"Snapshot" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
Just a little vignette (sp?) about what I always thought The First Kiss 
would be like. This is mind-candy, folks, a little piece of fluff that 
appeared in my head tonight before ER is due to come on. Some case has 
just ended, one of those cases that takes a lot out of Our Favorite Duo. 
I'm not sure what, if any, spoilers appear herein, but assume this 
happened at the end of the third season. 
 
If ya like it, cool. Relationshippers be warned. No sex, no violence. No 
dirty words. No exploding liver- eating mutant serial killers. No 
Scully-fu. No Mulder-fu. No Skinner-fu. If ya don't like it, that's 
cool, too. Remarks, complaints, flames, etc. are welcome at 
drambo@primenet.com. It has been left open-ended. If there is enough 
call for it, I might write the next part. For those of you who have read 
"Stalkers" and "The Seducer," I know I have a bad habit of leaving 
stories unfinished, but this says "V" right at the top. :) 
 
 
 
====================================================================== 
        His need. His aching hunger. Scully had only to raise her eyes 
to his to see the hunger that was slowly leeching the life out of her 
partner...her friend. His hands were on her shoulders, the fingers 
grasping tightly, as a drowning man might grip a life preserver. He was 
neither pulling her closer nor pushing her away; Mulder held her like a 
talisman against the wolves that lurked in the shadows, eager, 
hungry...waiting. Waiting for Mulder to drop his guard, to relax for an 
instant, just for that fleeting second they would need to do their dirty 
work. 
        Time compressed. In the space between two heartbeats Scully 
experienced a thousand emotions, most of them unnamable, images and 
textures and sounds and smells...cases long filed away in the CLOSED 
cabinet, moments between her and Mulder that seemed innocent at the 
time, building blocks in the natural progression of their partnership. 
Each shared moment a square in a quilt they used to blanket themselves 
against the darkness and the coldness of the never-ending night. Scully 
remembered all the touches, the seemingly indiscriminate glances of skin 
against skin, the warm, soft pressure of Mulder's hand at the small of 
her back as they walked along a corridor, the way his eyes twinkled when 
he was teasing her, the small curl the corner of his mouth made when he 
was getting ready to zing her with a question she knew she didn't want 
to answer. 
        Unbidden, without Scully being aware of it, her hands crept up 
from her sides, palms resting on his chest. She told her brain to send 
the message to the muscles in her arms. All she would need would be the 
slightest pressure, no more force than then a whisper, and Mulder would 
pull away. He would feel her distancing herself, putting the wall back 
up where it belonged. And as always, he would respect her position and 
step away, trailing his fingers down her shoulder, across her arm, until 
there was nothing left, nothing but a fat, empty space between them that 
could be measured with a micrometer. 
        Mulder felt Scully's heartbeat through his fingers, her 
lifeblood pulsing in some unnamed vein beneath his fingers. He was only 
slightly startled to realize that his heart...somehow... had 
synchronized with hers, and they were beating in tandem...as one. 
        "Scul-" he started to say, but before he could form the last 
syllable of her name, quicker than Mulder had ever seen her move, Dana 
reached up and put two fingers across his lips, silencing him. 
        "Shhhh," she whispered, afraid that if she actually spoke the 
thought that was tripping across her mind that it would break the 
fragile spell cast between them. 
        She leaned forward, turning her head to the side, placing one 
ear against his chest. Once she was sure that he wasn't going to say 
anything, Scully lowered her hand to his chest once again. She was not 
surprised to find their heartbeats joined. It all made sense somehow. 
        In that moment, the complications erased themselves from 
Scully's mind as neatly as if they had been written in disappearing ink. 
Gone was the thought that two professionals engaged in the active 
investigations of the paranormal should not feel the way that she felt 
about Mulder and she knew he felt about her. Gone was the fear that if 
her innermost thoughts, that little voice that spoke only in the wolf 
hours of the night when the only thing to talk to was the cold pillow on 
the empty side of her bed, were known to the Powers That Be that it 
would be a matter of seconds before she and Mulder were reassigned to 
different time zones. Gone was the fear that if they admitted what was 
in their hearts, in their souls, that it would somehow compromise what 
they had. 
        Dana smiled ruefully into Fox's chest. It was such a 
contradiction, such a conundrum. At times, her relationship with Mulder 
was so deliciously understated, the most important things being left 
unsaid rather than said, the voices of their two souls speaking in the 
spaces between their audible words. And at times, times like these, it 
was so maddeningly frustrating...being unable to feel his arms wrap 
around her, being unable to take solace and comfort in his warmth, his 
stoic heroism. 
        Mulder dropped his chin, his view filled with Scully's coppery 
hair, the scent of her shampoo, and faintly, beneath that, the flower-
spice-sand smell of Dana Katherine Scully filling his nose. He felt the 
warmth of her pressed against him, not too much, not so much that his 
body's autonomic reactions would take over and create a... pressing 
embarrassment. 
        His mind was filled with images as well. Not the images that he 
would have suspected when this moment finally arrived. Any man, he knew, 
that was forced by circumstance to work in close proximity with a 
beautiful, intelligent and just damn outright sexy woman as Scully would 
have the occasional fantasy, the occasional daydream wondering What It 
Would Be Like. It was human nature, after all, and no matter what else 
had happened in the last four years, Mulder was reasonably certain that 
he was, in fact, still a human being. 
        He turned his face to the side, pressing his cheek against the 
top of Scully's head, feeling the spider's tickle of her hair against 
his stubbly jaw. He sighed, not out of desperation or frustration, but 
out of contentment. 
        Was the wanting enough? he asked himself. Was the simple fact 
that he wanted Dana in his life in every single way possible enough? Was 
it enough that she knew how he felt without either of the ever having 
actually mouthed the words? Snide remarks and adolescent teasing aside, 
Mulder knew that Scully realized how he felt, how important she was to 
him. And her eyes had answered his a thousand times, speaking softly, 
undetected beneath the argument and discussions and debates about 
theories and procedures and whose damn turn it was, anyway, to do the 
paperwork, or buy the pizza, or pick the rental movie.
         She had become such an utterly required part of his life in 
these 48 or 50 months...the mushy part of him wanted to sit down and 
think about how Scully was his soul mate, his other half, the person 
that completed him, that made him whole. But those were words, concepts, 
constructs built by society in an attempt to define something Mulder 
knew in his bones that was ultimately unable to be categorized, 
quantified or explained. 
        Scully simply was. 
        They simply...were. 
        "This can't happen," Scully whispered. She felt Mulder move 
against her, felt him starting to pull away. Her palms closed, catching 
his shirt. She held him where he was, quickly adding, "No. Let me 
finish." 
        Mulder froze, his mind in agony. He knew she was not denying 
him, she was not pushing HIM away. She was not rejecting him as a man, 
as a person, or as her partner. She was...what? His mind struggled to 
find a phrase, a word, a description for what Scully was doing. 
        "It's not that I don't want....it," she whispered, struggling as 
he was to find the words. "It's...just not time yet, Mulder." 
        When will it <be> time? Scully's mind asked, but she had no 
answer. "I don't know if there ever _will_ be a time, Mulder," she 
whispered again, feeling the hot sting of the tears as they stared to 
fill her eyes. "I have to believe that there will be a time and a place 
for...this. Part of me wants it so bad I can taste it. I can see it in 
my mind, every detail, every day and night spent together, our..." She 
paused, feeling the word lodge in her throat, a huge lump she had to 
swallow to speak around, "...love filling every corner of our lives. But 
not yet Mulder...not until..." 
        And, astonishing them both, Mulder finished the thought. 
"...we're healed." 
        Scully's head snapped back, her blue eyes tracking and locking 
with his hazel ones. "Yes," she whispered. "That's it exactly. We're 
both so..." 
        "...wounded," he finished. "Neither of us has..." 
        "...joy," Scully added. Mulder nodded. "Neither of us is ready 
for the actual...maintenance of that...kind of relationship." 
        Mulder nodded. She saw something move behind his eyes, and again 
unbidden, her hand reached up to caress his cheek. "It doesn't have to 
do with Samantha...or Melissa...or your father...or my father, even." 
Mulder nodded, his eyes encouraging her, begging her to talk it out, to 
finish it, so they could put it in a box until they needed it. Until 
they were able to deal with it the way it _deserved_ to be dealt with. 
        "It's not the lies and the secrets...or the shadow government 
dogging our every step...it's not about who's apartment is less likely 
to be bugged...it's not about Pendrall, or Phoebe, or Jack...or any of 
the people in our pasts, Mulder. It's about..." 
        "...us," he finished. He lowered his head until their foreheads 
touched. He closed his eyes, his whispers blowing warm breath across her 
face, tickling her eyebrows and the fine, almost invisible hairs above 
her upper lip. 
        "Don't you know how much I want to?" Scully asked, and then 
answered herself. "Of course you do. I can feel it on you, Mulder. It's 
caressing me...I can feel your need, your want, and it matches my own." 
        Her next sentence was spoken through gritted teeth. 
        "But. Now. Is. Not. The. Time." 
        Mulder chuckled against her. "Who you trying to convince, 
Scully? Me or you?" 
        Scully opened her eyes and pulled back, her expression 
beseeching. "Both of us, Mulder...I know you understand. I know you do." 
        Lips pursed, Mulder nodded once...twice. 
        "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse, ragged. "I do." 
        Scully saw the pain rear up behind his eyes, and she knew it 
wasn't the pain of rejection or abandonment. It was something else, 
something so much more primal and animalistic. 
        "But before we go," she whispered, one hand sliding up over his 
chest, across his shoulder, cupping his neck, "...just once. Just one 
little one." 
        "A test one," Mulder offered, slowly lowering his head. They 
approached each other slowly, by fractions of inches. Mulder noticed 
Scully's eyelids drooping, her gaze focused on his lips. His entire body 
trembled in anticipation, a tuning fork vibrating in syncopation. 
        They had never kissed before, Scully thought, yet we are doing 
it as if we had a thousand times previously. And she knew, in both their 
minds and hearts, they had. 
        Mulder waited until their lips were a scant inch apart, and then 
whispered, "I love you, Dana," before capturing her mouth with his own. 
Scully had intended it to be a little kiss, a slight pressing, some 
gentle osculating, and then a quick parting so they could both go home 
and dream about this kiss for the next month. 
        At the first press of his lips, Scully felt something inside her 
belly uncoil and shift, sending slippery tentacles of warmth sliding 
through her limbs. Her fingers, stroking the small hairs at the back of 
his neck, felt charged...electric, somehow. A sound, the hungry groan of 
a feeding animal, escaped her lips, and she felt herself slowly moving 
closer to him, pressing her body against his. 
        The one hand still against Mulder's chest curled even tighter, 
and she used the leverage to pull him against her, harder. The kiss 
deepened, and Scully felt as if this was the only moment in time that 
had ever existed; that every single thing in her life, every single 
decision she had ever made, to go to medical school, to join the FBI, to 
accept assignment to the X-Files, every little decision down to the 
choice of which shoes to wear this morning had existed for the singular 
reason to bring her to this time, this place, with this man. 
        Mulder's mind was spinning, and then slowly, the energy 
rocketing across the synapses of his brain gathered into his cortex and 
vanished into the bioelectric mist. Nothing existed but Scully's mouth, 
the warmth and softness of her lips, the gentle, snug pressure of her 
petite body against his. Gone were thoughts of his missing sister and 
dead father. Gone were worries about the shadow government, Mr. X, 
Skinner, the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation. There was nothing 
but...happiness. Satisfaction. Completeness. They fit together like the 
precision-machined interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her lips made 
for his, his for hers. 
        A moment approached, and they both saw it over the horizon of 
their mind's eye. A point in time, a divergence in the reality of this 
moment, and the harsher, starker reality of what could only be described 
as "After." There was no yesterday, no tomorrow, only Before and After 
this kiss. As he fell into the kiss slightly deeper, Mulder saw that the 
approaching point was not a point at all, but a fork, a place where the 
current path diverged. To the left, in his mind, was one possible future 
After, to the right another. One choice meant giving up his pursuit of 
the truth, his seemingly never-ending crusade to discover who and what 
was responsible for Samantha's disappearance. On that path, the Kiss was 
the first of many, a single step in the logical progression towards what 
both their hearts wanted, what both their souls hungered for. It was a 
life of home, hearth, family, children, normal jobs with normal hours, 
the occasional barbecue, and buying a new car every five years. It was a 
life of being together with Scully, as they were meant to be together, 
as man and wife. 
        And at the same point, the same divergence, lay another path, a 
path marked by the continuation of his quest, the endless pursuit of 
what was right, what was truth. On that path, the Kiss was a singular 
event, a cherished memory dragged out in the darkest hours before the 
breaking of the dawn, a warm morsel of comfort and love to be secreted 
and harbored for the storms that were to come. Their lives were to be 
much the same, with a certain knowledge now possessed, but a life of 
greasy spoons in far-away cities and towns, nights spent alone in hotel 
rooms, clutching pillows to chests to ward off the cackling calls of the 
spirits of the night. A chance to discover what he had set out to, a 
chance, perhaps, after that, to circle around once again and take the 
first path, the path that his heart truly wanted. 
        In the end, the decision was made for him. 
        Scully lightened the pressure and started to pull away, and then 
came back at him again, her own hunger surprising her only for an 
instant. Her mind saw the same point approaching, but the signs were 
labeled differently. To the left, she saw them together, married, with 
children and a home and a life, but she saw something else, she saw the 
emptiness in Mulder's eyes, saw how he had abandoned Samantha for her 
when he was so close, how he would always wonder if the tradeoff had 
been fair, if had been just and right. She knew that on the surface, 
they would be happy, they would be together as one forever. 
        But on the right, the other path, the other choice, in it Scully 
saw what was to be, what had to be. The chase would continue, and they 
would be together. Even though the temptation would be almost too much 
to resist, she knew they would. The truth demanded discovery, and she 
wanted to be by his side when Mulder did discover the truth. She wanted 
to help, to give him all of her, all she had to offer, so that he would 
once and for all quiet the demons that tormented his soul and raked 
their slimy, razor-sharp fingers against his heart. 
        They parted, both of them breathing heavily. Mulder watched as 
Scully licked suddenly-puffy lips, her hand coming up to wipe some of 
the moisture of the kiss away. She cocked her head to the side and 
reached up with the same hand, using her thumb to remove the small smear 
of her lipstick that stained the corner of his mouth. 
        "Wow," he whispered, his eyes wide, his surprise and arousal 
genuine and obvious. 
        "Wow is right, Mulder," Scully whispered. Mulder blinked, and 
took a step back, turning away from her, going back towards his desk. 
She reached a hand out and caught his arm, slowly turning him back to 
face her. 
        "The most incredible moment of my life, Mulder," she whispered, 
capturing his eyes with her own once again. She smiled softly, waiting 
for his own return grin before continuing. "I can't say when it will 
happen again...we can't go where we want to right now, Mulder...but when 
the time is right...I'll be by your side." 
        "I know," he nodded, his hand aching to reach out and reel her 
back into his embrace once again. "I know, Scully." 
        Scully smiled and tapped his chest with her palm once, twice, 
and then turned to go back to her desk. Her trenchcoat and briefcase 
were waiting, right next to her zippered laptop case. "Go home, change, 
and pick up the movies, Mulder. I'll order the pizza for about an hour." 
She turned to leave, not trusting herself to look back over her 
shoulder. At the door, she paused. 
        "Mulder?" 
        "Yeah, Scully?" 
        "Two things. First...don't get anything romantic or mushy, all 
right? I'm in the mood for something with a little action in it." She 
heard an assenting, surprised grunt from Mulder. 
        "What's the other?" he asked. 
        Scully took a breath, and turned to face him. Even at this 
distance, he affected her. She could feel his power, his electricity 
reaching across the office towards her, dragging her back into his arms. 
        "I love you, too," she said, and then opened the door and 
marched through, closing it securely behind her.

END---------

As always, comments, suggestions, etc., continue to be welcome:
drambo@primenet.com

"Snapshot II:After" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
A continuation of "Snapshot," which received wide, critical acclaim. 
 
OK...three letters. But they were all positive! :) 
 
This is another piece of mindless fluff. No sex, but there is some 
talking about...stuff. No spoilers that I'm aware of. 
Several episodes referred to tangentially...but nothing revealed. No 
mutant liver-eating serial killers. No Scully-Fu. No Mulder-Fu. No 
Skinner-Fu. No Frohicke-Fu. No exploding alien larval hives. No empty-
eyed mute alien bounty hunters to spoil the fun. No quarantine-Fu. Heavy 
discussions. MulderAngst. ScullyAngst. 
                                         
Author's Note/Preface/Whatever : This is a continuation of my short 
story "Snapshot," available on atxc, or by email from moi. It will most 
definitely help for you to know what happened in Part I of this 
potential saga, (a-yuh, right,) but suffice it to say that S&M exchanged 
a rather...interesting kiss in their office, and have now decided to 
repair to Dana's apartment for movies/pizza/beer and probably some 
MulderAngst and ScullyAngst in the middle of this burgeoning MSR/SST 
(Spoken Sexual Tension) story. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
        Mulder closed his eyes the same instant the door clicked closed 
behind her. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. 
Staggering, Mulder made his way to his chair and collapsed into it. On 
automatic pilot, his hand searched the small pile of sunflower seeds, 
found one, and popped it into his mouth. Mulder stared at the wall, 
focusing on nothing, seeing even less as his tongue chased the seed 
around the inside of his mouth, trying to latch onto it, seeking that 
satisfying crunch! 
        The thoughts and emotions swirling around inside his head fought 
for attention, for primacy, for focus. He couldn't latch on to any of 
them, so he just let them flow past in a rushing stream of feelings. 
        Well, he mused, things have certainly changed now. But how much? 
It had always been there, they both knew. That certain something between 
them, an unspoken bond, all the more powerful because it hadn't been 
discussed and analyzed like every other facet of their relationship. It 
had just grown over the days and weeks and months and years, until it 
occupied the central portion of both their souls. It was a never-ending 
voice for Mulder; he couldn't speak for Scully but he thought he might 
have an idea of what she felt when she felt... 
        What? Love? That was the word they had both used, and Mulder 
knew they had _only_ used it because it was the closest word to the 
emotion, the feeling, the...bond that they shared. It was the only 
English word close enough to even begin to describe the edges of it. It 
was like trying to explain the shape and contours of a mountain by 
pointing at a pebble. It was so much more than that...and, at the same 
time, somewhat less, as well. 
        Just the one kiss, Mulder thought. That single, electric, 
incredible kiss is supposed to last me...last _us_...until we find 
Samantha. Until we uncover the conspiracy. Until it is all finally and 
truly placed on public display. A single kiss, a stolen moment in a 
shadow-filled office in the dank basement of a government building past 
its' prime. He would horde that moment, Mulder knew. He would cherish it 
in the center of his being, in the very core of his soul. 
        He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back, replaying the 
moment over and over again in his mind: Scully lifting her face, her 
eyes lasing in and locking on his, the small smile at the corner of her 
mouth, the way her eyes were moist and full from the unbidden tears 
directed at the unfairness of their predicament, the way she had softly 
licked her own lips just before moving her head towards his, the way she 
had tilted her face to the left just enough to make that first touch 
against him so perfect. 
        His fingers remembered the silk of her hair sliding through 
them. His tongue could still taste her breath. The kiss had been meant 
as a talisman, a promise against the darkness of the nights to come. A 
symbol, you might say, a simple, profound little nothing, two friends 
sharing a moment of intimacy that was bound to occur sooner or later, a 
little ditty that meant nothing at the same time it meant everything in 
the world to Mulder. 
        He let out another deep breath and glanced at his watch. He 
snapped upright, shocked to discover that over forty minutes had passed 
since Scully had left for the night. She was expecting him at her 
apartment in less than twenty minutes, and he still had to make a stop 
at VideoHut and pick up a non-romantic, non-dangerous, action-filled 
mind-candy spectacular. 
        Mulder grabbed his car keys off the desk and stood, snapping his 
reading lamp off at the same time. Only Scully's light was still on. He 
moved to her desk, reaching for the light - 
        And stopped. She was there. At least, some remnant of her was. 
He could sense something in the air. A scent? Yes, a little something 
still hovered over Scully's desk, a mixture of cinnamon, and another, 
unnamed spice, and beneath that, a little lower down the olfactory 
register, something more primal, more...Scully. Mulder felt the 
intoxicating effect of Scully's vapor trail, and had to force himself to 
reach over and turn her light off. He glanced at his watch. 
        Forty three minutes. Shit. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana Scully killed the ignition of her three-year old Toyota 
Camrey, and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Something, she 
decided, was amiss. Oh yes...it's that _smile_ on your face, Dana. 
That's what's different. And almost as quickly as she had noticed the 
smile, it vanished, replaced instead by an expression of deep 
preplexion. Is that regret you're feeling, Dana? a little voice asked. 
Second thoughts, perhaps? 
        No, she decided. Not at all. Not for a thousand reasons, none of 
them good, none of them realistic or mature. All of them valid, though. 
        We can talk tonight, she decided. That is why he's coming over, 
promises about movies and beer and pizza be damned. We both know that 
we'll have to talk about it, to talk it out, starting around the edges 
and moving closer to the center until they would finally manage to nail 
the proverbial Jell-O to the proverbial tree. 
        And then what? 
        Life goes on as usual? Monday rolls around and the next case 
pops to the top of the deck like some demented joker? God only knew what 
was waiting out there for them next, and God wasn't telling. 
        Dana felt the pressure building inside her, felt the anxiety 
pooling in her gut, slowly marching its way north, tightening her 
chest and making her fingers tingle. The faint early throbs of what 
promised to be a killer headache were already dancing behind her eyes. 
        Why, Dana? Why can't you just let it be? Why can't you just let 
the Kiss exist in time as a perfect moment? It had been perfect, after 
all, hadn't it? 
        Yes...yes, it had. The most perfect kiss Dana could have ever 
hoped to expect from Mulder, or from any man. Someone had once said that 
"...a kiss is both a promise and a lie." Truer words had never been 
spoken, she decided. She had wanted the kiss, needed the kiss, need to 
express something to Mulder that mere words hadn't even begun to 
approach, a feeling inside her that had been struggling for expression 
for as long as she could remember. So much had happened to them 
together, as friends, as partners...as lovers. 
        Dana's head snapped upright. She'd been lost in her own gaze, 
staring at the rearview mirror for the past ten minutes. Lover? Where 
the hell had that word come from? Taking Mulder as a lover was about the 
furthest thing from her mind, for God's sake! 
        Wasn't it? 
        Shaking her head, Dana sighed in exasperation and got out of her 
car, double-checking to make sure she'd locked it. She walked quickly to 
the entrance to her building, softly laughing at herself. 
        The little voice returned. 
        You said you loved him, Dana. 
        Yeah, she answered, but I love my brothers, too. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder stood in the video store facing the Almost-But-Not-Quite-
New-Releases wall. He was at a loss. He could feel the cell phone's 
weight in his pocket, and his hand itched to retrieve it and dial 
Scully's number and ask her what movie she wanted to see. Everywhere he 
glanced were romantic, lovey-dovey movies that Mulder knew neither one 
of them could take right now. Clint Eastwood peered down from one box, 
his arm casually draped over Meryl Streep's shoulder, the box copy 
telling about a love affair that had spanned a weekend and lasted a 
decade, about a love that could never be. 
        Jesus God, Mulder thought, turning his attention to Bed of 
Roses, a Christian Slater-Mary Stuart Masterson number about a widower 
and an orphan falling in love, and then out of love, and then back into 
love amid the goings on of a Greenwich Village flowershop. The only 
other choices available seemed to be horror movies about children's toys 
coming amazingly to life and wreaking havoc or science fiction movies 
about little green men. 
        Grey, Fox silently mouthed. They're little GREY men. 
        And below that, on the left, something called a Red Shoe Diary. 
He wasn't quite sure what that was, but it definitely didn't 
seem like something Scully would be interested in. 
        Oh what the hell. It wasn't really important what movie he got; 
they weren't going to watch it anyway. It was an excuse to get them 
together so they could talk. He grabbed the first movie he could find 
and walked to the counter to pay. 
 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Scully raised her face from the sink and looked in the mirror, 
making sure she had gotten the last traces of makeup off. Satisfied, she 
reached down and grabbed a scrunchy, quickly threading a ponytail. Hands 
on hips, she regarded herself in the mirror. The Marine Barracks, 
Quantico sweatshirt was comfortable and familiar. The FBI Hostage Rescue 
Team sweat pants were equally soft and worn. Bare feet completed 
her....outfit, and the overall effect was what she had been shooting 
for. Relaxed, casual, but not sexy in any way, shape or form. 
        No use torturing the man, Dana thought to herself, grinning. 
        Who's kidding who, her mind answered a moment later. You want 
him as bad as you hope he wants you, and you know it. 
        And there, my dear, was the crux of the problem. Scully thought 
back to her last relationship, the last time she had been... 
with someone, as the quaint phrase went. She could remember the 
attraction, the arousal, the desire she felt for Jack. But that was 
somehow less than what she felt now, today, tonight, for Fox Mulder. 
Jack had been...chemistry. Physics. Motion times erotic force equaled 
pleasure divided by regrets. Mulder touched something inside her, a 
spiritual switch that Dana hadn't known she had until that maddening man 
on the other side of her office had reached over and casually flicked it 
ON as if he'd been changing the channels on a television. 
        Scully leaned on the sink and stared closely at her own face in 
the mirror. At first, she remembered, the reception had been a little 
fuzzy. The radar hadn't been picking up very well. Slowly, over time, as 
the shared experiences built upon themselves, the signal got clearer and 
clearer. 
        Scully couldn't remember a time when Mulder hadn't been in her 
life, or in her heart. At first, she had attributed it to the natural 
closeness that two partners shared...but her little voice, that damned 
nagging little life-narrator who always insisted on inserting her 
blithe, pithy little comments into every facet of Dana's life hadn't let 
her get away with that for very long, no sir indeed. 
        They had never made love, and as far as Dana was concerned, 
there was neither a rush nor any immediate plans to change that 
particular fact. But one single truth remained: Despite the lack of what 
could only be called the textbook description of physical intimacy, she 
and Mulder _were_ lovers. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder parked his car in one of the two open guests spots and 
killed the engine. He grabbed the rental movie and headed into the 
building, thumbing through the keys on his ring as he walked. Something 
inside of him screamed for him to knock on Scully's door, to ask 
permission to enter what was, after all, her inner sanctum. But he also 
knew that he'd been letting himself in for so long that to change 
anything now would send a signal to Dana that he'd rather avoid sending. 
        The key slid into the lock as if it had been oiled. The cylinder 
turned, the door opened, Mulder entered the apartment, took four steps, 
turned to see Scully walking out of her kitchen, locked eyes with her 
and- 
        Was gone. The keys clattered to the floor, followed by the thump 
of the clamshell video case. Mulder took a step towards Scully, she a 
step towards him, and half a step later she was in his arms, her arms 
coming around him, her palms flat against his back, pulling him _to_ 
her, against her, his own hands in her hair, finding the scrunchy and 
sliding it off the ponytail in single, smooth motion, her hair cascading 
around her neck, his fingers in it, his nails scraping her scalp, 
sending a chill from the top of Dana's head to the tips of her toes as 
she lifted her mouth to his descending one. 
        Dana's thoughts jumbled together, and then vanished as Mulder's 
mouth captured hers once again. This time is was different...familiar, 
but better, somehow. His lips were known to her now, but she wanted to 
learn every single thing about them all over again, again and again, 
every single day for the rest of her life. Her arms came up around his, 
linked around his neck and pulled him down even closer. She felt the 
hunger building inside her, threatening to rear up and take control, and 
she pushed it back down, using every single possible control mechanism 
she had, fighting it, wanting to keep it pitched at a certain level, 
just under the boiling point. 
        Mulder held her in his arms, his hands massaging her back, and 
then sliding lower. His right hand felt the curve of her buttocks, and 
he lowered it, capturing her supple cheek with his hand and squeezing. 
He felt her stiffen, and knew that it wasn't that she didn't want him 
touching her there, but that she DID want him touching her there, wanted 
him to take both cheeks in his hands, wanted him to palm them and 
massage them and use them to pull her against his aching, pulsing need. 
And that same silent, spiritual communication that they had shared from 
day one telegraphed her real want, her real desire to prolong this 
delicious tease as long as possible without going overboard, and he 
obeyed that wish, surprised to discover that he wanted it too, that he 
wanted to just kiss Scully. 
        As if this kiss could be called 'just' anything. 
        Scully's hands were at his jacket now, pushing it off his 
shoulders. It fell in a dark grey fabric puddle at his feet as Scully 
used her body to push him towards the couch. 
        The fell onto the couch in slow motion, a slowly collapsing 
collection of knees and elbows and arms and lips. Mulder had his back 
against the side, Scully shifting until she was almost on top of him, 
her body trapped between him and the couch. 
        The kiss deepened, lengthened, grew and expanded. Everything 
ceased to exist except her lips, the tickle of her breath on his cheek 
from her nose, the way her fingers were running through his hair, the 
way her other hand was on his hip, her fingertips just brushing the edge 
of his butt, gently pulling him against her harder, more insistently. 
        Just as suddenly as it had began, the kiss ended. With mutual, 
unspoken agreement, they broke apart, both of them panting, each of them 
staring into the other's eyes. Mulder thought he had never seen a more 
beautiful shade of blue in his life. 
        "Welcome back," Scully smiled. "I had no idea how much I..." 
        "...needed that..." Mulder gasped. 
        "...needed it, until I saw you." 
        "I know." 
        "Sorry, Mulder. I know I said only one..." 
        "One was never an option, Scully." 
        Scully bit her tongue and silently nodded. 
        Mulder was suddenly aware that the most significant evidence of 
his arousal was pushing against her, and he moved, trying to relieve the 
pressure. 
        Dana frowned. "Don't...don't move, Mulder. Don't deny it... 
don't deny your wants. I need to feel that...against me. I need to 
know it's there." 
        "Oh, it's there all right, Scully." 
        She smiled, a soft, embarrassed grin, and pressed her face 
against his chest. Mulder was still squirming against her. 
        "Mulder, stop!" 
        "I'm sorry, it's just that-" 
        Scully reached down and took his right hand in her left, and 
brought it to her waist. Lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, she slid his 
hand underneath it, upwards, until his fingers grazed the bottom of her 
breast. 
        Mulder gasped, his eyes closing. His arm suddenly stopped 
moving, and Scully had to tug on it to accomplish what he had intended. 
The hot, hard points of her own arousal were now pressed against the 
palm of Mulder's hand. 
        "See? Me, too." 
        "Scully...please...this is...too...too much!" Reluctantly, she 
let go of his hand, and a moment later it was outside her shirt, 
resting on the relatively safe arc of her left buttock.
        "We agreed," he started, and then stopped, knowing how absurd 
that must have sounded. 
        "Mulder...it's all right. We need to do these things as... we 
need to do them, I guess." She looked deeply into his eyes. "You don't 
want to make love to me, do you?" 
        Mulder knew what she meant. "No. Not tonight. I mean...I do want 
you, but I don't want to...not tonight." 
        "I  know. We'll know when it's right, Mulder. And for tonight, 
sitting here on this couch with you, feeling your hunger pressing 
against me, feeling your lips on mine, feeling your fingers in my 
hair...that's what's right for tonight." 
        Mulder returned her gaze for a long, silent moment, and then 
nodded. 
        "Can't argue with that," he said, lowering his mouth to hers. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
End Part II 
 
Email is encouraged. :) All kinds. Flames, comments, suggestions, 
etcetera and so forth.

 "Snapshot III:Decisions" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
A continuation of "Snapshot," which received wide, critical acclaim. 
 
OK...seven letters. But they were all positive! :) 
 
This is another piece of mindless fluff. No sex, but there is some 
talking about...stuff. No violence, although off-screen violence 
committed by another actor is discussed. No spoilers that I'm aware of. 
Several episodes referred to tangentially...but nothing revealed. No 
mutant liver-eating serial killers. No Scully-Fu. No Mulder-Fu. No 
Skinner-Fu. No Frohicke-Fu. No exploding alien larval hives. No empty- 
eyed mute alien bounty hunters to spoil the fun. No quarantine-Fu. Heavy 
discussions. MulderAngst. ScullyAngst. 
 
Author's Note/Preface/Whatever : This is a continuation of a story 
that was in itself a continuation of a story. This is part III of 
"Snapshot," a little vignette (sp?) series depicting special moments 
between our favorite duo. The first two parts are available on atxc, 
or via email from moi. Anti-relationshippers be warned, there be 
tygers here. The story thus far: Scully and Mulder have shared a 
rather interesting kiss in their office, and expressed some pretty 
deeply-held emotions for each other. They decide to meet later at 
Scully's apartment for movies/beer/pizza, and when Mulder walks in the 
door with the rental movie, all is forgotten once they lay eyes on 
each other...this is what happens after "Snapshots II:After." 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
        They had finally gotten up to watch the rental movie. It was 
one of those direct-to-video nightmares starring the younger brothers 
and sisters of more well-known movie stars, and was filled with inane 
situations, stupefying dialogue and plots that could have been figured 
out in an instant if all the characters didn't posses sub-room-
temperature 
IQ's. 
        Neither of them saw a single frame of the movie. Scully's head 
was against his chest, her fingers making little circles through his 
shirt. 
Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, staring at some middle distance between 
the television and her heart. Mulder's hand was at the back of her neck, 
his fingers lightly grazing the skin there, the follicles standing at 
attention, awaiting their orders from the army of goosebumps his touch 
raised. Scully closed her eyes, wondering if it were possible for her to 
actually start purring. 
        Her thoughts drifted back over the events of the last few 
hours, and she felt herself snuggling closer to Mulder, the memories 
making her want to be as close to his body as possible. For close to 
an hour they had slowly discovered as much about each other as they 
dared. They could feel that moment coming, slowly approaching over the 
horizon, and they both knew that their promises to each other 
whispered in the office might have to be broken, and soon, or they 
might both go slowly insane. Pleasure delayed, someone once said, is 
pleasure denied. 
        With a start, Scully realized that she was staring at a 
television screen filled with nothing but the white snowy streaks of 
static. The movie had ended, the VCR had auto-rewinded, and then 
faithfully turned itself off. Without wanting to know what time it 
was, Scully glanced at her watch. 
        It was half past nine, both too early and too late. Too early, 
because Dana desperately wanted Mulder to stay, to stay all night if 
he wanted. Almost too late, because if he stayed much longer, he would 
want to stay all night, and they both knew what would happen if he 
did. 
        "Mulder-" she said, moving slightly away. 
        "I know. I'm just about outta here, Scully. I just..." 
        She laughed softly. "I know. Didn't want to disturb me." 
        He nodded. 
        "Tomorrow?" she asked, the unspoken hope clear in her voice. 
        He shook his head. "I have to requalify. I've been putting it 
off for months, and Skinner has insisted that I finally get it done, 
or he's going to personally write me up." 
        "I could-" 
        "Scully...he's going to be there." Mulder paused, knowing what 
he had to say next was going to be difficult for the both of them, but 
he knew it had to be said, it had to be spoken aloud, brought out from 
the soft, comfortable corners into the light. "Until we can figure out 
how we're going to...deal with this, I don't think we should be near 
ANY FBI facility together. We need this time apart, Scully...we need 
to..." 
        "Decompress," she finished, nodding in agreement. She looked 
away, suddenly feeling sad. 
        Mulder reached over with his free hand, his fingers finding 
her chin. He turned her face towards him slowly, finding her eyes with 
his. "You know there's no place I'd rather be than with you." 
        "I know." It happened again. Just looking at her face, falling 
into her eyes, was all that it took. He felt his breath locking in his 
chest, his aching hunger consuming him, drawing him to her, a 
combination of magnetism and chemistry too powerful to resist. Their 
lips touched softly, and for the first time, Mulder felt the soft, 
moist tip of Scully's tongue slowly tracing the outline of his bottom 
lip. The feeling was so shocking, so erotically charged that he pulled 
back as if burned, his hand going to his mouth. 
        "Whoa," he whispered. Scully's smile was enigmatic, a sphinx's 
teasing grin, promising so much more given half the chance. Mulder's 
breath returned to him in stages. He closed his eyes, imagining that 
warmth and silky moisture elsewhere on his body, and let out a deep, 
shuddering sigh. 
        "I have to go...now." 
        He stood, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, Scully took it, 
letting him pull her off the couch. He found his jacket and slipped 
into it, his hand automatically going to the holstered pistol on his 
hip, adjusting it, tugging it into position. He walked to the door, 
stopping to bend down and grab his keys off the floor. He reached for 
the knob and stopped, wanting to say something else, something more, 
and found that the words in his mouth had deserted him as he felt her 
arms circling his waist from behind, first her chin, and then the side 
of her face against the middle of his back. 
        "I want you to stay," she whispered. 
        "And that's why I have to go," he answered, just as softly. He 
felt her nod against him, and without looking back he turned the knob, 
opened the door, and stepped out of her embrace. His steps were 
deliberate as he walked down the hall to the stairs. He stopped at the 
landing and turned back, knowing what he would see: Scully, holding 
the edge of the door against her face, staring at him. 
        He felt the sudden urge to blow her a kiss, but didn't. 
Instead, he smiled. Scully gave him a little wave and closed the door. 
A moment later he heard the deadbolt snick! into place. 
        Mulder sighed and started down the stairs. 
 
                                      *** 
                                The Next Morning 
 
        Dana opened her eyes slowly, not ready to greet the new day 
quite yet. In the hazy layer between sleep and wakefulness, she knew 
that she had dreamed about Mulder, had dreamed about being in his 
arms, had dreamed about the feel of his naked body against hers. She 
woke to find herself clutching the spare pillow, and smiled at it, 
wondering if she should ask if had been good for the pillow, too. 
        She sat up in bed, the sheet falling away to reveal her usual 
sleeping attire: A VICAP T-shirt and a pair of USMC red running 
shorts. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Scully started the coffee 
and headed for the bathroom, eager to get in the shower and start the 
day. It was so rare that she had a weekend completely off, and Scully 
wanted to take full advantage of the time. 
        The water was hot and plentiful, and before long the tiny 
bathroom filled with steam. She slid the curtain back and got in, 
letting the water hit her in the face and cascade down her petite 
body. 
        Heat. 
        Moisture. 
        Standing there in the shower was like bathing in one of 
Mulder's kisses, she thought, and immediately let out a giggle. God, 
I haven't giggled since high school. But it feels so good to feel this 
wonderful. I sure as hell don't know what tomorrow's going to bring, 
but I do know that I feel wonderful today, and that's all that 
matters. 
        Taking the soap, Scully started on her hands and arms, working 
the suds into her skin, seeking that refreshing, clean feeling the 
shower always gave her. She trailed the bar up her arm, into the 
crease of her elbow and... 
        Suddenly Dana had an incredible body memory, a flashback to 
the night before when she and Mulder had been on the couch necking 
like a pair of hormonally-charged teenagers. He had been tickling the 
palm of her hand with his fingers as his mouth had moved against hers, 
tasting her lips, teasing them, and then his hand had slowly moved up 
her arm, not actually touching her skin, just close enough to rake the 
fine hairs on her arm backwards until his fingers had encountered the 
crease of her elbow. He had traced the crease so incredibly gently, so 
lightly that Dana had to concentrate to remember if he had actually 
touched her skin, or if the heat from his fingers had somehow 
transmitted itself to her body without physical contact. She 
remembered the feeling inside her center, her core, as the heat and 
moisture there had slowly welled up and consumed her, a melting, 
dissolving feeling that had made her swoon. 
        God, had any man ever touched me like that before? she 
wondered. Just that she had to ask that question made Scully smile in 
the shower. Mulder had erased any memories of previous lovers. The way 
he touched her...with respect, with consideration, the way he moved 
with her, at her pace, never pushing, never asking for more than she 
was willing to give, knowing that at any moment he could do something 
to her, touch her in a certain way and she would dissolve into a 
puddle of writhing, naked need...and yet, he waited for her to join 
him in that place, that special moment when they would take each other 
for the first time, when they would join as one- 
        The way his hunger fed off hers. She tried to remember the way 
it was with Jack, and frowned. When compared to Mulder, Jack seemed 
like a Neanderthal jackass. He'd been pushy, insistent, fully 
expecting that Dana be ready for him, ready to join him in whatever 
particular frenzy he was feeling. She remembered feeling rushed and 
blaming herself, making if not faked, then at least exaggerated little 
noises of pleasure during the entire ordeal. 
        Ordeal? She nodded dumbly in the warm stream of water. 
Compared to Mulder, her time with Jack _had_ been an ordeal. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder awoke to greet the new day in the same place he did 
every morning: crashed out on his couch. But for the first time in 
recent memory, he'd slept through the entire night. He glanced at his 
watch and saw that he had about ninety minutes until Skinner expected 
him at Quantico. That gave him about twenty minutes to shower and 
change, get out the door, get some semblance of a breakfast and make 
it to the range in time. 
        He bounded off the couch, shedding clothes as he went, and 
started the shower running. Running some cold water to brush his 
teeth, Mulder was greeted by a sight in the mirror he hadn't seen in a 
while. An actual smile. It was small, a little teasing thing at the 
corners of his mouth, more visible in the depths of his eyes than on 
his face, but it was there. He could see it, could sense his own 
happiness. 
        The water was warm and welcome, and Mulder luxuriated in it, 
using the soap quickly, efficiently. He was washing his chest, 
studying the way the soap made little fluffy bubbles in his chest hair 
when he remembered the way Scully's fingers had teased him there 
through the shirt, as if her fingers had wanted to burrow through the 
material and reach skin. His morning erection, usually an unwelcome 
visitor each morning, made a return appearance, bobbing back to life. 
He considered doing what he had done on more than one occasion, as 
many men had through the ages, considered taking care of the problem 
in the quickest, most efficient way possible. But somehow, today, this 
morning, that seemed like... 
        Sacrilege. Like it was somehow...cheating. 
        He didn't want to release that energy inside him, didn't want 
to do anything that might cloud his spiritual connection to Dana. And 
that, doing what was at the same time both natural and just a little 
unseemly, might color the edges of what he was feeling, might somehow 
cast an oily cast on the memories. 
        Shrugging, Mulder leaned forward and did what men in his 
current predicament had been doing since the invention of inside 
plumbing. He cranked the hot water handle all the way to OFF and 
waited for the suddenly icy stream to do its business. 
        "Sweet Jesus GOD!" he screamed out, gritting his teeth, trying 
to outlast the shivering. Finally, he cranked the cold tap all the way 
to OFF, grabbed a towel and jumped out of the shower, his teeth 
chattering. 
        The things I do for love, he thought, grinning as the word 
made its way across the synapses of his brain. He glanced at his watch 
again upon entering his bedroom, and saw that he had less than ten 
minutes to spare. 
        He dressed quickly, selecting jeans and a turtleneck from his 
wardrobe, and (thankfully) remembering his Bureau-issue Smith & Wesson 
10mm pistol on the way out the door. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The FBI pistol range at Marine Barracks, Quantico, Virginia, 
had been built just before the J. Edgar Hoover building, and it was 
showing it's age. Thirty firing lanes, each of them with an electric 
motor controlling a laundry-line-like assembly that held the targets 
at the various ranges needed to qualify. Mulder quickly reviewed the 
range safety procedures with the safety officer, and nodded as the 
man explained what he would have to do. 
        "Ten rounds each within ten seconds at three, five, eight, ten 
and twenty five yards. Then rapid fire, twenty rounds at the same 
distance. Any score less than two hundred and eighty means you fail, 
and have to requalify." The man looked at his clipboard, found 
Mulder's name and frowned. "Although, according to our records, 
Special Agent Mulder, if you fail to qualify today...we'll have to 
make a call to your SAC and let them know." 
        "I know, I know," Mulder muttered, annoyed. "I've been putting 
it off-" 
        "Well, no time like the present. Lane six is ready, Agent 
Mulder." 
        Mulder nodded, taking the three boxes of ammunition the man 
held in his hand. "Any last suggestions?" 
        The range safety officer thought a moment. "Pretend the target 
is someone trying to hurt someone you love. That always works for me. 
You've got five minutes to prepare, Mulder, and then the first whistle 
goes. Get cracking." 
        Mulder walked to lane six, and opened the three boxes of ammo, 
stacking the little Styrofoam carriers full of 10mm cartridges in a 
neat little pile. He reached for his pistol and removed it from the 
holster, thumbing the magazine release. The slim clip fell into his 
hands, and he quickly thumbed off the ten duty rounds, rapidly 
replacing them with the less-powerful qualifying ammunition. He loaded 
his spare magazine as well, wanting that one full so he could 
concentrate on the "basics" as he took his shots. He put on the 
protective goggles, and then the muff-like ear guards. 
        '...imagine it's someone trying to hurt someone you love..' 
the range officer had said. Mulder had no problem imaging someone 
trying to hurt Dana. The list of those that had placed his partner, 
his friend...his lover...in harms' way was seemingly endless, starting 
with that- 
        "Ready on the left!" came the voice of the range safety 
officer from a hidden PA speaker. 
        - black lunged - 
        "Ready on the right!" the voice continued. 
        - son of a - 
        "The firing flag is up, it is waving, it is down. Fire at 
will!" 
        - BITCH! - 
        The whistle went off to Mulder's left, and the pistol was in 
his hand, coming up, finding the target. The sights aligned themselves 
automatically, and Mulder felt his finger taking the slack out of the 
trigger, felt the satisfying kick of the pistol as it went off, and 
saw the round impact the target not six feet away. He followed that 
first shot with nine more, almost faster than his eye could track. 
When the whistle blew again, signaling that ten seconds had passed, 
Mulder had already re-loaded, and was waiting for the target to move 
to five yards. 
        "Ready on the left-" the voice said slowly, carefully. Mulder 
moved his neck from side to side, getting loose. His minds eye saw the 
Bounty Hunter, that evil-looking spike held in one huge hand, and the 
whistle went off again, and once more the pistol came up on autopilot, 
found the center of the target and it went off, again and again, the 
pistol kicking back against Mulder's body, his elbows flexing to take 
the energy of the shot, not letting the barrel of the pistol rise more 
than a fraction of an inch before bringing it back on target at the 
same instant his finger pulled the trigger to maximum slack, wanting 
the trigger ready for that instant when the sights lined up again and- 
        crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! 
        The pistol emptied, the slide locked back, smoke trailing out 
of the open breech in lazy circles. 
        Mulder didn't hear, and didn't sense Skinner approaching him 
from behind. He saw the target moving out to ten yards. His hands 
quickly loaded the two magazines again, slapping one home at the same 
instant his thumb worked the slide release. The gun was ready, heavy, 
and warm. 
        "Hurt Dana will you..." he muttered, seeing Alex Krycek's face 
on the target. "Fucking son of a-" 
        "Fire at will!" the voice called, and Mulder emptied his 
pistol in less than two seconds, each shot finding its' intended mark. 
Ten little holes opened what would have been Krychek's heart had he 
been standing there. The target moved further out, out to twenty-five 
yards, almost eighty feet. It was a little white rectangle bobbing on 
the guide wire, and Mulder still didn't know that Skinner was standing 
behind him. 
        He reloaded the pistol, aware that he was going to blow the 
fucking target right off. 
        "I love her, you asshole," he whispered, once again seeing 
that nameless chain-smoking- 
        "Fire at will!" 
        The gun emptied itself in less than two seconds one more time. 
Seven seconds later the voice came over the PA again. "The firing flag 
is down, repeat down. Safety all weapons, place them on the bench and 
step back for scoring!" Panting, Mulder put the gun down on the bench 
and 
stepped back, bumping into Skinner. 
        Mulder turned, his arms already coming up, hands clenched into 
fists, before he remembered where he was and who he was facing. 
        "Sir!" he shouted. 
        Skinner didn't smile and didn't frown. He just nodded at 
Mulder. The range officer came over after a moment and reeled Mulder's 
target back in. Mulder removed his ear protection and goggles. 
        He looked at the target in amazement. "Agent Mulder, you put 
fifty rounds into this target. Forty of them into the X ring and the 
9 ring. The last ten you put in the head." He paused, unsure of what 
to say next. "Excellent shooting, Agent Mulder." 
        Mulder said nothing. He was staring at Skinner, wondering how 
much the man had overheard. 
        "I think it's safe to say that Agent Mulder has qualified, 
don't you?" Skinner said to the range officer. There was no mistaking 
his tone, and the range officer nodded. "I'd agree, sir." Turning to 
Mulder, he added, "That's all sir. I'll enter you as qualifying at the 
expert level, Mulder. Again, Excellent shooting." 
        The range officer stared at the two men. They were obviously 
not going to say anything while he was present, and he moved away, 
curious as to what was going on. 
        "Agent Mulder," Skinner started, and then stopped. "Fox," he 
said, knowing that using his first name would grab Mulder's attention. 
"Join me for lunch." 
        "Sir-" Mulder started to protest. 
        "Please," Skinner said a little more softly. "I insist." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        It was a burger-and-beer joint, complete with the multiple 
televisions mounted on hanging brackets in every corner, each tuned to 
a different sporting event. The two pool tables looked tired and worn, 
their felt faded to the color of dried grass in a late August summer. 
There were perhaps six or seven other patrons inside, all of them 
watching the Redskins game. 
        Skinner and Mulder seated themselves at a small circular table 
in the back, and waited for the waitress to come and take their drink 
orders before speaking. 
        "Very good shooting, Agent Mulder," Skinner started. "You 
seemed very...motivated." 
        Mulder said nothing, silently cursing himself for letting 
anything slip in front of this man. He didn't know what to say, so he 
said nothing. 
        Skinner waited for a reaction, and getting none, he frowned. 
Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward. "Talk to me, Mulder. I 
have to know what's going on." 
        "Nothing-" Mulder started to lie. 
        "Bullshit!" Skinner exploded, and then looked around, 
wondering if anyone had noticed. "Don't give me that, Mulder. I heard 
what you said. I was there. I was standing directly behind you. I 
heard you say that you were in love with Agent Scully." 
        "Actually, sir, what you heard me say was that I loved 'her.' 
I didn't say that I loved Scully, or that I was in love with her." 
        Skinner gritted his teeth. "Mulder, I'm not some junior G-man 
or public defender that you can bullshit with your semantics. We both 
know what you said -- if not the exact words, then the meaning behind 
them. I'll ask you again -- talk to me. Tell me what's been going on, 
and how long it's been going on. I'm only going to give you one more 
chance." 
        "Give me a minute," Fox asked, pleading with his eyes. Skinner 
nodded. Skinner's mind was not at all made up. He had been aware for a 
long time that Agents Scully and Mulder were more than just partners. 
He'd suspected once or twice that they were enjoying a romantic 
relationship, but every time he called them on the carpet to chew them 
out for some breach of Bureau protocols or procedures, he would see 
the way that Scully's eyes would flash with anger and annoyance at 
something her wayward partner had said or done, and those suspicious 
would be put to rest. Put to rest, that was, until the next time 
Skinner had an opportunity to observe them without being seen. 
        He'd seen the way they touched, the quiet little gestures, the 
way they seemed to be able to finish each other's thoughts without 
speaking. Then the suspicions would start to build again. They had... 
something, Skinner was sure, and he was going to get to the bottom of 
it once and for all. 
        "Sir," Mulder started. 
        "Mulder, call me Walter. This is strictly off the record." 
        Fox felt his eyes widening. If it was off the record, then 
there was nothing official Skinner could do with whatever he decided 
to tell the man. Well, not directly, anyway. All Skinner would have to 
do was call the Office of Professional Standards. The FBI's version of 
the Internal Affairs Divisions that plagued the cops of cities and 
towns across the country, the OPE had a very...distinct reputation 
amongst Bureau agents. 
        Mulder opened his mouth and began to speak. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
End of Part III. 
 
Comments, suggestions, questions, etc. continue to be welcome. 
drambo@primenet.com 
 
 "Snapshot IV:Discussions" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
Summary : After sharing an intimate kiss in their office, Scully and 
Mulder repaired to Dana's apartment to watch a rented movie, drink some 
imported beer and consume some stale, cold pizza. Before any of that 
could happen, they once again found themselves in each other's arms for 
some serious kissy-face. The next morning, Mulder goes to the FBI 
Qualification Range at Marine Barracks, Quantico to perform his yearly 
pistol qualification, and while invoking the faces of CSM and Krycek on 
the targets, proceeds to shoot a perfect score AND alert Assistant 
Director Skinner that something is "going on" between Our Favorite Duo. 
Skinner and Mulder go to a local Beer-n-Burger joint to hash things out, 
and that is where our story picks up. 
 
Ok...this is the continuation of "Snapshot III:Decisions," which was a 
continuation of...oh, never mind. I've been writing these little 
beginning-of-the-fanfic things for so long now they seem to write 
themselves. ANYWAY, no violence, except perhaps descriptions of events 
that happen "Off-screen." No adrvarking, to quote Joe Bob Briggs, but 
there will be some sexual contact in the PG or PG13 range. Anti- 
relationshippers be warned, there by tygers here. MulderAngst. 
ScullyAngst. SkinnerAngst. Snuggle-Bunnies. No exploding aliens. No 
green goo seeping out of orifices that shouldn't have green goo seeping 
out of them. Gratuitous deep, soul-searching discussions about the 
nature of Life, Love and Everything. 
----------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
        "The thing of it is, sir..." 
        "Walter-" Skinner interjected. 
        "Walter, then," Mulder said, finding that the word didn't fit at 
ALL in his mouth when referring to the man seated across the table from 
him. The man was _BORN_ to be called either "Sir," or "Skinner." 
        "The thing of it is..." Mulder tried again, and discovered that 
he couldn't find the words. As hard as he tried, he couldn't find the 
exact expressions, phrases, words or sentences he needed to explain to 
Skinner what was happening. Hell, Mulder thought, I'm having trouble 
explaining it to myself, let alone Skinner! 
        "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain it. It's 
not what you think, I can tell you that much." 
        "And what do I think, Agent Mulder?" Oh, we're back to Agent 
Mulder now, are we? 
        Mulder straightened. This had been coming for a long time. 
Skinner had always been a pain in the ass, even though his motives did 
seem to coincide with the X-Files and Mulder's personal agenda. He was a 
starched shirt, a "suit" in Bureau parlance, a man more concerned with 
the rules and regulations than with getting on with the solving of the 
case, than with the discovery of the Truth. His holy grail was the 
Bureau Standards and Practices, the Operations Manual for Field Agents, 
with the dozens upon dozens of forms and papers to be filled out. Cross 
the T's and dot the I's, that was Skinner's Mantra. 
        "I have no idea what you're thinking, Sir," Mulder finally said. 
Skinner cast his glance about, trying to find something to focus his 
attention on for that five seconds he needed to gather his thoughts. 
Returning his gaze to Mulder, Skinner began to speak. 
        "I've always known that you and Scully were different, Mulder. 
I've never seen a pair of partners better attuned to each other than you 
and Scully. I've never seen anyone have the abilities you two have when 
you're together and operating on all cylinders. You have no idea how 
many times I have argued your case before those above me that want to 
split you up." He saw the look in Mulder's eyes and held up a warning 
hand. "Not because of some shadowy government conspiracy, Mulder. No 
one's pulling my strings that way. They want to split you up for several 
reasons. 
        "The rumors are first on their list. Almost since your first 
case together the rumors have been flying around headquarters about you 
two. You do know that Scully's nickname is 'Mrs. Spooky,' right?" Mulder 
nodded, not sure where this was going, but willing to let Skinner have 
his say. 
        "I thought so," Skinner said softly. "The jokes and the rumors 
are almost knee deep in the place, Mulder. But I knew, or at least, I 
thought I knew you and Scully better than that. I thought you two had 
more professionalism than to fall into bed together." He held up another 
hand. "Please, let me finish. I'm not saying that I think you two are 
doing...that. As far as I know at this point, you have an unrequited 
love for Agent Scully, feelings that you have neither shared with her, 
nor indicated in any obtuse way. As far as I officially know at this 
point, you have only indicated that you love your partner." 
        He paused, thinking. "And after what you two have been through 
over the past four years, I'm not surprised. Partners, Mulder, back each 
other up. They cover for each other when necessary. They split the work, 
the paperwork, the legwork, all the way down to who stays awake on 
stakeouts and who gets to pick the radio station on road trips. I've 
been in the field, Mulder. I was with the Bank Robbery squad in Los 
Angeles and Kansas City, and with Counter Intelligence in New York. I've 
had my share of partners. I know what it means to...love your partner." 
        Mulder's eyebrows crawled up, but he said nothing, waiting for 
Skinner to get to the point. 
        "Dana Scully is...an incredible woman, Mulder. I know that. I 
saw what has gone through the times when you've either been away God 
knows where doing God knows what, and the times she's had to watch  you 
cling to life in a hospital bed. If the gossip can be believed, Mulder, 
I don't think the poor woman's had a date in four years." 
        "Two." Mulder said. "She's had two." 
        "Be that as it may, Mulder, the point remains that she has... 
melded with you, for lack of a better word. Her entire life is this job, 
the Bureau, and most importantly, you. You are her entire world. And she 
is yours. 
        "I saw what you went through when she vanished. I know how 
deeply it affected you when she returned." Skinner paused and took a sip 
of his beer, his eyes focused on the younger agent. 
        "I guess what I'm trying to say, Agent Mulder, is this. As long 
as it doesn't affect your professional working relationship, I'm willing 
to look the other way. As far as I'm concerned, it wasn't a matter of if 
you and Scully were romantically involved, but when it would happen. 
I've been giving this a lot of thought over the last year, and taking 
all things into consideration, I'm of an opinion that doesn't 
necessarily agree with published Bureau policies. 
        "I think it will make you and Scully even better at a job that 
no one has ever excelled at the way you and Scully do. I have never seen 
a pair of agents like you two, Mulder, and I know that I never will 
again. So...keep it out of the office, and off the road, and I will look 
the other way." 
        He paused. "But if I become aware of this relationship in an 
official capacity, Agent Mulder, I will have little choice in the 
matter. My protection can only go so far. If I have to 'become' aware of 
this in the course of my duties as your direct superior and an Assistant 
Director of the FBI, I will have to take action, up to and including 
separating you and Agent Scully, and transferring one or both of you to 
the opposite ends of the country."  
        He paused, took another sip, and then asked, "Do I make myself 
clear?" 
        Mulder found that his mouth was dry. He sipped his own beer and 
then answered. "Crystal clear, sir. May I ask....why?" 
        "Why what, Mulder?" 
        "Why are you taking this chance? It might come out that you knew 
and did nothing...they have ways, you know, of-" 
        Skinner snorted, wondering at the never-ending paranoia of this 
man. But, to give Mulder credit, he had more than enough reason to be 
paranoid. 
        "Quite simply, Mulder...you and Scully belong together."  
        Mulder blinked at Skinner's words, trying to assimilate them. 
        "Yes," he said softly. "I know we do." He paused. "You know I'll 
have to tell Scully...Dana about our conversation." 
        Skinner considered this. "Would you prefer me to speak with her 
separately?" 
        Mulder thought about it for less than a tenth of a second. 
"No...to be quite honest, sir, if this...topic were to come up with 
Agent Scully and yourself, I have the feeling that she would be 
mortified. Professionally embarrassed, no matter what the circumstances. 
It'd be better if I...broke it to her." 
        "Well, whatever you think is best, Mulder. Just do me a couple 
favors." 
        "I'm listening." 
        "First...take care of her. She's had a lot happen to her in her 
life, and she needs someone like you. And second, no matter what you do, 
don't let anyone else know. No one. I mean her mother, your mother, her 
brothers...no one. Is that clear?" 
        "Yes, sir. At least for now, I agree with that."  
        If Skinner took umbrage at Mulder's remarks, he didn't show it. 
He finished his beer in two huge swallows, then stood to leave.  
        "Mulder, I don't need to tell you that there are people out 
there that would take advantage of this information. Be careful." 
        "Sir," Mulder said, putting a hand out to stop him. "Thank you." 
        Skinner snorted. "Don't make me regret it, Mulder." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana had been reading a book...or more correctly, staring at the 
same paragraph, lost in thoughts and memories of Mulder when the phone 
rang. She snapped out of her reverie and reached for it. 
        "Hello?" 
        "Scully, it's me." She smiled; only Mulder's arrogance would 
allow him to start a phone conversation with THAT phrase. 
        "What's up, Mulder?" 
        There was a significant pause. 
        "We need to talk, Scully." She felt her heart plunge and then 
rebound, bouncing back up into her throat. "What's the matter, Mulder?" 
        "Not over an open line," he said, secure in his belief that 
there were people out there using radio scanners to pick up cellphone 
conversations.  
        "Ok..." Scully said. "Do you want to come over?"          
        "I'll be there in....forty minutes. Talk to you then." The line 
went dead in her ears, and Scully slowly hung the phone back up. Oh my 
god...what could have happened? Had he changed his mind? 
         Scully shut the book with a snap! and tossed it aside, drawing 
her legs up underneath her. She was suddenly very, very worried, but she 
couldn't place the reason for her concern. Trying to read Mulder's voice 
was an exercise in frustrating futility. Only when they were together, 
alone, did Mulder allow his emotions to come out in his voice. When he 
wanted to hide behind his emotions, when he wanted to mask his true 
feelings and meanings, there was no one that Scully had ever met that 
was any better at it. 
        Suddenly, Scully couldn't sit still. She got up and started 
pacing, Mulder-like, around her apartment. God, no, she thought. Mulder, 
please don't let your paranoia and guilt ruin this! It's taken us so 
long to get to this point...don't make me go back. I don't think I can! 
How would she be able to do her job, sitting across the office from 
Mulder, knowing what his lips tasted like, knowing what felt like to 
have his erection pressed against her? How would _either_ of them  be 
able to function knowing how they felt about each other? 
        Scully glanced at the clock. It was just before eleven in the 
morning. She had about half an hour, maybe a little more, and then 
Mulder would be there to tell her...what? 
        The phone rang again. Dana dashed over to it, snatching it to 
her ear. "Mulder! What is it?" she screamed. 
        "Dana? Honey?" It was her mother. 
        "Mom. Oh, God, I thought you were Mulder. Listen...I can't talk 
right now." 
        "I understand, dear. Please call me when you can, ok?" 
        "Of course." 
        They fell into silence for a moment. "Is everything all right?" 
Margaret Scully finally asked. 
        "Fine, Mom. I'll talk to you later." Dana abruptly hung up on 
her mother and stood there with the receiver still in her hand, 
wondering if she dared calling Mulder back. 
        No. He would be here soon. Do something, Dana. Make some coffee 
or tea or read a book or do something. 
        Something! 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder parked his car in the same spot he'd occupied the night 
before and bounded up the stairs to Scully's building. On the drive over 
he'd decided that his discussion with Skinner was a good thing, after 
all. It was, as far as Skinner went, out in the open now. As long as 
they were discrete, they all but had Skinner's blessing. 
        Weird. 
        He walked upstairs to the second story and used his key to let 
himself in. Scully was on the couch, legs tucked underneath her, calmly 
reading Thorton Wilder's "Our Town." 
        "Hey-" he said, and then saw her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, 
and he could see the tracks on her face where her tears has slowly slid 
her cheeks. She stood and walked over to him, sliding her arms around 
his waist, burying her face in his chest. 
        God, he smelled good, she thought. Like sweat and his aftershave 
and...gunpowder. Cordite. And Mulder. He smelled like Mulder, an 
intoxicating scent she had come to crave over the last four years, a 
teasing little olfactory treat that made her feel safe and alive 
and...wanted. She could smell that on him, too. His desire, his arousal 
at having her in his arms again. 
        "What?" she asked. The door was still open, but she had to hear. 
She had to know what he wanted, needed to tell her. 
        "Scully, what's the matter?" 
        "Why don't you tell me?" she asked, her words muffled by his 
turtleneck. "Tell me what's so important that you had to come over to my 
apartment the day after we promised each other some room, what is so 
important that you can't talk about it on an open cellphone line. Tell 
me that you've...you've...." Scully couldn't finish the sentence aloud, 
but her mind finished it for her. Tell me you've changed your mind 
Mulder. Go ahead. Make my day. Break my heart. 
        Mulder reached out with his foot and used his heel to swing the 
door shut, his arms holding Scully closer. "No...Dana, not that. Never 
that." He reached for her face, tipping her chin up with his fingers. 
"Nothing...no one...never...ever..." And then he kissed her, a soft, 
gentle, soothing kiss that inflamed them both. Suddenly her hands were 
gripping his back hard, pulling him against her. She broke the kiss, 
moving her mouth to his neck, kissing him there hungrily. 
        "Now, Mulder. Take me into the bedroom. Make love to me." 
Shocked, Mulder stepped back, holding his diminutive partner at arms 
length. "Whoa...," he said, holding a hand up. "Tell you what -- let's 
have our little talk first, and then...well...we'll see, Ok?" 
        Dana's eyes searched his, looking for the truth. He could never 
lie to her, not when she was looking at him and he at her. There was no 
way, now that they were alone, away from prying eyes, that he could hide 
his feelings, his emotions, his naked, hungry need. She saw that in his 
eyes, in the gentle crook of his smile, the way he looked at her, 
through her, encompassing her with his loving, caring gaze. No, he 
wasn't here to break her heart...it was something else, something 
equally serious...and as Dana looked even deeper inside his eyes, into 
his soul, she saw that it was something equally...dangerous. 
        And then she knew. Somehow, she knew. That silent, eclectic 
communication channel between them opened again, and the emotional data 
flew between two souls. 
        "Skinner," she whispered. 
        Mulder nodded, licking his lips. 
        "He knows," she whispered again. She turned away from Mulder, 
making her way to the couch. "Oh my god...what are we going to do?" 
Mulder moved towards her, taking her hands in his as he kneeled on the 
floor. 
        "Look at me, Scully," he whispered. Slowly, Dana raised her head 
and found his eyes. She saw the strength there, the resolve, and knew 
that whatever happened next, two things would remain true: They would be 
together, and nothing would ever eclipse their love for each other. It 
was, as far as both of them were concerned, carved in stone.  
        They were a couple. A duo. A partnership carved in stone. 
Nothing was going to change that. 
        "C'mere," she said, pulling on his hands. "I want you holding me 
when you tell me what you have to tell me." 
        Mulder moved onto the couch, taking Dana in his arms, pulling 
her against him. One hand went to her head, stroking her hair. "I guess 
I should start at the beginning." 
        He proceeded to tell her the range officer's suggestion about 
imagining someone trying to hurt someone he loved, and how that had made 
him shoot the best score he'd ever had. And how Skinner was standing 
behind him when he'd admitted to loving her. 
        "Ohhh, Mulder," Dana wailed. He could feel her tense against 
him, almost as if she wanted to pull away. He held her tighter. 
        "Scully...it's all right. We went to lunch. We talked. He 
understands, I think...even better than we do. He knows what we're like 
together...and now that we've taken this new step...we'll be even 
better." 
        Scully pushed away from him, her eyes wide, hopeful. "Y-you 
mean?" 
        "Yup...as long as we keep it professional at work, and Skinner 
doesn't become 'officially' aware...he doesn't care." 
        Scully sat completely upright. She ran a hand through her hair, 
staring at nothing in the middle distance. "Well, Mulder," she finally 
said, "If that doesn't conform to your definition of paranormal 
phenomena, I don't know what does." 
        Scully turned to face a shocked Mulder, and after a moment, they 
both burst out laughing. She collapsed back into his arms, still 
laughing, snuggling her arms around him. 
        "Well, now what?" she asked. 
        Mulder grinned into her hair. "If I remember correctly, you said 
something about making love...?" 
        Dana smiled into his chest. Good thing Mulder can't see my face 
right now, she thought. 
        "Uh...Mulder..." 
        He chuckled. "I know...it's not the time." She smiled wider, a 
genuine smile this time. "Stay right here," she said, getting up. Mulder 
watched her vanish into the bedroom. After a minute or two she came back 
wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe. She was carrying a large bath towel. She 
tossed it on the couch. 
        "You," she said, pointing a finger at her partner. "stink. You 
need to take a shower." 
        Mulder nodded. "Sure, but why are you-" The realization dawned 
him like a bubble popping. He could almost hear the poink! as the idea 
slid into his head. 
        "That's right, Mulder..." Dana turned and walked into the 
bathroom. Mulder was rooted to where he sat. He inched his head up over 
the edge of the couch and turned to look into the bathroom. 
        Scully was leaning over the edge of the tub, adjusting the taps. 
She cranked the knob over to start the shower, and then straightened, 
pulling the curtain back. 
        She walked over to the door, smiled at Mulder, turned to face 
the shower, and- 
        Dropped the robe. Mulder's eyes felt large enough to fall out of 
their sockets right onto the floor behind the couch. He saw her back, 
her legs, the soft curve of her buttocks, her dainty feet. Then she was 
gone, vanishing behind the shower curtain. 
        For the first time in his life, Mulder actually audibly gulped. 
He heard the lump in his throat working. Then a single slim arm appeared 
from behind the shower curtain. The finger pointed at Mulder, and then 
crooked once...twice. 
        Mulder stood, shedding clothes as he walked over to the 
bathroom. In his boxers, he stood in the doorway. 
        "Wash your back?" he asked. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------
- 
END PART IV 
 
comments, questions, suggestions, etc. to drambo@primenet.com 
 


 
 



"Snapshot V:Discoveries"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No
infringement is intended.

Classification: V+,MSR,A
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages)

Ok folks, this is part V in what is apparantly a never-ending saga.
Anti-relationshippers be warned: There be Tygers here. No actual sex,
but there are two instances of adult physical behavior, so be warned.
MulderAngst. A small amount of ScullyAngst. Snuggle-Bunnies. Promises
made, kisses stolen.

Lemme know if I should keep this going. Part VI is already on the
drawing pad,and when you see the ending to that part, you'll know that
part VII is "The One" that the dozen or so people that have been
writing me about this have been waiting for.

Again, I hope you enjoy this.
Dawson
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

        The bathroom started to fill with steam as Mulder slowly
entered. He could see Scully's shadow moving behind the shower
curtain, her form casting dancing figures of shadows and light against
the translucent material. His eyes traced what he could see of her
figure, the gentle slopes and curves, the way her hips gently flared,
the narrowness of her waist. He could feel his heart throbbing in his
temple...and elsewhere.
        "Mulder?" she asked. "Are you coming in or not?"
        The conversations they'd been having over the last several
days came rushing back to him. In his mind he could hear her in his
office, softly protesting that it couldn't happen now, that it wasn't
the time. And later, other conversations as they gently kissed, slowly
discovering more and more of each other. He could describe, in
exacting detail, precisely how Dana's body felt against him. Her
clothed body, that was. This new step, this exciting, dangerous new
step, would tell him, and her, so much more. Every single pore and
fiber of Mulder's body ached to join Dana behind that curtain, to drop
his shorts and bound across the room, sliding under the hot water with
her, taking the soap from her hands, gliding it up and down her back,
her arms, her legs, the soft, silken expanse of her stomach, the heavy
weight of her-
        Stop, Mulder thought, screwing his eyes shut. Stop it. Scully
was right. Now is not the time.
        "Scully," he said softly, hoping she could hear him over the
rushing water.
        "What is it, Mulder?"
        "Don't take this the wrong way -- but I don't want to take a
shower with you."
        His statement was greeted by a long moment of silence. "I
understand," she said quietly. "I'll be out in a minute." Mulder
nodded, and then felt inane because he realized she couldn't see him.
But she would know, he reminded himself. She would know. He turned and
walked back to the living room, stopping and stooping to get his
clothes. He dressed quickly, wanting a few minutes to regain his
composure before she emerged, scrubbed clean and smelling like that
shampoo she used that drove him slowly insane.
        Mulder sat on the couch, slowly chewing his lip. He was sure
that there would be a day not too far away when he would mentally kick
himself for making this most recent decision. She would know how badly
he'd wanted to get in there with her, how much he wanted to discover
all the secrets her body and soul held for him, how much he wanted to
see her face as he discovered all her special places for the first
time. There would be only one 'first' time, he knew, and it had to be
special. Perfect.
        Ten minutes later, Scully emerged from the bathroom wearing
the pink fuzzy bathrobe. She was rubbing a towel through her hair, her
lips pursed as she studied Mulder sitting on the couch. She plopped
down on the other end of the couch, not taking her eyes off of him.
        "Talk to me, Mulder."
        "It's not that I don't want-"
        "I know that part, Mulder."
        He paused. "I remembered what you said in the office, and then
again, later. It has to be the right time...for the both of us.
Rushing this...rushing what we have...I don't want to do that. It...
means too much to me. To us. Does that make sense?"
        She grinned, flashing Mulder one of her famous heart-stopping
smiles. "Perfect sense," she agreed. She scooted over on the couch to
be closer to him. His hands were on his knees, and she reached down to
take one in both of hers. His hand was clenched, with anxiety, panic,
or some Mulderesque mixture of both of those emotions with a heapin'
helpin' of guilt. He didn't need to say a single word; Dana knew him
that well. He felt guilty that he'd <wanted> to get into the shower
with her, that he'd <wanted> to do the things she herself had asked
him, implicitly, to do.
        She shook her head softly, slowly. The only man in the world
that has ever turned down an invitation to play WaterPark in my
shower, and it <would> be the man I'm in love with, Scully thought.
        She started massaging his hand, using her fingers to stroke
the skin of his palm. She rubbed her thumb in the webbing between his
thumb and forefinger, feeling the muscles relax under her touch. She
continued working his hand, moving to the fingers next, really
kneading the skin, getting as much of the tension out as she could.
        Dana examined his hands, and tried to imagine what they would
feel like on her body. How they would touch her, stroke her, send
delicious shivery tickles of pleasure racing up and down her spine
until they detonated in starbursts of pleasure from her core,
expanding through her body like fireworks, each successive pleasure
popping off in series until-
        It wasn't hard to imagine those hands on her body. It wasn't
hard to imagine those hands anywhere on her body, touching her softly,
grazing her skin, tracing tiny little circles at the small of her
back.
        Dana had a sudden thought. "Mulder?"
        "Hmmm?" he asked. He'd leaned his head back against the couch
to enjoy Dana's hand massage, and was just about asleep.
        "I have a favor to ask."
        Slowly, he opened his eyes, the lids flickering open heavily,
his long lashes reminding Dana of butterfly's wings preparing to take
flight. His hazel eyes found her blue ones, and she found herself
falling into them again.
        "I think you should leave, Mulder," she whispered. "I want you
to go home and spend the rest of the weekend by yourself."
        "That's your favor?" he asked.
        "No, Mulder...that's not my favor. Monday I'm going to be at
Quantico, delivering that lecture on DNA typing for non-secreting
suspects. You do remember that, right?"
        Sleepily, Mulder nodded.
        "Well, Tuesday, we each have a full day. You have an
appointment at ten with the BSU folks, and I have one at noon with
VICAP about that new computer profiling software they want to try out.
But...what are you doing Tuesday night?"
        "Um...nothing, I think." He considered for a moment. "Are the
Knicks playing?"
        "Mulder, I'm serious," Scully said, pulling on his hand. "I
have a favor to ask."
        "What, Scully?"
        She paused. How to ask? "Umm..The District Physician's
Association is having their annual fund-raising thingie Tuesday night.
I was wondering if...that is, if you're not doing anything especially
important...I was...well, wondering-"
        "Scully, are you asking me out on a date?"
        "Yes, Mulder," Scully admitted. "I'm asking you to escort me
to the DPA banquet. Will you go with me?"
        Mulder considered for a long moment, but Scully already knew
the answer. He hated the rubber-chicken circuit, and avoided most, if
not all, official Bureau functions that centered around banquet halls
and meals. But she had asked him, as a favor, and she knew he would
accept. She hoped he would, anyway, because if he didn't, it would
throw her plans for the next ninety seconds completely awry.
        "Of course, Scully. I'll even wear a tux."
        Dana smiled, knowing what she was about to do would blow Fox's
mind. "Good," she whispered, moving closer to him, close enough to
whisper in his ear, close enough so he could feel her breath on the
small hairs on his neck. "Good, because I want you to get an emerald
green cummerbund and bow-tie...I'm gonna be wearing an emerald green
dress, Mulder. It's not especially sexy or anything, but I do want us
to match."
        Mulder gulped again. Jesus God, he thought -- how could
anything Dana wore <not> be considered sexy??
        "You got it, Scully. We'll talk about it later." He moved to
get up, but Scully pulled him back down by his hand. "Not so fast,
Mulder. There's one more thing...remember, in the office, when I said
that it wasn't time yet...that we needed to be healed before we could
go any further...?"
        "Yes," he whispered.
        "Well...I wish to amend my remarks...for the record."
        "Agent Scully has the floor," Mulder grinned,"...and my
<undivided> attention."
        "Good," Dana whispered even more softly. "Because I want to
say that I think that you and I...this...us...is part of that healing
process, Mulder. I said that we needed to find joy before we could
proceed. In the last twenty-four hours I realized that you bring me
joy...and I bring it to you. We have found joy...we've just been too
afraid to embrace it. Too afraid of being split up if we cross that
line, too afraid of what Skinner would have done if he'd found out
that we're crazy about each other, what the FBI would do if they knew
two of their best agents are playing snuggle-bunnies." She grinned at
her own choice of words, and then went for the jugular. "Mulder... I
don't just want you to take me to that banquet. I want you to take me
home, afterwards...and I don't want you to leave."
        Mulder didn't miss a beat. "No problem. I can always crash on
the couch."
        Scully had known it was coming, and for once in their
partnership, she had the perfect response prepared, ready, waiting to
go. "Fine, Mulder...if that's where you'd rather be." And with that,
she took his hand and slid it inside her robe so quickly that Mulder
didn't have a chance to stiffen and pull away. She pulled his hand
against her breast, and closed his fingers around it. "While you're
crashed out on the couch, Mulder, I'll be in the bedroom."
        She held his hand there for two long, heart-stopping seconds,
and then stood, walking around the couch, heading towards her bedroom.
"Go home, Mulder," she called over her shoulder.

                                      ***

        Mulder drove home in a daze. He glanced at the dashboard clock
and saw that it was only two-thirty in the afternoon. He ran a hand
through his hair, wondering what kind of an insane person Dana Scully
had turned out to be.
        Not that insanity was a <bad> thing, oh no. At least, not this
particular <kind> of insanity, he reminded himself. He took the hand
out of his hair and flexed it, looking at it out of the corner of his
eye as he did so. That was <the> hand. The hand, to quote Jimi, that
had touched the sky.
        God, he felt like a teenager who had
                <copped his first feel>
        gotten to second base for the first time.  It was all strange
and new and exciting and just a little dangerous. No, Mulder thought,
slowing down to take a right turn, it was more than a little
dangerous. Skinner had offered his unofficial protection, and despite
his own personal doubts about the man's agenda, Skinner had never gone
back on his word.
        At least, not yet.
        OK, pal, Mulder thought. Decision time. We're at a certain
point. We can stay here, go back, or...take the plunge. Go all the
way, to use a quaint expression that had been replaced by much more
vulgar, much more descriptive terms in the vernacular of the kids.
        Could he...take that final step? Could they? Together?
Mulder's face was blank as he let his mind wander. The nickname he'd
earned while with the Violent Crimes Section of the BSU wasn't nearly
as "Spooky" when you understood how it worked. Mulder didn't use
voodoo or wiccan incantations or spells or magic potions. He hadn't
even thrown darts at boards or flipped coins when he'd been with
VICAP, as the VCS was more correctly known. He simply went into
himself. He found something to concentrate on, something to center his
energy and his focus on, and...dropped. It felt like that, sometimes,
like the ground opening up and swallowing him whole.
        And when he was...there, "down the rabbit hole" as he liked to
kid himself, he was freed from the linear requirements of his thinking,
and free to use the spatial ability everyone's mind possessed. He was
able to occupy all the infinite points of his considerable mind at the
same instant. That was where the connections were made, <that> was
when he was at his spookiest.
        Mulder saw what he was looking for and pulled over to the
curb. He reached into the glove compartment and found the small brown
envelope. It wasn't sealed, and Mulder stuck it into his pocket, exiting
the car and locking it behind him.
        The park was one of Virginia's more beautiful, with acres of
grass and trees and picnic tables. The park was about half full, with
clumps of people scattered here and there, some cooking on open
grills, some playing softball, a group gathered here and there around
a beer keg, laughing gently in the afternoon sunshine.
        Mulder found an empty picnic table as far from the other
people as he could. He reached into his pocket and took out the small
brown envelope. Inside was a crystal on a chain given to him Melissa
Scully. He'd never worn it, but had found it useful for one specific
purpose: Finding his center.
        He held it up to the light, letting the sun prism through it,
until the infinite spectrum appeared. He chose a color at random,
yellow this time, and followed it down. His eyes unfocused until the
yellow beam became his entire world, and with a sudden mental thump,
found himself dropping through the rabbit hole.

                                      ***

        There was no color here, Mulder knew. It was white...pure,
snow-driven white all around. He had no body when he was here, no
arms, no legs, no limbs to speak of. His consciousness just...
<existed> on this plane, without the needs of a corporal body. His
thoughts were free, unfettered, able to run and jump and laugh and
play, free to find the connections, if they were out there. Free to do
what they did best. Search the dark corners, most of the time, looking
for connections between events best left unconsidered right now.
        He walked down a mental hallway. His photographic memory was,
at times, a curse to him. When he was down the rabbit hole, he
envisioned his memory as a huge room, filled with six-drawer filing
cabinets, stacked three high, running down to infinity. They were all
labeled, organized, double-checked and cross-indexed. He could see
himself walking into that room, and approaching a cabinet.
        He pulled the drawer open and pulled a file out. The folder
had no label, but he knew what was inside. He flipped it open and saw
Dana's face staring back at him. It was his first mental image of her,
and as he looked at it, it came to life, the mouth moving, the voice
animated, the life coming into her stunning blue eyes. He replayed
their first conversation.
        "Funny," he voice said, out of his vision, "I was under the
impression that you were sent here to spy on me." The image began to
speed up, her voice taking on the countenance of a chipmunk, the
telltale squiggles of a videotape on fast-forward marring the bottom
edge of the picture.
        Mulder didn't know why it happened this way; he only knew that
down here, in the rabbit hole, there was nothing but memories and
truth. The images flew by...a history of his relationship with Dana.
Every single memory that Mulder had of her was reviewed, scanned,
cherished and re-lived in the space between his heartbeats. When the
tape was done, the image in Mulder's mental hand was that of Scully
looking over her shoulder, dressed in the fuzzy pink bathrobe.
        "Go home, Mulder," her voice said.
        Mulder closed the folder and put it back in the drawer. He
reached into the rear of the drawer and took out another folder. This
folder was black. Even though there was no color in this place, only
pure simple truth and logic, Mulder knew it was black, for he knew
what it contained.
        Opening this folder, he saw the image of Duane Barry. The
images this time were not like a video, but like a photo montage, a
slide-show converted to video. The images changed with the rapidity of
his increasing heartbeat. Donnie Pfaster. The Alien Bounty Hunter.
That black-lunged-no-named-son-of-a-bitch. A parasitic frozen worm.
All the monsters and evil bastards in his life...his and Scully's
life...blinked by in less than a second.
        Mulder closed the folder, and a trash can appeared in his
vision. He threw the folder at it, and it sailed like a paper
airplane, carried on currents that didn't exist, until it fluttered
into the can. With a blink! the can was gone. Mulder felt himself
smile in the trance; he hadn't erased those memories. Such a thing was
impossible, no matter what he had heard about brainwashing technique.
The act of throwing the black folder away had been mostly symbolic. It
was his way of...
        Finding joy.
        One last folder to check. He moved to the front of the room,
to the top drawer on the first cabinet. He opened it, pulling the
first folder out, and carefully, gently eased the cover open.
        Samantha.
        Staring back at him, her face frozen in time. Unlike the other
memories, this folder wasn't cued up to start at the beginning. This
one was the reverse of the others; it started with Mulder's last
memory of Samantha, and when he pushed the mental PLAY button, that
tape went backwards, slowly. He waited until the bright light
vanished, until it was just the two of them in the house, the Stratego
board on the floor, the TV blaring the hearings, and then he paused
it.
        If she were there, Mulder would have asked Samantha's advice
and blessing for what he was considering. But she was not, and he had
dedicated his life to finding her, finding the truth. And for reasons
that Mulder still could not fathom, Scully had decided to come along
for the ride. He wanted to ask the picture a question, remembering the
words of some poet from long ago: "A dream is a question the heart
wants to ask."
        "Together," Mulder said to himself, inside the room, down that
magical rabbit hole. "Together we'll find you, Samantha. We'll find
the truth. I have help now. We have each other."
        The picture said nothing. Mulder smiled at it, shut the folder
and replaced it in the drawer. He closed the door, and then
concentrated on finding his way back-

        Up.
        With an almost audible pop! Mulder was back in the world. His
arm ached from holding Melissa's crystal in the same position for so
long. He glanced at his watch... he'd been under for about four
minutes.
        Long enough to do what he'd come there to do. He replaced the
crystal in its envelope, put the envelope in his pocket and started
walking back to his car.
        For the first time in his life, Mulder whistled as he walked.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

END PART V
Comments, etc, continue to be welcome: drambo@primenet.com


"Snapshot 6:Dinner, Dancing & Delights" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
No sex. No violence, although some is contemplated. MulderAngst. 
ScullyAngst. MulderTux. Gratuitious Scully Dressed Up. You know the 
rest. Write me if you want me to go on. 
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
        "Next slide, please," Dana said. The light from the projector 
vanished for a moment, and the room was dark once again. In the time 
it took a heart to beat, the light returned, filling the screen at the 
center of the conference room, pushing the shadows back and letting 
Scully see what was before her eyes. 
        As she began to speak, another, more subtle portion of her 
mind, that part not concerned with DNA fragments and forensic 
pathology lectures began a quiet, rather lengthy discourse on the 
similarities between a slide projector and her relationship with 
Mulder. About how together, they could push the shadows back, fill the 
center of their worlds with light and joy. And how everything could 
change in the time it took for a heart to beat. 
        "...when you're talking about the base pairs in the sequence, 
does that really have a significant investigative contribution?" The 
voice filled Scully's ears, and she knew she was nodding, but she 
didn't hear the question. The image up on the screen was an enlarged 
screen-capture from a DNA mapping program that the FBI had devised to 
help capture serial killers and other types of violent, repeat 
offenders. But the only image in Dana's mind was Mulder's face. 
        "Excuse me? I'm sorry...would you repeat the question?" The 
attendee did just that, and Dana forced her mind to focus on the 
question, and then provided the answer as smoothly as she could. She 
all but rushed through the rest of her presentation, wanting nothing 
more than to get off the stage and do some thinking, some thinking 
about Mulder. 
        But not the teenaged, moon-eyed, pie-in-the-sky cutsey shit 
that she dreaded. It was just a little more complicated than that. And 
at the same time, a lot less complicated than she wanted to admit. 
        After the presentation, Scully held an extremely abbreviated 
question and answer session, and then as soon as was professionally 
possible, she excused herself and went in search of a women's room. 
        Finding one, she entered the furthest stall from the door and 
locked herself in, sitting down and letting out a deep breath. This, 
she thought, this is <exactly> why I didn't want to get involved with 
Mulder. He's filling my every thought, my every dream, my every 
everything! I can't even give a lecture on DNA forensic technique 
without seeing his face up on the damn screen! Even now, as upset as I 
am, I can't stop thinking... 
        The problem, as Dana saw it, had two facets. On the one hand, 
the simpler hand, the quicker she and Mulder slept together, the 
better. The mystery would be gone, the tease would be over, and they 
could go on to whatever came after. There wouldn't be this agonizing 
anticipation, this...hormone storm that brought back some of the most 
troubling memories of high school that Dana had. Memories of wanting 
to have a boyfriend, wanting to be one of the popular girls whose 
phones were always ringing, wanting to always have a date on Friday 
and Saturday nights. That overcharged teenage angst was making a huge, 
huge comeback in Dana Scully's life, and she <hated> it. 
        She knew that Mulder loved her, that Mulder wanted her just as 
bad, if not more, as she wanted him. She had no doubt of his feelings, 
his desire, his hunger for her. What was driving her insane was that 
her body didn't care about any of that. Her heart wanted attention 
NOW. 
        Face it, Dana, she thought. You've got a super-duper, Grade A, 
Number One case of the Hornies. She sighed, dropping her head into her 
hands. And, on the surface, there's nothing wrong with that. People 
get...horny...all the time. It's one of the greatest things about 
being in a relationship. About being human, for God's sake. 
        But it wasn't quite that easy. Dana had one small fear, one 
nagging, quibbling little doubt that was gnawing at her. What if... 
finally taking Mulder into her bed didn't solve the problem? What if 
it only made it...God forbid...worse? What if it was so good, so 
perfect, so incredibly profound that she became a zombie? A walking, 
lurching, stretched-arm slave to the God of Sex? 
        Gimmie a break! she thought, trying to find a laugh somewhere 
inside herself. An errant lock of hair fell across her eyes, and she 
blew at it, trying to get a handle on her feelings. Dana checked her 
watch. It was a little before four. Time to call it a day and go home. 
Go home, take a nice, long hot bath, read a good book, and try and 
forget that she had a date with Mulder for tomorrow night, a date that 
would, for better or worse, change her life forever. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        "Do you dress right or left, sir?" the tailor asked. Mulder 
looked up from examining his shoes into the man's eyes and asked, 
"Excuse me?" 
        "Do you dress...is this your first tuxedo, sir?" 
        "Well...this is my first since the prom, I guess." The tailor 
nodded, suddenly understanding. 
        "I see. Well...perhaps I'll just make allowances for both." 
The tailor squatted and began working on Mulder again, using his tape 
measure, hand-held chalk and pincushion to great effect. Mulder had no 
idea what the man was doing, but he had to admit, he did look like he 
knew <what> he was doing. 
        "And it'll be ready by tomorrow night?" Mulder asked for the 
sixth time, by the tailor's count. 
        "Yes, sir." 
        "Can I ask you a question?" 
        "Of course, sir." 
        "How much extra would it be if I just waited around here 
tonight for it?" 
        The tailor looked up from carefully marking the cuff line on 
Mulder's left leg, frowning. "Sir, you may wait all night if you wish, 
but my seamstress won't be in until eight tomorrow morning." 
        "Oh." 
        The tailor stood, brushing the knees of his own pants. "I take 
it this is an...important event, sir?" 
        Mulder tried a trademark lopsided grin on the man. "The most 
important of my life, you bet." 
        "Then why are you waiting until the last minute to get your 
tuxedo?" 
        Mulder hesitated a moment. "Because I didn't know until 
Saturday that it was going to be the most important night of my life." 
        The tailor pursed his lips, considering this statement. He 
seemed to come to a decision in his mind. "Does this...important night 
have something to do with a woman?" 
        Fox just nodded. 
        The tailor continued: "A woman you've known for a long time... 
but you've just recently come to realize that she is important to you, 
I would imagine." 
        Mulder snorted. "You're a prognosticator, too?" 
        The tailor smiled. "No, sir, but I've been doing this for 
close to thirty years. I imagine when you've been doing your job for 
thirty years, you might just be as good at reading people as I am." 
        God, I hope so, Mulder thought. 
        The tailor reached out, grabbing the pants just below the 
pockets on both sides and gave them a sharp tug. He stepped back, 
checking his handiwork. "We're done, sir," he said. "Just leave those 
pants in the changing room." 
        Mulder nodded, walked down off the fitting platform and into 
the changing room. He dressed quickly, efficiently. A few minutes 
later he emerged from the dressing room to find the tailor at the 
front of the shop, holding the tuxedo's jacket in one hand and writing 
on a pad with the other. 
        Fox reached into his pocket and took out a business card. "I 
can be reached at this number whenever it's ready. I really appreciate 
the rush job." 
        The tailor looked over his glasses at the proffered card. "I 
was wondering if you'd mind putting your home address on the back of 
that card, Mr. Mulder." 
        Something in his voice made Mulder obey without thinking. 
Borrowing a pen, he quickly wrote his home address and telephone on 
the back of the card and handed it back. 
        "Thanks again," he said, turning to leave. 
        "Have a good night, Mr. Mulder." 
        "Just gonna go home and watch some TV," Mulder said, almost to 
himself. 
        The ancient cowbell clunked as Mulder let the door close 
behind him. He looked at his watch and realized it was time to go 
home. The Knicks would be playing in less than half an hour. 
        Inside the shop, the tailor waited for Mulder to start walking 
towards his car. The tailor picked up the phone and dialed seven 
numbers from memory, and waited for someone to answer. 
        "Doris...do you remember what happened on our wedding day?" He 
paused, listening to the laughter. "How'd you like to help a very nice 
young man avoid the same problem? Thanks...I always knew I married the 
best seamstress in the business. I'll see you in a few minutes." 
        The tailor hung the phone up and started to whistle. 
Sometimes, he thought, it just felt <good> to be in his business. 
        Outside the store, Fox was walking towards his car. He was 
glancing idly around, not really looking at anything, when one of the 
displays in a store window caught his attention. He walked over to 
study it, and the longer he stood there, the larger his smile got. 
        Perfect, he thought. 
        Just perfect. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        No one had ever accused Dana Scully of not being compulsive. It 
was Monday night, a full twenty-four hours before Fox was scheduled to 
pick her up, and she was making sure that everything was perfect. 
First, the dress...she dragged it out of the closet and tore the dry 
cleaner's transparent plastic off of it. She checked it for any new 
stains that might have creeped in, and satisfied, hung it on the back 
of the closet door. She was on her hands and knees, digging through 
the back of the closet for the matching shoes, when she heard her 
phone ring. 
        Let the machine get it, she thought. And then another thought, 
right on the heels of that one, made Scully start backing out of the 
closet. 
        It might be Mulder, and she hadn't talked to him all day. 
        She made it just before the machine would have picked up. 
        "Hello?" 
        "Scully, it's me." 
        "Hello, me," she said, cheerfully. "How was your day?" 
        "Miserable." 
        "Why?" 
        Mulder heard the concern in her voice, and he had to chuckle. 
"I know I'm going to sound like an annoyingly cute teenage boy when I 
say this, but I didn't get to see you or hear you all day. That's why 
I was miserable." 
        "Mulder..." Dana said, touched by his words and at the same 
time <just> a little exasperated. 
        "I know...I guess I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking 
about you...and I'm looking forward to tomorrow night." 
        The silence was longer this time. Dana held her breath, 
wondering if he was going to realize how inane this entire 
conversation was. Finally, he cracked: "Gimmie a break, Scully. I'm 
new at this!" 
        Laughing, Dana hung up. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        It was late in the fourth quarter when the knock came at 
Mulder's door. Frowning, he stood, his hand automatically going to the 
holstered pistol on his hip. 
        "Who's there?" he called. 
        "Mr. Antonio," a muffled voice called. Fox recognized the 
voice, but couldn't place the name. He opened the door to reveal his 
tailor standing there holding a zippered garment bag. 
        Dumbstruck, Fox just stared. "Uh..." 
        "Mr. Mulder," the man said, "When I was your age...oh, maybe a 
little younger, I met the most incredible woman in the entire world. I 
made her my wife, in fact. On our wedding day, my tuxedo wasn't ready 
because I didn't have enough money to pay the tailor the overtime he 
needed to tailor it just right. I had to get married in the same suit 
my father was married in. Smelled like mothballs. 
        "Anyway...I know you're not getting married...but I thought 
you'd sleep better tonight knowing that you...were ready to go." 
        With that, the tailor handed Fox the garment bag, waved, 
turned and walked down the hall. 
        Fox waved at the man's retreating back, shut his door and 
carried the garment back to his bedroom. He hung it on the back 
of his closet door and went back to watch the rest of the Knicks game. 
        On the dresser right next to the closet, a small black velvet 
box rested. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        "So...if there aren't any more questions," Mulder said, 
glancing at his watch to make his point more obvious. The twelve BSU 
investigators gathered around the long conference table all nodded, 
and started to push themselves away from the table. 
        All except for one of them. 
        "Excuse me, Agent Mulder...I do have a question." Mulder 
looked up into the face of Toby McIntire, the new BSU Wunderkid. Rumor 
had it that he was trying to become the next Fox Mulder in the BSU, 
the best, most successful profiler in half the time it had taken 
Mulder to receive similar recognition. The entire meeting had been 
dogged by this kid, his annoying, cloying questions designed to show 
everyone how much better at profiling he was than the famous 
Oxford-trained psychologist and FBI Special Agent Fox "Spooky" Mulder. 
        "What is it, Toby?" 
        "Well, Fox-" 
        "Mulder, Toby. You can call me Mulder." Chagrined, McIntire 
just nodded. "As you wish. Anyway...I want to know how you figured out 
that James Lee Dysan was going to be in that particular 7-11 store. 
You remember the one...don't you, Mulder? You predicted that Dysan 
would come out of his mobile home at exactly 10:03, cross the street, 
and commit an armed robbery in the 7-11. We had that placed staked 
out, and according to the Bureau records, he walked out at 10:04, not 
10:03, and did exactly what you had predicted he would. I want to know 
how you did that, Agent Mulder." McIntire sat back, his arms crossed, 
a smug, infantile smile on his chubby, ruddy face. 
        Mulder stood there, silently fuming, wondering if anyone would 
notice if he drew his weapon and put a third eye into the middle of 
the little brat's forehead. 
        "Dysan, eh? Lemme think a minute....that was about...how long 
ago...no, don't tell me...oh, right about the time you were...what, 
Toby? Finding your first zit?" McIntire flushed as the rest of the BSU 
unit burst into laughter at his expense, but he said nothing for a 
moment, his jaw visibly working as he struggled to maintain control. 
        "No, really, Mulder...tell us. How did you know?" 
        Some of the other members of the BSU had turned their 
attention to Mulder, eager to hear his explanation. By the time the 
Dysan case had come along, Mulder's bona fides in the VICAP/BSU 
program had already been established. He'd had no need to prove 
anything to anyone. If "Spooky" Mulder said the suspect ate only green 
chili, any FBI Special Agent finding a can of red chili at the scene 
would automatically assume it had been planted. 
        "I guessed, McIntire, OK? I guessed." 
        "That was a pretty big guess, Mulder," McIntire said, his tone 
so ingratiatingly insincere that Mulder wanted to punch him right on 
the nose. 
        Mulder leaned down, gathered his leather portfolio together, 
stood, walked to the door, and stopped. He turned back to face 
McIntire. "Good thing I was right, then." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder glanced at his watch as he strode through the Quantico 
parking garage. It was three-thirty. He had to pick Scully up at 
exactly six thirty, and there was barely enough time to get everything 
done. 
        He got into his car, threw the portfolio on the back seat, and 
had to make three attempts before he could get the key into the 
ignition. He turned the car over and then held his hands up at eye 
level, watching them jerk and shake as if he'd just had his sixth cup 
of coffee in as many minutes. 
        "Like a surgeon," he croaked, lowering his hands to the wheel. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana stared at herself in the mirror. Everything was in 
place. Hair perfect, makeup...just enough to cover the bad spots. No 
more than on any usual day. Ok..maybe a touch more lipstick, but then 
again...this was a formal occasion. 
        She stepped back from the full length mirror hung on the 
inside of her closet door and did a small twirl. The strapless emerald 
green dress sheathed her body snugly. It wasn't obscenely tight; she 
didn't look like a tart. But it did highlight the natural curvature of 
her body quite well, she thought. The only jewelry she wore was the 
small gold cross and two faux pearl earrings. Her hair was up, as much 
as she could put her hair up, in a small, tight French braid. She'd 
tugged a lock or two out of each side of the braid, letting it fall 
gently against her cheeks, just forward of her ears. 
        "Perfect," she whispered, and then glanced at the clock on her 
nightstand. 
        Six twenty-eight. 
        Mulder...you'd better be on time, you.... 
 
                                       *** 
 
        Mulder slammed the car door and checked his pockets quickly. 
He had everything he needed. He reached into the backseat through the 
open window and retrieved the single red rose. Moving carefully, he 
tucked it in at the small of his back, letting the back of his jacket 
lightly cover the flower. 
        The black velvet box was in his pants pocket. 
        And he carried a videotape. 
        Glancing at his watch, he turned and jogged up the front walk 
and into Dana's building. 
 
                                       *** 
 
        Six thirty one, Dana fumed. He's actually- 
        The knocking was so sudden that Dana's hand flew to her chest. 
Gathering herself, she walked over and opened the door. 
        They stood looking at each other for a full thirty seconds 
before either of them spoke. 
        Mulder was blown away. Quite simply, he could not find his 
breath. Dana was wearing a green, strapless sheath. Her hair was up, 
and she looked like a vision in green. Her neck looked so long, so 
much like a swan's, the skin below and behind her ears looking as soft 
as the down on a baby duck. Dana Scully, the woman had met just over 
four years ago, the woman he had seen covered in mud from head to toe, 
drowned like a rat, in more quarantines than either of them cared to 
remember, a woman he had seen covered in oil, fer cryin out loud, now 
stood before him looking... 
        Looking... 
        Shit, Fox, give it up. She looks like a princess. 
        Dana's thoughts weren't much different than his. Fox's tux fit 
him like a glove, the jacket tapered to his waist, the pants obviously 
cuffed by an expert. She was touched that he'd taken the time to have 
it tailored instead of just taking one off the rack. And by sheer, 
obvious luck, the green of his cummerbund and bow tie matched her dress 
exactly. Only a computer spectrograph would be able to tell the 
difference, and for some strange reason, the lab was the furthest 
thing from Dana's mind at the moment. 
        "Come in," she said, almost a whisper. As he moved past her, 
Dana saw that he was carrying something. 
        Mulder waited for the door to close, and then turned to face 
her. "Since it's such a special event," he said, offering her the 
gift-wrapped box. Eagerly, Dana opened it, saw what it was, and 
frowned. She started to look up at Mulder. 
        "Mulder...?" It was a videotape. "World's Best Truck Pulls," 
it said, featuring a huge monstrosity of a truck on the front cover, 
something that had been built in some redneck's back yard, something 
that looked like a huge metal monster and it was eating what appeared 
to be a perfectly good 1996 Nissan Maxmima. 
        And then she got it, and laughed. 
        "Thanks," she said, "I'll treasure it always." 
        Mulder's grin was genuine. She walked past him to put it on 
top of the TV, and Mulder used that moment to turn slightly to his 
right, lift the edge of the jacket and draw the rose he'd hidden there 
like a sword. When Scully turned around from the TV, he was standing 
less than a foot away, the single long-stemmed red rose held in his 
hands. 
        "For you," he whispered. Dana's face lit up with pleasure, and 
her eyes went to the perfect flower. Fox had spent a good twenty 
minutes berating the owner of the small flowershop down the street 
from his apartment, demanding that the man find the perfect rose. The 
man had come through, because this rose <was> perfect; in full bloom, 
it's red the red of pigeon-blood, of passion, of candy-apples and 
corvettes. It wasn't quite the red of Scully's hair, Mulder knew, but 
there was no red that perfect. 
        Except hers. 
        "Mulder...it's gorgeous!" she gushed. She took it from his 
hands gently, turning it over in her fingers, leaning down to sniff 
the delicate bouquet. "It smells heavenly," she whispered. "Just let me 
get it into some water," she said, hurrying past him to the kitchen. 
She found a bud vase and quickly filled it with water, and dropped the 
rose into it. Finished, she turned and walked back towards Mulder, who 
had, by now, removed the black velvet box from his pocket and was 
hiding it behind his back. 
        "Ready to go?" Dana asked brightly. 
        "Not just yet, Scully." 
        Dana turned back, an eyebrow raised. "Something wrong?" 
        "Yes....definitely," he said. 
        "What?" 
        Mulder studied her, looked at her long and hard. Suddenly, 
Dana felt self conscious. What? What was Mulder seeing that she hadn't? 
She quickly touched the cross at her throat, and then checked the 
earrings, making sure they were both still there. Maybe one had fell 
out and she hadn't noticed- 
        "That's it," Mulder said. 
        "What? The earrings?" 
        "Yeah..." he said, nodding. "There's just something about 
them...I dunno..." 
        Scully fought the rising frustration. Mulder had never noticed 
anything she had worn before, and his own fashion taste was highly 
questionable, judging by his collection of ties. These pearls, faux 
though they were, went perfectly well with what she had on, and Mulder 
was just going to have to- 
        "I was thinking maybe..." he said, bringing the box up from 
around his back..."you might like something a little more...color 
coordinated." 
        Scully's hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes flew to his. She 
reached out with one shaking hand, almost afraid to see what was 
inside the box. She took it from him, and the hinge was so tight that 
she had to struggle for a moment before the box opened with a snap! 
        And revealed the most beautiful set of earrings Dana had ever 
seen. Two darkly sparkling emerald stones stared back at her, each of 
them surrounded by a circle of tiny diamonds...no, they must be cubic 
zirconium’s, she thought. If those were diamonds... 
        "Mulder...it's gorgeous. They're gorgeous...I love them!" 
        "Try them on," he suggested, and Dana nodded, and turned to 
dash into her bedroom. She stopped, turned back to Mulder and treated 
him to one of her full-blown, one-thousand watt smiles, a grin and a 
burst of energetic joy that about blew Mulder through the wall. 
        God, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her, he thought. 
        Scully reappeared a moment later, the twin green stones 
twinkling in her ears. It was a perfect match; they looked like a 
couple that had stepped out of an advertisement in Town & Country. 
        Mulder stepped close, tipping his head from side to side, 
wanting to get the full impact of the earrings now that Dana had them 
on. He'd been staring at them in the box since he'd bought them, but 
they hadn't had justice done to them until they sat perched in Dana's 
ears. 
        "Good thing I'm armed," Fox said. "Now that I've seen them on 
you, nobody better try and take 'em away." 
        Slowly, the realization of what Mulder had just said sunk into 
Dana's brain. 
        "They're...REAL?" 
        Her hands flew up to her ears, her fingers running over the 
stones. No...it couldn't be...stones this size...this must have 
cost...several thousand dollars... 
        "Mulder!" 
        "Let's just say...I melted my Visa card." 
        "Mulder...you shouldn't have!" Dana's voice was a mixture of 
anger and sadness. "My God, Mulder...of all the-" 
        He stepped inside her space again, closing the distance 
between them in an instant. One arm went around her, drawing her close 
to him. The other hand went to her cheek, stroking the skin softly 
there, tipping her face up so she could see his eyes. 
        "Do you like them?" he asked quietly. 
        "Mulder," she moaned, "I love them." 
        "Then I should have." Mulder leaned down and kissed her, his 
lips searching for and finding hers, his fingers gently stroking the 
skin of her cheek, the fingers trailing down and teasing her neck, the 
hollow behind her ear, the small, bright, coppery-red hairs at the 
base of her neck...Dana was falling, melting into this kiss, feeling 
her center dissolve into a syrupy mixture of desire and want and 
hunger and arousal... 
        "We'd better go," she whispered against his lips. "Or we may 
not make it out of here..." 
        Mulder nodded against her mouth and pulled his own back. He 
cast a hand towards the door. "M'lady...your coach awaits!" 
===========================================================================
= 
END PART VI 
 
Comments, questions, etc. continue to be welcome. drambo@primenet.com 
 
For those of you who are now ready to burn me at the stake because I 
promised that VI would have the benefit-banquet thingie, I'm sorry. 
This one just kind of wrote itself...sorry it took so long. That also 
means that the banquet thingie has been pushed to VII and that...the 
other matter...will be pushed to VIII. Sorry...but them's the breaks. 
:( 
 







"Snapshot 7:Delectable" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
No sex. No violence. A kiss here and there. MulderTux. ScullyDress. 
MulderQuotes. References to an espisode from Season 1 or 2, I can't 
remember when. No spoiler, just a familer quote. 
                                                 
Note: The passages in German (be patient, you'll see!) are my best 
guess based on about four hours hunched over a German dictionary. If 
anyone out there speaks German (well...duh,) I'd appreciate any 
corrections to my diction, spelling, etc. 
 
Comments, questions, suggestions, etc. continue to be welcome. 
Feedback is always appreciated: 
 
drambo@primenet.com 
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
 
        The Taurus piloted by Fox Mulder gently pulled to a stop for 
the red light. For perhaps the sixth time that night, Scully pulled 
the passenger visor down, using the vanity mirror to look at the 
earrings again. Her hands went to the stones, rubbing them with the 
side of her finger. She dropped her hands into her lap and just stared 
at her reflection. 
        Mulder's fingers were suddenly stroking her cheek, his touch 
so light that it helped to see his hand in the mirror so she could be 
sure he was touching her, that it wasn't a dream. 
        "Do you like them?" Mulder asked, his voice husky...low... 
dangerous. 
        "I love them, Mulder," Scully answered, feeling some kind of 
strange tightness in her throat. 
        Mulder waited a moment, watching Scully watch herself in the 
mirror. "I've never seen you look more beautiful...Dana." Scully 
closed her eyes at his use of her first name, a delicious combination 
of a shiver and a tingle running through her body. In the strange 
nature of their relationship, it was just so much more...intimate when 
he did it. She turned her head quickly and kissed his fingers gently. 
        An impatient driver indicated that the traffic control signal 
had changed with a copious amount of horn. Mulder made no move to 
remove his hand. "Think I should flip him off?" he asked, his voice 
teasing, light. 
        "Just drive, Mulder," Scully said, reaching to flip the visor 
up. Mulder laughed softly, his chest hitching with gentle humor. He 
turned his attention back to the road and let his foot off the break. 
The car glided into traffic, and Scully took the opportunity to study 
he man sitting across from her. Despite her intermittent protests 
about how Mulder always got to drive, she did enjoy watching him at 
moments like this. His attention was totally focused on the matter at 
hand, his eyes sweeping the road, left and right, looking for dangers, 
his strong, nimble fingers guiding the car through traffic like a 
shark through the ocean, and yet, at the same time, Scully knew that 
Mulder was completely aware of her, sitting next to him, how his body 
language conveyed his ease with her, with them, their unspoken 
togetherness. 
        She took another good, long look at him, and felt something 
slowly uncoiling inside her, a moisture, a heavy, full feeling that 
started in her stomach and slowly spread through her entire body, a 
warmth that was totally encompassing. His tux fit him perfectly, and 
Scully was quite sure she had never seen anyone look quite so dashing. 
He'd even managed, somehow, to tame his hair for the evening. It 
wasn't cut to Bureau standards by any means, but at the same time, it 
didn't look like had tumbled out of bed, fallen into his tux and shown 
up on her doorstep to squire her around the town. 
        The hotel hosting the banquet appeared on their right, and 
Mulder slid the car into the line waiting for the valets. "Last 
chance, Scully," he whispered. "We can ditch this thing, get a room, 
order room service, fill up those big tubs with bubblebath..." His 
voice drifted off, letting Scully's mind fill in the rest. Dana 
grinned, a sly, wry grin. That was one of the reasons she had fallen 
for Mulder, she knew. Unlike most men, he instinctively knew that her 
mind could provide the missing details of what he was proposing much 
better than any words of his ever could; he left the best parts 
unspoken but not unpromised, letting her libido fill in the blanks. 
        And what an attractive picture it painted; in a flash, 
Scully's mind had done just that, had filled in the blanks quite 
nicely. She saw them in the tub, clinking delicate, narrow glasses of 
champagne together, the bubbles up to their chins, both of them 
gloriously naked, the warm, slick, glycerin-soaked water making them 
both deliciously slippery and slick. She felt the color crawling up 
her chest, her neck, into her cheeks. 
        "Mulder...any other time, and....but right now, I want to go 
to this thing. I want to walk in and have everyone in that place see 
me on the arm of the most handsome man in the District." 
        "You're dumping me, Scully? You got another date stashed 
somewhere in the hotel? I'm hurt." 
        Scully twisted in her seat to make a retort, and then she saw 
his eyes. They locked gazes, and his eyes spoke volumes about how 
deeply touched he was at her words. She reached out a hand to stroke 
his face, her nails lightly grazing the strong line of his jaw, and 
then her door was being opened, the uniformed doorman offering Scully 
his hand so she could step out. 
        Scully's dress was slit, but not immodestly so, but the 
doorman was still treated to a delicious glimpse of Scully's leg as 
she stepped out of the car. Mulder saw where the doorman's eyes were 
and briefly considered shooting him. 
        Mulder got out, took the ticket the valet offered him, and 
quickly walked around the hood of the car. Scully linked her arm in 
his, and together, they walked into the hotel. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The main ballroom was decked out for the event. Over sixty 
circular tables were scattered around, each of them with small 
cardboard nameplates indicating the attendee they were reserved for. A 
small registration table was set up outside in the hall. As Scully 
took care of the paperwork, Mulder glanced around. There were many 
couples there, many women dressed in their evening best, and most of 
the men were wearing tuxedos. Mulder checked a few of the women out, 
and realized with a small, private smile that none of them could hold 
a candle to Scully. She was leaning over the registration table, 
softly explaining something to the woman acting as registrar. He could 
see the soft, silken skin of her right leg to just above her knee. Not 
immodest at all, but knowing that that leg went all the way 
up...ending only with the graceful curves that were at that moment 
gently pressing against the dress in such a way to make their 
delectable outline only that much more obvious, made Mulder's 
breathing suddenly labored. 
        God, she was gorgeous, he thought. 
        Scully felt his eyes on her and turned her head, flashing him 
a smile, letting him know that she knew he was looking, and that not 
only didn't she mind...she appreciated his attempts to drink her in. 
        She straightened, walking over to where Mulder stood. "Good 
news," she murmured. "No nametags." Mulder grimaced; he'd hated the 
thought of having to stick one of those paper "Hello! My name is 
Dorkboy!" tags to his tux. He'd wondered where Dana would have put 
hers. The strapless evening down didn't leave very much room for such 
affectations. 
        "That dress...Scully, I only have one question." Scully raised 
her eyebrows, waiting. "Where do you keep your gun?" 
        Scully chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that resonated in 
Mulder's chest, making his heart shoot off little sparks of heat and 
energy. 
        "Wouldn't <you> like to know," she grinned, once again taking 
his arm and turning him towards the banquet room. 
        "Scully! Dana Scully!" a voice called, and the duo stopped. 
Dana turned to face the voice, and saw Georgette Armstrong striding 
towards her. Inwardly, Scully groaned, but fixed the best, most 
plastic smile she had on her face. Without turning her head, she said 
"Med school classmate. Georgette Armstrong. God, I hate her." 
        Mulder felt something from Dana, another silent channel of 
communication opening. 
        "Dana Scully!" the woman said, stopping in front of her. "God, 
it's been...what? Six years since I saw you?" 
        "Five, actually," Dana said, and in his head, Mulder heard the 
unspoken part of her response. <Too bad it's not six.> 
        Armstrong turned her attention to Mulder. "And who is this 
heavenly creature, Dana? Where have you been <hiding> him?" 
        Before Scully could answer, Mulder opened his mouth. 
        "Guten Tag. Mein Name ist Hans. Sie bitte, konnen Sie mir 
sagen, wie ich das...?" <Hello. My name is Hans. Can you tell me 
where...?> 
        To her credit, Scully didn't blink, but just went with it. 
"This," she said, using her hand to indicate Mulder, "...is Hans. He's 
a German pathologist visiting from...." 
        "Deutscheland," Mulder offered. <Germany> 
        "Yes, from Germany, but I meant...er, Berlin." 
        "Oh!" Armstrong said, clearly impressed. "What did he just 
say?" 
        Scully bit her lip, trying not to smile. "He asked..." 
        Mulder reached out and touched Armstrong's gown, a tacky, ugly 
thing that looked as if she'd bought it at Liberace's garage sale. 
        "Ich habe die Farbe night gern. Ich habe lieber grun." <I 
don't like the color. I prefer green.> 
        Scully, who spoke German, was now struggling to control 
herself. 
        "He said your gown is lovely," she managed to croak. 
        "Oh, thank you!" Armstrong said. 
        "Bitte." Mulder said, smiling. Scully looked at him and 
crooked and eyebrow. "Wie hoflich die Deutschen sind!" <My, Germans 
are so polite!> 
        "Danke," Mulder said, and just as quickly, Scully replied, 
"Bitte." <Thank you.> <You're welcome.> 
        Mulder looked at Scully. "Entschildigen Sie, wieviel Uhr ist 
es?" <Excuse me, what time is it?> 
        Scully glanced at her watch and nodded. 
        "Es Ist zehn Minuten nach sieben." <It's ten minutes past seven.> 
        Mulder nodded, and then turned his attention back to Armstrong. 
"Fraulein, servieren Sie uns das Abendessen?" <Miss, are you going to 
serve us dinner?> 
        Scully coughed into her hand. 
        "What did he say?" Armstrong demanded, her eyes alight. 
        "He wants to know...um...when dinner is being served." 
        "Oh, in about thirty minutes, I guess. Well...it was nice 
meeting you." 
        And without missing a beat, Mulder replied, "You, too." 
Armstrong's eyes widened, but she said nothing, turning and leaving 
Mulder and Scully standing there, barely controlling their laughter. 
        "Mulder, you're impossible," she whispered. 
        "Bitte schon!" he said, smiling. <You're welcome!> 
        Mulder leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Sometimes the 
need-" 
        "...to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of 
humiliation. I know, Mulder. I know." She kissed him quickly on the 
nose, and then took his hand, leading him into the banquet hall. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The chicken was rubbery, the portions small, the peas and 
carrots soggy from being overcooked. The wine wasn't much better, and 
Scully felt bad for Mulder. He hated chicken with a passion, having 
eaten more of it than he could remember in his years with the BSU, 
attending meeting after meeting at police departments across the 
country. They always ended up with some kind of banquet, and they 
always served chicken. It was cheap and easy to prepare in huge 
volumes. 
        Mulder had pushed most of his around the plate, eating a bite 
here and there so it looked at least like he'd eaten some of it. 
Scully had done a little better, but most of her meal remained on her 
plate as well. 
        The conversation was stilted, forced, uncomfortable. They'd 
been seated with a podiatrist, a dermatologist, an OB-GYN and 
proctologist, as well each of their spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends 
and significant others. A alien-chasing, paranormal forensic 
pathologist and a faux German had little to say to any of them. 
        A couple of people had discovered that Scully worked for the 
FBI, and had tried to engage her in conversation about her supposedly 
exciting life as a Special Agent, but Scully has resisted telling them 
anything about her work. Not that they'd believe that her last case 
involved a combination of demonic possession, a potential UFO 
visitation, and a tobacco-chewing sheriff that thought that 'little 
ladies' had no business being in the FBI, let alone being a medical 
doctor. 
        Mulder hadn't said much of anything, preferring to let Scully 
"translate" for him. He made a few boring remarks in German, studying 
the faces of everyone at the table to see if comprehension showed on 
any of their faces. No one looked twice at him, focusing their 
attention on Scully...especially the men. 
        Mulder turned to face her, and was again struck by how 
beautiful she looked tonight. Even in her work-a-day business attire, 
Scully was an attractive, interesting, challenging woman. But tonight, 
in that...dress...that gown, she looked so much like a porcelain china 
doll that Mulder had trouble keeping his hands to himself. 
        The band struck up a chord, and then began playing, a soft, 
melodic dance tune that caught Mulder's attention. 
        "Let's dance," he whispered, taking Scully's hand. Surprised, 
she said nothing, letting Mulder lead her out onto the dance floor. He 
turned, and she slid into his arms, his right hand at the small of her 
back, his left holding hers against his chest. They moved to the 
music, hesitantly at first, until they both sensed the hidden dancer 
in the other, and then they let the stops out just bit, enjoying the 
closeness. 
        Scully sighed, leaning her head against his chest for a 
minute, and then straightening up. She glanced around; a few other 
couples had joined them on the floor, giving them some camouflage. 
"I'm sorry, Mulder...I had no idea this was going to be so boring..." 
        Mulder chuckled, using his body to move hers around the dance 
floor. "I'm having a great time, Scully," he lied. She smiled, 
appreciating his lie, and telling him with her eyes that she knew he 
was full of it. 
        "Just let me know when you want to go," he said softly. 
        "Two more dances, Mulder, and we can blow this popstand." 
Mulder grinned at her. "Deal." 
 
                                      *** 
 
        They made their apologies, Scully insisting that she had an 
early day, and that "Hans" had to catch a plane back to Germany. As 
they were walking out, Mulder caught site of Georgette Armstrong out 
of the corner of his eye. She was watching them leave, and the woman 
leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the woman sitting 
next to her, and they both laughed. Scully didn't register the sound, 
didn't know what had just happened, but Mulder didn't like the sound 
of the laugh, and had some idea of what had been said, if not the 
specific words. 
        Something about the Ice Queen, he was sure. 
        He waited until they were out of the banquet hall, but still 
within Armstrong's sight. His hand came up and found Dana's shoulder, 
stopping and turning her around. 
        "What-?" she asked, and that was all she managed to get out, 
because Mulder's mouth was descending towards hers, and God, she had 
wanted him to do that all night, since she'd seen him on the other 
side of her door in that stunning tux, since they'd gotten there, the 
entire time they were sitting at that cramped, overcrowded table, all 
she wanted was for Mulder to lean over and- 
        Do what he was doing. His mouth was soft and hot and moist, 
his lips gentle against hers at first, finding their specific, 
personal rhythm, and then deepening, the kiss drawing and expanding 
outwards, taking Scully with it, her eyes fluttering closed, her arms 
coming up and around his neck, pulling him into the kiss...into her... 
        He stepped away, a glint in his eyes, a promise of things to 
come, perhaps that night, perhaps at some time in the future. 
        "What...what was that for?" Scully asked, her voice faint. 
        "Payback," was all Mulder would say. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        The valet brought the car around, and this time Mulder helped 
Scully in, taking the opportunity to get his own lingering look at her 
legs as she stepped in and sat down. She smiled up at him, knowing 
that he was looking, feeling the warmth spread in her chest at his 
appreciative glance. 
        Mulder got in and shifted the car into gear, smoothly sliding 
back into traffic. They drove in silence for a while. After a while, 
he finally spoke. 
        "Scully, I don't know about you, but I'm starving." 
        She laughed. "Me, too." 
        He glanced over, his eyes asking a question. 
        Hers answered. 
        He turned the car around. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Hugo's was exactly the right place, Scully thought, although, 
considering the way she and Mulder were dressed, the other patrons 
probably think we're the two oldest prom dates in the world. 
        The other patrons, mostly truck drivers, cops and other 
nocturnal creatures, comfortably filled the rest of Hugo's Diner. The 
atmosphere was casual, relaxed. Scully closed her eyes, wanting to 
soak the atmosphere in. She could hear the faint tinks! of silverware 
against coffee cups and plates, the low murmur of muted conversations, 
the sound of something sizzling on the grill, the bing! as the cook 
put another order under the heating lamps and hit the bell. She could 
smell so many different things cooking, a mixture of grease and meat 
and...good times. 
        She had lost count of the number of diners she and Mulder had 
eaten in over the years. It must be in the hundreds, she thought. And 
on the most special night in our lives...he takes me here. Bringing 
back the memories of a thousand conversations over a thousand meals, 
wild theories, debates about scientific proof, arguments over who was 
paying the bill... 
        She opened her eyes, looking across the booth at Mulder. He'd 
undone his tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. She 
could see a few dark curly chest hairs peeking out, and the sight was 
only just slightly distracting. He was studying her as she looked at 
him, his hand lightly playing with his coffee cup, slowly twisting it 
with his nimble fingers. 
        A plate that had once held a burger and fries was pushed to 
the side, her own plate (tuna in a pita,) was similarly dismissed as 
they studied each other. 
        "So..." she finally said, glancing pointedly at her watch. It 
was quickly approaching midnight...the witching hour. 
        Mulder didn't answer her unasked question. Instead, his smile 
widened a fraction, and he said, "Scully...you are the most amazingly 
beautiful woman I have ever know." The blush started somewhere around 
her ankles and raced up her body, coloring her cheeks and ears. "Thank 
you," she said softly. 
        "No...thank <you>," he whispered, leaning across the table 
towards her. "I could start telling you why I love you so much, you 
know...all the times you've been there for me...your support for my 
search...everything we've been through...but I don't want to do that." 
His last words had been spoken hoarsely, urgently, and Dana suddenly 
found herself having trouble breathing. 
        "What do you want to do, Mulder?" 
        "Take a walk," he said. He stood, pulling some bills out of 
his pocket and tossing them on the table. He'd tipped the 
beehive-hairdoed waitress almost 60%, but Scully wasn't going to say 
anything. The look in Mulder's eyes drew her like a magnet, and she 
stood to join him. 
        "A walk sounds nice," she said softly. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        They walked down the street, not holding hands, but close 
enough to feel each other's heat. Mulder removed his jacket and draped 
it over Scully's shoulder, and she smiled her appreciation. They window 
shopped, stopping to look at furniture and clothes and electronics, 
pointing out what they liked and what they hated. Dana felt as if her 
feet weren't even touching the ground, she was so happy. She couldn't 
remember the last time anyone had treated her this way. 
        They stopped and looked in the window of another store, and 
Scully saw a clock on the wall. It was five minutes to midnight. 
        "Mulder..." she said softly, leaning against his arm. "It's 
getting late..." 
        "I just want to make sure you don't turn into a pumpkin, 
Scully," he teased. 
        "Oh really?" she asked. Lazily, her arm snaked around his 
neck, bringing his face closer to hers. Her lips reached for his, and 
they kissed, bathed in the muted light from the store's interior. It 
was a long, luxurious kiss that seemed to feed on itself, growing in 
leaps and bounds, ebbing and flowing with their heartbeats. When they 
broke, it was a minute past midnight. 
        "Satisfied?" she asked. 
        "Not yet," he grinned. 
        Her smile softened. "Take me home, Mulder." 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
End Part 6 
(I stopped using Roman numerals because it was getting confusing. 
Plus, when we get into the chapter 36 range, I'll have to figure out 
XXXVI and things like that...ugh) 
 
 
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Snapshot 8:Delirious" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Classification : MSR,+V,A 
Rated R for sexual content. Graphic, but not disgusting. :) 
 
Author's Note : OK, folks...this is the one you've all been waiting 
for. :) I want to take this opportunity to thank all the people that 
have written with comments and encouragement for this story. The title 
had come from the concept that I had planned on writing only little 
'snapshots' of Scully and Mulder's lives, never really getting trapped 
into the entire plotline-story thing, because I've been burned (ahem) 
doing that before. But the story just kept growing and changing, 
offering me so many new and interesting ways to explore these 
characters. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this nearly as much as 
I've enjoyed writing it for you. Fear not, those of you that have... 
been so taken with the Snapshot universe. This is not the last chapter 
of the saga...but it will be for about two or three days. 
 
Summary: Like...duh. :) Well, for those of you who haven't been 
following the Snapshot series...this is the one where S&M finally get 
past all the torture and finally do what we've all been wanting them 
to do for four years. (Anti-relationshippers, of course, excluded.) 
 
Enjoy! 
 
--------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 
        The light in the hallway outside Scully's apartment was dim, 
almost nonexistent. They walked slowly, taking their time, each of 
them lost in their own thoughts. 
        Scully was as nervous as she could ever remember being. She 
had been thinking about this moment all night, just as she was sure 
that Mulder had. The door to her apartment approached, and it's 
symbolism wasn't lost on either of them. What lay beyond it? What 
delicious mysteries would they discover about each other? Would it be 
a door opening on a new world, the beginning of an exciting journey 
for the both of them? Or would be a door closing on a comfortable, 
safe past, a place where they each knew the limits and boundaries? 
        Mulder was beginning to feel light-headed, and he hadn't had a 
thing to drink since the glass of awful wine at the banquet. He knew 
his dizziness wasn't from alcohol. His intoxication stemmed from 
another source entirely. He was so hypersensitive to Scully at this 
moment, so completely attuned to her, that the soft, spicy scent of 
her was filling his nostrils with...jasmine. That was the overriding 
sensation that he had at this moment, pure, full jasmine filling his 
nose and exploding inside his head. 
        They arrived at her door. Scully had her keys out. She turned 
to him, her hands on his chest, palms flat. "Well, Mulder," she 
whispered. "This is it." 
        He took her hands in his own and smiled down at her in the dim 
light. "Once we go inside, Scully...there's no turning back. Even if 
nothing happens...we can never cross this bridge again." 
        She nodded, dropping her gaze. "I know." 
        "It's not too late," he kidded, moving as if to leave. Her 
hands tightened on his, keeping him where he was. "Don't you dare 
leave me, Mulder. Not this time. Not now." 
        "Dana...I doubt the entire HRT could get me out of your arms 
right now." Mulder stared at her, his gaze taking in every soft curve, 
the gentle luminance of her skin, the incredible blue depth of her 
eyes, the delectable redness of her lips. He noticed for what seemed 
like the first time that she had a slight overbite, and it made her 
upper lip stick out...just a little bit. That one little flaw in an 
otherwise perfect face had the opposite effect on Mulder; it made 
Scully seem that much more perfect to him. 
        "Mulder," she whispered. "It's been so long....for me. I 
don't..." 
        "Shhhhh," he said softly. "It's been a while for me, too, 
Scully." 
        He loosened one of his hands from hers and moved it to her 
face, tracing her features, gliding over the soft arch of an eyebrow, 
testing the gentle curve of her nose, the silk of a porcelain cheek, 
the roundness of her chin. His touch was incredibly light, incredibly 
soft, and Dana felt herself start to melt. 
        He took the keys from her hand at the same time he leaned down 
and kissed her. The kiss was hungrier than the others had been, more 
passionate, more raw. There was naked, hungry need in that kiss, and 
Dana felt herself responding to it, accepting the energy and 
reflecting it back at Mulder, the intensity doubled, tripled. Mulder 
managed to twist the key, his hand dropping to the knob and turning 
it, using Dana's body to push the door open. They staggered into the 
apartment, still kissing, and Mulder swung the door shut with the heel 
of his foot. 
        Just inside the door, they stood, mouths gently, softly, wetly 
osculating against each other. Once again, he felt the heated moisture 
of her tongue against his bottom lip, and it had the same effect; his 
blood pounded in his ears, his breath catching in his throat. It was 
so understated, so personal and private; the thought of Dana licking 
him was arousing in the extreme. 
        They broke for a moment, touching foreheads, both of them 
breathing heavily. Mulder saw a light, a glimmer in Scully's eyes he 
had never seen before in his life. The thought that he had caused that 
glimmer, that he had <created> it flashed through his mind, and his 
arousal gained another notch, climbing impossibly higher. 
        Mulder started to speak, to say something, something 
endearing, and Scully put her fingers against his mouth again, 
silently shaking her head. The look in her eyes changed, shifted, and 
Mulder read her thoughts as if they were his own. 
        No words. No more. 
        Her hands came up, carefully, slowly sliding his tie free of 
the shirt collar. It dangled from her fingers for a long moment, and 
then she dropped it. It fluttered to the floor silently, it's birds' 
wings clipped. 
        Mulder's response was to move his hands to her braid. He found 
the pin holding it together and slowly worked it out. Dana's coppery 
mane fell free, and he ran his fingers through it, spreading it open, 
framing her face with it. She seemed so small to him then, looking up at 
him with unaccustomed adoration in her eyes. 
        <God, please give me the wisdom and the strength to do right 
by this woman,> he thought. Scully moved against him, tipping her head 
up for another kiss as her arms went around his back. Mulder did 
something he swore he would never do, it seemed so corny. But at that 
moment, it seemed like the most perfect, the most natural thing in the 
world to do. 
        His free arm came down as he stooped slightly, sweeping Dana's 
legs out from under her. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to 
the bedroom. Scully sighed, putting her head against his chest, 
wallowing in the feel of his arms around her. 
        The bedroom was lit by her bedside table lamp and nothing 
more. He put Scully down at the edge of the bed. She smiled up at him, 
her arms going around his waist. He felt the snick! a moment before 
the cummerbund slid to the floor. His pistol was in an 
inside-the-pants Bianchi holster just above his right hip, and a 
moment later Scully had removed that as well and gently placed it on 
her bedside table. Returning her attention to him, Dana started 
unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, carefully, wanting to draw this moment 
out, this exciting snapshot of discovery between two people who had 
loved each other for so long, and would always love. As a girl, Scully 
had dreamed of the perfect love, of finding Prince Charming, falling 
in love, getting married, and having a house full of happy, laughing 
and jumping children. As she'd grown older, that dream, along with all 
her childhood dreams, had faded, until she was sure that she was 
either going to have to settle for something substantially less in her 
life, or give up the concept of true love forever. 
        Until she met Mulder. 
        She had two buttons open when she glanced up again, a small, 
secret smile she had saved just for Mulder playing at her lips. She 
had just enough room to slide her hand inside the shirt, and that was 
what she did, running her nails across his chest, scratching lightly. 
        The effect was as if someone had taken an electric current and 
applied it directly to Mulder's brain. He gasped, swayed, and grabbed 
Scully's shoulders for support. She grinned. Withdrawing her hand, she 
quickly finished with the buttons, tugging Mulder's shirt out of his 
pants and sliding it down his arms. 
        She leaned in to him, inhaling his scent, that wonderful 
mixture that made him so uniquely male. She kissed him, right between 
his breasts, feeling the tickle of his chest hair against her face, 
and she giggled. 
        His fingers were in her hair, pulling her tighter against him, 
urging her to continue doing these delicious things to him. Scully 
pushed him, moving him until he was facing her, his back to the bed. 
She pushed him gently, and he fell back on the bed. She looked 
pointedly at his feet and he quickly heeled both shoes off, leaning 
down to peel his socks off as well. Scully quickly got rid of her own 
shoes. 
        Scully stepped between his spread legs, putting her hands on 
his shoulder, the invitation in her eyes unmistakable. Her eyes were 
depthless, liquid, hungry, eager, worried, aroused. Mulder's hands 
slid up her back, found the zipper tab and pulled it. The sound of the 
interlocking metal teeth releasing was incredibly loud in Scully's 
bedroom, and Mulder felt the lump in his throat growing, expanding. 
        The gown started to slide down her body, and suddenly shy, 
Dana turned away, moving as if to turn the light off. Mulder stayed 
her motions, guiding her back between his legs, his eyes telling her 
that he wanted to see her, all of her, in her beautiful, perfect 
glory. Dana closed her eyes and shivered as the gown fell at her feet 
in an emerald fabric puddle. She stepped out of it, kicking it aside, 
and- 
        Mulder's heart just about stopped cold. If anyone had ever 
asked him if he expected to be seated on Scully's bed wearing nothing 
but a watch, a pair of pants and a pair of boxer shorts while she 
stood between his legs wearing an emerald green strapless bra and 
matching emerald green panties, he would have laughed in their face. 
        But that was exactly where he found himself. There was a tiny 
wrinkle in Scully's brow. He realized she was awaiting his approval. 
Suddenly, he was ashamed of his magazine and video collection. 
Pushing that thought from his mind, he leaned forward and mirrored 
Scully's actions from a few moments ago, lightly pressing his lips 
against her skin, directly between her breasts. 
        Scully gasped this time, feeling the first contact of his lips 
there. Her fingers twined in his hair, pulling his face harder against 
her, wanting more contact, more heat, more of his lips on her. His 
arms went around her waist, and then she felt one of his hands cupping 
her ass, pulling her tighter against him. 
        <Drowning> Scully thought. <Dear God, I'm drowning in him> 
        She pushed her weight forward, taking both of them onto the 
bed. Their lips met again in a slow, teasing kiss that did nothing but 
make each crazier for the other. Mulder's hands were in constant 
motion, moving up and down and around, his nails trailing across her 
back, down to the curve of her buttocks, gently tracing the split 
through her panties. Dana thought that the feeling of Mulder's finger 
tracing her body through the silk of her panties just might drive her 
straight out of her mind. 
        Mulder started tugging on the waistband of her panties, urging 
them over her hips. Placing a hand on other side of him, she lifted 
her torso, letting him get them off and down. They dangled around one 
ankle for a moment as she kicked, wanting to send them flying into the 
living room. Finally, they were gone, and Scully could feel his 
arousal against her stomach, pushing against her, his heat and 
hardness driving her closer to insanity. 
        "You," she whispered, demanded, her hands fumbling for his 
belt, finding it, opening it, going for the button on his pants, her 
fingers eagerly searching for his zipper, sliding it down, practically 
ripping the pants off his body. Mulder stood, letting them fall around 
his ankles, and then he was bending over, his thumbs hooked in the 
waistband of his boxers, and they were sliding down and off and Scully 
was with him, her arms twining behind her back, finding the catch on 
her bra and releasing it, finding the confining garment free of her 
skin at last, she threw it across the room, opening her arms for him 
at the same moment Mulder was again upon her, his chest against hers 
for the first time, the first real time, and they sank back on the bed 
together, arms and legs combining, two separate souls finally coming 
home as one. 
        Mulder was on top of her and his weight felt warm and 
comfortable on top of her. Scully was aware of so many different 
things at once: The smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, 
the sight of him. His chest hair tickled her nipples, and it wanted to 
make her laugh at the same time it was driving her insane, and then he 
was lowering more of his weight onto her, and she felt her breasts 
flattening against his chest and she gasped at the electric sensations 
it sent through her body. 
        "Oh, God, Mulder," she whispered. "I can't wait....please!" 
        They had both known that this first time was going to be 
quick, raw, nothing but lust fueling them. They had been so good, he 
thought, so proper and right. Never betraying what they felt for each 
other, even though they had both known it almost from the first. This 
was overdue, he knew, almost four years overdue. Writers talk about 
passion kept caged, about pent-up urges held in check by the 
requirements of a decorous society, but they knew nothing, they were 
all stupid, clumsy words and phrases. They knew <nothing> of this 
moment, this aching, eager moment of naked, unquenchable hunger. 
Mulder needed Scully, needed her more than he needed to breathe. He 
needed to be with her, in her, he needed to join with her and become 
one, to finally and forever banish the demons in his life, in his 
mind, in his soul to the darkest corners of his existence so he could 
fill the <center> of that existence with her, with Scully, with Dana, 
with the woman he loved more than he loved life itself. He needed to 
<be> her, to feel her feeling him. He needed. 
        They fumbled for a moment, and then...finally... 
        They were joined. Completely. 
        They both sighed. Scully's mouth was open, her breath coming 
in short, harsh pants. God, she felt so full of him, so completely 
filled with love, his love. The evidence of his love was finally, 
utterly, completely inside her, and she was tugging at him, her 
muscles grasping and milking him, trying to drag him completely inside 
her. 
        Scully was squeezing him and Mulder had two choices; try and 
distance himself from this moment, try and think of something else 
just for a moment, just for that rapidly approaching instant that 
threatened to release all his control...or he could dissolve into it, 
accept it, go down the tunnel with her and see what was on the other 
side. 
        There had never been a choice, really, Mulder thought, 
accepting it, letting the pleasure detonate inside his head. Every 
single never ending along the length of him was tingling, alive with 
pleasure and sensation. She was to tight, so wet, so eager for him. 
        "My God, Dana," he managed to whisper. She opened her eyes, 
saw his face, and knew that he was close. "Let me," she said, moving 
against him gently, flipping him over on his back. She went with him, 
never breaking the contact. The shift in position gave them both what 
he needed; it took the immediate pressure off. 
        It also gave Fox the most arousing view of Dana he could ever 
imagine: Astride him, her hair hanging in her eyes, her breasts gently 
moving with her body, her legs encasing his hips, and the most 
incredibly delicious sight of all: The juncture of their bodies, where 
they were joined. 
        Dana began to move, slowly at first, raising and then lowering 
herself, moving so Fox was almost completely outside of her and then 
slowly coming down, enveloping him again and again, slowly building 
speed and depth and power. Her hands were on his chest, and he could 
see her own arousal climbing with his own, the strawberry blush of her 
excitement starting in her chest and spreading until her arms and legs 
were equally reddened. 
        Mulder closed his eyes; he was close, oh God, he was so close! 
        "Dana, wait..." he whispered, trying to control himself. 
        "Mulder...open your eyes!" she commanded. "Look at me!" 
Mulder's eyes popped open and found hers, and he watched as she went 
into overdrive, her hips a flashing machine. She bit her bottom lip, 
closed her eyes, reared back... 
        And exploded. He felt the convulsive detonations in her body, 
along the length of him, pulling and tugging at him, and Mulder 
followed her over the edge, his hands coming up to her breasts, his 
fingers finding her nipples, circling them, slowly, gently squeezing 
them as he exploded, too, emptying himself inside her. 
        They collapsed, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her face was 
in his chest, her breath hot and raspy against his skin. It took them 
a full five minutes to recover. 
        "Holy shit," Dana said, and Mulder laughed. 
        "Worth waiting four years for?" 
        She nodded, her hair tickling him. "Just as long....as I 
don't...have to wait...another four...years..." she gasped. 
        He moved, rolling them both over until she was on her back, 
her incredibly perfect blue eyes locking with his. "I don't think that 
will be a problem, Agent Scully," he whispered, lowering his mouth 
against hers. It had been less than six minutes since their mutual 
explosion, but Dana could feel him hardening inside her, gaining 
strength. 
        "Oh my," she said softly. 
        Mulder said nothing. 
        He didn't need to. 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
END PART EIGHT            
"Snapshot 9:Deliberations"
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Classification : MSR,+V,A 
Rated PG-13 (Adult themes, some nudity, but no sexual contact.)

Please see the end of this story for an Author's note regarding the 
"Snapshot" series in general, and my other writing projects in 
particular.

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

     Mulder came awake slowly, swimming up through the hazy layers of 
sleep a level at a time, drifting in and out of that vaporous state 
between sleep and wakefulness. He was aware of the warm, soft body 
next to his, and his mind registered that oddity. It had been a long 
time indeed since he had woken up in bed with someone, and the demands 
of his waking mind to identify the person and the circumstances was 
the final nudge he needed to come fully awake.
     His eyes opened slowly, still sticky from a deep, blissful 
sleep. He saw the head of soft, coppery hair just below his chin, and 
the smile that split his face would have lit the darkness of a 
thousand worlds, had anyone else been there to see it.
     Dana, he thought, and smiled even wider. The antics of the 
previous night came rushing back in a flood of sensory perceptions, 
body memories and a delicious, aching tingle all over his body. They 
were under the covers, bodies intertwined, her leg tossed casually 
over his hip, her arm across his chest, her face buried in his neck. 
He could feel the tickle of her breath on his throat.
     His left arm was free and he slowly raised his arm to check the 
time. It was a few minutes after six. The morning sun was beginning to 
seep into Dana's bedroom, the blinds painting a prison-bar pattern on 
the end of the bed.
     If this is prison, Mulder thought, I want to get a life 
sentence. He snorted. God, that's corny, he thought. But it fit. He 
wanted a life sentence with this woman. He wanted to handcuff himself 
to her so they would be together forever, never more than an arms' 
length apart. It was totally impractical, but...God, he wanted it so 
bad.
     Scully whispered something in her sleep and rolled over, away 
from him, her hand coming down in sleep to tug the blankets over her 
nakedness. Mulder grinned...seeing the smooth expanse of her naked 
back was arousing him again. He reached out for her, his fingers 
stretching to slowly stroke her soft, silky skin...and he stopped. 
Another, better idea had occurred to him.
     Moving carefully so as not to take her, Mulder got out of bed 
and padded, naked, into the kitchen. The rose he had given her the 
night before was still where Dana had left it, in the vase on the 
kitchen table. Grabbing it, Mulder returned to the bedroom.
     Now was the tricky part. Dana wasn't clutching the blankets 
anymore; her face was burrowed into the pillow. For a moment he 
considered abandoning his plans...she looked so peaceful, so content. 
But desire and arousal won out over his better judgment, and he 
slowly, achingly, peeled the covers back, uncovering Dana's naked 
body. In the stark bright reality of the morning light, Dana's pale 
body looked even more beautiful to Mulder, and he took a moment to 
drink the sight in, taking careful note of all her charms.
     Mulder got back into bed and turned on his side, facing her. He 
reached out with the rose, using just the tip of the flower to trace 
Scully's legs, starting at her ankle. The flower moved up her body, 
circling in the crease of her knee before moving higher, lightly 
tracing the jutting curve of her buttocks, then stopping to tease and 
tickle the small of her back.
     Scully stirred, and Mulder pulled the flower away, waiting to 
see what would happen. Scully turned over, her eyes still closed, her 
body now facing Mulder. He grinned...he hadn't planned on that 
happening, but it just added to the moment. He started with the flower 
again, teasing her insteps, then her ankles again, and then her shins, 
slowly trailing the rose up her body, stopping to run it through the 
coppery thatch at the juncture of her thighs, and then slowly, higher 
still, circling her naval, and then even higher. Mulder held his 
breath as the rose approached Dana's breasts. He traced the outline of 
each soft, supple globe, stopping to pay particular attention to her 
nipples.
     Scully moaned, and whispered, "Ohhh...Mulder." Fox froze, 
waiting to see if she would wake, but her eyes remained shut. This, he 
thought, has gone on long enough. He let the rose rise a little higher 
until the flower was tickling Scully's chin. The scent reached her 
nostrils and Scully's eyes fluttered open. She took it all in with a 
single glance, her expression first registering confusion, and 
then...panic. And then, after a minute, as the memories rushed into 
her head, filling in all the blanks, her first, wonderful smile of 
understanding burst across her face.
     "Good morning," she whispered, taking the flower from his hands.
     "Good morning, Scully," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. 
He felt Scully's arms going around him, pulling him closer to her, her 
leg once again caressing his hip, the skin soft and silky.
     They shared a slow, soft, good morning kiss. 
     "What time is it?" she murmured. 
     "Just after six..."
     Scully nodded, and then grimaced. "We have to get 
going...work..."
     "Yeah," he nodded. "I know..."
     Mulder leaned back a little, taking in the vision of Dana 
beneath him on the bed, and he felt something inside him, the faintest 
tinge of worry. Not regret, actually, but a pang of sadness.
     "Mulder, what's wrong?"
     He frowned. "I don't know...something, though."
     She scooted out from under him, quickly walking to the closet 
and grabbing her robe. She donned it, turning to face him. "Do 
we...need to talk?"
     Mulder thought about it a minute, turning it over in his mind. 
"I think so..."
     Dana took a deep breath. "Is it...bad?"
     Mulder tried that one on for size, trying to pin the emotion 
down. "No, I don't think so. It's just...changes. Things have changed, 
now. Everything, as a matter of fact. We need to talk about the 
rules...the ground rules. How we're going to keep doing...this, 
because I know I don't want to stop being with you. But...work, work's 
doing to be different."
     Now Scully was worried. "Different? How?"
     "I'm not sure, Scully. I don't mean better or worse...just 
different."
     Scully suddenly felt the same twinge of sadness that Mulder had. 
How stupid of us, she thought. To think we could get away with being 
lovers and still be partners. She saw the storm on the horizon...knew 
what was coming, and what had to be done.
     She considered all the ramifications as quickly as she could. 
She had been a latecomer to the X-Files, at the time nothing but a 
sorely resented addition, a pain in the ass, a spy, or so he'd 
thought. The X-Files, the search for Samantha, for the truth, for the 
hidden hands behind the conspiracy...those were all Mulder's crusades, 
not hers. She'd signed on for them because of her feelings for Mulder, 
and because of the way he made her feel. 
     "I'll ask for a transfer," she offered, holding her breath.
     Mulder practically exploded. "NO!" he shouted. Then, realizing 
how vehement he'd been, he held up a placating hand. "I'm sorry, 
Scully. I didn't mean to yell." He took a moment. "I don't want you to 
transfer. I want to...talk. I want to go over it, so we both 
understand the rules and limits."
     Scully said nothing. A single eyebrow raised in question. Mulder 
saw her expression and threw his hands up. "I don't know what I mean, 
Scully. Not exactly. I just know...and I think you do, too...that 
things have changed. For the better. I just... need to talk it out 
with you."
     Scully approached the bed and sat down next to him. "Let's call 
in sick today, Mulder. We can take the whole day, talk it out...do 
whatever you want."
     He seriously considered that for about five seconds, and then 
shook his head. "One of us calling sick wouldn't be a problem...but 
the both of us...Skinner would lose it. Remember...he knows."
     Scully nodded. In her haste to placate Mulder's worries, she 
hadn't thought about Skinner. 
     "Well...what do we do?"
     Mulder smiled. "Take your shower, get dressed. I'm going to jump 
back into my tux...most of it, anyway, and head back to my place for a 
shower and new clothes. I'll see you at the office. We'll put in a 
regular day, one of a thousand we've already put in....tonight, we'll 
go out for dinner, and...do it. We'll talk it out."
     Scully thought about it a minute and nodded, accepting his 
reasoning. "Sounds like a plan, Mulder."
     Mulder moved to get out of the bed, and realized he was naked. 
He looked up at Scully, an embarrassed smile on his face.
     "Don't tell me you're getting shy now?" she asked. He looked 
away, unable to meet her gaze. Shrugging, Scully moved towards the 
bathroom. "Lock your door on the way out, Mulder. I wouldn't want to 
get an unexpected visitors in the shower."
     He waited until he heard the bathroom door closing behind her 
before getting out of bed. Quickly locating his clothing, Mulder 
dressed as little as was required by the public decency laws and 
hastily exited Scully's apartment.
     He double-checked the door....just to make sure.


     Scully upended the bottle of shampoo in her hand, feeling the 
tears welling up behind her eyes. Why does it have to be so goddamned 
hard? she asked herself. Why can't Mulder just accept our happiness, 
our love? Why does he always have to complicate everything with the 
damned guilt of his? As soon as the though crossed her mind, Scully 
regretted it. She knew full well the depths and reasons for Mulder's 
guilt. She had accepted them when she accepted him, and now she was 
going to have to deal with it.
     She had some idea of what was coming. In a lot of ways, Mulder 
was not as evolved or sensitive as he would have her, or any woman, 
believe. He had a strong patriarchal bent to him. She was his partner, 
equal in every way, but sometimes Scully thought that Mulder's idea of 
abstract concepts such as `equality' tended more towards Orwellian 
pigs than the realities of the world in the 90's. 
     She had lost count of the times he had ditched her on cases, 
fearing for her safety, for her career. He had left her high and dry 
more times than she cared to remember, and each time she'd been 
confounded by the duality of the feelings his actions had evoked in 
her. On the one hand, she thought, working the shampoo into her hair, 
she had been as angry as could be with him, highly annoyed that he 
still thought of her as a `delicate' female that needed protecting. 
She had gone through the same Special Agent training that he had, and 
on more than one occasion had been required to toss around suspects 
twice her size. On the other hand, of course, tempering those feelings 
of anger and annoyance was her understanding of the reasoning behind 
Mulder's actions. His underlying affection for her...now caught fire 
and turned into love, she smiled, was translated into his wanting to 
protect her, to shield her from the demons that he willingly pursued.
     Their professional relationship up until that morning had been 
an ongoing contradiction. Mulder needed her, depended on her, and 
hated himself for the need and the dependence. She was a combination 
of sounding board, grounding force, best friend, traveling companion, 
law-enforcement partner, and now...lover.
     Of course things needed to change, Scully thought.
     Leaning over into the spray to remove the soap from her hair, 
Scully grudgingly admitted that Mulder had a point. They were going to 
have to talk about things, and the sooner, the better.


     Mulder stepped out of his own shower and reached for a towel, 
unmindful of the water he was dripping on the floor. The entire drive 
to his apartment had been spent daydreaming about the night he had 
spent with Scully, and how it was going to change his life forever. A 
small, nagging voice in his head reminded him that he hadn't even 
kissed her good-bye, and his dire warnings about having to `talk' had 
probably left Scully more confused than he'd wanted...
     But waking up in her apartment, knowing that the forces that 
lurked in the shadows might have Scully's apartment bugged, that they 
might be at that moment listening to the audio tape of their 
lovemaking, had driven him into a blind panic. He'd wanted nothing 
more than to put some distance between them. 
     As quickly as possible.
     He stepped into the bedroom, continuing to dry himself, running 
the towel between his legs to make sure that everything was clean. 
     Things were going to have to change, he knew. It was up to the 
two of them, partners, friends...lovers, to define the new roles they 
had taken on in each other's lives. There were so many things to 
consider, so many of them obvious when looked at from one direction, 
confusing and scary when looked at from another.
     Road trips. That was going to be one of the hardest things to 
deal with, he knew. The temptation to sneak into her hotel room was 
going to be almost too much to resist. Knowing that his lover, the 
woman he treasured above all else in life, was sleeping in the next 
room, wanting him to visit her just as much as he wanted to visit, was 
going to be a temptation that he had never experienced before. Of 
course, the idea of actually going to her room in the wolf hours of 
the night, of taking solace and warmth and comfort her, and giving it 
in return, was absolutely out of the question. Even the barest whisper 
that he and Scully were sleeping together on the road would be all 
that Skinner needed to follow through with his warnings.
     The thought of being split up, separated, transferred to another 
part of the country, a new assignment in the Bureau (probably sitting 
on wiretaps again, he thought dourly,) without Scully was horrifying.
     No.
     There would have to be rules.

     Scully walked down the hallway leading to her office door, her 
heels clicking loudly on the linoleum. She stopped in front of the 
door, staring at the nameplate. It held Fox's name...and nothing else. 
Nothing about the X-Files, nothing about the fantastic, impossible 
goings on that occurred within.
     Not even her name.
     A wry, intriguing smile twisted Scully's face. Mulder was 
right... some things were going to change, all right. And the first 
thing on the list was that door.


     Mulder glanced at his watch. It was just after four-thirty. He 
glanced at the folder he was holding, a special consult that the BSU 
had asked Skinner for. It had been straightforward stuff...at least to 
Mulder. He was mildly amused that the Asshole McIntire, as Mulder had 
come to call young Toby, had not made any progress on the case.
     He scribbled his notes in the margins, drawing arrows to 
important facts, and using the blank half of the last page to sketch a 
chart explaining the obvious ( to Mulder, anyway, ) connections 
between the facts.
     "Scully?" he asked.
     Dana looked over from her desk, reading glassed perched on her 
nose. "Mulder?"
     "I'm done," he announced. "I figured...since we're both 
so...tired, maybe we could punch out a little early."
     The ghost of a smile flitted across Scully's face, but she 
nodded, reaching up to remove her glasses. "Good idea, Mulder."
     Mulder just nodded, the first twinges of panic twisting in his 
gut. The Talk was looming over the horizon. All day he'd been pushing 
it from his thoughts, relegating it to the back of his mind, forcing 
his concentration to the tasks at hand. Now the day had silently 
glided to an end, and it was time to do what had to be done. 
     "Chinese?" he asked.
     "Italian," she corrected.
     "Italian," he agreed. They shut computers and lights off, 
grabbed briefcases, and locked the office door behind them.
     "Your car or mine?" he asked, joking. Scully cast a sideways 
glance at her partner. "One day, Mulder," she whispered, "it might be 
our car."
     That comment, innocent on the surface, but containing so much 
meaning, had the effect of freezing Mulder's thoughts. Sure, that was 
the natural assumption borne by two people in love, as he and Scully 
most definitely were. A marriage, a family, a home, a life. Could it 
ever happen? he wondered.
     "Separate cars," he said, and then amended, "For now."


     The restaurant was lively that night. Several boisterous tables 
filled the place with friendly, happy noise, and the duo enjoyed a 
delicious meal in companionable silence. They both knew what was going 
to come...or at least, the general outlines of the pending discussion. 
The details could wait until coffee.
     Fox wiped his face with the fluffy cloth napkin and patted his 
stomach. "That was great, Scully."
     She just smiled at him, noticing the glint in his eyes. He was 
eager to get started.
     Why?
     She took her time, enjoying her meal, letting the simple comfort 
of being with him, away from the office, wash over her. She decided to 
play the opening gambit in the game that was to come.
     "Mulder," she said, using her low, husky voice, forcing him to 
lean closer. "I have no intention of changing certain things about our 
partnership. I don't care what your feelings in the matter are...these 
things will not change."
     His brows furrowed as he tried to decipher her meaning.
     "Such as?"
     "Well," she said, "for starters, I will not entertain the 
thought of us not being lovers, Mulder. As you said last night...that 
bridge has been crossed."
     "Scully, I never said-"
     She lifted her fork to silence him. "Let me finish." He nodded, 
leaning back, wearing his Interested Expression. Idly, he reached up 
and scratched his chin. Scully heard the sound of his beard stubble 
against his fingers, and she remembered that same chin, that same jaw, 
lightly scratching the sensitive skin of her breasts the night before, 
and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a shiver of delight.
     "Furthermore," she continued, "I have no intention of us 
splitting up as partners." Mulder nodded, accepting that as well. 
Scully waited a minute and then shrugged her shoulders. "Then, if we 
agree on that, Mulder...I don't see what else we have to `talk' 
about."
     Fox blinked. Once, twice. Holy shit, he thought. She snookered 
me.
     "Nice try, Scully," he said.
     "What?"
     "Very slick...drawing me in like that. Agreeing to both terms, 
both things that I want very badly, and then throwing me the curve 
ball. I'm impressed. Hanging around with a psychologist has obviously 
been beneficial to you."
     Scully grinned, another perfect retort waiting on her lips. "Oh, 
I didn't spend that much time with Phoebe."
     "Ooooh, Scully...low blow!"
     And again, she had the answer. "Maybe later, Mulder. Maybe 
later." Scully watched as the blush started at Mulder's neck and 
quickly creeped into his face, coloring his cheeks and ears.
     "Oh, I give up," he sighed, throwing his hands in the air. "You 
just seem to have all the answers tonight."
     Scully put her fork down and tossed her napkin down next to her 
plate. She reached across the table for his hand and took it. "About 
some things...Mulder, I do have all the answers, as least as far as my 
heart and my mind are concerned. I know you kind of got freaked out 
this morning...do you want to tell me why?"
     Mulder was silent so long Scully wasn't sure he was going to 
answer. "Everything has changed, Scully," he finally said. "Every 
single thing."
     She squeezed his hand gently. "Has it? Has it really? Tell me 
what's changed." Mulder started to speak, but Scully held up her hand. 
"No...do this. Answer my question. I'll ask you a question, and you 
answer me yes or no. No pontificating, no dodging, no bullshit Fox 
Mulder semantics. Just a simple yes or no. Think you can handle that?"
     "Yes," he said softly, and then couldn't resist. "But..."
     "Mulder," Scully warned, smiling to show him that she got the 
joke, and on some level, appreciated it. "Do you want to be my lover? 
Do you want me to be your lover?"
     "Yes. And Yes."
     "Do you still want me as your partner?"
     "Yes, again."
     "Do you think you can control yourself in the office? At 
headquarters?"
     "Yes."
     "Do you think you can control yourself on the road? In hotel 
rooms across this great land of ours? Do you think you can resist 
coming into my room in the middle of the night to play naked Twister?"
     Fox frowned. "I don't know how many yesses I'm supposed to say, 
but...yes, to all of those." He paused. "Naked twister?"
     "Figure of speech," Scully explained through a grin. "Although, 
it's an intriguing thought."
     She spread her arms wide. "So what's the problem, Mulder?"
     He sighed. "The little stuff, I guess. All the stuff about 
relationships that everyone seems to forget in the heat of a newly 
discovered passion. The stuff in the margins, Scully."
     "Like what?"
     "Stuff," was all Mulder could come up with. Exasperated, Scully 
reached for his hand again, finding it and gripping it tightly. 
"Mulder...I'll tell you what. Let's not panic now...let's just...see 
where it takes us, OK? We can deal with anything as long as we 
remember a few things. First...we love each other. That's never been 
more true than it is now. I've loved you for so long that I can't 
remember a time when you weren't in my heart. Secondly, we're the best 
investigative team the FBI has ever seen, bar none. Skinner himself 
said that. Thirdly...as far as our partnership goes...we just won't 
let our personal lives interfere. If something comes up...we'll do 
what we would have done before, and if we need to make a change, we'll 
talk about it after." Scully paused, looking for Mulder's eyes, for 
his depthless hazel eyes. "Deal?"
     He licked his lips, and Scully felt something hitch in her 
throat.
     "Deal," he finally said. The waitress chose that moment to 
appear, depositing the check face down next to Mulder's plate. He 
reached for his wallet with one hand, turning the bill over with the 
other.
     "Let's go Dutch," Scully suggested, reaching for her purse.
     "Nothing doing, Scully...I may be an evolved male, but I do want 
the chance to finally buy you dinner."
     Scully said nothing, returning her purse to the floor between 
her legs. She watched as Mulder made his way to the cashier and 
quickly settled the bill. Returning to the table, he offered his hand. 
She took it, and they walked out of the restaurant still holding 
hands. Arriving in the parking lot, they stood staring at their cars.
     "See?" Mulder said, "this is what I was talking about...a little 
bit of it, anyway."
     Scully's face screwed up into a frown. "What the hell are you 
talking about?"
     "This. Here. Right now. Do we go to your place? My place?"
     Scully snorted. "Mulder, I don't remember inviting you over 
tonight."
     The shock that blasted across Mulder's face so clearly 
telegraphed his surprise that he had never even considered that 
possibility made Scully burst out laughing.
     "Relax, Mulder...I kind of see what you're talking about. It's 
the day-to-day stuff you're worried about. All the little decisions. 
The thousands of little details that make up the....oh, tapestry of a 
relationship. Am I right?"
     He nodded sheepishly. "I mean...the Knicks are on tonight..."
     "I have a television, Mulder. But...if you want to go home to 
that pigsty you call an apartment, I won't hold it against you. We can 
kiss goodnight right here, I'll get into my car, go home, read a book, 
take a bubblebath by candlelight, and climb into that big, cold, 
lonely bed all by my-"
     "OK. OK. OK," Mulder said, giving up.
     Scully stepped into his arms, her hands on his chest, looking up 
at his gorgeous face. "Mulder," she whispered, "I'm not trying to take 
over your life. I'm gonna be honest here...I want you to come back to 
my place. I want you to turn on the Knicks game. I want you to watch 
the Knicks game and not worry about entertaining me. I have things to 
do. I have a letter to write to my brother. I have to tend to my 
plants. And then, when the game is over, we can either go to bed...or 
you can go home. Nothing is set in concrete. Just because we made love 
last night doesn't mean we have to make love every night...and just as 
you spent the night last night doesn't mean you have to spend every 
night with me..."
     "Not yet, anyway," Mulder said, the promise of a future together 
alight in his eyes.
     "Not yet," Scully agreed. "Let's just take it one day at a time, 
OK?"
     
====================================================

Author's Note : I had originally intended for the "Snapshot" series to 
end with the previous chapter. Because of several factors, not the 
least among them the incredible fan response to this story, I have 
decided to keep "Snapshot" open ended. I will be continuing to write 
chapters over the coming weeks and months. 

Towards that end, I will not be posting the chapters as frequently as 
I have in the past week. By my count, new chapters of "Snapshot" have 
been appearing at the rate of about 1.2 per day. I'm sorry to everyone 
that has written me about their love for this story, and how they look 
forward to a new chapter every day to read at work, or on the bus, or 
in one amazing case, under their desk while taking phone calls for a 
national telecommunications company. One reader was so moved by the 
story that they sent me a PageMaker document with all (until then) 
eight parts beautifully laid out, complete with dropped caps, chapter 
headings, and all the parts that should be in italics in actual 
italics. 

One of  the reasons that I will be unable to be as prolific as I would 
like with "Snapshots" is that I have two other X-Files projects in 
development. One is a complete re-write of "The Seducer." I have 
gotten requests, too numerous to count, to complete that story. As I 
had lost my personal copy of that little...er, piece, in a disk crash 
about six months ago, I downloaded it again off of Gossamer, and was 
dismayed to see how utterly...gross it was. I will be keeping the 
basic concept of the story, but changing most everything else.

The other story I am in the planning stages of writing is a crossover. 
For those of you that know the writing of Andrew Vachss, the story 
will be written from his anti-hero Burke's point of view. It will have 
all his regular characters, including Burke and the Mole, and Michelle 
and Terry and Max, the life-taking-widow-making-silent-wind-of- death. 
For those of who you don't know who Andrew Vachss is, let me say this: 
If Raymond Chandler and Mickey Spillane are your idea of hard-boiled 
crime fiction, than Vachss is an oxyacetylene torch, an arc-welder, a 
6 gigawatt argon laser. His is amongst the best noir crime fiction out 
there, his most latest entry into the Burke series notably and sadly 
excepted. If you like that sort of thing, I encourage you to run, not 
walk, to your nearest bookstore and ask for "Flood," the first in his 
Burke series, followed by "Strega," "Blue Belle," and "Hard Candy." 
His collection of short stories, "Born Bad," is the single best 
example of the form I have ever seen. Most of the Vachss series of 
Burke novels are available in trade paperback. (Mass-market paperbacks 
are the ones that most people think of when they hear the word 
`paperback.' Trade paperbacks are usually slightly larger, almost the 
size of a hardcover.) 

The reason I'm bringing this up is because I was curious what the 
reaction to an X-Files/Burke crossover would be. I have a good idea of 
what the plot will be like, and where I want to go with it. But it 
will take a lot of work to get there, and I don't want to post the 
results if the reception is going to be overwhelmingly negative. Make 
no mistake, the story will be written...but I don't want to offer it 
if no wants to see Our Favorite Duo in the Big Apple chasing after 
beasties. 

As far as "Snapshots" goes...expect another chapter late Saturday or 
early Sunday. I have to do some thinking about where this story, and 
the characters of Fox and Dana that exist in this particular universe 
are headed. I am open to suggestions. :)

And finally...(Geez, this note is almost as big as the story!) I want 
to once again take this opportunity to thank all of you that have 
written to tell me how much you've enjoyed this story, the under-the-
desk-reader included. I have never felt so welcome, so completely 
flattered by other people's kind words. They provide me, and other 
FanFic authors, I'm sure, the tangible, tactile feedback we appreciate 
so much. They provide us with knowledge that across the 
country...across the world...people are downloading these stories and 
devouring them, and for one, it makes me feel incredible. Thank you 
all.
"Snapshots 10:Disposal"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox Television, a unit of 
20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used without permission, and 
no infringement is intended. Characters not previously copyrighted by 
Chris Carter, TenThirteen Productions and Fox Television remain the 
property of the author.

Classification: MSR,V
Rating: PG13 (Some material might not be suitable for children under 13)

Notes : This is the continuation of my ongoing story "Snapshots." As the 
title indicates, this was originally designed to be a vignette, but 
somewhere along the line it acquired a life of its' own and has been 
perpetuating inside my computer while I sleep. Darn fornits. (If you 
don't know what a fornit is, ask me...and if you do know, you also know 
what the heck I'm talking about.)

The Story Thus Far : Mulder and Scully have declared their love for each 
other, have made the beast with two backs, had serious snuggle bunnies a 
few time, and shared more than one incredible kiss. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------
     "So," Fox asked. "Which is it?"
     "I thought I made that clear, Mulder. I want you to come over 
tonight, but only if you want to come over. If you'd rather go home and 
watch the Knicks in that drab, dusty apartment of yours, I'll 
understand...I won't hold it against you, and I'll still love you in the 
morning."
     Mulder's wry grin twisted its' way though Scully's heart. "Yeah, 
but will you still respect me? That's what I want to know."
     "Mulder...who says I respect you now?"
     Mulder laughed, taking her into his arms. "OK...tell you what...if 
I'm not too tired after the Knicks get whupped by whoever they're 
playing tonight..."
     "Promises, promises," Scully teased. "I'll meet you there," she 
said, turning to go to her car.
     "Not so fast, Scully," he said, not letting her go. "There's one 
more thing..."
     She turned back. "What?"
     "It's..." He faltered, suddenly not sure that he wanted to tell 
her. It was nothing really, just a mental image that had crossed his 
mind during dinner, a little mind candy that had teased and tormented 
him for most of the meal. It wasn't even a fully-blown fantasy; nothing 
more than a mental snapshot, an image of Scully that intrigued him, 
aroused him. It was something that he wanted her to do for him, 
something he found incredibly sexy. And now...in the dim light of the 
parking lot, it seemed silly and adolescent.
     "What is it, Mulder?" 
     He leaned down in whispered it in her ear. She listened, a smile 
playing at her face. She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her 
laugh. "Is that all?" She patted his chest, worming out of his grasp. "I 
think that can be arranged, Mulder. Tell you what...I think I might have 
one in my closet. Drive around a bit...see the sights...give me ten 
minutes, OK?"
     Mulder nodded, his throat suddenly dry.
     "It doesn't...bother you?" he asked. Scully's laugh was melodious. 
"Hardly, Mulder." She saw the serious expression on his face, the way 
his eyes searched hers, looking for...what?
     Hesitation. Repulsion. Rejection. Dana saw his fear of all of 
those emotions and more in Mulder's eyes. He's still so fragile, she 
thought. In so many ways...still a little boy.
     She stepped back into his arms, her face turned up to his. "Listen 
to me," she whispered, forcing him to lean down to hear her. "Don't take 
what I'm about to say the wrong way...but after seeing your magazine and 
video collection, I was prepared for fantasies that were a lot 
more...involved than this."
     "Scully-" he started to say. She shook her head, moving her 
fingers to his lips. "Shhhh, Mulder. You talk too much. Has anyone ever 
told you that?" He nodded through her fingers, his eyes still concerned.
     "Listen to me, Fox William Mulder. When...when I fell in love with 
you, I knew that you were a complex, complicated man. Truth be told, 
that's part of what attracted me to you in the first place. A 
complicated mind, filled with complex issues, some of them dark, some of 
them...not so dark. As your partner, your Bureau-issue sidekick, it's my 
job to go with you to those dark places, and shine the light of...oh, I 
don't know...reality? Is that the right word? To shine the light of 
reality into those dark corners with you. 
     "The monster you do know is always infinitely less horrible than 
the monster you don't, Mulder. In all this time we've been together, 
we've seen a lot of things...things most people wouldn't believe even if 
we showed them. We...know things that no person was ever meant to know. 
If doing this...little thing will banish the darkness for a few 
hours...or even just a few minutes...I'm all for it, Mulder. My job as 
your partner is to help find the truth." Her voice softened. "My job as 
your friend... as your lover, is to help you forget that those dark 
places even exist." She dropped her hand from his mouth. "Does that make 
sense, Mulder? Do you understand?"
     He simply nodded. "Yes...I understand." He sighed. "And...thank 
you."
     She stepped out of his arms, her fingers searching for her car key 
on the ring she carried. "Mulder...remember...one day I'll ask you to do 
something, and I want you to remember this conversation."
     Mulder blinked, and Scully had to laugh at his expression. "Oh, 
yes, Mulder... I have fantasies, too." Her eyebrows arched. "Fantasies 
that would probably shock you." She turned and walked to her car, 
sticking the key in the door lock and giving it a twist. She decided to 
play with his head just a little, and shot one last remark over her 
shoulder before she left. 
     Getting in the car, Scully cranked the window down as she started 
the engine. Mulder was still standing there, watching her.
     "Remind me to tell you about some of the fantasies I've had about 
you over the last year or so."
     Scully drove off, laughing, leaving Mulder standing in the parking 
lot with his chin resting practically on his chest.


     Mulder drove aimlessly, checking his watch every thirty seconds. 
Scully had given him ten minutes, and he'd decided to take twenty, if 
only to give her the time to change her mind. 
     Fantasies. Such a wicked thing, Mulder thought. As much as he 
loved her, Mulder still wasn't completely certain how to handle Scully 
sometimes. As close as they'd gotten as friends, they were still 
discovering each other as lovers, and that was always an emotional 
minefield. They had each brought so many expectations to the 
relationship. Their images of each other had been built over the weeks 
and months of time spent seeing and doing things that, just as Scully 
had said, no person should have to see and do.  And those experiences, 
as much as they had contributed to their bonding, to the depth and 
breadth of their relationship...just weren't enough. Enough to get 
inside her head in a way he had never been.  
     The problem, he thought, was that his impressions of Scully...or 
at least the majority of them, had been forged during moments of intense 
stress and pressure. He had no idea what she was like when she wasn't on 
the job, wasn't on a case, wasn't shooting down one of his theories or 
performing an autopsy.
     What does a sworn Federal officer, an alien-chasing forensic 
pathologist do in her spare time? My God, does she even have any 
hobbies? Does she play a musical instrument? Who's her favorite author? 
Her favorite poet? My God, what if she doesn't even have a favorite 
poet?
     Mulder shook his head to clear it and glanced at his watch again. 
It had been thirteen minutes.
     Time enough.


     Naked, Dana Scully rooted around in her closet, sure that she had 
seen it there not more than two days ago. God, after all she had said to 
Mulder in the parking lot, if she couldn't find it, she was going to 
look like a fool answering the door stark naked, because there was no 
way she was going to wear anything else and have Mulder think she'd 
changed her mind. 
     There. In the back...
     Scully grabbed it, backing out of the closet. She held it up to 
the light. It was wrinkled, but clean. She wondered if she had enough 
time to run an iron over it, but decided that perhaps it's obviously 
worn, lived-in look might add to its' appeal. Shrugging, she decided to 
go with the moment, and donned it quickly, studying herself in the full-
length mirror. Not too shabby, Dana, she thought.

     Mulder parked the car and got out, pocketing the keys. By now, the 
route to Dana's apartment was imprinted on his mind, and he made the 
trip without thinking about it, other issues, other thoughts whirling 
through his head, chief among them Dana's cryptic comment about her 
fantasies, and more importantly, her fantasies about him.
     Me. What on Earth could Dana have fantasized about me?
     

     Scully heard Mulder's footsteps as he approached the door. She'd 
had a few minutes after finding what she'd been looking for, and had 
made some preparations. She'd turned on the Knicks pregame, and had also 
poured two glasses of red wine. She was on the couch, by the end, near 
the light, reading an Amy Tan novel. She hoped that she presented the 
picture that Mulder'd had in his head when he'd asked her to do this. 
And if not, she'd know, and adjust until it did match.
     Looking down at herself, Dana thought that if she could say one 
thing about Mulder's mind... he did understand the basics. About how 
sometimes, even after her comments about monsters both known and 
unknown, that the element of mystery, of hiding just enough to be 
alluring was sometimes more sensual than outright nudity.
     Mulder's dress shirt fit her perfectly, she thought. It was a 
soft, blue oxford, a shirt that he had worn on a hundred days, worn 
smooth by contact against his skin. The thought that Mulder had worn 
this very shirt, that it had been snuggled against his body for days on 
end sent a delicious shiver up Scully's spine. Truth be told, Dana had 
been slightly apprehensive about the subject of Mulder's fantasies. She 
was more than well aware of his extensive collection of...erotica. That 
was the kind word for it, she knew. That first night, when he had 
unzipped her dress and it had started to fall towards the floor, Dana 
had had a sudden memory of the magazines she'd seen in his apartment, of 
the surgically enhanced visions of female perfection that had populated 
the slick, greasy pages, and had felt suddenly shy. Not exactly 
inadequate...but she didn't want...
     What? The comparison?
     No...not...exactly.
     She was saved from further contemplation of the topic by the sound 
of Mulder's key in the lock.

     Mulder pushed the door open and took a step inside. That was as 
far as he got. He saw Scully on the couch, wearing his shirt.
     Nothing but his shirt.
     He heard the Knicks pregame on the television. He saw the wine. He 
saw the way she was curled up on the couch , reading a book, obviously 
waiting for him to join her. "Hi honey," he teased. "I'm home."
     "Hard day at the office?" she teased back.
     "Yes...my partner is still sexually harassing me."
     Scully smirked. "Well, come over and tell me all about it, poor 
baby."
     Mulder snorted and slipped out of his jacket. He unclipped his 
holster and laid them both on a chair, moving to join Scully on the 
couch. She scooted over slightly to make room, and he collapsed into it 
gratefully.
     "Cool. The Knicks." He grabbed the remote, thumbing the volume up 
a notch or two. The opening tip-off had just occurred, and the Knicks 
were in the process of giving the ball away again when Dana reached for 
her wineglass.
     "Want some wine, Mulder?"
     He didn't respond, staring instead at the TV, slack-jawed with 
concentration.
     "Mulder?" she asked, a little more loudly.
     "Huh? What?" He saw her holding the glass. "Maybe later," he said, 
turning his attention back to the game.  Dana felt the small flare of 
annoyance, and quelled it. It was the Knicks, after all.

     About halfway through the first quarter, it began. Scully was deep 
inside her book, losing herself in Tan's lyrical prose, when she felt 
his hand on her leg, just above her ankle, lightly stroking her calf. It 
was mildly distracting, and Dana forced her concentration back to the 
book. His motions continued, his hand working slowly higher. His touch, 
his gentle caress was driving her to distraction.
     A commercial came on. 
     "What are we going to tell Frohicke?" Mulder suddenly asked.
     Dana closed the book with a snap! "What? We're not going to tell 
him anything! How could you even think-"
     "Well, I'm going to have to tell him something," Fox explained. 
"He's going to be suspicious if I don't have an explanation when I 
contribute to his...collection." Dana frowned, trying to decipher 
Mulder's meaning, and it suddenly dawned on her what Mulder was saying.
     "All of it?" she asked, secretly pleased and trying hard not to 
show it.
     "All of it," he confirmed.
     "Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked.
     Mulder nodded, his attention returning to the TV as the 
commercials vanished, replaced by the game. Dana bit back her 
frustration; she wanted to talk about this, to find out why Mulder 
wanted to give those things up, and also a little afraid of his answer. 
She didn't want him changing his life completely for her. She had fallen 
for him the way he was, dirty magazines and all. 
     "Mulder," she said, deciding to risk it.
     "What?" he asked, his voice distant.
     "Why?"
     "Why what?"
     "Why are you...giving that stuff to Frohicke?"
     Mulder turned to her, one eye still on the game. He smiled. 
"Because I don't need it anymore."
Dana reached over and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, muting 
the sound. Mulder looked like he was about to object, but saw the look 
on Scully's face and wisely decided to remain silent. "Don't worry, 
Mulder...it's not even half-time. The Knicks have plenty of time to lose 
this game."
     He smiled. "What's the matter, Scully?"
     "I want you to explain to me what the hell is going on, Mulder."
     He was silent for so long that Scully was sure he wasn't going to 
answer. Then he spoke. "I guess...I guess it might help you understand 
why I'm doing it...if you knew why I did it. I mean, why I buy...bought, 
I mean...why I bought that stuff."
     Dana put her book down on the coffee table. This was going to be 
interesting. "Go ahead, Mulder...I always did wonder why."
     She was prepared for just about anything, she thought. Confessions 
about being turned on by silicone-charged breasts and gym-tightened 
butts and hair so teased that it was almost tortured.
     Scully wasn't prepared for the truth.
     "I watch that stuff...because it's easy. There's no emotion 
attached, Scully. It's just two nameless, faceless strangers having sex 
up on the screen. It's so much easier to watch that...then all the other 
stuff on the tube. I need the TV to sleep...the noise lulls me, puts me 
under, lets me focus on that sound long enough to quiet the voices...the 
sounds in my head. I used to watch regular TV, and then cable... but 
every time I saw a couple kissing, or a happy marriage, or a mother and 
father with their kids, having a happy life, living every minute to the 
fullest...I'd feel this...tug, right here, right in the middle of my 
chest." Mulder tapped his shirt to make the point. "I would get so 
depressed, watching that, having to watch it or not getting any 
sleep...it just got to be too much, Scully. So...I got a tape. Like any 
habit...I started with one, and then, when that one didn't do anything 
for me anymore...when it got routine, I got another, and then another."
     He stopped, feeling the blush in his face, his cheeks, his ears. 
He couldn't look at her, he was so ashamed. He was staring at a spot on 
the wall when he felt her hand on his cheek, turning his head to face 
her. 
     "Look at me, Mulder." Slowly, he turned to face her.
     "I understand," she whispered. "I don't know what I thought...but 
I never thought that." She smiled softly at him, wanting to give him her 
strength with her eyes. He took it, gratefully.
     "Even if....." He started, and then was unable to finish the 
sentence. "No matter what happens, Scully...I'll never need that crap 
again. I've got new memories now..better memories."
     Scully leaned in slowly, her mouth twisting in her private 
MulderSmile. "I'm glad to hear that," she said softly, and then kissed 
him gently. Mulder took the kiss, his hands cupping her face. Dana 
sighed, feeling herself slip deeper inside him, feeling herself reaching 
out for Mulder and finding him there. Her arms went around his neck, 
pulling her towards him.
     Mulder's hands moved from her face to the buttons on her shirt. He 
undid them slowly, one at a time, never breaking the kiss. His hands 
slide inside the shirt, across her stomach, around her back, pulling her 
towards him this time. He went on his back, pulling Scully on top of 
him, one of his hands softly massaging her butt, the other stroking her 
back. His tongue traced her lips moistly, hotly.
     "Mmmmmmmmm," Dana moaned, feeling her arousal climbing. "What 
about the Knicks?" she asked.
     "Screw the Knicks," Mulder said.
     Scully moved away from him, standing and offering her hand. Mulder 
saw the way the shirt was draped on her body; he could see the sides of 
her breasts, the soft swell of them through the shirt.
     "I have a better idea," Scully said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Snapshots 11:Interlude"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox Television, a unit of 
20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used without permission, and 
no infringement is intended. Characters not previously copyrighted by 
Chris Carter, TenThirteen Productions and Fox Television remain the 
property of the author.

Classification: MSR,A
Rating: PG (Parental Guidance. Adult themes, some profanity.)

Notes : This is the continuation of my ongoing story "Snapshots." As the 
title indicates, this was originally designed to be a vignette, but 
somewhere along the line it acquired a life of its' own and has been 
perpetuating inside my computer while I sleep. Darn fornits. (If you 
don't know what a fornit is, ask me...and if you do know, you also know 
what the heck I'm talking about.)

The Story Thus Far : Mulder and Scully have declared their love for each 
other, have made the beast with two backs, had serious snuggle bunnies a 
few time, and shared more than one incredible kiss. And now Skinner has 
become aware of what has transpired between Our Favorite Duo, and.....

Well, read on! :) :)

Feedback: Please, please, please. drambo@primenet.com

Archivists: Go for it. Keep my name and email address on it, and 
distribute away.
----------------------------------------------------------------

     Assistant Director Walker Skinner picked the single sheet of paper 
up from his desk and swiveled in his chair, wanting to read it more 
closely by the sunlight streaming in through his office window. The 
paper wasn't classified or top secret, but it did hold some very 
interesting possibilities. For days, the Mulder and Scully Situation, as 
he had come to think of it, had been on his mind. It had been on his 
mind for a much longer span of time than a few days, but after the 
confrontation with Mulder at Quantico, he had been unable to think of 
anything else.
     Skinner swiveled back and picked up the phone. He dialed the ten 
digits from memory, without having to look. The phone rang several 
times, and a soft female voice answered.
     "Hello?"
     "It's me," Skinner said.
     "Hello." There was a pause. "It's been a long time."
     Skinner smiled. "I'm sorry. I've been busy."
     "I know," the voice said, and Skinner had no doubt that she did 
know. "What can I do for you?"
     "I need your advice. It's about Mulder and Scully."
     The woman's throaty chuckle made Skinner shiver. "I thought it 
might. How much do you know?"
     "How much do <you> know," Skinner asked.
     The voice remained silent, and Skinner knew he would never get an 
answer from her on that topic. How they knew, what resources they had, 
how they kept watch over these two very special Special Agents was 
beyond Skinner's Need to Know.
     "I know he's in love with her, and I suspect the opposite is 
true."
     "So far, so good," she said.
     "I'm not sure if they've..." Skinner found himself unable to 
complete the sentence. What phrase to use? What ubiquitous metaphor 
would fit? Slept together? Made love? Humped?
     "Become intimate?" she supplied.
     "Yes," Skinner affirmed. "That."
     Again, she paused, and was silent so long that Skinner wondered if 
she would answer it all, and if she did, would her answer be of any 
substance or just another meaningless declaration.
     "I think you can safely assume that situation has developed," she 
finally said.
     Skinner nodded. He'd thought so.
     "I think they need some time off. Some time away from the office, 
from the X-Files."
     Again, she laughed. "Walter, we couldn't agree more. I assume you 
got our mail? About the conference?"
     Skinner leaned back, removing his glasses and placing them gently 
on his blotter. "You sent that? I was holding it in my hand when you 
called."
     "We thought you might get some...interesting ideas if you saw it."
     "Do we have funding?"
     She sighed. "Always, Walter. When Mulder's financial reports 
arrive, forward them to us. We will make the necessary arrangements, 
through the usual offshore double-blind account. The computer 
transaction will be classified and encrypted, Five Zero level. Even the 
comptroller himself won't be able to trace the transaction."
     "I can't send them off together, you know. I still don't 
officially know about this."
     Her voice grew an edge of steel. "Listen carefully, my dear. You 
will never, repeat, never become `officially' aware of that particular 
situation, even if they decide to copulate on your desk in the middle of 
the goddamned day. They are too important to us. To our mission. You 
remember our mission, don't you?"
     "Yes," Skinner said quietly. "I remember."
     Seemingly satisfied, she continued. "Very well. Give Special Agent 
Scully the week off with pay to attend the conference. I guarantee you 
that Agent Mulder will ask for matching vacation time before the end of 
business."
     "And if not?" Skinner wanted to know.
     "If it comes to that, we'll make other arrangements. Have a good 
day, Walter," she said, and disconnected.
     Skinner slowly replaced the phone, his lips pressed into a tight, 
thin line. This was going to take an acting performance of Oscar caliber 
to pull off. Not to mention the fact that this was the first time he was 
going to have to deal with Agent Scully since he had become 
`unofficially' aware of her intimate involvement with Mulder. 
     Skinner took a deep breath and buzzed his administrative 
assistant. Years ago, for the political correctness movement had taken 
off, she had simply been his secretary.
     "Abby, please ask Special Agent Scully to come up."


     Dana was working on her laptop, charting peptide reactions against 
antibodies when her phone rang. Absently, she answered, "Scully," her 
attention still focused on the screen.
     "This is AD Skinner's office. The Assistant Director requests your 
presence in his office forthwith."
     "Mulder, too, Abby?"
     "No, Dana. Just you."
     Uh-oh, Dana thought, hanging up. 

     "You wanted to see me, sir?" Skinner looked up from his work and 
nodded, motioning with his hand for Scully to come in. "Have a seat, 
Agent Scully."
     Dana breathed an inward sigh of relief. If it had been an ass-
chewing that had been on Skinner's mind, he would have asked her to 
stand before his desk like a wayward child. She sat down quickly, 
crossing her legs and clasping her hands together in her lap.
     Skinner signed the report he was looking at, closed the folder and 
tossed it on a stack of similar folders in his OUT box. "I wanted to 
talk to you about something not specifically related to the X-Files," 
Skinner started, and Dana's defenses went up again. He suckered me, she 
thought. Got me to relax by not bracing me like a Marine recruit. It's 
not going to work.
     "Oh? And what is that, sir?"
     "Scully...you gave a talk earlier this week on DNA typing in non-
secreting suspects. How did that go?"
     Confused, Dana said, "Fine. Why? Did someone mention something to 
you?"
     "No, Scully. I'll be honest with you. Doctor Forester at Quantico 
has been saying some very nice things about you, about your future here 
at the FBI." Again, Dana's defenses went up. A transfer, she thought. 
Over my dead body.
     "Sir, I'm quite happy in my present assignment," she started, 
hoping to defuse the situation.
     "Scully, please...let me finish. No one wants to transfer or 
promote you right now. I'm not trying to split you and Mulder up." On 
the contrary, Skinner thought. Quite the opposite. "What I am talking 
about, though, is a scientific conference being given in San Diego 
starting this Friday and lasting for about a week. Doctor Forester and I 
both think that it would be beneficial for you to attend."
     Dana chewed the inside of her cheek, considering. Mulder's 
institutional paranoia had long ago burrowed into her soul, and as she 
considered her answer, all the different possible motivations for 
Skinner offering her this assignment screamed through her mind.
     He wants to split me and Mulder up for a few days, see if our 
hormones cool off.
     He wants me out of town because he's going to depose Mulder from 
the X-Files.
     He's genuinely concerned about me and my career.
     The last seemed the most obvious, the most plausible, the easiest 
to believe. Which is why she was suspicious. But then another idea 
slowly twisted its way across her mind, and she had to fight not to 
smile.
     "Of course, sir. When do I leave?" 
     Skinner sat back, flatly regarding her. "Don't you even want to 
know what the conference is about, Scully?"
     She faltered. "Of course, sir."
     Skinner held the sheet up. "National Association of Criminal 
Forensic Pathologists Conference on Advances in Blood & Body Fluids 
Analysis with Emphasis on Computer Modeling of Peptide-Based DNA 
Sequencing." He snorted. "That's a mouthful."
     "Makes us sound more important, sir. More intelligent." Scully'd 
been trying to a little levity, and considering the expression on 
Skinner's face, she had succeeded.
     "Agent Scully...you don't need any help sounding intelligent." He 
glanced back down at the piles of paperwork still awaiting his 
attention. Scully took the obvious dismissal signal and stood, moving 
towards the door. "Abby will make all the travel arrangements," he said.
     "Thank you, sir," Dana replied, closing the door softly behind 
her.


     Mulder was standing at the filing cabinets, thumbing through the 
contents when Scully re-entered the office. He watched, wide-eyed, as 
she locked the door and walked over to him. Sliding her arms around his 
waist, she turned him to face her, her eyes bright.
     "Scully?" he asked.
     "Shut up and kiss me, Mulder." A slow, gentle smile spread across 
his face. He reached a hand up and cupped her chin. "As lovely as that 
idea sounds, Scully...this is not the time or the place."
     Scully withdrew from the embrace. "You're right." She returned and 
unlocked the door. 
     Mulder returned to his desk and sat. "What brought this on, 
Scully?"
     Scully glanced at her watch. "It's just after nine...about...oh, 
two-thirty or so, I want you to go up to Skinner's office and request 
time off. Starting Thursday...through next Sunday." Mulder's confusion 
showed on his face. "The Bureau has seen fit to send me to a pathology 
conference in San Diego, and you're going to come with me."
     Mulder shifted in his chair. "Won't it look...obvious?"
     Scully nodded, acknowledging his point. "Yes...but, as you said, 
Skinner knows. I have a sneaking suspicion that the conference is a 
cover for something...else."
     "Like what?"
     "I think Skinner may be giving us a...."
     "Honeymoon?" Mulder suggested. The word caused a blush to creep up 
Scully's face, coloring her cheeks. "Maybe," she said softly. Teasing, 
she added, "Remember, Mulder. Vegas is only a six hour drive from San 
Diego. Five...if you have a badge. And we do."
     "Talk about a gamble," Mulder said quietly. Scully laughed. "No, 
marriage is out of the question." Mulder's expression didn't fall...it 
collapsed.
     So, Dana thought, he's been thinking about it, too. 
     "For now," she added hastily. Mulder brightened at hearing that. 
Suddenly, she had to know. Walking over to his side of the desk, Scully 
leaned down, locks of her coppery hair teasing his face. "You think 
about it?"
     "About Vegas? All the time."
     "Mulder, I'm serious."
     He sighed. "Yeah...I think about it. Geez, Scully...what kind of a 
question is that?" He stood, taking her into his arms, his hand 
returning to her cheek. "I'm involved with the most beautiful... 
intelligent, sexy woman I have ever known in my entire life, a woman who 
has always been there for me, who has gone through more doors with me 
than I can count, a woman who I am desperately head-over- heels in love 
with. Of <course> I've thought about it." He paused. "Haven't you?"
     "Off and on," Scully whispered. Liar, she thought. You've been 
hardly able to think of anything else for months. You get a couple of 
glasses of wine into you, and you start acting like a high school girl 
again. Remember that time you stood in front of the mirror in the 
bathroom brushing your teeth? You pulled the brush out, your mouth 
covered in green goo, looked straight into the mirror and said it. "Mrs. 
Fox Mulder." And then you shivered, laughed, and finished brushing your 
teeth. Remember your dreams that night, Dana? Remember?
     "Liar," Mulder confirmed, lowering his mouth slowly. Dana gasped 
and moaned softly as his mouth captured hers, and she descended into the 
kiss, forgetting where they were.
     It was only the latest Federal budget problems that had saved 
them. The knob on the office door had been screwed up for as long as 
either one of them could remember. They used the door every day, so they 
knew how to pull and twist at the same time to make sure the bolt 
disengaged correctly. If someone else trying to come in didn't know how 
to work the knob, it usually took them a few seconds to get it right.
     The knob rattled, once, twice, and Scully heard the second one. 
She pushed herself out of the kiss and away from Mulder, looking 
guiltily away, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as 
Pendrell walked into the office.
     "Hey guys!" he said, holding a lab report. "Those figures you 
wanted-"
     He saw the way they were standing. He saw the flush in Dana's 
cheeks. He saw the way Mulder was studiously avoiding looking at her, at 
him, at anything, and somewhere, deep inside his brain, Special Agent 
Pendrell made the connection. 
     "Uh...anyway," he said, recovering nicely. "Here are your labs." 
Neither partner moved to take them. "Uh...I'll just leave them here on 
your desk, Agent Scully."
     Scully just nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
     Pendrell turned to leave, and then couldn't resist. He had to know 
for sure. He turned back to Mulder and said, "You missed some," 
motioning with his hand towards Mulder's mouth. Guiltily, Mulder's hand 
flew to his mouth, and then he saw the look on Pendrell's face.
     Pendrell sighed, and turned to leave.
     "Wait!" Scully said. Gone were thoughts of San Diego, of a Bureau-
sponsored road-trip with Mulder, with thoughts of sneaking away to Vegas 
to secretly marry him. Gone were thoughts of the bubble baths, the 
champagne, the room service. All that remained were thoughts of 
immediate damage control.
     Pendrell's shoulders hitched and he turned back to face the 
partners. "What? You're going to say that it's not what it looks like, 
right? You were inspecting Mulder's mouth for the presence of aliens, 
right? Maybe you wanted to check his teeth to see if he was turning into 
a Vampire. Is that it, Scully? It's all a misunderstanding?"
     Crap, Dana thought. I completely forgot he's got a crush on me.
     "Danny," she said softly.
     "<Agent> Pendrell," he corrected coldly.
     "Danny," Scully said again, just as softly, taking a steps towards 
him. "We're all adults here. Let's discuss this."
     "What's to discuss? It's obvious you're fucking your partner."
     "Hey!" Mulder said, starting to come out from behind his desk. 
Scully held up a hand, stopping him. "Wait," she said.
     Pendrell glared at Mulder for a long moment, and then his 
expression softened. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Fox. I don't know...what got 
into me."
     All three of them knew what had gotten into Pendrell, but no one 
said anything. 
     "I guess it's no secret that...I...would have liked to...."
     "Danny," Scully said again, trying to avert disaster. "I'm 
sorry..."
     "I know," he said, quietly. "It's just....well, do you remember 
when I asked you out last year?"
     Dana nodded, not sure where he was going. She replayed the 
conversation in her mind, and suddenly understood what was about to 
happen next. She felt terrible, and wished there was something she could 
say to alleviate Danny's pain. "If you hadn't given me the reason that 
you didn't want to date people from work...this would all be a lot 
easier."
     Mulder looked away, suddenly ashamed. God, if he hadn't stood up 
and kissed her, none of this would have happened!
     The trio was silent for a few long, painful moments.
     "You were in love with him, even then, weren't you?" Pendrell 
asked. Scully glanced at Mulder. Mulder just shrugged. "Might as well, 
Scully...he's got us either way."
     Scully turned to face Danny Pendrell again and spoke slowly, 
trying to choose her words carefully. "There has always been...feelings 
between Mulder and myself, Danny. Surely you could see that he and I 
weren't...normal partners."
     Danny thought about it nodded his agreement. "I just thought that 
since...well, dating someone who isn't your partner is a lot less 
horrible...politically, anyway."
     "That's true," Dana agreed. "But...if it's any comfort...we 
haven't been...together for very long."
     "It's not," Danny said.
     Dana tried to contain her annoyance. If he'd knocked, like a 
normal person, none of this would have happened. "Danny, we need to know 
if you're going to do anything about this. We need to take steps to 
protect ourselves." She looked hopefully at him.
     Danny's gaze went back and forth between them once...twice. "No," 
he finally said. "It's none of my business, really. What you two do on 
your own time is your own business. Just try and keep it out of the 
office, OK?"
     He means don't wave it in his face, Dana thought, but said 
nothing.
     "Fine," she agreed.
     "Mulder, would you excuse us for a moment, please?" Danny asked. 
Mulder glanced at Dana and she nodded. He left quickly, closing the door 
behind him.
     Dana looked expectantly at Danny.
     "You love him? You really love him?" Dana walked over to where he 
was standing and took his hands in hers. "Danny...I always knew you 
liked me. But...I was Mulder's partner for almost a year before you 
graduated the Academy. I had fallen in love with him back then...neither 
of us just had the...guts to tell each other."
     "I'm sorry," she added softly.
     He just nodded, and turned to go. He stopped and turned back, 
leaned forward and planted a gently, dry kiss on Dana's forehead. "Just 
be happy, Dana, OK? That's all I ever wanted for you." He opened the 
door and stepped into the hall, shutting it behind him. Mulder was in 
the hallway, leaning against the wall, his hands jammed in his pockets.
     Pendrell stopped in front of him. "Take care of her," he said.
     Mulder looked him straight in the eyes. "You know I will." After a 
moment, he added, "Danny... I hope we can still be friends."
     Danny let out a deep breath. "I hope so, Mulder." Pendrell trudged 
down the hallway, his face forlorn, his body slumped. Mulder watched him 
go, wondering what it was like to be in love with Dana Scully and know 
that she didn't even feel near the same way about you.
     Well, pal, his mind said, you felt that way for about four years. 
You know that feeling well. You know exactly what he's going through 
right now, and damned if you don't feel just a little bit smug and 
superior, having won the fair Scully's heart for your very own.
     Feeling slightly ashamed, Mulder walked back into the office, 
shutting the door behind him.
     Scully was standing with her arms crossed. "God, that was close!" 
she said.
     "Do you think he'll say anything?"
     Scully considered this frightening thought for a moment. "No, I 
think he'll keep his mouth shut. It'd be hard for him to explain certain 
things, and I don't think he wants to add any more embarrassment to an 
already painful situation."
     "I think you're right," he agreed, moving back to his desk. "But, 
just to be safe, you realize that I'm never going to be able to kiss 
you, hold you, or make love to you ever again as long as we live."
     Scully laughed. "As if you had the self-control, Mulder."
     "Scully, I'm hurt! What makes you think I can't resist 
your...considerable charms?"
     She sat down at her desk and turned to face him. "Remember our 
little talk about fantasies last night, Mulder?"
     He nodded. "Well...if you come to San Diego with me, not only will 
I wear nothing but one of your shirts for you again...or any other 
fantasy you ask me to fulfill-" she saw his expression suddenly turn 
lecherous, and she held up a hand, "-- within reason, Mulder. Within 
reason. No livestock or furry woodland creatures..." Mulder's face 
playfully fell, and she laughed. "Not only will I do that again for 
you...but I'll let you in on some of...my fantasies."
     Mulder reached for his phone with blinding speed. "Why isn't the 
damn Bureau Travel Office on my speed dial?" he demanded.
     As he waited on hold to book the flight, Dana's laughter filled 
the office.


     Bzzzzzzzz! Skinner looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. He owed 
himself five mental bucks. He'd bet that Mulder would have been in his 
office at least two hours ago. "Yes?" he asked.
     "Agent Mulder to-"
     "Send him in," Skinner said, reaching into his IN basket for the 
completed time-off request form. It was all filled out; all that was 
required was Mulder's signature. Skinner had already signed it himself.
     Mulder walked in with an expression that Skinner had never seen on 
his face before. It took a moment for him to place the exact....
     Respect. It was the first time Skinner had ever seen respect on 
Mulder's face.
     "Yes, Agent Mulder?" he asked.
     "Sir, I was wondering-" Mulder said as he walked in front of 
Skinner's desk.
     Skinner resisted smiling. He slid the form across the top of his 
desk, practically into Mulder's lap. "Sign it, get out, and remember to 
be discreet."
     Mulder looked at the form in his hand and tried unsuccessfully to 
hide his shock.
     "Sir- what?"
     Skinner leaned back and spoke softly. Mulder hadn't shut the door, 
and Abby, aside from being a wonderful admin assistant, was also one of 
the chief contributors to the Bureau's rumor mill, a vital function in 
any organization, a function Skinner had used to his advantage more than 
once.
     "Mulder...when two people first become...close, they need time 
together to acclimate to each other, to get to know each other on that 
new...level. I want you two to be as effective as you have been over the 
last four years, and I can't do that if you're mooning over each other 
like a pair of love-struck teenagers. Take the time...on me and the 
Bureau, for a job well done. Go to San Diego, get some sun while 
Scully's at the conferences, and well...do what has to be done so that 
when you two get back, you can return to the X-files as the partners 
that I know and trust."
     Skinner paused. "Clear?"
     "As crystal," Mulder said, quickly leaning down and signing the 
form. He handed it back to Skinner, and was just about out of the office 
when Skinner called to stop him.
     "Mulder?"
     "Sir?"
     "Have fun." His tone switched to something approaching a warning. 
"But don't get the idea that this will be anything approaching a regular 
occurrence, and don't embarrass me, no matter what happens. Is that 
clear?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Good. Get out of here."
     Skinner waited a good five minutes before dialing the number. "He 
took the bait," he said when the voice answered.
     "We knew he would. Too bad you're not a betting man, Walter. I 
would have liked winning that particular wager."
     "Yeah, yeah, whatever," Skinner said, eager to end the 
conversation.
     "Walter...you sound rushed. When are you coming to visit me 
again?"
     <When Hell freezes over,> Skinner thought. "I can't break away 
right now, I'm sorry."
     "Hmmm...that's too bad." Another pregnant pause. 
     "I should be going," Skinner said.
     "You do that, Walter. We'll take it over from here." She heard 
something in Skinner's silence. "Don't worry yourself so much, Walter. 
You're going to give yourself an ulcer. Remember...we never take direct 
action. We just...observe."
     Skinner said nothing, and after a moment, the woman said, "Good-
bye," and disconnected the call.
     Well, Mulder, Skinner thought, I hope you remember to pack your 
bathing trunks. A sudden mental image of Dana Scully in a green bikini 
flashed across Skinner's face and he blanched, wondering where that 
thought had come from.
     Forcing his concentration back to the task at hand, Skinner turned 
his attention to the monthly manning statistics, preparing once again to 
fight the battle of the belt-tightening, being asked to do too much with 
too little by a government that was led by people that didn't understand 
anything about reality, who existed in a world of sound bites and 
opinion polls. A very large part of him envied Mulder. Mulder was still 
out in the field, investigating exciting, unusual cases, with a partner 
that would die for him, a woman that one of the most incredible that 
Skinner had ever known.
     Lucky bastard, he thought.
----------------------------------------------------------------
END PART 11

Ok, ok...some people might take offense at the concept of Skinner 
playing matchmaker, but I think I handled the concept of the mysterious 
woman on the telephone actually pulling the strings from behind the 
scenes pretty well. To me, that removes responsibility from Skinner, and 
thus saves his characterization. To those of who you think that the 
woman on the other end of the phone is Marita Covarrubias (Mulder's UN 
contact,) it's not. :) She is not part of the Conspiracy, or the Shadow 
Government, and she isn't the resultant love child of Frohicke and the 
Queen of Reticula, either. You'll just have to wait to see who she is. 
:)

I would like some feedback on how I handled the Pendrell situation. I 
read in another FanFic story that his first name was Danny, and so I 
usurped that for my own use. I forgot which story I got it from, but no 
infringement was inten- yadda, yadda, yadda.
"Snapshots 12:Departures"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox 
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used 
without permission, and no infringement is intended. 

Classification : MSR,V,X
Rating : PG13

Summary : This is the continuation of my story "Snapshots." In this 
part, Dana and Fox travel to San Diego at Skinner's behest so Scully can 
attend a forensics conference and Mulder can get a much needed break 
from the X-Files, as well as slowly begin to acclimate to his new 
relationship with Scully. While vacationing, Mulder discovers some 
disturbing evidence regarding a series of deaths that had been ruled 
accidental.

Note: For all of you who have been sending me mail and feedback: Thank 
you so much. Your input has contributed a great deal to the success and 
the continued prolific output of this author. I'm sure that "Snapshot" 
would have stopped long ago if were not for the almost continuous stream 
of mail that I've gotten urging me to continue writing. I love writing 
this series...I'm having so much fun, it should be illegal. However, 
some of the more eagle-eyed of you might have noticed that there's a new 
letter up there on the `classification' line. With this chapter, we will 
be adding an X-file into the storyline. Fear not, relationshippers, I 
plan to fully integrate the new X-file case into the new dynamics of 
Mulder and Scully's relationship as I have defined it in the previous 11 
chapters. Since this is now becoming an X-file, you will start to see 
chapter headings like "Alexandria, Virginia. Tuesday morning," and so 
forth, just like on the show. The chief reason for this is that the 
nature of the X-file will require you to know where things are going on 
as I describe them, and due to the way I (ahem) write, I need to keep 
certain facts obtuse, while making it clear that some very powerful 
people are involved in Our Favorite Duo's latest case.

Also, if some of the things that I reveal about the characters in this 
story, Mulder and Scully specifically, seem to be "off the reservation" 
as far as X-Files canon goes, please read the endnotes. Thanks! :)

Anyway...on with the story.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Dana Scully's Apartment
Thursday morning
0615 hours

     Dana Katherine Scully was a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation, a member of an elite law-enforcement organization charged 
by legislation enacted by Congress, under the auspices of the Department 
of Justice, directed by the Attorney General of the United States of 
America, having completed the rigorous, months-long Special Agents 
training at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. She had taken courses 
at the National Law Enforcement College, and FLETC (Federal Law 
Enforcement Training Center,) in Georgia. She had certificates buried in 
a drawer that stated that she was qualified to be a member of an FBI 
SWAT Team, and had on more than one occasion donned ballistic body 
armor, loaded up a Heckler and Koch MP5-PDW 9mm machine pistol, charged 
the magazines, and kicked her share of doors. Further, she was a fully 
qualified medical doctor, with degrees in Physics and Medicine, with a 
residency in Forensic Pathology, with a specialization in Criminal 
Pathology.  She was board certified in Internal Medicine, Pathology, and 
Forensic Pathology. She was a member in good standing of several 
professional organizations, including some each from both the law 
enforcement arena and medicine. She had been awarded the FBI's 
Meritorious Service award three times, and had seven letters of 
commendation from various directors of the FBI. She even had one letter 
in her file from the Chief Inspector General of New Scotland Yard, and 
another one from the Chief Detective Superintendent of Interpol.
     She was also standing in front of the full length mirror in her 
bedroom, turning this way and that, studying the way she looked in her 
bathing suit. 
     Well, she thought, I won't win any beauty contests...but I 
shouldn't be ashamed of the way I look in this thing. I'm not 19 
anymore. Sighing, Dana decided that it would have to do, only because 
Mulder was scheduled to pick her up in less than two hours, and there 
wasn't a mall within a thousand miles that was open at this hour.
     Dana took the suit off, changing into sweats to finish her 
packing. Part of her seethed at the injustice in the world that required 
all women to look good in a bathing suit, whereas men could just wear a 
pair of cut-off jeans and look fine. Why, Mulder wasn't even going to be 
worried about his bathing-
     Gasping, Dana stood upright. She'd heard the rumors about the 
famed Red Speedo. The secretarial pool (Administrative Assistant Human 
Resources Pool, she reminded herself,) had been agog for months over 
that rumor. Dana sat on the bed and let her mind drift for a minute, 
trying to imagine what Mulder was going to look like splayed out on a 
lounge chair wearing nothing but his sunglasses and a tight, wet, red 
speedo.
     Oh, my.


Fox Mulder's Apartment
Thursday Morning
0620 hours

     Fox William Mulder was also a Special Agent of the FBI, having 
completed the same Special Agent training that Dana Scully had. In 
addition, he was an Oxford-trained psychologist, and had the doctorate 
to prove it. He was a certified National Violent Criminal Profiler, a 
permanent status that was issued by the VICAP section of the BSU to only 
a few profilers who were exquisitely qualified in the art and magic of 
tracking violent serial criminals. He was trained in anti-terrorism 
techniques, and had also attended the NLEC and FLETC courses. He had 
attended the National Law Academy, and graduated with honors. He had 
recently qualified as an Expert Marksman with his Bureau-issue pistol, 
and had also qualified on the H&K MP5-PDW and AN/PVS-7B and PAC-4C night 
vision assault system. He had two FBI Meritorious Service awards, four 
letters of commendation, and two letters matching Scully's from the two 
foreign investigative agencies.
     And he was standing in front of <his> mirror, checking himself out 
in the speedo. He turned sideways and patted his stomach, noticing that 
an extra burrito might have crawled in there sometime over the past few 
weeks. The speedo, he decided, was out. He dove back into the bottom 
drawer, where he kept all the clothes that he kept intending to discard, 
but they never seemed to find their way to goodwill. He found the Oxford 
sweatshirt there, and seeing that it had shrunk due to repeated 
washings, decided on the spot to give it to Scully. It would fit her 
perfectly.
     He found what he was looking for, a pair of trunks that he had 
almost thrown away a dozen times. Silently thanking the God of Guyness 
that didn't allow men to throw anything away, ever, he donned those and 
repeated the Mirror Check. Better, he thought. They were loud and 
obnoxious, but they fit, and that was all that was important. 
     Fox undressed quickly, and then changed into a pair of jeans and a 
comfortable T-shirt. It was going to be a six and a half-hour flight to 
San Diego, with a stop in, of all places, Tucson. The layover was only 
about ten minutes, but Mulder preferred non-stops. 
     He finished packing his clothes and stood, wondering what else to 
bring. A good book, his portable CD player, his electronic counter-
surveillance gear, his pistol and backup, a microcasette recorder, his 
laptop, some case files-
     No. The case files would stay. This was a vacation, after all. The 
electronic countersurvail gear was necessary, as was his pistol and 
laptop. Just because he was on vacation didn't mean They were. 
     Smiling, Fox realized he was finished packing. He checked his 
watch. Quarter to seven. He still had about an hour and a half before he 
had to grab Scully and dash to the airport. 


Dana Scully's Apartment
Thursday Morning
0800 hours

     Mulder parked his car and got out, locking it behind him. It was 
normally a safe neighborhood, but on the way over he'd realized that 
he'd packed practically everything he owned, and he couldn't afford to 
lose any of it. Whistling as he walked, Mulder made his way inside 
Scully's building, taking the stairs two at a time. This was going to be 
great, he thought.
     He let himself into Scully's apartment and groaned when he saw the 
pile of bags sitting in front of her couch.
     "Scullllly," he called out. "I don't believe it! Didn't you pack 
the kitchen table, too?"
     "I don't want to hear it, Mulder," Scully called from the bedroom. 
"You get to sit around by the pool all day. I have a conference to 
attend. I need business clothes, and casual clothes."
     "Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, mostly to himself. He grabbed the first 
of the six bags and turned to walk back downstairs.
     "Hey!" Scully called. "Don't I get a kiss?"
     Well, a kiss from Scully had to beat carrying bags, he thought, so 
Mulder dropped them and made his way into the bedroom, only to find 
Scully dressed in nothing but a bra and panties, standing in front of 
her closet with one hand on her hip, studying the contents.
     "Jesus, Scully! You could have warned me," he said, placing a hand 
over his heart.
     "What?" she asked, turning. She looked down at herself and then 
back at Mulder, grinning. "Why, Fox Mulder...are you embarrassed to be 
seeing your lover in her underwear?"
     "No...just surprised."
     "Does it make you uncomfortable?" she asked, reaching for her 
robe.
     "God, no," he said, waving her hand away. "It just...caught me off 
guard."
     Scully walked over to him, slinking her arms around his neck and 
leaning up on her toes to kiss his nose. "This vacation is just 
starting, Mulder. I plan to catch you off guard often."
     "Lord, I hope I survive," he moaned, returning her kiss. "Just 
about ready?"
     "No," she frowned, dropping her arms. "I can't decide what to wear 
on the plane."
     "How about shorts, a T-shirt, sneakers, and a big floppy hat?"
     "Everything but the hat sounds great. I'll get dressed. Go load 
the bags."
     "Yes, sir," he said, proffering a mock salute. He turned and left, 
retrieved the bags he'd dropped and made his way downstairs. Four trips 
later, he was finished, and the trunk of the Taurus was bulging with 
Scully's luggage. 
     He returned to find her watering the plants and changing the 
message on her machine. Scully turned to him, a wide, warm smile on her 
face. "I'm finally ready, Mulder."
     A sudden thought occurred to him. "Do you have your gun, Scully?"
     "No...I didn't think-"
     "Firstly," he pointed out, "regulations. Skinner would blow his 
top if you get taken hostage at your convention and I have to blow my 
way in there only to find out that the only weapon you have is that 
killer smile of yours."
     "You think my smile is a killer?" she teased, flashing him one. 
She knew what it did to him, and that was exactly why she rationed them 
so carefully. Didn't want the poor boy to overdose, do we, Dana?
     "Secondly," he continued, "you know us...something might happen. 
It's best to be prepared. Get the Walther, OK? A little .380 will fit in 
your purse."
     "Where's yours?"
     "In my carryon."
     "Oh, all right. But it's always such a hassle clearing security 
with that thing."
     

Dulles International Airport
America West Terminal
0939 hours

     Mulder and Scully approached the metal detector, having already 
checked most of their luggage. They each carried their laptops and 
another bag full of books and things to do on the trip. Mulder had even 
managed to find an edition of Travel Scrabble, and was looking forward 
to matching wits with Scully on the long flight.
     "Here we go," Scully whispered to him. She approached a security 
guard, her ID case already out. "Hi," she said softly, "I'm Special 
Agent Dana Scully, and-"
     "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder," Mulder said behind her, opening 
his credentials for inspection at the same time. "We're going to San 
Diego, and we're both armed."
     The guard looked at the casually dressed agents, back to their ID, 
and back at them again. "Vacation?" he asked. "I thought the FBI regs 
said you guys had to travel in suits and ties on business."
     "Business for me," Scully said. 
     "Vacation for me," Mulder added.
     The guard thought about it and finally nodded. "I'll have to call 
the airline and tell them you're on the flight." Scully and Mulder both 
nodded; it was routine by now. FAA regulations were very specific. Any 
guns on any flight had to be made known to the airline. The guard took 
down their information and then discreetly waved them around the metal 
detector so as not to alert the other passengers.
     "That wasn't so bad," Scully said. "For once."
     They made their way to the ticket count and reconfirmed their seat 
assignments, and then sat down to wait for the boarding call. Scully 
popped open her laptop and continued working on the seemingly never-
ending letter to her brother Charles. Mulder opened a gruesome murder 
mystery and quickly lost himself inside it.
     "Don't you get enough of that stuff at work?" Scully asked.
     "Nah," he answered. "I just like seeing what they screw up. 
Technically, I mean. I love reading stories where the main character 
uses a safety on a revolver." 
     "Whatever floats your boat, Mulder," Scully whispered, returning 
her attention to the letter.
     About twenty minutes later, they were boarded and seated. Scully 
had insisted on the window seat, and Mulder sat next to her. Across the 
isle were three empty seats, and Mulder prayed they would remain that 
way. He hated making inane conversation with strangers on airplanes. 
     Luckily, the seats remained empty. The flight attendants sealed 
the plane, and the pilot quickly pushed back and proceeded to taxi for 
takeoff.
     Sitting on the threshold to the active runway, Scully turned to 
Mulder and squeezed his hand. "I feel like were starting a huge 
adventure...together," she smiled.
     "Me, too," he said, leaning down to kiss her softly.


San Diego International Airport
1631 hours

     The jet touched down with a squeal of tires, jerking Mulder awake. 
Sleepily, he turned to find Scully similarly sacked out, and reached 
over to gently shake her awake. Her eyes opened quickly. "We're here?" 
He just nodded, too tired from the flight to do much of anything else.
     They landed, taxied and deplaned rather quickly, Mulder wondering 
why people didn't debus or decar. Baggage was slow in coming, and the 
pair leaned against other in baggage claim, not saying much of anything, 
just enjoying being together, away from Washington, and not being on a 
case.
     Once they stepped outside of the terminal and smelled the ocean 
air of San Diego, all thoughts of tiredness were forgotten. The sun was 
just beginning its' decent into the ocean, and the view was spectacular.
     "God, if there is a heaven," Mulder said.
     "...this must be it," Scully finished. "C'mon, slowpoke...we have 
to get a rental car and check in at the hotel."
     

The Pointe Hotel
Room 1013
San Diego
Thursday Afternoon
1721 hours

     "If there's nothing else, then," the bellboy said, looking 
expectantly at Mulder. Startled, Mulder realized the man was expecting a 
tip. It had been such a long time since either of them had stayed at a 
hotel who's idea of room service wasn't a vending machine that he'd 
almost forgotten his manners. He palmed a five dollar bill and shook the 
man's hand, passing it like he'd seen it done in the movies.
     After the door had shut, Scully smirked, "Smooth move, Cary Grant. 
I bet he only sees that about a thousand times a day."
     "But never the way I just did it, I bet."
     "I'm sure."
     Mulder patted his stomach. "I'm hungry. Let's change, and go get 
some dinner."
     "I have a better idea," Scully said. "I feel grimy from the plane 
ride. Let's shower, then change, then go get dinner."
     As it turned out, together, naked in the shower, they came up with 
a third option.

The Pointe Hotel Dining Room
Thursday Evening
1833 hours

     "Mmmmm," Scully said, wiping her face with the napkin. "That was 
delicious. If the Bureau let us stay at these hotels instead of the 
roach-infested rat-traps they force us to use, I'm sure we'd have a 
higher solve rate."
     "Are you kidding? We'd never want to get back to Washington for 
the dreaded paperwork. The entire system of Federal justice would grind 
to a halt in the matter of a week!"
     "You're right, Mulder," Scully agreed, tossing the napkin down on 
the table. She glanced across the table at her partner and felt the 
beginnings of a smile teasing her lips. The memory of their lovemaking 
in the shower was still fresh in her mind, and she had a startlingly 
vivid image of Mulder, his head thrown back in passion, his hands 
clutching her hips as he-
     "What are you thinking, Scully?" Mulder asked. "You have the 
strangest expression on your face."
     "Nothing," she said quickly, looking around for something to 
distract him. "I was thinking about how nice he sounds," she said, 
indicating the piano player situated in the far corner of the 
restaurant. He was tinkling the keys skillfully, filling the restaurant 
with comfortable, friendly ambiance. He finished his song and stood, 
announcing quietly that he would be back in ten minutes.
     "You think he plays well?" Mulder asked, his eyebrows arched.
     Scully turned back to face him. "Can you play better?"
     "As a matter of fact," Mulder said, standing. "I can." He started 
to walk across the restaurant towards the piano, and shocked, Scully 
stared after him for a long moment before standing to go after him. His 
long legs and longer strides got him there first, and Mulder sat down, 
stopping only to loudly pop his knuckles.
     "Lemme think," he said, scratching his jaw. "Oh yes..." His 
fingers lowered to the keyboard, Scully bit her lip in anticipation, and 
then...
     Chopsticks.
     Scully laughed, covering her mouth with a hand. "Mulder!" she 
gasped. "These people are paying good money to-"
     He made a shhhhh! gesture with a finger to his lips, and then, 
while staring directly, deeply into Scully's eyes, began playing for 
real. It sounded familiar, and after a minute Scully realized it was a 
German love song. He went up and down the keyboard, his fingers 
flourishing on the piano, his eyes never leaving Scully's. He switched 
to a light jazz ditty, moving around the keyboard with ease, his body 
starting to move with the music, and finished with a medley of popular 
tunes. His last song was "Hotel California," an abbreviated version. He 
finished with his hands high in the air, a small smirk playing at the 
corner of his mouth.
     Dana raised her hands to clap, but the patrons of the restaurant 
beat her to it. The applause was genuine, not just polite, and Dana 
joined in, wondering when he had learned to the play the piano, and why 
she had never known about it before.
     Because you've never been on vacation with the man, Dana. Because 
this is the best part of any relationship...the discoveries.
     Mulder stood and made a mock bow to the restaurant, and then took 
Scully's hand and led her back to the table.
     "Where did...when did...why haven't I...?" Scully asked.
     "Home. As a child. Because it never came up, and I really don't 
play anymore."
     "Why not? You're wonderful!"
     Mulder shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well..."
     "Mulder," she said quickly. "You don't have to tell me if you 
don't want to." Please, she thought. Please tell me. I want to know. I 
want to know everything there is to know about you, Fox. I want to know 
all your secrets, all things that make you so uniquely, deliciously you.
     "No, it's OK." He smiled. "Part of the reason we're here is our 
beloved Assistant Director Skinner wants us to get to know each other 
better, to get over the `breaking-in' period of this relationship."
     "Do you think we will?" Scully asked.
     "What? Get used to each other? Maybe the way Skinner thinks, sure. 
But not the way I think you mean, Scully." He paused, leaned across the 
table, and whispered, "Every day with you is an exciting, incredible new 
adventure, Scully. I don't think we'll ever lose that." Dana was 
unprepared for the feeling of love for Mulder that flowed over her at 
his words. It was exactly what she had wanted to hear, and it was made 
that much more special by the fact that she knew he meant it.
     "But, back to the piano. It was something that Sam and I liked to 
do together. She would get after me to practice, and I would play for 
her and her friends. After she...left, I didn't really feel like playing 
anymore."
     But you played for me, Scully thought. She reached across and 
squeezed his hand, suddenly wanting to be alone with him. Very alone.
     "Let's go, Mulder," she said, the invitation and meaning in her 
eyes unmistakable.
     His eyes had a faraway look, and Scully turned to see he was 
looking at the television over the bar. The news was on, and there was a 
graphic beneath the announcer that said "Breaking Story."
     "Hang on a minute, Scully," Mulder said, standing. "I want to 
check this out." He walked quickly to the bar, positioning himself under 
the TV. After a moment, he felt Scully beside him, her arm slipping 
around his waist.
     "I signed the check," she whispered.
     "Shhhh," he said.
     "Repeating, convicted murderer and suspected serial rapist John 
Lee Wayne Stainback has been found dead in his southside apartment. An 
explosion ripped through the apartment only minutes ago, and police are 
still at the scene. They refuse to rule out foul play at the moment, and 
this is being investigated as a suspicious death."
     "No shit," Dana said, laughing.
     She noticed Mulder hadn't joined her, and turned to face him. 
"Mulder...what is it?"
     "I remember him," Mulder said, wagging a finger at the TV. "From 
VICAP. When he went down for the murder, he let something slip in an 
interrogation, and the SDPD asked for a VICAP profile to see if he could 
fit the Southside Stalker case. About six years ago...the murder 
conviction was overturned on a technicality, and...then the rape trial 
was similarly dismissed because of another legal 
technicality...something about the evidence being tampered with. I don't 
remember the details, but-"
     "You don't remember something? I find that incredibly hard to 
believe."
     "Well, I was out of the case at that point. I did the profile and 
forgot about it...that was when I started to push the FBI to open up the 
X-Files. I skimmed over it in the paper. But that's not the interesting 
part."
     "What's the interesting part, Mulder," Scully asked, beginning to 
worry. He had that special, unique MulderLook on his face, like a hound 
on the scent. Oh God, she thought...not now. Please not now. We're on 
vacation!
     "I can't put it all together until I get a computer search going. 
But I have a hunch I want to check out."
     Scully turned him to face her completely. "Not tonight. Do you 
hear me? Not tonight. Tomorrow, while I'm at the conference, if you want 
to play hide and seek on the Internet, that's fine. But not tonight. Do 
I make myself clear?"
     "Clear, Scully," he said, kissing her. "We're on vacation!"

The Pointe Hotel
Room 1013
1903 hours

     Mulder sat on the bed, propped up against the headboard, eyeing 
his laptop hungrily. It sat on the dresser, mocking him. Scully was in 
the bathroom, brushing her teeth and doing whatever else she did to get 
ready for bed.
     You're going to have to find out what she does before bed 
eventually, pal. That's the price to pay for being with her. You get to 
see her all the time, first thing in the morning, with bed-head, eyes 
red and puffy from sleep, her mouth reeking of bad breath, the whole 
nine yards. Somehow, the idea of waking up next to Scully every morning 
for the next nine days, perhaps the rest of his life made Mulder smile.
     What the hell, he thought. I can do part of it tonight. He got out 
of bed and unlimbered the laptop, quickly plugging it into a datajack 
that the hotel had thoughtfully provided. No more unplugging the room 
phone for data access.
     Logging into the local FBI Point of Presence node, he quickly 
connected with the machine that was at that moment sleeping in the 
basement office of the X-files. He called up an automated search program 
he called KILLBOT, and quickly entered the parameters he wanted. He 
started it running, and then quickly switched to his email program when 
he heard Scully emerging from the bathroom.
     "Hey!" she said. "I thought we agreed--"
     "Just doing some email," he said, which was true...to a point. "I 
have to tell Frohicke that he can come pick up his...package."
     Dana smiled, remembering what that meant. No more videos. No more 
magazines. She had his full and undivided attention as far as females 
went. The thought made her feel warm and comfortable.
     "Oh. That's OK, then."
     Mulder instructed the email program to `tell' the KILLBOT program 
to store the results as an email message, and signed off, closing the 
laptop with an audible snap! He reached over and gently put the computer 
on the floor, where it would remain until the next morning.
     "Little early to be turning in," he commented. Scully had emerged 
from the bathroom wearing nothing but a huge HRT T-shirt, and it looked 
wonderful on her. Mulder was wearing a pair of sweatpants he had cut the 
legs off for basketball years ago. They were soft and comfortable. 
     "Remember, Mulder...we're still on DC time. It's almost ten 
o'clock there."
     "Well, I'm gonna read for a while," he said, reaching for his 
book. "I'm not sleepy."
     Scully laid down on the bed, propping some pillows up for herself. 
"Who said anything about sleeping?" she asked. Mulder, who had already 
opened the book, stole a casual glance over at her. 
     "Geez, you're insatiable!" he mockingly complained.
     "Who said anything about making love? `Friends' is almost on."
     Despite her desire to watch television, Mulder's nearness and his 
incessant touching soon forced Dana to admit that there were better 
things to do than watch television.


The Pointe Hotel
Room 1013
Friday Morning
0630 hours

     Scully was in the bathroom, having quietly exited the bed only 
minutes ago to take her shower. She hadn't wanted to wake Mulder, and so 
she had set her watch alarm to beep her awake softly, hoping the gentle 
noise would allow him to sleep a while longer. Mulder heard the shower 
start, cracked an eye, and reached down for his laptop.
     He cracked it open and quickly signed back onto the San Diego FBI 
POP. He connected to the machine in his office, nicknamed Trixie for 
some forgotten reason, and called up the results of his search.
     Holy shit.
     It was true. His hunch had paid off. He started reading the data, 
his hair still sleep-tousled, his eyes puffy. There was no mistaking it. 
Dana was going to shit-
     "Hey!"
     Mulder looked up, a guilty expression crossing his face.
     "What are you doing?"
     "I...uh...." He decided to come clean. "Last night, before I 
checked my email, I ran a search program on a hunch." 
     Dana felt the flash of annoyance, and resisted the urge to get 
angry. It had taken him all of five minutes, she guessed, to start the 
search and check his email. She'd asked him not to do any work last 
night, and truth be told, she knew, KILLBOT had done most of the work. 
She looked back at Mulder and saw the puppy-dog look on his face, and 
true to form, she forgave him on the spot. 
     "OK. No harm, no foul." It was a basketball term he'd taught her, 
and she saw him beam at her words. "What did you find?"
     "You won't believe it, Scully. C'mere." He scooted to the edge of 
the bed, perching the laptop on his knees. If he had any problem with 
the fact that he was stark naked, he didn't show it. She took a second 
to appreciate his nudity, and considered taking the laptop away and 
jumping him. Instead, she sat down next to him and peered at the screen.
     "What does it say?" KILLBOT's output was confusing and arcane. It 
was a bunch of numbers and letters, mostly pointing to criminal history 
files in the NCIC or other state police computers around the country.
     "Over the last three years," Mulder said, adopting his Lecture 
Voice that Dana found so annoying, "over sixty felons have died under 
suspicious circumstances."
     "Sixty? In a country with a million people in jail? That's pretty 
small numbers, Mulder."
     "No...let me finish. These sixty all have several things in 
common. Firstly, they've all been previously convicted of violent 
felonies. Assault with Intent was the least of the felonies I found. 
Secondly, they were all accused, within six months of their death, with 
another violent felony. And thirdly..." Mulder paused, knowing that this 
was the killing blow.
     "Thirdly...all of them...every single one...had the most recent 
charges dismissed, overturned on appeal, or had mistrials declared due 
to legal technicalities."
     Mulder's words, his implications, were clear immediately to her. 
"Someone is..."
     "...killing them. Vigilantism. Over sixty accused criminals with 
violent convictions are being killed because someone...maybe a whole 
bunch of someone's...thinks they're getting away with murder and rape."
-----------------------------------------------------------
END PART 12

Please feel free to skip this part if you didn't have a problem with 
some of the character traits that were brought out in this chapter.

End Note : OK, I know that it's not an established fact that Mulder 
plays the piano...but I was sitting down to sketch this chapter out on 
the Trusty Legal Pad, and I did a character chart. Mulder in one column, 
Scully in the other. The rows were words, questions, like "Hobbies?" or 
"Musical Instruments?" It's a device that I use to strengthen character 
development, because I can throw things in around the edges of a story 
that add to the detail. It's my one vanity, that I like the characters 
to be real, fleshed out, complete. It just seemed logical that a mind 
like Mulder's would be drawn to the complexity of the piano. Plus, with 
his photographic memory, and the availability of pianos in hotel 
restaurants...well, you do the math. And it was either the piano...or 
the oboe. And I just couldn't see Mulder grabbing an oboe from anyone in 
a hotel restaurant, or at a chamber music recital. (For those of you 
that have read this far, and give a half a hoot, the musical instrument 
I picked for Scully was...........the French horn. Second was the flute. 
And third was the clarinet. I had a scene in my head where Mulder 
watched Scully wrap her lips around the mouthpiece of a clarinet, and 
then...well, you can figure the rest. But then I remembered that good 
French horn players have to have <very> good tongue control...and that 
was that.)  Mulder, in my mind, as I write and draw him, doesn't have 
any hobbies. His work is his hobby, his obsession, but we might find out 
that he had certain other hobbies as a child, before Sam was taken. As 
for Scully's hobbies...I have no idea. Horticulture, maybe. Genealogy. 
Something orderly that would appeal to her scientific mind. Perhaps 
watercolor painting...that has some promise for the chapters to come. 
Anyway, I've wasted enough time and bandwidth with this.

"Snapshots 13:Detection"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox 
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used 
without permission, and no infringement is intended. 

Classification : MSR,V,X
Rating : PG13

Summary : This is the continuation of my story "Snapshots." In this 
part, Dana and Fox travel to San Diego at Skinner's behest so Scully can 
attend a forensics conference and Mulder can get a much needed break 
from the X-Files, as well as slowly begin to acclimate to his new 
relationship with Scully. While vacationing, Mulder discovers some 
disturbing evidence regarding a series of deaths that had been ruled 
accidental.

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

     "It was one of those great stories
     that you can't put down at night.
     The hero knew what he had to do
     and he wasn't afraid to fight.
     The villain goes to jail
     while the hero goes free.
     I wish it were that simple for me.
     And the reason that she loved him
     was the reason I loved him, too.
     And he never wondered what 
     was right or wrong...
     He just knew"
               "Hero" 
          
The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Room 1013
Friday Morning
0636 hours

     "Wait a minute, Mulder...let's not jump to conclusions. There is 
still a hell of a lot more of investigating that has to be done before 
anyone can definitively say that some...what? Government hit squad is 
removing problem children from the convicted felon population? God, 
Mulder, just on the surface the idea is ludicrous!"
     Mulder indicated his laptop screen with a single fingers. "Numbers 
don't lie, Scully. The numbers say that something is happening."
     "Let me see," she said, turning the screen to face her. She worked 
the keys quickly, digging a little deeper into the data. "Look, 
here...this guy died in a car accident. No conspiracy there, right? 
Happens a thousand times a day." She continued to scroll. "This 
guy...heart attack. A stroke after that. The guy after him...suicide. 
Hung himself. Left a note and everything."
     Mulder's face showed the first tinges of uncertainty. "Well, you 
have to admit that the numbers, when taken together like this, look 
suspicious."
     "I'm not arguing that you've discovered a significant statistical 
trend here, Mulder. What I am saying is that it's a little bit early for 
you to don your armor, climb up on your horse and go charging off to 
tilt at windmills."
     He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face, his eyes suddenly tired. 
"Yeah, you're right," he said. "I don't know what got into me."
     Scully smiled. She took the laptop off his thighs and put it on 
the bed. Taking his hands in hers, she smiled at him, looking into his 
eyes. "Mulder...do you have any concept of what you <did?> You saw a 
single news report, and that...sparked something inside you. I don't 
know how that mind of yours makes the connections it does, but within 
twelve hours you have enough data to open a case file, maybe even an X-
file, with a little more research. Do you have any concept of how 
amazing that is?"
     He shrugged. "I never thought about it like that, Scully. It 
just...happens."
     She kissed him suddenly, a short, hard, intense kiss that rocked 
him back. "I'll tell you what's going to happen now," she said, standing 
and walking over to her dresser. She found the earrings he had given her 
and donned them, studying herself in the mirror. "I'm going to go 
downstairs and attend the morning session. You, Mulder, are going to get 
up right now, shower, shave, and put something comfortable on, go down 
and sit by the pool." She saw the look on his face and smiled at his 
reflection in the mirror. "Don't pout, Mulder. I want you to take that 
laptop and work it to death. Do all the research you want. Let that mind 
of yours loose."
     The look of confusion on his face was priceless. "Scully...we're 
on vacation!"
     "Yes," she said, turning to face him. "That's true. But, I know 
you well enough to know that if you don't satisfy yourself about this, 
you're going to be impossible to live with for the next week. Once you 
satisfy your curiosity...you'll be much easier to get along with. 
So...go for it. Just don't forget we have a lunch date." She walked over 
to where he was still sitting and held out her hand. "Deal?"
     "Deal!" he said, taking it and pumping. 
     "So go and get in the shower. I have a meeting to get to." Mulder 
stood up from the bed and turned to go the bathroom. He had taken barely 
half a step when he felt Scully's hand on his left buttock, gently 
squeezing, her nails lightly scratching the skin. He stopped and turned 
back to face her.
     "Yes?"
     She looked at her hand on his ass and slowly raised her eyes to 
meet his, one delicate eyebrow gently arched. "Nice ass, Mulder."
     "Glad you like it," he said. She patted the cheek. 
     "It'll do," she said, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. 
"I gotta go." He watched her walk out of the room, wondering what he had 
done to deserve a woman like her. 


National Security Agency
Fort George G. Meade, Maryland
0840 Hours EST (0640 Hours PST)

     The National Security Agency, created by an executive order signed 
by then-President Harry S. Truman in 1947, is the premier intelligence 
agency in the world. Charged with the collection and analysis of signal 
intelligence (SIGINT) and Electronic Intelligence (ELINT), the basement 
computer complex of the NSA houses possibly the single largest, most 
powerful collection of computing machines ever known to man. Three 
separate Cray XMP's work around the clock doing hundreds of millions of 
computations per second, keeping an ever-vigilant electronic eye on the 
enemies of the United States. Other, smaller computers, computers 
powerful enough by themselves to run banks and airlines, do little more 
than what amounts to housekeeping duties for the massive Cray 
supercomputers.
     A computer system charged with intercepting the highly classified, 
deeply encrypted diplomatic and intelligence message and signals traffic 
of practically every country in the world is understandably complex. 
That complexity, when viewed through the right prism, can provide 
opportunity.
     So much of what the NSA did on a daily basis was so highly 
classified that the huge majority of it's employees, all the way down to 
the custodians and cafeteria workers, had to successfully qualify for a 
Top Secret clearance. Not well known to those outside military and 
intelligence circles, there are higher classifications than Top Secret. 
When you enter into the world of electronic intelligence gathering, 
where the tiniest leak about methods of collection and analysis can mean 
the end of a successful mission, collection platform, or a life, 
institutional paranoia becomes a way of life. Projects are classified 
above Top Secret, with special compartmentalized access required. 
Employees cleared for the details about one project may be kept 
completely in the dark about another, if they are not deemed to have the 
magical "Need to Know." If someone knew how to play the game correctly, 
they could keep a project hidden from prying eyes for years without 
discovery.
     Which is why a small PC-sized computer sat in a wiring closet in a 
network junction room at the National Security Agency. If the network 
managers and technicians were asked what the computer was for, and they 
were to look in their massive internal database of equipment and 
purposes, they would be told that the computer was working on a given 
project for the Images and Platforms group, and that the project was 
classified, and to leave it the hell alone. If Images and Platforms 
asked Signals and Lines what the box was for, they would be told that it 
was a project for Analysis and Gathering, and before long, it would 
vanish into a maze of paperwork requests for security clearances, and 
long, long before anyone actually got a clearance high enough to ask the 
magical question, the PC-sized computer in the wiring closet in a 
junction room at the NSA would have long since vanished and subsequently 
destroyed.
     Because that PC computer, specially built to perform a single, 
crucial task, was neither the property of the National Security Agency, 
the Central Intelligence Agency, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the 
ATF, the FBI, or any other member of the alphabet-soup of agencies that 
made up the federal government's so-called "Intelligence" community. It 
belonged to a group made of up people that belonged to all those 
agencies, and more, a group that existed outside of the government, and 
although the members of the group did not consider themselves above the 
law, they did consider themselves self-appointed administrators of the 
law.
     Which is why a computer that had been nicknamed "Wuzzle" sat in 
that NSA wiring closet day after day, performing that single, crucial 
task: Watching the NCIC computer. The National Crime Information 
Computer is owned and operated by the FBI. It is the NCIC computer that 
is accessed every time a speeder is pulled over by a highway patrolman. 
If you've ever been arrested and fingerprinted, you have some sort of 
record in the NCIC. Any valid police jurisdiction in the country can 
enter a warrant into the NCIC, and if you are discovered in another 
state, in another city or town, the police there can quickly and 
accurately access your complete criminal history.
     Wuzzle was put in place as a tripwire. Its' single job was to 
watch access patterns into the NCIC and warn another computer, somewhere 
else in the United States, if it noticed a specific set of 
circumstances. That morning, at just after 3AM local time, Wuzzle's 
internal program had noticed that something was going on at NCIC, 
something it had been programmed to do. So it started paying attention. 
Any packet of data that flew by Wuzzle on the way to or from the NCIC 
was sniffed by its' program, and if the packet in question matched the 
parameters that Wuzzle had been taught to look for, Wuzzle recorded 
them, saving them for later analysis by someone with less silicon and 
more grey matter for a brain.
     Another subroutine inside Wuzzle executed, and spare copies of the 
sniffed packets were quietly stashed on anonymous accounts across the 
country. One last subroutine executed, generating a single email message 
to another location somewhere in the vast computer network that spanned 
the country. It contained three single bytes. 9 1 1. The recipient would 
know what the message meant, and according to Wuzzle's program, he had 
only one thing left to do.
     Systematically, Wuzzle started erasing itself off the hard drive, 
block by block, overwriting itself with random patterns of ones and 
zeros until the only thing that was left was a small chunk of the 
operating system. Wuzzle's last instruction was to delete that last part 
of itself.
     For the first time in almost seven years, Wuzzle wasn't watching 
over the NCIC.
     

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Poolside
1033 Hours

     "Thank you," Mulder said to the waitress. She had just refilled 
his coffee cup for the sixth time and Mulder was wondering how he was 
going to be able to take a pee without leaving the laptop. It wasn't 
that he had any real desire to take the computer to the men's room with 
him, it was just that the data on the screen was so fascinating that he 
was having an impossible time concentrating on anything else.
     "Can I get you anything else?"
     Mulder looked up at her. She was beautiful, by California 
standards, with sun-streaked hair and a smile that had obviously been 
augmented by the best dental science had to offer. "You wouldn't happen 
to have a copy of the Statistical Abstract of the United States, would 
you?"
     She blinked at him, and her perfect smile faltered just a bit. "I 
can check with the front desk," she offered. Mulder had the suspicion 
that she was programmed to say that whenever a guest asked her a 
question that she didn't know the answer two. He also felt that the 
front desk probably heard from this waitress far more often than they 
would have liked.
     "No, that's all right...if I need it, I can get it off the 
Internet."
     She smiled at a word she recognized. Pointing at Mulder's laptop 
she asked, "Is the Internet in there?"
     Mulder chewed his lip, wondering if the millstone of humiliation 
<was> outweighed this time by the need to mess with her head.
     "Yes," he finally said. "Yes, it is. The entire Internet is inside 
this teeeeny little computer."
     She seemed to consider this for a moment, and Mulder saw her mind 
struggling with the concept. She wasn't sure what, exactly, the Internet 
was, but she could hear something in Mulder's voice, something that 
wasn't quite teasing. It was more...
     Mocking. 
     "Cool," she finally said, straightening up and readjusting her 
tray. "If you decide to go swimming, let me know and I'll get you a 
towel."
     Mulder just nodded, his attention already back to the laptop. The 
waitress turned to go, and Mulder thought of something. "Wait! You can 
do something for me, after all."
     She turned back, all smiles. "Yes, sir?"
     Mulder patted his pockets. "Do you have something to write with? 
And something to write on?"
     She handed him her ticket book and pen. He tore the top sheet off 
and turned it over, quickly scribbling a note. Folding it, he addressed 
it. "Please make sure that Dr. Scully gets this note. She's attending 
the conference here at the hotel."
     "I'll make sure he gets it," the waitress said. Shrugging, Mulder 
decided to concentrate on the computer rather than correcting the 
waitresses misconception about Scully's gender. If she did what the note 
asked her, the waitress would be able to see for herself.

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Main Ballroom
1052 hours

     "Dr. Scully? There's a message for you." Dana took the note and 
opened it, swiftly reading it:

     Dana-
          Let's play hooky. I've got a lot to show you. 
          Grab your suit and meet me by the pool.
               Love,
                    M.

     Dana closed the note, holding it between two fingers, tapping it 
against her chin. She had to admit that the conference was utterly 
boring. It was scientifically valid, and important to her work...to a 
point. That point had long since been approached, met, and surpassed. 
The idea of putting on her suit and playing hooky with Mulder for the 
rest of the day was intriguing. 
     She opened the packet that she had been given and checked to see 
what the afternoon held. Two boring lectures and two even more boring 
Q&A sessions as the attendees tried to prove that they grasped the 
incredibly arcane and technical points that would be raised during the 
lectures.
     I really shouldn't, she thought. Four years of college, four of 
medical school, and I never, ever cut a class. The Bureau is paying for 
this. They expect their money's worth. 
     But still...

The Pointe, San Diego
Poolside
1145 hours

     Mulder was tapping on his keyboard when he saw Dana exit the hotel 
onto the pool deck. She was wearing her bathing suit, a garment he had 
never seen her in before. It was basic black, a modest one-piece that 
was cut high on the hip, but not immodestly so. The neck was scooped 
just a little, just enough to show a delicious little tease of cleavage. 
She had a towel casually tossed over one shoulder, and she carried a 
paperback book in the other. Her eyes were invisible behind her 
sunglasses as she walked around the perimeter of the pool. Mulder 
noticed that every single male eye in the place was fixed on his 
partner, and he took a moment to try and look at her as these men were. 
Not as her partner, her friend, her lover, but simple as a m-a-n.
     She was beautiful, that much was for sure...but why? Fox tried to 
distance himself from his feelings for Scully, just for enough time to 
capture a stray testosterone-fueled thought flying around the pool deck. 
Well, for one, it was the way she moved. She wasn't sashaying around, 
swinging her hips or anything obvious...but her gait was slow, sweet and 
sensual. She walked like a cat, Mulder decided, careful and even, each 
step placed precisely so. His eyes traveled up her legs, stopping at the 
swell of her buttocks.
     OK, he thought, Mulder, you've had to look at that for four years. 
You've finally gotten your hands and lips on it. You know what it looks 
like clothed, naked, and in the shower. It's time to admit it. You're 
entitled.
     Scully has a <great> ass, he thought. There was just something 
about it...maybe it was because it was <her> ass, but he didn't think 
so, judging by the looks of the other guys situated around the pool. No, 
it was unanimous, and official. It was just a perfect butt. The rest of 
her petite body wasn't outrageous enough to stop traffic dead, but it 
was proportional, and nicely assembled. It turned more than one head. 
Her hair...red, like the fires of hell itself. That spoke for itself. 
Her face...He looked at her face and felt himself losing contact with 
that part of himself, the majority of his consciousness wanting to lose 
itself in her beauty. Her mouth...that cupid's bow upper lip, her slight 
overbite, the even, perfectly white teeth, even that tiny little beauty 
mark below her left nostril that she tried to hide with makeup (for God 
only KNEW what reason,) was sexy. 
     "Mulder, what are you staring at?" she demanded.
     "You," he said simply. "Just you, Scully."
     "Well, stop it. You're making me uncomfortable."
     "Sorry, Scully. Have a seat."
     She sat down next to him, scooting her chair closer to his which 
earned her an annoyed look from the waitress.
     "Dr. Scully?" she asked, her face an obvious mask of patronizing 
snootiness. 
     "Yes?" Dana asked, completely unfazed.
     "Can I get you anything to drink?"
     Dana thought about it a minutes. "Margarita. On the rocks. No 
salt."
     The waitress wrote her order down, turned to go, but stopped. "If 
you don't mind me asking, what kind of...doctor are you? The kind that 
reads lots of books and talks to people that have problems in their 
heads?"
     "No," Dana said, turning to look up at her. "I'm a pathologist." 
Seeing that the word meant nothing to her, Scully returned her attention 
to Mulder at the exact moment she said, "I cut up dead people. Isn't 
that right, Dr. Mulder?"
     Mulder, who had been in the process of taking the last sip of 
coffee in his cup in anticipation of the waitress refilling it when she 
returned with Scully's drink, promptly turned his head and spewed his 
coffee onto the concrete pool deck. 
     The waitress didn't notice, now turning her attention to Mulder. 
"Oh, you're a doctor too? What kind? No," she said, holding up a hand. 
"Don't tell me...plastic surgeon." Scully's eyes dropped to the woman's 
chest, and an unkind thought raced across her mind. <I bet those are 
fake.> 
     "As a matter of fact..." Mulder started, and then felt two blue 
eyes boring in the side of his head. "...I'm a psychologist," he 
finished. The word didn't mean anything to her as well. "I work with..."
     "Psychos," Dana helpfully supplied.
     The waitress nodded, popped her gum, frowned and walked away.
     "What a mental midget," Dana muttered. She glanced over at Mulder 
who was forlornly examining his coffee cup. 
     "Out?" she asked.
     "Nope," Mulder said. "I've got just about half a sip left..." He 
was gently swirling the cup, obviously preparing to savor the last 
little bit. Dana glanced over at the retreating form of the waitress, 
and then down at her own body.
     "Mulder, do you think my breasts are too small?"
     And that's how the last mouthful of coffee ended up on the pool 
deck as well. 
     "Never mind," she said, wondering why she had asked such a totally 
out of character question as that. Well, it's not that hard to 
understand, she thought. Here I am in California, surrounded by women 
who have more silicone in them than a Pentium computer, women who spend 
six hours a day in the gym or at the beach. It's really hard not to feel 
a little...threatened.
     "Scully-" Mulder had started, trying to find the words.
     "Forget it, Mulder. I was just kidding."
     He closed his mouth with a snap, and turned his attention to the 
laptop, blushing furiously.   
     "So...what have you got?"
     "Enough statistical data to start agreeing with you a little more. 
It seems you were right... it just seems to be a statistical anomaly, 
that's all. I have to do a tiny bit more research, but I'm sure it'll 
bear out what I'm thinking."
     "What do you need?"
     "The abstract," he said, glad that he didn't have to refer to the 
book by it's full name with Scully. He took a moment to consider this, 
his fingers rising off the keyboard for a moment. God...smart was just 
sooo sexy.
     "It's on the net," Scully said, and at that moment, the waitress 
reappeared with Scully's margarita and a refill for Mulder's coffee.
     "Excuse me," she said, "but I couldn't help overhearing. Were you 
talking about the Internet?"
     Dana looked Mulder, who just shrugged. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I 
was. Why?"
     Pointing at Mulder's laptop, the waitress said, "Because it's in 
there."   
     Dana opened her mouth to answer <that> particular statement and 
closed it when she felt Mulder's foot nudging her under the table. 
"That's right," Dana said, thinking quickly. "I forgot."
     "Oh, no problem," the waitress smiled. "I'm used to dealing with 
brainy people. My father was a notary public."  Mulder thought for a 
moment he was going to physically restrain Scully from going after the 
waitress, but she managed to control herself long enough to be served. 
Her job done, the waitress moved off, her hips swaying gently in the 
midday sun.
     "Stupid!" Scully hissed. "She's too stupid to live!"
     "Yeah," Mulder agreed, glad that the discussion had been moved to 
safer topics. He finished typing on his keyboard and then closed the 
laptop. "Until I either get to a library, or jack back into the net, I'm 
done, Scully. What do you want for lunch?"
     She regarded him over the top of her sunglasses. "Truth?"
     "Nothing but," he insisted.
     "Room service and a bubblebath."
     "Scully-"
     "I'm a redhead, Mulder! I'm already starting to feel a little 
warm! Make you a deal... we go up right now, undress, get into a huge 
bubblebath, eat lunch...and when we're done, I'll drive you to the 
library myself. Deal?"
     "Deal," Mulder said, standing up, grabbing the laptop and offering 
his hand to Scully. She glanced at it and then took it, oddly pleased 
that they could hold hands in public. She'd carefully gone over the list 
of attendees for the conference, looking for anyone that she might 
remotely know, or have heard about through Bureau circles. As far as she 
could tell, for now at least, they were safe.


McLean, Virginia
1500 Hours EST (1200 PST)

     The conference room was a windowless, sterile affair decorated in 
stark white and gleaming stainless steel. A man sat at one end of a very 
long conference table, his hands clasped before him on the table. He had 
an air about him, a certain animal tenseness that warned others of 
something they couldn't quite name. He looked like a caged beast, 
sometimes, and at others, he was no more threatening than a kitten. That 
was his gift, he knew.
     It was also his curse.
     He'd been summoned here unexpectedly, and the man was a little 
nervous. The tone of voice on the other end of the phone had indicated 
panic, no matter how hard she'd tried to hide it. Presently, his boss, 
the woman that had called him, strode into the room. She carried a slim 
manila file in her hand.
     She walked over to where the man sat and slid the folder in front 
of him.
     "San Diego. Your flight leaves in three hours." The man opened the 
folders and saw the official FBI photographs of Dana Scully and Fox 
Mulder. He closed the folder with a slam. "No!" he shouted. "I told you 
- no cops, not ever. I don't care what-"
     "Silence, you fool," the woman commanded. The man's eyes narrowed, 
but he said nothing, his lips a tight, thin line. Her time would come, 
he knew. "I don't want you to kill them. I just want some information. 
Each of them has a laptop. I want you to break into their hotel room, 
steal both laptops, and any other computer related items you find. That 
includes printouts and diskettes. Get it all. Toss the place. Make it 
look good."
     The man thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. 
"Nope."
     "You will do exactly as I have instructed!" she hissed.
     He smirked. "Give me one good reason, lady."
     "Because...they're onto us, my dear. They're onto you!"


The Pointe Hotel, Dan Diego
Room 1013
1210 hours

     They had split the chores. Mulder was busy fiddling with the tub 
taps, trying to get the temperature exactly right. Scully was on the 
phone, ordering lunch. Both tasks completed, they met in the middle of 
the room. 
     "I ordered champagne," Scully said, slowly threading her arms 
around his neck. 
     "Sounds nice," he said softly. He was looking at her funny, 
trying, but not quite able to meet her eyes.
     "Mulder? Something you want to tell me?"
     "Remember your question? Down at the pool?" Dana thought for a 
moment before remembering. She felt the blush quickly rising in her 
cheeks. "Mulder, I said I was-" And then his fingers were across her 
lips, silencing her for once.
     "They're perfect...because they're part of you, Scully. Lots of 
guys look at a woman as a collection of parts. Nice legs. Good ass. 
Great tits...but I love <you>, Scully. All of you. Every last inch of 
you. It doesn't matter what they look like, or how large or small they 
are, Scully...they're perfect because I've felt you rub them across my 
back in the middle of the night. I..." he faltered for a moment, and 
Scully felt the warm sting of the tears behind her eyes. "I...think 
about them nursing our children one day and I want to cry with joy. I 
know that sounds dumb-"
     Scully kissed his fingers, and spoke around them. "No, Mulder...it 
doesn't sound dumb. It's just about the most perfect thing you could 
have said."
     "Just about?" Mulder asked, pout showing up on his face.
     "You didn't ask to see them," Scully whispered, her grin lighting 
up her face.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
END PART 13

Sorry it took so long...but my thumb is killing me, and it's hard to 
type. :(

"Hero" Music and Lyrics copyright (C) 1993 David Crosby. From the David 
Crosby album "Thousand Roads" produced by Jan Crosby. Performed by David 
Crosby and Phil Collins. All rights reserved, lyrics used without 
permission, and absolutely no infringement was intended. Copyright (C) 
1993 Atlantic Music, Inc. 
     
     
     

     
"Snapshots 14:Walkabout"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox 
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used 
without permission, and no infringement is intended. 

Classification : MSR,X
Rating : PG13

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

American Airlines Flight 1013
1120 Hours CST
Friday Night

     Jenny Ray had wanted to be a flight attendant for as long as she 
could remember. Ever since she had been a little girl and her father had 
taken Jenny on her first plane trip, she had dreamed about the exciting 
life of what was then called a stewardess. Flying off to different 
cities all the time, meeting all sorts of new and interesting people, 
perhaps meeting a handsome, dashing pilot, marrying, settling down and 
having little pilots and stewardesses of her own. To a degree, Jenny had 
made that dream come true. She was a flight attendant, and she did fly 
all over the country first for Delta, and then later for American. But 
any thought of glamour had long since left Jenny's hopes. The reality 
was stuffy businessmen, crying babies, passengers constantly complaining 
about things that were totally beyond her control and just generally 
making her life more difficult.
     But every once in a while a passenger like 6E came along and made 
her job worthwhile. He was polite to a fault, had only asked her for a 
coffee refill once, and hadn't made a sound otherwise during the entire 
transnational journey. He was cute, too.
     Curious, Jenny had checked the passenger manifest and had been 
surprised to discover that the man was a Deputy US Marshal, assigned 
duty on her flight as part of the aging but still-active Sky Marshal 
program that had been developed in the late 70's to combat terrorism and 
airplane hijackings. FAA regulations clearly stated that anyone armed 
aboard a flight had to be known to the crew in the case of an emergency.
     Passing by him again, Jenny took an extra second to study him. He 
glanced at her and smiled, more with his mouth than with his eyes, and 
Jenny returned his grin, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. There 
was something about him that was strangely appealing, even though he 
looked... Jenny searched for a word that described the vibe the man in 
6E gave off.
     Dangerous? No...but, yes, too. Rugged? Barely contained? A caged 
animal eager to be out stalking it's prey, sinking it's teeth into her 
neck, his claws ripping at her clothes, tearing them off her body so he 
could lower his razor-sharp, powerful teeth to her neck and-
     Jenny felt her eyes close and open with an almost audible snap! Oh 
my, she thought -- where had that come from? It had been a long time 
since any man on a flight had affected her that way, but it had been a 
longer time still that had done anything about it. The airline frowned 
on stewardesses - excuse me, she mentally corrected, -- flight 
attendants accepting proposals of any kind from any passenger. But what 
the airline didn't know, Jenny thought. 
     The man in 6E, of course, was not a US Deputy Marshal. He wasn't 
even a police officer, although he had been at one time. The Marshal's 
credentials were very authentic, very real, and anyone calling the USMS 
in Washington to verify his identity would be assured that the bearer of 
that particular badge was indeed a US Marshal. It has long been known 
that certain members of the US Intelligence community pose as Marshals 
when traveling by air across the country. It just makes things so much 
easier when transporting briefcases full of classified documents that 
can't be x-rayed or hand-searched.
     The man had another complete set of identification inside his 
briefcase, this one identifying him as a member of the Defense 
Intelligence Agency. These were just as bogus, and oddly enough, just as 
valid as the first set. The DIA ID helped the man when he needed local 
law enforcement help when dealing with...certain matters. Employees of 
the CIA had no charter to operate domestically, although they had for 
years and continue to do so today, and no one hates the FBI more than 
local law enforcement. The DIA had seemed like a wonderful compromise at 
the time, combining the weight of the federal government, with the 
inherent secrecy of the intelligence community, without any of the bad 
feelings associated with the CIA and FBI. The man had used the DIA 
identity on more than one occasion, and always to spectacular effect.
     The briefcase held several other little goodies, tools he planned 
to use on his mission to San Diego. He hadn't missed Jenny's hesitant 
smiles in his direction. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to miss 
anything like that. He had been turning the specifics of his mission 
over and over in his mind, wondering how he was going to get into the 
room while attracting as little attention as possible, and seeing the 
way Jenny was obviously ready to fawn over him had given the man an 
idea.
     

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Main Registration Desk
0230 Hours

     "Yes, Mr. Adams, we have your reservation right here...although we 
weren't aware Mrs. Adams would be attending?" The clerk's professionally 
phrased question had been asked for two reasons. If "Mr. Adams" 
confirmed that the man was his wife, the hotel would be free to charge 
him the double occupancy rate. If the man gently protested that the 
woman checking in with him wasn't "Mrs. Adams," then the hotel would go 
ahead to charge the double occupancy rate, but the switchboard operator 
would be instructed to discretely screen all calls so as not to 
embarrass the guest. It was a service that the guests of the Pointe 
Hotel had come to depend on over the years.
     "She's not my wife," the man whispered, a little too loudly. Jenny 
felt herself blushing, and unconsciously looking around to see if anyone 
noticed her checking into a motel with a man she had met less than seven 
hours ago.
     He'd come up to her as she'd deplaned. He'd been blunt and 
straightforward. "I'm staying at the Pointe, and I could use some 
company. I'm tired, so I don't want to play a lot of head games. If you 
want to come, I'd love to have you. If not...tell me now, and I'll leave 
you alone." She had found his directness very refreshing, and had only 
taken a moment to nod and follow him to baggage claim. And, after that, 
a short taxi ride from the hotel found her in the lobby of one of the 
most expensive hotels in the city getting ready to do God knew what with 
this man who's first name she didn't even know.
     They rode up in the elevator together, not speaking a word. After 
the bellboy left the room, the man locked the door and turned to face 
her.
     "To quote an old movie, I guess you're wondering why I've called 
you here. To tell you the truth, I'm not a US Marshal." Jenny felt 
something in the pit of her stomach turn over and flop horribly. She was 
suddenly scared. She was in a hotel room with an armed, strange man who 
had just confessed to lying to the airline and God knew who else in 
order to get his gun on the plane.
     "I'm with the DIA," he said, opening his briefcase and offering 
Jenny his ID.
     She took it and opened it, reading the twin plastic-coated ID 
cards that identified the bearer as Commander Walter P. Starke, US Navy, 
currently assigned as a Special Agent for the Defense Intelligence 
Agency. "Why are you showing me this?" Jenny asked.
     "Because I'm in San Diego on business, and I need your help."
     And as the man began to explain, Jenny felt herself getting 
excited all over again. This is why she had become a flight attendant! 
She had met a real, genuine secret agent and he wanted her help on a 
mission of terrible importance, a mission with National Security 
Implications Up To The Highest Levels. That's the way Jenny heard it 
when Starke told it. After he explained what he needed from her and why, 
Jenny nodded. 
     "I'll do it." She thought about it a minute, biting her lip. "I 
just hope he's cute."
     Starke frowned. "Will it be a problem if he's not?"
     Jenny saw her opening, stood, and walked over to where the DIA 
agent stood. Linking her arms around his neck, she pressed her body 
against his. "No," she mouthed against his ear, "I'll just pretend it's 
you..."

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Room 1013
0930 Hours 
Saturday Morning

     They had awoken together, naked limbs entwined in sleep, Dana's 
face in Mulder's chest. The morning sunlight was streaming in through 
the window, escorted inside by the gently wafting odors of the sea 
breeze. It had been warm enough to sleep with just the topsheet the 
night before,  but they had still drawn closer together in the night, 
seeking warmth and comfort and love. They had greeted the new day with 
love, moving slowly together, trying to find each other's prefect 
rhythm. It had been slow and comfortable and loving, totally unlike the 
frenzied, animalistic coupling of the night before, and that was one of 
the things each treasured about the other: The acceptance of the 
dichotomy of sexuality, the ability to go from sweet, gentle lover to 
lust-fueled sex-machine.
     Neither one of them saw the small hole suddenly appear in the 
wall.

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Room 1011
0930 Hours

     Starke was standing on a chair, holding the silent, battery-
powered drill in one hand, and the Sony XM3 Fiber Optic HDTV camera in 
the other. In two more seconds, he would have a large enough hole to 
place the camera in, and then he would have total visibility of the 
room, minus the bathroom.
     Finished, he withdrew the drill and inserted the camera. Jenny 
stood beside the chair, holding the small Sony TV-FO1 monitor in her 
hand, watching as the room swam crazily around as Starke twisted the 
fiber optic camera. "There," she said. "It's right side up."
     She giggled. "They're naked!"
     "Let me see," Starke demanded. She handed it to him, a small pout 
already forming on her lips. Then she saw that his entire attention was 
focused on the hand-held television, she forgot about wasting one of her 
pouts on someone that didn't care. 
     She moved back to the bed and sat down, thinking about the 
previous night. The sex had been OK, if a little perfunctory. She had 
the idea that Starke's mind was somewhere else, and judging by the way 
he was obsessively staring at the fiber optic monitor, she had a good 
idea where his mind had been.

Room 1013
0959 hours

     "Ready?" Scully asked. She was dressed in a pair of khaki walking 
shorts, comfortable, worn-in sneakers, a stone-washed blue cotton oxford 
that had once belonged to Mulder, and a Seattle Mariners baseball hat, 
her ponytail threaded out the back. Sunglasses dangled from a cord 
around her neck. Mulder was sitting in front of the computer, 
frantically trying to email a message to Trixie, which for some reason 
wasn't responding. He left a message for the network administrator to 
check it out, and stood to join his partner. He was dressed similarly, 
with no hat, and a striped button-down shirt. He wore tasseled topsiders 
on his feet with no socks.
     "Geez, we look like a pair of dopey tourists," he grumped.
     "Mulder - no we don't! We look normal. Now, c'mon, let's go." She 
took his hand and dragged him out of the room. Locking it behind them, 
they linked hands and walked to the elevator. "So tell me how you know 
so much about the city," she said.
     As the doors closed in front of their faces, Mulder smiled at his 
reflection in the stainless steel walls. "My second case out of the 
Academy was at Mirimar Naval Air Station. It was about two weeks long, 
and so I got to know a couple places pretty well."
     Scully looked up at him, well aware that there was naked adoration 
in her eyes, and more than well aware that he could see it, and that he 
was wallowing in it. She had never known that she could feel this happy, 
this complete, with Mulder...or any man for that matter. Mulder made her 
feel so completely alive, so utterly cherished and respected and 
outright desired. This was the real thing, she thought. This is what 
little girls are taught to want practically since the moment they were 
born. A wonderful man, falling in love, the proposal, the showers, the 
wedding, the honeymoon...children, a house. She caught herself staring 
off into space, and quickly looked around to see if Mulder had noticed. 
He was similarly lost somewhere, probably on the case.
     "Where were you?" she asked when his focused on hers again. He 
grunted. "You don't want to know."
     Scully smiled, stepped closely against him, both her hands on his 
chest, her face turned up to his. "Tell me...and tonight, when we get 
back, I'll tell you one of my fantasies."
     Mulder considered lying for the briefest of moments. It would be 
so easy to tell Scully that he'd been thinking about the case, about the 
obviously and mysteriously related deaths. She would buy it, or at 
least, pretend to, but to start lying now...even if his true thoughts 
had been silly.
     "I was thinking," he said, his voice meant to mock himself, "about 
how you would look... arriving at the back of the church...with your 
gown arrayed around you like your own personal, portable cloud, suitable 
for an angel...on our wedding day."
     Scully's head rocked back as the imagery of Mulder's words fired 
across the synapses of her brain. She knew it wasn't a proposal, and 
after that discussion in their office just before Danny had walked in 
and almost ruined her world, she knew that Mulder had thought about 
getting married someday... specifically, marrying her someday, but she 
had never, ever in a million years considered that Mulder had given as 
much...thought to the details as he so obviously had. It was both oddly 
touching and downright scary at the same time.
     The doors dinged! open and they exited. They took a cab to Mission 
Boulevard, to the rollercoaster that made San Diego famous. They planned 
to spend the entire day together, and after taking five or six rides on 
the coaster, they found themselves walking hand in hand down Mission 
Boulevard.
     "Hungry, Scully?" he asked.
     She considered. "I could eat."
     "How about hamburgers. No, check that...how about the most 
incredible, most delicious, best hamburger the world has ever seen?"
     "And this would be...where?"
     "Here," Mulder said, stopping and pointing above her head. The 
sign said "Acapulco Joe's" and the logo was of a bushy-haired Mexican 
wearing a huge sombrero, waving a taco in one hand and a huge bottle of 
Tequila in the other.
     "Here?" Her face belied her obvious disbelief.
     "Scully...trust me...these are the best hamburgers in the world."
     "OK, Mulder...I'll take your word for it." She stepped ahead of 
him, stopping only to lean down and pet the huge Great Pyrenees that was 
lying down just inside the door. They found a booth and ordered quickly, 
Mulder asking for two cheeseburgers, Scully deciding to stick with one 
until she'd had a chance to test them.
     "OK, Mulder," she said. "Why are these so good?"
     "Dunno," he said, taking a tip of the beer that had just arrived. 
"Something about the ambiance of this place...I guess." Scully looked 
around. Two tough-looking biker types were in the back playing pool, 
while a bikini-clad bimbette from the beach watched avidly, perched on a 
stool. 
     "Oh, yeah," Scully muttered. "That must be it." Their food was 
delivered surprisingly quickly, and she looked at it dubiously. "Are you 
sure this is the best hamburger I'll ever eat?"
     "Positive," Mulder managed to say around his first bite. 
Shrugging, Dana picked it up and took a tentative bite --
     And felt her tastebuds explode. No, that wasn't quite right. It 
was if they had been...seduced. Yes, that was closer to the truth. The 
first juicy morsel of the burger had seduced her taste buds, and it was 
a skilled lover. It was spicy, just a little, the taste of saut‚ed 
onions somewhere in the meat's past just dancing on the tip of her 
tongue. They had used very lean meat, she knew, because the natural 
juices released by cooking weren't nearly as oily as she expected. The 
bun tasted as if it had been hand-baked that morning, and Scully 
suddenly knew that it had been, that Mulder was right, that this was the 
single most delicious hamburger she'd ever had in her life.
     She swallowed, not wanting to, wanting to savor that single tiny 
bite as long as possible. "My God, Mulder!" she said. "You...this..." 
She pointed to the burger, and decided that actions were better than 
words and took a huge bite, removing fully half the remaining burger 
with her teeth. She ate ravenously, as if she had been starved for days. 
The burger was history in a matter of seconds. She was licking her 
fingers and looking guiltily around to see if anyone had noticed her 
acting like a pig when Mulder pointed at the remaining one on his plate. 
"Take half." He saw the look of naked desire on her face, mixed with 
thoughts of tight clothing and traitorous scales. "Take it, we're on 
vacation, and I know you want to. We'll take a long walk on the beach 
after lunch...work it off."
     Smiling, Scully reached over and took half, popping the first bit 
into her mouth and smiling at the gorgeous man sitting across from her, 
the man who had held her hand as they explored the city together, the 
man she felt more comfortable with than without.
     Oh man, Scully thought, I just love him so damn much.

The Pointe Hotel
Room 1011
1330 hours

     "You know what to do," Starke said. He was busy taping the body 
antenna of the Motorola CMX-100 portable two-way radio to her back. 
Originally designed for use by the Secret Service, the radio was meant 
to be concealed, was lightweight, and had a battery life of over sixteen 
hours. He would only need a fraction of one of them for what he had 
planned. 
     "I stand by the elevator. If anyone comes out, or I hear anything 
in the hallway, I tap my foot against the floor. That will open the 
microphone channel. I just say something like hello or nice day. If it's 
a cop, or someone that looks like security, I ask them if they have the 
time. I wait for you to come and tell me that it's clear. I don't leave, 
no matter what, even if the fire alarm goes off."
     "Good girl," Starke said, patting her on the butt. "Let's do it." 
They exited their room, Jenny moving to cover Starke. He held what 
looked like a thin piece of plastic with several dozen holes punched in 
it. The Pointe used electronic card keys to get in and out of the rooms, 
and Starke held an electronic master key in his hand. Very hard to get. 
Very expensive. But worth every dime. He would be in Mulder's room 
within seconds, with no chance of anyone finding him kneeling on the 
hallway carpet with lock picks in his hands like the old days.
     He inserted the card in the lock and felt it hum. A second later, 
the loud click! of the bolt disengaging told him that it had done its' 
job. "Go!" he whispered.

Mission Beach, San Diego
1330 hours

     "God, I'm parched," Scully complained. "All this walking...."
     "Good thing we're only about two hundred yards from what I 
personally consider to be the best bar in the world."
     Scully felt herself smiling almost ruefully. True to his word, 
Mulder had taken them for a walk on the beach after lunch. And now, when 
she was about to drop from heat prostration, he had somehow magically 
ended them up a little ways away from what promised to be yet another 
adventure. He was really good at it, Scully admitted. Building memories. 
Attraction, overwhelming sexual attraction, was a good thing, she knew. 
That was the grease that kept the wheels of a relationship turning. But 
the memories, the quilt of shared experiences...that was the glue that 
kept it all together. She had a mental rolodex of literally thousands of 
memories revolving around Fox Mulder, starting with "No one here but the 
FBI's Most Unwanted!" And now that their relationship had taken on this 
delicious, scandalous personal nature, he was creating memories of a 
different sort without apparent effort. Why Phoebe, or any woman that 
had ever been with Mulder had ever let him go was beyond Scully, but she 
gave a silent prayer of thanks that they had.
     It was only as they were going in through the front door of the 
bar did she realize that perhaps Mulder hadn't treated any of them the 
way he treated her. She was amazed at how much that thought pleased her.
     Mulder led her through the bar, and out the back doors onto the 
deck. It was a huge deck, about thirty feet on each side, extending to 
the boardwalk. Fifty-five gallon drums filled with ice and chilled beer 
bottles were scattered here and there. "This," Mulder proudly announced, 
"is La Hinea's. Take as much as you want, but drink everything you take, 
and pay for what you drink on your way out."
     Scully looked around in amazement. "No one's keeping tabs?"
     "Nope...it's all strictly on the honor system." Taking her elbow, 
he guided her to a corner table overlooking the ocean. "In about three, 
four hours, when the sun starts to drop into the ocean, this is the most 
popular spot on the beach."
     "I can see why," Scully admitted, taking off her hat and tossing 
it on the table.
     "I'll get the beers," Mulder said.

The Pointe Hotel
Room 1013
1333 hours

     He moved through the room quickly, making his first pass. He found 
the two laptops and put them by the door. He then went through the room 
much more carefully, checking all the drawers, under the bed, lifting 
the mattresses to peer between the frame and the box-spring. He opened 
the toilet tank and peered inside, looking for a waterproof bag 
containing diskettes or other incriminating evidence. He went to the 
dressers and started at the bottom, working is way up, pulling the 
drawers out to check underneath and behind, to make sure that something 
wasn't taped to the bottoms.
     He found nothing.
     Scooping the laptops up, he exited the room, returned to his own, 
and softly said, "Clear" into the microphone.
     Thirty seconds later, Jenny was in the room. An amateur's first 
instinct would to be to get the hell out of dodge, but not Starke. The 
fiber-optic camera was still in place. He would sit and watch what 
happened when the duo got back from their trip. Studying their actions 
would help him, would let him see how they worked together under 
pressure. He would also be able to see if they'd hid a diskette anywhere 
he hadn't thought of.
     "Get comfortable," Starke said to Jenny. "Probably gonna be a long 
wait."

Mission Boulevard
1550 Hours

     They were walking hand in hand around the edge of the bay. The 
houses situated about sixty feet from the water had spectacular views of 
the moored sailboats, of the powerboats cutting cleanly across the 
water, bumping gently in the wake. 
     Scully was looking at the houses, wondering who lived in them, 
what kind of lives they led, when she noticed something strange about 
one of them. It took her a moment of staring at it, trying to figure out 
what was different, what was wrong, before she figured it out.
     Nudging her partner, she said, "Mulder, look at that."
     He turned and followed her gaze, and she heard him gasp. The owner 
of the house had taken out an entire wall of what appeared to be his 
living room and replaced it with two glass garage doors. If they stood 
just right, they could both see the controlling motors and chains, and 
the tracks. It was odd, but when you thought about it, it made perfect 
sense. Sit down on the couch, hit the switch, and your living room wall 
opens to one of the most beautiful views in the world.
     "That," Mulder said, point, "is probably the coolest thing I have 
ever seen in my life, bar none."
     Scully turned to him, aware that she was more than a little drunk. 
"None?" she asked.
     "None," he affirmed.
     She giggled into her hand, leaned up and whispered her fantasy in 
his ear.
     Mulder considered it for a moment, nodded thoughtfully, turned and 
yelled, "TAXI!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
END PART 14

Well, of course I was going to end it with a cliffhanger. And since 
there's a new "Friends" AND a new "er" on tomorrow night...I'll just 
have to stay up even later to finish fifteen, won't I? 

Note : The hamburger joint, the bar, and the house with the glass garage 
doors all do exist in San Diego. I have spent more time than I care to 
admit in Mission Beach, including bars like The Daily Planet, and 
participating in the Pub Crawl. Every year, around the fourth of July or 
so, some of the bars participate in this...event where everyone goes to 
a bar, has a single beer, and then walks to the next bar, and repeats 
the process until you can barely walk and are blind stinkin' drunk. I 
still have a T-shirt from the 1991 Pub Crawl. 

"Snapshots 15:Watched/Watching"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox 
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are 
used without permission, and no infringement is intended. 

Classification : MSR
Rating : NC-17 (Explicit Sexual Content) :-}



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

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
1623 Hours

     As soon as the elevator doors closed, they were in each 
others arms. Scully felt drunk with happiness, and she was sure 
that the few beers she'd had at the beach bar weren't helping 
matters any. Any other time, with any other man, and her alarm 
bells would have been gonging quite loudly by now. The thought of 
what was about to happen sent little thrills tearing up and down 
her spine, sparking little explosions of anticipatory pleasure all 
over her body. She was slightly snozzled on beer, and rip-roarin' 
bamboozled on love and lust. 
     The object of her attention was staring down at her, his 
eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips, his tongue slipping out 
to lick his own suddenly dry lips. "Scully," he whispered.
     "What?" she asked, leaning up to kiss him. He accepted her 
kiss, felt the warm wriggle of her tongue in his mouth and gasped. 
"You said-" he whispered, trying to get the words out of his mouth 
between her hot, oh god, her incredibly hot kisses. "in 
the...parking lot...the...restaurant back in....DC... 
that...you...had...fantasies of ....me..."
     "Yes," Dana answered, her eyes fluttering closed as all 
those fantasies and more washed over her, enveloping her in warm 
dreams of love and lovemaking, of holding and being held. "What 
about them?"
     "Is this one of them...about me, I mean?"
     Dana buried her face in his chest to hide her smile. God, 
men were so incredibly infantile sometimes. Mulder wanted to know 
if this very first fantasy that she had chosen to share with him 
was one that she had dreamt up for him, as a result of her 
relationship with him, or...was he just guest-starring for a 
different man that had been fuel for the grist of Dana's lust?
     "Well, Mulder...I'll admit, you're not Fabio, but when in 
Rome..."
     He pulled back, shocked, and then saw the look on her face, 
the teasing light in her eye. "You-!" he managed to say.
     "No, Mulder...you. You asked for it, you left yourself open. 
Don't complain to me if I zing you once in a while...you'll get no 
sympathy from me, that's for sure."
     She saw the look on his face, saw the questioning need, the 
hungry ache, and a small part of Dana worried that no matter how 
many times they made love, that look would never vanish from his 
eyes.
     "Mulder," she whispered, suddenly serious. "Ever since I 
laid eyes on you, a small part of my heart has belonged to you. 
There hasn't been another man in my life in four years...of course 
this fantasy is about you...it always has been." She looked down, 
wondering if she should share the big one, the Big Secret that 
she'd been holding back. It was something that she had been sure 
for a very, very long time that she would never find the courage 
to share with anyone.
     "Mulder...before I met you, I really didn't fantasize at 
all, about anyone."
     "What?" He wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly. 
"That's..."
     "I mean...I would look at a man, and if he was attractive, 
I'd wonder what he looked like naked and all...wonder what it 
would be like to kiss him, or have him hold me...but those 
thoughts were dangerous, Mulder...I knew nothing was ever going to 
come of them, and I didn't want to get myself worked up over 
nothing."
     "But?"
     She sighed...God, he wanted her to come out with it all. But 
it was only fair, she reasoned. He had made that rather startling 
confession about his former pornography confession on her couch 
only a few days ago...and this was what she wanted, the 
discussions, the slow revealing of each other's soul. Only, it was 
much easier in theory to want such a thing. The practice left a 
lot to be desired.
     "You were the first man that I had involved fantasies about, 
Mulder. The first man that I ever thought about when..." She took 
a deep breath and gritted her teeth, her hands clutching his 
shirt. If you laugh at me, Mulder, she thought, you will pay. "You 
were the first man I thought about when I touched myself."
     There. She'd said it.
     Such a perfectly natural thing, yet something even the most 
comfortable of lovers didn't often talk about. But in a small part 
of Scully's mind, she knew that in an equally small part of 
Mulder's, he'd known. No one, no fully functioning human being 
could go as long as they had without sexual release of some kind. 
And so Mulder would have had to think about it...if only when he 
was doing the same thing.
     Scully smiled at that thought, and filed it away for later 
that night.
     The doors dinged open, and they broke apart, exiting and 
turning left, walking down the hall to their room. Mulder slipped 
the card-key in and felt the bolt unlock. He pushed the door open 
and entered, feeling Scully trail behind. She shut the door with 
her butt, and as Mulder turned to her, she came to him.
     The taxi ride had taken forever. They had wanted nothing but 
to be alone so they could touch. Scully had felt that need from 
Mulder, and had reflected it back, wanting him to know how bad she 
wanted him, how <much> she craved his touch. Now that they had 
crossed the line, now that they had opened themselves to each 
other in this wonderful new way, Dana was eager to explore all 
that it could be, was eager to go places she had always dreamed 
about, was eager to take Fox to those places with her.
     And judging by the way he was returning her kisses, the way 
his hands were moving all over her body, he was eager to go there 
with her. 
     "Go sit down," he whispered. "Go sit on the bed. I'll be 
right back." Reluctantly, Dana allowed herself to drift out of his 
arms. Biting her lip, she caught his eyes with her own as they 
held hands, silently pleading with him to hurry. She felt the 
blood racing in her veins, felt the heat in her chest, and in 
locations lower and moister. She felt the want, the need, the 
absolute desire.
     She sat on the bed. Her hand automatically rose to remove 
her had, but she decided to wait, for that was of this delicious 
fantasy, the waiting...the tease. More than any other man Dana had 
known, more than any she had ever suspected, Mulder was 
powerfully, completely aware of the power of the tease, the 
frustration, the achy, delicious pain that could be caused by a 
skillfully prolonged tease. Because he knew, also, that a tease 
was only fun if it was completed, if the debt was paid in full. He 
was aware that in order to tease, you had to come through.
     She shivered, wanting him there.
     In the bathroom, Mulder tore through Scully's makeup kit, 
looking for what she had asked. He found it near the bottom, a 
plastic case. "Avocado Butter," it said on it, and for a moment, 
he frowned. Then shrugging, he grabbed it and returned to the 
bedroom. It was Scully's fantasy, he thought.
     She was sitting, palms flat on the bed, her shoes 
impatiently tapping the floor.
     He dropped the plastic case on the bed next to her and stood 
between her legs. Dana reached for his shirt, pulling it up, out 
of his jeans. His hairy stomach appeared, his naval an inviting 
target right at Scully's eye level. She leaned forward, her mouth 
opening, placing a wet, soft kiss on his stomach. Her tongue 
licked at his skin, tasting the salt and the sea air, and she 
moved down a little, her hand still holding his shirt above her 
head, her tongue first circling and then sliding inside his naval. 
He gasped, his hands going to her hair. He could feel her 
tongue...inside him, it seemed. Wet and thick and hot, wedging 
itself inside his naval. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that 
it might feel something like this for her, when Fox used his 
tongue on her, inside her, licking her-
     "No," he whimpered. "Don't." She looked up disappointed, but 
a smile on her face. This had nothing to do with what she had 
whispered in his ear near the bay. It had been a spur of the 
moment decision to taste him.
     Silently, Mulder took her hand and stood Dana up. They 
moved, toe to toe, until she was standing at the foot of the bed 
watching him. He started slowly, cross his arms in front of his 
chest and lifting the shirt over his head, tossing it off the end 
of his fingers to a corner, forgotten. He toed his shoes off, 
leaning down to finger the socks off his feet as well, standing 
and staring at her, his eyes locked with hers, a small, playful 
smile twisting the corner of his mouth. His hands went to his 
belt, and her eyes followed. He undid the belt, and then the snap 
of his jeans. He opened the jeans just a little, just to show her 
the small tangle of hair that had been hidden beneath. He lowered 
the zipper about an inch, letting her see the soft, white skin 
that no one else ever saw.
     His hands went to his hips. He stood there, all the weight 
on one foot, naked except for his jeans. His hair was tousled from 
a day's worth of running his hands through it. His beard stubble 
was visible, his hazel eyes teasing her...taunting her.
     "Do it," she whispered.
     He held a finger to his mouth, warning her.
     Dana nodded.
     She saw his fingers on his stomach, twirling in the hairs 
there. His fingers slid lower, underneath the waistband of his 
jeans, heading south. She saw the lump there, and knew that he was 
touching. He was touching himself, right in front of her. She was 
his fingers moving, slowly, gently, stroking himself where he knew 
to give the most pleasure. Scully felt her breath shorten, and 
then vanish as he gave his hips a twitch and the jeans fell, 
landing at his ankles, revealing Mulder standing there holding 
himself, engorged, throbbing, dripping.
     "Oh....my," Dana managed to whisper, feeling the need to 
touch herself grow, seemingly impossible to ignore. He walked to 
where she stood, his hands moving towards her head. She felt the 
hat being lifted, tossed aside. She tossed her head, letting her 
hair free. Mulder's fingers moved to her buttons. His fingers were 
slow, strong and sure. Each button slipped free when he wanted it 
to, and not a moment before. Tugging the shirt out of her shorts, 
he saw the white lace of her bra and had to fight back a smile. 
The obvious, incredibly arousing contrast of her no-nonsense, 
totally practical buttondown shirt against the stark and 
undeniable sexiness of her lacy, feminine bra captured the heart 
Scully's sexuality in a neat, mental picture that Mulder would 
carry with himself forever.
     His fingers traced her, and Dana closed her eyes, shivering 
again. Starting on her shoulder, he traced her body, but only the 
parts that the shirt revealed. His finger slid down, between her 
breasts, over the clasp of her bra, down her stomach. One finger 
was joined by three more, and she felt his hand slide around her 
side, his skin barely touching hers, finding the soft, sensitive 
spot at the small of her back and massaging it gently before 
moving on. And then his second hand, joining the first, coming 
around from the other side...She looked up and saw the fire in his 
eyes igniting into something deeper, and she let her breath out in 
a long whoosh of surprise as Mulder stripped her in five seconds 
flat, leaving Dana standing there in her bra and panties, 
wondering what had gotten into him, and wanting to know where she 
could buy some for herself.
     He moved her to the bed, pushing her down gently. He kneeled 
in front of her, his hands moving to her bra, unclasping it, and 
then sliding it off, and down her arms. She shivered slightly, 
feeling the coolness of the room puckering her. He moved to her 
panties, sliding them down. She saw his nostrils flare as he 
caught the aroused scent of her, the coppery-spicy-sandy odor 
making his arousal notch another click higher. 
     "Roll over," he whispered, and Dana moved to comply. She 
laid down across the bed, her feet dangling just off the edge. 
Mulder sat next to her, reaching down to gently run just the tips 
of his fingers across the sole of her left foot. The light, 
teasing tickle was the start of Dana's fantasy, and true to his 
word, Mulder completed every step to perfection. He took her foot 
in his hand, his fingers, his incredibly strong, nimble fingers 
working the instep and arch, rubbing and kneading the skin, 
finding the tendons and stroking them. Dana closed her eyes and 
sighed, feeling her body relax as his attentions overwhelmed her. 
The first foot completed, he moved to the second and repeated the 
process, using his arms for leverage so he could really dig in and 
massage.
     He moved to her calves, stroking and circling, starting off 
soft, getting slowly harder, more demanding, and then backing off, 
letting her muscles rebound from the attack. Mulder felt the 
tension ebbing out of her body and smiled, happy in the knowledge 
that he was giving Dana something she so obviously wanted and 
needed.
     Her back was next...he carefully avoided her buttocks, 
saving that for later. Running his fingers up her spine, he 
stopped at her shoulders and slowly worked his way down, finding 
the knots in the muscles and working them, using the tips of his 
thumbs to locate and destroy any tenseness he found.
     "God, Mulder..." Dana whispered. "That feels incredible..."
     He smiled, reaching over her body to get the avocado butter. 
Opening the can, he scooped out a modest amount and rubbed his 
hands together, warming it before touching Dana's delicate, pale 
skin. The creamy butter was a wonderful lubricant, and Scully 
actually purred when his slick hands made contact with her 
friction-hot skin. He started at her shoulders again, working his 
way down, kneading the creamy butter into her skin, and this time 
he didn't bypass her buttocks, but used his greasy hands to stroke 
and massage her there. He leaned down to kiss Dana at the small of 
the back and caught her scent in his nostrils, the odor setting 
his teeth on edge. Struggling for control, Mulder forced his mind 
to concentrate on the task at hand.
     "Touch me," Scully whispered.
     "Not yet," was his answer. He continued down her legs, using 
more of the butter to make her slick...creamy. He finished with 
Scully's feet, repeating the same motion he had started with, and 
then --
     Grabbing her ankles, Mulder used them to flip her over, and 
then he spread her legs, stepping in between them, kneeling on the 
floor, his mouth ascending slowly, his tongue tracing the soft, 
silky skin behind her knee, and then slowly, wetly he continued up 
her thigh until he was inches away from her center.
     "Mulder -- you don't have-"
     And that was as far as Scully got before his mouth was upon 
her, his tongue searching and finding her sensitive spots, 
circling her, tracing the edges and the slopes and the fuzzy, 
moist center. He slipped inside her for a moment, tasting the 
sweet tang. He sighed in happiness, and his hot breath on her hair 
made Dana gasp, her hands coming down to find his head, her 
fingers twining in his hair, guiding him, directing him. She came 
up off the bed, onto her elbows to watch, looking down, seeing his 
head between her legs, tasting her, his jaw moving gently with his 
motions.
     Scully felt something, a knot, a ball of concentrated 
passion growing in the pit of her stomach.. no, somewhere 
lower...deeper. It was growing, feeding on itself, feeding on 
Mulder's attention to her most sensitive spots, growing hot and 
moist and full as she felt his fat, wet tongue slid from one end 
of her to the other, circling her most sensitive spot and then 
descending again to dip inside her. Scully could hear him, hear 
them, the wet, humid sound of Mulder between her legs...
     With his mouth!
     Scully's arms collapsed and she fell back against the bed, 
her hands moving to her own body, stroking her skin, notching her 
arousal up again, higher, reaching, straining towards it, and then 
it was there, she was there, they were both there, together, and 
Dana saw a bright pinpoint of light somewhere in the distance, and 
the light imploded and then exploded, showering her brain with 
pleasure and ecstasy, the tremors starting in her core and moving 
outward, ripples of orgasmic delight contracting every muscle in 
her body. She felt herself gripping at him, pulling at his tongue, 
wanting more of him inside her. She felt the crest coming, the 
peak arriving, and she hovered there for the longest of moments, a 
dim part of her mind aware that this had never happened before, 
that nothing had ever happened like this in her life, that no one, 
no man had ever touched her like this, had never catered to her 
pleasure, her desire like this, and then Mulder did it, his hands 
joined his mouth, his fingers tracing her lips, tugging on them 
gently. The added sensation of the short, spiky hairs being gently 
tugged was all Dana needed, she went up to the crest and over, a 
long, downhill rollercoaster ride of pleasure detonating at the 
bottom.
     She screamed, her legs closing around Mulder's head, her 
silken thighs crushing his ears, her pelvis moving on autopilot, 
lifting her off the bed, higher, harder, against his face, feeling 
the stubble on his chin rubbing her so deliciously raw there, 
another sensation to add to the memory, another incredible--
     His hand left her there and moved up, catching a warm, heavy 
globe in the palm, his fingers seeking the hot, hard point, and he 
squeezed first, and then slowly, deliberately twisted it, not too 
hard, but just enough to send Scully over the top again, one more 
impossible time. Scully had never been this wet in her entire 
life; she felt as if she'd soaked the bedsheet, but Mulder was 
still there, the warm, eager sounds of his licking loud in her 
ears, and it was such a raw sound, such an earthy, private, 
intimate sound, something that she had never heard before, not 
once, and it...
     Black.
     Everything went black. The pleasure had been too much; her 
brain overloaded, Scully fell back against the bed, her arms and 
legs going limp. Mulder sensed the change and stood, moving to her 
on the bed. He lifted her head and saw the smile curling her lips. 
Mulder felt one eyebrow arch. A small part of him wanted to tease 
Scully about this moment for the rest of their lives, but...
     No.
     He had never known that he could give someone so much 
pleasure.
     He lay down next to her, sliding his arm under her head, 
waiting for her to come around.
     After about a minute, Scully's eyes fluttered and then 
opened. She turned to face him, her eyes now wide open, staring, 
searching.
     "My God, Mulder," she whispered. "What did you <do> to me?"
     "That? Nothing," Mulder said, shrugging his shoulders. She 
saw the lie in his eyes, the gentle tease, and she knew how happy 
he was that he'd been able to do that for her...to her.
     "Mulder...no one has ever-"
     He placed his fingers across her lips. "Scully...I don't 
want to know. As far as I'm concerned, there is no then...only 
now. And if you...enjoyed that, I'd be more than willing 
to...perform that service whenever you want."
     "If I <enjoyed> it?" Scully asked, openly astonished that he 
would have to ask. "Are you <insane>?! Of <course> I enjoyed it! 
My God, Mulder I've never..." She stopped, looking for the word. 
Well, Dana, she thought...it's crass, but it's the only word that 
fits. "I've never cum so hard in my life!"
     Mulder leaned down and kissed her gently. Scully tasted 
herself on him, on hips lips and tongue, and it was right, 
somehow. There were levels of intimacy, she thought...You can be 
emotionally intimate, physically intimate, some great mixture of 
the both of them...and then there's this. Breaking the kiss, Dana 
mumbled, "I can't believe how close to you I feel right now...I 
feel like I could crawl inside you and pull you around me like a 
blanket."
     Mulder grinned into her hair, his chin resting on her head. 
"I know what you mean." He shifted on the bed, and Scully felt 
something poke her in the hip.
     "What's that-" She stopped, suddenly bringing her hand to 
her mouth. "Oh...sorry."
     "Don't apologize, Scully." He rolled onto his back, his 
towering arousal quite evident. "After all, it is quite 
impressive, isn't it?" His gently mocking tone was lost on Scully. 
She saw the evidence of his excitement, his need, and one thought 
flashed across her mind.
     <Me>
     He got that...way because of me. It was still such a new 
idea, that a man...that Mulder would be so affected by her as a 
woman. She reached for him, eager to return the pleasure. 
     "Not so fast," Mulder said, moving away. 
     "What?"
     "Wait here...I'll be right back."
     Surprised, Dana watched as Mulder stood and walked into the 
bathroom. After a moment she heard the sound of the tub filling, 
and she grinned. The second part of the fantasy was about to 
begin. She threw an arm across her forehead, still feeling little 
tremors of pleasure crackling inside her body. Reaching a hand 
down, she touched herself, and was not surprised to discover how 
humid she had become.
     Mulder....she thought. She wanted him so badly...so 
incredibly badly. She could remember the feeling of him, the fat, 
hot width of him stretching her so wonderfully, filling her so 
completely...the cliches that ran through her mind seemed so trite 
in view of what she felt for Mulder, but sometimes... a cliche is 
a cliche because it's true, she reasoned.
     Mulder scratched an itch that Dana hadn't even known 
existed.
     God, this could get addicting, she thought.
     Mulder reappeared. "Ready?" he asked. 
     "I feel like I'm mad out of rubber," she said, not sure she 
could find the energy to move. He stood next to the bed, his warm, 
smiling face looking down. "Scully...the bubblebath is drawn, and 
the rubber ducky awaits your arrival." With that, he leaned down 
and scooped her off the bed. Scully snuggled her face into his 
chest, once again treating herself to the scent of him, the 
delicious maleness of Mulder that made her head spin.
     Inside the bathroom, Mulder had somehow managed to create an 
incredibly romantic atmosphere. Two candles, one on the vanity, 
the other on the back of the toilet, bathed the room with 
flickering light. The tub was full, frothy bubbles to the edge, 
one or two escaping only to float slowly upwards, vanishing with a 
wet pop! when they hit the ceiling.
     "Where-"
     "Don't ask," Mulder said. "Don't analyze. Just enjoy."
     He leaned over, gently placing her in the water. Dana moaned 
as she felt the warm, soapy liquid envelop her body. Joining her, 
Mulder moved until he was behind her, opening his legs as he sat, 
using his arms on her shoulders to bring her to him, her back to 
his chest.
     Scully leaned into him, feeling as if she was going to start 
purring.
     "God, this is wonderful," she moaned. Mulder's arms came 
around her, and they sat that way for a few long, companionably 
silent moments.
     "Hmph," Mulder said.
     "What?"
     "Back on the bed, you said you felt like rubber."
     She nodded against his chest. "Yeah? So?"
     "I just had a thought, Scully."
     He didn't elaborate for a long moment, and Dana was about to 
ask him what he was thinking when he asked her something she never 
would have expected.
     "When was your last cycle, Scully?"
     His words made her sit upright. "Oh my God...I didn't...we 
didn't even stop to think-"
     His arms found her shoulders, and he pulled her gently back 
against his chest again. "Scully... neither one of us has exactly 
been burning up the singles scene...every time we go to the 
hospital, which with us seems to be about quarterly, we get tested 
for HIV. Neither one of us has rung the bell, so to speak, and we 
both knew that, consciously or not. We're just about as safe as 
you can get...as far as icky stuff like that goes."
     "But what about..."
     Mulder wanted to shrug, wanted to let her know that it 
didn't matter to him, but he knew, deep inside a part of him that 
had just now begun to awaken that it was the wrong thing to do. 
"When was it?" he asked.
     Scully counted backwards mentally. "Sixteen days."
     She was waiting for something, for a gasp, a groan, a 
stiffening of his body. None came. His arms tightened around her, 
and she could swear she heard him chuckle.
     "What's so funny?"
     "It wasn't that kind of laugh, Scully." He paused. "I don't 
know...I guess it's just... interesting to think what...might have 
happened."
     "We've only made love a few times," Scully interjected.
     He kissed the side of her neck. "I like it that you call it 
that," he whispered in her ear.
     She turned her head, finding the side of his mouth with her 
own. "That's what it is, Mulder," she said, kissing him awkwardly. 
She sighed. "But...that still doesn't settle anything. What are we 
going to do if-?"
     "I guess I can assume that you aren't using anything?"
     Scully felt something flare inside her. "Using something? 
Like what? A voodoo doll? No, Mulder...I don't have an IUD, I'm 
not using Norplant, and unless we have a good pair of scissors 
around, I don't think that sponge on the sink is going to fit. Do 
you?"
     Mulder laughed, his body rocking against hers. Dana felt his 
chest hair moving against her back, and despite her sudden 
annoyance at her partner, she had to admit that it was a very 
sensual feeling. 
     "I guess I meant the pill."
     "Mulder, we've been on the road together for almost four 
years. There would have been at least one morning when I would 
have forgotten it, and you would have seen me taking it at 
breakfast or something."
     He nodded. "You're right."
     "So what are we going to do?"
     "Well...do you mean, if we are now, what are we going to do? 
Or what are we going to do if we're  not and we want to make sure 
we don't?"
     Scully felt something warm in her stomach. She turned her 
head to his again and whispered, "I'm glad that you said 'we'."
     "Takes two to tango, Scully."
     "Either..." Scully said. "Both."
     "Well, if you are, we'll deal with that issue then."
     She nodded, knowing what me meant, and what he didn't mean. 
     "And the future? What should we do to make sure we don't 
conceive?"
     He sighed, thinking about it. 
     "Well...can I answer that question with a question?"
     "Sure."
     "Are we sure we don't want to?"
-----------------------------------------------------------
END PART 15
     

"Snapshots 16:Revelations"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially 
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the 
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox 
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used 
without permission, and no infringement is intended. 

Classification : MSR
Rating : R (Dirty words, some references to past sexuality)

Hi gang, it's me again. :) Here's the latest chapter in the saga. For
those of you that sent me threatening email about ending 15 with such
a cliffhanger, I worked as hard as I could to get this out as soon as
possible. It answers several of the questions that were asked in
previous parts, but leaves the 'big' one unanswered. We'll have to
wait and see on that one.

Archivsts : Sure, go fer it. Just remember to include my name, email
address, and this text, unchanged.

Feedback : Please. Lots 'o it. Good, bad, indifferent.

Our Story Thus Far : Yeah, uh-right. Writing an OSTF intro for this
sucker would be a story-size bit all by itself. See the end note for
getting missing chapters.


-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Room 1013 

     Scully actually felt her heart stop. It lurched to a halt, and for 
a long moment she felt nothing but an empty ache in the center of her 
chest. And then slowly, seemingly without thinking about it, the ache 
turned to something else...something wonderful. Being with Mulder had 
made Scully so incredibly happy, so deliriously overjoyed...but this, 
this tacit admission by the naked man behind her that he had thought 
about it, was thinking about it, was considering actually...
     "Mulder...Oh my God..."
     "I take it that's a 'no'"
     Scully suddenly needed to see him, to be able to touch his face, 
to look into his eyes. She twisted in his grasp, moving so quickly that 
a small tidal wave ensued, splashing water over the lip of the tub and 
onto the floor.
     Neither of them noticed or cared.
     She slung an arm around his neck and hoisted herself up, settling 
back down into his lap, her legs around his waist, her wet, slippery 
breasts pressing against his chest, his arms around her waist.
     His smile was soft and gentle.
     "Crunch time, Scully," he whispered. She nodded, not trusting her 
voice to speak, instead leaning forward until their foreheads touched. 
     They saw the kiss coming, and although they had already kissed a 
hundred, a thousand times, this was somehow new, somehow the signal of 
an entirely new chapter opening in their lives. It was a kiss of silent 
promises, of future expectations, a kiss filled with love and tenderness 
and deep, intimate caring.
     "Mulder..."
     "Scully, you don't have to say anything right now. We can make 
that decision later."
     Scully chuckled throatily. "You don't understand, Mulder. We have 
to make this decision now, because I want to take you back into the 
bedroom and make love with you for the rest of the night."
     Her words weren't intended to shock, but they had that effect on 
Mulder. He felt the same sudden ache in the center of his chest that 
Scully had, and if it were possible, it was somehow more powerful and 
intense. 
     "Oh," was all he could manage.
     They kissed again, slower this time, losing themselves in it.
     "Mulder," she finally said, breaking the kiss, "we need to talk 
about this, and I mean really talk about it."
     "I agree," he said, leaning forward to nibble at her neck. She 
pushed him away, her hand in the middle of his chest. "I mean it, 
Mulder...we need to have one of 'those' discussions that men always 
hate. This is a genuine, bona-fide We Have To Talk situation."
     Mulder nodded, and sat back, casually draping his arms on the edge 
of the tub. He looked at her for a long moment. "I have a suggestion, 
Scully. And this is not about the main topic, but about how we're going 
to deal with these issues, together. Hear me out before you say 
anything."
     She nodded.
     "My parents...well, you know what kind of relationship they had. A 
typical one for the times. They rarely talked about things...they 
usually only talked around them. I don't want to be that way with you, 
Scully. So...I propose that when we have issues like this, the big, 
life-changing issues, that we do exactly what we're doing now. We get in 
a bubblebath, and we talk it out."
     Scully felt a smile tugging at her lips. "Mulder, how can we 
seriously discuss things if we're naked and wet and aroused?"
     "Well, I can't speak for the arousal part, but as far as being 
naked and wet...well, I think that it'll be easier to confront the 
issues like this. We can't hide, Scully. We have nowhere to go. All we 
have in this tub is you and me, our hearts and the truth. No 
distractions. No phones ringing, no pagers beeping, no laptops jacked 
into the net. Just you and me, our hearts and the truth."
     He looked at her expectantly.
     Scully grunted, thinking.
     She held out her hand. "Deal."
     Mulder shook it, and then this arms were around her, wrapping her 
up, pulling her towards him for another lengthy, soft kiss. They parted, 
both of them sighing deeply at the pleasure.
     "God...OK, Mulder. Now what? What about...babies?"
     He took a long moment to phrase his reply. "It's a complicate 
issues, Scully. I mean, that does go without saying, but what I meant 
was that my feelings about it are complicated. You know me -- I tend to 
ramble. My first reaction is that if we managed to get pregnant over the 
last few days, well, it's fate."
     "Fate?" Her eyes twinkled, and Mulder smiled at the memory.
     "OK. It must be love. Seriously, though -- if it has already 
happened, it was meant to, Scully. And the thought of you carrying our 
child fills me with so many different emotions that it's hard to sort 
through them all."
     "Try, Mulder. I need you to try."
     "I know, Scully. I'm trying." He pursed his lips, looking for the 
words. "Happiness. Joy. Expectations like you wouldn't believe. 
Sadness..."
     "Sadness? Why?"
     "Because of all the problems it will cause. Not between us. I 
don't think there's but two things in the world that could make me as 
happy as having a baby with you."
     She arched an eyebrow, silently begging the question.  
     He blushed, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Well, you can guess 
the first one. Finding Sam."
     Scully nodded, urging him to continue with her eyes.
     "And well...let's just say that the idea of jumping into the car 
with you and heading off for Vegas isn't exactly striking terror into my 
heart."
     Leave it to Mulder to talk about proposing marriage in such an 
obtuse and goofy way, she thought.
     "Well, what do you mean, then?"
     "Work, mostly. You'd have to come out of the field towards the 
end. Skinner will blow his top. He'll separate us. All that we've built 
over the last four years will go away."
     "Not necessarily," Scully said, her mind racing. 
     "Huh?"
     "Skinner is the only one who knows. Pendrell, too, but I think 
they can both be controlled. You're right, I'll have to come out of the 
field after my sixth month...that's the rules. But if Skinner agrees to 
keep it quiet, there's nothing that says we have to be split up. We will 
just have to make...adjustments."
     Now it was Mulder's turn to frown. "What do you mean, 
'adjustments'?"
     "Well...daycare. My mom can baby-sit if we have to go on the road, 
or I can cut down on my road trips. Most of what I contribute to our 
investigations can be done at Headquarters. If you need an autopsy done 
on a little green man-"
     "Grey."
     "Little grey man, then, I can catch a flight and be back the next 
day." She looked Mulder in the eye. "We can do this, Mulder."
     "Well, there's a few more issues than just that, Scully."
     "What?"
     "Marriage. I know that it's socially acceptable for single 
motherhood these days...at least, a lot more than it used to be. but I 
do want to...oh, God, don't laugh at me...I do want to do right by you."
     Scully felt herself struggling not to laugh. "You shouldn't have 
told me not to laugh," she gasped. She managed to get herself under 
control. "Mulder...we're both talking as if I'm already pregnant, and we 
don't know that to be true. This discussion was supposed to be about 
what we want to do about not getting pregnant!"
     "Is it?"
     His words were so stark, so naked in their intent and need that 
Scully swooned. She had been dancing around it, avoiding it, trying to 
deflect the conversation away from the true topic.
     Did she want to have a child with Mulder? Was she ready to have 
children at all? She struggled with the question, and then a blinding 
flash of insight detonated inside her, and she realized that her 
struggle wasn't focused on answering the question honestly, but trying 
to find a reason to say no. The logical, orderly part of her mind, the 
career-oriented Fuppie (FBI Yuppie) that she usually allowed to control 
her thoughts and actions was fighting a dying battle. Her heart had 
taken command of the situation. Her heart knew what she wanted.
     "No," she whispered. "It's not." Leaning in for a kiss again, 
Scully thought the problem out in a nanosecond. "We have three potential 
situations, Mulder. Three ways to look at this. We can actively take 
steps to prevent anything from happening, we can go on as we have and 
let nature take it's course, or we can..." She was finding it hard to 
finish the last choice. "...we can actively try to have a child."
     There. She'd said it.
     Mulder was silent, staring at her. His eyes spoke the volumes of 
the contents of his heart. "I think," he finally said, "that we should 
go with option two."
     Scully let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. 
"Why?" she asked. "I really need to know why, Mulder."
     "I could go on and on about how the stress of trying to have a 
child can have adverse affects on your body, about how the psychological 
stress can make it harder to conceive. On the other hand, I can talk 
about how using contraception can just totally kill the romance of a 
moment, as important and vital as it is. But the truth, Scully, is that 
it just feels...right. It just feels right to be with you the way we 
have been, and just...let nature take its' course."
     Scully smiled. It was the perfect answer, the answer she'd wanted 
to hear so incredibly badly.
     They moved, bodies pressed wetly together. "Take me to the bed, 
Mulder," Scully whispered just before kissing him. 

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Room 1011

     "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Starke muttered. He hadn't thought that the 
two agents would spend so much time together in the bathroom. The 
powerful omnidirectional microphone buried in the fiber optic cable 
wasn't picking up the bathroom conversation at all. All he could hear 
was muted mumbling.
     "What's the matter?" Jenny asked.
     "Nothing. Just give me a minute, OK?" His response was harsher 
than he'd intended, and he saw the hurt look cross her face. He felt the 
anger and annoyance flare inside him, and he struggled to keep it in 
check. His first thought was to throw her the hell out, but he needed 
her, and in a worse-case situation, she might get upset and decide to 
make waves.
     "I'm sorry," he said, trying for a contrite expression. she seemed 
to accept it, and she smiled back at him. "That's OK. I know your job is 
stressful."
     Lady, he thought, you have no idea. Something was caught the 
corner of his eye and he looked down at the small monitor to see a naked 
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder exiting the bathroom, holding hands, both 
glistening from the bath.
     "No we're talking," Starke muttered, shifting on his seat to get 
more comfortable. He hated this part of the job; having to see people at 
their most vulnerable left a vague distaste in his mouth. But it was 
necessary. It was vital. The program had to be kept open at all costs.
     

The Pointe Hotel
Room 1013

     Mulder stopped walking, suddenly frowning.
     "Something's wrong," he muttered.
     Scully stopped walking and turned to face him. "What?"
     "Gimme a minute..." Mulder turned in place, looking carefully at 
every corner of the room.

Room 1011

     "Shit!" Starke said. To Jenny: "Get packed and get ready to move 
out."
     
Room 1013

     "Someone's been in here."
     Scully saw the look on Mulder's face and knew that he was telling 
the truth. She quickly stepped to the closet and found her bathrobe, 
grabbing Mulder's at the same time. Shrugging into hers, she brought 
Mulder his, and the pair stood in the center of the room, turning 
slowly, looking for some sign of the intrusion.
     "The computers," Mulder said suddenly. "Both laptops are gone."
     Scully felt her blood run cold.
     "Someone's onto us, Mulder."
     He nodded, moving quickly towards the phone. Lifting the receiver, 
he dialed the front desk.
     "Front desk."
     "This is Mr. Mulder in 1013. Do you have a stenographer on staff? 
Someone that can take a letter for me?"
     There was a pause, and then, "Well...the General Manager's 
secretary can take a letter for you, sir, but there will be an added-"
     "That's fine. Please send her up immediately."
     Fox hung up and turned to face Scully. "Get dressed."
     Without thinking, she moved to comply. It was only after she had 
donned a bra and panties that she realized what Mulder had just done. 
     "Why-" she started to ask.
     "Because...I'm going to try and recall everything that I read, and 
the sooner I get it down on paper, the better the chances that I will 
remember all of it."
     Scully nodded thoughtfully. "Mulder...that photographic memory of 
yours sure comes in handy sometimes..."

Room 1011

     "...comes in handy sometimes," Starke heard. He couldn't believe 
his ears. 
     "Shit!" Of all the...what were the goddamned chances that the 
single Federal Agent that had stumbled onto the program would not only 
have pieced it together at such a quick pace that no one in Washington 
had had enough time to take countermeasures, and then, when Starke 
steals the only evidence, giving his controllers enough time to start 
erasing computer records that the same damn Fed would have a 
photographic memory?
     Starke's mind started to race. He couldn't kill the two Feds next 
door. It was just impossible. Too much heat would come down. Way too 
much heat.
     Then he had an idea.
     "Jenny...do you have any kind of business-looking clothing? 
Anything that looks like a suit, something a secretary would wear?"
     She paused, realizing that her role in this operation wasn't quite 
over.
     "Yes," she said, feeling the excitement rise. "I do."
     "Get changed."

Room 1011
Six minutes later

     Jenny stood in front of the mirror, making the last few 
preparations. Her severe-looking business suit had been in her suitcase 
on the off chance that she would have to deadhead to another city to 
work a flight. The airline wanted their employees to look business like, 
and allowed them to wear either business attire or their uniforms when 
traveling on company business. In Jenny's experience, if she wore her 
uniform when deadheading, someone always assumed she was assigned to the 
flight and wrote a letter of complaint to the airline about the flight 
attendant that did nothing but sit in a first-class seat for the entire 
flight. 
     "Here's the plan. We go to the elevator and intercept the 
secretary. I'll flash my ID and explain part of the situation. You go in 
there, take down what he says-"
     "I don't know how to take steno-" Jenny started to say.
     "I know. It looks like scribbles. Just remember to never write 
faster than he can speak, and imagine you're writing in some foreign 
language. They'll never know the difference."
     Jenny nodded, still unsure of this new development.
     "Come on," Starke said, opening the door. "Time to go."
     They closed the door softly and quickly made their way to the 
elevator. They stood in front of the doors, waiting for something to 
happen. After a few minutes, the display above the doors came to life. 
They watched as the floor lights blinked on and off, one by one, until 
"10" lit up and the ding! announced the secretary's arrival.
     The doors slid open to reveal a man standing there, holding a 
small notepad in his hand. 
     "Excuse me," he said with a smile, moving to go around Starke and 
Jenny.
     "Excuse <me>, Mr..-?" Starke asked.
     "Hall," the man said. "Ben Hall."
     "Ben," Starke said, holding up his US Marshal Identification, "I'm 
Deputy US Marshal Walter Starke, and I know why you're here. The man and 
woman in room 1013 are under investigation by the US Marshal's Service 
and we can't allow you to go into that room."
     "But-"
     "This is Jenny. She's with the Marshal's service, and will be 
going in your place. Please give her the pad and pen, and come with me."
     Ben Hall thought about asking to make a call down to the front 
desk, but he saw the look in Starke's eyes and decided that the man was 
who he said he was, and agreed to go along with plan with a nod of his 
head. 
     "What do you need me to do?" he asked.

Room 1013
Two minutes later

     The knock came just as Mulder was buttoning his shirt. He answered 
the door to reveal a pretty young woman nervously standing there holding 
a stenographer's pad and a pen.
     "Mr. Mulder?" she asked.
     "Yes. Come in please."
     Jenny entered the room and saw Scully sitting on one of the beds. 
She had watched over Starke's shoulder as they had lain naked together 
on the bed, sated after making love, and she tried not to blush. 
Clothed, Scully was a formidable woman, and Jenny could feel Scully 
scrutinizing her.
     "I'm Dana Scully," Scully said. 
     "Jenny. Jenny...Starke," Jenny said. She wondered what Walter 
would think of <that>.
     "Jenny," Mulder started, "Please take a seat and get comfortable. 
I'm sure that you're not going to understand a lot of what I'm going to 
tell you, but please--- just write down exactly what I say. If you don't 
understand something, please just spell it out phonetically. I'll have 
someone at...somebody where I work actually type up what you're going to 
take down. Do you understand?"
     "Yes," Jenny said, moving to the chair by the small table. She sat 
and opened the pad, flipping to a blank page and waiting, looking at 
Mulder expectantly.
     "Shea McDowell," Mulder said. "Date of birth...January 20, 1960. 
NCIC Case file 1Z4949-R41-44. NCIC RTA is 02 30 65 19 40 11..." 

Room 1011

     Starke grinned, holding the small monitor in his suddenly-sweaty 
hands. "Perfect," he muttered. "Just keep it up, Jenny...keep it up."

Room 1013
Forty Minutes Later

     Dana was bored. Listening to Mulder recite case after case was 
beginning to get on her nerves. She realized how important this was to 
Mulder, and she wanted to support him in any way she could, but at that 
moment she was starting to wonder if it was all truly worth it.
     Standing from the bed, she walked over to where Jenny was seated 
and glanced over her shoulder. The page was filled with scribbles. She 
was about to return to the bed and she if she could distract herself by 
reading a book when something caught her eye.
     She leaned a little closer over Jenny's shoulder and noticed that 
on the third line of the page, in the middle of the line, there was a 
small smiley-face. Two lines down, on the right edge, was a small five-
pointed star. Scully frowned, trying to make something out of the 
scribble.
     It didn't look like Pittman shorthand. In fact, it didn't look 
like anything except the scribblings of a child. Dana straightened up 
and moved away, her mind racing.
     She walked over to the dresser and made as if she were checking 
her makeup. She opened a small compact and watched Jenny in the 
reflection, angling the mirror over he right shoulder.
     Jenny wasn't paying attention to what Mulder was saying. Her 
writing wasn't timed to his words at all, Dana saw. Alarmed now, she 
started looking at the room more carefully, and in a moment, she found 
what she was looking for.
     In the far corner of the room, she saw several small white flakes 
in the carpet. The carpet was so light she almost missed them. Without 
looking up, Dana returned to the bed and sat, reaching over to the 
bedstand to get her book. Opening it, she propped it on her knees and 
started to read. She let her eyes slowly drift up, and she saw the tiny 
hole in the wall, about six inches below the ceiling.
     Fiber-optic surveillance camera.
     Gun. Where was her gun? Purse. Her gun was in her purse.
     She closed the book and moved to the purse, which was on the 
dresser.

Room 1011

     Starke had started moving the instant he saw Scully looking in the 
mirror, acting as if she were checking her makeup. Starke had known she 
wasn't wearing any makeup, and he knew that Jenny'd been made.
     He moved to Ben Hall, who was sitting in the chair by the small 
table, and squatted in front of him. "Listen to me very carefully, Mr. 
Hall. In exactly sixty seconds from when I tell you, you are going to 
lift that phone, dial the front desk, and report a fire in this room."
     "I will do no-"
     "Mr. Hall, if you don't do exactly what I tell you, I will shoot 
you where you sit." Starke reached to the small of his back and returned 
with a Colt Officer's .45, a cut-down version of the full-size 
Government model. To Ben Hall, the barrel of the weapon looked as big as 
the opening of a sewer pipe, the black, ugly period at the end of a very 
short sentence.
     "You're not a cop," Hall said.
     "No, Mr. Hall, I'm not. But what is going on here right now has 
implications that you could never fully grasp. That's not an insult, 
sir, it's just a fact. This entire matter has national security 
implications, and if you don't do exactly what I tell you, exactly when 
I tell you, I guarantee that you will not live to see another day, and 
that I will never be held accountable for your death. Do you believe me, 
sir?"
     "Yes, I do," Hall whispered. He <did> believe that Starke would 
shoot him where he sat.
     Starke studied the man's face for a moment longer and then nodded, 
deciding. He started moving quickly then. He had the entire room packed 
in a matter of seconds. He was ready to go. There was nothing he could 
do for Jenny, and that was too bad. The poor girl was going to have a 
bad time of it. The FBI would probably keep her in an interrogation room 
for the next two or three days, making her go over the story again and 
again, out of order, looking for holes, looking for ways to trip her up.
     He looked at Hall. "Get ready, Mr. Hall."

Room 1013

     Scully reached into her purse and wrapped her hand around the 
comforting weight of the Walther PPK .380. She softly worked the thumb 
break open and slid the pistol out of its holster. Thumbing the safety 
off, Scully suddenly turned and leveled the pistol at Jenny.
     "Mulder, this woman is not who she says she is, and we're being 
watched!"

Room 1011

     "Now, Mr. Hall!"
     Ben Hall lifted the phone and dialed 0. In another life, Ben Hall 
had wanted to be an actor, like so many good-looking, blonde beach bum 
types in California. He had taken a few classes over the years, all the 
while waiting for a big break that had never come. He decided that he 
was going to give the best performance of his career.
     "Front-"
     "Ohmygod! There's a fire in my room! Room 1011. I'm trapped! I 
can't get out! Come quickly!" Hall hung up the phone and turned to see 
if Starke had appreciated his performance, but the man was gone.
     The door to the hallway stood open, swaying slightly.
     
Room 1013

     Mulder stepped quickly to the table, making sure to stay out of 
Scully's line of fire. Snatching the book from Jenny's trembling hands, 
Mulder flipped the pages, saw the gibberish she had written and threw 
the book across the room. 
     "Who are you?" he demanded.
     "Mulder - next door..."
     "Right," he said, moving to get his own weapon. "Cover her. I'll-"
     His next words were drowned out by the sudden eruption of the fire 
alarm. A combination of bells and a loudly ringing klaxon, the sudden 
noise made both agents jump.
     "Stay here!" Mulder shouted above the noise. He opened the door 
and turned right, saw the open door to 1011 and stepped through quickly, 
his weapon leveled, eyes sweeping the room, left to right. He saw Ben 
Hall sitting by the table, his hands in plain sight.
     "Don't move! Federal Agent!" Fox screamed.   
     "Don't shoot!" Hall wailed. "I don't have a gun!"
     "Who are you?" Mulder demanded, moving closer.
     "Ben Hall. I work at the hotel. I'm a secre...I'm an 
administrative assistant!"
     Mulder continued to sweep the room with his eyes.
     "Are you alone?"
     "Yes! He...left?"
     "Who left?"
     "A man. He told me he was a US Marshal."
     Mulder doubted that very highly. "Don't move until I come back!"
     

The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Lobby

     As Starke made his way out of the hotel, he reached inside his 
jacket pocket and came back with a cellphone. He hit the one and only 
number that was on speed dial and waited to be connected.
     "Authenticate," the disembodied voice said. Starke said his real 
name, the name he had been born with, and then, "Domiciles."
     There was a pause, and then her voice came over the air, distant 
and tinny.
     "What is it?"
     "They made us. I have the computers, but the fucker has a 
photographic memory. Wipe me out of the hotel computers and the airline 
stuff. The Starke ID is blown; I'll need two more. I'm going to use a 
backup id for the next two days. I'll contact you." Starke disconnected 
the call and stepped into the San Diego twilight.
     "Taxi!"

McLean, Virginia

     The woman hung the phone up and sat back to consider her options. 
The right thing to do, the prudent thing to do was to do exactly as her 
operative had demanded. Wipe the computers clean, erase all traces of 
his memory, and inform the Intelligence division of the US Marshals 
Service that there was no longer a Deputy US Marshal by the name of 
Walter P. Starke. The DIA would be no trouble at all; they made a habit 
of denying its' employees identities.
     She considered exercising the contingency plan she had put in 
place years ago. Most of what the woman had tried to accomplish with the 
program had already been completed. But as each op had been mounted 
successfully, her hunger had grown. Originally designed for a maximum 
sanction rate of 1 or 2 per month, the program had grown to the point 
where Starke was sanctioning a target once a week, sometimes two in the 
same city.
     The chance of discovery was always right around the corner, she 
knew. She had taken steps to minimize that risk as much as possible. RTA 
flags in the NCIC computers, Wuzzle, now dead, sitting abandoned in that 
anonymous wiring closet in the NSA. New identities, funds secreted away 
in numbered foreign accounts, untraceable passports obtained from the 
State Department's highly-secret Consular Operations division, all of 
the ID's classified at Six-Zero levels and above. Only the Secretary of 
State herself could get into those files, and she didn't even know they 
existed. SECSTATE was is in the dark. DIA was in the dark. Everyone was 
in the dark, except her.
     Even Starke didn't know about some of the contingency plans she 
had devised. With the push of a button, the woman could make Starke the 
single-most wanted man in the history of the United States. Computer 
records jury-rigged to make it appear that Starke had been acting on his 
own, doctored NCIC inquiries designed to make it look as if Starke had 
been pursuing a personal vendetta these years. Facts about his past 
would pop into the light, finally able to be seen by the all-knowing 
eyes of the electronic media. The woman was ready to vanish into the 
mist with a scant thirty seconds warning, never to be seen again, her 
work, her mission complete.
     There was still so much more to do...
     The woman reached down and opened a locked drawer in her desk, 
removing a thick blue file. The crest of the United States Marshals 
Service stood out on the cover. She opened it, and viewed the contents 
for the thousandth time. Page after page of names, two columns wide, old 
names on the left, new, government-sponsored names and addresses on the 
rights, odd notations here and there about the cases they had helped 
with, the criminals they'd put behind bar. Every name on the list a 
criminal themselves.
     One of the most closely-guarded databases in the world was at her 
fingertips: The list of people in the USMS Witness Security Program. She 
knew elements in organized crime that would pay fifty million, a hundred 
million dollars for that list.
     With a snap of her hand, the woman closed the folder, her decision 
made.


The Pointe Hotel, San Diego
Room 1013

     Jenny and Ben were seated on the bed, their hands cuffed in front 
of them. "It's for our protection," Mulder had explained. "We have to 
straighten this out."
     Jenny and Ben nodded, each deeply regretting the fact that they 
had gotten mixed up in something they didn't understand.
     Mulder was on the phone, trying to reach Skinner. It was after 
hours in DC, and Skinner was not in his office. Trying Skinner's 
cellphone, Mulder hit pay dirt.
     "Skinner."
     "It's Mulder. Remember that matter we discussed?"
     Skinner was immediately on guard. "We're on an open line, Mulder."
     "I know...but it doesn't matter. We were compromised. Something is 
going on, sir. Both our computers were stolen, and our hotel room was 
under electronic surveillance. The goon masqueraded as a US Marshall and 
a DIA agent."
     Skinner's sharp intake of breath filled Mulder's ear.
     "Get out," he said. "I want you and Scully on the next plane to 
DC. Vacation's over, Mulder."
     "I have two accomplices...witnesses, I guess."
     "Turn them over to the local Field Office. Seventy-two hour hold. 
And get to the airport, Mulder."


San Diego International Airport
2240 Hours

     While waiting to board, Scully had time to sit and think. The 
conversation in the bathtub was still on her mind. A child. Mulder's 
child. What if she was pregnant? The trip had been a vacation, a way for 
her and Mulder to grow closer still, a way to experience their 
relationship away from the stress and almost constant crises of 
Washington and the FBI.
     Only the stress and crises had found them, again. Was it fair to 
bring a child into her world? Into the world she shared with Mulder? 
Scully knew that no matter what else happened in her life, two things 
were true. The first was that she wanted to be with Mulder, every single 
day, for the rest of her life. She wanted to be by his side during all 
of this, wanted to find the truth just as desperately as he did. She 
wanted to accept the dangers and the stresses of this job, wanted to go 
all the places he did and see all the things he did. She wanted to 
accept the threats, the danger.
     And the second was that she did want to have a family, did want to 
experience motherhood.
     And for right now, Scully knew, those two objectives were 
completely canceling each other out.
     "Penny for your thoughts, Scully."
     She turned to face her partner...her lover. "I love you," she said 
simply. 
     He smiled, and whispered, "I love you, too."
     "Mulder...I think I may be." He stared at her. 
     "May be...?"
     "Pregnant."
     "How?"
     She gave him an exasperated look. "No, I mean, how do you know?"
     "I could say something cryptic like 'a woman just knows,' but the 
truth is...it would fit with the pattern of our lives. The way our luck 
runs, Mulder."
     He nodded. "How long until we can find out for sure?"
     "Two weeks, maybe three."
     He nodded, reaching down and taking her hands. "No matter what 
happens, Scully...we're in this together."
     "I know.."
     "But..." he added. "It's gonna be a long three weeks."

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

END PART 16

End Note - Missing Chapters & Mailing Lists - If you are <not> on my
mailing list for "Snapshots" and wish to be, please send a <seperate>
email from any feedback you may or may not care to give. The SUBJECT
of this email should <please> be "SUBSCRIBE" without the quote marks.
My thingie will take care of it from there. I'm trying to automate
this because I get between 30 and 40 requests for missing chapters
every day, and I want desperately to keep up with the volume. So, if
you are missing a chapter, I will please ask as nice as I can for you
to send a seperate email message for each chapter you are requesting,
with the subject line as "Request 01" or "Request 03" or "Request 09"
or whatever. Please remember to have a TWO DIGIT chapter number. My
autoresponder thingie that I wrote myself only likes two-digit
numbers. Since there ain't no freakin way I'm gonna be able to write
more than 99 chapters, we should be fine.

If, however, you don't mind geting a big-ass ZIP file with <all>
chapters to date in a single zip file (the zip file expands to 16
seperate files,) send an email message with "REQUEST 00" as the
subject line, again <without the quotes>. The .ZIP file was created
with a Unix version of ZIP, but it WILL unzip with DOS PKUNZIP 2.04g
or WINZIP. I have tried it myself and it works. Macintosh users, you
can get BinHex 4.0 from practically anywhere, and I'm told that it
will UNZIP my .ZIP file into something that either TeachText or
SimpleText can read.

Please note that if you do ask for multiple chapters in a single
email, I may not get around to it as quickly as the autoresponder
will. I really, truly hate to be that way (I <REALLY> do,) but...
sadly, the volume of the requests has just made this the easiest way
to do it.

Thanks for your continued support, fanmail, suggestions and
complaints. If I don't answer an email the same day you send it, I
apologize. I'm trying to get my personal internet email fowarded to my
business account so I can answer it on my lunch hour, but the
technical folks that administer the internet firewall are talking in
circles as to why this can't happen, etc.

"Snapshots 17:Returns & Reassignments"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Classification : MSR,X
Rating : PG (Referrals to past sexuality, no dirty words, no violence)

Summary : After having their laptops stolen by the enigmatic Walter
Starke, Mulder and Scully are ordered back to Washington by Skinner.

Note : This is a particularly dry chapter MSR-wise, but it is needed
to move the plot along to the next step. It is a fairly long chapter,
too, and it looks like I might have chickened out on the X-file, but
if you have read all the chapters closely, you'll know where I might
(heh heh) be going with this. :)

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

Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
0740 Hours

        Skinner had left his office door open since Abby wasn't in
yet. He expected Mulder and Scully any moment. Even though it was
almost an hour and a half until the official Bureau workday started,
he was dressed impeccably, as usual, and was already at work,
attacking the day's paperwork.
        He steadfastly ignored the two men that sat on his couch, just
as they ignored him. OPR maggots, Skinner thought. Automatons. Robots.
The live and die by the Book, living for the regulations, the Field
Guide, the CPL and the US Code, Amended. In order to even apply to the
OPR, you had to be a lawyer as well as an FBI agent. The Office of
Professional Responsibility shared dual reputations inside the Bureau.
There were agents that thought the OPR was nothing more than a
witch-hunt organized by the Suits on the eighth floor, the Director's
Gestapo. And there were those agents that grudgingly admitted that
there was a need for the OPR, that there were always a few bad apples
in any given barrel, and better that the OPR be in place to root out
corruption and incompetence than another Congressional Oversight
Committee.
        "Sir?" Scully's voice was a bit of a surprise, and Skinner had
to control himself not to jump at the sound. He turned slowly, nodding
at her and Mulder, who had followed closely behind his partner.
        They had, obviously, ignored his direct order to report
directly to him from the airport. They had obviously gone home (whose
home? Skinner wondered), showered, shaved and changed clothes. Just as
he had assumed they would. Good agents to the end, if somewhat
unconventional, they had probably known that two or three goons from
OPR would be there to greet them, and neither Mulder or Scully had
wanted to appear in beach attire with sand in their hair.
        "Sir," Mulder said by way of greeting. He held what appeared
to be three legal pads, and judging by the well-used look of the
pages, they were all full.
        "Is that the data?" Skinner asked. He was well versed with
Mulder's photographic memory.
        "Yes, sir," Mulder said.
        Skinner sighed. He hated what he was about to do, but had
little choice in the matter. The NCIC was FBI property, and the OPR
had operational jurisdiction over any attempted break-ins, or more
importantly, any unauthorized use of the information.
        "These two gentlemen are from the OPR, and they'd like to have
a word with you," Skinner said, motioning to the two men on the couch.
Mulder and Scully turned to see the cookie-cutter OPR agents stand and
approach Skinner's desk.
        "May I?" the taller one asked, holding his hand out. That
impressed both Skinner and Mulder. OPR agents weren't known for their
manners. They usually demanded. Asking was a rare treat.
        "Of course," Mulder said. He handed the three legal pads over
with little thought. Good thing Kinko's was open 24 hours a day, he
thought. The copies were locked safely in the trunk of his car.
        The OPR agent started flipping pages. "This is the data, to
the best of..." his voice trailed off as he noticed the detail, the
level of data that Mulder had scribbled on the pages. Stunned, he
looked up at Mulder. "You remembered all this?"
        "He has a photographic memory," Scully supplied.
        "Oh." She thought she saw something cross the shorter OPR
agent's face, but before she could be sure, his face had returned to
that carefully neutral expression they had all perfected. They must
practice in front of a mirror, she thought.
        "Mulder, Scully, please have a seat," the taller OPR agent
said. He waited until the partners had comfortably situated themselves
on the couch he and his partner had just vacated.
        "Assistant Director, would you mind excusing us for a moment?"
Skinner didn't look very pleased at the obvious snub, but he said
nothing, standing and quickly exiting his own office, shutting the
door quietly behind him.
        "First off," the taller OPR agent said, "I want to tell you
two a couple of things. My name is David Grant. That sounds like one
of those fake names they issue the undercovers over in C13, but the
truth is that is my real name. My partner over there, the short, ever
dapper Dilbert Adams, also has one of those names that people assume
is automatically fake." That out of the way, Grant tapped the pads
Mulder had given him against his thigh.
        "We have several problems here, Agents. May I call you Dana
and Fox?"
        "I'm Dana," Scully said. Hooking a thumb at her partner, she
added, "He's still Mulder." Grant nodded, accepting this. "Let me
succinct. You two need to forget anything and everything you ever knew
about this case, about Walter Starke, about Jenny the flight
attendant, about anything, and I mean anything, related to this case."
        He paused a moment, waiting for that to sink in. "Mr. Mulder,
I've reviewed your personal file...your ENTIRE personal file, if you
know what I mean." Mulder did. Deviations from the norm, reprimands
expunged, items actually deleted from an agent's 'official' record
were always available to someone, especially the OPR. Mulder nodded to
show that he understood. "Good...I know that you two may have a
negative opinion of the OPR, so we're going to sit and talk until I
have a comfort level on several issues...and until you both have the
same comfort levels. Is that acceptable? I'm not storming in here with
Adams over there and taking your case away for no good reason. We have
several dozen good reasons, and we have some other issues to discuss.
But because of the sensitive nature of this case...and because of who
you two are, we're not leaving this room until we all understand each
other."
        "Who we are?" Scully parroted. "Who are we, David?"
        "The best investigative team in the Bureau. I've seen your
closure rate, your solve rate, and your caseload, as well as your...
shall we say, inventive techniques? Not to mention your...unique
theories." He paused, and Scully saw the color creeping up his neck,
slowly reaching for his cheeks and ears.
        He knows, she thought. Somehow, he knows.
        "And one other thing, I'm afraid. I don't know quite how to
say this, so I'm just going to come out with it. Mr. Adams and myself
are members of the OPR squad for Headquarters. But we are also members
of another unit, a much smaller unit. We're the only two members of
something called Unit 620. Have either of you ever heard of 620?"
        Dana shook her head, but to her surprise, Mulder piped up. "I
have."
        "What is your understanding of the unit, Mr. Mulder?"
        "You are both sworn FBI agents, and as you said, members of
OPR. But you don't answer to anyone inside the FBI. In fact, your
charter extends to most of the alphabet Federal agencies. You are
ultimately responsible to the House and Senate Judiciary Committees,
and to the Attorney General. But your true allegiance, the true place
where your orders come from...no one seems to know."
        Scully turned to her partner, a silent question in her eyes.
Shadow government?
        No, he silently answered. His eyes spoke volumes to her. These
people are not our enemies. They are not who we are searching for.
        Satisfied, Dana turned back to face Grant.
        "That's amazing," Grant said. "You two just had an entire
conversation without speaking a word."
        Dana shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Long time partners
sometimes develop a body language, a visual shorthand between
themselves. It's not uncommon with FBI agents."
        "Or lovers," Adams said. She felt Mulder stiffen next to her,
and she wanted to put a hand on his leg to soothe him, but she knew
now was not the time.
        "Yes," she said evenly, using her voice to send Mulder a
message as well as answering Grant's question. "Lovers also sometimes
develop the same communication paths. It's not uncommon." An entire
conversation had just taken place without a single specific word
having been spoken. Mulder and Scully knew the OPR agents knew about
them.
        "Our charter over in 620 is quite broad, as Agent Mulder
indicated. Certain things that come to our attention are not always
followed up on, even if they break known regulations and established
Bureau standards. Only in the most extreme cases would we need to...
look further into certain situations that we are all aware of. For
reasons that I am about to go into, at least for the time being, it is
preferable to the 620 unit and this country that...certain situations,
shall we say? Certain...circumstances remain unchanged, and if
anything, continue to..." Grant closed his mouth, searching for the
right word.
        "Blossom," Adams suggested.
        "Yes, that's a good word. Blossom."
        Dana and Mulder exchanged a glance. This one held no hidden
meanings.
        "The OPR generally, and the 620 unit specifically, is going to
take over this case, Agent Mulder. We have been aware, for a few
months now, that certain strange things are happening to a very
segmented portion of the population. A computer over at the Bureau of
the Census actually tickled us onto it about eighteen months ago,
during the half-decade update. We saw that a statistically high number
of felons released on parole or on technicalities were dying. We had
no evidence that the NCIC was being used for any of this. And in fact,
we're not convinced that the NCIC was actually used."
        Mulder frowned. "I'm not sure what-"
        "Please," Grant said, interrupting. "Let me explain a little
more. Do you know what an RTA is?"
        "Of course," Mulder said, but by the expression on her face,
it was obvious that Dana didn't. "An RTA," Grant quickly explained,
"Is a way for an agency, be it federal, state, or local, to mark a
specific record in the NCIC so that whenever that record is accessed
that a message be sent to the RTA agency. It's a way of seeing who
tickles certain records. The US Marshal's Witness Security program
uses it a lot for some of the people they move around."
        Dana was beginning to see the outlines of the connections.
Starke had said he was a Deputy US Marshal.
        "RTAs are normally visible on the NCIC run sheet when you use
a standard query. But there are was to hide them...to cloak them. Some
of our more...shy brother and sister agencies tend to use cloaked RTAs
when they want to keep an eye on someone that interests them."
        Mulder had lost his train of thought. "What--I'm not sure
where this is all-"
        "Almost finished, Mr. Mulder. On the day you ran your KILLBOT
program against NCIC, you twigged almost four hundred RTAs. RTAs that
until then had been totally cloaked. The only reason we found them is
because someone made a change to your KILLBOT program." Grant sighed,
wanting to get to the meat of the issue as quickly as possible.
"Normally, Agent Mulder, the FBI KILLBOT client queries the NCIC once,
waits for a response, and then sends the next query along. Did you
know that your KILLBOT program can send up to sixty-four queries at
the same time?" He saw the sudden chagrined look cross Mulder's face,
and waved it away. "Mr. Mulder, you are a certified National Profiler
for the VICAP gang. I can wholly understand your need to circumvent
some of the rules regarding NCIC usage."
        He paused. "And in a way, your changes to KILLBOT showed us
what we needed to see. KILLBOT works very well the way you designed
it, but it works only under certain circumstances. One of the
circumstances it does not work well under is when another process on
NCIC is asking for copies of the exact same data that KILLBOT was
sending back to you. Because the port you connected to NCIC through
via Trixie was not a high-speed T1 or ISDN port, things got a little
logjammed. Six messages that were outbound through a different port
were twigged about six times, and the NCIC operating system has a
feature where multiple attempts to send a packet are logged."
        He saw the look in Scully's and Mulder's faces, that
glazed-over, stupefied gaze that signaled he was going into way, way
too much technical detail. "Basically, Mr. Mulder, there was another
computer somewhere out there on the NCIC net that was watching NCIC to
make sure that no one queried the records that you did, in the order
you did. That program was designed to see if anyone had figured out
what you had, and was doing research. The program took copies of all
the data you asked for, and forwarded it somewhere else. The only
reason we found that is because the NCIC made a record of six packets
of data that were not sent on the first try."
        "Because KILLBOT was overworking the system," Dana said,
getting it, "NCIC had a record of six botched send attempts." She
turned to face her lover. "Geez, Mulder...you're even brilliant when
you don't mean to be."
        "It was Fro-" Mulder started to say, and then thought better
of it. If Frohicke ever found out that his name had been mentioned at
a meeting with two OPR agents in attendance, they would take away
Mulder's Captain Video Magic Decoder Ring.
        If Grant took notice of the partial use of Frohicke's name,
he made no mention of it. "Here's the deal, in a nutshell. You're off
this NCIC thing, for now, and probably forever. We have an idea of
where to take the investigation from here. But we have a related
matter that we do want you two to take a look at."
        "Wait a second," Mulder said. "Where did those six packets
want to go to? Who was asking for copies?" Grant and Adams exchanged a
glance. Grant nodded his head at Adams, who thought a moment, and then
shrugged. Grant stared at the floor for a long moment, and then lifted
his head to meet Mulder's gaze. "Normally, I'd say that you don't have
a need to know that information, Agent Mulder. But the truth be told,
you do have a need to know. But that doesn't mean that I have to give
you an answer." He paused, and then sighed. "But, as I said, I want us
all at the same comfort level. I'll be honest with you, Mulder. We
thought we knew were the data was going, but...we can't prove it."
        "Why not?"
        "Because the computer doesn't exist anymore. Or, to put a
finer point on it, the domain the computer was using doesn't exist
anymore. And the last packet track we have of the six shows going into
Ft. Meade."
        "Shit," Mulder whispered. The possibility of getting an answer
out of the NSA was nil. Nada. Zip. Zero.
        "Zilch," Scully finished aloud. Grant looked up, shocked,
realizing that Scully had just finished a sentence that Mulder had
started in his mind. Amazing. Simply amazing.
        "OK, I can see why you 620 folks are onto this one, but what's
this about another case? We're assigned to the X-files..."
        Grant sighed. "Well, yes and no. Let me explain. As I said,
we're aware of things both officially and unofficially about your...
partnership. Part of the price of keeping us unofficially aware is
that you will be called away from time to time for temporary
assignments of a duration not to exceed 30 days per in order to help
the OPR and the 620 unit. That was our price."
        "Price?"
        "Special Agent Mulder...even you can't be so arrogant as to
believe that you don't have some very powerful people glancing over
your shoulder to make sure that you don't step on your dick?"
        Mulder grinned at the imagery. "So what you're saying is that
I'm..." He glanced at Scully. "That we're beholden to you? For letting
us keep our jobs?"
        Grant and Adams exchanged another glance. "Well...yeah. I
guess that's a nice, blunt way to put it, Mulder. You know you're
breaking the rules. You know, Skinner knows, we know, and at least one
or two other people know. And for reasons of our own, reasons that
actually do coincide with your own personal agendas, at least the ones
you've stated publicly, we've decided to allow this particular
situation to continue."
        "For as long as it suits your needs?" Scully asked, a nasty
edge to her voice.
        "Well...sort of. We will, of course, not do anything
officially as long as your...relationship suits our needs. But when it
does not, we will have another conversation, and we will spell out
completely the rules and regs as far as your continued FBI
partnership. There will have to be one or two small changes made.
Nothing like breaking you up or reassigning you, I can assure you.
More along the lines of, don't kiss under the mistletoe at the FBI
Christmas party, that sort of thing."
        Scully and Mulder exchanged another glance, and Grant was sure
that if he tried hard enough, he would be able to hear the silent
words these two people spoke in the space between two heartbeats.
        "OKfor now," Scully finally said, returning her formidable
gaze to Grant's face. "Tell us about the new case."
        "I think you're going to like it," Adams said. He walked over
to the small conference table in the other corner of Skinner's office,
where his briefcase was. Opening it, he removed a slim folder and
rejoined the trio by the couch.
        "The US Marshals Service is asking for some help with a WITSEC
case. They have a witness who is convinced that he is going to be
abducted by aliens." He glanced up from the folder. "I understand that
alleged alien abductions are right up your alley?"
        "Not just alleged ones," Mulder said dryly.
        "Anyway, they've asked that someone be put in undercover near
their witness. So you two are elected, for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, you two have the experience with little green men-"
        "Grey," Mulder and Scully said at the same moment, eliciting a
smile from Adams.
        "Grey then. And secondly, we need you to be under for about
two or three weeks, we think. And...well, this is the part that kind
of fits together nicely for OPR and 620...the Marshals, and...you."
        Scully and Mulder waited expectantly. "You're going under as
man and wife."
        "Well, that shouldn't be too hard," Scully said, deadpan.
        Mulder thought about what his partner said. "Sure, no problem.
What's our cover?"
        "Mr. and Mrs. Steinberg," Adams started.
        "Is it because of my nose?" Mulder asked. Ignoring him, Adams
continued. "Mr. Steinberg is a recently published author of a science
fiction novel about alien abductions."
        Grant interrupted. "You know about the Golden Rope project
over at Langley?" he asked.
        Mulder nodded, and seeing Scully shake her head, he explained.
"CIA ghostwriters. They write books...sometimes very good ones... that
are used for intelligence purposes. Sometimes they bury messages in
them, use them for cryptographic keys for undercovers or illegals
abroad, and sometimes as cover for agents."
        "Correct," Grant said, obviously impressed by the depth of
Mulder's knowledge. "So, we'll have a few dozen copies for you to give
out with an author's photograph on the back with your smiling face.
That'll establish your bona fides."
        "What about me?" Scully asked. "Don't tell me that I'm stuck
playing the little woman in this little production of 'Our Town'! We
can make Mr. Steinberg the recently <widowed> Mr. Steinberg before
that happens."
        "Uh, no. You're actually a psychologist, starting a home
practice."
        Scully sighed. "Well, that should be interesting. Listen,
gentlemen...we've pretty much satisfied ourselves about this NCIC
mess. We can bone up on our new backgrounds by ourselves...we'd
probably do a better job of it anyway. Two things...when and were?"
        "Tomorrow morning, nine-thirty. Pave Creek."
        "Pave Creek? Where the hell is that?" Scully wanted to know.
        "Montana," Mulder answered.
        "Oh...GREAT!" Scully said. "Sun, sand and surf in San Diego...
and now cold, snow, mud and slush in Montana. God, I love the FBI."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
END PART 17

OK, flame away. Trust me...this will all work out.


"Snapshots 18:
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Classification : MSR,X
Rating : PG (Referrals to past sexuality, no dirty words, no violence)

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Summary : After returning to Washington, Scully and Mulder are pulled
off the Starke case and assigned to an apparently unrelated case.

Notes : This is a 'move-along-the-plot' chapter, and does have some
interesting things in it. The MSR classification is up on the line
because this chapter is part of a larger, totally MSR-based whole. I'm
not sure how much MSR needs to be in a specific chapter for the
chapter to be considered MSR, but I'm playing it safe. :)

Additional Note : In Snapshot:17, I mentioned that the names Scully
and Mulder would be assuming was "Steinberg." This has since been
changed due to a reader's request. I am using my own middle name
"Edward," as the basis for their new 'married' name.

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

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

        "Well, actually," Grant said, "you won't be leaving for Pave
Creek until tomorrow afternoon."
        "Legend," Mulder mumbled.
        "That's right, Mr. Mulder. The FBI is going to go to a great
deal of trouble and expense to create two perfectly good fake
identities for you and Agent Scully, and you need to be fully briefed
on what we've come up with for the both of you."
        "Sir, if I may?" Dana asked. Grant nodded towards her. "What
can you tell us about the witness we'll be dealing with?"
        "Well, not much, I'm afraid. What little we have comes to us
via the Marshal's service. They're doing a favor with this witness for
another agency, an agency that has declined to make itself known.
WITSEC isn't always used for witnesses, you know."
        Mulder nodded. He knew.
        "So, tomorrow morning, bright and early, report to Quantico,
Room 420-P. Until then, I guess we're done."
        Grant stood, and after a moment, Adams did as well. The four
agents stared at each other for a few moments, and then the two OPR
operatives turned and left Mulder and Scully alone in Skinner's
office. A few moments after the door had shut, Skinner re-entered, his
face grim.
        "I understand you two have a new...project," he growled.
        "Uh..." Mulder started. "I was under the impression that you
knew about this, sir."
        "No, Agent Mulder, I had no idea that the OPR was going to
usurp you and Agent Scully for their own ends. I don't suppose either
of you would care to tell me exactly where you are going and what you
will be doing for the next...however long it is?"
        The partners exchanged a silent glance. Without speaking a
word, they both decided they could trust Skinner. He already knew so
many of their secrets, what was one more?
        "We're going under as man and wife to protect a WITSEC client
in Montana."
        Skinner didn't sit in his desk chair, he collapsed into it.
"Well, that was just about the last thing I expected, I'll admit
<that>."
        "That goes double for me," Mulder added.
        "Triple," Scully interjected.
        "Well, Grant told me that you two aren't due at Quantico until
tomorrow morning. Seeing as you were up half the night on the plane,
take the rest of the day off. Go home. Get some sleep. Get ready for
this mission. Pay the bills, feed the fish, water the plants. Scully,
Mulder, I assume the Bureau has copies of your apartment keys so that
we can have Support Services send someone over to make sure the places
are still standing while you're both gone?"
        "Yes, sir," they parroted in unison.
        "Good. Now get out of here. I don't want to hear that either
of you have gone near the basement today." He thought for a moment,
and then said, "Or the lab." The final comment had been directed more
towards Scully, and she realized that Skinner knew about Danny.
        "Yes, sir," she said quietly, standing. "C'mon Mulder...let's
go do laundry and pack for another road trip."

Federal Bureau of Investigation
Offices of Unit 620, Room 420P
Marine Barracks, Quantico, Virginia
0900 Hours

        "The first thing we need is any and all FBI identification. I
need your shields, your weapons, your ID cards, your parking cards,
any FBI-issued credit cards or phone cards...anything that can tie you
back to the government. That includes business cards... anything."
        Special Agent David Grant smiled at the two agents seated in
front of his desk. "Dump it all right here."
        Mulder nodded and reached for his belt, unbuckling it and
sliding it out far enough to remove his holster. Reaching into his
jacket, he returned with his credentials, and put those on the desk as
well. Reaching into the other side of his jacket, he found his
cellphone, and that, too, joined the growing pile on Grant's desk as
Scully mirrored his actions.
        "Any personal jewelry that can be traced to either of you?"
Scully thought of the small gold cross that hung around her neck out
of sight from Grant's prying eyes due to the high-necked blouse she
wore. He'll never know, she thought.
        "That's everything," Mulder said. Dana nodded. "Me, too."
        "OK," Grant smiled, rubbing his hands together. "We'll put all
of this into secure storage, and file a receipt with your SAC. And,
until this project is over, you are no longer Special Agents Fox
Mulder and Dana Scully. You are David and Karen Edwards." Grant opened
a desk drawer and pulled out a fat manila envelope. He handed the
envelope to Mulder, who opened it quickly and deftly. He pulled out
two smaller envelopes, one marked "David" and the other "Karen."
        "Here," he said, handing the one marked "David" to Scully.
        "Mulder...we're not going that deeply undercover." Scully
reached for her envelope and opened it. Inside was a Montana driver's
license with her new name, but her real date of birth, all the vital
statistics correctly entered, and a picture of her that looked very
familiar. "Where did you get this picture?" she asked.
        "It's your Virginia driver's license, Scully. The DMV stores
the pictures as computer-captured digital images. We just grabbed the
image and dropped the right color background in with a computer.
Magic."
        A social security card, a birth certificate, four credit
cards, including a Gold American Express, a Court County library card,
a BlockBuster video card, and her Montana Health Services
authorization card to practice as a clinical psychologist with two
specialties: Child psychology and sex counseling.
        "I'm a sex counselor?" she asked.
        "Well, the legend was built before we ever knew who was going
to get it, Agent Scully. Try to play up the child psychology part if
anyone asks about it. If you're uncomfortable with it."
        She could feel Mulder's eyes on her. "I'm not uncomfortable
with it, I was just surprised."
        "Mulder, we'll go over yours first. You're David Edwards,
recently published author of a book called 'From Beyond and Back.'
It's a standard us-against-them scifi thriller. You can read it on the
plane on the way out. You graduated from Yale in 1981 with a degree in
Chemistry, and worked as a research chemist for Dow-Corning for six
years before taking up writing full-time. Your wife supported you for
the last few years until your big breakthrough. The publication of the
book, and the advance on your next novel, has given you enough money
to move to Montana, where you've always wanted to live. You have no
living relatives aside from your wife, Karen. You have no siblings."
        "I'm an orphan and an only child. Convenient."
        "Yes, well, most of our undercovers are. It does tend to
smooth certain issues over."
        "Hmm..."
        "Anyway, we kept as much the same as we could, down to your
birthdates. You, David, were born in Eastchester, New York. Your
mother was a homemaker, as was the style of the times, your father an
accountant. No sisters or brothers, as I said. You were an above
average student, with excellent grades. Your teachers remember you
fondly."
        "That's great, considering I never met them. How do you work
that, anyway? I mean, if someone tries to contact a teacher of mine,
how's it going to look if they don't remember me?"
        "Oh," Grant smiled, "but they do. Most of the people we put
down as contacts and the like are actually relatives of FBI employees.
They know the name, David Grant, and know that if they are ever asked,
they have a script to adhere to. We give them a little stipend every
year, and they get to feel like they're making a contribution to the
national cause. For the more involved cases, those people are briefed
twice a year by us down here, and they get substantially more money."
        "I still don't understand how you can completely fabricate an
entire identity out of thin air," Scully protested. "I mean, yes, you
can get schoolteachers to lie for us..but what about the actual
birth records? Hospital records? Immunization charts? Things like
that? If someone really starts digging into these backgrounds,
eventually they're going to find out that everything is not as it
seems."
        Grant frowned and pushed himself back from the desk, steepling
his fingers under his chin. "I could blow smoke up your ass, Scully,
and tell you that we know what we're doing. But it's actually quite
simple. Too simple, in fact. As you both well know, there is nothing
illegal about adopting another identity. People change their names all
the time. But creating the kind of background, the legend that we have
built for your two is an intense, exhausting project, taking literally
thousands of man hours and tens of thousands of dollars.
        "We start by finding death records and working backwards. We
find someone that died as an infant in a different state then where
they were born. From there, we reconstruct as much of the real data as
we can. Then we insert records, fake records, into certain places,
always with cooperation. Schools, churches, doctors' offices...
everyone wants to help the FBI. I've actually gotten invitations to
high school reunions from people that insist they remember going to
high school with a person that died when she was six months old. The
system works, Agent Scully. You have my word on that."
        Scully nodded, obviously satisfied with the answer.
        "Now what?" Mulder asked.
        "Karen Edwards, married, no living relatives, one sister that
lives abroad. We keep the 'sister abroad' thing alive in case we have
to pull you two out of there quickly. You'd be surprised how many of
our sisters end up dying near the end of a case."
        Scully felt the blood rushing out of her head, and she gasped
as the room started to swim.
        "You son of a bitch!" Mulder growled as he reached for her.
        "Oh, shit!" Grant said, realizing what he'd just done. "I'm
sorry, Scully...I completely forgot about your sister!"
        Dana took a few deep breaths and steadied herself. "I'm OK,"
she insisted. "It just..."
        "Say no more," Grant said, holding up a hand. "I apologize.
From the bottom-"
        "Can we just get this over with?" Mulder asked.
        "Of course. You went to college at Vassar, graduated as
salutatorian,"
        "How is <that> possible?" Scully asked.
        "Well, two reasons. Firstly, there was a Karen Edwards that
was salutatorian of her Vassar class, who did major in psychology, who
did go on to get a masters degree and then a doctorate. She is also an
FBI agent down in Miami. Secondly, Vassar didn't have the funds in
1983 to print a yearbook. And she looks something like you: Short, red
hair..."
        "I see."
        "Anyway...the rest of your legends is being prepared as we
speak. There's two things I need to tell you. The first is your
contact. When you arrive in Billings, a Dan Stone will meet you there.
He's a US Deputy Marshal, and he's been briefed in on most of what
I've told you. Don't volunteer any information if you can at all help
it. He'll be your contact from Justice while you're on this
assignment. Secondly...your objective."
        Grant returned to his desk and grabbed a second folder. "Zack
Tarses. The man...such as he is...that you are going to Pave Creek to
see."
        "What do you mean, 'such as he is'?" Mulder queried.
        "Well, he's not much of a man. He's only 16."
        "A federally protected witness who's sixteen? That' strange!"
        "Odd," Dana agreed.
        "Like I said, he's not exactly a witness. USMS is protecting
him for another agency. All we need you two to do is get close to him,
and find out what the hell is going on down there. The poor kid is
convinced that he's going to be abducted by aliens. He can't eat, he
can't sleep, he walks around all day looking like something the cat
dragged in."
        "How are we supposed to get close to him?"
        "His parents know that a child psychologist is moving in just
down the street, and we made sure that his father picked up a copy of
your new book last night," Grant said. "Complete with your picture on
the flyleaf. When the kid shows up for an autograph, at his father's
urging, you two will be on stage. Got the picture?"
        "I have one question," Mulder said. "What if the kid is
telling the truth? What if he is in danger of being abducted by
aliens?"
        Grant blinked twice, his mouth working. No sound escaped his
lips.
        "We'll drive off that bridge when we come to it," he finally
said. "OKlast details. The house is being finished now by a
professional moving company. All the latest stuff, clothes, furniture,
computers, books, TV, stereo, VCR, plates and spoons and knives and
forks, everything. Clothing is your current sizes. You can take
anything you want with you, just nothing with any information that
might contradict your legends. No FBI T-shirts. No HRT coffee mugs.
Nothing. Nada. Zip."
        "Zilch," Mulder finished.
        "Stone will have two cars for you. A Ford Expedition for you,
Mulder, and a Miata for you, Scully. Red, to match your hair. If
there's anything else you need, contact Stone. He has discretionary
funding up to a few thousand dollars, and if it's more than that,
he'll contact his people who will...well, you can figure out the
rest."
        He rubbed his hands together. "Any questions?"
        "Only a few thousand," Scully observed dryly.
        "Anything I can answer?" Grant grinned.
        "Probably not," she admitted. "No weapons?"
        "Don't need 'em. This is a soft-contact mission."
        She nodded. "Well...two cellular phones. We will need those."
        "Done," Grant said.
        "Satellite TV," Mulder said.
        "Excuse me?"
        "Hey...March Madness? The NCAA? Final Four? Any of these words
ring a bell?"
        Grant shifted in his chair. "I'll call the DEA and see if they
have anything in their warehouses. Something sized from a drug
dealer, maybe."
        "Hold the bullet holes."
        "Whatever." Grant stood. "If there's nothing else, you two
have a flight in less than three hours.
        Mulder and Scully exchanged one of their trademark glances and
shrugged. They stood, shook Grant's hand and departed his office.
        They were driving off the base when Scully smacked her
forehead. "Shit! They did forget something!"
        "What?"
        "Rings. Wedding rings."
        "Good point, Scully." Twenty minutes later they were in a
jewelry store, looking over rings. "My treat," Scully teased. "Your
Visa card is just about melted."
        "Correction," he whispered, leaning closer. "Mulder's is.
Edward's is fine."
        Scully grinned, and shifted her attention to a slightly more
pricey set of rings. They were sized, and they paid quickly and left.
Sitting in the car in the mall's parking lot, they looked at the paper
bag on the dashboard.
        "Well?" Scully asked. "Should we do it?"
        Mulder was lost in thought. His mind was literally a thousand
miles away, in Las Vegas. He had been there once or twice, and had
seen the tacky wedding chapels lining the strip. He remembered their
conversation in the office just before Pendrell had walked in, almost
catching them in an embrace. He remembered talking about marriage to
her, about how he thought about it. But he had never told her what,
exactly, he thought about being married to Dana Scully.
        "We'd better," he said finally. "Gotta get used to them as
much as possible before we get to Montana."
        Scully nodded. It made sense. But neither of them reached for
the bag. Finally, groaning, Mulder reached for the bag and tore it
open. Two simple gold rings fell out. Scully's had three small
diamonds in it, his only one. Picking up the smaller ring, he held it
in his left hand, rolling it between his fingers.
        He smiled, trying to keep it light. "What do you say? Marry
me?" He reached over and took her left hand in his right, and then
smoothly slid the ring over her finger.
        "I will," Scully whispered softly. Mulder looked up, an
expression somewhere between surprise and excitement on his face.
Without saying a word, Scully reached for the other ring and repeated
the process on his hand.
        Mulder used his thumb to twirl the ring on his finger until
the diamond was showing. "Can I ask you a question?"
        "Sure," Scully said.
        "Who answered? Dana or Karen?"
        Scully turned her head and looked of the window, lost in her
own thoughts. Facing Mulder again, she reached across the seats with
her left hand. Grabbing his neck, she brought his face close to hers.
        "Both of us," she whispered.
        They kissed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
END CHAPTER 18



Snapshpot 19:Wedding Bells

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Classification : MSR,X
Rating : PG Some words, and some oblique references to adult sexuality.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Summary : Enroute to their new assignment, Mulder and Scully have
separate but similar thoughts on the plane. Upon arrival, they settle
into their new house and enjoy their first night as...well, you know.

Spoiler Warning: None. But, if you have not read any of the Snapshot
stories, you may need to be brought up to date. :)

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

Baltimore-Washington International Airport


        "Do you prefer a window or an aisle seat, Mrs. Edwards?" The
reservations agent stared expectantly at Dana, who was busy staring off
into space, her thoughts elsewhere, her mind a thousand miles away. The
reservations agent waited what he thought was a sufficient amount of
time, and then tried again. "Mrs. Edwards?"
        Mulder, who was standing behind Scully, was trying very hard not
to burst out laughing. He felt the smile tugging at his lips, and nudged
Scully gently with his foot. "Honey? He asked you a question."
        With a start, Dana turned her attention back to the reservations
agent. "I'm so sorry...I was...thinking. What was the question?"
        "Isle or window seat?"
        "Oh...window. Please."
        The clerk nodded and returned to his computer, punching keys with
speedy efficiency. "OK, Mr. and Mrs Edwards, you are confirmed on flight
323 to Billings, with a stopover in Dallas, departing from gate 17." He
snatched the boarding passes from the printer and quickly scribbled on
them with a green felt-tip pen. Stapling the baggage claim checks to the
tickets, he folded the entire affair inside a small paper carrier
bearing the airline's logo. Handing the packet to Mulder, he continued:
"Turn left at the end of the counter, down the concourse past security,
and it's the seventh gate on the left. Have a nice flight."
        He waited to see if there was anything else, and when neither
Mulder or Scully said anything, he pointedly turned his attention to the
next person in line. Taking the hint, Scully and Mulder made their way
towards the concourse.
        "Hungry, Scully? I could use something."
        Dana shook her head. "Not me." She watched as Mulder approached a
cart vendor and quickly ordered two hot dogs and a soda. She watched him
as he ate, wolfing the food down, swigging quickly from the bright red
can, polishing the makeshift meal off in a matter of minutes. Scully
dropped her glance to the ring on her finger, her thumb slowly working
it, twisting the metal band again and again. The ring felt heavy,
foreign on her finger, somehow...well, alien was the only word that came
to mind. She snorted, wondering if Mulder would appreciate the joke.
        She wanted to talk to Mulder, wanted to tell him the myriad
emotions that were running through her mind, the conflicting feelings
whirling and spinning in her heart and in her head. She glanced back at
him, and decided that it would have to wait. For Mulder, this was one
big adventure, a chance to play dress-up the way grownups did. He was on
a mission that looked interesting, a covert, clandestine operation that
appealed to the little boy in him, that youthful exuberance that was
never far beneath the surface. No matter how many times he railed
against the shadow governments that he was convinced existed, he too
liked the idea of playing secret agent, of jetting off to distant places
to skulk in the shadows in the name of finding the truth and protecting
Justice and the American Way. To him, this was a way to explore the
concept of being married to Scully with both an official Bureau
blessing, and a built-in escape hatch. Not many marriages came with an
expiration date, Scully thought, and smiled.
        Mulder felt Scully's eyes on him and could sense her feelings. He
had long ago given up trying to explain or dissect the strange way they
seemed to be able to communicate silently across great distances. He
didn't even need to look in Scully's eyes to feel her...reluctance. That
was the chief emotion he felt coming off of her. By the way she stood
and moved, the way she held her body, Dana Scully was all but wearing a
neon sign around her neck that she wasn't a happy woman. And deep down
inside, Mulder knew why.
        Scully wanted all the same things he did...some day. She wanted
marriage, a home, family, children, PTA meetings, bake sales, Little
League, band practice, trips to the dentist and the doctor, school plays
and bumped knees, changing diapers and three-am feedings. She wanted
that very badly, and Mulder knew that a very specific, only recently
awakened part of her wanted those things with him. He was still
struggling himself, a little, with that concept, trying it on for size,
turning it over and over in his mind, taking it out to play with when he
had some quiet time. He knew that Dana wanted, in a place so deep inside
her that it was almost invisible, for this to be real. Not that she
didn't want to do the op, but that when it came to something like being
married to Mulder, she didn't want to play at it. She didn't want it to
be fake.
        "C'mon," Mulder said, "we're going to miss the plane." Scully
looked up, saw the look in his eyes, and heard the words his heart was
speaking. <I understand,> his eyes said. She smiled softly and took his
hand, glad that the undercover nature of the mission allowed them to act
like a couple in public.
        "David," she whispered, "have I ever told you how much I love
you?"
        He smiled. "Karen," he said, trying the name on for the first
time, "you show me how much every day." And with that, they turned and
walked down the concourse, towards a new life, a temporary, through-
the-looking-glass life that promised to show them things about each
other that neither had ever suspected.

Aboard Flight 1019

        "Coffee, Tea, soda?"
        "Dew me!" Mulder said, grinning at the flight attendant.
        "Excuse me, sir?"
        Mulder's smile slowly faded. "Uh...Mountain Dew, please."
        "I'm sorry. We have Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite and Root Beer."
        "Uh...Coke."
        The flight attendant smiled thinly at Mulder, reaching down
underneath her cart and returning with a can of Coke. She filled the
small plastic cub with exactly three ice cubes, as the airline
regulations specified, and then filled the remainder with the brown
liquid.
        "And for the lady?"
        "Coffee," Scully said, her head buried in a child psychology
journal. She had been reading almost since the plane had started to push
away from the gate. She remembered her psych rotation in medical school
only as a dim, distant memory, and she had a lot of catching up to do.
        Mulder was reading "Stranger in a Strange Land" for what seemed
like the twentieth time. The scifi classic never ceased to amaze him. As
he read, his thoughts began to drift. There were so many things going on
at the same time, it was hard to keep track of them all. The last week
or so had been so completely full of life-changing events that it was
almost too much to comprehend and understand.
        Scully was his lover. He was hers. Skinner knew. The OPR both
officially and unofficially knew. They were on an undercover op for the
OPR, and not just the OPR, but a smaller, almost clandestine unit called
620 that did God only knew what for nameless and faceless strangers, a
culpability trail that might lead to the doors of the White House
itself. Not to mention that he and Scully were about to start playing
house, the two of them thrust together into a situation that mirrored
not only the current state of affairs between them, but took them to new
places Mulder wasn't sure either of them was ready to explore yet.
        Like trying to walk through a quicksand minefield, he thought. The
next step in any direction could cause the entire thing to blow up in
his face, and at the same time he was trying to navigate it carefully,
he was flailing around, scared that he was going to go under, sputtering
and gasping for breath.
        Mulder closed the book, finally accepting the fact that he was
totally, completely unable to concentrate.
        "Penny for your thoughts, Mulder."
        Her voice was quiet, serene, soothing. He leaned towards her as if
to hear her better, but all he wanted was to drink in the presence of
her. Scully's scent, the mixture of her shampoo and perfume, and beneath
that, something lower, more basic, always made him feel comfortable.
        "Just thinking about the op," he said.
        "What're you thinking?"
        "It's gonna be strange, pretending we're married."
        Scully looked up from her psychology journal with her trademark
arched eyebrow, a signal that Mulder understood better than any other
human on Earth -- explain, Mulder. Now.
        "Before," he said, trying to worm his way out of what sounded,
already, like a lame excuse, "we became lovers, this would have been a
fun little side-trip. I would have teased the hell out of you, and you
would have done the same. We'd laugh and joke, and ... well, we'd both
be wondering what it would be like to be with each other, to play man
and wife for real. But we probably wouldn't have done anything about it,
because we weren't ready for it. We hadn't...crossed the bridge."
        "Yeah," Scully agreed, turning to stare out the window. The
clouds look comforting, fluffy, soft. She had to agree with him; it
was going to be strange. Maybe strange in a good way, though.
        "Look at it this way, Mulder...we get a chance to see what it
would be like to live together as husband and wife. We get to see each
other first thing in the morning, last thing at night. We get to sleep
together, and get paid for it, I might add. I'd also like to point out
that I will finally be able to determine if you are trainable."
        Mulder, who had been slouching in the seat, trying to find
more legroom, sat up straight and turned to face his partner. "Excuse
me? What-able?"
        "Trainable, Mulder. It's an easy word. Only three syllables."
        "Trainable?"
        "Trainable," she confirmed. "Jeez, Mulder, how many long-term
relationships have you been in, any-"
        Scully bit the last part of the sentence off, realizing that
he had only been in one, and that it had ended badly. Mulder's longest
relationship was with his Quest, and she was an evil, cold bitch. He
gave all his time and energy to the Quest, and she hadn't given much
back. If Mulder's Quest had been a real flesh-and-blood woman, and not
the emotional mistress it actually was, Dana would have long since
scratched her eyes out. No, Mulder had lots of experience with women,
and none with relationships.
        He was scared. Of exactly what, Dana wasn't quite sure. But
his fear was palpable, detectable, if only by her.
        She took his hand. "Mulder," she said softly, "this is an
assignment. Neither one of us had a lot of experience going
undercover, so we're going to have to depend on each other a lot
during the next few weeks. But it's all pretend, Mulder. Part of the
job. I'll be there for you, and you'll be there for me. Just like
always, OK?"
        Mulder nodded, sighing deeply. Her face was turned towards
his, and he could see her eyes, her wonderfully captivating, alluring
eyes. He had fallen into them the first time he'd seen them, and now
he was acting as if he wanted to escape. Nothing could be further from
the truth...in theory.
        Dana could see the thought racing across his mind. She reached
for it, trying to grasp it and examine it, but it was too deep an
emotion, to private a feeling. She saw his brow crease, and waited for
him to speak.
        The incredible combination of bioelectric computer and
mystical divining rod that made up Mulder's mind was cranking over
faster than he ever remembered it working. Of course, he thought; that
was exactly it. For as long as he could remember, Mulder had been
thinking about a relationship with Scully. About what it would be
like, surrounding himself in an active fantasy life, building totally
unrealistic expectations about what a relationship with Scully would
be like. And now it was true. Now it was real; it had escaped the
realm of pure theory and was now bouncing around in the Real World,
the world were emotions were delicate and feelings could turn brittle
with the mention of a certain phrase, a poor choice of words, a hard
look. Like a spider web, he thought, each delicate tendril had been
carefully placed <just so> in his mind, with Scully at the center; It
seemed as if a strong breeze could turn the entire affair into a mess
of twisted dreams and shattered hopes. And more than anything else in
the world...or, most anything in the world, Mulder didn't want to
screw this relationship up.
        "Scully," he finally said, "this is not the time or place to
talk about this. I need time to think about how I want to say what we
both need me to hear. I promise you, tonight, when we get to the
house, we will sit down and I'll tell you exactly what I'm thinking.
Deal?"
        Scully didn't even think about it. A promise from Mulder was
as sure as a politician's greed. "Deal, Mulder," she said softly,
leaning over to kiss the side of his mouth. "I have some reading to
do..."
        "And we have to fill in some of the blanks, too," Mulder added
after a moment.
        "Huh?"
        "Well, that legend the OPR-620 guys gave us was a pretty good
starting place, but it's nowhere near complete, Scully."
        "What do you mean?"
        "Well...where did we go on our honeymoon? What's my favorite
color? What was the name of your prom date, Scully? We have to be
prepared for some of the more common questions that are asked of
married couples. We have to be able to give the same answers, even if
we're asked separately."
        Scully nodded. She'd been thinking about that ever since they
had left Quantico. Leave it to Mulder, one of the best interrogators
Scully had ever seen to be able to turn that skill around and use it
as a way to protect them. Scully felt a wave of affection for Mulder
wash over her. "You're amazing sometimes, you know that?"
        His mouth twisted into the familiar grin that told Scully some
witty comeback was seconds away from arriving, but nothing came out of
his mouth. "Thanks," he said softly, humbly.
        "You're welcome."

Billings International Airport
4:45 PM

        "Well," Mulder asked softly, "Which one do <you> think it is?"
They were standing in baggage claim, waiting with the rest of the
passengers for the motorized carousel to start circling endlessly. It
was a proven fact that no matter what time you arrived for your
flight, <your> bags were always the last ones off. Mulder and Scully
had passed the time waiting by studying the crowd, trying to spot
Deputy US Marshal Dan Stone. So far, none one in the terminal seemed
to perk either Scully or Mulder's interest.
        With a lurch, the luggage carousel groaned into action. It
went around for several minutes before the first bag appeared, and
magically, it was Scully's garment bag. With a smile on her face, she
leaned down and grabbed it, handing it back to Mulder. Against all
logic, all human understanding of how such things worked, it took
another ten full minutes before another bag belonging to either of
them emerged.
        "How is that possible?" Scully demanded. "They all went onto
the plane at the same time!"
        "Sounds like an X-file, Scully," Mulder whispered. She shot
him a warning glance, and his expression turned contrite. There could
be no discussions about X-files while they were in Montana.
        At least not in public.
        Finally, they had all their bags. Mulder loaded himself up
with most of them, and Scully took the rest. They turned to leave and
stopped, realizing at once that they didn't know where to go. They had
been assured that Stone was to meet them at the airport. Government
assurances, Scully thought. About as trustworthy as a politician's
promise.
        "Well, what should we do?" Scully asked her partner.
        Before Mulder could answer, a voice called out. "Mr. Edwards?"
        Mulder turned to see a man about his age, a few inches shorter
and definitely thicker, slowly approaching. He held out his hand.
"I'm Dan Stone. I'm sorry I was late, but we had a SOG takedown
earlier today, and we just finished up the paperwork and loaded our
package onto the Gooney Bird."
        "You're with SOG?" Mulder asked. That put a new spin on
everything. The US Marshal's Service was small in comparison to the
other federal law enforcement agencies that were all part of the
Department of Justice family. Just over three thousand sworn members
strong, the USMS was had three primary missions. Providing security
for judges and federal courthouses, protecting federal witnesses
before, during and after trial, and chasing and recapturing escaped
federal fugitives. Even such a small, elite service like the USMS had
an even smaller, even more elite unit inside of it, just as the FBI
had the Hostage Rescue Team and the Secret Service had the Executive
Protection Detail. The USMS's Special Operations Group was a small
subset of the Fugitive Recovery Squads that dotted the USMS offices
across the country. SOG operatives were trained in the latest assault
tactics by the military counterterrorist units like Delta Force and
SEAL Team Six. US Marshal's were feared across the country by
fugitives. Mention the phrase "SOG" to an escaped federal prisoner or
fugitive, and they would literally shake in their boots. SOG operators
were not known to take a lot of prisoners.
        The fact that a hard-charging, kick-ass and take-names USMS
SOG operator was on this mission didn't exactly surprise Mulder, but
it did answer a few questions that had been dangling in his mind. Most
of the SOG operators were taken from military units or police SWAT
teams. They were used to dealing in the shadowy, dual worlds of law
enforcement and intelligence. They were the kind of people that Mulder
never found it easy to trust, and now is only contact with the DOJ and
Washington was one of those shadow faced goons.
        Wonderful. Just wonderful.
        Stone handed him a slip of paper. "Home, pager, cellular and
fax. You can get me 24/7, Mr. Edwards. Judging by your face, you know
what I do for a living when I'm not protecting witnesses. I make no
apologies for the way I earn my living, sir, but I will tell you that
I consider you just as important, if not more so, than any of my
witnesses, and when you call, if you call, I will come." His piece
finished, Stone handed over two sets of car keys. "They're parked next
to each other in short-term. Green Ford Expedition, and right next to
that a red Miata. Directions and keys to the house are under the
visor. You are only to call me if you need something, not to chat.
There is five thousand dollars in a wall safe in the master bedroom of
the house. The combination is your birth month, her birth day, and
your birth year, Mr. Edwards. If you need more money, call me. If you
need to be yanked out, call me. If Zack gets abducted by the aliens
he's so worried about, call me. Otherwise, no matter where you see me,
no matter what I'm doing or who I am with, you are not to publicly
acknowledge me in any way. Is that clear, sir?"
        Mulder just nodded, unprepared for this level of animosity
from the man. They were on the same side, right?
        Stone studied the two agents for a moment, and turned to
Scully. "Ma'am, I'd sure like to help you with them bags, but as your
husband will explain to you later, I have a Bad Guy to go and catch.
You have a nice day now, you hear?" With that, he turned and walked
away.
        "What was that about?" Scully asked.
        "I'll tell you when we get there," Mulder said, turning and
trudging towards short-term parking. Shrugging, Scully followed her
husband.


22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
7:45pm

        The drive had taken them just over an hour, north and east of
the airport. The directions Stone had provided were excellent, and
Mulder found the turn off onto Mon Bar street with little difficulty.
He counted from the first house, numbered 2, all the way down to the
last house on the block, number 22. His house. The house he and Scully
would be spending the next few weeks in...as husband and wife.
        It was a two-story brick-faced colonial, with a wrap-around
verandah on three sides with a wide set of steps ending at the semi-
circular driveway. Mulder pulled a little forward, letting Scully park
behind him. They got out, stretching their legs, hands on hips,
leaning back as they stared at the house. It was beautiful, Mulder
thought, and Scully agreed. Looked to be about twenty five hundred,
maybe three-thousand square feet. Their nearest neighbor was perhaps
four hundred yards away.
        "Cool," Mulder said, noticing for the first time that a
previous owner had poured a twelve-foot square cement slab that
supported a regulation basketball backboard and hoop. The sun had set
a few hours ago, but there was still enough light to see by. There was
a light on inside the house, gently bathing the front door in a soft
yellow glow.
        "Shall we?" Mulder asked. Scully nodded, using a fist to try
and hide a yawn. They walked up the stairs slowly, looking around,
taking it all in. The entrance was protected by an aluminum storm
door, and Mulder opened it, inserting the key he'd found in the car.
The lock snapped! and he pushed the door open.
        "God, I feel like I could sleep for a week," Scully said,
starting to move around Mulder, trying to get inside.
        "Oh, no you don't," Mulder said, reaching out to stop her.
She looked at him, puzzled. "Wha-" she started to ask, but she never
got to finish the sentence.
        Mulder reached down and literally swept Scully off her feet.
His left arm was cradled behind her knees, his right arm gripping her
shoulder. He turned sideways perfectly, carrying Scully across the
threshold.
        Standing in the foyer, Mulder grinned in the soft light to his
partner.
        "If we're going to play house," he whispered, "we may as well
do it right." He slowly lowered Scully until she was standing next to
him, her hands on his shoulders, her face tilted up, her eyes
searching for and finding his.
        Her smile was soft and sweet and pure, as only a Scully's
could be. She didn't know what to say. "Thank you" sounded trite
considering the circumstances. So she settled for the one thing that
she knew Mulder wanted to hear.
        "I love you, Mulder."
        They kissed, a soft, gentle, promise of a kiss that hinted as
something more, something deeper once they got unpacked and settled.
        Parting, Scully reached up with her thumb and wiped a stray
trace of lipstick off Mulder's lips. "Let's go exploring!" she
giggled, and then laughed at herself for giggling.
        "I gotta go first," Mulder said.
        "Well, we gotta <find> it first, Mulder."
        Hand in hand, they set off to explore their new house.

        Scully was brushing her teeth, staring at her reflection in
the master-bathroom mirror. Holy God, she thought. The Bureau had
certainly gone hole hog on this particular assignment. She was still
reeling from the entire experience of exploring the house with Mulder.
A sunken living room, a dining room big enough to comfortably seat
twenty, a kitchen to die for, complete with a butcher-block island in
the middle (plumbed <and> wired,), a restaurant-quality stove, cold
storage large enough to hold an entire cow, four bedrooms including a
master bedroom with a King size bed and a skylight. The bathroom had a
vanity that looked long enough and sturdy enough to comfortably land
aircraft on, and a Jacuzzi bathtub that looked like a white porcelain
promise of relaxation and escape.
        She leaned over and spit, using a paper cup to fill her mouth
with water. She swished it around, thinking about the man waiting in
bed for her. Waiting for <her>. Mulder was waiting for her in their
bed. So far they had only made love in her apartment, and in San Diego.
Now they had a bed. Together. It was neither hers nor his. It was
theirs.
        Scully studied her reflection and smirked at it. You look real
gorgeous, she thought, cheeks bulging out with green goo-stained
water. You should be a fashion model, Dana. She leaned over and
emptied her mouth, straightened up and dabbed at her face with a soft
terry hand towel. She took another moment to study herself in the
mirror. They day before, while they had been doing laundry in
preparation for this assignment, Mulder had surprised her with the
donation of his Oxford T-shirt. It was incredibly soft and worn, and
it did very flattering things to Dana's petite figure. Knowing how
Mulder felt about such things, the Oxford T-shirt was all that Dana
was wearing at that particular moment.
        Running a brush quickly through her hair, Dana called out,
"Ready or not, Mulder, here I come!" Flipping the light off, she
closed the door behind her and started moving towards the bed. God,
the master bedroom was almost as big as my entire apartment! There was
a 41" inch Sony-XBR television mounted on a swivel stand in one
corner, and Mulder was currently flipping the channels.
        He was on his stomach, a doubled-over pillow holding up his
chin as he worked the remote. "How many channels?" she asked, slipping
onto the bed next to him. She was sitting up, her arm on the other
side of his body, staring down at his bare back. Mulder had decided to
sleep in a pair of worn cotton track shorts.
        "Over a hundred. I think Grant actually did what he said he
would. I have the feeling there's a satellite receiver somewhere on the
property."
        She watched him flip channels for few minutes, and then
remembered his promise on the plane. An evil grin split her face, and
quickly covering it, reaching out with her hand, her fingers hooked
into claws, she lightly dragged her fingernails down Mulder's back.
        "Ooooohhhhhh," he moaned. "That feels wonderful, Scully. Do
that again."
        "Oh, you like that?"
        "Mmmm. Very much. Again, please."
        "Nope. I want something first."
        "Anything! My kingdom for a horse! No! Wait, my kingdom for...
for...whatever you call it that you just did to my back. My kingdom
for that nail-thingie again!"
        Scully laughed. It always felt good to laugh, but with Mulder,
it always felt wonderful. "What I want is to finish that conversation
from the plane. You promised."
        Mulder's body sagged as he realized he'd been sandbagged, yet
again, by his lovely partner, his best friend, his lover...and his
'wife.'
        "Yes, Dear," he said, the insolent whining tone in his voice
so clearly fake that Scully laughed again. He turned over and moved to
the head of the bed, flipping the pillow over and collapsing against
it. "OKlemme think..." Mulder sat, pulling on his bottom lip with
two fingers, mulling and thinking.
        "Since we're married now, I guess I can tell you all my deep
dark secrets, huh?"
        Scully laughed, a short, harsh back. "Mulder, I know all your
secrets. I've never had anyone be more open with me than you have. I
doubt that there's anything you can tell me that I don't already
know."
        Mulder decided he could not let that go unchallenged. "Did you
know that on the day I first met you I had an erotic dream about you
the following night?"
        Scully thought for a moment. "Of course you did, Mulder. I
burst into your hotel room in my underwear! What normal man wouldn't?"
        "OK, Scully, I'll grant you that one." He paused, suddenly
finding it harder to speak. "But I'll bet you don't know how often
I've thought about us. You. Me. Being together. I know you think I
spent a lot of time getting to know you before I started trusting you,
and maybe part of that is true, Scully. But, in a way, I was gone from
the moment I met you. I must have thought about you a thousand times
every single day since I met you. We both know what the people at the
Bureau call you behind your back, Scully. Ice Queen. The first time I
heard someone use that term, I wanted to punch him in the mouth and
burst out laughing at the same time. I've never met anyone so
passionate in my life.
        "I felt that in you, you know," he continued. "And I can
remember the first time we started this....dance that has brought us
here to this bedroom tonight. I can remember the very first time the
channels of communication opened, for real."
        "Tooms," Dana whispered.
        "Right. In the office, when that butthead made the joke about
little green men..."
        "And you said Grey. Little grey men." Dana thought about it,
nodding slowly. "You're right. That's when the dance started."
        "I'm no good at relationships, Scully. Phoebe was the last
serious woman in my life. The rest have all had staples in their
bellies. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I thought about you
and me, us, for the longest damn time, imagining all these wonderful
scenarios between us, where we marry and settle down and have kids and
live happily ever after, and here we are, playing around in the most
dangerous emotional minefield I could ever come up with even on my
most paranoid of days, and I don't want to screw it up!"
        Scully smiled softly at the man she loved. "Mulder, I
understand how scared you are. I am just as scared. You are a handsome
man. I've seen women throw themselves at you in diners and
hotels, even at crime scenes all over this country. I have to think
about all those gorgeous women out there who might come along-"
        "No." Mulder moved so quickly Dana was surprised when he
appeared in front of her, his nose two inches away from hers. "Don't
ever say that," he whispered urgently, each word a separate sentence.
"Don't ever even think that, Scully!" His hands came up to capture her
face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly, his pinkies doing the
same thing against her throat. "Don't you get it?"
        "Get what?"
        It was his turn to snort-laugh. She could see the muscles in
his jaw flexing. "For the last four years, Dana Katherine Scully, AKA
Mrs. Karen Edwards, you have been the standard by which I personally
define beauty." Scully saw the look, the intensity in his eyes, and
heard the truth in his voice, and felt the honesty in his heart. She
melted as he continued. "Every single woman that ever came onto me
after I met you was nothing, Scully. She wasn't as smart, wasn't as
fun to be around, didn't have the most incredible, depthless blue
eyes. She didn't know me and accept me the way you do. No one has ever
made me feel the way you do, Scully, and dammit, I don't want to fuck
that up!" He kissed her on the nose and released her face, moving to
sit back against the headboard.
        "No!" Scully said, reaching for him. "Come back here." He
moved again, changing positions to sit cross-legged (what, in less
politically correct times, have been called Indian-style) on the bed.
She moved against him, settling into his lap, curling her legs around
his waist and her arms around his neck, moving until their foreheads
touched.
        "That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me,
Mulder." In this position, her head was higher than his, and she had
the pleasure of lowering her mouth to his and capturing his lips with
hers. She moaned into his mouth as she felt one of his hand slipping
under her shirt, climbing swiftly up her back and emerging from the
collar only to slide into her hair, his fingers tugging gently. Every
single time this man touches me, she thought, I melt.
        She slowly broke the kiss. "Mulder...I have two things to say
to you. The first is that I love you so much I can hardly find the
words to even begin to describe the outline of what I feel for you.
And the second is...we won't screw this up. Trust me. I won't let us."
        She felt him shifting beneath her, and she realized he was
straightening his legs. His hands were at her waist, and he pivoted on
the bed, and then lowered them both to the mattress, his head a scant
foot from the bedside table. Reaching over, he snapped the light off,
plunging the room into darkness.
        She felt his fingernails on her thighs, moving slowly north
towards her hips. His fingers caught the shirt and slowly slid it up
Dana's body. Raising her arms to help him, Scully settled back against
his chest as Mulder tossed the shirt onto the floor.
        "Mulder...are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
        "What do you think I'm thinking?" he asked.
        "Is that a gun in your pocket...or are you just glad to see
me?"
        Mulder chuckled in the dark room, his body vibrating with the
sound. "Scully," he teased, "they took our guns."
        "Oh," she said. "That's right." She moved to the side a bit
and slid her hand down his stomach, underneath the waistband of his
shorts and found what, exactly, had been poking at her only a moment
ago.
        "Are you telling me this isn't a dangerous concealed weapon?"
        "No, Scully, it's not. It's not a weapon. Never that."
        It was her turn to sigh and laugh at the same time. "You're
right. It's a gift, a wonderful, special gift."
        "Consider it a wedding gift," Mulder grinned. "After all it is
our honeymoon...sorta."
        Dana laughed again, and Mulder felt himself lurch. There was
something different in that laugh, something throatier, more carnal.
        "Well then, I'd better unwrap my wedding present," Scully
said, moving to do just that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
END CHAPTER 19


"Snapshot 20:Pillowtalk"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.
Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Summary : The chapter title says it all, folks. This is a short little
one about Our Favorite Duo's first night in the new house.

Classification : MSR
Rating : PG

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------

22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
0451 Hours

     Mulder was dreaming.
     He knew he was dreaming, but that didn't make a difference at the 
moment. What he could see, or what he thought he could see, was hazy, 
hard to make out. He was running down a beach that he had never been on 
before, and because he wasn't wearing any shoes, the sand was burning 
his bare feet. In the dream, he was out of breath; he could tell that 
he'd been running for a while. He could see his destination ahead, but 
no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't make up any distance. 
     Samantha.
     He could see her, waving at him. She was older now, and she was 
waving frantically at him, making "Come on!" gestures with her arms. 
Oddly, in the dream, Sam was surrounded by suitcases, as if she'd been 
on a very long trip, as Fox knew she had. 
     In the dream, Fox tried running harder, but he felt tired, out of 
breath...drained.
     A voice to his left, in the dream, called out. Without stopping, 
he turned and looked towards the water. 
     Scully.   
     Dana was in the water, floundering. She was screaming at Mulder, 
begging him to save her, to rescue her from the water. Something was 
pulling at her, pulling Scully under the waves. She would vanish for a 
second, her head vanishing beneath the water, and then she would pop up 
again, a garish jack-in-the-box, her arms waving harder and harder, her 
screams growing more and more frantic as she started to lose the battle 
with whatever was dragging her under.
     Mulder stopped running. He looked at Samantha, then back at Dana.
     Sam wasn't waving anymore. She was pointing towards the water, 
motioning Fox to go after Dana, to save her.
     Mulder turned back towards the water.
     Dana was gone.
     He turned and ran towards the water, stripping his shirt off, and 
then, in the odd logic that seemed to exist only in dreams, he was naked 
and in the water, floating, is arms waving back and forth across the 
surface of the water to keep him afloat; he couldn't feel the bottom, 
and as he turned to look for Scully, the beach vanished. He was in the 
middle of the ocean, with no land in sight, and he was tired, so, so 
tired. He just wanted to close his eyes and float, drift away to 
whatever came next. It would be so easy, the dreaming Mulder thought. So 
easy just to close my eyes and forget about everything.
     Sam appeared in the water, still fully dressed. Mulder noticed 
with that odd clarity that only existed in dreams that Sam was wearing 
Scully's small gold cross. When she spoke, it was with Dana's voice.
     "Don't stop, Fox. Don't stop looking." He tried to answer her, 
tried to tell Sam/Dana that he had to make a decision, and that Scully 
had been in immediate danger, that he had to save her. His mouth 
wouldn't work. He willed himself to speak, to open his mouth and talk, 
but the harder he tried, the harder it became.
     "Rescue her," Samantha said, and then her face morphed in front of 
his eyes, and it was Dana again, naked, swimming, her eyes filled with 
fear. "Rescue me!" she screamed, and went under again.
     "NO!" Mulder screamed, snapping awake and sitting upright in bed. 
He was panting with the fear and exertion of the dream, his body bathed 
in sweat. Scully was there, awake, moving to him, her arms coming around 
his shoulders from the side.
     "What is it?" she asked groggily. "A dream?"
     "Nightmare," he affirmed, his voice shaky. "God...it was so real!"
     "Shhhh," Scully said. "Shhhh...everything's all right. I'm here, 
Mulder."
     "You were drowning," he whispered. "In the water. Naked. You were 
Samantha, and then you were you and then you were both of them, and you 
were drowning..."
     "Shhhh...it's over now." Slowly, Mulder lowered himself back to 
the bed. He turned, his arms coming around Scully. She was nude. He felt 
her pressing against him, her soft, warm body molding against his 
perfectly. He sighed, releasing the last of the demons. "Now you know 
why I sleep on the couch," he joked.
     Scully smiled in the darkness. "I always knew why, Mulder."
     "God, I hate sleeping in beds sometimes."
     Her hands were stroking him softly, teasing the hair on his chest. 
"Want to tell me about it?"
     "About what I dreamed, or about what it meant?"
     "Either. Both."
     He considered it for a second. "Not right now."
     Scully nodded against his chest, accepting his decision. "Then 
hold me, Mulder, OK? Just hold me and forget about the demons of the 
night."
     "Oooh, Scully...very slick. I like that. The demons of the night."
     Silently, they held each other, drawing warmth and comfort from 
the closeness. Mulder closed his eyes again, unable to believe how lucky 
he was. Having a naked Scully in bed next to him was just as perfect as 
life could get. He let his hand slide from the middle of her back down 
to her buttocks, cupping the warm, supple skin.
     "Have I ever told you what a great ass you have?"
     She chuckled. "No."
     "A terrible oversight. You have an incredible, Grade-A, one-of-a- 
kind butt, Scully."
     "Why, thank you, kind sir." He felt her hand mirror his actions, 
felt her nails lightly scratching him on the tush. "Not too shabby 
yourself, Mulder."
     They smiled at each other.
     "This is nice," Mulder announced.
     "Why wouldn't it be?" Dana wanted to know.
     "That's not what I meant," he explained. "I mean...well, when we 
started....when we became lovers, there was so much pent-up passion, so 
much strangled emotion that we were expressing for the first time that 
we usually just collapsed after making love. This seems like the first 
real quiet time that we've had since this started. It's just nice being 
here and holding you."
     Scully smiled wider. "Are you telling me that the famous, no...the 
notorious Fox William Mulder is a closet snuggler?"
     "Yo," Fox said, "don't be dissing my snuggling."
     "Oh, anything but," Scully said softly. "Anything but that."
     "We never did decide all that important stuff."
     "Oh...right. Well, where did we go on our honeymoon?"
     Mulder snuggled closer, wanting to wrap Scully's body around him 
like a blanket. "Where do you want to go?"
     Scully felt the warmth of his embrace, the gentleness of his 
touch, and gave the only answer that came to her mind. "I'll go anywhere 
with you, Mulder. Where do you want to go?"
     He laughed softly in the early-morning darkness. "Well, wherever 
it is, I want to make sure that there's no X-file lurking around the 
corner. How about Japan?"
     "Japan?"
     "Sure...you'd fit right in. Everyone over there is your height."
     "Very funny, Mulder. Hilarious." She punched him, gently, on the 
shoulder. "How about Greece?" she suggested.
     "Hm...Italy! Venice!"
     "London!"
     "France!"
     "Australia!"
     "Wow...well, we need to come up with something...."
     "Well, where..?"
     Softly, he said, "Well, when we get married, where do you want to 
go?"
     The room was suddenly very silent. Mulder could hear the soft 
ticking of the clock on his bedstand. "Mulder...." she started, her 
voice soft and very small.
     "Scully...let's be real about this. It may not happen tomorrow or 
next week or next month. But we both know it's going to happen. We may 
have never actually said it out loud, but we have both known for a long 
time that we're going to be together forever. Let's just agree that the 
truth is the truth, and we can make plans."
     "Mulder..."
     He silenced her with a soft kiss, his hand sliding from her ass to 
her hip, and then sliding between their bodies. The backs of his fingers 
traced the gentle, soft swell of her tummy. "When I think about the 
possibility of...our child...inside you...I just....want...."
     "I know," Scully whispered.
     There was a long, long moment of silence. Finally, Scully said, 
quietly, "Yes."
     "Yes? Yes what?"
     She grinned. "Mulder, you are such a guy sometimes. Don't you know 
that I just agreed to marry you?"
     "Good thing, considering we're already married."
     "Mulder...David and Karen Edwards are married. This is Dana Scully 
agreeing to marry Fox Mulder, you dolt."
     Now it was Mulder's turn to be silent. Finally, all he could think 
to say was, "Thank you."
     "Thanks for asking."
     "Thanks for saying yes."
     "Mulder, I said yes years ago. You just hadn't asked yet."
     He grinned. "I asked years ago. You just didn't hear me."
     "Oooh, our first fight," Scully teased. 
     They fell silent again. They snuggled closer. "What is your 
favorite color, anyway?" Mulder asked.
     "Blue."
     "Hmm...maroon for me."
     "Favorite musical group?"
     "Don't laugh."
     "At you? Never."
     "The Village People."
     She felt the tremors in his body as he tried to contain the 
laughter. "Oh, go ahead," she finally said, and Mulder burst out 
laughing. "The Village People? Why on EARTH?"
     "Well...that song. `In The Navy.' My father loved that song. Until 
I told him about...the Village People. On his last command, the 
Farragut, he used to play that song over the ship's PA system as a 
motivation tool for the crew. When I told him about the group... oh my 
God, it was the funniest thing you could ever imagine, Mulder."
     "I could see Ahab being a little...upset at discovering the 
alternative lifestyle choices that he was advocating by proxy."
     "Upset is an understatement, Mulder. He never heard the end of it 
from Melissa."
     "I can imagine."
     They fell silent. "Who's your favorite group?" she asked.
     "Harry Chapin, I guess. I know he's not a group..."
     "That's OK. Favorite song?"
     "Too hard to pick. `Taxi.' Maybe `Sequel.'"
     "Movie?"
     "Star Wars."
     "I might have guessed."
     "What's your favorite movie, Scully?"
     "Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid."
     Again, Mulder was stunned. "What?"
     "That leap off the cliff, the ending. That great line when Butch 
blew up that train. `Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?'"
     "Author," Mulder asked.
     "Patricia Cornwell."
     "Might have guessed," Mulder admitted.
     "No, don't tell me...let me guess," Scully said, her hand flat 
against his chest, her fingernails tapping his skin. "Whtiney Striber."
     "Good guess, Scully, but wrong."
     "Oh! I know! I know! Robert Heinlein!"
     "Right...how'd you-?"
     "Because you must have read `Stranger in a Strange Land' about six 
thousand times since we met."
     "Only about five-thousand, six hundred-"
     "Stop it. You know what I mean."
     "Television show," Mulder prompted.
     "Hmm...don't get a chance to watch much TV. I'd have to say `NYPD 
Blue.' Jimmy Smits....mmmmmm...tasty."
     "Tasty? If he's `tasty' what does that make me?"
     "He's a snack, Mulder. You're a meal. A buffet."
     "Sure...pay one price, come back as often as you want."
     "You know it, pal. What's your favorite show? No sports."
     "Hmm...hard one. Nova, I guess."
     "Boring, Mulder. Very boring."
     "Play," he prompted.
     "`Our Town.'"
     "Figures. Wilder."
     "You?"
     "`Speed The Plow.'"
     "Madonna or Jessica?"
     "Jessica, of course."
     They fell silent one more time. "Well, I guess that's enough for 
now."
     "We never made the decision about the honeymoon, Mulder."
     "Wherever you want to go, Scully."
     "Greece it is," she said.
     They snuggled tighter, and slowly fell asleep, Mulder first. 
Listening to his even, steady breathing in the darkness, Scully felt a 
sense of peace and contentment stealing over her as  she drifted off and 
joined him in slumber.
     
-------------------------------------
END CHAPTER 20

End Note - Missing Chapters & Mailing Lists - If you are <not> on my
mailing list for "Snapshots" and wish to be, please send a <separate>
email from any feedback you may or may not care to give. The SUBJECT
of this email should <please> be "SUBSCRIBE" without the quote marks.
My thingie will take care of it from there. I'm trying to automate
this because I get between 30 and 40 requests for missing chapters
every day, and I want desperately to keep up with the volume. So, if
you are missing a chapter, I will please ask as nice as I can for you
to send a separate email message for each chapter you are requesting,
with the subject line as "Request 01" or "Request 03" or "Request 09"
or whatever. Please remember to have a TWO DIGIT chapter number. My
autoresponder thingie that I wrote myself only likes two-digit
numbers. Since there ain't no freakin way I'm gonna be able to write
more than 99 chapters, we should be fine.

If, however, you don't mind getting a big-ass ZIP file with <all>
chapters to date in a single zip file (the zip file expands to 16
separate files,) send an email message with "REQUEST 00" as the
subject line, again <without the quotes>. The .ZIP file was created
with a Unix version of ZIP, but it WILL unzip with DOS PKUNZIP 2.04g
or WINZIP. I have tried it myself and it works. Macintosh users, you
are currently out of luck as far as the .ZIP file goes unless you have
a utility you KNOW works on DOS/Unix ZIP files and want to try
anyway. :)
"Snapshot 21:The Icarus Factor"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.


Classification : MSR
Rating : PG

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
0901 Hours

        Mulder chuffed around the corner of Mon Bar and Dedham Road,
spotting his house up ahead. The cool Montana morning air was
extremely invigorating, and he mentally patted himself on the back
once again for making the decision to go for a jog. Nothing like
starting the morning out on the right note, he thought. Not to mention
the fact that if he hurried, he had a better than average chance of
waking Scully up and perhaps enticing her into the shower to wash the
sweat of honest labor from his body. Of course, he reasoned, that
would only cause him to create more sweat from, well, if not exactly
honest labor, at least honest passion. And that would start the entire
cycle again.
        Ah, well. Such is life, he thought. With about eight hundred
yards to go until the semicircular driveway in front of his house,
Mulder felt his calf muscles beginning to tighten and burn. It had
been a few days...he tried to count...about twelve, actually, since he
had gone jogging, and his body was reminding him of this fact quite
loudly.
        It was with only two hundred yards to go when Mulder noticed
the young boy standing in the driveway, holding a copy of a book in
his hand. Mulder slowed down, knowing that this was Zack Tarses, his
reason for being here, his...target. The word felt strange referring
to this harmless looking boy, but the truth of the matter was that he
and Scully were in Montana for a single reason, and the pimply-faced,
squeaking-voice reason was standing in the middle of the driveway.
        Time to put the game face on, Mulder thought. He put on a last
burst of speed and came cranking into the driveway, arms pumping. The
boy turned to face Mulder, his face incredibly blank. Mulder's first
impression was...calm, serene. As if the boy didn't have a care in the
world.
        "Hi!" Mulder panted, leaning forward, putting his hands on his
knees.
        "Are you David Edwards?" the boy asked. No introductions, no
perfunctory, idle chatter. Straight to the subject at hand.
        Mulder nodded, still panting, still out of breath. "That's
me!"
        "Would you sign my book?" Again, the voice was completely
devoid of any detectable emotion. The kind sounded like a robot,
Mulder thought.
        "Sure...give me a minute...." Slowly, Mulder straightened, his
hands now on his hips as he walked in small circles, leaning his head
from side to side, trying to keep everything loose.
        "Why do you run?"
        Mulder considered not answering. "To stay in shape."
        "You're in perfect shape," the boy observed.
        "Thanks...but that's how I stay in shape."
        "Oh."
        Mulder saw that the conversation wasn't going anywhere
quickly, so he turned towards the house, motioning with his hand for
the boy to follow. "C'mon. Lemme go inside and get a pen."
        The boy fumbled at his pocket. "I have a pen." He paused,
looking up at Mulder, at the steps leading into the house. "I'd rather
not go inside, if that's OK."
        Mulder nodded sagely. "That's probably a good idea...?"
        "Zack," the boy said, confirming Mulder's suspicions. "Zack
Tarses. But you can call me Icarus."
        Mulder felt his eyebrows rise. "Icarus? As in flew to close to
the sun? Melted his wings?"
        "Exactly."
        "OK. Can I call you Ike for short?"
        Zack's head slowly tipped to the side. Mulder had a sudden
comical thought: He looked like a dog listening to his master's voice.
        "Sure," Zack said after a minute. "I never thought about it
like that before...I like 'Ike.'"
        "You and about fifty million voters."
        "Twice," Zack pointed out. Mulder laughed, glad that the kid
was quick. "OK, Ike, I'll sign your book right now. Don't take this
the wrong way...but do you want me to make it out to 'Ike' or 'Zack.'"
Mulder saw the look on Zack's face and held up a hand. He moved a
little closer and tried to pitch his voice in that man-to-man tone
that Mulder's father had tried to use. "Listen...I was your age once.
Ike is a pretty cool nickname, especially when you consider where it
came from. But you may not always like 'Ike.' If I write it to Zack,
no matter how you feel later, that'll still be your name. The choice
is yours, Ike."
        Zack thought about it for a few seconds, and smiled. "Do one
on the front, and one on the back?"
        Mulder grinned. "I like it. Keeping your options open. Good
idea." Mulder took the book and the offered pen and opened the front
cover. On the flyleaf he wrote, "To Ike, Best Wishes, David Edwards."
He signed it with a flourish, and then closed the book and turned it
over. He felt his face coloring. He saw the author's picture on the
back cover. It had been taken at an FBI Picnic three years ago. Scully
was standing next to him, wearing a pink baseball hat, her (then) long
red hair streaming out the back. She had a baseball mitt on one hand,
and was smiling up at Mulder. Mulder had been wearing an FBI T-shirt,
and he was amused to see that they had retouched that out and replaced
it instead with the dual images of Beavis and Butthead. Mulder was in
the process of bringing a plastic picnic-cup full of beer to his
mouth. Beneath the picture was the caption "David Edwards and his wife
Karen."
        He opened the back cover and quickly wrote the same message,
only changing the name. He thought a second, and then signed it "David
"Fox" Edwards."
        "Fox?" Zack asked, looking over Mulder's elbow.
        "It's like Ike. A nickname."
        Zack grinned. "Is it because you're so 'foxy?'" Mulder glanced
at Zack, surprised. He closed the cover and pointed at Scully. "Think
you get a woman that looks like that if you're not a fox?"
        Zack was about to answer when they heard the front storm door
close. "David? Honey?" Mulder turned and saw Scully standing on the
front porch, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was dressed very
casually, in clothes that Mulder had never seen her in before. Jeans,
and a blue and red-checkered flannel shirt, and cowboy boots. She
looked very...Montana, Mulder thought.
        "Hi hon," he said, hating the way the words sounded in his
mouth. "Come meet a new friend."
        Scully came down the steps, moving slowly, keeping her hands
in sight. Zack watched her approach, his mouth opening slightly as he
took Dana's beauty in. Handing the cup to Mulder, who gratefully took
a sip, Scully turned her attention to Zack, including the now-famous
Scully Smile, all ten thousand watts of it. Talk about bright lights,
Mulder thought.
        "Hi, I'm Karen Edwards."
        "Hello. I'm Ike Tarses."
        Scully glanced over at Mulder, her face asking a question.
"So, Zack," Mulder said, answering the unasked question as deftly as
he could, "why do you like the nickname Icarus?"
        Turning his attention from Scully to Mulder, the boy answered
simply, "I don't know you well enough to tell you yet."
        Recovering quickly, Mulder said, "Fair enough."
        Zack smiled thinly at the FBI agent. "I really should be
going. Thanks for signing my book, Mr. Edwards." Zack turned to go and
had taken a few steps before he stopped and glanced back. "Can I ask
you question?"
        "Sure," Mulder said.
        "Keep in mind that your answer will probably have a
determining effect on whether or not I tell you about Icarus, or
whether or not you'll ever see me again."
        "Uh...sure," Mulder said, suddenly very uncomfortable. In his
very limited experience with 15 year old boys, very, very few of them
had ever put together a sentence like the one that had just come
tripping off Zack's tongue with practiced, simplistic ease.
        "Do you believe in UFOs?"
        Mulder almost laughed out loud. Scully did.
        "What's so funny?"
        "Mul-" Scully started, and Mulder coughed loudly, spitting out
some coffee for effect. "Er...my husband...David...is a charter member
of MUFON."
        "Oh," Zack said, clearly disappointed. He turned again.
        "Hey!" Mulder called. "Was it the right answer? Will we see
you again?"
        Zack turned back. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. Edwards.
But after reading your book, I expected a...different answer."
        "There's only two possible answers, Ike." Mulder said. Zack
laughed. "I guess I never expected to hear you say that, Mr. Edwards."
        "David, please," Mulder said.
        "David, then."
        "What did you expect me to say?"
        Zack walked back slowly, obviously forming his reply. "I
expected you to be more like me, David. Those MUFON idiots don't know
anything about UFOs. I'm talking about real UFOs, not flying saucers,
not Roswell, not Gulf Breeze. I'm talking about real visitations,
David. Real abductions. Real close encounters, if that's the phrase
you like. I expected you to say that you believe in life amongst the
stars, but not like we've seen it portrayed in the movies and
television."
        With that, Zack turned to leave. Mulder saw he was losing the
case, and he did the only thing he could think of. "Ask me why I
believe in UFO's, Zack."
        Zack turned back, his features clouding with adolescent anger.
"Ike," Mulder quickly corrected.
        "OKwhy?"
        Scully knew what was coming, and she prepared herself for it.
        "Because my sister...was abducted." He paused. "In front of
me."
        Zack's lips twisted into a secret little smile. "What was your
sister's name?" he asked.
        "Dana," Mulder said. It was the first name that came to his
mind. "Dana Edwards."
        And then Zack said something that neither Scully or Mulder
would have ever been able to prepare themselves for. His smile was
sad, rueful. "Sorry, Mr. Edwards. Never heard of her. She wasn't
taken." And with that, he turned and started to walk away again.
        "Hey!" Mulder called. Zack ignored him, and just kept walking
away, his heels dragging a little. He was bopping his head back and
forth, as if he was listening to music only he could hear.
        Mulder started after him, but Scully reached out and grabbed
his arm. "Wait," she whispered. "Let's go inside."
        "But-"
        "Inside, Mulder. We need to talk about this." Mulder looked at
the retreating form on Zack "Ike" Tarses and then back at his partner.
He nodded, bowing to her judgment. They turned and walked back inside
the house, closing the door firmly behind them.

                                      ***

        "Why didn't you let me go after-" Mulder started, almost the
second they were inside the door.
        "Mulder, shut up," Dana snapped, turning left towards the
living room. She collapsed onto the deep, incredibly comfortable couch
and pointed at the La-Z-Boy that was situated at right angles to it.
"Have a seat, Mulder." Mulder moved to the seat, wondering what was
on her mind.
        Scully watched her partner...the man she loved, as he took a
seat. She wanted to find the right words to express the emotions she
was feeling.
        "Are you insane?" she started, and then held up a hand.
"Wait... that's not what I wanted to say." She considered a moment.
"Do you honestly think the world revolves around you, Mulder?"
        Mulder felt the anger rising in him. No one talked to him that
way. No-
        Wait a minute. "Explain yourself," he said curtly.
        "Explain myself?! That's what I should be saying to YOU,
Mulder! What do you think you were doing, going after him like that?
You could have blown our cover!"
        Mulder sat back, the weight of his shifting body causing the
ottoman built into the chair to pop up. Startled, Mulder grabbed the
armrests as if the chair were a wild bucking bronco that was trying to
throw him.
        "Mulder...as soon as you got the smallest inkling that he
might have some information about Sam, I saw you stiffen up like a
bird dog on point! My God, Mulder, you were almost salivating!"
        A tart, biting report made its way to Mulder's lips, and he
bit it back. A thought occurred to him, a quote from Samuel Johnson.
"Adversity is the state in which a man most easily becomes acquainted
with himself, being especially free from admirers then."
        "Ad astra per aspera," Mulder muttered.
        "Excuse me?" Scully asked.
        "It's Latin," Mulder explained.
        "I know. 'To the stars through hardship.'"
        "Scully, I'm impressed!"
        "Don't be. It's the state motto of Kansas. What does that-"
        "Oh, it's just something I use...a mantra, if you want. When
things like this get to me, when I realize that I'm being a total
bonehead, and the only thing I can think about is my precious Truth, I
think about all the hardship that Sam's been through...or might have
been through...or might still be going through. It's just something I
use to remind me what's important." He smiled at his partner, and
after a moment, she smiled back. Well, she thought, that's about as
much of an apology as I can expect from him.
        They smiled stiffly at each other for a few seconds. "I'm
hungry," Mulder announced. "What's for breakfast?"
        "I don't know. What do you feel like making?"
        Mulder shrugged and got up, marching into the kitchen.
Throwing open the refrigerator, he saw what he'd been lusting after
since he'd returned from his jog. A big, fat, wet, dripping bottle of
OJ. Grabbing it, he twisted the top off and tipped it back, hungrily,
thirstily gulping the contents.
        "MUL-DER!" Startled, Mulder tipped the bottle up, and grimaced
as he felt the acidic tickle at the back of his throat that told him
that unless he swallowed right now, he was going to-
        He made it. Swallowing, he proceeded to cough, feeling the
citric acid burn as it slowly wormed its way down his trachea. "God,
that burns," he moaned. He turned. "What-?"
        "What are you doing?"
        Mulder shrugged. "Drinking orange juice?" he suggested.
        "Yes, and straight from the bottle!"
        Mulder glanced back at the offending bottle in his left hand.
"Oh."
        "Oh," Scully parroted. "Don't do that, Mulder. It's
disgusting."
        "Wait a second. Last night we-"
        "We what, Mulder? Made love? Yes we did. What does one thing
have to do with the other?"
        "Uh...nothing...anymore."
        Dana sighed, deeply. "Oh, forget it, Mulder. Do you always
drink right out of the bottle?"
        "Not anymore," Mulder tried, thinking that he might have this
relationship thing knocked. Scully's tolerant smile told him
otherwise. "Mulder, let me put that another way. If we weren't
together, and this were your house, and you were all alone, would you
drink straight out of the bottle?"
        "Yes," he admitted.
        "Fine. We'll just buy two bottles. One for me and one for you.
If you ever want to have sex with me again, you will never, ever drink
straight from my bottle. Deal?"
        "Deal," Mulder agreed. He had no idea what had just happened,
but something told him that it was both good <and> bad.
        "So..." Scully said, smoothly changing the subject. "What do
you think is going on with Zack?"
        Mulder considered that for a moment. "Well, you're the child
psychologist. What do you think is going on?"
        "Hardly, Mulder." She shrugged. "I don't know. He might be
delusional, or just in a heightened fantasy state. I'm not sure. I
need more time to talk to him. That's where you come in. You're
supposed to get close to him. Make sure he comes and sees the Good
Doctor Edwards."
        Mulder nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. "He seemed so sure,
though...didn't he? Like he...knew. Like he knew the names of everyone
that had ever been...abducted. Taken. He just seemed so...sure."
        "Mulder, you know the difference between psychopath and a
neurotic?"
        "No."
        He did, but he could hear the joke in her voice. "A psychopath
thinks two and two are five. A neurotic knows that two and two are
four, but he worries about it."
        "So what are you saying?"
        "I'm saying that Zack is showing slightly psychopathic
tendencies, and YOU are a full-blown neurotic, my friend." She walked
over and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.
        "True...but I'm going to put a call into our enigmatic Deputy
Stone and see if I can't find out a little more about where Zack
Tarses came from."
        Scully shrugged, knowing that no matter what she did or said,
Mulder was going to go and piss Stone off anyway.

                                      ***

Tel Aviv, Israel
Mossad Headquarters

        The two men sat in the sterile, windowless room and stared
across an equally sterile table at each other. The first man had
gotten off an El Al flight not more than thirty minutes ago. His face
was haggard, because regulations proscribed sleeping while on courier
duty. The man was currently assigned to the Israeli Army as a
translator/interrogator. He spoke fluent English, Farsi and Arabic, as
well as Hebrew. But, like most career intelligence officers in
military service across the world, he had been seconded to his
country's civilian intelligence service for a year or a two as a way
of 'rounding out' his career. It was a signal from his superiors that
he was being groomed for better things down the line, that he had
General's stars in his future.
        "What do you have?" the second man asked. His face was
unlined, smooth, as if he had not a care in the world.
        "A packet. From our embassy. Photographs. I did not examine
them." If the second man found the statement funny, he showed nothing
on his face. Inside, however, he chuckled. There wasn't a career
intelligence type in the world worth his salt who wouldn't have taken
a peek.
        "Very well. Let's get this over with so you can sleep." The
first man, Avi Golam, quickly worked the combination lock on the
briefcase he'd had handcuffed to his wrist on the long flight from
Washington. He opened the case and took out the slim envelope, handing
it to the second man.
        "Icarus?" he asked.
        The first man nodded, and then realized his mistake. His smile
was professionally thin, guarded.
        "I apologize, my friend."
        "Do not trouble yourself," the second man said, waving his
hand. "We trust you, Avi." Avi felt an involuntary shudder run down
his back. He knew what happened to people that were not trusted by the
Mossad.
        The second man opened the folder and examined the photographs.
Zack Tarses stood in most of the pictures. In one of them he was
shooting baskets, although not very well. In another he was eating a
sandwich. And in a third he was reading a book.
        "What are we to do?" Avi asked.
        "Watch, for now," the second man said. "We have information
that an attempt is going to be made to contact him. The American
government, as usual, is hindered by factionalism that makes this part
of the world look like the results of a successful peace conference.
One of our...friends tells us that part of their FBI is fighting with
another over the use of the Icarus Device. The boy knows where it is.
He knows what to do with it. He is one of us. We will wait until the
attempt is made to contact him. When the boy takes the contact to the
Device, we will get the device and the boy."
        "What about the contact? The man from the FBI?"
        "As long as nothing interferes with our mission?" the second
man asked. "Nothing. But if he interferes, he will be dealt with."
        Avi nodded, wishing a silent prayer of luck towards whomever
had been assigned to contact Zack Tarses. Because if he did interfere
in the Mossad's operational plans...you would be able to clock his
life expectancy with a stopwatch.


-----------------------------------------
END CHAPTER 21

If you're already on my mailing list, or have no desire to be, or are
not missing any chapters (and don't want them if you are,) please feel
free to skip the rest of this. It's all administrivia.

End Note - Missing Chapters & Mailing Lists - If you are <not> on my
mailing list for "Snapshots" and wish to be, please send a <separate>
email from any feedback you may or may not care to give. The SUBJECT
of this email should <please> be "SUBSCRIBE" without the quote marks.
My thingie will take care of it from there. I'm trying to automate
this because I get between 30 and 40 requests for missing chapters
every day, and I want desperately to keep up with the volume. So, if
you are missing a chapter, I will please ask as nice as I can for you
to send a separate email message for each chapter you are requesting,
with the subject line as "Request 01" or "Request 03" or "Request 09"
or whatever. Please remember to have a TWO DIGIT chapter number. My
autoresponder thingie that I wrote myself only likes two-digit
numbers. Since there ain't no freakin way I'm gonna be able to write
more than 99 chapters, we should be fine.

If, however, you don't mind getting a big-ass ZIP file with <all>
chapters to date in a single zip file (the zip file expands to 16
separate files,) send an email message with "REQUEST 00" as the
subject line, again <without the quotes>. The .ZIP file was created
with a Unix version of ZIP, but it WILL unzip with DOS PKUNZIP 2.04g
or WINZIP. I have tried it myself and it works. Macintosh users, you
are currently out of luck as far as the .ZIP file goes unless you have
a utility you KNOW works on DOS/Unix ZIP files and want to try
anyway. :)

Questions, I Get Questions Department : OK, this may be a little more
than just 'egocentric' but I have been a lot of odd questions in my
feedback mail bag. Question #1 hails from just about everyone. I am a
guy. A male. A dude. Question #2: No, I don't write for a living,
although I hope to some day. Currently I am a network administrator
and programmer for TeleTech, America's #1 Customer Call Center
provider. We currently have contracts with United Parcel Service, the
United States Post Office, and CompuServe, as well as AT&T. If you're
calling a 1-800 number for any Fortune 500 company, it's a good bet
that you're talking to TeleTech. http://www.teletechusa.com

Question #3:I am straight. Question #4:No, I am not married. Question
#5:Yes, I am living with someone. Question #6:Yes, it is a woman.
Question #7:Blue. Question #8:Depends on whether or not the yak is of
legal voting age, and how much beer I've had to drink. Question #9:
The correct answer is "to gleam" not "to gleem." This concludes the
Q&A answer portion of the story. We now rejoin your word processor,
already in progress. Your mileage may vary. Not for internal use. If
package is opened or tampered with, the warranty will be voided.
Apply shampoo. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. Keep out of the hands of children.
Keep away from open flame. This story contains 100% of the US RDA of
angst, romance and split infinitives. Some material may not be suitable
for children. Offer not valid in WA,OR,CA,ID,WY,UT,NV,CO,AZ,NM,TX,OK,
KS,ND,SD,NE,MT,MI,WI,IL,IA,AK,HA,LA,FL,AK,TN,WV,VA,GA,SC,NC,NY,NJ,CT,
DE,NH,VT,MA,ME, or the District of Columbia.
"Snapshot 22:Icarus Examined"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Classification : MSR
Rating : PG

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

Enjoy!

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


"A truth that's told with bad intent
beats all lies you can invent."
          -- William Blake

"There's none so blind as those who won't see."
          -- English Proverb

22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
1045 Hours

        The telephone rang as Mulder was settling down in front of the
television. Reaching over to the coffee table, he thumbed the cordless
receiver into the ON position and lifted it to his ear.
        "Hello?"
        "Mulder?"
        "No," Mulder said. "This is David Edwards. Who is this?"
        "Cut the smart-ass shit, Mulder. This is Stone."
        "This is an open line," Mulder said circumspectly.
        "And it's been swept four times a day for the past month. It's
clean. Now, for God's sake, tell me that you have a bona fide
emergency. Tell me you had a reason for paging me."
        "Well, Deputy Stone...I was wondering when and where we could
meet for a little more discussion about...our mutual friend. I met him
today and there's...something about him...I can't place my finger
on it..."
        "Odd little shit, isn't he?"
        "Odd would describe him pretty well, I think," Mulder agreed.
"Basically, I want everything you can give me on Zack. Or, Ike, as he
wants to be called."
        "Yeah...Icarus. I remember now. What's up with that?"
        "Icarus...wore wings made of wax, flew too close to the sun,
the wax melted, he fell to his death."
        "That the short version?" Stone asked.
        "Very," Mulder confirmed. "So...what do you say?"
        "Mulder," Stone sighed, "I told you everything I know at the
airport."
        Mulder nodded, even though he knew Stone couldn't see him.
"I'm aware of that. What I want is what you don't know...officially at
least. I want to know what your gut tells you. I want to know what you
think, what you've managed to dig out by asking those discreet
questions all good cops, and especially Federal cops, learn how to ask
after about a week on the street. I want to pick your brain, Stone."
        There was a very long pause. "I guess I can assume that if we
don't meet, you'll be calling my bosses...and, or, making a total
nuisance of yourself?"
        "I think that's a very good way to describe it, Deputy Stone."
        "Aw, shit, Fox...call me Dan."
        "I'll call Dan if that's what you want, but please call me
Mulder. Even my parents call me Mulder." Mulder winced as he
remembered that he didn't have parents.
        He had <a> parent.
        "Fine...I'll give you an address. It's about ten miles up the
road. Meet me there in three hours." Mulder wrote the directions down.
"See you there," he said, and hung up.
        Scully appeared in the living room, holding her embroidery
bag. "Who was that?"
        "Deputy Daniel Webster Stone, who has agreed to meet with me
so I can pick his brain about our friend Zack...whoops, I mean Ike."
        Scully nodded. "Hmm. I figured he'd be a little more
reluctant."
        Mulder nodded. "So did I, Scully. So did I."

John F. Kennedy International Airport
Brooklyn, New York
1250 Hours EST (1050 Hours MST)


        When it comes to foreign bodies entering the United States of
America, there are two primary agencies charged with making sure that
the laws of the land are enforced completely and without exception or
question. By legal statute, Immigration and Naturalization service is
responsible for all persons entering the United States from abroad.
When it comes to material, however, the United States Customs Service,
a division of the Treasury Department, is responsible for enforcing
the applicable laws. However, there is another agency in the United
States government concerned with both people and materials entering
and leaving the United States, and this is the US State Department.
Persons traveling under Diplomatic credentials do not suffer the same
indignities to their persons and their belongings that normal tourists
and business travelers do.
        Diplomats merely wave their credentials in the general
direction of an INS or Customs agents, and they are quickly ushered
through the immigration and customs inspections stations at all the
international airports in this country. But even higher on the list
than your normal, politically appointed diplomat were the couriers.
        It is a little known fact that the Israeli government had
quietly inked an agreement between itself and the United States
government that allowed Israeli couriers the right to travel armed
not only on their own El Al airline, but on any American-flag carrier
as well. Couriers, usually strapped to a briefcase, or carrying
vitally important diplomatic or intelligence documents on their
person, needed that extra security that only a fully loaded firearm
and the will to use it carried.
        Thus it was that Avi found himself on an El Al flight landing
at JFK on this lovely morning, with a stainless-steel briefcase not
handcuffed to his wrist, but secured to his body just the same. The
plastic-sheathed steel cable was anchored to the briefcase on one end,
and trailed up his arm, and was shackled around his torso. A
determined person could get it away from Avi, but only after putting a
bullet into his brain or killing him in some other fashion.
        Avi was carrying his weapon of choice, a Browning HiPower 9mm
single-action pistol. He'd learned how to use it by a training officer
who'd been a member of Britain's Special Air Service. In other words,
Avi had learned how to use the pistol from the people that had
perfected its' quick, deadly, in-your-face use two dozen years ago.
        He felt reasonably sure that if anyone tried to take the
briefcase from him, he'd be able to defend himself and it's precious
cargo. As he felt the plane yaw from side to side while performing the
final flare-out on approach to runway 15-Right, Avi admitted to
himself that he was more scared than he had ever been in his life.
        It was not so much what was in the briefcase that scared him,
although the contents did leave him very uneasy. It was not so much
the person the contents were intended for that made his stomach turn
in slow, moist flips that seemed to match the action of the plane in
perfect harmony, although Avi would admit, privately, that the person
he was scheduled to meet in less than six hours was perhaps the
single most frightening man he had ever met in his life. It was not
the intended purpose of the contents, once married to the receiver,
that caused Avi to constantly wipe his brow free of nervous sweat. It
was all three of those items combined.
        The meeting in Tel Aviv had not lasted very long after the
photographs had been received. Avi's contact had excused himself for a
moment, and had returned a short while later, holding the device Avi
now carried in his briefcase. Instantly recognizing it from a briefing
he'd attended four years ago, Avi felt the blood slowly draining from
his face.
        "You know what this is?" the man had asked.
        "Y-yes," Avi had stuttered, angry and ashamed that he had
shown his fear in front of the Mossad.
        The man had smiled warmly. "Do not worry, Avi. The damn thing
scares the hell out of me, too." He'd put it on the table. "You will
take this back to the United States. It has been decided that
another...resource of ours will take over your portion of the
assignment." Seeing the look on Avi's face, the man held up a
comforting hand. "Do not worry, my friend. This has nothing to do with
you. It does not reflect on you in the least. You are a military
officer, Avi, a man of courage and honor. No one here doubts that."
The man had paused, letting his words sink in. "But what we have to
do... what has to be done for Israel, some times, is not as honorable
as we would all like. Some times...bad, dirty, nasty things have to be
done in the name of preserving what we have built here, what we
continue to build each day Israel continues to exist in the jaws of
its' enemies." The contact paused again.
        "You will give this device to Scimitar." At the mention of the
legendary Mossad agent's name, Avi felt a burning in his chest like
never before. The man had been a legend for over thirty years. It was
rumored that he could not be killed, that he had survived literally
dozens of suicide missions in Iraq, Iran, Syria...it was also rumored
that he had been in a tank that had been hit by an Egyptian artillery
round in 1967, and had walked away without a scratch. Avi had met
about two dozen people over his military career who had claimed to
serve with Scimitar. Each had given a different physical description.
He was reported to be just over five feet, and towering well over six
and a half. Blonde hair, black hair, even red hair had been attributed
to the man who had, over years, become the Mossad's number one
"fix-it" man.
        One thing was for certain, and it was one thing that the
normally secretive Mossad was not at all upset to discover had become
one of the more widely-circulated international rumor. Scimitar was
rumored by more than one national intelligence agency to be the most
deadly, the most accurate, the most successful assassin the world had
ever known.
        And Avi was going to be meeting him in...he checked his watch
...less than five hours.
        Taking a deep breath, Avi looked out the window at JFK
International Airport. He wondered if he would ever see him beloved
homeland again.

Joe's Good Eats
Route 121W and Highway 33
Court County, Montana
1330 Local Time

        Mulder pulled the Expedition into an empty parking space and
killed the powerful engine. He could see Deputy Stone in one of the
booths, already talking with the beehive-haired waitress. Mulder often
wondered if they bred those waitresses in the same place...
        Nah, he thought.
        Don't go there, Mulder.
        Locking the truck, Mulder quickly walked to the steps and took
them two at a time, letting the blast of warm air dance across his
face as he stood in the doorway, letting his eyes get accustomed to
the light.
        Stone saw Mulder and waved him over.
        Sitting down opposite from the towering US Deputy Marshal,
Mulder an opportunity to study the man as he shrugged out of his
jacket and played with the menu.
        "Yer usual, Dan?" the waitress asked. Her name tag said "Fifi."
        "Sure," Dan said, closing his menu and handing it to her. The
waitress turned her attention Mulder's way. "Fer you?"
        "I'll have what he's having," Mulder said, eager to get the
conversation going.
        "Two double chili-cheeseburgers, extra onions," Fifi confirmed,
writing on her green and white receipt pad. Mulder grimaced at the
thought of having to explain to Scully why he was going to be next to
impossible to be near for the next day or so. Jeez...onions <and>
chili. She waddled off, calling out to the t-shirted chef to hurry up
and get his 'damn buns out of the oven.'
        Mulder watched her go.
        "Don't know how much I'm gonna be able to tell ya," Stone
started.
        "Tell you what -- I'll tell you what I know. If you know
anything more, you can fill in the blanks after I'm finished." Stone
chewed his lips for a minute and the nodded. "Zack was seconded to the
US Marshals by another federal agency. We don't know, officially, who
or why. All we know is that we're supposed to watch him until told
otherwise. He's an incredibly bright kid, who fears being abducted by
aliens. He likes the nickname 'Icarus,' or Ike for short."
        Mulder finished and held up his hands, shrugging. "That's what
I got. You?"
        Stone shrugged. He was playing with his silverware with one
hand, the huge, sausage-like fingers dancing over the cheap
stainless-steel. "Officially, I don't have dick. What you got, maybe a
tiny piece more."
        "What?"
        "Kid's brain...you were right. He's smart, all right. Off the
chart. I grabbed a quick glance at his file on my boss's desk back in
Billings. Kid's IQ was tested at over 200. He's some kind of math and
computer genius."
        Computers. That was another piece of the puzzle.
        "Any idea why he's in WITSEC?"
        "Nope. Nothing official, anyway." Mulder sat back, spreading
his arms along the back of the vinyl booth. "Tell me," he said, making
a 'come-on' motion with his hands. "What do you feel, Stone? What's
your gut tell you?"
        Stone held up a hand. "Let me ask you a question first. Do you
believe in that shit? UFOs?"
        Mulder thought a minute. "I have a lot of experience talking
to people who claim to have been abducted. My work with the FBI is why
I'm here, Stone. I have experience dealing with people...like Zack."
        "Ya didn't answer my question, Mulder."
        "I'm not sure how to answer it."
        "Yes or no seems like a damn good choice."
        "Yes." The pair fell silent for a long minute.
        "Good," Stone finally said, "because it'll make the rest of
what I'm about to tell you go down a little easier." The waitress
arrived with the coffee pot, looking at Dan's eyes to see if he wanted
more. He shook his head, using his chin to indicate that she should
check with Mulder. He waved his hand over his coffee cup.
        She moved off.
        "The kid...he's a good kid. A little mixed up. Little
paranoid, if ya ask me. But here's the thing...when we first picked
him up, he had twenty-four hour hard protection. Marshals in full
assault gear all over his house, night assault, the whole shooting
match. Kid looked at me and started asking these...questions. About
the penetrating power of the rounds we were using. He explained to me
in about three sentences how my night vision scope worked...not only
that, but he explained it in such a way that an ex-jarhead Marine like
myself...understood. I mean...this is gonna sound totally loopy,
Mulder...but when he was explaining it to me, he asked me to see the
rifle, and I handed it to him. I handed this kid a fully loaded
CAR-15, with an AN/P-7C night assault system, a twenty-round mag of
FMJ .223 rounds, and with the damn safety off!"
        Mulder felt something inside himself start to tingle. "Tell me
more...why did you do it?"
        "Mulder...when that kid talks to you about something he feels
is important...he can make a believer out of anyone about anything. If
that kid ever decides to go into sales, he'll be the next Bill Gates,
you mark my words."
        Stone let out a deep breath. "Bottom line? My gut is that
we're watching the kid for either the military, the spooks, or both. I
think the kid knows something about something that the military or the
spooks want. I think the kid has not only seen this...whatever it is,
but might have actually even made it. Designed it, built it...
something. He's great with his hands, his fingers. He can design and
build things like no kid his age I've ever seen."
        "What do you think he built?" Mulder asked. He knew where this
was going, had known the moment Skinner had given he and Scully the
assignment. But he had to hear it from Stone's mouth.
        "I think the kid might have built something to...talk to
whatever is up there," Stone said, jerking a thumb towards the ceiling.
"Up there...out there...whichever you like.
        "I think the kid has actually had contact, Mulder. And he
knows they're coming for him."
        "Aliens?"
        "No, Mulder...I think the military and the spooks are sitting
on this kid until they can convince him to show <them> what he did,
how he did it, and how to do it again. And the kid ain't budging."

600 West 57th Street
New York City, NY
0418 hours EST

        Avi glanced both ways before crossing the street. Nervously,
he glanced at his watch. He had less than two minutes to make his
meeting, and he was still a block away. The address where he was to
meet Scimitar was etched in his memory. He would never, ever forget
it, no matter how many nights he stayed up trying. He carried the
briefcase; it had not left his wrist since Tel Aviv. He was not about
to start any bad habits now.
        He had been very careful since leaving the Israeli consulate.
The tradecraft he'd been taught to detect tails had served him well.
Four taxis, two buses, and a subway ride had convinced him that he was
not being followed. And arriving at this meeting undetected was very,
very important to Avi's continued health and happiness, for if
Scimitar detected even the faintest hint of a tail, Avi was sure that
the man would not hesitate to kill him.
        There! Avi could see the address ahead. Quickening his pace,
he checked his watch. He should just make it.

590 West 57th Street
New York City, NY
0419 Hours EST

        Starke glanced through venetian blinds, the specially-modified
binoculars giving him a spectacular view of the street. Originally
designed as night-vision goggles, the AN/PRU-12H Personal Recon Unit
was perhaps the most ingenious invention Starke had ever seen come out
of ARPA. Starke's view through the eyepieces was mostly that of a
normal night-vision scope. Most everything was green; the bright
orange and red blooms were people, their body heat standing out
against the coldness of the background. But Avi was different; he was
red, like the others, with a bright purple glow around him, making him
easy to pick out, even in the tightly-packed throngs of people
strolling up and down West 57th street.
        Avi had been seated in 3B, the next-to-last row in first class
on the El Al flight. Starke had been in 4C, over Avi's left shoulder.
It had taken two seconds to mark Avi with the invisible photoelectric
dye. He had pretended to be applying cologne, had turned the bottle
for one small, silent squirt, and Avi had been marked. All Starke had
to do was wait for Avi to do what most men did when they were tired:
Run his hands through his hair. Then, one touch of the briefcase, and
it, too, was marked so that Starke would be able to see it with his
little electronic toy.
        He watched carefully as Avi ascended the stairs leading to
number 600.
        Starke knew he was only steps away, days...maybe even hours,
from Icarus. And then that fucking bitch would get off his back and
let him get back to his other project. Starke knew that Mulder was in
Montana, waiting for Icarus to do something...anything.
        Starke also knew that he was going to take a very personal
interest in making sure that Special Agent Fox William Mulder of the
FBI didn't get a chance to make a report about <this> case.
        Yes, Starke thought.
        I will enjoy killing him.

-----------------------------------------
END CHAPTER 22

If you're already on my mailing list, or have no desire to be, or are
not missing any chapters (and don't want them if you are,) please feel
free to skip the rest of this. It's all administrivia.

End Note - Missing Chapters & Mailing Lists - If you are <not> on my
mailing list for "Snapshots" and wish to be, please send a <separate>
email from any feedback you may or may not care to give. The SUBJECT
of this email should <please> be "SUBSCRIBE" without the quote marks.
My thingie will take care of it from there. I'm trying to automate
this because I get between 30 and 40 requests for missing chapters
every day, and I want desperately to keep up with the volume. So, if
you are missing a chapter, I will please ask as nice as I can for you
to send a separate email message for each chapter you are requesting,
with the subject line as "Request 01" or "Request 03" or "Request 09"
or whatever. Please remember to have a TWO DIGIT chapter number. My
autoresponder thingie that I wrote myself only likes two-digit
numbers. Since there ain't no freakin way I'm gonna be able to write
more than 99 chapters, we should be fine.

If, however, you don't mind getting a big-ass ZIP file with <all>
chapters to date in a single zip file (the zip file expands to 16
separate files,) send an email message with "REQUEST 00" as the
subject line, again <without the quotes>. The .ZIP file was created
with a Unix version of ZIP, but it WILL unzip with DOS PKUNZIP 2.04g
or WINZIP. I have tried it myself and it works. Macintosh users, you
are currently out of luck as far as the .ZIP file goes unless you have
a utility you KNOW works on DOS/Unix ZIP files and want to try
anyway. :)

"Snapshot 23 - Sessions"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Classification : MSR, X, A
Rating : R (Adult situations, gory violence)

WARNING: There is a section in this story (marked off with <<>>
brackets,) that contains a rather gruesome death scene. No main
character (to the show,) dies.

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

Enjoy!

Please read the end notes as well. Thanks! :)

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

"That is the consolation of a little mind; you
have the fun of changing it without impeding
the progress of mankind."
        -- Frank Moore Colby

"The flesh endures the storms of the present alone;
the mind, those of the past and future as well as
the present."
        -- Epicurus



22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
1630 Hours

        Mulder was sitting in front of the computer, struggling to
access the MUFON web site. Although the US Marshals Service had been
more than generous in equipping and furnishing the safe house, they
had neglected to configure the computer. Their idea of installation
was to plug it in and walk away. And since Mulder didn't know anything
about TCP/IP, he was having a hard time figuring out why the web
browser kept reporting connection errors.
        Scully was sitting on the couch about twelve feet away,
working on her embroidery. She was working from a pattern, a small
pillowcase that was going to say something cute and trite when it was
finished. Scully didn't really care about it that much, but it was
wonderful exercise for her fingers, and helped her keep the dexterity
she needed as a pathologist.
        Another one of the benefits to her pastime was the fact that
it gave her mind time to wander. She could release herself from all
the clutter and confusion of her usual daily workload, and let her
imagination take hold, let it take her on a footloose, fancy-free trip
of fantasy.
        At this particular moment in time, Scully was deeply inside a
fantasy regarding her partner. She watched as Mulder finally gave in
and reached for one of the manuals located on a shelf above the
computer. He tore into it, absorbing information a rate that both
amazed Scully, and made her feel a little envious. God, she thought,
if I'd had that mind in medical school, I would have breezed through.
        She watched the way his eyes traveled the pages, seeking out
the little bits of information he needed to make the damn browser
work, the way he bit his lip as he concentrated, the way he smiled at
some private joke that would take days to explain to her. His mind
jumped and whirled and cooked and popped like nothing Scully had ever
seen, save for the inner core of an exploding star. Nothing was that
hot...except Mulder.
        If she tried hard enough, Scully could concentrate and almost
feel the small fetus inside of her. She was pregnant, of that she had
no doubt. All that remained was the time to pass before any take-home
test could reliably assumed to prove accurate. When she peed on the
little stick and watched the (+) sign appear, they would be able to
enjoy the news for real. They would be able to celebrate the new life
they had created between them, the new life, the new person they would
bring into the world, together.
        And that was the fantasy that Special Agent Dana Scully was
smack in the middle of as she studied Mulder struggling with the
computer. The assignment they were on was dangerous, and not just for
the reasons that both she and Mulder suspected. Something was, indeed,
going on with Zack Tarses. Mulder had shared the results of his
conversation with Deputy Stone, and Scully knew that something that
only Mulder could get her into was about to happen. The fact that she
was pregnant should have filled her with worry and caution; but it
didn't.
        Because Scully knew that no matter what happened, even if it
meant losing any chance of ever finding out what happened to his
sister, even if it meant never discovering what, if anything, Zack
Tarses had determined about life beyond the solar system, Mulder would
never, ever let anything happen to her or their child. His armor might
be slightly tarnished in spots, but Mulder was a knight. He fought the
fight for the powerless, stood up on his horse and went tilting at
governmental conspiracies, and did what he felt had to be done for the
good of the country, for the good of his conscience, and ultimately,
for the good of Scully and the LittleScullyMulder that was growing
inside her womb at this very minute.
        Scully felt such a warm rush for the man sitting not ten yards
away from her that she dropped the embroidery she was working on and
stood, walking over to where he sat.
        He was so deeply engrossed in the book he didn't sense her
presence for a good thirty seconds.
        "Scully?" he asked.
        Reaching down, Scully closed the book and took Mulder's hand.
She looked at him, the raw, naked need and hunger plainly evident on
her face. She lifted her eyebrows towards the ceiling, and tilted her
head to the side in a 'come with me gesture,' that was totally
unmistakable.
        Mulder knew when to keep silent. He stood and followed her up
the stairs.

***

        After, they lay on the bed naked, warm, soft limbs gently
entwined. "I admire our ability to get paid for this," Mulder said.
Scully didn't answer him. Instead, she took his hand and placed
against the gentle, almost unnoticeable swell of her stomach, and then
moved it slightly lower.
        "Here?" he asked.
        Scully nodded, not saying a word. Mulder looked at where she
had placed his hand, and she could see the whirl of emotions crossing
his face. Lowering his head to her stomach, Mulder turned and gently
placed his ear against her stomach. He closed his eyes, his face
turned away from her, and tried to imagine the sound of a tiny little
heartbeat.
        "Samantha if it's a girl...William if it's a boy?"
        "Samantha Melissa, for a girl, and William Fox if it's a boy,"
Scully corrected softly, her nails lightly scratching Mulder's scalp.
        The phone rang.
        Scully reached for it.
        "Hello?"
        "Mrs. Edwards?" the voice, a distinctly deep male baritone,
asked.
        "Dr. Edwards," she automatically corrected.
        "I'm sorry -- that's right. This is Jake Tarses. I'm Zack's
father. I understand you and your husband met my son today."
        "Yes. Yes, we did, Mr. Tarses," Scully said. She felt Mulder
shifting, and she held him down with her hand.
        Mulder settled down.
        "Well, the thing of it is...I don't know what kind of
impression my son made on you, but...I understand you're a child
psychologist..."
        "That's correct," Scully said. Fraud, she thought.
        "Well, my son has been having some problems lately. He
thinks...well, it's better if he tells you, I suppose. I know you just
got into town, but he is worrying the dickens out of his mother and I,
and I was just wondering..."
        Scully pretended to think about it. "How's the day after
tomorrow? Nine? Is that OK?"
        She could hear Jake Tarses' sigh of relief. "That'd be
perfect, Mrs....er, Dr. Edwards."
        "I'll expect him then. Just have Zack let himself in the front
door. My office is immediately to the right."
        "Thank you again, Dr. Edwards."
        "You're welcome, Mr. Tarses." She hung up the phone, and
reached for Mulder, using her hands to urge him up her body, until
they were laying face to face. His warm, muscular weight felt
wonderful pressing her into the mattress. She let her arms lie against
his back, her nails just scratching the top of his buttocks.
        "That," she said, although she knew she didn't need to, "was
Zack's father."
        "I guess he's coming in for some shrinking of the head?"
Mulder kidded.
        "Yeah," Scully said, feeling the frown reaching her face.
"This is almost too easy, Mulder."
        "Well...we'll just take it as it comes," he said.
        Scully shifted under him, seeking a slightly more comfortable
position. The soft, dry friction of her silken skin against Mulder's
body had an immediate and apparent effect.
        "Oh, my...again?" she asked.
        Mulder looked embarrassed.
        "Not if you don't-"
        She silenced him with a kiss, sighing as she felt him moving
against her, sighing deeper as she opened herself to him, and then
finally groaning into his mouth with a hungry, animal sound as she
felt them join, together, as one.

***

590 West 57th Street
New York City, New York
1732 Hours EST

        Starke reached behind him and opened the foam-lined case. A
H&K MP5-PDW/X was sheathed in the foam-rubber. It had once been a
standard-issue Marine Corps MP5-N before an expert armorer had gotten
a hold of it. The ANP-6 night vision scope nestled next to the barrel
was specially modified to work with this weapon; the 30 9mm rounds
carried in the magazine were thousands of times more deadly than a
normal Black Talon round, which they had been at one point in their
lives. The barrel was custom built, designed to make the rifle
hyperaccurate to two hundred yards. It was not a sniper's rifle; it
would not shoot accurately to the distances that snipers were
required to operate within. But it was an incredibly deadly, accurate
weapon at ranges up to 200 yards. And with a flick of the fire
selection switch, it turned into a very efficient room-sweeping
rock-and-roll, fully-automatic death stick.
        Starke quickly assembled the weapon, snapping the pieces
together like some demented Leggo toy from hell. The night vision
scope powered up with an almost inaudible whine, and Starke stuck his
arm through the sling and around again.
        Avi was across the street, and Starke's orders were clear.
There was another team down on the street, a pair of operatives using
the same photoelectric sensing gear that Starke himself had. They were
to follow Scimitar to his destination. Starke would join them later,
the MP5-PDW/X replaced by a much more accurate rifle with a
thousand-yard plus range. When Scimitar arrived in Montana, Starke
would be waiting. For him.
        And Mulder.
        And Scully.

***

                                     <<<>>>
            GORY VIOLENCE WARNING - This section contains scenes of a
                  violent nature. Reader discretion is advised.
                                     <<<>>>

600 West 57th Street
New York City, New York
1741 Hours EST



        Avi nodded to the man seated across the huge oak desk, and
stood to leave.
        "You have done well," Scimitar said slowly, clearly, and Avi
felt like the man was speaking from the grave itself. A career
military officer, Avi had met his share of killers and assassins over
the years, but none could hold a candle to the man seated six feet
away from him. Scimitar's eyes were...dead. That was the simplest,
most expedient way to explain it. Scimitar wasn't a man, wasn't a
person, he was the Angel of Death personified. He was simply, Death
Incarnate.
        "I am pleased that you are satisfied," he managed to whisper,
eager to leave and put as much distance between himself and this...
thing as he could.
        "You are dismissed, Avi. Never come back here."
        You don't have to worry about that, Avi thought. Instead, he
said, "I won't. Have a...good mission."
        The man held up the small device. "With this, I will. Have a
safe trip back, Avi."
        Avi let himself out of the man's study and quickly made his
way to the door. Opening it, he took the steps quickly, eager to
return to his hotel.
        He never heard the shot that felled him. The bullet,
traveling at over fifteen hundred feet per second, entered the left
side of his skull and traversed his cranium, exiting out the other
side, near his jaw, along with a large portion of Avi's face.
The hydrostatic force compressed his brain to the size of a large
grapefruit, and a large section of it detached itself and exited
through the wound, hitting the side of 580 West 57th with a large,
wet, pink smack! The portions of his lower brain that were still
functioning immediately tried to increase his blood pressure, and what
had the added effect of causing the majority of Avi's blood to pump
out of his body in six large spurts.
        Across the street, Starke smiled and lowered the weapon. It
hadn't been that hard of a shot. Quickly casing the weapon, he shut
the attache case and grabbed his special photoelectric sensor package
and proceeded to make his way out of the building to his waiting car.
        Whistling to himself, Starke pointed the car at the airport
and stroked the gas pedal.

                                     <<>>
                                  END VIOLENCE

***

22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
0858 Hours
Two Days Later

        Zack "Ike" Tarses ascended the steps leading to the Edwards'
house and let himself in as he had been instructed. He saw the office
door off to the left, and opened it.
        Dana Scully, AKA "Dr. Karen Edwards," sat behind the huge,
professional-looking desk. The USMS had gone to great length to
furnish her office, and had used a great deal of classic, expensive
furniture seized by the DEA from various drug dealers. Scully herself
hoped to have an office just like this in her house one day.
        The house she would share with Mulder.
        "Come in, Zack," she said, and then saw the angry look cross
the teenager's face. "I mean, Ike. Come in, please." Zack walked into
her office and looked around.
        Probably looking for a couch, Dana thought with a smile.
        "Where's the couch?" he asked, confirming her suspicions.
        "Don't have one. We can use the one in the living room, if you
want." He shook his head and selected one of the deep, comfortable
leather chairs that flanked Dana's desk.
        They stared at each other in silence for two minutes.
        "So...?" Dana asked.
        "So what? My parents want me to be here. I don't want to be
here."
        Dana nodded. "OK, that's fair. You can leave any time you
want, Zack. If you leave right now, I won't even charge your parents a
dime."
        Zack ignored the fact that Scully hadn't used his preferred
nickname, and instead shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Naw," he
said. "My dad was pretty adamant about me coming here, so I guess we
should give him his money's worth."
        Dana nodded, accepting this.
        "Ok..your father said he was worried about you. Do you know
why?"
        Zack nodded. "One question...please."
        "Sure, go ahead."
        "I'm aware of doctor-patient confidentiality. But does that
extend to our relationship? I am a minor, and my parents are paying
you. Are you obligated to reveal what goes on in this, or any of our
sessions?"
        Dana considered for a moment. "Yes, and no, Zack...I mean,
Ike."
        "You can call me Zack," he said.
        "Thank you, Zack. To be honest, if I feel you are a danger to
yourself or others, I have a legal obligation to inform your parents
or the authorities."
        Zack snorted. "Authorities. Please."
        Dana decided to let that one slip by.
        "So, as to the details...no. I can't legally reveal what we
discuss in substance, or in general outlines, unless you give me
permission."
        Zack nodded. "What about danger?"
        Dana shifted in her chair. "Excuse me? Danger from what?"
        Zack smiled. "Ah, there's the crux, isn't it? Doctor Edwards,"
        "Karen," she corrected.
        "Karen, then...you see, I am in some danger. I know things
that no one else in the world knows. I know about certain things that
some people would like to keep quiet, and others would dearly like to
exploit to their own advantages. By telling you any of this, I would
be putting you in danger as well. Do you see my dilemma?"
        "Yes," Scully said after a minute. "I do. The choice is yours,
Zack. Only you can make that decision."
        "Are you taping this session?"
        "No," Scully lied. The tape recorder was upstairs, hidden in a
closet in her and Mulder's bedroom.
        "You don't mind if I check, do you?" Zack asked, pulling a
small electronic device out of his pocket.

***

        Upstairs, Mulder hit the STOP button and breathed a sigh of
relief. At least the kid had asked. He slowly counted to two hundred,
and then pushed REC and PLAY again.

***

        Scully sat in her chair, fascinated. Zack had just started
explaining what was on his mind.
        "So you see...if I tell you, you have to promise never, ever
to tell another living soul. Not even your husband, Dr. Edwards.
Karen. You can never, ever tell anyone. Do we have an agreement?"
        Dana offered her hand across the desk, and Zack took it,
pumping it twice.
        Zack sat back down. "How long do we have?"
        "All morning, kiddo. My calendar's clean."
        Zack nodded. He opened his mouth and began to speak, and Dana
felt her blood run cold at his words. Zack's smile was a thin, wry
line across his face as he brought their carefully constructed facade
to a crashing end.
        "You might want to ask your partner to join us," the sixteen
year old boy said.
        "Excuse me?"
        "Agent Mulder. Fox William Mulder. He's upstairs listening to
this conversation." Zack paused, letting his words sink in.
        "How? How did-?" Scully started to ask.
        "Mulder! Hey, Mulder! Get your ass on in here!" Zack called.
        Scully heard his footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later
the door cracked open. Poking his head in, Mulder asked, "Zack...can
we tape this?"
        "No."
        "Shit. All right...." Mulder joined Scully and Zack, shutting
the door behind him.
        He took the other seat facing Scully's desk, and turned to
Zack. "How did-?"
        "I'll get to that, Mulder. That is what you liked to be
called, right?"
        Mulder nodded.
        "First things first. Mulder...your sister..."
        Scully suddenly wanted to be next to Mulder.
        "What about her?" Mulder demanded.
        "She was taken, Mulder. Taken by them."
        "Do you know where she is?"
        "Where? No, Mulder. But that's the wrong question to ask."
        "Don't make me play twenty questions, dammit!"
        Zack smiled his thin smile again, and shook his head. "I
won't. Sit back, relax, put your feet up. This is gonna be a very long
story, Mulder."

-----------------------------------------
End Chapter 23

END NOTES: Since my end notes contain spoilers for "Mento Mori" or
whatever the name is of the episode that aired Sunday, February 9,
1997 in the United States, PLEASE SKIP THE FOLLOWING
SPOILER-CONTAINING PARAGRAPH if you have not already seen the episode,
or if you mind having it spoiled. Thank you.

s
p
o
i
l
e
r

s
p
a
c
e

y
o
u

h
a
v
e

b
e
e
n
w
a
r
n
e
d


There will be those that argue that this story is out of date because
of the revelations made regarding Scully's potential fertility problems
in this past week's episode. Since I have more than uncommon faith in
Mulder's ability to (via Skinner,) exact both the cure and an
appropriately delicious revenge on CSM, I have no doubt that Mulder
and Scully, <<were they>> romantically involved, would be able to
conceive a child. Since "Snapshot" takes place in the 'near future,'
some readers may be upset (as they have in the past,) that my stories
don't adhere to "X-Files Canon," that being defined as only what we
have seen on the air. I apologize for this annoyance, but since I had
gotten Scully (supposedly) pregnant in an earlier chapter, I couldn't
bring myself to make it a 'false alarm.'

Administrivia: I am thinking of offering "Snapshots" and all future
stories in triple formats: Text only, which will be sent to the
mailing list, and to alt.tv.x-files.creative, and two other formats
available upon email request to drambo@primenet.com. I am asking
anyone that reads this (but you mail-listers especially,) if you think
one of the two following formats might be the way to go:

Word 2.0 or 6.0 format, so that my italics and underlines and emphasis
marks would appear as they were intended, instead of having to use
<bracket> or _underscores_ or *asterisks* to denote various levels of
emphasis, OR;

Acrobat format. Acrobat, for those of you who don't know, is a
platform-independent way to represent text and graphic documents. I
have a copy of the software, and all you need at your end is an
Acrobat viewer to view my documents as I wrote them. About a dozen or
so readers have asked me to forward them a Word 6.0 document so they
can read the story the way it was written. Acrobat is available for
most platforms, including PC/DOS, Windows 3.1/3.11/95 and Macintosh. I
do not know if there is an XWindows/Unix version of Acrobat.

Now, since the Snapshot Saga is coming to an end (only a few more
chapters...) this might seem like closing the barn door, etc. But,
since I have six more stories planned, all of them spanning at least
10 chapters...several readers have asked for it, and I was just
wondering what the general consensus is out there.

OK, end of soapbox. Mailing list administrivia to follow:

If you're already on my mailing list, or have no desire to be, or are
not missing any chapters (and don't want them if you are,) please feel
free to skip the rest of this. It's all administrivia.

End Note - Missing Chapters & Mailing Lists - If you are <not> on my
mailing list for "Snapshots" and wish to be, please send a <separate>
email from any feedback you may or may not care to give. The SUBJECT
of this email should <please> be "SUBSCRIBE" without the quote marks.
My thingie will take care of it from there. I'm trying to automate
this because I get between 30 and 40 requests for missing chapters
every day, and I want desperately to keep up with the volume. So, if
you are missing a chapter, I will please ask as nice as I can for you
to send a separate email message for each chapter you are requesting,
with the subject line as "Request 01" or "Request 03" or "Request 09"
or whatever. Please remember to have a TWO DIGIT chapter number. My
autoresponder thingie that I wrote myself only likes two-digit
numbers. Since there ain't no freakin way I'm gonna be able to write
more than 99 chapters, we should be fine.

If, however, you don't mind getting a big-ass ZIP file with <all>
chapters to date in a single zip file (the zip file expands to 16
separate files,) send an email message with "REQUEST 00" as the
subject line, again <without the quotes>. The .ZIP file was created
with a Unix version of ZIP, but it WILL unzip with DOS PKUNZIP 2.04g
or WINZIP. I have tried it myself and it works. Macintosh users, you
are currently out of luck as far as the .ZIP file goes unless you have
a utility you KNOW works on DOS/Unix ZIP files and want to try
anyway. :)

"Snapshot 24:Pandora Revisited"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Classification : MSR, X, A
Rating : R (Adult situations, gory violence)

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

Enjoy!


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

"When you sit with a nice girl for two hours,
you think it's only a minute. But when you
sit on a hot stove for a minute, you think
it's two hours. <That's> relativity."
        -- Albert Einstein

"Every minute starts an hour."
        -- Paul Gondola

"Nothing is improbable until it moves
into the past tense."
        -- George Ade

1920 Mamaroneck Avenue
Eastchester, New York
Yesterday
1650 Hours

        Doctor David Kane clicked the STOP button on his microcassette
recorder and sighed, placing it gently on the blotter in front of him.
Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost time to go home. It
had been an extremely long day, and he was looking forward to getting
out of the office, heading towards his three-bedroom split-level ranch
house in Jefferson Valley, and relaxing in front of the television
with a bracingly cold martini. Just to make sure, David checked his
schedule for tomorrow; he had no delicate surgeries scheduled for the
morning, and he was only planning on having one, anyway.
        Maybe two.
        As he flipped the cover to his DayTimer closed, David saw the
tan-line on the third finger of his left hand. Up until about two
months ago, David would have been enjoying that martini with Beth, his
wife of twelve years. But, she had left to go and 'find herself,'
whatever that meant. A sudden wave of nostalgia and loneliness washed
over him, and David wondered where his wife was at this exact moment.
Who was she with? What was she doing? Was she on the way back? Back to
the marriage, the house, to him?
        The phone rang. David thought about letting it ring through to
the service, but he was a dedicated physician, one of the most highly
sought-after plastic surgeons in the country, and you don't get such a
sterling reputation by blowing patients off when you feel like
drowning yourself in a pitcher of martinis.
        "Dr. Kane's office," he said.
        "Do you recognize my voice?" the caller asked, and Kane
suddenly realized that he wasn't going to be seeing that drink
anytime soon.
        "Of course," he said.
        "Twenty minutes. I will need the procedure. Again."
        Kane said nothing, as he knew the man on the other end of the
phone wished, and disconnected. Moving quickly, he got up from his
desk and went into the outer office. Dismissing his physician's
assistant, nurse, and the two medical secretaries as quickly as he
could, Kane then moved to the biggest treatment room he had. Quickly
locating the instruments he would need, Kane prepared to do what he
had done for Scimitar several times before.
        Returning to his office, Kane unlocked a floor safe and took
out a slim file. Opening it, he slid the two sheets out onto his desk
and turned the green-shaded lamp on, focusing the high-intensity
halogen lamp directly onto the papers.
        In his professional estimation, Kane thought that Scimitar had
perhaps four or five more chances to utilize the procedure he was
preparing to undergo. Any more than that, and it would be worthless.
        Kane held his hands up, fingers spread. They were rock steady.
        Good. If Scimitar detected any tremble, there was no telling
what the man might do.
        Kane didn't have much more time to think about it. He heard
movement in the outer office, and then the most feared man in the
history of the Mossad walked into his office.
        "Are you ready?" Scimitar asked.
        "Of course. This way," Kane said, using his arm to lead the
agent back to the treatment room. A highly paid 'consultant' for the
Israeli Mossad, Dr. David Kane had perfected something once thought
impossible. Changing the appearance of an undercover operative was
very important, and plastic surgery had existed to change faces for
such men for decades. But no matter how many faces you had, with the
current forensic technology, sometimes a new face was not enough.
        But fingerprints...
        Kane had perfected a way of injecting microscopic amounts of
surgical silicon just under the surface of a man's fingers, changing
the ridges and whirls and loops just enough to confuse any attempt at
matching a person's prints to any already on file. It only lasted
about a week before the body absorbed the minute amounts of silica
back into the system, but for short-term solutions to a thorny
problem, Kane had no equal in the world.
        Wherever Scimitar was going, if he left prints behind, they
wouldn't match any prints on file anywhere in the world. Kane didn't
care to ask where the man was going, but he took a small amount of
professional pride in the fact that the legendary agent wouldn't leave
a trace of himself behind.

***

22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
0905 hours

        "So if not where, then...what?" Mulder asked.
        "Again, not quite right," Zack answered. "It'll be easier to
understand if I start at the beginning, Mulder. I know you've been
waiting a very, very long time to learn anything about your sister,
so I will make it as brief as possible."
        Mulder just nodded, sitting back in the incredibly comfortable
chair. He was so nervous he found himself pulling at his lips with two
fingers.
        "As you have probably already been told, or surmised, I am
quite a smart little kid. I'm a certified genius, but it goes beyond
that, I think. From as long as I can remember, I've always understood
things much better than anyone I know. I can grasp arcane concepts
very, very quickly, and I make logical leaps and bounds that other
people just can't seem to make until I explain it to them. I'm not
saying that to brag, but it's true.
        "When I got interested in computers, I saw the potential right
away. Not so much to play games, or to do spreadsheets, or to write
poetry, but to explore things in a way they have never been explored
before.
        "I wrote a computer language that I call PEACH. It Pluralistic
Enhanced Algorithmic Computer Hashing. Now, that sounds like a really
cool name, and for the most part, it doesn't mean anything. But from
what I've read, and what I've seen, PEACH is so much more advanced
than any computer language in the world that, frankly, it scares me
sometimes."
        "How does this-" Mulder interrupted.
        "I'm getting there. Stick with it a little while longer. What
I did with PEACH was play around a little bit. I wrote a sniffer
program that had some of PEACH's ability to...well, not think exactly,
but make educated guesses. It's like fuzzy logic...only not so fuzzy.
So I let CREAM, which was the name of the program I wrote, out on the
net. It's job was to find interesting things and report back to me. It
was kind of like a worm, only it wasn't destructive, and it wasn't
detectable. Guess what it found?"
        "A rouge game of Pong?" Mulder asked.
        "No, but that would have been interesting. No, Mulder... it
found the NSA. Or more specifically, it found ... a brother. A
computer that I eventually deciphered as being called Wuzzle. I have
no idea what a Wuzzle truly is, but I know what this Wuzzle was."
        "Was?"
        "Wuzzle went off line about six days ago. But, that's getting
way, way ahead of the game. I sent a mail message to the person that
Wuzzle belonged to, and within twenty four hours some very unhappy
looking men in suits were on my front door asking me questions about
computer hardware, software, modems, IP spoofing and packet sniffers.
        "The next thing I knew, I was in Washington, under a secret
Federal subpoena, talking to some very important people in the
government. People so high up they don't answer to anyone except The
Man.
        "The end result of all this is that after the group satisfied
themselves that I wasn't a spy, and realized the technical
accomplishment of what I had done, they asked me to come to work for
them."
        Scully snorted. This story was so completely unbelievable, she
was more than sure that Zack was suffering severe paranoid delusions,
probably brought on by chemical schizophrenia.
        "A sixteen year old boy working for the NSA? I hardly think-"
        "Oh, no, Scully. Of course not...sixteen years old is
ludicrous." He paused. "I was fourteen. This was two years ago.
Anyway, they wanted me for a very specific reason." Again, he paused.
        "The box."

***

Billings International Airport
Billings, Montana
0930 Hours

        Starke took his bag off the carousel and turned, spotting his
contact. Walking up to him, Starke stuck his hand out.
        "Stone! How they hanging!?"
        The man waiting for him made a face. Ignoring Starke's hand,
he held up a thin manila envelope. "Here's the information. Make it
quick, Starke. In and out."
        Starke took the envelope with a dour expression. "Fine. Just
don't act like you're any better than I am, asshole. I may be the
lucky fuck with my finger on the trigger, but you set them up, Stone.
        "All three of them."

***
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
0932 Hours

        "The box? What the hell-?" Mulder started.
        "Yeah, Mulder, what the hell. That's a very good question, a
question I've asked myself several times. When I first saw the box...I
had no idea what it was. It didn't look like anything I'd ever seen
before in my life, short as it is."
        Mulder shifted in his chair, his attention totally focused on
Zack.
        "They wanted me to tell them what it was. It was a test, they
said. It only took me about half a day to figure out that they didn't
know what it was, and need me to tell them. They wouldn't tell me
where it came from, or where they'd found it. They just wanted me to
tell them what it was, what it was used for. And what it could be used
for."
        "What did it look like?" Scully asked.
        Zack described a square in the air. "About the size of a VCR,
but twice as thick, and slightly wider. No lights on the outside, no
buttons, knobs, dials, controls of any kind. No ports, no jacks, no
plugs. It looked like a solid plastic square."
        "What was it?"
        "It wasn't plastic, I'll tell you that. It was the hardest
thing I'd ever seen in my life. Harder than an industrial diamond bit
that I used to try and peek inside. It turned that bit into dust in
less than a minute."
        "Wait a minute," Scully said, holding up her hand. "There's
nothing in the world that's harder than a diamond."
        "Exactly," Zack said. "You just hit the nail on the head,
Scully."
        Scully felt the puzzlement on her face. "I don't understand."
        Zack spoke the next four words distinctly. "Nothing. In. The.
World."
        Scully realized what he was implying. "I should have known,"
she groaned.
        "Scully, I know you believe in science. Nothing exists that
can't be proven, except faith, and faith is for believers, not
scientists. I am the same way. Nothing exists for me unless it can be
theorized and then proven.
        "I can prove it to you. But that's not the important part, you
guys!"
        "What is the important part, Zack?"
        "I figured out what it is! I got it work!"
        "What is it?" Mulder was on the edge of his seat.
        "Well, I don't know what the person who built it calls it, but
I call it a key. A very special key, a key that unlocks more doors
than anyone ever knew existed."
        "Then it's a kind of access device...an encryption...
something?"
        "No, Mulder. Not literal doors. Metaphysical ones. The box
turned out to be a way of interfacing with...well, I don't know how to
explain it exactly...there's a lot of theoretical physics you need to
understand-"
        "My bachelors is in physics," Scully interjected.
        Zack nodded and turned to face her. "OK, Einstein postulated
that no one can go faster than the speed of light. That's true, in
normal space. If we were able to enter a state of existence that's not
normal space-time, then the laws of Newtonian and Einstein physics
no longer apply."
        "If it were possible, sure."
        "Ok, now, what if space and time are, like we know them to
be, continuos? That they exist in a logical, orderly progression from
the Big Bang to whatever ends the Universe...with me so far?"
        "So far," Mulder agreed with Scully's nod.
        "Ok..the box...the box opens the gate to that other part of
space. Actually, all the other parts of space and time."
        "How many are there?" Scully asked, wondering if she was
humoring the boy, or actually starting to believe him.
        "Infinite," Zack admitted. "The last time I counted with the
Cray XM1 I had running in the background, we counted over two billion
separate space and time lines intersecting through the box."
        "You mean...?"
        "Yeah, Mulder. I mean that whatever alien civilization built
that thing figured out the way to cross the stars without breaking the
speed of light. They drop into this...area of space between existing
universes, if you will, and it's like a temporal shortcut. They can
show up, do what they want, and vanish back into it. To us, stuck in
normal space-time, it looks like they just...vanish. Poof! Gone! But
to them, everything is normal. It's all..."
        "Relative," Scully finished, not missing the pun. The small
smile on Zack's face told her he hadn't missed it either.
        "Exactly, Scully. But that was just the beginning. After we
figured out what the box was, we decided to research it as much as we
could. We discovered something inside of it, my team and I. We
discovered a new kind of subatomic particle. Two particles, actually.
One we named a Hamion. The other, I'm afraid to say, we named a
Martion."
        Scully frowned. "That's an ugly name."
        "You had to be there. Remember, a camel is a horse built by
committee. Anyway, here's the thing...in every single space-time line,
there exists these things we call Hamion signatures. Each person, each
living thing, dog, cat, rat, mouse, tree, every living thing has a
unique Hamion signature. It's the combination of the Hamion signatures
of the individual cells the make up the whole. Each living thing in
the entire universe has a unique, one-of-a-kind Hamion signature. It's
like a...temporal fingerprint, if you will.
        "With me so far?"
        "So far," Mulder agreed.
        "Ok...now, the Martion particle was only found in specific
cases. It is a very, very rare subatomic particle. It only exists
between very special pairs of Hamion signatures. It fills the space
between them in a stream of subatomic energy, a kind of... thread
connecting two Hamion signatures. You know how sometimes people say
that twins are hypersensitive to each other? Well, we know why. The
Martion connection between their two Hamion signatures is so strong
that it can connects them, even over long physical distances."
        "What does this have to do with Samantha?" Mulder asked.
        "Ok, we're almost there. Here's the deal...for some reason,
the builders of this box have been coming here and...borrowing people.
They get into whatever vehicle it is that they have, and they drop
into that temporal shortcut, and vanish. But, the Martion thread still
exists in this space-time line, and it links, though the temporal
shortcut, to the other Hamion signature."
        He paused.
        "In other words, Mulder, that feeling that you've had since
she was abducted is genuine. You've always known that Sam is out there
somewhere. You just didn't know where."
        "Do you know?"
        "Still some more to go, Mulder. Here's the other part of the
puzzle. The thing is...those alternate space-time lines? They're all
different from ours in one major way, but similar in every single
other way. Each space-time slice, or line, is unfolding at a different
relativistic rate. In other words, in another time line, it's 1991, not
1997. In still another, it's 1950, or 1900, or 1530. In some time
lines that are just relavistically unfolding, it's still the time of
cavemen. And in some, it's already the 23rd century."
        "So..." Mulder said, putting it all together. "It's not so
much a matter of where Sam is..."
        "...but when," Zack finished.
        "Because," Scully jumped in, "this can't be the only
intersection point of all the different time-lines in <this> time
line."
        "Correct," Zack said, smiling like a teacher in front of his
two prize students. "That's what the box does. It finds those
intersections and allows us access to them."
        Scully interrupted. She still hadn't accepted what Zack was
telling her. Hell, it sounded like a Grade-C scifi movie, the kind
that Mulder loved to watch on a rainy Saturday afternoon. And Scully
loved to watch them too, if only to poke holes in the psuedoscience
most of them seemed to be based on.
        "Where's the box now?" she asked.
        Zack sat back. "Ah, as I said...there's the crux, Scully. I
took it."
        Mulder blinked.
        Scully blinked.
        "Excuse me?" they both said.
        "I took it," Zack affirmed. "I took it and hid it."
        Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. Scully rolled her eyes
at him, sending her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them.
"Oh."
        "No...really," Zack said. "It's hidden in a very safe place,
and for a very good reason."
        "Name one," Scully demanded.
        "There was this guy, see....someone that the both of you are
probably very familiar with."
        "Does he chain smoke?" Mulder joked.
        "Him? He's nothing, Mulder. He's a wannabe. He's more of a
puppet than Pinnochio was. Once you open your mind to the possibilities
of the universe, that tumor of a human being is less important than a
pile of cold dog shit."
        Mulder liked the image Zack's words formed in his mind. "What,
then?"
        "You mean, of course...who. Someone more dangerous than that
idiot. At least the chain smoking moron had the good sense to realize
that putting himself into a Martion stream was a very, very bad idea.
Sure, it's cool to think about going to one of those other timelines.
        "But there was someone that wanted to do it. And she sent one
of her goons to do a little experiment. But before I talk to you about
that, you need to know something else about this entire affair,
something that effects the both of you directly."
        Mulder and Scully exchanged another meaningful glance. "Are we
in any danger?" Scully asked.
        "Yes, and no. No immediate danger, and no more danger than
either of you have been in during the past four years." Zack cracked a
smile. "You two became partners when I was in sixth grade. What a
trip."
        "Groovy," Mulder agreed.
        Zack laughed. "Anyway, here's the deal. Just as I explained
that there's a subatomic particle field between you and your sister,
there's another thing we noticed about Hamion signatures. Sometimes,
in different universes, especially universes that lie physically close
to each other on the subspace domain...imagine a stack of plates...
one on top of the other? Sometimes, in two concurrent domains, we can
see the relationship between two known Hamion signatures. Give you an
example...in domain 'A' for instance, a brother and sister are born,
and we can see how the Martion particle field is differentiated across
other domains. In another domain, the two Hamion signatures might be
husband and wife. Or dog and master. Or they might not even know each
other at all."
        Zack leaned forward. "No one else except the woman... the one
that wanted to use this..discovery, for lack of a better term, to her
own advantage..knows what I'm about to tell you. As of this moment,
there are only two people in the world that know about this." He
studied their faces for a long moment, switching his gaze back and
forth between the two.
        "We noticed something special. There are a pair of Hamion
signatures in every single domain that we've examined in detail. As I
said, we detected two billion or so separate domains. Of those we
examined perhaps two or three hundred thousand. On each of those we
discovered something...amazing. Something we never imagined."
        The teenager grinned at his two new friends. "Two Hamion
signatures were always near zero differentiation."
        Scully tried to put it all together in her head. "Are you
saying that no matter which subspace domain you examined, two...
people, for assumptions sake were always...together?"
        "Exactly!" Zack nodded. "No matter which of the two or three
hundred thousand domains we examined, two specific, identifiable
Hamion signatures were always involved in some way with each other's
life. Husband and wife, brother and sister, father and child, mother
and child...but the differential analysis of the Martion particles
showed us that the two life signatures were always involved."
        Mulder was the first to ask, and he only beat Scully by a
fraction of a second.
        "What does that have to do with us?"
        "Well...it's your Hamion signatures, Mulder. Yours and Scully."
        The stunned silence that followed was palpable, pregnant.
Scully turned to Mulder, and he to her, and they stared at each
other, their silent lines of communication opening in full duplex
mode, information, emotions, thoughts, questions flowing back and
forth at a speed and a depth no computer manufactured yet could have
interpreted or quantified it.
        "Are you saying," Mulder asked, turning back to face Zack.
"That we...Scully and I..."
        "Yup. In this life you're partners pretending to be husband
and wife." He saw the look they exchanged, and smiled. "OK...maybe
more than partners pretending to be just partners pretending to be
husband and wife. That's none of my business, Mulder."
        "So why did you steal it again?" Scully asked.
        "Because of this...woman. She is the single most power
hungry...witch I have ever seen in my life. Her plan, her idea, was to
send people into other domains to...steal for her. To bring back
money, gold, technology, whatever they could get their hands on. She
wanted it all. She wanted to use the box to create a personal empire
that she could build on forever. Imagine it...being able to send
someone...a dozen someone'sa thousand...a million, to another domain
with instructions to return with everything and anything of value that
she could use."
        "Do you know her name?" Mulder asked.
        "No, but I'll never forget her face. And the plan. I'll never
forget the plan. It was ingenious."
        "How so?"
        "Criminals. She found the most hardened criminals she could,
and offered them the chance of a lifetime. Think about it...you want
someone with no morals, no safeguards against doing things that most
of us would find totally repugnant. She would find rapists and
murderers, men accused of multiple crimes. Offer them the deal, and if
they accepted, their troubles went away. Evidence vanished. Jurors
were bought and paid for, judges kept on the bankroll like servants.
Cases went up in smoke, and these hardened, amoral men were delivered
into the arms of a woman that made them look like Snow White."
        Scully looked over at Mulder, and everything started to fall
into place. "It wasn't them," Scully whispered. "Doubles?"
        "What?" Zack asked.
        "That's what started all this," Mulder said, indicating the
house. "For us, I mean. We were in San Diego, and I noticed
something...a criminal whose case got dismissed on a technicality, and
then he blew up in an explosion...I found sixty, seventy cases just
like it. The next thing I know, we're here...having this insane
discussion."
        "No, Mulder...they're only related a little bit. See, this
woman...she got ahead of herself. She got greedy. They haven't been
able to send anyone to another domain since I took the box over three
months ago. Anyone that's died since then is probably just
housecleaning."
        Scully stood up and walked around the room, hands on her hips.
"I do have a question," she said. "How did you know who Mulder and I
are?"
        "Your Hamion signatures. I knew who you two were almost two
years ago."
        Mulder had one final question. "Can you get her back? Can you
bring my sister back from wherever the hell it is they took her?"
        Zack turned to face him.
        "Maybe."
-----------------------------------------
End Chapter 24

New, Improved Mailing List Info: (It was getting so long...)

a) Subscriptions: To subscribe to my mailing list for Snapshot and
   all future stories, send an email with the subject line as
   SUBSCRIBE and nothing in the body of the mail to drambo@primenet.com

   To unsub, send me an email to the above address and ask nicely.
   I haven't figured out how to automate the unsub feature yet.

b) Missing Chapters - If you are missing any of the previous
   chapters, please send an email to drambo@primenet.com with
   the SUBJECT line as REQUEST XX where XX is the chapter number.
   As in:

   TO:drambo@primenet.com
   FR:somebody@somewhere.com
   RE:REQUEST 01

   And so forth. This:

   RE:REQUEST 01-09      will get you chapters 1 and 9.
   RE:REQUEST 01,02,03   will get you nada, zip, zero zilch.
                         Commas? We don't need no stinkin' commas!

   To get the BAZ (Big-Ass ZIP) file for DOS/Windows/Unix users,
   send REQUEST 00 to drambo@primenet.com in the SUBJECT of the
   message.

   Mac users-- still outta luck. I do not have access to a Macintosh
   any longer. Is there anyone out there that would like to do me the
   favor of compressing all my chapters into one large Mac .SEA file
   so I can send it to people that ask? Thanks! :)

"Snapshot 25:Sword's Point"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Classification : MSR, X, A
Rating : R (Adult situations, gory violence)

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)

Author's Note : What follows, prior to the commencement of the story,
is mostly administrivia. Please feel free to skip to the Enjoy! line
and begin reading.

                      *** WARNING WARNING WARNING ***

This chapter contains information of a highly, deeply technical nature.
There is some MSR in here, as always, but the majority of this chapter
is dedicated to explaining some theoretical physics regarding temporal
mechanics and espionage means and methods. This is a 'housekeeping'
chapter, and by that I mean it exists solely to move the plot along to
its (what one beta reader calls) "slam-bang conclusion." I apologize
to those of you who think that the polysyllabic pseudoscientific
technobabble detracts from the story. To those that enjoy this sort of
stuff, you're gonna love this chapter. :)

Technology Note : As Kai Nikulainen (knikulai@uti.fi) has pointed out,
some of the technology that I am describing probably cannot exist. To
put a finer point on it, my descriptions of computers (like Wuzzle,)
and methods that Zack used to alert the NSA to his presence are
probably best left in the realm of poetic exaggeration. In other words,
they don't exist, and could not exist, knowing what we know about the
laws of physics and how the computers of today's day and time are
constructed. My defense to this (which has resulted in rather lively
email exchanges,) is simplicity itself: We don't know what any 'alien'
culture might have invented, so the author is free to let his
imagination run wild, as it has most definitely (Bwahahahahaha)
here. Additionally, my descriptions of espionage means and methods, as
well as project names, places and dates, are part truth, part
conjecture, and part total fantasy. To me, it adds 'fabric' to the
quilt of the story, texture to the narrative, and can be skipped if
one isn't into that. It is up to the reader to determine where reality
ends and my creations begin. I am in the deep debt of several people,
most of whom prefer to remain anonymous. Portions of Scully's dialogue in
this chapter are lifted almost entirely and paraphrased from discussions
that Kai and I had, and I am in his debt for helping me give voice to the
ScullySkeptic that I so desperately needed in this chapter.

Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------

"All men by nature desire to know."
        -- Aristotle

"Our knowledge can only be finite, while
our ignorance must necessarily be infinte."
        -- Karl Popper

"As we acquire more knowledge, things do not
become more comprehensible, but more mysterious."
        -- Albert Schweitzer


22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        "What do you mean, maybe?" Mulder asked, his voice insistent.
Scully recognized his tone. When he got like this, he would not be
denied. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, perhaps it was the natural
maternal instincts her gender enjoyed, but whatever it was, Scully
felt more than a little concern for Zack Tarses. He had never enjoyed
a full-throttle MulderTantrum before, and unless he had a much better
answer than 'maybe' to Mulder's eternal question, he was about to be
treated to one.
        And then some.
        "Perhaps the physics student can explain."
        "Uncertainty principle?" Scully asked, suddenly understanding
what Zack was getting at. The teenager nodded, the beaming smile on
his face telegraphing his satisfaction at having someone who
understood his work, if only a little. Sheesh, Scully thought, he's
sixteen going on forty.
        Turning to Mulder, she started to explain. "The principle
deals with subatomic particles. Basically, it says that the closer to
get to determining the exact velocity of a particle, the further you
get from being able to pinpoint its location. The reverse is also
true...the closer you get to determining its location, the further you
are from knowing its velocity."
        Mulder held up his hands. "That's all well and good, but what
does that have to do with Sam?"
        Scully sat down heavily, sighing deeply. "What it means is
that...while Zack here can spot a Hamion trail with his little box,
and even examine it, I doubt he has the ability to...track one, if
that makes any sense. In other words, for all intents and purposes,
he's looking at...history. He's looking at what has already happened,
because if he is able to know where it is-"
        "He has no idea how fast its moving."
        "Right," Scully said. She glanced over to Zack to see if she'd
explained it correctly, and saw the oddest smile on the boy's face. He
had that cat-ate-the-canary expression that Mulder wore, and every
time Mulder did it, Scully wanted to wipe it off his face.
        "What?" she asked, annoyed.
        "You," he said, "are half right. Now, take into consideration
what I've explained about the temporal mechanics of the box, and
explain how we might be able to get Samantha back."
        Scully felt herself chewing her bottom lip as she tried to
wrap her mind around the problem. And then she had it. Snapping forward
in her chair, she grabbed a pen. Dragging a blank legal pad from a
corner of the desk over to where she sat, Dana began quickly figuring,
using almost-forgotten equations from courses taken years ago.
        "Oh my god," she whispered.
        "What?" Mulder asked. Getting no response, he stood and walked
behind the desk. Peering over Scully's shoulder, he tried to decipher
what she had written on the page.
        "Scully?"
        "Let me think," she whispered urgently.
        "Einstein," Zack prompted.
        "...said that space-time was curved. That if you could go as
fast as light, you'd occupy all points of the universe at the same
time, and be able to see the back of your own head. But, he didn't
anticipate the temporal layering effects. The way each parallel
dimension is...layered on top of each other, like a stack of
pancakes." Scully used her hands, trying to explain to both Zack and
Mulder at the same time. "But since the temporal mechanics that Zack
has told us about make sense, in a gravometric sense..."
        "Scully," Mulder sighed, "what the heck are you babbling
about?"
        Zack and Scully shared a private, secret smile. "Sit down, and
I'll try again, Mulder." The FBI agent retook his seat and cupped his
chin in his hand, staring at his partner.
        "Go ahead," he prompted.
        "The different universes that Zack is talking about all exist
in a certain super-time continuum, if that makes sense. The universe
that we know, the one that you and I occupy, is but one of perhaps
billions, perhaps an infinite number of universes. Okay so far?"
Mulder nodded. "Ok...they're all stacked on top of one another. The
way that these people can travel through the fields to a parallel
universe would look to us, if we were in these other universes, as
traveling through time, but only in a certain sense."
        Mulder's eyes started to glaze over. Scully took a deep breath
and tried again. "Ok...imagine that you could leave this world, and
appear on another, adjacent world. But on that world, it was a week
ago. But from this second world, you drop through another field, into
a third world, where it is two weeks in the future from the second
world, or only a week in the future to the first world. To someone who
was on the third world, it would look as if you were time traveling.
Got it?"
        Mulder nodded slowly. "Wait a minute...it's all the same,
isn't it?"
        Zack clapped his hands together. "Right, Mulder...you got it."
        "What?" Scully asked.
        "Mulder just solved the last piece of the puzzle."
        Scully looked towards her partner. "Huh?"
        "Scully...time, us moving through time at normal rates, as we
live our day...we move through different iterations of our own
universe. The choices we make, the decisions we perform, determine
which direction...which specific universe we occupy at any one time."
        "Close..." Zack whispered, and then Scully got it.
        "No, not what you said, Mulder...but I'm almost there."
        "You won't make it," Zack said. "Nothing personal, but you
just don't have the-"
        "Oh my god," Scully whispered again. "We're not aware of it,
are we?"
        Zack's grin widened. "I was wrong...you do understand."
        "What?" Mulder asked. Now he was lost again.
        "We don't move through different universes, Mulder. They move
through us."
        "Bingo!" Zack said, his expression so youthfully gleeful that
Scully felt herself returning his smile.
        "Don't you get it, Mulder? It's subatomic particle theory all
over again-- up and down quarks, the invisible gravometric glue that
holds everything together...what this box does is allow the user to
alter the forces at the sub-sub atomic level. By using the box, you
can move a universe to you...which has the effect on every one else in
that universe as if you've traveled through time, when in fact, it
was...distance. You moved an actual distance, on a temporal plane."
        "Fate?" Mulder asked.
        "Well, as much as the laws of Newtonian physics can apply to
something like fate...yes. You can move to a universe where a certain
set of circumstances has occurred. A place where Sam hasn't been
abducted, where we never met, where you never joined the FBI, where
I'm not..." Scully couldn't finish that particular thought.
        "What happens to me here?" Mulder wanted to know.
        "You mean...what happens to you in 'now'," Zack explained.
        "Yeah, I guess," Mulder said.
        "Depends," Zack explained.
        "Perception..." Scully whispered.
        "Right..." Zack said softly, encouraging her. "Go on...go with
it."
        "Depends on who sees you leave. Another version of you, from
another time-space, might occupy your place here, if..."
        Scully struggled with the theory, trying to find the words to
grasp something so fantastic. "...but your own perceptions would be
of...nothing. It would be real to you. You wouldn't know if you've
moved...it would almost be like a copy of you had...no, that's not
right..." She stopped.
        "I can't..." she whispered. "I can't get there from here."
        "Perhaps," Zack said after a moment, "a demonstration might be
in order."
        Mulder's head snapped around. "A demonstration? Of what?"
        "The box."

*****

        Less than a hundred yards away, in a wooded area that bordered
the rear of the "Edwards'" house, Scimitar lay, almost completely face
down, pointing a parabolic microphone at the house. The microphone was
a combination of laser range finder and acoustic decoupling
microphone. It could read the window's minute vibrations and translate
them into digital noise that was then interpreted by the smaller-
than-a-thumbnail microchip inside the acoustic decoupler, which gave
Scimitar a faint, but understandable earful of the conversation
currently going on inside the house.
        For this particular jaunt in the woods, Scimitar wore a Soviet
copy of a Finnish woodland-camouflage pattern. He had cammo grease
paint smeared into every crack and crevice of his face and head,
including his ear canals and nostrils. The laser parabolic microphone
was also carefully and equally camouflaged.
        The entire conversation was being recorded on a specially
modified Sony XBR-1 surveillance deck, which had a capacity of up to
twelve hours. Scimitar had been prepared to wait that long, and
longer, if necessary, to obtain the information he needed. But the
Tarses boy had been more then cooperative, eager to spill his guts and
share his soul with the two FBI agents.
        Briefly, Scimitar considered his mission. He searched for what
had once passed as his conscience for some sign of regret or
hesitation, and found none. A long time ago, he had been a Lieutenant
in the Saye'eret (reconnaissance) platoon of the Golani Brigade's elite
Egoz battalion. A Syrian artillery shell had changed that forever. His
face had taken several months to heal, the nearness of the explosion
almost tearing the skin completely away from his skull. His will to
survive, his desire to do all that must be done in the name of
preserving the State of Israel had been noticed by the right people,
first at the AMAN (Agaf Modiin,) which roughly translated to
"Intelligence Branch of the General Staff" of the Zahal, the Israeli
Defense Forces, and then later, the Mossad Letafkidim Meouychadiym,
(the Central Institute for Intelligence and Special Duties,)
commonly known as, simply, Mossad. He had been groomed,
taught, trained, tested, and sent into the field, first as a member of
the elite group of operators that had been charged with tracking down
and assassinating each and every Palestinian terrorist that had been
associated with the Black September raid on the Israeli athletes'
quarters during the 1972 Munich Olympics. Operation Kidon Hagideon
(Sword of the Destroyer) had gone off without a hitch, and every
single Palestinian terrorist had been eliminated. Then, later, as a
specialist for the LEKEM (Leshkat Kesher Madao,) or Bureau of Scientific
Relations, a sort of Israeli TECHINT (Technical Intelligence) branch of the
Mossad, his specialty had been patience, a skill he had learned those
long months undergoing surgery after surgery as the doctors struggled
to rebuild his face. His family had long since believed him dead,
since the day that Syrian shell at detonated on the Golan Heights.
        The Mossad knew the advantages to having a ghost operator, a man
inside the organization who didn't exist on any roster, who was listed as
Killed In Action. He had been given a new name, a new face, and a new
code assignment : Scimitar. The man had never looked back.
        The Tarses boy and the two American FBI agents were not a
direct threat to the security of Israel, Scimitar knew. But the
General Staff Directorate had made its wishes known. The operation
that Mossad was mounting to retrieve the box the Tarses boy had hidden
was massive and intricate, even by Mossad standards. The idea itself,
however, was simple. Scimitar had been fully briefed on the plan, and
he agreed with the concept with his entire heart, body and soul. He
would do everything in his ample power to make sure that he obtained
the box.
        Simply put, Israel was going to use The Box as a weapon. The
most effective weapon the enemies of Israel had ever seen. Agents of
the Zahal, in conjunction worth Mossad and LEKEM would use The Box to
travel back in time almost four thousand years. They would bring with
them the tools of war that had been developed in the twentieth
century, including tactical nuclear weapons. And then, once safely in
the past, the military and intelligence agents would permanently
remove all traces of any person or country that had ever been a threat
to Israel. Israel's safety would be assured for all time, and the
children of David would be able to exist peacefully in the land that
God had promised them.
        It was a simple plan on the surface, beautiful in its
directness. Scimitar knew he could not...would not fail. But he knew
that the Fates might conspire against him, those same fates that had
visited his grandfather and grandmother in Poland in 1941, the same
fates that had shepherded them both to Auswitcz, the final destination
of their lives. And so Mossad had given him a tool, a tool delivered
by Avi. It was known, simply, as an "Arrow," and it was the single
smallest tactical nuclear weapon ever invented, with a nominal yield
of a single kiloton. Detonated at the right place and the right time,
and Scimitar would never have to worry about the Box falling into the
hands of the enemies of Israel, because he knew that if it did, they
would not hesitate to do to Israel what Israel was planning to do to
them.

*******

        The National Reconnaissance Office, a spooky agency funded and
run out of the Pentagon, headquartered in a gorgeous, luxurious office
building just outside the gates of Dulles International Airport, was
responsible for maintaining the net of satellites that orbited the
Earth, providing ELINT (Electronic Intelligence,) SIGNIT (Signals
Intelligence) and COMINT (Communications Intelligence,) to the entire
military and intelligence community that started in the bowels of the
Pentagon and spread, ripple-like, through the alphabet-soup of
intelligence and law enforcement agencies that made up professional
Washington. Starting in the 1970's with their first BYEMAN program,
NRO currently had more than a dozen platforms aloft, including the new
KH-23 program, code named ROSE TRAWLER. There were only 4 KH-23 birds
aloft at the moment, three of them tasked to the joint CIA-Air Force
project that was responsible for keeping an eye on the hundreds of
nuclear warheads that had been left over from the dissolution of the
Soviet Union and its satellite states. The fourth, known in the
Satellite Program Control Station (SPCS) outside Sunnyvale,
California, as "Big Spooky" was detailed a separate, code-word
classified project for the Defense Intelligence Agency.
        Unknown anywhere outside a very, very small group of people
inside the DIA, Big Spooky had been sub-contracted out to yet-another
government agency, this one so highly classified that its name had never
appeared on a single Congressional budget request, internal memo,
inter-agency telex, fax, or in any classified or unclassified
governmental telephone directory. In the strictest sense of the word,
the small group of administrators and case agents simply did not
exist. Nominally, they drew their funding from a double-billed and
highly classified account inside the DARPA (Defense Advanced Research
Project Agency,) but they were neither headquartered within, or
responsible to, DARPA. Instead, a single DIA agent, double-dipping
with the CIA, was assigned to oversee operations.
        And she was headquartered in the CIA's complex in Langley,
Virginia. Big Spooky was her satellite, she felt, and with a single
call, she had it retasked from its current mission over the South
China Sea (where it had been using its still-classified technology to
peer down to a depth of almost a thousand feet to research oil
deposits,) so that it would hover in a geosynchronous orbit above the
northwestern United States. Big Spooky was her eye in the sky, and the
several hundred million dollar espionage platform was currently
occupied by pointing its TEAL OUTLAW infrared laser resolving
microphone (ILRM) directly at 22 Mon Bar Road, Pave Creek, Montana.
        In a hotel room in neighboring Justice Court, Montana, Walter
P. Starke sat  on the end of his bed, a pair of headphones clamped
over his ears as the STU-6 secure satellite communications link
replayed the entire conversation that Scimitar had just recorded.
Starke was also recording the conversation, on digital audio tape.
When he was satisfied that he had gathered all the intelligence that
he could, Starke planned to digitally compress the tape and forward the
entire conversation to his boss via a secure burst transmitter that
was included in his STU-6 package.
        His mission was to trail Zack, Mulder and Scully to the Box,
and to retrieve it, at all costs. He had been alerted via a DIA mole
in the Mossad (through the backchannel communications network that NSA
used in the AMEMB [American Embassy] in Tel Aviv,) and then via his
boss, that Scimitar was in town, and had planned on going hunting for
the same thing Starke himself was.
        Starke, however, was relying on incomplete information, for he
had no idea that Scimitar was carrying an Arrow.

*****
        Zack asked to use the bathroom, and Scully gave him directions
to the guest facilities on the second floor. There was a more than
capable powder room off the kitchen, but she wanted the extra time
with Mulder that sending Zack upstairs afforded her.
        "Well?" Mulder asked, scant seconds after the office door had
shut on Zack's retreating back. "What do you think?"
        "What do I think, or what do I know?" Scully asked.
        "Either. Both."
        "Well...if he's telling the truth, it's the single most
important scientific discovery of this or any other century. If it's
true, the future of the world has been placed squarely in the hands of
an angry, dissatisfied teenager. If it's true, it will change forever
the way physicists and every single world religion look at the concept
of human existence."
        Mulder was bouncing in his chair. "I know...isn't it cool?"
        Scully crossed her arms and leaned her back against the door.
"Mulder...have you heard a single word I've said?" Mulder turned his
attention back to his partner.
        "Scully..." he started, his face wearing that Don't-Be-A-
Spoilsport expression that she despised so much.
        "Don't 'Scully' me, Mulder. You <did> see "Independence Day,'
didn't you?"
        "Of course. We went together...So?"
        "Remember when I explained how Jeff Goldblum couldn't have
written a virus to infect that alien computer system? With a
Macintosh? What did you say when I explained that?"
        "Macintosh - The computer for the rest of the galaxy," Mulder
deadpanned.
        "Mulder, I'm serious."
        "So am I, Scully. What's your point?"
        "Zack was talking about...what did he call it? PEACH? Some new
computer language that he developed? Mulder, any program written in
any language can be written in any <other> language. Zack makes it
sound like he changed the laws of physics, the laws of computing,
logic and information theory. That just isn't possible. If a sixteen
year old, admittedly brilliant computer wonk can write his sniffer
program, than you can be sure the gronks at NSA have already written
one just as good, if not better."
        Mulder chewed on that for a minute. "If that's true, Scully,
and I'm not saying it is, why did they come after him? Why did they
put him on this project? Why did they hand the box to him?"
        Scully unfolded her arms, using them to shrug. "My point,
Mulder. You just made it -- there are holes in Zack's story big enough
to drive a Mack truck through. Assuming that what he says is true...
why didn't the NSA have him...interrogated when he hid the box?"
        "Good question," Mulder admitted, knowing what, exactly,
Scully meant by '...interrogated.' If the Box existed, and it did do
what Zack said it did, there was no governmental agency in the world
that would stop at anything to get their hands on it, including
torturing a sixteen year old boy. "Let's ask him when he gets back."
        Mulder retreated back into his own thoughts, but since he was
with Scully, he didn't make any effort to keep his emotions from his
face. As if reading the newspaper, Scully could see his feelings cross
his face. The disappointment at possibly losing yet another chance at
finding out where Samantha was, and what had happened to her, was
almost too much for the man to bear.
        Scully crossed the room quickly, holding out her hand to him.
"C'mere," she whispered, and he stood, opening his arms for her.
Stepping into his embrace, Scully buried her face against his chest,
trying to let her love, her deep caring for him transmit itself
through her arms, through her body, into his, where he could take and
cherish them, where he could draw power and strength from her.
        "I just thought of something," Mulder said softly.
        "What?"
        "If he's telling the truth...we're in a really bad place,
Scully."
        "What do you mean?"
        "Skinner doesn't know about it, for sure. There's no way he
would trust us with this. This is so far above our pay grades that I
don't think the Director of the FBI is qualified to handle it."
        "So?"
        "So that means, no matter what Stone tells us...we have to
treat everyone except you, me and Zack as a possible unfriendly."
        Scully smiled, feeling the comforting Mulder Paranoia wrapping
its arms around her. "So?"
        "So that means that even though Stone has told us that this
place is clean, no bugs, nothing -- we have to assume that this
conversation, that every conversation is being overheard, recorded,
disseminated and responded to. We could be under someone's microscope
even as we talk."

******
        "Shit!" Starke sighed. He was going to enjoy killing Mulder.
No one should be as paranoid as that man was. It made doing business
too fucking hard.

*****

        Scimitar frowned, for much the same reason that Starke had.
Mulder would have to be watched. For the first time in recent memory,
Scimitar was actually looking forward to emerging from the shadow world
he inhabited to meet an enemy on the field of battle. Mulder would
promise to be an interesting adversary, Scimitar thought.

*****

        "So what do we do?" Scully asked.
        "First, we have to get a secure call to Skinner to call out
the calvary. Or at least warm it up. Where's the nearest HRT to
Billings?" Scully thought a minute. "Probably Seattle. Or Denver."
        "Denver," Mulder thought. "The Seattle HRT is in Alaska
undergoing winter survival training. We have to get the Denver HRT team
warmed up...maybe even a military unit."
        Scully pulled back so quickly she almost snapped her neck.
"WHAT?"
        Mulder looked down at her. "What, what?"
        "Military? Fox William Mulder calling out the military to help
solve a problem?" She crossed her arms again, and then reached up with
the back of a hand to test the warmth of Mulder's forehead. "No
fever...so, who are you, and what have you done with my husband?"
        Mulder grinned for two reasons; first, the impish look on
Scully's face, and second, her casual, used-to-it description of him
as her husband.
        "Think about it, Scully...if what Zack says is true, the
military has to be watching this place. And if we call <out> the
military to help us with this, then they won't be able to make it
vanish. An official request from the FBI, from an Assistant Director,
for help recovering what may be an actual extraterrestrial artifact,
can't be buried. Too many people would know about it. Too many
witnesses."
        Scully nodded. "Unless they start making witnesses
disappearing."
        Mulder grimaced. "Wait here," he said, moving towards the
living room. He found what he was looking for in a small bag of
goodies that he had managed to sneak on the mission. Two little
presents from the Lone Gunmen. He took one out and looked at it
carefully; a small round circular disk, not much larger than a drink
coaster. Lifting the phone, he dialed from memory and placed the disk
on the mouthpiece.
        When the voice answered, Mulder began to speak. "Get a pen and
pencil. No names on this line. Call the following number and tell the
man at the other end that there is a code sixty-five with the Edwards
project. Get a callback number and a time. Take your birthday and add
the number eleven to the month, sixty one to the day and four hundred
to the year. Take the resultant number and add it to the callback
number. Post the result on alt.government.conspracies in one hour.
Make sure that it hits the mailing list. In two hours, use a canclebot
to get rid of the message." Mulder hung up before the voice could
answer or question him.

*****

FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Six minutes later

        Assistant Director Walter Skinner, Federal Bureau of
Investigation, did not hang his phone up. Instead, he reached over and
pushed the switchook down with a single finger. Releasing it, he heard
the dial tone and dialed the eleven numbers from memory.
        "Denver HRT duty line, Duty Officer," the answering voice
said.
        "This is Assistant Director Skinner," Skinner said. "Scramble
two teams immediately. Warm up the Lear jet. Your destination is
Billings, Montana. I want you off the ground in sixty minutes. You
will await further orders upon arrival."
        "Yes, sir," the voice said. Skinner disconnected and opened a
desk drawer, looking for a very special, and highly classified phone
directory. Running his finger down the columns of names and numbers,
he found what he was looking for and dialed.
        "JSOC HQ, Duty Officer speaking, sir."
        "This is Assistant Director Walter F. Skinner, Federal Bureau
of Investigation. I am placing plan HUBRIS into effect as of this
moment. Scramble the alert team. Your destination is Billings,
Montana. You have thirty minutes to be airborne."
        "Sir, what is your authentication code?" the voice asked.
        Skinner consulted the book open on the desk in front of him.
"I authenticate Zulu Bravo Oscar Six Six Eight."
        There was a moment. "I challenge you," the voice said.
"Challenge is Whisky Tango Echo."
        Skinner groaned. The man in Tampa was doing it by the book,
but there was precious little time to get this done and done right. "I
authenticate again: Charlie Romeo Sierra."
        There was another pause. "Very good, sir. THREATCON?"
        The man was asking what the THREAT CONdition was.
        "Charlie," Skinner said after a moment's pause to consider.
The Joint Special Operations Command had four different levels of
THREAT CONditions, ranging from Alpha through Bravo and Charlie, to
Delta. Charlie simply stated that information has been received, or an
incident has taken place, that indicates that a terrorist incident
had, or was about to take place. The HUBRIS plan was put in place so
that the Federal law enforcement apparatus could quickly respond with
military might when a terrorist incident took place within the borders
of the CONUS (Continental United States.) THREATCON Charlie would get
at least a SEAL Team scrambled and airborne.
        "Sir, will you notify NMCC?"
        "Through the Justice Department, yes."
        "Very good. We will scramble now and try to get operational
authority once airborne via the NCA." The National Command Authority
was the military's way of saying "The President of the United States,"
or in his absence, the Vice President, or the Secretary of Defense or
the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The NMCC, or the National
Military Command Center, was the Pentagon's "War Room," where all
military action was directed from.
        "Very well," Skinner said, and disconnected. He dialed a third
number. "This is Skinner. Warm the Lear up and get a chopper on the
roof in ten minutes." He disconnected and dialed a final number.
        "I need to speak to the Attorney General," he said.
----------------------------------------

End Chapter 25

End Note: What remains is mostly administrivia and mailing list
info. If you're on the list, and don't give a rat's patootie about
the technology and espionage means and methods that I describe herein,
please feel free to ignore the remainder altogether.

Technology Note : As Kai Nikulainen (knikulai@uti.fi) has pointed out,
some of the technology that I am describing probably cannot exist. To
put a finer point on it, my descriptions of computers (like Wuzzle,)
and methods that Zack used to alert the NSA to his presence are
probably best left in the realm of poetic exaggeration. In other words,
they don't exist, and could not exist, knowing what we know about the
laws of physics and how the computers of today's day and time are
constructed. My defense to this (which has resulted in rather lively
email exchanges,) is simplicity itself: We don't know what any 'alien'
culture might have invented, so the author is free to let his
imagination run wild, as it has most definitely (Bwahahahahaha)
here. Additionally, my descriptions of espionage means and methods, as
well as project names, places and dates, are part truth, part
conjecture, and part total fantasy. To me, it adds 'fabric' to the
quilt of the story, texture to the narrative, and can be skipped if
one isn't into that. It is up to the reader to determine where reality
ends and my creations begin. I am in the deep debt of several people,
most of whom prefer to remain anonymous. Portions of Scully's dialogue in
this chapter are lifted almost entirely and paraphrased from discussions
that Kai and I had, and I am in his debt for helping me give voice to the
ScullySkeptic that I so desperately needed in this chapter.

New, Improved Mailing List Info: (It was getting so long...)

a) Subscriptions: To subscribe to my mailing list for Snapshot and
   all future stories, send an email with the subject line as
   SUBSCRIBE and nothing in the body of the mail to drambo@primenet.com

   To unsub, send me an email to the above address and ask nicely.
   I haven't figured out how to automate the unsub feature yet.

b) Missing Chapters - If you are missing any of the previous
   chapters, please send an email to drambo@primenet.com with
   the SUBJECT line as REQUEST XX where XX is the chapter number.
   As in:

   TO:drambo@primenet.com
   FR:somebody@somewhere.com
   RE:REQUEST 01

   And so forth. This:

   RE:REQUEST 01-09      will get you chapters 1 and 9.
   RE:REQUEST 01,02,03   will get you nada, zip, zero zilch.
                         Commas? We don't need no stinkin' commas!

   To get the BAZ (Big-Ass ZIP) file for DOS/Windows/Unix users,
   send REQUEST 00 to drambo@primenet.com in the SUBJECT of the
   message.

   Mac users-- still outta luck. I do not have access to a Macintosh
   any longer. Is there anyone out there that would like to do me the
   favor of compressing all my chapters into one large Mac .SEA file
   so I can send it to people that ask? Thanks! :)

"Snapshot 26:Prowl & Growl"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Classification : MSR, X, A
Rating : R (Adult situations, gory violence)

Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best
of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that
hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's
population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story.
I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if
there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :)



Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------
Joint Special Operations Command
McDill Air Force Base, Florida

        The klaxon blared loudly in the confined squad bay. The
fourteen shooters that made up the Alert Platoon of SEAL Team Six
froze where they stood, leaned or lied and listened for the words that
they knew would soon be following from the loudspeaker.
        "Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!" the voice said. "Load out in
T-Minus thirty minutes! Mission Profile is Zulu-Five-Oscar!"
        And with that, the fourteen SEALs moved as a single integrated
unit. The Platoon XO, Lieutenant (jg) Walter "Muggs" Malone began
barking orders, but they were unnecessary for the most part. The
members of Juliet Platoon, SEAL Team Six had been training, living,
eating, sleeping and partying together for the past six months. All
their training had been focused towards a single mission:
Counterterrorism. Within minutes, each man was dressed in all-black
Battle Dress Uniforms (an oxymoron if ever there was one,) and had
already shrugged into their load-bearing ALICE suspenders and vests,
and had checked, double-checked and triple-checked every piece of
equipment. Those that had qualified with personal sidearms moved to
the small-arms locker at the end of the squad bay and retrieved them,
at the same time grabbing as many magazines of Black Talon +P
mankiller ammunition as they could carry. Magazines were slid home,
slides were racked, and the pistols were put on safety and slid into
ballistic nylon thigh holsters.
        Once the personal equipment and small-arms load-out had
completed, they moved to the long-arms locker at the other end of the
squad bay, each man drawing his assigned weapon. Two drew
stainless-steel Winchester assault shotguns with duckbill attachments.
Six drew Heckler & Koch MP5N-PDW 9mm assault weapons, the gun made
most famous by the "Die Hard" movie trilogy. Three drew Winchester
Model 700 sniper rifles, heavily modified by the JSOC Armorers,
complete with heavy-steel competition-grade barrels, combination
low-light and night-vision sniperscopes, and several boxes of
handloaded sniper-grade ammunition. A SEAL sniper could normally,
without stressing too much, put a single round through a target the
size of a quarter at over 500 yards. Three SEALs checked out Stoner
light machine guns, each carrying three 250-round box ammunition
magazines. After loading the various assault, sniper and room-clearing
weapons, the SEALs turned, en masse, and began trotting towards a pair
of GMC Tahoe SUV's. Each was equipped with more weapons, ammunition
and communications gear that could be used on any mission, anywhere in
the world.
        It had taken less than seven minutes from the moment Walter
Skinner had called the special JSOC number and ordered HUBRIS into
action until Juliet Platoon was ready to move.
        The MCPO (Master Chief Petty Officer) of Juliet Platoon took
the wheel of one, and the Executive Officer took the other. The
remaining twelve SEALs piled into the sport utility vehicles, six
inside each, and the trucks burned rubber as they turned and headed
towards the tarmac of Runway 1-N.
        An Air Force C5A GlobeTrotter III was waiting, engines already
turning, the rear loading ramp down as the SEALs drove up and in. The
GlobeTrotter's loadmaster, an Air Force Chief Master Sergeant, hit the
switch at the same time he toggled his intercom. "Go! Go! Go!" he
shouted. As the huge plane turned and began to taxi, the rear loading
ramp was closing tightly against the fuselage.
        "Air Force Serria Motel One requesting priority taxi and
takeoff on runway 1-November," the pilot said. The tower, already
expecting his call, had already diverted most military and civilian
traffic from McDill. Those that could not be diverted were executing
2-minute racetrack turns at altitude, giving the C5A a perfect
climb-out route, straight off the runway to 36,000 feet.
        The pilot advanced the throttles to maximum military power
and released the brakes as he turned off the active threshold onto the
runway, the huge cargo plane eating the tarmac as it gained speed and
then leapt into the air with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The
C5A was built for range and speed, not beauty. It would take less than
four hours to make the transcontinental flight to Billings, Montana.
        Once the plane had leveled out at its cruising altitude, the
green light went on in the cargo hold, and all fourteen SEALS released
their seatbelts and, to a man, released a deep breath that none of
them had been aware they were holding. They opened doors and exited
into the plane, moving to check all the prepackaged and propositioned
equipment that had been store in huge Conex containers. Everything
they would need, from HAHO (High-Altitude, High Opening) flat-sail
parachutes to Draeger bubbleless SCUBA rigs were contained in the
containers, along with enough secure communications equipment, weapons
and ammunition to wage the SEAL type of war for at least seventy-two
hours. They would need none of what was contained inside the Conex
containers for this mission, though.
        A Zulu-Five-Oscar mission profile was a simple E&E exercise.
Their mission was to locate the hostage, and do what some wag at JSOC
had coined a TRAFH: Tactical Recovery of Friendly Hostage. Once they
arrived in Billings, Juliet Platoon would transfer their gear to a
pair of RH-53D PAVE LOW Special Operations Capable (SOC) choppers.
Then they would await the Zulu-Five-Golf message, the "go" order from
the NCA (National Command Authority.) Once that order was given, and
the target was identified and isolated, Juliet Platoon would swoop in,
secure the perimeter, wax any bad guys, snatch the hostage, and be
gone, all seemingly in the time it took to blink your eyes.
        It was what they had trained for. It was what they had
prepared themselves for. But none of them had ever expected to deploy
inside CONUS (Continental United States, to you civilian types,).
Only after the Oklahoma City bombing at Congress very quietly added a
rider to an education funding bill that slightly modified the Posse
Comitatus laws to allow special operations forces of the United States
military to conduct what amounted to preemptive law enforcement
operations within the boundaries of the United States.
        And now Juliet Platoon was going to be the first unit to test
the new law. The fourteen shooting, looting, hopping, popping,
prowling and growling Navy SEALs couldn't wait to get the Five-Golf
order. To a man, they were hunters. And they hunted the most cunning,
most dangerous prey in the world:man.


---------------------------------------
Hostage Rescue Team (West) Headquarters
Denver, Colorado

        All across the city of Denver and its outlying suburbs, pagers
attached to the belts of FBI agents started to go off. The sixteen
members of the HRT (West) all glanced down at their Motorola
alphanumeric pagers and read the single line:
        HUBRIS.
        To a man, they all gasped. To a man, they all stopped what
they were doing at that exact moment, made excuses where necessary,
and jumped into Bureau cars. Red bubble lights appeared on roofs, and
fingers quickly dialed in sirens and electronic wonk-wonk air horns as
they sped through traffic towards the airport.
        At Denver International, a white and blue-striped GulfStream
II Executive Jet sat on the tarmac near a special entrance, its
engines already idling. The FBI Special Agent pilot, who was assigned
full-time to the airport, was also the HRT's number-two sniper. He was
checking his heavily modified rifle when the rest of the team members
began arriving, one after the other at about two minute intervals.
        It took less than twenty minutes for the entire team to
assemble. Car trunks were opened, and large ballistic nylon gym bags
were lugged aboard the GulfStream. The last man board closed the hatch
just as the pilot revved the engines and turned towards the runway.
        Sixty seconds later, November Alpha Nine Six Nine was airborne
and turning north. The pilot pushed the throttles to the firewall and
felt the powerful engines responding, engines that had only recently
been upgraded to increase the jet's maximum cruising speed.
        They were ninety minutes from Billings.


---------------------------------------------
Headquarters, Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC

        Walter Skinner pushed the door leading to the roof open and
stepped out, the rotor wash from the Bell JetRanger III whipping his
coat around his thighs. Ducking and running, Skinner headed towards
the chopper. The crew chief held the co-pilots' door open as Skinner
stepped inside, and then he, too, got aboard and slid the rear door
shut. The pilot pulled pitch, and two seconds later the turbine-powered
helicopter achieved transitional lift. As the rotors bit into the air,
the pilot brought the nose down, letting the chopper sort of slide off
the roof. Once there was nothing beneath him, the pilot nosed it over
even more steeply and dove, trading altitude for speed. Once he had
gotten the speed he needed, he brought the nose back up and pointed
the helicopter towards Dulles.
        Inside the cockpit, Skinner quickly donned a heavy pair of
earphones, his hands jerking the lip microphone to his mouth. He found
the intercom button and pressed it with his foot. "How long?" he
demanded.
        "Seven minutes. The Lear is on the ground, engines spooling.
Crew is prepped, flight plan is filed. After we touch down, you'll be
in the air in two minutes."
        Skinner nodded grimly and sat back, trying to ignore the
memories of Vietnam that kept threatening to break through his intense
concentration. It was definitely not time to play Memory Lane. His two
best agents, indeed, his two favorite agents (although he would never
let <them> know that,) were in a deep pile of shit right now, and his
place was with them, out in the field, facing down whatever was
threatening them, not behind a desk moving paper from the IN to the
OUT basket. He was going to catch hell when this all came down, even
if Mulder somehow managed to pull off a spectacular win out of this
one. He'd practically have to have Jimmy Hoffa alive and in person to
justify the hundreds of thousands of dollars of taxpayer money that
was financing this little jaunt into the country.
        Regardless of what his superiors thought, Skinner knew things
that they either did not, or would chose to ignore when the time came.
Fact number one was that he, Skinner, had gotten Scully and Mulder
into this particular mess, and he was going to be damned if he was
going to leave them twisting in the wind in Montana fighting with God
only knew what. Mulder had, through a cutout that Skinner knew he
would be unable to trace even if he tried, communicated that a code 65
was in progress. A 65 was just about one step short of a total Federal
emergency. It meant that vital National Security interests were at
stake, and that the compromise of aforementioned National Security
interests were imminent, with loss of life expected. All of the
60-series codes referred to that basic scenario. But the addition of
the second digit, the five, meant that there was a domestic terrorism
incident about to unfold, and that unless massive Justice Department
and military intervention were undertaken immediately, dire results
were predicted.
        Say what you will about Mulder, Skinner thought, but he had
never known the man to panic and call for the Calvary. Quite the
opposite, as a matter of fact. Mulder had the tendency to go off on
his own, ditching his own partner in pursuit of suspects of every
color and description, more often than not having some connection to
the shadowy conspiracy that fueled Mulder's nightmares and daydreams.
        Gritting his teeth, Skinner tried not to dwell on the fact
that he knew, for a fact, that Mulder was much closer to the truth
than he would ever imagine. He tried not to think about the
compromises that he had made over the years in pursuit of what he
considered a higher justice, a moral rightness that he would never be
able to articulate to himself completely, let alone Mulder. He knew
things, knew people, knew of events and missions and operations that
would turn Mulder's blood cold, and he was powerless to do anything
about it. There were larger issues at stake, things bigger than Mulder
and his quest for Samantha.
        "We're about thirty seconds from touchdown," the pilot
announced over the intercom, his voice distant and tinny over the roar
of the engine. Skinner just nodded, his thoughts elsewhere.
        Mulder...what have you gotten your ass into this time?

------------------------
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        "Ok," Mulder said. "That's taken care of. Knowing Skinner,
he'll probably call out the Marines, the Navy, the Air Force and the
entire Army to help us. That should take care of any military
watchers."
        "I just had a thought," Scully said.
        "What?"
        "What about...others?"
        "Other whats?"
        "Well, we're being paranoid enough to admit that the military
might be watching us. But what about the intelligence services? What
about foreign agents? Our intelligence community isn't exactly known
for being able to keep secrets."
        Mulder stroked his chin. "Who do you think is out there,
Scully?"
        "Who knows, Mulder? But I think it's something we should be
aware of. I know it's a phrase you're quite fond of, honey, but it's
never been more true: We are not alone."

*****
        Starke's head shot up at Scully's words. He had never thought
much about the idea of foreign penetration, but the bitch had a point.
If OPSEC had been broken on this deal, he himself could walk into the
trap he was trying to set for Mulder. Scimitar was in town. He was not
one to be fucked with, Starke knew. His reputation was global in the
intelligence community. No one fucked with Scimitar. Well, there was one
way to fix that. As much as Starke would have loved killing Mulder up
close and personally, there was a time to cut your losses, drop back
fifteen yards and punt. His orders were clear and explicit. Under no
circumstances was Starke to allow The Box to fall into FBI hands, or
anybody else's hands for that matter. His sanctioning order, the one
he had been shown, was signed by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff himself. He had absolute authority to be a heartbreaker and a
lifetaker on this mission.
        The competition-tuned Remington Model 70 would see to that,
Starke thought. At one time, he had been assigned to Special Forces
Operational Detachment-Delta, commonly known as Delta Force. And no
one, not even the Secret Service, had better snipers than Delta.
        And Starke had been the best. He moved quickly. He'd already
dressed in BDUs, a modification of the tiger-stripe pattern favored by
the Navy SEALs. He closed his eyes, imagining the scene at the
Mulder's house.
        The rifle was in his arms, his cheek pressed against the stock,
his off-hand cupping the forestock, his eye sighting through the 10x
Zeiss scope. The crosshairs were planted squarely on the front door of
22 Mon Bar Road. The moment Mulder stepped outside, Starke was going
to send a full-metal-jacketed .223 round crashing through the bridge
of his nose.
        Grinning, Starke moved towards the door.

--------------------------------------
Aboard LearJet II, Tail Number NA11544
Somewhere above Ohio

        Skinner opened his briefcase and removed a slim device that
looked very much like a standard cellular phone. It was that, in a
way, but it was so much more. A secure, scrambled and encrypted
telephone, it was about to prove very useful indeed.
        Skinner dialed the number from memory.
        "Hello?"
        "Call off your dogs," Skinner growled.
        "Walter? Is that you?"
        "You know who this is. Did you hear what I said? I want you to
call of your dogs. Starke? Is that the asshole's name?"
        "I have so many assholes working for me, my dear. I can't be
expected to remember all their names."
        "Bullshit," Skinner said. "Listen close and listen good. We've
had a mutually beneficial relationship for a while now. If you do
anything, and I do mean any-thing untoward regarding Agents Scully,
Mulder or the Tarses boy, I >will< go public."
        The laughter at the other end of the phone only served to make
Skinner angrier still. "Listen to me-" he started.
        "You will do nothing of the -" she started to say, her regal,
triumphant tone more than Skinner could stand.
        "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he screamed. He saw one of the pilots turn
and look back towards him. Skinner pasted what he hoped looked like a
smile on his face and turned his attention back to the phone. His
voice was quiet, deadly, with an edge of steel to it that he hadn't
heard in a long time.
        "You listen to me. I know more about you and your...
operations than you give me credit for. I know all about Tel Aviv. I
know all about Vladovistock. I know all about Thailand, Tokyo, and
most especially St. Thomas. Are you reading me? I have it all. Files.
Pictures. Dates, times, recordings of phone conversations. I have more
dirt on you than you can imagine. One hair on their heads, and its
public."
        He let his words sink in for a few moments, cupping the
phone's mouthpiece in his hand as he took deep, calming breaths.
        "Walter..." the voice started. "You know what will happen if
this becomes public...not those things you mentioned...but what the
Tarses boy is hiding from me! He's taken what's rightfully mine!"
        Skinner had no idea what the woman was talking about. He
wasn't about to let her know that, of course, so he fell back on an
old interrogator's trick.
        He said nothing.
        And as expected, as panicked as she was, she rushed to fill
the sudden void with sound, with noise, with her own words. "Walter,
think about it! Think what would happen if the first genuine artifact
from an alien intelligence were to be revealed to the world!"
        Skinner felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. H-o-l-y shit.
Mulder had finally done it. He had finally found proof of life beyond
the stars.
        "Walter...you can't threaten me! Not now! We're so close to
getting what we want...what we need. What we must have."
        Again, he said nothing. Skinner kept playing out the rope,
giving her enough slack to hang herself. "Do you have any idea what's
on the other side? I need it back, Walter. I still have two agents on
the other side. One of them is on a world where they've discovered a
cure for AIDS, Walter! Think of it!"
        "I'm listening," he said, the mental image of a noose and
gallows tripping across his mind.
        And then she did what he knew she would; she revealed her true
colors. "Think of the money, Walter! The person that brings a cure for
AIDS to this world will never have to want for anything! Think of the
power you could wield! And it doesn't stop there. I sent an agent back
to another vortex, just before that damn Tarses boy stole what's mine,
what <belongs> to me. He found a world...oh, Walter...a world where
there is no energy shortage. A world where they have perfected cold
fusion. Unlimited energy. Think of what the oil conglomerates would
<pay> to keep that technology secret!"
        Skinner said nothing. Closing his eyes, he leaned back,
running his fingers under the lenses of his glasses, gently massaging
his eyes. How in the hell had he gotten involved with this woman? He
tried to remember the twists and turns his career had taken, the
Machevellian route his life had gone down...all leading to this
moment.
        Put up or shut up.
        "Walter," she said, slowly, carefully. "If you go public with
this, you'll be ruined. All our plans...all we've worked for will be
lost! All for naught!"
        "I have no choice," Skinner said.
        "OH, GO TO HELL!" she screamed.
        "You first," Skinner whispered. He punched the END button and
tossed the secure cellphone back into his briefcase.

--------------------
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        Zack returned from the bathroom and let himself into the
office. Scully was once again seated behind the desk, idly doodling on
her legal pad. Mulder was in his seat, slowly rubbing his hands back
and forth on his thighs, staring off into the middle distance.
        "Well..." Zack said. "Do you want to see it?"
        Scully nodded. "Of course," she said briskly. "Where is it?"
        Zack looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Listen very
carefully, Agent Scully...I have no intention of telling you in this
room where the box is hidden. I tell you that, and I would half expect
this house to blow up. I have no idea who's listening to this
conversation. Meet me tonight, in the woods behind my house. Midnight.
Bring a pair of flashlights...and about ten feet of clothesline."
        Zack stood and moved to leave.
        "Wait!" Scully called. "Zack...aren't you...scared that
someone will try and take...you?"
        Zack nodded. "Of course. But they won't. They don't know where
the box is. If they kill me, they'll never get it. And they can't
afford that."
        "They have ways..." Mulder started.
        "Of making me talk?" Zack, the sixteen-year-old going on
forty, chortled. "Agent Mulder, I've already been through four
separate rounds of chemical interrogation. They got nothing from me.
Not even a hint. Don't worry about my resolve. I'd worry about your
own if I were you." And with that, Zack turned once again to leave.
        "What did you mean by that?" Mulder asked, an edge creeping
into his voice.
        Zack stopped at the door, one hand already on the knob. He
spoke over his shoulder, slowly, softly. "Sometimes...the chase is
better. Remember the proverb, Mulder. Be careful what you wish for..."
        "I just might get it..." Mulder finished.
        "Exactly, Mulder. You've been looking for so long, what are
you going to do when you find the truth? The search will be over.
Where will you go? What will you do?"
        Well, Mulder thought. I know one thing for sure. In about
eight months and change, I'm going to be a father. That thought, which
had only recently begun to worm its' way though Mulder's mind on a
daily basis, did not bring the warmth to his heart that it usually
did.
        Zack turned and spoke to the door, though his words were
directed at the partners. "I'll understand if you're not there
tonight. I'm not sure I would be if I had a choice."
        "We'll be there," Scully promised. Zack nodded to no one in
particular and left the duo sitting across the huge desk from each
other. Scully and Mulder heard the front door clicking closed behind
him as Zack left.

--------------------------------------
Aboard LearJet II, Tail Number NA11544
Somewhere above South Dakota

        The phone rang. Startled, Skinner looked at it for three full
rings before leaning forward and grasping it. He punched SEND and lifted
it to his ear.
        "You son of a BITCH!" she screamed. "I just got an email that
JSOC scrambled a SEAL team out of McDill! The Denver HRT is on alert
and is enroute to Billings. You stupid, fucking-"
        Sneering, Skinner punched END and threw the phone at his
briefcase.

--------------------
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        "Any luck?" Scully was standing at the kitchen counter,
forking the light-colored tuna fish apart in preparation for adding
the mayo. Mulder was pacing in front of the table, the cordless phone
planted firmly against his ear.
        "I keep getting the out of range message. He must be
airborne."
        "The calvary's on its way, Mulder. What are you going to tell
Skinner when he lands?"
        "I don't know," he admitted. "But knowing Skinner, if I do
tell him what we know...or what we suspect, anyway, he's gonna have
the HRT storm Zack's house and take the kid, kicking and screaming."
        Scully nodded, knowing that even if Mulder wasn't looking
directly at her as she did, he would sense it.
        Somehow.
        "Well, nothing we can do about it until he lands," Scully
said. "Let's have lunch and try and figure out what we're going to do.
How's that sound?"
        Mulder smiled at the soft, even tone of Scully's voice. He
knew what she was doing, and he loved her for it. Loved her more and
more every day, if that was at all possible. Scully knew that he was
getting close to the breaking point. He had never been this close to
discovering the truth about Samantha. He glanced at his watch. It was
eleven-thirty. Twelve and a half hours, and he would be on his way to
knowing, finally, the truth.
        He walked over to where she was standing, his hands gently
resting on her shoulders. Suddenly, he wished she was several inches
taller, if only so he could do what she loved to do to him: Thread his
arms around her waist and bury his face in her back. He was instantly
ashamed at the thought; Scully was perfect just the way she was.
Short, fiery, intelligent to the point of being scary, and probably
the sexiest woman he had ever known in his life. AND, he added
silently, she's carrying my child.
        Our child, he mentally corrected himself.
        Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on the back of her neck,
tickling the fine red hairs. Scully moaned, lifting her head slightly.
"I'll give you two hours to stop that," she groaned. Mulder chuckled
in her ear, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers running down her
back.
        "Sorry, Scully...I can't say that I'm quite 'in the mood'
right now."
        She nodded. "Me either. But...you never know. Maybe tonight,
before we leave..." She left the thought hanging in the air. She'd
said it for two reasons...first, because she did actually want to be
next to Mulder sometime today, next to him in a way that they hadn't
been since their first night in the huge house. Now that she had
gotten a taste of their lovemaking, the incredible, combustible
passion they were capable of generating, she felt herself developing a
taste for it, a hunger...a craving that she had never suspected would
ever dwell inside her.
        Face it, Dana, she thought. You're hot for his bod. She
smiled, and then thought about the <other> reason she had uttered
those words. If Mulder thought he was going out to meet Zack by
himself tonight, he was sorely mistaken.
        And just as she knew he would, Mulder took the bait.
        "Um...listen," he said, his fingers tightening on her
shoulders. "I was thinking..."
        "Forget it, Mulder. I'll be there with bells on."
        She heard him sigh, defeat evident in the way his body
suddenly drooped. But he knew she was right.
        "Lunch is ready," she announced.

----------------------------------------
Behind 18 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        Starke made his way into the woods as quickly as he could. He
wanted to be in position for when Mulder left the house. He was going
to enjoy shooting the bastard.
        He found a place to roost and set about making his nest. It
took less than ten minutes. While Mulder and Scully were munching on
tuna fish sandwiches six hundred yards away, Starke was preparing to
kill them.
        He was finally getting into position when he felt his pocket
vibrate. It was the secure cellular, configured to ring silently just
like a pager, and just for times like this. He knew who was on the
other end of the phone and, for a moment, he considered not answering.
But he also knew that the ROSE TRAWLER satellite orbiting above his
head would be able to mark his position just be the frequency-hopping
nature of the secure cellphone, a signature as unique as a
fingerprint.
        "What?" he growled.
        "Abort. Pull out. Retreat. Get lost. Go back to the hotel and
await further orders," she said.
        "But-"
        "Starke, don't give me a word of shit, do you hear me? I've
had a really bad day."
        He couldn't resist. Nastily, he asked, "That time of the
month?"
        There was a <very> long silence. "I'll forget you said that,
Starke. Say something like that to me again, and I'll send you to that
world where the lava runs like oceans. Remember that one?"
        Starke grunted. "We gotta get the fucking thing back first, ya
know."
        "Yes," she agreed, "I know. But you are not to take Mulder or
Scully or that little asshole out. You are to pull back and observe.
You have new mission orders. The instant, and I mean the exact fucking
second you know where that box is, I want you to call me. I'll decide
from there what to do."
        Starke had a question he'd wanted answered for a while now.
"What do I do if I run into Scimitar?"
        "Who?"
        "The Israeli."
        There was another pause. "Kill him."
        Starke's eyebrows went up. She knew the risks they were <both>
taking with that order. If he managed to kill Scimitar, his stock in
the underground, shadowy world of covert intelligence would go up very
much indeed. He would be the new Bad Boy on the Block. The only
problem was, others had gone up against Scimitar...and lost. Sixteen,
as far as Starke was able to piece together. And so far, the score was
Scimitar 16, everyone else a big fat donut hole.
        "Starke, you're supposed to be one of the best snipers in the
world. Whack the sonofabitch, will you for Christ's sake? I mean, if
you can't handle it, maybe I should get someone else. Maybe Bob Lee
Swagger."
        Starke chortled. "I doubt he's available, ma'am. The last I
heard of him, he was retired, living in Arizona, married to his
spotter's widow."
        The woman on the other end of the phone let out an annoyed
sigh. "Listen...if you run into Scimitar, kill him. And then get rid
of the body. Don't kill Mulder or Scully or the boy. Find the box.
Call me. Have I left anything out?"
        Starke didn't say a word.
        "Fine. You have your orders." And then she was gone.
        Swearing a blue streak, using combinations of four and twelve
letter words that would have made a Marine Gunnery Sergeant blush,
Starke settled into position to wait for Scully and Mulder to emerge
from the house.

*****

        Scimitar's rifle was pointed at the rear of the "Edwards'"
house. He was positioned at an angle, and with a slight movement of
his barrel to the right, he could make out Starke. Scimitar grunted
silently to himself. Starke was known in the world that Scimitar
inhabited, but not for the reasons that Starke might have thought. He
was known as a blowhard, a loudmouth operator, a knuckle-dragging
ex-Delta trooper who liked to brag about how good he was.
        And Scimitar had picked him out in the woods practically the
second the man had entered them. He moved through the foliage like a
cow on ice skates. Scimitar had no real desire to kill Starke. But, if
the rogue DIA agent did try to interfere with Scimitar's mission, he
would go down. Of this, the Israeli had no doubt.
        Unlike Starke, Scimitar was not on a global-reaching
electronic leash. His orders, specific as they were, faxed over a
secure line from Tel Aviv, were just as explicit and direct as
Starke's had been until a few moments ago. Israel had a mission to
carry out. They had history to change. They had 20 million murders to
avenge.
        And Scimitar was their avenging angel. He'd already
volunteered for the trip back through time to set the device or
devices. He'd already made peace with his God, and looked forward to
the chance to rid the planet of his enemies.
        With a smile on his face, and a song in his heart, Scimitar
hugged the cold, hard ground and waited for what was to come next.
----------------------------
End Chapter 26

New, Improved Mailing List Info: (It was getting so long...)

a) Subscriptions: To subscribe to my mailing list for Snapshot and
   all future stories, send an email with the subject line as
   SUBSCRIBE and nothing in the body of the mail to drambo@primenet.com

   To unsub, send me an email to the above address and ask nicely.
   I haven't figured out how to automate the unsub feature yet.

b) Missing Chapters - If you are missing any of the previous
   chapters, please send an email to drambo@primenet.com with
   the SUBJECT line as REQUEST XX where XX is the chapter number.
   As in:

   TO:drambo@primenet.com
   FR:somebody@somewhere.com
   RE:REQUEST 01

   And so forth. This:

   RE:REQUEST 01-09      will get you chapters 1 and 9.
   RE:REQUEST 01,02,03   will get you nada, zip, zero zilch.
                         Commas? We don't need no stinkin' commas!

   To get the BAZ (Big-Ass ZIP) file for DOS/Windows/Unix users,
   send REQUEST 00 to drambo@primenet.com in the SUBJECT of the
   message.

   Mac users-- still outta luck. I do not have access to a Macintosh
   any longer. Is there anyone out there that would like to do me the
   favor of compressing all my chapters into one large Mac .SEA file
   so I can send it to people that ask? Thanks! :)
"Snapshot 27:Musings of a Dishwashing Pair"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Classification : MSR,A
Rating : PG

Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        Lunch was finished, and they were doing the dishes. They stood
at the sink in companionable silence, she washing, he drying. Normally
so focused, the thoughts running through both of their minds were a
composite of memories, predictions and assumptions about what was to
come that night. Mulder wasn't sure how he felt about possibly
learning the truth about Sam once and for all. If he had been asked a
week ago the question before him that afternoon, he wouldn't have been
able to give a definitive answer. The end of his Quest was a daunting,
imposing thought under any circumstances. Had the situation...things
between Scully and he not changed, Mulder was not sure what would
have come next once the truth had been learned.
        But with the pregnancy, everything had changed. For the
better, to be sure, but still changed nonetheless. Now, if his Quest
ended, Mulder knew that he had something to look forward to, something
he could cherish and protect, just as he had the memory of his sister.
He let his mind drift, allowing himself to think about life with
Scully and the baby. They would have to get married, he knew. As
old-fashioned as it sounded, Mulder wanted to give a name to the
child. His child.
        He studied Scully out of the corner of his eye, watching her
move. He noticed her hands, the way they gripped the dishes and
utensils, the way they moved with a grace of action and a surety of
touch. He remembered the way her hands felt on him, on his body, when
they were together, behind the closed bedroom door as it were, when he
was losing himself in her beauty, in her sensuality...in her. He felt
a small laugh bubbling up inside him and stifled it; as close as they
were, as attuned to each other as they seemed to be, even the
slightest change in body language would telegraph his feelings, the
fact that he found something funny. And knowing Scully the way he did,
she would prod and prompt him until he came clean and told her what he
had been thinking that was 'so funny.' This was something private,
these musings, he thought. Something that I will share with her, but
at another time, another place, when the world doesn't seem to be
spinning so crazily out of control.
        He let his mind drift back to the fateful day in his office
when he had first put his hands on her. Oh, to be sure, it was not the
first time he had put his hands on Scully, not by a long shot. But it
was the first time he had given into his secret demons and put his
hands on her...with intent, as the cops say. Assualt...with intent.
Possession...with intent.
        Touching...with intent.
        And she had sensed it. She had known that somehow, this time
it was different, that this time his naked, screaming need was obvious
and undeniable. He remembered her words, about how it was not the
time, how it was something she had thought about, and how that had so
completely and utterly surprised him. The fact that she, Dana Scully,
had thought about...it. About him. About her. About she and he and
them and us. There were so many...implications to that thought, that
statement. For Scully to have revealed that so easily, so openly,
looking at him the way she had that afternoon. Inevitable? There was
that flavor to it all, that quality...that taste to some of what had
happened next.
        He tried to remember the first time he'd been aware of her as
a woman. Not as a female, he reminded himself...as a woman. An
attractive, mature, intelligent, sexy woman that had caught his
attention and held it, the way a young boy traps a firefly in a glass
jar, the better to study it with awe. Oh, and how she had caught his
attention! The partnership had been growing, an almost organic entity,
practically since day one. The Tooms case had been the first time he
had sensed it overtly, and after that it had just grown and fed on
itself, becoming something real and tangible, something tactile,
something you could almost reach out and touch. The connection, that
amazing silent bond that had left supervisors and co-workers open-
mouthed from Washington to Langley to the four corners of the compass
and back.
        He marveled at the way he could sense her emotions, how he
could almost read her thoughts, and she his. How they could
communicate an entire paragraph's worth of thought without actually
speaking a word. He had thought about these things before, he
admitted, but never with the same undertone, the same promise for the
future as he did so now.
        The future. God, before, that word had no meaning. There was
only the present, and to a huge degree...the past. What had happened
had effected every single facet of his life until the moment Dana
Scully had walked into his life, and subsequently into his heart. He
had not trusted her...but he had, yet, somehow. He struggled with the
concept, trying to wrap his formidable mind around it, trying to
quantify and qualify it for himself, so he would finally be able to
put it into words if asked.
        It was not she that he distrusted, but rather what she had
stood for. The partnership foisted upon him by management, a pair of
eyes to tag along on his cases and report back. His cases. When had
they come 'their' cases? He could not pinpoint the moment, the case,
the week or the month when it had occurred. Before, it had been him
against Them, and if she wasn't one of Them, she certainly wasn't one
of me. And then, somehow, at some point during those first early
months, she <had> become one of him, and he had become Us, and then it
was Us against Them.
        He thought back to the times they had shared. The good and the
bad. Staring at each other from the countless hospital beds. Nights
spend in thousands of motel rooms across the country, going over the
latest case, fighting over the movie on the tube, all those little
moments that had spun together into the tapestry of what they had
become to each other. Friends. Partners. Lovers. And soon, spouses and
parents. He felt the smile and let it happen.

                                      *****

        Scully reached for the fork she had used to separate the tuna,
running her fingers over the tines, using the soapy water to wash it
clean. Her thoughts, too, were far away. How long had she known,
suspected? How many times had his touch invaded her space, his breath
tickling her ear? How many times had he looked at her in that special
way he seemed to reserve just for her, those eyes focusing on her in
such a way that she'd silently chided herself for feeling and acting
like a crush-fueled schoolgirl.
        Had it been a crush?
        Well, some of it had been. Let's be honest. Fox Mulder was a
legend at the Bureau, for both the right and the wrong reasons. For
one group of people, a group that was careful to keep their opinions
quietly to themselves, Mulder had been the most successful violent
crimes profiler the BSU had ever seen. His intuitive leaps of logic
and deduction were now legend, told and expanded again and again to
the new recruits, until it was assumed that he kept a crystal ball in
a filing cabinet in his office. To another group, a group that had
learned to hold a jealous grudge, he was a flake, a longer, an
introvert...he was different in a place where conformity to the norm
was held in a higher light than individualism, intuition or creative
thinking.
        So, sure...at first, there was the crush part of it, in the
sense that she had been thrilled to watch his mind work, even though
it had taken her own mind in directions it hadn't been prepared to go.
There had been the thrill of working with "the" Fox "Spooky" Mulder.
There was a certain prestige that went along with the assignment.
Some thought that she had been partnered with him because she had been
deemed his equal. Some thought because she had been fast-tracked to
Assistant Director, and was proving her administrative mettle by
reigning in the bad boy of headquarters. Both parties were surprised,
outraged, angered...and in some cases even hurt when they discovered
that none of their assumptions had been correct.
        But then it had changed. Something had begun to happen between
them, something they had left unspoken for so long that it become and
almost physical ache in the center of both their bodies. They had each
become an emotional narcotic for the other, something craved for,
something needed and hungered for, something that defied description
or analysis.
        And somewhere along the line, that need had shifted from
emotional to physical. In the last weeks and months before they had
become lovers, they had both felt it. They needed to be with each
other, to be in the same room, occupying the same space, breathing the
same air, in order to be complete.
        She remembered those times during the years when she had been
so angry at him she could barely manage to speak. Times when she had
been so scared that she was almost unable to think, to function. Times
when she had been so glad to see him that it had taken all of her
restraint not to throw her arms around him and...
        Ruin both their careers.
        The first law of Bureau politics after the place had gone
co-ed: Thou shall <NOT> sleep with thy partner, for verily, it will
cause plague and pestilence to descend from the Heavens, otherwise
known as the Seventh floor. And fer Cripes' sake, if you did sleep
with your partner, don't get pregnant!
        And they had done both.
        There had been other chances, other opportunities, she knew.
Times when she could have gone to him in the night, could have snuck
through the connecting door and slid into his bed, snuggling her nude
body (whenever she imagined...ok, ok...fantasized about it, she was
always nude...) against his, and let nature taken its course. But that
would have ruined their careers, and ruined their lives.
        So she had not, even though, at times, the desire had been
almost too much to resist.
        Desire...the body's need for physical contact, the spirit's
need to connect with another human being in that way that we seemed to
have mastered. She remembered the words of Mark Twain: "Man is the
only animal that blushes...or has need to." She felt a blush actually
starting at the remembrance of all the times she had blushed in the
past thinking about Mulder.
        Towards the end, towards that point where one relationship had
ended for all time, and another had taken its place, Scully had been
thinking about Mulder on an almost nightly basis. It had started
slowly, almost imperceptibly, until she was focusing a lot of time and
attention on making those thoughts go away, so much time and energy
and effort that she knew what would happen next. As her conscious mind
fought against the rising tide of attraction, need and desire, they
resurfaced at a time and place where she had no defenses, where her
imagination was set free to run the gamut from start to end: her
dreams.
        Oh, the dreams! Erotic and fanciful, dynamic and engrossing.
Fantasies she had thought were long buried and forgotten were
resurrected during the witching hours of the night. How many times had
she woken clutching a pillow against her breast? How many times had
she woken during the night, the sheet plastered against her sweaty
skin, skin to sensitive that the lightest, most gentle touch had taken
her completely over the edge? She had not remembered all of the
dreams, but on more than one occasion, as she had touched herself
softly, gently, just to make sure...how many times had she bit the
pillow and screamed her partner's name as the waves of pleasure had
raced through her body?
        She felt a smile warming her face and let it happen.

                                      *****

        They stood and watched the water draining. At last, the sink
was empty. The air between them was crackling with electricity,
tension, desire...hunger. Without a word, Mulder reached out and took
her hand, leading Scully out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the
hall, and into the master bedroom.
        He sat on the end of the bed, she standing between his spread
legs. His hands made quick work of the buttons on her blouse, using
his fingers to skim it off her, letting it fall at her feet. Quickly,
yet slowly, efficiently, yet hungrily, they stripped and moved towards
the center of the bed, moving together as one, becoming one.

                                      *****

        Behind the house, Scimitar grunted. He had heard every sound
during their lovemaking, and the sound had meant nothing to him. He
couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a woman. There had been
a woman...once, who had meant as much to him as the woman in the
house obviously did to the man. He had forgotten her name, though. He
remembered her face, sometimes, in his dreams.
        As he sat there, waiting, Scimitar struggled to remember her
name.
        Sarah.
        Her name had been Sarah. Pretty, with dark hair and dark, full
eyes, eyes that had looked at the young Israeli officer with love and
adoration. In the dim recesses of his memory, Scimitar recalled that
someone at Mossad had told him, after a discreet inquiry, that she had
mourned his death for two years and then taken another husband, and
had given him children, as a good wife should. He remembered feeling
nothing upon hearing the news, and being surprised at his lack of
emotion, and then saddened at it all.
        Love was for other people, Scimitar felt.
        All he knew was hate.

                                      *****

        Starke was grinning. The passive listening devices that Stone
had planted in the house were working perfectly. Undetectable by
anyone except the NSA, the pinpoint-size microphones were giving him a
blow-by-blow update of the goings-on inside the bedroom at 22 Mon Bar
Road.
        God, she was a tiger, he thought.

                                      *****

        Spent, they lay together, bodies snuggled warmly. Mulder's
head was nestled against her throat, his breath soft and warm on her
neck. Idly, Scully ran her fingers through his hair.
        She sighed.
        "What?"
        "What, what?"
        "What were you sighing about?"
        She laughed softly. "It's nothing."
        "It's something. Give."
        "Well..." she hesitated. "Don't think me evil..."
        That caught his attention. He rolled away from her, propping
his head up with a hand. "Now I'm interested."
        "Well...it's just that...I'm going to miss being a newlywed."
        Mulder grinned. "The assignment isn't over yet, Scully." She
frowned.
        "That's not what I meant."
        Mulder arched an eyebrow.
        "It's just...well, with the baby and all...even if we get
married for real the day this assignment does end, we won't have the
time that most couples get before we'll be parents."
        "We've had four years to learn each other's bad habits,
Scully. You know I'm a slob. I know you're an anal-compulsive neat
freak." She punched him on the arm, none too gently.
        "Ow!"
        "You deserved it." Sulking, he rubbed his arm. "Anyway, just
because we have a baby doesn't mean we won't have any private time
together. There's your mother...I'm sure she won't mind baby-sitting
from time to time."
        "Yeah...I suppose..."
        Mulder grinned. "I'll make you a promise right now. Six months
after Junior is born, we'll take a honeymoon. Anywhere you want to go,
just you and me. Deal?"
        "Not San Diego?"
        "Or Montana," Mulder added.

*****

        At the mention of a baby, Starke's head rose, as did Scimitar's.
That was a very valuable piece of information, and both intelligence
operatives knew it.

*****

        "Deal," Scully said, closing her eyes. "Let's take a nap. We
still have a while before we have to meet Zack."
        Mulder nodded, too sleepy to care.

*****
Federal Aviation Administration
Billings Air Traffic Control Center (BATCC)


        Charles Watkins ("Chuck" to his friends,) stared at the
computer printout on his console and wondered what the hell was going
on. He had a military C5A on priority approach at twenty miles, an FBI
Lear out of Denver at thirty miles, also on a priority approach, and
another FBI Lear at a hundred miles, on an even higher priority
approach. All three wanted to land forthwith.
        He also had several dozen commercial jets transiting the area,
all of them wanting clearances to climb to cruising altitude, or
hand-offs to other ATC centers, or just plain descend-and-turn
instructions for landing at BMA.
        Well, they give these planes a priority for a reason, he
thought.
        "Continental six one seven, begin two minute turn at your
present altitude until further notice. We have priority traffic
transiting the area."
        Switching frequencies quickly, hopping up and down the dial,
Chuck quickly racked, stacked and packed his planes.
        "Delta four seven seven, begin two minute turns..."
        "American four four four, begin two minute turns..."
        Within four minutes he had finished. Finally switching to the
GUARD frequency that all aircraft were required to carry, he addressed
the C5A.
        "Billings ATC to Air Force C5A on GUARD, you are cleared for
immediate descent into BMA. I am handing you off to BMA approach at
this time. Please inform tower on final."
        "Roger that," the C5A pilot replied. "Thank you for
expediting, Billings ATC. Much appreciated."
        "Roger that," Chuck said, already moving to switch frequencies
again. "USG Lear November Golf one six seven four, you are cleared as
number two for approach after the C5A. Please watch for turbulence and
jet wash. You are cleared to descend to angels eleven and turn right to
heading zero two zero for approach to runway 1 November. Please
contact BMA approach on tower squawk one six six point eight."
        "Roger that," the pilot of the Denver HRT Lear replied, and
was gone.
        Sighing, Chuck turned to his last plane.
        "USG November Alpha one one five four four, you are cleared
for immediate descent and approach to BMA. Please increase speed to
six hundred knots, and turn right to a heading of zero four zero,
descend to angels ten as you transit BMA. Please contact BMA approach
on VORTAC and report on final."
        "Roger that," the Lear carrying Assistant Director Walter
Skinner replied. "Much appreciated, BATCC." The pilot pronounced it
"Bat-cee."
        Chuck nodded to no one in particular and decided to give the
BMA tower a heads-up. He lifted a red phone to the left of his console
and punched four numbers quickly.
        "BMA Tower," a clipped, efficient-sounding voice answered.
        "This is BATCC. You have three rockets headed your way, first
should be reporting on final in less than five minutes. The first is a
C5A with a Alpha Four designation and transponder. Then you have two
USG Lears, one about five behind the C5A, and the second about ten
after the first. All three have been cleared to transit, and have been
given priority approaches. We've got the rest of the space stacked and
packed. Do me a favor and hold all your departures on the threshold
for the next fifteen, ok?"
        "You got it," the voice said, and hung up.

*****
Billings Municipal Airport
Air Traffic Control Tower

        Billy Pierce hung up the Bat phone (the phone that connected it
to the BATCC, or, BAT Cave, as it had been called for as long as
anyone could remember,) and turned to the other two controllers on
duty.
        "We have three rockets coming in," he started, but was cut off
by the authoritative voice of the C5A pilot pouring from the
loudspeaker above their heads.
        "BMA Tower, this is a USAF C5A reporting on final approach."
        Chuck lifted a hand towards the speaker. "Here's one of them
now." Reaching to his belt, he depressed the transmit button for his
headset.
        "Roger, C5A, you are cleared to land on runway 1-N. Winds are
from the west at six, and the ceiling is unlimited. Please report on
the ground, over."
        "Roger that," the pilot replied. Sixty seconds later, the
largest military cargo transport plane in the world landed on the BMA
runway. The whine as the huge jet reversed thrusters was loud enough
to make the three tower controllers wince.
        "C5A on the ground at twelve past the hour," the pilot said.
"Request taxi and park at the furthest point, BMA Tower."
        "Roger that. Take threshold six charlie and taxi to the
southwest portion of the tarmac. Sorry, Air Force, but we're kinda
small here."
        "Roger that, BMA Tower. Thanks a lot. Be advised, we will be
deploying armed security on engine shutdown. We request that a
two-hundred yard perimeter be established."
        The three tower controllers exchanged a glance. "Roger that,
Air Force. Be advised, two USG Lears are right on your tail."
        "Roger that, BMA Tower. Please give them instructions to taxi
and park inside our perimeter."
        "Roger, Air Force. BMA Tower out."

*****
Aboard LearJet Tail Number NA11544
On Final Approach to BMA

        "Are we in range yet?" Skinner shouted to the pilot.
        "We should be, sir. Give it a shot."
        Skinner nodded and retrieved his cellphone....his normal, USG-
issued, unscrambled, unsecure cell phone. The other one was forgotten.
        He punched the number he'd been given in and waited.
        He listened to it ringing.

*****
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana

        Scully came awake first and reached for the phone.
        "Hello?"
        "Dr. Edwards?"
        "Yes-" she recognized the voice. Skinner!
        "Is your husband there?"
        "Hold one," she said, unconsciously using FBI radio jargon. She
handed the phone to a slowly wakening Mulder, mouthing the word
"Skinner" to him as he took the receiver.
        "This is...David."
        "Your package is arriving," Skinner said. "When do you want it
delivered?"
        "You'll have to hold it until tonight."
        Skinner felt his jaw clenching. "I thought you wanted express
delivery," he managed to growl.
        "I did, too, but we have some...guests."
        "Right now? Or are you expecting them later?"
        "Either. Both," Mulder said.
        "Understood. Just call me when you want delivery...but be sure
to give me at least half an hour so I can guarantee the...delivery
time."
        "Understood. By the way...is it a big package...or a little
one?"
        "Oh, Mr. Edwards...it's pretty big."
        "Understood. Thanks for calling."
        "My pleasure," Skinner said, and hung up.
        Mulder glance at his watch. It was four-thirty. "Crunch time,
Scully," he said, getting up out of bed. "Time to get ready."

*****
        Starke grimaced. Shit. The little fuck had called in the
calvary. All that talk about packages and delivery times hadn't fooled
Starke in the least. Well...what now? What was coming?
        HRT, at the least. Perhaps SEAL Team Six. Perhaps the entire
might of JSOC was about to descend upon Pave Creek. A man might get
his ass killed out here, he thought. Crunch time...that had been the
term that the little prick Mulder had used, and he couldn't have been
more right. Starke had to make a decision, and he had to make it now.

*****

        Scimitar thought over his options very carefully. There was
going to be more guests at this party than either side realized. His
orders were clear, his mission absolute. He could not...would not
fail.
        His decision made, Scimitar began to pack up in preparation
for moving.
        It was time to go hunting.
        And the first target was his friend across the street. Starke
had to be removed from the equation, and quickly.

-----------------------------------------
End Chapter 27

New, Improved Mailing List Info: (It was getting so long...)

a) Subscriptions: To subscribe to my mailing list for Snapshot and
   all future stories, send an email with the subject line as
   SUBSCRIBE and nothing in the body of the mail to drambo@primenet.com

   To unsub, send me an email to the above address and ask nicely.
   I haven't figured out how to automate the unsub feature yet.

b) Missing Chapters - If you are missing any of the previous
   chapters, please send an email to drambo@primenet.com with
   the SUBJECT line as REQUEST XX where XX is the chapter number.
   As in:

   TO:drambo@primenet.com
   FR:somebody@somewhere.com
   RE:REQUEST 01

   And so forth. This:

   RE:REQUEST 01-09      will get you chapters 1 AND 9, NOT
                         chapters 1 THROUGH 9.
   RE:REQUEST 01,02,03   will get you nada, zip, zero zilch.
                         Commas? We don't need no stinkin' commas!

   To get the BAZ (Big-Ass ZIP) file for DOS/Windows/Unix users,
   send REQUEST 00 to drambo@primenet.com in the SUBJECT of the
   message.

   Mac users-- still outta luck. I do not have access to a Macintosh
   any longer. Is there anyone out there that would like to do me the
   favor of compressing all my chapters into one large Mac .SEA file
   so I can send it to people that ask? Thanks! :)
"Snapshot 28:Preparations"

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other
tangentially mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter,
and remain the copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen
Productions, and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc.
All characters are used without permission, and no infringement
is intended.

Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and
this entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you.  Address is
drambo@primenet.com.

Rating : PG

Enjoy!

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

Billings Municipal Airport

     The FBI Lear jet containing Assistant Director Walter F.
Skinner taxied to a stop between the Denver HRT Lear and the USAF
C17A. The pilot immediately cut the engines, and Skinner moved
towards the door, quickly twisting the handle and dropping the
fold-away staircase. He stepped down onto the tarmac, only to be
met by the Commanding Officer, Juliet Platoon, SEAL Team Six, and
an obviously disturbed HRT Team Commander.
     "What's going on?" they asked in unison.
     Skinner frowned. "This is a bit complicated," he started.
"We have a situation. I have two undercover agents in trouble,
and they're trapped inside a very dangerous situation. We also
have a hostage, or at least, a potential hostage situation,
involving agents of a foreign government, perhaps more than one
foreign government."
     The SEAL Team CO and the HRT CO exchanged a glance, and
then looked back at Skinner with expressions that seemed to say,
'OK, you have our attention, now what?'
     "Here's the deal," Skinner said. "I do not want a
jurisdictional piss fight. I, and only I, am in command here."
Skinner reached into his jacket pocket and returned with a folded
piece of paper. "As we were landing, I received a fax from the
NMCC. This order seconds the SEAL team to my command for this
mission." He handed the piece of paper to the CO of the SEAL Team,
who took it, opened it, and read it quickly.
     "I'll be damned," he muttered. "Everything looks right."
He glanced back up at Skinner. "With all due respect, sir, do you
mind if I confirm this?"
     "Not at all," Skinner said, reaching back into his jacket.
Offering his cellphone, he said, "I think you know the number."
     The SEAL CO dialed quickly. "This is Commander Matthews,"
he said. "May I speak to the NCA?" There was a brief pause, and
then, "Good afternoon, sir. This is Commander Matthews, CO of
Juliet Platoon, SEAL Team Six. I have in my hand an order
authorizing a temporary reassignment of command authority-" The
Naval officer never got to finish his sentence. He spent the next
two minutes uttering various combinations of "Yes, sir,", "No,
sir," and "No excuse, sir."
     Finally, after what must have been a monumental ass-
chewing by someone who wore a planetarium's worth of stars, he
punched the END button on the cellphone and handed it back to
Skinner.
     "It seems," he said dryly, "that I report to you until
the end of this mission." He drew himself to attention and
saluted crisply. "Commander Steven Matthews, Commanding SEAL Team
Six, reporting as ordered, sir. All men are present and accounted
for, sir!"
     Skinner looked at the man for a long moment, wondering if
he was being mocked. Deciding that the SEAL's gesture was part
ceremonial and deeply heartfelt, Skinner drew on his training as
a Marine and snapped to attention, returning the salute just as
crisply as it had been offered.
     "Thank you, Commander. Now that we've established who is
in charge, I will need your help coming up with a plan. If you
will both join me in the aircraft...?"
     Skinner turned and walked back inside the Lear. It had
started out life as an Air Force VC-20, the military equivalent
of an executive's business jet. There were only four seats. The
remainder of the passenger compartment had been converted to a
plush conference area. There was a large table bolted to the
floor, and Skinner had made use of it, quickly assembling United
States Geologic Survey maps of the operating area, and a basic
plan. It was his hope that the experience and knowledge of the
HRT and US Navy SEALs would contribute to creating a foolproof
plan for getting his two favorite agents, and whatever surprises
they held, out of Pave Creek and  the clutches of whomever wanted
what they had, or who they had.
     "The town is called Pave Creek. The house in question
sits on several acres of land, and is surrounded by wooded areas
on almost all sides. We have reason to believe that at least one,
but perhaps more, foreign intelligence or paramilitary operatives
are keeping the house under surveillance. The two FBI agents are
residing in this house undercover as man and wife." Moving his
finger to another position on the map, Skinner continued. "This
is the house of the Tarses family. Their son, Zachary, is the
hostage in question. He has in his possession either information
or materials that the suspected foreign agents want to take away
from him. It is also highly possible that the foreign operatives
have orders to kill the Tarses boy, our two agents... or all
three of them."
     Skinner leaned back in his chair. "Our mission is to
prevent that from happening. To use a tired, trite phrase,
gentlemen, 'Failure is not an option.'" He paused. "I want to
know what you both feel is our best options."
     The two hostage-rescue and anti-terrorist professionals
exchanged another silent glance. This was not a time for
jurisdictional infighting or petty mind games. There was a job to
be done, and they both instinctively knew several things:
     First, this was not a glory mission. Both men knew,
somehow, that no matter how this mission turned out, the results
were going to end up being highly, deeply classified. Men that
sat in positions far above their respective pay grades were going
to bury this as deeply as possible.
     That being said, they both realized something else almost
a second later. Inside the small, tightly-knit community of
special operations units, this op was going to become a legend.
Those with the security clearances to ask the right questions of
the right people at the right time could, and would hear about
this mission. It was a chance to enhance a career, to get an
early promotion, to move on to bigger and better things in their
chosen profession.
     It was time to go to work.
     "Sir," Commander Matthews said. "HRT is trained at
Hostage Rescue. I believe that we should station the team
here...here and...here, giving their snipers open avenues of fire.
They can reach both the Tarses house and the agents' house
without problem. Two assault teams should be staged, one by
helicopter, and one by SUV. We have two SUV's inside the C17A
that can be utilized by HRT. We also have a RD-53D on call if we
need it. It's SOC-configured, and the crew is SOC-certified by
JSOC. If we get a hostage situation inside either house, HRT can
be on site in less than sixty seconds.
     "Secondly, SEAL Six should infiltrate the woods as soon
as possible. We are the best in the world at moving low and slow,
sir. We can have the entire area covered and surrounded within
four hours, and not a single person would know we were there."
     Skinner nodded at the SEAL CO and turned his attention to
the Denver HRT CO. "Williams, isn't it?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "What do you think of the Commander's plan?"
     "It's a good plan, sir. I agree with every single concept,
with two qualifications."
     "Go," Skinner said, pointing his thumb and foreigner at
the man like a gun.
     "Firstly, we will need to modify our radios so that the
SEALs and my HRT shooters are on the same frequency. That way we
can all keep in contact."
     Skinner turned to Matthews, raising an eyebrow, asking an
unspoken question.
     "We use secure Motorola scrambled radios..." he started,
already shaking his head.
     "We have extras," Williams said. "Almost fifty of them."
     Matthews thought about it. "Done. What else?"
     Williams grimaced. "We need to practice fast-roping from
the RH-53D. We usually use JetRangers. I don't want my men fast-
roping from an unfamiliar aircraft. Especially under mission
conditions. We will need about two hours of load-out and fast-
roping practice."
     Skinner nodded. "Consider it done." Turning to the SEAL,
he continued, "Commander Matthews, contact the Air Force and have
at least four PAVE LOW choppers sent here ASAP. Special Agent
Williams will take his airborne assault team out to Billings AFB
and practice his load-out and fast-roping skills."
     "Why four?" Matthews wanted to know. "We only need one."
     "Several reasons," Skinner said. "First, redundancy. If
we have a chopper go down, we have extras. Second, with two out
at Billings AFB, Williams can get his entire team familiar with
the birds, not just the airborne assault team. That way, if we
have a personnel loss during training, we won't compromise the
mission. Any other questions?"
     "No, sir," they said in unison.
     "Good. SEAL Team Six will begin infiltration as soon as
they've been assigned radios. You two work out call signs and
frequencies. When you've gotten all that done, bring it to me."
     "One final question," Matthews asked. "What are our Rules
of Engagement?"
     Skinner considered this. He reached under the table and
returned with his briefcase. Opening it, he reached in and
extracted a slim folder. He withdrew two glossy color photographs
and slid them across the desk. "These are my two Special Agents,"
he said. "Mulder and Scully."
     "Which is which?" Matthews wanted to know.
     "They're interchangeable," Skinner said, and then
realized he'd actually spoken one of his frequent private
thoughts aloud. Tapping one picture with a finger, he said, "This
is Dana Scully. The other one is Fox Mulder. Any adult that is
not either of these two people, a SEAL or a HRT Special Agent is
hereby declared hostile. If they attempt to interfere with the
mission, your use of deadly force is authorized. Our mission is
to get the two agents and the boy, and whatever objects, material
or information any of the three are carrying as far away from
Pave Creek as possible. Towards that end, once we have secured
all three, one of the PAVE LOWs will land as closely as possible
to their location. They will be exfiltrated to this location,
where they will board the plane we are sitting in and fly to
Washington."
     He studied the two men. "Questions?"
     The two men exchanged another glance. "No, sir," Matthews
said, standing and coming to attention again. He waited
expectantly. "Dismissed," Skinner said. Matthews turned and
quickly exited the aircraft, shouting orders to his men as he ran.
Williams looked back at Skinner. "What the hell is going on,
sir?"
     "Just do your job, and do it right," Skinner snapped.
"Get your men trained on that damn PAVE LOW chopper and report
back to me no later than 1800 hours. Dismissed, Agent Williams."
     Angry, and more than a little hurt, Special Agent
Williams stood and turned on his heel, quickly exiting the
aircraft. The excitement of the upcoming mission was beginning to
get to him, too, but there were some nagging doubts in the back
of his mind. Dismissing them, Williams began mentally cataloging
the men in his unit, deciding who would be in which portion of
the assault.
     Skinner sat alone inside the Lear Jet, slowly stroking
his chin. His eyes had a distant, glazed look, and his thoughts
were a thousand miles away. William's' question hadn't nearly
been as inappropriate as he'd led the man to believe. Indeed,
what the hell <was> going on here?
     Mulder...what have you gotten me into?

-------------------------------------------
22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
2250 Hours (11:50pm)

     "What do you wear to something like this?" Mulder
wondered aloud.
     "Basic black," Scully answered, exiting from the bathroom.
She was dressed in black denim jeans, black ankle-high climbing
boots, and a black cotton sweatshirt. She was carrying a black
baseball cap in one hand. When she put it on, she would all but
vanish in the woods.
     "Good idea," Mulder agreed, digging into the dresser for
a matching outfit.
     He dressed quickly, and moved to stand in front of the
mirror. "We look like cult members," he said softly.
     "Don't even <kid> about that, Mulder," she said softly.
Walking up behind him, Scully pressed her face against his back
and wrapped her arms around his waist. "It's going to be an
interesting night, Mulder, and I want you to know...no matter
what happens, I'll be there for you."
     "Me, too," Mulder said. "We're in this together, Scully.
Forever. No matter what the future brings...it's you and me,
kiddo."
     He turned in her arms and leaned down, kissing her softly,
gently.
     "Time to put our game faces on," he whispered.

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

Pave Creek, Montana
2234 Hours

     Scimitar, of course, had seen them coming. They were good,
of course.
     But he was better.
     Judging by the way they moved, the were Navy SEALs. They
had moved like the shadowy, life-taking, widow-making, silent
winds of death that they were, but they could not compare
themselves to his abilities, his experience, his judgment and
training. One of them, trying to move into position, had actually
stood no more than two feet away from Scimitar.
     He had remained motionless, breathing slowly, deeply
though his nose, imagining himself as part of the woods, part of
the grass and trees and leaves. He was invisible. They did not
see him.
     They were a hostage-rescue team, Scimitar knew. They were
there for the boy, for what he knew. The small device that Avi
had given him in New York was close at hand. He'd preset it for a
half-kiloton yield, with a two-minute delay fuse. Two minutes
after activation, the device would detonate. There would be
nothing left of Pave Creek, Montana but a smoking, radioactive
hole.
     But that was only a last resort, a final, desperate
attempt to keep The Box from the hands of Israel's enemies.
Scimitar knew that it was time to move, that the moment when he
would have to take decisive action, one way or another, was
closing fast.
     Grinning, he started, exiting from his hiding place and
moving towards the first SEAL, the one closest to him. The man
never knew what was coming. America, and America's military had
always been a friend to his homeland, so Scimitar didn't kill the
commandos. He just immobilized them, quickly, efficiently
applying a lead sap to the base of their skulls and then trussing
them with coils of rope he'd pre-cut for the job. They'd awake
with splitting headaches and have double vision for a few days,
but there were no lasting injuries.
     Except to their egos.
     Scimitar quickly neutralized over a third of the SEAL
Team, all the while making his way (in a roundabout fashion,)
towards Starke.

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

     Starke had no idea that anyone was in the woods with him.
He suspected that someone was out there, or perhaps more than one
person, but his training had originally been as a police officer.
He little, if any experience out in the field, surrounded by
hostile entities, all wanting him dead.
     It gave him the creeps.
     Scimitar almost lost Starke.
     Boatswain's Mate Second Class (BM2) Tony Calandra, a SEAL
with four years experience in the Teams, found Starke first. Or
rather, practically gave Starke a heart attack.
     The rogue DIA agent was studying the front of 22 Mon Bar
road from his hiding place in the woods behind 18 Mon Bar road,
his attention focused on the two agents inside. He didn't hear,
feel, or sense BM2 Calandra coming up behind him. The first
indication that he was not alone came when Starke felt the cold,
hard barrel of Calandra's MP5-PDW 9mm rifle press against the
hollow behind his right ear.
     "Don't move, asshole," Calandra whispered. "Hands where I
can see 'em."
     Starke moved to comply quickly. He had little doubt that
the man holding the weapon had about as much compunction for
using it as a wolf had for using its teeth. "Easy, man," Starke
whispered. He had no desire to attract any more attention.
     "I'm going to handcuff you," Calandra said, moving one of
his hands off the weapon and towards a pocket on his assault vest
where he kept the nylon wrist-ties. For the briefest of moments,
Calandra fumbled, and he move his head a fraction of an inch,
trying to find the Velcro closure on the pocket.
     Experienced as he was, Calandra had made one huge mistake.
He was standing astride Starke's body, his feet on either side of
Starke's hips. With his attention diverted for that single
fraction of a second, Starke made his move. Twisting on the
ground, Starke kicked out, sweeping the SEAL's legs out from
under him. With a grunt, Calandra went down, rolling to the side,
his weapon already coming up, finger tightening on the trigger.
     The report of Starke's silenced Ruger .22 was whisper-
quiet in the dense woods. The only sound was the bolt sliding
back and forward again, chambering another round. A small red
hole appeared in the center of Calandra's forehead. His eyes
rolled back, and he slowly collapsed, falling face first onto the
soft blanket of grass and leaves.
     "Die, cockbreath," Starke whispered.

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

     Scimitar had witnessed the entire thing, and he could
have predicted what happened the moment Calandra made his fatal
mistake of straddling his target's body. But he had expected
Starke to be as professional as he himself was. Shocked by the
rogue agent's action, Scimitar decided to change his operational
methods. He had originally planned to do to Starke what he had
done to the other SEALs guarding 22 Mon Bar Road.
     Now Scimitar saw that he would have to kill Starke.

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

     Starke moved to the dead SEAL and quickly stripped him,
taking the radio, his weapons and the assault vest. Shrugging
into the equipment, Starke quickly checked his load. He had five
more magazines for the MP5-PDW, and six magazines for the H&K USP
.45 that BM2 Calandra had been carrying. Quickly fitting the
radio's earpiece and lip-mike to his head, Starke turned, ready
to move out, and came face to face with Scimitar.

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

     "Hello, Starke," the Mossad agent said.
     Starke saw the silenced .22 Ruger, a duplicate to his own,
in Scimitar's hand.
     "Do I know you?" he asked, trying to buy some time,
trying to think up some options.
     "I doubt it. We have never met. But I know of you, and
you may know of me, if you have done your research."
     "Scimitar," Starke whispered, the fear coursing through
him.
     The Mossad agent's chin dropped for the briefest of
seconds, acknowledging Starke's identification.
     "Why did you kill that man?" Scimitar asked.
     Starke glanced over his shoulder at Calandra.
     "Him?" He shrugged. "He's in my way." Scimitar nodded.
Starke had just used up his last chance. Had the rogue agent
answered with a different phrase, a different emotion, Scimitar
had been prepared to cripple him instead of killing him. But the
man was not a professional. Starke was not of the same class as
Scimitar, not the same type of man.
     He was nothing but a common thug.
     The first shot took Starke in the left shoulder. Gasping,
the rogue agent fell to his knees, his hand automatically moving
to his shoulder to stanch the flow of blood.
     "W-why?" Starke asked.
     The second shot took Starke in the right shoulder, and he
spun from the impact, his face looking up at Scimitar, his eyes
wide and wild.
     "D-don't!" he cried.
     Scimitar, who had been born with the name of Avner, took
at last look at the man known as Walter Starke and grimaced. "Go
to your God," he whispered, firing four .22 rounds as fast as he
could pull the trigger. The first round hit Starke in the chest,
the next in the throat, and the last two impacted directly
against Starke's face.
     One in each eye.
     Starke collapsed against the ground, one arm draping
itself across BM2 Calandra's legs. His body hitched
once...twice...
     And was still.
     "Go in peace," Scimitar whispered. He considered
whispering the Kaddish for Starke, but decided that there was no
time. Later, in retrospect, he would say the Kaddish and remember
the death of Starke.
     But for right now, there was work to be done.

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

     Skinner would have preferred to be on the ground with the
HRT unit and the SEALs, but his Marine Corps training had been
years ago, and designed more for taking territory with
overwhelming force, not for sneaking and peeking. As a good
manager, he knew to leave the operational detatchments alone, and
sit back at his hastily-constructed command post at the Justice
Court motel. He was in contact with both ground commanders by
radio, and had an open landline link to the Billings Field Office
in case he needed immediate backup.
     Picking up his cellphone, he dialed.

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

22 Mon Bar Road
Pave Creek, Montana
11:14pm

     Mulder lifted the reciever. "Hello?"
     "Are you ready for delivery?"
     "Almost."
     "The packages are in the neighborhood," Skinner said.
     "Good."
     "What's your signal?" Skinner asked.
     Mulder considered this. "If I scream 'Help, Help!' would
that be too subtle?"
     "Agent Mulder..." Skinner warned.
     "Sir, if this thing goes to shit, I doubt there will be a
question in anyone's mind."
     "Very well, Agent Mulder." Skinner paused. "Good luck,
Fox."
     Mulder stood there, touched beyond words. A nagging voice
in the back of his mind caused Mulder to commit yet another act
of insanity.
     "Sir, Scully is pregnant."
     Scully, who had been sitting on the couch, trying to read
a book, snapped upright, her mouth agape.
     There was a very long pause on Skinner's end. "I see," he
said. "Why did you tell me that, Agent Mulder?"
     "I think you know, sir."
     Indeed he did.
     "Very well, Mulder."
     "We will be leaving the house in about thirty minutes.
Watch our backs."
     "You got it," Skinner said, and disconnected the call.
     Mulder turned around to find Scully in his face. "Have
you lost your mind?" she demanded.
     "Dana-"
     "Don't 'Dana' me!"
     "Scully...if anything happens to me tonight...Skinner
knows what to do."
     "And what...exactly...would that be?"
     Mulder sighed. "About two years ago, I started making
preperations for my death. In case anything ever happened to me,
I wanted...certain things taken care of. My will is very specific
as to how my assets are to be distributed. Skinner is the
executor of my will. By telling him that you're pregnant, I was
asking him to break the law, tear up my will, and make sure that
you and the baby are taken care of in case anything happens."
     "Wait a minute," Scully said, holding up a hand. "Skinner
is the executor of your will?"
     "Say what you will about him, Scully, but I know that the
man is honest. He would do exactly what the will said, and if he
didn't personally agree with it."
     As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mulder
realized what Scully had really been asking. Why, she wanted to
know, hadn't <she> been the executor of Mulder's will?
     "Two reasons," Mulder said softly. "First...you're the
only benificiary of my will. You get it all, Scully. Everything.
And second, I knew that if you knew the first part, you'd never
agree to be my executor."
     Scully studied Mulder's face and saw the truth in his
eyes. Two years ago, he'd known his feelings two years ago. She
laughed once, a short, harsh little snort. "You're amazing," she
whispered.
     She kissed him.
     "Scully, let's leave now," Mulder said. "I want to see
how good they are. I want to see if I can spot them."
     "Why?"
     "Because if I can, you gotta know that whomever's out
there can see them, too."
     "OK, Mulder...let's do it."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
END PART 28

Missing chapters can now be found at:

http://www.primenet.com/~drambo/snaphome.htm   (web) or
ftp://ftp.primenet.com/users/d/drambo/   via anonymous ftp.

Also on the website:

The Snapshot Glossary, a glossary of terms used in this story,
for those of you that have trouble following my techno and mil-
speak. Also, a "Coming Soon" page, and links to my previous story,
"Stalkers."

Mailing List information. (Coming soon.) You can subscribe, and
unsubscribe to the mailing list from there.
"Snapshot 29:Endgame"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.
Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

Please see the end notes.

Enjoy!
---------------------------------------

"Oh mama, I'm in fear for my life
from the long arm of the law
Lawmen has put an end to my running
and I'm so far from my home
Oh mama, I can hear you crying
you're so scared and all alone...
Hangman is coming down from the gallows
and I don't have very long
the jig is up
the news is out
they finally found me...."



     Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully exited via the rear door
of 22 Mon Bar Road, moving as quietly as possible. They both felt dozens
of pairs of eyes on them, and they were both nervous.
     They made their away around to the front of the house, side by
side, each of them lost in their private thoughts, but somehow managing
to keep the silent connection between them open and humming.
     "I feel naked without a gun," Mulder whispered.
     "Yeah," Scully said, just as quietly. "Me, too. But we've got
enough guns in the woods to even the score just a little."
     "God, I hope so," Mulder said.

                           ***

     Scimitar had taken out almost half the SEALs. He hadn't injured
any of them permanently, but they would all wake up with various bumps,
bruises and scratches. He had detected Mulder and Scully exiting the
house almost instantly, and he had moved into position to trail them as
quietly as he could. He knew exactly where they were going, but it still
paid to be cautious.
     Soon, he thought. Very, very soon.

                           ***

     It took Scully and Mulder less than five minutes to make it to the
wooded area behind Zack's house. Every window was dark, the house
silent. Almost in unison, they glanced at their watches.
     11:58. Time.
     The next one hundred and twenty seconds moved as slowly as
molasses in January.
     At two seconds past midnight, the back door opened and Zack
stepped out. He was dressed almost exactly like the two FBI agents, his
only nod towards individuality and personality his running shoes. They
were white with blue stripes, and Mulder was amused to see that they
were the brand that had the little lights in the heels, the kind that
blinked whenever the wearer took a step.
     It'll be easy to follow him, Mulder admitted to himself, and then
immediately realized the full implications of that thought.
     Zack moved like a ghost; before either agent was aware of it, he
was beside them, a very enigmatic smile on his face. "The game
continues," he whispered. "You realize we're surrounded?"
     "Yes..." Mulder admitted, chastising himself for once again
underestimating the boy genius; he should have known that Zack would
have the area totally scoped out. "But it's all our people."
     "No," Zack whispered. "Not all of them." He reached into the
pocket of his cotton pull-over sweatshirt and returned with what looked
like a hand-held computer, a palm-top like an Apple Newton or a USR
Pilot. He flicked it on with his thumb, and both Scully and Mulder moved
to peer over the boy's shoulder.
     The display was unlike anything either agent had ever seen.
Strange symbols appeared on the screen. They were not letters in any
alphabet Mulder or Scully had ever seen, and they didn't look anything
like the standard computer icons either was used to.
     "What is it?"
     "A portable Hamion scanner," Zack answered. "But if you don't know
the language, it's useless to anyone else." He pointed at the screen.
"These groups of signals represent the military unit that landed at
Billings earlier today. This group is, I assume, the FBI Hostage Rescue
Team." He pointed to two other symbols. "This one has been out in the
woods for almost three days. I have no idea who he is. But this last one
was out in the woods for the last sixty or so hours." Zack paused. "He's
no longer with us. This one..." he pointed back to the first of the two
unknown symbols, "killed him about two hours ago."
     "Where did you get this?" Mulder wanted to know.
     "I built it. It's a really long story, Mulder... but I built it
out of parts that I scavenged from... well, a place that you will never
know about, and never should. But this is nothing...this is useless if
you don't know how to read it, and I'm the only person in the world that
knows how to read it."
     Mulder felt the eagerness in his body, a distant, electric
tingling that ran up his arms and legs into his chest, making his skin
feel alive and charged. "Can you teach me?"
     Zack shook his head. "We don't have time. If we get out of this
alive, I'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know, Mulder." He
cast a glance around, and said a little louder, "Ready boys? Time to
go!"
     With that, Zack turned and started walking deeper into the woods.
The two FBI agents stared after him for a moment, and then moved to
catch up.

                           ***

     Scimitar grunted. The boy was good. If he cooperated, he had a
future in Israel. The Mossad could use an asset like him. Think of the
applications of the technology the boy held in his hand... let alone the
thoughts that ran through his mind!
     Silently, he started to trail the trio.

                           ***

     "Report!" Skinner ordered.
     "Subjects sighted, moving into the woods. We're following," the
SEAL commander radioed back. "Ground element out."
     "HRT Team, take flanking positions," Skinner ordered.
     "Copy," the HRT commander replied.

                           ***

     Chief Gunner's Mate/Guns Jon Cochran heard something beeping in
his pack and stopped dead in his tracks. Noise discipline was one of the
SEALs most sacred commandments. If you could hear something on you
moving, sloshing or beeping, so then could your enemy.
     "Juliet six, this is eight," he radioed.
     "Six, go."
     "Getting some electronic noise here. Preparing to secure it."
     "Proceed, eight. Six, out."
     Cochran moved slowly, reaching his hand into the side pocket of
his equipment vest and returning with a small electronic device the size
of a pack of playing cards.
     He looked at the display and swore softly.
     "Shiiiiit. Bad Joss."
     "Six, eight," he radioed again.
     "Six, go."
     "We have a problem."

                           ***

     "What?!" Skinner shouted into the radio. "Confirm that!"
     By sheer blind luck, one of the Navy SEALs had brought along a
small gamma particle detector. At one time SEAL Team Six had been the
primary recovery agency for any US nuclear weapons lost at sea. That, at
least, was the unclassified portion of their mission; their more covert,
clandestine assignment was to recover nuclear weapons from countries
trying to violate the Nuclear Proliferation Treaty. As such, the
portable gamma-ray detector was an indispensable tool.
     It had been a smile from God that the unit had been turned on.
     "Confirmed," SEAL Six came back. "Five units confirm presence of
gamma-level radiation. Not enough to pinpoint it, but there's something
here...without a doubt."
     Skinner toggled his radio.
     "All units, all units. The Navy has detected abnormal levels of
gamma-type radiation. There is the possibility that there is a nuclear
weapon in the area." He paused, and then added (quite unnecessarily, )
"Proceed with caution."
     Releasing the transmit button, Skinner swore loud and long.
     An alpha unit. It had to be an alpha unit. Who had them? Skinner
racked his brain, trying to remember details from his counterterrorism
briefing, attended months ago.
     The United States did. So did the old Soviet Union. Intelligence
reports stated that most of the man-portable zero-fused nuclear Alpha
Packs were in the possession of the Strategic Rocket Forces. France was
rumored to have them, but no one had ever been able to confirm it.
     Israel.
     Israel had them.
     Quick as a shot, Skinner moved to his briefcase. Grabbing the
secure, scrambled cellular, he dialed from memory.
     "NMCC Duty Desk, Duty Officer speaking, sir," the voice answered.
     "This is Assistant Director Walter Skinner, FBI. I need a secure
patch through to the Mossad."
     "Sir, we are currently in the middle-"
     "Damn it, I know that! I'm the commander on the ground here! Just
do what I tell you, and do it NOW!"

                           ***
Mossad Headquarters

     "David, it's for you," the communications officer said. David
Gurion looked up from the status display he'd been studying, his face
twisted into a frown. "At this time of the morning? Who could it be?"
     "It's the American FBI," the comm officer said. "On a secure
line."
     David felt something slick and moist twisting in his stomach.
     "Hello?" he asked, in English.

                           ***

     "I don't have time to fuck around, David."
     "Walter!"
     "Listen to me, David. You have an alpha unit on the ground in
Montana."
     How did he know? David wondered.
     As if reading his mind, Skinner answered. "We detected faint
gamma-ray emissions in the ops area. Don't like to me, David. This isn't
the time for it. I need to know why Mossad has an agent on the ground
trailing two FBI agents, a SEAL team, one of my HRT teams and a sixteen
year old boy!"
     David considered lying to his old friend, but in the end, the
reality of the situation they were both dealing with brought some sense
and focus to the Mossad agent's mind.
     "The boy has something we want, Walter. Something we need."
     "What is it?"
     David sighed. "A device. A device that came from beyond the
stars." He paused. "A device that will let us go back in time and
destroy all the enemies of Israel."
     Skinner felt his heart lurch in his chest.
     "What's the fuse, David? What's the timing on the fuse?"
     David sighed again. "Zero, Walter. It's only to be used if we
can't get the box back. We can't allow that to fall into any other
hands." He paused. "You know why."
     Skinner thought quickly. "David...if I can guarantee that the box
will be destroyed if we recover it...will you..?"
     David didn't hesitate. "Walter...you must give me your word. If
you do not...there is no telling what the government of Israel will do
if they feel that box is in the hands of our enemies."
     Skinner also did not hesitate. "David, you have my personal word
of honor. If it costs me my career, my pension... my life, I will
destroy that box if we recover it."
     David Gurion nodded, even though he knew Skinner couldn't see his
face. "Very well. Have your teams tell my agent this..." And then David
Gurion gave a phrase in Hebrew that Scimitar would know could only have
from Mossad.
     "Thank you, David," Skinner said.
     "One more thing, my friend." He hesitated. "Two, actually. The
first is that the unit is American made. It's a Mark II Mod IV Alpha
Unit. It went missing from your Seal Beach weapons stowage depot about
six years ago. So, if things go bad, some of your men should be able to
disarm it. It's not an actual zero fuse, but it might as well be. It has
a thirty-second fuse. Enough to let the agent get far enough away so
that they think they might have a chance. The second thing...our agent."
     "What?"
     "Scimitar."
     "Shit! He's a fanatic!"
     "Yes...yes, he is. I suspect that your dossier on him is quite
complete. Be aware that he may not give up the ghost even if it means
that he has to die in a nuclear fireball. Be prepared for the worst, my
friend."
     "I'm on the ground in Montana, David. If it goes...we won't speak
again."
     "Go with God, Walter."

                           ***

     "All units, all units," Skinner radioed. "We have confirmation.
There is a Mossad agent on the ground in the operations area carrying a
man-portable nuclear device. Proceed with caution."


                           ***

     It took twenty more minutes of trudging through the forest.
Finally, Zack stopped and pointed. "There."
     Mulder pulled up alongside the boy and looked. Zack was pointing
at a large outcropping of rock. It looked as though someone had chopped
off the top sixty feet of a mountain somewhere and dumped here in the
middle of the Montana woodlands.
     "It's in there?" Mulder asked.
     "Yes. In a specially constructed...container, if that's the word."
     "Well, lead on, McDuff."

                           ***

     "All SEAL Units, this is Six," the Commanding Officer radioed.
"Take up flanking positions around the...cave. Whatever it is. I want
complete coverage, all avenues of fire. "B" element, set up a security
perimeter. Nothing gets in or out. Move, people."
     The SEALS scurried hither and yon, eager to get this particular
operation over with.

                           ***

     "Here it is, " Zack finally said. Mulder moved, once again, up
alongside the boy and stared at what he had searched his entire life
for. Evidence of life beyond the stars. Hard, physical proof. Something
he could take to court, to a congressional hearing, something he could
take public.
     The...container looked to be some kind of energy field. The box
was in the middle of the field. Soft golden rays slowly pulsed around
it, like an electric heartbeat, enough to light the small cave.
     "Force field?" Mulder asked.
     "Sort of. It combines some of the concepts of stealth technology,
as well as energy dampening. Basically, unless you're looking right at
it, you can't see it. If you were to weigh this rock before and after
the box was in it, the reading would be the same. To any electronic or
physical measuring device, it's invisible. It's even invisible to film.
Can't take a picture of it while the field is on. The perfect hiding
place," Zack concluded. "Hide it in plain sight!"
     "How did you get it here?" Scully wanted to know.
     Zack grinned. "Well...to coin a phrase, I `beamed' it here. People
are not the only thing that this box can move through space-time. Just
like on Star Trek, only different. It left Fort Meade about six months
ago, and appeared here, protected."
     "That's amazing," Mulder whispered. Turning to Zack, he asked,
"Now what?"
     Zack glanced at his watch. "I suspect that we'll have some
visitors very shortly, Mulder. We'll have to ask them."

                           ***

     Skinner was pacing the hotel room. "Report!" he demanded again.
     "No movement. They've been in there for just over six minutes.
Nothing so far. Do you want us to move in?"
     Skinner considered this. "No. Hold positions for now."

                           ***

     "Show me what it can do," Mulder demanded.
     "I will, Mulder." Zack paused. "You see, I'm leaving. And I'm not
coming back. At least...not to this world."
     Mulder turned to face the boy. "What are you talking about?"
     Zack smiled, that enigmatic little grin that made Mulder want to
slap his face.
     "On another world, another dimension, if you will, the Zack Tarses
there has been put through some of the same...things that I have. Only
the people in charge of this sort of thing on that world didn't have as
much...restraint as the ones on this world did.
     "That Zack is dying. He's having what amounts to a metabolic
meltdown. He has less than..." Zack glanced at his watch, "twenty
minutes to live. We've arranged this..across space and time, the other
Zack has agreed to take my place on this world, Mulder. The last use of
this box on this world will be for he and I to exchange places.
     "After that, it will be destroyed."
     "I don't think so," said a voice in heavily-accented English.
     The trio turned to see a form slowly coalescing in front of them.
At first it was a shimmer, and then it took form, slowly solidifying
into the shape of a man.
     "Ah..." Zack said, a smile on his face. "Scimitar! I see you
finally decided to join us!"

                           ***

     "Oh my God, Mulder," Scully whispered. "He's carrying an Alpha
Unit."
     "What?" Mulder asked. He normally slept through his counter-
terrorism briefings.
     "It's a nuclear weapon," Zack announced.
     "That's correct," the man said.
     "Who are you?" Mulder demanded. Then a thought dawned on him. "Are
you from...from where this box came from?"
     The man laughed, as did Zack. "No," the boy giggled. "This is
Scimitar, perhaps the most famous agent in the Mossad. He's here to get
the box." Turning to the intelligence agent, Zack continued. "Sorry to
disappoint you, but the box is going nowhere."
     Scimitar frowned. "If you know my name, boy...then you know what I
must do. Why I am here." He smiled sadly. "Why I have no choice."
     Zack turned to face him fully and worked the small device in his
hand. A field, much the same as the one surrounding the Box itself,
suddenly surrounded Scimitar.
     "Even if that thing goes off, the field will contain it," Zack
explained.
     "Nooooo!" Scimitar screamed. He took a step and then stopped, his
face a rigid mask of pain. "You cannot do this!"
     Zack turned to Mulder and pointed the device again. Mulder felt
something enveloping his body, and found that he too, was unable to
move.
     "Agent Scully," Zack said. "I have no idea how this...field will
affect an unborn child. So I have chosen you to help me fulfill my
destiny."
     Scully nodded. "I understand." She was grateful that Zack wasn't
going to put their child in danger. "What do you need me to do?"
     "Scully! No!" Mulder protested.
     "Mulder, shut up. He has us exactly where he wants us!"
     Mulder fell silent.
     "First, get the device in Scimitar's left pocket." Scully walked
over to the agent. "How can I..."
     "You can reach in...but he cannot reach out. Just reach in and
take it." Scully did as she was bade and reached inside the field. As
her arm crossed into Scimitar's space, she felt nothing, but the hairs
on her arm stood up.
     She found the small device in his pocket and backed away, holding
it close to her chest.
     "Where did he get it?"
     Zack grunted. "As far as I can tell, a ship crashed in the Nagev
desert during the Six Day War. This device was recovered from the scene.
It does allow transportation across small distances, kind of like
transporting. That is the reason that Scimitar has been the most
successful agent in the history of the Mossad. Even his superiors don't
know about it..."
     "You know too much to live, boy," Scimitar said.
     "That's exactly why I'm going to die."
     "How did you know about it?" Mulder asked, stalling for time.
     "I noticed a specific Hamion signature vanishing and reappearing
on a regular basis. It didn't take much brain power to figure it out.
And since this," he said, holding up his own device, "can scan Hamion
signatures across time, I went back and noticed it staring about two
years after the Six Days War. The rest was just educated guesses."
     Mulder grimaced. God...
     "But enough of this," Zack said, glancing at his watch. "Time for
me to go. Scully, this is what's going to happen. When the new Zack
arrives, I'm taking these two devices, and The Box with me. All that
will be left will be the New Zack. The force fields will vanish."
     "But the bomb..." Scully said, indicating Scimitar's Alpha Unit.
     "Yes..." Zack sighed. "There is that. But I assume that since the
Box will be gone, there will be no need for Mr. Scimitar to detonate
it?"
     "None," Scimitar said. "But these two have seen my face. I must
kill them."
     Zack stopped and turned to face the intelligence agent. "I don't
think so, Mr. Scimitar."
     Scimitar laughed, a harsh barking sound.
     "As if you could stop me."
     Zack walked closer. "Listen to me...if you harm one hair on either
of their heads, I will come back. I will come back in time to yesterday,
and I will kill you. But, since I have already left and come back, I
know that you have not, and will not."
     "But that...that..." Scimitar said, trying to wrap his mind around
what the boy was telling him. "That's not possible."
     Zack turned to Scully. "Well, Dr. Scully? Is it possible?"
     "Yes," she said. But not probable, she thought, but didn't say.
     "My sister?" Mulder asked.
     Zack turned. "Yes...your sister. I know where she is, Mulder. I
will go see her, and if she wants to come back, I will send her to you.
But...you must understand. There are literally billions of worlds out
there. She might have found a place where she is happy, where she is
safe and secure. She may not want to come back. But I promise that I
will go find her and tell her of you...and your quest. And your child,"
he added, casting a pointed glance at Scully.
     "Thank you," Mulder said, knowing he was powerless to do anything
else.
     "Time to go," Zack said, moving towards The Box.

                           ***

     Chief Gunners Mate/Guns Cochran glanced at his gamma-ray detector
and frowned. "Six, eight," he whispered into his radio.
     "Six, go eight,"
     "The...device has moved."
     "What?"
     "It's...inside the cave, sir."

                           ***

     "WHAT?!?!?!?!?" Skinner was tempted to through the radio against
the wall. "How did he..."
     "SEAL Six, this is Skinner. Move in. You have a GO order for
anything that is not Mulder, Scully or the boy." He paused, wanting his
next words to carry the weight of his emotions. "Take them out.
Terminate with extreme prejudice."

                           ***

     "'A" element...GO!" SEAL Six radioed.
     The seven member of "A" element, Juliet Platoon, SEAL Team Six, US
Navy, moved as a single integrated unit. Like black widow spiders, they
swarmed through the night, making their way to the cave's entrance. Six
of them lined up, one behind the other, in classic attack formation. The
seventh held a 1-million candlepower flash-bang grenade in his hand, the
pin already removed. All that held the detonation spoon against the side
of the grenade was his Nomex-gloved hand.
     The last man in the stack gripped the shoulder of the man in front
of him, signaling that he was ready. The fifth man repeated the process,
and it went up the line until the first man in the stack felt his
shoulder being squeezed.
     The lead man, SEAL Six himself, nodded and smiled at the man
holding the flash bang. He made the finger sign for "One..." and then
"Two..."
     When SEAL Six made the sign for "Three..." the grenade would toss
the grenade into the mouth of the cave. A second later, after the
concussive explosion and blinding flash had dissipated, the SEALs would
swarm the cave.
     They had a valid GO order to shoot to kill any unfriendly.
     In less than a second, the cave would become a house of death.

                           ***

     Several things happened at once.
     The grenade rolled in, bounced twice, and came to rest against one
of the rock outcroppings.
     Zack turned to see what had made the noise, his mouth twisting
into a single word. "Nooooo," he screamed. To everyone else in the cave,
time stopped.
     Zack typed a button on his device.
     Time froze.
     Scully couldn't move. Mulder couldn't move. Scimitar was frozen in
place. The only person that was still mobile was Zack.
     Calmly, he walked over to the grenade, picked it up, and tossed it
outside. Walking back towards the box, he typed rapidly on his keyboard.
Smiling, he turned and faced Mulder and Scully.
     His mouth did not move, but Zack spoke nonetheless.
     Scully heard his voice in her head, like a record that had been
sped up.
     Alvin and Chipmunks, she thought. Aaaaaalvvviiin! Sorry, Dave!
     "I'm sorry that I have to do this to you both," he said, in their
heads. "But I must go. This world has nothing for me anymore. Tell my
parents that I love them, and that I will keep watch over them. Mulder,
your quest will continue. The Hamion Vortex that I will be opening in a
few moments will forever match your two signatures to my own. I will
know where you are at all times in this world. When necessary, I will
give you a guiding hand towards the truth that you seek. But it is not
here, not now. You still have a long journey ahead of you, a journey of
discovery, of treachery, of deceit. One of your favorite phrases is
"Trust No One." Believe that. There are but two people you can trust.
     "One of them will be your wife someday. The other is the one you
know as "Skinner." The third will be born around Thanksgiving of this
year."
     `The one I know as `Skinner'?' Mulder thought.
     "We are all in a subspace domain right now," Zack explained. "And
the final truth can now be told..."
     "I am not human. I have not been human for two years. I am
something...more, now. I can control time and space, mine and yours. Do
not weep for me, Mulder, for I go to find something better, something
new and exciting."
     Zack paused, if that was the word, since he was not speaking. "I
will miss you all." He touched a button, and the four of them returned
to normal space-time again. "The truth is out there!" he said
cryptically. "And I will help you find it, Mulder!"
     They heard, "Shit!" from outside.
     Then there was a huge, blinding flash, followed by a wave of
concussive energy that knocked all four of them out cold.

                           ***

     When Mulder came to, he awoke to see the barrels of four automatic
weapons pointed at his face. "Mulder, FBI," he managed to gasp.
     The guns pulled back slightly, but not totally. Mulder sat up and
looked around. Scully was still out cold, about five yards away. Moving
towards here, he screamed, "Medic! Medic!"
     A man made his way inside the cave, moving to Scully. Mulder moved
to the smallest inert form, Zack.
     "Zack? Buddy?" he whispered.
     The form on the ground slowly opened his eyes. "Mulder," he
whispered. His face was sallow, his eyes glassy and far away. His smile
was enigmatic, as always.
     "We did it," he whispered.
     And then the person known as Zack Tarses, the person a later
autopsy would reveal had died of severe liver damage, the person that
fingerprint comparison with his NSA file would reveal was the Zack
Tarses that had lived on Earth for sixteen years, but was not the person
that was born on this planet as Zachary Tarses, coughed twice.
     And died.

                     ****************
                         THE END
                     ****************
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Renegade" Words and Lyrics (C) by Tommy Shaw. From the A&M cassette &
CD "Pieces of Eight" Copyright (c) by A&M Music. Used without
permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Author believes that
quotation of short lyrical excerpts constitute "Fair Use" under the
applicable court decisions regarding such use.

"Joss" is Chinese for "Luck."

End Notes :

     Well, that's it, folks. There is one final piece of the "Snapshot"
saga, an epilogue that I will post in a few days. After that, I will be
taking two weeks off, and then I will start my next saga, "Umbra."

Some statistics : This story, which had originally started out as a
vignette, has grown to over one hundred thousand words, (more than novel
length,) and over five hundred thousand individual letters. Printed out
in manuscript form (Courier New font, Size 10, double-spaced,) fills
over four hundred pages. I always said that I wanted to be a novelist,
and now I am one. <VBG>

I want to take this opportunity to once again thank all the people that
have written me in support of this story, and I look forward to keeping
you all as fans for my next series of stories, including "Umbra," a MSR
that starts out as a Scully-Other. Details about that story a little
later...

It has been one of my deepest personal honors to write this story. Chris
Carter and the folks at 1013 productions have created a pair of main
characters, and a cast of supporting characters that have no equal. It
has been an honor to write for them, to put words in their mouths,
thoughts in their heads, and actions in their movements. They were
borrowed with deep love, and returned (hopefully,) intact.

Once again, thank you to all the people who have written with words of
encouragement, support and just plain thanks. I hope that this story has
made you laugh, smile, frown, cry...any emotion is cool. To quote
Stephen King, "Boredom...however, would be a bummer."

See you soon!
Dawson E. Rambo <drambo@primenet.com>
Tucson, Arizona
April 20, 1997

This story is dedicated to all the fans.



"Snapshot:Epilogue"
By Dawson E. Rambo


Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.
Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this
entire text as is without changes.

Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address
is drambo@primenet.com.

**********************************************
WARNING! WARNING! DANGER WILL ROBINSON...
**********************************************

This Epilogue is for serious, die-hard `shippers ONLY. If you are an
anti-shipper, reading this story may, frankly, cause you to go BLIND.

I AM SERIOUS.

Similar warnings go out to diabetics that have not had the `ol insulin
yet.

Contained herein is:
     The Wedding;
     The Birth;
     All Lose Ends Tied Up;
     Sappy Lovey-Dovey Speeches Said At The Alter
     and much, much more.

Johnny....TELL THEM WHAT THEY'VE WON!

Enjoy!

=================================================================

NEW YORK TIMES
Monday, April 21, 1997
Headline : CIA OFFICIAL ARRESTED ON ESPIONAGE CHARGES
(Langley, VA) [AP] - Special Agents from the Federal Bureau of
Investigation served an arrest warrant at CIA headquarters today, taking
into custody an unnamed employee on charges of international espionage.
Citing national security concerns, Assistant Director Walter Skinner
declined to identify the arrestee until they could be arraigned. When
pressed for details, FBI Assistant Director Skinner referred all
questions to the office of the Attorney General of the United States.
     Repeated calls to the Attorney General's office were not returned.

NEW YORK TIMES
Tuesday, April 22, 1997
Headline : CIA OFFICIAL DIES IN CUSTODY
(Washington) [AP] - The Federal Bureau of Investigation announced today
that the suspect they had arrested yesterday in conjunction with
espionage charges has apparently killed herself while in custody. Once
again, citing the need to notify family members, Assistant Director
Walter Skinner declined to identify the suspect.
     Calls to the Attorney General's office were not returned, and the
FBI declined to provide details regarding the method by which the
accused spy killed themselves.

WASHINGTON POST - METRO SECTION
Friday, April 25, 1997
Headline : DECORATED WAR VET BURIED AT ARLINGTON
(Arlington, VA) [Special to the Washington Post] - Sergeant First Class
Walter Starke, USA (ret.) was buried with full military honors today. He
has no surviving relatives.
     While assigned to Special Forces during the Gulf War, Sergeant
Starke conducted several dozen behind-the-lines missions into Iraq and
occupied Kuwait. During his career in the Army, Sergeant Starke had been
awarded the Distinguished Service Medal (The nation's third-highest
award for valor in combat,) the Silver Star, two Bronze Stars, three
Purple Hearts, the Combat Infantry Badge and several service medals.
     During his career, Starke had served with the 82nd Airborne
Division, the 101st Airborne (Airmobile) Division, the Fifth Special
Forces Group, and was rumored to have been assigned to the still-
classified Delta Force. He had served as an instructor at the Army
Airborne School at Ft. Benning, Georgia, and at the Infantry School,
also at Fort Benning. Additionally, he served two tours as an instructor
at the John F. Kennedy School for Special Warfare at Fort Bragg, NC
     After retiring from the Army, Sergeant Starke became a Dunwoody,
Georgia police officer, rising to the rank of Detective before being
dismissed for reasons that remain unclear.
     When asked for details about Starke's death, the Department of the
Army issued an official "No Comment" statement. Sources inside the
Department of the Army confirm that Starke died under what they call
"mysterious" circumstances, but declined to elaborate, pointing out that
Starke had served his country for over twenty years, and had been
discharged with full honors.


*** CLASSIFIED ***
NOFORDIS:CODE WORD CLASSIFIED
CLASSIFIED : TOP SECRET - JEWEL/QUINCY/FOX
TO: STATCHEF, AMEMB, ISRAEL
FROM: DCI
CC: : DDO
    : DDI
    : ADDFO
DATE : 24JUNE97
TIME : 0944ZULU
MESSAGE FOLLOWS:

*** BURN AFTER READING
*** NO COPIES
*** NO FOREIGN DISTRIBUTION
*** EYES ONLY TO CIA STATCHEF, AMEMB, ISRAEL

1)   MOSSAD AGENT SCIMITAR ARRIVING YOUR OPS AREA TODAY 24 JUNE 97 1400
     HOURS LOCAL TIME (1200 HOURS GMT). YOU ARE NOT REPEAT NOT TO
     PLACE SUBJECT UNDER SURVAILENCE. YOU ARE NOT REPEAT NOT TO
ENGAGE
     IN ANY ACTIVITIES THAT MAY LIMIT SCIMITAR'S MOVMENT. SCIMITAR IS
     HEREBY REMOVED FROM OFFICIAL CIA SANCTION LIST FOREVER.
2)   REF IS MADE TO (1) ABOVE. IF SUBJECT SCIMITAR IS INTERFERED WITH
     IN ANY WAY, ANY AND ALL AGENTS, CASE OFFICERS, CONFIDENTIAL
     INFORMANTS OR OTHER CIA EMPLOYEES (CONTRACT OR OTHERWISE) WILL
BE
     IMMEDIATELY TERMINATED WITH ALL LOSS OF PENSION AND BENEFITS.
3)   CIA STATCHEF, AMEMB, ISRAEL WILL IMMEDIATELY AND WITHOUT DELAY
     FOWARD ALL WRITTEN AND ELECTRONIC INFORMATION REGARDING
SCIMITAR
     TO THE MIDEASTERN AFFAIRS DESK, CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY,
     VIRGINA, NO LATER THAN TWENTY-FOUR (24) HOURS AFTER CONFIRMED
     RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THIS DIRECTIVE
     WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE ACTION BEING TAKEN AGAINST CIA STATCHEF,
     AMEMB, ISRAEL.
4)   CIA STATCHEF, AMEMB, ISRAEL WILL IMMEDIATELY AND WITHOUT REPEAT
     WITHOUT DELAY CONVEY WARMEST PERSONAL REGARDS OF DCI TO DAVID
     URION, MOSSAD EMPLOYEE VIA FBI ASSISTANT DIRECTOR WALTER SKINNER
     EGARDING ICARUS PROJECT.

MESSAGE ENDS.

SIGNED,
DIRECTOR, CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE
VIA DEPUTY DIRECTOR, OPERATIONS
VIA DEPUTY DIRECTOR, INTELLIGENCE
VIA ASSISTANT DEPUTY DIRECTOR, FIELD OPERATIONS



PAVE CREEK MOUNTAIN DAILY PRESS
Friday, April 25, 1997
HEADLINE : ZACK TARSES, 16, BURIED TODAY
     Zachary Tarses, sixteen, was buried today at St. Peter's First
Methodist Church Cemetery after a short memorial service conducted by
Father Peter Stone. Mr. Tarses is survived by his parents, Emily and
Jacob Tarses. Details on the boy's death were not immediately
forthcoming from the parents, but sources close to the family have told
the Pave Creek Mountain Daily Press that Mr. Tarses suffered from a rare
metabolic liver condition.
     Police are still declining to explain rumors that the boy died
inside a cave in the Pave Creek woodlands. Family members, when asked,
had no comment.


=================================================================

FBI Headquarters
November 19, 1997
Office of ASAC Fox Mulder
11:30am

     Assistant Director Walter Skinner glanced around the office and
shook his head. How anyone managed to function in this conglomeration of
newspaper clippings, tabloid magazine covers, old coffee cups and God
only knew what else was beyond him. Somehow, he knew, Mulder and Scully
managed to not only operate in this environment, but made it seem as if
every FBI bullpen should look like this.
     Advancing into the room a few steps, Skinner spotted the newly-
promoted Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Special Projects
Division sitting behind his desk, feet on the blotter, attempting to
look casual as he read a copy of "Omni."
     Skinner, hands on his hips, looked away, trying to fix a stern
gaze on his face, trying incredibly hard not to laugh. Mulder was
holding the magazine upside down. Well, that was understandable, Skinner
thought to himself. After all, his new bride is expecting the birth of
their first child any day now, and she had ordered Mulder from the new
house they had just bought in the Virginia countryside. Apparently,
Mulder had been driving her insane.
     "Sir," Mulder said, quickly moving his feet to the floor.
     Skinner waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Mulder, you're
management now. You can call me Walter."
     "Yes, si....er, Walter." He paused. "It still feels strange in my
mouth, sir."
     "I'd imagine it will for some time, Mulder."
     Mulder fidgeted for a moment. Finally, he asked, "Is there
something I can do for you, sir?"
     "No, Mulder. I just came down to see how you were doing. Abby
tells me that you're slowly going insane, waiting for the baby and all."
     Mulder nodded, morose. "Scully kicked me out," he said softly, the
little-boy-lost tone in his voice again forcing Skinner to control his
facial expressions. "Is that so?" the A.D. asked.
     "Yes," Mulder said, now in full-petulance mode. "She told me not
to come home until tonight, and that if I had to work late it wouldn't
exactly break her fragile heart."
     Skinner could see the words coming out of Scully's mouth,
underneath one of her sarcastically arched eyebrows. A part of Skinner
felt for Mulder.
     A very small part.
     Mulder realized the magazine was upside down and quickly corrected
it. He fiddled with it for a few seconds and then tossed it in his OUT
basket and folded his hands in his lap. That lasted for a few moments,
and then he was moving again, his hands nervously fluttering this way
and that.
     "Will you calm down?" Skinner asked.
     "I'm trying!" Mulder retorted. He sat, took a deep breath and
steepled his fingers under his chin. The gold ring on the fourth finger
of his left hand caught the light, twinkling in Skinner's eyes.
     As Skinner watched, Mulder's thumb came up from underneath and
began slowly twirling the ring on his finger.
     "Still not used to it?" Skinner asked. Noticing the confused
expression, Skinner pointed. "The ring, I mean."
     "I guess not," Mulder admitted sheepishly. He turned his hand over
so he could look at the ring, and decided to think back to the single
best day of his life so far...


***

Friday, June 20, 1997
United States National Cathedral
1400 Hours (2:00pm)

     Mulder stood at the alter, feeling Skinner behind him. He glanced
over his shoulder and smiled at his boss, the only man he could think of
to ask to be his best man. Scully had suggested that he ask one of the
Gunmen, but Mulder had decided that he couldn't ask one of them without
offending the other two.
     They were at the alter with Skinner and Mulder, standing just
behind the groom and best man, acting as ushers and groomsmen. Turning
back to face forward, Mulder smiled at the two clergymen standing,
waiting for what they were all waiting for : Scully.
     The Catholic priest turned and glanced at his cohort the Rabbi.
The Rabbi nodded in the sage, wise way they all seemed to master
somehow, and all eyes turned once again to the back of the church. There
was some commotion, and then one of Scully's brothers stepped in the
rear door and nodded at Skinner.
     "It's time. We have to go," Skinner said.
     "Don't leave," Mulder whispered urgently. "I'll pass out, I know
it."
     "Be steady, Mulder," Skinner whispered. "I know you can do it."
With that, the Gunmen and Skinner walked down the isle, heading towards
the rear of the church. As he watched them go, Mulder glanced at the
crowd and wondered what, exactly, the society wags would be writing for
Sunday's paper. This just had to be the oddest congregation the National
Cathedral had ever seen.
     Ever.
     Sprinkled among the congregation were representatives of perhaps
the highest elechons of the intelligence community, the Attorney General
herself, most of the senior FBI brass, author Josie Chung, and God only
knew how many other flakes and freaks. The entire Denver HRT team had
flown in for the ceremony, as had most of the Navy SEALs from Team Six.
     Sweeping the crowd to keep his mind off the impending nuptials,
Mulder caught the side of a face out of the corner of one eye that made
him stop. Slowly, as not to spook his quarry, Mulder moved his gaze
back.
     Wow, he thought. That man looks a lot like... Was it Jacob Tarses?
No, Jacob was much older. That man looks exactly what Mulder would
expect Zack to look like in about ten years. Mulder felt a shiver up his
back and turned his attention to something else.
     The ceremony was starting. The first bridesmaid was standing at
the rear of the church, on Frohickie's arm. Frohickie had his head up,
like he was an English duke or something, but Mulder was still glad to
see his old friend. Frohickie was never going to win and beauty
contests, but he managed to clean up fairly well.
     These thoughts were running through Mulder's head as Frohickie and
the bridesmaid made their way up the isle. One by one, the bridesmaids
made their way up the isle, escorted by the ushers. There were only
three in each party. Anyone counting would realize that Scully was shy
one matron or maid of honor.
     But that was not the case, for one very special reason.
     The organ music moved to a crescendo, and Mulder felt his stomach
clutch into a tight, hard knot.
     There was movement at the rear of the church.
     A flash of black formal tuxedo (with tails,) and then...
     A flash of white.
     Blinding, crystal pure white.
     With a gasp, Mulder saw Scully in her wedding dress for the first
time.
     She was a vision.
     A goddess.
     The most perfect woman Mulder had ever seen.
     And she was walking down the isle to marry him.
     Fox Mulder.
     Him.
     Escorted by Assistant Director Walter Skinner, who was going to
perform a `first' in the National Cathedral. He was not only acting as
Mulder's Best Man, but at Scully's personal request, Skinner was also
giving the bride away, standing in for a man that would have been as
proud as a father could on this day.
     All concerned were sure that wherever Captain William Scully, USN,
was, he was looking down with a warm, fatherly smile on his face.
     Slowly, Scully and Skinner made their way down the isle.
     The Catholic priest stepped forward.
     "Who gives this woman?" he asked, his voice booming over the
crowd.
     "I do," Skinner said.
     "Are you the woman's father?" the priest demanded, although he
already knew the answer. Scully had asked Skinner to come up with
something to say at this point, and as recently as the rehearsal dinner
three nights ago, Walter had been stumped.
     "I am her father in spirit, in the way that a father guides a
daughter, in the way a parent loves and protects a child. She is not
borne of me, Father, but I count her as one of my own. I have promised
myself and God that I will always look out for my daughter, that I will
be there for her when she has questions of life, questions of Faith, and
need of a father to talk to. I will be a proud grandfather to her
children. I stand here as...a father in spirit."
     Mulder felt the lump in his throat and blinked, trying to get the
sudden stinging out of his eyes. Skinner turned to Scully and slowly
lifted her veil, draping it over the top of her head.
     He leaned down and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Go in
love," Skinner whispered. "Take care of him, he needs you so much," he
added.
     "Thank you, Walter," Scully said, impulsively throwing an arm
around her boss, this man who had come to mean such much to her. "I need
him, too." Skinner did not reply; he just stepped back, nodded at his
favorite agent, and stepped up to stand beside Mulder.
     Scully stepped up to the altar and took Mulder's offered hand. She
looked deeply into his eyes, and felt herself drowning. His smile was
soft and gentle, mostly in his eyes, but for the first time in a long
time, on his face, too.
     The service moved swiftly after that. The two clergymen had forged
a way to combine the tenants of both religions in a simple, yet powerful
ceremony.
     Then came the vows.
     The priest stepped forward and addressed the congregation. "As is
the custom these days, the bride and groom have asked permission to say
their own vows. After consulting with each of them privately, my
distinguished colleague and I agree that only perhaps God himself could
have written a more...apt set of vows for these two people."
     And with that, the priest stepped back and motioned for Mulder to
begin.
     Mulder felt the sweat in the palms of his hands. He
surreptitiously wiped his hands on his pants and then took Scully's in
them.
     A hush fell over the church as Mulder began to speak.
     "Dana Scully..." he started, and then faltered. Even now, her name
felt so strange in his mouth. "Scully, " he began again, "we've known
each other as friends for so long that I don't know where I end and you
begin." He paused, wanting each word he spoke to be forever imprinted on
her mind. "You are my best friend. You are the first person I think of
in the morning, and the last before I go to sleep. My life is incomplete
without you, and you have chosen to spend it with me. I could not be
more honored, Scully. I hope that by the grace of God, and through the
strength of our love, I prove a worthy husband to you as we continue
down this road together." He paused, and then added, "I love you, Dana
Scully."
     Scully felt the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill
over and ruin her carefully applied makeup. She was so incredibly happy
at this moment that she thought her heart would burst.
     "Fox Mulder," she began. "You, too, are my best friend. When we
met, I was...amazed at this person that I found. This incredibly
intelligent, interesting man who captured my heart without even knowing
it. The road that we have chosen to take together had led us to some
very interesting, very strange places, my love, and I look forward to
going to new strange, interesting places with you. When the poets speak
of love, they can never capture the true essence of what it is to be one
of a pair, a singular part of a whole, half of a beating, living heart
that lives in both our spirits. The poets cannot write of the voices
that speak in our souls in the space between two heartbeats. We, only
we, know that they are there, and we rejoice in our voices finding each
other. I love you, Fox Mulder."
     The entire church waited almost four full heartbeats before
exploding in a standing ovation.

***

     The rest of the service flew by. It took only six or seven more
minutes before the rabbi and the priest stood before the congregation
and said, "We now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss each
other."
     The kiss was sweet, neither as sweet as the ones before it, nor as
sweet as the ones to come. It was sweet in its own regard, for there
would only be one First Kiss as man and wife.
     The rabbi stepped forward, since he had won the toss.
     "I now present," he said above the din, "Mr. Fox Mulder and Mrs.
Dana Scully-Mulder!"
     Mulder stood, looking into his wife's eyes, seeing perhaps the
most beautiful expression he had ever imagined on her face. She leaned
in for a kiss, and as Mulder tilted his head to accept and return it, he
caught movement out of the corner of his eye. As he kissed her, Mulder
tried to pinpoint what it was that had caught his attention.
     It was the face that he thought had looked like Zack. And the face
had company, and they were both leaving. Mulder watched as the man
stood, smiled at Scully's back and waved at Mulder. The woman standing
next to him was just about his age, with long dark hair. She smile at
Mulder, too, waved and blew a kiss. She held up an envelope and waved it
at him, and then laid it down on the pew, turned and followed her friend
out of the church.
     It took Mulder a moment to realize that the man walking away with
the dark-haired girl was wearing sneakers with those little tail-lights
in the heels.
     Breaking the kiss, Mulder took his wife's hand. "Scully, C'mon!"
he said urgently, moving down the alter and towards the pew. Scully,
holding up the hem of her skirt with her one free hand, followed as best
she could. She had forced Mulder to make a solemn vow that he would
never, ever ditch her again, and, since he was living up to his promise,
Scully had little room to complain.
     There were two envelopes in the pew.
     Both addressed to Fox. Well, one was address to "Mr. Mulder."
     The other was to "Fox."
     Mulder sank down in the pew and reached, with shaking hands, for
the one labeled "Mr. Mulder." Opening it, he extracted a single sheet of
heavy bond paper. Scully moved so she could read the short note over her
husband's shoulder.

     "Mr. Mulder," it started.

     "I promised you that I would find your sister, and I did. It
     didn't take long, as her signature was very easy to follow. She
     told me that she wanted to see your wedding, and so we did. Your
     sister has written you a separate note, the contents of which I am
     not aware of. But I do know that she does not want to stay on this
     world right now. It has nothing, I know, to do with you, Fox.

     "I wanted to thank you for all you did. I read my own obituary,
     which was a bit strange. Sort of like Tom Sawyer, ya know? I've
     been to visit my parents, and they are both doing well. I wish you
     and Miss Scully the best of luck in the future. I will be keeping
     an eye on you always, Fox, helping you when you need it, and
     getting out of your way when you need that.

     "Be well, Fox.

               Zack "Ike" Tarses

Mulder exhaled slowly, carefully folding the letter and putting it back
inside the envelope. He looked at the other one, simply labeled "Fox."
     "Are you going to read it?" Scully asked.
     "Of course. I just want to savor this last moment of not knowing."
He laughed at himself, and then reached, eagerly, for the first contact
he'd had from his sister in almost two decades.

     "Fox," it started.

     "Please don't hate me. When Zack found me and told me what was
     happening in your life, how you'd dedicated your entire existence
     to finding me and bringing me back, I was sad. Not sad that my
     brother, whom I love more than anything in the world, loves me
     enough to dedicate his entire life to me. I was sad because I
     cannot find the words to tell you why I am unable to return to you
     now. It has nothing to do with conspiracies or evil, Fox. That was
     what got me here, but it is not what is keeping me here.

     "I have only a few words. Live your life, Fox. You are seeking a
     greater truth, and I will do or write nothing to dissuade you from
     that search, because as you have so rightly discovered, it is your
     destiny to be a truth-seeker, just as it is mine to lend you a
     guiding hand from a place where we cannot touch each other.

     "I am happy that you have found love. Rejoice in that love, my
     brother, for love is what guides the stars, as the song said. No
     matter how many miles separate us, Fox, we will always be
     together.

     "I love you,
               Samantha."

***

FBI Headquarters
November 19, 1997
Office of ASAC Fox Mulder
11:35am

     "Lost in thought?" Skinner asked.
     "Yeah," Mulder admitted. "Thinking about the-"
     Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
     Mulder reached for his pager, thinking that it was one of the
Gunmen or the lab or someone else.
     But it was not.
     There was three digits in the pager, their agreed-upon signal.
"123"
     "Holy shit!" Mulder said, reaching for his phone, punching the
speed dial.
     She answered on the first ring.
     "It's time, Mulder."
     "Scully, are you sure!"
     "Mulder, I'm a doctor. I'm sure. Meet me at Georgetown."
     "On my way," Mulder said. He stood and reached for his jacket. He
looked at Skinner, a stricken expression on his face. "Sir, I hate to
ask..."
     Skinner took one look at his new Assistant Special Agent in Charge
and grinned. "Aw, shit, Fox...I'll drive."

***
Georgetown Hospital
Emergency Entrance

     The Official FBI-issued Chevy Caprice classic issued to AD
Skinner, its' red bubble light stuck firmly to the roof by a magnet, the
siren squealing, slid to a perfect stop outside the ER entrance.
     AD Skinner and ASOC Mulder exited the car and dashed past
security. Mulder, in a rare moment of preparedness, had already scouted
the hospital out. He knew that Labor & Delivery was on the fourth floor,
south side. He led the way, with Skinner trailing behind.
          They burst through the double doors leading onto the ward,
into the smiling face of an L&D nurse. "Room six," she said, pointing.
Mulder wheelied around the corner, his arms windmilling to keep his
balance, and through the door to Room Six. Skinner, understanding that
this was a private moment between parents, stood outside.
     After a moment, he began to pace.

***
Georgetown Hospital
Labor and Delivery Unit
Room Six
Four Hours Later

     "One more push," the OB-GYN said, softly. "And that should do it."
Mulder looked at his wife and smiled. "One more little one?" he asked.
     "Mulder," Scully wheezed, "you realize we are never, ever having
sex again?"
     "I realize that," Mulder said, nodding. "I love you anyway. Now
push, please." Reaching out with a damp rag, Mulder wiped his wife's
forehead as she prepared to bear down one last time.
     Scully's face was sweaty, her hair in disarray. The labor pains
had been as severe as she'd thought, but through sheer willpower,
correct breathing, the support of her partner, it'd been bearable.
     That, and about 20mgs of Demerol.
     Taking a deep breath, Scully summoned the last ounces of energy in
her body and pushed. There was a momentary feeling of resistance, and
then...
     Over.
     It was over. She felt the baby sliding down the birth canal and
out.
     God, almighty it was over.
     "Beautiful," the doctor was saying. "So, so beautiful." He moved
quickly. "Mr. Mulder, would you like to cut the cord?"
     He handed Mulder a pair of scissors, and the proud father reached
down and quickly cut where the OB indicated. "Ten fingers, ten toes,
APGAR is fifteen. Perfect baby. Congratulations, Dr. Scully, Mr.
Mulder."
     The parents exchanged a glance.
     "Is it a boy? A girl?" Mulder demanded.
     The OB smiled, and lifted an incredibly small, tightly wrapped
bundle in his arms. Stepping around the table, he offered the baby to
the proud parents.
     "Look for yourself," he said.

***
Four minutes later

     Mulder bounded out of the room, the widest smile Skinner had ever
seen splitting the young agent's face.
     "I'm a father!" he shouted. "Holy shit! I'm a father!" Skinner
walked up and offered his hand.
     "How's Scully?" he asked.
     "She's perfect. Wonderful. Best ever! She was incredible, sir! She
was a champ!"
     "The baby?"
     "Perfect! Ten fingers, ten toes, perfect apnea!"
     "APGAR," a passing nurse corrected.
     "APGAR, SCHMAPGAR!" Mulder shouted. "I'm a FATHER!"
     "It wasn't born with a tail, was it?" Skinner asked, unable to
resist.
     Mulder burst out laughing, not even getting the joke. "No, sir!"
     "Well, are you going to keep me in suspense? Is it a boy or a
girl?" Skinner demanded.
     Mulder reached out an arm and steadied himself against Skinner's
shoulder. "I gotta sit down," he moaned. "I don't feel too-"
     And with that, Mulder passed out. He fell, face forward, directly
onto the linoleum floor of the hospital corridor.
     Skinner stared down at his agent...his friend.
     Looking up, he addressed a passing nurse. "You want to help me
with this?"
     "New father?"
     "Yup."
     The nurse grunted as she helped Mulder to his feet along with
Skinner. "What does nursing lore say about fathers that faint when their
babies are born?" Skinner asked.
     The nurse's smile was enigmatic. "They make the best ones."
     Skinner nodded.
     "Ma'am...you have no idea."
******************************************************

THE END
(Really, I mean it this time...)

PLEASE send feed any and all feedback to drambo@primenet.com.