From: Kelso Date: Sat, 28 Oct 2000 14:53:43 -0700 (PDT) Subject: NEW: A Helping Hand (1/4) Source: xff TITLE: A Helping Hand (1/4) AUTHOR: Kelso CLASSIFICATION: HR KEYWORDS: parody, Mulder/Scully romance, Skinner/Mrs. Scully romance, cliches galore, obligala, badfic, fluff, sap RATING: NC-17. Parts 1, 2, & 3 are PG; part 4 is NC-17. A PG version of part 4 is also available via e-mail and on my site. SPOILERS: Tooms, Anasazi, Never Again, Fight The Future (movie), Sein Und Zeit TIMEFRAME: after Closure, before all things ARCHIVE: anywhere. Or link to the illustrated version at http://www.geocities.com/kelso28a/helpinghand1.html FEEDBACK: Do I have to beg? Send to kelso28@excite.com DISCLAIMER: XF/characters owned by CC, Ten Thirteen, Fox. SUMMARY: Ice Queen? Check. Gratuitous mention of bees? Check. Puppy face? Check. Celine Dion? Check.... NOTES: Response to a challenge (elements at end). Thanks to xfb and Sky for the beta and additional cliche suggestions. Also, as far as I can tell, the show never definitively answered the question of whether Skinner and Sharon divorced. For the purposes of this story, they did. A Helping Hand (1/4) by Kelso ***Prologue*** It all began one February day in Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner's office. Mulder and Scully sat poring, chestnut head next to auburn like shades of autumn, over a case file about magnetic eggplants in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Skinner looked across his desk at them and experienced an epiphany: 'They're in love,' he thought. It seemed most curious to him that he had never before acknowledged that fact. Still, Skinner doubted they were together in *that* sense of the word. Not the way they should be. To test his theory, he asked casually, "So, agents, do you have any plans for the weekend?" Mulder's head whipped up. Scully's eyes darted sideways at him. "Uh, I thought I'd go to a UFO convention," said Mulder. Scully looked relieved, probably because Mulder had said nothing about having a date. She said, "I might visit my mother." Mulder also looked relieved, probably because Scully didn't have a date, either. Thoughts of the case flying from his head, Skinner said, "You two may go." Scully opened her mouth, but Mulder placed his hand on the small of her back and propelled her out of the office. Alone, Skinner sat and pondered for a very long time. Ever since his divorce from Sharon, he'd been adrift. He needed a hobby. Or better yet, a cause. And what more worthy cause than the union of his two favorite, albeit most problematic, agents? If he couldn't be happy, at least they could be. Only, how to achieve his self-imposed goal? Skinner needed help. He needed a partner who was as devoted to Mulder and Scully's welfare as he was. He needed...Scully's mother! Scully had mentioned her during the meeting. It was a sign! He looked up Mrs. Scully's phone number and dialed. "Hello," answered a pleasant female voice. "Margaret Scully?" "Yes." "This is Assistant Director Walter Skinner from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I think that together, we can help your daughter and her partner." ***Two Months Later*** Bob Stanton, manager of the Fieldcrest Motel in Sydney, Connecticut, eyed the two annoyed FBI agents. They were more agitated than he had been led to expect. "I'm sorry," he said once more. "I know it's a Wednesday, and ordinarily we would have plenty of free space. But you came here at a bad time. Our rooms have been booked for weeks in advance for the annual Chilton Corporation Business Convention. There's one room with a double bed left, and that's due to a last-minute cancellation. You aren't going to find any other openings within a 60-mile radius." "Do you have a cot I can use?" the man asked. Bob shook his head, using his knee to wedge the spare cot safely out of sight under the counter. The woman sighed. "We don't have much choice. I'm tired of sitting in a car, and one room is better than none." "You're right," her companion agreed. "We'll take the room." He handed Bob his credit card and signed the register. "Let us know if any other rooms become available, okay? Especially if they have a connecting door." "Yeah, right." Bob pushed the key to number 42 across the desk. After the agents left his office, he picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Skinner," said a familiar voice. "Walter, it's Bob. They took the vacancy, but they weren't happy about it. Agent Mulder said something about wanting connecting rooms. What does he think this place is, the Ritz? Are you sure your plan will work?" "Don't worry, Bob," his old friend replied. "All Mulder and Scully need is a nudge. Now that I've provided it, they should do the rest themselves. There *is* only one bed in that room, right?" "I didn't forget. So, what happens when they figure out that the case you sent them on is a fake?" Bob wondered. "If all goes as expected, by tomorrow morning, they won't care," Skinner said confidently. "Thank you again for your help. If you ever need a favor, get in touch." "Right, Walter." Bob hung up, hoping his friend really did know what he was doing. ********* Back in Washington, D.C., Skinner turned to his companion, Margaret Scully. "Mission accomplished. The next time we see them, they should be engaged." Maggie clasped her hands. "That's wonderful news! I've been waiting years for Dana and Fox to wake up to the truth. They're both so stubborn. No matter how many times I remind Dana that Fox is like a son to me, she doesn't take the hint. And no matter how many times I tell Fox to call me Mom, he doesn't make a move, either. If you hadn't phoned me out of the blue that day two months ago, I might have given up hope. All along, I've been afraid that Dana was holding back because of the anti- fraternization regulation." "It exists," said Skinner. "But in my opinion, it shouldn't apply to Mulder and Scully. Their partnership is the strongest I've ever seen, and it's clear those two were meant for each other. You're quite a woman, you know. Not many mothers would put so much thought and effort into securing their daughter's future." Maggie turned pink. "Walter, those two don't know how fortunate they are to have you on their side." "Or you, Maggie. Or you." The unlikely pair smiled at each other. ********* Meanwhile, oblivious to the conversation taking place far away, Mulder crawled the dark-blue Ford Taurus alongside the row of motel rooms. Scully pointed out a "42" against the peeling paint of a door near the end of the ramshackle structure, and Mulder parked in the closest available space. He pulled the key from the ignition and passed it to Scully. While she circled around to the back of the Taurus, he went to inspect the room. It took some wiggling and a solid shove to force the key into number 42's lock. He put his weight into it, and the door lurched inward, accompanied by a long, loud squeal like that of a piglet being slaughtered. Mulder stared at the dismal interior. From the threadbare carpet to the ratty armchair to the rabbit-eared television set, it was a virtual carbon copy of the many other cheap motel rooms they had stayed in over the seven years of their partnership. The sole difference was that they were to share this room, and there was one bed. It was a double, true, but it was still one bed. Scully walked up beside him with her suitcase. "Mulder, we're both adults. There's no reason we can't share the bed." "It's not sharing the bed that has me worried. It's touching it at all. Look at it. The sheets are gray." "Well, with any luck, we'll only be here tonight. Let's unpack, eat, and then get some sleep. In fact, why don't we order something?" Mulder nodded. "What do you want: Chinese, or pizza?" More enterprising than he, Scully entered the room and grabbed the phone book from the chipped bedside table. "We had pizza last time." "Chinese it is, then." Mulder accepted the book and flipped to the yellow pages. Forty-five minutes later, as they sat cross-legged on the floor enjoying the last of their meal, Scully remarked, "Good thing Skinner told us to try this motel. Otherwise, we might not have found a room at all." "It gets even better, Scully. We got fortune cookies for dessert. Let's see what lies in store for us." "Mulder, you know I don't believe in these things." Nevertheless, she accepted the cookie he shoved toward her. He broke his open first. The fortune read, "The love of your life will soon be yours." Not likely, at this rate. He substituted, "Your generosity will be rewarded. How about yours?" Unlike Mulder, Scully ate her cookie before smoothing the strip of paper that held her fortune. After a pause, she crumpled it into a ball and reported, "It says that the early bird catches the worm. In other words, time for bed. Which side do you want, Mulder?" He shrugged. "You pick." "You can have the left, then." She fished around in a dresser drawer and came up with an armful of flannel. "I'll change in the bathroom." He noticed that she took the wadded paper with her. Had she lied about her fortune? What could the cookie have told her? He contemplated that question, but reached no conclusion by the time Scully emerged from the bathroom, clad in a shapeless set of rose-covered pajamas. "Your turn," she prompted him. Mulder gathered his sweat pants and T-shirt and headed into the bathroom. He seized the opportunity to hunt for Scully's mystery fortune, but there was no sign of it. His curiosity piqued, he returned to the bedroom. Scully lay tucked under the blankets on the far side of the bed. Mulder crawled into the left side and closed his eyes. "Mulder?" Scully whispered. "Yeah?" he whispered back. "You can turn on the TV if you want. I know it helps you get to sleep. I mean, since we usually leave our connecting door ajar when we're out on a case, I hear it sometimes," she added quickly. "Thanks, Scully." "Well, just so you know it won't bother me." "Okay. Thanks," he repeated. "Good night, Mulder." "Good night, Scully." They lapsed into silence. Two hours later, Mulder hadn't slept a wink. He tried to blame his insomnia on indigestion resulting from bad crab egg foo yung, he real reason was that the heat radiating off of Scully's body so near to his made it impossible for him to relax. Scully evidently suffered from no similar affliction. Her deep, regular breathing attested to her state of sleep. Frustrated, he took her up on her television offer. He didn't want to watch the triple X channel with Scully in the room, so his viewing options were limited to infomercials and home shopping. When the Stupendous Yappi came on at 3 a.m., he called it quits, turned off the set, and lay staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning to come. Even that strategy was doomed to fail. Mulder remained unable to nod off for long minutes that stretched into hours. To complicate matters, Scully turned over in her sleep, pressing against his side. Mulder panicked. He couldn't let her wake up in that position; they would both be hideously embarrassed. He eased away about an inch, but Scully moved with him. He wiggled away; she followed. That pattern continued until Mulder found himself precariously balanced near the edge of the bed. Scully stirred and murmured in her sleep. It was now or never. Mulder lunged to the side and landed on the floor. As he rubbed his hip and congratulated himself on his narrow escape, Scully's eyelids fluttered open. "Mulder? What's going on?" she mumbled in a sleep-thickened voice. He cleared his throat. "Nothing. I'm going jogging. Sorry I woke you up." She rubbed her eyes and peered at her watch. "It's only 6:25." "I know. It's gonna be a long jog. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when I get back." He slipped through the door before Scully could utter another word. ********* Back inside the room, unbidden tears leaked from Scully's eyes. Mulder had fallen off the bed to avoid a minimal amount of physical contact. If she'd thought he might be at all attracted to her, that dream was vanquished. She recalled last night's misleading fortune that she had flushed down the toilet. "Your tall, dark, handsome partner will propose to you." Never had a fortune cookie lied so baldly. It was no use trying to get back to sleep. She might as well review the case notes until Mulder resurfaced. The investigation had all the earmarks of being dead end, but Skinner had insisted that they follow up on it. A woman named Mrs. Simmons claimed that a giant spider abducted her baby every night and returned it before dawn each morning. Even Mulder considered the case to be only mildly intriguing. As promised, he was gone a long time. He returned at a little after 8, shivering from the cool air yet sweating from his exertions. After his quick shower, he and Scully drove to Mrs. Simmons' apartment building three miles away. They located the correct apartment, and Mulder banged on the door. No answer. He hammered again, with the same results. Halfway down the hall, a door flew open. A elderly neighbor poked her kerchiefed head out like a painted turtle peeking from its shell. "Are you looking for Mrs. Simmons? She moved last weekend." "Are you sure?" Mulder called back. "Sure, I'm sure. Her baby used to cry half the night and keep me awake. Since they've been gone, I've been sleeping fine." "Well, have you seen any giant spiders around here?" Mulder asked. The woman stared at him and addressed Scully. "Lady, what is your husband talking about?" "We're not married," Scully said. She thought, 'But people often assume we are.' The woman sniffed and drew her head back inside her room. After they confirmed with the manager that not only had Mrs. Simmons indeed left with no forwarding address, but she had never complained to him about spiders of any size, they agreed to go home. "Just another hoax," Mulder decided. "At least our car didn't break down this time," he added in a weak attempt at humor. The failure of their most recent maroon Ford Taurus while on the road to Boston remained a sore subject. Upon their return home, they reported to Skinner's office. ********* The meeting over, Skinner watched the door close behind Mulder and Scully. He could hardly believe the plan had gone awry. According to his calculations, Mulder and Scully should have fallen into each other's arms the previous night. But judging from their behavior, they hadn't made any progress. This matchmaking business was obviously not as easy as it appeared to be at first glance. He had to confer with Maggie. With his connections and her brainpower, their new and improved idea was guaranteed to work. ********* Later that evening, Mulder moped around his apartment. He was lost without Scully around. The Lone Gunmen had invited him over to nitpick the scientific inaccuracies of "Star Trek: Voyager," but he didn't have the heart for it. He sprawled on his battered leather sofa, his right arm dangling over the side, before he had the welcome idea of turning on the radio. Coincidentally, a song was just beginning. The voice was that of Celine Dion, one of his favorite singers. I want to be the face you see when you close your eyes I want to be the touch you need every single night I want to be your fantasy And be your reality And everything between A bolt of shock shot through Mulder. How could Celine Dion know exactly how he felt about Scully? It was uncanny, like she had a window into his mind. With her next words, the phenomenon continued. I want you to need me Like the air you breathe I want you to feel me In everything ********* At the same time, in Scully's Georgetown apartment, she sank into her vanilla-scented bubble bath. As she uncapped her favorite strawberry shampoo, she realized that she had neglected to turn on the radio, which she liked to play while soaking in the tub. She corrected her oversight and settled back into the foamy liquid. A beautiful song was playing, and she recognized the melodious voice of Celine Dion. I want you to see me In your every dream The way that I taste you feel you breathe you need you I want you to need me Like I need you She couldn't have said it better herself. The lyrics echoed her feelings for Mulder. If only they weren't so one-sided. If only he could see her in the same light. If only it could be true.... ********* I want to be the eyes that look deep into your soul I want to be the world to you I just want it all I want to be your deepest kiss The answer to your every wish I'm all you ever need After the last note faded away, Mulder lay awash in memories of Scully. "Mulder, you're the only one I trust." "I hope you know that I'd consider it more than a professional loss if you decided to leave." "I had the strength of your beliefs." "Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant...my touchstone." "And you are mine." He desperately needed to hear her voice; nothing else would do. Maybe this time, he could work up the courage to declare himself. As Jim Croce's "Time in a Bottle" played in the background, he hit the speed dial with joint hopes: that Scully wouldn't be annoyed with him for calling at 11:21 p.m., and that a male voice wouldn't answer the phone. If I could save time in a bottle One ring. The first thing that I'd like to do Two rings. Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away Three rings. Just to spend them with you "Hello." He slapped off the radio in the middle of Jim Croce's next note. "Scully, it's me. What are you wearing?" For tension-soaked seconds that felt more like hours, he held his breath until she answered. "Cotton pajamas and a floor-length robe. Why did you call, anyway? Is something wrong?" In an effort to calm his nerves, he bounced his basketball as he replied, "Nah, just feeling introspective. Thinking about what I would regret not having done if colonization began right now. That sort of thing." "Oh." Scully yawned. "Look, Mulder, I'm pretty tired. So if there's nothing else...." "Sorry, Scully. You go on to sleep. I didn't mean to keep you up." "That's okay. See you tomorrow." She hung up. The buzzing dial tone mocked Mulder. He dropped the phone into the cradle and groaned. He'd chickened out again. Disgusted with himself, he pulled his pillow over his face. ********* Scully looked down at her sheer peach silk negligee. Mulder never would have believed she was wearing it. Mulder, her partner, thought that he could call her at all hours and use her as his talk-to whenever he was bored, or lonely, or frustrated, with no regard for how his actions might make her feel. Come to think of it, she should have turned the tables and asked what *he* was wearing. She settled for the next-best thing and formed a picture of a mental Mulder mannequin. Mulder wearing a Speedo. Mulder wearing blue jeans. Mulder wearing a gray T-shirt. Mulder wearing a black leather jacket. Mulder wearing his glasses. Mulder wearing all five was an unbeatable combination. She might as well stop there; it wasn't going to get any better than that. Unless she substituted a turtleneck for the T-shirt. That decision was a tough call, and she couldn't choose between them. Scully drifted into dreamland with a smile on her lips and visions of a perfectly-clad Mulder dancing in her head. ********* As was customary, Mulder arrived at the office ahead of Scully the next morning. He unlocked the door and saw a 9x11 manila envelope lying on the floor. It was from Jim Wilson, a Bureau photographer. Whenever Jim was assigned to one of his and Scully's investigations, he took an extra photo for Mulder in exchange for the occasional loan of a video. Mulder slitted open the envelope and lifted out the fresh shot of him and Scully. It depicted them facing each other over a mutilated corpse (that had, thankfully, been cropped out). Mulder turned to the bulletin board and carefully thumbtacked the 5x7 shot into place between a Loch Ness clipping and a crop-circle diagram. One of a half-dozen candids adorning the board, it was his new favorite. He heaved a heavy sigh, dropped into his chair, and propped his feet up on his desk. The problem was, he could never tell Scully how he felt. Nearly every ounce of the pain she had suffered since being paired with him was his fault, from Melissa's death to Emily to her abductions. He was no good for her. Never had been, never would be. The ringing phone shattered his reverie, and he scrabbled for it under a mound of papers. "Mulder," he said into the receiver as the tower of files collapsed onto the floor. "Agent Mulder," said Skinner's assistant, "AD Skinner would like to see you and Agent Scully in his office." "Scully isn't here." "Come alone," the disembodied voice instructed. During the elevator ride, Mulder wondered why the AD had summoned him. Most likely to chew him out over some quibble with the latest field report, he concluded. Skinner was constantly finding fault with his work. The secretary waved him into Skinner's office. He entered and shut the door. Skinner waited for him to sit down before beginning. "Agent Mulder. As you know, the annual FBI ball is tonight. I expect you to attend to prove you can get along with the other agents. And no sneaking off after 15 minutes -- you have to stay for a full hour. This assignment will improve your interpersonal relationships. It's for your own good." "Then why does it sound so bad?" Mulder protested. "Besides, it's not part of my job description to attend stuffy events during my off-duty hours, especially on less than a day's notice." "I'm making it your job," Skinner informed him in a decidedly smug tone. "If I'd given you more warning, you might have found a way to squirm out of it. Now that won't be so easy. You go, we have no problem. You don't go, and I drop so much paperwork on your desk, it will take you a year just to read it all." Mulder envisioned the current state of his desk. A year's worth of additions would not be a pretty sight. "I guess I don't have a choice," he grumbled. "I want Agent Scully there as well," Skinner added, "but I'll come up with a better incentive for her. You can break the news." end 1/4 A Helping Hand (2/4) by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com) This part is PG. Part 4 is NC-17, but you can e-mail me for a PG version. Mulder gloomily stalked back to his office. Scully was there, tunelessly humming as she sorted the papers on her desk into tidy stacks. She looked at him and shaded her eyes. "Mulder, can't you ever turn it down? One day, you're going to blind someone with those ties of yours." Mulder glanced down at his aesthetically-pleasing, lightning bolt-patterned neckwear. "What's wrong with it, Scully?" She shook her head. "If you don't know, I can't tell you. But please take some advice: Stick to solid colors. They're boring, but inoffensive." He scowled as her words brought to mind the unpleasant task assigned to him by Skinner. Best to get the torture over with as soon as possible. "Scully, Skinner ordered us to attend the ball tonight for at least an hour, under pain of some horrible, unspecified punishment for you, and a mountain of paperwork for me, if we don't show." He'd gotten it all out in one breath. Scully stared blankly at him. Had she heard? "Mulder, are you serious?" Yes, she'd heard him. "Skinner was set on it. I'll pick you up at 7:30." "Why don't I pick you up? I hardly ever get behind the wheel when we're together." "You want to know why? Because your lead-footed driving scares me," he lamely joked. Scully raised an eyebrow and gave Mulder her patented ScullyGlare. "If we don't go together, you won't have to worry about it." Him and his big mouth. He hadn't been aware that she was so sensitive on the subject. He tried to apologize, but Scully brushed away his words. It looked like he would be driving alone to the ball. ********* At around 6:00, Mulder entered his apartment building and collected his mail from the downstairs box. As he rode up in the elevator, he saw that he held the latest issues of "Alien Abduction Monthly" and "Celebrity Skin," a handful of bills and junk mail, and a small, unmarked box that probably contained the video he'd ordered over the Internet last week. He was alone, so he tore open the package to confirm that it was "Redheads in Vegas." Too bad he didn't have time to watch it before the ball. The elevator stopped on his floor, and he made his way to his apartment, straightened the lopsided "42," and unlocked the door. There was one message on his answering machine: from Cherise, who asked him to call 1-900-555-1013. His fish tank featured two floating bodies: the rummy-nose tetra he had named Krycek, and the guppy called Spender. Nearly tripping over the heaps of clutter coating the floor, he spat a sunflower-seed shell into the air and went into his bedroom to change. ********* Scully stood in her living room and cursed Skinner like the sailor's daughter she was. She went ahead and cursed Mulder, too, since the situation was probably his fault. Although she didn't relish the company of her snobby fellow agents, she had little choice but to obey Skinner. A Scully had never backed down from a challenge before; she had no intention of being the first to let down the family name. She strode to her closet and dug out her secret weapons -- her 6" Prada heels and the strapless green satin dress she had been saving for a special occasion. Ninety minutes later, Scully wished she could take back the stupid argument with Mulder about her driving. She'd ended up taking a taxi when a ride from him would have been welcome. But it was too late for regrets. She paid the driver and headed for the ballroom of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. After a handful of steps, she paused behind a pillar to adjust her right shoe. As she tugged at the strap, the familiar voice of Agent Hanover drifted to her ears from perhaps 15 feet ahead. "Honestly, I don't know why Mulder stays with that Ice Queen. Do you, Melinda?" "No, but I know why she stays with him," the other woman, who sounded like Agent Booth, replied. "Have you ever seen him in a Speedo?" "What about his 'spooky' reputation? Doesn't that make you nervous?" Hanover asked. Booth laughed. "It adds to his mystique. I wonder when someone's going to win that huge office pool. You'd think it would be easy to prove they're doing it. All anyone would have to do is follow them into the parking garage, or bug their office." "Well, he may have melted the Ice Queen, but she'll freeze back up once he dumps her. It could happen tonight, in public!" Both agents laughed as they walked away. Trembling with indignation, Scully emerged from her quasi-hiding place. She couldn't believe the nerve of those women. She knew neither she nor Mulder had any friends in the Bureau, but the disparaging comments still stung like acid in an open wound. It was particularly unfair that her and Mulder's cruel nicknames from the Academy days continued to follow them around. She had to spend an hour in that ballroom? She'd do it, all right, with far more class than Agents Booth and Hanover could ever imagine possessing. ********* Mulder was bored. He ran a finger under his collar and wished to be anywhere except standing by the bowls of flat raspberry punch in the Hoover Ballroom. How much longer before his sentence was up? It wouldn't be nearly so bad if he had Scully's company, but there had been no sign of her. Perhaps she planned to defy Skinner and not come. Not that he would know. After he'd insulted her driving, she hadn't exactly been forthcoming about her plans. As for Skinner's theory that he would improve his interpersonal relationships by attending, no such thing had occurred. He was the recipient of admiring glances from various women, but no one approached him. As he popped half of a stale windmill cookie into his mouth, a murmur arose at the head of the room. Curious, Mulder looked in that direction. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and there stood the most beautiful woman Mulder had ever seen. It was Scully, a vision in her strapless gown. One thought circulated through Mulder's Jelloed brain: He had to reach her before anyone else did. Like he was moving in slow- motion, he made his way toward her. He wasn't fast enough; Skinner appeared from out of nowhere and extended his hand. Scully took it, and she and Skinner circled the dance floor as Mulder retreated to the fringes of the crowd to choke down glass after glass of watery punch. The second the music ended, he moved possessively to Scully's side and glared at the other male agents who had also started forward. As a man, they gulped and dropped their eyes. It looked like no one was willing to tangle with "Spooky" over his woman. He looked at Scully. "May I have this dance?" With those words, he became the envy of every man in the room. Speechlessly, Scully floated into his arms. ********* They danced time and time again as their fellow agents stared, whispered, and boosted the office pool with every second. The 6" heels had been a wise choice, Scully thought. Without them, she wouldn't have stood high enough to hear Mulder's murmur of, "Scully, your hair looks like gray fire." What a lovely compliment. Then she analyzed it more thoroughly and began to worry. Mulder was red/green colorblind, so of course her hair looked gray to him. But he was afraid of fire. Maybe his description of her hair wasn't a compliment. She stole a glance at his face. He was smiling. It really had been a compliment, thank God. At the finish of the next dance, Mulder maneuvered Scully toward the door. "Have you been here for one hour yet?" She checked the clock. "Yes, in about four minutes." "I can't wait that long. Did you drive?" Mulder asked. "No, I took a taxi." "I can give you a lift home," he offered. She smiled her thanks and walked out with him. As he watched them exit the ballroom, Skinner beamed approvingly. Mission accomplished. He had to call Maggie and fill her in on their marvelous success. ********* Mulder halted his car in front of Scully's apartment building and turned off the ignition. That action should be enough to alert Scully that he wanted an invitation inside. She picked up on his intent with unerring instinct. "I didn't eat before I left. I thought I'd just grab a snack when I got home." "Yeah, me, too." "Why don't you come up with me, then? We can order in." In answer, Mulder got out of the car and trailed Scully to her apartment. Inside, she said, "I'm going to change. I'll be right back." She headed toward her bedroom, leaving Mulder alone in the living room. He paced restlessly while waiting for her to return. Scully wouldn't mind if he put on some music. He wandered over to her CD collection. Faith Hill, Sarah McLachlan, Jewel, the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears... He pushed the Shania Twain CD "Come On Over" into the player and fast-forwarded to "You're Still The One." When I first saw you, I saw love. And the first time you touched me, I felt love. And after all this time, you're still the one I love. He cast about for another activitity to keep himself amused. And, as so often happened with Mulder, his overactive brain found a way to get him in trouble. Scully's apartment was usually as neat as a pin, with a place for everything and everything in its place. In short, it was the exact opposite of his own pigsty. Except for today. There on the coffee table lay the holiest of holies: Scully's journal, opened to a page covered with writing. Mulder crept a little closer, and a little more, until he stood within arm's length of the book. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But the temptation was so great. What if Scully had written about him? (What if she hadn't?) Her comments wouldn't be unflattering, would they? He flashed back to a recent Saturday-morning telephone conversation. Scully: Scully. Mulder: Scully, it's me. Scully: What is it, Mulder? And it had better not include the words autopsy, plane, or pack. Mulder: Would I do that to you four weekends in a row? Don't answer that. Um, look, I'm really sorry... He felt a renewed pang of guilt over that incident. Even though he knew Scully was terrified of flying, he was forever dragging her across the country. So yes, any mention of his name might well be connected to some exceedingly negative observations. But if so, he reasoned, it was best that he learned what upset Scully so he could amend his behavior. Good and bad briefly skirmished before Devil Mulder stabbed Angel Mulder with his pitchfork and knocked him out of the running. Mulder picked up the book and read. "It has been yet another frustratingly inconclusive day, and once again I find myself turning to this book to reveal my innermost secrets. "One more day gone by, so many more opportunities lost. If only he knew the truth. If only he knew how I really feel. Sometimes I want to shout it to the world. But instead, I just think it. The only place I can truly express myself is here, in these pages I know he will never see. I imagine myself one day turning to him and saying, 'I love you, " The sentence ended there. Scully must have been interrupted before she could complete the incriminating entry. Mulder felt almost sick with overwhelming jealousy. Who could his rival be? Was it someone he knew? A man he unwittingly passed in the halls of the J. Edgar Hoover Building every day? Oh, God, it couldn't be Skinner, could it? He was the only other man Scully had danced with at the ball. Mulder had to learn the truth. Maybe Scully mentioned the man's name on another page. He frantically skipped to an earlier entry. So absorbed in his hunt was he that he failed to register the warning sounds of a door clicking open, the pad of unshod feet, the abruptly cut-off breathing. He became aware of Scully's presence in a highly unpleasant manner, when a voice roared, "Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Scully crossed the room with quicksilver strides and snatched up the book in a whirlwind of motion. The universe around Mulder seem to swirl at warp speed as he struggled to complete a sentence. "I...um...I...." Scully pointed at the door. "Out! Get out! Now!" As Scully advanced on him, Mulder retreated until his back hit the door. Only then did he turn and grasp the knob, eager to escape before she killed him. ********* Once the door closed behind Mulder, Scully sank to her knees on the floor. She was sure her face was lit up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Had he seen? Did he know? She would never be able to look him in the eye again! Mulder probably regarded her as a little sister. How humiliating if he had read her pathetic outpourings of undying ardor. She cringed as she recalled the more embarrassing passages -- the impossible dreams, the imaginary dates, the fevered ramblings of a brain drunk on unrequited love. Through it all, the music taunted her. Looks like we made it Look how far we've come, my baby We mighta took the long way We knew we'd get there someday "Shut up, Shania!" Scully yelled. ********* Mulder spent the weekend torturing himself over his lack of willpower. Why hadn't he been stronger? What had possessed him to read Scully's journal? Would she forgive him? How much would she make him suffer first? How much did he deserve to suffer? On Monday morning, he sat in his office and convinced himself that no punishment was great enough. He would have to throw himself on Scully's mercy. He chewed on the end of his pencil, then leaned back in his chair and launched it upward. He'd been waiting a long time for Scully, as evidenced by the thickness of the ceiling-forest of pencils. His cursed photographic memory wouldn't let him forget. Every word of that page remained etched upon his mind. He tortured his psyche with the multitude of ways in which he had screwed up, not just Friday but every single day of his miserable existence. The laundry list of sins ended only when he heard the tap-tap-tap of approaching footsteps. He arranged his face into his most pathetic pout and prepared to waggle his eyebrows. Scully didn't so much as glance at him as she entered. He had to make a verbal apology this time? She really *was* pissed. He whined, "I'm sorry for invading your privacy, Scully." "Let's forget about it," she said distantly. Scully hated him. The bottom had fallen out of Mulder's world. ********* Skinner fully expected Mulder and Scully to call in sick on Monday morning. When they didn't, he began to worry. He finally phoned their office himself. Scully answered the call. Her subdued tone worried him even more. He made up an excuse to get them into his office. They wouldn't look at each other, let alone touch. His grand plan had failed, but what could have gone awry? The set-up had been ideal. He dismissed the two and steeled himself to make the telephone call he dreaded. No! Skinner was no coward. He would meet his challenges head on, like a man. He would break Maggie's heart to her face. He told his secretary to cancel his appointments for the rest of the day and drove to Baltimore. Although he'd given her no notice, Maggie greeted him with a pitcher of lemonade, a plate of peanut-butter cookies, and a serene smile. "You came over to celebrate with me, Walter?" He flinched. "There's no easy way to say this: We struck out again. Our plan didn't work. I can't begin to apologize enough." "Walter, it's not your fault. You'll see. Everything will work out in the end." Skinner laughed shortly. "I can't imagine how. Our first two schemes have succeeded only in driving a wedge between Mulder and Scully." Maggie's eyes flashed fire. "We can't give up! I won't let us. You're not the only one who knows people. Your friend managed the the motel. I have a friend who owns an online dating agency. If I call Doris and explain the situation, we can work something out." Skinner's optimism returned with the power of Maggie's certainty. "I feel better already. I always feel better around you. So much so that...Maggie, over the past few months of our acquaintanceship, I've developed these very special feelings for you -- feelings I most sincerely hope you might return. Could you, would you, ever feel the same way?" His entire future rested on the next movement of those bow- shaped lips. They shaped a single word: "Yes." ********* Mulder had endured Scully's cold shoulder for three whole days when a knock sounded on his door one afternoon. It had to be her! He sprang up to open the door, but it was another Scully who stood facing him: Margaret. He tried not to look too disappointed as he said, "Hello, Mrs. Scully. It's nice to see you." "Now, Fox, I keep telling you to call me 'Mom,'" she chided as she breezed into the kitchen. He followed, belatedly realizing that he should have been a gentleman and carried her large, white cardboard box for her. Mrs. Scully set the box on the counter, propped open the refrigerator door, and shook her head as she surveyed the meager contents. After she flipped up the box flaps, she removed a lasagna platter, then neatly slid it onto the top shelf between a green slice of what had once been pizza and a four-months- expired jug of milk. Item after item filled the empty spaces: an apple pie, a mound of sandwiches, fried chicken, and meatloaf. Finished, Mrs. Scully rubbed her hands together in a satisfied manner. "There. Oh, Fox, what would you do if I never came over? Starve, I suppose." Maggie's expression turned grave. "Fox, you can't slip anything past me. I raised four children. I can tell when they're feeling down. What you need is a girlfriend. Since you don't seem to be interested in my Dana -- there's no accounting for some people's taste -- maybe you'll have better luck elsewhere. I took the liberty of getting you a gift. It's a trial membership in a wonderful online dating service. I only ask that you try it once. That's all. Once." She pressed a legal-sized envelope into his hand and flew out the door. In the wake of Hurricane Maggie, Mulder gave in and examined the single paper inside the envelope. "Are you lonely?" the text began. 'Yes,' he answered silently. "Do you worry that you'll always be alone?" 'Yes,' again. "Are you willing to give us a chance to make your life happier, satisfaction guaranteed?" A little more slowly, another 'Yes' followed. "Great! The Lonelyhearts Online Dating Service is waiting for you! Your access code is x1013f. Sign up now for your no-strings- attached trial membership." If he couldn't have Scully, shouldn't he have someone else? Another woman would be a poor substitute, perhaps, but better than no one. Mrs. Scully had seemed so pleased with herself. She would be sure to ask if he had tried the agency, and he didn't want to disappoint the gracious lady. Within minutes, Mulder had turned on his computer and was at the Lonelyhearts site, where he validated his user code. The next step was to fill out a simple application. For user name, he rejected M.F. Luder, the pseudonym he'd used for his "Omni" article, and trustno1, his old computer password. "Truth_Seeker" sounded appropriate. For occupation, he considered law enforcement but ended up with the safe alternative of psycho- logist. Interests: basketball, watching old movies, jogging. He omitted baseball because he didn't want to give the impression that he was a complete sports nut. He left paranormal off the list for fear of giving the impression that he was a complete nut, period. Last but not least, the description of his dream woman was modeled on Scully. He reviewed his application and hit the save button. ********* Following her visit to Fox, Maggie stopped by Dana's. There, her spiel ran almost identically. "Since you aren't interested in Fox, isn't it about time you got a boyfriend? A good man is hard to find, but I live to serve. The Lonelyhearts Online Dating Service can change your life. I took the liberty of buying a three-month membership in your name. All the information is in this envelope. Dana, please try it. It's a gift." For the next two days, the envelope lay on the edge of the table, looking accusingly at Scully whenever she entered the room. After a particularly trying Friday, she went into the kitchen to prepare a crisp salad. Going back into the living room with her bowl, she caught sight of the envelope. It seemed almost to be waving for her attention. She gave in and tore it open as she chewed on a tough rutabaga. The offer was straightforward. Based on her interests and preferences, potential dates would leave her a message. She could choose to go out with any, all, or none. What did she have to lose? If none of the matches appealed to her, she could drop the matter. She sat down at her computer and typed in the Lonelyhearts URL. After she entered her access code of dk1121s, the application form popped up on the screen. First, it asked for a user name. "DrRed," she decided. Next, occupation: She didn't want to put FBI. That designation might attract a bunch of psychopaths. She settled for a partial truth and typed in "doctor." As for interests, reading and traveling topped the list. Her ideal man? She couldn't help picturing Mulder as she typed her short description. end 2/4 A Helping Hand (3/4) by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com) This part is PG. Part 4 is NC-17, but you can e-mail me for a PG version. Three days later, Scully checked to make sure that Mulder was across the office and absorbed in a file before she logged on to her computer, where she tapped in "ILoveFox" as her password and headed straight to the Lonelyhearts site. After she gave her user name and access code, she clicked on the mail icon. Her box contained three matches: Metsfan, Unlucky, and Truth_Seeker. She searched for Metsfan's profile. Unfortunately, he lived in Philadelphia. She had endured an extremely unpleasant experience in that city just a few years ago. Unlucky was a smoker. That left Truth_Seeker. She liked the name; it reminded her of Mulder. So did his profile. She left a message in Truth_Seeker's box, expressing her interest in meeting him, and signed off. Having made a move to get on with her life, she felt a little better. She addressed Mulder: "I have to go to the lab. I'll be back in about half an hour." ********* As soon as she left the office, Mulder booted up his computer and entered his password: ILoveDana. At the Lonelyhearts site, he found a message in his box from "DrRed." She wanted to meet him. He checked out her profile. Hmmm. A doctor. That was good. All in all, she sounded a lot like Scully. He decided to respond. ********* After a few swift messages back and forth, the date between DrRed and Truth_Seeker was set for Friday night at 7 in the Brocade Curtain, a posh new restaurant located in the bowels of Washington, D.C. They were both to give the name of "Grey," and meet each other for the first time at their table. On the morning of the date, though, Scully suffered serious concerns. What if it didn't work out? What if he was a total loser? She was taking a huge chance. Her nerves must have shown on her face and in her actions; Mulder twice asked if she was all right. She absently answered him and continued to brood. She wished more than anything that her date was with Mulder. But she had long ago accepted the fact that she wasn't his type. No, he liked leggy, well-endowed brunettes, like Diana and Detective White and Bambi Berenbaum. She could never measure up to them. Mulder took a swallow of coffee and made a face. "This stuff tastes like mud. Who made it, anyway?" "You did," Scully reminded him. "Oh." He set down the mug with a thunk. "Look, Scully, I need to know. Is anything wrong?" It was the third time he had asked that question, and she felt something inside herself snap. "Mulder, I'm fine!" she snarled. He jumped to his feet. "What is it, Scully? Are you sick? Did the doctor give you bad news?" The sight of his panic face made her instantly regret her ill- chosen words. "No, Mulder, I'm sorry I said I was fine," she apologized. "I wasn't thinking. I'm okay. There's nothing physically wrong with me. I'm just having a bad day." She needed to erase the word "fine" from her vocabulary, she decided, or its usage would result in similar unfortunate misunderstandings in the future. Just before lunchtime, Mulder excused himself from the office. Scully waited for him to return, hoping to make peace by offering to go to lunch with him, but 30 minutes ticked by with no sign of Mulder. She gave up and ate a meal of plain yogurt and tofu at her desk, all the while wondering where her workaholic partner could be. An hour after she finished eating, he wasn't back. She didn't think he had gone to meet anyone; he hadn't displayed any of the usual signs. He'd even left his cell phone on his desk. She wracked her brain, trying to figure out where he might be. Then it hit her. Their bench by the reflecting pool! Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She hurried out of the office to find him. ********* Mulder sat on the familiar bench, staring over the rolling waters. Dozens of shells decorated the ground at his feet. He didn't know what he'd do when he finished his 5.75-ounce bag of David sunflower seeds. He didn't want to move, let alone return to the office. If he did, he'd have to face Scully. She had been very pensive lately. He could trace the genesis of her unusual behavior to the night he'd read her journal. Still, he'd pissed her off before, and she'd never remained so withdrawn for so long. There had to be more behind her attitude than his behavior. Perhaps the man she had written about in her journal had broken her heart. He no longer thought it was Skinner. He'd been watching like a hawk, and Scully just didn't act "that way" around their boss. No, whoever or whatever was troubling Scully remained a mystery. He gave up on trying to solve it, and instead concentrated on his own problems. He hadn't been having one of the better months of his life. The Lonelyhearts date would probably be a disaster. It wouldn't be fair to treat the woman like a surrogate Scully. It wouldn't be fair to stand her up, either. He didn't know what to do. He heard light footfalls stop beside him. "Is this seat taken?" a soft voice asked. Without turning his head, he replied, "No, but I should warn you that I'm exhibiting self-flagellating tendencies." Instead of replying "I'll take my chances" as he expected, Scully quipped, "Sure, fine, whatever," and sank onto the bench at his side. "You ditched me again," she said conversationally. He swung toward her. "I did? When?" "You left the office with no explanation, didn't come back for hours, didn't call me, forced me to track you down with no leads. That qualifies as a ditch." "Yeah, but this time, you didn't have to save my ass," he pointed out. The tension eased, they sat in companionable silence for some time. Mulder finished his seeds and tossed the empty bag in the trash receptacle five feet away. Scully crossed her legs and settled back. When the quiet grew oppressive, Mulder felt compelled to speak. What came out of his mouth was, "Why do you stay with me, Scully?" "Why?" she repeated. "I've told you before. I value the work we do. It's important." "But you could do important work somewhere else, too." "I like it here. I also value our friendship." He placed his hand over Scully's in thanks. To his relief, she didn't move hers away. He was forgiven. A lump rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. He would never want to lose Scully's friendship. If he'd been foolish enough to admit his true feelings, it would have been withdrawn immediately. He should accept reality and try to move on with his life. The blind date tonight would be his start. ********* On the stroke of 7, Scully marched into the Brocade Curtain with her head high. She gave the name of "Gray" at the front desk; the waiter, Jacques, led her toward a corner table. Her date was sitting with his back to her. Even from that angle, he looked startlingly like Mulder. Why did she have to picture him in every man she met? She rounded the table and saw his face. Oh! That explained it. It *was* him! "Mulder!" she cried in shock as he gasped "Scully!" in an identical tone. Nervelessly, she fell into the chair the waiter pulled out for her before he departed. "How...what...." Mulder said. "I don't understand...." Scully began. The waiter interrupted the non-conversation as he returned to their table with a bottle of Dom Perignon. They simultaneously regained their voices and chorused, "But we didn't order champagne." The man nodded. "I know. It was arranged in advance. Courtesy of Walter." He poured them each a glass and retreated. A long, uneasy silence ensued. Mulder took a large sip of champagne and nearly choked on it. Scully stared at the floor, feeling as out of place as a Democrat in a roomful of Republicans. Then Mulder threw down his napkin. "Let's get out of here." Despair formed in the pit of Scully's stomach. Mulder couldn't have made it much more obvious that he didn't want to be around her. No doubt he had been hoping for a different date entirely. Not plain old Dana Scully, whom he saw almost every day in the office. Miserably, she preceded him out of the restaurant and toward her car. "Scully?" he called. She turned. Mulder stood beside his vehicle. "I thought we would take my car?" "Take your car where?" "Somewhere you'll like." He formed his best injured puppy-dog face: the one that reminded her of a golden retriever. So, Mulder didn't want to get rid of her. She smiled and walked back to him. Fifteen minutes later, Mulder pulled into the parking lot of a small, run-down diner that boasted a purple neon sign reading "Al's All U Want." He cut off the engine and turned to Scully. "I thought we'd feel more comfortable here because we always eat at this kind of place when we're on the road." Scully nodded. As she got out of the car, she stumbled over a pothole, and just managed to regain her balance. Good thing she hadn't worn the 6" heels tonight. Mulder was almost instantly at her side, looking at her in concern as he grabbed her arm. "Are you all right?" "I'm fi--" she began before remembering her resolve to never again use the "f" word. "Okay," she substituted. She was rewarded with the brilliant smile Mulder reserved for her. "As long as you have your sea legs now." She laughed to indicate her understanding of the inside joke, and was heartened when Mulder kept hold of her arm as they entered the building. ********* The interior of the diner achieved the dubious distinction of looking of even cheaper than the exterior had. From the cracked, dingy linoleum floor to the faded wallpaper, it was in desperate need of an overhaul. Only the incongruous sight of a glistening, state-of-the-art jukebox made a positive impression. In such an atmosphere, they were wildly overdressed. Mulder didn't care. He steered Scully to a reasonably clean-looking booth in a deserted corner of the room, where they slid in on opposite sides. The waitress, a middle-aged blonde with a weathered face and large, plastic hoop earrings, sauntered over and handed them two menus. She braced her hip against their table and doodled on her pad as she waited for them to order. Mulder waved expansively. "Have whatever you want, Scully." She searched the menu with the air of one who expected to find a particular item. "Coffee and garden salad with French dressing, please." Mulder snorted in disbelief. "Scully, I said *anything*, my treat. You don't have to get that rabbit food." "You said to order what I want," she pertly replied. "I did." "Okay, have it your way," he relented. "I'll take the hamburger special with French fries and a large Coke." It was Scully's turn to scoff. "Do you know what that stuff will do to your arteries, Mulder?" "At least it has some taste to it!" The familiar banter lasted throughout the meal, and temporarily succeeded in making the two forget that they were on their first date. But when they pushed away their empty plates, the conversation died, and they had trouble meeting each other's eyes. 'It shouldn't be this difficult,' thought Mulder. 'We've been working together for seven years.' 'Why is everything so awkward?' thought Scully. 'We know each other so well. Maybe we aren't meant to be, after all.' Mulder saw Scully glance at her watch, and felt panic claw at his belly. The start of the date had been ridiculously inept, the drive to the diner nerve-wracking, but if they left now, he had the feeling he would never get another chance. "Dance with me," he blurted. Scully's eyes widened. Mulder mentally kicked himself and attempted to lay on some charm. "Just once?" he pleaded, getting up. He didn't think she would refuse to move while he stood like an idiot. She didn't. She placed her hand in his and rose, and they walked to the cleared area near the jukebox. Like it had been predestined, a new song started to play as they set foot in the space. Mulder recognized REO Speedwagon, with "Can't Fight This Feeling." Yes, it definitely was fate. He took Scully in his arms and swayed to the music. I can't fight this feeling any longer And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow What started out as friendship has grown stronger I only wish I had the strength to let it show I tell myself that I can't hold out forever I said there is no reason for my fear Cause I feel so secure when we're together You give my life direction You make everything so clear As he listened to the lyrics, they magically gave him the courage to unlock his heart, to express the emotions within. "Scully." He stopped. That didn't sound right. It was a "Dana" moment, not a "Scully" one. He tried again. "Dana, I have something to tell you." She gazed up at him with her beautiful, Windex-blue eyes. In that moment, he felt like he saw straight through to her soul, where her feelings mirrored his own. His next words flowed out like a rush of lava down a mountainside. "I love you, Dana Katherine Scully. You're my one in five billion." Her steps faltered. "Mulder, I--" He tightened his grip around her waist. "No, please call me Fox. That is, if you don't mind," he added shyly. "I thought you hated your name?" Reading Dana's mind, he knew that she was remembering a day when she had called him by his first name and he had practically laughed in her face. "Dana, I said that to maintain a distance between us. I had to keep up that wall any way I could. But now it's different. Now, I'd like to hear you say my true name." "All right...Fox." She tested out his name. And while he had never liked it before, it sounded perfect coming from her lips. He didn't realize he'd spoken those words until Dana whispered, "I love you, too, Fox William Mulder. You complete me." He hesitated. A niggling doubt kept him from accepting Dana's words at face value. "I want to believe. You don't know how much I want to believe. But in your journal, you wrote about a man you were in love with. I didn't find his name before you caught me." "Oh, silly, I was writing about *you*! Who else could it possibly have been?" "I thought it was Skinner," he confessed, "until I watched you around him and realized he's strictly an authority figure to you." "Speaking of Skinner, he obviously played a part in our blind date. We'll have to thank him. But not tonight. Tonight, I have other plans for you." Dana gave him a speaking look. They danced in a daze, until a teenager with a fresh scar on his forehead switched the jukebox to Eminem's "Drug Ballad." Fox dropped his arms away from Dana. "Well, uh, do you want to go to my place?" "I think mine would be more comfortable, don't you?" When Dana spoke in that suggestive tone, he would deny her nothing. At their booth, Fox found a check for $9.58. He dropped a $10 bill on the table and positioned a palm on the small of Dana's back to guide her out of the diner. In the reflection in the window, he saw the waitress mouthing insults at them, but nothing could shake his mood. He and Dana were finally together. end 3/4 A Helping Hand (4/4) by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com) This part is NC-17, but you can e-mail me for a PG version. They held hands during the drive home, except when Fox needed to use the turn signal. But as soon as he flicked the switch, he returned his free hand to the comfort of Dana's. When they entered her apartment, however, Dana sat on the far end of the couch, tucked her legs tucked up under her, and drew an embroidered throw pillow into her lap. Fox approached her, but she pointed to the opposite end of the sofa. He hesitated, then obediently seated himself at a distance. "We need to talk." Dana picked at the fringe of the pillow, not sure how to best broach the topic. Fox inched closer. "What is it, Dana?" The warm glow from his hazel eyes encouraged her. "Well, there's the matter of children. Specifically, the fact that I can't have any." "We can consult another doctor. We can go to fertility special- ists. We can adopt," Fox rattled off. "You'd do that for me, Fox?" "I'd do anything for you, Dana," he vowed, and stretched forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Do you want children?" Dana asked. "From what you've told me, while you were growing up your own home life wasn't the greatest." Fox nodded. "Yeah, you're right. It's about time you knew. After Sam was gone, my father took out his frustrations on me. He drank a lot and hit me sometimes." "I guessed as much," Dana admitted. "You've hinted at it before. What about your mother? What did she do when your father abused you?" "She was drugged out of her mind half the time. I think it helped her forget. She did try to protect me in the beginning, but my father hit her, too. She quit trying pretty soon." Dana patted his hand in silent commiseration. Fox drew in a shuddering breath. "Speaking of families, what about yours? How will they react to the news about us?" "Don't worry. I know my father would have approved of you. And my mom already loves you." Fox looked down. "Bill doesn't." "Bill's an asshole. Don't give him a second thought. I won't let him live my life for me." "I don't want you to ruin your relationship with him on my account," Fox worried. Dana took his face between her hands. "Fox William Mulder, you are the number-one most important person in my life, and don't you ever forget it. I'm sorry if my insecurities caused you to doubt yourself. You should never do that. As for Bill, if he has a problem with us, he can go to hell." "Dana, are you absolutely sure? God knows you can do a whole lot better than a moody, self-absorbed, pathetic, guilt-ridden idiot like me. There isn't a man who knows you who isn't in love with you. You can have your pick." "So can you, Fox. I've seen the way the other women agents look at you, especially when you're in the swimming pool." "Really?" He waggled his eyebrows and pouted playfully. "Like you've never noticed," Dana teased. "They might have looked, but I never looked back," Fox said. "The only woman I've wanted is you." "It was worth the wait to hear those words. Just make sure it's not seven more years before I hear them." Fox fixed his gaze on a point on the wall and spoke in a rush. "You might not feel that way once you hear some more facts. My romantic history is lousy. Phoebe was my first real girlfriend. She did quite a number on my head. It took me years to get over it. Then Diana came along. At first, she acted like she truly loved me. We even eloped, but the marriage didn't last long. The minute she got the chance for a promotion, she jumped at it and left me. That's why I was so gun-shy when I met you. I've never been good at relationships. I'm terrified that I'll mess this one up, too." Her withdrawal had caused Fox to become assailed with doubts. Dana had to perform damage control. She spoke soothingly. "I sensed that you had been married to Diana. I wish you'd felt comfortable enough to tell me before, but it's all in the past. I'm more sure that we're meant to be together than I've ever been about anything else in my life. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one issue left: Can we juggle our personal lives with our professional ones? I don't want our work to suffer because of this change in our relationship. We can't stop now. If we do, They win. And the truth is still out there." Her strategy worked; confidence and vigor returned to Fox's voice. "Dana, we can maintain that balance. Work is work, and our private life is our private life." "I'm glad you said that, because I think we can handle it, too." Fox grinned. "This probably isn't the best time to tell you that my number-one fantasy is of us doing it on the desk at work." Dana chuckled. "It's mine, too!" "That would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?" Fox observed. "Blurring the line between work and home." "Not if we locked the door first," Dana suggested. "But I think we can restrain ourselves until we're off the clock. You just have to swear one thing to me. The next time you're in the hospital, you can't disconnect the medical equipment and try to escape every five minutes." Fox looked thoughtful. "Only if you promise to privately consult with me whenever I want." Dana smiled. "That's a given." "Oh, no, I just thought of another problem," Fox said in a dire tone. Dana gasped. "What? Tell me!" Fox paused dramatically, then announced, "It's Frohike. We have to find a gentle way of letting him know that the enigmatic Agent Scully is off the market." Dana lightly punched him in the arm. "You scared me for a minute there! As for Frohike, he'll probably recover if you give him those videos that aren't yours as a consolation prize. I can't compare to the women in them anyway." "No, Dana, you can't," Fox agreed. "You're the real thing, and far superior. I watched those videos because I couldn't have you. Now that we're together, I don't need them. They're all Frohike's." Dana reconsidered. "Maybe not all. We could keep one or two. Speaking of which, why don't we move this show into the bedroom?" ********* Fox blinked, unable to believe that he had heard correctly. Had Dana Katherine Scully, the love of his life, invited him into her bedroom? Judging from the sultry look on her face, yes. She turned and glided away; willingly, he trailed her. Inside her room, she turned on only the bedside lamp. He stood staring dumbly at her. Dana looked him over. "Aren't you a little overdressed, Fox?" "Huh? Oh, yeah!" He hadn't been so nervous since he was 15 and he dissolved sleeping pills into his dad's beer to see if they would work. He slowly stripped, Dana watching all the while. As he pulled down his pants, she burst into helpless laughter. "What? What is it?" Fox asked in confusion. Between chortles, she choked out, "Your boxers." Fox glanced down. He wore the Marvin the Martian pair. "Why couldn't I have picked the black silk ones today of all days? Even the UFOs would have been better than this." "You have UFO boxers?" Dana promptly succumbed to another fit of the giggles. Fox grinned sheepishly. "Would you believe they were a gag gift from Langly?" Dana managed to quell her hilarity. "Why don't you just keep going?" "I hope you don't start laughing again," Fox muttered as he yanked off his boxers and flung them into the far corner. Dana sucked in a breath. "Oh, Fox, you're so...so...big," she said in an awestruck tone. She wasn't giggling anymore, he noted with satisfaction. "In fact, G-man, you're the biggest I've ever seen," she continued. Fox swelled with pride. "Okay, G-woman. Fair's fair. I've shown you mine; now you have to show me yours." Her ivory cheeks took on a faint hue as she stripped down to her underwear. Dana had come better prepared than he had. She wore amethyst silk panties. She put her hands on the convenient front-fastening bra, but Fox covered them with his own. "Please, allow me." He enjoyed the luxury of slowly urging off Dana's bra to reveal the milky globes of her breasts. He drank in the glorious sight, then knelt to remove her panties. She stepped out of them, and he remained staring at the patch of hair between her thighs. "Fox? What is it?" she asked in a small voice. He hurried to reassure her. "Why do I have to be colorblind? I've wondered for the longest time if you were a natural redhead. I still do." Dana smiled. "You'll have to take my word for it: I am." She lay back on the bed, but he scanned the room around them. "What are you doing?" Finished, Fox turned back to Dana. "Checking for bees. I don't want to be interrupted this time." He wasn't the only one who didn't want to be interrupted. "Come here, Fox," Dana ordered. She pulled him down on top of her, and he examined her body with the focus of a scientist looking through a microscope. He paused at her scar and traced its length with his index finger. With only that touch, he was saying that he would always remember the day she was almost taken from him. She smoothed his hair back from his brow. With only that touch, she was saying that she would be with him for a long time to come. He moved lower, closer to the center of her burning need, and Dana pressed her legs together. "Fox, you don't have to do that." He tilted his head up at her. "Why not? Don't you want me to?" "It's not that, exactly." She struggled for words. "It...I don't...I've always been kind of...repressed. It's probably got something to do with that Catholic guilt you hear about." Fox rested his head on her abdomen. "No, you aren't repressed. You just didn't find the right man until me. Let me prove it to you. Please?" He looked so much like a begging spaniel, she couldn't bring herself to say no. He took her slight nod as assent and set to work. She knew she was embarrassingly wet for him before he gently probed her moist core with one finger, followed by a second. His talented tongue soon joined in the action, darting in and out, dancing across her clit. Dana dug her nails into her new percale sheets, vaguely thinking that she'd find two hands' worth of crescent-shaped tears in them when she regained consciousness. With one last nibble and suck, Fox pushed her into the abyss. The next thing Dana knew, Fox was running a damp washcloth over her face and murmuring her name in an endearingly anxious tone. She forced open her eyes to see his beloved features swim into focus. "I must have blacked out for a minute there," she realized. "More like two or three," Fox corrected. "You had me scared. I suppose I don't have to ask if it was good for you, though." "I knew that oral fixation of yours would come in handy someday. Lucky me. I'll never complain about those sunflower seeds again." Fox lay beside Dana, listening to her breathing ease into a steady rhythm. Nothing could make him happier. "You don't look very comfortable, Fox. Why don't we take care of that situation for you?" He'd been wrong: There *was* something that could make him happier. But he didn't want to rush Dana. "Are you sure? Is it too soon for you?" "My recuperative powers might shock you." "Better that *mine* shock *you*," said Fox. He positioned himself over Dana and sank to the hilt, as if being engulfed in quicksand, until he was immersed in her core. It felt like he had always belonged there, like he had come home after a long journey. Below him, she tensed. He stilled. "Dana? What's wrong?" Should he pull out? Should he let her be on top? He was so huge and she was so tiny. He had to be hurting her. Dana bit her lower lip. "Nothing's wrong, Fox." "You feel so tight," he objected, "like a glove that's two sizes too small." "It's been a long time for me. A very, very long time. Since before I met you." His jaw dropped. "But I thought...Ed Jerse...." "Nothing happened with him. I stopped it before it went too far." In the back of Fox's mind, he had harbored the secret hope that that slim possibility was true, but he'd never dared believe it. The joy he felt nearly overwhelmed him, and prompted him to reveal his own secret. "Dana, I have another confession to make. Don't worry, this is a good one. It's been a long time for me, too." "Then we can get used to it together. You can start moving. Go slowly at first," she cautioned. He began to thrust deeply and steadily, and Dana counter- pumped. After fewer than a dozen strokes, they simultaneously exploded, shouting each other's names. Fox heaved himself off of Dana, and they lay panting and quivering in the aftershocks of their private earthquake. Dana recovered first. "That's never happened to me before. Ever. You must have found my G-spot right away." Fox's muscles gelled enough for him to reply. "I've never come that fast in my life. I swear I'll do better next time. Just give me another chance." "No, I meant, *that's* never happened before." "*That* what, Dana?" "You know. *That.* The orgasm. I've never had one in that position before." Fox shook his head. "And here I was, thinking you knew all sorts of doctor tricks. Those other men were fools." "There weren't very many. My first wasn't until college. I was a science geek in high school. Melissa was the popular, outgoing one -- the rebel who got all the boys. No one noticed me when she was around." "Like I said, they were fools. So, how long have you known?" he asked as he stroked her hair. Their telepathic connection came in handy; Dana knew that Fox was asking when she'd realized she was in love with him. She nestled closer to him. "Since I shot you. What about you?" "Since Duane Barry took you," he said immediately. "I was a mess without you around. Anyone will tell you that." She was silent for long seconds. "Dana, what are you thinking?" "That we've wasted all this time." "No, we spent those years deepening our relationship. It wouldn't be this good if we didn't have the past to draw upon." Dana ruffled his hair. "Sometimes you are so much wiser than me." A thought crossed Fox's mind. "We were pretty noisy. Do you think the neighbors heard?" "If they did, it's nothing on my part they haven't heard before, only a little louder." She thought for a moment. "Okay, a lot louder." "What do you mean, Dana? You said it's been a long time for you." "It has. But I do have a vibrator. It's a girl's best friend. The neighbors have heard me call out your name before. Many times." "How many?" "Many. I'll leave it at that." "I think I deserve a more precise answer," Fox insisted. As he leaned over to tickle Dana, his renewed erection poked her in the thigh. "Fox, is that your gun, or are you happy to see me?" "Want to go for a double-header?" "Already, Fox?" "Sure. Little Fox is up to another round." Dana ran her fingers along his engorged member to confirm his words. It was true; his cock was rock-hard and throbbing. "It's amazing. Wait until the medical journals get hold of you." "I'd rather save it for you, Dana." Since she also preferred that option, that was what they did. Three more times, they awakened during the night to make love, and each experience was as good as the first had been. Maybe even better, as they grew more familiar with each other's body. Eventually, satiated from passion, they fell into an exhausted slumber. ********* For the first time in many weeks, Fox slept for four hours straight without waking from a nightmare. When he woke up, he was alone. He hadn't dreamed it all, had he? Then he realized he was in Dana's bed, surrounded by her scent. By *their* scent. Still, he had to find her, to make sure she hadn't changed her mind about them. He scrambled out of bed, dug his extra clothes out of the emergency drawer Dana kept for him, dressed in record time, and rushed into the living room. He slid to a stop just in time to avoid a collision with Dana, who held a glass of iced tea. She grasped the glass with both hands to steady it. "Fox, why are you running around?" She'd called him by his first name; all was well. "No reason." She looked sternly at him. "You shouldn't try to hide your feelings from me. What upset you?" "I was afraid that last night was another dream, and I was alone." "It certainly wasn't, and you definitely won't be ever again." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and set the glass on the coffee table, on top of a "Journal of the American Medical Association" issue. "There's your iced tea, baby doll--" She cut herself off and flushed. "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to be called that." "Hey, I kind of like having a pet name," he informed her. She smiled. "I'm so glad you like it. You'll be hearing it a lot more in the future." "I'll have to come up with a nickname for you, too, then," Fox observed. "What about 'angel'? That's what you are to me." "Oh, how sweet." She apparently thought it was sweet enough to warrant another kiss. That kiss swiftly turned into two, and three, and more. Fox's lips migrated downward, and Dana bent her neck to allow him better access. She jerked away when he sucked especially hard. "Fox, did you just give me a hickey?" "I can't say for sure." "If you did, that would mean I'll have to wear turtlenecks to the office for a whole week." "No, Dana, that would mean you'd have to give me a hickey in return to pay me back. I won't mind at all, I promise." "Down, boy!" Dana said firmly. "Give me a little break." Fox took a step backward. "Was last night too...strenuous?" "Let's just say that I used muscles I'd forgotten I have. I was going to take a hot bath after I gave you your iced tea. Do you have any plans for today?" Fox leered at her; she blushed. "Aside from that!" He turned serious. "Well, we need to go back to the Brocade Curtain to pick up your car, and what's for breakfast?" "Anything that requires less than five minutes of preparation, and no talent. It's time for another confession, Fox. I can't cook. That's why I always suggest getting takeout." He shrugged. "That's okay. I can't cook, either." "And that's why *you* always suggest getting takeout!" Dana realized. "We really *are* meant for each other! Although, if you had any lingering fears that it wouldn't work out, last night should have put them to rest. It was the most incredible experience of my life. It's never happened to me five times in one night. And we came together every time, too!" "More proof that we belong together," Fox acknowledged. "But I need to make sure that we're on the same page. Where do you want our relationship to go?" "We shouldn't let any more time slip away. We can spend the weekends at each other's place. One day, I'd like to move in together." Fox grinned so widely, he felt like a coat hanger was stretching his mouth. "I love the idea. When it's safe to go public, we can buy our own place. Wouldn't a house be great?" "Terrific, but can we afford it?" Fox took a deep breath and plunged in. "Yes. See, I have all this trust-fund money, and--" "Trust fund?" Dana interrupted. "You have a trust fund?" "You'd be surprised at the amount I inherited when my father died. The rest came from my mother's estate. It didn't seem important at the time. But now I'm glad I have it, for your sake. We'll never have to worry about money." "That's great, Fox." Fox sighed in relief. He had been afraid that Dana would be angry with him for keeping the truth about his financial status to himself for so long. "Someday we'll get a dog, and name it Boomer or Daggoo," he said. "After 'Moby Dick' characters. You remembered, Fox!" Dana exclaimed. "I never forget anything about you, Starbuck." "Except my birthday," Dana pointed out. "If we get married on February 23 and it's also our anniversary, I'll never forget it," he promised. "Fox!" Dana exclaimed. "Was that a proposal?" "This isn't quite how I imagined making it all those hundreds of times. But...." Fox knelt before Dana. "Will you do me the honor of becoming 'Mrs. Spooky' for real?" Tears sprang into Dana's eyes. "Of course I will, Fox." The insistent ringing of the doorbell postponed their celebration. Dana jumped up to answer it. "I'll get rid of whoever it is," she said as she pulled open the door. "Oh, Mom!" She hugged her unexpected visitor. Fox politely stood as Maggie entered the living room. She looked from Dana to him and back. "Well, Dana, I have to say, I'm surprised. Lately, you've sounded so depressed, and today you look so happy. Does your change in attitude have anything to do with Fox's presence? What happened?" "Assistant Director Walter Skinner," Dana replied. "He set us up last night. He's our very own cupid!" Maggie threw her arms around Fox and squeezed him so tightly that he gasped for air. "Welcome to the family, Fox. Now you have no excuse not to call me Mom!" Right on cue, the bell chimed again. And when Dana opened the door, who should stand there but AD Skinner himself. "Thank you, sir," Dana told him. He smiled. "You can call me Walter outside of work. That goes for you, too, Mulder." "In that case, we're Fox and Dana to you, Walter," Fox warmly replied. Walter ignored him. He had just caught sight of Maggie, and couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. Nor could she stop staring at him. Dana leaned her head against Fox's arm and whispered, "Looks like we're not the only ones in love." Walter crossed the room and took Maggie's hands in his. "Should we tell them the news?" At her nod, he turned to face Fox and Dana. "Maggie and I have been working for weeks, trying to get you two to admit the truth. And along the way, a miracle occurred: We fell in love!" "We wanted you to be the first to know -- we're engaged!" Maggie announced. "That's wonderful," said Dana, thrilled for her boss and friend, and her mother. "We're engaged, too." Grinning broadly, Walter enveloped her in a bear hug. "Guess you'll be calling me 'Uncle Walter' soon." He then turned to Fox and vigorously pumped his hand. "That goes for you, too. But only off the job." He winked. Fox winked back. It was good to know that he and Walter under- stood each other. All of those years of butting heads dissolved under the strength of their new bond. "Wouldn't it be perfect if we could be June brides in a double wedding?" Maggie cried. A shadow passed over Dana's face. "The FBI won't allow it. Regulation 1013, Clause X, prohibits romantic involvement between partners. If anyone found out that we were so much as dating, we'd be subject to disciplinary measures. We might even lose our jobs. If we got married, the consequences would probably be the worst possible." Skinner shook his head. "Don't worry, kids. I'm working on getting an exemption granted that will enable you to continue working together on the X-Files no matter what. You can pay me back by naming your first son after me. Walter Sergei Scully- Mulder has a very nice ring to it, don't you think?" "Oh, no. Our first son is going to be called Fox, Jr." Dana shot Fox a look that dared him to disagree with her. He gave in gracefully. "Then our first daughter should be named Melissa Dana, or Samantha Katherine. And Margaret is also a great name." The joyous group traded names and dates as they planned their futures together. What would normally have been a solitary, dismal weekend for each of them had turned into a time of family, love, and togetherness that would never end. end 4/4 My fingers cramped up in protest every time I typed Fox and Dana, but they've recovered now and I can answer feedback. Which cliche is your favorite? Did I miss any? Write and let me know: kelso28@excite.com The challenge elements were: --a dead fish --Skinner dancing with Scully --a Celine Dion song --an online dating agency --an old friend of Skinner's --Star Trek: Voyager --Mulder and Scully at a diner ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: None of the songs belong to me, either.