From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Busy Signals" 1/2 by Juliettt Date: 26 Sep 1995 18:24:54 -0400 Another new one. Warning: this is a relationship story and a romance of sorts, so if you're into gunznbombz, this probably isn't the story for you. It is also one of my few "freestanding" stories; that is, it doesn't fit into the universe of my other stories. Just a one-shot deal. Probably. Oh, and Dana Scully and Fox Mulder and anybody else you recognize here from _The X-Files_, along with its premise, belong to Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasting, or some amalgamation of the three, as well as to Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny (have I left anyone out?). This story and Robert Stevens, however, are mine. . . . Many thanks to The Troupe for much valuable criticism and insight. You guys are the best! But then, you *know* that. . . . ************************************************ "Busy Signals" by Juliettt@aol.com (July 25, 1995) (revised and posted September 26,1995) ************************************************ P A R T O N E Tuesday morning J. Edgar Hoover Building Dana Scully stopped by the coffee table on the way into her basement office and poured herself a cup of the steaming brew. Although it was only seven in the morning the coffee was ready. She had set the timer herself the previous night. She frowned as she added creamer and stirred thoughtfully. The pot was full. Conclusion: she had, for once, managed to beat her partner into the office. Briefly she pondered what this might mean, then shook her head. Mulder's personal life was none of her business so long as it did not affect their work. Still, she could not keep from wondering. . . . Scully sighed and took a deep, invigorating swallow from her mug. Just because *she* had no social life did not mean that Mulder was dateless as well. She remembered a conversation they had once had after she announced to him, rather smugly, that *she* had a date for the evening. She did not question her motives for the smugness, at the time at least. "Unlike you, Mulder, I want to have a life." "I have a life." She sighed again. After that one date she had never gone out with Scott again. He was nice, and he was cute, and his little boy was evidence both of his ability to father children and his willingness to do so. But she had never for a moment deceived herself that he was "THE ONE." She always saw that phrase in capital letters, especially whenever she spoke with her mother. Lately, however, Mrs. Scully had quit bugging her youngest daughter about getting married and raising a family. In fact, Scully thought as she topped off her cup and made her way to the office, she had begun easing up right after the abduction. Perhaps she had told herself that it was merely enough that her daughter was alive and well, even if she was alone and likely, as it now appeared, to spend the rest of her life that way. Scully set her briefcase on the floor and unlocked the door. Despite the fact that they had been sharing the same office for three years the door still only had Mulder's name on it. She had never told him that that made her slightly insecure, as though she were on a long-term temporary assignment instead of the permanent partnership they had both tacitly agreed upon. She frowned. Maybe she could finally get up the nerve to approach Skinner and ask him about her status with the X-Files division. She flipped on the lights and crossed to her desk, moving the mouse to deactivate the screensaver as she sat down. She tapped in her password and checked for interoffice memos. No meetings were scheduled for the day, and no new cases. She sighed. It looked like it was going to be another day for searching through old case files, unless Mulder came in with a new lead. She smiled wryly. That all depended on whether he stopped at the newsstand on the way and picked up one of the tabloids that had served as the source for several of their investigations in the past. She grabbed a bunch of files from the "unsolved" stack and sat back to read. ***** Dana Scully heard voices in the hallway outside their office and dropped the file she had been perusing on her desk. She took off her reading glasses and smoothed her hair, listening. From the sound of the voices Mulder had company, but it wasn't Skinner. His tone was light and casual, with none of the uneasy deference he reserved for their boss. Probably one of his "sources," she thought with a smirk as she took another swallow of her now-lukewarm coffee. ". . . and this," she heard Mulder's voice say, "is our office." *Our office.* She felt a surge of warmth. The door swung open. "Hey, Scully." "Good morning, slugabed," she answered teasingly as she swung to face the two men in the doorway. The man next to Mulder was smiling at her. His hair was a dark blond and his eyes were green with crinkles at the edges. He was half a head shorter than Mulder, his medium build slightly heavier than her slender partner's. "Robert Stevens, Dana Scully, my partner." He reached for her outstretched hand and shook it. Mulder grinned at her. "Rob and I were at Oxford together." "Oh, really? I'm sure you have a lot of stories to tell," she teased. His eyes regarded her warmly, telling her without words how attractive she was. She felt herself blush slightly. "I do. Lots of stories," he replied. His voice was as American as hers. "You're not English?" "No. My father was an attache at the Embassy," he explained. "I spent most of my school years in England and decided to finish up at Oxford." "Rob's a writer," Mulder explained. "Articles for newsjournals," he responded to her unspoken question. She nodded. "I guess you travel a lot." "All the time. I'm only here in D.C. because the Prime Minister decided at the last minute that Washington would be more comfortable in summer than Egypt." She laughed. "Not by much." Mulder jumped back in. "We don't have any new cases -- thought we'd spend some time going over the old files. Rob's going to run some colleagues to ground before the press conference this afternoon." "That's right," he said, and glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, I really have to run. But . . . lunch?" he asked Mulder. He was, however, looking directly at Scully, obviously including her in the invitation. "Sounds good. Meet back here at noon. Now go make some waves, Maestro." The other man nodded at Scully. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Scully," he said, and walked out of the office. <*Dr.* Scully. Mulder *has* been telling tales,> she thought. She smiled, remembering an earlier occasion when one of her former students had let it slip to Mulder that Scully had told her "a lot" about him. He had threatened to drag that information out of her later. But then the younger woman had been killed and he had never mentioned the incident again. Briefly she wondered whether the morbid events had driven it out of his mind or whether he had simply decided not to dredge up painful memories. She had known from the look on his face that he was extremely curious to know just *what* his partner had said about him. Just as she burned to find out what he had told Rob about her. "I thought we'd just go through some of these older files, Scully -- see what we can dig up, then meet Rob for a late lunch. I think you'll like him," he concluded, obviously anxious for his two friends to be friends. "What, you didn't have time to pick up a _National Enquirer_ this morning, Mulder?" she teased. He shot her a look of mingled surprise and humor. Evidently over the past three years his dry wit had begun to rub off on her. Or perhaps she was just becoming comfortable enough now to reveal that aspect of herself to him, he thought. He grinned at her and flipped open a file. Lunch promised to be interesting. ***** Tuesday lunch Golden East restaurant "So, Dr. Scully, what made you decide to join the Bureau?" Rob asked her over lemon rice soup. "Dana," she informed him. "And it was a combination of factors, really -- I don't know exactly when I decided. It was almost as if one morning I woke up and realized I had already made the decision, you know?" "How did your folks feel about it?" She laughed. "They were distinctly unhappy. Dad especially. He was career military, definitely old school. Not sexist -- he was really proud that I wanted to become a doctor -- but he wanted me to have an active practice. Something he could be proud of, not have to try to explain away in guarded terms." "Sounds like he was worried about you." She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "Oh, he was. I guess I kind of lucked out, though. Melissa -- she's my older sister -- was rather wild, and she loosened them up for me." Rob laughed now. "Somehow I just don't see you as the wild sort." She shrugged. "Not in the same ways, maybe." Mulder looked at his partner in surprise, reminded once again of just how many things he did not know about her. "How do they feel about it now?" Rob was asking. There was a brief but uncomfortable silence. "My father -- died -- two years ago," Dana said slowly. "I'm sorry." She shook her head. "No, it's okay. I loved him. He loved me. He was my father, and I think that in the end he accepted me for who and what I am, what I do." She grinned suddenly. "Mom still worries, though." "And you hate that." She nodded. "I do. I hate the fact that she doesn't accept the fact that I can take care of myself." Mulder pondered this admission over carefully. She wasn't just talking about her mother. He knew he could be overprotective at times. But she was his *partner*. She was protective of him, too. And when he thought of the times he had almost lost her. . . . The waitress brought their entrees and they were silent for a few minutes, enjoying the various Chinese dishes they had opted to share. "So, Rob. Mulder was telling me about a story you once researched in Africa." "Oh, yeah. Three years ago. You ever been there?" She shook her head. "No -- always wanted to go someday, though." She lifted another piece of the Kung Pao chicken to her mouth with her chopsticks. "Tell me about it." He sighed. "Well, I thought I was headed for a safari -- I'd seen all the movies, you know?" Rob launched into the tale, describing his arrival in Africa only to find that he and his fellow journalists had been booked into an expensive hotel and would ride to the photo and interview sites in air-conditioned cars. Mulder had heard the story several times before, so he simply sat back and watched his partner and his friend. Scully's face was animated as she listened and then laughed at the account of the reservation mix-up and the car that got lost on the way to a village. That particular trip had ended in a three-hour hike that landed them in the middle of a village not on the map. As a result, however, they had gotten an interview that was the coup of that month's issue. Scully shook her head as Rob refreshed himself with a deep swallow of hot tea. "Isn't that always the way? Best laid plans . . . but then sometimes you find answers where you least expect them." She caught Mulder's eye and smiled. He grinned back, wondering which case in particular she had in mind. He was positive it was not the one involving the missing foresters that had resulted in their being put in quarantine after an attack of vicious, microscopic green bugs. "Yeah, from what Mulder says you two have really run across some interesting stuff. I'd love to hear about it sometime." Both Mulder and Scully froze momentarily. *Was Rob hitting on her?* She nodded slowly. "I'd like that." He grinned. "Great. Dinner Friday night?" There was another long silence. Then, "Sure. That sounds fine. . . ." During the rest of the conversation both Mulder and Scully wondered whether this was going to be another dinner among friends or whether Rob had something else in mind. ***** Friday evening Scully's apartment It was definitely a date, Scully decided when she caught herself discarding one outfit after another in an attempt to find just the right thing to wear. It felt odd -- it had been quite awhile since she had been out with a man for purely social reasons, and she should have been excited. She *was* excited. But she was also just a little -- uneasy, for some reason. she told herself. The three of them had spent time together the past few days, eating lunch at local restaurants, doing the sights. She and Mulder had even caught one of the press conferences, Rob sneaking them in by giving them photographic equipment to carry. It was silly, really -- their FBI badges gave them clearance to most places. Except, of course, the places they really *needed* to go. But then, they weren't on a case. And it was fun. *He* was fun. She just wished she could put her finger on the indefineable something that had been troubling her the past couple of days. It wasn't really anything major -- only something just wrong enough that it nagged at her without showing itself. Like a single instrument just slightly offkey in an orchestra. She and Mulder were -- just a little on edge. They shouldn't be. After all, she had accepted his friend. . . . Was that it? Was Mulder upset? After all, Rob had come to visit him, and here he was taking *her* on a date. Did Mulder feel -- excluded? With a sigh she decided that it was a distinct possibility and determined to talk to Rob about it if the opportunity arose. The doorbell rang. She hurried to open it and found Rob standing there wearing a dark green Henley and khaki pants. He looked great. He smelled great. "Ready?" he asked. she responded silently. Then, aloud, "Yes." ***** Dinner was Italian. The food was good, the company was better. Rob was nice. He was intelligent and witty and attractive, and he made her feel attractive. She knew she could really get to like him. They laughed and talked and told stories about work and family -- and Mulder. She found herself telling him about chasing fireflies in the woods with her brothers when she was a little girl. He told her about learning to punt on the Thames and suddenly forgetting mid-river whether to push or pull the oars. She told him about singing in the church choir and making a face at Mary Ann Thompson just before she got up to sing the solo part in the Kyrie that Dana had wanted. They laughed helplessly over that for awhile and then he told her about Mulder dragging him out of bed before dawn on May 1st one year to climb to the roof of one of the College buildings so they could watch the choristers sing to the rising sun. She said she had always wanted to visit England. He promised to take her on a tour of the best "hidden pubs and hot spots" if she came. They lapsed into silence. The bill came. He paid it. They got up from the table, and Scully picked up her purse and cel phone, which had not rung all evening. They walked out to the car and got in. ***** Miles distant and a world away, Fox Mulder sat on his couch in his darkened living room and frowned at the blank television screen. He had spent the whole evening thinking, dragging out into the open the thoughts and emotions that were warring inside him. He didn't know if he liked what he saw. ***** They headed back to Rob's hotel room to listen to a new jazz CD he had just bought. With any other man she would have thought it was simply a line, but Mulder had told her enough about his ex-roommate and she had been with him enough herself to feel safe with him. And, of course, she was armed. As always since her abduction, she carried her sidearm with her even on social occasions. They chatted about music and books and wines. Told each other more stories. Somehow they almost all seemed to involve Mulder. . . . He looked at her. She was telling him a story about being caught digging up what they had thought would be evidence in a small-town sheriff's backyard and then discovering that what they had exhumed was a potato buried in the folkloric belief that it would cure warts. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and he joined her. He noticed that her face lit up whenever either of them mentioned her partner. His heart sank a little. Mulder had told him there was nothing like *that* between them, but quite obviously there was -- something. He had not missed the look of shock and dismay and -- something else -- that had flitted across his friend's face when he had asked Dana out. As soon as he saw it he regretted asking her, but by then it was too late to back down without raising questions, and he really wanted to get to know her, even if nothing ever came of it. And somehow he got the feeling neither of them had any inkling of what was so clear to him, a virtual stranger. So he purposefully told one of his favorite stories about Mulder, an event that had made him respect the man's humanity as well as his intellect and good humor, and watched her closely. Mulder had been up in Edinburgh for the weekend; both of them regularly hopped one train or another on a Friday evening as the fancy took them, and back then student fares were cheap. A train from Oxford up into Scotland took most of the night, so they were able to travel even more cheaply by avoiding even the pittance that the local YMCA's and youth hostels charged for a bed. This had been back before the days of Phoebe Greene, before she had begun to monopolize Mulder's time and his heart. He, Robert, had elected to remain in town to study for an exam. Mulder had set off with just a backpack and a little money -- enough for his tickets and some food. When his roommate did not return by Sunday evening Robert began to get worried. Finally he dragged himself in in the "wee sma's," haggard and exhausted but immensely pleased about something. He simply explained that he had had to hitchike back from a nearby city. This made no sense. Rob knew his friend had had enough money when he started out, and Fox Mulder was no spendthrift. But Mulder seemed disinclined to talk about it, and so he did not pursue it, although he thought it strange. "A few weeks later we were out walking and we passed a fish shop," he related, refilling her cup, "and he suddenly got this huge grin on his face. I asked him what was so funny and he shook his head like it was something he didn't want to explain or that I wouldn't understand." Scully nodded. She had had similar experiences with Mulder on occasion herself. "But then he finally stopped and went back to stand in front of the shop window and started telling me this story about his trip to Scotland." Mulder had been walking down the Royal Mile Sunday morning and had come upon an older couple staring in the window of a fish shop. He looked over their shoulders and saw that the object of their rapt attention was a huge salmon that the clerk was placing on ice. They glanced back and then up at the tall stranger behind them, seeming a little embarrassed. "Nice fish, huh?" Mulder asked politely. The woman's eyes took on a gleam. "'Tis more than a nice fish, lad. That's a salmon. The fish of kings!" "Are they good?" She nodded. "Aye. But so dear -- 'tis for a reason they're called the royal fish!" He looked at them. It was obvious they were not going hungry. Their clothes were good, though not expensive. They had asked nothing of him. This was simply a long-married couple enjoying being together and, perhaps, fondly remembering salmon they had eaten -- perhaps even caught before the restrictions had been placed on fishing for them -- in their younger days. He excused himself for a moment and hurried into the shop. When he inquired into the price of the salmon he was somewhat surprised to discover just *how* "dear" the "fish of kings" was. With a gulp he assessed his money situation. He might have enough -- barely. He grinned and bought the fish. When he emerged into the street with the huge parcel in his arms the couple gaped at him. When he approached them and with a smile offered it to the older man they positively stared. "Nay, lad -- we couldna!" "But you must! I insist -- it's too big -- I could never eat all this myself!" He said this last without thinking. The woman's eyes gleamed again. "Hae ye never had salmon before, laddie?" He shook his head. "No. Never." She grinned up at him and took his arm. "Then ye're comin' hame wi' us for Sunday dinner." Her husband took the fish from Mulder and they walked away. "He told me he really enjoyed the dinner although he usually hated fish. It was early afternoon when he started out for the train station. When he got there he realized that he was just a wee bit short of a full return ticket to Oxford, so he bought one for the nearest station and kept his fingers crossed. A postman on his early rounds was kind enough to offer him a ride into the city -- the Scots are a much more friendly people than you'll find in most parts of the world." They sat in silence for awhile, wrapt in their own thoughts. Scully was grateful for this new insight into her partner's true personality -- the innocent, giving man he had been before life had changed him. She wondered how much his failed relationship with Phoebe had had to do with it; he had told her little about that time in his life, and it was obvious that the memories still pained him. She considered. Perhaps what he still mourned was not Phoebe herself but the loss of the Fox Mulder who had been lost. Not entirely due to Phoebe, of course -- life itself had done things to him. The early loss of his sister, the breakup of his family, the years spent pushing himself to succeed at school in an attempt to garner his parents' respect and approval, as she herself had done. Then his excitement over discovering the X-files and his humiliation at the hands of his fellow agents. Life had not been very easy on him. But she had caught glimpses of the child still inside him now and again through the cracks in his cynical, somewhat paranoid exterior. She thought of how careful he had been with the children they had encountered on various cases -- even the Eves, before he had discovered the poison the two girls had placed in the agents' sodas. She wondered just how careful the agents who had investigated Sam's disappearance had been with a very young, very frightened Fox Mulder. How many times had he been willing to trust and been tricked -- used -- like that before? No wonder he had been so reluctant to trust her. She remembered another early case. They had been sent deep into the woods to investigate the disappearance of a whole team of loggers and had themselves almost been killed by a swarm of microscopic primordial bugs. She remembered how angry she had been at him for trusting the ecologist and giving away the last of the gasoline that fueled their generator, providing the light that would keep the bugs away from them at night. She had been furious with him for trusting the man, for making the decision without her. And yet, in the end, he had been right. His trust, now so infrequently given, had saved their lives. And he had never said, "I told you so." Robert watched Dana in silence, noting the way her face had softened, her eyes slightly dreamy, the faint smile that curved the corners of her lips. And then he was sure. Now what should he do? ***** Continued in Part Two =========================================================================== From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: "Busy Signals" 2/2 by Juliettt Date: 26 Sep 1995 18:29:58 -0400 Please see Part One for disclaimers; basically, I wrote this story using some characters and a television show concept that don't belong to me without asking permission but I mean absolutely no offense and, actually, a great deal of love and respect. . . . What's left of this story is mine. ************************************************** "Busy Signals" by Juliettt@aol.com (revised and posted September 26, 1995) ************************************************** P A R T T W O "I think he's jealous, Dana," Robert said over his coffee. "Hmm. I think you're right," she sighed. "After all, here his best friend comes all the way from England to visit and his partner monopolizes him on his first weekend night here." He stared at her. "Ex-best friend." She glanced up, startled. "'Scuse me?" He shook his head. "Dana, *you're* his best friend now. I'm just an old school chum. And he's not jealous of you for spending time with me. . . ." She was puzzled. He sighed and reached for her hand. "Dana," he said softly, "I think he's upset because you're spending time with me instead of with him." Her eyes went very wide, then she shook her head with a bemused smile. "Robert, he's my *partner* -- okay, and my *friend*. That's *all*." He eyed her speculatively. "But is that all you *want* it to be? All *he* wants it to be?" She considered this for a moment and then froze. He smiled sadly. "Dana, you're in love with him, aren't you?" Her mouth fell open. She could not *believe* she was having this conversation with another man. And she couldn't believe that he was right. "I . . . I. . . ." He patted her hand. "I thought so. Look, Dana. I've only known you a few days, but I've watched you two together. I've seen the way you look at each other, the way you two have whole conversations without saying a word. It's almost like watching my parents together. . . . No," he continued, raising his hand to forestall her comments, "I just meant that the two of you share a deep bond that is rare, especially in a couple who hasn't been married for forty years. And I can't *believe* I'm about to say this, but" he paused, then gripped her hands more tightly. She looked up at him. "Dana, I've known Mulder for almost fifteen years. I've never seen him like this before. And, frankly, I'm jealous. I never coveted anything of Mulder's before -- God knows his life has been more bad than good. But when I see what you two have already -- what you *could* have -- it's enough to make me want to trade everything I've got for that kind of happiness." His eyes were dark. "What should I do, Rob?" she asked softly. She felt lost. He smiled. "I think you should go to him, right now, and tell him what's on your mind and heart," he said. "But -- you. . . ." He waved her off. "Don't worry about me. I haven't fallen in love with you -- yet," he grinned. She smiled gratefully at him and got up, bending over to plant a quick, soft kiss of thanks on his lips before she squeezed his shoulder and walked swiftly to the door. He closed his eyes as it shut with a bang behind her. "But I came awfully close," he whispered to the empty room. ******** Mulder sat in his dark apartment staring at the lighted fish tank that let off an eerie blue glow. he rebuked himself. He sighed. He really couldn't blame Rob -- he was, after all, a nice guy. The kind of guy he would have been happy to see Scully with. If he hadn't been in love with her himself. He groaned. Part of him argued that Scully would be better off with Rob -- after all, she deserved a decent guy like him, with a steady job that didn't take him off to the middle of nowhere at a moment's notice, that didn't require his carrying a gun to the bathroom, a guy who could offer her security and stability. Who could make her happy. <*I* could make her happy!> that voice teased inside his head. <*Anything*?> He swallowed something bitter. *Anything* might very well be his search for Sam, the passion that had driven him since he was twelve years old. the voice taunted him. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the hot tears seeping from beneath the lids. ***** Dana Scully pulled up outside her partner's apartment building and turned off the ignition. When the engine died she just sat there for a moment in the darkness, thinking. What do I say to him? She sighed and rubbed her eyes. There had been nothing spoken between them, no understanding. Sometimes she had caught him watching her from across their shared office, had turned just in time to see him duck his head and bury himself in one of their files. She had told herself repeatedly that he was just obsessing about her abduction, that he was being overprotective of her because he still felt responsible for her. Afraid he would lose her again. Now, for the first time, she allowed herself to consider another possibility. She was in love with Mulder. Could he be in love with her as well? She shook her head. Rob had said so, Rob who had known Mulder for fifteen years. Rob who had said he had never seen Mulder like this, not with any of the girls he had dated at Oxford. Not even with Phoebe Greene. She sighed again. That was an old demon she would have to work to lay to rest. She finally admitted it to herself: she had been jealous of Phoebe. Jealous of the ease with which she slid back into Mulder's life, easing into niches that she had thought only she, his partner and best friend, could fill. And then when she had seen the Englishwoman, with her slim, elegant height and her charming accent, dancing in Mulder's arms, kissing him. . . . She had known she had no right to feel the way she felt, and had quickly put it off as anger at what Phoebe was doing to him, hatred of her for hurting him that way. . . . She was angry, all right. But her jealousy simply added fuel to the flames of her ire until it was raging nearly out of control. She remembered returning to their office the next day, almost expecting Phoebe to be there. When she had opened the door and had seen Mulder sitting there alone she had given in to an irresistible urge. Putting on her best "Limey snob" accent, as her brother Brian called it, she had posed in the doorway and asked crisply, "Care to take me to lunch?" Her heart had warmed when Mulder jumped and his eyes revealed nothing but anxiety and fear, not the warmth and welcome she had feared. Until he saw that it was she, that is. Now she sat in the car, wondering what to do next. Tell him? Just out of the blue like that? She shook her head. No. Then how? ***** Mulder sat on his sofa. The television was off. He stared at the phone in his hand. He wanted to talk to Scully -- needed to talk to her. To hear her voice. He punched the first speed-dial button and listened as the number began to dial. Punched the "off" button with a muttered curse. He chewed his lip. An excuse. He needed an excuse. . . . ***** Rob sat on his sofa. The CD player was on, the soft sounds of jazz caressing the dark hotel room. He sighed. Dana Scully was a remarkable woman -- beautiful, intelligent, witty, strong -- and in love with another man. While that might not have stopped some men, it stopped him. His own parents had been perfectly suited to one another. he asked himself. Then he sighed again. Fox Mulder had never been lucky -- especially not in the romance department. He had dated a few women at Oxford before Phoebe Greene got her claws hooked into him. At first Rob -- and practically every other guy in their class -- had thought Mulder was lucky. Really lucky. After all, Phoebe was gorgeous, smart, rich, cultured. And she had the morals of an alley cat. She had used Mulder. Hurt him. He had fallen in love with her -- he thought. Had even gone looking at rings. Had come home one Saturday afternoon exulting. He had made a down payment on a ring, he told Rob. He would ask Phoebe at Christmas. Rob rejoiced that Phoebe had never known that particular fact. Just a few days later, on Thanksgiving, Mulder had driven over to her apartment, intending to ask her to watch a tape of the previous year's Macy's parade with him. She had inducted him into many of their British customs -- along with some very uncustomary things, as Mulder had told Rob on occasion -- and he wanted to give her a slice of Americana. The door had been opened by one of the junior professors. Thankfully, not one of his. But the young don had been wearing the dark blue velour robe -- Mulder's robe -- the one she had given him for his birthday and he had left over at her place because he never used it at the college. That had hurt -- a lot. But it had also made the break cleaner. He could not blame himself, for this, at least. He could curse himself for a fool and beat himself up mentally for ever trusting her, but he could not accept the responsibility for her faithlessness. Rob wondered if it had been then, or earlier, that Mulder had stopped trusting. Oh, he still trusted Rob himself to some extent. But he always held at least some part of himself aloof. His sanctum sanctorum. And nobody knew just what was inside. Rob doubted very much that Mulder knew, himself. But now there was Scully. Yes, truly a remarkable woman. If anyone could get inside Mulder's inner sanctum, if anyone *deserved* to be allowed inside, it would be Dana Scully. He raised his wineglass in a silent salute to a very special lady and the man he envied. It was then that he noticed the cellular phone on the coffee table. ***** She glanced up at his window. The light was still on. Well, of course, this was Mulder, after all. . . . Scully settled back in the seat and allowed her mind to wander. She remembered the first time she had met him. He had seemed so -- cocky -- then. Obsessed with his work. Almost a jerk, as she had told a friend once. But cute. Intelligent. Intriguing. A small smile crossed her face. She had definitely found him intriguing. Even after he had frightened her half out of her wits on that first case by showing her a body he believed was an alien, spray-painting an "X" on the pavement. Raving in the middle of a thunderstorm about alien abductions. She closed her eyes, remembering that night, when she had gone to his room in fear to ask him to check several small bumps on her back. She had been terrified and ashamed to admit that she half-feared they were the marks of an abductee. Then even more ashamed when he reassured her they were only mosquito bites. She smiled. He had never teased her about that, though she would not have blamed him. And then that night they had sat in the darkness for hours, she in his bed and he on the floor beside her, talking about the case and his past, his sister's abduction. That he had trusted her enough to share that part of his life with her so early in their relationship had not escaped her. As the years went by she realized just how precious and rare his trust was. He had doubted her sometimes, even after that, but the seed had been planted. And now -- was she about to betray that trust? Was she willing to risk sacrificing everything they had built for a chance at a dream? Was it worth it? Maybe she should call him first. See how he responded to her. Let him know she wasn't out with Rob. Or maybe she wouldn't. Surely she could just call him without letting him know where she was, what she was doing and thinking? Maybe he *needed* to think she was out with his best friend -- *ex* best friend, she reminded herself. She sighed. She had never been very good at the jealousy game -- Melissa was the expert at men, not she. But this time . . . maybe just this once she would try it. She thought for a moment. Sighed again. She would just call him and play it by ear. Scully reached for her phone. It wasn't there. ***** Mulder sat staring at the phone in his hand. She was already out with Rob -- what could he lose? Her friendship, her trust, her respect. . . . He hung his head in frustration. Well, at least he could call her machine. The meeting Monday morning -- that's it. Call and leave a message asking her -- what? What time it is? He groaned. She would never accept that excuse -- once, she had tried to get him to use a planning calendar, but he had responded with a smirk that he didn't need one. And it was true. Not for the first time, he cursed his picture -perfect memory. What then? Ahhh, yes. The Raulerson files. She had taken them home with her. He picked up the phone and hit the second button. It was busy. His heart jumped. She was home! She had ended her date with Rob early! And then his heart sank again. Maybe she was home, but maybe she wasn't alone. Maybe Rob was with her. Maybe she had taken the phone off the hook. . . . Yeah, but Scully was an attractive woman. A beautiful woman. And maybe Rob hadn't had to push all that much. Maybe he hadn't had to push at all. After all, Scully hadn't had a date in -- how long? He groaned again. As long as it had been since he had a date. Their social lives were dead. Nonexistent. Or they had been before tonight. He gritted his teeth and made a decision. Her cell phone. He hit the first speed-dial button again. ***** Rob shook his head in frustration. He had thought Dana was going to go to Mulder. When he realized she had left her cell phone at his hotel he had momentarily considered calling there but knew that was not the best of ideas. A momentary twinge of regret rose up in rebellion but he quashed it ruthlessly. He sighed. It was the right thing to do. But that didn't make it any easier. Well, if she wasn't at Mulder's there was no reason for him not to call his buddy. Besides, he was curious as to what exactly was going on. If he was going to give up his night out and his chance at winning the heart of that very special lady, at least he could talk to his best friend -- his ex-best friend. And he could tell Mulder that her cell phone was here -- and, incidentally, let his friend know that Scully had left early. Maybe then at least *somebody* would be happy. . . . He glanced at the legend on her phone and hit the second speed-dial button for Mulder's home number. Busy. ***** Mulder scowled in frustration, annoyance, and worry. Scully might -- *might* have taken her phone off the hook. She might, under circumstances he didn't even want to allow himself to think about, turn off her cell phone. But then he would have gotten an unanswered ring or a recorded message telling him her phone wasn't in service. What was going on? ***** She had left the phone at Rob's, she realized. She buried her face in her hands against the steering wheel. This was *not* shaping up to be the best of nights. Maybe she should have just stayed and had coffee with Rob. Or gone home and caught a late movie. She snorted with repressed laughter. An apt analogy. Butterflies in her stomach almost to the point of nausea, rapid heart rate, uneven breathing. All the classic symptoms of stress. Bad stress or good stress? Distress or eustress, Dana? She smiled, remembering her med school mentor, Dr. Marcus, who had tried to teach her the difference between stress that harmed the body and stress that could help. Of course, right now she couldn't really see much difference. She took a deep breath. That was just it. It was *Mulder*. Her best friend, her partner, the man to whom she was about to bare her heart and soul. . . . She closed her eyes and swallowed. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. . . . ***** Rob sat back on the couch, the silent phone in his hand. Had she gone home and called Mulder from there? He shook his head. He had not known her for very long, but from what he had seen Dana Scully was not one to take the easy way out. He fingered the number keypad, pondering what to do. ***** Fox Mulder sat on his couch, his mind whirring. Was Scully in trouble? Was she with Rob? For just a moment he didn't know which prospect he found more frightening. Then he buried his face in his hands. What was he thinking? Scully with Rob, although the thought was painful, was infinitely preferable to Scully in danger of any kind. Rob was safe. He was kind, decent -- a genuinely nice guy. Although he might have to reconsider the "nice guy" part after tonight. His cellular phone rang. He snatched at it. "Scully?" He winced, realizing how desperate he sounded. He usually answered, "Mulder." There was a pause. Then, "No, Mulder -- it's Rob." He sat forward. "Is everything okay? Scully. . . ?" Rob was puzzled and his confusion was evident in his voice. "I thought -- she left here about half an hour ago. She said she was headed over to your place. I have her cell here -- she left . . . in kind of a hurry." Mulder gripped the phone. Scully? Left in a hurry? Could Rob have upset her? Then -- half an hour ago? No cell phone? Oh, Scully. . . . "Mulder? You there?" He walked over to the window, brow furrowed in thought. Looked out onto the street. A very familiar car was parked in front of his apartment. He smiled, almost weak with relief. ***** Scully sat in her car, silently weighing her options. She put her hand on the keys in the ignition. Dropped her hand and sat back against the seat with a sigh. Looked up again at his window. Something about it had changed. The bright light he always used to summon Deep Throat and, later, Mr. X, was focused on the glass, and the tell-tale tape was there. She sighed. Not good timing. This was Mulder's welcome mat, his invitation scrawled on the window for all the world to see but only the one he wanted to respond. And then she looked again. There was tape on his window, all right, but it looked odd, somehow. She climbed out of the car and walked over to stand on the sidewalk and looked up. Two letters this time. Not an "X." A "D" and an "S." And above them, Mulder's face smiling down at her. She smiled back and waved and ran up the steps to the door. *THE END* ? (Yeah, I know. But, hey, fanfic got me through summer hiatus. . . .) Juliettt@mail.aol.com Dragon Posse, Lone Gunwoman #7, Eden Agent, WWtBJLSWWGU, TFOSG charter celebrant, BBTG!, SKKS co-founder