TITLE: 	THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY   
AUTHOR:    FOXPROSE
E-MAIL:    FOXPROSE2003@YAHOO.COM
RATING:    NC-17 
WARNING:   Descriptive sex. Smut warning.
CATEGORY:  MSR 
KEYWORDS:  Angst, Jealousy
DISCLAIMER: Enough problems with real people in my 
life, let alone fictional characters.  They belong to 
Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox 
Broadcasting.
FEEDBACK:   Please!  Send to foxprose2003@yahoo.com
SPOILERS:   Very mild for Tooms, 2Shy, Hungry, 
Dreamland, Bad Blood
SUMMARY:   X-Files expertise is sought from an unusual 
corner, and Mulder and Scully review their work and 
relationship from a different perspective.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  As always, many thanks to Donnilee 
for her fast and fabulous beta as well as her 
encouragement.  Thanks, too, to Daniel G., for 
elucidating the minutiae of the Israeli army.



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FBI HEADQUARTERS
X-FILES OFFICE
WASHINGTON, DC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19

The voice mail light was blinking on Mulder's phone 
when he and Scully returned from lunch.  He punched in 
his access code and was rewarded with the impatient 
voice of Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  "I need 
you and Scully in my office this afternoon at 2 PM.  
On time. "  The hang-up click was so loud that Mulder 
flinched.  

Great!  He and Scully had taken a mere 45 minutes to 
eat and relax outside in the atrium today, and their 
reward was a snippy message from their boss.  Nothing 
to be done, Mulder thought. 

"Skinner wants us in his office at two," Mulder 
announced to his partner, who was opening the door 
after making a detour to the restroom.

"Any idea what he wants?"  Scully asked with a hint of 
suspicion.  She trusted Mulder with her life - too 
frequently, as a matter of fact - but she also knew he 
had an incredible capacity for ticking off their 
superiors.

"I didn't do anything!  I swear!"  He held up his 
hands in mock protest.

"Okay, well, maybe it's a new case," she suggested 
hopefully.

"Can't wait.  The cases that come down from the top 
are always beauts," Mulder ruminated sarcastically.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FBI HEADQUARTERS
AD SKINNER'S OFFICE
WASHINGTON, DC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19, 2 PM

Scully, the responsible and punctual member of the 
team, had hurried Mulder along to make sure they were 
on time.  She started her campaign at 1:30 PM.  Mulder 
thought that her efforts seemed a lot like nagging, 
but he was willing to overlook it as a sign of 
nervousness.  He knew Scully hated meeting with 
Skinner when the agenda was a mystery.

They entered the outer office, Mulder's hand on the 
small of Scully's back.  This gesture had begun 
innocently years before, but it had quickly segued 
into an excuse for him to touch her.  To her chagrin, 
Scully found herself constantly waiting, waiting, 
waiting for his touch.  Kim, Skinner's administrative 
assistant, knocked once on the inner door to his 
office and opened it.  "Agents Mulder and Scully are 
here, Sir," she announced formally as they entered.  

In addition to Walter Skinner, who had been seated at 
his desk, were two dark-haired men in their early 
forties.  One was wearing civilian clothes, the other 
a dress military uniform that neither Mulder nor 
Scully immediately placed.  Mulder was inclined to be 
suspicious of anyone from the military, any military, 
showing up unexpectedly to meet with him.  He was on 
his guard as he studied the men.

Skinner stood to formally present them to the visitors 
sitting in chairs in front of his desk.  "Special 
Agent Fox Mulder and Special Agent Dana Scully," 
Skinner gestured toward them to clarify which was 
which.  "Agents, I'd like to present Colonel Gavriel 
Ben Or, representing the Israel Defense Forces, and 
his colleague, Captain Nael Ibrahim, of the 
Palestinian Authority CID.  Colonel Ben Or and Captain 
Ibrahim requested a meeting specifically with you to 
discuss an issue of the utmost sensitivity." Both men 
stood to shake the agents' hands.  

Extra chairs had been positioned in front of Skinner's 
desk, and they all took their seats.  Ibrahim spoke 
first, his formal, British-influenced English in 
keeping with the stylish sport coat and slacks he 
wore.  "Mr. Mulder, Dr. Scully, you are probably 
surprised to find yourselves in a meeting with members 
of the IDF and the PA."  He smiled as if he found it 
fairly amusing himself.  "This is usually something 
only your President and National Security Advisor are 
honored with," he paused again for Ben Or to chuckle 
at this quip.  "However, my friend, Colonel Ben Or and 
I find ourselves in need of your expertise.  We 
researched your methods and cases before leaving home 
and managed to pull a few strings in order to take up 
some of your valuable time."

Mulder listened to this introduction with a neutral 
expression.  He feigned a relaxed posture, but his 
muscles were tensed as he evaluated the two men seated 
before him.  He attempted eye contact with Scully, but 
her attention was focused exclusively on the visitors.

Scully was captivated by these two enemies who were 
seated so companionably by Skinner's desk.  She 
noticed the looks that flashed between them from time 
to time as well as small cues in their body language 
that bespoke a level of comfort and informality 
between the two.  

Ben Or, wearing a dress uniform, picked up the thread.  
"You see, we've recently experienced a series of 
crimes in several of our cities that are...unusual."

"And of all the law enforcement agencies that deal in 
'unusual', you just happened to pick ours," 
interrupted Mulder in a cynical tone that set Scully 
on edge.

Gavriel Ben Or leaned forward toward Mulder and rested 
his hands on his knees.  "Mr. Mulder," he stated in an 
authoritative voice, "you may rest assured that 
nothing done by the IDF 'just happens.'"  He paused to 
allow for a moment of dramatic silence, his unblinking 
brown eyes focused on Mulder.  Ben Or knew the 
reputation of the IDF in Washington, and he had seen 
and done too much personally to be intimidated by some 
FBI pipsqueak, even as smart, necessary a pipsqueak as 
this one.  He leaned back, secure that his point had 
been made.

Mulder met the Colonel's eyes and held them.  He 
started to open his mouth, but Skinner foresaw danger 
and cut him off.  "Gentlemen," he said peevishly, 
"let's talk about why we're all here."  He shot a 
silencing look at Mulder that everyone in the room 
noticed.

It was rare to see Fox Mulder chastened.  In fact, 
Scully reflected, she'd never actually had the 
privilege.  She'd seen him hurt, depressed, 
discouraged, angry...a whole laundry list of emotional 
states.  But she'd never seen him squashed quite as 
quickly or completely as he was by Colonel Ben Or.  
Would there be hell to pay later on or would he take 
the loss of this pissing contest with equanimity?  She 
decided to move things along.  "Maybe you could tell 
us a little about these...unusual cases," she prompted. 

 "Of course," answered Ibrahim.  "You must forgive our 
circuitous style.  It is a bad habit of my people, and 
now we've got the Jews doing it, too."  Ben Or smiled, 
and Ibrahim continued.  "Approximately six months ago, 
we experienced several unusual deaths in Ramallah.  I 
am responsible for supervising the investigation of 
criminal complaints.  In all three cases, the victims 
lived on the margins of society.  One, a female, was a 
prostitute.  The other two were young men with drug 
problems.  The bodies were found relatively close to 
the time of death based on body temperature and 
witness accounts.  However, all three appeared to have 
had most of their soft tissue...dissolved...or sucked 
out, for lack of a better description. 

"Unfortunately," he continued, "our situation is such 
that we immediately suspected a biological weapon of 
some sort.  We spent a lot of effort reaching the 
right people in Hamas, Hizbullah, and Islamic Jihad, 
but we became convinced that these deaths were not 
connected with any political activity.  Eventually I 
brought the cases to the attention of certain friends 
within the IDF.  I did not seriously believe the 
Israelis were developing such a weapon, but I am 
afraid mutual suspicion makes anything seem possible."

Scully's mouth opened to form a questions, but she was 
cut off by Colonel Ben Or.

"About two months before Captain Ibrahim contacted 
us, we had also experienced two unusual deaths in the 
suburbs of Tel Aviv.  Like the Ramallah victims, both 
were outsiders.  One was a known drug addict and the 
other was a Russian immigrant who had been diagnosed 
with schizophrenia.  These victims had originally been 
thought to have contracted some kind of viral agent, 
but when no other cases appeared, the local health 
authorities lost interest.

"When Nael and I began to compare notes on the 
circumstances, we realized that the deaths formed a 
pattern and that many of the medical inconsistencies 
had never been explained, including the actual causes 
of death."

Ibrahim continued their story.  "By this time, we 
assumed that we were dealing with a serial killer, a 
killer who exploited the tensions between our peoples 
to avoid detection.  But when we arranged for 
additional testing of the tissue samples taken from 
the remains, more questions were raised than answered.  
We are told that an unusual enzyme seems to be at 
work.  Gabi and I are not scientists, so we must rely 
on the interpretations of others."  He paused his 
narrative to withdraw a manila folder from a slim 
leather portfolio that leaned against his chair leg.  
He turned and presented it to Scully with two hands.  
"Dr. Scully, perhaps we could impose on you to review 
these results in light of your own experiences?"  He 
smiled winningly at her.

Yes, indeedy, thought Mulder cynically.   These boys 
had done their homework.  He noticed that they had 
begun to refer to one another by first names somewhere 
in telling the story, and Ibrahim seemed well briefed 
on the fact that Scully, not Mulder, was the 
pathologist.  He also noted sourly that both men 
seemed to have charm to spare, and an ample dose of it 
was being directed straight at Scully.

"I'd be happy to," Scully responded, "but I'll need 
some time.  Will you be in Washington long?"

"Until Friday morning," answered Ben Or.  "Then we'll 
be taking a shuttle to New York.  We return home on 
Sunday.  Dr. Scully, we cannot emphasize how much we 
would appreciate your help on these cases."

"Since it is already afternoon," suggested Ibrahim, 
"perhaps we could meet later tonight.  You would have 
time to review the file, and we would very much like 
to repay the hospitality your government has shown 
us."

Mulder was opening his mouth to decline when Scully 
pre-empted him.  "That sounds interesting," she 
accepted, smiling.  "Mulder, that wouldn't interfere 
with your plans, would it?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FBI HEADQUARTERS
X-FILES OFFICE
WASHINGTON, DC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19

Mulder had stalked back to the office without speaking 
to Scully.  He allowed his longer stride to put 
distance between them, and punctuated each action with 
angry forcefulness.

"Well, I'm glad you taught the elevator a lesson," 
commented Scully when she caught up with him in their 
office.  "I'll bet those buttons light up right away 
now that they know you're on the case," she continued, 
referring to the savageness with which Mulder had 
pressed the basement button.

"Leave it alone, Scully," he snapped, giving her a 
look that said he wasn't joking.

"Mulder, what on earth is the matter?"  She sounded 
softer now, confused as to what was making him so 
angry.

"Nothing.  Nothing is the matter.  And if it is, maybe 
you could get together with your new friends to 
investigate.  They seemed to think the sun rises and 
sets on you.  I hope you didn't accidentally bite 
Ibrahim's hand, the way you were eating out of it."  
This was Mulder at his sarcastic worst, and Scully 
simply sat down and closed her eyes, waiting for the 
storm to pass.

He had said enough, Mulder decided.  He hung up his 
jacket, sat down at his desk, and began punching away 
at the keyboard.  Scully sat quietly, reading the case 
files the men had given her and making notes.  An hour 
ticked by, and Mulder was beginning to regret his 
behavior.  Scully hadn't said anything since his 
outburst.  In fact, he couldn't even hear her 
breathing although she was sitting not more than six 
feet away.

Suddenly she replaced the papers in the case file 
folder, stood up, and crossed to the telephone.  "I'm 
sorry I didn't consult with you first about helping 
Ben Or and Ibrahim.  I assumed you would be pleased to 
see our work validated by someone outside our 
government.  I'm going to call them to cancel our 
meeting tonight," she said tersely, afraid that Mulder 
would erupt again.

"It's okay," he said sullenly, not looking at her.  
"You don't have to cancel."

She was incredulous.  "Mulder, you can't be serious.  
You were furious an hour ago.  I don't know why, but 
if it makes you uncomfortable, we'll just get out of 
it.  I can write up a review of their findings so we 
don't seem like complete jerks."

"No.  Your instincts were right.  We should go," he 
sounded a bit more pleasant now but would still not 
meet her eyes.

"O.K.," she replied, still trying to sound non-
confrontational.  "Just let me call Colonel Ben Or to 
find out where we should meet them."

"Dammit, Scully!  Stop talking like that.  You sound 
like a hostage negotiator or a kindergarten teacher!"

She smiled.  "Gee, I always thought of kindergarten 
teachers as being both the hostage negotiator and the 
hostage."

Scully's little joke loosened the oppressive 
atmosphere that had been choking him, and Mulder 
laughed more heartily than was really warranted.  He 
was relieved that she'd offered him an 'out' from his 
bad mood, but he also knew that he wasn't off the hook 
yet.  She would poke and prod him until 'fessed up to 
the true reason for his truculence.  Problem was, he 
wasn't sure precisely why he'd been such a bad sport 
about working with Ben Or and Ibrahim.  All he could 
account for was a profound dislike for both men that 
had nothing to do with who they were or what they 
wanted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FOX MULDER'S CAR
WASHINGTON, DC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19
5:50 PM

"You know, we can still cancel this if you're 
uncomfortable," Scully said with a note of concern as 
she climbed into Mulder's car.  Whatever had agitated 
her partner earlier seemed in abeyance, but she wasn't 
buying it quite yet.

"Nope.  I just got ticked off by Ben Or.  These IDF 
guys are so damned arrogant.  I worked with a couple 
of them on a case involving an Israeli national when I 
was first with the Bureau.  They're all hotshots and 
happy to let everyone know it."  

"Yeah.  I can imagine.  Working with arrogant guys who 
think they have all the answers can really suck 
sometimes," she responded.  The corners of her mouth 
lifted just slightly.

Mulder was distracted by the traffic and his own 
thoughts.  He didn't catch the irony in her voice.  
"And that Ibrahim guy isn't much better.  Jeez, could 
he have tried a little harder to lay on the charm?  
And maybe you could have waited, like, two seconds 
before melting?  I thought I was going to have to 
scrape you out of your chair in Skinner's office!"  

"Oh, Mulder, you're overreacting.  I know these guys 
come off as very savvy about American culture, but 
they're Middle Easterners.  Small talk and flattery 
are more important there."

"Well, I checked out Ben Or while you were working on 
the files.  Very impressive credentials.  Military 
experience up the wazoo and every kind of law 
enforcement training you can imagine.  Went to Field 
Intelligence School, Counter Terror School, and I 
forget what else.  He probably thinks we're complete 
wusses," Mulder reported.  Scully detected the 
slightest note of bitterness, a tone that someone less 
close to him would never have noticed.

She thought for a second about how to respond.  She 
had forgotten about Ben Or's put-down at the meeting, 
but now she was getting an inkling of why Mulder was 
so unenthused about this confab.

"I couldn't find out as much about Ibrahim," he 
continued, "but he appears to be one of those guys who 
plays both ends against the middle.  He's got family 
all over - in Jordan, the U.S., England - and he seems 
to have an awful lot of powerful friends for a local 
cop from the West Bank."

"Do you think either of them are connected with the 
Consortium?"  The words came out fast, the only clue 
to her nervousness as she contemplated this scenario.

"Nah.  I think they're probably here for something 
else and decided to take a few more days of vacation 
by stringing us along.  I don't think they'd come to 
the Bureau because of their tremendous regard for our 
investigative skills."  Mulder's sarcasm made another 
appearance.

"Maybe it's not about coming to the Bureau.  Maybe 
they're coming to us.  And we just happen to be with 
the Bureau."

"Yeah, maybe," answered Mulder, but he sounded 
unconvinced.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY CONFERENCE CENTER
WASHINGTON, DC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19
6 PM

Ben Or and Ibrahim were waiting in the lounge at the 
Georgetown University Conference Center, the Marriott-
run hotel where they were staying.  They were seated 
at a small round table in a corner when Mulder and 
Scully spotted them.  Ibrahim took sips from a glass 
of amber liquid with ice, and Ben Or was nursing a 
bottle of micro-brewery beer.  They were speaking 
Hebrew and seemed to be sharing something unspeakably 
hilarious.  Ibrahim motioned to the two agents, who 
crossed the room to reach the table.

They sat down as a waitress approached.  Scully 
ordered wine.  Mulder asked Ben Or for his opinion of 
the beer and ordered the same. 

True to her word, Scully had carefully read the case 
files and had prepared a few pages of her own notes.  
She started a prim recitation of the forensic 
evidence, but neither Ibrahim nor Ben Or had any 
intention of letting her become immersed in a quagmire 
of scientific data.  Ben Or led the offensive this 
time.  "Dana," he asked with a smile, "may I call you 
'Dana'?"

"Um, alright."  She sounded very official and not 
terribly pleased.  Mulder felt a small surge of 
pleasure that Ben Or's charm wasn't working quite so 
well now.  

"Dana, please call me Gabi-it rhymes with 'Bobby', 
what do you really think happened here?  We don't need 
you to read the report to us.  We need your experience 
and intuition.  Have you seen anything like this 
before?"  Ben Or paused for no more than a second and 
added, "Or you, Fox?"  

"I'd just as soon stick with 'Agent Mulder,' if you 
don't mind," Mulder said coldly.

"As you wish," replied Ben Or smoothly.

Trying to cover the awkwardness, Scully put down her 
notes and began describing some of the cases she and 
Mulder had worked on together.  She pulled from her 
memory the relevant details of cases such as Eugene 
Tooms, Virgil Incanto, and Rob Roberts.  Mulder felt 
himself swell with pride as his partner presented the 
cases from a scientific perspective.  If he'd been 
telling these stories, he would have sounded like a 
lunatic, but Scully managed to make each mutant 
description seem perfectly plausible.  "One of the 
things that strikes me," she added, "is that the 
killer is deliberately selecting victims whose deaths 
will attract little scrutiny."

Mulder drew on his beer as conflicting emotions 
warred.  He was inordinately proud of Scully's ability 
to control this get-together.  He was proud of how 
their cases sounded coming from her mouth.  But he 
also felt like more of an outsider than ever.  He was 
used to feeling like an outsider at the Bureau; that 
didn't bother him too much.  He had never felt that 
way with Scully, though, and he felt stung by how 
truly little he was needed here. 

Ben Or and Ibrahim seemed to be tripping over 
themselves smiling at Scully, expressing amazement at 
her case histories, and focusing on her eyes as they 
asked questions.  Mulder allowed himself to 'zone out' 
slightly for a few minutes, since neither Scully nor 
her admirers were soliciting his contributions.

"You definitely want to take into consideration the 
security issue," Scully was answering when Mulder 
tuned back into the conversation.

"The fact that the UNSUB can easily pass through 
checkpoints without arousing suspicion may be critical 
in narrowing our search," agreed Ibrahim, and then 
turned to Mulder.  "You have no opinions?  What we've 
heard about Agent Mulder suggests that's unusual."

"Oh, don't mind me," Mulder drawled sarcastically.  
"Sounds like the brilliant and beautiful Dr. Scully 
has it all figured out.  Not much I can add."

"Another round," suggested Ibrahim, whose eyes once 
again met Ben Or's.

"I'm surprised you drink, actually," observed Mulder, 
as chilly as ever.

Ibrahim threw his head back and laughed.  "Oh no, I am 
not so 'dati'-religious-as Gabi."  He reached over 
and ruffled Ben Or's hair, and Mulder and Scully 
noticed for the first time a black knit yarmulke 
buried in the curls.  

Ibrahim's joke seemed to amuse Ben Or, who responded, 
"Oh, well, the Imams didn't have a chance with you.  
You were too busy stealing oranges."

"I have to admit I'm somewhat surprised to find 
officers from the IDF and the Palestinian Authority so 
friendly, " commented Scully, no longer attempting to 
hide her curiosity.

"Now that is an interesting story," said Ibrahim, 
leaning over his drink conspiratorially.  "As 
interesting as one of your X-Files even."  Mulder and 
Scully both flinched at the familiarity these two men 
displayed with the inner workings of their assignment.

"We grew up together," Ben Or told them.  "Nael's 
grandfather was a major orange farmer, and he used to 
hire some of us kids who lived on the local moshav - 
it's similar to a kibbutz.  We became friends there 
when we were twelve or thirteen, and we've found it ... 
useful ... to maintain our friendship in spite of the 
circumstances."

"Yeah," said Ibrahim, again laughing.  "He only loves 
me because I can provide an armed escort into his 
favorite falafel stand in Ramallah."

"That falafel stand shut down years ago," joked Ben 
Or.  "And it wasn't that good anyway!"

Egged on by Scully's display of interest, Ibrahim and 
Ben Or continued telling stories of their youth:  the 
stolen oranges previously alluded to, a hiking trip 
when they were teenagers, Ibrahim's supplements to Ben 
Or's army rations.  Although neither had consumed more 
than two drinks, their relaxation had almost manic 
overtones, as if this social interlude must be 
squeezed dry to extract all possible pleasure and 
enjoyment.

Scully excused herself to go to the restroom.  The two 
men again exchanged looks and became immediately 
serious.

"Listen, Agent Mulder, I think maybe you are offended 
that we have paid so much attention to your partner.  
I assure you, we are both happily married and neither 
of us would want you to think our attention was 
inappropriate," stated Ibrahim, his eyes boring into 
Mulder's, his voice putting excessive emphasis on 
'Agent.'

Ben Or continued,  "Dr. Scully is, like you said, 
beautiful and brilliant.  I can understand you 
probably have to defend your territory often."

Mulder, who felt he had kept his dislike of these men 
under excellent control, finally snapped.  "I am not 
'defending territory,' gentlemen.  Agent Scully is the 
most competent, hard-working agent I've ever partnered 
with, and your innuendos are insulting to us both."  
He had become loud enough to attract a few glances 
from nearby tables, but he didn't care.

"You mean, you're not...?" asked Ben Or in an 
incredulous whisper.

"So..." replied Ibrahim knowingly.

Scully reappeared to find Ben Or and Ibrahim with 
their mouths still open.  Mulder was standing, 
removing his keys from his pocket.  "Scully, I'm going 
to get the car.  Why don't you wrap up with the desert 
squirrels here, and I'll meet you at the entrance."  
He strode off without a backward glance.

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, wondering what Mulder 
had done this time.  "I don't know what got into him ... 
I can assure you the Bureau wants to assist you with 
this investigation as much as possible."

Ben Or waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.  "No 
need to apologize, Dr. Scully.  Agent Mulder has...his 
own perspective."

"But I have some advice.  Do you want to hear it?" 
asked Ibrahim, smiling raffishly and tilting his head 
to accentuate his sensual eyes.

Scully laughed.  She couldn't say no.  "Okay, sure.  I 
guess.  What's your advice?"

"Your Agent Mulder:  I think he feels ... superfluous.  
That maybe you are now an accomplished pathologist and 
investigator and you no longer need him. You should 
tell him that you are proud of him, proud of his work 
but also proud of him as a man."  Ibrahim continued to 
look at her soulfully.

Whatever Scully had expected, this wasn't it!  "Oh, 
we've worked together for six years.  We understand 
each other completely," she responded, caught off 
guard by such personal advice.

Now Ben Or spoke.  "You know, Dr. Scully, there is a 
joke we tell.  It goes like this:  If one man tells 
you that you're drunk, perhaps you should slow down a 
bit.  If two men tell, maybe you should stop drinking.  
But if three men tell you that you're drunk, it's time 
to lie down."  He smiled, and Scully tried to think 
what this joke had to do with her or Mulder.

"What Gabi means is that we're both telling you this - 
me and Gabi," Ibrahim explained, "and you should take 
seriously what we say."  He laughed again.  "After 
all, how often will you get a Palestinian and an 
Israeli to agree?  You take our advice, and it will be 
like making a little peace!" Ibrahim finished his 
explanation with a broad gesture, and both men 
laughed.

Scully was truly flustered for the first time in quite 
a while.  She was amused by the Middle Eastern 
willingness to barge right into her business.  She was 
also unnerved by how much they seemed to know - both 
factual information about the X-Files and personal 
observations about her and Mulder.  She gave them 
business cards along with offers of future assistance, 
said her good-byes, and left the lounge as quickly as 
her legs would carry her.  She was still thinking 
about their advice when Mulder pulled up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FOX MULDER'S CAR
WASHINGTON, DC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19
8:20 PM

"I'm sorry, Scully."   Mulder was apologizing before 
she could swing her legs into the car.  "I don't know 
what got into me.  Were they really pissed?" he 
continued to badger as she buckled her seatbelt and 
settled down in the seat.

"No.  It's fine, Mulder.  Don't worry about it."  
Scully heard her voice, calm and easygoing, and 
wondered why she wasn't tearing him to shreds.  But 
she wanted more time to think, and she wouldn't be 
able to think much if she spent the rest of the 
evening sniping at him.

"You want to come up for something to eat?" Scully 
asked as they pulled up to her apartment.  "I don't 
know about you, but I didn't get dinner before we left 
for the hotel."

Mulder apparently viewed this invitation as evidence 
of forgiveness and eagerly accepted.  He parked in a 
visitor space and made his way up to Scully's 
apartment, his hand once again in its usual place on 
her back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19
9 PM
 
Scully warmed up some leftover chicken.  Along with a 
salad and some instant rice, she produced a simple, 
lovely meal in about twenty minutes.  Mulder had set 
the table at her request and then retired to the couch 
with a can of iced tea.  

"Okay, dinner's ready," she announced as she 
transported the steaming dishes to the table and began 
serving.

 "This looks great.  Thanks for doing this.  I'd have 
probably just grabbed a taco or something on the way 
home," he said, trying to summon as much enthusiasm as 
possible for the meal.  He wanted to make up for his 
earlier behavior.

"That's why I did it.  Both of us eat too much junk, 
and most of the time we don't even enjoy it while 
we're eating it," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, we're starting to develop grown-up tastes.  
Pretty scary, huh?"

"Yup.  But the ultimate sign of middle age will be 
when you get a recliner," she teased.

"No way!  Never happen!  Recliners are completely 
uncool."  He paused, then smiled.  "Unless they're the 
ones with the built-in remotes and drink holders and 
stuff."  He looked to see her reaction.

"Ugh!  Mulder!  Don't even think about it!" she 
snorted, spilling a bit of her iced tea. 

"All right.  Fine.  I won't get a recliner.  But it'll 
be your fault when my back gives out from falling 
asleep on my couch.  I won't be able to chase vampires 
any more, and you'll have to do it all by yourself," 
he told her in mock resignation.

They finished their meal, and Mulder helped clean up.  
They continued to joke about the recliner, Scully 
suggesting that maybe the 'recliner fairies' would pay 
him a call.  They segued into spirited repartee 
regarding whether a central 'fairy dispatch' handled 
both waterbed and recliner fairies.  

Mulder left around 10:30 PM, and Scully decided to 
call it a night.  She fell asleep wondering why he 
would care about her opinion of recliners.  What 
difference did it make whether she liked his 
decorating choices?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
SUNDAY, JUNE 23
3 PM

Mulder was back, ostensibly to get her signature on a 
long-overdue report, but really just to hang out.  In 
fact, neither of them spent too much energy anymore 
making up excuses to spend time together on weekends.  
The excuses were getting weaker and weaker.  Just last 
week Mulder dropped by to share a magazine article 
he'd found interesting.

A few years ago, Scully had been careful to let Mulder 
initiate all the non-workday activities.  It wasn't 
that she was a 'Rules Girl' trying to reel him in like 
a prize-winning bass.  But she'd had difficulty 
determining when he wanted solitude and when he needed 
company.  She didn't want her overture interpreted as 
a come-on, and she sure as hell didn't want him to 
feel sorry for her.  

But last year, at a particularly low point, she picked 
up the phone to suggest pizza and a video.  He had 
been obviously pleased to hear her voice and seemed 
thrilled by her meager offer of food and 
entertainment.  He'd worn a smile on his face for 
almost a week, and Scully realized that a 'lone wolf' 
was often a lonely wolf, too.  Now she initiated 
quasi-social activities herself from time to time.

Mulder sat cross-legged on the floor, pawing through 
her video collection.  He claimed to be searching for 
his copy of 'Bowfinger,' but he was really fishing for 
an invitation to stay.  She knew this, and he knew 
that she knew.  But they hadn't quite brought 
themselves to admit the truth:  That each felt wrong 
and out of kilter without the other.

Scully had been thinking about the advice she'd 
received from their two unlikely Middle Eastern 
counterparts.  What had they seen that prompted their 
advice?  Except for a brief phone call and the few 
minutes she was in the restroom, she and Mulder had 
been together along with them.  Had God sent them to 
give her a message, wondered her mystical, religious 
streak?  

What would it hurt to take their advice?  Maybe she 
did take Mulder for granted too much...everybody 
needed praise and affirmation.  A thousand voices in 
her subconscious memory-most of them belonging to 
self-help and new age authors on book tours-urged 
her to tell Mulder how much he meant to her. 

"Mulder, can I tell you something kind of personal?" 
she asked in a purposely casual manner.

He looked stunned and slightly afraid, suspecting that 
anything she deemed 'personal' couldn't be good news.  
"Uh, yeah.  I guess," he stammered.

"Well, it's just that it's so easy to take the people 
in our lives for granted.   I mean, after everything 
that's happened to us in the past few years, we should 
know more than anyone that, well, the future is 
uncertain.  I just want you to know how much I've 
learned from you, how much I admire you - not just as 
an agent, but as a man - and how proud I am whenever 
I'm with you."  Her words came out in a tumble, more 
breathy than usual.  She looked down, embarrassed by 
the sheer amount of emotion she had uncapped.

Mulder didn't speak, and there was a moment of 
silence.  He leaned forward so far his nose was almost 
touching the spot where his ankles crossed.  For a 
split-second, she wondered if he was ill.  But his 
body seemed to be shaking.  At first she thought he 
was laughing.  No, that wasn't it.  He was sobbing!  
Quietly, but still ... Scully had never seen him wracked 
by sobs before, and she was mortified to have been the 
cause.  

Mulder moved fast, unwinding from his sitting position 
and darting into the bathroom.  He kept his face 
turned away from her.  She heard a few more heart 
wrenching sobs before he turned on the water.

She desperately wanted to go to him, to apologize for 
upsetting him, but she suspected this would only make 
things worse.  He couldn't stay in her bathroom 
forever, could he?  He emerged, finally, but she could 
see the telltale evidence of his tears.  His face was 
red and shiny from scrubbing he'd just given it.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I didn't mean to flake out on you 
like that.  I guess I just wasn't expecting it," he 
apologized as he sat down on the couch next to her.

"It's okay.  I didn't mean to upset you.  I'm sorry if 
I said something that bothered you.  I just wanted you 
to know I appreciate you," she said softly.

"No, no ... it's my fault.  I always do this.  I get 
fixated on something I want, and when I finally get 
it, I don't know what the hell to do with it," he 
explained as though he were talking to himself.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"What you said about being proud of me?  That means 
more to me than ... anything."  His eyes were again wet, 
but he won this round with his tears.

"I'm surprised.  I know you respect me and what I 
bring to the work, but I always pegged you as pretty 
self-sufficient."

"You really don't get it, do you?"  He shook his head 
in defeat.

"I'm not sure," she answered, this time with 
hesitation.

"I'm in love with you.  That's why I care about what 
you think of me.  That's when I knew I loved you - 
when I started worrying about it," he sounded tired, 
beaten-down.

Was she surprised?  Shocked?  Oh, maybe a bit.  But 
not really.  They'd been doing this dance for years.  
First moving closer, then moving apart, and then 
closer again.  Three steps forward and two steps back 
as the years rolled on.   It was inevitable.  If not 
now, when?  If not in her living room, where?

Scully touched him first.  She used her index finger 
to wipe away the traces of moisture from his eyes.  
She traced his lips while he took shallow breaths, and 
then cradled his face while she tilted her face to 
kiss him.  He was responding, she noted with relief, 
afraid that she'd somehow misunderstood and was making 
a terrific fool of herself.  

Her mouth opened slightly, and their tongues met, 
sending an electrical charge through them both.  There 
was no returning to the status quo.  They could not 
pretend that this had been a just a friendly kiss.  
This was a bodice-ripping, wetness-inducing, arousing 
prelude to sex.

She pulled away and stood up, holding his hands in 
hers and pulling him slightly toward her.  "Make love 
to me?" she invited, and he bounded up, following her 
into the bedroom or wherever she chose to lead.

Despite years of fantasies featuring a naked, 
insatiable Scully, Mulder was surprised to find how 
very, very much he liked her taking the initiative.  
She slowly undid the two buttons on his polo shirt, 
and pulled it over his head with the accompanying t-
shirt.  She unbuttoned his jeans and eased them over 
his hips along with the long-line briefs he'd recently 
started wearing.

"Hm... no more boxers?" she asked, pretending to be 
petulant as the knit underwear snagged on his erection 
on the way to the floor.

"I didn't know you had a preference in my underwear, 
Agent Scully," he retorted with a grin.

"Well, it'll take some more research, I think, before 
I can submit a recommendation," she teased.

He was working on the buttons of her man-tailored 
shirt now, wondering why they made the damned things 
so tiny.  She helped him, and then slipped off her 
jeans and panties in a single motion.  She pressed her 
body against his and moved slightly, offering some 
friction against his cock.  One hand reached around to 
stroke the muscles in his ass and pull him even 
closer.

"Really?" he asked.  "You're not doing this because..."  
He didn't finish the sentence; so many awful 
possibilities loomed.  Maybe this was a pity fuck, 
after all.  She'd only said she admired him, was proud 
of him.  He was the one who had mentioned love.  

"Because I love you, too, and I've wanted this for a 
long time," she answered firmly, trying to scatter the 
demons of his insecurity.

They moved onto the bed, their limbs tangled together, 
touching all the spots they'd each dreamed of, feeling 
strangely uninhibited.  Scully's previous sexual 
experiences had always involved meeting the real or 
imagined expectations of her lovers.  This time, 
though, she felt free and confident.  Mulder's past 
had made him as wary and suspicious during lovemaking 
as he was the rest of the time, but with Scully, he 
relaxed and gave himself completely.  

He entered her, and Scully suddenly comprehended the 
argument against casual or even not-so-casual sex.   
To make love with a man who loved you, who would stand 
behind you no matter what ... it was nothing like the 
couplings she'd experienced with college boyfriends, 
with Daniel, with Jack.  

She'd always felt nervous about sex in the past.  
She'd blamed it on her Roman Catholic upbringing.  But 
now she knew that it wasn't religion that had left her 
with doubts about her attractiveness and her bedroom 
technique.  She had simply gone to bed with the wrong 
men:  They didn't fit.  Mulder was different.  Like a 
favorite pair of jeans or an old sweatshirt, he fit 
her perfectly.  It wasn't about size-he was over a 
head taller and outweighed her by 80 pounds.  It was 
the way the angles of his body matched perfectly with 
her curves.  His rhythm, his breathing ... everything 
meshed as if they'd been made to fit together.  For 
the first time, she felt truly at home in what seemed 
like a new, more brazen body!

She could tell that he was trying to last, trying to 
make this good for her.  That was nice, but she wanted 
the sensation of power that would come from making him 
lose control.  He was close, she could tell.  Now, to 
push him over the edge...

"Mulder, would you be...offended...if I told you...I 
fantasize...about you...all the time," she punctuated 
her sentence with throaty whimpers as the speed of his 
thrusts increased.

"Oh, God...Scully!"  She moved to reposition her legs 
on his shoulders, allowing him to penetrate deeper.  
His movements picked up speed, and she dug her short 
fingernails into his shoulder blades as his words 
disintegrated into a series of unintelligible 
syllables.

"Yeah," she continued, "I have this fantasy...at the 
office...you bend me over your desk...and fuck me 
senseless."  She was panting now, and Mulder squeezed 
his eyes tight.

"God, Scully, you're gonna make me come.  I can't last..."

"In my fantasy...I'm wearing stockings...you lift my 
skirt and..."

This image was too much for him, and Mulder slammed 
into her four final times, filling her both with the 
thick ejaculate of his physical satiation and with the
pent-up emotions of the past five or six years.  

She had been engrossed in watching him, focusing on 
his pleasure alone and enjoying her control as she 
brought him to a peak of arousal.  But the sight of his 
face, his eyes closed tightly as she forced his orgasm,
must have affected her more than she realized.  He ground
his hips into her one last time, creating a slow friction,
and she felt her nipples harden and her muscles contract
as waves of her own climax lazily washed over her.

He slid to her side and buried his face in her hair.  
He was uncharacteristically quiet for a few minutes.  
He lifted his head up, his expression serious.

"Okay?" he asked tentatively.

"Better than okay," she replied with a smile.

"No regrets?" he queried further.

"No, Mulder.  No regrets.  You?"

"Are you kidding?  I meant every word I said...about 
being in love with you."

"I love you, too.   So see?  It's all worked out.  
We're going to be fine with this, Mulder."  She spoke 
firmly and confidently.  Scully knew her partner, knew 
that he was imagining a hundred possible problems with 
their new intimacy.  When it came to 'borrowing trouble,' 
she reflected, Mulder had a charge card with a high limit.

He found the remote control on the bedside table and 
they tuned in a tennis tournament that neither cared 
about.  They pulled the comforter over themselves and 
dozed.  

As they drifted off to sleep, Scully heard the faint 
roar of a jet overhead.  She thought suddenly of 
Gavriel Ben Or and Nael Ibrahim, who would be flying 
home by now.  Perhaps God *had* sent them ... 

She closed her eyes, and uttered a silent prayer for 
the peace of Jerusalem.

THE END