Title: Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water 16/17
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing
each other first?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Epilogue Part 2
Dana Scully peered at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. It seemed that
no amount of concealer, foundation, or powder was going to completely cover the
prominent purple bruise on her left temple. A liberal dose of make-up had
managed to reduce it to a pinkish-blue spot, but it still remained perfectly
obvious. She reminded herself that it was still far more attractive than
plastering a big band-aid on her forehead. And it was not as though her dinner
companion did not know how she had received it. Hell, he had been there with her
at the time--if not by her side then at least in the general vicinity.
She should, she realized, wear it now as a badge of honor--a testament to the
hell she had been forced to endure, and which she had managed to survive
otherwise relatively unscathed.
Hmm. Why was it that cuts and bruises and even scars actually made a man appear
more attractive, whereas they were instead a source of embarrassment or shame
for a woman? she wondered. Another of society's socially-constructed double
standards, she realized with a sigh.
She consoled herself in the fact that the rest of her attire would hopefully
distract her companion's attention from the one small blemish. Taking a few
steps back, she stared at her image in the full-length mirror. She had packed
this dress on a whim, but was now certainly glad that she had. A pale mint
green, its spaghetti-straps and low-cut bodice revealed just enough creamy-white
skin to tantalize. The tube dress hugged her body discretely, nonetheless
accentuating her slim waist and sweeping curves. She was thankful not only that
it was ankle-length, but also that the long slit was up the back and not the
side, thus concealing the numerous scrapes, scratches, and bruises her legs had
received during her recent adventure. A pair of heeled sandals completed the
outfit; with such a tall date, she was definitely going to need the added
height.
Applying a liberal dose of perfume to her wrists and neck as well as to a couple
of other strategic places, she felt satisfied with her appearance. A quick
glance at her watch revealed that she had better get moving if she were going to
be on time. She pulled on a matching lacy-knit short-cropped sweater, grabbed
her purse, and headed out the hotel room door toward the elevator.
A few minutes later, she stepped out into the hotel lobby. As she headed for the
lounge, she found herself admiring the ornate beauty that surrounded her. Light
from the fading sun flooded through the sweeping glass panels that stretched
from ceiling to floor, revealing a breathtaking view of the deep blue ocean and
white sands outside. Armchairs and plump sofas upholstered in fine leather were
scattered about. Lush tropical flowers and palms dotted the marble floor, along
with glass screens decorated with frosted floral designs. Being put up in
Robinson's hotel here in Maui was definitely a treat, especially after all the
seedy dumps she and Mulder had stayed in over the years. She could definitely
get used to this kind of luxury. The things one could do with an unlimited
expense account. . . .
Entering the lounge, she scanned the room. There were some businessmen on a
couch talking, a couple seated by the window, a man in an arm chair by the far
wall, another couple standing by--
She did a double-take and glanced back at the man who sat in the overstuffed
chair, leafingthrough a magazine. Lord, she had not even recognized him. When he
had come to visit her in the hospital, he had been dressed casually and had not
even bothered to shave. The man she saw now appeared to be another person
entirely. She found herself staring at him, feet suddenly plastered to the
floor. Her heart had sped up enormously, and she feared it was so loud it must
be echoing in the room.
She could not remember the last time she had felt this nervous. Hell, she could
barely remember the last time she had been on a date. Discounting that entire Ed
Jerse fiasco, it had been more years than she cared to recall. She had almost
forgotten the delicious tingle of anticipation before the initial greeting. It
was new, it was exciting, it was just what she needed to forget--
At that moment, he caught her eye. Smiling, he put down the magazine and started
to rise.
*Well, here goes nothin',* Dana thought. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the
room to meet him.
As she approached, she saw how his eyes moved slowly down her body--assessing
her, she realized. Well, she must have passed the test, because it elicited
quite a reaction. He grinned broadly, and she was struck by how much that
gesture changed his face and lightened his features. His deep blue eyes danced
with pleasure. And she noticed now--probably because this was the first
opportunity she had to see him clean-shaven--the huge dimples that appeared
whenever he smiled. Ever since she was a teenager, she had always been a sucker
for a big pair of dimples.
"Hello, Commander," she said in greeting.
"Agent Scully," he replied.
At the same time he was appraising her, she took in his appearance as well. He
was dressed semi-casually: black jeans, white button-down shirt, black vest. He
really was a big man, powerfully built. Even with the civilian attire, his well-
kept physique was evident. Though not too tight, the shirt obviously covered a
broad chest and well-sculpted arms. And even with her nearly three-inch heels,
Dana barely came to his shoulder.
Normally, she would find such a presence intimidating, would feel a little
unsettled standing so close to him. But not with this man. For some reason, she
felt at ease with him. He made her feel safe, comfortable. It had been a long
time since a man had been able to make her feel that way. Longer still that she
had allowed it. Too long, she realized.
She also realized how silly their using formal titles sounded. They had spent
countless hours alone together in close quarters, trapped in a cave. They had
been forced to work together closely in order to survive the experience--which
included her having to use his body as a ladder in order to help save them from
falling. They had huddled together in one another's arms to avoid hypothermia.
He had given her CPR and saved her life. Surely, that meant they were beyond
this and ready to be on more familiar terms.
"Please, call me Dana."
He smiled. There were those damned dimples again. She felt almost weak in the
knees.
"Only if you call me Mark."
"Deal."
"You look beautiful, Dana."
"Thank you. You're looking mighty good there yourself, Mark."
"Never would'a thought I could clean up so well, huh?"
"Well, considering I was the one who took a bath in bat guano, I really
shouldn't judge."
"I've always admired women who aren't afraid to get a little dirty in order to
get the job done."
"The stories I could tell you. . . ."
"Well, Dana, the night is young. There'll be plenty of time for you to tell me
all about them. Oh, I almost forgot--" He carefully reached into the inner
pocket of his vest and revealed a lavender, long-petaled tropical orchid. "This
is for you."
Dana could not help but gasp at the sight of the exquisite blossom. "Oh, Mark,
it's absolutely gorgeous."
She started to reach for it, but he quickly pulled it away. She looked up at him
in confusion, not understanding what it was she had done wrong.
"This type of flower was meant to decorate, to show off the superior beauty of
the wearer. Would you mind--?" he asked, beginning to move his hand toward her
head. She was a little taken aback, but at the same t ime quite flattered. She
nodded for him to go ahead.
With nothing but gentleness, he pushed the stem into her hair and tucked it
behind her ear. The awareness of his light touch on her bare flesh created a
warm reaction, deep in her core, that slowly began to spread to her extremities.
"How's it look?" she asked him.
"Beautiful. So, you hungry, Dana?"
"Yes. Did you have a place in mind for dinner?"
"Do you like Japanese?"
"I've only had it a few times, but I've always enjoyed it. Do you know a good
restaurant around here?"
"One of the best there is."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
"Great." He held out his arm in a chivalrous gesture. With a smile, she slipped
her hand into the crook of his elbow, happily anticipating what she was sure
would prove to be a delightful evening.
*****
"I hope you don't mind going the traditional route," Mark said as he held the
door of the restaurant open for her.
"Well, I know how to use chopsticks, if that's what you mean," she replied.
He laughed softly. "No, actually, I was referring to the arrangement of the
restaurant--more specifically, the tables."
As she stepped inside, Dana felt as though she had been transported to another
world. Gentle music filled the air, instantly relaxing her. Amidst the soothing
low lighting, she looked at the numerous decorations: large paper rice screens,
paper lanterns, ornamental fans, paintings with brush-stroked characters that
hung on the walls. On the opposite end of the room, a chef stood behind a
counter, chopping vegetables. As she glanced around at the patrons who filled
the restaurant, she realized what Mark had meant by "traditional": they were all
sitting on the floor.
"It's the Japanese custom for dining," he explained. "There are mats and
cushions. Dana, if you're not comfortable with it, we can go--"
"No, no, this is fine. It's great." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Hey, if
we're going to eat Japanese food, we might as well get the full cultural
experience, right?"
"Exactly."
"Irasshai mase! Welcome," a hostess said as she came over. She was dressed in an
exquisite jade green kimono embroidered with flowers and birds, along with a
darker green obi--a wide sash that was wrapped around her waist and fastened in
back. Her hair was done up in a bun, in which was placed a pair of decorative
sticks from which dangled ornaments of birds. On her feet were a pair of white
silk tabi and a beautiful pair of zori, or lacquered sandals.
Mark indicated that they needed a table for two. "Uhm, Dana, there's one other
custom we're going to have to observe before we can sit down. . . ."
She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He did not reply, however; merely
averted his eyes. She followed his gaze downward to her feet.
A few minutes later, the hostess had led them to a raised cubicle in the far
corner of the restaurant behind a sliding paper rice door. Mark removed his
shoes, and Dana followed suit, slipping out of her sandals. She padded across a
woven reed mat to where one of two thin cushions lay before a table.
As she slowly lowered herself to the cushioned floor, she was unsuccessful in
trying to bite back a small moan.
About to sit down, Mark looked at her, concern filling his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm still a little sore from our cave adventure. I seem to keep
discovering new bruises all the time."
"I know what you mean," he chuckled as he seated himself across from her. "I
think some of my bruises have bruises."
"I'm just glad I can move my arms. They've been really sore from all that
climbing I had to do. I think you're going to have to give me some exercise
pointers so I can get in better shape."
"You're already in excellent shape, Dana. But if you ever want to tone up a bit,
we could always work out together. The great thing I've discovered about
exercise is that there're so many other ways to do it than just going to the gym
or for a run."
"Like sports, you mean?"
"Yeah, I do play a lot of sports. But I also like to go hiking, rappelling,
mountain climbing. Skiing, surfing, sailing. Basically, anything that gets me
outdoors."
"I can't remember the last time I've been sailing."
"Too bad we don't have more time here. The Pacific is wonderful, and these
islands are beautiful. But, hey, when we get back to the states, we should go
sailing sometime."
"I'd like that."
He smiled at her, and she could not help but return the gesture.
"So," she said, picking up her menu, "what do you recommend?"
"Well, I was thinking we could go with some sushi. . . ."
"Raw fish, huh?" The mild displeasure in her voice was obvious.
"Ever had it before?"
She shook her head. "I think the doctor in me just has an aversion to eating raw
meat."
"Well, I've had it dozens of times, and I'm still here. But I want you to enjoy
dinner, so if you're not comfortable--"
"No, that's okay. I feel like tonight's a night for trying new things, taking
chances. I'll try some."
"Great. We'll get some different types. I'll also order some California rolls,
which have crab meat and avocado. You like soup?"
"Sure."
"Konichi-wa," said the waitress, giving a small bow as she came over to the
table with a teapot and poured them each a cup of green tea. She, too, wore a
beautiful kimono: hers was pale blue, and decorated with the pattern of rolling
waves on the ocean.
"Konichi-wa," Mark replied. Then he said something to her in Japanese, and she
laughed.
Before Dana had the chance to speak, Mark began to place their order in
Japanese. "Chuumon o onegai shimasu . . ." he began, glancing down at the menu.
To Dana's untrained ear, his inflection sounded like that of a native speaker.
All she could make out were the words "miso," "sushi," "fugu," and "sake".
With a small bow, the waitress took their menus and left.
"I didn't realize you could speak Japanese," Dana remarked. "That was quite
impressive."
"Well, with all the places I've been, I've managed to pick up some phrases here
and there."
"That sounded like more than picking up a few phrases. Your accent was
impeccable."
"I've always been good with languages," he admitted.
"How many do you speak?"
He looked skyward a moment, considering. "Japanese. Some Chinese. French.
Spanish. A bit of Portuguese. Some Italian. A touch of Russian."
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
"Genug zum vorbei Erhalten, fraulein. Sind Sie flieúend?"
"Ich erlernte etwas Deutsches in der Universitat." I learned some German in
university.
The waitress returned with a teapot and two small tea cups.
"Arigatou gozaimasu," Mark said. "Do you drink sake?" he asked
Dana.
"I've actually never had it before."
"It's a bit strong," he warned her, "but quite good. Shall I pour you some?"
"Sure." He handed her one of the small cups of warm rice wine.
"I suggest drinking it in small sips," he warned her. "It's pretty strong."
She nodded. "Should we make about a toast?"
"Sure. How about . . . 'to new friends'?"
"To new friends," she agreed, gently clinking her cup to his. As she lifted it
closer, the first thing she noticed was the powerful, almost herbal scent that
assailed her sinuses. When Dana took a cautious sip, she was surprised that the
flavor was not sweet, as she had expected, but instead tasted more like hot
vodka. It burned going down, much as she remembered her last experience with
whiskey.
"Well?" Mark asked. He had already drained his cup, and was seemingly unaffected
by the experience. And why should he be? she realized. Given his background,
this was probably like drinking water. Hell, he could probably drink half the
men in the Navy under the table and not even get a buzz.
"It's got bite, that's for sure," Dana managed to say.
"More?" he asked her, even as he refilled his own glass.
"Why, Mark, are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Now, what sort of impression would that give?" He downed a second cupful in a
few quick swallows. "Nah. I usually don't try that till the second date." He
filled his glass and offered her again.
Dana shook her head. "I think I'll nurse this one for a while," she replied,
taking a sip of her tea. "So, how is Robbins doing?"
"Feeling no pain, that's for sure, the way they've got him doped up. He was in
surgery over nine hours. They said that because of the huge risk of infection,
they couldn't put any rods, plates, or screws inside his leg, since it could
spread the infection. So they stuck the metal on the outside instead. He's got
all these pins sticking out of his leg, attached to these metal rods."
"An external fixator?"
Mark nodded. "It's one hell of a massive contraption. Plus, he had to have a
fasciotomy. Because of the vascular injury, they were worried he might develop
some sort of complication . . . what did they call it? . . . Compartment
syndrome, I think. The way it was explained to me, they needed to alleviate the
pressure in his leg to prevent any additional damage to his muscles and nerves.
Now, they're just waiting for some of the swelling to go down, and then they'll
close it up. They want to keep him another couple of days after that surgery to
monitor the healing. If he continues to improve afterwards, then they said we
can move him--transfer him to a stateside hospital."
"So there are no signs of infection?"
"Nope. Though they've had him on massive doses of antibiotics since they brought
him in, just in case. You know, he was really lucky you were there, Dana."
She shrugged her shoulders. "It was nothing."
"For Christ's sake, Dana, you saved his life. Going into surgery, they weren't
sure if they were even going to be able to save his leg. But when they took a
look at your handiwork, the docs at the hospital were impressed as hell. Said it
looked like a surgeon had worked on him. They said that if you hadn't acted so
quickly--and so skillfully--he probably would have bled to death. And that if
you hadn't stabilized him the way you did, he probably would have had nerve
damage, or the blood supply would have been completely lost. He's damned lucky
you were there."
Dana met his eyes, saw the way they were focused on her, and quickly looked
away, blushing. It had been a long time since she had received such
unadulterated praise. It felt good. Better than good. Wonderful. It was a great
feeling to be appreciated, for her actions to be deeply valued. She could
definitely get used to this. "I guess all those years of hacking up dead bodies
finally had some practical use."
"Don't sell yourself short, Dana. You're a gifted doctor. And a skilled field
agent. I put that in my report--how well you performed, especially under
pressure. And when we get stateside, I'm gonna contact your boss--A.D. Skinner
was it?--and recommended that you get a commendation."
"Mark, that's really not necessary."
"Of course it is." He reached across the table, placed his hand on hers. "You
should be rewarded for a job well done. You keep this up, you'll be running the
Bureau in no time."
Dana's first thought was that he was buttering her up a bit. Trying to woo her
with words and wine, perhaps in hopes of getting something more out of this
night. So as much as she enjoyed hearing his words of praise, she did not take
them completely seriously. But looking at his face now--at the genuine gratitude
and admiration she saw in his eyes--she knew his sentiment to be sincere. Once
again, she felt that familiar pounding of her heart, even as she returned his
smile.
"Thank you, Mark. That really means a lot to me. I just wish we could have
solved this case--found out what killed those kids."
"I think you were on to something with the canister theory."
"Do you really think that it could be responsible for the deaths of those kids?"
"Well, if whatever it contained was powerful enough to cause multiple cave-ins,
it probably could have generated the force that incinerated the kids' bodies."
"Perhaps. Too bad you weren't able to retrieve it. I'd love to know what was in
it. Which also leads me wonder . . . how did it get there in the first place?"
"Someone must have planted it."
"I guess we'll never know what it contained, who put it there, or what killed
Scott and Kilikina." She sighed heavily. "I hate not having closure."
"Yeah, unfortunately life doesn't always provide us with all the answers we
seek."
The waitress brought over two bowls of steaming soup.
"What type of soup is this?" Dana asked.
"Miso. It's pretty popular."
Blowing on a spoonful of hot liquid, Dana took a small taste. It was salty, but
the chunks of tofu gave it a nice texture. "It's good."
"So, aside from the assorted bruises, you feeling okay?"
"I'm feeling fine. Given the fact that I nearly drowned, the doctors decided to
keep me that first night for observation. By the way, thank you for coming to
see me, and for the flowers. I'm sorry I didn't get much of a chance to speak to
you--I was still a little woozy from the meds."
"You're welcome. I was lucky to get within ten feet of you, the way your partner
was hovering."
Dana raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You didn't know? From the moment he and the others found us on the beach, after
I had given you CPR, he didn't let you out of his sight. Way Socks tell it,
after the cave-in that separated us from them, Mulder went postal. Tried digging
us out with his bare hands. Socks said he had to slug him to calm him down."
Sighing, Dana shook her head. Typical Mulder. "There are times when Mulder can
become a little . . . irrational. Our partnership is usually pretty equal, but
there are moments when he can get rather . . . overprotective."
"When we first met, it seemed like you two could barely tolerate each other. But
by the time we got out of the cave, he seemed extremely concerned about you. And
judging by his behavior at the hospital, I'm guessing you two have since worked
through your differences."
"Matters aren't completely settled, but I guess you could say we've declared a
truce. We had been having some issues concerning our working relationship
recently. But we had a little talk at the hospital, and Mulder has assured me
that it will no longer be a problem. I've decided to give him the benefit of the
doubt."
"From the extent of his concern for you outside the cave and at the hospital,
I'd say you two must have a lot of history together."
Dana took a moment to wipe her mouth. She could see where Mark was going with
this. He was gently inquiring about her relationship with Mulder, seeing if
there was anything between them before making an embarrassing mistake this
evening by being too forward.
"Mulder and I have been partners for over six years. We've become good friends.
We've been through a lot together, had a couple of close calls. So sometimes he
over-reacts a bit."
"You don't usually see someone act like that toward a partner."
"Says the man who nearly got himself killed rappelling down a ravine to save his
teammate," Dana pointed out.
Mark considered. "Yeah, but that's different."
"Not really. You and your men work together, you train together. When you're on
a mission, you have to put your lives in each other's hands. It's the same for
Mulder and me. When we're in the field, we usually only have the other as back
up. I trust him with my life, as he does me. So it's more than just a
partnership. It's a bond, of sorts."
Mark nodded as he chewed, evidently now agreeing with what she was saying,
relating to the sentiment. "Yeah, I could see how that would make you two really
close."
"He's probably the best friend I've ever had," Dana remarked, poking at a piece
of tofu with her spoon. "We've helped see one another through some pretty rough
times. But I'm sure you must know what that's like. You and your team seem
pretty tight. You and Socks seem particularly close."
"Yeah, they're a great bunch of guys. When it comes down to the wire, there's
nobody else I'd rather have on my side. Socks, especially. We've been on
hundreds of ops together. Best swim buddy I ever worked with. We've been working
together so long, most of the time we don't even have to signal, we can just
tell what the other intends to do."
Dana nodded her head emphatically. "You know what the other is thinking,
anticipate what they're going to say or do next even before they speak or act."
"Exactly." Mark laughed. "You know, Dana, I can't tell you how many women have
been unable to understand my commitment to the team. It's like they get jealous
of my relationship with the guys. They think that because I'm so close to them,
because I trust them implicitly, I can't feel the same way about them. And the
relationship ends before it ever has the chance to get started. But you, you're
the first woman who not only understands, but can also relate to what it is I'm
trying to convey. Because you've got the same kind of relationship in your life.
You know what it's like."
Nodding, Dana could not help but smile at the irony. Back in the early days of
her partnership with Mulder, when she actually made an active attempt at dating,
she experienced the same problem. Hell, half the guys she went out with could
not wrap their minds around the idea that she could work with a man that closely
and not become romantically involved with him. It was as though they felt
threatened by her close partnership with Mulder, no matter how many times she
tried to assure them that theirs was merely a platonic relationship. How funny
was it that it was only now--after a failed attempt at trying to pursue a
romantic relationship with Mulder--when she was no longer actively searching for
an empathetic man who was interested in her, that she finally found one? And
better yet, it was a man she herself was interested in getting to know better.
Fate really worked strangely sometimes.
"So, your job has cost you a lot of women, huh?" she asked, taking the final
chunk of tofu from her bowl. "What happened to having one in every port?"
Mark nearly choked on his soup. "Well, uhm. . . ." Coughing, he reached for his
cup of tea, downed it in only a few gulps. "I won't deny that when I first
joined the Navy, I had my share of fun. Hell, I was still a kid at the time. But
as the years passed, and I rose in the ranks, gained more responsibility,
playing the field lost its appeal. I'm no kid anymore. And I look at my sister,
Amy, with her husband and her two kids and her house, and I realize that coming
home to an empty apartment isn't all it's cracked up to be. I want to find
somebody to settle down with, share my life with. It's time for some stability."
He took another sip of tea. "What about you?"
"Well, I've always planned on getting married, having a family someday. First,
it was going to be after college. Then after med school. When I joined the
Bureau, I thought I'd be able to balance career and family. I had one serious
relationship at the time--with an instructor, actually--but it didn't work out.
I figured I'd meet someone else, that I'd be married in a couple of years. But
then I was assigned to the X-Files, and my priorities changed completely. I'd
always been a workaholic, but that kind of sentiment seemed to suddenly take on
epic proportions. The nature of the work ultimately isolated Mulder and me from
most of our co-workers. He's really devoted to the X-Files, and that kind of
dedication is contagious, I've found. As time went on, I'd come to invest so
much, I had such personal involvement with the work, that it took precedence
over most other aspects of my life. In the beginning, I managed to find the time
to date off and on, but as the years went by, I instead focused all of my energy
in the work. And as a result, my personal life suffered. For the most part, I
haven't been too bothered by that. It had gotten to the point where it just
didn't seem worth the effort--especially given the lack of understanding from
most men in regards to my devotion to my career."
"You didn't look for a relationship elsewhere?" Mark asked. "You and Mulder. . .
?"
Dana had to bite back a laugh. She always found it amazing how fragile the male
ego was, even in the most confident of men. "No. Even if either of us were
interested, I don't think it's wise to mix professional and personal
relationships. It makes things way too complicated, and they just don't work out
well. I was already burned once in that regard." *Twice actually,* she silently
corrected herself. *First by Jack Willis, then by Fox Mulder.*
"Well, then I'm glad we're no longer working together on that case," he said
softly, reaching to cover her hand with his own.
The implications of his statement sent a delicious shiver down Dana's spine. She
smiled demurely, and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. From the intensity of
his gaze, she realized that he was completely serious.
She was debating how best to respond when the waitress returned with their
dinner. She placed two plates of sushi in front of them, along with a pair of
small bowls, and a larger bowl that contained a larger bowl with dark liquid.
She said something to Mark in Japanese, and he nodded in reply.
"This looks delicious," Dana said. "So, what have we got here?"
"You've got the California rolls, and this one has the fish."
"What's this small spot of green on the edge of the plate?" Dana asked.
"Wasabi. It's very hot, like Chinese mustard."
"And these?" Dana queried, pointing to several pinkish-orange, paper-thin slices
that garnished the side of the dish.
"That's pickled ginger," Mark explained. "It not only retains some of its heat,
but it also has a distinctive sweet-sour taste. It's used as a palate cleanser--
you eat it between bites of sushi so that you start each mouthful fresh."
"There any special trick to this?"
"Well, I can show you how I like to eat sushi. I usually start by pouring some
soy sauce into my dipping bowl," he told her as he did so. "Then I pick up a
little bit of wasabi with my chopsticks, and mix it with the soy sauce. Then I
dunk my sushi in that." He used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of sushi with
practiced ease and dunked it into the tiny bowl.
"Sounds easy enough," Dana said, following his instructions to prepare her own
dipping sauce before picking up a piece of her California roll with
comparatively less elegance.
Mark looked at her expectantly.
"Mmm," she said, nodding her head. "It's good."
"I'm glad you like it."
Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Dana looked up to see the sushi
chef approaching the table, a plate in hand. He stopped, and gave a small bow.
"Konichi-wa," the chef said.
"Konichi-wa," Mark replied.
They exchanged a few more words, and the chef placed his dish on the table.
"Meshi agare." With a final bow to Dana and then to Mark, he
took his leave.
Dana was a little taken aback. "What was that all about?"
"I guess they don't get many people ordering this dish, so he decided to deliver
it personally," Mark surmised as he popped a piece of ginger into his mouth with
his chopsticks.
"More sushi?"
Mark smiled, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "It's a special kind of sushi. The
fish they use is a delicacy."
"What kind of fish is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, as she picked up a
slice of ginger.
"Fugu."
She arched an eyebrow.
"Puffer fish."
Dana stopped, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "Puffer fish? You're kidding. I
thought they're poisonous."
"They do contain a toxin. It's primarily concentrated in the ovaries and liver.
The chefs that prepare it are specially trained to remove those organs safely.
In Japan, they're licensed by the government. Wanna try some?"
Dana had gone a shade paler. "Tetrodotoxin is one of the most potent toxins
known! It specifically binds to sodium channels in nerve and skeletal muscle and
blocks them. It can lead to severe muscle weakness, progress to respiratory
paralysis, and ultimately end in death."
"Oh, I know. Each year several people die from eating puffer fish."
"Then why on earth would you want to take that chance?"
"Well, just the idea that I'm putting my life in my hands is a bit of a rush.
But also because eating it makes your lips get all numb and tingly."
"There must be a minute amount of tetrodotoxin in the meat," Dana remarked,
almost offhandedly.
"It's a really wild sensation. Besides, it just tastes really good."
"You're crazy!"
"That's why they call me RB. At least this time, if something goes wrong, I've
got my own personal physician standing by."
Dana slowly shook her head. "Definitely crazy."
"You sure you don't want to try it, Dana? Not even a little piece?"
"No way."
"Aw, c'mon. Haven't you ever wanted to take a chance? To live on the edge a
bit?" Mark dunked a piece into his bowl and took a bite. "Mmm. Delicious."
Dana considered. When was the last time she let down her hair? Cut loose a bit?
She said herself that this was going to be night of experimentation. Surely, one
little bite would not hurt?
"Well, maybe just a taste."
"That's the Li'l Red I know."
Ignoring the infuriatingly condescending pet name he had first coined in the
caves, Dana started to reach for the plate of fugu, but Mark stopped her.
"Allow me." He picked up a piece with his chopsticks and held it out to her.
Dana moved her head toward it, gently took a bite. She chewed it slowly,
deliberately, savoring the taste. Mark was right. It was delicious.
"How long does it take for your lips to get numb?"
"A few minutes. But I don't know if that little piece will be enough to get a
decent effect."
Dana pursed her lips. She'd gone this far. . . . What the hell.
"I suppose I could finish the rest of the piece. . . ."
Laughing, Mark fed her another piece of sushi.
End Epilogue Part 2
*****
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: M/S UST, S/Other Romance
Summary: Sequel to "Not the Doctor." Their partnership on shaky ground, Mulder
and Scully are called in to investigate the mysterious death of two teenagers in
a Hawaiian cave. While exploring the crime scene and its vicinity, they are
trapped by a cave-in. Will they be able to find their way out--without killing
each other first?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters
associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen
Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no
profit is being made.
*****
Blessed Union of Souls II: Deep Water
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Epilogue Part 2
Dana Scully peered at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. It seemed that
no amount of concealer, foundation, or powder was going to completely cover the
prominent purple bruise on her left temple. A liberal dose of make-up had
managed to reduce it to a pinkish-blue spot, but it still remained perfectly
obvious. She reminded herself that it was still far more attractive than
plastering a big band-aid on her forehead. And it was not as though her dinner
companion did not know how she had received it. Hell, he had been there with her
at the time--if not by her side then at least in the general vicinity.
She should, she realized, wear it now as a badge of honor--a testament to the
hell she had been forced to endure, and which she had managed to survive
otherwise relatively unscathed.
Hmm. Why was it that cuts and bruises and even scars actually made a man appear
more attractive, whereas they were instead a source of embarrassment or shame
for a woman? she wondered. Another of society's socially-constructed double
standards, she realized with a sigh.
She consoled herself in the fact that the rest of her attire would hopefully
distract her companion's attention from the one small blemish. Taking a few
steps back, she stared at her image in the full-length mirror. She had packed
this dress on a whim, but was now certainly glad that she had. A pale mint
green, its spaghetti-straps and low-cut bodice revealed just enough creamy-white
skin to tantalize. The tube dress hugged her body discretely, nonetheless
accentuating her slim waist and sweeping curves. She was thankful not only that
it was ankle-length, but also that the long slit was up the back and not the
side, thus concealing the numerous scrapes, scratches, and bruises her legs had
received during her recent adventure. A pair of heeled sandals completed the
outfit; with such a tall date, she was definitely going to need the added
height.
Applying a liberal dose of perfume to her wrists and neck as well as to a couple
of other strategic places, she felt satisfied with her appearance. A quick
glance at her watch revealed that she had better get moving if she were going to
be on time. She pulled on a matching lacy-knit short-cropped sweater, grabbed
her purse, and headed out the hotel room door toward the elevator.
A few minutes later, she stepped out into the hotel lobby. As she headed for the
lounge, she found herself admiring the ornate beauty that surrounded her. Light
from the fading sun flooded through the sweeping glass panels that stretched
from ceiling to floor, revealing a breathtaking view of the deep blue ocean and
white sands outside. Armchairs and plump sofas upholstered in fine leather were
scattered about. Lush tropical flowers and palms dotted the marble floor, along
with glass screens decorated with frosted floral designs. Being put up in
Robinson's hotel here in Maui was definitely a treat, especially after all the
seedy dumps she and Mulder had stayed in over the years. She could definitely
get used to this kind of luxury. The things one could do with an unlimited
expense account. . . .
Entering the lounge, she scanned the room. There were some businessmen on a
couch talking, a couple seated by the window, a man in an arm chair by the far
wall, another couple standing by--
She did a double-take and glanced back at the man who sat in the overstuffed
chair, leafingthrough a magazine. Lord, she had not even recognized him. When he
had come to visit her in the hospital, he had been dressed casually and had not
even bothered to shave. The man she saw now appeared to be another person
entirely. She found herself staring at him, feet suddenly plastered to the
floor. Her heart had sped up enormously, and she feared it was so loud it must
be echoing in the room.
She could not remember the last time she had felt this nervous. Hell, she could
barely remember the last time she had been on a date. Discounting that entire Ed
Jerse fiasco, it had been more years than she cared to recall. She had almost
forgotten the delicious tingle of anticipation before the initial greeting. It
was new, it was exciting, it was just what she needed to forget--
At that moment, he caught her eye. Smiling, he put down the magazine and started
to rise.
*Well, here goes nothin',* Dana thought. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the
room to meet him.
As she approached, she saw how his eyes moved slowly down her body--assessing
her, she realized. Well, she must have passed the test, because it elicited
quite a reaction. He grinned broadly, and she was struck by how much that
gesture changed his face and lightened his features. His deep blue eyes danced
with pleasure. And she noticed now--probably because this was the first
opportunity she had to see him clean-shaven--the huge dimples that appeared
whenever he smiled. Ever since she was a teenager, she had always been a sucker
for a big pair of dimples.
"Hello, Commander," she said in greeting.
"Agent Scully," he replied.
At the same time he was appraising her, she took in his appearance as well. He
was dressed semi-casually: black jeans, white button-down shirt, black vest. He
really was a big man, powerfully built. Even with the civilian attire, his well-
kept physique was evident. Though not too tight, the shirt obviously covered a
broad chest and well-sculpted arms. And even with her nearly three-inch heels,
Dana barely came to his shoulder.
Normally, she would find such a presence intimidating, would feel a little
unsettled standing so close to him. But not with this man. For some reason, she
felt at ease with him. He made her feel safe, comfortable. It had been a long
time since a man had been able to make her feel that way. Longer still that she
had allowed it. Too long, she realized.
She also realized how silly their using formal titles sounded. They had spent
countless hours alone together in close quarters, trapped in a cave. They had
been forced to work together closely in order to survive the experience--which
included her having to use his body as a ladder in order to help save them from
falling. They had huddled together in one another's arms to avoid hypothermia.
He had given her CPR and saved her life. Surely, that meant they were beyond
this and ready to be on more familiar terms.
"Please, call me Dana."
He smiled. There were those damned dimples again. She felt almost weak in the
knees.
"Only if you call me Mark."
"Deal."
"You look beautiful, Dana."
"Thank you. You're looking mighty good there yourself, Mark."
"Never would'a thought I could clean up so well, huh?"
"Well, considering I was the one who took a bath in bat guano, I really
shouldn't judge."
"I've always admired women who aren't afraid to get a little dirty in order to
get the job done."
"The stories I could tell you. . . ."
"Well, Dana, the night is young. There'll be plenty of time for you to tell me
all about them. Oh, I almost forgot--" He carefully reached into the inner
pocket of his vest and revealed a lavender, long-petaled tropical orchid. "This
is for you."
Dana could not help but gasp at the sight of the exquisite blossom. "Oh, Mark,
it's absolutely gorgeous."
She started to reach for it, but he quickly pulled it away. She looked up at him
in confusion, not understanding what it was she had done wrong.
"This type of flower was meant to decorate, to show off the superior beauty of
the wearer. Would you mind--?" he asked, beginning to move his hand toward her
head. She was a little taken aback, but at the same t ime quite flattered. She
nodded for him to go ahead.
With nothing but gentleness, he pushed the stem into her hair and tucked it
behind her ear. The awareness of his light touch on her bare flesh created a
warm reaction, deep in her core, that slowly began to spread to her extremities.
"How's it look?" she asked him.
"Beautiful. So, you hungry, Dana?"
"Yes. Did you have a place in mind for dinner?"
"Do you like Japanese?"
"I've only had it a few times, but I've always enjoyed it. Do you know a good
restaurant around here?"
"One of the best there is."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
"Great." He held out his arm in a chivalrous gesture. With a smile, she slipped
her hand into the crook of his elbow, happily anticipating what she was sure
would prove to be a delightful evening.
*****
"I hope you don't mind going the traditional route," Mark said as he held the
door of the restaurant open for her.
"Well, I know how to use chopsticks, if that's what you mean," she replied.
He laughed softly. "No, actually, I was referring to the arrangement of the
restaurant--more specifically, the tables."
As she stepped inside, Dana felt as though she had been transported to another
world. Gentle music filled the air, instantly relaxing her. Amidst the soothing
low lighting, she looked at the numerous decorations: large paper rice screens,
paper lanterns, ornamental fans, paintings with brush-stroked characters that
hung on the walls. On the opposite end of the room, a chef stood behind a
counter, chopping vegetables. As she glanced around at the patrons who filled
the restaurant, she realized what Mark had meant by "traditional": they were all
sitting on the floor.
"It's the Japanese custom for dining," he explained. "There are mats and
cushions. Dana, if you're not comfortable with it, we can go--"
"No, no, this is fine. It's great." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Hey, if
we're going to eat Japanese food, we might as well get the full cultural
experience, right?"
"Exactly."
"Irasshai mase! Welcome," a hostess said as she came over. She was dressed in an
exquisite jade green kimono embroidered with flowers and birds, along with a
darker green obi--a wide sash that was wrapped around her waist and fastened in
back. Her hair was done up in a bun, in which was placed a pair of decorative
sticks from which dangled ornaments of birds. On her feet were a pair of white
silk tabi and a beautiful pair of zori, or lacquered sandals.
Mark indicated that they needed a table for two. "Uhm, Dana, there's one other
custom we're going to have to observe before we can sit down. . . ."
She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He did not reply, however; merely
averted his eyes. She followed his gaze downward to her feet.
A few minutes later, the hostess had led them to a raised cubicle in the far
corner of the restaurant behind a sliding paper rice door. Mark removed his
shoes, and Dana followed suit, slipping out of her sandals. She padded across a
woven reed mat to where one of two thin cushions lay before a table.
As she slowly lowered herself to the cushioned floor, she was unsuccessful in
trying to bite back a small moan.
About to sit down, Mark looked at her, concern filling his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm still a little sore from our cave adventure. I seem to keep
discovering new bruises all the time."
"I know what you mean," he chuckled as he seated himself across from her. "I
think some of my bruises have bruises."
"I'm just glad I can move my arms. They've been really sore from all that
climbing I had to do. I think you're going to have to give me some exercise
pointers so I can get in better shape."
"You're already in excellent shape, Dana. But if you ever want to tone up a bit,
we could always work out together. The great thing I've discovered about
exercise is that there're so many other ways to do it than just going to the gym
or for a run."
"Like sports, you mean?"
"Yeah, I do play a lot of sports. But I also like to go hiking, rappelling,
mountain climbing. Skiing, surfing, sailing. Basically, anything that gets me
outdoors."
"I can't remember the last time I've been sailing."
"Too bad we don't have more time here. The Pacific is wonderful, and these
islands are beautiful. But, hey, when we get back to the states, we should go
sailing sometime."
"I'd like that."
He smiled at her, and she could not help but return the gesture.
"So," she said, picking up her menu, "what do you recommend?"
"Well, I was thinking we could go with some sushi. . . ."
"Raw fish, huh?" The mild displeasure in her voice was obvious.
"Ever had it before?"
She shook her head. "I think the doctor in me just has an aversion to eating raw
meat."
"Well, I've had it dozens of times, and I'm still here. But I want you to enjoy
dinner, so if you're not comfortable--"
"No, that's okay. I feel like tonight's a night for trying new things, taking
chances. I'll try some."
"Great. We'll get some different types. I'll also order some California rolls,
which have crab meat and avocado. You like soup?"
"Sure."
"Konichi-wa," said the waitress, giving a small bow as she came over to the
table with a teapot and poured them each a cup of green tea. She, too, wore a
beautiful kimono: hers was pale blue, and decorated with the pattern of rolling
waves on the ocean.
"Konichi-wa," Mark replied. Then he said something to her in Japanese, and she
laughed.
Before Dana had the chance to speak, Mark began to place their order in
Japanese. "Chuumon o onegai shimasu . . ." he began, glancing down at the menu.
To Dana's untrained ear, his inflection sounded like that of a native speaker.
All she could make out were the words "miso," "sushi," "fugu," and "sake".
With a small bow, the waitress took their menus and left.
"I didn't realize you could speak Japanese," Dana remarked. "That was quite
impressive."
"Well, with all the places I've been, I've managed to pick up some phrases here
and there."
"That sounded like more than picking up a few phrases. Your accent was
impeccable."
"I've always been good with languages," he admitted.
"How many do you speak?"
He looked skyward a moment, considering. "Japanese. Some Chinese. French.
Spanish. A bit of Portuguese. Some Italian. A touch of Russian."
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
"Genug zum vorbei Erhalten, fraulein. Sind Sie flieúend?"
"Ich erlernte etwas Deutsches in der Universitat." I learned some German in
university.
The waitress returned with a teapot and two small tea cups.
"Arigatou gozaimasu," Mark said. "Do you drink sake?" he asked
Dana.
"I've actually never had it before."
"It's a bit strong," he warned her, "but quite good. Shall I pour you some?"
"Sure." He handed her one of the small cups of warm rice wine.
"I suggest drinking it in small sips," he warned her. "It's pretty strong."
She nodded. "Should we make about a toast?"
"Sure. How about . . . 'to new friends'?"
"To new friends," she agreed, gently clinking her cup to his. As she lifted it
closer, the first thing she noticed was the powerful, almost herbal scent that
assailed her sinuses. When Dana took a cautious sip, she was surprised that the
flavor was not sweet, as she had expected, but instead tasted more like hot
vodka. It burned going down, much as she remembered her last experience with
whiskey.
"Well?" Mark asked. He had already drained his cup, and was seemingly unaffected
by the experience. And why should he be? she realized. Given his background,
this was probably like drinking water. Hell, he could probably drink half the
men in the Navy under the table and not even get a buzz.
"It's got bite, that's for sure," Dana managed to say.
"More?" he asked her, even as he refilled his own glass.
"Why, Mark, are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Now, what sort of impression would that give?" He downed a second cupful in a
few quick swallows. "Nah. I usually don't try that till the second date." He
filled his glass and offered her again.
Dana shook her head. "I think I'll nurse this one for a while," she replied,
taking a sip of her tea. "So, how is Robbins doing?"
"Feeling no pain, that's for sure, the way they've got him doped up. He was in
surgery over nine hours. They said that because of the huge risk of infection,
they couldn't put any rods, plates, or screws inside his leg, since it could
spread the infection. So they stuck the metal on the outside instead. He's got
all these pins sticking out of his leg, attached to these metal rods."
"An external fixator?"
Mark nodded. "It's one hell of a massive contraption. Plus, he had to have a
fasciotomy. Because of the vascular injury, they were worried he might develop
some sort of complication . . . what did they call it? . . . Compartment
syndrome, I think. The way it was explained to me, they needed to alleviate the
pressure in his leg to prevent any additional damage to his muscles and nerves.
Now, they're just waiting for some of the swelling to go down, and then they'll
close it up. They want to keep him another couple of days after that surgery to
monitor the healing. If he continues to improve afterwards, then they said we
can move him--transfer him to a stateside hospital."
"So there are no signs of infection?"
"Nope. Though they've had him on massive doses of antibiotics since they brought
him in, just in case. You know, he was really lucky you were there, Dana."
She shrugged her shoulders. "It was nothing."
"For Christ's sake, Dana, you saved his life. Going into surgery, they weren't
sure if they were even going to be able to save his leg. But when they took a
look at your handiwork, the docs at the hospital were impressed as hell. Said it
looked like a surgeon had worked on him. They said that if you hadn't acted so
quickly--and so skillfully--he probably would have bled to death. And that if
you hadn't stabilized him the way you did, he probably would have had nerve
damage, or the blood supply would have been completely lost. He's damned lucky
you were there."
Dana met his eyes, saw the way they were focused on her, and quickly looked
away, blushing. It had been a long time since she had received such
unadulterated praise. It felt good. Better than good. Wonderful. It was a great
feeling to be appreciated, for her actions to be deeply valued. She could
definitely get used to this. "I guess all those years of hacking up dead bodies
finally had some practical use."
"Don't sell yourself short, Dana. You're a gifted doctor. And a skilled field
agent. I put that in my report--how well you performed, especially under
pressure. And when we get stateside, I'm gonna contact your boss--A.D. Skinner
was it?--and recommended that you get a commendation."
"Mark, that's really not necessary."
"Of course it is." He reached across the table, placed his hand on hers. "You
should be rewarded for a job well done. You keep this up, you'll be running the
Bureau in no time."
Dana's first thought was that he was buttering her up a bit. Trying to woo her
with words and wine, perhaps in hopes of getting something more out of this
night. So as much as she enjoyed hearing his words of praise, she did not take
them completely seriously. But looking at his face now--at the genuine gratitude
and admiration she saw in his eyes--she knew his sentiment to be sincere. Once
again, she felt that familiar pounding of her heart, even as she returned his
smile.
"Thank you, Mark. That really means a lot to me. I just wish we could have
solved this case--found out what killed those kids."
"I think you were on to something with the canister theory."
"Do you really think that it could be responsible for the deaths of those kids?"
"Well, if whatever it contained was powerful enough to cause multiple cave-ins,
it probably could have generated the force that incinerated the kids' bodies."
"Perhaps. Too bad you weren't able to retrieve it. I'd love to know what was in
it. Which also leads me wonder . . . how did it get there in the first place?"
"Someone must have planted it."
"I guess we'll never know what it contained, who put it there, or what killed
Scott and Kilikina." She sighed heavily. "I hate not having closure."
"Yeah, unfortunately life doesn't always provide us with all the answers we
seek."
The waitress brought over two bowls of steaming soup.
"What type of soup is this?" Dana asked.
"Miso. It's pretty popular."
Blowing on a spoonful of hot liquid, Dana took a small taste. It was salty, but
the chunks of tofu gave it a nice texture. "It's good."
"So, aside from the assorted bruises, you feeling okay?"
"I'm feeling fine. Given the fact that I nearly drowned, the doctors decided to
keep me that first night for observation. By the way, thank you for coming to
see me, and for the flowers. I'm sorry I didn't get much of a chance to speak to
you--I was still a little woozy from the meds."
"You're welcome. I was lucky to get within ten feet of you, the way your partner
was hovering."
Dana raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You didn't know? From the moment he and the others found us on the beach, after
I had given you CPR, he didn't let you out of his sight. Way Socks tell it,
after the cave-in that separated us from them, Mulder went postal. Tried digging
us out with his bare hands. Socks said he had to slug him to calm him down."
Sighing, Dana shook her head. Typical Mulder. "There are times when Mulder can
become a little . . . irrational. Our partnership is usually pretty equal, but
there are moments when he can get rather . . . overprotective."
"When we first met, it seemed like you two could barely tolerate each other. But
by the time we got out of the cave, he seemed extremely concerned about you. And
judging by his behavior at the hospital, I'm guessing you two have since worked
through your differences."
"Matters aren't completely settled, but I guess you could say we've declared a
truce. We had been having some issues concerning our working relationship
recently. But we had a little talk at the hospital, and Mulder has assured me
that it will no longer be a problem. I've decided to give him the benefit of the
doubt."
"From the extent of his concern for you outside the cave and at the hospital,
I'd say you two must have a lot of history together."
Dana took a moment to wipe her mouth. She could see where Mark was going with
this. He was gently inquiring about her relationship with Mulder, seeing if
there was anything between them before making an embarrassing mistake this
evening by being too forward.
"Mulder and I have been partners for over six years. We've become good friends.
We've been through a lot together, had a couple of close calls. So sometimes he
over-reacts a bit."
"You don't usually see someone act like that toward a partner."
"Says the man who nearly got himself killed rappelling down a ravine to save his
teammate," Dana pointed out.
Mark considered. "Yeah, but that's different."
"Not really. You and your men work together, you train together. When you're on
a mission, you have to put your lives in each other's hands. It's the same for
Mulder and me. When we're in the field, we usually only have the other as back
up. I trust him with my life, as he does me. So it's more than just a
partnership. It's a bond, of sorts."
Mark nodded as he chewed, evidently now agreeing with what she was saying,
relating to the sentiment. "Yeah, I could see how that would make you two really
close."
"He's probably the best friend I've ever had," Dana remarked, poking at a piece
of tofu with her spoon. "We've helped see one another through some pretty rough
times. But I'm sure you must know what that's like. You and your team seem
pretty tight. You and Socks seem particularly close."
"Yeah, they're a great bunch of guys. When it comes down to the wire, there's
nobody else I'd rather have on my side. Socks, especially. We've been on
hundreds of ops together. Best swim buddy I ever worked with. We've been working
together so long, most of the time we don't even have to signal, we can just
tell what the other intends to do."
Dana nodded her head emphatically. "You know what the other is thinking,
anticipate what they're going to say or do next even before they speak or act."
"Exactly." Mark laughed. "You know, Dana, I can't tell you how many women have
been unable to understand my commitment to the team. It's like they get jealous
of my relationship with the guys. They think that because I'm so close to them,
because I trust them implicitly, I can't feel the same way about them. And the
relationship ends before it ever has the chance to get started. But you, you're
the first woman who not only understands, but can also relate to what it is I'm
trying to convey. Because you've got the same kind of relationship in your life.
You know what it's like."
Nodding, Dana could not help but smile at the irony. Back in the early days of
her partnership with Mulder, when she actually made an active attempt at dating,
she experienced the same problem. Hell, half the guys she went out with could
not wrap their minds around the idea that she could work with a man that closely
and not become romantically involved with him. It was as though they felt
threatened by her close partnership with Mulder, no matter how many times she
tried to assure them that theirs was merely a platonic relationship. How funny
was it that it was only now--after a failed attempt at trying to pursue a
romantic relationship with Mulder--when she was no longer actively searching for
an empathetic man who was interested in her, that she finally found one? And
better yet, it was a man she herself was interested in getting to know better.
Fate really worked strangely sometimes.
"So, your job has cost you a lot of women, huh?" she asked, taking the final
chunk of tofu from her bowl. "What happened to having one in every port?"
Mark nearly choked on his soup. "Well, uhm. . . ." Coughing, he reached for his
cup of tea, downed it in only a few gulps. "I won't deny that when I first
joined the Navy, I had my share of fun. Hell, I was still a kid at the time. But
as the years passed, and I rose in the ranks, gained more responsibility,
playing the field lost its appeal. I'm no kid anymore. And I look at my sister,
Amy, with her husband and her two kids and her house, and I realize that coming
home to an empty apartment isn't all it's cracked up to be. I want to find
somebody to settle down with, share my life with. It's time for some stability."
He took another sip of tea. "What about you?"
"Well, I've always planned on getting married, having a family someday. First,
it was going to be after college. Then after med school. When I joined the
Bureau, I thought I'd be able to balance career and family. I had one serious
relationship at the time--with an instructor, actually--but it didn't work out.
I figured I'd meet someone else, that I'd be married in a couple of years. But
then I was assigned to the X-Files, and my priorities changed completely. I'd
always been a workaholic, but that kind of sentiment seemed to suddenly take on
epic proportions. The nature of the work ultimately isolated Mulder and me from
most of our co-workers. He's really devoted to the X-Files, and that kind of
dedication is contagious, I've found. As time went on, I'd come to invest so
much, I had such personal involvement with the work, that it took precedence
over most other aspects of my life. In the beginning, I managed to find the time
to date off and on, but as the years went by, I instead focused all of my energy
in the work. And as a result, my personal life suffered. For the most part, I
haven't been too bothered by that. It had gotten to the point where it just
didn't seem worth the effort--especially given the lack of understanding from
most men in regards to my devotion to my career."
"You didn't look for a relationship elsewhere?" Mark asked. "You and Mulder. . .
?"
Dana had to bite back a laugh. She always found it amazing how fragile the male
ego was, even in the most confident of men. "No. Even if either of us were
interested, I don't think it's wise to mix professional and personal
relationships. It makes things way too complicated, and they just don't work out
well. I was already burned once in that regard." *Twice actually,* she silently
corrected herself. *First by Jack Willis, then by Fox Mulder.*
"Well, then I'm glad we're no longer working together on that case," he said
softly, reaching to cover her hand with his own.
The implications of his statement sent a delicious shiver down Dana's spine. She
smiled demurely, and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. From the intensity of
his gaze, she realized that he was completely serious.
She was debating how best to respond when the waitress returned with their
dinner. She placed two plates of sushi in front of them, along with a pair of
small bowls, and a larger bowl that contained a larger bowl with dark liquid.
She said something to Mark in Japanese, and he nodded in reply.
"This looks delicious," Dana said. "So, what have we got here?"
"You've got the California rolls, and this one has the fish."
"What's this small spot of green on the edge of the plate?" Dana asked.
"Wasabi. It's very hot, like Chinese mustard."
"And these?" Dana queried, pointing to several pinkish-orange, paper-thin slices
that garnished the side of the dish.
"That's pickled ginger," Mark explained. "It not only retains some of its heat,
but it also has a distinctive sweet-sour taste. It's used as a palate cleanser--
you eat it between bites of sushi so that you start each mouthful fresh."
"There any special trick to this?"
"Well, I can show you how I like to eat sushi. I usually start by pouring some
soy sauce into my dipping bowl," he told her as he did so. "Then I pick up a
little bit of wasabi with my chopsticks, and mix it with the soy sauce. Then I
dunk my sushi in that." He used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of sushi with
practiced ease and dunked it into the tiny bowl.
"Sounds easy enough," Dana said, following his instructions to prepare her own
dipping sauce before picking up a piece of her California roll with
comparatively less elegance.
Mark looked at her expectantly.
"Mmm," she said, nodding her head. "It's good."
"I'm glad you like it."
Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Dana looked up to see the sushi
chef approaching the table, a plate in hand. He stopped, and gave a small bow.
"Konichi-wa," the chef said.
"Konichi-wa," Mark replied.
They exchanged a few more words, and the chef placed his dish on the table.
"Meshi agare." With a final bow to Dana and then to Mark, he
took his leave.
Dana was a little taken aback. "What was that all about?"
"I guess they don't get many people ordering this dish, so he decided to deliver
it personally," Mark surmised as he popped a piece of ginger into his mouth with
his chopsticks.
"More sushi?"
Mark smiled, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "It's a special kind of sushi. The
fish they use is a delicacy."
"What kind of fish is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, as she picked up a
slice of ginger.
"Fugu."
She arched an eyebrow.
"Puffer fish."
Dana stopped, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. "Puffer fish? You're kidding. I
thought they're poisonous."
"They do contain a toxin. It's primarily concentrated in the ovaries and liver.
The chefs that prepare it are specially trained to remove those organs safely.
In Japan, they're licensed by the government. Wanna try some?"
Dana had gone a shade paler. "Tetrodotoxin is one of the most potent toxins
known! It specifically binds to sodium channels in nerve and skeletal muscle and
blocks them. It can lead to severe muscle weakness, progress to respiratory
paralysis, and ultimately end in death."
"Oh, I know. Each year several people die from eating puffer fish."
"Then why on earth would you want to take that chance?"
"Well, just the idea that I'm putting my life in my hands is a bit of a rush.
But also because eating it makes your lips get all numb and tingly."
"There must be a minute amount of tetrodotoxin in the meat," Dana remarked,
almost offhandedly.
"It's a really wild sensation. Besides, it just tastes really good."
"You're crazy!"
"That's why they call me RB. At least this time, if something goes wrong, I've
got my own personal physician standing by."
Dana slowly shook her head. "Definitely crazy."
"You sure you don't want to try it, Dana? Not even a little piece?"
"No way."
"Aw, c'mon. Haven't you ever wanted to take a chance? To live on the edge a
bit?" Mark dunked a piece into his bowl and took a bite. "Mmm. Delicious."
Dana considered. When was the last time she let down her hair? Cut loose a bit?
She said herself that this was going to be night of experimentation. Surely, one
little bite would not hurt?
"Well, maybe just a taste."
"That's the Li'l Red I know."
Ignoring the infuriatingly condescending pet name he had first coined in the
caves, Dana started to reach for the plate of fugu, but Mark stopped her.
"Allow me." He picked up a piece with his chopsticks and held it out to her.
Dana moved her head toward it, gently took a bite. She chewed it slowly,
deliberately, savoring the taste. Mark was right. It was delicious.
"How long does it take for your lips to get numb?"
"A few minutes. But I don't know if that little piece will be enough to get a
decent effect."
Dana pursed her lips. She'd gone this far. . . . What the hell.
"I suppose I could finish the rest of the piece. . . ."
Laughing, Mark fed her another piece of sushi.
End Epilogue Part 2
*****