_*Catalytic Converter *_ Author: Diana Battis (All4Mulder@aol.com) Distribution: OK for Gossamer. Anywhere else, just ask. I usually say yes. Classification: S, MSR Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: Small ones for Bad Blood, Detour Summary: Mulder plays Good Samaritan. Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, never have, never will, damn it! Author's Comments: As ever, thanks to Kristy for her patience and encouragement, and for making betas fun. Music may be the food of love, but I live for feedback! E-mail me -- All4Mulder@aol.com http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesFic.html ****** Part One ****** God's country, that's what they call this area. A little piece of heaven right here in Kansas. Well, I can't imagine a more God-forsaken place than this one. Flat grasslands all around, and no particular landmarks to speak of, unless you count my rustbucket piece of shit car. It's sitting by the side of the road with the hood up, dead for all intents and purposes, and I'm stuck here, waiting for someone to stop and offer a helping hand. Four cars have passed me in the last two hours, but none of them contained a fucking Good Samaritan. So much for God's country. At least it's not cold. In fact, the temperature was near 95 today, almost a record for mid-September. I won't freeze to death. Instead, I get to roast my ass off sitting in the car, waiting for help or morning, whichever comes first. You'd think I'd have no trouble getting someone to stop for me. I'm young and pretty. I tried lounging against the hood of my car in the sexiest pose I could imagine, wearing a super tight tank top with my already short skirt hiked even higher. I'd even taken off my bra as extra incentive. Hell, that always works in the movies. But not today. Maybe if I'd had a sign, you know -- 'jump me'. I laugh to myself. No, that wouldn't have worked. They might have tried to start me instead of the car. I knew my car was on its last legs, in a manner of speaking, but I had hoped to coax it as far as Tulsa. No such luck. So here I am in Nowheresville, Kansas. It's after one AM, and I don't have too much hope of a ride at this time of night. It's my own fault, really. The mechanic at the last place I gassed up told me that little light I saw on the dash meant my battery was dying and I needed a new one. Said it was probably because my alternator was bad. In addition, he told me the whole exhaust system needed replacing, and mentioned something about wanting to check my catalytic converter, whatever the hell that is. Sounds kinky. Anyway, he was throwing around those big words, like I should know what he meant. Well, hell, I didn't have the money to throw after them, so I just blew him off. I don't know shit about cars. I was sure I'd make it to Oklahoma. Ricky's there. I hooked up with him over the summer when he visited his aunt. He's at the University of Tulsa now, a Golden Hurricane. Funny, 'cause that describes him perfectly. A real golden boy, tall, blonde, tanned and gorgeous. He'd told me if I was ever in Tulsa to look him up, so I thought, what the hell, I'll surprise him. Indiana and my mom were both getting on my last nerve anyway. My mother. She's been a real pain, especially since my dad died. Didn't want me to leave home, couldn't understand why I should suddenly show this spark of independence. But she doesn't know about Ricky. Hell, she doesn't need to know. I'm almost nineteen, old enough. And it's not like I'm some frightened virgin or anything. A flash of light reflects in my mirror and I realize a car is approaching. And ladies and gentleman, we have us a miracle! The car is actually slowing down. It's nice enough, late model, certainly better looking than mine. The beam from the headlights brighten the area, making it easy for me to see. The door opens and the driver gets out. I give him the once-over. Not bad, not bad at all. Tall, dark, and almost handsome. It's the nose that spoils it, but as he walks over to me I realize that's not a bad thing. Gives his face character, as my mom would say. He's wearing a plain white tee shirt and tight jeans. I get a good look at him as he bends to pick something up from the road. Nice ass, very nice. "Do you need some help?" Oh my god, what a sexy voice! The headlights shine on his face as he leans in my window, and now I can really check him out. Man, does he have killer eyes! Sleepy, heavy lidded, bedroom eyes. And their color -- sort of greenish-brown, real unusual. I could get lost in those eyes. "Yeah, I do." Wow, was that me? My voice came out all squeaky and shit. And I think I'm blushing, something I haven't done since ninth grade when Tommy Arden felt me up in the library at school. Clearing my throat, I tell him what happened. "Well, I'm a stranger around here myself, so I don't know who we could call to help you. But I can give you a ride into town." He must have seen me hesitating, because the next thing I know he's showing me a badge. He's an FBI agent, named Fox Mulder. Fox? What the hell kind of name is that? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what to do in this situation. I reach behind me for my backpack. He's a gentleman, opening the doors for me and all, putting my bag in his car and helping me into the front seat. I could get used to this. What a sweet guy! He's trying hard to make me feel comfortable. I keep sneaking looks at him, wondering if he's married or anything. No ring, but that doesn't mean shit. Plenty of guys don't wear 'em nowadays. I wonder if I'm his type? I'm kind of tall, long brown hair, brown eyes, and I've been told I have a nice set of boobs. He's kind of old, but some guys seem to dig younger girls. "So, what's your name?" He turns to flash a smile in my direction. "Elaine, but my friends call me Ellie." I can't seem to stop staring at him. He's got such a sexy mouth. That bottom lip's just made for kissing. And man, that voice is deep and kind of gravelly and, well, lets just say I wouldn't mind waking up to it every morning. "Nice to meet you, Ellie." He turns his head and gives me another little smile. It's hot in here -- I think I'm melting. I could almost forget about Ricky. He's pretty nosy, no pun intended, and asks me a lot of questions on the drive to town. Guess that's the FBI agent in him. We talk for a while, I tell him about Indiana and my mom, and how I'm on my way to Tulsa to start a new life. Before I realize it we're pulling into the parking lot of this motel. Motel. I turn to look at him, but he's already out of the car and headed toward the motel office. After all my little fantasies about him earlier, I'm kind of nervous now. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Maybe he's not so sweet after all. Maybe I should just get the hell out of here. Because, push come to shove, if he tries anything who'd they believe in a case like this, an FBI agent or me? But before I can grab my stuff and split he's back in the car, waving a key at me. "No rooms available. You can use mine, I'll sleep on the couch in the motel office." He puts the car in gear and pulls into a parking place. "There isn't much you can do about your car until morning anyway, so you may as well try to sleep." Shit. I don't know what to say. I feel ashamed. All the awful stuff I was thinking about him, and he goes and gives up his room for me. So, I settle for something simple and to the point. "Thanks, Fox." He smiles. I think he likes the way I say his name. He carries my backpack into the room for me, and grabs his things. Before he goes he asks if I'm hungry. When I tell him I'm fine, he looks at me kind of funny, then drops the key on the bureau and leaves. Like I said, he's sweet. I wake up to ringing -- he left his cell phone behind. I can see by the red numbers of the digital alarm that it's almost six in the morning. I'm not sure what to do, but I guess maybe I should answer it. He's with the FBI and it might be important. "Hello?" I thought about answering it 'Agent Mulder's phone' but that sounded sort of silly. Silence. No, wait, I hear breathing. FBI agents get obscene calls on their cell phones? "Who is this?" Shit! A woman, and she sounds kind of pissed off. "Ah, I'm Ellie. I guess you're calling for Fox, I mean Agent Mulder. He's in the motel office right now. Can I give him a message for you?" More silence. Then she speaks again. "No, Ellie, no message. Just tell *Fox* that his partner, Agent Scully, called." And she hangs up. How about that? He has a female partner. Wonder what she's like? She sounds tough. Wonder what it would be like to be his partner? That's something I'll never know. Graduated high school, barely, and I know I don't have the smarts for college. So no fancy career for me, in the FBI or anywhere else for that matter. I really should be thinking about my future. Ricky isn't going to be in my life forever, I know that. But what is my future? With that thought in mind I close my eyes. Morning comes around too damn fast. I feel like I just got comfortable and Fox is knocking on my door to wake me up. I am not a morning person, but after all he did for me I try not to complain too much about the early hour. It takes me a little while to get ready. No way in hell am I gonna let Fox see me without my makeup! So I missed my chance to eat out with him. It's okay though, because he brings coffee and bagels to the room for us instead. We talk a little while we eat, and he asks me if I have enough money to take care of the repairs. I don't, but I'm not about to tell him that. Besides, I've been thinking about what I'm doing. I'm not really sure I want to be with Ricky, you know? It's a big world out there, and I need to decide what I want to do with my life. The lady in the motel office is real helpful. Says the bus to Wichita stops in town every morning at ten. I'll be able to make connections there for, well for wherever I decide to go. So, I'm off. I really owe Fox. Wish I had the nerve to kiss him good-bye, but I don't, and settle for a quick wave as I head out. Shit! I forgot to tell him about his phone call. Oh well! He'll find out, sooner or later. I wonder how far it is to the bus station. ****** I'm exhausted. My good deed cost me a good night's sleep. I've slept on a lot of couches and chairs, slept in cars and airplanes, even slept on the ground in the woods once, though that wasn't so bad with Scully's lap as a pillow. But last night there was no soft, sweet Scully to cradle my head. Instead I got this sagging couch covered in scratchy fabric that smells like sweat and stale cigarette smoke. Definitely not the stuff dreams are made of. Ellie's gone, headed for Tulsa I think. She seems like a nice kid, a little rebellious and confused, but basically good at heart. When I saw her last night for some reason I thought of Samantha. Physically, she looked the way I imagined Sam would when she'd grown up. If she'd grown up. . . Let's not go there. I've been here three days now. What started out as a promising case seems to be headed nowhere. There had been reports of lights in the sky, east of town, but I haven't seen anything yet. I did check out some pretty interesting crop circles, though. And yesterday, Sheriff Jordan showed me these burn marks in a field nearby. Very low radiation levels, so I'm not sure what to think. I'm anxious for Scully to arrive. She'd been stuck in DC, giving forensic testimony, and wasn't able to leave for Kansas until late yesterday. I hate working on a case alone, and despite what she may think I don't go out of my way to ditch her. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. No ditching this time. I really want to know her thoughts on this case. She'll give me her honest, nearly unbiased opinion. Yeah, I can always count on her to poke a few holes in my theories. Her skepticism challenges me. And though I'd never tell her, I need that. I need a shower, too. The old couch smell seems to stick to me like glue, and I want to work out some of the kinks it left. I don't have much time, as Scully should be here soon and I want to be ready. The sheriff expects us by eleven. I'm stripped down to my boxers when I hear someone knocking at the door. "Mulder, it's me." Her voice sounds annoyed. I pull on my slept-in jeans and open the door to let her in. Scully looks beautiful this morning, in one of those black pantsuits she wears. On some women that outfit would look somewhat masculine, but on her it's damn sexy. Her hair is slightly curly, the humidity already doing its job. It makes her look softer, and younger. She's checking out the room, poking in the corners before looking in the closet. Its sliding door bangs shut so hard that the hangers inside rattle together like out of tune wind chimes. Next comes the bathroom. She peeks in the shower, pushing back the plastic curtains to peer in at the stained porcelain. She's obviously searching for something. What the hell does she expect to find here. . .? "Looking for something?" I'm teasing her, but the eyes that snap on to me are sparkling with anger and something else I can't quite identify. Not two minutes in her company and I've already managed to piss her off. Must be some kind of record. I should be used to those looks. I get them every time I say something she considers ridiculous. Ignoring it is probably the smartest thing to do, so I change the subject. "We don't have much time before we need to meet with the sheriff. I wasn't sure when you'd arrive, so I told him we'd be there by eleven. I know you don't like me making your schedule for you but. . ." Sighing, she gives me that look, one eyebrow raised and her nostrils slightly flared in disdain. "I'd assumed you would call me last night, Mulder, so we could make arrangements. I guess you were. . .busy." Her voice is icy, the words spreading a chill through me. The bed's getting the once-over. Any minute now, I expect her to get on her hands and knees to look under it. "It was a long night, Scully." Squeezing my eyes shut, I reach back to massage my neck and shoulders, wincing at the stiffness there. Stifling a groan, I silently wonder if she'd give me a backrub. "I'll bet." Who would have thought that so much malice could be conveyed in two little words? Not me, that's for sure. I reluctantly discard the backrub idea. Taking her arm, I walk her to the door. "Listen, I'm going to shower. Why don't you check at the office and see if your room's ready? I should be finished by the time you get back." Anything to get her out of here. She's like a time bomb, waiting to go off, and I'd rather not deal with the explosion until after I get cleaned up. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." And she's out the door, slamming it behind her. Hard. I watch, fascinated, as the little fire code plaque sways on its nail before crashing to the floor. I can tell this is going to be a long day. The shower didn't do me much good. The water was tepid at best, and the pressure left a lot to be desired. I'm clean, but my body still aches in a hundred different places, and I could use some sleep. Looking at my face in the mirror, I debate the wisdom of shaving. Forget it. The way I feel I'd probably cut my throat. I dress quickly, clean tee and jeans. Grabbing my sunglasses and keys, I head out in search of Scully. Approaching the motel office, I can see her at the counter. Her face is livid, and I spare a thought for the poor woman behind it. She's probably never experienced Hurricane Scully before. This is tornado country, after all. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. SuperMulder to the rescue. ". . .am I supposed to do in the meantime? This room was supposedly reserved for me by my partner two days ago. Two days! And you tell me it's unavailable?" Turning to look back at me, she rakes me with those baby blues. I read their message, loud and clear. This, too, is my fault and another sin I'm going to have to atone for. "What seems to be the problem?" That's it, I'll play dumb. Scully turns her full fury on me, blasting me with those once icy eyes. Now they're like twin cobalt flames, burning into me with their intensity. I hold up my hands in surrender. At least I've managed to save the poor clerk. "The problem, Mulder? My room, or lack thereof. This charming establishment is full, booked solid, not a room available. I have been on the road for almost eight hours, driving nonstop. A detour added over an hour to my trip, not to mention the primitive back roads I was forced to take. I'm sweaty, tired, and hungry. I want a shower, a change of clothes, and food. And they don't have a room for me. Does that answer your fucking, stupid question?" Turning on her heel, she storms out of the office. The clerk is standing there, her mouth open, staring at the door. As I said, she's never seen Hurricane Scully before. "Is there another motel nearby?" I realize this question is futile. I've already seen all there is to see of this town, so I'm not surprised when she shakes her head. Sighing, I do the only thing I can. "Please let her have my room, I can sleep on the couch again, if that's okay?" She smiles at me, and I want to bask in the warmth of it. This woman may be pushing seventy, but right now she's a ray of sunshine in my otherwise pathetic life. "No problem, sir. I really am sorry. We usually don't get many visitors around here. It's just too bad you had to pick this week. We're painting the rooms. Any other time. . ." She shrugs. "And listen, I wouldn't worry too much about your lady friend." The woman gestures for me to lean closer. "It's probably just that time of month," she whispers. Stifling a grin, I nod in assent. Thanking her for her kindness I turn to leave and almost get smacked in the face by the door. Apparently this was just the eye of the storm, and now comes the full force of the hurricane again as Scully pushes her way back into the office. "Well?" Her arms are folded and she's practically tapping her foot, waiting for my reply. I'm beginning to feel like the class clown, sent to the principal's office, and I don't know what the hell I did wrong. "Ah, you're taking my room and I'm sleeping here." I smile at her, hoping that this will appease her, but no such luck. Scully moves closer to me and whispers, "Isn't she a little old for you, Mulder?" Without another word to me she walks back up to the counter and demands that the sheets in the room be changed immediately. Giving me one last look, she sails back out the door. Thanking the woman again, I walk slowly out of the office. I'm not in a hurry to catch up with Scully. She's managed to strip one layer of skin off my hide, and I'm not eager to repeat the experience. Unfortunately, it only takes about thirty seconds to reach my, make that *her*, room. I knock at the door, opening it carefully. She's attacking the bed, ripping the sheets from it and throwing them in the corner of the room as if they're junk for the scrap heap. Amazingly enough, she looks as though she's crying, but in the dimness of the room I can't really be sure. I don't know what's wrong and at this point I'm afraid to find out. Instead, I tell her where the coffee shop is and ask her to meet me there. Maybe once she has some food in her things will be better. Twenty minutes later I'm on my third cup of coffee, and mercifully it's good. None of your usual motel coffee shop sludge. Looking up, I see Scully enter. She's wearing jeans too, with one of those little cotton tops she likes, this one a pretty green. I notice it brings out the green flecks in her eyes, which thankfully show no evidence of tears. Breathing a sigh of relief, I let myself hope everything is okay as she slides into the booth across from me. I'm starving. That bagel I had with Ellie barely made a dent in my appetite. I hand her a menu. "I can vouch for the pancakes, Scully. And the coffee is excellent." I wave at the waitress, and she comes right over, bringing the pot with her. "Another cup, handsome? You gotta try getting some sleep, then you wouldn't need so much of this stuff." I've eaten here for the past three mornings, and we've established this little teasing banter. I smile at her, grateful for the refill and turn to look at Scully. Look at where Scully was, I should say, because she's now pushing her way through the doors headed for the parking lot. Throwing a five on the table I sprint after her, thinking wistfully of my missed breakfast and abandoned change. "Scully, wait a minute!" I'm shouting, but she doesn't even acknowledge my existence. My longer legs give me a slight advantage in this race, but it takes a lot of my reserve energy to catch her. I have a feeling I'm going to miss it later. Yeah, this is going to be a long day. Grabbing her shoulder I spin her around. She jerks away, like I'm contaminating her with my touch. Her face is flushed and her eyes are glittering again. That's three times now, and I still don't know what the hell I've done wrong. "What about breakfast, Scully? You said you were hungry." I know I am, but don't dare say anything to her. I don't want to set her off again. Too late. "Don't you mean you're hungry? Well, everything isn't about you, Mulder. Now, why don't you just tell me where we're supposed to meet Sheriff Jordan." She's standing there with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes challenging me. I don't want to argue with her, and decide to tell her just that. "Scully, after the night I've had, I not in the mood for a fight. My car is over there, I'll drive us out to the field." Fuck! I've put my foot in my mouth yet again. She gives me another blistering look and spins around, sprinting for her car. Yelling over her shoulder, she tells me to go to hell. Too late, Scully. I think I'm already there. Spinning wheels screech on the asphalt as she speeds out of the parking lot. I'm not sure where she's headed, but at least she didn't grab her stuff from the room. At least I don't think. . . She didn't. Checking the room, I see her laptop sitting on the bureau, and her suitcase lying open on the bed. My bag is standing by the door, and it looks as if all my stuff is packed away. Well, better try to find her. The sooner we get this investigation completed, the better. If we wrap it up early I might be able to catch a nap. Scratch that -- I don't think that goddamned couch is conducive to sleep. I stop by the sheriff's office on the chance she might be there. My instincts serve me well, though my reflexes are off. It seems I've missed her by a few minutes. She's already on the way to the scene with Jordan. I can see Scully, walking with the sheriff, when I pull up. She watches as I climb out of the car, her gaze still cold, before turning back to him. They look pretty cozy, too. She leans into him as he points out something on the ground. He puts his arm around her shoulders, and I don't see her object. Whatever he's saying has her throwing her head back in laughter. She's looking up at him, smiling at him, and I have to fight this sudden urge to knock him on his ass. The arm drops from her shoulders when I approach, and the smile leaves her face when she looks at me. "Did you get lost, Mulder? Or was there some other *business* you had to take care of?" Okay, the claws are still out. Ignoring her remarks, I ask her what she thinks of the evidence. Not surprisingly, Scully thinks it's a hoax. "Mulder, it's circumstantial at best. There have been no new sightings, and no hard evidence to support the UFO theory. . ." She expounds on her opinion, but I've stopped listening. Instead I'm examining her, seeing her in a whole new light. She's a really beautiful woman. No wonder the sheriff couldn't keep his hands to himself. At that moment, she raises her head and looks directly into my eyes. It's like I've been struck by lightening. A bolt from the blue of her gorgeous eyes. And I realize something that I should have known ages ago. I'm in love with this woman. I'm stunned. How could I have not known this before? That this woman, such an important part of my life, is really the most important part? I love Scully. . . This new revelation leaves me speechless. I can't concentrate on anything else. Scully is looking at me strangely, as though I've suddenly sprouted two heads. I realize the sheriff is talking to me, but it's as though he's speaking in tongues. Somehow, I manage to bluff my way through the afternoon. By evening, it's all over, as two teenagers are caught trying to perpetuate the next stage of their elaborate stunt. I must admit, I'm not too disappointed. Something about this place spells bad luck for me and I just want us to get the hell out of here. It's dark now, and I'm driving back to the motel, Scully's taillights right ahead of me. Tonight I'm going to try to make it up to her for whatever it was I did. Maybe take her to dinner. I'll have to see if there's a decent restaurant in this town. Back at the motel, I follow Scully to her room. There's a note addressed to me on the door. Apparently, there is a room available after all, and I won't have to suffer through another night on that couch. I tell Scully my news, forgetting that I'm not her favorite person at the moment. "That's nice, Mulder. So, since you have your own room now, you won't mind getting your things out of mine." She nods at my bag. "Oh, sure, no problem. And listen, Scully, I know I owe you big time, dragging you out here on this wild goose chase. How about I buy you the biggest steak dinner this town has to offer?" I'm leaning over her, wearing my most engaging grin, sure she can't refuse me. She does. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder, but I have a date." She delivers this bon mot with saccharine sweetness, letting me know she's not sorry at all. "I need to get ready. So, if you'll excuse me. . ." Another pointed look at my bag. I get the message. My room is right next to hers. Not much different, except my fire code sign is still hanging on the wall. Grabbing the remote, I flop on the bed, checking out the current lineup. At least they have cable. Lying there, I start wondering who she has this big date with. She hasn't been in town long enough to meet anyone except. . .I remember the sheriff with his arm around her. And he doesn't have buck teeth. Shit! I try to watch the news, try to concentrate on the new crisis in the Middle East, and the earthquake in Mexico. But I can't seem to focus on those problems. I'm having my own crisis, culminating with the earthshaking realization of my feelings for Scully. Why didn't I realize this sooner? There were lots of clues to tip me off. I'm always touching her, her shoulder, her hand, the small of her back. I always notice what she wears, and how she smells. How our office always lights up the moment she enters the room. With all my education, you'd think I'd have figured it out. But no, I was too fucking stupid to see I was in love with her, and it took a small town cop to show me the light. Now he gets to bask in her glow, and I get to watch CNN. I hear a car pull up and can't resist peeking out the window. Yes, it's him. I have to admit, he doesn't look half bad. He's a pretty nice guy. I liked him yesterday. But that was before he decided to make a move on Scully. I hear her door open, and wait to see how she looks. Gorgeous, of course. Big surprise. She's wearing this dress, blue like the summer sky. It's low cut, tight around her breasts, and sort of flows to her knees. No sleeves, in fact there's just thin straps holding it up. She's carrying this white jacket, and I find myself willing her to put it on. Now. Because he's looking altogether too long and hard at her. He takes her arm, leading her to the car. I realize I'm holding my breath, watching him open her door. She'd kill me if I tried that. But it's okay for him. My fists clench reflexively as I fight the urge to beat him to a bloody pulp. A minute later they're gone, and I'm left alone with my remote. I have this pain, kind of hard to describe. I tell myself it's hunger pangs, but if it is, it's not for food. A long day all right, and it's not over yet. ****** This isn't turning out at all as I'd imagined it. I thought it would be just your normal, everyday UFO sighting. It's nothing that we haven't investigated about a hundred times before, though in the Land of Oz flying monkeys would really be more appropriate than flying saucers. Not to mention less boring. But normal doesn't begin to describe anything about this trip, starting with the phone call to Mulder. I still can't believe it. He had a woman in his room. I don't know why this surprises me. He's a damned good looking man. But for years he's been so focused on the X-Files that he hasn't had time for relationships. At least, I don't think he has. What do I really know about him? We work together, that's true. And it's been pretty intense work at times. But there have been some surprises lately. Diana Fowley, for one. And that woman last night. Toying with my wine glass, I mentally list all the possible excuses. It was just a mistake. He'd probably just stepped out for a moment. She was just a witness he was questioning about this case. Ha! Some witness! A healthy swallow of wine doesn't dull any of the memories. His room reeked of her cheap perfume, and I saw the lipstick stains on the pillow case. And she managed to leave a piece of clothing behind. One black bra, size 36C. I always knew Mulder was a breast man. The sheriff, Ben Jordan, is a nice enough, but I'm not really being fair to him. He's expecting to have dinner with an attentive woman. I don't think he figured on Mulder tagging along, even in spirit. At least the wine is good. Very good, in fact. I'm on my second glass, and I can feel it relaxing me. Maybe it isn't such a smart idea, drinking wine on an empty stomach. Maybe, but to hell with it. It feels great to let myself go for a change. Besides, our dinner will be here shortly. We ordered steaks. Nice rare steaks. Maybe that will alleviate my desire for blood. ". . .caught him in the freezer. Gives a whole new meaning to cold cash, doesn't it?" Ben laughs, and I look up, shocked to realize that he's been speaking to me. I nod and smile, hoping I haven't missed anything important. Apparently that satisfies him, for he continues, "But I bet your cases are much more exciting than that. You and your partner must have seen some lulus." "Actually, they're not that interesting, and I'd rather not talk about them if you don't mind." Or Mulder, I mentally add. That was the whole reason for this dinner, to get away from him. Realizing my tone was a bit harsh, I smile at Ben to take the sting from my words. "I guess I can understand that." Smiling back at me, he refills my glass and gestures for the waitress to bring the other bottle of wine. "It must be very difficult for someone like you to have to deal with all these crackpot cases. Doesn't seem to bother your partner much, though. He actually appears to believe all that stuff." Ben snorts, like he can't imagine any rational adult being that gullible. "It's important to keep an open mind. I'm a bit spectacle, um skeptical myself, but. . ." I take another healthy swig of the wine, enjoying the richness of the grape on my tongue, and the warm feeling it gives me inside. "I've learned to open myself up to extreme possibilities." I am speaking very slowly, and pronouncing my words carefully, as though to a child. The wine is finally hitting my system. "Have you two worked together long? I mean, you seem like you have. You almost finish each other's sentences." He looks at me curiously. Before I can answer, the waitress brings us our dinner. I am thankful for the interruption, and proceed to eat, hoping the food will counteract the effects of the wine. I wonder if Mulder had steak and wine with his little friend last night. No, I bet not. He's more of a 'tacos and beer' kind of guy. Enough of that. "So, Ben, tell me about your work. How long have you been sheriff?" This seems to be a safe topic. No chance of Mulder's name being brought up here. Ben is trying very hard. He's adept at small talk and is a good listener, something I hadn't expected. Kind of cute, too, if you like them blonde and stocky. I don't. I like them dark. Throw in tall, and handsome, with sleepy eyes and you have. . .oh my God. And I choke on a mouthful of wine. I'm in love with Mulder. Coughing and sputtering like a fool, I excuse myself and walk on unsteady legs to the ladies room. Fortunately, it's deserted. At the sink, I splash some cold water on my face, absently patting it dry as I look at my reflection. Somehow, I'd expected to look different. But except for the high color in my cheeks I seem the same. Nothing to show that my life's been irrevocably changed. I love Mulder. Seems funny I didn't realize it sooner. I should have known it last night, when I reacted that way to that woman's voice on the phone. All night long I heard it, playing the conversation over and over in my head. I wasn't alone on that long drive, I realize now. I had jealousy to keep me company. Back at the table I try to eat, but I'm not very hungry. I keep pushing the food around on my plate, hoping to hide the fact that I'm not eating any of it. And I'm so tired. Stifling a huge yawn, I find Ben looking at me. "I'm sorry. I haven't had much sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and it's beginning to catch up with me." "That's okay, Dana. Maybe we should just forget about dessert and coffee." His voice holds a note of concern, and I feel a small pang of regret. Under different circumstances I could really like him. "Thanks, Ben." I manage a weak smile, relieved when he accepts my words. So, he takes me back to the motel. It's dark in Mulder's room. Normally, I can count on the flickering light of the television, but I don't see that tonight. I wonder if he has company. . . No, don't go there. Ben opens the car door for me, and I step out. Or try to. But my knees buckle under me. He's quick, thank God, catching me before I make a complete fool of myself by falling flat on my face. Yes, definitely too much wine. "Easy, Dana. Are you okay?" I hear the uncertainty in his voice, but I shrug it off and pull away from the arm surrounding my shoulders. "I'm fine." And prove the lie by stumbling back into him. "Here, let me help you." He practically carries me to my door, and I hand him the key. I'm struggling hard to maintain my balance, so opening the door is more than I can handle right now. Ben's pretty talented though, because he manages to juggle me, my jacket, half a bottle of wine, and the key, getting the door open with little trouble and no breakage. I actually make it inside under my own steam, and notice in surprise that Ben follows me in, closing the door behind him. Even thought the light is on the room is really dim, and at that moment everything starts to whirl around, making me dizzy. Groaning, I manage to make it over to the bed, knocking over a lamp in the process. I hear it crash to the floor as I collapse on the bedspread, rolling on to my back. I really don't feel well. From far off, I hear pounding, and then loud voices. I'd love to know what's going on, but I can't seem to pick my head up off the bed. The cracks in the ceiling are fascinating to look at, especially now, when they start spinning around, creating a pretty spiral pattern. I can feel it sucking me into its center. . . It's dark in the room, and for a minute I can't remember where I am. And then it comes to me. Kansas. Mulder. Size 36C. Wonderful. Something else comes to me, too. I'm in my underwear, in bed, and there's an arm resting across my stomach. The hand attached to it is cupping my breast. Oh my God, what the hell is going on? I carefully lift the arm, sliding slowly out of the bed. It's too dark in the room to see, but I think I remember where the bathroom is. And good thing, too, for nausea grips me, and a terrible sour taste lies in the back of my throat. I barely make it there before the spasms hit, and all that good wine comes spewing out. By the time I'm through I feel totally wrung out. My hair is plastered to my sweaty brow, and when I look in the mirror I see streaks of black under my eyes, giving me the look of a redheaded raccoon. Grabbing a washcloth, I wet it and scrub my face hard, removing the melted makeup. It helps, bringing some much needed color back into my cheeks. The repairs only take a few minutes, and I spare a few more to brush my teeth to get rid of the vinegar taste. God, what happened? I'm still partially clothed. And though my bra and bikini briefs aren't much protection, at least I'm not naked. But it certainly is out of character for me. I wonder what Mulder would say? Who am I kidding? He wouldn't say a thing. Oh, maybe he'd tease me a little about finally getting some. His humor can be rather juvenile at times. But I don't think it would matter to him, one way or another, no matter how much I may want it to. And I do want it to. Brushing my hair back behind my ears, I splash some more water on my overheated skin. Now to face Ben and find out what the hell is going on. Grabbing my robe from the hook on the bathroom door, I switch off the light before leaving the room. I know we have to talk, and would rather get it over with, and get Ben out of here. Making my way slowly to the side of the bed, I take a deep breath before turning on the lamp. The weak light filters across the bed, illuminating the features of my bed mate and. . .We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto! Because it's not Ben sharing my bed, it's Mulder. Oh my God! I barely manage to choke back the words. My knees are shaking again, and this time the wine has nothing to do with it. My face is hot, and I can feel the blood racing through my body. Mulder is in my bed. How did he get here? Usually he's a very light sleeper, and he would have awakened as soon as I'd moved. But I guess all the extracurricular activities he's been indulging in have finally gotten to him. He's not a young stud anymore. Suddenly, I'm angry. Since when do we have this kind of relationship? Does he think I'm some desperate and easy lay? But another little voice in my mind taunts me with an unsettling observation. Face it, Dana. You're not really angry he's here. You're upset because you were in bed with the man you love, and have no memory of what happened. I need to wake him up. Reaching out, I poke him in the center of his chest, none too gently I might add. No response. Sighing, I do it again, harder, and call his name. Still nothing. I don't know what comes over me. His hair, that silky hair, is spilling over his forehead, a cascade of darkness just begging to be touched. I push it back, loving the feel of the strands as they slide across the sensitive skin of my fingers. Working through it, I marvel at the thickness. I brush over the hair again, then another overwhelming urge hits me, and I give in to it. I pull his hair. Hard. And that finally wakes him up. "What the fuck?" He's fast, I'll give him that, grabbing my wrist in his strong fingers and prying my hand loose. "Scully, what the hell are you trying to do?" "I might just ask you the same thing, Mulder. What are you doing in my room?" It isn't easy to sound dignified and no-nonsense when you're clad in your undies and a robe, but I try. I can't look at him, instead focusing my eyes on the wall above his head as I await his answer. Releasing my hand, he sits up, putting him much too close for comfort. I step away from the bed, settling myself in the decrepit wooden chair. I can feel the wood catch on my robe, and visions of Mulder removing splinters from my body dance in my head as a reminder to keep still. "You. . .you were. . ." He seems unable to speak, as though the finer points of grammar and sentence structure are beyond him. His eyes are slightly glazed and focused midway between the floor and my face. I glance down and notice the gaping neckline of the robe. My breasts are spilling out of the top of my skimpy blue bra, and he seems enthralled by the exposed flesh. I cross my arms over them, hoping the move looks casual instead of desperate, and wait for him to continue. He blinks a few times, shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. "You called out, Scully, and then I heard this crash. I thought something had happened to you. When I came in, you were out cold on the bed and he was bending over you and I. . ." "And you. . ." I prompt. "I hit him." This is delivered so quietly that I am sure I didn't hear him correctly. I ask him to repeat what he just said. "Fuck it! I hit him, okay?" This comes in loud and clear, and I admit I am both shocked and fascinated by his reaction. For if I am reading my partner right, his violence wasn't motivated by his purer instincts. Mulder was jealous. There is something rather gallant about a man fighting over a woman. And though I consider myself liberated, there is still enough of the old-fashioned female within me to appreciate it. I am delighted by his admission, for though he may not love me yet, what he feels for me is a lot more than just a partner's concern. Stifling a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame, I continue my interrogation. "And just why did you feel it necessary to hit Ben?" His eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the sheriff's name, and I can already see wheels turning in his mind. "He was bending over you!" He seems to think that's the crime of the century. His voice holds all the righteous indignation of a Bible Belt preacher condemning a sinner to eternal damnation. "So? Is that all? Did it ever occur to you I may have been ill and he was trying to help?" I am not going to let him off easy. He looks away, his eyes searching the room as though he expects to find the answer to my question lurking within its drab confines. He brushes back that recalcitrant lock of hair, wincing as his fingers gingerly probe his scalp. Score one for Dana. "Look, I'm sorry, Scully. I guess I overreacted. I'll apologize to him in the morning." He's in the pathetic Mulder mode, but I've seen that routine too many times to fall for it. Besides, I enjoy watching him squirm. "Well, Mulder, that may explain why you felt it necessary to assault my date, who, by the way, *is* the head of the local law enforcement. But it doesn't explain what you were doing in my room, in my bed." Or why I'm half dressed, but I decide to leave this part unsaid. I'm trying to embarrass him, not myself. Another deep sigh, and then he surprises me by leaving the bed and walking over to kneel before me. He reaches out and gently tugs on my hand, pulling my arms away from my body so he can twine his fingers with mine. Keeping his eyes focused on our joined hands, he absently rubs his thumb over my palm. That light contact sends a wave of heat through me, and I have to struggle to keep focused on the issue. "You were out cold, Scully. For a minute I was afraid he'd drugged you. It's so easy to get Rohypnol, especially for a cop. So I punched him. I know I overreacted. But by the time I realized what I'd done, he was gone." He looks up at me. "I made an ass of myself." His voice is husky and I know what it's cost him to admit this. "I realize now you didn't have much to eat today, and if you'd been drinking on an empty stomach. . ." He looks at the almost empty bottle of wine on the bureau and shrugs. He actually seems embarrassed, which is what I wanted. Yet, somehow, this little victory has a bitter flavor. "You're a good judge of character, Scully, and I know you can take care of yourself, but. . ." He seems unsure of himself, his usual cockiness absent. "But. . .?" My voice is softer than before, and I am actually flexing my fingers within his grasp, alternately clutching and releasing his. The flesh of his hands is warm, his slightly callused fingertips rubbing against mine. I look down at the top of his head, remembering the crisp feel of his hair, and regret the pain I'd caused him earlier. He withdraws his hands, standing and moving away from me. He's at the door, prepared to leave. "Mulder? What's wrong?" "I think it's better if I leave now. I am sorry, Scully. I'll see Ben Jordan first thing in the morning." He shoots me one of those self-deprecating grins. "If I get arrested, promise you'll bail me out?" He's not waiting for my answer, the door is already open and he's crossing the threshold. "Why is it better if you leave?" I can feel the undercurrent, and I know he's aware of it as well. I have come to a decision. What occurred with that woman yesterday belongs to yesterday. I have no claim on him. But I want one. And I think he wants it too. Something happened here. Walls have crumbled, and if he leaves now, I'm afraid they'll be rebuilt. Only this time they'll be higher and stronger and I won't ever be able to breach his defenses. Or mine, for that matter. I stand, my knees quivering like newly set Jell-O. I join him, reaching to pull him back into the room. He is surprised by my actions, but allows me to shut the door. I lean back against it, needing its support, as my backbone is as limp as overcooked spaghetti. "You still owe me an explanation, Mulder." My voice is deliberately low, forcing him to lean close to me. "Why were you in bed with me?" ****** She's stubborn. Once Scully gets the scent of her prey she doesn't stop until she's gone for the kill. And tonight I'm her chosen victim. She has me in her sights, is taking careful aim, and any minute I expect to feel the sting of her verbal bullets. I'd run if it would do any good. But she's tenacious, and once she goes after something there's nothing that can stop her. Under different circumstances I could admire her persistence. I'd hoped admitting my mistake, admitting I'd made an ass of myself, would be enough to assuage her blood lust. No such luck. She's still out for her pound of flesh. I can see the determination shining in her eyes and I know chances are very good that I'm not getting out of this room in one piece. It's my own fault, really. I couldn't resist peeking out the window when I heard them drive up. Like seeing them leave together wasn't punishment enough, I needed to torture myself with more. I watched him half-carry her to the door, his hands all over her. She looked really out of it, and I knew that wasn't Scully. She'd never let herself lose control. No, something was wrong and I needed to deal with it. I burst into her room like a tornado, words and fists flying. Jordan barely knew what hit him. So how can I explain myself to her and still retain a modicum of pride? I saw him, saw her on the bed, saw red, and I don't mean her lovely hair. The rest, as they say, is history. Just for a minute, I wonder if I could claim Hadean influence. Scully, I'd declare, I'm going to make an appearance in an X-File. I've been demon-possessed. Of course, jealousy is the real fiend, and I think she'd figure that out soon enough. I mentally exorcise that line of defense. I knew it was a mistake, knew it the moment my fist made contact with Jordan's face. I can only imagine how I must have looked to him -- like some demented fool. Or worse yet, a jealous one. He picked himself up and ran out the door like the hounds of hell were after him. Leaving me with Scully. When I saw her sprawled across the bed, I wanted to hunt him down and hit him all over again. If he'd hurt her. . .But I smelled the wine, saw the bottle, and realized that my usually sober Scully wasn't. She looked so defenseless lying there. That beautiful dress was rucked up on one side almost to her waist, affording me a glimpse of pale thigh and silky underwear. I thought about the situation for two seconds before deciding to act. Undressing Scully was not the pleasant experience it could have been. It would be much more fun with a responsive woman in my arms. But I managed to get her dress off, and get her under the sheet. Of course, by the time I was finished I had a rock-solid erection to contend with. Good thing there's plenty of cold water in this place. A cold shower was definitely next on the agenda. But that didn't work out the way I'd planned, because Scully chose that moment to wind both arms around my neck, pulling me down beside her. I tried to draw away, but she opened her eyes just then, and said my name before tightening her grip on me. Her eyes closed, and she was still smiling, even though she knew it was me she was holding. I didn't mean to stay, but how much harm could it do to lie next to her, just until she settled down again? To let me experience the real thing, just for a little while? My eyes closed for a few seconds. . . Did I ask how much harm? Apparently, a lot. I'm sure I must have a bald spot the size of Texas where she yanked out my hair. And now she's standing in front of me, that damned robe open almost to the waist and her breasts barely concealed by that blue scrap of nothing, waiting for me to answer her. And I have no idea what to tell her. Somehow, the truth sounds ridiculous, even to me, so how could I expect her to believe it? "Mulder, I'm waiting." Fuck it! She's already furious with me. A snowball in hell has a better chance of survival than I do. I'm going to confess, own up to my actions, and take my punishment like a man. You can only die once, right? "I. . .er, I undressed you." She raises her eyebrow at that, and I realize that's really not the question she asked. She'd already figured out that part -- it's the how and why she's waiting for. "You looked uncomfortable, Scully, hanging halfway off the bed. I knew you'd be stiff in the morning." She has me pinned with her glance, like a lepidopterist with a new specimen, and I am unable to move or look away. "Your dress was getting creased. I know what good care you take of your clothes and I figured you'd rather have it hung up so. . ." I shrug and smile, hoping it's enough, praying silently to that god I don't believe in. Swearing to him that I'll be good, I'll believe, if only he makes Scully stop. There is no god. "Okay, Mulder, you were just thinking of me. You thought I looked uncomfortable and you didn't want my dress to get wrinkled. Do I have it right so far?" She sounds so reasonable, but I know better than to trust that tone of voice. I've seen her use it on suspects, just before she goes for their throat. Swallowing hard, I nod in agreement, hoping that she is satisfied with my answer. "It was very nice of you to worry about me and my clothes. So, now, tell me, why were you in bed with me?" She's smiling, but I've learned to be wary of those little Mona Lisa-like expressions. Scully's every bit as enigmatic as the da Vinci model, but being flesh and blood instead of a painting makes her much more dangerous. What can I say? Gee, Scully, you looked kind of lonely there and I figured you could use the company? I know I could tell her what really happened -- she grabbed me and pulled me down next to her. It *is* the truth. But it sounds lame even to me, so I know she won't buy it for a second. I have to admit, she's got me. My mind is racing to find an answer that will satisfy her. I'm shifting my weight from one foot to the other, feeling like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I love your cookies, Scully. Somehow, while I've been mentally flogging myself, she's moved closer to me. I am surprised to see just how close. Her perfume is teasing my senses, and I can hear her breathe, soft little puffs of air moving in and out, causing those enticing breasts to rise and fall with each breath. "You still haven't answered all my questions, Mulder. What's the matter? I've never known you to be at a loss for words before." She reaches up to place her hands against my scalp, and I wince involuntarily. Her movements still for a moment, then resume their gentle massage, soothing the area. "I'm sorry for pulling your hair. I don't know why I did it." And still she stokes through it. Her touch is arousing, powerfully so, and I am instantly hard again. "That's enough of that, Scully. It. . .it doesn't hurt, not really." I gently remove her hands from my scalp. I've got to get out of her room. Now. Because if I don't she'll lose more than a dress at my hands. "I'm tired. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow so. . ." My voice is hoarse, sounding strange to my ears as I offer my terms of surrender. I'm grateful for the subdued lighting. It covers a multitude of sins, my erection being number one. I look into her eyes, and I could swear I see disappointment coloring their depths. Her lips are parted, ready to spill out the reasons why we should continue this fruitless discussion. Those lips. Soft, red and ripe, their lushness calling to me even as she speaks of other things. I can only think of one way to stop her. All my confessions tonight haven't satisfied her. Maybe, just maybe this will. She still has her back to the door and I lean in, forcing her to step back until her body is flat against it. I am the hunter now, raiding her territory. I press my hands on the door, trapping her within the spread of my arms. Her eyes register surprise but not the panic or anger I'd expected. Her cheeks are flushed, and as I watch, her tongue comes out to slip across her lips leaving them glistening. I love this woman. And without thinking further, I give up, give in to my desires. I lean down and kiss her. ****** Mulder's leaving. He refuses to continue our verbal sparring, claiming exhaustion. It's his way of yielding to me, a pride-saving measure that allows him to concede defeat without losing face. But I seem to have made a mistake. For his focus isn't on the door, but on me. "Mulder?" I whisper. Who is this man? The one who is now looking at me like I'm the Holy Grail? My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, making speech difficult. Wetting my lips, I try again. "Wha. . .what's wrong?" Suddenly, I can't seem to string more than two words together. His posture is almost menacing, and I can't wipe the mental picture of a panther on the prowl out of my mind. A hot, almost feral light shines in his eyes as he advances toward me. Startled, I back away, surprised to feel the door behind me. Reaching out, he braces his arms against its surface, effectively trapping me. He's neatly turned the tables, changing me from the victor to the vanquished in a heartbeat. He's moving closer, his head dips lower as his body folds over me. I can feel his heat, feel the warmth of his breath as it touches my cheek. His mouth is parted. . . My God, he's kissing me. My eyes are open, trying to focus on him. His lips are soft, brushing easily across mine with the lightest of touches. Sweet and gentle and perfect. He pulls back to gaze at me, his eyes asking a question. For a moment, my mind touches on that other woman, wondering what she meant to him. But I know this man, and know that the look in his eyes is all for me. She may have had him first, but he's mine now, and I intend to stake my claim. So I answer the only way possible -- by reaching up to lock my arms around his neck and yanking his head down. All gentleness is gone. These kisses are hard and desperate, tactile embodiments of emotions suppressed for too long. His tongue swipes across my bottom lip before plunging into my mouth, sliding over mine with impunity. The need to breathe forces us apart, and I rest my head against his chest as my lungs fight for their share of the oxygen in the room. I can hear his heart pounding beneath my cheek, its quickened beat arousing an answering response from mine. His hand strokes down my body, freeing the belt at my waist and parting the material. He pushes the robe from my shoulders, and I feel the cool silkiness slide down my back and over my legs to puddle at my feet. The chilly air of the room hits my skin, pebbling my flesh with goosebumps. An involuntary shiver racks me, and I am immediately enfolded in the warmth of his embrace. His lips nibble along my throat, nipping at random, finding all the little sensitive spots. I can do nothing but arch my neck, offering my flesh as a living sacrifice. Pressed against him, with the heat of his erection throbbing against my stomach, we stumble to the bed, falling onto its surface. Awkward and impatient hands strip off clothes until nothing is left but skin and hair and lips and tongues, erotic textures that give as well as receive pleasure. I'm drowning in the sensations. His tongue licks along my collarbone, dipping down to the softer flesh of my breasts. I feel a momentary pang, mentally comparing my meager handful with the undoubted attributes of Miss 36C. But Mulder drives away any feelings of inadequacy as he pays homage to mine. He draws his tongue around the crown, and my nipple tightens under its velvety contact. Pulling it into his mouth he sucks the hardened tip, and I feel the pull in other places as well. Lap, suck, stroke, swirl, he has set the pattern and follows it perfectly. I think I could come just from his mouth on my breasts. He is such an intense lover, thinking only of me, and my pleasure. I want to give him something, to make this seduction less one-sided. But my limbs are boneless, and I can do little more than feel. His fingers, long and sensitive, are stroking along my thighs, reaching up to lightly cup my mons. They swipe gently along the folds before slipping inside me. Softly, ever so softly he slides his fingers over my clit, teasing me with the lightest of touches. My hips buck up under his ministrations, pressing harder against his invading digits until they are applying just the right amount of pressure. Now each stroke sends a surge of electricity through my body, and I am humming like high tension wires. I cry out in disappointment as his hand leaves me, but I am not disappointed for long. Hot as molten steel, his shaft presses against me now, its invasive heat parting me as he pushes lightly into my wetness. He moves slowly, trying hard not to hurt me. The first few thrusts are slightly painful as my body, too long unloved, stretches to accommodate him. But he is patient, and soon he is fully within me. We kiss again, and this time I am the aggressor, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. I taste him, hot and bittersweet like dark melted chocolate, a flavor I will always remember, always crave. He begins to stroke within me, slow and steady, letting me get used to his cadence. I am surprised to find the discomfort has all but passed, and I am moving in tandem with him. Like riding a bike, you don't easily forget the tempo or lose the sense of rhythm and balance. With each thrust my flesh tingles, tiny shocks fluttering through me at the contact. But it's not enough -- I want it harder and faster. I wrap my legs around his body, hooking my ankles against him as I pull him in deeper. His mouth crushes mine, his tongue duplicating the gliding motions of his body. His skin, slick with sweat, glows in the gloomy atmosphere of the room and draws me like a moth to the flame. My mouth opens against his shoulder, nipping his flesh. It has been too long for me, and I am like an alcoholic who has fallen off the wagon. I am intoxicated, and one taste leads to another and another. "Scully. . .I'm close." His voice is like honey, the whispered words sliding sweetly across my skin. He pounds into me, and those intense, penetrating strokes have me arching up against him in a frenzy of desire. I want this, want him, want it all and I can't wait anymore. It starts out as a little ripple, a small wave of sensation that builds and builds until. . . oh God. My eyes seek his as I come, and I am in awe. For this is real, this is Mulder, not some cold fantasy that gives me release but leaves me empty afterwards. His movements are erratic and out of tune, his sense of rhythm gone. My body contracts around him, pulling him deeper. I want him to feel this, to know the same pleasure he gives me. He groans deep in his throat. It's a wild sound that fills the room even as he fills me. I look at him, his face tense with effort. And those eyes! They are burning into mine, sending a message I am unable to understand. His lids close over them as he thrusts one last time. Crying out, his back arches, his body taut as he convulses within me. His climax is fierce, the spasms nearly endless, pulling me over the edge again. Finally, gasping my name, he collapses over me, drained. His body is heavy, pressing me into the sagging mattress but I don't want him to move. Its weight is real, proof that I am awake, that this is not a dream. He nuzzles my neck, his lips busy suckling along its length. I can feel him murmuring words against me, the vibrations echoing across my skin. Reaching my ear, he whispers to me, three words that touch my soul. "I love you." He rolls over, pulling me to his side. Love. It's amazing what power that word holds. It can hurt or heal, build or destroy. Alliances have been sworn, heads have rolled and kingdoms have fallen, all in the name of love. His words overwhelm me. I never expected this. I wrap my arms around him, and do the only thing possible. "Oh, Mulder, I love you too." But it takes more than just saying it to make things right. Though I've tried to forget about last night, my memory of tossed sheets and a black bra won't just disappear. We need to talk about it, and I think hard about how to introduce the subject. Perhaps if I confess my jealousy. . . "Mulder, about this morning. . ." His fingers press against my mouth, stopping the flow of words. "It's okay. You don't need to explain." "No, but I want to. I wasn't being fair to you, Mulder. My only excuse is I was jealous." I push up, leaning on my elbow as my other hand plays with the soft hair sprinkled across his chest. Though my words are delivered in a matter-of-fact tone, inside I'm a mass of nerves. "Jealous?" He's wearing that quizzical look, the one where his forehead wrinkles and his mouth purses like he's tasted a bad sunflower seed. This is turning out to be more difficult than I anticipated. "I know about the woman." His mouth opens and shuts, and for once I've rendered the normally loquacious Mulder almost speechless. "Woman?" He is still puzzled, and I wonder for a second if I damaged more than his scalp earlier. "The one in your room last night, this room. She forgot something -- her bra." I reach in the drawer of the night stand and pull out the offending article of clothing and dangle it in midair. "Bra?" He seems incapable of coherent expression. Instead, he again echoes the last word of my sentence as he stares, fascinated, at the silk and underwire in my hand. "Mulder, I found this in your bed this morning. I smelled the perfume, saw the lipstick stained sheets. She even answered your phone last night, said her name was Ellie." Whatever pure motives I had when I started are quickly being sullied by anger. My cheeks are hot, and surprisingly, I feel the threat of tears burning my eyes. And as though a light has been switched on, I see realization shine from his eyes. A slight smile tugs the corners of his mouth, wounding me with its ease. I turn my head away, silently cursing him, her, and my damned sense of fair play. "Scully, look at me." His voice is gentle, coaxing me to obey his request. When I do, I note the smile is gone. "Ellie's a kid. It was after midnight, and her car broke down. She was going to sleep in it, but I couldn't let her do that. I brought her back here, and tried to get her a room. You know how that turned out. So I did the only thing possible -- I gave her my room and spent the night in the motel office." He winced slightly. "That couch and I are intimately acquainted, and I have the scars to prove it." He grabs the bra from my hand and throws it over his shoulder. I watch, fascinated, as it flies through the air like an oversized bat, landing on a corner of the bureau's mirror. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. I'm almost old enough to be her fath. . . her much older brother." Grinning, he strokes from my shoulder to my wrist, his fingers softly caressing. "However, you should know there's this redhead who's caught my eye. She's a bit stubborn and opinionated, but she shows promise. I think with thirty or forty years of my guidance she might just turn out okay." Linking our fingers, he pulls my hand to his mouth, kissing the palm before pressing it over his heart. "Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part -- I love her." That deserves a kiss, a soft, wet one that is both healing and passionate. I am amazed by its power, my body quickening as the hot sweep of his tongue slips into my mouth. He breaks the kiss, and I moan at the loss. "There's something else you should know, Scully." His wry grin held little humor. "I had a lot of good reasons for kicking that sheriff's ass, but jealousy was numero uno. It was a sobering moment. I'd been so busy battling this chemistry, attraction, whatever the hell you want to call it, that I didn't realize I'd already lost the war until I saw you with him." I can't stop smiling. "More fighting? You've been doing an awful lot of that lately and it has to stop. I think there's been enough violence in this relationship," I tease. "You know, Mulder, in the sixties, the youth had a rallying cry that I think could apply in our situation -- 'Make Love, Not War'." He chuckles softly, shifting to lie over me. "Let's get it on." And we do. The walls are down, the battle is over. And while there is no clear-cut winner, there's no loser either. I'd like to think that everything will be perfect from now on, but it won't be. There will be disagreements, both personal and professional. We're much too different for it to be otherwise. But we're both mature individuals, capable of sitting down and discussing our differences. And if that fails, well, I think we've found another way to clear the air. ****** I can't believe what a difference a day can make. Yesterday, I was a wreck, just like my car. Down on my luck and so confused that I didn't know what I was going to do. Today, well, let's just say that walk to the bus station changed my life. This town is small, but it's not as bad as I expected. The people are real friendly, especially Randy Stevens. He owns the garage here. I don't know what made me stop in. Guess I'm more attached to my piece of shit car than I'd thought. He was real nice when he explained what probably needed to be done. Taught me a little about cars, too. And what a babe! Shoulders and a chest to put Samson to shame, and a pair of the warmest brown eyes you've ever seen. I don't think he has a Deliliah either. Randy doesn't talk down to me or treat me like some dumb kid. He arranged to tow my car and take care of the work. All at a price I could afford. And he's gonna let me pay it off in installments. I am so lucky! So, I'm going to stick around for a while. Randy's mom owns the motel, how's that for a coincidence? Mrs. Stevens offered me a job, working in the coffee shop. Pay isn't much, but that's okay. My expenses are low, and anyway, I bet the tips are great. It feels real good to be responsible for myself. I've always wanted to be on my own, and was always too scared to make the first move. That's something I can thank Ricky for. If he hadn't been such a hottie I'd probably still be back home, listening to my mom bitch about the electric bill instead of working here. Business is slow right now. The breakfast rush is over, and the shop is nearly deserted. Only two are people are left. I've been flirting with one of them, the trucker at the counter. Nothing serious, just for the tip. The other customer's a woman, not exactly my type, if you know what I mean. Not that I think there's anything wrong with it. I just don't swing that way. Anyhow, this woman, a redhead, is sitting in a booth, drinking coffee. I think she's waiting for someone, because she keeps looking out the window and checking her watch. Hope he hasn't stood her up, 'cause I know redheads usually have tempers and I don't want her to cause a scene my first day on the job. This is a little boring. I'm the only waitress, and while there's a lot to do to set up for the lunch rush, it isn't exactly exciting work. Joe, the cook, isn't much fun to talk to, either. He's too busy telling me what to do next, when he's not out back sneaking a smoke. Meanwhile, I've already refilled the trucker's cup several times, and the last time he got a little too friendly. Looked at the name tag I was wearing on the left side of my chest and asked me a really stupid question. "Ellie, huh? So, what do you call the other one?" Giving him a fake smile took almost all my willpower -- the rest of it was used to keep me from pouring hot coffee into his lap. Asshole! Looking out the front window, I notice a car pull up. It's the sheriff. Guess he's one of the morning regulars, too. I can see someone else getting out of the car. . . it's Fox! I'd been hoping to see him again. He shakes hands with the sheriff, and then heads this way. Sneaking a quick look at myself in the mirror behind the counter, I pat my hair into place, wishing I had time to put on fresh lipstick. Too late. He's already pushing through the doors. I've got this big smile plastered on my face, ready to greet him like a long-lost relative, but he walks right by me like I'm invisible or something. He's heading for a booth. . .make that her booth. Guess he's the one she was waiting for. Can't say I blame her for being anxious. I'd worry if he were mine, too. Grabbing a cup and the coffee pot, I head over to them. "Good morning, Fox." I put the cup in front of him, filling it with coffee. He looks a little surprised to see me, but covers it quickly. "Ellie. You're still here? Thought you were headed for Tulsa." He's looking at the redhead, a funny expression on his face, like he's trying to decide whether or not to run. I'm not sure what I walked into, but there's something going on here. The air's crackling like it does just before a thunderstorm, and it might be a good idea if I take cover before lightening strikes. I start to back away when Fox reaches out to grab my wrist. His fingers tighten as I try to pull out of his grasp. Damn, he's strong! "Ellie, I want you to meet someone. This is my partner, Dana Scully." Looking back at the redhead, he grins at her. "Scully, this is Ellie, the girl I told you about." Ah, so this is Agent Scully. She smiles, and it's like the sun has come out again. Her eyes are beautiful, blue like the ocean. I think the danger has passed. She holds out her hand to me, and Fox lets go of my wrist so I can shake it. "Hello, Ellie. I believe we've already spoken on the phone, didn't we?" Oh, shit, not quite out of danger yet. I forgot all about that damned phone call! Guess I can kiss my tip goodbye. "Right, I uh. . . that is. . ." I start to stammer out some excuse, hating the way I sound, like some little kid caught sneaking cigarettes. But Dana's real sweet about it and so is Fox. Maybe I haven't blown a tip here after all. They order quickly, giving me the chance to escape further embarrassment. I keep sneaking looks at them as they eat. They look so happy and so comfortable with each other. How do you get to be that way with someone? What does it take? I admit I've been curious as hell about her, ever since I heard her voice. She isn't at all how I'd imagined. I'd thought she'd be a cross between that female wrestler, Chyna, and Mary Poppins. Big, brawny, and a real goody two shoes. But she not like that at all. Dana's older than I figured -- must be close to thirty. Has this real pale skin. She could use a bit more makeup. I've noticed most women her age are afraid of a little color. Boy, could I teach them a thing or two about that. But still, she is pretty. She's petite, too. Made me feel like fucking Goliath when she walked in here this morning. I hate that, but it's not her fault. At least she didn't ask me how the weather was up here. That's what a lot of guys do and it really pisses me off. I'm staring. I feel myself blush when Dana catches me. She raises one eyebrow and tilts her head to the side, like she's asking me a question without words. Fortunately, I'm quick, and hold up the coffee pot, silently offering refills. She nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief. While I'm filling their cups, Fox asks me about my plans. I tell him about my car repair costs and how I took this job to help pay for it. I babble on, explaining about the catalytic converter, something I've learned from Randy. "It's an important part of a car's exhaust system. It clears the air by removing impurities from the exhaust gases and changing them so they don't pollute." "Sounds like you've got everything under control, Ellie. Will you be heading for Tulsa later?" Fox looks at me, waiting for my answer. I'm not used to people taking me seriously, and I'm not sure what to say. Will I? I think about that for a second before answering. "No, not Tulsa. I'm really not sure where I want to go, but Tulsa doesn't have what I want. Not anymore, anyway." "And what do you want, Ellie? Have you given any thought to your future?" Dana asks this question, leaning forward in her seat. When she moves, a lock of her hair falls over her face. Fox reaches out and tucks it behind her ear. Just like that. Looking at the two of them makes me feel funny inside, kind of jealous. Right now, they remind me a little bit of my parents, sharing a secret and wonderful world where no one else is necessary. After my dad died, my mom was suddenly different, like part of her was missing. I think I understand how she must have felt. My future? Until yesterday, I was happy to just take each day as it came. No plans, no rules, just fun. But now, I don't know. That all sounds kind of empty to me. All of a sudden I know the answer to her question. "I want. . .I want to come first with someone. Does that sound dumb?" "No, Ellie, not dumb at all." Dana smiles at me. She understands exactly what I mean. On the other hand, Fox is looking at us like we're nuts. Men! Sometimes they just don't get it. Maybe I should give him a dollar to go buy a clue. . . Well, my first day of work is nearly over. My feet hurt, but it's a good kind of hurt. I've made over thirty dollars in tips, not bad. And you know what? My biggest tip came from Fox -- five dollars! Guess he did forgive me for the phone call. When I first got here I called this place God-forsaken, and felt a little like Moses in that Sunday School story -- the one where he's wandering in the desert. You know, no place to really call home. But now I seem to have found myself, and found a way to give some meaning to my life. God-forsaken? Funny, but it doesn't seem that way to me now. ****** The End Diana Battis Music may be the food of love, but I live for feedback! E-mail me -- All4Mulder@aol.com