Cowboy (or Ever Thought Of A VCR Repairman?)
by Elizabeth Archibeque

Classification: MSR, H

Disclaimer: The characters used are the property of
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox (and whoever
else various and sundry that I don't know about)--
except for Marcelle, Skinner's vapid secretary. It's
an inaccuracy, I know, but it fit my purposes. :) No
copyright infringement is intended and no money is
changing hands.

Spoilers: None, really, but I took TLG's password from
a fic entitled "The Light Trippers" by Hawthorne
Kessler. Highly recommended--go read it!

Rating: NC-17

Archiving: Only with author's permission.

Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! :) This is my
first posted fanfic attempt. It was my New Year's
resolution to post something before Valentine's Day,
so here goes. Email me at afro_puff_@yahoo.com and let
me know what you think. Loved it? Hated it? Want to
tell me I have my head so far up my ass I can see
through my mouth? Tell me! And hell, at this point I'm
so starved for email I'd probably be thrilled if you
sent me your grocery list. :)


Cowboy (or Ever Though Of A VCR Repairman?)
by Elizabeth Archibeque

Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI approached, like a
gunslinger in a western ready for a shootout at high
noon. There was granite in his eyes and a resolution
to win that went so deep it ran through every fiber of
his being. The quest consumed his every thought and
his concentration was intense and complete. He was an
opponent to be respected for his single-minded
dedication, but his dedication also made him
dangerous, an opponent to be feared.

Like a true cowboy he was alone, destined to meet his
fate and live or die on his own. There were no
comforting words or warm embraces to ease the pain of
the journey. His was a hard life, hard and cold, but
it was what he knew; in fact, all he'd ever known.
There was no love to light his way when the loneliness
bore down and grew dark. Sure, there had been one
woman, a long time ago, but it wasn't meant to be.
He'd known it, and after the damage was done, he'd
picked up what was left of his heart, dusted it off,
and put it in a place so remote that no one could ever
get to it again. If you looked into his eyes, those
hard eyes, you could still see a trace of it, a rare
fire behind an otherwise cold façade. Truly, he was a
lone gunman.

And also like a true cowboy, he held to stringent code
of ethics. Right and wrong were black and white and he
knew that if your crossed the line once, it became
easier each time, until everything was a muddled gray
and there was no going back. It was this black and
white justice that drove his crusade, his need for the
truth. And along the way, he'd learned some other
basic tenets: damsels in distress were to be saved, a
passionate kiss stolen from them, and then back on the
horse to the next ghost town. You never crossed a
friend unless they crossed you first, always slept
with one eye open, never squatted with your spurs on,
and trusted no one. But most importantly, justice was
the rhyme and reason of the world. Life wasn't fair,
hell, far from it, but he did what he could, in his
own small way, to rectify that.

Like now. His full concentration on the showdown about
to take place, he narrowed his eyes and dropped his
hands to his sides, ready to grab his six-shooter and
right the wrong he'd been faced with. He took a deep
breath, knowing there was a chance it might be his
last. He said a prayer to nameless god and was ready.
You could almost see the dust settling around him and
hear the whistle of impending doom in the background.

With a mighty roar, he ran full tilt across his living
room, brandishing a butter knife, his chosen weapon,
and aimed straight for his nemesis, the VCR. He
stabbed it viciously, his vendetta resulting in a
savage rage.

He had been wronged, and the VCR would pay. He lodged
the knife in the tape deck and twisted it around,
prying and prodding, demanding that it release its
treasure, that it give up what rightly belonged to
him. He was grunting and panting with the effort,
wrestling around on the floor as if the machine were a
savage beast. He was determined to best it; in the
world of a gunslinger, it only took one defeat to
replace the admiration in peoples' eyes with pity. He
wouldn't have that. It was the ultimate failure.

And so, with renewed vigor, he increased the ferocity
of the attack, roaring and stabbing and pounding,
fighting for his honor, his reputation, his copy of
"Goldilocks and the Three Cocks." Motivated by what he
stood to lose and by the shame in being challenged
and, to this point, bested, by a mere machine, he
fought with an intensity never before witnessed. Rage
and indignation chased each other on his countenance
and his entire being was wrapped up in the showdown.

Minutes and much effort later, he wiped the sweat off
his forehead with the quick swipe of one hand, the
other still thrusting with the knife. He was losing,
that was apparent. So he did what any smart cowboy
would do: he changed tactics. He settled on one that
was much more likely to give him the hard-won victory.


"Please," he begged, raising his hands in surrender,
dropping the knife to the floor. "Please let it go.
It's one of my favorites. I know all seventeen lines
of dialogue by heart and I'll have to pay Frohike
thirty bucks to make me a copy of his. Please. I'm
begging."

He got to his knees and crawled across the floor, slow
and easy, making no sudden movements. He reached out a
tentative hand to the VCR and tried to gently extract
the tape, to no avail. The VCR retained a firm grip on
his prized video, declaring itself the winner with a
mocking grin that Mulder could almost see. It taunted
him, and he knew it would engage in a victory dance to
shame any black football player's end zone boogie if
it were capable. It had won. He had lost. The truth
was irrefutable.

He got to his feet and slunk off in shame, the agony
of defeat a heavy weight around his shoulders. His
pride and honor were gone. He had nothing to cling to;
his past victories were insignificant in the light of
this failure. He was shamed, and angry, and as he
walked past the couch he noticed the remote control
perched on the arm. He grabbed it and with a mighty
roar of indignance, he hurled it at the infernal
machine. It was a dead center hit and as the remote
bounced off the VCR, the tape came flying out of the
deck and landed three feet away on the floor.
Unfortunately, victory was simply not to be the
cowboy's that morning, as the renegade tape was still
connected to the VCR by a long ribbon of film. The
video ruined, the VCR claimed the final triumph.
Enraged, he ran to the machine, picked it up and with
an even greater roar, hurled it at the nearest wall.
Pieces shattered, debris flying in all directions.
Mulder crowed in victory, pumping his fists in the
air. The victory was *his*.

Until he saw the stripped hole in the wall which
marked the spot where the VCR had met its untimely
end. "Damn," he said under his breath, a ferocious
curse. Already his landlord's worst nightmare, he'd
been warned that one more incident of damage to his
apartment would result in eviction. He'd be lucky if
he had a place to sleep that night.

But that was the fate of a cowboy, to go the road
alone. To continue on the solitary journey, to have no
place to call home.

He scowled at the debris that littered the floor.

Bullshit. Being a cowboy sucked.

*~*~*~*

"Mulder, where the hell have you--" Scully began
angrily but broke off as he thrust a bouquet of yellow
daisies in her face.

"Morning, Scully," he said sweetly.

"Mulder?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yes, Scully?"

"What's going on?"

"Who says something has to be going on? Can't I bring
my partner some flowers just because I saw them and
thought of her and how she could use a smile?"

"No."

He looked pained. "Scully, do you doubt my
intentions?"

She arched an eyebrow at him and stared him down from
her seat behind the desk. "Mulder, you want something
from me and from of the looks of it, it's something
big that I’m going to say no to anyway, so let me save
you the time. No," she said with finality.

"Scully--"

"Mulder, we don't have time to argue. We're already
late for a meeting with Skinner." She ushered him out
the door and into the elevator at the end of the hall.
As they rode up to Skinner's office, she poked the
back of his neck.

"Ow! What are you doing?"

"Looking for the alien implant. You've asked me to
risk my life for you countless times and not once have
you brought me flowers. Whoever you are, I don't think
you're really Mulder."

"Scully, if I've taught you anything about abductees,
it's the validity of searching for an anal probe," he
said with a lascivious grin.

"I know. I just don't like you that much."

*~*~*~*

"I'd be careful if I were you," A.D. Skinner's supple
blond secretary whispered conspiratorially to Mulder
as she led them into his office. "Bad morning. He's on
the rampage." Mulder thanked her with a once-over of
lewd appreciation as they headed into his office.

"You're late," Skinner warned from behind his desk,
his face a dangerous gray storm cloud. "By my watch,
an entire twenty minutes late. What was so important
that you couldn't possibly tear yourselves away to
make it to this meeting on time?" He was greeted with
silence. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"We're sorry, sir," Scully apologized.

"Agent Scully, I've heard that from you a thousand
times and frankly, it's getting old."

"Really sorry," Mulder added.

Skinner didn't miss the facetiousness of the remark
and fixed him with what had the makings of a
five-alarm glare. "Agent Mulder, I'm not a member of
the secretarial pool. I'm impervious to your charms."

"Kind of like Jabba the Hut is impervious to the
powers of the Force," he muttered sarcastically under
his breath.

Skinner stood threateningly. "Agent Mulder? Do you
have something to say?"

As Skinner rose from behind his desk, Mulder noticed
his tie. It was a standard issue navy power tie, but
the bottom half was ragged and torn. It looked quite
out of place on the angry Director's personage. Scully
noticed it as well but decided to ignore it and stay
out of the skirmish. Her partner was not so lucky, as
Skinner caught him eyeing the tie. He sat back down
quickly and fixed Mulder with a warning look. "Agent
Mulder? Do I need to repeat myself?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, sir."

"That's what I thought."

While they were used to occasional (okay, frequent)
reamings from the Assistant Director, Skinner seemed
to be especially irritable this morning and Mulder's
slightly snarky attitude was definitely not helping. A
few more comments and they'd be scrubbing toilets,
from the looks of things, so Scully attempted a bit of
damage control. "What is this meeting about, if I may
ask, sir?" she questioned, trying to get back to the
matter at hand.

He motioned for them to sit. "There is a symposium at
the academy next week, Agent Scully, and you've been
asked to lecture on the autopsy techniques and
pathology of floaters," he began. As he talked, Mulder
clasped his hands in his lap and lowered his head, the
perfect picture of humble obedience. As he surveyed
the carpet looking for anything, a piece of lint or a
fallen paper clip that was more interesting than
Skinner's tirade, he caught sight of the A.D.'s shoes.
The fronts had been gnawed on and the left one chewed
clean through. Mulder narrowed his focus and squinted
a little and could just see Skinner's black socks with
red toes. Red toes. He smiled. How adorable. Then he
felt Scully jab him sharply in the ribs. He jerked his
head up.

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner's glare was definitely
five-alarm now.

"Yes?"

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

He shook his head meekly. "No, sir, I'm sorry."

Skinner shook his head in angry exasperation. "Agent
Mulder, the least you can do is extend me the
professional courtesy of listening when I speak to
you," he said, raising his voice. "I'd expect at least
that much from a rookie. But that being said, maybe
that's expecting too much from *you*."

"Yes, sir."

"Would you care to share with the rest of the class
what was so mesmerizing that you ceased listening to
direct orders?"

Mulder involuntarily glanced down at Skinner's feet.
Skinner caught the motion and his glare topped the
scale at a ten-alarmer. "If it involves little green
men, Agent," he said tersely, "I'd rather not hear
it."

"Gray," Mulder corrected softly.

"Excuse me?"

Mulder looked him in the eye. "Gray. Their physiology
and inner body chemistry gives their bodies a gray
cast, not green."

Skinner put his heads in his hands. "Agent Mulder, if
I ask you to concentrate on my orders for the next
thirty seconds, is that going to prove to be too
difficult a task or do you think you can behave like
the professional you claim to be?"

"No, sir."

"No, sir?" Skinner thundered. "No, sir? Agent Mulder,
I've just about damn near enough of you and your
goddamn attitude!"

"I meant, 'No, sir,' that's not too difficult, so yes,
sir, I can concentrate," Mulder corrected, a small
smirk on his face.

"Agent Mulder, are you intentionally *trying* to piss
me off? Because, in my frank opinion, it's the only
thing you've succeeded at today."

"No, sir."

He fixed him with a final hostile glower. "You're
dismissed."

"But, sir, what about my orders?" Mulder asked
innocently.

Scully held her breath. This was going to be the straw
that broke the camel's back.

"You'll have them when I feel like giving them to you,
Agent," he said in a tone of barely controlled rage.

Scully let out her breath, relieved. It looked like
they were going to escape relatively unscathed, she
thought as they rose to leave. They were halfway out
the door when Mulder said, "Just one question, sir?"

Or not.

"What?" Skinner barked.

"What happened to your tie? And your shoes? Cute
socks, by the way."

Scully closed her eyes in a pained expression. Here it
comes.

"Did you just say, 'Cute socks,' Mulder?" He nodded.
Skinner slammed the door so hard behind them the
picture frames on the secretary's desk three doors
down the hall rattled.

"Nice going, Mulder," Scully remarked.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his best
innocent choirboy look.

"It's the dog," Skinner's secretary helpfully informed
them as they emerged into the outer office, crossing
her legs demurely and smiling enticingly at Mulder.
Scully rolled her eyes.

"His dog?"

"Yes. He received a pug puppy as a present recently,"
she said, leaning forward on the desk to give Mulder
the best view of her cleavage. "It has an unfortunate
chewing habit, as you can obviously tell. I'm afraid
those shoes and that tie are the least-damaged items
that still remain in his closet. It's a sore subject.
But you're right, Agent Mulder," she said with a
flirtatious smile as they headed out the door, "they
*are* cute socks."

*~*~*~*

"So, Mulder," Scully said, delicately cutting into one
of the ripe red cherry tomatoes in her salad, "what
exactly is it that you want?"

He looked pained. "Who said I wanted anything from
you?"

She looked at him dubiously. "Flowers, Mulder? And
springing for lunch at my favorite restaurant? I'm not
one of the vapid secretaries who worship you so
devotedly. I can see right through you."

"Vapid? Now, Scully, that's a little unfair. I think
Marcelle is quite qualified to be Skinner's secretary.
She keeps that office in tip-top shape."

"With a Wonderbra like hers, it's hard *not* to have a
tip-top shape."

He smiled appreciatively at her remark. "Ooh, Scully.
Catty."

She arched an acerbic eyebrow. "Do you want something
from me, Mulder, or not?"

He hung his head in defeat. "Yes, Scully, I need a
favor," he admitted.

"What sort of favor?"

"Scully, I wouldn't ask if it weren't vitally
important, but it is."

"What sort of favor?" she repeated.

"I hate to impose on our relationship this way, but
it's really important and I need--"

"What sort of favor, Mulder?" she repeated, her tone
growing more suspicious.

"Have I mentioned that your hair is looking especially
bouncy today and your eyes…they're absolutely
beautiful?"

"Mulder," she said warningly, "what sort of favor?"

He broke down. "All right. I need you to stop by the
Lone Gunmen's and look at Frohike's autographed 8x10
of Lee Majors."

"The $6 Million Man?" she asked. He nodded. "Why on
earth would you need me to do that for?"

"I got a tape stuck in the VCR this morning," he
explained. "A tape of hoax alien autopsies that
Frohike made me. I tried to get it out and I broke it
*and* the VCR in the process." She eyed him
suspiciously. "He'll make me another copy, but you
need to come with me and look at his picture before
he'll hand it over."

"I don't understand what Lee Majors has to do with
it."

"Frohike's completely obsessed with the $6 Million
Man. You've never heard Byers and Langly complain
about it?" She shook her head. "He'd have episode
after episode looped and on all day if they'd let him.
Anyway, he was bidding on this picture on Ebay for the
past week and he finally won. I guess he figures that
if he shows off his prize possession, it might induce
you to act on the deep-hidden passionate flame you've
carried for him all this time."

Scully snorted.

"I know, I know. You think he's a toad."

"I think he's a vile, repulsive, despicable toad and
if Cinderella herself kissed him, he'd still have no
chance in hell of becoming a prince."

"Despicable? That's going a little far don't you
think?" She looked at him warningly. "Okay, okay,
you're right, totally right. I agree with you
wholeheartedly. But I really need this tape."

She took another bite of her salad and chewed
thoughtfully. "What's so important about this tape,
Mulder? If you've already seen it and know it's a
hoax, why do you need another copy?"

"It's part of my library, Scully. It's helpful to have
a hoax to compare new tapes to. You of all people
should understand the importance of collecting
tangible evidence."

She smiled a little at his calculated flattery.

"So you'll do it?"

She thought for a long moment, making him sweat. "Yes.
But you'll owe me."

"Thank you!"

"You'll owe me," she repeated ominously.

"Just name your price, Scully," he agreed with a
smile.

"Oh, it'll be steep, believe me," she said under her
breath.

*~*~*~*

Mulder crunched numbers on his calculator, trying to
figure out if it was cheaper to renew his subscription
to Celebrity Skin and get the savings on a two-year
subscription or take the introductory price on Grrrlz,
Grrrlz, Grrrlz. He checked the clock for the fiftieth
time that afternoon, tired of the busy work that he'd
tried futilely to occupy himself with until the time
came for him to get another copy of his beloved
Goldilocks. 4:55. Close enough.

"Scully? You ready?"

She looked at the clock. "Trying to take off a little
early, aren't you, Mulder?"

"Come on, Scully, it's just five minutes."

"Mulder, I said I'd do you this favor. I didn't say
I'd make it easy on you."

He sighed in resignation.

She slowly gathered her papers into a pile, shuffling
them around until they were perfect alignment,
corner-to-corner, edge-to-edge. Then she laid them
back out in smaller piles, placing a paper clip on the
top left hand corner of each. She shuffled the mini
piles into a larger pile, slowly, until they too were
corner-to-corner, edge-to-edge. Then she took a
leisurely stroll to the filing cabinet and removed a
manila file folder. She placed the piles into the
folder carefully, one by one. Mulder tapped his pencil
on the desk impatiently.

The papers on her desk taken care of, she turned her
attention to her laptop. She saved the file she was
working on to her hard drive, then removed a box of
disks from her desk drawer. She backed up the file on
disk, then removed a second disk and saved it on that
as well. Mulder could hear the soft whirring of the
computer as it worked and was watching her
impatiently. "Can't ever be too careful," she warned.
"It's always a good idea to have a backup of the
backup. You know, come to think of it, I should
probably have a backup of the backup of the backup,
don't you think?" Mulder looked at her exasperatedly.
"After all, Mulder, I learned that from you. You
should have made a backup of the tape you lost. It
would've saved you all this trouble."

And with that, she removed a third disk from the box
and saved the file once again. 4:58. Then she took the
packet of labels from the back of the box and
meticulously wrote out a label for each disk, even
more meticulously placing each one dead center in the
middle of the disk and smoothing it down. 5:00 on the
dot. Mulder made an impatient sound and Scully looked
up and smiled up at him sweetly.

"Scully, it's five. Can we go now?"

"Don’t worry, Mulder, I’m almost done," she said
reassuringly. "I just have one more thing to do real
quick before we go."

"And that is?"

"File my nails," she replied, taking an emery board
out of her purse. "After all, I wouldn't want to leave
scratches on Frohike's back in the throes of passion.
That's a little tacky, after all. Something I picked
up from your friend Marcelle," she said, piquing his
interest.

"Marcelle? See, Scully, I told you she wasn't vapid."

"Well, actually, I learned it from the boys in
arson...and the boys in violent crimes…and the boys in
forgery…. Seems she's been through most of them and
has a reputation as a scratcher. *They* commented it
was tacky," she said with a triumphant little smile.

He looked at her reprovingly. "Scully, come on. You've
had your fun. Can we go now?"

She sighed and shook her head, putting her emery board
back in her purse. "The things I do for you, Mulder."

He got her coat and ushered her out of the office,
shutting the door behind them with a definite click.

"It's because you love me."

"No, it's because whatever I did in my past life was
so bad that I was cursed to walk the face of this
earth with you as my punishment."

"Scully, I know you don't believe in reincarnation,
but your words warm my heart anyway."

*~*~*~*

Mulder put the car in park and opened his door. "We're
here, Scully."

"I know," she replied, making no effort at all to get
out of the car.

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Are you coming?"

"Remind me again why I agreed to do this."

"Because it's your curse to walk the earth with me."

"I don't think that's a good enough reason."

"How about because I agreed to pay a heretofore
unagreed-upon price?"

She contemplated his answer for a moment, then started
to get out of the car. "Name my price?"

"Within reason."

"Not good enough."

"Okay. Anything you want."

"*Anything*?"

He grimaced, then resigned himself. "Anything," he
said deflatedly.

She got out of the car but warned him, "He lays a hand
on me and all bets are off."

"Okay."

Mulder knocked on the door and Frohike's voice came
through it. "Password?"

"Frohike, it's just us. Let us in," he said with mild
irritation.

"Not without the password."

"Frohike, I brought her with me. Now just let us in."

"No one gets in without the password."

"You blow this for me, Melvin, and I will kick your
ass, I promise you that," he said through clenched
teeth.

"I don't take kindly to threats, Mr. Mulder. Remember,
I have what you want. And anyway, it's not like she
hasn't heard it before."

"Frohike, my gun is cocked and ready," Scully warned.

"Funny, Agent, so is mine."

Scully sighed, annoyed that she'd left herself wide
open like that.

"Fine! Agent Scully is a lickable sexpot," he said
hurriedly just as Byers pushed past Frohike and opened
the door.

"Sorry about that," Byers apologized, ever the
consummate professional. "Some of my colleagues tend
to…get out of hand every now and then and I have to
keep them in line," he said, and, in a very
uncharacteristic move, he smacked Frohike upside the
head, hard, as he ushered the agents past him into the
office.

Scully glared at Frohike as she walked by and he made
an obscene licking gesture in her general direction.

"Frohike," Mulder warned.

"What?" he said, feigning innocence.

"Agents," Langly greeted from the back of the office
where he was on the floor wrestling with an
unidentifiable object.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mulder asked.

"Trying to fix this chair," he said, proffering up a
shape that Mulder could barely make out as a three
legged chair.

"What happened to it?"

"To make a long story not so short, it all started
this morning, when Byers accidentally demagnetized one
of Frohike's…movies," Langly explained. "He called
Byers some rather not-so-nice names, which was not a
smart move, considering Byers has been getting email
flames all week for an article he published in 'The
Conspiracist,' so, naturally, he wasn't in a wonderful
mood to begin with. Byers was incredibly upset and
replaced Frohike's yogurt with mayonnaise, which
further incensed him, so Frohike dealphabetized Byers'
bookshelf, they commenced to calling each other some
more not-so-nice names, and it all ended when Frohike
went to sit down and Byers kicked the chair out from
underneath him. Frohike landed partly on the chair,
which results in the missing leg, and then fell on his
ass." He snorted. "It was pretty funny."

"It was not," Frohike said petulantly. "I was looking
forward to that yogurt."

"I apologized," Byers defended himself. "If you want
to behave like a child, you will be treated as one."

Mulder nodded approvingly "Ingenious move, Byers. I
always knew you were a dangerous man."

"Yeah?" Frohike said to Byers, "Well when you were a
kid you were so ugly your mama had to tie a bone
around your neck just so the dog would play with you."

"Yeah? Well, your mama never did that for you because
she was too busy with *me*!"

"What did you just say about my mama?"

"Is your pea-sized intellect so limited that you can't
recognize an insult when one is hurled directly at
you?"

"Guys, guys, guys," Mulder broke in. "As much fun as
this sounds like, I just like to get what I came here
for and be on my merry way, if you don't mind.
Frohike, do you have my alien autopsy video?"

"Your alien autopsy--oh, right, right. Yeah, I have
it," he said, catching on just in time.

"Good. Can I have it?"

"As soon as I have my little interlude with the
luscious Agent," he said, proudly bringing her the
framed 8x10 glossy of Lee Majors as Colonel Steve
Austin. He adjusted the light over the desk so she
could see better. "Isn't it amazing?" he asked,
stroking the frame lovingly. "And autographed. See?
Signed Lee Majors. I was bidding on this thing all
week. I was so afraid I was going to lose."

"How much did you pay for it?" she asked, trying to
keep as much distance between them as she could, even
though every time she moved away he just sidled
closer.

"Four hundred eighty-three dollars and fifty cents.
And worth every penny." He leaned in close and smile
suggestively. "I have a few more prize possessions I'd
be happy to show you."

She shot Mulder a rescue-me-now-or-you're-dead look
and he eagerly responded. "Uh, thanks, Frohike," he
said, stepping between the two. "I'm sure you've made
Scully's day. Now if I could just have my video,
please?"

"Are you sure I can't entice you into taking in
anymore Pleasures de la Palace du Luv of Monsieur
Frohike?"

"Thanks, but I'm sure," she said, trying to hold the
edge of distaste out her voice and fighting back a
smile at the same time. Being worshipped with such
devotion *was* gratifying, even if it did from
Frohike.

"Okay," he said, obviously disappointed. He handed
Mulder the videotape in its white cover. "Thank you,
Agents. It was a pleasure doing business with you.
Especially you, Dana."

"Scully," she warned him. "Scully."

"Sexpot Scully," he replied. She raised an eyebrow and
stroked the butt of her gun and he backed off.

"We'll be going now," Mulder said, leading her toward
the door.

"Hey, watch out for that--I was trying to use it to
fix the chair," Langly said as he noticed a roll of
duct tape directly in Mulder's path.

"The what?" Mulder turned back to ask, and as he did,
the ball of his foot landed right on the roll of tape
and he went flying, landing on his back on the floor.
The video he'd been holding flew from his hand and
skittered to a stop.

"Mulder, are you all right?" Scully asked, concerned.
She rushed over to help him and as she did, noticed
the video was sticking halfway out of its case. The
part of the label that was exposed clearly read,
"Cocks." She picked it up and slid the video all the
way out. "'Goldilocks and the Three Cocks?'" she
asked, enraged. "This is the video you've been dying
for all day? You told me it was an alien autopsy
video, Mulder!"

He smiled sheepishly at her. "Did I? I must have
gotten them confused."

She looked at him as if she could smell the scent of
cow patties wafting from him with his every word. "You
made me come all the way out here and endure
this--"she gestured at Frohike--"for *that*?"

"Scully, I’m sorry, I--"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry," she said. "Damn
sorry." She lifted the top casing of the tape and
pulled the film out, handful by handful, grabbing a
pair of scissors off the desk and cutting away at it
mercilessly.

"Scully, no!" he cried, but it was too late.

There was dead silence in the room from Mulder on his
ass, Langly on the floor, Frohike at the desk, and
Byers leaning against his bookshelf. Then Langly
erupted into hysterical laughter, Frohike not far
behind. "That's classic, Scully, just classic," Langly
managed to get out between guffaws.

"She really got you on that one, Mulder," Frohike
agreed. Laughing heartily.

Mulder jumped to his feet and shot a murderous glare
at Frohike. "Say another word and you're a dead man,"
he intoned.

"I have just *five* words for you, Agent Mulder:
That'll be another thirty bucks."

Langly roared with renewed laughter and even Byers had
to crack a smile.

"Let's go," Scully hissed between clenched teeth.
"Now."

*~*~*~*

She stood in the shower later that evening, enjoying
the feel of the hot water cascading down her back,
trying to loosen the tension in her body and forget
the frustrating day's events. She rolled her neck from
side to side and sighed deeply. She ducked her head
under the water and let it flow down her face.

She reveled in the feel of the sluice of water and in
the hot steam billowing out in soft clouds around her.
She lingered in there for a few more minutes, feeling
the stress melt away. Reluctantly, she turned the
water off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a
fluffy burgundy towel around her.

She opened the door to her bedroom and was greeted by
a very sexy and a very nearly naked Mulder reclining
on her bed, smiling wickedly at her.

She started. "What are you doing here?"

He laughed. "Well, Scully, you're naked, I'm nearly,
and we're in your bedroom. What do you think I’m doing
here?"

She arched an eyebrow. "You know I hate surprises."

"I know. But I love them. And this is one I think
you're particularly going to enjoy."

She noticed the erection straining against the black
silk of his boxers. "Mulder, if that's a surprise,
it's not very well kept," she said with an arched
eyebrow.

"Ah, Scully, you wound me."

"Mulder, if you think you're getting any after today's
events, I'd have to say you're sorely mistaken."

"Scully, I owe you. I'm simply here to pay my debt.
You know how much I hate being indebted to someone."

She shook her head. "Sorry. I have plans."

"Plans?"

"I was thinking of calling up Palace du Luv du
Monsieur Frohike and seeing what the nightly feature
is," she said, sitting down on the bed threateningly
close to the telephone.

"I thought he was a despicable toad."

"He is. But I'm sure he'd rather see *me* naked and
sweaty than good old Goldilocks."

"Oh, Scully, come on. Old habits die hard. And God,
after all those years of unresolved sexual tension so
thick you could cut it with a knife…what's a boy to
do?"

"Mulder, 'unresolved' isn't exactly an accurate
descriptor of the situation anymore."

"But Scully, I’m an animal," he said, crawling on his
knees to her spot on the bed so he could whisper the
words in her ear.

She shivered a little at his hot breath on her neck.
He smiled triumphantly. Now he was getting somewhere.

"And besides, they're educational." He nipped at her
neck and lowered his voice. "Don't tell me you didn't
enjoy that little Altoids trick I pulled last week."

She smiled lazily at the memory and moved her head to
the side to allow him better access. He tugged the
tightly wrapped towel down a little so he could leave
a trail of kisses down her spine. "Come on, Scully, I
just need a little--"

"Wait--what *you* need?" she asked incredulously, his
unfortunate choice of words halting his progress.  She
moved away from him. "I thought this was all about you
owing *me*?"

"Exactly, that's right, that's right," he said, trying
to backtrack. "That's all I want to do. Pay you what I
owe you."

She stood up and looked at him disdainfully. "Mulder,
the bad animals get put to bed without dessert."

He made an indignant sound as he watched her retreat
back into the bathroom, shutting it behind her with an
audible click. He looked down at Little Mulder
standing at full salute and then at the closed door
disbelievingly. "Scull-ee!" he cried. But she didn't
respond.

"Fine," he said, relaxing on the bed once more,
arranging the fluffing the pillows behind his head
until they were just right. "I thought something like
this might happen, so I brought along a present. I
know you don't like surprises, but I know you *do*
like presents."

She cracked open the door and poked her head through.
"What kind of present?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, you're going to have to come out here to find
out."

"I don't know, Mulder."

"Fine. Then no present."

She looked at him skeptically, then thought about it
for a moment, and took a few steps into the bedroom.
He pulled a single long-stemmed red rose that had been
lying unnoticed on the nightstand and held it between
his teeth, arms widespread, and a grin on his face.

She looked at him, unimpressed. "What's the present?"

He took the rose from his mouth and pouted. "It's me,
Scully."

She tried to hold her cool façade, but a smile crept
around the corners of her mouth. "You're the present?"

"Well, yeah." He was a little disappointed at the lack
of excitement in her reaction.

"You could've done better than that," she said, but
the smile she was trying to hold back broke into a
wide grin.

He smiled back. "Knew I could get'cha."

"Mulder, you're incorrigible."

"And you're beautiful," he said, whisking away the
towel to reveal her nude form. He pulled her close to
the bed and kissed her forehead--"and smart"--her
nose--"and sweet"--her collarbone--"and
opinionated"--she smiled as he continued his
ministrations, gliding his lips down her arm, taking
her hand in his and holding it up to his mouth,
kissing her fingertips gently--"and *so* sexy when
you're mad." She smiled and rolled her eyes. "And I
intend to prove it to you, Mrs. Spooky."

"I'm not Mrs. Spooky yet, Mulder," she warned, trying
to retain a modicum of her flippant attitude. "I don't
even know if I want to be." He pulled her onto the bed
and laid her next to him, descending for a kiss. And
then those lips--oh, God, those lips…Scully sent a
silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods were
listening for those lips--they were on her, nipping,
teasing, tasting, feeling… "Okay," she said languidly,
reconsidering. "Maybe I'll be Mrs. Spooky. Or maybe
I'll hyphenate. Mrs. Scully-Spooky. How's that?"

"Not good enough."

He worked his way down her neck, lavishing kisses in
the spots he knew were most sensitive, then licking
gently around her breast, teasing the nipple that was
hard and pebbled until, finally, he took it in his
mouth and she was treated to the hot and wet cavern he
was creating. She tangled her hands in his hair and
sighed contentedly. "Mmm, Mulder."

He moved his attention to the other breast, repeating
his actions. "So how about it? No hyphen."

She shook her head, her hair spilled onto the pillow
in a fiery halo. "I think I like the hyphen."

He continued his journey south, kissing down her
breastbone, soft, wet, gentle kisses. He continued
down her midriff, then paused a moment and stuck his
tongue in her belly button. She giggled.

"No hyphen."

"Uh-uh. I'm keeping the hyphen."

He traveled back up her body and held his head inches
from hers, staring into her eyes, his dilated pupils
dark with passion. He poised his fingers at her
opening, gently teasing. He could feel her heat and
her wetness and it pushed him to the edge like it did
every time. He still couldn't believe that after all
these years, the woman he loved was lying beneath him,
open, wanting, trusting. Every time was like the first
time, the wonder, the disbelief, the gratitude that
he'd finally gotten what he'd thought he could never
have. He offered up a silent prayer to the same
nameless god Dana had entreated before.

He nipped at her lips again, making her moan. He
smiled. He loved that sound. He leaned in close and
whispered in her ear as he slid his fingers inside.
"No hyphen."

She took in a long breath and writhed beneath him, her
eyes half-closed, drunk with the sensations. "Hyphen,"
she protested weakly.

He began a slow motion, torturously slow. She arched
her back against him, wanting more. He laughed gently.
"Uh-uh-uh," he chastised. "Now who's the animal?"

She threw her head back and let out a sultry laugh.
Mulder mentally catalogued it as one of the five most
erotic things he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a whole
hell of a lot. She snaked a hand down and grabbed hold
of him without him noticing. "Hey!" he exclaimed in
surprise. "What're you doing?"

"If you have to ask that at this stage in the game,
Mulder, those videos aren't as educational as you
think they are," she said with a confident smirk.

He laughed in spite of himself, but nudged her hand
away. "Nope. Tonight is all about you. I owe you,
remember?"

"See, I'd been thinking you could do the field reports
for the next month or clean out the filing cabinet or
spring for lunch or--oh!" she exclaimed, as he slid
his tongue inside, tasting the sweet of her. "Or you
can do that, too. Mmmm. Yeah, you can definitely do
that."

He varied the sensations, the effect he created for
her: deep and slow, fast and shallow. Each time she
settled into a rhythm, he changed it, keeping her on
her toes, keeping her involved in the spell he was
casting.

She opened her eyes to watch him, and it was of the
most marvelous sights she's ever been treated to. His
head disappeared between her legs and all she could
see was the top of his head, his hair, and she zeroed
in on the feeling of his hair, the rough texture of it
against the smooth, creamy skin of her thighs. And
then he touched her, *there*, and the heat was
incredible and she couldn't think anymore. She moaned
again and he flicked his tongue across her center,
once, twice, three times. He felt her beginning to
shudder and he licked once more, knowing she was on
the edge and so close she was on the precipice looking
down into the abyss.

Then he blew across her gently and her body was racked
by a powerful shiver as he moved away and sat back on
his heels, just watching her, watching the ecstasy
trace itself across her face as she descended down
into the abyss, into a world where the only feeling is
one of flying, of floating, of pure, succulent
pleasure. Her eyes closed, she licked her lips and
seeing that wet pink tongue darting out of her mouth
was almost enough to send him over the edge to join
her. God, she's beautiful, he thought. Beautiful and
perfect and mine.

She opened her eyes to see him watching her. She
smiled languorously. "Mulder, that was…."

"I know." He laid next to her and spread his body
against her length, the peach satin sheets cold where
her body hadn't been, hot where she was. She turned to
face him and nuzzled her head into his chest.

"I'm still keeping the hyphen."

He nuzzled his face into her hair. "Fine," he
whispered. "I'll take it."

She danced her fingers down his abdomen, tickling him.
He shivered. "You like that?"

"You know exactly what I like."

"Indeed I do." She tugged at the waistband of his
boxers and he rose up, allowing her to slip them off.
She took them in her hand and sling-shotted them
across the room, where they caught and hung on the
bathroom doorknob. "Direct hit!" she crowed.

"Have I ever told you you're a little goofy after
sex?" he asked.

"Oh, that wasn't sex, Agent Mulder," she said, smiling
dangerously. "I'll show you sex."

She reached across him to the nightstand drawer and
pulled out a condom. She ripped it open with her teeth
and Mulder was amazed to see it was glow-in-the-dark
green with little aliens on it. "Where did you get
that?"

She smiled. "You like?"

He laughed. "You're one in a million, Agent Scully."

"Only because of you." She grasped his length, large
in her tiny hand, and gently stroked up the base
before encasing the head in latex and rolling the
condom down to his base. He could feel her hot hands
on him, muted by the barrier, and she slowly wrapped
both her hands around him and slowly stroked. He
closed his eyes and burrowed his head into the
pillows.

She swung one leg over him, straddling him, hovering
just above him. She leaned forward and placed one hand
on either side of his head, her hair hanging down to
frame her face, her eyes centimeters from his. "Do you
love me?"

"More than life itself."

She slid onto him, taking only the tip of his head
into her. "Enough to write the field reports for the
rest of the month?"

He arched up into her, sliding another inch or two in,
but she rose off him. "Oh, Scully, low blow."

"I want to know."

"Scully, that's a definite crossing of professional
boundaries."

She smirked. "I know."

"Fine. Enough to write the field reports for the rest
of the month. *If* you let me love you on my desk."

"*That's* a definite crossing of professional
boundaries, but in everything equal," she noted with a
smile.

"We're partners after all, Scully," he said.

She slid back down onto him, taking a few inches. He
grimaced in pleasure at her sweet torture.

"Enough to kick Frohike's ass if I asked you to?"

"Oh, definitely."

She laughed and slid all the way onto him. She stayed
there for a moment, running her hands through her
hair, the picture of utter, divine sexual pleasure. He
moaned, watching her.

She loved this moment, when he filled her completely,
so perfectly. She swayed gently from side to side.

"Oh, God, Scully," he moaned, muttering intelligibly
other things she could only guess at.

She leaned forward again, resuming her earlier
position and the penetration was *perfect*.

He bucked up against her, once, twice, and then she
looked into his eyes and became lost in the love she
saw in their depths. His eyes locked on hers, she
began a rhythm. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't easy. It
was fast and hot and urgent, a final rushing toward a
consummation of need, of hope, of desire, of love.

"Oh, God, Scully," he moaned, his every nerve ending
on fire. She was hot and wet and she was looking at
him, oh God, she was looking into his eyes, watching
him watch her and he felt himself pulsing, throbbing,
aching.

She rocked on him, up and down, hard and hot and fast.
"Mulder," she gasped, "oh, God."

He held onto her hips, slippery with the sheen of
sweat that coated her body and made her glow in the
dim light and helped her, increased the pace, the
friction. She was his, all his, her body, her heart,
her soul and then he couldn't hold back anymore and he
began thrusting into her in powerful motions, racing
toward the finish.

She groaned, low in her throat, squeezing herself
around him and she heard the intake of breath as the
sensations registered with him. She clenched herself
around him, then released, again and again, wanting
him to feel as lost in the act as she did.

He could feel himself readying, almost there, and he
muttered under his breath, hot, dark things. She was
close, so close, he could feel it, and then all of a
sudden they were falling, entwined in each other,
exploding and soaring and through the fog he could
hear her cry out and she called his name.

Minutes later, coming down of the sensual high, she
gently slid off him and he was quick to cradle her by
his side. He hugged her tight to him, both spent.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too. But, Mulder? Next time you get a
tape stuck in the VCR, try a repairman, okay?"

END