ANCIENT MARINER (6/6)
by Blackwood
entreamis@yahoo.com
Disclaimers and Headers in Part 1

Hampton Beachfront
7:45 p.m.

Once the first cord is severed, Mulder loosens the
remaining bindings.  He undoes his gag, taking in a deep
breath, then spits out the taste of cotton and copper.  The
rope burns on his wrists sting, his knees ache and his head
hurts.  "Gettin' too old for this shit," he mutters to
himself.  He glances at his watch -- 8 p.m.

He stands, groaning from the stiffness, sensation restored
to his limbs in a painful blood rush.  He pulls at the
door's rusting iron handle.  It doesn't budge.  A second,
fruitless attempt and he slams his left hand against the
weathered doorframe.  The splintered surface stings his
palm as he peers out the window to see the back of
Oracoff's house twenty feet away.  The lights are on and
questions swirl in his mind.  Is Scully there?  Is she
safe?  Does she have back up?  Is Oracoff in custody?  Or,
knowing the creature's intentions and his tranquilizing
effect on his victims, is *she* the one in danger?

He pushes aside the trepidation licking his heels and
grabs a shovel that leans in a corner.  Turning his face
away, he bashes through the glass with the flat spade. 
Climbing out is awkward and he tumbles to the ground head
first.  He rises and stumbles as he makes his way towards
the house.  The side door is unlocked and he enters an
empty room, the front door still flung wide.  His breathing
is quick and his brow furrowed with worry.  A quick perusal
confirms his darker suspicions.  On the table lie Scully's
cell phone and her gun.  He picks up the weapon and shoves
it into the waistband of his jeans. He turns and steps
towards the front door, stopping when he spies her jacket
and shoes in a small heap beside the entry.  

Dread flows like a river as he steps onto the tiny porch. 
That's when he feels a warm wetness on his outer left
thigh.  He looks down and sees the dark stain of blood
seeping through the ripped denim. He slips his thumb
through the jagged tear to assess the wound and presses
into a gash of some depth.  He winces as he gauges its
length at five inches.  Damn.

There's no time to dwell on it.  Giselle is beginning her
pass over the Forks.  The wind whistles in his ears and the
heavens are nearly opaque with flat clouds, except for a
sliver of sky at the horizon where a pale sickle moon
hovers above black water.  An impending, early moonset adds
to his distress.

Peering out over the water, he notices something else. 
Two figures are knee-deep in the surf, heading out to sea
on foot.  He recognizes the tall, slender form as Oracoff. 
The smaller, feminine form being tugged along is his
partner.  Anxiety transforms to anger.

He races towards the ocean, stripping off jacket and tee
shirt as he goes.  At the water's edge, he yanks off his
sneakers and socks and strides into the wild surf.
"Scully!" he calls to the pair that is at least fifty yards
beyond him, but the wind swallows his cry.  Cold bites
through the heavy denim and his feet sink into the sandy
floor. He strides through the breakers that tumble and
pitch around him, a fierce undertow sucking at his legs.

Low tide.  The ocean floor descends in a slow-gradient as
he trails the receding figures that have, somehow,
increased their lead on him. They must be nearing the
barrier shelf, where the land drops off into the abyss. 
Once past the raucous waves, Mulder dives into waist-high
water and begins to stroke towards the pair.  His body
temperature adjusts to the chill Atlantic waters and he
pours his energy into reaching Julian and Scully.  After
several minutes of steady pulling, he stops, his feet just
able to touch bottom as the water surges above his
shoulders.

"Scully!" he calls again to the man and woman now within
earshot. His voice carries and they pause.  Oracoff turns,
holding Scully against him as he keeps her head above
water.  She is listless in his grasp, face turned downward.
Mulder navigates until he is only a few yards from them. 
"Scully," he calls again and her head lifts towards the
sound of his voice.  Oracoff turns back towards open water,
dragging Scully with him.

"Oracoff! Stop, you bastard, or I will shoot you."

He complies and turns to reface Mulder, who stands with
the water at his chin, weapon held above the surface. 
Julian holds Scully before him like a shield, her face
level with his as they both watch Mulder. 

"Scully?" Mulder queries, watching her eyes and taking
hope from the spark of lucidity he sees emerging there. 
Darkness falls as the moon sets and the rain begins to fall.

"Do you really think you can stop me?" Oracoff inquires in
an affected manner.  "Aside from your useless weapon,
you're human --with inadequate biology, an inferior mind
and a complete lack of appreciation for this woman and her
potential."

Mulder's fear for Scully's safety is magnified tenfold as
the water swirls around them and the rain escalates.  He'd
attempt a shot if he could get a clear line of sight. 
Meanwhile, his soul wrestles with the creature's words.

"Getting a little personal, aren't we?" he tosses off with
as much glibness as he can muster.

"Mulder!" Scully calls, her voice faint but assured. 
Mulder still maintains his bead on Oracoff in spite of the
night, the weather and the prospect that the weapon may not
fire after submersion.

"Are you okay?" he asks her.

"Yes."

"She's perfectly fine, Mr. Mulder.  Just like the others. 
Only she isn't going to be returned."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dana is going home tonight.  To her rightful home."

"To Atlantis.  Is that what you're telling me?"  Mulder's
sarcasm is tinged with curiosity.  "You think she's your
soul mate?"


"Mulder, he's insane," Scully says in a quiet voice.

"I know what he is, Scully, and he isn't going anywhere."

Oracoff interjects, "I suggest you head back now, before
the storm worsens.  The undertow is shifting.  I wouldn't
want to be held responsible--"

At that moment, Scully pushes against him, hard,
attempting to escape his clutches.  Her timing and
unexpected behavior gains her freedom, except for the
vise-like grip Oracoff keeps on her wrist. The sound of an
approaching boat can be heard above the wind and rain.

"Guarino," Scully calls to Mulder.

"What?" Oracoff snarls and pulls her back towards him. She
thrashes against him and he wails in anguish, "You would
betray me?"  His hands grasp her shoulders and he plunges
her beneath the surface.

Mulder ditches the gun and dives forward.  Coming up from
underneath, he forces himself between the two.  Oracoff
releases Scully as they break the surface and she pushes
free, choking and gasping for breath.  Mulder tries to pin
the creature's arms behind him, but his hands slip along
slick skin.  He feels a sharp tug on his legs and has but a
moment to grab a lungful of air before being yanked beneath
the dark water.

He struggles with Oracoff who holds his torso, face down,
in the vise-like grip of his legs below the surface, his
hands pinned behind his back.  Mulder twists and turns, but
cannot gain leverage.  His lungs ache, his eyes burn and
his head pounds.  The first trickle of cold seawater fills
his mouth and the faces of Scully, Samantha and his mother
flash through his mind as the dark edge of unconsciousness
slips forward.

All at once, the pressure around his waist is gone, as is
Julian. Instinct kicks him to the surface and he's gasping
for air, surrounded by a circle of white light.  A
motorboat chutters close by and he squints into the
brightness.

"Mulder?" Guarino shouts from deck. "Scully!"

Mulder scans the choppy surface around him, panting and
coughing. Rain pelts the water, sending spray back up into
his face even as the rain batters him from above.  He spies
a flash of movement and the sound of moving water to his
left.  He gulps and pivots in place, his footing gone.  He
expects Oracoff.  Instead, Scully swims past.  She stops
and turns back to him.  "Come on," she says in a breathless
rush and he follows.

They are still ten yards out from the side of the boat,
when he feels the current shift.  It isn't natural.  And
it's very strong. "Scully!" Mulder cries and she stops
again, treading water.  He feels the upsurge of cold
current wrapping around his legs, pulling him away from the
boat, away from the light, away from Scully.

"Mulder!" Scully yells, but her voice is distant in his
ears as he is sucked into a slow-turning liquid vortex. 
"Mulder!" he hears again, closer.  And then she's there
with him, holding on to him, keeping his head above water.

They battle the current, their strength ebbing in a steady
stream as they keep one another surfaced.  He feels
Scully's grasp on him weakening and his left leg is
throbbing.  He's lost all sense of direction, knowing only
that he must keep awake, keep kicking to the surface.  They
must stay alive.

The life preserver that splashes to his right is a welcome
sight. Mulder reaches out and seizes it, holding onto
Scully with his left arm.  He draws her forward and she
grabs onto the large orange ring. The water still drags at
them, but inch by inch, they feel the tug of the rescue
line bringing them closer to the vessel, until they are
alongside the drop ladder with Guarino and Olly helping
them up and onto the foredeck.

The rain stops and streaks of starlit indigo emerge
between the thinning clouds.  They collapse, side by side,
onto a hard-molded bench that juts from the inside wall of
the boat.  Guarino approaches, blankets in hand.  His grave
expression reveals how awful they look.  Mulder wraps one
around Scully's trembling frame.  He drops to one knee to
tuck the second around her legs.  He looks up into her eyes
and says, "We gotta get you dry."

"Y-you," she stammers back in a whisper, tremors wracking
her body.

He'd been warm in the water, adrenaline pumping, but the
cooler air following the storm front nips at his clammy
skin and the wound in his leg burns.  A tight shiver
overtakes him. 
"Here," Guarino says, removing his squall jacket and
handing it to Mulder, who doffs and zippers it with a
grateful nod.  "Oracoff?"

"I dunno," Mulder replies, looking up at the detective.  "I
lost him."

>From the opposite end of the boat, Mulder hears Olly
calling for Oracoff, over and over.  He peers through the
gloom to see her clutching the sides of the skiff, leaning
forward, over the water. She's removed her storm jacket and
the dark turtleneck and jeans she's wearing cling to her
narrow figure.  Her dark gray tresses curl black around her
shoulders and in the half-lit space, she seems much younger
than the seventy-odd years she's spent on terra firma.

Guarino turns towards her with a shake of his head.  "I
don't see how he could have survived."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Guarino turns to question Mulder's cryptic response, when
a sudden splash causes both men to turn portside with a
start.

"Olivia," says Guarino meeting Mulder's eyes.  They rush
to the side. The detective casts the spotlight in a wide
sweep across the ever-moving surface.  They spot Olly,
making steady headway towards the vortex that continues to
spiral in a slow turn just beyond the reach of the boat.

"Olly!" Mulder yells.  "Come back!  You'll never find
him," he shouts.  He looks back at Guarino, who is removing
his gun holster. 

"I'm going after her," Guarino says, heading back to the
drop ladder. Mulder grabs the spotlight, focusing its beam
on the elderly woman who strokes away from them with
unusual agility and vigor.  He grapples for balance as the
boat is captured in the outermost edge of the maelstrom and
he's pitched against the side of the boat.

Regaining his balance, he looks at Guarino who stands
poised to dive, but seems frozen in place.  His expression
is one of disbelief as he stares at the water.  Mulder
shifts his gaze to where he remembers Olly being and
exhales his breath in a rush.

The sea is growing lighter.

In an ever-widening circle around the boat, dark water is shifting
tone.  Black turns greenish-gray, then deep emerald. 
Mulder grips the side of the boat and calls out, "Scully, 
you gotta see this."  He glances back at her, but she is 
huddled beneath her cocoon of blankets.  He turns back, 
unable to resist the lure of the spectacle unfolding before 
him.

The verdant waters continue to transmute, green morphing
suddenly into aquamarine and turquoise combined.  And 
then he sees it -- a glowing form rising from beneath. Olly
sees it too, he surmises, because she stops swimming and
simply waits.

The luminous being rises, refracting light through the
water in arcing ripples of gold that scatter as they
disperse into the surrounding brine.  It breaks the surface
without sound or effort close to where Olly treads water. 
She reaches a tentative hand out to it and a luminescent
limb mirrors her action.  Fingers, or what Mulder assumes
are fingers, touch her hand.  He is mesmerized, unable to
look away.

The image turns vaporous and he squints, then blinks
several times before he realizes he's staring through a
thick haze that rises and settles all around them with
eerie swiftness.  He strains to see the watery pair, but
they are cloaked in a mantle of mist.  The lights off the
boat reflect back only impenetrable whiteness as fog
billows over the deck.

Mulder closes his eyes and drops his head onto his arms in
weariness. He knows they will never see Julian or Olivia
again.

~~~~~

EPILOGUE

Saturday, 9/30 
Sag Harbor Marina 
11:00 a.m.

The azure sky is cloudless and sunlight skitters on the
surface of the bay, fracturing into brilliant shards
wherever it alights. Sailboats point their canvas wings
into the wind like so much origami on the harbor, enjoying
the brisk winds that trail in Giselle's wake. The
occasional motorboat putters out from the marina.

Scully stands at the edge of the dock, taking in the
tranquil scene that belies the prior evening's chaos.  She
remembers confronting Julian, then losing consciousness
until she heard Mulder's voice calling her name.  Then she
was in the sea, being held against her will and battling
for her life, and his.  Their rescue is a blur. She was
diagnosed with minor hypothermia and held for observation
overnight.  Her blood chemistry was unaffected and her
heart betrayed no irregularities.  Even so, it will be some
time before she feels truly warm again.

She wraps her arms around herself, fingers plying the
softness of the alpaca ruana that drapes around her in fawn-
colored folds.  Mulder's extravagant and unexpected gift
gives her pause.  He can irritate her to insensibility with
his arrogance, his propensity to embrace myth over fact and
his subtle manipulations.  He can also dazzle her with
random acts of kindness, leaps of intuition, and the more
overt expressions of his feelings for her.  He'd needed
sutures for a nasty gash on his thigh, but she'd yet to
hear him complain about it.  She senses his presence behind
her without seeing him.

"Coast Guard still hasn't found any trace of them," he
says in a straightforward manner.

"They're gone, Mulder.  And we're done here."

"I gave Guarino my report, our report."  She nods as she
follows the swoop and cry of terns and gulls that beset an
incoming trawler.  "At least they're together."

"In death?" she says, considering how easily they might
have ended up like Olivia, like Julian, like the cargo
heading into harbor.  Her tone must betray her cynicism.

"In life, Scully," he refutes.  "I know what I saw and
yeah, I think they realized their destiny together.  I know
you don't believe in the idea of a soul mate, but there
*are* animals that mate for life, you know.  The wolf, the
gorilla, even swans and geese."

"That's instinct, not choice."  Deepening intimacy with
Mulder is proving as difficult a task as she always
imagined it would be, wounded psyches held captive behind
protective walls.  The glimpses into what might be,
however, keep her on course towards a future she cannot
imagine without him.  "Still," she adds, her voice
softening, "I *do* think we're where we're supposed to be,
to learn what we're supposed to learn."

"That's pretty Zen for a scientist."  She can see his
amused smile in her mind's eye.

"Did you know the word science comes from the Latin word
'scire,' to know?  That's all science is.  A way to know
something--a method."

"And what does science say about the possibility of
soulmates?"

"It says nothing, Mulder, because there's no way to prove
it. 

But..." she adds as an afterthought, then pauses.

"But?"  His tone is laced with curiosity.

"I suppose that assuming everything can even be explained
by science is a presupposition that begs further inquiry."

"Are you saying the idea of soulmates is a possibility?"

She hesitates a moment, then says, "As a choice, Mulder. 
Not instinct."

She feels him step closer behind her, the weight of his
hands on either side of her shoulders.  They stand just so
for several seconds and then she turns to face him.  He
drops his hands and she looks up. His eyes are serious,
greener than usual with the refracted blue of the water and
sky around them.

"You promised me a walk on the beach," she reminds him in
a soft voice.

"So I did.  Still interested?"

She grabs his hand.  "Always.  I just need another minute."

"I'll be waiting," he says, then turns towards the car.

She allows the loss of his presence to impact and watches
him retreat.  She considers their words.  The idea of a
soul mate is romantic, but highly unlikely, in her mind. 
Whatever it is that draws two people together has more to
do with common interests, shared goals and plain old
chemistry than some mindless karma.  She thinks of Mulder. 
Soulmate?  She shakes her head and chuffs at the thought. 
Then she turns and looks seaward once more.

She's in love with him.  He knows this.  Has known for
some time. Still, he doesn't press her for more than she is
ready to give and she's grateful for his abiding patience. 
Whether destiny has fated them to be together, she cannot
say.  What she does know is that this case is over and
there's a seven-hour drive back to D.C. ahead of them. 
Maybe she'll offer to make him dinner when they get home
and maybe he'll say yes.  After that, is anyone's guess.

She looks back over the water and wonders if Atlanteans
are happy.

END
ANCIENT MARINER (6/6)
by Blackwood

AUTHOR'S NOTES: When I began writing fanfic, those who wrote
casefiles awed me.  I could never achieve such a thing.  That's what
I told myself.  Then came "the invitation" from VS8 and I said
<gulp>, okay.  Imagine my surprise when the muse granted me this.  I
owe many thanks to many people.  First and foremost to my betas,
amazing Musea, for their love, generosity and respect.  To Audrey,
for fidelity, friendship and faith; Thea, for teaching me craft;
Patti, for being this Angel's angel; Marsha, for keeping me smiling
and AM out of the Delete box; Bonnie, Cameo and Diana for being you
and for being there.  To Laurie Haynes and the rest of the IMTP
(staff and writers), for all you did to make this a reality.  Thank
you all.

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            SUGGESTED CAST LIST FOR ANCIENT MARINER

                Fox Mulder  David Duchovny
               Dana Scully  Gillian Anderson
            Julian Oracoff  Julian Sands
         Olivia Van Helden  Vanessa Redgrave
              Nick Guarino      Brad Garrett
            Mallory Lowell  Sarah Michelle Gellar
             Raymond Weill  Will Friedle
             Duane Niebler      Clark Johnson
           Mariana Morales      Marianne Jean-Baptiste
           Diane Itzkowitz  Kathy Bates


Thanks for reading!

=====
"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."
                 -- E.L. Doctorow
Visit me: http://members.tripod.com/black.wood/index.html  OR
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