Title: The Heart O’ Gold Diaries: The Riches Of Happenstance
Author: mulderitzmi (a.k.a. Gaye. Perhaps you’ll understand the preference)
Email: mimsical@ev1.net
Category: I haven’t figured out what this means yet. It’s not Shakespeare, I know that much. Is there an "other/no other dramedy" or ONOD category? It’s meant to be as humorous as it is poignant. I sincerely hope it works out that way for you.
Rating: R…well, maybe strong R. Lots of trashy language, and the word "sex" is probably used at least 500 times. (What else do you call it? Help me out, here.) Other than that, it isn’t that explicit…..more talking about it than doing it. Still, you’ll get the idea, I think. Come to think of it, it is pretty raunchy in places….there’s even a ….I’ll let someone who’s read it advise me. We'll call it NC-17. Better safe than sorry, eh?
Spoilers: More superficial XF references than I could count in a reasonable amount of time. If you’ve seen the ep, you’ll notice them, if you haven’t, you won’t. Nothing from any eps not yet aired, (to date).
Summary: What it might be like meeting and falling in love with someone you cannot have…i.e. Mulder. No way, no how. Devout shippers will cringe, but stick with me here. You might like how this one turns out. Well, maybe.
Archive: That’s a scary question. Who’d want this monstrosity of the week clogging up their computer arteries? If that happens to be you, go ahead and ask me. Not you, Frohike. I askew, remember?
Ramblings: Not now. After the story. Almost another whole story in itself. But I would like to ask up front if anyone knows where I can get a bumper sticker that says, "Honk If You …Need To".
Disclaimer: Let’s see… is there an original way I can put this? Maybe if I plagiarize little bits and pieces from everyone that ever had to make this statement….Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television… all have more right to control over Fox Mulder & Dana Scully’s days than have I. ‘They’ created them, after all. But ‘they’ cannot have control over my imagination. Sorry. So don’t even try. Not until money changes hands on that cold day in Hell, at least. Besides, M & S are such a cute couple, I just had to borrow them for my story. I couldn’t do it without them. You can have them back when we’re done. Thanks, man. I owe you one.

It was a really crappy night to get stood up. It was just pouring down rain…cold…windy….in other words, (all together, now…) it was a dark and stormy night. The bar wasn’t necessarily suffering from the weather, but it still seemed unusually quiet, for this time of night. I had a "date" scheduled to meet me here at 8:00. It was now 9:30, and I had to assume the creep wasn’t gonna show. His wife must’ve hung him up. She almost had once before. Not that I was all that disappointed, really. This wasn’t exactly my favorite lay I was missing. Not gross, but just really boring. This particular guy had this ‘routine’. We had to do it the very same way, every, single time. Not that it wasn’t fun at first, but everything has its limit, including fun. I’d miss the cash more. Just in case you haven’t already guessed, I am what I’ll call, in politically correct terms, a prostitute, a ridiculously high-priced call girl.

I haven’t always been. In fact, had I not run into a friend from high school in this very bar, the idea probably would never have occurred to me. I’m not exactly the kind of person you’d take one look and think ‘hooker’, or even ‘looker’. And it’s not exactly what I always wanted to grow up to be either, but it serves a need. Several, in fact. The money’s great. The sex, although often less than satisfying, nevertheless gives me a false sense of being needed in this world for something, anyway, and it gives me something challenging and risky to do. I was married for fifteen years to a very wealthy man who, quite simply, ceased to love me after about the first ten years, and eventually decided to let me go, when I finally decided to ask. The sex had stopped first, then the conversation, then the caring. I’m still not certain what happened, although I am certain we can share the blame fifty-fifty. That was close to two years ago.

I had run into Phil in the bar one night about three years ago, when I'd sacrificed another night of watching TV alone to come down and drown my loneliness in shots of tequila. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to see if I would still get hit on if I deliberately sat myself down in a bar alone. I actually took a few hits the first hour I was there, but I turned them all away by telling them I was waiting for someone, but thanks. I could’ve made a fortune that night, had I known then what I know now. But they were all ugly anyway, so I wasn’t really interested. At least I know I can still attract the ugly ones. How reassuring.

Phil approached me with, "Don’t I know you?"

God, how lame, I thought.

"Brookbank High School? Class of 79? " he continued.

I looked up at him through rapidly blurring vision. "Phil? Phil Thomason? My God, it’s been…what….17 years since I saw you last? How are ya, buddy? Have a seat." I wasn’t my normal apprehensive self…must’ve been the tequila.

"Yeah, you never came to any of the reunions, Tessie. How come? It certainly couldn’t be because you were worried about how much you’ve aged. You look just like you did the last time I saw you." Phil gushed.

"Oh, please! You can’t mean that. You must be drunk. And it’s very dark in here. Not to mention that I know for a fact I’ve got on different clothes," I said, and he laughed. "So what have you been doing with yourself since school?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from myself, or from a pick-up I didn’t much care for the idea of. If I was going to cheat on my wealthy husband for the first time ever, I wanted it to be with someone I wanted, at least. Phil was an okay guy, but not someone I’d ever exactly lusted after.

"I have a very prosperous home-based business. Never married, no children. But happy," he said.

Then, I just had to ask, "Can I ask what kind of business? I always thought that would be the way to go, if I could think of a business I’d enjoy."

"Well…," the tentative response came, "I run a very profitable escort service."

"Oh." I was trying not to look or sound stunned.

"Yeah, I’m a pimp. But a very good one. And I’m a very nice pimp, and very easy to work with." he added.

I was still too shocked to say anything.

"So… are you married, Tess?" (I wasn’t wearing any jewelry….no wedding ring.) He continued, "I know a lot of guys that would pay handsomely to literally get their hands on a woman such as yourself. These things can be worked into a busy schedule nicely. I have lots of career-driven women on staff who do this part-time, just for fun. It’s all very safe. The guys come to my office, I screen them and gather as much personal info as I can on them, you know, what they like, what they want, what they don’t. And just in case there are any problems with the way ‘things’ turn out, we can find him later, if we need to. They know to behave themselves. You’d have to go through an aids screening on occasion, as do all the guys. I call you, set up the time, date and place, he pays me, and we’re on. I get your money to you anyway you want it set up. You can take yourself off the list anytime, for as long as you want. No obligations. Just lots of money and sex…and lots of variety. I can’t stress enough what a safe and pleasing experience I try to make this for everyone involved."

Gee, sounds so….nice….?…..was this guy, like, trying to sell me something, or what? I was at a loss for words. ‘How disgusting’ or maybe ‘isn’t that, like, illegal?’ didn’t seem appropriate at that particular moment, anyway.

"Interested?" he asked.

I felt sure by now my jaw was resting firmly on the table, but I still managed to say something dumb, "Phil are you propositioning me?"

"Yeah, sort of. But only if you think you might like to give it a whirl. Like I said, you’re out whenever you want to be." After a very long silence, he said, "Tess, look, I had no intention of offending you. I only had to take one look at you to see how attractive you are, and I know the kind of woman my clients would be hot for. You would be an instant hit, believe me. But if it’s too big of a leap for you, I don’t want you to think you have to throw yourself off a cliff. It was just a friendly offer. If you want some time to consider it, here’s my number. Give me a call, okay?"

And with that, he stood up, laid a business card on the table in front of me, took my right hand in both of his, lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. "So long, gorgeous. It was really nice to see you."

I managed to mutter, "Yeah, nice to see you, too…and, uh….Thanks… I guess."

I left the bar with my thoughts saturated with Phil’s offer. Needless to say, after much consternation, and at least a billion questions I wanted answered, I decided to go for it. I really didn’t need the money, even after my divorce, (we came to a lovely settlement. I had everything I could ever need). However, the sex was something I longed for more than I’d realized. My husband never knew about the prostitution, maybe because I didn’t turn tricks that often while we were still married. Phil called a lot more than I’d accepted. And because my husband didn’t really care what I was doing with myself. As long as I didn’t annoy him, he seemed pretty serene. I still doubt that he knows, even now. He’s a busy guy.

Tonight, the bar was getting incredibly stuffy, and much too smoky for my taste. I like smoked meat, but not my own. Just when I’d decided to brave the rain for the short run home, I happened to notice an undeniably attractive man sitting at the bar, knocking back shots far too quickly for it to be good for him. Even though he had his back to me for the most part, there was no doubt. This was not only the best looking man I’d seen in here tonight, this was the best-looking guy I’d seen anywhere, in a couple of decades, at least.

He was tall, well-proportioned, muscular where he should be, dark hair, maybe mid-to-late 30’s, impeccably dressed in business attire, and just judging from the neck of the woods I was in, I’d say he probably worked for the government…CIA, Secret Service…you know something really mysterious like that. He didn’t seem to be with anyone, and spoke only to the bartender occasionally. I thought for only a split-second about approaching him to ask if he might be looking for a "date". But not only was that not the way I worked, he didn’t look at all like the type of guy who’d be hurting for a good roll in the hay. If he wasn’t married, I felt sure he had plenty of women in his life to keep him busy. ‘Where are they all tonight?’ I wondered.

After I’d watched him for about fifteen minutes, his drinking didn’t appear to be letting up much. He’d had two shots since he’d caught my eye. I decided to go sit on one of the barstools close to him, just to see what might develop. Besides, this was one I wanted to get a much closer look at than at a good 20 feet across a smoke-filled bar. It was worth a try, I thought. Beats getting soaked running home to watch TV, at least. I suppose I can handle the atmosphere a bit longer. Okay, you convinced me. What the hell?

It didn’t take long to get the proverbial ball rolling. I got the bartender’s attention, and ordered a shot. "Chilled tequila, if you have it, room temperature if you don’t, with lime and salt, please."

"A woman after my own heart," came the unexpected response from the only real "looker" here this evening.

Seated two carefully chosen barstools away, I turned to look at him, "I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?"

He was looking at me, as well. His head almost bobbed up and down, "Yeah, I was."

How perfect. Ever have one of those nights when everything seems to go your way?

I responded with, "Well, it’s nice of you to say so, I guess. Can I buy you a cup of coffee, maybe?"

"No," he said. "But I’ll take another shot… but they’re on me, okay?"

I insisted, as I moved over a stool, "No that’s fine, I can cover you. What are you having?"

He patted the seat of the last remaining barstool between us, and motioned for me to come on over.

He then he repeated my drink order, word-for-word. "Chilled tequila, if you have it, room temperature if you don’t, with lime and salt, please."

"No, that’s what I’m having!" I exaggerated my frustration "Changing liquor in the middle of a binge is very unhealthy. It’ll make you barf almost every time, too. What were you drinking before I arrived?"

He was grinning at me. Jesus, he’s pretty.

"Same as you… show her Colleen…." He motioned to the bartender who held up a nearly empty bottle of my favorite brand.

Colleen said, "He lied about the chilled. He never asked for that before."

I looked at him again, a ‘shame on you’ look on my face, only this time, I found myself looking into what had to be the most spellbinding set of eyes I’d ever had occasion to get lost in. How on earth did I miss those before?

I locked in on the deepest, saddest of hazel pools and said, "No matter. Line ‘em up, Colleen."

The looker flashed a beautiful, if drunken, grin. God, this guy was too good-looking to be true. And those haunting eyes! Something deeply sad there, yeah, but even the pain looked nice coming through these beauties. I noticed I was sort of tingling all over. This was different.

We clinked our shot glasses of chilled tequila together, and I couldn’t resist saying, "Here’s looking at you!" (Since it was the original reason I came here, it seemed all too appropriate.)

"Well, I’ll be looking at you, too," he said, as he put the glass to his lips, threw his head back and washed his troubles down his throat.

I licked up some salt, chugged back my shot and stuffed the lime slice in my mouth.

"Whoa!" the looker exclaimed, "that was the best one I’ve had all night!"

"Oh me, too," I responded extracting my lime, "definitely the best of all two of mine."

"Two? Well you’ve got some catching up to do. Colleen…." He motioned to Colleen for another round.

I quickly waved Colleen off, "N-n-no! That will be enough for me. I have to be able to walk home. I have to be able to find home. I think you could stand a cup of coffee or two, my friend. Whataya say? I’m buying…."

"No, I’m fine. I really should go, myself." he said as he fumbled through several pockets, unsuccessful at finding what he searched for. "Where are my car keys?" he mumbled.

"Car keys?!" I said with as much disbelief in my voice as I could muster. "Oh, uh-uh. No way are you driving home. Let’s get Colleen to call you a cab, okay?"

"No. I hate cabs. I can’t leave a company car sitting out in front of the bar all night. I need it to get to work tomorrow."

"Okay, then let me drive you home. And I’ll take a cab home." He looked at me as if he was about to say, ‘I can’t put you to all that trouble…’ when I spoke up and said, "It’s no trouble, really. You can consider it a favor to me. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you made it home."

He halfway laughed and said, "Well we ain’t going anywhere ‘til I find my keys."

I looked toward the coat rack up front. There were several coats there. "Did you wear a coat? Maybe they’re in your overcoat pocket," I offered.

He nodded at me, touched his finger to the end of my nose, (which I found somewhat remarkable, considering how intoxicated he was) and said, "I bet you’re right. I’ll look."

He practically stumbled when he made his move to stand, and the barstool threatened to follow him as he stood up and started forward, all at once. I grabbed the stool, and prepared to leap to his rescue, but this was a graceful guy….he recovered quickly. We smiled politely at one another. I followed him to the coat rack where he located his coat, and his keys. He grabbed my hand, and I thought I would faint with the rush of adrenaline I felt when he wrapped that splendidly strong hand around mine, and he pulled me toward the door. We burst through the front door onto the sidewalk. The rain had stopped!

He looked around a bit lost, but finally said, "Right where I left it," and started toward a dark blue Oldsmobile across the rain-dampened street.

He held the keys up. I held out my hand, and he dropped them in my palm. I unlocked the passenger side door, and swung it open. He tumbled in, shutting the door behind him. As much as I hate to admit it, I honestly couldn’t help hoping he’d invite me in when I got him home. I certainly wasn’t counting on it. It was getting late for a work night. I took a deep hopeful breath, and walked to driver’s side and got into the car.

"Where to?" I asked, as I struggled to adjust the seat, and started the engine.

The drive was maybe five minutes. We pulled up in front of his apartment building, as it dawned on me that I needed to use a phone somewhere to call a cab. This was working out better than I’d imagined.

But in an attempt to look less obvious, I said, "Is there a phone inside your building I can use to call a cab, or is there a pay phone really close by that you know of?"

"Oh sure, you can use my phone. I’d let you use my cell, but I apparently don’t have it with me." He patted his coat pockets. Thank Heaven for small favors. "I was gonna ask you in anyway."

Yes, he did say he was going to invite me in. Cool. My heart was pounding like my first kiss.

"Well, there’s an offer I can’t refuse," I said, regretting the stupid remark almost immediately.

"Let’s do it!" he said as he popped open the car door.

'Let’s do it, indeed,' I thought. I was letting my imagination run away with me if I thought this man was inviting me in for anything more than access to his phone, and maybe a lullaby. He was just being nice because I’d hauled his ass home. Still, a girl can dream, can’t she?

I followed him up the stairs to the front door, and down the hallway to the elevator. We rode up to his floor in silence, which continued until we got to the apartment door.

As he fumbled with his keys, he said, "Watch out for my elkhound."

"I will, thank you."

I waited in the hallway for a moment to see if the elkhound would come rushing out at me, once the door was open and he was inside, but nothing happened. I peeked around the door to see my new friend already near the couch in the living room, taking off his overcoat.

He looked back at me and laughed. "I was kidding about the dog. Come on in."

Rule number one, I can’t take everything he says seriously. I stepped inside to the rather barren surroundings of his apartment. As I made my way toward the living room, I noticed something laying on the floor in front of the sofa that didn’t look like it was supposed to be there. I bent to retrieve it, and noticed it was an ID badge. An FBI ID badge. Must’ve fallen out of his coat pocket. FBI…. I was close. Good thing I didn’t ask him for a date. Fox Mulder….yeah, there’s a picture of him right above the name, must be the guy I just drove home. A special agent, too. I’m impressed…even more. Fox. Appropriate name. His mom and dad had foresight, all right. I laid the badge on the coffee table in front of the sofa and continued my site-seeing tour of his apartment.

"Have a seat," he told me.

I sat down on the sofa, and folded my hands in my lap. Like a perfect little lady. Not. He took off his jacket, and removed his tie and laid both over the chair at the desk. He sat down and turned on his computer, and appeared to be checking his e-mail.

"Is it okay if I use this phone?" I asked while reaching for the phone on the table.

"As soon as I sign off here….."

"Oh, right. Duh."

He was still staring at the computer screen. He turned to look at me.

"You in a hurry?" he asked.

"No, not particularly," I said, with my heart clearly beating so loudly, I felt sure he could hear it. So I tried to mask the beating heart noise by commenting, " I just thought you might need to hit the sack. I wanted to get out of your way. I’ve accomplished my mission."

"Well," he clicked off the computer and turned in his chair to look me right in the eye. (Heaven help me.) He continued, "I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to getting to know you a little better."

Did he really say that? He’s drunker than I thought.

He came and sat next to me on the sofa. He looked at me like he wanted to say something. Something poetic, perhaps. Little did I know then how many ways this man could recite poetry! But instead, he reached up and touched my cheek, and pushed back the hair closest to my eyes. A wonderful chill went down my spine.

"You really are beautiful," he said, almost whispering.

Moi? I felt this sudden fear wash over me. I felt like I didn’t belong here, with this magnificent specimen of man touching me tenderly and gazing into my eyes. I’m a worthless slut, that nobody paid to be here, and this guy here is going to be a real catch for someone, if he isn’t already. I have to stop this now. I suddenly don’t have it in me to take advantage of this poor, defenseless, drunk person.

"And you, sir, are a very drunk man. You’re obviously not seeing the real me. But thank you for trying to flatter me. I’m flattered." I said, winking at him in a most exaggerated fashion.

I stood up, and pretended to look around the apartment.

"No…you are. You really are. I find you most attractive," he seemed to almost plead to be believed. (Lots of practice, perhaps?)

I have to come to my senses sometime. I’m not that naïve, in spite of how badly I wish I was at this particular moment. I decided not to hear that last remark.

"Have you ever been married, Mr. Mulder?" I asked.

There was a noticeable silence.

"Did I tell you my name?" he finally said, sounding a little shocked.

He was looking at me, too…sort of… puzzled.

"Did you intend that I not know?" I asked, trying to sound surprised.

He noticed the badge on the table. "Oh, the badge…..where did that come from? Must have fallen out of my coat. Shit."

"Shit?"

"I didn’t want you to know I’m an FBI guy. When the facts come to light, it’ll flip off that switch every time…"

"You aren’t serious, are you? Well, you can take me out of that category. And are you implying that my switch was previously flipped on?" I saw him struggling very hard to decide which answer would gain him the most headway. I saved him the trouble. "Well, it was, big guy. And I have to be relatively honest with you…it still is. So why don’t you be honest with me and answer my question."

"I forgot what you asked me."

"Have you ever been married? This apartment reminds me of all the divorced guys I’ve ever dated. The wife always gets everything."

He appeared to be thinking about it. Do you suppose he couldn’t remember?

Finally he spoke. "I was. But it was a very long time ago, an eternity, in fact. And it didn’t last long at all. I don’t even consider it an influence on my way of thinking anymore. She did get what little cool stuff we’d accumulated. And I got rid of her. Seemed like a real deal to me at the time."

"Oh, I’m sure," I replied.

He stood up and came around the coffee table towards me. I tried to act like I didn’t notice. He walked up behind me and lifted the hair from my shoulders along the sides, and ran his hands down the sides to the ends at middle of my back. Sort of smoothing it into shape, more or less. Something about long straight hair, I guess. Everybody I know, male or female, has done that too me at least once. He walked around to face me. I was just about to panic.

"May I kiss you?" he asked suddenly, and rather matter-of-factly.

Jesus, what do I do now? Say ‘No!’? What kind of sense does that make? I’m standing toe-to-toe with the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’m suddenly going to turn into the Virgin Mary? Ah, what the hell? How many chances will I get, now really, to have somebody that I really want this badly, actually wanting to.…ASKING to kiss me?

"Yes, you may. I’d be delighted." I smiled at him.

He placed two fingers under my chin and lifted my face up to his, and gave me a kiss I will never, ever forget. My resolve to do the righteous thing by nipping this whole evening in the bud, and go home with my passion and curiosity unrequited, dissolved almost instantly. All the sex I’ve experienced, collectively, pales in comparison to the kiss I received. Then he had to go and put his arms around me. There was really nothing I could do at that point, except to put my arms around him, too. I mean, c’mon! I wanted the kiss to last forever. I never wanted to let go of him, and found myself hoping he’d never let go of me. Never have I felt so adored, so attractive, so loved….. Let me back up a second. I knew this man didn’t love or adore me. As far as he’s concerned, I could probably be just about anybody standing here, (but boy, am I glad it was me).

He hadn’t even asked my name. I wondered if it wasn’t his way of somehow making it easier on himself to pretend I was who he wanted me to be. Someone he wishes was here right now, instead of me. But the kiss said everything I needed to know. He was in love. With somebody. Unfortunately, I had to know it wasn’t me. Still, I had to know who she was. And why she’s not here, instead of me. As it should be. Love like this should ne-ver be neglected. Love like this should not be missed by anyone lucky enough to be its object. This poetic kissing was only the beginning.

He placed his hands around my face, then moved them slowly down my neck and shoulders. Just as my knees were about to give way for sure, he reached down to my elbows and guided my arms up around his neck, where I held on for much-needed support. I was already feeling sensations I was not at all familiar with. And all this during a kiss, too. I felt him bending his knees slightly, and he put one arm behind my knees, and literally swept me off my feet.

I almost didn’t notice that I was being carried into the bedroom and placed gently on the bed. Almost. He climbed up next to me and propped himself across my upper body. He proceeded to kiss me in places I didn’t even know I had. Clothes? Who needs ‘em? What I hadn’t realized right off, was that he had slowly and very deliberately, undressed me, and himself without my ‘knowledge’. But that’s…okay. He had my consent. I was just a little preoccupied with wondering where this guy’s been all my life. Talk about out-of-body! I was almost that far out of myself for a while. It felt wonderful! Nevertheless, I knew I had gotten hold of what you call a smooth operator. Wasn’t he, like, really drunk when we got here? This was king of the smooth operators, and he deserved the crown, too. There was not a molecule in my body that didn’t want this guy, and he knew it, too. He made every square inch of my anatomy come to life. He did things to and, mostly, for me that I wouldn’t even attempt to describe, except to say that women would complain a lot less about men, if all men could do this.

"OH MY GOD!" Who said that? Oh right, it was me!

Man! Him was hungwy! Much more so than I’d imagined, or hoped for. And I was losing control. This was different, too. He then began a slow ascent of kisses up my belly, between my breasts, and stopped to get acquainted.

He made a comment on the tattoo I have there, "Nice tattoo."

"You can try to lick it off, if you want," I dared.

He apparently thought that was an excellent idea. He moved on up my neck to place another one of those impressive kisses on my lips… just at the precise moment of penetration. Perfect timing. I mean, perfect. I wanted to scream, but didn’t. I’m not normally real vocal during lovemaking, but I wasn’t usually this floored during lovemaking. It was tough to keep my mouth shut for the first time in my life. But I found other ways to let him know that he was more than satisfying my needs. Trust me.

What followed in the next hour or so, was the most remarkable sexual experience I’d ever had, and believe me, I have had tons of sex, with all kinds of men. A virtual sexpert. But this gentleman basically rocked my perception of sex to its foundation. I stopped counting how many times I had ‘climaxed’ at four. The word ‘climax’ just doesn’t do the feeling justice, but nothing ever would. You had to be there. I didn’t do so badly myself. If there’s one thing to be said in favor of being a whore, it’s that you learn a lot about what makes men happy during lovemaking. I used most everything I knew on this man. He deserved the deluxe package, I assure you.

This was the most passionate, yet tender lover I can recall. Every movement seemed born of some driving need to express his passion. I remember thinking how much I wished it was really me he was so in love with. But when he called out the name "Scully", (I know, me too. ‘Scully’??) at least twice, as his heart-stopping strokes inside me grew more rapid, I knew that he had, without a doubt, projected someone else’s image onto mine for the time it took him to love me. He was pretending I was someone else, which is pretty typical when a guy pays you for sex. But this was a freebee. Oh well. It saddened me a bit, but I honestly didn’t care. This was the most intense sex I’d had in years. Nothing was gonna spoil this for me. Nothing. I was not even disappointed that he was thinking of someone else. This guy can call me whatever he wants, as long as he doesn’t stop. Amazing. This was one for the books, if I kept them. But who is Scully?

We were still.

"Wow," he breathed, "that had to be best sex I ever had. Seriously. Where’d you learn to do that?"

(Oooo, so do I just blurt out, ’it helps to be a hooker’ or….?) I smiled. I was still a little giddy. To tell you the truth, I was speechless. Not only was I thinking how he’d just taken the words out of my mouth in more ways than one, but I also had to wonder if this wasn’t the first sex he’d had in perhaps a very long time. He had seemed almost too desperate to love me. Nah. No way. He’s too…good. Talent like his is surely not wasted. It certainly wasn’t wasted on me, to say the least. He gave me several more of those impressive kisses, rolled off on to one side of the bed, and dropped off into sleepiness almost immediately.

I propped myself up on one elbow, just to get better view of him. I spent what seemed like an eternity just looking at him, trying to drink him and the whole experience in. I caught myself running my fingers through his hair, all far away-like. Drugs ain’t got nothin’ on this feeling. I quite literally felt high. This was VERY different. And so is he. I knew right then and there that something had just happened to me that I was never, ever going to forget, or regret. Something profound. A once in a lifetime experience. The word ‘once’ kept glaring at me. Maybe something this good should only happen once. I’d be almost afraid to tempt fate on this one. There would be no topping this. Still, I’d be willing to try…..I was going to have to come back in the morning. He was going to have a big time hangover. Waking him for work might not be easy. I was willing to help, if he’d let me.

I put my lips to his ear. "Mr. Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"You wouldn’t have a spare house key I could use until tomorrow morning, would you? I’d like to come back and check on you in the morning."

Although it sounded pretty made-up to me, he apparently believed me!

"Over the front door frame. Inside, I think."

"Thanks. I’ll bring it back tomorrow. What time do you leave for work?"

"Eight, eight-thirty."

I got up, gathered my clothes, and went into the bathroom to get straightened up and dressed. I blew him a kiss he didn’t see as I walked out of the bedroom. I called a cab, grabbed my purse, and stopped at the front door. The key was where he said. I slipped it in my purse, after I’d given it a big kiss, too, and started down the hall to the elevator. I’d wait in the hallway downstairs for my cab.

On the cab ride home, all I could think about was the man I’d left sleeping. I could feel every place on my body where his lips had touched me. Sort of a tingly place wherever he’d kissed me. I snuggled my shoulder up to my cheek, closed my eyes to recall all the best moments, and sighed so loudly, the cabby heard me.

"Long night?’ he asked.

"Oh, no sir. Not nearly long enough," I said wistfully.

I felt about 20 years old again. I saw the cabby smiling in the rearview, and he nodded his head knowingly. I had some strange thoughts cross my mind. Like how I wish I never had to wash off the kisses…that they could just become another element my skin was made of. Perhaps they had already. I felt sure I’d always be able to feel them, when I needed to. All I had to do was close my eyes and bring back this night, right? Surely the memory alone would sustain me for nearly a lifetime. I was certain of it. Like how I’d quit my day and night job for this man. This dreamy feeling left me temporarily when I realized this night alone would probably have to sustain me. I felt even more certain there would not be another. There couldn’t be. I couldn’t let it be.

It was almost 1:00 when I got home, so I let my dog out and in, fed him a treaty, and we headed straight for the bed. I’ll have to get up early, if I’m going to go check on Special Agent Fox Mulder before he leaves for work. I had, of course, an ulterior motive in wanting to "check on him". I wanted to greet him on a more sober level. I wanted to know how he’d react to me when he wasn’t drunk. I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. It wasn’t exactly pretty.

I knocked on the door to Agent Mulder’s apartment around 7:30 the next morning. No answer. He’s here. I saw his car out front, right where I parked it. I didn’t want the coffee I’d brought with me to get cold, so I dug out the key, and unlocked the door. I knocked again as I opened it.

"Agent Mulder? It’s Tess. Ya home?" I realized he’d have no idea who Tess is. "Agent Mulder?"

I walked into the front room, looked into the kitchen and living room, but saw no sign of him. Everything looked frozen in time from last night. I walked to the bedroom door, and knocked again, just to be polite.

"Agent Mulder? Can I come in?"

Still no answer. I took a couple of steps into the bedroom, and saw him still in the bed, totally out of it.

I made my way to the side of the bed and spoke as softly as I could without exactly whispering. "Agent Mulder….it’s after 7:30. You’ll be late for work."

The next thing I knew, he bolted upright, and pointed the meanest looking gun I ever saw right at my forehead. The coffee was history. I dropped it and my purse on my way to letting him know I wasn’t armed. The look on his face went from ready to kill, to puzzlement.

He was shouting at me, too. "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"

I wanted to remain calmer than him, so I dropped my arms back down to my side, gave him my best hurt look and said, "Well shit. Now you’ve hurt my feelings. You might as well go ahead and shoot me."

"Excuse me? I want to know who you are, and how you got in here!" he shouted.

"Okay! Relax, baby. Please!" I said, as I ignorantly placed my hand over the gun barrel and gently guided it out of the direction of my face. "I’m the best sex you ever had. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten. It’s only been….oh, 8 hours or so. You told me where you keep a spare apartment key. That’s how I got in here, Mr. Mulder, sir."

I’ll never forget the look on his face.

He was seriously looking me over now. "Are you saying that I had sex with you? When? Why don’t I remember? It’s not at all likely I’d forget something like that."

I was now down on my hands and knees trying to clean up the spilled coffee. This was going to leave a big stain, I feared. "Likely or not, you have apparently forgotten that I drove you home from the bar last night because you were extremely intoxicated. You invited me in when we got here, to use the phone to call a cab. One thing led to another, rather quickly, I might add, and we…uh...did it. You told me it was the best sex you ever had. Which, I now presume, was the liquor talking."

He crumpled back into the pillows on the bed, and put his hands over his face.

"Tequila," he said to himself, sounding remarkably like the guy in that old song of the same name.

He was waking up, finally.

I continued, "Look, I’m sorry I frightened you, Agent Mulder. I really just wanted to come by and make sure you weren’t ill this morning or anything. You had quite a bit to drink last night, and I was afraid you might need something to get you going this morning. Coffee was obviously not in the cards, but if there’s anything else I can get you, just let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be out of your way as soon as I clean up this mess. Do you have something I can soak this up with?"

He was staring at me now. A compassionate look came across his face as I turned to look back at him.

"I’m sorry….um…I still don’t remember your name," he said quietly.

"Tess, and you never asked, so I didn’t offer," I said flatly. My feelings were hurt. Sort of.

"Tess. It will all come back to me later, I’m sure. I can’t imagine having the best sex I ever had, and not remembering what it was like eventually. I’m sorry I pulled my gun on you. All kinds of people are out to get me."

I had to try hard to smile as I said, "Paranoid type, eh? Well, you can add me to that list of all kinds. Only, I would assume for a much different reason than most. The things I want from you don’t normally require a gun."

He smiled at me, taking my right arm at the elbow, and helped me to my feet.

"Don’t worry about that. The maid will get it." Remembering rule number one, I knew he was kidding.

He guided me to sit next to him on the bed, and reached up and pulled my hair back from my face and smoothed it back over my shoulder. Another chill. "So, could you maybe go over exactly what transpired last night that I apparently don’t remember? Maybe it will help me recall…"

I took a deep breath and stared down at the rug under my feet. "I was waiting for a guy I had an appointment with. I got stood up. Just as I was about to leave for home, I noticed you at the bar downing tequila like there was no tomorrow, and couldn’t help but wonder who had burst your bubble."

He interjected, "My partner and I had a huge misunderstanding yesterday at the office. It ended up with her asking for a transfer. Over practically nothing! I still don’t believe it!"

Hearing the word "her" in that sentence, gave me an idea almost immediately, "That would be ‘Scully’, perhaps?"

"I talked about Scully last night, too?" he said with this oh my God kind of tone in his voice.

"Well, not exactly. However, you called out her name a couple of times during our ‘togetherness’, let’s say," I said, trying not to sound bitter at all.

He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. I worried that I’d embarrassed him, but this was important for him to know.

I went on. "Any other time, it would have seriously pissed me off, but I was having such a wonderfully blissful time, I didn’t even care. What-ever. At least I know who Scully is now. Agent Mulder, did you know that 83% of all the people who binge drink, are upset about something when they do? The other 17% are college students. Me? I wanted the specifics. You just looked too good to be sitting in a bar alone getting drunk. I nixed the idea of asking you if you wanted to fork over some cash in exchange for sex…you didn’t seem the type who would appreciate that sort of thing. FBI man, and all."

He missed all the hints I was dropping like confetti, and as he slipped on a pair of jeans he’d scooped up off the floor next to the bed, he asked sheepishly, "I told you about the FBI? Geez. I don’t normally do that unless I’m on an investigation." He was starting to look pale.

"No. No, you still didn’t. Your badge fell out of your coat pocket. That’s how I found out your name. We don’t use badges in my profession, (hint, hint). We don’t need no stinkin’ badges. Which is another reason you didn’t know my name, I suppose." I wanted him to know what I really am, without having to actually say it. Pretty stupid, huh?

"Which profession is that?" he FINALLY asked.

"Agent Mulder, you surprise me. You haven’t figured out what I do for a living yet?"

"No, I can’t say that I have."

"Okay then…..um… I’m a ….prostitute. And a high dollar one, too," I said, like that made it any better, and immediately took cover, if only in my mind.

"I paid you money to have sex with you?" he said, obviously astonished at the suggestion.

"Of course not!" I said, obviously insulted at the suggestion. "By the way, last night, and any subsequent needs you may encounter in the future are on me, snookums. And please don’t ever hesitate to ask," I said.

He sat silently contemplating the revelations I’d bestowed.

"So, is Scully your lover, too?" I had to ask.

He seemed to come out of some really deep thought. "What? No. No, she isn’t. We’ve never even kissed, although, I did try once. She got stung by a bee."

Huh? I stared at him, about to fall off the bed, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

He smiled and said only, "Long story."

So I piped in with my two cents, "No kissing? No nothin’? Why the hell not? I’d have to presume it isn’t because of you. You seem to have all the right longings for her. What’s the problem?"

An almost mournful looked crossed his face as he said, "It’s just never happened. I think we both want it to, and don’t want it to. Maybe we’re afraid it will spoil our relationship. It’s never been about sex."

I wasn’t believing this. Two cents time again, "Let me tell you something, pal. Perhaps it should be. You just give her what you gave me last night, and she will never think of leaving you. Spoil your relationship….how ridiculous! You’re punishing yourselves, and for no goddamn reason! Maybe that is the core reason why you fought in the first place. You’re both horny for each other, for cryin’ out loud! That would be so easy to fix, too!" Then I added, mostly to myself, "But if nothing else, it explains some things about last night."

"I’m afraid it’s all more complicated than that," he said ruefully.

"Only if you make it so, Mr. Mulder, " I said, with as much conviction as I could.

He looked at me like I really had something there. I made a "duh" face, and he laughed. Time to wrap this up, and get out of his life. I wanted to leave him with something more than an uncertain memory of a night that obviously meant little to him, but still meant everything to me.

I slid off the side of the bed, and onto the floor. I positioned myself in front of him on my knees, and took those splendid hands into mine. The best part was locking in on those eyes.

"Agent Mulder. I can say, without reservation, that you were the best sexual experience of my entire life. I’m so sorry you don’t remember it. It was the best. Really. And I’ve had far more than my share. So this is not a declaration I would make lightly. The power of your lovemaking is beyond anything I’ve ever conceived of. It was truly magnificent. And I would give anything I have just to have you, to have what you’ve given me, again. But unfortunately, I can never forget that it wasn’t me you were making love to last night. It was this Scully chick. And that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. You’ve got to fix this, or you just might be stuck with me, or someone worse, if that’s possible. I know you don’t want that."

He smiled and said, "Now how do you know what I want? How do I even know, for that matter? I wasn’t exactly there…uh…here… last night. Maybe…."

I interrupted him, and said firmly, "I just know, and you should. My name is not Scully, you realize, of course."

"Maybe it’s still worth investigating, Tess."

He’s obviously still under the influence. Or maybe he’s just annoyed that he had sex, and had to be reminded of it. Someone knocked on the front door. He held his finger to his lips in a "shhhh".

"Scully?" I whispered.

He shook his head ‘no’ like he didn’t even have to think about it. We sat silently for a minute or two. The knocking was not repeated.

"Mr. Mulder, you’re going to be late for work," I finally spoke up and said.

"I’m gonna call in sick," he mumbled.

"No you’re not. You’ve got to go talk to Scully. I mean it. That is not the adult way to handle a broken heart." I tried to conjure up my best ‘mom’ face for that last remark.

He gave me the sweetest kiss on the forehead I can remember, and helped me to my feet.

He said, "I haven’t thanked you for getting me home last night, and for everything else."

"How about you thank me when you remember what you’re thanking me for, okay? Besides, you already did," I said, as I picked up my coffee-stained purse, and started for the door.

"Wait," he said. "How do I get in touch with you?"

I almost said, ‘You don’t,’ or maybe ‘Why would you want to?’, but I’d already punished myself enough for one day, so I reached in my purse and pulled out a pen and note pad. I wrote down my name, address and phone number.

"I’m there more than I’m not," I said, as I handed him the paper. "You call me if you ever find out Scully’s not the one, after all. I’d give up my career in a heartbeat for you, Eyes." I batted my eyelashes. He smiled at me again, so I added, "Don’t worry, big guy. I won’t be holding my breath."

I smiled back as best I could, while swallowing the big lump in my throat which had suddenly appeared as I realized I’d probably never see Agent Mulder again. But what an experience! One I’ll always treasure. No time to be greedy. Well maybe a little. I took one good long last look at him standing there in nothing but jeans and a smile. He couldn’t be any more beautiful as a whole, as I stand here, taking him in. But those eyes. One last drink of those eyes. Before he could speak, I was out the front door.

As I started down the hall to the elevator, the elevator doors opened and this big burly football player-looking guy got off the elevator, and rudely brushed past me going the opposite direction. He practically spun me around. I stuck my tongue out at him, just for good measure, and stepped onto the elevator. I realized as I looked through my purse for my car keys that yikes! I still had Mulder’s apartment key. Hey! An excuse to come back. Ah, I can mail it. I looked up from my purse to press the floor button I needed when I noticed Mr. Rude jimmying Agent Mulder’s apartment door lock. What the…? As the elevator doors closed, I saw the man step into the apartment.

I quickly pushed the ‘open door’ button, and it worked. The doors opened back up! I stepped tentatively back into the hallway, not knowing exactly what I intended to do. I took a few steps towards the apartment. My mind and my heart were racing. Is he in any danger, should I call the police? The FBI? I was probably ten feet away from the door to his apartment when I heard three gunshots, two almost simultaneously, then the third, in succession. I jumped instinctively. At first I thought I’d been shot, they sounded so close. But I quickly realized the shots had come from inside Agent Mulder’s apartment.

I ran to his door, and started banging, kicking and screaming. "Agent Mulder! Mr. Mulder! Are you okay? Answer me, Agent Mulder! Dammit, Agent Mulder, ANSWER ME!" One of the neighbors peeked out their door in my direction. "Call 911! Now!!" I shouted at the woman.

She quickly ducked back inside. Then it hit me…. The KEY, dumbass, you’ve got a key! I furiously dug the key out, unlocked the door and swung it back so hard it bounced off the wall and almost came back to bash me in the face.

"Agent Mulder?"

I dropped my purse in the front room, and tiptoed through the apartment, scared to death of what I might see. If he was hurt, I had to know. I finally made my way into the bedroom to find my worst fears realized…Mulder lying face down next to the bed, happiness is a warm gun still in hand, and blood streaming from a wound on his forehead and one on his left side, underneath his arm. Jesus! It appeared that there was a lot of blood everywhere around him. I later noticed some of it was coffee, which quite honestly didn’t serve to make me feel any better about what was happening, at all. I looked frantically for something to use as a compress for the wound on his side. It looked too big for my hands to cover alone. The head wound looked more superficial. I grabbed a clean folded towel, which was lying on the bed, and knelt down to press it over larger wound.

"Agent Mulder, can you hear me? It’s Tess. You’re gonna be okay. An ambulance is on the way. Please hang on for me."

No movement. No sound. I placed my trembling fingers lightly over his jugular, and there was a strained heartbeat. I raised my eyes to the ceiling, looking for God.

"Dear God, please help him hang on. He just can’t die now. Please?!"

I heard a commotion in the hallway….The paramedics! Thank God for nosy neighbors! I jumped up and turned to run to the door to guide them in, but came face-to-face instead with the man I believe had just shot Agent Mulder, the man I saw breaking into the apartment.

"Oh, hi there." Yes, it was a stupid thing to say. It just sort of came out. I hate when that happens.

All I remember from there is hearing a loud pop, feeling an excruciating stinging sensation just below my ribcage, feeling my jeans and sweater were getting wet there, falling to my knees, and then on my face to the floor. Lights out.

I thought I was opening my eyes to try and determine what had just happened. What I found instead, were unfamiliar sterile surroundings. Everything I saw seemed to be stark white. I closed my eyes again. Now I could hear muffled voices, and beeping sounds, and things being rolled across tile floors, and a TV, of all things. It had to be a TV. That was a commercial I just heard. Okay, so I’m not in Heaven. Where the hell am I? Hell? Do I really want to know? Should I open my eyes and try this again?

A woman’s voice said, "Mrs. Duvier?"

Who? Oh yeah, right, that’s me. I hadn’t been called that in a long time.

"Tess? Can you hear me?"

I opened my eyes to see a lovely redheaded woman standing next to my bed. She was holding my wrist. How odd. She was dressed in a longer length dark blue jacket and pants, with a beige v-neck blouse. She was practically the only thing in the room that didn’t appear to be white. That’s how come I noticed. I wouldn’t normally notice in such detail what someone was wearing. My brain was clicking about half-speed. As I tried to focus my vision on my visitor, I had this sudden urge to do the polite thing, and get out of bed to greet this stranger in my bedroom.

"Holy shit!" I screamed as the searing pain below my ribcage, what seemed like miles of tubing attached to me, and my visitor, all forced me back down to a horizontal position.

"You mustn’t try to get up, Mrs. Duvier," my visitor said, placing her hand on my shoulder. "You have a very serious injury. You’ll have to stay right where you are for a few days."

"Where am I exactly?" I groaned.

"You’re in the hospital. You have a gunshot wound to the stomach. You’ve had surgery to remove the bullet, but any wound to the stomach is a tricky one to heal. You’ll need lots of bed rest," the lovely redhead replied.

"How long have I been here?" I asked.

"Since Thursday morning," she answered.

"And today is…." I honestly had no idea what day it was.

"Sunday. You’ve been unconscious since you were brought here."

The next thought that came to me almost sat me up again…"Agent Mulder! Where is Agent Mulder?"

"He was in ICU until Friday evening. He’s been moved to a room," she said, just like a doctor.

"Is he gonna be okay?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"He did indeed sustain a life-threatening injury. His lung was punctured by the gunshot. But he’s had surgery as well, and the doctors are confident he’ll be fine. Thanks in no small part to you, I hear. He lost quite a bit of blood, but not as much as he might have, had you not been so quick to come to his aid," I felt myself blush a little, as she unnecessarily complimented me. She continued, "He’ll be here for another day or two, but he’s conscious, and rearing to go, already. He may be able to get out of bed as soon as this evening."

"Oh my God…Pookie!" I said, about to cry.

"Would ‘Pookie’ be your dog?’ she asked me.

"Yeah," I squeaked, wondering how she knew.

"Your neighbor volunteered to look after him, after finding out you were going to be here a while. I’m sure he’s okay."

I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. Thank God for nosy neighbors. Must be Mrs. Greshem. I gave her a key when I first moved in, just in case of such an occurrence. God bless her.

Reality was starting to set in. My wound was throbbing horribly, along with my head. My latent manners were coming back to me, too.

"I’m sorry, but who are you?" I asked the beautiful redhead.

"My name is Dana Scully. I’m currently Agent Mulder’s partner at the FBI. (I didn’t like the sound of "currently") I came here today hoping to find out more about what happened to you and Agent Mulder Thursday morning. This is the first chance I’ve had to speak with you."

I swallowed really hard. My throat was absolutely parched. So this is Scully. Just wonderful. How appropriate. Sweet Jesus, what am I gonna say to this woman? No wonder Agent Mulder’s in love with her. She’s stunning.

"Do you feel up to answering some questions?"

"It all depends on which questions you ask. I may suddenly feel ill should you ask me the wrong thing," I said, afraid to look at her.

"Okay…..Well, let’s start with what you were doing at the apartment building that morning. According to the ID in your purse, you don’t live there."

"I was visiting a friend who lives there."

"Where were you when the first shots were fired, were you in Agent Mulder’s apartment?"

"No, of course not! I was in the hallway, and I saw a man breaking into Agent Mulder’s apartment. He jimmied the lock, went inside, and closed the door behind him. I wasn’t sure what to do, so, I was just kind of standing there, trying to decide, when I heard three shots. I could tell they’d come from inside his apartment. I ran to his door and tried to get in. One of the neighbors came out to see what the ruckus was about, I yelled at her to call 911. I need to apologize to her someday. She’s really the one who saved Agent Mulder."

Oh crap, now she’s gonna ask me how I got into the apartment. Where’s my answer…..what do I say here?

"So how did you get into the apartment? Did you break in, too? There was no sign of forcible entry," she stated, in a really FBI-ish way.

"You think I’m lying, don’t you?" I stated, in a really criminal-ish way. I didn’t have the sense to stop there, "Look, I don’t know what the guy I saw used to get in without the entry looking forced, but I assumed it was some kind of lock-picker thing. There really was a man. I didn’t shoot Agent Mulder, or myself."

"I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Mrs. Duvier. But you still haven’t told me how you got into the apartment. If the door was closed behind the man you saw like you just said, the door locks automatically when closed," she waited for my next response.

She’s doing this on purpose. How does she know all this stuff?

"Okay." I took a really deep breath. It hurt. "I had a key, okay? I had borrowed it and intended to return it that morning. It took me probably ten seconds to realize I had the key, but I finally figured it out and got in. I found Agent Mulder in the bedroom and he was bleeding really bad. Just as I found something besides my hands to press down on the big wound in his side, and I’d checked for a heartbeat, I heard a commotion out in the hall. I figured it was the paramedics, so I jumped up to go get them, but ran into this big ugly son of a bitch with a gun instead, who apparently didn’t even hesitate to shoot me. Didn’t like my hair color, I guess. I assumed he had shot Agent Mulder as well. And could you please call me ‘Tess’? Duvier is my ex-husband’s name, and I’ve just been too lazy to get my name changed back on all my stuff. Tess, please?"

"Okay, Tess. You may be right. Could you identify this man?"

"Well, I did see him twice that morning. First, when he almost knocked me down in the hall, and the second time was when he did knock me down in Agent Mulder’s apartment. Yeah, I could probably pick out that face."

"He struck you?" She looked surprised.

"With a bullet to the stomach, yeah," I said.

She looked like she wasn’t sure what to ask me next. That could be dangerous. Wasn’t she just a little curious why I had a key to Mulder’s crib? Doesn’t she want to proceed with strangling me now? She was studying me for sure. This had to be the most terrible spot I’d ever been in. Or close to it.

Call it the stress of the moment, but for some reason my current predicament brought to mind the last time I’d been in the hospital. One of Phil’s "they know to behave" johns had slipped me some kind of sedative in the drink he made for me, tied me to his bed with fishing line, and gagged me in a near unconscious state. This was right before he brought in his little twenty-something "boyfriend" as an unexpected, unannounced, and non-paying guest. I was reminded, as I was being tied down, that if I struggled, the line would slit my wrists, and I’d bleed to death before he’ll even consider untying me. So, I best just lay still like a good slut, he told me. My blood boiled at the inference that I was a frigid lay. I’d given this guy some really fabulous sex, only recently. He was showing off for his boy toy.

They proceeded to take turns cutting little designs into the skin around my breasts with a pocket knife, and thinking up all the variations of "worthless whore" that they could call me. I still have scars from the bite marks on my breasts, too. They then took their turns raping me until I bled. Several times, it was both of them at once, with …well, you can use your imagination here. They were having such a blast trying to kill me, too. This particular turn on for them managed to tear me up pretty good. I couldn’t sit comfortably, much less have sex after that for several months. Not to mention two broken ribs, broken collarbone, and more bruises and cuts than anyone could count. When they could no longer maintain an erection, they had beaten the crap out of me for ‘failing to keep them horny’. Well, excuse me. I’ll never forget their laughter as they dumped me, practically naked, and still bleeding like a stuck pig, in the ally behind my house and drove away. If I’d had a gun, I’d have killed them both myself. That’s why I don’t own one. There would be dead guys decorating the landscape everywhere you look.

After Phil got me to the hospital, I told the police, when they insisted on asking me, that my boyfriend brought home a friend from work, and things got ‘out of hand’. Phil became my ‘neighbor’. I’d run to his house to get help. Not. I couldn’t have run water at the time, much less to the house next door, but the police didn’t know that. I didn’t want to press charges, even after they begged me to. There’s no such thing as raping a prostitute, so it seemed pointless to try and use the law to get my revenge. I probably would’ve ended up in jail before they did. I refused to even give them my ‘boyfriend’s’ name. I told them the whole thing was my fault for not leaving as soon as I suspected what they had in mind. Have I mentioned that hookers have to be great actresses? I sometimes think I missed my calling. Strangely enough, both those assholes, that did rape me, by the way, (in spite of who I am or what I do for a living) were found murdered, and floating in the river about a week later. I wanted to feel sorry, feel some guilt, but I didn’t. Phil is, if nothing else, a man of his word.

He was so desperate to make it up to me. He must have visited me at least fifteen times in the four days I was at the hospital. The flower scent got so thick, I’d wake up gagging from the almost Glade-like smell. And I absolutely adore flowers. I was terribly angry with him at first, but then soon realized he’d done his best. He wasn’t God, and he couldn’t be everywhere. He did everything he was supposed to. The rest was really all compromise, cooperation and pure dumb luck. You can get hurt just about any time in this business. It’s not like I didn’t know that going into it. That night has been my one and only bad experience. And it was a whopper. I would get over it in time, obviously. It had taken almost a year, but I found my way back. I caught myself wondering if I would ever have met Agent Mulder, had I not returned to my profession. Chances are, I would not have. I always say, there’s a reason for everything.

"May I ask why you’d borrowed a key to Agent Mulder’s apartment? You haven’t mentioned anything about knowing him prior to the shooting. Is he the person you were in the building to visit?" I knew that one was coming.

I’ve got it! I don’t have to tell her about the sex. But what if she already knows? She didn’t say for sure if she’s actually talked to Agent Mulder about what happened yet. Surely he wouldn’t tell her, would he? Here goes nothing.

"I met Agent Mulder at a bar on Wednesday night. He was extremely drunk, and insisted that he had to take his car home…so he could get to work the next morning. So, I offered to drive him home, and take a cab from there. I went in to his apartment to call the cab. But he was in such bad shape when I left him, I wanted to come back to check on him the next morning. I asked if he had a spare key. He did. I borrowed it. I came back to check on him, and got shot for my trouble. And now you’re making me feel like I did something wrong."

Which I did, sort of, but that just happens to be the one thing I’m not telling her.

"Well, that sounds logical, although I’m still a little surprised that Agent Mulder would let a virtual stranger have his house key. He’s generally more cautious than that," she said, like she really knows him.

"I would hope he’s not generally that intoxicated, Agent Scully."

The look she gave me….you’ve heard the old cliché, ‘if looks could kill’? Let’s just say, nobody in that entire hospital could’ve saved me from certain death at that moment.

I decided to continue, anyway, "Okay, okay, I have a confession. Maybe I did take the slightest advantage of his more helpless frame of mind. But only because I wanted to see him again. I think he’s adorable. Drunk or not."

That sounded really honest, if I do say so myself. She looked suspicious of me. As well she should be. Not that I intend to be a threat to her. But she knows there’s something I’m not telling her. Maybe she’s just not sure it’s something she wants or needs to know.

"Agent Scully, does anybody know anything about who the guy was that shot us, or why?" I inquired.

"Nothing firm yet, but Agent Mulder has some avenues he wants to try, if you and the police can’t come up with anything before he gets out of the hospital." She sounds so… professional.

"Me and the police? Sounds like a book I wouldn’t choose to read by title," I said.

"We’ll need a description of this man from you. Maybe with a police artist, we can get a good sketch," she explained.

"Don’t you guys have like, mug books I can look through or something?" I whined.

"This man probably wouldn’t be in any of those books, Tess. Right now, I’m almost certain of it."

For some reason, I didn’t even want to know how she knew that. But at least I know now that she has talked to Agent Mulder about the events that put us here.

"You need to get some rest, Tess. I’ll come back later if I have any more questions or info for you." She turned to leave the room.

I stopped her, "Agent Scully, so how did I do? You do believe my story, don’t you?"

"Your story comes out about the same as what Mulder told me, except for the parts he doesn’t remember. Oh, and you left out the sex. I’ll be back later, Tess. We can talk more then. You get some rest."

The door closed behind her. Awwww. He remembered. I put my hands over my face and thought about how much I wish I was someplace else entirely.

I must have slept for several hours. I woke up to find a nurse checking everything and generally poking around.

"You need to take these, Tess. Your dinner will be here soon."

Yum. Boy, did I look forward to those liquid dinners?! I swallowed the two pills the nurse gave me with some water, and laid back on the pillow, to try and adjust my thinking again. The nurse left. Dinner, if you can call it that, came and went. Okay, I’m in the hospital. Some weird guy nobody knows anything about, shot me and this guy I picked up in a bar, who just happens to be a God’s gift to women FBI agent, with a beautiful, fearsome redhead for a partner that he’s in love with. He gives me the best night of "my life in bed" I ever had, but he and his partner have never been lovers. Although, I get the impression it isn’t because of lack of interest on his part. Never even kissed. Unbelievable. This poor girl doesn’t know what she’s missing. And now she’s mad at him and wants to move far away, just to get away from him, and that was before she found out that he had sex with me the night before we were shot in the bedroom of his apartment. Together. Wonderful. Where to now?

"Tess?" I opened my eyes, and turned to see Agent Mulder creeping toward me, dragging an IV pole alongside him. He had his left arm in a sling.

"Agent Mulder! Jesus, it’s good to see you standing!" I reached out both arms to attempt a hug. As he got as little closer, I held my hands up, and said, "Don’t shoot!"

He chuckled at the inference. We were both so tangled in tubing, I got less than the bear hug I longed for, but I got my point across anyway. And I got a kiss on the cheek.

"Seeing you any way at all is great, but standing? Standing is good. How are you feeling, and what’s with the arm? Agent Scully didn’t tell me about that," I asked about the sling.

"Oh I’m not supposed to use this arm for a while. ‘Til my chest wound heals some. They knew they’d have to tie it up to keep me from using it. I’m better," he said, smiling. Ahhh.

"Agent Mulder, did you just have to tell Agent Scully all the sordid details of our first meeting? I mean, really. I gave her a perfectly reasonable story, sans le sex, but you blew it for me. I don’t see the logic. Did it serve to enrich your relationship in some way?" I asked, sarcastically.

He smiled. "No, not really. She tricked me. She’s pretty good at that sort of thing."

"So I’ve discovered. If it makes you feel any better, it’s not just you. But I would think you’d be more perceptive to her whiles during questioning. I still want to know how you could have done something so….well, stupid," I said.

"She already knew all about you by the time she and I spoke for the first time since Thursday. She just assumed you were at my place because I’d paid you for sex. When she brought that up, I was so insulted at her remark on the subject, I blurted out, ‘I did not pay her for the sex!’. You would’ve loved the look on her face. She had me. Big time. She does that a lot, too."

I looked at him sympathetically and said, "What a bummer. About her assumption, I mean. That she would think so little of your sexual prowess surprises me. She thinks you’d need to pay for it? Sheesh! Hell, I’d pay you, if I could afford you! And if you’d only left that ‘the’ out of that blurt, there would’ve still been room for escape. One of those Freudian slip things, I guess."

"Look, Tess, Agent Scully and I have been together for a very long time, and we do share good deal of our lives together. But we’ve never taken any vow of monogamy. I’m not sorry about what happened between you and I. I’m still in the process of remembering what happened between you and I, and it doesn't matter that Scully knows. It’s okay, okay? Now, I want to now how you are, and I am dying to change the subject."

"Well, I still can’t sit up, or get out of bed. In fact, I haven’t seen a doctor yet today. Unless he came while I was sleeping. I’d like for someone to tell me how I’m doing. But I feel okay. As long as I don’t move anything." I smiled at him.

He smiled back, and looked away. I hoped he wasn’t feeling guilty about this.

"I’m really so glad you’re okay. I was afraid for you when I first found you," I said, reaching for his hand. "I’d never seen anyone who’d been shot before. I suppose I did relatively well, under the circumstances."

There was an extended silence, then he said quietly, "What made you come back, Tess? If you’d gone on home, this wouldn’t have happened to you."

He still wasn’t looking at me.

"And you might not be standing here, Mulder. How about we just call it ‘fate’, huh? ….Mulder? Why did I call you Mulder, Agent Mulder?" I asked.

"Because…it’s short for ‘Agent Mulder’, maybe?" he offered.

I said, "That’s probably it…yeah. Is it okay that I call you Mulder? I like that…or what about Fo…".

"Don’t even go there," he said, as he quickly put his fingers to my lips.

"O-kay. Mulder it is. Can I call Agent Scully ‘Scully’?" I wanted to know.

"You can when you’re talking to me," he said, and kind of shrugged his shoulders.

Well, that’s one out of two, anyway, I thought. I pulled his hand up to my lips, and kissed it. Then, I snuggled it up to my cheek. He was looking at me now. I locked in on Planet Eyes.

"Mulder, even if I had been killed attempting to help you, I want you to know that I think saving is more than a worthwhile reason to die. So just having a little hole in my gut, seems like a real bargain to me. Not that I’m not thoroughly pissed at the asshole who shot me."

"Yeah, when I catch that scumsucker, I’m going to tie him to a tree and throw rocks at him, " he said, with mock seriousness.

"Slam dunk a few for me, sport," I responded, then continued, "But seriously, I would do what I did again in an instant. Do you read me? Without hesitation. I haven’t known you long, it’s true. But it took me maybe my first fifteen seconds with you to know you’re someone worth saving. And you weren’t even exactly yourself, you know. I’m proud to know I was where I needed to be and actually did something useful, for a change. Don’t you dare take that away from me."

He freed his hand from my grasp, and touched the side of my face with his fingertips. Oops, there’s little tears forming in my eyes. I can’t go soft on him now. To my surprise, he leaned down over the bed and gave me a long, impressive kiss….on the lips, too! As I closed my eyes to get lost in it, a single tear rolled from the corner of each of my eyes, down the side of my face and into my hair…where maybe he wouldn’t notice. I placed my hand around the back of his neck, just so he knew he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted. When our lips finally parted, it took me a few seconds to open my eyes again. I wanted to commit that one to memory…either afraid that I was dreaming, or that it would be my last, at last. When I did finally open my eyes, he was still very close, studying my face carefully.

"You really like that, don’t you?" he grinned at me.

"Oh, you have no idea," I said, breathlessly.

That got yet another smile out of him. He stood up, touching the side of my face again.

"Heart of gold," he said, and smiling, a little sadly, at me.

I was stunned by his words, but hid it with a grin. Uh-oh, more tears coming. Geez! Why am I crying now?!? Because I always cry when someone touches my heart, like Agent Mulder just had, that’s why. He really did remember ‘Mulder night’, (as it will forevermore be known). He was referring to my tattoo.

"Mulder! There you are. I should have known. You need to get back to bed. The nurse is looking for you. Hi Tess." It was Agent Scully.

That was close. She looked a little miffed. Maybe it was too close.

Mulder spoke up first. "I just came to see how Tess was doing. And I wanted to apologize, but she wouldn’t let me," he said and glared at me.

"Sorry, Mulder. Why waste perfectly good breath? Hi, Agent Scully," I tried to sound as friendly as possible.

Agent Scully said, "Tess, I spoke to one of the doctors that worked on you originally. He’s coming by in the morning to check on you. There was a misunderstanding about who’s supposed to be taking care of you while you’re here."

"So that’s why nobody’s been to see me! I thank you for bringing that to his attention. I guess they woulda let me lay here until I turned to dust," I told her.

Scully took Mulder by the arm, "Come on, Mulder. Back to bed. If you want to get out of here, you better do what they say," she said, as she pushed him, and his attachments, out the door.

"’Night, Tess!" Mulder said, from far away somewhere.

She came back to the side of the bed. "Apparently, Tess, no one except the nurse, and some guy named Phil, by the way, has checked on you since Friday evening. And even she neglected to follow-up on why there were no updates from a doctor on your chart. As delicate as your condition is, this kind of negligence is inexcusable, and I’m afraid it has put your recovery in some jeopardy. Would you mind if I checked you out myself? Just a quick check to make sure you haven’t suffered any setbacks. Bedpans alone are murder on this type of internal injury. I’d feel better if I knew everything was progressing as normal." Before I could speak, she added, "I am a doctor, just not a practicing physician." She answered my ‘why would you want to do that?’ question, before I could ask.

"Sure. I think that would be most thoughtful of you. I appreciate your concern." I smiled.

She lowered the bed railings, and moved back the sheet. I helped her get my gown out from under me on one side, and lifted it to reveal the area where the surgery had been done. I almost went through the ceiling when she lifted the bandages there.

"Son of a bitch!" I grimaced, and said much too loud, as I grabbed the mattress on both sides. Hard.

Scully was silent for a moment. I couldn’t see her face.

"Tess," she swallowed so hard, I felt it. "Has this been bothering you at all? Have you looked at it?"

"Shit yeah! It hurts like the dickens. But not until I move, or breathe, or laugh, or…. So I just try to lay still. And no, I hadn’t looked. I figured I’d wait until my first real bath!"

Silence. Finally, she put the bandage, gown and sheet back over me.

"Well, don’t look now. I’ll be right back," she said.

Great.

She came back about five minutes later with a syringe, and some fresh bandages, tape, alcohol…a whole tray full of stuff. She gave me the shot, which was an antibiotic, she said, then she very gingerly cleaned and bandaged my wound. It still hurt horribly, but I was so moved by her compassion, that I somehow felt better anyway.

"Listen," she said, "I have to go. But I’m going to try and get a doctor friend to meet me over here really early tomorrow, before the hospital’s doctor comes to see you. I think we should move you to another hospital, as soon as it can be arranged. I’m going to tell Mulder to keep an eye on you until in the morning."

"Oh, Agent Scully, don’t bother Agent Mulder, please. He’s got problems of his own. What, are you gonna make him sleep in a chair all night? For what possible reason? He needs rest as much as I do," I pleaded.

"All right, I’ll have someone move a bed in here, then. And don’t act like a prude about it to me, ‘cause I know about you, remember. Still, I don’t want you left unprotected. If I can get someone on shift to come down and take over for Mulder, I will. But he’s in lots better shape than you, and he’s already here. So stop arguing with me, Tess," she said rapidly, leaving no room for doubt.

"Okay then," I said feeling, and probably sounding, like a ten-year-old, "Could you enlighten me as to why all of a sudden you so obviously fear for my safety, although you are handling your underlying panic very well. And if you ‘know about me’, then why not just let me die, and be done with me?"

She stopped to stare at me. Ruh-roh. She had her fists resting on her hips.

"Why not let you die? Well, let’s see if I can come up with a reason….I’m a doctor, I try to enforce the law, and my job is to try and keep people safe. But more important than any of that, I happen to think that if I don’t kill you first, I’m may grow to like you. And I know Mulder does already."

I didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or both. And I didn’t know what to say. "Oh," was all that came out.

"I’ll see you in the morning, Tess. Bright and very early. Get some rest."

Oh right. Like I’m gonna sleep like a baby, now.

I decided I better try and call Phil. It took some doing to get a grip on the phone, but I did, after several attempts. I got his voice mail, so I told him, first of all, to stay away from me, and the hospital. The place is crawling with police and FBI agents, and he had no business getting involved. I made sure he knew that Randy, (the guy who stood me up) didn’t show. I didn’t want Phil thinking Randy was involved in what happened to me. Furthermore, I told him, this wasn’t a paying, or non-paying customer who shot me, just "some guy nobody knows". It wasn’t his job to take care of this one. Please. But besides, it was a police matter now. It’s an FBI matter, for Pete’s sake. Leave it be, I told him. They’ll take care of it, or they won’t, but don’t place yourself at risk unnecessarily. This is the FBI, I told him…the ‘neighbor’ story won’t fly here. I told him I’d call him when I got home from the hospital, and fill him in on the details. And I did thank him for coming by to check on me, when I didn’t know he was here. I made the message ‘urgent’ and hung up. I felt better that I’d tried to contact him. It had been almost a week now since he’d called to set me up with Randy.

It wasn’t too long before a male nurse came along pushing a bed into what little space was left in my room, and Mulder came shuffling in behind him. He was free of all his attachments, except the sling on his left arm. It was obvious Scully had gotten him out of a deep sleep.

"Hi!" he said, with only about half of his face smiling, "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine, Mulder. I asked her not to bother you."

"Don’t be stupid, Tess. I would’ve been terribly pissed if she hadn’t come to get me first."

"So what’s going on, Mulder? Scully wouldn’t tell me anything. Is it, like, none of my business?"

Mulder laughed, rubbing his eyes, as he sat down on his bed to face me.

"She just didn’t want to scare you," he tried to explain.

"Well, she blew that. What else was she trying to do?" I tried to explain.

He laid himself out on his bed, reached over with his free hand to grab the railing on my bed, then pulled his bed side-by-side with mine. We were basically eye-to-eye at that point. There was a little bit of Heaven here, after all.

"Tess, Agent Scully now suspects that someone may be trying to eliminate you for some reason. Knowing of your background, she thinks maybe you slept with the wrong guy." He said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. He was trying not to scare me, too.

"Wrong guy? Who? You?" I said, puzzled.

He smiled and said, "Maybe. But I don’t think that’s what she meant. She thinks maybe one of your clients was involved in something you know about, but shouldn’t. Or maybe you took the wrong money from the wrong guy. Something along those lines. Your business has an unfortunate reputation which precedes you, Tess. Personally, I wish you’d find something else to do. Scully told me you’d been horribly beaten…almost to death once. And that you wouldn’t even press charges."

"And did she tell you why I didn’t press charges? She should know the answer to that one, too," I said really pissy-like.

"You told the police it was your fault," he said.

"It was. I’m a prostitute. I’m paid to take chances," I spat back at him.

(God, he knows everything about me! How did that happen? You sleep for three days, and you never know what the world will be like when you wake up, I guess.)

"Then find something else to do. Nobody pays you enough to die doing this" he said, glaring at me, then added, "Besides, the world would lose one of its great lays."

"Mulder!" I said indignantly, and tried unsuccessfully to grab his nose through the rails. "So you remember now, eh? Tell me, was that you or the liquor talking when you said I was best?"

"It was the liquor talking for me," he cleverly put it. "And you know how incredibly honest liquor can be."

How sweet of him to say so. I think. Pseudo-best. Better than nothing, I suppose. Of course, I felt sure I was only the best until he and Scully make up their minds. They both seem so intense! Bet that’ll be a roll to remember!

It hit me all-of-a-sudden like. What Mulder just told me about Scully’s suspicions, "Oh my God, Mulder! Does that mean maybe you got shot because of me? Jimminy Cricket, all this time, I thought I got shot by somebody after you. Oh my God, I’m so sorry!"

"Now, wait a minute! We don’t know anything for sure yet. Scully and I are both still looking for answers. It could really lead back to anyone. Why waste perfectly good breath, Tess? Don’t jump to conclusions, okay? That’s why we investigate these things." He was trying to calm me down. It wasn’t working. Still, he kept trying. "This could be something as simple as a husband’s or an ex-wife’s revenge, to something as complex as a plot by extraterrestrial beings, along with the military and covert factions of ex-government and DOD employees and officials, to overthrow the human race and take over the planet…starting with you."

‘K…he got my attention. I turned my head and looked at him, laughing hysterically. It was just killing my stomach, but I so needed a good laugh.

"Tess," he smiled a little, but said, "I could be serious, you know. About the overthrow of the planet."

I hadn’t stopped laughing, but I said anyway, "So why start with me?"

"That’s what Scully and I are trying to find out."

Oh my. Maybe it wasn’t that funny. You know, I always did say I wanted to die laughing. Here was my big chance.

I felt something ….."flowing", for lack of a better word, through the area around my wound. Something I didn’t think was supposed to be there. The wound felt cold, almost detached. Then I tasted blood in the back of my throat. I tried to swallow, but choked instead, and began to cough. I put both hands over my mouth. Blood. Jesus in Heaven, I’m coughing up blood. I tried to grab one of those little vomit trays off the stand next to the bed, but the pain in my stomach wouldn’t allow me to turn that far. I finally grabbed the sheet I had over me and stuffed it in my mouth. Maybe I’d suffocate! Beats bleeding to death, somehow.

"Tess! Jesus!"

Mulder leapt off the bed and ran out into the hallway and shouted for the nurse to call a doctor get her "ass in here". He came racing back in and began raising the head of the bed to try and elevate my head. He and I both assumed I was choking on blood backing up into my throat from my stomach, and I guess he thought he needed to get my head up higher. It was a great idea, because at least I stopped coughing. But there was more blood than a person likes to see on their outsides, just everywhere. It made me think of the last slasher movie I saw.

Mulder was standing over me wiping my face and neck with a washcloth, and cooing at me, like I was an infant. "You’re okay. You’re gonna be fine. Try to relax, okay?"

Who knows what that worthless nurse was doing? Finally, she and Mulder rolled me on my side and she had me spitting until she saw clear fluid again. That took a while. It was really fun, too. I was starting to feel sort of numb all over. Then she put an oxygen mask thingy on me, and Mulder helped her roll me gently back onto my back. Now Mulder was wiping my hands. I hadn’t noticed until I actually saw Mulder holding my hands, but I couldn’t move. I felt like a big wet noodle, and my wound felt much colder than the rest of my body.

"Tess, I’m gonna call Scully…"

I tried to shake my head ‘no’, but I could not move a muscle.

I heard the nurse say, "Dear God…." as she pulled the top sheet off the bed to replace it with a clean one.

The rush of room temperature air made me realize why the wound felt cold. Blood had pooled on top of my gown, and around the wound area, and was rapidly spreading to the bed underneath me. I had an open place where I wasn’t really supposed to.

"Son of a bitch…" Mulder hissed, and then barked very loudly at the nurse, "Get a doctor in here, NOW!"

Now, I was scared. So I just kept my eyes on Mulder. If I was going to die, this was surely the last thing I wanted to see. He held the phone to his ear, listening for an answer.

He smiled, and stroked my face. "You’ll be okay, Tess. You hear me? I’m not gonna let you go yet. You hang on."

I never heard his phone conversation. Everything began turning white, like I’d had milk poured into my eyes. I struggled to focus on Mulder, tears streaming down my face. I heard what sounded like the Fifth Battalion charging my room. Everyone was talking at once, someone was even yelling. Sounded like Mulder, but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t feel anything really, but I had the sensation of being moved or lifted.

I caught one last sight of Mulder, as he cradled my face with his hand, got a little closer, and said, "I’m not gonna let this happen to you, Tess. I’ve killed enough people with that story. Not you, too, okay? We aren’t done here. Don’t let go, Tess."

I wanted so much to hold him right then, thank him for existing. But I had no strength. I had no voice. I had no time. I wasn’t even sure I was still alive. But those last words he spoke will never, ever leave me. Lights out, part deux.

Not knowing where I am, or what to expect when I open my eyes was getting really old for me. Nevertheless, here I was again. I could hear relatively familiar sounds. I gathered I was still in the hospital. Oh boy. At least, I had the impression I was still alive. Then I heard Scully’s voice. I didn’t open my eyes. I wanted to be certain I wanted to this time.

Scully said, "Mulder, how can someone, in a hospital, let themselves get into this predicament? She had to be in the most terrible pain you can imagine. From what I can tell, she has been in this condition since her first so-called surgery. Why didn’t she tell someone she was in pain, Mulder? Nobody deserves this kind of treatment from anybody, much less a doctor. And why would anyone that calls himself a doctor want to do this to her anyway?"

Scully sounded like she was ready to cry. Being a doctor herself, I suppose I sort of understand why.

"I don’t know, Scully. But when I find out who did this to her, it won’t matter why. Somebody’s going to prison. You can bank on it."

"But Mulder, why didn’t she tell us? How can she just lay there and suffer?" Scully said with more emotion in her voice than I’d heard before.

After a long silence, Mulder said, "It’s what she does for a living, Scully. I suppose it never occurred to her to complain. She’s used to nobody caring whether or not she’s comfortable, or if she’s in great pain. She’s paid to take whatever you can dish out."

"I guess you would know," Scully said.

Ouch! ‘Good’ one, Scully.

"Where are you going, Mulder?" Scully asked impatiently.

"I don’t know, Scully. Maybe I’ll go kill somebody. Maybe myself. There’s an idea. That should make everyone feel better," Mulder spit out. He sounded angry, too.

"I have a meeting with the Assistant Director later today about my transfer…where will you be if I need to talk to you?" Scully asked him.

"Why would you need to talk to me? Isn’t your mind made up, already?" Mulder said disdainfully to the woman he loved.

"Just because I might need to talk to you, doesn’t mean I need your help in making a decision, Mulder. I can make my own decisions, okay? But we have matters to resolve before I can close out my business here. We have been partners for six years, you know. Would….."

Mulder rudely interrupted her, saying, as sarcastically as possible, "Yeah, I guess we will need to divide up the photo albums and linens, won’t we?"

O-KAY. Time out. End of round one. I opened my eyes and turned to see Mulder starting for the door, and Scully standing frustrated, hand on hips, again.

"Would you guys just stop it, please?" I begged.

They both whipped around to face me.

"Tess! Welcome back. Took you long enough," Mulder said, as he came to my bedside, and took my hand.

I ‘managed’ a smile, and he kissed me on the forehead. He was no longer wearing the arm sling, and he was dressed in street clothes.

"You okay, Tess?" Scully asked, as she walked to the other side of the bed.

"I’m almost afraid to say," I said, trying to keep my humor about me, "I thought I was okay before, but you know how that turned out."

"You’re in remarkably better shape than you were three days ago. That’s what a good doctor and proper surgery can do for you. It’s just too bad it took so long for us to realize what was happening. You weren’t much help, you know. We almost lost you," Scully said.

"No we didn’t," Mulder said. Scully looked puzzled. "She knew I’d kill her if she died on me, didn’t ya, Tess?" Mulder said, smiling at me.

Scully never cracked a smile, so I said to her, "NEVER underestimate the power of a Mulder, Agent Scully."

Still no smile. Okay, this was serious. I’d need my bag of tricks for this one. Gee, I wonder if I have it with me….

"Three days? I’ve been laying here three days? Again?" I asked. "This is getting so routine for me," I mumbled.

"Almost, " Scully replied.

I gathered every ounce of courage I had in me, which isn’t saying a whole lot, but I was pretty determined to make myself heard, this time before I found myself on the brink of death again. A cat only gets so many lives, you know. I’d used most of mine in the last two weeks, so I had to be careful not to give Agent Scully any reason to want to kill me.

"Agent Scully, you and me need to have a little chat. The sooner the better. Now would be fine," I said.

"Tess, if you think you need to apologize to me about what happened between you and Mulder, don’t bother. It won’t be necessary," she said, in what I was quickly discovering was her normal, professional tone of voice.

Uh-uh, I’m undaunted. She just said the wrong thing to me.

I lit into to her, in the most restrained way I could at that point, "First of all, Ms. Scully, I, personally, don’t have anything to apologize for. You weren’t where you should have been, and I was, that’s all. I don’t see that as something that I did wrong."

Mulder winced, and looked away, trying to act like he wasn’t paying attention.

Nevertheless, I continued, "I will always treasure what happened to me that night. It does take a little of the shine off, knowing what I was given was apparently stolen from you, but I’ll call it mine, anyway." I turned to Mulder, and said, "Mulder, take a walk. Ten minutes. If you would be so kind." He looked seriously nervous, but he smiled, nodded his head and turned to walk out. "The door behind you!" I called out.

He reached back and pulled the door closed behind him. It wasn’t until then that I noticed I wasn’t in the same hospital as before. Does that really make a shit, I thought? I wasn’t about to get off the subject at hand. I counted myself lucky again that looks don’t kill, because Scully wanted to kill me. She looked absolutely livid at this point.

"Scully, I could not let this incident pass by us again without doing everything I can this time to make sure you realize what actually happened that night between Mulder and I, and why it happened, too, maybe. I refuse to continue to contribute to what already appears to be a rock and hard place for you and Mulder. So hear me out."

She crossed her arms defiantly, and sighed in such a way to make certain I knew she thought I was wasting her time, but said nothing. I was gonna talk as long as she’d let me.

"The night I met Mulder was the most enchanting evening of my whole life. I still don’t know how you can work with him all day, and refrain from jumping his bones at night. I’m baffled. Maybe I do know, but still…. WHY?

"Being who I am, what I am, I didn’t expect him to be interested in me, really. I feel like people can tell somehow just by looking at me, even if I’m not dressed for the part, that I’m a prostitute, maybe. I honestly just wanted to get a really good look at him before he got away, and try to get him to stop poisoning himself with entirely too much alcohol. Whatever else happened, would’ve been gravy to me, at that point. To my surprise, he showed an interest. He spoke to me almost the minute I sat down. He wanted someone to talk to that badly."

Scully finally interrupted me. Her words surprised me a little, "Tess, come on, you’re not ugly, for Heaven’s sake. You talk as if no man would find you attractive. Like Mulder was really doing you a favor by being nice to you. Don’t belittle yourself."

"Whatever you say. I still felt incredibly lucky. Still do. And the sex…..," Scully looked away, as if embarrassed, but I went on, "Oh, Scully….the kiss alone is worth living for. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what it’s like, so don’t even try. Do not let your life go by without one of those kisses."

"Mulder and I don’t have that kind of relationship, Tess. I can’t just walk up and kiss Mulder because I want to know what it’s like," Scully said.

"Why the hell not? Have you ever asked him to kiss you, Agent Scully? You’d be surprised, and even more delighted at his response, I bet. He tells me he tried to kiss you once. Yeah, right. Some bizarre excuse about a bee stinging one of you or something is all I got out of that hangover saturated story," I recalled.

"He’s right about the bee thing. Long story," Scully said.

"You too, huh?" I asked about the long story routine.

"Tess, if you loved that night with Mulder so much, why are you trying to dump him on me? Why not take him and run with him? I’m transferring to the Chicago office in two weeks. You’ll have him all to yourself," she said, like she was trying to stab me with it.

I couldn’t believe my ears.

I made sure I had eye contact this time, "Agent Scully, you cannot leave him." She had this questioning look on her face. I said, "You may as well put a gun to his head and shoot him, ‘cause you leave, and you will kill him."

"You’re over-dramatizing this, Tess. Mulder was fine before I got here, and he’ll be fine when I’m gone."

"Well, you’ll have to pardon me, then. I gave you much more credit than you apparently deserve for being an intelligent, perceptive human being." She looked at me, like she was about to get angry again. I spoke up quickly, "You really don’t get it, do you? I don’t even know what this argument which hastened your transfer is about, and I don’t want to know. That is truly none of my business. But I’ve made Mulder’s heart my business now. I held that heart in my hand for one night and kept it beating, because you weren’t there to. Yeah, he made love to me, Scully. Because YOU weren’t there, Scully. He had to PRETEND you were there. He had to PRETEND I was you."

I stopped shouting long enough to notice that Scully looked stunned. And there were tears, she was furiously fighting off, in her eyes.

"What are you talking about, Tess? Are you a psychic, too? You don’t know what Mulder was thinking while he was…."

I gathered she’d lost her ability to speak. So I took up where she left off.

"Go ahead and say it…..while he was fucking my brains out? Is that the term you were looking for?" She looked away. "I’m certain that’s how you pictured it, Scully. Maybe for yourself, too. Is that why you don’t want him? You’re afraid of him? Afraid he’ll love you too well? Afraid he’ll leave you speechless like he did me?"

She still couldn’t speak. Perhaps I was being cruel. Duh. I softened my voice, and my tone.

"Scully, please listen to me. There isn’t another man on the planet who ever made love to me the way Mulder did. If there is a Heaven on Earth, I spent my night there with him… in the penthouse suite, for sure. Mulder is the most gentle and passionate lover allowed to walk among us."

Scully looked at me, and almost laughed.

"You laugh," I said, "but I wouldn’t kid you, Scully. I’m trying to salvage your future here. Why would I lie?"

She finally spoke very softly, "And why would you just give him to me?"

I was getting seriously frustrated.

"I’m not giving him to you! He’s not mine to give….he already belongs to you, Scully! Heart and soul."

Big tears down her cheeks now. She quickly wiped them away.

I wanted to drive my point home, so I said, "You don’t think I’d fight to the death for this man if I thought there was any reason to? I’d be wasting my time. That night, Scully, at the very pinnacle of our passion, Mulder called out your name."

I couldn’t believe it at first, but Scully was totally shocked at what I’d just told her. Her face was covered with confusion. I continued. I had her attention now.

"Twice, in fact. I had suspected he was suffering from a broken heart when I met him…. no other reason for him to be where he was and alone. But until that moment when he called your name, I still had myself partially fooled that maybe this guy was for real for me. That I’d found my dream man. Someone who’d make me all upright and complete again. But every kiss, every caress, everything that happened, Scully, was meant for you. I became you for the time it took him to love me. And boy, does he love you!? It was all for you, Scully. And you weren’t there. I’ll not regret even a second of what happened. No way. I’d be lying if I said I did. But I’ll always regret that perhaps what I let happen that night widened the gap between you. Perhaps I should have known this man wasn’t for the taking…. that he was too good to be true, and left him be. But willpower is not one of my stronger points, and if you ever get one of his kisses, you’ll know why I couldn’t stop myself when I needed to. But, just the same, if this thing between you ends badly, I will never forgive myself for my contribution to that."

She couldn’t stop crying now. I wasn’t sure if I should, but I reached up and laid my hand on hers.

"Scully, don’t do this. Don’t leave him. Not now. He wouldn’t live long without you. Nothing I could do would make a dent, if you leave him. Don’t kill my favorite lover. Please?"

She patted the top of my hand with her free hand, but said nothing. She gave me one of those professional, forced smiles, pulled her hand away, and left the room. She stopped just outside the door, leaned against the wall, put her hands over her face, and began to cry. Big time. Great. 'Way to go, dumbshit,' I told myself. 'Well, that went over like a lead balloon. At least my intentions were good. Everything else certainly sucked. And that was my last best chance, too. Maybe I made her mad calling her ‘Scully’. Hmmmm.'

I heard Mulder’s voice in the hallway, "Scully what’s wrong? Is Tess okay?"

Oh, REALLY great, Mulder! You’re a dumbshit, too.

Scully was sobbing, "She’s fine, Mulder…I just can’t say the same for myself!"

Mulder looked in the door, and smiled nervously at me. I furiously waved him away, and mouthed the words, ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ I raised the head of my bed until I could partially see them standing in the hall. So call me nosy. Scully was still just outside the door, face in hands.

Mulder stood in front of her, moved her hands from her face, took her by the shoulders, and crouched down to get at eye level.

"Scully, what is it?"

She tried to stop crying, and said, "Mulder, why do you do this to me? Why can’t you just let me go? Are we really any good at all for each other, Mulder?"

Mulder looked in at me. I gave him a big thumb’s up, and winked. He smiled. Thank goodness. He looked at Scully, raising her chin with his fingers to look her square in the eye. Uh-oh, she’s a goner.

He said, "I think we are, Scully. How many ways can I tell you I need you? And I already told you once that I love you."

"You weren’t yourself when you said that, Mulder. I took it with a grain of salt, so to speak." He wiped tears from her face, as she spoke.

Mulder joked, "Yeah. ‘Oh brother’ was just the reaction I was looking for, too."

I just had to pipe in, "Did you happen to notice that he just told you again, Scully? Is he ‘himself’ enough for you right now, for cryin’ out loud?"

Mulder was smiling now, and I kind of think Scully was, too.

As Mulder waved me off this time, he said to Scully, "You didn’t believe me, because you had no proof, right?"

I could see her grinning, even from my profile view of her face.

She said, "Yeah, like the boat thing. That was your imagination, too." (Boat thing? Now I’m really lost.)

"Scully, it wasn’t my imagination. I’m telling you, we were…."

Scully interrupted him, "Just shut up and kiss me, Mulder."

"What?" Mulder looked stunned.

This had gone quite far enough, so I piped in again, "She said, ‘Just shut up and kiss me, Mulder!’ Geez! Even I heard that! I can’t believe you weren’t listening!"

Have you ever felt good that your heart was breaking? Sure it hurt, but it hurt in a really good way.

Scully got herself a very impressive kiss. I’d call it ‘the kiss of the century’. Lucky bitch. And the rest is……the future.

It’s been almost three months since the night I met Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. Two more days to exactly. I’ve got it marked on my calendar! The man who shot Agent Mulder and myself, was never found, never arrested. He got away with it, in other words. So now, the case has been classified as something called an "X-File". Which means that it’s unsolved, and unexplained. Wonder why it’s not called a "U-File"? The only motive anyone could ever assess, was that it may have had something to do with some files which were apparently erased from Mulder’s home computer sometime around the time of the shooting. Even that couldn’t be precisely pinpointed. Mulder ultimately determined that the man came into the apartment assuming no one was home, and accosted Mulder, when he heard Mulder in his bedroom getting ready for work. Not sure why he didn’t just leave at that point, ya know? But then when I heard gunshots, showing up immediately at the door, he had no escape, so he waited inside, probably hoping I’d go away, until I actually entered the apartment, and he shot me, as well. The big jerk. What an asshole! That was basically all I was told, and it’s really all I needed or wanted to know. Just so it never happens again, I really don’t care why or who. Still, throwing rocks at the guy still appeals to me in a big way. Maybe someday. We could all go, and take a picnic lunch.

Turns out the doctor who was supposed to do surgery on me when I was shot, was some kind of mentally unbalanced individual with a serious drug habit, and almost ended my life attempting what should have been a fairly routine procedure. Subsequently, the O.R. staff sorta freaked, and just sewed me up, bullet and all, in some twisted attempt to save me from the botched surgery, and save the surgeon from having his license revoked. What a plan, eh? So, when the doctor found out I didn’t die, he came up with the idea of just letting me die. Maybe no one would notice. And had it not been for Mulder and Scully, his plan probably would’ve worked just like he’d envisioned it. No connection in the two attempts on my life in one day. It was two different people, for two completely different reasons. Strictly coincidental. In spite of all this, I did not seek to press charges, or bring suit against any of the guilty parties. No family to share a big settlement with, my ex doesn’t need the money, but I suppose I could’ve given it to charity. Hell, I lived through it. Just keep them away from me, was all I asked. Mulder, on the other hand, chose not to be so generous. He found a multitude of ways to get as many of the responsible parties tried and convicted and imprisoned for as long as the law will allow. He’s pursued them all doggedly, too. Heed my warning, all you criminal types. Don’t fuck with Mulder. You’ll be sorry, long before you’ll be dead.

I spent another week in the hospital after THE kiss event of the century, with regular visits from both my favorite kissing FBI Agents. And with that quality care everyone talks about, but seldom gives anyone, I made a complete recovery. Pookie was happier to see me alive than anyone else. Poor fella. I had lots of making up to do with Pookie.

My first life changing decision from there was to call Phil and get taken permanently off the list. He was disappointed, but was completely cool about it, just like he said. Consequently, I didn’t really have a lot to do anymore, so I started looking for a new place to live, away from DC. And ultimately, away from the daily hunger pang of knowing that Mulder was so close, and yet ever so far away. I called my ex to make sure he had no huge problem with me selling the townhouse, and moving farther away. I wasn’t surprised that he really didn’t care. Just let his secretary know the details, he said. He’d need to know how to get in touch with me. Yeah, and where to send money, I thought. Maybe I should’ve sued, after all. I hoped to get myself into a position soon where I didn’t need his money anymore, but I’d hang on to the privilege a while longer.

I didn’t hear from Mulder or Scully again, once I got out of the hospital, but I’d kind of expected that. I’d enjoyed getting to know them. They could be such a hoot. Made for each other, those two. (Damn it.) Still, I would catch myself daydreaming about Scully finding someone she loved more than Mulder, just about the time Mulder realized he loved me more than her, and….I know, incredibly stupid. That’s why we call them dreams, because they’re too stupid to be real. Not a chance. If only I’d never had sex with him, maybe….What am I saying? I’d be a much poorer individual. That’s for sure. I wouldn’t trade Mulder night for anything in the world, to this day. I wonder if Scully agrees with my critique of Mulder’s remarkable capabilities in the field of lovemaking. Maybe I’ll call her someday and ask. You know, someday when I feel like I need a good cussing out or something.

Six months after The Mulder Night of My Life In Bed: (To the day)

I was packing to move. I had most of the little stuff packed and had made arrangements for the furniture. I’d found a really fabulous little place in North Carolina. Small town, close enough to a big town. Lots of sky and mountains and trees, and green, green, everywhere…..reminded me of Eyes, somehow. But what didn’t? I was excited in way. As was Pookie, I think. He knew I was looking for a big open place for him to chase things and have a great time, ‘cause I’d told him. New place, new start. Today he looked a little bummed, lying out on that tiny patio of mine. I was down to packing clothes I wasn’t going to need before the actual moving day, when the doorbell rang. Phil was the first person I thought of. What I saw through the peephole, came as a total surprise. To this day, I’m not sure why.

"Mulder!"

I threw my arms around his neck, and hugged him as long as he’d let me. I think he understood. He was very patient with me. I began to cry, in spite of my best efforts not to.

"How are you, Tess?" he said, when I finally let go. He brushed the hair back off my face, and wiped off the remaining tears. "Still gorgeous, I see," he said.

"Oh Mulder, don’t bullshit me. This may very well be the last time you see me. Why lie to me, now?"

"Well, you haven’t changed a bit? Still can’t take a compliment, can you?" he smiled and said.

"So what are you doing here? You on a case?" I asked.

He was dressed to kill. Bad guys, that is. I don’t normally go for the business suit look…I think jeans are more my thing for him, but still, this was Mulder. He looked hot. I honestly had no idea why he’d be here. At that particular moment, at least.

"Yes, of course. At least, that’s where Scully thinks I am. But a case is not why I’m here," he said.

"Well, sit down, please. How is Scully?" I started toward the back room to deposit the clothes I’d folded.

"Mean as ever," he said without laughing.

"That’s good to hear," as I came back in, smiled, and sat down next to him. I said, "So why are you here, and how many years can you stay?"

He smiled only slightly, and then looked at me a little too serious for my comfort. And he didn’t answer my question.

"What’s wrong, Mulder? You’re making me uncomfortable all of a sudden," I bent over a little, to look him in the face, as he stared at the floor.

"Nothing, Tess. Really. I just wish I had better news for you about me and Scully. I know how hard you tried," he said without looking up.

"Not to mention the sacrifices I made," I said, pretending to be on the verge of tears.

I was trying to be funny, but apparently, I wasn’t. I felt a little nauseated. Every feeling affects my stomach these days. I had this awful feeling there were problems between them, and they weren’t going to be easy to fix. So they still haven’t…..I don’t believe it! Can’t be, can it? I didn’t want to be my usual buttinsky self, so I sat and waited for him to speak. Which was incredibly tough for me.

"Don’t worry, Tess. Scully and I are together. I’m sure we always will be. But the romance just isn’t panning out. It just isn’t what we need from each other right now," he said, like he was apologizing to me.

At least she didn’t leave him, I thought. I did that much right, anyway.

He continued, "And when I heard that you were leaving town…..it made me feel kind of…I don’t know …like you do when you lose a limb or an organ, I guess. So I wanted to come see you before you left for good. Say goodbye, at least."

"That certainly was a tasteful way of putting it, Mulder. Now if you’d kindly explain what the Hell you mean by that….Losing an organ? You lost me on that one," I said, scratching my head.

"Like something you don’t realize how much you care about until someone takes it away. Like tonsils. I really miss my tonsils terribly," he said smiling, and looked at me like even he didn’t know what he meant by that.

Well, that was sweet…I guess. I didn’t know if I should be insulted or ecstatic. I also couldn’t imagine how he found out I was moving. Maybe I didn’t want to know how he found out. So, he hoped I’d be here to come running to every time he and Scully weren’t hitting it off, and now I wouldn’t be here. Gee, you’re breaking my heart, Mulder. You son of a ……What am I thinking? How wonderful! But how awful. Isn’t this exactly where we’d started? I decided not to say anything just yet. I craved a bit more detail.

"Honestly, Tess, I was a little pissed that your were going to leave town without telling me. I thought…."

Ruh-roh, he hit a nerve. "Whoa, wait just a damn minute! It’s been almost six months since I last spoke to you. Last time I checked, we weren’t exactly an item, ya know what I mean? That day you finally kissed Scully at the hospital, which I’m still proud to have been present for, only after I’d made her cry, of course….I took that to be my swan song. I’d set you and Scully on the road to romance, I thought, and hey, I’m outta there. I’ve done my Girl Scout good deed of the day. I figured you’d both seen enough of me for one lifetime. Once I got out of the hospital, neither of you contacted me. I figure, that’s it. I’m on my own."

"So, dialing a phone is not among your many talents?" he asked.

"Okay smartass, I get your drift. But what you don’t seem to understand is that my number one goal in life has always been to avoid being a nuisance. Especially to you, sweetness," I said as nicely as I’m capable of.

"Nuisance? So what about being a friend? Is the definition the same for both to you?" He looked hurt when he said that.

"Not necessarily, but could be, I suppose. I guess I never thought of myself as good friend material for either you or Scully." I said, trying to back myself off a little.

"Tess, the most aggravating thing about you is the way you are consistently underestimating yourself," he said, exasperated.

"Mulder, I was a prostitute. Like you and Scully would need or want a prostitute for a friend," I wondered if he’d notice the past tense….

"Was?" he quizzed.

He noticed. I said, "Yeah. I called …..uh…. my ‘supervisor’ right after I got out of the hospital, and took myself permanently off the list."

"Tess, that’s great! From my point of view, anyway. I bet your regulars are climbing the walls about now, though."

"Mmmm. May be," I smiled, and responded.

There was a long uncomfortable silence.

Mulder finally spoke, "Tess, do you really have to move? I’ll worry about you, being so much farther away."

I had a range of emotions welling up inside of me at this point…. anger, confusion, compassion, resolve, love for the man sitting next to me, you name it. I wasn’t sure what to think about the question he just asked me.

I finally said, "But Mulder, I’m already light years away."

He looked at me with those wonderful sad eyes, like he wanted to cry. I wanted to cry, too.

Instead, I took a very deep breath and said, "Mulder, I don’t want to try and live my life alone again, knowing you’re so close by, but still, in fact, really very far away. I couldn’t help but think it would make my days easier if you were simply far away, in every way. I need to go someplace where nobody knows me, knows my face, my reputation, wants to shoot me. I have to start over somehow."

He seemed resigned to the fact that I spoke the truth, and said, "Promise me you won’t go someplace else and start over being a hooker, just because it’s easy."

"And profitable," I added, and said, "Well, I do always have my Masters in psychology to fall back on. I guess I could use that for something."

"What?! You have a….Tess….Jesus, and you became a prostitute? Why?" he couldn’t believe what I’d just sprung on him. I'd never wanted to sound like I was bragging, or just totally stupid.

So I said, "And you thought all this time that I was just toying with you that night we met. Actually, I was studying you. A research project. My favorite. You’re a brilliant study, by the way. I loved every crumb you threw at me, too." He smiled.

I continued, "But I have to stop myself sometime. You and me ain’t meant to be. Pretending only makes it harder to let go. And I have to let go. You belong with, you belong to Scully. It’s so obvious, it breaks my heart. But it’s undeniable, just the same. I could never be an important part of your life without interfering with the bond the two of you have shared and nurtured. There’s nothing I’d rather not be, than the person who comes between you in any way." I noticed I was seriously trembling, but I had to say, "I love you, Mulder, and I really want to. But I can’t. I have to go."

"Tess," he said, "You already are an important part of my life. You are part of my memory. One of the best parts. That’s nothing to sneeze at, ya know."

He put his hands around my face, and gazed into my eyes. I was quickly turning to butter… the melted variety.

"Why are you shaking?" he asked.

"Please Mulder," I begged. "Don’t make this any harder than it already is. You kiss me, and it’s the same as torturing me."

I watched his eyes for a while longer. They are really special this close up. I couldn’t see wasting this opportunity.

After a few seconds of studying those eyes, you know… back and forth, from one to the other, I said, "Can you, like, turn those on and off?" Mulder started to laugh, but I continued, "Cause if you can, I wish you’d, like, turn them off and save some of that wattage for Scully...."

When he finally stopped laughing, he took my face into his hands again…just killing me with those peepers. Jeepers, creepers.

He smiled and said, like the FBI kinda guy he is, "Tess, if you really are going to leave me, would it not seem appropriate that I leave you…..with the one thing you want from me more than anything else?"

Now, I hadn’t thought of it that way….

I finally responded, "As shallow as that makes me sound, I must admit, it makes a lot of sense. I never thought of myself as all that totally deep anyway. So I’ve got a deep end, and a shallow end. Just like the ‘Y’."

He smiled and ….well you know about those impressive kisses. I fancied myself in the last of Heaven I’d quite possibly ever know. The kiss had to end, but not for a while. I opened my eyes to see him studying my face again.

Mulder spoke again, "Still good?"

"Mmmmm. Good." I tried to sound like the Cookie Monster.

I’ll let you use your imagination again to decide where the afternoon went from there, but I will kindly give you one last clue…

He then said, with only the slightest hesitation, "Tess, ya know there’s something I want to believe that I saw, but I just can’t quite remember….could I ….um…maybe see that tattoo one more time before you go?"

A week after my last memory of Mulder, I stood in the foyer surveying the now vacant home I’d occupied for close to two years. Funny, there wasn’t really a lot of memory to this house. It had been just me and Pookie, for the most part. Most of my fondest memories were of getting to know, and sometimes wanting to kill him. I lost more shoes than you can imagine. And he could find the spookiest ways of getting at them, too.

Pookie was pulling at his leash, scratching the front door.

"POOKIE!" I said loudly.

He turned to look at me…’What?’

"Patience, Pookie…It’s a virtue, even in dogs. Chill. I’m doing the sentimental, okay?"

He tilted his head to one side. You know that look.

"You heard me," I said.

He sat down to wait patiently. Good boy.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the very spot where I’m standing is where I was standing the first and last time Mulder passed through my door, where I’d stood holding him like there was no tomorrow. Which, in a way, there wasn’t. I looked out the bay window where the sofa had been…that’s where we'd sat together and talked, and laughed, and kissed, and….for the last time. And the loft, my bedroom …..memories so sweet…..I closed my eyes, and bowed my head. The tears came first, then the realization that maybe this was a pretty damn special house, after all. And that this was so much harder than I thought it would be. Wow, this hurts.

I took one last very deep breath to push the tears back down.

"Enough, Tess," I told myself. "Time to go, Pookie," I said to my best friend, "Let’s do it."

Boy, did that bring back memories. It also brought Pookie to his feet, with a wagging tail. I looked back one last time.

"Bye, house. And thanks," I said quietly, and one of those painful adrenaline rushes pumped through my heart, almost bringing more tears. I closed the door behind me, and off we went.

It was a beautiful morning. Should be a nice drive, long or not, I thought. I sat in my car for a moment feeling like I’d forgotten something. I had.

I drove up in front of Mulder’s apartment building, almost without thinking, a little before eight in the morning. I pulled into a space along the curb, a short distance from the sidewalk in front of his building, and turned off the engine. I looked up to see Scully coming out the front door, with Mulder close behind. They were talking. Mulder was grinning, and even laughed as he spoke, Scully wasn’t laughing, but she smiled at him, and shook her head. I felt sure Mulder was laying some weird bullshit on her, as usual. They looked happy, though. Really comfortable, made for each other. As it should be. Yes, Mulder was right…they were together.

Scully handed Mulder the car keys, and they got into a car much like the one I’d driven Mulder home in that night. I watched as they drove away and down the street, until the car disappeared from view. I didn’t notice until I tasted the salt on my lip, but a big tear had run down my face. This was gonna be one of those days. My eyes would be very sore by the time I got where I was going.

I took my notepad and pen out of my purse and started writing what turned out to be three pages of things I wanted to leave for Mulder to remember and understand me by. The first two pages were easy….someone else’s words. On the first page I wrote down the words to the song "I Can Let Go Now",* on the second, the words to "Broken Hearted",* both of which I knew by heart. And both just seemed so fitting for how I felt today, I just had to, I guess….maybe I wanted him to know I was okay, that he needn’t worry for the health of my psyche. I’d make it, but it would certainly hurt, in the meantime. On the third and toughest of the three pages, I wrote;

I folded the pages and slipped them into an envelope. I wrote ‘Mulder’ on the outside.

"Pookie, you stay here a minute. I’ll be right back, buddy, okay?"

He gave me a ‘sure, fine, whatever’ kind of look, and wagged his tail.

When I got to Mulder’s apartment door, I realized I had never given his apartment key back to him. I hadn’t even thought about it since Scully had grilled me about it in the hospital so long ago. ‘So that’s what I ‘d forgotten!’ I thought to myself. I found the key in my purse, opened the door, put the key into the envelope with the pages, sealed it, laying it strategically on the floor where Mulder would have to step on it, when he got home.

I stepped back out into the hallway, and pulled the door closed. As I stood there with my hand on the doorknob, I realized, I let go of this knob, that’s it. "The door" will be locked, and I’ll never be able to pass through it again. This seemed all too final to me. For a moment, I could not let go of that knob. I placed my other hand over the metal numbers on the apartment door….42….4 plus 2 equals 6…4 minus 2 equals 2….no, 3 minus 1 equals 2….there was the equation I’d been trying to solve. Minus 1, that’s me. 3, that’s us, minus 1, that’s me, equals 2, that’s them. The correct answer. I had one hand on the knob, one on the numbers, and I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cooled paint of the door, and cried like a baby for a minute or two. I turned my face to rest my cheek against the door, and continued to sob quietly. "Why does this hurt so much? I planned this whole thing…why does it hurt?" I asked myself, under my breath. I let go of the doorknob. That’s it. Door permanently closed. I stood with my forehead to the door, taking deep breaths. I pressed the palms of my hands flat against the door. Why it made me feel close to him, I’ll never know.

"I really do love this bastard," I whispered, "what a kick in the ass that is."

I closed my eyes, kissed the door with both my lips, and my tears. "I love you, Mulder," I said, almost out loud.

I really did let go. A gunshot to the stomach pales in comparison to the pain I felt. But I really did let go. I backed away from the door, and made my way out of the building, and back down to my car. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to make myself do. But I knew it was right. It just had to be. Just like Mulder and Scully.

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North Carolina is beautiful. I spend my days dealing with everyone’s problems but my own, and I make greeting cards for people who have no problems, except deciding which card to buy. I contacted Mulder, via e-mail, once. I gave him the scoop on life on the farm, and so he’d know where he could find me. He responded to say he’d come visit someday, but I don’t expect him anytime soon. I told him to bring Scully and the elkhound, and we’d make a weekend of it.

Without a doubt, the most special moment I’ve had since moving, was also the biggest surprise I can remember for a while. I found a letter in the mailbox one sunny afternoon. The envelope had a return address written in small print, reading simply, "DS – Washington, DC". Had to be Scully, right? I went into the sunroom, and sat down to ponder the unopened letter in my hand. I was truly almost afraid to open it. I despise bad news. Why would she write me? 'Not gonna know ‘til I read it, am I?' I opened the envelope, much more carefully than is necessary, and braced myself.

Wow. I’m speechless. Again. To be honest, I was crying like a baby, again. For probably half an hour. He owes me something? No way. What more could I ask from the man? I've already been repaid beyond measure. I made sure to fold the letter neatly and put it in my wallet, behind the divider where the paper money goes.

Maybe they actually will do that someday….come for a visit, I mean. I’d truly love it. Or maybe I could fabricate one of those X-File case things they’re so fond of chasing around together. Then they’d come visit, I bet. You know, I’ll have to give that some serious thought…….

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End Of Story!

To the folks at the "Haven", all of whom I admire, and anyone else offended by the ‘other’ factor in my story;

I didn’t notice, until today, that "other" stories were considered unacceptable for submittal to your site. From where I sit, creating a character and dialog was only possible if the character I created was mostly myself. Unrelenting vanity, perhaps? Blatant imagination deficit (BID)? May be, but something tells me it has more to do with being most comfortable with attempting to share what I know, that no one else does. Me. I would have a hard time "being" Scully or Mulder at this moment in time. Everything I tried in that direction seemed silly and unrealistic. As it seems is a problem I also have with describing sexual acts in the kind of detail I’ve learned that fanfic readers have come to expect. I can think of any number of reasons for this glaring incapacity, but I’m sure nobody cares, so I won’t go there. I will, however, apologize for any letdown you suffered due to this inadequacy on my part.

I worked on this story tirelessly. Many hours of unrecoverable sleep were lost to losing myself in the story I was weaving. I’d never wanted to complete something creative so badly. I also didn’t realize until the night before I finished the tale, that it was far less of an original idea than I had even feared it would be…there’s a whole series of stories under the shared theme of ‘what to do with a drunken Mulder’. And I didn’t realize until the day I felt I was finished, and ready to face up to meeting all the criteria for submitting a story, that I’d written something considered taboo for the site I had intended to send it to for critique. There’s a lot to be said for attention to detail, I suppose.

I think a good deal of the time, I write stuff that doesn’t mean anything to anybody except me. It’s not really connected to anything. It’s just me, talking about me. Who wants to read that garbage? I wanted so much to write something that means something to someone other than myself. That is, after all, how this story came about. It is my very first story of any kind, for my entire life span. It may very well be my last. Although the story involves M & S, unfortunately, perhaps, it’s less of an X-Files or M & S story, than it is a study of my deep-seated feelings for this guy named David. And a character he plays named Mulder. And how I can only imagine it would be to meet up with this embodiment of perfection, and find him receptive to getting to know me, as either man. The effect such an occurrence would have on my psyche is one I find fascinating to explore. Since I know it can’t ever be explored any other way than in my imagination, these fleeting glimpses of unreality give me what little mystery I find in living an otherwise normal life. I also thought this might be a story that other Philes who find it difficult to think for Mulder and/or Scully, might be able to relate to. An "yeah, I know just what you mean" kind of story. There has to be at least 20 million or so women who have at least once felt what Tess felt for Mulder, don’t you agree?

Having said all that, I can understand the "other" story objections. I, as well as anybody, know there can be no "other" for Mulder or Scully. Hey, I watch the show every week, too. I know the ire it raises every time a woman so much as looks sideways at Mulder, and vice-versa. I, too, am a member of at least two "Kill Fowley" clubs. And of course, Ed Jerse is the most hated of all X-File characters for all Scully fans. (I still don’t think she slept with the guy, but who knows?) I think my story deals with that ‘no other’ fact in what I hoped was a poignant, heartfelt, humorous, and touching way. I wanted you to feel sympathy for the character unfortunate enough to find something as wonderful as Mulder just out of her reach, just as you’d hope we would feel if it turned out to be you in her shoes.

I love the M & S relationship, and all it’s potential, in all its glory, as much as the next guy. I often wonder if their relationship hasn’t reached such a level of intellectual cohesiveness, that it literally transcends anything they think they can top physically. In other words they get off on ‘fondling’ one another’s brains so much, they’re afraid sex would seem trite in comparison. At the same time, they would ultimately need that physical warmth from somewhere. Seems to me, it would not be something either of them, as human beings, could avoid forever. In an attempt to maintain what they already have together, to avoid upsetting the balance of purity in their friendship, might they not seek elsewhere for this more basic need on occasion? Add anger or alcohol as fuel to any situation between them…stranger things have happened.

I realize that having sex just for the sake of having sex is a pretty outdated idea, but I’d be willing to bet that it still happens. Human beings, and I’ll go out on a limb here and say men, in particular, are naturally predisposed to having that kind of need satisfied. It could almost be rationalized as being instinctual, even though it isn’t. I also realize that our heroes are supposed to be above that sort of thing. But Mulder is only a man, (at least we sincerely hope he’s only a man. With this show, you never know….) after all. And even though he is one of the very best kind of men that there is, he has to have weaknesses. We all do, don’t we? Can you honestly say that you wouldn’t want to be the one standing in front of this man when his weakness finally overcomes him, and he gives in to it? Me? I’d pay admission to be there.

These lapses in good judgement would really have nothing to do with the two of them together. That stands remarkably well as its own impenetrable entity, and always has. Most reassuring of all, is that I also know that they cannot possibly avoid ravaging each other forever. It is a certainty, in my mind, that regardless of any detours they take on their journey, the road they take together will someday bring them to a physical, as well as a lifelong commitment we all feel is inevitable. Whether or not we will ever actually SEE it happen, is a whole other story entirely.

When I look at myself realistically, given a chance to spend even one night with a man so magnificent would find me questioning the logic of passing him up, in favor of doing what might seem the more decent thing to do…. send him on his way hungry. I thought, what a wonderful avenue to explore! I quickly concluded that if this man came to me hungry, I would feed him, without hesitation. Call it a lack of character, courage and conscience, but I would never forgive myself for giving up the chance to know him that well. I believe in the inescapable value of experience, and the memory of it, both bad and good. You learn from the bad, you live for the good, and if you back away far enough to see them all at once, you’ll notice a lovely symmetry between the two.

But then that’s me, again. It’s what I know best. I can’t speak for the rest of you, or Mulder or Scully, and wouldn’t try. More or less, what my story struggles with… How would you deal with loving a man who will be forever grateful for having been fed, but also needed nourishment you couldn’t provide? You face that you’re not the Scully of his dreams, and you send him on his way to find that nourishment elsewhere, and ultimately, you suffer some. You never stop wanting him, you never stop dreaming, but you never see him, at least in the way you want most, again.

The best pain there is, is a pain born of recalling a pleasure not revisited. Trust me, I could live with that pain, and to a certain extent, I do everyday. Only I’ve never had the pleasure to go with it, except for when I wrote this story. It’s as real as it will ever be for me. I can take my comfort in knowing if only for the time it took me to write the story, I became Tess, I felt what she must have felt, good and bad, and, ultimately, I still did what I thought was best…for him, for her, for me. And I’m sorry if you find that offensive. I thought I had a really sweet story here.

Gaye (a.k.a. mulderitzmi)

To Pat Metheny (my main man) & Eric Clapton (a.k.a. "God");

Pat, you need to know that isn’t a guitar you’re picking, it’s my heartstrings. Sounds pretty good, too. Makes my mind go round.

Soul searching wid his gee-tar. Dat's Eric to me. 'Nuff said.

I want to thank both of these gentlemen whose music was listened to incessantly throughout my writing sessions. I could not have dreamed without them. Their work was, and is, an inspiration, indeed. I extend my deepest gratitude for their contribution. Thanks guys!

Now I ask you again….

Gaye (a.k.a. mulderitzmi)

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