TITLE: INVERSION LAYER
AUTHOR: Blackwood
CATEGORY:  MSR, Story, Post-ep "X-COPS"
RATING:  NC17
E-MAIL: entreamis@yahoo.com
URL: http://members.tripod.com/black.wood/index.html
SPOILERS: None, really
SUMMARY: Agent Scully has an admirer, or two.
DISCLAIMER: Dave Elliott is a fictional character that belongs to me.
Roscoe's is a real place that doesn't.  That's about it.  Everything
else belongs to Rupert, Chris and the FOX gang.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, so my oh-so-serious post-ep for "Closure" is
still battling me.  Meanwhile, up pops the muse who winks at me  and says: "Write this, right now!"  How can I resist? ;) 
Thanks go to my very own Three Graces: Audrey, for the fab title, her
L.A. savvy and a marvelous casting suggestion of John Corbett  in the role of Dave Elliott (works
for me); Jintian, for her mighty fine tuning and honest prodding; and
Patti, who makes me smile.


INVERSION LAYER
by Blackwood

The chill in the air is unmistakable.  Who'd have thought L.A. could
be so cold in the morning?  The sky grows lighter in increments, low
lying clouds catching dawn's brilliant colors, reflecting them in a
soft wash over the grimy neighborhood.  Beads of moisture coat the
Taurus, dampness enjoying a brief existence before the ocean wind
kicks in to blow them all away.  Scully leans back against the
passenger door of their rental car, crosses her arms over her chest
and yawns.  It's been a long night in Willow Park.

The ambulances have taken the injured and the dead to the local
hospital.  Most of the cops have been called to other sites and
Mulder is still talking to Sgt. Guthrie.  He's gesturing with his
hands now, and she can imagine him sharing one of their more
fantastic cases with the savvy beat cop, although this evening's
events have been rather fantastic themselves.

With the advent of morning, everybody calms down.  The sergeant is
leaning against the squad car in a relaxed pose indicating to Scully
that Mulder has managed to charm his way round the hard-bitten police
officer.  She watches the way he moves: a man of grace, comfortable
in his own skin, who smiles more than he used to.  This is a
different Mulder than the one she's known for so long.  Different,
since his long search for a sister lost and finally found ended in a
sacred circle of trees.

He is different and yet, he is the same outlandish, difficult, sweet
man she has loved for so long; first, as a friend, and now, as a
lover.  His seductiveness has only increased for her, but she is
reminded of what her mom always said about being attractive: "Dana,"
she'd say, "Looks will buy you fifteen seconds; charm, fifteen
minutes.  After that, you better have something to say."  Hardly a
problem for her very good-looking, very charming co-worker.  Mulder
never seems to run out of things to say.  Problem is, nine times out
of ten she wishes he hadn't said them.

"You been partners long?"

She snaps out of her reverie to look beside her.  The soft voice
attached to the question stands about 5'11" and holds a mini-cam on
one broad shoulder.  She's done her utmost to ignore the crews that
have badgered them all night; although outright annoyance has thinned
to mild irritation.  Arching a perfect brow at the operator, she
gives him a cool stare and asks, "Are we on camera?"

"Not if you don't like it, we're not."

A hand reaches up and flicks off the unit before slinging the cam off
his shoulder.  Scully finds herself looking into the nicest pair of
brown eyes she's seen in a long time.  Now, why hadn't she noticed
that before?  She assesses the 30-something man standing before her,
taking note of the longish, sandy-colored hair curling ever so
slightly over his ears.  It isn't a hip style, especially for L.A.,
but it fits him.  An equally nice smile twitches at a full mouth and
she decides, all at once, that it's an honest face.  Her shoulders
relax and she allows herself a slight smile in return.

"Much better," he commends in a pleasant, moderate baritone.  His
smile broadens, causing her to drop her head and follow suit.

Scully doesn't doubt her appeal, but she isn't immune to flattery, or
some harmless flirting, either.  She casts a glance over at Mulder,
who is now regaling a small cadre of cops with one of his conspiracy
theories.  She can tell by the looks on their faces that they are
alternately amused, amazed or confused by the seriousness of Mulder's
attitude in the telling.  They'll be here for a while.  She shakes
her head and turns back to the man standing beside her.

Looking up at him, she asks, "What's your name?"

"Dave.  Dave Elliott," he says, setting the camera on the ground
before extending his hand.  "And you are?"

Taking her cue from him, she replies, "Dana."

"That would be Agent Dana?" he queries, while his hand clasps hers in
a warm, firm handshake that lasts two seconds too long to be
considered casual.  Scully pulls her hand from his.

"No, it's Agent Dana Scully, actually."

"Ahh.  So, Agent Dana Scully...Getting back to my original question:
have you and Mr. Bizarro been partners long?"  He tilts his head in
Mulder's direction, a clear twinkle in his eye.

She still can't believe Mulder's behavior tonight.  She is more than
accustomed to his extreme theories and work style.  But, he really
put himself on the line with the public, broaching werewolves and
waspmen for the rolling cameras.  She doesn't know if she likes
Elliott's question or Elliott, for that matter; but she realizes
there's damage control to be done.

"Agent Mulder is a profiler with an extraordinary record.  We've been
partners for seven years--"

"Whoa.  My first marriage didn't last that long."  His frankness and
his laugh are genuine and Scully decides that maybe she likes him,
after all.  "You two just don't seem likely."

"How's that?"

"Well, I don't know if he really believes some of the stuff he was
putting out there tonight, but you seem pretty grounded."

"And?"  She is both amused and intrigued by his statement.

"And, nothing.  I guess if it works for you, it works.  Does he
always go on like this?"

"Mulder?  I guess you could say he likes to pursue all avenues of
investigation."

"Obviously.  And you?"

"Me?"

"Do you believe his crap about monsters?"

"Oh, I believe in monsters, Mr. Elliott.  I've met them."  Elliott's
eyes widen.  Names like Barry, Modell and Roche cross her mind, while
the face of Donnie Pfaster rises to the forefront. Her demeanor
betrays no discomfort; but her manner is earnest as she drops her
voice and says, "They're called serial killers, rapists and
kidnappers.  Monsters--every one."

Elliott nods, his voice softening.  "It's Dave, please.  And I'm
sorry for being rude.  I don't suppose it's easy doing your kind of
work."

"It has its points."

"Is *he* one of them?"

His question broadsides her.  Disconcerted, she says, "Excuse me?"

He rubs a hand over his mouth and looks away.  He drops it, saying to
no one in particular, "Okay, Elliott, open mouth, insert foot one
more time."  Turning back to Scully, he says, "What I mean
is...you're an attractive woman.  I don't see a wedding band and no
woman I know would stick with a guy like that unless there was more
to things than meets the eye."

More than meets the eye?  She's quiet for a minute, wondering how
best to respond.  The truth is, since Mulder and she have tasted the
sweet, forbidden fruit of intimacy and found it to their liking, they
have disregarded protocol as they explore the boundaries of their
relationship and one another.  She has, to her surprise, discovered
her partner to be as focused and versed in the ways of sensuality as
he is regarding alien lore.

The sex has been incredible, although they have only just begun
working through a mountain of issues that lay between them, seven
years in the making.  Still, there was no denying that Mulder
rekindled feelings long-buried under the weight of responsibility and
sorrow, their new-found joy in one another still a well-guarded
secret.  Which is why Elliott's off-the-cuff comments surprise her.

She touches her tongue to her upper lip, tempted to shut him down
hard and fast with one of her "this conversation is over" looks; but,
his expression says he is genuinely interested.  No malice intended. 
In an odd way, his impertinence is familiar.

"We're friends," she says at last.  "We've been through a lot
together."

He listens to her words and nods.  "Friends, huh?"

"That's right."

"I suppose that's why you've been watching him all night."

"Was I?"

"The camera doesn't lie.  I got it all in there," drawing out the
'all' as he gestures with his head to the unit at their feet.  She
shakes her head at him, but he nods back in return.  "Oh, yeah, Agent
Scully.  I'm a cameraman, remember?  I get paid to notice things
through the lens."  

Not wanting to be manipulated, she crosses her arms over her chest
and cocks her head at him.  "And just what did you observe tonight?"

"Defensive," he chides with a smile.  "Guess you don't think anybody
can see it."

"See what?" she replies, vexation growing.

"Never mind.  Point is, I've been noticing *you* all night."  She
goes quiet under his statement, dropping her eyes, a slight blush
rising to her cheeks.  "Look, Dana, I was going to give you the bum's
rush.  See if you might be interested in a cup of coffee or whatever,
but, uh..." and he looks over to where Mulder stands now giving the
cops his full report.  "I don't think I'd stand a chance."  His eyes
return to hers.  "Would I?"

She looks into the warm, brown eyes again.  They are still quite
nice.  She wonders for a fleeting moment what kissing him would be
like, but the thought disintegrates as she remembers...

"That's what I figured," Elliott says in a low tone as he watches her
expression soften.  Bending down to pick up the camera, he hoists it
to his shoulder.  "Interesting night, wouldn't you say?"

"Par for the course," she replies.

Just then, a voice sings out from across the street, "Hey, El-li-ott!
 Quit the bullshitting.  Let's move!"  He groans and waves at the
crew standing beside a FOX van parked at the curb about 50 feet away.
 Scully shrugs, as if to say, "Oh, well."

"Gotta go," he says, disappointment in his voice.  "Nice talking with
you, Dana.  Good luck with the monsters."  

She turns to watch him trot across the asphalt to another crew member
waiting at the curb.  "Hey!" she calls to them and Elliott turns
back.  "Know where a person can get a decent breakfast?"

"Not around here," Elliott's companion laughs.  "Try two exits north
on the freeway.  Right at the light, two blocks up.  Roscoe's."

"Will you guys be there?"

"Don't tease, Agent Scully," Elliott calls.  "It's not nice."  He
throws her a Hollywood smile, then turns to enter the waiting van. 
She watches as it pulls away.

"Making friends?"  Mulder's voice comes from behind.

"Beats making enemies," she retorts, then turns her head to look up
at him sideways.

His eyes narrow, following the retreating van, his unspoken question
poised on his lips.  Instead, he nods without looking at her.  "I'll
buy that."

"And breakfast," she states.

He looks at her then.  "Love a decisive woman," he says with a wry
face, although his eyes betray his disquiet.

"Just wait..." she replies, her words an enticement that softens his
expression, as she hoped it would.

"Is that a promise?" he asks as he circles the car to the driver's
side.  She doesn't answer.  Instead, she gives him a quizzical
half-smile and opens the car door.  Mulder catches her eye over the
roof of the car, the heat in his gaze warming the chill air between
them.

"Maybe the motel has room service?" he wonders aloud.

"Forget it, Mulder.  I want real food, eaten with utensils, not
fingers.  And I want fresh coffee, lots of it.  Hot.  Speaking of
which, I thought Southern California was supposed to be warm all the
time."

"Give me ten minutes and half a chance, Scully.  I'll warm you up."  

His lazy smile and his suggestion have already taken the chill from
her, but she maintains her composure and her expression, enjoying the
game of cat-and-mouse they sometimes play with one another, just to
keep things interesting.

"Breakfast, Mulder," she recites, "Two exits north on the freeway." 
Then she stoops to enter the sedan.

Mulder gets in the car, turning the key in the ignition, the motor
roaring to life.  Pulling away from the curb, he slows the car as
they reach the remaining black-and-white parked at the corner. 
Mulder stops the car and rolls down the window.  Sergeant Guthrie
leans down, her face framed by the open window.

"Your partner here has some funny ideas," she says to Scully. 
Turning to Mulder, she says, "You are one crazy sonofabitch.  You
know that?"

"Yeah, but you like me."

Guthrie squints her eyes and shakes her head at him with a grin. 
"Hmmph.  I'll say this, FBI...you're interesting.  Good working with
you.  You too," she adds, casting a glance at Scully.

"Will the deputy be okay?" Scully inquires.

"I think so.  He's a rookie, but he's tough.  Got potential.  Keeps
his head...you know."

"I'm sorry about Ricky."

At that, Guthrie looks down.  When she meets their gaze again, her
eyes are sad.  "Yeah," she murmurs.  "Tough break for the kid.  I
hope he makes it.  His family is gonna be pretty busted up about it. 
And that Chantara...she didn't deserve what happened to her,
neither."  A quiet moment passes among them.

"Seems like you've got your hands full around here," Scully
commiserates. 

"It's a job, agent.  We do ours, just like you do yours," she states
without emphasis.  "Speaking of which..." Straightening up, she steps
away from the car for a radio check-in with one of the officers under
her command.  Turning back to them for just a moment, she says, "You
take care, FBI.  I got work to do."  Leaning down, she throws a quick
nod at Scully and leaves.  Mulder rolls the window back up and they
pull away, leaving Willow Park and its problems behind them.

----

The freeway is still clear at 6:20 a.m., a super-fine mist hovering
above the roadway.  Mulder leans forward, looks through the
windshield and asks, "This is Los Angeles, right?  Not San
Francisco."

"Inversion layer, Mulder."

His head turns to stare at her. "What?"

"Inversion layer," she repeats, her eyes signaling him to watch the
road.  He turns his eyes front again, but she can see his mind at
work.

"Inversion layer?" he repeats.

"A weather condition typically found in low-lying basin areas
characterized by atmospheric temperature gradients in reversal, warm
below cold, trapping free-floating particulates at or near ground
level, creating a difficult breathing environment.  In other words,
smog."

He doesn't look at her again, but a slow smile spreads on his face. 
They travel the two exits and find Roscoe's two blocks north of the
off-ramp, as promised.  It's an older establishment, set back from
the road with a large parking lot.

Mulder drives up the inclined driveway and swings towards the back of
the building.  He pulls into a vacant spot in the far end corner,
behind a large, unoccupied delivery truck.  Keying off the ignition,
he turns towards Scully.  Before she has a chance to react, he slides
across the bench seat and with one arm around her shoulders, pins her
against the door with his body.  She smiles at his sudden
aggressiveness.  Mulder is not one to be distracted once he gets an
idea into his head.

"Sure I can't talk you into room service?" he coaxes, dropping his
head to nuzzle her neck, behind her ear.  His weight presses heavy
against her, his mouth warm on her skin, the musk of his cologne
filling her nostrils.  Her heartbeat has already doubled and
threatens to climb higher as he unbuttons her jacket with one hand. 
She is still amazed at how they have made the shift from a platonic
relationship to a sexual one with such ease.

Tugging the sweater free from her trousers, Mulder's hand slips under
to caress a breast.  A sudden flare of heat envelops her and she
gasps at its potency.

"Mulder," she breathes.  "We're in public view."

"Um-hmm," he growls, his tongue sliding wet and hot over her ear,
while his hand unclasps the front of her bra.  "Maybe we should call
the camera crew back," he murmurs as he teases a tender nipple,
bringing it and Scully to full attention.  "We can show them how well
we work together to get things accomplished."  She knows she should
stop him, but damn him, this feels good.  He pulls back and they both
watch his hand move from under the sweater to unbutton her trousers,
drawing down the zipper with one expert pull and slipping his hand
beneath the fabric.

"Mulder," she begins, "this is hardly---ah," she gasps, as his
fingers find her and logic succumbs to his electric touch.  He lifts
his head to find her mouth waiting for his, his tongue plunging
between her lips.  She moans into his mouth, thrusting against his
hand, hips moving in response to the push-pull of his movements.

Scully runs a hand through his hair and down to his shoulder where
she pushes against him, trying to create space for herself within his
tight embrace.  In response, he lifts his head, breathing hard, and
pulls her downwards and slightly under him, so that her left leg is
nestled between his own, pressed against the hard evidence of *his* 
arousal.  He reclaims her mouth with his own and her sex with his
hand.

She is both piqued and aroused by his insistence.  So like Mulder to
assume that she wants this.  Trouble is, she does and he knows this
about her; her desire to be dominated, to be won over, to be wanted
beyond rational thought or consequences.  Scully pulls at the collar
of his jacket and displaces the weak anger she feels with a hard nip
to his lower lip.  He pulls back in surprise with a small grunt.

"Are you angry with me?" he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

"Damn you, Mulder.  Why can't you wait?"

"Because I'm a crazy sonofabitch?" he asks with a tilt of his head.

"Fuck you--ohh...a little higher."

"In due time, Scully.  Like that?"  Two long fingers are pressing
inside, sliding across the rough patch of flesh at the front wall of
her vagina, sending sparks up her spine every time he brushes it. 
Meanwhile, his thumb circles her clit with even pulses, eliciting a
little breathy sound with each pulse.  Her hand loses its grip on
him, dropping limp against her chest.

"Besides," he continues, his breath hot in her face, his gravelled
voice playful, "you start throwing terms like 'inversion layer' and
'free-floating particulates' around and I can't be held responsible
for what happens next."  It was so unfair of him.  Scully finds
herself caught between moaning and laughing out loud, her breathing
gone rapid and shallow, making her a little dizzy.  She throws back
her head, breathing with mouth open to steady herself.  She closes
her eyes to better focus on the sensations fluxing through her.   

When she reopens them, she notices the windows of the car are
steamed.  Mulder is pressing small kisses into her neck and she feels
like she's back in college, petting on the front seat of Mike
Cosgrove's Cutlass Supreme.  Except, Mike was always more interested
in what she could do for him versus what he might do for her.  And
she never could achieve orgasm with his fumbling technique.  Not so
with Mulder who, in short space, has noted what makes her hum and
applied it most effectively.

His slickened fingers slide from her, gliding upward along swollen
folds to encircle her clit before sliding back down and partly back
within.  He maintains this even, but continuous stimulation, bringing
Scully's entire body into a steady, heightened state of arousal.  If
they had room, she could maneuver into a more satisfying position. 
Given their cramped quarters, she can only increase the muscle
tension in her lower body, pressing herself back against the car
door, allowing the waves of sensation to suffuse her, carrying her
ever higher.  Mulder's head rests against her shoulder and she buries
her face into his short, silky hair.

Her hips rock against him in an instinctive rhythm as old as time,
while his erection presses against her leg and he takes what
satisfaction can be gained from their lazy movements.  She would owe
him Big Time for this and be happy to pay.

"Scully?" he murmurs, nuzzling her throat.

"Hmmmm."

"How do you know about inversion layers?"

"I grew up in San Diego, remember?"

"Oh yeah."  He's quiet for a few seconds, then adds, "This is sort of
an inversion layer, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"You're warm underneath me, trapped close to the ground."

"Are you saying I'm smog?"

"I'm saying I like the way this feels," he says, lifting his face to
hers, eyes nearly closed, his luscious mouth beckoning.  She inclines
her head, eyes closing as she captures his full lower lip between her
teeth, this time tugging with delicacy before continuing to steal
small, hungry kisses from him, her tongue lapping against his. 
Mulder's fingers change rhythm and he is now teasing only the most
sensitive shaft of engorged flesh at her core, sending minute
vibrations thrumming through her, becoming ever more intense and
compelling.  She holds her parted mouth against his, their breath
mingled, sustaining the life they share. 

On an emotional level, she is conflicted.  As deeply as she loves and
wants to please him, this is, after all a public place.  The windows
are tinted and opaque with condensation, but still, she is anxious. 
Her need for spontaneity opposes her deep sense of propriety, making
impromptu encounters like this complicated and rare.  She is both
excited and chagrined by such behaviors in an accessible place, but
unwilling to give up the glorious heat that enfolds them.

Scully opens her eyes and finds his on her, hazel gone green and
gold.  She understands that the lust she sees there is for her,
alone, and a recklessness surfaces as her body's urgency demands
release.  Her lips are dry and she licks them, dragging on the bottom
lip.

"Let go, Scully," he cajoles, his voice rough with desire.  "Let it
all go.  Come for me."

His request echoes in her mind, while the circular motion of his
fingers on her throbbing clit increase in pace and intensity.  His
blatant words and the danger of being caught in such an open place
lay waste to her inhibitions and she is overcome by the rawness of
their circumstance and their feelings.

The swell of climax rises and she tries to say his name, but is
unable to find a coherent response as it peaks and crashes over her. 
She clutches him, her sighs and moans spilling like water over stone,
a natural song freely given.  Her heart is pounding, blood coursing
as she quivers with a glowing vibrancy.  A series of lesser peaks
pulse at her core and she allows herself to ride on the surface of
sensation as they fade, leaving her warm and relaxed.

For a time, she lies still; her heartbeat, her breathing and her skin
temperature re-approaching normal.  Mulder's hand trails upwards to
rest on her abdomen, still slick from their play, to press the tip of
one finger into the delicate impression of her navel.

Without warning, she hears the fall of approaching footsteps.  Mulder
pulls away, a smug grin on his face as he turns his head to see if
anyone can see them through the fogged, tinted glass.  Scully pulls
herself back up to a sitting position in haste to rearrange her
clothing.  The effects of her orgasm still vibrate through her as she
reclasps her bra and tugs her sweater down, breathing still uneven. 
The heavy metal door of the cab door beside the Taurus creaks as it
opens.  Flipping down the visor, Scully rakes her fingers through
mussed hair, throwing Mulder a conspiratorial glance.

"It's no good, Scully," he says.  She turns towards him and finds him
watching her, his eyes filled with humor and his unsatisfied need.

"What do you mean?"

"You look fucked."

"Not quite," she informs him, brows arched.

"Close enough."

She turns to stare at her reflection in the mirror again.  Her eyes
are clearer and her cheeks are definitely rosy.  She stifles a grin
and prepares to say something when, out of nowhere, her stomach
growls.  

"Don't even say it," Mulder warns.

"I told you I wanted breakfast," she replies without looking at him.

"You wouldn't be so cruel...would you?"

She turns her head, then, to see him slouched back against the
driver's side door, his body relaxed, eyes inviting.  Touching her
tongue to her upper lip, she rakes him with her eyes, pausing to
consider his obvious erection with a feeling akin to craving.  She
draws in a deep, shaky breath and exhales, arousal re-igniting
everywhere all at once.  Newly cached memories of her mouth sampling
the dark muskiness of him while he caresses her hair, words of love
spilling like seed, rise unbidden.  Hmmm, maybe Mulder could be
breakfast, she muses.

The loud rumble of the truck engine revving to life just beside them
breaks the moment and she jumps.  Taken aback as much by the noise as
her willingness to disregard it, she runs cool hands over her fevered
cheeks to the back of her neck.  She wonders at his ability to affect
her with such speed and accuracy.  Needing to salvage a semblance of
decorum, she drops her hands and turns her body towards him once
more, eyes meeting.

"I should teach you a lesson," she informs him in an even tone of
voice, regaining a modicum of control over her emotions.

"About?"

"Maintaining professionalism in public."  

"Scully, it's not even 7:00.  Nobody saw us.  Besides," he adds,
leaning towards her, "I didn't hear you complain."

She leans into him, deciding how best to deal with the beautiful,
impossible man beside her.  Running a slow finger down the firm line
of his jaw, she says, "Breakfast, first.  You'll need your strength."

"I will?" 

She considers him from under half-lidded eyes and sighs.  "Trust me,"
she coos in a whisper.  She pulls away from him and opening the glove
compartment, grabs a lipstick and reapplies it with a quick, deft
hand.  She smooths her hair into place, just so, giving him a minute
to recoup before they leave the car. 

"Come on, gorgeous," she hears him say, at last.  "I'm buying."

They exit the car, the sun climbing higher into the sky, bringing
with it a coastal breeze and another bright, Southern California day.
 Mulder slips on a pair of sunglasses against the glare and places a
hand against her lower back as they walk across the now semi-filled
lot towards the entrance.  She marvels at his coolness.

He pulls at the heavy glass entry door and holds it open just as the
camera crew emerges from inside the restaurant.  Among them is a
nice-looking blond man--Dave Elliott, who spies Scully as she slips
beneath Mulder's arm into the cramped, tiled lobby.

"Agent Scully!" he chortles.  "Well, seems you finally found
breakfast."  His words are innocent enough, but there's a definite
gleam in his eye.  Scully thinks about Mulder's comment about
looking...sated and wonders if it really *is* noticeable.

Mulder is at ease with the crew, joking about the night's events and
asking if they'll be able to use the footage they've shot.

"Oh, sure," Elliott states.  "It'll be a great segment.  We'll call
it "Devil's Night Out in the City of Angels or something hokey like
that.  It's television."

"I like that," Mulder agrees with a chuckle.  The crew peels out of
the lobby until only Mulder, Scully and Elliott remain.  Elliott
looks at Scully for a few moments before turning to Mulder.

"You know, Agent Mulder, I was telling Dana earlier that the camera
never lies."  Mulder's head turns toward her, curiosity apparent. 
Scully simply waits, curious as to where this conversation is going.
"But," he continues looking directly at her, "neither do a woman's
eyes."

Scully feels a slow blush rising to her cheeks, although she stands
her ground and meets Elliott's gaze straight on.  He still has the
very same nice eyes she saw earlier and it's still an honest face. 
He regards her for a moment, then nods and smiles.  "You take care,
now," he says to the both them.  He throws up a hand in a parting
gesture and leaves.

Mulder looks perplexed.  "Did I just miss something, Scully? 
Something about cameras and a woman's eyes?"

"It's nothing.  Just L.A.," she says. 

He nods, then takes her by the shoulders, staring into her upturned
face.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

He squints in mock concentration.  "Reading," he replies.

"Well, I hope it says waffles because that's what I want," she
replies, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.  He shakes his
head.  "No?  That's not what I want?"

"Nope. I know what you want, Scully," he says, voice low.  He pauses
a moment, then adds, "But waffles will have to come first."

That earns him a bona-fide Scully smile.  "Finally," she states with
surety.  "Breakfast!"  With that she grabs him by the sleeve and
opening the inner door, drags him inside.

END

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http://members.tripod.com/black.wood/index.html

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