Scully took a long, deep breath of the steam rising off her coffee, and prayed for deliverance from these crazy people.

"Tell me again," Mulder demanded of their witness, sounding both fiercely interested and weary at the same time. "From the beginning."

"Well..." Arthur Pinkle took a deep, shuddering breath. It was quite obvious that he wasn't enjoying this reminiscing. "I was bringing a message to Mr. Dimmesdale, whose office is down the hall from Mr. DuPori's--may he rest in peace. Anyway, I noticed Mr. Stanson outside of Mr. DuPori's office, in casual clothing, which is odd, 'cause Mr. Stanson usually wears office-wear--neatly pressed, and all." Pinkle paused, staring reflectively at the floor.

"Go on," Mulder prompted. Pinkle jumped at his voice, almost spilling his coffee, which was long cold by now. "What happened then?"

"Mulder," Scully started exasperatedly, "we must have been over this--"

"Shh-shh-shh. Once more for the record. Okay?"

"Fine," she relented, settling back into a leaning position against the desk, and sniffing at her coffee again. Detective Jenkins cleared his throat behind her, and she glanced back to see he had gone for more coffee. Mulder, meanwhile, was intent on the witness.

"I-I-I heard Mr. Stanson muttering to himself, but I-I couldn't really hear it: too quiet. So, anyway, that was when th-the really *weird* thing happened." Again Pinkle stopped, this time too flustered to go on. "Do I have to say it again?"

"Just once more, Mr. Pinkle."

"All right, but I'm tellin' ya, just 'cause I saw it doesn't mean I believe it."

_A man after my own heart,_ Scully thought halfway across the cubicle.

"So, then Mr. Stanson...Mr. Stanson..." Mulder looked like he was about to interrupt the man. "Mr. Stanson transformed into a cloud of smoke."

"What kind of smoke?"

"R-red. Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, nothing. Go on."

"Anyway, the...cloud of red smoke went underneath the door to the office, and--a few seconds later there was a gunshot and everybody came running." Scully took a sip of her coffee.

"All right, Mr. Pinkle. Thank you for volunteering this information," Mulder stood, looking back at Scully with a ridiculous amount of hope in his eyes. "You just have to sign a couple of forms and you can go. Detective Jenkins--" Detective Jenkins, who had just entered the cubicle with a fresh cup of coffee, froze like a deer in the headlights. "--will find someone who'll show you what to do."

Jenkins unfroze. "Down the hall and to the left, Mr. Pinkle," he chucked a thumb in the right direction, and as the jumpy man left, took a sip of from his mug. "So what do you think of this crackpot?"

"I think he saw something," Mulder jumped in before Scully could voice her doubts in Mr. Pinkle's sanity. "Something that defies explanation at the moment." Slapping his knees, he stood up. "Detective Jenkins, do you know of any good restaurants around here? I'm dying for some lunch. Huh, Scully?" Startled, Scully looked up from her coffee and nodded her agreement.

"Well, there are a couple of Denny's hangin' around, but if you want my *expert* opinion," here he winked, "you'll head down to the Cajun quarter. You probably saw it on your way into town. There's some great food to be had there, if you're willing to try somethin' new."

*********

The scents of wet pavement and local spices hung in the air as two trenchcoat-clad people made their way into a busy restaurant, folding their umbrellas. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle outside, no longer a full-fledged distraction as it had been before, and Scully found herself drawn to the bright colors and enticing aromas of those market stalls that remained in the streets.

"Table for two," Mulder held up two fingers. The woman nodded and led them to their seats, where they were greeted almost instantly by their server.

"'Ello, I am Remy LeChien, I'll be your waiter today," the squat, smiling man said in a genuine Cajun accent as he handed them each a menu. His aura of friendliness was contagious, and both Mulder and Scully found themselves smiling at him. "Today's specials are on the board behind you," he pointed. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order. Oh, and mademoiselle," he leaned in a bit closer to Scully, "may I recommend anything with our house sauce, huh?" The waiter waggled his eyebrows. "It's delicious."

"Looks like you made yourself a new friend, Scully," said Mulder jokingly as LeChien wound his way through the restaurant. She quirked an eyebrow at him and opened her menu.

After a pause, she said, "So, Mulder--" at the same time he said, "So, Scully--"

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "You go first."

"I was just wondering what your theory was on this case," she said, just as embarrassed as he was--on the inside, anyway.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Scully didn't even have to roll her eyes. "Uh, well, the 'red mist' that Pinkle described reminds me of an old legend of a--um," he quailed a bit under her unwavering gaze, "a pirate who buried the treasure that was supposedly the rarest and most valuable of all: the kind that helped you find more treasure. According to the story, it can get you through any door in the world without needing a key."

"Do I have to bother telling you how ridiculous that sounds?"

"No, I figured that out on my own, thank you."

"So what were you going to say before?"

"Uh," he coughed, _Why've you been so nice lately?_ "just, um, what are you going to order?"

What was the deal with Mulder? He was acting like they had never spoken before. _Like we're on a blind date or something. Which is utterly ridiculous,_ she reassured herself, regretting even thinking such a thing. But what had happened to their witty discourse? "A salad."

"What?! A salad, Scully? Here we are, in a genuine Cajun restaurant, about to use our government's money to pay for what *could* be a very expensive lunch...and you're ordering a salad?" he asked incredulously.

_*There's* the witty discourse._ "I'm on a diet," she told him demurely. "Besides, most of what they serve here is loaded with grease, not to mention the risk of food poisoning from all this seafood." She paused. "Why, what are you getting?"

LeChien took that moment to make his reappearance. "Are we ready to order? Yes? Good." He turned to Scully first, with what he probably hoped was a winning smile on his face. "Mademoiselle? What will you be having today?"

She glared at Mulder as she ordered, a hint of humor in her eyes. "A salad."

"With--ahem--" the waiter tried to catch her attention, and got it after a few seconds of waiting. "--our house sauce, mademoiselle?"

With what was certainly a winning smile up at the server, she said, "Of course." Then she turned to Mulder with a half-smile, as if to challenge him: 'Your turn.'

"I'll have the seafood gumbo," he stated, a slight smile creeping onto his face. 'Challenge taken, and matched. Your move. If you dare.'

"Oh, and waiter!" Scully called after him, tearing her eyes away from Mulder's. LeChien turned. "Make that *extra* house sauce, all right?" She smiled sweetly at him, but when she turned back to her partner, her smile turned smug. 'Checkmate. Maybe next time, loser.'

Mulder was hardly disappointed by his loss. _When has Scully *ever* played something like that with me? Oh, let's see...*never.*_ Without his even requesting it to, his mouth spoke for him. "Scully..." he started, his tone serious. She sobered almost instantly, and some part of him mourned the loss of her smile. For once in his life, he got right to the point. "You've been different, lately."

"What do you mean?" she asked, slightly defensive and puzzled.

"That," Mulder jerked his head toward the direction in which the waiter had disappeared. "And the beach. You've never...told me anything like that...voluntarily before."

"'Voluntarily'?" she retorted, mildly indignant.

"Maybe 'voluntarily' isn't the right word," he ceded. "What I'm saying is...when have you ever told me a story like that...when we haven't been in dire straits?"

"Well, I--"

"Not that I'm saying it's a bad change," he said, holding his hands up, as if to ward off any protests. "I mean, you've been downright friendly to me--"

"When have I not been friendly to you, Mulder?"

_Want me to list off the times?_ "I'm putting this entirely the wrong way." Putting his forehead in his hand, he slumped over the table, frustrated.

"No, I--I think I get it." Scully's voice was suddenly tender, and Mulder looked up just as she touched his hand with her own.

"GUMBO! for you, sir," said Remy LeChien exuberantly, shoving Mulder out of the way to place down a steaming bowl of the proclaimed meal, "and a salad," he said flirtatiously to Scully, "for the lady." He leaned in a little closer to her, just as she was pulling her hand back into her lap. "With *extra* house dressing."

Mulder and Scully waited until LeChien had disappeared into the kitchen before they laughed.

*********

Earl Stanson shut his suitcase with a slam, and headed to the bathroom for a last-minute check. No, not a check to see if he'd already packed everything he needed; he had to make sure he *looked* good. A quick glance in the mirror, then a splash of water over his face, and then a much *longer* look in the mirror, showed Stanson that he was set to go. With one last brush of his hair, he went back out into his living room to make a phone call.

"Marla? Yeah, it's me. Uh-huh, I'm all packed, did you make the reservations? Good. Used some of that, uh, vast charm of yours, didn't you? What do you mean 'what charm'? Well, I'm just trying to pay you a compliment, I--" A dial tone issued from the phone's earpiece. "Fine, be that way," Earl told it. Picking up his suitcase, he left the phone off the hook and went out the door.

*********

Scully peered disdainfully at his plate, remarking, "Mulder, if you die of food poisoning, I am going to dance on your grave."

"If you do, will you promise to imitate the Mardi Gras dancers and take off your shirt?" A hopeful smile flew across the table, along with the tantalizing odor of gumbo.

She gave him a look. "How are you going to be able to appreciate it? You'll be *dead.*"

"Scully, you without a shirt would be enough to wake any man from the dead." Winking at her, he took a bite of his dish.

Angrily, Scully speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. A minute ago, he had been prepared to confess something *important,* and now look at him: smiling goofily at her, slurping away at his food, which, to make things worse, smelled *really* good. Lifting her fork to block her view of him, she peered at the piece of lettuce. It was dripping with house sauce. She fought the urge to scoff, and slipped the piece of roughage into her mouth. Then she did scoff.

"Something wrong, Scully?"

"Gimme that," she seized his gumbo, bringing the bowl across the table to take a taste.

"What happened to the whole 'it's bad for you' kick?"

"It smelled good," she said testily, after she swallowed. The bowl traveled back across the table.

"Live up to your expectations?"

"So what were you going to say before?" she interjected. Mulder looked taken aback, so she clarified: "What were you saying when Monsieur LeChien," she mocked the name, "decided to interrupt?"

"Oh," Mulder set his spoon down on his plate with a clink. When he didn't say anything, Scully prompted,

"About me...changing?"

"It's a good thing," he said softly after awhile, reaching up to rub his face, but then thinking better of it and running his hand through his hair. "It's like you're...not afraid to just...be yourself around me anymore. Does that make sense?" After a long pause, he looked up from the table and said, just as quietly, "I'm glad of it. You're not afraid to be my friend--as well as my colleague."

Scully's eyes sparked with ire. _Uh-oh,_ thought Mulder. "And I wasn't your friend before? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, I just--*more* so now--"

"I could've requested a transfer a *long* time ago, Mulder, and you know it." Her voice had been rising slightly in volume, but she noticed and lowered it. Mulder resolved that he liked Scully loud and angry a great deal better than he liked Scully soft and angry. "I could have just packed up and left--*especially* after I...disappeared..." She trailed off, staring into her salad. Knowing she should eat, though retaining no appetite, she forced the food down, not looking up from it once, even when Mulder requested the check. Even when the waiter swept the plate away from her place, she fixed her gaze on the table, emotions warring inside of her.

_I should say something, I know it,_ Mulder told himself as he slung on his coat. Scully's eyes remained immovable; she stared straight ahead while they made their way out of the restaurant. _Maybe I shouldn't have told her, after all..._ Just as Scully was unfolding her umbrella to protect against the light drizzle, Mulder's cell phone rang.

"You better get down here, right away," said Detective Jenkins, agitated. "Our suspect's just signed up to take a cruise with the Vice President of his company."

"Right," Mulder said, clicking off the phone. He turned to Scully, duty overriding the need to give her some space. "We have to get on a cruise."

"What?"

"Let's go," Mulder bolted for the car.

***

Ha-HA! A cliffhanger! An emotional one! Yay! Now all that's left is the resolution. Aren't you excited? You don't get a preview this time, though. All I'm giving you is the chapter title: "Savor." If you haven't gotten the gist of the chapter titles and themes by now, shame on you.

My reason for putting everything simply in this chapter: big emotional issues. Big, complicated emotional issues. Best not to explain them--you can figure them out on your own, anyway. So instead of explaining every tiny little detail about this confrontation, I tried to put things as plainly as I could.

And behold! There was a reference to the show! Second season, Scully was abducted, remember, y'all? Sore point with Mulder, isn't it? ::evil laughter::

Author's note: Mulder and Scully's server, Remy LeChien, is a ridiculous allusion to X-Men's Remy Le*Beau,* whose last name means, roughly, "The handsome." I dare you to plug "Le Chien" into Babelfish, along with "Un reniflement." You're in for a laugh. That is, unless you don't already know what they both mean...

I will give you a cyber-hug if you review...