"The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (2/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part 1 for disclaimers, etc.


All right, Mulder, I told myself firmly, you've explained it to
yourself, so get your ass back on task. You've got a ton of important
mail to catch up on.

Well, okay, so most of the mail was junk -- paranoid rants written on
yellow legal pads, both sides, no margins, warning of the coming
Apocalypse, or handfuls of clippings from tabloid newspapers I'd
already read, some with notes scribbled in the margins, some not.

As Daniel says sometimes, S-squared, D-squared: Same shit, different
day. It just didn't hold my attention.

I nearly threw the rest of the pile into the trash unopened, but one
of the envelopes caught my eye. It hadn't come through the mail; there
was no stamp, no postage of any kind.

And it looked almost exactly like the others that had been arriving
recently. Those had contained receipts for diesel fuel, detonation
cord and ammonium nitrate.

It was pretty clear that someone was building a bomb -- someone who,
for some reason, wanted me to know he was building a bomb. So far,
though, there had been nothing to indicate where or when it was set to
go off. I consulted with the FBI's anti-terrorism division, and they
couldn't figure it out either; they just told me to keep them
informed, and I did.

I opened the envelope using my pocketknife and used the back of the
blade to snag the contents so as not to smear any fingerprints that
might be there, although no prints had turned up on any of the other
missives from this UNSUB. Paper isn't the best medium for prints,
anyway, but there's always a chance.

Inside were two receipts, each bearing the same signature: One for the
rental of a two-ton truck and another for first and last month's rent
on space in a warehouse in Flushing, Queens, N.Y.

Queens. It was a viable launching area, even a viable target. JFK
International is in Queens, and the United Nations is just across the
East River.

I dropped the papers and grabbed my cell phone.

************

As Scully Saw It

************

I might as well resign myself to it; my life will never be simple.

It wasn't enough that Jill, Mulder, Daniel and I were now living under
the same roof, or that Jim Reilly -- who was clearly attracted to me,
and who stood an excellent chance of making that mutual --had now
joined us.

No, on top of that, Mulder had taken me aside just a few minutes ago
to tell me that our weekend would be interrupted by a counter-
terrorism detail in Flushing, N.Y. An FBI-owned single-engine plane
would pick us up at the airfield shortly after midnight; we would be
issued battle dress and tactical gear and would go in with CIRG, the
Critical Incident Response Group.

None of that was my idea of fun, believe me, and it only added to the
steadily mounting tension of our working relationship to find out that
he'd been planning this operation for weeks and hadn't told me about
it.

For now, Mulder and I were the only ones who knew about it, and I knew
why: He wanted to relax and forget about it as much as possible
between now and then.

I didn't. I wanted to tell the others and to have a chance to prepare
myself mentally, but there was no point in starting another argument.
Privately, however, I thought that Daniel was going to be at least as
upset as I was to be told at the last minute that we were leaving and
that there were armed terrorists awaiting us after midnight.

I didn't tell him, though; it's not my place to tell them how to deal
with each other. I'm not Partner Number Three here, I'm just their
friend. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that.

But then a friend isn't a bad thing to be, especially on evenings like
this one. Dinner was over, the dishes were done and we were all
sitting around the kitchen table, just enjoying each other's company.

Well -- maybe that's going too far. Jill had been rather quiet since
Mulder and Daniel had joined us, and she wasn't making much eye
contact with either of them -- especially not Daniel.

Still, it was a pleasant evening; pleasant, that is, until "Time After
Time" started playing on the radio and Jim shuddered as though an
arctic sea had just washed over him.

"Oh, my God," he said, shaking his head. "Somebody change the station,
quick."

"What is it?" Daniel asked.

"That song," Jim said. "That was Elise's Navy song."

"What's a Navy song?" Mulder asked, clearly intrigued by the concept,
as he turned to look at me. He has such intense curiosity about
everything. It's one of the things I love about him.

"You know, Mulder," I said. "Like 'Beyond the Sea' was my mom's Navy
song. Every Navy wife has a song she listens to while her husband's at
sea."

"So Elise liked 'Time After Time'?" Jill said. "I didn't know that."

"Only for a while," Jim said, getting up to fill his coffee cup --and
to change the station. "I think it ended up being 'Love the One You're
With.'"

"Ouch," Jill said, wincing. "That was cold."

"So was kissing me off while I was at sea," Jim said as he sat back
down -- acting much more nonchalant than he felt, I'm sure. "Anyway, a
Navy song ought to at least mention water, preferably the sea, and
that one doesn't. Probably an omen."

"So do your sisters-in-law have songs?" Mulder asked me.

"Oh, yes," I said, nodding my head firmly. "Tara's is 'Stranger on the
Shore,' which definitely mentions the sea. Mary likes an old folk song
called 'John Reilly.' It's about a young woman who's been waiting
faithfully for seven years for John Reilly to return from the sea.
When he does return, she doesn't recognize him."

"One of our ancestors, no doubt," Daniel said to Jim, who laughed.

"No doubt," Jim said. "Mom had a song, too -- what the hell was the
name of it?"

"'Harbor Lights,'" Jill said. "Don't you remember? She had that old
album and she played it endlessly. It stuck on that one line every
time -- 'You were on the ship, dear, and I was on the shore ... the
shore ... the shore ...' over and over. It could make you nuts, but
she wouldn't even try to replace it because your father bought it for
her."

"Oh, yeah, I remember now," Jim said. "God, I hated that damn song. So
what was yours, Jill?"

I think Jim realized his mistake right away, but it was too late. Jill
just sat there, looking down at the coffee cup in her hand, tipping it
toward her as if trying to decide what that thing was on the bottom.
The rest of us just sat there uncomfortably, wondering how to back
away from this painful topic.

Except Daniel.

"Jill's song was 'Unchained Melody,'" he said, softly, looking at
Jill.

She glanced up, quickly, and for the first time that night, their eyes
met. "I didn't think you knew about that," she said, just as softly.
"I never told you."

"You didn't have to tell me," Daniel said, with that gentle smile of
his. "You used to lunge for the volume control every time it played on
the radio. You even woke me up with it."

"When did I ever wake you up with that song?" Jill said, looking a bit
puzzled. "I never woke you up at all. You were either on duty and you
got up by yourself or you weren't and you didn't get up until you were
good and ready."

"About ten years ago ... Interstate 20 ... near the Georgia state
line, en route from Baltimore to Pensacola ... " Daniel said, a much
more humorous smile now tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Does any
of that ring a bell, Jill Marie?"

"Oh, God," she said, and she covered her mouth like a teen-ager with
braces. "I remember now. I was driving when that song came on, and I
turned the volume way up without thinking. You practically went
through the roof. You'd have thought I'd just sounded collision or
something."

"Well, considering I'd been driving since we left Baltimore and I'd
only been asleep about an hour, you're lucky I didn't take a swing at
you," Daniel retorted, but I thought I saw a hint of a twinkle in his
eyes, too. "Hell of a way to treat a man who's at the point of
exhaustion."

"Well, I _said_ I was sorry," Jill said, but then she started to
laugh. "You'll have to admit, Danny, it was pretty funny."

"Danny?" I said, lifting an eyebrow, and Jim snickered.

Daniel winced. "Jill ..." he said.

"Sorry -- Daniel," she said, but she didn't look very sorry. She
looked happier than I'd ever seen her, in fact. "Force of habit.
Anyway, you called me Jill Marie."

"That _happens_ to be your name," Daniel said, but he was smiling
again. "Would you prefer one of those nicknames you had in high
school? I'm sure everyone here would love to know ..."

"I don't think anyone's really interested in that kind of ancient
history, Daniel," Jill said, hastily.

"Oh, sure they are," Jim said, with that pesky-kid-brother tone in his
voice, but I thought privately that he seemed more relieved than
mischievous. "Hey, would you guys like to hear the name I gave her way
back when?"

"Stand down, lieutenant, I can handle this," Daniel said with a smile,
not taking his eyes off Jill.

"Aye, aye, sir," Jim said, flashing a delightfully impish grin my way.
"However, sir, I strongly suggest that you may need additional
ordnance. You know -- like that name they gave her after that thing
happened with the frog in Mrs. Dumas' biology class?"

"You know, I think I'll go for a walk on the beach," Jill said,
brightly, as she stood up. "It's such a lovely night."

"Sure, change the subject," Daniel said. "You just keep it in mind,
Jill. I can narc you out anytime I get ready."

"And to the FBI, yet," Jim said, standing up. "Dana, you feel like a
walk on the beach?"

"I think I do," I said, rising and taking my coffee cup to the sink.
"Jill, do you mind if we tag along?"

"Not at all, but I'll probably venture off by myself after a while,"
Jill said, following me into the kitchen.

"Fox?" Daniel said. "You want to go?"

Mulder didn't answer right away; that was unusual enough to get my
attention. I looked at him, searching his face for signs of what might
be wrong.

What I saw there I can scarcely describe: fear is too strong a word,
and so is heartbreak, but the dawn of both emotions was in his eyes.

He was looking at Jill, who was rinsing out the coffee cups, smiling
and humming quietly as she worked.

The song was "Unchained Melody."

"Fox?" Daniel said again.

"Sure," Mulder said, with no animation in his voice, as he rose.
"Sure, let's go."

************

As Mulder Saw It

************

Daniel and I followed the others down to the beach, but even that
short walk tired him pretty badly, so we stopped and let the others go
ahead. I gathered firewood while Daniel got the fire started.

It took him a few minutes; it was cold, and windy, and the spray made
everything damp. But Daniel's as patient about campfire-building as he
is about everything else, and after several false starts, he had a
roaring fire going.

He started to sit next to me and put his head in my lap, the way he
usually does when there's a fire, but this time he hesitated. When he
sat down, there was a distinct space between us.

I just sat there, pretending everything was all right, breaking up
what was left of the twigs Daniel had used for kindling and tossing
them, one by one, into the fire.

Daniel watched me for a long time before he spoke.

"Something's bothering you, Fox," he said, in that quiet voice of his.


I shrugged. "It's nothing important," I said.

"Bullshit," Daniel said, smiling and shaking his head at me. "I know
when you're hiding something."

"Not very well, apparently," I said, smiling back just a little.

"Not well at all, actually," Daniel said. "So what is it?"

I shrugged again. "I don't know," I said. "Just ... it was a little
strange, you know, seeing you and Jill together."

"Strange in what way?" he asked.

"Strange in that I've always known you used to be married, but it
never really occurred to me before what that meant," I said, tossing
another twig onto the fire.

"What does it mean?" he asked, quite calmly, although knowing Daniel,
I'm pretty sure he knew that what was coming was going to be
difficult. He always seems to know.

I looked at him. "It means that, for all intents and purposes, you
used to be straight," I said. "I never really had to deal with that
before, because I always told myself you were unhappy in that life.
Now I'm not so sure."

"Fox, I was never straight, even if I almost convinced myself that I
was," Daniel said, quietly. "I don't know anything about being
straight. I just know what it's like when people think you are. But
that's not the same, and you know it."

"Yeah, I know it," I said. I broke another twig in two and tossed it
onto the fire. I didn't say anything else for a while, just sat there
watching the sparks fly up as the twigs snapped and popped.

"I wish I knew why it bothers you so much, after all this time,"
Daniel said finally.

"I don't know exactly," I said. "I guess it just puts a distance
between us -- or maybe it makes me aware of a distance that was there
all along and I just didn't know it."

"There's no distance between us, Fox," he said. "I'm still the same
person you've always known."

"That's just the point, Daniel," I said, throwing a few more twigs
into the fire. "I don't know you. I mean, I know you, but I don't know
the straight man you used to be, that you wanted to be. And you _did_
want it; badly enough to get married, badly enough to try to stay
married even when you finally knew the truth."

"And you think I want to go _back_ to that?" he said, in disbelief.
"Jesus, Fox, am I really that much of a stranger to you?"

He had a right to feel hurt; I was saying some pretty hurtful things.
But I needed ... shit, I don't know what, just something --something
that only Daniel could give me. I had to keep going, for reasons I
just couldn't articulate, even to myself.

"You're not a stranger to me, Daniel," I said, slowly -- giving myself
time to back out, I guess. "And I didn't mean that the way it sounded.
But, yes, I think you still wish you were straight -- and what does
that say about how you look at me? I'm not straight; I've never tried
to be or wanted to be or even really pretended to be. If you hate
being gay, if you hate yourself for being gay, then how the hell must
you feel about me?"

"What do you mean, how do I feel about you?" Daniel said,
incredulously. "I must have told you a hundred times."

"Yes, you have," I said, looking back at the fire again. "Maybe that's
why it hurts so much that you don't seem to want to touch me right
now."

"You're wrong," Daniel said, very quietly. "I do want to touch you.
You don't know how badly I want to touch you. I just don't quite know

what I'm supposed to do about it with my ex-wife and my brother
around."

And there it was, folks: With those few words, the Mulder house in
West Tisbury, heretofore known as the place where Daniel and I could
be ourselves, was officially annexed into that vast area of my life
known as the closet.

Great. Just fucking great.

"There's nothing you can do about it," I said, bitterly. "There's not
one goddamn thing you can do about it. That's just part of the hell of
being gay in a straight world. You don't get to act like a couple even
when you are. You have to pretend you're just friends or tennis-
playing buddies or something. It happens all the time."

"I'm not trying to pretend we're not lovers, Fox," Daniel said. "I
wouldn't do that."

I shrugged. "It's too late to pretend anyway," I said. "They already
know. They saw me holding your hand while you were unconscious. Maybe
the message here is that it's all right for me to look like a fairy,
as long as you don't."

Oh, God. That shocked even me. I didn't have to hear Daniel swearing
under his breath to know I'd gone way overboard.

But there was no way to take it back.

Daniel got to his feet and dusted the sand off his jeans. "I've had
enough of this," he said, and his voice was about as cold as it ever
gets. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to join me later -- that is,
if you still want to."

"Look, I didn't mean ..." I began, standing up, but he interrupted me.

"The hell you didn't," he said, and I could see the hurt and the anger
in his eyes. "You know, what's really pathetic is that all week, all I
could think of was that you'd be here for the weekend and I'd get to
be with you again. I mean, I was counting the fucking _minutes_, Fox.
And now you're telling me you think I'm ashamed of you, that I don't
want to touch you and I don't want anyone to know we're lovers. Well,
to hell with that. I'm out of here. Try not to make too much noise
when you come in."

He started to walk away, but I grabbed his arm and wouldn't let him.
"Daniel, don't," I said. "Don't walk away. Please."

"I don't need any more of this, Fox," he said. His voice was still
cold and sharp, but at least he didn't try to pull away. "I've already
had way more of this crap than I can take."

God, I hate to hear him speak to me that way. He almost never gets
angry at me; which, I suppose, is why it hurts so much when he does.

"Daniel," I said, letting go of his arm, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry as
hell. I didn't mean to insult you. That's the last thing I wanted to
do. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me."

Daniel didn't say anything for a minute; he just stood there, silently
watching me. I looked into his eyes, afraid that he was just too angry
to speak, but what I saw there was entirely different. I saw anger,
all right, but it was fading fast; behind it, I saw concern and
compassion.

And love.

I mean real love, goddamn it, which was the last thing on earth I
deserved from him right then. God, I was ashamed of myself. I sat back
down on the sand, resting my elbows on my bent knees. With a deep
sigh, Daniel sat next to me and took my hand, interlacing his fingers
with mine.

"Tell me what's really wrong, Fox," he asked, looking out over the
ocean. "This is more than just Jill's being here, stressful as that is
for both of us. Is something wrong at work?"

"I don't want to blame it on that ..." I said, but Daniel broke in.

"Blame it on that if that's what's to blame," he said, in his normal
tone of voice as he turned to face me. "I'm guessing this is something
to do with what you said about having to solve everything with a
bullet lately."

"I should never have said that to you," I said, shaking my head.

"Yes, you should," Daniel said, more quietly. "And I think it's time
you told me what that was about."

"I can't," I said. I took my hand away from him and started massaging
my forehead with my fingertips. My head was starting to hurt, badly.
"I can't even think about it right now."

"Right now, or never?" Daniel said.

"No, not never," I said. "I just can't get into it now, because I have
to leave for New York in about half an hour. There's a stakeout of a
domestic terror group, and someone in the group's been leaking info to
me."

"Why to you?" Daniel said, and I could tell he was worried. "And what
kind of info?"

I shook my head. "I can't tell you until this is over. As to why me --
your guess is as good as mine."

"This isn't my field, Fox, but it sounds as though somebody might be
trying to draw you into the open," he said. "Somebody with a real
grudge against you."

"That is a distinct possibility," I said, looking down into the fire
again. "I would go so far as to say it's the most likely scenario."

"Then why ..." Daniel began, then stopped himself. He let out his
breath slowly. "Never mind," he said. "I get it. You're the bait to
draw _them_ out into the open."

Sometimes I wish Daniel wasn't quite so intelligent.

As casually as I could, I picked up another twig and pitched it into
the fire. "That's the general idea," I said.

"Well, just for the record, I hate the hell out of that idea," Daniel
said, trying to sound as though he were joking, but a slight catch in
his voice gave him away. He was afraid for me, and he had reason to
be. But I wasn't going to tell him that.

"I'm not exactly overcome with enthusiasm for it myself," I said, with
a short laugh. "But it comes with the territory. Anyway, we're going
in with some fairly scary-looking SWAT types, so don't worry. I'll
probably be back before breakfast."

"Those SWAT types can't be any scarier-looking than you, G-man,"
Daniel said, smiling at me, but the smile dimmed quickly. "You were
thinking about this when I came out of the bedroom, weren't you?"

"Among other things," I said. Shit, there was no point in trying to
deny it now.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said quietly. "I should have realized something
was wrong."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," I said, shaking my head.
"It was my fault."

"No, it wasn't," he said, turning to look at me. "Not entirely,
anyway, and maybe not even mostly." He stopped there, then shook his
head. "I wish I knew what to say; I don't want you to leave with
things still unresolved."

I looked away from him and tossed the last of the twigs onto the fire.
"I don't know what you could say," I said, trying -- and failing -- to
sound casual. "But I can think of something you could do."

"And what might that be?" Daniel asked, softly.

I shrugged. "You could give me a kiss for luck," I said. "That is, if
you feel like it."

Daniel didn't answer me right away, and that scared me -- I thought I
might have made him angry again. Then I felt his hand on my cheek,
felt him turning my face toward his, cradling my face in his hands as
he gently traced the outline of my lips with his thumb.

Slowly, with no hurry whatsoever, Daniel brought his lips to mine in a
kiss that was as tender as it was brief. He pulled back, but only for
a second; he kissed me again, and yet again, the kisses never growing
deeper or more passionate, but only more loving, more comforting --
more forgiving.

Then he sat back, taking my hands in his. "Good luck," he said,
quietly.

I wanted to answer him, but I couldn't speak, didn't dare speak. He'd
already given me so much, and yet I needed more, needed that something
that only Daniel could give me, the thing that had pushed me to start
the damn argument in the first place ...

I needed him. It was that simple, and that complicated.

And as always, he knew. He looked down for a moment, as though he was
thinking, trying to decide what to do, but he tightened his hold on my
hands, acknowledging with the gesture that my unspoken message had
reached him.

It seemed like forever before he raised his head and looked at me
again.

"Come here, lover," he said, barely above a whisper.

I went into his arms so fast you'd think my life depended on it --
which in a way, I suppose, it did. I needed him the way I needed air
to breathe or water to drink, and he gave me all I asked for. I didn't
need more.

I was with Daniel, and that was enough.

************

As Jim Saw It

************

Damn, this is a weird situation to be in.

I'm not one damn bit sorry I got into it, mind you, but that doesn't
mean it's easy to understand or to deal with.

I'd enjoyed the hell out of the drive to the Vineyard, even the long
ferry ride, because for the first time in years, I had my big brother
all to myself. We talked more than we'd talked since before he left
for college. It wasn't anything deep, really, just your average guy
conversation; you know, lots of talk about the Celtics and the Red Sox
and the latest nutbag directive from the SECNAV.

For you on-shore types, that's the Secretary of the Navy.

Anyway, it was great. I'd missed the hell out of Daniel in the past
few years, and there was a lot of lost time to make up.

I was looking forward to the evening, too, because I wanted another
chance to talk to Dana Scully.

I wasn't bullshitting when I told her I needed a friend. I've got some
great shipmates and I'd trust any one of them with my life, but it's
axiomatic in the Navy that you don't invest too much emotionally in
billets or personnel because you probably won't be with them for long
-- witness my upcoming transfer to the USS City of Corpus Christi.


END "The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (2/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)