From: JingerLuvv Date: 14 Oct 1999 23:49:42 GMT Subject: NEW: "Is That What You Think?" 1/2 Title: "Is That What You Think?" Author: virtue_fluttering Spoilers: "Triangle" here, "FTF" there--lotsa Season 6:) Rating: R for language, and that's all...maybe:):):) Summary: Sequel to "Not What You Think." What happened after "Bunny" and "Marty" said goodnight?:) Disclaimer: Right, right. No, the rumors are not true. Mulder and Scully are not, nor have they ever been my personal property. But if they *were*, I would love them and care for them and put them in my sock drawer next to all my other treasured items (including my acceptance letter from Minerva Press). In reality (reality bites), they belong to Surfer Boy and his clan who like to just stuff Mulder and Scully in their seperate drawers and let that be the end of it. But that's okay...that's what we have people like *me* for:):):) "The Rapture" belongs to New Line Cinema and Fine Line Features and Michael Tolkin and whoever else aided and abetted this movie that only I seem to enjoy:):):) For the *religious* aspect of course;) "The Opposite of Sex" belongs to Don Roos and to Sony Picture Classics, also a film I watched for the religious aspect:):);) Muchos gracias to everybody who encouraged me to type this belated sequel, including my friends Jolene and Jo Moore--two fellow authors I am absolutely in awe of and would love to be as talented as:) I owe both of them, and all my friends at the Church of X many thanks for their encouragement and enthusiastic feedback. I wouldn't have gone this far if not for them. Thank you so much! And I would also like to thank Fren, Brandi Spaulding, Anne Vermillion, Pam Gamble, and Beaker--all the off-list people who read "Not What You Think" and spawned the idea for this sequel. Wherever y'all are, I luv you guys:):):) ******************************************************* A weary half-smile remained on Dana Scully's face as she shut the door to her bedroom behind her. She couldn't explain the smile--or how it faded a moment. She couldn't even begin to explain the gentle rush of emotions behind it--or how those emotions began to manifest. Relief was a factor. So was fear. Fear? Good Dana, what a compliment to your partner. Shut up, another voice inside her head chastised the first one, that's just one of all the things she's feeling right now and she doesn't need you adding *GUILT* to the list. And it was rightly true. This was a situation that almost required her to be feeling a million different things in a single second. It was a simple undercover assignment. Any agent in the Bureau who didn't consider this kind of thing ill-making, namely her *partner* (which was one of the reasons she didn't tell him about it), would've considered it textbook stuff: bugging a phoneline, having an assigned agent engage in an extensive conversation with the suspect, just long enough to trace his location, he'd be apprehended, arrested, assignment finished. Over with. Never have to think about it again. Simple enough. But what about when the line you've bugged is a *phone-sex* line? And to trap the suspect, you're forced to pose as an operator, his *favorite* operator? And what about when that's the least embarrassing moment of the evening. 'Or early morning,' Scully thought to herself as her eyes found the clock radio on her night stand. 2:45 A.M. What about, after all the bullshit's over, the cops have left, and you're forced to make one more call? Forced? There's that word again, Dana. Why do you have such an inclination towards words that hold no meaning for you? What about when the last call you take is from you're *partner*? Of course, he hadn't known it was her, she'd been advised to place a voice alteration box over the mouth piece to the receiver. Tammy, the woman she'd replaced, had told her it made you sound more 'seductive' and gave their male (and some of their female) 'patrons' incentive to stay on the line and rack up their phone bills. Perhaps it would've. If Mulder had *needed* that. But like he said, once he called, he didn't understand why he had. He was confused So she did the worst thing she could've done in this situation. She asked him if he wanted to talk. She'd taken so many precautions. Hell, he had too. He hadn't even used his real name. *Marty*. Neither had she. *Bunny*?! What on Earth had possessed her to use the name Bunny?! After three and a half straight hours of Tammy, Donna, and Rachel, what had made her pick up the phone, place the mouth piece over the receiver and say 'Hi, I'm Bunny, what's your name?' *Bunny*. Of all the stupidest names. She *loathed* the name Bunny. It was too close to 'Bambi' for her taste. Look at it this way Dana, you could've always said your name was 'Diana.' 'Shut the HELL up!!' her other voice chastised the first one. She'd taken every necessary precaution to prevent disclosing her identity. In the beginning, she wasn't sure why she'd even stayed on the line after she found out it was him. The last thing she really needed was hear to Mulder having a good, old fashioned jerk off over the phone. She'd never admit it to him of course, but sometimes his proclivity for various types of erotica drove her crazy. Then, as he attempted to explain his ignorance as to why he had even called, she realised something from the tone in his voice. He was upset. He needed tp talk to someone, and if he had wanted to talk to her, he would've called her. He could *always* call her. She'd made that very plain. At least she thought she had. That was another reason she'd stayed on the line with him. Things had been tense between them lately. A combination of several different things that had happened in the last several months. Including the reason she felt she could spit steel every time she heard the name 'Diana.' She knew at times like these she could be irritable and, in a crunch, downright rancorous, just as he could be an out and out bastard when he wanted to be. Long sowed irritation reserved for his penchant for erotica had flared within her, too, sending the bickering voices inside her head into mortal combat. 'Oh sure, he feels comfortable talking dirty with a complete stranger, but he doesn't feel comfortable talking dirty with *me*!' one voice spat out without thinking. The other voice exploded in hysterics while the other gave herself a mental slap. Unfortunately, that one little Freudian slip had already led the two voices into sparring. 'I quote "The Opposite of Sex:" 'Say the point of sex isn't recreation or procreation, say it's concentration.'" 'So?' 'Sooooo, she doesn't want to do anything with him until he can focus his attention fully on her, *for once*.' 'Who says she wants to have do anything with him at all?!' 'Oh *PLEASE*! It's written all over her face in neon colors!! His too! The very subject is submerged in every little thing they say to each other." 'Noooooo. Th-ther-They're just friends.' 'Yeah, friends that want to--' 'Nooooo-no-no-no-no-no.' 'Come on Dana, help me out here, you want to, don't you? You want *him*, don't you? You've been dreaming about him for the last half a decade and you are going to become two shots of formeldahyde dead crazy if you don't have him right here right now. Well, he's just in the next room, Dana, a mere three feet of wood and plaster away, go in there and GET HIM if you want him! And you do want him, don't you Dana? ' 'Don't answer that Dana, and WHAT WERE YOU DOING WATCHING "THE OPPOSITE OF SEX"?!!!' "I don't know!!" she suddenly cried out, then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, flushing at the thought that he might have heard her little outburst. She could certainly hear nearly everything going on in his room. Not *everything* exactly, but little things. His work jacket being discarded and lightly tossed onto the bed. Him kicking off his shoes. The lax snick of his zipper.. But in spite of the little *discussion* that had just taken place between her two counterparts, sex had little to do with it. It was back burner at best. If it hadn't been, she might have continued their conversation as "Bunny." But, right when she'd asked if he'd wanted to talk, she'd slipped into full on ScullyMode. The idea of sex never even entering the framework of her mind. She'd just needed to know whether, in spite of all that had happened, his feelings hadn't changed. And he assured her they hadn't without even knowing it. He'd called her his best friend, an important part of his life, he'd told her she was honest, and wonderful, and beautiful. *Beautiful*. He'd called her his best friend. He was in awe of her trust in him. Words she swore she thought she'd never hear from Fox Mulder's mouth. She'd never heard him use actual words like that to express himself in such an open way. Oh, he'd told her he needed her, told her she'd saved him, he made her a whole person. He'd even told her he loved her. But she'd always made excuses for what he said. 'He would say anything to keep me here with him.' she'd told herself. And he would. But this was complete honesty, straight from the horses' mouth, and it touched her as deeply as everything he had said to her before, if not more so. And to think, she could have walked away with this information, Mulder never having to know what he had told her. "Could have" being the operative phrase. Walking away without disclosure was never a possibility. She'd seen to that. She'd been *this* close to getting off the line with complete anonymity, when, in the familiarity of the moment, as he said goodnight, she muttered the unthinkable: "'Night Mulder." Instantly realizing what she'd done, she'd slammed down the phone, only to have her own cell phone ring a second later. Somehow, he wound up here at her apartment, following the advice she had given him, veiled by her guise as "Bunny" over the phone. He invited her to a movie the next day. The fact that he had followed her advisement touched her deeply. 'Great, now if we can just get him to do that when he knows it's you.' The fact that he had asked her, for some reason, convinced her that he did not suspect it had been her over the phone. After all, to his own mind, it must have been highly improbable. It would not hold up to his expectations of the enigmatic Doctor Scully he knew. She was sure of that. That's why, when he'd moved to leave, she'd asked him to stay in the other bedroom, given the lateness of the hour. And he'd complied. Even leaning over to kiss her goodnight just before he left for the bedroom in almost complete silence. Almost. "See you in the morning, *Bunny*." The words rang in her ears, mortifying her all over again. Her first reaction was similar to what she had been feeling when she first relaized what she had done, confused, bewildered, ashamed, embarrased. Her second reaction had shrugged it off with all too momentary good humor, going so far as to call him "Marty" as she returned his goodnight. Now, she wasn't sure what she should be feeling. It wasn't as if there was a manual that came along with this kind of a situation. 'Sure there is Dana. Right on the shelf next to your copy of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest", there's a coffee table book called "What To Do If Your Partner Calls You Up At A PHONE-SEX Line".' He was in her apartment, right in the next room. And he knew it had been her on the line. A sudden clash of thunder slashed through her internal musings, making her jump three feet. God, she shouldn't think about this right now. 'It's late Dana,' the sensible voice suddenly reappeared, 'you're tired, and you're not thinking clearly. You need to get some sleep.' She went to her dresser and selected an oversized white Oxford shirt and a pair of form fitting white shorts. She peeled off her jacket and followed it with the blouse and slacks until she was standing in front of the mirror in just her white cotton panties. With slightly shaking fingers, she slipped on the shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone, revealing a large portion of her sternum, and pulled on the shorts. Walking toward the bed, she slid beneath the heavy duvet She needed to get some sleep. She'd figure out what to do in the morning. Resting her head against the soft pillow, she slowly closed her eyes, and drifted into sleep. ******************************************************* *********** "Is That What You Think? 2/2 Her frayed nerves and parched mouth didn't allow her to sleep for very long, and an hour later she found herself blindly stumbling out of bed and into the bathroom. Her eyes not even half open, she didn't bother The rain danced on her roof in varying tempos as she shut off the faucet and sipped down her glass of water. Feeling her throat and mouth sigh with relief, she set the glass back down on the counter and, rubbing her eyes, padded out into the hallway. Yawning deeply, she was halfway back to her bedroom when her sleep muddled gaze caught the half open door to the guest room. 'Huh?' it took her a moment before she remembered Mulder spending the night. As the night's events came back to her in a rush, and inexplicable curiosity flared inside her. The room was so quiet. She wondered if he was sleeping. That would be pretty uncommon for Mulder. Often a night at a cheap motel in Nowhere, USA, she had slipped into unconcsiousness to the tune of him fidgeting and pacing about in the adjoining room. She'd watched over him before, on some of the few occasions when he did sleep. But he'd always been sick or wounded or shot. And it had always been in a hospital or a hotel, or someplace they had no intense knowledge of. And there were always others around. Now, alone, in the familiar atmosphere of her apartment, almost oblivious to the outside world, she just wanted to make sure he was okay. On light feet, she moved to stand inside the doorway, peering across the five foot gap of floor to the bed. Mulder lay on his side beneath the white duvet identical to the one on her bed, clad in his close-fitting white t-shirt. The blanket was strewn casually across his long lanky legs just slightly revealing the waistband of his black silk boxers at the top. His eyes were closed and she could see the outline of his body, silhouetted by the light in the hallway, as it slowly rose and fell with each deep breath. He looked content as he slept. Almost childlike. And without demons to fight. She smiled for a moment, feeling a deep sigh reverberate within her as she turned to head back to her bedroom. "Wait..Come in.." the sound of his sleep soaked voice nearly caused her heart to leap up into her throat. "You're awake?" "I don't sleep..And even if I did, *that* would've woken me up." he gestured toward the window just as a crash of thunder strong enough to wake the dead rang through the air. Scully jumped three feet, while Mulder just sat up in the bed, unaffected. "Damn, it's louder than Hell out there." "What are you doing up?" "I was thirsty. I just got up to get a glass of water," the rough sound of rain beating hard against the roof distracted her for a moment, "you're right about the storm though, I'll bet it's loud enough to wake the dead." "I think this rain could wake the dead on *Mars*." "There are no dead on Mars, Mulder." "How do you know, Scully? You've never been there." "Niether have you." "How do you know?" She gave him a weary smile. "Come here," he patted the spot on the bed next to him. She'd seen him do that before, at that case in Arcadia and she'd told him, in short, to take a hike. He'd complied slightly grumpily, crawling out of the bed muttering "the thrill is gone." That memory never failed to put an amused smile on her face. But she'd been upset with him at that time, questioning his faith in her and his committment to her, if you could really call it that. Now, there was apprehension where there had been recovering feelings. And, anyway, it was *her* bed. If he got fresh, she could always kick him out again. If she really *wanted* to. With a slight shrug, she padded across the carpet and climbed next to him on the bed. Her on top of the covers, him still underneath. Just then, a crash of thunder more powerful than anything either of them had heard that night erupted, shaking the room, and perhaps the whole building. Scully gasped in a deep breath and heard Mulder let out a small breath of his own a moment later. It was a minute or two before she realized she had grabbed his hand tightly in the aftermath of the shock. 'You should've known Dana, you can't even sit next to him without an extreme natural occurence.' "You okay?" he cradled her hand between his, slowly massaging her fingers in soothing motions. "Yeah, um...I'm fine," she slipped her hands out from his, silently sorry for the loss of his heat, "I just don't think I'll be able to get to sleep for a while." "Do you wanna talk?" he asked with concern in his voice. 'Well, Marty, do you wanna talk?' her words came back to her, furthering the tension winding up inside her. "Sure," she glanced around the room, the television on the cedar chest across from the bed gave her an idea, "or we could watch TV." "TV's good, we can watch TV," his response mirrored her own awkward nerve. Scully leaned over and retrieved the remote from the nightstand next to the bed, sitting up, she turned on the set. There's a little hotel called the Shady Rest at the junction Petticoat Junction "There you go." "Huh-uh. I watched that show enough when I was a kid." "You watched *"Petticoat Junction"*?" "Yeah, why?" "I dunno, it just doesn't seem like something you would have watched." Suddenly Billie Jo's yards of blonde hair and false eyelashes giggled onto the screen. "On second thought.." "Actually, I liked Betty Jo." "Really?" "Yeah. I've always had an affection for petite redheads." "Uh-huh." she laughed as she changed the channel. Mulder wouldn't have normally minded the next image that presented itself on the screen. Hell, he would have probably kicked back and watched it himself. But Scully was in the room, and, somehow, that didn't feel right. Niether did the fact that she made no attempt to change the channel. He finally reached over and did it for her, grabbing the remote in the process. "Hey!" she cried out in an un-Scully like fashion. "We're not watching that." he replied firmly, suddenly kicking himself at the authoritarian voice he was using. He sounded like his dad. He shuddered at the thought. "That's David Duchovny in "The Rapture"." she protested, pointing at the screen. "So?" "He was just about to give a handjob to Mimi Rogers." "Oh...well, I guess, since you're so *adamant* about it, a few more minutes can't hurt." he clicked the button back to channel 46 and they continued watching the image in silence. "You know she's really not all that pretty." he observed as he watched as David Duchovny's hand disappeared beneath the sheets. Suddenly a loud crash of thunder sounded and the television along with the light in the hallway died, leaving the two of them in complete darkness. "Guess she didn't appreciate that," he commented, bringing a slight smile to Scully's face. "Well," she found his silhouette as her eyes adjusted to the light, or lack there of, "what do you suggest we do now?" "We could play a game." She snorted. "What would we play? Spin the Bottle?" she gestured towards the darkeness of the room. "We could play 'Chicken.'" "What's 'Chic--Aiiyyee! Mulder!" a yelp escaped her as she felt a set of strong fingers lightly brush against the inside of her calf. "You said you wanted to play 'Chicken.'" "As I was about to ask before I was interruppted, *what* *is* *'Chicken'*?" "It's a game. You see, you run your hand up the inside of the other person's leg and see how close you can get to their....without them making a sound. "Recommended in 'Penthouse Forum', Mulder?" "Actually I never played it before." "Not even when you were watching one of your videos?" "No, when I watch a video, I tend to skip the preliminaries." "I thought you said those videos weren't yours." "They're not." She let out a half-laugh, half-snort. "So, are we gonna play?" "Who's going first?" "My idea, my turn." "My *house*, my turn." "Uh-uh, you've never played this before." "NIETHER HAVE YOU!" "Yeah, but I know *how* to play. Now, just let me show you how." "All right, fine," she relented, releasing a small sigh as he reached over and gently pulled her right leg across his thighs into his lap. Scully braced herself back on her hands as Mulder lightly ran his hand up and down her calf and knee in preparation. "Hope you're not ticklish," he teased as his hand ran the length of her leg and settled on her slim ankle. "Not on my legs, Mulder, sorry to disappoint you." She stopped talking as his fingers lightly circled her ankle, reminding herself she was not to make a sound. It may have been a temporary childish throwback to the days when she would play ball with her brothers, but she'd be damned if she didn't want to beat Mulder at his own game. Deep down, she wanted to kick his ass. She abandoned the random thoughts that could provoke speech as the game began. She'd always admired Mulder's hands. He had long slender fingers that had the power to touch and to wound, to caress and to pull a trigger, to comfort and to kill. And at that moment one of those fingers left the base of her ankle and made a path up the length of her calf, followed by two more, his touch featherlight. The slow journey up her calf raised slight goosebumps on her legs and sent a slight chill up her spine. She reminded herself not to make a sound as his fingers slipped across the underside of her knee. 'Had no idea you watched 'Ally McBeal', Mulder.' The amount of procision he had both amazed her and did not surprise her. Mulder had a natural intensity about him, one of the many things she had originally noticed and admired about him. She'd just never thought of his intensity mixing well with intimacy. God knew his track record for female companionship was not the greatest in the world. With women like Phoebe and Diana, and the wonderful example his mother must have set for women all over the world, she understood his issues on betrayal. Yet, all the more reason for him to be intense about intimacy. When his opposite arm suddenly came around her waist and pulled her upright, she felt a gasp of surprise leave her mouth. He shifted her halfway across his lap to maintain her balance as his hand still journeyed further up her thigh. Scully's eyes found themselves fixed upon Mulder's in the darkness of the room, absolutely motionless with concentration. Their gaze only faltered once when his fingers slipped inside the leg of her shorts, still making their way north. She squeezed his shoulder as his fingers came within three inches of territory that had been off limits for years. His fingers were a mere three inches from nearly deserted region when they finally stilled. His hand slipped out of her shorts and she felt him lay the flat of his palm against her thigh, his fingers curving easily around her leg. "Excellent sense of control, Agent Scully," he told her as he removed his hand from her thigh. "Thanks," she replied, noticing that her breathing had grown shallow, "now let's see what you've got." "Don't you think we should move your leg first?" Puzzled, she looked down in the direction he nodded, noticing that her leg was still outstretched across his lap. "Oh-yeah." she moved to sit up on the bed, pulling her leg off of his, compensating for the loss of warmth the back of her thigh felt by planting that leg beneath her. Mulder contemplated that swinging his heavy thigh across her tiny lap would not be the most couth, nor the most bright idea and insteaded opted to extend the lanky extremity out in front of her on the bed. "Ready for my examination, Doc." he smiled that sly grin she'd sometimes reluctantly grown used to over the years. Scully briefly examined how far she had to go and almost felt a small sigh escape her. With his long stems, a game of Chicken with Mulder could turn into a three day project. She wasn't quite sure whether that was good or bad. Residing herself to the fact that she needed to get started, she began where Mulder himself had began, her fingertips lightly drawing patterns on his ankle before moving upward. She couldn't believe this was happening. When her fingernails lightly ran up the underside of his knee, she heard his sharp intake of breath. "Low threshold of stimulation, Mulder?" she asked, an amused expression lighting a fire under her face in the darkness, "silly me, and I always thought you were all about the oral fixation." Apparently, he still was. As she glanced up at his face, she noticed that his lips had parted slightly. Smiling in the darkness, she leaned forward and placed her hand on his chest to maintain her balance, feeling him flinch slightly, then relax under her touch. When she reached his knee, she turned her hand and ran her palm along the inside of his thigh, the light hairs tickling her fingers. Her smile widened a little as she felt a slight tremble beneath her fingers. As her hand neared the top of his thigh, the back of her fingers brushed against something prominant. And *hard*. She felt a gasp rise in her throat and quickly pulled her hand away. Another clap of thunder signalled another incoming downpour as she sat up beside him, but looking away from him, suddenly fascinated with the bookshelf. "Stalemate," his rasped whisper, with the hint of a smile, broke the silence of the room and she gained enough courage to turn toward him. His smile sombered as she looked at him. "Why didn't you tell me?" "T-Tell you what?" ".....That you were going on assignment." "Oh, um,...Danielle needed some help on her assignment and she asked me," she struggled to answer, hoping against hope she wasn't tripping over her words. "She's a new agent," she continued, "on her first assignment, I thought I might be of some assistance." "You could have told me..." "What would you have said?" "If I had known, I wouldn't have called the number. I would've called you." "But you didn't know." *Marty* she added mentally. "I didn't want to lay my problems on you, Scully. Not the ones that really don't matter." His last statement shocked her into silence. From what she could tell when she'd talked with him on the phone, he had sounded lonely, and loneliness was *not* something that didn't matter. She should know. She'd had her fair share, as had he. It made perfect sense for him to talk to her about it, and maybe, together, they could do something about it. Her evaluation of her private thoughts gave him a moment to lay his out for her. "Sometimes I debate with myself whether you should really be with me. Whether you should continue to risk your life hanging around "Spooky" Mulder. And I know that you should leave. You deserve a better life. You deserve a *normal* life. But I also know what would happen to me if you didn't stay." "Is that what you think?" "Well, yeah." "Well, then you must have your head pretty far up your ass." Words to make him look up, eyes widened slightly. "Did you ever consider including me in this debate? I believe I could provide an enlightening counterpoint." "By all means." he whispered, still a touch surprised. "Everything I have ever done has warranted a certain amount of risk. When I left for Berkely, I was taking a risk. When I applied to medical school, I was taking a risk. When I entered the Bureau, I was taking a risk. I've taken risks all my life, Mulder. That didn't start with you. You just gave me more things to take risks for. "Our partnership and our friendship means just as much to me as it does to you, if not more so. Where you say my rationalism has saved you, your passion and the strength of your beliefs have inspired me and given me strength to find the answers. Whether it's *normal* or not, I couldn't leave now if I *wanted* to." The impact of what she had just said came at her like a freight train. From what she could see of Mulder in the lightless shadows of the room, he was still reeling from what her words had done to him. "Scully.." he started, but could not find the words to go further. So she continued for him. "I told you, if I were ever given the chance, I wouldn't change a day...Did you think I was lying?" Silence filled the room but for the steady beat of the rain against her roof. Mulder's gaze locked with hers, overwhelming in the depth of emotion and intensity built up into it. She felt tears begin to form behind her eyes. A moment later she was in his arms, resting her face in the slope of his shoulder as he held her tightly against his chest, pulling her into his lap in the process. For a moment, they just sat there, concentrating on the sensation of drawing strength from each other's embrace before Mulder's soft voice broke the silence. "I meant what I said, Scully," he whispered into her ear, sending soft tremors against her hair and neck, "you're an important part of my life. I don't know what would happen to me...No, I take that back, I *do* what would happen to me without you. I've seen it. And it's...just, don't ever doubt how much you mean to me." The arms around his shoulders tightened. "We both should have known better. We shouldn't have been alone when..." she trailed off, fatigue finally clouding her mind over. "But we're here *now*." he whispered against her hair, sending soft vibrations against her ear. She nodded slightly against his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the warmth his neck. Halfway inside the door between consciousness and slumber, she just barely felt Mulder leaning back against the mattress, her body still curled against his chest. She just barely felt him pull the comforter over the both of them. She just barely felt his lips against the part in her hair. She knew his intentions. This had nothing to do with sex or teasing or the innuendo they'd grown famous for spitting back at each other over almost a decade. It had to do comfort. Solace. Intimacy. That closeness that had become perhaps the greatest consistency within their relationship. And, at that moment, they needed this closeness more than anything. Wrapped in it like a blanket, and lulled by the music of the raging storm slowly dying outside, Scully fell asleep against Mulder's shoulder. "Sweet dreams, Bunny," he whispered against her hair one last time before he, himself, soon followed. ******************************************************* OH MY GOD!!!! I thought this one was going to *KILL* me!! Oh my, I never realized writing a sequel could be so hard. I tip my hat to George Lucas:) And to all the fanfic authors before me who took on such a challenge. Like it? Love it? Hate it? Printed it out and burned it? Either way, I'd like to know:):):) BTW, any unnecessarily vicious comment one might make toward me (particularly regarding my mention of 'Ally McBeal') will be duely noted and summarily deleted.