TITLE: Catalytic Converter
AUTHOR: Diana Battis 
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! 
FEEDBACK:  DianaBattis@aol.com or 
All4Mulder@aol.com
Author's notes at the end.
My fanfiction can be found at: 
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/The
XFilesFic.html

******

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
Feedback -- All4Mulder@aol.com

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I have a confession to make -- 
I am one of the few Americans of driving age 
who does not have a license. The only car I've 
ever driven was a bumper car, and I know that 
doesn't count. So, if I've incorrectly 
described any auto parts or their functions, 
please be kind!

As ever, thanks to Kristy for her patience and 
encouragement, and for making betas fun.

    Source: geocities.com/dbattis.geo