Title: Lost Colony
Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com<
Idea by: Jackie >SocceRoxy3@aol.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.
Content::: Mulder and Scully are thrown back into the X-Files despite
Kersh's warnings, but this time, more than their jobs could be lost . . .
even more than their lives.
SPOILER:::::All of US6 -- Including Beginnings, Terms of Endearment, etc.

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter One

~~~~

Scully was enjoying the day, her mouth pressed into a smile, arms loose at
her sides, her thin pants spotted with dirt and sunshine.

She galnced toward the house from the field, looking for his tall figure
to come out of the door, to walk lazily toward her with a flittery smile.

A cloud drifted over the sun for a moment and she could see its shadow up
and down the field, the huge form of it passing over the earth. The dirt
under her nails and stained into her jeans felt cool now, and she wiped
the sweat from her forehead with her shirt.

Mulder came out at that moment, bringing her iced tea with a smile,
setting it in her hand as she rose to stand with him.

His white undershirt was soaked with sweat and loam, while his pants were
just as caked with mud and sod as her own, but he had a smile for her as
she gulped down the tea.

"You should have saved it," she said softly, nodding her head to the tea.

"You didn't have to help me today." he replied and sat down in the middle
of his field, ignoring the soft wetness of the ground. "I appreciate it."

She nodded and squinted her eyes as the sun shone brighter over them, the
cloud gone.

He moved his eyes from hers with a blush, turning his gaze to the far off
horizon, the way the dark earth met the blue sky with such ferocity that
it made him shiver.

"I can't believe we're here."

She nodded and gathered her things closer to her, his far away eyes
signalling to her that he was distancing himself from her again. It was no
good to try and talk him then.

"New World," he said softly, but then his eyes came directly to hers and
sparked with such intensity that she stayed absolutely still.

"New life," she murmured back, then closed her eyes as his lips descended
to hers in a crash of bodies.
~~~~

Scully gasped and woke quickly, throwing off her covers and breathing hard
on the edge of her bed.

Kissing Mulder.

What a dream.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, nibbling the corner with her teeth as
she worried over her dream, over the meaning of such a thing. She tried to
recall where they were, but all she could see was dark earth and a little
log house, its windows simply slits in the sides, and the door rough hewn
and crooked.

New World. That's what he had said.

She felt embarassment cloud the rich feelings running through her, and
turned to the book propped against her night table. It was sort of love
story set in the Colonial period, and she was sure it had made her dream
such things.

Kissing Mulder.

She shivered and stood, moving to the doorway and on to the kitchen,
picking up a glass resting on her coffee table as she moved through.

The water was cool agaisnt her throat, but for an irrational reason, she
dumped the rest of it out and poured herself some tea, such a sense of awe
at having the beverage that she almost felt a little crazy.

There was nothing special about iced tea.

Nothing at all.

Nothing special about kissing Mulder.

She closed her eyes and leaned against he sink.

She couldn't be kissing Mulder, especially not in her dreams.
~~~~

Fox Mulder watched the moon through his window, licking his lips out of
habit and running a finger along his thigh.

He tried not thinking about her, but he couldn't. She came to him in
dreams, and she argued with him in nightmares, or she died with him in his
fears.

Mulder pressed his forehead to the glass and then peered out, wondering
why it had to be so complicated, why things had to always come between
them.

They were together despite everything, together even without the X-Files,
which to him was a miracle, since he had always assumed she would leave
him without his search. He still had something of a search, yes, but no
X-Files, no official reason to be looking. 

She was still there. Still there.

It amazed him, and it frightened him, and it made him want to run to her
apartment, crash through her door and shake her crazy.

There had to be more to her sticking around than the search for truth,
more to her need to be with him than the wild hope that maybe someday they
could get the X-Files back, *and* orchestrate the downfall of the
Consortium.

*No one* would suffer through his attitude, his selfishness, or his brand
of insanity on the off chance that this would all work out in the end.
Hell, they *knew* this would never work out in the end. So much had
happened to them, so much. . .and she didn't believe in aliens, and she
didn't believe in his conspiracy theory, and yet.....

Yet she came and worked with him every morning, stuck her small nose into
his business, checked his head for trauma, moved her finger in front of
his eyes, and tried to patch him up as best she could so she could follow
him back down the road to truth.

There had to be more in it for her.

She had to love him.

He closed his eyes and breathed shakily, opening his eyes to fog and
condensation of his breath across the glass of the window.

She had to love him.

It made him soar.
~~~~

Running through her house, Scully managed to finally find her keys, then
she slipped her black pea coat on her thin frame, noting with disgust how
her hip bones were beginning to show through again.

She grabbed her breifcase lying on the floor and raced down the hall and
out the front door.

She was late *again.*
~~~~

Mulder looked at her with a kind of death glare when she came in late, his
hand motioning for her to hurry.

She set her things down and sat down in her chair as Mulder turned in his,
resting his elbows on her desk and eyeing her carefully.

"Scully. We have to see Kersh in about two seconds. Just remember this: I
bailed you out."

Her mouth dropped and she stood, intending to question him on his veiled
cooment, but he guided her to the elevators and they started up to Kersh's
office.

Before she could ask any other questions, they were standing in his
office, both rigid and tense, hoping for a little better than the worst.

Kersh looked to Scully, then rolled his pen between his fingers.

"Are you feeling well, Agent Scully?"

Scully's quick glance to Mulder made her think fast, and she simply nodded
weakly.

"I'm feeling better," she said hesitantly.

When Mulder relaxed slightly beside her she knew she'd said the right
thing, and his hand came to her back briefly.

The man should have *warned* her, she fumed.

Kersh gave them their new assignment: investigating some kind of cult
group on the coast of Virginia, rumoured to have stockpiled weapons in
anticipation of striking back at the government for certain 'atrocities'
being done to their land. It was a low profile case, one that required
junior agents at best, but Mulder and Scully were still unofficially
proving themselves worthy.

They left with meak attitudes outwardly, but inside, Mulder was furious
and Scully was confused.

When the door shut behind them, Scully turned to Mulder and pulled on his
sleeve to get his attention. He led her to the elevator, his face open to
her questions.

"What did you tell him about me, Mulder?"

He grinned. "I said you were in the bathroom. . .and uh, well. . .he
called about four times before you finally showed up."

She groaned and shook her head. "How long did he think I was in the
bathroom?"

"About forty-five minutes," he said, grinning.

He saw a tiny smile drift across her face, and he grabbed her sleeve,
pulling her off the elevator at their floor, then back to their desks with
a touch of obsessiveness.

They gathered their belongings, Mulder moving to shut down his computer
and lock his bottom drawer while Sclly shrugged her coat back on.

"When's our flight?" she said softly.

He gave her a sort of smile, then shook his head, looking down at the case
file in his hand.

"No flight. We're driving."

She gaped at him, then sighed.

"I suppose he thinks we deserve this or something."

"Think, Scully. We'll be out of the office longer, and we have every
excuse to sort of follow up on . . .say. . .an X-File?. . .should we
become side-tracked of course."

Her eyebrows raised. "Of course."

He grinned and led her from the rows of desks with a gentle, warm hand.
~~~~

As the Infinity's wheels thrummed along the interstate, Scully could feel
it rocking her to sleep like a cradle, the car's silent interior like a
womb. She closed her eyes, remembering that she'd only had about five
hours of sleep because of her dream. She felt tired and achey, and her
lips were dry from the heat outside.

She leaned her head against the cool glass, letting the air conditioning
vent wash a pleasant chill over her face, then threaded her figners
through the door handle, sighing.

"We'll discuss the case when we check into the motel, okay?"

Scully glanced up at him in surprise, then nodded, certain he was staring
at her.

"Didn't get much sleep?" he said after awhile.

"Not much. I had a funny dream over and over last night. It kept waking me
up at the end."

She had said it before she could stop her words, and she prayed fervently
that he did not ask her what the dream had been about.

"Not a bad dream?" he said, softly, his voice hinting concern.

"No. A good one. But I still didn't get any sleep."

He nodded and let it go, leaning back against the head rest with a sigh of
his own. She watched him for a moment, noticing that his lips were exactly
the same as in her dream, that the sweat trickling down him was just a
alluring as the sweat of the day in that field.

"Mulder, are you hot?"

He glanced over at her, eyes raised. "Well, not to appear vain, but yes, I
think so."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you need to turn the air conditioning up?"

He gave her a sort of look then shrugged. "Not if you'll be too cold."

Her heart sort of thumped and she violently shoved down her dream time
thoughts.

"Nonsense. I'll be fine. We'll just turn it down once you're cooled off."

He gave her a soft grin as she reached for the nob, turning the air to
max, then repositioning her vents to blow on him.

"Thanks, Scully."

She nodded and supressed a shiver, goose bumps already rising on her arms.

When they got to a traffic jam on the interstate, Mulder reached back in
the car for his suit jacket, then draped it over her. 

"You're cold," he said softly and would not meet her eyes. He knew she
would protest if he asked, but if he simply acted, then she might accept
it.

She snuggled under the jacket and laid her seat down gently. "I'm going to
sleep for a bit, Mulder. Wake me when it's my turn to drive."

He smiled and they inched forward a bit in their lane, the car smooth as
silk.

She closed her eyes and buried her nose into the collar of his suit
jacket, inhaling the scent of Obsession cologne that she had jokingly
gotten him this Christmas. It smelled like the perfume and like him, all
rich and complex and mysterious.

She fell asleep wrapped in his olfactory embrace.
~~~~

"Scully?"

She glanced up and saw the rocks that blocked her view of the sea, then
swiveled around to find him watching her.

"Hi," she said with a soft smile, holding out her hand to touch his.

Mulder came softly to her and placed a gentle kiss along her jawbone,
licking the salt from her skin with a tiny sigh.

She shivered and watched the sun rise from the sea, forgetting her earlier
worries.

He rested his chin atop her head and put his arms around her, swaying
slightly as the rays burst across the water like hands reaching out for
them.

"They came again," he said softly.

She frowned and shook her head. "They're trying to help us, Mulder. I know
it."

He nodded but said nothing, and she could tell he silently disagreed with
her.

"John White will come back for us, Scully. We just have to hold out a bit
longer. He can't possibly sail over in this kind of weather."

"I know. I just have this awful feeling about staying here. Some of the
women have been talking about going up the Bay, settling there-"

"Is that what you want to do?"

She looked out over the water surrounding their tiny island, content to be
in his slack embrace, to be standing there.

"No," she said finally. "I'm not ready to give up on what we've
accomplished here."

"Neither am I."

She nodded and turned to look at him, biting her bottom lip as their eyes
met.

"Those Indians, Mulder, the Croatoans. . .I like them. And Manteo was
baptized. . .I think they're going to be good neighbors. They're just
trying to help us make it through the winter."

He shook his head. "There's something about them, Scully. I don't know who
to trust."
~~~~

"Scully!"

She jerked awake, eyes opening and the images from her dream receeding.

What the hell had *that* been about?

"Scully?"

She turned to him, eyes wide, blinking away sleep. He was staring at her
with a bemused expression, their car turned off and sitting in the parking
lot of a rest stop, lights brightly illuminating the inside of their
Infinity.

"Were you dreaming?" he asked, pushing back a wisp of her hair to tuck
behind her ear.

She would have calmly pulled away from him had the dream not messed up her
thinking. Instead of softly retreating, she leaned into his touch,
illiciting a soft sigh from Mulder that shot through her like lightning.

It was then that she pulled away.

Darkness had fallen and the shadows shrouded their eyes a bit, but he
could see that she felt torn, her hands reaching for him, but her body
tensed.

"Your turn," he whispered, and opened the driver's side door, choosing to
ignore the signals her eyes were throwing at him, and go by the stiffness
in her body.

She rose and switched places, turning over the engine and putting the car
into gear.

He watched her as she drove, trying to understand the conflicting emotions
riding off of her in waves.

Something about her dream, he decided.

Something about her dream.
~~~~

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter Two
~~~~

The Virginia Dare Motel and Travel Lodge was situated close to the
highway, its beige facade sloppily painted and its iron bars a foreboding
warning. It had a vacant lot in the front yard, remnants of a pool and
fence surrounding the lot, along with a rusted sign that displayed the
pool hours. The night sky was lit with an unhealthy pink glow from the
lights of civilization and the clouds obscured any traces of a moon.

"It's gonna rain," Mulder said as they unloaded their bags from the trunk,
pushing through the parking lot to the concrete stairs.

She was in Room 27 and he was 29, right next to each other upstairs, with
a lookout over the dead pool, and a window with its glass painted black.

Mulder wondered randomly if this had been here during World War II, during
the blackouts, or if the previous owners simply didn't want their
customers looking out and spying on those in the pool.

He unlocked his door, letting his bags topple to the floor just inside,
then ran and unlocked hers just as she came up the steps, blowing a strand
of hair from her face with a short breath.

She smiled at him for the help, then dumped her things on the bed, hanging
her clothes bag in the closet to keep her suits from wrinkling.

She rarely wore complete suits anymore, usually her dress pants and a
jacket with a colored top, namely maroon, and flat boots. It was the most
comfortable during their travels, and she found it easier to run in. Of
course, it also meant that Mulder towered over her again, but most times
it didn't even feel as if he was any taller than her.

Usually because he unconsciously leaned down to her, stooping over to
catch her words.

"Dinner in an hour?" she said, not looking up from her suitcase.

He nodded even though she couldn't see it, and placed the key in her hand.

At his touch, she glanced up, smiling softly and gripping the large brass
key.

"In an hour," he repeated and moved to the door, a gostly image.

He had been gone for five minutes when she finally shook herself out of
the trance his look and touch seemed to put her in lately.

She couldn't understand the feelings. In her dreams, she and Mulder were
different, so much different, with nothing between them but a love of the
land and the sea, and a determination to stay where they had settled.

Her dreams were different from reality in so many ways, and the Mulder in
her dreams was stable and secure, lacking no emotional confidence, coming
to her with grace and good intentions.  The real Mulder was an emotional
wreck, strangling himself on his doubts and fears, with some underlying
plan always behind his overtures.

She could still taste his kiss. Still feel his hand, his eyes burning into
hers.

And the frightening thing was. . .she wasn't sure if it was the dream or
the reality that was seared into her senses.
~~~~

Mulder woke from his dream shaking with yearning and unfulfillment, his
eyes horribly dry and his whole body in a sweat.

He wished his dreams would stop being so. . .so pornographic.

He had far too much respect for Scully to fully appreciate what he was
dreaming, and he was mortified that his unconscious desires were
manifesting themselves.

Not that what he did in those dreams wasn't beautiful, but they were
dreams, and Scully was his friend; he didn't want to feel as if he was
belittling her place in his life.

Glancing to the clock and noting the time, he realized he was about
fifteen minutes late for their dinner, and so he stood and pulled his
dress shirt back on.

She knocked on his door just as he was trying to tuck it in, so he went
over and let her in, pushing in his tails to zip up his pants.

Her eyebrows were raised as she came in, and he wanted to laugh at her
look, but merely wiggled his own eyebrows and grinned.

"Fell asleep," he said and it was the best apology she would get out of
him.

She nodded and picked up his tie, pulling it around his neck and tucking
it into his collar as he straightened his shirt.

At his look, she shrugged. "I'm starving."

He took over the knot, pushing her hands away gently, but she understood;
she liked to dress herself too, wanted the control.

He wasn't a kid, she told herself.

His next grin kind of blasted that thought out of the water, especially
when he said he wanted to go to McDonalds.

She wrinkled her nose and impatiently grabbed his tie away from his
fumbling fingers.

"Sheesh, Mulder," she muttered.

"I need a mirror."

Finishing him off, she watched him make faces, little boy faces of
annoyance and impatience.

"Mulder," she said slowly, pushing him back. "Go get your shoes on."

His lips quirked and he moved to sit on the end of the bed. "Well, I think
I'm going to have trouble tying my laces, Mommy. . ."

She rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair, giving him a look. "Mulder,
*you* overslept. I'm hungry. Get going."

He grumbled, but complied, pulling on his shoes with the laces still tied,
eliminating the need for her to act like his parent again.

They stood simultaneously and he led her to the car, explaining the merits
of McDonalds fries versus Wendy's salads, even though he knew she would
win.
~~~~

He was watching her eat and she was about ready to slap him, tell him to
stop staring at her. If he wanted to look, at least he could do it
subtlely. . .

Wait, this was Mulder.

"Problem?" she said archly.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes, sipping Coke from his straw. "Sorry.
Sleepy."

She shook her head, a way of showing 'no harm done', then snatched one of
his fries, surprised when he said nothing.

She touched his arm softly, bringing his eyes back to her face.

"Are you all right, Mulder?"

He nodded and rubbed a hand over his eyes again. 

She let it go and finished off her hamburger, watching him carefully.

"Let's go to the graveyard tonight, Scully."

She paused, mind thrown into confusion, trying desperately to understand
what he was referring to.

"Huh?"

"You have a way with words. . ."

She grabbed another fry, sneaking past the hand that darted out to
recapture it, instead letting him take a package of crackers from her.

"Why the graveyard?"

"This cult is supposedly angry about the new graveyard being integrated
into the old one here. They say it's sacred Indian ground, and that they
are related to the Powhatan and Chespeian Indians who occupied this
territory during colonial times."

"A new graveyard? Mulder, you really have to let me start reading the file
before you spring all this on me."

He grinned. "Afraid of the cemetery?"

She glared and shook her head. "I just want all the information, Mulder."

He backed off; she sounded angry for some reason.

"Let's go then," she said and picked up her tray, moving to the trash can.

As he came up beside her, she accidentally turned around right into his
chest, her nose pressed against his French blue dress shirt.

There was a long moment of stillness, where her breath wouldn't come in,
and her heart didn't beat, and her legs didn't move, and neither did he.

She struggled to capture herself, but found the close up scent of his body
something like a tranquilizer. It was that same smell from her dreams,
unperfumed, natural, a bit sweaty.

He took her upper arm gently with his hand, pulling her to the side so he
could throw away his trash, but keeping her tucked into his chest, now not
letting her move.

As he settled the tray atop the trash bin, he moved her towards the door,
broad hand still wrapped around her arm, his warmth radiating around her
skin.

She couldn't move away. . .there was something about the way her dream
melded with reality that made her incapable of denying him.

For him, it was as if two kinds of people were overlapping within him: the
one of his dreams where he would come up to her and possess her body, and
then the one that woke up feeling disgusted with his thoughts.

He couldn't *not* touch her. It was like an adhesive was keeping them so
firmly bonded, that even if he did try to pull away, she wouldn't have let
him.

At the car, the spell fell away and they parted, she moving away from his
warmth, and he shuffling to unlock the doors.

They drove to the graveyard in silence.
~~~~

Night was darker than it should have been, and their flashlights were the
dull, cheap camp kind, with a faint orange light illuminating the area.

She shivered and hunkered into his side, letting his tall form cut the
wind away from her, noting again that this was at least one thing he was
good for.

His hand led her forward, eyes peeled to find some kind of caretaker, some
owner or night watchman or something. The gate creaked under his light
touch but no one came rushing forward, so he went on through, urging
Scully before him.

She hurried to keep up with his strides, but soon found that the air was
still and sticky again, so she pulled away, investigating on her own.

She read tombstones and epitaphs that were boring and simple, both of
English colonists and Indian savages-turned Christians. The Natives had
been given English names at their baptism, but the originals were
inscribed there, confusing and drawn out, probably meaning something like
'Dances With Wolves.'

Mulder had wandered off, so she sqautted down, wiping a trickle of sweat
away from her, wondering how it could be so hot, wondering why they were
in the graveyard at night.

She turned to her right and found more graves, but these were newer,
shinier, with images of angels and prayer hands and Bibles etched into
their granite surfaces, speaking of old men, old women, and sadly enough,
stillborn babies.

Seeing another patch of older headstones, she began picking through the
names, interested at the queer sounds and odd dates. Most lived to their
forties, fifties on average, but there were cases like the little woman
before her now, lived to be 103 in the year 1776. Pretty impressive.

She must have missed her family, all her friends who had died before her,
no one around that knew her as a child.

"Scully!"

She heard her name being hissed and she turned around, startled
momentarily as Mulder's face loomed from the darkness, pasty white and
ghostlike.

He took hold of her elbow with two fingers and carted her off, pulling his
gun from his holster as he did. 

She trailed beside him, jerking her arm from his tight grasp and rubbing
the bone with indignation, about to say something when he stopped and
pointed.

"It's us," he whispered.

It was.

Two tombstones, ready to tip over, marking not graves, but memorials for
the people their families assumed were dead.

Dana K. Scully
Born February 23, 1564
Presumed Dead April 17, 1590
Roanoke

Fox W. Mulder
Born October 11, 1560
Presumed Dead April 17, 1590
Roanoke

She turned to Mulder, mouth open, eyes painfully scratchy and dry as she
blinked, then rubbed them, and tried to make it read differently.

"That's us, Scully."

She shook her head. "It's. . .nothing. Just a coincidence."

He shook his head. "Roanoke, Scully. The lost colony, the one that
vanished into thin air. John White came looking for them in 1590, and made
landfall on April 17th."

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged. "I remember. The story fascinated me as a kid, then intrigued
me later, as I waded through the beginnings of the X-Files. When I heard
we were coming up near Roanoke Island, I decided to brush up."

"This isn't us."

He only stared at her.

"It's not," she repeated, but her voice shook and her hands wouldn't stop
trembling.

"When's your birthday, Scully?"

She refused to answer, refused to play a part in his delusions.

"You were born February 23, *19*64. Exactly four hundred years to the day
of this. My brithday is also four hundered years to the day of his."

She shook her head. "This can happen, Mulder. My cousin once found her
name in a cemetery. We teased her for weeks. But it didn't mean anything."

Mulder simply watched her. "This is different than some common name with
random set of dates. This is important, this is telling us something."

Scully pulled away from him, but he saw in the panic flirting with her
eyes.

"Scully...."

"I want to go back to the motel, Mulder. Now."

He looked once to their graves, then back to her, the summer moon catching
her in silver chilled light, making her seem far away.

"All right," he said softly.
~~~~

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter Three
~~~~

When they reached their motel room doors, Mulder turned to her, his eyes
asking permission.

She looked away, denying him her company.

"Ah. . .tomorrow morning we have an interview with the leader of these
cultists," he said softly, reaching out to brush his finger along her
sleeve.

She nodded and gave him an apologetic smile. "All right, what time?"

"Nine. You want to get breakfast?"

"Sure. Eight sound good?"

He nodded and left her outside, leaning against the railing, her body
exhausted. As his door shut she closed her eyes, her memories of the
cemetery drifting back to her.

This wasn't right.

Those graves struck too closely to her, found too much of a place inside
her.

Her dreams weren't real. . .she had to keep telling herself that.

Dreams weren't real.
~~~~

Mulder pulled on his white T-shirt, unbuttoning his jeans so he could lay
down on the bed with the laptop propped against his drawn up knees.

Glancing to the news blaring across the television, he thought about her
attitude that day, the way she had seemed at once so willing, then so
resistant.

Maybe in the morning, with sleep and daylight, she'd feel better about
everything.

He began typing up the first part of his notes into the laptop, chuckling
to himself at how things had changed since they'd lost the X-Files.

*He* was doing the report.
~~~~

He was sweating hard, the drops of dirt and salt running between his
shoulder blades, and her hand reached up to scratch his back.

He groaned and turned to her, smiling, rolling his shoulders beneath her
touch.

"Thanks,"d went back to his digging, ripping through the rock hard ground
with all his strength.

Scully moved around to get in front of him again, digging with her hands
through the soil he had loosened, pushing it around and soaking it with
some of the water from the bucket slung over her shoulder.

They were trying to pick all the rocks and boulders from his field,
loosening the dirt so that when time came in the spring, they could plant
food.

So far, the Croatoan Indians had provided them with vegetables from their
own storehouses, and even game they'd managed to find on this rocky coast.

Because of the choppy seas on the way to the New World, they had made
landfall much later than intended, and they hadn't been able to find the
fifteen men who had been occupying the fort. Some of the original
colonists had made for the Bay, giving up on the settlement, talking about
curses and savages. The human skeleton they'd found bleached white on the
beach hadn't helped to inspire confidence, but John White was certain
they'd be okay.

He'd gone back to get them supplies, to gather the necessary equipment
they hadn't thought to bring.

Those fifteen men were supposed to have been there, were supposed to have
those things already. 

Instead, the remaining colonists had spent months putting together houses
and homesteads, repairing the fort and ignoring the raw ache of hunger.

He knew the Indians were helping them now, but later. . .would they be so
friendly?
~~~~

Scully wiped the sweat from her eyes and shivered as a sharp wind cut
through her.

Winter was fast approaching them, the fall days grow much colder than she
was used to, the work hard and causing her to feel faint.

The entire settlement was on rations, eating minimally, drinking purified
water from the springs running through the lands.

She was going to collapse, and she could feel it coming, but she kept
working, pushing it away, knowing that they had to get this finished soon,
before the winter came.

Mulder steadied her as she rose, catching her swaying body before she
could topple back to the ground. She gave him a reassuring smile and
hefted the protruding rock into the cart behind him.

When she straightened up again, she felt the earth spin beneath her like a
ship on stormy seas, and she crumpled to the ground.
~~~~

Mulder woke, jerking, sweating with the remembrance of heat and work, his
arms aching from the tensed postion they'd held, still able to feel her in
his arms as he carried her back to the house.

He opened his eyes, watched the moon through his window as he tried to
gather his thoughts.

His dreams were becoming hard to untangle from reality, and the feel of
her on his skin, the smell of her hair in the fall wind, was all making
him slightly off balance.

He wanted to return to his dreams, needed to know if she was all right, if
she was going to be okay.

It wasn't real, but he still felt attached to the dream, to her there.

A sudden thought made him wake, made him jump up in his bed, heart
thumping.

What if his dreams were really his subconscious trying to get him to pay
attention to Scully?

What if she was sick, shivering and pale in the motel room next to his,
calling out to him with her mind, reaching him in dreams?

Pulling himself to his feet, he ran for the door, slipping out into the
wet heat of the Virginia summer.
~~~~

She was sleeping peacefully, curled on her side, eyes flickering with
dreams, sighing softly. He watched her for a moment, then sighed at his
own stupidity.

Scully communicating to him through dreams?

Scully didn't believe in all that.

He walked back to his room, slipping back on the bed, closing his eyes.

As his body relaxed and he felt himself sliding into sleep, he
concentrated on the feel of her in his arms, the sweat of his skin
pressing against her thin cotton dress, and the feel of an autumn wind
caressing his tired body.

He wanted to fall back into that dream, wanted to find that other reality.
~~~~

When she came to, he was standing over her, touching her hair, smiling at
her.

He handed her a glass of water and threaded his fingers through her hair,
letting the thick locks trail along her neck.

"How do you feel?" he said, cocking his head.

She sighed. "I'm fine. I just haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

He gaped at her, then sighed. "Scully, it's already past dinner time. Come
on, I'll make supper for us."

She paused, unsure of how far she could let this go.

It was only a dream, right? 

She smiled. "All right. Make me dinner."

He grinned and headed for the rustic kitchen, realizing that he had no
idea what to cook.
~~~~

She wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin, then gave him a smile of
thanks, watching him take the last bite of potatoes and swallow thickly.

"So, do you need me to come by tomorrow?" she said softly, seeing the
darkness outside.

"You're not going to leave are you?"

"Well. . ."

"You can't. It's too dark."

She glared at him, noting how her dream Mulder was turning strangely into
her real life Mulder.

"I can walk the thirty paces to my house, Mulder."

They stared at each other for a moment, then he laughed. 

"Okay, sorry. Let me put it this way. Why don't you stay and keep me
company?"

She froze, heat racing to her cheeks as his lips curled, her body reacting
to the intimacy in his voice.

"Stay?"

"Just sit and talk. . .we never talk Scully."

She watched his face change, and felt a brief spike of irrationality.

Had Mulder somehow gotten in her dreams?

This man before her was the same emotionally scarred Mulder she worked
with every day, the same sorrowful looks, sleepy grins. 

The man of the field, with his sweat and work, his soft happy eyes and the
love of the sea, was gone.

She held her breath then peered at him, wondering if she was finally going
crazy.

Since when did she ever *know* she was in a dream? Since when did she
dream Mulder so real?

He came closer to her, mistaking her silence for agreement, pulled her
into his chest, leaning in close.

She inhaled his scent, earth and loam, with their dinner of steamed
potatoes and vegetables and rabbit meat, then the cloth of his work shirt,
stiff and sweaty.

She went very still and took a deep breath, her nose catching the one
scent she loved, but shouldn't be smelling, not here.

Obsession.

A perfume of her own time, their own time, not the New World, not the
Indians who traded with them. . .

She pulled back, looking at him, fear tingling in her body.

This was a dream. . .a dream.

She could do anything she wanted in a dream, could let his charm and her
need overtake her in a tidal wave of love if she wanted to.

This was a dream.

He leaned in close to her, placed his forehead against hers, running his
thumbs along her neck.

"It's okay, Scully. . ."

She felt her heart flip, her insides melt with tenderness.

He pulled her to the living room, with a large fire glowing and crackling,
pushing away the gloom of her thoughts.

They sat in the floor, warming in the light, in each other, with his arms
wrapped around her shoulders, letting her relax into him.

But she couldn't, the smell of his cologne was reaching into her dream and
pulling her out of it, pulling her back to reality.

She closed her eyes, wishing it away.
~~~~

Morning rushed in with clarity, forced open her eyes with brightness and
early hours.

"Scully?"

She gasped awake, pushed herself through her sheets and blankets, finding
cold air conditioning and Mulder's eyes staring at her.

She smelled Obsession.

With morning reality she felt dread steal over her, and she frantically
tried to recall her dream. Had she made love to him on that floor in the
New World?

His gentle smile made her shiver and she let him push her from the bed.

"It's eight thirty."

She gaped and jumped up, racing to the shower.

"I've got breakfast to go, Scully," he yelled after her, hearing a faint
thanks as she slammed the bathroom door.
~~~~

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter Four
~~~~

The man before them had dark eyes, his hair shining and spiked, dressed in
jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

He gave them a short smile, then let them sit at the table, watching them
carefully.

"Mr. Manteo?"

The man nodded, sitting back in the chair.

They had walked through the compound via an undergroung tunnel, and both
Mulder and Scully could see that it had only recently been built, the
walls sharp and raw, the floors clean and bright.

It seemed sanitary, beautiful, with trees growing in gardens, along with
rows of corn and wheat, potatoes and berries.

"What exactly is your people's position considering the plans of the city
to incorporate the cemetery with a newer one?"

Manteo tapped his fingers along the table then scooted back in his chair.

"The old graveyard is sacred, a place where our ancestors were buried and
mourned. We believe they inhabit our lives, come back in us to show us a
better way. To raze their graves, to allow this new cemetery to mix with
the dirt of our people would be profane."

"So you think this new cemetery would be fundamentally wrong?" Mulder said
softly, watching the man's reaction.

"Exactly. You understand this, right?"

Mulder turned to Scully, glancing to her notes, hinting to see if she
wanted to ask any questions.

"Mr. Manteo, who are your ancestors?" Scully jumped in.

Manteo gave her a small smile and motioned for them to follow him out the
door.

Walking along a hall painted in soft mauves and blues, Manteo led them to
another room, this one filled with windows, overlooking a field of corn
and wheat, the walls hung with paintings and writings.

"This is our history room," he said and nodded to the walls.

Scully moved in, pushing through Mulder to see these people's altar to
their past.

There were pictures painted with loving detail, a written account of
history, and tools and artifacts from their past.

She started looking, then came back to where Manteo was explaining
something to Mulder.

"This is the Roanoke colony. . ." he was saying, pointing to a drawing.

In it, some men were tall, thin,  their faces white and pale and only a
hint of red rogued their cheeks. The Indians were smaller, but muscled,
their faces soft and smiling as the white men backed away in fear.

"See, they are both our people. The Croatoan Indians took in the settlers,
and they all became one people."

"So, that's your history. The settlers didn't disappear. . ."

Manteo shook his head and then glanced to Mulder. "No. . .they did
disappear. And reappeared."

Scully's eyebrow raised as Mulder shook his head. "Mulder?"

"I'll explain later."

Manteo looked to him with a scared smile, his eyes regarding Mulder
carefully.

"Mulder?"

Looking over to Scully with a small glance, he then nodded.

"We have some Mulders here, that is why I asked. I did not think Mulder
was much of an English settler's name, but I suppose. . ."

Mulder felt his dreams resurface, felt that fresh earth under his feet and
in his hands.

"You have Mulders here?" Scully said, feeling the heat of that fireplace,
her uncertainty about what had happened afterward.

"Yes. I could let you meet the family. They're quite wonderful, so happy
and easy going. They help maintain order here, keep up a standard of rules
and laws."

"They sort of enforce the compound's ideas?" Mulder said, trotting after
the man.

"In a way. Although, I wouldn't say enforce."

Scully stared after them, then shook her head and tried to catch up.
~~~~

The woman was laughing, her smile wide and her dark hair falling down her
back.

Her children bustled around her, playing some kind of intricate game
involving tag and hide and go seek, their bodies like quicksilver.

Scully stared down at them, feeling her cheeks color as she glanced into
their faces, saw their brownish red hair, the thick lips, the long noses.

Mulders. They were Mulders.

The woman looked at her carefully, then showed her to the back room, where
their own family history was kept, displayed with reverence as was this
people's custom. She pointed out the photographs they had, the pictures of
their children, of her husband's parents, and his father's parents, and
some portraits.

"She looks a lot like you, Agent Scully," Rose said, smiling at the two
framed paintings, one of a man, obviously English, or maybe Polish,
German, something like that, and then the woman, fire hair, bright blue
eyes.

Scully felt her face pale.

With a bit of a stretch of the imagination, the woman could be her twin,
and the man, with his long nose, crooked a bit, and his long bangs, looked
precisely like Mulder.

"But it couldn't be, right? Manteo says that we are somehow related to
Agent Mulder. Wouldn't that be funny?"

Scully didn't feel it to be funny at all; she felt sick.

"How. . .how do you know these are your ancestors?"

"Oh, they're not mine. This is Matt's history, mine's in one of the rooms
upstairs. But we know our stories, Agent Scully. We all know our stories."

She looked around for Mulder, but he was talking to Matt Mulder, Rose's
husband, finding out his story. It seemed that their custom forbade them
from telling history in mixed company, so Rose had taken her to the back
to tell her privately.

"Why don't you tell me this story?" she said softly.

Rose looked at her, then glanced back to the painting and gave her a
gentle smile.

"Are you ready to hear your story?" she said.

Scully remembered the loam, the rocky earth and the smell of Obsession
when it wasn't suppsoed to be there.

"I don't think so. . .but I need to hear it."
~~~~

Rose's voice was tempered by children and love, her pitch low and
soothing, a comfort to Scully as they sat in the middle of the floor, her
jacket pushed aside.

"In the times when half of our people were wandering the earth, a great
ship came across the sea, carrying men and women who looked differently
and talked in a language that they would soon adopt. They landed on the
coast of a great and beautiful island, but there were peoples there who
did not like the differences, and they strove to tear us all apart, to
keep the halves from uniting."

Rose dropped her voice and stood, walking to a sharp musket, old and
dirty, looking as if it would fall apart if she touched it.

"They fought, the halves came together to fight the others, and the
wanderers brought the sea people food and vegetables, giving them all they
needed to make it through the winter."

Rose's face grew long and she gave a soft cry. "But it would not work.
There was not enough, and the halves fought with each other, spurning
their destiny. One day, the man of the great ship, John White, set sail
back across the sea, to find food from the land that had spit them out of
its mouth. The half said good-bye to their great man and prayed he would
return."

Scully could feel it, could be there in that time, with the fear that John
White would not come back before it was too late, knowing there were
Indians out there that could no longer help.

"Great trouble came from the Bay. The wanderers took the sea people by the
hand and hid them in the rocks, placing their protection over their other
half, not understanding why, but knowing that it must be done. The People
of the Bay stole what little food there was, and came to the Wanderers and
killed many men; there was a loud mourning over the land. The halves
decided to join together, the sea people knowing that they had no skills
in this land, and the wanderers knowing that they needed men to continue
their stories."

Scully closed her eyes, felt the fear overwhelming, the uneasy alliance
between two races that desperately needed each other.

Rose dropped her voice and crouched low to Scully, face inches apart.

"They came together, as one people, as our people, and sought the northern
hills, knowing there had to be safety for them somewhere. They knew God
would lead them to a better way."

Scully was surprised at their monotheism, but she remembered that the
settlers of the Roanoke colony were primary interested in religious
freedom for themselvs, so they would have impressed upon the natives their
own values.

Rose had stopped and Scully glanced up, eyebrows furrowed. "What happened
to them?"

"They walked with God."

She blinked and then shook her head. "What does that mean?"

Rose gazed deeply into her eyes, expecting resentment, finding courage.

"God hid them in his hands, and when the time was right, he let them come
back. He let us come back, Greatgrandmother."

Scully reared back, pushed away from the woman, spinning wildly in the
room, gazing at the pictures, the photographs.

The generations only went back to the thirties, with the grandparents,
parents, then Rose and Matt, and the huge gap where time had been lost,
where God had hidden them.

"What are you talking about?" she hissed.

Rose stood and motioned to the pictures. "I met you. . .I met you before
you died. Matt's great grandmother. You were old, ready to die, but you
wanted to hang on. . .for a while. You told me you remembered me, and that
you would be coming back. You would come back!" she said, grinning
broadly.

Scully backed away from the woman, pushing aside the hysterical panic
rising in her.

"That's not possible. You're not making any sense."

"Somehow, you are twice. You are twice in the world."

Scully moved to run, but as she whirled around, Mulder's strong hands
clasped her shoulders and held her in place.

"Scully. . ."

She shook her head and darted away from his grasp, wriggling to stop the
insanity of the room, of the place that seemed so so familiar, so home. . .

She ran through the rooms, out the door, into bright sunshine and deja vu,
then stumbled for the underground tunnel, instinctively knowing where it
was and finding her way out.

She sat in the car for a long time, then started it up and drove away.
~~~~

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter Five
~~~~

Mulder watched her run from the house, and he wondered if she were crying,
or simply in too much shock to want to understand.

Rose came up to him.

"Greatgrandmother said to give this to her. She said she would not
believe."

Mulder took the outstretched letter, seeing that Scully's name was signed
on the front, in her own handwriting. It was a little battered looking, as
if it had been carried around for days by a girl learning to play baseball
with her brothers, or climb trees with cousins, or sit out by a lake with
a boy she had fallen in love with.

"Thanks, Rose," he said softly.

Matt came up and hugged him tightly, and oddly enough, Mulder did not feel
strange in the man's swift embrace.

There was something about the place that was familiar, more so after the
history he had just witnessed, the act of God that had 'hidden' these
people for so many years, to pop them out in the thirties, ready to live,
not understanding where they were.

He wondered how he and Scully got there, back in time, so far from home.

As he walked from the compound, through the tunnel, and out to Manteo's
car, Mulder remembered his dream, remembered lying her down by the fire
and then nothing.

Were they something more in another time? Did she have these dreams too,
and that was why she was so afraid?

Manteo patted his back and drove him to the motel.
~~~~

Scully heard him come in and she straightened up, determined to be strong,
unwavering.

"I apologize for my behavior on the case, Mulder, and I can assure you
that it-"

"Scully. This is for you."

He held out the letter and she fumbled, thrown from her carefully
practiced speech into unknown territory. This had not been in the plan.

She took it with an awkward hand and looked at her name scripted across
the front.

"Rose said that Matt's greatgrandmother gave it to her to give to you
because you wouldn't believe."

Scully crumpled to the bed, hugging herself.

"Mulder. . .could you leave me alone for awhile?" she said softly, not
looking at him.

He nodded and then went to her door, fingering his key, then placing it on
the motel dresser.

"You come get me when you're ready," he said and left her alone.
~~~~

She looked at the letter, its envelope nondescript, the writing
unmistakably hers, a little loop done with the 'y' that Dana had perfected
in seventh grade. It was something she never did now, because it looked
unprofessional, but that loop was a signal to her, a piece of proof that
screamed at her so much, she could not ignore it.

She realized that if she ever had to write a letter to warn herself of
something in the future, or past, this would be a clue to draw herself in,
to make her other self notice.

Scully shivered.

She wasn't going to start believing now.

Not in something impossible.

Not in something she and Mulder had dealt with in the X-Files before,
something she herself had written a paper on.

She trembled a bit and tore open the envelope, ripping the letter out.

It shook in her hands and she carefully opened it.

It was addressed "Dear Me" and Scully felt a frantic panic rise in her,
choked by the knowledge that this could not be real.

It couldn't be.
~~~~

He heard silence for hours, and was afraid she was going to do something
crazy, something without him, and he'd be left here alone.

But then he heard her door snick open, and then his key turn in the lock.

He jumped up and met her at the door, watching her come in with silence.

She handed him the letter wordlessly, then sank to his bed, face devoid of
emotion, devoid of feeling.

"Read it," she said and closed her eyes.

~~~~
Dear Me,

I'm not going to explain the science of this, because I still sometimes
think I'm living in my dreams, and I don't know how to even start to find
physics in what happened to me.
It's strange to write a letter to myself, yet I know I have to. For my own
sanity if nothing else. I know this happened, I know this can't be a
dream. Mulder and I went back in time, and I have to warn myself of it ,
let myself make the decision to go back or not. Please talk to him,
please, please, Mulder will understand this so much better.

Of course, it all happened by accident. Kersh sent us to talk to these
people, known as the Lost Colony, because they were supposedly in a rage
about the cemetery, stockpiling weapons, etc. You already know this.
Mulder and I visited them, talked to Manteo, who was so friendly, so happy
to show us how his people were a combination of both the Roanoke settlers
and the Croatoan Indians. It's strange because, these are my people, and
Mulder and I were there when they came together to fight off the People of
the Bay, and when they led us from the island to walk with God, to be
hidden by him. We were living in caves, starting families, Mulder and I
together, and we had children. We thought a few years went by, and
suddenly, our mountain caves were getting to be old, falling down, caving
in. We ran from them and out into a world that Mulder and I recognized,
but everyone else was apalled at. I wept that day. I knew the story Manteo
had told us before all this happened, but I didn't believe it, even as we
ran to those caves. There we were, in the 1930's, hundreds of years away
from the colonies. We adapted by not adapting. We moved out here and built
a little commune, growing things as we had done in the caves, relearning
everything. Mulder and I looked up our families in the thirties, found
some pretty scary and shocking things about his father and the Project.
But those are revelations I leave to you to discover again, if you chose
to return. 

There were many good things in my life, Mulder and the children, the
sunsets over the rocks as the waves crashed in, learning to tell time by
the sun, watching my first granchild be born, learning more about Mulder
than perhaps I really wanted to know, and so much more that just can't be
named in a letter.

But there were many bad things. There was the knowledge that I'd never see
my mother again, that Mulder and I would never get the X-Files back, that
I was doomed to a life without equality of the sexes, that I could never
'go be a doctor.' We sacrificed much, and gained much, but they were
forced on us. I'm giving you the opportunity to change that, or to accept
it.

The graveyard has some kind of anchoring to the Lost colony, maybe because
the markers are there, and that was where we made our last stand against
the People of the Bay, where the Croatoans lost so many men, where our
eternities were forever joined. But Mulder and I went there on July 28th,
at ten o'clock for a protest, the moon full, and found ourselves suddenly
in another time. This is now your choice, yours and Mulder's. He didn't
want me to warn myself, he was always afraid I never really loved him,
that if I had the choice, I would run. I'm not going to run from him, am
I? But I'm not necessarily going to run back in time either. Make the
choice, the future or the past.

After all these years, I still don't know which path I would have chosen,
or will choose.

Don't worry about the Lost Colony, they make it with or without us."

Dana Katherine Scully

~~~~

She glanced to him, worrying her lip with her teeth, watching as the alarm
rolled over to one o'clock, seeing that they had just about thirty-six
hours before the full moon.

He looked up at her and then sat back, rubbing his cheek with a shaky
hand.

"How. . .what do you think?" he said softly.

She bit down on the random thoughts that wanted to flow from her lips, and
instead gave him a tired smile.

"I don't know."

"Do you love me?" he said softly.

She remembered that line. . .<afraid I never really loved him>. . .
remembered how it had taken her long hours of agonizing over that
question before finally coming to him with the letter.

"Do you think I would have let you read the letter if I didn't?" she
whispered.

He raised his eyes and fingered the edge of the paper. "I don't know."

"Do you believe it?"

He balked.

If he said he believed the letter, then that meant he believed she loved
him, and on that, he didn't know, wasn't sure of. If they'd been thrown 
to the past, which he did believe, then he would be the only one to
understand her, they would be forced together.

"I do." he said, shrugging.

"I believe it too," she said.
~~~~

She looked to the clock once more, almost twenty-four hours left; they'd
gotten the call from Manteo saying that everyone would be at a protest
rally at the cemetery, there to stop the workmen from bulldozing the older
gravesites.

Scully shivered and looked to Mulder.

He sighed again and paced the room, still unsure about the entire, thing,
wishing that her past self. . .future self. . .hadn't warned her present
self.

He understood that line better and better now, wishing to let fate take
them by the hand and lead them to their destiny.

Or was this even for them?

"Scully. . .how is it that in this possible past. . .you had children?"

She sat down in the chair across from him, fingering the hem of her shirt,
not looking directly at him.

"I don't know. Maybe it's something to do with going back in time, maybe
it has something to do with being away from this time. I . . .I have no
idea."

He closed his eyes, remembering the photographs scattered around Matt and
Rose's home, the children with bright smiles and impish looks, their
fingers curled around the hand of a woman, a beautiful red haired woman
that was Scully.

Years in the past, Scully, with children that were his.

"Do you want children, Scully?"

She glanced to him, then took a deep breath. "This decision cannot be
based on wanting children, Mulder. Not something so life changing as
this."

"Think of the lives we change by not going. Rose without her children,
Matt not even existing, the people there. . ."

"People who weren't supposed to exist in the first place. People who
didn't exist before we stumbled backwards."

He looked up at her, eyes bright. "Does that mean you don't want to go
back?"

She looked torn, wounded by his statement. "That's not what I mean. . .
I don't *know* what I mean. This experience. . .that life, it could be
wonderful, Mulder. I. . .I wouldn't mind living with you at all. . .but
that can't be what drives us."

"You mean we ignore what our feelings say and go the rational way?"

She shook her head angrily. "I don't mean it like that. Stop doing this
Mulder. I want to know what you feel about this, not have you playing
Devil's Advocate."

He shrugged. "I don't know what I feel. I'd like to have a life like that,
with you, but I need to expose the Project. It says in that letter that we
find things about the Project. . .obviously I still did nothing to stop
it. I don't want to end up that way, Scully. Tied down by old age and a
family, too afraid to stop them."

She nodded, stung by his words, but recognizing the truth in them.

He leaned back in the bed, crashing into his pillows with a sigh. It was
late and they'd spent the entire day talking about this, fighting about
physics and rationalities, disagreeing over semantics and rules.

They'd gotten nowhere.

"Scully. . .if you want this. . .I'm coming with you."

She closed her eyes, buried her head in her hands.

"Please, Mulder. Please don't put this decision entirely on my shoulders.
What if I make the wrong choice, and we're forever bitter. All you'll have
is me to blame for it."

He stood suddenly and strode to her, pulling her up with a strong arm.

"Let's forget this for now. We can go get dinner, have a good time, stop
thinking for awhile."

She gave him a slight smile, reaching up to tighten his loose necktie.

"Sure, let me go get my shoes."

He watched her leave, sweat soaked through her white T-shirt, her jeans
loose and making her seem child-like, young.

He was torn between having her forever, having her for hundreds of years
that seemed like mere months, and having her stand beside him when the
X-Files were finally their's, when the secret Project was exposed.

After everything, all the death and fear and sorrow, to walk away now. . .

And yet, to walk away, whole and alive. . .
~~~~

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter Six
~~~~

Dinner again, after another full day of last minute things, trying to
asess damages, trying to forget the decision placed before them, hoping to
come to terms with the incredulity of the story.

She watched Mulder eat, remembering her dream, thinking that if she was
only certain that the Mulder here, in this present time, would or even
could take her love, accept it, grow with it, then that would the decision
so much easier.

He bit into a hamburger, another one from Wendy's, wondering if he would
miss the taste of fast food, if he and Scully would argue about who was
supposed to cook dinner, if he would ever long for a hot shower.

Would there be days where he regretted leaving it all?

He knew there would. 

If he stayed, there would be days he would wonder if the past held a
better life for him. A life free from shadow conspiracies and bullets and
death.

A life with Scully beside him forever, if not because she loved him, then
because he was all she had.

He rubbed his fingers together, then sighed.

He really wouldn't want that kind of life, that kind of perpetual
uncertainty.

"Scully, I think we need to decide."

She nodded softly and put down her fork, her salad picked over and baked
potato merely cold and formless.

"How. . .what exactly do you think is the best idea?"

"I can't answer a question like that, Scully."

She glared at him for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

"That's like me asking you the same, Scully. It's not a fair question."

Scully picked up her fork again, then dredged it through her limp salad,
watching the honey mustard dressing coat the tongs, sluice through the
lettuce, and puddle in the bottom of the dish.

"So what is a fair question?" she said softly.

"Maybe if you asked the pros and cons."

She rolled her eyes. "That's basically what I *was* asking, Mulder."

"All right then. Pros: you, whatever knowledge we learn in the thirties,
-"

"Wait. What?"

His eyes slid up, catching her intense gaze, the half afraid, half knowing
look in her very expression. Her body was rigid, but her eyes were on
fire, and her fingers played with the fork, a nervous habit that put him
at ease.

"What?" he said back, eyes mischevious.

"The pros. What did you say?"

"Oh, remember the letter, the thirties, coming back and -"

"Mulder!"

"Ah. . ." he shrugged, wishing he hadn't let his mouth run like it had.

"What-"

"You. I said you."

"I'm a pro?"

"You're definitely not a *con*. I thought we'd established this already."

She shook her head, suddenly doubtful at the downplay of his words.

"So, am I a pro to you?" he asked, smirking.

She smiled softly, and sipped her water.

"Yes, you're definitely a pro to me, Mulder. Haven't we already
established that?"

"Hm, actually, I don't recall...."

She looked suddenly aghast, as if his words had struck something deep in
her, a pain that was recurring, festering, unforgiving.

"Mulder. . .you. . ."

He took her hand, smoothed her skin with a smile and a touch.

"I know, I was trying to lighten this a bit."

She shook her head, still feeling that maybe he didn't know, that maybe he
didn't understand.

"I need to go on more than feelings, Mulder. I need something concrete. I
mean, we don't even know how this works. We don't have the certainty that
if we do get back, we won't be killed by those Indians from the Bay. We
could get sunstroke working in those fields-"

"Fields? I don't think the letter said anything about fields. In fact, I'm
sure it didn't." Mulder's eyes darted up, his body leaned in closer.

He knew fields from dreams. . .dreams only.

"Rose must have told me. . ." she explained, getting that far away 'it's
not important' look on her face.

Mulder shook his head. "I heard everything she said. I came back there to
tell you something, but I got caught up in her story. She didn't say
anything about what the Roanoke Colony did."

Scully licked her top lip and shook her head. "That's not what's
important, Mulder-"

"I think it is. I want to know how you knew about fields."

She glared at him, going on the defensive. "How did *you* know about
fields?"

He stared right into her eyes and pushed his face in close to hers. "I
dreamed it."

The flicker of fear that shot across her eyes gave him all the answer he
knew.

They had been in the *same* dreams.

"Mul-"

"You were in my dreams!" he said.

She pointed her fork at him, shaking her head. "*You* were in *my*
dreams."

He smirked. "You admit it. You had dreams long before we even got here,
didn't you?"

She knew when she was defeated. 

"Yes," she whispered.

He gave her a sigh and shook his head, pulling her fork from her limp
fingers. "Why didn't you *tell* me, Scully?"

Her head snapped up to see him. "You didn't tell me, either, Mulder."

He bit on his bottom lip, looking into her eyes. 

"You're right. . ."

She perked up, smiled. "What was that? A little louder please."

He scowled and poked her arm with her fork, laughing when she made a face
at the smear of honey mustard dressing on her elbow.

"We worked in the field, right?" he said, nodding and looking for
confirmation.

She sighed. "Right, and I almost fainted and you took me in-"

"And  I made dinner and we sat by the fire place. . . "

He trailed away, looking to her, eyes wide.

She shook her head. "And. . .?"

He shrugged. "My dream's a bit fuzzy on that part."

She sighed. "Mine too."

He shot her a leer. "Must be censored for X-rated material."

She raised an eyebrow. "We're adults. . ."

"Consenting?" he whispered, tracing circles on the table with her fork.

She stilled his hand, fingers stealing back her utensil.

"Mulder. . ." she said softly, shaking her head.

He nodded and glanced up at her. "Cons. . ."

She straightened and stabbed her fork into her salad, leaving it there.

"Cons:  um, no hot showers. . .no civilization, no X-Files. . .such a huge
change. No Samantha, my mother isn't there, she'll freak out, your
mother's pretty sick, graveyards scare me-"

His head popped up on that one, a grin flitting across his face.
"Graveyards scare you?"

"Little bit."

He grinned and reached out to wipe the honey mustard from her arm that her
napkin hadn't managed to reach.

"I can change that," he boasted and grabbed a cold fry from his tray.

She fit her chin in her hands and looked out at the night sky, its pale
pink glow from ozone and city and smog. She wanted to see stars, but her
own stars, not those from hundreds of years ago.

But she wanted that life. . .that simplicity, not having to fear her every
move, without death leaning over her shoulder.

"Cons," he said again, and pushed back a strand of hair dangling in his
eyes. "If you get hurt, there's not much we can do in the past. . ."

She glanced to him, smiling. "If you get hurt. . ."

He shrugged. "Works both ways."

"Goes mostly your way."

"What about that chip?" he said, and fingered her neck through her hair,
rubbing his thumb along her spine.

She shivered. "Well, the letter didn't mention anything. And. . .and we
had a family, Mulder. I don't know how going back in time made that
possible, but. . .maybe it nullified whatever was done to me."

He stilled, removed his hand from her neck, glanced out the window.

"If so. . ." he started, thinking hard with a frown dancing across his
brows. "If so, then we go."

She made a noise. "What?"

"We go. If it makes that go away, then we go."

She reached out and took his hand, pulling until he looked at her. "No,
Mulder. It can't make me forget any of it. And that's what I would want,
need. I would still know what had happened, still feel those missing
months."

"But if you could have a family, Scully-"

"Mulder, we're not going because there's that chance. What if we have it
now? It doesn't matter compared to other things. Like I said earlier,
what's to keep one of us from dying suddenly?"

"A letter," he said and shrugged.

"But *I* wrote it, Mulder. You weren't there. Rose never met you. And
that's what scares me most."

His eyes came up to meet hers. "What do you mean?"

"You die. . .you die and I'm alone."

She closed her eyes, feeling irrationally frightened, sickened.

He touched her elbow and then moved his chair around so that he was
sitting right beside her, his legs mere inches from hers, his fingers
longing to reach out.

"I'd never leave you alone. . ."

She turned to him, shaking her head and leaning in to his warmth.

He embraced her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Do you want to go?" he said finally.

"Do you want to?"

He shook his head. "Your choice. Forever yours," he whispered.

She stilled, then looked up at him, dry-eyed and poised, as if his next
words would make all the difference.

"Forever mine. . .the choice. . .or you?"

He leaned in, his nose brushing hers minutely, his breath like a dizzying
wind along her lips.

"Me. . .forever."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head into his shoulder, slumping into
him in a tight ball.

"Let's. . .let's just go to the protest. . .see what happens."

He felt disappointed somehow, almost as if he wanted to see if they could
make it work here, in their own time.

As if by running, she was admitting that they'd never work under normal
circumstances.

But he wasn't complaining much. . .she hadn't pulled away. . .she hadn't
said 'oh brother' either.

"Mulder. . .I don't want to stay long."

He looked up at her in a moment of confusion.

Her face softened in that instant and her mouth darted up to glance
against his cheek.

"I don't want to go back in time, Mulder. I want our *own* time. Us.
Forever."

He grinned and stood, pulling her up and grabbing their bags of trash,
dumping her uneaten salad on his tray along with her cold baked potato.
~~~~

~~~~
Lost Colony

Chapter Seven
~~~~

It was a mass of moving bodies, of motins as smooth and soft as ancient
dances to ancient gods, but they had the feeling that these ancient ways
were no longer dead.

The Lost People slid along the ground in groups, gyrating and slinking,
like snakes or ribbons, with bright colors and beautiful dress.

They sang praises to their God, their Protector, the God that hid their
ancestors from the evil of the world, from all the history they learned
about in school, and they sang their stories with loud, melodic voices.

The graveyard was alive.

Mulder hung on the edge, watching this, feeling this rhythm in his bones,
an echo of his past meeting his future, but he knew deep down in his soul
that this was not his place.

He belonged in his own time, with the complications of a frustrating
search for the truth and a partner who alternately loved and annoyed him.

She was watching them dance, and keeping a tight reign on her urge to join
in, to let her body unfurl to the beat's seduction. The men danced around
the woman, explaining their stories in soft voices, something that only
their women could hear, no other.

Mulder leaned in close to her, his lips along her throat for a moment,
then against her ear.

"I told you my story, in the dark, but *after* the graveyard," he said,
referring to their first case, the black out in the motel, her lying on
the bed and he leaning against it as the world washed away around them.

She grinned. "And I sure did tell you some things too. . ."

"More like showed some things. You could dance like this, Scully."

She pushed against him, then crossed her arms and watched.

The men danced away and the woman began repeating stories to their
children, letting even the littler ones join in on a dance they barely
knew, but would forever become a part of them.

The children were mesmerized, moving unconsciously, their small bodies
beating out an echo rhythm that was complimentary to their parents.

Mulder was leaning forward, as if to catch a better look, the movements
like water down a drain, circling and circling and circling circling. . .

Scully felt it then, a tingling all through her.

"Mulder," she said, jerking backwards, somehow knowing.

He looked down at her.

"We have to leave now."

He looked back to the women and children, their hypnotic dancing, their
random, yet smooth rhythms.

"But-"

Scully turned her face from the dancers and looked at Mulder straight on.

"No. We have to leave *now* or we're going to be sucked into this. Mulder,
these people aren't protesting, they're *going home,* back to their own
time."

She yanked on his arm and pulled, trying to get him to follow her away
from the crowd.

But he was moving closer.

She felt a sort of panic rise in her, and she took both of his hands,
trying not to watch the dizzying movement.

"Mulder, Mulder! Come on, we have to go. Mulder. . ."

He was walking forward, shrugging off her hands. Manteo was gesturing at
him, smiling like an old friend, his eyes kind and smooth as black glass.

Scully turned away from him and stepped in front of Mulder, shaking her
head at him, wishing she was tall enough to get in his face.

"Mulder! Mulder, come on. We don't need this. . .we can go back to the
motel. . ." she pleaded, hoping the offer of something more could snap him
out of it.

He was noble enough to be indignant at such a remark, but it got no rise
from him this time.

"Mulder, please. . .we need to leave now."

He held out his hand to Manteo, but Scully grabbed it and clutched it
tightly.

"Mulder, don't make me shoot you."

She felt a hand at her elbow and turned to find they were right on the
edge of the circle, Manteo smiling at her and pulling her soul into his
eyes.

She stifled the urge to scream and barrelled into Mulder as hard as she
could.

He gasped and finally looked down at her.

She grabbed his face before he could look away.

"Mulder. Mulder, look at me. Don't look away."

His eyes glanced to her, but then began to stray.

"Mulder! If you. . .oh, God, please. . ."

He was struggling against her,  almost as if the hypnotic movement of the
cirlce made him too weak to fight her.

"Mulder, stop, please."

She pushed him back a few steps and felt hope surface in her again, his
eyes trailing down to look at her.

She touched his cheek and raised on her toes to kiss the hollow of his
chest, pushing him back as she did.

He went a bit easier, and then stopped.

"Scully. . .come on. . .let's go."

She felt the tension drain and she turned to find their car, but when she
moved, he pushed his way back to the circle.

Feeling panic rise in her, she ran back to him, grabbing his arm and
tugging harder, pulling with all her might and suceeding in dragging him
backward.

He glanced to her, confusion so clear in his eyes that he almost seemed
hurt.

"Mulder, if you care anything for me. . .don't go. Don't leave me alone."

His eyes tore away from the crowd to look at her, as if a spell had been
broken.

He shuddered and rasped in a breath, then grabbed her into a hug, closing
his eyes tightly.

She backed away, pulling him with her, not letting his eyes leave hers for
a second.

When they got to the car, he threw up in the grass, leaning on his hands
and gasping, then tried to catch his breath.

Coming up behind him, she stroked his forehead, then pushed away an errant
strand of hair.

"Are you okay?" she said softly.

He nodded. "I wonder if that's how it happened before. . ."

She shrugged and then shivered. "You mean, did they coerce me into writing
that letter, did they do something to you to make me write that so that
we'd come out here?"

"Or did they get into our heads from so far away. . .give us those 
dreams. . ."

"How?" she whispered, kissing his forehead as he breathed in the cold
night air.

"Same way they practically overrode all my good sense. . ."

"A form of hypnotism? When exactly did you start dreaming about this
Mulder?"

He shrugged, not feeling well enough to articulate. 

"Because I can't pinpoint the exact moment. . .before or after we learned
of this new case. And how is it that the moment before the fireplace is
lost to our memory while everything else is so clear?"

He nodded and then leaned against her wearily, using her body as a prop.

"I'm just going to lie here and listen to you talk. . .all right?" he said
softly.

"Mulder. . .let's get out of here."

He nodded again and let her lead him to the passenger seat of the car, too
exhausted to move on his own.
~~~~

When she came back inside his motel room, he was asleep, curled on his
side with her sweatshirt clutched in one fist, his breathing regular.

She smiled and put his can of orange juice in the little fridge, then
opened her own Sprite with a thumb.

The noise made him jump and he looked over at her with bleary eyes.

"How long have I been asleep?"

She came to sit beside him. "About five minutes. Orange juice's in the
fridge."

He stood and grabbed it, then opened the top with a twist of his wrist.

Gulping down the acidic liquid, he felt better for it, and sat down next
to her.

"How ya feeling?" she said softly, and reached up to see if he still had a
fever.

He waylaid her hand and kissed it softly.

"Much better I see," she murmured and shook her head.

With a groan he laid back down on his bed, still weary. Scully placed her
Sprite on the floor.

"Anymore than that and you'll have to carry me to the car tomorrow."

She grinnned and pushed back on the bed, then ran her hands down his
chest.

"Oh. . .that's too bad. . ."

He growled. "That's not funny woman."

With a raised eyebrow she leaned over and peered into his face, smirking.

"Turn over and I'll rub your back."

He mumbled something but complied, issueing a soft sigh when her tiny
hands met the rigid muscles of his back.

"Why do I feel like I've been trampled by angry stallions?" he whined.

She shook her head. "You scared me, Mulder."

He moved his head to see her, catching only a glimpse of her legs and her
stomach.

"*I* scared me. It was like I couldn't find my body, and when I did, it
took such a huge effort to climb back in and regain control. . .much more
frightening than with Modell."

She probed and pushed on his muscles in silence for about twenty minutes,
then sighed and sprawled against his back, her hands tired.

Looking at his face, she saw he was asleep again, eyes smooth and without
dreams.

She closed her own eyes and hoped to meet him there. . .in a place without
dreams.
~~~~

end
adios
RM