Part 9 Hotel Andres Lobby 11:30 PM Miranda watched as Kevin came down the hall with a cup of tea and a yellow dog by his side. He had gone to her apartment to make her the warm drink and Max ambled by his side. He obviously was still feeling guilty over knocking him down earlier in the evening. Bless his furry soul. "You're wrong." Kevin told her, handing her the cup. "What?" "Your reading--it was wrong." "My reading of you?" "Yes. Perhaps you don't have the gift you thought you have." "I know what I saw." "Maybe you have x-ray vision or something. Instead of seeing in my heart, you saw through my pants and into my wallet." "Which brings up an interesting point," she winced at the inadvertent sexual innuendo but needed to address the exact issue that she had with the whole situation. "You were divorced--what? Three years ago? And you still carry your wedding picture in your wallet. And you claim this woman is not the love of your life?" "I claim she is A love of my life. My first love. The one that was tangled in teenage hormones and young adult frustrations and loneliness. One love. One of perhaps a few. Perhaps not. But it would be sad to think that she was *it* when I feel nothing for her now. That I may now--thanks to Max and the ghost--live maybe thirty or forty more years and have no one else." "I never said that." "And the picture carrying thing? I have my sister's first communion picture in my wallet. She's 31 years old now. You give me a picture ... it pretty much stays in there for life. Or until I get a new wallet--whichever comes first." "Remind me to give you a wallet for Christmas, then." He smiled. A full-out, dazzling smile. "What are you so happy about?" "Exchanging gifts. I'll buy you perfume. Or exotic underwear." "Kevin." "I never would have asked you to read me if I wasn't 100 percent certain of whose face you'd see. And it wasn't my ex-wife's. And I'm not settling for thirty or forty years of loneliness when there is a perfectly lovely woman right in front of me who I have been crazy about since she and her dog first bowled me over on the boardwalk. Quite literally. You're open to all kinds of thoughts and ideas. A whole other world. A whole other dimension. Why can't you be open to the idea of someone really loving you?" XXXXX Blue Shores Motel January 20, 1999 11:45 AM Scully walked down the boardwalk and let herself into Mulder's room. He was just getting off the phone and she made herself comfortable by removing her jacket and sitting in her favorite dusty easy chair. "The dead man was IDed as Hank Jenson, a bigger fish in the mob pond," Mulder started without preamble. "I guess Monte felt by killing him--he could take over some of his territory." "So, Kevin is not in a good space, is he? He witnessed Monte setting up the hit. The only witness to Monte's crime where there have been absolutely no living witnesses before." Scully asked. "No, actually, that problem has been solved. The mobster was missing from the day after that meeting Kevin and his partner interrupted. Murphy kept a running log of all their activities--even the ones that seemed like they were nothing much to speak of, which gives us an exact date. Well, Jenson must have had friends in very high places. The coroner positively IDed the body during the night and this morning, Ricardo Monte was found dead. Bullet hole through the brain." "Justice-mob-style. Well, at least Kevin won't be going into witness protection." "No, he can stay here and moon over Miranda." "I think there's mutual mooning going on, Mulder. And I think she might have more time for it because I don't think she's reopening the shop." "She's not?" he asked, surprised and somewhat disappointed. "I don't think so. I went to say goodbye to her and she said she had to think about it but that life--and love-- was a little too complicated to define. Even with help from the paranormal." "Damn." "What?" "I didn't even get my free reading." "I thought you turned it down. You didn't 'need it." Well--run on over. I'm sure she'd make an exception in your case." "Nah. I really don't need to be read. I'm just yanking your chain." She lifted his hand and traced the lines there. "I see us getting the x-files back." "Now you're yanking my chain, right?" "No. I didn't say when it would happen. It could be now, when we return as the defenders of the Deputy Director's niece--or we could be back to fertilizer duty by the end of the week. Who knows? But we will get them back." "And what do we do in the meantime?" "We do whatever it takes to hang on to what really matters." He smiled and brought her hand up to his lips. He planted a soft, gentle kiss there. "Want to hit the slots before we leave. Maybe we'll strike it rich. Get enough money to open up our own casino or something. Or do you want to go home?" "Let's go home. Just you and me in a room without mold. We're bound to get lucky." "Luckier," Mulder corrected, leaning over and kissing her gently on the lips. She cupped his face for a moment and looked in his eyes, then nodded in agreement. On the way out, each of them looked up at the rundown facade of the Hotel Andres. For a brief moment, Scully could have sworn she saw the hotel restored to its former glory. A light pinkish hotel that sparkled in the sun with a tropical warmth that radiated old world charm. An old man sat on the new wrought iron balcony with a smile on his face and a cane by his side. She blinked and the image was gone. She knew what Miranda's next career move would be. It would cost money. More money than most single people ever needed in their lifetime. And it would need the dreams of someone with a lifelong passion for filling lonely hearts. She wished Miranda Godspeed. And, as she allowed herself the indulgence of taking Mulder's hand in public, she could swear she heard a cheerful bark in response--warming the cold, hollow air of winter in Atlantic City. The End. Dedicated to: My mother, father and brother for timeless memories (including family vacations--guess where?) And to the four-legged creatures in my life--past and present. Max is a blend of the dog of my childhood and the nutty, wonderful creature I live with now, and the name is an homage to my cat, Maxine, who I miss like crazy. And to Atlantic City--in all its bizarre glory.