LOVE'S SAVAGE SEA SPRAY: AN X-FILES PIRATE SAGA (Episode Two, Part
Two)
By: THE X-CENTRIC WRITING COLLECTIVE:
Char Chaffin (char@chaffin.com)
Foxsong (foxsong@foxsongfiles.net)
MaybeAmanda (maybe_a@rocketmail.com

CATEGORY:  MSR, Parody, Humor
RATING:  R, for adult themes, lusty scenes and some rough 	
seafarin'language

CLASSIFICATION: A gleeful continuance and parody of the trashy
romance-novel, "bodice-ripper" genre, begun in Episode One, and
nagged, um, demanded, ah, requested by readers who should probably
know better, LOL.

By once again placing our favorite characters in said bodice-ripper,
we are really asking for the Fic-Gods to stomp on us (You can thank
us later, of course).  In any case, if we are doomed to walk the
plank for this one, then we shall all jump at once!

SPOILERS:  Nay!

DISCLAIMER:  Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the gang be not ours,
Mateys... we only beg for the right to turn their "lives" into one
big "Bodice-Rippin" Good time!

SUMMARY: The dashing Captain Fox Mulder and his Lady Dana Scully
continue their high-sea romantic adventure, amidst more assorted
seafarin' meanies than you can shake a peg-leg at, in this continued
tribute to the "Romance Novel" -


EPISODE TWO, PART TWO

<< 11

Lady Dana Scully stroked a boar's hair brush through her glossy
flaming locks, and with half-closed eyes thought of her love.

It had been the most wondrous day. They'd spent the morning planning
and scheming a wedding, stealing kisses and caresses as they plotted.
Mulder had pressed a sweet kiss upon her honeyed lips with each plan
they'd agreed upon; after the second or third kiss they'd found
themselves agreeing upon the most ridiculously outrageous ideas, just
to have an excuse to kiss.  

She'd asked for roses and lilacs to wear in her hair; Mulder had
countered with hibiscus, remarking upon the ease of finding the scent-
heavy flower, which grew wild on the island.  An agreement made, they
had kissed with leashed passion, exploring each other's mouths
tenderly.  Then Mulder had declared his desire to be married in puce-
colored breeches, with broad purple stripes; Scully had been suitably
horrified and had countered with her wish to see him in his formal
white dress breeches.  

"They mold themselves so cunningly to your, um... strength, my
love." And her eyelashes had fluttered at him in exaggerated appeal;
Mulder had hooted aloud with delighted laughter and had agreed
instantly; then his strong arms had wound about her tiny waist, and
pulled her into his hard chest, covering her smiling lips hungrily;
giving up all pretense of polite discourse as they'd fondled each
other with increasing abandonment, and kissed until they were both
fair unconscious.   

Mulder had been aflame with longing and boundless lust, trembling
hands cupping her sweet breasts, lips stamping a trail of possessive
kisses across her dainty jawline and down one creamy shoulder until
he had reached a luscious point, hidden underneath the blue of her
gown.  He had gasped at the feel of that berry-sweet morsel under his
fingertips, and had tugged at the shoulder of her gown, exposing the
tender nub to his hot gaze, and then to his even hotter mouth.  Dana
had shuddered with sweet longing as his lips closed over her nipple,
alternately pulling and then licking at it with his silky-rough
tongue until she thought she'd go mad with the wanting of him. 

Now, Dana shuddered anew at the remembrance of the passion-soaked
moment; how she'd cried out with the feel of his hard suckling of her
breast, fighting to keep her head and hating to deny him the ease of
her body.  But she wanted their first time together to be perfect...
she wanted the honor of marital bliss to cover both of them, ere they
consummate their sacred vows.  She'd pushed him away, eyes glittering
with unshed tears as Mulder, damning himself to perdition for making
her weep once more, held her pressed tightly to his shaky frame and
begged her forgiveness again and again. 'Twas a small boon to grant;
she loved him too much to be angry with him for actions which she
knew could not be helped, nor controlled, by either of them.  

Dana sighed, and set down her brush; he'd be here soon, and they
would share a light repast and finalize their plans for the wedding
ceremony... and then there would be the sweetest, most drugging
kisses, exchanged with heated passion... her head swam with the need, 
and the desire.  Dana lay back upon the wide satin-covered bed, and 
dared to touch her soft breasts with her own slender fingers, 
imagining they were the hands of her love - feeling with wicked need 
the almost overpowering stir of her deepest womanly ache, for him... 
for her Mulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex Krycek held his favorite pigeon in his hand, and thought about
what he'd discovered this night, simply by asking a few well-worded
questions.

He now knew for certain the identity of the Piper Maru's new Captain
- and his fury and desire for revenge had never been stronger than at
the moment when the Piper's swabbie Byers had unwittingly uttered Fox
Mulder's name.  Krycek had been half expecting it, if the truth be
told; had suspected as much when he'd first spoken to that boy Gilly,
who'd been unloading from the Piper.  

Captain Fox Mulder!  The man who'd caused him to lose his arm.  His
enemy.  Krycek had sworn an oath to kill Fox Mulder, should their
paths ever cross again, and now it seemed his chance was finally at
hand.  Fox Mulder was docked here on the island, preparing for a
wedding, according to Byers.  Krycek had returned to the tavern in
time to speak to the swabbie, who'd stayed behind to have one last
mug of warmed rum before heading back to his post.  Apparently Mulder
had already departed for the ship, no doubt eager to return to the
arms of the luscious red-haired beauty who Alex had spied earlier.  

Mulder's intended... the loveliest woman Alex had ever seen.  A
woman such as that could keep a man warm and sated for the rest of
his God-given days on earth. It would be a shame to see a woman so
beautiful laid low as a widow, so soon after her wedding vows.  She'd
be desolate. She'd need comforting, to be sure.  Alex smiled at the
thought - he could be persuaded to be the comforter of the Lady
Scully, with little effort.  

He stroked the little pigeon once more, and set it on a small perch;
adjusted the tiny missive strapped to its leg.  This pigeon was
trained to fly from the island to wherever the great ship Ardent
happened to be a-sail - and Alex knew its Captain would come running
with full canvas flapping, if he knew the Piper Maru was this
accessible.  Hopefully, the Ardent wasn't so very far away and could
make port quickly, upon its captain receiving this most vital
missive.  Admiral Spender hated the Piper Maru; had been searching
for it for quite a while.  Spender had a score to settle with its
Captain, and quite a lot of purloined booty to lift from its well-
padded storerooms.  Krycek smiled again, and set the pigeon loose,
watching its upward progress into the night sky.  "Fly straight and
true, my little friend.  I am counting on you to deliver my most
important missive of all.  Do not fail me..."  As he continued to
watch, Alex could have sworn he saw the bird dip its wing as if in
acknowledgment of his entreaty.

<< 12

The Ardent was a huge ship, larger than most frigates and fitted
with extra sails.  Its owner, Admiral C.G.B. Spender, was one of the
few higher officers in Her Majesty's Royal Navy who actually owned
his own ship.  Spender never failed to remind his crew at any given
moment - usually when he was angry at them and was wont to threaten
them in some way - that the Ardent belonged to him and thus he could
make them walk the plank for any sort of misdemeanor, should they
displease him in any way.  Consequently his crew obeyed him
stringently, but they despised him, even as they feared him. 
Considering the quality of the crew in question, their fear was all
the more indicative of the man himself; the man who controlled the
Ardent, and their lives.

CGB Spender was a tall man, with a slight paunch and yellowed,
unhealthy skin; unhealthy from the copious amounts of tobacco he
smoked in his pipe, constantly lighting it and sucking the acrid
smoke deep into his lungs.  The tobacco was specially blended for him
and always ready for him, whenever he stopped at Port Du Morlee', on
the Mediterranean island of Salarno.  Thick, yellowish-green smoke
would ring his craggy head as he puffed away, and the stench of the
tobacco permeated every nook and cranny of the huge ship.  

His crew - hardened criminals for the most part, although they
played at being officers of the Royal Navy - cringed whenever Spender
spoke to them, not just because they feared him but also because of
his putrid breath.  Many of them were in the habit of carrying around
clove-studded oranges, which they held to their noses in a vain
attempt to reduce the odiferous smoke.  Spender was not offended by
their antics; in fact, when he was feeling particularly buggery, he
would take their oranges away from them and then force them to stand
still whilst he breathed directly into their faces.  If they vomited
as a result of their weakness, they were slapped in irons as a
punishment and chained to the side of the ship for hours.  Spender's
crew thus actually became infamous for their ability to hold their
vomit endlessly.

Spender had hand-picked his crew from the hapless dregs of the
islands of which he was wont to dock.  To say they were rough men
would be to put forth an understatement. There was Junior Yeoman
Modell. Rob was his name, but no one would ever have dared to address
him so informally.  He was Modell to some and "The Shover" to others,
depending upon their rank (and physical strength).  

Recruited by Spender in the West Indies, Modell was obsessed with
the idea of bending the minds of the human race to do his bidding,
and his will.  Handsome and articulate, he was always dressed
immaculately in his yeoman whites, and would become irrationally
infuriated whenever another crew-mate touched his spotless uniform,
or behaved in a clumsy manner close to his person, threatening to
spill upon, smudge, stain or otherwise maim his uniform.  Ordinarily
the crew would have delighted in torturing the yeoman, just to watch
him erupt... except that when Modell did spew his nasty venom on a
hapless crew mate, they would usually die.  For Modell had perfected
that ability -- to force the human mind to perform his bidding,
simply by staring at them, and thinking about the way in which he
wanted them to hurt themselves.  Of the fortunate few who were
allowed to see another sunset, upon being asked where Modell had
disappeared to - after inflicting his form of terror upon them - they
would simply stare blankly into space, and murmur, "He had to go."  

Modell's immediate superior was Senior Yeoman Pfaster.  Donnie his
name; the sweet nickname given to him by his sainted mother, these
many years dead in her grave.  Donnie wore about his neck a chain
woven of his mother's hair, and studded with her fingernails, which
he had removed from her fingers upon her death.  Considering his
mother wasn't  completely dead when he removed them, however... it
was understandable why his "sainted" mother screamed and cursed his
rotten soul to Hell, as he was busy prying off her nails.  Donnie had
solved that small annoyance by drowning his mother's weakened body in
a copper tub of icy water; then he gently washed her hair with rose-
scented soap, pulled it out by the roots and wove himself a chain to
wear about his neck.  Oftentimes he would pause in his daily task,
and stroke the chain gently, a dreamy look upon his face.  When his
crew-mates witnessed this moment of reverie, they would usually run
in the other direction, as Donnie had once or twice attempted to
remove hair in a subversive manner; sneaking up behind them as they
toiled, and yanking on their locks.  After the last attempt, every
man jack crew had his hair shaven off - and so that small temptation
was removed.  It didn't stop Yeoman Pfaster from trying to remove
their fingernails, however, at night when they lay abed.  Recruited
from the Hawaiian island of WakiWaki - rescued from disembowelment
for trying to remove the hair of the Chief's number one daughter,
Sweetbread Blossom - Pfaster had found a home on the Ardent.  The
rest of the crew would have liked to see him run away from said home.

Ensign duties were assumed by Edward Jerse, a handsome and
personable lunatic whom Spender recruited on the far coast of
Cornwall.  Ensign Jerse was the Ardent's record-keeper, having been
employed as a merchant banker in Cornwall.  Possessed of a higher
intelligence than the average ensign, Jerse was nonetheless as
pudding-pated as they came.  Tattoos covered his arms and his strong
shoulders; a dizzying variety of tattoos which at first had
fascinated the other crew. Until they realized that Jerse was
convinced his tattoos had lives of their own, which they played out
on his hapless body with irritating regularity.  

To keep his 'live' tattoos from exercising such mundane daily
routines as holding 'town meetings' and 'village dances' complete
with music - which he claimed they were prone to do when he slept - 
Jerse frequently did himself bodily injury with fire, hot coals and
sharp knives.  When the instruments of his self-infliction became too
much for the rest of the crew to bear, they forced Spender to
restrict Jerse to the lower quarters, where the great stores of
foodstuffs, pilfered booty and other such supplies were kept.  The
arrangement worked quite well, with Jerse at home amongst his
responsibilities, and the crew at last undisturbed by his habitual
wounding... except sometimes, late at night, when a crew-mate could
swear he heard the sound of a squeeze-box, playing a waltz.

Far down in lowest quarters, lived Crewman Eugene Tooms.  Tooms was
the ship's vermin killer.  Rats were a problem on any ship, and even
a large, well-appointed ship such as the Ardent was not immune. 
Tooms was very successful at his task for one very good reason:  he
craved, and lived off, the livers of all the rats he caught.  Tooms
had been recruited in the Bavarian town of Hammerschmitzel, where
Spender had found him keeping the sewers vermin-free. Spender had
bought him, taken him on board and tossed him into the bowels of the
lowest quarters.  Within three days, nary a rat could be found, and
Tooms was lying in a corner of the dank galley, his mouth covered in
yellow bile, and satisfyingly bloated from his grisly repast.  The
rest of the crew, curious to see for themselves their new oddity of a
crew-mate, took one glance at the slumbering Tooms and ran for upper
deck.  After that, Tooms was on his own.

On this particular day, very early in the morning, the Ardent cut
through the foaming waves with ease, sails billowing full in the
breeze and crew scrambling to keep the huge ship moving swiftly. 
Spender was impatient to be at his next planned port; it was rumored
he'd found a new quartermaster to replace the one that Crewman Tooms
had murdered.  Spender had cursed from one end of the ship to the
other, when the discovery had been made.  Good and loyal
quartermasters were hard to come by, and Van Blundht had been one of
the best.  

Deceptively strong and intelligent, fiercely loyal to Spender, Van
Blundht was worth his weight in gold, for he had the inexplicable
ability to rearrange his features in such a way as to take on the
identity of anyone with whom he came into contact; this ability
enabled him to perform some amazing raids on the well-protected
hoards of goods and other necessities of port, wherever the Ardent
docked.  Van Blundht would simply sidle up to the storeroom doors,
observe the keeper of the keys and by arranging his features would
take on the countenance of that keeper.  He would then knock the
keeper unconscious, take his keys and unlock the doors, instructing
the keeper's own lackeys to load the goods into the Ardent's large
storerooms.  Usually no one ever questioned the keeper, when doling
out the coffers, and thus the great ship amassed mounds of goods and
rarities, from all over the world.  

But Van Blundht had made the mistake of venturing down into the
bowels of the ship, his natural curiosity getting the better of him,
wanting to see for himself the odd crewmate Tooms.  And he saw,
indeed... right before Tooms, having eaten every rat's liver he could
find and still hungry, had leapt upon the rather slow-moving Van
Blundht, and had made a meal of his nice, large liver.  

Now the Ardent flew across the water, and Spender stood at the helm
of his ship, puffing away on his acrid tobacco and watching the
reflection of the bright sun upon the sea.  His anger, at having to
replace the valuable Van Blundht, was great, but not great enough to
be willing to give up Crewman Tooms, for the nasty little liver-
muncher had cleared his ship of all vermin, and for that talent he
was worth keeping.  Spender was willing to look for another
quartermaster, and in fact, was entertaining the idea of asking his
old friend Alex Krycek to assume that duty.  He could use a man such
as Krycek - even with one arm, the Russian was tough and quite
formidable.  

Smiling to himself, Spender turned awkwardly away from the foaming
wake of the sea, his pegleg less than steady beneath him, just in
time to see a carrier pigeon land with unerring accuracy upon the
rail near him.  A carrier pigeon... Spender knew of only one user of
such messengers: his old friend Krycek.  Odd that the tiny bird
should land on his ship at the exact same moment that Krycek would
cross his mind. But as Spender reached out a hand to grasp the
minuscule leather pouch tied to its leg, his pet parrot Polly, having
flown from its perch at stern to light upon its master's shoulder,
began to squawk in furious jealousy at having to share Spender's
favor.  

The pigeon, spooked by the angry parrot, abruptly took to its wings
and flew directly into the surprised face of Yeoman Pfaster, who
immediately grabbed at it, yelling, "Ahoy!  Fresh pigeon for supper,
Mateys!"  

Two of the upper deck swabbies, upon hearing the word 'fresh,'
whooped and began to chase the little bird, who flew erratically
around in circles, trying to escape their eager grasp.  At last
Pfaster, taller and more dexterous than the rest, reached out a long
arm as the bird barreled past, and caught it.  The tiny pouch was
torn off its leg as Pfaster made ready to wring its little neck...
just as their Admiral roared at them to drop the poor bird or face
walking the plank.  

"I'll have the man's head who tries to harm that bird!  Drop it,
Yeoman, else face my considerable wrath!"  Five clumsy steps forward
and Spender was nose to nose with Pfaster, puffing his fury and
acrimoniously fetid breath into the yeoman's suddenly greenish-pale
face.  Pfaster loosed the bird from nerveless fingers; the tiny
creature flew off, just as the poor yeoman keeled over from the
unholy stench of his Admiral's breath, and vomited on the deck floor.
The deadly point of Spender's pegleg kicked him aside as he bent to
retrieve the tiny missive that had been attached to the bird's leg. 
Carefully he unfurled it; held it close to his face and read it - 

Only to fling it down again, cursing foully, as he turned on one
heel and limped over to the stairs leading to below-deck, bellowing,
"MODELL!  Reset the course!  We sail for the isle of Cuncan, this
very day!" And to himself, softly, "I have a score to settle, and a
Captain to collect..."

<< 13

Di stood at the grimy window that looked out onto the main street,
such as it was; early in the afternoon and it was already bustling
with life.  She took up a grimy rag, dipped it in a bucket of water
and rubbed the wet rag on a bit of lye soap, trying not to notice how
the acidic soap made her hands raw and rough.  "Tisn't as if anyone's
going to hold my hand," she thought to herself, as she soaped up the
cloth and applied the foam to the lower window, taking off a few
layers of smoky residue.  She'd begun wiping the rest of the suds
from the window, when a sort of intuition made her glance up... and
she froze in place, heart beating fair out of her poor body.

Fox Mulder stood in the street, right in front of her rounded eyes. 
Di dropped the rag upon the floor, one wet hand going to her wooden
chest, not able to feel her heart pounding itself silly against the
oaken tittles, but knowing it was.  Her eyes drank him in hungrily.

He looked wondrous, he did... even more handsome than he'd appeared
to her, several nights before. Clad in a wine colored waistcoat and
pale grey breeches, which fit his muscular legs to perfection, calf-
high polished hessian boots and a snowy shirt and vest, cravat
intricately tied - holding his tricorn in his hands.  His dark hair
tossed about in the sea breeze, face tanned and eyes almost green in
the bright sunlight.  Di had ne'er seen a more tasty sight.  

God, to be held -naked - in those strong arms once more... what a
monumental difference from the sweaty, diseased embraces of the
sailors she was forced to endure, just for the bit of coin they
flipped her!  To taste those full, wide lips of his again, instead of
the wet slobbering of her average customer, all over her shrinking
body, in the dank darkness of her tiny room.  

To be able to walk about on his finely-tailored arm, out in public,
out in the street where all the sailors and general rabble of this
Godforsaken town could see them, and acknowledge her elevated status,
as a lady instead of a worn-out whore with raw hands and wooden
breasts.  Di sighed gustily... mayhap her Fox had come back this
morn, for a reason?  Mayhap for her?

Her face brightened considerably; had he longed for her, thought
about her these past nights aboard his fine ship, sleeping in his
spacious stateroom?  Had he pictured her there, in his bed, snuggled
in his arms among lush bed linens and feather pillows? Was that why
he had come back today; dare she think it was for her?  

Well, why not? Hadn't she made him happy, once?  Hadn't she spent a
considerable amount of her time with him; caressing him, kissing
him... loving him?  Once... and it could be that way again!  Di grew
more and more excited, just imagining her darling Fox coming back
ashore, just for her.

Oh, Lord - once again she was a mess!  She needed to get ready;
needed to put on a clean gown, try to achieve some semblance of style
to her matted hair which still bore the pins from the messy chignon
she'd made of it from several days past.  Needed to try sponging the
prior evening's sweat and ale stains from her skin. Di hurried to the
tiny back room where she slept, tugging at her apron as she pulled
the ragged curtains shut and dug into her steamer trunk for another
decent gown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out on the dusty street, Captain Fox Mulder pressed a snowy white
handkerchief to his damp forehead.  It was hot in the sun, but he was
a man in love, and as such the burning on his head from the bright
rays above was as nothing compared to the burning of his heart.  Even
so, Mulder set his tricorn over his dark, breeze-tossed hair as he
waited for his dearest Scully to arrive, escorted by two of the
faithful Lone Swabbies.  His unlikely friends on board his ship and
now, more than ever, his most trusted crew.  They'd proven invaluable
as both companions and guardians to Lady Dana Scully.   His business
in town completed, Mulder prepared to walk from whence he came, eager
to meet up with the unlikely trio.

But before he could take more than two steps, a tinkling voice
called his name... and he swung around, a huge smile lighting his
face and flaming in his eyes as he spied his love, running toward
him; Frohike and Langly struggling to keep up.  He held out his arms
as Lady Dana Scully leapt into his embrace.  He swung her around in a
dizzy circle there in the bright sunlight, and his tricorn fell to
the ground as he laughed joyfully.  He covered her still-smiling
mouth with his, suddenly ravenous for a taste of her sweet nectar;
kissing her deeply and at length.  Frohike and Langly politely turned
their backs on the two lovers, and pretended to find the rutted
street highly fascinating.

"Mulder, my love... put me down!  I grow dizzy... Mulder!"  Smiling
giddily, Dana pushed at the strong chest of her beloved, affording
precious little space between them, and squealing anew at the feel of
his warm lips tickling at her sensitive neck temptingly revealed by
the low-cut gown, lace shawl trailing on the ground.  Mulder nuzzled
her once more, breathing in her heady perfume, which owed naught to
artifice. Her unique scent belonged to her and her alone; he had
privately dubbed it ScullyScent; wishing nothing more from his life
than the privilege of wallowing in her fragrance for the rest of his
days.  

He raised his head and regarded her sparkling eyes and enchanting,
glowing face.  He loved her so; was fortunate indeed to have her by
his side. He voiced his thoughts aloud, and watched in rapt
fascination as her cheeks blushed an even deeper shade of rose.  She
ducked her head, burying her heated face against the strong column of
his neck.  

"Oh, Mulder... my adoration knows no bounds. 'Tis I who am
fortunate!  For you have saved me, in every way possible, you have
saved me.  You have restored my faith in humanity; you have given me
the strength of your beliefs!" 

His impassioned kiss interrupted her loving declaration, and he
whispered against her lips.  "Tis you, dearest Scully, who have saved
me - you kept me honest - you've made me a whole person, my darling.
I owe you everything..." Once more he seized her luscious mouth with
his, bending her over his arm and kissing her with every ounce of
pent-up passion in his soul.

And across the dusty street, Di ran out of her tiny room, fastening
the last few buttons of a faded but clean cotton gown; her face
scrubbed and her hair hastily pinned up on her head. Only to stop
abruptly, almost running into the still streaked window of the bar,
as her wide, shocked eyes took in the scene being played out in front
of the Little Ale'Inn.  

Fox Mulder, her endless obsession - holding a woman in his arms,
kissing her passionately.  A stunningly beautiful woman with flaming
red-gold hair, porcelain pale skin which had the gleam of silk about
it; wearing a gloriously flattering gown of deep gold, covered with
intricate embroidery that shimmered and sparkled in the bright
sunlight. Her shoulders rose above the low neckline of the dress, and
her eyes were closed, her lips being devoured by the man for whom Di
would have given her life, to kiss, in just that way... out in the
public eye for all to see.  

And as she stared and the tears shimmering in her eyes began to
spill over and run down her rough cheeks, Di leaned a bit far, there
at the window; a morbid need to see her pain laid bare in the
street... and her oaken tittles bumped against the window, emitting a
dull thunk on the glass, echoing the ache in her heart; in her soul. 
She threw back her head and wailed; the messy chignon on her head
coming loose and shielding her ravaged face, swishing against her
tears.

<< 14

They made their way down the long narrow street in the afternoon
sun, oblivious to the crowds around them, to the sights and smells
and sounds of the little harbor town, so caught up were they in each
other. 

"Scully, my dear," Mulder said teasingly, gazing fondly down at her,
"tell me more about this wedding you want. How large a hall shall we
need? Will you have many maids to attend you? How many trunks will
your trousseau require? The hold of the Piper Maru is only so large,
you know." 

"Oh, Mulder. Once there was a day when I would have said I'd need a
great church and a huge hall, and a hundred trunks." She tucked her
arm further through his. "Now, my love, I know better. All I shall
need is you, my darling, and a man of God to pronounce us man and
wife. The rest matters not, so long as I have you." 

"I am very glad to hear you say that," he answered. As they had been
speaking, they had passed out of the most populous part of the little
town; the houses grew farther apart, and the road dwindled to a
narrower path, shallow ruts worn along its edges from the little
donkey-and goat-carts that went up and down to the markets. Mulder
paused outside a wooden gate set into a spare hedgerow, and turned
Scully toward him. 

"Here we are, Scully," he said. "'Twas not only for trade that I set
the Piper Maru on her course for this island. I knew from my last few
visits that there was a good man here, a priest -- a Godly man who
told me he felt called to come here, late in life, to minister to the
rough men of the seas who might otherwise never hear the word of God.
This," and he held his hand out toward the little building a few
yards behind the hedge, "is the Roman Catholic Mission of the Blessed
Saint Dana the Enigmatic." 

Scully's mouth dropped open in surprise, and one little hand flew up
to cover it. She hurried to the gate and looked excitedly at the
humble whitewashed house with the wooden cross mounted at the peak of
the roof. In the yard, a statue of the saint stood in the center of a
small, well-tended garden; a few chickens scratched and pecked at the
bare-swept earth outside the church's front door. 

"Oh! Oh, Mulder!" Scully cried in delight, whirling around again to
face him. "She is the saint my mother named me for. It's wonderful --
it's perfect! It's been such a long time since I have been able to go
to a church. How shall I ever be able to thank you?" 

In reply, Mulder dropped to one knee, right there by the roadside in
the warm sunshine. He produced from his pocket a small box, and from
that, a ring. He reached up to take Scully's hand in his own. 

"I will be amply thanked, my darling," he said softly, "if you will
accept this ring, and come with me now into that church, and become
my wife." 

Scully was speechless with joy. All she could manage to do was to
fling herself into Mulder's arms, nearly knocking him down in the
process. He laughed aloud as he struggled to stay upright. 

"Scully! I hope that means 'yes' -- and have a care, my dearest one.
I don't want to drop the ring!" He got to his feet, and set Scully
carefully down again. 

"Yes, Mulder. Oh, yes!" She stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his
cheek. "Yes, let's go inside and meet the priest." They went through
the gate and entered the yard hand in hand. The chickens scurried out
of their way as they approached.  Mulder knocked at the door of the
little church. From inside a voice called out in a rich Irish brogue.
"Come in, do come in. The Lord's house is always open!" 

Mulder glanced down at Scully's face. She was glowing, her eyes
sparkling; she looked as happy as a child on Christmas morning. He
couldn't help smiling along with her as he pushed the door open wide
and ushered her inside. As the door closed behind them, Mulder
respectfully reached up and removed his tricorn hat. 

The interior of the liitle church was plain, but neatly kept. A
large wooden cross hung on the back wall; before it stood a simple
altar, draped with a snowy white cloth. Candles flickered in colored
glass votives on two tables behind and to either side of the altar.  
As Mulder and Scully proceeded up the aisle between the rows of
benches that served as pews, an elderly man in a priest's cassock
pushed the drapery aside from a doorway in the back of the church and
peered out. He smiled broadly when he recognized his visitor, and
came forward, holding out his hand in greeting. "Ah, Lieutenant
Mulder! You've come back, have you? 'Tis the Lord Himself who's
called you, my lad!" he exclaimed. 

Mulder shook the old priest's hand. "And a good day to you, Father.
It's good to see you again." 

"How are you, son? And how is your Captain?" The priest smiled and
turned toward Scully. "And who is this lovely lass you've brought to
God's house this fine day?" 

"I -- I captain the Piper Maru now, Father," Mulder said a little
uncomfortably, adding quickly, "but never mind that. This is Lady
Dana Scully -- my fiancee. We were hoping..." 

"Lady Dana Scully," the priest interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "I
am so pleased to meet you. But tell me, my dear. Are you related to
the Scullys of County Quant, in Ireland, where I myself was born so
many years ago?" 

"Why... Why, yes," Scully answered wonderingly. "My father was Lord
William Scully, of QuantiCove, and my mother -- " 

"Aye, she was Margaret. I should have known!" the old priest cried,
reaching out to clasp her hands in his own. "You are very like her,
lass. You'd naught remember me, but I'm Father McCue, who baptized
you when you were but a wee babe in your mother's arms!"   

Scully could only gasp in surprise. "Father McCue! Yes, I do
remember you teaching me my catechism when I was just a little girl!"
Tears sprang to her great blue eyes, and she flung her arms around
the old priest's neck. "My mother said you'd gone to sea, to the
mission field. I never thought to see you again!" 

"There, there, my dear lass," Father McCue said soothingly, patting
her shoulder. "The Lord works in mysterious ways. 'Tis a miracle,
'tis a miracle, to be sure. God be praised!" 

Mulder was beaming as he witnessed the touching reunion between his
darling Scully and the old priest.  He'd ne'er thought there'd be a
connection between these two, although as Irish as they both were, he
might have guessed.  A happy coincidence, to be sure.  He stood to
one side and gave them their joyous moment, but glanced at the sky as
if to gauge the angle of the sun.  He didn't have a lot of time for
tarrying, and was desperate to bind Scully to him lawfully before the
sun set that day.  So thinking, Mulder reached out one hand and
cupped his beloved's shoulder, gaining her attention.

At her smiling inquiry, he shrugged and said regretfully, "It grows
late, dearest.  I am thrilled that you and the good Father have found
each other after so many years, but it is important that we return to
the ship soon."

Father McCue waved aside the apologetic look Mulder sent him.  "Of
course, of course!  You are affianced, you say?  Then you'd be
wanting to seal your vow with the sacrament of marriage.  I can
surely perform the ceremony, yes indeed!  I should be able to post
the banns beginning tomorrow, and --"

"No, Father.  You don't understand.  Lady Scully and I wish to be
married this very day!  I sail within a week at most, and likely
sooner.  I wish to protect her with my name, unimpressive as it might
be, and all of my earthly possessions, as soon as possible!  For you
and I know only too well how many dangers one can find in the world,
and my life as a sea captain is not without more than a few of those
dangers.  If something should happen to me, I want my beloved to be
protected and cared for."

"Oh, Mulder.  Your hand in marriage is plenty for me!  I care not
for what you possess."  Scully gazed up at him with her heart in her
eyes, imploring him to believe...

"Well, now.  This presents a bit of a problem, Captain Mulder."  The
old priest rubbed at his chin with thick fingers as he pondered the
situation.  He looked at the two standing in front of him, holding
hands, obviously so very much in love. If the darling child had been
aboard the young Captain's ship for any length of time, then her
reputation would have been compromised irregardless of the many men
who served the Piper Maru.  Unless there was also a woman, in some
sort of serving capacity, aship as well --

But when he delicately posed the question to Mulder, the only
response he got was a shake of the head.  Father McCue's concern
grew, and being a frank and earnest man, he wasted no time expressing
that concern.

Mulder and Scully were dismayed at the implications being outlined
by the kindly, well-meaning priest.  Scully's reputation, possibly in
tatters?  Unacceptable!  And yet...

"Well, wouldn't it then be of highest importance that we marry, and
as soon as we can?  In that manner, Lady Scully's reputation will not
suffer an hour longer."  It made perfect sense to Mulder, and yet
Scully's eyes dropped suddenly, but not before he saw the
consternation in their lovely blue depths.  The good Father also
seemed perturbed.

"Well, my son, it's not quite as cut-and-dried as that.  I suppose
it's too much to hope, that you be Catholic?"  Father McCue was
sorely tempted to hold his breath and cross his fingers as a child
might do.

"No.  I am afraid not, Father.  I follow no religion, much to my
great regret.  My mother and father, as far as I know, never had what
you call an affinity with the word of God.  I suppose you could label
me Protestant, at best."  Mulder found himself beginning to worry as
well, when faced with the concern he saw in the priest's faded green
eyes.  Mayhap he wasn't a religious man, but he was well-read and
knew quite a bit about the Catholic religion.  He knew of its
constraints and its piousness.  And he knew enough of its base
strictness, to understand that a speedy marriage to Lady Dana Scully
might not be that easy to obtain...

Father McCue was thinking of all options.  Surely God was looking
kindly upon these two children, for ne'er in such a long while had he
seen a man and woman more meant to be together, than Captain Mulder
and his lady.  It was apparent in the way they looked upon each
other, their love and commitment plain to see.  In the way he could
tell they'd face the world, demanding only the truest truths from a
society already fraught with so many ills.  Fox Mulder was a good
man, this Father McCue knew without doubt.  And Lady Dana Scully came
from a family whose roots were strongly embedded in the Roman
Catholic faith.  If only there was a way --

"My son, would you be willing to embrace the Catholic religion? 
Would you be willing to convert?"  The old priest posed the question
without hesitation and was gratified at the younger man's ready reply.

"Of course, Father.  I would embrace it with all my heart and a soul
willing to find the necessary faith, ere it gain me my beloved's hand
in marriage."  Mulder clasped hands with Scully's and pressed her
fingers to his lips, kissing the soft skin ardently.  Scully couldn't
look away from the intensity she found in his hazel eyes.

Father McCue nodded decisively.  "Then this is what we shall do.  I
shall post the banns -- wait," he admonished, as both Mulder and
Scully started to raise protest, "Wait.  The banns must be posted. 
In this we have no leeway.  A legal license of marriage
is the only way a posting of the banns might be avoided.  But this is
a small and remote island and we have no court here.  We would have
to send away to England for the license and that could take months.

"But the banns will only restrict you for three weeks.  That is not
very long, my children.  Surely you can stay in port a fortnight past
your original plans, Captain Mulder... when it means gaining your
heart's desire!  And this way I can begin your catechism as well.  I
can have you ready to be baptized and then confirmed into the
Catholic faith, before three weeks' time.  Normally it takes longer,
but I sense in you a man of high intelligence.  I wager you will soak
up your catechism like the proverbial sponge.  What say you?  Will
you accept my direction and allow me to set your course?"

Mulder looked at Scully, his eyes desperate for her to understand
his urgency. She looked back at him, blue eyes just as desperate. 
Three weeks -!  It was an eternity.  It was intolerable.

It was the only way, this she knew, to belong to her love in the
proper manner.  She was devout in her Catholicism.  She could not go
against the teachings of the Church, neither could she marry a man
who was not of her religion.  Father McCue was offering her all she
wanted, needed.  But they'd have to wait...

"Mulder..."  Her voice begged him to understand and to accept. 
Slowly he nodded, and she slumped in relief.

"All right, Father.  I will wait.  Post your banns, and Lady Scully
and I will make our preparations.  Tell me when you require me for my
lessons, and I will be here, eager to learn.  But hear me well: I
mean no disrespect, but I cannot wait one day past three weeks."

Father McCue nodded, well-satisfied with the young buck's
willingness to do right by his beloved.  He'd make a good Catholic,
and a good husband for the dainty Dana.  McCue knew he could do no
less for the daughter of one of County Quant's most respected
families.

"I will post the first bann today.  And, Captain?  You must engage a
lady chaperone for your betrothed. 'Tisn't fitting that a child of
her tender breeding should be attended by only rough men, day after
day!  It so happens that I know of a gentlewoman who will fit your
needs quite well.  She is of an age, well-spoken and educated, and I
am sure would happily and competently fulfill her duties as a lady's
chaperone and companion.  May I contact her for you?"  The wily old
priest included both of them in his query for permission.

Scully sighed, once, and then mentally kissed her freedom goodbye. 
She well knew the consequences of having a chaperone; she'd been
chafed by that particular restriction for all of her life.  But it
mattered not in the greater scheme of things, as all that she agreed
to, now, would afford her a swifter and smoother transition from
untried maid to the wife of Fox Mulder.  She nodded her assent, and
Mulder mirrored her action, albeit more reluctantly.

Father McCue beamed.  "Excellent!  I will contact her today and send
her over to your ship, post-haste!  Her name is Marita Covarrubias. 
A Russian lass, I believe.  Delightful young woman."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~      

to be concluded in Episode Three!