From: [email-masked] (MATTHEWS-SIMMONS KELLIE)
Date: Thu, 21 Jul 1994 04:45:17 GMT

The story you are about to read contains SEX, written in loving detail. 
If that bothers you, either do NOT read this story, or get someone who
doesn't mind erotica to black out all the juicy parts for you before you
read it.  If you're underage, get your parent's permission to read it. 

Don't flame me if you're silly enough to go ahead and read it after I
warned you, and then get offended by it.   --kms

This story copyright 1994 by the author.  Permission to distribute freely
is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a
trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. 

Okay, now that all the official stuff is out of the way, let me make a
brief comment.  This story is a companion piece to "Gemma" and was written
to appease all the GATB-er's who kept writing me to complain that Scully
didn't "get any" in "Gemma."  :-) It does NOT feature any romantic stuff
between Our Heroes, but gives Dana a shot at someone completely different. 
And, as usual in my work, though it is erotica, it also has a plot. 
Enjoy. 

Kellie Matthews-Simmons//[email-masked]  
Member: SFLA&EBS,  PSEB,  DDEB,  X-phile   "Ego veno eos in vulcos minos."
"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
 humiliation." --Fox Mulder, X-Files "Squeeze"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

                          Ancient Dreams, part 1.
                                    Kellie Matthews-Simmons

       Dana Scully leaned back in her seat with a sigh, looking out the
window at the tarmac below the plane.  God, she really needed this
vacation.  It had been a very, very long year.  The settlement of her
father's will and his bequest to her had given her the incentive she'd
needed to take a bit of a break.  She hadn't realized exactly what she was
getting into when she'd accepted the task of working with Fox Mulder on
the X-Files.  It had been a rough year not only physically, but mentally
and emotionally as well.  In the end, her belief system had been as
traumatized as her body had been on occasion.  She shivered, thinking
about how close she'd come to dying a couple of times.  Both Eugene Tooms,
and the damned prehistoric mites had almost gotten her.  On top of that
there was the humiliation of the time Mulder had almost had to peel her
off the Kindred guy, Brother Andrew, because she couldn't resist his
pheromones.  She still burned with embarrassment whenever she remembered
that incident... Mulder's comment about her "doing the wild thing with a
total stranger" had stung more than it should have, though she knew
objectively he had just been trying to lighten the situation. 
       Thinking about cases reminded her that she'd meant to tell Mulder
she'd left a new one in his inbox.  He would never find it there, since he
only went through it when it started to overflow.  There was an airphone
in the seat-back in front of her and she almost reached for it, then sat
back, smiling wryly at herself.  She just couldn't seem to leave work
behind!  He had enough on his hands, travelling to three states to check
out reports of UFO's sighted around large defense contractor sites, and
wouldn't be back for days.  She'd drop him a postcard from the Shannon
airport, he'd get it when he got back... provided the Irish postal service
was at all reliable. 
       She opened her book, a murder mystery, then closed it again.  Just
what she needed, more mystery!  She should have taken that trashy romance
Karen had offered her, that would have been better vacation fare.  The
only thing that had stopped her was that the last thing she needed was to
feel any more frustrated than she already did.  That was the other
drawback to working with Mulder; she was attracted to him.  She knew
better, of course.  He was maddeningly stubborn, annoyingly focused, and
emotionally a mess, yet despite all that she found herself not only
admiring him, but liking him as well.  That was something she just
couldn't afford.  She had to work with him, and any hint of her attraction
would make that impossible. 
       Slightly raised voices told her there was some kind of problem
three rows up from her own.  A man and a woman were standing in the aisle
with a flight attendant who was looking at tickets and seeming flustered. 
Scully eavesdropped unabashedly, and after a moment realized that as often
happened, there had been a mixup in seat assignments.  One of the people
in the seats, and one of the people standing had the same assigned seat. 
The attendant had her seating chart out and was studying it, then she
pointed, at the empty seat next to Scully.  Dana sighed.  So much for the
unaccustomed luxury of flying with an empty seat beside her.  She'd known
it was too good to last.  She pretended not to have noticed the commotion,
as the attendant led someone toward the seat. 
   "Here you are, sir.  I'm so sorry about the misunderstanding.  I hope
this will work for you." 
       "I'm sure it'll be fine,"  he said, softly, in a tantalizingly
accented voice.  "Would you look after my sister?  Let me know if she
needs aught?" 
       Aught?  How odd... Scully looked up to see the man staring toward
his traveling companion with a look of concern.  Now that her view was
unobstructed, she could see that the woman removing her coat before
sitting down was quite noticeably pregnant.  She was startled to realize
that except for what looked to be a ten-year difference in age, the man
and woman could be twins.  Both had hair of an unusual dark auburn, and
deep-set eyes under sharply winged brows.  They were both strikingly
attractive.  Neither would have looked out of place on the cover of a
fashion magazine. 
       "Should she be really be traveling in her condition?  It's a long
flight..."  the attendant looked worriedly from the man to the woman, who
had seated herself. 
       The man chuckled.  "She's not sick, just with child.  She'll be
fine, if a tad uncomfortable,"  the man reassured the attendant as he
removed his calf-length coat and folded it before placing it in the
overhead compartment.  Dana caught a glimpse of the label and her eyebrows
lifted: cashmere.  It had probably cost him the equivalent of a month of
her salary.  She noticed with irritation that the compartment was an easy
reach for him.  She always had trouble getting her things into an
overhead... unless she was traveling with Mulder and could make him do it
for her.  She didn't *feel* short, it always surprised her that she was. 
       "You're sure she'll be all right?  Her physician said she could
travel?"  The flight attendant, her name-tag said Johnston, was still
worried.  She looked young, and was probably new at her job. 
       "Aye, she just needs to get home,"  the man took the attendant's
hand and looked into her eyes.  "She'll be fine, believe me,"  his voice
was low and husky. 
       Dana suppressed the urge to snicker as Ms. Johnston swayed toward
him.  Dana was sure he was very charismatic, but the woman didn't have to
be so *obvious* about her attraction. 
       "Of course she will,"  the young woman repeated, a bit dreamily. 
       "Go on now, and see to the others." 
        He let go of her hand.  She stared at it for a moment, blinked,
then an embarrassed blush spread over her face.  "I'll... I'll just go
start the final flight check now,"  she said, hurrying toward the galley. 
        The man closed the overhead compartment and sat down next to
Scully, trying to wedge his knees into the meager space between their bank
of seats and the next.  His arm brushed hers as he attempted to get
comfortable in a seat made for someone more her size than his.  She
noticed that the fabric of his shirt had the rich gleam of silk, and he
wore a massive gold Celtic interlace ring on the forefinger of his left
hand.  That was unusual, most men wore rings only on their ring fingers,
or pinkies.  His elbow nudged her, and she shifted aside to try to give
him a little more room. 
       "Sorry,"  he said apologetically.  "I didn't mean to disturb you." 
        Dana looked him full in the face for the first time, and suddenly
understood Ms. Johnston's reaction.  Her earlier assessment of him as
striking was wrong, gleaned only from brief glances.  Seen this close, he
was one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen.  He reminded her
vaguely of someone, but she couldn't put her finger on who.  He had broad,
prominent cheekbones, a very straight, slightly blunt-tipped nose; his
mouth was full-cut and sensual.  But it was his eyes that were
mesmerizing... a luminous, leafy green, fringed with utterly spectacular
lashes.  The slight lines around his eyes and the gentle lift to the
corners of his mouth bespoke humor, and there was something about the
flare of his nostrils that hinted of passions barely held in check. 
Caught and held by his gaze, her lips parted on a sigh, then she
remembered herself and broke eye contact. 
       "Oh, no, it's all right, I understand.  It's difficult for someone
of your height to travel coach." 
       For just a moment he looked puzzled.  "Coach?  'Tis no coa... ah,
you mean the seats!  Aye, usually we'd be up front, but t'was booked and
we had to be on the flight.  Eithne has to get home soon, the child must
be born there,"  his gaze left her face, and his brows drew down in
concern as he looked over the seat toward where his sister sat. 
       "If it would set your mind at ease at all, I am a doctor.  If
there's any problem I should be able to help." 
       His turned back to her, looking surprised.  "You're a doctor?" 
       Dana bristled a bit... she got awfully tired of that reaction. 
       "Yes, I am.  Why are you surprised?" 
       "I thought... I... it seemed you..."  he broke off, shaking his
head with a rueful smile.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend.  I'd thought
you were in law enforcement of some kind." 
       It was Scully's turn to be surprised, or rather shocked.  "How did
you know that?"  she demanded. 
       He looked a bit smug.  "Then you are?  I thought so." 
       "But... how did you know?" 
       He smiled and winked.  "'Tis a talent of mine, being able to guess
professions.  A party trick of sorts.  So, how does a doctor come to be in
law enforcement?" 
       "I do forensic and other work for the F.B.I., and I'd still like to
know how you knew!" 
       He shook his head, grinning.  "Ah, that'd be giving away my secret,
now wouldn't it?  A man has to have some mystery." 
       It was obvious he wasn't going to tell her.  She glanced down to
make sure she didn't still have her ID clipped to her lapel.  She didn't. 
       "It's a good trick,"  she admitted, giving up.  "If you ever feel
like telling me, I'd love to know." 
       "If I ever feel like telling, you'll be the first, lass." 
       Dana stiffened, then relaxed, realizing he didn't mean to be
offensive.  He probably called all women that.  In another context she
might have been irritated by it.  Still, he was friendly, easy on the
eyes, and had a delightful voice.  She could do worse for a seat-mate. 
Their attention was drawn by the captain's voice telling them the flight
was ready to depart.  She checked her seat-belt, then noticed that her
companion's belt wasn't fastened. 
       "You'd better buckle up,"  she reminded him. 
       He sighed.  "Aye, it must be done,"  he shifted and fished the ends
of the belt out, holding them by the fabric straps rather than by the
buckles.  He looked at the ends for a long moment, then slid his fingers
up to the metal and fastened it in place with a quick snap.  As soon as it
clicked into place he yanked his hands away with a deep, shuddering
breath, fingers curled, eyes closed as if in pain.  Very odd.  She glanced
at his hands, and gasped. 
       "My god!  What did you do to your hands?" 
       "'Tis nothing, just an... allergy." 
       "To what?  Those blisters look bad!" 
       He opened his eyes and shook his head.  "They'll be gone soon, they
never last long." 
       "But what caused them?" 
       "I've a... metal allergy.  I should've remembered to bring gloves." 
       She stared at him, shaking her head.  "A _metal_ allergy?  I've
never heard of such a thing." 
       "Sure you have.  Lots of people have it... no doubt you've had
friends who could only wear gold or silver earrings?"  he touched his left
earlobe, or rather the thin gold ring that pierced it, for emphasis "'Tis
the same, mine's just more severe." 
       His movement drew her attention to his ears.  If she hadn't spent
the last year working on X-Files she probably would never have noticed
them, but she had, and she did.  They were *pointed*.  Not tremendously,
obviously, Mr. Spock-pointed, but just enough to be unusual.  The fact
that the poor light inside the plane gave his skin a faintly greenish cast
that was even more pronounced next to the dark, rich mahogany of his hair
made her notice the points even more.  And once she'd noticed, her eyes
were irresistibly drawn to them over and over again, until finally he
caught her staring at him.  She lowered her eyes in flustered
embarrassment, but he just smiled. 
       "'Tis okay, lass, it happens all the time." 
       The languid lilt of his accent slid over her like silk.  Lovely,
though the colloquial American "okay" sounded quite odd said in those
tones. 
       "Back home they say our family's been touched by the Folk, because
we've all got them.  'Tis a... genetic mutation, a dominant one, or so
they tell me." 
       "I really didn't mean to stare..."  Scully began, but he cut her
off with a wave of his hand. 
       "I took no offense, I'm used to it.  I didn't get to be the great
age I am by taking offense when people look at me.  My name's Fionnvarra
MacCumhaill, by the by,"  he extended his hand. 
       Finvara McCool?  An odd name, that.  She didn't see how she could
politely decline, so she reached across and shook his hand.  A tingle of
warmth seemed to spread up her arm from where their palms touched. 
       "I'm Dana Scully," she supplied withdrawing her hand as quickly as
she could without being rude, and wondering what was the matter with
herself. 
       He studied her a moment, then nodded.  "'Tis fitting." 
       "What is?" 
       "Your name, Dana. You're named for the Mother, and carry Her
blessing." 
       "What mother?" 
       "The Mother, of the Tribes..."  he smiled suddenly, and it almost
took her breath away.  "You don't have a clue what I'm on about, have
you?" 
       "I'm afraid not,"  she admitted. 
       "Sorry, I sometime forget that there aren't many people who know
the old stories.  That's my work, I collect legends and folktales, and
write them down, so they'll not be forgotten completely.  The first of The
Blood to take ship to Eire were called the Tuatha de Dannan... the
Children of Dana." 
       Something stirred in her memory.  "Isn't that what the mythical
ancestors of the Irish were called?" 
       "You've heard of them?  Good for you!'
       "So you're a folklorist?" 
       "You could say that." 
       She smiled.  "Well, I'd never have guessed it." 
       "What would you have said I do?" 
       She studied him for a moment, and was her usual honest self. 
"Well... nothing, to be honest.  You look like someone who doesn't have to
work for a living." 
       He chuckled.  "Ah, so I look useless do I?  Well, I see I've
competition in the work-guessing field.  You have me to rights.  I've no
need to work `for a living' as you so aptly put it.  What I do, I do
because someone needs to, before humankind flies headlong into the future
and finds they've forgotten all the poetry and magic of the past."  His
gaze had grown distant, darkening.  "And in that forgetting *we* lose all
that we could be,"  he said, with peculiar emphasis, leaving Dana at a
loss for words.  He was a strange man... compelling, but definitely odd. 
        He had closed his eyes momentarily, but they opened again as the
plane began to taxi more quickly, picking up speed for the takeoff. 
       "Damn, I hate this,"  he said, his hands clenching into fists.  She
almost winced, remembering the blisters on his palms.  It must hurt. 
Suddenly she realized she'd just shaken his hand and felt not trace of
blisters on the smooth, warm skin of his palm.  She looked at his hands,
trying to see if she was right, but they were still clenched so she
couldn't tell. 
       "Takeoffs and landings are always a little scary,"  she said,
hoping that her commiseration would help. 
       "Aye,"  he said grimly, tightlipped. 
       The engines screamed as they reached maximum acceleration.  The
nose of the plane lifted into the air, followed seconds later by the rear
wheels as the plane became airborne.  Scully watched the ground receding
and smiled, glad to be on her way.  After a moment she turned to her
seatmate and was startled to find him slumped laxly in his seat, eyes
closed, and as pale as cream.  Alarmed, Dana reached over and slid her
fingers beneath the hollow of his jaw to find his pulse, and was relieved
to find it strong, if a bit rapid.  Suddenly she felt his muscles tense
and his hand covered hers, his long, lean fingers holding her hand against
his throat. 
       "What do ye, maid... "  he began, confusion written plainly on his
face, then he looked around and seemed to shake himself, a flush painting
its way across his cheekbones.  "Ah, sorry.  As I said, I hate takeoffs." 
       "Don't feel too bad,"  Scully sympathized, easing her fingers out
from beneath his, and trying to pretend her own pulse wasn't racing.  "A
lot of people are afraid of flying.  I hear there are psychologists who
specialize in helping people deal with phobias like that." 
       He shook his head.  "'Tisn't flying I fear, 'tis the damned plane. 
So much metal... when I loose all touch with the earth, 'tis overpowering
for a moment.  Forgive me if I frightened you." 
       Dana shook her head, taking refuge in professionalism.  "I was just
concerned that you might be ill." 
       He smiled disarmingly.  "And grateful I am for that concern, I hope
Eithne handled that better than I... there's a good chance that the child
will have grounded her." 
       Scully looked at him askance...  what an odd thing to say!  He
seemed to realize it, too, for suddenly his gaze fell and he looked
uncomfortable.  She opened her book, and they didn't speak for quite
awhile. 

                                         ####

       Fionn sat, as relaxed as he could be when surrounded by the burning
cold of iron, no matter how annealed and alloyed it was.  He could feel
every steel part in the engine, every seat-belt, every rivet.  He was
surrounded by it.  With a shudder he looked toward Eithne, felt her
relaxation, and envied it.  Carrying a child gave her human protections,
buffered her from the shrill call of deadly metal.  He had worn silk and
wool, both of which helped dampen his sensitivity, but not enough.  He
silently cursed his sibling.  Eithne had known she could not give birth in
a foreign land, it was not their way, yet she had waited so long to return
home that they had been forced to take human transportation.  The child
was too aware at this point to survive the translations of Folk
travelways. 
       Desperate for a distraction, he turned again to Dana Scully.  She
was reading... or at least she wished him to think she was.  She hadn't
turned a page in quite some time.  The tiny frown between her brows, and
the set of her full mouth told him she was troubled.  He leaned back and
closed his eyes, reaching out, trying to ignore the song of iron all
around him, so he could hear her thoughts, thinking that perhaps he could
steer the conversation toward whatever troubled her. 
       An image formed.  A man... tall, lean, attractive, very intense...
he could see eyes, haunted eyes.  That image led to a series of others,
quick, tumbling on each-other.  A feral flash of teeth and yellow eyes,
strangely elongated fingers... her hand clasped around a man's wrist as
she helped him escape that peculiar predator.  Impossible lights in the
sky, that man again, confused this time, lost, needing rescue; the fire of
Dana's anger and indignation, a homely man in a rusty suit holding her
hand, thumb caressing her, the flash of instant desire, then the sudden,
angry presence of that first man again, forcing her away from the plain
one. 
       Fionn sat bolt upright with a gasp, staring at her.  She jumped a
little, startled by his movement. 
       "Is something wrong?" she asked, her gaze concerned.  "I...no, just
a dream,"  he lied swiftly, still astonished by what he had sensed.  Not
only had this woman been involved in some very peculiar events, she'd been
*sampled* by a young male of the Folk... one who had no training, or good
sense, apparently.  Not only had he sampled her, he had tried to englamour
her as well, but clumsily, at levels that would have glamored one of the
Folk, not just a human!  Could he have not known that what he was doing
was terribly dangerous to a human?  Thankfully the encounter had been
interrupted, or the woman next to him would not have survived.  Yet he
didn't know the male... his face was not familiar, his lineage unclear. 
Fionn couldn't find any recognizable kinship in the rather ordinary face
he had drawn from her memories.  Could there be Folk unknown to him? 
       The thought intrigued him, but he could think of no way to get her
to speak of the experience.  She felt shamed by it, that much was clear. 
She didn't understand that her response had been as instinctive as an
animal's.  She only understood the humiliation of having her...(what was
he to her?) the other man find her in such a state.  Her feelings for that
other man were what troubled her.  She was uncertain of them, wanting it
to be just friendship, yet her body reacted to his, and her gentle nature
wanted to comfort him. 
       His curiosity aroused, Fionn closed his eyes again and sent her an
image of the first man, triggering another set of memories.  Her partner,
that's what he was!  Her work-partner!  She didn't wish to feel attraction
to him because they worked together, and she thought it was unprofessional
and imprudent to give way to them.  Her thoughts turned to a new subject,
and unabashedly he let her memories flood him; becoming more and more
fascinated by her. 
       She was so complex, so strong, yet so fragile at the same time. He
was startled to feel insecurity that ran very deep, and the entangling
threads of familial love.  She felt she had let someone down, some family
member... her... father!  Yes!  He became aware of a presence now, one
departed but not yet reconciled to it.  He had things left unsaid...
things his daughter hungered to hear, things he hungered to speak.  He
should have continued on his Journey long before now, but was trapped by
his need to communicate.  Fionn reached out, gently. 
       //Tell me, unquiet one...  tell me.  I will find a way for your
words to reach her.//
       Emotion jolted through him, bringing tears.  He blinked them away,
stunned.  It had been too many years since he had felt the sting of tears. 
//Yes, I will tell her, I swear it.  Rest now.//
        The presence dissipated slowly, reluctantly.  Fionn sighed,
wondering how best to keep his promise.  The flight still had many more
hours yet, surely she would fall asleep at some point, and he could shape
her dreams.  Thinking of the time left until they reached land again made
him conscious that the buckle on the safety-belt was beginning to burn
against his abdomen, despite the shielding layers of wool and silk.  He
shifted uncomfortably and edged his fingers beneath the fiber straps,
lifting it away for a moment's relief, careful not to let the metal touch
his fingers. 
      "Do you need help with that?" 
       He looked up to find his seat-mate looking at him sympathetically,
and decided to take shameless advantage.  He summoned up a sheepish smile
and nodded. 
       "I do, if you wouldn't mind.  I've got to..." he let the sentence
trail off, hinting at bodily needs.  She nodded, and reached over to
release the catch.  Her fingers brushed his stomach, and he thought
momentarily about how nice it would be were she to do that less
perfunctorily.  It had been a long time since he had taken a human lover. 
Perhaps he would find her again once Eithne was safely home.  Dana opened
the seat-belt and carefully tucked it to one side, with the buckle
dangling over the edge of the seat.  To do that she had to touch his
thigh, and though her touch was impersonal, now that he was thinking of
her as a potential lover, it roused him slightly. 
       "Thank you,"  he said softly, lading his voice with more than
thanks. 
       Dana looked up, and he caught her gaze with his, letting his pupils
widen.  Her own followed suit.  When he had shaken hands with her he had
automatically sampled her, and he used that to weave a hint of glamour on
her, just enough to bring a flush to her cheeks.  His eyes caressed her
mouth, loving the full softness of her lips.  They parted, inviting him,
then she seemed to shake herself awake, as if from a dream, and she looked
away.  He was impressed.  She must be very strong- willed, for her to be
able shake off his influence so quickly.  She would be challenging. 
       "Glad to help,"  she said neutrally, opening her book again.  He
noticed her fingers were shaking and smiled.  She wasn't as unaffected as
she pretended.  He stood and made his way back to the lavatory, to lend
credence to his request for help. 

                                ####

       Dana watched Fionnvarra walk away, eyes lingering on the way his
expensive, tailored slacks fit over his rear.  She wondered idly what he'd
look like without them, and her imagination took flight, filling in
details.  Long, sleek muscles, firm, satiny skin, dark auburn curls
surrounding... Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she forced her gaze
back to her book, blushing hotly.  What on earth was the matter with her? 
The last time she'd reacted like this to a man was... she stopped and
thought about it for a moment.  Never.  It was never.  Not with a *normal*
man, anyway.  She still wasn't sure exactly what Brother Andrew had been,
but normal wasn't among the adjectives she might choose to describe him. 
It didn't apply to Fionnvarra MacCumhaill either. 
       She made a disgusted face and shook her head.  Working with Mulder
was beginning to get to her.  Just because the man had an unusual allergy
and a rare genetic mutation didn't mean he was a candidate for an X-File! 
Her reaction could be simply and easily explained... it had been more than
a year since she'd had a sexual relationship with a man, and her seat-mate
was an incredibly good-looking man.  She was attracted to him for the most
basic of reasons... she was sexually frustrated.  The answer wasn't
appealing, but it was logical. 
       For a moment she toyed with the idea of flirting with him, then she
sighed.  Whatever skill she'd ever mastered at that had faded over years
of discipline and reserve.  Her high-school and college years had been
spent in libraries and study-groups.  Looking back on it with 20/20
hindsight, she could see that to some extent she had used studying as an
excuse to avoid social contact.  Later, she had built a shield of cool
professionalism against the discrimination she encountered in medical
school, and that had isolated her as well.  After that the rigid regimen
of the Academy had instilled its own unique signature to her interactions. 
Now she was ready for more, and wasn't completely sure how to go about it
any more. 
       Movement in the aisle caught her eye, she watched the Irishman
return from the lavatory and stop beside his sister's seat to talk to her,
his face expressive.  He was concerned about her, he *cared*, and it
showed.  It was nice to see, reminding her of her own family.  He stayed
there for several minutes, talking and laughing with her until the flight
attendants chased him back to his seat with the drink cart.  He slid in
and sat down with a grin. 
       "She's after making the poor fool next to her frantic... she keeps
pretending she's having contractions, and he panics every time.  I told
her to stop it, but I doubt she will." 
       Scully laughed with him.  "Oh, that's cruel!  I take it he's not
experienced?" 
       Fionnvarra shook his head. "He can't be more than seventeen, and I
doubt he's ever even been kissed, let alone fu..."  he stopped abruptly,
looked at her apologetically, and continued "I mean, had any more direct
experience with a female." 
       Scully grinned, willing to let his slip go by, especially in light
of her thoughts a few moments earlier.  "Poor thing,"  she commiserated. 
"Did you set him straight?" 
     "Aye, and told her to stop teasing him, but I doubt she will.  At
that stage she needs something to keep her mind off her discomfort.  I
remember all too well how hellaciously uncomfortable it is to sit for long
periods of time when you're that far along." 
       Scully looked askance at him, wondering at his phrasing.  The way
he'd said it was as if *he* had direct experience with pregnancy.  Almost
as if in response to her thought, he grinned. 
       "Listen to me now!  You'd think *I'd* had a child.  I meant to say
that I remember my other sister's descriptions of that stage." 
       "Drinks?"  The flight attendant asked, cheerily, interrupting them. 
       "Whiskey, straight."  Fionn said instantly, then looked at Scully.
"Can I get you anything?" 
       She didn't usually indulge, let alone allow complete strangers to
buy her drinks, but what the hell?  She was on vacation, wasn't she?  And
he spent more money on clothes than she made in a month, he could afford
it.  Ignoring the warning voice in her head that sounded annoyingly like
Mulder's, she nodded. 
       "I'll have a Bloody Mary, thanks."

                            ####

        Dana woke from a wonderfully comforting dream about her father to
find she was being gently shaken awake.  She blinked sleepily at the man
next to her, wondering at the warmth in his gaze. 
       "Mmm?  What's up?" 
       He smiled, a sensual curve of his mouth that made her want to find
out if it tasted as good as it looked.  She looked away, flustered. 
       "We're almost there.  I thought you'd like to take a look from up
here before we land." 
       "What?  Oh!"  She sat up and looked out the window, down through
wisps of cloud to an amazing greenness below.  It dawned on her that the
land she was looking at was the exact color of her seatmate's eyes.  A
thousand shades of green, woven into a subtly changing whole.  It looked
like a postcard... green fields partitioned off by hedges, here and there
a narrow, meandering road or stream, the tiny white forms of grazing
sheep...  it was incredibly pastoral.  And incredibly *empty*.  She was
used to looking down into the gray haze of urban sprawl when she flew
anywhere.  She glanced up finally, and found him looking over her shoulder
hungrily, as if he wanted to consume the land beneath them.  He caught her
glance and looked away, obviously embarrassed. 
       "You miss it, don't you?"  she asked softly. 
       "Very much... I hadn't realized how much." 
       "I think we all feel that way about home, no matter where it is." 
       He nodded, eyes focused past her, she sat back in the seat to let
him look.  After a moment he sighed, and sat back. 
       "Thank you." 
       "No, thank you for waking me.  I'm glad I got to see it this way." 
       "I thought you might appreciate it.  May I ask where you are going
once we've landed?" 
       Dana hid a smile... was he flirting with her?  She thought perhaps
he was. 
       "I'm supposed to meet with a distant relative in a place called
Ardnaree, which I'm told is not too far from Sligo.  But I've got nine
days, and I plan to enjoy every one of them, I thought I might just be a
tourist." 
       He smiled.  "I'm sure you will.  Are you driving?" 
       "Yes, I've arranged to rent a car." 
       "Wise choice, I think the tours are not for you.  You'll enjoy
yourself more this way.  Oddly, my home is not far from Inishcrone, just
off Killala Bay which is where you'll be, at Ardnaree. I know the area
well, if you'd like me to suggest some sights, or places to stay, unless
you're staying with your kin." 
       He *was* flirting with her!  He was also scoping out her plans. 
Ordinarily that would make her nervous, but for some reason she trusted
him.  She smiled warmly. 
       "I will be staying with my great-aunt, so I don't need suggestions
on where to stay.  I have a list of things to see that my travel agent
gave me, but I'd love to have some suggestions on what to see from a
native.  I'm sure they would be much more reliable than what she gleaned
from a guidebook." 
       "Aye, since I don't take kickbacks,"  Fionn said sardonically. 
"May I see your list?" 
       She got it out of her bag and handed it to him.  He studied it with
drawn brows for a moment, then took a black and gold Montblanc fountain
pen out of his pocket.  She almost whistled, the man must have more money
than he knew what to do with!  She didn't know too many people who used
four-hundred-dollar pens.  The heavily enamelled barrel gleamed as he
lined through a couple of the names and wrote in others, then handed it
back to her. 
       "Overall not a bad list, but I've noted two places I think you
would prefer.  Your travel agent has good taste." 
       "I'll tell her that," 
       "Sure, and she'll be thrilled, no?"  he inquired with a grin that
took her breath away.  She found herself grinning back. 
       "Sure and she will!"  she replied, then blushed, suddenly afraid
he'd misinterpret her.  "Oh, I didn't mean to make fun of your accent..." 
       "I know that, don't worry," he assured her. 
       She glanced out the window again, saw the glint of sun on a broad
expanse of water, as well as the rolling green fields, and turned back to
him.  "You said we were almost there?" 
       "Aye, ten, maybe fifteen minutes." 
       "Where's Shannon?" 
       "The river?  Right there... though 'tis really an estuary at this
point." 
       "No, I mean the city!" 
       He looked puzzled.  "What city?" 
       "Shannon." 
       He smiled gently, understanding her query at last.  "There is no
city called Shannon." 
       "I thought it was the Shannon airport." 
       "It is, but there's no city there.  'Tis midway between Ennis and
Limerick, if you're looking for the nearest city." 
       "Oh."  She felt a bit chagrined at her own ignorance. "Then the
airport is in the middle of nowhere?" 
       He grinned.  "Aye, but then, many would say that description suits
the entire country." 
       Dana looked out again at the pastoral emptiness and smiled.  "I
think I'm going to like Ireland." 
       "I think you are, too,"  he said softly, and something in his voice
sent a shiver through her, stirring something inside her.  She felt her
nipples tighten and was glad her blazer hid that response from him. 
Perhaps it was a good thing they would be going their separate ways when
the plane landed.  She wasn't accustomed to having this sort of reaction
to complete strangers!  In this day and age, casual sex could be dangerous
in more than just the traditional sense, and she suspected it wouldn't
take much effort on his part to persuade her to it. 

                            ####

       As Dana stood in line at the customs table, waiting her turn, she
realized that there were undercover agents scattered throughout the
terminal... they were as obvious to her as uniformed guards might be to
someone else.  They reminded her forcibly of Secret Service agents.  She
watched them surreptitiously talking into hidden microphones and listening
to hidden receivers, and wondered what was going on.  When her turn came
she put her bags on the counter, and nodded in the general direction of
one of the dark-suited men. 
       "What's going on?  Why is security so tight?" 
       The woman behind the counter eyed her suspiciously.  "Why'd you
want to know?" 
       "I'm in that line of work myself, I was just curious." 
       "And what line of work might that be?" 
       "Law enforcement, of a sort." 
       "The F.B.I., to be precise?"  the woman asked, smiling suddenly. 
       "Well... yes.  How did you..."  Dana stammered, feeling a bit
bewildered by this sudden surge of apparently psychic people. 
       "It's on y'r bag, dear." 
       Scully stared at the seal emblazoned on the side of her carry-on
and started to laugh.  "I'd totally forgotten that was on there! So that's
how he knew!  I wondered!" 
       "Who knew what?" 
        "The man who sat next to me on the plane guessed where I worked
and wouldn't tell me how he knew.  Now I know!  He must have seen my bag." 
       "Ah, he was after flirtin' with you, was he?  Men!" 
       Scully chuckled.  "Well, it wasn't so bad, he was very
good-looking.  You probably noticed him when he came through here a bit
ahead of me, he and his sister.  They're both tall, red-haired, very good
looking, the woman was quite pregnant." 
       The woman frowned thoughtfully, and looked up from her task,
feeling around in the bag for weapons.  "I don't think I noticed them,
miss.  Perhaps they were in the other queue." 
       "I saw them walk through, not ten minutes ago!  Odd, now that I
think about it, they weren't stopped." 
       The customs agent laughed.  "The Pope himself couldn't get through
here without bein' checked today, you must be mistaken.  Perhaps you just
looked away at the wrong moment." 
       Dana was pretty sure she hadn't but she didn't want to argue about
it. "Perhaps so." 
       The woman smiled and closed her bag.  "Have you anything to
declare?" 
       "No, nothing... but I would still like to know what's going on, why
security is so tight." 
       The woman looked right and left, then leaned forward, her voice
pitched conspiratorially.  "Seein' as how you're a professional, I'll tell
you.  The PM is comin' through here today.  It's not been announced, but
he'll be here." 
       Well, that explained it all right.  Scully summoned up a smile and
thanked the woman, asked directions to the car rental place, and went on. 
       A few minutes later, rental-car keys in hand, Dana emerged into the
parking lot and was stunned to realize how small the airport was... it was
tiny, really.  To her amazement she noticed that on the other side of the
lot there was a little park-like area, within which three large stones
formed a dolmen... in an airport parking lot, of all places!  Amazing!  As
she studied the stones, she noticed Fionnvarra and his sister walking
toward the dolmen. 
     As she lifted her hand to wave, a car near them disintegrated into a
ball of fire.  She cried out as the shockwave knocked her flat on the
ground.  She felt heat and pressure as the blast roiled outward, but to
her utter amazement none of the glass or metal shrapnel touched her,
instead raining to the ground all around her as if she were under an
invisible umbrella. 
       As the thunder of the explosion died down, she lifted her head an
inch to see if it was safe to stand.  There was a peculiar shimmer to the
air, not quite like a mirage, but similar.  Stranger yet, she could see
Fionnvarra and Eithne, standing in the midst of licking flame and smoke. 
She had to be hallucinating!  There was no way it was possible!  She
blinked, and the scene remained the same.  Eithne and Fionnvarra stood
less than four feet from the mangled remains of the vehicle that had
exploded.  Fionn had his arms outstretched, an expression of intense
concentration on his face.  Dana gaped, dumbfounded.  How could they still
be standing?  It was impossible!  They appeared completely unscathed! 
       There was movement behind Fionn, she watched in disbelief as a
figure emerged... from where?  Where had she come from?  She was just
*there* all of the sudden!  A tall, red-haired woman, whose features
marked her unmistakably as kin to Fionn and Eithne, though her hair was a
lighter shade, and streaked with gray.  She wore a long, loose yellow gown
that left her arms bare, held at the shoulders by huge disk-like clasps,
and cinched at the waist with a belt of linked disks.  Dana gasped to
realize she wore no shoes, yet she walked unflinchingly over asphalt that
was on fire in places, and studded with broken glass and shards of twisted
metal!  She put out her hands and made a gesture toward the burning
vehicle.  The flames flickered, and died, leaving a cloud of oily black
smoke drifting upward. 
       Only then did Fionn let his arms fall, and he shuddered, visibly
exhausted.  The woman in yellow turned and placed her palm against his
face, caressingly, and he seemed to recover a little.  Dana noticed with
surprise that they were the same height... all three of them over six
feet.  Eithne reached for the older woman and the trio embraced, like
family reunited, then turned and began to walk away from the wreckage. 
       "Miss?  Miss?  Are you hurt miss?  Please, let me help you up...
there's an ambulance on its way..." 
       Scully dragged her attention back to the situation at hand and
slowly got to her knees, letting the man in the badly-fitting black suit,
and a radio receiver wire around his ear help her up.  Suddenly the
parking lot was full of men in similar suits, with suspicious-looking
bulges that bespoke shoulder-holsters, all running to and fro, shouting
orders, looking like a bunch of ants whose nest had just been disturbed. 
       "I'm not hurt, thank you, just a little... dazed, I guess." 
       The man looked relieved, and sighed, running a hand through his
thinning sandy-colored hair.  "Damned terrorists!  We thought we had
security tight enough, but obviously something slipped past us.  We're
lucky it wasn't worse, the fire seems to have died out on it's own.  It
could've started a chain-reaction what with all these cars in the park!" 
       Dana refrained from mentioning the woman in the yellow gown, and
nodded.  "Very lucky." 
     Glancing back toward Fionnvarra and the two women, she frowned and
looked around the parking lot.  They were *gone*!  Just... gone.  How
could they have disappeared in the thirty seconds it had taken to get to
her feet? 
     "Did you just see three people over there?"  she asked, pointing
toward the dolmen. 
       He shook his head, looking slightly puzzled.  "No, miss, I didn't." 
       She sighed.  "Somehow I didn't think so.  I must be seeing things." 
       He looked at her, concerned.  "Would you like to have a doctor take
a look at you?" 
       She smiled.  "I am a doctor, and I'm fine, thanks." 
       "If you say so, miss, but I'd like to have someone look at you just
the same, if you don't mind.  If anything were to happen to you later on,
because of this we'd be liable.  Also, we'd like to ask you a few
questions, just routine, to see if you saw anything." 
       She almost laughed out loud.  Saw anything?  She'd seen plenty, but
nothing that made any sense, or that she was willing to tell anyone else. 
They'd ship her back to America on the next flight out!  She nodded
pleasantly at the man. 
       "I understand, liability, and all that.  I'll see your doctor, but
I know what he'll say.  There's nothing wrong with me.  Lead on." 
       "I'll get your bags for you," he volunteered helpfully, picking
them up, and she reflected that there was at least one nice thing about
countries where they did things the old fashioned way. 

                                   ####

From: [email-masked] (MATTHEWS-SIMMONS KELLIE)
Date: Thu, 21 Jul 1994 04:46:30 GMT

             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 
             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 

The story you are about to read contains SEX, written in loving detail. 
If that bothers you, either do NOT read this story, or get someone who
doesn't mind erotica to black out all the juicy parts for you before you
read it.  If you're underage, get your parent's permission to read it. 

Don't flame me if you're silly enough to go ahead and read it after I
warned you, and then get offended by it.   --kms

This story copyright 1994 by the author.  Permission to distribute freely
is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a
trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. 

Kellie Matthews-Simmons//[email-masked]  
Member: SFLA&EBS,  PSEB,  DDEB,  X-phile   "Ego veno eos in vulcos minos."
"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
 humiliation." --Fox Mulder, X-Files "Squeeze"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

                        Ancient Dreams, pt. 2
                               Kellie Matthews-Simmons

      Fionn sagged against the seat of the coach, watching Naoise handle
the reins and feeling completely exhausted after creating and maintaining
a shield for Eithne and himself... and Dana Scully.  Thankfully, he'd
sensed the imminent explosion seconds before the force of the blast had
escaped its confines, and had been able to work quickly enough to make a
difference. 
      In his mind's eye he could still see Dana Scully lying on the ground
as he expanded his wards to enclose her, forcing the explosion to defy the
laws of nature and bypass her.  Trying to protect her as well as himself
and Eithne had overextended him severely, but he couldn't let her be
harmed.  His mouth tightened.  If he hadn't been so tired, he would have
tracked the culprits who had planted that bomb, and marked them to deal
with later.  They had threatened the well-being of someone under his
protection.  He didn't want them to escape unchastised. 
      "I've marked them for you, Fionn.  You can find them later." 
      He looked across at his eldest sibling and smiled.  "Thank you,
Banbha." 
      She smiled back.  "T'was no bother,"  her gaze sharpened as she
studied him, and she lifted an eyebrow.  "So, have you decided to mate
again, or is she just your lover?  It's been a long time since you did
either." 
      Nonplussed, he stared back at her.  Finally he found his voice.
"Neither, at this point, though 'tis none of your business.  Why do you
ask?" 
      "You extended your protection to include her.  I thought she must be
important to you." 
      He shook his head slowly.  "She was kind to me on the flight, and I
felt I should repay that, though I will admit she intrigues me.  Humans
have changed a great deal since the last time I knew one intimately.  They
are far more interesting and complex now." 
      Banbha leaned forward, her gaze intense.  "Our numbers grow ever
fewer, Fionn.  We need new blood.  You should mate again."  She looked at
Eithne who had fallen asleep, and smiled.  "Eithne's child will be the
first in generations; it would be good to have another for it to grow up
with." 
      His mouth thinned.  "If you're so anxious for new blood, why don't
you take a mate?" 
      Banbha's gaze grew dark with sorrow, and she looked away.  "I have
tried, Fionn, three times now, but I fear I am too old, or perhaps too
much damaged.  I can no longer Change, or Renew.  I try and try, but it
does not come." 
      He stared at her, utterly shaken.  "You can't... not at all?" 
      She shook her head and lifted a hand to her hair, drawing a lock
forward, displaying the wide streak of gray in it.  "I can't even put my
hair right any more.  I fear... I fear sometimes that I'm dying." 
      He reached over and took her hands in his.  "Ah, Ban!  I'm sorry...
I didn't know, or I'd not have said what I did!  What did you mean, you're
too damaged?" 
      She drew her hands away and stared sightlessly past him, gaze fixed
on nothing.  When she spoke, her voice was flat, almost emotionless.  "Do
you remember when the Rus grew careless and lost control of the little sun
they had made?  I was living only a few kilometers from the place.  I
thought nothing of it at first, but after a time I noticed I was aging
more quickly than normal.  I came home, and went to the Caverns then, and
lay in the Earth and Water, dreamed of Air and Fire.  I did not try to
Change then, so I don't know if it was already too late.  I prefer being
female and chose to simply Renew.  That was only five years ago, and now I
look like this...  and I cannot Change, or Renew.  I think I am damaged,
inside, where it does not show... or didn't until now." 
      A tear slid down her face, then another.  He leaned forward and drew
her close, stroking her hair and saying soothing nonsense as his mind
raced.  Traveling the world for the past few years, studying the myths and
legends of Humankind for traces of his own people's past, it had not
occurred to him that anything Humans could do would harm them like this. 
How many of the Folk were damaged?  He remembered reading that radiation
released by the reactor accident at Chernobyl had been measured in fairly
high quantities as far away as Wales... which was but a metaphorical
stone's throw from the Land.  Perhaps they had been far enough away that
it had not hurt them... Banbha said she had been close to the source.  He
drew back, looking down at her. 
      "Ban, has this happened to anyone else?" 
      She looked at him blankly, and shook her head.  "No... I don't think
so, anyway.  I don't know for sure." 
      "We need to find out.  This could be dangerous... not just for you,
though you seem to be the most affected.  Do we know where Aoife or Conn
are?"  At Banbha's negative head-shake, he swore. "Damn!  None of the rest
of us have enough knowledge of medicine or science to *do* anything about
this!"  He shook his head, fists clenched in frustration.  "I've been
studying words all these years when I should have been studying healing! 
We've been so complacent, thinking we didn't *need* to know it, that the
Caves would always take care of our ills... but if this is beyond that,
what do we do?" 
      "I don't know,"  Banbha said, her voice bleak.  Across the carriage
Eithne stirred and stretched, yawning. 
      "Sorry to fall asleep, she apologized.  "I find myself constantly
napping these days.  Where are we?" 
      Banbha summoned a smile from somewhere.  "Near Oranmore, I think. 
We're making good time." 
      For the first time in ages Fionn's pleasure in the thought of going
home was dimmed.  He was half afraid now, afraid to see what other changes
awaited him there.  Knowing Eithne would pick up on his somber mood, he
forced himself to think of something else, something pleasant. 
      The first pleasant thing that came to mind was Dana Scully, with her
soft laugh, soft lips, and soft curves.  He reached out, searching for
her, found her back at the airport, sitting with feigned patience as she
answered questions about the explosion asked by an apologetic man in an
ill-fitting black suit.  Though she kept it to herself, she was
exasperated and wanted to leave.  He didn't blame her, as he picked up on
the fact that the delay meant she'd have to stay in Ennis for the night,
throwing her plans awry.  He smiled.  Well, at least he could see to it
that she would have pleasant dreams. 

                         ####

      Dana lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall
asleep.  She was used to staying in strange places, and beds that weren't
her own, but for some reason tonight was different.  The cool, smooth
sheets were comfortable, the bed decent, the room quiet and dark, yet she
couldn't sleep.  Every time she closed her eyes, she started remembering,
and remembering made her start to wonder about her sanity.  That didn't
last long, she was sure she was sane, but that troubled her even more.  If
she was sane, how did she explain what she had seen?  Fionn apparently
holding the explosion at bay like some wizard in a bad fantasy flick?  A
woman appearing out of nowhere, dressed like an extra from that same film,
dousing flames with a gesture?  It didn't make any sense!  She wished
desperately that she could call Mulder and talk to him about it... or even
better, that he'd been there to see it himself.  He'd make some silly joke
about it to put her at ease, then tell her some bizarre tale that
explained it... something she could pick apart, and research.  Not knowing
what she could possibly have witnessed made her feel inadequate.  Not a
feeling she liked in the slightest. 
      She sighed and rolled onto her stomach, dragging the pillow into a
more comfortable shape, and lay there staring at the wall instead of the
ceiling for a change of pace.  Maybe it was the time change.  That could
have...  no.  She couldn't lie to herself.  She'd been a lot more tired on
many previous occasions, and even total exhaustion had never given her
hallucinations.  A slight case of jetlag certainly wouldn't do it.  She
did *not* want to think about it any more.  She wanted to sleep! 
Determined, she got up and searched her overnight case for the
antihistamine tablets she'd put there for emergencies.  Finding them, she
took one, then followed it with two aspirin.  If *that* didn't put her to
sleep, nothing would.  With a sigh she lay back down and stared at the
ceiling again. 
      Mulder.  What would he do?  He probably would have told the security
guy at the airport exactly what he'd seen.  He would have gotten Fionn's
flight information from the manifest.  He would have started asking
questions.  She'd done none of that.  Why?  Because she didn't want to
believe?  Because she wasn't open to `extreme possibilities?' Mulishly her
jaw squared. 
      "Because I'm on vacation, damnit!"  she said aloud, to convince both
herself, and the mental picture of Mulder who was looking at her with
disappointment.  "Leave me alone.  I am on vacation!" 
      She turned onto her side and closed her eyes with great
determination.  She was going to sleep.  Now. 

                   ####

      Fionn slipped into the room, unseen and silent.  Of course, being
able to walk through walls, in a manner of speaking, made it that much
easier.  He stood looking down at her as she slept, a bit disappointed to
find her wearing pajamas.  He had somehow envisioned her in silk and lace,
or even better, in nothing at all.  The almost prudish practicality of her
nightwear surprised him, until he realized it was probably the result of
having had her sleep interrupted with emergencies on a regular basis. 
	He went lightly into her mind to see what she was dreaming, and
was pleased.  Now *that* he could work with.  In her dreams she lay, as
she did now, on her belly, but not alone, nor in prudish, practical
pajamas.  He frowned slightly as he recognised the man she dreamt of, even
if she had not...  that was why her dream-self faced away from him, her
face against her arm as he caressed her.  She didn't *want* to recognise
him. 
      "No, you don't want to be dreaming of him, now.  I know you don't,
you told yourself so.  Dream of me instead, yes?" 
      Fionn eased down beside her, and built a glamour, a strong one,
remembering her resistance, but not strong enough to cause her distress. 
He wanted her to stay asleep, to know him only as a dream.  That was
always the easiest way with human women, at least in the past few
centuries.  They tended to be much less inhibited if they thought they
were dreaming.  He was a little out of practice with this, though it
wasn't a skill one forgot, once learned. 
      She stirred restlessly, and sighed, breathing the glamour deep,
flooding herself with it.  He watched her lips part, saw the gentle flush
that painted her skin, and smiled.  He insinuated himself into her dream,
subtly altering the man's features until they reflected his own, and
changing the setting to closer reflect reality, including the pajamas.  In
her dream, she suddenly relaxed.  Changing her partner had done that...
removing the undercurrent of guilty discomfort and allowing her natural
sensuality to bloom. 
      No longer passive, she turned, in dream and reality, and reached to
embrace him.  Fionn sighed, enjoying the soft warmth of her body against
his.  Carefully he opened the small buttons that closed her top, and
spread it open, exposing her small, firm breasts.  He cupped them, fingers
teasing the pink nipples into rigidity, and lowered his mouth to taste her
lips, savoring their fullness, and the sweetness they hid.  His tongue
flicked into her mouth and she moaned softly, arching against him, kissing
him back with eager intensity.  She trapped one of his thighs between
hers, and he could feel the heat and dampness of her through the thin
fabric of her pajama bottoms.  His dream-self suggested that she would be
more comfortable without them, and she reached down and slid them off,
baring herself to him. 
      She was a small woman, yet wonderfully rounded, with full hips and
thighs.  The soft down covering her mons was the same copper-gold as her
hair.  Why had he gone so long without women?  How could he have forgotten
how sweet they were?  He moved his lips to her breast, licking and nipping
the responsive peaks until she was squirming and breathless, then he
kissed his way down the gentle curve of her belly.  He loved the way she
was built, no skinny, bony thing this... perhaps that was why he'd been so
uninterested in human women of late.  Their recent obsession with being
skeletally thin and muscled like a plowhorse held no interest for him.  It
wasn't that he disliked strong women, but strength didn't have to mean
masculinity.  Dana was strong, he could feel the solidity of muscle
beneath her skin, but she was also as soft and sleek as a seal. 
      She reached down and freed his hair from the clasp that held it at
the nape of his neck, and it spilled around his shoulders and onto her
thighs.  She laughed softly, and he was startled, fearing she was shaking
off the glamour, but she hadn't.  She still thought she was dreaming, but
even in her dream the feather-light touch of his hair had tickled.  She
apparently had very sensitive skin.  With a wicked smile and lowered his
mouth to the inner curve of her thigh, just below the rise of her mons. 
She gasped and thrashed as his tongue, teeth and lips took full advantage
of that sensitivity, teasing and tormenting her until she finally reached
down and quite boldly placed him exactly where she wanted him. 
      He waited a moment, teasing her, then he put his palms on her inner
thighs and pressed them wider, which parted her.  The subtle complexity of
her scent surrounded him, exciting him.  She was plump and hot and damp,
aching for his touch.  He gave it, a long, deep kiss, tounge slipping
between, over, and finally into her.  She arched and moaned, hands
clutching his shoulders, proving that strength he had sensed.  She was
spicy and sweet, like nothing else on earth.  He kissed her again, and
again, tongue stroking and probing.  He was suddenly fiercely aroused, as
he hadn't been in decades.  His body was shaking with need, hard, and
ready for her.  It was all he could do not to crawl up her body and bury
himself deep inside her. 
      Fionn backed away from her with a gasp, trying to control himself,
and she moaned, protesting his abandonment.  He drew a deep, ragged breath
and wished for a moment that she wasn't glamoured, that she was conscious
and doing this in reality rather than in a dream... but he knew she
wouldn't be doing it at all if that were the case.  She wasn't a woman who
would share herself on a few hours acquaintence.  He felt vaguely guilty
at that thought, knowing he was violating her principles.  His arousal
fled, and for the first time in his life he felt ashamed of what he was. 
He had always felt a kind of amused superiority at being Folk, rather than
human.  Now suddenly he would trade his immortality to be the man she'd
dreamed of voluntarily rather than a pathetic creature who had to steal
and mold her dreams to include him.  He had been ready to violate not just
her principles, but her body. 
      Disgusted with himself he rolled away from her and would have risen,
but she whimpered softly and he felt even worse.  He had brought her
almost to the peak, then deserted her.  He eased down again, and stroked
her hair, dropping kisses on it. 
      "I'm sorry sweet, I can't," he whispered as he took her hand and
placed it between her thighs, urging her to complete what he'd started. 
      She protested, wanting him back, but with a little mental nudge she
gave in.  He felt her body shudder and heard her sigh of release, and
turned away, shaken to the core.  His world was falling apart.  His sister
was dying... none of The Folk had ever died, not like that.  Certainly
they were vulnerable to accident and murder, but old age had never before
claimed any of his kin.  Now this... this guilt for simply being what he
was?  He'd lived centuries, and never before felt anything like this. 
      Perhaps it was just that it had been so long since he'd taken a
lover or mate, he thought, grasping at straws.  He knew better though.  He
knew the real cause.  Before the past ten years, he had never spent any
appreciable amount of time with humans, never bothered to learn their
mores and customs beyond the barest surface knowledge.  Unfortunately now
that he had, he was faced with the realization that what he had done with
human women all his life could be seen as a form of rape.  Just because he
left them with a dream of pleasure received didn't mean it was less of a
trespass.  He drew the bedcovers gently up, tucking them around Dana's
sleeping form, and left her alone. 

                               ####

      Bright sunlight was pouring through the lace curtains when Dana
awoke.  Eyes closed, she stretched, feeling incredibly well- rested, and a
strangely content.  Mid-stretch, she suddenly realized something was
amiss, and sat up with a gasp, looking down at herself.  Her pajama top
was completely unbuttoned, and the bottoms were missing altogether!  A
moment's searching yielded them in a wadded bundle under the covers and
she sat there looking at them, trying to remember having removed them.  As
she did, memories of an incredibly erotic dream came flooding back, and
she felt warmth rising in her face.  Mulder?  *And* Fionn?  She must be
more frustrated than she thought if she was unconsciously weaving sexual
fantasies about both of them in one night. 
      God!  It had seemed so *real*!  She could still almost feel the
touch of fingers, lips and tounge against her skin, almost feel the
spiderweb touch of long auburn hair on her thighs.  The beginning of the
dream, the part with Mulder in it, was less clear, almost fuzzy, but the
*middle*, when her dream-lover had become Fionn, had been almost
unbearably erotic!  She `remembered' him opening her top in the dream, she
must have done that herself, just as she remembered removing her pajama
bottoms at his suggestion... his touch had been incredible!  It was a
shame that it had been a dream, because he'd aroused her more than any
real lover she'd ever had.  The end of the dream had been disappointing,
though.  As she thought about it, Dana felt annoyed.  Why was it that even
in her *dreams* she ended up alone?  The words of one of her favorite
songs echoed in her mind... 

      "But I fear, I have nothing to give, I have so much to lose
      here in this lonely place; tangled up in our embrace, there's
      nothing I'd like better than to fall..."

      She made a face, disgusted at herself.  If she was *dreaming* of
mysterious lovers, maybe it was a sign that she needed to be more honest
with herself, to acknowledge her sublimated needs and desires.  She still
couldn't allow herself to act on her feelings for Mulder, but the fact
that in her dream he had become Fionn told her that it was possible that
she was only fantasizing about him for lack of another candidate.  She
laughed at herself at that thought, knowing full well she was clutching at
straws.  However... that still left Fionn.  Hadn't he said he lived not
far from where she was going?  Didn't she make her living tracking people
down?  In a place as small and sparsely populated as Ireland, how hard
could it be to find an independently wealthy collector of folklore who was
better looking than most movie stars? 
      Smiling slightly, she swung her feet out of bed and something fell
to the floor with a metallic chime.  Puzzled, she reached down and picked
up a small C-shaped gold band about three-quarters of an inch wide, its
surface deeply incised with Celtic interlace.  There were small holes in
each end of it, and a eye-headed pin hung from a chain attached to it. 
She threaded the pin through the holes it was obviously meant to go
through, and stared at it, trying to figure out what it was.  It was too
big to be a ring, and too small to be a bracelet, though it looked vaguely
familiar.  Perhaps the maid had dropped it when she'd made the bed. 
      Dana got out of bed and set the object on the dresser, then looked
in the mirror and laughed at her reflection.  Her hair looked like she'd
combed it with a blender.  No way was she going to wander down the hall to
the bathroom looking like that!  Picking up her hairbrush she began to
work it through the snarls, and stopped suddenly, as the weight and
texture of hair in her hands triggered a memory.  She let her hair fall,
her eyes going to the golden object.  She knew what it was now.  It was
the band that had held Fionn's hair back out of his face.  She remembered
unfastening it... in the dream.  Yet here it was, as real, and solid as
the hairbrush in her hand. 
      "Oh my god..."  she sat down on the bed, feeling a little weak in
the knees.  "Oh my god... he was *here*!  It felt real because it *was*
real!" 
      She shuddered, angry and frightened.  How had he gotten into her
room?  Why hadn't she awakened?  Had he managed to drug her somehow?  She
didn't know *how* he'd done it, but he had obviously been in her room last
night!  She might not have been penetrated, but it was still rape as far
as she was concerned!  Furious, she stood up and started yanking clothes
from her suitcase, dressing quickly.  She was going to go talk to the
management about the so-called security in this place, then she was going
to hunt him down. 

                               ####

      Two hours later she was in her car and on the road, feeling a
strange mixture of anger, confusion and embarrassment.  Mrs. Murteach, the
woman who ran the bed and breakfast, had convinced her there was no way
anyone could have entered her room without someone knowing it.  She had
been horrified at the thought that Dana might have been attacked in her
establishment, assuring her that nothing like that had *ever* happened. 
She had even called the night staff and questioned them, determining that
no one had seen anyone who didn't belong there.  But it wasn't until Dana
had told Mrs. Muirteach that she'd met her assailant on the plane, and
mentioned his name, that things had truly gotten strange. 
      "Fionvarra MacCumhail?" the woman had laughed.  "Aye, he ought to be
easy to find.  Just visit any library." 
      "I don't understand, what are you talking about?" 
      "He was having you on.  I suppose you could check the passenger
manifest to see if he gave a real name there, but with only a false name
to work from, you haven't a hope of locating him." 
      "What makes you think it's a false name?" 
      "Because there's not too many people around who'd dare name a child
after a legendary hero-king of Ireland.  The poor child would be a
laughingstock!" 
      It had never occurred to her that he might have used a pseudonym. 
She was reluctant to report the matter to the local police, since she had
no proof that she'd been touched at all.  Still... he had said he lived
near Inishcrone, so she knew approximately *where* to look for him, and
his description surely wasn't that common.  It wouldn't hurt to ask
around. 
      The worst part was that the more she thought about it the less
likely it seemed that he had really been there.  The dream-like quality of
the experience had grown more and more pronounced the longer she was
awake.  Once she was less shaken, it had dawned on her that the fact that
she'd dreamed about the hair clasp could just mean that she had noticed it
in the bed while in a half-waking state, and unconsciously incorporated it
into her dream.  Stranger things had happened.  She'd dreamed of Mulder,
too, and *he* certainly hadn't been in her room last night.  The only
piece of evidence she had was completely circumstantial, and couldn't be
linked to her suspect since she hadn't noticed him wearing it on the
plane, only in the dream. 
      There was also the question of why someone like `Fionn' would risk
sneaking into her room and assaulting her.  She knew that from a
psychological standpoint a man's looks and bank balance had nothing to do
with his potential as a rapist, but she was usually a good judge of
character, and nothing about him had triggered any warning at all.  Of
course why would he have used a false name if there wasn't something a
little... off about him?  And what the hell had that scene in the parking
lot been about?  She just couldn't get the puzzle pieces to fit together. 
She was even more determined to find him.  If she could see him
face-to-face, see his reaction to her, she would *know* if she was losing
her mind, or if something much stranger was going on. 

                             ####

      Dana stopped the car and sighed, reaching yet again for the map. 
"I'm lost,"  she said aloud, just to hear a voice.  "How can I be lost in
a country smaller than Pennsylvania?" 
      She studied the map, shaking her head.  She'd asked directions to
Ardnaree of a man in Ballina.  He had told her to go south until she got
to the first crossroad past the town, then turn east and she couldn't miss
it, but if she got to Tobercurry she'd gone to far south and needed to
turn back.  Well, she'd done that.  Gone too far and turned back, then
gone all the way back nearly to Ballina again without finding a turn. 
Finally she'd decided that what she thought was a sheep track must be the
road he'd meant and she took that. 
      She'd been right about sheep.  Half a mile down the road she'd
encountered a flock of them.  Most of them were grazing on either side of
the `road,' but two of them napping contentedly right in the middle of it. 
It had taken a couple of blasts on the horn to get the stupid things to
move.  She'd driven on another mile before stopping again, disheartened. 
It would help matters a lot if the damned hedges weren't so high! 
      Irritated she dropped the map on the seat.  She might as well be
looking at a map of Maryland for all the good it was doing her.  She
opened the car door and stepped out.  If she couldn't see over the hedges
from *inside* of the car, maybe she could see over them from on *top* of
it!  She stepped onto the seat and boosted herself up onto the roof of the
car, then stood carefully and looked over the nearest hedge.  Beyond it
lay a field of still-green grain of some type.  She didn't think it was
wheat, but wasn't entirely sure what it was.  Looking to the hedge on her
right, her jaw dropped.  A similar field lay on that side, but a
disturbingly familiar sigil had been stamped into the grain, laying it
flat in a clockwise whorl of stalks.  A crop circle?  The only time she'd
ever seen one was in the field at the Kindred farm.  As she gaped, a voice
spoke from behind her. 
      "You wouldn't happen to be Dana Scully, now would you?" 
      She gasped and almost fell off the car.  After regaining her balance
she turned to find a tiny woman standing a few feet from the car, flanked
by a pair of huge, shaggy dogs that were almost as big as she was. 
      "I am,"  Dana managed to acknowledge.  "How did you...?" 
      The woman smiled.  "We don't get many visitors.  I'm Maire Desmond. 
Please call me Maire." 
      Dana stared, stunned.  *This* was her eighty-year-old great-aunt
Maire?  This tiny, slim woman in a gray tweed jacket and khakis', with
masses of silver hair braided in an elaborate coronet?  This woman who
looked *possibly* sixty-five, maybe seventy at a stretch, but never in a
million years eighty?  This woman whose sharp hazel gaze was as bright and
unclouded as a teenager's?  She realized she must look like an idiot and
carefully climbed down from the roof of the car.  She stood uncertainly
for a moment, cautious about the dogs.  Maire noted her caution and
smiled. 
      "Hold out your hands, palm out, so they can smell you." 
      Dana complied.  Maire spoke to the dogs softly and they edged
forward slowly and sniffed her hands.  To her surprise, they both lay down
at her feet, whining.  One, a female, rolled onto her back presenting her
vulnerable belly.  Maire whistled. 
      "Now that's odd... she's usually quite the dominant one.  I guess
she feels you're the alpha female here.  Brenna, up now." 
      The dog immediately bounded to her feet, accompanied by the male,
and they retreated to Maire's side where they eyed Dana worriedly. 
      "Well now, aren't you both actin' quite strange today?  What's got
you all upset?"  Maire asked the dogs, as if they could reply.  She
ruffled their ears and turned back to Dana.  "Anyway, Dana, I thought I
ought to come out and find you when you weren't here by tea-time.  I
thought perhaps you were having trouble finding us." 
      "Thank you, to be frank, I was.  And I'm so happy to meet you!  Dad
told me so much about you." 
      "Aye, and he wrote me many a letter praising you as well.  Have you
room in there for Angus and Brenna?" 
      Dana looked dubiously at the back seat, wondering if it would cost
her extra to have paw-prints cleaned off the upholstery.  She decided to
chance it. 
      "I think they might just fit.  What kind of dog are they?" 
      Maire smiled.  "Irish wolfhounds, of course.  Lovely aren't they?" 
      "Quite,"  Dana lied, opening the door.  Maire spoke a phrase in
Gaelic and the dogs trotted obediently to the car and arranged themselves
on the back seat.  Maire stepped forward and took Dana's hand between
hers. 
      "I'm so pleased you came to see me,"  she said, her voice low and
soft.  "Your father was always my favorite nephew, and I was so sorry to
hear of his loss.  'Tis a sad thing to outlive your children, and I always
liked to think of him as mine, though he rarely got to visit me in recent
years.  I wish I'd not been such a world-traveller in my younger days, so
he could have been with me more." 
      Dana felt an immediate kinship with the older woman, and her eyes
teared up a bit as she thought of her father.  "H-he told me a lot of
stories about his visits with you.  He loved it here, he always said it
was a haven for him, the only place where he didn't have to hear his
parents fighting." 
      Maire looked more her true age suddenly.  "Aye, proper fools those
two were.  In love and out of it as often as frogs jumping.  It was hard
on him.  I'm glad I was able to provide him a place of peace now and
then." 
      "He... he asked me to give you..." 
      Maire shook her head, pressing her hand again before releasing it. 
"Not now, lass.  Let's get home and get a pot of tea goin', then we'll
have a proper talk." 
      Dana nodded and went around to open the passenger door for Maire
before getting into the car and starting it.  Maire gestured toward the
road. 
      "Go on straight for a bit now, and there'll come a branch.  Take the
left fork." 
      Dana nodded and put the car in gear.  They drove for awhile in
silence, then Maire spoke. 
      "Something's troubling you, lass.  What is it?" 
      "I... nothing.  I just didn't sleep well last night." 
      "Na, that's not it,"  Maire said, definitively.  "I sense a man in
this, maybe two men... wait..."  she stared at Dana for a long moment,
looked at the dogs, then back at Dana.  She reached across and lifted one
of Dana's hands from the steering wheel and drew it toward her, sniffing
audibly.  Her eyes widened.  "Ah, no!  You too?  I'd thought I was the
last, it still runs in the family, I see!  What's his name, your Faerie
lover?" 
      Dana turned and stared at her, mouth open slightly in surprise. 
      "What did you say?"  she managed after a moment of stunned silence. 
      "He was with you last night, the dogs smelled him on you first, and
I can still smell him, faintly.  I know the scent of a Fey, even after all
these years, I can still remember..."  her voice trailed off as she
reminisced for a moment. 
      If she hadn't been saying something uncomfortably close to the truth
Dana would have wondered if her great-aunt was less competent than she had
first seemed.  But recent experience had taught her to be more open
minded.  She steered the car toward the side of the road and stopped it. 
      "Please... what... what do you know?" 
      "I know he came to you last night.  I know you're troubled by it.  I
know he seemed like a dream, but also like reality.  I know you've never
had another lover like him." 
      "*How* do you know that?" 
      Maire looked at her, eyes clear and unshadowed.  "It happened to me
once, a very long time ago.  I was your age, or less.  What was his name?" 
      "I don't know." 
      "They always tell you their name, 'tis their custom. He must have
told you." 
      "He gave me a name, but it couldn't be his real name..."  Dana
whispered. 
      "What was it?"  the old woman's gaze was intent, her voice tight. 
      "Fionnvarra MacCumhaill." 
      Maire closed her eyes and sighed in obvious relief.  "T'wasn't the
same one.  I don't think I could have borne that." 
      "Please, Maire!  Explain!  I have to know what's going on!" 
      Maire opened her eyes.  "I'll tell you all I know, but drive on,
Dana.  I need that tea, it's a long story." 

                             ####

      It was a long story, and it left Dana doubting her own sanity as
well as her aunt's.  But in a bizarre sort of way, it made sense.  She
kept telling herself to be open minded, reminding herself of some of the
inexplicable things she had seen over the past year.  The story was no
more implausible than any of those.  She took a long sip of her tea, and
then a deep breath. 
      "So, you're saying these... `Gentry' as you call them... are real? 
That they live here, and everyone here knows about it and thinks it's
perfectly normal?" 
      Maire laughed.  "Well, perhaps not normal, but accepted.  Just as
you'd accept it if your neighbor happened to have twelve cats.  It's odd,
but there's not much you can do about it, and they're harmless enough." 
      Dana bristled at that.  "How can you call rape harmless?" 
      Maire looked at her askance.  "I wouldn't call it that.  It seems to
me it was seduction." 
      "I wouldn't." 
      "Perhaps that's why he left you, then.  They're not cruel, or evil,
Dana. They never come to those who haven't in some way called them to
come." 
      Dana found herself fascinated by the loose tea leaves floating in
her cup.  Had she wanted him to come to her?  Could she truthfully answer
that question in the negative?  If he had come to her when she was awake,
and asked to make love with her, would she have allowed him to?  She
wasn't sure.  She couldn't deny that she'd briefly imagined him as a
lover, or that she had felt a very physical interest in him.  She pushed
that aside. 
      "But what do they get out of it?  Why do they do it?" 
      Maire grinned.  "Need you ask?" 
      Dana blushed at the implication, and shook her head.  "I mean
besides that!" 
      "Who knows?  One thing's for sure, they've been Visitin' for time
out of mind." 
      "But I met him on a *plane*, for heaven's sake!  Why would he have
been in America?" 
      "I've never heard of them traveling so, but perhaps they have
interests in this world that we know naught of.  Did he speak with you? 
What did he say, what was he like?" 
      "I thought he was quite... normal.  He dressed well, very well in
fact.  Expensively.  I liked him, he was easy to talk to, though a little
odd at times.  He told me he was a folklorist... collecting legends and
stories.  He said... he said that he had to do it, before all the poetry
and magic was forgotten." 
      Maire's face softened, her eyes growing distant.  "Aye, they would
have that need.  They themselves are poetry and magic, and like legends,
they also are all but forgotten." 
      Dana thought about that and found it very sad, for a moment.  Then
she wondered what on earth she was thinking of, believing it for even a
second!  It was too outrageous and bizarre to be real...  But... what else
could explain how they had survived that explosion in the parking lot? 
What else could explain a woman appearing out of no where?  What else
could explain the hair clasp in her bed?  Thinking of that suddenly
reminded her of his reaction to metal on the plane. 
      "You know, there was something else odd about him... he said he was
allergic to metal... to some metals, at least.  He wore a gold earring,
but he couldn't touch the seat-belt clasp because it blistered his
fingers.  I saw it happen." 
      "Was it iron?" 
      "Well, it was stainless steel, which I think is an alloy of iron and
carbon." 
      Maire nodded sagely.  "They can't bear the touch of it.  'Tis said
to be the only thing that will kill them." 
      Dana shuddered, unnerved.  "Maire, this is crazy!" 
      "I know, lass, but... 'tis Ireland." 
      "It's just another country, not another world!" 
      Maire looked at her in silence for a long time, and finally smiled
cryptically.  "Don't be so sure about that." 

                         ####

-- 
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
[email-masked]

From: [email-masked] (MATTHEWS-SIMMONS KELLIE)
Date: Thu, 21 Jul 1994 04:47:53 GMT

             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 
             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 

The story you are about to read contains SEX, written in loving detail. 
If that bothers you, either do NOT read this story, or get someone who
doesn't mind erotica to black out all the juicy parts for you before you
read it.  If you're underage, get your parent's permission to read it. 

Don't flame me if you're silly enough to go ahead and read it after I
warned you, and then get offended by it.   --kms

This story copyright 1994 by the author.  Permission to distribute freely
is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a
trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. 

Kellie Matthews-Simmons//[email-masked]  
Member: SFLA&EBS,  PSEB,  DDEB,  X-phile   "Ego veno eos in vulcos minos."
"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
 humiliation." --Fox Mulder, X-Files "Squeeze"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
			Ancient Dreams, pt. 3
				Kellie Matthews-Simmons

       Dana remembered those words when she woke the next morning and
looked out at the misty landscape.  The humidity had created ground-fog,
and it swirled eerily around the cottage, making it look as if it were
decorated for a Halloween party, though it was nearly midsummer.  It did
look like another world.  She shivered, though it wasn't cold.  There was
something strange about Ireland.  Since before she'd arrived she'd been
plagued by as many odd goings-on as she would have had she been back at
work tracking psychic serial killers and the like.  She'd hoped to get
away from such things, not run headlong into them.  Thankfully, though,
her dreams had been ordinary, mundane dreams, with no seductive Elves...
or partners for that matter.  She told herself that was a relief, that she
didn't particularly want to dream of either.  Her self-assurances rang a
little hollow, though. 
       She heard noises from the kitchen, and smelled something incredibly
appetizing.  Fresh bread?  She dressed quickly, hoping to help with
whatever needed doing.  Though Maire was amazingly young for her age, she
*was* in her eighties and Dana felt gulty letting her do all the work.  As
she left her room, Maire looked up from the stove where she was stirring
something in a pot, and smiled. 
       "You look rested." 
       "I am, I slept well, very well, in fact." 
       "I thought you would.  I put up a charm for you." 
       "A charm?"  Dana was taken aback by that. 
       Maire smiled.  "I've shocked you now.  Yes, a charm.  I placed two
iron nails across your windowsill to keep the Folk away from you.  You
needed a good night's rest." 
       "I hardly think a couple of nails would keep anyone away if they
were determined to enter, Maire." 
       "No, it wouldn't, but they respect the old customs." 
       "I see,"  Dana hid her smile, "Thank you, then." 
       "You're welcome.  I thought I'd give you a traditional breakfast
today, I hope you like oatmeal." 
       "I... it's... alright,"  Dana said, trying to summon up some
enthusiasm.  Oatmeal had never been her favorite dish. 
       Maire laughed.  "I can see you've only had that pasty stuff they
call oatmeal in America, haven't you?  You'll like this better.  It's as
different as night and day." 
       "That sounds promising." 
       "It is, and I made soda bread fresh, too.  Cut yourself a slice,
it's there on the table." 
       Dana cut a large hunk off the round loaf, taking the heel that was
her favorite part, and buttered it thickly, feeling decadent.  At home she
rarely ate butter... too much fat and calories.  Irish butter was pale and
unsalted, and melted on the hot bread in creamy runnels.  She took a bite
and sighed in pleasure as the taste of wheat and raisins and caraway
filled her mouth. 
       "This is wonderful!"  she said, around a second bite.  Maire
grinned. 
       "Glad you like it.  The kettle's hot now, why don't you make tea? 
Tea things are in the cupboard there." 
       Dana nodded and got out the teapot, measured dark, smoky-smelling
tea-leaves into it, then filled it with hot water to steep.  Something
about making tea was relaxing, possibly that it was a sort of ritual.  Not
quite as ceremonial as a Japanese tea ceremony, but still recognizably
ritual.  A few moments later she poured the tea into two mugs across a
pierced silver spoon that Maire handed to her.  As Dana emptied soggy
tea-leaves from it and rinsed it out, she stroked the deeply modeled
pattern on the handle of the spoon, tracing the interlaced lines. 
       "This is beautiful,"  she said softly. 
       "Aye, it was a gift." 
       Something about Maire's faraway smile made Dana curious. 
       "From a suitor?" 
       Maire looked at her oddly, and shook her head.  "No, I'd not call
him that." 
       Dana almost dropped it.  "This was from him?" 
       "Aye.  They always leave a gift, the last time." 
       Dana scowled.  "That sounds awfully close to payment." 
       Maire sighed, shaking her head.  "Nay, lass.  'Tis not that at all. 
You must stop judging them by human standards." 
       "I can't help it, they're the only standards I have." 
       "Then perhaps you need to be more open minded,"  Maire stated
flatly. 
       Anger washed through her and she almost snapped at Maire, then she
let it go.  There was no point in being angry with her.  "Mulder's always
telling me that, too." 
       "Who's Mulder?" 
       "My partner." 
       "He sounds like he's got a good head on his shoulders." 
       Dana laughed.  "I wouldn't go that far." 
       "Tell me about him." 
       Dana sighed.  "He's a bit *too* open minded, actually.  I might
even call him gullible." 
       "Why is that?" 
       "Because he... believes.  In *everything*.  Aliens, werewolves,
mutants; you name it.  He believes in it all." 
       Maire looked at her for a long moment, then sighed.  "Ah, child. 
You've lost your sense of wonder, haven't you?  And he still has his, and
it hurts." 
       Dana opened her mouth to rebut her, and stopped suddenly.  She
couldn't.  It was true.  Feeling unaccountably sad, she sipped her tea in
silence for a moment, then looked up. 
       "So, where should I go today to see something historical?" 
       "Go to Sligo, to Queen Medbh's tomb.  You'll like that." 
       "Sounds perfect, would you like to come?" 
       "Na, I've things to do here, you go on.  I'll have a cold supper
for you when you get back." 
       "You don't have to do that!" 
       "I know, that's what makes it fun."  Maire smiled.  "Get bowls,
would you?  The oatmeal's ready." 

                                   ###

       Even though she'd spent the day hiking around neolithic barrows and
fields of dolmens all day, by bed-time Dana was still wide awake.  Maire
was dozing by the fireplace with a book held loosely in her fingers, the
dogs at her feet.  Dana made herself a sandwich from leftover ham, cheese
and bread, and sat at the table, eating and wondering what she could do to
make herself sleepy.  She cleaned up the dishes and was trying to decide
if she should wake up Maire just to have her go to bed when suddenly the
dogs got to their feet and began to whine, staring at the door.  She
looked at them, a little uneasy.  Did they need to go out?  Probably.  She
got up and went to the door, reaching for the doorknob just as a knock
sounded. 
       She jumped about a foot, startled.  She hadn't expected anyone to
be out after dark out in the boondocks.  That must be what the dogs were
whining about; they had sensed the visitor.  They didn't seem afraid or
alarmed, so they probably knew whoever it was.  She looked at Maire
sleeping by the fire, and decided not to wake her; instead going to the
door and opening it herself.  The light fell on the caller's face and she
gasped. 
       "You!" 
       Fionn had the good grace to look faintly embarrassed as he nodded. 
       "Hello Dana." 
       "What are you doing here?"  Dana snapped curtly, resisting the 
urge to slam the door in his face.
       "I... we need your help." 
       That surprised her.  "What do you mean?" 
       "You're a doctor, we need one." 
       "Why?  Is someone injured?" 
       "Eithne's child, something's wrong, its coming early and the birth
isn't going as it should, but our own midwife is in the Earth now, and
none of us are trained to help." 
       "I'm not an obstetrician, why don't you take her to the nearest
hospital?" 
       Fionn looked at her a bit disdainfully.  "You know the answer to
that, I know your aunt told you about us.  We can't risk a hospital!  The
others would not even risk you, but I have some foolish notion that you
can be trusted." 
       Dana found herself gaping.  Fionvarra trusted her?  To deliver a
non-human child?  Why?  She shook her head. 
       "I don't think I can help you..." 
       Anguish lit his face as she reached out and caught Dana's hands in
hers.  "Please, Dana, you must... there's no one else!  Without someone's
help, they both will die!  We're not that different from you, not in this. 
I swear it!" 
       Scully hesitated, feeling torn.  She wasn't prepared and she knew
it.  Not only was childbirth something she knew only academically, but
these people might not even be *human*!  On the other hand, if someone was
really in trouble, and had no one else... how could she refuse to help? 
It went against everything she believed in.  Finally she nodded. 
       "If I can help, I will, but I'm afraid I've assisted in delivering
exactly one baby in my career, and that was in a hospital setting with
help from specialists." 
       The expression of relief that flooded Fionn's face told Dana she
was doing the right thing.  "Whatever you know will be more than we do,
and I thank you now for making the attempt, whatever the outcome.  We must
hurry now, come!" 
       "I have to get my stuff..." 
       He nodded and waited outside while Dana dashed for her suitcase. 
She had a small kit she carried for emergencies, it would have to do.  As
she came out, she stopped to waken Maire to let her know what she was
doing, but found her already awake, and watching Fionn with interest.  At
Dana's touch on her shoulder, she looked up and smiled. 
       "Is that him?" 
       Dana nodded, and Maire grinned.  "He's lovely.  And for what it's
wirth, I think you're doing the right thing.  Earn their thanks and you'll
not regret it." 
       "But Maire... what if I can't help?" 
       "Then you can't, but at least you'll have tried.  I have a good
feeling about it, though." 
       "I hope you're right," Dana said under her breath as she hurried
out the door, and stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the huge black
creature that waited outside the door. 
       "That's a *horse*!" 
       "Aye,"  Fionn said, sounding amused. 
       "You can't expect me to..."  Dana's voice trailed off.  She was
afraid of horses.  She had been ever since she'd been on a vacation trail-
ride when she was nine, and the horse they'd given her had dumped her into
a creek. 
       "I'll not let you be harmed.  I'll be with you." 
       "I..."  she clenched her teeth.  "Can't I drive us?" 
       "It's not a place you can reach in a machine.  Let me help you up." 
       Dana belatedly noticed there was no saddle, and no bridle... how
the hell did he expect to control the animal?  He moved behind her and his
hands closed on her waist, then he was lifting her up, and she awkwardly
swung a leg across the horse, straddling it.  The horse was damn big, and
she felt a little dizzy looking down.  A moment later Fionn mounted behind
her, one of his arms going around her waist to draw her firmly back
against him.  She tried to pretend she didn't notice the hard breadth of
his chest against his back, the way his thighs lay alongside hers, the
consciousness of the way her buttocks pressed intimately into his groin... 
a wash of heat went through her. 
       "Ready?"  he said softly in her ear.  She nodded, and he tightened
his arm around her in a kind of hug. 
       "You're a brave woman." 
       "When I have to be,"  Dana acknowledged with a wry grimace. "I
guess I'm ready." 
       "Then we go,"  he spoke softly to the animal, and made a tchking
sound.  Dana closed her eyes as the horse began to move, a walk at first,
then a teeth-jarring trot, then finally a smooth canter.  She kept her
eyes closed, not wanting to have to look down.  It was too scary.  Fionn
laughed, and began to sing in some strange language Dana at first assumed
was Gaelic, but after a while she decided it wasn't.  She'd heard a lot of
Gaelic spoken in the past few days, and this just didn't sound the same. 
It was in a minor key, and its complex melody was almost eerie. 
       With her eyes closed Dana didn't feel the fear she'd expected. 
Instead she seemed unable to think of anything but his body against hers. 
She was aware of him with every nerve ending, the movement of the horse
making him shift rythmically against her in a cadence all too reminiscent
of sex.  She understood for the first time the erotic appeal of riding
bareback... even through the sturdy canvas of her jeans she could feel the
warmth and power of the animal between her thighs.  Adding to the sexual
miasma forming inside her was the realization that where she fit closely
against his crotch there was a hard, heated length that hadn't been there
when he first settled behind her.  He was aroused too, and there was no
disguising it. 
       He stopped singing, and his other arm slid around her, above the
first, his hand resting partly against the side of her breast, partly
beneath her arm.  His thumb began to glide gently over the upper curve of
her breast.  Her breath caught in her throat but she didn't object, and a
moment later his fingers tightened a little, cupping her breast fully in
his palm.  Warmth flared inward from her furled nipple and then was echoed
a moment later as his lips grazed her neck, just below her ear.  It was
all she could do not to moan.  God, this was crazy!  Why was she letting
him do this?  Especially after he'd... or had he?  She still wasn't sure
if that had been dream or reality two nights earlier.  She sat forward,
breaking her contact with him and his hand dropped away instantly.  He
took hints well.  It seemed like only moments later that the horse slowed,
then stopped.  Dana heard voices, women's voices, and a single voice over
the others, moaning in pain. 
       "We've arrived, you can look now,"  Fionn's voice was carefully
neutral as he loosened his other arm from around Dana's waist.  "I must
let you down here, they won't let me come closer." 
       Dana opened her eyes, and almost wished she hadn't.  What were they
doing in a cave, for heaven's sake?  It looked as if she'd stepped into a
museum diorama featuring `The Ancient Celts'.  There were a dozen women
present, all wearing what looked like costumes, save Eithne who knelt
naked, supported by a woman on either side.  Her body was round and hard
with pregnancy, her face anguished.  All other considerations fled in the
face of that.  Dana slid off the horse and ran, pushing aside the women in
her way. 
       "Let her lie down, I need to see what's going on." 
       Nodding, the two women helped Eithne lie back on the linen sheet
spread on the ground.  Dana checked her pulse and breathing, and was
relieved to find them relatively normal.  She didn't appear to have any of
the symptoms of toxemia either. 
       "How early are you, and how long have you been in labor?" 
       "I'm six weeks early,"  Eithne managed, through gritted teeth.  "As
for how long... I'm not sure, but much longer than ever before.  And it
doesn't... feel right!" 
       Dana's eyebrows lifted.  "You've had other children?"  She didn't
know why she felt surprised, but she was. 
       "Aye, two.  Please... can you help?" 
       "I'm going to have to examine you before I can tell." 
       Eithne nodded, biting her lip.  Rolling up her sleeves, she drew on
a pair of examination gloves from her kit and knelt beside her patient. 
As gently as she could she eased her hand into the birth canal, trying not
to hear Eithne's whimpers, thankful for once that she had small hands. It
was instantly clear what was wrong, there was no doubt whatsoever.  The
baby was coming rear-end first.  She sat back, collecting her thoughts,
trying to remember the important points of assisting a breech birth. 
	Damn, why hadn't she paid more attention to that seminar?  She
would have to free the legs, keep the cord free of any constriction so
there was no loss of circulation from the placenta, and ease the arms
down.  Delivering the head would be the hardest part, but then, it would
be in a normal birth too!  It would need to be done now, as the baby was
already through the cervix to about its navel, and if she remembered right
once it was to that point things needed to move quickly.  She sat back and
looked up at the older woman who stood waiting. 
       "What's your name?" 
       "Banbha." 
       "Beva?"  she asked, confirming her pronunciation.  "All right, I
may be able to help, but you have to realize it will be the first time
I've attempted anything like it." 
       "But you know what to do?"  Banbha asked anxiously. 
       "Technically, yes." 
       "What can we do to help?" 
       "I'm going to need someone to help me, and it would help if she
were higher, so I had better leverage.  A table would be good, something
about waist high." 
       "A table..."  Banbha made a movement and Dana gasped in shock,
almost falling over backward as something *changed* and Eithne was lying
on a table, waist high, no longer on the ground.  She stood up quickly,
gaping at it. 
       "Do you need anything else?"  Banbha asked. 
       Dana blinked at her, dumbfounded, still not quite believing that
the table had just appeared out of nowhere. She reached out and touched
it, finding its surface smooth and hard beneath her hand.  It was a wooden
table, not a steel one, but still, just the fact that it was *there* was
outrageous! 
       "I... I..."  she scowled, trying to think clearly.  Eithne moaned,
curling around her pain, and the sound galvanized Dana.  Grabbing her kit
she fished out a scalpel and a couple of needles, along with suture silk. 
       "I need soap and water to wash up with, and some boiling water to
sterilize these, just in case I end up having to do an episiotomy." 
       "You can't use those."  Banbha said quietly.  "Let me see them, I
will create something you can use." 
       Dana stared at her.  "Why can't I use them?" 
       "They are steel, she would never heal from a wound made by that. 
Please, hold them out so I can see them clearly." 
       Dana held them out, and Banbha studied them for a long time, then
closed her eyes, a frown of intense concentration marring her beauty.  A
moment later she held out her hand; on her palm lay an object the same
size and general shape as Dana's scalpel, but the shaft looked like wood,
and the blade seemed to be made of black glass.  Dana picked it, testing
the weight and feel of it, and looked at Banbha questioningly. 
       "What is the blade made of?" 
       "Obsidian.  I thought of bronze, but it is not so sharp.  This will
function better, won't it?"  she sounded anxious. 
       Dana nodded, recalling an article she'd read in about eye surgeons
using obsidian blades because they made a cleaner incision and left less
scarring.  It was, she smiled to herself at the pun, cutting-edge
technology, for all its stone-age appearence. 
       "It should do fine.  What about a needle?" 
       Banbha looked past her to the others gathered in the cave. 
"Brede?" 
       One of the other women stepped forward, her gown was embroidered
heavily around the neck and hem in dizzying swirls.  Opening a pouch at
her waist she drew out a scrap of soft leather.  Four very thin needles
pierced it, gleaming in the odd, diffuse light that filled the cave,
though it seemed to have no source. 
       "They're silver, and won't harm her."  Brede said softly.  "I would
be honored if you would use them." 
       Dana accepted the packet solemnly.  "Thank you.  What about the
nylon suture?  Could it hurt her?" 
       "May I see it?"  Brede asked. 
       Dana held out the spool.  Brede examined it, drawing a section
through her fingers.  She shook her head. "No, this should not harm her." 
       "Good.  Where's the water I needed?" 
       Someone came forward with a large bowl full of steaming water. 
Dana dropped the needles and scapel into it.  The wooden shaft buoyed the
stone blade so that it floated on the water.  She shook herself, wondering
if she would wake in a moment to find that she'd dreamed it all.  A second
bowl of water was brought along with soap, and she washed her hands, then
drew on a new pair of gloves.  Her hands were trembling.  She turned away
a moment, trying to get herself under control.  Silently she prayed to the
god she hadn't quite believed in for years, hoping she could pull this
off.  Finally she turned. 
       "I'm ready.  This is going to hurt like hell, so hang on to her
hands and be ready to hold her still." 
       Brede stepped forward and took Eithne's hands, gazing down into her
eyes, and she began to sing, the melody reminded Dana a little bit of the
song Fionn had sung on the way here. 
       Banba smiled.  "We'll see to her, she'll have no pain." 
       Dana didn't ask how, but for some reason didn't doubt that they
could do that.  It was just part and parcel of the whole bizarre
situation.  Banbha placed her hands on Dana's shoulders, looking down into
her eyes with concern. 
       "What of you?  Are you well?" 
       Scully took a deep breath, and nodded.  "I'm fine, a bit nervous,
but fine." 
       Banbha gazed at her with steady confidence. 
       "Do what you must, you will succeed." 
       Oddly, Dana suddenly felt more confident. She moved around the
table to where she could more easily reach Eithne and went to work. 
       "Banbha, you'll need to keep a gentle, steady pressure on her
abdomen, pushing the baby toward me.  Can you do that?" 
       The older woman nodded, and took her place.  Dana worked a hand
into Eithne's body, amazed that her action didn't draw even a gasp from
her patient.  The powerful muscles were contracted, trying to expell the
child, and she had to wait for the contraction to end before she could
carefully free one of the baby's legs, drawing it down from its flexed
position.  It was terrifying, trying to gauge the right amount of
pressure... too little and nothing happened, but too much and she could
injure the child.  Her fingers kept going numb from the pressure against
them, and she was sweating with exertion as she fought against the
contractions that hampered her.  Sweat was dripping into her eyes and she
wiped her face on her sleeve ineffectually, wishing someone would do it
for her.  Before the thought was finished one of the other women was at
her side with a cloth, blotting the sweat away, then stepping back, near
enough to do it again when needed, but out of the way.  Dana muttered a
terse thank-you and concentrated on Eithne again. 
       With the first leg freed Dana was was able to draw down a loop of
the umbilical so there was less stress on it.  She could feel a strong
pulse in the cord that reassured her.  Whatever they were doing to Eithne
to keep her from feeling pain must be working, because she wasn't even
whimpering at things Dana knew would have even the bravest soul screaming
in pain.  She managed to spread her fingers over the baby's rear and
thighs, and gently pulled downward, drawing the infant out far enough that
she could start fighting again, this time to sweep its arms down from
where they were crossed over its chest. 
       When the next contraction rippled through Eithne, since the
blockage of flexed legs and arms had been cleared, the baby's shoulder and
arm slid free.  For the first time, she could see the back of its neck and
head.  It was time.  Desperately trying to remember exactly what she was
supposed to do, she put her forearm under the baby's body to support it
and slipped two fingers into its mouth to draw its head into a better
birth position. 
       "Eithne, when the next contraction comes I need you to push, push
hard!  Banbha, you too!" 
       As they complied, Dana put her other hand over the baby's shoulder,
her fingers spread on either side of its neck, and pulled evenly with both
hands.  The baby slid downward an inch or so, no more.  Dana longed to
ease her hand free and shake it to return circulation and feeling, but
that would mean starting over so she ignored the needle-like pains in her
arm and kept at it.  It took three more tries, but the baby finally slid
free in a rush of amniotic fluid and blood. 
       Dana felt a rush of irrational joy... as if she, not Eithne, had
just given birth.  She turned it... him, upward, holding him carefully as
she gazed down into his unfocused eyes, and messy little face, grinning
like an imbecile.  Collecting herself, she cleared his tiny mouth and
gently massaged him into breath.  He hiccoughed twice, then settled into a
steady rythm.  She shuddered with relief.  She'd done it!  He seemed to be
normal and healthy, he was breathing on his own, his color was good... she
breathed a quiet sigh of relief and quickly tied off the umbilical and cut
it with the obsidian scalpel.  Maybe her pride wasn't so irrational...
without her, he might not have made it into the world alive. 
       "He's beautiful," said softly, marvelling at how long he was.  He
was a surprisingly big baby, especially since he was early, with
cafe-au-lait skin and distinctly African features.  As she checked him
over, though, something odd caught her attention as she cleaned him up
with a warm, damp cloth someone had handed her, and she looked more
carefully.  Her jaw dropped, and she barely managed not to swear in
surprise.  Banbha must have read her consternation on her face for she
leaned close. 
       "What is it?  Is something wrong with the child?"  she demanded in
a whisper. 
       "I... well... yes, and no.  He... she seems to be healthy, but..." 
       "But what?" 
       "Well, it seems... I mean..."  Dana stopped, frustrated.  There was
no easy way to say it, so she just came out with it.  "He... um... it
appears to be hermaphroditic."  she said, taking refuge in medical-ese. 
It didn't work.  Banbha shook her head, puzzled. 
       "It's what?" 
       "It has both male *and* female genitalia!"  she said in a tight
hiss. 
       Banbha stared at her for a moment, then a smile spread across her
face.  "Of course it does, we don't choose a primary gender until much
later.  'Tis normal for us." 
       Dana gaped, feeling utterly dumbfounded. 
       "Normal?  This is normal?" 
       "Aye, completely." 
       "I... I... well, if you say so." 
       "I do, so be easy with it.  Give the child to Brede to clean and
wrap now before Eithne starts to worry." 
       Dana nodded and carefully passed the child to Brede, then turned
back to Eithne to attend to the delivery of the placenta, trying not to
let on how shaken she was.  Until that moment, she'd been able to just
think of them as a quirky group of historical reenactors.  This, however,
confirmed their alienness in a way she could never have anticipated.  What
had Banbha meant when she said they didn't chose their primary gender
until later?  She had thousands of questions fighting for precendence in
her mind, but she didn't feel that she could ask any of them.  Fighting
off the urge to sit down and rest, she deliberately set her mind to the
task at hand and blocked out the rest. 

                            ####

       Dana sat bolt upright, startled and disoriented.  It took her a
moment to figure out that she was in bed at Maire's cottage.  Odd, she
didn't even remember going to bed!  Her clothes were neatly folded on the
small dressing table.  On top of them lay an unfamiliar object.  She
reached over and picked it up.  It was a small chamois pouch with
something small and heavy inside it.  She eased the drawstring open and
shook the object out into her hand.  It was a small gold disk, about an
inch in diameter, one face bore a small, rather grotesque female figure
which appeared to be exposing herself, and the other face held an
intricate triskele pattern. It looked like some sort of ancient coin,
since it bore no jump-ring for a chain. 
       Where had it come from?  What was it?  Why did she have it?  As she
turned it over and over in her palm, she began to remember the odd dream
she'd been having.  Delivering a baby?  Weird.  She must have been
thinking too much of Fionn last night, and her subconscious had pulled
Eithne out of her memory.  The beginning of the dream had been a lot like
the earlier one she'd had of him, starting out very sexy.  She could still
remember the hard impression of his arousal against her rear, the touch of
his lips on her neck.  After that it had gotten bizarre, ending with the
delivery of a baby.  She made a face, annoyed at this possible evidence
that her biological clock was trying to make its presence known.  What
else would explain these dreams, first about sex, then babies? 
       Still puzzled by its presence in her room, she tucked the coin back
into the pouch and got up, glancing at her watch.  One o'clock?  That had
to be in the afternoon, since it was daylight.  Could it really be that
late or had her watch stopped?  She checked it again, and saw the
second-hand sweep around the dial.  It was working, but maybe it was slow,
or fast or something.  Yawning, she pulled on her sweats and headed for
the bathroom.  As she passed Maire's room she saw that the door was open
and her bed was neatly made.  Not surprising; she seemed to be an early
riser.  She went on into the bathroom and closed the door. 

                                   ####

       "You're up finally?"  Maire greeted her as she wandered into the
kitchen.  "I thought you were going to sleep the day away, but figured you
must need the rest." 
       "I guess I was more tired than I realized!  Is it really after
one?" 
       "It is." 
       "Sorry to be such a slug-abed,"  Dana apologized, smiling.  "By the
way, I found this in my room, is it yours?  Did you leave it there?" 
       "What is it?" 
       "This,"  Dana held out the chamois pouch.  Maire opened it and
fished out the coin.  She studied it for a long moment, then smiled a very
strange smile. 
       "It's not mine, Dana, it's yours." 
       "No, it's not... unless, do you mean you're giving it to me as a
gift?" 
       "Oh no, it's not from me, and it's not a gift!  It's payment, for
services rendered." 
       Dana stared at her.  "What do you mean?" 
       "It's from Them.  They're paying you for your help last night." 
       Dana felt a little weak-kneed and sat down abruptly on one of the
kitchen chairs.  "Them?" 
       "The Gentry.  How did it go?  Were you able to help the mother and
child?" 
       "But... that was a dream!"  Dana exclaimed. 
       "No, it was real.  I saw you leave with him night before last, and
you were gone a full day.  I didn't hear you return, but when I got up
this morning you were in your bed.  They must have brought you back." 
       "Gone *how* long?  That's impossible!  I don't remember..." 
       "Sometimes, when you cross between the worlds, time is different,
and the crossing can do things to your mind, make you forget." 
       Dana lifted a hand to her head, rubbing her forehead in confusion. 
"My god... I can't believe this is happening to me!  This is...
incredible!  It's simply not possible!" 
       "There are many stories of midwives taken to help the Gentry!" 
       "That's just it, Maire!  They're *stories*!  Fairy tales!  Not
real!" 
       "There's a grain of truth in almost every story, Dana." 
       "Maire, this is making me crazy!  First Fionn, now this!  What's
*real* around here?" 
       "It all is.  Just because it's different doesn't make it any less
real." 
       Dana sighed.  "I wish Mulder was here!" 
       "Why?" 
       "Because he has a way of making the bizarre seem plausible." 
       Maire chuckled.  "Sounds like an interesting man." 
       Dana gave a derisive snort.  "That's one way to put it."  She shook
her head. "It's like I dreamed it all... except Fionn.  I know he was
real, on the plane at least.  I wish I could find him, talk to him, ask
him what's going on." 
       "You can.  I know where you can find him, tonight at least.  It's
full moon and there's been a birth, he'll be at the stones." 
       "What stones?" 
       "The ring of stones on the hill above their house, on the cliffs
not far from Inishcrone." 
       "Their house?  They have a house?"  For some reason that was harder
to believe than the thought of them living in some alternate universe. 
       "They have to live somewhere when they're here, don't they?" 
       "I... guess so.  But what makes you think he'll be at this stone
circle?" 
       "As I said, his sister's just given birth, and it's full moon. 
He'll be there.  It's..." 
       "It's traditional,"  Dana finished for her.  "I take it these
people are pretty tradition bound." 
       "Very much so." 
       "But what am I supposed to do?  Hide behind a rock and wait for him
to show up?"  Dana demanded sarcastically. 
       "If you like." 
       "I don't.  I'd feel like a fool." 
       "It's up to you *how* you do it, but you should go.  You have to go
and see if he's there, your Fionvarra.  Go and see if he walks to the
stones, and crosses over.  After that, if you still disbelieve, I'll say
no more, but do that much for me before you make up your mind that I've
lost mine." 
       Dana shook her head, scowling.  "No."

                                         ####

       The bay looked unchanged.  It lay sparkling in the moonlight just
as it had for longer than even he could remember.  Fionn breathed in
deeply, tasting the sweet smoke of a distant peat fire.  That essence
seemed to be ingrained in his soul.  For too many years the only things he
had smelled were the cloying stink of half-spent hydrocarbons, and the
synthetic fragrances that Americans were so obsessed with.  They were
always covering up natural scents with unnatural perfumes.  It was a
strange passion. 
       He walked up the hillside away from the house that stood at the
edge of the cliff, its physical location mirroring in a way its more
precarious position... that of standing between two worlds.  The world of
the Sidhe, and the world of Humanity.  It was a Gathering Place, and
always would be, whether the house stood there or not.  The land there
held a special property the Folk needed to survive, hidden in caverns deep
below the surface. 
       His foot touched a stone half-hidden in the thick grass, and a
charged tingle raced upward from his bare toes.  He smiled.  A border-
stone.  He had reached the outer edge of the Gateway.  Humans and animals
would always feel uncomfortable here, and avoid it, but to him it was as
if he'd been reborn.  He stepped past the boundary and began to walk the
circumference of the Outer Circle, refamiliarizing himself with its shape
and feel.  It had been so long... so long... but he remembered it, his
body remembered even if his mind did not.  He felt the Crossing song well
up, and gave it voice, letting the words flow out of him like water, words
so old none of them knew their meaning any longer; no one but him.  He
knew a few of them now, after many years of searching and study, their
roots lay deep in languages dead for millennia.  He had traced them as far
back as he could, surprised and yet not surprised to find their source in
Human tongues. 
       He wondered anew how his people had begun.  They must once have
been human... how else could they be genetically compatible?  But
somewhere back in the mists the Folk had taken a far different path, and
kept on it.  They had learned that the universe was both less, and more,
than it seemed.  They had learned to manipulate the world at its basest
level, to play with atoms like marbles.  Strange that the atoms they
played with had turned on them, might yet destroy them.  He thought of
Banbha and felt an unfamiliar pain in his chest.  Unconsciously his hand
tried to massage the pain away, but it was too deep, too far inside.  He
loosened his cloak and let it fall so he could move unhampered.  The night
air was cold on his skin, but it didn't bother him.  The ritual was his to
perform, but tonight he would Cross not just for her, but for Banbha as
well. 
       "I cross over in your honor, you who are new born to this world. 
Be in me,"  he whispered, and began the dance. 

                                   ####

       Dana shivered in the cool dampness of the night, drawing her jacket
closer around herself, and feeling foolish.  How had she talked herself
into this?  What was she doing watching some stranger's house through
binoculars as if she were on a stakeout?  She was liable to run afoul of
the local constabulary, though Maire had assured her it was unlikely.  She
could hear the older woman as if she were with her. 
       "You have to go and see if he's there, your Fionvarra.  Go and see
if he walks to the stones, and crosses over.  After that, if you still
disbelieve, I'll say no more, but do that much for me before you make up
your mind that I've lost mine." 
       She had agreed, finally.  And now she was sitting behind a rock on
an Irish hillside spying on some unsuspecting family that happened to live
in a house that local legend had endowed with Otherworldly portent.  The
windows shone golden with light, and she could see the shadows of people
within as they moved.  There were a lot of people there, it must be a
party.  After a while the door opened, and a figure emerged to stand in
the courtyard, lit by the glow spilling from inside the house.  Someone
getting some fresh air, no doubt.  She focused the binoculars and nearly
dropped them. 
       Fionn. 
       She looked again, focusing carefully on the face, unable to believe
the coincidence, that he really *did* live in the house where Maire had
said he would.  It was him.  She had no doubt at all, despite the fact
that he seemed to be wearing a costume of some sort... a short,
light-colored tunic, and over it a checkered cloak.  She thought it was
yellow and black, but she couldn't be certain.  The tunic was so short he
probably couldn't bend over comfortably in public, and his legs and feet
were bare beneath it.  His long, thick hair was loose around his shoulders
like a lion's mane, falling to mid-back.  Uncomfortably she fingered the
clasp in her pocket, wondering if he'd missed it yet. 
       He turned and said something to someone inside the house, and the
door closed, cutting off the light.  She strained to see more clearly, and
wished for a starlight-scope.  He was moving, walking... toward her.  She
lowered the binoculars and looked again.  She could just see him, in the
moonlight, walking up the hill toward the ragged stone circle that stood
on the hillside between the house and her position above it. 
       "See if he walks to the stones, and crosses over.,"  Maire had
said.  Now he was walking toward the stones... but what had she meant by
`crosses over?'
       Dana watched him hike quickly up the hill, pausing once to stand
and stare out at the bay, then resume his walk.  As he came closer she
could see him easily.  He moved gracefully, quickly, with a stride that
reminded her of a leopard she'd seen at the zoo.  He was close now, close
enough that she could hear him singing... something minor-key and
haunting, with no words she could understand.  It reminded her of the song
he had sung as they rode toward Eithne.  He paused for a moment and
dropped his cloak.  She sucked in a breath, unprepared for her reaction to
him.  God, he was superb! 
       The tunic left his arms bare, and they looked like sculpted marble. 
Despite his height, he had a distinctly endomorphic build... compactly
muscular.  His hair spilled like ink over the pale fabric, looking black
rather than auburn in the moonlight.  The planes of his face were
highlighted and shadowed like a pen-and-ink drawing.  His legs were
beautiful... long, and powerful.  She imagined him naked, she imagined
those hard, arched thighs between hers, those solid arms around her, that
full, sensual mouth on her skin, the hard heat and weight of his body on
hers.  Warmth exploded through her, banishing her chill as she watched him
begin to move. 
       His dance was like nothing she'd ever seen before.  There was
nothing balletic, or folk-dance, or modern or jazz about it.  Yet it was
unmistakably a dance.  It was also a pattern, working slowly from the
outer edge of the circle toward the center, spiraling ever inward.  He was
still singing, his voice soft and rough and sad.  She blinked.  Was it her
imagination, or were his steps leaving marks on the thick grass? 
Footprints limned in faint phosphorescence.  No... she stared hard and the
glow didn't fade.  He *was* somehow leaving glowing footprints behind. 
       Her analytic side speculated on how he'd done that.  Some sort of
substance on the soles of his feet?  Some property of the grass in the
area?  Some kind of bioluminescent insects?  Any one of those could be the
answer.  Her aesthetic side didn't care.  He was beautiful, the dance was
beautiful, the song was beautiful... she was enthralled.  She watched him
move closer and closer to the center of the circle, then finally he was
there, his back to her as he put his hands against the stone that marked
the center.  It was roughly waist-height to him, its base buried since
time immemorial in the dark, fertile earth.  He lifted his head, gazed at
the moon, and moved his hands apart with a soft cry. 
       The stone split in two, brilliant golden light spilling from inside
it.  It opened, like a door.  A door into *what*?  A door into *where*? 
She found herself on her feet, trembling, as she watched that impossible
space widen, and the light bathe him, his figure casting a distinct shadow
up the hill behind him.  He laughed, and spoke some word she couldn't
understand, and stepped down somehow, into the stone, into the light.  She
reacted without thought, on instinct, as if he were a fugitive about to
escape.  She ran down the hill toward the rapidly narrowing glow, and
flung herself headlong after him. 
       She saw him turn, his eyes widening in... fear? 
       "NO!!!!"  he screamed as she crossed the threshold. 
       Chaos.  Confusion.  Pain.  Light that was darkness, sound that was
taste, scent that was sound... excruciating, agonizing, brilliant pain, as
if every molecule of her body were being individually torn apart.  She
convulsed as she fell upward toward him, and there was nothing to hold
onto, no ground, no walls, no up, no down.... nothing.  She was suspended
in nothing, her body exploding into a nova of agony.  She tried to cry out
and saw her voice.  Some tiny, rational part of her mind tried to explain
what was happening.  Synesthesia?  Then a ball of roiling crimson darkness
expanded behind her eyes.  The last thing she felt were hands, something
real and knowable, as they closed around her arms. 

                                   ####

-- 
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
[email-masked]

From: [email-masked] (MATTHEWS-SIMMONS KELLIE)
Date: Thu, 21 Jul 1994 04:49:01 GMT

             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 
             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 

The story you are about to read contains SEX, written in loving detail. 
If that bothers you, either do NOT read this story, or get someone who
doesn't mind erotica to black out all the juicy parts for you before you
read it.  If you're underage, get your parent's permission to read it. 

Don't flame me if you're silly enough to go ahead and read it after I
warned you, and then get offended by it.   --kms

This story copyright 1994 by the author.  Permission to distribute freely
is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a
trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. 

Kellie Matthews-Simmons//[email-masked]  
Member: SFLA&EBS,  PSEB,  DDEB,  X-phile   "Ego veno eos in vulcos minos."
"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
 humiliation." --Fox Mulder, X-Files "Squeeze"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
			Ancient Dreams, pt. 4
				Kellie Matthews-Simmons

       Thirsty.  She was thirsty.  She licked her lips, hoping to moisten
their dryness, but her tongue was nearly as parched.  There was something
tight around her shoulders, and she wasn't very comfortable in a
half-sitting, half-lying position, with something bumpy under her rear and
thighs.  She was also moving slightly, back and forth.  It was making her
seasick.  She could hear someone speaking, a soft, soothing almost-
whisper, deep and low.  A man's voice.  Maybe he'd get her a drink. 
       "Irstee,"  she managed hoarsely, and flinched at the increased
pounding in her temples.  She heard a gasp, and she thought for a moment
she was falling backward, but something behind her shoulders slowed the
movement, though her head was now tipped uncomfortably backward.  What the
hell?  Where was she?  She opened her eyes to find Fionn's face close to
her own, wearing an expression that seemed to combine fear, concern,
surprise, and joy, all at once.  It finally registered that he was holding
her in his lap, rocking her like a child. 
       "Ah, thank the Mothers!  You're alive!" 
       She stared at him for a long moment, puzzled.  "Yeah, shouldn't I
be?"  Or that was what she'd meant to say.  It came out more like "Eah,
shun ee bay?" 
       He laughed, and leaned down, his lips sealing hers.  Suddenly she
forgot all about hurting, all about thirst, all about confusion.  His
mouth was magical, soft, yet firm, the pressure just right.  She lifted
her arms and slid them behind his neck, burying her fingers in the thick
silk of his hair, drawing him closer, urging him to more intimacy.  He
yielded for a moment, his tongue slicking into her mouth, moistening the
dryness, and exciting her unbearably, then he pulled back with a gasp. 
       "Nay, lass... you're nowhere near ready for that yet.  How do you
feel?" 
       Disappointed by his reaction, it took her a moment to marshall her
thoughts coherently.  She realized she felt awful, which was a real
contrast to what his mouth had made her feel. 
       "I feel..."  her words were more intelligible now.  "...like
someone worked me over.  What happened?" 
       "You Crossed Over, unprepared, and alone.  For a mortal that could
be fatal, you're lucky I was able to catch you and bring you back!  In
fact, you're damned lucky to be alive!  What d'you think you were doin'?" 
       For a *mortal*?  What was that supposed to mean, she wondered, as
she answered him.  "I was following you." 
       "Why, for Pete's sake?"  he asked, the Americanism slipping oddly
from his mouth.  "Were you after killin' yourself?" 
       "I didn't know... I just wanted to talk to you, and I thought you
were going away." 
       "Oh,"  he looked a bit taken aback.  "but to follow me into the
Tir... lass, how could you be so foolish?" 
       "What's... the teer?" 
       "Tir nan Og, the Summerland.  Surely you've heard of... no, I can
see you've not.  Leave it to an ignorant American to follow where the
proverbial angels fear to tread." 
       Dana bristled, trying to sit up, only to realize she was on his
lap, held in his arms.  She subsided, scowling. 
       "I am not ignorant!"  she snapped
       "Yes, y'are.  In these things, anyway.  Lass... never travel in
myths you've not researched."  he said in utter seriousness. 
       "But *where*... I mean, what is it?  Why shouldn't I have followed
you?" 
       "'Tis another world, one that lies beside, or perhaps more
accurately, inside yours.  One your human senses cannot fully comprehend
or deal with." 
       She struggled upright, pushing away from him.  "What do you mean,
one my *human* senses can't comprehend?" 
       He smiled, shaking his head.  "Ah, lass, you still don't see? 
You're human, I'm not." 
       Dana suddenly wondered if she was dreaming.  Dreams didn't have to
make sense.  In a dream one could carry on a perfectly deranged
conversation like this with impugnity.  She pinched the skin of her wrist
and winced.  It hurt, which unfortunately meant she wasn't dreaming.  She
studied him... he seemed perfectly human to her. 
       "Then what are you?  An alien?  You don't look like an alien. 
They're supposed to be little guys with big heads, black eyes, and gray
skin." 
       His smile faded somewhat.  "No, we're not them, and they're not us. 
We're just a different kind of native, as much children of Earth as you
are, only we're not quite the same.  Where your ancestors learned to use
fire, mine learned to use the mind.  Over time we became two very
different kinds of being, though we may have begun the same." 
       "Right,"  she said sarcastically.  "How stupid do you think I am?" 
       "Oh, not stupid at all.  You're probably far more intelligent than
I am, and definitely more learned in the way Humans think of learning. 
You're just ignorant in this thing, as I said." 
       "Okay, show me how you're different, then.  You don't look
different." 
       "I will..." he said softly, a teasing smile playing around his
mouth. 
       He closed his eyes, she felt a shifting, a strange shiver of his
skin where it touched hers.  Beneath her thighs she felt something change,
sinking away; where her back rested against his chest she felt a new
pressure and softness.  His face blurred and softened, his lips became
fuller, redder, his features finer and less masculine, his eyebrows
thinner...  He opened his eyes and it hit her suddenly, what was
different. 
       "Oh my god!"  she gasped, and suddenly Banbha's words about
choosing a gender made sense. 
       "Aye, you see it now.  And that's just one example of how we're
different."  Even the voice was dissimilar... higher, huskier, rounder. 
Just subtly, but enough. 
       She fought free of his... her embrace and knelt on the bed, facing
Fionn; staring at the long, sleek legs, so much rounder now, with that
underlying layer of fat that makes a woman's body softer-looking than a
man's. 
       "You're... you're..." 
       "Female.  Aye, for the moment, though I can hold it for only a day
or so without the Earth's help to remold me.  To change like this is a
minor thing, a parlor trick." 
       "But... how?" 
       "The same way I can do this..."  he waved a hand at the chamber
they were in.  The bedcover shimmered and changed from aqua to a deep,
rich purple, then became fur.  The bed writhed and became dark walnut
instead of pale oak. A fireplace sprang into being where a window had
been. 
       "Stop, please, it's making me dizzy." 
       "I'll not do it any more.  I just wanted to prove my point." 
       "How... how do you do it?" 
       "I... look at how it is, and then I make it as I wish it to be.  I
look deep, and make the changes there, and they... become.  I know that
makes no sense to you, but I can't explain it any other way.  To me 'tis
instinctive, to you 'tis impossible." 
       She closed her eyes, feeling sick as another realization hit her. 
       Brother Andrew..." 
       Fionn nodded, frowning.  "I believe he was one of us, though
untrained and nearly as ignorant as you.  He could have killed you, the
fool!  It doesn't take anywhere near that level of glamour to make a human
woman willing." 
       "Is that what you did you me... in Ennis?  A glamour?"  Dana asked
softly. 
       Fionn flushed and would not meet her gaze.  "I started to, yes, but
then I realized it was wrong.  I had never realized that before.  I've
lived four-hundred lifetimes, and never saw it was wrong before.  I had no
right to touch you without your consent.  Please forgive me. 
       His, no, her, eyes were shadowed and clear, without deception. 
Dana felt she was looking into his soul.  Her soul.  This was so
confusing! 
       "I will forgive you, but tell me this, *why* do you do that?  Why
do you need to take human lovers?" 
       S/he sighed.  "Because there are so few of us.  For a long time
that didn't matter, we haven't the same inhibitions you humans do.  But
then the children began to show the effects of it... the Be'an were born,
the Pooka.  They were made wrongly, sometimes in body, sometimes in mind,
sometimes both.  Only by studying Human science did we find out what was
wrong.  We had become too inbred.  From then on we had to look to
Humankind for lovers and mates, to make sure no more monsters were
created." 
       Monsters...  Dana shivered, thinking of Eugene Tooms.  Could he
have been one of those?  A malformed, mutant Faerie child?  Was he the
product of the Kindred?  The elasticity of his muscular and skeletal
structure could be an outgrowth of this shapechanging abililty.  She had
to accept Fionn's tale, it seemed.  What choice had she?  She'd met the
Kindred, and she'd seen, and more importantly, *felt* Fionn change from
male to female.  The reality was there, unless she really was dreaming. 
But this was unlike any dream she'd ever had. 
       "Why are you telling me this?"  she asked, trying to make sense out
of everything. "Aren't you afraid I'll betray you?" 
       Fionn smiled, his features blurring as he shifted back to his male
form.  "To whom?  None would believe you, save those who already know of
us.  You don't even believe it yourself, do you?" 
       Dana felt shaken, knowing he was right.  She didn't, and no one
else would either.  Even Mulder would have a hard time with this one. 
Thinking of him she suddenly realized... was this how Mulder felt? 
Knowing something was true, yet having no one believe you, doubting even
yourself?  She didn't like it.  It made her feel helpless, and paranoid. 
       "Aye, it does, doesn't it?  You should be easier on him.  He's no
fool, that one." 
       She gasped, eyes narrowing as she studied him, knowing she hadn't
spoken aloud. "You're a telepath?" 
       "I told you, we learned to use our minds the way your people
learned to use tools.  You humans could do it, if you tried.  We come,
after all, from common roots.  All that we are, you could be.  Sometimes
there are children born to you who should have been born to us, and vice
versa.  We try to trade, when possible, but are not always able.  A child
of the Folk growing up among humans is very alone, and sometimes
dangerous." 
       "Is that what happened to her?" 
       "Her?"  he queried, puzzled. 
       "Mulder's sister.  Did you take her?" 
       "Show me..."  he said, leaning forward and taking her hands. 
       "How?"  Dana asked, confused. 
       "Just think of him, think of what you know... ah!"  His face was
eloquent with disgust.  "Liathann!  No, that was not our doing!  There
are... other beings, other influences.  We cannot talk to the Liath, they
are too... different,"  he shuddered. 
       Dana tried to imagine a being that Fionn would find strange, and
shivered herself.  She was relieved that he had returned to his original
form.  It was too strange for words, knowing that the man before her had
been a woman just moments earlier.  It challenged her beliefs at a very
basic level.  She studied him, shaking her head. 
       "Why do I believe you?" 
       "Because you know it is the truth." 
       "I have no proof." 
       "Truth needs no proof." 
       "Truth must have proof,"  she countered. 
       "No, some truths just... are." 
       "Why did you stop?" 
       He looked puzzled.  She was pleased by that, it meant he had not
been reading her mind.  The thought that he was always in there had
bothered her. 
       "What?" 
       "In Ennis, when you came to me... why did you stop?" 
       His eyes darkened and he looked away.  "I was... ashamed." 
       She looked at him and smiled.  "You've tasted the apple." 
       He got the reference instantly, and laughed.  "So I have, and
wholly fallen from innocence." 
       She looked away, suddenly shy.  "I was afraid... I thought
maybe..." 
       He caught her hands in his, drew them to his lips.  "No, never
that.  I wanted you more than I've wanted anyone in longer that I can
remember.  But I knew if I took you, you would never forgive me, and that
I could not bear." 
       Her heartbeat skyrocketed as his lips moved against her fingers,
then he turned her hands in his and his tongue tasted the pulse in her
wrist, then in the softness inside her elbow.  She shivered as he lifted
his head, his eyes alight with desire. 
       "But now you're here, and whole, and knowing, and so am I.  And I
would love you as a man, if you will have me." 
       "As a man?"  she asked, not understanding his implication. 
       "As a man, without resorting to a glamour, or dreamweaving, or any
of the other tricks of my kind.  Just... as a man." 
       She realized he was shaking, she could feel his hands trembling. 
He was afraid.  Afraid of just being who he was, afraid she would say no,
afraid she would say yes.  She was afraid of those same things, every one
of them. 
       "I... would like that,"  she heard herself say, and felt a flash of
fear.  What on earth was she doing?  What was the matter with her?  Was he
using a... glamour on her?  No... as soon as she thought it, she knew he
wasn't.  He wouldn't, not now.  She felt the attraction shimmering between
them.  She wanted him, and had since the first time she'd seen him.  It
was impulsive, and crazy, and very un-Scully.  But she didn't *want* to be
Scully for awhile, she was tired of it.  She wanted to be Dana, just Dana,
just a woman.  She was tired of being controlled, and cool, and
professional and walled-off.  She wanted to be someone else for awhile. 
Someone impulsive, and open, and free. 
       "Fionn,"  she whispered.  "I want you, but I'm afraid." 
       He shook his head.  "Don't be, I'd never harm you, never" 
       "It's not you I fear."  she said, reaching for his hand. 
       Understanding lit his face, and he let her take his hand and guide
it to her lips. 
       "Don't fear yourself either, Dana." 
       Easier said than done, she thought, then looked down at his hand,
clasped in hers.  "You have beautiful hands, you know..."  she whispered,
running her tongue along the grooves of his knuckles.  She turned his hand
palm up and pressed a kiss into the center.  He shivered, but stayed
still, letting her take the initiative. 
       "Dana...?"  he whispered, making her name a question. 
       She knew what he was asking, and nodded, slowly.  He put his free
hand behind her head, working out the pins that held her hair in a French
knot.  Once they were out he pushed his fingers through it, loosening it,
until it fell free, brushing her shoulders.  He slid his hand behind her
neck and cupped the back of her head, tilting her face up as he leaned
down and brushed her lips with his.  She shuddered, breathing fast and
shallow.  She leaned toward him, her hand against his cheek as she sought
a deeper kiss. 
       He opened to her, giving her complete control.  Dana took it, and
her tongue found his, dueling hotly, as the kiss rapidly escalated.  Her
arms went around him, her hands fanning out against the broad, hard planes
of his back, urging him closer until they were pressed together from the
knees up.  She could feel the hard length of his erection against her
belly, even through her jeans, shirt, and jacket.  She pulled away,
suddenly anxious to be rid of those restrictions, and fumbled with the
zipper on her jacket.  Her fingers were shaking so badly she couldn't open
it.  He put his hand over hers, and she looked up at him, blushing both
with arousal and embarrassment. 
       "May I?"  he asked. 
       She nodded.  He eased the zipper down and slid her jacket off her
shoulders.  Next he opened the buttons on her shirt, slowly, with infinite
patience.  As each button came undone she seemed to feel a surge of
desire, and when he finally got the last one undone and spread her shirt
open, her nipples were diamond-hard beneath the t-shirt she wore instead
of a bra.  He paused for a moment, until she arched back a little, lifting
her breasts, then his fingers stroked over her, his touch simultaneously
soothing and inflaming.  She gasped, her hands coming up to cover his,
holding them in place against her as she lifted her mouth to his again,
licking and sucking at his lips and tongue, almost feral in her
excitement. 
       Fionn returned her wildness for wildness, his hands slipping from
beneath hers to yank her t-shirt up so he could touch her bared breasts. 
A moment later he slid one hand down over the soft curve of her belly and
into the gap at the waist of her slightly too-large jeans, then on down to
cup her buttocks through the soft, thin cotton of her briefs.  She curved
into his hand as he massaged her, his long fingers drifting low to where
the moisture of her arousal dampened the fabric; her mouth still sealed to
his as they drank each other in.  She let her hands drift down his back,
to his hips, then to his thighs, until she felt the satin of his skin
beneath her fingers rather than coarse linen of his tunic.  Then she moved
them behind, and back up again, to cup the hard, muscular curves of his
buttocks.  As she'd expected, he was bare beneath the tunic, and he felt
vibrantly warm and alive under her touch. 
       Dana caressed him for a moment, pulling his hips tight against her
stomach, rubbing her body against his, then she let him go and wrenched
open her jeans, shoving them and her briefs down around her knees as she
shifted, spreading her thighs wider.  He needed no urging.  Without any
barriers between them, he cuppped his hand over her mons and touched her
gently, his fingers parting the moist curls, the soft flesh, caressing. 
She moaned, shaking, and her hands returned to his shoulders, clutching at
him as she pulled her mouth from his with a gasp, and leaned against him
for support.  He dropped his hand from her breast and cupped her behind,
lifting her, tilting her pelvis forward so he could push two fingers deep
into the core of her.  She pressed her lips against his neck to still the
sounds she wanted to make as he gently stretched and stroked her.  She
could barely keep herself on her knees, she was shaking so badly.  All she
could think of was how he would feel inside her.  It had been so long...
so long... 
       Suddenly agressive, she shifted, getting her feet under her, and
pushed him over backward with a little growl.  He laughed as he went over,
and lay there, sprawled loosely, looking up at her with hot green eyes and
a wicked smile.  She dragged her t-shirt off over her head and kicked off
her jeans, then leaned over him and unfastened his belt, tossing the heavy
length of bronze-disks-on-leather to the floor.  That done, she discovered
that his tunic was just two rectangles of linen, without side seams.  They
were wrapped and held at the shoulders with pins, and at the waist with
the belt.  She turned the rings to unlock the pins and drew the sharp
metal carefully out of the fabric, then dropped them on top of his belt. 
Gathering the front section of the tunic in her hand, she looked down at
him, grinning. 
       "I like this,"  she said.  "Easy access."
       He laughed, nodding.  "Aye, sometimes the old ways are best." 
       She eased it down to about waist-level, exposing a broad chest and
flat stomach, furred with hair so dark a red it was nearly black.  She
leaned down and kissed him again, her tongue tracing the sensual fullness
of his lips, then began to work her way south, kissing his chin, his
throat, his collarbone, his sternum, following the line of fine curls
where it arrowed beneath the fabric.  Next to the white linen, his golden
skin showed its distinct olive undertones clearly.  She eased one hand
under the bunched cloth and cupped his penis, feeling the rigid length of
him leap in her palm, feeling him tense and arch into her touch.  She
looked up at him, her eyes lit with mischief. 
       "Well, you may be green, but you're sure as hell not little." 
       His eyes had been closed, his lashes dark fans against his cheeks,
but at her words they flew open.  He studied her a moment, looking
puzzled, obviously not getting her joke, but he smiled tentatively. 
       "If that is a problem, I can be whatever you wish me to be.  'Tis
one advantage to being what I am.  Most have wanted me to be as I am now,
but I can change that if you need... I can be smaller, larger, whatever
you like." 
       Dana stared at him, her joke forgotten.  Did he mean what it
sounded like he meant? 
       "You don't mean you can change the size of your..."  she suddenly
couldn't say it, it sounded too crass.  "What exactly did you mean?" 
       He winked.  "Let me show you, 'tis easier than saying." 
       In her palm he narrowed, lengthened, then a moment later the
proportions changed again, growing shorter, then yet again, as he
expanded, filling her hand until it was hard to close her fingers around
him.  Her eyes widened as she stared down at his groin, where her hand and
his sex were still hidden beneath the fabric of his tunic. 
       "Oh my god!  How did you... never mind.  I don't want to know," 
she used her other hand to pull his tunic aside and discard it, and knelt
there for a moment, her hand caressing him, gently, watching the pulse in
his erection, lips parted with anticipation.  After a moment she dragged
her gaze away and moistened her lips, taking a deep breath.  "I... think
you were fine the way you started... this might be too much, at least at
first." 
       His smile was very knowing as he let himself resume his former
dimensions.  "As you wish, but I can be however you like, whenever you
like.  Just tell me."  His voice was a silky whisper, as arousing as a
touch. 
       She nodded, eyes caught by his, mesmerized by the fire in them. 
The flow of her desire was back, full stream.  She moved astride him, but
didn't take him into her yet.  Instead she knelt there, holding him,
brushing the soft warmth of her labia across cock, feeling the broad,
blunt tip of him part her and nudge within, creating a growing ache inside
her.  His hands went to her hips, lightly resting there, holding but not
guiding as she moved.  He closed his eyes again, and a soft groan escaped
him.  She shivered at the sound, pleased to be the cause of it, excited by
the thought that he wanted her that much.  She sank down a little, just
barely taking him into her, before lifting again. 
       His hands tightened almost painfully on her hips, then released
instantly, contrition written on his face. 
       "Ah, don't tease me, Dana!  I've been celibate longer than you've
been alive." 
       She stilled, looking down at him in surprise.  "You have?" 
       He nodded, hips arching upward as his body sought hers.  "Aye." 
       "Why?" 
       "No one interested me." 
       "No one?  In how long?" 
       He looked a bit desperate.  "Do we have to talk about this right
now?" 
       She grinned mischeviously, but her hand moved on him, stroking. 
"Yes, we do." 
       "'Tis hard to think with you touching... no, don't stop.  I'll
manage." 
       His hand covered hers quickly when she made as if to stop,
preventing her, encouraging her.  She stroked him, feeling the silk over
steel of completely aroused male.  Her fingers explored him, and he made a
little sound of pleasure deep in his throat, bucking into her hand, his
breathing ragged. 
        "The... last time I took... a lover was... was... sometime during
the war,"  he said raggedly. 
       "Korea?" she inquired, curious enough to be distracted from the
burgeoning sensations inside her.  She figured he didn't mean Vietnam,
though he didn't look old enough to have been celibate since before
either.  She stilled her hand, allowing him to relax a little, and he
looked at her blankly. 
       "Have they called it something different now?  I can never keep up
with you humans and your history.  I thought it was called the Great War." 
       Her mouth dropped open.  "World War *One*?" 
       He nodded.  She shivered, faced suddenly with his non-humanness,
even though proof of his compatibility throbbed in her hand.  His hands
caressed her hips softly, urging her on. 
       "Please, Dana, please... I need you." 
       "Why me?"  she breathed quietly, resuming the gentle, rythmic
caress she had stopped. 
       He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, struggling for control. 
       "Because... you're a complex, fascinating woman... I've never met
anyone like you before." 
       She laughed, delighted.  "For that, you get a reward, whether or
not you really meant it." 
       She shifted over him, her hand moving down to guide him, and then
she was easing down, taking him inside her.  She closed her eyes,
concentrating on the feel of him, the way her body opened to accomodate
him.  Despite the fact that he'd resumed more average proportions at her
request, he was still very large, but she couldn't remember ever having
anyone feel this right inside her before.  He was perfect, utterly
perfect.  She rocked above him, circling her hips, using him as her center
of gravity. 
       "Dana..."  his voice was dark and throaty. 
       She opened her eyes to find him gazing up at her with an expression
that took her breath away. 
       "Wha...what?" 
       "I meant it.  Every word." 
       Unless he was a damned good liar, he was telling her the truth.  He
chose that moment to run his hands up her sides then back down, stroking
her, his hips lifting beneath hers, following her movements.  She forgot
all about how old he was.  It didn't matter... all that mattered was how
he felt inside her.  She leaned over, bracing her hands against his
shoulders, and began to move in earnest, loving the slide and thrust of
his heavy maleness inside her.  He lifted his head and scattered kisses
over her throat, his hands coming up to caress her breasts, his fingers
tugging at her nipples.  She whimpered, bucking on him. 
       His hands left her breasts to cup her buttocks and pull her down
onto him, urging her into a looping glide.  She could feel her release
building, her muscles tensing in preparation and moved faster, working for
it.  Suddenly he caught her hips in his hands and stopped her in mid-
motion, holding her still.  She tried to move, and he wouldn't let her. 
She struggled a little, frustrated. 
       "Wait, wait... let me...."  his voice trailed off as he managed to
sit up, taking her weight on his hands and groin as he shifted position. 
A moment later she was sitting on his lap with her legs around his waist,
his cock still buried in her aching softness. 
       "How'd you do that?"  she gasped, not quite sure how he'd managed
to accomplish the change of position without ever withdrawing from her. 
She liked it though, it still gave her control, but felt somehow more
equal, more intimate. 
       "Magic,"  he whispered, threading his fingers into her hair to draw
her toward him, taking her mouth with his in soft, open drugging kisses. 
She squirmed, her breasts brushing his chest, her vagina clenching around
him, as she moved.  Oh, god, he felt good!  She arched, sliding on and
around him, discovering that the position brought her clitoris into almost
continuous contact with his cock.  He reached down and gripped her thighs
in his hands, opening her wider, pulling her closer.  Ecstasy blasted
through her, her nails digging into his back as the full pleasure of her
orgasm hit, slumping forward with her head against his shoulder.  He held
her, stroking her back, his body still hard and unreleased within her. 
       When she could think again she realized he he hadn't finished, and
Dana leaned back so she could look at his face.  His eyes were closed, his
breathing shallow, but steady and even, he almost looked like he was in
some kind of trance.  She frowned, puzzled. 
       "Fionn?" 
       "Aye?"  he whispered, radiating tension. 
       "What's wrong?" 
       "Nothing's wrong." 
       "Why are you..." 
       "I want to pleasure you." 
       "You have." 
       "More. 
       "You will." 
       "Aye..." he sucked in a deep breath, "but I can't hold... you're
too sweet, and it's been too long..." 
       She took his face in her hands, stroking her fingers over his
cheekbones, down his nose, soothing.  "You've already pleasured me, what
more do you want?" 
       He shuddered, trembling with the effort of control.  "It's hard..." 
       She grinned.  "I noticed." 
       He laughed, eyes opening.  There was something akin to pain in
their verdant depths, despite his smile.  She leaned forward and kissed
him. 
       "It's okay,"  she whispered against his mouth.  "I promise, I want
this." 
       "No..."  his voice was desolate.  "I can't..." 
       "Why?" 
       "I'm afraid." 
       "Of what?" 
       "Losing control." 
       "It doesn't matter... I want you wild." 
       Her voice was dark and husky as she urged him on.  He felt the
strength of her hands, her thighs, the muscle underlying her seal-soft
body.  She was small, but she wasn't fragile.  He smelled the hot scent of
her arousal and heard the passion in her voice.  What he really wanted was
to Mate with her, but knew he would have to be content with less. 
       She ran a finger over his lips, her celadon eyes gone distant and
hazy with pleasure, then she moved on him, her body like a wet velvet
glove, very snug around him.  Her movement broke his paralysis.  He
gripped her tight against him and rolled with her, taking her beneath him. 
She shifted a little, adjusting to his weight, tightening her thighs
around his hips.  Slowly he pushed his upper body away from her, bracing
himself on his arms, his cock still held within her.  She ran her hands up
his forearms, over the taut muscles of his shoulders, then around behind
him to rest against his lower back. 
       "You feel so good, you're so beautiful..."  she whispered. 
       He shook his head, amazed.  "Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" 
       She smiled, wriggling her hips, making him crazy.  "If you like,
but you are, and changing the subject won't change that." 
       Women certainly had changed since he last had a human lover...
changed a lot.  He lowered his mouth to hers, taking her soft, lush mouth
as if he could devour her.  His hips curled forward instinctively, his
body pushing deep into hers.  She moaned and he froze, burying his face in
the curve of her shoulder so he couldn't see her face, gasping. 
       "I'm sorry..." 
       "What for?" 
       "Hurting you,"  he whispered, ashamed, not meeting her eyes.  He'd
been afraid he would do that if he lost control, and now he had.  It was
so much easier to be sophisticated when all you were doing was talking, so
much easier to bring a woman to pleasure in a dream rather than in
reality. 
       She took his face in her hands, turning him toward her, forcing him
to look at her.  There was no pain on her face. 
       "Fionn, you're not hurting me, I don't think you could!  I love the
way you feel inside me!" 
       Her words sent an arc of fierce desire through him and he moved,
surging heavily into her.  Her eyes closed and she curved upward, biting
her lip.  He wanted to do the same.  He leaned down and claimed her lips
again, urging her mouth open so his tongue could play with hers.  Hers
played back.  He laughed into their kiss, joyfully, it was so wonderful
having her awake and involved.  He wasn't afraid any more. 
       Shifting his weight forward, Fionn drove into her, watching her
face, seeing her pleasure written on her face.  He could feel it as if it
were his own.  He kissed her eyelids, her nose, her cheekbone, her jaw,
arched his back so he could lean lower and suckle at her breasts.  She met
and returned his kisses, her arms circling him, her hands splayed across
his back.  He shifted back onto his knees and slid his hands beneath the
lovely, rounded curves of her buttocks to lift her into his thrusts.  She
felt incredible, so hot, so slick, so tight.  Her thighs tightened around
his hips and she went still with a soft cry, he could feel the explosion
of contractions around him as she came.  With a shudder he lost himself in
her, letting the pleasure break inside him, almost painfully intense. 
When he could think again he gathered her tight against him as the
pleasure slowly ebbed. 
       After a moment he felt her pushing against him lightly and lifted
to look down at her.  She drew in a deep breath with a contented sigh. 
       "Better, couldn't breathe." 
       "Sorry," he said apologetically. 
       She shook her head.  "Not necessary... taking a woman's breath away
is a talent to be proud of."  She grinned. "You're not bad for a man your
age." 
       He laughed.  "Thank you... I think." 
       She smiled, but absently.  He could almost sense the shift in her
focus as she began to think about something other than satisfied desire. 
       "Fionn, how old *are* you?" 
       "I can't tell you." 
       She looked put out, her lower lip pushing out in a pout that made
him want to take her mouth with his.  "You mean you won't."  she amended,
irritably. 
       He kissed her, parting her lips with his, slicking his tongue into
her mouth intimately, echoing what they had just done.  His body
responded, hardening, even though he'd just come.  He was surprised by
that, and he curled his hips, rocking into the cradle of her thighs.  She
tore her mouth from his with a gasp, her hands clutching at his hips. 
This time he didn't mistake her response for pain.  He knew better.  He
rocked again, gently, establishing a slow, steady rhythm. 
       "No,"  he whispered.  "I can't tell you, because I don't know.  We
don't pay attention to the years, they seem so short.  I know it was in
the fall, but no more." 
       "No year?"  she queried, staying with her curiousity, though her
hands began to roam his flanks, and her hips lifted with each undulation
of his body in hers. 
       "No year." 
        "What's the first event you recall... human history." 
       He stilled, remembering, wishing he didn't. "The destruction of
Mona.  I had a brother there... it was the first time I knew death." 
       His mouth closed over hers, preventing her from speaking again, and
for a moment his control slipped, his movements growing harder, harsher,
his mind filled with centuries-old anger at that needless waste. To his
amazement she responded to his fierceness, her knees coming up to open
herself more, to give her leverage as she pushed herself onto him.  He
remembered her plea for wildness, and knew this time he had enough
self-control to give it to her.  His anger had vanished back into the past
where it belonged, and his roughness held an edge of deliberation. 
       "Fionn?" 
       He lifted his head to find her gazing at him, her lips parted in
invitation.  He shuddered at the look in her eyes... pale green fire, like
burning jade.  The heat scorched him, drew him... 
       "Dana?" he answered softly. 
       "More..."  she breathed, her voice a raw whisper. 
       He smiled knowingly.  "As you ask... so be it."  He closed his eyes
and reached out with other senses, feeling her need, sliding into her
thoughts to see what she really wanted.  He felt no guilt at that, there
was nothing wrong with using his inborn talents to satisfy her.  He shaped
himself to her desire, a little surprised at the depth of wildness in her. 
He had not guessed her to be so untamed in her inner core. 
       He slid from her, leaving her gasping and arching, and rolled her
roughly onto her belly.  She moaned and spread her thighs, inviting him. 
He closed his hands over her buttocks, slid his fingers down low and
opened her, then mounted her.  She yielded softly to his thrust, easily
taking him deep, sighing with pleasure.  Moments later she tossed her
head, then pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.  He shifted
position with her, and held her hips as he drove hard into her.  With his
thumbs against her back his fingers nearly met across her belly; reminding
him forefully that she was such a little thing, but at the same time every
movement, and every word she spoke made him aware of the strength of
her... both in her body and her mind.  He ached again to meld her
uniqueness with his own; what a child they could create together!  But he
knew he couldn't ask her that, he didn't think she could knowingly give
him that much of herself, and he was no longer a being who could just
steal a life from her without her knowledge. 
       "More!"  she hissed again, and he abandoned thought and self
control, pulling her back hard into each thrust, as if trying to gauge the
depths of her.  She pushed back, willingly abetting his plunges, her hands
savaging the soft furs that covered the bed, arching and purring like a
cat.  Taking his cue from that image, he nipped at her shoulders and the
back of her neck hard enough that she could feel his teeth, but not so
hard it would hurt.  She stiffened beneath him, and he felt a shudder run
through her, then she slowly relaxed down onto the bed, gasping.  He was
drawn down with her, and he gentled his movements, kissing her where he'd
nipped before.  She sighed, shifting beneath him to give him easier
access. 
       "My god, Fionn,"  she said huskily. "You're something else..." 
       "I've had a lot of practice,"  he said, grinning. 
       "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's not nice to brag?" 
       "I wasn't bragging, I was explaining." 
       "Oh, is that what it was?" 
       "Aye,"  he turned onto his side, taking her with him, and slipped
an arm beneath her uppermost thigh so she was open to his fingers.  She
gasped and whimpered, hips bucking against his hand as he began to stroke
her. 
       "Do you want me to stop?"  he asked, just to be sure. 
       "No!"  she managed. 
       He grinned and closed his mouth over the sensitive spot where neck
and shoulder meet, sucking gently.  He felt her response deep inside,
where she held his body in hers.  He did it again, and again she
tightened, her reaction immediate and unmistakable.  He kissed her jaw,
and curled around her, working to pleasure her with lips, fingers, cock. 
It took only a moment or two before he triggered her release again, and
the feel of her pleasure provoked his own.  He let the pleasure roll over
him in pulsing waves with a moan.  After a while she sagged, bonelessly,
and he eased her back down onto her belly as he withdrew.  He felt utterly
relaxed himself, and he put an arm around her as he stretched out next to
her, half asleep already. 

                                   ###
-- 
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
[email-masked]

From: [email-masked] (MATTHEWS-SIMMONS KELLIE)
Date: Thu, 21 Jul 1994 04:50:25 GMT

             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 
             WARNING!  THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! 

The story you are about to read contains SEX, written in loving detail. 
If that bothers you, either do NOT read this story, or get someone who
doesn't mind erotica to black out all the juicy parts for you before you
read it.  If you're underage, get your parent's permission to read it. 

Don't flame me if you're silly enough to go ahead and read it after I
warned you, and then get offended by it.   --kms

This story copyright 1994 by the author.  Permission to distribute freely
is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a
trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. 

Kellie Matthews-Simmons//[email-masked]  
Member: SFLA&EBS,  PSEB,  DDEB,  X-phile   "Ego veno eos in vulcos minos."
"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
 humiliation." --Fox Mulder, X-Files "Squeeze"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
			Ancient Dreams, pt. 5
				Kellie Matthews-Simmons

       Dana yawned sleepily and burrowed into the covers, eyes closed,
feeling as relaxed and contented as a just-fed baby.  The image made her
think of Eithne's baby, and how incredibly awed she had felt as she
delivered him.  Suddenly she sat bolt upright. 
       "Shit!" 
       Obviously startled, Fionn sat up too.  "What's wrong?" 
       She scowled, disgusted with herself and a bit with him.  "I didn't
think... oh damn it all, I can't believe I was so stupid!" 
       "What?  What did you do?" 
       "It's not what I did, it's what *we* didn't do." 
       He shook his head. "I don't understand... what do you mean?" 
       "I'm not protected, and I didn't think to make you use any birth
control!" 
       He stared at her for a moment, then began to smile.  "Is that all? 
You can relax.  You can't conceive by me, not like this." 
       "Don't tell me that your people and mine can't crossbreed!  You
already told me you do!" 
       "You're right.  We can and must.  But it's a complicated
process..." 
       "How complicated can it be?"  Dana interrupted. "All it takes is
sperm and ova!" 
       "I can explain if you want..." 
       "I want,"  she said flatly, trying to ignore the little knot of
fear in her stomach.  The absolute *last* thing she needed to have to deal
with right now was an unplanned pregnancy.  Fionn leaned back against the
bed, looking completely undisturbed.  That was both reassuring and
irritating. 
       "For me to have a child with you I would have to... to force it. 
It could not happen naturally.  I would have to use my mind to unite
the..."  he paused, as if searching for words.  "The male and female
parts... sperm and egg?"  He looked at her questioningly and she nodded,
encouraging him to go on.  
	"It has to be done that way because humans can't conceive by us any
other way.  Then I would have to undergo Change, and take the... the..." 
he looked frustrated.  "I'm sorry, I don't know the words.  I would have
to take what results from that union from you and take it into myself,
into my female self.  I would have to carry the child, since we learned
long ago that if a human carries a Sidhe child, it is almost always born
Human, rather than Sidhe." 
       She stared at him, stunned.  "You're talking about surrogacy!" 
       "What's that?" 
       "Removal of an zygote from the original parent an placing it in a
host to be carried to term." 
       "Zygote?"  he asked, puzzled. 
       "The fertilized egg." 
       "Oh, then yes, that's exactly what I meant." 
       "But... how do you take the zygote?  It's obvious your medical
technology is almost non-existent!" 
       "We have never needed it.  We move the... zygote,"  he looked
rather pleased with himself for remembering the word. "...the same way we
create it.  Telekinesis." 
       "I would think that would destroy it." 
       "No, it happens so quickly it does no damage, but it must be done
before it makes a home in the human woman's womb.  After that, it must be
left where it is or it will die." 
       "So conception between a Sidhe and a human can't happen naturally?" 
Dana asked, just to be sure she wasn't misunderstanding him. 
       He shook his head.  "No, never." 
       She relaxed, feeling reprieved.  "Well, that's a relief.  I could
just see me trying to explain a baby to Mulder." 
       Fionn grinned.  "Surely he knows how they're created." 
       "That's *not* what I meant and you know it!"  Dana said, trying not
to grin and spoil the effect.  She remembered something she'd meant to ask
him earlier, before she got... distracted.  A smile curved her mouth at
the memory of that distraction.  He was incredible!  She managed to drag
her attention back to the present. 
       "You said the first historical event you could remember was the
destruction of Mona.  I don't remember that, what was it?" 
       His expression hardened, went distant.  "The Isle of Mona.  The
historian Tacitus wrote of it in his Annals.  Julius Caesar ordered its
destruction in order to crush the spirit of the tribes of Britain.  My
brother Ciaran was there, studying... he was only a boy, just past his
first Change.  They killed him along with all the rest.  I felt his death
inside me as if it were my own.  For a long time after that, I hunted
Romans." 
       Dana realized her mouth was open and she shut it with a snap that
hurt her teeth.  He couldn't possibly mean what it sounded like he meant. 
He simply couldn't.  She dredged her voice out of wherever it had hidden
and spoke. 
       "Fionn... Julius Caesar invaded Britain in... god, what was it?  I
learned it in Western Civ... I think it was 45 BCE!  You couldn't possibly
have been alive then!" 
       He looked at her, was she imagining a trace of disdain on his face? 
       "Why not?  Barring accident or murder, my kind lives forever." 
       Dana shook her head, feeling as if she'd suddenly lost her balance. 
"It's impossible!" 
       "I can't prove it, but I lived it,"  he said softly. 
       She kept shaking her head, nearly overcome by the urge to laugh. 
"You're joking with me!" 
       "No, I'm not." 
       "Are you talking about reincarnation?"  she asked, grasping at
straws. 
       He shook his head.  "No.  A single lifetime... infinitely long." 
       She ran a hand through her hair.  "This sounds like an episode of
Star Trek!" 
       To her surprise he grinned.  "Aye, it does.  I remember that one,
`Requiem for Methuselah', a good story." 
       She inched away, feeling afraid for the first time.  "The stress
has finally gotten to me!  My god... an elf who watches Star Trek!  I
can't believe I'm making this up!  I was never any good at creative
writing!  Wait... maybe I'm dreaming..." 
       He drew her toward him, his hand gentle against her hair. 
       "No, Dana.  You're neither mad, or dreaming.  We are real, we are
natural, in our own way.  It's strange... you didn't balk at the idea that
we change our gender, that we are telepathic and telekinetic, that we are
living myth... but you can't accept that we are long-lived?" 
       "Not that long!  Fionn, that's over two *thousand* years!  No one
could possibly live that long!" 
       He rubbed his lips across her knuckles and looked at her
apologetically.  "Would it help if I looked like Mel Brooks?"  he asked. 
       She stared, not understanding for a moment, then suddenly she
remembered watching a video clip of Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner doing their
classic `Two Thousand Year Old Man' routine.  Her lips twitched.  His did
too.  A moment later his smile broke free, and hers followed.  She started
to laugh.  It took her a long time to stop, but when she did she shook a
finger at him. 
       "You watch too much television!" 
       He looked embarrassed.  "Guilty as charged, television fascinates
me.  It is so... immediate, so malleable.  In television you can do
whatever you want, create anything.  In some ways it's like our abilities,
only it's far more influential.  A dangerous medium, if misused." 
       "You've got that right," Dana said, eyeing him speculatively.  "So,
I'm not crazy and you're not either... I really am sitting here with a
two- thousand year old elf who can change gender at will and manipulate
reality with his... or her mind?" 
       "You are." 
       She sighed and relaxed back onto the bed, lounging on one elbow.
"Mulder will kill me when I tell him about this." 
       "Why?" 
       "For having all this fun without him." 
       "Fun?"  Fionn smiled.  "Would you really want him to share in
our... fun?" 
       Dana felt herself blush and chuffed irritably.  "Will you be
serious?  I meant that he would be fascinated by your story.  He still
will be." 
       "He won't believe you." 
       "Oh yes he will!  You don't know Mulder, he probably knows all
about the Sidhe.  I bet when I tell him, he'll pull out an X-File on you!" 
       Fionn's eyes narrowed.  "What is... an X-File?" 
       "That's what I do... we hunt down extraordinary criminals, and
we've had some pretty bizarre ones.  That's where I ran into Brother
Andrew... the one you said might be Sidhe." 
       "He was a criminal?" Fionn was frowning, his expression almost
incredulous, as if he thought such a thing impossible. 
       She shook her head. "Not him, but a friend of his, who was using
his pheromones to kill.  They were part of a group called The Kindred, we
thought they were an isolationist religious sect, but they turned out to
be a lot more than that." 
       "There is a *group* of these people?  How many?"  Fionn demanded,
his expression intense and focused.  For some reason this was important to
him. 
       "Oh, twenty or thirty I think, I don't know that I saw them all." 
       He leaned forward. "Where?  Where are they?" 
       "I... don't know.  They disappeared from their farm in
Massachusetts when we traced the killer's origin to them, and haven't been
seen or heard from since." 
       "Damn!" Fionn closed his eyes and slammed a fist into the cushions,
startling her into backing away.  Immediately he opened his eyes and put
out his hand toward her.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you.  I
hoped..."  He broke off for a moment, shaking his head. "I had hoped that
I could find this other group, and that they would be enough different
from us to be a partial solution to our problem.  As it is, each
successive generation becomes less Sidhe and more Human."  His voice and
expression were bleak.  Dana knew he was talking about the end of his
people, and felt tears rise. 
       "Fionn..."  she began, wanting to offer comfort, but couldn't think
of a way to convey her feelings.  What did you say to a member of a
species facing extinction?  Nothing.  There was nothing to say.  Fionn
shook his head, and reached out to touch her face lightly, then his hand
dropped and he looked away. 
       "I thought of asking you, you know." 
       "Asking me what?" 
       "To mate with me, not just be my lover.  But I thought you would
say no, so I didn't ask." 
       Dana stared at him, stunned.  "Whaaat?" 
       He still didn't look at her, but rather stared off into the fire. 
"I knew you would feel that way.  That's why I didn't ask." 
       "Wait, what are you saying?  I'm not sure I'm clear... do you mean
that you wanted to use one of *my* ova?" 
       He nodded, Dana studied him, completely floored.  It was the first
time anyone had ever wanted to... procreate with her.  Not just have sex,
but actually create a child.  It was the strangest feeling!  Flattering,
frightening, and a bit exhilarating, all rolled into one.  It reminded her
just a bit of the way she'd felt just before the first time she'd ever had
sex, and her first day at Quantico... the same kind of fearful
anticipation.  She smiled finally, knowing she was blushing too. 
       "I'm flattered, Fionn.  No one's ever asked me that before." 
       He faced her finally, surprised.  "I find that hard to believe." 
       She shrugged.  "It's true." 
       "Then your men are fools,"  he said bluntly. 
       She grinned.  "My `men,' as you put it, know better.  So did you,
obviously.  I must admit, your offer is more intriguing than the standard
variety would be, since you'd be the one doing all the work." 
       He grinned back. "That is one advantage to our way." 
       "It certainly is.  I know a lot of people who would probably love
it if it were an option for humans as well as Sidhe." 
       "I would teach it if I could, but I can't." 
       "Too bad,"  she sighed and watched him for a moment, suddenly
realizing that he was gazing at her warily, almost hopefully.  She didn't
want to mislead him.  "Really, I am flattered, but you were right.  I grew
up in a pretty close family, and I... can't see doing that, knowing I had
a child somewhere but not being part of its life." 
       His gaze fell and his disappointment was obvious, but he nodded. 
"It is your choice.  Once I might not have asked, but I'm no longer that
person.  If you ever change your mind..." 
       "You'll be the first to know.  Fionn..." 
       He looked up at the question in her voice.  "Yes?" 
       "Thank you for trusting me to help Eithne.  It was... an incredible
experience.  For the most part my medical practice has been limited to the
dead, so to help a child be born... I can't describe the feeling.  I was
honored." 
       "I know the feeling, and thank you for helping.  Without you I
might have lost both Lon-Dubh and Eithne.  It would be hard to lose my
grandchild, but harder still my daughter." 
       Dana stiffened.  "Your dau... I thought she was your sister!" 
       "A fiction we use among humans since to you we seem too close in
age to be parent and child, but Eithne is my youngest." 
       Dana digested that, trying to reconcile her image of him with that
fact.  It was hard.  "How... how many children do you have, all told?" 
       He smiled "Do you truly want to know?" 
       Dana thought about his apparent lifespan, and the number of
children that could be born over that much time.  She shivered.  "Yes." 
       "Eight, still with me.  Ten, if you count Madarua who died, and
Faoilean who was Taken." 
       She thought of how sad it must be to lose a child and felt tears in
her eyes.  "I'm sorry."  she whispered. 
       "Please, don't be.  I remember them with no sorrow now.  It has
been a long, long time, and they were gone before their Naming." 
       Dana felt confused.  "I thought you called them..." 
       "Those were child-names, like Lon-Dubh.  When a Sidhe child is born
we name it after an animal they resemble.  At first Change, when they
choose a principal gender, they also choose an adult name." 
       "What does... Londu mean?" 
       He smiled at her mispronunciation.  "Blackbird." 
       She smiled.  "Appropriate." 
       "Aye." 
       "And the other two?" 
       "Faoilean means Seagull, and Madrua is Fox." 
       "Fox?  That's funny!" 
       "Why?" 
       "My partner's first name is Fox.  He hates it though." 
       "It's an odd name for a human child.  Why was he named that?" 
       She shook her head, with a wry laugh.  "God only knows... he
doesn't talk about it at all.  I tried to call him that once, I thought he
was going to crawl under the seat." 
       Fionn chuckled.  "Humans don't deal well with things out of the
ordinary... most of them anyway.  Strange that you should have a friend
named the same as my child." 
       "Synchronicity perhaps... stranger things have happened.  Like me,
being here with you..."  Dana leaned over and kissed him softly, taking
his face between her palms.  A moment later she was sliding her fingers
through the thick silk of his hair and licking at the sensually modeled
curve of his mouth.  He made a throaty murmur of pleasure that sent
shivers through her, and his arms encircled her.  When she finally drew
back they were both breathing hard. 
       "Dana..."  Fionn said hoarsely.  "I thought you were tired." 
       "So did I,"  she said, catching her lower lip in her teeth for a
second.  "I guess I was wrong.  Am I too demanding for an old man like
you?" she teased. 
       "Old man?"  he roared indignantly. 
       The next thing she knew she was on her back beneath him, his hips
wedged firmly between her thighs, the rigid length of him full and hard
against her waiting softness.  She arched upward, eyes closing so she
could concentrate on the way he slid and stroked where she was most
sensitive.  She let her fingers move over the firm planes of his chest, up
to his shoulders, and into his hair again.  There was something incredibly
provocative about the way it felt in her fingers.  He was a lot of firsts
for her, even had he been human.  Her first long-haired man with an
earring... she smiled to herself; he would look bad on her security
clearance.  He was also the first lover she'd ever taken so impulsively,
she wasn't given to acting impetuously.  His mouth dropped to her breast
and suckled gently, making her arch and cry out, wanting him so bad it
almost hurt.  Another first... he was the first man to pleasure her like
this, to know her almost as well as she knew herself.  Telepathy was
definitely an asset in a lover. 
       She felt empty, and wanted filling.  He filled her.  A long, slow,
patient entry that gave her time to adjust, and time to want more.  She
pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him hotly, open-mouthed, sensual. 
When he was finally fully inside her she thought of how he'd felt when he
was beneath her.  He smiled and shifted onto his side, then onto his back,
yielding wordlessly to her desire.  She braced her hands on his shoulders
and circled her hips, drowning in the feel of him, the scent of him, the
perfect mesh of their bodies.  With a hushed moan she felt pleasure roll
over her, softly this time, and she dissolved, sensation tumbling over and
over like grains of sand in the surf.  She sank down against him, closing
her eyes. 

                            ###

       
       The rumble of her stomach wouldn't let her lie in bed any longer. 
Dana rolled over and sat up, wincing a little.  She felt like she'd been
`rode hard and put away wet' as the saying went.  She smiled then,
remembering *why* she felt like that.  What a night!  She stretched
languidly and pulled on her sweats.  Maire was going to give her hell for
disappearing again.  Or maybe not... after all, she knew what was going
on.  She was the one who had told her where to find Fionn.  She smiled,
her uncharacteristically impulsive fling had definitely been worthwhile. 
She hadn't felt so relaxed in months. 
       She wandered into the kitchen and found it empty, the dogs nowhere
in sight.  Maire must be out walking them.  She put on the kettle to boil
and looked in the larder to see what else there might be to eat.  She was
hungry... *really* hungry, as if she hadn't eaten in days! 
       She was just pulling out the leftover soda bread when the door
opened, admitting Angus and Brenna who bounded over to see what she was
doing.  Maire was a moment behind them, and she stopped, her walking stick
dropping to the floor when she saw Dana.  Her expression went from shock
to relief in a matter of seconds, and she hurried forward to wrap her arms
around her in a fierce embrace. 
       "Ah child!  You scared the life out of me!  I'll not ask where
you've been, but next time you might give me some warning!" 
       Dana returned the hug, then stepped back, a bit surprised.  "You
told me to go to the circle... you knew what I'd find." 
       "Aye, but I didn't expect you to be gone for four days! 
       "Four..."  Dana gaped for a moment, then she remembered Maire
telling her about how time flows differently in the Sidhe dimension... or
whatever it was.  She laughed, shaking her head.  "Four days?  God, no
wonder I'm starving!  The man really ought to feed a girl if he's gonna
keep her in bed for four days!" 
       Maire laughed, and shook her head.  "He couldn't.  Once you taste
Faery food you're obligated to stay with them in their world." 
       "I thought that was Persephone,"  Dana said, confused. 
       "The stories are rather similar." 
       "Well, couldn't he have just gotten take-out or something?" 
       Maire opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and grinned. 
"Do I take it that you're enjoying your vacation, then?" 
       "You do.  But I don't have much of it left, do I?  If I was gone
four days then I only have three left." 
       Maire looked away uncomfortably.  "I'm afraid you may not even have
that,"  she picked up a piece of paper from the table and held it out. 
"You got a call while you were gone... someone named McGrath.  He said he
needs you to come back." 
       Dana groaned, shaking her head in dismay.  "It figures!  The
bastard can't even let me enjoy my vacation in peace!  When did he call?" 
       "The day after you... left." 
       "Damn!  What did you tell him?" 
       Maire grinned.  "I told him you were on a walking tour and that
since I had no way to reach you, his message would have to wait until you
contacted me.  Let me tell you, he wasn't very happy." 
       "I'll bet he was livid!"  Dana said, chuckling.  Well, I guess I'd
better call him.  If you send me the bill when it comes, I'll have the
office reimburse you for the trans-Atlantic call." 
       Maire shook her head. "There's no need, I'm comfortable." 
       "No, really, I want to do it.  Besides, it'll annoy McGrath." 
       "In that case, I'll send you the bill,"  Maire said with a wicked
smile.  Dana winked as she picked up the phone and started dialing. 

                                   ####

       An hour later Dana was on her back to the airport to catch the next
flight back to the States.  She was a little depressed, for several
reasons.  First by the fact that she hadn't gotten her full nine days,
second because she had barely started getting to know Maire, and third she
had been forced to leave without saying any kind of goodbye to Fionn.  Not
that it really mattered, it wasn't like they were anything more than
casual lovers, but she didn't feel right about just *leaving* without a
word.  Thinking of going home made her feel oddly nervous.  She was torn
between wanting to tell Mulder all about the odd experiences she had had,
and wishing she could forget all about them.  Her indecision was partly
due to the fact that having a romantic fling with a stranger was out of
character for her... or rather, for the character she had carefully
created over the past few years at the Bureau.  She also simply couldn't
see herself talking to Mulder about it at all, yet it was an integral part
of what happened.  The worst part was that after this... well, she simply
couldn't deny that some things were far stranger than she had thought
possible.  She had worked hard to maintain a certain detachment from their
cases, and this tried it sorely. 
       It started to rain, and fog swirled across the road, causing her to
drive even more slowly than she would have to watch out for the occasional
sheep or cow.  She passed a hitchhiker, and almost stopped, but despite
her experience with Fionn, she was too aware of possible dangers to go
picking up strange men on the road no matter how wet and miserable they
might be.  Oddly, a few miles further on she passed the same hitchhiker,
or at least one dressed the same.  No one had passed her on the road, so
how had he gotten ahead of her?  It was strange, but maybe there was a
road that paralleled the main one, and he had gotten a ride there.  When
she spotted a third hitchhiker she suddenly started to smile.  Even half a
mile away there was no mistaking that outfit; an indecently short linen
tunic and checkered cloak. In the daylight she could tell it was a purple,
blue and saffron plaid.  Revolting, really.  He had great taste in Human
fashions but....  She slowed to a stop next to him and rolled down the
window. 
       "Need a lift?" she asked, grining. 
       He shook his head, leaning down to peer inside the car, carefully
not touching it.  "Nah, just out for a walk." 
       "In the pouring rain?" 
       "Is it raining?"  he asked. 
       She looked closer... he was bone dry, as was her windshield, and
the road ahead.  Behind her the back window and the road behind glistened
wetly in the mirror. 
       "Handy talent, that." 
       He nodded, grinning.  "Invaluable.  You're leaving, I didn't want
you to go without saying good bye." 
       "I didn't either, but I didn't think I had a choice." 
       "I made one for you.  Will you come out of there so I can touch
you?  The metal..." 
       "Of course!"  She opened the door and stepped out.  Before she
could think she was in his arms, held against the hard warmth of his body. 
She felt tears rise and blinked them back, feeling stupid.  It wasn't as
though they were in love... 
       "Isn't it?" 
       She drew back and glared at him.  "Damn it, don't you dare read my
mind!" 
       "How can I help it when you're all but shouting at me?"  Fionn
demanded, seeming a little annoyed himself. 
       "I was not!" 
       "How do you know what you sound like to me?" 
       She opened her mouth and realized she had no answer.  "I... don't. 
I'm sorry." 
       He nodded, slightly mollified, then took her hands in his.  "Dana,
as much as one of my kind can love, I do." 
       "Oh, Fionn... don't, I can't..." 
       "I know you can't, it doesn't matter.  I care about you and that is
all that matters to me.  I had Brede make this for you..."  He held out a
small object dangling from a fine gold chain.  Before she could protest he
had looped it around her neck, and it dangled between her breasts.  She
lifted it and looked at it, puzzled.  It was a small cylinder about an
inch and a half long, with a cut-out at one end and three tiny holes in
it.  Despite being hollow, it was heavy, she guessed it was gold, like the
chain and his hair-clasp and the coin left by her bed.  "It looks like a
whistle..." 
       He grinned.  "Good guess." 
       "What's it for?" 
       "To summon me." 
       "Why?" 
       "If you need me, for whatever reason... be it danger, or desire.  I
will come to you." 
       "From half a world away?"  she asked, jokingly. 
       "From a world and a half away,"  he said solemnly, his green eyes
shadowy and dark.  "However far, no matter what, I will come.  It is not a
promise I give lightly," 
       She shook her head slowly.  "No, I can see that." 
       He touched the whistle with a fingertip, and smiled.  "Once it
would have been a hunting horn, but I thought perhaps you would find this
easier to explain." 
       She laughed softly.  "Decidedly.  How does it work." 
       He grinned.  "You just put your lips together, and blow." 
       She stared at him blankly, and he shook his head and sighed.  "Ah,
before your time, I see.  I watch too much television, and you don't watch
enough.  To summon me, just blow it.  A single call will tell me you
desire me, two that you need my aid." 
       "I don't see how you could possibly hear..." 
       "I am bound into it.  Brede forged it with my blood.  I cannot help
but hear it, no matter where I am." 
       Dana looked at it and shuddered.  "In your blood?" 
       He nodded and held out his arm.  A fading scar ran down the inside
of his forearm, it looked weeks old.  "We heal quickly."  he said at her
questioning look.  She had no reason to doubt him, the scar hadn't been
there the last time she'd seen him. 
       She touched the scar lightly, then leaned down to press her lips
against it.  "I don't take your gift lightly, Fionn, Thank you." 
       "You're welcome.  Now I have another gift... one you may not like
as well..." 
       "What?"  Almost before the word was out of her mouth he reached out
and touched her on the forehead.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she
sagged, he caught her and eased her slowly to the ground, which was no
longer a road, but a meadow.  There was no trace of her car.  He looked
down at her, his mouth drawn down in quiet unhappiness. 
       "I'm sorry,"  he said aloud, as if she could hear him, needing to
explain somehow.  "I know you wouldn't want me to do this, but Taliesin
tells me you should not tell your friend of us, and he's been right too
many times for me to take the chance.  He thought I should erase your
memory altogether, but I don't want you to forget me, so I will only
change it a little, make it more... ordinary,"  he smiled, and shook his
head.  "I wish the same could be done for me." 
       He stopped talking and slipped into her dreaming mind, changing a
memory here and there, weaving the whole into a slightly different
reality.  Finally satisfied he sighed and sat back.  Looking at the
whistle he smiled, and made one last adjustment, then the landscape
altered and they were back on the road behind her car.  Using his cloak to
shield his hands he replaced her in the vehicle, closed the door, and
stepped away, fading from sight. 
       Behind the wheel Dana awoke with a start, looking around with a
puzzled frown.  She remembered getting fogged in, and pulling to the side
of the road.  Now it was sunny... she must have fallen asleep waiting for
the fog to lift.  Not surprising, considering how late she had stayed at
Fionn's house last night.  A secretive little smile curved her mouth as
she thought of him.  He was a bit eccentric, but who cared?  He'd been
exactly what she needed.  She started the car and as she reached for the
gear-shift a movement against her breast caught her attention.  She looked
down at the antique whistle he'd given her, remembering the legend he'd
told her about it... how blowing it once would bring a long-lost love to
her, and twice would bring help in a time of need.  It was a lovely story. 
A fairy tale.  Ireland was full of that sort of thing. 
       She sighed.  What a week!  Between meeting Maire, an emergency
stint as an obstetrician, and having an all-too-brief affair with Fionn,
she couldn't say she'd had the restful time she had expected.  But it had
left her feeling relaxed and slightly exhilarated.  It was a nice feeling. 
Too bad McGrath had had to go and ruin things just as they were getting
good!  She automatically looked in the rear-view mirror to check for
traffic and froze with a gasp... what the... she turned quickly but there
was no one there.  She shook her head, that had been odd... for a moment
she thought she had seen Fionn in the mirror, but that had just been
wishful thinking.  She looked one last time and pulled onto the road,
speeding just a bit to make up for having lost nearly an hour to a nap. 

                            ###

       Dana met Mulder at the airport barely six hours after arriving back
from Ireland.  They had to make a quick stop at the Bureau for a briefing,
then be off to New York where a case had taken a turn for the weird and
McGrath, to his extreme annoyance, had ended up sending for them as the
agents best qualified to handle it.  She watched him walk off the plane
and wondered at how relaxed he looked.  Apparently haring off to Colorado
had been good for him.  Maybe he'd gotten in some recreation time up in
the Rockies.  Whatever it was, he looked better than he had in weeks, the
lines of tension less deeply engraved, and to her surprise he grinned when
he saw her. 
       "Hey, Scully!  Long time no see!" 
       She grinned back, unable to resist the infectiousness of his smile. 
As he drew even with her she fell into step beside him, taking two paces
to one of his.  Damn all long-legged men anyway... except one. 
       "So, how was your trip to Colorado?" 
       Mulder's gaze slid away from hers as he replied nonchalantly. 
"Fine. I learned some interesting things, but nothing really helpful." 
       Scully wondered at his uncomfortable manner, and at the slight
flush across his nose and cheekbones.  He'd probably gotten in some sort
of scrape he didn't want to talk about.  She was about to prod him for
more information when he pre-empted her. 
       "How was Ireland?  Did you have a good time" 
       She felt a blush crawl its way up her throat and into her face, and
cursed her fair skin, not for the first time.  "Fine,"  she managed
shakily, "...it was... fine, thanks." 
       He eyed her as if he didn't quite believe her, but he didn't say
anything.  She decided discretion was the better part of valor and didn't
ask him any more about Colorado. 

                                   The End

The song lyrics used in part 2 are from "Fear" by Sarah McLaughlin from 
her CD "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy."
-- 
Kellie Matthews-Simmons
[email-masked]