It's Easier to Believe

by Rachiraptor

As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.

1. It's Easier to Believe: part 1/2

It's Easier to Believe

by Rachiraptor (Rachel Stone)

Category: Story, Mulder/Scully Romance, Humor

Rating: "R" (for language and adult situations-mostly "PG-13")

Disclaimer: The X-files are the property of Chris-Not Ever Likely to Read This Anyway-Carter, 10-13 Productions, Fox, and the cast and crew who bring the show to life. No infringement is intended and NO money is being made from this venture. (I mean, think about it. Would any sane person actually shell out cash for this fluff? I think not.) So relax, go count your huge stacks of money, and try to remember that *we* buy all of your merchandise and watch your show. The wonderful lyrics of Sarah McLachlan were also used without permission but only lovingly so. In conclusion, let me reiterate: I have no money. Please don't sue me!

Also, if you have a fear about catching romantic X-cooties, do not read this. I'm a hard-core relationshipper, and I won't even try to pretend that this story is anything other than drippy, sappy, romantic tripe.

Archive: Please archive at fanfiction.net. This version should appear as a Word document. (A text-only version has been archived at Gossamer, and may eventually be picked up by Gossamer's Romance Annex as well.) Anywhere else is fine, just let me know where, and please do not alter the content or credits. Thank you! : )

Acknowledgments: Listed on the last page

Spoilers: An extreme amount of exposition is included for the purpose of character development and to make the story more universal. Anything before the Movie and the first few episodes of season 6 is fair game. I'm new to the show, so please just roll with any inconsistencies. : )

Summary: As the targets of a new conspiracy, Mulder and Scully must admit their feelings for one another before time runs out.

Feedback: Feedback is cherished. Don't make me beg. I vow to answer all E-mail. Just be gentle with me, it's my first time. All comments to: Rachiraptor@yahoo.com



Author's Note: I finished this well over two years ago, and I'm just now getting around to posting it. If you are feeling as though all of we shippers got cheated last season, then I invite you to return to a simpler time in Mulder and Scully history when even a stressed-out bee understood the romantic nature of the series. This ditty is the result of way too many hours of wasted time. I really hope that you enjoy it. I recommend pouring a glass of wine and getting a plate of crackers before you begin. It might help all of this cheese go down easier. : )

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It's Easier to Believe

by Rachiraptor

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A soft scraping sound came from the door, one second later it was followed by a click. The door slowly creaked open into the darkened, minimalist interior of Special Agent Fox Mulder's apartment. One figure stepped inside and silently shut the door behind himself. The intruder eased his way around the room. Pale light from a nearby lamppost spilled in through the window, providing a shadowy view. The darkly clad interloper stopped at Mulder's desk and began to work. Desktop items were shuffled about and some were replaced with duplicates, wires were cut, spliced, and attached with expert precision. The phone was lifted from its cradle, disconnected and replaced.

The man stood, glanced about the dwelling and started towards the other rooms. He stopped short of his goal, when his shin made a resounding crack against the coffee table. Hopping backwards, he contacted the television stand and succeeded in jarring loose a videotape from its precarious perch atop the VCR, sending it careening to the floor. He picked up the tape and held to the light. A sarcastic snort of a laugh escaped from his lips, and he started to put the cassette into his bag then thought better it. He installed a listening device under the toaster in the sparse and dusty kitchen thinking to himself that less dust than this was responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs. He then made his way to the bedroom.

"What a slob." He said to himself. Boxes of books, files, and other various reading materials were stacked from floor to ceiling. The room was a jumble of information, clothing, pornography, a broken bicycle frame, and other miscellaneous items stacked haphazardly around and on what could possibly have been a bed at one time. It would probably take crew of archeologists a month just to excavate and identify the original furnishings, he mused to himself. He thought momentarily about the best strategic location to deposit another listening device in the bedroom. Finally, he shrugged, then simply tossed the button-shaped bug into the center of room and decided, Good enough.

*****

"Nice." One man commented to another as he switched on a table lamp. They crept into the living room of Dana Scully's apartment. The other man picked up an ornately patterned throw pillow off of the couch. "You think that she did this herself or hired a decorator?"

"Put that down and get back to work." Said the first, punctuating his remark with an impatient glare. "I'll start in here. You take the bedroom."

A woman's bedroom is a remarkable place, thought the intruder. Although no man could truly ever know--or more importantly, understand a woman--he would be well advised to study the contents and the atmosphere of her bedroom. The darkly clad man reached to finger the back of a silver brush lying on a platter below. He turned on a delicate Tiffany lamp so that he could continue his search. Soft, amber light gently spread across the room, giving it a warmth and sense of peace, not the kind of atmosphere he had expected to find in the home of such a formidable law enforcer.

Beside the silver tray on top of a mahogany vanity, sat an expensive-looking atomizer of perfume. Most women who wore perfume had more than one kind. One would expect to find aggregates of tiny bottles huddled together on the top of a dresser or something. Dana Scully had only one. He brought the bottle nearer for inspection. He brushed his thumb against the cobalt blue glass, wearing a track through the dust that had collected on the neglected atomizer. He placed a tiny listening device on the underside of the perfume. As he went to place the bottle on the table, he inadvertently brushed to the bulb, sending a small puff of fragrance across the room. The feminine scent, like magnolia blossoms on a summer breeze, penetrated his senses causing an immediate rush of images, most of which were of an adult nature. He wondered why a beautiful woman like Dana Scully kept a bottle of perfume but never used it. He continued his inspection of the rest of the room.

An antique icebox had been converted into a wardrobe of sorts. On top were framed pictures of her family. Smiling friends and relatives who'd been grouped together were now cherished an adored by the glittering frames, the glass, and by the graceful hands which had set them on top of the dresser. He thought it odd that Agent Scully herself didn't appear a single photo except for an old family portrait taken well over a decade ago. The man peeked inside the chest expecting to find the usual assortment of women's clothes and the things that went underneath. For the most part, he found what he had expected to find with the exception of one locked drawer.

He still had worked to do, information to gather from a specific target, but he was a curious man by nature. He eyed his watch and peered around the corner into the living room where his partner was engrossed in the task of re-wiring the phone. Seizing the opportunity to do a little extra snooping, he began to pick the lock. After a few tries, the lock snapped open and the drawer was freed. What is so important that she has to lock and hide it away in her own home? he wondered. A gun? A secret document? Alien tidbits? The drawer opened. Inside was a beautiful, emerald colored nightgown made of satin folded neatly in the small drawer. Why had she locked up a nightgown? questioned the intruder. Weird. He was just about to close the drawer when his eye caught the glint of metal from below the gown. Expecting a weapon of some sort, he cautiously moved his hand into the drawer and slowly retrieved the item; a picture frame. A picture frame? "What the..." He turned it over and saw something unexpected.

The frame held a small Polaroid picture of Dana Scully seated at a picnic table in a sunny park. In front of her sat extremely lopsided cake with six mismatched candles on top. Agent Fox Mulder stood just behind her, with his head bent towards hers, and his right arm reaching towards the camera. His crooked grin looked as though he had been caught by the camera before he finished, "Say Cheese". Agent Scully was looking up at him with her mouth twisted to one side in an I'm-amused,-but-you're-still- dead look. Seems like it was a good day to remember, but why hide it? the intruder mulled as he started to place the frame back into its cubbyhole.

Again curiosity got the better of the man in black, and he reached in under the gown to feel for any other items that had been secreted away. He wasn't disappointed. He pulled out a folded envelope, a copy of "Moby Dick," and a single sunflower seed. The intruder flicked the seed back into the drawer and brought the envelope over to the lamp. The exterior read, "To Fox Mulder in the event of the death or disappearance of Dana Scully". "Whoa." exhaled the prowler. His fingers itched to open the envelope. He was just about to rip into the paper when his partner slapped him on the shoulder causing him to jump back.

Taking the lead, the second man ordered, "Put it back. We were supposed to be out of here by now. Did you photograph the document yet?"

The other man shook his head no, receiving a glare from his superior. Making up for lost time, the first man moved quickly to Agent Scully's nightstand and began to rummage through the drawers. He seized upon the object of his quest and began to snap pictures of the individual pages.

The leader grabbed the knapp sack from the floor and headed for the bathroom stopping only briefly to install a listening device inside the metal grate of an air vent overhead. He then clanked about in the bathroom for a few moments. He mumbled to himself as he worked. "Bubble bath? Who would have guessed?" As he surveyed the gleaming white countertops before him, he called out to his fellow operative, "Nobody is this neat. She's like a Stepford agent." Having completed his task, he hustled his partner to the front door. He was just about to open the door when he heard the jangle of keys from the other side. Pressing their backs to the wall, they looked for another escape route. Slowly the door handle turned. The leader patted his breast pocket, then motioned for the other man to flank the other side of the entryway. The men held their breaths and waited for the inevitable. The door parted inches.

A high pitch ringing halted Dana Scully's progress with the door. The men listened carefully as she answered her cell phone. "Mulder?... Yeah?... But I... You could just come up... I'll order some pizza... Oh... I see. I'll be down in a minute." The two men heard what sounded like a phone being slapped angrily against the agent's palm punctuated by an exasperated sigh before she stormed down the steps that led to her apartment.

Relieved that no drastic action had been necessary for their escape, the two men exited the apartment and walked briskly down the adjacent maintenance hallway, vanishing quietly as if they had never been there.

Two minutes and nine seconds later, Dana Scully rushed into her apartment.

Almost anyone who knew Dana Scully knew how even tempered she was even under the most trying of situations. This however, wasn't one of those situations. Flushed to her roots and muttering under her breath, she stalked over to her sofa and began to vent. "What in the hell is wrong with him?!" She exclaimed to no one in particular. "Can you come down and get it?" she mimicked Mulder's tone sarcastically. "I've made other plans, sorry." "Sorry! What a time to start being apologetic!"

He had been being polite, damn polite for the past few months, and the difference was really starting to grate on her nerves. Why has he been acting this way? she puzzled as she unloaded the produce from a wet grocery sack.

Mulder had always been predictable in an unpredictable way. He could be counted upon to call her at all hours of the night with a theory or a cryptic request to meet him somewhere. He could always be depended upon to buck the system and to lay threats and ultimatums at the feet of men who possessed so much power that they could easily have killed him with a single nod. He was brilliant. He had an intensive curiosity and child- like sense of wonder regardless of how many times he had been burnt. He was narcissistic enough to believe that his causes outweighed any risk to himself or to others. He vehemently protected his ideals and anyone or any case for which he felt responsible.

That's it, thought Scully. That's what's been different. He's feeling a renewed sense of responsibility for me. Scully chewed on this new bit of insight as she walked over to the sofa and continued to expand on her hypothesis. But why?

Scully's mind bounced from one moment to the next as she recalled her past with Fox (Spooky) Mulder. She knew that he had felt responsible for the fate of his little sister. He had carried the guilt that he was somehow to blame for her abduction like a heavy timber strapped across his shoulders since he was twelve years old. No amount of reasoning, penance, or words of absolution had ever lightened the burden that he had taken up so long ago. In his mind, it would always remain his fault. It was what had initially prompted him to be an investigator, and it was what fueled his unwavering quest for the truth today. Now it seemed to Dana as though that passion had ebbed away.

Scully had been his partner for more than five years and during that time they had been through some incredible situations. Scully's mind touched briefly on some of their better arguments for a moment, and she couldn't keep a hint of a smile from forming on her lips. Boy, she acknowledged, We've had some great fights. Proving him wrong is better than se... Well anyway, she amended, we've had some great fights.

Her thoughts then turned to some of the darker times that they'd shared. She and Mulder had only been partners for a year when she had been abducted. Scully's mother had told her about that time. Margaret Scully described how Fox, as she called him, had been relentless in his search. She had said that he had been frantic with worry, anger, and sorrow. Even still, he had been there with her mother as Margaret Scully had gone to collect the head stone for her baby girl who had been presumed dead after months of fruitless searching.

Then, after all of those months, Dana had turned up mysteriously at a local hospital. She had been clinging to a thin reed of life; comatose and critical. Scully's mom had told her of Mulder's reaction when she'd been found. She had told Dana of his crushing guilt and grief over what he had been powerless to change.

Defying the odds, she had recovered. Scully recalled lying in a hospital bed surrounded by vases brimming over with flowers. Her mother had sat near a window and her sister near her bedside. The door had opened and Mulder had shuffled self-consciously into the room. He had ambled past the threshold nervously looking to the left then to the right acknowledging the presence of her mom and sister. Only then had he allowed himself to turn to her. For the first time in months, he had gazed fully upon her face and looked into her eyes. Pure joy had radiated from his face for an instant. The jolt of emotion that had rocketed through her had been overpowering. It had been as though so many feelings flooded her senses at once, that no words could have described the power of the experience. She only knew that at that moment, she had never been happier to see anyone in her life. And when he had placed her delicate cross gently into her palm, she had felt a sense of belonging that she still didn't quite understand but accepted all the same.

The memory of that moment brought forth an ache in her chest and caused her throat to tighten. Her blue eyes shown with unshed tears as her mind drifted to an even darker time.

Cancer. The black, lingering legacy of her abduction, still terrified her. She blinked and the tears spilled over their embankments before being brushed back quickly with the crook of her index finger. She was in full remission, but logically, she knew that she shouldn't be. In all likelihood, she would have died had Mulder not dealt with their cigarette-smoking nemesis for the technology capable of abating the illness. The whole episode hadn't made much sense. Since then, she had tried to concentrate on the life that she had been re-given rather than to dwell on the disease that had almost beaten her. Mostly, she just didn't think about it.

Mulder thinks about it. She told herself sadly. Mulder thinks about it every day. Before her remission, she had been hospitalized with the bleakest of prognoses. Mulder had crept into her room late at night, and she had awoken to the mournful sound of his sobs as he knelt beside her hospital bed in the darkness. His tears fell against her hand as he grieved for her and for every other moment of helplessness in his life. It had taken every grain of restraint she'd possessed to feign sleep rather than to open her eyes and cradle him in her arms. It tore at her then. It haunted him still.

And then, several months ago, Mulder had saved her life yet again. After the explosive destruction of the Dallas Federal Building, the Bureau had offered the two of them as public-relation's sacrificial lambs. Along their journey to clear themselves and to shed light on the international consortium involved, she and her partner had found evidence of cross-genic pollination intended to usher in the next plague. As usual, once they had gotten too close to uncovering the ugly truth, the FBI had re-assigned them to different sections in a plan to disband their successful partnership.

Frustrated beyond reason, Scully had arrived at Mulder's apartment with the unwelcome news and her intentions to leave the FBI. Mulder, refusing to let her go, had divulged that he needed her, not only to continue their work on the X-files, but also because she completed him. He had then confessed that he would be lost without her by his side. His admission and his unconditional support had left her vulnerable. Then, unexpectedly, their embrace of platonic comfort had evolved into something of a different nature; a romantic nature. The look in his eyes as he had leaned in to kiss her had forever been etched in her mind. Unfortunately, as quickly as the moment had arrived, it had fled when an Africanized honeybee had stung her neck, causing her to jerk suddenly away from Mulder's lips.

Perhaps the moment could have been recaptured had it not been for the virulent agent transmitted by that sting. She recalled lying on the floor in Mulder's hallway, lapsing into shock, her mind screaming over and over again for help though she could utter no sound. "Save me, Mulder," she had tried to shout and failed with her last conscious effort.

Then, like a knight in shining armor on a fiery steed, he had come to her rescue in with a magical potion to awaken her from unnatural repose. Well, she mused, it was more like a rogue FBI agent in a Parka, on a stolen snow tractor, and an alien anti-viral-drug--but who's counting? He had saved her and that was all that was important. He had retrieved her from frozen stasis in Antarctica, revived her a second time when she had ceased to breath in the midst of horrifying chaos, and then carried her over what seemed to have been an impossible distance to safety. By her account, it had been at least the third time that he had brought her back from the brink of death.

In the time that had elapsed since then, their relationship had become more strained. Now at least, she felt as though she had some insight into the cause of his rededication to isolation. Mulder had apparently added her to the weight already borne upon his back. It tugged at him, pulling him under. It was wearing him down. It robbed him of his enthusiasm and passion.

If that's why he's been shutting me out and acting so abrasively polite, not even calling to share his latest far fetched theories, then he deserves to have his butt kicked by my size six boot. You're not responsible for me! I thought that we had settled this a long while ago. Scully pitched her head back and raised her voice to the ceiling. "Mulder, you are such a, such a," unable to find the right words, she let out a frustrated groan and punched a couch cushion into submission.

It had been months since she had been on overnight adventure with him. Not that she would ever admit it to him, but she could use a good werewolf watch, or town meeting called to discuss the dramatic increase of flying squirrel deaths near an old high school that had been built over an Indian burial ground, or something like that. She smiled wryly. She kind of missed Mulder's incessant ramblings about myths, legends, and the great beyond. She missed the arguments. She missed the friendly baiting between them. She missed rolling her eyes at him. Actually, she just missed Mulder.

No way is he sneaking in and out of the office at dawn and leaving me busy work written on a stupid post-it note, She decided. We have got to talk about this before he starts cutting my meat, and patting me on the head like I'm a senile old aunt or something. "Starting tomorrow, things are going to change."



*****



Scully breezed into the basement office at 5:30 a.m. Dropping her bag, she swept around Mulder's desk. "Morning!" Scully beamed brightly from just behind Mulder's right ear causing him to jump, dropping the pencil that he had been studying when she had entered. She bent forward over his shoulder as she reached for the pencil. Her hair brushed his cheek and ear causing him to jerk to the side away from her.

"Jeez Scully, don't sneak up on me like that." He said impatiently.

She picked up discarded yellow No. 2 pencil, examining it closely. A perfect eyebrow arched as she tried to gauge his reaction. "Uh, I didn't." She looked from the pencil to Mulder and back again before inquiring sarcastically, "You two want to be alone?"

He shot her a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about-Scully look from the corner of his eye. She perched on the edge of his desk, propping herself over her hand braced against the center of his desk as she bent lower to see his face. Man, he hated when she did that. She probably had no idea that her body language held an ever-present catch-me-if-you-can invitation. He tried to ignore her, turning his attention to the file on his desk.

As Scully peered down at her partner, a flash of concern for his distracted demeanor crossed her features. Pushing herself upright she held the writing implement up to the light, then in her best newscaster voice, she asked, "graphite alien embryo or common pencil? You make the call." She finished by placing the pencil up to his mouth like a microphone. "Any comments?" Strike one. He didn't even smirk at her attempt.. Instead he looked back down at his desk and flipped open a file folder staring at the first page intently for more than 30 seconds. This was strange for two reasons; reason number one, he typically devoured information at an incredibly fast pace, assimilating it instantly then storing it in his photographic memory, and reason number two, the file was upside down.

A worried crease depressed Scully's forehead as she watched her partner from above. She slowly walked around his desk, her finger trailing its metal rim as she rounded the corner. He still didn't look up. Stopping in front of him, she leaned forward, bowing her head to meet his gaze. He didn't so much as nod in her direction at the obvious intrusion of his personal space. She tapped the folder. "It works better this way." She turned the folder right side up. No reaction. "Is it ignore your partner day, or did I miss a memo?" Still no response. Strike two.

"Mulder!" She said forcefully this time. "What gives?" He met her eyes and shrugged, then returned to his intricate perusal of the case file before him. Annoyed, she poked his shoulder with the pencil. "Hey! I'm talking to you."

He exhaled like a petulant teenager, taking extra care to close the folder and shove it forward on his desk. Then, with brows raised and an irksome smile painfully tugging at his mouth, he dawned, "yeeesss?"

Scully yanked a chair over to the side of his desk. She sat down than deliberately exhaled a calming breath. Quelling her anger, she opened her eyes, ready for a calm discussion. Mulder's arms were crossed defensively. His jaw was set. He was waiting for her to say her peace. Scully hated when he did this, and he knew it. "Um, any day now, I've got work to do." He defied.

Okay, you got his attention. She opened her mouth to speak but was surprised to find that she didn't quite know where to start or what to say. "Coffee?" She offered as she bounded out of her chair and over to the coffee pot.

"What?"

"Would. You. Like. Some. Coffee?" She repeated slowly as if he were learning impaired. When he didn't answer immediately she turned away from him and reached for the ancient electric percolator that sat balanced on two phone books and a torn "Victoria's Secret" catalog--she really didn't want to know about the catalog. An array of stir sticks, sweetener packets, and coffee grounds were affixed to the counter; sinking into a black gelatinous pool of aging coffee spills. "Yuk!" She said in disgust. "When's the last time you cleaned this up? The trash can's there for a reason, you know?" She started to wipe the counter with a stack of napkins from various take out restaurants, sighing aggravatedly when the thin paper stuck to the counter, adding to the mess.

Mulder stood silently, pausing to look skyward for a moment. He then watched her for a few seconds as she set about the task of cleaning up for him. He noticed that, even when she was pissed off, she still carried a certain grace, a certain peace, and a certain resolution. Mainly, it was her resolution that concerned him now.

She was still trying her best to pry the sticky goo from its final Formica resting place, when she felt him touch her elbow. A slight surge of adrenaline at his point of contact caused her to drop a stir stick back into the caffeinated abyss. "Have you ever been to La Brea?" She was nervous. "I'm half expecting to find a woolly mammoth stuck in this tarry sludge." She was stalling.

Mulder placed his hand lightly upon her shoulders in a familiar gesture of encouragement. He slowly turned her around to face him. Scully saw a look of gentleness in his eyes followed quickly by a flash of sadness. It was a gut-wrenching expression offered in the past to console and to ease Scully. Even so, sometimes that look opened a tiny window into his soul through which she could see and feel the depths of his sadness and isolation. Whenever she had been hurt physically or emotionally, he had looked at her that way. It went beyond compassion. It went beyond sympathy. It was the kind of look that let her know that no matter how badly she felt, he felt worse just knowing that she was troubled or in pain. At such times, she knew absolutely that he would trade places with her, even give his life for her given the opportunity.

Usually, Fox Mulder stayed so preoccupied by his work that he seemed oblivious to the plights of others unless they pertained to himself, of course. Scully knew that there was a lot more to him than his obsessions. Unfortunately, his empathetic visage was quickly forced into exile behind some invisible barrier in his mind. Inevitably, his blank, cool mask would return. After that happened, Mulder was Mulder, and Mulder--caring, selfish, or just plain spooky, needed to hear what she had to say.

"Scully," he implored impatiently, "Any idea about when you're going to get to the point?"

Scully surrendered her battle with the coffee ick, squared her shoulders, and began to spill what had been building up for months. "Mulder, I appreciate that you've been doing more than your share of the work lately and that, coffee pot aside, you've been making quite an effort not to *bother* me. I think that I can almost understand why you haven't wanted me along on any of the more dangerous assignments lately."

"So what's your problem then?" he interjected defensively. Mulder noted her I'm-not screwing-around-here tone and the telltale flush of red across her cheeks. Mulder fought the urge for a "you're beautiful when you're angry" crack, knowing that it would definitely not serve his purpose.

"You're driving me nuts! That's the problem." she blurted.

She searched his face for any hint of understanding. Mulder blinked, exhaled a breath and continued to stand perfectly still, arms folded across his chest, impenetrable eyes focused on her. She waited another couple of seconds for a reaction. Any reaction. She considered jabbing the heal of her pumps into his foot just to make sure that he was awake then thought better of it. Instead, she stepped past him and moved briskly to the desk, "Mulder, we need to make some changes around here if we intend to keep working together."

Not good, Mulder thought. Not good at all. He cautiously ventured, "What do you have in mind?"

Okay, now we're getting somewhere, Scully thought as she drew up the courage to continue. "We're not working together as a team anymore. I mean, I know that that was the original idea, at least that's what our supervisors had intended, but that isn't the way we had been working for," she paused, trying to decide for how long they'd been acting like partners, not just as colleagues, "for," her mind lit from one case to another as she stammered, trying to come up with a finite time span and found that there was nothing finite about their relationship, or rather, professional partnership, she amended mentally. "Anyway Mulder, one of the few predictable things in my life is that we work on weird cases, at unusual hours. We argue our diametrically opposed views. You pester me. I berate you. We back each other up. Everyone goes home happy."

Mulder suppressed a smirk at her summations then leaned against a file cabinet, shifting his weight to one leg, crossing it with the opposite foot casually in what Scully thought of as his Cary Grant stance. He reached into his suit pocket where his fingers fumbled a bit until they latched upon the object of their quest, a single sunflower seed. He popped the seed into his mouth and slowly glanced up at Scully, eyebrows raised, questioning silently. "We're working together Scully. What's the big deal?" he quipped hoping that he had sounded as cavalier about her concerns as he meant to.

"The big deal is that you haven't even included me on our last three investigations. You didn't even ask for my input before you filed the reports. Oh, and yeah; you even wrote up the reports yourself. You haven't called my apartment in weeks, and you're so distant when we are in the office together." A part of Scully's brain registered that fact that she sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Don't even go there Dana, she told herself. Redirecting she asked, "Are we still partners?"

Mulder kept his eyes bent on the floor for a while then slowly, he met her gaze. Sometimes, like now, he would start to say something to her and just as the words would form, he would look into her eyes and loose his train of thought, sometimes even loose himself, She'd make a great snake charmer. No cobra would stand a chance against those hypnotic eyes, he thought before regrouping to continue their discussion. "What is it that you want me to say, Scully?" He shrugged his shoulders and set his jaw.

"Why have you been sneaking in at the crack of dawn then taking off for days at a time without any information about where to meet you. All I get is a stupid post-it with delineated jobs a trained seal could do. Why are you avoiding me other than treating me like a secretary from 1952?" She held him with her eyes and continued. "Why are you acting like this, Mulder? Give me a reason. You're bored? You're restless? You're ready for a new partner? You're dating? You need more fiber in your diet? Your sign is in retro? What???"

As Scully threw out possibilities, it occurred to her for the first time that the reason that he had become less forthcoming and intrusive could have more to do with another woman than with the work that she and Mulder did and their friendship. For the tiniest of moments, she felt a pang of what could only be described as jealousy. She swiftly rebuffed herself for the foolish thought then implored, "Give me a reason, and then maybe we can work it out."

For a man who had a seemingly unending litany about theories for behavior, Mulder stood before her dumb struck, unable or unwilling to explain himself. Scully waited a small eternity. He shrugged again and began to return to his desk. Scully grabbed his forearms and pulled herself between Mulder and his chair, into his line of site. She stared into his eyes, dismayed by the defeat that she saw there. "If you don't want to work together anymore, it will be better if you just tell me." Although she tried to hide the hurt in her voice, it cut through Mulder who closed his eyes against the searing pain. Before he had a chance to recover, he found himself shaking an emphatic "NO" in response to her supposition.

"Mulder," she said more softly, concern laced through each syllable, "if you are doing this to protect me or to shelter me from danger, then try to cut it out. *You* are not responsible for me." He looked away from her and shook his head from side to side. Once again, his eyes closed against some foe or knowledge that he alone could see.

Scully tried once more. She reached up until her fingers were touching his cheek. His resolute sigh filled the otherwise quiet room. She turned his face to meet hers, then lowered her voice, "*You* are not responsible for me." He nodded in solemn concession. Unconvinced, Scully angled her head again to intercept his unreadable features, her brow furrowed, and asked, "Okay?"

Mulder didn't trust his voice to speak without wavering at the moment. The concern in her beautiful eyes had always been his undoing. He wanted to tell her that she'd been imagining things, that everything was just business as usual. He wanted to lie to her, to tell her that he wanted to move on without her. He wanted to tell her the truth. But right now, he settled for simply nodding at her again and forcing a weak smile to the surface.

Scully was now more confused than ever. She'd expected to spar with him or to be quickly dismissed. This defeated acceptance was unexpected and very disturbing. There was something bigger going on here. Bigger than guilt or indifference over you, a little voice inside her head chided. Scully mused that maybe an over developed sense of self importance might be contagious. She was about to inquire about any other problems that he might be having when the sound of someone clearing his throat startled her. She turned to find Assistant Director Walter Skinner standing in the doorway.

Skinner's expression was typically one of duty, frustration, and fatigue. Scully marveled at the stark curiosity and possible bemusement on his features instead. It was only then that she realized that her hand was still on Mulder's cheek. Like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, she jerked the offending arm away and hurriedly tucked it behind her back. With one fluid stride, she deposited herself in front of her supervisor. Then, with more forced fervor than she had intended, she expelled, "What can we do for you , Sir?"

Skinner took a moment to examine her affect then peered over his glasses at a very nonchalant Agent Mulder who was trying his best not to crack a smile at the picture that he and Scully must have made. Skinner decided that he wasn't going to comment on the possible, but in his mind, not probable romantic relationship between these two agents.

There were at least three betting pools that *he* knew about in this building alone that kept tabs on when, where, and how agents Mulder and Scully would go public or be caught in the act of an illicit tryst. Agency gossip mongers paid careful attention to any touch, gaze, or bit of dialog between the supposed star-crossed duo that didn't seem to be on the up and up. Tongue wagers frequently commented on the incredible chemistry between the two, stating that only a fool would believe that these single, smart, and attractive people could have been side-by-side on countless overnight trips and in the relative privacy of their basement office for more than five years and never have so much as kissed.

Skinner would have been inclined to believe the rumors if he hadn't seen the professional manor in which they conducted themselves in and out of the office throughout countless harrowing experiences. There *was* something odd about their rapport. But hell, Skinner posed as he looked around the cramped basement compartment wallpapered with a mixture of paranormal accounts, medical articles, and take-out menus, there was something odd about pretty much everything they did. Yes, Skinner would love to be a fly on the wall and witness the whole story, but he seriously doubted that it would involve the wild desk orgies or any of the other "sightings" that supposedly happened. Still, Dana had looked awfully guilty there for a minute...

Scully took the folder offered to her by the Assistant Director. Skinner then stepped back to include Mulder and began, "I want the two of you to prioritize this case. Frankly, I'm not even sure if it falls into our jurisdiction or if it is even credible enough to warrant our attention, but I've received some external pressure to look into it. Skinner suddenly appeared embarrassed to be there, pivoting from one foot to the other and glancing at his watch. "Surveil the primary sight tonight and keep me posted," he turned on his heel to leave then added over his shoulder, "I'll be away from the office tomorrow, but you should be able to catch me tomorrow evening." With that, he was gone.

Mulder sat on the corner of his desk, grinning broadly. Scully pinned him with an icy glare to let him know that she was less than amused at the lack of office decorum that Skinner most likely believed to be the norm down here in the "basement of love" as termed by a fifth floor secretary overheard by them in a crowded elevator. "Oh come on," he tossed. "That was funny."

It was, she thought while trying not to smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. She drank in the sight of his boyish smile, and her heart lifted.

"Why are we meeting with Skinner tomorrow night?

Scully couldn't pass up an opportunity for a little teasing of her own. Eyes widened with pretend innocence, "You tell me. I saw the way you two were looking at each other." Rolling his eyes at her, he reached for the file in her hands. She offered her best speculative expression and added, "Sorry. Don't ask. Don't tell, right?" Mulder lunged forward and snatched the folder from her grasp then whacked her on the butt with it before she could jump out of range. She let out a surprised yelp with a trace of a giggle at his playful attack.

That's more like it, she thought. The atmosphere in the room had changed from oppressive to jovial. He's back. Scully took the first deep breath she had taken in weeks.

Skinner had just rounded the stair well when he heard Agent Scully's shriek of laughter. He paused and looked back over his shoulder again, thinking that maybe he should pay more attention to office gossip after all.

*****

An enormous black rat scampered across a row of dumpsters that lined a non-descript ally in the heart of Washington DC. Recent rain diminished the stench rising from the heaps of garbage but not enough to prevent passers-by from holding their breaths automatically. One small man dressed in black hurriedly made his way down the stinking corridor. A streetlight in the distance silhouetted his form briefly as he cautiously glanced right, then left before squeezing between two trash receptacles and disappearing from sight.

The man stopped in front of what appeared to be a non-functional utility panel covered in dust and tangles of wires popping in and out of various circuit breaker ports. He lifted a gloved hand toward the panel and began to flip various breakers. He then stepped back as the panel slid grudgingly to the side revealing a hidden freight elevator leading to a sub- basement. Raising the grate, he nodded at the camera that he knew was watching him prior to being cleared to enter the chamber below. The lift started with a jolt and lowered its mysterious passenger to where his associates awaited his presence.

By virtue of almost always working with guarded information obtained from a myriad of sources that often demanded anonymity, his job had very few perks, but he could honestly say that he rather enjoyed the work. Few people were as good at obtaining covert information and passing it along to interested parties. He would put his team up against any other agency, official or not. His associates had hidden in plain sight for years in this town. Despite all of close calls and risked exposures, their identities had remained unknown and their location secure.

He loved this elevator. It evoked the kind of fantasy images played out in a James Bond film. Secret passages, exotic locals, a bevy of beauties at his beck and call, and a dangerous fem fatal named something as improbable as Pussy Galore. Well, he had the secret location part anyway . Still, he wouldn't complain if he *had* to work with a "Bond Girl". The elevator landed with a solid thud, jarring him back to reality. He refocused on his mission.

This mission was just about as high stakes as they came. One mistake and, he tamped down the notion. He discarded his raincoat, hanging it near the door, before making his way into a dimly lit room filled with a wide array of technology. Surveillance devices, computers, shop tools, and satellite equipment were crammed together along the countertops. Each had its own purpose and functioned in perfect symbiosis with the other modules.

Two of his partners were engrossed in reading some of the documents procured during their initial reconnaissance.

Still brushing the rain from his head and shirtfront, the eldest and decidedly the most authoritative interrupted the younger men. "Anything useful yet?"

"Possibly, but nothing conclusive so far. We need to get access to Mulder's encoded records and his new entrees. Basically, all we need is for him to log on-line once then write an encoded text on or off line and we can use those codes to gain access to everything that we need via the link I installed last night." After reporting his findings, he scratched at his chin thoughtfully and added, "Has anyone given any thought to the possible scenarios if our group or our inside contact is exposed prior to meeting the mission objectives?"

The leader stepped closer and stated in a forceful but level tone, "This mission *will* be a success. These two," nodding at a still photograph of Special Agents Mulder and Scully, "can't run forever. *We* will be the ones to assure their fall." His fist hit the print with and emphatic "Whump." "They've had it coming for a long time."

The leader then addressed the other man who had positioned himself between the others and a row of monitors each of which possessed the capacity to display different real-time images from Mulder and Scully's apartments. "Has anything turned up on video?"

"Nothing usable unless we decide to go into the adult video business." That got everyone's' attention.

"What did you see?" The other men said practically in unison.

Toying with his peers he continued, "Well nothing except for how good Agent Dana Scully looks in the morning..."

"Wrapped in a towel"

"You didn't?" warned the leader.

"Slipping into a hot shower..."

"Yah, go on." said the other, nearly falling off of his stool in the process.

"Her body visible from behind the thin shower curtain..."

The leader gave a snort of disbelief and slapped the other man on the shoulder. "There are no cameras in that room. I was there. Nice try. Now, can we get back on track?"

Taking in their commander's ire, the other men snapped immediately out of their respective fantasies. Switching off several monitors, one turned back to the other, pausing only long enough to adjust an eyepiece against the bridge of his nose. "Did they take the bait?"

"Skinner gave them the assignment this morning. They'll be at the warehouse tonight. Is everything in place?

"Absolutely. No escape."

*****

"Why do I always let myself get talked into these things?" sighed an increasingly disgruntled Scully into the cold, wet air.

Mulder plopped down beside her. The half rotten boards of the dock groaned and creaked at the sudden resistance. He blew a quick burst of warm air into his cupped hands before slapping them together again in an attempt to distribute some of the warmth to his numbing fingers. He spied his partner out of the corner of his eye as she tried futilely to untangle her line and hook from the overspun reel propped between her knees in a veritable nest of nylon. A flustered Scully was a rarity. He had to force himself not to smile at the picture that she made.

The idea had been to blend in with some of the locals in the wharf area while surveiling the warehouse directly across from them. He'd told her to wear something dark, nondescript, and warm. So there she sat; black slacks, black turtleneck, black overcoat, and to his complete dismay, her ever-present four-inch healed boots. How does she walk in those let alone run? he pondered in amazement as he glanced at her crossed legs swinging quickly back and forth over the murky water. To finish the look, she was wearing a dark knit hat rolled down as far as it would reach. Auburn tresses peeked out from underneath here and there.

As she continued to wrest with the knotted twine, Fox Mulder thought that she looked more like an underage actor from "Oliver Twist" than a seasoned FBI investigator. Deciding to keep that commentary to himself he prodded, "You're not having fun?" Scully glowered up at him then let out a frustrated puff aimed at a lock of hair that dangled annoyingly above one eye "See if I ever take *you* fishing again." Mulder joked. With nothing better to do, he kept on teasing her good-naturedly. "The fresh sea air, the lulling rhythm of the waves lapping at the pier, the tireless battle of man--uh, sorry--woman against nature..." He paused for dramatic emphasis. "What's not to love?"

Rhetorical question or not, Scully was not going to leave his remarks unanswered. Shoving the rod and reel aside, she began to enumerate her peeves of the moment. "Let's see," she began. "It's cold. My lips are chapped. I hate fishing. I'm probably getting a butt full of splinters from this dilapidated dock, and, in case I forgot to mention it, I'm cold." She huffed the last of her tirade.

Mulder knew that she was at least half kidding. This woman had been to hell and back more times than Persephone. She was a lot tougher-skinned than most of the big, manly-men-Marine-type agents at the bureau. Still, he had to admit, they had been staked out for over two hours and the most excitement they'd seen so far was two rats fighting over the same fish head. He too was beginning to question the merits of the sit-here-and-wait plan, and it was awfully damned cold for the first of November. He decided that distraction was his best bet with his unhappy colleague. "Well," he leaned toward her and offered his best suggestive leer, "as your partner, and purely as a professionally related courtesy, mind you," he leaned closer, "I'd be glad to help to remove any splinters that become lodged in your derriere." He pulled back and winked. He was just as proud of his ability to land a flirtatious comment as he was of his ability to accurately cast his fishing line with one lazy sweep.

Normally, Scully would have rebuked him immediately for his remark, usually falling back on false shock or propriety. Today however, she was more in the mood to give him a taste of his own medicine. "Joke all you want, but I'm really not kidding about the, Ouch!." she twisted her torso to one side and grimaced. "Jeez, had to happen where I can't see." She rolled onto the other hip, her backside now pointed in Mulder's general direction. She started to hike her heavy wool coat up and over the injured area. "There are some tweezers and a flash light in my duffel," she called over her shoulder. Then in a huskier voice she asked, "Do you think that you could find it and pull it out for me?"

The only sound was the creaking dock against the tide and the distant drone of a tugboat engine. Mulder kneeled beside her. His mind kept telling him to stop staring at the curve of her hip and to start looking for the tools. He found himself cotton-mouthed at the prospect of searching Scully's bottom for a tiny sliver of wood. He turned back around with the tweezers and flashlight in hand and pondered, What am I supposed to do now? A bead of sweat rolled from his brow despite the cold. It was then that he felt rather than saw Scully crack a smile. Hey, who's screwing around with whom here?! he asked himself.

Just then, the relative silence was broken by a short outburst of laughter. "Made ya look," she exclaimed triumphantly. Mulder gave her a quick slap on the hip causing her to laugh a little harder at him, pleased with herself for getting him for a change.

At that moment, she was actually glad to be there on that dock in a neighborhood so rough that even gang members probably steered clear after dark. Sure, they were arguing. She was extremely cold, and there was no sign of this "spectral entity" from Ireland that they were after. Still, after the last few tense months, she was happy to be exchanging sarcastic commentary with her partner, even though her inner voice warned that she was starting to get a pretty warped sense of fun.

Mulder turned back around to face her holding his palm over one eye. Then, in his best pirate voice he commanded, "Argh. Any more out to you, Cabinboy, and you'll be a walkin' the plank."

"Cabinboy? How did I get demoted to cabinboy?" she asked with all of the false indignation she could gather.

"Sure. Just look at you, Scully." He tugged on the side of her cap then abruptly released it causing it to snap back to her temple. "You're prime cabinboy material." He sized her up visually and nodded to himself.

Scully wasn't sure why it mattered to her that she was *just* cabinboy material, but it did. They were playing after all. Mulder had always acted with self-importance. It was in his nature to do so. She was becoming accustomed to his superiority complex. It still bugged the hell out of her, but she'd learned to live with it, mostly. Some control freaks are born not made she'd decided. But Cabinboy??? she weighed perplexed. He sees me as a cabinboy?

Pouting a bit, not that he'd notice, she pushed the rod and reel another few inches away from her. When she pulled her hand away, a fishing hook pierced her thumb. "Ouch!" she said a little louder than she had wanted.

"What is it?" Mulder pressed with concern for her in his voice.

"I got a fish hook in my thumb." Biting the corner of her lip, she held her injured thumb up against the distant harbor lights for a better view.

Mulder gruffed, "Nice try *Cabinboy*, but I'm not falling for it a second time, so quit yer' squallin' and go swab the deck or something," he ordered then gave her a light punch on the arm for emphasis.

Scully held her tongue lest she say something that she might regret. She wasn't sure which made her the maddest, his discount of her injury or the use of what was destined to become her nickname of the week. It was suddenly like being seven years old again with her brothers.

"Crybaby-crybaby!" they sang at her as she lay at the base of the tree fort with a broken collarbone. She drew in a breath of air slowly through the gap of her missing front baby tooth. Pain had lanced through her burning a pathway from neck to shoulder. She had forced herself to stop crying and had walked home by herself, the medial tip of her clavicle protruding slightly from her chest, the blood and bone hidden from the boys by her favorite red sweater. She wasn't about to be called a crybaby again.

Fine. I'll get the damn hook out myself, she resolved with increasing animosity. She fished a Swiss army knife out of her bag and began the awkward task of cutting the barbed end so that she could pull the hook back through. The small scissors were in her left hand. Clumsily, she angled the shears around the thin aluminum hook. She pressed the scissors handle down to clip, but the knife jacket pitched to one side and then slid from her fingers. Her hand darted forth in an effort to recover it but fumbled the attempt. Helplessly, she watched her father's knife fall to the water and disappear forever beneath the splash. "Shit! I can't believe I did that. Damn-it!" she said with dismay.

"Well, you're starting to sound more like a sailor anyway." He searched her profile in the dim, rippling light that cascaded over her fine features as she leaned over the dock's edge peering into he depths of the water. She was definitely not playing this time. "What happened?" he asked with no insincerity in his voice.

Scully closed her eyes and counted to ten. It wasn't his fault that she'd lost one of her most prized possessions. "I've got a hook in my thumb, and I just sent my father's knife to a watery grave."

Mulder felt like a heel. He should have believed her earlier. Just like you not to notice, he admonished himself. He knew how special that knife was to her. She might dismiss its passing lightly, but he understood that she would mourn later for the little link to her father that it had represented. "Here," he grasped her wrist lightly and pulled her closer, "let me see if I can get it."

Despite all of the gore and oddities he had seen, the site of a hook completely through Scully's thumb made his stomach roil. He reflected that any other woman would be going on about it like a panicked hen, but not his Scully. She sat calmly giving him instructions on how to break off the barb without doing more tissue damage. The task proved to be far more difficult than either one of them had initially thought. The hook was too small to provide an even space between the barb and her skin. After a few attempts, Scully informed him that he needed to push on the top of the hook while squeezing the flesh of her thumb against it in order to have enough leeway to break off the end. Mulder looked up at her questionably, obviously not wanting to hurt her.

Poor lighting aside, Scully noticed that Mulder was looking a little green around the gills. To distract him a little, she joked, "I heard that the only way that a cabinboy could be promoted was by proving himself with an act of bravery. Isn't that true captain?"

Mulder smiled gently at her attempt to put *him* at ease and returned the favor. "Argh, that be so, young matie. Know ye any sea chanties?" Mulder questioned, raising his gaze over her knuckles. She smiled, and he congratulated himself for succeeding in distracting her.

"Sea chanties?" she bellowed. "The best right of passage you can come up with is sea chanties? Some pirate you've turned out to be." She chided, grinning now in earnest as she shook her head from side to side in mock disbelief.

"This here's me ship, and its sea chanties you'll be a singin'." Mulder made a big production out of clearing his throat in preparation for the much-anticipated chantie. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer...Sing!" he commanded and she joined in, "take one down, pass it around..."

"Snap!"

"Mmmmuph!" Scully managed to stifle a yelp in reaction to Mulder's surprise move that dislodged the embedded hook. She examined the thumb briefly, impressed at his ability to sing badly and perform first aide simultaneously. Before releasing her hand, Mulder inspected the small wound, then did something that astonished them both. Without thought, Mulder placed a tender kiss on her thumb and pronounced it "all better." Both of them realized at the same exact millisecond that it was a gesture that transgressed their professional relationship.

Changing the subject, Scully stated, "So we've been freezing on this dock, trying to blend in enough so as not to attract muggers, periodically staring at the dark and obviously abandoned warehouse for over two hours now waiting for a spectral Irish guardian to appear and lead us to a shipment of weapons destined for the IRA. Do I have this right?"

"Pretty much," he deadpanned.

"Why us? Why not the local police, the ATF, or the CIA?" Scully strongly suspected that Mulder also wondered why they had been singled out for this assignment. She had the basics down. She just liked the way Mulder told tales.

"This case isn't just about the weapons. They are just a part of what has been going on. Look over there." He motioned towards the warehouse, "What do you see?"

Here it comes, she considered with trepidation. "A dark and quiet building."

"Exactly, but if you look over at the other two warehouses, you'll see homeless people in the doorways and around barrel fires."

"Yes, so?" her arm made circles to cut to the chase.

"Why would people choose to stay outdoors huddled next to occupied buildings when they could easily go inside of our warehouse for shelter."

"Point taken, but what does this have to do with us?" She knew better than to ask, but curiosity always won out.

Indicating the building again, he began, "One week ago, a couple of dock workers showed up at a local police station, ranting and raving about having seen a ghost in front of that warehouse. They claimed that if they made any motion to enter the building, a chill would fall over them and the apparition would appear."

"So three workers got plastered, paranoid, and delusional. Big deal. Besides, who wouldn't feel a chill out here?" she concluded before tucking her hands up under her arms in an attempt to ward off the cold as a light drizzle started to fall.

"That's just it, Scully. They weren't drunk, not even close. Also, they weren't the only ones to see it. Apparently, Interpol tracked an incoming shipment of arms to a local dealer who is pro-IRA and under suspicion of illegally shipping arms in two other cases. The CIA's investigation determined that the weapons would be leaving out of this port, bound for the IRA ten days ago on a commercial steamer named the Morning Sun." Mulder paused.

Scully challenged, "Yeah, and?"

"The shipment never arrived."

"You mean that Interpol never found the weapons?"

"No, I mean that according to this, thumping the file sticking out of the duffel, "the boat never arrived in the states to collect the weapons. The harbormaster has no record of the ship even though the captain had listed this port as his destination on the manifest.

"So the CIA screwed up, not the first time. I'm still not getting why we're here when no one has recovered any weapons after a port search."

"Now, this is where it starts to get weird...," he continued his dissertation.

"Doesn't it always?" she mumbled under her breath.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Three sailors claiming to be from the Morning Sun told the authorities that an angel appeared to the captain and warned him not to pick up the illegal shipment. They reported that the five crewmen had pleaded with the captain not to enter into the port, but that he had persisted. They alleged that she appeared a second time, this time to the entire crew, barring entrance to the shipping lane. Then her face had turned angry, and the last thing they remembered was an explosion of light and noise. Thrown clear of the destruction, they swam several miles to the shore. According to the file, the only lead that anyone has on the weapons now is that there have been several sightings of an angelic ghost wandering in and out of that warehouse." Mulder glanced at Scully out of the corner of his eye. Damn, this is fun, he reflected. He had been missing this much more than he had realized. He missed her more than he'd realized.

"So," she teased, "are we going to make S'mores now and sing camp fire songs?" She met his glare at her sarcasm. "It's a great ghost story, Mulder. But, and I will hate myself later for asking, since when are ghost sightings leads for the CIA, Interpol, or the DEA to follow? Scully braced herself for the barrage of words that he was about hurl in her direction. Here it comes, she purposed, Mulder Theory 101.

"I assume that we got the case because we've either earned a reputation," Scully snorted and Mulder held up a hand to quell her cynical commentary, "or that no one else wanted to look into it. I imagine that..." His gaze drifted over Scully's shoulder to the warehouse behind her. He sat absolutely still, transfixed.

"Mulder?" Before she could ask about what had captured his attention, he was on his feet and halfway down the dock. She raised her eyes to heaven, simultaneously venting her frustration and praying for God to give her just a little more patience tonight. Scooping up the duffel bag, she sprinted down the dock after him.

The freezing drizzle was rapidly coating the dock and concrete with a thin glaze of black ice. Mulder stepped on a patch of it and skidded forward a few feet before stopping abruptly on a curb causing him to pitch head first onto the narrow sidewalk. The stumble cost him just enough time to allow Scully to catch up with him.

She hunched forward, hands propped on her thighs as she caught her breath from the sprint. Meanwhile, Mulder had pushed himself up and had begun to rattle the doorknob for entry into the building. He smacked the door with his palms in frustration.

"It's locked." he pronounced.

"Ya think? Mind telling me what in the world has gotten into you?" The weather continued to worsen. Fog and drizzle blended together creating a cold and wet blanket covering everything around them . It seemed to Scully that it was somehow alive as it rolled in from the sea, swallowing the landscape as it came. It was creepy, not that she'd ever tell Mulder or anyone else for that matter. She hated fog. It wasn't a rational fear for an extremely rational woman, but there it was all the same. The gathering mist made her feel lost. Aliens, serial killers, and sea monsters under my belt and I'm still freaked out by a little fog? Get over it, she ordered herself.

Mulder paced the building front looking for any point of entry such as a window, vent, or sewer grate. The wheels were turning. After more than five years, Scully knew for a fact that nothing good ever happened once he started to plot. She also knew that, in lieu of her better judgment, she'd be swept along in whatever scheme he concocted.

"Didn't you see it?" Mulder asked, too preoccupied to wait for her answer.

"See what Mulder? It's pea soup out here." He was already around the side of the warehouse. She shrugged and followed his path. He perched on a dumpster and peered into a small window. "See what?" she repeated.

"There was a green light that passed along the top row of windows. I think that it might have been our specter." He looked down at her. Even in the darkness and fog, there was no mistaking the excitement shimmering in his eyes. "Climb up. I think that you might fit through this open window."

"Kidding, right?" she already knew the answer. She eyed the rusting dumpster. "Well, at least I'll get my money out of last week's Tetanus booster," she commented more to herself than to him.

"What?"

"Nothing," Having found a foot hold, Scully levered herself to the top of the dumpster. She stretched out towards Mulder for a hand up. He was too busy squinting into the building to notice. She flung the bag from over the edge of the dumpster and into Mulder's leg.

"Hey!"

"Oooops, sorry 'bout that." Childish, but worth it, she decided as she clamored to her feet unaided. One day I'm going to let him have it, she lied silently. "So, what are we doing here?"

"I think that you're small enough to fit through this window, and then you can unlock one of the doors. Do you have any rope in that bag?"

"Rope?" Not good. "No, why do you ask?"

He sized her up from head to toe and twisted his mouth to one side. "Well, it's about a twelve foot drop." He turned back to the opening, contemplating. "Give me your coat," his hand motioning for her to hurry up.

"No way! Use yours." she contested.

Mulder looked over his shoulder impatiently, "Mine's not long enough, and it's just nylon and down."

Scully grudgingly surrendered her coat. Mulder threaded her coat through the dusty opening then gave Scully a push up to the ledge. Feet first through the window, she struggled to position herself so that she'd be facing the wall as she descended. One hand groped blindly for Mulder's shoulder as she began to roll over. She was making good progress until her boot became pinned against an unseen obstacle. "I'm stuck, Mulder." He repositioned himself so that his arms surrounded her back and started to pull. All at once, she popped free. Her face landed slightly over his shoulder. As she disentangled herself, she couldn't help but to notice his scent. She derived such a feeling of warmth and safety just from the faint trace of his aftershave--Aramis, if she had to guess--and his own unique smell. Down girl, she thought as she snapped herself out of her reverie and started to climb down the length of her coat. Hand-over-hand, she crept until she came to the last bit of her sleeve, feet swinging in mid air in search of solid ground. She couldn't get to her flashlight to gauge the distance. With no leg hold to stabilize her, her arms began to shake with fatigue as she clung to her coat while hanging over the abyss. "Um, Mulder? I'm thinking that this was a bad idea."

Her voice echoed up to him, and he heard the thin edge of anxiety. "Hang on. I'll pull you up." He began to retract the coat.

Scully inched up the wall. She felt rather than heard the first seam pop. It was followed by another and another. "Stop pullin..." she shrieked as she fell ten feet, landing with a thud in the middle of what felt like a stack of hay.

"Scully, you all right?" Mulder aimed a beam of light in her direction only to have it flicker then fade out entirely. Scully rolled over onto her side and tried her best to draw a breath after having the wind knocked out of her.

"Scully! Are you okay?!" Mulder's head and one arm jammed into the small window as far as they could go. The sight reminded Scully of a prairie dog.

"I'm fine, just had to catch my breath." She paused then scooped up a handful of straw. "There's a pile of hay down here and," She panned her flashlight around her surroundings. "I think that I may have found the missing gun crates. Go around to the front and I'll try to unlock the door." Scully stood and dusted the damp packing straw from her pants. After picking her way across the cluttered warehouse floor, Scully found a rusted service door, bolted closed with a cross bar and padlock. Mulder had her bag and Poseidon had her knife. Improvising, she used a piece of rotting lumber to smack at the ancient lock until it fell slack.

Mulder squeezed through the entrance. He hurried past her, took a quick inventory of the warehouse, then nodded his approval with a hint of mischief. "I like what you've done with the place."

"Glad you approve. Now, are you interested in seeing what's over here, or are you writing a column for 'Better Slums and Gardens'." Without waiting for his retort, she strode back to the stack on which she had landed, then turned her attention to the crates.

Mulder followed. Reaching into the straw, he removed what was left of Scully's coat. The back seam was almost completely torn from the yoke and the right sleeve hung limply by the two or three stitches intact. Well, at least I know what to get her for Christmas this year, he thought as he raised his glance up the wall to the window eighteen feet above. He hadn't realized that the warehouse had a sub floor. Had the straw not been there to break her fall, she might have been seriously injured. You're such a dumb ass, Mulder, he criticized. You are going to get her killed one of these days. His blood froze at the thought. He turned to find her bent over one of the rectangular, rough-hewn boxes.

A lock of her hair kept spilling across her eyes. The rebellious strand fought every attempt to swat it away. With more determination, she tucked it behind her ear then caught it as it began to slide. Annoyed, she puffed at it before unceremoniously shoving it under what would always be known as the "cabinboy hat". He wondered if she had any idea what she did to him. It didn't matter. They would work on this case and then he would put forth a more concerted effort to distance himself from her. He had no choice. Still, the thing that kept him up at night and eluded him at times like these, was the question of how he would ever get her out of his system. In-the-mean-time, he would relish this moment for what it was; another adventure with his best friend. So engrossed in his introspection, he missed the fact that Scully had been calling to him, and was currently standing at his side sarcastically passing her hand back and forth across his eyes.

"Earth to Mulder. Come in Mulder." He snapped back to the present and sneered at her good-naturedly. Visible shivers rattled through Scully, each exhalation brought another plume of steam into the freezing air. Her cold fingers grazed his hand as she reached for her topcoat. She shook her head as she assessed the damage thinking, Better than nothing, I suppose. Mulder helped her on with her coat in an action that seemed strange and familiar at the same time. Her numb fingers fumbled for the buttons then failed after two attempts to fasten the top button. Mulder's arms wrapped around her from behind. She could feel his body, warm and strong. To her disbelief, she relaxed into the shelter of his arms. All the while, her mind struggled for control. Warning bells, hell, warning sirens blared in her head. Mulder was holding her. His face was mere inches from her cheek and closing. She started to ask what he thought he was doing, but the words refused to come outside on such a cold night. Nerves she never knew existed stood at attention, experiencing sensations not conducive to partnership. His lips were almost touching her ear. She tried to swallow as her mouth turned to saw dust. He gave her a bracing squeeze on both shoulders then stepped back, "There you go, Shorty!"

Scully gaped at his retreating form as she assimilated what had just transpired. Only then did it strike her that the top button of her coat had been fastened. Exhaling after an eternity, she reminded herself that Mulder was a tactile kind of person, no big deal. So why was the skin on her neck shouting out for the caress that had been reneged.

"Scully, did you see this?" Mulder crouched beside the empty crates examining some foreign substance attached to the end of his pen. Scully pointed the light at his hand and approached. As she crossed to meet him, she could begin to make out the yellowish residue clinging to Mulder's expensive, soon to be ex-pen.

"What do you think that it is?" Scully hunched beside him and took the offered implement for closer inspection.

"Well, there have been several ghost sightings in this area over the past week." He concluded his summations satisfied that no other explanation was necessary.

Scully glanced his way. He had the look that she dreaded. Past experience taught her that the flight into philosophical fancy was about to depart. Hunker down, she thought. "So?" Mulder straightened his spine then rolled his shoulders in her direction as he graced her with his full attention.

His monologue began with the raising of one eyebrow as one of his hands lightly touched her coat, drawing her closer into the realm where secrets and fantastical tales were shared. "Some believe that there is an electrical boundary existing between the world of the living and the world of the dead. By crossing this field, spectral entities act as catalysts, turning normal atmospheric elements into a sticky phospholipid plasma. Parapsychologists have documented the phenomenon all over the world. Some aboriginal tribesmen claim to have collected this substance and use it in their ceremonial paints as a way to integrate the spiritual dream land with the waking world by building a bridge through their dances performed with the plasma based paint. Maybe our specter wanted the weapons and took them out of the reach of men who seek to harm the innocent. Maybe..."

Scully put up a hand to stop him. "Maybe we'll run into Bill Murrey and the other Ghostbusters while we're down here.

Here it comes, mused Mulder, Scully 101, and I left my number two pencil at home.

"Mulder, that residue could be any number of things." She pulled into standing by tugging on Mulder's jacket for a boost as her frozen limbs groaned in protest. "Pine tar, Insect droppings, mucus, coagulated fish oil, motor oil, petroleum jelly, Karo syrup," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and said with a sly smile, "K-Y lubricant." He rewarded her with a surprised laugh. "Just seeing if you were listening." She leaned over and picked up a lid to one of the boxes. Something wet toughed her finger. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that her fingers were covered with fresh ink. She opened her mouth to tell Mulder that the crates must have been printed very recently and that she strongly suspected a set-up when a flash of brilliant green light came from the other end of the building. Before she could react, Mulder took off in hot pursuit. "Mulder!" she yelled. "Lord, if you could help him to look before he leaps occasionally, it would really simplify my life," she pleaded. "Wait up!" she called to him, no longer able to spot the bouncing strobe of his flashlight in the distance.

A sound from somewhere upstairs filled the far corner of the building. Scully followed cautiously. The muffled noise sounded to be that of a sobbing woman. "Mulder? Were are you?" No answer. "Mulder! Answer me!" Scully stumbled into a flight of stairs and ran up them, taking the steps two at a time and almost falling over Mulder's abandoned flash light on the second landing. Having arrived atop the landing, Scully saw it.

One hundred feet in front of her, a woman sat on the ground, hovering over a dead child. They were both transparent and glowed a bright, eerie green. Scully found herself mesmerized by the apparition who turned to look at her. Scully dared not move. Then, in a voice that seemed to resonate, the woman began to speak. "Help me. Please," she beseeched. "Help me. No one will help my baby. Help me, you must. Please." The ghost lifted her son's head upon her lap and began to weep once more.

Scully wrestled with her conscience. The doctor in her pulled her to act in her capacity to render medical assistance without reservation. The cynic in her held her back, reminding her of the wet ink down stairs and about how clearly this exercise had been defined, even prioritized from the beginning.

The glow from Scully's flashlight scanned the room, searching methodically for any other pieces of the puzzle that she might happen upon. Wooden barrels, cardboard boxes, beer bottles and miscellaneous trash lined the walls.

A gray cat bolted out from behind the debris exclaiming a loud, "re- ow-eow!" and in the process, gave Scully a mild heart attack. "Jeez!" she swore through clenched teeth as her hand clung to her sternum. One deep breath later, she continued her search for Mulder, calling out for him again, fear rising in her chest when there was no reply. Scully advanced cautiously towards the ghost. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her intuition told her to freeze in her tracks. Her eyes were inexplicably drawn to a support beam above her head. She shined the flashlight along the timber, and was surprised to see it glint off of a metallic box suspended by electrical tape. It took her all of two seconds to recognize the object as a projector and less time than that to break out in a cold sweat; knowing that this was more than the doings of pranksters. It was far too elaborate, too controlled. "Oh God, where's Mulder?"

Forcing down the panic that threatened to overtake her. "Mulder?!" She waited for his call. "Mulder?! Answer me, damn it!" She prayed for a response, incapable of contemplating the possibility that he would be taken away from her or injured in any way. Her mouth opened for another cry, but was quickly silenced. What the..? Thumping. She felt it. There was a thumping coming from below her feet.

Setting her flashlight aside, she bent on hands and knees then pressed her ear to the floor. He was yelling and beating his fists against the wood; that much was certain. He was alive. He was near. She strained to discern his words through the heavy oak timbers. "Tap Floor? I can't understand you!" she yelled back at him. He continued to shout, trying desperately to communicate with her. She listened again, concentrating as much as possible given the fact that she had a knot in her gut the size of an orange. No good, she acquiesced. This isn't working.

She stood, turned, turned back, and turned again trying desperately to figure out what to do next. She shuffled two small steps back and suddenly found the question of how to get to Mulder had been answered. The ground opened up beneath her feet, and she plummeted through the hole, arms flung over her head, feet swinging wildly before colliding with the surface below which happened to be made up of some kind of foam mat or insulation and a crumpled Mulder.

There was no light, not a speck. Squinting and straining, Scully tried in vain to see her surroundings, mentally kicking herself for leaving her flashlight behind. She began to clamber to her feet. Mulder's arm stretched upwards partly to give Scully a boost and partly to free himself from conceivably the most uncomfortable position he'd been in since the ninth grade during a co-ed game of "Twister." "What are you doing?" Scully asked calmly from the darkness.

"Helping you up," remarked an impatient Mulder as though it had been the most asinine question in the world. A small "thud" followed by a string of expletives punctuated his retort as he had tried--for the second time--to rise to his full height, forgetting that the space couldn't be any higher than six feet.

Mulder heard a surprised intake of air, and then a long pause before Scully finally let out the breath. Her head tilted in his direction, and from the darkness came a low and very un-Scully-like tone of voice. "Um, where's your hand?"

"On the ceiling." Came his annoyed, distracted reply while he continued to probe the ceiling for a doorway or for some other means of escape.

Scully remained stock-still. "Not that hand," she breathed, "the other one" A thin line of tension tugged at her words, drawing Mulder's attention.

Mulder immediately halted his investigation of the floorboards over head. There was something in her voice that bespoke curiosity, anxiety, and, although he could be wrong, excitement. "On your shoulder?" he offered cautiously, almost a whisper. Of their own volition, his fingers moved to examine the body part in question. His thumb grazed the very same button that he had helped to fasten earlier that evening . Slowly it dawned on him that she had been leaning her head against the wall behind her for support.

"Mulder," Scully placed her hand lightly over his, "that's not my shoulder."

Let go, implored the Superego.

All right! Go for it! quipped the Id.

The Ego began its insightful mediation. Move your hand and pretend that you didn't notice that your palm is surrounding the soft, pliant breast of an incredibly beautiful woman in the anonymity of darkness.....Move Your Hand Now! corrected the Ego.

The Ego won this particular battle of wills. Almost. Mulder tentatively pulled his hand away, closing his fingers as he withdrew, forever imprinting them with the memory of just how good it felt to touch her body--even if it was through three layers of clothing.

"Oh," he managed to utter with hopefully enough shock to award him the guise of innocence. "Sorry 'bout that."

Scully heard him dust his hands off in an unconscious attempt to erase his blunder and move forward. Beads of perspiration began to gather above Scully's lip as crimson heat ascended her face. A silent prayer of gratitude filled her mind. She was appreciative of the blackness that surrounded her, hiding her flushed cheeks. Even more so, Scully lifted up praise for the heavy coat that had concealed from Mulder the physical evidence of just how aroused she had become from his accidental grope. She swallowed hard and shook away the dangerous thoughts regarding her partner and his unnerving ability to make her momentarily forget everything but the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, and the secret desires of which she dare not speak; barely admitting their existence to herself.

"So," Scully redirected. "What do you suggest we do now?"

A half an hour later, Mulder fell back against the wall as his body sagged from total exhaustion. Despite the chill, he was bathed in sweat. His lungs fought for much needed air, each breath released in another shudder. Trying to speak between pants, "Scully, um," he gulped for air, "that was, that was, um" He struggled to expel the words from his dry mouth. "That was a really stupid idea."

Scully sighed with exasperation. "That's what I was trying to tell you before you charged ahead as usual."

"Yeah, well," Mulder grew defensive. "Tap floor? Why the hell would I be shouting, 'tap floor'?" Mulder listened for Scully's next statement, waiting to pounce.

Seconds ticked by. Scully slid down the wall next to Mulder and hung her head. She had no more fight, no more energy to waste lobbing spiteful accusations at her partner. Steering the conversation back to their immediate threat, she told him of the projector and the fresh paint. "Why would someone go to all of this trouble just to capture us in this chamber? Why not just shoot us or something?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. A surge of images invaded her mind in rapid succession. In the space of one or two seconds, she saw mothmen, serial killers, mind controllers, and a frame or two of hazy recollection from her abduction. She quickly crammed the memories back into the Pandora's box of her mind.

Mulder felt her unease and felt compelled to comfort her a little. "It could be as simple as a prank or an accident." He hoped that his voice had sounded somewhat convincing.

Scully gave a snort of cynical amusement. "You don't really believe that , do you?" Scully drew her legs up to her chest, and hugged them closely to ward off the icy air that surrounded her.

Mulder scooted over and draped an arm around her shoulders, sharing his body heat with the petite redhead chattering in the night. "Not really, but I thought I'd give it a try." He pulled her a little closer until she leaned against his chest. Resting his chin on top of her head, he began to theorize. Scully's professional self was tempted to push him off, but the heat emitted from his body was heavenly and, truth be told, she relished the times that he intruded into her personal space. It shouldn't feel so wonderful to be held by your partner, best friend even, but she wouldn't trade these fleeting moments for all of the chocolate in the world.

"The assignment came from Skinner himself. Do you think that he had something to do with this?" Scully asked and then waited for her partner to formulate his assessment. She head a soft crack and smiled, seeing his sunflower seed ritual with her mind's eye.

"It's hard to say for certain, but this is obviously more than the work of a single individual." Mulder's voice had the edge to it that always alerted Scully to the possibility of real danger. "Who ever it was really knew how to set a convincing trap for us. Should have listened to my instincts."

"I know what you mean. Something just didn't feel right about the whole case. When was the last time that I knew almost as much about the preliminaries as you did?" Scully struggled with herself not to smile in the midst of such a serious situation but failed miserably.

"I'm hurt, Scully," he teased before ducking his head to her shoulder and murmured into her ear, "I thought that you wanted me to fill you in, if you know what I mean." The sexual remark was answered by a shiver from Scully's duplicitous spine.

In the past, they would exchange teasing and flirtatious banter without a second thought. Harmless fun. Now however, Scully felt as if she were teetering on a tight rope. Unseen forces continually knocked her off balance, yet she walked that strait line. She studied the wiggling high wire stretched before her as she willed her feet to take another cautious step towards her goal. However, with each precarious pace, she made no progress, no end in sight as the tower platform became a mere dot on the horizon. Below her, the net waited for her to fling herself into its safety. It beckoned to her with the sweet promise of finality. It would be so easy to fall, but would she miss the net and plummet to the ground? Even if she survived the fall, would she long to be back up there, walking on the tight rope for just a little while longer?

With oppressive resignation, she hefted the pole to her chest mentally and took another step, balancing upon the path that they had chosen a long time ago. "If you don't mover your head, I'm going to fill *you* in with bullets." She squirmed out of his grasp as if his touch had been merely tolerated while it served a function and now was something to be cast off like a rain soaked jacket.

"Bullets? Did you say Bullets?" Mulder hopped up without warning, nearly knocking Scully into the opposite wall before, "whack!" "Son-of -a," hitting his head on the ceiling.

"That's three." Scully announced and pulled herself up to stand beside him. "You're going to have brain damage if you keep doing that." She chucked lightly to herself then added, "Oh wait, that would explain everything. You didn't sleep on an upper bunk in college, did you?"

"Cute, but at least *I* get to ride on the *adult* rollercoasters." Mulder actually heard Scully shoot him a look. "Do you want to listen to my idea now, or shall we pit our height differences against one another in a tournament of limbo dancing and shooting hoops?" Before Mulder began to spout his plan, Scully surmised that shooting bullets into the trap door might loosen the thin wood enough to kick it open. However, any ricochet in such a tiny space could end in serious injury or death. Mulder listened patiently, agreeing with her silently then asked, "Any better ideas?"

"Yeah, use you as a battering ram. Um," she stalled. "Maybe, Help me pull this insulating foam up." Mulder obliged without comment.

The pad beneath them came loose rather easily adding more suspicion that this had been a well-laid trap and containment cell. He kept quiet, knowing that Scully was surely thinking the same thing. Very little escaped her attention. She possessed a wealth of resourcefulness and brilliance. The fact that all of her compassion, intelligence and talent was gift wrapped so beautifully, sometimes made Mulder think twice about the existence of God. People like Scully are too fantastically perfect to have been created from a random convergence of molecules. To Mulder, she was a force of nature; a gentle rain, a hurricane, the breeze that turns the Earth.

Destiny had a greater purpose for Scully since the day of her birth; Mulder was convinced of it. The only thing that he wasn't sure of was why such a woman would waste her time by chasing his shadows. She should have so much more. He sobered. It was selfish to keep her by his side; and, although he hated the thought of hurting her, he knew that it was up to him to set her free now, before she had any more time to regret their association and leave him at some inevitable point in the future.

"Yoo-hoo, are you helping or not?" Scully had pried the last of the foam from the walls and the floor, breaking several nails in the process. With Mulder's assistance, they wrapped the layers around themselves, trying not to think about what could have been stuck to them in a building that old. "Now I know what it feels like to be a giant burrito." She looked at Mulder, as if she could see him beside her. She could have sworn that she saw him draw his gun. The pseudotelepathy continued, and she knew to aim for the corner, stoop into the foam, and fire several rounds on the count of three.

The deafening concussion of gunfire rang out as the agents fired eight or nine slugs into the wood. They were rewarded by their efforts by a cascade of moonlight and the glow from the projector falling through the holes. Mulder balled up his jacket around his fist and delivered one solid punch to the door above sending it flying. Mulder grimaced and clutched his hand. Scully merely examined the hand, no broken bones thankfully and decreed, "My hero," batting her eyelashes for effect.

"Yeah right, wise-ass. Now will you get on my back and climb out of here? I promise not to bang your head on anything." Mulder concluded as Scully used him as a human ladder.

Too easy, she thought, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to fashion a creative comment from his last statement. Rather, once outside of the chamber, she reached down to help Mulder who stood on the foam for better leverage.

Once free, he inquired, "Care to investigate Agent Scully or should we just get the hell out of here and look into it tomorrow?" In silent agreement, they gathered their belongings and got the hell out of there.

*****

Scully leaned her head against the dark upholstery of Mulder's car. The roads were slow because of the inclement weather. Unable to stifle the inevitable, Scully yawned, stretched and willed her eyes to stay open. Mulder looked on in amazement. Scully caught his gaze, "What?"

"There are pythons in the Amazon that can't unhinge their jaws that much." Mulder blinked into the headlights of some moron driving with his brights on in this weather.

Scully took the initiative to keep the conversation going less they both drift off to slumber land and wrap the car around a tree. "I used to impress my brothers by stuffing two fully loaded hot-dogs in my mouth at one time." Why did I say that? she questioned as her inner self covered its head in embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Mulder was trying really hard to think of a cute little girl in pigtails grossing out her brothers with a new stunt versus, well, Don't think about it, he told himself sternly. Change the subject. "So, how's your family?"

Scully accepted the cue, mentally thanking him for taking the high road. She really needed to go visit her mom. Saturday, she pledged. "They're fine. I'm a little out of touch these past few weeks. I talked with Mom the other night on the phone. She says, 'hi', by-the-way." Scully glanced over to see a sentimental smile forming on Mulder's mouth. The streetlights filtered through the drizzle and the fog to create a blue half-light silhouetting his features except for highlighted planes of his face here and there. Scully smiled too.

"Tell her I said 'hi' back." Then, with no other choices for small talk other than to be nosey, "What'd you talk about?"

Mulder's question surprised her. Not only had it been extremely personal, it also pertained to nothing X-files related. Maybe, just maybe, she could kill two birds with one stone. "She's been nagging me to go shopping with her." Scully chuckled. "She even offered to buy me a new dress. The last time that happened, I was seventeen years old."

As she spoke, Mulder relaxed into the warmth of family life even if he only experienced it vicariously through Scully's stories. He also would never pass up an opportunity to uncover a new tile of insight into the complicated mosaic that was Dana Scully. "What did you buy when you were seventeen?"

"Don't laugh." Mulder nodded in agreement. "It was a prom dress." Mulder's mouth twitched, but he didn't so much as grin. "It was a hideous, taffeta, puffy-sleeved, ruffle-trimmed prom dress." Scully looked to make sure that he was keeping a straight face.

His eyes were on the climate control panel as he fiddled with the defrost buttons. Without looking up, "Color?"

Scully stared straight ahead and answered with all of the seriousness one might expect from a "60 Minutes" report. "Disco Peach" Mulder's eyes cut sideways to ascertain whether or not she had been joking. She hadn't.

A strangled chortle fought valiantly to escape from Murder's throat.

"It's not funny!" she protested just for the sake of protesting.

"Yes it is," he replied, no longer holding in his amusement. When he laughed, really laughed, there was no way that she could keep from joining in, even if it was at her expense. "So, what kind of dress are you after now?"

Scully recalled the weird bit of conversation with her mother from earlier that week:

"Mom, it's just an FBI function. I'll just dress up my long black suit with some pearls or something."



Her mother came back with, "The one you wore last year, that looked almost identical to the one the year before that?



"Yes Mother, what's your point?"



Margaret Scully softened her tone, "Honey, you're never going to get that man's attention in that plain, old black suit."



Scully interrupted, "Mom, Agent Mulder and I are just..."



"Friends," they said in unison.



"Dana, I'm old, not blind and neither are you. Why the two of you can't see what is painfully obvious to the rest of us is beyond me."



It isn't that we can't see it, Scully thought. It's just that we choose not to.



Her mother continued. "Shake things up, Dana. Change your life a little. You might like it. I mean, I just read in last week's copy of 'Redbook' that a woman's sexual peak doesn't start until she is in her mid-thirties." Maggie paused. "How old are you now?"



"Mom!"



"If you change your mind about shopping, give me a call." With that, Margaret Scully hung up while Dana stood, mouth agape, receiver in hand, trying to process the fact that her mother had just been giving her sex advice.



"That was the kind of conversation that sends people into therapy." Scully said to herself as she returned the phone to its cradle.



"Scully!" Mulder's voice pulled her back from retrospection. "So, what does she want to buy for you?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry." Scully cleared her mind , thinking that this was going to be her best shot at getting him to ask her to go with him. She was feeling more and more adolescent with each passing second. Recovering, "She's been after me to get something for the Anniversary Ball tomorrow night."

"Don't you usually just wear that black suit with your grandmother's pearls?" Scully was a sensible woman--tattoo fiasco excluded. She stayed mainly with conservative, professional attire and very light makeup. If it was up to him, which it wasn't of course, he'd like to see her in something other than the black garments that permeated her wardrobe lately. Maybe darker lipstick too.... Get a grip, Mulder.

Scully nodded, annoyed that she had become so predictable, more annoyed that he expected her to remain that way. "What are you wearing?"

Mulder was obtuse and egocentric, but not so thick that he'd miss an opening like that one. The last thing in the world that he should do is spend an evening laughing with his partner over champagne and music. He knew that she expected him to ask her to be his escort, platonically of course. Unfortunately, he also knew that there was no way to push her away without hurting her a little in the process. The sooner he got it over with, the better. "I'm not going," he said finally. He pulled his car into her parking lot and idled at the entrance.

"What do you mean, you're not going?"

He heard the confusion in her voice. After all, they'd been having a great time, ghosts, traps, breaking and entering included. "Not in the mood, I guess. Socializing isn't exactly my thing." He hoped that he hadn't sounded too callous.

Scully's mouth made a silent "O". She reached to the floorboard for her bag and lifted the door handle. Then, looking back, "I think that Skinner expects you to be there."

Mulder shrugged and averted his eyes before saying, "Uh, maybe I'll stop by or something. Put in a brief appearance. Are you going to be there for certain?"

"Yes," she said with just enough hope in her voice to squeeze his heart.

He loathed himself for what he did next. He told himself that this would be better in the long run. At that particular moment, he wasn't sure about anything. "Well, if I don't show, you can talk to Skinner and get back to me." He couldn't look her in the eye.

"Sure, I guess." Scully's words fell flat against the wet pavement as she stepped out of his car and into the cold November rain. "Goodnight." The door slammed shut. He watched her through the windshield wipers and ached at the sight of her slumped shoulders that most likely had less to do with fatigue and lousy weather, and more to do with disappointment and betrayal.

He waited until her apartment light came on before pulling away. Suddenly, the air around him, even life itself, seemed too heavy to bear; crushing and relentless. The worst part was knowing that he had directly been the cause of her sorrow. There weren't any "theys", "its", or "thems" to blame this time, only Mulder himself. When he glanced into the rear- view mirror before changing lanes, he was disgusted at the person he saw staring back at him.

*****

"They what?" shouted the leader as he pounded his fist onto the counter top next to the surveillance equipment's receiving box.

"I can't say that I'm surprised," commented another man from the shadows. He stepped forward towards the leader and a third operative. "It was a poorly conceived trap at best. The only thing salvageable from this disaster is that their communication has disintegrated further."

"Time to send in our man?" asked the third already routing his next phone transmission through three satellites over five countries to guard against tracing.

The leader nodded in agreement. "Yes, we just might be able to turn tonight's failure to our advantage. Call Skinner. Set it up. It's time to call in our final marker."

*****

"Buuuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-WHAP!" Scully silenced her evil alarm clock with one, well-aimed deathblow. It couldn't possibly be time to get up already. Warm flannel sheets held her in a soft, morning caress as she stretched beneath the covers in a poor attempt to shake off her drowsiness. Her eyes drifted shut as she felt herself being pulled back down into the bed's sanctuary. "Just five more minutes," whispered the bed.

Eyes wide open, Scully heaved a heavy sigh, flipped the covers back, and vaulted off of the bed in one fluid movement. She stumbled into her bathroom, blinking back the morning brightness that streamed in from the beveled glass windows. Still half asleep, she loaded her toothbrush and started the faucet. The brand name displayed on the tap read "Mullond". Her sleepy brain transformed the letters into ones that said "Mulder" for an instant. The syntax error washed away morning amnesia, and Scully quickly recounted the events of last night.

Her reflection in the mirror revealed dark circles under her tired eyes and a superficial scratch on her left cheek from last night's escapade. Remembering too, Mulder's brush-off and extra-odd behavior, she thought, Yep, just like this faucet, he runs hot and cold.

Scully peered out the bathroom door and looked longingly at her rumpled bed. All she wanted to do was to crawl back under the comforter and not come out again until Mulder started to act normally, well, normally for Mulder anyway. She was definitely not looking forward to today. Still, duty calls.

*****

Scully stood outside of their office door, dreading the moment that she would walk in and see Mulder. All through her commute, she ran possible scenarios in her head that might explain his recent enigmatical actions. Yesterday, she would have sworn that it was only his overdeveloped guilt regarding her well being that had reinforced the barricade between them. That dealt with, they had fallen back into the same old comfortable rhythm during last night's stake out. Everything had been cruising right along then, "SPLAT!" communication collision. The pile up seemed to have been triggered when the conversation turned to the subject of tonight's banquet.

Scully expected Mulder to go with her. Why not? As far as she was concerned, she'd put her social life on indefinite hold in order to chase Mulder's mysteries by the light of the full moon for the better part of six years. By simply aligning herself with him, defending him on numerous occasions, she had opened herself up to personal attacks. Heck, if she was going to be referred to as "Mrs. Spooky" by sniggering colleagues, she might as well get a date out of the deal. Did he really think that it didn't matter that she would now have to go alone and make small talk with those same two-faced coworkers who laughed behind her back? How could he do that to her? When was the last time she had abandoned him? The longer she thought about it, the madder she became; anger easily pushing depression aside. With a deep breath, she decided that she was going to march right in and give him a piece of her mind.

Without knocking, Scully burst through the door and demanded attention. "Mulder!" she shouted into the empty room. "Mulder?" It was 8:15 a.m. Where was he? Her gaze fell upon his deserted desk. "He wouldn't..." She already knew the answer. She walked slowly to the desk, eyes closed, pleading inwardly, hoping that she wasn't about to see what she was about to see. Having reached the desk, Scully slowly opened her eyes, peeking sideways at the dreaded confirmation. Her blood began to boil as she leaned over and snatched up the object of her disdain: a little, yellow post-it note. Seething, she read the message.

Cabinboy,

I'll be following up some leads regarding last night.

Back at 4:00 p.m. or so. Can you: 1. Type the preliminaries,

2. Begin researching next week's cases (on my desk),

3. Cover for me at the budget meeting (11:00 a.m.).

-M

Scully, the epitome of calm, took two steps backwards, inhaled deeply, and totally lost it. "Bastard!" she exclaimed and reared up a foot to kick his desk hard enough to dent it. The impact ruined a brand new pair of Italian pumps and sent her hopping across the office in pain. For the next ninety-two and a half seconds, nothing intelligible came out of her mouth. Rather, a long string of grunts and mumbles spewed forth from her lips punctuated by wildly flinging arms and the periodic thud of her fist on the desktop. Breathing hard, emotionally spent, and peripherally aware that she was raving like a lunatic before an open doorway, Scully stood, smoothed her dark gray suit into place, tucked her hair behind an ear, retrieved her purse and brief case, and quietly picked up the yellow scrap of paper that sought only to demean and to placate. Her angry glare all but burnt holes into the note before she crumpled it up in her fist and tossed it back down to his desk. "Bite-Me, Mulder." With that, she turned on her heel and headed out the door.

As she crested the stairs, she spotted Skinner fishing change out of his pocket for the newspaper machine. Scully decided to do a little fishing of her own. "Morning, Sir."

Skinner spun around at the unexpected sound of Agent Scully's voice.

"I wasn't expecting to see you at headquarters today, Sir." Skinner appeared to be uneasy to Scully's well-trained eye, but then, Skinner often looked uneasy.

"Oh, I forgot about the budget meeting this morning. Where is Agent Mulder?"

Scully started to automatically cover for her partner then concluded that it wasn't her job to clean up after him all of the time. "I'm not sure, Sir. I assume that he is in the field today. We had an interesting night on assignment last night."

Skinner's eyes dropped to the change nervously jingling in his palm. The non-verbal communication wasn't wasted on her. "Did you turn up anything?"

"Not really," Scully hedged. "I'll let you know when the preliminary report has been completed."

Skinner met her eyes and his stern expression softened a fraction. He noticed the small scrape next to her ear and felt a pang of remorse. "I'm sure that will be fine, Agent Scully. Was there anything else that you needed?" Skinner turned his back to her and plugged two quarters into the antiquated machine. The ear-piercing screech of rusted metal on rusted metal caused passers-by to wince before the slamming door heralded another successful newspaper transaction.

"Actually Sir," Scully really didn't want to explain herself, "I was just bringing up our budget report and," Scully stalled, "and,"

"And? Agent Scully, I'm in kind of a hurry here." Skinner had already taken two powerful strides down the hallway leaving Agent Scully to trot after him and to take his arm in an effort to slow him down.

"And, I really need to take a personal day today." Offering the budget folder to him, "Everything is right here, no new surprises, and-- you'll be happy to see--that I didn't allow Mulder to add sunflower seeds, porn magazines, or basketball tickets to the expense account this quarter." Skinner *almost* smiled.

He recognized that she too was always caught in the middle. It was terrible place to be. "Sure, you still have several weeks coming to you, you know?"

That was too easy, Scully pondered. "Thank you, Sir." Skinner nodded in her general direction and continued down the hall, leaving her to speculate about his possible involvement in last night's ghost busting disaster.

Skinner settled into his leather chair and tried his best to skim the morning paper. Instead, his thoughts kept coming back to Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, and the real reason he had come in to the office today following another secretive phone call in the middle of last night. How many times could a man be blackmailed in one lifetime? He probably didn't want to know the answer.

Because of his actions today, he ran the risk of breaking apart one of the most successful law enforcement pairs with whom he had ever worked. If that happened, would there be anyone to check the hidden powers that be and their even more secretive agendas? It was a risk that Skinner would never have willingly been a part of, but had reluctantly gone along with all the same. Regardless of their innumerable personal sacrifices, Agents Mulder and Scully continued with admirable tenacity on their quest to uncover the truth however bizarre or dangerous that truth might be. He admired their spirit and integrity. He marveled at their combined intellect. He constantly feared for their safety. And now *he* was one of the unseen puppeteers who orchestrated their fates. He pulled a roll of antacids from his top desk drawer, peeled his third tablet that morning, popped the chalky disk into his mouth, and tried with little success not to think about what he had done.

*****

Scully didn't have a clue of where she was headed as she stormed out of the elevator and rushed around a cement column towards her car. She rammed directly into someone coming from the other direction. Knocked flat on her butt, Scully looked with dismay at the papers scattered around her and almost cried out in frustration.

"Oh Gosh, I'm sorry ma'am. Here, let me help you up." Scully detected a hint of a southern drawl and looked up at the outstretched hand of her assailant. She realized that her palm was covered with motor oil. Upon closer inspection, her previously shredded coat was also being pressed into the slick, black grease that pooled on the cold, gray concrete beneath her. Pushing herself up without assistance, she shrugged out of her coat, remarking to herself that the heavily abused garment was now totally beyond redemption. That being the case, she wiped the oil from her palm onto the coat sleeve and tossed the remains into a near-by trash barrel.

Scully opened her mouth to ask why he wasn't looking where he was going when she looked up and saw him scurrying all over the garage, capturing loose papers swirling in the brisk morning air. The picture that he made threatened to make her crack up. The tall, well-dressed man chased down the renegade pages and stuffed his quarry under one arm before continuing the hunt. Ducking under cars and using one lanky arm to latch onto the documents, Scully thought that he resembled a well-dressed primate of some kind. He bounded back to her and presented her with a wrinkled disarray formally known as her next case file. The profuse apologies ensued.

"Gosh, I'm so, so sorry, Ma'am. I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you okay, Ma'am?"

Scully's first impulse was to get defensive over the whole "ma'am" thing. But, when she looked up into his chocolate brown eyes behind the silver frames of his glasses, she saw that he was sincere in his apology. "I'm fine. You Okay?"

"Oh, fine, Ma'am."

"Dana. Special Agent Dana Scully," she introduced herself and waited for him to do the same, which of course, he didn't. "And you are?" she led looking at his ID badge.

"Oh, where are my manners. Dr. Michael Adams, at you service." He took her hand in his and shook it once lightly. "Call me Mike." He glanced past her shoulder at the garbage can. "I'm truly sorry about your coat, Ma'am...Dana. Here, uh, hold this," he shoved his scraggly accordion file folder into her arms and started to take off his own jacket.

Scully bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting to his exceedingly friendly, puppy-like manner. "No, no, that's okay." She put up a hand to stop his act of impromptu chivalry. "I'm headed home anyway. Um. Thanks all the same." She started to turn back to her car when curiosity got the better of her. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Pretty obvious, huh?"

Scully nodded in agreement with a hint of a smile.

"I just got into town this morning. I'm from Texas, mostly."

"What do you do for the Bureau?" She was freezing, but something about his open manner and his easy going personality compelled her to stay.

"Well, when I'm not out broadsiding gorgeous FBI agents, I do chemical analysis and microforensics for a private firm. We have a contract with the government to upgrade some of the crime labs. Basically, I'm tech support for a few weeks until everything is installed and working perfectly."

Scully smiled inwardly at his unexpected compliment. Her professional interest piqued. "I deal with forensic pathology myself."

"Great," he stated enthusiastically. "Can you tell me how to get to concourse E, room 238, Microbiology and Forensic Department? I'm really late, and really lost."

Scully laughed outright. No hidden agenda with this guy. "Sure." She rambled off the complicated directions adding that it *was* extremely easy to get turned around in the complex. A part of her psyche observed the interaction and deliberated, Why don't you go out and find a nice man like Mike here and stop running after phantoms in the night? "Good luck, Mike," she concluded and turned to unlock her door.

"Wait." Mike's hand brushed her shoulder, the familiarity of the gesture stirred feelings of tenderness and companionship from deep within her for a brief moment before she was overcome by regret after realizing that it hadn't been Mulder's touch. Why did it have to be Mulder's touch or nothing at all? She loathed her vulnerability to a man who would never give her what she wanted, even though she didn't know exactly what that entailed. "Are you sure that there's nothing I can do for you?"

An idea sparked to life behind her eyes. "Actually Mike, there might be something after all."

*****

Scully checked her watch for the third time in less than five minutes then drank another gulp of chicory and Colombian blended coffee and steamed milk. Calm down, Dana, her inner voice cajoled. She pushed the caffeinated drink aside, and attempted, once more, to quiet the turmoil and nervous energy that raced through her veins. She glanced around at her surroundings. Containers of gourmet coffee beans lined the walls behind gleaming brass rails. The combined aromas thickened the air; a rich, dark cocoon of heavenly scents woven softly around all who came within its reach. The room itself seemed to balk at the fluorescently lit hustle and bustle of the shopping mall past its threshold. After popping the last bit of biscotti into her mouth, Scully looked up and saw the one person in the world who could help her with today's mission.

Margaret Scully made her way to the back of the Wake-Up Call Cafe in search of her daughter.

Scully stood and welcomed her mother's embrace. "Hi sweetheart. I'm so glad you called."

As Scully hugged her mother hello, she felt a knot in her throat and the urge to just lean into her mother's arms and have a good cry. Why is it always so easy to breakdown in the face of maternal concern? Scully wondered as she fought to regain control of the situation. Just tired, she concluded. Yeah, that's it. By the time she pulled away, her emotions were neatly tucked behind her mask of stoicism once again. "Hi Mom, thanks for coming."

"My pleasure, Dana. I'm always happy to see you. Now, what's going on? You were a little vague on the phone." Maggie lowered herself into a seat and gestured for her daughter to do the same.

"The art of vague phone calls must be rubbing off on me," came the cynical response to her mother's remark. She smiled just to prove to herself that she could at this point and began. "Well, you know how we were talking about tonight's anniversary ball and what I was planning to wear?"

"Yes."

Scully shifted uncomfortably in her chair feeling her back begin to stiffen after an hour of sitting in a seat that left her feet dangling. "Well, it's no big crisis or anything. I just changed my mind about wearing that suit again."

Scully looked up into her mother's gentle face. She had always thought of her mother as being cast from another time. She was nurturing, but not overtly so. Despite her petite build and curls, Margaret Scully was as tough as nails. Scully imagined that her mother should have been a pioneer. Then again, any woman would have to embody a pioneer's spirit in order to raise a large family as a Navy wife. Scully needed to borrow a little of her mother's fortitude today.

Maggie looked at her baby-girl with surprise. "What brought this on?"

"Nothing, really..." Scully hedged, averting her eyes.

"Does it have anything to do with a tall, dark, and handsome, partner?"

"No." Scully blurted a little too quickly.

Maggie hid her smile. Interesting. "Aren't you going to the dance with Fox?"

"'Mulder", Mother, and I wouldn't go with him if hw was the last man on Earth." Scully huffed.

"Fight?" Margaret ventured carefully thinking that Dana's explanation should be interesting.

Scully took a sip from her Styrofoam cup and nearly gagged on the separated, cold coffee dregs. "Yes. No. Yes. I mean, sort of. I think... Yes, most definitely. Well?..."

Maggie looked on in amazement. She hadn't seen Dana this flustered since right before her senior prom. She had looked so innocent and lovely all in peach taffeta and ruffles, Maggie recalled wistfully. "What happened?"

"Nothing exactly. He's been so flaky lately." Scully sighed and signaled a passing waiter for two decaff lattes. "He usually takes off to go running after some hunch or promise of enlightenment. Sometimes, I think that he'd go all the way to Tibet for lunch with the Dalai Lama if he thought that it might turn up a lead." Scully gnashed her teeth before continuing. "I can stand most of his odd behavior. I chalk it up to the eccentricities of brilliance mostly. I can stand almost everything when it comes to Mulder."

Maggie took the steaming cups from the waiter, setting one cup in front of Scully. "And?" she asked simply.

"And, I can't stand it anymore." Scully had no intention of dumping months of frustration into her mother's lap, but it came pouring out all the same. "He's always been protective, but lately, its overkill. He's working by himself and leaving me with nothing to do all day but gofer jobs. He doesn't call. He doesn't show up at two in the morning and beg me to join him on the clandestine mission of the week. He doesn't want to 'bother' me after hours. He leaves these little damned notes all over the place instead of talking to me. Hell, until yesterday, I hadn't worked with him in the field in almost a month!" Scully finally took a breath and noted that her hand shook slightly as she reached for her coffee.

Dana cursing? thought Maggie in mild shock. "So what happened yesterday?" She eyed her daughter suspiciously over the steaming rim of her coffee mug. Must have been some night, she considered as she studied the light scrape near Dana's ear and her mangled, broken fingernails.

Scully shook her head from side to side, shrugged her shoulders then looked up into the empathy shinning in her mother's eyes. "It's not just one thing. It's everything. I guess that we are growing apart. I mean, that happens sometimes, right?" The forcefulness had left her voice. She looked young and a little lost. It was a Dana that Maggie hadn't seen in years. Maggie nodded. Dana continued. "At first, I thought that he was just trying to keep me from getting into danger; you know, leaving me behind and taking all of the risks." Scully paused for perspective. "After Antarctica, I told him that I accepted the risks and that it was *my* choice to stay on the X-files. Well, that was months ago, and it seems as though he is drawing further away from me every day." A pang of grief penetrated Scully's heart, sending its icy needles and frozen detachment ricocheting throughout her body at the prospect of losing her best friend.

"Have you talked to him about how you feel?" Margaret Scully wanted to take Dana's hand in hers to comfort, but from the look on her daughter's face, she knew that doing so might cause Dana to crumble before her into tears. Scully's aren't supposed to cry, especially not in public.

"I tried." Scully inhaled deeply and let out the breath slowly so as not to cause an audible shudder. "Yesterday morning, I reminded him that he is not my keeper and that I am as capable of doing the work as he. I asked him why he was acting this way after all of this time. He didn't answer. He looked," Scully paused, looking intently at her index finger as it circled the edge of her cup. "I don't know, sad I guess, like he knew something terrible but couldn't tell me what it was."

"Did you ask?"

"Well, I was going to until our boss walked in and handed us a case. My hand was on Mulder's cheek." Scully colored ever so slightly then twisted her lips to one side in a small, lop-sided grin.

"Really?"

"Nothing like that Mom," Scully laughed satirically, "but it had to have looked bad. We were handed an assignment for a nighttime stake out. Skinner left, and the teasing started. It was wonderful." Light from heaven, Scully thought remembering the exchange. "We went on the assignment and had a great time."

Maggie raised her brows and, knowing that she really shouldn't ask, posed, "So what is your idea of a good time?"

Scully's face brightened and she smirked. "Well, last night involved a fake ghost, a cat, two rats, some gun crates, fishing in the sleet, falling though a trap door, then escaping into the heavy fog. You know, the usual."

Maggie chuckled too, incredulously. She hated that Dana's high-risk job often placed her in dangerous scenarios, but she admired her daughter's sense of duty and bravery. Dana had always been her father's daughter, but their mutual stubbornness had created friction, leaving Dana to wonder if he had ever really approved of her choices. Bill had loved his little Starbuck. Maggie only wished that Bill and Dana could have made more of an effort to tear down the walls between them before it had been too late. She prayed that Dana wouldn't make that same mistake with Fox. "Okay, so you two kids had fun." She found herself unable to stifle a wisp of sarcasm. "What went wrong?"

Scully had drained the last of her coffee and now busied herself by scratching patterns into the Styrofoam with what was left of her nails. "We were having a *real* discussion on the long trip home. It usually takes an act of congress and a two-by-four to get him to quit talking shop for more than five minutes." Placing the graffitied, former cup on the marble table top, "I asked him when he wanted to meet me tonight, and he said that he may or may not be attending, *and* that I could fill in our boss on last night's case myself if he didn't show up!"

Margaret Scully had more than an inkling about the "real story" here but held her silence as Dana proceeded to rave awhile longer.

"We always go to these annoying affairs together. We sit in the back and bolt after we've put in an acceptable appearance."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why bolt?"

"That's just it Mom, we are expected to attend, but it usually works out better if Mulder isn't subjected to an entire evening of jabs. And, aside from Mulder, the only people who haven't snubbed me--given our field of expertise--are either in the forensics lab or in housekeeping." Scully straightened her spine and her visage took on an air of self-righteousness. "I have never thrown him to the wolves, and all of a sudden, he's too good to escort me to a lousy banquet for an hour!"

"Anything else?" Maggie squeezed Scully's hand to calm her.

"Yeah, actually, this morning he skipped out on me again, leaving me with a post-it of jobs for me to complete in his absence. Do I look like a secretary to you?"

Maggie looked at Dana's drab outfit and almost answered "yes". Instead, she sought to clarify a few points of contention. "So, you said that this change began after Antarctica?" Scully nodded. "Did you two.."

"No Mom! You have a one tracked mind lately."

"I was going to say 'kiss'."

"Oh," Scully looked down at the table, "Sorry." "Um," Should I tell her? she wondered then reluctantly gave in. "I think that we might have. I mean, we almost did, but then I was stung and the viral effects began instantaneously. Heat of the moment, I think. But that shouldn't make him back out of this stupid function now."

Scully's mom finished her drink and tossed it into the can behind her. So, Fox got scared, backed off, probably convinced himself that it was for Dana's own good rather than his own misguided sense of self- preservation. Dana feels stood up and hurt, thought Maggie incredulously. She could hardly believe that her brainy daughter and Fox could have ever possibly gotten everything this screwed up. Baffled, she groaned internally thinking that for psychological profilers and investigators, they seemed about as dumb as a box of rocks sometimes. There was just one piece of the puzzle missing. "If you aren't going, then why did you want to go shopping for a dress?"

"Who says I'm not going?" Scully challenged. "If Mulder can't be bothered, fine."

"You're going stag?"

"Of course not, whether he thinks so or not, I *do* have options." Scully was almost comically defiant in her declaration. "I ran into a nice man this morning. Dr. Mike Adams, new in town, chemical forensics contractor. Tall, attractive, and very friendly." She reflected with relief that there was nothing brooding or mysterious about this guy.

Maggie started to tell Dana what she was thinking. You're playing with fire, and you don't even know it, but held her tongue. "What happens if Fox shows up?" Maggie tried to sound more casual than accusatory.

"He will. He always does; curiosity or fear of bureaucratic reproach, I guess." Scully swept the biscotti crumbs into her palm before rising and depositing them into the trash bin. She dusted off her hands as if she wouldn't give a hoot about how Mulder would feel if he saw her with a date. Turn about is fair play and all that. Not my concern, she lied to herself. It was getting to be a habit.

Maggie started to discourage Dana from trying to prove to herself and to Fox that she didn't need him. She suspected that Fox was busy doing the same. Dana had suffered hurt pride and rejection and seemed to be on a mission to show up Fox. Maggie looked at Dana's tense shoulders and doubted that her beautiful, intelligent girl had the slightest clue as to the forces driving her today.

"Well then," Maggie collected her purse and stood, "let's go find a dress that *Mike* will find irresistible." Maggie followed Dana out of the coffee house, a knowing grin splashed across her delicate features.

*****

Scully balanced a shopping bag, a dress bag, her purse, and her briefcase between her knee and the front door to her apartment. She shoved at the humidity-swollen door until it finally gave way. The sudden absence of resistance sent her careening through the doorway, packages tumbling to the floor. She groped for the light switch, the cloudy day making it much darker outside than usual. The smaller parcels were left strewn about the floor. She snagged the dress hanger with the crook of her finger then hoisted the garment bag to the robe hook on the back of the bedroom door.

The garment bag was unzipped until it fell away. The object of the day's hunt sparkled in the soft light from the living room. She lifted the hem between her forefinger and thumb and marveled at its color, and how it reminded her of a Serrott painting. An almost lavender blue satin was covered by an impossibly thin layer of black mesh creating a luminescent blue that defied the imagination's attempt to catalog its shade with and exact name. It reminded Scully of a color taken from the calm depths of the ocean on a clear summer's day. Beads adorned the top layer here and there with an abstract pattern that resembled falling leaves. The bodice held a covering of intricately woven beads. And the style...Well, Scully was a little afraid to think about the style other than in terms of, What was I thinking? and How did I get talked into this? I should have known better than to trust the opinion of the same woman who gave me the go-ahead for the boofy, peach thing in high school. Scully smiled at the memory then shivered.

She felt chilled to the bone after a brutally cold day without the benefit of a heavy coat. As she crossed her bedroom towards the bath, she kicked off her shoes, unfastened her bra, and took out her earrings with the kind of simultaneous dexterity and speed that Houdini himself would have envied. Free, she thought. Men could complain all that they wanted to about how restrictive it felt to wear a necktie, but as far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as an "eighteen hour bra" or a "comfort strap". Scully pealed off her damp suit, leaving it in a ball on the tile floor as it was too wet and wrinkled just to hang it up for another day. Having deposited the rest of her clothing onto the stack, she searched for the cheap shower cap she'd collected at some hotel a thousand years ago. She didn't want to mess up her hair.

Her mother had insisted on the full treatment--hair, nails, and makeup at a local salon. Scully tried repeatedly to back out of something so frivolous; a waste of money. She then recalled her mother's words from earlier that day, the honesty of them and threw in the towel. Ceasing her search for the hidden shower cap, she stood and looked at herself in the mirror, briefly surprised to see the evening make-up. It was different from her usual, but expertly done. Scully found the new look similar to that which you would expect to see in a musical from the Thirties. Glamorous rather than tacky as she had feared would be the case when she had first seen the stylist's palette and array of cosmetics.

Why not? she conceded. Nothing else about this evening promises to be out of the ordinary. She then came to the decision that the quick shower and case report could wait. She sat on the edge of her claw foot tub and turned the taps. Water rushed down the porcelain gully and mingled with the sweet lavender scented body wash being poured in slowly from a glass vial. Soon, the bubbles began to foam, tickling the tub as they rose.

As the bath drew, Scully walked hurriedly through the apartment, hoping that her blinds were down. She left the kitchen with a small glass of red wine and paused beside her stereo, searching her CD rack for the perfect music for her mood. She flipped the disk from its case and fed it into the player. She stopped to program her favorite tracks and hit the play button. The luxuriating saxophone melody from her "Blade Runner" CD followed her as she made her way back to the tub. She placed the wine on the bath tray, and she slid into the warm water, careful not to destroy her upsweep. The damp and the cold were washed away. Tension from her body gathered helplessly into the bubbles that caressed her skin and then vanished as each successive bubble burst into the lavender scented steam. Scully allowed her head to lull back over the lip of the tub and reflected on her day:

Scully approached the dressing room with another armful of dresses. Margaret Scully rubbed her temples as she looked through her daughter's selections. "Dana," Maggie began exasperatedly, "this is the third store and at least the twentieth dress that you've tried on, right?" Scully agreed. "They are all black. That is all I ever see you in anymore. Black."



"So?" Scully adopted a defensive stance.



"So, did Johnny Cash have a yard sale?"



Scully's mouth twisted to one side. "Mom, I don't always wear black."



Maggie fingered the lapel of Scully's suit jacket and raised a questioning brow.



"It's not black. It's charcoal."



"Same difference," Maggie wasn't going to accomplish anything at this pace and changed tactics. She took the plain black dresses from Dana's arms and hooked them on a near-by rack. She then draped an arm over Dana's shoulders and steered her to a large mirror. Then, in a quiet, maternal tone, asked her daughter, "What do you see?" Maggie pointed at the reflection.



"You. Me. Why?" Scully had way too much to accomplish today than to play Magic Mirror with her mother.



"Do you want to know what I see?"



Do I have a choice? Scully thought impatiently.



Maggie persisted. "I see an attractive woman," Maggie stood in front of Dana and rested a palm on her shoulder, "But I don't believe that is what you want to see when you look at yourself, is it?" Maggie's appraisal stung having hit the mark.



Scully looked at herself through her mother's eyes for a few seconds and didn't like what she saw. She wondered when it was that she had developed such a hardened aspect and look of defeat. Her modern layered bob cut and sparse make-up said "professional" but not much else. She found herself missing her softer appearance from just a few years ago. When did I change so much? Scully mulled while studying her reflection. She started to protest, laugh it off as too much "Oprah" viewing on her mother's behalf, and then guide them both back to safer ground. Unfortunately, she found herself unable to do so. However, Scully knew that her mother would never have been so blunt if she hadn't felt as though there was a problem that needed to be addressed.



Maggie moved away from the mirror and stood behind Scully. She smoothed Scully's hair with her hand, a gesture of pure parental compassion. "Baby, I don't want to upset you, and I do realize that you have been through a tremendous amount over the past couple of years, but lately, it seems to me as though you are intentionally hiding the fact that you are a good-looking, available girl."



Scully smiled at her mother's description of her as a "girl" thinking, Everything's relative.



"All I'm saying is that you may want to examine why you seem to be afraid of being perceived as womanly, and do something about it." Her mother embraced her from behind and placed a kiss on the side of Dana's head.



Scully understood her mother's intentions. You'd have to have been brain dead to have missed the meaning. Scully made a mental note to get her car's oil changed tomorrow and to indulge in a good five to ten minutes of futile introspection concerning her femininity and its role in her professional and nonprofessional life. For the moment however, she decided to follow the path of least resistance and indulge her Mother. "Good point doctor, but I see that my hour is up. Now, if you don't mind," Scully turned on her thousand watt smile for her mother, "We have only six and a half hours to find the perfect, non-black, sexy as hell dress. I leave it in your capable hands." Scully curtsied deeply causing a light bout of giggling between them.



Her mother straightened up first, "Oh, we only have four hours actually. You're due at my salon at three o'clock. My treat. Andre' loves to do makeovers."



Dana screwed her expression then attempted to keep a straight face, "Your beautician is actually named Andre'?" Battle over, she was moving towards hysterics and taking Maggie with her.



Maggie tried repeatedly to answer before finally managing to suppress her laughter long enough to add, "Aren't they all?" The laughter erupted again drawing stares from store employees and customers alike. Margaret and Dana couldn't have cared less as they half staggered through the department store and into a lovely day.



Scully floated back to the present and opened her eyes. The bubbles were a memory. She really, really, really didn't want to get up. Scully surmised that her energy must have gone down the drain. How wonderful it had been to drift along in a luxurious bubble bath while listening to the perfect music. Wait, why isn't the music playing? she thought, already knowing the answer as the panic began to take hold. Scully pushed herself up to see the crystal clock near the sink basin. Oh no! The clock read six-fifteen in the evening and the banquet began at seven, seven-thirty to be fashionably late. Scully stepped out of the tub and grabbed for a thick towel with her now pruney fingers. She dried herself quickly and ran to the other end of her apartment for the bags that contained the new shoes and hosiery that her mother had insisted upon.

She had just started her other leg into the silky hose when the phone rang, sending her scrambling across her bed to catch the receiver by the third ring. This better be good Mulder, she thought as she answered with an extremely assertive, "Scully."

There was a long silence followed by a familiar apologetic voice. "Uh, hi. It's Mike--from the garage. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

At least this one asks, she stored the information away for some future application. "No, it's fine. What's up?"

He paused. "Gosh, I hate to do this but..." Scully prepared for the brush off. "our test system crashed this afternoon. I'm all ready to go, but my replacement won't be here for another forty-five minutes or so. Um, any chance that I could just meet you there between seven and seven-thirty?

Scully was surprised that she hadn't been ditched for a change. She was even more surprised to be going out with a man who had the capacity to feel bad about inconveniencing her and who actually grasped the concept of punctuality. "That's fine. I'm running late too."

"Great!" Mike sounded a little too enthused. "I mean, I'm glad that you're okay with meeting me later instead of on time, and..." Realizing he was chattering on inanely, he broke with, "Shoot. Let me hang up and try this again."

Scully smiled into the receiver, "That's not necessary unless we don't plan to show up until after midnight."

Mike smiled back. "See you there. Oh, and Dana," he paused. "I'll be the one in the tuxedo."

Scully hung up the phone, still grinning from the exchange. She wished that she eagerly anticipated spending an evening in Mike's company. In any case, she scolded herself, he seems to be looking forward to seeing you. So, stop being a baby and get into that evening dress, soldier! Scully sometimes felt as though she might have the ability to channel her father's spirit, but always at the weirdest times. Still, an order was an order.

Ten minutes later, Scully tugged the zipper up her side. "I'm going to kill her for this!" Scully's mother had brought out a measuring tape in the dressing room and took a full set of measurements from ankle to neckline for the supposed sake of "hemming the length just a touch." Her mother then left for two hours while Scully succumbed to the mastery of Andre'--Professional Stylist and Cosmetics Consultant. She vaguely recalled her mom commenting on what a shame it was that in order to accommodate Scully's curvy hips, the waist and the length looked out of proportion. Scully disagreed, feeling more comfortable with the slack fabric. It never occurred to her that her mother had planned to take in the waist and narrow the skirt for an extremely tailored effect. Scully turned toward the mirror and gasped. "Oh God, I can't go like this. I just can't."

She looked at the bedside clock and cringed. Well, she consoled, at least the hair and make-up still look good--a miracle in today's climate. She darted to her closet and retrieved her long black suit as a hand fumbled blindly for her zipper. She stopped at the long, oval mirror near the closet and held the suit to her chest. She had begun to rummage in her jewelry box for her grandmother's pearls when she remembered Mulder's prediction concerning her apparel for the evening and changed her mind. On second thought, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She tossed the suit onto her bed and glanced back at her dangerously curvaceous reflection and declared, "Cabinboy, my ass!"

She picked up her evening bag and reached for the light switch when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. There on her vanity stand, sat the cobalt blue atomizer of perfume that she had purchased several years earlier, but had never used. Giving into impulse, she depressed the bulb and released a fine spritz of scented air caught on a soft, white patch of wrist then carried to the back of her neck lending its faint fragrance to her own. With that, she clutched her bag and headed for the door. She had no intention of keeping Dr. Adams waiting.

*****

Mulder stood on the staircase landing that overlooked the entranceway to the Grand Ballroom at the Excelsior Hotel. From his vantage point, he would be able to see her when she came through the heavy oak and stained glassed doors and into the receiving hall. As expected, the government had gone all out. In addition to the Washington DC based federal Agents, the ball also hosted several senators, various other high-ranking officials, and, as lovely as ever, Janet Reno. Our tax dollars at work, Mulder thought derisively as he cast his eyes upon the numerous floral displays, the ornately decorated receiving table, and the open bar. He gave a snort of disapproval at the possibility of seeing the Attorney General in an evening gown, then gave silent thanks for the open bar.

Mulder dug his wing-tipped toe into the plush burgundy carpet and attempted to recall what in the hell had possessed him to show up. He hadn't planned to come. He had breezed into the office around four-thirty that afternoon and was surprised to find it abandoned. She had been there, and judging from the crumpled post-it on his desk, she hadn't appreciated his--as she called it--"ditching" her yet again.

He had done it for her own good. He knew that, had he come in that morning and worked along side of her all day, he wouldn't have been able to resist escorting her this evening. She had an endearing way of punching holes in all of his excuses. He had set the wheels in motion last night after yesterday's duplicitous misadventure. This pattern of disentangling himself from her life only to selfishly pull her closer again was crueler to her than it had to be. But oh God, the hurt in her eyes, Mulder's mind's eye focused on her concerned face in the office two days ago, and then the confusion and betrayal clouding her eyes last night as she had exited his car. So, he had come into the office at six in the morning, left his note, and fled the scene. If I have to a bastard in order to protect her, then that is exactly what I am prepared to do, he swore. It had weighed him down like a millstone all day.

He had brought the projector and one of the empty crates over to the Lone Gunmen that afternoon to see if they could turn up any clues as to the identities of whomever had set Scully and him up. Forensics was Scully's department, but he had chosen to circumvent her expertise for the time being. Remembering the encounter, Mulder still couldn't quite believe how irate the guys had become:

Frohike, self proclaimed president of the "Dana Scully: Hottest Babe in DC" fan club, asked about the upcoming dance and practically begged to be granted information after the engagement about what she had worn and any other tidbits to add to his fantasy file. Byers and Langly groaned at his request, thinking that their friend was being hopelessly pathetic. Mulder silenced the speculation and the ensuing bickering by announcing that he would not be in attendance. Mulder had not been prepared for the onslaught of angry words hurled in his direction.



Byers and Langly shook their heads and swore under their breaths while Frohike launched the main offensive. "You are such an asshole, Mulder!" Frohike's small frame seemed to inflate with aggression as he paced in front of Mulder.



"Hey! What the he..." Mulder began but was instantly cut off.



"Does she have another date?" Frohike tapped his foot.



Mulder began to perspire. "How the hell should I know?" Mulder stepped back nearly knocking over Langly's soldering iron. The cross examination continued.



"Has she been dating anyone else?"



"Nooo." Mulder crossed his arms over his chest. "I mean, she isn't dating *anyone*."



Langly and Byers exchanged a look and stepped out of Frohike's way. "When did you dump her?"



Mulder had heard enough out of this gaggle of geeks for one day. "I didn't dump her. You guys are nuts!"



Frohike stepped into Mulder's personal space; toe-to-toe, nose to sternum. "So, she never counted on being escorted by you?"



Mulder squirmed, "Well...I guess..." Mulder looked at his shoes and mumbled, "Last night". He started to explain his motivation for doing so, but one look at Frohike and the guys, told him to save his breath. Instead, he changed strategies, "What is it to you guys, anyway?"



"What's it to us?" Frohike nodded to his buddies, and Byers explained.



"She's one of us now. Okay, maybe not exactly like us, but she has had to contend with those who would enslave the truth, risking her life to shed light onto the dark and evil forces mired within our government and beyond. Regardless of her intentions and her skepticism, we are comrades in arms."



Langly chimed in, "She defended you. Heck, she even defended *us*. Nobody has ever done that before. That can't win her any popularity contests at the Bureau. She deserves better than to be dumped less than twenty-four hours before tonight's little soiree." Langly, despite his black rimmed, nerd glasses and his living-in-the- basement-of-his-parents-home-till-death kind of hair, looked menacing enough to alert Mulder into subconsciously taking inventory of his surroundings, possible opponents and the location of his weapon. He'd never seen the guys this worked up before.



Man, you'd think I shot her dog or something! Mulder thought defensively then remembered that he was somewhat responsible for the death of her little rat-dog years ago and that he, obsessed with his investigation as usual, blew off Scully's grief and anger. Again. Maybe these misfits have a point, he conceded.



Frohike approached the bench with his final arguments, "Besides, you dufus, I'd give my left nut for the privilege of taking her out."



Mulder just stood dumbstruck for a moment. Since when had Scully been elevated to the status of Goddess of the Nerds? he asked himself. He wasn't about to let the Scarecrow, the Lion, and the Tin Man here see how guilty he really felt for "dumping" Scully. "Whatever." Mulder picked up his coat to leave. "Thanks for the pep talk guys. Call me if you find any usable evidence," he tossed over his shoulder. "I've got work to do." With that, he was gone, leaving the Gunmen to curse him through the door."



"Butthead."



"Moron."



"Jerk."

Back in the office, Mulder had pictured poor Scully in her black suit alone at a banquet table. Mulder felt crummy about leaving his friend to fend for herself in such hostile surroundings. However, truth be known, that wasn't why he had shown up--in a white dinner jacket and a black tie-- no less.

He had been compelled to attend, unable to stay away. Hello. My name is Mulder, and I am a Scully addict. It's been eighteen hours since my last fix. Mulder thought bitterly. He yearned for the light and energy that she emitted from her impassioned soul. Her half grins, her soft sighs, even the way she rolled her eyes at his outlandish statements elicited a warm rush through his body. Mulder figured that a heroin junkie had a better chance of shaking a craving than he did. Tonight is it. Just one last taste, and I'll quit tomorrow, he told himself sternly. I'll walk away, and never look back.

A hand on Mulder's shoulder caused him to jump. "Agent Mulder," Skinner began. "I wasn't sure that you would be gracing us with your presence this evening."

"Wouldn't miss it, Sir." Mulder countered with insincere eagerness. Having discovered no tangible leads during the day's search, Mulder decided to engage the Assistant Director in conversation. Mulder was an expert at getting Skinner to not answer questions. The way Mulder figured it, the more evasive Skinner became, the more likely it was that he was hiding involvement by himself or an immediate supervisor. "Interesting case last night..."

Skinner looked down upon the gathering crowd below. The din of collective chatter slowly overpowered the classical mood music being piped into the room. Skinner changed the subject. "Where's Agent Scully?"

Good Question, he admitted. "I haven't seen her today. I had assumed that she would be here by now." Mulder turned the helm of conversation over to Skinner.

Skinner's jaw quirked at Mulder's "assumption". "Agent Scully looked a bit out of sorts this morning." Skinner studied Mulder's furrowed brow and continued. "She handed in your budget before she left this morning." Skinner enjoyed making Mulder uncomfortable for a change. "I mean, don't misunderstand, the two of you have enough combined paid time off in reserve to be gone through the New Year. It just seemed strange to me that she took a day with no prior notice given." Mulder fidgeted beside Skinner, searching for a sunflower seed in his pocket. "Everything all right?"

"Fine, Sir." Mulder felt tension beginning to climb up his spine and fought it. He shrugged and rolled his shoulders forward slightly; the casual posture hopefully masking the rising stress within. He temporarily forgot about his quest for information related to last night's hoax. "Did she happen to mention why she had to leave suddenly?"

Skinner rocked back on his heals then responded, "Nope." Skinner peered at Mulder's darkening visage. "I thought that you might know." Skinner's inference hung heavy in the air around them.

Mulder, with nothing to add, resumed his vigil. Another large group of partygoers poured into the room then branched off into smaller aggregates as they advanced to the reception table before disappearing through the large oak doors at the far end of the hall. He pivoted back around to scan the next group when something caught his eye. Boy did it ever catch his eye.

Mulder couldn't take his eyes off of the sexiest back he'd ever seen. The vision at the bottom of the stairs wore an elegant, blue gown. The dress was suspended from criss-crossing straps high upon her shoulders, leaving the rest of the back open. Soft folds of material rested low on her spine; high enough to avoid scandal, low enough to tempt the imagination. Mulder's mouth began to water in pure Pavlovian response. His appreciative eyes then noticed something familiar.

The sensuous curve of her hip, the narrow taper of her waist, and the pale satin of her skin, were frequent visitors to Mulder's dreams. He had approximately 258 fantasies involving his hands sliding along hips such as the ones before him. Sometimes, he would be sitting at his desk, pretending to work, all the while daydreaming of what it would be like to run his fingers down Scully's... WHAT?? Mulder jerked his eyes upwards to the porcelain neck and upswept auburn tresses of his partner.

Scully felt a shiver down her spine and a force from behind willing her to turn around. Mulder, she knew without looking just as she always sensed his presence whenever he was near--not that she would ever admit to something so unscientific. She turned slowly and lifted her glance to the top of the steps. Adrenaline jolted her heart making her pulse quicken when she met Mulder's eyes. For a moment, or perhaps for forever, she stared at his handsome form. He stared back.

Only then did Mulder register the full impact of the moment. There was nothing on Earth--or anywhere else most likely--that could come close to being as beautiful as she. Her gray-blue eyes sparkled like the beaded bodice of her gown. No, he amended, like starlight. Intellectually, Mulder knew that he should do something, say something. He grappled for mastery over his visceral self. Before he had an opportunity to check his words, he uttered one simple response, "Oh. My...."

"God." Skinner finished from behind surprising Mulder.

Mulder's panic paralysis faded when he realized that the Assistant Director was making his way down the stairs to greet Scully. Skinner reached the bottom of the steps and proceeded to shock her by saying something very un-Skinnerish, "Agent Scully, at the risk of being slapped with a sexual harassment suit, may I say that you look absolutely stunning tonight?" Never leaving her gaze, Skinner bent forward and placed a kiss on the back of her hand to punctuate his compliment.

Scully, seasoned agent, medical doctor, and independent woman was mildly horrified having realized that she might be blushing in front of her boss. Always quick to recover, she smiled demurely and answered, "Why yes you may, kind Sir."

Skinner flashed her his full grin briefly, leaving Scully to marvel at how she had come to regard him as an authority figure and ally, but *never* really as a man, until now anyway. The discovery was roughly 62% fascinating and 38% unsettling. Still, there was nothing inappropriate about their relationship. The compliment was accepted as it had been intended; a friendly gesture and nothing more.

Mulder maneuvered himself next to her, and awaited his turn at the kissing booth. He tried in vain to formulate a suave hello or the expected sexual entendre. Words had always been Mulder's playthings, his command of language impressive. He opened his mouth to address hands down, the finest woman he had ever laid his eyes on (including the ones who had been airbrushed to perfection, lying heaped on and around his magazine rack at home). Blank. Blank. Blank. Mulder hadn't been at such a loss for words since he'd been caught red-handed with a tree lizard poised over Susie Patterson's dress at the eighth grade dance. Same feeling. Different intent. He finally closed the distance between them and managed to deliver a very sophisticated and worldly, "Uh, hi," when someone practically knocked him over.

"Gosh, um, Sorry 'bout that. I wasn't watching where I was going," said a tall tuxedo clad man as he passed Mulder and leaned in towards Scully.

Scully offered her cheek to Mike's quick kiss and quipped, "Are you ever watching where you are going?"

Mulder could have sworn that he heard the "Twilight Zone" theme start up. Who is this guy and why is he kissing *my* partner?

While Mulder remained briefly dazed, Mike wasted no time in beating him to the punch. "Wow," Mike offered while appraising Scully from head to toe and back again lingering a little too long on the tantalizing flash of thigh exposed thanks to the slit up the side of her dress that was cut a little too high for Mulder's comfort. "Wow," he repeated. Mulder gave the guy one more second to stop ogling his partner before things turned violent.

Scully, unaccustomed to this degree of male attention, felt the heat creeping into her cheeks again. "Thank you." Mulder edged closer and cleared his throat. "Oh," Scully stammered, "Sorry. Mike, this is my partner Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is Mike Adams. He is in chemical analysis." Scully held her breath for a moment as the two men shook hands. They were outwardly polite, but their stance reminded Scully of two bucks about to lock horns in a battle for their territory. And I'm the territory, an inner voice scolded. Mom warned you, but no-oo... Scully bit back, Oh shut up and help me out here, will ya?

Skinner came to her rescue, "I think they're about to start serving. We should probably go in."

***End of Part 1/2 of It's Easier to Believe by Rachiraptor***