Title: Aislmiento II: Slide

Author: Lexie Craig Williams

Email Address: Aries_Xphile@yahoo.com

Distribution: Archive in Gossamer and the SIS, but anything else, please
email and ask. 

Rating: NC-17, for language, sex, and other things far too unsavory to
commit to paper. 

Keywords: Mulder/other; M/S UST; Skinner/other

Categories: SRA

Spoilers: None

Timeline: None that I can think of, but following Aislmiento I. 

Summary: Mulder is still a bit hung up on Vaughan, but not for the reason
one might think. Scully wonders what's up with her partner. Venturing out
of the desert to do a favor for a friend, Vaughan finds civilization
exactly as she left it. Or does she? M /S/Sk/V end up in a very
complicated situation.  A good deal of Mulder angst. 

Disclaimers: Not mine, never will be. Songs aren't mine either. No
infringement intended. I'm po': I don't even have enough money to pay for
the last two letters in the word. Don't sue me, please. *//Non-shipper and
minors abandon ship. This is _definitely_ not where you want to be.//* Not
overt songfic, just a delicate sprinkle here and there. 

Dedicated to the most wonderful Meeshee Mouse (aka 'The Smasher of
Writer's Block'), without whom, this story would have just not happened. 

Author's Note: This is part two of 'Aislmiento'. This story would make a
whole lot more sense if you read the first one. All the pertinent
background information is there. There will be a conclusion, I promise. 


Slide:  FBI Headquarters, September 1, 3:56pm EST
	
	 
	"The lacerations on the face and neck do not suggest anything more
than an intense rage on the part of the killer. I just don't find anything
supernatural about this particular serial killer, other than his ability
to evade anything but the most rudiment ary profile. . ." Scully had been
addressing the core issues of the case for the last five minutes. And
during the last five minutes, Mulder had heard exactly five words. She
stood across the desk from him now, the beginnings of a dark scowl forming
on he r features.
	She now waited for some kind of response. Any kind of response.
But instead he just stared at her, his face guarded but open and his gaze
intense. "And I was thinking of posing for next month's 'Penthouse'
centerfold. What do you think?" 
	The last comment brought a slight tug at the corners of his lips,
but no other discernable reaction. "Pilot to bombadeer. Pilot to
bombadeer." She passed her hand quickly in front of his face, jolting him
back to reality.
	"What?" He blinked, her beauty once again filling his eyes and
senses. He'd done it again, he realized with chagrin: disappeared into his
desert night and left her in the lurch, picking up his slack.
	"You have not heard a damn word I've said," she accused, slightly
hurt. "I feel like you look through me and not at me. Like I've ceased to
exist for you. What gives?" She purposefully kept any more emotion than
that out of her voice, knowing that he wou ld respond better to a gentle
prod than a bludgeon. 
	He winced, thinking better of lying to her. "I'm sorry. I can't
seem to get focused. It's like someone unplugged my brain." 
	Scully smirked, barely checking the scathing comment that came
barreling forth. "That last case took a lot out of you, are you sure you
should be back at work? Do you need to see a doctor? I don't think I've
ever seen you this . . .  I hesitate to use th e word 'spacey' for
semantic reasons, but if the shoe fits . . . ."
	The slight concern that was etched on her face tugged at him. He
worried her. He _always_ worried her. "No, I'm fine. Tell me about the
lacerations again?"
	She believed him. The same way she believed Nixon. But just the
same . . .  "The facial lacerations--" 
	The phone rang, interrupting her. She reached for it, but he
snatched it up before she could get it. "Mulder." 
	"Afternoon. How's D.C.?" 
	He recognized the intimate, conversational tone immediately. "Hey!
How are you?" 
	"Great. You sound well." He could hear the warm smile in her
voice. 
	"I'm . . ." he glanced at Scully who was eyeing him curiously,
"I'm good. What did you need?" 
	"I'm in town for a while and wanted to look you up." 
	Scully watched the transformation in her partner with growing
disbelief. He'd gone from listless to lively, apathetic to animated. He
spoke excitedly into the phone and wrote feverishly as if his pen was on
fire and his ass was catching. She leaned her h ip against the desk and
waited for him to finish. He slammed down the phone and looked up at her
almost surprised that she was still there.
	"A lead on this case, perhaps?" she attempted to camouflage her
burning curiousity with wry humor. 
	His smile beamed at her, almost blinding in its brightness and
purity. "Better." Scully quirked an eyebrow. "Vaughan is here. In town.
For a while." 
	Jealousy smacked Scully upside her head. Many things she expected,
but somehow not this. He'd not spoken but a few words to her about Arizona
and this Vaughan woman. She'd felt a twinge of envy towards this mystery
woman in Mulder's life, but nothing lik e what coursed through her now.
She carefully organized her thoughts before speaking. "Here. In
Washington. What about Arizona?" 
	He smiled, oblivious to her disquietude. "Don't know. But I have
to go. Can you finish up here?" He was up out of his chair and grabbing
his coat before she even had a chance to answer. 
	"Sure, fine, whatever," she grumbled, walking back to her desk. 
	He smiled at her again, and took her face in his hands to kiss her
forehead. "Thanks, Scully, I owe you." And he blazed out the door leaving
a trail of flying papers and dust behind him. 
	Scully took a moment to glance around the pit of despair that was
their office. Files and notes and maps and tiny scraps of paper containing
the secrets of the universe were piled up and stuffed and rolled up in
every available space. You're damn straigh t you owe me, Mulder. I work
and slave in a basement office while you gallavant around the country with
strange women with exotic names. Dr. Bambi. . . Marita . . .  Vaughan. 
For God's sake, she didn't even have a last name! How was it that the same
wor k that deprived her of a life seemed to overcompensate with him? Her
temper sufficiently riled, she grabbed her purse and coat and left
slamming the door so hard that the nameplate clattered to the floor.  She
turned around briefly to pick it up, but deci ded against it. Fuck him. 
	She fumed all the way out to the garage to get her car. She
slumped into the seat and rested her head against the steering wheel. Fuck
him. She laughed a little at herself. _That_ was the whole problem. That
was all she wanted. Well, maybe not _all_ she wanted. . . . Six years of
his banter, the innuendos, his hand on her back. . . it could get to a
person after a while. And that scene in the hallway of his apartment? What
in the hell was that? And why was it her every other thought? The barest
brush of his lips, and she was hooked so bad, she could almost feel her
insides being ripped away as she thought of him and this mystery woman.
And really, she lamented as she pulled out of the parking lot, there was
nothing left for her to do but go home. 

	Mulder ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously as he
waited for Vaughan to answer the door. The house was a respectable three
story, Tudor style with distinctly Gothic overtones and a lot of stone and
diagonally cut glass. His stomach growled , reminding him that the bag of
Chinese food in his hand was the first thing he'd had to eat all day. 
	She threw back the huge oak door with gusto, softly backlit by
several sconces on the wall. He could hear 'Let's Get It On' playing
softly in a room just inside and to his right.  "I thought this was beer
and pizza night." She looked him up and down, he was dressed for a night
on the town, pressed new jeans, button down black silk shirt, Dr. Marten
wingtips. 
	He shrugged, a little embarrased at being obviously overdressed.
"I didn't know what you had planned. . . but I got the beer half right."
	Vaughan smirked and stepped aside to allow him inside. "Take off
your shoes and make yourself at home." Taking his coat and the food, she
retreated to the room where the music was coming from. 
	Mulder watched her walk away and was again struck by how beautiful
she was. She was barefoot again with the pair of jeans he'd worn while at
her house rolled up at the ankle, a tiny string-fastened tank top that
left her stomach and back bare and many of
 her tattoos open for public viewing, and her long curly black hair
twisted up in a half french knot leaving her face framed in curly wisps. 
	Stocking footed, he followed her across the eggshell white carpet
into the living room where she'd set up their food on a plaid blanket in
the middle of the floor. The light was low, following with the candle
motif in the foyer.  He sat across from her o n the floor and stared
around the Louis XIV theme of the room. Heavy, dark wood, ornate chairs, a
charcoal grey Persian cat asleep atop the desk. "Feeling a little romantic
this evening?" he asked as he opened his container of Kung Pao Chicken. 
	She looked up from where she was meticulously coating a fried
wonton in hot mustard. "Not particularly. The house just needed a little
atmosphere." 
	"A faux Gothic house needed ambiance. The same way a priest needs
religion, I suppose." He chuckled as she shot him a look. 
	"I suppose." Her lips curled up wryly. As the music crooned on, a
silence fell over them punctuated only by the occasional 'Pass the soy
sauce' and 'Are you gonna eat that?'. 
	Mulder felt deliciously decadent, almost Roman, as he paused in
his eating to stretch. A thought occured to him. "Whose house is this?" He
would have expected her to stay in a hotel or something, but a fully
furnished house? He took a sip from his beer a s he waited for her answer. 
	"Spooky's." 
	It was all he could do to not spray his beverage across the room.
"Excuse me?" He watched her warily. He didn't remember mentioning that
little tidbit during their last encounter. And now she just tossed it out,
casually slicing him to ribbons. 
	Vaughan cocked her head to the side in confusion and took a
cigarette out of the pack she produced from her pocket. "I do speak
English." 
	"Whose house is this?" he asked again, now thoroughly confused. 
	"My CIA spook friend. Somebody had to look after Fiona and Colin
while he's away on 'vacation'." She gestured, cigarette in hand, to the
slinky black abyssinian with glassy gold eyes stalking slowly toward his
dumplings.
	"Oh. Comprehension dawned." He felt a little sheepish at leaping
to conclusions. 
	Her smirk seemed to say 'Not the brightest crayon in the box, now,
are we?' She stood up abruptly, put the cigarette back in its box, and
offered him her hand. "Would you like a tour?" 
	Mulder smiled and took her hand. "Sure, spooky houses have always
fascinated me." 
	Vaughan led him through several rooms on the ground floor, the
kitchen, the den, the library, and then she took him up the enormous
curving stairway. "This," she continued her almost nonstop monologue, "is
the guest bedroom, one of eight. Notice the Mone t reproduction over the
bed, it sets the color tone for the room. All the guest rooms have
different artistic themes." She led him almost all the way down the hall
to a large set of heavily carved double doors. "And this," she said,
throwing open the door s with a flourish, "is the master bedroom." 
	A vast Oriental rug covered most of the floor. The king-sized four
poster wrought iron canopy bed was on the wall to the right, directly
across from the six door closet. Across from where they were standing were
a set French doors leading out to a terrac e. Mulder walked over to the
bed and gave it a test bounce. "Not bad. Care to try?" he leered at her.
	She leered back at him as she shut the oaken doors. "But you
_really_ should see the balcony view." 

	Mulder stretched out against the pillows Vaughan had given him.
Other than the vicious rug burns he knew he was going to have, the floor
was actually quite comfortable. He turned to his naked companion, who was
lightly dozing. "You know, I never did get to see that balcony view." He
rubbed her naked back affectionately. 
	"You're not missing much," she murmured sleepily. 
	He smiled and gazed around the opulent, if minimalist room. "I
don't think I want to know how your Spook friend pays for all this." 
	Vaughan sat up and scratched her head. "You know, it never occured
to me to ask. And now that I think about it, I don't think I want to."
	Mulder chuckled. "I have an idea." 
	"Umm?" 
	He turned over to look very seriously at her. "Why don't you come
into work with me tomorrow? See what I do." 
	Vaughan rubbed her eyes. "I don't know. It's been a long time
since I've been in the D.C. area. I have a few people I need to see." 
	He tried to diguise his hurt. "I mean we could go in early, then
you could leave." 
	Vaughan smiled and cupped his cheek in her hand. "Does this mean
you're staying over?" 
	"You're kicking me out?" 
	She kissed him lightly. "No, I just didn't know if you had
clothes, and I _know_ you're not my spook friend's size." 
	"I always carry a change of clothes in case of emergencies." 
	Vaughan placed her hand in the center of his chest and playfully
pushed him over. "Work related emergencies or other?" 
	He grinned up at her as she lowered her head to tongue his
nipples. "Mmm. . . Mostly work related." 
	She slithered slowly down his body. "I'll take your word for it." 

	Fox Mulder had some explaining to do. Walter Skinner strode
purposefully down the basement corridor to the office of his discontent.
Claiming sunflower seeds on an expense report. The very idea. Normally, he
would just have had his secretary call down a summons to his office, but
today, he felt like a personal rousting may be a bit more effective. File
in hand, he was about to knock when he noticed the door, sans nameplate,
ajar, and muffled male and female voices coming from inside. 
	Skinner pushed to door open, riot act primed and ready to be read.
"Agent Mulder, I would like to discuss the little matter of your expense
reports. Do you and Agent Scully have the time--?" He cut himself off when
he realized he was not speaking to the dynamic duo, but to Agent Mulder
and what was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen
bending over some pictures on his desk. "Excuse me. I didn't know you had
company." 
	Vaughan stood up straight and tried to brush the wrinkles from her
charcoal, pin-striped Victoria's Secret tuxedo cut suit. Mulder did the
same. 
	Coming around from behind his desk, he said, "Assistant Director
Skinner, this is Vaughan. Vaughan, this is Assistant Director Skin--" 
	"Walter," he cut Mulder off with what he hoped passed for a smile
as he took Vaughan's impeccably manicured hand. 
	"Good to meet you . . . Walter." Vaughan favored him with an
all-teeth smile, and relectantly relinquished his hand. "If you gentlemen
will excuse me, Fox, you're at work and I really should be going. I feel
that I'm being disruptive to your daily routin e." 
	Mulder stepped to her side. "I'll walk you out." 
	Walter stopped him with a hand on his arm. "No, that's quite
alright. You'll be busy coming up with some plausible excuses for the
little discrepancies I've circled in red on this report. _I'll_ walk her
out." He took her hand, which had been tucked secu rely in the crook of
Mulder's arm and placed it on his. "If you'll excuse us." He waited for
Mulder to challenge him, say something that would define his relationship
to her, but when he just stepped away to return to his desk, Skinner knew
he might have a chance. 

	'Who says chivalry is dead? Maybe he just wears a tie and should
switch to decaf,' she wondered at her looming escort as they stepped onto
the elevator and he stepped away from her, pushing the button like a man
on a mission. Face charming with its guard ed dark eyes hidden behind thin
wireframe glasses and an inscrutible granite expression. He'd have a
beautiful smile, she decided, if he ever bothered to practice the gesture.
He was tall, menacingly so and broadly built, much moreso than Mulder. She
didn 't blame Mulder for not contradicting him. He'd likely have a better
time with a brick wall, and it might be kinder in the long run. And that
Captian Picard thing he had going was just decidedly sexy. "So do you have
to recarve that expression every morni ng, or do you just wake up like
that?" 
	Walter felt exceedingly uncomfortable under her intense gaze. Her
black eyes revealed nothing to him as he watched her surreptitiously. The
suit skirt she wore was awe-inspiring in its brevity and led your eyes
directly to her amazing legs. An elaborate black tattoo wound its way
around her ankle, a striking exclamation point to her already exotic
beauty. And the rest of the package was nothing to laugh at, either. Long
curly black hair running down her back and shoulders gave her the aura of
wildness an d her wine colored smile was enough to drop a man to his
knees. A man who wasn't made of stone, that is. And he wasn't sure that he
still qualified as human enough to be susceptible to her charm. Her
question brought an unbidden tug at the side of his mou th that he quickly
squelched. 
	Vaughan smiled triumphantly. "Ah ha! Just as I suspected! There
_is_ a human being under there.
	"It's okay to smile, you know. I won't tell." She reached over and
pushed the stop button, bringing them to a jolting halt. "See? Now you can
do it and no one will catch you." 
	He glared at her, lightly so as not to bruise her, and pulled the
stop button back out. 
	Undaunted, Vaughan promptly pushed it in again. "You're not
getting outta here without a smile." She nodded her head to accentuate the
point. 
	His eyes widened at her audacity. He fixed a glare on her that had
sent grown men cowering. He reached for the button again and she casually
stepped in front of it. "I don't have time for this," he gritted out,
though amused at her tenacity. 
	"Nor I, but I want to see you smile. It's not a huge request." 
	He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in mild exasperation.
"And just why, may I ask, do you want to see that?" 
	She stepped aside, knowing that as long as she had his attention,
he wasn't going to pull the button. "To decide whether or not to give you
my number." 
	Shocked beyond measure, he smiled in spite of himself. Was it
really that easy? 
	She returned his grin. "Beautiful. Also as I suspected." She took
out a piece of paper from a small note book she had secreted in her purse.
Using his pen, she quickly wrote her name and number on it and placed it,
folded up, in the pocket of his starche d white shirt, along with his pen.
Then she pulled out the button and stepped back over to her side of the
elevator. 
	He eyed her shrewedly. "How do you know I'll call?" he challenged
as the elevator dinged for her floor. 
	She stepped off the elevator in front of him, affording him a view
of the perfect black seams up the backs of her legs. Sweet Jeezus! She
looked at him over her shoulder as she walked away. "Because I like you.
_And_ your smile." 
	Skinner noticed a growing congregation of male agents engaging in
what could only be described as abject gawking. A hush fell over the lobby
as she exited the building. Skinner composed himself and stepped out of
the elevator, and walking past the group of would-be construction workers,
he said, "Gentlemen, wipe your chins. You're drooling." 

	Vaughn could feel a hundred eyes burning holes into her suit.
Whatever. She stepped into the warm September morning. A good day to take
in a museum, maybe start putting her life back together, fragment by
fragment. She took her sunglasses out of her purs e and started down the
stairs. She brushed past a red-haired woman hurrying into work. "Doctor,"
she said, a reflex that surprised her almost as much as the woman's
reaction. 
	"Doctor," Dana Scully murmered as she continued on her way, busy
lost in thought. She wanted to come in early that day to prepare for the
wrath of Skinner. Those damn sunflower seeds! It was always something with
him. She stopped short. Doctor? No one ha d called her that since medical
school. She turned around. "Vaughan?" 
	Vaughan smiled in recognition. "Dana?" She rushed over to hug her
long lost friend. "My God. You look great." 
	Dana almost dropped her briefcase and laptop. "You, too. How have
you been?" 
	Vaughan shrugged noncommitally. The steps of the J. Edgar Hoover
Building was not the place to go into the sordid details. "I've been
alright. And you? You really went through with the FBI thing, huh?" 
	Dana sighed and thought of her partner. "You could say that." She
glanced at her watch. "Dammit! I'm running late. Why don't you stop by
this evening, if you're not busy?" 
	Vaughan took out her notebook to jot down the pertinent
information. "Never too busy for you, love." They exchanged numbers and
addresses and hugged each other farewell. Vaughan watched Dana hurry into
the building and then continued on her way. Put her life back together,
indeed. 

	Walter Skinner stared at the small piece of paper on his desk,
reliving this morning in his mind. A smile. All she'd wanted was a smile,
and his reward now sat in front of him on his desk in flowery, but exact,
left-handed script. 
	 'Because I like you. _And_ your smile.' He heard her voice in his
head for the hundredth time today, mellow, sultry, soft. He'd wanted to
call her as soon as he'd gotten back to his office, just to hear it again,
but waited, lest he seem too eager. Now at 4:30 on a boring afternoon, he
sat conflicted. He picked up the reciever and placed it back down almost
immediately.
	She'd almost put him on the floor with that smile and that drop
dead gorgeous figure, but what intrigued him was her personality. She
wasn't intimidated by him, and for reasons that he couldn't begin to
fathom, that aroused him. But more important, she w as interesting.
Beautiful, obviously articulate and observant, and interesting. It had
been _so_ long since he'd allowed himself to be interested in someone. In
any way that wasn't purely professional. Taking a deep breath, he dialed
the cellular number a nd waited for her to answer.

	Vaughan was sitting at a light in her burgundy Porsche waiting to
turn onto her block. The day in Balitmore had been productive, catching up
with old friends, professors, colleagues. Parts of the life she'd left
behind for her desert fortress of solitude . The phone in the bucket seat
next to her rang, just as the light changed, startling her. Thinking it
was one of Spooky's girlfriends, she prepared to answer with a heavy
accent. "'Ello?" Maurice Chevalier eat your heart out. 
	"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have gotten the wrong number." Great, he
winced inwardly, she didn't seem like she was joking when she gave him her
number. Did Mulder put her up to this? 
	Walter! Oh Jeez! He called! "Hey, Walter. I wasn't expecting you
to call." It was all she could to do put this morning out of her mind. She
usually wasn't so flirtatious, with anyone. But he'd fascinated her on an
almost visceral level. He was someone sh e definitely wanted to know
better.
	The accent gone, she sounded like herself again, at once more
comforting and nerve-wracking. "Vaughan? I didn't recognize the voice." 
	She pulled into the garage and turned off the car. "I thought you
were someone else. Sorry." 
	"It's okay. I was wondering what you thought of black and white
film." He sighed, no turning back now.
	Curiouser and curiouser. "Are we talking French film noir,
Hitchcock, or other?" 
	He smiled. "I was thinking circa World War Two. 'Casablanca'?" 
	It was her turn to smile. Her favorite movie. She got out of the
car and went inside. "Bogey and Bergman. Sounds promising." 
	He listened to the sounds of plaintive meows in the background.
"The Smithsonian is having a public showing of the original film stock
tomorrow evening. Would you--care to accompany me?" There it was said.
	Vaughan placed her purse carefully on the counter just inside the
door. A date? He'd just asked her out on a date? "Sounds great. Union
Station at seven?" Did she just say that? Her mind reeled in
mortification. 
	Did she just say that?! "Meet you there. Until tomorrow, Vaughan." 
	"Indeed. Bye, Walter." She touched the 'End' button and walked
dazedly into the kitchen, sinking into the closest chair, and ignoring the
plaintive meows. She'd just made a date with Walter Skinner, Assistant
Director of the FBI. What have I done?

	Dana had just gotten herself a glass of iced tea, when there was a
knock at her door. It seemed so strange that Vaughan was visiting. A
member of a past so far removed from her present that it more or less no
longer belonged to her. And yet, when she ope ned the door to a huge
supreme pizza and half a case of Bartles and James Black Cherry Coolers,
she knew it was real, and almost like she'd never left med school. 
	"Hey sweetie," Vaughan smiled as she stepped through the door and
toed off her clogs. "I'd hug you, but . . ." She looked meaningfully at
the pizza. 
	Dana smiled and closed the door. "Of course. I'll get the plates." 
	She returned to the living room to find the pizza open, the booze
set up, and Vaughan producing a purloined bottle of crushed red pepper
from the pocket of her jeans. "To the house of a federal agent?" 
	Vaughan shrugged and smiled. "Old habits die hard." 
	Dana grabbed a wine cooler and twisted off the cap, reclining on
the opposite side of the couch from Vaughan. "Speaking of old habits,
where've you been? One week, the letters are arriving steadily, the next
week, Coleen sends me a letter from San Diego telling me she got a
bilingual teaching job and you've vanished off the face of the planet. Six
*years*." 
	Vaughan sighed and pulled a new pack of cigarettes from her purse.
She was surprised when Dana shook her head. "I know. I was a shit." 
	"I don't want an excuse, I want to know what happened." 
	Vaughan opened her wine cooler and downed half of it. "Well, the
last letter you got was from the reservation. I was on my last week of
fulfilling my scholarship obligations and all ready for my new life of
suburbia, Volvos and my loving wife. I get a ca ll as I'm packing up our
shit from my mother. Grandfather was very sick, and could I come? I was on
the next plane. I got there and did everything. Everything they taught me
in school, things I remembered from Grandmother. Anything I could think
of. He di ed anyway. In my arms. For nothing. Eighteen years of continuous
schooling and he died anyway. He left everything to Mom, but she wanted
nothing to do with any of it, the house, the cars, the shareholdings, the
cash. Nothing. The memories were too intense
 for her. She left the day we buried him. Coleen went to the funeral, but
refused to move into the house. Who could blame her, really. A house in
the desert, away from everything and everyone. She wanted me to sell the
place and move out to California wit h her. The same memories that forced
my mother to leave, drew me to the place and bound me there. She thought I
was punishing myself for his death. Maybe I was. Maybe I am . . . I don't
know. But I moved in and left her at the airport, all her belongings on a
UPS truck being shipped to her best friend's house in San Diego. My
grandfather, my livelihood, my lover, all in a matter of days. I just
needed time away from people. Reality. I didn't mean to push you away. I
pushed everyone away. But that's the Re ader's Digest version." 
	Dana had long finished her beverage and was about to ask Vaughan
for a smoke. Her friend, one she had relied on heavily throughout college,
had walked away from everything for a hermit's life in the desert. "Have
you healed?" an inane question, bourne of
 shock at such heavy revelations. 
	Vaughan shrugged. "As much as I can in six years. But what about
you? What have you done for six years?" Vaughan put two pieces of pizza on
a plate and handed it to Dana.
	Dana smiled in thanks and thought. "Well, I work in a highly
specialized section of the bureau. My partner and I investigate . . .
paranormal phenomena." 
	Vaughan balanced her plate on her knee. "You get dental with
that?" 
	Dana pursed her lips. "I'm serious. I've spent the past six years
racing around the country adding science to one man's otherwise Quixotic
quest." 
	Vaughan stared at her friend speculatively. "Are we talking UFOs
and ghosts or more along the lines of cryptozoology?" 
	Dana smiled, and let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been
holding. It was so difficult to explain herself, as most people found the
subject off-putting at best, but Vaughan took it in stride. "Both
actually. He's into just about everything. He's ou t to prove the
existence of extraterrestrials." 
	"And you?" Vaughan chewed judiciously on her piece of pizza. 
	_That_ was the 64,000 dollar question, wasn't it? "I'm out to
prove he's not insane, contrary to popular belief." 
	Vaughan smiled and offered her friend a silent toast with her
second bottle of booze. "How diplomatic of you. So other than being
thought insane, what's he like?" 
	Dana started gathering up the plates. "He's. . . different." 
	Evasive. How unlike the forthright Dana Scully she was accustomed
to. "Charles Manson different, or John Malkovich different?" 
	"John Malkovich?" 
	Vaughan leaned back and stretched. "You know, piercing eyes,
frighteningly intelligent, decent body, darkly intriguing smile, but truly
sexy mind. A quirky sense of humor. The kind of guy you could take home to
momma, if she had a Ph.D in criminal psych.  "
	Dana sat back down on the couch and started on her second drink,
grinning wickedly. "You, madame, are incorrigible. But yes, definitely
John Malkovich different." As if merely thinking about him conjured him
up, a knock sounded at the door. She could pra ctically hear Vaughan's
eyebrows shooting through the ceiling. "Excuse me." She rose nervously
from the couch and walked to the door. She knew who it was, she had come
*this* close to truly expressing herself about him, so of course he had to
show up. It was almost anticlimactic when she opened the door. "Hey
Mulder." 
	He'd been boning up on this case and wanted to toss around some
theories. He felt awkward with the file in his hands. She was dressed in
her usual downtime attire of sweatshirt and jeans, no shoes on her feet.
She looked beautiful, it dawned on him. Rela xed and casual were still
foreign to him, where she was concerned. "Hey Scully. Gotta minute?" He
looked over her shoulder and saw someone on her couch. "Oh, I didn't know
you had company. I'll come back later." He turned to walk away. 
	"Oh no, why don't you come in. I have someone I'd like you to
meet." 
	Mulder stepped through the door and immediately regretted the
action. Vaughan rose from the couch and he knew, in that instant, his life
had ended. His lover and his one true love in the same room. Conversing
like old friends. 
	"Mulder, this is Dr. Vaughan Acevedo. We went to med school
together." 
	Even better, they _were_ old friends. "Nice to meet you." He
offered his hand and shook hers quickly. Careful not to linger. 
	"Nice to meet you, Agent Mulder." Jeezus H. Christ on a pogo
stick, jumping up and down. So much made sense to her now, it was all she
could do not to fall over unceremoniously on the couch in shock. This was
_not_ how she planned to spend her evening. 
	"Just Mulder, *Dr.* Acevedo." Now she had a last name, now she had
a past, and of course, all roads lead to Scully.
	"Just Vaughan these days." This scene was definitely too close for
comfort. 
	Scully pulled in a chair from the kitchen as Vaughan and Mulder
sat on the couch tentatively. There was a strange tension in the room that
she couldn't quite put her finger on.
	"So you're Dana's partner . . ." Vaughan was at a loss. She was
sweating like a whore in church. 
	"Yeah." Could this get any more painful? 
	Could this get any more like dental surgery? "Have you contacted
Robert Morgan's cryptozoology web page? I hear he's got some great
information and good links." 
	"So she told you what we do." Of course, I'm sure that tour around
the office this morning was some indication. . . . 
	"She mentioned you had an interest in cryptozo. I find the subject
endlessly fascinating." 
	Scully watched this exchange with growing curiousity. It was like
there were two conversations going on at once. The one they were having
and the one they were stabbing each other to death with quietly. 
	Vaughan looked at her watch. It was going on 10 and she really
needed a smoke. "Dana, I really should be going. I have some early
appointments." Vaughan stood to leave. 
	Scully was not surprised at the abruptness of her announcement,
judging by how the evening had progressed since Mulder's arrival. She
stood, "By all means. What are you doing tomorrow evening?"
	Vaughan smiled a little at the thought of the next evening. "I
have a date." 
	"You do?" Mulder and Scully asked at the same time. Scully cast a
confused glance down at him, but said nothing to him. "With whom?" she
asked. 
	"Walter. Walter Skinner." 
	"Walter Skinner?!" they asked again in stereo. They both felt run
down by a speeding Mack truck. 
	That would explain running into her at the Hoover building this
morning. "Are you talking about Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the
FBI? Our boss? Tall, broad-shouldered, bald, nice ass?" Mulder smacked her
on the leg. 
	Vaughan smiled. "That would be the one. We're going to the public
showing of 'Casablanca' at the Smithsonian." 
	"How romantic," Mulder mumbled. How fucking perfect. 
	Scully hugged her friend, though still quite shocked. "Lunch
tomorrow?" 
	Vaughan nodded. "Sure, I'll call around eleven. Good to meet you,
Agent Mulder." 
	He smiled tightly. "Good to meet *you*, Dr. Acevedo." 
	Scully let Vaughan out, and waited until she could no longer hear
her footfalls in the hallway. "Do I ask what that was about?" she said,
sitting on the couch next to Mulder.
	You don't have that kind of time. He smirked to himself, of
course, a Vaughan quote. "What?" he asked innocently. 
	Scully sighed in exasperation. "Fine. We can play it that way.
What about the case?" 
	Mulder stood up and left the file sitting on the coffeetable. "I
just made a few notes. I don't think it's worth pursuing. See you
tomorrow, Scully." He let himself out. 
	Sure. Fine. Whatever. 

***

	"Dana, I can't do this." Vaughan disappeared into the bathroom,
intent on changing clothes. Again.
	Scully rolled her eyes heavenward and walked to stand in the
doorway of the bathroom. Her friend was too busy pulling the chopsticks
out of her hair and rubbing off her lipstick to notice her. "You're gonna
miss your train." 
	Vaughan looked at Scully in the mirror. "This wasn't a good idea.
I'm not ready for a date." 
	Scully sighed. "Look, think of this as a combat situation. Do you
think he's as worried about this as you are? Why don't you change out of
the flowy, hippie skirt and into something more visually arresting? It
might make you feel better." 
	Vaughn nodded and disappeared into the closet. She reappeared
moments later in a micromini-short maroon suede skirt and matching
short-sleeved sweater. She slid on her open toed maroon suede pumps and
twirled around in front of Scully.  "Well?" 
	Scully's eyebrows shot up. "Well it certainly is arresting." 
	Vaughan frowned. "You don't like it." 
	"No, it's just . . . I'm not sure that's the vibe you want to send
out." 
	"Is 'vibe' a scientific term?" Vaughan smirked. 
	Scully laughed. "No, it's not. The outfit just screams 'Ally
McBeal'." 
	"And this is a bad thing?" 
	Scully sighed. There was no way to tactfully win this argument.
"It might be cold when you get home, and there will be less of you to heat
if you wear pants. I mean, you have great legs, so you do what you feel."
	Vaughan sighed. She couldn't go out like this. She shouldn't be
going out at all. This was just wrong. She went back into the closet
praying for a miracle. She pulled on her favorite v-neck white shirt, boot
cut levi's, calf-length chocolate leather boot s and matching belt and
three quarter lenth mock trench coat. She was comfortable, and in that
comfort came a measure of confidence. "This is it." She stepped from the
closet and Dana applauded.
	"Perfect. Let's go, or this will all have been for naught." 
	Vaughan grabbed her purse and then locked the house, setting the
alarm. "Why are you so interested in this?" she asked of Dana as she got
in the car. 
	"I find it amusing that Skinner would have any kind of personal
life at all."
	Vaughan made a face at her friend and closed the car door. Nothing
left to do but scream. 

	Walter looked at himself in the mirror for the eighth time in
almost as many minutes. This was wrong. He shouldn't be going out on a
date. She was probably all perfectly coiffed with a fresh manicure and
another simply breathtaking outfit. How the hell w as he supposed to act
civilized when he got hard every time she moved? And that perfume!
Expensive French perfume. It was all he could smell whenever he got in
that elevator, like the essence of her lingering to tantalize his senses. 
	 He glanced down at his watch. Shit, 6:15, he was going to miss her
train. Checking his face for errant stubble one more time, he made a
decision. He threw on a faded blue demin shirt with a banded collar, which
he left open over a tight black t-shirt. G rabbing his brown leather
bomber jacket, he was out the door, keys in hand. 

	Vaughan stepped off the train nervous a hell. She had a smoke in
her mouth before she was even off the platform. She still had time to run,
she reminded herself. But that would be cowardly. So is not leaving the
house for six years, her inner voice poppe d up. Frowning, she was
surprised when a lit silver zippo appeared in front of her face. She
smiled when she recognized Walter attached to the zippo. Touching his hand
lightly, she lit her cigarette. "Thank you." 
	His skin tingled where she'd touched his hand. "Quite welcome.
Shall we?" He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and escorted
her to his car.
	There was not too much of a crowd at the theatre, so they were
able to get seats right up front. As they sat together, she took a moment
to look him over. She'd been too nervous to do much of anything at the
station. He looked great, she decided. The jea ns were just tight enough
to show off the great ass that Dana had mentioned. And his cologne, some
Ralph Lauren or Lagerfeld stuff, she was sure. He smelled so good it
almost made her hungry. They had a few minutes before the scheduled
starting time, so s he asked, "Why this movie?" 
	He seemed surprised at her question. He'd felt her eyes picking
him apart again like a caress on his skin. "Do you not like it?" He was
worried. 
	"Not at all, it's my favorite right next to the 'Godfather'
trilogy."
	"Really? I'm more of a Hitchcock man myself." 
	She smiled at him again. A great deal in common. Just as she was
about to respond, the house lights dimmed an the movie began. 
	Walter paid as much attention to the movie as he could,
occasionally stealing glances at his companion. She looked beautiful when
she got off the train, and just about as nervous as he felt. His only
memories were of her in a suit, so this was quite a ch ange. Jeans and a
t-shirt fit her personality perfectly, free and comfortable. Her hair was
down again, and her lips and nails matched, something about her he found
incredibly sexy. The French perfume was again filling his head. He could
die happy at this
 moment, he decided. Hungry, but happy. 
	Vaughan felt his gaze turn back to the screen and hoped he liked
what he saw.
	They both pretended not to cry at the end, when Ingrid Bergman
gets on the plane, and they stayed until everyone else had left the
theatre. "So where to now?" 
	He smiled. "A surprise." Taking her hand, he led her out into the
cool night and she was suddenly glad she had not worn the skirt.
	"You might not want to do that too much," she observed as she
walked down the street with him, still holding his hand. 
	"What?" 
	She laughed. "Smile. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself on my
account." 
	He glared at her, but she could see the smile in his eyes. On they
walked until they came to a tiny Italian restaurant. He held the door for
her as they walked inside. They were immediately assaulted by the smell of
cooking food and Sinatra music. The wa iter showed them to a table with a
red and white checkered linen tablecloth, and a low burning candle fused
to the top of an empty bottle of chianti with the wicker bottom. He placed
menus on the table as Walter held out her chair. 
	"I *am* a fully functioning adult, you know," she asserted as she
sat down. 
	Walter sat and watched her carefully unfold her napkin and place
it in her lap. "Really?" he feigned innocence. "I hadn't noticed." 
	Vaughan stuck her tongue out at him in an expression that clearly
stated, 'We are not amused'. Before she could formally respond, the waiter
reappeared with two glasses of water and a basket of garlic bread.
         "I'm Mario, I'll be serving you. Tonight our special is a lasagna
dinner. It comes with a fresh Caesar salad, your choice of wine, a healthy
portion of our own special recipe lasagna, and cannoli for dessert. Are
you ready to order, or would you like a few minutes to peruse the menu?" 
         "I'm ready Walter, are you?" 
         "What, exactly, is cannoli?" he asks. "I'm NOT eating squid." 
         Vaughn raised her water glass to her lips to hide her smile. 
"You're thinking calamari," replied Mario, "a cannoli is a cheese and
chocolate chip filled pastry shell with powdered sugar on top." 
	"That sounds so much better. Why don't you take the lady's order
while I finish deciding." 
	"I'll have the special," replied Vaughn. 
	"May I have tonight's special with a tossed salad?" asked Walter. 
	"Yes, what kind of dressing?" 
	"Blue Cheese." 
	"And your wine?" 
	"Straccali Chianti." Vaughan smiled at his choice as the waiter
collected their menus, and headed for the kitchen. 
	Vaughan looked critically at him. "So what do you do when you're
not out on the town with beautiful women?" 
	Walter raised an eyebrow at his companion.  "I work." 
	Vaughan pursed her lips. "So then, I am to assume you sleep there
as well?" 
	Walter smiled. She wasn't letting him off the hook. " No, I . . ."
How could he put this? "It's just . . ." he trailed off again. The waiter
appeared again briefly to give them their salads. 
	 Vaughan picked up a fork and forcefully stabbed a crouton. "That's
the 'I don't leave my own little world much' face." she commented on his
helplessly perplexed expression. 
	"Sure I do! I get up, work, go to the gym, go home . . . ," he
paused, "maybe that's not the most convicing argument." He blushed a
little in chagrin. He lifted a slice of tomato covered in dressing to his
lips and chewed, to prevent himself from saying any more. 
	Vaughan nodded. "Perhaps not." they munched quietly on the food,
the moment of awkwardness passing quickly. 
	Walter placed his empty salad bowl to the side and watched Vaughan
as she ate, her concentration fully on her salad. "What about you?" 
	"When I'm not out on the town with beautiful women?" she posed
wryly. 
	Walter glared at her before breaking into an amicable smile.
"Whatever. . . " 
	Vaughan sighed and placed her chin in her hand, propping up her
head with her right elbow on the table. Very unladylike. "In real life, I
live about ten miles from the nearest person. Fifty miles from the nearest
major metropolitan area, and have coyotes
 to dinner on a regular basis. I don't get out much, either." 
	He cocked his head to one side, slightly confused. "In real life?
As opposed to . . . " 
	She leaned back in her chair, her hand dropping to rest near the
sputtering candle. "As opposed to now, where I'm a sophisticated, worldly
woman, out on a casual dinner date with an Assistant Director of the FBI.
I expect to be waking up momentarily."
	Her slight laughter did nothing to hide the vulnerability that lay
just beneath the surface. In that instant, she went from a woman of mythic
proportions to a human being: strong yet fragile, and frighteningly like
him. He reached across the table and pl aced his hand over hers, almost
covering it completely. "You're afraid, aren't you?" It was more a
confirmation than an inquest. 
	She looked down at their joined hands, his palm soft and warm
against her skin. When she looked up into his chocolate brown eyes she
knew he'd seen it: that fleeting moment of insecurity. What surprised her
was how closely the look he had now resembled t hat feeling. The fear of
being close, the need to be closer. She nodded mutely never breaking eye
contact. 
	"Me, too." He'd never have admitted that to his own wife, ex-wife
his mind corrected, and yet here he was, with a virtual stranger,
expressing his innermost thoughts. Her eyes were a shade of brown
bordering on coffee, her gaze intense and penetrating ag ain. 
	His thoughts were interrupted by a loud series of crashes and
bangs from the kitchen, followed by the swinging door being forced open by
a tidal wave of pasta and water. As the waiters all ran back to check on
the kitchen staff, loud voices could be hear d arguing back and forth in
Italian.  "What happened?" 
	Vaughan cast a glance over her shoulder and smiled. "From the
sounds of it, the new cook just bounced the stock pot with the spaghetti
noodles off the floor and is now being berated by the manager. And to be
quite honest, I really didn't want to know tha t much about his mother." 
	Walter raised an eyebrow as the waiters filed out of the kitchen
quickly in single file to inform the other patrons that their dinners
would likely be delayed. "I'm suddenly glad we ordered the special."
	As if on cue, their wine and entrees appeared in front of them, as
provided by their flustered waiter. "I'm so sorry about the noise. The
cook's new." 
	Vaughan smiled and shrugged. "No worries." 
	Walter poured their wine and they commenced to feasting on the
huge slabs of lasagna in front of them. Vaughan prudently finished about
half and set her fork aside while Walter meticulously ate every bite.
	Their waiter returned and took their plates and immediate brought
out their desserts. Walter stared at the pastry suspiciously, picking up
his fork and then setting it back down. "How do you eat this?" 
	Vaughan laughed quietly. "That _is_ a problem. Eating a cannoli is
a very sensuous act, which is both a good and a bad thing. If you're with
someone alone, it can be great, but out in public . . . " She let her
voice trail off.  Picking up her cannoli de licately, she slowly bit
through the cheese on the end and barely nipped off the tip of the pastry
shell.  She closed her eyes and smiled as she savored the treat. 
	Walter watched, mesmerized. That might have been the most erotic
thing he'd ever seen. Unbidden, he reached across the table and hooking a
finger under her chin, brushed his thumb lightly across her lips to wipe
away the powdered sugar there. Their gazes
 locked, he brought his thumb to his lips and licked off the sugar. 
	Vaughan closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her
pounding heart. Her knees had resigned their posts and she was glad she
had the rest of dessert to regain control of her gross motor functions.
His touch reduced her to a trashy romance novel h eroine, weak-kneed and
hopelessly aroused.
	Walter saw this and was immediately thankful that they had the
rest of dessert for him to regain enough composure to walk out of the
restaurant without embarrassing himself utterly. God, how long had it been
since he'd felt this attracted to a woman? Mon ths? Years? 
	They ate silently, both too stunned at the other's reaction to
have anything constructive to say. When the bill arrived, Vaughan opened
her purse and took out her wallet. Walter pursed his lips. 
	"I suppose this is where you tell me what an old-fashioned guy you
are and pay for everything." 
	Instead of answering her, he merely flagged the waiter down and
handed him the bill and some money. "Keep the change." He stood and pulled
Vaughan's chair out for her. 
	"How much do I owe you?" Vaughan asked, taking the arm he offered
her. He shrugged as he held the door for her. They walked a little further
in the direction of his car. "Do I get to pay for anything?" 
	He thought for a moment and then smiled down at her. "You can pay
for the pool."
	Down the block a ways was a pink and green neon sign advertising
billiards. Walter held the door for her as she walked directly into a
1950's movie. The walls were painted a faded light green and rows of
flourescent lights covered in nicotine, cast yello wish light on at least
eight tables that she could see. The counter was almost as tall as she was
and the man behind the counter looked as if he were as old as the paint.
The clock on the wall behind him told her it was 11:30. She left her
driver's licens e with the proprietor and took her tray of balls to the
back table Walter had selected, next to the jukebox. Except for two or
three other people at tables far across the room, they were the only ones
there. He took two reasonably unwarped cues from the w ooden rack on the
wall and handed her one.
	"You any good?" she asked, suddenly suspicious of her companion.
She set the tray of balls on the pool table and took off her coat. She
hooked it over one of the nails protruding from the wall seemingly just
for that purpose.
	He shrugged and walked around the end of the table to rack the
balls.
	Vaughan chalked her cue and took the break in a spray of green
chalk dust. She didn't sink anything, but put all the balls in great
position for him. Lips pursed, she stepped away from the table, her arms
wide. "By all means." 
	He smiled and leaned over the table to shoot. "Thank you." He sank
two balls on the first shot and knocked a third in when the cue ball
bounced off the bank. As he leaned over the table to line up his next
shot, Vaughan remembered why she liked this game . She walked over to the
juke box in the corner, under the pretense of selecting some music, but
actually she was watching his every graceful move, the way his denim shirt
inched up over that mythically perfect ass. Mentally she wrenched her eyes
away fro m him and toward the jukebox, selecting something she could dance
to while she pondered her game plan.
	He left her nothing but complicated bank shots when she returned
to the table. 'Moondance' gently flowed out of the jukebox as she sized up
her chances of doing anything constructive. "I hate you," she muttered as
she leaned over the table for an intrica te three bank combo. 
	Walter smiled and took off his denim shirt, leaving him in just a
t-shirt. "I appreciate the thought." He watched her stretch across the
table until she was almost laying on it, giving him the most lecherous
ideas. To curb his suddenly unmanageable libid o, he walked over to the
juke box to leaf through the music. Her movement caught his eye, and he
saw by the way she was dancing and singing to the Van Morrison song as she
rechalked her cue that she made the shot in spades. She looked over at him
and he a pplauded quietly. 
	Vaughan lined up her next shot, but in her ebullience, hit the cue
ball too hard, sending it riccocheting around the table several times
before coming to a stop almost exactly where she'd started. "Piss." 
	Walter made a few quick selections and then returned to the side
of the table. Shrugging, he said, "Speed kills." 
	"Thank you for the oberservation." Vaughan retreated to her
jacket, still hanging on the wall. She dug through her pocket until she
found her smokes and put one in her mouth. "Can I use your lighter?" 
	He dug in his pocket and handed her a chrome Zippo emblazoned with
the red, black, and gold emblem of the United States Marine Corps. "What's
a smoker doing out without a lighter?" 
	She lit her cigarette and pursed her lips, exhaling through her
nose. "I forgot it. A more important question is what a nonsmoker is doing
out with a USMC lighter." 
	He shrugged again, evasive. He stepped back to the table to line
up his next shot. "I served, it was a gift. I smoked at the time." 
	Vaughan retreated to a corner layered in shadow. The only things
Walter could see from underneath the bright lights over the table were her
cigarette and her boots. As he made the shot, the ball falling with a
decisive thunk, he realized how little he kn ew about her, personally.
Sure she liked black and white film, Italian food, and was unfathomably
beautiful, but what did he really know? He lined up he next shot and
glanced at her over his shoulder. "Last name." 
	"As in, do I have one?" she smiled at him, exhaling smoke through
her teeth. He nodded. Vaughan raised an eyebrow archly. "Am I being
interrogated, Director Skinner?" 
	Her ill-timed question caused him to miss a shot. He stood and
faced her, her eyes glittering though the haze of smoke. "If you wish." 
	Vaughan stepped up to the table, her cigarette dangling from her
full lips, giving her features a harder edge. "Fine." She leaned over the
table and lined up her shot. "My full name is Dr. Vaughan Ellandria
Acevedo." 
	A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. "Doctor?" 
	Taking a deep breath, she executed a complicated combo with
surgical precision. "Medical, non-practicing. I went to school with Dana
Scully." 
	Interesting. Walter leaned against the nearest wall, her succint
answer saying more than she probably knew. Just as she didn't pry into his
service record, he decided to leave it alone.
	"If I may, Walter . . . " she landed the shot that put her one
ball away from the eight. "What's your full name? Two banks, corner." She
gestured at the corner farthest from her.
	He nodded, not expecting reciprocity to be part of the deal.
"Walter Sergei Skinner." At her questioning look, he smiled, "My mother is
Russian." He held his breath as Vaughan made the shot, perfect in every
way. "Nice shot." 
	"Thank you. Sergei." Vaughan favored him with a smile and stepped
away from the table to pick out more music while he racked the balls.
	By the clock on the wall behind the cashier's counter, the time
was close to midnight. The witching hour. Something bad had to happen, if
for no other reason than that was the way her life went. But she had to
admit, the evening was shaping up to be perf ect. In every way. She just
picked out two songs by Sting before returning to the table. He stepped
away from the table, rack in hand, and waited for her to break. She again
had an aesthetically perfect, but strategically purposeless, break,
leaving him i n position to wipe her out with the decisiveness of the
German army, circa 1942. She returned to the safety of the shadows to
watch him size up his considerable advantage. 
	"Family?" he asked, sinking two balls simultaneously in a truly
smooth shot. 
	Vaughan watched in detached annoyance at her ineptitude. "Two
brothers, older. One younger sister." 
	He walked around the table to figure out his next move. "Your
parents?" 
	Vaughan chuckled under her breath. "Do you want my Social Security
number, as well?" He cast a withering glance over his shoulder causing her
to laugh out loud. "My dad is Lebanese-Latino, teaching economics at the
University of Arizona. Ma is Navajo-Hop i Irish, and teaching Middle
Eastern Studies at the University of Wyoming. My brothers are career Navy
and Marine Corps, and my little sister is a research physician at the CDC
in Atlanta. A whole family of overachievers."
	"Apparently." Jesus, that's an understatement. That still left
her, a woman alone in the desert, not out changing the world like the rest
of her family. Instead of taking his shot, he turned to face her, leaning
a hip against the table. He studied her fa ce for a moment before
volunteering, "My mom was an immigrant just after the war. She met my dad
as a Union secretary in Pittsburg, he was an ironworker. Married
fifty-five years until she died." 
	Vaughan paused for a moment. "That would make you 45 or so," she
remarked. 
	Walter ducked his head in a slight blush. Their age difference had
occurred to him, but he could tell from the look on her face, that this
was the first time that it crossed her mind. "Something like that."
Instead of being put off by this revelation, as
 he'd expected, she just nodded to herself and then looked pointedly at
the table. 
	"You gonna play or what?" 
	He quickly turned around and made a superficial shot, putting her
in a defensively bad position. It gave him time to formulate a quick plan.
As she stepped up to the table, he retreated to the jukebox and put in a
few choice selections. 
	Vaughan watched this with a furrowed brow. He'd just fucked her
royally and then went to play more music. She took a shot, but was so
distracted by her confusion, that she accidentally knocked in one of his
balls. She let out a snort of exasperation. "Yo u're welcome." 
	Walter returned just as Brian Setzer Orchestra's 'Hollywood
Nocturne' began to play. He looked at where she'd left him and smiled.
"Thank you." 
	Vaughan smirked in response. 
	He made his shot and then walked around to the side of the table
opposite to her. "May I ask you a personal question?" 
	She eyed him warily. "It's not as if my saying no would stop you,
considering the earlier conversation." 
	He conceded her point with a nod and a shrug and took a deep
breath. This question had plagued him since he'd first saw her back in
Mulder's office. Trying to be as low key as possible, he asked, "What's
the nature of your and Mulder's relationship?" He made his shot and tried
not to look as though he was dying of curiousity as he lined up the next
shot. 
	Vaughan smiled, a shrewd, tiny smile. She'd expected this, only
not as bluntly as he'd inquired. "Do you really want the answer to that
question?" 
	That was definitely not the response he'd expected. Her deference
to his feelings touched him in a way he didn't want to scrutinze too
closely. He stood up straight, ready for the emotional blow that he knew
was coming. "I wouldn't have asked it if I did n't." 
	Vaughan walked around the table to stand in front of him. Out of
reflex, she drew a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket and placed it
in her mouth, though she didn't light it. She leaned back against the
table placing her hands on either side of her. 
 She could almost taste the growing tension between them as she looked
into his eyes. "Mulder--Fox-- and I are friends. Almost kindred spirits,
in a way. But he doesn't love me, nor I him. Neither one of us is much for
delusions."  This was it, the time o n her watch said 12:01am and this was
the bad thing. The huge fuck up. She didn't wait to see his reaction, just
turned her back to him, bracing herself with her hands against the table,
and placed the unlit cigarette on the table. 
	It was said. The great truth that had been gnawing at him since
he'd met her was out on the table. And she'd told him everything, or at
least as much as a lady, a true lady, would admit. And more importantly,
he could tell from the stricken look on her f ace that he meant something
to her. That the bond Walter felt to this woman, enigmatic as it was, was
very much requited. Laying his cue to the side, he came up behind her and
gently wrapped his arms around her waist. 
	Vaughan felt the warmth and affection of his embrace and leaned
back against his strong chest. He was so comforting, a small smile played
on her lips. 
	When she was this close to him, he could smell her perfume in
every breath he took. She was perfect in the way she fit up against him
and although it was against his better judgement, he couldn't help leaning
down and nuzzling her neck, just below her ea r. He felt her deep sigh of
contentment, and she tilted her head, just slightly, to give him better
access. "Would you care to dance?" he whispered as Brian Setzer's version
of 'Sleepwalker' gently drifted around them. 
	Vaughan turned around in the circle of his arms and placed her
hands on his strong shoulders. Walter gently took her right hand in his
left and led her to the shadowed corner.
	As they danced, she found she couldn't look him in the eye, the
intensity she knew to be there was too much to deal with, for the moment.
	"Hey," he whispered. 
	She looked up at him and immediately lost herself in the warmth of
his smile, the slight shyness in his eyes. Their lips were only separated
by the sparks going off between them. Before she could talk herself out of
it, she leaned up and kissed his lips,
 appropriately to the finale of the song. 
	She was lost. No, that wasn't true, she'd abandoned herself, the
self who was afraid of contact and emotional intimacy. The self who never
would allow herself to fully heal for fear of being hurt again. In his
lips she'd found a sliver of redemption.
	Walter was stunned by her kiss, like an electric shock passed
straight through him. Amazing. That was the only word he could wrap his
brain around, as she gently traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. He
felt the world falling away; the scars on his
 heart throbbing as they closed a little more with each passing second. He
wound his fingers in the soft black curls at the base of her head pressing
her closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue twining with hers. 
	Vaughan stepped away from Walter, breaking the kiss. Her face was
flushed and her mouth felt thoroughly kissed. She smiled at little when
she noticed Walter was in the same state.
	"I--," he started, but words failed him. 
	Vaughan shook her head. "Talking ruins things." 
	Walter agreed and looked from her to the table. "Should I take you
home?" 
	Vaughan nodded and collected the balls and put them on their tray.
He helped her into her coat and together they walked to the counter. She
collected her license and paid for their time and together, she and Walter
walked into the cool evening to his car .

	Walter was the consumate gentleman, opening her car door for her
and then walking her to her front door. "Nice neighborhood," he commented,
looking around at the immaculate lawns in front of gratuitously large
houses. 
	She shrugged. "I'm house sitting. There's too many people around,
if you ask me." 
	He smiled and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Thank you
for a wonderful evening." 
	Vaughan pursed her lips. "Isn't that my line?" It was Walter's
turn to shrug. "Wanna come in and meet the cats?" 
	He smiled and leaned down to give her a lingering kiss. They were
interrupted by his cell phone ringing in his jacket. He walked away with a
smile and returned looking as grim as the day she met him. "I'm sorry, I
have to go. Duty calls," he smiled sardo nically. 
	Vaughan nodded. "Of course." 
	Walter marvelled at this amazing woman, taking his work's
intrusion in stride, something his EX-wife could never get used to. He
leaned down and kissed her again. "I could die happy." 
	Vaughan took out her keys and placed them in the lock. "Let's not
plan for that possibility, shall we? Come back to me in one piece, huh?" 
	He nodded and got in his car. He left once she was in the door. A
truly remarkable woman. 

	Her blissful high from the evening was abruptly halted as soon as
she opened the door. The alarm was off. She distinctly remembered turning
it on earlier. A familiar scent lilted past her. "You're damned lucky I
didn't shoot you, Fox." 
	He stepped out of shadows in a black turtleneck and jeans, mildly
surprised at his almost immediate discovery.  "I'm sure. Blood stains are
so hard to clean, but thank you anyway." 
	She exhaled a pent up breath of mild frustration. "Do you make a
habit of breaking into other people's houses?" 
	He smiled and thought of Scully briefly. "No, I don't. How'd you
know?" 
	"I could smell you. You really should change colognes for this
sort of thing." She placed her purse down on the table just inside the
vestibule and stood in a casually defensive posture, legs slightly spread
and hands in her pockets. "May I inquire as to
 your business at one thirty in the morning?" 
	He flipped on the lights and walked into the living room to sit in
one of the wing-backed chairs, legs crossed casually at the ankles in
front of him. "How was your date?" he asked casually. 
	She followed him, but did not sit. "Fine, thank you. Although I
don't believe that it's any of your business." 
	He smiled tightly. "You wouldn't." 
	"I will not play your little head games, Agent Mulder. Get to the
point or get the fuck out. It's late, and I have other things I could be
doing." She took a cigarette from her pocket and placed it in her mouth,
and did not light it. 
	"Fine, we'll get right down to it. What's he got that I don't?" He
smiled triumphantly at her shocked expression. 
	"Excuse me?" 
	"I speak English." 
	She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through her nose. She
spoke carefully. "I find myself trying with increasing difficulty to
maintain a civilized tone and manner. You'll excuse me but I don't see how
that question has any relevance." 
	"You don't." 
	It was her turn to smile. "No. When last I checked, I was not
bound to you by anything remotely resembling a romantic relationship." She
walked over to a bay window and opened it. She lit the smoke and inhaled
deeply, taking a seat on the sill. 
	"How dare you? Flit into my life on a cloud, sleep with me and
then act like nothing happened and date my boss." 
	Vaughan marveled at his arrogance. She was about to let loose a
tirade to curl his hair, but brought herself up short.  "You know what?
I'm not having this conversation. You need to leave." She gazed out the
window at the beautifully full moon. Not nearl y as close or pretty as in
Arizona, but comforting just the same. 
	Mulder stalked over to her and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to
look him in the eye. "You _will_ have this conversation, and I am _not_
leaving." 
	Vaughan did not answer. Or move. She simply looked from his eyes,
wild with something she could not place, to her wrist and back again.
"I'll thank you to let that go. I wouldn't want to have to break your
arm." Her smile was cold and black like her eyes . He let go, but didn't
move away.  "You know," she said quietly, looking him up and down, "I
don't recall hearing you scream 'No, stop, where's the ring?' when we were
fucking. We're consenting adults, and I was unaware that fucking you was
tantamount to
 a marriage proposal. I don't have sex to fulfill some adolescent need for
the love my parents never gave me, or to snag a man. I'm a grown-up, and I
don't feel a need to behave in such a puerile manner. 
	"And to answer your initial question, not much. One of the main
selling points is that he's not in love with one of my closest friends,
and using me as an outlet for his pent-up feelings. You're not here
because you want to be here with me; you're here b ecause you can't--won't
allow yourself to--be with her. I'm a convenient second, and you think
that if you convince yourself that you're in love with me, it will make
everything ok in your little world. Well, I'm gonna let you in on a little
secret, Fox M ulder," she stood up slowly and walked toward him, backing
him up against the wall. "I don't know how to be anything but first, and
even if I _did_ want a relationship with you, you're not prepared to deal
with me on that level." She took a deep breath to
 regulate her labored breathing. She continued, her voice quiet, "But I
think you knew that, and decided to show up just to save face. Considered
it saved and this little outburst will be our secret." She walked silently
back over to her window seat, and flicked her cigarette out into the
night. "Now, you have the choice of finding the door yourself or being
shown the door in a way that I know you wouldn't appreciate. Good
evening." 
	Mulder stood there dumbfounded at her diatribe. There was nothing
left to say as she turned away from him and stared up at the moon again.
She'd dismissed him, and quite frankly he'd deserved it. He let himself
out the front door and just kept walking. H e had a long night of thinking
to do.
	Vaughan watched him walk down to the end of the driveway and turn
right before she closed the window. Then she systematically locked the
windows, doors, and set the alarm. She retreated upstairs and returned
shortly, having washed her face, abandoned her
 clothes, and put on a robe. 
	She shooed Fiona out of the Queen Anne chair and curled up in it,
picking up the novel on the side table with her reading glasses on it. The
latest Tami Hoag in hardcover. She'd gotten it to read on the plane, but
just never gotten around to it. She open ed it up to the first page and
Fiona returned to curl up in her lap. 
	Damn that Fox Mulder. If he were any more dense, he'd have his own
specific gravity. She'd known that sleeping with him in the desert wasn't
about love, just two lonely people using their personal isolation to their
advantage. And calling him when she'd arrived in D.C. was just a fun way
to pass the time. She hadn't expected to meet Walter, or to see Dana
again. God, that was such a mess, sleeping with Dana's partner. A man she
had admitted having feelings for. Not in so many words, but same
difference a t that point. There was no excuse for that. She could
reasonably hide behind a shield of ignorance, but still . . . She smiled,
self-blame still came so easily to her. 
	That led her thoughts to Walter. Everything since he'd left her on
her doorstep, led her thoughts to Walter. The attraction was uncanny, and
she could see very well having a relationship with him. In a very, _very_
long term kind of way. That unsettled h er, a long term plan. She'd been
living day to day for six years, away from anything necessitating more
than a moment's thought. And now, here she was pondering what spring in
D.C. would be like and where she would live when she moved out here. 
	The thought of leaving the desert frightened her in an abstract
way. There was no way to hide for very long from the things that drove her
to seclusion if she took up with him. Eventually, he'd have to know about
her past. About Coleen, about her family,
 about everything. Could she tell him? Did she want to? 
	But in the back of her mind, she knew that he would understand.
The reasoning, if not the actions, anyway. She knew that Walter wouldn't
mind recieving a heart, slightly used. The very thought of giving it away
to a virtual stranger surprised her, and fr ightened her more than
anything else. Was she willing to risk another emotional fiasco? Could she
survive it? Or would her body just go on and her soul finally just declare
itself dead and fade away? 
	Vaughan looked down and realized that she was still on the first
page. She smirked and set the book aside. She placed her glasses on top
and rubbed her temples. It was late, and she was tired. Everything else
could be taken care of later. Collecting Fion a in her arms, she ascended
the stairs to her room, turning lights out along the way.

	Skinner flexed his grip on the steering wheel, and replayed the
evening through his mind. More to the point, the kiss in the pool hall. It
was so exquisite. He could remember the first experimental touch of her
lips to his. The softness, the smoke, the s weetness. He closed his eyes
for a moment as the memory of the sensation overwhelmed him. When he
opened his eyes again, he found that he was driving close to eighty and
coming up on his exit. Taking his foot off the accelerator, he coasted off
the expres sway to the light. 
	Duty, in the form of a false alarm on a child abduction case that
was currently on his desk, had called him away. Overall, not necessarily a
bad thing. He could have slept with her tonight. He felt so close to her;
he _would_ have slept with her tonight. 
 Without a regret. 
	But at the same time, he was wary. These feelings she awakened
within him were so powerful. It was only one date, but it felt like both a
lifetime, and not nearly long enough. They fit together so well, so
flawlessly, it was like plugging directly into a n electrical socket with
a fork, not wise, but what a jolt. He'd partitioned his emotions off from
the rest of his life for so long, and this woman had just marched right on
through, heedless of the destruction in her wake. She probably spent most
of her life like that, he mused with a silent laugh . But at the same
time, was he ready for the kind of intensity she would bring to his life?
Having a relationship in his line of work was often more of a liability
than an asset. And was he just trying to ratio nalize running away? He
drove up his driveway pondering that one. 
	Walter pulled into his garage, shut off the car, and sat there,
until after the garage light went out. A truly remarkable woman. 

	First and foremost, it bothered Mulder that he was so transparent
to Vaughan. She looked through him when most people would prefer not even
to acknowledge him. It made him wonder how obvious it was, this thing he
had for Scully. God, just thinking her na me made him smile.
	He walked down the block to his car and slumped into the driver's
seat. If he was a stronger man, he'd just admit to Scully how he felt,
letting the consquences be damned. No more lies, subterfuge, longing
couched in playful innuendo. But he wasn't that strong.
	Vaughan was right on that point, he wouldn't allow himself to be
with Scully. He always passed it off as an inherent job hazard, an
unnecessary risk to their quest. But in reality it was selfishness.
Hording the parts of himself that hurt the most, that he nursed daily. The
parts that he knew Scully could heal with just a touch. He felt vulnerable
enough around her, without just letting everything go. If he didn't have
his pain to subsist on, what would he do with his time? How would he fill
the yawning void that would be left in its wake?
	Love was the easy answer. He laughed out loud at his naivete. He
hadn't loved Vaughan, though he had tried. She was right about that, too.
He'd known that in Arizona, but ignored it. But when confronted with the
realities and complexities of his life, Sc ully's life, and Vaughan's, he
knew that it was never a matter of loving Vaughan, but of not loving
Scully. And he just couldn't do it. More selfishness. 
	He turned on the car, the radio immediately blaring. He jumped and
reached over to turn it off when it came on. He'd never admit to it in
public, but he just liked this song. It was on heavy rotation on the
station that Scully listened to at her desk, an d it had just grown on
him. "I wanna wake up where you are. I won't say anything at all.  .  ."
he sang along as he rolled down the street toward Alexandria.
	The thought hit him with such force, that he slammed on his brakes
in the middle of an intersection. At any other time, it would have been
busy enough that, that particular maneuver would have been fatal. As it
was, he was the only soul for miles, or so it seemed. 
	That was all he wanted, to wake up with Scully. Just be with her,
wake up next to her. The idea was so perfect he almost didn't notice the
distinct whine of his power steering as he torqued the wheel in the
direction of salvation. 

	Scully sat on the couch, a box of Kleenexes and a trashcan nearby.
She was watching 'Terms of Endearment', the culmination of her movie
rental evening that also included 'Love Story' and 'Beaches'. On the
coffeetable in front of her was an empty pint of Haagen Daaz with the
spoon still in it, her holstered gun laying at the end of the table.
	She'd hoped the deluge of tears she'd probably shed would be
enough to draw her focus away from the fact that Vaughan had slept with
Mulder. That reality smacked her just after she dropped Vaughan at the
station, causing this evening of emotional indulge nce and junk food. It
explained the tension the night before and both Vaughan and Mulder's hasty
exits. How could she have been so blind? 
	She sighed and forced herself up from the couch and into the
kitchen for more snacks. The only thing left was the free bag Cheetos
she'd gotten when she bought the case of Coke that she'd been steadily
working through. 
	She ripped open the bag viciously as she sat back down on the
couch. Then she gathered the afghan off the back of the couch, and draped
it across her jammie-clad legs and Tigger slippers. 
	Vaughan and Mulder. Mulder and Vaughan. Her mind reeled at the
implications. Scully felt the rage and helplessness flare in the pit of
her stomach again and then return to the dull hard ache that she'd had for
several hours now. She couldn't blame Vaugha n: she hadn't known of her
infatuation, however inappropriate.
	But Mulder. . .  she knew that somewhere inside, she could blame
him. Maybe he didn't deserve it, but she'd always felt that he'd _known_,
understood the connection between them. It wove through everything they
did, said, whatever. It permeated their arg uments, their looks that said
more than words could convey. And yet, they both lived like monks, in the
world, but permanently separated. Chaste, pure of heart, and bound to a
quest that she knew would eventually kill them both, if not physically,
then sp irtitually, a brick at a time. And together, she felt they had a
fighting chance against the evil that haunted his eyes and had more than
once all but ovewhelmed her.

	He pulled the car up in front of her building and killed the
engine. God, this had to be either the bravest or stupidest move he could
ever make. It was late, and he hadn't even bothered to call ahead. He was
so consumed with the idea of them together, t hat it never occurred to him
that she may be asleep. He cast a glance up at her window and was relieved
to see the bluish glow of the TV shining through the curtains. Taking a
deep breath, he got out of the car and walked up the stairs to her
building.
	He paused outside her door. He could hear women's voices inside
and wondered if this would be another scene like the night before. Before
he could give himself time to retreat, he bit the bullet and knocked.

	Yes, she could blame him. For letting her fall in love with him.
For being noble, and brave, and strange. For the kiss that could have
been. 
	That's what galled her the most, really, if she wanted to admit it
to herself. He'd stolen that feeling from her. At night, she would lull
herself to sleep, thinking of his hands, warm on her skin, his gaze
intense, his heart all but laid open before her . And then the faintest
graze of his lips against hers. Six years of unresolved tensions,
stretched to its limits. And she loved it, the feeling of being secure in
him, in his beliefs that were now just as much hers as his own. And now
he'd fucked her bes t friend. Fucking perfect. 
	The knock at the door startled her into reflexively reaching for
her gun. Then she looked at her watch and swore under her breath. Taking
her bag of Cheetos with her, she stomped over to the door and opened it
with remarkable restraint. 
	Just as she'd suspected. "Yep, that's just about par. Cheeto?" 
	Mulder took the large bag tentatively, profoundly bewildered at
her greeting. "Thank you?" 
	Scully just frowned. "I need a paper towel." She turned her back
on him and walked into the kitchen. He could hear the brutality of her
tear as the paper towel gave way to its fate. She then flopped back down
on the couch. "Come in or leave. Either way, close the door. And if you
go, leave the Cheetos." 
	Mulder walked quietly over the threshold, bag in hand, and closed
the door. He could tell she'd been crying, why, he didn't know. Her hair
was mussed, her eyes swollen, and her usually flawless face was blotchey.
Probably from rubbing away the tears. Tha t said, she was gorgeous. He
never thought of Scully as as Tigger slippers kind of woman, but it made
him smile inside. She was wearing baggy cotton pants that almost touched
the floor and a matching shirt, very appealing in a little-girl kind of
way. But
 something about tonight was wrong. Something he was afraid to find out,
to know. It nibbled incessantly at his insides and made his limbs tremble
slightly. 
	"Don't forget to lock it. You know the kinds of people we deal
with." 
	He did as he was bade and carefully approached the couch. He sat
down on the end farthest from her and looked at the television. "You know
these chick flicks will rot your brain," he ventured in a coversational
tone. 
	"And your movies won't?" she countered with a ferocity he wasn't
prepared for. 
	Mulder visibly flinched. Ooh, she was in rare form this evening.
He could hear the counter on the bomb ticking down in the distance. Should
he stay and take the blast or go and let the explosion fester? "Um . . .
Scully?" 
	She looked from the TV to him and back. Blindly she reached over
and wrested the bag of Cheetos out of his hands. "Yes, Mulder." 
	"Did I come at a bad time?" he felt himself shrinking, for fear of
violence. 
	"Would it matter, Mulder?" her voice was flat, toneless. 
	Mulder got up to leave. He could feel the boiling venom within his
partner that was about to punch through her detached veneer at any second.
Maybe it was better to be gone when the blast hit. Maybe this was a bad
idea. He walked to the door and unlocked
 it. 
	"How could you?" 
	Her voice was so quiet that he almost didn't hear her. "What?" 
	"How could you? How could you sleep with her?" 
	Fuck. Double fuck. "Did she tell you?" he relocked the door, and
turned around slowly to face his accuser. 
	Scully carefully set the bag on the table. "No, she didn't. I'm
not blind, Mulder. I . . ." her voice trailed off. "My best friend?" she
asked in a voice that raked right across his heart. 
	"I didn't know." It was true, he didn't know. Couldn't have known.
"I didn't know, and I'm sorry." He meant it. 
	Scully cast her eyes down at her hands. Her eyes were so full of
unshed tears, that she felt like she was looking through an aquarium. One
by one, they began to fall. She didn't wipe them away, as she had tried
earlier, but simply let them collect in her
 hands, water running through the dry washes of the lines on her palms to
soak into her pants. "I know." 
	Mulder walked over to sit next to her on the couch. He understood
her pain, but he'd never say so. He realized in that moment that she
didn't need some grandiose declaration of undying love and devotion. He
put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her
 reluctant form to him. Slowly she relaxed, placing her head against his
chest. He felt the warm droplets soak through his sweater. For a few
minutes, there was no sound other than the muted noise from the
television. He looked down at her, her hair hidin g her face from his
view. Gently he brushed it back and tucked it behind one ear, his fingers
lightly brushing the soft skin of her face, and was not surprised to find
her asleep. Slowly he extricated himself from her sleeping form so that he
could stand and pick her up properly. He carried her, wrapped in the
afghan, to her bedroom and peeled off her slippers. Then he returned to
the living room to tidy up, picking up the empty pint of ice cream and
other detritus, until he felt comfortable returning to tuck her in.
	Scully had turned over onto her side, wrapping herself tighter in
the blanket. Mulder smiled and sat at the foot of the bed for a moment.
The alarm clock read close to three. And today was Friday. He suddenly
felt drained. Completely spent of energy and emotion. Later, they could
deal with tonight's revelations. He stood and walked to the other side of
her bed and proceeded to lay down and stretch out next to her. He resisted
the urge to curl up against her, knowing that if she awoke, there was no
explai ning that away with a simple, glib, answer. So instead, he just
surrendered to the fatigue in his limbs and slept. 

**** Three weeks later

	Kimberly was busy sorting through the day's correspondence when
she walked in. A short woman of striking features, dressed in a black
pants suit, Donna Karan shoes, and a vividly purple blouse, she strode
purposefully up to her desk and looked her over b riefly. Kimberly noticed
her visitor's tag and the slight nervousness in her manner. "May I help
you?" 
	Vaughan took a deep breath. Yes, but only if you can make my life
go away in a completely immaculate way. "Yes ma'am, I would like to see
Director Skinner, please." 
	Kimberly glanced down at his appointment book. A meeting in
fifteen minutes, but nothing right now. "Do you have an appointment?" 
	Vaughan closed her eyes, and mentally fortified herself. She felt
like she was fracturing at the seams. "No ma'am. I would just like a brief
moment of his time, if that's possible." 
	Something about her voice, the strength, the tiniest strain of
desperation, made Kimberly pick up the phone and buzz his office. "Sir?
There's a --" 
	"Vaughan Acevedo." 
	"--Vaughan Acevedo out here to see you. . . yes, sir . . . I'll
send her right in." She smiled and nodded at the door. "Go on in." 
	"Thank you." She turned on her heel and walked over to the door.
No turning back now. With a sigh, she turned the handle and walked inside.
	Walter stood up from behind his desk and walked over to greet her
with a deep kiss. "You look wonderful." 
	Vaughan flushed at his compliment, and smiled in spite of herself.
"Thank you. Nice place." Her eyes swept around the room that was bigger
and better furnished than some apartments. 
	"Thank you. What brings you here?" 
	She cast her eyes down. I'm leaving. "I . . . um, can we sit?" She
gestured to the couch in the far corner of the office. 
	He was instantly wary. Placing a hand at the small of her back, he
escorted her to the sofa and sat down next to her. "Am I in trouble?" 
	Vaughan smirked and kissed his lips lightly. "Of course not. I
just. . ." There was no way to mitigate the impact of the next words
coming out of her mouth. "I'm leaving, Walter." 
	He felt all the air rush out of his lungs immediately, his stomach
jumped and his heart sank, all at once. It left him feeling hollow and
aching inside. "When?" It was all he could manage. 
	Vaughan watched his reaction. It was all she could do not to weep.
"In a couple of hours. I'm going back to Arizona." 
	Two thousand miles away. The ache began to throb in time with the
growing pain in his temples. "Did I do something wrong?" 
	God no. I want to be with you. I want to live with you and love
you and . . . . "No, you didn't. Walter, I just need some time." 
	Taking a deep breath, he reset his features into an impenetrable
mask. "Time for what, if I may?" 
	She watched him closely, studying his features. "Time to think.
Time to understand what's going on here. Between us." 
	"And you can't do that here?" 
	Vaughan stood, and decided that she really needed a smoke. "No, I
can't." 
	He didn't need a neon sign. He'd somehow driven her away, and
there was nothing he could do about it. He had to accept that. Or least
pretend to. "Alright, then. Do you need a ride to the airport?" His
meetings be damned, he might never see this woman ag ain. That thought
made him nauseous. 
	"No, thank you." 
	"Goodbye, then?" he couldn't help hoping this was all some ghastly
mistake. 
	Vaughan nodded, knowing that saying anymore would reduce her to
tears.
	Walter escorted her to the door, and she kissed him lightly on the
lips, sealing his fate. After closing the door behind her, he allowed
himself the brief luxury of a single tear. 

	Vaughan quickly exited the office, almost bumping into a tall,
greying man, with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "Excuse me,
sir." 
	He smiled at her, completely taken with her beautiful face.
"Excuse _me_, miss." 
	"I know this is exceedingly rude, but could I trouble you for a
cigarette?" 
	With a smirk, he reached into his pocket to fulfill her request. 
"Remember, this is a non-smoking building." 
	Taking the cigarette, she thanked him, his comment bringing the
barest hint of a smile to her face. Briefly pondering his emaciated form,
and the lit cigarette, she nodded and rushed to catch the elevator before
it closed. 

	Scully was lost in thought. Three weeks had gone by and she and
Mulder had barely spoken. Not true, they _had_ spoken, of their case, or
distinct lack thereof, of the weather, of his choice in on-the-road
accomodations. But overall, they'd strictly avoid ed any mention of last
Friday morning or the night before. 
	She'd awoke to find him in her bed, an arm thrown possessively
across her chest, and snoring. He was very cute asleep, she decided, not
for the first time. So peaceful, the worry lines erased, his lips, either
pressed together in thought or running a mil e a minute about some new
theory, just relaxed and slightly open. On closer inspection, he was
drooling. It made her smile. 
	But that did not explain why he was in her bed, on top of the
covers, and fully dressed. Or why she was wrapped in the afghan from the
couch. Scully remembered most of the night before, dropping Vaughan off at
the train station, renting movies, fuming ov er her and Mulder's
indiscretion. She even remembered his arrival and their conversation. But
how she got in this position was still a mystery. 
	Scully looked at her alarm before turning it off. She still had
half an hour before she needed to be up. Carefully, she slid out of bed
and walked to the bathroom to begin her morning ritual. 
	Mulder had awakened to the smell of coffee and her rustling around
in her jewelry box for a pair of earrings. He'd looked sheepish. He'd
mumbled something about getting his clothes, and thanks for letting him
stay over and disappeared out the front door,
 taking one of her coffee mugs with him. 
	She'd wanted to talk, to say something that would relieve this
horrible awkwardness that had settled between them since that morning. But
every time she gotten up enough courage to broach the subject with him,
the opportunity vanished. 
	She was waiting for the elevator on the crime lab floor, having
been doing research most of the morning. She was surprised when the doors
opened to reveal her best friend. "Hey Vaughan." 
	Vaughan's spirits lifted as she saw her friend. "Mornin' Dana. I
was just on my way down to see you." 
	She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the
basement, even though it was already lit. "Great. What do you need?" 
	Somehow it was easier telling her. "I'm leaving for Arizona,
Dana." 
	Her eyes widened. "When?" 
	"In a couple hours. I was on my way down to tell you goodbye."
Vaughan's mind kept replaying the office scene. 
	"Just like that? What about Skinner?" Scully pulled out the stop
button, just as Vaughan had done days earlier. "You're just leaving
without telling him?" 
	Vaughan sighed and let a tear slip down her cheek. She brushed it
away shyly. "Thank the gods for waterproof eyeliner, huh?" Scully smiled
and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I just told him. It went
about as I'd expected." 
	Scully cringed. "That bad, huh?" 
	Vaughan laughed slightly. "Yeah, you could say that. I never meant
to hurt him. To tell the truth, I could love him. But how do you know,
after just three weeks?" 
	Scully couldn't say anything. How many times had she asked herself
that same question about Mulder? She'd been attracted to him since the day
they'd met, six years ago. And now her friend was trapped in the same
dilemma.
	"I sound silly, don't I?" 
	Scully laughed and pushed the button to start the elevator again.
"Not at all. To tell you the truth, I know exactly how it feels." 
	"You talk to Mulder, yet?" 
	She shrugged. "No, not yet. I don't know what to say to him. 'Why
were you in my bed, and oh, by the way, I love you?'" 
	Vaughan laughed and the elevator dinged for the ground floor. "I
know. I'll call you when I get home tonight. Good luck with him, eh?" 
	Scully hugged her friend. "Don't be a stranger." 
	Vaughan smiled as she walked into the lobby. "Never again. I
promise." 

	Alone at the airport is never a good thing, she decided. People
bustling everywhere, seeing family and friends, or leaving with tearful
goodbyes, and there she was, calmly waiting for her boarding call, first
class ticket in her hand. She put on her head phones, and turned on her
travelling music, 'August and Everything After'.
	Vaughan looked around the gate, rapidly filling with people.
Flight 1013 to Las Vegas was promising to be full. No kids, though,
thankfully. But she still felt lonely, the kind of lonely that eats away
at your insides. She thought that she'd gotten used to that feeling,
especially after six years of solitude, but since meeting Walter, well,
the loneliness seemed more acute. She sighed and cursed the people who
made airports nonsmoking. My kingdom for a goddamned cig--
	"May I have your attention please? Northwest Flight 1013, nonstop
to Las Vegas, is now boarding at gate C13. First class passengers and
those with disabilites." The P.A. barely penetrated her headphones. She'd
kept the music loud enough to blot out any t houghts other than getting
back home.
	Vaughan cast a mournful glance around, hoping maybe, just maybe
Walter would show up. The romantic in her secretly hoped for a
'Casablanca' ending, with the 'Hill of Beans' speech and everything. But
as she picked up her purse and train case full of in-f light amusements,
she knew that some things only happened in the movies. Trudging slowly to
the flight attendant taking the tickets, she looked behind her once more,
and then walked down the gangway to board the plane.

	Skinner tore through the airport toward Gate C13, hoping to catch
her in time. After his meeting, he'd used his authority to find out what
flight she would be on and when. There was no logical reason why he should
go after her. She'd said she needed time , but he couldn't help wondering
if there was something more there. Something she just didn't want to say.
And he didn't get to where he was in life by taking answers at face value. 
	He passed through the security with only a flash of his badge and
a brief display of his gun. He was a man on a mission.
	He got to the gate just in time to see her plane taxi-ing to the
runway, his hopes on board, being slowly ripped away with every passing
second. His heart ached so bad he had to catch his breath, and nothing was
going to assauge the pain. He wanted to cr y, to just open a wrist and
bleed out all the pain onto the dull grey office carpeting. Right here in
front of God and everybody. But instead smiled. "I'll find you, Vaughan,
no matter what it takes. I'll find you." 

END PART TWO (parts three through five are coming, the conclusion is out
there) 

feedback? please? if'n you ain't too busy, o'course . . . ;). 

". . . I'm almost drowning in her seas/ she's nearly falling on her knees/
it's almost everything I need . . . ." --A. Duritz