TITLE: "Star-Crossed" AUTHOR: Jennifer M. Paquette E-MAIL: J3fer@hotmail.com DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, everywhere, but please let me know SPOILER: 2nd season and movie. RATING: G CLASSIFICATION: S/R -- MSR SUMMARY: Can the partnership stand the test of time when Scully discovers that there's a lot more to Mulder than just "little green men"? Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah. The usual: We do not inherit Mulder, Scully, Skinner and co., from our parents, we are merely borrowing them from our children. Whoops -- I knew I was forgetting something -- my children! "Mommy, where is our supper? How come you're sitting at that computer writing again?" "We're cold, Mommy, and hungry!" "...and we want a bedtime story *without* Mulder and Scully in it, for a change." Feedback: Of course, but go easy on me. This story is close to my heart (aren't they all?... sigh), so try not to flame me for yet another "hallway" episode. Thanks: To Shannon for beta-reading. ------------------------------------------------------------ And so time passed. As time does; as time will. Mulder liked to think of them, mysteriously, as "seasons", the years he'd spent with the FBI, the many long hours he'd spent paired side-by-side with Scully. The memory of their cheeks brushing never lost its heat; it echoed resoundingly through the emptiness of their lives. But professionalism and teamwork won out, in the end. They'd kid each other about their overly-casual dating habits ("Girl? What's a girl?"), and commiserate sadly when other relationships fell by the wayside, mowed down in the wake of their own partnership. They knew that their lives frequently depended on that respect for the invisible line between them. He'd been with the FBI 15 years by then, the last ten with the X-Files, (off and on according to the whims of Skinner and his higher-ups, and their successors). Scully still had a few years to go, just twelve years and change into her brilliant career. Despite having been "Mrs. Spooky in the basement" for so long, she ended up directly in line for a significantly more luminous posting, and Mulder hadn't wanted to hold her back, either. He certainly hadn't retired. Still young and strong, he continued to maintain his body by swimming and jogging several times a week. He also began to write for scientific and mainstream publications, and gradually built up a significant following. Mulder got plenty of leads from readers responding to his articles. Most of these were just crazy, but he always seemed to know intuitively when there was a legitimate ring to one of the stories. When he came across one of these, he'd usually do a little research and prepare an unnumbered dossier, then forward it anonymously to that basement office where he'd spent so much of his life. There, two young men he'd groomed straight out of Quantico toiled in the dingy surroundings that were part and parcel of the X-Files life. One had a background in astrophysics, the other in marine biology, and they both hovered precariously right on the fringes of belief, which kept their work professional, yet open-minded. They still had a lot to learn, but he knew they'd go in the right direction. Both men knew where the unnumbered dossiers were coming from, but this fact went unspoken even between them. There was enough of Mulder's ghost still in that office without the pressure of knowing he was "watching over" these particular cases. And then, one morning, Scully awoke with a start. She saw the date on her watch -- October 13th. Two years since she'd seen Mulder? She'd taken him out for dinner that night, for his fortieth birthday. It had been sweet, funny; she was brimming with excitement over her new "position of responsibility", as her superiors had most unmirthfully referred to it. As if her years in the X-Files had been all fun and games! she thought, wryly. But the echoes of that encounter in the hallway almost knocked her over with the force of remembering. They had come so close! She could still see him, hear him, smell him, and then the sudden, sharp pain, a foul taste, and blackness. They had gone on working together, of course, just as she'd expected. He could be so insufferably obnoxious about something like that. The way he'd been raised, she thought, but it still bothered her. Where she came from, you *discussed* the things that were bothering you. How had she let ten years, and now twelve, slip past like that? Scully picked up the telephone, hesitated, replaced it in the cradle. If he hadn't called by now.... But then she remembered. And it was suddenly bothering her VERY MUCH that the had never come closer than that one stifled half-touch. And the only one to discuss it with was Mulder. "Mulder." Feelings flooded back. Suddenly, it was as if the time had never passed at all. "It's Scully. Mulder, you're a civilian now. Why don't you answer the phone 'Hello,' like the rest of the world?" "I've always answered 'Mulder,' even when I was a kid. That was one of the reasons I went into the FBI, actually. I already had that part down pat, so the rest came naturally." "Oh." His casual, bantering tone wrenched her heart more violently than she'd anticipated. She caught her breath. "Listen, Mulder, I just wanted to say 'happy birthday.' It's been a while, hasn't it?" "Yes, I guess it has." Well, apparently she was going to have to go out on a limb here, since he wasn't about to make the first move. "Mulder, do you want to go out for dinner or a drink or something tonight? If you don't have other plans, of course." There was a long pause. "No plans. Maybe I could meet you for coffee after work?" Well, if that's all he's offering, Scully thought, I'd better take it. "Coffee sounds great. I'm buying." "You bought last time -- this one's mine." "Last time was your birthday, and so's this time. Birthdays don't count." "I'll have to remember that, Scully. See you later." she thought. He'd hung up with an abrupt click. But why had he sounded so cool towards her? She supposed she'd find out that evening, and headed out to the office. The day went by quickly, but not before she'd had a chance to look up and read through a few of Mulder's more recent articles. Scientific American had been a real coup for him, she noticed. It was a nice long article; professionally written and edited. He'd come a long way since they'd both contributed to the Lone Gunmen's efforts at serious journalism in exchange for their weird brand of techno-expertise. Mulder was still using pseudonyms, but they had all become fairly widely known in the circles that cared about these things. Scully was very impressed. They met down in the lobby. As she emerged from the elevator, Scully was pursued by a few minions scurrying around, asking her advice, clarifying urgent matters, doing everything, she thought exasperatedly, but clinging to her skirt like children frantic at their mother's departure. She had wanted to be alone when she met Mulder, separated from the trappings of her new power in the Bureau. Finally, she dismissed the last of them and they were alone, face-to-face. Amazingly, he seemed unchanged from their last encounter and, for that matter, from their first. She knew she was still a beautiful woman, but she had definitely matured. Her looks were now even more confident, even more radiant, if that was possible, than when she'd started working with him in her late twenties. She felt dowdy and self-conscious, however, next to his classically unvarying handsomeness. Her fears at his cold reaction this morning, however, all fled in the bright light of his happy smile. He was obviously thrilled to see her. He pulled on his jacket and a fisherman's cap and they headed out into the already-chilly autumn evening. Her stride locked into his like it was second nature, which it was, still, even after having been away from him for a couple of years. The only thing that was missing, she noticed, was that guiding hand on the small of her back. Funny, since she'd always hated it anyway; did he think she didn't know where the soda machines were, the rental car, the coffee shop? But he'd always "steered" her, and this time, his hands were clasped behind his back as they strode on together. Such a little thing, but something you really notice when it's gone. They arrived outside the coffee shop, and he pulled open the door to let Scully in. she mused, as she headed unfalteringly for their "usual" seats. He even ordered the coffee for them, and then sat back in his seat, staring straight at her as they waited for the drinks. "Would you like anything to eat with that?", the waitress interrupted. "Umm ... Nothing for me. Scully?" "I'll have one of those cinnamon buns over there, please." Their server scurried off to get Scully's pastry. "Hey, Mulder." "Yeah?" "What gives? You didn't order anything." "I'll just have the coffee, thanks." "She couldn't tempt you with a dessert? Are you feeling OK?" "Yes, Scully. Thanks for your concern. I'm happy with the coffee, OK?" "Fine with me ... you can have a taste of mine when it comes, if you want." "Thanks." She was sure of it. His words were friendly enough, but he was being evasive, somehow. Scully couldn't put her finger on it, but something was different with Mulder. He looked healthy, and happy, happier, in fact, than in those heady sleep-deprived nightmare days of chasing after every alien "will-o-the-wisp" who happened to be passing through the neighbourhood. But something was not the same, and Mulder, apparently, did not want to talk about it. Her cinnamon bun arrived, and she nibbled at it as they made small talk. She mentioned a couple of his articles that she'd read that day, and he spoke excitedly about some new theories he'd been working on. He was convinced that there was a "big picture", a larger pattern to the series of alien visitations and abductions which they'd had just a glimpse of working with the X-Files. Even the regular "believers", he assured Scully with a glint in his eye, thought him crazy for his newest ideas. How could hundreds of diverse incidents and encounters with all manner of forces and beings be related? He spoke calmly, with the rationality he knew she needed, but she could see clearly his passion for this subject, and listened with interest. This was the old Mulder ("the hallway Mulder", she thought involuntarily, then shrugged off the idea) and it was refreshing to be basking in his tutelage once again. Suddenly, she burst out. "But what about YOUR life, Mulder?" "What do you mean? This IS my life!" He tossed the comment out off-handedly, and shrugged, with a sheepish little-boy grin. (How can a man of 42 still look like a little boy when he smiles that way???) "Mulder." He knew this voice immediately. It was her *serious* tone, with an angry edge. He could hear the same old emotions in her voice, could recognize her speech patterns like a connoisseur recognizes the year and make of a fine wine. He'd heard them all, and definitely had his favorites. *This* was the voice that caused him to shudder, deep within his soul. He knew she was on to him. "Look, Mulder. We used to be friends, right? We used to work together, talk to each other..." She wasn't sure how to complete the thought, so she just waved her arms helplessly. "This is your birthday and I'm taking you out. You didn't want dinner, so here we are, having coffee. At least take off your jacket, relax for a few minutes." Half-heartedly complying, he stripped off the jacket and slung it over the back of his seat. "Good. Now the hat." "Um, Scully..." He faltered, afraid of what would come next. He didn't know how to explain without hurting her, without her feeling betrayed somehow, although that was not his intention. But there was no evading the tone of voice. And it wasn't like he hadn't been practicing in front of the mirror every few days for more than a year. "Scully, I have to explain something." Mulder gazed deeply into Scully's bright blue eyes, swallowed hard, and spoke softly in measured tones, "Since I left the Bureau, I've been researching more than UFOs, Scully. There's more to me than just 'little green men', and I guess you could say that I've been searching for my own roots. Unlike a lot of the UFO cases, I think I can safely say I've found some answers." She stared at him, unsure of where he was heading with this. She nodded helpfully for him to continue. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm Jewish, Scully. I've known it all along, but never quite known what it means, and now I think I'm starting to. So 'no' to the pastries, and the hat stays." ------------------------------------------------------------ Scully was utterly confused. "Mulder... I -- I never knew. You never mentioned anything about it..." "Well, you know MY family, right? We grew up never mentioning anything about it. Good ol' 'Bill Mulder' and his all-American family, that's what we were. Fox! I was NAMED for George Fox, the great Quaker leader! Even the name 'Mulder' is totally made-up, Americanized. *HE* wanted to bury every trace of it, like a dirty secret. And he made a wonderful life for himself, made it far in the State Department, paved the way for me to become a Federal Agent. But what was the trade-off? What did we have to give up to get where we were? And was it worth it? Well, now I'm the last one left, and I'm damn well going to make sure it doesn't die with me." All of a sudden, though she was still perplexed, Scully felt a wave of relief washing over her body. This was the Mulder she knew, his passion buried as always rather close to his seemingly-placid exterior. He was still a man with a crusade, still the man she'd worked with for so long. And so she struggled to understand, from her own limited perspective. For all her years in D.C., she suddenly felt like a small-town girl. "And Jews don't eat pastry, that's why you didn't want the dessert?" "It's not kosher, Scully. Nothing in this place *is* except the coffee, pretty much. It's kind of complicated." Unconsciously, she fingered her cross as she tried to make sense of this. His eyes followed the movement of her fingers to the pendant and then flicked away downwards. Then, something clicked and her mind flew back to the moment in the hallway. "Mulder, I want to ask you something." "Sure, anything." He was visibly more relaxed with this "secret" out in the open, and he leaned back, traces of the usual half-smile returning to his lips. "The hallway." He exhaled sharply. She knew him well, still, and knew he hadn't forgotten. He never forgot anything, of course. He just repressed those memories which were too uncomfortable to deal with head-on. This defense mechanism had saved him from insanity many times, he was sure, but it also meant that he was easily overwhelmed by sudden, vivid, PERFECT recollections, triggered spontaneously, as Scully's words had done. His heart pounded as the memories flashed by. <"...I owe you everything. You owe me nothing...."> <"... you've kept me honest ...."> He echoed her words back to her now, "The hallway." "It did HAPPEN, didn't it, Mulder?" He looked wistful, wishing he could deny the whole incident, but knowing with his heart that he had to be honest with her and with himself. "Scully, we were under a lot of pressure then. You were being shipped out, my life's work had been ripped away from under my feet." "I know all of that. But, rationally, there had to be something more going on than just pressure. We're trained to be able to handle stress, even stress like that. And I know you. You don't just crack like that, remember? You're Mr. 'Cool Exterior'." He burst out angrily, "What do you want me to say? That I was attracted to you? Of *course* I was! I'm a psychologist; I KNEW, I KNOW I was attracted to you. We were in close quarters almost 24 hours a day for weeks at a time. Believe it or not, I'm human!" "I noticed," she murmured softly. Looking into his eyes, she saw an unfathomable sadness. <"... you've kept me honest ... "> Somehow, they were both experiencing the same memory. He knew it, she knew it. Honesty. Mulder blinked, and he was back on the plane to D.C., with Scully, huddled close together in their seats, wrapped in airline blankets and feeling as though they'd never get warm again. Her eyes were closed in slumber when he fished the cross up out of his pocket. He fingered its delicate lines, feeling the subtle texture of the raised initials on its reverse: DKS. He stretched the chain taut, raising and lowering one end, letting it slide up and down along the chain's length. He mused. There was also a flash of frustration when he thought about the fact that this was a woman who'd been abducted and experimented on herself, who'd witnessed hundreds of UFO- and EBE-related phenomena, yet she still refused to admit the existence of anything beyond the tip of her nose without concrete, scientific proof. And even so, she was willing to carry a metallic plus-sign around her neck solely on the basis of a couple thousand years of tradition. <"... you've kept me honest ... "> He looked over at her face, features still ravaged from exposure, yet gently quiet and at peace. Hypocrisy? No, he doubted that. thought Special Agent Fox William Mulder, He had known very little at that point, except that he was Jewish somehow. His mother was, and his father. His mother's family was more religious than his dad's, and he had a few cryptic memories of strange foods eaten over holiday meals in his cousins' homes, before his father put a stop to even that. But he also knew, from Jewish friends and associates, that Jews are not allowed to marry non-Jews. Actually, he'd always considered this a rather racist policy until a colleague pointed out that they would quickly die out if this were not the case. Mulder had never thought that this tenet applied to himself, to his own life. Like eating kosher food or wearing one of those "beanie hats", it was something for other Jews to do to preserve THEIR culture, THEIR lifestyle. After all, he was a "Mulder": all-American, an FBI agent to boot, fighting evil of all kinds. A good person by anyone's standards, and that's what really matters, right? But suddenly, there on the plane, he realized that religion wasn't just for "the others". These Jewish principles applied to him, had been accepted for him by his ancestors, long before he'd ever been conceived. And that he would just have to try his best to live up to their expectations, whatever those had been. Which brought him full-circle, really. Back to Scully, still sleeping, unaware that their fates were being sealed in Mulder's mind. Yes, he felt drawn to her, in an unspeakably compelling way. Every touch, every time her sleeve brushed him accidentally, was like electricity to him. His forehead still throbbed where her lips had brushed it there in the hallway (and he was pretty sure he wasn't just feeling another bruise up there). And he couldn't have her. They could never be together. Star-crossed lovers (or *CROSS*-crossed, depending on how you look at it, he thought with a sickly half-grin), eternally thwarted, perpetually chaste. He was certain he'd find somebody to marry, eventually. He would have to settle for someone he loved less, perhaps. But honesty is honesty, and he was going to be true to himself for a change. He opened the clasp of the cross's chain and dropped the pendant gently into the hollow at the base of her throat. Delicately, he fastened the clasp of the chain at the side of her neck and slid it around to the back. Scully stirred in her sleep, reached fretfully for the necklace and, finding it, lapsed, comforted, back into repose. <"... you've kept me honest ... "> He was jolted back to the coffee shop by his memory of these words he'd uttered, prophetically. He had become more honest with himself, sure, but what about Scully? It had been heartbreaking, those years together, watching her approach him, each time hoping that perhaps he'd pick up where he left off. How he'd hurt her with his unaccustomed aloofness, initially, and then the friendly, platonic, puppydog joviality which had replaced it, as he pretended that was all there had ever been to the relationship. No wonder they'd drifted apart after they stopped working together. There was nothing left to support the warm friendship both had cherished so much. "I hurt you so much!" He whispered hoarsely to Scully, across the table. "Yes. It hurt, Mulder. Not knowing if I'd made the whole incident up, or if you'd just lost control for an instant, and regretted it." "No regrets, Scully. Remember that? I was there, I haven't forgotten." "Of course not. But WHY, Mulder? Why couldn't we just somehow have picked up where we'd left off in the hallway?" "I realized -- " Oh, this was excruciating! " -- You're Catholic and, well ... I'm Jewish ... we could never get married, Scully. It would have been a dead-end street, and you deserved better than that. Someone entirely devoted to loving you, to caring for your needs..." His voice was ragged, thinking of how deeply HE cared, how her smile had made him as happy as he'd ever been in his life, how a sad look from her could break his heart. "...A husband, Scully, which is the one thing I could never be to you." There was silence for a few moments before she spoke: "So I'm a cinnamon bun, eh?" "Scully, I may have called you a lot of things in my mind, but 'cinnamon bun' is not one of them, or maybe it was, briefly when we first met, but I can't recall, and that's not the point. What do you mean?" "Not 'KOSHER'. Like the cinnamon bun. Like taking the hat off. Hey, speaking of which, I thought Jewish men are supposed to wear one of those skullcap thingies all the time." "Any headcovering is fine, actually. But Scully, you have to understand that there's nothing wrong with YOU! Or with me, really. Just that the two were never meant to ... well... MIX." And she understood his sadness, and she looked into his eyes, which no longer evaded her gaze. "Oh, Mulder..." ------------------------------------------------------------ Scully waited in the rabbi's study for the man to arrive. Finally, right on time, he strode in, and she rose quickly from her seat, extending her hand in greeting. It had taken all she could not to reach into her jacket to pull out her badge. she thought to herself. The rabbi apologetically explained that he was not permitted to shake her hand, but that he was glad to meet her after the telephone conversations they had had recently. He spoke without an accent, in a jovial down-to-earth way that reminded her, somehow, of her father. "You understand from what I've told you, Dana, that this is not an easy road you're embarking on." "I'm not interested in easy. I just want to learn." "I'll give you the number of a lady you can get in touch with who can help you find out more. But what about this gentleman that you mentioned? Dana, I'll be blunt, so as to save us both a lot of trouble. Are you hoping he'll marry you? What does this man have to say to all of this?" "Actually, he doesn't know anything about it. But he's been my best friend my entire adult life, and I think I owe it to him to learn at least a little more about something he cares about so deeply. I don't know if that makes any sense. I may convert, eventually. But for now, I just want to know more about what's making him tick." "Dana, it makes more sense than you know. The real issue in conversion is that it must be done for its OWN sake. Not for convenience, for marriage, not so the children will be Jewish, but out of a genuine love and respect for the laws and traditions themselves. And how can you know if you want to convert unless you have studied those laws and traditions first? "Please, feel free to call me any time you have a question." And she did, often, over the months that followed. ------------------------------------------------------------ Scully, alone, at home, too late at night considering the hour she needed to be awake in the morning to go to work, to her "position of responsibility". She threw the book down on the table in frustration. It was so obscure, so nitpicking, legalistic, so utterly foreign to the simple and loving Catholicism in which she'd been raised! ------------------------------------------------------------ Saturday morning, and bright sun warmed the back of Scully's neck through the stained-glass windows of the chapel, where she perched near the back of the women's section, ready to flee as usual at the conclusion of services. She was beginning to understand a little about what was going on here, the weird and wonderful rituals and liturgy. The service ended and she turned to leave, but an elderly woman near the back of the room stopped her. "Maideleh, why leave so fast? Stay for something to eat. They'll have herring." Scully shuddered at the thought, but stayed, though she passed on the slimy tidbits of pickled herring, amused at her intolerance after being exposed to many worse substances in her years on the X-Files. ------------------------------------------------------------ Another rabbi, another meeting. His words infuriated her suddenly; she wanted no part of this. The "road" was not merely difficult, it was impossible! How could she learn all of this, and, more important, why would she want to? But how could he choose to live this way? He'd always been a bit of a crackpot, she supposed, but THIS was worse than even she had feared. In her mind, she drew away, repulsed, and left the meeting in a black mood. ------------------------------------------------------------ Again at home, and she was scratching her head. Why this, and not this? It just wasn't logical. Suddenly, she saw the logic, the rationality behind this detail, and she was dazzled. Somebody was speaking to HER, Dana Scully, sceptic and rationalist, through these ancient texts. And then the next minute, she was on the verge of throwing everything down again in exasperation. But she didn't. And she began to recognize the sensation of being onto something, being hot on the trail of some deeper truth, right around the corner, buried in the next book perhaps. And so time passed. ------------------------------------------------------------ "This time *I'm* buying, Scully. I mean it." "You won't hear me objecting, don't worry. I'm out of pocket enough from the last two times." "Yeah, right. I was a REALLY expensive date that last time, I bet. Where are we going?" She'd been purposely vague on the phone, and now directed him to her car. She drove, and he soon recognized their destination. "Oh, Scully, you didn't have to come all the way out here for me." "But it's kosher, right? You can eat here?" He nodded his bemused assent. They sat in a booth near the back, far enough away from the noisy, impossibly large families to have a quiet conversation. Mulder teased Scully about the plush surroundings of the newly-redecorated office in which he'd insisted on meeting her. "You are HOT in the Bureau right now, Scully. You're going far. Of course, you can tell they think highly of you when you're issued natural plants. I'd say you're at about eight out of ten on the 'foliage scale' right now, but you are certainly bucking for a perfect ten someday soon. Of course, I never rated more than minus five, in my day." "What's a 'minus five' on the foliage scale?" "Dead plastic plants, leaves falling off, bare wires sticking out here and there ... The only rank lower is minus eight, which is 'wilted fake miniature Christmas tree'." Scully was grateful for this familiar small talk, and they were both grinning widely as the waitress came over to take their order. Mulder ordered a burger and fries, of course, and Scully decided, for once, to get the same. He continued his extravagant praise after the server left. "What impresses me the most, from what I've heard -- " "What do you mean, from what you've heard?" "Oh, I still have my informants, people inside who tell me what's going on. What impresses me is that you've basically taken the same philosophies you had when we were working together and applied them to the whole department. Enthusiasm, coupled with intellectual honesty. Professionalism, with light-hearted moments ... you know ..." A wistful expression crossed his face as he realized how deeply he missed those "light-hearted moments". How lonely he still was. Of course, he thought, he'd never met a woman he could marry in good conscience, to whom he could give himself the way he had with her. Nobody could be Scully. Nobody knew him so well, understood his feelings, could inspire him the way she did. His voice trailed off as he gazed in admiration at the woman who had been at his side through the dramatic highs and lows of his career. he reflected, remembering his perpetual fear that he'd lose her, somehow, the way he'd lost everyone who had ever meant anything to him in his life. His eyes blurred and he blinked away these sudden tears with surprise. Why was he crying? There she was, after all, right across from him, the same as before. Doing well ... doing VERY well, without him. She watched his struggle silently, knowing she could not reach out to him in the way she used to, the way she wanted to. Finally, she murmured "Hug," across the chasm that seemed much wider than the space between their silverware. He nodded, understanding the implied care, knowing that in her mind, her hand was resting gently on his upper arm. He heard the familiar, comforting warmth that nobody else ever seemed to be able to perceive in her. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to ruin --" "Mulder, don't." "Sorry." "Mulder!" Her ever-familiar exasperation jerked him back to his surroundings. Of course, the arrival of his hamburger at that particular moment helped in that direction as well, and he dug in. They talked and joked throughout the meal, very much more at ease than at their previous meeting in the coffee shop. He talked her into getting some dessert, and then the evening was winding down. They were chatting idly over coffee, about nothing in particular, just basking in each other's glow. The waitress arrived with the check, which Mulder took, fishing out his wallet and presenting a credit card to pay for their meal. And Scully knew that it was now or never. It wasn't like she hadn't been practicing in front of the mirror every few days. "Mulder, there's something I'd like to talk about before we go." "Sure, Scully. You're the one who has to get up for work in the morning, right? I'm not in a hurry." She faltered, nervously, and her fingers flew by instinct to the golden chain around her neck. He looked at the pendant, the new pendant, a simple golden six-pointed star, and then deeply into her eyes, asking, hoping, praying. She held his gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly, afraid to damage the precarious silence crackling between them. The waitress finally interrupted, presenting the credit card slip for Mulder to sign. He scrawled his name illegibly, without breaking eye contact with Scully. And finally the two of them rose, falling seamlessly into step as they headed out together into the warm night air. ---------------------------------------------------------- {Hope you liked it!} J ----- Now, here's a shameless plug for my own "serious" website: http://come.to/parsha