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. 




    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic