LOVE'S SAVAGE SEA SPRAY: AN X-FILES PIRATE SAGA (Episode Two, Part
One)
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 ONE

<< 8

In a dank little tavern called the Little Ale'inn on the island of
Cuncan, a woman was cleaning up in the early-evening lull. The late-
afternoon customers had left, and the nighttime ones had not come in
yet, and her master had gone down to the harbor to bargain for
whatever liquor might have come in on the ship they'd seen that day.
She had the place to herself.  She mopped the nasty, greasy bar with
a nasty, greasy rag. It didn't do much good, but the lights in the
tavern were low, and their clientele weren't the kind to pay much
attention anyway. She pushed the rag around in slow, idle circles.
Her mind was a thousand miles away.
  
'Fowl Di,' they called her, but as she wiped up the bar she was
remembering her younger days, before the war, when they'd called her
by her real name - Diana. She'd had plenty of handsome young men
then, back when she had all her teeth. Back then she'd had what could
be passed off under dim lighting as good looks. The war - the war had
changed all that.    

Di leaned across the bar to wipe at an unidentifiable scrap of
something on the other edge, and her bosom made a hollow thunking
sound as it hit the wood. Ah, yes - that had been the worst of it.
She had thought more than once that it would have been better to lose
an arm in the war, as her master had done, rather than to have lost
her bosom.    

That was how she had met her master, Alex Krycek. Sometimes she
thought of him as her friend, but other times she wasn't sure. They
had met on the voyage as they crossed the ocean together on Admiral
Spender's ship, the Ardent, at the end of the war. Seeing that Krycek
had only one arm, she had befriended him; when he found out what had
happened to her, he tried to return the favor.    

Krycek eked out a living carving and whittling; he'd paid for his
passage on the Ardent by making her captain a new pegleg during the
journey. The sailors used to come down at night and sit, talking and
smoking, watching him hold the pegleg in the hook that he wore for
his left hand, carving with his right. When he'd finished Admiral
Spender's leg, he'd offered to whittle a pair of oaken falsies for
Di.   
 
She glanced down at them, her hand pausing on the bar. Certainly,
they were as fine a pair of titties now as they'd been, years 
ago.  But they were more like Krycek's idea of a perfect pair
than they were like the ones she'd lost. They were pert and upright
and almost conical, and rather large. If he hadn't thoughtfully
hollowed them out a little they would have given her a backache. That
was why they made that familiar hollow thunk whenever she bumped them
into anything.    

Di shook her head and sighed and went back to mopping the bar, and
reflected again on what a small world it was. She had never told
Krycek that she knew the man he blamed for the loss of his arm, the
man who'd served alongside him in Her Majesty's Navy, the man he'd
railed at and sworn for all these years to avenge himself on. She had
never told him that this was the man she had thought of ever since
the war. She had longed for him since the first moment she'd seen
him, and when she'd finally bedded him, he'd caught that unfortunate
case of scabies from her, and then gone off to sea before she could
apologize.    

No, it was water under the bridge; there was no use mentioning it.
Her life wasn't so bad here - she had a steady job, and a roof over
her head, and Krycek didn't begrudge her the few extra pence she made
in the back room with the drunken sailors who'd heard the rumors
about her infamous falsies and wanted to sample the rest of the
merchandise as well.    

No, she decided again, turning away from the bar. There'd be no
point in ever again mentioning the name of Fox Mulder.               
   
                                         
~~~~~~~~~~~

Under a bright blue sky, echoed in the blue, blue ocean below, a
ship rode the crested waves gently, new sails trimmed neatly and the
gleam of fresh paint sparkling white and clean.  The Piper Maru was
looking much improved - an improvement mirrored in the attitudes of
the crew who worked her decks.  Ragged still, a bit; these rough
sailors... but content of spirit as never before.  With three solid
square meals under their belts every day, and better pay - stopping
more often into ports exotic and new, able to slake their thirst for
rum and women more often than ever before - these men were happier,
healthier and actually cheerful as they toiled.  And this amazing
transformation owed itself to their new Captain...

Who was, at this very moment, standing under the hot sun on above-
deck, holding the love of his life in his strong arms, and kissing
her quite senseless.  

"Oh, dearest love... Mulder... nay, you cannot!"  Lady Dana Scully
pressed against the hard chest of Captain Fox Mulder; eyes dazed with
a combination of passion and fear; attempting to stave off his lusty
caresses, even as she found herself straining closer to the flame. 
He had his face buried in her scented neck, mouth open against her
soft skin; his tongue ravenously tasting her; one hand held her hips
pressed against his raging erection, while the other cupped the sweet
weight of her breast, so lovingly outlined by the form-fitting blue
embroidered brocade of her gown.  She was shuddering with the need
his wild kisses had awoken in her soul - but she could not, would not
allow this completion. Somehow she must make him understand.

Mulder drew in a harsh breath, as he slowly lifted his head and
gazed into his Scully's eyes... damp with tears of mingled pleasure
and panic; he cursed himself for his callow behavior, and wrapped his
arms comfortingly around her, cradling her to his heart.  He had
caused his darling to weep.   His contrition knew no bounds.  Cupping
her lovely face in trembling hands, Mulder looked deep into her eyes,
then covered her cheeks with tiny, apologetic kisses as he whispered
to her.

"My love, my Scully... please, forgive me!  I have forgotten myself,
yet again. I cannot help it, dearest - when I am near you I lose my
sanity completely; the pounding of my heart makes me deaf against
everything except your bounty; I cannot get enough of you!" He held
her tightly, allowing her to feel the accelerated beating of his
heart.  Taking one tiny hand in his much-larger one, he pressed it to
his chest, naked beneath the crisp linen shirt he wore, open almost
to his waist.  "Feel me, Dearest - feel how much I want you, need
you!"  

Dana shuddered at the feel of his hot skin, and moaned silently,
leaning into his chest and pressing rosy lips to the heated flesh. 
She tasted his skin, the feel of it divine against her tongue - and
Mulder gave one mighty groan of desire and gently pushed her away; it
took all his strength to do so.  Gasping in mingled frustration and
desire herself, Dana raised glazed eyes to his, and laid her hand on
his warm, beard-stubbled cheek.

"Oh, Mulder... I want nothing more than the right to lie in your
arms every night, learning the delights of your strong body, but we
cannot, yet.  It is against my faith, Mulder. This raging lust I feel
for you is a sin in God's eye - even though to me it feels so right. 
I tell myself that nothing this wonderful should be wrong... yet I
know it is, dearest.  We cannot allow ourselves to be tempted any
further, Mulder - not until we marry."  

Mulder's eyes widened at her breathless declaration.  Married --!  

His face must have shown his sudden panic, for Dana smiled a little,
and kissed his cheek.  "Is the thought of wedding me so foreign, so
distasteful to you, my lord?  Surely you see this as a natural
conclusion to our love and devotion - Mulder?"  She placed a finger
underneath his chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers... only to tremble
anew at the depth of love and want in his beautiful hazel eyes. 
Their gazes locked as they cupped each other's faces, reaffirming
silently their commitment to each other.  

Mulder spoke softly, reverently to his lady.  "Scully... I would
want nothing more from this lifetime, than to become your husband,
and the father of your children.  But my love -" his eyes closed
briefly, as if fighting back tears - "My love, I am, for all intents
and purposes, a pirate.  Oh, I am an officer of His Majesty's Navy,
and I am proud to claim that title, but a pirate as well, thanks to
my past association with Skinner.  I have pirated these high seas
long enough to acquire a reputation, and I am a wanted man somewhere
in this wide world; of that I am quite sure.  What sort of life could
I offer you, my love?  Nothing secure, nothing guaranteed!  You
should leave me, Scully; you should get as far away from me as you
can!  Go, be a Lady... be someone's Lady while you still can."  

His impassioned diatribe was halted by her soft palm pressing
against his lips.  "I can't.  I won't.  Mulder, I'll be that Lady,
but my place is here with you now. This life that I have been exposed
to, whatever you call it... it is your life.  You hold me in your
hand, Mulder - ever since that first fateful day upon the auction
block, my course was set.  And this ship, your ship, Mulder -and your
crew - mayhap they need us, both.  How many other lives can we save,
together?  How much can I prove, to myself and to my odious brother
Wee Willy-Poop, that I am strong, and unconquerable?"  

She reached for his hand, clasped it tightly in hers, tugging on it
a bit, and smiled faintly.  "Mulder, if I leave you, go back to
Ireland and to my brother's dominance and cruelty... he wins."    And
Dana Scully stared hard into the eyes of her beloved, and he smiled
down at her, just a little; still worried, but knowing the rightness
of them, together.  They wound their arms around each other and held
on tightly, there on the polished deck, with the sun beating down
upon their heads and the wind in their faces.  

"Very well, Scully - I concede.  I love you too deeply to try
dissuading you further.  So, tell me..." he smiled down into her
glorious eyes, "Tell me, what sort of wedding does my Lady desire?"  

She dimpled up at him, and stroked his cheek so lovingly.  "A
Catholic wedding, Mulder."

<< 9

The heat of the afternoon sun made the sand almost painful to walk
upon, and Alex been waiting for almost an hour, the thin, worn soles
of his tattered boots no protection from the burning ground.  He
shaded his hand against the low glare of the sunset, and watched as a
ship, large and with full sails still billowing, moved closer and
closer to the shore.  It looked like... but nay, it couldn't be, for
that particular lady wasn't due into harbor for several more weeks,
and Alex Krycek was not looking forward to the day it finally docked.
He really hoped today was not his unlucky day.

Alexendrokovski Krycek was a nomad, of sorts; never having called
any one place his home.  Found wandering in the dirty streets of
Tsankva Kvorkis when just a small tot, he had lived hand to mouth
amongst the whores and derelicts who frequented the docks of the tiny
Russian seaside burg.  Sometimes the whores, painted of face and with
large, soiled breasts, took pity on the rail-thin child, and would
give him scraps of dry, stale bread and dregs of wine from their
evening meals.  

The foul-mouthed sailors would frequently kick him out of their way
when they chanced upon him, begging in a high, childish voice, in
front of the doxy-quarters down on Vee Lu Svenk; he would stumble to
his ragged knees, tears springing from his large, dark eyes, as they
laughed coarsely and swore at him.  One of the whores would then pick
him up, and cradle him to one of many sweaty, yet comforting bosoms,
and rock him, crooning to him, calling him a brave little man for not
screaming from the pain.  Before the age of four, Alex had broken
every one of his little ribs, had endured several cuts from filthy
daggers and had broken both arms.  Every fight, every cruelty
inflicted upon his innocent head just served to make him stronger,
more of a scrapper... tougher to kill.  

By the age of ten, Alex could fight as well as any of the meanest
swabbies who swaggered along the dock and spat their tobacco juice on
the rocky beach.  He had learned how to steal and filch purses from
the few gents who were hapless enough to lose their way, fresh off
the touring ships when they came in for supplies and such. These men
were easy to spot with their snowy cravats and breeches of clean
velvet; clutching their hats in one hand and a clove-studded orange
in the other, to help ward off the harbor stench.  Alex cut his
thieving teeth on these unfortunate fops, learning to snatch and run,
quick as lightning.  

He had to fight to keep his hard-won treasures from the same gaggle
of unwashed sailors who'd kicked and beaten him when he was younger;
as he grew tall and strong (and very adept at fighting with knives),
the sailors learned to leave him alone... for the young man Alex
Krycek was not to be trifled with.  The only humanity in those filthy
streets safe from his marauding wrath was the whores who frequented
the corners, the docks and every available tavern.  These women had
been kind to Alex, essentially the only mother-figures he'd ever
known - and Alex was unfailingly polite and kind to them, for he'd
never forgotten their coarse but warm comfort when he was an injured,
bleeding and hungry little boy.  

Perhaps that was why he'd taken pity on Fowl Di, the bar wench he'd
met on the Ardent so long ago.  None would talk to the poor woman,
staring at her flattened chest with horror... not even wishing to
look upon her pockmarked face, for she'd been infected several times
with the dreaded Whore's Sores, which traveled from sailor to sailor
like wildfire and left deep holes upon the skin after the sores
popped, drained and healed.  It was said Di's last case of sores was
so bad, she'd actually lost her titties. They'd become infested with
the sores and had simply rotted off her body.  She had almost died of
the raging fever, and Alex never did find out the true story, nor did
he care.  Fowl Di was what she was though no fault of her own - just
as Alex had become.  He and Di actually became friends.

Now, Alex watched the huge ship as it moved closer and closer; he'd
thought it was the Georgetown, just back from a round of trading in
the Indies; he'd promised Di a length of Indian cotton, to make
herself a decent gown.  But this was not the Georgetown, it would
seem - this ship looked more like the Piper Maru, Skinner's ship.
This far away, it was still hard to tell. 

Alex stood his ground in the still-sizzling sand of Cuncan, and
nodded slowly to himself. It didn't really matter, he supposed,
whether he bought the cotton today; the Georgetown would be back soon
enough, and the money he'd make from the fine rum he could get from
Skinner might mean he could buy a little better kind of fabric for
Di. Alex turned and started toward the harbor. 

His mood improved further as he neared the busy docks. Skinner's rum
was by no means the cheapest, but for all the man drove a hard
bargain, it was still a good buy -- it was always so potent that Alex
could water it down significantly without a single complaint from a
customer. By the time he came to the Piper Maru, Alex was smiling,
and he found himself actually looking forward to the inevitable
haggling over the price. 

His smile turned to an expression of consternation when he took a
better look at the ship that bobbed gently in the water at the end of
the dock. It must be the Piper Maru -- yes, that was the same
intricately-carved dragon's head at the bowsprit, eyes ablaze,
nostrils flared... but there had been changes. The rigging all looked
new; the sails were crisply white -- where were the bold red slashes
that had been blazoned across them? And the flag -- Skinner had
always taken a devilish glee in the overlarge Jolly Roger he had
liked to fly at the very top of the mainmast, its grinning skull and
crossed bones proclaiming without doubt the nature of the ship, and
practically daring the men of Her Majesty's navy to try to best her.
Many times had Alex's old crony Admiral C.G.B. Spender skirmished
with Captain Skinner, and many were the self-aggrandizing tales told
by the rough and dangerous crew, around Krycek's tavern late into the
evening. 

Alex squinted up into the sun at the flag that flew in the Jolly
Roger's place, and tried to make sense of it. It was a plain black
banner, bearing the single letter "X" in a bold circle. He worried
his lower lip with his teeth. This could bode no good, he thought,
and wondered at the same time how he might learn more without
actually approaching the ship. 

He looked around, but saw no familiar faces. Where was Bowman, the
navigator? Or Manners, the quartermaster? Alex faded into the crowd,
becoming invisible, as he had learned to in his childhood, and
slipped closer to the Piper Maru. As he studied the ship, he saw
something that made him narrow his eyes and stare openly. Coming to
the top of the ramp, preparing to disembark from the ship, was a
woman. This in itself was not unusual; Skinner nearly always had a
tasty morsel on board to occupy himself between raids. What had
caught his eye was the woman herself. She was petite and dainty, but
bore herself regally; she was dressed in a kind of finery almost
unimaginable in this little harbor town -- a dark blue brocade, rich
with embroidery, riding low on her shoulders, nipping in at her
delicate waist. A lacy shawl covered her milk-white shoulders, and
only served to better frame her creamy bosom, rising above the
plunging neckline of the gown. Her luxurious red-gold hair was piled
high upon her head like a crown of flame. 

Alex sucked in his breath sharply. Skinner had outdone himself this
time. He watched as the beautiful woman stepped onto the ramp, and
saw that she was flanked by two men, one short and stout and
bespectacled, the second tall and lanky, with long yellow hair and a
craggy, forbidding face. Yes, Skinner knew the worth of what he had --
and was wisely keeping her well-guarded. Alex watched as she
descended the ramp, her chaperones at her side, and disappeared into
the crowd.

Krycek's curiosity grew by leaps and bounds. He looked around again
to see someone who might tell him more; his eyes came to rest on a
young boy just coming down the ramp, carrying a few small bundles. As
Alex watched, he set the bundles down next to a larger trunk. When
the child turned back toward the ramp, Alex was standing before him. 

"Good morning, young man," Alex said, smiling. "I'm Alex. What's
your name?" 

"Gilligan, sir, Vince Gilligan. But the crew all call me Gilly." 

"Have you come in on the Piper Maru? I know her -- she's a fine
ship." 

"Oh, aye, that she is, sir," said the child. Alex drew a coin out of
his pocket, slowly, and saw with satisfaction that the boy glanced
down and took notice. Alex toyed with the coin, not offering it to
the child, and yet making it plain that it might still change hands. 

"So, my young man," he asked, "where has she been sailing, this fine
ship? For I am a tradesman, and interested in her wares. Mayhap she
is carrying cargo that will suit my needs." 

"Why, I have only been on board her this past month, sir, so I
cannot tell you more than that." At Krycek's raised eyebrow he went
on, "My family, sir -- we were on a ship that foundered in a storm,
and began to take on water. Most of the lives on board were lost. A
few of us clung to the last bits of the wreckage for a few days. But
finally, just when all hope seemed lost, the Piper Maru chanced
across us, and the Captain rescued us, and has brought us here, where
we may find other ships to take us home. He has even given us coin to
book our passage." 

"I see," Alex said slowly, trying to imagine what could have brought
about such a show of generosity from Skinner. He wondered if the
boy's family was well-to-do, and whether there had been some sort of
exchange that the boy had not been privy to. "He is a good man, then,
the captain...?" 

The child beamed. "Oh, yes, sir! He is a fine man. And his missus is
so kind, too -- she has been teaching me my letters and my sums, all
the way here. I like them both so very much!" 

His missus! Krycek almost frowned in surprise, and caught himself
just in time. A suspicion began to form in his mind. "And what does
the Captain's missus look like, my boy?" he asked. 

"She's a pretty lady, sir, with red hair, and eyes as blue as the
sky. Captain Mulder says that Miss Scully is the prettiest lady on
all the seas, and I think he is right." 

Captain Mul -- 

"Here, my boy," Krycek said, abruptly holding the coin out to the
child, "I thank you for the tale." He turned on his heel and strode
away, leaving the surprised boy staring after him. 

~~~~~~~~~~

<< 10

Inside the Little Ale'inn, the air was much cooler, albeit stale
with last night's ale and tobacco fumes; but Di was used to the
stench.  She knew it permeated her skin and her hair, but she had
grown so accustomed to it, and besides, all their customers reeked of
the smell.  This afternoon, however, the odor was especially strong;
there had been a marathon whist session the night before, with a
throng of sailors egging on the two remaining players.  Krycek loved
these standing-room-only nights of games, and drinking; he brought in
a tidy sum after such events.  

Last night had been no different, and Alex had bounded out the door
fairly early this morning, patting Di on her rump and winking at her,
promising her a length of fine indian cotton, should the Georgetown
come into port.  He had asked her what color she preferred, knowing
with a smile she would reply, "Oh, Master Alex, it doesn't matter to
me none, you know that!  Just having new cloth is more than I could
hope for." 

When he had returned a few hours later, Di was just coming in from
cleaning out the pigeon coop Krycek kept behind the tavern. It was
another unpleasant, smelly job, but she knew Alex was the only man in
all the nearby islands to keep messenger pigeons, and she had seen
many times over how valuable they could be as a means of contacting
the world outside the little island. Several times, these pigeons and
the messages they carried had helped to avert trouble. 

As she opened the back door, Di had heard Krycek directing the young
man who'd brought the great kegs of rum to the tavern. "Over here,
behind the bar -- yes, right there. That'll be fine." 

"Master Alex?" 

"Di," he said, with a sigh, turning to her. "I'm sorry -- it wasn't
the Georgetown that docked today; it was the Piper Maru. I've no
cloth for you after all." He patted the top of the nearest keg. "But
we have some of that excellent rum, now, so by the time the
Georgetown comes our way, we may be able to buy you twice as much,
eh?" 

"Ah, you're right. We always do well on Captain Skinner's rum --
that we do," she replied, but Alex's face darkened at her words. He
reached over and pulled a barstool toward him, and slowly sat down. 

"There's been a change at the helm of that ship, Di," he said
thoughtfully. "I dealt with a new man today for the rum -- called
himself Byers. John Byers. He seemed a pleasant, easy sort of fellow,
though I'll warrant I paid the same sum for these three kegs that I
would have to Skinner's old quartermaster Manners." 

Di frowned a little. "But... is Captain Skinner not her master,
anymore? What could have happened? Why, it's been years since anyone
dared even to try him." 

Krycek shook his head. "I heard a little of the story, here and
there, but not enough to put all the pieces together. And I want the
rest of the tale, because I think the man who usurped that ship is
someone I've a score to settle with." He looked meaningfully at the
steel hook that protruded from the end of his sleeve. "I invited the
man Byers to come here and sample that good rum, and told him his
Captain was welcome as well. If he's the man I'm thinking of,
then..."  His voice trailed off. Diana, seeing the determined set of
his mouth, felt a wave of mingled excitement and apprehension wash
over her. She knew whom it was that Alex held responsible for the
loss of his arm -- but what could that man have to do any longer with
the Piper Maru? Or, for that matter -- with her?

Di wiped down the bar with the cleanest rag she could find, and set
out mugs for ale and rum.  Outside the sun hung low in the sky; it
would set soon and then the men would come, rowdy as ever, demanding
their warm rum and setting up the whist games again.  Sailors would
stagger in from the docked ships in the harbor, having begun their
drinking marathon on deck and continuing in the cozy tavern.  

Some of the sailors would come to her, eager to strike a deal of an
hour or so of her time. Only a handful of unattached women lived on 
the island. Although Di was certainly nothing to look at, she was 
kind to the sailors and took very good care of them, either in front 
of a mug of ale or behind the dingy curtains of her little room.  
She sighed gustily, and dropped the soiled rag into a cracked 
earthen bowl filled with grimy water.  

Propping her elbow on the sticky bar counter, she wondered for the
hundredth time if her life would ever be more than a smoky bar and a
sailor's callused hand somewhere on her body.  Di shook her head in
self-disgust, and finished setting up the rest of the mugs.  As she
bent down to retrieve the storeroom key from underneath the counter,
knowing she would have to bring out another crock of ale, the door
opened noisily, blowing in a gust of sea breeze and the smell of
spicy citrus and cinnamon.  

Di paused in mid-squat, sniffing the air.  That smell - she knew
that smell.  Citrus and cinnamon... Once, long ago, she'd lain in a
rumpled bed next to a man who smelled of citrus and cinnamon; she'd
curled herself against him as he slept, and her hand had caressed him
lovingly -- 

Mulder.  Fox Mulder had always smelled of citrus and cinnamon; it
was his own special cologne, made for him in the West Indies years
ago when he first crewed the Piper Maru and the ship had docked there
for supplies.  

Mulder... here?  Impossible. It could not be!  Di crouched behind
the counter, afraid to straighten up and see for herself who'd just
come through the door.  She stayed down and out of sight, listening
to see if she could recognize the voices. Two of them, one deeper
than the other, both voices smooth and cultured, amazingly similar in
pitch and tenor.  

"Seems to be deserted... thought this was the only tavern in town?" 
John Byers looked around the empty room, noting the stacked mugs on
the counter and the tallowed candles in their sconces on the dark
walls.  "Someone must be here, for the sconces have been lit and the
door was unlocked. Mayhap they are in a storeroom somewhere, fetching
supplies."  

He shrugged and flopped into the nearest chair; next to him, Fox
Mulder sank into an adjoining chair and rubbed at his weary face.  It
had been a long day, but they were finally at port - and he was now
an engaged man.  He grinned to himself; Byers noted the wide smile,
and slapped Mulder on the back.  "You are one lucky devil, Captain...
I hope you realize that."  

Mulder nodded, smiling still; he reached out a strong hand and
clasped his friend's shoulder. "I am indeed, Byers - do not think I
am unaware of it!  Lucky beyond belief..." He trailed off, staring
into space, seeing naught but the enchanting face of his beloved
Dana, as she had last appeared to him:  standing on the gangplank of
the Piper Maru, red hair glinting in the sun, a smile of pure
loveliness on her face and eyes brighter than the sky. He sighed.

And behind the counter, Di heard his voice - and his sigh - and her
heart began to pound hard against her oaken chest, for she knew that
voice and that sigh.  Combined with that intoxicating smell, it could
be none other than the man who still haunted her dreams after all
this time.  

Fox Mulder, in this tavern.  She still dreamed of him often,
sometimes every night in a weeks-span.  Still remembered the feel of
his taut, smooth skin, and the strength of his man-root as it had
buried itself into her eager body again and again.  Gentle but rough,
tender yet demanding - tireless in his need and in his lust.  A
stallion under the covers, and a true gentleman outside the
boudoir... such a man!  Di had to see him; had to be sure.  She dared
a quick peek over the scarred counter.

Oh Merciful Heavens!  It was he - it was Fox.  Seated only a few
feet away from where she crouched in trembling awareness; long legs
stretched out before him, clad in tight buff breeches and polished
black hessians; dark blue waistcoat fitting his wide shoulders to
perfection, white linen shirt open at his tanned throat... smiling at
his companion, who was also quite a nice-looking fellow, but could
never begin to compare to her darling Fox. 

Di began to rise, up off her knees, fully prepared to fling herself
over the counter and into his arms - then she froze, and looked down
at herself in complete dismay.  She was a wreck - a complete and
utter wreck.  Her hair hung in her eyes, greasy from lack of a proper
cleansing and brushing; her gown was soiled down the front and
stained with ale and rum and sweat, torn on one shoulder from the
rough handling of last eve's only paying customer.  She'd fallen into
bed exhausted, not bothering to undress.

If ever there needed to be a time when Di looked and smelled her
very best, it was at this fortunate moment in her life... for a hardy
wind and Lady Fortune herself had seen fit to sail her Mulder back to
her. Di wanted nothing more than to wallow in that good fortune.  But
first, she needed to clean herself up.

Staying low behind the bar, she crept soundlessly into the back room
and wasted not a moment; ripped off the soiled gown and hurriedly
splashed herself with toilet water, raking her hair up into a quick
and sloppy chignon as she struggled into the first clean gown she
could dig out of her steamer trunk.  Within five minutes she was as
presentable as possible and smelled a good sight better, although
underneath the coating of lilac toilet water the sweat and ale was
discernible. But there wasn't a thing she could do about it. 
Pressing one work-roughened hand to her fluttering stomach, Di pulled
the shabby curtain aside, and approached her destiny.

Byers spotted her first, and gave her a shy smile; she smiled back
in his general direction, her eyes locked onto the form of the only
man in the world for her, sitting so relaxed and at ease in the
scarred chair.  Mulder had been staring out the darkened window,
wondering when he should return to the ship and to his Scully, for
surely her nightly toilette would be completed by now, and he would
go to her stateroom, and have a leisurely supper with her... then
spend the rest of the evening planning a future; dreaming dreams, and
kissing her until they both fair exploded.

A small noise near the bar drew his attention away from his reverie,
and he turned his head to glance at the woman standing next to the
wooden counter.  Dark hair piled haphazardly atop her head; faded
blue gown, clean but wrinkled here and there; sparkling brown eyes in
a tired, pockmarked face, showing traces of the prettiness that would
have been apparent many years and many men ago.  He had seen this
woman countless times, in countless ports; slopping ale to sailors
and assorted drunks; cleaning up vomit and urine from overflowing
slop buckets, dodging hands with no coin in them and allowing a
padded pocket a few liberties. Yes, he'd seen his share of this kind
of woman.

Except this particular woman did look familiar to him... he stared
at her, hard.  Yes, he did know her. He dredged through his brain and
pulled a name out of the air; stood up slowly and addressed her.  

"Diana, is that you?"  

She nodded eagerly, one tear falling from her eye, moving swiftly
toward him as he held out a hand to her, a smile forming on his
handsome features.  She reached him in an instant, bypassed the hand
and threw herself into his arms; in her joy forgetting completely
about her oaken tittles and how they might feel to someone who knew
nothing of the circumstances surrounding such an odd appendage.  

His arms closed around her slowly, and he gave her a hesitant hug;
bewildered at her familiarity but accepting without question her need
to be held.  She smelled... odd, he decided; sweaty and perfumed and
decidedly stale with rum - but after all, she was a bar-maid, and as
such took on the scents and smells of her trade.   And her bosom;
strange.  Something very strange. And with a start of shock, Mulder
realized what it was.  He remembered a sailor on the Piper, bragging
about bedding a wench with oaken titties and how they had repulsed
him and yet excited him at the same time. 

Mulder looked down at the woman in his arms and his eyes filled with
pity. What had happened to her, he wondered, as he held her gently
and felt her tears against his throat.  The Diana he'd known had been
a handsome woman; a bit thin from too few meals, but nicely rounded
and her face had more than a few traces of beauty.  She'd always had
nice eyes and a sweet smile, but now her eyes were faded, and her
face drawn and creased - her body much too bony and her hands rough
and scratchy from years of harsh soap.  And her breasts... Mulder
couldn't even begin to fathom what may have happened to her in the
past, for her to lose her bosom.   

He'd known her years ago, when he was a callow, youthful and eager
lieutenant and she was the 'older woman' who took him to bed and
eased his hot blood with a body well-used but still supple and firm. 
He held her and let her cry all over him, and pondered sadly the
harshness of the world on a woman alone; no man to care for her and
in such dire need of money and food that she'd lie with swine to
gather a few coins to rub together.

He was so thankful he'd found his Scully, before a fate such as this
could have befallen her, and stolen the bounty of her youth and
beauty, and innocence.  So thankful... so anxious to get back to his
ship and see her, tell her - reaffirm his love for her, and his need.
For now, however, there was a woman who needed comfort, and no small
amount of it, and Fox Mulder was ever the gentleman.  

So he held Di and spoke gently to her, kind words she'd not heard in
so very long; inquiring about her health and her well-being, as if he
really did care; which he did, of course... but not in the manner for
which her need was the strongest.  He brought her over to his table
and bade her sit; dried her teary eyes with a linen handkerchief that
was softer than her skin.  She dabbed at her eyes and restrained
herself from blowing her nose on such silky cloth, also forcing
herself not to wipe her nose against the sleeve of her gown.  Di was
no lady, but Fox Mulder was a gentleman through and through; she'd
not bring him down to her level by exercising her baser instincts in
his presence.

to be continued!