Things were right for once in Mulder's godforsaken life. He was happy, he made someone else happy. So why did it terrify him? Because he knew it was only a matter of time before fate stepped in and fucked everything up. She'd be taken away one way or another - whether by her own choice or someone else's.
For now, though, he found a way to push those thoughts aside and enjoy himself. He could have so easily taken the next step with her, make love to her as she seemed to want. Her hungry lips and daring hands pushed themselves further in that direction every evening, and it was harder and harder to tear himself away.
If he did that, though, there was no turning back. He would be gone, as surely as if he'd jumped off a cliff. And Dana… he wasn't sure he could force that upon her, even though he knew she was a woman who could make her own decisions. But did she really know what she was getting into, by stacking her cards next to his and wagering the lot?
"For such a lucky guy, you sure are a fuckin' sad sight," Melvin said, leaning against the bar near Mulder, as he wiped a glass and frowned.
"Don't know if I've ever been considered lucky."
"The way Dana looks at you, Mulder…" Melvin sighed. "If I had a woman that fine who looked like she wanted to fuck me a smile would never leave my goddamn face."
"Christ, Melvin, would you keep that to yourself," Mulder whispered, as Langly emerged from the kitchens. The skinny cook with blonde scraggly hair, and a similar disaffection for his first name, eyed them both with suspicion.
Melvin shrugged, walked back to the other side of the counter, placing the glass with the others.
"Just a piece of advice from an expert in these things," Melvin started, and Mulder snorted in response. "Don't be so fuckin' morose all the time, she'll get tired of it eventually. And when she does, just send her my way, huh? I'll make sure she never has a reason to be unhappy."
Melvin waggled his eyebrows and made a suggestive gesture with his hips.
"You're disgusting," Mulder said. He knew, though, that the bartender had something of value to offer. I'm happy, goddamnit, and I'm going to fucking go along with it, at least for her sake. As long as she willed it.
"Who're ya talkin' about?" Langly asked. Mulder ignored him. Madam knew, as he'd heard from Dana, and Melvin knew. He didn't need anyone else in their business. Didn't need anyone else getting the wrong idea about her.
The doors to the hall swung open, the bright light from the rising sun blazing into the dining room. Mulder squinted his eyes and shielded his face from the glare, curious at who was entering the joint at such an hour.
"Fucking shit," Melvin grumbled.
It was Diana.
"That her?" Langly whistled appreciatively. "Damn."
Mulder cursed under his breath, memories of the woman flooding back. The guilt over how he'd used her, how he'd left things time and time again, her accusing eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. How could he have forgotten, until this very moment, that she'd show up?
He stood from his stool and walked over, intending to guide her out the door and speak on the porch.
Melvin muttered under his breath as he passed him, echoing his thoughts. "Get rid of that fucking woman, Mulder. Right quick."
Mulder nodded and waved his hand at him in acknowledgement. Diana being here would only cause trouble: she and Dana would not get along. A little voice in the back of his mind told him, in fact, that having the two of them in the same room would be much like a standoff between sheriff and outlaw, guns at the ready.
His guilt persisted, though, making any attempt at rushing her rudely out of the door an impossibility.
"Fox!" Diana gushed, as he approached her. He reached for the door handle but she was quicker than him, and his choice was either press himself against her, all perfume and cleavage, or keep his distance. He chose the latter.
Seeing her reminded him of all of the wrong choices he'd made in his life, before he'd met Dana. Like being thrown from a horse and submerged in the cold water of the Green River. He'd used her to get answers, and she'd been only too happy to provide them, whispering the words over her pillows at night. What was a harmless dalliance with a willing woman? He'd always left before dawn, though, remorse overshadowed by his drive to find his sister, the only thing that mattered to him. The price he'd paid for his search, was it worth it? He'd been so sure, back then, but now he doubted everything.
"You didn't come see me," Diana pouted. She traced her finger along the collar of his jacket, her chest rising and falling heavily. He was ashamed to say he couldn't help but look, frozen in place by the unwelcome memories invading his mind at her return.
"You… ah, know how it is," he said, attempting to back away, but only succeeding in toppling over a chair. "Walt and Melvin cracking the whip, complaining about how little use I am but nevertheless finding things for me to do."
"Is that all?" she said. Her eyes pierced into his, and he knew that she knew, somehow. Who didn't then? How could his friendship with Dana, so recently bloomed into something else, something entirely unfamiliar, be so unmistakable to everyone else? He eyed the onlookers in the dining room, his mind fresh with suspicion.
She continued when he remained silent. "You should come for dinner."
That wasn't how they ever did things, but she always asked, and he always refused. This time, with no lie for an excuse.
"I am occupied tonight, Diana."
Her brown eyes hardened. She was a woman unused to getting her way, to being refused. One of these days he felt like she'd ask the question with a revolver held to his gut.
"Well, Fox…" she wet her lips and brushed closer to him. "You don't seem particularly happy to see me. Can't I even get a kiss hello?"
The polite smile on his face shifted into a grimace as she leaned up and kissed him, easily reaching his cheek. Diana was a tall woman, only a few inches shorter than himself. All he could think of, in the moment, was how much he enjoyed being pulled down into a kiss instead.
How much of a difference it made when the woman kissing him didn't attach a price to her affections, or make him feel as though his search for his sister was not only futile, but foolish and unworthy of a gentleman such as himself. Why didn't he return to his parents, join his father in his successful law practise, and take a wife who would not only make him respectable, but enhance his status in the eyes of his peers? Knowing how much his father would agree with Diana, and approve of her, only impressed upon him how wrong that choice would be.
Diana chattered away, ignoring his discomfort at the way she touched him: fondling his shirt sleeves, pressing close, her hand lingering possessively on the center of his chest. It was all or nothing with her. When he needed her most, in the depths of his sorrow, she was nowhere to be found, or cold and distant. When he was well again, determined and focused, she couldn't get enough of him. Had it always been this way? He thought so, but before he'd ignored it, sought his answers, and didn't worry about the guilt that she'd made him feel for wanting things at the wrong times.
He desperately searched his mind for a way to make a polite exit, responding to her only when needed. After an interminable period of pretending to be interested in her words, Walt pushed through the front doors, his wide-shouldered frame knocking him away from Diana.
"Excuse me, miss," Walt said, as he removed his hat and stepped out of the way.
"Oh, hey, Walt. You needed help with that, uhh, delivery for the Madam, right? It completely slipped my mind."
Walt stared at him, unimpressed, but did not speak.
"It was good to see you Diana, but, uh, you'd best be on your way," Mulder stammered.
Diana looked at him, jaw clenched, flush rising up her chest to color her cheeks. She was shrewd, not that she needed to be to see through his flimsy excuse, that he only wanted to be rid of her. She wouldn't say anything, though, for sake of her pride.
"Well," she huffed. "I guess I shall see you another time."
Leaning upwards once more, she kissed his cheek again, lingering there to whisper in his ear.
"Just remember, Fox, who has given you more than anyone, these past few years," she said. "You need me, more than I need you."
As she opened the door, her figure shadowed by the sunlight streaming in behind her, the set of her spine and shoulders betrayed her fury. He knew that he would pay dearly for turning her away on his own terms instead of hers. Instead of trepidation, though, it was only relief he felt that she was gone. He'd deal with anything else later.
When the doors closed, Mulder felt he could breathe once more.
"Thanks for backing me up, Walt, as it was," he said.
"Don't know why you had to treat Miss Fowley so offensively, Mulder. She's a lady, deserves the courtesy of the truth, that you've been occupying yourself with Miss Schaeffer of late," Walt said, glaring at him with his red-rimmed eyes. "And don't think about using me for some poor excuse again, or you'll find my boot on your neck the next time."
Mulder shrugged, wiping his brow. Did everyone know about Dana and I?
Walt stomped away, headed to his usual table beside the door, grumbling to himself as he tossed his hat on the table, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Whiskey!"
"Hair of the dog, comin' right away, no need to fuckin' yell," Melvin said, already prepared with a glass and bottle. He nudged Mulder roughly on his way to Walt's table.
"You just fucked up big time," Melvin hissed, jerking his head behind him. Looking in that direction, he saw Dana, shoulders hunched, rushing away from him back to her room.