NEON

by:

CHERYL COHEN
(CherylC561@aol.com)

&

ANNIE REED
(FancyKatz@aol.com)

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

Cheryl got to do the last forward, so I'm doing this one. ;) We came up with
the idea for this story about halfway through "Sanctuary", our third
joint-writing project. I had an idea for a story set in my home town and I told
it to Cheryl. She put her own unique twist on it and "Neon" was born.

Some of the locations in this story are real, others are purely fictional and
included just to move the story along. The Fallon Naval Air Station *is* the
new home for the Navy's Top Gun fighter school.

Annie, you didn't think I'd let you have the WHOLE forward did you? This thing
has taken over a year to complete and I just had to open my mouth at least once.
Well, we've got a little bit of everything in this one. Intrigue, angst, sex,
humor, sex, violence, sex, conspiracies, aliens, sex..PICTURES (some of these
are NC17 too I guess) All right, I have a one tract mind so sue me. On second
thought, Chris?? I really don't have any money so if you did sue me, all you'd
have to look forward to is a slightly abused Dodge pick up truck -- hardly worth
the effort --right? Oh and I suppose you'd have to rate this little tale NC17
for all the good stuff we're not supposed to like.
Enjoy!
*****************************************************************************

This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter,
the Fox
Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the
property of those entities and are used without permission, although no
copyright infringements are intended.

***********************************************************
Discovery
Chapter 1

Four months ago
Fallon Naval Air Station, Fallon, Nevada

Scott Simons adjusted the controls of the electron microscope carefully, trying
to bring the delicate crystalline structure inside the machine into focus. He
was almost there when he heard the roar and felt the shaking begin. "Oh, no,
not again!" he groaned, bracing himself for the inevitable sonic boom. Even
though it was somewhat muffled by the dirt surrounding the walls of his bunker
turned laboratory, the boom still made the walls vibrate and the equipment
rattle. Scott turned glaring eyes heavenward, almost seeing in his mind the
Navy fighter jets that had just buzzed this part of the base at better than Mach
1. What he saw instead was a fine cloud of dust shifting in through the cracks
in the ceiling. How the hell he was expected to keep anything close to a clean
room under these conditions was beyond him.

When the noise had faded and rattling stopped, Scott turned dejected eyes back
toward the microscope. He already knew what he would find, but he had to look
just to make sure. "Goddamn it," he breathed as he peered at the crystal, its
structure shattered and useless.

"Having problems?" a dry voice asked from the far end of the room.

Scott knew who it was before he even turned around. The smell of cigarettes
that accompanied this man wherever he went was a dead giveaway. It looked like
his complaints had finally made it through to someone who actually had some
clout. Maybe now things would change.

"It's about goddamn time," Scott said as he turned to face the man. "And put
that damn thing out," he added, pointing to the cigarette dangling from the
man's right hand. "You have any idea how much cigarette smoke can screw up this
equipment?"

The man complied, but slowly, making sure Scott knew exactly who was in charge
here. "Your reports would seem to indicate that things are already 'screwed
up'," he commented.

Something about the man's tone put Scott on the defensive. He didn't like being
on the defensive. "Yeah, you're right, they are screwed up. And they're gonna
stay that way until I can get some peace and quiet around here. This morning's
little fly-by cost me a month's worth of prep time. I'll have to start the
whole damn thing over again. And this isn't the first time it's happened. Oh,
no, not by a long shot. I don't know how the hell you expect me to get anything
done working under conditions like this."

"There are worse conditions," the man replied. "The Brazilian rain forest comes
to mind."

"I'm not a toxicologist and you know it," Scott snapped, "so don't go thr
eatening me with transfer to some infernal jungle. I thought you took care of
your people. That *was* in the recruitment speech, wasn't it?"

"We recruited you for results, not complaints and excuses. Your work was
impeccable up until 6 months ago. I'm here to inform you that your work needs
to be impeccable again."

"Or what? You gonna fire me?" Scott asked. If he hadn't been so angry, he
might have noticed the ominous tone of the man's voice and not made that remark.
But Scott was seeing red and didn't stop to consider the implications of what he
said.

"Firing is not an option," the man replied. "I thought that was made clear, as
well, during 'recruitment', as you call it."

That did get through to Scott. He sat back down on his lab stool, some of the
color draining from his face. "If you want results, you've got to do something
about these conditions," he insisted. "It's not reasonable to expect me to
produce my best work when my experiments are constantly being ruined. If you
can't move them, move me someplace suitable."

"That is not an option, either," the man replied. Scott watched as he took the
soft pack of Morleys out of his jacket pocket and pulled one loose. He made no
move to light it, so Scott figured he was only using it for effect, maybe
another form of intimation, another reminder that Scott worked for him, not the
other way around. Or maybe this asshole just thought better with a cigarette in
his hand. "Money's tight everywhere, Dr. Simons," the man continued as he
fingered the unlit cigarette. "Even for us. No money to move you, no money for
staff, and... " he paused and looked directly into the scientist's eyes, "no
money for raises, either."

Scott hadn't had a raise in more than five years, and on hearing that last
little bit of news, he exploded off his stool. "Great! Oh, just great! 'Come
work with us, unlock the secrets of the universe, and you'll be rewarded
handsomely for your efforts,'" he said, mimicking the recruitment speech he'd
been given, all caution thrown to the wind now. "Yeah, right. Some rewards.
Stuck out in the middle of the goddamn Nevada desert. It was bad enough when it
was just a sleepy little air station, but no, we have to make it even worse.
Guess what, Dr. Simons, Congress is moving the Top Gun school here. We can't
upset all those hot shot pilots, so you'll just have to adjust your schedule.
Work around the construction, and the noise, and all the additional personnel.
Don't let anyone see you. Remember, you're not 'regular' military. No one
knows what you really do." Scott turned and hurled his stool at the far wall.
It clattered to the floor to the floor, breaking surprisingly few bottles, jars,
and instruments on its way down. "Yeah, and no one cares, either. Maybe I
should just chuck the whole thing and sell what I know to the highest bidder.
Bet somebody would care then."

Scott's visitor simply stood and let him work out his frustration. Scott knew
it probably wasn't the first time in his long and varied career as arbiter of
what the public did and did not need to know that he'd listened to someone vent
their anger at the system, and he had no grand illusions that his temper tantrum
was going to get him what he wanted. But he'd be damned if he'd just bend over
and take it like a good little boy while they reamed him once again. Oh, no,
not this time.

"That would not be a wise idea," the man finally said, his eyes narrowing as he
lit up the cigarette while Scott glowered at him. "No one's indispensable. Not
you, not even me. I'd keep that in mind if I were you."
Scott narrowed his eyes. "Is that a threat?" he asked quietly.

"We don't threaten. We don't have to," the man replied, taking a long, slow
drag on the cigarette, making a show of blowing smoke in the direction of the
stool Scott had thrown. "Why don't you take some time off to think it over.
Get your priorities straight."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Scott said, stomping past the man on his way
to the door.

"Without pay, of course," the man added as Scott reached the door. Scott's
shoulders stiffened as the words sunk in, but after an almost imperceptible
pause, the scientist just kept on walking.

The smoking man turned and surveyed the lab. It would make no difference if Dr.
Scott Simons decided to take a few weeks or even a few months off. The work
here was important, but in reality it just served as backup to the work that was
taking place elsewhere in the vast wasteland of the Nevada desert. Eventually
Dr. Simons would be back, he was sure of it. This particular scientist was a
mercenary at heart, even if he wielded a microscope instead of a machine gun.
Complain as he might about the pay, it was still better that what he could make
in the private sector. And as soon as it sunk in that resignation from this
particular job had fatal consequences, Dr. Simons would come running back.
Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he dropped it on the floor and crushed it
under the heel of his black, rubber soled shoe. Turning off the lights, he
locked the door to the lab on his way out.

**********

Highway 50 between Fallon and Fernley, Nevada

Goddamn Navy hotshot flyboys! Scott cursed as another Top Gun pilot out on
maneuvers raced over the two lane highway, drowning out the sound from his
custom car stereo. Hands tightening on the wheel of his metallic green Range
Rover, Scott pushed the speedometer up from 85 toward 90. There was no one else
on the road and his radar detector was silent, so what the hell. Blow off a
little steam, son, he told himself. You certainly deserve it.

The Nevada desert flew by his window, a blur of dried out green sagebrush,
chalky white alkali flats, and sun-baked brown desert soil. Fallon was behind
him and Fernley was on the other side
of the horizon, just another small desert town on the way to Reno and his forced
leave of absence. Shit!

Reno. It wasn't even his home anymore, but he'd been too tired and angry to
think of anything beyond just getting off the base, so he'd headed almost
instinctively toward Reno. Once he got to his parents' house, he'd decide what
else to do with all this free time he suddenly had on his hands. Maybe he'd try
gambling. Or maybe he'd go on a cruise.

Scott wasn't sure why he'd kept his parents' house after they died. Surely not
out of sentimental value, and certainly not because he expected to make a mint
off of it one day. An old brick home
built in the 40's, its one saving grace, at least to Scott's eyes, was the full
basement that he'd slowly built into his own private lab. He wondered if his
neighbors, mostly high-priced lawyers who'd converted the neighboring houses to
law offices, knew exactly what he did in his basement lab, or what they'd say if
they knew that a few of the compounds he kept there, if combined in the right
order, could blow their law practices right off the face of the earth. Bet they
probably wouldn't spend so much time complaining about the safety problems
caused by the transients who strolled the neighborhood on their way from one
riverside campground to another

"Shit!" Scott muttered out loud as another fighter buzzed the road. He tried
not to take it personally -- he was sure they didn't know it was *him* in the
Ranger Rover -- but it was a loosing battle. Someone up there must have decided
that he was 'it' in an airborne game of tag. Whatever the reason, all these
fly-bys weren't helping him relax, not in the least.

He was so upset that he almost didn't see it. At first it looked like road
glare reflecting off his windshield, but it was in the wrong place. Scott eased
up on the gas and took a closer look. No, it wasn't a reflection, but something
out in the desert beyond the glass. Just sitting there low in the sky. A
light, where there shouldn't have been one. Scott braked hard, thankful that
there was no one behind him to plow into him at highway speeds, and pulled off
the side of the road. The Rover's tires bit into the desert sand without any
difficulty and Scott turned the car around to get a good look at the irregularly
shaped light floating out over the desert sand.

Even as his conscious mind rejected the thought, Scott knew what it was. It was
one of *them*. Just sitting there, watching. But watching what? The jets?
Maybe they're just as curious about
us as we are about them, he thought.

Jet wash shook the Rover as another pilot buzzed the highway, this dive the
closest yet. The pilot's course took him directly toward the floating light.
Scott expected the craft to make a high speed getaway, breaking all the rules of
physics in a rapid retreat from the earth's gravity, so he was astonished at
what happened next. Instead of moving away from the jet, the light moved
*toward* it, almost on a collision course, and backed away only at the last
possible split-second. The Navy pilot didn't react in the least to the light,
but continued on his course out over the desert floor. What the hell? Didn't
he see the damn thing? Scott wondered. Then the jet wash caught the floating
light and sent it careening toward the desert floor.

Instinct took over. Scott turned the Rover in the direction of the light and
hit the gas. He tried to keep one eye on the last spot he'd seen the spinning
light and one eye on the uneven desert terrain in front of him. His Range Rover
was an outstanding off-road vehicle, but even a Rover could break an axle if you
hit a boulder just right.

The craft had been out of control, he knew it. Somehow, whoever or *whatever*
was commanding that floating light had lost control when the jet wash caught it,
maybe even before then. After working with this stuff for the last nine years,
Scott had begun to think of the beings that created this technology as
infallible. It was somewhat comforting to know that they could screw up, too.

Scott had expected an explosion, or at the very least a cloud of dust and debris
when the craft hit. Nothing. He finally spotted the wreckage only by noticing
a clump of sagebrush sitting up higher than its neighbors. Slowing the Rover to
a crawl, Scott noticed the short burrow dug in the desert sand by the alien
craft when it impacted with the earth. The craft had effectively covered itself
with the desert terrain after the crash, blending in with its surroundings. He
wondered if it was designed to do that.

Stopping the Rover, Scott opened the door and got out cautiously, looking
overhead for the Navy jets but they were long gone, maneuvers apparently over
for the day. Good, that means no one's looking for this thing, Scott thought.
Or at least no *humans* are looking for it.

He approached the craft cautiously, ready to split at the first indications of
anything still alive in there. He wasn't about to take the brunt of alien ire
for being forced down out of the sky, no siree. But the craft remained ominous
still.

Finally he was within just a foot of the trailing edge of the ship. All at once
it occurred to him that the ship wasn't hot. It should have been hot. After
all, it just fell from the sky at a pretty good rate. All that friction energy
should have translated to heat. In fact, the dry weeds and brush around it
should have caught fire, but they didn't. "Non-conducting metal," Scott
murmured. One of the first things he'd worked on at the base was attempting to
analyze and then recreate the formula for a sample of non-conducting metal
provided to him. No one would tell him where it came from -- just analyze it
and tell us how to make more. He never had been able to duplicate it. Came
close a few times, but never the exact formula. Now he had a good idea where
the original sample came from. If he could just get a little more off this
ship, he knew sooner or later he could come up with the formula. In the back of
his mind he wondered how much NASA would pay to not have to worry about the damn
ceramic tiles that kept falling off the space shuttle. Replace them with a
little of this stuff and the ride home would be a breeze.

Scott stretched out a cautious hand toward the ship, still not quite believing
that he wouldn't get burned, but his hand encountered nothing but a cool, smooth
surface. There were no breaks in
the exposed surface of the craft, no seams or rivets, nothing to show him how to
get inside, if he even wanted to get inside, that is. "How the heck do you open
this thing?" he asked out loud, his hand still resting on the surface.

He yelped in surprise as an opening appeared directly under his hand. Scott
didn't realize he had been leaning on that hand until too late. The resistance
holding him up was suddenly gone, and Scott found himself tumbling head over
heels into the interior of the craft.

Once inside it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior after
the desert brightness. The first thing he noticed was that there was no one in
this craft. Remote control? he speculated. Maybe something jammed the signal,
that's why it went haywire. At least no one was holding a laser pistol on him,
ready to take their revenge on the first earthling they saw. Scott let out a
ragged breath and started to relax a little. But his relaxation was
short-lived. He cried out in surprise again when the opening he'd just tumbled
through abruptly closed, sealing him inside the ship.

Elsewhere....

They had been here too long, that was all there was to it. Instead of merely
observing these beings, they had begun acting like them, taking unnecessary
risks. And now the prototype was lost.

A butt-chewing is a butt-chewing, no matter where that particular part of the
anatomy happened to be located on the entity being chewed. The prototype must
be retrieved, no matter what. The beings they were observing were too
primitive, too violent to be entrusted with technology that could do what the
prototype could. Besides, the prototype had been damaged and was unstable and
the Stars only knew what it would do now.

Exactly how they were supposed to retrieve it had not been explained, at least
not exactly. But retrieve it they must or they would not be allowed to return
to the collective. There were many
delightful aspects of life among the primitives, but they had no desire to be
permanently marooned on this one tiny world. The prototype had to be found and
returned to where it belonged so that the harmonics of the collective would once
more be in tune. They turned their thoughts inward, calling upon the Stars to
guide them in their endeavor, just as the collective had done for a millennia
before them and just as it would do until the end of time.

*********

Scott had never been this scared in all his life. Sure, he wanted to make a
buck as much as the next man, maybe more, but even an idiot knew that all the
money in the world wouldn't do you any good if you weren't alive to spend it. He
wondered briefly what the beings who built this ship used for currency. With
his luck it would be body parts, probably extremely personal, extremely *human*
body parts, which they would harvest from him one at a time. He shuddered,
feeling certain portions of his anatomy trying to crawl back up inside him.
Been watching too many Twilight Zone repeats, he told himself, but it didn't
help.

After god only knows how long, Scott finally decided that the ship wasn't going
to take off with him inside. <Unless it already has> the annoying voice of his
mother piped up inside his head. "Shut up," Scott muttered. And the world was
suddenly silent.

Not that it has been noisy before, not exactly. But there had been background
noises in the tiny ship, difficult to identify, but they were there. He'd said
'shut up' and the noises were gone.

You're a scientist, let's try an experiment. "Lights," Scott said, and then had
to snap his eyes shut tight against the blinding light that erupted from the
walls around him. Covering his eyes with both hands, he gasped out the word
"dimmer" and the light muted into a more tolerable level. Opening his eyes, he
peered around him, trying to find a light source, but as far as he could tell,
the walls themselves were glowing. At his command... imagine that.

Placing his hand on the wall of the ship, at approximately the same place as
he'd tumbled through, Scott tried the ultimate test. "Open," he said. A
doorway immediately appeared in the side of the ship, big enough for Scott to
climb through. He nearly jumped up and down in delight. Talk about having your
own genie in a bottle! Hey, that gave him an idea. "Money," he said, half
expecting to have his dick, or someone else's, handed to him. Nothing. Not
even a lousy penny.
These guys must not understand that concept -- talk about alien! Shit, he
thought.

The smell assaulted him first, although he knew what it was before he even
turned around and stared at the brown pile on the floor behind him. He hadn't
even said the word, just thought it! This was amazing. I want that gone, he
thought, and watched it shimmer out of existence.

His mind churned faster than he could ever remember. Commands, it understands
commands, even if they're not spoken, so it must be able to pick up on brain
waves or some such thing. <And for some reason it thinks I'm in charge. Oh,
boy.> Better watch what you wish for, old buddy, he told himself. Ok, the
first thing is to find out how it works, which meant he'd have to run some tests
on it, find out what it could do. There had to be a brain in here somewhere,
something that ran the show. He'd worked with enough other-worldly objects in
the last nine years that he had no doubts that he'd eventually figure out the
basic construction. The computer, for lack of a better word, that made all
these things happen had to be around here someplace. Maybe he could get the
thing to show him, then he could detach it and take it home with him.

Scott practically sprinted to the Rover to get his tool kit. Maybe he could put
this leave of absence to good use. He could take some time and get to know his
new friend here. There was no telling where this would take him. All of a
sudden this wasn't looking like such a bad day after all.

Two Months Later
Security Office, Second Floor
Red Sands Hotel and Casino, Reno, Nevada

Yes!!! Scott's mind yelped with glee. He tried hard to remind himself that
bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet wasn't exactly executive behavior,
but he couldn't help it. After two months of exhaustive research and failed
experiments, he'd finally figured out how to use this confiscated alien
technology to his advantage... at least one aspect of it anyway.

Reno, the town of Scott's birth, is a gambling town. Sure, for as long as he
could remember the city fathers had preached about its diversified economy, the
recreational opportunities available in the nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains and
special events full of family-oriented fun, but Scott knew that its heart and
soul were the casinos that filled the downtown core of the city. Not as large
and gaudy as Las Vegas to the south, Reno was nonetheless filled with grand
casinos with even more impressive amounts of cash changing hands 24 hours a day,
7 days a week. All that cash in such a relatively small place attracted those
who thought they were lucky, as well as those who figured luck could use a
little help. It had also attracted Scott. And now,
thanks to some unknown planet hopper's galactic goof, a good portion of that
loot was going to be floating in his direction for a change.

Knowing he couldn't exactly sell this technology on the open market without fear
of fatal retribution, Scott opted to put his new discovery to use in a more
conventional environment, hoping to make some quick money without attracting the
wrong kind of attention. He didn't dare take it to Las Vegas, even though he
might be able to peddle it for a little more there. Getting
on the wrong side of some of the movers and shakers in Vegas was just as bad as
getting on the wrong side of the people he normally worked for, and Scott
figured he had more than enough people to watch out for. So he'd done some
smooth talking and gotten an appointment with the Operations Manager at the Red
Sands Hotel and Casino. From there, he'd done a presentation to the CEO and
Board of Directors at a special meeting called for the express purpose of
demonstrating his new state of the art, space age <if they only knew>, co
mputerized security system.

The heart, or rather, brain of his system was no larger than a good-sized apple
and more closely resembled living tissue than inanimate electronic circuitry.
But he didn't have to explain that to the suits and they didn't want to hear
about it anyway. Their only concern was whether it worked and how much money it
would save them.

Granted, Reno was already over-flowing with complicated security systems and the
Operations Manager had initially been skeptical. But this town -- forget that
-- this world had never seen anything of the likes of which he had to offer and
it hadn't taken much to sell them on the system. The artificial intelligence
that had been on that ship was so close to the real thing that
it nearly qualified as a life-form in its own right. Scott had worked on
artificial intelligence projects in the past, developing computers which
embraced the first rudimentary capabilities of independent thought, but this
system was light years ahead of anything that had gone before.

Not only did his computer, for lack of a better term, think independently, it
also possessed the ability to convert electrical brain wave activity into
tangible and understandable patterns. In simple English, it could read
thoughts. This singular attribute alone made the system invaluable to casino
owners trying to prevent patrons from walking out the door with more than their
honest share of the casino's cash flow. The brains of the system knew the
intent of all those it watched through the existing security cameras that
constantly scanned the gaming floor, and not only could it spot someone who
intended to cheat, it was able to immediately identify the methodology used.
Then the system notified the floor guards, who could then apprehend those who
would tamper with equipment or covertly cheat at the games before they could
escape undetected with their ill-gotten gains.

Of course, Scott didn't tell the casino bigwigs exactly how the machine worked.
One look at the faces in the board room convinced him that these men were smart
enough to know that if his machine could read the minds of anyone on the gaming
floor, it could read their minds, too. And some people, especially those who
made their livelihood in the gaming industry, wouldn't
think too kindly of something that could read their thoughts. So Scott had
decided early in his presentation to gloss over the how and why of his system
and just concentrate on the results, and that decision had paid off in spades,
as they say.

One other aspect of this machine intrigued Scott, challenged his intellect to
new heights. This technology apparently had the unbelievable ability to alter
the molecular configuration of matter, which could hypothetically allow the
security computer to reach out and touch, so to speak, the culprit, effectively
detaining him or her until the security could escort them out or the authorities
could remove them. This was the same feature that had provided light and other
less preferable substances in the spaceship where Scott had discovered the
machine. He had considered including this feature in his presentation as a
last ditch effort to convince his prospective client
of his system's viability. Never mind the small insignificant fact that
although he knew how to use this molecular morphing technology, he hadn't the
faintest idea of exactly how it worked. So far, it only obeyed his thoughts,
he'd discovered with relief, and he was optimistically certain that in time he
would be able to unravel that mystery as well. But upon reading the moods
of the men crowded in the boardroom, he'd decided against it. Reno was a pretty
damn conservative town, after all, and he wasn't sure the board of directors
would readily accept this technology without calling him a charlatan and
kicking him out on his rear end. Maybe later, after he'd established himself
here and had a chance to figure out exactly how the
morphing worked, he could convince them that it was an upgrade and demand more
money for it.

Several hours later, Scott congratulated himself on putting on the show of his
life for these stuffed shirts. He'd especially savored the looks on their faces
when his computer, while linked with their existing system, not only picked out
the planted culprit and identified his method of dishonesty down to the nicked
playing card in the middle of the deck that the man held
in the palm of his hand, but uncovered two other known cheaters who had been
blacklisted from the casino for some time, people the Red Sands' own security
system had missed.

The board's decision had been swift and nearly unanimous. Scott's credentials
were impeccable and the demonstration of his invention had gone flawlessly. It
was only good business that the directors hired him to maintain the system that
he was leasing to them, and it was only prudent to
pay him more than the government would have ever considered for his services.

Washington D.C.
Present day
6:15 a.m.

A loud thump resounded through Fox Mulder's apartment as a long, lean, di
sheveled figure rolled off the couch and tumbled unceremoniously onto the floor.
Reluctantly, he opened one bloodshot, hazel eye, guiltily surveying the space
beneath his living room chair that served as a black hole for every piece of
discarded trash he'd accumulated since he'd lived here. Got to clean that out
before Dana starts moving furniture around, he thought in a semiconscious haze.
But even that thought was too much for this early in the morning, and he
gingerly squeezed his offending eye back into its previously closed position.
Knowing that he should have cleaned it out long ago didn't help and somewhere in
the back of his mind, he was leery of what might crawl out if he did move the
blasted thing.

Damn, in all the years he'd spent sleeping on this couch, he'd never fallen off
before. Finding himself unexpectedly on the floor now was at the very least
unsettling. Things had changed. Oh boy and how. He'd gotten used to sleeping
in a bed again and more importantly, he'd become accustomed to *not* waking up
alone. So it was that while reaching for her even in his sleep, he had landed
himself here... in a heap... on the floor.

God, he missed Dana already. Waking up alone without her snuggled warmly
against his chest just seemed unnatural somehow. She was right, though. At her
insistence they'd decided that for now at least, sleeping in their own
apartments would be best, since he no longer had a legitimate excuse for staying
at her place... well, according to Bureau politics anyway, Mulder frowned
mentally.

Ordinarily, he'd have been overjoyed to finally escape the never-ending m
othering of Margaret Scully and return to his work. Except now he had a
relentless ache in his jaw that had kept him up
half the night. Why was this happening to him? He'd been a good little Mulder,
brushing and flossing every day when he wasn't being kidnaped, or beaten to a
pulp by aliens, mutants, and crazed serial killers. Okay, so his diet left much
to be desired but hey, he'd never had a cavity --- so why all of the sudden did
his whole goddamn face feel like it was going to explode and drop off into his
lap?

Slowly Mulder cradled his now swollen jaw in one hand, pushed himself up off the
floor with the other, and staggered stiffly into the kitchen. <Aspirin... I need
Aspirin.> Fumbling unsuccessfully with the childproof lid on the aspirin bottle
for several minutes, frustration and pain finally got the best of him. Patience
gave way to temper and he released the bottle's meager contents by smashing the
plastic container with a tenderizing mallet he'd pulled from a nearby drawer.
<Childproof that, assholes.> With the mallet still in his hand, Mulder stopped
and thought about the whole situation and started to smile until he was rudely
reminded of just how much that would hurt. <Better get used to these damn
caps... I've got a feeling they're going to be everywhere in the near future.>
"Kids are probably the only ones who can open these things anyway," Mulder
muttered to himself.

Somehow four aspirin <yeah, that's right Dana...four > made it into his mouth
along with a finger full of clear, smelly goop that was supposed to miraculously
numb the pain. He'd been in enough pain last night that he actually made a trip
to a nearby 7-11 for something to alleviate the agony. The clerk had suggested
an adult strength version of something originally made for teething babies.
This crap didn't work last night but what the hell, he was desperate enough to
give it another try. Nope. Was it his imagination or did this shit numb
everything *except* his fucking tooth? His tongue felt twice as big as it
should have, lolling around in his mouth like some mismatched transplant, and
the resulting saliva drooling out of the corners of his mouth and onto the
waiting dishtowel that he held under his chin certainly wasn't attractive.

"Shit!!!" he garbled out loud. This was demeaning. Maybe he should wear a
little bib for the rest of the day and give Dana some much needed practice
wiping up drool.

He looked at the E.T. wall clock hanging over his kitchen sink. <Uh oh...big
finger and little finger are both on the six, come on smart guy...let's figure
this out.> "Damn," he muttered under his breath as his brain registered the
time. Six-thirty already. Nothing like oversleeping on your first day back to
work. Skinner would just love that. <Jesus, Mulder, get it together. Dana
will be here to pick you up in half an hour and you haven't even had a shower
yet. Bet she has...> A lop-sided smile lit up his face as he considered the
possibility that she'd arrive early and scrub his back. Oh yeah, that'd be just
great. Then you'd *really* be late. <Can't you stop thinking about her just
long enough to take a shower?> The answer was a resounding "no." Ok, better
make it a cold shower then, his hormones screamed in unison.

Mulder closed his eyes, thoroughly disgusted by his body's total lack of
control. Come on Mulder, get with the program, he thought with some irritation.
<All Dana needs this morning is to come through that door and find your dick
doubling as a goddamn towel rack or a convenient place to hang your soap on a
rope.> "You.... you," he mumbled accusingly as he looked down at the
disobedient part of himself that sometimes seemed to have a life of its own.
"You know, the love of your life is puking her guts out every morning because of
you," he sighed.

"Oh, I don't know about that," a soft familiar voice purred from the doorway.
Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin. She'd obviously used her key to let
herself into his apartment but he'd never heard a thing. In his surprise he'd
turned around to face her, and watched her eyebrows climb in amusement as she
gazed down at the part of himself with which he'd been carrying on a rather
one-sided conversation.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Fox," she said, emphasizing the obvious words
and laughing lightly as she sneaked another downward glance. "Missed me, huh?"
Unable to think of a way out of yet another embarrassing situation, Mulder
merely nodded. "I missed you, too," Dana said. "But as far as blaming one of
my favorite things in the world for our situation, you can stop that right now.
After all... it did take two, didn't it?"

"As I recall," Mulder agreed. He glanced at E.T. again. "Shit! I'm running
late and I still have to shower." Mulder rushed around Dana, leaving her in the
middle of his kitchen. He stopped and looked at his lady, the picture of
professionalism in a dark gray suit with a burgundy silk blouse. She was so
beautiful, even just standing there doing nothing, that the last thing he wanted
to do today was work, but calling out sick on your first day back after sick
leave definitely was not a good idea. "I'm sorry, Dana," he mumbled. "I won't
take long, I promise."

Dana sighed as he disappeared down the hall toward his bathroom. In a minute
she heard the sound of running water and thought briefly about making herself a
cup of tea while she waited. Oh well, scratch that idea. Mulder didn't have a
microwave and boiling the water on the stove would take too long so a glass of
ice water seemed to be her only available recourse. <Probably better for you
anyway,> she thought. Curbing her caffeine intake had been high on her doctor's
list of how to take care of herself and her
impending bundle of joy. At least most of the herb teas she enjoyed were
naturally caffeine-free, but she supposed that meant drinking decaf coffee at
work. <Wonder how Mulder's going to like *that*? Guess it's not going to matter
because he's not going to know> she thought deviously. Fox was the last person
in the world who actually needed caffeine. As far as she was concerned, Mulder
was hyper enough without it.

Hearing the shower stop, Dana strolled leisurely down the hall and pushed the
bathroom door open with one dainty foot. She was rewarded with the sight of
Mulder standing in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet
hair standing out in short spikes away from his head, and shaving cream lathered
on his face. Dana let her eyes wander unabashedly over his form, the lean
muscles of his legs and thighs, the curve of his back, the nearly healed scars
which
glistened a faint pink from the heat of the shower. She knew his body in
intimate detail, of course, but that never stopped her from admiring it whenever
the opportunity presented itself. She stayed in the doorway, watching him
shave. His eyes smiled a greeting at her, telling her he enjoyed having her
with him, but he didn't pause in his routine. He was running too late for that.

When he finished shaving, Dana walked over to the sink and gently brushed a
wayward splotch of shaving cream from his nose and kissed him lightly on the
lips. She was surprised when Mulder winced slightly and pulled away from her
touch.

"What?" she asked with concern, a frown line building between her eyebrows.

"It's nothing," he said, drying his face on the towel that hung askew on small
rack next to the
sink. Nothing my ass, she thought.

Dana intensified her scrutiny of his face. Now that she took a really good look
at it, something looked wrong here. "This side of your face looks swollen. Let
me see inside."

Mulder wilted under her penetrating stare, but it was clear he didn't wanted to
be doctored -- again. She knew he'd had enough of that lately. More than
enough. "No, it's okay... really," he hedged, and she could tell from the look
on his face that he was trying to think of a plausible explanation for why one
side of his mouth looked like he had a marble hidden in his cheek.
"Mulder, open your mouth," she ordered.

"No!" he replied adamantly.

"God, you're stubborn!" she said with a huff. "You got your chance to do this
the easy way."

Dana made a quick move. The look of surprise on Mulder's face was priceless as
the sharp pain in his right big toe registered with his brain. "AAAHHHGGG!"
Mulder yelled as he automatically bent down to clutch at his foot. Dana used
the opportunity to grab his now open mouth and hold it apart with both hands
while removing the heel of her shoe from his toe. Peering into his mouth, it
didn't take Dana long to figure out the cause of the marble-in-cheek look..
"Mulder, I'm not a dentist, but I'd say it's a good bet that you've got a nasty
infection in that tooth." She released his mouth and he shut it with a snap.
"You need to go to the dentist. Root canal time, my dear," she informed him
with clinical expertise.

Dana noticed with alarm that Mulder paled visibly at the mention of 'dentist'
and nearly passed out at the mention of the words 'root canal.'

"I don't need a dentist," he argued, experimentally wiggling his big toe. After
that little move, I'll probably need a damn podiatrist instead, he added
silently. "Dentists are evil, sadistic, and just plain weird. I mean, who
actually wants to make a living rooting around in other people's mouths all day
long? Drilling teeth... God! I saw that Dustin Hoffman movie. And a root
canal!" Mulder shuddered. "A root canal is a form of torture left over from
the inquisition," he added with conviction.

"Look, it's only going to get worse the longer you wait," she said, trying to
use a logical argument to convince the adult in him to take a sensible course of
action. It really bugged her when he acted so childishly.

"I am *not* going to let some quack root around in my mouth, okay?" Mulder left
her behind as he stalked off into his bedroom and finished getting dressed.
Hoping that the matter was dropped, at least for now, he made it a point not to
favor his jaw as they left his apartment and walked outside to their car. Dana
would be driving, of course, which meant his knees would be playing tummy tag
with his belly button. Damn government conventions, anyway. If the Bureau
hadn't been sucking up to the gaggle of visiting VIPs by offering them first
choice from the Bureau's fleet, he wouldn't have been stuck with this motorized
relic with the solid front seat. Where in the hell did they dig up this fossil?
The Smithsonian?

Mulder admitted to himself that he was a little put off by the fact that Dana
still wouldn't let him drive. He told her he had fully recovered, the Bureau
physician told her he was fine, yet she still insisted on shuttling him around.
As far as he knew, having a toothache was not sufficient grounds to revoke his
driver's license, but arguing with her at this point would be useless and he
knew it. Yeah, he knew it, but *that* had never stopped him before, had it?

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Mulder heaved a loud, annoyed sigh. "You
know, I haven't forgotten how to drive," he said. No response. She just kept
staring straight ahead, concentrating on the road. Glancing at her, he noticed
for the first time that she looked a little pale. Idiot, he thought, she
probably doesn't feel very well, either. He wondered if she'd managed to hold
anything down this morning.

Try again, Mulder. "And come to think of it, you look a little green around the
edges yourself. If you're not feeling well, maybe you should call out," he
added with note of concern that sounded a little more patronizing than he
intended.

Dana hit the brakes a little too forcefully at the intersection's red light.
Not expecting the sudden stop, Mulder was thrown forward, nearly impaling his
kneecaps into his stomach. <Thank God for seat belts.>

Turning her head slowly to the side, one corner of Dana's mouth crooked upward
at the exact same time as an arching eyebrow rose toward her crimson hairline.
She laughed to herself briefly as she took in wide-eyed look of surprise that
exploded on Mulder's usually calm, composed face. <Don't crack a smile, Dana.
You can't let him get away with it that easily.>

"Me call in sick!" she said. "I don't believe this is coming from a man whose
face at this very moment resembles a lopsided chipmunk with the mumps. In case
you've been misinformed, pregnancy is *not* an illness. However, I don't
believe the same can be said about an abscessed tooth," she said loudly,
concluding her mini 'enlightened male' lecture. At least for now.

<Jesus, Mulder, you should know when to keep your big mouth shut.> Dana wasn't
usually this sensitive to his occasional slips into 'me-Tarzan-you-Jane' mode.
Must be some kind of pregnancy-related hormonal thing, he thought anxiously.
His mind spun like a pair of tires in a mud hole while he tried to formulate the
proper response to her obviously displeased reaction. He finally gave up and
said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Okay, I'd say open mouth, insert foot," he admitted, "except both feet are
presently crammed up under the dashboard and I think inserting either one in my
mouth at the moment would undoubtedly generate great pain."

Oh shit, she'd given him 'the look,' the one where her mouth and eyebrow seemed
connected by an invisible string. <Damn, you're treading in unfamiliar territory
here, fella... better watch your step.> When she didn't respond to his remark,
he finally decided that silence was his best bet. It might not get him out of
hot water, but it probably wouldn't get him in any deeper either.

Shifting back in his seat in an attempt to unfold his legs as far as possible,
not to mention dig the damn seat belt out of his collarbone, he studied her out
of the corner of his eye. Her attention was back on the road and she was
ignoring him, at least for the time being. He noticed the spots of color on her
cheeks and the glint in her eyes. Her face hadn't had this much color in a
while. In fact, he had to admit that she had been looking better the last
couple of days. Maybe her bouts with morning sickness were about over. Either
that, or she just got a decidedly evil kick out of
watching him run around in circles trying to figure her out and she was just
about ready to burst into giggles.

On the other hand, unbeknownst to her, Mulder had tossed his cookies every
morning this week. It was getting to be a regular habit, one he'd just as soon
avoid. <God must be a woman after all
-- Dana gets pregnant, you get sick. It's only fair.> If she ever found out
about his daily barf fest in the bathroom, Mulder knew he'd never hear the end
of it. He wondered what other little pregnancy-related psychosomatic illnesses
he could expect as he reached into his coat pocket, checking to make sure he'd
brought his antacid tablets. Oh, noooo.... the little bottle was missing. <Now
what, stupid? How are you going to ask her nonchalantly to drop by a drug
store? She won't rest until she badgers you into telling her what you need
there.> He patted his pocket again but came up empty.

"Looking for this?" Dana asked with a controlled snicker as she held up the
little bottle he was looking for. "Does Fox have a tummy ache?" She had to
look away from him to keep from laughing outright for his facial expression fell
somewhere in between the embarrassment of discovering you left the restroom with
your fly open and toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe and the horror
of being caught jacking off in the closet.

Mulder made a mad grab for the bottle but wasn't fast enough to snatch it from
her hand as she held it just out of his reach. He briefly thought about
wrestling her for it, but considering that she was driving at the moment it
wouldn't have been a very wise idea. "Give it," he finally entreated.

Dana slipped him the bottle, which he immediately stashed in his pocket. Joking
aside, nausea combined with an abscessed tooth might be the outward signs of a
more serious, system-wide infection. She wasn't about to let him get sick all
over again, not after what they'd just been through. She turned a serious gaze
on him, letting some of her underlying concern show through. "Are you okay?"
she asked, reaching out a hand to check his forehead for any unnatural warmth.
"Have you been ill? This could be serious, Mulder. Why didn't you say
something?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled reluctantly, refusing to meet her eyes. "I've just...
been getting a little sick, that's all... for about a week... in the
mornings...." he trailed off in a nearly inaudible whisper.

Dana stared at him in amazement. "You have *morning sickness*?" She giggled in
spite of herself as he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Men!
She reached out and softly patted his head. "It's okay, Mulder. I mean, it's
not unheard of and it's definitely
nothing to be ashamed of. You're just... sensitive, that's all."

Mulder slowly raised his head and rolled his eyes upward. "Great, just great.
So when will it stop?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Dana smiled softly. "Oh, probably in about another month," she replied in her
most gentle tone

"Oh, wonderful," he groaned, pathetically pulling the bottle of Tums from his
pocket. He proceeded to dump several tablets into the less painful side of his
mouth, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Dana reached over, brushing her fingertips lightly along Mulder's arm. She felt
him tremble slightly beneath her touch. "Are you sure you want to go through
with this today?" she asked. "A few more days won't make that much difference
and I'm sure Skinner would understand."

"No," he replied, his voice filled with defiant determination. "I'm ready to
work. I *need* to work, Dana," Mulder said in a tense voice. "Don't get me
wrong, I really love your mom. She's a wonderful person and I would never want
to hurt her feelings. But I swear, if I have to sit through one more game show,
watch one more soap opera version of musical beds, or listen to Sally Jesse
Raphael extol the virtues of celibacy or some other mundane, irrelevant topic,
one more time, I'm going to lose it totally and become an X-file myself."
Mulder reached out, gently placing his own hand over the delicate hand that had
been absently stroking his arm. "I've been away too long already," he added as
an afterthought as Dana smoothly guided the car into the parking garage and
stopped at the closest space available.

----------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 2
ACCOLADES AND REVELATIONS

Red Sands Hotel/Casino
Reno, Nevada

About the same time Fox Mulder was confessing his unusual sympathy pains to the
love of his life, two thousand miles to the west and three times zones away Lily
Morgan was looking forward to the end of yet another thrilling night of work.
Nobody else wanted to work the graveyard shift in the coffee shop at the Red
Sands, but Lily was happy enough with her 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. schedule. Sure, the
tips were lousy -- you had to have customers, and a lot of them, to earn
anything in tips -- but it was quiet, especially after midnight. Only the
hard-core gamblers were left after midnight, and when they did wander into the
coffee shop to refuel before hitting the tables again they kept mostly to
themselves. Especially if they were losing, and everyone eventually lost.
Casinos weren't built because the owners lost money. Lily wondered if anyone
ever figured that out.

Sam sure hadn't. He was her only customer at the moment, sitting by himself at
the counter drinking his third cup of coffee and finishing the last bite of
cherry pie ala mode left on his plate. Sam was a 21 player and he'd just
figured out a system to beat the house. Or at least he thought he had, and
he'd wanted to share his knowledge with his newest best friend, the lonely
waitress working in the coffee shop. Lily wanted no part of him -- cheating the
house was *severely* frowned upon and she had no intention of angering the
people she worked for -- so she'd been trying to avoid him as best she could.
She'd busied herself cleaning and restocking all the empty tables for the
breakfast crowd. The fake wood grain tabletops had never gleamed so brightly.

"Hey, Lil, I need some coffee, ok hon?"

Lily looked up in time to see Sabrina Ericks slip behind the counter and pour a
cup of coffee. Sabrina was a cocktail waitress at the Red Sands. At this time
in the morning it wasn't usual for cocktail waitresses to be handing over as
many cups of coffee as watered down drinks to those still on the gaming floor.
Usually they got coffee from the bar, but Sabrina had seen Lily just make a
fresh pot. She must have someone who's tipping her good, Lily thought. Fresh
coffee would keep the tips coming, as long as the guy was still winning.

Sabrina paid for the coffee from the change on her tray, then surveyed the
nearly empty coffee shop. "Slow night, huh?" she commented. Lily nodded her
head and shrugged her shoulders as she rung up the sale on the cash register.
She knew what was coming.

"I keep telling you, you could really rake in the tips of you'd just switch to
cocktails," Sabrina said, leaning in and lowering her voice to a husky whisper.
"With that face and that figure, you'd be a knockout."

"I don't like to work cocktails," Lily muttered. They'd been through this
before so often that it was almost like they were reading a script.

"Damn shame," Sabrina replied. "You're a pretty girl, Lily. I don't know why
you try to hide it." Sabrina picked up her tray again. "More for me, I guess,
right?" she said with a smile.

"Go get 'em," Lily said with a faint return grin as Sabrina walked out of the
coffee shop. Sabrina had a cute little shape herself, and the cocktail waitress
outfit she wore made sure that nearly all of it was on display for the general
public. The Red Sands had an Arabian Nights theme, and the cocktail waitresses
were dressed like genies in a bottle, right down to the slippers with the little
pointed up toes. And to think that during the 60's Barbara Eden couldn't even
show her bellybutton on network TV, Lily thought. In the Red Sands the only
women who wore less clothes than the cocktail waitresses were the showgirls who
went nearly topless every night in the casino cabaret lounge. Like those little
things they wore over their nipples could conceivably be called clothes. Lily
didn't want to be caught dead in an outfit like the one Sabrina had to wear
every night, and the thought of all those strange male eyes crawling over her
figure made her sick to her stomach. The shapeless outfit she wore in the
coffee shop suited her just fine.

Lily looked back at the counter in time to see Sam, the erstwhile card shark,
pull out a few dollar bills and lay them next to his plate. She smiled at him
as he left, a polite, 'thanks for coming in' smile, but nothing too warm or
encouraging. After months of working the coffee shop, Lily was getting good at
it.

She sighed as she picked up the money Sam had left. The bill for the coffee
and pie had been $3.55 and Sam had left four one-dollar bills. No, tips were
definitely not going to be good tonight. She picked up the dirty dishes and
took them back to the sink in the kitchen. Things could be worse. Hell, they
had been worse, much worse, and Lily was determined never to let that happen
again. Even if she had to struggle for the rest of her life in a dead-end job
with never enough money. At least she was free.

FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Dana guided their car into the parking garage with ease and pulled into the
closest space available. Being a somewhat older model, built in the days when
good gas mileage wasn't such a high priority, it was a little larger than what
she usually drove, but she had no trouble parking it. Mulder figured the
Captain must have taught his baby girl how to drive in the biggest, safest boat
of a car he could find because she handled this one like a pro.

While extricating himself from the cramped confines of the car, Mulder surveyed
the parking garage with mild curiosity. That's strange, he thought in passing,
every space was filled except for the one that they had just pulled into. He
looked briefly at the curb to see if they'd parked in a reserved spot by
mistake, but as far as he could tell the spot was one of those
first-come-first-claim spaces. Never in all his years with the Bureau had he
ever managed to get a spot this close to an entrance.

<Wait a minute -- something's not quite right here> The small tingle in the
back of his mind nudged Mulder's senses up a notch. The odds of getting a
parking place this near to a door were about the same as finding a snowball in
hell or seeing Skinner with hair. <Relax pal, you're getting paranoid already
and you haven't even made it into the building yet.> He duly noted the uneasy
feeling, decided it must be first day back at the job jitters, and filed it away
for future reference. Placing a protective hand in the small of Dana's back, he
guided her through the door and into the lobby.

Several minutes passed before he realized that he'd left his hand comfortably on
her back the entire time they'd walked down the hall to the elevator. He
quickly removed it, hoping no one had noticed. Mulder suddenly discovered with
some chagrin that keeping his hands off his future wife was apparently going to
be more difficult than he'd previously anticipated.

Why now?? he asked himself, trying to look on the situation with some obj
ectivity. After all, they'd been intimate for over two years and he'd never had
a problem refraining from outward physical displays of affection in public
before. So why did he suddenly have such an overpowering need to indulge now?
Well, it didn't exactly take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. <She
wasn't carrying your child before, Einstein.> It's only natural that you'd feel
a little more protective of her and have the urge to touch her a little more
than usual, he rationalized. <That may be so dim wit, but the fact remains that
unless you want all of this to be public knowledge before you're ready to deal
with it, you'd better watch your P's and Q's.>

They rode the elevator in comfortable silence, each engrossed in their own
separate thoughts.
Mulder glanced down at the top of her head and smiled. Child? he thought to
himself with a small touch of lingering disbelief. Intellectually he accepted
the reality of the situation but emotionally...emotionally he was a mess. He
knew he was still in a mild state of shock trying to deal with all the
conflicting feelings that this certain knowledge evoked within him. Happy?
God, yes he was happy, thrilled beyond anything he'd ever imagined possible.
But he was also afraid, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. And how
could he possibly tell her about that?

Never in a million years had he ever expected to find someone like Dana or to
have a family of his own. Before he'd met her, Mulder had pretty much resigned
himself to his perceived notion that he'd live out his life separate and alone.
He knew it was absurd, but he almost felt guilty about being so happy. Could it
be that he'd learned to be so accepting of sorrow that he'd forgotten how to
handle joy? Was it possible that he created his own demons just to keep himself
from being happy? <Fox Mulder, you *think* too goddamn much...for once in your
miserable life, just be happy.>

Unable to resist temptation, Mulder bent over and lightly kissed the top of her
head, only then realizing that the elevator was going up, not down. "Hey! Where
are we going?" he asked..

Dana bent her head back and smiled into his soft questioning eyes. "Skinner
called this morning and wanted us to meet him in the large conference room, must
be for a briefing, I guess.

Shit! Skinner the first thing in the morning. He knew they'd have to meet with
Skinner sometime today, but he'd hoped to at least get settled in again before
facing the wrath of Walter. And why the large conference room? Maybe someone
else was going to be sitting in on this meeting -- a whole room full of someone
else's. "Do you know what's going on?" he asked.

Dana shrugged her shoulders. "You've been out of commission for over two months
now and he probably just wants to give you an update on what's been happening
while you were gone. He didn't mention anything about a new case."

Mulder still wasn't convinced. Something was going on here. "But why the
conference room, not just his office?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I think I overheard someone say Skinner's office was getting
painted this week, so maybe he's using the conference room as a temporary
office. With Skinner, who knows?"

Mulder leaned in close to Dana's ear. "Probably having the place swept for
bugs," he whispered.

Dana tilted her head up toward Mulder and watched his face carefully. She hoped
that he'd buy what she considered a logical explanation, but she could see from
the twitch in his jaw and his growing muscular tension that visions of facing a
panel full of chain-smoking, shadow hugging cancer men were dancing in his head,
and that his mind had filled the conference room with
dozens of shadowy figures whose only purpose in life was to kill him with
second-hand smoke. Inwardly, Dana grinned at the absurdity of the picture that
filled her mind, while outwardly she worked at carefully maintaining her neutral
mask. "Come on Mulder, how bad could it be? You haven't even officially
reported for duty yet so how could you possibly be in trouble?"

Mulder looked doubtful as the elevator doors opened "If anyone can be in trouble
before even reporting for duty, you can bet it will be me." Dana flashed him a
look of exasperation as they both stepped out into yet another corridor leading
to yet another generic door. The look on his face resembled that of a scolded
beagle and Dana had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Ooh,
this was going to be good.

Pausing before the closed door, Mulder absently rubbed his aching jaw. The
aspirin and gum goop had worn off during the drive over and the pain in his
mouth was returning with a vengeance.

"You know, Mulder," Dana whispered at him, "it is possible to take pessimism
just a bit too far."

Mulder looked down into her lovely eyes. God, if he only had half the co
nfidence in himself that she seemed to have in him. But what she said did make
sense. How in the world could he be in trouble already? As this thought sunk
home, his countenance lightened slightly and he managed a wary smile even
through the pain in his mouth. "You're absolutely right!" he garbled
cheerfully, suddenly wishing he could throw his voice. Moving his jaw enough to
talk was becoming an exercise in pain. "How could I piss him off if I haven't
even been here?"

Mulder raised his arm and knocked on the door with more confidence than he
still actually felt. If nothing else, he could at least go in with a positive
attitude and if Skinner proceeded to yell at him, well, it was nothing he hadn't
heard before.

"Agent Mulder, is that you?" Skinner's voice seemed to shake the building like a
thunderclap in a summer storm.

Mulder lowered his eyes and searched Dana's face for some clue as to what he
might have done. Even Dana's confidence seemed to be wavering just slightly
because all of a sudden she refused to meet his eyes. Mulder swallowed hard
before answering. "Yes, sir," he mumbled respectfully.

"Get in here!" Skinner bellowed.

Mulder felt the door vibrate beneath his fingertips from the volume alone.
Shit, but I haven't even been here, he thought again, racking his brain trying
to come up with an explanation for Skinner's obvious foul mood.

Dana nipped the inside of her mouth again in an attempt to maintain a solemn
appearance. It was getting harder by the second, and she nearly lost it when
Mulder turned to her with a look of confused worry. "Jesus, Dana, what did I
do?" he asked in a voice cracked with exasperation. "Christ, you don't think he
found out about us, do you?" Dana shook her head in response, not
trusting her voice.

Mulder turned back toward the door, took a deep breath to steady himself, then
gently pushed his way through the door into... darkness. What the hell??
Instinctively, Mulder drew his weapon before Dana could move to stop him, and he
had just assumed the Weaver stance when the lights suddenly clicked on,
revealing a room full of people.

"WEL..." they began to shout but froze in mid-word when they found themselves
looking down the business end of Mulder's glock.

Dana gently grasped a thoroughly bewildered Fox Mulder, slowly lowering both arm
and gun toward the floor before carefully removing the weapon from his hand and
placing it back into its holster.

"COME BACK," the crowd finally stuttered, releasing the breath they'd all been
holding.

"Hell of a way to greet your supervisor and coworkers, Agent Mulder," Skinner
said. His soft spoken words, accompanied by a good-natured grin, only
accentuated the absurdity of the moment. "Good to have to you back," Skinner
added as he stuck out his hand to firmly shake Mulder's. "I think."

Dana finally released the giggles she had been suppressing all morning long.
The sight of Skinner actually shaking hands with Mulder, not to mention the
shock on Mulder's face, were just too much. She watched while her usually
unperturbable partner stood in stunned silence as familiar faces smiled and
friends shook his hand and slapped him on the back, saw him stare in
open-mouthed surprise at the computer-generated banner hanging on the far wall
which simply read: 'Welcome back, Spooky.' A cake in the shape of a cartoon
flying saucer occupied the central conference room table. Dana noticed that
Henderson was already doling out slices to the hungry occupants of the room.

"Mulder, close your mouth, you're collecting flies," Dana snickered as she
nudged him forward to the center of the room.

"I'll get you for this, Dana Scully," he whispered under his breath.

She turned slowly and faced him with the most innocent expression he'd ever
encountered. "What makes you think this was my idea? It wasn't, although I kind
of wish it was since it turned out so well," she said with conviction that he
found difficult to disbelieve. However, he found it equally unbelievable that
these people would have thought of anything like this on
their own, at least for him. "Relax and enjoy it, Mulder," she added. <Easy for
her to say> he thought.

Skinner cleared his throat and the room quieted down. "Mulder, get over here so
I can officially put your sorry ass back on duty," Skinner said in his customary
voice of authority.

Mulder approached Skinner tentatively with more than just a little apprehension.
He wasn't used to this kind of attention, and he knew that A.D. Skinner knew
that. But for some reason, Walter Skinner always seemed to try and draw him out
into social situations whenever he saw an opportunity. Maybe it was just his
boss's way of attempting to normalize him. Right about now he'd rather face a
dozen Phoebe Greens than walk over to where Skinner was standing, in
front of God and a good portion of the FBI.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner began, "I've been asked to make a small presentation on
behalf of the technical staff, the secretarial pool, and your fellow field
agents in this division. But before I do, I'd like to make a few comments."

Mulder squirmed, feeling like he was ten years old again and back in the Vice
Principal's office. He glanced at the door, wondering if he could make it out
of here before something particularly embarrassing happened. If EBE's were ever
going to abduct him, now would be a really good time.

"Tech staff supervisor McCory would like to welcome you back to duty," Skinner
continued, glancing at a piece of paper he'd taken from his pocket <Great, crib
notes> Mulder thought. "He has reported to me that during your leave,
absenteeism increased thirty percent due to the increase of mundane, run of the
mill cases that have been submitted to them for analysis. In fact, it seems that
Murray has taken to playing FooFighters on his sound equipment in the hopes of
finding definitive proof of life after death." Skinner paused and searched the
room for Murray, who was by now trying desperately to blend into the wallpaper.
"I'm looking forward to hearing the explanation for that, Murray," Skinner said.

"Yes, sir," Murray managed to croak out, to the general laughter of the room's
other occupants. Mulder couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the young
sound tech, especially since he'd always had a crush on Dana. Murray had been
the only one as devastated as Mulder during Dana's
disappearance, if such a thing were possible, and Mulder wondered how he was
going to react when her condition became obvious.

"I think it's safe to say that everyone in tech support can't wait for your next
unusual theory to come across their desks," Skinner said. "I, for one, could
wait just a little longer, if you don't mind." Mulder could hardly believe it -
Skinner was actually smiling at him. Mulder didn't think he'd ever seen Skinner
smile before, especially not when he was referring to the X
files. Maybe he'd better check Skinner's office for a pod or some other, more
insidious brain control device.

Skinner consulted his notes again. "Mrs. Johnson, however, wants to know when
you are going on your next leave. Since you haven't been making your daily
trips through the typing pool to get to the basement elevator, typos have
dropped by an amazing fifty percent and paperwork was actually getting done in a
timely manner." Several of the secretaries in attendance blushed and giggled,
and one young woman was flustered enough that she actually dropped her piece of
cake on the floor. "Do you always have this affect on women, Agent Mulder?"
Skinner asked. Mulder felt a warm flush heating up his own face and thought
that things couldn't possibly get more embarrassing than this. He was wrong.

"Now, as spokesman for the field agents in this division, Agent Hanson would
like to present you with a small token of their esteem." Skinner stepped back
to make room for a large bull of a man with close cropped dark brown hair.
Hanson could have been a defensive lineman for the Washington Redskins, except
that while his movements were as powerful as any pro football player, he moved
with a surprising grace you wouldn't expect from someone with his bulk. As
Hanson took over the spot that Skinner had just vacated, Mulder unconsciously
took a step backward. There weren't many people who could make Mulder feel like
a dwarf, but Hanson was one of them.

"Hey, Mulder," the big man announced with a wry smile and a good-natured but
bone-jarring pat on Mulder's back. "It's good to have you back. But you know,
it came to our attention through an unnamed source who participated in that
little mishap a couple of weeks ago, that an incident occurred during your
incarceration that merits mention."

Mulder squirmed and shifted his weight nervously. What the hell was Hanson
talking about? He drew a blank and looked to Dana for help, but she wouldn't
meet his eyes. Shit, he knew he wasn't used to this, but he had a really bad
feeling about what was coming up. His embarrassment was reaching epic
proportions, but he held his ground and hoped he wasn't turning as red as he
thought he was.

"So," Hanson continued, "for imaginative retaliation under pressure, pissing off
a perp above and beyond the call of duty, and getting even without fear of legal
ramifications, on behalf of field agents everywhere I'd like to present you with
the first annual 'Stick it to em' ' award." Hanson snorted as he took the cover
off an object he held in his other hand, something Mulder hadn't even been aware
was there.

<Oh, God. Let the earth crack open and just swallow me now. Please.> Mulder
tried to stifle the urge to cringe as he came face to face with a trophied
replication of a life-size Jack Daniels bottle. He should have known somebody
would spread that little anecdote around. If it was part of someone's
testimony, it was part of public record and there for the whole
world to see. Just one more item to add to the Spooky Mulder legacy. He sighed
and took the trophy from Hanson's outstretched hand.

Mulder forced himself to grin as he received a round of applause from the crowd,
with a few catcalls mixed in for good measure. "Thanks," he muttered as he
waited for the room to quiet down. He guessed they all expected him to say
something. Someone yelled from the back of the room "Hey, Spooky. Did it fit?"
and he nearly lost what composure he had as the crowd burst out
laughing. But when he started speaking he was the picture of perfect aplomb -
at least as perfect as anyone could get who was holding an empty Jack Daniels
bottle glued to a plaque. "I accept this token of esteem and will do my best to
live up to the expectations it symbolizes," he said, then looked over at Hanson.
"Uh.... do you know? Is this thing functional? I'd like to keep it around just
in case I happen to get caught short."

Hanson laughed at him and smacked him on the back again, nearly causing Mulder
to lose his balance. He thanked a few other people, then looked around for the
door. Instead he came face to face with Skinner.

"Just one more thing to make this official," Skinner said, handing him a thick
file. "This came across my desk early this morning. Local police are at a loss
and the violent crimes section is stumped. Welcome back, Agent Mulder - it's
all yours."

"Thank you, sir. I'll take care of it," Mulder replied. Skinner raised an
eyebrow at him and inclined his head toward the door, and Mulder realized
that his boss was giving him an out. "Thank you," he said again, really
meaning it this time. He made a beeline for the door and then the bathroom
beyond.

"Alright, everybody. Party's over and you've got ten minutes to get to
work," Skinner barked. People scattered like a room full of roaches when
the lights are turned on and soon all that was left was typical party debris.

Scully remained to help clean up the mess. Tossing a handful of dirty paper
plates into the trash, she caught Skinner's eye with a grateful smile. "Thank
you, sir."

"For what, Agent Scully?" Skinner said, helping himself to another piece of
cake. Henderson was a heck of cook and Scully wished she could have a second
piece herself, but she really didn't need to add any more bulk to her already
expanding waistline.

"For doing this for him."

"I didn't do anything, Agent Scully." Skinner nodded his head toward the
now-empty room. "All these people put the party together. I just gave my
permission, that is all."

"That was enough, sir." Dana smiled again and without thinking bent to pick up
a napkin off the floor. As she bent down, the ring Mulder had given her and
which she wore on her necklace slipped out unnoticed from between the buttons of
her shirt. When she stood back up again, the ring caught on the table, snapping
the delicate chain on which it hung. It bounced off the
floor and rolled into oblivion.

"Oh, no," she groaned, dropping to her knees beginning a frantic search under
tables and chairs, forgetting that Skinner was even in the room.

"What did you lose, Scully?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"My ring, sir. Uh... it's a family heirloom and I've got to find it." She was
down on her hands and knees now, crawling under the conference table. "It's very
valuable and extremely important. Mu... uh... mom would kill me if I lost it."
Scully winced, knowing the explanation sounded lame, even to her ears.

"Where did you drop it? I'll help you look for it," he offered.

Dana glanced back up at him so fast she conked her head on the underside of the
table. "Ah... no, it's okay, sir. I'm sure I'll find it."

Skinner frowned at her, sensing that she was nervous about something but not
really understanding why. This ring must be damned important. "Nonsense. Two
pairs of eyes are better than one, even if mine aren't exactly as good as they
used to be." He put his cake on the table, then knelt down and began to search
under the chairs lined up against the far wall. He was halfway to the door when
he found it - an engagement ring of all things.

Skinner turned it over in his hand, marveling at the craftsmanship that went
into the creation of this ring. Scully was right. You didn't need to be an
expert to tell that it was made with the love and care of a true artisan, unlike
most of the modern jewelry he'd seen these days. The light caught it in just
the right way, illuminating an engraving inside the band. Before he
knew it, he'd given into temptation and found himself reading the inscription.
He inhaled sharply as the words sank into his brain. 'Forever and Always, Fox
and Dana.' Skinner smiled to himself. It was gratifying to know that at least
in this, his instincts remained intact. They'd just
better be careful.

"I believe I found it," he said in a loud voice as he stood back up.

Dana crawled out from under the conference table and hurried across the room,
hoping against hope that he hadn't read the inscription.

"Is this it?" Skinner asked as he placed the ring into the palm of her hand.

"Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Mom would kill me if I'd lost it." Dana closed
her fingers tightly over the ring, then deposited it in the pocket of her
jacket.

"Yes, I'm sure she would," Skinner said, fighting a grin.

"Sir?" Dana asked. Something didn't seem right here. She'd caught a look of
restrained mischief in his eyes, and the tone of his voice suggested that he
didn't quite believe her rather transparent story concerning the ring. Dana
read Skinner's expression, instinctively concluding without a doubt that he
knew.

Oh, God - he knew. Dana's knees felt weak for a moment and then something hit
her. Wait a minute, now - he *knew.* He'd known, maybe for some time now, and
he hadn't blown the whistle on them. Dana's expression changed from shock to
wonder as she contemplated her boss. Sometimes this very complicated man really
confused the hell out of her. Skinner was as complex as Fox... well, almost.

Skinner surveyed the room cautiously as if he feared being overheard by the
omnipresent fly on the wall. He walked over to a nearby table, motioning Dana
to follow, and rustled some loose papers sitting on top. "Agent Scully," he
said in his normal A.D. voice as he pantomimed holding up a file, "I must urge
you and your partner to deal with this matter with the utmost discretion. If
you don't, things could get extremely complicated," he added after a slight
pause.

Dana lowered her head and found herself staring at the floor. It was glaringly
obvious to her now that Skinner had been aware of their relationship. Maybe, in
his own way, he even personally approved of it. Professionally, however, he'd
just fulfilled his responsibilities by warning her of the possible repercussions
of that relationship.

It surprised her, though, that at a time when he could be throwing the book at
both of them, she felt nothing but genuine concern from Skinner. This was the
same man who spent a major part of his time jumping on their asses and chewing
Mulder's butt over every little aspect of their jobs, and now he was an apparent
ally. Just like that. Or maybe not just like that. Maybe he'd
been trying to help them all along, but like rebellious teenagers who railed
against their overprotective parents they hadn't been able to see it that way.

For whatever reason, Dana decided he was someone she could trust. They'd have
to tell someone soon anyway and it would be better if that someone had some pull
as well as a sympathetic attitude. Her condition was already expanding her
waistline to the point where she was going to need to trade in her present
wardrobe for styles with a looser fit. This fact alone was
alarming enough - she'd thought she'd have more time before she'd start to show.
She did not want Skinner caught in the dark and off guard when the shit hit the
fan, which evidently
would be a lot sooner than anyone anticipated.

Raising her head slowly, Dana searched his face for any kind of malevolent
intent. Finding none, she sighed and met his eyes with honesty and faith.
"Things are already complicated, sir," she muttered softly.

Skinner quickly raised one hand to halt any further vocal explanations. Instead,
he grabbed a pen and paper and handed it to her.

Silently, Dana wrote out one word and returned the small scrap of paper to his
outstretched hand. Skinner stared at the word for several seconds, then stuffed
the paper into his pocket. He massaged his temples heavily with the index
fingers of both hands, squinting his eyes shut, then looked down into Dana's
hopeful face.

Damn. This was one headache he didn't need. Perhaps he could have discreetly
handled their relationship if they'd have kept everything low key. After all,
they'd fielded the usual Bureau rumors for years, and although partner romances
were frowned upon, they weren't exactly forbidden either. However, this little
turn of events changed everything. He could smoke
screen a romance, but he sure as hell couldn't hide a baby - not for very long,
anyway. Reassignment wasn't even a viable option at this point, unless of
course, it was nearby. Though the Bureau sometimes callously relocated erring
partners thousands of miles apart, they were still human enough to resist
separating a family unit, which is what these three would soon be.

But he'd figure something out. He had to. <That's why they pay you the big
bucks, Walter.> He felt a real affection for Mulder and Scully, but he had to
admit he had ulterior motives for wanting them safe, healthy, and happy. When
they were happy, someone important to him was happy, and when that person was
happy, so was he. Walter Skinner decided that he liked being
happy.

Skinner smiled down at Dana. "Agent Scully, I'll see what I can do to assist
you in solving this *case.*"

"Thank you, sir." Dana breathed a huge sigh of relief. Things could have gone
worse - a lot worse. They still might, but at least telling the first person in
the Bureau who should know was out of the way. What happened now would be more
or less out of her control. Dana didn't like that fact any, but it was a fact
nonetheless and one she'd been dealing with privately ever
since her condition had been confirmed.

Skinner looked around the room - still just the two of them. He should have
know Mulder wouldn't come back. Although, considering the news he'd just
received, Mulder was probably better off making himself scarce right about now.
"In the meantime," he continued, "may I suggest that you conduct a search for
your partner. I would have thought he'd be back from the restroom by now, but
from the look of things, he's probably cut and run."

"Social events have never been his forte', sir," Dana said.

Skinner grunted in agreement. "Agent Mulder is the only person I know who can
get into trouble even in the J. Edgar Hoover Building if he's left alone too
long. Better locate him, Agent Scully, before he ends up in a body cast,
traction, or both." He retrieved the piece of cake he'd left on the table and
stabbed a bite. "You know, I've actually taken to filling out his
medical forms ahead of time with the 'type of injury' space left blank... just
to save time," he grumbled, then popped the piece of cake into his mouth.

Dana stood next to Skinner, unsure whether or not she'd actually been dismissed.
The room was still a mess, but she wanted - no needed - to find Mulder to let
him know what had just happened.

Skinner noticed her indecision. "Go on, get out of here," he said with a stern
scowl, gesturing with his fork toward the open door. "You've got a new case to
work on. I'll have my assistant make your travel arrangements so all you have
to do is get him to the airport on time and in one piece." Dana smiled with
understanding and turned to walk away.

"Good Luck," Skinner called after Scully's retreating form, his lips creeping
upward into a muted smile. He finished off the last piece of cake and dumped
the empty paper plate and plastic fork in the trash. His ramrod straight
shoulders slumped forward a little with fatigue as he walked out the door on his
way back to his office. One more headache to deal with. Why can't life
be simple, he asked himself silently.

Red Sands Hotel/Casino
Reno, Nevada

Lily looked at her watch, a cheap black plastic digital. Five thirty. Half
an hour until her shift was over. Lord, her feet hurt, her back hurt, and
whatever curls had been in her hair at the beginning of her shift were long
gone now. All in all, she felt far older than a twenty-eight year old had
any right to feel. At least she was almost done for the day. A short drive
home and she'd be back at her apartment where she could collapse on her bed,
until she had to start all over again tonight at ten. Ugh, what a lovely
thought.
"Need a refill, waitress."

"Sure thing," she said with a smile that felt pasted on. The effort was wasted
on her customer, an overweight, badly dressed business type. His head was
buried in this morning's edition of The Wall Street Journal, and she probably
could have stuck her tongue out at him and he wouldn't have noticed. She
refilled his coffee cup and he never even looked up at her.

"Got a spot for me, Lily?"

Lily's smile transformed into something a little more genuine as she heard
Scott's greeting. It was the same routine every morning, but it never failed to
brighten her day up somehow. Scott Simons, the casino's new security chief,
always had breakfast in the coffee shop, always said the same thing to her,
always left her a big tip, and in general was the nicest casino exec
she'd ever known. None of the others even knew her name. She was just another
employee on the payroll, employee number 2867 as stamped on her timecard, but
Scott was different. Of course, he hadn't been in the casino business all that
long himself. Maybe by the time he'd put in as many years as all the other
suits, he'd be just as aloof as they were.

"Kept your favorite spot open, Mr. Simons," Lily replied, pouring a cup of
coffee as Scott settled into his favorite booth. "You want your usual?"

Scott didn't reply for a moment. That was strange, Lily thought, and took a
good look at him. He was a little pale, kind of worried looking. "You okay, Mr.
Simons?" she asked.

"Uh... yeah, sure, I'm fine," he replied, trying a smile that looked as phony
as the one she'd given the slob at the counter just a few minutes ago. "The
usual it is, Lily."

"Comin' right up," Lily said, giving him one more careful look before she
headed back to the kitchen to place his order.

Scott watched her walk away. Okay? No, things were definitely not okay, but
he hadn't figured out exactly what the problem was yet. Strange things were
happening with his security system. Nothing major, mind you, but it took
just a few little glitches with a system based on technology as weird as this
to worry him. Ever since he'd installed it, he'd subjected it to periodic
little tests to make sure it was receiving his instructions right, and he was
still fiddling with its morphing capabilities. In the last couple of weeks
the tests hadn't turned out the way he expected, and he was frustrated that
he hadn't made any headway figuring out how in the world this thing managed
to transform matter.

And then there were the murders. They had nothing to do with his system, he
was sure of that, but they still troubled him. The Reno of the 1990's was
different from the Reno of his youth, with rumblings of gang activity that
had moved in from nearby California, and the murder rate had been rising year
by year. But it had never been anything like this.

In the past few weeks several people had died outside the casino. If they
had died on the gaming floor, Scott would have suspected his system of taking
its directives a bit too seriously, but these people died outside and his
system wasn't concerned with outside security. Still, the police had
questioned him and most of the staff as well, and reviewed in minute detail
the videotapes of the gaming areas. Although the investigation had
discovered that all these people had won some reasonably big bucks at the Red
Sands, Scott had breathed a little easier when the police, as well as the
casino's own security people, found no evidence that they had earned their
money by cheating the casino.

His biggest problem right now was that the deaths were still unsolved. The
police were stumped, and now there was a rumor that the FBI, of all things,
was being called in to investigate. He was going to have to deal with the
Feds - again. God, he couldn't get away from these people. And what if they
started poking around his system, asking too many questions, wanting too many
answers? What then? There was no way he could logically and rationally
explain where he came up with the brains for his innovative little computer.

Scott only hoped that the Feds who got sent out here were pencil-pushing,
by-the-book desk jockeys who'd blame the deaths on organized crime, take in
the local sights, and leave without poking around too much. After all, his
luck had held so far, right?

----------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 3 TRUE CONFESSIONS

FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Scully closed the door to the conference room and heaved a sigh of relief.
That had gone a lot better than she could have ever expected. Now to find
her cowardly other half and fill him in on what had happened after he'd
escaped from the party.

Why was praise and acceptance so difficult for him to handle? Most people
genuinely liked Mulder even though they didn't understand him, and the
ribbing and teasing they'd dished out this time was good-natured and well
meaning. She had no doubts that he knew that. Sometimes she just couldn't
understand why he couldn't recognize his own worth, why he couldn't
understand what people saw and respected in him. As intelligent as he was,
sometimes Mulder just didn't get it. There was absolutely nothing that this
man had to be ashamed of yet he consistently accepted ridicule and blame far
easier than all the good things he deserved. Perhaps it was a result of a
lifetime of being told he was less than he was by his own family, by his
father in particular, that this one small flaw of insecurity had been ingrained
within an otherwise dynamic personality. It would take some time to
undo the damage, but she loved him unconditionally... and she had a lifetime
to work on it.

Dana thought her first stop should be the men's room, since that was the last
place Mulder had been headed. She paused by the door just long enough to get
a smart remark from Agent Carter who happened to be rounding the corner.

"What's the matter, Agent Scully? Take ole Spooky out for his morning walk
and he didn't 'make'? You should know better than to let him off his leash,
now he's lost." Carter sneered sarcastically. "Let me know when you find
him and I'll call the pound to pick him up. Hey, if you ever get tired of
foxes and want to give a real stud a chance, let me know."

Oh, this man really burned her. She raised her eyebrow coyly, stopping
Carter in his tracks. "Oh yes," she whispered seductively, "I'll be sure to
call you... just before I have them put you to sleep," she shot out tersely,
turning sharply and leaving Carter with his mouth on the floor.

Where in the hell was he anyway? Why did she have to ask such a stupid
question. She knew where he was - he was hiding in the basement. Skinner
had given him a bone and he was going to bury it and himself under a pile of
paper, printouts, photos, police reports, and interviews. These people
didn't have an inkling as to what they were trying to uncover, which was why
when all else failed, they dropped the case in Spooky's lap. Mulder's mind
worked on another level, and they knew that as well as she did, so they
covered their awe of him with barbs and snide remarks. He was brilliant and
it didn't take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that his brilliance
frightened them. Hell, sometimes it frightened her, too. But unlike some of
her colleagues, she preferred to try and understand, rather than attack what
was different or unusual. In this case, she'd been rewarded far beyond her
wildest dreams.

Dana rode the elevator down to the basement and exited into the sparsely lit
corridor that led to their basement domain. She reflected back to her first
trip down this same hallway and smiled quietly as she remembered her
anticipation and trepidation at being assigned to 'Spooky Mulder.' She'd
heard about him from just about everyone when she'd discovered that she'd
been assigned to his section. Although she usually didn't give credit to
idle gossip, she'd found herself just a tad anxious about working with
someone that the Bureau deemed necessary to hide beneath the building.

But she'd discovered that Mulder wasn't at all what she'd expected. What
she'd *expected* was an over-rated, overly-educated, nerdy-looking weirdo
with little or no sense of humor, so she was totally unprepared for what she
discovered within the walls of the small dank smelling office hidden deep
within the recesses of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He'd nearly taken her
breath away and she'd needed every ounce of self-control to maintain her
professional, detached demeanor. The bespectacled young man who'd finally
lifted his concentrated gaze from the slides he'd been inspecting looked more
like a college professor grading papers than a 'Spooky... anything' and he
was... well... gorgeous, plain and simple. That wasn't all, though -
something else had attracted her as well. His eyes... his eyes were soft and
playful, sparkling with mischief and intelligence. And when he implored her
with that little silly line, "Do you believe in the existence of
extraterrestrials?' she realized even then that falling in love with him
would be too easy. <Should have run for the hills, Dana Katherine.>

Absently rubbing her abdomen, she abandoned her little stroll down memory
lane, opened their office door and wandered in. Mulder looked up at her from
over top the file he was holding in his hands. God, he was still gorgeous,
even with drool dripping off his chin, she thought ruefully.
And he's mine, her mind added possessively, all mine. <That's right, Dana,
'I am woman, hear me roar.' And they say men are territorial, hmph...>

Mulder raised an eyebrow at her lingering look. "What's up?" he asked,
self-consciously wiping away the moisture on his chin with the back of his
hand.

She eyed him with a stern expression, ignoring the disgusted look on his
face as he desperately searched for something to wipe the offending body
fluid off his hand. "That's what I was going to ask you. You know, it
wouldn't have hurt you to stick around for a few minutes and thank those
people for their concern and thoughtfulness instead of running off to hide in
the basement," she snorted.

"I wasn't hiding," he protested, unconsciously moving papers about on the
desk in front of him. She just stared back at him, her expression clearly
saying that she didn't buy it. Okay, so he lied and she knew it. He was
hiding, he admitted to himself, and he wasn't exactly sure why except that
all those people centering their thoughts and emotions on him had made him
uncomfortable and nervous.

"Mulder, it's me, Scully, remember? I know you. You were hiding," she
replied with the conviction of familiarity.

Mulder slapped the file back down on the desk a little more forcefully than
he'd intended, causing Dana to jump slightly. "Okay, guilty as charged.
I... I guess I'm just not used to being the center of attention, at least
where anything positive is concerned. It was embarrassing," he blushed
vividly. "I did my job, the best way I knew how. That's all. Why
couldn't they let it go quietly just like everything else we've done?
I'm just not cut out for the spotlight, Dana. I'm not used to it and it
makes me self-conscious and uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I hurt anyone's
feelings. I just didn't know what to say or do," he sighed heavily.

Dana sat on the corner of his desk, careful not to sit on any of the papers
he had scattered all over the top. She reached over and gently cupped his
chin in her hands, carefully drawing his face forward to within inches of her
own. "Better get used to the attention, Sherlock. You were born to be
famous," she purred, lightly brushing his lips in a whisper of a kiss. "Oh,
by the way," she mumbled, the sound of her voice nearly absorbed by his mouth
hovering temptingly over hers. "Agent Carter suggested that the next time I
let you off your leash and you get lost, that I should call a real stud like
him and have the pound pick you up."

A light ripple of laughter escaped Mulder's throat before she felt his smile
on her lips. "You tell that mongrel bastard next time you see him that I
have friends in Animal Control. Ask him how he feels about being neutered."

Dana pushed away from him gently and smiled. "You're too easy Mulder," she
chuckled. "I threatened to have him put to sleep."

Mulder's eyes crinkled in mirth. "That depends on your point of view. I
think I can speak for most men when I say that I think I'd rather be put to
sleep." Scully arched an eyebrow at him, and her smile turned a bit more
seductive. "You know," Mulder continued with a seductive smile of his own,
"I'd love to continue this conversation in detail later at a more opportune
time so I could more fully demonstrate the reasons behind my opinion.
Perhaps after work, we could get together, debate the issue and you could
allow me to convince you of the advantages of remaining viable?"

Dana grinned wickedly. Oh Lord, one night away from her and his libido had
kicked into overdrive. She'd learned long ago to recognize that particular
glint in his eyes. Well, that and the huge bulge straining against the fly
of his pants were a dead give away that Mulder's mind was not entertaining
professional thoughts at the moment.

He winked at her playfully and tossed the file he'd been reading on the desk
in front of her. "This is definitely an X-file, Scully, custom made. Read
it over and tell me what you think. I'll go get us a flight to Reno."

"You don't need to worry about the travel arrangements. Skinner told me he'd
take care of everything and all I had to do was just get you there on time
and in one piece." Dana paused, considering how to broach the subject.
"Mulder..." she began.

He looked up to see her chewing on her bottom lip, but she didn't say
anything right away. "What?" he finally asked. Although he was still
distracted by the faint scent of her perfume and the warmth of her body so
tantalizingly close to him, a small alarm began sounding in his head. She
was stalling about something, and she only stalled when she had something
unpleasant to say. "What's wrong, Dana?" he asked again.

She lowered her eyes. "Skinner knows about us... about the baby." she
whispered softly.

"What?" he repeated in a choked voice, panic showing clearly on his face.
His previous arousal suffered a sudden crash and burn..

Dana reached out to caress his cheek. "It's all right," she said, trying to
reassure him. "Actually, I think he's known for quite a while. He found out
for certain about us by accident when I lost my ring in the conference room
and he found it. He read the inscription, Mulder and the man has no problem
adding one plus one, so I told him about the baby."

"I just wish you'd talked to me first," Mulder said, realizing as soon as the
words were out of his mouth that Dana had said the same thing to him many
times before.

"It was a judgment call, Mulder," she replied. "Besides, I trust him. We
have to trust him. Sooner or later we're going to need someone on our side
who's on the inside and in a position to help us."

Mulder still was a little more pale than he should have been. "Are you sure
about this?" he asked not quite convinced.

"No," Dana admitted. "I just don't think we have any other choice. He
could've blown the whistle but he didn't. That's all I know... that and I
think he likes my mom," she said with a crooked smile.

"What?!?" he managed to sputter one more time.

"Mulder, are you entering your second childhood? I swear your vocabulary is
shrinking."

"Your mother???" he gasped. Oh, no. He hoped it was nothing serious. He
really cared about Margaret, maybe even more than his own mother, he thought
with just a little guilt. <What's the matter with you, jerk? Skinner's a
decent guy. He's pulled your butt out of a few jams and he came to run the
show himself when he thought you were in trouble. Lighten up.>

Dana scowled at him. "What's the matter? Don't you think my mother is
capable of attracting men? She's not that old," Dana muttered with
exasperation.

Leaning backward in his chair, Mulder took a stab at damage control. "No, of
course she's not *old.* Your mother's a very attractive woman and if I was
twenty years older, I might've gone after her myself," he teased with a
devilish grin. As usual, he'd managed to put his foot in it again and now
had to maneuver his way back to solid ground.

A delicate eyebrow arched quickly with suspicion. "Laying it on a little
thick, aren't we, Mulder?"

"With a trowel," he admitted with his typical boyish charm and a wink of an
eye. She found herself grinning in spite of her best efforts to maintain a
stern expression.

"I'm sorry, but somehow I find even the remote possibility of having to call
Skinner 'dad' slightly unnerving," Mulder explained out loud. What he didn't
say was that in some ironic way, Skinner couldn't possibly be any worse of a
dad than what mother nature had seen fit to provide for him. Though Mulder
knew he'd been a constant source of irritation to the A.D., he was fairly
certain that at least Skinner didn't hate him, which was more than he could
have said about his own father.

There he goes, jumping to conclusions again, Dana thought. "Mulder, all I
said was that I thought he 'liked' her. You don't need to go off the deep
end." She smoothed a lock of hair off his face, then looked deeply into his
eyes. "Care to tell me the real reason that possibility disturbs you?"

Mulder fidgeted for several seconds while trying to put his thoughts in
order. "It's just that being associated with A.D. Skinner could be hazardous
to your mom's health," he finally said. "You know the kind of people we have
to deal with, the enemies this line of work attracts, Dana." Mulder used the
most diplomatic tone he could muster, hoping that she would just drop the
subject. Fat chance. <Why did his off hand remark seem to affect her so
deeply?>

Dana slid off the side of his desk, then slowly spun his chair around until
he faced her. She leaned into him until their noses nearly touched. "You
mean like being 'associated' with you?" she whispered hoarsely.

The hint of a smile vanished from Mulder's lips, dissipating like the morning
mist at sunrise. His eyes took on a familiar haunted expression and Dana
immediately regretted the words as soon as she'd uttered them. Why did she
say something so obviously stupid? This particular subject had always been a
sore spot with Mulder and being reminded of their vulnerability was the last
thing he needed right now.

"You're right, Dana... you're absolutely right. There is no difference, no
goddamn difference at all," he conceded darkly. "Why did I ever allow myself
to fall in love with you?" he asked in a desolate voice.

"You couldn't help yourself," Dana smiled wryly as she claimed his hand with
her own. "Mulder, do you have any regrets?" she asked in a more serious
tone.

His mood lightened slightly at the sight of the one smile that never failed
to melt his heart, yet his eyes still held shadows of guilt and fear. "Of
course I have regrets... "

Dana's head snapped up suddenly as a cold wave of panic tightened its fist
around her heart.

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "But not about us," he reassured
her with a gentle smile. "Although being alone *was* easier on my
conscience," he admitted, "but it wasn't nearly as satisfying." Mulder squeezed
her
hand gently. "Before I met you, there was nothing for them to hold over me,
no one for them to use against me. Now... well, now there is. Now I have a
price, Dana - I can be bought. And it doesn't take a fucking Rhodes scholar
to figure out what that price is."

Dana knew where this conversation was heading and made an attempt to cut him
off at the pass. "Mulder, you are *not* the only member of law enforcement
with a family to protect. Agents' families are always at risk. It's part of
who we are and what we do. You know that, mom knows that, and so do I."

Mulder bent forward over his knees, flexed his large, elegant hands, and
studied the lines in his palms as though they held some long, lost secret of
the universe. "Dana," he whispered softly with an intensity that punctuated
his emotions more forcefully than yelling could have ever done. "We are not
normal law enforcement. Normal agents aren't bugged by their own fucking
government. They aren't kidnapped and brain-drained because they saw too
much, nor are they attacked by sexually morphing, pheromone manipulating
beings for the purpose of lethal copulation. They definitely aren't bound,
beaten and exposed to alien genetic mutations oozing caustic, green blood
either, or abducted, experimented on and left for dead. There is no way in
hell that what we do comes anywhere near the realm of normalcy."

Staring down at the top of his bowed head, Dana lightly ran a finger through
the silky dark hair and gently caressed the side of his face. He turned his
worried gaze toward her until she could look deeply into his loving eyes.
She could sense as well as see an unspoken fear held in check within their
depths. "That's all true, and all reasons for us to be careful. But you
haven't told me everything," she said.

He slowly shook his head 'no' as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

"The truth, then," she implored in a voice that reinforced the fact that she
would not be denied. Kneeling down before him, she placed both hands firmly
on his knees and unflinchingly held his eyes with her own. "I deserve to hear
the truth."

"Oh, Dana, you deserve so much more than the truth, so much more than I can
ever give you." He didn't want to say out loud what lived in the back of his
mind, kept him awake nights, fearing that if he actually said the words they
might come true. But he owed her the truth, at least, no matter how
difficult it was to put into words. "I..." his voice cracked with bottled up
anxiety kept hidden for far too long, and he took a deep breath before he
continued. "I carry an unknown viral antigen in my blood. You... harbor
unexplained remnants of branched DNA in yours. Over the past few years,
we've been exposed to God knows what. What if our children aren't....
normal? What if sometime in the future the beings who took Sam come back for
*my* children?"

"Mulder, that's not going to happen. We're not going to let that happen.
And as far as our child being normal, all the test results have come back
normal so far, so I'd stop worrying about what if's or you're going to drive
yourself crazy." Dana studied his face for a moment. "But that's not all
that's bothering you, is it?"

Mulder sat back in his chair. "What if I'm a rotten father?" he blurted out.

Dana nearly laughed out loud, but the look on his face was so sincere that
she stifled the urge. So that was at the heart of all his worries. Even
after naming all the legitimate concerns he'd just rattled off, the thing
that really bothered him was whether he'd be able to cut it as someone's dad.
"Mulder, you're going to be a wonderful father," she tried to reassure him.

"How do you know?" he asked. "I can't even handle babysitting without a
major crisis setting in."

"You're terrific with Catie's kids," Dana said. "You're just a disaster in
the kitchen, and I don't intend to let you near mine."

"But Dana - I don't even know how a father's supposed to act. Being a
babysitter is simple - just keep the kids occupied and out of trouble. But a
dad? I really never had a viable role model for that one. My dad tended to
be insensitive and overly severe in the discipline department - not someone
in whose steps I'd want to follow."

"Overly severe?" Dana stammered with anger. "The man abused you both
mentally and physically. Why can't you just come out and say it?" But he
just sat there stone-faced, refusing, like so many abused children, to admit
that he hadn't deserved the abuse, that he had been a victim of someone who
was supposed to love and care for him. For his own sake, as well as theirs
as a family, she couldn't let this go on. "Mulder, this isn't healthy.
You've got to stop making excuses for him and stop trying to justify what he
did to you."

"I can't."

"You were just a little kid, Mulder. You didn't deserve it. He beat you. He
abused you." Dana saw him flinch and it was only the knowledge that the
longer this stayed buried, the more damage it did to his psyche that gave her
the strength to keep after him. "You didn't deserve the kind of punishment
your dad handed out. You've got to believe that. You were a victim. Say
it."

"No."

"He abused you. Say it!"

Mulder's hands trembled involuntarily and a sound halfway between a growl and
a moan escaped his lips. "OK, ok, the bastard beat the living, fucking shit
out of me whenever he got he opportunity. Is that what you want me to say?
And then when hitting me wasn't possible, he made it abundantly clear what a
curse I was to his life. And the funniest part," he gasped in a muted sob,
"is that I still love him, and all I ever wanted was to know that he loved
me, too, or if that was too much for him, I at least wanted his approval and
respect. But the son of a bitch wouldn't even give me that much." Mulder
stopped and looked at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at her face. "You
know what they say - abused children become abusive parents. God, I'm so
afraid, Dana. I'm scared shitless that I'll become like him. I couldn't
handle that. I just couldn't."

Dana reached out and turned his face back toward hers. "Listen to me. You
are not like him, Mulder. I know your dark sides. I've seen them. And even
in your darkness, you could never be like him. Never. It's just not in you.
The simple fact that the possibility frightens you is proof enough to me that
it would never happen. The man I love would put his hand through a wall
rather than harm a child in anger. I KNOW this. Trust me, believe me, and
leave this grief behind you. There's too much happiness ahead." She leaned
forward and kissed his forehead. "I promise."

Mulder took her in his arms and held on tight like a drowning man to a life
ring. The pain in his mouth temporarily forgotten, his lips found hers and
his heart soared with joy. Maybe with Dana in his life he could unlearn all
the painful lessons his father taught him, and he could learn to no longer
fear 'what ifs.'

Reluctantly, Mulder eased his arms from around her waist and removed his head
from the comforting warmth of her breasts against his face. The calming
effect of her scent still lingered in his nostrils, once more slaying the
dragons that threatened to reduce his soul to ash and cinder.

Dana felt the tension slip from his body as he carefully pulled away from
her. Sensing there was something else he'd wanted to discuss with her, she
remained silent, curiously questioning him with her eyes, patiently waiting
for whatever disclosure he was willing to make. She'd pushed him enough for
one morning, and besides, she knew he was going to tell her. Exactly how she
knew this was unclear. She only knew that she did sense it and accepted the
silent form of understood communication without reservation as a part of
their uncanny closeness.

Mulder knew she was waiting for him to divulge what else was bothering him.
She always knew when something weighed heavily on his mind. After everything
else they'd just discussed, you'd think he would have no problem broaching
this topic. However, there was a problem. After much recent soul-searching
regarding their future, he'd just taken it upon himself to make a major
decision that directly concerned Dana without consulting with her first.
That little lapse in sanity alone could quite possibly cost him the use of
his left testicle for at least a week. She would no doubt be livid. He
winced at the thought of getting used to talking a few octaves higher while
trying to figure out a way to explain everything without sounding trite,
cheap, or God forbid... convenient.

The idea had crystallized as soon as he realized that their new case would be
sending them to Reno. He'd made a few calls and confirmed that it was
possible, and now it was not only possible but he'd already set it in motion,
and there was no turning back - was there? Maybe he could convince her, once
they arrived in Reno, that what he had planned was a spur of the moment
thing. Hey, that would be romantic, right? Oh yeah, sure, trying to lie to
Dana would be an unproductive exercise in futility. Haven't you learned
anything? he chided himself. One look in your eyes and she'd know the truth
and instead of being just angry, she'd be hurt and angry that you didn't
confide your intentions to her. No, Mulder... you're out of your league.
You've never been dishonest with her before, so now is not the time to start.
Just tell her what you've done and hope to hell she doesn't kill you before
you can spill your guts.

Mulder glanced at her nervously and cleared his throat. He knew better than
to pull shit like this, but he'd done it anyway. Sometimes he was his own
worst enemy.

The longer he stalled, the more anxious Dana got. Uh oh, she thought, the
guilty puppy look was plastered all over his face, eyes all soft and
mournful. This could only mean one thing. Whatever he had to tell her had
the potential to royally piss her off and he knew it. Dana eyed him
suspiciously and finally could stand it no longer. "Spit it out, Mulder."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking..." he began slowly.

<Oh no, Mulder's been thinking again. Boy, are we in trouble now> she
snickered to herself. "And?"

"And, uh, when I found out we were going to Reno on this one, I called a
friend I met while investigating a demonic possession case a few years ago
and... uh... made some arrangements," he said while drumming his pen
annoyingly against the desk top.

"What kind of arrangements - specifically?" she coaxed, unsure of whether she
really wanted to know.

"Wedding arrangements," he whispered, quickly picking up the thick file and
raising it in front of his face just in case she decided to throw something
at him. Dana had an incredibly accurate aim and he wasn't taking any
chances. Of course, as soon as this disturbing thought skidded across his
mind, he remembered another part of his anatomy that wasn't protected by his
desk, and he dropped his paper armor to cover that more sensitive spot.

"What?!?" she asked, her voice rising to a strident pitch. She'd entertained
several different scenarios in her head but this hadn't been one of them.
Ooooo, Fox Mulder, you've over-stepped yourself this time, Sweetcheeks. Dana
fumed silently for a few moments, the blood suddenly rushing to her face, as
she waited for her voice to come back. "How could you make plans about
something so important without even asking me first? How could you possibly
do that?? Don't you have a clue as to how important my wedding would be to
me? How could you, Mulder?"

Mulder opened his mouth in an attempt to answer the questions that were
flying at him at warp speed but he was waved aside by a small angry hand and
never got the chance.

By this time Dana was pacing back and forth in the small space between their
desks. "Jesus, Mulder, what about my mother and the family? Daddy always
wanted to give me away and now that's impossible, but I thought that at least
Mom, Melissa, and the boys could be there. But Reno?? God, Mulder, you've
got to know that there is no way in hell I want to get married in some cheap
wedding chapel complete with ugly, pink neon hearts, slot machines in the
waiting room and a minister who doubles as an Elvis impersonator. A wedding
day should be special, and I've always imagined that mine would be special,
in church, surrounded by my family and friends, not some goddamn three-ring
circus." She stopped pacing, rounding on him, her eyes bright and furious,
two angry spots of red lighting up her cheeks. "And why are you in such a
hurry anyway? Are you afraid of what people might think - what they'll say
when things get a little more obvious?"

When Dana stopped for breath, she suddenly noticed the hurt look that had
settled on his features. This time the look was genuine, not the blatantly
manufactured one he so often used as a comic plea for sympathy.

Wait a minute. Maybe she'd gone too far. Mulder had never been one to care
about what people thought or said, at least not when it was being said about
him. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe this wasn't about him or them.
It was about her and their child.

"Are you finished?'' he spoke so softly that she'd barely heard the words.

Now her cheeks burned red with embarrassment and shame. "Oh, Fox - I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry. You know I didn't mean that," she choked out quietly as salty
tears glistened in her eyes and ran snail-like down her cheeks. "God, what's
wrong with me?" Sure, she'd been angry with him before and had even yelled a
few times, but never had she ever blasted him while in such an emotional jag.

"There's nothing wrong with you - you're just pregnant," he muttered with a
muted smile and a sigh. "Besides, you're right. It was a dumb thing to do
and you have every right to be angry. I should have asked you first, tried
to explain things, and saved both of us from a major misunderstanding and a
lot of unnecessary grief. I'm sorry."

"OK, so do you want to explain it to me now?" she asked.

Mulder took a deep breath, raised himself stiffly from his chair and walked
over in front of Dana. "You'd better sit down," he began, placing both hands
on her shoulders and gently pushing her into a sitting position on the edge
of his desk. A tiny frown line creased Dana's forehead, ruining the
carefully benign look he knew she was searching for. He knew she was trying
to make it easier for him to say whatever it was he had to say, not knowing
exactly what to expect. Jesus, he felt like such a jerk having to bring this
up, after everything else they'd just said, but there was no time like the
present. Funny, after two years of being together, all of a sudden he felt
rushed, like he had to put all his cards on the table so she would know
exactly what she was getting into. He guessed a baby on the way could do
that to a person. Now if he could just think of a tactful way to bring the
subject up.

Still looking for a place to start, he began pacing the floor in front of his
his desk. "Dana..." he
began, staring at her from beneath thickly lashed, hooded eyes. Still that
intent, 'I'm listening but not judging' look from her, full of love and
compassion for him. Imagine -- for him, Fox Mulder, odd man out at the FBI,
or anywhere else, for that matter. Geek of the week in high school, that
damn Yank in college. How could she possibly love him that much? All of a
sudden he felt shy, undeserving of her love, and he lowered his gaze to the
floor. Apparently studying the toes of his shoes, he gave the impression of
a man who was carefully choosing his words. "As you know, I live... uh...
modestly..."

Dana almost laughed with relief. So this was about money? Didn't he know
that money wasn't a concern to her? Her mom and dad didn't have that much
when they'd started out but they had each other and somehow they'd managed.
It would work out. "Money doesn't matter, Mulder. Everything will work out
fine. Trust me," she smiled warmly.

"You're absolutely correct. Money isn't going to be a problem, at least not
in the way you're thinking," he commented in voice filled with irony.

Now she was really confused.

"Dana, I live the way I do out of choice and habit, not out of necessity. If
I needed something, I got it, but I just didn't need that much." He shrugged
his shoulders. "People knew my parents live in the Vineyard, and if somebody
asked, I'd just say that they live 'comfortably.'"

Dana was numb. This wasn't exactly the type of conversation about money
she'd expected to be having with Mulder. In fact, she'd envisioned heated
arguments about the cost of Armani suits versus the rising cost of diapers
and daycare. All of a sudden she was glad she was sitting down.

"When we became close, several years ago, I made my dad's lawyer change my
will. You know," he paused thoughtfully, "I've had a will ever since I was
eighteen. I always thought that was really morbid, but I guess it was
necessary." He risked a brief glance in her direction, then continued
staring at his shoes. "Anyway, I'd left everything to you."

"Mulder..." Dana murmured. Only Fox Mulder would think to do a thing like
that.

Mulder smiled at her. "You're a much better heir than the Lone Gunmen." She
reached out to smack him on the leg, but he caught her hand and held it.
"And a couple of days after Valentine's Day, after you agreed to marry me, I
took the will to my lawyer to make sure everything was in order and that you
would be provided for. That's when I found out what my dad's lawyer failed
to mention. Because you're not legally related to me, the will could be
contested by my family at any time and there's a chance they could win. I
have no doubts that my dad would drag you through the mud if he could. Dana,
if anything were to happen to me right now, there's a good chance that you'd
be left with nothing except my life insurance and my child."

Mulder moved in front of her, placing himself before her like an immovable
fortress. Loving fingertips gently traced her jawline and gently lifted her
chin upward until their eyes met with an intensity of emotion that threatened
to overwhelm them both. "Dana Katherine Scully," he whispered with hoarse
passion, "I love you more than life. Whatever I have is yours and nobody is
going to take that from you or my child. Nobody. In my heart, I've been
married to you since that first night when I left the rose on your pillow.
And if it didn't take a ceremony and a lousy piece of paper to keep the
vultures away from you, it wouldn't matter to me if society called us legal
or not. I am, and always have been yours. I don't need a document to tell
me that, but the law of the land says it's required to prove it to everybody
else. If you don't like Reno, marry me here. If you don't want my friend to
marry us, get Marvin the Martian - I don't care. We can do the whole thing
over again later for your family if you want. I can't concentrate on this
case or anything else while I'm worrying about this, so just humor me, okay?"

Dana's eyes were brimming with tears. "Fox Mulder, I love you. You know
that. And I am *not* going to let anything happen to you. You got that?
Money notwithstanding. So, exactly how much of an earthly fortune are we
talking about here, Sherlock, that would turn people into vultures?"

"A few mil," he mumbled under his breath with seeming embarrassment.

"What?!?" she choked. The way he'd talked, she'd expected maybe a small
estate, or trust fund, something comfortable but not overwhelming, but
nothing like this. Considering the simple way he'd lived, she'd come to
think of him more or less as teetering on the edge of poverty. Come on - the
man didn't even own a car and the only extravagance she could detect was a
serious leaning toward expensive clothes, and the purchase of a certain
overpriced engagement ring and band.

"Now whose vocabulary is shrinking?" he asked with a sardonic grin.

"Does this friend of yours in Reno have a name?" she said after finally
finding her voice.

Mulder grinned impishly. Maybe he'd get his way this time. "Father Thomas
Collins. Yes, he's a real priest, it's his real name and he has a real
church in Reno."

"Oh, that's just grand. Our marriage certificate is going to be signed by
Tom Collins. No, no, don't tell me! I bet our witness will be um....
Sister Bloody Mary. I need a drink."

"Dana!" Mulder exclaimed indignantly. "You know you can't drink." One
eyebrow crawled up slowly to take its place beneath the ever present lock of
unruly hair that persistently hung over his forehead, while one corner of his
mouth quirked up reluctantly into a half grin. "Hey, when it's all over, we
can have some sex on the beach."

Was he serious? Sometimes with Mulder, it was difficult to tell whether she
should actually take him literally or if he was just yanking her chain. After
studying
him for several minutes, she concluded that this response at least, was a
definite 'chain yanking.'

"Ha Ha, Mulder, Yes, I know... it's a drink and even if it wasn't, Reno is in
the desert. There is no beach, unless you want to go to Lake Tahoe, and at
this time of the year, I wouldn't recommend wearing a bathing suit on those
shores, much less having sex there unless you want to freeze something off."

"We could find a hot tub and pretend," his rich deep voice purred
hypnotically. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Does this mean that
you'll consider getting married tonight?" he asked hopefully. He truly
didn't want to pressure her into anything but somehow just knowing that they
were not only morally and spiritually one, but legally bound as well would
make him feel a whole lot more secure in the fact that all that he had was
hers and nobody, not even his family, could take that away from her should
anything happen to him. This was important.

"Mulder, mom will be totally ticked off that she won't be there, not to
mention the rest of the family. But if you feel that strongly about it -
yeah, sure, I'd marry you anywhere, Fox Mulder, anywhere at all. What's in a
place? What's in a time? It's what's in your heart that's important and I
have no doubts as to what's in yours." Her deep abiding love, tinged with a
current of passion, was clear in her low velvety voice. She smiled warmly
when she spied the wide effortless grin that suddenly encompassed Mulder's
face like a ray of sunshine after a heavy rain. He reminded her somewhat of
a naughty child who expected to find coal in his stocking but discovered
forgiveness instead, and at this moment he looked just like a little boy
who'd been told there really was a Santa Claus. Then again, she was sure
Mulder already knew all about Santa Claus, as well as the existence of a six
foot Easter Bunny that laid colored eggs. Dana couldn't understand what he
was so worried about. He'd make a great daddy. He'd always listen to his
child in innocence, and more than likely believe that there actually were
monsters under the bed.

Mulder suddenly seemed full of more energy than he knew how to handle. He
practically bounded toward the door. "Guess we'd better pick up those
tickets," he said happily as he plopped the case folder on her desk. "I hope
Skinner didn't set us up in another Raid Roach Motel. I'm getting damn tired
of having to tip the head roach to hang up my coat," he quipped softly as she
watched his lean form retreat through the door and amble down the hallway.
She could have sworn when he turned the corner by the elevator that he was
humming a selection from 'My Fair Lady,' something about getting married in
the morning.

Dana shook her head slowly. Mulder could sometimes be so damn irritating
that she could strangle him, yet most of the time he was just plain
endearing. It never ceased to amaze her that a man who'd seen and
experienced as much of the vile, evil, and unnatural cruelty that one human
being could inflict on another as he had, could still be so innocently naive
as he often was. Perhaps that's what made him so good at his job. Every
case was a new adventure, another challenge - a chance to make a difference
where no chance seemed obvious or possible. Making a difference was
important to Mulder and she realized that every case he managed to solve
lifted some unseen burden from the weight of responsibility he felt was his
to carry. God, she loved him.