Apologies for the formatting in the first part of this section.
Nothing seemed to work,so any suggestions on improvement would be helpful.
**Webmistress Shirley**

****************
CHAPTER 6
LEGALIZING THE GENE POOL

A dark blue rental sedan pulled up in front of the St. Thomas
Catholic
Church. Detective Moorehouse slid out of the driver's seat,
opened the back
door, and assisted Dana with pulling a somewhat groggy Mulder
from the back
seat to stand unsteadily on the slick concrete sidewalk. Dana
opened her
umbrella and held it over both their heads.

Mulder swayed slightly and Dana reached out her hand to steady
him. "Exactly
how many pills did you take?" she inquired with concern while
steeling
another accusing glance at Jake.

"Relax *Dr.* Scully," he slurred lazily. "I was a good boy - I
only took
two."

"Two?!! You took *two* of those things?" she asked again, unable
to believe
what she thought she heard. "Oh, good grief, Mulder, you idiot,"
she huffed.
"you 've studied pharmacology and know damn well that you can't
pop perks like
aspirin. What the hell were you thinking?"

Mulder shrugged his shoulders apologetically, bowed his head, and
sulked. "It
hurt," he muttered as his only defense.

Dana's expression softened at his admission. "I know, I know,"
she
whispered, gently patting his arm. "Are you sure you're going to
be up to
this? We could call it off and do it tomorrow," she offered. In
her
professional opinion, Mulder did not look good. Beads of
perspiration
glistened on his forehead and he somehow managed to look both
pale and
flushed all at the same time.

"No way. We're doing this right here... right now," he said,
pulling back
his shoulders with solid determination. Relinquishing the
support of the car
on which he'd been so heavily leaning, he straightened himself to
his full
height in an attempt to foster an appearance of confidence and
well-being. It almost worked. "Dana, after all we've been
through, I'm not
about to let a stupid toothache ruin the happiest day of my life,
so you
better just get your stuff and get changed because I'm getting
married
tonight even if I have to crawl down the aisle to do it."

Jake struggled to get Dana's suitcase out of the trunk and Mulder
suddenly
didn't feel quite as inadequate as he had at the airport. "What
the hell did
she put in this thing?" Moorehouse wondered out loud as he
dropped the case
to the ground with a thud.

"If I know Dani Doo, probably Jimmy Hoffa," chuckled a familiar
voice that
came from over Dana's left shoulder. Startled, she spun around
to find
herself staring up at the smiling face of her big brother, Bill.

"How? Who? Why?" Dana sputtered in open mouthed surprise as
Bill enveloped
her in a brotherly bear hug.

"You don't think we'd miss you marrying that klutzy, goofball,
trouble-maker,
do you? Besides, I came just to make sure 'daddy' over there
doesn't get
cold feet and chicken out. Although judging by the way he ogles
you all the
time, I suspect that's highly unlikely," he snickered.

"We?" Dana exclaimed. "Who else is here?"

"Well, let me see..." he purposely extended his pause until Dana
whacked him
on the arm with impatience. "There's me, Danny, Mom, and oh
yeah, Melissa,
the wandering gypsy. There's also a few truly unique
individuals hanging
around the rectory. I'm afraid your other half is going to have
to claim
that bunch, with any luck before the men in the white coats do.
Always knew
Mulder was nuts - now I know why."

Bill backed away from Dana and looked past his sister to Mulder
who'd resumed
his former position holding up the car. "Jesus, Mulder, you look
like shit,"
Bill observed with a sardonic grin.

Mulder flashed the most engaging smile he could muster under the
circumstances. "Why thank you so much, *Dr.* Bill," Mulder
replied
facetiously. "You're looking quite dashing yourself. Really
nice of you to
drop by."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," Bill chuckled lightly
as he bent to
help Jake with the bag from Hell. "God, sis, you really do have
Hoffa in
her, don't you?" he groaned. "You ever think about investing in
one of those
folding luggage cart things? Or at the very least maybe a bag
with wheels?"

"No, it hasn't exactly been on my top ten list of thing to do
lately," she
replied, casually brushing his comment aside.

Bill made a point of staring at her expanding waistline. "Bet I
know what
has," he retorted with his usual inappropriate sense of humor.
All it got
him was a well-placed elbow in the ribs and a familiar glare.

As the initial shock of finding her family at her impending
wedding began to
wear off, the obvious question occurred to her. "Who told you
about this and
how did everyone get here? I just found out about it myself."
She had a
feeling she already knew the answer before her brother even
opened his mouth.

Mulder had decided to use the distraction Bill created to make
good his
escape before Dana had a chance to realize what he'd done.
Stealthily
grabbing his own small bag, he vacated his position by the car.
Ducking
through the raindrops, he opened the church's large, hand-carved
double doors
and was just about to escape into religious sanctuary when the
voice of his
beloved shattered the stillness and landed on his ears like the
Anvil Chorus.

"Freeze!!!" she ordered. "Not one more step, Fox Mulder!"

He froze in mid-stride and closed his eyes. <Oh boy, you're in
for it now.>
Shit!!! Two more steps... just two more lousy steps and he
could've
temporarily avoided the confrontation he felt advancing on him
from the rear.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, turned around, and saw the sheepish
grin on
Bill's face as Dana marched up the steps toward him under a full
head of
steam.

Mulder wasn't a tremendously religious man, but he did believe in
a supreme
being and the validity of the human soul. He wasn't much for
praying either,
but looking at Dana right at this moment, he thought that perhaps
now would
be a good time to start. "I'll make a deal with you," he
whispered under his
breath while tilting his head upward. "You cover my ass on this
one and
'Starwhores' goes to video heaven -- or accidentally ends up in
Frohicke's
VCR. Okay, okay ---
I'll cancel my subscription to 'Celebrity Skin,'" he added
desperately.
<Please??> He really didn't want to fight with her, tonight of
all nights.
He'd meant well. As much as he loved this beautiful, willful
woman, there
were still times that he found himself at a loss when it came to
completely
understanding her. Of course, men weren't supposed to understand
women
completely. That was a fundamental law of nature he'd discovered
long ago,
so he opted for 'some' understanding, unconditional love, and a
lot of
acceptance.

"Wait just one minute, Sherlock! Am I the only one you *didn't*
tell about
this?" Dana now stood on the step right before him, eyes all
spit and fire,
her hair reflecting the flaming crimson of the votive candles
lining the
walls of the vestibule. It always intrigued him how someone so
small could
be so damn imposing.

Her shoulders were back, both hands on her hips in exasperation.
Mulder knew
that she was completely unaware that *that* particular stance
only served to
accentuate her rapidly
growing abdominal bulge.

Reality struck him like a bolt of lightening, overwhelming him
with emotion
and love to the point that he thought he just might burst with an
uncontrollable joy he'd thought would never be his. This was
what he'd
waited for his entire life, what he'd wanted and needed for so
long. This
was life and it was worth every endured second of pain, torture,
and sorrow
in his life's journey just to be able to experience even this one
small,
joyous fragment in time.

Mulder's hands trembled even though his voice remained
deceptively calm as he
spoke. "Dana, I'm sorry. Guess I haven't been able to do much
of anything
right in the last few days, have I?" He grazed one finger lightly
along the
side of her cheek to the tip of her chin, lovingly tilting her
face upward.
"I truly only meant to make you happy," he whispered. "I knew
you'd be upset
if your family wasn't here for something so important so I
arranged to fly
them out. I didn't tell you because I thought it'd be a nice
surprise."
Mulder averted his eyes from her gaze and absently kicked at the
base of the
step with the toe of his shoe.

God, Dana thought to herself, he'd looked at her with such love
and trust
that for several seconds she'd actually forgotten to breathe.
Yes, she'd
been irritated at him for planning her day without *her.* But he
honestly
did have her best interests at heart, even if he did royally piss
her off on
occasion. Then she reconsidered her line of thinking, mentally
kicking
herself for being so self-centered. This wasn't just *her* day
-- it was
his, too. He'd tried to make it as special for her as it
obviously was for
him and she'd been nothing but cranky and quarrelsome. Why in the
world would
he want to marry such an ornery person?

Tentatively she reached up and slipped her hand in his and
squeezed it
reassuringly. In his pleading, hopeful eyes she found her answer
and her
soul soared with joy. Look at him, her heart instructed. He
loves you!
Unconditionally -- warts, bad temper, and all -- just as you love
him, even
with all his little infuriating quirks.

"Come on Spooky, let's get hitched." Stretching on tiptoes, she
met him
halfway in a warm embrace and a lingering kiss.

"Ah, ain't that cute," Jake grumbled as the couple's embrace
slowly ended.
Neither one had heard him enter the church behind them. "I think
I'm gonna
be sick. Can you two break the strangle-hold and get a move on?
I'm
standin' here holding what must be half of D.C. in my hands and
you two
decide to get maudlin."

"Hitched?" Mulder muttered.

"You quote 'My Fair Lady;' I quote 'Annie Get Your Gun."

"Figures," he grimaced, then jumped as a small well-placed hand
goosed him
from behind. "Hey!! Hands off the goods until after the
ceremony. I'm not
that kinda guy," he joked with mocked indignation.

"Since when?" Dana teased.

"Scully, you're a wanton woman," he shot back.

"So what does that make you?" she retaliated.

"Exceedingly happy??" His voice cracked perceptibly as one
eyebrow rose
upward drawing a corner of his mouth up with it.

Any further smart remarks were hastily quashed by the arrival of
Father
Thomas Collins, pastor of St. Thomas. The simple black pants and
shirt,
complete with small white collar, took Dana back to her Catholic
school days.
She was getting married, in a church, by a priest. Holy cow,
this is really
going to happen, she thought. But didn't they have to take
classes or
something first in order to be married in the church? Granted,
she hadn't
actually been a practicing Catholic for years, but she did
remember some
rules about getting married, things that had to be done, other
than the trip
they'd already taken to the Marriage Bureau downtown for the
license.

"Fox!" Father Collins said, slapping Mulder on the back. "Good
to see you
again. How's the jump shot coming along?" Dana was glad that
Father Collins
hadn't called Mulder 'my son,' like the priests of her childhood
days always
seemed to do. From the looks of things, Mulder was at least five
or six
years older than the good Father, and hearing Mulder called 'my
son' from
someone younger would have definitely sent her over the edge.

"Getting better, although I don't get much time to practice,"
Mulder replied.
Both men turned toward Dana. "Tom, I'd like you to meet the love
of my life,
Dana Scully." Dana reached out her hand to shake the priest's,
but he
surprised her by giving her a big hug instead.

"Dana Scully, I'm so very glad to meet you," the priest said.
"I'm sure you
are the one responsible for the joy I see in my friend, and I
thank you for
that. No one deserves it more than he does."

Dana blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes at the
priest's
words. She made a note to ask Mulder later just where he had met
Father
Collins. Obviously their friendship ran pretty deep.

"I appreciate you making the time to do this for us," Mulder
said.

"Nonsense," Father Collins replied. "It was the very least I
could do. We
don't get much call for weddings this time of night, so pulling
this together
on short notice was no problem at all. And I have to admit,
between your two
families, pretty much everything has already been taken care of.
All we have
to do now is make sure you both show up on time. And now that
you're finally
here, we can get started."

Father Collins surveyed the small party in crammed inside the
vestibule.
Spotting Jake and the large suitcase he was carrying, he made the
obvious
deduction. "The bride's, no doubt," he said. "If you'll be good
enough to
go through that door," he said, pointing at a door that led
around the side
of the church, "you'll find the rest of the bridal party. Dana,
we have a
room back there where you can change and get yourself ready.
Fox, since you
don't have a long white gown to contend with, we're going to make
you deal
with the stairs. There's space for you to change in the
basement, then you
can come back upstairs over by the altar. That way you won't
have to walk
down the aisle. We'll leave that honor to your beautiful bride."

Dana's head was reeling, listening to the priest choreograph
their
last-minute wedding preparations. Either he'd had a lot of
experience at
this, or he'd been a drill sergeant in his last career. But the
questions
she'd had earlier still nagged at her.

"Wait," she began. "Don't we have some paperwork to fill out, or
an
interview to go through, or something?"

Father Collins grinned at her. "It's all been taken care of,
Dana. I can
see that you and Fox love each other. You haven't been married
before, have
you?" She shook her head no. "Well, neither has Fox. And as
for raising
the children Catholic, well... that's something you both need
some time to
decide and I'm not going to push you on that. You are both
decent people and
you'll make the decision you feel is right for your children.
I've never
seen Fox this happy, and I am honored to marry the two of you."
He shrugged.
"And as for that paperwork, you can sign it later when I fill out
the
license. Does that answer your questions?"

"Yes," she replied, letting out a huge sigh. "Thank you."

Ok, now that her religious questions had been taken care of, one
procedural
question began to nag at the back of Dana's mind. Mulder's bag
was too
small. It was just too darn small to contain
anything except the usual collection of male toiletries and
paraphernalia.
"Mulder, where's your tux? There's no way it would ever fit in
that bag.
And you already know how I feel about what you have on," she said
wrinkling
her nose.

He stopped at the top of the basement stairs and smiled. "I
didn't have time
to go rent a tux, so I gave my measurements to Aunt Carol. She
said not to
worry and that she'd handle everything."

Dana looked askance. "And you let her?!" Now she understood her
brother's
snarkey remark about 'unusual people and men in white coats.'
Bill had just
had his first close encounter of the third kind with the MacLoed
side of
Mulder's quirky family.

"I didn't have much of a choice in the matter," Mulder explained.
"Alex and
Catie couldn't do it. They were too busy trying to find a
ringmaster for the
members of the three-ring circus they refer to as children, not
to mention
the mutt. Aunt Carol was the only one available. Don't worry.
I gave her
all my sizes. All she had to do was order it and pick it up, so
there's no
way she could screw it up... is there?" he asked as a margin of
doubt crept
into his voice.

"I didn't have much of a choice in the matter," Mulder explained.
"Alex and
Catie couldn't do it. They were too busy trying to find a
ringmaster for the
members of the three-ring circus they refer to as children, not
to mention
the mutt. Aunt Carol was the only one available. Don't worry.
I gave her
all my sizes. All she had to do was order it and pick it up, so
there's no
way she could screw it up... is there?" he asked as a margin of
doubt crept
into his voice.

The look Dana lobbed his way did not inspire him with confidence.
Coupled
with the onslaught of family members heading toward them both
from the
basement (his family) and the side of the church (her family), he
just
cringed. Maybe inviting their respective families had not been
such a great
idea after all. Too late now.

Margaret Scully spied her daughter and soon to be son-in-law
standing face to
face at the top of the basement stairs, engaged in what appeared
to be some
sort of confrontation. Now
what, she thought to herself with dismay. These were two of the
most
stubborn, pigheaded, and obstinate individuals she would ever
have the
pleasure of knowing. Getting them down the aisle without any
mishaps was
going to be one of the major accomplishments in her life, no
doubt one that
she would not soon forget.

Drawing closer, she noted the fact that Fox didn't look just
right. He had
regained some of the paleness she'd remembered when he'd been
recovering and
looked like someone had punched him in the jaw. What had he
gotten himself
into this time? Now, not only did she have to worry about her
little girl,
she had occupy her worry circuits with him too. No, that wasn't
quite true.
Fox would take care of her baby girl as well as her grand baby
when it
arrived. She saw that fact in his face every time he looked at
Dana. Her
daughter was a lucky young woman to have a man who loved her as
much as Fox
did, so she'd stop worrying and just try to enjoy them. Dana
looked
beautiful -- radiant, in fact. Fox looked... overwhelmed.

Taking her daughter in her arms, Margaret whispered in a laughing
voice, "I'm
so happy Fox brought us here. I would not have wanted to miss
this. Love
him, baby," she whispered in Dana's ear. "There won't always be
smooth
sailing, believe me, but the rewards are worth all the stormy
weather."

Margaret glanced at Mulder over her daughter's shoulder. Though
he was as
handsome as ever, there was still a look of pain about his eyes
and a
tenseness that caused faint lines in his forehead. After being
his second
shadow for the two weeks it took him to recuperate, she was
accustomed to his
physical nuances by now and this young man was definitely
hurting. She just
knew he'd gone back to work too soon.

Melissa came up from behind her mother and hugged them both. "So
he's
finally going to make an honest woman of you?" she teased.
Before Dana could
think of a stinging retort, Melissa kissed her on the cheek.
"I'm so happy
for you, Dana, I can't tell you. You don't need to be psychic to
know that
you and Fox belong together." She pulled on Dana's coat sleeve,
tugging her
down the hall. "Come on, sis, time to turn into a bride."

Margaret watched as her oldest daughter took over, directing Jake
and Bill
where to put Dana's suitcase and gently shoving Dana in after
them. "Mom!"
Melissa called, waiting for Margaret to join in their
preparations.

"I'll be there in a minute, dear," she replied with a gentle
smile. "You can
go ahead and get started, I won't be long."

Margaret turned her attention to Mulder. "Well, I'm not going to
welcome you
to the family," she said.

Mulder was stunned. "You're not?"

Margaret grinned back at him. It was probably a little cruel to
tease him on
his wedding day, but she just couldn't resist. "Of course not.
You're
already family, Fox, you know that." She leaned in to hug him.
Wedding days
were a day for hugs, after all. "This just makes it official."

Mulder hugged the smaller woman back. She was so much like
Scully --
courage, intelligence, and wit, all in the same small, dear
package. "I will
love her always," he told his soon to be mother-in-law. "I will
cherish her
and take care of her, and I will protect her with my own life."

She pulled back to look into his eyes. "The Captain would have
liked you,
Fox. I wish you could have gotten to know him better. He would
have
approved."

"Thank you," Mulder managed to get out. Anything further he
might have
wanted to say seemed stuck in his throat.

Margaret released him, giving him a gentle shove toward the
basement stairs.
"Time for you to get ready, too," she said. He beamed at her,
the broad grin
giving his face a healthier look. She'd have to remember to ask
Dana what
was wrong. She watched Fox head off down the stairs, then
followed Melissa
down the hallway to where her daughter was transforming herself
from FBI
agent to beautiful bride.

Mulder suddenly felt warm all over. Everything was going to work
out.
Everything would be fine. He found himself looking forward to
Margaret's
warm smiles and gentle hugs and realized sadly just how much he'd
missed
those small, supposedly insignificant displays of love and
affection. Luckily
he didn't have much time to dwell on those thoughts before his
Aunt
Carol spotted him, dragging Alex and Catie along in her wake.

"Fox, me darlin'," his aunt's voice lilted. "Ye be lookin' a
might pale.
Later ye be needin' some
sunshin' on ye, but fer now we be needin' ta get ye inta yer
weddin'
garments. Come on, lad get yer arse in here." Mulder took a deep
breath as
he followed his aunt into the dressing room.

His dressing room turned out to be a small classroom. Child-size
desks and
chairs cluttered the center, while a portable blackboard stood
off to the
side. Colorful cardboard pictures depicting the Holy Family, the
apostles
and various saints were taped to the walls. 'Raising the
children
Catholic...' Father Thomas' words came back to him. Until this
very second
he hadn't given much thought to the actual day to day raising of
a child, but
standing here in the middle of a classroom brought it all home to
him. His
child... their child. They were going to have to make all the
decisions for
this small person, everything from which school would be right to
what
religious beliefs - if any - they should teach their child. This
was
something he and Dana hadn't even discussed. How could they
possibly be
ready to be parents?

"Stop yer daydreamin' and get yer butt in gear," Aunt Carol
prodded him. "I'm
sure the good father won't be a waitin' all day."

Mulder spotted a large garment bag on the table. He really could
have used a
shower but the way things were they hadn't even been able to
check in at
their hotel yet. A shower would have to wait for later. Maybe
he could
freshen up in a sink - if he could find one down here, that is.

Carol walked up behind her nephew as he reached for the bag.
"You'll
probably not be likin' what I've chosen for ye ta wear," she
remarked.

Mulder didn't like the sound of that comment. What had he said
before? How
could she screw it up? He had the sinking feeling that he was
about to find
out. He turned and gave his eccentric aunt a questioning look
then unzipped
the garment bag as if it were a body bag instead. What greeted
him was not
the black color of the tux he expected but the green, yellow,
red, and black
of the MacLoed tartan plaid. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, his mind
screamed.
He should have known better than to leave this kind of thing in
Auntie's
hands. Oh goddamn it, Dana's gonna kill you.

Okay, calm down. Just calm down. Mulder took a deep breath,
unclenching his
jaw with difficulty, and mainly because so much stress made his
face hurt.
Ok. Here's what I'll do, he thought. I'll just wear what I've
got on. So
what if it's wrinkled, dirty, and just a little... he raised one
arm and
sniffed experimentally... yeah, ok, it's smelly.

Almost desperately, Mulder thought of another alternative.
Knowing his
family, this could be some kind of a joke, right? Just a 'let's
get Fox
*real* good' type of pre-wedding prank. Remembering to breathe
in slow, calm
breaths, Mulder turned toward his aunt, trying very hard to keep
his voice on
an even keel. "Auntie Carol, where's my tux?" he asked
hopefully.

Margaret stood inside the door, watching her daughter freshen her
makeup.
The small vanity Dana sat in front of looked like an antique - a
rich, dark
wood stand with a tall, triple pane mirror. Surprising to find
such a thing
in a church, but then again, with so many weddings they no doubt
had plenty
of experience with the feminine need to freshen up before the big
event.
Dana's suit jacket had been hung over the back of a chair, and
Melissa was
busy unpacking part of her sister's suitcase. The men had
apparently been
banished to allow her daughter some privacy. Now was as good a
time as any.

"Dana," Margaret said, walking over to stand behind her daughter.
"Fox isn't
feeling well. I can tell. What's wrong?"

Dana's smile was reflected in the vanity's mirrors. It took her
mother by
surprise. "It's nothing exotic this time, Mom," she said shaking
her head.
"He's got an old run of the mill, everyday kind of toothache.
He's too
stubborn to go to the dentist and get it fixed. The idiot would
rather
suffer and complain about it instead."

"So, he's afraid of dentists," Margaret sighed with
understanding. "Your
father was the same way."

"Daddy?" She didn't think her father had been afraid of
anything.

Margaret nodded. "He just never admitted it. You know how your
father was,
Dana. Always had to be the sure, steady, strong anchor in our
lives. He'd
rather put up with the pain than admit that sitting in the
dentist's chair
was scarier than heading out on a mission. But there are ways to
work around
that without wounding their pride."

Dana was intrigued. "What happened? How did you get him to go?"

Margaret laughed at a memory that hadn't occurred to her in
years. "Your
father had this toothache. He suffered for days and made
everyone else
miserable in the process. So I did the only thing I could do
under the
circumstances."

"What?"

"I conspired with a few of your father's fellow officers. They
took him out,
got him drunker than a skunk, and hauled him off to the base
dentist. Oh,
did he have a fit when he woke up. But by the time the hangover
was gone, so
was his toothache."

"Mom, you think that would work with Mulder?" Dana asked. "I
don't think I
can stand seeing him hurt much longer. And short of knocking him
out, I
can't think of another way to deal with this."

Melissa grinned with anticipation. "Let me take care of this.
I'll mention
it to Bill and -- who was that detective? Mr. Moorehouse? He's
the same one
from the cruise ship, right? I'm sure they'll be able to come up
with
something interesting. After all, no one had time to throw Fox a
bachelor
party."

Dana wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. Mulder would
probably like it
even less. But now was not the time to worry about it. Melissa
had hung her
grandmother's wedding gown on the back of the closet door. Dana
fluffed up
the skirt, enjoying the feel as yards of soft Irish lace passed
through her
fingers. She marveled, as she always did, at the hours of
tedious work it
had taken to hand sew each of the hundreds of beads in place on
the bodice.
She'd always loved this dress, envied her cousins when they got a
chance to
wear it at their own weddings. Now it was her turn.

Margaret came up softly behind Dana and placed an arm around her
shoulder.
"I think it's time to get this dress off the hanger and onto you,
Dana."

"You're going to be a beautiful bride," Melissa added.

To her surprise, Dana's hands were shaking as she reached out for
the hanger.
A thought occurred to her, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a
wave of
emotion. Oh, Ahab... Dana turned and buried her face in her
mother's
shoulder.

"Dana?" Margaret asked, reflexively wrapping her arms around her
daughter and
smoothing her hair.

"Daddy should be here," Dana whispered between her sniffles.

Margaret smiled. Wedding day jitters combined with baby hormones
could put
PMS to shame. No wonder her normally self-controlled daughter
was a mess of
emotions.

"He is here, Dana," Melissa said, laying a hand on Dana's
shoulder. "Can't
you feel it?"

"She's right, Dana," Margaret whispered. "He is here, and I know
he's happy
for you, and very, very proud of his baby girl."

Dana turned her tear-stained face from her mom to her sister,
trying for a
grin but not quite succeeding. She could see tears brimming in
their eyes as
well, and she knew that if she didn't pull herself together soon,
they'd all
dissolve in a puddle on the floor. "This is ridiculous," Dana
said, swiping
at her tears with an impatient hand. She pulled out of her
mother's grasp
and reached for the dress again, this time pleased to see that
her hand was
steady. "If I don't get a move on, Mulder's going to be getting
married all
by himself."

Aunt Carol didn't seem to get the joke. "Your not be tellin' me
thot ye wish
to be wed in thot sissy Anglish garb, now do ye?" she said,
disappointment
and disapproval etched in her frown.

"Auntie Carol," Mulder said as calmly as he could under the
circumstances.
"This is not Scotland. Men wear a tux to their weddings, not....
skirts," he
mumbled. He pointed to the offending clothing on the table. "I
can't wear
that!"

"First bein' Fox *Ian* Mulder, thot be not a 'skirt'. Thot be a
kilt and
nare a coward ere sported its wearin'." Auntie Carol pulled
herself up to
her full height, and although she barely reached Mulder's
shoulder, she was
still an imposing presence. Mulder sighed. He hadn't missed the
way she'd
purposefully omitted his given middle name of William. He would
now and
forever be known to Auntie Carol as Fox Ian.

"Yer grandfather wore the kilt with the pride of his Highland
heritage an so
will ye," she continued. "T'was worn for centuries by men with
insight,
honor, and courage. I now be offerin' it to ye, for ye alone are
in
possession of the qualities givin' ye ta right to wear it. Will
it be
hurtin' yer fashion sense too much to fulfill an ol' woman's
wish?"

Oh, no... not the guilt card. "But Auntie -- it's my wedding,"
he pleaded.
He looked into her sad, moisture-filled eyes, so much like his
mother's, and knew he was losing the battle. Shit. Double Shit.
She'd always been able to do this to him, and
she damn well knew it, too.

Auntie Carol and Uncle Douglas were two of the very few people
who'd ever
been consistently kind to him over the years. The summers he'd
spent with
them had been the happiest of his young life. Auntie had nursed
him through
illness, comforted him when the nightmare's chilled him with
fear, and never
begrudged him a hug when she thought he needed one. Once she'd
even
protected him from his father's wrath... well, postponed it
anyway. Unlike
her sister, Carol was a tough as they came. She was stubborn,
opinionated,
utterly fearless, and used to getting her way. But she was also
warm hearted
and caring.

Unfortunately, he remembered the scene with his father as if were
yesterday.
His dad had returned from one of his many highly classified
meetings on the
hill and there was no question that he was angry and troubled
when he arrived
at the farm. With a bottle of fifty year old scotch in one hand
and a shot
glass in the other, Bill Mulder had disappeared into Uncle Doug's
study, only
to emerge three hours later for what appeared to be the sole
purpose of
smacking his unsuspecting son halfway across the room for
dropping his bag of
sunflower seeds on the carpet.

Mulder remembered impacting with a wall and sliding to the floor
stunned as
the knot on his face below his left eye began to swell.
Experience had
taught him that trying to escape would only make things worse, so
he waited
and braced himself for his punishment for being such a klutz.
The expected
blow never came, however, for standing between his father and
himself was his
raven-haired aunt, delivering admonishments to his father in a
Scottish
brogue so thick with rage that he couldn't understand a single
word she'd
said. For the first time in his short life, Fox Mulder had seen
his father
back down and turn away. Auntie Carol had refused to call him
Fox William
from that day forward, christening him Fox Ian after her own
grandfather.

<Oh, what the hell....>

Auntie Carol may be seven kinds of a loon, but she meant the
world to him.
She'd protected him when no one else thought he was worth the
effort. No one
had done that before -- not even his own mother. If wearing this
damn thing
is what she wanted, so be it. He would, however, feel obligated
as per
Celtic custom to clobber the first man who felt it necessary to
make
derogatory comments on his wedding attire.

A faint smile found its way to Mulder's lips as he crossed the
room and held
his aunt in an uncustomary embrace. "Anything for you Auntie
Carol," he
whispered into her ear. "Anything for you."

Carol reached up and brought his head down, placing a loving kiss
on the
unswollen side of his cheek. "Fox Ian, ye be a good mon. Though
ye be known
by men as a Mulder," she said patting his chest gently, "herein
lies the
heart and soul of a MacLoed through and through and none shall be
knowin'
thot more than I. Come on lad," Carol said as she helped Mulder
out of his
suit jacket. "Ye may be needin' a wee bit of assistance dressin'
up seein'
thot yer not accustom ta wearin' the cloth." Carol laughed out
loud at the
vivid blush staining her nephew's cheeks. 'It's not like I never
seen ye
before."

Mulder closed his eyes, feeling the heat rush to his face. This
was going to
be really embarrassing. His eyes flew open and he grabbed his
aunt's wrist
when she started to unbuckle his belt. "That's ok. I can take
care of this
part myself," he assured her.

Maybe he and Dana should have just eloped.

Margaret and Melissa caught the train of the gown as Dana pulled
it gently
upward, clutching the bodice to her chest. Layer upon layer of
hand-tatted
Irish lace was carefully shaken and fluffed into place as Dana
stepped into
the faded ivory of an age old family tradition. She slid her
arms into the
sleeves, feeling the lace against her skin. Pulling the gown up
over her
shoulders, she felt the weight of yards of material and lace. No
wonder it
took two grown men to carry her suitcase.

This is totally insane, she thought. How did she ever let him
talk her into
this? He'd wanted her to wear her grandmother's gown even though
it was a
royal pain to get it here and an even bigger pain to get into.
His only
explanation was that he didn't want her to feel jilted out of the
big wedding
she could have had at home. Didn't he know by now that she
couldn't
possibly feel 'jilted' as long as they had each other? The place
or the
circumstances really weren't that important to her as was the end
result.
But he'd insisted, knowing deep down that she'd dreamed of
wearing this dress
someday, of being married in a church with her friends and family
all around
her. And as usual, Mulder managed to cram into two hours, what
would
normally take months of painstaking planning to accomplish.

Melissa stared at her sister misty-eyed. "I would have never
believed that
you'd be the first one of the two of us to wear this dress," she
said with
admiration and just a touch of envy. "And I'm supposed to know
these
things."

"Don't feel bad, Melissa, no one is as surprised as I am. You
could've never
anticipated the likes of Fox Mulder -- none of us could, " Dana
replied, her
voice husky.

Margaret chuckled softly as she fastened what seemed to be the
hundredth tiny
pearl button at the nape of her daughter's slender neck. If
someone had
asked her years ago who would be the perfect man for her baby
girl, she never
would have chosen someone like Mulder. But, as so often happens
in real
life, perfect choices are made without anyone even being aware of
them. She
wondered if Walter knew this would happen when he'd fought to
keep these two
teamed up. She'd have to remember to ask him sometime.

It's a good thing this dress has a lot of lace, Dana thought,
candidly
looking at her reflection in the full-length wardrobe mirror that
stood in
the corner of the room. All those layers certainly cover a
multitude of
indiscretions. She smiled as the thought struck her that maybe
it had been
designed that way on purpose.

As her mom finished with the last of the buttons, Dana continued
to watch
herself in the mirror, reflecting on how her life had changed in
three short
years and about the man who'd been the driving influence in those
changes.
She didn't look any different - well, not *much* different - on
the outside,
but inside? Inside she'd changed by leaps and bounds, and it was
all due to
Fox Mulder He'd dared her to look outside her small and tidy
world and
question the possibilities of a vast and often unpredictable
universe whose
order did not always follow the rules she'd accepted as gospel.
Mulder had
added a whole new dimension to the meaning of truth, and her life
would never
be the same.

Mulder stood tall and regal in the middle of the room, the nine
yards of
hand-woven, pleated wool draped meticulously over his waist and
narrow hips.
Carol finished buttoning down the cross-over pleated lapel of his
crisp,
white, linen shirt, then continued with the delicately engraved
silver
buttons of the fitted black doublet. The 'plaid' draped over his
left
shoulder and was clasped there with a large silver medallion
brooch bearing
the family crest and motto. Hanging snugly on the front of the
kilt was the
traditional sporran (pouch). Mulder withstood her ministrations
stoically
and nearly sighed with relief as his aunt stepped backward to
take another
look at her handiwork.

"Now for the final touches," she smiled, eyes gleaming with
pride. On the
table behind her were two very old cases. She opened the smaller
one and
motioned Mulder toward the table. Following her gaze, he stared
with rapt
fascination and awe at the jewel encrusted dirk and skiunhn dhu
that rested
within.

Mulder removed the weapons with great care, marveling at their
craftsmanship
and beauty. He tucked the dirk beneath the material at his waist
and placed
the skiunhn dhu in the leather sheath under the stocking on his
right calf.
Well, that felt better anyway. Being armed added a little more
credibility
to this get-up, making him feel a little less ridiculous and
naked --
literally, he thought, stealing a glance at his neatly folded
boxers keeping
his suit company on a chair by the door. Later he'd give Dana a
first hand
opportunity to investigate what a Scotsman actually did -- or
didn't -- wear
under the infamous kilt. He smiled. Continuing thoughts of Dana
filled his
imagination and began to have a familiar physical effect on a
certain part of
his anatomy, a part that was involuntarily rising in proportion
to the
increasing heat he felt creeping up to his face.

<Oh, God, not now. Especially not in front of Auntie Carol.
Mulder get a
grip.> Geez, what was his problem? He'd never had difficulty
controlling
his responses before -- emotional or physical. Yet over the last
few days,
he'd been having one hell of a time keeping a handle on both. He
must be
under more stress than he thought.

Carol MacLoed Mulder noticed the unexpected crimson flush that
bloomed like a
rose on her nephew's face and could not help but heave a jolly
laugh. Poor
lad be hotter than a fire cracker, she mused. This bonnie Irish
lass must be
somethin' else indeed to get her normally unflappable nephew this
flustered
just thinkin' bout her and she hadn't been round this long
without knowin'
what it t'was he'd been thinkin'. "Thinkin' bout' ta weddin'
night, are ye
lad?" she asked him outright.

Was it that obvious? Mulder hung his head and stole a downward
glance at
himself only to discover with relief no visible display of what
he was
feeling.

"Relax dearie," she said calmly with an undertone of mirth. "God
knows, mon,
ye be exceedingly well-blessed but not even ye canna raise ta
weight of nine
yard of loose pleated wool and a sporran. Tisn't tight fittin'
an ye coulda
have a hard on ta size of ta Lincoln Memorial till hell freezes
an' no one'd
be ta wiser," she snickered. "There be more than one reason
Scots were kilts
ye know."

Jesus, he'd forgotten just how peculiarly blunt his aunt could
be. "Oh sure,
that'll be fine unless I start to walk funny," he muttered.

Carol grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the long unopened
case still
setting on the table. "Jus tell em' the brogues (shoes) be
hurtin' yer feet.
Thot's what yer grandfather'd be tellin' anyone who'd be askin.
It'd become
a runnin' joke in ta family. It seemed a might coincidental thot
evra time
grandfather MacLeod's feet be hurtin' im', he'd be findin' it
necessary to
gather up his wife an go ta bed. It later occurred to those of
the clan who
were mathematically inclined, that the rate of births in ta
MacLeod family
were directly proportional to the severity of grandfather's sore
feet."

Mulder's face cracked in a wide, unencumbered grin as Carol
continued to
speak, changing the subject with barely a beat. "This be for ye,
Fox Ian,"
she explained, pointing to the larger case on the table. "Thot
which lies in
this case has graced the wall of the castle at Dunnevegan for
more than seven
centuries and Dame Alyse sent it, hopin' thot you'd fulfill
tradition an'
carry it to yer weddin'."

God, what was she going to saddle him with now? He already felt
as plumed as
a peacock. Mulder couldn't tell his aunt, but the wool was
making his butt
itch. She'd probably take his aversion to the fabric as some
sort of
blasphemy, and he'd neglected to mention the fact that he was
allergic --
must be those damn deficient 'Mulder' genes. His aunt had an
annoying habit
of blaming every unsavory characteristic in the family on Mulder
DNA.

Following his aunt's beckoning hand, Mulder edged his way back to
the table
and reverently lifted the ancient musty smelling lid of the
partially
deteriorated leather case. His breath and voice caught in his
throat as his
hands hovered over the four feet of gleaming metal beneath them.

"Go ahead dearie," she urged him with a smile. "I've waited long
ta see it
in yer hands."

He barely found his voice. "But I'm a Mulder," he rasped. "Alex
is a 'true'
MacLeod and the rightful head of the clan upon grandfather's
death. This
legacy belongs to him, not me," Mulder said, temporarily stunned
by the honor
that was offered to him.

"Aye, tis true, Fox Ian. A MacLoed surname ye have not, but a
name does not
a man make. Alex, though he be a fine and honorable mon, hath
not the
temperament nor ta inclination to bear this particular burden of
responsibility. Even *his* children learned of the 'Battle of
Skye' from
you, not him. Perhaps they might naer have heard it a'tall had
ye not been
there to tell them."

"But the story was told to us long ago, Auntie. Alex probably
just forgot,"
he said, defending his cousin.

His aunt lifted one hand and raised her eyes to his, boring them
into his
soul. "But ye dinna forget, Fox. Alex's strength is durable and
steadfast,
akin to a smoldering cinder. Mediocrity will let the legacy
die. He is
content. Now, there be nothin' wrong with contentment, but those
who be
content are not those who inspire. Ye, on t'other hand... wid ye
ta fire
burns hot with ta intensity of a blue fame with the power to
inspire and the
need to challenge, to discover, and to make right thot which is
lackin'.
Conscience and honor will always keep ye bound to yer belief in
truth."

"I didn't forget the stories, Auntie, because I can't forget.
It's just the
way I am, you know that."

"Aye, thot I do," she answered with conviction. "A people's
heritage will
survive only as long as its memories remain in the minds of those
who carry
on. Use yer gift, lad. As long as ye be livin' the memories of
who and what
we are remain alive as well. Dinna let our history die -- pass
the stories
to yer own children so that one day when I'll no longer be walkin
this earth,
somewhere, someone will remember a cantankerous, looney old woman
named Carol
MacLeod Mulder." With shining eyes, she gestured toward the
sword. "Take
it, lad. It's yer heritage and yer right."

Slowly Mulder grasped the hilt of the double-edged blue-bladed
broadsword and
hefted its heavy mass with great care from its manmade prison.
He'd done
some fencing at Oxford. It was almost a requirement. Hell,
he'd actually
gotten pretty good at it, too, but nothing -- nothing he'd ever
used in his
matches could even come close to the balanced, weighted feel of
the weapon he
now held in his hands. An experimental move through the air
brought to him a
sense of exhilaration and power, and he could almost feel the
centuries of
souls who'd lived and died by the swing of its irretrievable
justice.
Mulder held the blade up before his face and studied it in wonder
just as
Alex opened the door and sprinted into the room. The moment
passed, and
Mulder nodded at his aunt in understanding, sliding the sword
into the
lanyard behind his left shoulder.

"Come on, cuz," Alex barked. "Let's get the show on the road.
It's not like
we have all night and this damn kilt is beginning to make me
itch. Hey, at
least you get to carry a sword. I get stuck having to play this
damn
bagpipe, which means I'll probably be winded for the rest of the
night."

Mulder gave his cousin a look of commiseration. At least he
wasn't the only
one who'd been bullied into wearing this stuff. Misery loves
company, he
chuckled to himself. Pausing briefly as he stepped through the
doorway,
Mulder looked back at his smiling aunt. "Auntie Carol," he said,
brushing
his hand by the collection of weapons he was carrying. "Is it
really
necessary to be carrying all these blades? I'm entering into a
marriage, not
a war."

"Sometimes they be one in the same, Fox Ian," she replied while
stepping up
to him and placing the beret on his head. "The only difference
bein' thot in
war, ye must always win and in marriage... a mutually satisfyin'
treaty is
preferable, compromise inevitable, and total surrender by both
sides
desirable."

Bill Scully had been sent to the basement to check on Mulder's
progress. He
peeked in the door of Mulder's dressing room just in time to see
Mulder's
eccentric aunt coerce him into carrying the biggest damn antique
sword he'd
ever seen in his life. At first he assumed it was just another
part of the
traditional ceremonial garb the loony tune lady had obviously
forced on him
-- an elaborate prop. However, when he opened his mouth to razz
Mulder a
little by telling him "he had cute legs and should wear a skirt
more often,"
the few experimental moves Mulder put the weapon through quite
effectively
convinced him that perhaps harassing a man wielding a
lethal-looking,
double-edged broadsword with a four foot blade was not one of his
brightest
ideas. The damn thing was frighteningly genuine, so he allowed
the comment
he was harboring to sink to the back of his mind like stones
dropped in a
pond. Bill then distinctly heard Mulder mention something about
war and
marriage as he and his fashion-cloned cousin approached him.

Catching the look of restrained amusement in Bill's eyes, Mulder
simply
snorted once in acquiescence. "Not *one* word," he snarled.
Bill snickered,
unrestrained glee dancing in his eyes. The reluctant Scot raised
his index
finger before Bill's face. "Not *ONE* goddamn fucking word. Got
that,
Scully??" With that, he strode out the door and down the hallway
with the
determined gate of a man primed and ready to do battle. Alex
followed
behind, a little less self-assured.

Carol followed her nephew through the doorway, watching his
retreating form
with undisguised admiration. Placing her hands firmly on her
hips, her voice
echoed the pride Bill saw in her eyes and carriage. "Ahc," she
muttered
slowly nodding her head. "He's a fine figure, is he not?

Actually that observation hadn't crossed Bill's mind. What had
piqued his
curiosity, though, was how in the hell Mulder managed to maneuver
without
falling over on his ass. That damn sword he had strapped to his
back had to
weigh thirty, maybe forty pounds easy. When this was all over,
he'd make it
a point to give Mulder the name of a good chiropractor.

"Hung like a fookin' Clydesdale, he is," Carol continued, much to
Bill's
chagrin. "MacLeods may be a bit skittish in ta startin' gate, but
they've
always had ta stayin' power to make it down ta back stretch, give
a helluva
ride, an' get ta job done to ta satisfaction all concerned."
Carol
grabbed a handful of Bill's cheek. "An by ta look o' tings, thot
bonnie
sister of yairn's been enjoyin' one of ta MacLoed's biggest
assets first
'and. She be a fine lass, laddie. I could'na done better if I'd
matched
them meself. Ye best be tellin' yer mother ta be expectin' a
house full o'
strong and strappin' wee Mulders takin' up her time in ta future,
for
MacLeods tend ta be an uncommonly fertile bunch with a libido of
correspondin' intensity."

Bill shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I'll certainly make it a
point to
pass that bit of information along to her," he replied, slightly
embarrassed
by the woman's outspoken manner and total disregard for
propriety. The only
other person who could make him blush like that was his Irish
grandmother who
said she was too old to care about what anybody thought of her
and would say
whatever she damn well pleased. This woman clearly had the same
attitude
only at a much younger age. Good lord, Bill considered with
alarm as he
mentally pictured a meeting between Mulder's aunt and Grandma
MacLeod. <This
is going to be one family picnic he was definitely *not* going to
miss.> If
the MacLoeds that were here today were representative of the rest
of the
clan, he had a sneaking suspicion that the Scullys were about to
embark on a
walk on the wild side. The family picnic would never be the same
again.

Dana tried to stop fidgeting as Melissa put the finishing touches
on the soft
curls framing her face. Missy had insisted on doing something
special with
her hair, even though Dana thought her everyday business style
was just fine.

"Will you *please* hold still?" Melissa muttered. Honestly,
sometimes Dana
could be more difficult than her niece. "How would you like to
embark on
your wedding night with third degree burns?" she asked, waving
the curling
iron through the air for added emphasis.

"No, I can honestly say that I wouldn't like that very much at
all," Dana
replied. "Aren't you done yet?"

"I would be if you'd quit squirming," Melissa scolded. A fluff
here, a shot
of hair spray there, and she was done. "There! I think that
does it," she
sighed with satisfaction. "Try not to mess it up -- at least not
until later
tonight." She ducked as a well-aimed hairbrush flew over her head
and bounced
off of brother Bill's chest.

Why was it that he always seemed to have the unfortunate luck to
show up when
these two were in the middle of a disagreement that required the
launching of
various potentially hazardous projectiles? "Gee, thanks, sis,"
Bill
grimaced, gingerly rubbing the sore spot over his ribs. "If
you're done
trying out for the Red Sox, I think they're just about ready for
our grand
entrance."

Now that he wasn't ducking flying objects, he took a second to
look at his
younger sister. She looked nothing like her usual, efficient,
business-like
self, and definitely nothing like the tomboy he'd grown up with.
Dressed in
grandma's wedding gown, Dana was gorgeous. "You're beautiful,
sis," he said.
"Mulder's a lucky man, and he better always remember it."

"Or you'll be there to remind him?" she asked.

"I think you can handle that part yourself, sis. But I'll always
be there in
case you need backup."

Dana looked up at Bill, so much like her father but still very
much his own
man. "Thank you," she said.

"Oh, by the way," he drawled with a mischievous grin. "Boy, has
Mulder got
a surprise for you." Bill chuckled as he got a mental image of
the look on
sister's face when she got a good look at what the groom was
wearing. He
could hardly wait.

"What surprise?" Dana asked.

Bill just gave her that smug older brother look of 'I've got a
secret and
you don't' that he knew always infuriated her. "You'll find out
soon
enough," he was all he said.

Dana reached over to charlie horse him when she caught sight of
the wink of
one eye. He was teasing her again like he used to do when they
were kids.
Her nerves settled and she relaxed her grip on his arm. Sighing
heavily, she
muttered under her breath, "*that* is what I'm afraid of."

Margaret got up to leave the dressing room. "I'm going to sit
and wait just
like everyone else now," she said, leaning in to place a kiss on
her
daughter's cheek. Margaret smiled. "It's your show, baby." Her
mother's
eyes glistened with tears but unlike so many times this past
year, these were
tears of joy -- not sorrow.

Making her way down the aisle, Margaret looked around the church.
There
really were a quite a few people here, considering the hurried
nature of the
wedding arrangements. And this was certainly a beautiful church.
Rows and
rows of wooden pews lined both sides of the aisle. Her daughter
was going to
have a rather long walk up this aisle, she thought Arched
stained glass
windows on both sides of the church depicted various scenes from
the Bible.
During the day they would have covered the congregation with
lovely colors,
but at this time of the evening they were dull with the lack of
sunlight.
However, the candles covering the altar, and the votive lights on
each side
made a lovely glow of their own.

Margaret took a seat in the second row of pews next to Walter
Skinner. The
families had pretty much divided up the sides of the church,
sitting in the
traditional 'friends of the bride/friends of the groom'
arrangement.
However, she noticed Walter had chosen to sit on the bride's
side, even
though he had known Fox longer. With a small smile, she wondered
if that had
anything to do with her.

Probably not, her practical side replied. After all, Walter had
told her of
Fox's invitation, confiding in her that he suspected the young
man only
invited him because he felt obligated and didn't believe his boss
would show
up. Margaret had tried to assure him that in spite of his
grumblings to the
contrary, Fox Mulder had a deep-seated admiration and respect for
his boss,
as well as a certain amount of genuine affection which, of
course, Fox would
adamantly deny if asked. Men could be so silly sometimes, even
her very
sensitive and perceptive soon to be son-in-law.

Walter Skinner smiled as Margaret sat down next to him. Before
taking his
seat, he had used the time to talk to her, as well as Scully's
brothers and
sister. To his surprise, he'd also gotten a warm reception from
Jake 'Feds
are assholes' Moorehouse, who was in charge of the investigation
he'd sent
his two agents on in the first place. Why this man was at
Mulder's wedding
was a puzzlement -- that is until he'd had a chance to talk to
him. Moorehouse
didn't appear to be as obstinate as he'd been told, and it turned
out that
the man actually liked his two agents. In fact, Jake had thanked
him for
sending *them* instead of those 'Fibbie namby-pamby pretty boys'
he'd come to
despise.

Skinner smiled to himself. Mulder sure had a way of garnering
friends in the
most unusual circumstances and places. He also began to feel
slightly guilty
about the coup de etat that he'd agreed to participate in with
Mulder's
'loved ones' after the ceremony. Personally, he could understand
Fox's
reluctance to visit the dentist's office. Hell, he was a little
leery
of dentists himself and delivering Mulder into the clutches of
one made him
feel a lot like a Benedict Arnold.

Leaning over, Walter's lips brushed by Margaret's ear. "Are you
sure about
the Mulder dental plan?" he asked in an amused tone.

Margaret leaned in closer and replied with her own humor tinged
whisper.
"Dana thinks he'll be down for the count with a major infection
if she
doesn't get a handle on this tooth thing now. She does not want
him sick
again, so do whatever you have to remedy the situation."

Skinner adopted a thoughtful expression as he considered the
various possible
options that were open to him. He wasn't certain that Margaret
Scully fully
realized the potential ramifications of what she'd just said. He
was just
trying to decide on an appropriate course of action regarding
Mulder's
uncooperative stance in the matter when the sanctuary suddenly
filled with
the sound of bagpipes.

The sound echoed off the rafters of the high, peaked ceiling,
bounced off the
walls and windows. Shifting in their seats, representatives of
both families
craned their necks looking for the source of the music. The
mystery was
solved as the door to the right of the altar opened and the groom
and his
cousin walked purposefully toward the altar followed by Father
Collins.

Catie MacLeod smiled proudly at her husband as he took his place
on one side
of the altar. Alex hadn't played the pipes in a while but that
hadn't seemed
to dampen his spirit or dull his talent any. To her ears, the
sound of the
pipes was magical. She gazed intently at the young man walking
by her
husband's side, gawking in spite of herself. She'd always felt
the kilt
looked a little out of place on Alex -- whenever he'd had the
occasion to
wear it, but on Fox -- on Fox, the garment nearly screamed
tradition, family,
dignity, and respect. He wore it well, like an old, familiar
friend.

Ever since their last tumultuous Halloween fiasco, Catie MacLeod
had invested
a great deal of time, effort, and righteous anxiety into Fox's
relationship
with his extraordinary partner. She, for one, found it extremely
gratifying
to finally see all her hard work pay off. Fox Mulder deserved
happiness, she
thought wistfully. So did Dana.

Two men now stood quietly before the priest, one nervous to the
point of
nausea -- the other, silently supportive. At a nod from Father
Collins, Alex
stepped back and to one side, then began to softly play the pipes
once more.

Dana stood quite still as the music drifted through the open
door. She
looked down at the bouquet held tightly in her hands, her stomach
tied in
knots. It was time. All she had to do was walk down the aisle,
but she
found that her feet wouldn't move.

"That's our cue. This is it, sis," Melissa said, her husky voice
echoing
Dana's own thoughts.

Dana shook involuntarily as a wave of panic and doubt washed over
her. "Oh,
Missy," she cried. "Am I doing the right thing? Is this what I
truly want?
What about my work, my career? This... marriage... this is
forever."

Bill leaned back up against the wall, sighed, and waited. He'd
heard this
same soliloquy not more than a year ago when he'd given his
cousin Amanda
away at her wedding. The priest at Amanda's wedding had told him
then that
this kind of 'cold feet' panic attack was common and usually
passed if the
bride was given a few moments to collect herself. Thank God
Melissa was here
to deal with it.

Melissa reached over and squeezed her sister's hand. "Dana...
take a deep
breath, ask yourself the important questions... and think. What
did it feel
like when you thought you'd might lose him forever? Never to
touch him, hear
his laugh... see that stupid grin, or that obscene puppy-face.
How would it
be with no Mulder in your life? If you could never, ever be
*with* him
again. I guess it all boils down to one question above all else
-- above
career or what is correct or right. Dana -- do you *love* him?"

Dana looked at her sister with understanding and literally
glowed. "With all
my heart."

"Then what's the problem?" Melissa asked.

"Problem? What problem?" Dana replied with a smile that easily
outshone the
candlelight in the room.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Bill grumbled. "Can we get this
over with?
This tie is driving me nuts."

"Anything for brother Bill," Melissa said, taking her place in
front of Dana.
Her own bouquet clasped tightly under the bodice of her
maid-of-honor's
dress, Melissa took a deep breath, soaking in the positive
feelings she
picked up from her sister, the people sitting in the church, and
most
especially the young man at the altar eagerly awaiting his
bride-to-be.
Timing her steps to the soft sound of the bagpipes, she started
off down the
aisle.

"We're next," Bill said, linking his arm with Dana's. She gazed
up at her
big brother, who appeared slightly out of focus thanks to her
veil. "You
sure turned out beautiful, sis," he noted. It was probably the
netting in
front of her face, Dana thought. Those couldn't really be tears
in her
brother's eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Dana walked out into the aisle with her
brother by her
side. The exotic sound of the pipes seemed to float and drift in
the air
surrounding her. The majestically ethereal tones rose and fell
in a haunting
melody that she found strangely mystical yet vaguely familiar.
She was used
to organ music in church, but somehow the pipes just sounded
right, not at
all out of place.

Lifting her eyes toward the altar, she saw him. Tall and regal,
he waited
for her... in a traditional kilt no less. She smiled through the
veil. She
should be shocked, but for some reason she wasn't. The kilt was
his Aunt
Carol's doing, no doubt. She should have expected that from a
woman so proud
of her heritage that she'd stubbornly use her nephew's Christian
name Fox Ian
over his given one, Fox William. This seemed so surreal, like a
fairytale or
a page out of her college history text. Visions of Camelot
played in her
imagination, knights in shining armor and ladies in long,
flowing, diaphanous
gowns.

She'd never seen him look so incredibly handsome -- and perhaps,
just a
little barbaric. Her original vision of Camelot transformed into
a scene
straight out of "Braveheart", with Mulder in the title role. What
a turn-on,
a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, and her heart
skipped a
beat.

Mulder froze as he watched his bride glide down the aisle toward
him. God,
she was exquisitely beautiful. How could she have possibly
wanted *him,*
Spooky Mulder, butt of just about every standard Bureau joke in
existence?
He was selfish. He knew it. He should have let her go, maybe
have a normal
life, but he was weak. He loved her so. He could die for her,
but he'd
accepted the truth long ago that he couldn't live without her.
Could it
possibly be that she was selfish, too? He hoped so. Swallowing
hard, he
suddenly felt light-head and weak-kneed. Was this complete and
total
euphoria or was he getting sick? At the moment he didn't care.

Bill and Dana stopped next to him. Father Collins said
something, Bill
replied, and then next thing Mulder knew Bill had placed Dana's
hand in his.
She stood beside him and the look in her eyes revealed to him all
the truth
that he ever really needed to know.

Mulder pulled the sword from its lanyard and pressed the point to
the floor
as he knelt on one knee before the altar to accept an age old
blessing from
Father Collins. Both hands clasped the hilt as his forehead
rested on the
flat side of the blade. He then stood and handed the weapon to
the priest in
a symbolic gesture of surrender.

Dana knelt beside him in reverence and accepted the offering of
wine as the
cup passed from her lips to his. The ceremony continued and both
stood for
the pledging of vows which were given and received.

Mulder discovered himself becoming tense with anticipation and
somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice nagged at his
nerves that the ceremony was proceeding way too smoothly. No
major event in his life had ever been realized before without an
accompanying crisis. He felt like he was poised on the brink of
disaster and the anxiety was having a deleterious effect on his
breathing. The pain in his mouth and the residual remains of the
drugs in his system weren't helping matters either. <When's the
other shoe going to drop?> he asked himself. <Please God, if
anything is going to his the fan, do it now and get it over with
so I can enjoy the rest of this.>

Alex heard the priest's voice from far away. "And the rings,
please..." faintly registered in his brain. Why was he wound so
tight? He wasn't getting married. Feeling an elbow gently nudge
him in the side, he snapped to and fumbled nervously through his
sporan in search of the ring. Where in the hell was it? He knew
it was in here...had to be. He'd put it there himself not twenty
minutes before. Alex's fingers groped thought the small bag once
more before locating the ring from the purse with a triumphant
expression on his face -- that immediately changed to embarrassed
chagrin when he caught sight of the shiny gold foil packet, that
had hitched a ride with the ring, go flying through the air to
make an unceremonious landing on top of Melissa's tea rose and
baby's breath bouquet.

Dana chanced a glance at her sister. Melissa's mouth still hung
open in muted surprise and Dana giggled in spite of herself.

Mulder sent up a silent thank you to the Supreme Being and
relaxed. If this was the extent of the impending disaster he was
expecting...well, he could deal with it. Slowly, Fox turned to
his cousin, tilted his head to one side, and sighed. "Expecting
some action' tonight, Cous?" he whispered drolly, adopting his
best deadpan expression.

Stifled titters ensued for several seconds until Alex's crimson
flush subsided enough for the ceremony to resume.

"Fox Ian Mulder, Dana Katherine Scully, you have both pledged
your trust,
honor, faithfulness, and love to one another. I have been
informed that
there is something else you wished to add to these vows."

Fox turned to his Dana, nervous and almost shy, then spoke in a
rich and
loving tone that trembled with emotion. "I tried to think of
something to
say that was poetic -- some word or phrase that could encompass
all that you
mean to me -- and I discovered much to my dismay that I couldn't.
There are
no words, no expression on this earthly plane that could even
come close to
what I feel. So... maybe I can just tell you in my own
inadequate way how
grateful and humble I am that you could find it in your heart to
love an
idealistic fool like me. Thank you, Dana. Thank you for
standing by me when
others couldn't see my vision; for helping me see the truth
through all the
lies; for all the joy that you brought to my life just when I
thought such a
thing could never be mine; for every wrong that you made right
and every
dream you made come true; for being there to hold me up when the
sorrow and
pain of my life would drive me to my knees. You never let me
give up. You
are always there for me and I'll be forever thankful to you for
awakening
the love inside of me that I thought had died long ago."

Dana's eyes were so full of emotion that she felt they were going
to spill
over at any moment, and she was sure her voice had deserted her.
But she
gazed in Mulder's eyes, so soft and gentle, and they gave her
strength, just
as they always did. Somehow she found her own soft, reflective
voice. "My
feet were glued to the ground. Permanently attached to the
concrete, my
spirit without imagination. I never allowed myself to consider
what I
couldn't see, or touch, or feel. Fox, you gave me my wings. You
freed my
spirit the first time you held my hand and told me I could touch
the sky and
that no star was out of my reach. You returned a faith I'd
thought I'd lost
and stood by me, close enough to feel your strength yet far
enough away to
allow me to stand on my own. I'm grateful for each day you give
to me,
because I know that life is fleeting and that no tomorrow is
guaranteed.
There is so much I now realize that I don't know, but one thing
remains true
-- I am blessed because I am loved by you."

By the time she'd finished, Fox's eyes were brimming with the
tears born of
emotions he'd long held in check. He smiled with a quiet joy.
"You are always
there for me, your love a shining beacon carrying me through the
darkness,
bringing light into my life," he replied in a husky voice.
"You're my
inspiration. Through all the deceptions, you are the truth. My
world's a
brighter place because of you."

Staring into his eyes, love brimming in joyful tears that had
finally spilled
onto her cheeks, she softly whispered the last of her soul to
him.

"You were my strength when I thought I'd faltered, my voice when
there was no
one to speak for me. You opened my eyes when I closed my mind
and refused to
see. And just when I think I am at my worst, you always see the
best there
is in me. You lift me up when the stars seem just too far away
and give me
faith, because you believe. I'm everything I am -- because you
love me."

Father Collins placed his hand on top of their joined ones. "Fox
Ian, you
have given yourself in complete and total trust to Dana
Katherine," he said.
"She has accepted and returned her gift to you. With pledges
given and
received, and by the power invested in me by the Holy Catholic
Church and the
State of Nevada, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife." He
grinned at
both of them as he saw the realization of what had happened sink
in, just as
it did with every new couple. Sometimes they needed a little
prompting.
"You may kiss your bride, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder didn't have to be asked twice. His mouth screamed in
agony and his
butt itched incessantly, but Dana Katherine was his -- officially
-- and
nothing was going to stop this kiss. Nothing.

Eager lips met possessively, lingering long past what would
appear to be
prudent, but as far as Mulder was concerned, it didn't last long
enough.
Standing in front of God and man kissing his wife all night long
certainly
wasn't practical. He knew that. He also knew that he didn't
have the
strength of will to end it even though in the back of his mind he
was
cognizant of the fact that his breath at this point was probably
getting
pretty rank and he shouldn't subject Dana to that torture any
longer than
necessary. True, he'd demolished a whole roll of Mentos and she
hadn't
complained, but it really didn't take a doctor to tell him that
the stupid
infection was doing weird things to his mouth and the resulting
odor could
not be a pleasant experience for her. The notion finally came to
him after
several days of denial that he would have to do something about
this problem
sooner or later, so when Mulder felt his beautiful bride, warm
and willing in
his arms, he decided right there and then that later suited him
just fine.

They parted reluctantly as Dana briefly gasped for air. Sweet
Jesus, that
man could kiss!

"Ladies and gentlemen," Father Collins said. "May I present Mr.
and Mrs. Fox
Mulder." The church erupted into loud applause, and Dana could
swear that
Jake, if not her brother, gave a loud whistle.

She stared out at the small group of friends and relatives
gathered in the
church. Mom and Melissa were both drying their eyes and beaming
at them at
the same time. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a
familiar little
man, or at least she thought she did. What was *he* doing here
and who was
he -- really? Dr. Jay always seemed to be around lately, just
out of sight,
hanging back in the edge of shadows. She never usually saw him,
but a part
of her was always aware of his presence. Dana felt that perhaps
his
occasional surveillance should worry her, but for some reason
knowing he was
there only seemed to elicit a feeling of love and concern instead
of the
paranoia she usually experienced when she knew they were being
watched.

Dana knew she wasn't the only one who knew when Dr. Jay was
around. Mulder
wasn't insensitive to the little man shadowing him, and sometimes
when he
wasn't preoccupied, he also knew when he was being observed.
Now, however,
Mulder seemed to be oblivious, which was perfectly
understandable.

What was this man's connection to her husband and now apparently
to her? How
did he always seem to know where to find them? Was it
coincidence? Dana
glanced at Mulder again to see whether he'd spotted the little
man, which he
hadn't, and when she looked back up, their friend was gone. Dana
began to
wonder if Dr. Jay wasn't just a collective hallucination that she
and Mulder
shared and was just about to voice that opinion when Mulder
grabbed her hand
and pulled them into a mad dash toward the changing rooms. So
much for a
dignified exit, Dana thought.

******************************************************

**********************
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVEN THE BEST MADE PLANS CAN GO AWRY...

Those last thirty seconds of kissing were their downfall, Mulder decided. Just
when he thought
they might make a clean getaway, they were intercepted just outside the hallway
by several
Scullys, a couple of MacLoeds, a Moorehouse, and -- as unbelievable as it seemed
to Mulder at
the time -- one happily smiling Walter Skinner. The grinning revelers ushered
the couple past the
rooms, out onto the sidewalk, and into a waiting stretch limo where the group
piled in after them.

"What the hell's going on?" Mulder panted, now out of breath.

"Well, Fox," Skinner replied, using Mulder's first name since he knew he could
get away with it.
"It's like this. We took a vote and decided that you really needed a bachelor
party. A little
belated, but better late than never --- right?"

Mulder shook his head and cleared one ear vigorously with his index finger.
Could be he'd heard
that wrong but he didn't think so. This turn of events was slightly rattling.
"Bachelor party?" he
asked.

Skinner draped his arm over Mulder's shoulders in an uncharacteristicly friendly
fashion and with
a gleam in his eyes replied in his familiar authoritative voice of command.
"Agent Mulder, it is the
concensus of those present that you are long overdue and are in dire need of
some serious
recreational partying."

"But sir," Mulder ventured warily. "I'm not a bachelor. I just got married!"

"Which is why we bent the rules a bit and generously allowed your beautiful new
wife, not to
mention the other lovely ladies here, to accompany us," Walter snickered.

"Huh?" Mulder knew it was lame, but given the circumstances, it was the best he
could come up
with. This was getting more bizarre by the minute like a bad scene from the
'Invasion of the
Bodysnatchers'. Things just seemed a little out of kilter here or maybe it was
just him. Mulder
covertly slipped his hand around to scratch his rear. Oh god, his ass itched.
Why couldn't
they make this thing out of cotton? All he wanted to do was go to his hotel
suite, get this damn
wool off, and make passionate, monumental love to his new wife. His friends and
relatives,
however, obviously had other plans for them this evening, which apparently
didn't include
changing their fucking clothes. <Okay, fine. I surrender, even if I do end up
looking like a
walking welt. How much trouble could I get into with Dana and Skinner along as
chaperones?>
"Taking your *wife* to your bachelor party -- what a novel concept," he muttered
dubiously.

"Come on, loosen up, Mulder," Bill Scully piped up with enthusiasm. "We'll
start at Brew
Brothers in the Silver Legacy and work our way through the casinos until we end
up at your
hotel. It'll be great!!! You'll see, " Billed wheedled. <If we can get him
started with a few drinks
at the Brew, and if what Dana and his family informed me about Mulder's alcohol
intolerence is
true, he should be blizted by the third night club.>

The Brew Brothers? Mulder had a mental flash of Dan Akroyd and John Belushi in
bad suits and
dark glasses singing Soul Man. Somehow his outfit didn't fit into the picture.
"First of all I'm ...
I'm in a kilt for god's sake and she's ..." Mulder motioned toward Dana with one
hand, "in her
grandmother's wedding gown. Not exactly what I'd call acceptable partywear,
would you?
Secondly, we're primarily here on a case and have to work tomorrow," he hedged,
sneaking a
glance at Scully who merely shrugged noncommittally. <That's right sweetheart,
thanks for the
support.>

"Since when did you ever sleep more than three or four hours anyway, Cous? Even
if you did go
back to your hotel, you can't tell me that you'd be sleeping," Alex snorted with
an obscene
overtone.

"Yes, but wild, hot, sweaty sex, though exhausting, seldom leaves one with a
hangover the next
morning," Mulder threw in, not to be outdone.

Skinner had to chuckle. If Mulder agreed to this little foray, he realized
they'd all have their hands
full for the word 'moderation' didn't seem to exist in this young man's v
ocabulary. No matter what
his protoge' was involved in, he always attacked the situation with the o
bsessive
single-mindedness of a wolverine. Skinner had no doubts that this tendancy
extended itself into
the realm of partying as well. Mulder would go at it full tilt, as usual, and
it was probably a
correct assumption that he wouldn't be worth a shit in the morning -- especially
after what the
gang had planned for the unsuspecting groom. Skinner almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.

"So we won't keep you up past your bedtime," Melissa offered. She nudged him in
the ribs with
her elbow, challenging him with her eyes, then looked at her sister in mock
surprise. "Jesus,
Dana, I thought you said that one of the things you liked about Mulder was his
openness to new
ideas and his adventurous nature. Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"You're not gonna wimp out on us, are ya kid?" Jake asked, adding fuel to the
fire. He winked a
Dana and continued his jab at Mulder, his voice heavily laden with disapp
ointment. "And here I
thought you were different than all those other Fibbie fairy queens."

This las remark earned Jake an unpleasant glare from Skinner until Alex lightly
kicked Skinner's
foot and winked.

Oh great. It was his turn again. How ironic. He'd spent most of his waking
hours having to goad
Mulder for a bunch of bureaucratic assholes he couldn't stomach, but when it
came to prodding
the man for a constructive purpose, he was at a sudden loss of words. Think,
Walter. He stared
at Mulder, using the same penetrating gaze he did at the office. Luckily no one
had figured out
yet that the Skinner stare was just a cover-up he used whenever he was searching
for the right, or
proper, thing to say.

An unconventional idea creeped into his mind almost effortlessly. The best ones
usually did.
"Mulder," the A.D. began slowly. "Even if you decline our gracious offer, it
was still worth
traveling two thousand miles just to see you in that lovely skirt," he said as
seriously as he could
while gazing down over the rims of his glasses at the squirming agent. "I know
a couple of agents
over in wiretap who'd just love to hear all about that." Skinner pointed to the
kilt. "In detail," he
threatened with a shark's smile.

Mulder's hand automatically dropped to shove the garment between his legs,
self-consciously
pulling his knees together. He wished, not for the first time that evening,
that he'd been able to
wear his boxers under this thing. Skinner wouldn't dare -- would he? And how'd
he find out
about those two federal fairies anyway? <I swear, if those two maladjusted
advocates of
alternative lifestyles are spreading rumors about me, I'm going to hunt them
down and give them
both bad perms.>

He'd always assumed that the basement office the X Files had been shuffled to
was the lowest he
could go in the Bureau. He'd been wrong. When he'd been punished and sent to
Blue Collar, two
of the denizens of the FBI's most boring detail had made his life miserable for
weeks. He finally
convinced them, rather forcefully, that he was as straight as an arrow, and in
no uncertain terms
was he interested in what they were pushing -- ever. Granted, slamming one of
the fuckers
against the wall and snarling in his face was probably not the most professional
approach to
handling the situation, but it worked, goddamn it, and they'd left him alone.
Somehow the
incident must have made it to Skinner's ears. Funny, this was the first time
Skinner ever
mentioned it to him. Chances were his boss wouldn't really sick those two on
him. Still...

Damn. It's that peer pressure thing all over again. The last time he'd caved
into it was in high
school and it had ended badly. Against his better judgment, he'd allowed
himself to be talked into
partying with the popular crowd. Only they'd ended up in some biker bar, where
he'd promptly
been beaten half to death. His 'peers' had left, stranding him in a notoriously
seedy part of town.
When he'd awakened in the hospital emergency room, his father had held no pity
for him,
informing him that he'd gotten what he deserved for being talked into doing
something so stupid.

But this is different, he argued with himself. <Yeah, how?> These are people
you trust. <Trust
no one.> These are people, who god only knows why, care about you. They're
right, Mulder.
It's your damn wedding night. Live a little. Mulder's shoulder's sagged in
defeat. "Okay, okay,
but we're back at our hotel room by midnight. Deal?"

Melissa snorted a condescending hmph. "Or what? Are you going to turn into a
pumpkin or
something?"

"That was in Cinderella, and it was the coach that turned into a pumpkin," he
reminded her.

"Yeah, you're right. You'd probably turned into a toad," she replied.

"Wrong again," he said. "I morph into Merlin. You wanna see my magic wand?" he
leered.

Dana, who had been relatively quiet up to this point had finally decided that
enough was enough.
"Mulder!!" she sputtered with feigned mortification. "Is that any way to talk to
your sister-in-law?"

Fox looked up with the practiced appearance of total innocence that he'd
perfected over his years
with her. Moorehouse practically split a gut in response as they pulled up in
front of the Silver
Legacy. This was gonna be an interesting night, if nothing else.

The huge dome of the Silver Legacy loomed overhead, looking out of place in the
center of all the
surrounding hotel towers. Painted a plain, stark white, colored lights aimed at
the huge ball's
shiny surface made it look like a brightly splotched round Easter egg. Mulder
shared a look with
Moorehouse. "Yeah, I know, I know," the detective grumbled. "Between this and
the bowling
stadium, Reno's got balls."

"Pretty damn big ones," Mulder replied, his neck craned back as he tilted his
head to get a better
look at the dome.

Moorehouse shrugged. "Some people like it, some people don't. Lots of folks
here don't want to
be known as Las Vegas North. The rest think it can't happen soon enough."

"Progress. Gotta love it," Mulder said as they entered the casino.

It wasn't exactly what Mulder expected. Instead of the crass, loud carpeting
he'd been sure he'd
find, the soft pile underfoot was a geometric pattern of subdued autumn colors.
Sure, there were
plenty of flashing lights and noise, but behind it all was a rustic look of old
wood. The Silver
Lode, he thought - that must be the 'theme' of this place. A modern version of
the old west, right
down to the stylized western wear sported by the dealers and cocktail wai
tresses.

The party passed through the initial rows of slot machines inside the casino
doors. Although at
first Mulder and Dana collected a few stares, most of the patrons seemed to take
their wedding
attire -- even Mulder's strange version of it -- in stride. It was Reno and
weddings were big
business, right up there with gambling. It wasn't an unusual occurrence to see
an entire wedding
party, in full costume, march down the street in broad daylight heading for a
local wedding
chappel. Besides, for all the casino patrons knew, they could be the next
lounge act.

Moorehouse headed off toward the escalators but stopped when he realized he'd
lost the rest of
his party. Brew Brothers was upstairs on the mezzanine level, but it looked like
it would have to
wait for a few minutes. Mulder had made it as far as the large gaming table
area, and was staring
around the vast space with his mouth half open. Gonna catch flies, Moorehouse
thought with a
grin. Well, they could wait. It wasn't like you needed reservations just to
sit in the bar, after all.

Skinner leaned nonchalantly against the end of a row of slot machines, carefully
out of the way of
the little old lady who was busy feeding quarters into the three machines at the
end of the row. It
had been a while since Skinner had been inside a casino, and he noted with wry
amusement that
the one-armed bandits here were armless. The handles had been replaced with
electronic
circuitry, and all a gambler had to do was press a button instead of pull a
handle. Somehow it
didn't seem like it would be nearly as satisfying, although you couldn't tell
that by looking at the
lady gambling here. Sitting on a stool at the middle machine, she could reach
each of the three
machines and worked them all in a steady rhythm. As Skinner watched, one of the
machines
erupted with lights and bells and a stream of quarters fell into the tray at the
bottom. The lady
scooped them up and added them to a plastic bucket a third full of quarters.
Skinner wondered if
she'd have any of them left at the end of the night.

The lady noticed Skinner watching her and frowned at him. Figuring he'd better
focus his
attention elsewhere before she got nervous - gamblers had been dropping like
flies in Reno, after
all - he turned his attention to Mulder. This relatively young agent had done
more, seen more, and
endured more than ten agents twice his age, yet the youthful innocence and fire
he projected right
at this moment was nearly overwhelming in its intensity. Skinner wondered if it
was this
incredibly odd mix of child and man that drew him to Mulder, made him support
and protect he
man even when he knew it was against his own best interests. Mulder's look of
excitement and
anticipation was hard to miss, and Walter found himself becoming almost envious
of the
younger man's enthusiastic response to what he'd regarded as passe'.

Barely contained static energy revealed itself in Mulder's quick, bouncing
movements and darting
eyes. Although it tried for dignity with its subdued tones and natural wood
highlights, the whole
place was still an exercise in gawdy, tasteless decor -- and he love every inch
of it. This was a
young boy's fantasy come to life, a never-ending carnival of lights, action,
color, and sound.
A cacaphony of sensations threatened to subject him to a serious case of sensory
overload. The
clinking of coinage; the thrill of the games; the promise of luck; the cheering
voices; and the
hypnotic spin of the wheel of chance -- all these things held him momentarily
spellbound. The
little boy he'd never been allowed to be longed to be a part of this. Fox
Mulder wanted to 'come
out and play.' The only problem was, now that he had the opportunity, he
didn't know how.

"What's the matter, son? Never been in a casino before?" Skinner inquired out
loud even though
Mulder's mesmerized expression made the assumption a perfectly logical one.

"Only once in Atlantic City," Mulder muttered absently. "It was a long time ago
and I was pretty
wrapped up in a case. I guess I really wasn't paying attention." Did he just
hear Skinner call him
'son?' Nah, couldn't have, no way. After getting his tooth fixed, maybe he
needed to have his
hearing checked as well.

"Ah, come on, Mulder," Alex prodded him. "You mean to tell me you've been to
Europe and
never once gambled in a casino?"

"I was up to my ass in dissertations at Oxford for crissakes. I must have
missed out on that little
aspect of nightlife. So sue me," Mulder retorted defensively. "I could play the
slots." A hopeful
expression lit up his face. "That doesn't take any skill, does it?"

"Negative on the slots, kid," Moorehouse jumped in. "The odds aren't with you
on the one arm
bandits. Believe me. That's why you see so many of them in here. Easy money
for the house.
You don't think they could build all this 'cause they lose money, do you?"

Mulder considered it and had to admit that Jake was probably right. But
still... "Well, I can't
very well have a night out on the town and not gamble, can I?"

"Do you play cards?" Moorehouse asked.

"I played some poker when I was a kid and a little in college," Mulder replied.

"Well, it's a start," sighed Bill. He shoved a pamphlet he'd picked up inside
the front door into
Mulder's hands. "Why don't you play more often?"

"I'm not into gambling, I guess. And nobody wants to play cards with a guy who
*always* wins,"
he said in a slightly dejected tone of voice.

"Always?" Skinner asked, finding this conversation more interesting by the
minute.

"Always, sir," Mulder stated with flat certainty.

"Read," Skinner ordered, pointing at the pamplet.

"Yes, sir." Mulder obeyed -- for once.

Dana watched her husband scan the little pamphlet entitled, 'How to Win at 21 in
Ten Easy Steps,'
and sighed. This wasn't going exactly how she'd planned. But their lives had
always been a series
of the best laid plans gone astray. Could be what made life with Mulder so
interesting and
exciting. <Oh, noooo>

A sly smile of dawning elation crept over Mulder's face as he read. "Hey, this
is easy!!" he
exclaimed smugly. She knew that look and all the implications that went with
it. Just one night
without any unforseen variables -- just one. That's all she wanted. Damn her
brother for
suggesting this place. Why couldn't they just have taken him to a lousy bar and
gotten him
sloshed like they were supposed to do? Now that there was a challenge at hand,
she'd never get
him out of this place.

"Hey, kid, don't get uppity," scolded Jake. "It takes years of practice and
experience to win big at
21, so don't feel bad if you don't win right away. Just reading a booklet don't
make you an
expert," Jake commented as they herded Mulder over to a nearby 21 table. Jake
made sure it was
a dollar table, not one of the higher stakes tables. The dealer looked friendly
enough, and there
was only one other player already seated. With a look back at his companions,
Mulder tentatively
sat down.

One hour later and a thousand dollars richer, Dana finally convinced everyone
that it was time to
move on to the bar they'd originally come here for. Navigating the escalator in
her grandmother's
wedding dress was a challenge, but it was easier than the stairs.

Brew Brothers was worth the trip. Moorehouse explained that it was a local beer
brewery, the
newest of several that had sprouted in the area. While they served all the
regular bar drinks, the
real treat was the variety of house beer brewed on the premises. About that
they weren't kidding.
Clear plate glass windows covered one side of the bar, and on the other side the
brewery's huge
beer vats were displayed.

The wedding party took up a group of tables in one corner of the bar. Light was
provided by
banks of television screens that lined the other walls of the bar. Most of the
screens were tuned to
various college basketball teams playing in the NCAA tournament. March Madness,
they called
it, Dana thought. Could also apply to this whole evening. And to think, only
24 hours ago I was
blissfully unaware that Mulder had all this in store for me. Payback's a bitch,
sweetheart, she
thought with an evil grin.

Moorehouse told her that the pizza in this place was great, and Dana asked their
waitress for a
menu. Her stomach was growling at her, reminding her that lunch in Atlanta had
been a very long
time ago. Although she wanted the garlic special, she told herself that it
probably wasn't a good
idea to go to bed on her wedding night with mega garlic breath, so she settled
on a vegetarian
pizza. Skinner added a pepperoni pizza to the order and her sister ordered a
side of garlic bread.
Well, it wasn't like Melissa was going to be spending the night with anyone,
after all.

Moorehouse watched Mulder frown over the beer menu. "Here, let me take care of
that," he said,
relieving Mulder of the menu. "Trust me."

"Last time someone said that, I ended up in the hospital," Mulder commented.

"Kid, you always end up in the hospital," Moorehouse replied, to the general
amusement of
everyone else.

"So how come you ended up here?" Mulder asked, attempting to change the subject.

"You mean, how come I went crazy and gave up retirement in sunny Florida for
chasing criminals
in Reno-of-all-places, Nevada?" Moorehouse shook his head. "Beats the hell out
of me. I just
came up for a visit with an old friend of mine, about to retire from the force
himself. I hung
around with him for a few days, and what can I tell you -- it just got to me. I
missed it. Hell, I
guess I'm just not the retiring type."

"What about... ?" Dana began, then stopped, reminding herself that it wasn't
polite to ask about
some things.

"The money?" Moorehouse shrugged. "I gave some of it away. The rest is tucked
away for when
I really do retire. Funny, all those years in New York, all I looked forward to
was retiring, but
when it finally happened, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Lot of hours
to fill gets hard to do
by yourself."

"Maybe you just need someone to share it with you," Melissa said, a matchmaker's
gleam shining
in her eyes.

"Hey, no bright ideas, toots," Moorehouse said. "I'm doing just fine by
myself."

"Right," Mulder said. He was about to make another comment when the waitress
returned with
their drinks. Mulder nearly fell out of his chair when she set seven glasses of
beer in front of him.
"This all can't be mine," he protested.

"It's called a sampler," Moorehouse said, laughing at him. "I'd suggest you
start with the honey
pale ale. Just like eating honey roasted peanuts."

Mulder glared at him. He should have known better than to trust Moorehouse, but
he was out to
have some fun tonight, right? And they were small glasses of beer, even if
there were seven of
them. Mulder picked up the glass Moorehouse indicated and took a sip. It *did*
taste like honey
roasted peanuts. He'd had to pass on peanuts on the plane, and this was liquid
nourishment, after
all. Mulder took another swallow of the ale.

"How did you do that?" asked Jake as he downed a shot of whiskey, followed
closely by a swig of
his own beer.

"Do what?" Mulder asked with a puzzled expression. He finished off the first
beer and picked up
the next glass Moorehouse indicated.

"I think he just wants to know how you won all that money the first time out,"
explained Bill.

"Beginner's luck," Catie chimed in. "That's it, just beginner's luck."

"Either that or you've been stonewalling us, Mulder," Skinner added.

"Hey, luck's got nothing to do with it. It's not luck when you know what's left
in the dealer's
deck, is it now?" chuckled Mulder who at that moment was insufferably pleased
with himself. Of
course, that had nothing to do with the beer.

"So now you're telling us *you're* the psychic? Make room for the 'Great
Muldini' -- knows all,
sees all -- drinks all," Melissa giggled as she noted Mulder was now on his
third beer. "Now that
you're part of the family, you should know there's only one of us allowed."

"You're a counter," Moorehouse stated with certainty. "A goddamn counter."

"Counter? What the hell's that?" Mulder asked.

"Someone who is definitely frowned on by every local gambling establishment in
town, my
friend," Moorehouse replied. "Counting cards'll get you banned quicker than
goosing the CEO's
girlfriend. The house figures it gives you an unfair advantage in what's
supposed to be a game of
chance."

"Even if it's a natural ability?" Dana asked, helping herself to a hot slice of
pizza. Mulder couldn't
help it if his memory gave him instant replay and his quick mind let him fill in
the missing pieces.

"That don't matter," Moorehouse said around a bite of pepperoni pizza. None of
that veggie crap
for him, no matter what his doctor said. "It's still a form of cheating the
house, and if security
catches you, they'll show you the sidewalk quick and make sure you don't find
your way back in."
He paused to wipe a smear of sauce from the side of his mouth. "If the kid had
kept up that
winning streak all night, you can be sure someone would have been paying him a
visit."

Dana sat up straighter, leaning in to hear Moorehouse over the background noise
in the bar.
"Card counters must be hard to catch," she mused, thinking of the large amounts
of money on
each of the victims found outside the Red Sands. "How is it done, exactly?"

"You mean other than the idiots who try to hide those palmtop computers in their
clothes to help
jog their memories?" Dana nodded. "Did you notice the guy in the suit w
andering around behind
the dealers?" Another nod. "Well, he's the pit boss, and one of his jobs is to
observe the gamblers,
keep track of how much each is winning. If someone gets on a hot streak that
won't stop, he'll
switch the dealer -- maybe she's been dealing from the bottom of the deck to
help the guy out,
right? If the guy keeps winning, the pit boss signals security and they zoom in
on him with all that
high tech security equipment hiding behind the mirrors in the ceiling over the
pit. You can bet
that if you walk around in a casino, someone somewhere is watching."

Shivers ran down Dana's spine. Of course, she knew all about the security
cameras since she'd
been staring at prints taken from the Red Sands' system only a few hours ago.
Yet when they'd
been downstairs watching Mulder gamble, it hadn't even occurred to her that
unseen eyes were
observing them. Still... "I don't see how all that can catch a card counter."

Moorehouse grabbed another piece of Skinner's pizza. "Not everybody's as
talented as your
husband, Red. Most people need some kind of system to keep track, even if it's
counting on
fingers and toes. Security guards are trained to spot that type of thing. And
the house will buy
the lucky winner drinks, try to loosen him up a bit so he gets sloppy and messes
up." Dana's
eyebrows rose. "What, you think the house buys drinks out of the goodness of
its heart?"

"Not anymore," she replied.

"I don't want to burst your bubble here," Moorehouse said. "If you're rich and
famous, and in the
habit of dropping twenty or thirty grand everytime you step inside, the house'll
suck up to you like
you're royalty. Bottom line -- if it's good for business, they'll do it. If
it's bad for business, they'll
put a stop to it."

"Corporate America at its finest," Dana muttered. "I wonder if that's what
happened to those
people at the Red Sands."

"Agent Scully," Skinner interrupted gruffly. "Am I hearing right? You're
discussing a case on
your wedding night?" Skinner watched her squirm a bit under his glare, then
softened his gaze.
"Dana, relax, enjoy the party. Wedding nights happen once in a lifetime - or at
least they're
supposed to. You can all get back to the case in the morning. Tonight, I
expect you to enjoy
yourself." He handed her another slice of her pizza. "That's an order," he
added.

"Yes, sir," Dana said with a grin.

Now on his fifth beer (they'd gone down amazingly smooth), Mulder turned to
Melissa, favoring
her with the trademark Mulder grin. "If you're so damn smart and in tune with
the psychic forces
of nature," he mumbled around a muffled belch, "tell me, oh enlightened one...
where do I have
to go right now?" Mulder raised one eyebrow in mock challenge.

Melissa laughed. Mulder was so damn cute when he was sloshed, and he was well
on his way.
She raised one arm and pointed to the rear of the room. "Men's room's back in
the corner, oh
Great Muldini."

"Holy shit!! That's fucking amazing!!!" Mulder exclaimed with a gasp as he
attempted to get up
from his seat. "Dana," he slurred.

Oh boy, his eyes were starting to glaze over, his balance wavering and his
judgment... faltering.
"What?" she ventured.

"She's good."

"Yes, she is. She's my sister, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Your sister-in-law?" Dana prodded.

"Hey, we're related!" Mulder said to Melissa as if the idea just occurred to
him. He finally lurched
to his feet. "Now where was the men's room again?"

Melissa pointed to the corner. By the looks of things they wouldn't have to hit
any more bars
tonight before they could put the rest of the plan in motion.

"Photographic memory," Dana finally muttered when Mulder was out of earshot. "He
knows
what's in the dealer's hand because he remembers all the cards that have been
played. He can
make pretty good deductions on where the remaining cards in the deck are. But he
can't
remember where the men's room is, and he gets lost even with a roadmap." Dana
shook her head
with a grin, playing with the ring on the third finger of her left hand. "And
he's all mine," she
sighed contentedly.

Mulder was slowly crossing the room back to their table when he accidentaly
stumbled into a
cocktail waitress crossing in front of him. "Oops, sorry," he apologized
profusely as he bent over
to pick up a pile of napkins from the floor. For some reason his fingers
weren't working quite
right and it took him a little while to round up all those annoying little
squares. By the time he
started to straighten up, the waitress was bending over to help and he found
himself face to...
ah... face with the biggest pair of breasts he'd seen in a long time. Mulder
froze, his brain way too
sluggish to come up with a suggestion as to exactly what he was supposed to do
now.
Thankfully, the waitress didn't seem to notice. She just turned around to
retrieve a tangle of
swizzle sticks from under a stool, giving him a much better look than he wanted
of what she wore
- or didn't exactly wear - under that Old West cocktail waitress get up.

Oh God, why did these things always happen to him? He knew he wasn't supposed
to look.
Dana would kill him. But he was only human and fairly drunk. He didn't touch
anything, after all,
so how much trouble could he possibly be in? That question was answered when
the young
woman stood up, reached under her tray and took a good handful of him, smiling
with sudden
appreciation. "I always wanted to know what a guy wore under one of those
things," she
muttered under her breath. "I figured this was my only chance to find out,
since I just showed
you what I wear under *my* skirt."

Dana exploded from her chair as if she'd been shot out of a canon. <I'm
fucked. I didn't do
anything... and I'm still fucked.>

Dana couldn't believe what she'd just seen with her own eyes. Why was she angry
with Fox? He
didn't do anything... he really didn't. But knowing that just didn't seem to
help, and she found
herself wanting to blast him.
She'd have to learn to deal with other women coming on to her husband. She knew
that. Mulder
couldn't help it -- hell, he was oblivious to it most of the time. But she just
didn't feel like being
rational and logical right now. This was her wedding night and that was her
husband. The only
one doing any Mulder-grabbing tonight was supposed to be her.

It took her about two seconds to cross the room to where Mulder stood, head
hanging slightly,
looking thoroughly miserable. "What the hell was that all about?" she hissed
while leading him
back to his chair.

"I honestly don't know," he replied following a hiccup. He flopped back into
his chair and took a
swig of his sixth glass of beer. It was a heavy, dark ale, something he
normally wouldn't go for,
but he'd pretty much quit tasting the flavors after about the third one.

"Better get the man a bodyguard," advised Bill.

"It's not funny," Dana grumbled. She was still angry, and all of a sudden she
was aware of the
extra weight she carried around her middle and the slightly puffy feel of her
ankles. Shit, what a
time to be reminded that she didn't cut such a trim figure anymore. She studied
Mulder for several
seconds. "Is that what you want? A skinny, manufactured boob princess in a
low-cut, pushup bra
and butt floss?"

"What?" Mulder's foggy brain was trying to sort through all the input and was
running on about a
five second delay. Comprehension finally dawned. "Butt floss?" Did she
actually say that? He
burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The mental picture that slowly formed
in his brain was
unbearably funny.

Evidently he wasn't the only one who thought so. At first they just snickered,
trying to be aware
of Dana's hurt feelings. Moorehouse was the first to totally lose it, doubling
over as giggles
turned into belly laughs. Even Melissa joined in. "Uh, Dana?" she asked.
"Does that come in a
handy little dispenser like the dental type?"

Dana looked around the table, amazed. Was she the only one who didn't think
this was funny?
And did it have anything to do with the fact that she was drinking mineral
water, straight, and not
something alcoholic? Even Skinner was laughing so hard he had to take his
glasses off to wipe
his streaming eyes.

Mulder finally got it through his head that his bride expected an answer, if he
could just remember
what the question had been. Oh, yeah, something about what he wanted. "I don't
want tits and
ass.. I just want you," he pined mournfully.

"Thanks a lot, Mulder... I think," Scully replied. She ruffled his hair
affectionately. "I forgive
you."

Mulder looked to Skinner for an explanation. "I've been forgiven, but I don't
know exactly what
it was that I did wrong."

"It's not important. Let it go," his boss whispered.

"Quit while you're ahead...well almost," advised Alex. "The more you try to dig
yourself out, the
deeper you sink. Remember that. I've been there, done that."

"Oh, is that right?" asked Catie, one eyebrow raised dangerously.

Shit, he'd better stop trying to give Mulder pointers and follow his own damn
advice before he
ended up on the couch. "Geez, Catie, I was just kidding," he squeaked, trying to
recover the
fumble.

"Uh huh," Catie replied, not quite convinced of his sincerity. "Better shut up
and finish your
drink, Swami Alex, before you hammer another nail in your coffin."

"I'll drink to that," Mulder slurred happily as Skinner handed him the seventh,
and last, glass of
beer.

"Drink to what?" Skinner slurred back.

Dana noticed that even though the A.D. had been drinking shooters all night
along with
Moorehouse, he was only now starting to show any signs of inibriation. Although
he was
obviously feeling no pain, Skinner was still in far better control of himself
than Mulder, who after
seven beers was about ready to slide under the table. Probably had something to
do with the fact
that Skinner'd also had pizza to eat, and the last time anything approaching
food had passed
Mulder's lips had been his fruit salad shake back in Atlanta. He was going to
have one hell of a
hangover in the morning, Dana thought.

Mulder's brain processed Skinner's question as if his neurons were dog paddling
through a river of
molasses. When the answer finally came to him, he'd nearly forgotten the
question again. "Um...
drink to... um... anything, everything! Tie die jeans... coffins. Ah no,
that's Alex who's drinking
to coffins. Butt floss??? Wait, I know, I know --- nails. That's it!!! Nailing
butt floss in coffins!"
Mulder beamed, proud of the fact that he'd managed to get out what he believed
to be a coherent
thought.

Bill had sudden feelings of deja' vu, remembering an incident at the dinner
table not too long ago.
The beer he'd just been sipping caught in his throat and sprayed out of his
nose, soaking Skinner.
"Goddamn it, Mulder," Bill choked. "Why can't you wait until after I've
swallowed to say stupid
shit like that?"

"Oh... bite me, Bill. How am I s'posed to know when you're gonna swal--low, "
Mulder
hiccupped. "Next time just let me know and I'll make a fucking anuncim...
annousmin... I'll tell
everybody." Mulder raised a single wavering finger before his pursed lips.
"Shssssh... everybody
shut up. Bill will now... um... he's uh... gonna swall--low. There... happy?"

Dana, naturally being the only sober soul in the group, feared she was rapidly
losing control of the
situation. Well, at least Mulder wasn't a 'mean' drunk. If anything, he became
sentimentally
soppy, overly affectionate <unfortunately to just about everyone>, and downright
silly.
The rest of the gang, including her siblings, were just as unbelievably dopey.
Still, she really
thought she finally had everything under control until Fox started leading them
into boisterously
singing 'I've Got a Loverly Bunch of Coconuts.' That in itself would not have
been such a terrible
thing except for the fact that with an ex-Marine, an ex New York City cop, one
Navy officer, and
Mulder's own warped sense of humor, the words to the song were taking a deeper
plunge into the
depths of depravity with each passing verse.

Dana sank lower into her chair until her chin nearly touched the surface of the
table. With any
luck the floor would open up and swallow her. After twenty-two renditions of
improvised lyrics,
she was fairly certain the establishment had probably reached its tolerance
level for annoying
patrons long ago. From the glares they were getting from the other occupants of
the bar, it was
clear they didn't appreciate the serenade either.

"Ok, everybody, I think it's time to hit the road," she announced, standing up
and pulling Mulder
along with her.

"Why, has it been bad?" Melissa tittered.

Dana stared pointedly at her sister. "Missy..."

"Oops, that's right," Melissa said, remembering the purpose for the party in the
first place. "I
guess we'd better go find our chariot."

After making sure she'd left a healthy tip, Dana herded their little group back
down the escalator
and outside. But she must have gotten turned around somehow, because instead of
exiting out in
front of the casino, they were in an alley. That's right, there'd been two
entrances to the bar.
They must have left by the other one. She wasn't about to march this group back
the way they
came through the bar - she might never get them out again - so it looked like
they were in for a
little hike around the outside of the casino. At least it was late enough that
the sidewalks were
relatively deserted and it had stopped raining.

Unfortunately, once outside the group decided that there were a few verses of
their theme song
they hadn't finished exploring yet. Dana cringed as the sound bounced off
concrete and glass,
amplifying it. She hoped it wasn't too long of a walk to the limo. She also
hoped none of the
passersby took the off-color lyrics too seriously.

She was starting to think they'd make it back to the limo in one piece when her
fears were
confirmed. Two big men with very large arms were headed toward them. Shouldn't
bodybuilders
be in bed by now? she wondered.

"Guys!! Guys!!" Dana yelled above the din of off key tones. She tried
unsuccessfully to get their
attention and quiet her little unruly group.

Finally, Catie looked at Dana and followed her worried gaze. "Uh, oh," she
muttered. "Hey,
guys! Quiet! Gorillas at two o' clock!"

The song broke off disjointedly. Skinner immediately recognized the aggressive
intentions in the
men's expressions, posture, and movements. Experience had taught him men like
these were
bullies who loved conflict and would use any excuse to start a fight. Hoping to
avoid an all out
and totally unnescessary confrontation, he moved to the front of the group,
directly in the path of
the approaching mountains of muscle. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

The two didn't reply, just stopped, clearly sizing up the group. Skinner gazed
calmly back at
them. "Well, if you'll excuse us, we were just headed down to the Jungle Club."

Mulder squinted, attempting to focus his blurry vision on his boss. "Do they
wear buttfloss there,
too?" he asked hopefully. He felt a fain twinge of pain and looked down just in
time to see his
loving wife withdrawing her knuckle from his arm. Several seconds passed before
the impulse
registered in his brain and a muffled "ouch" finally escaped his lips.

Skinner smiled faintly. "I'm sure they do, Mulder. It seems to be a standard
occupational uniform
around here. I think we should all be on our way now," he urged.

Skinner sighed deeply when he realized that the two Cromagnons didn't appear to
be moving out
of the way. Apparently they figured the wedding party in front of them was
sufficiently sloshed to
make the pickings easy. He wondered if they were armed. This could be serious
trouble.

"You offend us," growled one huge craggy face. "You're out here entertaining on
our street
without the proper permits."

"Which you should have gotten from us," the other drawled. "But you didn't."

"Better be careful using those big words like 'offend,'" Mulder snickered. "You
might burn out a
brain cell and lords knows you can't spare any."

Skinner shot Mulder a look he interpreted to mean "shut the fuck up or I'll kill
you myself," which
Mulder reluctantly obeyed. After all, he was swilled to the gills. What the
hell did he know?

"We didn't mean to offend," Skinner offered, trying to diffuse a tense si
tuation. "And now that
we know we have, we'll just leave quietly." The last thing he needed was to be
involved in a
brawl. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be here.

"Well, you did, and now we're gonna have to collect a fine," the first po
ck-marked face snarled.
"We don't like your kind here, anyway."

Mulder's head snapped up. "Whadda mean, um...'our kind?'" he asked, narrowing
his eyes and
moving toward the front of the group.

Skinner raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Shit!! His hopes
for a trouble free
evening were quickly going down the toilet. Mulder, let it drop, his mind
engaged in a silent plea.
"MULDER..." Skinner warned.

"No," Fox replied stubbornly. "I was... ah... jus' wondering what Popeye and
his... um, twin
Moby Dick here meant by 'our kind.'"

"Hey, Fox," Bill chuckled. "Isn't Moby Dick some kind of STD?"

Dana cringed. It was a toss up of who was worse -- Mulder or her damn brother.

Mulder eyed the lumbersome hulk before him and nodded slowly through an a
lcoholic haze.
"Could be," he said. He took in the view of Musclehead's sidekick. "Better
watch it, Bill,"
Mulder frowned. "It fucking multiplies. Better <burp> notify CDC. It might be
...<hiccup>
contagious."

"Fox?" one ugly bastard mocked.

"Figures," his clone companion remarked with contempt.

"What figures?" Mulder's lips drew into a thin line.

Skinner tensed, readying himself for the inevitable. Fuck! This stupid asshole
didn't know he was
stepping into a snakepit. Mulder was primarily a non-violent man, and under
normal
circumstances, he would avoid a fight whenever possible. His track record of
having the shit
kicked out of him was due mainly to the fact that circumstances usually had him
outnumbered or
pitted against unusually lethal adversaries. Skinner had no doubts that even in
his normal frame of
mind, if sufficiently provoked in a one-on-one confrontation, Fox Mulder could
be a formidable
foe.

But when circumstances weren't normal... He'd only seen Mulder lose it once and
it wasn't
something he'd care to have repeated. They'd walked in on a suspect in the
process of raping a
twelve year old girl, and something inside the young man had snapped. Though the
killer was in
fact a much larger man than Mulder, he was still no match for the unleashed fury
that raged
through the young agent like a torrential flash flood. It'd taken five agents
and himself to pull
Mulder off. Granted, this was a totally different situation, but the memory
lingered. Mulder was
royally looped which meant his judgment and self-control were more than likely
compromised as
hell. The rest of the group weren't in much better shape except Dana, for
obvious reasons. And
because of those same reasons, Skinner wasn't about to let her get involved.

Skinner made a sudden move to step between the two men and Mulder only to bump
into Alex
who'd moved up to stand by his cousin.

"Jus' what are you inferrring?" Mulder insisted, ignoring Skinner's attempts to
silence him. The
words might have been slurred, but the challenge came through loud and clear.

Dana was at his side, tugging repeatedly on his sleeve. "Come on, Fox. You're
drunk -- they're
drunk. Think of me," she whispered. "Think of the baby. We could get hurt,"
she added as extra
incentive. She knew she could take care of herself but right now fighting dirty
seemed
appropriate and she'd use whatever ammo was available to sway him.

This last little bit of information somehow sank into his brain and made an
impression. Dana felt
Mulder's muscles relax under her hand, and she knew he was ready to walk away.
Thank God.

"What I'm sayin'," growled green teeth number one who'd made a point of glaring
with disgust at
Mulder and his cousin, "is that we don't want no fucking skirt wearin' fags on
our street."

Alex stood up just a hitch straighter, balled up his fists by his sides and
began to take a step
forward. He felt his momentum halted by a gentle backward tug from his cousin's
hand.

Looking down once more at his petite wife, Mulder bit his bottom lip and raised
up both hands,
zfingers spread and palms out. Oh how he wanted to readjust the facial features
of this mutant
mongoloid but Scully was right as usual. He *was* drunk and the thought of even
the remote
chance of breaking the skin of his knuckles on those slimy green protrusions in
that moron's
mouth gave him the willies. God only knew what rare and fatal diseases were
breeding there.
Alright, he'd be good and try to overlook this minor attack on his manhood.
"Well," Mulder
replied cordially. "Everyone's entitled to an opinion."

Alex's jaw dropped. He was dumbfounded. These two prime examples of primitive
sibling
inbreeding had just insulted them and their traditions and his cousin refused to
defend their honor.
And after Aunt Carol had just given him the broadsword, the legacy of their
clan. Well, maybe
Fox could let it slide but he'd be damned if *he* would.

Balling his fists, Alex drew his right arm back, then let rip with a swing he
hadn't used since his
high-school boxing days. The upward motion of his arm was halted forcefully and
pressed back
down to his side by Mulder's sudden and definitive grip. Damn, Fox was a lot
stronger than he
looked.

"I'm sure we're men enough to endure a few meaningless insults," Mulder told no
one in
particular. It took a bit of self-control to stifle the remarks that were
jockeying for position within
his fertile, albeit sloshed brain.

Skinner relaxed visibly with relief. With any luck, they might yet get out of
this without forfeiting
any important body parts.

"Then I guess you won't care if we tell ya to take 'Mr. Clean' over there with
ya," Green teeth
number two snarled into Mulder's face.

Mulder winced as the tenuous hold he had on his self-control shattered. Smart
remark number
two gave smart remark number one a nasty shove out of his brain and onto his
tongue before
common sense could trip it up. "Did anyone ever tell you that your breath is
reminiscent of the
Newark city sewer system on a hot summer day?"

He swallowed hard as the mental midgit in front of him tried to decipher what
he'd said and
determine just how pissed off he should be. Ah shit, Mulder, he mentally kicked
himself. He'd
tried to be good. Now their wedding night was going to be all screwed up for
sure and it'd be his
fault -- again.

Until this momment, Jake had been hanging quietly in the background, listening
with amusement
to confrontation between his friends and the men he'd referred to in the past as
the 'Planters'
Brothers,' a nickname he tagged on them mainly because he figured their combined
brain capacity
might possibly be able to house one small peanut. These two apes were notorious
for roughing
up tourists and taking their winnings. The department always had difficulty
prosecuting the bums
because their victims usually ended up being too intimidated to testify. It was
tremendously
gratifying to finally see these two pick on the *wrong* tourists. Of course, he
didn't want to see
anybody get hurt, but if a fight was unavoidable, he could think of nothing more
satisfying than
having these morons hauled in for assaulting not one, but three federal agents,
one of whom was
the FBI's very own Assitant Director. There was justice in this world after
all.

"That better not mean what I think it means," the would-be king of the street
finally replied to
Mulder's insult.

"Fine," Mulder said slowly. "We'll just all leave now, Mr. Clean, the fag's
friends and relatives,
and these three lovely and charming ladies." That's amazing!! He smuggly
congratulated himself
for making it through all that without one belch, hiccup, or stutter. He
glanced at Dana with a
'did I do good?' look.

Dana sent him what he would consider the covetted Dana Scully smile and nod of
approval. She
held back a giggle. If he'd been a puppy, he'd have been wagging his tail. On
second thought,
knowing Mulder, he'd probably be humping her leg, that is until he could get her
alone.

Mulder sensed, however, that 'Jabba the Hut' seemed to have other plans and
wasn't about to let
them go without making a scene and marking his territory. He half expected this
animal to whip
out his dick and piss off on some invisible boundary.

Green teeth number one just stood facing Skinner and Moorehouse, who'd moved
quietly up
behind Skinner. This thug didn't say a whole lot, relying instead on glaring and
grunting as
intimidation, which in this case wasn't particularly effective. Green teeth
number two must have
gotten the larger portion of the pea that passed for a brain, Mulder reasoned,
for he did most of
the threatening verbalization. It didn't quite qualify as true communication
but he figured it was
as close as this guy was gonna get.

"Okay," Jabba sneered, "you guys can go."

Hey, Mulder considerdd, maybe ther *was* something to this 'turn the other
cheek' shit. He
turned to take Dana's hand and was impolitely intercepted by a large meaty paw.

"Except for the red-headed whore. How much do you charge for the honeymoon
fantasy, babe?"
he asked, grabbing the neckline of her dress and pulling.

The last thing Dana heard before the melee began was the snapping of buttons,
the tearing of lace,
and the nearly inhuman growl of her mate as he flew at her attacker and tackled
the ugly beast
with the animalistic ferocity of a pissed off pit bull.

"Shiiiiitttt!!" Skinner and Moorehouse yelled as one voice as they slammed into
the other lummox
charging them.

Mulder smashed a well-aimed right fist into the bulbous face that he'd pinned to
the floor. "If you
EVER touch my wife again, you son of a bitch," he hissed between clentched
teeth, "I'll rip off
your goddamn balls, have em' bronzed and use em' for a fucking hood ornament!"

Jabba was not that easily subdued, however, and when what was left of his senses
returned, he
reached around Mulder with both massive arms and squeezed. Red hot pain shot
through Fox's
chest as the air fled from his lungs. Realizing he was in trouble, he did the
only thing he could
think of. Raising his head up, he brought it down suddenly, slamming his
forehead into the
sneering face looking up at him. Now another pain assaulted his senses, dulled
as they were.
Little pinpricks of light danced in his head and behind his eyes. Well, shit.
It worked for
Skinner, he thought dismally as surrounding sounds and faint sirens began to
fade into mist...
leave to him to fucking knock himself out.

A dazed Jabba rolled Mulder off, lifted the limp figure off the ground and
dashed him into a one
of the planters that lined the sidewalk. A sadistic grin of triumph was
suddenly wiped from his
face, however, when his head exploded with a loup crack. Turning with his last
ounce of effort
before passing out, he found himself staring into the furious eyes of a petite
red-head standing on
top of the planter with the remains of a beer bottle still tightly grasped in
one hand.

"This Bud's for you," she growled as Mulder's attacker dropped like a stone at
the base of the
planter.

City Jail
Reno, NV
11:28 pm
******************

"Dana?" a worried familiar voice echoed through the hallway and holding cell.

"Mom?" Dana muttered in surprise. Oh God, not mom. Dana looked down at what
remained of
her grandmother's wedding gown and wished she could disappear. It could survive
four
generations of Scullys, several wars, but could not endure one lousy evening
with a Mulder. She
could have the lace replaced, she thought hurriedly, but just wasn't certain
that the blood, the
mud, and the beer stains would come out.

Dana got up slowly from Mulder's prone figure on the only cot in the room and
shuffled toward
her mother standing on the other side of the bars. "Oh mom, I'm sooo sorry,"
she cried, tears
staining the sides of her face. "The dress is ruined."

Margaret stared at her daughter in disbelief. "You think I'm upset about the
dress?? Honey, that
dress is an Irish family heirloom and was made to withstand hell or high water.
You're not the
first one to put it through either. I would like to hear the story behind this
one, though. I can't
wait to tell Grandma," she chuckled softly as several of the other figures in
the cell began to stir.
Her gazed settled on the newest member of her family limply covering the too
short cot. "Is Fox
okay?" she asked with sudden concern, noting what looked like a dark bruise
beneath one eye and
dried blood on his forehead.

"Just minor damage... nothing serious, thank God," Dana smiled faintly. "He
most definitely is
*not* a Marine."

Jennifer Scully walked hesitantly back toward her mother-in law with the jailer.
Several reams of
paperwork were gripped tightly in one hand. "I can't believe we've been called
down here in the
middle of the night to get my one and only out of the clink for fighting in the
streets!! I swear,
Bill Scully, if I *ever* have to do this again, a street brawl will be the least
of your worries." She
glanced as her jailbird relatives, hardly believing they were actually her
family. "I can't believe you
people. You'd think at least some of you would know better." She heaved a deep
sigh, and
gestured with the paperwork still in her clenched fist. "You can all leave
now."

Brother Bill shrugged sheepishly as he passed his little sister. One look at
his wife, and he briefly
entertained the notion of staying right where he was. It might be preferable to
where he was
going.

Margaret found herself searching the cell for another face that had been with
this little party when
it had left the church. She found who she was looking for sitting up against
the corner of a far
wall. "Walter Skinner," she admonished, hands on her hips. "You were supposed
to keep them
OUT of trouble and get Fox just drunk enough to get him to the dentist, not
enough to get
him pummeled senseless. Now what are we going to do?"

"Hey, it's still not too late," Moorehouse mumbled. "I'll just call my friend
and tell him to meet us
at his office. He'll wait."

"I still find it difficult to believe that a reputable dentist would be do any
work this late at night,
especially on someone in Fox's condition," Margaret replied suspiciously.

"Look," Jake snapped. "He's a good guy and a good dentist. I told him this was
an emergency
and he owes me, okay?"

"It's alright, mom," Dana said. "If Jake says he's good, he is."

Moorehouse eyed Dana with the closest thing to gratitude that he was capable of
at this particular
moment in time. He didn't want to admit it, but her confidence in him really
meant a lot.

Alex rose from the floor and brought Catie up with him. At least he had the
good sense to bring
his wife to the party, unlike poor Bill Scully. But then again, Catie always
was up for a good
time, which probably explained why they had three kids. "Let's get the hell
out of here," he said.
"This is one side of Reno that I really hadn't wanted to see." His eyes
wandered over to his
unconscious cousin. "Who's got dibs on Fox?"

"I'll get him," came the unexpected reply from A.D. Skinner. He straightened
slowly and walked
over to the cot, careful not to look Margaret in the eye as he passed her. She
was right, he had
been in charge of this little surrepticious mission and he'd let it get out of
hand. But then again,
things like this always seemed to happen to Mulder.

He stared down at the young man's seemingly peaceful, unconscious face. How
could one man
create such havoc? Hell, he'd given up trying not to like Mulder, and he'd long
ago come to
respect him. Sometimes Mulder reminded him of the way he might have turned out
if things had
been different. He finally had to admit to himself that he cared about Mulder
and decided that if
he'd ever had a son or little brother, they could've done a lot worse than turn
out just like him...
and that revelation really scared him.

Walter bent over the cot and lifted Mulder into a fireman carry. The kilt
allowed a little more
intimate contact than he intended. Oops, sorry pal. No wonder Agent Scully's
been grinning like a
Cheshire cat, he mused lightheartedly.

The wedding party made its way out of the jail, Moorehouse thanking his lucky
stars that Tony
wasn't here to see him, much less any other the day shift staff. As it was, he
was never gonna hear
the end of it. His only saving grace would be that the department finally had
an opportunity to
send the Planters Brothers off to the peanut factory and out of their hair for a
while.

"Moorehouse," Skinnered grumbled at him as he shifted Mulder's weight, getting
ready to put
Mulder in the back of their limo. "I suggest you phone your friend, pronto.
Mulder's not going to
stay out forever, and I can practically guarantee he's going to be one unhappy
camper when he
wakes up."

****************************************************

**********************
CHAPTER EIGHT
A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

Golden Crown Dental Clinic
Reno, NV
12:15am
*************

"Well, what have we got here, Jake? Not one of your victims, I hope." Jake's
friend looked like
anything but a dentist. Short, dark, and swarthy, he looked more like someone
who should be
rescuing Roger Rabbit than someone you'd trust near your teeth with sharp
instruments and a
drill. But Jake had said this guy was the only one he'd let work on his mouth,
so Dana decided
not to be swayed by appearances. Besides, how many dentists would open up their
offices to you
at this time of night?

"Watch it," Moorehouse grumbled. "You're gonna ruin my reputation."

The dentist laughed at him. "Like you've got a reputation someone like me can
ruin," he said. He
looked at Mulder's lanky frame draped once again over Skinner's shoulder like a
sack of potatoes.
"Must have been one hell of a reception," he said with a chuckle, taking note of
the young man's
unusual attire and the concerned redhead in the wedding gown.

"I sure appreciate ya stickin' around to see him, Murray," Moorehouse said.
"This was the only
way we could get him here." Murray's eyebrows pulled down into a frown. "Hey,
it ain't what ya
think," Moorehouse said hastily. "Agent Scully over there -- uh, sorry, Mrs.
Mulder -- she's a
medical doc and she says he's had some kind of infection in one of his teeth for
a few days, and
he's been a real pain in the ass about seeing a dentist, so we all kinda
kidnapped him. Think ya
can fix him up?"

Dr. Murray Goldbloom fixed them all with a hesitant stare. Friends were
friends, but some things
just weren't done, and he'd better clarify this situation before it cost him his
license. "You mean
this man is here against his will?" he asked. "Jake, you ought to know that I
can't treat an
unconsenting patient... it's unlawful, unethical -- I could lose my license.
And worst of all, I could
get sued."

"Come on, Murray," Jake argued. "Don't go friggin' nuts on me. What about next
of kin? He's
unconscious, his wife is here, and she gives her permission, right?" he asked,
looking to Dana for
confirmation.

Dana nodded her head in agreement. "Besides, we *are* the law," she added.
"And he's," she
said pointing to A.D. Skinner, "Assistant Director of the FBI, so don't worry
about legalities, ok?
Look, we're desperate. He needs to have this taken care of and I just can't
think of another way
to do it"

"He's *that* bad, huh?"

"Yes!!" Three voices rang out in unison.

Murray shook his head and pointed down the hall to an exam room on the right.
"Alright, Mr. --
ah..." he questioned Walter with his eyes.

"Skinner," Walter finished for him.

"Okay, Mr. Skinner, it is." He opened the connecting door between the reception
area and his
treatment rooms. "Take him to the second room on your left. You can just dump
him in the chair
and I'll take it from there."

The good dentist leaned out of the way as the man and his burden passed by. He
still wondered if
he hadn't taken a wrong turn off reality. The Assistant Director of the FBI
carrying a man in kilts
into his office after midnight. Although he'd noticed they'd all taken this in
stride, so maybe he
should, too. If nothing else, it would make a good story to tell to his
grandchildren someday, if
that son of his and his skinny wife ever got busy and gave him any.

Murray turned back to his friend and his patient's wife. "Look, this may take a
little longer than
usual. My assistant went home hours ago, so make yourselves at home." He
handed a clipboard
to Dana full of standard medical questionnaires and releases. "Make sure you
sign here," he said,
pointing to the consent language.

Scully touched Murray's arm lightly. "Thank you for helping us," she said as
she accepted the
clipboard. "Although I'm not a dental assistant, if there's anything I can do,
please, just ask."

Murray nodded in appreciation. "Well, first things first. You fill these out
and I'll go take a look,
take a few x-rays, and see what the problem is. Since he's tied one on in a
big way, my first
choice, should I have to do anything, would be to use a local. However,
depending on what I find
and what needs to be done, I wouldn't want him waking up in the middle of a
procedure. So if it's
anything extensive, I'll probably opt for gas instead. I believe I have
everything under control at
the moment Mrs... ?"

"Mulder," Dana filled in.

"Mrs. Mulder," Murray finished with a tired smile. "So if you want to go take a
seat, keep
yourself busy with all this paperwork my staff has decided I can't live without,
I'll let you
know when I'm finished. You look like you could use a rest."

The door to the reception area closed and Scully drug herself over to the small
couch and plopped
down heavily next to Skinner, who was massaging a stiff shoulder. He shifted to
one side to
allow her more space, and she balanced the clipboard across her knees.

Moorehouse tried to stifle a huge yawn, failing miserably. "Hey kids, I gotta
go to work in the
morning, so I'm gonna have to beg off," he said. Not to mention that he'd have
to go in early and
kiss all sorts of butt with the desk sergeant so that tonight's little escapade
didn't make it all
through the station. "Tell Murray I'll catch him tomorrow and that we're even.
Oh, by the way, I
kinda figure you guys are going to be a little under the weather tomorrow, so
I'll reschedule the
autopsy for 11:00 instead of 7:30 and push back Mulder's interview to 12:30.
Get some rest."

"Jake??" Dana called out and watched him pause at the door. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, kiddo," he replied gruffly as he walked out.

Dana completed patient information forms, insurance forms, consent forms, and
all the rest of the
paperwork on the clipboard. Funny -- she'd done this for Mulder more times than
she could
count, but somehow it was different this time. She was his *wife,* and it
struck home that she
was now officially responsible for him. That thought created a warm, possessive
glow deep inside
her. Mrs. Mulder -- she was Mrs. Mulder. And anybody who tried hurting her
husband, human
or not, better watch out.

She deposited the forms on the ledge next to the reception window then sat back
down next to
Skinner. "You don't have to stay, sir," she said.

Skinner looked down at her, at the tired, bruised look under her eyes. P
regnancy could be hard
on a woman, and he didn't want to see Scully hurt herself trying to take care of
Mulder all by
herself. "I don't mind," he replied. "Besides, I think you might need some
help getting him back
to the hotel."

Dana smiled her gratitude at him, and looked around for a way to pass the time.
She hated sitting
in waiting rooms. She tried reading magazines and even managed to do the
crossword on the
back page of one uninteresting periodical. But fatigue finally got the better
of her, and she dozed
off, unintentionally dropping her head on her boss's shoulder.

"Mrs. Mulder....Mrs. Mulder!!" An urgent voice penetrated Dana's fuzzy mind.
She straightened
suddenly, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and looked around, a little diso
riented. Oh yeah, that's
me, she reminded herself with a smile.

Skinner nudged her forward and the last remnants of sleep fell away. God, she
thought with
embarrassment, she'd actually fallen asleep on her boss's shoulder. One look at
Skinner, however,
told her that any apology was unecessary. She was beginning to see why Mulder's
attitude
toward him had changed for the better. Yes, he still grumbled "Skinner this"
and "Skinner that,"
but it wasn't with the same dislike or distrust she'd heard in his voice when
they'd first started
working together. I guess Mulder was right... things do change.

Turning her head in the direction of the voice calling her name, Dana saw the
masked figure of
Dr. Goldbloom motioning to her back toward the exam room. Skinner got up from
the couch and
slowly followed behind her.

"What is it, Dr. Goldbloom?" she asked, worry seeping into her voice. After
all, this should be
just a routine dental procedure.

"Well," he ventured. "I have good news.. .and news that I just don't und
erstand." He paused
momentarily in thought. "Do you know if your husband was ever in any kind of
explosion or car
accident as a child?"

"Not that I know of," she said cautiously.

Dr. Goldbloom shuffled nervously. "Well, the good news is that the tooth is
unaffected. The
infection stems from a foreign object imbedded in the jaw. Scar tissue and the
fact that the bone
actually formed around the object leads me to believe that it's been there a
very long time.
Perhaps during the latter stages of childhood. It's hard to tell exactly what
happened, but I believe
some sort of recent facial trauma had worked a piece of it into the soft tissue
and caused the
irritation. It took some doing, but I removed the object, intact, from his jaw.
The part that I find
difficult to believe, is what this thing looks like under the microscope and why
it would be where I
found it."

Dr. Goldbloom motioned toward the x-rays on the lighting panel and pointed out
where the object
was inbedded. Dana peered at the film. No wonder it had never been found
before. The object's
location was not readily seen unless you were specifically searching the area
for problems... it was
so small.

Dana followed the dentist out of the exam room and into a small lab area. "Now,
take a look at
this," he said, motioning her toward a microscope.

Dana bent over the microscope, turned a distinct shade paler, and gasped.
"Ohmygod!" she cried,
her words coming out in a rush. "What did they do to you, my poor Fox? What
did they do?"

Skinner gently pulled her away and took a look at the slide himself. What he
saw there infuriated
him. A chip... a goddamn microchip. But not a chip he recognized. He wasn't
sure it was even
from any known technology on this world. It didn't look like metal or silicone.
It appeared 'soft' -
the edges wavy and indistinct, even under high-power magnification - but the
electronic form was
there, the schematic that made it artificial was all too real. "Shit!!" he
swore.

He looked up to Scully from his hunched position with apology in his eyes. He
knew this hadn't
been anything for which he'd been responsible. It had evidently happened long
ago, long before
Mulder had even thought of a career in the FBI. But in not doing anything about
what he knew
went on, did he facilitate this kind of physical and mental violation on other
equally undeserving
innocent people?

Wait a minute... this had happened long ago. What had the dentist said? When
Mulder was a
child? Maybe at the time of his sister's abduction, or maybe even before that.
It was possible that
she hadn't been the only victim in Mulder's family. Cancerman and the evil
figures of power that
lurked forever in the untouchable shadows always did have an unhealthy obsession
with Mulder.
Could it be a more than professional interest? Finally, he asked with a broken
voice, "What now,
Scully?"

"Now?" she echoed wearily. "Now, we take him to our room and I put him to bed,
love him, care
for him, protect him, and hope to God whoever put that thing there doesn't come
back to get it.
Because if they do, they'll have one hell of a fight on their hands. I don't
like to lose, sir. And I
won't lose *him.*"

"Are you going to tell him about this?" Skinner asked.

"I don't know yet. I just don't know."

*********
Red Sands Hotel
Reno, Nevada

It was well past 2:00 a.m. when the trio finally made it to the Red Sands Hotel
and the Mulders'
reserved suite.

Dana had been withdrawn and conspicuously silent on the drive over and Skinner
hadn't pressured
her to talk. What could he say to comfort her? What advice could he give in a
situation like this?
Sure, the man had a right to know what they'd found. It was his body and his
fucking nightmare,
had been for as long as he'd known Mulder. All Mulder ever had up to now were
the vague,
guilt-ridden, and unreliable recollections of a frightened and traumatized
child. This chip was
proof... of what, he wasn't sure. But it was proof that something strange had
happened to the
Mulder family two decades ago.

He'd taken some time recently to learn more about his disobedient agent.
Cancerman's unhealthy
interest in Mulder had piqued his own curiosity and he'd researched Mulder's
records and covertly
pumped certain people for information. The picture he got was not a happy or
pretty one.
Something had happened that night so many years ago in Chilmark, of this Skinner
was certain,
something so terrifying that the young boy suppressed all memory of the incident
for years. He
knew of Mulder's sessions with Dr. Verber, the guilt Mulder felt at his i
nability to save his sister,
the weight of blame heaped upon the shoulders of a boy not yet mature enough to
understand his
innocence.

The chip - a microchip made with technology that didn't exist today much less 20
years ago - that
was tangible proof, proof not only of the fact that something decidedly sinister
had occurred, but
that Mulder had been just as much a victim as his sister. How would he take the
reality of the
truth after so many years of vague speculation and lies? Mulder had certainly
had more than his
share of heartache. How much could one man take?

Skinner was positve that these same thoughts bombarding Scully's mind as she
tried to make a
decision on what to do about the information. They were beginning a new life
together... literally.
He had no doubt that eventually she would tell Mulder, but would doing it now
help anyone or
only serve to foster anger and sorrow on what should be the happiest days of
their lives? The
chip was gone, and Mulder was no longer 'tagged.' Perhaps now he could get a
little distance and
maybe some well deserved peace... at least until the next time they decided to
pay him a
unwelcomed visit.

Groaning under the lead weight of Mulder's body, Skinner lumbered across the
room and dropped
his cargo onto the waiting king size bed by the balcony window. Somehow Mulder
had gained at
least twenty pounds since the time Skinner had carried him into the dentist's
office.

He turned to leave, but Scully caught his eye. He recognized the purposeful
look of
determination that turned her eyes ice blue. She reached out and deposited a
small vial into the
palm of his hand. "Please keep this safe for me, sir. I'll probably need it
one day, but not
now."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Dana sighed. "I know leaving a truth unspoken is the same as telling a lie, but
I fear after
everything he's been through, the truth right now could do him more harm than
good. And I will
not, if it is within my power, allow anything to hurt him again. Can you
understand, sir?" she
asked with a pleading voice.

Skinner nodded in affirmation. Maybe he didn't totally agree with her but he
understood her
reasoning and would respect her decision. She loved him and would protect him
at all costs.
Mulder would be angry when he found out, that was a given. But in the future,
after many years
together, and after the initial shock of her keeping this from him wore off,
he'd still love her and
would get over it. Mulder may be a lot of things, but he wasn't a complete and
total fool.

Dana watched Skinner pocket the small vial. She knew he would keep it safe.
Actually it
bothered her somewhat that she'd decided not to tell Mulder about the chip just
yet but they were
on a case and he needed to be focused. Lord knows Mulder was distracted enough
already and
this new discovery would just complicate things. No, she'd wait until the case
was solved and
they were alone -- when his reaction, whatever it was, wouldn't interfere with
his work or
judgement.

Softly closing the door behind Skinner, Dana's eyes fell on the collection of
ancient weapons
resting on the hotel dresser and she chuckled to herself. If only she'd had the
presence of mind to
take pictures, she thought, remembering the look of surprise on the arresting
officer's face when
he attempted to remove the broadsword from Mulder and staggered backward into a
wall before
he could adjust to the unexpected weight of the thing.

Oh, this was one wedding night she wouldn't likely forget anytime soon, but for
all the wrong
reasons... at least so far anyway. Why was it that calamity always seemed to be
their second
shadow? She knew that one day she would look back on this night and probably
laugh her ass off
but right at this moment all she wanted was her husband -- and in the worst
possible way.

Growling with frustration, Dana fumbled with the seemingly endless line of
buttons trailing down
the neck and back of her gown until she managed to unhook a space wide enough to
wriggle out.
She kicked her shoes off, sending them flying on a one way trip across the room
to land with a
thud by the bathroom door. Then while dropping her constricting undergarments
to the floor in a
less than tidy heap, she pulled several strategic pins from her hair and let it
cascade freely to her
shoulders. God!! That felt good!!! She stared hungrily at the man on the bed...
her man. <I know
what would feel even better.> Stop it!! She shook her head vigorously. He's
unconscious,
she chided herself. <No he's not. He's asleep.> She shuffled to the bed and
sat down beside him
watching his eyelids twitch in normal REM sleep.

A feral smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Dana remembered the many
times in the past
that he'd been in a similar condition --before they'd confessed their feelings
for one another. She
also recalled how she'd had to undress him on several occasions, always curbing
her undoctor-like
curiousity by avoiding the apparently well-filled boxers like the plague,
allowing her imagination
to run rampant instead. On their first night together, however, she was pleased
and pleasantly
surprised to discover that for once the object of one of her fantasies was not
done justice by her
imagination.

"Well, I don't have to worry about boxers tonight, do I, Sherlock?" she purred
out loud while
lifting the kilt with two fingers and solving an age old question at the same
time. "Nope, didn't
think so."

Her hands shifted to his feet, removing first one shoe, then the other, dropping
them carelessly
onto the carpeted floor. Next she slowly rolled down both socks, lightly
skimming the well
defined calve muscles with her fingertips. He's allergic to wool she diagnosed
from the red
splotches covering his legs where the material had been. A distressing thought
broke through and
she ferverently hoped that other more essential body parts hadn't been similarly
affected to any
great degree.

This was an old fantasy with a new twist, she pondered with a grin. Even if
he'd been wearing
boxers (which he hadn't) she didn't have to stop -- which she wouldn't. All
those things she had
thought about doing to him then, she had a perfect right to do to him now. "One
healthy dose of
fantasy fulfillment coming up, Sherlock," she whispered into his ear with an
affectionate smile
while carefully removing the brooch and plaid. The brooch found its way to the
table. The plaid
was not so lucky and ended up draped haphazardly over the lampshade.

One by one the delicate silver buttons released their hold and the doublet fell
open revealing yet
another cloth barrier. Bending over his chest, she boldly gave in to yet
another impulse and,
starting with the top button, chewed through the thread, barely hearing the
richocet bouncing off
the nightstand as she spat it out. Each new button given its freedom was
accompanied by the
sensual caress of lips and tongue on the masculine scented skin previously
hidden
beneath it. She felt him shiver under her as the tips of her breasts brushed
the bare skin of his
chest. With each kiss his body raised longingly to meet her lips and when her
tongue found its
way searchingly into his navel, his head fell back allowing an audible gasp to
escape his lips.
Knowing she could arouse him even in that twilight place between wakefulness and
dreams gave
Dana an intoxicating sense of power and pleasure.

The kilt was a problem but nothing that determination of purpose couldn't
overcome. With just a
little extra effort, she finally got the material loose enough to slide down
over his narrow hips, to
his ankles, and thankfully at last, off the bed.

Dana had total control and she liked it. Best of all, she knew that he trusted
her completely and
had often told her that anything she wanted to try was okay with him. "Well,
Fox," she snickered
lightly, "this is something I've always wanted to try."

A small, educated hand slowly traced its way knowingly along the inside of his
thigh before
cupping his heavy, dark weight in its palm. Another hand explored and stroked
as he came alive
under the insistent intimate kisses she showered in scecret places that she'd
discovered after years
of dedicated practice. Dana licked her lips and slowly slithered up his form
like a hunting python.
His body responded to her touch instinctively even if his consciousness wasn't
totally aware of
what was going on.

Sinking back down with renewed passion, she eased her enveloping heat around him
once more,
rocking him gently at first with a slow pendulum motion of her hips on his.

<Ohohohgod, ohgodohgod.> Mulder's mind reeled with confusion, full of ha
lf-conscious
sensations. If this is a dream, please oh please, god... don't let me wake up
yet. Somewhere in all
this pleasure he felt a healthy amount of pain, but it was overwhelmed by other
impulses he could
not yet identify with any clarity. His unreliable, intoxicated memory told him
that he'd gotten
drunk, not exactly a newsflash. He'd been in a fight. Or at least he thought
he had. Someone
sure landed a punch on his jaw.

Was he dreaming or just drunk? He was confused and uncertain of the line
between fantasy and
reality. Putting together the clues as best he could, his intellect deduced
that he must be in the
throes of an alcohol induced erotic dream.

In his dream, Dana was more or less taking unfair advantage of his condition.
He'd had wet
dreams before but nothing as vividly realistic as this. Velvety lips sensually
covered his body from
head to toe, lingering with singular vengance over strategically sensitive
areas, sucking,
licking... driving him mad with want and firey passion. He felt himself grow
rigid and taught
beneath the constant bombardment of her erotic attentions, and the blood from
his brain raced
southward to fulfill an ancient purpose over which, in his present mental and
physical state, he had
little control. He hoped that if this was a dream, he wasn't having it in too
public a place, since he
seemed to have lost all control over his bodily functions.

He'd always thought penises, as a rule, were unremarkable things but what she
was doing to his
right now certainly made this one feel special enough. He shuddered as her wet
heat descended
upon him, stroking his length in ways he'd only dreamed were possible. <This is
a dream> How
do you know, stupid? <I... Shit!!> If this is a dream, I don't want to wake
up, but if it isn't...
shit!!

Dana increased the intensity of her thrusts as she felt the pressure build
within them both. "No,
not yet," her voice strained against her teeth, slowing her movements into
primitively sensual
undulations. The sound of his whimpering reached her ears and a new wave of wet
heat flowed
from her to drench their joining. Her tongue traveled slowly up the center of
his torso, pausing
briefly to tease hard erect nipples before sliding over his exposed adam's
apple, the cleft of his
chin, to that full, sexy bottom lip.

Hearing the rumble building in his chest, Dana decided she needed him awake and
aware when
they came for ever though his body brought her the greatest sensual pleasure
she'd ever known,
she craved what was in his mind, heart, and soul as well. It was that part of
their union that lifted
her, that part that made the act more than just consumating mere animal lust.
She wanted to
look into his eyes, see into his soul and know she would find herself there ---
always and forever
-- One.

Consciousness pulled at the edges of his mind. The sensations of his dream
bombarded his brain,
causing his body to react in accordance with its nature. Something pulled at his
bottom lip -- hard
-- then nipped it gently. He was agonizingly aware of a hot, moist mouth
covering his, devouring
him, sucking the air from his lungs. A familiar pain shot through his still
aching jaw and he was
jolted into wakefulness.

Mulder's eyes flew open to the sight of two delightful, round breasts hovering
above him. Beyond
them, Dana's beautiful, enraptured face swam into view. Her cries of pleasure
ignited his already
overloaded senses. Losing himself within her was becoming an overwheming
certainty.

Dana heard him growl with pleasure. Looking down into his eyes she saw the
light of awareness
and recognition in their heavy lidded depth, then she smiled that radiant smile
that he would know
was just for him.

His heart melted and he took one breast into his mouth and suckled for all he
was worth. Two
strong gentle hands cupped the folds of her bottom, guiding her deeper and
faster in an age old
dance.

His suckling mouth sent an unfamiliar, tingling charge through her breast and
into her groin,
causing a powerful wave of contractions to clamp down on him like a pulsating
vice. A warm,
sweet liquid flowed over his tongue and down his throat, temporarily gagging him
when the force
of his climax exploded like an atomic bomb. He heard a scream. He wasn't sure
if it was her or
his own voice. Maybe it was both. Lack of oxygen made him dizzy and strangely
euphoric. How
appropo... a faint mind voice echoed. He saw stars and then... nothing.

She rode his bucking hips with determination and screamed his name as her own
body convulsed
in ecstacy, collapsing across his chest in exhaustion. Giggling softly, Dana
mumbled in a breathy
voice, "Who the hell needs a mechanical bull, I've got a Fox?" She turned to
look into his eyes
but they were closed. She called his name but he didn't respond. She shook him
lightly but
without results. "Oh, shit!" she cried in sudden panic. "It's our goddamn
wedding night and I've
killed him!" After several seconds of controlled panic, she reached for his
neck and found a pulse
- strong and steady - then relaxed and sighed. He's passed out. Probably a
combination of
drugs, booze, anethsesia, pain, and a little too much... overexertion. Oh boy,
he'd never let her
forget this.

A silly Scottish joke that Alex had told earlier in the evening came to mind,
and she found that she
couldn't resist. She took the light blue ribbon from her disheveled hair and
tied it in a perfect bow
around his still semi-rigid member. Settling down beside him, she pulled up the
covers and fell
asleep with a monumental smile on her face.

*************************************************