One Look Back

                            Some language, definite sex (no actual 
organs named). 

Trouble.  Big trouble.  It was all over the news:  several scientists at 
the privately funded observatory you work at have disappeared.  Even 
though you’re a lowly radar/satellite tech, you could be next.  What the 
hell have you gotten yourself into?
  The project was very hush-hush.  Not even one of those with a lame 
brain nick name like “project fallen angel”.  Just project 1224; like 
it’s one of at least 1223 other projects.  But that’s none of your 
business.  You just downlinked from the satellite,  slapped the correct 
number designations on the corresponding sets of parameters, dumped to 
tape, and spent up your ample paycheck.  Well, it looked like the gravy 
train was getting ready to derail.  People were missing, shit was 
hitting the fan, and the FBI was on the case.  The real problem is; no 
one really sat down with you and let you know what was sorta hush-hush, 
medium hush-hush, and super shut-your-mouth.  Oh well, you shrug.  Just 
wont say anything.  Didn’t see anything, don’t know nothing.  Pull a 
Regan.  Let the execs figure it out.
  That was the plan, anyway; until the shit got deeper.  On the monitor 
that showed the other side of the cipher-locked door, you saw the agent 
sent to interview you.  If there was a back door, you’d use it.
  No one called him Fox.  The social elite in high school didn’t call 
him anything,  ignoring him like they ignored you.  But in your little 
cloister of  A.V. squad library club computer nerds, you found a home.  
How many times did you crank up the courage to ask him some stupid 
question you damned well knew the answer to, just to get him to talk to 
you?  How many times did you die a thousand deaths when you saw him 
across the hall with some bimbo basketball cheerleader?  It was 
infantile, it was stupid, it was too many years ago to mention; and, 
damn it, it was like it was yesterday.  And you know, in your heart of 
hearts, that if he has one inkling...he can get you to say anything.
  Cool, you say.  Be cool.  You hit the lock release, and sit back.  
Your face is frozen in a congenial hi-howya-doin smile.  He stops just 
inside the door and stares.
  “Nila?”  he asks.  “Nila Perry?”
  “Hello, Mulder.”  well, that blows the hope that he wouldn’t recognize 
you.  “How are you?”
  “Fine.”  he sits at the terminal beside you, and leans in 
conspiratorially.  “What’s going on?”
  Damn.  “I don’t know.”  You play it off.  “You know how it is; I just 
work here.”
  He nods and sits back.  “I can’t get over it.  Nila Perry.  I always 
wondered what happened to you.  Thought you’d be teaching at M.I.T., or 
accepting your third Nobel Prize or something, by now.”
  Oh!  What a bastard!  He isn’t getting away with this.  “Nope, just a 
techno-drudge.”
  “You were always the smartest one there...”
  Triple bastard!  “You were no slouch.  F.B.I., huh?  There’s a call I 
never would have made.”
  He shrugged and smiled.  “Guess you never know.”
  “Nope.”  You wait.  You know it’s coming.
  “Nila,”  he leaned forward again.    “Did you know any of the 
scientists who were kidnapped?”
  “Kidnapped?  I thought they were just missing.”  Score one for you!  
But don’t get too cocky.
  “My mistake.”  he admits.  “Did you know them?”
  “You see the size of this facility.  We’re small.  Sure, I ran into 
everyone sooner or later.”
  “Any idea why they would be...missing?”
  “None.”  And you ain’t budgin’ one inch.
  “So what exactly are you working on here?”
  There it is.  “Nothing major.”  you shrug.  Oh, that was stupid.  What 
happened to say nothing?  Now you have to come up with a lie.  “Mostly 
weather stuff.”  How lame!  He knows it, too.  Damn!  All you did was 
whet his appetite.  “I’m pretty low level, here.”  That’s right, try to 
pass it off on to someone else.  Never mind that he knows damned well 
they don’t keep weathermen in a vault behind a cipher lock.
  He sighs and looks around at the sanitized lab.  You know he could go 
either way:  confrontational, or sneaky.  “What are you doing for 
dinner?”
  Sneaky!  God!  You can’t survive this!  Beg off NOW!  “I don’t 
know...”
  “I’d really like to get together; talk about old times.  I think about 
everyone alot.  Regret not keeping up, you know?”
  Who is he fooling?  But maybe...Don’t even think that!  We are so much 
more than the sum of our parts, and that includes libido!  “What time?” 
 AaaaaaaaaaaaaH!
  “Can I pick you up at seven?”
  Assertion of turf!  Quick!  Counter block!  “How about we meet 
somewhere?  There’s an Italian place in Tacoma Park-”
  “I know that place.  Great calzones.  Big ones, like you get in 
Europe.”
  Lovely.  You couldn’t pick something a little more obscure?  “Meet you 
at seven?”
  “It’ll be like lunch in the A.V. room at the Library.”
  Does he have to be so frigging charming?  “Without Gordon’s smelly 
head cheese sandwich.”
  “A definite improvement.  See you at seven?”
  “Sure.”  You get up and walk him to the door.  “See you then.”
  He flashes another smile, and is gone.  Great.  You are TOAST!  You’ve 
seen him play Risk, and D&D.  You’ve seen him debate the possibility of 
time travel, and the feasibility of space travel.  That sucker’s got a 
hidden agenda a mile wide, and he’s going to wait for the perfect moment 
to spring it on you.  Maybe you’ll get lucky; maybe you’ll get 
kidnapped, too.  
  There is one, solitary, all or nothing hope.  Out maneuver him.  Use 
your own hidden agenda.  And pray he’s like every other typical male; 
but you know he’s not.  Naturally, he’s not like anyone else.  You 
remember once when flu dwindled your little club’s membership, and you 
had the A.V. room to yourselves.  You had a stroke of genius, and posed 
a query concerning whether it was cruelty or ignorance that prompted 
parents to give their children stupid names.  After batting it around, 
he revealed he’d looked up “Nila” in a name dictionary, and that it 
meant “deep blue”.  For two months he called you Deep Blue, and you 
almost fell on the floor every time.  Ooooh, you’re dead meat.

  The rest of the work day is a dead loss, but, hey; the bosses 
are...er...out of town, so you fudge an excuse and head on out early.  
You refuse to buy a new dress for the occasion, so you go through the 
dismal exercise of  checking the contents of your closet.  The only good 
thing is, he hasn’t seen you in any of it.  You pick a dark green off 
the shoulder sheath dress that could be casual, sans accessories.  It 
even looks kinda Italian restaurantish.  Now if you can just keep from 
spilling clam sauce on it.  Between hair and nails and a thousand little 
things you tell yourself are NOT for him, but are really pampering 
yourself (right.  Read that one in Cosmo), zero hour comes up pretty 
fast.  You grab your coat and dash.
  Sex and love.  That’s all they have on the radio.  One song after 
another.  Doesn’t anyone sing about something less depressing?  Like 
death, or the mysteries of the universe?  Ah  Tom Petty.  Just the 
thing.  That’s right, Tommy boy-o.  You wont back down.   You pull in 
the parkinglot, and wonder if it’s an off night.  There’s only about 
three other cars.  You’ll practically have the place to yourselves.  
Terrific.  Inside, the ambiance is so thick you can hardly breath.  
Candlelight flickers in the faces of intent couples involved in intimate 
conversations.  Is it too late to switch to McDonalds?  There he is.  He 
gives you a barely perceptible wave that says “I know you’re smart 
enough to find me without night vision goggles, but here, I acknowledge 
you anyway.”  You smile and surreptitiously smooth your dress.  As you 
take off your coat, he smiles.
  “You look great.”  he says.
  “Thanks.  It’s nice to get out of a lab coat now and then.”
  “I already ordered wine.”
  Of course.  “Great.”  Lovely.  Very eloquent.  “Have you decided what 
you’re having?”
  “Calzone, of course.  You?”
  “I thought I’d go with stuffed shells.”  Less sauce to spill in your 
lap, and no garlic or onions to stink up your breath.  The waiter comes, 
you order, and now it’s time for that bane of dating:  small talk.  “So 
how is it, following in Elliot Ness’ footsteps?”
  He smiles indulgently.  “Not nearly as exciting.  They never show all 
the paperwork on T.V.  Which reminds me, I had a hard time completing my 
report today.”
  Uh-oh, here it comes.  “What’s the problem?”
  “Too many pieces of the puzzle are missing.  For instance;  what 
reason would there be for someone to kidnap those scientists?”
  “So it is officially a kidnapping?”  You stall for time.
  “If it was just one or two, we’d leave it as missing persons.  But 
six?  That’s too much of a coincidence.”
  “Six?”  this is news to you.  “I hadn’t realized there were so many.  
No techs?”
  “Not that we know of.  Why?”
  You don’t have to be a genius to do the math.  There are only five 
scientists on staff.  Either someone made a mistake, or there’s been 
some deliberate fudging.  Maybe when you get home, you should run down 
the old roster, see who’s home. 
  “Why did you ask if any Techs had been taken?”  he repeats.
  “Huh?  Oh, no reason.”  Brain flash.  “Just nervous, I guess.”
  “Do you have reason to believe they’d go after you?”
  Ooops!  “Well, whoever did it is casting an awfully large net.  Could 
it be industrial espionage?”
  “You tell me.”
  “If it is, they’re either sloppy, stupid, or really serious.  I mean, 
they couldn’t hope to get away without attracting attention.”
  “Maybe that’s the idea.”  He pauses as the waiter sets out the food.  
“Were you working on anything any of the protest groups would have a 
problem with?”
  You slice up a shell, letting it cool.  “Sounds like something they’d 
do, alright.  But no, I don’t think they’d have a reason.  We don’t use 
animals, don’t pollute, don’t develop weaponry...none of the usual 
suspects.”
  “What do you do?”
  “Just collect data, like I told you.”
  “Maybe you’re collecting something somebody doesn’t want you to know.”
  You didn’t even realize you dropped your fork, until it bounced loudly 
off your plate.  No way to cover that, but you try.  Sure, sip the wine. 
 Smile engagingly.  Make sure your voice doesn’t tremble.  “Let’s not 
talk about work.  I think it’s starting to get on my nerves.”  Nice try. 
 You saw his eyes narrow, saw him get that intense look he gets when he 
spots a chink in the armor.
  “Alright,”  he says smoothly.  “What do you want to talk about?”
  “Do you keep up with anyone from school?  You and Gordon were pretty 
close.”
  “I hear from him now and then.”
  “Really?  How is he?”
  “Happy as a clam.  Married, two kids, teaches at a university.”
  “Oh, that’s great.”  Give it the ole’ oke-doke.  “I haven’t kept up 
with anyone.  Except Beryl; she sends a card at the holidays.  She moved 
to Israel, you know.”
  “No, I didn’t.”  He looks down at his half-finished calzone.  “They 
really pack these things.  I may have to doggie-bag it.”
  Bad news.  You remember him tossing out half a sandwich, claiming you 
can’t go in for the kill on a full stomach.  That was over chess.  
There’s a few more marbles at stake here.  “Me, too.”  you carefully put 
your fork down.
  “You’ve hardly touched your wine.”
  “I don’t like to, you know, when I’m driving.”
  “Sensible.”
  “You haven’t touched yours at all.”
  He shrugs.  “I’m more of a beer man.”
  “Well,...”  you sit back, ready to make your run for it.  “This was 
nice.  We’ll have to do it again sometime.”  God!  Did you read that off 
a cue card or something?
  “It’s still early.  Want to go somewhere else?  I know a great jazz 
club.”
  “Sounds great, but I think I’m gonna have a big day tomorrow; taking 
up the slack.”
  His beeper goes off.  “Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”  He gets up. 
 “You’ll still be here when I get back, wont you?”  He smiles, as if it 
were a joke.  You know it’s not.
  “Of course.”
  A few minutes of fidgeting in your chair, and he’s back.  “I’ve paid 
the check,”  he says.
  “Oh, you didn’t have to-”
  “Forget it.  It was my pleasure.”  He smiles again and sits back down. 
 What now?  “Can I tell you something?”
  Oh no, what is it?  “Sure.”
  “When we were in school,...”
  “Yes?”
  “I had a huge crush on you.”
  AAAAAAH!!!  DIRTY POOL DIRTY POOL DIRTY POOL!  “No!”
  “Really.  I can’t believe you didn’t know.  I was pretty obvious.”
  “Not at all.”
  “Do you think I went looking up every girl’s name in the dictionary?”
  “Deep Blue.”  you sit back, trying to keep your head from swimming.  
Deep breaths.
  “I know you hated it, when I called you that.”
  “No, I...I didn’t hate it.”
  “You didn’t like it, either.”
  “Well,”  you shrug.  What can it hurt?  “I did, a little.  I admit, I 
was impressed.”
  “You’re kidding.  Don’t tell me; if I had asked you out, you would 
have said yes?”
  “Why not?”
  “I always thought you liked that Todd guy.”
  “Oh, please.  He was a half-wit!”
  “Class president.”
  “Brown nose.”
  He laughs.  “I can’t believe this.  Man, if I knew then what I know 
now.”
  “I wouldn’t have had to go to the prom with my cousin.”
  “I didn’t go at all.”
  “I know.”
  And here, folks, is where we have what is known as the pregnant pause. 
 You try not to grin too goofily, and tear your eyes away from his.  
“Well,  that’s something.  I may even write Beryl.”  You smile 
congenially, hoping to graciously extract yourself.  Even in your state 
of blissful stupidity, you recognize dangerous ground when you see it.  
“I really should get going.”
  “I’ll walk you to your car.”
  Thank God you insisted on meeting here.  “Thanks.”  
  At the car, he takes both your hands and plants a chaste kiss on your 
cheek.  “It was great seeing you.”  he says.
  “Yeah.  You have my number, right?”
  “Yup.”
  “I guess I’ll hear from you, then.  Goodnight.”
  “Goodnight.”
  You get in the car, keeping your cool, and turn the key.  Click.  
Nothing.  Great.  Oh, here he comes.  You roll down the window.
  “Wont start?”  He asks perceptively.
  “Dead.  I don’t understand; I didn’t leave the lights on.”
  “Pop the hood, I’ll take a look.”
  Like an idiot, you do as he says.  What’s more, when he comes up with 
a diagnosis, you believe him.  That’s how you end up in his car, giving 
directions to your place.
  “There was a garage just down the street.”  he consoles you.  “I’m 
sure they can look at it in the morning.”
  “Sure.”
  “This the place?”
  He pulls in front of your apartment building.  “Yes.”  Great; another 
Emmy winning good-bye scene.  “Thanks so much for going out of your 
way.”
  “Oh, no problem.  Want me to walk you up?”
  “That’s not-”  Oh, geez.  There, in the bushes, by the front 
entry-way.  And again.  The intermittent glow of what has to be a 
cigarette.  You freeze, your hand on the door handle.  If you see it, he 
probably does, too.
  “Hold on,”  he says in a hushed voice, putting his hand over yours.  
“Let’s see how many of them there are.”
  “It’s probably just some kid, sneaking a cigarette.”
  “Probably; but why take a chance?”  He doesn’t take his hand away.  
You can smell his aftershave.
  “Oh, no.”  you nod your head toward a car three spaces away.  As 
another car passes, you can pick out the silhouette of someone just 
sitting there.
  “Wanna change your story?”  He asks, not looking at you.
  Geez, this is for real.  “I don’t know anything, honest.  Oh, God; by 
the mail boxes.”  Another loiterer.
  “It’s O.K., calm down.”  His voice is even and confident.  “Maybe we 
should take a ride.”
  “Yeah.”
  As you pull out of the parkinglot, he keeps glancing at the rear view 
mirror.  “Two.”  he says.
  “Do you think they know we saw them?”
  “I don’t think they much care.”
  You slump down, glad at least that you didn’t eat too much at dinner.
  “It’ll be alright.”  he assures you.  “I just need a better idea of 
who we’re dealing with.”
  “I don’t know-”
  “Nila, eco-nuts are one thing.  Foreign governments can be notoriously 
tenacious, and they don’t send idiots.  I can appreciate you trying not 
to compromise security, but things may be a bit more serious than you’re 
allowing for.  Is whatever you’re not telling me worth dying for?”
  You wish your kidneys wouldn’t do that.  Deep breaths.  This...this 
couldn’t be a trick, could it?  “I just run the equipment.”  Good.  
Stick to your story.  Maybe it is a trick; maybe that’s why he’s so 
calm.
  He makes a series of tight turns, and loses the car in a glut of 
traffic.  He looks just a little anxious, as he checks the mirror.  An 
act?
  “Where are we going?”  You ask, wanting to get a better handle on 
things.
  “They’ll probably be watching my place, too.”
  “Well?”
  “I need to think this through, make a few phone calls.  There’s a 
diner up ahead, cops hang out there.  It should be pretty safe.”
  “O.K.”  Like you have a choice.  Either this is the deepest shit 
you’ve ever seen, or he’s going through incredibly elaborate lengths to 
get you to talk.  If it’s the latter, you hope it doesn’t occur to him 
that there’s a much easier way to do that.
  It’s looking more and more like the deep shit scenario.  You can’t 
hear exact words as he mumbles into the phone, but you can see his face. 
 It’s sort of a backed-in-a-corner-and-considering-my-options  look.  He 
hangs up and comes to join you.
  “We need to sit tight for awhile.  I’ve got some people checking on 
things.  You alright?”
  “Huh?  Oh, sure.”  you wave it off.  “This happens to me on every 
date.”  Ooops, you said the “d” word.
  “You too?  I thought I was the only one.”  He stirs his coffee.  “Hope 
this doesn’t mean you wont go out with me again.”
  You smile.  “I wont hold it against you.  Anyway, it’s better then 
sitting through vacation slides.”
  “Darn, you ruined my surprise.  I was gonna finish with those.”
  You laugh before you can stop yourself, then cover your mouth.
  “You still have the same laugh.”  he says, smiling.
  “Yeah; loud and like a mule.”
  “No.  Deep; throaty; sexy.  Sorta Kathleen Turner-ish.”
  Great.  What am I supposed to say now?   “More like Ted Turner-ish.”
  “I like it.”  He sips his coffee.  “I could hear it in the hall, with 
a hundred kids jabbering.  I always knew it was you.  Sometimes I’d look 
and see you and Beryl laughing about something.  I was jealous of her, 
getting you to laugh like that.”
  “Flatterer.”
  “It’s true.  I even tried to learn some jokes, but Gordon vetoed them 
all.  Said they were lame.  He was right, too.  Once, I told you a joke 
about-”
  “The one about the frog?”
  “You remember.”  He smiles, pleased.
  “You don’t hear jokes that bad very often.”  You smile back.
  “It wasn’t that bad.”
  “Oh, yes it was.”
  Outside, a car horn beeps.  He looks out the window for a few moments, 
then gets up.  “That’s us.”  He drops a few ones on the table, and you 
follow him out.  There’s a van waiting.  He speaks to the driver for a 
few moments, then the van drives off.
  “Well?”  You ask.
  “Car swap.  A friend of mine is driving around in my car to attract 
attention.  We’ll take hers.”
  “Her?”
  “My partner.  This is the one.”  He opens a car door for you.
  “Where are we going?”  you ask, as he gets in.
  “Where do you want to go?”
  “Are they still at my apartment?”
  “Probably.”
  “Then-”
  “We’re going to have to have that conversation, Nila.  I need to know 
how much latitude we have.”  He fixes you with that intense look.  “You 
can trust me.”
  Like hell.  You look away.  This is getting to be too hard.  It’s like 
walking through mud.  “Drive.”
  He starts up the car, and pulls out of the parkinglot.
  “It’s like I said:  All I do is intercept signals, and collect data.”
  “What data?”  He glances over at you.
  “I don’t know.  I mark it by specific guide lines, and send it up.”
  “Who’s it from?”
  “I don’t know.”
  He ruminates on that one, then goes for the kill.  “Who’s it not 
from?”
  Damn!  “It’s not from us.  It’s not from anyone I know of.  And it’s 
not like anything I’ve ever seen.”
  “Who funds you;  a real corporation, or a front?”
  “That I don’t know.  Honest.  Everyone’s paycheck is electronic 
transfer, direct deposit.”
  “Clever.”  He nods.  “The money could come from anywhere.  What about 
taxes?  W2s?”
  “I don’t know, I haven’t been there long enough.”
  “Oh?  Where were you before?”
  This you really didn’t want to go through.  Once he finds out, it’s 
all over.  “Here and there.”
  “I see.  An itinerant migrant satellite tech.  Right.”
  Switch gears.  “Did you really have a crush on me, or were you trying 
to soften me up?”
  He stops at a light, and gives you the eye.  “I only lied to you about 
one thing.  The rest was the truth.”
  “Oh?  What was the lie?”
  “I did go to the prom; and if I’d known that guy was your cousin, I 
would have stayed.”
  Zzzzing!  Oh, he’s too slick.
  “Where did you work before?”  The light turns green.
  “I told you,-”
  “Nila,...”
  “Are we gonna do the sweat box scene from Bridge over the River Kwai?”
  “No, but if you want to play games,-”
  “You don’t play fair.”
  “That’s right,”  He admits.  “I play to win.  And so do the other 
guys.  It’s just a matter of deciding who gives out the best consolation 
prize.”
  Definitely a good point.  “NORAD.”  you blurt, relieved it’s out.
  He slams on the brakes, leaving rubber marks all the way into the 
break down lane.   “NORAD?!”  He shouts, shoving the gears into park.  
“You worked at frigging NORAD, and now you’re seeing signals you’ve 
never seen before?”
  “Could be a new satellite they’re testing.”  you offer weakly, with a 
shrug.
  “Terrific.”  He sits back and runs his hands through his hair.  
“Great.”  Shaking his head, he gives you a slightly disgusted look.  “We 
could have saved ourselves alot of time, if you’d told me this back at 
the lab.”
  “Sorry to take up so much of your time.”  A cold feeling spreads 
inside you.
  “I didn’t mean-”  He sighs, frustrated.
  “So what now?”
  He looks at you, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “I think I could get 
you in the WPP.”
  “No way.  I’ve had to get used to this name; I’m not about to switch 
it for a worse one.”
  “You may not have a choice.”
  “Well...what about tonight?  I mean; even if I go into witness 
protection, I have to live through the night, first.”
  He nods, puts the car in drive, and pulls back out onto the road.  
Grabbing his mobile phone, he hits the autodial and waits.  “Scully?  
Coventry.”  He listens a moment, then hangs up.
  “What was that?”
  “We’re going to Virginia.”
  “There’s no Coventry, Virginia.”
  “That’s right.”  he grins.
  This is gonna be a long night.

  Coventry turns out to be a ramshackled old cottage with no modern 
conveniences; which includes plumbing and electricity.  Just a pot 
bellied stove, and a couple of dusty cots.  Mulder was a little thrown 
by the workings of the stove, so you take over and send him for 
firewood.  You guess he knows what he’s doing.  It’s not likely anyone 
will find you out here.  Your chic dress is really out of place here, 
and already your hands and arms are filthy.  Luckily, the stove works 
and the cottage warms up.  After wiping your hands on a rag, you 
gingerly shrug out of your dress and hang it on a hook on the wall.  
Under a dusty wool blanket is a fairly clean sheet that will do just 
fine.  You’re all wrapped up and toasting your feet by the stove, when 
he returns.
  “What happened?”  he glances at the dress.
  “I’m not ruining a perfectly good dress.”
  “You have soot on your nose.”
  With a corner of the sheet, you rub your nose and the immediate area. 
 “Got it?”
  “Yeah.  I kinda liked it, though.  Stove works pretty good, huh?”
  “I was just trying to decide if we trust it to burn unwatched while we 
sleep.”
  “That would be a real kick in the pants, if the house burned down.”  
he grins  “And you, with no clothes on.”  He carefully stacks the wood a 
safe distance from the stove.  “We can watch it in shifts.  Or, we could 
just not sleep.”
  “And do what; go back to playing twenty questions?  There is no more. 
 You got me to spill everything.  Happy?”
  Smiling again, he sits beside you.  “You did the smart thing.  The 
only thing.  Trust me; you don’t want to end up at the mercy of those 
guys.”
  “So instead, I’m at your mercy?”  You get chills at the sight of his 
smile.  “The person you called; are they one their way?”
  “In the morning.”
  “Uh-huh.”  Well, this is it, girl.  All or nothing, make your move.  
“I wish you had stayed at the prom.  I’m sorry you thought-”
  “It was my fault.  I should have asked you, in the first place.  I 
should have done a lot of things.”
  “Such as?”
  And he’s touching your face and he’s kissing you and he buries his 
fingers in your hair and he’s kissing you and his other hand is on your 
back and he’s kissing you and you slip your hand inside his jacket and 
feel the warmth of his skin through the coolness of his shirt and he’s 
kissing you and the sheet slips and so do his hands and he’s still 
kissing you and oh he touches your breast and his jacket is off and his 
shoes clomp as they hit the floor and he stands up and oh boxer shorts 
and you have to touch and oh it’s really gonna happen and he has a 
condom and you’re glad at least one of you is rational and his hand 
slides up your leg and hits the bare skin at the top of your stocking 
and he sees the garter belt and actually moans yes he moans and is 
kissing you and touching you and naked how did everyone get naked all of 
the sudden and he sliding up oh up and he’s almost oh yes oh yes he’s 
inside you again and again and again and again and he’s still kissing 
you and holding you and oh that’s...that’s...oh...oh....oooooooh 
yeeeeEEEEESSSSS!!!!!!SNAP!
  The cot breaks.
  Who cares.
  There’s still...the other cot.

  You manage to tidy up a bit in the predawn light.  He finds a bucket, 
and brings water from the pump.  By the time the red-haired woman named 
Scully arrives, there’s no evidence except the pieces of broken cot in 
the wood pile.  Even the smell is gone, but she picks up some kind of 
vibe and smirks at him while unpacking breakfast.  Guess the secret’s 
out.  Why not?  Just about all the secrets are out.  You tell them you 
need to go to the outhouse, grab your coat, and go outside.  Just behind 
the outhouse, you see the glow of a cigarette.
  “Good girl.”  the man without a name says.  “What’s the damage?”
  “Not too bad.”  You say.  “I had to give up something.”
  “I’ll bet.  Anything hard?  Parameters,  schedules,-”
  “No, nothing like that.”
  “Good.  You did good.  Come on, the plane is waiting.”
  You take just one backward glance at the little cottage, and sigh.