From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
   =====o============================o=====   
   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 43  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
   =====o============================o=====   
      
   House Derwbryn   
   Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales   
   Friday, July 24, 1998   
   7:03 pm   
      
   "Nic, they need to eat something." The brunette astronomer was loading two   
   plates with poached fillets of weir-raised Dee salmon, sauteed asparagus,   
   minted peas, and herbed pearled barley with onions. "They can't work all the   
   time."   
      
   The balding Montanan huffed through his mustache. "Yeah, I'll get that brown   
   bread and some of the herbed butter. Putting on pound or two would help them   
   both. Scully's always been a little thing, and she lost a lot of weight   
   between her ordeal and    
   recovery. The Chief, well, he's a string bean. That and some chilled water   
   should set them up nicely for tonight."   
      
   The former partners walked side-by-side to the study. Nichols knocked, but, at   
   the silence, exchanged a frown with the triathlete.   
      
   "Guys!" She leaned against the door. "Open up!"   
      
   There was no sound from inside, so the ASAC turned the knob. Dana Scully was   
   still flat on her back on the chaise, under a woolen blanket, thick with brown   
   and black fibers, that covered her from her chin to past her sock-clad feet.   
   Her walking shoes had    
   remained where they fell when she heeled them off in her exhaustion, on the   
   oak floorboards by the open end of the lounge. One arm, only, was exposed. It   
   dropped straight to the floor, where the hand rested, supine, the fingers all   
   cocked at odd angles,    
   on a muscled shoulder. Fox Mulder was sprawled, face down, on the oval red   
   Afghan carpet, tightly gripping a white bolster to prop his head up slightly,   
   another thick woolen cover twisted from between his legs up over his spine to   
   partly cover his face.   
      
   "He can't be comfortable like that." The gravel was hoarse with sympathy. He   
   knelt beside the lean form, then reached for the agent's back. "Hey, Chief."   
      
   The long limbs stretched, then the dark-haired man pushed himself up on his   
   elbows. "Hey." He pulled himself up until he was sitting, straight-legged, his   
   spine against the chaise. "What time is it?" He was twisting to tuck his   
   partner's arm back under    
   the coverlet as he spoke.   
      
   "Dinner-time, Mulder." Rosen held up the two plates.   
      
   With a lop-sided grin, he wiggled the side of an index finger against the tip   
   of his partner's nose. "Room service, G-woman. Up and at'em."   
      
   She shifted, then blinked herself awake. "Oh, no." She pulled herself into a   
   wobbly slump with a grunt. "I slept too long." She checked out the window over   
   the chaise. "It's getting dark. We have too much to do." She tried swinging   
   her feet to the floor,    
   but pulled them back up to the cushions when her toes contacted the tall   
   agent's tight abdomen. "Sorry, Mulder."   
      
   He was sliding the wool back over her legs as he scanned her drawn face. "For   
   what?"   
      
   "Ow." She attempted a stretch, but the still-healing injuries had protested   
   the sudden movements as she looked up. "Nichols? Rosen? You're back?"   
      
   "Scully, it's okay. We brought food." The balding Montanan slid off the linen   
   tucked over the bread, letting the warm scent of sage and leeks waft toward   
   them. "Take your time getting yourselves up. We'll just set dinner and your   
   water on the worktable    
   here, so you two can eat when you're ready."   
      
   Rosen glanced at her former partner. "There's a delightful apple tart for   
   dessert when you're done, and some homemade cinnamon ice cream. Nic and I   
   waited so we could share it with you. We'll be back in about a half an hour.   
   That way it won't melt while    
   we're discussing what you two have uncovered." They began setting out the   
   plates, silverware, and glasses.   
      
   Scully slid shakily to her feet. "Mulder? You spent the afternoon on the   
   floor? That armchair looked quite comfortable."   
      
   He was standing and stretching. "It was occupied by an ap Gwinn, Doctor."   
      
   "Oh?" She was eyeing her shoes, but decided they were too much trouble in this   
   warm, comfortable room. "Dafydd was here? Why didn't you wake me?"   
      
   He met her gaze. He considered explaining the ap Gwinn was Ieuan, who had   
   bent, smiling and nodding, into her sleeping face as her partner's long   
   fingers tucked the blanket gently over and around her. Ieuan had reached out,   
   attempting to stroke her gauze-   
   wrapped forehead, but the agent had waved the translucent hand away. The   
   specter had straightened, then patted the dark-haired man on the shoulder,   
   which left his arm tingling slightly. Finally, the former Cymru had taken the   
   chair as Mulder had    
   stretched out on the Afghan rug. But, the grey under her eyes told him she was   
   up to hearing none of that, nor was he himself prepared for the ensuing heated   
   discussion, so he settled for the gentlest of tweaks. "Besides, Sam always   
   stays close to Master    
   Frodo." His eyebrows canted gleefully at her subdued, yet laser-focused glare.   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Wilton Residence   
   La Jolla, CA   
   Saturday, July 25, 1998   
   4:12 pm   
      
   Sandra Miller shoved her transplanting spade into the soil with both hands.   
   Judy was no gardener; she herself had been too busy with papers, then the trip   
   to Santorini, to attend these beds. {No time like the present.} She hated   
   Bermuda grass. The long    
   runners had almost defeated her own herb gardens, especially around the   
   perennials, whose roots she hated to disturb. To kill them utterly would mean   
   ripping up most of Judy's yard, which would mean hiring professionals. That   
   the blonde professor would    
   never agree to, since she was down to her salary only, which had to cover all   
   her living expenses while socking something away for retirement, little by   
   little. {So, best to just try to finish getting this bed clear, perhaps put   
   out some weed block, with    
   deep edging.}   
      
   "Sandie?" The slight woman was standing behind her.   
      
   Sandra twisted, shading her face with her canvas-gloved hand. "Judy, what's   
   up?"   
      
   The blonde professor plopped onto the grass with an oof, then offered a   
   hesitant smile. "We haven't had a chance to talk about Santorini, and you've   
   been out here all day working for me."   
      
   The chestnut-haired woman shifted to sit beside her friend. "Did you mean the   
   Minoan sites, or my family?" She pulled off the gloves to drop them on the   
   ground beside her.   
      
   Judy wrapped her arms around her knees. "Both, actually."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)