NOTE: This story takes place on November 11, 1998 in real time. All references to the Viking-Prowler crash and the escalation of tensions in the Gulf are taken from the real situations. The crew of the USS ENTERPRISE is fictional. Any similarity between my characters and actual crew members is purely accidental and unintentional. Details about the carrier itself are partially fictitious as I was unable to get a copy of the ship's blueprints.
X-Files timeline: After Fight the Future, before The Beginning JAG timeline: Before Mr. Rabb Goes to Washington
***
Glossary:
XO Executive Officer
CO Commanding Officer
bogey enemy aircraft
JAG Judge Advocate General;
the military's version of a public
defender's office
OPR Office of Professional Review;
the FBI's disciplinary
committee
***
JAG Headquarters Falls Church, Virginia 0900 Zulu
Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Major Sarah MacKenzie stood at rapt attention as their commander, Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, outlined the details of their latest assignment. Their stances were reminiscent of previous briefings. The office's oak paneling reflected the natural light beaming through the wide windows. The admiral sat with his hands folded in front of him, two neatly piled stacks of paper off to one side of his expansive wooden desk. His naval uniform so white that it practically blinded the two officers.
The morning had started off almost like normal. '<Almost> being the operative word,' thought MacKenzie. She located her partner in her peripheral vision and confirmed that he had the same reaction she had to the admiral's words. His jaw was slack. Chegwidden was inwardly amused at his officers' incredulous surprise. He stifled a smile before it could break through and forced himself to remember his rank.
"Excuse me, sir," Harm interrupted. "Did you say what I think you just said?"
Chegwidden heaved an exasperated sigh as he rolled a pen between his thumb and fingers. "Commander, are you having a problem with clarity?" "No, sir not lately, but I--"
Mac shot her partner a warning look and interjected, "Sir, I think what Commander Rabb is trying to say is, are we qualified to investigate something of this nature?"
The admiral tossed the pen aside. "If you two would allow me to finish...."
"Yes, sir," the replied in unison.
"Two days ago, Lt. David Anderson, while on a training run over the Atlantic Ocean, reported seeing an object which he could not identify. It appeared on his radar and, he maintains, had a row of revolving lights. The figure flew straight towards him. Then, seconds before a mid-air crash could occur, it suddenly climbed to a higher altitude and disappeared from sight and off the radar screen. After this encounter, his Viking's electricals went haywire and the plane fell into a flat dive. Anderson claims he had no radio contact with the carrier nor did he have any control over the plane. About forty-five seconds before impact, the electricals returned to normal and he was able to fly the plane back to normal airspace and land safely on the carrier." The admiral paused as if choosing his words carefully, "He says the object was a UFO. His RIO, Commander William Davis, corroborates the story, but also states that he did not see revolving lights. He says he was focused on the radar screen."
'Bill Davis?' Harm thought. 'He's still flying? He's got to be older than God.'
Chegwidden absorbed the skeptical expressions of his subordinates without comment. In truth, he himself didn't know what to think about this case.
"Sir..." the dark-haired MacKenzie started hesitantly.
"Yes, Major."
"Um. Close encounters really aren't our specialty, sir."
"I realize that; that's why I'm enlisting some help."
"Sir?" Harm asked worriedly. Visions of paranoid and delusional star-gazing hippies filled his head.
"I served with Captain William Scully on the USS POTOMAC at one time. His daughter, Dana, is a special agent with the FBI. She and her partner are assigned to the X-files. They specialize in cases of a...paranormal nature."
"You mean, she's a ghostbuster?" Harm asked with a grin, mentally attaching heavy backpacks with lasers to two faceless, trench coated agents.
"Actually, I'm a forensic pathologist," a soft voice answered from behind him. "My partner's the ghost buster."
Harm and Mac turned to find a diminutive, red-headed woman flanked by a taller, dark-headed man. The pair exuded a quiet confidence. The man glanced down at his partner with questioning eyes; she returned the gaze with a slight quirk of her lips. Harm got the feeling that an entire conversation had taken place in that second.
"Hello, Admiral, it's good to see you again," she remarked, with a soft smile.
"Dana, come in. You're just in time. I've almost finished outlining the details of the investigation. Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb, Major Sarah MacKenzie, these are Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder."
"Harm, please," the commander interjected as he shook Scully's hand.
She nodded, ignored the appreciative look he gave her, and instead offered her hand to the major.
She smiled and replied, "Call me Mac."
Scully arched an eyebrow at the comment and the major continued. "That's what Harm calls me."
The agent glanced at her partner. He had withdrawn his hand from Harm's grasp and proceeded to shake the major's hand. "Sounds familiar, huh, Mulder?" she murmured, her eyes smiling softly.
The formalities concluded, Chegwidden continued. "The aircraft carrier in question is the USS ENTERPRISE. She's currently underway to the Persian Gulf."
Harm's eyebrows lifted in surprise.
The admiral nodded. "Now you understand why I'm taking this case so seriously. The recent crash on board is still being investigated. This problem needs to be solved and fast to avoid any more press. You two," he said, indicating the agents, "will serve in an informational capacity. The main purpose of this investigation is to determine whether or not Lt. Anderson should be brought up for court-martial."
"And if the cause of the electrical failure was due to interference from a UFO?" Mulder asked pointedly.
"Then no charges will be filed against Anderson," the admiral replied unfazed by the man's question.
Mulder nodded once and pursed his lips.
"Any more questions?"
Scully glanced up at him, the warning in her eyes belying her calm countenance. He returned her gaze, torn between continuing his questions and following her unspoken request. Chegwidden watched as the agent seemingly heeded her and shook his head.
'Interesting,' the admiral thought.
"Dismissed."
***
JAG Headquarters 0930 Zulu
"So, Agent Mulder," Major MacKenzie asked as she led the group through the work area toward her office, "do you have any preliminary theories?" Scully shook her head and smiled slightly as she followed the taller woman. Mac had just walked into a trap.
"Oh, I have plenty of theories."
"Let me guess," Harm drawled as he negligently leaned his athletic frame against a door bearing his name and rank. "You think little green men did a flyby to check up on the human population."
"Grey," Mulder replied equally as nonchalant.
"What?"
"They're grey. That's the general misconception among the uneducated. Reticulans are actually grey--"
Scully, recognizing the route this conversation would take, interrupted her partner, "Actually, in light of the current evidence, we would be hard-pressed to form an opinion at this point. I think once we've questioned the witnesses for ourselves, we'll have a better idea of the situation."
"Oh, come on, Scully. You and I both know that reports of UFO activity were rampant during the Persian Gulf War."
"Mulder, let me remind you, those reports were unsubstantiated. With all of the fighter activity, it's possible that those sightings were merely Iraqi airplanes or SCUD missiles. This supposed sighting may well be the result of the current tensions in the area."
"And it's also <possible> that there was only one man who shot JFK, but that doesn't mean that it's <probable.>"
'Well,' Harm thought back to his earlier concerns, 'paranoid was right on the money.' He cleared his throat and the pair glanced over at him, somewhat surprised to find him and the major smiling at them.
"We need to wrap up a few things before leaving," Mac said. "We'll meet you at the helicopter at 10 hundred?"
Scully nodded. "We'll be there." ***
Over the Atlantic Ocean 1147 Zulu
'The USS ENTERPRISE (CVAN 65) is the seventh seafaring vessel to bear that illustrious name. Built in November 1961, she was the first nuclear powered aircraft carrier to sail for the United States. The "Big E," as she is affectionately known, houses approximately 5,400 sailors and is the fastest major combatant in the world. Seventy-five aircraft ranging from F-14B Tomcats to SH-60 Seahawk helicopters are maintained to supply air force to support America's interests abroad. 'Of those 75 planes and helicopters, the Viking S-3B is the most versatile. Featuring a high speed computer system with the Inverse Synthetic Aperture Radar (ISAR), the Viking is used in the detection of submarines as well as an armed scout to support anti-surface assignments. The plane holds in its arsenal Harpoon and Maverick missiles, torpedoes, as well as other secondary attack mechanisms. Each Viking can fly a crew of four and costs $27 million.'
Mulder read through the file detailing the ship and planes as the transport helicopter flew the foursome out to sea. The loud whipping of the blades reverberated through his bones as he leaned over to yell at his partner. "So, Scully, are you ready to boldly go where no agent has gone before?"
"Where? To seek out new life that wants to check out our civilization?" She shook her head with amusement. "I can't wait to see what's going to land you in the sickbay this time."
"If I fall off, will you toss me a life-preserver?"
She arched an eyebrow as if to say, "Don't I always?"
He nodded and turned his gaze to the horizon. The ship had only been out to sea a few days so the flight would be fairly short. Traveling at 210 mph, Mulder calculated it would take about four hours to cover the 850 nautical miles that the ENTERPRISE had already traveled. That distance, however, meant that the helicopter would have to have a mid-air refueling. He glanced down at his watch and determined that they would meet up with the tanker in about ten minutes. He was counting the minutes until the helicopter touched down on the carrier. The open air passenger section was a little too open for his comfort.
Scully, on the other hand, gazed down at the blue ripples fondly, a slight smile teasing her lips. 'Ahab,' Mulder thought. 'After all these years, the sea is the only real connection that remains.'
He trailed his eyes over her face watching as she closed her eyes and leaned back into the seat. Her smile softened to contentment as past conversations with her father played through her head. Mulder's brow wrinkled. If he was quiet enough, he could almost hear the sage advise Ahab whispered in his Starbuck's ear. He nodded almost imperceptibly and allowed her a few private moments with her deceased father.
Mulder glanced back to the water and felt himself turn a little green as the waves lapped in the glistening sunlight. He forced his concentration away from the fathomless depths below him and contemplated the case. Prior to lift-off, Harm had briefed the two agents on his knowledge of the two officers in question. Lt. David Anderson was a new pilot who had been trying to increase his flight hours as well as bone up on some of the basic techniques of carrier landings. His Radio Intercept Officer--RIO, Mulder mentally corrected himself--Cmdr. Bill Davis, was a seasoned pilot who had been an instructor at Miramar, the Navy's school for their top pilots. Mulder stifled the urge to hum the theme song from Top Gun. Davis had served for 36 years in the Navy and had logged more air time in a year than Mulder and Scully had in their five years combined. According to Harm, he was a true military man. God and country first, service second, family third. In Mulder's opinion, this wasn't comforting. Davis would be unwilling to bring any negative publicity to the situation and would most likely consider lying to protect his company.
Mulder closed the file and, at the risk of sounding too eager, leaned forward and tapped the major on the shoulder, "How much longer?" She and Harm were strapped into the two seats ahead of the agents. She glanced back over her shoulder and replied, "Seven minutes until refueling. Then one hour, fifty-eight minutes until landing."
Mulder darted a look at the pilot who nodded his confirmation. Harm shrugged as the agent's gaze came to rest on him, "I don't know how she does it. She told me one time there were Swiss clock makers in her background, but I'm not completely sure she wasn't pulling my leg."
***
USS ENTERPRISE 1223 Zulu
The pilots unloaded their passengers' bags from an aft compartment while the crew chiefs conducted a routine check over the helo. Mac tapped Scully on the shoulder to draw her attention to a youngish man dressed in naval khakis. Scully mentally recalled her knowledge of naval insignia and judged the single silver bars pinned to his lapels to mean the approaching man was a lieutenant, junior grade. Mulder and Harm grabbed the bags from the pilots as the younger man halted and smartly saluted his superiors.
"Lt. j.g. Graham Darcy, sir, ma'am. I'm to direct you to the XO then show you to your bunks." He glanced from the officers to the agents and continued, "I'm sorry, but we're pretty full up. You're going to have to double bunk."
"That's not a problem, Lieutenant," Mac replied.
"Very well, then. You can leave your bags here, I'll have someone take them down. If you'll follow me?" He turned away from the helicopter which was currently being tied down on the starboard side of the ship and led the group toward a square island which jutted out near the aft of the vessel.
Mulder's hand drifted to the small of his partner's back as she moved to follow the officers. His fingers brushed against the definite shape of the Sig Sauer tucked snugly in its holster at her back. He could never keep a gun in that position and often wondered why Scully did. It made for an awfully uncomfortable seated position in his mind. He assumed it was for expediency. Having the gun holstered at her side would encumber her movements as well as clearly illustrate even to the untrained eye that she was indeed 'packing heat.'
Harm and Mac walked a few steps ahead of the agents to act as familiar guideposts. Should the lieutenant, in his haste to deliver the guests, lose them in the maze of the ENTERPRISE's underworkings, Scully and Mulder would at least be able to follow their counterparts to the bridge. Mac glanced up at Harm, certain the outside noise would muffle her comments, and asked, "So, what do you think?"
"About our tag-a-longs? Well, it could be interesting. Scully seems normal enough, if a bit reserved."
"Ha! You say that only because she didn't fall head over heels for your dress whites and gold wings."
Harm smiled down at her and replied, "Ah, yes, but she can't be immune to my charm."
Mac shook her head, marveling at the man's ego--even though it was well-deserved. 'Lord,' she thought, 'he <is> a charmer. Even when he's being a pain in the ass.' Aloud she remarked with a wry smile, "You've got charm? Really?"
Harm's eyes glinted with amusement.
"So, what about Mulder?"
The commander shook his head. "He's the wild card, I think. I would bet, after that silent exchange in the admiral's office, that she holds him on a fairly tight leash. How much credence do you think he actually gives to the existence of aliens?"
"Well, from what little I could glean, the man does believe that UFOs exist. He's dedicated his personal as well as professional life to prove that to everyone else." She glanced over her shoulder to ensure the pair continued to be unable to hear them. She judged them a safe distance away and continued, "Still, he's the best profiler the FBI has. He and Scully have a solve rate that's one of the highest in the Bureau."
"When did Chegwidden tell you this?"
"He didn't." Seeing the confusion on his face, she continued, "I picked Bud's brain while you were finishing your paperwork on the Johnson case."
Harm rolled his eyes upon hearing her mention Lt. j.g. Bud Roberts, who normally filled the position of researcher when the pair were on a case. "I'm sure you got an earful from him."
"Well, let's just say that Bud is very thorough when he finds something he can sink his teeth into," she answered with a grin. As they neared the main section of the carrier, Mac forestalled any more comments and instead turned to glance at the agents. The pair walked so closely together that their strides were evenly matched. Mac watched as Mulder lifted his hand from its proprietary position on Scully's back and brushed her arm to get her attention. Scully looked up, caught his eye, and nodded slightly. Mac averted her gaze, suddenly feeling like an intruder on a private conversation.
'How do they do that?' she wondered. She glanced back to her partner, taking in his all-American good looks. Would she and Harm ever be so close they could communicate without words? According to Bud, the agents had been partners for five--almost six--years. Were they lovers as well? That could account for the closeness. Mac, however, had a nagging suspicion that that wasn't the case. She knew from past dealings with the CIA that the rules against fraternization between partners were unwritten, but understood. She assumed the same went for the FBI. She sighed softly as the lieutenant pulled open the metal door leading to the inside of the carrier. She would have to figure out this mystery on her own time. For now, she had to focus on the case.
***
USS ENTERPRISE Somewhere in the Atlantic Bridge 1234 Zulu
The Air Boss, a man who's insignia ranked him as a lieutenant commander, glanced up from his position in front of a tactical board as the four investigators were led onto the bridge. He nudged his CO, the XO, who stood beside him. Mac was surprised to not only find the XO to be mid-thirties, but also that she was a woman. The major glanced at Scully, who registered none of the surprise her JAG counterpart felt, and wondered if anything ever caught the agent off-guard.
Lt. Darcy halted and smartly saluted; Rabb and MacKenzie quickly followed his lead. "Commander," the lieutenant said crisply, "Lt. Cmdr. Rabb and Major MacKenzie of JAG Corps and Special Agents Mulder and Scully of the FBI."
"FBI?" the XO questioned, her brows slightly raised. "What the hell's going on here?"
"Ma'am, they have been brought in to serve in an advisory capacity to the investigation," Harm replied, taking in the blonde woman's severe haircut and sharp features.
"Spoken like a true lawyer," she muttered to the Air Boss. She directed her gaze to the suited pair, "Why does the FBI want to know what happened?"
Mulder watched as she shifted her gaze to him, silently giving him permission to speak. He had to stop himself from accidentally prefacing his words with 'ma'am' and straightened a little under her intense scrutiny. "The circumstances surrounding the accident are a little out of the JAG officers' experience. My partner and I know what clues to look for in this type of investigation. The FBI per se doesn't want to take over; we're just here to help solve this as quickly as possible due to the greater imminent threat."
The XO nodded, accepting his explanation and ordered, "OK, here are the ground rules if you two are going to stay onboard. First and foremost, this is a vehicle of war. With the current situation in the Gulf being as precarious as it is, we are on high alert. This may sound condescending, but please do not go anywhere you are not allowed. If you need anything, call on Darcy, here. He's to be your gopher. The lieutenant can set up any interviews that need to be done. "I'm not going to pussyfoot around here. I'm glad you understand the Navy wants this situation cleared up fast. The Big E has had enough attention with the Viking-Prowler crash a few days ago," the XO instructed as she turned back to a monitor. She glanced back a moment later, her brow furrowed. "Agent...Scully...was it?" Upon seeing the red-head nod, the woman continued, "Any relation to Captain Bill Scully?"
Yes, ma'am, he was my father."
"He was a good man. I was sorry to hear of his death; the Navy's loss, as well as your family's, I'm sure."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"If there is nothing further, Lt. Darcy will show you to your quarters. Dismissed."
"Aye, sir," replied the major and commander.
***
Temporary quarters of Agent Dana Scully and Major Sarah MacKenzie 1301 Zulu
Mulder sat, fidgeting, on the bottom bunk as he watched Scully stow her belongings in a small boot across from him. "Don't you think it's odd how quickly Skinner processed the paperwork for this assignment?" She paused a moment, suit jacket in one hand and hanger in the other, and asked, "What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure," Mulder rose from the bed to pace the cramped quarters, "but I think he wanted us out of D.C. and out of touch for a reason."
He paused mid-stride and turned back to her, the intensity and desperation in his gaze nearly burning a hole in whatever he looked upon. "Something's up, Scully, I can feel it."
"Mulder, whether or not something concerning the X-Files is in the works, this is still a legitimate case," Scully replied, her soothing tone wrapped around him, but could not ease his inner torment. She hung up the jacket, then reached into her luggage for her heels.
"I'm not being paranoid, Scully, this is too well-timed."
"Are you suggesting that the Powers That Be arranged this whole scenario?" her voice accented the incredulous disbelief in her eyes.
"That they purposely sent out something to disrupt Lt. Anderson's flight pattern and almost kill him <and> his RIO for the sole purpose of getting us away from D.C.?" She caught and held his gaze, her eyes asking him to accept the situation at face value. "Mulder, this case <is> an X-File." Upon seeing no response, she heaved an exasperated sigh. Mulder quickly turned from his pacing and grasped her arm to still her movements.
"Mulder, what do you want me to say? That there are political maneuvers going on in our absence? I'm sure there are, but that doesn't mean that Skinner's trying to pull us off the X-Files," she finished her words softly, trying to convince him. 'He's jumping at shadows, again,' she thought. 'Why can't he think, just for once, that there may be no underlying cause?' She searched his gaze and found nothing but fear and hopelessness. Her eyes filled with sadness at the realization. A thought, like a whisper, gave shape to her feelings, 'Oh, Mulder, you can't, can you?' Somewhere in her chest, a warmth expanded, making her want to go to him, to comfort him. 'You'll never be able to get past that old hurt. Everything comes back to that night. The night of Samantha's disappearance and all the despair that followed.'
As if he had heard her every thought, his gaze faltered and dropped to his feet. He felt the light warmth of her hand on his cheek. He stilled at her caress, willing the pain away. He lifted his eyes to hers once more and could see she was torn by the desperation that reflected back to her.
She recognized his pain. Indeed, she could identify with the hopelessness. After the OPR hearing, where the dreaded sentence had been meted out, the transfer to Salt Lake City, her body had been racked by loss. Her mouth was unable to summon forth any comment to the punishment which lay before her. She had been numb; body, mind, and soul in suspended animation.
She hadn't consciously acknowledged it at the time, but it was all clear in the face of Mulder's pain. As he did now, she, too, had turned to her partner for comfort. He needed her as she had then. For solace; to cling to someone steady. To know that if that person would only stay by her side, then everything would eventually be alright. And he had done that. He had held her in his arms and almost kissed her pain away. How could she now do any less for him? She brushed his hair off his forehead and stroked his cheek. Her eyes welled with sympathy and an intense need to ease his suffering. She raised up on her tip-toes and softly pressed her lips to his. Mulder placed his hands on her shoulders, not moving to deepen the kiss. He merely wanted to hold her close while he basked in the warm comfort she sought to give him.
The kiss was sweet and soothing. But something lurked around the corners; something spicy, a touch dangerous, but exciting nonetheless. It was a promise of things to come; something to be dealt with at another time. Mulder, through the emotional haze, recognized the signs for what they were. 'Of course,' he thought, with dawning awareness, 'I want her. I have for the longest time.'
They broke apart several minutes later, just before Mac entered the room. Scully dropped her hand as the door opened. The major glanced from agent to agent, sensing the slight tension in the air and said, "I can come back later."
Mulder cleared his throat and surreptitiously wiped away any traces of his partner's lipstick. "No, that's alright. I need to go unpack myself." He looked down at Scully once more and searched her eyes.
'Thank you,' he silently said, 'for your friendship, your companionship, and even though you won't admit it, your love. Someday,' he promised himself, 'I'll say it aloud, but only when the time is right.' Satisfied with the slight haze and confusion he found in the liquid blue pools, he squeezed her arm softly, then left for his own bunk across the hall.
She watched his retreating back, her thoughts mixed, 'I always wondered what kissing him would be like, and now I wish I didn't know. It's like coming home, and that scares the hell out of me.' Scully ruthlessly reined in her thoughts and returned to her unpacking as Mac moved to take Mulder's seat on the bed. She studied her roommate intently, hoping to glean more information in her search for the solution to her question about the two agents. The FBI woman seemed unfazed by Mac's perusal. Finally, the major admitted defeat and gave up. 'It really isn't any of my business anyway as long as it doesn't affect the case,' she thought.
Scully sighed inwardly with relief as Mac rose to stow her uniforms in an opposite boot.
After all, how could she possibly formulate answers to questions she hadn't even begun to ask herself?
"Harm and I arranged to question Lt. Anderson in 36 minutes. Cmdr. Davis is currently in the air on a training run and won't be available until later tonight."
Scully nodded, "Is there any way we can take a look at the plane? Mulder will want it tested for trace evidence."
Mac looked up from her unpacking, confusion evident on her face, "Trace evidence? Of what?"
"Of whatever it was that the lieutenant came in contact with. Depending on how close the object was to the plane, deposits may be found on the hull or the wings."
The major nodded with comprehension, "We'll have to talk to the master chief in charge of that plane. The Viking should be below deck, but I wouldn't count on finding anything. If a plane has any reported problems, it undergoes a complete inspection immediately. Any trace evidence that might have been found is probably contaminated if not completely gone."
Scully nodded, "I suspected as much, but it never hurts to look."
***
The temporary quarters of Agent Fox Mulder and Lt. Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, Jr. 1339 Zulu
Harm had finished outlining the layout of the ENTERPRISE for Mulder when a knock interrupted any change of subject the commander might have made. He pulled open the heavy metal door to reveal Lt. Darcy.
"Sir, Agent," the dish water blond greeted. "Lt. Anderson is in the ward room on deck B-12 whenever you're ready."
"Let's go," Mulder replied as he stepped out into the hall.
***
Ward Room, deck B-12 1352 Zulu
"...so, what happened when the electricals died?" Harm asked the 26 year old pilot.
"It's just like I told my CO, sir," Lt. Anderson replied from his seat across the wooden table. The ward room itself was long and narrow with barely enough room for the table, let alone the four investigators and the pilot. The walls were an unremarkable grey with little decoration. The only exception being the far wall. A large reproduction of the ship's emblem was painted there in full color.
The lieutenant's irritation with the questions was evident. He swiped a hand over his closely shaven brown hair. "How long did it take to regain control?" Mac asked from the other side of the table.
"I don't know, ma'am. Ninety seconds, maybe. Look, I lost control over the plane and almost killed myself and my RIO--"
Mulder and Scully stood near the room's entrance, opposite the two officers. They quietly surveyed the pilot's demeanor, absorbing every little nuance betrayed by his actions.
"Easy, sailor," Harm calmed. "I know what it's like, but you have to be more forthcoming if we're going to avoid court-martial charges." The young man took a deep breath and nodded. "Sorry, sir. This was my first mess-up; it's hit me pretty hard."
Harm nodded his understanding and looked over at the agents, a question in his eyes. Mulder nodded once, then took over the interrogation.
"Lt. Anderson, what can you tell me about the time before you lost control over the plane?"
The man turned in his seat and watched as the agent crossed the room. "Well, I was flying a regular training run--I needed to get in some night landings before this thing with Saddam hit full force so I would be placed on ready flight status. Cmdr. Davis agreed and we took the plane up and did a routine radar scan of the area. That's SOP for my unit when we're under potential military engagement. I was about 400 miles away from the ship in an East-Southeast direction. That's when this thing pinged the radar. At first, I thought it was one of ours, but then the commander radioed the carrier and confirmed that it wasn't. The signals it was sending didn't match anything we had ever seen.
"I went in for a closer look, because if it belonged to Saddam, then captain needed to know about it. I consulted the commander and he agreed. He monitored it on the radar along with the carrier's radar officer. All of a sudden, my RIO tells me that the bogey--that's all I can think to call it--has stopped. It's just holding in place. At that time, we were about a mile away from it. I could easily make it out," the lieutenant paused, his voice taking on the soft tone of remembrance.
"It was the strangest thing I've ever seen. It just sat there, almost like it was hovering."
Mulder broke through the pilot's reverie, "Did you notice anything else about it?"
"Well, yeah. It had this row of lights that circled around it. The lights were, I don't know, orange and green and maybe some other color." Mulder traded a meaningful look with his partner, who stood in the corner taking notes. He continued his questioning, "What happened next?"
"It moved. It flew right toward us. The commander was screaming in my ear to get the hell out of there before it hit us, but, I don't know, it's like I was moving in slow motion. Then, the power died and I was right back at full speed trying like mad to get the plane under control. We hit this flat dive and I knew right then that I had bought the farm. I was scared shi--oh, sorry ma'am's." Scully quirked her lips and shook her head. "I was really scared."
"Do you remember what you did when you were in that slow motion state?" Mulder asked, placing one foot in a chair seat and rested an arm on his knee.
"No, sir, not really. My mind is kinda fuzzy. I just remember seeing the lights, vaguely hearing my RIO, and then the electricals dying."
Mulder nodded, "Thanks, Lieutenant, for all your help." He glanced at Harm, who shook his head. "We'll get back to you if we need anything else."
The pilot stood, saluted the officers, then left the room.
"So, what do you think?" Mac asked Mulder.
"I think he just had an encounter with an alien spacecraft."
"Oh, come on, Agent Mulder," Harm discounted, "you really can't believe that."
"Ignoring the visual evidence, which I'm sure you'll write off as hallucinations, he suffered paralysis and an inability to think clearly. Both of these symptoms are known characteristics of encounters with alien spacecraft."
"Mulder," Scully interjected. "All of these symptoms can be representative of some sort of hallucinogenic compound that could have accidentally contaminated the plane's air supply."
Harm and Mac watched, amazed, as the two agents batted theories back and forth with the ease of pro-tennis players.
Mulder heaved a frustrated sigh. "How many times do you have to hear the evidence, hell, even witness it yourself, before you believe that something is truly out there?"
"Mulder, 'something' is out there. It's just not in the form of an alien spacecraft. It's shaped more like a dark-skinned man with a bushy mustache dressed in a military uniform."
"So, you're saying this is just a trick that Saddam is playing on our forces?"
Mac glanced at Harm, wondering exactly who's side the female agent was on. In a moment, she had her answer.
"I'm saying it's not entirely impossible and much more plausible than an alien sighting. The UN just withdrew their weapons inspectors, who were never able to conduct an exhaustive search of the Iraqi weapons' compounds. Who knows what that man has hiding in his arsenal?"
"Just who are you supporting anyway, Scully?"
"The Truth," she replied, then softly added, "you know that, Mulder."
The two agents' gazes locked and held, once more conveying words that hadn't been, but needed to be spoken.
'I'm sorry for questioning your loyalty," Mulder's eyes said.
'I know.'
'But you're wrong.'
'Give me proof.'
The two officers exchanged dumbfounded looks and Harm found himself searching for the words to get the investigation back in line. "Um, why don't we listen to the cockpit tape in a few minutes while we're waiting for Cmdr. Davis to return from the flight?"
The two agents forcefully tore their gazes away from each other, and focused them on the commander. Scully replied, "Yes, that's a good place to look."
She exited the room as she closed her notebook and tucked it inside her suit jacket. Mulder followed, after sparing the pair a look which spoke volumes, but neither officer could translate.
Once the door had been firmly shut, the officers looked at each other and chorused, "That was weird!" They laughed softly at their shared sentiment and Mac continued, "Those two are almost an X-File themselves."
Harm grinned as he picked up the legal pad the major had been taking notes on. He paged through it and paused. "Has the master chief in charge of the plane submitted the post-incident report yet?"
"Funny you should mention that. Scully asked if we could test it for trace evidence."
"Trace evidence?" came his surprised return.
"That was my reaction. Why don't we split up? You and Mulder listen to the tape while Scully and I talk to the master chief?"
Harm nodded his agreement. She thought back to their shared sentiment and wondered, 'Maybe Harm and I do have a form of the connection that Mulder and Scully have.' She decided to test that theory with something she'd been dying to do ever since the Romanian Embassy party. Mac caught her partner's eye and held it, silently thinking, 'Kiss me, Harm.'
The blaze in his eyes intensified for a moment as he asked, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I don't know," she murmured, her voice throaty, as she stepped closer to him, "it depends on what you're thinking."
"I think we need to look at those UN weapons reports to see what exactly the inspectors did find. What about you?"
'And maybe not,' she thought, coloring slightly. "Oh, pretty much the same thing." He tossed a boyish grin at her and moved to the entrance. She shook her head amusedly. Maybe they did need the extra three years the agents had under their belts.
"Coming, Mac?" Harm asked as he held open the door.
"Be right there," she answered with a slight smile.
***
Flight Reserve Deck
1428 Zulu
Mac and Scully wandered between the various planes stationed below-deck in search of the officer in charge. Darcy had directed them to seek out Master Chief Brenda Wallace, who had been on duty at the time of the incident. Although she did not conduct the post-flight inspection of the Viking, she did have access to all reports filed on the plane. Buzzing noises of electric tools echoed through the area as planes were refitted and inspected for the potential conflict with the Iraqi forces. The smell of jet fuel washed over the pair as they walked toward a woman hunched over a console. Scully wrinkled her nose at the odor's onslaught and spared a glance for the major, who was equally as affected by the fumes.
"Master Chief Wallace?" the major asked.
The young woman turned and glanced up from her seated position, "Major? Can I help you with something?"
"Yes, I'm with the JAG corps and this is Agent Scully with the FBI. We're investigating the incident with Lt. Anderson and the unknown plane."
The master chief's face was slightly smudged with grease and she wiped her hands on an oily towel that was draped over a nearby table before answering. "I heard you would be coming down soon. Scuttlebutt's pretty quick around here. I usually don't pay it much mind, but when it concerns me or my planes, I give it my full attention."
Scully smiled and indicated a plane parked a few yards away. "Is that Lt. Anderson's Viking?" She had recognized the plane from the preliminary JAG report the major had given her.
The younger woman nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's been checked over with a fine-tooth comb. Can't find a thing wrong with it."
"Did you by chance test for any external trace evidence, like mineral deposits, on the fuselage?"
"No, ma'am, can't say I did. I only look at the insides--and even then I wasn't the first person to get a peek at that plane."
"Would anyone have checked for those details?"
"Well, I'm not exactly sure. I can bring up the report that was filed on it and see if the officer in charge of the other shift ordered those tests."
M.C. Wallace turned from the two women and walked across the metal floor to a wall of computers. She typed in several commands and waited. Mac glanced around the room quietly observing the precise, yet hasty, movements with which the men and women carried out their tasks. Although every soldier knew they could die fighting for their country and for the freedom of others, it remained every man and woman's hope that such a situation would not befall him or her. Each officer, both commission and line, made it their sworn duty to defend their country to their best ability. And as such, either gave 110% or were washed out before their commitment could be tested. These men and women were prepared; trained how to fight and trained how to die. With courage and honor. Even though she was now a non-deployable officer in JAG, Mac felt a kinship with her comrades in arms and bid them a silent 'dos vidanya'--go with God.
The master chief returned and handed Scully a printout. A listing of tests and results were printed in rows and columns on the single sheet of paper. "This is all I have as far as lab-like testing goes. I hope it helps."
"Master Chief," Mac said, looking up from the report. "I'd like a copy of your findings about the technical parts of the plane, if you don't mind."
"No, ma'am. I was just reviewing them to send them topside to the XO. I can run another copy for you." Once again she pressed a series of commands into the computer and it promptly printed out the requested document.
"Thanks," replied the major. She glanced through the reports as her FBI counterpart asked, "If you don't mind, can you give us a brief outline of the report?" the agent asked the younger woman.
"Not a problem, ma'am. The plane returned to deck in reasonable shape. No outward damage to the fuselage or weapons. The mechanicals seemed intact and without damage. The only thing I noticed was a little wind shear on the wings but that's not uncommon in planes that experience a free fall."
The major nodded. "OK, Master Chief. Gut level instinct. Based on your experience with military aircraft and the condition the Viking was returned in, do you think pilot error contributed to the incident?" The woman in work blues pursed her lips as if considering her words, then replied, "Well, ma'am, based on the physical appearance of the plane, I don't think that anything else could explain it."
"Thank you for your time," replied Scully as she moved toward the exit.
"Let me qualify that," the officer paused, glancing at the major, then continued, "if I may, Major?"
"Certainly. We'd like to know everything."
Wallace pursed her lips as if forming her statement. "Major, Agent, I've seen a lot of pilots in my time here on The Big E. While he's not the best--nor the cockiest--Anderson's got the makings of a damn fine pilot. He's honest, puts his crew and mission above himself... He wouldn't do anything like this intentionally. I've known him for a while; he's a stand-up guy," she paused and glanced from agent to major, holding each gaze a moment to reinforce her next words. "If he says that a UFO brushed against him up there, then I'd believe him." The two women absorbed the master chief's words. Mac nodded once then replied, "We'll take that under advisement, thank you."
Scully nodded and replied, "Thank you for your time, Master Chief. If we need anything else, we'll get back to you."
The woman nodded to Agent Scully and saluted Major MacKenzie before returning to her work. The two investigators turned and crossed the platform to the steel hallway and headed back to their quarters.
"So, what do you think?" Scully asked as they walked down the hall.
"She seems certain of the pilot's integrity. And, just glancing through these reports, it looks like everything is in order. No obvious cover-ups at least."
The two women hugged the wall as they met a sailor in work blues walking toward them. The ensign--who barely looked 18--nodded at Scully, then saluted the major. Mac answered his stiff regard with a murmured, "As you were," and a soft smile.
As Scully watched the young man's retreating back, she asked, "Do you ever get tired of that?"
"Not really. After a while, it just becomes habit. I do like to look at who salutes me, though. Too many officers just continue on without so much as a glance. These are the men and women who'll be doing the dying if--God forbid--we go to war. I like to know who I'll have to thank."
Scully nodded as she closed her eyes against the sudden wave of sadness. She wondered if her father had ever taken for granted his position in the Navy. Had he ever passed a sailor, stiff at attention, without so much as a by-your-leave? Something inside her rebelled at that notion. No, when he was at sea, his men and women came first--always. He would have looked the young man in the eye before going about his business. Just as the major had. 'Ahab would have liked her--even though she is a Marine,' Scully thought. Mac regarded the agent carefully. Concern filled her voice when she asked, "Are you alright?"
Scully cleared her throat and replied, "I'm fine." The major, not recognizing the patented answer, accepted it at face value and started to descend a flight of stairs to deck which held their quarters.
***
Communications deck A-7 1435 Zulu
The tinny voices of Lt. Anderson and Cmdr. Davis cut through the loud hiss of the cockpit flight recorder. According to the lieutenant's words, the plane had just flown past the Ivory Coast in Africa. By Harm's estimation, it would be two more minutes before the two encountered the unknown aircraft. No sign of electrical trouble as of yet. The commander's voice echoed through the room as he suggested mundane airspeed corrections. Lt. Anderson returned the orders with a clear, steady voice.
Harm glanced at the communications officer, the impending doom fueling a slight uncertainty as he listened. The comm officer nodded and replied softly, "They're just about there."
A few seconds later, a trace of confusion skittered through Davis' voice as he asked, "What the hell is that?"
The lieutenant apparently had not spotted the approaching figure, and replied, "What's wrong?"
"Something just pinged the radar. Do you see anything up ahead?"
"Yeah, now that you mention it. There's some lights a ways ahead. Could it be one of ours?"
"None of our planes give off this type of signal. I'm going to radio the carrier and see if they can identify it. Mother One, Mother One, this is Toddler. Do you have any radar activity going on?"
"Toddler, that's an affirmative. We just picked up something about 10 miles away from you."
"Mother, can you confirm it is one of ours?"
"Negative, Toddler. It is not American or an ally."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"That is an unknown, Toddler."
"Request permission to recon."
"Toddler, the captain has granted permission. Watch your six."
"Roger. Toddler moving into position for a recon."
The cockpit's voice recorder spewed static as the plane flew toward the approaching vessel.
"That is the weirdest thing I've ever seen!" Anderson cried. "Look at all of those lights."
"That's not all that's weird. The thing has stopped."
"Say again?"
"I repeat it has stopped. It's almost like it's hovering. How close are we to it?"
"About a mile out." The lieutenant paused. The static over the tape increased and the pilot's voice was barely discernable over the roar. Suddenly, the static was replaced by a loud humming.
"Anderson! What the hell are you doing? Get us out of here! Mother One. Mother One, this is Toddler. We have a problem! The electricals have just died. Lt. Anderson is not responding. I can't tell if he's passed out or ignoring me."
"Toddler, this is Mother One, say again, you're breaking up. Repeat say again."
"The electricals have died. The pilot is unresponsive." Panic seeped into the commander's voice as he cried, "Oh shit! The bogey is moving again! Mother One, the bogey is on a collision course with us! Anderson, get us the hell out of here!"
The hum's intensity increased for a few seconds, then died and the normal sound of static returned. Anderson's muffled replies to Davis' orders were uncomprehendable over the noise from the tape.
"Anderson! Wake up! We're in a flat dive! We're below Angel two!"
The pilot offered no response. Davis tried once more to get his attention, the panic subsiding under the force of a direct order,
"Anderson! You stinkin' piece of a wannabe pilot. Get your ass in gear and turn this plane for home or so help me I'll railroad your ass right out of this man's Navy!"
"Uh, yessir," came the sleepy reply.
A few seconds later, relief fueled the commander's voice as he radioed the carrier. "Mother One. Mother One, this is Toddler. We are OK. Repeat, we are OK. We have returned to Angel Three and are returning home."
The comm officer cut off the tape. "They landed a few minutes later. Anderson was badly shaken and Davis was pissed as hell, but also wondering whose bogey that was."
"Did either of them mention a loss of time when they got back?" Mulder asked the sandy-haired man. A blank look crossed the man's forty-year old features before he responded.
"Not that I know of. But Anderson was mumbling about the bright lights. Rows of bright lights. Any idea what they could be?" He looked from agent to officer, his face a picture of bewilderment. Harm chanced a glance at Mulder and answered before the agent could reply with a description of his off-the-wall theory. 'The last thing we need is for him to make a laughingstock out of JAG,' Harm thought caustically. Aloud, he replied, "We have some theories, but no definite decisions as of yet."
Mulder shot the commander a sardonic look, 'So, another non-believer, even when the proof's right in front of you.' However, he offered no audible comment, allowing the JAG officer to continue the questioning. It wouldn't do to let the witness know that division existed within the ranks.
"Anything else you can recall about their demeanor, the condition of the plane, anything at all would be a great help."
The comm officer chewed on his lower lip as he stared at the tape player holding the cassette taping from the flight. "There was one thing that struck me as a little strange. I dismissed it at first, because it really didn't amount to anything, but it might help the investigation."
"What is it?" Harm asked leaning into the officer.
"Well, it was the condition of the flight recorder itself. It had some black marks on the outside of it. Almost like it had been in a fire. The casing was intact and there was no internal damage. So, that's why I didn't really consider it."
"Were the marks etched into the casing or were they an ash-like material?"
"Neither, sir. They were smooth and fairly distinct. It was like they were put on there with a permanent marker or maybe a laser."
"Is there anyway we could have them analyzed?" Mulder asked, excitement over the turn of events intensifying his voice.
"I suppose. The box should still be in the impound. I can check for you, if you want."
"That would be great," Mulder replied and the officer moved to comply.
When the man in naval khakis had left the room, the agent continued, "If we can find out what those marks are from, that would be the first hard evidence that he did come in contact with a UFO."
"Hold on, Agent Mulder. The admiral only sent us here to look into the possibilities of pilot error..."
"Really?" Mulder asked, jumping onto the qualification. "Then why were Scully and I brought in to help? Even if we're only assigned as advisors, there still must have been someone who believed that this situation was due to more than pilot error."
"Mulder, in my world, I may not like them, but I don't question the orders I'm given. I trust my superiors to know what is best for the Navy."
"Well, I'm glad for you. My superiors don't often offer me such a luxury."
"And what was with the question about the time loss?"
Mulder sighed, accepting the usual disbelief, "People who've had encounters with aliens report losing time. You know, they'll look down at their watches before and after the incidents and see that a period of minutes has elapsed without their conscious knowledge of it. Often, it's nine minutes."
"Nine minutes? Nine minutes and we would be leading a search team because that plane would be in 2000 feet of water."
Mulder nodded and was about to reply when the comm officer returned with a slip of paper.
"This is impound slip. It's the best I could do. The box itself is still being looked at. Apparently, you guys aren't the only ones who are interested in those markings."
"What do you mean?" Harm asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Some people from SecNav came here a few hours after the incident. They made a copy of the flight tape for us to go over, but took the recorder itself."
'DAMN!' Mulder thought. 'Now, we'll never know what those marks were.' He shook his head. "Was their any record of who took the recorder?"
"No, there never is. It's SecNav after all."
"Thank you," Harm said to the comm officer. "This should help." The man nodded once and saluted, then left the investigators alone.
Harm glanced over at the agent and, seeing the man's frustration, drawled, "Hey, don't worry. I'll call the admiral and he can get it from SecNav. If it's an integral part of the investigation, they have to produce it."
Mulder flashed the commander a bitter grin, "No, <you> don't understand. I've been this route before. They'll do one of two things. First, they can deny they have it, and with no record of who retrieved it, they can easily do so. Or they could merely produce another flight recorder and say that it came from Anderson's plane. Either way, it's gone--and so is our evidence."
"You may be right, Mulder," Harm replied cautiously. "But I'd like to call the admiral just in case. He has a lot of clout in the Navy." Mulder shook his head again, marveling at the man's innocent belief in the military's honesty. "If you had seen the things I've seen, you wouldn't be so quick to defend those in power. The military is the biggest liar of all. They hide the Truth behind barbed wire fences and M-16s; in the bright light of day, they may swear they have America's best interests at heart, but in the shadows of the night, they huddle together plotting newer and better ways to destroy the world."
Harm looked at the agent as if he had appeared out of thin air. Such a concept was unthinkable to him. True, the military had its secrets, but that was so it could uphold the sovereignty of the Constitution; to defend and protect Americans.
It could even be political. Exhibit A: Chegwidden had been on the short list for the head of the Department of the Navy, only to be removed after he declared his unpopular support of a dishonored colleague and friend. Exhibit B: That same man's constant dealings with the intricacies of the Navy. Hell, Exhibit C was Harm's own run-ins with Congresswoman Bobbi Latham and Clayton Webb from the State Department. The list could go on and on. But every bureaucracy had its political side. And, like it or not, the military had its share of red tape and idiosyncracies. 'And three words--top secret, classified--to cloak the questions that no wants to admit are being asked,' his conscious chided.
'Maybe Mulder is right,' Harm thought. 'He may look and see only darkness and secrets. But that's not what I see; it's not what I represent and defend. And if that's all he can think about the thing I hold most dear, then I don't ever want to be in his shoes.' Harm nodded once, accepting his counterpart's viewpoint, even though he didn't fully understand it. "You may be right about the outcome, but I'm still going to try. Chegwidden's like a dog with a bone when something like this happens: he won't give up easily. And the SecNav will either have to give over or he'll have a lot of explaining to do when the admiral goes over his head."
Mulder's brow furrowed as he sighed resignedly. "When does Davis get in?" he asked, gazing out the starboard side window at the horizon. "Not for another few hours. We should probably check in with Mac and Scully and compare notes."
Mulder nodded absently, his eyes focused on some distant point. Somewhere beyond that line that separated the heavens and the sea lay D.C. and the X-Files. He could feel the urgent tug pulling him back to the city, back to his life's work. A momentary feeling of dread smothered him and Mulder gasped for breath. They had to get back. As soon as possible. While the X-Files were still in their grasp.
"Mulder? You OK?" Harm asked, concern etched in his brow. The agent shook his head, clearing the grim thoughts and murmured, "Yeah." He turned and followed Harm out of the room and into the metal hallway. Mulder darted a glance back over his shoulder, his eyes clinging to the setting sun which offset the picture forever locked in his brain: the burned office, the seared poster, the charred files. 'We're coming. As soon as we can,' he silently promised. Then, without another look back, he silently closed the door.
***
Ward Room, Deck F-7 1553 Zulu
The investigators, by mutual agreement, sat in another dull gray room dominated by yet another conference table. Mac and Harm faced Scully across the table while Mulder alternated between pacing the limited space and leaning against a nearby wall. His soft crunching of sunflower seeds accented the companionable conversation as each pair outlined their findings and thoughts.
"I hate to say it, Mulder, but it looks like you were right," Harm sighed as he stared at his folded hands that were propped on the table. "According to the admiral, SecNav is passing the buck on that flight recorder. They did admit to taking it off the ship, but now say they don't have it. Someone from higher up in the chain of command took it off their hands almost immediately after they got it on the ground in D.C."
Mulder nodded. He had already written off ever seeing the recorder. Maybe there was another route, though. "Scully, did you two find anything amounting to trace evidence?"
His partner leafed through the pages in front of her and replied, "Nothing out of the ordinary. The Master Chief said she noticed some wind shear on the fuselage..."
Mac absorbed Mulder's disappointed expression and tried to lighten his mood. "The good news is, it looks like Lt. Anderson is free from pilot error. Therefore, he won't be brought up on charges."
Mulder cracked another seed and replied, "But that still doesn't explain what he saw up there. Not that it matters. The Navy will just deny he saw anything."
Scully turned around to face her partner, her gaze a warning laced with a question, "Mulder?"
He nodded as he met her eyes. "I know."
Harm cleared his throat before the two could revert into their unspoken language and replied, "Well, we can do a routine interview with the commander and then head back to D.C. later tonight if that's alright with you?"
Scully still held Mulder's gaze, her eyes silently urging, 'Come on. We have bigger concerns than an unknown plane.'
'I know,' he silently agreed. 'Like keeping the X-Files.' He tore his eyes away and nodded to the commander. "Alright," he replied. "We can leave right after we file a report with the captain," Mac said, once more in awe at the agents' ability to communicate.
***
The Temporary quarters of Major Sarah MacKenzie and Agent Dana Scully 1724 Zulu
Scully sat on the lower bunk silently typing her field notes into the Bureau issued laptop computer. The clicking of fingers hitting keys was the only sound in the room. Her thoughts, however, were less than quiet.
'....Cmdr. Bill Davis corroborates Lt. David Anderson's account of the encounter with the unidentified plane up to a certain point. The commander denies having the symptoms which Anderson claims affected his own judgement and reaction in the cockpit. Davis also denies having seen the bright lights, which the pilot states were his first contact with the unidentified plane.
'No physical evidence was found on the plane's fuselage or in the cockpit that can corroborate the plane's near miss with the unknown vessel, although the missing flight recorder reportedly suffered some external damage. While the disappearance of the flight recorder is troubling, it in no way effects the levying of court-martial charges on Lt. Anderson. The lieutenant has been cleared of pilot error and no record of this matter will be placed in his personal file.'
Scully saved the file and closed the computer. She lay the laptop aside and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes drifted to the packed luggage, which sat in the middle of the room. Harm and Mac were currently reporting to the captain while the helicopter was being readied to fly them back to D.C. So, she allowed her thoughts to drift for a moment trying to get a handle on the case. Mac broke her reverie a few minutes later when she opened the metal door and stuck her head in.
"Ready to go?" she asked, taking in Scully's packed bags.
The agent nodded and picked up the laptop to stow in one of her bags.
"What did the captain say?"
"Basically, 'good job, now get the hell out of here before you can't leave.'"
"I take it things are heating up with Saddam?"
"You could say that," she replied wryly. "The president has increased the deployment numbers of planes and carriers. I think bombing is imminent, though the captain would neither confirm nor deny."
"Story of my life," Scully murmured sarcastically.
"Come again?"
She shook her head, "Never mind. It wasn't important." Scully paused and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. After sparing a cursory glance around the quarters to check for any remaining items, she followed the major out of the room. She jerked her head to the room across the hall and asked, "Are Mulder and Harm already on the flight deck?" Mac nodded, "Harm is finishing up our report for the captain, but Mulder is up there." She paused, a perplexed look overcoming her face, "It's weird; he's just standing there, staring off into the horizon. Do you know what he's looking for?"
'The future. The X-Files,' Scully thought immediately. She offered the major a wan smile and replied aloud, "He probably can't wait to get off this ship. He gets sea sick pretty easily."
Mac chuckled, but offered no further reply, sensing that Scully wouldn't have elaborated anyway. The pair continued down the hall, then up the stairwell in silence. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and Mac remarked slowly, "You and Mulder...."
Scully cringed inwardly. She should have known that the major wouldn't have given up on finding out what had happened in their bunk earlier. 'Marines don't give up easily,' she recognized. 'They retreat only to return with reinforcements.' She offered no response to Mac's statement. Instead, she allowed the major's idea to form fully, and readied herself to answer as little as possible.
The major shook her head. "How do you <do> that?"
That was not the question Scully had expected, but her surprise didn't reflect in her features. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know what to call it," Mac replied, searching for words. "That thing you've been doing ever since you two walked into the admiral's office. You and Mulder have entire conversations without even saying a word. It's like you can read each other's minds. It's almost..."
"Spooky?" Scully offered with a slight tilt to her lips.
"Well, yeah," the major replied, not recognizing the inside joke. Scully turned the last corner in the stairwell and opened the door which led to the flight deck. "I guess you could call it practice. We've been partners for six years."
Mac nodded, accepting, but still not convinced by, the agent's words. 'It's more than that,' she thought to herself. She glanced over at Scully as the two walked toward the helicopter. Although on ready status, the carrier still maintained a night schedule. As such, the deck was dark with the exception of the running lights. With no moon to soften them, the stars twinkled brilliantly in the inky night sky. Mac took in Scully's shadowed features and realized that, once again, the agent would not elaborate further on the subject, no matter how hard she was pressed.
They approached the outline of the helicopter, each content to keep to her own thoughts. As they neared it, Mac could make out the tall, lanky form of Scully's partner. Scully dropped her bags near the aft of the chopper for the crew chiefs to stow, then quietly walked over to Mulder. She glanced up at him and found restlessness in his eyes.
"Time to go," he stated softly, his gaze glued to the horizon.
"But what awaits us at the end of the flight?" Scully murmured. He offered no reply.
It was funny. After that first flight with Mulder out to Oregon, she had come to expect, even welcome, the unexpected, the challenge. Now she fervently hoped and prayed that the unexpected would not meet them at the airport. That they would be able to quietly return to their work.
But, no matter how hard she prayed, Scully realized that her hopes would go unanswered. The X-Files were too sensitive, too inflammatory, to be peaceful for long. She gazed out to sea with Mulder, silently wondering what would befall them upon their return. It would be too simple to close them. Too simple to separate her and Mulder. Both had been done before, both were unsuccessful.
That fact alone only meant that their enemies were merely biding their time, searching for other ways to stifle them. Scully felt, rather than heard, Mulder's sigh; his breath barely left his lips. She raised her hand to his and caressed it with the backs of her fingers.
'I'm here,' she thought. 'I know.'
His eyes were torn from the horizon by the soft movement and refocused on her pale features. She gazed up at him and promised softly, "No matter what happens, we're in this together."
He closed his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly. The loud whine
of the helicopter's engine broke the stillness. Scully absorbed the
emotions playing over his face, then turned and climbed into the chopper.
Mulder opened his eyes, realizing instinctively she had gone. He
took a deep breath, savoring the tangy sea air, then nodded again.
'That's all that matters,' he thought, then crawled into the waiting helicopter
behind her.