Hi Everyone! This is my first fic, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. The next couple of chapters should be up soon. I hope you enjoy!
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"Mulder, remind me why we're getting involved in this case," Scully moaned as she stretched her aching muscles within the confines of the car. They were driving to New Orleans, and were only three hours into the trip. "I mean, what's the use of a schizophrenic? That's something for the local mental institution and a good psychiatrist. How on earth does a man who believes he's a pirate from the 17th century help us?"
" A man shows up in the outskirts of New Orleans, with a complete knowledge of the Caribbean, his clothing and weapons authentic of the time period, not a stitch on him a replica, and he has absolutely no knowledge of modern culture. I think he's the real deal, Scully. I think he fell victim to the Bermuda Triangle."
"Mulder!" Scully rolled her eyes.
"Scully, c'mon. Did you even read the file? "
"No," she dryly responded." I don't even bother anymore. I figure all I have to do is sit by and disagree with whatever you say." In fact she had read the file, several times actually, mostly because the picture of the man had been so haunting. He appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties; slim build, with long, dark hair that had been matted from years of neglect. He was an attractive man; his skin weathered and tan, not unlike many sailors she knew. She had to admit that the obvious terror in his eyes was suspicious, as though he had no clue what a camera was. Because of this she had wanted to meet the man, but had wondered what fascination he held for Mulder.
The fourteen hour drive felt like an eternity, and Scully was actually relieve when they pulled up to the old, dingy motel. The moment she stepped out of the car her clothes began stick to her and her titian hair plastered itself to her face. She proceeded to remove their luggage from the car as Mulder checked them in. He returned moments later, keys in hand, sporting a sour look.
"Rooms 13 and , but all the connecting rooms were taken."
"Whatever shall I do?" Scully retorted, snatching a key from the sullen man, and making her way to room 17.
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Mulder stood in the oil stained parking lot, bemused by the day's events. What had he done this time? He had become accustomed to Scully's anger, although normally it was the result of an insensitive act on his behalf. He had been nice all day long, and despite their routine bicker over the validity of the case, he had not provoked her. Even when they had stopped for something to eat roughly half way through the trip, Scully remained distance and cool. Hopefully she was just tired from the trip. Such a monotonous trip would make anyone cranky. Unfortunately, she had no time to sleep it off; they were to meet the potential x-file in less than an hour.
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