"Snapshot" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
Just a little vignette (sp?) about what I always thought The First Kiss 
would be like. This is mind-candy, folks, a little piece of fluff that 
appeared in my head tonight before ER is due to come on. Some case has 
just ended, one of those cases that takes a lot out of Our Favorite Duo. 
I'm not sure what, if any, spoilers appear herein, but assume this 
happened at the end of the third season. 
 
If ya like it, cool. Relationshippers be warned. No sex, no violence. No 
dirty words. No exploding liver- eating mutant serial killers. No 
Scully-fu. No Mulder-fu. No Skinner-fu. If ya don't like it, that's 
cool, too. Remarks, complaints, flames, etc. are welcome at 
drambo@primenet.com. It has been left open-ended. If there is enough 
call for it, I might write the next part. For those of you who have read 
"Stalkers" and "The Seducer," I know I have a bad habit of leaving 
stories unfinished, but this says "V" right at the top. :) 
 
 
 
====================================================================== 
        His need. His aching hunger. Scully had only to raise her eyes 
to his to see the hunger that was slowly leeching the life out of her 
partner...her friend. His hands were on her shoulders, the fingers 
grasping tightly, as a drowning man might grip a life preserver. He was 
neither pulling her closer nor pushing her away; Mulder held her like a 
talisman against the wolves that lurked in the shadows, eager, 
hungry...waiting. Waiting for Mulder to drop his guard, to relax for an 
instant, just for that fleeting second they would need to do their dirty 
work. 
        Time compressed. In the space between two heartbeats Scully 
experienced a thousand emotions, most of them unnamable, images and 
textures and sounds and smells...cases long filed away in the CLOSED 
cabinet, moments between her and Mulder that seemed innocent at the 
time, building blocks in the natural progression of their partnership. 
Each shared moment a square in a quilt they used to blanket themselves 
against the darkness and the coldness of the never-ending night. Scully 
remembered all the touches, the seemingly indiscriminate glances of skin 
against skin, the warm, soft pressure of Mulder's hand at the small of 
her back as they walked along a corridor, the way his eyes twinkled when 
he was teasing her, the small curl the corner of his mouth made when he 
was getting ready to zing her with a question she knew she didn't want 
to answer. 
        Unbidden, without Scully being aware of it, her hands crept up 
from her sides, palms resting on his chest. She told her brain to send 
the message to the muscles in her arms. All she would need would be the 
slightest pressure, no more force than then a whisper, and Mulder would 
pull away. He would feel her distancing herself, putting the wall back 
up where it belonged. And as always, he would respect her position and 
step away, trailing his fingers down her shoulder, across her arm, until 
there was nothing left, nothing but a fat, empty space between them that 
could be measured with a micrometer. 
        Mulder felt Scully's heartbeat through his fingers, her 
lifeblood pulsing in some unnamed vein beneath his fingers. He was only 
slightly startled to realize that his heart...somehow... had 
synchronized with hers, and they were beating in tandem...as one. 
        "Scul-" he started to say, but before he could form the last 
syllable of her name, quicker than Mulder had ever seen her move, Dana 
reached up and put two fingers across his lips, silencing him. 
        "Shhhh," she whispered, afraid that if she actually spoke the 
thought that was tripping across her mind that it would break the 
fragile spell cast between them. 
        She leaned forward, turning her head to the side, placing one 
ear against his chest. Once she was sure that he wasn't going to say 
anything, Scully lowered her hand to his chest once again. She was not 
surprised to find their heartbeats joined. It all made sense somehow. 
        In that moment, the complications erased themselves from 
Scully's mind as neatly as if they had been written in disappearing ink. 
Gone was the thought that two professionals engaged in the active 
investigations of the paranormal should not feel the way that she felt 
about Mulder and she knew he felt about her. Gone was the fear that if 
her innermost thoughts, that little voice that spoke only in the wolf 
hours of the night when the only thing to talk to was the cold pillow on 
the empty side of her bed, were known to the Powers That Be that it 
would be a matter of seconds before she and Mulder were reassigned to 
different time zones. Gone was the fear that if they admitted what was 
in their hearts, in their souls, that it would somehow compromise what 
they had. 
        Dana smiled ruefully into Fox's chest. It was such a 
contradiction, such a conundrum. At times, her relationship with Mulder 
was so deliciously understated, the most important things being left 
unsaid rather than said, the voices of their two souls speaking in the 
spaces between their audible words. And at times, times like these, it 
was so maddeningly frustrating...being unable to feel his arms wrap 
around her, being unable to take solace and comfort in his warmth, his 
stoic heroism. 
        Mulder dropped his chin, his view filled with Scully's coppery 
hair, the scent of her shampoo, and faintly, beneath that, the flower-
spice-sand smell of Dana Katherine Scully filling his nose. He felt the 
warmth of her pressed against him, not too much, not so much that his 
body's autonomic reactions would take over and create a... pressing 
embarrassment. 
        His mind was filled with images as well. Not the images that he 
would have suspected when this moment finally arrived. Any man, he knew, 
that was forced by circumstance to work in close proximity with a 
beautiful, intelligent and just damn outright sexy woman as Scully would 
have the occasional fantasy, the occasional daydream wondering What It 
Would Be Like. It was human nature, after all, and no matter what else 
had happened in the last four years, Mulder was reasonably certain that 
he was, in fact, still a human being. 
        He turned his face to the side, pressing his cheek against the 
top of Scully's head, feeling the spider's tickle of her hair against 
his stubbly jaw. He sighed, not out of desperation or frustration, but 
out of contentment. 
        Was the wanting enough? he asked himself. Was the simple fact 
that he wanted Dana in his life in every single way possible enough? Was 
it enough that she knew how he felt without either of the ever having 
actually mouthed the words? Snide remarks and adolescent teasing aside, 
Mulder knew that Scully realized how he felt, how important she was to 
him. And her eyes had answered his a thousand times, speaking softly, 
undetected beneath the argument and discussions and debates about 
theories and procedures and whose damn turn it was, anyway, to do the 
paperwork, or buy the pizza, or pick the rental movie.
         She had become such an utterly required part of his life in 
these 48 or 50 months...the mushy part of him wanted to sit down and 
think about how Scully was his soul mate, his other half, the person 
that completed him, that made him whole. But those were words, concepts, 
constructs built by society in an attempt to define something Mulder 
knew in his bones that was ultimately unable to be categorized, 
quantified or explained. 
        Scully simply was. 
        They simply...were. 
        "This can't happen," Scully whispered. She felt Mulder move 
against her, felt him starting to pull away. Her palms closed, catching 
his shirt. She held him where he was, quickly adding, "No. Let me 
finish." 
        Mulder froze, his mind in agony. He knew she was not denying 
him, she was not pushing HIM away. She was not rejecting him as a man, 
as a person, or as her partner. She was...what? His mind struggled to 
find a phrase, a word, a description for what Scully was doing. 
        "It's not that I don't want....it," she whispered, struggling as 
he was to find the words. "It's...just not time yet, Mulder." 
        When will it <be> time? Scully's mind asked, but she had no 
answer. "I don't know if there ever _will_ be a time, Mulder," she 
whispered again, feeling the hot sting of the tears as they stared to 
fill her eyes. "I have to believe that there will be a time and a place 
for...this. Part of me wants it so bad I can taste it. I can see it in 
my mind, every detail, every day and night spent together, our..." She 
paused, feeling the word lodge in her throat, a huge lump she had to 
swallow to speak around, "...love filling every corner of our lives. But 
not yet Mulder...not until..." 
        And, astonishing them both, Mulder finished the thought. 
"...we're healed." 
        Scully's head snapped back, her blue eyes tracking and locking 
with his hazel ones. "Yes," she whispered. "That's it exactly. We're 
both so..." 
        "...wounded," he finished. "Neither of us has..." 
        "...joy," Scully added. Mulder nodded. "Neither of us is ready 
for the actual...maintenance of that...kind of relationship." 
        Mulder nodded. She saw something move behind his eyes, and again 
unbidden, her hand reached up to caress his cheek. "It doesn't have to 
do with Samantha...or Melissa...or your father...or my father, even." 
Mulder nodded, his eyes encouraging her, begging her to talk it out, to 
finish it, so they could put it in a box until they needed it. Until 
they were able to deal with it the way it _deserved_ to be dealt with. 
        "It's not the lies and the secrets...or the shadow government 
dogging our every step...it's not about who's apartment is less likely 
to be bugged...it's not about Pendrall, or Phoebe, or Jack...or any of 
the people in our pasts, Mulder. It's about..." 
        "...us," he finished. He lowered his head until their foreheads 
touched. He closed his eyes, his whispers blowing warm breath across her 
face, tickling her eyebrows and the fine, almost invisible hairs above 
her upper lip. 
        "Don't you know how much I want to?" Scully asked, and then 
answered herself. "Of course you do. I can feel it on you, Mulder. It's 
caressing me...I can feel your need, your want, and it matches my own." 
        Her next sentence was spoken through gritted teeth. 
        "But. Now. Is. Not. The. Time." 
        Mulder chuckled against her. "Who you trying to convince, 
Scully? Me or you?" 
        Scully opened her eyes and pulled back, her expression 
beseeching. "Both of us, Mulder...I know you understand. I know you do." 
        Lips pursed, Mulder nodded once...twice. 
        "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse, ragged. "I do." 
        Scully saw the pain rear up behind his eyes, and she knew it 
wasn't the pain of rejection or abandonment. It was something else, 
something so much more primal and animalistic. 
        "But before we go," she whispered, one hand sliding up over his 
chest, across his shoulder, cupping his neck, "...just once. Just one 
little one." 
        "A test one," Mulder offered, slowly lowering his head. They 
approached each other slowly, by fractions of inches. Mulder noticed 
Scully's eyelids drooping, her gaze focused on his lips. His entire body 
trembled in anticipation, a tuning fork vibrating in syncopation. 
        They had never kissed before, Scully thought, yet we are doing 
it as if we had a thousand times previously. And she knew, in both their 
minds and hearts, they had. 
        Mulder waited until their lips were a scant inch apart, and then 
whispered, "I love you, Dana," before capturing her mouth with his own. 
Scully had intended it to be a little kiss, a slight pressing, some 
gentle osculating, and then a quick parting so they could both go home 
and dream about this kiss for the next month. 
        At the first press of his lips, Scully felt something inside her 
belly uncoil and shift, sending slippery tentacles of warmth sliding 
through her limbs. Her fingers, stroking the small hairs at the back of 
his neck, felt charged...electric, somehow. A sound, the hungry groan of 
a feeding animal, escaped her lips, and she felt herself slowly moving 
closer to him, pressing her body against his. 
        The one hand still against Mulder's chest curled even tighter, 
and she used the leverage to pull him against her, harder. The kiss 
deepened, and Scully felt as if this was the only moment in time that 
had ever existed; that every single thing in her life, every single 
decision she had ever made, to go to medical school, to join the FBI, to 
accept assignment to the X-Files, every little decision down to the 
choice of which shoes to wear this morning had existed for the singular 
reason to bring her to this time, this place, with this man. 
        Mulder's mind was spinning, and then slowly, the energy 
rocketing across the synapses of his brain gathered into his cortex and 
vanished into the bioelectric mist. Nothing existed but Scully's mouth, 
the warmth and softness of her lips, the gentle, snug pressure of her 
petite body against his. Gone were thoughts of his missing sister and 
dead father. Gone were worries about the shadow government, Mr. X, 
Skinner, the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation. There was nothing 
but...happiness. Satisfaction. Completeness. They fit together like the 
precision-machined interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her lips made 
for his, his for hers. 
        A moment approached, and they both saw it over the horizon of 
their mind's eye. A point in time, a divergence in the reality of this 
moment, and the harsher, starker reality of what could only be described 
as "After." There was no yesterday, no tomorrow, only Before and After 
this kiss. As he fell into the kiss slightly deeper, Mulder saw that the 
approaching point was not a point at all, but a fork, a place where the 
current path diverged. To the left, in his mind, was one possible future 
After, to the right another. One choice meant giving up his pursuit of 
the truth, his seemingly never-ending crusade to discover who and what 
was responsible for Samantha's disappearance. On that path, the Kiss was 
the first of many, a single step in the logical progression towards what 
both their hearts wanted, what both their souls hungered for. It was a 
life of home, hearth, family, children, normal jobs with normal hours, 
the occasional barbecue, and buying a new car every five years. It was a 
life of being together with Scully, as they were meant to be together, 
as man and wife. 
        And at the same point, the same divergence, lay another path, a 
path marked by the continuation of his quest, the endless pursuit of 
what was right, what was truth. On that path, the Kiss was a singular 
event, a cherished memory dragged out in the darkest hours before the 
breaking of the dawn, a warm morsel of comfort and love to be secreted 
and harbored for the storms that were to come. Their lives were to be 
much the same, with a certain knowledge now possessed, but a life of 
greasy spoons in far-away cities and towns, nights spent alone in hotel 
rooms, clutching pillows to chests to ward off the cackling calls of the 
spirits of the night. A chance to discover what he had set out to, a 
chance, perhaps, after that, to circle around once again and take the 
first path, the path that his heart truly wanted. 
        In the end, the decision was made for him. 
        Scully lightened the pressure and started to pull away, and then 
came back at him again, her own hunger surprising her only for an 
instant. Her mind saw the same point approaching, but the signs were 
labeled differently. To the left, she saw them together, married, with 
children and a home and a life, but she saw something else, she saw the 
emptiness in Mulder's eyes, saw how he had abandoned Samantha for her 
when he was so close, how he would always wonder if the tradeoff had 
been fair, if had been just and right. She knew that on the surface, 
they would be happy, they would be together as one forever. 
        But on the right, the other path, the other choice, in it Scully 
saw what was to be, what had to be. The chase would continue, and they 
would be together. Even though the temptation would be almost too much 
to resist, she knew they would. The truth demanded discovery, and she 
wanted to be by his side when Mulder did discover the truth. She wanted 
to help, to give him all of her, all she had to offer, so that he would 
once and for all quiet the demons that tormented his soul and raked 
their slimy, razor-sharp fingers against his heart. 
        They parted, both of them breathing heavily. Mulder watched as 
Scully licked suddenly-puffy lips, her hand coming up to wipe some of 
the moisture of the kiss away. She cocked her head to the side and 
reached up with the same hand, using her thumb to remove the small smear 
of her lipstick that stained the corner of his mouth. 
        "Wow," he whispered, his eyes wide, his surprise and arousal 
genuine and obvious. 
        "Wow is right, Mulder," Scully whispered. Mulder blinked, and 
took a step back, turning away from her, going back towards his desk. 
She reached a hand out and caught his arm, slowly turning him back to 
face her. 
        "The most incredible moment of my life, Mulder," she whispered, 
capturing his eyes with her own once again. She smiled softly, waiting 
for his own return grin before continuing. "I can't say when it will 
happen again...we can't go where we want to right now, Mulder...but when 
the time is right...I'll be by your side." 
        "I know," he nodded, his hand aching to reach out and reel her 
back into his embrace once again. "I know, Scully." 
        Scully smiled and tapped his chest with her palm once, twice, 
and then turned to go back to her desk. Her trenchcoat and briefcase 
were waiting, right next to her zippered laptop case. "Go home, change, 
and pick up the movies, Mulder. I'll order the pizza for about an hour." 
She turned to leave, not trusting herself to look back over her 
shoulder. At the door, she paused. 
        "Mulder?" 
        "Yeah, Scully?" 
        "Two things. First...don't get anything romantic or mushy, all 
right? I'm in the mood for something with a little action in it." She 
heard an assenting, surprised grunt from Mulder. 
        "What's the other?" he asked. 
        Scully took a breath, and turned to face him. Even at this 
distance, he affected her. She could feel his power, his electricity 
reaching across the office towards her, dragging her back into his arms. 
        "I love you, too," she said, and then opened the door and 
marched through, closing it securely behind her.

END---------

As always, comments, suggestions, etc., continue to be welcome:
drambo@primenet.com

"Snapshot II:After" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
A continuation of "Snapshot," which received wide, critical acclaim. 
 
OK...three letters. But they were all positive! :) 
 
This is another piece of mindless fluff. No sex, but there is some 
talking about...stuff. No spoilers that I'm aware of. 
Several episodes referred to tangentially...but nothing revealed. No 
mutant liver-eating serial killers. No Scully-Fu. No Mulder-Fu. No 
Skinner-Fu. No Frohicke-Fu. No exploding alien larval hives. No empty-
eyed mute alien bounty hunters to spoil the fun. No quarantine-Fu. Heavy 
discussions. MulderAngst. ScullyAngst. 
                                         
Author's Note/Preface/Whatever : This is a continuation of my short 
story "Snapshot," available on atxc, or by email from moi. It will most 
definitely help for you to know what happened in Part I of this 
potential saga, (a-yuh, right,) but suffice it to say that S&M exchanged 
a rather...interesting kiss in their office, and have now decided to 
repair to Dana's apartment for movies/pizza/beer and probably some 
MulderAngst and ScullyAngst in the middle of this burgeoning MSR/SST 
(Spoken Sexual Tension) story. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
        Mulder closed his eyes the same instant the door clicked closed 
behind her. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. 
Staggering, Mulder made his way to his chair and collapsed into it. On 
automatic pilot, his hand searched the small pile of sunflower seeds, 
found one, and popped it into his mouth. Mulder stared at the wall, 
focusing on nothing, seeing even less as his tongue chased the seed 
around the inside of his mouth, trying to latch onto it, seeking that 
satisfying crunch! 
        The thoughts and emotions swirling around inside his head fought 
for attention, for primacy, for focus. He couldn't latch on to any of 
them, so he just let them flow past in a rushing stream of feelings. 
        Well, he mused, things have certainly changed now. But how much? 
It had always been there, they both knew. That certain something between 
them, an unspoken bond, all the more powerful because it hadn't been 
discussed and analyzed like every other facet of their relationship. It 
had just grown over the days and weeks and months and years, until it 
occupied the central portion of both their souls. It was a never-ending 
voice for Mulder; he couldn't speak for Scully but he thought he might 
have an idea of what she felt when she felt... 
        What? Love? That was the word they had both used, and Mulder 
knew they had _only_ used it because it was the closest word to the 
emotion, the feeling, the...bond that they shared. It was the only 
English word close enough to even begin to describe the edges of it. It 
was like trying to explain the shape and contours of a mountain by 
pointing at a pebble. It was so much more than that...and, at the same 
time, somewhat less, as well. 
        Just the one kiss, Mulder thought. That single, electric, 
incredible kiss is supposed to last me...last _us_...until we find 
Samantha. Until we uncover the conspiracy. Until it is all finally and 
truly placed on public display. A single kiss, a stolen moment in a 
shadow-filled office in the dank basement of a government building past 
its' prime. He would horde that moment, Mulder knew. He would cherish it 
in the center of his being, in the very core of his soul. 
        He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back, replaying the 
moment over and over again in his mind: Scully lifting her face, her 
eyes lasing in and locking on his, the small smile at the corner of her 
mouth, the way her eyes were moist and full from the unbidden tears 
directed at the unfairness of their predicament, the way she had softly 
licked her own lips just before moving her head towards his, the way she 
had tilted her face to the left just enough to make that first touch 
against him so perfect. 
        His fingers remembered the silk of her hair sliding through 
them. His tongue could still taste her breath. The kiss had been meant 
as a talisman, a promise against the darkness of the nights to come. A 
symbol, you might say, a simple, profound little nothing, two friends 
sharing a moment of intimacy that was bound to occur sooner or later, a 
little ditty that meant nothing at the same time it meant everything in 
the world to Mulder. 
        He let out another deep breath and glanced at his watch. He 
snapped upright, shocked to discover that over forty minutes had passed 
since Scully had left for the night. She was expecting him at her 
apartment in less than twenty minutes, and he still had to make a stop 
at VideoHut and pick up a non-romantic, non-dangerous, action-filled 
mind-candy spectacular. 
        Mulder grabbed his car keys off the desk and stood, snapping his 
reading lamp off at the same time. Only Scully's light was still on. He 
moved to her desk, reaching for the light - 
        And stopped. She was there. At least, some remnant of her was. 
He could sense something in the air. A scent? Yes, a little something 
still hovered over Scully's desk, a mixture of cinnamon, and another, 
unnamed spice, and beneath that, a little lower down the olfactory 
register, something more primal, more...Scully. Mulder felt the 
intoxicating effect of Scully's vapor trail, and had to force himself to 
reach over and turn her light off. He glanced at his watch. 
        Forty three minutes. Shit. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana Scully killed the ignition of her three-year old Toyota 
Camrey, and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Something, she 
decided, was amiss. Oh yes...it's that _smile_ on your face, Dana. 
That's what's different. And almost as quickly as she had noticed the 
smile, it vanished, replaced instead by an expression of deep 
preplexion. Is that regret you're feeling, Dana? a little voice asked. 
Second thoughts, perhaps? 
        No, she decided. Not at all. Not for a thousand reasons, none of 
them good, none of them realistic or mature. All of them valid, though. 
        We can talk tonight, she decided. That is why he's coming over, 
promises about movies and beer and pizza be damned. We both know that 
we'll have to talk about it, to talk it out, starting around the edges 
and moving closer to the center until they would finally manage to nail 
the proverbial Jell-O to the proverbial tree. 
        And then what? 
        Life goes on as usual? Monday rolls around and the next case 
pops to the top of the deck like some demented joker? God only knew what 
was waiting out there for them next, and God wasn't telling. 
        Dana felt the pressure building inside her, felt the anxiety 
pooling in her gut, slowly marching its way north, tightening her 
chest and making her fingers tingle. The faint early throbs of what 
promised to be a killer headache were already dancing behind her eyes. 
        Why, Dana? Why can't you just let it be? Why can't you just let 
the Kiss exist in time as a perfect moment? It had been perfect, after 
all, hadn't it? 
        Yes...yes, it had. The most perfect kiss Dana could have ever 
hoped to expect from Mulder, or from any man. Someone had once said that 
"...a kiss is both a promise and a lie." Truer words had never been 
spoken, she decided. She had wanted the kiss, needed the kiss, need to 
express something to Mulder that mere words hadn't even begun to 
approach, a feeling inside her that had been struggling for expression 
for as long as she could remember. So much had happened to them 
together, as friends, as partners...as lovers. 
        Dana's head snapped upright. She'd been lost in her own gaze, 
staring at the rearview mirror for the past ten minutes. Lover? Where 
the hell had that word come from? Taking Mulder as a lover was about the 
furthest thing from her mind, for God's sake! 
        Wasn't it? 
        Shaking her head, Dana sighed in exasperation and got out of her 
car, double-checking to make sure she'd locked it. She walked quickly to 
the entrance to her building, softly laughing at herself. 
        The little voice returned. 
        You said you loved him, Dana. 
        Yeah, she answered, but I love my brothers, too. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder stood in the video store facing the Almost-But-Not-Quite-
New-Releases wall. He was at a loss. He could feel the cell phone's 
weight in his pocket, and his hand itched to retrieve it and dial 
Scully's number and ask her what movie she wanted to see. Everywhere he 
glanced were romantic, lovey-dovey movies that Mulder knew neither one 
of them could take right now. Clint Eastwood peered down from one box, 
his arm casually draped over Meryl Streep's shoulder, the box copy 
telling about a love affair that had spanned a weekend and lasted a 
decade, about a love that could never be. 
        Jesus God, Mulder thought, turning his attention to Bed of 
Roses, a Christian Slater-Mary Stuart Masterson number about a widower 
and an orphan falling in love, and then out of love, and then back into 
love amid the goings on of a Greenwich Village flowershop. The only 
other choices available seemed to be horror movies about children's toys 
coming amazingly to life and wreaking havoc or science fiction movies 
about little green men. 
        Grey, Fox silently mouthed. They're little GREY men. 
        And below that, on the left, something called a Red Shoe Diary. 
He wasn't quite sure what that was, but it definitely didn't 
seem like something Scully would be interested in. 
        Oh what the hell. It wasn't really important what movie he got; 
they weren't going to watch it anyway. It was an excuse to get them 
together so they could talk. He grabbed the first movie he could find 
and walked to the counter to pay. 
 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Scully raised her face from the sink and looked in the mirror, 
making sure she had gotten the last traces of makeup off. Satisfied, she 
reached down and grabbed a scrunchy, quickly threading a ponytail. Hands 
on hips, she regarded herself in the mirror. The Marine Barracks, 
Quantico sweatshirt was comfortable and familiar. The FBI Hostage Rescue 
Team sweat pants were equally soft and worn. Bare feet completed 
her....outfit, and the overall effect was what she had been shooting 
for. Relaxed, casual, but not sexy in any way, shape or form. 
        No use torturing the man, Dana thought to herself, grinning. 
        Who's kidding who, her mind answered a moment later. You want 
him as bad as you hope he wants you, and you know it. 
        And there, my dear, was the crux of the problem. Scully thought 
back to her last relationship, the last time she had been... 
with someone, as the quaint phrase went. She could remember the 
attraction, the arousal, the desire she felt for Jack. But that was 
somehow less than what she felt now, today, tonight, for Fox Mulder. 
Jack had been...chemistry. Physics. Motion times erotic force equaled 
pleasure divided by regrets. Mulder touched something inside her, a 
spiritual switch that Dana hadn't known she had until that maddening man 
on the other side of her office had reached over and casually flicked it 
ON as if he'd been changing the channels on a television. 
        Scully leaned on the sink and stared closely at her own face in 
the mirror. At first, she remembered, the reception had been a little 
fuzzy. The radar hadn't been picking up very well. Slowly, over time, as 
the shared experiences built upon themselves, the signal got clearer and 
clearer. 
        Scully couldn't remember a time when Mulder hadn't been in her 
life, or in her heart. At first, she had attributed it to the natural 
closeness that two partners shared...but her little voice, that damned 
nagging little life-narrator who always insisted on inserting her 
blithe, pithy little comments into every facet of Dana's life hadn't let 
her get away with that for very long, no sir indeed. 
        They had never made love, and as far as Dana was concerned, 
there was neither a rush nor any immediate plans to change that 
particular fact. But one single truth remained: Despite the lack of what 
could only be called the textbook description of physical intimacy, she 
and Mulder _were_ lovers. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder parked his car in one of the two open guests spots and 
killed the engine. He grabbed the rental movie and headed into the 
building, thumbing through the keys on his ring as he walked. Something 
inside of him screamed for him to knock on Scully's door, to ask 
permission to enter what was, after all, her inner sanctum. But he also 
knew that he'd been letting himself in for so long that to change 
anything now would send a signal to Dana that he'd rather avoid sending. 
        The key slid into the lock as if it had been oiled. The cylinder 
turned, the door opened, Mulder entered the apartment, took four steps, 
turned to see Scully walking out of her kitchen, locked eyes with her 
and- 
        Was gone. The keys clattered to the floor, followed by the thump 
of the clamshell video case. Mulder took a step towards Scully, she a 
step towards him, and half a step later she was in his arms, her arms 
coming around him, her palms flat against his back, pulling him _to_ 
her, against her, his own hands in her hair, finding the scrunchy and 
sliding it off the ponytail in single, smooth motion, her hair cascading 
around her neck, his fingers in it, his nails scraping her scalp, 
sending a chill from the top of Dana's head to the tips of her toes as 
she lifted her mouth to his descending one. 
        Dana's thoughts jumbled together, and then vanished as Mulder's 
mouth captured hers once again. This time is was different...familiar, 
but better, somehow. His lips were known to her now, but she wanted to 
learn every single thing about them all over again, again and again, 
every single day for the rest of her life. Her arms came up around his, 
linked around his neck and pulled him down even closer. She felt the 
hunger building inside her, threatening to rear up and take control, and 
she pushed it back down, using every single possible control mechanism 
she had, fighting it, wanting to keep it pitched at a certain level, 
just under the boiling point. 
        Mulder held her in his arms, his hands massaging her back, and 
then sliding lower. His right hand felt the curve of her buttocks, and 
he lowered it, capturing her supple cheek with his hand and squeezing. 
He felt her stiffen, and knew that it wasn't that she didn't want him 
touching her there, but that she DID want him touching her there, wanted 
him to take both cheeks in his hands, wanted him to palm them and 
massage them and use them to pull her against his aching, pulsing need. 
And that same silent, spiritual communication that they had shared from 
day one telegraphed her real want, her real desire to prolong this 
delicious tease as long as possible without going overboard, and he 
obeyed that wish, surprised to discover that he wanted it too, that he 
wanted to just kiss Scully. 
        As if this kiss could be called 'just' anything. 
        Scully's hands were at his jacket now, pushing it off his 
shoulders. It fell in a dark grey fabric puddle at his feet as Scully 
used her body to push him towards the couch. 
        The fell onto the couch in slow motion, a slowly collapsing 
collection of knees and elbows and arms and lips. Mulder had his back 
against the side, Scully shifting until she was almost on top of him, 
her body trapped between him and the couch. 
        The kiss deepened, lengthened, grew and expanded. Everything 
ceased to exist except her lips, the tickle of her breath on his cheek 
from her nose, the way her fingers were running through his hair, the 
way her other hand was on his hip, her fingertips just brushing the edge 
of his butt, gently pulling him against her harder, more insistently. 
        Just as suddenly as it had began, the kiss ended. With mutual, 
unspoken agreement, they broke apart, both of them panting, each of them 
staring into the other's eyes. Mulder thought he had never seen a more 
beautiful shade of blue in his life. 
        "Welcome back," Scully smiled. "I had no idea how much I..." 
        "...needed that..." Mulder gasped. 
        "...needed it, until I saw you." 
        "I know." 
        "Sorry, Mulder. I know I said only one..." 
        "One was never an option, Scully." 
        Scully bit her tongue and silently nodded. 
        Mulder was suddenly aware that the most significant evidence of 
his arousal was pushing against her, and he moved, trying to relieve the 
pressure. 
        Dana frowned. "Don't...don't move, Mulder. Don't deny it... 
don't deny your wants. I need to feel that...against me. I need to 
know it's there." 
        "Oh, it's there all right, Scully." 
        She smiled, a soft, embarrassed grin, and pressed her face 
against his chest. Mulder was still squirming against her. 
        "Mulder, stop!" 
        "I'm sorry, it's just that-" 
        Scully reached down and took his right hand in her left, and 
brought it to her waist. Lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, she slid his 
hand underneath it, upwards, until his fingers grazed the bottom of her 
breast. 
        Mulder gasped, his eyes closing. His arm suddenly stopped 
moving, and Scully had to tug on it to accomplish what he had intended. 
The hot, hard points of her own arousal were now pressed against the 
palm of Mulder's hand. 
        "See? Me, too." 
        "Scully...please...this is...too...too much!" Reluctantly, she 
let go of his hand, and a moment later it was outside her shirt, 
resting on the relatively safe arc of her left buttock.
        "We agreed," he started, and then stopped, knowing how absurd 
that must have sounded. 
        "Mulder...it's all right. We need to do these things as... we 
need to do them, I guess." She looked deeply into his eyes. "You don't 
want to make love to me, do you?" 
        Mulder knew what she meant. "No. Not tonight. I mean...I do want 
you, but I don't want to...not tonight." 
        "I  know. We'll know when it's right, Mulder. And for tonight, 
sitting here on this couch with you, feeling your hunger pressing 
against me, feeling your lips on mine, feeling your fingers in my 
hair...that's what's right for tonight." 
        Mulder returned her gaze for a long, silent moment, and then 
nodded. 
        "Can't argue with that," he said, lowering his mouth to hers. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
End Part II 
 
Email is encouraged. :) All kinds. Flames, comments, suggestions, 
etcetera and so forth.

 "Snapshot III:Decisions" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
A continuation of "Snapshot," which received wide, critical acclaim. 
 
OK...seven letters. But they were all positive! :) 
 
This is another piece of mindless fluff. No sex, but there is some 
talking about...stuff. No violence, although off-screen violence 
committed by another actor is discussed. No spoilers that I'm aware of. 
Several episodes referred to tangentially...but nothing revealed. No 
mutant liver-eating serial killers. No Scully-Fu. No Mulder-Fu. No 
Skinner-Fu. No Frohicke-Fu. No exploding alien larval hives. No empty- 
eyed mute alien bounty hunters to spoil the fun. No quarantine-Fu. Heavy 
discussions. MulderAngst. ScullyAngst. 
 
Author's Note/Preface/Whatever : This is a continuation of a story 
that was in itself a continuation of a story. This is part III of 
"Snapshot," a little vignette (sp?) series depicting special moments 
between our favorite duo. The first two parts are available on atxc, 
or via email from moi. Anti-relationshippers be warned, there be 
tygers here. The story thus far: Scully and Mulder have shared a 
rather interesting kiss in their office, and expressed some pretty 
deeply-held emotions for each other. They decide to meet later at 
Scully's apartment for movies/beer/pizza, and when Mulder walks in the 
door with the rental movie, all is forgotten once they lay eyes on 
each other...this is what happens after "Snapshots II:After." 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
        They had finally gotten up to watch the rental movie. It was 
one of those direct-to-video nightmares starring the younger brothers 
and sisters of more well-known movie stars, and was filled with inane 
situations, stupefying dialogue and plots that could have been figured 
out in an instant if all the characters didn't posses sub-room-
temperature 
IQ's. 
        Neither of them saw a single frame of the movie. Scully's head 
was against his chest, her fingers making little circles through his 
shirt. 
Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, staring at some middle distance between 
the television and her heart. Mulder's hand was at the back of her neck, 
his fingers lightly grazing the skin there, the follicles standing at 
attention, awaiting their orders from the army of goosebumps his touch 
raised. Scully closed her eyes, wondering if it were possible for her to 
actually start purring. 
        Her thoughts drifted back over the events of the last few 
hours, and she felt herself snuggling closer to Mulder, the memories 
making her want to be as close to his body as possible. For close to 
an hour they had slowly discovered as much about each other as they 
dared. They could feel that moment coming, slowly approaching over the 
horizon, and they both knew that their promises to each other 
whispered in the office might have to be broken, and soon, or they 
might both go slowly insane. Pleasure delayed, someone once said, is 
pleasure denied. 
        With a start, Scully realized that she was staring at a 
television screen filled with nothing but the white snowy streaks of 
static. The movie had ended, the VCR had auto-rewinded, and then 
faithfully turned itself off. Without wanting to know what time it 
was, Scully glanced at her watch. 
        It was half past nine, both too early and too late. Too early, 
because Dana desperately wanted Mulder to stay, to stay all night if 
he wanted. Almost too late, because if he stayed much longer, he would 
want to stay all night, and they both knew what would happen if he 
did. 
        "Mulder-" she said, moving slightly away. 
        "I know. I'm just about outta here, Scully. I just..." 
        She laughed softly. "I know. Didn't want to disturb me." 
        He nodded. 
        "Tomorrow?" she asked, the unspoken hope clear in her voice. 
        He shook his head. "I have to requalify. I've been putting it 
off for months, and Skinner has insisted that I finally get it done, 
or he's going to personally write me up." 
        "I could-" 
        "Scully...he's going to be there." Mulder paused, knowing what 
he had to say next was going to be difficult for the both of them, but 
he knew it had to be said, it had to be spoken aloud, brought out from 
the soft, comfortable corners into the light. "Until we can figure out 
how we're going to...deal with this, I don't think we should be near 
ANY FBI facility together. We need this time apart, Scully...we need 
to..." 
        "Decompress," she finished, nodding in agreement. She looked 
away, suddenly feeling sad. 
        Mulder reached over with his free hand, his fingers finding 
her chin. He turned her face towards him slowly, finding her eyes with 
his. "You know there's no place I'd rather be than with you." 
        "I know." It happened again. Just looking at her face, falling 
into her eyes, was all that it took. He felt his breath locking in his 
chest, his aching hunger consuming him, drawing him to her, a 
combination of magnetism and chemistry too powerful to resist. Their 
lips touched softly, and for the first time, Mulder felt the soft, 
moist tip of Scully's tongue slowly tracing the outline of his bottom 
lip. The feeling was so shocking, so erotically charged that he pulled 
back as if burned, his hand going to his mouth. 
        "Whoa," he whispered. Scully's smile was enigmatic, a sphinx's 
teasing grin, promising so much more given half the chance. Mulder's 
breath returned to him in stages. He closed his eyes, imagining that 
warmth and silky moisture elsewhere on his body, and let out a deep, 
shuddering sigh. 
        "I have to go...now." 
        He stood, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, Scully took it, 
letting him pull her off the couch. He found his jacket and slipped 
into it, his hand automatically going to the holstered pistol on his 
hip, adjusting it, tugging it into position. He walked to the door, 
stopping to bend down and grab his keys off the floor. He reached for 
the knob and stopped, wanting to say something else, something more, 
and found that the words in his mouth had deserted him as he felt her 
arms circling his waist from behind, first her chin, and then the side 
of her face against the middle of his back. 
        "I want you to stay," she whispered. 
        "And that's why I have to go," he answered, just as softly. He 
felt her nod against him, and without looking back he turned the knob, 
opened the door, and stepped out of her embrace. His steps were 
deliberate as he walked down the hall to the stairs. He stopped at the 
landing and turned back, knowing what he would see: Scully, holding 
the edge of the door against her face, staring at him. 
        He felt the sudden urge to blow her a kiss, but didn't. 
Instead, he smiled. Scully gave him a little wave and closed the door. 
A moment later he heard the deadbolt snick! into place. 
        Mulder sighed and started down the stairs. 
 
                                      *** 
                                The Next Morning 
 
        Dana opened her eyes slowly, not ready to greet the new day 
quite yet. In the hazy layer between sleep and wakefulness, she knew 
that she had dreamed about Mulder, had dreamed about being in his 
arms, had dreamed about the feel of his naked body against hers. She 
woke to find herself clutching the spare pillow, and smiled at it, 
wondering if she should ask if had been good for the pillow, too. 
        She sat up in bed, the sheet falling away to reveal her usual 
sleeping attire: A VICAP T-shirt and a pair of USMC red running 
shorts. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Scully started the coffee 
and headed for the bathroom, eager to get in the shower and start the 
day. It was so rare that she had a weekend completely off, and Scully 
wanted to take full advantage of the time. 
        The water was hot and plentiful, and before long the tiny 
bathroom filled with steam. She slid the curtain back and got in, 
letting the water hit her in the face and cascade down her petite 
body. 
        Heat. 
        Moisture. 
        Standing there in the shower was like bathing in one of 
Mulder's kisses, she thought, and immediately let out a giggle. God, 
I haven't giggled since high school. But it feels so good to feel this 
wonderful. I sure as hell don't know what tomorrow's going to bring, 
but I do know that I feel wonderful today, and that's all that 
matters. 
        Taking the soap, Scully started on her hands and arms, working 
the suds into her skin, seeking that refreshing, clean feeling the 
shower always gave her. She trailed the bar up her arm, into the 
crease of her elbow and... 
        Suddenly Dana had an incredible body memory, a flashback to 
the night before when she and Mulder had been on the couch necking 
like a pair of hormonally-charged teenagers. He had been tickling the 
palm of her hand with his fingers as his mouth had moved against hers, 
tasting her lips, teasing them, and then his hand had slowly moved up 
her arm, not actually touching her skin, just close enough to rake the 
fine hairs on her arm backwards until his fingers had encountered the 
crease of her elbow. He had traced the crease so incredibly gently, so 
lightly that Dana had to concentrate to remember if he had actually 
touched her skin, or if the heat from his fingers had somehow 
transmitted itself to her body without physical contact. She 
remembered the feeling inside her center, her core, as the heat and 
moisture there had slowly welled up and consumed her, a melting, 
dissolving feeling that had made her swoon. 
        God, had any man ever touched me like that before? she 
wondered. Just that she had to ask that question made Scully smile in 
the shower. Mulder had erased any memories of previous lovers. The way 
he touched her...with respect, with consideration, the way he moved 
with her, at her pace, never pushing, never asking for more than she 
was willing to give, knowing that at any moment he could do something 
to her, touch her in a certain way and she would dissolve into a 
puddle of writhing, naked need...and yet, he waited for her to join 
him in that place, that special moment when they would take each other 
for the first time, when they would join as one- 
        The way his hunger fed off hers. She tried to remember the way 
it was with Jack, and frowned. When compared to Mulder, Jack seemed 
like a Neanderthal jackass. He'd been pushy, insistent, fully 
expecting that Dana be ready for him, ready to join him in whatever 
particular frenzy he was feeling. She remembered feeling rushed and 
blaming herself, making if not faked, then at least exaggerated little 
noises of pleasure during the entire ordeal. 
        Ordeal? She nodded dumbly in the warm stream of water. 
Compared to Mulder, her time with Jack _had_ been an ordeal. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder awoke to greet the new day in the same place he did 
every morning: crashed out on his couch. But for the first time in 
recent memory, he'd slept through the entire night. He glanced at his 
watch and saw that he had about ninety minutes until Skinner expected 
him at Quantico. That gave him about twenty minutes to shower and 
change, get out the door, get some semblance of a breakfast and make 
it to the range in time. 
        He bounded off the couch, shedding clothes as he went, and 
started the shower running. Running some cold water to brush his 
teeth, Mulder was greeted by a sight in the mirror he hadn't seen in a 
while. An actual smile. It was small, a little teasing thing at the 
corners of his mouth, more visible in the depths of his eyes than on 
his face, but it was there. He could see it, could sense his own 
happiness. 
        The water was warm and welcome, and Mulder luxuriated in it, 
using the soap quickly, efficiently. He was washing his chest, 
studying the way the soap made little fluffy bubbles in his chest hair 
when he remembered the way Scully's fingers had teased him there 
through the shirt, as if her fingers had wanted to burrow through the 
material and reach skin. His morning erection, usually an unwelcome 
visitor each morning, made a return appearance, bobbing back to life. 
He considered doing what he had done on more than one occasion, as 
many men had through the ages, considered taking care of the problem 
in the quickest, most efficient way possible. But somehow, today, this 
morning, that seemed like... 
        Sacrilege. Like it was somehow...cheating. 
        He didn't want to release that energy inside him, didn't want 
to do anything that might cloud his spiritual connection to Dana. And 
that, doing what was at the same time both natural and just a little 
unseemly, might color the edges of what he was feeling, might somehow 
cast an oily cast on the memories. 
        Shrugging, Mulder leaned forward and did what men in his 
current predicament had been doing since the invention of inside 
plumbing. He cranked the hot water handle all the way to OFF and 
waited for the suddenly icy stream to do its business. 
        "Sweet Jesus GOD!" he screamed out, gritting his teeth, trying 
to outlast the shivering. Finally, he cranked the cold tap all the way 
to OFF, grabbed a towel and jumped out of the shower, his teeth 
chattering. 
        The things I do for love, he thought, grinning as the word 
made its way across the synapses of his brain. He glanced at his watch 
again upon entering his bedroom, and saw that he had less than ten 
minutes to spare. 
        He dressed quickly, selecting jeans and a turtleneck from his 
wardrobe, and (thankfully) remembering his Bureau-issue Smith & Wesson 
10mm pistol on the way out the door. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The FBI pistol range at Marine Barracks, Quantico, Virginia, 
had been built just before the J. Edgar Hoover building, and it was 
showing it's age. Thirty firing lanes, each of them with an electric 
motor controlling a laundry-line-like assembly that held the targets 
at the various ranges needed to qualify. Mulder quickly reviewed the 
range safety procedures with the safety officer, and nodded as the 
man explained what he would have to do. 
        "Ten rounds each within ten seconds at three, five, eight, ten 
and twenty five yards. Then rapid fire, twenty rounds at the same 
distance. Any score less than two hundred and eighty means you fail, 
and have to requalify." The man looked at his clipboard, found 
Mulder's name and frowned. "Although, according to our records, 
Special Agent Mulder, if you fail to qualify today...we'll have to 
make a call to your SAC and let them know." 
        "I know, I know," Mulder muttered, annoyed. "I've been putting 
it off-" 
        "Well, no time like the present. Lane six is ready, Agent 
Mulder." 
        Mulder nodded, taking the three boxes of ammunition the man 
held in his hand. "Any last suggestions?" 
        The range safety officer thought a moment. "Pretend the target 
is someone trying to hurt someone you love. That always works for me. 
You've got five minutes to prepare, Mulder, and then the first whistle 
goes. Get cracking." 
        Mulder walked to lane six, and opened the three boxes of ammo, 
stacking the little Styrofoam carriers full of 10mm cartridges in a 
neat little pile. He reached for his pistol and removed it from the 
holster, thumbing the magazine release. The slim clip fell into his 
hands, and he quickly thumbed off the ten duty rounds, rapidly 
replacing them with the less-powerful qualifying ammunition. He loaded 
his spare magazine as well, wanting that one full so he could 
concentrate on the "basics" as he took his shots. He put on the 
protective goggles, and then the muff-like ear guards. 
        '...imagine it's someone trying to hurt someone you love..' 
the range officer had said. Mulder had no problem imaging someone 
trying to hurt Dana. The list of those that had placed his partner, 
his friend...his lover...in harms' way was seemingly endless, starting 
with that- 
        "Ready on the left!" came the voice of the range safety 
officer from a hidden PA speaker. 
        - black lunged - 
        "Ready on the right!" the voice continued. 
        - son of a - 
        "The firing flag is up, it is waving, it is down. Fire at 
will!" 
        - BITCH! - 
        The whistle went off to Mulder's left, and the pistol was in 
his hand, coming up, finding the target. The sights aligned themselves 
automatically, and Mulder felt his finger taking the slack out of the 
trigger, felt the satisfying kick of the pistol as it went off, and 
saw the round impact the target not six feet away. He followed that 
first shot with nine more, almost faster than his eye could track. 
When the whistle blew again, signaling that ten seconds had passed, 
Mulder had already re-loaded, and was waiting for the target to move 
to five yards. 
        "Ready on the left-" the voice said slowly, carefully. Mulder 
moved his neck from side to side, getting loose. His minds eye saw the 
Bounty Hunter, that evil-looking spike held in one huge hand, and the 
whistle went off again, and once more the pistol came up on autopilot, 
found the center of the target and it went off, again and again, the 
pistol kicking back against Mulder's body, his elbows flexing to take 
the energy of the shot, not letting the barrel of the pistol rise more 
than a fraction of an inch before bringing it back on target at the 
same instant his finger pulled the trigger to maximum slack, wanting 
the trigger ready for that instant when the sights lined up again and- 
        crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! 
        The pistol emptied, the slide locked back, smoke trailing out 
of the open breech in lazy circles. 
        Mulder didn't hear, and didn't sense Skinner approaching him 
from behind. He saw the target moving out to ten yards. His hands 
quickly loaded the two magazines again, slapping one home at the same 
instant his thumb worked the slide release. The gun was ready, heavy, 
and warm. 
        "Hurt Dana will you..." he muttered, seeing Alex Krycek's face 
on the target. "Fucking son of a-" 
        "Fire at will!" the voice called, and Mulder emptied his 
pistol in less than two seconds, each shot finding its' intended mark. 
Ten little holes opened what would have been Krychek's heart had he 
been standing there. The target moved further out, out to twenty-five 
yards, almost eighty feet. It was a little white rectangle bobbing on 
the guide wire, and Mulder still didn't know that Skinner was standing 
behind him. 
        He reloaded the pistol, aware that he was going to blow the 
fucking target right off. 
        "I love her, you asshole," he whispered, once again seeing 
that nameless chain-smoking- 
        "Fire at will!" 
        The gun emptied itself in less than two seconds one more time. 
Seven seconds later the voice came over the PA again. "The firing flag 
is down, repeat down. Safety all weapons, place them on the bench and 
step back for scoring!" Panting, Mulder put the gun down on the bench 
and 
stepped back, bumping into Skinner. 
        Mulder turned, his arms already coming up, hands clenched into 
fists, before he remembered where he was and who he was facing. 
        "Sir!" he shouted. 
        Skinner didn't smile and didn't frown. He just nodded at 
Mulder. The range officer came over after a moment and reeled Mulder's 
target back in. Mulder removed his ear protection and goggles. 
        He looked at the target in amazement. "Agent Mulder, you put 
fifty rounds into this target. Forty of them into the X ring and the 
9 ring. The last ten you put in the head." He paused, unsure of what 
to say next. "Excellent shooting, Agent Mulder." 
        Mulder said nothing. He was staring at Skinner, wondering how 
much the man had overheard. 
        "I think it's safe to say that Agent Mulder has qualified, 
don't you?" Skinner said to the range officer. There was no mistaking 
his tone, and the range officer nodded. "I'd agree, sir." Turning to 
Mulder, he added, "That's all sir. I'll enter you as qualifying at the 
expert level, Mulder. Again, Excellent shooting." 
        The range officer stared at the two men. They were obviously 
not going to say anything while he was present, and he moved away, 
curious as to what was going on. 
        "Agent Mulder," Skinner started, and then stopped. "Fox," he 
said, knowing that using his first name would grab Mulder's attention. 
"Join me for lunch." 
        "Sir-" Mulder started to protest. 
        "Please," Skinner said a little more softly. "I insist." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        It was a burger-and-beer joint, complete with the multiple 
televisions mounted on hanging brackets in every corner, each tuned to 
a different sporting event. The two pool tables looked tired and worn, 
their felt faded to the color of dried grass in a late August summer. 
There were perhaps six or seven other patrons inside, all of them 
watching the Redskins game. 
        Skinner and Mulder seated themselves at a small circular table 
in the back, and waited for the waitress to come and take their drink 
orders before speaking. 
        "Very good shooting, Agent Mulder," Skinner started. "You 
seemed very...motivated." 
        Mulder said nothing, silently cursing himself for letting 
anything slip in front of this man. He didn't know what to say, so he 
said nothing. 
        Skinner waited for a reaction, and getting none, he frowned. 
Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward. "Talk to me, Mulder. I 
have to know what's going on." 
        "Nothing-" Mulder started to lie. 
        "Bullshit!" Skinner exploded, and then looked around, 
wondering if anyone had noticed. "Don't give me that, Mulder. I heard 
what you said. I was there. I was standing directly behind you. I 
heard you say that you were in love with Agent Scully." 
        "Actually, sir, what you heard me say was that I loved 'her.' 
I didn't say that I loved Scully, or that I was in love with her." 
        Skinner gritted his teeth. "Mulder, I'm not some junior G-man 
or public defender that you can bullshit with your semantics. We both 
know what you said -- if not the exact words, then the meaning behind 
them. I'll ask you again -- talk to me. Tell me what's been going on, 
and how long it's been going on. I'm only going to give you one more 
chance." 
        "Give me a minute," Fox asked, pleading with his eyes. Skinner 
nodded. Skinner's mind was not at all made up. He had been aware for a 
long time that Agents Scully and Mulder were more than just partners. 
He'd suspected once or twice that they were enjoying a romantic 
relationship, but every time he called them on the carpet to chew them 
out for some breach of Bureau protocols or procedures, he would see 
the way that Scully's eyes would flash with anger and annoyance at 
something her wayward partner had said or done, and those suspicious 
would be put to rest. Put to rest, that was, until the next time 
Skinner had an opportunity to observe them without being seen. 
        He'd seen the way they touched, the quiet little gestures, the 
way they seemed to be able to finish each other's thoughts without 
speaking. Then the suspicions would start to build again. They had... 
something, Skinner was sure, and he was going to get to the bottom of 
it once and for all. 
        "Sir," Mulder started. 
        "Mulder, call me Walter. This is strictly off the record." 
        Fox felt his eyes widening. If it was off the record, then 
there was nothing official Skinner could do with whatever he decided 
to tell the man. Well, not directly, anyway. All Skinner would have to 
do was call the Office of Professional Standards. The FBI's version of 
the Internal Affairs Divisions that plagued the cops of cities and 
towns across the country, the OPE had a very...distinct reputation 
amongst Bureau agents. 
        Mulder opened his mouth and began to speak. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
End of Part III. 
 
Comments, suggestions, questions, etc. continue to be welcome. 
drambo@primenet.com 
 
 "Snapshot IV:Discussions" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
Summary : After sharing an intimate kiss in their office, Scully and 
Mulder repaired to Dana's apartment to watch a rented movie, drink some 
imported beer and consume some stale, cold pizza. Before any of that 
could happen, they once again found themselves in each other's arms for 
some serious kissy-face. The next morning, Mulder goes to the FBI 
Qualification Range at Marine Barracks, Quantico to perform his yearly 
pistol qualification, and while invoking the faces of CSM and Krycek on 
the targets, proceeds to shoot a perfect score AND alert Assistant 
Director Skinner that something is "going on" between Our Favorite Duo. 
Skinner and Mulder go to a local Beer-n-Burger joint to hash things out, 
and that is where our story picks up. 
 
Ok...this is the continuation of "Snapshot III:Decisions," which was a 
continuation of...oh, never mind. I've been writing these little 
beginning-of-the-fanfic things for so long now they seem to write 
themselves. ANYWAY, no violence, except perhaps descriptions of events 
that happen "Off-screen." No adrvarking, to quote Joe Bob Briggs, but 
there will be some sexual contact in the PG or PG13 range. Anti- 
relationshippers be warned, there by tygers here. MulderAngst. 
ScullyAngst. SkinnerAngst. Snuggle-Bunnies. No exploding aliens. No 
green goo seeping out of orifices that shouldn't have green goo seeping 
out of them. Gratuitous deep, soul-searching discussions about the 
nature of Life, Love and Everything. 
----------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
        "The thing of it is, sir..." 
        "Walter-" Skinner interjected. 
        "Walter, then," Mulder said, finding that the word didn't fit at 
ALL in his mouth when referring to the man seated across the table from 
him. The man was _BORN_ to be called either "Sir," or "Skinner." 
        "The thing of it is..." Mulder tried again, and discovered that 
he couldn't find the words. As hard as he tried, he couldn't find the 
exact expressions, phrases, words or sentences he needed to explain to 
Skinner what was happening. Hell, Mulder thought, I'm having trouble 
explaining it to myself, let alone Skinner! 
        "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain it. It's 
not what you think, I can tell you that much." 
        "And what do I think, Agent Mulder?" Oh, we're back to Agent 
Mulder now, are we? 
        Mulder straightened. This had been coming for a long time. 
Skinner had always been a pain in the ass, even though his motives did 
seem to coincide with the X-Files and Mulder's personal agenda. He was a 
starched shirt, a "suit" in Bureau parlance, a man more concerned with 
the rules and regulations than with getting on with the solving of the 
case, than with the discovery of the Truth. His holy grail was the 
Bureau Standards and Practices, the Operations Manual for Field Agents, 
with the dozens upon dozens of forms and papers to be filled out. Cross 
the T's and dot the I's, that was Skinner's Mantra. 
        "I have no idea what you're thinking, Sir," Mulder finally said. 
Skinner cast his glance about, trying to find something to focus his 
attention on for that five seconds he needed to gather his thoughts. 
Returning his gaze to Mulder, Skinner began to speak. 
        "I've always known that you and Scully were different, Mulder. 
I've never seen a pair of partners better attuned to each other than you 
and Scully. I've never seen anyone have the abilities you two have when 
you're together and operating on all cylinders. You have no idea how 
many times I have argued your case before those above me that want to 
split you up." He saw the look in Mulder's eyes and held up a warning 
hand. "Not because of some shadowy government conspiracy, Mulder. No 
one's pulling my strings that way. They want to split you up for several 
reasons. 
        "The rumors are first on their list. Almost since your first 
case together the rumors have been flying around headquarters about you 
two. You do know that Scully's nickname is 'Mrs. Spooky,' right?" Mulder 
nodded, not sure where this was going, but willing to let Skinner have 
his say. 
        "I thought so," Skinner said softly. "The jokes and the rumors 
are almost knee deep in the place, Mulder. But I knew, or at least, I 
thought I knew you and Scully better than that. I thought you two had 
more professionalism than to fall into bed together." He held up another 
hand. "Please, let me finish. I'm not saying that I think you two are 
doing...that. As far as I know at this point, you have an unrequited 
love for Agent Scully, feelings that you have neither shared with her, 
nor indicated in any obtuse way. As far as I officially know at this 
point, you have only indicated that you love your partner." 
        He paused, thinking. "And after what you two have been through 
over the past four years, I'm not surprised. Partners, Mulder, back each 
other up. They cover for each other when necessary. They split the work, 
the paperwork, the legwork, all the way down to who stays awake on 
stakeouts and who gets to pick the radio station on road trips. I've 
been in the field, Mulder. I was with the Bank Robbery squad in Los 
Angeles and Kansas City, and with Counter Intelligence in New York. I've 
had my share of partners. I know what it means to...love your partner." 
        Mulder's eyebrows crawled up, but he said nothing, waiting for 
Skinner to get to the point. 
        "Dana Scully is...an incredible woman, Mulder. I know that. I 
saw what has gone through the times when you've either been away God 
knows where doing God knows what, and the times she's had to watch  you 
cling to life in a hospital bed. If the gossip can be believed, Mulder, 
I don't think the poor woman's had a date in four years." 
        "Two." Mulder said. "She's had two." 
        "Be that as it may, Mulder, the point remains that she has... 
melded with you, for lack of a better word. Her entire life is this job, 
the Bureau, and most importantly, you. You are her entire world. And she 
is yours. 
        "I saw what you went through when she vanished. I know how 
deeply it affected you when she returned." Skinner paused and took a sip 
of his beer, his eyes focused on the younger agent. 
        "I guess what I'm trying to say, Agent Mulder, is this. As long 
as it doesn't affect your professional working relationship, I'm willing 
to look the other way. As far as I'm concerned, it wasn't a matter of if 
you and Scully were romantically involved, but when it would happen. 
I've been giving this a lot of thought over the last year, and taking 
all things into consideration, I'm of an opinion that doesn't 
necessarily agree with published Bureau policies. 
        "I think it will make you and Scully even better at a job that 
no one has ever excelled at the way you and Scully do. I have never seen 
a pair of agents like you two, Mulder, and I know that I never will 
again. So...keep it out of the office, and off the road, and I will look 
the other way." 
        He paused. "But if I become aware of this relationship in an 
official capacity, Agent Mulder, I will have little choice in the 
matter. My protection can only go so far. If I have to 'become' aware of 
this in the course of my duties as your direct superior and an Assistant 
Director of the FBI, I will have to take action, up to and including 
separating you and Agent Scully, and transferring one or both of you to 
the opposite ends of the country."  
        He paused, took another sip, and then asked, "Do I make myself 
clear?" 
        Mulder found that his mouth was dry. He sipped his own beer and 
then answered. "Crystal clear, sir. May I ask....why?" 
        "Why what, Mulder?" 
        "Why are you taking this chance? It might come out that you knew 
and did nothing...they have ways, you know, of-" 
        Skinner snorted, wondering at the never-ending paranoia of this 
man. But, to give Mulder credit, he had more than enough reason to be 
paranoid. 
        "Quite simply, Mulder...you and Scully belong together."  
        Mulder blinked at Skinner's words, trying to assimilate them. 
        "Yes," he said softly. "I know we do." He paused. "You know I'll 
have to tell Scully...Dana about our conversation." 
        Skinner considered this. "Would you prefer me to speak with her 
separately?" 
        Mulder thought about it for less than a tenth of a second. 
"No...to be quite honest, sir, if this...topic were to come up with 
Agent Scully and yourself, I have the feeling that she would be 
mortified. Professionally embarrassed, no matter what the circumstances. 
It'd be better if I...broke it to her." 
        "Well, whatever you think is best, Mulder. Just do me a couple 
favors." 
        "I'm listening." 
        "First...take care of her. She's had a lot happen to her in her 
life, and she needs someone like you. And second, no matter what you do, 
don't let anyone else know. No one. I mean her mother, your mother, her 
brothers...no one. Is that clear?" 
        "Yes, sir. At least for now, I agree with that."  
        If Skinner took umbrage at Mulder's remarks, he didn't show it. 
He finished his beer in two huge swallows, then stood to leave.  
        "Mulder, I don't need to tell you that there are people out 
there that would take advantage of this information. Be careful." 
        "Sir," Mulder said, putting a hand out to stop him. "Thank you." 
        Skinner snorted. "Don't make me regret it, Mulder." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana had been reading a book...or more correctly, staring at the 
same paragraph, lost in thoughts and memories of Mulder when the phone 
rang. She snapped out of her reverie and reached for it. 
        "Hello?" 
        "Scully, it's me." She smiled; only Mulder's arrogance would 
allow him to start a phone conversation with THAT phrase. 
        "What's up, Mulder?" 
        There was a significant pause. 
        "We need to talk, Scully." She felt her heart plunge and then 
rebound, bouncing back up into her throat. "What's the matter, Mulder?" 
        "Not over an open line," he said, secure in his belief that 
there were people out there using radio scanners to pick up cellphone 
conversations.  
        "Ok..." Scully said. "Do you want to come over?"          
        "I'll be there in....forty minutes. Talk to you then." The line 
went dead in her ears, and Scully slowly hung the phone back up. Oh my 
god...what could have happened? Had he changed his mind? 
         Scully shut the book with a snap! and tossed it aside, drawing 
her legs up underneath her. She was suddenly very, very worried, but she 
couldn't place the reason for her concern. Trying to read Mulder's voice 
was an exercise in frustrating futility. Only when they were together, 
alone, did Mulder allow his emotions to come out in his voice. When he 
wanted to hide behind his emotions, when he wanted to mask his true 
feelings and meanings, there was no one that Scully had ever met that 
was any better at it. 
        Suddenly, Scully couldn't sit still. She got up and started 
pacing, Mulder-like, around her apartment. God, no, she thought. Mulder, 
please don't let your paranoia and guilt ruin this! It's taken us so 
long to get to this point...don't make me go back. I don't think I can! 
How would she be able to do her job, sitting across the office from 
Mulder, knowing what his lips tasted like, knowing what felt like to 
have his erection pressed against her? How would _either_ of them  be 
able to function knowing how they felt about each other? 
        Scully glanced at the clock. It was just before eleven in the 
morning. She had about half an hour, maybe a little more, and then 
Mulder would be there to tell her...what? 
        The phone rang again. Dana dashed over to it, snatching it to 
her ear. "Mulder! What is it?" she screamed. 
        "Dana? Honey?" It was her mother. 
        "Mom. Oh, God, I thought you were Mulder. Listen...I can't talk 
right now." 
        "I understand, dear. Please call me when you can, ok?" 
        "Of course." 
        They fell into silence for a moment. "Is everything all right?" 
Margaret Scully finally asked. 
        "Fine, Mom. I'll talk to you later." Dana abruptly hung up on 
her mother and stood there with the receiver still in her hand, 
wondering if she dared calling Mulder back. 
        No. He would be here soon. Do something, Dana. Make some coffee 
or tea or read a book or do something. 
        Something! 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder parked his car in the same spot he'd occupied the night 
before and bounded up the stairs to Scully's building. On the drive over 
he'd decided that his discussion with Skinner was a good thing, after 
all. It was, as far as Skinner went, out in the open now. As long as 
they were discrete, they all but had Skinner's blessing. 
        Weird. 
        He walked upstairs to the second story and used his key to let 
himself in. Scully was on the couch, legs tucked underneath her, calmly 
reading Thorton Wilder's "Our Town." 
        "Hey-" he said, and then saw her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, 
and he could see the tracks on her face where her tears has slowly slid 
her cheeks. She stood and walked over to him, sliding her arms around 
his waist, burying her face in his chest. 
        God, he smelled good, she thought. Like sweat and his aftershave 
and...gunpowder. Cordite. And Mulder. He smelled like Mulder, an 
intoxicating scent she had come to crave over the last four years, a 
teasing little olfactory treat that made her feel safe and alive 
and...wanted. She could smell that on him, too. His desire, his arousal 
at having her in his arms again. 
        "What?" she asked. The door was still open, but she had to hear. 
She had to know what he wanted, needed to tell her. 
        "Scully, what's the matter?" 
        "Why don't you tell me?" she asked, her words muffled by his 
turtleneck. "Tell me what's so important that you had to come over to my 
apartment the day after we promised each other some room, what is so 
important that you can't talk about it on an open cellphone line. Tell 
me that you've...you've...." Scully couldn't finish the sentence aloud, 
but her mind finished it for her. Tell me you've changed your mind 
Mulder. Go ahead. Make my day. Break my heart. 
        Mulder reached out with his foot and used his heel to swing the 
door shut, his arms holding Scully closer. "No...Dana, not that. Never 
that." He reached for her face, tipping her chin up with his fingers. 
"Nothing...no one...never...ever..." And then he kissed her, a soft, 
gentle, soothing kiss that inflamed them both. Suddenly her hands were 
gripping his back hard, pulling him against her. She broke the kiss, 
moving her mouth to his neck, kissing him there hungrily. 
        "Now, Mulder. Take me into the bedroom. Make love to me." 
Shocked, Mulder stepped back, holding his diminutive partner at arms 
length. "Whoa...," he said, holding a hand up. "Tell you what -- let's 
have our little talk first, and then...well...we'll see, Ok?" 
        Dana's eyes searched his, looking for the truth. He could never 
lie to her, not when she was looking at him and he at her. There was no 
way, now that they were alone, away from prying eyes, that he could hide 
his feelings, his emotions, his naked, hungry need. She saw that in his 
eyes, in the gentle crook of his smile, the way he looked at her, 
through her, encompassing her with his loving, caring gaze. No, he 
wasn't here to break her heart...it was something else, something 
equally serious...and as Dana looked even deeper inside his eyes, into 
his soul, she saw that it was something equally...dangerous. 
        And then she knew. Somehow, she knew. That silent, eclectic 
communication channel between them opened again, and the emotional data 
flew between two souls. 
        "Skinner," she whispered. 
        Mulder nodded, licking his lips. 
        "He knows," she whispered again. She turned away from Mulder, 
making her way to the couch. "Oh my god...what are we going to do?" 
Mulder moved towards her, taking her hands in his as he kneeled on the 
floor. 
        "Look at me, Scully," he whispered. Slowly, Dana raised her head 
and found his eyes. She saw the strength there, the resolve, and knew 
that whatever happened next, two things would remain true: They would be 
together, and nothing would ever eclipse their love for each other. It 
was, as far as both of them were concerned, carved in stone.  
        They were a couple. A duo. A partnership carved in stone. 
Nothing was going to change that. 
        "C'mere," she said, pulling on his hands. "I want you holding me 
when you tell me what you have to tell me." 
        Mulder moved onto the couch, taking Dana in his arms, pulling 
her against him. One hand went to her head, stroking her hair. "I guess 
I should start at the beginning." 
        He proceeded to tell her the range officer's suggestion about 
imagining someone trying to hurt someone he loved, and how that had made 
him shoot the best score he'd ever had. And how Skinner was standing 
behind him when he'd admitted to loving her. 
        "Ohhh, Mulder," Dana wailed. He could feel her tense against 
him, almost as if she wanted to pull away. He held her tighter. 
        "Scully...it's all right. We went to lunch. We talked. He 
understands, I think...even better than we do. He knows what we're like 
together...and now that we've taken this new step...we'll be even 
better." 
        Scully pushed away from him, her eyes wide, hopeful. "Y-you 
mean?" 
        "Yup...as long as we keep it professional at work, and Skinner 
doesn't become 'officially' aware...he doesn't care." 
        Scully sat completely upright. She ran a hand through her hair, 
staring at nothing in the middle distance. "Well, Mulder," she finally 
said, "If that doesn't conform to your definition of paranormal 
phenomena, I don't know what does." 
        Scully turned to face a shocked Mulder, and after a moment, they 
both burst out laughing. She collapsed back into his arms, still 
laughing, snuggling her arms around him. 
        "Well, now what?" she asked. 
        Mulder grinned into her hair. "If I remember correctly, you said 
something about making love...?" 
        Dana smiled into his chest. Good thing Mulder can't see my face 
right now, she thought. 
        "Uh...Mulder..." 
        He chuckled. "I know...it's not the time." She smiled wider, a 
genuine smile this time. "Stay right here," she said, getting up. Mulder 
watched her vanish into the bedroom. After a minute or two she came back 
wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe. She was carrying a large bath towel. She 
tossed it on the couch. 
        "You," she said, pointing a finger at her partner. "stink. You 
need to take a shower." 
        Mulder nodded. "Sure, but why are you-" The realization dawned 
him like a bubble popping. He could almost hear the poink! as the idea 
slid into his head. 
        "That's right, Mulder..." Dana turned and walked into the 
bathroom. Mulder was rooted to where he sat. He inched his head up over 
the edge of the couch and turned to look into the bathroom. 
        Scully was leaning over the edge of the tub, adjusting the taps. 
She cranked the knob over to start the shower, and then straightened, 
pulling the curtain back. 
        She walked over to the door, smiled at Mulder, turned to face 
the shower, and- 
        Dropped the robe. Mulder's eyes felt large enough to fall out of 
their sockets right onto the floor behind the couch. He saw her back, 
her legs, the soft curve of her buttocks, her dainty feet. Then she was 
gone, vanishing behind the shower curtain. 
        For the first time in his life, Mulder actually audibly gulped. 
He heard the lump in his throat working. Then a single slim arm appeared 
from behind the shower curtain. The finger pointed at Mulder, and then 
crooked once...twice. 
        Mulder stood, shedding clothes as he walked over to the 
bathroom. In his boxers, he stood in the doorway. 
        "Wash your back?" he asked. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------
- 
END PART IV 
 
comments, questions, suggestions, etc. to drambo@primenet.com 
 


 
 



"Snapshot V:Discoveries"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No
infringement is intended.

Classification: V+,MSR,A
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages)

Ok folks, this is part V in what is apparantly a never-ending saga.
Anti-relationshippers be warned: There be Tygers here. No actual sex,
but there are two instances of adult physical behavior, so be warned.
MulderAngst. A small amount of ScullyAngst. Snuggle-Bunnies. Promises
made, kisses stolen.

Lemme know if I should keep this going. Part VI is already on the
drawing pad,and when you see the ending to that part, you'll know that
part VII is "The One" that the dozen or so people that have been
writing me about this have been waiting for.

Again, I hope you enjoy this.
Dawson
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

        The bathroom started to fill with steam as Mulder slowly
entered. He could see Scully's shadow moving behind the shower
curtain, her form casting dancing figures of shadows and light against
the translucent material. His eyes traced what he could see of her
figure, the gentle slopes and curves, the way her hips gently flared,
the narrowness of her waist. He could feel his heart throbbing in his
temple...and elsewhere.
        "Mulder?" she asked. "Are you coming in or not?"
        The conversations they'd been having over the last several
days came rushing back to him. In his mind he could hear her in his
office, softly protesting that it couldn't happen now, that it wasn't
the time. And later, other conversations as they gently kissed, slowly
discovering more and more of each other. He could describe, in
exacting detail, precisely how Dana's body felt against him. Her
clothed body, that was. This new step, this exciting, dangerous new
step, would tell him, and her, so much more. Every single pore and
fiber of Mulder's body ached to join Dana behind that curtain, to drop
his shorts and bound across the room, sliding under the hot water with
her, taking the soap from her hands, gliding it up and down her back,
her arms, her legs, the soft, silken expanse of her stomach, the heavy
weight of her-
        Stop, Mulder thought, screwing his eyes shut. Stop it. Scully
was right. Now is not the time.
        "Scully," he said softly, hoping she could hear him over the
rushing water.
        "What is it, Mulder?"
        "Don't take this the wrong way -- but I don't want to take a
shower with you."
        His statement was greeted by a long moment of silence. "I
understand," she said quietly. "I'll be out in a minute." Mulder
nodded, and then felt inane because he realized she couldn't see him.
But she would know, he reminded himself. She would know. He turned and
walked back to the living room, stopping and stooping to get his
clothes. He dressed quickly, wanting a few minutes to regain his
composure before she emerged, scrubbed clean and smelling like that
shampoo she used that drove him slowly insane.
        Mulder sat on the couch, slowly chewing his lip. He was sure
that there would be a day not too far away when he would mentally kick
himself for making this most recent decision. She would know how badly
he'd wanted to get in there with her, how much he wanted to discover
all the secrets her body and soul held for him, how much he wanted to
see her face as he discovered all her special places for the first
time. There would be only one 'first' time, he knew, and it had to be
special. Perfect.
        Ten minutes later, Scully emerged from the bathroom wearing
the pink fuzzy bathrobe. She was rubbing a towel through her hair, her
lips pursed as she studied Mulder sitting on the couch. She plopped
down on the other end of the couch, not taking her eyes off of him.
        "Talk to me, Mulder."
        "It's not that I don't want-"
        "I know that part, Mulder."
        He paused. "I remembered what you said in the office, and then
again, later. It has to be the right time...for the both of us.
Rushing this...rushing what we have...I don't want to do that. It...
means too much to me. To us. Does that make sense?"
        She grinned, flashing Mulder one of her famous heart-stopping
smiles. "Perfect sense," she agreed. She scooted over on the couch to
be closer to him. His hands were on his knees, and she reached down to
take one in both of hers. His hand was clenched, with anxiety, panic,
or some Mulderesque mixture of both of those emotions with a heapin'
helpin' of guilt. He didn't need to say a single word; Dana knew him
that well. He felt guilty that he'd <wanted> to get into the shower
with her, that he'd <wanted> to do the things she herself had asked
him, implicitly, to do.
        She shook her head softly, slowly. The only man in the world
that has ever turned down an invitation to play WaterPark in my
shower, and it <would> be the man I'm in love with, Scully thought.
        She started massaging his hand, using her fingers to stroke
the skin of his palm. She rubbed her thumb in the webbing between his
thumb and forefinger, feeling the muscles relax under her touch. She
continued working his hand, moving to the fingers next, really
kneading the skin, getting as much of the tension out as she could.
        Dana examined his hands, and tried to imagine what they would
feel like on her body. How they would touch her, stroke her, send
delicious shivery tickles of pleasure racing up and down her spine
until they detonated in starbursts of pleasure from her core,
expanding through her body like fireworks, each successive pleasure
popping off in series until-
        It wasn't hard to imagine those hands on her body. It wasn't
hard to imagine those hands anywhere on her body, touching her softly,
grazing her skin, tracing tiny little circles at the small of her
back.
        Dana had a sudden thought. "Mulder?"
        "Hmmm?" he asked. He'd leaned his head back against the couch
to enjoy Dana's hand massage, and was just about asleep.
        "I have a favor to ask."
        Slowly, he opened his eyes, the lids flickering open heavily,
his long lashes reminding Dana of butterfly's wings preparing to take
flight. His hazel eyes found her blue ones, and she found herself
falling into them again.
        "I think you should leave, Mulder," she whispered. "I want you
to go home and spend the rest of the weekend by yourself."
        "That's your favor?" he asked.
        "No, Mulder...that's not my favor. Monday I'm going to be at
Quantico, delivering that lecture on DNA typing for non-secreting
suspects. You do remember that, right?"
        Sleepily, Mulder nodded.
        "Well, Tuesday, we each have a full day. You have an
appointment at ten with the BSU folks, and I have one at noon with
VICAP about that new computer profiling software they want to try out.
But...what are you doing Tuesday night?"
        "Um...nothing, I think." He considered for a moment. "Are the
Knicks playing?"
        "Mulder, I'm serious," Scully said, pulling on his hand. "I
have a favor to ask."
        "What, Scully?"
        She paused. How to ask? "Umm..The District Physician's
Association is having their annual fund-raising thingie Tuesday night.
I was wondering if...that is, if you're not doing anything especially
important...I was...well, wondering-"
        "Scully, are you asking me out on a date?"
        "Yes, Mulder," Scully admitted. "I'm asking you to escort me
to the DPA banquet. Will you go with me?"
        Mulder considered for a long moment, but Scully already knew
the answer. He hated the rubber-chicken circuit, and avoided most, if
not all, official Bureau functions that centered around banquet halls
and meals. But she had asked him, as a favor, and she knew he would
accept. She hoped he would, anyway, because if he didn't, it would
throw her plans for the next ninety seconds completely awry.
        "Of course, Scully. I'll even wear a tux."
        Dana smiled, knowing what she was about to do would blow Fox's
mind. "Good," she whispered, moving closer to him, close enough to
whisper in his ear, close enough so he could feel her breath on the
small hairs on his neck. "Good, because I want you to get an emerald
green cummerbund and bow-tie...I'm gonna be wearing an emerald green
dress, Mulder. It's not especially sexy or anything, but I do want us
to match."
        Mulder gulped again. Jesus God, he thought -- how could
anything Dana wore <not> be considered sexy??
        "You got it, Scully. We'll talk about it later." He moved to
get up, but Scully pulled him back down by his hand. "Not so fast,
Mulder. There's one more thing...remember, in the office, when I said
that it wasn't time yet...that we needed to be healed before we could
go any further...?"
        "Yes," he whispered.
        "Well...I wish to amend my remarks...for the record."
        "Agent Scully has the floor," Mulder grinned,"...and my
<undivided> attention."
        "Good," Dana whispered even more softly. "Because I want to
say that I think that you and I...this...us...is part of that healing
process, Mulder. I said that we needed to find joy before we could
proceed. In the last twenty-four hours I realized that you bring me
joy...and I bring it to you. We have found joy...we've just been too
afraid to embrace it. Too afraid of being split up if we cross that
line, too afraid of what Skinner would have done if he'd found out
that we're crazy about each other, what the FBI would do if they knew
two of their best agents are playing snuggle-bunnies." She grinned at
her own choice of words, and then went for the jugular. "Mulder... I
don't just want you to take me to that banquet. I want you to take me
home, afterwards...and I don't want you to leave."
        Mulder didn't miss a beat. "No problem. I can always crash on
the couch."
        Scully had known it was coming, and for once in their
partnership, she had the perfect response prepared, ready, waiting to
go. "Fine, Mulder...if that's where you'd rather be." And with that,
she took his hand and slid it inside her robe so quickly that Mulder
didn't have a chance to stiffen and pull away. She pulled his hand
against her breast, and closed his fingers around it. "While you're
crashed out on the couch, Mulder, I'll be in the bedroom."
        She held his hand there for two long, heart-stopping seconds,
and then stood, walking around the couch, heading towards her bedroom.
"Go home, Mulder," she called over her shoulder.

                                      ***

        Mulder drove home in a daze. He glanced at the dashboard clock
and saw that it was only two-thirty in the afternoon. He ran a hand
through his hair, wondering what kind of an insane person Dana Scully
had turned out to be.
        Not that insanity was a <bad> thing, oh no. At least, not this
particular <kind> of insanity, he reminded himself. He took the hand
out of his hair and flexed it, looking at it out of the corner of his
eye as he did so. That was <the> hand. The hand, to quote Jimi, that
had touched the sky.
        God, he felt like a teenager who had
                <copped his first feel>
        gotten to second base for the first time.  It was all strange
and new and exciting and just a little dangerous. No, Mulder thought,
slowing down to take a right turn, it was more than a little
dangerous. Skinner had offered his unofficial protection, and despite
his own personal doubts about the man's agenda, Skinner had never gone
back on his word.
        At least, not yet.
        OK, pal, Mulder thought. Decision time. We're at a certain
point. We can stay here, go back, or...take the plunge. Go all the
way, to use a quaint expression that had been replaced by much more
vulgar, much more descriptive terms in the vernacular of the kids.
        Could he...take that final step? Could they? Together?
Mulder's face was blank as he let his mind wander. The nickname he'd
earned while with the Violent Crimes Section of the BSU wasn't nearly
as "Spooky" when you understood how it worked. Mulder didn't use
voodoo or wiccan incantations or spells or magic potions. He hadn't
even thrown darts at boards or flipped coins when he'd been with
VICAP, as the VCS was more correctly known. He simply went into
himself. He found something to concentrate on, something to center his
energy and his focus on, and...dropped. It felt like that, sometimes,
like the ground opening up and swallowing him whole.
        And when he was...there, "down the rabbit hole" as he liked to
kid himself, he was freed from the linear requirements of his thinking,
and free to use the spatial ability everyone's mind possessed. He was
able to occupy all the infinite points of his considerable mind at the
same instant. That was where the connections were made, <that> was
when he was at his spookiest.
        Mulder saw what he was looking for and pulled over to the
curb. He reached into the glove compartment and found the small brown
envelope. It wasn't sealed, and Mulder stuck it into his pocket, exiting
the car and locking it behind him.
        The park was one of Virginia's more beautiful, with acres of
grass and trees and picnic tables. The park was about half full, with
clumps of people scattered here and there, some cooking on open
grills, some playing softball, a group gathered here and there around
a beer keg, laughing gently in the afternoon sunshine.
        Mulder found an empty picnic table as far from the other
people as he could. He reached into his pocket and took out the small
brown envelope. Inside was a crystal on a chain given to him Melissa
Scully. He'd never worn it, but had found it useful for one specific
purpose: Finding his center.
        He held it up to the light, letting the sun prism through it,
until the infinite spectrum appeared. He chose a color at random,
yellow this time, and followed it down. His eyes unfocused until the
yellow beam became his entire world, and with a sudden mental thump,
found himself dropping through the rabbit hole.

                                      ***

        There was no color here, Mulder knew. It was white...pure,
snow-driven white all around. He had no body when he was here, no
arms, no legs, no limbs to speak of. His consciousness just...
<existed> on this plane, without the needs of a corporal body. His
thoughts were free, unfettered, able to run and jump and laugh and
play, free to find the connections, if they were out there. Free to do
what they did best. Search the dark corners, most of the time, looking
for connections between events best left unconsidered right now.
        He walked down a mental hallway. His photographic memory was,
at times, a curse to him. When he was down the rabbit hole, he
envisioned his memory as a huge room, filled with six-drawer filing
cabinets, stacked three high, running down to infinity. They were all
labeled, organized, double-checked and cross-indexed. He could see
himself walking into that room, and approaching a cabinet.
        He pulled the drawer open and pulled a file out. The folder
had no label, but he knew what was inside. He flipped it open and saw
Dana's face staring back at him. It was his first mental image of her,
and as he looked at it, it came to life, the mouth moving, the voice
animated, the life coming into her stunning blue eyes. He replayed
their first conversation.
        "Funny," he voice said, out of his vision, "I was under the
impression that you were sent here to spy on me." The image began to
speed up, her voice taking on the countenance of a chipmunk, the
telltale squiggles of a videotape on fast-forward marring the bottom
edge of the picture.
        Mulder didn't know why it happened this way; he only knew that
down here, in the rabbit hole, there was nothing but memories and
truth. The images flew by...a history of his relationship with Dana.
Every single memory that Mulder had of her was reviewed, scanned,
cherished and re-lived in the space between his heartbeats. When the
tape was done, the image in Mulder's mental hand was that of Scully
looking over her shoulder, dressed in the fuzzy pink bathrobe.
        "Go home, Mulder," her voice said.
        Mulder closed the folder and put it back in the drawer. He
reached into the rear of the drawer and took out another folder. This
folder was black. Even though there was no color in this place, only
pure simple truth and logic, Mulder knew it was black, for he knew
what it contained.
        Opening this folder, he saw the image of Duane Barry. The
images this time were not like a video, but like a photo montage, a
slide-show converted to video. The images changed with the rapidity of
his increasing heartbeat. Donnie Pfaster. The Alien Bounty Hunter.
That black-lunged-no-named-son-of-a-bitch. A parasitic frozen worm.
All the monsters and evil bastards in his life...his and Scully's
life...blinked by in less than a second.
        Mulder closed the folder, and a trash can appeared in his
vision. He threw the folder at it, and it sailed like a paper
airplane, carried on currents that didn't exist, until it fluttered
into the can. With a blink! the can was gone. Mulder felt himself
smile in the trance; he hadn't erased those memories. Such a thing was
impossible, no matter what he had heard about brainwashing technique.
The act of throwing the black folder away had been mostly symbolic. It
was his way of...
        Finding joy.
        One last folder to check. He moved to the front of the room,
to the top drawer on the first cabinet. He opened it, pulling the
first folder out, and carefully, gently eased the cover open.
        Samantha.
        Staring back at him, her face frozen in time. Unlike the other
memories, this folder wasn't cued up to start at the beginning. This
one was the reverse of the others; it started with Mulder's last
memory of Samantha, and when he pushed the mental PLAY button, that
tape went backwards, slowly. He waited until the bright light
vanished, until it was just the two of them in the house, the Stratego
board on the floor, the TV blaring the hearings, and then he paused
it.
        If she were there, Mulder would have asked Samantha's advice
and blessing for what he was considering. But she was not, and he had
dedicated his life to finding her, finding the truth. And for reasons
that Mulder still could not fathom, Scully had decided to come along
for the ride. He wanted to ask the picture a question, remembering the
words of some poet from long ago: "A dream is a question the heart
wants to ask."
        "Together," Mulder said to himself, inside the room, down that
magical rabbit hole. "Together we'll find you, Samantha. We'll find
the truth. I have help now. We have each other."
        The picture said nothing. Mulder smiled at it, shut the folder
and replaced it in the drawer. He closed the door, and then
concentrated on finding his way back-

        Up.
        With an almost audible pop! Mulder was back in the world. His
arm ached from holding Melissa's crystal in the same position for so
long. He glanced at his watch... he'd been under for about four
minutes.
        Long enough to do what he'd come there to do. He replaced the
crystal in its envelope, put the envelope in his pocket and started
walking back to his car.
        For the first time in his life, Mulder whistled as he walked.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

END PART V
Comments, etc, continue to be welcome: drambo@primenet.com


"Snapshot 6:Dinner, Dancing & Delights" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
No sex. No violence, although some is contemplated. MulderAngst. 
ScullyAngst. MulderTux. Gratuitious Scully Dressed Up. You know the 
rest. Write me if you want me to go on. 
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
        "Next slide, please," Dana said. The light from the projector 
vanished for a moment, and the room was dark once again. In the time 
it took a heart to beat, the light returned, filling the screen at the 
center of the conference room, pushing the shadows back and letting 
Scully see what was before her eyes. 
        As she began to speak, another, more subtle portion of her 
mind, that part not concerned with DNA fragments and forensic 
pathology lectures began a quiet, rather lengthy discourse on the 
similarities between a slide projector and her relationship with 
Mulder. About how together, they could push the shadows back, fill the 
center of their worlds with light and joy. And how everything could 
change in the time it took for a heart to beat. 
        "...when you're talking about the base pairs in the sequence, 
does that really have a significant investigative contribution?" The 
voice filled Scully's ears, and she knew she was nodding, but she 
didn't hear the question. The image up on the screen was an enlarged 
screen-capture from a DNA mapping program that the FBI had devised to 
help capture serial killers and other types of violent, repeat 
offenders. But the only image in Dana's mind was Mulder's face. 
        "Excuse me? I'm sorry...would you repeat the question?" The 
attendee did just that, and Dana forced her mind to focus on the 
question, and then provided the answer as smoothly as she could. She 
all but rushed through the rest of her presentation, wanting nothing 
more than to get off the stage and do some thinking, some thinking 
about Mulder. 
        But not the teenaged, moon-eyed, pie-in-the-sky cutsey shit 
that she dreaded. It was just a little more complicated than that. And 
at the same time, a lot less complicated than she wanted to admit. 
        After the presentation, Scully held an extremely abbreviated 
question and answer session, and then as soon as was professionally 
possible, she excused herself and went in search of a women's room. 
        Finding one, she entered the furthest stall from the door and 
locked herself in, sitting down and letting out a deep breath. This, 
she thought, this is <exactly> why I didn't want to get involved with 
Mulder. He's filling my every thought, my every dream, my every 
everything! I can't even give a lecture on DNA forensic technique 
without seeing his face up on the damn screen! Even now, as upset as I 
am, I can't stop thinking... 
        The problem, as Dana saw it, had two facets. On the one hand, 
the simpler hand, the quicker she and Mulder slept together, the 
better. The mystery would be gone, the tease would be over, and they 
could go on to whatever came after. There wouldn't be this agonizing 
anticipation, this...hormone storm that brought back some of the most 
troubling memories of high school that Dana had. Memories of wanting 
to have a boyfriend, wanting to be one of the popular girls whose 
phones were always ringing, wanting to always have a date on Friday 
and Saturday nights. That overcharged teenage angst was making a huge, 
huge comeback in Dana Scully's life, and she <hated> it. 
        She knew that Mulder loved her, that Mulder wanted her just as 
bad, if not more, as she wanted him. She had no doubt of his feelings, 
his desire, his hunger for her. What was driving her insane was that 
her body didn't care about any of that. Her heart wanted attention 
NOW. 
        Face it, Dana, she thought. You've got a super-duper, Grade A, 
Number One case of the Hornies. She sighed, dropping her head into her 
hands. And, on the surface, there's nothing wrong with that. People 
get...horny...all the time. It's one of the greatest things about 
being in a relationship. About being human, for God's sake. 
        But it wasn't quite that easy. Dana had one small fear, one 
nagging, quibbling little doubt that was gnawing at her. What if... 
finally taking Mulder into her bed didn't solve the problem? What if 
it only made it...God forbid...worse? What if it was so good, so 
perfect, so incredibly profound that she became a zombie? A walking, 
lurching, stretched-arm slave to the God of Sex? 
        Gimmie a break! she thought, trying to find a laugh somewhere 
inside herself. An errant lock of hair fell across her eyes, and she 
blew at it, trying to get a handle on her feelings. Dana checked her 
watch. It was a little before four. Time to call it a day and go home. 
Go home, take a nice, long hot bath, read a good book, and try and 
forget that she had a date with Mulder for tomorrow night, a date that 
would, for better or worse, change her life forever. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        "Do you dress right or left, sir?" the tailor asked. Mulder 
looked up from examining his shoes into the man's eyes and asked, 
"Excuse me?" 
        "Do you dress...is this your first tuxedo, sir?" 
        "Well...this is my first since the prom, I guess." The tailor 
nodded, suddenly understanding. 
        "I see. Well...perhaps I'll just make allowances for both." 
The tailor squatted and began working on Mulder again, using his tape 
measure, hand-held chalk and pincushion to great effect. Mulder had no 
idea what the man was doing, but he had to admit, he did look like he 
knew <what> he was doing. 
        "And it'll be ready by tomorrow night?" Mulder asked for the 
sixth time, by the tailor's count. 
        "Yes, sir." 
        "Can I ask you a question?" 
        "Of course, sir." 
        "How much extra would it be if I just waited around here 
tonight for it?" 
        The tailor looked up from carefully marking the cuff line on 
Mulder's left leg, frowning. "Sir, you may wait all night if you wish, 
but my seamstress won't be in until eight tomorrow morning." 
        "Oh." 
        The tailor stood, brushing the knees of his own pants. "I take 
it this is an...important event, sir?" 
        Mulder tried a trademark lopsided grin on the man. "The most 
important of my life, you bet." 
        "Then why are you waiting until the last minute to get your 
tuxedo?" 
        Mulder hesitated a moment. "Because I didn't know until 
Saturday that it was going to be the most important night of my life." 
        The tailor pursed his lips, considering this statement. He 
seemed to come to a decision in his mind. "Does this...important night 
have something to do with a woman?" 
        Fox just nodded. 
        The tailor continued: "A woman you've known for a long time... 
but you've just recently come to realize that she is important to you, 
I would imagine." 
        Mulder snorted. "You're a prognosticator, too?" 
        The tailor smiled. "No, sir, but I've been doing this for 
close to thirty years. I imagine when you've been doing your job for 
thirty years, you might just be as good at reading people as I am." 
        God, I hope so, Mulder thought. 
        The tailor reached out, grabbing the pants just below the 
pockets on both sides and gave them a sharp tug. He stepped back, 
checking his handiwork. "We're done, sir," he said. "Just leave those 
pants in the changing room." 
        Mulder nodded, walked down off the fitting platform and into 
the changing room. He dressed quickly, efficiently. A few minutes 
later he emerged from the dressing room to find the tailor at the 
front of the shop, holding the tuxedo's jacket in one hand and writing 
on a pad with the other. 
        Fox reached into his pocket and took out a business card. "I 
can be reached at this number whenever it's ready. I really appreciate 
the rush job." 
        The tailor looked over his glasses at the proffered card. "I 
was wondering if you'd mind putting your home address on the back of 
that card, Mr. Mulder." 
        Something in his voice made Mulder obey without thinking. 
Borrowing a pen, he quickly wrote his home address and telephone on 
the back of the card and handed it back. 
        "Thanks again," he said, turning to leave. 
        "Have a good night, Mr. Mulder." 
        "Just gonna go home and watch some TV," Mulder said, almost to 
himself. 
        The ancient cowbell clunked as Mulder let the door close 
behind him. He looked at his watch and realized it was time to go 
home. The Knicks would be playing in less than half an hour. 
        Inside the shop, the tailor waited for Mulder to start walking 
towards his car. The tailor picked up the phone and dialed seven 
numbers from memory, and waited for someone to answer. 
        "Doris...do you remember what happened on our wedding day?" He 
paused, listening to the laughter. "How'd you like to help a very nice 
young man avoid the same problem? Thanks...I always knew I married the 
best seamstress in the business. I'll see you in a few minutes." 
        The tailor hung the phone up and started to whistle. 
Sometimes, he thought, it just felt <good> to be in his business. 
        Outside the store, Fox was walking towards his car. He was 
glancing idly around, not really looking at anything, when one of the 
displays in a store window caught his attention. He walked over to 
study it, and the longer he stood there, the larger his smile got. 
        Perfect, he thought. 
        Just perfect. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        No one had ever accused Dana Scully of not being compulsive. It 
was Monday night, a full twenty-four hours before Fox was scheduled to 
pick her up, and she was making sure that everything was perfect. 
First, the dress...she dragged it out of the closet and tore the dry 
cleaner's transparent plastic off of it. She checked it for any new 
stains that might have creeped in, and satisfied, hung it on the back 
of the closet door. She was on her hands and knees, digging through 
the back of the closet for the matching shoes, when she heard her 
phone ring. 
        Let the machine get it, she thought. And then another thought, 
right on the heels of that one, made Scully start backing out of the 
closet. 
        It might be Mulder, and she hadn't talked to him all day. 
        She made it just before the machine would have picked up. 
        "Hello?" 
        "Scully, it's me." 
        "Hello, me," she said, cheerfully. "How was your day?" 
        "Miserable." 
        "Why?" 
        Mulder heard the concern in her voice, and he had to chuckle. 
"I know I'm going to sound like an annoyingly cute teenage boy when I 
say this, but I didn't get to see you or hear you all day. That's why 
I was miserable." 
        "Mulder..." Dana said, touched by his words and at the same 
time <just> a little exasperated. 
        "I know...I guess I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking 
about you...and I'm looking forward to tomorrow night." 
        The silence was longer this time. Dana held her breath, 
wondering if he was going to realize how inane this entire 
conversation was. Finally, he cracked: "Gimmie a break, Scully. I'm 
new at this!" 
        Laughing, Dana hung up. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        It was late in the fourth quarter when the knock came at 
Mulder's door. Frowning, he stood, his hand automatically going to the 
holstered pistol on his hip. 
        "Who's there?" he called. 
        "Mr. Antonio," a muffled voice called. Fox recognized the 
voice, but couldn't place the name. He opened the door to reveal his 
tailor standing there holding a zippered garment bag. 
        Dumbstruck, Fox just stared. "Uh..." 
        "Mr. Mulder," the man said, "When I was your age...oh, maybe a 
little younger, I met the most incredible woman in the entire world. I 
made her my wife, in fact. On our wedding day, my tuxedo wasn't ready 
because I didn't have enough money to pay the tailor the overtime he 
needed to tailor it just right. I had to get married in the same suit 
my father was married in. Smelled like mothballs. 
        "Anyway...I know you're not getting married...but I thought 
you'd sleep better tonight knowing that you...were ready to go." 
        With that, the tailor handed Fox the garment bag, waved, 
turned and walked down the hall. 
        Fox waved at the man's retreating back, shut his door and 
carried the garment back to his bedroom. He hung it on the back 
of his closet door and went back to watch the rest of the Knicks game. 
        On the dresser right next to the closet, a small black velvet 
box rested. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        "So...if there aren't any more questions," Mulder said, 
glancing at his watch to make his point more obvious. The twelve BSU 
investigators gathered around the long conference table all nodded, 
and started to push themselves away from the table. 
        All except for one of them. 
        "Excuse me, Agent Mulder...I do have a question." Mulder 
looked up into the face of Toby McIntire, the new BSU Wunderkid. Rumor 
had it that he was trying to become the next Fox Mulder in the BSU, 
the best, most successful profiler in half the time it had taken 
Mulder to receive similar recognition. The entire meeting had been 
dogged by this kid, his annoying, cloying questions designed to show 
everyone how much better at profiling he was than the famous 
Oxford-trained psychologist and FBI Special Agent Fox "Spooky" Mulder. 
        "What is it, Toby?" 
        "Well, Fox-" 
        "Mulder, Toby. You can call me Mulder." Chagrined, McIntire 
just nodded. "As you wish. Anyway...I want to know how you figured out 
that James Lee Dysan was going to be in that particular 7-11 store. 
You remember the one...don't you, Mulder? You predicted that Dysan 
would come out of his mobile home at exactly 10:03, cross the street, 
and commit an armed robbery in the 7-11. We had that placed staked 
out, and according to the Bureau records, he walked out at 10:04, not 
10:03, and did exactly what you had predicted he would. I want to know 
how you did that, Agent Mulder." McIntire sat back, his arms crossed, 
a smug, infantile smile on his chubby, ruddy face. 
        Mulder stood there, silently fuming, wondering if anyone would 
notice if he drew his weapon and put a third eye into the middle of 
the little brat's forehead. 
        "Dysan, eh? Lemme think a minute....that was about...how long 
ago...no, don't tell me...oh, right about the time you were...what, 
Toby? Finding your first zit?" McIntire flushed as the rest of the BSU 
unit burst into laughter at his expense, but he said nothing for a 
moment, his jaw visibly working as he struggled to maintain control. 
        "No, really, Mulder...tell us. How did you know?" 
        Some of the other members of the BSU had turned their 
attention to Mulder, eager to hear his explanation. By the time the 
Dysan case had come along, Mulder's bona fides in the VICAP/BSU 
program had already been established. He'd had no need to prove 
anything to anyone. If "Spooky" Mulder said the suspect ate only green 
chili, any FBI Special Agent finding a can of red chili at the scene 
would automatically assume it had been planted. 
        "I guessed, McIntire, OK? I guessed." 
        "That was a pretty big guess, Mulder," McIntire said, his tone 
so ingratiatingly insincere that Mulder wanted to punch him right on 
the nose. 
        Mulder leaned down, gathered his leather portfolio together, 
stood, walked to the door, and stopped. He turned back to face 
McIntire. "Good thing I was right, then." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder glanced at his watch as he strode through the Quantico 
parking garage. It was three-thirty. He had to pick Scully up at 
exactly six thirty, and there was barely enough time to get everything 
done. 
        He got into his car, threw the portfolio on the back seat, and 
had to make three attempts before he could get the key into the 
ignition. He turned the car over and then held his hands up at eye 
level, watching them jerk and shake as if he'd just had his sixth cup 
of coffee in as many minutes. 
        "Like a surgeon," he croaked, lowering his hands to the wheel. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana stared at herself in the mirror. Everything was in 
place. Hair perfect, makeup...just enough to cover the bad spots. No 
more than on any usual day. Ok..maybe a touch more lipstick, but then 
again...this was a formal occasion. 
        She stepped back from the full length mirror hung on the 
inside of her closet door and did a small twirl. The strapless emerald 
green dress sheathed her body snugly. It wasn't obscenely tight; she 
didn't look like a tart. But it did highlight the natural curvature of 
her body quite well, she thought. The only jewelry she wore was the 
small gold cross and two faux pearl earrings. Her hair was up, as much 
as she could put her hair up, in a small, tight French braid. She'd 
tugged a lock or two out of each side of the braid, letting it fall 
gently against her cheeks, just forward of her ears. 
        "Perfect," she whispered, and then glanced at the clock on her 
nightstand. 
        Six twenty-eight. 
        Mulder...you'd better be on time, you.... 
 
                                       *** 
 
        Mulder slammed the car door and checked his pockets quickly. 
He had everything he needed. He reached into the backseat through the 
open window and retrieved the single red rose. Moving carefully, he 
tucked it in at the small of his back, letting the back of his jacket 
lightly cover the flower. 
        The black velvet box was in his pants pocket. 
        And he carried a videotape. 
        Glancing at his watch, he turned and jogged up the front walk 
and into Dana's building. 
 
                                       *** 
 
        Six thirty one, Dana fumed. He's actually- 
        The knocking was so sudden that Dana's hand flew to her chest. 
Gathering herself, she walked over and opened the door. 
        They stood looking at each other for a full thirty seconds 
before either of them spoke. 
        Mulder was blown away. Quite simply, he could not find his 
breath. Dana was wearing a green, strapless sheath. Her hair was up, 
and she looked like a vision in green. Her neck looked so long, so 
much like a swan's, the skin below and behind her ears looking as soft 
as the down on a baby duck. Dana Scully, the woman had met just over 
four years ago, the woman he had seen covered in mud from head to toe, 
drowned like a rat, in more quarantines than either of them cared to 
remember, a woman he had seen covered in oil, fer cryin out loud, now 
stood before him looking... 
        Looking... 
        Shit, Fox, give it up. She looks like a princess. 
        Dana's thoughts weren't much different than his. Fox's tux fit 
him like a glove, the jacket tapered to his waist, the pants obviously 
cuffed by an expert. She was touched that he'd taken the time to have 
it tailored instead of just taking one off the rack. And by sheer, 
obvious luck, the green of his cummerbund and bow tie matched her dress 
exactly. Only a computer spectrograph would be able to tell the 
difference, and for some strange reason, the lab was the furthest 
thing from Dana's mind at the moment. 
        "Come in," she said, almost a whisper. As he moved past her, 
Dana saw that he was carrying something. 
        Mulder waited for the door to close, and then turned to face 
her. "Since it's such a special event," he said, offering her the 
gift-wrapped box. Eagerly, Dana opened it, saw what it was, and 
frowned. She started to look up at Mulder. 
        "Mulder...?" It was a videotape. "World's Best Truck Pulls," 
it said, featuring a huge monstrosity of a truck on the front cover, 
something that had been built in some redneck's back yard, something 
that looked like a huge metal monster and it was eating what appeared 
to be a perfectly good 1996 Nissan Maxmima. 
        And then she got it, and laughed. 
        "Thanks," she said, "I'll treasure it always." 
        Mulder's grin was genuine. She walked past him to put it on 
top of the TV, and Mulder used that moment to turn slightly to his 
right, lift the edge of the jacket and draw the rose he'd hidden there 
like a sword. When Scully turned around from the TV, he was standing 
less than a foot away, the single long-stemmed red rose held in his 
hands. 
        "For you," he whispered. Dana's face lit up with pleasure, and 
her eyes went to the perfect flower. Fox had spent a good twenty 
minutes berating the owner of the small flowershop down the street 
from his apartment, demanding that the man find the perfect rose. The 
man had come through, because this rose <was> perfect; in full bloom, 
it's red the red of pigeon-blood, of passion, of candy-apples and 
corvettes. It wasn't quite the red of Scully's hair, Mulder knew, but 
there was no red that perfect. 
        Except hers. 
        "Mulder...it's gorgeous!" she gushed. She took it from his 
hands gently, turning it over in her fingers, leaning down to sniff 
the delicate bouquet. "It smells heavenly," she whispered. "Just let me 
get it into some water," she said, hurrying past him to the kitchen. 
She found a bud vase and quickly filled it with water, and dropped the 
rose into it. Finished, she turned and walked back towards Mulder, who 
had, by now, removed the black velvet box from his pocket and was 
hiding it behind his back. 
        "Ready to go?" Dana asked brightly. 
        "Not just yet, Scully." 
        Dana turned back, an eyebrow raised. "Something wrong?" 
        "Yes....definitely," he said. 
        "What?" 
        Mulder studied her, looked at her long and hard. Suddenly, 
Dana felt self conscious. What? What was Mulder seeing that she hadn't? 
She quickly touched the cross at her throat, and then checked the 
earrings, making sure they were both still there. Maybe one had fell 
out and she hadn't noticed- 
        "That's it," Mulder said. 
        "What? The earrings?" 
        "Yeah..." he said, nodding. "There's just something about 
them...I dunno..." 
        Scully fought the rising frustration. Mulder had never noticed 
anything she had worn before, and his own fashion taste was highly 
questionable, judging by his collection of ties. These pearls, faux 
though they were, went perfectly well with what she had on, and Mulder 
was just going to have to- 
        "I was thinking maybe..." he said, bringing the box up from 
around his back..."you might like something a little more...color 
coordinated." 
        Scully's hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes flew to his. She 
reached out with one shaking hand, almost afraid to see what was 
inside the box. She took it from him, and the hinge was so tight that 
she had to struggle for a moment before the box opened with a snap! 
        And revealed the most beautiful set of earrings Dana had ever 
seen. Two darkly sparkling emerald stones stared back at her, each of 
them surrounded by a circle of tiny diamonds...no, they must be cubic 
zirconium’s, she thought. If those were diamonds... 
        "Mulder...it's gorgeous. They're gorgeous...I love them!" 
        "Try them on," he suggested, and Dana nodded, and turned to 
dash into her bedroom. She stopped, turned back to Mulder and treated 
him to one of her full-blown, one-thousand watt smiles, a grin and a 
burst of energetic joy that about blew Mulder through the wall. 
        God, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her, he thought. 
        Scully reappeared a moment later, the twin green stones 
twinkling in her ears. It was a perfect match; they looked like a 
couple that had stepped out of an advertisement in Town & Country. 
        Mulder stepped close, tipping his head from side to side, 
wanting to get the full impact of the earrings now that Dana had them 
on. He'd been staring at them in the box since he'd bought them, but 
they hadn't had justice done to them until they sat perched in Dana's 
ears. 
        "Good thing I'm armed," Fox said. "Now that I've seen them on 
you, nobody better try and take 'em away." 
        Slowly, the realization of what Mulder had just said sunk into 
Dana's brain. 
        "They're...REAL?" 
        Her hands flew up to her ears, her fingers running over the 
stones. No...it couldn't be...stones this size...this must have 
cost...several thousand dollars... 
        "Mulder!" 
        "Let's just say...I melted my Visa card." 
        "Mulder...you shouldn't have!" Dana's voice was a mixture of 
anger and sadness. "My God, Mulder...of all the-" 
        He stepped inside her space again, closing the distance 
between them in an instant. One arm went around her, drawing her close 
to him. The other hand went to her cheek, stroking the skin softly 
there, tipping her face up so she could see his eyes. 
        "Do you like them?" he asked quietly. 
        "Mulder," she moaned, "I love them." 
        "Then I should have." Mulder leaned down and kissed her, his 
lips searching for and finding hers, his fingers gently stroking the 
skin of her cheek, the fingers trailing down and teasing her neck, the 
hollow behind her ear, the small, bright, coppery-red hairs at the 
base of her neck...Dana was falling, melting into this kiss, feeling 
her center dissolve into a syrupy mixture of desire and want and 
hunger and arousal... 
        "We'd better go," she whispered against his lips. "Or we may 
not make it out of here..." 
        Mulder nodded against her mouth and pulled his own back. He 
cast a hand towards the door. "M'lady...your coach awaits!" 
===========================================================================
= 
END PART VI 
 
Comments, questions, etc. continue to be welcome. drambo@primenet.com 
 
For those of you who are now ready to burn me at the stake because I 
promised that VI would have the benefit-banquet thingie, I'm sorry. 
This one just kind of wrote itself...sorry it took so long. That also 
means that the banquet thingie has been pushed to VII and that...the 
other matter...will be pushed to VIII. Sorry...but them's the breaks. 
:( 
 







"Snapshot 7:Delectable" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
No sex. No violence. A kiss here and there. MulderTux. ScullyDress. 
MulderQuotes. References to an espisode from Season 1 or 2, I can't 
remember when. No spoiler, just a familer quote. 
                                                 
Note: The passages in German (be patient, you'll see!) are my best 
guess based on about four hours hunched over a German dictionary. If 
anyone out there speaks German (well...duh,) I'd appreciate any 
corrections to my diction, spelling, etc. 
 
Comments, questions, suggestions, etc. continue to be welcome. 
Feedback is always appreciated: 
 
drambo@primenet.com 
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
 
        The Taurus piloted by Fox Mulder gently pulled to a stop for 
the red light. For perhaps the sixth time that night, Scully pulled 
the passenger visor down, using the vanity mirror to look at the 
earrings again. Her hands went to the stones, rubbing them with the 
side of her finger. She dropped her hands into her lap and just stared 
at her reflection. 
        Mulder's fingers were suddenly stroking her cheek, his touch 
so light that it helped to see his hand in the mirror so she could be 
sure he was touching her, that it wasn't a dream. 
        "Do you like them?" Mulder asked, his voice husky...low... 
dangerous. 
        "I love them, Mulder," Scully answered, feeling some kind of 
strange tightness in her throat. 
        Mulder waited a moment, watching Scully watch herself in the 
mirror. "I've never seen you look more beautiful...Dana." Scully 
closed her eyes at his use of her first name, a delicious combination 
of a shiver and a tingle running through her body. In the strange 
nature of their relationship, it was just so much more...intimate when 
he did it. She turned her head quickly and kissed his fingers gently. 
        An impatient driver indicated that the traffic control signal 
had changed with a copious amount of horn. Mulder made no move to 
remove his hand. "Think I should flip him off?" he asked, his voice 
teasing, light. 
        "Just drive, Mulder," Scully said, reaching to flip the visor 
up. Mulder laughed softly, his chest hitching with gentle humor. He 
turned his attention back to the road and let his foot off the break. 
The car glided into traffic, and Scully took the opportunity to study 
he man sitting across from her. Despite her intermittent protests 
about how Mulder always got to drive, she did enjoy watching him at 
moments like this. His attention was totally focused on the matter at 
hand, his eyes sweeping the road, left and right, looking for dangers, 
his strong, nimble fingers guiding the car through traffic like a 
shark through the ocean, and yet, at the same time, Scully knew that 
Mulder was completely aware of her, sitting next to him, how his body 
language conveyed his ease with her, with them, their unspoken 
togetherness. 
        She took another good, long look at him, and felt something 
slowly uncoiling inside her, a moisture, a heavy, full feeling that 
started in her stomach and slowly spread through her entire body, a 
warmth that was totally encompassing. His tux fit him perfectly, and 
Scully was quite sure she had never seen anyone look quite so dashing. 
He'd even managed, somehow, to tame his hair for the evening. It 
wasn't cut to Bureau standards by any means, but at the same time, it 
didn't look like had tumbled out of bed, fallen into his tux and shown 
up on her doorstep to squire her around the town. 
        The hotel hosting the banquet appeared on their right, and 
Mulder slid the car into the line waiting for the valets. "Last 
chance, Scully," he whispered. "We can ditch this thing, get a room, 
order room service, fill up those big tubs with bubblebath..." His 
voice drifted off, letting Scully's mind fill in the rest. Dana 
grinned, a sly, wry grin. That was one of the reasons she had fallen 
for Mulder, she knew. Unlike most men, he instinctively knew that her 
mind could provide the missing details of what he was proposing much 
better than any words of his ever could; he left the best parts 
unspoken but not unpromised, letting her libido fill in the blanks. 
        And what an attractive picture it painted; in a flash, 
Scully's mind had done just that, had filled in the blanks quite 
nicely. She saw them in the tub, clinking delicate, narrow glasses of 
champagne together, the bubbles up to their chins, both of them 
gloriously naked, the warm, slick, glycerin-soaked water making them 
both deliciously slippery and slick. She felt the color crawling up 
her chest, her neck, into her cheeks. 
        "Mulder...any other time, and....but right now, I want to go 
to this thing. I want to walk in and have everyone in that place see 
me on the arm of the most handsome man in the District." 
        "You're dumping me, Scully? You got another date stashed 
somewhere in the hotel? I'm hurt." 
        Scully twisted in her seat to make a retort, and then she saw 
his eyes. They locked gazes, and his eyes spoke volumes about how 
deeply touched he was at her words. She reached out a hand to stroke 
his face, her nails lightly grazing the strong line of his jaw, and 
then her door was being opened, the uniformed doorman offering Scully 
his hand so she could step out. 
        Scully's dress was slit, but not immodestly so, but the 
doorman was still treated to a delicious glimpse of Scully's leg as 
she stepped out of the car. Mulder saw where the doorman's eyes were 
and briefly considered shooting him. 
        Mulder got out, took the ticket the valet offered him, and 
quickly walked around the hood of the car. Scully linked her arm in 
his, and together, they walked into the hotel. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The main ballroom was decked out for the event. Over sixty 
circular tables were scattered around, each of them with small 
cardboard nameplates indicating the attendee they were reserved for. A 
small registration table was set up outside in the hall. As Scully 
took care of the paperwork, Mulder glanced around. There were many 
couples there, many women dressed in their evening best, and most of 
the men were wearing tuxedos. Mulder checked a few of the women out, 
and realized with a small, private smile that none of them could hold 
a candle to Scully. She was leaning over the registration table, 
softly explaining something to the woman acting as registrar. He could 
see the soft, silken skin of her right leg to just above her knee. Not 
immodest at all, but knowing that that leg went all the way 
up...ending only with the graceful curves that were at that moment 
gently pressing against the dress in such a way to make their 
delectable outline only that much more obvious, made Mulder's 
breathing suddenly labored. 
        God, she was gorgeous, he thought. 
        Scully felt his eyes on her and turned her head, flashing him 
a smile, letting him know that she knew he was looking, and that not 
only didn't she mind...she appreciated his attempts to drink her in. 
        She straightened, walking over to where Mulder stood. "Good 
news," she murmured. "No nametags." Mulder grimaced; he'd hated the 
thought of having to stick one of those paper "Hello! My name is 
Dorkboy!" tags to his tux. He'd wondered where Dana would have put 
hers. The strapless evening down didn't leave very much room for such 
affectations. 
        "That dress...Scully, I only have one question." Scully raised 
her eyebrows, waiting. "Where do you keep your gun?" 
        Scully chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that resonated in 
Mulder's chest, making his heart shoot off little sparks of heat and 
energy. 
        "Wouldn't <you> like to know," she grinned, once again taking 
his arm and turning him towards the banquet room. 
        "Scully! Dana Scully!" a voice called, and the duo stopped. 
Dana turned to face the voice, and saw Georgette Armstrong striding 
towards her. Inwardly, Scully groaned, but fixed the best, most 
plastic smile she had on her face. Without turning her head, she said 
"Med school classmate. Georgette Armstrong. God, I hate her." 
        Mulder felt something from Dana, another silent channel of 
communication opening. 
        "Dana Scully!" the woman said, stopping in front of her. "God, 
it's been...what? Six years since I saw you?" 
        "Five, actually," Dana said, and in his head, Mulder heard the 
unspoken part of her response. <Too bad it's not six.> 
        Armstrong turned her attention to Mulder. "And who is this 
heavenly creature, Dana? Where have you been <hiding> him?" 
        Before Scully could answer, Mulder opened his mouth. 
        "Guten Tag. Mein Name ist Hans. Sie bitte, konnen Sie mir 
sagen, wie ich das...?" <Hello. My name is Hans. Can you tell me 
where...?> 
        To her credit, Scully didn't blink, but just went with it. 
"This," she said, using her hand to indicate Mulder, "...is Hans. He's 
a German pathologist visiting from...." 
        "Deutscheland," Mulder offered. <Germany> 
        "Yes, from Germany, but I meant...er, Berlin." 
        "Oh!" Armstrong said, clearly impressed. "What did he just 
say?" 
        Scully bit her lip, trying not to smile. "He asked..." 
        Mulder reached out and touched Armstrong's gown, a tacky, ugly 
thing that looked as if she'd bought it at Liberace's garage sale. 
        "Ich habe die Farbe night gern. Ich habe lieber grun." <I 
don't like the color. I prefer green.> 
        Scully, who spoke German, was now struggling to control 
herself. 
        "He said your gown is lovely," she managed to croak. 
        "Oh, thank you!" Armstrong said. 
        "Bitte." Mulder said, smiling. Scully looked at him and 
crooked and eyebrow. "Wie hoflich die Deutschen sind!" <My, Germans 
are so polite!> 
        "Danke," Mulder said, and just as quickly, Scully replied, 
"Bitte." <Thank you.> <You're welcome.> 
        Mulder looked at Scully. "Entschildigen Sie, wieviel Uhr ist 
es?" <Excuse me, what time is it?> 
        Scully glanced at her watch and nodded. 
        "Es Ist zehn Minuten nach sieben." <It's ten minutes past seven.> 
        Mulder nodded, and then turned his attention back to Armstrong. 
"Fraulein, servieren Sie uns das Abendessen?" <Miss, are you going to 
serve us dinner?> 
        Scully coughed into her hand. 
        "What did he say?" Armstrong demanded, her eyes alight. 
        "He wants to know...um...when dinner is being served." 
        "Oh, in about thirty minutes, I guess. Well...it was nice 
meeting you." 
        And without missing a beat, Mulder replied, "You, too." 
Armstrong's eyes widened, but she said nothing, turning and leaving 
Mulder and Scully standing there, barely controlling their laughter. 
        "Mulder, you're impossible," she whispered. 
        "Bitte schon!" he said, smiling. <You're welcome!> 
        Mulder leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Sometimes the 
need-" 
        "...to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
humiliation. I know, Mulder. I know." She kissed him quickly on the 
nose, and then took his hand, leading him into the banquet hall. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The chicken was rubbery, the portions small, the peas and 
carrots soggy from being overcooked. The wine wasn't much better, and 
Scully felt bad for Mulder. He hated chicken with a passion, having 
eaten more of it than he could remember in his years with the BSU, 
attending meeting after meeting at police departments across the 
country. They always ended up with some kind of banquet, and they 
always served chicken. It was cheap and easy to prepare in huge 
volumes. 
        Mulder had pushed most of his around the plate, eating a bite 
here and there so it looked at least like he'd eaten some of it. 
Scully had done a little better, but most of her meal remained on her 
plate as well. 
        The conversation was stilted, forced, uncomfortable. They'd 
been seated with a podiatrist, a dermatologist, an OB-GYN and 
proctologist, as well each of their spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends 
and significant others. A alien-chasing, paranormal forensic 
pathologist and a faux German had little to say to any of them. 
        A couple of people had discovered that Scully worked for the 
FBI, and had tried to engage her in conversation about her supposedly 
exciting life as a Special Agent, but Scully has resisted telling them 
anything about her work. Not that they'd believe that her last case 
involved a combination of demonic possession, a potential UFO 
visitation, and a tobacco-chewing sheriff that thought that 'little 
ladies' had no business being in the FBI, let alone being a medical 
doctor. 
        Mulder hadn't said much of anything, preferring to let Scully 
"translate" for him. He made a few boring remarks in German, studying 
the faces of everyone at the table to see if comprehension showed on 
any of their faces. No one looked twice at him, focusing their 
attention on Scully...especially the men. 
        Mulder turned to face her, and was again struck by how 
beautiful she looked tonight. Even in her work-a-day business attire, 
Scully was an attractive, interesting, challenging woman. But tonight, 
in that...dress...that gown, she looked so much like a porcelain china 
doll that Mulder had trouble keeping his hands to himself. 
        The band struck up a chord, and then began playing, a soft, 
melodic dance tune that caught Mulder's attention. 
        "Let's dance," he whispered, taking Scully's hand. Surprised, 
she said nothing, letting Mulder lead her out onto the dance floor. He 
turned, and she slid into his arms, his right hand at the small of her 
back, his left holding hers against his chest. They moved to the 
music, hesitantly at first, until they both sensed the hidden dancer 
in the other, and then they let the stops out just bit, enjoying the 
closeness. 
        Scully sighed, leaning her head against his chest for a 
minute, and then straightening up. She glanced around; a few other 
couples had joined them on the floor, giving them some camouflage. 
"I'm sorry, Mulder...I had no idea this was going to be so boring..." 
        Mulder chuckled, using his body to move hers around the dance 
floor. "I'm having a great time, Scully," he lied. She smiled, 
appreciating his lie, and telling him with her eyes that she knew he 
was full of it. 
        "Just let me know when you want to go," he said softly. 
        "Two more dances, Mulder, and we can blow this popstand." 
Mulder grinned at her. "Deal." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        They made their apologies, Scully insisting that she had an 
early day, and that "Hans" had to catch a plane back to Germany. As 
they were walking out, Mulder caught site of Georgette Armstrong out 
of the corner of his eye. She was watching them leave, and the woman 
leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the woman sitting 
next to her, and they both laughed. Scully didn't register the sound, 
didn't know what had just happened, but Mulder didn't like the sound 
of the laugh, and had some idea of what had been said, if not the 
specific words. 
        Something about the Ice Queen, he was sure. 
        He waited until they were out of the banquet hall, but still 
within Armstrong's sight. His hand came up and found Dana's shoulder, 
stopping and turning her around. 
        "What-?" she asked, and that was all she managed to get out, 
because Mulder's mouth was descending towards hers, and God, she had 
wanted him to do that all night, since she'd seen him on the other 
side of her door in that stunning tux, since they'd gotten there, the 
entire time they were sitting at that cramped, overcrowded table, all 
she wanted was for Mulder to lean over and- 
        Do what he was doing. His mouth was soft and hot and moist, 
his lips gentle against hers at first, finding their specific, 
personal rhythm, and then deepening, the kiss drawing and expanding 
outwards, taking Scully with it, her eyes fluttering closed, her arms 
coming up and around his neck, pulling him into the kiss...into her... 
        He stepped away, a glint in his eyes, a promise of things to 
come, perhaps that night, perhaps at some time in the future. 
        "What...what was that for?" Scully asked, her voice faint. 
        "Payback," was all Mulder would say. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The valet brought the car around, and this time Mulder helped 
Scully in, taking the opportunity to get his own lingering look at her 
legs as she stepped in and sat down. She smiled up at him, knowing 
that he was looking, feeling the warmth spread in her chest at his 
appreciative glance. 
        Mulder got in and shifted the car into gear, smoothly sliding 
back into traffic. They drove in silence for a while. After a while, 
he finally spoke. 
        "Scully, I don't know about you, but I'm starving." 
        She laughed. "Me, too." 
        He glanced over, his eyes asking a question. 
        Hers answered. 
        He turned the car around. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Hugo's was exactly the right place, Scully thought, although, 
considering the way she and Mulder were dressed, the other patrons 
probably think we're the two oldest prom dates in the world. 
        The other patrons, mostly truck drivers, cops and other 
nocturnal creatures, comfortably filled the rest of Hugo's Diner. The 
atmosphere was casual, relaxed. Scully closed her eyes, wanting to 
soak the atmosphere in. She could hear the faint tinks! of silverware 
against coffee cups and plates, the low murmur of muted conversations, 
the sound of something sizzling on the grill, the bing! as the cook 
put another order under the heating lamps and hit the bell. She could 
smell so many different things cooking, a mixture of grease and meat 
and...good times. 
        She had lost count of the number of diners she and Mulder had 
eaten in over the years. It must be in the hundreds, she thought. And 
on the most special night in our lives...he takes me here. Bringing 
back the memories of a thousand conversations over a thousand meals, 
wild theories, debates about scientific proof, arguments over who was 
paying the bill... 
        She opened her eyes, looking across the booth at Mulder. He'd 
undone his tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. She 
could see a few dark curly chest hairs peeking out, and the sight was 
only just slightly distracting. He was studying her as she looked at 
him, his hand lightly playing with his coffee cup, slowly twisting it 
with his nimble fingers. 
        A plate that had once held a burger and fries was pushed to 
the side, her own plate (tuna in a pita,) was similarly dismissed as 
they studied each other. 
        "So..." she finally said, glancing pointedly at her watch. It 
was quickly approaching midnight...the witching hour. 
        Mulder didn't answer her unasked question. Instead, his smile 
widened a fraction, and he said, "Scully...you are the most amazingly 
beautiful woman I have ever know." The blush started somewhere around 
her ankles and raced up her body, coloring her cheeks and ears. "Thank 
you," she said softly. 
        "No...thank <you>," he whispered, leaning across the table 
towards her. "I could start telling you why I love you so much, you 
know...all the times you've been there for me...your support for my 
search...everything we've been through...but I don't want to do that." 
His last words had been spoken hoarsely, urgently, and Dana suddenly 
found herself having trouble breathing. 
        "What do you want to do, Mulder?" 
        "Take a walk," he said. He stood, pulling some bills out of 
his pocket and tossing them on the table. He'd tipped the 
beehive-hairdoed waitress almost 60%, but Scully wasn't going to say 
anything. The look in Mulder's eyes drew her like a magnet, and she 
stood to join him. 
        "A walk sounds nice," she said softly. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        They walked down the street, not holding hands, but close 
enough to feel each other's heat. Mulder removed his jacket and draped 
it over Scully's shoulder, and she smiled her appreciation. They window 
shopped, stopping to look at furniture and clothes and electronics, 
pointing out what they liked and what they hated. Dana felt as if her 
feet weren't even touching the ground, she was so happy. She couldn't 
remember the last time anyone had treated her this way. 
        They stopped and looked in the window of another store, and 
Scully saw a clock on the wall. It was five minutes to midnight. 
        "Mulder..." she said softly, leaning against his arm. "It's 
getting late..." 
        "I just want to make sure you don't turn into a pumpkin, 
Scully," he teased. 
        "Oh really?" she asked. Lazily, her arm snaked around his 
neck, bringing his face closer to hers. Her lips reached for his, and 
they kissed, bathed in the muted light from the store's interior. It 
was a long, luxurious kiss that seemed to feed on itself, growing in 
leaps and bounds, ebbing and flowing with their heartbeats. When they 
broke, it was a minute past midnight. 
        "Satisfied?" she asked. 
        "Not yet," he grinned. 
        Her smile softened. "Take me home, Mulder." 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
End Part 6 
(I stopped using Roman numerals because it was getting confusing. 
Plus, when we get into the chapter 36 range, I'll have to figure out 
XXXVI and things like that...ugh) 
 
 
 
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