietly, and they set 
off towards the pub, Scully walking a few steps 
behind Mulder so that she could enjoy the view as 
he walked in his kilt.  She only hoped, for the 
sake of the locals and the innocent, that there 
wasn't a strong wind that night.

...

The plangent strains of a fiddle played on the 
evening air as they approached the Carterhaugh Inn.  
The sky was black already, and the three-quarter 
moon was huge and bright.  Mulder reached out and 
stopped Scully before she could enter the pub.

He took her hand and together they crossed the 
street.

"Look at that Scully," he said, and pointed at the 
moon.

"It's the moon, Mulder."

"Yes, but there's something about it tonight that 
you won't see often.  Can you see on the left, near 
the edge?  It looks as though part of the moon is 
projecting into space."

Scully studied the moon, and Mulder was right.  A 
small semi-circle of light appeared to be detached 
from the rest of the moon and hanging in the 
blackness.

"It's known as the Jeweled Handle.  It's really the 
sun catching the peaks which border the Bay of 
Rainbows.  That's the wall, if you like, of the 
Bay, which you can see projecting into the 
darkness.  It only lasts a few hours and so it's 
not often that you get to see it."

"It's very beautiful," Scully whispered.

Mulder turned to her.  "Yes, it is.  Scully, I just 
wanted to say, before we go inside, that I'm glad 
we came here, and I don't regret anything that's 
happened.  It's been a pretty horrible time for 
both of us, but there have also been some wonderful 
things as well, things that I never dared hope 
would happen.  And, well...I'm glad, that's all. I 
wouldn't change a thing."

Scully smiled.  "Except for the naked-on-a-horse 
thing."

Mulder put his arm around her and they entered the 
pub.  "Yes, except for that."

"And the lion and the snake and..."

"Shut up, Scully."

"Just remember that you've got nothing on under 
that kilt.  You're way more vulnerable than I am 
right now."

"Well, if something untoward happens to me, I won't 
be the only one losing out, now will I?"

"Mulder! Dana!"  Monty's voice pierced the babble 
of conversation in the pub and the sea of people 
parted as he made his way towards them.  "And don't 
you two look just splendid.  Dana, I don't think my 
old heart can take much more of you. You look 
delicious, as always."

Monty clapped Mulder on the back, and kissed both 
of Scully's cheeks theatrically.

"Speaking of appetizers, I bet you're both so 
hungry, your stomachs think your throats have been 
cut.  Come over here, there's plenty of food, and 
anything you want to drink.  It's all on me 
tonight."

Scully walked arm in arm with Monty across the pub 
floor to where Simon and Bill and a whole host of 
vaguely familiar faces were sitting.

"That's very generous of you, Monty," Scully said.

"Nonsense, dear girl.  I'll find a way to claim it 
back on expenses, don't you worry.  That's the 
advantage of having an accountant in the family.  
The only advantage, actually."

"You are awful, Monty."

"Yes, but you like me.  Bill! Simon!  Look who's 
here."

Bill and Simon shuffled up the leather bench and 
made room for Scully and Mulder to sit down. Scully 
recognized quite a few of the faces from the search 
for Mulder and she nodded at them when they nodded 
at her.  Julia was sitting a couple of people 
further up the table, the young blonde girl they 
had seen at the party draped on her arm.

She waved at Scully.  "Dana!  How lovely to see 
you, and Fox!  My, my, you do look handsome in that 
kilt.  Almost makes me wish I could turn the clock 
back twenty years."

Mulder leaned across the two men next to him and 
kissed Julia on the cheek.  

"I'm sure your friend would have something to say 
about that, Julia."

"Well, I did say 'almost'."

Mulder turned back to Scully.  He looked weary.  "I 
don't know about you, Scully, but I'm tired 
already."

"It has been a long day, and neither of us has 
slept much.  We'll just stay a while and then go 
and get some sleep in that fabulous bed."

A quartet of musicians was tuning up in the corner 
of the pub and Monty introduced them as the "Celtic 
Crosses".  Mulder groaned at the name, and Scully 
had to nudge him with her elbow.

The quartet consisted of two fiddlers, a woman with 
a flute and a guy with a trapezium-shaped banjo.  
Scully recognized it as an autoharp.  Sister Mary 
Catherine had played one in assembly at the school 
Scully had attended in San Diego.

A young red-headed girl stood up to join them, and 
sang in a high, clear voice.

Scully relaxed against the red leather back of the 
bench and listened.

"Oh the summer time is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Rolls around the purple heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?

"I would build my love a tower
By yon pure crystal fountain
And around it I would place
All the flowers of the mountain
Will ye go, lassie, go?

"And we'll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?"

The girl's voice quivered and soared on the high 
notes and Scully found the song entrancing.  
Scotland was stunning in the fall, but she would 
dearly love to come back here in the summer, when 
the hills were purple with heather and the mountain 
peaks touched the blue heavens.

Mulder's hand snaked into hers, and she squeezed it 
gently.

Monty and Shifty brought a huge tray of whiskies 
over and set them on the table.  Monty handed a 
drink to everybody and stood at the head of the 
table.

"First of all, I'd like to extend a hearty welcome 
back to Mulder.  You had us worried there for a 
bit, old chap, although Bill here was ready to move 
in on young Dana if you didn't make it back."

Bill protested his innocence and everyone laughed.

"Seriously, though," Monty continued, "Everyone's 
glad that you're back, and we're mightily pleased 
you didn't end up like those other poor lads, God 
rest their souls."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the 
table.

"A toast is required, I think," Monty said, and 
raised his glass in the air.  "Guma fada beo thu is 
ceo as ur taigh, which roughly translates as 'long 
may you live and may there be smoke from your 
house'."

Laughter pealed again, and Scully realized that the 
rest of the pubgoers were watching them, and 
smiling.

"Have a safe trip home, you two, and good health.  
Slainte mhath!"

Scully raised her own glass to Monty's.  "Slainte!"

The 'Celtic Crosses' struck up a reel, and people 
got up to dance on the old wooden floor.

Mulder tipped his glass towards Scully's and they 
met in a satisfying clink.

"To life and love and friendship, Scully."

Mulder had his secret smile plastered on his face.  
She felt her own smile widen into a grin.  "To life 
and love and friendship."


The End


Author's notes

I have to say that this has been a wonderful 
experience for me.  If you can cope with the 
pressure, then I would recommend writing a WIP to 
everybody.

I have gotten to know some truly fabulous people 
and it's all because of this story.

I'm not going to write copious amounts here, but I 
would just like to thank the following people for 
their help during the writing of this story:

EbXphile and Sue Pyper for reading through various 
chapters and giving me very helpful comments and 
advice, all of which has been greatly appreciated.

Jean Robinson for early formatting advice and 
pointing out a few Briticisms.  But mostly for 
instigating the cult of the kilt, which, I think, 
has helped make people more interested in reading 
my story, and for which I am eternally grateful. 
Oh, yeah, and which has been a lot of fun as well 
*g*

Everybody who has sent feedback, encouragement and 
stalks over the last five months.  Some of you are 
far too kind, some of you are far too evil, but you 
have all been wonderful, and I have loved reading 
everything.

If anyone is interested in learning more about the 
ballad of Tam Lin, then Abigail runs a very 
informative web site.  You can find it here:

http://www.tam-lin.org


Finally, there aren't words to say how much Dasha 
has done for me over the many months I have been 
writing this.  Not only is she a wonderful beta 
reader, but also a fantastic friend.  I'm very 
grateful for all her help, for the page on her web 
site and for all the announcements she has made 
about the story so that people have been aware of 
its existence.

This one is for you, Dasha, with much love and 
gratitude from me.

Pequod, July 2000.


Feedback to pe.quod@virgin.net 

All parts of the story can be found at 
http://members.nerve.com/pequod/index.html