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     This author's email address has changed to: Joseechung@aol.com

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Title: Hardball (1/6) by Missy Pennington
Author: josiechung@aol.com (JosieChung)
Date: 31 Aug 1997 05:19:51 GMT~


"Hardball"
by Missy Pennington (josiechung@aol.com)

Classification:  S/H/MSR

Rated:  PG-13 for adult language and situations

Summary:  Withheld at author's request

Disclaimer: All characters which have been seen or mentioned on
the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and
the FOX network, and are used without permission.  All other
characters are my own imaginings.  I mean no infringement.

This is for the IP and for the entire MG chat group.  Thanks for
all the hand-holding, moral support, brainstorming, and tireless
editing.  I couldn't have done it without you.  :)


Hardball
by Missy Pennington

"So.  Tonight's the night, huh?"  Shawna Stone's voice echoed
through the emptiness of the second floor bathroom.  She leaned
against the counter, watching as her friend Kay Sheridan exited
the confines of the first tiny stall and headed toward the sink. 
"Are you sure he'll even be there?"

The dark-haired agent gave her a patronizing look.  "Shawna, it's
the International Law Enforcement Symposium -- it's *funded* by
the Violent Crimes division.  Everyone in A.D. Skinner's section
will be there."  She flashed a triumphant smile at the young
woman beside her.  "Mulder may not be a social butterfly, but he
knows when it's in his best interest to play the part.  Trust me. 
He'll be there."  She turned on the faucet and passed her hands
under the warm water.

"Well if everyone under A.D. Skinner is going to be there, Kay,
that means Dana will be there too."

Kay's eyes narrowed.  "And your point would be?" She squirted
pink soap into her palm and began to lather.

"Just that you'd better be dressed to kill.  God knows why, but
he doesn't notice much else when she's around."

"That's during office hours, Shawna.  After five, it's a whole
different ball game."  She rinsed the soap from her hands and
shook them over the sink, flinging water into the basin.  "Agt.
Scully might be fairly captivating down in that dark basement
office, but trust me -- outside of work, intelligence is highly
overrated.  While she's standing there in her dowdy black
sequined pants suit and sensible shoes, spouting some horrible
autopsy-related garbage, I'll waltz in and save him from her
tedious presence."  She ripped a brown paper towel from the
holder and passed it over her hands.

Shawna turned to the mirror, finger-combing her blond hair into
position.  "Well good luck.  I don't profess to understand the
attraction, myself, but for some reason he seems to find her
fascinating.  He hangs on her every word."

"Well, not tonight," Kay replied, a conspiratorial smirk turning
up the corners of her wide mouth.  "I happen to know for a fact
that right now his mind is on someone else."  She crumpled the
wet paper towel in one hand and dropped it into the trash.

Shawna spun around to face her.  "Who?"

"Someone named Phoebe.  Evidently she works for Scotland Yard. 
This morning I heard him ask Agt. Chandler if she was going to be
there tonight."

Shawna walked to the door and stopped, waiting as Kay applied
lipstick.  "And you're happy about this?  Am I missing something? 
Who is this Phoebe person?"

Kay capped the tube of lipstick and dropped it into her purse. 
She backed up and placed her hands on her hips, twisting at the
waist as she viewed herself in the mirror.  "You're missing the
point here, Shawna."  She pulled in her already narrow waist and
lifted her chest, creating the illusion of a more voluptuous
figure.  "I don't *know* who Phoebe is.  I don't give a shit who
Phoebe is.  All I DO know is that Little Miss Color-Coordinated
isn't the only woman on Fox Mulder's mind today, and that means
the door is open."  She ran a finger along the corners of her
mouth, removing imaginary excess lipstick.  With one last
approving look at her image, she walked to the door.  "I fully
intend to be the first one through that door, Shawna.  And
believe me, when Fox Mulder sees this dress, well.... let's just
say I will have that man tonight, or I'm not half the woman I
think I am."

The sound of female laughter trailed down the hall as the door
closed quietly, eliminating all sound from outside the bathroom. 

For several seconds, the stillness was complete, and then the
creaking of a squeaky hinge shattered the silence.  The door to
the last stall swung open hard, smacking loudly against the
ceramic tile of the wall as a young woman emerged and marched
wordlessly to the sink.  Auburn hair flashed like fire under the
florescent lights, framing a face momentarily void of any warmth,
its features almost unrecognizable:  set jaw, clenched teeth,
narrowed eyes.  She was more than angry.  

Dana Scully was livid.

She turned on the water without a glance, looking instead at her
reflection in the mirror.  Phrases whirled through her mind,
making it impossible to focus her anger on any one in particular. 
Dowdy.  Black sequined pants suit.  Highly overrated.  Save him. 
Sensible shoes.  Phoebe.  

Phoebe?  Damn it.  She hadn't known Phoebe would be there.  She
hadn't even thought about it.  She should have known.

She lathered the soap in her hands, taking in the details of her
tailored suit in the mirror.  Little Miss Color-Coordinated.  Was
that how everyone saw her?  Was it how Mulder saw her?  She
rarely wore skirts, even more rarely wore dresses.  They just
weren't practical for a field agent.  She had always opted for a
look that was more understated, more indicative of the demands of
the job.  Durable.  Movable.  
  
"Crap," she muttered.  "Sensible."

Scully rinsed her hands and shook them dry, all the while
silently taking inventory of herself in the mirror.  Damn her. 
Kay Sheridan was a phony, man-hungry barracuda who dressed more
like a streetwalker than an employee of the federal government. 
Who the hell did she think she was to criticize anyone's choices
-- anyone's taste?  As if Mulder would have anything to do with
her anyway. He would never be taken in by someone as scheming as
Kay.

Would he?

On the other hand, he *had* fallen for Phoebe.

Phoebe?

Shit.

She pursed her lips, slowly and calmly straightening the jacket
of her perfectly good, reasonably flattering, somewhat expensive,
well-made suit.  Her hands shook.  She wasn't hurt; hell, she
told herself, she wasn't even offended.  She breathed deeply,
drawing on the inner strength that always served her so well. 
Still, her blood pressure continued to climb.  She could feel it.

Bore him to tears?  Like he'd be sooooo much more interested in a
detailed account of your latest shopping excursion.  

Her heart began to thump more forcefully.  Tedious presence? 
TEDIOUS?  Tedious, Kay, is an evening spent with a woman who
thinks Melrose Place is high drama.

The door was open?  She was going to be the first one through?

She could feel the quickness of her pulse throbbing in her
temples, and the deep, angry sound of her breathing in the quiet
room.  And then it was there.  The germ of an idea.  It flitted
across her mind in an instant and she brushed it aside. 
Childish.  Silly.  Still....

Black sequined pants suit?  Black sequined PANTS SUIT?  A BLACK
SEQUINED FUCKING PANTS SUIT?  That did it.  The challenge had
been issued.  Mentally, Scully picked up the gauntlet.

"I'll show you a black sequined pants suit, Kay."  She strode
toward the door, already planning the strategy.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Mulder -- I'm gone for the day.  See you at the banquet.  --S"

Mulder looked at the note.  It was definitely Scully's
handwriting, but it was scrawled, hurried -- as though the act
had been an afterthought.  He picked up the paper and turned it
over.  Nothing.  No explanation.

Puzzled, he tossed the paper on the growing stack of forgotten
correspondence in the corner tray of his desk and sat down. 
Something wasn't right.  He and Scully had been in the middle of
a medical cross-reference when they had agreed to break.  He'd
gone for coffee while she stretched her legs.  Now she was gone. 
It wasn't like her, he mused; Scully never left work early
without a reason.

He tracked the morning's conversation in his mind, looking for a
sign that she had been upset or distracted.  Had she been
preoccupied?  Unusually quiet?  Surely he would have noticed if
she hadn't felt well, wouldn't he?  Wouldn't he?  She'd
complained to him more than once that he was beginning to hover,
a situation she refused to tolerate.  Had he overcompensated? 
Ignored the obvious signs?  *Were* there any signs?  He couldn't
recall any, but that didn't mean much.  Scully's thoughts, even
after four years, were much more of a mystery to him than his
thoughts were to her.  She was utterly stoic, impossible to pin
down--and so very good at reading him like a book.  It bugged the
hell out of him.

Mentally, he replayed their last conversation of the morning. 
They had complained about the impending banquet, commiserated
about the duties and obligations crap that Skinner had heaped
upon them, and then simultaneously suggested a momentary break
from the paperwork.  At some point during that break, she had
rushed out for the day, barely taking the time to pen a hurried
note to him, obviously not caring in the least that he might
wonder--might worry, he amended--about her reasons for leaving. 
And surely, he thought, if he knew Scully at all, there had to be
a reason.  She was the most responsible, professional person he
had ever known.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Dana Scully was playing hooky.  Plain and simple.  She had
grabbed her purse, scribbled a note, and slipped out the side
door of the FBI building on a mission she hadn't fully explained
even to herself beyond three words that resounded in her head: 

You. Must. Shop.

Never mind that it was 9:30 in the morning and she had a full
case load.  Never mind that she'd left Mulder alone to cross
reference files that she could have done much more easily since
she had medical knowledge.  Never mind that she hadn't requested
a personal day or submitted an emergency absence form.  None of
that was important now.  The sun was shining, the stores were
waiting, and she had a purse full of credit cards. She was going
shopping, damn it.  Tonight she was going to revel in wiping the
smug, arrogant smirk off of Kay Sheridan's face.  It felt great.

Sensible shoes, my ass.  

She pulled her car into a space in front of "Galindo's," a small
upscale boutique.  She had been here once before, shopping with a
friend who had been embarking on a cruise.  Their selection was
exquisite; the sales women friendly and helpful.

She turned off the ignition and dropped her keys into her purse,
all the while listening to the battle of voices in her head.

Her conscience:  You can't afford to shop here, Dana.
Her intellect:  Please Dana.  Let's rise above this.  You have
nothing to prove.
Her reasoning:  You have two perfectly good formals in your
closet that you never get to wear.
Her inner child:  Ooooh.  Pretty!  Pretty!  Try that one on
first!
Her professionalism:  Keep it simple, Dana.  Modest and elegant.
Her uncertainty:  I really think you should just go back to work.
Her indignation:  Color-coordinated?  Sensible shoes?  Hmph.  She
is NOT going back to work.
Her pride:  So they don't "understand the attraction"?  Let's
explain it to them, shall we?

She shook her head, quieting the mental crowd as she got out of
the car and walked to the door of the store.  Tiny bells jingled
lightly as she entered the boutique, claiming the attention of
the employee closest to her.

"Hello."  The young woman smiled.  "Can I help you find something
today?"

"No thank you.  I'm just looking."

"All right.  Well my name is Jenn.  I'm the owner.  Just let me
know if there's something I can help you with, okay?"

"Okay.  Well, actually....I saw a couple of formals in the window
over there.  Are there anymore besides those?"

The petite brunette smiled at her.  "Ahh.  An occasion.  My
favorite shopping motivation.  They're right over here in the
back."  She turned, motioning for Scully to follow her.  "You're
here at a good time for formals; the retail seasons are changing. 
We just received a lot of new ones, but we haven't pulled any
older ones for send-back.  We're got tons of formals in right
now."

Scully followed the woman to the back of the store, smiling as
the voice of her inner child finally won the battle,
out-vocalizing the others with a single statement:  this is gonna
be fuuuuuuuuuun. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

She was ready to scream.  In the past hour she had tried on
countless dresses and all of them had been wrong.  It wasn't for
lack of trying.  Jenn had been tireless in her persuit of "The
One," making countless trips to the floor, returning to the
dressing room each time with arms full of dresses in various
styles and colors.  After twenty minutes of fruitless searching,
she had drafted reinforcements, enlisting the help of assistant
manager Paula.  The two of them had hit the clothing racks a
second time in earnest, determined to play Fairy Godmother to
Scully's Cinderella.  Unfortunately, Special Agent Cinderella was
a tough sell.  Try as they might, the dresses refused to
cooperate.

The blue one that had looked romantic and whispy on the hanger
turned into a feather duster when she put it on.  The red one
that Paula had claimed was stylishly retro, made her look like an
outdated fugitive from The Love Boat.  The ivory and gold brocade
that Jenn insisted was "foolproof" made her look like a couch.  A
small, slim couch -- but a couch all the same.  And that was just
the beginning.

The red cut-away was a tad too Frederick's of Hollywood; the
white chiffon, she was certain, was her mother's prom dress. The
gold was too regal, the magenta too sweet.  The purple too
ruffly, the silver too severe.  The silk one made her look pale
and washed out; the satin one made her look like a dumpling.

After an hour and a half, she was running out of options.  Jenn
and Paula were running out of dresses.  It was crunch time.  Do
or die.  Now or never.  

Scully looked at herself in the three way mirror, turning left
and right to see the tight velvet sheath from all angles.  On the
rack the black dress had looked elegant and understated; on her
body it looked surprisingly cheap. She stuck her tongue out at
her reflection.  What kind of woman couldn't even manage to pull
off basic black? she criticized.

"Dana?  How'd the black one do?"

"It's awful, Paula.  I look terrible.  I'm gonna try the dark
green one."

"Oh come on," Paula replied.  "At least let us see it.  I'll bet
it's not as bad as you think."

Scully unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway of the
dressing room area.  "I hope not -- because I *think* I look like
a black velvet sausage."  With her hands on her hips, she stared
at the two women, her eyes daring them to contradict her.

Jenn looked at the dress.  "Um... it's really not that bad,
Dana."  She put her hand casually over her mouth and averted her
eyes.

"No,"  Paula agreed.  "It's not."  She looked away also,
straining with effort to keep from snickering.  "You can't go
wrong with black velvet.  I mean, paint Elvis on it and we could
hang you anywhere."

At that, Jenn and Paula gave up the fight, collapsing in a fit of
giggles.

Scully tried to muster some indignation, but her haughty reply
of, "Oh thank you.  Thank you very much" just made the women howl
louder.  Finally, she had to join them.  "Maybe if it had a big
gold belt...."

The women shrieked in hysteria, clutching their sides.

"Oh, Dana," Jenn said, wiping a tear from her cheek.  "I am SO
sorry.  I don't know what got in to me."

Scully smiled, holding out her hand to help the young woman up. 
"It's okay.  It is funny."  She looked at herself in the mirror. 
"But I think we've estabilished that I am officially a lost
cause."  She turned sideways, lowering the side zipper of the
dress and letting it slip to the floor around her feet, uncaring
about her half-dressed state in the near-emptiness of the small
boutique.

Jenn watched the small redhead bend to pick up the dress from the
floor and then straighten as she returned it to the hanger.   "It
shouldn't be this hard to find you a great dress," she mused. 
"You're slim, pretty, curvy in the right places,
well-proportioned...." It hit her all at once.  "Oh my God!"

Scully looked at her.  "What?"

The shop owner was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I just figured
out what the problem is."

"You did?"

"I did."  She motioned for Paula to follow her out into the
store.  "Wait here, Dana.  I've got a dress I want you to try on. 
And unless I miss my guess, it's the one you've been hoping to
find all day."

Scully frowned at herself in the mirror as the women left her. 
"I hope you're right," she whispered as thoughts of Kay Sheridan
and Phoebe Green smothered the last tattered remnants of her
shopping enthusiasm.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"So this Phoebe chick is gonna be there and you're not happy
about it because she's probably going to insist that you go back
to her hotel after the dinner.  Right?"  In the dimly lit office
of The Lone Gunmen, Langly stared at Mulder through black-framed
lenses, not trying in the least to mask his incredulity. He
looked at the other two men in the room, shaking his head.  "Does
that seem weird to you?"

"Wrong."  Mulder shook his head.  "Phoebe *might* be there
tonight, and I'm not happy about it because...."  His voice
trailed off.

"Becaaaaaause...." Byers prompted.

Mulder sighed, rubbing the fingers of one hand over his closed
eyes, massaging the tired lids.  "It's complicated."

"Hmmmmm."  Byers stroked his chin in an exaggerated image of deep
thought.  "It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a small
redhead, would it?"

Mulder's eyes snapped open.  He stared at Byers.

"Now *there's* an interesting theory."  Frohike left the darkness
of the corner where he had been standing and walked up behind
Mulder, draping an arm across the younger man's shoulder.  "Of
course, if that were the case, it would clearly imply that said
complications were indicitive not of this previously mentioned
past relationship, but of a more recent one."

Mulder rolled his head back to look at the short, slightly
balding man behind him. "Frohike, you're such an asshole."

Frohike shrugged, obviously not offended in the least.

"Maybe so," Langly laughed.  "But he's an asshole who's got your
number, Mulder."

"There is nothing going on between Agent Scully and myself,"
Mulder insisted, leaning back in the chair to prop his feet up on
the cluttered desk.  "We're partners.  That's all."

His friends looked at each other.  "Bullshit," they said in
unison.

"You're gonna sit there and try to convince us that after four
years of working with a beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman like
Agent Scully that you have no feelings for her at all other than
a partnerly interest?"  Byers' pinned him with a piercing look.

"I'm not saying it's never crossed my mind," Mulder admitted
quietly, suddenly uncomfortable with this entire conversation. 
"I'm just saying that we both know it can never happen."

"Why not?" Fohike asked.  "And if not, do you mind if I call
her?"  He winced as Langly's hand flashed out and smacked the
back of his head.

"Because it would ruin our partnership -- our working
relationship."  He removed his feet from the desk and swiveled
the chair to face Byers.  "Wouldn't it?"  He turned and looked at
Langly, then Fohike.  "Have any of you guys ever thought about a
serious relationship with someone you work with everyday?"

The three Lone Gunmen looked at each other, considering the
question for a brief moment before awareness struck them
simultaneously and each took an unconscious step backward,
creating a wider birth of personal space for himself.  Silence
filled the room.

"Did anyone see the Knicks game last night?" Byers asked.

"I did.  I saw it."  Frohike grasped the new strand of
conversation like a lifeline.  "Great game.  Great.  Hey -- did
you catch that pass when....."

Mulder sat quietly as his friends carried on a conversation he
was only mildly aware of.  His own thoughts were still centered
around the question he had posed, the question that had gone
unanswered.  Of course it would change everything, he told
himself.  But what if.... just what if....

End of Part 1

Disclaimer in part 1.

"Hardball"
by Missy Pennington (JosieChung@aol.com)

Part 2

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Okay, Dana.  Paula's bringing the dress from the back room; it
wasn't out on the floor yet.  Now I want you to hear me out
before you say anything, okay?  Keep an open mind."

Scully opened the dressing room door and cast a wary look at the
young woman.  "Okaaaaay.  Hear you out and keep an open mind. 
Why does that scare me?"

"You're gonna love it.  Trust me."  Jenn flashed a smile that lit
up her face.  "First of all, it's one of a kind.  A friend of
mine, Andrea LeBeaux, designed it.  Originally, she made it with
me in mind, but we just couldn't make it work on my figure."

Scully looked at the young woman's small frame.  "Your figure is
not that different from mine, Jenn.  Why would you think it would
work on me?"

Jenn pushed the dressing room door all the way open and turned
Scully around to look at herself in the mirror.  "I didn't think
it would work on you at first.  But when you came out in the hall
undressed a few minutes ago, I knew I was wrong.  Other than the
fact that we're both short, we're not built anything alike,
Dana."  She stood next to Scully as they looked at themselves in
the mirror.  "I'm disproportionate," the store owner explained. 
"I have a top that requires 'extra small' and hips that scream
for a 'medium.'"  She looked at Scully.  "You, on the other hand,
you have a fabulous figure."

Scully gave a rather unladylike snort. "Yeah, right."

"You do!  That's been our problem all along today.  We've been
looking for dresses to decorate your body.  We should have been
looking for dresses to showcase it."

Scully's eyes widened.  "Showcase it?  Jenn, don't take this the
wrong way, but you have lost your mind!  This...." she indicated
her body in the mirror, "...is NOT a body that has ever been
showcased."

Jenn turned her head toward the store, catching sight of Paula
making her way through the clothing racks, the prize dress
hanging limply over one shoulder.  "Well then it's time for a
grand awakening."  She looked at Scully's doubtful expression and
smiled warmly.  "Humor me."

Scully nodded, still unconvinced as Paula finally entered the
dressing room area and handed her the dress.  "It's burgundy,"
she stated.  "I can't wear burgundy with my hair and complexion."

Paula shook her head.  "It's carmine red, and yes you can. 
Burgundy is darker, more of a wine color.  This is a purple-based
red.  It's brighter, more vivid."  She gently ushered Scully back
in the dressing room and pulled the door closed.  "Will you just
put it on already?"

Jenn looked at Paula.  "Has she actually *looked* at the dress
yet?"

Paula grinned.  "I don't think so."

Scully's voice reached them from behind the door, two octives
higher than normal."Oh my GOD!  You have GOT to be kidding me. 
There is NO WAY!"

"Okay.  Now she's looked at it."

Jenn chuckled.  "Trust us.  Put it on."

"You might as well try it, Dana," Paula added.  "You've ruled out
every other dress in the store."

"All right," came the wavering reply.  "I'll try it."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Five minutes later, Scully looked at herself in the mirror,
transfixed by the image she presented.  There was no other word
for it -- the dress was stunning.  She would never have tried it
on had she seen it hanging in the store, but as soon as she
stepped into it, the dress became a living thing, and it was a
force to be reckoned with.

"So come on -- let's see it."

Scully opened the door and stepped into the hall without a word. 
For the life of her, she couldn't seem to speak.  She just stared
at the hallway mirror, her eyes filled with wonder.  Surely this
was not her; this had never been her.  

Jenn and Paula gaped at the vision before them.  "Wow," Jenn
breathed.  

Paula nodded silently, her eyes wide.

Scully looked from one to the other, and imagined Kay Sheridan
standing between them with the same dazed expression.  She looked
back at her reflection.  "Wicked," she breathed, shaking her head
in wonderment.  She turned back to the women and flashed a
dazzling smile.  "I'll take it."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Over the next hour and a half, Scully's purchases mounted as she
continued her quest, making light conversation with the
gregarious women of Galindo's.  Eventually, Paula and Jenn began
to piece the situation together.

"So who's the bigger problem, here, Kay or Phoebe?" asked Jenn,
straightening a rack of knit shorts sets.

"Problem?"  Scully looked at her, confused by the question.

"Yeah.  Problem.  As in snake.  Leech.  Other woman."  She smiled
devilishly, her cheeks dimpling.  "You know...."   She sighed. 
"Who's the bigger bitch?"

Scully snorted.  "Flip a coin."

Paula's chin raised slightly.  "Ahhhhh.  A toss up.  Well lucky
for you it won't matter who has the bigger designs on your guy
tonight.  When you show up in--"

"Oh, Mulder's not my guy,"  Scully interrupted quickly.

Paula and Jenn stared at her, disbelieving.

"Well he's not," Scully explained, hastening to add, "...he's
just my partner."

Paula raised a skeptical eyebrow, an action Scully found vaguely
disconcerting.  

"We work together.  That's all."

Paula pursed her mouth and looked at Jenn, mischief sparkling in
her dark brown eyes.  "That's was good, don't you think?"

Jenn nodded rigorously.   "Oh yeeeeeah.  For a minute there she
sounded like she actually believed that."

Both women looked at Scully in mock amazement.

"You're good," Jenn deadpanned.   

"You are," Paula agreed, nodding her head earnestly.  "You are
good."

Spontaneously, both women broke into light applause as Scully
finally gave into their antics and laughed.

"You could not be more wrong," Scully said at last, collecting
herself and trying in earnest now to set the record straight. 
"I'm not interested in Mulder.  We're just friends."

Paula rolled her eyes, obviously unconvinced.  "Yeah right. 
HELLO!"  She picked up the sleeve of Dana's dress which was
laying across the counter and wagged it lightly.  "I always dress
like this for my friends."

Scully huffed in exasperation.  "I explained that, Paula.  I was
angry about what Kay said about me in the bathroom.  Maybe I
didn't stop to think things through, but I just wanted to make an
entrance.  You know -- make her eat her words. It's *not* about
Mulder."   She looked at Jenn, silently imploring the young woman
to believe her.  "Really, it's not."

Jenn looked at her for only a moment before giving her an
accepting smile.  "Okay.  It's not about your partner.  It's
about making this woman wish with every fiber of her being that
she was in your shoes tonight."  She turned to Paula,
conspiratorially whispering something that sent the young
assistant manager scurrying up toward the front of the store. 
Jenn turned back to Scully.  "In order to do that, it's
imperative you have the right shoes."

Scully was suddenly wary.  "I don't really need new shoes, Jenn. 
I have a closetful of shoes at ho -- OH MY GOD!"  She stared down
the aisle at Paula, watching as the tall, dark-haired woman
returned, holding a dazzling red shoe in each hand.

Scully turned her head, as if shielding herself.  "No fair!  No
fair!  Take them away right now."  She looked sideways at Jenn,
imploring her to have pity.  "Jeeeeeeenn....don't *do* this to
me!  I KNOW what those are and there is NO WAY I can afford
them."

Jenn clucked her tongue in exaggerated sympathy.  "I know.  They
are obscenely expensive."  She took the shoes from Paula,
casually bringing them into Scully's peripheral vision.  "But
then again, they ARE Monalo Blahniks."  She sighed dreamily for
effect.  "Best made shoes in the world.  Every woman should have
a pair."

Scully clenched her eyes shut like a horror-move heroine trying
to avoid the hypnotic gaze of a vampire.  "I can't.  I can't.  I
can't."  She briefly considered wielding the tiny cross on her
necklace.  Before she could, she felt a shoe placed
matter-of-factly in her hands.

"You can just *feel* the craftsmanship, can't you?  And you know
-- I would almost swear that is the *exact* color of your dress. 
Don't you think, Jenn?"

She was lost the minute her fingers closed on the delicate ankle
strap.  Scully opened her eyes and and looked at the shoe,
cinching the sale in a fraction of a second.  She had never been
one to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over puppies and kittens, never had the
sensation of a doctor placing a newborn into her arms, but Dana
Scully looked down and gazed adoringly at the object in her hands
and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she was in love.

She slipped the shoes on, unable to contain her girlish squeal of
pleasure as she stood on the tall heels and took a test walk
toward the front of the store.

God they even made her walk different, she thought.

She felt sexy.

She felt.....tall.

What the hell, she decided.  How many times does a girl get the
chance to buy five hundred dollar shoes?  "I hate you, Jenn, but
I love these shoes.  I'll take them," she called back toward the
sales women.  She was too absorbed by her royally-clad feet to
notice they high-fived each other.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Mulder looked at the tuxedo beside him on his couch and resisted
the urge to grimace.  He hated these things.  He hated tuxedos
and he hated events like this.  And the thought of going to this
one tonight held about as much appeal as a root canal.  

Leaning back into the soft cusion, he allowed his eyes to close
as he mentally re-read the note Scully had left him hours ago. 
He wondered if she would be there tonight.  She had said earlier
that she was planning to attend, albeit without enthusiasm, but
after her abrupt departure, he hadn't spoken to her at all.  As
unappealing as the this whole affair was to him, he couldn't
imagine the torture it would be without Scully to talk to.  

Or dance with.

He opened his eyes.  Where the hell did *that* come from?  He ran
a hand down his face, rubbing his jaw.  Don't go there, Mulder,
he told himself.  But it was a useless argument that he always
lost.  Unbeknownst to Scully, Mulder "went there" on a regular
basis these days.  He wasn't sure when it had changed, but it
had.  And even if he denied it with his last breath to Frohike
and Byers and Langly, his thoughts toward Scully these days were
anything but partnerly.  One of these days, he'd begun telling
himself...one of these days he would say 'to hell with it' and
make the first move.  He wondered endlessly when 'one of these
days' would be.

He was beginning to get a little worried about now, though.  Her
quick exit this morning still bothered him. It wasn't like her to
leave without reason.  He'd phoned her apartment once, but only
got her machine; he didn't leave a message.  He figured whatever
her reasons were, she would tell him at some point.  If he didn't
hear from her tomorrow, he could always call her mother.

He looked at his watch.  Four hours.  Four hours until he would
have to paste on a smile and go "shake hands firmly while making
eye contact."  With any luck, that contact would not be directed
at a certain doe-eyed British agent from Scotland Yard.  He'd
downplayed the whole thing with the Gunmen, allowed them to poke
some good-natured fun at his "angst of the week" but the reality
was that he wasn't ready to see Phoebe again.  Their whole sad,
pathetic little history was just best left undisturbed.

He'd seen her once, since their breakup.  She'd come to him on a
case, and he'd been overwhelmed by the unexpected nostalgia that
came with her.  Not so much for *her* or for *them* but for the
person he had been when he was with her.  So young.  So far away
from what had since become his life.

He was a different person now, for better or worse.  And if his
life wasn't what it had promised to be in his youth, he no longer
resented it.  He'd had heartache, betrayal, lies, and loss, but
it had brought him to Scully.  And Scully had brought him
redemption.

Mulder's hand dropped heavily to his side as his body began to
relax into the familiar softness of the sofa.  And within the
swirling images in his mind, he danced slowly with Phoebe Green
as the band played a romantic forties ballad, and the soft
feminine form in his arms melted into a petite redhead.

As usual.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Paula carefully folded and bagged every item Scully had selected,
calling it out to Jenn at the register as she went.

"Okay.  Dress."

"Check."

"Shoes."

"Check."

"Evening bag."

"Check."

"Earrings?

Scully smiled.  "Next stop, Paula.  I think I've done enough
damage here today."

Paula shook her head.  "Stop with the guilt already.  I refuse to
feel bad about putting those shoes in your hands."  She pulled
out a corner of sheer carmine red fabric and presented it as
evidence.  "This is not a work dress -- accessories make the
outfit and the outfit makes the evening.  You want the evening? 
You *need* the shoes."

Jenn smiled affectionately at her friend and nodded.  "Paula's
right."  

Scully sighed.  "I s'pose."  She opened her purse and began
digging.  She withdrew a credit card and handed it to the shop
owner good-naturedly.  "Go ahead, do your worst."  She winced
when Jenn told her the total, but signed the receipt without
comment.

As if reading her mind, Jenn put her hand on Scully's wrist as
she reached for her purchases.  "Don't agonize about the shoes,
Dana."  She leaned in.  "What good is a traffic stopping dress if
you stop at the ankle?"

Scully couldn't help but grin.  "Well lucky for me, I'll never
have to answer that."  She began making her way toward the front
door.  "Thanks again, ladies.  I'll let you know how things turn
out."

"You have everything?" Jenn called after her.

"Think so."

"Need any hosiery?"

"Nope."

"Lingerie?" Paula called.

"We've already been over that," Scully answered, laughing.

"Edible body lotion?" Jenn yelled at the departing Special Agent.

The sound of Scully's laughter trailed into the store from the
parking lot, as the door closed slowly.

The shop fell silent as Jenn and Paula began the recovery,
returning the various discarded dresses to their rightful place.

Paula held up a strapless frock and sighed loudly, clucking her
tongue in mock distress.  "And all this trouble just for another
woman," she said, tongue firmly in cheek.

Jenn grinned as she slipped a white silk sheath onto a hanger. 
"Yep.  So she says."  She looked up at her friend as she hung the
dress on the door hook and reached for another.  "He's not gonna
know what hit him."


End of part 2


Disclaimer in part 1

"Hardball"
by Missy Pennington (JosieChung@aol.com)

Part 3

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

She'd started way too early.  She'd spent way too much time
getting ready.  It wasn't supposed to be this monumental, she
scolded herself.  

Scully stood in front of her dresser and looked at her reflection
in a daze.  She'd gone overboard.  What in God's name had gotten
into her?

A new dress?  Well that wasn't earth-shattering.  Most women
would want a new dress to attend a formal function, she
rationalized.  Okay, so it wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill
new dress, but it was still...formal, she told herself.

The shoes, now, that had taken more effort to explain away. 
Granted, she hadn't *needed* a pair of five hundred dollar shoes,
but then again, she so rarely did anything frivolous anymore, and
it wasn't as if she were financially strapped.  Besides, all she
had to do was remember Kay Sheridan's "sensible shoes" comment to
feel perfectly justified in her purchase.  There was certainly
nothing sensible about *these* shoes, she thought smugly.

The rest of it, however, denied justification.  She hadn't needed
the new lingerie, and Victoria's Secret was not on her way home. 
But Paula's good-natured joke this afternoon had started her
thinking....why stop halfway?   She'd gone to the store as soon
as she'd left Galindo's, treating herself to silk stockings, and
beautiful red silk panties -- high cut, with delicate strips of
lace that served as the sides.  She'd even bought the matching
Wonderbra, although she knew she couldn't wear it with this dress
since it was, after all, virtually backless.

She'd treated herself to a manicure, showing the nail specialist
the fabric of her gown to make sure the color matched.  She taken
an hour long soak in the tub, shaved her legs with a care usually
reserved for first dates, and spent longer on her makeup than
she'd ever spent in her life, outside of the occasional family
portrait.

Standing back, she surveyed her day's work with a critical eye,
looking for something she might have missed, but she couldn't
find a thing; the transformation was complete.  In one day she
had gone from predictable, professional career woman to femme
fatale.  She looked a good 6 inches taller than usual, four due
to the height of the Manolo Blahniks on her feet and the other
two thanks to the gentle upswept curls that sat atop her head,
fixed in place with her grandmother's tortoise-shell comb.  The
soft, romantic style she'd chosen was the perfect contrast to the
startling cut of the dress.  Wisps of auburn silk fell lightly
around her face, strategically placed to accent her cheekbones
and the curve of her neck.  A dazzling solitaire diamond sparkled
on each earlobe.  

But the crowning glory of the entire ensemble was the smallest
concession she had made -- an afterthought, really.  Finishing
her makeup in the bathroom earlier, she had carefully lined and
blotted her lips, and reached automatically for the tube of
concealor that was always the last step in her morning makeup
routine.  For some reason, she hesitated, and reached instead for
her light brown eyebrow pencil, using it to lightly dot the small
beauty mark on her upper lip, accentuating it clearly above the
foundation and powder she had already applied.  Viewing the
effect for the first time, she had been tempted to wipe it clean
with a tissue and cover it again; she'd been self-consciously
covering it as long as she'd been wearing makeup.  Instead, she
steeled herself to the image in the mirror and straightened her
shoulders.  The small mole was the exclamation mark on the
fashion statement of the evening.  She would leave it.

Scully scooped up the dainty gold evening bag from her dresser
and took a mental inventory of her afternoon's regime.  "Oops,"
she whispered, setting the bag down again and reaching into the
far right hand drawer for the small bottle of her favorite
perfume -- Red.  She dabbed lightly behind her ears and placed a
small swipe on the back of her neck, catching a whiff of the
familiar, heady fragrance as she returned the bottle to the
drawer.  She picked up her bag again and gave herself one last
look in the mirror.  

She was unashamedly amuseed by her own decidedly female antics.
"My God," she grinned at herself.   "From hair to underwear to
perfume, I *am* the Lady in Red."  

She took a deep breath and headed out, wondering as she did what
Mulder's reaction would be when he saw her.

"Kay's," she ammended out loud, walking toward her front door. 
"Wonder what *Kay's* reaction will be."

But it wasn't Kay Sheridan's image that kept creeping back into
Dana Scully's thoughts as she got into her car and headed out for
the International Law Enforcement Symposium Banquet.  Instead, it
was the familar face of her "just friend" and "partner only" Fox
Mulder.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The woman was a walking X-File.

They were on their third dance, and he'd already reluctantly
accompanied her to the punch bowl twice.  After thirty minutes in
the constant presence of Kay Sheridan, Mulder had come to the
irrefutable conclusion that the woman had no brain whatsoever.  

Not even a stem.

He looked toward the ballroom entrance for what must have been
the hundredth time, still catching no glimpse of the familiar
redhead he sought.  In the back of  his mind, Kay's twittering
changed tone, alerting him that his response was expected.  He
didn't have a clue what she'd been talking about, and she was
looking up at him as though waiting for him to impart wisdom of
the gods.

Drastic times, drastic measures, he thought, tightening his hold
and pulling her closer to him.  As they swayed to the music, he
looked down into her empty brown eyes and flashed his most
devastating smile.  The one that had almost always ensured him a
place in someone's bed if he wanted it.  He sure as hell didn't
want it this time.

Kay caught her breath and seemed to go slightly limp.  

Mulder smiled.  He still had it.

"You never answered my question, Fox," Kay whispered, looking up
at him with a mixture of adoration and wanton desire.

Damn.  Not out of the woods yet.

He went in for the kill, leaning down to whisper his response in
her ear.  His lips stopped short of her skin, but he felt her
tremble at the sensation of his breath on her neck.  "Let's not
talk," he breathed.  "I'd rather just listen to the music."  He
was almost certain his breath exited her head on the other side.

Kay smiled at him and nodded, laying her empty head on his
shoulder.  "Me too," she sighed.

Mulder turned her around smoothly and continued his watch for
Scully.  If she didn't get here soon, he was going to have to
scrape Kay Sheridan off his tuxedo with a squeegee.   Why was it
that the most obnoxious women on the face of the earth seemed to
home in on him like a beacon in the night?

He heard the ending strains of the music and began to pull away
from Kay, determined to make his way off the dance floor before
she could snare him a fourth time.  But the band launched
instantly into "Moonlight in Vermont" without skipping a beat.

"Oh, Fox...."

Mulder winced.

"...listen!  "Moonlight in Vermont!  I love this song -- oh we
*have* to dance to this song!" she told him, reaching her arm
back up around his neck.  "This is one of my favorite old songs,"
she cooed.

"How lucky for me," Mulder replied with sarcasm that seemed to
sail completely over Kay's head.  "They're just playing *all*
your old favorites tonight."

Kay threw her head back and laughed as if he had just told the
joke of the century.

Mulder startled at the sound.  She sounded like a walrus with
Whooping Cough.  Several nearby couples turned to stare.  Kay was
oblivious.  Mulder wanted to disappear.

Mental note number sixteen, he told himself, never make Kay
Sheridan laugh.

The clock on the far wall showed 9:18 and Mulder began the mental
math.  Forty minutes until he could begin his apologies, fifteen
more of finding all the people he would need to say good-bye to,
ten minutes to make his way to the parking garage, and forty five
minutes to drive home.  He could still be home before
midnight...early enough to call Scully one more time.  She was
usually up late.

He felt Kay's hand begin to caress his neck, and he stifled the
urge to roll his eyes in exasperation as her fingers began
weaving lightly through his hair.  This woman *had* to go.  

Mental note number seventeen, he amended -- make sure the airhead
isn't stalking me before driving home.

In his arms, the airhead smiled contentedly as the 40's on Parade
Orchestra continued their 12" extended play dance mix of
Moonlight in Vermont.  And then, through the relentlessly
unending music, a soft voice reached him, breathy and
surprisingly close behind him.

"May I cut in?"

Under any other circumstances, the idea of losing Kay Sheridan
would have been infinitely appealing.  But the honey silk sound
of a familiar British accent was the last thing in the world he
wanted to hear right now.

Phoebe.

The hell was complete.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The fact that William Scully was dead did nothing to lessen the
impact of her father's familiar voice bellowing in Dana Scully's
conscience.  Every scornful, parental criticism she'd ever
received as a teenager rang loud and clear in her mind as she
entered the lower level of the plaza and made her way alone
toward the elevator.  "Dana Katherine Scully!  You march yourself
back home this instant and change into something decent!"

Scully entered the elevator and pushed the button.  "I am decent,
Daddy," she told him silently as the elevator ascended.  "And I'm
not a little girl anymore."

The FatherVoice would have none of it.  "No daughter of mine is
going out in public wearing something like that.  God only knows
who might see you!"

"That's the point, Daddy.  I'd hate to think I went to all this
time and money only to have Mulder not even *notice* what I --"

Oh God.  There it was again.  Mulder.  She couldn't deny it
anymore, no matter what she had told Jenn and Paula.  The initial
knee-jerk reaction to shop this morning might have been for Kay's
benefit, but Scully knew, deep down, that the dress, shoes, and
yes -- even the red silk panties, had been for Mulder.  God what
was she thinking?  *What* was she thinking?  

She'd been thinking of him waltzing Phoebe Green around the dance
floor tonight, *that's* what she'd been thinking.  Oh God.  She
was jealous.  The epiphany could not have come at a more
inconvenient time.

The elevator chimed.  

"Dana Katherine!  Don't make me tell you again.  You turn 
yourself around and go put on something sensible."

Sensible?

BAM!  Instant reality check.

The doors opened, and Scully shook herself out of the imagined
confrontation, exiting the elevator in her anything-but-sensible
five hundred dollar shoes and her barely there traffic-stopping
dress.  It was too late to back out now.

No it wasn't.  It wasn't too late.  She couldn't do this.  She
couldn't go through with it.

Scully made an instant U-turn in the hallway just in time to see
the elevator doors close.  No graceful escape.  She was here,
like it or not.

She squared her shoulders and walked toward the table outside the
ballroom entrance.  She felt completely detached from her body. 
This is not me, she thought.  I don't look like this, I don't
even *walk* like this.  I don't know if I want to be this
person....

She stopped at the checkpoint, and the young agent stationed
outside the doors gaped at her, mesmerized.

"I can see your ide....I mean, *can* I see, um....."  The
question trailed off into silence as he continued to stare at
Scully, unable to mask his obvious appreciation.

"....see my identification?" Scully supplied helpfully, smiling
at the young agent as she placed the I.D. in his hand.  

He didn't seem to notice.  "Yes Ma'am," he nodded, his eyes never
leaving hers.  "Can I see your I.D. dress please?"

Scully's eyebrows shot upward.  "Excuse me?"

The agent's face turned beet red.  "Badge.  I meant badge.  Can I
see your I.D. *badge*, please?"

Trying hard not to laugh, Scully leaned toward the smitten young
agent and motioned for him to come closer.  "Agent Hewick," she
whispered, reading the name on his clearance badge.

He leaned in, completely enamored.  "What?" he whispered back.

Scully tapped the small plastic card in his hand.  "You're
holding it."

He looked at his hand.  "Oh."  In obvious embarrassment, he bent
low toward his roster and began searching for Scully's name. 
When he found it, he placed a small check beside it and returned
her badge with an apologetic smile.  She took it.

"Agent Scully?" he called as she began to walk toward the music.

"Yes?"

He hesitated and blushed again.  "You -- you look very beautiful
this evening," he stammered.

She smiled at him with genuine appreciation and reached for the
brass knob on the ballroom door.  "Thank you, Agent Hewick.  You
don't know how much I needed that."

He beamed at her as she pulled the door open and walked into the
ballroom.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

She looked incredible.  The dress, the hair, the flawless makeup
-- the whole image was absolutely dazzling from head to toe.  But
then Phoebe had always loved to dress up, Mulder remembered.  She
lived to see and be seen.  It was one of the first things he had
grown weary of in their short-but-not-short-enough romance.  The
package was a pretty one, no doubt about it, but it was nothing
more window dressing.  Fox Mulder wasn't fooled for a moment. 
Phoebe Green was Kay Sheridan with a brain:  same cheap values,
slightly higher tax bracket.  A *lot* more nerve.

Unsatisfied with just cutting in, Phoebe had effectively
dismissed an openmouthed Kay Sheridan with no more than a
patronizing wave...as if shooing away a pesky insect.  "You've
been a dear to keep Agent Mulder company for me.  Perhaps he can
spare a dance for you later."  She looked up and down Kay's white
strapless gown.  "Your gown is lovely, by the way. I'm sure you
won't find yourself lacking for dance partners."

Kay opened her mouth to reply, but was stopped short by Phoebe's
next comment.  "Hmmm, white," she said, her head tilting slightly
as if pondering the mysteries of the universe.  "What
an....*interesting* choice."

As Kay stood gaping at her, Phoebe turned her attention back to
Mulder and draped her arm around his neck, smiling triumphantly
at Kay over his shoulder as they began to sway to the music. 
Stunned and speechless for the first time in her life, Kay
finally turned and headed back toward the table.

Watching the exchange, Mulder had felt like a prisoner witnessing
a fight between two guards. There was nowhere to run.  No place
to hide.  No Scully to escape with.  

Scully.  God, he wished Scully were here.

Every second he spent with Phoebe -- and Kay too, for that matter
-- just made him realize more and more that somewhere along the
way, Dana Scully had become the standard by which he measured all
women.  And no one else even came close.

The orchestra launched into "Sentimental Journey" and Phoebe
tugged his arm into a tighter position around her waist.  He
could do this.  He could dance with her.  If it came down to a
matter of Kay or Phoebe, at least he knew Phoebe could carry on
an intelligent conversation -- not that he wanted to have one
with her.  But she was, for now, the lesser of two evils.

"So how have you been, Mulder?" Phoebe asked in a low, seductive
voice that broke into his thoughts.  "I haven't heard from you
once since I left Cape Cod.  I thought we were going to stay in
touch."  She pressed her body against him, purring deep in her
throat at the intimate contact.  

His mouth went dry.  Not good, he thought.  Not good, not good,
not good.  

Her head leaned in toward his ear and he felt her breath on his
neck.  Her words were no more than a whisper on his skin.  "Is it
so hard for you to find anything at all to say to me?"

This was a bad idea, Mulder told himself, a very baaaaaaad idea. 
He'd been here before and had no desire to relive past mistakes. 
This was the Phoebe he knew, the one he remembered.  This sounded
more like the Phoebe who had captured -- and then broken -- his
heart so many years ago.

And she was right, he realized.  He didn't know what to say to
her.  So instead, he turned her accusation back on her.  "You
haven't been in touch either.  But then keeping your word was
never high on your 'to do' list, was it?"

He felt her stiffen ever so slightly, but her face gave away no
hint of annoyance.  He felt her hand trailing up and down the
back of his jacket in small, short strokes between his shoulders. 
"I suppose," she murmered.  "But I'm reaching out and touching
you now..."   Her eyes lowered seductively.  "Or has it been so
long you've forgotten?"

He stopped dancing and drew back to look at her.  "I haven't
forgotten anything."

She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then dropped the
pretense of innocence.  "My God, you can hold a grudge, can't
you?"

This is better, he thought, regaining solid ground.  Enough with
the games.  

"I can if it suits me," he shrugged.

"And it suits you to hold this one?"  Her forehead puckered into
a small crease as she frowned at him, obviously puzzled by his
attitude.

"Call it self-preservation," he said dryly.

Phoebe looked around them, suddenly aware that their non-movement
on the dancefloor was drawing attention.  She gave him a nudge
and they began to sway again.  His hold on her was lighter now,
allowing more distance between them.  

She tried another tactic.  "God, we *are* similar creatures, you
and I."  She looked him squarely in the eye.  "I suppose that's
one of the reasons we were so good together."

He wouldn't play.  "We were good together because you were
spoiled rotten and I always let you have your way."

The bitterness soared over her head, and she laughed.  "I'm still
spoiled rotten.  And what's wrong with that?" she asked without
shame, pinning him with a smile that was part Cheshire cat, part
schoolgirl seduction.

The music ended to light applause and he pulled away from her
instantly.  "I think I've had enough dancing for now."  With you,
he mentally amended.  From the offended look on her face, he
would have sworn she'd heard him, but she didn't protest.  She
followed him silently off the dance floor.  

Walking back toward the tables, he took the opportunity to scan
the crowded room again, searching the vast population of blondes
and brunettes in attendence for some trace of a petite redhead.

Phoebe scanned the room herself, following Mulder's action. 
"Looking for someone?" she asked.

"Yeah -- actually, I was looking for Scully," he told her
honestly.

"Scully?"  Her eyes opened wide in an expression of innocence
that Mulder knew was well beyond her grasp.  "Your little
partner?"

He looked down at her, surprised for the second time by the
amount of venom in her tone.  When had she become such a bitch?
Had she always been this person?  One mention of Scully and
instantly the hard edge was back.  Jealousy was an ugly emotion,
and Mulder had to admit he enjoyed seeing it on Phoebe for a
change.

Deal with it, he thought.  You had your chance.  

"Yes, my partner," he confirmed, proud of himself for taking the
high road.  He wasn't about to be drawn into a verbal
confrontation with an ex-lover in the middle of a convention
hall.

"Well I'm sure she'll turn up."  She placed her index finger
along his cheek and turned his head to look at her again.  She
just couldn't *stand* it when she wasn't the center of attention. 
"I'm going to visit the ladies' room and freshen up.  Why don't I
meet you at the table?"

He wanted to say 'don't bother,' but refrained from speaking his
mind, despite the uncomfortable reunion. While he was here, he
was an official representative of the host council, and knowing
Phoebe, she would cause a scene just to amuse herself by watching
the fallout trickle down to him.  These functions were bad enough
when they went well...he wasn't about to rock the boat.

Instead, he shrugged his agreement.  "Yeah, okay," he said
absently as she disappeared into the crowd.  He barely noticed
her leaving.

Making his way off the dancefloor, Mulder strolled toward the
table where he'd been sitting, paying more attention to the crowd
than to his destination.  He was nearly to the table when he
realized that it was occupied by one obviously irritated,
slightly tipsy brunette in a white strapless gown.  With a drink
in her hand, Kay stood up, wobbling on unsteady legs as Mulder
neared the table.  

He made a U-turn in one smooth motion, walking quickly in another
direction, toward the entrance.

He took two steps before he saw her...and froze in his tracks.

The woman was a vision in red, from head to toe. She was standing
just inside the doorway, her head turned away from him, obviously
trying to spot someone.  Whoever it was, Mulder acknowledged, he
was one lucky son of a bitch.  Even from this distance, without
having seen her face, he knew she was a devastating beauty.  

He wasn't alone, either.  He was suddenly aware that a slight
hush had fallen over the back of the room.  Everyone, it seemed,
stood quietly transfixed by the Lady In Red who had entered the
ballroom.  He knew he was gawking like a teenager, but for the
life of him, he couldn't look away.  Now this....*this* was a
woman who knew how to make an entrance.  A woman had to be pretty
damn self-assured to show up at an International Law Enforcement
event in a dress that would have been illegal in half the
countries represented.  

That's not a dress, he amended.  That's a heart attack.

Right on cue, as if to prove him right, the woman turned around,
and Mulder got his first good look at the woman's face.  And when
he did, the world as he knew it...ended.

Oh.  God.

Special Agent Dana Scully had arrived.


End of Part 3


Disclaimer in part 1

"Hardball"
by Missy Pennington (JosieChung@aol.com)

Part 4


*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Breathe. 

He had to remind himself to do it.  And still, for the life of
him, he couldn't seem to draw a breath deep enough to be
satisfying.  He drew quick short breaths instead.  My God, he was
actually panting, he realized. Seemingly unfazed by the
attention, Scully walked into the room, her eyes darting from
table to table, ignoring the hushed whispers of the gawking men
and women around the entrance.

Mulder couldn't look away from her.  No one could.  In his
wildest fantasies -- and he'd had some -- he had never imagined
Scully dressed like this.  He'd never imagined *anyone* dressed
like this. The gown was long-sleeved with a high neckline, giving
the illusion of modesty when, in truth, it left almost nothing to
the imagination.  The sheer red material that covered Scully's
upper body was nearly transparent and clung to her tightly,
accentuating every curve.  Only her breasts were truly covered,
strategically concealed behind a small scalloped band of opaque
material.  It was a small concession to modesty, and one that
didn't extend nearly far enough, Mulder thought.  

The fabric turned sheer again just below her breasts and stayed
that way down the length of her torso, adhering tightly to her
body, exposing her entire midriff until the gossamer veil ended
in a small 'v' shape just below her navel.  From there, the dress
became opaque again, the darker red material continuing to the
floor.  It was tight all the way down with a slit in the front
that extended to mid thigh on the right side.  With every step
she took, he could see the entire length of her leg, and he
gawked like a teenager -- as did every man in the room.

Oh God.  Those shoes!  

In Mulder's experience, Dana Scully had always been the epitome
of reasonable.  In all the time they had spent together, he had
never known her to be hampered from doing her job because her
wardrobe had gotten in the way.  She dressed for field work, and
that included relatively low-heeled shoes that allowed her to
walk long distances -- perhaps run, if necessary.  In four years,
Mulder had never once thought about Dana Scully's shoes.  

He was positively fixated on them now.  They were red -- a dark
red that perfectly matched what there was of her dress -- with
thin, delicate straps that met in a small gold buckle at her
ankle.  The heels were the highest he'd ever seen her wear, at
least 5 inches.  He watched as she walked seductively into the
crowd, the front slit of her dress baring the entire length of
her leg with every step, showcasing a part of Dana Scully that
for some unfathomable reason had never kept him up nights before. 
He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that those incredibly
perfect legs would now haunt his dreams forever.

He watched dumbstruck as Scully made her way toward the middle of
the room.  She looked like every wish he'd ever made.  Her hair
was fixed atop her head in a mass of soft curls that gave the
illusion of added length.  Baby fine tendrils of burnished copper
framed her face, creating a softness that was at the same time
romantic and sexy.  Her large blue eyes were wide and clear as
she wafted through the appreciative looks and jealous scowls that
surrounded her on every side.

He couldn't take it all in. He pivoted around so that he could
continue watching as she moved further into the room, finally
catching a glimpse of the back of the dress.  When he did, he had
the ridiculous urge to tear off his jacket and make a running
tackle in order to wrap it around her.  Good Lord, she was a
walking traffic accident.  From the base of her elegantly exposed
neck to the small of her exquisite back, every inch of his
partner was exposed to view.  The back of the dress turned into
"real" fabric just in time to save it from showing every square
inch of Dana Scully's backside.

His heart was jackhammering in his chest as he saw Assistant
Director Walter Skinner approach Scully near the bar, greeting
her with an unaccustomed familiarity that Mulder found more than
a little disturbing.  He watched the man smile with genuine
appreciation as he took Scully's hand in his, and a wave of
possessiveness crashed over him.  Skinner leaned in toward the
beautiful redhead and said something to her that was obviously
well-received.  Scully graced him with a dazzling smile that
caused Mulder's heart to drop all the way to the floor.

He was going to die now.  He couldn't breathe.

Damn.  He'd been holding his breath.

Breathe, Mulder, he reminded himself.  Breathe and get the hell
over there before every man in the room stakes a claim.  He began
making his way toward them, hoping he could string two sentences
together when he spoke to her.

It's Scully.  You talk to Scully all the time, he told himself.  

It's not Scully, his libido argued.  I've *seen* Scully and trust
me -- that's not her.  

His heart was thumping wildly, as he drew closer to her, and he
realized he'd been holding his breath again.  Breathe Agent
Mulder.  And for another second or two, he did.

He did until he saw the dark headed man approaching Scully from
behind.  Until he saw the radiant smile on his partner's face as
she turned to be enfolded into the man's embrace. Until he saw
the kiss that the unknown man placed softly upon her lips, and
the kiss that Scully returned with obvious affection.

At that point, Fox Mulder watched the most beautiful woman in the
room walk toward the dance floor with a handsome man he didn't
know, and suddenly he didn't care that he had stopped breathing
again.  He already felt dead.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Paul Leone was the last man Dana Scully had expected to see when
she entered the room.  She'd come in looking for Mulder, and
instead, it was Paul who found her.  Scully hadn't known he would
be there; she hadn't really thought about him in over a year --
not since Melissa's funeral.  He'd told her then that he had
joined the Bureau and was in training at Quantico, but she hadn't
heard from him since and assumed he'd been assigned outside DC.

Walking toward the dance floor with him now, she leaned into him
and laid her head against his upper arm, smiling at the
familiarity of his voice.  God, she missed Melissa.  She'd been
thinking of her sister more and more lately, reminiscing,
remembering...regreting.  And then suddenly, as if Missy herself
had willed it, Paul Leone's long arms had encircled her from
behind, wrapping her in the sweetest of memories.  Missy would
have said it was a sign, and tonight, Scully wasn't in the mood
to argue.

Mulder could wait, she thought, gliding toward the center of the
dance floor in her Manolo Blahnik shoes and Andrea LeBeaux gown. 
She pushed away the niggling twinge of guilt.  Mulder hated these
functions, and they had promised each other they would brave it
together, but she needed to talk to Paul.  She needed to talk
about Melissa.  And Mulder would understand; he had ghosts of his
own.  It wasn't as if she could pick him out of this crowd
anyway--dark headed, tuxedo clad men were everywhere.  She spun
lightly into a dancer's embrace with Paul,  and decided that
there had been a change of plans:  Special Agent Fox Mulder would
have to come to her.  After all, she thought, placing her hand in
Paul's, there had to be a *little* effort on his part.  

Come find me, Mulder, she thought, the corners of her mouth
turning up in a smile that was unintentionally seductive.  Come
find me and I *might* just make it worth your while tonight.  

"Who is that for?"

Still smiling, she looked at him curiously.  "Who is what for?"

"That smile."  He grinned at her.  "And don't tell me you don't
know what I'm talking about, because you could never lie to save
your ass.  Besides," he continued, "I'm much too familiar with
the feminine Scully charms not to recognize that smile.  I have
been known to fall for it myself."

She avoided the question by lowering her lashes and gazing up at
him with a sex-kitten pout.  "It's for you, Paul.  Don't you
know?  It's always been you."  She couldn't stop the laughter
that bubbled forth, ruining her faux seduction.

He burst into laughter.  "God, I've missed you, brat."

Scully's eyes misted at the words.  "It's good to see you again."

He drew her closer into the embrace, his hand firmly on the small
of her back as they danced slowly amid dozens of couples on the
spacious hardwood dance floor.  They fell silent in their
memories, holding on to each other as they swayed to the soft
music.

"I'll Be Seeing You," he chuckled, his breath warm against her
cheek.  "Melissa would have loved the irony."

Scully smiled.  "I'm sure you're right."

"Of course I'm right," he told her lightly.  "Nobody knew your
sister like I did."

Her smile faded, as she looked into his dark brown eyes,
glimpsing there a sadness that she knew would never be completely
healed.  A sadness so like her own.  "I know, Paul.  It meant a
lot to Mom that you came to the funeral.  I know Melissa would
have been glad."  When  he didn't answer, she went on.  "The
Academy isn't usually big on recruits leaving during training. 
How did you arrange it?"

He shrugged.  "It was never a matter of question--the FBI is just
a job.  When I heard about Melissa... of course I had to be
there.  I...I couldn't NOT be there.  You know?"  He pulled back
slightly to look in her eyes.  "Four years we were together,
Dana; I couldn't just wave from a distance.  I had to say
good-bye."

She nodded, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.  This wasn't
good, she decided.  Reminiscing was one thing but it shouldn't be
sad.  Not tonight.  She changed the subject, her face
brightening, willing him to follow suit.  "Well obviously they
got over it.  Here you are, Special Agent Paul Leone -- a dashing
and debonair player in the world of secrets and lies."  She gave
him a playful punch in the arm.  "I ought to give you hell about
it -- you laughed at me when you found out *I* was going to join
the Bureau."  

He spun her around, shifting her weight onto his arm as he bent
her backwards in a flamboyant dip as "I'll Be Seeing You" ended
softly.  "But of course," he told her.  "You were the obnoxious,
annoying little sister of the love of my life.  I was obligated
to laugh at you at every opportunity."

She crooked an eyebrow at him as he righted her.  "I was 26."

"Details."  The orchestra launched into "Pennies from Heaven" and
Paul laughed, spinning her outwards, then pulling her back toward
him in one quick motion, his hand recapturing the small of her
back in an instant, drawing her close.

She gasped in surprise.  "I take it we're not sitting this one
out?"

"Of course not.  I have another thirty minutes to enjoy this
dress and those shoes before the *current* love of my life should
be here, and I--"

"Sarah's not here?"

"No, she had a deadline.  But she's on her way, and until she
gets here, I must tell you I'm taking great pleasure being in the
presence of this...." He stepped back and gestured up and down
her at her body.  "...this ensemble."  He grinned mischievously
as they resumed dancing.  "And to think you were such a scrawny,
tomboyish, obnoxious little twerp when we met."

"I was 23," she told him dryly.

"Whatever."  

She raised an eyebrow, undaunted by his teasing.  "If I'm not
mistaken, Paul, I believe you were the cover model for Charles
Atlas' ninety-eight pound weakling."  

He had the good grace to blush.  "Guilty.  But hey..." he turned
slightly sideways, presenting his arm for her approval.  "The
training academy does wonders for a bicep.  Feel that.....solid
as a rock."

Scully laughed at his posturing, and ran her hand over the lithe
muscle he indicated.  "Oooooh, Paul.  Why...I had no *idea* you'd
filled out so nicely.  Are you SURE you want to ditch me when
Sarah gets here?"  She waggled her eyebrows at him.  "I'm just
not sure I can let you go."

Their laughter finally subsided, giving way to an easy silence
that Scully found just as pleasant as the conversation.  It felt
good to laugh.  It felt good to know she still could.

Paul raised her hand in his and clasped it to his chest.  "I've
missed you, brat," he murmured.  "Until tonight, I hadn't
realized how much."

Scully nodded.  "Me too."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Fox Mulder watched as his partner gracefully navigated the dance
floor accompanied by a man whose death he had been imagining for
the past twenty minutes.  A familiar greeting, a hug, even a
chaste kiss...he could overlook that.  Old acquaintances.  Sure. 
It happens.

A time or two around the dance floor--he didn't have a problem
with that.  He'd spent the early part of the evening in the
clutches of Kay Sheridan and the last hour fending off Phoebe's
innuendo-laden conversation.

It wasn't the hug or the kiss or the dancing that was eating away
at Fox Mulder as he watched Scully enjoying herself on the dance
floor.  It was the smile.  The one that he saw so rarely, the one
that lit up her face and caused her eyes to sparkle like gems. 
The one that illuminated his very soul when she graced him with
it.  *That* smile.  The one that he lived for.  The smile that
had been on her face ever since she turned around tonight to find
a dark headed stranger behind her...a stranger Fox Mulder hated
on sight.

Jesus Christ.  The man had actually "dipped" her.  Mulder took a
swallow from his watered-down drink, and pulled his attention
away from Scully.  Phoebe was staring at him.  "Did you say
something?"  he asked.

An icy hardness crossed her face and disappeared in an instant. 
"I said you're obviously not enjoying yourself here.  We don't
have to stay, you know.  We could go someplace quiet and
talk...it would be a lovely chance to reminisce, don't you
think?"

His stomach lurched at the thought.  Now if she'd only suggest
they invite Kay Sheridan along, he could really throw up in
earnest.  Through the unaccustomed buzz of one too many watered-
down drinks, the idea struck him funny and he laughed.

"What's so funny?" Phoebe asked with a small frown.  

"Forget it."  He gave an unconcerned wave.  

"So?" she prompted.

He stared at her blankly.  "So what?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Do you want to leave now?  Good Lord,
Mulder -- where is your head tonight?"

He ignored the last question.  "I can't leave yet."

Phoebe was undaunted.  "Why not?"  she purred.  She softly ran
her hand up and down his upper arm.  "No one will ever know.  And
you and I both know how much you hate these affairs.  I *know*
you want to leave."

"Damn it, Phoebe, I said I can't.  Would you just leave it
alone?"  He shook his head at her, noting with satisfaction that
she had the good grace to color at his rebuke.

She was really beginning to annoy him.  He had to get away.  He
had to get away from Phoebe before he killed her, and he had to
get away from the sight of Dana Scully pressed intimately against
the body of the jerk she was dancing with.  He needed air.  That
was it.  He needed some space and some air.

Out on the dance floor, the object of his infatuation laid her
beautiful red head upon the shoulder of her partner and smiled
wistfully.  

Forget the air.  He needed another goddamned drink.

"I'm going to the bar," he told Phoebe, his eyes never leaving
the dancing couple.  "I'll be back."  He didn't wait for her
reply.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Phoebe watched him go, her brow furrowed as she contemplated
Mulder's decidedly ungallant behavior.  She was fairly certain
she knew the reason; it had to be Scully.  He'd told her as much
when they'd left the dance floor earlier.  She watched him until
he was nearly out of sight, then stood and turned toward the
dance floor.  Her eyes scanned the dozens of couples and came to
rest in only a matter of seconds, upon the ethereal crimson image
of Dana Scully.  Confirmation, she thought.  She'd expected as
much.  What she hadn't expected was the level of competition --
somewhere along the way, the little pest had developed a fashion
sense.  Phoebe surveyed Scully's ensemble from head to toe and
pursed her lips.  She  was *not* amused.

She turned to look at Mulder nearing the other side of the room,
then turned back to Scully.  Okay, it was more of a battle than
she'd anticipated, but still, she wasn't worried. She had the
advantage of history with Fox Mulder.  She'd been merely toying
with him up to this point, but she realized now that she would
have to work harder.  She could do that.  She knew the buttons to
push, what worked and what didn't.  And when all else failed, she
wasn't above fighting dirty.  She'd made it an art form.

Phoebe crossed her arms and stared at the small, red-headed
woman, sizing up the situation, deciding upon her course of
action.  One last quick glance toward the bar told her Mulder
wasn't yet on his way back.  With a fiendish smile, she headed
toward the dance floor, circling the area like a bird of prey
surveying its hunting grounds, zeroing in finally on a singular
target, resplendent in gossamer red....with matching Manolo
Blahnik shoes.

Phoebe squared her shoulders as she prepared herself for combat,
wrapping herself in impenetrable British reserve with just a
touch of aristocracy.  If there was one accessory she was never
without, it was attitude -- never out of style and it went with
everything.  With affected sincerity and an air of total grace,
Phoebe Green smiled warmly at the dancing couple in front of her
-- and went in for the kill.

End of part 4


Disclaimer in part 1

"Hardball"
by Missy Pennington (JosieChung@aol.com)

Part 5


*  *  *  *  *  *  *


His walk gave him away.  Until he began to make his way toward
the other side of the room, he'd been invisible, just one of
hundreds in the crowded ballroom.  But after four years of field
work together, Mulder's body language was as familiar to Scully
as her own, and her gaze picked him up easily as he strode toward
the bar.

So close.  She was so close to what she'd been anticipating all
evening.  Her heart rate quickened at the sight of him, and she
flushed.  She was being ridiculous.  It was Mulder.   *Mulder*
for God's sake.  Why in the world should that make her knees weak
now?  Her heart didn't care -- it pounded away in double time.

He was alone, she noted with some satisfaction.  No Kay, no
Phoebe.  And despite her earlier resolve to make Mulder come to
her, Scully knew the temptation of breaching the distance between
them was too much to withstand.  He might not see her for hours
yet, and she hadn't spent this much time and money to play the
shrinking violet now.  She would make the first move.  As soon as
this dance was over, she would find Mulder.

And say what?  Hi Mulder.  Quite a spread, huh?  How 'bout those
Knicks?  Wanna have more than a professional relationship?

"Oh yeah.  That would do it," she muttered.

"What would do it?"  Paul looked at her quizzically.

She blushed, realizing she'd spoken out loud.  "Do what," she
asked innocently?

"You said 'that would do it'," Paul told her.

"What would do it?" she countered.

He sighed and shook his head.  "Scully women.  They can drive a
man to drink."

"Hey, we can even buy the first round.  We're not cheap."

He laughed. "Well that's wha..."

"Don't say it," she warned with mock irritation.  "Just let it
go."

The last strains of the orchestra faded out and Scully glanced
toward the bar.  She didn't see Mulder, but she was sure he was
still in the vicinity.  She took Paul's hand as they walked away
from the dance floor.  "I'm so glad I got to see you tonight,
Paul."

He looked surprised.  "You're leaving?"

She nodded.  "Well...not entirely.  But I see someone I need to
go talk to."

He smiled knowingly.  "The dress guy."

"Huh?"

"The dress guy."  He touched the soft sheer fabric at her
shoulder.  "The one *this* is for.  Am I right?"

Scully hesitated.  Admitting it to herself was one thing. 
Admitting it to someone else was a damn sight harder.  Finally
she nodded.

He didn't tease her, and she was grateful.  No quips, no
one-liners, no chuckles.  Instead, Paul Leone surprised her
completely by bending to press a soft kiss to her cheek.  "He's a
lucky man.  You look beautiful, brat."

She returned the kiss lightly.  "Thank you, Paul."

"Diana?"

Paul and Scully both turned toward the voice, and Scully's
stomach turned flips as she recognized Phoebe Green.  She was
here.  She was here and she looked stunning.

"I'm terribly sorry," Phoebe started, "I didn't mean to
interrupt, it's just...I saw you earlier, and I wanted to say
hello."  The smile on her face seemed genuine, but Scully wasn't
fooled.  And Phoebe's next words erased all doubt.  "It's lovely
to see you again, Diana."

"It's Dana," she corrected smoothly.

"Oh, of course.  Dana.  How thoughtless of me."  Her eyes were
cold and hard, contradicting her apology.  "Why don't I just call
you Scully, like Fox does," she suggested with a small smile. 
"It's such a quaint little name."

Scully bristled.  Okay, so the bitch wanted to play?  Fine.  Dana
Scully could play hardball when she had to, and she was suddenly
in just the right mood to do it.   She narrowed her eyes and she
pasted on a saccharine smile of her own.  "Scully's fine, Chloe. 
Whatever's less taxing for you."  She watched the tall brunette
stiffen in response.

"It's Phoebe."

 "Right," Scully replied with mock civility.  "Chloe, Phoebe...I
knew it was one of those quaint little names."  She watched
Phoebe's eyes narrow the tiniest bit.  Touch‚, she thought.  One
for me.

Phoebe nodded almost imperceptibly, acknowledging the standoff. 
She looked from Scully to Paul.  "And you must be...."

"Paul.  Paul Leone."  He extended his hand, and Phoebe shook it
lightly.  His eyes darted back and forth between the two women,
watching the confrontation with interest.

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Paul," Phoebe smiled.  "The
two of you make a lovely couple on the dance floor.  Mulder and I
were quite enchanted watching you."

Scully's eyes shot up.  "You're with Mulder?"  As soon as the
words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.  Phoebe's eyes
lit up with undisguised glee, and Scully knew she'd given away
too much.

"Yes I am," she cooed, "although I do believe we're going to be
leaving fairly soon.  He does hate these things so."  She tilted
her head toward Scully.  "I'm sure I don't have to tell you
that," she added condescendingly.  "You must know him almost as
well as I do."

The last barb went over Scully's head completely.  She barely
heard the words.  All she could think about was that Mulder was
with Phoebe.  They were here and they were together.  She felt
like an utter fool.  What had she been thinking?  That their eyes
would meet across a crowded room and both of them would suddenly
realize they'd been in love for years and they would declare
their undying devotion to each other on the dance floor before
heading home to a night of passion?  She felt completely stupid. 
And naked.  Suddenly she felt very, very exposed.  This dress was
all wrong -- it wasn't her.  She shouldn't have worn it.  She
shouldn't even be here.

"...so I guess I really should be going so I don't keep him
waiting."  

Scully snapped out of her daze when she felt Phoebe's cool hand
touch her arm lightly.  "Mulder didn't want to interrupt your
dance, so he said he'd just see you on Monday.  But I didn't want
to leave without saying hello."  She began to walk away.  "It was
so nice to see you again," she offered over her shoulder.

Scully nodded, watching quietly as Phoebe turned and began to
glide toward the doorway.

"From the look on your face, and from the venom that was flying
in that little exchange, I'm assuming Mulder is the dress guy."  

She didn't answer.

"Want to talk about it?"  Paul's voice was quiet and reassuring
in her ear.

She shook her head slowly.  "No.  I think I should just go."

"Want me to drive you home?"

She looked at him affectionately.  "I drove myself."   Her hand
reached up to touch his cheek.  "I'm fine, Paul."

He looked doubtful.

"Really."  She squared her shoulders.  "See?"

"Oh yeah," he agreed sarcastically.  "You look fine."

"Fine?  A minute ago I looked beautiful."  She smiled, but it was
a feeble attempt at levity.

"He's a fool, Dana," he frowned.

She shook her head.  "No.  I think that would be me."  She
reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Give Sarah
my love, Paul, okay?"

He nodded.  "Drive safely."

Scully turned and walked toward the entrance.  She'd had enough. 
She'd spent an absurd amount of money, dressed herself up like a
girl going to her prom, and come to an event she'd been dreading,
expecting to make Mulder want her after four years of a platonic
relationship.  She wanted to slither home and crawl into bed and
not get up until Monday.  She wanted to, but she wouldn't. 
Because she wouldn't give Phoebe Green the satisfaction.  Or
Mulder either for that matter.

The mood swing was in full force, and she went with it.  To hell
with disappointment.  To hell with hurt and to hell  with...
with....  Ah, screw it, she thought, just say it.  Jealousy.  To
hell with jealousy. He wanted Phoebe?  Fine.  Whatever.  He could
have Phoebe.  Indignation welled up in her, and she welcomed it,
nurturing it until she recouped her self-esteem.  She was no
wallflower, she told herself.  She wasn't a shy, insecure seventh
grader.  Why should *she* leave?  God only knew if she'd ever get
to wear this dress again.   Thoroughly incensed now, she glanced
toward the bar, just in time to see Mulder and Phoebe engaged in
a passionate kiss.  She wanted to throw up.

She wanted to kill them both.

"Agent Scully."

She whirled around.

Skinner held out his hand to her.  "I trust you weren't about to
leave already, before I've even had the pleasure of a dance." 
The Assistant Director's eyes were warm and surprisingly
inviting.

She smiled at the unexpected image he presented.  He really was a
very attractive man when he allowed himself to loosen up, she
decided. She placed her hand in his without hesitation.  "No
sir," she answered emphatically.  "You're just the man I was
looking for."

"Lucky me," he smiled, leading her back toward the orchestra.

She gave him a dazzling smile as his strong arms went around her
waist.  

The music began again.


*  *  *  *  *  *  *

In the far back corners of Mulder's mind, he recalled a time in
the not too distant past when the mere touch of Phoebe Green had
the power to reduce him to a trembling schoolboy.  Somewhere
along the way, she'd lost all appeal.  If there was any question
before, the kiss had erased all doubt. 

He hadn't expected it...certainly hadn't instigated it, but he
had allowed it.  He'd allowed it out of curiosity, more than
anything.  She'd approached him at the bar, smiled her devious
little "up-to-something" smile, and before he knew what was
happening, she'd wound her arms around his neck and pulled him
into a deep kiss.  She was beautiful.  She was willing.  He had
even loved her once.  

And he had never been less aroused by a kiss in his life.

Was he finally over her completely or was he just taken by
surprise?  He hadn't been sure -- and so he'd allowed the kiss,
even participated momentarily.

Nothing.  Not one tremble in sight.

He'd pulled away from her, expecting to see hostility,
irritation, maybe even confusion.  Instead, she was smiling
victoriously.  She was a total question mark to him now, he
realized, a stranger.  He didn't owe her anything, not his time
or his company.  Certainly not his heart.  He needed to find
Scully, so they could talk about things.  The dark-haired man who
couldn't keep his hands to himself would just have to find
another woman to grope, Mulder resolved.

"I need to go find Scully," he told Phoebe matter of factly.  No
beating around the bush, no hedging.  To his surprise, she didn't
blink an eye.  Instead, a feline smile crossed her face and she
acquiesced with a dainty shrug.

"I believe they've gone, Mulder."  She looked around the room. 
"If they haven't yet, they're about to."

His jaw twitched.  "They?"

"She and...I believe she said his name was Paul."  

"You spoke to Scully?"

"Well, not intentionally," she offered smoothly.  "I'm afraid I
didn't even see her.  She obviously recognized me, because she
stopped me as I was coming over here, and said she just wanted to
say hello because they were getting ready to call it a night. 
She told me to tell you she'd see you at the office."  She
blinked innocently.  "But she did introduce me to her date.  I
believe his name was Paul." 

Date?  She was on a date with this guy?  Mulder felt like he'd
been kicked in the stomach.  Well what did you expect, Mulder? 
You'd dazzle her on the dance floor and she'd tell you that
you're the man she's dreamed of for years and invite you back to
her place for the night?  Yeah.  Right.

Still, he couldn't believe she'd never mentioned anyone named
Paul.  She would have mentioned it, wouldn't she?  Or would she? 
They didn't really talk about their personal lives.  He'd always
sort of assumed they had a mutual understanding to avoid a
subject they both knew was deeper and more complicated than
either admitted.  Maybe he'd been wrong all along.  *Obviously*
he'd been wrong all along.

A small gasp from Phoebe interrupted his thoughts.

"What?"  He looked at her.

She reached for him feebly.  "I...I don't know.  Suddenly I feel
so dizzy."  She swayed lightly back and forth.

Damn.  This night was getting worse and worse.  Hell, maybe *he*
should just faint, he thought cynically.  That would make it all
disappear.  He put his arm around Phoebe's back to steady her. 
"You're probably just too warm," he told her.  "Here, let's find
a chair so you can sit down."

She sagged against him, allowing him to support her as the walked
toward the table.  He pulled out a chair and eased her down into
it slowly.  "Sit here for a minute.  I'll go get you some water." 
He started to walk away, but she didn't release his hand and
pulled him back to her.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, Mulder.  Just...just stay with me for a
minute longer, okay?  I don't want to fall out of this chair and
make a specticle of myself."

He sat down beside her and scrutinized her face for any sign of
game playing.  She did seem pale, but he still wasn't convinced. 
"Are you sure you're okay?  I can call someone..."

She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.  "No no, I'm
feeling much better now.  I think I'll be fine in just a moment." 
She smiled wanly at him.  "You know, I think you're right.  I
believe I must have gotten overheated."  She laid her head
against his arm and closed her eyes.

Mulder sighed and settled back in the chair, looking out over the
crowded room like a condemned soul surveying the pits of Hell. 
The she-demon beside him snuggled closer and he raised his eyes
toward the ceiling.  If there was a God, Mulder mused, he'd never
been further away than he was at this moment.

He looked out onto the dance floor, surprised to see Scully in
the arms of Assistant Director Skinner.  She hadn't left yet. 
She was still here.  He should have felt relieved; obviously
she'd forsaken Mr. Smooth for the moment.  But watching his
partner dance closely with Skinner, Mulder felt his blood
pressure began to rise.  Skinner was enjoying himself a little
*too* much, he decided.  The son of a bitch was actually
*smiling,* and everyone knew Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner
was not a man who smiled often.  Hell it was obvious he was
practically fawning over Dana Scully.  Every man in the room was
under the spell of that dress.  

Mulder's jaw clenched as he watched them, taking in every detail
of their body language, feeling his blood pressure rising with
every observation he made.  Skinner's hand was just a little too
low on the small of her back, his arms held her a little too
close for a casual dance between co-workers.  And every time he
spoke to her, he leaned down close to her ear.  It was entirely
too intimate, Mulder decided.  And if her jerk of a date was too
blind to be irritated by it, then he was a bigger asshole than
Mulder had pegged him for.  And that was quite a stretch.  

He didn't get it.  He and Scully had no verbal agreement.  They'd
never even acknowledged the *unspoken* one.  But until tonight,
he'd been fairly certain that they'd had one.  Until tonight,
he'd been sure she felt the same way.  But this was all wrong. 
At some point recently, he'd obviously lost his connection with
Dana Scully, because somewhere along the way, she'd picked up a
"Paul."   Not to mention a stunning red dress.

And as heart-stoppingly gorgeous as the package was, it didn't
hold a candle to the familiar young professionally-attired woman
who shared office space with him every day of the week and
dazzled him with her unfailing courage and intellect.  That was
the Scully he knew....the Scully he wanted.

"I believe I'm feeling better now, Mulder." 

He looked down, surprised at the voice.  He'd already put Phoebe
out of his mind.

She smiled coyly.  "I see you're looking at the dance floor. 
Would you like to dance?"

"No."  He didn't bother to elaborate or make excuses.

She frowned at him.

Mulder returned his attention to the dancing couples, startled to
find Scully staring at him with a look he could only interpret as
thinly veiled hostility.  There was no mistaking the small furrow
in her brow and the tight set of her usually full lips.  He'd
seen Scully thoroughly pissed off on very few occasions...it
wasn't an image he was likely to forget.  Or misinterpret.

What he couldn't figure out, was why in the world, she was pissed
off at *him.*   Hell, she was the one who'd ignored him all
evening.  She was the one who'd been working the room like
Cinderella on the arm of Prince Charming.  She'd been tripping
the light fantastic all evening without giving him so much as a
backward glance, and now she had the nerve to look at him like he
was a lower life form.  He didn't understand, and he was tired of
trying to figure it out.  Fuck it, he thought, suddenly irritated
by the whole God awful night.  He didn't need this shit.

He returned Scully's stare with an antagonistic smirk, raising
his wine glass in a mock salute.  He wouldn't have thought it
possible, but her gaze turned even colder.  Her eyes became ice,
her expression frozen in a combination of surprise and anger. 
And something else he couldn't pinpoint.  Hurt?

Before he figured it out, the music died out and dancers began to
separate from each other, walking in all directions, obscuring
her from his view as she and Skinner parted company.  He caught a
glimpse of her a moment later, walking toward the ballroom
entrance, smiling.  Why wouldn't she be smiling? he thought
snidely.  She was approaching a beaming Paul and...a woman?  Huh? 
Mulder watched the exchange, unable to look away despite the a
sick feeling beginning to pool in the pit of his stomach.  The
woman was lovely, tall and willowy with red hair that matched
Scully's for brilliance and cascaded around her shoulders in
voluminous curls.  She greeted Scully with a familiar hug and a
kiss on the cheek, then stepped back, her arm linked casually
with Paul's.

Mulder's heart began to beat a little harder and he suddenly felt
very warm.  This was not happening...this was NOT happening.  
But the mantra was a useless defense against the painful reality. 
It was happening -- and if Mulder had needed it spelled out for
him, Paul was happy to oblige, leaning over to plant a thoroughly
non-platonic kiss upon the lips of the tall beauty beside him.  

Omniscience crashed down upon Fox Mulder, obliterating all traces
of the irritation, jealousy, and bitterness he had nurtured for
hours.  In one fleeting moment, he knew it all.  Scully had been
alone.  He'd been with Phoebe.  "You asshole," he silently
screamed at himself.  "You fucking asshole!  Mulder, you're a
godamned idiot...you don't deserve her."  He had no argument, no
defense.  Completely heartsick, he watched her speak briefly to
Paul and the woman, her smile disappearing as she motioned in an
off-handed manner toward the table where he sat.  With Phoebe. 
He groaned.  It was getting worse and worse.  He was *making* it
worse, every second he sat here.

Oblivious to the fact that his arm was supporting her completely,
Mulder stood up quickly, uncaring in the least when Phoebe,
robbed of his support, pitched forward without warning.  Her
high-pitched squeal of surprise ended abruptly in an unladylike
"ooph" as her elbow made contact with the edge of the table.  She
thrust one hand out blindly, groping for an anchor, finding his
vacated chair and steadying herself while glaring daggers through
the man she'd so recently been bent on seducing.  Mulder couldn't
have cared less.

He was already walking toward Scully, determined to make things
right.  He could fix it, he told himself.  He could fix it if
she'd give a chance -- if she would listen.  

Scully obviously wasn't in a listening mood.  Before he was
halfway across the room she saw him coming and issued hurried
good-byes to the couple before her, walking brusquely toward the
door and disappearing into the hall.

Mulder broke into a run, pushing past surprised couples with
utter disregard, uncaring of their indignant cries.  She wasn't
leaving.  Not like this.  He'd screwed up enough this night to
last four lifetimes, but he could fix it.  

God, please let me fix it.

His long stride bridged the distance to the doorway, and he raced
into the hall, disheartened to see she was already at the
elevator on the other end. 

"Scully!"

She didn't answer.  She didn't even look at him.  

He was halfway down the hall when he heard the elevator chime and
the doors slide open.  Without a glance in his direction, Scully
entered the elevator, leaving Fox Mulder with an unobstructed
view of a devastatingly empty hallway.

End of Part 5


Disclaimer in part 1

"Hardball"
by Missy Pennington (JosieChung@aol.com)

Part 6



*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Close, damn it!"

Scully pushed the "close" button of the elevator furiously, but
no amount of frantic movement seemed to hurry the process. 
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the heavy doors began to
slide inward, and she let out a sigh of relief.  She wasn't
*about* to have a confrontation with Mulder.  Not here, not now,
not ever.

Asshole, she thought.  The asshole had actually raised his glass
to her while he sat there with that British bimbo on his
shoulder.  God, what had she done to deserve *that* kind of
malice?  It didn't matter.  She was going home.  And the first
thing she was going to do when she got there was take her phone
off the hook.  Mulder wanted to talk now?  Tough.  He could stew
in it tonight, she thought.  He could slither back into the
ballroom and make shmoopy faces with Phoebe all night for all she
cared.  She'd made her exit.  She was free of him.

She pushed the button for the ground floor, smiling with
satisfaction as the rubber edges of the doors began to meet.  

And then pull apart from each other.

Scully stared openmouthed as Mulder opened the doors with obvious
effort and stepped inside with her.

"Get out, Mulder."

He leaned against the back wall.  "We need to talk."

Her harsh laugh was amplified in the small confined area.  "You
know," she told him condescendingly, "I don't see that happening. 
I want you to go away, Mulder.  Leave me alone."  She turned her
back to him and pushed the button again.  The doors slid shut,
and he made no move to stop them.  Finally the elevator began to
descend.  

Her relief was short lived.  As soon as they began to move,
Mulder reached over her shoulder and pushed the emergency stop
button.

"We're not through," he said.  

The words were low, full of emotion, and his breath was hot
against her neck.  

"Yes we are," she ground out through clenched teeth.  She reached
for the button again, but Mulder moved in front of the panel,
completely blocking it from her view.

"No.  We're not."

Her cool reserve finally cracked.  "What the hell do you want
from me, Mulder?  Huh?  You ignore me all night, falling all over
yourself to please Emma Peel back there, and now you corner me
like a bully on a playground.  What do you want, Mulder?  My
lunch?  My milk money?  What?"  

He looked at her with total calm.  "Are you finished?"

"Yes," she snapped.  "I'm finished and I'd like to go home.  If
you'll get away from the control panel, I'll be on my way."

"Not until I've said what I came to say."  He shook his head
resolutely.

Scully sighed.  God she was too old for this.  She was too old
and too tired to be playing school girl games.  Her head was
beginning to hurt.  "Fine," she said quietly, rubbing her
forehead lightly.  "Let's have it.  What did you come to say?"

"Two things," he told her.  "But first I have to ask you a
question, Scully, and I want an honest answer."

She crossed her arms.  "You say that like I've made a habit out
of lying to you."  Her eyes flashed with defiance.  "I've never
lied to you Mulder. Never."  She drew herself up and faced him,
daring him to contradict her, but he didn't.  He only nodded.

"That's what I'm counting on."

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"Scully do you trust me?"  

The question was soft, conversational in tone, and she shook her
head in disbelief.  Where the hell had that come from, and what
did it have to do with this fiasco of an evening?  "What?" she
asked, thoroughly confused.

"You heard me."

She tried to push him aside.  "Mulder, I'm not in the mood to
play 'you're the best partner I've ever had.'  I'm tired and I
want to go home.  NOW."

He captured her hand and held it.  "I'm not playing games,
Scully.  I really need you to answer this for me.  Do you trust
me."

She closed her eyes with an exasperated sigh.  Anything to put an
end to the torture that was this night, she thought.  "Yes.  I
trust you Mulder.  I've told you that before."  Her eyes opened
and she looked pointedly at Mulder.  "I'd trust you with my life,
Mulder.  I *have* trusted you with my life."

When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.  "Then I need
for you to hold onto that trust and let me say what I need to." 
He looked at her earnestly.

She was moved by the obvious sincerity he put before her, and in
spite of herself, she felt some of her hostility begin to ebb. 
Mulder rarely showed his vulnerability, and when he did, it
affected her profoundly.  She wasn't willing to let him know
that.  She couldn't afford to point out chinks in her own armor
right now.  "Okay," she said evenly.  "You want to tell me two
things.  What's the first one?"  She pulled her hand from his
grasp and took a step back, waiting for his reply.

He stared at her with an intensity that was surprisingly sexy. 
She felt her skin begin to tingle under his heated gaze and hoped
he couldn't see the effect his closeness had on her.  She'd
anticipated it all day.  She'd dressed for it.  She'd even
imagined it while she was dancing with Paul.  But she wasn't
finished being angry at him yet, and she'd be damned if she'd let
him think otherwise.

"The first thing is..."  He took a breath.  "...I wasn't with
Phoebe tonight.  I know it looked like I was, and that's partly
my fault, but I wasn't.  And if you trust me at all after four
years together, I'm asking you as a friend and as my partner to
believe that I'm telling you the truth."

Friend and partner?  God she wanted out of this elevator.  This
was going from bad to worse.  How much humiliation could one
woman stand in a single evening, she wondered?  She looked at
him, still smarting from the blow of his words, and nodded
briefly.  "Okay.  I believe you," she said in a clipped, sharp
voice.

He looked doubtful, but she didn't care.  The truth was, she
*did* believe him.  She believed the words -- she just couldn't
take comfort in them.  Friend and partner.  Good Lord, she was
such a fool to think it could be otherwise.

She leaned against the wall of the elevator.  "That's one thing,"
she told him tiredly, wanting desperately to find an end to this
evening.  Her hand made a rolling motion in the air, as if to
tell him to "get on with it."  "You weren't with Phoebe.  I
believe you.  What's the second thing?"  The words came out
sharper than she meant for them too, and she saw the frustration
that crossed his face.  A little irritated are we, Mulder, she
thought.  Ha.  Welcome to my world.

He didn't answer her.  His jaw set firmly, he looked at the
ceiling as if expecting divine intervention to show him what to
do next.

Scully rubbed her forehead again. This was going nowhere. 
"Mulder," she repeated.  "It's getting a little claustrophobic in
here.  Tell me the second thing and let's go."

He took a step toward her, invading her personal space.  "The
second thing?" he repeated softly.  "You want to know what the
second thing is, Scully?"  His face hovered just above hers.

She swallowed.  Damn him.  She was *not* going to be intimidated. 
"Do you want to tell me what the second thing is?" she asked, her
voice just as low.

He nodded, leaning down even closer to her.  "Oh yeah."

"Okay," she breathed, her voice shaky.  "What's the second th..."

His mouth covered hers in a heartbeat, cutting off her words. 
The world ceased to exist as his hands came up to cradle her head
and he took another step forward, pinning her to the wall of the
elevator beneath the hardness of his body.  She could feel the
heat of his body through their clothes, and the contact was
devastating.  Without releasing her mouth, he ground his hips
toward her and she felt the full response of his body. She gasped
lightly and her mouth opened slightly beneath his kiss.  As soon
as her lips parted, Mulder deepened the kiss, his mouth slanting
over hers in an act of total possession. His tongue touched hers
tentatively, sending electricity through her very soul.  She
couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, and she didn't give a damn. 
At the moment, she didn't want to do either.

Her arms came up to encircle his neck and she pulled him even
closer to her body, as though she could absorb the very essence
of him.  Her tongue met his in a heated duel, tasting him,
exploring the soft recesses of his mouth with a hunger that was
staggering.  

All too soon the kiss ended, and they pulled away from each
other, breathless and uncertain.  Scully met his gaze and felt a
liquid warmth engulf her.  She felt drugged, dazed.  She leaned
heavily against the wall, her breathing heavy.  

"That's the second thing, Scully.  I've wanted to tell you that
for a long time."  His voice was quiet and calm, but his body
told another story.  She had felt the evidence of his arousal
when he pressed his body into hers, and she knew his labored
breathing was as much a fight for control as it was a response to
their kiss.

She had a million questions, but for the life of her she couldn't
formulate a single one of them.  She was trembling all the way
down to her toes.  She should have been indignant.  He had no
right to assume he could treat her like a bad memory all night
and then expect her to melt at his touch.  But she had melted. 
God help her, she wanted to melt again.  Hell, she thought.  What
are we doing?  What kind of game are we playing here?  She had a
right to know.

Scully looked at Mulder pointedly.  "What *am* I to you, Mulder?"
she asked.  "What is this all about?"

"What?"  He looked amazed.  "What *are* you to me?"

She leveled her gaze at him.  No more beating around the bush,
she thought.  "You were kissing her, Mulder.  I saw you."  It was
a statement of fact.  Not a question, not an accusation.  "And it
wasn't when you were young and impulsive, and it wasn't in New
York three years ago.  It was tonight, and I saw it.  You can't
deny that."

He didn't make excuses.  "Yes.  I kissed her."

She looked away from him, unwilling to let him know she'd been
stung by his easy admittance of the very truth she had asked for.

He reached out to her, hooking his finger underneath her chin,
forcing her to look at him.  She wouldn't cry in front of him. 
If she had to cry, she'd cry at home, and she wouldn't even do
that without a fight.  "If Phoebe is what you want, then what..."
she gestured around the elevator, "...is this whole thing about?"

"I don't want Phoebe.  And if there was any doubt in my mind
before, I eliminated it tonight.  It's gone, Scully.  Phoebe's
gone.  Everything I want is right here.  *That's* what I had to
tell you."

She looked at him uncertainly, still not willing to relinquish
the hurt.  "So why didn't you tell me?  Why have you been
avoiding me all night?"

He looked sheepish.  "I was angry."

"Angry?"  She was completely thrown by that one.  "At me?"  She
was incredulous.  "For God's sake, Mulder, why?  What did I do?"

"I thought you were with another man."

She was completely blank.  "What?"

"I thought you were on a date."  He sighed.  "I know...I realized
I was wrong, but..."

"You thought I was on a date?" she repeated, her brow puckered in
confusion.

"I saw you dancing with him, and I just thought--"

"Me and Skinner?" she asked incredulous.  "You've got to be
kidding me!"

"No!" he said quickly.  "Not Skinner -- the other guy...the one
who was all over you on the dance floor."

She stared at him.  "Paul?"

He shrugged.  "I guess that would be him."

She looked at him in amazement, understanding at last.  He'd
seen Paul.  He'd actually been jealous, she thought wonderously. 
Unbelievable.  All of this because she'd danced with one of
Melissa's old boyfriends.  She stifled a smile, determined not to
laugh at what was obviously difficult for him to admit.

"Mulder, Paul dated my sister for four years.  I've known him
since I was 23 years old," she explained quietly.  "He's a
friend.  Nothing more."

He stared back at her, unblinking.  "I was jealous, Scully."

She did smile then, pushing herself away from the wall and
sauntering toward him with deliberate suggestiveness.  "Well,
Mulder," she mused.  "I guess it's been the night for it." 

He raised his eyebrows as she came to stand in front of him.  

Her body was screaming at his nearness.  Touch me, Mulder.  Kiss
me.  But the words went unspoken, the yearning denied.  She stood
before him calmly, daring him to make the first move.  He didn't
seem to be in a hurry.

"Oh?  Do I take that to mean you were jealous too, Agent Scully?"

Forget it, she thought, she could make the first move.  What's a
dress like this good for if not to give a woman confidence?  Her
arms went around his neck and she threaded her fingers through
his hair, pulling his face down to hers.  "Oh yeah, Agent Mulder. 
I'd have to say that's a definite yes."

Their lips met with a practiced ease that registered in the back
of Scully's mind.  This was right.  This had been right all
along.  Why had they resisted it?  She couldn't imagine.

She pulled back slightly and looked at him, his eyes cloudy with
passion.  His lips moved to reclaim hers and she pulled away with
a feline smile, capturing his full lower lip gently between her
teeth.  She sucked lightly and he groaned, walking her backward
until she felt the wall behind her again.  

"I love your dress," he breathed, his words whisper soft on her
skin.

"I was hoping you would," she whispered back, her breath coming
in ragged gasps. 

"God, you're beautiful."  He trailed soft kisses across her
jawline toward her ear, and she shivered when his tongue began to
trace the curving path.

"Oh God --"

He chuckled into her hair, and she laughed, low and throaty.  She
hadn't meant to say that out loud.  It just...oh God..it was
just....

Mulder's hand came up to capture the swell of her breast and she
moaned out loud.  He pulled away from her enough to look at her
questioningly.  "Scully?"  His voice was shaky.  

She knew what he wanted.  He was waiting.  Waiting for her to
tell him he hadn't gone too far.  Every cell in her body wanted
to scream at him that he hadn't gone nearly far enough.  She
picked up his hand and raised it to her mouth, brushing a soft
kiss across his palm, enjoying his sharp intake of breath.  He
was as close to the edge as she was, she realized, and yet he was
hesitating...letting her call the shots.   She was more than
willing to be in the driver's seat.  His hand still warm and soft
in hers, she clasped it to her cheek and began to slowly slide it
down her neck, lower and lower, until it covered her breast
again, her own hand holding his tightly to her body.  

It was all the encouragement he needed.  Her mouth parted under
the onslaught of his kisses, and she moaned her pleasure as he
wrapped himself around her completely.  She pushed his jacket
down his arms and it fell to the floor.  Without hesitation, she
reached for his shirt and pulled it from the waistband of his
pants, unbuttoning it with surprising ease.  Her hands splayed
over his chest, her manicured nails tracing imaginary patterns on
the silk warmth of his skin.  She traced a circle lightly around
his nipple and he groaned, his hand clutching the back of her
neck, pulling her toward his hungry mouth.

It was a perfect moment, suspended in time.  Everything was
finally right, she thought.

"Hey down there!"

She froze as the stranger voice cut through the haze of passion,
drawing her back into reality.  "Whaaa?"  She pulled away from
Mulder reluctantly.

"Can you can hear me down there? We'll have you out in no time!"

Mulder banged his head against the wall of the elevator.

"We're fine!" Scully yelled, trying not to laugh.

"Okay....I'm going to check the circuits.  I'll be about five
minutes," the voice called back.

Scully felt Mulder's arms snake around her waist, pulling her
back until she lay firmly against his chest.  She crossed her own
arms over his, hating the inevitable end of what had been such a
wonderful moment.  Mulder's lips brushed against her neck,
sending shivers throughout her body.  "Mulder," she groaned. 
"He'll be back in five minutes."

Mulder chuckled low and seductively, bending to whisper in her
ear.  "I can do five minutes."

She had to laugh.  "If you can, you'll be doing it alone."

"Damn."  He laughed easily and shook his head as if disbelieving
the entire situation.

Scully took his hand and turned to face him.  "So, Agent Mulder,"
she started.  "We've got four more minutes.  Whatever shall we do
to pass the time?"

"I can probably think of a few things," he said, his voice
hoarse.

"I was counting on it," she purred, lifting her face to his.

He bent to kiss her, and then froze suddenly.

Her eyes widened.  "What?"

He looked up, his head cocked slightly.  "Listen," he said.

Scully stood still and listened intently.  "What am I listening
for," she whispered.

"Shhhhh..."

Finally, she heard the faint strains of music wafting lightly
down toward them.  A smile played over her face in brilliant
radiance.  "We can still hear the music!"  Romantic music, she
thought dreamily -- a torch song.

Mulder reached down and pushed a strand of hair from her
forehead.  "I didn't get to dance with you," he murmered, looking
into her eyes with a tenderness that obliterated her every
thought. He took her hand and pressed it to his chest.  "Dance
with me, Scully."

She couldn't have denied him anything at that moment. She placed
her arm around his neck with slow deliberation, the action as
solemn as a promise, and laid her head against his shoulder as
his hand softly stroked her nearly bare skin through the thin
shear fabric of her gown.

Scully savored the momentary solitude with him, her mind
cataloging every sensual detail of the scene... his body pressed
against hers, the feeling of his hand against her back, the
warmth of his hand still holding hers protectively over his
heart, his breath soft against the stray wisps of hair that had
escaped her comb.  It was incredibly perfect, she thought.  Even
the music was perfect.

As if on cue, the voices above them returned, obliterating the
soft melody with mundane questions about circuits and cables and
lines.  Scully pulled away from Mulder reluctantly and reached to
pick up his jacket from the floor.

"Damn," she said softly, her voice thick with regret.  "That was
one of my favorite songs."

She heard the small smile in his voice.  "Oh?"

"Mmm hmmm."  She gave him a wistful smile.  "You Go to My Head."

Mulder brushed a kiss lightly across her temple as the elevator
gave a jolt and began to climb.  "Likewise, Agent Scully," he
whispered.



THE END


I hope this story entertained you for a little while.  If it did,
I'd love to hear from you!  :)   Direct comments to
JosieChung@aol.com