Title:  The Far Side of X
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Spoilers:  Triangle, Master and Commander: Far 
Side of the World
Rating:  PG
Category:  MSR, MT
Written for Mulder's Refuge June Challenge "At 
Sea"
Disclaimer:  No copyright infringement intended.
Feedback:  vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

The Far Side of X
By Vickie Moseley

Sargasso Sea
June 11
1:21 pm

His head hurt.  Mulder's eyes were still tightly 
clamped shut, but he knew without even looking 
that whatever light there was would surely burn a 
hole right through his brain.  He was not going to 
open his eyes for love nor money.

"Mulder, wake up.  Mulder, c'mon, you have to 
wake up."

Slowly he cracked his eyes opened and was 
surprised at the dimness of the lighting.  He actually 
had to focus a little to bring Scully fully into view.

Without thinking, he started to sit up and 
immediately regretted it.  "Oh, god, my . . . head," 
he gasped, throwing both hands to his temples and 
trying desperately to keep his frontal lobe from 
exiting through his eyeballs.  "What the hell . . .?"

Scully held his shoulder as he steadied himself.  
Scully!  He forgot all about his own ills when he 
remembered the last time he'd seen her.  He was 
certain she'd been crushed by the force of a 
tremendous wave and swept overboard.  Instantly, 
his arms wrapped around her and he hugged her for 
dear life.  "Scully, are you OK?" he asked 
anxiously.    

He felt her smile into his neck and then she pulled 
away from his embrace, just far enough so he could 
see her for himself.  "I'm fine, Mulder.  A little 
knock on the head and I hurt my wrist."  She held 
out her left arm, in the dim light her wrist looked 
bruised and swollen.  

Tenderly he took the injured limb in his large hands, 
rubbing the darkened skin gently.  "Is it broken?"

"No, I think it's just a sprain.  Hurts like the devil, 
though.  Are you all right?  You were really out of 
it.  I couldn't get you to wake up for several 
minutes.  I was terrified you had a skull fracture."  
Her eyes showed him the truth of her words.  Were 
those tear tracks on her cheeks, or just drying salt 
water from their misadventure on the high seas?  He 
decided not to bring up the subject, but squeezed 
her good hand reassuringly. 

"You know me.  Give me a good, uh, rather short 
cot and a dry blanket and I can sleep for days," he 
chuckled, picking at the wool material that still 
covered his lap and legs.  He finally had the sense 
of mind to look around their quarters.  "Where are 
we?  This isn't our boat?"

"I'm afraid our boat is at the bottom of the briny 
deep by now," Scully said mournfully.  "There goes 
another $500 deposit."

"Hey," he said, lifting her chin with his index 
finger.  "We're safe.  What's five hundred bucks 
compared to that?"

She smiled at him.  "Good point," she agreed.  "But 
as for our whereabouts, or the kindly people who 
saved us, I have no idea."

Mulder took a deep breath and rose slowly to his 
feet.  Scully grabbed him to steady him, but he was 
standing straight, or as straight as he could quickly.  
"Not much headroom."

"It's the hold of a ship.  An older ship, from the 
looks of it.  Maybe even a replica of a tall ship, if 
what I'm hearing topside is any indication."

He gave her a lop-sided grin.  "'Hold', 'topside', boy, 
get you on the water and you loose any grain of 
landlubber you ever had," he teased.  Turning his 
attention to the room once more, he ran his hand 
over a smooth wooden beam.  "This is solid timber.  
And old, from the looks of it."

"I assure you, the Surprise is quite young, and a fair 
lass for all her voyages."

A man in full uniform, full antique uniform Mulder 
noted, looked askance at him from the doorway.  
"I'm sorry, that was rude," the man said, striding 
into the room.  Mulder moved closer to Scully, still 
unsure of the other man's intentions even though he 
had no indication that the person was hostile.  

"Where are my manners?  I'm Captain Jack Aubrey, 
this is my ship, His Majesty's Ship Surprise."  Capt. 
Aubrey extended his hand to Mulder, who shook it 
firmly, and then tilted his head toward Scully.  "My 
apologies, Madam for entering your chamber, but I 
promised the Doctor I would meet him here."  He 
looked behind him, toward the doorway.  "I wonder 
what could be keeping him," he said with a scowl.

"I'm here, Captain.  I just had to gather a few things.  
Mr. Higgins, here, let me take those.  And see if you 
can find any more sheets.  We should curtain this 
area off from the rest of the sickbay and prying 
eyes."  Another gentleman entered sporting small 
wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a bundle of 
clothing.  He had an easy smile and quickly 
extended his hand to Mulder.  "Doctor Stephen 
Maturin, at your service.  If you would sit down, sir, 
I'd like to examine you briefly.  You were both 
unconscious when we brought you aboard."

Mulder was a bit confused, as both men seemed to 
be wearing costumes of the same era, an era of long 
ago.

"Are you some kind of reenactment?" he asked, 
sitting next to Scully and putting his arm around her 
shoulders.

"Reenactment of what, pray tell?" the Captain 
asked, looking as confused as Mulder.

"Tall ships, men of yore, John Paul Jones?" Mulder 
rattled off.  At the mention of Jones, Captain 
Aubrey visibly bristled.  

"I'll not be compared to that scallywag, sir," he said 
haughtily.  "Arrogance and dumb luck, that's all he 
had going for him.  Take a Captain with some wit, 
some intelligence.  Admiral Nelson -- now that is a 
true seaman!"

"Jack, please," the Doctor said in a sotto voce.  
"They are our guests, and judging by their accents, 
American."

The Captain looked suitably contrite.  "Yes, yes, 
you're right, Stephen.  My apologies, once again."  
After an awkward silence, he looked first at Mulder, 
then at Scully.  "But before I go, may I inquire as to 
the names of our two guests from the sea?"

Mulder looked over at Scully for an instant.  
Something strange was going on here and he wasn't 
sure if she'd picked up on it yet.  Tall ships, odd 
uniforms, the obvious animosity to an American 
Captain of the Revolutionary War.  And they had 
been sailing in the Bermuda Triangle.

"I'm Fox Mulder and this is my wife, Dana," 
Mulder said and caught in the corner of his eye his 
partner's wide-eyed glare directed at him.  As if to 
prove his point he put his arm around her waist and 
gave her a light squeeze.  "We were sailing and our 
boat was hit by the storm."

"Mr. Mulder, Mrs. Mulder," Aubrey said with a nod 
to each.  "From what part of America do you hail?"

"Boston," Mulder replied quickly.  Both Aubrey 
and the Doctor raised eyebrows.  He didn't bother to 
look at Scully, he knew her eyebrows were 
probably reaching the crow's nest.  "We were in 
South Carolina, visiting Dana's brother."

"Oh, well, we'll see if we can't put you off at 
Charleston harbor, provided the winds pick up 
again," Aubrey said with a tight smile.

"No wind?" Scully asked.  "That's odd, isn't it, for 
this time of year?"

Aubrey cast her a curious look.  "You know of 
sailing, Madam?"

Scully felt Mulder's hand on her thigh, and covered 
it with her own.  "My father was a captain in our 
Navy," she said proudly.

"Oh, really," Aubrey replied happily.  "What vessel, 
may I ask?"

Scully thought for a moment.  "The Kearsarge was 
where he was last stationed," she said and felt 
Mulder's hand almost pinch the circulation off in 
her leg.

Aubrey's expression darkened.  "I didn't know the 
Americans had a vessel by that name," he said 
tersely.

"Just commissioned," Mulder said hastily.

"Now, Jack, enough interrogation," cut in the 
doctor.  "Please allow me to attend to their injuries.  
That wrist looks quite uncomfortable, Mrs. 
Mulder."

He seemed ready to belie that request, but finally 
Aubrey turned to leave.  "I'll tell Killick to set two 
extra plates for dinner.  You'll honor me by dining 
at my table, won't you, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?"  It 
wasn't his words, but the way he said it that put 
Mulder on alert.  It sounded like an order dressed up 
as a request.  The Captain wanted to keep a close 
eye on them.

"Of course, Captain.  We would be honored.  Thank 
you," Mulder answered for both of them.

Once Aubrey was out of earshot, the young Doctor 
smiled and gave them a sympathetic look.  "Please 
excuse him," he said with a shrug.  "We don't pick 
up many people at sea and Jack tends to see 
Napoleon's spies around every corner."

"I can't imagine what that must be like," Scully said 
dryly.

"So, Mr. Mulder, what do you do for a living?" the 
Doctor asked casually as he wrapped Scully's wrist 
in bandages.

"I'm a professor at Boston College," he said finally.  
Scully gave him a look that told him she thought 
he'd finally gone mad.

"Oh, how lovely," the Doctor said with a smile.  
"What subject?  The sciences, maybe?"

"Sorry, literature," Mulder said with a tilt of his 
head.

"That will make for interesting conversation at table 
tonight," the Doctor said cheerfully.  "Now, let me 
bandage that wound on your scalp.  Do you have a 
headache?"

"I think I do," Mulder said and heard Scully snort 
quietly beside him.  "Or I do feel one coming on," 
he added, for her benefit.

Dr. Maturin cleaned the two inch gash just at 
Mulder's hairline and wound a piece of bandage 
around his head efficiently.  "There, that should do 
nicely.  Rest and a ration of rum after dinner and 
I'm certain your headache will be better by 
morning."

"I hope you're right," Mulder said, exchanging a 
quick glance with Scully to see if she was going to 
clobber him when they were alone.

"Well, I think that's all that needs done," the Doctor 
said with a dusting of his hands.  "I suggest you 
both try to rest.  Either I or Lt. Pullings will be by to 
take you to the Captain's quarters for dinner."  He 
got up to leave, but stopped at the door.  "Mrs. 
Mulder, I'm sure I don't need to apprise you of the 
fact that it would be in your best interest not to 
wander alone on the deck," he said, looking 
apologetic again.

"Of course not, Doctor.  I understand," Scully 
replied and took Mulder's hand.

When the good doctor was out of the room, Scully 
turned on her partner.  "Mulder," she hissed in a 
voice just above a whisper.  "What the hell is going 
on?"

"Listen to me for a minute, Scully.  I've done this 
before.  We left Bermuda and went sailing 
southeast.  We were hit by a storm.  Our boat was 
wrecked, as least as far as we know.  We were 
picked up by another ship, but this ship is not from 
our time."

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  "Mulder . . ."

"Look, Scully, I know you didn't believe me when I 
woke up in the hospital in Bermuda, but I was on 
the Queen Anne in 1939!"

"The Queen Anne, which I will admit did appear, 
was a ghost ship, Mulder," she hissed back.

"Then this is another ghost ship, Scully!"

"Well, at least the name fits," she said, crossing her 
arms until she hit her wrist and winced.  "Mulder, I 
think these men are just actors."

"Pretty convincing act, if you ask me, Scully.  And 
if they were actors, why stay in character like that?  
You saw how the doctor treated your wrist and my 
head.  Would you stay in character if someone was 
injured?"

"I'm not an actor, Mulder.  I'm an FBI agent," she 
sneered.

"I don't think these men are actors, either.  I think 
we're on an English sailing ship from sometime 
after the American Revolution.   The English were 
at war with Napoleon during that time."

She slowly shook her head.  "And what was that 
about being married?  And the stuff about Boston 
College and a professor of literature!"

"Cover, Scully.  The last time I had this happen, I 
told the truth and it almost got me killed.  I'd like to 
think I'm learning," he said tensely.

They shared an angry silence for several moments.  
Finally, Scully drew in a deep breath and turned 
toward him.  "So, are we stuck in their time or are 
they stuck in ours?"

Mulder chewed his lip.  "I don't know.  Maybe 
we're all stuck sometime else.  We won't know 
anything until the ship starts moving."

Scully closed her eyes and nodded.

Stephen found Jack on the top deck at the rail near 
the wheel.  The Captain gave him a look and cocked 
his head.  

"They're resting," the doctor answered the unspoken 
question.  "Her wrist is sprained.  He has a cut on 
his head.  They are in surprisingly good shape for 
the condition of their boat."

"What were they doing this far from land?" Jack 
muttered, looking off on the horizon.

"Sailing, and they were blown off course by the 
storm last night," Stephen offered with a shrug.

"You believe that?" Jack asked, not leaving his 
search of where the sea met the sky.

"What wouldn't I?" Stephen returned.  "Jack, they're 
Americans.  We are off the coast of America.  I 
don't think they mean us any harm."

"He hardly seems the sailing type," Jack said 
casually.

"He's a professor.  Maybe she was at the helm," 
Stephen said with a wry grin.

Jack chuckled.  "She does seem the type.  Did you 
see her hair?  That is one fiery lady."

"He appeared totally devoted to her," Stephen 
noted.

Finally, Jack turned to his friend.  "I think you are 
entirely too trusting, Stephen, but I'm willing to 
give them the benefit of the doubt.  I just want you 
to keep an eye on them, and make sure that they 
stay out of the way.  I would rather they didn't get a 
close look at our arsenal."

"Of course, Jack."  He joined his friend's perusal of 
the skyline.  "Clouds to the south.  Maybe we'll get 
some wind soon," Stephen said, pointing off the 
starboard bow.

"Or fog.  We may be in for some soup," Jack said 
sourly.

Jack's words were reality by the time the two agents 
were ushered into the Captain's quarters for dinner.  
Mulder found himself ducking through all the 
portals, Scully tried to get a glimpse of the holds as 
they passed, but all was darkness in the growing 
dusk and fog.  The Captain's table, on the other 
hand, was brightly lit and cheery.

Aubrey introduced the assembled officers and 
midshipmen.  Scully withheld a gasp when she 
realized the small children in attendance were 
actually officers in training.  The boys couldn't have 
been more than 10 or 12.  One boy, a bright-eyed 
tow-head with an easy smile seemed particularly 
intelligent during conversation.  Scully was 
dismayed to note that his left sleeve was empty, 
obviously his forearm had been amputated.  She bit 
her lip and turned her attention to the Captain.

"It's not often that we have guests at table.  If you'd 
be so kind, Professor Mulder, to lead us in grace?"

Scully swallowed a groan, but Mulder seemed 
immune to her distress.  "Certainly, Captain," he 
said amiably.  "Dear Lord, for the food on this table, 
the calm after the storm and the kindness shown us 
this day, may we be forever grateful.  Amen."  An 
echo of 'amen' rounded the table.

"Well said, Professor, well said," Aubrey said with 
a smile.

"Very well said," Scully whispered as she leaned 
over to pass him a bowl of fish chowder.

"Oxford.  Grace was required," he whispered back 
and grinned impishly at her.

As dinner wound down, Mulder was pressed upon 
to entertain the assembled with his knowledge of 
poetry.  Scully was enraptured when he recited 
several stanzas of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 
complete with distinctive voices for each new 
character.   The doctor applauded his performance 
loud and long.  Even the Captain clapped him on 
the shoulder in appreciation.

"As much as I hate to end such lively company, I 
feel we shouldn't tire our guests.  They endured 
quite an ordeal last night," Dr. Maturin said finally.  

"Quite right, Doctor," Aubrey agreed.  "Lt. Pullings, 
accompany the Mulders to the sick bay where they 
can retire for the evening."

As they made their way out of the quarters, Scully 
nodded to the Doctor and the Captain.  "Thank you, 
sir, for your hospitality."

"We're happy to be of service, Mrs. Mulder.  Sleep 
well," Jack replied.  

After the agents had exited, a few of the officers 
stayed behind.  Jack listened to their assessment of 
the men's mood.  Without a whiff of wind, 
especially following the strong storm the night 
before, the men were frightened and wary.  Already 
some had started grumbling about a woman on 
board and the bad luck that foretold.

"Stephen, I think we need to keep a close eye on our 
guests," Jack told him after the officers had retired 
for the night.

"Jack --  " Stephen objected but his friend shook his 
head.

"I don't think they're spies, Stephen.  But the men 
are spooked and I don't want anything to happen to 
the lady or her husband while under my protection.  
Just keep an eye out, that's all I ask."

"Of course, Jack," the doctor replied hastily.

"Well, Mulder, you sure know how to show a girl a 
good time," Scully chided as they prepared to turn 
in, which consisted mostly of removing borrowed 
shoes and Mulder's new found waistcoat.

"I think we're faring pretty well here," Mulder 
countered.  "When I was on the Queen Anne, I'd 
already been beaten up a couple of times by now."

There was a small glass covered portal just over 
Scully's cot.  She knelled on the bedding and looked 
out into the inky black night.

"So what does it mean when there's no wind, 
Scully?" Mulder asked from the shadow of his cot.  
"I thought there is always wind."

"There is, usually.  And calm seas aren't a problem 
for the modern navy, obviously.  But in olden times, 
if the wind was in the wrong direction to tack or if it 
wasn't strong enough to fill the sails, you just 
drifted where you were."

"So we're just drifting," Mulder said and sighed.  He 
could just make out his partner's nod and the 
dejected slump of her shoulders.  "Scully, c'mon on 
over here," he said, his voice low and raspy. 

"Mulder, the cot is too small for both of us," she 
warned, but stepped over to his side and after a few 
moments, they were spooned together on his cot, 
Mulder holding her to his chest.

"See, perfect fit," he whispered into her ear.  "We'll 
get home, Scully.  I promise," he told her with more 
confidence than he felt.  He just hoped they 
wouldn't have to jump ship to do it.

When she first heard the groan, she thought it was 
Mulder.  After a moment, she came fully awake and 
realized it was farther away, beyond the curtain that 
made their little alcove.  She saw lamplight and 
shadows.  The groaning continued.  Someone was 
in distress.  The sound of violent retching was the 
last straw.  She had to see what was going on.

Slipping on her borrowed shoes, she cautiously 
pushed aside the curtain.  Dr. Mautrin was bending 
over a cot, another man was handing him 
instruments.  There was blood on the bedding and 
the floor.

"Is he injured?" Scully asked and the sound of her 
voice caused the Doctor to jump.  "I'm sorry, I 
heard the noise."

"My apologies, Madam.  No, he's not injured, he's 
ill.  High fever, vomiting.  I'm balancing his 
humors," Mautrin said without looking up from his 
work.

"Balancing his . . ."  Suddenly, it dawned on Scully 
what the doctor was saying.  "You're bleeding 
him?" she asked quickly.

"In order for the body to function, all humors must 
be in balance.  I understand science and medicine 
are not the customary studies for young 
gentlewomen, Mrs. Scully, but . . ."

"No, please, Dr. Mautrin, this is all wrong.  That 
man doesn't need to be bled!  He needs to be 
rehydrated.  There has to be a cause for his illness.  
What are his symptoms?" she demanded, muscling 
past the astonished man holding the instrument tray.

"Madam, please, you have to leave immediately.  I 
don't have time to answer your silly questions.  I 
have work to do," Mautrin objected. 

"So do I," Scully replied tersely.  "Did he complain 
of headache, muscle pains?  Is there blood in his 
stool?"  The man with the tray looked wide-eyed at 
her, but nodded in the affirmative.

"Madam, I must insist that you leave this room 
immediately!" Mautrin said forcefully.  "Higgins, 
assist Mrs. Mulder to her chamber!"

Higgins made a grab for her arm, but Scully held 
tight to Stephen's sleeve. "Dr. Mautrin, you must 
listen to me.  This man has malaria.  He doesn't 
need bloodletting, he doesn't need his humors 
balanced," she said with disgust.  "He needs 
quinine.  Surely you've heard of it.  It comes from 
the bark of a tree!"

"I've heard quite enough!  Higgins!" Stephen barked 
and this time Higgins was able to manhandle Scully 
back behind the curtain.  

Mulder woke up to see her being roughly thrown 
onto her cot.  "Best stay put, Miss.  This be man's 
work," Higgins said with a glare.

"Scully?" Mulder asked sleepily.  

"Shh, Mulder," she said, sitting stiffly on the edge 
of the cot, listening intently to the activity on the 
other side of the white cotton curtain.

"He seems to be coming 'round, Doctor," Higgins 
said hopefully.

"He should be fine for now.  I'll sit with him.  You 
get some rest, Higgins.  I'll need you in the 
morning, to attend to the others."

"Do you think she's right, sir?  Could it be the 
fever?"

"She's a woman.  She has no knowledge of 
medicine."

"They say the fever goes through a boat, makes 
ghosts of the crew," Higgins said in a trembling 
voice.

"It will be fine, Higgins.  Off with you, now."

It grew quiet once again.

"Scully," Mulder whispered.

"One of the crew has malaria, Mulder," she 
whispered back.  "I'd forgotten how archaic 
medicine was back in the 1800s.  The doctor was 
bleeding him to balance his humors," she added 
through gritted teeth.

"I take it that's not the right approach," he muttered.

"Exactly the wrong approach," she agreed.  "That 
man will be dead of dehydration and blood loss by 
morning.  And from what Higgins said, there are 
more like him."

"We need to get off this ship," Mulder whispered 
with a sigh.

Scully nodded in the darkness.  He pulled on her 
arm and silently convinced her to lie down beside 
him again.  "We can't say or do anything, Scully.  
They wouldn't understand and it would give us 
away."

She said nothing, but he could feel her tears fall on 
his hand as she clutched it to her cheek.

Morning broke and it looked just as dreary as the 
night before.  The fog hadn't lifted and the air was 
almost perfectly still.  Jack stood at the rail, staring 
off into the murky distance.  Stephen came up 
behind him and stood silently beside for a few 
moments before Jack acknowledged his presence.

"Smythe?" he asked.

Stephen nodded solemnly.  "Brady, as well.  Two 
dead, seven taken ill.  We need to get to land, Jack."

Jack pounded the rail with his fist.  "How do you 
suggest we do that, sir?  Row?" he spat out angrily.  
"There is no wind!  Not a damnable breeze!  Look 
at the sails!"

Stephen flinched at his friend's anger, but realized it 
wasn't directed at him.  He stayed quiet, letting Jack 
calm down.

"I'm doing all I can," Jack said evenly.  Then, 
looking at his friend he added, "as are you.  It's all 
we can do until the winds pick up."

Stephen started to say something else when 
something caught his eye and he turned abruptly.  
"Madam!  I warned you . . ."

"Dr. Maturin, my . . . husband has taken ill," Scully 
said formally.  Inside she was screaming.  It was 
bad enough that they were stuck on this ship, adrift 
at sea.  Now, when they'd awoken, Mulder had 
complained of muscle aches from the small cot.  An 
hour later, he commented that the room was stuffy.  
She'd dismissed his complaints until he suddenly 
began vomiting.  

"I'll be right down," Stephen assured her.  As she 
turned to leave, she noticed the looks the men were 
giving her.  Jack noticed the looks as well.

"Back to your work!" he ordered and all eyes 
immediately averted from the woman passing by.  
Jack groaned inwardly.  He knew that discipline 
only went so far when running head long against 
superstition.  He really didn't want to resort to 
lashings to keep the men in line.  For all he knew, 
their guests might have something to do with their 
bad luck.  Sadly, he turned his attention back to the 
horizon, hoping for a whiff of moving air.

They found Mulder lying on the cot in the curtained 
off corner of the sick bay.  He looked up blearily.  
"Scully?"

She sat down and shushed him, taking note of the 
doctor's furrowed brow.  "My middle name is Sally.  
It's a nick name."  Stephen seemed to relax a little, 
accepting her explanation.

"If I may?" the doctor asked, and Scully stood to 
allow him to exam Mulder.  "When did it start?"

"This morning.  He complained of an ache in his 
joints, but he said it was from sleeping on the small 
cot."

Stephen smiled up at her.  "They really aren't that 
comfortable for two," he noted and hastily dropped 
his eyes back to his patient.  "He has a fever."

"I don't know how high it is.  If you have a 
thermometer . . ."

The look Stephen gave her caused Scully to stop in 
mid sentence.  It was obvious he didn't know what 
she was talking about.  "Never mind," she said 
quickly.

"Well, for now, let's cover him, get him to sweat it 
out.  If he worsens, we'll take on more drastic 
measures."  He hoped to reassure her with his 
words, but they had the exact opposite effect.

"I must object," she said, slowly at first, then 
rushing the words from her mouth.  "He needs 
water, lots of fresh water.  And we don't want to 
cover him up, that only keeps the heat in.  We need 
to cool him off.  An alcohol rub would be helpful, 
but even sponging in cool water would be better 
than nothing.  And more importantly, he needs 
quinine."

Stephen sighed and rolled his eyes.  "Madam, I 
don't know where you get this fantasy that tree bark 
can cure a fever --"

"I know quinine will work because I am a doctor," 
Scully blurted out suddenly.  Once the words passed 
her lips, her eyes grew to saucers and she covered 
her hand with her mouth, as if to keep any other 
confessions from sneaking past.

"You . . . are a doctor?" Stephen asked, crossing his 
arms and glaring at her in abject disbelief.

"Yes, I am a medical doctor.  I work as a forensic 
pathologist."

A smile played at Stephen's lips.  "You . . . work?  
As a . . . what did you say?"

"I'm a pathologist.  You don't know what that is 
because the specialty hasn't been developed yet.  
For that matter, no specialties have been developed.  
It will be years before you even have surgeons," she 
sighed and sat down heavily on the empty cot 
across from her partner.

"I am . . . we are not from this time," she said 
slowly, as if talking to a child.  "We were caught in 
a . . . riff, a temporal anomaly caused by the storm.  
We are all caught in the Bermuda Triangle."

"The Devil's Triangle?  That's a myth, a ghost story 
to frighten midshipmen!" Stephen laughed heartily.  
"Madam, I have sailed through this part of the 
ocean on several occasions and never once . . ."

"Yes, well for Mulder, this is the second time this 
has happened," she said tersely.  "The last time 
wasn't so bad.  He was banged up, but we found 
him and got him to a hospital in time.  This time . . . 
I will not allow you to kill him.  Not till we get back 
home and I can do it myself," she ground out 
angrily.

"So, if you aren't from . . . this time, where do you 
come from?"

Scully chewed on her lip.  At best he would believe 
her.  At worst, he would consider her completely 
insane.  Not much of a choice.  "We are from the 
year 2004," she said softly.

"Two thousand . . . but that's two hundred years 
from now!" Stephen cried.  Then he looked at her 
closely.  "Why would you conjure up such a 
fantastic tale?" he asked softly.

"Why indeed?" she returned.  "Please, I beg of you.  
Search the ship, there might be some quinine on 
board somewhere.  At dinner you were talking 
about having just left the West Indies.  Surely 
someone there might have shown it to you.  Oh, 
what did they call it?" she muttered anxiously.  Her 
head jerked up and she smiled at her own 
recollection.  "Jesuit bark!  Or Peruvian bark, either 
one."

Stephen sat down beside her and took her hands in 
his.  "Mrs. Mulder --"

"Scully.  My name is Dana Katherine Scully.  This 
man," she nodded toward her partner, "is Fox 
Mulder.  We work for the American Government, 
an agency called the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation.  We work in Washington, DC, which 
hasn't even been laid out in this time," she said with 
a tired sigh.  "Look, I know none of this makes 
sense.  Look at it this way -- maybe you're 
dreaming, or maybe I'm dreaming or maybe Mulder 
is dreaming both of us up, but what I am telling you 
is the truth.  Ordinarily I wouldn't care if you 
believed me or not, I'm used to that.  But Mulder's 
life is on the line.  And that is very important to 
me."

"You aren't married?" Stephen asked, raising an 
eyebrow.

"We're . . . partners.  For all intents and purposes . . 
." she shrugged her shoulders.  "I won't sit here and 
watch him die," she said flatly, not acknowledging 
the tear that careened down her left cheek.

 Stephen looked down at their still joined hands and 
gently placed her hands back in her lap.  "Madam, I 
have been a doctor on this ship for three years now.  
I have seen fevers before.  I know of this bark you 
speak of, but it doesn't always work.  Sometimes, 
nothing works."

"Please, you have to try.  I understand that this is 
beyond your comprehension, but believe me, the 
symptoms Mulder and these men are displaying are 
those of malaria, a bacterial infection caused by the 
sting of a specific species of mosquito found in the 
tropics.  It can be cured -- with quinine.  In a few 
years, your country, Britain, will conquer the 
continent of Asia because of this discovery!  It will 
enable you to live and work in tropical jungles, 
building railroads and plantations across India.  
You'll even invent a drink to make it more palatable 
-- you'll mix it with gin and it will be famous!"

"If what you say is true . . ." Stephen began.

"It is!  Every word of it!"  Scully thought hard, 
trying to come up with something she could use to 
persuade him.  "OK, look, on June 22, 1815, the 
British forces will defeat Napoleon's army at the 
Battle of Waterloo.  And you'll never have to worry 
about Napoleon again!  In fact, in our time, you will 
be allies with the French."

Stephen stared at her, expressionless.  Finally he 
clapped his hand on his leg and laughed loudly.  
"Now, that is a tale worthy of retelling!" he said in 
between guffaws.

"Doctor, is there a problem?"  The Captain stood in 
the doorway, holding the thin curtain to one side.

Stephen stood and nodded toward Scully.  "I'm 
afraid the stress has become too much -- "

"We're not from this time," Scully shouted out 
before the doctor could finish.  "We're from a time 
in your future.  We, all of us, are caught in the 
Bermuda Triangle, in a riff in time.  I am trying to 
explain to the doctor that the treatment he is 
proposing will kill my partner, and the rest of your 
crew!"

Stephen removed his glasses and rubbed them with 
the sleeve of his shirt.  "As I was saying --"

"What do you suggest we do differently, Mrs. 
Mulder?"

"Scully," Stephen corrected, before the agent had a 
chance to do it herself.  "Her name is Dana Scully.  
They aren't married."

"The soup thickens," Jack said with a smirk.  "Miss 
Scully, then.  What do you think the doctor should 
do?"

Scully glared at the doctor, expecting him to say 
something else.  He shrugged and remained silent.  
"The correct treatment in cases of malaria is 
mefloquine, or Malarone.  But since I know you 
haven't developed those yet, quinine is an 
acceptable substitute."

"Jesuit bark," Stephen explained with a dubious 
expression.

"Is there any danger in trying what the lady 
suggests, Doctor?" Jack asked calmly.

Stephen flinched as if slapped.  "No, of course not.  
But it does delay proper treatment.  If I were to 
balance the humors --"

"Which will definitely kill him!" Scully exclaimed.  
"I refuse to let you touch him!"

"The lady seems quite convinced," Jack said mildly.  
"Do we have any of this Jesuit bark on board?"

Stephen shrugged.  "One of the men might have 
picked some up in port," he offered.

"Try asking the ones who aren't sick," Scully said 
with a sneer.

Jack held back a smile; her temper was as fiery as 
her hair.  "I'll send Lt. Pullings round presently.  We 
must do something, Doctor.  Two more men have 
succumbed."

Stephen sighed heavily and nodded.

In an hour Lt. Pullings arrived back at the sick bay 
with a canvas pouch.  "I was able to gather this 
much," he told Stephen.  In a lowered voice, he 
added "and it was just as the lady said.  The men 
who had it weren't among the sick."

Stephen rolled his eyes, but presented the pouch to 
Scully.  "How do you propose to administer it?" he 
asked, arms crossed.

Scully chewed on her lip a moment.  "Pulverize it, 
mix it with water.  I'm not entirely sure."

"But you said -- "

"In my day and age, Doctor Maturin, this comes in 
pill form, produced in a factory under very carefully 
monitored conditions.  I've never had to produce it 
in the wild," she blustered.

"Here," he said with a put upon expression.  "I'll see 
what I can concoct."

It was a long night.  Mulder continued to suffer 
from the fever, as did the other men.  Over half the 
crew was affected and Scully feared the quinine that 
the Doctor had brewed would run out before all of 
them had received treatment.  In the end, it was like 
the proverbial loaves and fishes, there was just 
enough for everyone.

Sometime near dawn, Mulder started tossing and 
turning.  Scully watched near helpless, applying wet 
compresses and talking in soothing tones.  As the 
first streaks of light came through the small portal, 
she saw the sweat break out on his forehead.  Soon, 
he'd soaked through the bedding, but she wasn't at 
all worried.  His fever had broken.  At the same 
moment, there was a shout from the crow's nest.  
The sails were filling with a southerly wind.

Mulder was still a little weak, but feeling much 
better later that day as he stood on the deck with 
Scully and the Captain.  Beyond the bow they could 
see the shores of Bermuda.

"Do you think you can handle the dingy, Miss 
Scully?" Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I don't think that is a problem, Captain," she 
replied.

"I really don't understand why you've refused my 
offer to let us take you into port.  I've been to 
Kingston, it's a lovely village," Jack said.

"I just think it might be best for us to part ways out 
here, Captain," Mulder explained.  

"That time riff you spoke of?" Jack asked.

"You don't seem as skeptical about it as the good 
doctor," Mulder said with a smile.

"Well, when Stephen has been on the sea as long as 
I have, he'll find it's easier to change his mind than 
to change the facts," Jack said with a broad grin.  
"God be with you both," he said with a bow to 
Scully.

"And with you and your crew, Captain Aubrey," 
Scully said as the two agents crawled down the rope 
ladder to the waiting dingy.

Scully took up the rows as Mulder waved goodbye.  
"Let me know when you get tired, Scully."

"I won't get tired, Mulder," she said with an 
affectionate smile.

"So, are you going to come up with some sort of 
scientific explanation for how we just spent two 
days on a ship from the early 1800s?"

"No, Mulder, I'm not."

His eyes grew as wide as his smile.  "Good heavens, 
Scully.  What's gotten into you?"

"It's what Aubrey said, Mulder.  It's just easier to 
change my mind than to change the facts," she said 
with a shrug.

"Thank you, for saving my life again."

"Don't mention it, Mulder.  And the next time you 
suggest we go sailing, remember this trip."

"That I will, Scully.  That I will."

The end