Melusine
by Ellie

Email:  windblownellie@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Summary: She swam easily from one end of the pool to the other,
flip-turning easily as a dolphin.

****

The first time he noticed, they were in west Texas. In late July, it
had been stifling, though after they'd returned to the motel and the
sun had set, the temperature had dropped close to twenty degrees,
so that it was closer to ninety than boiling. He had been headed
over to her room, after an hour sitting half-naked in front of the
rattling AC unit, to see if Scully wanted dinner. 

Until he heard the splash, he hadn't noticed the figure by the
concrete pool. Glancing over, he saw a ruby streak gliding through
the water, glowing turquoise now from underwater lights. Then she
broke the surface, moving through water that must feel too close to
a hot tub to be truly refreshing. He watched silently for a moment,
as she swam easily from one end of the pool to the other,
flip-turning easily as a dolphin.

*

Most of the passengers on the ferry to the Vineyard kept watch on
the horizon, as the island slowly rose up from the sea, proving the
gentle curvature of the earth. She stood apart, still at the white
railing, dark coat flapping around her calves, watching not the
warm, beckoning lighthouse beams, but the dark water of the
sound as it crashed against the ferry's hull and foamed away.

The chilly wind blowing in off the north Atlantic tangled her hair
with the briny mist, and it curled in a way it never did in the office.
For an instant, she looked like someone else, half-feral and foreign,
the way some Viking ancestress of hers must have gazed out over
the North Sea eons earlier. Then she turned to look at him, gracing
him with a smile and looking as if she were the one going home, not
he.

*

For a woman on a damaged, sinking boat in the middle of a
possibly monster-inhabited lake at night, Mulder thought she was
remarkably possessed. Even knowing her, she seemed nowhere
near as panicked as he felt. Surely a Navy girl, she'd heard similar
shipwreck stories to those he'd heard as a child on the Vineyard.
Hell, she loved "Moby-Dick."

Yet she was confidently getting them out of the cabin and to the
edge of the deck, casting only a brief glance back at his face before
giving a slight shrug and splashing into the dark of Heuvelman's
Lake. She swam to an exposed rock, shining damp in the
moonlight, with shocking ease for one fully dressed.

"Come on, Mulder." She beckoned from the rock like a siren,
sparkling wet like diamonds in the moonlight.

He plunged off the wrecked ship, stroking towards her voice
echoing over the lake.

*

"Let's spend a few days on the coast," she suggested, whisper
rasping almost as much as his voice. His lungs still felt raw, and his
breath coming with difficulty, so he'd been delighted with her
suggestion, nodding agreement. 

At night, they curled quietly together in the soft bed, but he felt her
slip away from him in the small hours of the morning. 

When he heard the door creak closed behind her, he rose and
looked out at the indigo sky, a faint hint of peach slicing the sky out
past the dunes. She seemed to glow in the darkness, white mailliot
and pale skin reflecting the early light, crossing the sandy expanse
to the water. For half a second he watched her hesitate, then she
glided into the waves, Aphrodite in reverse.

He took a deep breath of the salty air, and watched her splash
through the rolling waves.

*

Only once has he bathed with her. He'd been newly restored to life,
and she was growing large with it. There was too much unsaid
between them then, emotions too raw and close for either to
address. They had merely helped one another into the tub, coltishly
unsteady and awkwardly unbalanced, steaming hot water
enveloping them both. 

For a moment, they sat facing one another, silent and uncertain,
water lapping around them in time to their deep exhalations. Then
he extended a ropy arm toward her, whispering "c'mere" and
pulling her onto his lap.

She settled against his chest, light as joy. He felt something deep
inside him begin to warm, thawing something essential, which had
been frozen by the deep of space and frosted earth. As his arms
closed around her, he felt for the first time in a long time, perhaps
ever, that things might be all right.


*

He didn't hear the car pull in the gravel driveway over the dull roar
of the air conditioning, only noticed it pull past the corner of their
house toward the shed as he carried fresh-folded laundry to the
dresser. Pausing at the dormer window, he watched her slip from
the car, still dressed in scrubs, hair back in a sloppy, sweaty
ponytail. She glanced up at the house, without acknowledging him
in the window, pulling her hair free.

Then she turned away, shedding clogs and flimsy hospital cotton
like old rose petals, wending her way down the path through the
long grass beyond the garden, down to the pond. She's naked by
the time she reaches what remains of the dock, crossing the weak
gray wood with a light step. With a pirouette at the edge, she fell
back into the water, floating, bright ivory in the August sunset.

***