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deep-sea-gigantinism · 22 days ago

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Fic: All Awash With Angels 1/17 (MSR, T)

Cover art by @rosenkranz-does-things (commission them!)

Scully and Mulder go undercover as a couple to investigate a rash of mysterious deaths in a remote Alaskan village to which there are no witnesses. (This work is complete; chapters will be posted on Fridays; a smutty epilogue will be posted separately.)

75 k words to be posted in 17 chapters + epilogue; T for flirting, mild blood/gore/violence (canon-typical), and uncoworkerly thoughts; the late Season 1 baby agents undercover married slow burn only-one-bed fic cryptic cryptid monster of the week I always wanted to write (read on AO3)

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The eyes open to a cry of pulleys, And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple As false dawn. Outside the open window The morning air is all awash with angels. - Richard Wilbur, Love Calls Us To The Things Of This World

At least the flight to Anchorage had involved a jet, small but steadier than the prop plane that had taken them to Icy Cape. Scully had been on worse flights. The view out the window had been stunning: snow-capped ridges of mountains where the Rockies and the Coast Mountains pushed into Canada, etched with deep forests and shining water. Anchorage sat at the head of the Cook Inlet. Their flight had come in over the water that lay just past the end of the runway. When they stepped into the parking lot, the air was crisp, a hint of salt under the usual notes of asphalt and exhaust. She breathed in, holding the sea in her lungs for a moment, grounding herself in this new place that smelled like her childhood homes.

Scully was glad they’d dressed down for the flight: jeans and a sweatshirt made a better uniform here than her put-together skirt suits. Besides, they were here in a sort of casual undercover way, since there weren’t any witnesses left to interrogate. This case was going to be about shoe leather, not testimony. Or in this case, shoe rubber: they’d broken out the hiking boots.

“First impressions?” Mulder asked.

Scully looked around. Beyond the airport, mountains notched into the sky, their snowy shoulders barely brighter than the overcast. “I think I like Anchorage better than that Arctic research facility.”

“Too bad we’re not staying here.” Mulder gazed over the parking lot. It looked like any other airport parking lot, crammed with cars. The wind caught at the open front of his flannel overshirt. “Remind me where we’re going?”

“We’re driving to Homer and then taking a boat to the village of Halibut Cove,�� Scully said, dropping her duffel on the ground and pulling a well-worn map out of her backpack. "To be honest, village seems to be a generous term."

Mulder slipped on his sunglasses. The sky was cloudy but bright, reflecting on the distant water and the windshields of the cars. “How long a drive?”

“Four hours or so,” Scully said, folding the map back and tracing the path with her finger. “Straight down Alaska Route 1 until we run out of road.”

“We’ll need snacks,” Mulder told her. “Maybe even a Slurpee if such delicacies are available. Nonstop summer fun, Scully.”

“Car first,” Scully reminded him, putting on her own sunglasses before picking up her bags again. “And I’m not sure most summer fun involves investigating possible murders.”

“I’d say most people just don’t know how to have fun, but that’s a little insensitive.” Mulder started toward the rental fleet, matching the key in his hand to a Jeep Cherokee. “Four-wheel drive. Think we should expect the unexpected?”

“With you, I always do,” Scully said.

Mulder grinned at her and reached for her bag. His fingers slid over her shoulder as he grabbed the strap. She yielded the bag to him, stepping back. He hefted it into the backseat and shoved his own in after it. The gas station on the edge of town yielded a bounty of snacks, including a slushie for Mulder. Scully stole a few sips to wash down her beef jerky and peach rings. The tart syrup and gritty ice tasted exactly like summer on the beach. It made a strange contrast with the lofty mountains and dense evergreens that crowded up to the road on both sides. Scully pulled her hands into the sleeves of her University of Maryland sweatshirt, cuddling deeper into the passenger seat.

“So why do you think we’re here?” Mulder asked, his arm draped over the steering wheel. His lips were tinted artificial cherry red; they drew her eye. He held out his hand and Scully passed him a Red Vine. He poked it into his mouth like a cowboy with a stem of grass.

“Well, the oil company that wants to drill in the Cook Inlet was at odds with the residents of Halibut Cove,” Scully recited without taking the file from her backpack. “As you might surmise from the name, Halibut Cove was founded as a fishing village and the town worried about the environmental impacts of an oil well in their front yard, so to speak. About two weeks ago, a young man paddled up to the dock in Homer, just across the water, claiming that he had seen an avenging angel who turned the townspeople into demons. He insisted it was some sort of beast, something beyond human. Representatives of the oil company whisked him away to their company headquarters in Texas, allegedly to protect him. When a few of the locals went to check on family and friends, they found that the entire population of Halibut Cove had vanished. The oil company is facing accusations that they disappeared around fifty people, including thirty-five to forty village residents and fifteen tourists, which they loudly deny, but the workers they hired to drill the well refuse to go near the site until the murderer is found. The single witness’ descriptions of the angel don’t match any inhabitant of the area or any known predator.”

“And no obvious signs of weapons or predation.” Mulder pulled the Red Vine out of his mouth and gestured with it. “Neither bear nor wolf, just good red herrings. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Scully sighed. “I imagine that the oil company representatives have powerful friends who brought this case to the attention of the FBI, rather than local authorities elevating this on the testimony of the lone witness, even if he is a military veteran. From my understanding, he’s been essentially in the custody of the oil company since his escape.”

“Mm,” Mulder said. “From their lips to the director’s ear.”

“And from there to the basement,” Scully agreed. “Nobody else wants an unsolvable case, especially not one that might disappoint someone with influence. Too much risk.”

“What did I tell you when we met?” Mulder asked, tapping her with the hand that held the Red Vine. “Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.”

She leaned her elbow on the door and braced her cheek on her thumb and index finger. “It seems to me it’s the cases that are unwanted. They come to us because no one else is interested. Whatever happened here, nearly fifty people are missing or dead.”

Mulder smiled and took another bite of his Red Vine. “Then maybe it’s a good thing they find their way to us. We take them seriously. Justice, justice, you shall pursue.”

“All the way to Alaska,” Scully said.

“To the last frontier,” Mulder agreed.

“It’s certainly different from DC.” Scully gazed on the window at the rugged landscape. Mulder’s side of the road was mountains; Scully had forest and the occasional wash of calm water. They’d already passed a couple of trailheads, populated by dayhikers with brightly colored backpacks. “Beautiful.”

“It is.” Mulder had finished his Red Vine. He reached into a bag of sunflower seeds and cracked one between his teeth. “Can’t say I don’t take you to the nicest places.”

Scully smiled into her hand. “I would never say that.”

Mulder glanced over at her, his eyes twinkling. He grinned as he reached for another sunflower seed.

The drive took longer than a flight would have, but at least they had more flexibility. Scully doubted there were many rental car counters in Homer, and if they’d taken a seaplane directly to Halibut Cove, they would still have needed to requisition a boat from somewhere to get around the various parts of the spread-out village. Halibut Cove wasn’t as isolated as some of the places they’d investigated, but it wasn’t convenient, either — there were no real roads, and no access except by air or water. But the Jeep helped their cover, even if they had to leave it across the bay from their desination: it made them look like a couple who were there to explore the relatively unsullied nature found around Halibut Cove but didn't understand the place, outsiders who associated the vehicle with adventure.

“I wonder if we’ll see a moose?” Scully said.

“You see moose all the time,” Mulder told her. He glanced at her puzzled expression. “That was my nickname, on the basketball team when I was in high school.”

She tipped her head at him. “You’re tall, but I never considered you megafauna.”

“One of my teammates saw one on vacation in Maine. He said it looked like me because I had a big rack.” He mimed spreading his arms without taking his hands off the wheel. “You know. Typical teenage boy logic. Moose.”

“So, what, that makes me Squirrel?” she teased.

“If the tiny shoe fits.” He winked at her.

She sighed in mock frustration. “Speaking of secret identities, we should work on ours.”

“Already done.” Mulder cracked a seed. “File’s in my backpack.”

Scully reached into the backseat and extracted the folder. There was a tiny envelope stapled inside containing two plain wedding bands and an engagement ring with a glittering, ostentatious diamond. She passed the larger ring to Mulder and slipped the other two onto her finger.

“That was my job,” Mulder said with a pout.

She shot him a sardonic look and flipped through the rest of the documents. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“What?” Mulder said, all innocence.

“Jonathan and Mina Harker? Those are the identities you invented for us? To catch a murderer that allegedly turns its victims into demons that only emerge at night?”

“You can go by Willa if you want,” Mulder said, smiling out at the landscape.

“Mulder, this isn’t funny. People may have died.”

“If the perpetrator is human and versed in the classics, they’ll know we’re onto them.” Mulder cracked a sunflower seed. “It’s a strategy to draw them out.”

“And if the perpetrator isn’t human?” Scully waved the file. “This isn’t disrespectful in some way?”

“Dracula met his righteous end,” Mulder said. “It’s a promise to the victims. Justice, remember?”

Scully eyed him skeptically. “I’m not letting you pick the names next time we go undercover.”

“Deal,” he said, but he was still smiling a little.

“Willa Harker,” she said to herself experimentally. “I don’t think so. Too many Williams in my family.”

“Mine too,” Mulder said. “But maybe not Jon’s or Mina’s.”

“You better not have given me a sister named Lucy,” Scully said. “Willa Harker." She tasted the name, rolling it around in her mind. "It’s a little better.”

Mulder just laughed and they drove on down the highway, the landscape wilder every mile.

Homer wasn’t a bustling metropolis; they drove straight through it and onto the long spit that extended into the bay. It was easy to find a place to rent a boat. The young woman behind the counter was about the same height as Scully. She had dark hair and eyes that implied Alaska Native ancestry. Her nametag read “Grace”. She smiled as they came in. “Hi, folks. How can I help you? Fishing trip? Kayak rental? Boat tour of Katchemak Bay?”

“Hi,” Scully said. “I’m Willa Harker, and this is my husband Jon. We’d like to rent a boat for a couple of days. Well, close to a week, really—we’re headed out to Halibut Cove.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said, leaning on the counter, “we’ve got a little cottage reserved.”

“Oh,” Grace said. “Um. I’m not sure the cottages are open.”

“Why not?” Scully said lightly.

“The, um, tides,” Grace said. “They’ve been really erratic.” She glanced down. “And everyone evacuated because there was a tsunami warning, I think. You know, because of the volcano. It erupted in January, so folks are leery. I’m not sure that they’re back yet. You’d be all on your own.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Mulder said. “We were hoping to get in some nice hiking, maybe see some wildlife.”

“Gosh, I’m sure we would have heard about a tsunami warning,” Scully said. “I suppose you can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah, but we only have a week of vacation,” Mulder said. “Corporate doesn’t care about tsunami warnings. Can we still get a boat? We prepaid for the cottage.”

“I wouldn’t go there right now,” Grace said.

“Oh, but it’s my dream vacation,” Scully said, trying to sound like a nature enthusiast. “I had a friend who came here a few years ago. She said it was the most beautiful place she’d ever been.”

“Please, Grace,” Mulder said in a quiet voice. “For my wife?” He managed to imply that maybe this was their last vacation, that their marriage was in danger or that Scully was sick and running out of time. It was oddly compelling, even to Scully, who knew better. It didn't really fit with their honeymoon backstory, but she admitted it was working.

“I can rent you a boat,” Grace said, relenting. “And, um, I’ll come with you.” She was clearly reluctant. “My uncle has a few cottages. If yours is… closed, I can put you in one of his. There’s only one restaurant in Halibut Cove, though, and it’s closed too. You’ll have to take your own food.”

“Give us an hour?” Mulder said.

Grace nodded. “I’ll have it ready then.”

Mulder tapped the counter. “Perfect.”

“Thank you, Grace,” Scully said.

Mulder put his arm around her shoulders as they left. “She knows something.”

“Of course she knows something,” Scully said. “Towns this small, word gets around.”

“One witness,” Mulder said. “And that witness essentially in the custody of the oil company, in the name of protecting him.”

Scully sighed. “You know how gossip works. Nothing travels faster than the rumor of a monster.”

“But if the witness’ report is to be believed, there’s almost nothing left of the townspeople to gossip about.” Mulder steered Scully toward a small grocery store. “Gone. Poof. Overnight, a whole village disappeared.”

“Imagine the rumors,” Scully said. “It might be worse not having heard the story. I’m sure that there are legends of monsters in these woods.”

“Sharp teeth,” Mulder said. “Hot breath on the back of your neck in the night.”

“That better not be a monster,” Scully said. “Because I’m feeling your breath on my neck right now.”

“It’s not night, Willa,” Mulder teased. “I’m a perfectly normal man until the sun sets.”

“Good thing there are 19 hours of daylight here in mid-June.” She glanced up at him over her shoulder, and he pouted at her.

“How’s a perfectly normal man supposed to get any shuteye?”

Scully smirked at him. “I didn’t think you slept anyway.”

He clicked his tongue sadly. “And here I thought you were about to suggest a blindfold.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe that’s our next ‘vacation’. We can investigate the seedy underbelly of the circus world. I’ll throw the daggers; you get strapped to the spinning wheel.”

“Oooh.” He grabbed a cart from the corral in the grocery store parking lot. “Don’t tempt me, Willa.”

They loaded the cart with a few days’ worth of food: soup, peanut butter, bread, lunch meat, sliced cheese, instant coffee, plus sunscreen and bug spray. They'd already encountered clouds of tiny mosquitos. Scully tossed a package of pads in on top of a flat of bottled water. Mulder raised an eyebrow.

“Just in case,” she said. “We might be here a few weeks.” He nodded and snagged a bag of Dove chocolate squares when they went through the candy aisle, dropping it in with the rest of their supplies. She looked at him and he put a finger to his mouth, winking.

They bought a cooler and packed all the groceries into it, carrying it between them back to the boat rental. Scully got out the bug spray halfway there and spritzed them both; the speed of the boat would deter the mosquitos, but on the dock, they were surrounded. Grace was there to help them into the boat.

“This is my cousin Logan,” she said, waving a hand at a stocky twenty-something sitting behind the controls of a second boat. “He’ll follow us to Halibut Cove so’s he can bring me back once I help you find your cottage.”

“Sounds good,” Scully said. Mulder helped her into their boat and passed down the cooler. He retrieved their bags from the car and handed those down too.

“You have to be careful in the bay,” Grace said, sounding much more confident. “Please put on your lifevests. It’s very important that you wear them. The water is cold, and the tides here can be extremely dangerous. Do you have any experience with boats?”

“Willa does,” Mulder said, jerking his thumb at Scully before he finished buckling on his vest.

“Don’t be so shy, Jon,” Scully said. “You practically grew up on the water.”

“Motorboat’s a little different from a sailboat,” Mulder said. “Plus, like Grace said, the water’s colder here. I’ll let you drive.” He tightened the straps of his vest.

Grace showed them the controls, took them out into the bay, pointed out the major hazards. The middle of the bay was deep enough to navigate easily, but closer to the land, there were shoals to run aground on, especially if they got caught by the unpredictable tides.

“We have rip tides and bore tides,” Grace said, sounding almost proud. “The Cook Inlet has some of the largest and most dangerous tides in the world. And we are at risk for tsunamis, because of the Ring of Fire.”

“Right,” Scully said. “That’s why everything’s closed in Halibut Cove.”

“Yes,” Grace said, lowering her eyes.

“We’ll be extra careful,” Mulder promised. Scully gazed at the water, marking the safe routes in her mind. Grace took them almost straight across the bay, just south of the spit of land that formed the bulk of Halibut Cove, and tied up their boat at a dock among a cluster of others that sheltered under carport-like roofs. Her cousin idled at the end of the dock, apparently disinclined to venture onto the island. Grace helped him secure his boat to the very end of the dock as Mulder and Scully unloaded their supplies. He said something to her, too low to hear. Her reply was curt.

When they were ready, Grace came back up the dock. She frowned, looking up at the village, saying almost nothing as she showed them the boardwalk that fronted the cove. There were several small businesses — a coffee shop, a couple of art galleries, and the usual cottage rentals and wilderness tours — but they all seemed empty. There was a chalkboard outside the coffee shop promoting their strawberry rhubarb scones.

“Do you know where your cottage is?” Grace asked.

Mulder shrugged. “I didn’t exactly have an address for it. We were supposed to meet them here.”

“Okay.” Grace stopped at a gallery, opening the unlocked door, and retrieved a key from an equally unsecured office. The kind of town where doors didn’t need to be locked, Scully thought, except maybe during tourist season.

“This was the only one there was a key for,” Grace said, a frown drawing her eyebrows together. “It’s not very big, but it is close.”

“Lead the way,” Mulder said, shifting the cooler. He’d insisted on carrying it down the boardwalk. Scully shouldered both their duffel bags along with her backpack. It was a short walk, just a few minutes down the boardwalk, up a short flight of steps. The cottage was adorable, which mostly meant small, but the one room looked cozy and clean when Grace unlocked it. There was a kitchen with a sink, a fridge, a two-burner stove top for cooking, and a wood stove for heat. Separated from the kitchen area by a half-wall was the sleeping area, mostly taken up by a queen bed, a small sofa tucked into a window nook beside it. The half-wall was topped with a small flat counter that extended into the sleeping area, a bench tucked underneath.

“It’s lovely,” Scully said. She put a hand on Mulder’s arm. “Don’t you think so, Jon?”

“Definitely,” Mulder said, setting down the cooler. “Exactly what we were hoping for. It might even be bigger than our first apartment in New York City. Thank you so much, Grace.”

“There’s an outhouse out back,” Grace said. “You can use the showers at the gallery I showed you. Bathroom too, if you’re willing to walk. Wood for the stove should be stacked out by the outhouse.”

“Rustic,” Mulder said in an approving tone. Scully had a brief uncharitable thought about people who found it simple to pee while standing.

Grace hesitated. “You’re sure you want to stay here? All alone?”

“Of course,” Scully said. She leaned into Mulder a little and he put his arm around her. “It’s our honeymoon. Who wouldn’t like the privacy?”

“We don’t mind roughing it a little,” Mulder said. “And hey, maybe one morning we’ll wake up and everybody will have come back. How long can tsunami season last?”

“Maybe,” Grace said. Her brow was still furrowed.

“Don’t worry about us,” Scully assured her. “We’re only a boat ride away, right?”

“Sure,” Grace said. She turned toward the stairs that led back to the boardwalk and then looked back. “Don’t forget to wear your lifevests, okay? It‘s beautiful here, but it’s dangerous too.”

“We will,” Scully promised. Mulder’s arm was still around her shoulders.

“See you in a few days,” he told Grace.

Grace nodded and left, waving goodbye. Then the door closed and they were alone.

“Can I interest you in a walk?” Mulder said, giving her a reflexive squeeze before dropping his arm. “A little sight-seeing, a little evidence gathering.”

“Let’s put the food away first,” Scully said. She started to unpack the cooler. Mulder moved the bags to the bedroom, setting her duffel and backpack on the lone bed and his things on the couch cozied up next to it. He came back to take the cans of soup and set them on top of the short fridge.

“At least there’s still electricity,” he said. “And hey, a local map.” He picked up a laminated map.

Scully straightened up. She glanced at the map as Mulder traced the illustrated paths with one finger. It looked hand-drawn. “Probably a generator around somewhere too, if we can find the gas for it. I imagine it’s necessary from time to time.”

“There’s extra fuel in the boat,” he pointed out. “Probably some of the others, too, if we needed to scavenge.”

Scully nodded. They both remembered the generator in the Olympic National Forest and the single flickering bulb that had kept the insects at bay. She suspected neither of them would ever be in the woods again without thinking of the eerie luminescent cloud descending. She picked up her pack, took out a bundle of non-essentials, and then shouldered it. “Ready to look around?”

He hefted his backpack. “Bear spray and my gun.” He took out his weapon and holstered it at his hip, under his flannel shirt. The bear spray went into his chest pocket. He slung the strap of a camera around his neck: a different kind of protection. “You?”

She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt, revealing her own weapon. “First aid kit in my pack. Pocketknife. Mace on my keychain.”

“Will that deter a bear?”

“That’s not my usual concern,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “You‘re packing all the time.”

She looked away. “Honestly, being on the lookout for easily identifiable predators is something of a relief. Even if it is some strange new species.”

“My theory is that it’s not so new,” he said, as they left the cottage, locking the door behind them. “We’re looking for something like the original reports of the Jersey Devil. Not the wild woman we found in the woods, but the bat-like creature from much earlier sightings. Red eyes. Dark wings.”

“But vampiric. A vampire bat-thing.”

He nodded. “Essentially. I think that comes the closest to explaining the villagers who got turned into demons.”

“How does that square with the report of an angel?” she asked as they descended the stairs to the boardwalk. By unspoken mutual consent, they turned toward the lighthouse.

He shrugged. “Even angels can go bad, Scully.”

“Willa,” she said automatically, scanning the empty buildings of the village as they passed.

“Willa,” he corrected. His voice was warm around the strange name with its familiar sounds.

“There’s a chance we’re not alone,” she said. “The villagers might be gone, but there could be other adventurers out there.”

“Honeymooners like us,” he teased.

She shot him a look. “Hunters. Survivalists. Murderers.”

“Angels,” he said solemnly.

“Angels,” she sighed.

The buildings on the boardwalk had been clustered together, but the cottages and businesses began to spread out as they got further from the dock. Like their own cottages, many of the buildings were up a flight of narrow stairs from the main boardwalk, tucked into the trees. After few hundred feet, the boardwalk ended. They continued onto the trail to the lighthouse, a faint path marked through the cleared meadows that rose toward the edge of the land. Mulder took a few photos as they went.

“No moose so far,” he said as they picked their way up the trail.

“Aside from the obvious.” Scully touched a cluster of unripe berries on a bush. “Their buffet isn’t quite ready.”

“Something had a feast.” Mulder cupped a hand over his eyes and looked toward the sky. “No vultures.”

“No remains,” Scully pointed out. At least, I haven’t seen any.”

Mulder grunted agreement.

There was another grouping of cottages along the trail, closer to the lighthouse. All seemed to have been occupied until recently — there were suitcases with clothes spilling out, dry-bristled toothbrushes by the sinks. Mulder documented the scenes. Scully took quiet solace in the fact that there were no children’s clothes. The lighthouse itself looked more like a church, a house-sized building with a lamp for a steeple. The door was unlocked; inside, it was furnished as a vacation rental. Perfectly clean, perfectly innocuous.

“We could have stayed here,” Scully said as they stepped out again. “Look at this view. No electricity, though — not much of a lighthouse these days, with no one to keep it lit.”

Mulder pointed as they rounded the corner. “And it’s still got an outhouse.”

“I don’t imagine people living without indoor plumbing or electricity, these days,” Scully said. “I guess it’s not so uncommon. Wouldn’t make it easy to communicate with the outside world.”

“Meanwhile, here we come with our GPS units and our cell phones,” Mulder said. “Imposing our will on nature. Out of sync with the rhythm of the wilderness.” He looked at her. “Or maybe that’s just the jet lag.”

She laughed. “DC to Halibut Cove is a long haul.”

“In so many ways,” he agreed. "Anyway, I forgot to requisition a GPS unit."

"The authentic experience," she said.

Beyond the lighthouse, the bay looked serene. The dangerous water was a bright blue-green close to shore, deepening to midnight. Across the bay, the mountains behind Homer heaved out of the water.

Scully stood next to Mulder, not too close to the edge of the little cliff that dropped into the water. He picked up the camera and aimed it at her. “Smile, Willa.”

She squinted into the light, brushing hair out of her face as the camera’s shutter clicked. She wondered what he saw through the viewfinder. “Windblown Willa.”

“Willa in the wild,” Mulder said.

Scully looked out over the bay again. “It’s a beautiful place.”

Mulder hummed agreement. “You could believe people would honeymoon here.”

“Is this where you’d go?” Scully asked. She knew so much about Mulder, but he still surprised her. “I didn’t think rustic was your preference.”

“I haven’t spent a whole lot of time pondering my honeymoon, but I think I could be happy anywhere with the right person,” Mulder mused. He gazed out over the water, then glanced at Scully. “Surprised?”

“Honestly, yes,” Scully said. “I thought you were a three-star hotel in a European city kind of guy. Not that I've thought about it much.”

He chuckled. “I could definitely be happy there,” he said. “Still takes the right person.”

She looked at him, on the point of saying something else she’d probably regret, but then her stomach growled.

“Dinnertime?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess so,” she said. They took one last look over the water and headed back down the trail.

#we are so back #SO HYPE TO READ THIS :D #txf #msr fanfic #the xfiles fanfic

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