Part 2/5

***

Mulder pushed open his apartment door, flung his coat on the coat rack,
and his keys in the general direction of the hall table. Tossing his
mail on the coffee table, he walked over to the fish tank, peered in,
and noted thankfully that no belly-up evidence of his neglectful
tendencies could be observed. He tapped some food into the tank, then
headed for the kitchen to feed himself. Unfortunately, nothing in his
unusually well stocked refrigerator appealed. Coming back with a glass
of water and a fresh bag of sunflower seeds, he pointed the remote at
the television, and was rewarded with a black and white vision of Ingrid
Bergman.

Going through the motions of shaking off his abbreviated day at the
Bureau, he thought over time spent sitting at the confining desk,
feeling Scully's eyes on his back. Of course, every time he'd turned to
look at her, she'd had her eyes glued to her computer monitor, features
neutral. He should have been collating fertilizer invoices with her,
looking for buying patterns. Hell, he should have been checking out the
self-proclaimed mole from Area 51, who had made been trying to pin him
down for a meeting for the last three weeks. Instead, he had
surreptitiously called up the results of the net and bureau data base
searches he had done before pursuing the Queen Anne, trying to identify
the Scully and Skinner facsimiles he had seen there.

Of course, he acknowledged, that fruitless search hadn't occupied all
his time. There were the few rash moments when he'd considered chucking
work, grabbing Scully's hand, and pulling her into one of the
stairwells. He'd tell her one more time that he loved her, then cleverly
rebut every rational explanation she could offer as to why that wasn't
really true, or why it was a really bad idea at this point in time, or
why she had to get back to work. Maybe, he had thought, maybe he'd just
been doing too damned much talking. And then a vision of Scully pitching
him down the stairs, after he tried substituting physical for verbal
persuasion, had put an abrupt end to that little reverie.

Eventually, his seemingly permanent headache had gotten too persistent
to ignore.

"Hey, Scully," he'd whispered softly, still drawing more attention in
the crowded bullpen than he'd wanted, "I'm gonna take off."

She had looked at him -- more compassion, dammit -- and said, "Do you
want me to drive you home, Mulder?"

He had been tempted, pride no match for the need to be with her, but had
decided that he was in no shape to pursue what he really wanted to
pursue with her. "No," he'd replied. "I'll check out a Bureau car --
tell them I have interviews tomorrow, or something."

Compassion had been chased across her face by wistful sadness. "I'll
call you later. Mulder," she'd said.

He'd been encouraged enough to touch her hand on his way past her desk,
the action shielded by his body from the rest of the bullpen. To his
surprise, his hand was caught and held in her small, strong grip.

Staring at her monitor, she'd said, "The doctor gave you that pain
medication for a reason, Mulder." Glancing at him out of the corner of
her eye, she'd murmured "Get some rest, OK?" He'd pulled his hand from
hers reluctantly, and headed out the door.

As he'd made his way home, he'd puzzled over what he wanted and how to
get it. Starting with one memorable moment six years ago, the things
that had defined his life -- his quest, his work -- had begun to undergo
an inexorable change. She had walked into his office, taken his hand,
and never really let go. And, as the years passed, he'd found that she
had taken his heart, as well. He just wanted her to know that, to
acknowledge it, to understand. Somehow, some way, he had gone about
telling her all wrong, and, in the process, pushed her farther away.

Marveling at his ability to elicit an atagonistic response from Scully,
over issues both great and small, he started to sort through his mail,
finally pulling the plain brown wrapper off a monthly indulgence. He
took a sip of water, stared at the pill bottle on the coffee table, then
shook two pills into his hand, and tossed them back. He congratulated
himself for adhering to Scully's wishes, even when Scully wasn't there
to see it.

What a changed character he was. Even if Scully couldn't -- or wouldn't
-- see that either.

He glanced back at the television, watching Humphrey Bogart watching
Paul Henreid watching Ingrid Bergman watching Humphrey Bogart. He shook
his head, then began to leaf listlessly through the magazine, noting
that none of the cheerfully displayed advertisements for plastic surgery
was attached to a face expressing anything close to the pure passion of
Ingrid Bergman... or the brilliant challenge of Scully.

Just in front of him, a voice sounding distinctly like Walter Skinner's
said, "What do you think you're doing with her?"

Curious, he glanced toward the television, and found Skinner staring
back at him, standing one stair below him and blocking the way to a
supper club dance floor.

***

The body language of the man before him gave the impression that he was
drunk, but his eyes were hard and clear. He started to speak. "She's
with m--"

"She's with him," said the red-haired woman standing beside Mulder. She
took Mulder's hand and pulled him down the stairs. "You have someone
else to keep track of, don't you?" she said to the other man, tipping
her head in the direction of the club.

Looking in the same direction, Mulder saw a woman dressed in black,
sitting at the bar. He couldn't quite see her face, covered as it was by
the large swath of black feathers sprouting from her hat. He looked back
at the woman grasping his hand, and realized she was exchanging a look
with the other man. He recognized it as one Scully had often bestowed on
him, in the very early days of their partnership.

I'll cover your back, it said. Will you trust me?

In a rush, Mulder's memory of the events preceding this exchange
returned. With a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, he followed
the woman back to the club, sneaking glances over his shoulder at the
familiar figure, standing with feet firmly planted, still halfway up the
staircase. "What's he doing here?" he hissed, noting that the Skinner
lookalike was dressed in black tie. "The last time I saw him, he was a
Nazi."

The mystery woman whirled around and settled herself into his arms, as
the strains of 'As Time Goes By' wafted across the dance floor. "The
last time you saw him, he was an undercover military intelligence
officer," she said, "my counterpart." She looked around his shoulder,
back toward the stairs. "My companion in the lifeboat that got us off
the Queen Anne."

He felt a surprisingly strong flare of jealousy at the fond tone that
colored her no-nonsense delivery. "So, you let him save you?"

She turned back to face him, staring straight into his eyes. "Maybe he
let me save him. Maybe we saved each other."

"You're partners now?" he asked, feeling more alone by the minute.

"Yes," she said. "And in a way, I'm glad you're here. So I can thank you
for that."

"Me?" he said. "What did I do?" Tell me so I don't make the same mistake
twice, he thought.

"Do you know what a honey trap is?" she asked.

"A severe test of fortitude for Winnie-the-Pooh?" he answered blankly.

"In intelligence circles. Have you ever heard the term?"

He had. "Is that what you were doing?" he asked gently. It pained him to
think of Scully -- any version of Scully -- wasting herself in
entrapment setups, used merely as bait.

"That's all any of us were allowed to do," she said bitterly. The men in
charge don't have very much imagination when it comes to assigning women
who want to do their patriotic duty. In their minds, the best position
for a woman is behind a typewriter, or on her back."

"Things will change," he said, softly.

She looked up at him, eyes bright with pride, and what might have been
tears. "I'll make sure of that," she said. "I have a little power of my
own now, thanks to my work on that ship. Thanks a bit to you, I guess,
and the big lug over there." She pointed with her chin over Mulder's
shoulder.

Mulder looked back and saw that her partner had moved down the stairs,
and was seated at the bar, one seat down from the woman in black.

His dance partner looked back at him and asked "What are you doing here,
by the way?"

"I don't know, I... think I was looking for someone." He looked down at
her, and then around the club. "And I just ended up here," he said.

"That's a pretty aimless answer for a man who seemed to have such a
strong goal on the Queen Anne," she remarked.

"I did have a goal, in the end, a-- someone to get back to," he
stammered.

"Someone.... Let me guess. A woman?" The flirtatious smile that
accompanied the question rocked him back on his heels. He stopped
dancing momentarily.

His partner looked at him quizzically, then tugged him back into the
dance. "Did you get back to her?" she asked.

"Yes, but..." he bit his lip.

"She wasn't as happy to see you as you were to see her?" she guessed
compassionately.

"No!" he protested. "She was glad -- she even came looking for me."

"Then she must care for you quite a bit," said his dance partner,
extricating herself from his arms and turning to clap in the direction
of the band as the song ended.

"She cares for me," he said sadly. "Just not... not the way I want her
to."

The music started up again. His companion began to move toward the
tables, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward him. "One
more," he said softly in her ear. "Please?"

She turned slowly, glanced toward the bar, then up at him. "Sure," she
said, smiling again. "One more. I guess I owe you after the right cross
I planted on you." She reached up and touched his cheek carefully.
"How's that doing, by the way?"

He flinched a little at her soft touch, then murmured, "Fine," as they
started to dance again, to the tune of 'Someone To Watch Over Me'. He
stared down at her. "So what's with you and Skinner?"

"Who?" she said. "Oh, him. His name's not Skinner," she said with a
laugh. "And we're... partners."

She should be careful in her business, thought Mulder. She was almost as
bad a liar as Scully... his other Scully. Mildly confused, but delighted
to have kept any version of Scully in his arms for such an extended
period, Mulder decided to enjoy himself for as long as this -- whatever
it was -- lasted.

He gave her his best leer and said "Just partners? Is that all you are
to each other?" To his chagrin, her face hardened.

"In case you hadn't noticed, there's a war going on out there and we've
got a job to do, buster," she said.

"Sorry," he said.

"I suppose you think that all I've got in my silly head is catching a
man and settling down," she said, in a challenging voice.

"No!" he exclaimed. "No, I've never thought that. You remind me of my
partner, and I wouldn't want to work with anyone else. She's the only
one who will-- who can work with me," he added, somewhat forlorn.
"She's... amazing."

They danced in strained silence for several measures, until he realized
that she had turned her gaze back to him. "So you and this other woman
-- your partner? You say she doesn't feel for you what you feel for her.
What do you feel for her?"

It was so hard to look at this bright, beautiful woman, feel her in his
arms, and not think of Scully. He took in her vivid hair, the sparkle of
warmth and intelligence in her eyes, her soft mouth, quirked on the
brink of a smile he was aching to see again.

"I love you," he thought. At her startled look, he realized he had said
the words out loud.

"Her, I mean," he said quickly "I love..." he trailed off, helplessly.

She gazed up into his eyes, silent for a moment, then whistled under her
breath. "Did you tell her like that?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, looking down. "She rolled her eyes and got away from me
as fast as she could.

Seeing the pity in his dance partner's eyes, he finished in a rush. "It
was something she wasn't expecting, I guess. When I tried to tell her
again, she didn't want to hear it." The frustration from that
morning-after conversation colored his voice. "I don't know why."

"You'd better start thinking, because you must have done something else
that was really stupid, something that kept her from reacting the way
you wanted. I'll tell you true, if things were different, and you said
it to me that way I'd..." she hesitated and bit her lip.

Intrigued, he asked "You'd what?"

She stopped moving and stood in his arms, then reached up to touch his
cheek again. "I would have asked you to kiss me again. And I wouldn't
have socked you, after."

The music ended. While the couples around them started to clap, they
stood still, gazing at each other. His companion gave a little shake,
then slipped from Mulder's arms, took his hand, and led him to one of
the side tables.

Mulder flopped down onto one of the small chairs, while his companion
stood by hers, one eyebrow raised expectantly. He jumped to his feet,
mortified at a hazy memory of once having had manners, and pulled her
chair out for her. He sat back down, and wondered if part of his problem
with Scully was that she thought he took her for granted. His companion
gave him an inquiring look. "Yes?" he said.

"Would you like some champagne?" she said.

"If you want some," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "You have to signal the waiter, buster. He won't
pay any attention to me."

As he sat up, and began looking for a waiter, the light at the base of
the phone on the table started flashing. His companion picked it up,
listened for a moment, then arched another Scully-like eyebrow in his
direction. She glanced over at the bar, and he followed her gaze toward
the back of the woman in black, now holding the bar phone to her ear.
His table companion handed the phone to him. "It's for you," she said.

Surprised, he took it. "Mulder," he said, into the phone.

"Fox," said Diana, "How are you?"

"W-What?" he stammered, turning back toward the bar.

***

His gaze was met by an infommercial for a food dehydrator, blaring from
the television. Pointing the plastic rectangle in his hand at the
television, he pushed buttons frantically, then realized his phone
wouldn't turn the television off. Dropping the phone, he scrambled for
the remote, and yelped at the sudden sharp pain in his head. Once he had
the television safely off, he bent over slowly to pick the phone up off
the floor. It rang in his hand.

He jumped, managed not to drop it again, and said "Hello?"

"Fox, what just happened?"

"I-- uh, I dropped the phone," he mumbled.

"How are you feeling?" Diana was at her most ingratiating. "I've been
worried about you."

"Fine," he said. "I was just..." Dreaming, he realized, though once
again, he had no specific memory of the events in the dream. "I was just
sleeping."

"Well that's good, I'm sure you need it," said Diana. "Have you eaten
yet? Would you like me to come over and fix something for you?"

"No!" he said, wincing at the volume of his own voice. "No, that's okay,
Scully, uh-- Scully is coming by later. She'll take care of everything."
Liar. Too bad. Good cause.

"I'm sure she will," said Diana, patently not buying it.

Annoyed, he got up and took his empty glass back to the kitchen. "I'm
really tired, Diana. I'll talk to you later, okay?" he said, knowing he
sounded abrupt and really not giving a damn. Scully might not be coming
by, but she'd promised to call, and he wanted the line free.

"Fine," said Diana, stiffly. "I'll see you at work tomorrow, perhaps."

"I doubt it," he said. "I don't get down to the basement much anymore."

"I really wish you could let bygones be bygones," she said, in a smooth
voice that failed to cover her irritation.

I really wish you would just be gone, thought Mulder, equally irritated.
"Well, Diana, thanks for calling, but I gotta go," he said. "I've got
tickets for the Ice Capades."

"Really? Who are you going wi-- Oh. Really, Fox."

He grinned at the click that sounded in his ear. That was only one of
the differences between Scully and Diana, he mused. Scully would simply
have told him to try and enjoy himself, and to leave his gun at home. He
flicked the television back on, settled on the couch, and found his
attention caught again by the dehydrator infommercial. Now that they
were doing a lot more stakeouts, it might be useful to stock up on
provisions.

***

End Part 2/5

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