Flying Under the Radar
Tesla

TITLE: Flying under the Radar (Part 1 of 7) AUTHOR: Tesla 

RATING: NC-17 

CLASSIFICATION: Mulder/Other

KEYWORDS: None 

ARCHIVE: Okay-dokey 

SPOILERS: None 

DISCLAIMERS: Oh, please. As if.

"Biogenesis" and the whole seventh season never existed, in this universe.

Special thanks to Emerex for Super!Beta

"I'm glad you don't have a lot of chest hair," she said, stroking his shoulder. He grunted, non-commentally, and fished between them for the remote. "No, really, Mulder."

He changed the channel. "Ah ha! I knew you had Fox Sports." He carefully balanced the remote on the back of the couch, and leaned back into her arms. "You can keep rubbing my neck-oops," he shifted and felt on the floor, "My beer-thanks." Slowly, wriggling, he moved until the back of his head rested on her shoulder. Patiently, she kept her hands raised, until he was settled. He held the bottom of the beer bottle on one of her knees and the fist with the remote on the other. "Now, if neither of us has to pee or eat, I'm all set," he told her.

"Glad to hear it," she said, scratching his chest through the sweatshirt. "The thing is, that after years of observation of topless men-"

"Ooh, you hussy-"

"-observations obtained at the swimming pool, I have observed that most men with attractive chest hair usually have unattractive back hair. Ecch."

He was silent. "Jerry Seinfeld. He didn't have any back hair. On the episode when he shaved his chest?"

"We didn't see his back on that one. George Costanza."

"Tom Selleck."

"I didn't think he stripped on 'Friends.'"

"I refer to the classic 'Magnum, P. I.' And I know you watch the reruns."

"I bet all those actors put Nair on their backs. Robin Willliams."

"Brrr. Can we talk about something else?"

"I just though I would mention it, since I saw you admiring yourself in the mirror."

She felt his head bounce on her collarbone, as he craned up at her. "I was scratching my chest. Those mosquito bites itch."

"No one told you to stake out a swamp. You told me yourself, you were just closing old files. Without your partner, I might add. And, you were checking out your chest." She flattened her hands on his shoulders. "A very nice one, too. I was just saying, I don't miss a lot of chest hair."

He put down the beer, and covered her hand with his. "Thank you. I think. Can you stop saying chest hair? For two educated professionals, we talk about some gross-" He belched, suddenly. "Ah, hell." She was shaking with laughter. "Stop laughing. I can see your nose hair from here, you know. We can talk about nose hair."

"You don't need to talk about noses-"she was interrupted by ringing of a cell phone, and stopped laughing.

"I thought I turned that off, " he mutters. "Could be the guys." He swung his feet to the floor, and, stood up, reaching for the jacket slung over a rocking chair. "Mulder." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I am doing something. No, I looked at that file yesterday. Naah. That's okay. Look, I'll see you- He paused, and gave the woman on the couch a grimace she couldn't understand. She wrinkled her forehead back at him. "Thanks, Scully, but I've got plans. I appreciate it. I'll see you Monday." He clicked off the phone, and carefully turned it off before tossing it on top of the jacket. "Scully wanted to know if I saw a report of supernatural statues at a church in Maryland. What did I do with my beer?" He picked up the bottle and lay back down. "You got to love it. When I work weekends, I don't have a life. When she wants to work-what's so funny?"

"Maybe she just wanted to spend a little time with you. A little X-file, a little home-cooking, a little wine.look where it got me."

"Yeah, it's your cooking. That's it. And the fact that you live one block away." He rolled over and tugged on her t-shirt, mumbling all the while. "Six years she acts like I'm Dale Cooper on 'Twin Peaks' and then suddenly she wants my opinion on Catholic phenomena."

She let him pull her shirt off. "Well, remember the line from 'Moonstruck.' You don't shit where you eat."

"They should have remembered that on 'Moonlighting.' Why are you rolling your eyes?"

"Do we watch entirely too much television?"

"We can't help it, we're brainwashed. Hardwired." He shifted. "Speaking of hard."

"Oh, Agent Mulder. Is that your gun?"

TITLE: Flying under the Radar (Part 2 of 7) AUTHOR: Tesla

"It was funny how we met"

If she had known she was going to be mugged, Janet wouldn't have worn her best suit. Of course, she had been to federal court in the District, and she had thought that meeting the new judge was going to be the vital part of the day. Which only showed that her Filofax was lacking an important listing: personal encounters with criminal defendants, as opposed to professional encounters.

She pulled up in front of her building, managing to park under the streetlight. It was already late, and misting. She tried to pop the trunk latch, and belatedly remembered that one of the other lawyers had advised that deactivating the interior trunk latch would keep her from losing everything in an auto B & E. Janet fished her keys out of her purse, and went to get her box of files.

The man grabbed her arm and purse strap. She let him have the purse, but he kept pulling on her. He wanted to---he threw a punch at her, and she dodged; he kicked her shins, and she felt her feet sliding out from under her. Her hands slapped hard at him as she regained her balance. Fear, or adrenaline was driving her breath out of her throat in sobs, and she clutched at the trunk lid, slipping as it swung shut. She snatched at the keys, and they came away in her hand. There was no time to get them in her hand as a weapon, as the man smacked her hard across the face, still trying to grab her.

"Get in the car, bitch," the man panted. She threw the keys as far away as she could, and when he turned his head to see, drove her knee into his groin. He grunted, letting her go; but her momentum had caused her to fall on her knees. For a frozen moment she was still scrambling to get away, and he was still grabbing at her-

"Freeze, asshole." Followed by the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. Asshole froze, and she froze. "You. Down. On your belly. Spread 'em. Wider! Let me see your hands on your head. Good. Now hold the right one-

She sat up in the road to see a plainclothes cop, with one large dress shoe in the middle of the mugger's back, closing his cuffs. He pulled his suit coat down over his now holstered pistol, and turned to her. "Hey," he said, crouching beside her. "How you doin'?"

She swallowed. "I never thought I'd want to kiss a cop." She dimly recognized him-- the runner from next door?

He grinned. "Well, you're still good-I'm only FBI. Can you stand up?" He put one hand under her forearm. She gripped his sleeve, and re-discovered her legs. He held onto her arm, while pulling a cell phone out of his pocket with the other hand. "We'll just call APD, and get them to come get this guy. You'll probably have to go sign some papers at the station-probably take a couple of hours." He punched in-she assumed-911. "This is special agent Fox Mulder. I'm outside Hegel Place Apartments. In the street-I've got a mugger cuffed and ready for you. Thanks. No, we don't need the paramedics?" He raised his eyebrows at her. She shook her head. "No. Thanks." He closed the phone. "Hey, that's not nice." This last to the mugger, who was cursing them both.

An awful suspicion occurred to her. She staggered on unsteady feet to the mugger and took a good look at him. "Freaky C, " she said, feeling her face flush. This time, the emotional jolt was rage.

The mugger slowly turned his head. "Oh shi-iit. Miz Durrell."

The fed stepped up, grinning. "Well, that's interesting. You two know each other?"

"I represented him in juvenile court."

Mulder started laughing. "This'll get you on America's dumbest criminals, pal. Mugging your own lawyer!"

"No, really, Miz Durrell, I swear I didn't know you! I swear!"

"I should kick you until you're dead. And you know what? Big Cornelius is in the City Jail right now. I just left him an hour ago. I'm going to make sure he knows you jumped me!" In an aside to the agent, she said conversationally, "Big Cornelius is about seven feet tall. He likes me." Back to Freaky C, "How about that? Cornelius won't like it if his case gets put off because you hurt me."

"Miz Durrell, I just wanted to jack you car! You know I don't jump women!"

"Yeah, tell it to your new lawyer. Who'll have to come from another office, 'cause none of the City or County defenders can take you. And you know what? You looked like you resisted arrest. This is a fed. That makes it a federal charge." Oh, she really could kick him. Her foot twitched at the thought.

Mulder looked even more amused. "You know, I can go back to my car if you want to have a private talk. Explain his rights."

"What I want," she said abruptly, "is tequila. Several shots of tequila." She remembered something. "And my car keys."

Mulder swiveled scanning the pavement. "I think I saw-let me go get my flashlight out of the car." But the headlights of the approaching police car forestalled him.

To her dismal non-surprise, she knew the cops, and they, of course, knew Freaky C. But what did surprise her, was that they knew Agent Mulder. He held his hands up in mock innocence as Officer Archer glared at him. "Hey, I was just going home. I don't know them. But could I get my cuffs back?"

Archer transferred his glare to Janet. "Janet, don't we give you enough business without you drumming it up? And stay away from this fed, here. There've been more dead bodies in his building than even I can remember."

The other cop was exchanging cuffs. "Hey, Sarge, this here's Freaky C. Freaky, didn't you just make bond?"

Janet leaned against the side of her car, watching Mulder walking around with his flashlight pointed to the street. Not only good looking, but helpful. She transferred her gaze to the policeman. "Can I come down in the morning, Sarge? I really can't focus. Freaky claims he didn't know it was me, but he jumped me and tried to pull me into the car. I can make a better statement in the morning."

"Some defense lawyer, " Mulder said, coming up to her, with her keys and purse dangling from his hand. "She wants me to say he resisted arrest and pop him with a felony. Here's your keys, and your purse."

She took them. "He's got a felony," she said grimly. "These guys'll tell you I ain't that liberal."

Archer grinned. "Okay, both of you. Come down after two-thirty, tomorrow. I 'll take your statements then. See? I'm a nice guy. It's Friday. Go get a drink."

They watched the cops bundle Freaky into the car and drive away.

"So you were saying about tequila?" he asked blandly.

"Sure. And I always buy for men who save my life." She rubbed her face, and looked down at her knees. "What a tribute to Leggs Sheer Energy. No runs," she murmured. She looked up at his laughing face. "In the movies, you know, we would be at the bar, licking each other's necks instead of salt. But in reality, we're damp, and in my case," she added savagely, brushing at her formerly best suit, " covered with motor oil, and."

"Wearing our office clothes. And wondering where to go get drunk, and who would drive. And what were you saying about necks?"

She flexed her stiff fingers and rotated her head. "I wish I could be coy. Just once in my life. But the truth is, escaping death makes me horny. If I didn't want a drink so badly, I could do you in the car right now."

"Please don't be joking," he said, staring.

"I've been admiring your ass for years." She pointed to her apartment building. "I live next door. I see you out running all the time." She looked up. "Special Agent Mulder, it's starting to rain. What do you want to do?"

He pulled his keys out of his pocket. "I'll drive. I don't mind a little motor oil. Are you the type of woman who gets affectionate when she drinks?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hell, yes. Which is why I usually drink alone."

And that's how Janet started sleeping with an FBI agent.

Flying under the radar (3 of 7) By Tesla

"We reeked of sex for days"

Special Agent Fox Mulder was having a very good Monday morning. He could hardly stand up, and he was sure he had a shit-eating grin on his face, but he felt great. He couldn't remember when he had felt this-satisfied. Yep, there was definitely something to be said about getting some.

He had been prepared for Janet to be kidding him. On the way to the neighborhood Mexican grill, he found himself explaining, in all sincerity, how the fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline caused a mild sexual rush. Janet was inspecting her face in the visor make-up mirror. "It's really a common occurrence," he concluded.

She snorted. "Well, that gives me a whole new picture of federal law enforcement." Her eyes slid sideways. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder, I won't molest you."

"Damn."

"Not while we're eating."

They sat at the bar. "Is eating like a pig consistent with a victim profile?" she asked. He gave her a startled look. She lowered her forkful of rice. "What, is it?"

"Kind of-I was just surprised because I used to be a profiler."

"Oh. Well, since Hazelwood and Douglas and Ressler all wrote their books, I guess profiling just comes to mind. What do you do-if it isn't classified? And does it have anything to do with all the dead bodies and the CDC crash trucks that sealed off your building?"

He sat and looked at her for a moment. She held up her hands. "Never mind."

"No, that's okay-I just am involved with a lot of weird shit. Most of it is so unbelievable that I don't try to explain it. " His cell phone rang. "Mulder. Hi, Frohike. Wait a second." He stood up. "Excuse me for a moment, okay?" She nodded, mouth full. Mulder walked to the end of the bar and towards the restroom. "Hey, Frohike, can you check out somebody? A lawyer here in Alexandria-named Janet Durrell."

Frohike laughed. "Way ahead of you, my man. I picked your names off the police scanners. They thought someone else had got shot in your apartment. They don't like you, Mulder." He heard Byers say something in the background. "Yeah, its him. Byers says she's clean-no connection with any of our friends. Owns her apartment as part of her fee on a big civil case. But she does criminal defense. Family all lives in North Carolina. Single. Does this mean the luscious Dr. Scully is available?"

"She's always been available, Melvin. She likes you more than she does me, anyway."

"That's your fault, Mulder."

Mulder shut off the phone without further comment. He put it in his pocket. It's always my fault, he thought bitterly. The whole fucking world is my fault.

Janet looked up at him when he slid back on the barstool. Her expression changed, out of one of faint annoyance into one of inquiry. "What?" she asked quietly, pushing her platter out of the way.

"Nothing. It's been a shitty day. If you're done, can I have your burrito?" She silently pushed the food to him, and signaled the bartender. Mulder took two bites, and turned back to her. "It's been a shitty year."

The bartender was in front of them. "Top shelf margarita, no salt, on the rocks for me." She looked at Mulder.

"The same," he said.

"Doubles," Janet told the bartender. "Run a tab." She tapped her credit card on the bar. "So you do unbelievable shit and hate your job."

"I don't hate it. I don't see the point of it any more." He looked down at the glass that had materialized in front of him, and took a big gulp. "This is a bad idea." He didn't realize that he had said it aloud, until she smiled.

Janet held out her hand. "Gimme a quarter." Mulder blinked, but played along and pulled a handful of change out of his trouser pocket. She picked a quarter out of his palm. "Okay. You've just retained me. I can't tell a living soul anything you say to me. What's wrong?"

Mulder swallowed. "The kind of work I do got my father killed, and my partner's sister killed. My partner is recovering from cancer, but she's sterile. My sister was abducted when we were kids, and I didn't see her for twenty-five years. I spent years looking for her, and when I found her alive, she didn't want to have a relationship with me. " He took another drink. "My partner thinks-my partner thinks-" he stopped. "That's why I don' t talk about my job."

Janet took a deep breath. "Well, even though we're probably not going to be friends if I pursue this, I'll just say what I think. How is any of this your fault?"

He stared at her. "I'm the psychologist here." His drink had mysteriously refilled, and he drank it.

"Well, excuse me, but I haven't had time to run a background check on you." He flinched at background check, and she ignored him. You may have the degree, but you aren't practicing, are you? And you certainly aren't-"

"It's completely my fault. I started the investigations that made-"

She overrode his voice. "Could you have prevented these from happening? No? Well, would you have done everything in your power to stop them if you could?" She handed him her glass. He drank it, staring sulkily at her. Why the hell was he having this conversation with this total stranger? She put her hand, fleetingly, on his. "Work with me here."

He gave her a half-embarrassed look. "I'm a morose bastard. That's my other problem. Why do you care?"

"You're my hero. You saved me from a bad situation. And I really don't want to think about what Freaky would have done if he'd gotten me in the car." She looked at her watch. "If you can drive, we can get home in time to watch Plan Nine from Outer Space."

"I can drive, " he said. "You're the one who's supposed to be drinking. And Freaky probably would have been horribly embarrassed and let you go."

"Well, stop at the liquor store up the street," she said equably. "I'll drink at home." She picked up her purse. "And Freaky would have raped and killed me and never known the difference. But I bow to your superior experience." She swallowed, hard, but her chin trembled.

"Don't try to be too tough, Counselor," Mulder said gently, rubbing her upper arm.

Back her place-a very nice place, Mulder thought, remembering Frohike's words-Janet turned on the television. "I've got to take off this suit. You really don't have to stay-you don't look comfortable."

Mulder opened his mouth to say goodbye, and found himself saying, "I'll stay. Let me go get my gym bag out of my car, though." She handed him the apartment key.

"Let yourself in. If I'm in the shower, for God's sake don't do the Psycho bit. I'll have a stroke."

She was in the shower when he came back up the stairs, and after a moment's hesitation, he took his bag into the bedroom and changed into his sweats. Jesus, I haven't been in a woman's bedroom in years, he thought. No one but his partner had even touched him for years. And as far as Scully went, she acted like he was-he jumped as the door opened.

"Gosh, I was hoping you weren't decent," Janet said. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and leggings. She eyed his sweatshirt logo. "There's a Knicks game on right now, if you'd prefer." She had the bottle of tequila in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other. "Shot?" She filled the glass.

He took the glass from her and drank it down. "You're really a little upset over tonight, aren't you? Go ahead, you're entitled."

She refilled the glass. "That's why I'm acting this way. I'm extremely upset." She swallowed the tequila, and looked up. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'm very very upset." And she sniffled. Mulder took the glass out of her hand. "Come on. Let's watch tv. I know what it's like. Living alone sucks sometimes, doesn't it?" He put his arm around her shoulders and led her into the living room." The Knicks were playing.

Janet gave a watery chuckle. "Oh, go ahead. You're wearing their sweatshirt." She sat down on the couch and patted it. "Just give me back my glass."

"Give me another shot, " Mulder said, turning up the volume. "This could be a good game."

Mulder jolted awake hours later. ESPN was showing some California game; Janet was nestled drowsily against his chest, and he was as stiff as a board. He was still assimilating this information, when Janet stirred. "I was wondering when you'd wake up," she murmured. She shifted in his arms and laved her tongue against his neck, and put her hand on his erection.

"Will you respect me in the morning? " Mulder asked, "Will you call me, or will I have to follow you around the lunchroom-" Janet straddled him, and put her tongue in his mouth. He put his own hand in her leggings. She was wet. She kept stroking his cock until he shoved her on her back. Grinning at him, she pulled off her leggings and sweatshirt while he pulled off his sweatpants. She was holding out a condom. "Lubricated and ribbed. And EZ-tear. I'm impressed." After rolling on the condom (and happily not ripping it) he crawled back on top of her, and fumbled around between her legs, searching for her opening. "Jesus, you're tight."

She laughed. "It's been so long, I think I was revirginized." He pushed inside her and they both gasped.

"You're lucky I remember how to do this," he said, beginning to stroke her clit. "I haven't-" She wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Oh, I'm lucky, " she said faintly. "Oh God-there-Yes. There," and she suddenly came hard, bucking against him and causing him to come. He collapsed against her, slick with sweat. She held him tightly, and kissed the side of his jaw. He squeezed her, hard. He thought his eyes were crossing.

"Let me clean up, " he said, "and lets go watch the bedroom television." He leaned on his elbows and looked into her dark eyes. "I had a clever remark, but I forgot it."

She smiled at him. "Let's go to bed."

To his surprise, Mulder fell into a deep and dreamless slumber. He awoke while it was still dark, to find Janet's leg slung over his thighs, her breast pressed against his arm. He rolled over and parted her legs, running his fingers over her clit and putting a finger inside. She woke with what he could only call an ecstatic gasp.

"You're a machine," she said. "But let me." And she bent and took his rapidly hardening erection into her mouth.

He decided to let his eyes stay crossed.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice came to him. He realized that he had been sitting and staring at his computer screen for quite some time. He gave her his usual deadpan, affectless expression.

"Oh, morning, Scully."

"I didn't hear from you all weekend," she said, a little sharply. "Which was a nice change, of course, but were you all right?

"Scully," he said, picking up a file, "I'm just fine."

Flying under the radar (4 of 7) By Tesla

The inevitable reaction set in that afternoon. What had he done this weekend? Over and over again. He understood that one part of his brain was giving the automatic "Danger, Will Robinson", telling him to reject Janet before she could reject him. And another part kept saying, "Scully. She's not Scully."

She's not Scully.

But he had to face it. He couldn't have Scully.

He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach, and quickly looked up to make sure his partner was still out of the office. He randomly opened a thick file from his "in" box and pretended to read it, in case she came back.

He could never have Scully. His subconscious had been telling him that for weeks. Months; it wasn't a new idea. She thought he had won. She'd told him so, and she plainly wanted him to come up with a new list of goals, a new plan of how to mop up the consortium, or at the very least, a new list of unexplained case files, chock full of mutants and liverflukes. "Move on,Mulder" seemed to be her unspoken thought. He couldn't move on. He still wanted to see his sister. He still wanted to know why she had been taken, and why Cancerman had raised her.

(And why hadn't Samantha ever tried to find him? And why had she ignored him for two years? One torment at a time, he told himself.)

Scully had recovered her health, but not, apparently, any inclination to let him into her life outside work. She wasn't going anywhere; she wasn't leaving the X-Files or their professional partnership, but she wasn't getting any closer, either. The baseball thing--months ago. He was tired of making up X-files, just to have an excuse to talk to her on Friday night. Tired of making jokes and playing the obsessed victim of a global conspiracy. The gunmen were tired of him--look how they had called _Scully_ to come to Las Vegas.

Scully.

He couldn't think clearly, about her any more. Every thought he had of her was freighted with so much guilt and pain and bitterness, that he didn't want to think of her at all.

Janet would tell him to get on Prozac, he thought. Janet didn't know how truly fucked up he was. He took her business card out of his pocket. What would she think about a guy who was so paranoid, he ran a background check on a possible one-night stand? What would she think if he told her about just one of his regular work-months? Well, she read science fiction. She even had it in the bathroom.

Janet. who wasn't Scully, who was the opposite of Scully, who laughed at all of his jokes, and watched ESPN and bad movies with him, and didn't start a sentence with "But Mulder, the evidence..." The one with the longer legs and the bigger breasts, who fucked his brains out. Who didn't seem to regard him as an encumbrance, or an idiot or a traitor to her cause. Who fucked his brains out.

Okay, he told his id. You win. We'll see how long it takes to totally alienate this lady. Then I'll probably have to move, before she sends Big Cornelius after me.

Flying under the radar (5 of 7) By Tesla

"We hung out and watched a lot of television."

When Janet woke up, sometime in the night, she was alone. Opening her eyes, she saw Mulder silhouetted against the window, staring out into the night. The faint light from the street softened all the sharp planes of his face and hid the lines on his forehead.

God, he was gorgeous. It was so easy to be good to him, because he was so grateful for any uncritical attention, and so receptive to being touched. He was unaware of how he seemed to crave even a little affection. Janet wondered what kind of women he had known. Why hadn't his partner knocked him down and ravished that mouth?

The first few times they had sex, it was hot, sweaty and urgent. Not very romantic. But tonight, she had felt a wash of tenderness coloring her every touch, her every word to him. As though they had been lovers for a long time.

He had come over straight from his car; he had walked across the street, and taken her briefcase out of her hand. "Buy you dinner?" he asked, carefully casual.

"Only if you really want to. I'd rather cook spaghetti; I've been craving it all day."

He gave her a big smile. "Sure. I'd love to eat spaghetti."

As they walked to her building foyer, she said, "You know, if you want to go for a run and come back and eat, that's cool."

He gave her a surprised look. "Maybe later this week, if that's okay. I kind of wanted to hang out, if you don't care."

(What could she say, that wouldn't betray her sudden pity for him?)"Care? I thought you realized I'm a couch potato. Potato Anonymous member: 'My name is Janet and I watch Cops.' "

He had gone straight to her bedroom to hang up his jacket and tie, and unlace his thick, trendy dress shoes. While she shucked off her suit, she heard the small noises of his holster, wallet, keys, badge, coins, and cuffs clinking on the dresser. She went to him, and pulled his face to hers for a kiss. She kissed his lips, both eyelids, and his jaw. Then she hugged him, hard. "What's that for?" he asked, hugging her in return.

"No reason, " she said. She broke away, and finished changing clothes. "Now I gotta cook. Come open the wine?"

Now, watching his brooding profile, Janet felt a strong distaste for every idiotic so-called friend Mulder had. It wasn't as though she had a multitude of her friends in the metro area, but she had more than he did. Even if they were all lawyers or cops, she thought with an inward laugh.

She got out of bed and slid an arm around his waist. He leaned into her; his face still turned outward. "I'd like to go where we could see the stars,' he said quietly.

She stroked his back. "I'd like that. You can't see them here." She yawned, despite herself. "I went to an Astronomy Society program and saw the comet. In fact, we could see the comet from the sidewalk. Remember?"

He looked down at her and gave her his slow, wide smile. "I forgot to look. My friend Frohike went to the same program you did. He wanted me to go." He put both arms around her. "I don't sleep well at night. I don't want to keep you up."

"Come back to bed and turn on the television. It won't bother me. I'll put my Walkman on." At his short laugh, she explained, "I have insomnia, myself, but I usually listen to NPR all night. I sleep with it."

"So that's why you have the headphones under your pillow."

"Yeah, but this bed has good mojo. I sleep pretty well. You have too, so far."

He let her pull him back to bed. "Have I?"

"Well, if snoring is any indication." She was reaching for the television remote, but he caught her wrist, stilling her.

"Let's listen to the radio. Classical music has a soporific effect on me, too."

"Yes, it's amazing how sophisticated we both are." She leaned across him and switched on her boom box. "It's what attracted me to you."

"I thought you liked my ass," he yawned. She began slowly stroking his shoulders and back. "Ooh-I like that. You can do that all night."

"I could tell you were sophisticated from your ass, alone." She felt her own eyes getting heavy. He turned under her stroking hand, and put his arm around her waist.

"I'm good. Go to sleep."

Flying under the Radar (6 of 7) By Tesla

"Scully was surprised."

Mulder hadn't been reading the Weekly World News lately, thought Scully, because he didn't find an X-File to investigate that week. He had sat at his desk, the picture of a model department head, and gone through a stack of case files, and making his comments. The only case he had found of enough interest to mention was one of a serial killer in New York State with similarities to an UNSUB from Canada. It wasn't an X-File, he told Scully, just a little "hinky." That was Tuesday; he spent Wednesday and Thursday in silent contemplation of the lab reports, while Scully finished entering her autopsy reports into the FBI database.

It was almost like being a normal agent, back in the bullpen, except Mulder actually did his assigned work. He was still there in the basement office when she got in every morning, but he didn't look like he had spent the night and showered in the gym. These signs of responsible behavior made Scully feel suspicious.

Maybe the Gunmen have him involved in something off the clock, she thought. That would explain his placid behavior at work-he was cooking up something disgusting. Well, she would just get some personal time in, before he dragged her to: (a) a haunted fish cannery, (b) a restricted government research area, or (c) Graceland.

"Mulder," she said.

He looked up, blinking owlishly over his reading glasses.

"Since you don't have anything you need me to autopsy, I think I'll take a half-day tomorrow, and get a head-start on the weekend."

"Sure, Scully," Mulder said, and went back to sorting crime photos. "You don 't take enough time off."

"Oh, this from the man who was forced to go on vacation."

"True, but I never said I was normal," he said, pleasantly enough. He looked up from a particularly grisly photo. "Take the whole day, if you like. Skinner will be thrilled and delighted."

She frowned. "Skinner? Why?"

"He said we were building up too much vacation time again or something. Throwing off the statistical average is apparently the new no-no. So have a nice weekend." He found the picture he wanted, and bent back over the file.

"Okay, Mulder. I'll see you Monday, then."

He waved goodbye without looking up.

So here she was on a nice Friday evening, after a day shopping at Georgetown Mall, going into her favorite new restaurant to meet two girlfriends. She still felt vaguely dissatisfied about her day away from work. You're just worried Mulder will ruin it, she told herself. It's been so long that you've had a life, you don't know what to do with yourself.

The restaurant had a large, central bar, surrounded by booths and tables. Although the bar had the usual television screens, complete with baseball, the effect wasn't distracting, and the sound wasn't audible where she was sitting; instead, she could hear Fifties jazz. Scully settled back on the padded bench with a pleased sigh, and ordered a glass of California Shiraz. "My friends won't be here for about thirty minutes, "she told the waiter. "But I'll go ahead and look at the menu."

Scully alternated sips of wine with glances around the room, which was just beginning to fill up with the happy hour crowd. She thought she saw a familiar post-modern haircut, and did a double take.

Mulder.

He was at the bar, tieless, but wearing his jacket. So he had left early, too. There was no way he could have followed her-no, that was too weird, even for her partner. She leaned back, studying him.

It was odd to watch him while he was unaware of her presence. He was squinting up at the baseball game, making some comment to another barfly. She was a little surprised to note that he quite match up to her mental picture of "Mulder." She still thought of him as wiry, but he was really a very solidly built man. Not a young man, any more. He was going to be thirty-eight next month. And his haircut exposed a receding hairline and a lot of facial lines that hadn't been there when they met. That was strange-she could compare her new-agent self to the present and feel happy. She looked the best she had in her life, despite the abductions, Melissa's death, the cancer, and the New York gunshot wound. Mulder was the one who looked aged. Don't start feeling sorry for Mulder, of all people, she thought firmly.

Before she could pursue that idea, the bartender moved, and she realized that Mulder was not alone. Very much not alone. Some blonde bimbette with large breasts was leaning on his every word, pointing to the television screen, and laughing. Mulder pretended to flick the woman on the nose, and she swatted his hand. What was this, his pick-up place?

Scully told herself that she was annoyed because Mulder was making a fool of himself, and that she resented his intrusion into "her" territory. Maybe I could meet the others at the door and go somewhere else, she was thinking, when Mulder pulled out his wallet and tossed a bill on the bar. He and his date stood up, and came towards her. He put his arm around the woman as they walked out.

Scully didn't know why she leaned back in her booth and pretended to study the menu, when Mulder didn't even see her. He was laughing at something the blonde said. "You are truly twisted," he was saying, still laughing, and then they were out the front door and walking down the sidewalk.

Oh, God, Scully thought, he's answered a personal ad.

Flying under the Radar (7 of &) By Tesla

"But there's always something."

Janet was deeply involved with her leaking tire. "Is that code for something kinky?" Mulder asked hopefully.

She snorted into the phone. "No. I stopped by Wal-Mart and bought a tire gauge. I think I bought a defective tire, so I'm going to check it for a few days before I go in and threaten Goodyear."

"And I thought I lived life on the edge. Do you want to walk over to the coffee shop? Unless you want to sit beside your car and take hourly checks."

"Sure. We can go now."

"Meet you outside."

Outdoors, Mulder pretended that he wasn't supervising. "Admit it," Janet said, wiping her fingers off on a tissue, " It's genetic. Males don't think women can do anything with a car." She dropped the gauge into her shirt pocket.

Mulder wrinkled his forehead. "Have you actually changed a flat tire?"

"No," she said reluctantly.

"And that would be because."

"Somebody has always taken the tire iron out of my hand and finished. "

"Some man."

"No, actually, three girls going to play church softball changed my tire once. I must send out waves of incompetence."

Mulder laughed, and they stepped back on the sidewalk to go to the coffee shop. They had gone around the corner of his apartment building, and she was telling him about her latest stupid criminal nominee, when a man in a leather jacket slid between two Dumpsters, and accosted them.

"Krycek," Mulder said. He stepped away from Janet, his face cold and hard, and his entire body stiffening.

The other man smiled. "That's not very friendly, Mulder. I came to do you a favor." He made a slight motion, and Mulder hit him. The two scuffled, "Krycek" clubbing at Mulder with a stiff left arm, and Mulder getting his hands around the other man's throat.

The two had moved in their struggles, so that Krycek had Mulder against the Dumpster, a gun pressed to his neck. "I wanted to give you-" He stopped, as Janet pressed the end of the tire gauge into the base of his skull.

"Give Mulder the gun," she said. "And don't bump my arm. This thing goes off-" But Krycek had silently placed the small gun in Mulder's hand, still pressed against him.

"Step back to the sidewalk," Mulder told her. He pushed Krycek away. "You wanted to give me what?" Janet stopped at the street and watched.

"An address," Krycek said. "It's in my pocket."

"Slowly," Mulder said. His voice was cold, but his face was still flushed. He watched Krycek pull a slip of yellow paper out of his right pocket. For the first time, Janet realized that Krycek had an artificial left arm. A one-armed man? I'm with Richard Kimble?

"Drop it on the ground, here. " Mulder said. He put his foot over the fluttering slip. "Why-" Janet didn't see any distraction or flicker of Mulder's eyes, but Krycek must have; he suddenly kicked the gun out of Mulder's hand, knocked Mulder down, and whirled to run. Janet froze, clutching the tire gauge. Krycek looked at her hand, and he stilled, an extraordinary expression on his face, even though Mulder was getting to his feet behind him.

"Be careful, little sister," he said. "Get rid of that. It can be traced." And he ran, down the alleyway, Mulder after him. Janet stood and stared, her mouth open. She bent and picked up the paper; it had a Maryland address. After a minute, she realized that Mulder wasn't coming back any time in the next few minutes, and she walked back around Mulder's building and crossed the street to her apartment.

No wonder Mulder didn't talk about his work; he was right. It was weird shit no one would believe. Slavic names? One-armed men? Little Sister? What the hell was that about?

She had microwaved a tamale dinner and had eaten it before Mulder buzzed her. (He always tried to use the Close Encounters musical sign.) She hit the building lock, and went back to the couch. Mulder stomped in, face flushed and haircut standing on end. He came over and sat next to her.

"Did you get that paper?" he asked, looking tired. "I lost him. " She pointed to her coffee table, and he picked it up, glancing at the address. He looked up, and suddenly grinned. "I'll never make fun of your tire gauge again. " He picked it up from the table with his other hand.

"I thought he would think it was a gun, " she said, narrowing her eyes, "but he thought it was something else."

"Yeah, he thought it was a pressurized stiletto. Very rare. Only the members of a certain organization have them. And what was so perfect, was that you put it exactly," he raised the gauge and put it on the base of her skull, "here. Instant death." He put it back on the table. "Priceless."

"Did you hear what he said to me?" she asked. His head came up sharply.

"What?" Mulder barked, all amusement gone. "He didn't know you, did he?"

"No-" she repeated Krycek's words. Mulder sat back, taking her left hand in his, and tracing the lines in her palm. He blinked, visibly processing the information.

"You're safe," he said finally, squeezing your hand. "He was waiting for me, because he knows where I live. He didn't know you." The corner of his mouth twitched up. "And now he thinks you were a fellow traveler. If he wanted to do anything to you, he wouldn't have bothered to warn you to get rid of the stiletto." He leaned back, beginning to chuckle. "I bet he almost shit when saw that thing in your hand." He wiped a hand over his face, and sobered. Getting up, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and punched a number.

"It's me. I just saw Krycek. No, he got away. But he left me an address-yes, I know it could be a trap. That's why I'm calling. Well, I won' t leave without you. That's why I called. Maryland. Not too far away. I don' t think there's time to call a team. I'll meet you. I'm leaving." He closed the phone. "I'm leaving," he repeated to Janet. He seemed defensive, as if he expected her to argue.

She shrugged, looking up at him from where he stood in front of her. "Scully 's going with you?" He nodded. "Okay, G-man. Have fun in Maryland." She stood up and put her arms around his neck. "Was I supposed to be crying here? You seem like you have the situation under control."

Mulder kissed her. "Keep your tire gauge handy," he said, and gently removed her arms from his neck. "Gotta go."

It was hours later. She was lying on her couch, slow tears leaking from her eyes. Had she said the right thing? Was this some kind of test? Maybe she should have acted more concerned. He seemed to expect her to do something else. "I'm not going to freak out," she said aloud. But oh, God, where was he?

The phone rang. "Hello?"

"It was an empty house," Mulder said, without preamble. She heard car noises. "I'll have to run some checks, see who owned it, that kind of thing. "

"No bodies?"

"Naah, and here was Scully with her bag of saws. I just dropped her off. She's getting antsy. If she doesn't get to autopsy something soon---well." He paused, and she heard the car radio playing Elvis. "I didn't want you to worry," he said in a slightly different voice. "I may go on over to Frohike 's place and get him to look at this address."

"Okay," she said, wiping her eyes. "Well, I was just practicing my stiletto technique. It's been a slow evening." Despite herself, she sniffled.

"Have you got a cold?" he teased. "Or were you watching Shakespeare in Love again?"

"You--. It's the other way I cope with my flight-or-fight adrenaline rush."

"You weren't worried about me? Not the tough lawyer lady?" He paused again. "You know, speaking of that adrenaline rush-I think I'll call Frohike about that address. I'm having a delayed reaction."

She had to laugh. "How close are you?"

"Janet! Oh, you mean in miles?" She hung up on his chortle, and went to wash the mascara streaks from her face.

"I guess I passed the test," she told her reflection.

End.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: All my thanks to Emerex, who helped and encouraged me more than I can express. She is my Super!Beta.

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