Author's Notes: This began as a silly brainstorming session with my friend Silke, she who originally got me to watch The X-Files. Once we'd fleshed out the story we wanted to write it together, but Silke's busy schedule made it impossible for her to have any time to write. It was such a great idea I didn't want to drop it, so with her permission I finished it.

The antique store is a real place, although the actual shop is in Kentucky.

Spoilers: None. Takes place around the time of the episode "Home," early Season 4.

Summary: When Mulder thinks Scully's costume party dress is haunted, he simply has to convince her of that fact.

Over Her Shoulder
by Suzanne L. Feld
Rated PG

Although she'd grown up in the Baltimore/DC/eastern Virginia area during her teens and was aware of all the reenactments that went on during the summer months, Scully had no idea where to find an authentic Civil War-era dress. And Ellen would know if it wasn't period-authentic, being a professor of early Americana and a Civil War buff in her own right. She knew she could have called her friend to find out, but it was a matter of pride in this case that she find it on her own.

As much as she was looking forward to seeing some of her old college friends and sorority sisters, Scully was beginning to dread this party. It was far too late to have a dress made but she hadn't wanted to do that anyway; she'd only wear it this one time and probably sell it at a loss. She was thinking more along the lines of renting a dress or, if she had to, finding somewhere that would buy the dress back from her at a reasonable price when she was done with it.

So far she'd checked out five or six costume shops, which is where she'd assumed she'd find one, but the invitation had specified "authentic 1860s wear required" and that was the one thing she hadn't found. After doing a bit of research on the Internet, she decided that a re-enactor's shop might be what she needed, but where to find one?

It was turning out to be such a pain in the ass that she'd ended up putting off her search, and here it was six days before the party. As she sat in the midst of a traffic jam waiting to cross the bridge over the Potomac from DC to Virginia, her mind lingered on the problem. Maybe she could drive to a Civil War battlefield and look for re-enactor's shops? Surely they'd have them there. Ahab and her mother had dragged them to all the local history spots when they'd first moved to the area, so she'd been to Manassas, Antietam, Harper's Ferry and, of course, Gettysburg. She'd never seen a reenactment, but you didn't live in this area without being aware of them.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself, looking around at the press of cars. She was supposed to have run over to Mulder's to pick up a case file he wanted her to check, but a normally twenty minute trip had already stretched to almost forty so far with construction delays. As an exit sign came up, she decided to just get off the freeway and surface-street it to Arlington. It certainly couldn't take any longer than sitting on this freeway-cum-parking lot would!

Fifteen minutes later she was almost to Mulder's apartment building on a road she hadn't taken before when she spotted the sign. It was small and wooden, rather rickety, but freshly painted. "Rosemarie's Antiques – dishes, clothes, toys, furniture – turn left here then ½ mile to first traffic light" it read in hand-painted but easy-to-read lettering. "Oh, what the hell," she mumbled to herself, hitting the turn-blinker and moving into the left lane.

The antique shop was as easy to find as the sign promised and she pulled up in the lot out front just a few minutes later. It was a two-story building that looked like it might have once been a wood-sided turn-of-the century house but was now covered with aluminum siding: white on top, grey for the bottom floor. Another hand-painted sign hung on a cast-iron pole near the street proclaimed, "Rosemarie's Antiques – Welcome! - Please Stop By". The molding around the two big picture windows were painted bright red, as was the front door behind a clear glass storm door, and brightly-painted wooden cutouts of butterflies, stars, bells, and other shapes that reminded her of Christmas ornaments decorated the front of the building around the doors and windows. Halloween decorations, fall leaves, pumpkins and dried cornstalks were the focus of the largest display window she could see. Best of all, a row of bright red rocking chairs lined the wall to the left of the door. It gave the place a homey, welcoming atmosphere.

A large electric OPEN sign was lit in one of the front windows, Scully saw as she got out of her car. As she pushed the Camry's door closed, a burring from her jacket pocket startled her, but it was of course her cell phone. And she knew who was on the other end.

"Scully."

"Hey, where are you? It's been almost an hour."

"Sorry, got caught in a traffic jam on sixty-six and had to take surface streets." She didn't want to tell him where she was because she'd never hear the end of it. "I'm almost there."

"Okay, good. I was thinking, you want to come for a run with me while you're here? A guy I met on the court this morning was telling me about this riverfront park that isn't too far from here, this time of the year it ought to be—"

"I didn't bring my sweats or gym shoes, Mulder," she interrupted him. "You should have told me about this before I left my place."

"I just remembered it," he admitted. "Well, maybe another time, then. When're you going to get here?"

"I have to make one quick stop," she hedged, knowing that if Mulder found out she was at an antique store, for whatever reason, he would tease her mercilessly. "Shouldn't be more than fifteen, twenty minutes at the most."

"Okay, I'll be here. Waiting. Patiently."

She disconnected and put the phone back in her pocket. Didn't he have anything better to do on a beautiful, sunny October afternoon?

But then, did she? What was she doing spending such a gorgeous day going to his apartment to pick up a work file, then probably heading right back home to look over the file then re-organize her closets or something equally thrilling? Maybe she'd have him come back to her place so she could change into her jogging clo—

Lost in thought, she walked towards the front door and then a flash of pale blue in the left window caught her eye. Walking past the door, she got a good look at the display and knew, right then, that she'd found what she was looking for.

The Civil War-era dress was hanging on a t-shaped metal rack, rather than a manikin, and seemed rather shapeless at first glance—but she took a second. Her first impression was that it was a bit fancy for her taste, but on second look it was less over-the-top than she'd first thought. There was no doubt she'd have to have it altered, but she knew a seamstress who sometimes shortened pants and skirts for her, so that wouldn't be a problem.

The satin and lace dress was tri-colored, a white bodice with a long ice-blue skirt, snowy white lace ruffles and trim, and dark blue satin bows on the shoulders, bodice, and at the top of the cascading layers of skirt. It wasn't quite an evening gown but not a day dress either, she knew after having done some reading up on Civil War dress styles on the Internet. It was, she thought, just perfect.

:::

Six days later…

Mulder knew something was going on with Scully, and he was about to find out just what it was. For the last few days she'd been very quiet and secretive about her plans for the weekend, and he wondered if it had something to do with his birthday coming up.

In response to his knock on her door, he heard a faint "just a minute" along with what sounded like a lower-toned expletive. Then the door was yanked open in his face and he was staring at an antebellum vision in auburn and white, Scarlett O'Hara come to life but with the face and figure of his petite partner. "Oh, shit, what in the hell are you doing here, Mulder?" she groaned, and turned away from the door leaving it hanging open. "I was hoping I wouldn't see you again until Monday."

"Whoa, Scully, what's the occasion—costume party?" he said, entering the apartment and closing the door behind himself without taking his eyes from her. It was all he could do not to gawk at her chest, since the top of the dress she wore was clearly era-correct in how low it was cut with the tops of her breasts pushing out from it. She had her hair up in some kind of poofy bun on top of her head with tendrils curling around her face, which really added to the illusion.

"Actually, yes," she said grudgingly, standing by the table and tugging on a pair of wrist-length white lace gloves. "One of my old college friends is having a Gone With the Wind-themed costume party tonight, and I need to get going."

"Wow, you look amazing," he said, looking her up and down with no pretense. "You look like you could have walked out of a time portal from the eighteen-sixties."

She softened a bit, smiling slightly over at him. "Well, thank you, Mulder. But I really do have to leave."

He watched as she went over to the couch and picked up a small, knitted, pouch-like purse that fit perfectly with her dress and fussed around inside it for a moment before tugging the strings closed. He was studying her, intrigued at how well the dress fit her compact, hourglass figure. He had always assumed that Civil War-era belles wore the big bell-like hoops, but she clearly wasn't; the long pale blue skirt fell smoothly from just below the snug bodice to past her trim hips, hiding her feet beneath a layer of flounces and lace and bows. She had to be wearing heels beneath the floor-length skirt as the top of her head was even with his nose, but what he found even more interesting was that she appeared to be wearing very little makeup, not as much as he was used to seeing on her. It made her seem younger, softer, less professional—less partner-like.

"So, uh, are you in period costume all the way down to the skin?" he inquired in a casual voice as she walked towards him, heading for the door, then stopped a few feet away.

"Mulder! Jesus! Are you here for a reason, or just to harass me?"

"I, uh, no reason. Driving by."

"Right. Be sure to pull my other leg just as hard, they could both use it."

He was still studying her. The dress itself was blue and white, a little bit too feminine and lacy for his taste yet not as outrageously decorated as he imagined some of the dresses at the party would be. That thought made him pause as an idea hit him, and he grinned over at her. "You wouldn't happen to need an escort, would you?"

She stared at him, thunderstruck. "You're not coming within ten miles of that party, Mulder," she stated firmly, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, appearing to almost make them overflow the low neckline, and nearly caused him to choke. He couldn't hide where he was staring and when he looked back up at her face, he was surprised at her expression. Instead of glaring at him, she was smiling rather smugly.

That little witch, he thought with a mix of annoyance and exasperation. He doubted she had planned that, but was quick enough to take advantage of the situation. As he was about to parry that thrust, he noticed something white and wispy curling around her shoulder. "Scully, uh, you're smoking," he said without thinking, reaching for her, thinking that perhaps she'd brushed up against the stove or something.

"Mulder, don't you touch me," she snapped, the amused expression disappearing into a scowl as she raised one arm to ward him off and sidestepped him. "Okay, that's enough—get out of here. I mean it."

"No, no, Scully, I mean it—there's smoke coming from your back!"

She whirled around, the skirt spinning around her legs and showing that she was wearing a pair of high-heeled, old-fashioned blue fabric shoes. As she did so the pale wisp darted around her, circling her like a miniature tornado before disappearing behind her as she came to a stop. It was as if the wind of her movement had caught and moved it, Mulder realized, only more deliberate—more like it was moving with her.

"What in the hell are you talking about?!" she growled, stalking over to the hall mirror and turning around in front of it. "I don't smell anything—and I am not on fire!"

"I—I saw something like a tendril of smoke around you, you didn't see it?" he said, baffled. He wasn't prone to hallucinations, so he had to believe that he'd really seen something.

She glared over at him and then looked back in the mirror, smoothing the skirt with her free hand. "I saw nothing but you trying to make a fool out of me," she said forcefully. "Out, Mulder! 'Out, damned spot! Out, I say!'" As she spoke she marched over to him, heels tapping on the hardwood floors, and shoved him bodily towards and out the door with both hands on his shoulders.

"You know how much it turns me on when you quote the Bard at me, Scully."

While pushing him out she paused to snag her keys from the table behind the couch and now joined him outside the door, closing and locking it before he could react. "I mean it, Mulder. And don't follow me."

It was in the dim light of the hallway that he finally saw it clearly. Hovering over Scully's shoulder was what was clearly a spook, a specter, an apparition… clearly, a ghost. It was a woman dressed like she, from that time period, but in what he thought was some type of long-skirted, frilly nightgown or slip that showed her bare shoulders with only thin straps over them, and floated away ethereally into the air before it reached her feet. Her face was long and sad, her pale hair wisping around her head like it was floating in water.

"Stop gawking at me, you're blocking the hallway—move," Scully said forcefully, brushing past him. Then she stopped and turned to face him, skirt swirling around her ankles even as the ghost peered at him over her shoulder. "I don't know what's going on with you tonight, Mulder, but don't you dare follow me. I don't want to see you again until Monday morning!"

He was still staring at the apparition, which gazed back at him with the saddest hound-dog eyes he'd ever seen, as Scully stalked away down the hall, ruffled skirt swaying behind her and ghost in her wake.

:::

Scully had just begun to relax when she heard the commotion outside.

Leaving the group of old friends she'd been reminiscing with in the parlor, she headed down the long hallway to the front door to see what was going on. Sure enough, she was unsurprised and, indeed, angered to see Mulder striding up the mansion's front walk, but a beat later she noted how he was dressed and couldn't help her reaction despite her annoyance with him.

Apparently he'd tried to fit in with the idea of the party, but lacking breeches and a frock coat he'd settled on tight jeans, a mock turtleneck, and his worn leather bomber jacket—all black. The heels of his boots clicked up the walk, and just to really seal the deal he was wearing what appeared to be a brown, battered Indiana Jones-style fedora. Though it was certainly the wrong kind of hat, he definitely had the kind of dashing appearance that fit in with the costume party's theme.

A few of the party's belles, some with dates, were out on the front lawn and veranda despite the cool autumn temperature and squealed and twittered in character as he came up the walk to pause near the top of the stairs. Then he spotted her standing in the doorway and after a moment of looking startled, whipped the hat off and bowed to her. Actually bowed, Scully thought dazedly, watching him. "Miss Scully!" he boomed, thankfully not trying to do a Southern accent like some of the others at the party, "I thought I'd find you here!"

"How did you find here?" she snapped, putting hands on hips. "I know you didn't follow me!"

"Keyword search on the Internet. Some invitations were sent on message boards," he winked, glancing around then looking back at her, eyes clearly going over her shoulder. "This was the only Gone With the Wind party in the D.C. metro area, so I figured this would be where I'd find you."

"Mul-deerrrr…." She sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Can't you leave me alone for just one night?"

She felt rather than saw another person come up behind her then smelled the unmistakable, overwhelmingly cloying scent of the other woman's magnolia perfume. "Dana, darlin', going to introduce me to your handsome suitor, here?"

Oh, God, of course it had to be her of all people, Scully thought dispiritedly. Not only was the she tallest and prettiest at the party, she had also come without a date. "Fox Mulder, my sorority sister Marcia Davis. Marcia, my… friend… Fox Mulder."

"Ooooh, Fox! What an apt name!" the other woman simpered, moving closer to him and the steps. She was wearing a bright cerulean blue satin ball gown cut so low that without its edging of lace her nipples might have been visible, and had a fan of peacock feathers tucked into the upswept 'do that bobbed over her head. She looked more like an eighteen-nineties saloon harlot than a proper Southern belle, but Scully was sure that that was the least of her concerns.

Mulder bowed to her as well, setting the hat back on his head and taking the hand she held out while cutting his eyes to Scully with a clear "is she for real?" look at his partner. But even as he looked away, the blonde lost her balance on the top step and fell towards him, and he could do nothing but catch her and stumble backwards down the low staircase, barely managing not to overbalance and fall. More exclamations sounded at their antics, and when they stopped on the front walk with him holding her tightly against his body, a few envious feminine whispers were heard.

Setting the woman aside by her tiny waist, Mulder glanced up into Scully's snapping, furious eyes. "You all right?" he asked, looking back at Marcia with something less than pleasure. "Could have taken a nasty tumble."

"But you saved me," she simpered, moving closer and laying a hand on the lapel of his leather jacket. "Big strong old you."

Scully was afraid she might vomit and turned away, no longer caring why Mulder was there; if he was interested in Marcia Davis then his night was assured to be physically pleasurable, at least. If some of the noises she'd overheard coming from the other woman's room during their college days was any indication, she was quite experienced.

"Scul—Dana! Wait!"

Shaking her head, Dana walked back into the house and stopped only when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Then she whirled on her partner, snapping, "Did you come here just to embarrass me and ruin the party for me, Mulder, or was there another reason?"

He was clearly taken aback. "Sorry, Scully, the woman threw herself at me," he said with a glance back to make sure that Marcia hadn't followed them. "What was I supposed to do, let her fall?"

"Yes." She turned and marched away again.

"Oh for Chrissakes…" she heard from behind her, but he didn't stop her again as she marched into the kitchen at the end of the hall and went for the open bar setup along one wall. There were several other people in the room but she turned away from them and got herself another drink, hoping Mulder would get the hint and go away while knowing that he wouldn't.

"Dana, please, just give me a minute," he said to her back. "At least come outside and talk to me where we can have a little privacy."

"I left in such a hurry I forgot my wrap, so it's a little too cold outside for me," she said pointedly, turning back to him with a glass in one hand, deliberately not offering him anything. "Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell me here."

Just then the music that was playing softly in the background changed from something nondescriptly classical to a more upbeat, waltz-type sound. Before either of them got another word out, a man dressed in period clothing stepped around Mulder, giving him a dirty look, and put his hand out to Scully. "Miss Dana, would you care to dance?" he asked with a small bow.

"Why, yes, Larry, I would, thank you," she said, deliberately cutting her eyes away from Mulder and handing him her drink before taking the other man's hand. To her amusement he was left staring after them as her friend's husband led her away, and she winked at his wife as they passed by her on the way to the ballroom. Clearly Rhonda had sent Larry over to rescue her, and a finely timed rescue it was, too, she thought with relish.

:::