TITLE: Congratulations, Agent Mulder! AUTHOR: Skylarking EMAIL: kirstenpatrick@hotmail.com DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere! Just keep my info attached to it. RATING: NC-17 SPOILERS: None. SUMMARY: A picture inspires fantasy. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended. Mulder stared at the picture in his hands, his heart shattering, his throat constricting until it was hard for him to breathe, his pulse racing. Sure, it was just a black and white e-mail printout, but Scully looked beautiful. Her eyes were bright, her mouth was open a bit, and her lips were drawn into a free and easy smile. She looked glowing and radiant, as any bride should. But that was the problem: the wedding dress. Why was she wearing a wedding dress at all? Mulder's mind raced. Had she even been dating recently? Well, at least the picture explained the buzz around the Bureau this morning. Mulder was used to people reacting oddly to him in the halls, but this morning had been so weird. Agents he barely knew by name saying "Congratulations" to him, agents he knew well looking like they wanted to say more, Agent Molsen unexplicably acting like a frat boy and high-fiving him in the elevator. Apparently the picture had been forwarded around a lot before it finally reached him. And he got it from the Gunmen, with a note asking what was up. He knew they had other FBI contacts, but why hadn't anyone said anything to him earlier? Probably his reputation. He examined the picture intently. The dress was gorgeous, if untraditional. It was white, and if he had a color printer he would be able to see the pale ice blue fabric roses along the wide boat neck. It was sleeveless and the dress part ended just above knee-length. Very 1960s Mod, he thought, and it would look good with Go-Go boots. It had an overskirt/train thingy with blue beading to match the flowers. Mulder supposed that had a name, but fashion etymology was not a strong point for him. The overskirt swirled around her legs as she held it out with her hands. She must have been twirling when the photo was snapped. She was more than beautiful. If she were marrying me, he thought, I'd prefer something more demure. I wonder what kind of guy caught her heart and inspired that funky, sexy dress? His brain fell into a realm of fantasy. He wondered what he would look like as a groom. A black tux and tails? One of those old fashioned morning coats with a band collar? Or maybe he could convince her to go for one of those Vegas themed weddings, outer space or Elvis? No, he really wanted to see her in a bridal gown, something Cindarella-y, princess-like. Yes, it was smarmy, and it didn't fit with the image she liked to project, but this was his fantasy. And underneath, delicate, pale gold, barely-there unmentionables, with a little white silk lace to accentuate all the right places. And the honeymoon - someplace with deep blue water and white sands and their own private waterfall where he could take her and caress her with the power of the falling liquid. Hold her head and ravish her with kisses to the sound of the surf and spray. Entangle his fingers in her wet red hair to better access the delicate curve of her neck with his lips. Hmmm...wet...red...He wondered what her clit would taste like mingled with the Jamacian waters. His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door. A.D. Skinner walked in without waiting for a response. "Agent Mulder, I want to speak to you and Agent Scully, to see if congratulations are really in order." His voice was gruff, but it had an odd sparkle in it. "Sir, Agent Scully is in the lab. I don't think she'll be done until noon." He took a deep breath. "And if it's about that picture everyone seems to be getting, I don't know anything about it." "Really?" A.D. Skinner seemed genuinely surprised. "I don't know what to say. I assumed..." He trailed off. "You *assumed* it was me she was marrying? Or did you just assume I would know who the lucky guy was?" Mulder was beginning to vent his rage, egged on by feelings of betrayal. "I assure you, I *thought* Agent Scully and I were close, not romantic yet, but close. This...this...picture." Mulder began flailing his arms and completely losing composure. A.D. Skinner tried to cut him off. "Agent, get ahold of yourself. So, you haven't spoken to Scully yet? Do you know anything of it's origins?" Mulder closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "She's in the lab, and I don't think she has her cell phone with her. I was hoping to speak to her directly, but I don't think I could find the words." "Don't do anything rash, Agent. Have you traced the e-mail yet? Perhaps it's a hoax." Skinner moved through the door. "I'll get right on it, sir." Once Skinner had closed the door, Mulder sat down. Leaning back in his chair, he picked up the picture again and drew his finger around her profile. "Oh Scully, how could you do this to me..." He studied the dress again, knowing it wasn't what Scully would have chosen alone. If he knew Scully, it would be much more classical, long and elegant, with spaghetti straps making it a little bare on top. She would look Greek-goddess like. It wouldn't be straight white, either, maybe a candleglow ivory to compliment her hair. Yes, that was it, and afterwards he would take her on a Mediterranean vacation, those warm coastal islands with never-ending sunsets, luscious food, and their own private yacht. He would dance with her on the deck as the light disappeared, then they would marvel at the stars. He would look deep into her eyes, which would twinkle just for him. He would undress her there, in the moonlight, and her skin would glow, soft and silky and wanting his touch. He would lay her down on plush Turkish cushions, rocking with the motion of the water. He could picture her face as he entered her, wide-eyed and desirous. He would make love to her as the waves dictated, slowly, fluidly, following the rhythm of nature. Covering her with kisses, caressing her breasts, diving into her with pleasure and relish. Of course they would come together, she whimpering into his shoulder, he exhaling her name and breathing the scent of her hair... Mulder snapped back to the present, and realized twenty minutes had passed. He had 23 new e-mails, most of which implied best wishes in their headnotes. He couldn't bring himself to look at any of them. He had to get out of here, get his mind on something, anything else. He sent a quick note to the Gunmen asking if they could do a trace on the original e-mail, then grabbed his jacket and headed for the gym. A run would clear his mind, and would kill some time until he could talk to Scully. The locker room was deserted, since it was too early for the lunch crowd. He would have the track to himself. It was a nice day, cool, sunny, perfect for running. This would be good for him. The first couple of laps went well. Good pace, thoughts in line, body feeling fine. Around the fifth lap, he began to get distracted. How could he not know if Scully was engaged? He racked his brains and thought over the last couple of weeks. Her mood was improved, almost always pleasant, and she had even laughed at the dumb jokes in the departmental meeting. He should have seen this. Of course she didn't tell him about it because they were too good of friends. He should have known. But what about the dress? The blue flowers were pretty, but not very flattering for Scully's coloring. Maybe something in a pale pink? No, that would be the color of the sweetheart roses she carried. Emerald green - that was it. Her skin would be pale and her flaming hair the perfect foil for the dress, no veil necessary. The dress would be mermaid style, close fitting until flaring at the ankles, lots of cleavage, and maybe opera length gloves, to emphasize her long, delicate fingers. Fingers that would trail across his cheek, down to his lips, and allow him to suck their length. They would continue, caressing his neck, fingering his earlobe, then stroking his chest. Pausing to tweak his nipples. Those fingers of hers would draw little circles, spiralling down to his abdomen. Those fingers would be joined by a palm, pushing against his stomach, stroking lower, rubbing the southernmost portion of his trunk. Those finger, reaching out to grasp his ready cock, to hold with an anwavering grasp, to coax him into a frenzy of anticipation. Squeezing and releasing, teasing with featherlight touches, claiming what was his for her own. "Hey man, you're breathing is erratic. Maybe you should take it easy." Agent Frost breezed by Mulder, derailing his runaway train of thought. Obviously running wasn't working, but at least it gave him a chance to take a cold shower. He arrived back at the office around lunchtime, but Scully wasn't there yet. He checked his e-mail to see if the Gunmen had found anything. He had another pile of well-wishers and curious inquiries to sift through before he found theirs. They had tracked the message, but it was from one of those free Internet addresses. Anyone could get one, and the information was clearly bogus. The Hushmail account belonged to a "Eddie Nygma" living on "Wayne Avenue" in "Gotham." Langly went on to describe other Batman nuances inherent in the search, but Mulder stopped reading. Batman, huh. The animated series always exaggerated the men's muscles and made the women's legs impossibly long with frightfully short skirts. Scully would look better in a cape and tights than Batgirl did. Hell, Scully would look better in pigtails, a multicolored unitard, and knee-high boots than Harley Quinn ever did. And he could be her "Mr. J." Mulder could picture it, swinging over rooftops, operating cool little gadgets, taunting Robin. And afterwards, peeling away the costume, like the flesh of some exotic fruit...Mulder realized he was getting out of hand. He needed to talk to Scully now, even if she was dissecting something. He jumped up from his desk and turned around to see Scully walking in. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. "Isn't it just a marvelous day?" she sighed, with a grin dancing around her mouth. Mulder was awestruck. Any words he had prepared fled at the sight of her. His brain couldn't handle forming elementary sentences. "But Scul...Wha's th' meani...Who...I thought...Who...Somethings... Glert..." Scully looked concerned. "Mulder, stop babbling. Take a deep breath. Just try to say one thing at a time." Mulder gave up on speech and grabbed the picture from his desk with one hand and jabbed pointedly at it with the other. He managed to vocalize a wounded sounding "No!" Scully dropped the happy schoolgirl act, and walked over to him. She took the picture from his hand and studied it intently. "I wonder if anyone sent it to me. It's a good picture, and I would like a copy." Mulder regained some composure. "But won't there be a photographer at the wedding?" he spat, with what he hoped sounded like contempt. "Mulder, there isn't any wedding." She reached up an felt his forehead. "Are you okay? Did this picture really bend you out of shape this much?" Her genuine concern for him calmed him down, and he reached out and grabbed her in his arms, squeezing her so she couldn't possibly get away. Scully finally broke the embrace when Mulder began trying to kiss her eyelids. He looked quizzically as she pulled away. She challenged him, "But don't you want to know the Truth?" Mulder laughed. "Well, yeah. Then maybe I can reply to the mountain of congratulatory e-mail that's built up for me." "Mountain?" Now Scully was surprised. "How many people have seen this?" "My guess is everyone in the Bureau. I didn't get it until it's second day of life. You didn't know?" "I didn't know anything about it until Skinner came to me in the lab. He really downplayed it, said they were trying to track its origins, and what could I tell him about it. He said you were distressed and not very helpful. He really made it seem like no big deal, and said he would put a stop to it, and issue an internal statement for me. People were congratulating you?" "It seems they though you were going to be "Mrs. Spooky" for real. Everyone assumes we're a couple anyway. This just made them all feel good about it." Scully shook her head. "I hope I can live this down. It was all so innocent, so fun. I was out shopping last Saturday for a birthday present for my brother. I ran into an old high school friend of mine. We hadn't seen each other in forever, so of course we gossiped a bunch. She's recently engaged, and I tagged along with her into a bridal boutique and watched her try on a few things. This dress," she gestured to the picture, "both of us wanted to see, since it's so different. The sample only came in my size, so I tried it on for her. I didn't realize I was being followed. I had so much fun that afternoon, and I never thought anything like this would come of it." A look of relief spread across Mulder. He was visibly affected by her words, and reached out and hugged her again. "Scully, you're just not paranoid enough. You know powerful forces have tried to destroy us before. You know how deep my feelings are for you. I might even marry you to keep this from happening again." It was Scully's turn to laugh. "Mulder, just because we have the encouragement of our fellow agents doesn't mean it's the best idea. After Skinner spoke with me, I had planned to waltz in here and bluff you with a story about my powerful, beautiful Brazilian boyfriend with eyes like liquid pools and charm oozing from every pore." "Oozing? This sounds like an X-file." He grabbed his coat. "Fill me in on the details over lunch. And I'm encouraged by the fact you didn't say no. "Lunch is a great idea. But you should focus on the fact I didn't say yes." FIN. P.S. My wedding dress wasn't like any of these - it was 17% metal.