Special Agent Fox Mulder closed the case-file with an air of satisfaction not unlike a cat who's managed to finally catch the bird-cage unlatched. "I'm going on vacation," he announced.
His partner, one Special Agent Dana Scully, MD, raised a brow in Spock-like tradition. "A vacation," she repeated. "And what will this vacation include? Breaking into top-secret military bases? Chasing the last vestiges of a Shadow-Government that we've toppled? Looking up Russian-spies who better stay well hidden? Hooking up with slutty-UN Ambassadors?"
"Actually, I was planning to go to the Caribbean."
"The Caribbean. The Bermuda Triangle again? Isn't one Marie Celeste good enough for you?"
"I'm not looking for anything like that, I swear, Scully. I just want to take a vacation somewhere sunny where no one is going to shoot me."
She studied him for a long moment. "You will call me every hour. If you don't, I will call you. If you don't answer your phone, I'm coming after you."
"Maybe you should come with me anyway."
Her blue eyes narrowed. "No, Mulder, go take your vacation. It's your turn to be attacked by killer dolls, be seduced by a woman with too many tattoos, or have your dog killed by an alligator."
"You were tempting fate."
"Have you informed Skinner of this plan?"
"You think he won't jump at the chance to get me out of what's left of his hair?" That earned him a small, tight smile. Her eyes bored into him. So, maybe she knew him a little too well. "It's just simply ghost-hunting," he told her finally. "There's a story that every ten-years on May 25th, there's a green-flash on the horizon at sunrise. Then, a man rows into the harbor looking for something. At the end of the day, he gets back in his boat and isn't seen for another ten years. I've been thinking of going there since I heard the story from a lady in London. Her name is Elizabeth Turner. She invited me to the island a long time ago. It belongs to her family. I got an email from her just the other day. Just ghost hunting."
Scully sighed. "I'll call you. Don't get too far out of reach. And make sure there's someone on that island with you."
Mulder held a hand up in solemn vow. All he received in exchange was a wad of paper thrown at his head.
****
Captain William Turner of the *Flying Dutchman* lowered himself into the dinghy and started off towards his island. It wasn't his exactly, except for the fact that Elizabeth had claimed it as hers and set up a small community for pirates' families. It didn't surprise him that he'd caught up with her on occasion sailing Seo Feng's ships or that Jack consistently reminded people that she was not only Captain Swann, but the Pirate King. He smiled sadly. Perhaps his Jack would be there this time. He'd only missed the rendezvous once.
He had given up hope of seeing his family. Most of them had left the island and none of them cared to look for the horizon. He still had Jack to see. Captain Jack Sparrow or rather, The Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow, was there watching over his family like a guardian angel. That did make him smile more fully. He pictured Jack as a rum-soaked angel with his halo settled firmly on his brow, much like his battered leather tricorn hat.
He chuckled as he rowed. The sea was calm, with the hint of a tide helping him towards shore. Calypso liked him. He'd been a good to her and she took good care of him and his ship. The world around him was changing ever so slightly. There were different ships now, and ships that fell from the air, but they're still all his charges. He had done his duty with no regret. He missed his Pirate King and his Pirate Lord on a day to day basis, even though it had been over one-hundred years since Gibbs joined his crew and Anamarie decided to stay with him for the chance to keep watch over the pearl.
He grounded the boat and tucked the oars inside of it. He walked up the beach towards the house he remembered from the first visit he'd ever made. There was a man he didn't recognize sitting on the beach with what looked like a double spyglass and something in a metal mug. He was tall, perhaps taller than Will himself, and dressed in what looked to be the simple working costume that many of the newest dead wore. Dark cotton pants and a tight white undershirt. His hair was brown and his nose too prominent to be a member of the Turner family except by marriage.
The man didn't stand as Will approached. "Good Morrow, sir," Will said stiffly.
The man was startled. "You can see me?" His voice was full of excited curiosity.
"I should think so, sir, seated as you are on the beach in full view of all. If you wanted invisibility, perhaps you should have considered the rocks or the hill."
"No, I was looking for you."
Will raised his brow in surprise. "For me, sir?"
"Every ten years you show up here."
"Aye. And who would you be then, sir? Are you related to the Turners?" Will's eyes narrowed. There was something in this man's nature that made him think of Norrington rather than Elizabeth.
"No," he shook his head. "I am an acquaintance of Elizabeth Turner."
"The youngest. How does she fair?"
The man smiled. "She graduated Oxford and started her own business. She's in acquisitions. She's supposed to be one of the most ruthless negotiators in the business."
Will chuckled. "It runs in the blood. Pirates one and all. But how did you come to be here, sir?"
"Liz told me the story of how a man showed up every ten years here on her island. I asked if I could come out and see for myself. Is that your boat?"
"Aye. A name then?"
"Fox Mulder."
"William Turner." The man stood at last, offering his hand. The man's eyes were bright with curiosity. "I have to see if someone's here. Failing that, we could speak for awhile?"
"I'll help you look. Who are we looking for?"
Will looked at the man in amusement. To compare them, Mulder would seem the elder. "Captain Jack Sparrow, though he may go only by Jack these days. I've not seen him sailing."
"What does he look like?"
Will started up the hill towards the village. "The outside of a rum-pot," he said staggering a bit and waving his hands in true Jack fashion. "Last I saw him, he still had long dark hair and kohl rimmed eyes. His eyes are dark as well and tend to glitter with mischief, even when you know he's preparing for battle. He can't stand to be too far from the sea. He's still fairly pale for all he turns golden in the sun and sea-wind. He likes jewels and has worn a ring, silver with a green stone, for as long as I've known him." He thought for a moment. "He seems slight, but he's strong enough. He's got the walk of a cat, haughty and graceful. And he's the strange balance of a cat. I've not seen him for many years. He wouldn't forget me. I worry that he's gotten himself killed or put away by the authorities. He's never been fond of rules."
****
Mulder watched the man walking easily ahead of him, leading the way to what used to be a village. Turner's voice was fond, but full of worry. Turner stopped suddenly. "It's dead isn't it? The village is dead?"
"Yes," Mulder said quietly. "I had to bring supplies with me. Elizabeth said that the house was still livable, but there's no electricity and no place to get supplies."
"So, if he were here, he'd be on the beach or at the cottage." Turner changed direction, legs eating up the distance. "You're not a sailor, Mr. Mulder."
"No, I work for the FBI."
"FBI?"
"The Federal Bureau of Investigations." Turner looked over his shoulder and raised a brow, looking so much like Scully in a non-believing moment that he had to smile. "The FBI investigates crimes in the United States. I'm out of my jurisdiction."
"The Colonies then? This island belongs to no country."
"I checked the register on that. I couldn't find it on the map either?" Mulder let his voice ask for more information.
"Mr. Mulder,"
"Just Mulder, please."
"Not Fox? It suits you, I think. Sly and far too curious for a simple predator."
"My area of investigation is the paranormal."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir?"
"I investigate alien abductions, ghosts, witchcraft, anything that can't be explained."
Turner paused and turned completely. He stared into Mulder's eyes for a long moment. Mulder shivered. There were very few times that he'd actually found a gaze that made him want to look away, but there was something in Turner's eyes that was deeper than human. For want of a better explanation, his eyes were old. "You're not a preacher though, are you, Mr. Mulder?"
Mulder licked his lips. "There are people who say I believe too strongly, that I'm not objective. My partner is a scientist. She thinks I'm crazy. But I've seen ghosts. I've met witches. I'm not trying to convert anyone, or banish ghosts." Turner's eyes softened. "I want to believe. Will you give me a chance to hear your story?"
"Only if you share stories of your own and not use mine in the pursuit of your duties."
Mulder nodded. "I'm on vacation. This is personal."
"Then we have an accord."
FIN