From: ckelll@hotmail.com   
      
   Title:   Moongate   
   Author: Kel and Michelle Kiefer   
   Email: ckelll@hotmail.com   
          msk1024@yahoo.com   
   Category:  Pre-XF   
   Rating: R   
   Archive:  Just ask.   
   Disclaimer:  Not ours.  Sigh.   
   Summary: Bermuda, 1965. Two women, two men.   
            Two sons, one father.   
      
   Authors' Notes: This story would not have been possible without the help   
   of many wonderful people. Thanks to Joann Humby and Linda for advice.   
   Thanks to Syntax6 for her wonderful beta and support and to MaybeAmanda   
   who always has fabulous suggestions and an eagle eye. And special thanks   
   to Marasmus. She was the drill instructor who took in our aimless young   
   story   
   and gave it a sense of direction.   
      
   We both had a lot of fun reliving 1965. No cable TV, no VCRs, no   
   mousse, no microwaves, no Velcro.   
      
   But that was okay. We had the Beatles.   
      
   Teena Mulder and Cassandra Spender were beautiful young wives back then, and   
   their husbands were men on the move. What could be more glamorous than a   
   weekend in Bermuda?   
      
      
      
   Moongate   
      
   The sand on Bermuda's beaches was pink.  She'd   
   thought it was just her husband's advertising ploy to   
   get her to come here, but, truly, the sand was pink.   
   Craig told her its hue came from the red skeletons of   
   the coral.  How ghastly and yet how incredibly   
   appropriate.   
      
   Cassandra had been surprised that Craig had   
   felt the need to talk her into this trip.  They both   
   knew their roles, and hers was to do as she was told.   
   Apparently, he needed her along but in a cooperative   
   frame of mind.   
      
   Bringing her cigarette to her lips, she took a long,   
   satisfying drag.  As she exhaled, the ocean breeze   
   stole the smoke, carrying it out over the sand.  The   
   water had always calmed her, centered her with its   
   elemental pull.  But these days, nothing--not the   
   sound of the seabirds, not the endless march of the   
   waves upon the shore--could relieve the constant   
   edge of anxiety that burned in her stomach.   
      
   She hid her fears from Craig.  He considered   
   fear a weakness, tolerated no frailty.   
      
   This weekend conference at the Moongate Inn was   
   putting a monumental strain on her already frayed   
   nerves.  The bungalows had two bedrooms and two   
   baths each, along with a lounge, dining room and   
   small kitchen and housed two couples comfortably.   
   Unless the other couple was the Mulders.   
      
   She was out here because Teena Mulder, pregnant with   
   her second child, couldn't stand the smell of cigarettes.   
   Even Craig cooperated, stepping out onto the veranda   
   when he needed a smoke.   
      
   Cassandra couldn't remember the last time her husband   
   had been considerate of another's comfort.   
      
   Reluctantly, Cassandra inhaled one last time.  She'd   
   been out here too long for a quick smoke, but the truth   
   was, the atmosphere in the bungalow was uncomfortable.   
   Something was in the air--almost an electrical charge.   
      
   Maybe it was the incredible competition that existed   
   between Craig and Bill Mulder, but it felt as if   
   positive and negative ions were crackling against   
   each other when they were in the room.   
      
   More likely, the source of the disturbance was Teena   
   Mulder.  She disarmed men with her doe-eyed beauty,   
   but Cassandra wasn't fooled.  Teena's luminous brown   
   eyes surveyed her surroundings with a shrewdness that   
   would make Machiavelli weep with joy.   
      
   Pinching the cigarette butt to extinguish it, she   
   turned and walked back to the bungalow.  Sand gave   
   way to manicured lawn and brick path.  Cassandra   
   passed under the moongate to enter the garden.   
   Bermuda was dotted with these circle-shaped stone   
   arches.  The one that lent its name to the resort   
   looked very old, the stones weathered by the wind.   
      
   The car was gone from the driveway.  She still   
   marveled at the car.  The only vehicles that   
   visitors to Bermuda could rent were bicycles or   
   motorbikes.  Tourists zipped around or peddled   
   around or took taxis, but Craig had obtained a   
   large black sedan with air conditioning and   
   power-steering.   
      
   Pushing the door open, she stepped into the kitchen   
   and surveyed the remains of breakfast on the counter   
   and table.  Though lunch and dinner had been eaten out,   
   the two couples had eaten breakfast at the bungalow.   
      
   Mornings were apparently not kind to Teena, and   
   Cassandra found herself doing the lion's share of   
   cooking.  Judging from the fact that she hadn't   
   needed to bolt from the breakfast table, Teena   
   seemed to be feeling a little better this morning.   
   Cassandra had hoped the kitchen would be tidied up   
   when she got back from her morning smoke.   
      
   As she gazed around the room, though, Cassandra   
   saw that the butter still sat on the kitchen table,   
   its edges blurred from the warm air.  Toast crumbs   
   dotted the placemats and a blood red jelly smear   
   marked the white formica.   
      
   "Is it getting hot out?" Teena asked from the hall.   
   She was wearing a blue terrycloth beach cover, her   
   arms and legs bare.  She was five months along, but   
   barely showing, her body as trim and firm as   
   it had been the first time Cassandra had seen her.   
      
   "Not too bad," Cassandra said as she began to   
   stack the dirty dishes.  "There's still a nice   
   breeze.  Craig and Bill went out?"   
      
   "They all went to the golf course," Teena   
   answered.   "Sorry I didn't get a chance to tidy   
   up in here. I was feeling a little nauseous.   
   Damn morning sickness."   
      
   "Maybe you should rest," Cassandra said, crossing   
   to the sink with the dishes.  She placed them in   
   the dishpan and turned on the water.  "It won't   
   take long to wash these up."   
      
   She was grateful to have something to do.  Keeping   
   busy was a way to quiet the jangling of her nerves.   
   All the time for "relaxation" this weekend had had   
   the opposite effect on her.   
      
   "I think you're right," Teena said.  "I'm going to   
   lie in the sun for a while."   
      
   "Enjoy yourself," Cassandra said as she covered the   
   butter dish and put it and the jelly back in the   
   refrigerator.  She brought the frying pan over to   
   the sink and filled it with hot soapy water, watching   
   the bits of fried egg swirl around amid the suds.   
      
   The breeze lifted the curtains over the sink, cooling   
   Cassandra's warm face.  She watched Teena move along   
   the brick path and down the steps toward the beach.   
      
   ************   
      
   Bill presented it as an invitation, but she knew   
   better.  It was a summons.   
      
   "You need a vacation, Teena.  You're exhausted all   
   the time and you're white as a ghost."   
      
   Her husband spoke about days on the beach and nights   
   dancing under the stars.  A break from the constant   
   demands of a small child, a chance for some   
   sophisticated adult company.   
      
   As if she'd rather rub elbows with shady men and   
   their timid women than take care of her own son.   
      
   Bill used the same approach with their little boy.   
   Fox was big enough now for a sleep-over with his best   
   friend.  Wouldn't that be fun?   
      
   Fox grew very serious, and Teena knew he was going   
   to balk.   
      
   "Daddy, did you forget?  I'm the one who gets Mommy   
   her vitamins."   
      
   Bill smiled.   
      
   "Tell you what, son.  I'll bring Mommy her   
   vitamins, okay?"   
      
   "I get the crackers and the washcloth for her head."   
      
   "*I'll* take care of Mommy.  You need to be a big boy   
   and stay at Chip's house so Mommy can get a nice rest,"   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)