Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013 Productions and Fox
Broadcasting, not me. 

Throwing Punches
by Lydia Bower <bower2@juno.com>
R, Mulder/Scully Romance, Rated R for language
Summary: What happens after Mulder decks a fellow agent whose gotten a
little too friendly with Scully.

Throwing Punches
by Lydia Bower
Part 1/2

	Mulder was frantic. He slammed the phone down onto the car seat
next to him and pounded the steering wheel in frustration--left-handed of
course; his right hand still hurt like hell from the punch he'd thrown at
that smarmy little prick who'd had his hands all over Scully. She wasn't
at the office, wasn't home, and her cell phone was turned off. 
	"Goddammit, Scully, where are you?"
	Get a clue, buddy boy, a voice piped up in his head. She doesn't
want you to know where she is--that was the whole point of ditching you
at the party. Think about it, Mulder; now you know how she feels when you
do it to her. 
	It's not the same thing, he reasoned. When I do it, it's to
protect her. This has nothing to do with protection. This is about the
stupid-ass stunt I pulled. She's pissed off and wants to be left alone.
So leave her alone.
	But Mulder couldn't do it. He had to find her, had to try to set
things right again. 
	Maybe she's back at the party, he thought, and then instantly
dismissed the possibility. No way she'd venture back there and expose
herself to all the innuendo that'd be swirling through the room like
toxic gas. No way she'd want to chance being pulled aside by
Skinner--who'd no doubt ask her just what the hell had prompted her
partner to deck one of the FBI's up-and-coming golden boys.
	Might be a golden boy--but he ain't so pretty anymore, Mulder
thought with vicious satisfaction. He was almost positive he'd broken the
guy's nose. Sure had bled like it. And if the sharp, shooting pain in his
hand was any indication of the force behind the punch, he'd managed to
bust one or two of his own knuckles, as well. 
	Fine, he thought, I'll just sit here outside Scully's apartment
till she gets home. She's gotta come home eventually. He glanced at his
watch. 11:21. Shit. Mulder reached up and loosened his bow tie. Goddamn
monkey suit. He never should have let Scully talk him into this in the
first place. Bad enough all the hours he put in stuck in that cold,
windowless room that served as his office. The last thing he'd wanted to
do was go to any kind of formal FBI function. But Scully had batted those
baby blues at him and reminded him of how important it was to keep up
appearances and make nice with all the bigwigs. Mulder quite frankly
didn't give a damn what anybody else thought of him and his work. But it
was tough saying no to Scully.  
	He sat there drumming the fingers of his good hand against the
steering wheel, trying to ignore the cold, empty, gnawing feeling in his
gut. It was same feeling he'd had when Samantha had been taken; when
Phoebe had dumped him; when the X-Files had been shut down and then when
Scully had disappeared. The feeling he'd had as he'd knelt over his
father's body and had known that his life had irrevocably changed in that
instant and would never be the same again. The sensation spoke of loss
and Mulder didn't think he could bear to lose anymore--especially not
Scully. Not after they'd finally had the good sense to realize that they
didn't need anyone, love anyone, but each other.
	And then he spotted her. She was about half a block away, walking
slowly towards her apartment, head down. Jesus, Scully, he thought, what
are you doing walking around by yourself this time of night? She was
still wearing the royal blue evening gown she'd had on earlier, the one
that made her look like a princess. She had her black lace shawl slung
over her shoulders and she was clutching a beaded purse in her hand. A
fuckin' mugger's wet dream, Mulder thought. He stuffed his phone in his
coat pocket and got out of the car. He crossed the street and starting
walking towards her. They were perhaps thirty feet apart when she lifted
her head and caught sight of him. Her eyes went wide like a frightened
deer's and then she stopped dead, turned on her heel and starting walking
away from him, her shoes clacking against the sidewalk as she quickly put
more distance between them. Whatcha think, Mulder? he asked himself.
Think maybe she doesn't want to be anywhere near you right now? The
better part of him thought his best option would be to respect her wishes
and just get in his car and go home, give her the rest of the night to
cool off. Mulder wasn't listening to that part tonight. His feet kept
taking him to her, each step quickening to close the space between them.
He jogged the last few yards and fell into step beside her. He tried to
keep his voice light.
	"Hey, Scully, can I walk you home?"
	"Go away, Mulder."
	Little wisps of hair had escaped the simple chignon on the back
of her head and were floating around her face. He'd bought her a pair of
small diamond stud earrings for her birthday in February and she'd worn
them tonight. The diamonds caught the light from the street lamp they
passed under and threw off sparks of glittering fire. Her mouth was
pulled tight and her eyes were focused straight ahead. God, she was
beautiful, even when she was pissed. He told her so.
	Bad move. Scully picked up her steps, even more determined to get
away from him. "Go away, Mulder!" 
	"Aw, c'mon, Scully--"
	She whirled on him then and if her eyes could've shot bullets,
he'd have been a dead man. She lifted her chin in that holier-than-thou
gesture she was so good at and informed him through gritted teeth, "I'm
going to turn around and go home now, Mulder. Listen to me carefully
because I'm only going to say this once. I am going home *alone*. If you
keep following me I'm going to take my tiny little gun out of my purse
and I'm going to shoot you like I'd shoot a rabid dog. Is that clear?"
	Mulder guessed he didn't have to worry about muggers after all.
He peered down at her, fighting back a grin and asked, "Are you coming on
to me, Scully?"
	"Fuck you, Mulder." She did a quarter turn and headed back to her
apartment building. Mulder watched her for a few seconds before he sighed
and took off after her. He stretched out his arm and caught a corner of
her shawl in his fingers. It slipped a bit off her shoulders and his hand
made contact with her upper arm, his fingers wrapping gently around it.
He heard Scully hiss through her teeth and she savagely yanked her arm
out of his grasp. 
	"Don't *touch* me!"
	Okay, this wasn't funny anymore. Mulder felt a little spark of
anger flare up inside him. It wasn't like he'd killed her best friend or
anything. He'd punched a guy who'd gotten way too friendly with her,
that's all. She didn't have to make a capitol case out of it. Hell, even
Skinner would understand once Mulder got a chance to explain to him what
the guy had been doing to her. All Mulder had done was what a half a
dozen other men at the party had wanted to do but hadn't had the balls to
follow through on.
	"Jesus Christ, Scully!" he heard himself snap. "Will you give me
a break here and talk to me?"
	"There's nothing to talk about." Her voice had lost its hard edge
and taken on a quality of sadness and resignation that he didn't like at
all. "It's over, Mulder. Go home." She pulled her shawl back over her
shoulder and walked away.
	It took awhile for her words to sink in, and even then he still
wasn't sure just exactly what she'd meant by them. Over? What's over? The
night? Or him and Scully? No, it couldn't be that. Could it? He stood on
the corner, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trench coat and
tried to imagine what it might be like to live without Scully in his
life; in his arms. That sick feeling in his gut was back and for a few
seconds Mulder was positive he was going to throw up.
	Go home or go after her? he asked himself. If he went home that'd
just give her more time to think up reasons why they shouldn't be
together. It might even give her the time to type up a request for a
transfer to slip on Skinner's desk come Monday morning. But if he went
after her, he could just make things worse. How much worse can it get? he
asked himself, and that decided him. He turned and headed for her
building. 
	She'd hauled ass getting home: there was no sign of her on the
sidewalk and he caught sight of the door at the front entrance slipping
shut. 	He pulled open the door and stepped inside the foyer just
in time to hear Scully's door click shut. Okay, Mulder, he told himself,
relax, take a deep breath and try to act like a man. Only problem was, he
didn't feel much like a man right now. More like a twelve-year-old who'd
just gotten dumped by the first girl who'd kissed him. Funny thing was,
that's exactly what had happened to him. Sarah Cramer. Seventh grade.
Kissed and dumped. Now that he thought about it, it seemed that Sarah had
started a string of really bad luck for him. Samantha had been taken from
him less than a month later.
	Mulder shook off his odd fit of nostalgia and took the last few
steps to Scully's door. He knocked with the back of his hand. His right
hand. Big mistake. He instantly folded at the waist and cradled his fist
tightly against his chest as the pain lanced through him. He gritted his
teeth and hissed the appropriate number of foul words to help lessen the
pain. He straightened up and found Scully standing in front of him. He
tried to smile but knew it came out as a grimace instead.
	"Something wrong with your hand, Mulder?" Her voice could've cut
glass.
	"Yeah. It hurts like a sonovabitch. How about it, Dr. Scully,
take a look at it for me?" He held out the offending hand. Scully glanced
at it like he was offering something she really didn't want. Her eyes
locked onto his face and she glared at him. "It really hurts, Scully. I
think I broke something."
	She folded her arms across her chest. "Par for the course,
Mulder." She stepped aside. "C'mon in," she sighed.  
	Yes! He was in the door. First step's the hardest. He followed
her to the kitchen and waited as she switched on the lights. She went to
the sink and turned back to him. She snapped, "Well, come here."
	Yes, Mom, he thought and obediently stepped to her side. Scully
held out her hand palm up and waited for him to lay his hand on top of
it. She wouldn't look at him. Mulder peered down at the top of her head
and gave her his hand--which she immediately grabbed, pulling it and him
around to face her. "Ouch!"
	"Don't be such a baby, Mulder. You've suffered through worse."
	"Yeah, like the time you shot me."
	"You're lucky I don't shoot you again after that stunt you pulled
tonight." She was inspecting his hand, turning it, running her fingers
over his knuckles, doing the doctor bit on him. Mulder liked it when they
played doctor. He figured he was the only guy in the Bureau, short of the
Director, who had his own personal physician pretty much at his beck and
call. 
	"Well, I can't be sure without x-rays, but I'd say you have at
least two, maybe three broken knuckles. You should go to the emergency
room and have it taken care of."
	"Can't you do something, Scully?" He didn't mean to whine. Too
bad it came out sounding that way. 
	She finally looked up at him then. "Not if it needs a cast."
	"A cast?" Great. Just great. And then a thought occurred to him.
"Hey, that means you'd have to do all the paperwork until it came off."
	Scully sneered at him. "Write with your left hand, Mulder. Nobody
would be the wiser."
	He chuckled and thought that maybe he saw a little glimmer in her
eye. Maybe one corner of her mouth came up just a little. "I suppose you
could wait until morning, but you need to get some ice on it, keep the
swelling down."
	"Got any ice, Scully?"
	She heaved a put-upon sigh and grabbed a couple ice trays from
the fridge. He watched as she filled a ziplock bag with cubes and grabbed
a meat mallet, making short work of turning them into chips. He couldn't
get over how gorgeous she looked. Her gown was narrowly cut and hugged
her curves without being so tight that it was a major distraction. The
square neckline of the dress was cut just deeply enough to showcase the
upper swell of her breasts. The long sleeves hugged her slim arms and
came to a point on the backs of her hands. She slipped off her heels and
Mulder was keenly aware of how tiny she was. Best of all, though, was how
the deep blue color of her dress made her hair blaze fire and copper, her
eyes turn the most unbelievable shade of blue. Altogether a lovely sight
to behold. He remembered how well they'd moved together on the dance
floor earlier that night, swirling and floating. How it seemed that all
eyes were on them in those moments. Mulder remembered wanting to shout
out to the crowd that she was his and his alone. That all the men
assembled there could look all they wanted but that she was going home
with the guy what brung her. Of course he couldn't say those things, not
without incurring the wrath of the woman held gently in his arms; not to
mention enduring the consequent actions of his superiors if word ever
leaked out that they were personally involved. Come to think of it, he
guessed that punching whatshisname could be construed as a declaration
that their connection went much deeper than that of other partners in the
Bureau. His actions definitely deserved more thought on his part--but not
right now, not tonight. He had to fix things with Scully before he could
even begin to think about what might happen to him because of what he'd
done. But hell, the guy deserved it!
	Mulder pulled his thoughts away from that problem and focused on
the other one: Scully standing in front of him, holding out the
towel-wrapped bag of ice chips. He lifted his left hand and curled his
fingers around the back of her neck, dipping his head and brushing a
small kiss across her mouth. Though Scully didn't pull away, she didn't
exactly return the kiss either. "Thanks for taking such good care of me,
Scully." He took the ice bag from her hand.
	She stepped away from him. "I can't fix all your problems,
Mulder." 
	"I know that," he countered, aware that she was referring to his
well-placed punch. "You let me take care of it."
	She had her back to him, standing at the sink with both hands
braced on the counter. "It's that attitude that's gotten you into trouble
in the first place. I never asked for a knight in shining armor."
	"Good thing for you," he quipped, "because my armor's pretty
tarnished."
	She turned away from the sink and stepped by him. "I'll get you
some aspirin. It'll help the pain and bring some of the swelling down."
	"Scully?" She stopped, though she didn't turn around. "What did
you mean when you said it was over?"
	He watched her shoulders sag and his stomach took a proportional
plunge. "I'll get your aspirin."
	He watched her round the corner and carried his ice pack into the
living room, settled on the couch and gingerly covered his hand with the
bag. He grabbed the CD remote and pressed play, figuring that Scully
would have the player loaded and ready to go. Seal drifted softly from
the speakers.

The challenges we took were hard enough
They get harder now
Even when we think that we've had enough
Don't feel alone
'Cause it's I who understands
I'm your sedative
Take a piece of me whenever you can

Don't cry
You're not alone
Don't cry tonight
My baby
Don't cry
You'll always be loved
Don't cry tonight
Sweet baby

	That's the way, my man, Mulder thought. You tell her. Nobody
could sing a love song quite the way this guy could. Mulder sank back
into the couch and closed his eyes.
	He opened them moments later when he felt Scully settle down
beside him. She'd changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. Not
as glamorous as the gown, but Scully could be wearing sackcloth and ashes
and still look great. She was holding out a glass of water and four
aspirin. Mulder took them and mumbled, "Thanks." He swallowed down the
pills and set the glass on the coffee table. 
	Scully was busy studying her hands. "We need to talk, Mulder."
	"Okay."
	She lifted her eyes and regarded him with that singularly intense
look she saved for special occasions like informing a relative of a loved
one's murder or comforting a terrified child who'd been caught in the
crossfire of a tragic situation. Mulder didn't like it at all when that
look was focused on him. His throat closed up as his guts twisted.
	"I think we both need to take a step back. I think we need to
take a break."
	"From?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. He knew what was
coming and couldn't stop it.  
	"Us. You and me."
	He couldn't handle the heat of her eyes. He looked aside. "You're
gonna put in for a transfer, aren't you?"
	"No."
	Mulder looked back at her, surprised. 
	"The X-Files are too important to me, Mulder. I won't give them
up."
	"Oh, but you'll give me up, no problem. Is that what you're
saying, Scully?"
	"Mulder, please don't twist this around to make me the bad guy."
	He opened his mouth to make a smart-ass remark but never got past
the thought. She was right. This didn't have to be about blame. He wasn't
sure exactly *what* it was about, but he didn't want her to be the bad
guy either. Not when he was so good at it. "You wanna tell me what's
going on?"
	"I thought I could handle this, Mulder. I really wanted to make
it work, to prove to myself that we could be friends and partners and
lovers, all rolled up into a nice little bundle. But I'm not so sure
anymore."
	He forced his eyes back to hers. "You don't love me." It was a
statement, a test. Would she try to lie to him? He watched as her eyes
welled up with tears. She slowly shook her head. 
	"Oh, Mulder. You can be so dense sometimes. Of course I love you.
It's not something I can turn off and on at will. If it was, I never
would have let myself love you in the first place."
	"Then what's the problem? You'll have to explain it to me,
Scully. I can be dense sometimes." 
	He wasn't trying to be witty, but Scully smiled just the same. 
	"It's just that some things in my life have changed in a way I
wasn't prepared for. I guess I just didn't consider all the
possibilities."
	"Scully, what we have between us is not some kind of scientific
puzzle you can piece together if you have all the information. Love
doesn't work that way. Neither do relationships. Considering all the
possibilities is...well...impossible. We never know what's going to
happen. It just happens, whether we plan it or not."
	"Fate, Mulder?"
	"Yeah. Maybe. Look, Scully, if this about what happened tonight,
if you're pissed because I punched whatshisname--"
	"His name is David Buckellew."
	"Whatever. I don't really care who he is. All I need to know is
that he had his hand on your ass and was about to shove his tongue down
your throat."
	"And you felt compelled to come to my rescue."
	"You're damned right I did! The guy was way outta line, Scully.
He'd been harassing women all night."
	"I could have handled it, Mulder. I *was* handling it."
	"C'mon, Scully! Looked to me like if I hadn't shown up when I did
that guy could've ended up doing a lot worse to you than just grope your
ass. Another two or three feet and he would have had you out of the
corner he'd backed you into and out the doors, onto that nice dark patio
outside."
	"He was drunk."
	If Mulder didn't know better, he would've sworn Scully was almost
defending the guy. "So what? Since when is that an excuse?"
	"I'm not trying to excuse his behavior, Mulder"
	"Then what are you doing, Scully?"
	"It's just that every since we've become...intimate, it seems
you've been so damned possessive and territorial. I don't know."
	Mulder barked a sharp laugh. "Of course I have! I've always been
territorial when it comes to you; you know that. And as far as being
possessive, I'll plead guilty to that, too. I get that way when it comes
to the people I love. I'm not going to apologize for wanting you close by
where I can keep an eye on you."
	"You don't seem to have that problem when it comes to ditching me
so you can go off on your own little tangents, Mulder. Or sending me off
on secretarial chores while you chase down leads."
	"I thought we were talking about us, Scully, not the work. When
did we change the subject?"
	"This *is* about us, dammit! This is about the way you seem to
think  you can arbitrarily change the rules whenever you see fit."
	"What rules?"
	"I don't know! The Mulder Rules for Relationships!"
	He had to laugh then. In all the years he'd known Scully, he
couldn't ever remember her being this damned vague about anything. The
only thing he could figure was that she hadn't had time to prepare a
mental list of points to bring up and debate with him. But even that was
no explanation. Scully could come up with a sound argument quicker than
he could even begin to process facts. 
	He scrubbed his face with both hands, wincing at the pain in his
knuckles. The ice pack had long ago been set aside and forgotten.
"Scully, my love, I haven't had enough relationships to make up any
rules. I just drift along with the current; see where it takes me."
	"Well, it's taken me to the point of distraction."
	"Care to elaborate?"
	"It's just that once you have sex with someone you can't go back.
That one act changes everything."
	"Do you want to go back, Scully?"
	
end part 1/2


From bower2@juno.com Tue Jan 07 23:15:57 1997
Summary and disclaimer in part 1. This is just story. All feedback to
bower2@juno.com

Throwing Punches
by Lydia Bower
Part 2/2

	
	"Yes. No. I don't know. It was easier before, Mulder. I knew--we
both knew--where the line was and we didn't cross it. Now there's no line
anymore and it just frightens me." She looked away, as close to being
embarrassed as he'd ever seen her. Mulder reached out and brushed a lock
of hair from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. 
	"I don't think this has anything to do with the sex," he
responded quietly. "I think what this is about is that you're afraid to
just let go and love me; and let me love you back. Scully, you try so
damned hard to always be in control of things; whether it be your life,
the work, your emotions, that you've forgotten what it's like to fly by
the seat of your pants. You can't control everything. You can't analyze
everything. I know how much you value the life you've built, how much you
value your autonomy, and I would never try to take that away from you. I
respect the fact that sometimes you just need to be alone. Or need to
vent. Or blow off steam. But you have to understand that sometimes I need
to be protective of you. I can't help it. I love you. And if you think
for one minute that if I can't fuck you I'm going to stop wanting to take
care of you, you're crazier than I am."
	Scully ducked her head, hiding behind her hair, but not before
Mulder saw a smile. With teeth, even. She cleared her throat and
commented, "Crude, but to the point." 
	"I thought you liked it when I talk dirty, Scully."
	"You are so bad, Mulder."
	"Through and through." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to ask
you a question and I want you to take some time and really think about
it. No spontaneous answers. This one, you analyze to your heart's
content. You with me so far?"
	Scully was looking at him quizzically. "Yeah. Go on."
	"I want you to think back from the very beginning, when you first
stepped into my office. I want you to try to remember all the looks, all
the little touches, all the things we said and didn't say to each other.
Aside from the fact that I can now indulge in some of my favorite
fantasies with a flesh and blood woman as opposed to in my head, have
things really gotten that out of control between us? Have I really been
any more possessive than I ever was? I don't think things have changed
all that much. I mean, it's great to finally have you in my arms, but the
sex really isn't a big part of why I love you. I loved you long before I
ever got you into bed. I think what's changed, what's gotten you so
hinky, is that you're perceiving things differently now. It's all being
filtered through a new light, a new perspective."
	"Isn't it for you, Mulder?"
	"Sure it is. Every day is a new adventure, Scully. And I'm used
to having to change my perceptions--about a lot of things. I thrive on
it. You're just wired differently than I am. And now you have to decide
if you want to try to find a way to incorporate these changing
perceptions into your life. I can't do that for you, Scully. I *won't* do
it for you. Either way, I'm still going to love you. That'll never
change. And you'll still be the best partner I could ever have."  
	Mulder stood and looked down at her. "I'm gonna go home. You
think about what I said. Give me a call when you figure out what you want
to do." Scully peered up at him and nodded. He put on his best coaxing
smile. "Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for a kiss goodnight?"
	She smiled and followed him to the door, laying her hand on his
arm and standing on tiptoes to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
He purposefully refrained from reaching out for her. Hold on loosely,
Mulder, he told himself, Scully needs a lot of room. 
	"G'night, Mulder. And promise me you'll have that hand looked
it."
	He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers along the
curve of her cheek. "I promise. 'Night, Scully."
	Mulder gingerly shoved his hands in his pockets and headed home. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

	Mulder didn't get much sleep that night. Not exactly a rare
occurrence; but what little sleep he did get was restless and troubled.
He woke up early Saturday morning and spent all that day waiting for the
phone to ring. It was one of the longest days he'd ever lived through.
He'd put off checking his answering machine until after breakfast,
avoiding what he knew would be the curt message from Skinner waiting for
him. Sure enough: a command to be in Skinner's office first thing Monday
morning. The day just went downhill from there.
	He puttered around the apartment, picking up and putting things
in order as best he could one-handed. Did a couple loads of laundry.
Called his mom. Mulder lunched on Spaghetti-Os and Ding Dongs and napped
on the couch afterward. He finally left the apartment late in the
afternoon and headed for the nearest emergency room, double-checking that
he had his cell phone with him before he left. He came back three hours
later with his right hand and wrist resting comfortably in a brace and
with firm instructions from the doctor not to overuse the hand for at
least two weeks and to come back sooner if his fingers went dumb on him.
At least they hadn't casted it, and he could remove the brace when he
wanted to. He cleaned his fish tank while he waited for a pizza to be
delivered. Pepperoni and double cheese. Death by cholesterol. Mulder
skimmed through the newest 'Omni' while he sucked down pizza and then
popped a video in the VCR. It did absolutely nothing for him and he was
left even more morose than before. Pretty bad, Mulder, he thought, when
the only thing a skin flick manages to raise is your impending sense of
doom. It was so hard not to call Scully. But he'd left it in her hands
and he vowed to himself he wouldn't push her. She'd call eventually. He
hoped he was still relatively sane by the time she decided to pick up the
phone. 
	Mulder woke up about four o'clock Sunday morning. Changed into
sweats and took a nice, leisurely five mile run. He jogged home, showered
and changed and got a couple more hours of shut-eye.
	It turned out that Saturday had been a piece of cake compared to
Sunday. He spent half the day alternating between pacing his apartment
and unsuccessfully trying to veg on the couch. He was jittery, wired. He
finally left the house about seven o'clock and stopped at the corner bar
for a burger and a beer. He dropped by the offices of the Lone Gunmen and
shot the shit with the boys for a couple hours, picking up a few
interesting facts he filed away in his head for future contemplation. He
was back home and on the couch by eleven. Mulder woke up around
two-thirty and got up long enough to use the bathroom and flip the switch
on his alarm clock. He spent the rest of the waning night reliving
Samantha's abduction in his dreams and woke up sweaty and with his heart
racing an instant before the alarm went off. 
	Monday morning and he hadn't gotten a single goddamn phone call
all weekend. Not a peep out of Scully. 
	Mulder dragged himself to the bathroom and showered and shaved,
keenly aware that his only consolation for the long weekend he'd just put
in was knowing he'd get to see Scully--if he survived his ass-chewing
from Skinner. With that in mind, Mulder took more care than usual as he
dressed, making certain that when he walked into Skinner's office he'd
look every bit the FBI Special Agent. Conservative dark gray suit, crisp
white shirt, one of his most sedate ties. His black trench coat completed
the picture. If only he could do something about the hang-dog look on his
face. Thanks to Scully, he'd been wearing that all weekend and it didn't
seem to want to go away.
	Mulder made it to headquarters in one piece. He slipped into
Skinner's outer office and was told to go right on in, that Assistant
Director Skinner was expecting him. Yeah, I'll bet he is, Mulder thought.
He felt his shoulders stiffen. An interesting phenomenon--considering
that when he'd stepped in the door he was convinced that if he got any
more rigid he'd snap in two like a dry twig. 
	He pushed open the door to Skinner's office. The AD was
scribbling something on a piece of paper. His suit coat was off, his
sleeves rolled up and he looked like he'd already been at it for hours.
	 Not for all the money in the world, Mulder thought. He couldn't
imagine what it would be like to spend over half his life pushing
paperwork and chewing ass. Not to mention kissing a few. One thing he had
to say for Skinner though--the man didn't kiss many, and then only after
a hell of a fight. Skinner had his moments. 
	"Sir, you wanted to see me?"
	"Have a seat, Agent Mulder."
	No eye contact. Mulder settled himself down and put on his best
blank stare. Skinner didn't seem to be in a big hurry to finish what he
was doing and address the business at hand. Won't work on me, Mulder
thought. I'm a psychologist--I know that game. Can't make me sweat any
more than I already am.
	Skinner finally set the paperwork aside and looked up at Mulder.
They played chicken for a few seconds before Skinner broke the look and
glanced down at his desk. "I understand you were involved in an
altercation with another agent at the official function Friday evening.
Care to fill me in?"
	Mulder folded his hands in his lap. "There's not much to tell,
sir. I was getting Agent Scully a glass of water and came back to find
Agent Buckellew trying to force himself on her. I asked him nicely to
step away from her. He refused, cursed me, and I grabbed him and struck
him."
	"I see." Skinner's ice-chip eyes bored into him.
	 Goddammit. "Sir, the man was obviously drunk. And I had observed
him on several different occasions throughout the evening harassing other
women at the party."
	"And Agent Scully was unable to deal with the situation herself?
I think we both know she's capable of taking care of herself, Agent
Mulder."
	"If she could have, sir, I'm sure she would've."
	"Was it necessary to break Agent Buckellew's nose?"
	"I used the amount of force I deemed necessary to gain control of
the situation, sir."
	"I see you didn't come out of it unscathed, Agent Mulder."
	"No, not entirely."
	Mulder could have sworn he saw a smile pass over Skinner's face.
Nah. A trick of the light. 
	"Well, you got lucky. Again. I had the opportunity to question
several people after you left Friday evening and many of them seem to
feel that you were well within rights to do what you did to prevent Agent
Buckellew from engaging in further harassment of Agent Scully. Agent
Buckellew has been placed on indefinite suspension for his unprofessional
behavior and has expressed to me that he doesn't wish to file assault
charges against you."
	Mulder snorted. "That's mighty generous of him, considering that
Agent Scully could well file her own assault charges against him."
	"I believe that had something to do with his decision, Agent
Mulder," Skinner commented dryly. "And as far as Agent Scully's wishes, I
spoke to her this weekend and she expressed a desire to have this
situation dealt with as quickly and discreetly as possible."
	Mulder nodded his agreement. Well, at least *somebody* had gotten
to talk to Scully this weekend.
	Skinner pegged him with a stern and oh-so-serious look. 'The
disappointed father look', as Mulder had come to think of it.
"Discretion, Agent Mulder. Remember that word. Become intimately familiar
with it. Practice it."
	Something in the way he said it made Mulder sit up a little
straighter in his chair--especially the 'intimate' part. Wasn't that the
word Scully had used to describe the newest facet of their relationship?
Mulder couldn't help but wonder what other information Scully might have
passed on to Skinner this weekend; or what he might have figured out on
his own. But he'd be damned if he'd ask. Uh uh. No way, no how.
	"You will be working without pay this week, Agent Mulder."
	"Yes, sir." Mulder considered himself lucky. He started to rise
from the chair. Skinner's voice stopped him.
	"One more thing. Agent Scully was called out of town for a
consult yesterday. She won't be in the office until this afternoon. She
asked me to tell you."
	"Thank you, sir." He got up and this time made it all the way to
the door before Skinner spoke up again. 
	"Agent Mulder."
	Mulder felt his jaw tighten and swung around to face the AD.
	"If word ever gets back to me that Agent Scully has in any way
been hurt because of your actions or behavior, your ass is mine. Is that
clear?"
	There was no doubting the meaning behind that statement. Mulder
tried not to show his surprise. "Perfectly, sir."
	"Good. That'll be all." Skinner went back to his paperwork. 
	Mulder walked out and shut the door behind him. He slumped
against the wall, trying to process the implications of what had just
taken place in the AD's office. The man definitely knew something. And
didn't seem to care--except when it came to Scully. Mulder guessed it
shouldn't be a big surprise: he'd always know that Skinner had a soft
spot for her. Almost made him human. He pushed away from the wall and
headed down to the basement, chuckling to himself.
	Mulder managed to stay busy through the morning and was only
slightly surprised when he glanced down at his watch and saw that he'd
worked clear through the lunch hour. Plop him down in the middle of a
stack of X-Files and he'd happily work until he passed out from hunger or
exhaustion. 
	Funny, but he smelled her long before she walked in the door. He
lifted his head, sniffed, and took in the combination of ScullySmell,
something warm and spicy, and the lingering tang he'd come to think of as
'eau de autopsy.' She shouldered her way in the door, bearing a stack of
files, her briefcase, a large carry-out bag from the Chinese place down
the street and another smaller bag. Mulder jumped up and came around the
desk, taking the files and briefcase from Scully.
	"Hi," he said.
	"Hi yourself. Thanks."  
	He piled the stuff on her desk and leaned back against his,
watching as she set the bags next to her briefcase and slipped out of her
coat. She was wearing her red suit; the one that looked so good on her.
Her color was high and Scully appeared to be generally pleased with life.
Amazing the effect slicing and dicing had on the woman in front of him.
It was almost like the afterglow of great sex. Scully loved it when she
could put her forensic skills to work.
	"So who did you cut up that's put that smile on your face,
Scully? Anybody I know? Cancer Man, maybe?"
	"I wish," Scully quipped. "Actually it was a series of fatal
poisonings down in Roanoke. The county coroner was having some trouble
distinguishing an exact cause of death. It was easy once I was able
examine one of the bodies and isolate the proteins in the blood samples."
	Mulder nodded, like he knew exactly what she was talking about.
"So, the good guys won this one?"
	"Yeah. It still happens from time to time."
	They traded warm smiles. 
	Scully lifted her chin and looked down at his hand. "How's the
hand?"
	Mulder raised it and showed off his newest medical appliance.
"Two broken knuckles, just like you said. Hairline fractures--no big
deal. I'm fine."
	"Good."
	And then it got a little awkward. Not too bad, just a sense of
needing to fill the silence--something neither one of them normally felt
compelled to do. Scully studied the mess on his desk while Mulder studied
her. She caught his look and held it for a moment.
	"Oh," she said and turned around to open the larger of the bags
she'd brought. "I figured you probably hadn't eaten yet. I brought some
Hunan chicken and egg rolls."
	"A woman after my own heart."
	"Do we still have the plates you pilfered from the cafeteria?"
	"Yep." Mulder sat down and retrieved two heavy plastic salad
plates from the bottom drawer of his desk. He used his shirt sleeve to
wipe them off and handed them to her with a flourish. Scully turned back
and started piling chicken and rice onto the plates with a pair of
chopsticks. "Your sanitary habits leave a lot to be desired, Mulder."
	"I don't see you passing up a plate in favor of the container,
Scully." 
	"That's because you've corrupted me. Too many roach infested
motels and greasy spoons." 
	Mulder couldn't be sure but he thought he heard a smile behind
her words. She turned back and handed him a plate and some chopsticks and
then went to sit down behind her desk. The next few minutes were spent in
silence as they ate. Mulder shoveled food in his mouth, enjoying the
sweat that broke out on his forehead from the spicy chicken. "So,
Scully," he asked in between bites. "What's in the other bag? Dessert?"
	He was rewarded with her best Mona Lisa smile. She opened the bag
and handed him a large paper cup and a straw. Mulder popped off the
plastic cover and looked down into the cup. "Iced tea?"
	"Could be love."
	He broke out in a wide grin. "Must be fate, Scully."
	"Must be." She turned her attention back to her food after
shooting him another smile.
	He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. "Thanks for bringing
this. You might be buying lunch a lot this week. I'm getting docked a
week's pay for the little incident Friday night."
	"I know."
	"Oh you do, huh? Did you also know that Skinner threatened to
kick my ass if I didn't keep you safe and sound and happy?"
	If the look on her face was any indication, his words were a
complete surprise. "He said that?!"
	"Well, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it."
	Her eyes narrowed. "What did you tell him, Mulder?"
	"You mean, did I spill our deep dark secret? Nope. This came
completely out of the blue."
	"Hmm."
	"My thoughts exactly. I guess he's a lot sharper than I give him
credit for; and maybe even a halfway decent guy. Although I'm not real
happy about the fact that I've gotta worry about him breathing down my
neck about something else now. I think Skinner's taken a real liking to
you, Scully."
	"Does that bother you?"
	"I don't think so. But I'm warning you, if he starts answering
your door and wanting to know what time I'm bringing you home, we're
gonna have to sit down and have a nice long talk."
	Scully's laughter rang out in the small office. Mulder loved it
when Scully laughed. He loved it even more when he was the cause of it.
	"Mulder," she said, and he could tell by the tone of her voice
that the subject was about to be changed. He put down his chopsticks, not
quite so hungry anymore. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said
the other night."
	"Yeah?"
	Scully pushed her plate away--so Mulder did, too. 
	"I think you were right. About what it is I'm afraid of. I
think...." She shook her head and dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm not
very good at this."
	"Hey? Scully?" He waited until she met his eyes. "It's just me.
You can tell me anything; you know that."
	She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. "I know, Mulder. I
guess this is just one more changing perception I'm going to have to work
through."
	"I'm still you're friend, Scully." And then his head reeled as he
replayed what she'd just said. '...I'm going to have to work through.'
Sure as hell sounded like a choice to him. His heart sped up a little. He
sat up and rolled his chair a little closer to hers. "Did you say what I
think you said?"
	Scully made a sound in her throat and looked at him with an
expression he could only describe as bewilderment. "I'm not sure *what* I
said, Mulder. What did you hear?" 
	"I think I heard you say you were going to work through it. And
I'm taking that to mean that maybe I was right about what I said the
other night."
	"You mean you don't know if you were right?"
	"I hoped I was. Sounded good, anyway."
	Scully laughed again. Damn, twice in less than five minutes! That
had to be a record.
	"I think you heard me right, Mulder." 
	He felt a goofy grin split his face. And all he could do was
smile at her.
	"There's only one condition," she informed him.
	"Name it." Her wish was his command.
	"I get to throw the next punch."

	THE END