Searching for you

Summer 2003 Colorado

The sweat-soaked sheets seemed to weave a web around her, tendrils of pale cotton twisting around her limbs and tightening their trap as she trashed. As darkness descended upon her, Frances knew she was going to die, trapped into those foul beasts' lair. Already, she heard the shuffling of their horrendous bodies into the leaves of sickened trees, the slight vibration of their too numerous legs on her web mattress, and their whispers, their screeches.

The young woman was too terrified to let out more than a whimper; tears silently falling on her damp cheeks. She had but a few seconds before one of those ghastly spiders stung her and then… she would liquefy without a sound to be fed upon like a milkshake !

A terrible screech tore at her eardrums, and Frances tried to free her hands to cover them, shaking like a leaf. Another screech, a great splash and then… nothing. Nothing but the emptiness of forest around her, it's sickness quietly sweeping through Frances' mind. Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm and she screamed in terror, only to find a pair of familiar eyes.

"Daro !"

Frances" mouth closed in shock, her gaze fixed on the marchwarden. In a swish of his blade, the webs tangled around her limbs were severed, and right before she fell, his hand came to support her.

"Come, quickly," he added in westron.

Frances swallowed, and nodded as he darted off into the trees. It was a struggle to follow him, for he was all graced and agility in this tangled maze of branches. But then, just as the horizon lightened and she thought, with relief, that they would be free, Haldir turned to her. Frances nearly crashed against him.

"What… ?"

Haldir's features morphed into pain, then he fell to his knees. Frances jumped forward, receiving the marchwarden in her arms right before he crashed to the ground. A crimson line appeared on his back, blood flowing like a river. Behind him stood an Uruk, smiling, his sword raised high. Frances started in horror into the sadistic gleam of his yellow eyes, the horrendous stench of his body appalling. One mighty swing, and they would both be dead.

"UNSCHEDULED OFF-WORLD ACTIVATION"

The alarm shook the base, and Frances was startled awake.

"What the … ?"

Rushing out of bed, she jumped into the uniform, trying to rein her frantic breathing. The nightmare, still vivid in her mind, combined with the panic of the alarm had her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. Her foot caught into the bottom of the military pants, and she toppled over, landing sideways on her bed. Her calf hit the metal railing of the bedframe.

"Fuckity fuck !", she swore, rubbing the sore spot.

It would probably bruise. The interruption gave her mind a much-needed break as she started thinking rationally. Maybe she should stay here, and have a shower instead of rushing to the gate room and be in people's way. Cheyenne mountain complex was filled to the brim with soldiers trained to respond to any kind of threat. And they could be pretty inventive. But if an evacuation was needed, the speakers would divulge the information. Here, no one really needed her help.

Sighing, Frances undressed and stepped into the shower. An hour later, the young woman made her way to the mess for breakfast. By now, she knew that the off-world activation had been SG11 returning early because of some disagreement with a group of locals, something that Mulder must have been unable to smooth out.

She respected her friend for being quite reasonable, and always accommodating. Yet, he was no trained anthropologist like Dr Jackson. It took a touch of geekitude to understand protohistoric cultures, a trait she shared with her mentor. Frances spent most of her time in Dr Jackson's office. Something that would be better qualified as a den such was the mess that covered every single surface. But the archeologist knew where every single piece of paper was, quite a feat in itself

In the five weeks she had been there, the young woman had to admit that she was quite impressed by Dr Jackson. His open disposition, his willingness to believe the best of everyone and the strength of his conviction made him a force to reckon with. Not to mention the twenty something languages that he spoke.

The funniest part was that Jack O'Neill, the infamous leader of SG1, let him have his way most of the time. For the moment, it was just hearsay as Daniel was not the type to boast about his achievements; she had not set a foot off-world yet to see the situation people spoke about through her own eyes. It might happen in a year or so, that's the best she had gathered from her superiors. As a consultant/intern, she would have to go through more military training before they agreed to it.

In the meantime, though, she thrived on asking as many people as possible how their experience had been, what kind of people they had met, and tried to sort out any information that could help her locate Arda. And being the intern to the master culture geek of the base certainly helped. Nothing escaped Dr Jackson when it came to discovering languages and cultures. Every single rhune, every single piece of writing ended up on his desk.

Needless to say, that the Doctor was quite pleased with her willingness to research and dig into every single detail of the stargate team's discovery. And, as a plus, Frances really had the mind of a linguist. She'd always loved it, acings her scores at school in language class, and her recent trips to Ancient Roma and Arda certainly helped her broaden her skills. Added to her French, English, Spanish and Italian knowledge, she could now claim a little more insight on Latin and… elvish.

Loosing Legolas had made her a workhalcoholic; Dr Jackson shared that propency and they both spent countless hours researching. So much that O'Neill often popped by to kick them out. The Colonel couldn't have known Frances' motivation was to find the slightest of clues about middle earth.

Albeit she had yet to encounter another language that related to elvish, its structure was so far quite similar to Gaelic and old Norsk. She guessed there could only be so many different ways of organising one's thoughts. It made sense that some languages on earth could be similar to Sindarin.

As summer moved on, and she was no closer to finding anyway back to middle earth, Frances realized she would need a way to keep in touch with the base' happenings. Her work schedule was erratic at best since she was not ready to drop her studies in France. And there, in the mess, was just the man she was looking for. The one that had dragged her, unwittingly, into that whole mess.

Mulder sat there, brooding over a piece of unidentified cake, his fifth cup of coffee steaming in his hands.

"Hey," she greeted. "Can I join you?"

The man's face lit up.

"Hey! I could do with some company, yeah. I fear I have messed up in this last assignment."

Frances' eyebrows shot up as she settled close to him.

"What does Scully say ?"

"That I have messed up."

The young woman chuckled, finding solace in the repetitive discussion.

"Some things never change."

Mulder's brown gaze locked with her with fondness.

"No, I guess they don't."

The familiarity of Mulder's presence beside her gave Frances a welcome respite in her troubled thoughts. As he explained that he had, involuntarily, vexed the chieftain's family by refusing their daughter's offering, Frances laughed. It was not that the story was hilarious, per se. But Mulder's puppy look, and his way of retelling the events made her heart melt.

How she had missed him and their completely weird missions ! It was sush a shame that their Interpol time had come to an end. But had they not returned to the States, they would not have investigated the SGC, and Frances would not now have the opportunity to look for Legolas.

A hand brushed her forearm.

"I have not seen you much since your arrival, but you seem preoccupied."

Frances' breath hitched. Damn her for being so relaxed! Mulder was such a good friend that she never guarded herself around him. After all, he was the one who had dragged her into this whole mess in the first place. If not for him and their timely encounter in her makeshift childhood hut, she'd still be an average student of a popular school living a veeeery boring life. But he had trusted her, and become a shoulder she could rely upon.

"Do I ?"

"Yes. You laugh less, and you wear this little line between your eyebrows much more often. I know the people here don't know you, but I do."

Frances shrugged. Of her preoccupations, which one could she pick to lead him away from her heartache ?

"Honestly. I think this discovery, the Stargate, this had put me a little bit on edge. It doesn't really help me sleep at night, to know that our world could be overthrown by some arrogant snakeheads anytime."

This time, Mulder chuckled. Dear old Frances, her wit always made him laugh, even when she had joined as an intern in Interpol. That is, once she had started mastering English well enough to start cracking jokes. But if his observation was correct, something had changed in her eyes. It could just be that she had grown, and known some hardships since the last time he saw her. Yet, he could not fathom why such sadness had taken root into her mind.

"There's something I need to tell you, but not here. Would you care for dinner this evening ?"

The former FBI agent nodded, it would keep his mind away from the dressing down he was about to receive for messing up.

Later that night, Frances reflected on what she"d become. A liar, a giant fat liar. And it displeased her much to be able to do so, she that held the truth in such high esteem. It was the reason why people believed her though; she had always been so blunt, so direct in her answers than no one suspected her to be lying. Yet, she was lying to Dr Jackson, lying to her parents and friends, lying to the nurse at school and now, she had lied to one of her closest friends. She had told Mulder she was having some dreams.

"Dreams?" he had asked, puzzled.

"Yeah. THOSE dreams, you know?"

"Oooh, those dreams"

He knew about them, the prophetic dreams and visions that she seldom had, but always turned out to be true. And she asked for his help finding the eldar, the people in her dreams, that were struggling to survive the downfall of this world.

"Against what are they struggling?"

"A big evil that appears to have lost corporeal form and exists as a big red eye."

The appellation had called a smirk to Mulder's lips, and a wide smile to Frances. She remembered Legolas' appalled face snort when she had dubbed Morgoth "Big Evil 1" and Sauron "Big Evil 2"? The mirth of this private joke, though, was short-lived. But regarding Sauron's involvement in Arda, at least, she wasn't lying. Except that Sauron was probably dead, but still.

If Mulder ever landed on Arda in his travels, he would know what to ask. She described the eldar the best she could, her nails digging in the palm of her right hand when she told him of the white city. Mulder promised to make enquiries, discreetly, of course. And she trusted him to do so. The man never backed down from a challenge, especially if the answer was hidden somewhere in a dark, damp place. True to his name, Mulder was like a Fox Terrier; when his jaws had grabbed something, he never let go.

She wondered how he handled the secret around the Stargate program, now that he was in. He'd probably have to face his counterparts – the Lone Gunmen on the net out there, looking for a truth that he could no longer disclose. But such was the price to pay to look for his abducted sister, and try to repair the childhood trauma of her disappearance. Frances sighed. She had not even asked about him, about how both of them fared in this strange new world. She really had become a cynical hag ! No wonder he had found her changed!

But at least, when she left at the end of the summer, she knew that her back was covered. If any of the SG teams set foot on Arda, she'd know right away. Mulder was reliable, and as devoted as it comes. It didn't made up for the disappointment to have found nothing during her two months in Cheyenne Mountain. But at least, she wasn't off the loop completely!